NOTE: The material in this first section, marked by bold text, is quoted verbatim from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling, published by Bloomsbury Publishing, Plc., Soho Square, London, UK, © 2003; and is taken from pps. 60 – 66.
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Late evening, Thursday, July 25, 1996 – No. 12, Grimmauld Place – North London, UK
Whisked away to the supposed 'safety' of No. 12, Grimmauld Place ("Grim, old place", Sirius had said), by the Order of the Phoenix, Harry Potter was building up to a towering rage. It wasn't just that he had been attacked in Little Winging by two rogue Dementors – it was that he had been incommunicado with the two people he had called his dearest friends from the moment he had arrived at No. 4 Privet Drive until his 'liberation' earlier in the evening. It wasn't just that none of the adults in his life seemed to care a fig about how he was feeling. It was those things to be sure, of course – but it was also the fact that he had, very recently, been the first-hand witness to the murder of a young man whom Harry had called school-mate and friend and had no tools, emotional or otherwise, to deal with what he had seen and experienced.
By the time that they reached Sirius' parent's house (the Black Family's 'town house' for use when the head of the family was in town to participate in Wizengamot meetings), there was a very black cloud hanging over Harry's head – and it was visible to anyone who cared to look.
Harry walked up the warn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.
Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.
"Get in quick, Harry", Lupin whispered, "but don't go far inside and don't touch anything."
Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He cold smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him; Lupin and Tonks carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step, releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the streetlamps. They flew back to their bulbs and the square glowed momentarily with Orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.
"Here –"
He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.
Harry didn't have time to consider why there were hushed voices coming from down one of the hallways that lead from the main foyer, nor did he have the patience to stop and consider the expressions on the faces around him. He was too angry. Way too angry, really. Before any of them could react, Harry had pushed Remus Lupin aside, pulled his wand, and jabbed the tip of it deep into Moody's throat. "Now" he snarled, "You want to tell me exactly why the fuck I was imprisoned for the last forty days?"
Moody was old enough that he knew he wasn't going to be able to fight the boy off physically – not when Harry was so strong and fit from playing Quidditch and from the outside work that he had been forced to do by his 'relatives' – a term that Moody used (mentally) very, very loosely. He also knew that he'd not be able to get to his wand fast enough to keep Harry from cursing him if he felt so inclined… and judging by the tone of his voice, he did.
"Dumbledore's orders" the man croaked.
"Fuck him. And fuck you too for having gone along with it" Harry said, as he brought his knee up as hard as he could – putting every bit of his pent-up anger and frustration into it and sent the man to the floor, clutching his bits and groaning in blinding, mind-numbing, Cruciatus-level pain.
"HARRY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Lupin screamed as he grabbed Harry and spun him away, one-handed, from where the fallen retired Auror lay.
BAM! Harry's punch came out of nowhere that Remus Lupin could see. It was packed with anger and raw, magically-enhanced power and sent the older man to the floor, instantly unconscious, with a jaw broken in multiple places. Nymphadora Tonks, who had recently been graduated from the Auror academy stood, shaken by what she had just witnessed and didn't move fast enough to avoid Harry's full-speed, back-handed slap that lifted her off her feet and sent her crashing to the floor. Momentarily stunned by the hard impact with the wooden floor, she didn't see the kick to the head that sent her into unconsciousness.
The three adults didn't hear the snapping of their wands or the snarl that came from Harry's throat as he tore suspiciously familiar-looking letters out of Tonk's unresisting possession.
Leaving behind his trunk as well as Hedwig, Harry ran up the stairs, glancing down at the letters as he took them two at a time. There were more than twenty of them and every single one of them bore Hermione's familiar, feminine, personal calligraphy. It was the style of writing that she had always reserved for her private notes to him (and no one else that he knew of).
It wasn't until he reached the second landing that he stopped and collected himself for a moment. There was going to be hell to pay for what he had just done – and not just from the Order, but from Dumbledore. While Harry fancied himself a pretty good survivor, with occasional bouts of either unbelievable luck or skill (and he thought the former rather than the latter), he wasn't anywhere near ready to take on Dumbledore – the most powerful wizard, perhaps, since Merlin himself…. at least not magically. He wondered if there might be Muggle ways of dealing with the meddlesome, dictatorial old man and for a moment his mind wandered off in that direction. It was brought back to the present, forcefully, when there rose from the hall one floor down a very great deal of shouting and commotion.
Running down the hall to where he saw a bedroom light, he swung the door open and saw – but only for a moment – the unmistakable and beautiful form of his very best (and perhaps only) friend in the world. The reason that he saw her but for a moment only was that she had, quite suddenly, thrown herself at him and enveloped him in a massive, full-body hug.
His anger, at least towards her, had completely dissipated. That had happened the moment that he had torn the letters from Tonk's supine, unconscious form and realized that Hermione had been trying to get in touch with him for all of the time that he had been 'sequestered' on Privet Drive and that she had paid no attention whatsoever to Dumbledore's commands. She was still the best and greatest thing in his life.
The voices below were getting closer and he could hear the thunder of feet coming up the stairs. "DOBBY!"
POP!
"Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir?"
"Hermione! Do you trust me?" he breathed into her ear.
"Yes! But why?"
"Just trust me now! Dobby! Get us out of here. Gringotts!"
With that, the little elf grabbed them both and suddenly they were gone.
The air had not yet folded itself back into the space they had just occupied when the door burst open and Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Sirius Black, and Severus Snape crashed inwards.
Of the four, only Severus Snape's wand was in evidence – but it was clear enough, by the look on her face, that Molly Weasley was mad enough to want to use one as well. "Where's Potter" he snarled, before he realized that Ron Weasley – the room's sole occupant – was sound asleep on the bed and, given the sprawl of his body and the strength of his snoring, probably hadn't seen anything at all. Disgusted, he waved his wand about, muttered several barely recognizable spells, and then shoved it back into the invisible inner pocket of his robes.
Of the four, only Sirius Black seemed to be finding any humor in the situation. "It's not funny, Sirius!" Molly snarled angrily as she took in his expression.
"Oh yes it is, Molly. It's actually quite funny. Harry's bested three Aurors, grabbed his best friend in the whole world, and disappeared to parts unknown. Clearly he either has powers we've not yet discovered or he's got some outside help of which we've been unaware. If it's the former, then he's a leg up on the old man and has been successfully hiding things for quite some time. If it's the latter, then he's decided that not everyone here is his friend and is acting on that belief. While the latter prospect worries me for Harry's sake, the former doesn't for a single moment. If it's a combination of the two, then he's beginning to gain some wisdom and I consider that a good thing."
Arthur wasn't nearly as sanguine about Harry's attack on the Order's three strongest members. It worried him that Harry could be as brutal – and as thorough – as he had been. It didn't occur to him to consider that Harry hadn't used magic to attack any of the three, nor had he left them injured in a way that couldn't be, at least for the most part, repaired. All he saw, with his untrained eyes, were three Order-members in extreme pain.
What Arthur missed, Severus Snape had not. The boy had been brutal, yes, but he had also been incredibly effective. He had struck without warning and had left in his victims no ability to fight back. It was a trait that he seemed – at least in this instance – to share with the dark lord. The difference between the two, of course, was that the dark lord would have left corpses, where Harry had left crying, bleeding but live victims. It bugged him to have to admire anything that Potter did, but he was as honest with himself as he was dishonest with the rest of the world and a clear, honest assessment of the boy's actions warranted such a conclusion.
Molly was beside herself. She couldn't imagine that Harry Potter could do such a thing to those who had been sent to protect him and 'rescue' him. She didn't believe the descriptions of the conditions in which Harry had been kept – which really mean that she didn't have necessary internal fortitude to credit what she had been told of Harry's 'relatives' by her own twin boys, Fred and George. All she saw was three Order-members lying on the ground. One in extreme pain; still screaming and clutching his dangly-bits, and the other two unconscious and bleeding from places about the head and face.
Only Sirius Black really 'got it'. Harry had been taken out of one prison – a condition Sirius knew all too well – and brought to another prison. That he had been given no explanation or emotional care / counseling was just another reason for Harry to have lashed out in exactly the way he had. Compounding the situation were the multiple, manipulative acts of the lord-high meddler himself, Albus Dumbledore. Imprisonment of the innocent without parole was just of the man's many crimes. Failure to care about his projects, coupled with an general inattentiveness brought on by advanced age – a gentle way of describing creeping senility, made Dumbledore the least competent person to oversee Harry's safety and wellbeing… but he insisted on casting himself in that role anyway and would brook no interference with his judgments in the matter. That Harry had brutalized Remus bothered him - if only because whatever friendship might have existed between the two was likely damaged by what Harry had done and might not be recoverable without effort and a sense of contrition on Harry's part. Physically, Sirius knew that Remus had amazing recuperative powers as a Werewolf and would be completely healed within a day's time.
That Harry had savaged both Moody and Tonks didn't bother Sirius in the least. Tonks was a big girl - and a Metamorph - and was quite capable, thank you very much, of taking care of herself. Being beaten like a rag-doll by a fifteen-year old was a good and humbling experience and it meant that she had an opportunity to once again lean the lesson that you should never, ever let down your guard, no matter where you are or how safe you think you are.
As for Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody? Well, Sirius held out exactly zero love for the ex-Auror because of his failure to lift so much as a finger in his defense when he was first sent to Azkaban. Sirius also knew that Harry could sell that memory to many a Death-eater for good money, as they'd buy it again and again for the satisfaction of seeing one of the greatest dark-wizard catchers of all time get his comeuppance by a 15 yr. old. It was still a challenge, from time to time, to resist the urge to push Moody and his peg-leg down at least one flight of stairs – preferably the stairs at Hogwarts.
By the time that the group had made its way back down the narrow, darkened staircase and back to the kitchen, Albus Dumbledore had arrived and the news of Harry's three victims had taken a decidedly bad turn. Sirius noted that the look on the old man's face betrayed much more than it concealed. He was angry and worried.
"What happened, Molly, Sirius? Poppy sent me a Patronus telling me that I was needed here at haste."
"It's the brat, Potter, Headmaster. It appears he was displeased with the way he had been treated while at his relatives and he took his childish anger out on Alastor, Tonks, and Lupin."
A dark cloud passed over the Headmaster's face, before he schooled his features and raised an eyebrow of concern towards the former Death Eater. "What do you mean, Severus? Surely a fifteen year-old boy could not have overcome all three?"
Sirius took a step forward and addressed the Headmaster. "Albus, Harry was angry. Very angry… and he most certainly did beat all three of them. Alastor is likely to be permanently incontinent because of Harry's attack; Nymphadora is still unconscious and will be until Poppy can fix her head-wound, and Remus will be fine in the morning, after Poppy administers the Skele-grow. He was knocked unconscious, but otherwise had no lasting damage. The main thing that they have to be concerned about is the fact that Harry destroyed their wands."
That disclosure shocked the old man and his face showed it. Snapping a wizard or witch's wand was an act of hatred and malice that had very few equals. It made Harry's disappearance that much more worrisome. "No idea where he's gone?"
"No, Headmaster, but you should know that he's taken Granger with him. Whether she went of her own accord or he forced her, she's not here and both his trunk and hers are gone, as are their familiars."
Albus Dumbledore knew that Harry and Hermione teaming up was a dangerous, highly complicating development. Hermione Granger was an incredibly smart, persistent, loyal, and beautiful girl who was going to be a powerhouse – both magically and in terms of personality – when she came into her majority. Everyone knew it. Most particularly, the pure-blood faction, both inside Hogwarts and without, knew it and they resented her for it. Her grades had been compared with Albus' when he was a young man and in some ways, she had already surpassed him. Certainly, her breadth of knowledge was greater than his, even if she had a long ways to go yet in terms of her magical learning and the way she applied what she knew.
Harry, on the other hand, was the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself. That fact, and not the existence of Tom's Horcrēs (pl. 'Horcrux'), was his most closely-guarded secret. Harry, if he applied himself and grew beyond his preconceived personal limitations, would grow to do things that would become the stuff of legend. And therein lay the very problem. Harry's scar – the scar that hard marked him since he was 18 months old - was not some ordinary scar. Rather, it was the tell-tale of a small, parasitic fragment of Tom Riddle's soul – which had been shorn off his already incomplete soul during an act of attempted murder gone very badly awry. Of that one terrible fact, Albus Dumbledore was certain and in order for it to be destroyed… Harry had to die. Whether that was in a confrontation with Tom or accidentally, Harry's soul had to be given a chance to pass over to the next life. With it would the fragment, he hoped, and that would fatally loosen Tom's already tenuous grip on life.
Everything that had happened to Harry in his four years at Hogwarts had been, in one way or another, failed attempts to force a confrontation between Harry and Tom Riddle. Sometimes the confrontation had been of his own making and sometimes not. So far, he was naught for two in his deliberate attempts to push the two together. Unfortunately, Tom wasn't any luckier. As a result, Harry was alive and, if his minions' reports were correct, mad as a wet hornet.
Albus steepled his fingers and thought as he looked around the poorly-lit room. As a collection of witches and wizards who were supposed to be some of the best that their age-cohorts had to offer, it wasn't exactly awe-inspiring: One embittered, angry, lonely, self-serving potions-master; a couple of over-indulgent gone-to-seed parents; and an escaped prisoner whose looks, dentistry, complexion, and wardrobe had seen better days. Not present were his Auror-spy Nymphadora Tonks – a woman of dubious sexual morals and questionable self-identity; his (retired) enforcer/hit-man Alastor Moody, and an unemployed Werewolf. Beyond that, he had a Bantu Auror (Kingsley Shacklebolt) and a couple of others – not one of whom was a combat veteran.
Arrayed them was an angry, incredibly powerful wizard and the brilliant, powerful witch who would literally walk into Hell to protect him and the vast fortune that Albus was sure had been left to him (Harry) by his parents, James and Lily. He had no idea that Sirius Black had successfully conspired with the Goblins to leave his entire fortune to Harry as well – and would have been horrified to learn that the one reliable source of funding for the Order was about to go into the hands of the very boy whom they now planned to try to retrieve against his will.
Albus knew, based on his more than 160 years of experience, that nothing was more dangerous than the focused efforts of brains + magic + money if it got up a head of steam – and Harry was too opportunistic and too lucky to be taken as anything less than a grade-A threat.
"How soon before the others are recovered enough to join us?" The question was directed at Arthur, but it was a question asked in a neutral tone, so Sirius answered it.
"By tomorrow we should have Remus with us again and I suspect that by tomorrow evening, my cousin will be ready as well. I can't vouch for Alastor. I saw what Harry did and I can honestly say that I've never seen anything like it before. He must have channeled his entire magical core into the attack. If it had been anyone else…. well, I'm certain we'd be attending a funeral shortly. I'm thinking Alastor will be lucky to walk again – so I wouldn't count on him anytime soon."
Shaking his head, Albus thought about what Sirius had said. It was hard to comprehend that a boy who had been so gentle, kind… sweet even… could be moved to doing something as violent as attacking three of the people who had brought him from his relative's home and back into the magical world. Albus had long since put away feelings of anger and it was hard now to reconnect with those emotions. They tended to make people do very, very rash things. His rashness had led to the death of his beloved sister, Arianna, many years before…and so he had put aside those kinds of powerful emotions, for fear that he might again do something terrible.
Hanging his head, he made dismissive waves of his hands. "Go… all of you. Try to find him. Use whatever resources that you have. If you need funds, I will provide them. We must find Harry and Hermione and set this right. I fear for us all if Harry decides that we're the enemy. Tom would benefit greatly if we became so divided."
Molly looked at the old man. "What about Ron? And Ginny? And my twins? They're all here and someone needs to look after them."
"You worry too much, Molly. I will see to it that they know what the limitations are while they are staying here. I don't believe for an instant that they are now, or will be, in any danger."
Molly seemed unconvinced, but Arthur put a strong hand on her shoulder, which silenced her, and guided her out of the room and towards the large floo in the foyer. They weren't going to get any sleep until Harry was found, so each knew that it was time to go and get at it.
Ten miles from No. 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry and Hermione were having (relatively speaking) much better luck dealing with the circumstances in which they found themselves.
The Goblins, as a rule, didn't abide by any notion of 'closed' or 'open' when it came to running the bank's business… at least when it came to dealing with the bank's highest net-worth clients, so Harry and Hermione's arrival in the grand foyer of Gringotts-London in the very late evening was not particularly problematic. If, however, they had been Weasleys….well, the welcome would have been a very different and far less pleasant. Being poor, according to the Goblins, was a socially stigmatizing condition very closely akin to being known among Muggles as a pedophile.
Once Harry had identified himself and Hermione, mentioned his willingness to make fair payment for services, and then produced his vault key, things began to happen for him that had never happened before. The first thing was that human attendants were summoned by their Goblin employers for the specific purpose of seeing to Harry and Hermione's immediate physical needs – which included food, a secure place in which to shower/shave/etc., a warm bed, and a new, complete wardrobe for each of them. The second thing that happened was the appearance, early the next morning, of a small army of lawyers and medical personnel. Neither Harry nor Hermione had any time to consider how or why the Goblins might have known how valuable those services would be to the two teenagers, but as soon as Harry and Hermione were awake, each was whisked into the care of two doctors and many attending nurses, etc.
By the time that they had been poked, prodded, examined, and then cured of the things that were plaguing each of them – in Hermione's case, persistent and painful magical Endometriosis that the doctors examining her thought was tied to her body's need (very soon) to undergo magical maturity. A result, Hermione mused, when told of it, that was probably directly tied to her nearly year-long use of a time-turner. There was also the 'minor' dental issue (two front teeth that were just slightly larger than they needed to be) and a persistent case of frizzy hair. While the first two issues – the periods and the teeth were immediately solved by potions and some complex healing spells, Hermione was told in grave but empathizing tones that only God himself could heal her frizzy hair.
Harry's issues were, of course, a great deal more complex (as well as legendary by those who knew him). Aside from the scars that seemed to crisscross his body, he also had bones, broken by his uncle and cousin, that had never healed properly and a body left much too small by malnutrition, as well as eyesight that was considered nothing short of ghastly for someone his age – especially when compared to the medical records which Gringotts had on file for James Potter from time when he was a young man of similar age.
What disconcerted Harry most during the entire process was the way that the two doctors kept re-examining the scar on his forehead before returning to checking out the rest of him. Eventually Harry realized that the examining table upon which he lay was not the standard, antiseptic hospital-white, but rather a non-descript grey that was offset by thousands of small runes that pulsed and then ebbed in no predictable pattern.
It also bothered him that Hermione wasn't nearby – preferably within arms' length. He wasn't used to that. They always did things together! To do things without her was unnatural. Not the way things were supposed to be. Scary.
Harry wasn't alone in feeling that way. That unease; the sense of unnaturalness was the same thing Hermione felt as she lay, twitching, from the medicine was traversing her system in search of things to heal.
It took most all of the morning and a good bit of the afternoon for the doctors/medi-wizards who were attending them to declare them fit to be released. By then the small team of lawyers seemed to have created a veritable mountain of paperwork. It was disconcerting that they were looking so pleased with themselves as Harry and Hermione entered the executive conference room, but they were and it made him nervous.
A tall, handsome man with an engaging smile stepped forward and looked at the pair of them. "Good afternoon, Lord Potter. My name is Henry Steele and I represent the firm of Lye, Cheetham, and Steele."
Harry looked at them warily; causing Hermione to slide her hand into his, gently, and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Good afternoon, sir. I'm Harry Potter. This is my best friend, Hermione Granger."
"How do you do, miss?" His entire face broke into a fatherly smile when he saw that the two were holding hands. It was immediately obvious to him that theirs was a serious relationship. "I can see that Lord Potter has chosen well."
Hermione looked at the solicitor quizzically and then looked at Harry. Her eyes met his and he could see the question the question plainly written on her face. Her whole countenance was transformed when he smiled shyly and then nodded; blushing the whole time. She felt him squeeze her hand and pull her closer. The kiss, when it came, was soft and loving. Neither of them even heard the loud applause that erupted all around the room.
"So, you're telling me that by signing this… I'm getting all that?" Harry pointed at the two lists that had been laid on the table in front of him. They were very long lists. He was past the shock already of being called 'lord', though it still hadn't sunk in that he was something like royalty in magical Britain.
"Yes, Lord Potter"
"For the fourth time, my name is Harry" Harry snarled at the man who was trying, so painstakingly, to explain the ramifications of the documents that he had Harry sign for the better part of an hour. In contrast to Henry Steele, Roger Cheetham was a short, balding, slump-shouldered fifty-something lawyer. He was also somewhat obsequious and couldn't seem to wrap his head around calling Harry by his given name.
The anger in Harry's tone finally connected with something and in an instant, the man broke off and said, "I'm sorry Mr…..Harry. It's just that we were told to observe all formalities by our hosts here and it is very hard to break protocol. I'm sure you understand."
Harry's carriage softened and some of the tension appeared to go out of him. Turning away from the lawyer, Harry looked across the table to where the bank's senior-most manager / current clan-chief was seated. "Is that true, Lord Ragnok?"
The Goblin Chief nodded his head once. It was a very Goblin motion. It indicated 'acceptance-of-what is' and it was a formal gesture made during what could be tense business negotiations. Remember what little he had learned in History of Magic, Harry made a sign with his hands that showed 'appreciation of one's situation'… and then he bowed, formally, to the Goblin-Chief. "My Lord Ragnok, I am "H_elem" [pronounced with an aspirated, guttural 'H' ] ('friend', in the guttural Goblin language). I ask you to know me as 'Harry'.
'H_elem' was a tricky word in the Goblin language and Harry knew it. It did, indeed, mean 'friend'. It also meant 'shield'… but could also be translated to mean 'your shield' and in that double-meaning lay the implication that Harry was offering to the Clan-Chief of Gringotts-London something more than a standard Banker-Client relationship. There were several possible responses to what Harry said and not all of them would be good (for Harry and Hermione at least), but Harry had his fingers crossed.
Finally Ragnok spoke; his voice low and guttural. "You honor me, human. Do you truly offer me 'H_elem'?"
Harry looked at him, but didn't smile. Showing one's teeth to a Goblin was a baaaaaaaaaad thing to do. Instead, Harry carefully drew his small pocket-knife and made a small, careful, star-shaped cut into his palm, before holding it out, palm-upwards and showing it to the Clan-Chief. It was the ritualistic way of offering his blood to the Clan-Chief, to signify that his offer was genuine. The lawyers in the room watched, both in horror and in fascination. None of them had ever seen the kind of interaction that they were presently witnessing before and most all of them figured that they might never see it again.
Harry looked across the table at the Clan-Chief and said, Hai! Che ta helem!,' , which came out sounding like 'Hai! Ta che h_elem!' – which, loosely translated meant, 'yes! Your shield!'
Ragnok's mouth split open in what had to be, Harry figured, a smile. Then he said two words: 'H_elem, Harry'.
From the moment that the Clan-Chief uttered the two words, the room took on a very different feel. The first noticeable thing that changed was the sudden absence of Goblin guards. After that, there was a definite uptick to the pace (as well as ease) of the things that happened to both Harry and Hermione. The slow, laborious pace at which Gringotts documents had been produced all morning suddenly became a virtual torrent of information. Harry was astounded at the sheer volume of information that the Goblins seemed to keep. Records were cross-indexed in two and sometimes three places and were done in meticulous English. Every single one of Harry's properties suddenly had not just clear title of ownership attached to it, but up-to-the-minute valuations attached. Harry and Hermione literally knew what Harry was worth moment to moment and down to the very last Knut and Shilling (Pence) and they goggled at the figure. It was a number larger than the GDP of some small _countries_.
By dinner-time, Harry and Hermione had discovered many, many things about Harry's family; the family's financial legacy, and what problems probably lay ahead for him and for them as a couple. Harry also discovered that Sirius Black had named him sole heir to the entire Black Family fortune and that he planned to leave Harry in charge of the Black Family once Harry attained his magical majority.
The thing that they expected, though dreaded, was just how intense the search had become to find the two of them. Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour both knew where Harry and Hermione were [they had been part of the human help that had been brought in] – but as Gringotts employees they were forbidden to discuss or disclose anything about them. By the time the meetings at Gringotts had adjourned for the day, Order of the Phoenix members could be seen up and down Diagon Alley; desperately trying to find them.
Taking Harry's hand in hers, Hermione Granger giggled. She was no longer a ward of the Ministry (her parents had disowned her; abandoning her to her fate after her third year at Hogwarts and had moved to Australia), but the betrothed of Harry James, the 9th Lord Potter of Godric's Hollow. That meant that she would pick up at least two new titles when they were married (something that, in her mind, was a foregone conclusion after the afternoon's events), for Harry was also the last known descendent of Godric Gryffindor and, to Harry's chagrin, heir to his legacy and the entire contents of the merged Potter-Gryffindor vault at Gringotts.
"Where to, Harry?" she asked quietly.
"Don't know, really. I guess we could jump the channel and see what's doing in Paris… or Belgium, or pretty much anywhere else you'd like to visit. It's not like I'm going back to that place again." Harry couldn't even say the address of the house where Sirius was living; such was the nature of the Fidelius over the place.
"Well, it's not like anyone's going to question whether we're of age or not" Hermione said; looking down at the breathtaking emerald and diamond ring on her left hand and then over at the matching one Harry was wearing on his right hand.
Flashback two hours
"Alright. I'm done here. I can't take any more. I know you folks mean well, but I can't deal with any longer. I'm sorry."
Harry looked at the small cluster of men and women who were in the room. Each seemed to have a function, though in truth he couldn't really parse out what each did. A glance at Hermione told him that she felt the same way and needed to get out of the room and to somewhere that would be conducive to clearing her head and perhaps even letting her vent a bit. Then he remembered that he had wanted to look at his family vaults. Part of him was just really curious and the other half thought that it was the responsible thing to do – and what his parents would have wanted him to do. Looking at Hermione made that part of him that needed to do the responsible thing just that little bit stronger. "Want to go for a ride, Hermione?" he said with a small smile on his face.
He didn't really have to ask her. Hermione was already far past the point where that was necessary – but she appreciated it anyway. "Yes, please" she said, in a voice that conveyed her relief in having an opportunity to get the hell away from the lawyers, their endless paperwork, and the oppressive tension of being one of the only two teenagers in a room full of people.
Harry held out his hand, which she took gratefully, and he led her out of the room, down a long hall, and towards one of the more senior Goblins that he knew – Griphook. Once there, Harry quickly explained what he wanted to do and asked if Griphook could make it happen. Since Harry was the largest non-corporate depositor with Gringotts worldwide, both he and Hermione soon found themselves in a cart and hurtling down into the dark depths of Gringotts' enormous central vault-cavern.
The ride was fast – perhaps faster than any trip he had ever taken; save for those he had done on broomstick. It was even faster than the rides, both of them, which he had taken on Buckbeak – and that, he thought, was saying something. Riding a Hippogriff wasn't like flying any other way. Hippogriffs very much have a mind of their own, so the rider is never really in charge of the flight, unlike being on a broom.
At the bottom of the cavern sat two rows of massive vaults – numbered one through fifty; twenty-five to a side. Each had a door that was nine or ten feet high and maybe, Harry thought, as much as six or seven feet wide. Upon each door was inscribed a colorful coat of arms. Some had mottos etched in gold or onyx while others were done in red. At least two he saw were done in a dark blue. It was in front of one of these, number 7, that they stopped.
Harry looked at the Goblin who had brought them down to this very lowest level, as if to say, you sure this is right?
"Go, H_elem. If the door accepts you, you will enter. If not, there will be… a cost."
Harry didn't like that one bit and neither did Hermione. She grabbed him and made him look at her. He saw her worry and the love that was in her eyes for him. "It's all right, Hermione. I promise."
He had no idea, really, why he told her that it would be all right. Certainly, if the door did accept him, then it truly would be fine. If not…. well, he had faced the dark lord four or five times already and lived to tell about it, so he rationalized that he had to be doing something right. Of course, like any bit of bravado, it tends to melt away and things become harder the closer one moves to the challenge to be faced. Once Harry was face-to-face (doorknocker?) with the door, he realized that he had no idea what he had to do. However, there seemed to be one worn-away spot on the place on the edge of the coat of arms – which was of three golden Griffins standing side-by-side; each with something clutched in a claw. The first had a sword, the second a book with the word "justicia" on the cover, and the third clutched an olive branch. Harry wondered if the original vault-owner wasn't the inspiration for that rebellious Yank, Thomas Jefferson. Reaching out, Harry put his (relatively) small hand on the worn-away spot and was amazed to feel a pulsing warmth run up his arm and almost immediately coat the entirety of his insides with that same warmth.
"I claim this vault by birthright" Harry said simply, hoping that it was enough.
The groaning, metal-on-stone sound told him that it had been. Slowly, the door swung open; revealing nothing. Knowing that he was safely hidden by the bank's wards, he held up his hand and wished for light. His magic responded and soon the entire vault was revealed. Easily a football pitch in length, it dwarfed any vault that he had ever seen (or heard of) before. Looking over his shoulder towards where Hermione still sat in the cart, he called out, "Hermione! C'mere! You've got to see this"
Hermione Granger was out of the cart in a shot and soon the two were walking, carefully, among the floor-to-ceiling high piles of galleons, rugs, unspeakably precious books and scrolls, jewels, armor, weapons, and armoires. Pausing for a moment, Hermione looked at the young man who had brought her to this place, before she pulled him close.
"Harry?" she said quietly.
"Hermione?" he replied, lifting his hand so that he could cup the back of her head. He said her name as a question, but they both knew what the other was asking. Their eyes met and their lips followed. It was a tender kiss at first– but there was a roaring hunger that both felt. The kisses that Harry had shared with Cho Chang seemed like they had happened in a different lifetime – and they could not compare, either in tenderness or in passion, with the ones that he was now sharing with the girl he loved more than life itself.
For Hermione's part, the kiss was the culmination of everything good and special that had happened between them over the last four years, from the moment when Harry had charged into the girl's bathroom to protect her from the Troll to the treasured but terrifying minute before Harry had passed through the flames to try to protect the Philosopher's stone to the singular moments when she and Harry were standing in the moonlight, holding hands, watching Sirius Black fly away on Buckbeak's back. It had always been clear that Harry was the one for her – even if she hadn't truly recognized it until Henry Steele had complemented Harry on his choice. She knew it now as an indisputable fact in the same way she knew her own name. There would never be another man in her life. That there would be a second wife and a mistress for each house… well, that came with Harry's additional House responsibilities – and she accepted it. Well…. more than simply accepted it, really. Hogwarts boys didn't know it, but every girl in the school, save for a very few, knew that girls made wonderful lovers (three out of every four weeks, of course!), and she most definitely wasn't one of the exceptions to the rule. The Patil twins could attest to that!
That didn't matter in the moment though. Her entire sexuality was wide awake now and Harry's kiss had just freed every repressed sexual thought; every aching need she had ever felt. Grabbing Harry's hands, she moved them down to her arse; making it plain by her movements what she wanted.
Breaking the kiss, Hermione wrapped her arms around him as she ground her sex against his and moaned. "Oh God….Harry! Ohhhhhhhhhhh…..YES!" His hands were exploring her just as she wanted and she could feel his excitement, long and impossibly hard, pressing against her hot core.
"Oh God, Hermione. You don't know how long I've wanted you." Harry's voice was raspy and thick with emotion – love, lust, amazement, and fear – all in equal measure. Love for the constant companionship, support, trust, encouragement, and pride that he had always felt both from her and for her; lust for the perfect, hot, nubile, almost 17 yr. old girl who was showing him just how much she desired him; amazement at finding himself in such a situation and at the knowledge that she wanted permanency in it in the very same way that he did; and finally fear… that he would lose her or that he would wake up and that it would all prove to have been a dream.
Hermione gave herself over to every passionate, erotic thought and willingly forgot, for the fleeting private time that they had, that she was a prim-and-proper schoolgirl. What she wanted was to feel his hands on her body, everywhere… and she told him so with every movement, every kiss. "Put your hands in my pants, Harry. Touch me! Please!"
Not one to deny Hermione anything, he did as bidden. Unbuttoning her pants (which were done up at her left hip, instead of in front), Harry slid his hands down, over her soft, white-cotton-knickers' covered bottom and caressed every bit of her. He let his fingers memorize her incredible, magnificent body and reveled as he discovered each new bit of her. Soon he was caressing her bum with one hand, her sex with the other, and feeling amazed at how damp her knickers had become.
"Put your fingers inside me, Harry! Do me! Please!" Hermione begged him.
"We don't have much time, love" he said, thinking about the Goblin who was outside, waiting patiently in the cart for them.
"Don't….need….it! Do it! Finger my pussy! Please!"
Harry had never, ever, ever touched a girl in the way that Hermione was pleading to be touched, and in truth, he had never touched a girl in any amorous way at all until this moment – and he desperately wanted to please her. Watching her face for any sign of disapproval or hesitancy, Harry slowly, but not too slowly, slid his hand down and into his girl's knickers. He really didn't know what to expect and had no idea that it wasn't unusual for a Muggle-born girl to be shaved and have silky-smooth skin all the way down between her legs. However, there wasn't time to comment on his surprise, so he pressed ahead the way he thought a true Gryffindor would and let his hand slide down, tenderly, so that he was cupping her hot, wet sex. Slowly and gently, he pushed two fingers up and into her body. Hermione gasped at first and then rolled her hips forward slightly, so that his middle and ring-fingers were even deeper into her pussy. The gusset of her knickers was damp against the back of his hand in place – which gave him a strong jolt of pride that he was the one who had had inspired her to make it so.
Kissing the back of her neck as he pleasured her, Harry marveled at how good she smelled and how receptive she was to his touch. His breath was cool on her skin, but the feelings it stoked in her were delicious.
It was too much for her and soon Harry was rewarded for his efforts, as Hermione spread her legs a bit farther and then cried out as the orgasm he had been stoking within her exploded throughout her body; unhinging her mind. "Oh yes! Fuck yes! Ohhhhhh GOD!"
It seemed like a long time before Hermione came back to herself and was able to speak coherently. When she did, though, she threw her arms around him, pressed her face tight to his, and whispered "Thank you Harry. I love you,"
Withdrawing his hand, reluctantly, from the front of Hermione's knickers, Harry brought it around her back, to once again clutch her bottom and pull her tight against his body. "I love you too, Hermione. Be mine forever?"
"I already am, Harry. No one can ever take me from you" she said as they tilted their heads once more and brushed their lips together in a feather-soft kiss.
"Now it's my turn, Harry" Hermione said as she gripped his erection through his pants. Before Harry had time to say anything, Hermione dropped to her knees and was freeing his cock from its confinement.
The feel of her silky, feminine hands on the bare, sensitive flesh of his cock lit up his whole body – in the same way that it did to any young man discovering the pleasures of the flesh for the first time. He knew he wasn't going to last long. His body was already a quivering, erotic mess and Hermione's every movement and every touch pushed him that much closer towards rolling over into a vast chasm filled with orgasmic pleasure.
"Cum for me, Harry. Let it go!" she whispered, before taking his cock deep into her mouth. Harry couldn't help but comply – all over her tongue and mouth and the feeling nearly took his breath away. He had never, ever imagined that he could feel so good.
When he regained some sense of control, Harry helped Hermione to her feet and once again kissed her passionately. "Let's find a ring, if there is one, so that everyone will know that you're mine" he said.
"And that you're mine" she replied, before pressing her lips against his and silencing him for the next few minutes.
Flashback ends
Harry giggled. "Yea, probably no one. But it's nice that we have the right ID's now. Gotta wonder how the Goblins do it sometimes."
Hermione nodded distractedly. She was thinking about all the things that they had seen in the vault and just how much of it Harry had been able to put in the magical chest that he now had in his pocket. She wondered – and she knew it was more than a touch greedy of her - if he had gotten many of the books they had discovered. She was sure he had grabbed a very large volume of galleons and most all of the jewelry, gems, armor, and weapons that he had seen. "So… where to? I was thinking we get to Addlestone and then find the first train to Folkestone."
Nodding, Harry looked at her. He couldn't believe, even after their tryst in the vault, that she was his. It seemed so unreal that a girl like Hermione – with her brilliance and beauty – would deign to be with someone like him. However, he wasn't going to stop and have some kind of heart-to-heart in the middle of Gringotts' central lobby. It was neither the time nor the place in which to talk through all of the things that they had experienced in the last twenty-four hours. It was, however, the time to be doing.
"It's a good thing I have my cloak then, isn't it?" Harry asked, almost rhetorically.
"Prat."
"But you love me anyway" he rejoined, seeing the look of humor and love on her face.
"You know I do, so let's get on with it. We've got a fair way to go ere we sleep tonight".
"Right" Harry said, throwing the cloak over the two of them, before putting his hand around her waist and pulling her close. Together they walked down the steps, careful to make no noise, and moved past all of the Order members who were patrolling up and down the alley.
Soon they were at the portal which led to the Leaky Cauldron. Once past the magical brick portal, they realized immediately that getting to freedom was going to be much harder than it looked – because the place was packed with patrons and not at all conducive to moving side-by-side to the door which led to Charring Cross Road and the anonymity of Muggle London.
Jabbing Harry in the ribs, Hermione said, "How are we ever going to get out of here?"
Drawing his wand from his back pocket – Harry pointed it at the fireplace and said softly, "Like this". Hermione watched as the almost-invisible spell shot from Harry's wand and hit the fireplace. Almost before she had time to comprehend what was happening, patrons were running for the door to the outside or Apparating away. Then she saw what Harry had done. All over the floor were big, black, biting ants – the kind that she had studied in Herbology as being the worst possible pest to have anywhere near a tree that produced wand-quality wood. The ants were drawn to magic and began biting and chewing anything that had a magical signature.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes…but how do we get past the ants?" Hermione had never heard of anything that would deter them.
"Like this" Harry said, and then pointed his wand at a salt-shaker that was on a nearby table. The salt-shaker rose into the air; the cover popped off, and the salt burst forth in a magical cloud that momentarily filled the room, before settling down on every surface. Hermione watched as every ant that was touched by the salt exploded in a small !pop!.
"Now, Hermione. Let's go!" he whispered, before pulling her across the long main room and out, through the door, and into the freedom of Muggle London.
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OK – so I wrote this first chapter – if that is what it becomes – because I had a smut-bunny wandering around my head and it needed expression. Now I've written 18 pages and there is certainly more to be written, though I don't know if it will turn into another huge project (like the 4 I already have on the fire) or not. YOUR REACTIONS TO THIS STORY WILL DETERMINE (IN LARGE MEASURE) whether or not it gets continued. SO….. As usual, I would ask you to please leave a review. Reader-reviews are the life-blood of this kind of writing and I need/want them no less than the next person. Plus, it gives me a sense of what's working and what isn't.
Regards,
the_scribbler