Chapter Text
2nd May 1998
Harry had thought he had imagined things when he’d first glimpsed the face, through a partially shattered window. But hours later, a conjured monocular telescope proved he hadn’t. His jaw clenched and his heart shattered, under yet another lie.
Albus Dumbledore was alive.
Albus Dumbledore was alive!
Albus Dumbledore was alive!
The man who’d done everything he could, to make Harry into a murderer. The man who’d planned every part of Harry’s life.
Harry paused, as he thought about that last sentence.
The man who’d planned every part of Harry’s life.
The man who’d planned every part of Harry’s life.
The man who’d planned every part of Harry’s life.
The man who’d planned every part of Harry’s life.
What was his plan for the rest of Harry’s life? And was Harry going to just let him, do what he wanted?
Harry blinked a few times and jaw tightened. He’d done what Dumbledore wanted. He’d paid for it with his loved ones. He’d paid for it with his life.
No, it was time to live for himself.
But…
Albus Dumbledore was alive. The man who’d planned out every step of Harry’s life.
He wasn’t going to let go of his golden snidget. Not without a fight. And Harry wasn’t capable of fighting. Not right now.
So? It was time. Time to be something that he’d tried to avoid anyone knowing he was capable of.
It was time to pull out the Slytherin who had survived ten years, under Petunia Dursley’s ‘tender, loving care’.
~~~
He quietly made his way into the Great Hall and after a few moments of wandering, greeted Hagrid with a hug, then he went looking for Hermione.
“Hermione?” He whispered quietly.
“Oh, Harry…” Hermione’s chin wobbled, as she tried not to cry.
“I’m okay.” He assured her, with a tired smile. “I just need the bag for a bit. I have to deal with Snape’s memories.”
“I’ll come with you.” She started to get up.
“No.” He shook his head. “Ron needs you. Stay with him.”
“Ginny needs-”
“Her mother.” Harry corrected, before Hermione could finish the sentence. “Right now? After this last year? She needs her mother. Later, that might be different, but right now? Her mother.”
“Oh, Harry…”
“It’s fine.” Harry assured her. “I want to get Snape’s memories bottled up, before something damages them. I’ll put them in your bag, for safe keeping.”
“But why? What did he say?”
“He didn’t say much.” Harry shook his head. “But what he showed me, answered a lot of questions. Losing those memories would let a lot of people get away with a lot of things.”
“Oh, of course.” Hermione’s eyes widened. “He was right in the middle of You-Know-Who’s army, wasn’t he? He would know so much, about what was going on.” She quickly dug out the bag and handed it to him. “Get it back to me, later. It’s got all my books and clothes in it.”
“Later, might be a couple of hours.” Harry warned.
“If we’re not here, we’ll be at either the Burrow or Grimmauld Place.” Hermione replied.
“Don’t go to Grimmauld.” Harry shook his head. “We’ve no idea what they’ve done to the place.”
“Oh, hell… I forgot…” Hermione groaned. “I’ll tell Bill.”
“And Arthur.” Harry added. “He’s got a lot of experience with dealing with the aftermath of pranks, thanks to… his sons.” Harry changed it from ‘the twins’ to ‘his sons’, at the last moment, earning him a tearful look from George, who was listening in, while he patted the sheet covering Fred.
“Of course, Harry.” Hermione nodded.
Harry shoved the bag into a pocket and quickly left the Hall. He climbed staircase after staircase, until he reached the Headmaster’s office. Here, he quickly syphoned up Snape’s memories and did a summoning spell for anything belonging to a Potter, an Evans or a Black. Items flew from everywhere, books, wands, bottles, trinkets, chests, trunks, boxes, paintings. Even pieces of furniture flew towards Hermione’s beaded bag.
Then he retraced his steps from the office, to the fifth floor and began to climb, again.
Shortly, the familiar tapestry of dancing troll was beside him.
I need the Room of Lost Things, with the Fiendfyre extinguished.
I need the Room of Lost Things, with the Fiendfyre extinguished.
I need the Room of Lost Things, with the Fiendfyre extinguished.
With each repetition, he spun on his heel and walked in the reverse direction.
Moments after he finished the third repetition, the door bled into being. Perfect and undamaged.
“Please, no fire. Please, no fire…” Harry whispered and pushed the door open, ready to slam it shut, at the first indication the fire still existed.
But there was no fire, just piles and pile of… junk…
“Oh, thank God…” Harry sighed. “Where to start?” He drew in a deep breath and like in the Headmaster’s office, began summing items. Starting with a pouch that he could use as a base to make a duplicate of Hermione’s bag, to hold his things. A few minutes of magic directed at the bag and he began in earnest. But this time he didn’t stop at items, he also summoned money. ʛalleons, §ickles, κnuts, draughts and pounds. Jewellery and books, that couldn’t be identified as belonging to any particular person or family, both magical and muggle. Same with paintings, some undamaged furniture. And anything that held any of those items. Wands, although he hoped to get to the Lost Wand Room on the third floor. Next, he summoned a satchel, a belt bag, a wizarding tent and a Time-Turner. Lastly, boys’ clothes from the last ten years, that were approximately his size. Then, he spent a few minutes transferring all his things, all the books and his broom, from Hermione’s bag to his own.
The only thing that stayed in her bag, that was even remotely connected to him, were Snape’s memories. They were vital to securing a peaceful future and damning Dumbledore.
A step outside the Room and a few seconds pacing, got him a simple Room with a desk and chair, as well as a chalkboard attached to the wall.
“Right…” He sighed. “Where to start?” He hummed for a few minutes. “What am I going to do? Once I leave here? Long term.” He hummed for a bit longer. “Well, whatever I do, I’m going to need OWLs and NEWTs. And that means a new name…” He frowned. “No, not a new name. An entirely new identify. Something completely removed from Harry Potter.” He began to pace. “What name? I can’t use Potter. Or Black. What about Evans? Sirius had a fake muggle Id, should I use that? Should I be his son? Should I go completely un-associated? Or something that’s a just a metaphor? Instead of Black, use White? Instead of Potter, use Baker. Use Dad’s name, James?”
After ten minutes of muttering to himself and flicking through the dozen or so books that the Room gave him, he decided that his name would be Ethan Greyson Hartley.
Ethan was Hebrew, but it meant ‘long-lived’ and that was what Lily Potter had died to ensure.
Harry wasn’t a Black, but he was the godson of a Black. Black, but not. Grey fit that description well. But Ethan Grey Hartley didn’t roll of the tongue, the way Ethan Greyson Hartley, did. And he was the godson of a Black.
Hartley? He wasn’t a hart, a stag, like his father, but the connection was still there. And lee was another word for shelter or shadow. Not a hart, but sheltered by one, with a minor alteration in spelling.
Close, but not close enough to raised suspicions.
Ethan for his mother.
Greyson for Sirius.
Hartley for his father.
A Will was vital to ensuring that whatever non-liquid assets were left of the Potter fortune went where he wanted it to go, not where Dumbledore wanted it to go. That also went into Hermione’s beaded bag. He was taking as much gold as he could, anything he missed was going to Teddy Lupin, but his photo album was going to Hermione, whose parents were wealthy enough that she didn’t need his gold and he was assigning her as Teddy’s godmother, seeing as he wouldn’t be able to come forward and do it, himself.
Then it was the complex matter of working out which rituals to use and having the Room place documents in all the places that they needed to be in, to make Ethan Hartley genuine. A birth certificate for Ethan in the muggle world, along with a NIN registry. Plus, like the Ministry did for all muggleborns, on the off chance that they’d return to the muggle world, school records, both primary and secondary to O-levels and a bank account. Just case he decided to stay in the muggle world.
Entries were placed in the Ministry and Hogwarts, too, claiming Ethan the son of a muggleborn witch. A witch, who’d died under Voldemort's control of the Ministry.
The sorting Hat to be ‘convinced’, that it had sorted Ethan into Ravenclaw. Memories altered in the necessary people, to have them remember Ethan as a diligent, but not quite brilliant student. Being a member of Potter’s DA, required adding his name to the DA contract. Memories of him speaking with other students, of him crediting Potter as being the only reason he passed his OWLs with an E. Memories of him talking to his dormmates, about seeing the writing on the wall, after Dumbledore’s death and his plans to sit his NEWTs a year early. Memories of telling those same dormmates, that while he’d barely passed his chosen subjects with anything more than A’s and E’s, he had passed every one of them. Memories of then warning them, he was going to be vanishing into the muggle world, when Voldemort took over. Memories of keeping in touch with Michael Corner, and responding when the call went out, for fighters to protect the school.
Shortly after speaking with Harry about Voldemort's snake, Neville would remember seeing Ethan casting bombarda charms at three DeathEaters, Thorfin Rowle, Edricus Travers and Amaryllis Flint, receiving minor cuts and two instances of cruciatus by Antonin Dolohov, before Flitwick cut the DeathEater down.
While the Room had no trouble altering memories for students and staff, the house-elves were a little more difficult, but after a quick discussion with Kreacher, the elf assured him that he’d see to it, personally. Kreacher also assured him, he would look after Grimmauld Place, no matter who it went to, unless of course, it was Dumbledore. In that case, he would return to Ethan’s side and tend whatever home Ethan had.
Then it was time for the rituals. First was a self-disowning ritual, that would remove him from the Potter family, rendering the family extinct. Next was the renaming ritual, even disowned, he still bore the name ‘Harry James Potter’ and that wasn’t going to help him stay out of the limelight.
Changing his appearance and magical signature was even more complicated. A potion could change his magical signature with little difficulty and next to no pain. And various parts of his appearance could be altered easily enough. Scars, however? He had a number of curse scars, that bore the residue of the Dark Magic used against him. Removing them was next to impossible. So, instead of removing them, he moved them. The scar from his forehead was now a slash along his jawline, still bleeding from the move. The writing on the back of his hand, now read, ‘I will not believe lies’, the extra letters made up of random scars from different encounters, including Pettigrew's cut in the graveyard and the basilisk’s bite. With his lightning bolt scar, moved away from his eyes, he found that his vision wasn’t nearly so bad and a tentative request, had the Room providing a potion that corrected the remaining damage. Goodbye glasses.
Once his were fixed and his scars were settled in their new locations, the rest of his appearance was easy to change. His hair went from nearly black, to an average mid-brown. From wild and messy, to Dudley Dursley’s soft wavy curls. His eyes bled from brilliant green, to a soft blue-hazel, a cross between James’ hazel and Dudley’s blue.
His height was the most difficult to change. No, not difficult. Painful. Physically painful. But change it, the Room did, and he now topped out at a respectable 5’10”. A hasty transfig of his clothes was needed, as he’d grown nearly six inches. While he was altering the size of his clothes, he also altered the appearance of them, his jeans were generic enough to escape notice and the zip-up sweater was ravenclaw blue but the jacket went from a brown corduroy zip-up, to a faded black denim jacket with heavy brass buttons and his t-shirt went from pale blue to dark grey.
Getting all this done was one thing, but ensuring that it would be permanent, was something else, altogether. He had to word the timeframe conditions, very precisely. It would take him almost an hour, to reach the point where he was confident in the directions needed to lock everything in place. Potions would set the change in appearance, and the documents would remain exactly as they would, if they’d been genuine.
He ordered the Room, to bring his vault key and to create a magical ‘crack’ in the enchantments around the Room, that would allow him to withdraw money from his vault, via a linkable coin purse. It took nearly a minute for the flow of coins from his vault to stop and then it occurred to him that he’d never been given the key to the vault he’d inherited from Sirius. So, he had the Room locate and summon any keys attached to vaults that were his, or that the contents of, were his or had been his before he'd disowned himself and changed his name.
Five keys appeared.
He paused, as he considered those keys, but when he heard Ron’s voice through the ‘crack’, he realised he didn’t have time to waste. He simply summoned the entire contents of each vault and had the Room return the keys to their prior locations.
By then, he was done, emotionally and physically.
He dismissed the chalkboard and had the Room create a doorway connecting to an empty corridor, near the Great Hall and quickly fled through that door, just as he felt the Room shudder. That shudder, was quite likely Ron, and maybe Hermione, trying to get into it and he didn’t want to be around when that happened.
He didn’t know who he could trust, not anymore.
Emerging from the door, Ethan paused, as the door vanished back into the brickwork. He threw up a notice-me-not and looped the Time-Turner over his head, spinning it to take him back four hours. Once he was sure that it had completed the task, he slipped the Time-Turner into his pouch, dropped the notice-me-not and slumped against the wall, finally letting everything hit him. Seconds later, Professor Flitwick rounded the corner and saw him leaning against the wall, shaking.
“Mr Hartley?” Flitwick blinked a few times, then frowned. “When did you get here?”
“Michael Corner sent a Patronus, last night.” Ethan replied. That much was true, Michael had alerted former housemates that had already graduated, so Ethan wasn’t lying.
“Of course, he did.” The half-goblin shook his head in exasperation. “Well, come along, Madam Pomfrey is set up in the Great Hall and you’re bleeding.”
“… okay…” Ethan whispered and attempted to push himself away from the wall, only to collapse towards the flagstone floor.
“Oh, dear…” The charms Professor flicked his wand and caught Ethan before he hit the floor, then the younger wizard bobbed into the air, floating after the Professor as he entered the Great Hall. “Poppy, I’ve another one for you.”
“Mr Hartley?” Poppy Pomfrey blinked at the floating wizard. “How badly is he hurt?”
“I’ve no idea, Poppy,” Flitwick answered, “I only found him a few moments ago.”
“Ah.” Pomfrey turned to Ethan. “Can you hear me, Mr Hartley?” Ethan nodded tiredly. “Very good. Were you hit with anything?” Ethan nodded. “Do you know what you were hit with?” Another nod. “Well?” She frowned, sternly.
“Madam Pomfrey?” Michael Corner approached them. “Sometimes, when Ethan gets tired, he has trouble speaking.”
“Oh, dear…” Pomfrey’s expression softened.
“Madam Pomfrey?” Neville Longbottom joined them. “I saw him take down Rowle, Travers and Mrs Flint, before Dolohov hit him with a cruciatus.”
“Oh, my…” Pomfrey exclaimed. “Filius, will you summon me a fresh bottle of Cruciatus Recovery potion, please?” She bustled around, casting scanning spells, before pouring measured doses of various potions into tiny cups, holding each one out to Ethan and waiting for him to swallow them down, one after the other. When Flitwick handed over a bottle, labelled with multiple concentric circles, she measured out a dose and handed that to him, waiting until he'd emptied it, before taking the cup back, sterilising and attaching it to the bottle’s cap and handing the bottle to Ethan. “I want you to take a half-measure, every six hours. Mipsy?” A tiny little elf appeared and looked up at the medi-witch. “A meal for Mr Hartley, please?” The elf nodded and popped away, returning in seconds, with a tray. “Thank you, Mipsy.” She turned back to Ethan. “Once you’ve finished that, I want you to get some sleep. The classrooms on the first floor, have been converted into communal sleeping accommodations. I want you to get at least six hours, then come and see me again. Only then, will I know what additional treatments you’ll need. If any.”
Ethan just nodded and pulled the tray towards him, it had been days since he’d last eaten a decent meal.
Once he’d finished eating, Neville and Michael took his arms and helped him to his feet, practically carrying him, up to the communal sleeping rooms. They pushed him down onto a bed and Michael threw a soft blanket over him, before following Neville from the room. Once he was certain, that he was alone, he pulled out Hermione’s beaded bag and using the wand Draco had thrown him, levitated the bag across the room, to an unoccupied bed on the far side. He knew that when someone found it, that her name embroidered onto the fabric bookmark that was tied to the drawstring, would see that it was returned to her, quickly.
Then he threw the wand, as hard as he could, from his prone position, quickly positioning himself as though asleep. He heard the wand clatter as it hit something and rattle to a stop.
Then nothing, as his breathing slowed and his eyes closed. Sleep had claimed him.
~~~
2nd May 1998
He woke with a start, when something banged against his cot, sitting up and pointing at the person, not realising that his hand was empty.
“Shit!” A startled gasp came from a staggering Terry Boot. “Sorry, Hartley. Got my jacket hooked on the bedframe.”
“Wha’ time ‘sit?” Ethan slurred.
“Just after three.” Boot answered. “In the afternoon.”
“Right.” Ethan pulled himself upright and retrieved the potion bottle from his pocket and attempted to open it. But the trembling of his fingers was making it extremely difficult.
“Man, you’re a mess.” Boot frowned. “Cruciatus?”
“Uh-huh.” Ethan grunted and sighed, resigned to having to wait on Pomfrey, before he could take the potion.
“Want some help?” Boot asked.
Ethan blinked. He wasn’t Harry anymore, he could ask for help and would probably get it.
“Please.” He nodded.
Boot took the bottle, removed the cup and opened the bottle. “How much?”
“Half-measure.” Ethan answered and watched as Boot poured out the required dose, handed him the cup, closed the bottle, waited for him to swallow the measured dose, accepted the cup back, sterilised and re-attached the cup to the bottle-cap, before handing the bottle back to Ethan. “Thanks, Boot.” He blinked again and stretched. “Any idea where Pomfrey is? I have to see her, before I can go.”
“Still in the Great Hall, but healers from St. Mungo's have arrived.” Boot warned. “So, getting out, may be harder than you’d like.”
“Shite…”Ethan huffed.
“Good luck.” Boot laughed quietly, settling onto a cot and beginning to untie his shoes.
“Thanks.” Ethan gave the other boy a ragged smile and climbed to his feet, before heading for the Great Hall.
It took him two hours to get himself free of the healers, but in the end, they admitted that other than the Cruciatus Recovery potion, all he really needed was a course of nutrient potions.
“Living in a tent, unable to go shopping, for fear that DeathEaters or their Snatchers, will find you, isn’t really conducive to healthy eating.” Ethan had told them. “But now, I can go into the Alley or the muggle world and buy decent food, instead of doing a snatch-and-grab of whatever is closest to the door.”
“Ah.” One healer nodded. “Muggleborn, huh?”
“No, sir.” Ethan shook his head. “Mum was. I’m muggle-raised, though. I packed enrything I could when the Ministry fell and disappeared into the muggle world.” Which was partially true... mostly true? If you looked at it sideways.
“Right.” The healer nodded. “In that case, you might want to stop by St. Mungo's and get yourself a potions stasis cabinet. That nutrient potion only has a shelf-life of two days.”
“Right.” Ethan nodded. “I’ll check, might have one. I know know that there’s a couple of cabinets but I haven’t looked at the contents.”
“It’ll have a Caduceus staff in the middle of the door.” The healer stated. “It’ll also extend the shelf-life of your potions by a factor of ten.”
“So, twenty days for the nutrient potion?” Ethan clarified.
“Correct, but you’ve only enough doses for two weeks, so you’ll need to see a licenced healer, to get more. And from the look of you, you’ll probably need them. You can make an appointment by owl, to be seen at St. Mungo's, or you can see a private healer. Your choice. Oh, and Pomfrey is a medi-witch, not a licenced healer. She can dispense potions in person, during an emergency, but cannot prescribe them for collection, at an apothecary or pharmacist.”
“Right.” Ethan nodded. “Where can I get a list of healers? Both St. Mungo's and private.”
“Owl or pop into St. Mungo's. The welcome witch can give you the lists.”
“Thanks.” Ethan nodded to the healer and made his way out of the castle. As yet, he’d not seen any Weasleys, Hermione or Dumbledore.
He took that as a positive sign.
But he still wasn’t going to hang around and there were too many people wandering through the castle, for him to feel comfortable visiting the Lost Wand room, better to wait and go through the wands he’d collected in the RoR. If none of them suited he could always buy a new one. Thank Merlin, he could apparate wandlessly.
Once in Hogsmeade, he apparated to Platform 9 ¾, and flooed through to the Leaky, not sure that he was up for walking that far, just yet. Flitwick had advised a subtle disinterest charm, that would make anyone who saw him, ignore the blood, mud and dirt that he was still liberally coated in, even after repeated cleaning charms. Stepping into the alley was frightening. People were everywhere and they were so exuberant, that he shuddered and headed back into the muggle world. At least there, no-one was going to try and get him to dance with them.
Apparating to Surrey was easy. He knew where everything was. The Tesco Express in Guildford, netted him tea, sugar, milk, bread, butter, honey, eggs, bacon, chicken and the makings for salad. After that, he had to get away. There were just too many people around and he didn’t know any of them.
He apparated to Loch Lomond and checked into a campground, asking for something quiet. The manager was happy to oblige and directed Ethan to a tiny sheltered clearing, right on the banks of the loch and Ethan went through the process of putting up his tent by hand. As yet, he didn’t know if any of the wands from the Room were a good match for him, not that he could use them where muggles could see, anyway.
With the tent up, he finally got a look inside and was pleasantly surprised. Instead of an apartment that smelt of cats, the inside of this tent looked like a glamorous yurt. Round, of course, and approximately, thirty foot across. It had a staircase, spiralling up around a centre support pole, to a bedroom loft, that took up a quarter of the space, with a bathroom and laundry area under the loft. The quarter beside the bathroom and facing the stairs, held a simple but, well-appointed kitchen with plenty of storage space. The other half of the yurt-like tent was clearly set aside for eating and relaxing, as there was a sofa and rocking chair to one side and a small dining table and chairs, to the other side.
For now, he was only concerned about a shower and a meal, followed by more sleep.
Once he was clean, he decided that he needed have clean clothes, walking around in a towel wasn’t great. But very little that belonged to Harry, was going to fit Ethan, outside of underwear that really needed to be burnt. He had better luck with the stuff from the Room, but even that was a limited selection. Three pair of trousers. Five t-shirts. Two hooded fleecy jumpers. One cloak. One pair of pyjama pants. And four pair of socks.
All of which went into the magical version of a washing machine, a tub with tiny images of different types of clothing, etched onto the rim. Thankfully, Mrs Weasley had showed all of the boys how to use a magical washer. He put a finger on the appropriate image and pulsed his magic, as weak and tired as it was, into the image and the cycle began. Twenty minutes and he’d have cleaned and dried clothes.
Even so, it looked like he was going commando for a few days, until he could bear to be around people, long enough to buy some new clothes.
In the kitchen, he quickly checked the cupboards and was pleased to note, that all the stasis charms were still working and the food in them was still fresh and edible, even after who-knows-how-long. He added his purchases and made himself a chicken salad sandwich and a pot of tea.
Done with eating, he explored the yurt properly. There were baking trays in the kitchen, towels in the bathroom and sheets in the bedroom, but whoever had used it last, had taken their clothes and personal items with them. The only thing he found was a magical instamatic camera, that he shoved into the cupboard under the bathroom vanity. The bathroom held a selection of hygiene products, toilet paper, towels and even a potions stasis cabinet, with two sealed phials of pain-reliever and one of Pepper-up, on the wall beside the vanity mirror, so he tucked his own potions into it and when the washer chimed, he went to fetch clean clothes and get dressed in the pyjama pants and a t-shirt.
The bed upstairs beckoned and he decided that he could sleep for a bit longer.
He would think about Dumbledore tomorrow.
~~~
3rd May 1998
After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, with a side of toast and tea, Ethan contemplated what he was going to do. Getting rid of anything that Hermione or Dumbledore could use to track him, was something he should have done the day before, but that he’d been too tired to think of.
The first thing on his agenda was a wand, of course. He could apparate without one, but little else and he would need to check almost everything, for tracking and location charms. Three wands, out of the two dozen or so, that the Room had provided, had warmed in his hand, a mist of golden dust pouring from one wand and swirling around his feet, the second spun green winds around him, leaving his hair shimmering with green glitter for hours, while the third added a dusting of snow to his shoulders.
Next, was bundling up Harry’s clothes, with plans to sneak them into the cupboard, under the stairs in the Dursley house.
Only... That didn’t happen. As he approached the house, he saw Mundungus Fletcher skulking around. This caused him to change course and head for lane, at the rear of the property, only to see a badly disillusioned Ron, sitting near the back gate of number 6.
So... Someone was looking for Harry Potter and attempting to be discreet about it.
He was suddenly glad, that he’d apparated to Guildford and caught a bus to Little Whinging, instead of apparating there, directly. He turned away from the property and headed to Mrs Figg’s place. A subtle notice-me-not, directed at her cats and a timed disillusion charm on the bundle of Harry’s clothes, before leaving them under a chair on her back patio. So many of the Order had used her place as an arrival and departure point, that it was extremely unlikely that his spells would even register on her wards, if she had any.
From there, he walked the half-mile or so, from Magnolia Drive, to the local bus terminal and caught a bus back into Guildford. A quiet corner of a carpark gave him the perfect cover, to apparate to Diagon Alley. Which, thankfully, had quietened down a little.
Madam Malkin’s was open, and he was glad he’d summoned up a handful of Gringotts drafts, each for ʛ100, before he left the tent(?), yurt(?) earlier that morning. He stoically stood as she sent her measuring tapes around him. Most of what he chose was simple, muggle-styled clothes in quiet colours. The Madam professed to understand the desire to stay unremarkable, but she encouraged him to have one nice outfit, because ‘you never knew when you might need to dress up, a little’. He chose a black-on-black-on-black outfit, that had the faintest of blue undertones. Matte-black trousers, a black crushed-silk shirt under a vest and jacket, in black brocade with old gold buttons. A stop at Blinkhorn’s got him a belt and a pair of dragonhide boots to complement the outfit. At Mr Blinkhorn’s suggestion he visited the Fob Chain for pocket watch and chain, as well as the Jewellery Box for a brooch or tie pin, that he could use in place of a cravat or tie.
Then, Ethan took his parcels of goodies and apparated back to his tent. Tent? Yurt? Yurt-tent? Tent-yurt?
His home for the next wee-while.
A luscious salad, heavy with chicken, cheese, tomatoes, peppers and onions, was followed by a small slice of chocolate tart, bought at a café on the Alley.
The afternoon was spent sorting through the mass of things from Hogwarts. Hermione’s book collection were slid to one side, he was thinking that he might pick up a library trunk or possibly even a dedicated mage-space to house them. His own books, went with them, as did the collection from the Room. When he figured out where she stood, he’d see about returning them to her, less the Horcrux research books, but he really didn’t want her romance novels or science magazines.
His broom was laid aside. After removing three tracking charms from it, it would need a service. And a couple of the tail twigs were also looking a little splintery…
Furniture was unshrunk, as it was removed from the pouch, inspected, re-shrunk and placed into a free-standing stasis cabinet that has also been in the collection. All the paintings were shrunk and placed in the same cabinet, he had nowhere to hang them, just yet.
Jewellery was inspected and the muggle stuff put to one side, it would most likely go to a pawn-shop. The magical stuff would need to be assessed by someone that knew more than he did. At the very least, he knew that there were no malicious magics on any of it, as he’d specifically asked the Room, for those pieces to be left behind.
Clothing was divided into muggle and magical. Muggle would go to a thrift shop, like Oxfam, while the magical clothing would go to Louisa’s Gently Used Robes. All of it was in excellent condition.
The last to come out, was the money. While he’d been on the Alley, he’d stopped at Stowe and Packers for a coin purse and a muggle-friendly wallet. He had no vault or account at Gringotts, but the Room had set him up a muggle bank account. It was practically empty, the balance only a few pence, but it was there. If he opened a Gringotts account, he could get Gringotts to transfer his muggle money into it.
In muggle money, he had £1,297.25, most of it in five- and ten-pound notes, but it all added up.
In wizarding money, he divided it into draughts and coins. In draughts, he had a little over ʛ70,000. In coins he had ʛ2863, §1401 and κ691.
Quite a decent haul.
~~~
3rd – 7th May 1998
For the next few days, all he really did was sleep and eat. Sitting in front of his yurt-tent, in front of Loch Lomond was peaceful. The most peaceful time he could ever remember. No Petunia screeching. No Vernon yelling. No Dudley screaming. No Hermione ranting. No Ron demanding a game of chess. No Ginny wanting his attention. No Dumbledore wanting private meetings. No Snape taking points. No Draco sneering. No Ministry smearing him. No-one expecting him to save them.
Just him and the loch.
After finishing the sorting, he’d gone over everything, checking for tracking and locating charms and thankfully, only found a few. It might only take Bill Weasley only seconds, if he were to have removed them, but it took Ethan nearly two hours. Two hours, where he fretted and worried, that maybe someone was already trying to track him down. But in the days that followed, no-one showed up.
~~~