Phoenix Triumphant, Chapter 2
The next day might has well have been an extension of the holiday. Almost half the students were missing for various familial reasons, and the students who weren't were either hungover from the impromptu post-war holiday that had occured the night before or Hermione were gossiping about the latest Daily Prophet, which had outdid itself with sheer drama, flamboyance, and idiocy, as one article detailed the "Tragic Past of the Man Who Killed You-Know-Who" (Professor Snape was not amused, and ended up taking five points from every student who talked about it in class or tried to ask him about it) and another article speculated on the "Mysterious Magic Which Defrayed the Killing Curse."
Harry did his best to study, but being constantly cornered in the hallways: "Potter, is it true that you can heal anything?" "Can you heal this bruise?" "What the hell was that?""Is it true that you're shagging Snape?" was not exactly conducive to concentration. And then there were the classes, of which only Snape's and Mcgonagall's were mostly still functional, the former because the old tabby was not afraid to hex her classes silent and didn't except "I stayed up till three at a party" for an excuse for late work, and the latter because everyone was in awe of him. To be fair, there was literally no way you could not be after having seen him fight his way through Death Eaters, duel Voldemort, and literally be reborn in silver fire...
There were more trials coming up. Harry had to miss several classes, too, because he had to speak at every one of them; some only to make sure that it wasn't a kangaroo court, but others because he had to actually defend the innocent. Now, with the war over, the Ministry wanted scapegoats...and ex-Death Eaters were perfect for that. Still Harry's name carried a lot of weight despite the fact that he had not actually vanquished Voldemort in the end, and when one combined his political clout with Snape's newfound power, well, the two of them were unstoppable.
With the war over, however, Harry found that other witches and wizards wanted to shove every conceivable burden they could find onto his shoulders, as if the replace the emptiness that came from Voldemort finally being gone.
The aurors wanted him to join them. St Mungos offered a prime position. Dumbledore offered the post of DADA teacher. Harry wanted nothing to do with any of it. Why couldn't the public accept that he was not their toy and Chosen One anymore? Was it too much to ask that he be able to finish his schooling in peace, and then maybe take a gap year?
Apparently not. Rita Skeeter was in fine mettle, using her acid pen to attempt to write skewed accounts of Voldemort's defeat and false stories about Harry and Snape's "torrid affair" which was quite nonexistent, especially because Snape had loved Harry's mother and Harry had a crush on Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle. The worst part of it was, slander was apparently not a crime in the Wizarding World. The most Harry could do was try to get them to print a retraction, which would likely not work at all. Harry had to spend Merlin knows how much time just to convince the majority of Gryffindor house that he was neither gay nor in a relationship with Snape, and that still didn't stop the gossip and the lurid and cruel comments from other houses or random howlers.
Harry very much wanted to buy out the Prophet himself, and print whatever he wanted to (none of which would have anything to do with himself or Snape). He might even have done it, too; he was tired of ending up on the front page- but he didn't actually know if he had enough gold to pull it off, considering that Dumbledore had his vault key and he had not been to Gringotts since third year. Damn, that was another thing he had to do- that and figure out what affects his Lordship might have on him if and when he decided to take it up.
The second week into the last semester, a pile of Ministry and Gringotts letters fell onto his plate during breakfast, becoming splattered with mango and bacon grease in the process. Harry idly picked them up, expecting the usual summons to court- Bulstrode- the younger, he meant- had not yet had her trial.
The request to come to Gringotts at once, on business too sensitive to be communicated via letter, was rather unnerving- but, then, so was the letter calling him to attend his and Snape's Order of Merlin gifting ceremonies. Sweet Circe! He should have expected it, as Snape acidly told him when he commented, but it simply hadn't occurred to him that he was going to be rewarded by the Ministry and Merlin Foundation itself for something he was literally prophesied to do. Nor was he looking forward to it, because he had no idea how to comport himself at any formal function, much less an Order of Merlin awarding ceremony- and his own, no less. Hell, he didn't even have dress robes!
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry glanced up. Professor Mcgonagall was standing next to the table that he had secured in the library, allegedly to do his studying for Charms. (Although he was spending much more time trying to prevent himself from hexing gossipers and researching Triple Sacred Bonds in the Restricted Section, as he had been given a pass.) "Yes Professor?"
"It has fallen to me to escort you to Diagon Alley, seeing as you are not old enough to leave Hogwarts unaccompanied. I, personally, believe that you could manage, but there are regulations to think about."
That and left-over Death Eaters, Harry thought grimly, grateful that Professor Dumbledore had listened to his request and was letting him go to Diagon with an escort. "Thank you professor. When are we going?" He knew better than to bowl her over with questions, either; indeed, he had gone through this routine with her multiple times in the past few weeks, what with having to go to trials or help Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing, and so on. Not that he minded her company, either, even if he did wish he could go alone.
"Now, if you are amenable. You have a free period, correct?"
"Yes professor." Harry grinned at the older woman. Within moments, they were headed to the apparition point, where Mcgonagall took him by slide-along to Diagon Alley.
"Gringotts first?" she asked crisply. Harry nodded, and then they approached the bank, Mcgonagall always just a little behind her charge.
Harry had not seen the goblin-run bank for years, but it was not exactly a place that one could easily forget. Vast, made of stately white marble, and guarded by fierce, lanky, misshapen creatures armed with poleaxes, Gringotts, despite being run by "creatures" was the largest and most important bank in the British Wizarding World, and it showed. Harry was awed even now as he approached one of the lines of tellers.
"Your business?" the teller asked in a rather bored tone when the line had at last crawled so that Harry was in front.
Harry took a deep breath, remembering the letter he had been sent that morning and hoping he would not screw this up. It had said only that he was to ask for Silverjam, as the information that the goblins wanted to convey to him was too sensitive to be sent by mail. "I wish to speak to Account Manager Silverjam," he managed firmly.
Utter silence, broken only by Minerva Mcgonagall's faint gasp. Apparently this goblin was important, and as it seemed, very much so. Harry was starting to get extremely nervous when at last the goblin said "You are expected?"
"I...believe so, yes, according to Gringotts correspondence."
"Very well then," the teller said, still gruffly but a little more respectfully. "Spitfire will take you."
The aforementioned goblin came forward. "Come," she (?) said, and Harry began to follow. So did Mcgonagall, but the she goblin raised a palm to halt her. "Mr. Potter only."
Mcgonagall did not seem very surprised. She straightened, dug in her tartan handbag for a moment, and withdrew Harry's Gringotts key, lips pursed. "I will wait for you in the lobby, Mr. Potter."
"Thanks professor," Harry replied. Then he followed Spitfire into the bowels of the ancient bank.
They walked through long tunnels of earth and stone, lit not by torches but by fonts of eerily glowing green liquid, lighting the passageways surprisingly brightly but without hurting Harry's eyes. Spitfire walked calmly but surely, led seemingly by runes carved over every point at which the passages diverged or met, until at last they reached a door in the rock. Spitfire did not even knock, but as soon as they stopped in front of it, a gravelly male goblin voice rang out into the corridor. "State your business."
Spitfire said something intelligible in Gobbledegook and the door swung smoothly open on well-oiled hinges, admitting Harry and his guide into a large room that might have resembled the ornate parlour at Grimmauld place, except that its walls were earthen and covered with jeweled weapons that looked entirely too sharp to be ornamental. And at a desk in the middle of the room sat a goblin, evidently Account Manager Silverjam.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry started just the slightest bit, hand flying to his wand, which was still tucked in his pocket. "Account Manager Silverjam? You wanted to see me sir?"
The goblin looked momentarily startled at this honorific, but then simply nodded. "Yes, Mr. Potter, about several things. Take a seat. Runner Spitfire, you are dismissed."
The runner nodded and left in silence, and Harry was alone in the goblin's office. Harry took a seat, then jumped as the goblin waved a hand, summoning a tea service. "We may be here a while," was all he said. Harry's unease grew.
"What did you want to speak about?" Harry asked at last, unable to keep still. He hoped desperately that what he had just said was not an faux pas in goblin customs, but the goblin didn't seem to mind.
"First of all, there's the matter of your accounts. You should have received statements from Gringotts at the age of eleven, for you and your magical guardian to look over. We thought at first that you had no interest in your accounts and your guardian noticed no abnormalities, but as you never came in to accept your lordships, or even sent in a reply to our queries, we began to grow concerned. Recently we received some rather...disturbing intelligence that you never actually received them, which leads me to believe that your supposed 'guardian' has put an illegal mail ward on you without your consent."
"What?!"
"Added to that, with the conquer of Lord Voldemort and his marked followers, you can now claim the Gaunt, Slytherin, Lestrange, Carrow, Avery, Flint, Rosier, Parkinson, Yaxley, Selwyn, Crouch, Bulstrode, Burke and Travers lines, as Gaunt and Slytherin are Voldemort's titles, and the others, since the last lords of the families belonged to him, are yours as well, unless you wish to leave them in the care of their heirs and accept a tithe rather than a lordship."
Harry found himself unable to stop staring.
"In any case, even had you not defeated the Dark Lord, and even had we not suspected that your statements were being intercepted, the fact remains that due to the Sacred Triple Bond connecting you to Severus Snape, all of his accounts are automatically accessible, and your accounts are able to be accessed by him as well. This can be changed, of course, but with that particular kind of bond it is assumed that your accounts would be combined.
Harry stared, and then swallowed hard. "Right, so my statements are being intercepted, I can claim Voldemort's titles as well as all of his Death Eaters', and my accounts have been automatically combined with Professor Snape's?"
"Indeed."
Harry had to stop and just take a full seven minutes to think. "Ok," he said finally. "First of all, I would like to audit my accounts...and is it possible for a Gringotts cursebreaker to figure out who cast the mail ward and remove it?"
"That can be done, yes."
"How does one claim a lordship or twenty?"
"You would need to see if the lordship rings would accept you. If they do, you may sign the paperwork to take on your lordships, and you have a year and a half to the day to learn and execute your duties. I highly suggest taking an inheritance test, however; not only would that insure your safety, as it would tell you which titles are safe to claim, but it could also tell you if there are any other titles that we did not know about previously. There is a price, but I am very certain that you can afford it."
"How do I know if the rings accept me?" Harry asked, interested.
"If you are blood related to the house, nothing will happen, or it will sting. This is usually because family magic does not seem you mature enough or you are illegitimate or not from the main family branch. If you are not blood related, or not closely, then depending on the ring and the family it represents it may only burn or fall off, or it may kill you. The Black house in particular is not the most...tolerant ring."
"What does it do?" asked Harry, swallowing.
"I believe it slowly burns all the flesh of your bones, so it is a very good thing that you are a Black by blood."
That did not ease Harry's apprehension, and he at last decided to change the subject. "About my and Snape's accounts, can they be separated?"
"All liquid assets will be moved back to their proper places from the combined vault. As for heirlooms and such, they remained in the family vaults the entire time, and so this you cou can disallow him to open or enter your vaults. If he wants to deny access to his vaults for you, he will have to come to Gringotts himself."
Harry nodded at this, and sent Snape a quick mental message before turning back to the goblin. "Right, so I'd like to have my accounts audited, to make an appointment with a cursebreaker, to separate Snape's and my accounts, to get an inheritance test if possible, and then to claim my lordships, and then there are some investments that I'd like to make."
The goblin looked quite pleased. (At least that's what Harry thought; he wasn't exactly an expert in the physiology of magical races. For all he knew, Silverjam could be grimacing in anger, and wasn't that a pleasant thought. He needed to learn more about the Wizarding World.) "Very well, that can be arranged, Mr. Potter."
They discussed times for some little bit before finally hashing out days and hours for Harry's appointments, as Mcgonagall was likely still waiting in the lobby of Gringotts. At long last, Harry leaned back.
"Is there anything else you wished to talk about?"
Silverjam hesitated. "There is one message that I must bring you on behalf of the goblin nation, though not the bank. The first is that Senior Director Ragnok would like to speak with you and your bondmate at your earliest convenience."
Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his skull, though he had enough sense to recollect himself quickly. Despite the deplorable lack of a Wizarding Culture class at Hogwarts, everyone had heard of the goblin king, who was said to be a thousand years old and to have instigated the 1919 goblin rebellion. For him to want to talk to Harry... "I- please convey my sincere thanks for such an honor. I will speak to Snape at once. What time would be most efficient?"
"Noon tomorrow would be best."
"Right," Harry said, sucking in a deep and shaky breath. "We'll be there." As if he would miss an appointment with the goblin king himself!
Wow! I did not see where this was headed when I first started, but it turned out great!