Chapter Text
Being officially excommunicated from Wizarding Britain three days after the Battle of Hogwarts, wasn’t all that much of a surprise to Harry, nor was it much of a hardship. The reason behind the excommunication was much more of a shock. For all that the Weasely family had been Gryffindor’s they sure played the long game with their ambitions, then again Harry had been too. Funny how it was the Gryffindor’s who played the game of masks and shadows better than any Slytherin except perhaps Professor Snape. Harry wasn’t ready to settle down as they seemed to expect and want him too, nor was he ready for his spouse to be picked for him. But Harry also didn’t want to do any more fighting. So he left of his own free will. Despite it all, for the first time since learning of the Wizarding World, perhaps for the first time ever, Harry felt at peace.
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“Mr. Potter,” a voice called out as Harry made his way through muggle security. Instinctively Harry’s defense rose, even as he fought to keep the tenseness out of his body language. It was almost instinctive the way his masks rose back up to guard his true thoughts.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Harry asked as a pair of two men in cheap but still well tailored black suits approached him.
“Apologies,” said one of the men flashing a MCUSA badge, “If you wouldn’t mind coming with us?”
“Is there a problem?” Harry asked, masking his true thoughts with a tone that seemed to display nervousness. He hadn’t been on American soil for more than the thirty or so minutes it had taken the plane to de-board, him to grab his only luggage, a carry on duffle, and then for him to find his way to customs so it wasn’t likely that he had broken some unspoken law or something.
“That’s something that we will hopefully be able to figure out if you’d come with us,” said the man’s partner. Harry’s hackles weren’t lowered by the man’s words at all but he followed nonetheless, fighting not to flinch fully into flight or fight when one of the men fell into step just behind Harry while the other walked ahead. He was led into a small indescribable little hallway that was almost invisible to the hurrying businessmen and tired travelers that traversed the main hallways. Passing through the wards that were covering the small windowless room Harry was led into made Harry more properly nervous.
“If you’d sit Mr. Potter,” one of the men directed. Harry took a seat on the opposite end of the table so that the wall was to his back and the door was in his line of sight. The suits exchanged a look of raised eyebrows but neither seemed surprised at his actions, as they closed the door. They were silent for a moment and neither of them sat. Harry raised his own eyebrow. They were attempting to establish dominance over him in this byplay but Harry hadn’t been almost sorted into Slytherin for nothing and he didn’t want to keep wearing his masks.
“Got a reason for detaining me agents?” Harry asked, drumming his fingers against the table in front of him as though nervous. The agents seemed to fall for his ploy remaining silent to try and further his nervousness. Harry held it for a minute and then raised an eyebrow and smirked, no longer maintaining his mask at all.
“Did you really fall for that?” Harry asked, tilting his head. “You know who I am, you called my name after all. That means you know what I’ve done. Who I’ve stood against, did you really think a few minutes of silence would make me nervous? Darlings, you'd have to do better than that. Can’t hold it against you though, all of Wizarding Britain fell for the nervous teenage wizard act, still are in fact, though I’d bet they’re scratching their heads, and starting to catch on now,” The suits exchanged a look again.
“May I ask why you think you’re here Mr. Potter?” the first suit asked.
“Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to tell me what I did?” Harry asked with a half smirk. “But I’ll play,” Harry said. “You’ll have received a message from the British Ministry by now. My flight was exactly seven hours and forty-seven minutes. I left British soil at half past ten this morning, now I don’t know how it’s run here but the British Magical world is slightly in shambles. Even with their vested interest in me, well, they likely didn’t know till twelve o’clock their time at the minimum where I’d gone and how I was getting there. That means the official arrest order would have been given less than an hour later so one o’clock? That means you’ll have gotten notice, let’s be generous and say about an hour later. With the five hour difference that means nine am for you. I suppose you American’s must be closer to the non-magical law enforcement agencies of your country. Still, putting out an alert and my passport pinging would have taken an hour at least. Only, well, the American Ministry, though allied with the British Ministry, is not beholden to their whims like the Canadians or the Australians. That’s why I chose the States after all. Which means another hour of debates on course of action, that puts us at eleven am. Am I right? That still leaves forty minutes for you boys to form a strike team. That I’m not unconscious, stunned and being shipped back immediately means that the good o’l Magical USA government has decided to determine my threat level for themselves.” Harry wet his lips lightly with his tongue as he smirked. “That’s the reason I’m here for questioning rather than being arrested and being portkeyed back, you aren’t sure if you’re willing to comply with the arrest order. So,” Harry smirked as he sat back, “Bring on the Veritaserum.”
An hour later found Harry free and clear with a brand new documentation as an American Magical Citizenship through American Magical and Political Refugee laws to go right beside his muggle American Citizenship. It was much faster than jumping through the many Muggle hoops. The goblins had been particularly helpful in him gaining the latter, though they were rather unhappy about him converting the entirety of the Black, Potter, and Peverell finances into liquid assists before funneling it through various bank stocks and such to launder it into the muggle world. The goblins were the experts, and their fees reflected it. Their efforts would continue as they continuously slowly funneled everything out of stocks and into the muggle account, Harry now had under his brand new name of Harrison James Potter-Black.
Evidently the British had found out that Harry’s assets were no longer available to them, when word had gone out that they were going to excommunicate him from the British Magical World due to some trumped up charges that disguised the belief that the British believed he had too much power and could possibly become the new Dark Lord based off of the statement of ‘someone close’ to him, he’d known what was up. He may have been ‘friends’ with Ron Weasely and Hermione Granger, but he wasn’t as oblivious or as blind as he may have seemed. He was an abused child after all, masks and acting was his forte.
From the first moment Hagrid had entered his life Harry had been on guard. Not everybody takes a dream come true at face value and Harry certainly didn’t. Sure there were a few childish urges that revealed themselves throughout the trip but he still learned a lot. First, Dumbledore wanted something from him. At the time Harry wasn’t certain what that was but Hagrid had revealed that Dumbledore was the one to send him to get Harry, that Dumbledore was the one who had kept his key safe, and that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the Wizarding world. In fact, that last one was repeated a few times.
Second, somebody, likely Dumbledore given Harry’s previous conclusion, wanted him in Gryffindor. The only thing Hagrid said about his parents was that they were in Gryffindor, and that Harry looked just like his father who was very popular in, you guessed it Gryffindor, oh and of course last but certainly not least in the half-giant’s mind, Dumbledore had been in Gryffindor!
Third, somebody, again likely Dumbledore, did not want Harry to be in Slytherin. After all, what was it Hagrid had said? ‘There’s not a single witch or wizard that went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin’. And finally fourth; Harry had to pretend to be what Dumbledore wanted him to be because somehow Dumbledore had power over him and Harry didn’t have the information, clout or ability to remove that power.
Knowing these four things set the tone for the rest of his years at Hogwarts. While he was friends with Hermione and with Ron they weren’t close as they and everyone else seemed to think they were. Harry always held himself just out of reach from what everyone else thought of him, masked within the mask. When the British Magical World moved to turn on him once again after the battle he learned just how much safety those masks had granted him. While he could admit to himself that he had kept his friends at arm's length he had still expected them to stand behind him even if they might waver slightly in the face of oppression. Finding out they were part of the group on the firing line still hurt. Less hurt than he would have been if they really knew him Harry expected however.
Nonetheless Harry had been ready to jump ship from the British Wizarding World long before they fired the first shot, it was just a matter of setting all the plans he’d made into motion. The excommunication came first, Harry was out of the country within forty minutes of the order officially coming through, being a rich asshole in the muggle world could move mountains. The goblins had been helpful in giving him warning and he’d already had them liquidating his many fortunes, for the past few years, in a slow and methodical fashion so that no one caught on, so it wasn’t hard for them to dump the last of his non-monetary assets and complete the transfers into multiple muggle accounts, where they’d slowly be poured into the main account he used after they’d been filtered through a few stocks and other such things of course. He wouldn’t be surprised if magical Britain’s economy shuddered and wavered for the next two or three years. After all, the removal of the Potter and Black fortunes from the Wizarding World was significant enough not to mention the Peverell, and of course the Slytherin and Gaunt fortunes won in conquest as well.
That’s where the arrest order came in. It wasn’t a surprise. Harry had taken all of the money from his accounts, money that those who had pushed through the excommunication order had been counting on being there, for them to get their hands on once he was out of the picture. Citizen’s who did not have magical citizenship in Wizarding Britain or a physical residence in Britain were not allowed to hold vaults in Gringotts Bank and for a large fee they reverted the account to the Ministry of Magic to be redistributed. It was part of the last treaty with the goblins that allowed the rebellion to end. Gringotts got full monopoly on British Currency but at the same time had no share on any other. Of course the goblins got around that by naming their non-British banks Glowerletts but Harry had decided to remain out of the Wizarding World for a little while.
Nonetheless and no matter the reason Harry now needed a place to stay. He made his way out of the John F. Kennedy International Airport and stepped into the first cab of the line.
“Take me to a nice hotel somewhere in Manhattan, price isn’t an object but preferably a place that isn’t going to try and squeeze me dry while only pretending to suck my dick,” Harry said, throwing his duffle into the backseat beside him.
“Yes sir,” the driver said as he pulled out into the traffic. “Would you prefer to be closer to Times Square or Washington Square Park?” The driver asked.
“Washington Square Park,” Harry answered.
“Greenwich it is then good sir,” the driver said, as he suddenly swerved and swore at several drivers. Harry sat back and closed his eyes to rest, wandlessly putting a light protection spell on himself in case someone took exception to the cabbies driving and decided they didn’t much give a fuck about their car and rammed them.
Forty-five minutes of swears, stuttered swerving and sudden braking found Harry outside the Greenwich Hotel. It’s outside didn’t seem like much, housed in a large brownstone, but once one-stepped in the building away from the streams of walking people, its appearance changed. It was tastefully decorated in a modern Victorian/contemporary/antique meld, with leafy greenery adding rather than taking away. It was opulent in a way that didn’t shove the opulence in one's face. It was a place that didn’t need to shove opulence in one's face, it saturated the very air in its subtlety. Duffle over his shoulder Harry walked towards the front desk.
“How can I help you sir?” the receptionist asked.
“I’d like to book accommodations of course, I’ll need rooms for about a month,” Harry said. “I unfortunately do not have reservations.”
“Sir this is Greenwich, though we do not require reservations are you entirely certain you can afford a month's stay with us? Our one bedroom studio suite is six fifty a night, a month would run just under twenty thousand,” the receptionist said with faux politeness as her eyes flickered across his clothing. He was no longer wearing Dudley’s old things but still he’d dressed rather comfortably for the plane trip, even if it was first class, with a pair of grey sweats, one of Sirius’s old band t-shirts, one of Remus’s gray, slightly worn blazers with elbow patches and finally a pair of red converse.
“I assure you if I wanted the one bedroom studio suite I could afford it, however as I am staying a month, I’d prefer something a little larger, I assume you have something that would fit my necessities? One of your penthouse suites perhaps” Harry said.
“Sir, if you please, we could get a card on record and then we could proceed with the booking,” the receptionist said, not hiding the notes of disbelief at his ability to afford the cheapest rooms. It made Harry feel just the slightest bit petty, and he resolved to purchase the most expensive of rooms. Harry slid his card along with his passport along the counter for the receptionist’s perusal. The passport was open on the observations page of his passport showing both his picture on one side and his triple titles. Only three of his titles transferred into the non-magical world and even as a British expat he held rights to them. He was a double Baron, both Black and Potter, and Marquess Peverell. The woman’s eyes widened and then the black Goldman Sachs card caught the receptionist’s attention and she froze looking up at Harry with eyes that were caught between fear at the fact that she had been disparaging him and greed.
“I assume those will work well enough?” Harry asked. The woman almost flinched and hurriedly unfroze and began inputting information.
“Of course sir, are you looking at a suite or perhaps a penthouse?” she asked. “I’m afraid the Greenwich and the N. Moore are both unavailable for a month-long stay as there are already bookings, perhaps you’d like the TriBeCa? It is a rather large space for one person, and runs at fifteen thousand a night, however for the month we could drop fifty thousand and make it an even four hundred k,” she said fingers flying across the keyboard, she looked hopeful and nervous.
“I’ll take it, and pay in full now,” Harry said. “I’d like to arrange for dinner to be brought up, say around seven? Put it on the card. I’m feeling something exotic, surprise me,” Harry said, his face set in a smirk that told the receptionist that she’d best get it right.
“Of course sir,” she said, swiping the card and passing it his ID, and the hotel key across the marble countertop. “If you take the elevator on your left and swipe your card it will take you directly.
“Thank-you,” Harry said, “I wait in anticipation for dinner,” Harry added as he turned on his heel to the left just catching the woman swallowing in nervousness. The elevator had just as much understated opulence as the lobby and Harry quickly swiped the hotel keycard and stepped back as the doors closed. He didn’t even feel the elevator begin to move but it took less than a minute for the doors to open leading into a sparsely decorated but still elegant hallway. He stepped out and made his way down it to where it opened up into a beautiful and naturally lit central room. It was decorated with stone and wood to look as naturally opulent and modern with that flush of cozy comfort that made it all the more luxurious. He tossed his duffle onto one of the cream colored couches and moved to the glass barn panel doors sliding them open so he could step onto the lower terrace. Slowly savoring the wisteria canopy and other greenery as he made his way up the steps to the upper terrace.
Hand gliding along the natural wood-slab table that could seat over a dozen people underneath the clear glass gazebo roof. He made plans to soak in the steaming spa pool and perhaps to just laze for a few days in one of the comfortable looking chairs that were placed around the wood burning fireplace. For now though he wanted to explore the rest of the inside of the penthouse and get himself a nap.
A quick tour of the penthouse back through the drawing room, living room and kitchen, checking out the three bedrooms and two bathrooms, ending in the Master bedroom after checking out the soaking tub in the adjoining bathroom. He decided he sure wouldn’t mind lazing about in there a few times. Nonetheless he kicked off his shoes and stripped out of the blazer before tossing himself onto the creamy white sheets and coverlet of the king-sized bed casting an alarm spell attached to a tempus to wake him in two hours at about four pm.
The alarm went off far too soon for Harry’s liking but he didn’t want to make his jet lag any worse and knew it would be best if he remained awake till at least nine pm now. He retrieved his duffle from the drawing room where he’d left it and set about unpacking with a few swift swipes of his wand pulled from the bag itself, where he’d stored it for the plane trip. He didn’t exactly need his wand, it was more of a crutch rather than anything else but it was a comfort all the same. He pulled the same paperback he’d been reading for a good portion of the flight, a split second purchase at an airport kiosk before he’d got on the plane, and set himself up to read whilst lounging on the comfortable cream colored couch in the drawing room.
He read until he heard the quiet ding of the private elevator and quickly marked his place, moving to the living room where a dining area was already set up, summoning his wallet so he could tip with what little American cash he had on him at the time, moments later two men dressed in waiter outfits rolled two dining carts in.
“Hello sir,” one of the men said. “You called for dinner service at seven.”
“Yes,” Harry said as he sat at the table. He made a motion with his hand gesturing for them to go ahead. They began setting the covered platters that had been upon the carts on the table in front of Harry. They smelled delicious so at least the receptionist had gotten something right. Lifting the lids one of the waiter’s began speaking.
“Chef Andrew Carmellini veered off of his usual Italian choices to please your appetite for the exotic,” the waiter said. “To begin we have a Pumpkin Veloute, Cod and Onion Bhajis, followed by a spicy Moroccan carrot salad accompanied with steamed mussels and peppers. Finally to finish we have a fig and apple brie tart. Spiced peach cider and of course, a carafe of coffee in the form of a cappuccino to follow your dessert.”
“Thank-you,” Harry said, passing over the two hundred dollar bills, one for each of them. “If you wouldn’t mind picking up the dishes in an hour or two?”
“Of course sir,” the waiter said with a respectful nod as he and his fellow waiter recognized the dismissal. Dinner tasted just as exquisite as it had been presented to be, and Harry enjoyed it immensely. The rest of his night consisted of a languid soak in the steam pool before a swift lukewarm shower to rinse off the light salt of the steam water, before falling back into the comfortable master bed.
Harry was up with the dawn regretfully. He knew however that he’d be unlikely to get back to sleep and he didn’t truly want to laze his first day away. Still he soaked for an hour in the large tub, before getting ready to properly greet the day. Dressing swiftly in a worn pair of ripped black jeans, another steal from Sirius’s wardrobe, though his worn gray dress shirt was from Remus’, it was too warm for him to wear a jacket and be comfortable but with a cooling charm attached to the fabric it wouldn’t be too bad, so he swung Remus’s gray blazer over his shoulders. His ID card, hotel key and bank card along with his wand, and he resolved to purchase himself a proper wallet while he was out and about, and perhaps some wardrobe items of his own as well. Remus and Sirius’s old clothing was well and good but he needed to develop his own sense of style.
Despite the hour and weekday when most should be at work the streets were bustling. Harry let himself amble looking for a good place to grab a coffee, ironically a gourmet little sandwich shop only just open with the eleven am hour named ‘Wichcraft. He ordered a spicy pepper and egg sandwich and a yogurt along with some fresh orange juice, and sat to eat at one of the tables that were set on the small space of sidewalk. That’s when he noticed them for the first time.
They’d likely been there since early yesterday evening. Harry wasn’t entirely certain who they were but he was able to figure out a few things he could be sure of. One they weren’t magical. MACUSA wouldn’t be willing to let foreign agents conduct such surveillance within their territory and they had already cleared him as a person of interest with the most potent truth potion on the planet. Which means it is a purely muggle agency, or mundane as was considered socially acceptable in America’s recent years.
The mundane agencies could be narrowed as well, based on why they’d be following him; his sudden appearance as a citizen of America as a political refugee from a country that didn’t exactly restrict its citizens. It was unlikely a local agency, like the NYPD, there was no reason for him to be on their radar, which meant that the FBI and Department of Justice were likely out as well. If MACUSA weren’t so interconnected to US Customs, Immigration and Homeland Agencies then he’d think it might be one of them, after all he was a rather rich foreign lord who appeared quite suddenly with papers for political asylum. Alas MACUSA was quite interconnected with the agencies even if secretly. That left only a few, the CIA perhaps, or an agency that wasn’t even American in the first place, or even more sinister, one that wasn’t even publicly known in the first place.
Well if they wanted to follow him, they could go ahead, he’d make sure they had the most boring time of their goddamn lives. Tossing the napkin and paper cup in an overfilled trash can Harry hailed a cab off of Greenwich street.
“Where too?” the cabbie asked.
“A decent clothing shop, higher price if you will,” Harry said.
“Formal? Non-formal?” the cabbie asked.
“Casual and bespoke,” Harry answered.
“ARI isn’t too far from here,” the cabbie said.
“Sounds good,” Harry said. The cabbie wasn’t wrong, even with traffic it was less than a ten-minute drive. He spent several hours in the shop trying on various things and taking a tedious amount of time filling out his wardrobe. It was going on three when he paid for it all and arranged its delivery to his penthouse suite, keeping out only a wallet and switching out his jacket for a fitted black leather jacket.
As he stepped out of the shop he fought not to grin when he saw that his watchers had switched out. It was reckless but he was bored. He winked at one of the men in the suits, slipped around the corner into an alley like structure and cast a disillusionment spell before slipping back out.
He kept his amusement silent as the suits hurried around the corner and then began running down the alley in hopes he had just turned a second corner. He didn’t stick around for long, quickly heading down into the underground. A purchase of a metrocard had him speeding off in a highly crowded subway. Letting the disillusionment spell fade away as he exited the train and faded into the crowds. He snickered aloud to himself as he wondered just how long it would take for the suits or whomever they worked for to find him. He didn’t particularly care that they were following him, as long as they didn’t attempt to kidnap, kill, or maim him, it was all good