Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Harry Potter and the Halls of Hogwarts
I don't own anything other then the plot and some of the crapier characters.
Now on with the story. . .
Harry Potter and the Halls of Hogwarts
Chapter 2 – A boy and his rat
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH." A long scream from his Aunt echoed up the steps, as Harry pounded down them getting just as the sound of smashing glass cut through his hearing like a saw. While from the kitchen the screaming got louder and louder. Bangs and echoes were heard, and he heard his Uncle's distinctive bellow.
What if it was a Death Eater or a crook or a burglar or a murderer? Where was his wand?! Where was his wand?!
Harry pounded into the kitchen to see…
His Aunt screaming hysterically, jumping up and down on a chair, chucking plates and smashing a broom in a vain attempt to make an ugly mouse run away. This didn't seem to have worked though as the animal seemed too afraid to move and had left a small stain on his aunt's beautifully clean floor. Harry's fear quickly turned into anger,
"AHHHHHHH," He screamed, "You stupid, stupid woman! What the hell are you playing at? It's a bloody mouse!"
Harry quickly turned around to go back to his room, only to be confronted by his purple faced, doubled chinned uncle, his bristly moustache twitching with rage.
"BOY!," He screamed flecks of spittle flying into Harry's face, "Don't you EVER talk to your aunt like that, after all we've done for you. The clothes on your back, the house over your head, the food that we normal folk labour for, all the time and effort we-"
Harry tuned out, privately fuming. His godfather was dead while people like Vernon lived. The thought sickened him, and in turn the realisation of the dark path his thoughts had been taking sickened him more. He paled (undoubtedly gratifying the fat oaf in front of him). This protection, this powerful blood magic, it wasn't worth living here. If Dumbledore was right and his power was 'Love', then with the Dursleys Harry's armoury was decidedly empty. Tuning in again his uncle seemed to be running out of things to say. Harry politely waited for the inevitable puffing out of his chest and the "GET TO YOUR ROOM NOW!", while he forced down the bile in his throat.
Unnoticed in the commotion between the two humans, a small grey rat scampered over the kitchen floor, before running to freedom through the opened patio door. No one noticed it as it ran through the light of a window the moonlight reflecting of a single silver paw.
His uncle puffed out his chest towering over his tiny nephew and screamed,
"GET TO YOUR ROOM NOW, BOY!"
Stomping up the steps to his room Harry smiled wryly. Say one thing for Harry Potter, say he recognised a patter. He slammed the door hard for effect and lay down on his bed, watching his whole room curiously vibrate, courtesy of Dudley's sound system.
He sighed; this summer was not turning out to be a good one, not a good one at all, and his brow furrowed as he contemplated the vicious thought he'd had while Vernon berated him. That was the thing about thoughts, Harry mused, they popped up out of nowhere and once thought they couldn't be unthought, no matter how vile. Harry feared for his soul if he stayed here, on this track.
Tonight there was going to be a jail break.
---------------------------------------
At the stroke of midnight, Harry pulled out one of his stolen spare keys and silently unlocked the door of his room. Making his way down the steps he avoided the creaking floorboards and saw his uncles wallet on the coffee table. Bingo.
Deftly taking all the cash his uncle had in his wallet, dismayed there was not more, Harry crept back upstairs and quickly wrote his message to the order. Giving it to Hedwig he told her to deliver it at about 9 am, and a not a minute earlier before quietly packing his belongings into his trunk.
He cast one final look around his room to make sure there was nothing left before he opened his window and started to remove two of the 3 bars still in his window from the days of his first holiday and dropped his trunk out of his window. Wincing as he heard a loud bang as it hit the earth outside Harry took his bed sheets and slowly, slowly knotted them together before tying them to the last bar and pushing them out the window.
He sat on the windowsill and listened for a little while longer before taking a deep breath. With a huge grin on his face, Harry jumped out the window. Climbing down the makeshift rope however was a lot harder then it looked as the hasty rope burnt his hands and twisted around wildly. When he was about halfway down he just dropped and landed awkwardly in the bushes.
Harry couldn't believe it, he was free. His fingertips tingled, and his palms were slick with unnecessary perspiration. Despite the seriousness of the situation he couldn't stop smiling and Harry was feeling inordinately giddy as if he'd had a cheering charm subtly cast on him. As excited as he had ever been, he quickly yanked on the bed sheets ripping the knot at the top and bringing it all down.
As nervous as he had ever been he furiously kicked the escape rope behind his Aunt's Rose bushes. Picking up his trunk Harry stole around the building listening for the snores of Mungdungus Fletcher, who Harry knew was on guard duty before he slipped away into the velvet night, the insidious shadows welcoming his adolescent rebellion.
At the end the street, Harry looked back for one final moment at the house he hated more then any other. He felt the event should be more momentous. Indulging himself, he made an obscene gesture with the accompanying curse word. His voice slipped away into the gloom. He felt uncomfortable, doubting, like a kid playing in their parent's shoes. He turned and walked away leaving it all behind.
----------------------------------
On the way to London Harry was finally going to try to enjoy his first proper school holiday, away from the ministrations of Dumbledore, the malice of The Dark Lord Voldemort, the responsibility, the fame, the weight, the burden of the fickle masses of the wizarding world.
It was a light hearted Harry Potter that stared up at the Leaky Cauldron. It was roughly about 3 am in the morning and this part of London was looking incredibly empty. Most of how Harry had gotten here was a fluffy dream to him. For now, for this short perfect moment, no one in the world was seeking him, no one expecting him. For a perfect moment he was free.
It seemed that he'd somehow acquired a muggle ski hat, a pair of sunglasses and an addidas jacket from some sort of all night high street department store. He'd called the Knight bus and tricked the conductor Stan Shunpike into thinking he had a top secret meeting with the minister of magic to discuss the return of You-Know-Who, convincing him to push him up the line so he got there quicker.
And now, here he was, standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron, in the same spot as he had been standing for the last few minutes. He didn't know what to do, should he go in and try to be indiscreet or she just go straight up and tell Tom the bar keeper exactly who he was.
Indecision paralysed him and Harry decided that was wrong. He'd left indecision behind at privet drive, Indecision wasn't a part of his life any more. He'd bamboozled Stan Shunpike, that was no great achievement. He'd have to tell tom, and begone double time. This was a short stop. He stepped into the grotty pub. It seemed he'd had no reason to worry at this time of the morning as there was no one else present. Harry looked towards the bar and saw Tom standing unmoving, for some reason the proprietor had not seen him yet. Quietly, Harry walked up to the bar fearing foul play.
Harry got a shock looking into toms eyes, they were completely unfocused and very wide. Harry quickly waved his hand in front of the older man's face gaining no response. He was asleep, the sly old coot. Asleep or dead.
Looking around Harry's eyes came to rest on a big pint mug and picked it up and very deliberately and loudly brought it back down again on the bar. Harry had to give it to the man all that happened to give the man away was that he blinked, once.
"Welcome to The Leaky Cauldron," Said Tom "Mr errrrr?"
"Potter, Harry Potter. How's business Tom? I love this place and it's been too long since I was last here." Said Harry magnanimously.
"Indeed it has Mr Potter, I presume you are looking for a room for the night, or early morning rather?" remarked Tom inspecting the pub clock, "I'm sorry to say business hasn't been that great since the ministry said You-Know-Who was back and you were the hero again."
For the next ten minutes Tom updated Hary about the goings on of the wizarding world and Diagon alley. He gathered that there was a new minister for magic, that Dumbledore had been reinstated as head of the Wizengamot and, most interestingly for Harry, due to the state of emergency the law against underage magic had been temporarily repealed. Harry booked a room to stay in for the next days before he had to leave to get away from the order. As all the shops in the wizarding world were shut at this time Harry decided to travel to Gringotts to find out as much as he could about the state of his finances. At such an early hour, and goblins being naturally nocturnal creatures, the bank was the only establishment open on the alley.
After depositing his trunk in his room Harry pulled on his warm Hogwarts cloak and took out his wand. He passed through the magical archway and down the deserted alley, he passed the guarding goblins and walked through the bronze and sliver doors and paused in the extravagant marble floored lobby, before making his way to the deserted customer information desk, where a, frankly chubby, goblin was currently scribbling away with a quill in it's hand an open ledger in front of it.
After interrupting him with a polite clearing of the throat, the decidedly grouchy goblin, made it incredibly uncomfortable for him.
"Erm, I was wondering if you would know how much money I have in my trust fund and if I had any other vaults like maybe a family vault or any furniture or paintings or stuff that I owned"
"Name and key please."
Harry reached into his pocket and placed a small shiny key on the desk before saying,"Harry Potter"
"Any identification to prove who you say you are? A lot of people would like access to the Potter Vault"
What sort of identification did he need? Harry showed him his scar as proof which for some reason made the goblin chuckle. It was an experience to hear a goblin chuckle and not one Harry would want to repeat.
"I meant paperwork, Mr. Potter although I guess that scar is as good as any document. If you would kindly wait here I can go and find out all your assets and the amount of money in your vaults."
Harry nodded and watched as the goblin scuttled away and was lost amid other goblins which all looked the same to Harry. Several minutes later in which Harry had been counting how many goblins there were (he kept losing count) the goblin Harry had been talking too returned with a thick folder and plopped it down in front of him. Scrambling into it's chair again the goblin pushed the folder towards Harry and gestured him to open it.
On the first page was his name, his date of birth, his vault numbers, his age (for some strange reason) and many other frivolous titbits of information about his life, his family, and a short table of contents, for the next 50 or so pages were lists of items number and very few words Harry actually understood. All the while the Goblin peered at Harry while trying discreetly read his folder, and failing miserably.
After a short while of staring blankly at random pages, Harry glanced up at the goblin which didn't notice him looking at it.
"Excuse me?" Harry asked politely, "I'm not sure what most of this folder actually means and was wondering if you could explain what everything actually means in lay-man terms. Please." Harry turned the folder the other way around before smoothly pushing it back toward the goblin.
After several minutes of silence in which the goblin worked his way through the folder deftly turning the pages every couple of seconds he turned to look at Harry.
"You have three vaults Mr. Potter. The first is your trust fund, set up by your parents to finance your schooling, the second is the Potter family vault. Most of the pages in this ledger are statements detailing the deposits into it and withdrawals from its creation centuries ago. The final vault under your name contains the royalties from Harry Potter products around the globe as well as donations received from the grateful wizarding Public to The-Boy-who-lived.
Mr Potter, under the last will and testimony of your parents James and Lilly Potter and the incarceration of a Mr. Sirius Black, it is here stated that your accounts excepting that of the Potter family vault are entrusted to the supervision of Mr. Albus Dumbledore until such a time as he relinquishes executive powers to you, or you reach the age of majority, which ever occurs first.”
The goblin paused for breath, before squinting at his manuscripts and continuing “The Potter family vault contains the greatest amount of wealth overall and several enchanted items and curios entrusted to Gringotts' care, however it cannot be accessed by you before your age of majority. Do you require anything further from Runtfang today, sir?”
Harry squirmed under the goblins gaze before asking. “Thankyou, Runtfang. Can you tell me how much each vault has? That's really all I wanted to know in the first place.”
The goblin's eyes flashed sharply. “As of the 9th of April of 1996, the sum total of the Potter family vault is 41,456 galleons, 14 sickles and 78 knuts. As of the 9th of April and so on and so forth, the trust fund contains: 1,981 galleons and 2 sickles. Finally, as of the 9th etc. The royalty vault contains 9,386 galleons, 88 sickles and 97 knuts. Is that all Mr. Potter?” Runtfang finished brusquely.
"Don't the Potters have any estates?" Harry queried
"None that you can access until you turn 17" was the Goblins irritated reply.
It was about this time that something in his brain that had been concentrating on a part of the conversation Harry had missed came up and nudged him in the ribs, so to speak.
"Wait what do you mean 'Harry Potter products'?”
The goblin went on to explain that Harry was the subject of much artwork, many books and enchanted items, that had to pay to use his likeness.
Harry, overwhelmed by information, took a moment to gather his thoughts before asking about Dumbledore's monitoring of his trust fund.
"Well" the goblin said chipperly, "Mr Dumbledore is to be told through the owl delivery whenever you withdraw some money and the amount of money, from a single Knut to all the galleons you possess"
Harry, his heart sinking to below his stomach, put on a cool faced mask and looked back at the goblin
"And what time did you say you sent the owls out?" Harry asked.
"I didn't but, oh, about 5 o' clock in the afternoon normally" Replied the goblin.
Thanking the Goblin for his time Harry made his way out towards The leaky cauldron, fuming about the old manipulative coot that was Albus Dumbledore.
When he got back through the archway Harry's mind was sluggish as Tom took him to his room. Giving Tom the last of his money Harry took a butterbeer and went up to his room. Harry slumped on to his bed, kicking off his shoes, his thoughts moving like grudging glaciers, but possessing the same unflinching inevitability. Tomorrow, he would get one over on one of the smartest wizards alive.
Tomorrow, he would be his own man.
A/N Reviews would be appreciated over rating points. This story was started at the height of the indy!Harry fashion. Cliche's are inevitable, but I hope that it can evolve into a good story, with an original take on the sub-genre.
Now on with the story. . .
Harry Potter and the Halls of Hogwarts
Chapter 2 – A boy and his rat
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH." A long scream from his Aunt echoed up the steps, as Harry pounded down them getting just as the sound of smashing glass cut through his hearing like a saw. While from the kitchen the screaming got louder and louder. Bangs and echoes were heard, and he heard his Uncle's distinctive bellow.
What if it was a Death Eater or a crook or a burglar or a murderer? Where was his wand?! Where was his wand?!
Harry pounded into the kitchen to see…
His Aunt screaming hysterically, jumping up and down on a chair, chucking plates and smashing a broom in a vain attempt to make an ugly mouse run away. This didn't seem to have worked though as the animal seemed too afraid to move and had left a small stain on his aunt's beautifully clean floor. Harry's fear quickly turned into anger,
"AHHHHHHH," He screamed, "You stupid, stupid woman! What the hell are you playing at? It's a bloody mouse!"
Harry quickly turned around to go back to his room, only to be confronted by his purple faced, doubled chinned uncle, his bristly moustache twitching with rage.
"BOY!," He screamed flecks of spittle flying into Harry's face, "Don't you EVER talk to your aunt like that, after all we've done for you. The clothes on your back, the house over your head, the food that we normal folk labour for, all the time and effort we-"
Harry tuned out, privately fuming. His godfather was dead while people like Vernon lived. The thought sickened him, and in turn the realisation of the dark path his thoughts had been taking sickened him more. He paled (undoubtedly gratifying the fat oaf in front of him). This protection, this powerful blood magic, it wasn't worth living here. If Dumbledore was right and his power was 'Love', then with the Dursleys Harry's armoury was decidedly empty. Tuning in again his uncle seemed to be running out of things to say. Harry politely waited for the inevitable puffing out of his chest and the "GET TO YOUR ROOM NOW!", while he forced down the bile in his throat.
Unnoticed in the commotion between the two humans, a small grey rat scampered over the kitchen floor, before running to freedom through the opened patio door. No one noticed it as it ran through the light of a window the moonlight reflecting of a single silver paw.
His uncle puffed out his chest towering over his tiny nephew and screamed,
"GET TO YOUR ROOM NOW, BOY!"
Stomping up the steps to his room Harry smiled wryly. Say one thing for Harry Potter, say he recognised a patter. He slammed the door hard for effect and lay down on his bed, watching his whole room curiously vibrate, courtesy of Dudley's sound system.
He sighed; this summer was not turning out to be a good one, not a good one at all, and his brow furrowed as he contemplated the vicious thought he'd had while Vernon berated him. That was the thing about thoughts, Harry mused, they popped up out of nowhere and once thought they couldn't be unthought, no matter how vile. Harry feared for his soul if he stayed here, on this track.
Tonight there was going to be a jail break.
---------------------------------------
At the stroke of midnight, Harry pulled out one of his stolen spare keys and silently unlocked the door of his room. Making his way down the steps he avoided the creaking floorboards and saw his uncles wallet on the coffee table. Bingo.
Deftly taking all the cash his uncle had in his wallet, dismayed there was not more, Harry crept back upstairs and quickly wrote his message to the order. Giving it to Hedwig he told her to deliver it at about 9 am, and a not a minute earlier before quietly packing his belongings into his trunk.
He cast one final look around his room to make sure there was nothing left before he opened his window and started to remove two of the 3 bars still in his window from the days of his first holiday and dropped his trunk out of his window. Wincing as he heard a loud bang as it hit the earth outside Harry took his bed sheets and slowly, slowly knotted them together before tying them to the last bar and pushing them out the window.
He sat on the windowsill and listened for a little while longer before taking a deep breath. With a huge grin on his face, Harry jumped out the window. Climbing down the makeshift rope however was a lot harder then it looked as the hasty rope burnt his hands and twisted around wildly. When he was about halfway down he just dropped and landed awkwardly in the bushes.
Harry couldn't believe it, he was free. His fingertips tingled, and his palms were slick with unnecessary perspiration. Despite the seriousness of the situation he couldn't stop smiling and Harry was feeling inordinately giddy as if he'd had a cheering charm subtly cast on him. As excited as he had ever been, he quickly yanked on the bed sheets ripping the knot at the top and bringing it all down.
As nervous as he had ever been he furiously kicked the escape rope behind his Aunt's Rose bushes. Picking up his trunk Harry stole around the building listening for the snores of Mungdungus Fletcher, who Harry knew was on guard duty before he slipped away into the velvet night, the insidious shadows welcoming his adolescent rebellion.
At the end the street, Harry looked back for one final moment at the house he hated more then any other. He felt the event should be more momentous. Indulging himself, he made an obscene gesture with the accompanying curse word. His voice slipped away into the gloom. He felt uncomfortable, doubting, like a kid playing in their parent's shoes. He turned and walked away leaving it all behind.
----------------------------------
On the way to London Harry was finally going to try to enjoy his first proper school holiday, away from the ministrations of Dumbledore, the malice of The Dark Lord Voldemort, the responsibility, the fame, the weight, the burden of the fickle masses of the wizarding world.
It was a light hearted Harry Potter that stared up at the Leaky Cauldron. It was roughly about 3 am in the morning and this part of London was looking incredibly empty. Most of how Harry had gotten here was a fluffy dream to him. For now, for this short perfect moment, no one in the world was seeking him, no one expecting him. For a perfect moment he was free.
It seemed that he'd somehow acquired a muggle ski hat, a pair of sunglasses and an addidas jacket from some sort of all night high street department store. He'd called the Knight bus and tricked the conductor Stan Shunpike into thinking he had a top secret meeting with the minister of magic to discuss the return of You-Know-Who, convincing him to push him up the line so he got there quicker.
And now, here he was, standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron, in the same spot as he had been standing for the last few minutes. He didn't know what to do, should he go in and try to be indiscreet or she just go straight up and tell Tom the bar keeper exactly who he was.
Indecision paralysed him and Harry decided that was wrong. He'd left indecision behind at privet drive, Indecision wasn't a part of his life any more. He'd bamboozled Stan Shunpike, that was no great achievement. He'd have to tell tom, and begone double time. This was a short stop. He stepped into the grotty pub. It seemed he'd had no reason to worry at this time of the morning as there was no one else present. Harry looked towards the bar and saw Tom standing unmoving, for some reason the proprietor had not seen him yet. Quietly, Harry walked up to the bar fearing foul play.
Harry got a shock looking into toms eyes, they were completely unfocused and very wide. Harry quickly waved his hand in front of the older man's face gaining no response. He was asleep, the sly old coot. Asleep or dead.
Looking around Harry's eyes came to rest on a big pint mug and picked it up and very deliberately and loudly brought it back down again on the bar. Harry had to give it to the man all that happened to give the man away was that he blinked, once.
"Welcome to The Leaky Cauldron," Said Tom "Mr errrrr?"
"Potter, Harry Potter. How's business Tom? I love this place and it's been too long since I was last here." Said Harry magnanimously.
"Indeed it has Mr Potter, I presume you are looking for a room for the night, or early morning rather?" remarked Tom inspecting the pub clock, "I'm sorry to say business hasn't been that great since the ministry said You-Know-Who was back and you were the hero again."
For the next ten minutes Tom updated Hary about the goings on of the wizarding world and Diagon alley. He gathered that there was a new minister for magic, that Dumbledore had been reinstated as head of the Wizengamot and, most interestingly for Harry, due to the state of emergency the law against underage magic had been temporarily repealed. Harry booked a room to stay in for the next days before he had to leave to get away from the order. As all the shops in the wizarding world were shut at this time Harry decided to travel to Gringotts to find out as much as he could about the state of his finances. At such an early hour, and goblins being naturally nocturnal creatures, the bank was the only establishment open on the alley.
After depositing his trunk in his room Harry pulled on his warm Hogwarts cloak and took out his wand. He passed through the magical archway and down the deserted alley, he passed the guarding goblins and walked through the bronze and sliver doors and paused in the extravagant marble floored lobby, before making his way to the deserted customer information desk, where a, frankly chubby, goblin was currently scribbling away with a quill in it's hand an open ledger in front of it.
After interrupting him with a polite clearing of the throat, the decidedly grouchy goblin, made it incredibly uncomfortable for him.
"Erm, I was wondering if you would know how much money I have in my trust fund and if I had any other vaults like maybe a family vault or any furniture or paintings or stuff that I owned"
"Name and key please."
Harry reached into his pocket and placed a small shiny key on the desk before saying,"Harry Potter"
"Any identification to prove who you say you are? A lot of people would like access to the Potter Vault"
What sort of identification did he need? Harry showed him his scar as proof which for some reason made the goblin chuckle. It was an experience to hear a goblin chuckle and not one Harry would want to repeat.
"I meant paperwork, Mr. Potter although I guess that scar is as good as any document. If you would kindly wait here I can go and find out all your assets and the amount of money in your vaults."
Harry nodded and watched as the goblin scuttled away and was lost amid other goblins which all looked the same to Harry. Several minutes later in which Harry had been counting how many goblins there were (he kept losing count) the goblin Harry had been talking too returned with a thick folder and plopped it down in front of him. Scrambling into it's chair again the goblin pushed the folder towards Harry and gestured him to open it.
On the first page was his name, his date of birth, his vault numbers, his age (for some strange reason) and many other frivolous titbits of information about his life, his family, and a short table of contents, for the next 50 or so pages were lists of items number and very few words Harry actually understood. All the while the Goblin peered at Harry while trying discreetly read his folder, and failing miserably.
After a short while of staring blankly at random pages, Harry glanced up at the goblin which didn't notice him looking at it.
"Excuse me?" Harry asked politely, "I'm not sure what most of this folder actually means and was wondering if you could explain what everything actually means in lay-man terms. Please." Harry turned the folder the other way around before smoothly pushing it back toward the goblin.
After several minutes of silence in which the goblin worked his way through the folder deftly turning the pages every couple of seconds he turned to look at Harry.
"You have three vaults Mr. Potter. The first is your trust fund, set up by your parents to finance your schooling, the second is the Potter family vault. Most of the pages in this ledger are statements detailing the deposits into it and withdrawals from its creation centuries ago. The final vault under your name contains the royalties from Harry Potter products around the globe as well as donations received from the grateful wizarding Public to The-Boy-who-lived.
Mr Potter, under the last will and testimony of your parents James and Lilly Potter and the incarceration of a Mr. Sirius Black, it is here stated that your accounts excepting that of the Potter family vault are entrusted to the supervision of Mr. Albus Dumbledore until such a time as he relinquishes executive powers to you, or you reach the age of majority, which ever occurs first.”
The goblin paused for breath, before squinting at his manuscripts and continuing “The Potter family vault contains the greatest amount of wealth overall and several enchanted items and curios entrusted to Gringotts' care, however it cannot be accessed by you before your age of majority. Do you require anything further from Runtfang today, sir?”
Harry squirmed under the goblins gaze before asking. “Thankyou, Runtfang. Can you tell me how much each vault has? That's really all I wanted to know in the first place.”
The goblin's eyes flashed sharply. “As of the 9th of April of 1996, the sum total of the Potter family vault is 41,456 galleons, 14 sickles and 78 knuts. As of the 9th of April and so on and so forth, the trust fund contains: 1,981 galleons and 2 sickles. Finally, as of the 9th etc. The royalty vault contains 9,386 galleons, 88 sickles and 97 knuts. Is that all Mr. Potter?” Runtfang finished brusquely.
"Don't the Potters have any estates?" Harry queried
"None that you can access until you turn 17" was the Goblins irritated reply.
It was about this time that something in his brain that had been concentrating on a part of the conversation Harry had missed came up and nudged him in the ribs, so to speak.
"Wait what do you mean 'Harry Potter products'?”
The goblin went on to explain that Harry was the subject of much artwork, many books and enchanted items, that had to pay to use his likeness.
Harry, overwhelmed by information, took a moment to gather his thoughts before asking about Dumbledore's monitoring of his trust fund.
"Well" the goblin said chipperly, "Mr Dumbledore is to be told through the owl delivery whenever you withdraw some money and the amount of money, from a single Knut to all the galleons you possess"
Harry, his heart sinking to below his stomach, put on a cool faced mask and looked back at the goblin
"And what time did you say you sent the owls out?" Harry asked.
"I didn't but, oh, about 5 o' clock in the afternoon normally" Replied the goblin.
Thanking the Goblin for his time Harry made his way out towards The leaky cauldron, fuming about the old manipulative coot that was Albus Dumbledore.
When he got back through the archway Harry's mind was sluggish as Tom took him to his room. Giving Tom the last of his money Harry took a butterbeer and went up to his room. Harry slumped on to his bed, kicking off his shoes, his thoughts moving like grudging glaciers, but possessing the same unflinching inevitability. Tomorrow, he would get one over on one of the smartest wizards alive.
Tomorrow, he would be his own man.
A/N Reviews would be appreciated over rating points. This story was started at the height of the indy!Harry fashion. Cliche's are inevitable, but I hope that it can evolve into a good story, with an original take on the sub-genre.
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