Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed that the world was so clearly working against him. Again.
"No, no…" He repeated, running a hand through his hair. "I'm aware of the Black estates—and how much are the taxes again?"
The goblin didn't look up, seeming to be more interested in perusing his files than deigning him with an answer. Belatedly, Harry noticed that there were quite a few files for him, olden parchment littering the small creature's desk like a sea of paper that seemed to swallow the goblin hole, his inordinately tall stool the boat and the quill the size of his head the mast.
No wonder his taxes were blown so clear out of proportion this year.
"The Black Estates are vast indeed." Replied the goblin after some amount of time. "As are the Potter Estates. Undoubtedly that makes up for the majority of your property tax—
Which, this year, soared to a grand total of three-thousand galleons. Hell.
I bet the Malfoys don't even pay that much. Harry thought, annoyed. And to think everyone always railed on the Weasley's for their small plot of land—they're ingenious. They probably pay what, six sickles a year?
"As well as the Lawliet Estates in Wiltshire—
"Excuse me?" Harry interrupted, blinking. "There must be some sort of mistake… I don't own any property in Wiltshire."
"You own the Black Manor of Wiltshire." Gobhook pointd out. "As well Black Manor Moscow, Grimwauld Place, Black Manor Nice, Black Manor Tuscanny—
"Enough of the Black property!" Harry cut in rather hastily, unsure if he really wanted to know how much land he was truly paying for. It all seemed like quite a waste to him. "What is this Lawliet business about? I've never heard of it before."
Then again, the goblins liked to keep him in the dark about these things—unless they were taking his money, that is.
Small, clawed hands shuffled the vast ocean of papers around, pulling out a long one that looked vaguely familiar.
"Let's see, let's see…" He attached his half-moon spectacles and peered down his long, hooked nose. "Last will and testament of Potter, James, Part Seven Clause Five—in the case of my immediate death, terminate the lasting betrothal—
"Betrothal?" Harry sputtered.
"Contract with Lawliet, William and Lawliet, Chrysanthe. For further details with relations with the Lawliet family, see Part Twenty-two Clause Eight…"
There was more rustling, as the goblin moved further down the long, winding parchment. By the time he reached part twenty-two the top of the will had already fallen off the desk and sprawled on the floor. Harry groaned.
"In the case of the death of Lawliet, William, the estates and finances of the Lawliet family will go to myself or the current Head of the Potter House…" He looked up. "That would be you."
"I don't even know these people!" Harry pointed out, unnecessarily. "Why should I be taxed for them?"
The goblin expression didn't look moved at all. "Well someone has to be taxed for it."
"I don't even live there!" Harry shot up, enraged. "Hell, I don't even live in any of these places. I'd sell them all off if I could but there's that stupid ownership clause…"
"Regardless," The goblin dipped his quill, looking entirely uninterested in the logical machinations of Harry's mind, "They are still your responsibility, and therefore, are yours to pay. Also, you've received the entirety of the Lawliet funds, bank statement included in the finance report we've handed to you."
Harry looked back down at it, feeling a bit sick. Paperwork…
"Is there anything else I can clear up for you, Mr. Potter?" Asked Gobhook, already putting away all his files with a wave of his hand.
"No, that's it." Clearly you all just want to screw me over. "And I just pay at the front desk?"
"Yes. Have a good day."
"Yeah, you too."
But the sarcasm was lost on the goblin.
The twenty-two year old exited the office with a great sigh, wondering how each year he managed to get tangled up into a bigger mess. All his life he'd longed for independence, and now he was realizing just how tedious being an adult could be. He'd never even heard of these Lawliets, though clearly they were of some amount of wealth, as when he finally managed to get to the front of the line he was stunned to see just how much he'd inherited from them.
But which one of them died? He wondered, thinking back on the will. He supposed it hardly mattered.
But that didn't stop his curiosity.
"You invited me to lunch to ask me that, Potter?" Draco sprawled against the back of his chair, looking vaguely exasperated.
To say he and Malfoy were friends would be the biggest overstatement of the year. To say they were enemies though, would be just as folly. They must be somewhere in the middle, Harry decided. Not quite-friends, not quite-enemies.
"That, and I was wondering if you pay as much as I do with these god damn taxes. Am I the only one who thinks this is utterly wrong?"
"Get used to it." Malfoy snorted, twirling his fork in his hands, as if he was too good to eat with it. "It's how the goblins make up for the oppression—by taking decent pureblood money."
"So they only tax purebloods?" Harry questioned, confused.
"Of course not. But who else has land?"
Harry supposed this was true. "You have a point… but you still haven't answered my question." He pointed out. "Do you know these Lawliets?"
"Know them?" Draco repeated, hailing the waiter for more tea. "I suppose. They live in Wiltshire as well… however, haven't seen or heard much of them. They don't move in the same circles—if they move in any at all."
Another dead end, then. He'd already asked Ron, who knew little if nothing about other Pureblood families, and Hermione, but she was a muggle-born herself and would hardly know something obscure like that. Neville was at a loss as well, and he hadn't anyone else aside from Malfoy that he knew who could possibly know the answer.
"You haven't heard of any recent deaths, have you?"
The blonde looked affronted. "Do I look like a Wizarding newspaper rag to you? But yes Potter, I have. They say Lord Lawliet was of waning health, and finally passed away some weeks ago. Haven't heard anything else though. If you've really inherited their fortune, you may as well pop over there. That's probably the only way to get a true answer."
That's what I was afraid of.
"I don't see what you're issue is with this, anyway." Began the blonde anew. "Land is a good thing, Potter. Especially in England. Merlin knows how difficult it is to buy in any magical counties with the real-estate recession these days… No one wants to sell or buy—bollocks, I think. The only way to get out of it is to stimulate the economy again, not that anyone thinks of that."
"I forget you work in finance." Harry rolled his eyes, hoping to avoid another Malfoy rant on the global economy. There always seemed to be an issue with it. Muggles this, muggles that, oil, real-estate… "So there isn't any other way? I have to pay all this money—for what? Wasted land?"
"Stop making a big deal out of it." Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "You get it all back at tax returns—if you file correctly. You do know how, right?"
"Yes." Harry hissed, without heat.
Malfoy always thought him incredibly dim.
Some things just didn't change.
.
.
.
Considering the recent death of the patriarch, the Manor didn't seem to be suffering at all. Silver wrought gates polished off with gold surrounded the towering oaks of the sprawling, manicured lawns. The winding path went through rose gardens, fairy-fountains and hedges upon hedges of flowers, all eventually coming together to reveal the white walls of the estate, ivy crawling up the marble pillars that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight.
Harry cleared his throat as he made his way up the inordinate amount of stairs, grabbing a golden knocker and about to knock, before the door swung open without his doing so.
The main parlor was vast and seemed to be cut clean of white marble, silver veins running up into the glistening chandelier, which drooped heavily from the arched ceiling, weighed down with glittering crystals.
"Hello?" He called into the enormous chamber, but only his echo greeted him.
He squinted about—even inside, the sunlight from the windows was near blinding.
"You must be Harry. Harry Potter."
He whirled around, looking for the voice.
And there, near the large chrysanthemum centerpiece in the hall, a woman doused in bright light.
"Yes." He nodded, swallowing. "Yes that's me. And…?"
"Chrysanthe Lawliet." She stepped away from the enormous, blooming flowers, revealing a waif-like woman in a palatial ball gown, piles of dark hair precariously falling from her head. "It's an honor to finally meet you."
"Likewise…And I'm, uh, sorry for your loss…"
She waved him off, however.
"And I apologize for not contacting you earlier." She said in reply. "Now, it's almost tea time, isn't it? Would you care to join me?"
"I'd love to." He replied hastily, falling into step with her as she turned to make down a long hallway, careful not to step on the long train of her gown.
"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Lawliet." He added decorously, if not for little else than polite conversation.
The matriarch tilted her head. "It is, isn't it?" She tilted her head, passingly admiring the sun brightened windows with only the slight of her well-shaped eyes."If not rather lonely."
Yes, he imagined these vast chambers to get rather tiring all alone.
She led him to a parlor fit for kings, afternoon tea set with the backdrop of the summer sky and an enormous fountain composed of stone fairies. She took a place on the chaise lounge, and he sat himself opposite, staring confusedly—though he hoped it didn't show on his face—at the amount of spoons laid out for him.
He wondered why she had three places set. Perhaps…
"I'm quite sorry to interrupt you." He began as an afterthought, realizing it was rather rude of him to come without being invited. "I'm sure you were expecting company, and I hadn't written in advance, but I was just recently informed by Gringotts that—
"I know, Mr. Potter." She interrupted, yet somehow still cordial. "It must have come as a surprise for you, and I apologize for that, but my husband and I have always known what James' will said—to speak quite frankly I must say I'm glad for it.."
"Y—You.." He blinked. "You are?"
"Why yes." She replied, pouring herself some tea. "Though none would fault his business, William was… a mild man." She said, diplomatically.
"My condolences."
"No need." Was her immediate answer. "However frank it is for me to say... I don't regret his loss. It came at an unfortunate time, surely, for it was some years late I suspect."
"I'm sorry?"
"If only he had passed sooner… Ah, well, at any rate, you're here now. Tea?" She offered.
"Please." He nodded, for lack of anything else to do.
"You're a good man, Mr. Potter." She began anew, and then with pause, "From what I've read in the papers, at least. You seem to have a perennial fall out with them, however… Especially with that Skeeter fellow."
"We're at odds occasionally." Or rather, all the time. "And I'm not sure that what the Daily Prophet writes about me… is entirely correct."
"How scandalous if it wasn't!" She laughed. "And I don't mind you being the Head of House, if that's what you've come to discuss."
"It is, actually." He took a sip of his tea, setting it down on the blue-accented china carefully. "I was wondering if you might explain to me why I'm the head of your house… instead of well…" He faltered. "You, I suppose. Or someone who at least knows of you. I hadn't even heard the name Lawliet until that afternoon."
"We're not as sociably as we used to be." She agreed, a light smile on her lovely face. "But there's quite a story behind it, I assure you. The Lawliet family is an old one, but fell out of favor some centuries ago when Lear Lawliet disowned his daughter and split his kingdom—but I suppose that's a story for another time. Well since then, we've always been in an alliance with the Potters, though never through blood."
She looked away then, almost regretfully.
"You probably don't remember, but William and James were always rather disagreeable to each other. Your grandfather always mourned the fact, but there was little he could do about it."
"Disagreeable?" He repeated.
"Oh yes, very." She nodded. "They were never fond of each other. Though to that end… I wasn't very fond of him either. Not after…" She looked away, towards the fountain, her delicate profile bathed in sunlight.
When she looked back at him, there was a certain light to her eyes. "Would you mind terribly if I told you a story?"
"Not at all." He answered quickly and quite genuinely.
She took a sip of tea, before setting it down once more. A house elf came and set down a grandiose centerpiece of biscuits and muffins as she began. "William was pleasant once, though it's hard for me to recall, as in his more recent years he was rather temperamental. But at one point, I'd think that everyone this side of Marseilles was enchanted with him. We both attended Beauxbatons, you know, and everyone loved him there. I thought him quite the catch. And we were happy, for a time. Ecstatic, even, when I was pregnant. Your mother and I would always talk about our children… we had such grand plans for the both of you, even though neither of you were born yet."
"Children?" Harry's brows raised. He hadn't seen any children…
"That's the crux of it though, I suppose." She continued on, as if she hadn't heard him. "We have such elaborate day dreams… they almost seem to carry away with us, and leave reality feeling so very lacking. I hadn't even held him for very long when the healer told us he was a Squib. William was livid, accusing me of all sorts of horrible things. At the time, it was well thought that it was the woman's fault when a child turned into a squib, something to do with eating shellfish…"
"I regret that day so very much, Harry." She looked deeply into his eyes, as if wanting to wrench something out of them. "And I remember it with such detail… I had been writing his name, you see, and I had stopped right on the L. We never agreed on a name, William and I. I always wanted Lysander, but he wanted Lawson, a family name. All we could agree on was the L… and it was all I had written down. William demanded we get rid of him at once—and I… I didn't say anything to oppose it. In fact, I don't think I said anything at all. I was in such shock. How could this baby, the baby I had been wanting for so long—be a squib? It seemed so cruel."
"We didn't talk much after that—how could we? He hated me then, for some unfathomable reason. And I was in denial that the whole ordeal had happened. It wasn't uncommon, of course, for a respectable pureblood family to put their squibs for adoption in the muggle world, to kill them, even." She looked down, lashes casting spiking shadows on her pale cheeks. "How awful it was then, and after then, even. We never were the same… I had so many questions for him, about that baby. What did he do with it? Had he killed him? I think, all those lingering questions turned to a stewing anger I never realized myself. It wasn't until he was getting on in his illness, when he started getting feverish, that he told me of the orphanage."
"Orphanage?"
"Yes, Dodson's, I believe." She looked down, once more, and Harry thought he could see her age somewhere—certainly not physically, as her face was as clear and as beautiful as a glamour—in the darkness to her gray eyes.
"I'm… so sorry." He said, for nothing else to say. What could he say? It seemed he was apologizing quite frequently today.
"It was a long time ago." She said, softly.
"But it lingers with you, anyway." He pointed out.
The woman nodded, looking up at him with a certain determination. "Harry I…"
"Yes?"
She faltered, her beautiful gray eyes turning to look out into the garden. "I'm going to ask something entirely selfish of you, Harry."
"What is it?" He asked carefully, stirring his tea.
"Could you find him for me?" She turned back to him, dark curls falling glossily over narrow shoulders. "After William's death, I wanted to contact the orphanage he brought him to… but it was too painful. He must be grown by now—I wonder what he's done with himself? Perhaps something greater than anything I could have imagined for him…" And with a breath, "It's okay if you don't of course. Most likely he's long gone… but I just have to know, even if I don't have the strength to look for him myself."
"I'll look for you." He agreed, if only to erase the breathtaking sadness from her face.
"I'll always be in your gratitude." She replied, gravely.
And then she blinked owlishly, as if coming to from a long sleep. "I'm sorry, I must've kept you much longer than you anticipated." Her face turned pleasant once more, an airy, radiantly untroubled look.
"No, it's fine." He set his cup down. "It was rather entertaining… and informative."
"Was it?" She smiled. "I thank you for your time. You're such a charming young man Harry… and you have such beautiful green eyes. Such a curious color…"
"My mother's eyes." He nodded, having heard it many times before.
"Perhaps…but perhaps not." She agreed, almost reluctantly. "Oh, you'll visit an old widow sometime, won't you? I promise I won't bore you with such long stories next time."
"Of course." He replied, though to be quite honest she intimidated him as much as depressed him. There was something rather mournful to Chrysanthe Lawliet, something that didn't sit well with him. Something that could have been…
He stood then, about to make his way back to the main parlor when she pulled him back. "I'll just let myself out…"
"There's no need for that. The wards are yours now, you can apparate as you please." She reminded lightly.
"Are you alright with that?" He'd heard it was rather impolite in explicit pureblood society to apparate in someone's house.
"Are you? It is your house, you know."
She stood then, giving him a courteous kiss to the cheek. "Thank you, Harry."
.
.
.
If anything, visiting Lawliet Manor had only left him with more questions.
Dodson's wasn't particularly hard to find, however, they were quite confused with his questions. There wasn't any record of a boy who had come some years prior, though in their defense, he had little information to give them. He didn't even know his name. L, perhaps. That was his magical name, at any rate. L Lawliet.
It seemed an entirely useless endeavor, a fruitless search for one muggle in a world full of billions. How would he ever be able to find him?
He returned to his London flat, exhausted after an entire day of visiting Muggle Orphanages, in hopes of finding some trace of a boy who had been there almost two decade ago. It brought up horrible memories that were not-quite his of another dreary London orphanage with iron-wrought gates and a perpetual cloud of glooms. It crossed his mind more than once that he was making a conscious effort not to look at Wool's.
But how ironic would that be?
By the end of the day, he was quite well and ready to call it quits. Perhaps he'd just never see Chrysanthe again, the fair widow of Lawliet Manor. It certainly hadn't hurt him any less to not see her for the majority of his life.
"And how does she suppose I find one muggle, one human, with nothing but a…"
He stopped his pacing of his bedroom, his eyes lingering unfalteringly on his trunk.
"But a name."
The wizard hesitated, for naught but a moment, before eventually grasping himself once more and wrenched the trunk opening, rummaging through the enlarged chambers until he found the little red book he was looking for.
He brought out a quill as well, opened it to the first page, and swallowed.
Bring me a servant.
He wrote.
And then waited.
After a few breaths, a giant monster emerged from the air, a strange, sickly looking creature made of black leather and macabre teeth. He wore a bone mask and carried a great, long scythe. At least, Harry assumed it was a he. It certainly didn't look like a she.
He blinked.
"You're not Ryuk."
"No, no I'm not." The monster agreed. "I am Deridovely, my King. Ryuk is… otherwise engaged. Did you want him in particular?"
"Uh, no that's quite alright." He set the book back down, staring up at a creature he hadn't seen in five years with wonder and rapture. Though he'd kept the book out of sight, that didn't stop his mind from drawing towards it every so often, from every apple tasting like heaven. "I'm in need of your services, I think."
"Ask away."
"Well I'm looking for a human, but all I know is his name."
Harry imagined Deridovely smirking underneath his mask. "That's all you need."