Harry Potter The King of Elves

With the way Gringotts had been so far though Harry could already hear Barchoke's voice saying no. 'We're a bank, not Goblin Armies Я Us. ' That idea was going to go nowhere, even if he asked, which only left one thing he could do: run and hide.

'Where?' the Harold part of him asked. 'In a cupboard under the stairs? If Hagrid could find you last year then Dumbledore could find you now. You can't run .'

Harry knew he was starting to panic, but when you're facing down Dumbledore, who wouldn't? Even Lord Voldemort was afraid of Dumbledore. He doubted the Weasleys would be much of a shield if it came down to it, and really, how much protection could a rental agreement with people he hardly even knew, which wasn't even signed, and he didn't even have yet provide against a wizard who had beaten one Dark Lord so badly the next one to come along wouldn't even go up against him?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the plan Barchoke had sketched out on their way to see Hammerhand. Lichfield would draw up a rental agreement with the Weasleys and get it to him in plenty of time so he could convince them it was for real. The fact it wasn't here yet was troubling, but maybe he was just being thorough. All Harry had really needed to do was find something the Weasleys wanted so he could offer it in return, and that was supposed to have been an easy part.

While Ron had always made his family come across as poor in his whinging, what Harry hadn't expected was for them to be so happy being poor. Ron's grousing about it seemed the extent of their hardship, so he really didn't think they'd even consider taking money for something they were already letting him have for free.

Once he got the agreement signed and sealed though the Ministry would have to recognize it. They had always recognized contracts sealed with blood and magic, it was one of the bedrocks of their society, or so Barchoke had said. If Dumbledore wanted to stop it because he was his "guardian" and Harry was underage, then the whole abandonment thing would get dragged into court because of it. If Dumbledore tried to remove him by force, then Lichfield would get the Ministry involved and the whole abandonment thing would get dragged into court because of it.

If Dumbledore showed up before the agreement was signed, then he'd probably be toast. His kind old grandfather routine would probably have him Dumbledore his way through the Weasleys and get them to give him to him, or at least send him home. After that, who knew what would happen to him, or even if he'd ever be seen again?

Harry heard a slight rustling of wings and felt a weight settle on his chest. He opened his eyes to see Hedwig staring down at him. It had been the longest he'd been in the room without writing a letter, reading a letter, sending a letter, sleeping or studying so she was probably wondering what he could possibly be doing.

He sent her off back to her usual perching place on top of the wardrobe and got up. That letter wasn't going to write itself. As he sent Hedwig off into the night he realized he could've sent off another letter to Hermione; their conversation had just sort of stopped once there was the question to ask. As he saw Hedwig fade away though Harry thought it'd probably be some time before he'd be able to concentrate on anything as pleasant as Hermione, at least until he could be sure he'd be safe at the Burrow for a while longer.

...

The waxing gibbous hung happily in the sky as the man in the moon smiled down upon the kindly old grandfather of the wizarding world and Albus Dumbledore smiled merrily back at him. It had been such a joyous week doing good works that not even his still-missing statements could get him down when he was surrounded by the warm glow of hearth and home that was the Three Broomsticks on a Friday evening. They were probably up at Hogwarts anyway so there was nothing to worry about.

The jaunt up from the village had been a spritely one; the grass was springy, the breeze cool and refreshing, and the stars twinkled down in their multitudes. He even paused a moment to wave to the Giant Squid who made its home in their highland loch. How the creature could possibly survive in such an environment, much less live so long, was still a complete mystery, even after a hundred years. But, Albus conceded, such was life.

Hagrid had a roaring fire going in front of his hut, bathing the grounds in its warm glow. More light spilled forth from the grand doors of the school which were open wide to welcome its beloved headmaster back home. The candles twinkled like the stars above in the great hall, torches now dim after the evening meal, and Albus thought he saw the slim slinking shadow of Severus Snape slip silently down to his dreary dungeon den. The teachers, the organs and tissues of the Hogwarts body, were returning at last and soon the school would be revived and ready to go for another year.

'So much Good,' Albus thought. 'So much Good yet to be done .'

This last week had seen a great deal of work for the Greater Good done, it was true. Almost single-handedly he had relegated the magical plague gnawing its way through central Africa to a conference for developing magical nations, giving the area a second chance to pull together in a pinch and form lasting bonds of friendship through shared adversity and loss.

Halting the relief efforts for the victims of a conflict with a band of Giants in eastern Turkey which had seen the deaths of almost 80 muggles earlier this year was also absolutely essential. Though he sympathized with their loss, the sad proposal had been connected to the authorization for the wizarding community there to root out their Giant population once and for all while the Giants deserved a second chance. Hagrid himself had proven to him that all their burly brethren truly needed were nice warm hugs and a cup of cocoa and all would be well.

Handling the impassioned plea by the Bulgarian Minister for I.C.W. Peacekeepers to be sent into his country to stop the ongoing conflict there was his pride and joy though. The country finally had a symbol they could rally around in the form of a young Quidditch sensation named Viktor Krum. Albus wanted to give the magical peoples of his country a second chance to see the error of their ways on their own and come back into fellowship with each other, and so he'd shuffled the matter off to a relatively unimportant subcommittee for Southeastern European International Magical Cooperation for further study and review.

In the magnificent week he'd been in Geneva, absolutely nothing had been accomplished. The Greater Good would provide after all. Anything else would be to show doubt and sow division, grave offenses which made the Good feel sad.

Albus almost felt like dancing as he made his way to Professor McGonagall's office. Indeed he would have, but sadly that particular skill was one he lacked any real talent in. When the jolly old man arrived at the Deputy Headmistress's office he found the door open and a kindly light shining forth.

.....

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