Chapter 12
Harry
I resume my pacing around the office.
"You're brooding," Mi says, flipping through the booklet in her hands. She looks like she's reading in the common room, not that we've just been informed we're married.
How is she so nonchalant suddenly?
"No, I'm not," I deadpan, hitting one end of the office before flipping back around.
Bond Mates.
I should be freaking out. Hermione was freaking out.
Why aren't I freaking out?
Can I be freaking out about not freaking out?
"Now you're pouting like a five-year-old," she says, without ever taking her eyes from the papers in her hands.
Why are we not freaking out!?
Ron sniggers from his chair again. "I can't decide if this is the weirdest thing I've ever witnessed, and that's saying something by this point, or if it makes a bizarre sort of sense?"
"You aren't upset?" I question, stopping my pacing to look at him.
He shrugs, the tips of his ears turning red. That's never a good sign.
"It's weird."
I mean, yeah.
But no.
"Bloody Hell, Mate, you're married!" His eyes bulge out of his head. He adds in a half whisper, as if she isn't sitting two feet away from him. "To Hermione!"
But haven't we always been? Honestly. Even when I was snogging Ginny, Hermione was still basically my wife.
"Does it make it weirder if I say it isn't all that surprising to me?"
"Yes," my best friends answer as one.
Well.
This changes things for sure. I can leave the Dursleys for one. I can do magic. I stop my pacing on the other side of Ragnok's desk and flip my fingers at the boxes in Mi's lap.
Accio boxes
They flow to me silently, whizzing through the space between us until I pluck them out of the air.
"Show off!" Ron huffs, and I grin in his direction.
I pop the lid on the top box, seeing the Black crest gleam back at me.
"I can't believe he passed up his inheritance."
"I can," Mi says, bending the corner of one of the pages before continuing to flip. "He hates everything about his family, except you. Makes perfect sense to me. He looks like he's making this huge sacrifice while, in reality, he's pushing off all his duties and responsibilities onto you."
"That isn't— "
Hermione looks up, meeting my eye.
"That sneaky bastard! I signed every paper without looking too, because he said it was for the adoption."
"The pointless adoption," Ron points out unhelpfully.
"No. It did what it was required to," Mi says. Her eyes light up and I feel her pulse of excitement as she folds another corner. "The Black name carried a lot of weight, and now it will again. You heard Ragnok and Sirius talking. Second wealthiest Wizard in Europe and heir to two sacred twenty-eight families. And Harry carries both of those names now."
"So do you," Ron chirps up, amused again at the distress on her face.
"I really wanted to hyphenate my name when I married," she says with a pout.
Ron bursts into laughter.
"Married at fifteen and upset that you couldn't keep your maiden name. Your priorities are all atta whack, 'Mione."
I turn my face away so they can't see me smile.
"Must I remind you Ronald, that since apparently I am married, I am no longer bound by the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery?"
Ron pales and moves over to Sirius's seat.
"In other words, Mate. Piss my wife off, and she'll hex off your bollocks."
"Bloody Hell," Ron sags in his seat.
"Training starts now," I say, and Mi nods.
"Agreed."
"I need to go shopping," I add, thinking about going to Ollivander's shop.
Something has been nagging at me since we got back. I want to ask about the Elder Wand, and I used Hermione's wand without any issues…
But now that I think about it...Bonded. Mated.
That probably had a good bit to do with it.
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Mi chimes in.
So much to do, such little time.
"I still want to go into the vaults." I say.
"Why wouldn't we?" she questions, barely paying attention to me.
"What are you looking at?" I demand the next time I pass them in my pacing.
"I'm shopping, apparently."
Ron perks up, moving yet again, this time taking the seat next to Mi. He scoots the chair closer until he's leaning over her shoulder. She huffs at him, but then moves the book between them. His eyes go wide.
"What is that?" he asks for the both of us.
"An inventory of the Potter-Black vaults."
I freeze, a tightness in my chest.
"An inventory?" I parrot, sounding like a moron, I'm sure.
She lifts her chin, and I swear I hear her condescending Oh, Harry in the back of my head.
"You know from the last timeline how far back your family goes. From the size of this list, they never threw anything away. And from the research I did, excluding a few specific instances, almost all your ancestors were only children of only children. It's all just kind of…accumulated and trickled down. So, yes, Harry. There's an inventory. There's about a thousand years of junk packed, shrunk, and shoved into the tunnels under our feet."
I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs clouding it.
"Why wasn't I ever told any of this before?"
Rage spikes in my gut, and the need to lash out is palpable on my fingertips.
Hermione, as usual, has the answer already prepared.
"And what would have happened if the Dursleys were aware you had a vault of gold, and gems, and antique furniture lounging around and awaiting your return? Heck, Harry. There's probably a Manor sitting gathering dust somewhere too."
My shoulders slump in acknowledgement of her statement.
"Taken it all and left me in a ditch."
"By the time you were old enough to deal with it yourself, everyone who could have told you about it was dead, and we were on the run."
"Yeah, okay," I agree, my anger always close at hand, thrumming lightly under my skin.
"Anything good in there?" Ron asks, and Hermione drops the entire booklet into his lap.
"Take what you want, Mate," I tell him. "From the looks of it, Mi has already started a list."
"Just the libraries," she mumbles under her breath with a blush coloring her cheeks.
She is so lovely.
"I couldn't do that," Ron protests, but something in the book has already caught his attention, and he sounds rather distracted.
I slip the male rings on my hand, and they magically resize to fit my fingers.
One on each hand.
"I truly could not care less, Ron," I tell him.
He folds down the corner of a page.
Chess Set I think I hear Hermione laugh in the back of my head.
Ron was right. This is so weird.
I float the boxes back to Hermione, and they land lightly on her lap.
Should I?
Is she really talking to me in my head? Or do I just know her so well I know what she's thinking? It was like that before, sometimes, in the other timeline.
I lift my brow and run my fingers through my hair.
They're yours. Do what you want with them.
She pops both lids, and slips them onto her hands, a ring on each middle finger.
My own rings burn when their mates touch her skin. Hers must too, because she gasps and looks at me.
We're married, she breathes into the back of my head.
My lips pull tight over my teeth, but her giggles break through first. Within a minute, we're laughing so hard that Ron joins in too, though from the bewildered look on his face he has no idea what he's laughing about.
Married.
The door opens up, and Sirius strides back in, followed by Ragnok.
"Change of plans Pup. We'll meet at Grimmauld at seven, then everyone will go to your Aunt's and Uncle's house."
"Everyone?" Mi asks, face a clean mask and ready for business.
"Everyone. You don't leave my sight Mrs. Potter-Black."
She sighs in frustration.
"Yes, Dad," she says in a mocking tone, and Sirius starts at the unexpected title, then winks at her.
"Where were we?" he asks, sliding back into a chair.
"I think you were pawning off all your responsibilities as Head of House to me," I say with an irritated tone.
"Caught that, did you?" he smirks.
"'Mione did," Ron chips in, still going through the vault's inventory.
"Excuse me, Chieftain," Hermione perks up. "Would you have a ledger of the accounts, and a list of all businesses associated with the Blacks and Potters that I could examine?"
Ledgers? Businesses?
Ragnok smiles at her, his flat lips stretching across his face giving him an expression that would give little children nightmares.
"Certainly, Mrs. Potter-Black. If I may say so, it is exceedingly pleasant to see a woman take an interest in the family's financial welfare. Too often in Wizarding families the woman is expected to tend the home and have no say-so in the building of its wealth."
He hands her another folder, this one thick, with several sleeves filled with parchment.
Hermione beams at him, for all the world a student who has been rewarded for answering the question correctly. I try to keep my face blank and not look as out of place as I feel.
"My husband has other concerns to contend himself with."
Hermione sends a pulse through the bond, and I remember one of the main reasons we came here today. The Bond, thing, threw us off course, but it's time to get back on track.
"I'm sure, Ragnok, when you came to work today, educating witless young Wizards was not on your schedule. However, I'm afraid I need your instruction at least once more."
I must have said it right, because Ragnok bows slightly in my direction again.
"Certainly, Harry. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to have a business account opened please, and several employees paid from that account. But I don't want it associated with the other Potter-Black businesses."
"What would be the purpose of this account? Is there a need one of the other businesses in the Potter Trust could assist you with? Those are all thriving, as your Lady Wife will confirm when she goes over the ledgers."
I double take at that. Potter Trust.
Of course. How else would the gold keep replacing itself inside the vault?
Just one more thing no one thought I needed to know about.
I take a deep breath and will my anger to subside.
"Yes. This will be my personal account. Managed by my wife and I alone."
I pull the folded lined paper from my pocket and slide it over Ragnok's table.
Ragnok opens the slip, looking between it and me before pulling more papers out of his drawers.
"The name on the account, Harry?"
He looks at me expectantly.
"Gallactic Alliance Enterprises."
Mi shakes her head in exasperation.
"Oh Harry, really?"
"What?" I grin at her. "I'm totally Luke Skywalker! Raised by his Aunt and Uncle, watched over in secret by his father's best friend. Discovers he has powers and saves the world? I think it's appropriate."
Sirius is barking chuckles in the background, though I seriously doubt he's seen Star Wars. Maybe the first, since Mooney is a half-blood. But by the time the last movie came out, he was already in Azkaban. I don't see how he had access to a telly in the cave.
Ron's, "Eh, Mate? Have you gone mental?" just makes me smile wider.
"As you wish, Harry," Ragnok says.
Ragnok is silent for a few minutes, before speaking again.
"Mr. Weasley."
Ron starts at being addressed for the first time by the Goblin since we entered the Bank.
"You do not have an account yet at Gringotts, I see. Would you like to open one? We will then have your funds deposited directly inside."
"Eh?" Ron replies again, eloquent as ever.
I turn to face him in my chair.
"I need you at my beck and call, until this is over, or until we're dead. We could finish Voldemort in months, or it could take years. There's no telling. But until then, I need an advisor. Someone to tell me when I've gone mental."
"You've gone mental, Mate," Ron supplies without hesitation.
I lean closer to him.
"Ron," I growl under my breath. "Last time we almost spent a year in a tent starving to death because I couldn't walk into a bank and get any money. At least like this we can dose you with Polyjuice and send you to the grocers. Take the bloody money. You'll earn it, I promise."
He looks ready to complain some more, before Hermione answers for him.
"Yes, please. Mr. Weasley will need an account. The three of us will each be signatories in," she closes her eyes in phantom pain, "Galactic Alliance Enterprises. We'll need checks, and or Muggle credit cards, or whatever methods you have available to access our funds in the Muggle world." She looks at me before adding, "The Potter-Black house elves will also be paid from this account."
Ragnok nods again, pulling out more forms and pushing a quill and ink forward for us to sign.
"You pay your house elves madam?" he questions, glancing between me and Hermione.
"Of course," she says primly. "We believe in equal rights for all creatures."
His eyes widen though he attempts to hide his surprise. Score one for my wife. It's my turn, I suppose.
Here we go.
"I've spoken to Molly Weasley, and she's agreed to work as my housekeeper and manage our affairs at home, as my wife and I are heavily involved in the war effort. Her paycheck can be deposited into their account directly. Taken, please, from the Galactic Alliance funds. If Gringotts were to ever fall, I don't want it known that I have personal employees."
Rage flares in Ragnok's eyes at the implied insult, and I prep myself for what's to come.
"I understand your care for your employees Mr. Potter-Black." We're back to that then. That's okay. I was expecting his anger. "But Gringotts always has been and always will be in the care of the Goblins!"
I push my glasses up my nose, keeping my face even.
"What is the Goblin's opinion on the budding war then? Voldemort is back. You know that as well as us. He won't stop until he's named himself king and subjugated anyone he sees as below him."
"Goblins do not involve themselves in the affairs of Wizards," he insists harshly.
This is it. What I came here for.
I feel my own nerves and adrenaline like an echo in Hermione.
"And that has worked in the past. But should Voldemort win, playing neutral won't save you from destruction. He doesn't respect the Goblins, any more than he respects my wife. In his eyes, you both are the same. Unworthy of your magic, and good for only serving him and his. The Goblins are powerful and well respected. Half of our History of Magic lessons are nothing but the might of the Goblins, and the price Wizards have paid in underestimating them. But Voldemort is a different beast altogether. If he wins, there will be a fountain in the middle of the Atrium in the Ministry of Magic. It will portray him, being supported on the backs on Magical Creatures, Goblins among them.
"The first thing he'll do is enslave all the Muggle born and half-bloods that don't fall in line. Then, the next stop is the Goblins. By the time he's done, you'll be treated little better than house elves."
Ragnok's eyes are tight in anger, his pointy fingers trembling in rage.
I flash to another Goblin I saw, with a similar look on his face. In Malfoy Manor's Dungeons.
How did you get into my vault?
She was insane. Torturing, killing Hermione, because she was afraid someone had been in her vault. But why? What was she hiding? What could strike that sort of fear into the heart of the scariest woman alive?
"I'm not asking you to join the fight. You know what's best for your Horde. You were chosen as their Chieftain for a reason. I'm only asking you to keep an open mind, and remember always, that Voldemort and his minions cannot be trusted. He'll lie to your face, while robbing you blind."
Ragnok struggles to get himself back under control.
It's a fake.
Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it.
There's only one thing that could strike that sort of fear into Bellatrix.
"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Potter-Black, but I assure you—"
"Even now, Voldemort is using you to build his power. To harbor his very soul. I would be willing to wager the entirety of the Potter-Black fortunes that at this very moment, there is a dark artifact sitting in the Lestrange vault. By being neutral, you have already aided in his assertion over you."
Hermione's heart is pounding. Ron is holding his breath. I can almost feel Sirius's eyes boring into the back of my head.
"If you have a way of detecting Dark Artifacts, I suggest you take a gander in there. When you find it, whatever it may be, DO NOT touch it with your bare hands. It is supremely evil. It corrupts those who encounter it, even for only a few moments. Voldemort is using you and this great institution to keep himself alive. And when he's amassed enough power, he'll take it from you, and kill any Human or Creature that ever-stepped foot in that vault, simply to keep his secret."
Without a word, Ragnok pushes up from his desk and leaves his office. When the door shuts, the click of the lock is audible.
"Harry!" Hermione hisses, jumping up from her chair. "You think?"
"A Horcrux. There's one in her vault, I'm sure of it."
"Malfoy Manor…"
"Bellatrix lost her mind."
"She was screaming…"
"Think about it Hermione. She didn't lose her shit, until she saw the sword. That's what she kept screaming as she sliced you open. 'How did you get into my vault?!' What would scare Bellatrix like that? Who? Nothing short of Riddle. I think he'd love the idea of a Gringotts Vault. An orphan, raised with nothing, suddenly discovering wealth beyond his very imagination hidden for Wizards eyes only. And the Lestrange's were, and will be, his biggest supporters. Snape has his own Vault, yet he sent the sword to Bellatrix's. At Riddle's insistence most likely."
Hermione's eyes widen as she thinks through my logic.
My scar burns, but I can't tell if it's real, or if I'm remembering the pain from before. I rub my fingers against it, feeling the outline of the mark Riddle branded me with.
"But if she knew— "
I cut Mi off.
"Malfoy didn't know about the diary. He simply thought it was a personal artifact of his leader, and therefore dispensable when his leader was defeated. I doubt he told Bellatrix what it was she was hiding for him either. Remember, Riddle doesn't trust anyone but himself. Doesn't love anyone but himself. He can't. When he was born, he was missing those parts. And every time he splits his soul, he loses another fragment holding him together. Remember when he tried to possess me?"
Sirius hisses in through his teeth.
Hermione sways on her feet.
"I…I was unconscious at the time. But I heard the stories, afterwards. It hurt him, worse than it hurt you."
I turn to look at my Godfather, speaking to Hermione.
"His brain couldn't process grief." I look at my Hermione, my wife, and remember her prone form that day. Remember the fear that shot through me when I thought she had died. The need to follow them, when Sirius went through the veil, and I thought I'd be alone forever. "He couldn't process love. I thought I lost you both that night, and Riddle had to flee rather than feel emotions he had no previous reference to."
Hermione throws herself at me, and I catch her in my arms. I suck in her warmth, feel it flood the Bond in the back of my mind. She sniffles into my shirt, and I run my hands over her back.
"It's fine, Mi. It's not going to happen this time. No one is going to take you from me again."
"Okay," Ron says, and I turn my head to my best friend, having momentarily forgotten his presence. "I get it now. You two." He wiggles his finger. "I totally get it."
Hermione huffs out a laugh against my chest, turning her face and looking at Ron.
Ron tilts to Sirius. "They do this all the time. This joint talking thing where no one ever finishes a whole sentence. They just throw random words at each other, and the other person knows what's being talked about while the rest of us watch it like a ping pong match." Sirius snorts. Ron looks at us again. "Just, don't snog in front of me, k?"
"No promises, Mate."
Sirius throws back his head and laughs.
I cup the face of the witch in my arms, loving the smoothness of her skin.
"You, okay?"
"Yeah," she says. "She can't hurt me anymore."
"No one will hurt you again," I promise her.
I hold her for a moment, tempted to do just what Ron requested we not, and kiss her here and now. I mean, we're married right? Does that mean I'm allowed to kiss her now?
She drifts from my grip, and I walk the length of the wall, while Mi sits down and starts discussing the possible Horcruxes with Sirius.
"We've been fighting reactively this entire war," I declare. "It's time to be pro-active."
"Harry," Ron says, "We're locked in Gringotts Mate. I'm not sure how much more pro-active you want to be."
"I need to talk to Ollivander."
I feel their eyes on me. Hermione is boring into my head. I wonder if I can share memories with her the way I could with Riddle?
"Okay, Harry. We'll go see Ollivander."
Sirius is trying to placate me. It's not helping.
"Soon. Today, if possible. If his timeline stays the same, he'll take off in a few months' time. I didn't battle Riddle with the Phoenix Core Wand, so he doesn't know about the twin cores yet. That's an advantage. I want to push it."
"Relax, Pup. We've time."
I scowl at him, feeling the weight of the Bond Ring heavy on my finger.
Since I slipped it on, I feel like I have even less time than I did before. Hermione is walking about with a target on her finger.
"The Ministry too. Mrs. Longbottom as Minister can only do good things for us. I want that prophecy and everything that has anything to do with Hermione being linked to me destroyed."
Hermione looks at her watch.
"We have plenty of time left today Harry. It's barely eleven."
"You think you can remove the prophecy without Voldemort finding out?" Sirius asks.
"We broke into the Ministry twice in the last timeline," I say.
"And almost died both times," Hermione adds pessimistically.
"That's why this time I'm going to walk in the front door."
The door unlocks, Ragnok leading a trail of Goblins before him.
They place three boxes on the desk, before turning and leaving.
Ragnok stares at me, his penetrating glare measuring and judging.
Without a word, he tips the first box onto the floor. Jewelry spills over the marble, some of it twinkling in the light.
Evil, I'm sure. Cursed.
Not a Horcrux.
The second box tips, and a book in a language I can't read crashes to the ground. Hermione gasps, recognizing something that the rest of us don't.
My pulse speeds up, my heart thundering in my throat. Adrenaline floods my body, my limbs tingling with the need to move.
Not a Horcrux.
With the flick of his wrist, the third box falls, and a golden cup clatters onto the ground. Tiny, with two handles and a minuscule badger engraved on the front. My scar sings, and despite the fact that my knees buckle, it's a relief in a way to know that I can still feel the Horcruxes. It'll make it that much easier, locating the rest.
After all, I might not carry his soul any longer, but I lived with it for thirteen years. It makes sense that that kind of evil leaves a residue behind.
The thought makes me sick.
I pull the sword, and its ringing fills the air, power pouring from it or me, I can't tell which.
The Horcrux wails, sensing the vehicle of its destruction close at hand.
With a scream of anger, I lift Gryffindor's blade above my head. Ragnok bellows, lifting his hands to cover his face and falling backwards. Hermione shouts my name, Ron's roar following a fraction of a second after hers.
I slam the sword into the cup, feeling the blade pierce the metal and slice through it like butter, lodging into the floor beneath. The gold folds under the power of the sword, the cup resembling nothing more than pleated ingot. Then the Horcrux wails its death. The vision of Riddle, distorted and thin, pours from the cup. This echo a pale imitation of the half man that birthed it.
Eventually though, the apparition vanishes, destroyed by steel and Basilisk Venom.
"What. Was. That?" Sirius hisses, standing behind me.
I pull the sword from the ground, then bend and lift the destroyed Horcrux, dropping the cup uselessly onto Ragnok's desk.
"You've chosen your side, Chieftain. You will go down in Goblin lore as the wisest and bravest Chief to ever lead your people." I say, chest heaving hard. "The light side thanks you for your contribution to the war."
Once more I reach down, and offer my hand to Ragnok, who is prone on the floor, watching me with whitened eyes. The blade is still bare in my left hand.
After a moment's hesitation, his eyes flicking between my sword and the hunk of metal on his desk, he allows me to help him to his feet. His fingers dig into my hand so hard it hurts. I keep my face blank, however, a trick I owe Umbridge my thanks for.
He rights his clothing, regaining his composure.
"We'll be doing a thorough sweep of the vaults."
"Could you tell the difference between this one," I point to the floor with my sword, where the jewels still lay scattered, then to the cup on his desk. "And this one?"
He looks at it, his face twisted and distorted.
"I—Yes. Yes, I could."
"If you come across another like this one, I will happily destroy it for you. There are very few methods available for their destruction." I pause for a moment, but in for a penny…" In your searches, you may keep an eye out for any trinket that belonged to a Hogwarts Founder."
Ragnok looks sick.
"I—yes. We will. Thank you, Mr. Potter-Black, for your assistance in this matter." He regains some of his composure as he continues to speak. "We do not take part in Wizarding affairs. What you store beneath our floors is not our concern. We are the keepers of treasure, not the dictators of it. But we cannot allow this type of magic to fester in our walls. As you said, it is dangerous to all who are near it."
Bagman filters into the back of my mind.
I scabbard the sword, and Ragnok takes a shaking breath.
"Also, Sir. I understood from a contact of mine that Ludo Bagman had been placing bets against my competitiveness in the Triwizard Tournament. He owes the Goblins no small amount of gold, from what I hear. Please pay his debt from the Potter-Black accounts. I don't care what the cost is. If he does ever pay what is due, you may return it to me if you deem it fair. I won't have him using my name for ill."
Ragnok stares at me, before his lips tip up in a smile. It really is most displeasing.
"You are a very strange wizard indeed, Mr. Potter-Black."
I'm exhausted. My hands are shaking, and I desperately need to sit down.
Instead, I bow.
"At your service, Chieftain Ragnok."
He bows in return.
"Let us finish here, Harry."
He settles at his desk, and in turn, the four of us resume our seats. He must signal, somehow, because two other Goblins appear. One hands Ragnok a stack of items, including bags of gold, and the other cleans the mess. The cup is placed in a bag, then handed to me.
I take it without protest, sitting it in my lap.
"To business," Ragnok says with aplomb.
Hermione perks up, while I sag in my seat.
I'd rather battle Voldemort.