When Spellforged entered Diagon Alley, he was surprised at how few people there were. Even for a Wednesday afternoon in mid July, he would have expected more people. It was a warm day, however, and the school lists had not yet been published. Give it a few weeks, and the alley would be teeming with people once more.
He shouldered his bag and made his way down the street. He was in danger of being late, and so did not bother with any of the shops. There would be plenty of time for that later.
As he approached the massive stone structure that dominated the far end of the alley, Spellforged grinned. It was the same feeling he had when he saw the Sullivan home in muggle London - a feeling that he was home.
Gringott's London was as busy as it ever was, despite the lack of foot traffic in the alley that day. Spellforged paused near the doors, taking in the sights and sounds. This never gets old, he thought. As his eyes wandered the bank floor, he spotted an old goblin working on a ledger at as side desk - a very familiar goblin. A broad grin crossed his features. This would be fun.
Walking near the old goblin, Spellforged raised his voice. "Who do I have to kill to get some bloody service around here?" His voice carried, and several wizards openly stared at his arrogance.
The old goblin raised an eyebrow at him, and Spellforged could see he was trying very hard to keep a straight face. To the other wizards present, though, the expression came off as an evil looking sneer.
"Speak in that tone, boy, and I will have four of our warriors summoned." He leaned forward, not even bothering to hide his own grin. "They will service you properly."
"I am the son of a noble house, /Honored Sir/, you will treat me with the respect I am due!" Spellforged was facing the old goblin now, his grin apparent. The goblin phrase had been an in-joke between them for years, but to the other wizards it sounded like an angry goblin curse.
"I'll make you humble, boy, if you keep displaying your stupidity." Now the old goblin rose, rounding the desk with menace in his tone. Harry only managed a scoff in response. The two faced each other, wizard and goblin, with the rest of the room watching to see which one would die. When the two bowed deeply to each other, a collective gasp was heard from the humans present. A few thought that the pair might even duel.
Then the goblin started laughing, followed closely by Spellforged. And then the two hugged, and the goblins watching started to chuckle. They knew Harry, whether by reputation or from training beside him for years, and all knew his propensity for pranks - a trait shared by his account manager and mentor. The wizards, meanwhile, had no idea what had just occurred.
"Foecleaver," Spellforged said, sitting down at the desk. "I trust your vaults are in need of expansion?"
"Mister Spellforged," Foecleaver returned the greeting. "As a matter of fact, they are - though your accounts may require additional room as well." Now it was Spellforged's turn to raise an eyebrow. Foecleaver chuckled, sliding the ledger over. "I was just working on your statement, as it happens. Your muggle stocks have given impressive returns, even with markets down overall."
Spellforged saw the figures and whistled. "Impressive, that's one word for it."
Foecleaver grinned. "Impressive enough that I've added some of these to my own holdings, if that tells you what I think of them." Foecleaver chuckled as Harry read the list. Lord Hillyer picked some winners, he thought. The goblins had never been that skilled at playing the muggle stock markets, but some wizards had a knack for it, and the Potter Proxy was one such. He had laughed when Foecleaver matched his investments - and then again when the returns tripled what even he had expected.
The old goblin took a sheet of official Gringott's parchment from the stack, setting it next to the ledger. Then he paused, looking at the son of his friend and leader. "Have you kept up with your training, Mister Spellforged?" Harry looked at him, then nodded. Foecleaver gestured to the parchment.
Taking the official quill in his right hand, Harry placed his left on the ledger. Carefully writing three symbols at the top of the parchment, Harry softly uttered an incantation. The cover of the ledger glowed, and the quill leapt from his hand to begin writing on the parchment. As the two watched, the quill produced a summary of Harry's account balances and changes over the previous quarter. Foecleaver stifled a chuckle as the quill reached the end of the parchment, triggering the charm that added length to the document.
When the quill stopped, Foecleaver took the now completed account summary and reviewed it. "Hmmm, acceptable." He said, in what sounded to Harry to be a passable imitation of a sneering Professor Snape. "You omitted the past two weeks, though. This summary ends with June. Any reason for that?"
"None, sir." Spellforged replied. Then the grin returned. "I didn't want to cause confusion when my venerable account manager makes up my summary for this quarter, sir."
With a snort of laughter, Foecleaver rolled and sealed the summary. Then he handed it to Spellforged - why bother with an owl delivery when the boy was right in front of him? That was half of why he chose this little exercise.
"Well then, boy, this venerable account manager has work to do, and your father will be expecting you in his office." Spellforged rose, offering the old goblin a much more respectful bow than he had gotten earlier during their 'fight'. Foecleaver returned the gesture with a nod of his head.
"Of course." Spellforged stashed the document in his bag, then paused. He looked back at the Potter Account Manager, who had begun work on another parchment. Then he looked around the room once more, taking in the din of the bank floor. The tellers, usually more junior goblins, were all busy servicing clients, while several younger goblins moved between the tills and the back offices, running messages and retrieving forms or coin bags or the like.
A goblin like Foecleaver usually works from his office, deep within the bank. As a senior manager, however, he occasionally works from the floor as something of a 'manager on duty', supervising the more junior goblins. If a client asks to speak to a manager, or if there is some sort of incident, the senior manager is the one who would deal with it.
"One more question, Foecleaver." The goblin looked up at Spellforged. "When is the next time you are scheduled on the floor?"
Foecleaver raised an eyebrow at the request. "Until Thotgrim's replacement is chosen, I have been assigned every seventh day. Once the council has made its selection, it will be every eighth day."
Harry nodded. "So, next Wednesday?"
The goblin returned the nod. "Should you wish to shirk your studies and horrify another group of your fellow wand-wavers, I will be here during the daylight shift."
Not that kind of prank, thought Spellforged. "I will endeavour to make my performance memorable, sir." He bowed once more, a smirk on his face.
That earned him an eye roll from Foecleaver. "Off you go, then. Welcome home, Harry."
With a smile, Spellforged walked to the end of the room. Next to the main teller's desk was a door marked "Employees only". Harry placed his hand on the door and pulsed his magic slightly, triggering the lock and opening the door.
Hey, I just had an idea… He began to send to the link.
oOoOoOoOo
Seeker had been at Longbottom Hall for a few days, and summer would never be the same.
The Dursleys lived in a relatively small home, built after the war along with hundreds of homes just like it. There was a park nearby, and a library some blocks away. The school was in walking distance as well, which was convenient seeing as Petunia would never drive him. But the overwhelming feeling one got while walking down Privet Drive was usually something like This is it?
Longbottom Hall, on the other hand, was almost exactly the opposite.
The Hall had a dozen bedrooms, a spacious library, and a kitchen that almost dwarfed the dursley's entire house. There were offices for both Lord Longbottom and the Longbottom Regent, though the former remained locked due to the absence of Neville's father, Frank Longbottom, who remained at Saint Mungo's along with his wife and Neville's mother, Alice.
It was a massive home, built two centuries prior when the family could fill more of those bedrooms. Today, it was home to Neville and his grandmother, Madam Augusta Longbottom.
The detail that had struck Seeker when he first saw it, as he lay flat on his back after an unceremonious exit from the floo, was the room that gave the Hall its name. Once Neville had brushed him off and picked up his trunk, they had walked into the Hall, where Harry froze. Running almost the entire length of the house was a massive hall.
The room had the feel of a hunting lodge, with trophies mounted on the walls. Wood and stone dominated the room, including the massive wooden rafters above. There were some bookcases, and several couches and low tables scattered around the room. A long table dominated the room, fit for dinners or meetings alike - though Seeker could almost envision a horde of vikings raising mugs of ale and singing songs around it as well.
Marigold had described the place to the five, over Christmas. Her description had made clear how much she loved it here. But those words didn't really do the place justice - Seeker thought it was brilliant.
Despite Neville's earnest attempts at converting him to his cause, Seeker knew he would never be as adept at Herbology as his friend. So while Neville tended his plants in the three greenhouses built on the property for his use, Seeker would chat with him while handing him tools and generally staying out of his way. It was a pleasant way to spend the summer, and it helped further his education on wizarding culture.
Those lessons were reinforced under the stern tutelage of Madam Longbottom, who felt the need to compress the years of training he should have had as heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House into a scant few weeks. It was a heavy challenge, but Seeker was willing to give it a try. The coaching he had received from Rose and Chaser certainly helped, on that front.
Such was the lack in Seeker's knowledge, however, that no one realized that they had forgotten one detail.
Seeker was walking out to the greenhouses when he heard Spellforged. Hey, I just had an idea…
Sure, he thought. Go ahead. He heard the others listening as well.
We had talked about meeting with Foecleaver this summer, right? Well, do you think you would be able to get to Gringott's next Wednesday?
Probably, thought Rose. What happens Wednesday?
Spellforged explained. Our manager, Foecleaver, will have the duty of sitting on the main floor of the bank and keeping an eye on the tellers. It's the perfect chance to meet him in person without scheduling a meeting with him and going through official channels.
Alright, thought Marigold. I'll bite. Why don't we want to schedule a meeting like normal people?
Because, Spellforged replied. For one, he's been asking for a meeting. He'll be thrilled you came by. Second, it eliminates any delay, so you'll look like you're taking this seriously. And third, honestly, I think it's going to be a fun prank. And he loves those.
So, thought Chaser. You're using us to prank versions of your friend and teacher from other universes?
…..maybe?
Seeker paused outside the greenhouse, stifling a snicker. Admittedly, it was a pretty good prank.
So what is so important that we need to meet with him now? Asked Rose, bringing the discussion back on topic.
Chaser figured it out before Spellforged could explain. The ring. Oh, wow, none of you got your rings?
The silence over the link gave him his answer - and if it did not, then Seeker did. What ring? He asked.
oOoOoOoOo
Foecleaver glanced up from his ledgers just as the red-haired witch approached. She looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place her. Setting his quill down on the desk, he waved his right hand and cast a silent spell.
While the Ministry and others might draw distinctions between wand-based magic and the wandless magic of the goblins, the reality is that magic is magic. And everyone's magic, whatever their origins, is unique. Like muggle fingerprints, a person's magic can be used to identify them, to trace their spells or their effects (as with Priori Incantatem, for example), and to connect them to other groups of magic users - like, say, a family.
To Foecleaver's shock, this witch's magic connected her to the Potter family. And there was only one witch among the living who might have that sort of connection. Foecleaver stood and walked around his desk, meeting the young witch as she came near.
"Marigold Potter, we meet at last." He bowed slightly, and smiled when she returned the gesture with a small curtsey. Then his eyes grew wide as she afforded him a traditional greeting.
/Greetings, Foecleaver. May your vaults overflow with gold./ She spoke the words carefully, as if they had been well-rehearsed. Her companions were also caught off guard, though the Longbottom Heir did not seem as surprised as his regent.
Foecleaver offered her another small bow. /Greetings, Miss Potter. May your magic lay waste to your enemies./ Foecleaver's eyes moved to the Potter Heiress' two companions, and he offered them a bow as well. "Madam Longbottom, Heir Longbottom, greetings. My name is Foecleaver, and I have the honor of managing the Potter accounts." As they exchanged greetings, Foecleaver signaled for one of the runners to approach.
A young goblin walked up to the group. /Summon Steelclaw to the floor. I must meet with the Head of House for my accounts./ The goblin nodded and ran off.
"Once my relief arrives, we should adjourn to my office, Heiress Potter. There is much for us to discuss." Marigold looked to Madam Longbottom, who nodded. She then turned back to the goblin.
"That would be fine, Foecleaver."
The old goblin smiled. "You have been well taught, Miss Potter - a trait you share with your mother, as it happens." He bowed his head slightly. "Despite the time and distance, I remain mournful of their - and your - loss." She nodded in acceptance of the sentiment, but said nothing.
Another goblin, perhaps older than Foecleaver, approached. "Heiress Potter, Madam Longbottom, Heir Longbottom, may I introduce Senior Accounts Manager Steelclaw, currently managing the accounts of House Black." A grin crossed his face. "I believe, Miss Potter, that you and Steelclaw shared some very profitable correspondence earlier this year?"
Marigold smiled at that. "We did. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Steelclaw."
"The pleasure is mine, Heiress Potter. I must say, few witches could accomplish as much as you did with one simple letter, and yet here we are. Many of my colleagues found your effort, and its result, to be most impressive." Steelclaw turned to Foecleaver, still grinning. "Go, put your House's affairs in order, old friend. I will take the duty."
"I stand relieved," Foecleaver responded, handing off his floor manager's duties. Turning to Marigold, he gestured. "Please, follow me."
Marigold stepped forward, but paused. "Should we all come?"
Foecleaver turned back to her. "If the Longbottom Regent and her house's Heir are trustworthy, then they may accompany you. I suspect, from their presence with you today, that you believe them to be so?" Marigold nodded. "Then it shall be as you say. Come."
As they walked toward the back offices, Neville saw Marigold's expression. "You're nervous, aren't you?"
She nodded, then glanced over at him. "A year ago I was an orphan wearing rags. Now I'm being led back to the office of one of the top dozen managers of Gringott's, and a close advisor to the Director himself." She shrugged. "What's there to be nervous about?"
How does she know all that? Neville wondered. Out loud, he tried to reassure her. "Take a deep breath. I did this last year, it's a simple ceremony, and then you're officially the Head of House and Heiress. Easy." He lifted his hand, and she saw a small silver ring appear. "Most of the time you don't even notice."
"I know. It just feels like a big step, you know?"
Neville nodded. "Yeah, I know. But you'll be fine. Especially if Gran has anything to say about it." They both turned when they heard the quiet chuckle from Madam Longbottom. "Well, Professor Longbottom, am I wrong?"
"No, Neville, no you are not." Madam Longbottom replied with a smile. "As long as Marigold has need of us, House Longbottom will be there."
oOoOoOoOo
Foecleaver's office was spacious, but it had a lived-in feeling to it. It was clearly a working office, rather than one set aside for meetings with important clients. The fact that Marigold Potter might qualify as an important client was something that the girl in question found hard to fathom, but here they were.
Foecleaver walked to his side of the large oaken desk, gathering files and paperwork. As the Longbottoms took their seats, Marigold walked to the side wall and examined the large Potter crest displayed there. Her eyes were drawn to the large Griffin, rampant, standing atop the crest. No wonder we usually end up in Gryffindor, she thought.
The elegant scrollwork at the bottom of the crest displayed a phrase in what had to be latin, worked into the crest in precise golden letters. "Honorem Omnium, Numquam Gloria," Marigold read.
"All for Honor, Naught for Glory," said Foecleaver, his back to the room, as he searched for another folder. Finding it, he turned to Marigold. "Your grandfather said it a different way, though. He said that it meant to do the honorable thing, to see that it was done." He smiled as he took his seat. "A very Goblin way of thinking, if I may be so bold."
Marigold took her seat next to Neville. "You knew my grandparents, then?"
Foecleaver nodded. "With you here, I have the privilege of serving my fourth generation of Potters. In fact, I recall having a very similar meeting with your father not long after his eleventh birthday." Another smile, as the goblin remembered the meeting - and its aftermath. He tapped one long finger on the small, wooden box that sat on his desk. "Shall we, then?" Marigold nodded.
"Very well. Miss Potter, normally you would have been brought here after your eleventh birthday to take your place as the heiress of your house. This is done to ensure that the Head of a magical house is in fact magical. For whatever reason, that didn't happen. But if you'll think back, I imagine you had classmates addressing you as 'Heiress Potter' all year, yes?" Another nod. "They all assumed that you had gone through the ceremony. That you did not harms nothing, but it is not usually done this way."
He slid the box forward and opened it. Inside the box were two rings - a brilliant gold ring with a small red stone and what had to be a griffin worked into the metal, and a silver ring with a smaller red stone and a stylized 'P'. Even without touching the rings, she could sense the magic emanating from them.
"The gold ring is worn by the Head of the House, once they take the Lordship or Ladyship. The House of Potter can be led by either a Lord or Lady, as I believe can the House of Longbottom," Foecleaver inclined his head toward Madam Longbottom, who nodded. "Others, of course, may require a Lord, and some even require the Lord to have proven their worth in some way before they may assume their title."
"In your case, Miss Potter, you will be able to take up your Ladyship at dawn on your seventeenth birthday. Until that day, you are considered the Heiress of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, and you would wear the silver Heir's ring."
Marigold considered asking for advice from the link, or from the Longbottoms, but stopped herself. If she was to be Lady Potter someday, she would have to act the part. Madam Longbottom had already taught her how to respond; now she just had to do it.
"I would take my place as the Heiress of my House, Foecleaver." Marigold straightened herself in her seat as she spoke, as if she already took strength from the ring. Foecleaver nodded in approval, and saw Madam Longbottom do the same.
"Marigold Lillian Potter, your house calls you to take your place as its Heiress," He indicated the silver ring. "If you be the true heiress, take up your ring and speak the words of your house."
Marigold stood, for no reason other than that it felt like the proper thing to do. Reaching forward, she took the silver ring, and was surprised by the warmth she felt. She gave a look to Foecleaver, who nodded. "The ring finger of your right hand is the traditional place, Miss Potter." Marigold took a deep breath, steeling herself, before placing the ring on her finger.
The silver ring glowed for a moment, and Marigold felt its magic wrap around her own. It was almost like a blanket after a cold day, and the feeling brought with it a wave of calm. Unbidden, the words came to her, and she spoke her oath.
"I stand at the center of all things," she began, reciting the words from memory even as she learned them. "I will defend the honor of my house. I will protect the sons and daughters of my house with might and magic, sword and shield. I will lead my house with courage. I will heed those who came before me, just as I will offer my wisdom to those who come after me. So long as I stand with my house, I will never stand alone. " Marigold paused, before the final words sealed the oath. "Honorem Omnium, Numquam Gloria."
She felt the ring's warmth subside, and realized that her oath had been accepted. It was like a puzzle piece fitting into place at long last - despite her doubts, it felt right.
"Congratulations, Heiress Potter." Said Madam Longbottom, formally. Neville rose and gave his own congratulations, which earned him an awkward hug. Marigold, for her part, could not stop grinning. Nor could Foecleaver, who resumed his seat.
"As the Heiress, you are entitled to consult with me on the management of your family's holdings, including their investments. The proceeds of these, unfortunately, are not available to you until your majority, apart from the trust vault set up by your parents." Foecleaver tapped an old leather book, probably a ledger of some sort. "We can review those details later, of course."
Spellforged had coached her well on this point - she knew what to tell her account manager. "So long as the principal is maintained, I trust your judgment, Foecleaver." That earned her a grin and a nod from the old goblin - he was impressed with her response.
Foecleaver lifted another folder onto the desk, drawing Marigold's eye. It looked like the folder was nearly empty, with only a single sheet of parchment that she could see. "There is one last matter that requires your attention, Heiress Potter." She watched him closely, wondering what might be in that folder.
With her focus on the folder, she did not notice Foecleaver pass a short note to Madam Longbottom. Nor did she see the woman look up and grin, a twinkle in her eye.
"Heiress Potter, as you may or may not be aware, there is the matter of the ironclad, magically binding Betrothal Contract."
Foecleaver watched Marigold for her reaction. Her eyes moved slowly from the folder to him, her eyebrows furrowing and then shooting up her forehead in shock. When she spoke, he was shocked again at her skill in the Goblin language.
/GROZNAK!/ she shouted, startling Neville. Madam Longbottom, having been warned, could not hold her laughter in any further. This set Foecleaver off as well, with his barking laugh. Marigold glared at the old goblin, ready to lay into him, when he handed over the folder.
Inside the folder was a letter.
28 March 1971
Senior Prank Manager Foecleaver,
I apologize again for James' reaction to our little performance. Feel free to reimburse yourself for repairs to your office from the vault. I trust there was no permanent damage. I had not anticipated his reaction - when you and my father pulled the same stunt, I remember thinking that it was hilarious. Not that I expect this to become a tradition, of course, but I suspect he will have a much different perspective if and when he sees your little prank from my chair.
So, my old friend, when James brings his heir or heiress to you for their ring ceremony, please feel free to give my grandchild their own "betrothal contract".
If James doesn't find the joke funny by that point… then at least you and I will. But I'll bet you lunch that he laughs the loudest.
May your gold flow,
Charlus
Marigold shook her head, chuckling now. She handed the note to Neville as she watched Foecleaver pull himself together. My grandfather felt comfortable enough to prank a child that hadn't been born yet, and set it up two decades beforehand. Marigold almost whistled to herself. That's trust.
"Four generations," she muttered. "You've been with House Potter longer than any of the actual Potters have, haven't you?"
Foecleaver nodded. "I have had that honor, yes."
She looked over at Neville, who was chuckling at the letter, then at Madam Longbottom, who nodded. Again she turned back to Foecleaver, a smile on her face and a warmth in her heart.
"Tell me about them."
A/N: The prank seems a little bit mean, the more I think about it - and particularly Seeker's reaction, which would usually be stunned resignation, if the typical Betrothal Contract fic is to be believed. The way I see it, a) It's funny, and b) at least a few of you had a bit of a heart attack when you thought that this was swerving into Contract land. Double prank! But it's very Foecleaver - had James been sitting there, consider how it would have gone. James Potter ended up as a Marauder for a reason, after all. And remember, Foecleaver had promised Charlus that he'd do exactly this; this was his way of honoring his late friend, as well as tweaking his new charge a bit.
For completeness' sake, Rose's reaction involved calmly asking about the penalty for executing her betrothed. That got a bigger laugh out of Foecleaver than Marigold did, though Lord Greengrass (her escort in that world) was somewhat less enthused. Daphne, meanwhile, thought the whole thing was hilarious.
A lot of this fic is about family - House Potter and its legacy, as well as the five themselves, but also found family like Foecleaver, Neville Longbottom for Marigold, Susan and Amelia Bones for Chaser, Daphne and Astoria for Rose, and others. The dance around Sirius and other possible godparents/guardians is important as well, but Marigold's question at the end is a big step toward figuring out House Potter itself, now that she is its Heiress officially. Rose and Seeker, once they relaxed, had similar questions - and Chaser's stories can only go so far.
If Naruto is on your reading list, consider having a look at Dodging Councils and Stealing Kunoichi - Strike with the Pointy End, by the Twisted Mind of Ozzie. I have it on good authority that he enjoys getting reviews, and (though it's early yet) his fic is shaping up to be a good one.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
