The One Where Sirius' Will is Done and Harry Discovers Gendered Goblins
July 6, 1996
Tipping point: the moment of critical mass; the threshold; the boiling point. Seldom, except in hindsight, do people get the chance to positively identify which tiny moments in their lives were to be credited for irrevocably changing everything thereafter. Harry Potter was no exception to this rule. If he were to look back upon his short life, he would be able to tell you which instances exactly were the tipping points that threw him sharply upon a different course of action: the night he was placed at the doorstep of the Dursleys… the moment he accepted the words of a giant stranger and believed magic to be a reality… the day his name leapt out from within the flames of a smoldering goblet. Yes, Harry Potter could you about all the points in his past that shook the foundations of his life, but even he couldn't know that the course of events of this, otherwise, average Saturday would soon be added to that list.
Anyone could tell just by looking at him that Harry Potter was in a foul mood. He had finally fallen asleep at 4 am that morning, only to be woken up three hours later by a barn owl, carrying what looked to be a rather hefty package. Said owl proceeded to peck at Harry's face until the young man acknowledged the ruddy bird's presence and relieved it of its burden; luckily, the Dursley's were out of town for the weekend to see Dudley's boxing tourney and, thus, weren't there to hear the loud squawking noises. The embossed blood red wax seal in the shape of a 'G' that stood out against the rather plain, brown paper caught Harry's attention and piqued his interest enough for him to momentarily forget about crawling back into bed; it was too hot in there to get a restful nap in, anyway. After tearing the seal and ribbon away and subsequently throwing it haphazardly on his desk, he unfurled the wrapping to find a stack of individually folded pieces of thick parchment on top of three rather ancient looking books. Warily opening the letter on top of the stack, Harry glanced at the first line of the paper and stopped breathing.
Dear Mister Potter,
On behalf of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Diagon Ally Branch, we offer our sincerest condolences regarding the passing of one Sirius Orion Black III, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. At Gringotts, we pride ourselves on executing the wishes of our patrons to the fullest of our abilities. As the sole owner of the contents within Vault 711, the late Mister Black has lawfully and explicitly bequeathed fifty (50) percent of the assets of his aforementioned vault to you, one Mister Harrison James Potter. The attached parchment is a copy of the listed effects Mister Black has transferred unto you. If you wish to accept these holdings, we must receive a reply from you no later than noon on Monday, July 8, 1996; it is imperative that you contact one of our branches at your earliest convenience. Again, Mister Potter, you have our deepest condolences.
Ad perpetuam rei memoriam
Best Regards,
Ragnuk XIV
Gringotts: Diagon Alley, Branch Manager
His heart was pounding; the paper in his hands was crinkling, he was trembling so terribly. This made it all too real for Harry. Again, the intense waves of anger and guilt washed over him in an attempt to consume his entire being. The edges around the parchment were smoking slightly, until, suddenly, it burst into flames in his palms. Harry quickly threw it on the ground to stamp out the fire. Strangely, this was not the first instance this summer of him performing emotion-fueled accidental magic; upon his return in the beginning of the summer, Vernon Dursley screamed at him one morning for not having breakfast prepared quickly enough; as Harry turned to face his uncle, the flowers adorning the centerpiece of the kitchen table exploded into flames before disintegrating into a fine, powdery pile of ash. He hadn't been yelled at since.
Shakily, he placed the first letter down and picked up the second one; it was a letter from Sirius. Harry hesitated. He didn't know if he wanted to read what it said just yet. All the same, the words on the parchment were in such a familiar elegant scrawl that his treacherous eyes, the same ones that were welling up with tears, began to scan the lines.
Dear Harry,
I am writing this with a heavy heart, for I know that when the time comes for you to read this, I will no longer be there to aid in your journey. I hoped for nothing more than to spend more time with you – to simply get to know you better, but I fear that our time together has been unjustly limited by forces beyond anyone's control. Read this letter carefully, Harry, because within this, I will try to tell you some things that I was never allowed to say to you in life.
As I am composing this letter, members of the First Order of the Phoenix are congregating in the drawing room adjacent form mine. Though I am part of this group, tonight, I am being withheld from the meeting, frankly, due to my relationship with you. Presence aside, however, I am all too aware of the subject that is to be discussed. To be blunt, there is a prophecy, Harry, and though it is my hope that you will, by now, know the contents of it, I cannot rely on others to give away such knowledge, freely, regardless of how integral you may be to the issue at hand. I was never one for verbatim memorization, so I concede that I cannot regurgitate the precise wording of this prophecy, but its message is forever ingrained within me: it states that you, Harry James Potter, will be the one – the only one – who has the power to defeat the dark lord. I cannot begin to tell how much I loathe to admit this, but we all know that there is truth in these words. I have no deeper regret in my lifetime than my inability to protect you from this responsibility, Harry – no one should be charged with such a task, but, yet, down to the deepest recesses of my soul, I know you will succeed.
The next piece of information that relates to you is something that I had a difficult time deciding on whether or not it is my place to tell you. In the end, I felt that, though perhaps I do not have the right to say this, you by all means have the right to know. Voldemort is conscious of part of the prophecy, though, he does not know the portion that declares that you are slated to be his conqueror; he merely received news concerning the first half, which told him that a child, born to those who trice defied him, would have the power to vanquish him. This is what caused him to seek your family out, Harry. This is what caused him to murder your parents – my best friends. You have the right to know, Harry, that Severus Snape was the man who provided this information to Voldemort. I am not giving you this information because of some petty schoolyard rivalry I shared with the man, Harry, so please do not misconstrue my intentions. I simply want you to know all the facts so you can make your decisions for yourself. It is true that I do not trust Snape – this is not a fact that I have ever tried to hide. However, Dumbledore does place his faith in him, and he does so implicitly; and, though I often times do not agree with his methods, I have no reason to doubt that the Headmaster is a man of good intentions. So, Harry, take this information and do with it what you will – others may question whether or not you are mature enough to handle this knowledge, but I have never doubted your abilities. You are the son of James and Lily Potter; you have a good head on your shoulders. You are my godson; you are destined for greatness. And with my final actions, I will see to it that your path is as unobstructed as possible.
The greatest piece of advice that I can offer to you is that you must keep your friends close, Harry. It is in your nature to shut your loved ones out, and, as you have experienced, it is a habit that does nothing but hurt all parties involved. The reality of war is that there are allies, and then there is everyone else. Sad as it may be, it is indubitably true – war is a vicious and powerful thing; it has the power to tear families apart. Don't let it happen to you, Harry. Expand your base of allies, and when you find those who are truly trustworthy, hold onto them for dear life, because your life may very well depend on them one day.
Along with this letter, you should have received 5 very important items. The first is a copy of your birth certificate. You're a bright young man, so I will refrain from spelling out exactly why I am providing it, but keep in mind that there is a reason that I have placed it in your possession. The next should be a few sheets of official Gringotts business parchment. The goblins only give this out to their most valued patrons, in part, because once you've signed your name at the bottom, a copy of the letter is sent directly to the desk of one of the top branch goblins of the bank. Goblins take whatever questions, remarks, or requests that are given to them via this method very seriously, so keep that in mind before you start composing.
The last three objects are three books that I hope will be invaluable to you in both your quest, and, subsequently, in life. The time will come, Harry, when your battles will not only be fought in the field, but within the walls of the ministry as well – I daresay you've had your fill of such undertakings after your trial this past summer; unfortunately, that was but a mere glimpse of the political inner workings of the wizarding world. In order for you to survive and win, you must learn how to play the game. Politics is, by nature, a dirty sport, but to avoid being taken advantage of, sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. You are a beacon of hope for many, Harry, so whether you like it or not, you will be publically scrutinized, and once the world realizes the truth behind your claims, it will only get worse. Please, take the advice offered within these books to heart – I have included several annotations of my own to help you along. Finally, take care of yourself, Harry. As much as I love you, I have no desire to see you on the other side for many years to come.
Farewell for now,
Sirius Orion Black, III
For the first time since the start of the summer, Harry cried. Until now, he was simply too consumed by his anger to allow for his sadness to show through. But now… now, with Sirius' words and memory so raw in his mind, he positively broke down. He sobbed until he couldn't breathe, and only then, when it was physically impossible for him to shed any more tears, did he stop. Ever the masochist, he read the letter again, hoping that he had simply misread it the first time around. No such luck. The words were the same. 'Severus Snape was the man who provided this information to Voldemort.'
'I'll kill him,' Harry thought viciously. Coherent thought left his mind, and he knew nothing else except for the fact that he was trembling with rage, and if he didn't hit something very soon, he was likely to accidentally set his room on fire. So, like any irrational, temporarily emotionally imbalanced teenage boy, he turned around and drove his fist into the wall. In retrospect, it was perhaps not the best idea that Harry had ever had, and surely, if Sirius saw him now, he probably wouldn't have been as quick to assert that his godson was a 'bright boy.' The first hit impacted with a sickening crunch of his hand, but he paid no heed to the searing pain that shot through his knuckles, into his wrist and forearm. It came second to the pain that was currently shooting through his chest.
So, instead of stopping, he merely reared back his left hand and drove it into the wall with similar, devastating speed. The second crack did nothing to him in his current state of mind. However, the third time one of his fists collided with the wall, the pain was excruciating enough to force him to stop. Driving an already broken hand into a solid wall will do that to a person. He stood there for a second, hands in front of him, palms facing down, and stared at the disfigured pointer and ring fingers of his left hand. Both fists had begun to swell almost immediately, and while the right one looked like it was expanding at a more rapid pace, the left hand had a definitely larger gash across the top that was absolutely oozing coppery red blood. Harry could do nothing but examine his hands with interest.
From behind, Harry heard a subtle, almost inaudible pop of apparation. Relying solely on instinct, the next thing either person knew, his wand was pointed straight into the face of his would-be assailant.
"Wotcher, Harry," he was 99% sure that no one other than Tonks would submit such a greeting and show up wearing such clothes – really, where do they even sell shorts like that in the wizarding world? All the same, he showed that Mad-Eye's tutelage was at least leaving a lasting impression and asked the questions, appeased with the answer. He winced as she healed his battered hands, and internally did so again after he abruptly, unduly, snapped at her. 'You must keep your friends close… the reality of war is that there are allies, and then there is everyone else.' He felt downright awful after this realization, and even more so when he made the horrifying connection that Tonks was Sirius' family. Surely she was feeling just as torn up as he was – how selfish it was of him to think that he was hit hardest by his godfather's death. 'And what about Professor Lupin? That was his best friend.'
In spite of himself, Harry found that he couldn't stop his mouth from telling Tonks things that he'd never mentioned to anyone before, not to Hermione, and certainly not to Ron. By mid-afternoon, Harry learned to appreciate Tonks in an entirely new light. He knew relatively little about her to before that day: she was Sirius' cousin, she was a damn good auror, she was pretty, and she was perpetually cheerful. After today, Harry was able to add an infinite amount of other descriptions to his list of Tonks-related attributes. Exciting. Easy to talk to. Brilliant. The list went on. But what struck him the most as possibly her best attribute was her inclination to treat him like an equal. The only times she acted as if Harry were a child were the instances during which he was, well, actually behaving like a child. He quickly learned to keep a better lid on his hair-trigger temper, lest Tonks threaten him at wand point again (few things were scarier to him than standing at the wrong end of the wand of a fully trained, highly competent witch with a murderous glint in her eye).
By the end of the day, Harry felt lighter than he had in months. He found himself feeling a bit of anticipation for the next time Tonks was on guard duty again, which, he rationalized, was simply due to the fact that she was the only person he had any contact with at all in the wizarding world in the past month that was even remotely his age. It was refreshing. 'And did she just leave, talking about my arse?' Harry shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips. Just one more thing he appreciated about her; she certainly had a sense of humor.
July 27, 1996
Almost a month had gone by since Harry received the package containing Sirius' effects. Though it took him until the last minute to do so, Harry eventually sent Gringotts a reply, stating that he would accept whatever Sirius had bequeathed unto him. Upon reading the ledger that the bank had provided – Jesus Christ, Sirius, what didn't you have? – Harry also began to wonder about the state of the Potter holdings. Why hadn't he ever pondered about what his parents had left behind? He concluded that Sirius was right; when it came to the wizarding world as a whole, he knew next to nothing. Thus, when he read the titles of the books that were included in the original parcel, Harry's immeasurable appreciation of Sirius only grew; he also idly wondered how much Slytherin influence was truly indoctrinated into his supposedly Gryffindor godfather. No doubt straight out of the Black family library, Of Integrity: History and Law of the Wizengamot, Lost Magick and Forgotten Ways, and Appearance and Pedigree: A Complete Guide to the Etiquette and Customs for the Wizarding World's Purest were opened and meticulously read by Harry over the span of the past month. Though at times boring, Harry tirelessly read on; Sirius' numerous annotations in the margins of the books helped – sometimes lighthearted and witty, and other times providing additional, deadly useful information, Sirius' comments allowed for Harry to connect the dots and understand how to use a potential crippling front of the war that he had previously ignored.
With these three books packed away in to his trunk, Harry, in his mind, had officially ended his stay at Privet Drive, at least for another year. Today, he would finally be rescued from his prison, though, he had to admit, his experience in the last month and a half at the Drive really wasn't that awful, all things considered. Dudley left him alone, seemingly still uneasy, from the brief encounter with dementors last year; Vernon was more or less the same, though noticeable more twitchy around Harry after the breakfast incident; and Petunia was another story altogether. Arguably, she treated him worse than ever, but, strangely enough, fed him more food than he'd ever been given. His meal portions were only the slightest bit smaller than the two Dursley males' plates, and when Harry carefully broached the issue, Petunia stiffly remarked that she didn't want to hear from his headmaster – she practically spat this word – any accusations of mistreatment. 'Besides,' she added, 'you'll be doing a lot of work around the neighborhood this summer, and I don't want to hear you make excuses about being too tired or hungry to help!' Harry was certain that the truthful reason was had more to do with her way of thanking him for aiding Dudley, but he let the subject drop, not really needing an explanation, just happy to be eating a decent amount of food for a change.
And then there was the business of his extracurricular activities, which was an entirely separate matter, all together. Getting away with sneaking about with girls was an unprecedented occurrence in the life of Harry Potter, for certain. He didn't know who deserved his thanks more, Petunia for forcing him to do yard work for her friends, and, thus resulting in his ex-classmates lustful interest in him, or Fletcher for being utterly useless at guard detail, allowing for Harry to easily roam free once he found out the Order member's shift rotation. Harry came, jokingly, to the conclusion that if anyone deserved thanks, then perhaps it should be Megan's, or Jennifer's, or even Chelsea's respective parents for raising such attractive girls, and then, subsequently not paying very close attention to the girls' nighttime activities, whatsoever. They certainly did a fine job distracting Harry from his demons, and he, conversely never heard a word of complaint from any of the young women; far from it, actually, all demanded "parting gifts," in a manner of speaking. 'Thank you letters might be in order,' Harry mused, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
He looked around his empty room once more, making sure nothing was forgotten, and, once satisfied, laid down on his bed, waiting for his minders to come and collect him. Tonks told him the previous Tuesday that he should be expecting them to arrive no later than by 11 am to pick him up. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was barely quarter past 10 am; so maybe he was a little more than anxious to leave. With extra time to kill, Harry let his mind wander, and, not for the first time, he recounted the events following his receipt of Sirius' will.
July 15, 1996
Standing in the lobby of Gringotts, Harry had to pause and look around in amazement – though he'd visited the bank quite a few times since, the novelty of one of the first buildings he'd ever been in upon discovering the wizarding world had yet to wear off. Looking around the white marble pillars and watching the goblins bustle around its patrons, he doubted that it ever would. It wasn't too terribly difficult for Harry to make the day trip to Diagon Alley, he simply got onto the Knight Bus while Fletcher took a kip underneath the birdbath. Wearing a plain white, short sleeved, fitted v-neck t-shirt, a dark pair of properly sized jeans, and a West Ham ball cap that pushed his hair over his scar, no one except his friends would be able to recognize him as the Boy-Who-Lived. Not paying attention to where he was going, instead looking up at the mural spanning the ceiling of the bank, he walked straight into another person – who made a startled noise of surprise –, knocking them both over, scattering the files that the other person was carrying.
"I'm so sorry!" Harry exclaimed, as he bent down to pick up the documents strewn across the floor. He quickly compiled the mess into a stack to hand to the woman he unwittingly assailed. "So, so sorry, Miss – Fleur??" Harry finally saw the figure in front of him and stared at her incredulously. Barring the look of incredible irritation marring the girl's face, she looked almost exactly the same as she did when Harry last saw her, over a year ago; she was still painfully beautiful, the only difference being that her features, having lost all traces of adolescence, were even more breathtaking now, in an aristocratic manner.
After a few moments of an appraising glance-over, her facial features transformed into a delighted smile upon recognition of the young man. "'Arry?! It is so good to see you!" punctuating her words with a bone-crushing hug. Shocked at the strength her deceptively willowy frame possessed, Harry had the wind slightly knocked out of him.
Once released form her embrace, Harry replied, "Hey Fleur, it's good to see you too – it's been so long!"
"Too long!" Fleur replied in agreement. "And you 'ave grown so much!" This was true. At the end of the Triwizard Tournament, Fleur was taller than Harry by quite a few centimeters. Now, he was easily the taller of the two, standing around 180 centimeters in height. It also helped that he no longer looked like a sickly child, likely to keel over at any given moment. So, really, changes all around.
Harry laughed, "Well, you didn't expect me to stay a 'leetle boy' forever, did you? And you've changed too, Fleur – you're even more beautiful than I remember."
"Oh, merci, 'Arry. I see you 'ave become quite the charmer, too," she looked delighted at the fact. Brushing formalities aside, she playfully asked, "So, what brings you to Gingotts, today Monsieur Potter?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Mademoiselle Delacour. But, since you asked first, I have an appointment, along with few other things to take care of," he responded, somewhat cryptically, "which reminds me, I have a meeting at 11:30, so I have to run if I don't want to be late."
"Of course, 'Arry, I know how impatient these goblins can be, and to answer your question, I work 'ere part-time to improve my Eenglish," she smiled, and then added, "I 'ave my lunch break in 'alf an 'our, 'Arry, you must join me! We need to, how do you say, 'catch up' on things?" she said, unsure if she was using the turn of phrase correctly. Harry nodded assurance that she had used the right wording.
"Sure! Who am I to turn a pretty witch down for lunch?" he asked, an easy grin on his face. "I'll meet you back here in thirty, then; I don't think I'll be needing anymore time than that to meet with Ragnuk," Harry handed her back her stack of documents, long since forgotten, and walked towards the nearest teller. Fleur, for her part, was momentarily stunned. Harry was holding private audience with Ragnuk, branch manager and leader of the Goblin Nation? Fleur decided right then that there was much more to Harry Potter than met the eye, and she was curious, despite herself, to learn more.
Having followed a diminutive looking teller into a conference room, Harry sat down at one end of a long, mahogany table, Ragnuk waiting patiently at the other. After having spent a week looking over everything Sirius had left for him, Harry felt as though he had a good sense of what his godfather wanted him to do from there. So, using an official leaf of Gringotts parchment, Harry wrote the bank, requesting an audience with a goblin. He was mildly taken aback when he was told that he would be meeting with Ragnuk himself, though it only furthered his conviction in his endeavor. Neither occupant of the room had spoken yet, and the silence caused Harry's palms to begin to sweat. He cleared his throat in preparation, and took off his ball cap, remembering what he read about etiquette in certain situations.
"Mr. Potter," Ragnuk began, "What business can we at Gringotts attend to on your behalf today?"
"Er, well, sir, um, my godfather, Sirius Black left some things to me in his will, and I was hoping to discuss some things I learned from it with you." Ragnuk gave a slight nod, so Harry saw fit to continue. "Uh, well, he included a copy of my birth certificate, and I couldn't figure out why that was necessary until I researched wizarding laws a little more. I was wondering, how Goblin Law and Wizarding Law work in conjunction with one another? Does one take priority over the other?"
Ragnuk did not answer immediately, but rather, allowed for a pregnant pause before slowly saying, "Gringotts' goblins strive to work only in the best interest of their customers, Mr. Potter. While we are not restricted by wizarding law, per se, we follow it to the strictest letter, unless a circumstance arises in which it benefits our patrons for us to behave differently, or draw upon a different source of legitimate authority."
Harry understood that the preceding statement was as close to an agreement to aid him as he was going to get, so Harry took a deep breathe and decided to just come outright and say it. "Under the laws of the Wizengamot, a wizard is considered a minor until his 17th birthday, with two notable exceptions that can override this rule. The first being a person who has the status of an emancipated minor, and the second," Harry hesitated, "the second exception consists of wizards who have been granted full monetary rights and privileges as the Head of a Family under goblin jurisdiction, legally making him fiscally responsible for an entire family, and, thus exempting him from any rules that would otherwise bar a minor from taking actions."
If Ragnuk was surprised, it did not show. Stoic as ever, "I see. Well, Mr. Potter, there are very few cases in which we take that course of action. Given your circumstance, as the last scion of the House of Potter, I see grounds for your request. However, without additional due cause, I, unfortunately do not believe that I will be able to grant you your wish… unless you have further evidence to support your case?"
"I believe so, sir," Harry produced the copy of his birth certificate. It read, 'This certifies that Harrison James Potter, male, was born to Lily Evans Potter and James Cole Potter on Thursday at 1330 hours on this 31st day of July 1980, at Yorkhill, a district in the city of Glasgow, Scotland.'
"Muggles in Scotland reach the age of majority at 16. I was raised as a muggle and still go back to my muggle relative's residence over summer holidays. Therefore, in the wizarding world, I am still dictated by certain aspects of the muggle realm." Against, after a short pause, Ragnuk's face contorted into, what Harry believed to be, the closest thing a goblin could get to a smile. It was rather sinister looking.
"Mr. Potter, I believe that your case now has precedence. In fact, if I recall correctly, a clever young muggleborn by the name of Cresswell succeeded in doing something similar on the same basis less than a decade ago. Of course, he persuaded us most unusually, using goobledegook. Nonetheless, I daresay Gringotts will be able to grant you your full privileges as Head of the House of Potter upon your 16th birthday, making you an adult in the eyes of the wizarding world." Harry's eyes widened. His meeting just went better than he could have ever imagined.
"Sir, I don't know how to thank you – " he was cut off.
"You could start, Mr. Potter, by simply addressing me as Ragnuk,"
"Of course, Mr. Ragnuk, please, call me Harry."
Ragnuk's left eyebrow twitched. "Very well, Harry. But you misunderstand me. I am not asking you to stop calling me that as a formality, I ask that you cease referring to me as 'sir' because I am very much so a female goblin." Harry turned bright red, all the while stuttering an apology. Ragnuk merely brushed it off.
"You are not the first, Young Potter, to make that mistake, and you will not be the last. Not many people realize that I am NOT, in fact, a male. However, because I am the only female employed at Gringotts, it is simply easier to allow for the misperception to continue."
"I apologize, Ragnuk, I had no idea. I just assumed… because you were the executive…"
"Indeed, did you not wonder why you were granted audience with the branch manager of this entire establishment?" The sinister grin returned to Ragnuk's face. Harry had to remind himself that it was meant as a sign of good will and not hostility. "Many years ago, a young witch employed me as her personal account manager. In fact, she insisted upon it, threatening to take her, as well as her husband's, funds elsewhere if her request was denied. Together, they had a sizeable account, so it was no idle threat. Your mother was a remarkably kind witch, Harry, and I confess, I was curious to see what became of the sole heir of the woman to whom my entire career is indebted to." Harry's jaw dropped. His mother launched the career of the leader of the goblin race? Moreover, the leader was a female? Why on earth was this not made public knowledge? Harry's mind was still reeling as the meeting drew to a close.
"You can expect a letter from Gringotts before your 16th birthday, Harry. It will simply require your signature, verifying that you understand the responsibilities that come with being the head of a household. Once you sign it and send it back, the ministry will also receive a copy. Then, you will be, for all intents and purposes, an adult in the eyes of wizarding law."
"Thank you again, Ragnuk. I am forever indebted to you for this."
"Nonsense. I owe the Potter clan a great personal debt, Harry, and a goblin never forgets. If, in the future, you find yourself in need of our assistance once more, the goblins will be there. Have a nice day, Harry Potter." And with that Ragnuk left.
Harry's good mood was only further boosted that day when he remembered his lunch plans with Fleur Delacour. The two decided on a café that Harry recalled liking when he stayed in the alley during the summer of his third year. Harry noted that talking to Fleur was very much so like talking to Hermione, but decidedly nicer because they didn't have to discuss academia all the time. Conversation with her came as easy with her as it did with his best friend, and Harry mentally thanked whatever higher power was out there for making him impervious enough of the veela charm to stop him from turning into a mindless, stuttering mess.
"By the way, did you know that Ragnuk isn't a him, so much as she's a her?" Fleur just looked at him for a second before bursting out into laughter, sure that he was lying. He joined her, but also stated, "no, I'm serious. She told me today – there I was, stuttering like an idiot, addressing her as 'sir' this and 'sir' that, until she told me that I could just call her by her name. So, I said, 'well, then, call me Harry.' After she told me the real reason why I should stop, I could've crawled into a hole and died of embarrassment. I basically left that meeting feeling like the biggest tool, ever." Harry laughed again thinking about it, and Fleur was clutching her sides from her inability to stop giggling.
"'Arry, that is quite possibly ze funniest story I 'ave heard since I 'ave been here," she said, wiping a tear from her eye.
"Well, I'm glad we can have a good laugh at my expense," he replied, chuckling.
"So, 'Arry," Fleur started, after the laughter at Harry's ineptitude died down, "what business were you attending to that required the presence of Ragnuk… 'erself?"
Harry grinned widely. "Well, I was there to talk about some things concerning wizarding and goblin laws. I probably shouldn't go into detail, but since my birthday is right around the bend, I guess it doesn't hurt to tell you. I was contesting the age restriction for my Head of House status." Fleur seemed confused, so he elaborated. "As a head of my house, I would be recognized as an adult, but more importantly, I would bypass the decree for restriction for underage magic."
"But why not simply wait anuzzer year?"
"Because I need to train," he said, plainly. It was a half-truth that Harry didn't mind telling to his friend. That put a damper on the mood almost immediately; they both knew what he needed to train for. Fleur had believed Harry about Voldemort's resurrection the night she saw him come back with Cedric's body. However, now that the entire wizarding world was ready to admit the fact, the prospect of darker days became a reality. Though there was no way for her to know the full extent to which Harry would be involved, the press was abuzz with rumors concerning just that. Because Harry was out of touch with everything magical over the summer, Fleur filled Harry in on the details of the summer at the beginning of their lunch date.
Before, labeled as a stark-raving lunatic, his words weren't to be trusted. Now, he was, once again, the savior of the world. Not only did the Daily Prophet paint him in a glowing light, they had taken to calling him "The Chosen One," after the events of the Department of Mysteries fiasco were leaked, along with the rumor that he dueled Voldemort, only to survive once more.
"And do you know what zey are saying about Monsieur Ollivander's disappearance, 'Arry?" He shook his head, having only just heard about the incident from Fleur earlier that afternoon. "Zere are whispers of foul play and possibly Death Eaters involved," Fleur said in a lower voice, shuddering slightly at the thought. What could Voldemort possibly want with a poor old man?
As lunchtime drew to an end, Harry made a motion to pay for the both of them, which Fleur politely refused, motioning that she would pay for her half. "Non, 'Arry, zank you, but you do not have to – "
"But I want to Fleur," he said, cutting her off. "Just let me take care of this; think of it as a thank you for providing me with such pleasant company," he gave a lop-sided grin while Fleur blushed prettily, and Harry knew she had acquiesced.
"Fine, but zis only means zat we will 'ave to do zis again, and next time, it will be my turn to pay."
"Sounds like a plan to me." The two left, and Harry walked with Fleur back to Gringotts before heading to the Leaky Cauldron himself. She gave him a warm hug and kissed both cheeks in her usual manner, asking him to owl her when he got the chance.
"Will do. Where are you staying at, anyway?" Fleur blushed in a way that Harry had never seen before, and he immediately knew he'd want to hear the answer to this question.
"At ze moment," she started, "I am staying wiz Bill Weasley." Harry didn't even try to hold back his guffaw, recalling her looks of interest in his direction before the Third Task.
"I see… got a thing for older men with fanged earrings, then, huh?" Harry waggled his eyebrows. Fleur replied by smacking his arm.
"It iz not like that," she replied indignantly, "I simply needed a place to stay, and he 'ad an extra room. We 'ardly even see each other; besides, most of ze time, 'e is in Egypt!"
Harry put his hands up to placate the girl, "Hey, I'm not judging, don't worry, I was just kidding around; whatever you do behind closed doors, Fleur, is none of my business."
"Nothing is going on 'behind closed doors,' 'Arry. I truly am simply staying zere out of convenience." Her demeanor was mildly alarming to Harry, who put a hand on her arm.
"I believe you, Fleur. Sorry for insinuating all that. I really was just joking."
"It is ok, 'Arry, I know zat you were only joking. Ze problem is that not many uzzer people would think it such a joking matter; not everyone is as understanding as you are, 'Arry. My family is very old-fashioned, and so are many uzzers. And because I am part veela, the prejudice is even worse. I know it is improper for me to stay wiz him, but I do not 'ave many choices in the matter. Besides, it is a nice apartment, wiz much additional security, and Bill is a good flatmate; except for the parade of girls that he insists on bringing in." She added the last part with a look of disgust that made Harry laugh. He quieted himself, and looked pensive for a second.
He looked at her and said, "What if I knew of somewhere else that you could stay at? Would you move if you had the chance?" Fleur looked skeptical.
"'Arry, apartments that are warded wiz the right kinds of protections are absurdly expensive, especially now wiz – " Harry stopped her.
"Don't worry about that part, just answer the question. If you could move to another location to dispel the rumors and that was equally, if not more so, protected, would you?" Fleur simply nodded. "Excellent! We'll definitely be in touch then – expect and owl from me soon!" He tipped his cap at her and gave a mock bow, causing Fleur to giggle.
Watching Harry walk away jauntily, whistling a tune, Fleur couldn't help but wonder what on earth her friend was on about. She shook her head and walked up the marble steps of the famous bank, making a mental note to write Gabby as soon as she could. Her little sister would be so jealous that Fleur had lunch with her childhood crush.
July 27, 1996
Shouting that he'd grown accustomed to hearing cut through the silence from downstairs, bringing him back to reality. Harry immediately knew that his rescuers had arrived. He crept out of his room, wand in hand. Expected visitors or not, Harry felt that he could never be too careful.
"Dursley, you great oaf, we're here to take him with us, so quit your yelling," growled someone. 'Must be Mad-Eye,' Harry thought to himself.
"I'll not have your kind parading around my front lawn, where people can see you," Vernon seethed, as if being seen were a crime akin to high treason.
"Vernon," a voice reasoned – Remus – "we're not leaving through the front door, we'll be using the fireplace. Now, the sooner we can collect Harry, the sooner we can leave you be, so I suggest you stand aside and let us in, because the longer you blockade the door, the more you run the risk of your neighbors seeing our kind." Vernon merely muttered something foul under his breath and let them in before stalking off into the kitchen, where his wife and son were currently hiding, too frightened to greet the visitors. As Harry had already said as much of a goodbye as he would ever give to the Dursleys earlier that morning, it was just as well.
As various members of the Order filed, Harry took a quick head count, trying to identify the faces. Luckily for Vernon, it was only Lupin, Mad-Eye, and Tonks, instead of the entire entourage from last summer. Harry made himself known by clearing his throat; all other occupants whipped around to see him standing at the base of the stairwell, wand at the ready.
"What do we call your monthly activities?" Harry asked Lupin, as he was standing in closest proximity to him.
Remus chuckled, "You mean my 'furry little problem'?" he offered.
Turning to Moody, he asked, "Why shouldn't I keep my wand in my back pocket?"
"Because you don't want to go around blasting your buttock off, do ya, laddie?"
Before Harry could even ask Tonks a question, she interjected, "pepperoni pizza and marshmallow fluff." Harry grinned, lowering his wand. Suddenly, he was pulled into a vice-grip-like hug, blond hair with the occasional pink streak obscuring his vision.
"Wotcher, Tonks!" he said as he returned her hug.
"Hullo, Harry!" she kissed his cheek and grinned at their reversed greetings before letting him go. Remus raised an eyebrow at the exchange before pulling Harry into a hug himself.
"What? No enthusiastic hug for me?" Lupin asked teasingly.
Harry took a step backwards and cocked his head to the side. "You expecting a kiss on the cheek, too?" Both men laughed. "It's good to see you, Professor Lupin – er, Lupin, I mean, just Lupin." Remus just shook his head, knowing that the habit of calling him professor was a hard one to break.
Harry turned to Mad-Eye, who gave him a firm handshake and a rough clap to the shoulder. "That was a smart move there, Potter, but next time remember, don't draw attention to yourself until you have to; you don't want to be giving away your location so quickly. And think of better questions next time! Half the world knows how I feel about poorly thought out wand placement!" Leave it to Moody to critique such trivialities.
"So, where're we headed to?" The only two options, really, were the Burrow or Grimmauld Place, but Harry assumed that they would place him at the former location, what with the latter becoming almost exclusively inhabited by members of the Order. So, he was more than a little caught off guard when they told him he was indeed headed to his godfather's ancestral home. A feeling of dread welled up in the pit of his stomach. He never really entertained the notion that he'd have to go back to Sirius' home. Tonks, seeing the apprehension in Harry's eyes offered words of comfort.
"It's nothing like what you remembered it, Harry. Since Dumbledore inherited it, he's enlisted Hogwarts elves to help clean the place up a bit. I don't think it's ever been as bright – sunshine actually comes in through the windows now!" her words quelled his feelings of foreboding, if only for the moment.
"The floo connection will only be open for fifteen minutes, beginning at 11:30 which is," Remus glanced at his wrist, "in three minutes."
"I'll go first to make sure the other side is secure, then you'll follow me, and Tonks will flank the rear. Lupin'll fix the floo, apparate, and meet us there with your trunk," Moody, ever the strategist, explained. With that, he readied the Dursley's fireplace by removing the boards and pulling a bag of floo powder out from the inside of his sleeve.
"How do I always end up stuck with the job of guarding your arse, Harrison James?" Tonks asked, only loud enough for him to hear.
"Dunno, Nymphadora, some people just get all the luck, I s'pose," Harry grinned, "complain all you want, but you secretly love it."
Tonks rolled her eyes and shoved him for good measure.
Moody looked up from the fireplace, "Alright sonny, follow close behind me now. Phoenix Nest," and with a roar of green flames he was gone. Harry followed suit, woefully unprepared for what was on the other side. Tumbling out of the fireplace, Harry landed in his usual fashion – unceremoniously tossed to the ground. Tonks strolled out of the fireplace soon after, saw Harry on the ground and burst out into laughter. She helped him up, not saying anything, but the mirth dancing in her eyes – violet colored today – promised that she was going to keep the image of a tripped up, soot covered Harry locked away for future reference and teasing.