Black Fortunes

Chapter 2

He felt as though he had been squeezed through a particularly long Apparition, or so was Harry's first thought when he woke. It was dark and he tasted dirt under his lips, which were against the ground. With a groan he rolled over, immediately sensing the hard surface under his back, with grooves that dug into his sensitive spine and ribs. Opening his eyes, he noted a dark alley of sorts, with dingy back doors of shops on both sides.

Twenty years old and trained by Alastor Moody himself in Auror basics, he quickly scanned with his senses, noting a large amount of latent magic from witches, wizards, and magical beings. His ears caught the low murmurs of conversations and the sharp snick of heels on something rough, perhaps stone. He inhaled deeply and detected the stale air that stank of alcohol, wizarding drugs, and other unsavory things.

He sat up, looking at the ground. It was cobblestone, he noted, not pavement. Either a very old section of Muggle London or the magical world. He would guess the latter from what he had observed so far. He stood carefully, wiping his face on his sleeve and digging into his pocket. He pulled out his wand and his face fell into dismay. The wand that had gotten him through school and the war was snapped cleanly into three pieces. There would be no repairing it.

He realized a few things in quick succession. The mirror he had broken had transported him here, somehow. He wasn't sure where he was, though getting out of this dingy back alley would clear things up somewhat. He had no money on him at the moment, which meant that he needed to get to Gringotts, which was an easy enough goal.

He left the alley, thanking Merlin for the removal of his scar through Muggle surgery and the potion that had fixed his eyes. He was unrecognizable to the populace of the magical world if he was careful enough, and fighting a fierce and bloody war for the last 4 years had taught him that much.

He left the alley and was startled to realize that he was in Knockturn, just past Borgin and Burkes. He moved swiftly, not wanting to remain in this Alley for much longer. A few quick minutes of walking brought him out into Diagon, right next to the Daily Prophet office. There was a magical newsstand next to him, selling current issues of the Prophet. He stared in shock at the headline which screamed Massive Attack by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in Dover! 19 Fatalities, 12 Injured!

What?! He's dead! Harry practically screamed. Then he noted the date of the paper and just about fell over in shock. Sunday 12, October 1975. He was in the past by almost 25 years. His pa-

Harry frowned. J- Why couldn't he remember? He had just known their names a moment ago.

He hesitated for a moment longer and then spotted the glossy white building of Gringotts. Right, that was his goal at the moment, his lapse in memory could be addressed later.

Strange things can happen to those who mess with time, Harry. A voice warned, but for all his struggles, he couldn't for the life of him remember who the voice belonged to.

He moved swiftly now, needing to deal with his lack of funds and a form of defense, though he was capable of higher than average wandless magic, it was draining to use for long amounts of time. He entered Gringotts slowly, a voice in his head admonishing, Yea, that's a goblin, Harry. Not a creature you want to mess with, goblins.

Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the voices he couldn't place, he moved to one of the goblins and said quietly, "I need an inheritance test to see if I have vaults to claim."

The goblin nodded curtly and motioned another forward. "He will take you to one of our open managers, sir."

As they walked, Harry frowned to himself. He hadn't meant to say those words; all he needed to do was access either the B- or Po-. Really? What was going on?