"Mister Granger! Hi, Dicky!" The voice of the old man made the blond boy turn around on the stair he'd just entered after calling his usual, friendly, but quick "Hi, Jimmy" to the porter's lounge. But now Jimmy waved with a big, creamy envelope. "You've got mail, Dicky! A guy came in, bringing this for you one hour ago"
'Dicky' took the envelope and by looking at the elegant, dark green handwriting on it his face became serious. His lips moved as he read the address: "Richard Granger, Esq., Hotel Solitude, Three Oaks Street 911, USA, New Orleans". Slowly the boy turned the envelope around and looked on the backside as if he couldn't believe what he saw there.
"Bad news, Dicky?" the old porter asked, smiling friendly.
The young man still stared at the two letters on the backside of the envelope. 'S.S.' no more, no less. But to him the two green letters looked like curling snakes and he felt a cold shiver running down his spine.
"Dicky? Are you okay?" the porter asked again.
"Sorry, Jimmy." The boy tried to smile. "The letter a bit of a surprise." Stepping up the stairs, he called over his shoulder: "But don't worry I'm fine"
A minute later the boy entered a comfortable room on the second floor of the hotel. Laying the envelope cautiously on the paper laden desk in front of a window, he went to the little bathroom. Although it was December 3, he found the weather in New Orleans very warm and always felt rather sticky when he came back from the university to the room he'd rented.
Looking into the mirror he splashed cold water in his face. Even now, after almost three months, he wasn't used to the blue eyes and the silken blond hair he saw in the mirror. For 18 years it had been green eyes and unruly, black hair and although he often wished it more manageable, he now wished the dark strands back.
Yet it had been his idea to become another person and at the time he'd asked for it he'd thought of it as his chance to become free finally. He remembered the beautiful room he'd paced through and how he'd said: 'I know I disappoint you, probably you'll find me even ungrateful, but I want to go away when this is finally over. I will help to fulfill your plan, but under one condition: You'll help me to get a new life afterwards. I will have a new identity, another face and at least for some time freedom.'
If Albus Dumbledore had felt disappointed, he'd probably learn from the letter on his desk. But on this summer day in his study he hadn't shown it. He'd only said: 'I understand, Harry'. The way in which he'd developed the plan for Harry getting his freedom had made Harry wonder if the old man already expected him to ask for it? He hadn't asked, he hadn't wanted to know. He simply had been glad for a few days later when an owl had approached him. The mail it had given him had been very short: "You'll find everything you need at vault 7842 at Gringotts. The password is 'exit'. Good luck. A.D." Attached to it was a little, golden key.
Harry had burned the letter and hung the key on an enchanted chain around his neck. He'd spoken with no one about it, not even with the old man. Yet he'd often laid his fingers on the key. In the last weeks before he used it he often felt as if the key would belong to another reality. The reality he'd lived in for this summer 'an exceptionally bright one' had not suited what the key stood for. He'd never before found Hogwarts and with it the entire magical world so calm and peaceful. For six long and blissful weeks he'd never felt the slightest burn in his scar. If not for Hermione becoming paler and quieter every time he saw her, Harry really could have believed that he'd only have to worry about his NEWTs. And while his schoolmates had celebrated the fall of the marriage law and discussed the constitution Dumbledore as the new minister of magic had in only a few days boxed over all hurdles 'he'd obviously had worked on it years before and even prepared the members of the Wizengamot to support it' Harry had waited.
