CHAPTER FOUR
"I must agree with Chief Warlock Dumbledore. Harry Potter cannot possibly be able to take care of himself. His long stay in Azkaban would have been detrimental to both his physical and mental health. It would be for the best to revoke his adult status for the time being," announced Janis Fergold, the head of Children's Supportive System. He was a tall, wisp of a man with hair that was neither brown nor blonde, but rather a muted shade between the two. He had watery blue eyes that peered at the gathered members from behind thin, rectangular lenses. Before him were the present few: Cornelius Fudge along with his entire cabinet had arrived to the emergency meeting held by Albus Dumbledore, and with him came the heads of the DML and Florian Deffold, a private solicitor whom handled the personal matters of wealthy clients.
There were voices of agreements in favor of Fergold's suggestion from all except Deffold who cleared his throat.
"As Mister Potter's lawyer I cannot agree to these conditions. There is no way to determine the state of his health without an examination from a Healer. Furthermore, I would like to remind you all that certain matters must be rectified before anyone is due to meet him in Azkaban. Even if he seems less than mentally stable he will not be placed in the care of the CSS. He is to be placed with his closets blood relations. In according to the wills of the late Lord and Lady Potter and Lord Black, Harry James Potter is the sole heir of these two Pureblood family seats, which brings me to my next issues," began Deffold before he was interrupted by Albus.
"I have known Harry since he came into the wizarding world," Albus said, his eyes glancing away from the hard, flat stare of Deffold to those whom he knew would support his reasoning. "He has no living family. It would be in his best interest to be recuperated with people he already knows. Placing him with strangers would be a great setback on his road towards recovery. I have already prepared – "
"Pardon me, Chief Warlock, but I wasn't aware that you already had plans for Harry Potter," Deffold intercepted with a barest curl of a sneer to his thin lips. "However you are correct. He is in need of proper guardians until he has shown to be of sound health and mind. I have a trial transcript in which you talked about your previous choices of a guardian for the future Lord Black." He raises a hand for silence as he skims through his file folder for the paper in question. "Ah, here it is. Lord Polk asked you, Chief Warlock, about the home conditions of Harry Potter in which you replied: "The Dursley's were a bit harsh to Harry. They were Muggles and although Harry's Aunt Petunia had a witch for a sister she still found wizardry to be discomforting. I admit there might have been a few incidents when the Dursley's may have been overly hard and perhaps had forgotten to give Harry a few kindnesses but it did not warrant the deaths of the Dursley's."
Deffold levels Albus with a cool glare, his dark eyes glimmering with open mockery and detesting for the old warlock. Many of the other party members looked to one another, uncomfortable as they each recalled the provided testimony from Albus himself.
"First of all," continued Deffold, "Mister Potter should have never been placed with the Dursley family in accordance to the will of his parents. We are all aware that Mister Potter needed to be there for the familiar wards to work, however, those wards be can transferred in cases of the family refusing to accept the responsibility. As I'm sure you are already aware of this – unless you intentionally wanted the wards to poorly form – you deliberately placed Mister Potter in the care of Muggles who had no knowledge on how to care for a magical child, and thus mistreated him."
"I wouldn't say they mistreated him per say – "Albus said softly.
Deffold arched a brow and scoffed lightly. "And what would you call starving and locking a child in a cupboard of all places for much of his life?" When Albus gave no response, he resumed his speech. "I have already contacted the proper person whom will be overseeing the care of the future Lord Black."
Albus, appearing deeply put-off, gazed at all the members of the Cabinet and even his own ally in this particular matter, Janis Fergold, who were agreeing with the upstart solicitor. Even Albus, regardless how begrudgingly, had to agree. More than a decade before, Albus had informed any whom had been mentioned as a guardian in the will of Lily and James Potter that they had not been giving the right of care towards Harry Potter. It was a rather…shady working on his part, but he hadn't wanted Harry Potter raised in the wizarding world least the boy grow up to become arrogant and entitled. Now, however, his own actions were coming back to condemn him and the years of planning.
"Excuse me, Deffold, was it?" said Dolores Umbridge with a charming smile. "Did you say the future Lord Black? How is even possible for Potter to be the heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black? Surely it's impossible." Her smile widened. "You must be funning."
It was no secret that Dolores Umbridge had no love for Harry Potter, or anyone she deemed to be beneath her social stature as a Pureblood. Such as it was, she was also not a fool. Dolores was well aware just how rich the Potter family was; however, the Black's carried both insurmountable wealth and political influence. This would not bode well for her future plans of becoming the next Minister of Magic after Cornelius's resignation. Her smile faltered as Deffold explained himself.
"Madam Undersecretary, my name is Florian Deffold, and I would never think to joke about such dire situations. As you are not an employee of Gringotts and have no security clearance from the Chief Goblin of Gringotts, Horak the Direct, you are not privy to the various inheritance procedures within familiar. However, I can tell you this much: Following the birth of Harry James Potter, the late Lord Black, tilted him as his heir by both blood and right."
Dolores stared at him agape. "A blood adoption ritual?" she asked, incredulous.
"Yes, ma'am," said Deffold. "I address Mister Potter as the future Lord Black because the Potter name, although titled and important, has always historically taken the inferior position due to the fact that Black's were more active in politics. Both names however occupy equal standing in society. As such, Mister Potter is the sole heir to both houses."
"Yes, I remember when I first took my hereditary seat in the Wizengamot as a young man many years ago," croaks Ignatius Gallden, a kindly old man with a shock of white hair and grey eyes. "Orion Black was a sight to behold and a political powerhouse along a few others. If he wanted he could have easily been Minister of Magic. However, I remember one day he said, "The Blacks have no need for the title when I belong to the power behind the man." If I may be so bold to ask, who is the person who will be receiving the future Lord Black?"
Deffold considers the question and party before him. He was well aware that Cornelius, blubbering mess of a man he had been reduced to since this whole affair began, was fervently whispering with a dark-haired woman. All were aware how desperately Cornelius was working to salvage his crumbling reputation, but as far Deffold's care for the man went (which was none, to be quite honest) he hoped Fudge suffered for his actions.
A knock came from the door, and Percy Weasley entered with Lady Augusta Longbottom close behind. He introduced her to the party members and departed as quickly as he could. Augusta Longbottom was a picture of ageless elegance. Dressed in a dark violet gown, dripping with white jewels and her salt and pepper hair piled atop of her head in a stylish coif, at one hundred and ten years old, she was still a witch that was considerably in her prime. Augusta walked towards the small crowd, and Deffold stood to greet her.
Taking Augusta's hand and brushing his lips over her thin knuckles, Deffold straightens with a fond smile. "My dear lady, thank you for coming on such short notice," he said. "I was just about to inform the members that you will be taking over the guardianship of Harry Potter before being negotiations of reparations for your charge. Please, take a seat." He offers his own chair.
"Thank you, Mister Deffold," Augusta said, taking the offered seat.
"Reparations?" squeaked Cornelius in a breathless voice.
"Yes, Cornelius, reparations," reiterated Augusta with a thin smirk.
"Augusta, my dear, I do hope you are having a good day," said Albus pleasantly. "If I may ask, dear, why are you here?" He was already aware of why she was here – and it greatly bothered him. Augusta Longbottom neither liked nor trusted him; she had told him so many times before over the years. And, should Albus wish to have any form of interactions with Harry, he would have to gain a place within her good grace.
"Mister Dumbledore," retorts Augusta coolly. "I recall during our last conversation that I had informed you to not address me in such a familiar manner. The reason as to why I am here is that as Mister Potter's closest living wizarding relatives – as you already know – it is my duty to see that his wellbeing is not being hindered by the likes of you." Her eyes narrowed into pins. "You have made many messes of things in the past, Dumbledore, and I will remind you the power that stands behind the Longbottom name. My family has never been one for politics, however, if you wish to continue showing your faces in certain circles you will see to interfere with myself and my wards. Now, Mister Deffold, move onto the negotiations as time is of the essence."
The others, terribly surprised by the sudden malice in Augusta's voice, assessed the woman in a new light. Augusta Longbottom has been well perceived as a soft-spoken and gentle woman, and to hear her subtle threat against Dumbledore (who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat) was foreboding.
"First of all, in accordance to Gringotts Blood law: "All monies, personal effects, hereditary heirlooms, newly formed heirlooms, and all other objects whether cursed or not cannot be taken from Gringotts vaults by the Ministry in cases of death, dismemberment, cursing, petrifaction, transfigurement into an inanimate object, severe obliviation, chronic poisonings, imprisonment regardless of guilt or innocence, etcetera cannot be removed from a person's vault. When said person dies the closet blood relative will inherit." However, the Ministry circumvented this law by using Mister Dumbledore's status as Harry Potter's magical guardian. Since he was magical guardian he had control all vaults except family heirlooms due to Mister Potter's incapacitation in prison. The goblins are not pleased at all the circumventing of the law in that manner, however, that is neither here nor there," said Deffold before Cornelius quickly interrupted.
"Dear Merlin, man, the Ministry had done nothing wrong at the time," shouted Cornelius, his face flushed a deep red.
"Cornelius, be quiet," said Augusta. "Remember, dear, you may not have a job by the end of this week. Now, Mister Deffold, continue if you will."
"Thank you, my lady," resumed Deffold calmly. "Ladies and gentlemen we have not come here to debate the loophole in the law as of this time. Presently, the goblins are asking for reparations for their client. The money within the Potter accounts at the time of the trial was five hundred million galleons. The goblins are asking for complete restitution. They also want you, Minister Fudge, to rectify the matter of the loophole by paying thirty percent of the original value of the accounts on top of the restitution."
"Thirty percent of five million galleons?" shrieked Umbridge, hands slapping down on the mahogany desk in indignation. "Have those filthy animals lost their minds?"
"Madam, I will remind you that those goblins you so carelessly call filthy animals are the keepers of all our assists and wealth," Deffold stated in deference.
"Thirty percent is rather steep when one takes into consideration how greatly wronged the boy was," said Ursula Appleton, a Cabinet member with heavy, dark lids, pale eyes and black hair. There were murmurs of agreement to her statement.
Cornelius, seemingly aged several decades within the past few minutes, nodded his head in defeat. "I agree to the matter of payment in accordance to the goblins," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Are we done here?"
"Of course not," responds Augusta with a scoff. "You may have agreed to the reparations set by the goblins in reference to the malfeasance of Harry's funds, however, there is also the matter of the Ministry's reparations for false imprisonment and destruction of property."
"She is correct, Cornelius," said Gallden when Fudge opened his mouth in outrage.
"Thank you, Ignatius," Augusta says with a smile of secret fondness to the man.
"According to the Ministry laws concerning false imprisonment," explained Deffold, often times consulting his file of paperwork as he spoke, "the innocent person will be awarded one million galleons for every year and two thousand, seven hundred thirty-nine galleons per day. Restitution laws call for reparation of seven hundred fifty thousand galleons for the destruction of the wand. Due to the public humiliation that Mister Potter went through, which includes the stripping of his name and libelous accusations, reparations are called for in the amount of thirty million galleons since the law gives no cap in such circumstances. Lady Longbottom wishes you to pay the full cap on the medical care clause which is nine hundred thousand galleons. The grand total is forty-five million, two hundred fifty-two thousand, five hundred eighty galleons which includes posthumous restitution of the late Sirius Black. Lady Longbottom will accept this on behalf of her charge, Harry James Potter, although she knows much more can be gained. In return for settling for this pittance, Lady Longbottom will receive unbreakable vows from all present that you will not actively seek out Mister Potter for any reason. If you wish to contact with him you can talk to me or send an owl or elf to Lady Longbottom or her grandson, Lord Longbottom. If Mister Potter seeks you out you are absolved of the vow."
All the party members, excluding Albus, were quick to agree to the terms and accept the vow. "Lady Longbottom, surely this is not the right manner in which to go at things?" asked Albus softly. "How will Harry keep in contact with all his friends from Hogwarts and many others whom care about him?"
"Have you lost all your sense, Dumbledore?" asked Augusta with a sneer. "Mister Potter has no friends. Need I remind that these so called friends were the very same ones who condemned him into imprisonment? You may have gone senile with age, Dumbledore, but I have not."
"No, Lady Longbottom, I have not," said Albus with a sigh of resignation. Upon the completion of the unbreakable bond, his frown remained firmly in place and eyes gleaned with disappointment.
"Since we are done here, Mister Deffold and I will be on our way to Azkaban," informed Augusta as she rose to her feet. "And you, Dumbledore, are not invited."
"Lady Longbottom, I think – "started Dumbledore before he was silenced by the sheer strength of Augusta's disdainful glare.
"I don't very much care for what you think, Dumbledore. Remember your vow, dear. It would be quite a shame if you were to lose your magic and die," she says with a sardonic smirk. "Come along, Cornelius. You have much to explain for."
…
Tremors shook his wasted body with each harsh, violent cough. There was the taste of blood on his mouth, thick and metallic, and Harry alternates between coughing and spitting out glops of blood and saliva. When his coughing subdued enough for him to catch his breath, Harry spits once more and wipes the blood from the corners of his mouth. He was so damn tired. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat – couldn't function anymore because he swore his mind was slipping at last. Giving a hoarse, wheezy laugh, Harry scrubs furiously at his face, eyes closed and breathing returning to its labored, shallows gasps. He had sat there in the corner, listening to the other prisoners going about their routine of screaming, crying, or cackling madly, when the door to his cell creaked open. It wasn't the Dementors, not this time around. Opening his eyes at the sight that greeted him, his jaw clenched and mind spun with presumptions.
They've come to give me the kiss early, Harry thought, heart beating with wild fear.
"I haven't seen the boy since he came here, my lady," said the warden of Azkaban. He was a weedy man with fraying dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and frequently wore an expression of forlorn. "Ministry orders, you see. McNair was the one who checked on him the most, said the boy was fine enough."
Harry, hands curling into a fist at the mention of his assaulter, stared from the face of the warden who looked as if the world itself had ended, to Augusta Longbottom. She still looked the same from his brief memories of her, minus the horrid hat that she often adorned. Beside her were Cornelius Fudge, sweating profusely, a tall, lithe man with dark hair and black eyes (Florian Deffold), and a petite woman with a mass of brown curls and solemn gray eyes (Healer Mintworth.)
Augusta Longbottom, from the second her eyes landed onto Harry, clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle to scream of shock that threatened to burst forward. Harry, painfully thin with his bones plainly in view and skin an ashen grey, looked near death. He felt like he was dying, slowly. His eyes, once a bright green, were darker, emptier; vacant except for the hint of fear that dwelled in their depths.
"Forty five years hasn't passed yet," Harry croaked out, flinching away when Augusta made to take him into her arms.
Cornelius, pale at the condition of the boy he too had once praised for defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, felt his heart pinch with remorse. It was not a feeling he had once felt despite years of manipulation and undermining others to get what he wanted.
"Oh Harry," sobbed Augusta softly, her hands hovering in the air, desperate to touch the boy before her – to ensure that he truly was alive, was real. "Oh, Harry, what have they done to you?"
Threw me in prison would be one thing, Harry thought, scooting along the wall to get away from her hands.
"Don't worry, Harry," Augusta was saying, "Dumbledore and the others won't be here. They won't take you away from me, you hear? I'll protect you, I promise." Her guilt was evident, and Augusta still held it deep in her heart. She had blindly allowed others to do what they will with Harry, focused on her own grief at the conditions in which her son and daughter-in-law were in. But no more, she swore. No matter what it took, no matter whom she had to eliminate in the process, she would see to Harry and her Neville growing to becoming men who were to be feared and untouchable.
"You're free, Mister Potter," Deffold said softly. "We've come to take you home."
"Free?" retorted Harry in a whisper. "Free," he says once more and they watch with concern as he threw his head back and laughed.
"Yes, Harry, you're free," said Augusta as his laughter subsided. "Come now, dear, can you stand?"
Harry nodded shortly and, using the wall as a leverage, drew himself to his feet. He had barely took one step forward when his knees gave way. Deffold was quick to catch the young man into his arms, frowning at the way the boy's muscles tensed and his body stiffened. "Are you alright, Mister Potter?" he asked, settling Harry back onto his feet and keeping a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, fine," Harry said, brushing away the solicitor's hand. He takes an uncertain step forward, waiting for one of them to mock him – to tell him this was all a joke and he was not truly free. They said a word, only watching him as he continue to walk forward with caution. As they made their way out of the many twisting corridors to the first floor, Harry bites the corner of his bleeding lips as the door was opened. Sunlight streamed through. He could smell the sea, salty and fresh. He could taste the moisture in the air, feel the sand beneath his feet. The wind pushed against his body, but he didn't care. He couldn't care because he was finally free.
Freedom, he thought, as he was ushered into a boat beside Augusta and the woman who introduced herself as his new Healer. Freedom has never been so great.