Replace My Life

Chapter 2: 4^th Meal is Served

Kreacher returned with a tray full of delicious food. Or at least it smelled delicious. There's really only one way to be sure, after all.

"Thanks," I said taking the lid off the tray. It had a small roast, potatoes, stewed tomatoes, pumpkin juice, and several delicious-looking pastries. "Fourth meal: the late night meal between dinner and breakfast."

"Master mumbles weird things, he does."

"You can go now, Kreacher."

"Thank you, master."

"Now," I said, turning back to the tray, "to fill my belly."

The food was gone before the Dursley's were even able to smell it. And it was just as tasty as it smelled. I let out a satisfied belch as I reclined on my bed and rubbed my stomach to aid digestion. I hadn't been this full since Christmas. I smiled to myself. Kreacher may not like me, but at least he can't starve me. It was comforting, in an odd sort of way. Maybe I could have him grab my books out the cupboard. I'd summon them myself, but I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school. Maybe Kreacher -

Kreacher.

My eyes snapped open, as a revelation hit me like a speeding Bludger.

Why is it that I'm old enough to inherit a house, two massive fortunes, a house-elf, and who knows what else, but I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school? By technicality, I should be considered an adult, right? The Dursleys took me in, but they never adopted me. So I'm still an orphan. Or perhaps I'm a ward of the state? In any case, I'd have to be the age of majority to inherit a house - or any property for that matter. Right? So why can't I do magic outside of school?

I sat back pondering this new revelation for a moment. Perhaps I should write Dumbledore? No, he never answers my questions. The Ministry? Would they even answer? Not likely. Then who? Who else would know that kind of information, let alone be compelled to tell me the truth? A bank might be able to explain it to me. After all, they are the ones who handle inheritance. Perhaps I should write Gringotts? It's worth a shot, I suppose. What's the worse that could happen? I thought as I began to write.

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Harry James Potter, and I am contacting you in regard to a few questions I have, that I hope you will have the answers to.

Recently, I inherited a property by the name of Grimmauld Place from my newly deceased godfather, Sirius Icarius Black. Having been raised by my Muggle relatives, and therefore, not at all privy to the workings of magical law, I thought this quite odd. In the magical community, I am not legally old enough to perform magic outside of school, as I will only be sixteen as of July 31^st. I was wondering, therefore, how is it that I am legally old enough to inherit several (massive) fortunes, and a house (and with it, its house-elf), if I am, indeed, a minor?

Moving on:

I would like to know if I could perhaps arrange a meeting with a representative of your establishment. I am curious as to the extent of my wealth, and I would like to know if there are any other properties (and house-elves) in my possession. I would also be interested in restoring my ancestral home at Godric's Hollow, if needed.

I am looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,

Harry J. Potter

I'll mail it in the morning, I decided. There's no rush. They're probably closed right now anyway. And Hedwig's still out. And... I yawned... I'm tired, and so very full. It can wait.

I returned to my bed and snuggled underneath the itchy, threadbare blanket. "At least I'm full..." I mumbled as I drifted off to sleep, content.

That contentment would only last so long...