Hi everyone,

This update has been hard for me to write. Although I wish 2021 will be an incredible happy new year for all of you and I wish you all the best, 2021 has been rough for me so far. In the first week of the new year, COVID-19 took my grandmother from me. My grandmother, who is an almost copy of Aunty Penelope in this story, has always been a huge support for me. I called her very often, we used to cook together and share gossip and facts and I just loved to be around her. In a few weeks, her body had to surrender to this horrible virus. I feel absolutely heartbroken and devastated.

Even though I am still really busy, one of the best ways to cope with loss for me is to write. So, when I finished to write the eulogy for my "oma", I came back to this story and decided to scrap a part so I could start anew. This chapter will be about family. And about how important it is to cherish them – when you had the pleasure of knowing them all your life, or when you never got the chance to meet them, like Harry.

Wherever you are, I hope you are able to stay strong, healthy and happy this 2021. May you be surrounded by people who love you.

Love,

Flora.

Chapter 37: How Hermione's Great Aunt would always be one step ahead of them.

Harry shuddered involuntarily as he walked through Diagon Alley, wearing a glamour to avoid any unwanted attention – his steps brisk and firm, to assert his choice to his doubting subconscious. He had a busy day ahead – he and Hermione would meet Luna later on, for an interview to deal with the exposure of their relationship, but first he would attend to the task that now lay before him, inside the majestic white marble construction that stood firmly at the end of the street. He had been keeping well away from the building; whenever he needed money withdrawn, he'd send someone, or ask a friend to take care of it. As a Trainee, he'd managed to avoid all stake-outs around it by switching paroles. But, no matter how much he managed to avoid going in, when visiting Diagon Alley, the building would prick in the corner of his eye: a tarnished sight to a street that was usually filled with happy memories. After all, visiting the place you almost destroyed on the back of an Ukrainian Ironbelly, was no easy task. Especially since the casualties they had unwillingly caused during said escape still lingered in the back of Harry's mind.

Today, he knew the avoidance was over. A lot of things were getting uncovered this week: last Saturday, it had been his relationship with Hermione. This Thursday, the true nature of his uncle. He was ready: he'd spoken about it with Ron and Nicky, he thought about it for weeks. It was time. And if this was radical "have things unfold in ways you can't imagine" week, Harry was going for a full Bingo-card.

His family vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The one he'd been avoiding like the plague, because of all the sentiments and personal belongings and feelings it could hold. This wasn't the vault that contained the money his parents had left him – this was the family fortune, all the prized possessions the Potters had owned and stashed away before the war. At age 21, as was tradition, he'd been sent the key. That very key – a quite grand, goldish brown ornament with the head of a stag in the middle, now burned in his pocket, waiting for it to be used again after all those years. If he was honest, he wanted to chicken out: run away and never open the damn thing. But, as fate wanted it, Potter House had always produced Gryffindors, and he was not going to disappoint his ancestors by acting like a bloody coward.

Besides, Harry had an ulterior motive. Entering Gringotts created a perfect opportunity for Harry to investigate a bit further into the Goblin case. He'd checked with Mister Greengrass that morning and he'd agreed that it was an innocent way of pulsing that needed no interference of the ministry. Simply being a bit more interested in the life of the goblin that would guide him to his vault than usual wasn't overly suspicious. He just needed to be tactful about it.

Wizard guards where standing post where posting outside the gates, more for show than anything else. They didn't recognize him, otherwise he would have surely seen something in their eyes, as he always would. The white marble was unforgiving in it's cold grace, but Harry knew he wasn't doing anyone a favour by dawdling.. Majestic, indeed. It was time to enter.

After the damage they'd done to the old building, the goblins had shown great resilience in building it up again in the way it used to be. Harry gulped when he walked past the little monument in the front foyer, commemorating the war and the victims lost. He didn't look at it, but it put him in an alert state. He was still the enemy. Thank Merlin he decided to wear a glamour, although the key would surely expose his identity to the serving goblin, at least.

And it did.

'Mister Potter?'

Harry nodded at the goblin that stared at him with a menacing glare, the key to Harry's family vault held tightly in his pointed little fingers.

'We don't allow disguises in this Bank. A protocol since the War.'

'Of course,' Harry said, nervously, discarding the glamour with a wave of his wand. 'I'm sorry – I haven't visited-…'

'In person since you destroyed half of our property. It hasn't slipped our notice, Mister Potter. It suits you that you realize the gravity of your actions, it seems, although others would call it cowardice.'

Harry decided not to answer, but look the goblin straight in the eye. He stared back, tauntingly, but then averted his gaze and signed a paper.

'Very well. I will call for an assistant to help you.'

No matter how quiet it was that Friday morning, volunteers for assisting Harry were in low numbers, it seemed. Harry was asked to wait on a bench near the memorial, where he was stared at by humans and goblins alike. He felt like a zoo animal. It took them at least half an hour to find someone to accompany Harry to his vault, and when the young goblin came to his aid, Harry felt so awkward and expose he kind of forgot about his "get close to a Goblin"-sidequest. He wanted to get to his vault as soon as possible and bolt out of the doors of this Bank as soon as he could.

Harry'd never liked the rollercoaster that was the Gringotts Vault experience, and when he arrived at the wooden door that matched the key, he was nervous and nauseous at the same time. Not a great combination. The young goblin that accompanied him was kind enough to understand the importance of Harry's visit though, and looked at him supportively. A weird look on a goblin's face, Harry thought. The morose brooding was apparently not something etched permanently in their faces.

The thorny hand of the assistant hovered near the door, but he didn't place his palm against the door just yet. Harry wondered why, until the little man opened his mouth.

'Your first visit,' the goblin, who'd introduced himself previously as Pindark, said inquisitively. 'My colleagues told me all about you, Mister Potter.'

Harry smiled absent-mindedly.

'I'm sure they did.'

'A lot are still angry at you,' Pindark continued. 'They say you are a murderer and a thief. They say the fact that you haven't dared to show up proves that you think likewise.'

Harry now looked sideways. The goblin's hand still lingered near the door.

'I think differently. You saved us from The Dark Lord. A man who tried his hardest to divide our society, a man who murdered dozens of our kind. The crimes you were forced to commit made our community suffer too, yes. That is true. But I think your reluctance of coming here shows you endured the gravity of what happened just as much as we did. During the war, you were never unkind to goblins or house-elves. You were one of the first to treat us like an equal.'

Harry blinked. He expected a lot from goblins, but kindness had never been one of them. He managed to produce a well-meant smile now, and nodded friendly.

'You are equal. Every wizard who tells you otherwise, is barking mad.'

Pindark chuckled.

'Not to worry - most goblins view themselves to be superiors to wizards also. It's a two-way street.'

'Never said goblins couldn't be barking mad either,' Harry recanted. It was risky - joking with goblins, but Pindark proved his character by laughing.

Good-heartedly, Pindark placed his small, clawy hand against the door. He beckoned Harry to do the same, and when his palm touched the cool wood, the door seemed to melt away in a golden glow. He felt himself catch his breath - magic never ceased to amaze him, even after all these years.

The vault was gigantic. Harry never realized how fortunate his family had been until he stepped over the golden glowing threshold. Of course, the Potter mansion had been sold and all their furniture, artifacts and heirlooms had to be stored somewhere. James Potter hadn't taken it with him and Lily when they went to live in Godric's Hollow, not wanting to draw attention to their whereabouts. So, apparently, it had been stored away in Gringotts. It was absolutely overwhelming.

The Room of Hidden Things had been less cluttered, Harry thought, as he scanned the room. Sorting through all this stuff would costs weeks, if not months, and even then he would probably still haven't discovered everything there was to find. In the left corner, Harry immediately recognized something that Hermione would absolutely freak out about - a mini-library. Bookcase after bookcase expanded in rows and rows, containing old books with tattered covers. Harry had no idea how many books were stacked away on those shelves, but he estimated it to be at least a couple of hundred. Then, a bit further along, separated by a thick, expensive looking red rug, was an even bigger area, that Harry could only describe as a potioneer station. Tables stacked with vials and and glass instruments stalled out, heaps and heaps of see-through cabinets, packed with potions and ingredients - another cabinet filled to the brim with cauldrons, scales and other interesting, glimmering copper things. He knew that his grandfather had been quite good with potions, but only now did Harry begin to understand how fleshed out his profession must have been. It was overwhelming.

To his right - furniture. Oh Merlin, so much furniture - sofa's, cabinets, tables, chairs, beds - some put on top of each other, making a pile. There was furniture for quite possibly three mansions. And boxes, so so so so many boxes, and someone had hastily penned down on the outside what they contained. Silverware, grandma's knitting, robes, old hats. Harry took a gulp of air when he noticed a crib in the pile of stuff - a crib with the name "Harry" written on the banister. Someone had painted golden snitches on the headboard.

And then, in the center, grand carpets of red and gold, dividing the room into four spaces: the library, the potion station, and two spaces filled with furniture and clutter. The carpets, at least a few feet wide, sported statues and sculptures and texidermied beasts - most of them stags, their glass eyes brimming with magic. At the end of the room, Harry noticed that the back wall was adorned with curtains and blankets, as to hide things from view, and a number of very expensive looking glass casings, holding items that seemed to glisten at him from a distance that had to be a least a hundred yard.

'Well,' Harry stammered to Pindark. 'It's big, isn't it?'

'Quite spacious,' the goblin nodded. 'Not by far the biggest we have, but it's quite a size, yes.'

This was his history. His family. There had been a knitting grandmother in his family. The stag had been their symbol. A lot of them had worn glasses, going by the few boxes that had "glasses" and "glass cases" scribbled on them.

Someone, he didn't know whether it was James or Lily, had taken the time and effort to hand-paint his crib.

The sudden need for Hermione overwhelmed him. How could he have been so stupid and so stubborn as to think he had to do this alone! He should have gone with her first, she would have known what to do with all these annoying feelings that were now pesteringly poking in ribs and throat and eyes, as to weaken his stance. He gulped, looked at Pindark for assurance, and saw the goblin was studying him.

'Are you in need of any assistance, sir?'

Harry scraped his throat and shook his head.

'No, that's very kind. It's just-... I need to-...'

Did he dare? He looked at the red rug with golden ornaments that lay in front of him. Gryffindor colours. Of course.

He took a sharp breath and stepped on the carpet. His foot sank into the soft fabric.

All the boxes were too hard to face yet, so he decided to put his focus on the task at hand. The engagement ring. He reckoned it had to be placed in one of the glass cabinets in the back, so he sat a slow and respectful pace, ignoring all the objects he passed. If he had a task at hand, it was easier to focus, easier to not get attached. That's how he managed working as an Auror: thinking in steps of assignments, not in emotions or personal attachment. He hadn't been able to save those orphans if he'd been thinking about their bleak fate all day. Emotions could paralyze, throw him off his game.

When he finally reached the back of the vault, he turned himself towards the case. A ring, he was looking for a ring, he reminded himself. He saw all kinds of treasure: heavily beaded necklaces, bedazzled tiara's, even some decorated swords. His eye fell on an enormous book, jewels glinstering on the ancient cover, pages yellow and ancient. A potion book? He didn't see a title on the cover. His fingers itched to take it out of the cabinet and open it, but he reprimanded himself. Task, remember?

The second casing, then. A beautiful hand-mirror lay on the third shelve, its handle carved to represent yet another stag, its antlers surrounding the reflecting surface. Harry looked at it, and saw the wall behind him reflected in it.

A frame of a painting peeked out from under the curtains.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. A painting? Did that... Where his... Was his family painted? Alive through the strokes of a brush?

Suddenly, it was all too much. He really didn't want to be here, not like this, not alone. He needed Hermione, just like he'd needed her in Godric's Hollow. Not with words, just with presence. The reassuring feeling of her head against his shoulder. He had always carried the burden, tormented himself with the guilt of everything he had to face, had always taken it for granted. Not right now. He needed to be good to himself, good to his feelings, listen to what he needed. And right now, the only thing he needed, was to get the hack out of the place that had so much memories he couldn't possibly face them on his own.

As his heart was thundering in his chest and his ears, he noticed an ornate jewelry box in one of the glass casings. Perfect. Without really paying attention, he opened the cabinet, with shaky fingers, and removed the heavily ornated chest from it's shelve. Then, with the thing carefully tucked against his chest, he paced straight out of the vault, not once looking over his shoulder.

'You've got what you came for, Mister Potter?' Pindark asked.

'Yes, yes I did,' Harry said, feeling the tension slide off his body. 'Merlin, Hermione better appreciate what I've been through today...'

'I bet she will, sir,' Pindark answered, politely. 'I understand a bit better now why you're so tense. Seeking out a proper gift for your lady can be quite challenging.'

Mingling with a goblin was still on Harry's list, so Harry decided to be a bit more personal than he usually would have.

'Oh?' he responded, now noticing the golden wedding band on Pindark's finger. 'Did you recently get married?'

Pindark blinked a couple of times, but then smiled.

'Yes. Half a year ago, to be exact.'

'My best wishes. Was she hard to get gifts for?'

Pindark now chuckled, something Harry thought was an odd sound when it was made by a goblin.

'My wife is demanding. That is why I love her so much. Whenever I tease her with it, she says her highly critical thinking did cause her to end up with me.'

Harry smiled.

'That's sweet. She sounds amazing.'

'She is,' Pindark nodded, guiding Harry back to their cart. The goblin haltered a bit, but then spoke anyway. 'We've just figured out that she's expecting.'

'Oh wow!' Harry said. 'That's incredible. Congratulations!'

Pindark positively beamed now.

'Yes, we are very happy. We expect her to give birth in a few months time - goblins carry their children for a shorter terms than humans, you see.'

It wasn't a hard task at all to keep a friendly conversation with Pindark after that. Harry actually liked the sweet goblin - he was a lot more sensitive and emphatic than any other goblin he'd ever met. When the crazy cart came to a halt in the entrance hall, they we alone. Harry took Pindark to the side, thanked him for his help, and held out his business card.

'I've heard about wizards trying to meddle with your society, for the last few months,' Harry spoke quietly. 'I know it's a hard thing to talk about, and I won't pressure you talking about it, but if there's anything I can help you with, this is my contact info. You can reach me via owl or note. You can also use it as an emergency call - when you tap it thrice, I will be able to apparate to wherever you are at that very moment.'

Pindark's expression turned ashen. He looked at the card, and then anxiously turned his head, to see if there were any goblins nearby.

'Mister Potter,' Pindark spoke, a clear tremor in his voice. 'I can't... This isn't...'

He looked around again, swiftly, and then took the card.

'I will not be seen with you, Mister Potter! The atrocities you have committed against our kind are unforgivable! I hope you are aware of that fact!'

Pindark's voice was loud and booming, but Harry saw the goblin tuck the card neatly into the pocket of his jacket. Before he knew it, the goblin was gone, leaving Harry alone in the boarding station, his jewelry box clutched to his chest.

So there definitely was something going on in the Goblin community. Harry was determined to find out what exactly.

Aunty Penelope's house smelt of cologne and coffee, as it always did. She sat in the living room, reading yet another trashy gossip magazine, and her eyes beamed at Harry's surprise arrival.

'Harry! Oh, what a surprise! To what do I owe this pleasure?'

She looked comfortable, wearing a burgundy ribbed vest and an expensive looking blouse with a broche. He liked seeing Aunty Penelope dressed more casually - it was way better than the pearly, beaded dress he'd seen her wearing during the countless social affairs.

Harry caught himself into her embrace and smiled at the sight of her - her cane, her curly, pepper and salt hair, the naughty twinkle in her eyes. Everything about her felt so soft and sweet. He couldn't imagine that anything below the curtains in his vault would feel as real as this wonderful woman in his arms, eventhough she wasn't his biological family.

'I've brought a jewelry box that belonged to my parents. I didn't know whom else to open it with.'

'Jewelry?' Aunty Penelope squealed, interested. Harry snickered at her exaggerated answer. 'You've come to the right place, my boy. Alan! Alan, bring out the hot cocoa!'

Soon they were seated at Aunty's table, the box seated in between them. Aunty Penelope insisted on talking about his meeting with Vernon first, so before he knew it, an hour had passed and Alan brought out some sandwiches and tea. The old woman eyed the case with great interest throughout the entire conversation, causing Harry to display a grin that wasn't going to leave his face anytime soon.

Finally, they turned their attention to the box.

'So, why more jewelry for your fiancée?' Aunty Penelope asked, tracing the stag that was engraved in the golden box. 'She's got a beautiful engagement ring already.'

Harry sighed. The moment he'd decided to go to Aunty Penelope with his treasure, he knew he'd have to... explain things. He wasn't exactly looking forward to this moment, especially since he hadn't agreed on this with Hermione, but if the war taught him anything, it was to not act alone when he felt he needed company. And Merlin, did he need it now.

'There's something... There's something Hermione and I have been meaning to tell you for a few months, but we've never actually found the right way to do it,' he spoke, softly.

'Ah, yes, finally,' Aunty Penelope sighed. 'Go on.'

'Finally?' Harry asked. 'You know what I'm going to say?'

'Possibly,' Aunty nodded, looking far too smug. 'But I don't want to spoil the fun.'

'Fun?' Harry snickered. Aunty Penelope looked mischievous, with a hint of comedy in her eyes and Harry snorted.

'It's... Quite delicate, Aunty. This is to remain between the three of us.'

Aunty Penelope couldn't have looked more self-righteous if she tried, but she didn't interrupt him, and instead opted for happily swirling a spoon to her second hot cocoa of the day. Harry felt himself staring at her ease and finally, after a few minutes of silence, she rolled her eyes.

'Out with it, Harry! On the contrary of what people may say, but old women don't have that much patience, you now.'

'Hermione and I-... Well... We aren't... We aren't actually...'

'Engaged,' Aunty Penelope finished, with a content smile.

'Yes, that's-... What? How do you know?'

Aunty Penelope laughed, looking at Harry's completely astounded face. He was flabbergasted. He'd expect this conversation to be awkward, maybe even hostile - something hard and awkward and unpleasant. Now the cards lay on the table and, while Harry anticipated that he held all the secrets in this room, it seemed to be the other way around. That smart, devious woman!

'Oh please, Harry! I had my hunches in the beginning - you know, the fact that you suddenly proposed during dinner in that rash fashion - and I have to admit I did doubt myself a bit when I noticed you'd actually given her a proper ring, but it's not rocket science, you know. You and Hermione aren't great actors, bless your hearts.'

'But-... How-... When-...'

'I actually have an admission to make myself,' Aunty said, now glistening with pride. 'After the engagement, I called Isa. She didn't want to admit at first, but then she recanted. I may not work for the secret service, but my interrogations can be quite ruthless, you know.'

Harry's mouth was still agape.

'And then?'

'Well, I heard that you two had been dancing around each other for almost a decade and... Oh, I couldn't help myself, Harry! Don't be mad. I invited you here for Christmas to see if things could actually blossom between the two of you. Isabel agreed, Jerome did too. And, well, it worked, didn't it?'

Harry scoffed and rubbed his palms against his sore forehead. Aunty Penelope laughed, patting him sympathetically on the back.

'Oh, don't you blame me. You and Hermione kept the charade up and I just went along with it. Genie doesn't know, you know. Nor does anyone else. Just the five of us.'

'So... The "you should totally take the wedding-date that's reserved for Philip"-shtick, you were just... Playing along?'

'Not really,' Aunty Penelope grinned. 'I was actually trying to get you two to come clean about the entire thing. Didn't you hear me at the last dinner we had, talking about family laundry that desperately needs airing? It's just that you are both too stubborn for words. Really made for each other, aren't you?'

Harry now groaned and shoved her arm a bit, while Aunty Penelope laughed and opened a tin can.

'So, do you want a home-made cookie while we're going to search for Hermione's real engagement ring in this bedazzled box of yours, or are you still stuffed from lunch?'

The look on her face was priceless as Harry nodded bossily and began invading the cookie jar.