A Name Without A Face.
The house was dark when Harry returned.
The air was thick, stale, the scent of dust and something older than time itself pressing in from the corners. Teeth had yet to return, but his presence still lingered—scratches along the wooden floors, the faint indent where his hulking form had curled up the night before. It was comforting in a way, to know that something existed here besides himself.
Harry shut the door behind him, fingers briefly resting on the handle before letting go.
The silence settled around him like a second skin.
He made his way to the kitchen, movements automatic. The oil lamp on the counter flickered weakly as he passed, the flame casting long, uneven shadows along the walls. A single envelope sat waiting on the table, the crisp parchment almost out of place in the gloom.
Harry stilled.
His name was written on the front in dark, looping script.
The wax seal was Ministry-red.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the letter open.
"Mr. Potter,
I hope this letter finds you in good health.
As you may be aware, an individual by the name of Sirius Black has recently escaped from Azkaban. Given the nature of his past crimes, there is reason to believe he may attempt to make contact with you.
For your safety, we strongly advise that you remain where you are. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to reach out. Additionally, we would like to confirm the details of your current residence and guardian to ensure proper protective measures are in place.
Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.
Cornelius Fudge
Minister for Magic "
Harry let the parchment slip between his fingers, resting against the table.
Ah.
So that was how it was.
They didn’t know.
He let out a slow, measured breath.
It wasn’t surprising, really. The Ministry had been fumbling around in the dark when it came to him for years now, unsure of what to do with the orphaned Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore’s influence had shielded him for a time, but now, with the old man preoccupied, the Ministry was clearly trying to grasp at whatever control they could.
Harry leaned against the counter, fingers tracing absent patterns into the wood.
They wanted information.
They wanted to know where he was.
Who was looking after him.
He exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips.
They wouldn’t get an answer.
Because the truth was, there was no guardian. No adult standing behind him, shielding him, guiding him.
Only Teeth.
Only Tom, when he chose to linger.
And neither of them were the kind of figures the Ministry would approve of.
His fingers brushed over the parchment once more before he folded it neatly and set it aside.
Let them wonder. Let them ask their questions.
He had no intention of answering.