Year 6-02: New Assignments

The next morning's edition of The Daily Prophet featured a full-page image of James Potter speaking before the Wizengamot, along with the headline: JAMES POTTER ELECTED MINISTER! It was followed by a lengthy article praising his record and speculating on the changes he would implement to combat Voldemort's reign of terror. Lily wept with joy as she read the article aloud to a proud Potter family over the dinner table, despite James' discomfort at the overt praise.

Harry pored over the rest of the paper that afternoon, reading about his father's busy first day in office. He'd restored Amelia Bones to head of the DMLE and Barty Crouch Sr. to the Department of International Cooperation, the latter of which was slightly controversial but mostly brushed over. Andromeda Tonks had been named his new Senior Undersecretary, and emergency funding had been allocated towards rebuilding Lily's potion business (and making the potion mandatory for all registered werewolves in Britain).

There was only a small blurb at the back of the paper mentioning Harry and James' Order of Merlin presentation. Lily insisted nonetheless on clipping the article and pinning it to the fridge, reminding Harry that "nothing should overshadow what you have accomplished". As silly of a gesture as it was, it warmed Harry's heart all the same...Aunt Petunia had never hung anything of Harry's up on the fridge at Privet Drive.

With a month left until Hogwarts term resumed, James suggested that Lily, Harry and Dahlia move into 12 Grimmauld Place to take advantage of the heightened protections of Order headquarters. So Harry spent his sixteenth birthday packing his things and moving them through the Floo to Sirius' family home, the site of so many unpleasant memories. Harry wasn't thrilled with the arrangement, as it meant he wouldn't have many opportunities to sneak out on his own as he would be closely watched for the rest of summer break.

At least it meant he would get to spend more time with friends. The youngest Weasleys were also staying at Grimmauld, along with Neville and Hermione, who all excitedly greeted him and Dahlia. There were a lot of eager questions about James and what it was like being the child of the Minister, which frankly neither Harry nor Dahlia knew how to answer. In truth, it only meant they got to see him less...otherwise, their lives were unchanged.

Grimmauld Place was full of temporary residents at the moment, so Harry wound up sharing a room with Ron and Neville while Dahlia bunked with Ginny and Hermione. The boys sheepishly explained that they'd claimed both beds for themselves already, but Harry just shrugged and transfigured the ratty window curtains into a comfortable hammock. By the time all three of them had tested it out, Ron offered to switch with his bed, which Harry gladly accepted.

He awoke early the next morning to an ear-splitting scream from somewhere downstairs. He leapt out of bed at once, grabbing his wand and a bathrobe before rushing down into the kitchen. But rather than the danger he'd expected, he instead found Hermione pacing fretfully to and fro as Lily and Molly Weasley wrangled four barn owls through the window, each bearing envelopes with the official Ministry seal.

"Our exam results are here!" Hermione squealed. "Oh no, I've failed, I just know I've failed all my O.W.L.'s—"

"Come off it, 'Mione, you got all 'O's and you know it," grumbled Ron, as he and Neville stumbled downstairs looking as disheveled as Harry.

Lily and Molly finished divesting the owls of their deliveries and began passing out letters. Harry ripped open his letter alongside a trembling Hermione, as Neville and Ron took their sweet time settling at the kitchen table before opening theirs. He read Madam Marchbanks' tidy scrawl within:

Dear Mr. Harry Potter,

Enclosed are the results for your Ordinary Wizarding Level exams from the previous school year. Please consult with your Head of House to determine which subjects you have qualified to continue on to N.E.W.T. level, if desired.

* (indicates exams previously taken)

ANCIENT RUNES – E

ASTRONOMY – O

CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES – O

CHARMS – O*

DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS – O*

DIVINATION – E

HERBOLOGY – O

HISTORY OF MAGIC – E

MUGGLE STUDIES – O

POTIONS – O

TRANSFIGURATION – O*

"Here, swap with me," Hermione said breathlessly, snatching Harry's parchment from his hands and giving hers in return. She had taken the same number of O.W.L.'s as him, with Arithmancy replacing Divination, and she too had passed them all. In fact, she had achieved an 'Outstanding' in nearly every subject, with the lone exception of an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Defense.

"You bested me this time, Granger," Harry grinned, handing her results back. He'd beaten Hermione in nearly every class over the past five years, but she had finally caught up to him in knowledge from his previous timeline and had always been the better test-taker to boot.

"Oh, I just got lucky is all," Hermione said modestly, though she looked pleased at earning higher marks than her longtime class rival. "How did you get an 'O' in Muggle Studies? Did you even take that class?"

"Just got lucky is all," Harry winked, causing Hermione to roll her eyes.

"Let me see," Lily fretted, taking Harry's results sheet for herself. After scanning the results, she broke out into a smile. "Eleven O.W.L.'s? That's wonderful, dear! That's one more than I got, and two more than your father!"

"Figures you two would do the best," Ron scoffed at him and Hermione. "Neville and I got seven apiece – I'll take it! Who cares about stupid History of Magic and Divination, anyway?"

"Seven? Oh, well done, Ron dear!" exclaimed Molly, embracing her son in a hug. "And you too, Neville! I know Augusta will be thrilled – is she coming by today?"

"I think Gran is joining us for dinner tonight," Neville nodded.

The four students sat around the table eating breakfast and discussing their test results. Or more accurately, they listened as Hermione prattled on about every Defense answer she knew she got wrong and lamented her failure to get all 'O's. She expressed confusion at Harry failing to earn an 'Outstanding' in Divination, which Neville and Ron agreed with...he was supposedly a Seer, after all. He could only shrug and say it wasn't his best day.

In truth, he had decided not to continue with the subject for N.E.W.T. level anyway. Firenze continued to be suspicious of him at every turn, and Harry didn't care to learn any more about the subject than he already had. Dumbledore would be suspicious, as would his parents, considering his cover story for how he knew so much about the future. But he could simply tell them that he had nothing more to learn from Firenze and wished to self-study from now on (which was mostly true anyway).

Dahlia and Ginny came downstairs soon after to join the conversation. "Seven O.W.L.'s?" said the former when she read Neville's results sheet. "Well done, idiot." And she kissed him tenderly on the lips, eliciting good-natured gagging motions from Ron and Ginny while Hermione beamed at the tender display. Lily pretended not to see, but Harry spied the pleased smile on his mother's face as she set about cleaning the kitchen with Molly.

"Seven, huh?" quipped Fred as he and his twin bounded down the steps. "Big whoop. We only managed three apiece and we're already gainfully employed by the Ministry."

"Even better, Freddie: we're contractors," George corrected him. "We're our own bosses. No one to bother us with nonsense questions like what our exam scores were!" But the twins opened their own exam results soon after, and Molly praised them for their three N.E.W.T.'s all the same.

As the teens were wrapping up their breakfast, more owls arrived to deliver supply lists for the upcoming term. Harry opened his letter, and not one, but two small objects fell into his lap. He picked them both up, confused, staring at the two flat pieces of metal in his palm.

Hermione gasped when she saw them in his hand. "Dumbledore's made you a prefect?" she said. "But I thought Anthony Goldstein was Ravenclaw's other prefect!"

"So did I," Harry mumbled. Did this mean Anthony had his position taken away from him? Had the boy done something wrong to lose it, or had Harry simply stolen the spot from him?

"Looks like they made you Quidditch captain again," Ron remarked, indicating the other blue and bronze badge in Harry's hand. He rifled through his own letter, eyes widening when he found an identical badge of yellow and black. "Blimey, I made Quidditch captain too!"

Molly squealed with delight at this news. "You're the first in the family since Charlie!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I just know you'll be brilliant!"

"But...but Cedric's been Hufflepuff captain for years," Ron bemoaned. "I can't live up to him!"

"Sure you can," Harry reassured him. "You're a brilliant tactician, and people will listen to your ideas. I bet you've got loads of strategies rattling around in your head about how to use your teammates."

"Yeah...yeah, maybe," Ron said uncertainly. But Harry saw that look in his eye, the one he knew meant Ron's gears were churning and he had a fire lit under him. He had no doubt Ron would rise to the occasion – hell, perhaps this would give him the confidence he needed to step up as a leader in the coming war.

"Looks like Dumbledore found a new Defense professor already," Neville remarked, as he skimmed the list of required textbooks in his own letter. "Wonder who he's roped in for the job this time?"

"Professor Snape will be teaching you Defense this year," Lily responded. All four students blanched at this information.

"Bloody hell," Neville groaned. "Was it not enough for him to torture me in one class?"

"But surely he can't teach two classes at once, can he?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Certainly not," Lily smiled. "I hadn't planned on announcing it until later, but I will be your Potions professor this year."

Dahlia squealed with delight at this news, launching herself at her mother with a hug. "Congratulations, Mum!" she exclaimed.

"Blimey, that's...brilliant!" Harry said, a smile breaking across his face. "But...what about your potions company?"

"Remus and Alessia can handle the day-to-day operations on their own," said Lily. "I'll be able to check in on weekends. But your father reckons I'll be safer if—you'll be safer if I'm in the castle, keeping an eye on you and your sister."

The minor slip did not go unnoticed by Harry. He, too, had worried for his mother's safety during the school year, if James was at the Ministry all day and Harry and Dahlia were in Hogwarts. Lily's potion business had already been attacked once, and she would be a much higher target now that her husband was Minister of Magic.

The other teens looked pleased by the news as well. Hermione had long admired Lily, as a prominent Muggle-born academic in the wizarding world, and looked forward to learning directly from her. The Weasley twins groaned with jealousy that their younger siblings would get to learn the subject from someone other than Snape. Neville on the other hand looked slightly apprehensive, perhaps reckoning with the fact that his girlfriend's mother would be keeping a close eye on him throughout the coming year.

Harry too was glad to have a competent Potions teacher for once. He detested the idea of learning Defense from Snape, but it was easily his best subject and he didn't need strong guidance to understand the material. The bastard wouldn't be able to use Harry's lack of knowledge against him anymore...Snape would have to get a bit more creative to find excuses to dock him points now.

Once again he had to wonder if Dumbledore had ulterior motives behind this decision. He'd given Harry permission to leave the castle on weekends – had he hired Lily in the hopes of making it more difficult for him to slip away unnoticed? After all, she'd gone to school with the Marauders and had ample experience in tracking James down during his escapades. Perhaps Dumbledore hoped that Harry's mother would act as an additional force to keep him in check…

Don't be paranoid, Harry thought to himself. He's being generous towards you. (Too generous, perhaps...?)

Arthur Weasley joined them for dinner that evening to celebrate Ron and the twins' exam successes, and to everyone's delight, so too did James Potter. "Oh, Minister Potter, so glad you could join us!" Molly Weasley said reverentially as he walked into the kitchen.

"Please, Molly, we're friends; it's just James," he beamed as he accepted her hug before turning to his son. "Eleven O.W.L.'s, Harry! I always knew you were the brains in the family...I'm so proud."

"Thanks, Dad," Harry grinned. "The Prophet says you've been doing great work so far. We're proud too."

"Yes, well, the Prophet is a fickle mistress," James chuckled. "I'll probably have a wardrobe malfunction next week and they'll be back to hating me again. Such is life."

"Eleven O.W.L.'s, eh?" a voice croaked from behind James; Augusta Longbottom had arrived just behind him via the Floo. "Well done, young man. If only my Neville took more after you!"

"Erm…thanks, Ms. Longbottom," said Harry awkwardly. "Neville did quite well on his exams as well, if you didn't hear."

"Yes, yes, I heard...two failed O.W.L.'s?" Augusta scoffed. "Frank would have been so disappointed. He got ten O.W.L.'s, did you know that?"

"Yes, Gran, you've told me a million times," Neville grumbled unhappily.

"And this must be the young lady who's captured my grandson's attention!" Augusta barked as Dahlia shyly stood to great her. "Miss Potter, is it? What has he done to ensnare a looker like yourself?"

"Er...Neville's very kind and thoughtful," Dahlia said awkwardly. "He's always attentive to what I need."

"Yes, he gets that from his mother, I imagine," Augusta tutted. "He doesn't have the same backbone his father had! I imagine he lets you walk all over him, doesn't he?"

"N-no, not at all—" Dahlia stammered, looking flustered.

"Augusta, have I shown you the pictures we found in the library?" Lily piped in, rushing forward to defuse the awkward situation. "We found some of Frank and Alice; come and see!" And she hurried Augusta from the room, leaving a tense environment behind. Ron, for all his supposed lack of social tact, suggested a game of Exploding Snap before dinner, leading the teens into the drawing room to draw attention away from a mortified Neville.

Harry was shocked by how dismissive Augusta was of her own grandson. Later that night, she spent the majority of the meal talking loudly about how proud the Potters ought to be of their recent achievements. James the Minister, Lily the Potions Master, Harry the Order of Merlin recipient, and even Dahlia, the savior of Albus Dumbledore's life.

"You'd do well to hang around people like this, Neville," Augusta remarked. "You might learn a thing or two."

"Neville has a lot to be proud of, too," Harry pointed out. "He's the youngest Triwizard Champion in history, and he bested Voldemort on multiple occasions."

"Hmph," Augusta shrugged. "Just as well...I can only wonder what more he might have achieved if his father had been around to raise him. Frank always was the best of us."

"Neville takes quite a bit after Frank, I think," said James. "Did you know they have the same Patronus?"

"And yet, he can't pass his Potions O.W.L.," Augusta chuckled. "Pass the potatoes, will you, Dahlia dear?"

The conversation changed soon after, but Harry sensed Neville's downcast mood that persisted through the rest of the meal. As soon as James excused himself to attend to business matters, Dahlia grabbed Neville by the hand and dragged him upstairs, no doubt to soothe his frayed nerves. Normally Harry would be compelled to send someone after them, to ensure there was no funny business going on, but right now he hoped his sister could take Neville's mind off the awkward tension his grandmother had unknowingly created.

Harry helped with the dishes as the other teens trickled upstairs. He waited until Augusta tottered off into another room to follow her and speak in private.

"Ms. Longbottom?" he said tentatively. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Of course, young man!" Augusta said as she perched on an armchair in the drawing room. "And please, call me Augusta."

"Alright," said Harry, sitting opposite her. "I was doing some research at Hogwarts recently and came across something interesting. Is it true that you went to school with Tom Riddle?"

A deep frown marred Augusta's features. "Yes, I remember him," she muttered. "Neville has asked me about him as well. Albus says that he is the man who became You-Know-Who."

"He is," Harry nodded. "What do you remember about him?"

"If you're wondering if I thought he was a monster back then, truthfully, I didn't," Augusta sighed. "He was the teacher's favorite, a prefect and Head Boy, and seemed to be popular within Slytherin House. He was three years above me and well outside my circle of friends, so we didn't cross paths much."

"I see," said Harry, somewhat disappointed. "So you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary about him at the time?"

"As I said, he didn't stick out much," Augusta shrugged. "He won some special award in my second year, for catching the Heir of Slytherin, but even then he just blended back into the background. Then he graduated two years later, and that was that."

"Huh," Harry muttered. "And I'm guessing you didn't keep tabs on him after he left school."

"Indeed not," said Augusta. "Oh! But I did hear something rather odd in my sixth year. One of my friends in Slytherin said she saw him working behind the counter at Borgin and Burkes. That antiques shop in Knockturn Alley."

"He did?" Harry frowned. He had been to the shop once before, in his original second year, when he accidentally took the wrong Floo exit attempting to get to Diagon Alley. "Doesn't strike me as the kind of place he would want to work."

"I thought so too," Augusta shrugged. "I always figured he'd go on to some powerful position within the Ministry. Seemed rather beneath a young man as talented and charming as he was. But I guess you can never truly predict where a person's life will take them, can you?"

"Guess not," Harry said absentmindedly. Now that he thought about it, maybe it did make sense for a young Lord Voldemort to take an interest in the dingy shop. From what Harry could see, it peddled in some highly dangerous dark artifacts, artifacts that he might have wished to use for his own nefarious purposes. He'd already created his first horcrux by then – the diary, at age sixteen – and might have viewed Borgin and Burkes as an avenue to find more hosts for his fractured soul.

"Why the sudden fascination with this man, Potter?" asked Augusta. "Not the most pleasant kind of thing to dwell upon."

"Just curious, I suppose," Harry shrugged. "'Know your enemy', and all that."

"I suppose that's wise," Augusta smiled kindly. "Anything else I can help you with, dear?"

"Yes, actually," said Harry, straightening in his chair and turning to face her fully. "I wanted to talk to you about the way you've been treating Neville. It's rather disrespectful."

"Disrespectful?" Augusta scoffed. "I'm building character in the poor lad! Merlin knows his parents aren't around to do it, so I have to do it all by myself."

"But you're going too hard on him," Harry insisted. "You aren't letting him become his own person, because you keep criticizing him for all the things he's not."

"You leave the parenting to me, boy," Augusta said with a hint of warning in her tone. "I raised one of the greatest and bravest Aurors of the last century in my boy Frank – I think I know what I'm doing."

"Neville isn't Frank," Harry said flatly. "And you can't keep treating him as if he is. You're supposed to be his support system, but instead, you're doubting him at every turn, making him second-guess himself. You ought to know better than that."

"I suggest you show some respect for your elders, Potter," Augusta said sharply.

"Respect is a two-way street, Augusta," Harry said, not backing down from her challenge. "And I don't respect the way you've treated your grandson. If you won't stick up for him, then I will. Every kid deserves a parent who supports him, and you haven't done that for Neville."

Augusta looked shocked by Harry's biting words. She took a moment to recompose herself, looking a bit rattled. "You've got a lot of nerve, Potter," she huffed. "I suppose that would be your father's influence."

"I also take after my mother," Harry pointed out. "She taught me to stand up for what's right and defend those who need defending, no matter the consequences. Neville takes after his own mother too, you know...maybe you'd notice if you didn't keep comparing him to his father."

Augusta remained silent for a long while after, staring thoughtfully into the crackling fire. Harry wondered if she was about to tell him off, or rush off to Lily and James to inform them of his insubordinate attitude.

Instead, she slowly stood from her seat and glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's late," she remarked evenly. "Best be getting home now. Good night, Potter." And she strode over to the hearth, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder; then she was gone, disappearing in a rush of green flames.

Harry had no idea if he'd gotten through to her or not. But he'd said his piece, and he could live with that. He knew all too well what it was like to be raised by a guardian who felt you could never measure up to their lofty expectations. Who saw you as inferior to those who gave birth to you. And he wouldn't wish that kind of upbringing on anyone. Boy-Who-Lived or otherwise, Neville deserved better.

Fortunately, Neville seemed to be back to his usual self in the days to come, in high spirits and chatting amicably as though nothing had happened. Dahlia must have known the right things to say to soothe him, or else Ron and Hermione had backed him up and reminded him that they don't view him the same way as his Gran. Either way, Harry was grateful that Neville had such a strong base of support among his peers, even if his home life was less than optimal.

The mood improved significantly that weekend when the group departed for Diagon Alley to pick up supplies. It would be a much-needed reprieve from the gloom and doom of Grimmauld Place, which try as they might to liven up the place, still felt like a haunted house. An afternoon out exploring the wonders and whimsies of the Alley sounded like a wonderful time.

Only that wasn't their experience at all. For one, they were flanked by Aurors at all times, meaning everyone gave them a wide, almost fearful berth. For another, the alleyway was nowhere near as lively and festive as normal – half the storefronts were boarded up, and there was an environment of fear and anxiety lingering like a dark cloud overhead. Voldemort's return had finally hit home for many people, and they were now dealing with the reality of another war on the horizon.

The trip was quick and efficient, stopping by each store as needed to pick up supplies before moving right along. Their path ended at Flourish and Blotts, by far the busiest store of the bunch, as students and parents queued up to purchase their textbooks for the coming term. Harry picked out the sixth-year books he would need along with the others, before breaking off to locate the handful of seventh-year texts he would need for his N.E.W.T. year.

"Put your books in the cart, dear," said Lily when he returned, indicating the enlarged basket she had levitating in front of her. "I'll wait in line for you and your sister. Go wait with the others in the back."

Harry obliged, dumping his stack of textbooks in the basket before heading towards the back of the store. He paused at the shop entrance, peering down Diagon Alley – he could see the shadowy entrance to Knockturn Alley just across the road.

It would be so easy… Harry thought. I could slip in and out and nobody would notice…

His mind made up, he glanced over his shoulder to ensure his mother and the Aurors weren't looking, before slipping out of the store. He paused in a secluded corner to cast a glamour on himself, so that he had blond hair and appeared ten years older than he was. After a glance in the window to check his reflection, satisfied that he was unrecognizable, he strode purposefully across the road and into Knockturn Alley.

The streets were far quieter here, with odd-looking folks lurking in shadowy corners. Harry hadn't been here since he was twelve in his last timeline, and fortunately, he wasn't the same scared little boy he was back then. He just had to remain calm and confident and nobody would bother him.

Harry spotted Borgin and Burkes around the first corner, and luckily, the shop appeared to be empty. He walked straight in and glanced around the shop, taking in the various dark objects cluttering the shelves. He could feel the malicious magic radiating from many of them, but none nearly so evil as the horcruxes he'd encountered. As if Voldemort would ever leave a part of his soul in a dingy shop like this, Harry thought, bemused. It certainly would have made his quest easier, but he knew the Dark Lord better than that.

"Can I help you find something?"

Harry turned; the elderly shop owner was peering suspiciously at him from behind the counter.

"Yes," said Harry, approaching the man. "I seek information."

"Of what sort?"

"About a former employee of yours," said Harry. "Name of Tom Riddle. He would've started working here around fifty years ago now."

The man's expression darkened. "Riddle," he said slowly, as though chewing the word thoughtfully before speaking it. "Aye, I knew him. My business partner, Burke, took quite a shine to the lad."

"And you didn't?" Harry deduced.

"Something felt off to me about Riddle," said the man, whom Harry figured must be Borgin. "That smile of his never quite reached his eyes, if you know what I mean. Burke may have fallen for his charm, but I knew the kid had a mean streak he just didn't show most folks."

"Is your business partner still around?" asked Harry.

"Nay, Caractacus died some twenty years back," said Borgin without a hint of remorse. "Just me that's left."

"Well, anything you can tell me about Riddle would be most helpful," said Harry.

Borgin eyed him suspiciously again. "And why should I tell a stranger anything about my former employee?" he demanded. "What's in it for you?"

"I believe he may be involved in a number of missing artifacts I'm looking for," Harry lied smoothly, having practiced his backstory earlier in the week. "I'm something of a treasure seeker, you see. I'm researching a few items that I believe fell into Riddle's possession during his time working here, and hoped you could help me trace their whereabouts."

"It's been decades since Riddle worked here," Borgin scoffed. "I couldn't possibly remember every item that he handled."

"These were rather infamous items," said Harry. "A cup and a locket, purported to belong to the Founders of Hogwarts themselves."

Borgin looked intrigued. "What's this information worth to you?" he asked slowly.

Harry reached into his pocket and fished for his coin purse. He'd saved up a decent pile of Galleons, nearly a hundred, from various gifts and allowances over time. He thought about haggling, but figured he needed to appear confident and nonchalant, so he simply tossed the purse onto the counter. Borgin picked it up and peered inside at the gold; to Harry's relief, he nodded and pocketed the purse.

"Couldn't tell you about any locket," he said. "Saw plenty of lockets over the years, but never heard of any related to the Founders. I did know of such a cup...it was never here, though."

"Hepzibah Smith had it, didn't she?" said Harry.

"Aye," said Borgin, looking impressed. "The old bint loved to show it off to anyone, including us. I offered her outrageous amounts for it, but she said it was never for sale."

"Did Tom Riddle seem interested in this cup?" asked Harry.

"I know he visited Smith a handful of times during his employment here," said Borgin. "Bought and sold a few things from her. But he never got that cup, as far as I know. She kicked it not long after that, anyway."

"And Riddle disappeared soon after, I presume," said Harry.

Borgin raised his eyebrows. "You suggest there is a connection there?" he asked. "She was offed by her house-elf, I heard."

"A rather odd occurrence, don't you think?" said Harry. "Almost as though someone else used the house-elf as a cover for their own actions."

"Riddle never struck me as the murdering type," said Borgin. "Why would he take such a risk?"

"Greed makes people do funny things," Harry shrugged. "Is there anything else you can tell me about Riddle? Places he liked to visit, people he enjoyed the company of?"

"That's just it; I couldn't get a read on who or what the lad was into," said Borgin. "He flattered Burke, but I imagine it was all for self-interest. He was kind to the customers, even offered to escort them to Gringotts personally to make withdrawals or deposits."

"Gringotts?" Harry repeated.

"Yes, he must've made two or three trips there every week," said Borgin. "Even offered to make deposit runs for myself and Burke. I think he was just enamored with the place for whatever reason."

Harry considered this. Gringotts would have appealed to a younger Tom Riddle, he supposed. At eleven years old, visiting Diagon Alley for the first time without a Knut to his name, the boy might have viewed it as an institution, a status symbol for those with means. He might have been jealous of all the people that had their own vault key and dreamed of a day he would have wealth of his own to deposit there.

"You seem to know a lot about this Riddle and his activities," Borgin remarked. "Do you know what became of him, after leaving my shop? I haven't heard a whisper of his name since."

"He goes by a different name now," said Harry. "A name that most are too fearful to speak aloud."

Borgin took a moment to process this, then his eyes widened. "The Dark Lord?" he hissed. "He and Riddle are one and the same?"

"I'm afraid so," Harry nodded.

Borgin swallowed hard, then shakily pointed for the door. "Get out," he spat. "What are you, an Auror or something? I want nothing to do with this nonsense!"

"Peace, Borgin," said Harry, raising a calming hand. "The Ministry will never hear of this, and I trust the Dark Lord won't either. I imagine he wouldn't take kindly to knowing you've sold information about him to a stranger."

"I should have never talked to you," said Borgin, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You've marked me for death, you have!"

"Not if you can keep your mouth shut," said Harry. "Unless you would prefer I Obliviated you, so this conversation never happened?"

He meant it in jest, but Borgin actually seemed to consider the offer. "Aye," he agreed. "Take the memory and leave. You were never here, and you'll never set foot in this place again!"

"Understood, Mr. Borgin," said Harry, drawing his wand. "Thank you for the help. Obliviate."

Borgin's eyes slid out of focus for a moment as Harry withdrew the memory from his mind. Harry then cast a light Compulsion Charm on the man, directing him back into the storeroom, where he would quickly forget why he had walked back there. By the time he returned, Harry would be gone, and no one would be the wiser.

Harry swiftly exited the shop and headed back towards Diagon Alley, mind racing. He would definitely need to consult with Bill and Fleur about what this new information could mean. Could there be a horcrux in Gringotts? If so, which vault would it be in, and how could they possibly access it?

He was so distracted that he bumped shoulders with somebody entering Knockturn. "Sorry," he mumbled, doing a double take when he saw who it was. Draco Malfoy was glaring at him, his mother Narcissa standing right beside him.

"Mind where you're stepping, ugly!" Draco spat. He turned on his heel and strode purposefully forward, Narcissa right behind. Harry watched as Draco walked right into the same shop he had just exited. Curious, Harry thought.

But there was no time to waste. He had to get back to Flourish and Blotts before anyone noticed he had left. Fortunately, the bookshop was still packed with people, allowing him to slip unnoticed through the crowd, removing his glamour and rejoining the other teens, who were too caught up in gossip that they barely noticed Harry's absence.

Harry's mind buzzed with this new information as the group returned to Grimmauld Place soon after. He felt that he'd learned something significant to help him in his quest – he just wasn't quite sure how all the pieces fell into place yet. He would have to touch base with Bill and Fleur before returning to Hogwarts, to fill them in on everything he'd learned over the past month or so.

Later that week, Harry asked his mother for permission to visit Bill's apartment for the 'project' they were working on. "What project was this again, dear?" Lily hummed.

"Just some curse-breaking stuff Bill was teaching me," said Harry. "He says it could help me with my Defense and Ancient Runes exams this year."

"Oh, very well then," Lily sighed. "I'll bring you along via Floo."

So the following afternoon, he and Lily stepped through the fireplace into Bill's apartment. It was more well-lit and decorated than Harry remembered from the last time he'd visited that summer...Fleur's influence was certainly welcome here. The French witch was also waiting for them in the hall when they arrived.

"Oh good, 'Arry, you made it!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to give him a hug. "And Mrs. Potter, so good to see you again!"

"Please, call me Lily," Harry's mother beamed. "You are part of this project with Bill as well?"

"Oui, I am," Fleur nodded. "'Arry here has just energized all of us to work a leetle bit harder!"

"Indeed he has," said Bill with a strained smile as he entered the living room. "Shall we get to it?"

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd love to sit in for a little while," said Lily hopefully. "I've always been so fascinated by the line of work you are in."

"Erm...I dunno, Mum—" Harry said awkwardly. Bill and Fleur exchanged a nervous look, before the latter chuckled.

"Oh, but 'Arry, I often forget how young you are!" Fleur smirked. "I should 'ave realized you need a chaperone to do fun things with your friends."

"I remember my own teenage years," Bill smiled wistfully. "My mother always was so over-protective of me...I was so embarrassed back then, but I got over it eventually."

What are they on about? Harry wondered with a frown. But their motive soon became clear as a look of surprise dawned on Lily's face.

"Oh! I did not mean to—" she stammered, looking to Harry. "You know I wasn't trying to smother you, dear...of course I'll go, and leave you to it...have fun with your friends…"

"Thanks, Mum," Harry smiled. "See you in a few hours."

"You have your emergency Portkey?" she asked. When he nodded and patted the small locket dangling around his neck, she said, "Right. I'll just be off, then." And she hurriedly returned to the fireplace, stepping through the green flames and out of sight.

"Thanks," Harry sighed with relief. "It's bloody annoying to still be stuck in a teenage body."

"I forget sometimes that you are still so young," Fleur sighed. "You do not look or act like it."

"Yeah, wait, how are you only sixteen?" asked Bill, frowning. "You look two or three years older."

"That would probably be the blood ritual I underwent two years ago," Harry shrugged. The Ritual of Ontogenesis had accelerated his growth drastically – already he was having to shave his face weekly, while most of his year mates had barely gotten their first mustache hairs.

"You did a blood ritual?!" Bill gasped. "That's highly illegal!"

"Oh, you Brits are so uptight about blood," Fleur chided him. "Eet is not so uncommon in France to make minor body adjustments with rituals. I think 'Arry is more than justified, given his situation."

"Does Dumbledore know about this?" Bill demanded, crossing his arms.

"As a matter of fact, he does," said Harry. "And he's agreed to give me private lessons this year. So clearly he isn't as bothered about it as you are."

"You're getting private training from Dumbledore?" said Bill. "Merlin, that's...you must be one of the luckiest blokes this century!"

"I'll believe that when this bloody Dark Lord is dead," Harry scoffed.

"But surely this means we can let him help us now?" said Bill hopefully. "Dumbledore will be a huge help on our hunt for the remaining horcruxes."

"What exactly would Dumbledore add?" Harry demanded. "We already know how to identify and destroy them. He doesn't have any more idea where the remaining few are hidden than we do."

"But he's smarter than all of us combined," Bill insisted. "And he can hold his own against You-Know-Who. I would just feel a lot more comfortable if we had him—"

"Bill, you do not know Dumbledore as 'Arry and I do," Fleur interrupted. "You were 'is star pupil...Head Boy and top of your class. Of course you would think highly of him! 'E did not put your life in danger, or that of your siblings."

"Actually, that's partially untrue," Harry pointed out dryly. "He did endanger Ron's life when he was petrified by the basilisk."

"That was hardly Dumbledore's fault!" Bill protested. "You-Know-Who planted a cursed diary in the school!"

"Which was a horcrux," Harry said firmly. "And Dumbledore failed to find it for an entire year. So, remind me why you think he'd be such a sure hand at finding any more?"

"You're being obtuse, Potter," Bill groaned. "You're putting everyone at risk because of your irrational distrust in Dumbledore."

"It is not irrational!" Harry groaned. "He has proven at every step to not be reliable in matters like these."

"I think 'Arry is right," said Fleur. "We do not need Dumbledore, and 'e might only make matters worse if we involve him."

"How are you taking his side in this?" Bill demanded. "Whose boyfriend are you?"

"I answer to no man!" Fleur snapped, suddenly looking affronted. "If you wanted a partner who blindly agrees with you, you picked ze wrong woman!"

"I wasn't—" Bill spluttered, throwing up his hands for peace. "I didn't mean to suggest—"

"Can we not do this now?" Harry groaned, feeling incredibly awkward in between the sparring couple. "I'd like to get down to business, if you don't mind."

"Yes, excellent idea," said Fleur, sweeping her hair dramatically before striding down the hall. Bill grimaced and gestured for Harry to follow after her.

Fleur was in the bedroom, pulling a large sheet of parchment out from a drawer and unfolding it on the bed. Harry frowned; the parchment was totally blank. "Bit large for taking notes on, isn't it?" he remarked.

"It's charmed to unlock with a password," Bill explained, drawing his wand and tapping it to the parchment. "Tom Riddle."

Black ink began to appear all across the parchment, and Harry raised his eyebrows. Bill and Fleur had been busy: it was divided into sections, each devoted to a separate horcrux, with notes and diagrams speculating on locations and identities. Four were crossed out: the diary, the diadem, the locket, and the ring. Still remaining was Nagini and Hufflepuff's Cup, both of which had question marks beside them.

"I can help fill in a couple gaps here," said Harry, pointing his wand at the diagram. He removed the question mark from beside the Cup, then added a sketched drawing of the Sword of Gryffindor in a blank space. "Saul confirmed that these are the last two, besides the snake."

"How would Saul know that?" Bill demanded. "And how would he have told you?"

And Harry explained the conversation he'd had with Saul's spirit using the Resurrection Stone. Fleur, recognizing the charged emotional significance of the moment, rushed forward to give Harry a hug. Bill, on the other hand, looked deep in thought.

"So You-Know-Who completed the cycle of Founders' objects," he mused. "And he created an additional horcrux to replace the soul fragment he lost in the diary. Who's to say he won't make any more?"

"I don't think he'd risk going above seven," said Harry. "The number is significant to him for its arithmetic properties. So as long as he doesn't learn about any more being destroyed, these should be the last of them."

"That means we have four problems to solve," said Bill. "The Sword, the Cup, the snake, and Longbottom himself. What's our plan to tackle them all?"

"The snake is usually with Voldemort, so we should save it for last," said Harry. "Hopefully we can stage a confrontation where the snake is vulnerable while Dumbledore or somebody else engages Voldemort in a fight."

"So you are relying on Dumbledore for your plan," Bill grumbled unhappily.

"It could also be me or Neville," Harry shrugged. "The prophecy says one of us will be able to defeat him. Dumbledore and Voldemort both believe it's Neville."

"But 'ow is Neville supposed to defeat him, if he 'as to die for the soul fragment to be destroyed?" Fleur frowned.

"I was hoping you two would have some ideas about that," Harry muttered. "There has to be other methods of removing the horcrux without killing him. Bill, you've spent time in Egypt...surely you've come across some obscure forms of death magic we could use to our advantage?"

"I've met a necromancer or two in my travels," Bill said begrudgingly. "Thing is, they mostly deal with things that are already dead. I've never heard of a case of someone surviving something like a soul removal."

"What about dementors?" Harry wondered. "They can remove souls without killing the host."

"If your goal is to turn Neville into a vegetable, that's a great idea," Bill deadpanned.

"But the magic must exist, if dementors have the ability!" Harry insisted. "Surely they've been researched...someone must know how it works!"

"If anyone did, I expect it would've been Saul Croaker," said Bill. "And he'd never heard of such a thing either."

"Can you at least ask around?" said Harry. "I don't want to leave any stone unturned. If there is a way to save Neville's life, I want to know about it."

"Why do you care about Longbottom so much?" Bill sighed. "He's only one person in the grand scheme of an all-out war."

"Don't you get it, Bill?" said Fleur softly. "'Arry is Neville, or was in another world. He feels that he owes it to the boy to help him, because nobody helped him in his previous life."

Harry had never thought about it in those terms before. But Fleur was right: Harry felt a sense of duty to help Neville, knowing that he was only in this situation because of him. If Harry hadn't been selfish, hadn't elected to come to this universe to see his family again, there wouldn't be another Boy-Who-Lived who was marked for death. That burden wouldn't have been passed on to somebody else.

"We'll table the Neville discussion for now," said Harry. "Let's talk about the Sword and the Cup. I have some ideas for both."

Harry explained the conversation he'd had with Borgin in Knockturn Alley the previous weekend. Bill and Fleur both looked troubled by the risk Harry had taken but listened without comment.

"You think he hid a horcrux inside Gringotts?" said Bill.

"It would make sense," Harry shrugged. "Voldemort didn't have a penny to his name when he entered the wizarding world. I bet he would view the bank as a symbol of who's who in society. And symbolism means everything to him."

"So he opened a vault and hid his horcrux inside?"

"I don't think he had his own vault," Harry muttered. "Does Voldemort strike you as the type of person to trust the goblins with his gold? He couldn't exact walk in and make a withdrawal. Not that he'd want to – he would see it as beneath him, something his underlings could do for him."

"One of his followers, then?" Fleur wondered.

"Probably," said Harry. "But not just any follower...someone he trusts to keep his secret. It would have to be someone he considers perfectly loyal, someone with a large enough vault full of dark objects that a horcrux could pass unnoticed."

"Who, then?" asked Bill. "Lucius Malfoy?"

"He did give Malfoy the diary," Harry acknowledged. "But I doubt he would trust any one person with two horcruxes. We need to learn more about his inner circle...who he trusts, who he favors above the others. Maybe Snape can help with that."

"But that glosses over the bigger problem," said Bill. "If there is a horcrux hidden in a Gringotts vault, we might as well give up now. It's impossible to steal from Gringotts."

"No it isn't," Harry smirked. "Voldemort himself did it five years ago, when he tried to get the Philosopher's Stone. Besides, you two are both Gringotts employees...I bet you know more than most about how to get past the defenses."

"This is madness," Bill muttered under his breath as Fleur took notes on the parchment. "Utter madness…"

"That is only one possible location, though," said Fleur thoughtfully. "How will we find the other?"

"Maybe we won't have to," Harry mused. "If the Cup is hidden at Gringotts, we may be able to use a shortcut to find the Sword."

"How?"

"The Sorting Hat," said Harry. "I used it to summon the Sword to me in my first timeline. Perhaps we could use it to do the same."

"But you're not a Gryffindor anymore," Bill pointed out.

"You are," Harry reasoned. "Maybe we can ask to borrow the Hat. We'll need to convince it to give the Sword to us, but I see no reason why it shouldn't work."

"What if You-Know-Who removed the enchantment tying the Sword to the Hat?" said Bill.

"I doubt he even knows about it," said Harry. "Otherwise, why go to the trouble of raiding the goblin graves? He could have just asked Pettigrew or Lockhart to retrieve the Hat while they were still employed at Hogwarts."

"So, let me just get this straight," said Bill with a heavy exhale. "Your plan involves breaking into a high-security vault at Gringotts, then praying that the Sorting Hat gives you the Sword, then killing the deadly snake that You-Know-Who never lets out of his sight, and getting rid of Longbottom's Horcrux without killing him?"

"Then killing You-Know-Who himself," Harry added. "That about sums it up, yeah."

"Brilliant," said Bill, throwing his arms up. "Just brilliant. And this is all to be done by two twenty-somethings and a kid who doesn't even have his N.E.W.T.'s yet?"

"Don't be so defeatist," Harry groaned. "Once we get closer to completing our tasks, we can start bringing additional people in to help. But I will not turn over the entire job to a man I don't trust."

"Wonderful," Bill grumbled. "What are we meant to do in the meantime, then?"

"I say we break up and work on each problem separately," said Harry. "Bill, you talk to your contacts overseas to see if there's any kind of death ritual to remove Neville's horcrux. Fleur, you can start looking into Gringotts' security systems and formulating a plan of attack. I'll be at Hogwarts making my own preparations."

"Like what?" Bill demanded.

"Like training with Dumbledore to defeat Voldemort," said Harry flatly. "In the meantime, I can look into the Hat and talk to Snape about the inner circle."

"And you think we can trust zis Snape?" asked Fleur tentatively.

"I haven't decided yet," Harry muttered. "But he's loyal to my mother. I don't think he would betray my confidence, not as long as I'm careful what I share with him."

"So you're deciding to trust You-Know-Who's right-hand man, but not his arch nemesis?" Bill scoffed. "I find your logic maddening, Potter."

"And I find your attitude tiring, Weasley," Harry fired back. "For now, we continue on as planned. If we hit a dead end, we can consider asking for help."

"I think zat is a fair compromise," said Fleur diplomatically, running a soothing hand along Bill's arm. "What do you think, mon cherie? Can we try 'Arry's plan first?"

Bill clearly looked annoyed at being outvoted. "Fine," he huffed. "But know this, Potter: if one of my family members gets hurt because of this, I'll hold it against you to the grave."

"Keep that same energy for the next time Dumbledore uses a Weasley as dragon fodder," Harry snapped back. Bill narrowed his eyes at this retort, but said nothing, merely huffing and striding from the room. Fleur gave Harry a sympathetic look before turning to follow Bill.

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place soon after, where he was unable to focus much at dinner or in evening conversations with friends and family. He lay awake that night, mind still whirling with plans and possibilities, listening to Neville and Ron's light snores. Was he shooting himself in the foot by keeping the plan secret from everyone else? Should he attempt to bring in additional people to make the job a bit easier? Or would that only put more of his loved ones at greater risk?

I can carry the burden for now, Harry reasoned. It hasn't gotten too heavy for me yet. I'll know when things get too difficult and it's time to ask for help.

Problem was, he couldn't be sure if he was lying to himself about that last bit or not.