5 Harry Gaunt - Chapter 5

Harry stomped up the street into the Leaky Cauldron, thoroughly annoyed at his intrusive grandmother. She'd taken a peek at his folder! Even after his express request to leave it be. Bloody woman.

"Welcome friend!"

Harry glanced up at the kindly man, who was stood just through the door of the Leaky Cauldron. He smiled happily at Harry.

"Tom?" blinked Harry, giving the decrepit man a once over.

"Yes?" said Tom. "Have we met? If we have then my apologies, I meet so many people." He chuckled good-naturedly, gesturing for Harry to come in.

"Uh, just the once," covered Harry, chastising himself as he followed Tom inside. "It was years ago," he added once they'd arrived at the bar. "Are there any rooms available?" asked Harry.

Tom was already pouring Harry a drink, assuming like most that a teen would drink Butterbeer. "Ah," he said, sliding the glass over. "Bit of an issue there. We're full up. They're all here for the festival."

Tom gestured to the people all milling about, chatting and drinking with open cheer.

"Now worries," said Harry, only playing with the possibility of staying. "I'll just have supper then, can I have the Steak and Ale Pie?"

"Of course!" said Tom eagerly. "I'll bring it over, or Marry will. She's around here somewhere."

Harry thanked him, holding his Butterbeer as he turned to the room. It was indeed very busy, there were people at almost every table, Mary must be run off her feet with all the requests as Harry headed to the back, finding the darkest corner to sit.

He took his seat with a sigh, setting the folder down with a relief. It had been a busy day for Harry as he opened it, checking the page that Euphemia had seen. "Good," he read the familiar title of The Shrubbery certificate. "But still."

She no doubt knew his last name now, or at least supposed he was related to the Gaunts in some way. Hopefully she'd assume Harry was a historian, or something of the like.

Harry would just have to hope she wouldn't tell anyone.

"Whoops," a man bumped into his table as he tried to slip through. "Sorry lad."

Harry waved it off, he could forgive them for being tourists. They didn't seem to be Londoners, he could hear their accents as they chatted, they were from all over the country. "Excuse me," called Harry to the man before he could go. "What's this festival I keep hearing about? Are you here for it?"

The man turned back with an excited look. "That's right," he said, more than happy to have a chat with the young man. "We come every year. It's the Summer Green Festival!"

Harry hadn't heard of it.

"You know," tried the man as Harry's blank expression. "We celebrate Magical Plants, many of which are harvested at this time of year. You haven't heard of it before?"

That seemed very odd to the man.

"Oh the Summer Green Festival," hurried Harry. "I see. We used to call it the Harvest Festival."

Harry was pretty sure Petunia had said that once, right before he and Dudley had been forced to carry fruit to school. Dudley had eaten it on the way.

"Those muggles," laughed the man, like a father would to a silly son. "We came up with it first. Ours is much better." He nodded with surety.

Harry agreed readily at the man's expectant gaze. "Much better," said Harry. "Silly muggles." Harry awkwardly reached for his butterbeer.

The man promptly left at that point re-joining his table to jeers about how long it took to place their order.

Harry watched them from the corner of his eye, trying not to look so wistful. Harry hadn't done that in years, not he went with Ron and Hermione to the Hogs Head during fifth year. And them after they'd died, Harry had kept almost exclusively to himself after leaving Hogwarts, despite many attempts from Neville and his Professors to bring him back. But Harry wouldn't go back, not until his job was done.

Harry looked away from them, then tucked the page back into the folder. He couldn't help but think back to those first few months after he'd left, and it would always surprise him how different he'd become in such a short space of time - then and now, over 2 years later. Harry had been manic, committed and completely obsessed with destroying everything he could get his hands on.

He'd killed so many.

"But not her," he said aloud, caught in the memories of the times they'd fought. "She stopped trying towards the end."

Bellatrix wasn't the same either after two years, she'd changed.

"Here we go!"

Harry jumped a little as Mary came swooping in, carrying his pie, knife and a fork in either hand. "If you need anything, just give me a wave!"

And then she was gone, racing back between the tables and towards the kitchens.

"Thanks…" trailed Harry, looking down at his pie. "Yummy." He stuck his fork in it, he was starving.

Harry put away his previous thoughts as he began to eat, hoping now that the shard of Voldemort was removed he'd be a little more… free… but it quickly soured, as he glanced to the folder on the table. He was Lord Gaunt now, they were family. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort would seek him out. "Oh bloody hell."

Euphemia had just walked in, saying hello to every which wizard that crossed her path. She was heading for the exit, and spotted him easily as Harry tried to duck away.

"Harry," she greeted, coming carefully towards his table. "Nice to see you again."

She made a show of glancing at his folder, then laughed in a teasing way when Harry put his hand on it.

"You too," he said flatly, focusing on his pie in an attempt to make her go away. "Have a good evening."

He munched some of his pie, chewing slowly as he felt her stay. She didn't want to go, of course she didn't as Harry dropped his fork into the pie. "What do you want," he grumbled. "And don't you dare say my name." Harry met her eye, promising pain should she deny him.

But Euphemia was unfazed, happy even as she slipped into the chair on his opposite side. She leaned in conspiratorially. "It's alright Harry," she whispered. "I won't. I just want to talk, help you if I can."

She gave him a genuine look. She was worried for him.

"I don't need your help," said Harry. "I've got everything sorted. No problems." He picked up his fork again, giving her a petulant glare as he munched on some more pie.

"Harry," she said, as if he was entirely misguided. "I expect you're quite new to your…" she glanced at the folder. "Position. But trust me when I say, it is far from simple running a house. You'll have obligations."

Harry raised a brow, mildly impressed that she'd concluded he was the Lord of House Gaunt. He indicated she go on.

"For instance," she shuffled her chair further in. "Politics. How much do you know about them?"

"Enough," offered Harry a little too quickly. "It can't be that hard."

Euphemia begged to differ. "You have no idea Harry," she said, shaking her head. "People train for years just to know how to speak in-front of large groups. Not to mention the laws, friends and favours you have to manage. Fleamont, my husband, still has trouble with the first."

"Look," Harry rubbed his head in a tired way. "I appreciate the offer. But I don't know you, I don't know anyone besides a Goblin named Greycup." Harry might even call him friend, if he stopped calling him Lord Gaunt all the time. "So… I'll get in touch if anything comes up." He gave her a pleasant smile.

Unsurprisingly however.

"I don't believe you," scowled Euphemia, about all of it. "But if you truly wish me away, then fine. I'll go."

She stood with grace, taking care not to bang the chair on the table behind.

"Wait."

She stopped just past his table, her lips twitching to a smile.

"How do I contact you," asked Harry, swivelling his chair. "I still need to buy an owl."

"That's easy," Euphemia rummaged in her pocket, pulling out a slip that appeared to be a business card. "Drop by when you need. We'd be happy to have you."

Harry took the card, wondering if she always carried these around as he read what looked to be her home address it.

"Remember Harry, you're one of us now," she giggled at his outraged face. "My Lord."

She curtsied, leaving with a sweep while Harry sat, taking measured glances at the people around. Nobody seemed to have noticed. He tucked the card into his pocket. She was full of spirit his grandmother, perhaps that was why he didn't mind taking her card, it was endearing the way she was trying to help him.

Harry quickly finished his meal, leaving after paying at the bar. He had to find somewhere to stay, and it looked like rain as he stepped into the gloomy streets of central London.

Crack.

Harry was gone.

Break.

Harry stepped into the empty field, his feet all but disappearing beneath the long grass as he looked around - the place was empty. Nothing but grass and the occasional tree. Harry shouldn't have expected anything different as he begun to walk. In the future this would become the suburb where he lived with the Dursleys, a time in his past that was as equal bliss as it was complete hell.

Harry had never been back here after leaving Hogwarts, choosing instead to live like Horace and his muggle squatting ways. "This'll do."

He'd set up camp here, it was a beautiful spot to destroy with muggle housing, and a few minutes later after Harry had unpacked, he sat upon his trunk by the door of his tent.

The view just below was lovely, a valley filled with trees. Harry could see where the park would be built, where the tunnel he and Dudley had been attacked would be made.

It was all terribly nostalgic. And in the strangest way, Harry almost missed the Dursleys. "Stupid," he said, shaking the thought away. They were gone, Petunia and Vernon, Dudley and his annoying friends. It was just Harry now, and he'd probably never see any of them ever again.

It was better that way, Harry wouldn't need to protect them as he begun levitating his trunk inside the tent. He found his way to the small duelling room next, which sat at the very end of his wonderful tent. Harry wanted to try out his new wand.

"Lumos."

He'd start with the basics, then move up as he flicked the ball of light to the ceiling, illuminating the room with a brilliant flare. Harry conjured a dummy next, then a brick wall and a large pig, which oinked at him. "Good," he glanced at the wand. "Well done."

Harry felt it warm as he raised it high above his head, before slashing down with a watchful eye as fire arched towards the pig, which promptly burst it into ash when it hit. Harry steadied his hand, it was powerful then - he laughed giddily while casting again, jabbing and stabbing with spells bursting from the end, tearing chunks from the wall and limbs from the dummy.

"FIENDFIRE!"

With an intricate zigzag, Harry summoned an enormous snake, which grew with sweltering flame high above him. It hissed, coiling to attack.

Harry conjured another pig just in front of it, tempting the fiery snake. Harry watched when the snake consumed it whole, satisfied. This was an excellent wand, not far off even the Elder Wand if Harry was honest. "Return."

The snake did so, dispersing into nothing as the room dimmed to the single Lumos. Harry conjured another snake next, a simple python. "Hello?" he said to it, coaxing it round so they could see each other. "Can you speak?"

"Speaker…" it looked at Harry in wonder.

Harry dismissed it with a flick, satisfied that his ability was intact. He'd always assumed his Parseltongue had come from Voldemort, since that's what Dumbledore had always said. But it hadn't, it had always been his.

Harry vowed to use it more often, learn what he'd avoided before. He might very well need to return to Hogwarts, as it was the only place that was likely to contain the books he would need.

But that could wait, Harry had other things to resolve before then. And he always had the option to return as a student, he'd be able to start his seventh given his age, though as for actual academic level, maybe right back to fifth. "I am not doing class with 15-year-olds."

Harry would be 18 in a few weeks, the summer holidays just around the corner as he returned to his tent.

He'd think on it tomorrow, for now, he'd sleep.

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