Well, well, well, what have we here – another chapter? Happy (belated) Mother's and Father's Days 2022, whichever applies to you, either as child or guardian. (On a slight tangent, I apply both to any and all guardians who pull double-duty.) Last chapter's title references a quote that I heard or read once a while ago. Unfortunately, I cannot credit anyone for it, because I seem to remember the quote incorrectly: "Give a woman her lipstick and the right pair of shoes, and she can conquer the world." I thought it (as I remember it, anyway) fit the two women introduced in the chapter perfectly.
Heather is very obtuse about a particular fact in this chapter and the next. Originally, she was just finding out about it here; but when that second phone call worked its way into last chapter, I decided that she just has a mental block about it, and it comes together at the end of next chapter. Keep in mind, Heather/Harry was occasionally told details and stories about James, mostly vague mentions courtesy of Lupin in PoA, but through book 4, all that we really know about Lily is that Heather has her eyes, she had red hair, the Dementors brought out Heather's memory of Lily's last moments, Quirrell-mort saying that she needn't have died, and a pack of lies from her sister Petuna that Heather'd been fed from practically her first day in the Dursleys' 'care.' So while it was originally legit, and then became a mistake, I know about it, and I think it makes her a bit more realistic – being given new facts does not instantly overwrite thirteen-plus years of vitriol.
To any readers more familiar with the protocols for "Lords and Ladies' and when to use the noble-person's last name as opposed to the… location (I was going to use the phrase '-dom' as a generic holder for, say, both 'earldom' and 'dukedom', but I realized that someone could take that the wrong way if I weren't careful), please correct me if I did it wrong here, and give me some tips to keep me from making the same mistakes again. What I mean is, (thank you, Dan Jones and your "Great British Castles' series for a perfect example) when would I say "Lord (FitzAlan-)Howard" instead of "Lord Norfolk" or "Your Grace'? Is one, generally, preferred over another? Or is it based on the preference of the noble-in-question? The usage I'm specifically asking about is when you're in a group and identifying from whom you're expecting a response in that moment.
For anyone who may have noticed, I haven't been updating all the previous chapters the last few times I've posted. It took me a while, but I finally realized exactly how long it takes to do that much proof-reading. While I am still making all the small changes in my master file, I've decided that I'll only post them either once a year (I'm currently thinking December) or if one of the changes I've made affects what I'm uploading at the time. Let me know what you think! Also, I have a few ideas (mostly from Pinterest) that I want to include for certain visuals later on. I know I can't use links in the text, but does anyone know how I can easily put them all together (list form or not) here on FFnet so that you can see exactly what I'm imagining? Thanks in advance for any help.
Well, Heather mused as she fell to her knees, dry heaving, at least White's advice on landing after Portkey travel was useful. Tony crouched next to her; his hand between her shoulder blades served as a warm, welcome anchor to the present. Their Goblin companion, Potter Account Manager Gorthunk, stepped forward to greet Her Majesty. After about 30 seconds, she sat back on her heels and gratefully took the mint Tony offered. "I'm so glad you haven't eaten yet," he muttered, earning himself a glare. "Would you rather have tossed your cookies in front of, or worse, on, the queen?"
"Because the dry heaves make a much better impression," she rasped back sarcastically. He stood, smirking slightly when she took his hand to help with balancing on her brand-new one-inch heels. Brushing out the few wrinkles in her former uniform skirt, she checked her sky blue blouse for spots and crinkles. Tony, in a crisp *midnight grey* suit and white shirt, straightened his matching blue tie. "Okay," she sighed, ticking each item off with her fingers, "so we've found out you're a techno-wizard, returned the sword, requested that the Goblins find any and all other accounts that may be dropping into our laps, merged and froze withdrawals from all our current magical financial holdings, ordered frozen all those potential new accounts with regards to withdrawals, requested audits for all the magical accounts and businesses for which either or both of us are or will be the primary holders or investors, found a way for both sides to be pacified with regard to Goblin-crafted family heirlooms, requested one of these new heirloom vaults for ourselves, and signed a mountain of paperwork because of all of that."
"And all before 7AM too!" he chirped.
"Did I forget anything?" she wondered, rolling her eyes.
He thought for a moment. "Only thing we seem to have missed is breakfast."
"I suppose we can provide food for our guests," one of the two older ladies in the main room teased with feigned exasperation. "Have you any allergies or preferences?"
The soulmates blinked simultaneously. "Uh, no allergies, Your Majesty," Tony quickly answered with a short bow. "But I think Heather might do better with lighter fare."
"Toast and melon, if it's available, please, Your Majesty," Heather agreed, curtseying.
The queen nodded, calling down to place the order with the kitchen, and, while they waited, the five introduced themselves. "Dame Carter has suggested that we begin this meeting by speaking about your relatives, and what she and her people have discovered about them. Is that agreeable, Lady Potter?" Elizabeth asked, indicating the seats across from her desk. Gorthunk sat in the one farthest to the queen's right, then Heather, Tony, and Peggy to the queen's far left.
The teen gulped, closed her eyes, and bobbed her head. "Verbal, gattina," Tony muttered. "Dang, this feels like when the dean at MIT called me to his office when the computer lab caught fire. It wasn't me," he quickly added at Peggy's disapproving look. "The professor had overloaded the outlets, and the wiring was old and degraded. Actually, the dean called me in to see if I had any advice on how, aside from those two issues, to avoid it happening again."
"Yes, ma'am," Heather vocalized her reluctant consent. "As long as we don't go into detail about what they did to me."
Tony's back stiffened. Damn it, he just knew this wasn't going to go smoothly.
Peggy and Her Majesty shared a glance. "Don't you want justice?" the former pressed.
Heather shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not a priority–"
"Bullshit," Tony cut in, ignoring his aunt's immediate reprimand about swearing. The queen didn't look terribly impressed, either, but Gorthunk didn't seem to care. The teen's jaw clacked shut. "You most certainly are a priority. You don't want to talk about it? That's fine. I can probably answer most of their questions anyway. You don't want more nightmares and flashbacks? We both know we'll have to deal with them regardless. But you and your health are a priority to me, and, by association, to Aunt Peggy. Why else would we be in a meeting with the flipping Queen of England offering closure?"
"How about the most basic of overviews?" Peggy compromised. "Enough to give us an idea of what happened, but no unnecessary details."
Heather turned away from them, which Tony took as tacit permission. "Made to cook by age three – on the stove, using knives, the whole shebang. Turned into their household slave by age four – cleaning the house, all the yardwork, et cetera. Punishment for everything, from burning bacon and not finishing the exceedingly long and age-inappropriate chore list, to asking questions and anything that went wrong in their lives, even what she had no way of influencing, included: being locked in her room, the cupboard under the stairs in a four-bedroom house in which resided four people; being denied food for days, even weeks at a time; and being poisoned." How he kept his voice level, he didn't know. The queen's eyes flashed angrily, and she opened her mouth. "Oh, yeah, and being beaten so frequently and savagely –"
"Tony!" the teen begged, paling. "Don't you dare–"
"–that a magical doctor had to vanish and regrow her ribs so that they would reach the proper strength."
Enraged, the girl rose from her chair and slapped his face. "You don't get to – don't ever tell anyone about that again!" she ordered passionately, her voice breaking as she smacked his chest. "You don't – it's not important–"
He stood, grabbing her wrists in one hand before she could hit him again, in preparation of drawing her into his arms when she inevitably began crying. "If it's not imp–" He grunted when the furious young woman, seemingly oblivious to the bitter tears rolling down her cheeks, kicked his shin. He spun her, pulling her into a back-to-front hug, and thus caught her when her temper failed her and her knees buckled. "If it's not important," he repeated rationally, her struggles slowing, "why do you care if I–"
"Because it proves I'm weak and useless!" she sobbed. "If I couldn't stop my uncle–"
"You were a child who had been conditioned not to reject anything your relatives said or did to you," he intimated placidly. "It proves that, even at five, you were smart enough to know that resisting the 500-lb man would only result in your death." No longer caring about decorum, he retook his seat and tugged her onto his lap, silently daring any of the other three to complain.
Gorthunk broke the resulting silence with a vicious growl. "Albus Dumbledore has clearly failed in his proclaimed duty as her magical guardian. Gringotts shall ensure that all money and items he ordered removed from her vaults are returned post-haste. Does 95% interest per day sound reasonable?"
"Since each item was removed, and each penny, until the entire amount accrued has been repaid," Tony snarled. "If the item has since found its way back to her, or the vaults, without your intervention, then for each day it wasn't in either your possession or hers. Add in anything removed in prior generations if the current possessors cannot provide documentation that the then-current Head of House gave it to them outright or knew of its permanent relocation." The males shared a malicious sneer of agreement. Shivering, Heather buried her face in the crook of his neck; he instinctively tightened his arms around her.
"It shall be done." The Goblin hesitated. "Aside from those whom she already claimed through the Victori spell, whom we cannot feasibly penalize further except by putting their families to work in the mines, do you know of any other magical humans who have caused her harm?"
"Dumbledore bound 90% of her core," the human man stated heatedly. Peggy's disturbed gasp hung in the air. "Her first-year Defense professor tried to kill her directly on at least two occasions; she killed him during what she considers his third attempt. Second-year's Defense professor raped her at least three times – she can't remember, hint hint, if there were more instances. Someone entered her into that goddamn tournament, and a few adults forced her to compete: Crouch, Maxime, Bagman, Karkaroff, and – surprise, surprise – Dumbledore. Oh, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were getting paid, by Dumbledore but from Heather's vault, to spy on her."
Gorthunk's eyes narrowed. Tony would have sworn that his pupils turned, not into dollar signs, but axes. "I will prepare a restitution plan immediately upon my return to Gringotts, and it will be sent to you for approval or improvement as soon as I am finished. Now, I do believe we have other topics to discuss in this most august company?"
As if on cue, a knock sounded on the door, and, with the queen's permission, a servant rolled in a large cart filled with melon, toast, bacon, and eggs. Another servant brought in a tray of tea, coffee, and add-ins. When the door closed behind them, Elizabeth pressed a button – *autumn maple* orange, Tony noted, not red – and a low hum filled the air. "The room is now secure," she nodded. "For the purpose of expediency, I suggest we forego formality. 'Dr Stark' and 'Lady Potter' are reasonable; 'Account Manager Gorthunk' and 'Your Majesty' quickly become unwieldy. You may, for the duration of this meeting, call me Elizabeth or ma'am."
No one had any objections, and so, after everyone had stated their preferred names, Peggy began. "Carefully selected agents of mine, all of whom are in on the secret, were able to identify regular deposits into the Dursleys' joint bank account of £1,000 as coming from Gringotts, on the second of every month starting November 1981.'
"I can confirm the monthly withdrawal of 100 Galleons from Heather's trust vault," Gorthunk agreed. "Albus Dumbledore, as court-appointed magical guardian, was illegally granted access to it. The previous manager allowed him to remove some of the items and all the gold he wished. Leader Ragnok handled the... gantoriach personally when the breach of trust was discovered," the Goblin explained to the humans who hadn't already known the details.
Elizabeth and Tony shuddered at the promised violence in his voice; Peggy, having at least heard about Goblin culture, barely blinked, continuing, "At that time–"
"They were paid to keep me?" the teen whispered, shocked and angry. "They always told me I took food out of Dudley's mouth, and that I was an ungrateful whelp, and they used money that came out of my vault on themselves? They didn't even want to give me hand-me-downs, and I was paying them to keep me a slave?"
"I'm sorry, baby," Tony muttered in her ear. "They are monsters. That's the only reason I can come up with for doing such despicable things."
"We are most displeased," Elizabeth added, making notes. "When the investigations are done, Scotland Yard will be making a spectacle of arresting them, and We will personally instruct the Crown Prosecutor to seek the maximum prison sentence allowable by law."
"If you'd be so kind, Your Majesty," Gorthunk chimed in, "the Goblin Nation would gladly make certain that they could not escape. We take a very dim view of thieves. These horrid Muggles would, shall we say, work off their crimes far more effectively than if they remained in your prison system. They acted against our client, and thus us, as well."
Elizabeth smirked, appreciating the bloodthirsty gleam in the Goblin's eyes. "That seems a marvelous idea, but We shall have to consider it further."
"At the time they first received deposits from Gringotts," Peggy tried again, "Vernon and Petunia also stopped paying rent on the house in which they were, and still are, residing, the address being…" She looked down at her notes.
"Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey," Heather recited woodenly. Tony raised an eyebrow. "They weren't thrilled that I learned it – meant that even when they abandoned me in London, I'd still be brought back to them."
None of the adults seemed overly thrilled, themselves, with that revelation, but, realizing there was nothing they could do about it this late, Peggy went on, "Previously, their payments were deposited into the non-magical account of Lily Potter nee Evans, Countess of Stanford."
"The late Lady Potter kept me, and in turn the government, far more apprised of the turmoil and civil war than the magical ministry ever did," Elizabeth explained nostalgically.
Heather looked up, her eyes shining. "Did you ever meet my mum?"
"Aside from her investiture? Yes, several times. I may," the queen smiled warmly, "even be persuaded to find a picture of me holding you, shortly after your first birthday." The teen grinned brilliantly.
"But you were right, Heather," Peggy sighed. "Your uncle has some accounts in the Cayman Islands – I've so far been alerted to four – and Switzerland – another three there – into which he has channeled significant funds from Grunnings, which is a subsidiary of S.I."
"So I can personally fire him." Tony's smile, dark as it was, looked nearly feral. He rubbed his hands together maniacally. "Excellent."
"I'd hold off for now," Gorthunk advised before Peggy could. "If one person is embezzling big, so are others. I'm sure Gringotts can get all the funds returned to the company, for a small fee."
"Even with those two locales involved?" Elizabeth wondered. "Banks in those countries are notorious for confidentiality and, shall we say, obfuscating the law."
"They know not to mess with the Goblins," Heather snorted. "The only thing stupider than pissing off a Goblin is pissing off a nesting mother dragon." Gorthunk, who'd been about to object, realized that she was one of the few who could legitimately make that claim. "And standing between Goblins and thieves is not a safe place to be. I learned that," she said to the account manager, "from a book I ordered from America. Apparently, 'Gringotts' is a recognized bank in both societies, and the agents are, quote, 'bloodthirsty opponents who can tear apart any law that stops them from getting what they are after,' end quote."
"Well, they're not wrong," he shrugged.
Tony stared at him for a moment, considering. "Clearly, you can handle the financial investigations at least as well as Aunt Peggy's people. Can you – Goblins in general, I mean – are you allowed to audit mundane companies, with regards to products and other non-monetary assets?"
"Oh, that's perfect!" Heather breathed excitedly.
Gorthunk smirked. "We'll talk after class."
"We've already established," Elizabeth added to the list, "that the Dursleys never put in for legal guardianship."
"They didn't?" Heather blinked.
"Sorry, Gem," Tony apologized, squeezing her shoulder. "Aunt Peggy mentioned it while you were getting the caffeine this morning. I wonder if they knew that Lily was a Countess."
"I doubt it," the teen shook her head. "They'd have bragged endlessly that they were related to a Peer, and they couldn't have told me all that malarkey about her. I'm not surprised about that, though; it would have meant officially admitting that we were related. Legally, until I came of age, my guardian should have been Sirius."
"Sirius? As in Sirius Black?" the queen confirmed in horror. "As in, the convict who escaped from prison about two years ago?"
Heather shared a look with Tony. "I'd forgotten that the Ministry had shared that information," she groused. "How, exactly, do I explain this?"
"No, ma'am," Tony drawled for her. "Sirius Black, as in the man who was held in a prison that, from all accounts, goes directly and proudly against the Geneva Convention, without a trial – ergo, he's not a convict – for crimes for which he was framed and who, depending on your perspective, either escaped his kidnappers or released himself on his own recognizance to protect his goddaughter from the actual criminal."
"Yeah, that," Heather nodded. "What he said."
The remaining participants gaped gormlessly. Finally, Elizabeth's eyes closed for just longer than a blink as she groaned, "And it's times like this when I miss your mother's wit. This creates a few more tangles than even I was expecting."
"Not how you're thinking," Tony countered. "Gemstone, I don't think we'll ever get a better cue to break out the contract. You good to go?" Inhaling deeply, she hummed in assent, and he withdrew the scroll from inside his suit jacket.
"You've mentioned this contract before," Elizabeth said skeptically. "What contract are we talking about?"
"Our marriage contract." Heather's voice put the Sahara's dryness to shame. "As negotiated by our ancestors. Acceded to, and witnessed by, Her Majesty Queen Anne of Great Britain, France, and Ireland." When the current monarch blinked, dumbfounded, the teen added, "1712. Yeah, our thoughts exactly. I need to read this aloud–"
"Why would you be bound to a contract that old?" the queen demanded. "Surely it must have expired by now."
"It wasn't written for two named people," Tony told them. "It was written for two people who fit certain criteria." After a beat, he added, with Peggy mouthing the words in unison, "And don't call me Shirley."
"Then there must be a way to nullify it," she immediately argued, " or to delay it if it can't be broken."
"It's a Goblin contract," Heather retorted. "They don't leave out-clauses or loopholes unless they are specifically included or benefit them. Besides, it doesn't actually matter. We're soulmates; we'll be together regardless. This simply lays out some of the terms by which we'll be wed and living."
"Soulmates, really?" Peggy asked suspiciously. "Forgive my dubiousness, but I realized after you first told me, that's a large age gap. What were your words? And who spoke first?"
"I did," Tony gave her a hard stare. "I asked if she was a hallucination. Considering she appeared out of thin air, I thought it was a fair question."
"And I asked if he was on drugs," Heather frowned. "Considering that and delirium are the only ways I know of to hallucinate. And I'm sure you're aware how rude it is to ask such a personal question."
"Those are reasonable comments," Peggy reluctantly admitted. Elizabeth tried to hide her grin behind her teacup; Heather might have bought it, if McGonagall hadn't mastered the technique in James Potter's third year and used it regularly ever since because of the Weasley twins.
"And neither one a pick-up line," Tony added, trying to break some of the tension. "Considering it's me, that's pretty impressive."
Heather leaned her head back onto his shoulder, and he tightened his arms around her. "Can I get on with the mind cramps and the eye strain, boo?"
Peggy's eyebrow twitched. "Do you want some paracetamol?"
"No, thank you," the girl sighed. "Medications made of chemicals are… let's say, iffy for magicals. Only rarely do they work properly. Sometimes, they work a little, but not as well as they should; occasionally, they work too well; most often, they either don't work at all or do the opposite of what they're supposed to do." She unrolled the scroll and met the queen's eyes. "May I, ma'am?"
"Any of us may interrupt with questions," Elizabeth qualified. When Heather nodded her acceptance, she leaned back in her chair. "You may proceed."
"Thank you," the teen deadpanned. Not even the girl in question could separate her sarcasm from her sincerity.