Septima Vector took the seat offered by the Headmaster, sitting down with a weary sigh. She had known it would be a long night, just with the Halloween feast alone. No one had planned for the attack on Mrs. Norris, however - nor did anyone anticipate the aftermath.
As always, Rose Potter seemed to defy all expectations.
Severus Snape sat on a high stool, in the corner of the Headmaster's office, as was his habit. His expression showed the same fatigue that hers did, though he hid it well.
"Septima, my dear, how did it go?"
Professor Vector considered that. "Albus, I will be honest - I don't know." Off the Headmaster's questioning look, she continued. "Whatever was said in the common room, it seems to have scared the life out of Mister Malfoy. He was not the brash blood purist that we saw earlier tonight."
"How so?"
She shook her head. "I can't explain it, really - the subject of blood purity never came up, not once. I led Draco and the 6th year prefects to Hufflepuff, and then Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Each time, he asked for an audience, using the correct language." She looked over at Snape. "I presume Mister Nott coached him on the finer points?"
Snape nodded. "I asked him to aid Mister Malfoy, while we awaited your presence."
"Well, it worked." She sat back. "The Draco Malfoy who begged forgiveness from the badgers was not the same one who threatened them earlier tonight. The fact that the Hufflepuffs voted, then and there, to accept the apology, well, that seemed to calm him down a little."
Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "How did he do at Gryffindor?"
"There, it was rougher," she replied. "Minerva almost did not let him in, saying that he would do the same if she had threatened the lives of his housemates."
"She may have been doing that for show, Septima." said Snape. "To hammer home the lesson."
A nod - she had considered that as well. "When we entered their common room, the house was assembled - and utterly silent." She looked down, thinking over her visit with the lions. "Albus, I have never seen Gryffindor as united as it was in that moment. They had moved a couch to the center of the room, and all of their first years were seated. The rest of the house stood - wands out."
That concerned the Headmaster. "Was there trouble?"
"None," said Septima, shaking her head. "But when he began his apology, Oliver Wood stopped him. He pointed at the first years, all of whom were upset, and told Draco to apologize to them first."
"I imagine that shook him." said Snape.
"It did," confirmed Vector. "I think that gesture really hammered the point home for Draco - he was not apologizing to the 'mudbloods', he was apologizing to a bunch of kids that he threatened with death."
Albus sighed. "And Ravenclaw, Septima?"
Another thoughtful look. "Honestly, I don't know. They were polite as he spoke, of course - Filius would demand nothing less. But at the end, when Draco promised to do better, one of the first years scoffed and muttered a phrase I didn't catch."
"In the hallway, I sent the prefects back to Slytherin, along with Mister Malfoy, while I stayed behind to ask about it." She smiled to herself, shaking her head. "Albus, what do you know about Erik Sullivan?"
Dumbledore frowned. "He seems to have been well-sorted, if his marks are any indication. His mother died of an illness when the boy was young and his father consults with the ICW. I believe he has an aunt who works for Gringott's." He smiled at the Arithmancy professor. "Actually, his father holds an Arithmancy mastery, and researches unknown spells."
"Paul Sullivan?" Albus nodded, getting a nod from Vector as well. "I've read his work. No wonder his son is in Ravenclaw."
"Why do you ask?" said Snape.
"Because, Severus, when Draco Malfoy ended his formal apology with a promise that he would do better in the future, Erik Sullivan stood up and barked a phrase in the Goblin tongue. Filius told me that the boy said /Klactika Kiin/."
Snape looked confused. "And that means?"
Albus sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Prove it." The professors looked at him, and their faces begged for more of an explanation. "Consider the Goblin Nation, Severus. When a Goblin makes a promise, their laws and custom treat it as an oath. So a demand that Draco prove his intentions is basically a statement that his words have no value."
The Headmaster sighed heavily, the late hour suddenly taking its toll. "I am afraid, Severus, Septima, that this incident will not be forgotten easily."
"Good," Snape replied.
"Good?" asked Septima. "This will divide the house, Severus. That never goes well."
"I think not, Septima. We had the girl-who-lived walk into the common room and argue the son of Lucius Malfoy into accepting humiliation. And the entire house allowed it to happen, with most of the members even supporting it." He looked from the arithmancy professor to his Headmaster. "And she did it in defense of the first years. Four purebloods and five half bloods, all of them frightened of the other houses' reaction."
"I don't understand." She said.
"It's simple, Septima. Draco spoke as his father taught him, and his entire house slapped him down for it." He allowed a sneer to cross his features. "If my godson is lucky, that hard-earned lesson will stick with him the rest of his life."
And not a moment too soon, thought Snape.
oOoOoOoOo
Despite the late hour, Director Ragnok knew he would find one goblin, at least, still hard at work. It was not dedication to the job, necessarily, that kept Felwrath at his desk that night, or any night for that matter. No, the old Goblin just slept during the daytime. Since he had no real clients, his lack of availability hurt nothing - and his seniority and age both meant that no one would question him on the matter.
Though that may change, thought Ragnok, if this is going where it might. Harry Spellforged had given him much to think about.
Arriving at the old goblin's office, Ragnok rapped a hand against the door. "Come," was the slow reply. Cautiously, the Director opened the old oaken door, and beheld chaos.
Ragnok's own office was immaculate, kept that way by a staff of several goblins - for no one knew when a clan leader or dignitary or ministry representative might wish to meet on some matter or other. Most goblins kept their offices relatively tidy. Even Foecleaver, whose clients usually took a more relaxed view of such things, worked hard to keep his files and papers organized.
Felwrath had no time for such frivolities. His office was filled to overflowing with cabinets, boxes, and stacks of books and ledgers and paper. And it was worse, when Ragnok looked around, for each of those boxes and cabinets was probably magically expanded. The only saving grace that he could see was the circle in the center of the room, ringing a small pedestal. The thick tome there could only be an index, making the rest of the mess searchable - if only just.
The desk at the end of the room matched the rest of the office - for it, too, was stacked high with paper. As if it were the gap between mountains, the center of the desk was stacked low enough to allow a view of the office's sole occupant. As Ragnok walked into the room, careful not to knock anything over, the old goblin stood.
"Welcome, My Lord Director, to the Dead Lines Office of Gringott's, London." said Felwrath's raspy voice. "How may I serve Gringott's today, My Lord?"
Ragnok gestured for him to sit down, taking his own seat across the desk - after first moving a stack of files to the floor. Felwrath saw the gesture and chuckled, before waving his hand. As Ragnok watched, the tall stacks of paper rose into the air. Scattering, the paperwork flew across the room, sliding into now opened drawers and filing boxes. Before he knew it, the goblin's desk was clear.
That got a laugh from the Director. "Felwrath, if you can do that at will, what in the hell keeps your office looking like an archive?"
"My Lord Director," responded Felwrath, as if insulted. "I have a system, sir. It would be bad form to change that system simply because some young upstart wants me to have a clean office." He waved a hand at the room, and at the files littering it. "Besides, this is not an office, as such, My Lord. This is a mausoleum, where extinct lines go when they finally die out."
"Maybe, maybe not." Ragnok leaned back in his chair. "What I will say to you must be kept in confidence, yes?"
If the request fazed the old goblin, Felwrath did not show it. "Of course, Director."
Ragnok nodded. "What do you know of the line of Salazar Slytherin?"
That name alone was enough to surprise Felwrath. Then, he was all business. "House Slytherin had very specific rules for any who would take up the Lord's ring. Even in the familial line, the head of house must be a parselmouth. Once that is proven, they must be accepted as leader of their house, before they then survive a trial of some sort. The nature of the trial is unclear, but such challenges usually involve combat."
"And who is the current heir?" Ragnok asked.
Felwrath looked at him, eyes narrowed. "My Lord, there is no Heir Apparent to the Lordship of House Slytherin. The last potential heir was one Tom Marvolo Riddle, who died on 31 October 1981."
Odd coincidence, that date, thought Ragnok.
"The line ran through House Gaunt until the death of Merope Gaunt, the last daughter of the house. Riddle was her son." Felwrath raised his hand, and a parchment came sailing across the room. When it landed on his desk, he examined it. His grunt of surprise got Ragnok's attention.
"What else can you tell me?" asked the Director.
Felwrath tapped the parchment. "The Slytherin vault has sat dormant for close to two centuries, merely accruing interest over that time. Apart from some artifacts and one property, the family has no business interests or investments or other entanglements. When the line became dormant, the vault went into stasis." He looked up at the Director. "When a family is fully ended, with no potential for another heir to take up the Lord's ring, the contents of their vault are transferred to the closest relation, usually a distant cousin or cadet line. Sometimes, if no relations exist to the twenty-first generation, the contents are sold at auction. Occasionally, debts exist and the Nation takes possession."
"Something tells me that this never happened here."
"No, My Lord. On the death of the last heir, the vault went into stasis. Our curse breakers suggest that the vault's magic is awaiting a new heir."
Ragnok stood, and began pacing. "Enemies of the heir, beware," he muttered.
"Surely, you did not come down here at this hour to discuss an extinct house, My Lord." said Felwrath, with a smile.
Turning to the old goblin, Ragnok let out a tired sigh. "My son tells me that there was an attack at Hogwarts tonight."
"He is well, I presume?" Felwrath asked, before Ragnok could continue.
"Yes, he was in another part of the castle. But the caretaker's cat was petrified by some unknown means." Ragnok looked at a stack of files, keeping his voice even. "Whoever caused this attack claimed that the fabled Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Then they wrote, in blood, 'Enemies of the Heir, Beware.'"
Felwrath looked at the parchment before him, and then at the Director. "Historical records do suggest that a Chamber was added to the castle shortly before Slytherin's Flight. It may not be as fabled as we think."
"Perhaps." he turned back to Felwrath. "But if the legend is true, and there is a monster loose in the school…"
Now it became clear. "You hoped to learn who the heir might be, so that they can prevent the next attack?"
Ragnok nodded. "Or, if they are the ones doing the attacking, knowing their identity would allow me to… encourage them to stop."
Felwrath sighed, sitting back. "I wish I could help you, Director." He tapped the parchment once more, wordlessly duplicating it. "Magic believes that there may be a potential heir, but offers no clue as to that person's identity. Had Riddle been able to claim the ring, we might have traced the magic through his own, but there is no record that he even made a proper claim." He inclined his head, thinking the question through. "It is also possible that Riddle did no deeds worthy of the Slytherin name, or that he was never accepted as a leader among the Slytherins at Hogwarts."
"Why would his time at school matter?" Ragnok asked.
"Because there is no House of Slytherin to grant acceptance to a prospective heir. Acceptance within Slytherin House at Hogwarts would be the closest thing. And if these reports are correct, Magic itself might accept it as such." He slid the copy of the summary to Ragnok.
Ragnok considered the dilemma. "If what you are telling me is true," he began.
"And it is, My Lord." Felwrath said.
"Then whoever is claiming to be the heir is lying." Ragnok continued, ignoring the interruption. "But to what end?"
"That, My Lord, I do not know." Felwrath waved his hand again, and the Slytherin file returned to its place. "If I may be so bold, Director…. Tell your son to be vigilant."
"Always," replied Ragnok. He walked back to the desk. "Thank you, Felwrath."
The old goblin bowed. "My Lord."
Harry's going to hate this, Ragnok thought.
oOoOoOoOo
You are up late, Ginevra.
I know, Tom. We had a house meeting about the attack earlier.
Oh? That's very interesting. What happened at the meeting?
Professor Vector brought in a boy from Slytherin named Draco Malfoy. He had told the mudbloods that they would all be killed now that the Chamber of Secrets is opened.
Malfoy? I knew an Abraxas Malfoy when I was at Hogwarts.
I don't know, maybe they are related? Draco is a blonde boy, a second year.
A grandson, perhaps. What did young Malfoy say?
He said that Slytherin had voted to make him apologize, because what he said was not what he meant, and he didn't want us to be killed by anybody, and he was sorry if he made us feel unsafe.
How humiliating for the boy.
He looked pretty sad - but Ron figured he was upset because they got him in trouble, not because of what he said.
Your brother sounds very wise.
Ha - You've never met him, Tom.
Indeed.
If Slytherin House made a pureblood scion go around and apologize for speaking the truth, perhaps it's better that you did not get sorted there after all.
Maybe. I tried and tried, but the hat wouldn't do it. It said I was brave to even ask - which made me a lion.
So you said, my dear. I told you, I'm not angry.
I know. You're the best, Tom.
Far from it, I'm afraid. But it is as I said it - you will be a powerful witch in any house, Ginevra. Just like your hero, Rose Potter.
Just like Rose Potter.
Now get some rest, my dear. The next few weeks will be quite busy.
Alright. Good Night, Tom.
Pleasant Dreams, Miss Weasley.
