Harry awoke on a familiar lumpy mattress, barely worth the name, and sighed. He may have to redo the last several years of his life, but tolerating the continuing abuse from the fucking Dursleys again was not in the cards. Dumbledore really was a fucking moron if he believed for a moment that subjecting a child to their tender mercies was remotely acceptable. Well, if he had anything at all to say about it, this would be the last time he'd ever have to deal with them.
Still, he'd gotten used to wearing decent clothing and was not at all looking forward to putting on the worn-out, overstretched castoffs from his grossly overweight cousin. Only for as long as it takes me to get to a fucking store, he promised himself. Sighing again, he sat up - only to freeze in surprise.
With all the shit he'd gone through over the past year and however long he and Hermione had spent in the afterlife, he had somehow forgotten about Hedwig.
The beautiful snowy owl gazed at him with a forlorn expression from behind the bars of her cage. Tears sprang to his eyes unbidden as he remembered her cage falling through the darkness while he could only watch helplessly during that mad aerial battle with Voldemort and his thugs. And whose stupid fucking idea had that been, anyway? It would have made infinitely more sense to abandon Privet Drive that last time by simply leaving during the middle of the day several days early and taking the Tube to their next destination, or a bus, or any number of nonmagical means, none of which would have occurred to Riddle's merry gang of idiots, rather than that overly complicated farce of a Rube Goldberg escape plan that cost the life of Hedwig and Mad-Eye Moody.
That sure as hell would never happen again. He'd make goddamn sure of it this time. "Hedwig, girl, you're never going to be caged up again," he promised. He got up and opened the cage, allowing her to step up onto his arm. Her dagger-like talons gripped his arm as lightly as possible as he gently stroked her neck feathers. "It's so good to see you again," he whispered. He kissed her head and moved his arm to the back of the wooden chair at the desk, inviting her to perch there for a moment. She stepped off onto the chair as dignified as any queen. Harry smiled at her before going to the window and opening it. With just a thought and a gesture he vanished the metal bars his uncle had put up again the previous summer. "Come on, girl," he said. "You need to be far away from these people. Why don't you go visit Hermione? I know she'll take good care of you, and with any luck I'll be over there soon myself."
Hedwig responded with a soft "Preck" and gently nipped at his finger before hopping over to the sill. Spreading her wings, she leapt out and caught an updraft, disappearing from view in less than a minute.
It wasn't until then that Harry realised that he had not put on his glasses, yet he could still see clearly. It was probably because he didn't have that fucking soul piece in his head anymore, he decided. Regardless of the reason, that was one less thing to worry about.
Turning back to his room, he noticed a long, slender case on the floor between his bed and the exterior wall. Intrigued, he knelt down beside it. He did not remember seeing it before, and so suspected that his reaper may have had something to do with it. Sure enough, upon opening the case he found a letter on top from Shepherd.
Like I told you earlier, we're bending, breaking, and ignoring the rules to help you and your girl get through this mess. Inside this case you'll find some outfits that'll fit you, plus a few accessories that may come in handy. Don't worry about the legality of anything in here - nobody in the magical or nonmagical world will be able to find them. We had to pull a few strings, but we got you the best gear we could - Valkyrie even called in a couple of favors with this old Okinawan swordsmith to get you and your girl two of the finest blades that have ever been forged. I don't mind saying that the two of you impressed the hell out of us all, so we put in a few extras as well. Happy birthday, and kick some ass for us!
With a smile, Harry set the note aside and pulled back the cloth covering the contents. On top, side by side, were two identical black suits, each with a yellow Post It note on the lapel, one marked "H" and the other marked "Hr." Underneath were white shirts, black ties, belts, and sealed packages of appropriate undergarments and socks. Next were blue jeans, more belts, grey button-up collarless shirts, black leather jackets, and boot socks. Under those sets of clothing were two pairs of comfortable-looking black dress shoes and two pairs of black motorcycle boots.
Harry quickly shed the worn-out boxer shorts and undershirt he'd been wearing and slipped on the new ones provided for him, followed by the jeans, grey shirt, boot socks, and boots. Setting the other clothing aside, he pulled a smaller box out of the case. Opening it revealed a pack of Morley cigarettes, a chrome Zippo lighter embossed with a pewter skull on the side, a matching flask, and a leather wallet with the phrase "BAD MOTHER FUCKER" stamped on the outside. There were also two pairs of aviator sunglasses and two pairs of black wraparound sunglasses, as well as matching male and female Breitling wristwatches and two sets of cufflinks featuring the same skull design as the lighter and the flask. Another note inside the box read,
You've earned the right to this wallet, don't let me down! It's just like my own, except yours is linked directly to your Gringotts account. And speaking of, get your ass over there ASAP! The smokes, the lighter, and the flask will never run out of their contents, and the watches never need to be wound or have batteries replaced. The flask is full of Guinness, and while it may be unusual to carry beer in a flask, we felt that you two were still a bit young for liquor. As a little extra for you, we've made the smokes so you get all the enjoyment from them but they won't fuck your lungs up. Regular ones will still do it, though, so stick with these and you'll be alright.
Harry smiled again at the line about the flask. Guinness was fine with him, and he knew Hermione would also approve. They had enjoyed quite a few pints together after their gruelling training sessions, and Guinness quickly became their favourite brew. He opened the pack and tapped out a cigarette, lighting it with the Zippo before flipping the lid closed with practised ease. The lighter and cigarette pack disappeared into his pants pockets along with the wallet before the box was set aside. He contemplated the watch before slipping it on with the face on the inside of his wrist, just like he'd seen that arbiter wear his. He figured that wearing it like that would offer more protection for the watch face in the event of a fight.
At the bottom of the case he found a variety of weapons, including two exquisite katanas. Each sword had a scarlet and gold handle, and each had an Asian-stylized lion engraved on the blade just above the guard. The scabbards were black lacquer with scarlet and gold designs etched into them.
In addition to the swords, he found two chrome 9mm pistols with pearl handles, identical to the one that Shepherd used. Another note explained that these actually shot real bullets, but the magazines would never run out - that's why there were no extras. There were also two shoulder holsters, one of which Harry immediately donned over his new shirt, and two wand holsters. He secured one of the pistols in his holster, as well as his wand, before pulling out the last of the weapons.
He knew that the last ones were his as Hermione didn't work with anything else besides the katana and the pistol. One of the items was a bandolier with half a dozen throwing knives secured to it. Not that he would often need more than one at a time; he'd gotten rather skilled at summoning them back wandlessly and catching them without cutting himself - though it had taken quite a few nicked fingers and several stabbed palms to get to that point. Still, it was nice to have extras. Each of the knives had a four-inch blade etched with the same skull design as the other items. He slung the bandolier over his head and shoulder so that the knives hung diagonally across his chest before removing the next item.
Much shorter than the katana but still larger than the average knife, the kukri was a stout, brutal weapon. The forward-curved blade seemed designed specifically to cut throats, yet its thickness and weight also indicated that it would be just as valuable chopping thin trees, limbs, or bushes. He hung the sheathed blade from his belt then fed the katana's scabbard through a frog hanging from the other side of his belt.
Last but not least was a set of knuckledusters that looked to be part of the same set as the lighter and flask - each of the raised striking surfaces had a tiny skull engraved on it.
After replacing the clothes in the case, he tried on the leather jacket and was surprised to find that it was a lot cooler than it immediately appeared. He slipped the flask into the interior pocket of the jacket, put the knuckledusters in his right-side jacket pocket, and closed the case.
Looking around the room, he realised that there was literally nothing else in here that he wanted or needed. Hefting the case revealed that it was much lighter than it should have been, so he took it over and propped it up by the door of his room.
He looked at the door for several long minutes. This was his prison. He knew that there were half a dozen locks on the other side, keeping him a prisoner - and that had to have been against any fire safety code ever written. At the bottom of the door was the cat flap his fucking relatives used to "feed" him - though it was barely enough to keep him alive. He closed his eyes, allowing the anger at their mistreatment to fill every fibre of his being. He could easily cast the unlocking spell, but he figured this way would make more of an impression.
"Showtime," he whispered. His eyes snapped open and he slammed the heel of his hand against the door, right beside the doorknob, channelling every ounce of his rage and frustration into the blow. The door, designed to swing into the room, shattered under the force of the impact, ripping the frame from the doorway in pieces, as well as tearing out all the locks.
Harry strode through the wreckage, the case from the reapers under his left arm, his right arm swinging free, the lit cigarette in his mouth leaving a thin trail of smoke behind him. His boots clomped heavily on the stairs above the small cupboard that used to serve as his bedroom and now contained all his magical possessions, the only things remaining in this house that he cared about.
His uncle Vernon, who was as grossly overweight as his cousin, was just struggling to his feet from his recliner when Harry reached the bottom of the stairs. "What the bloody hell are you doing, boy!" the man bellowed, his face purple with rage. Finally getting to his feet, he waddled over to his nephew, fists clenched and raised.
Harry set the case down and waited for him to come, his face neutral. He knew that Vernon considered himself a boxer and had indeed enjoyed some moderate success as one during his younger days at Smeltings Preparatory Academy. That, however, was quite a few years ago, and Vernon was nowhere near as fast as he used to be.
It was nothing for the teen to duck under the blow, which admittedly would have hurt had it actually landed. Vernon seemed more surprised that Harry had the audacity to dodge than he was at the fact that he had missed. Before he could say anything, though, the young man grabbed his wrist and spun him around, twisting it painfully behind him in a solid armlock.
"It's time for some payback, lard-arse," Harry growled in his ear. Vernon actually pissed himself at the deadly tone in his nephew's voice.
Vernon screamed in agony as Harry stomped on the side of his knee with all his might, snapping the leg at an unnatural angle and tearing ligaments and tendons out by the roots. Harry then brought his free elbow down on his uncle's upturned elbow still trapped behind his back, shattering it and rendering it useless. The fat man sank to his good knee, terrified as tears poured down his cheeks.
Harry heard his aunt screaming from the kitchen as a thudding sound came from the upstairs hall where his cousin came thundering out of his room. He could see her reaching for the phone, probably to call the police, and yanked out one of his throwing knives. His aunt shrieked in horrified surprise as the blade embedded in the wall scant inches from her fingers, neatly severing the phone cord in the process.
His aunt neutralised for the moment, he turned to meet the charge of his cousin. "I'm gonna kill you, Potter!" Dudley roared, lunging forward.
Harry sidestepped him, grabbing his wrist with his right hand and smashing the heel of his left hand on his cousin's elbow, breaking it in a similar manner to Vernon's. Still gripping Dudley's wrist, he yanked the broken arm straight out and down while driving his knee up into the other boy's side, crushing ribs and tearing the arm out of its socket. Dudley collapsed screaming and wailing to the floor, all the fight taken out of him. Harry walked around and kicked Dudley in the crotch as hard as he could for good measure, causing the other boy to fall over on his side, vomiting all over the living room carpet.
"You know, gentlemen," he snarled as he grabbed Vernon's collar while sliding the knuckledusters onto his right hand, "when you spend every waking moment fucking around with someone smaller than you, eventually they're going to get fed up with it and snap. So, consider me snapped - and I'll even do you a favour and not use any freakishness on you." With that he smashed his reinforced fist into Vernon's face. He was rewarded with the feel of bone giving way under the force of the blow. Blood splattered with each strike as he traded off between his uncle and cousin, shattering teeth, crushing bone, and transforming their faces into raw hamburger.
"Stop it!" his aunt shrieked. "You'll kill them!"
He spun around, whipping out his kukri with his free hand and laying the razor edge against her throat. Her eyes bulged in terror as she froze, not daring to move a muscle. She could feel a thin trickle of blood trail down her neck but made no move to wipe it off. "Petunia," he said conversationally, "after all these years of absolute horseshit from you and those creatures over there, after all the abuse, neglect, and torture at your collective hands, can you honestly give me a single fucking reason why I should let you all live?" As if to emphasise his point, he snapped his fingers around the knuckledusters and summoned his throwing knife back. He caught it by the blade between his thumb and the first knuckle of his forefinger without once breaking eye contact with his aunt, and slid it back into its spot on the bandolier.
She whimpered in fear but said nothing, knowing in her heart that there was nothing she could say. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more - the brutality of his attack on her husband and son, or the casual attitude he maintained during the fight. He hadn't even taken the cigarette out of his mouth, and it had not been damaged in the slightest.
Harry smirked at her, though there was no humour in his eyes. "Obviously you can't think of one, so I'll give you one." His smile turned absolutely feral. "If I killed you all - which as far as I'm concerned I have every right to - it would be over far too quickly. I've already ensured that Vernon and Dudley will suffer for the rest of their lives. Now, as of right now I just want to be shut of you - but that may change in the future. I don't know what the future holds, and neither do you. I may decide that you all need more punishment, but you'll never see me if I do. Going forward, you'll always wonder if the unfortunate events in your life are simply bad luck, or are they me coming to squeeze more punishment out of your worthless carcasses. And the good things that happen - is that just me setting you up for an even more spectacular disappointment? You'll always wonder when the other shoe will drop, therefore preventing you from truly enjoying it. You'll always have that nagging doubt in the back of your mind, especially when you see the scars left on their faces. And the best part is, I don't even have to do anything - although I may very well. With magic, anything is possible. Anything at all."
The tears flowed unchecked down her face by this time. "What happened to you?" she whispered.
"Life happened," he snapped as he brought his blade down and wiped the blade clean on her sleeve. "And you were a large part of it." He slid the kukri back into its sheath and snapped the leather clasp around the handle. After cleaning his hands, clothes, and weapons he stretched out his hand, summoning the padlocked cupboard door to him, the force of his command ripping it completely out of the wall. With nought but a gesture he flung it into the wall behind him with enough force to bury it halfway through the drywall and even knock several bricks out from the exterior wall.
Petunia whimpered again and sank trembling to her knees.
Ignoring her, Harry removed his school trunk, put the new case inside, and shrunk it before putting it in his jacket pocket. He kicked Vernon out of the way as he made his way to the front door. "I don't expect that you'll ever see me again," he said, pausing at the door. "For your sake, pray that you don't." Then, deliberately, he spoke the words that would bring Albus fucking Dumbledore's famous blood wards crashing down. "This house is not and never has been my home. It has only ever been my prison." With that, he walked out the door and apparated away.
***FTR***
A slight crack sounded in a secluded, wooded neighbourhood in Crawley, England. Harry Potter appeared out of nowhere beside the street and took a look around to get his bearings. It was a typical Sunday afternoon for a quiet, affluent neighbourhood. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the faint putter of a lawn mower, but aside from that the only sounds he could hear were birds singing and the occasional rustling of the wind through the leaves.
He quickly found the Grangers' home, a lovely two-storey residence with a modest front yard, and walked up to the front door. After ringing the doorbell, it was barely two minutes before the door opened and Hermione stuck her head out.
Her face lit up in a gorgeous smile when she saw him, but she quickly looked around before reaching out, grabbing his hand, and pulling him inside. The second she closed the door behind them, she spun around and leapt into his arms, wrapping her arms and legs around him as she planted her lips on his in a deep, soul-searing kiss. He instinctively grabbed her rear to support her position as he returned her kiss, backing her up against the wall as he did so.
"I want you so fucking bad right now," she whispered in his ear a couple of minutes later. She drew the tip of her tongue up the side of his neck before gently seizing his earlobe between her teeth. He shivered as an electric jolt blasted its way down his side.
"As much as I would love to oblige you," he said with a husky voice, kissing her again, "we really need to get to Gringotts as soon as possible. Dumbledore's going to lose his shit when he finds his goddamn wards have dropped, so we need to be legally protected when he comes sticking his crooked beak into our business." He smiled as she pouted at him and caught her bottom lip with his teeth. "Believe me, I want you just as bad."
She became aware of something hard and rigid pressed against the inside of her thigh and smirked at him. "So I see," she purred. "Is that a sword in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"
"Both, actually," Harry laughed, giving her bum a playful squeeze. "I'm pretty sure you're talking about my sword, though. Hop down, I've got some stuff for you - courtesy of our reapers."
Reluctantly, she climbed down after stealing another kiss from him. "Come up to my room," she said, taking his hand again. "Mum and dad have gone to a show this afternoon, so we've got the place to ourselves."
"I certainly hope so after that welcome, minx," he teased as he followed her upstairs.
"You enjoyed it and you know it," she riposted, putting a little extra sway in her arse as she preceded him.
"Every minute of it," he agreed as she pulled him into her room. Removing the school trunk from his pocket, he expanded and opened it to access the case he'd received that morning. He proceeded to show her everything they'd been given, and she was impressed not only with the gifts but the quality as well.
"They didn't hold back a bit," she said. "Those suits are Armani, you know. And the swords - my god, they're from the same maker as Valkyrie's. You know she took out an entire Yakuza gang with hers? In one fucking battle?"
"Nice," he whistled appreciatively. "If she trained you to be half as good as she is, I can't wait to see you go up against some fucking Death Eaters."
"I only beat her about half a dozen times towards the end," she admitted, "but I was able to fight her to a draw every three out of four times by that point."
He smiled. "My sexy warrior princess," he observed.
She struck a pose. "Kicking arse, taking names, and looking glamourous the whole time!" She held the pose a moment longer before collapsing in laughter.
Harry took off his jacket and began laying out his weapons upon her bed while she recovered. "It'd probably be best if we wear the suits when we go to Gringotts," he said. "I'm sure the goblins would appreciate it, anyway."
"What about robes?" Hermione wanted to know.
"Fuck that," he said. "That's one of the things I've always hated about the magical world. No offence, but it's too much like wearing a dress for my taste."
"None taken," his girlfriend replied. "I prefer skirts or short dresses myself. I was just thinking it might help us blend in more."
"Good point," he ceded. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I doubt it'll matter, actually. The apparation point is across the street from the bank, so by the time anyone notices anything we'll already be inside and untouchable. After we finish there it won't matter at all."
She nodded in agreement before pulling off her t-shirt to get changed. They put on the underwear provided for them before donning their white shirts and black suit pants. They tied their black silk neckties with half-Windsor knots, getting the perfect triangle-shaped knot, before slipping on the black leather shoulder holsters for their pistols. The wand holsters slid onto their right forearms, under their shirtsleeves. The cuffs offered plenty of room for the wands to pop out into their hands as needed. The coats went on next, unbuttoned, concealing the pistols and wands from immediate view while ensuring they remained easily accessible. Hermione took her watch and fastened it around her wrist in the same fashion as Harry's. Black socks, shoes, and belts completed their outfits.
While Hermione pulled her hair back into a bushy ponytail held in place with a black hairband, Harry began transferring his wallet, knuckledusters, and Zippo to his pants pockets. The flask and cigarette pack went into his inside coat pockets. He handed her a pair of the gold-framed Ray-Banz aviator sunglasses, putting the other set in his shirt pocket. She followed suit, and after returning everything else to the case, including the swords, they were ready to visit Gringotts.
***FTR***
The teens stepped out of Gringotts a few hours later, mentally exhausted. They put their sunglasses back on to protect their eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun and decided to just sit on the bank's front steps for a few minutes to clear their heads. Harry wordlessly pulled out the cigarette pack and removed two, lit them both, and handed one to Hermione. She took a deep drag, held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds, then slowly blew out a steady plume. "Fuck, I needed that," she said. "Thank you, Harry."
"What's mine is yours," he said, putting the smokes back in his coat pocket and removing the flask. He took a sip of beer before handing it to her as well.
"My god, it's even cold," she said after taking a drink. Looking skyward, she raised the flask in salute. "Shepherd, Valkyrie, you two are incredible!" she called out. "Thank you!"
Harry nodded his agreement as he took the flask and helped himself to another drink. He agreed with his newly betrothed girlfriend - well, fiancé now - one hundred percent. The session with the goblins had been gruelling. Oh the goblins had been nothing but helpful - cheerfully so, even, after Harry gained their respect by promising to cut off one of the head teller's ears and use it as a pocket handkerchief for his suit coat if he didn't hurry the fuck up. Even Legate Ragnok, the head of the bank, cracked a smile when the story was shared with him at their meeting later on.
No, what had them so exhausted was dealing with the issues that kept popping up. He had had no idea how badly he was being fucked over by people he had once trusted, starting with the white-bearded old goat fucker himself. To begin with, Harry should have been given the Heir's ring of the Potter family upon turning eleven, and his parents' wills should have been read at the same time since they had not been executed in a timely manner after their deaths. Hagrid, bless his heart, hadn't even mentioned that he had an account manager, let alone was heir to one of the oldest families in magical Britain. He didn't blame the gentle half-giant, though - the man's biggest fault was his unconditional trust of Albus Dumbledore. Hagrid had barely answered a single fucking question when they'd first met - instead, he kept saying that Dumbledore would have the answers for him. Not that Dumbledore ever told him a goddamn useful thing anyway.
He wasn't really surprised to learn that he was never supposed to live with the Dursleys at all, nor was he surprised to see that they named Peter Pettigrew as their secret-keeper and Sirius Black as his oath-sworn godfather and the first one who should have had custody of him. He wasn't even surprised to see Dumbledore's name as witness to both wills, nor to learn from Skullcrusher, his account manager, that the wills had been sealed on November 1, 1981, by Dumbledore's command as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Hermione, though, looked as if it was all she could do to not apparate back home, collect her sword, and go hunting for a certain white bearded headmaster.
What surprised the hell out of him was the betrothal contract between him and Ginny Weasley, signed on November 3, 1981 by Dumbledore, acting as his guardian, and Molly Weasley acting as hers. That, fortunately, was quickly and easily dealt with when he revealed that Hermione was his soulmate. A quick check of Gringotts' copy of the Book of Souls confirmed his statement, and after learning from the Potter wills that Dumbledore was not on the authorised guardian list, and therefore ineligible to pen a betrothal contract for Harry, Skullcrusher was only too happy to officially stamp the contract "Invalid."
"No fucking wonder she was such a rabid fan girl," Hermione observed. "Molly was conditioning her to think she'd marry you for her entire bloody life."
"And brewing the fucking potions to make sure it happened," Harry added. "Ron wasn't doing it - I doubt he could even spell potion without you there to check his work. Ginny is competent, but at her level potions like that are beyond her. Snape probably brewed the Dumbledore loyalty potions, but I seriously doubt he'd lift a finger to help the Weasleys."
Hermione smirked at him but refrained from jumping on him, as they were still in front of his account manager. "You are so hot when you let your intelligence out to play," she teased.
"Just trying to be worthy of you, love," he smiled back.
After learning of the extensive Potter holdings (and various accounting discrepancies that no one doubted led back to Dumbledore), the Potter heir's ring was summoned and presented to him. As soon as he slid it onto his right ring finger, there was a flash of light from the inset ruby, and the ring shifted immediately into a heavier, statelier version.
Skullcrusher raised a single eyebrow, a gesture that was the equivalent of anyone else besides a goblin screaming and hyperventilating in surprise. "It would appear that your family magic has accepted you as Head of House, Lord Potter. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you."
The teens exchanged a knowing look. Somehow, neither one had the slightest difficulty imagining a certain reaper kicked back in his office chair enjoying a rollicking belly laugh at their expense.
From there it was on to a stack of forms that needed to be signed as he took full possession of the Potter vaults and properties. He was assured that the discrepancies would be fully investigated, and the missing items and monies would be retrieved from the offender(s), along with a fine(s) of forty percent, compounded annually from the date of transaction. Half of the total fine would be deposited in his account while the bank would keep the other half.
Next was the official declaration of his betrothal to Hermione, with a notarised copy of the appropriate page from the Book of Souls attached to the official declaration. "And as you are the Head of House, this one cannot be marked invalid without your consent," Skullcrusher informed them. "Being soulmates, this is, of course, a mere formality, but the more legal protection you have, the more you can prosecute attempts at interference." Harry was given the Potter betrothal ring, a feminine counterpart to the gold-and-ruby heir's ring, which he eagerly placed upon Hermione's left ring finger.
This time she did not restrain herself. She pulled her new fiancé close and gave him a tender, loving kiss.
The real headache didn't begin until Harry mentioned horcruces. After an immediate demand for him to tell everything he knew of such abominations, the teens were whisked away to speak directly with Ragnok. He explained to the legate that he had reason to believe that the dark wizard Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, had made a horcrux that was currently being held in the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange. Beyond the belief that the horcrux was infused into the fabled chalice of Helga Hufflepuff, he apologetically explained, he was not allowed to go into much more detail due to certain oaths.
Ragnok immediately sent a team to investigate, though he kept suspicious eyes on the two during the search. Less than twenty minutes later, a runner returned with a message which he handed to the legate. Opening it, he scanned the contents and nodded. "It is as you say," he acknowledged. "We will confiscate the entirety of the Lestrange vaults as punishment for such a gross violation of their contract with us. As the one who brought this to our attention, you are entitled to half."
Harry thought quickly. "My lord Legate," he said, "instead of adding more gold to my vaults, I would ask you to keep the entire amount. All I would ask in return is the help of Gringotts and a boon."
Ragnok gave him a strange look. "Continue," he said.
"The help I ask for is in retrieving the other horcruces that Riddle made."
"The madman made others?" the Legate growled.
"Yes, unfortunately. When this one is dealt with, it will be the third that has been destroyed." He gave a quick report of the remaining four, including their locations.
"And the boon?" Ragnok asked upon his completion.
"The cleansed items," Harry said. "The chalice, the diadem, the locket, and the ring."
The goblin stared at him for several moment, then laughed. "Just four little items instead of another vault of gold," he said. "Of course, said items are priceless in their own right, and any one of them is worth more than the entire vault - except for the fact that they're worthless so long as they're tainted with fragments of that madman's soul. Lord Potter, you drive a fascinating bargain - are you sure you're not part goblin?"
"I assure you, I would take it as an honour if I were," the young man replied.
Ragnok laughed once more. "Done!" he said. "We will retrieve the remaining pieces, keep the full amount of the Lestrange penalty, and you will have the cleansed artefacts added to your heirloom vault. Now, if you would indulge me, I would hear of the other two fragments."
Harry proceeded to relate a brief explanation of the scar that used to be on his forehead, followed by a more in-depth narrative of the cursed diary, the possessed Ginny Weasley, and the fight with the basilisk.
At the conclusion of the tale of him slaying the basilisk, both of Ragnok's eyebrows were raised in astonishment. "You killed this creature with nought but a sword?"
"And a great deal of luck," Harry said. Though Shepherd had not given any details on his other deaths, he had no doubt that the basilisk had accounted for at least one.
The Legate nodded thoughtfully. "And since this is the first time Gringotts has heard about this basilisk, may I assume that the carcass has not yet been rendered?"
"To the best of my knowledge, no it has not."
"I thought as much. As slayer of the beast, it is yours to do with as you see fit. We, of course, would be happy to offer our rendering services at reasonably competitive rates."
The arrangements were made for the rendering team to meet Harry at the school's entrance on the second Saturday after the start of term. As there was no further business, the teens politely took their leave.
They sat side-by-side on the bank's steps – still technically considered Gringotts territory – in companionable silence, enjoying their cigarettes, when the afternoon calm was shattered by a familiar (and loathed) voice of condescension sounding from behind them.
"Well, well, well," the voice drawled. "If it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived and his favourite muggleborn sycophant." The slimy voice reeked of overblown self-importance and disdain. Even his usage of the word muggleborn sounded foul and obscene coming from his lips, somehow sounding worse than if he had screamed "Mudblood!" in Hermione's face. "I rather fancy I could recognize those atrocities you call hairstyles anywhere."
"Fucking seriously?" Harry growled, looking incredulously at his fiancé. "We're having our hair critiqued by a man who obviously spends more on hair care products than every girl in our class combined?"
She sighed in response. "And I was so enjoying this afternoon too."
Harry turned around to face the smirking face of Lucius Malfoy. "What the fuck do you want, death eater?" he snapped.
The smirk on the blond man's face was replaced with a scowl. "Careful, boy. You certainly want to avoid your parents' fate, I'm sure. I could demand satisfaction for your words, you know, but as I'm in a… generous mood, I'll be happy to accept your apology instead."
Harry shook his head sadly. "You know, Lucius, not everyone believes that horseshit about you being under the Imperius, and not everyone gives a fuck about your goddamn gold." He stood up and walked over to the man, stopping when his face was scant inches from Malfoy. "Personally speaking," he continued, "all I see when I look at you is either a fucking pussy who has to hide behind a mask and curse people in the back and gang up on those who can't fight back, or a weak-willed, pathetic excuse for a wizard who isn't strong enough to throw off the Imperius curse. Which one are you, Lucius? Either way I doubt I have much to worry about on the piste."
Before the enraged Lucius Malfoy could respond, Harry turned slightly to Hermione. "Did I ever tell you about the time this motherfucker tried to cast the killing curse on me?" he called out to her. Other bank patrons and passers-by had slowed down upon witnessing the confrontation and were avidly watching the drama unfold. He raised his voice slightly for their benefit as well. "He'd barely gotten the first syllable out when a house elf dumped him on his arse!" he laughed. "One of the funniest goddamn things I've ever seen!"
Hermione thought it was hilarious too, and her laughter was soon joined by that of the bystanders as well. Apparently, there was not a soul who had the slightest difficulty imagining the pompous dandy getting knocked over by one of the diminutive creatures.
"As to my first point," Harry said, turning back to the beet-red face of the older man, "I find it fascinating that out of all you fuckers, Bellatrix was the only one who never wore a mask." He smirked as Lucius seethed. "That means that one of the only women in your little band of psychos had more balls than the rest of you cunts put together."
"That's it!" Malfoy exploded, drawing his wand and holding it up as if to give oath. "You'll soon learn some respect for your betters, boy! I, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Lord of the Noble House of Malfoy, challenge Harry Potter to an honour duel!" A flash of light burst from the tip of his wand, signifying that he was now committed to fight the young man and was unable to withdraw.
Harry's smile grew wider. According to what he had learned while studying and training under the tutelage of Shepherd, Valkyrie, and Chopper, the form of address Malfoy had used was consistent with someone of higher status (i.e., the Lord and Head of House) challenging someone of a lower status (i.e., the Heir of a House or lower). As it was not considered entirely worthy of a Head of House to do so, such duels were restricted to first blood, though a hefty financial penalty was often applied to the loser. From Malfoy's perspective, this would seem a perfect opportunity to spank an enemy in public and gain financially at the same time.
Unfortunately for the blond pureblood, the rules had changed.
Harry's wand slid into his hand, which he raised in turn to give oath. He chuckled silently to himself as he saw Malfoy's eyes widen in surprise as the older man caught sight of his ring for the first time. "I, Harrison James Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, accept the challenge issued by Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Lord of the Noble House of Malfoy."
Malfoy had turned an alarming shade of pale by the time Harry's wand flashed, thereby sealing the duel. The older man had unwittingly challenged someone of a much higher status, which meant that Harry, as the one challenged, could change virtually any aspect of it he wanted, so long as the duel took place in a timely manner. He had wondered why Shepherd spent so much time on the etiquette of the Noble Houses, including ranking and duelling protocols, but how understood that it was simply preparing him for his role (while keeping it a secret – he was positive Shepherd was still laughing his arse off at the situation).
He held out his hand to Hermione, who stepped up and took it, glaring at the blond peacock. "As I find your very existence an interminable insult to every innocent soul who lost their lives to that rabid half-blood you and your cohorts worship, this duel will be to the death," he growled. "It will be this very hour, and it will be held inside Gringotts's. There will be no seconds. Unforgivables are forbidden. Family members, vassals, and properties will not be at stake, though all liquid assets of the loser will be forfeited to the winner." With that he returned to the bank, Hermione at his side, a numb Lucius Malfoy having no choice but to follow.
The blond aristocrat's head was spinning at the unexpected escalation. He knew that Harry was the same age as Draco – who was fortunately at home with Narcissa – and therefore should have nothing but the Potter Heir's ring, if that, but he saw the Lord's ring adorning the boy's finger instead. The magic never lied, nor could it be tricked. Somehow, the magic had accepted the boy as Lord. He barely heard Lord Potter request a regulation duelling piste as he wracked his brain trying to find a way out of this mess. His options were limited – his only means of survival now lay in killing the boy – but he had no doubt that if he did so he would be vilified by everyone for killing their precious saviour, perhaps even be forced to flee Britain entirely. He wished more than ever that he had ignored the couple and simply returned home upon completion of his business at the bank, but unfortunately it was far too late now.
Upon learning the details, the goblins were only too happy to provide the requested facility and witnesses. The rules were confirmed, the wards established to protect the witnesses, and all too soon for Malfoy's taste the two opponents stood facing each other across the green.
As soon as the buzzer sounded, Malfoy's wand dropped into his hand and he began casting a particularly vicious cutting spell invented by his best friend, Severus Snape. "Sectum…"
He'd barely spoken the second syllable before Harry's hand disappeared into his coat and whipped out again, this time holding the pistol that he'd drawn from his shoulder holster. A single round tore through Malfoy's hand, forcing him to drop the wand as he cried out in agony, clutching his ruined hand to his chest. With a single gesture, the young man summoned the dropped wand into his off hand. Never once breaking eye contact, he slid the pistol back into the holster (Shepherd continually emphasized gun safety and trigger discipline – apparently a former colleague of his had once accidentally shot a young man in the face, killing him instantly and creating a great deal of unnecessary problems and work for them) before deliberately snapping the wand completely in half, and then snapping the two pieces in half again for good measure.
His mouth twisted into a hateful snarl, Malfoy drew a thin dagger from a sheath hidden in the small of his back and lunged forward. Quickly backing away, Harry drew his pistol again and shot the dagger out of his enemy's hand. He immediately vanished the blade, careful not to touch it. He would not put it past a Malfoy to have a lethally poisoned blade.
Now both of Malfoy's hands were crippled and bleeding. Harry holstered the pistol again and secured it before slipping the knuckledusters onto his right hand. "You know, Malfoy," he said conversationally as he approached the retreating wizard, "you and rest of those sick fucks that flocked to your half-blood master's banner regularly murdered muggles using magical means, knowing full well they had no way to fight back. I figure that it's only fitting to destroy you using nonmagical means, after ensuring that you have no means to fight back. See how well you like it, motherfucker." With that he grabbed Malfoy's collar with his left hand and smashed him across the face with his reinforced fist, shattering teeth and bone and sending a spray of blood across the piste. At long last he now saw a look of terror in Malfoy's dazed eyes instead of arrogant superiority, but instead of revelling in the fear of his enemy he set about his task with grim, ruthless determination. There was no gloating in his blank expression as he pounded his metal-clad fist into Malfoy's face again and again and again, transforming the once-handsome face into a ruin of ground pulp.
At length the blond death eater lay unmoving, not even breathing, in a crimson puddle of blood at Harry's feet. There was nothing left that was remotely recognizable as a face, just a mangled, spongy, caved-in mess of flesh, meat, and bone. Harry's face, hands, and clothes were liberally splattered with the "pure" blood Lucius had been so inordinately proud of, and small chunks of flesh clung to the knuckledusters, which, along with his entire right fist and half of his forearm, was solid crimson. Harry frankly couldn't see any difference between Malfoy's blood and his own that the Dursleys had spilled so often. Stretching, he turned to face the witnesses.
Hermione's face wore a similar expression of grim acceptance, neither approving or disapproving. The goblins, on the other hand, seemed pleasantly surprised at the savagery of the duel, and looked at Harry with even more respect than before.
Hermione rose to her feet and conjured a damp towel for him as he approached. "Here you go, love," she said quietly. "We'll need to get you cleaned up as soon as we get home."
"We will take care of that, Miss Granger, Lord Potter," Skullcrusher said as he approached the couple. He had immediately joined the witnesses when he learned that his client would be fighting a duel.
Harry nodded gratefully as he wiped his face and hands with the towel. "Thank you," he said. "I doubt it would be a good idea to walk down the street like this."
"Indeed." The Potter account manager led the teens from the duelling room through several back hallways and to his own personal quarters. "Feel free to utilise the facilities," he said. "You can just drop your clothing and gear on the floor outside, and I will ensure that they are returned as new in half an hour."
Harry nodded and stepped into the lavatory. After a moment's hesitation, Hermione followed him in. She sat on a stool as she watched him undress and deposit his soiled items outside the door before entering the shower.
He had barely been standing under the hot spray for three minutes when he felt a familiar pair of slender arms encircle his waist from behind. He turned around and took his fiancé in his arms, holding her close.
She laid her head on his chest as they stood under the water, enjoying each other's company. "How are you doing?" she asked at length.
"Well enough," he said. "It's not something I enjoyed, exactly, but I think it needed to be done. Not just to take out a death eater, but to send a message as well. They need to know the terror they inflict on others."
"Let's just hope that the right people fucking listen," she said, "but I'm not holding my breath."
Mutually deciding not to abuse the goblins' hospitality, they finished their shower, got dressed, and returned home, though not without a few quick but passionate kisses.
***FTR***
That night, Hermione introduced Harry to her parents, Doctors Emmett and Danica Granger. The teens shared as much of their story as they could, including how they had knowledge, experience, and attitudes that they shouldn't have. After an interrogation session that seemed more gruelling than the one they'd experienced with Ragnok, her parents were finally convinced of the truth of their words and the sincerity of their commitment to each other, and therefore did not put up much fuss when Hermione insisted that Harry would be sharing her bed. After all, she explained, they were effectively married in the eyes of magic anyway.
"I can't say that we're happy about that either," Emmett told them after a quick private discussion with Danica. "By any normal standard of reckoning you two are much too young for that, but your story, unbelievable as it is, still rings true. We can't argue with anything you've shared with us tonight, and for that reason alone we're not going to make an issue of it. We trust what you've told us, and we trust you two to be responsible. But," he said, raising a finger, "don't ever share any details of what you're doing. We won't ask, so don't rub it in our faces. And for god's sake, keep the volume down!" He fixed them with a ferocious scowl that was marred only by the twitching corner of his mouth as he tried not to laugh at their expressions.
Hermione walked over and gave her father a hug. "I know I've talked about Harry for several years now, but you and mum haven't gotten a chance to really get to know him. I know this is coming as a shock, but if you'll give him a chance, I know you'll love him as much as I do. He's always going to be a part of this family – he's my soulmate, which means that we're never going to be separated."
The rest of the evening was spent discussing the holiday they'd be taking for the month of August. After the teens shared their concerns regarding a certain meddlesome Headmaster, the elder Grangers agreed that a holiday to the French Riviera sounded like the perfect destination.
"Especially since this will be Harry's first trip to the sea!" Hermione giggled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Harry briefly wondered what that was all about but figured that he'd find out in due time.
After retiring for the night, he joined his betrothed in her bed and they reaffirmed their devotion and passion for one another. They had been together many times during their indeterminate time in the afterlife, but there was something different about this night, something deeper and more intimate than any of the times they had shared before. Perhaps it was being back in the mortal realm, perhaps it was being at a point in the timeline before they were drugged by unscrupulous, greedy people. Regardless, their union was better than ever before. There were no flashing lights or angelic choirs, but when they awoke in each other's arms the following morning, they were both amazed to see that the betrothal ring on her finger was replaced with the Potter Lady's wedding ring. Likewise, the Potter Lord's wedding ring was on his left ring finger.
***FTR***
After the devastating beating received by Vernon and Dudley Dursley, a terrified Petunia helped her boys to the family sedan and somehow managed to drive them to the hospital without wrecking the vehicle. She was so shaken by the entire experience that she didn't seem to notice the blood still seeping from their wounds staining the upholstery of their car. She flinched each time one of them moaned when the car jostled as she hit a bump or a pothole, but she never slowed down except for traffic lights or stop signs.
At last, she reached the hospital, and practically had to be admitted for hysterics herself. As neither of her boys could speak or write at the moment, she had to fill out the admittance paperwork herself.
After a cursory examination of the two Dursley men, the emergency room doctor looked at the paperwork a second time before turning a sceptical eye to Petunia. "Really?" he said, his voice dripping with disbelief. "They fell down a flight of stairs?"
"That's right," she answered, refusing to meet his eyes.
The doctor sighed and turned to the two patients. "Is this correct?" he asked them in turn. Slowly, painfully, the two indicated that Petunia was not mistaken. "Are you sure?" the doctor repeated, looking at all three. "I can have a bobby here in minutes if you would care to make a report."
"No thank you," Petunia spoke for all three. "There's nothing to report. They fell down a flight of stairs."
"And that cut on your neck?"
"It's nothing. I was cooking and the knife slipped."
The doctor gave her a flat look. "Cooking, you say."
"That's right."
He stared at her for a few more seconds before shaking his head with another sigh. "Have it your way," he said, his voice resigned.
Vernon and Dudley were admitted and immediately rushed to operating rooms. Petunia collapsed on a couch in the waiting room and stared off into space, wishing with all her heart that she'd never even heard of Harry Potter.
***FTR***
A series of faint pops echoed between the frightfully dull houses of Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. A moment later came the clattering of a rubbish bin being knocked over, accompanied by muted cursing. There was some movement in the shadows before half a dozen dark-cloaked figures stepped into the ring of light under a streetlamp, their faces still shrouded in the shadows of their hoods.
"Which one is it?" one of the figures asked.
"Number four," another said.
"Are you certain?"
"Hopkirk confirmed it not half an hour ago. They still had the unauthorised use of magic report from two years ago. I saw it with my own eyes."
"Good enough. Lead on."
As the figures moved in the direction of the fourth house on the street, a third member spoke up. "What made you think to approach Hopkirk?"
"I'm not certain," came the reply. "It just hit me today that we'd never spoken with anyone in the Ministry about finding Potter's whereabouts. Surely there was some record somewhere. I went to Hopkirk immediately since Potter is still underage."
"Rumour has it he claimed his lordship today despite being underage."
"Rumour also has it that he, Dumbledore's Golden Boy, killed Lucius in a duel. Really, we'd be much better served focusing on fact rather than rumour." Waving a dismissive hand, the cloaked figure stopped in front of 4 Privet Drive. "Here we are, number four. The home of the fabled Boy-Who-Lived." The disdain in the figure's voice couldn't have been more obvious.
"Doesn't look like much," another remarked.
"By all accounts he was raised by muggles," the first one hissed.
The third voice barked an unpleasant laugh. "Oh, that's bloody rich! Imagine the rioting if word got out that Dumbledore dumped their precious saviour here with filthy muggles!"
"Muggles or not," a fifth person spoke up, "it doesn't look like anyone's here."
Indeed, the house was quite still, especially for being this early in the evening. All the neighbours' houses had lights on inside, along with moving shadows as the occupants went about their business. Number 4, though, was completely dark with no movement or sound, inside or out.
There were some disappointed murmurings before the first one spoke again. "Listen, we didn't get dressed up to come out tonight and do nothing," he said. "So nobody's here – we can still leave them a gift by burning their wretched home to the ground. Let them come home to ruin."
The others perked up at that and began spreading out around the property. The first one walked up to the front door, extended his wand, and cast Incendio. As flame leapt from the end of the wand, the orange light illuminated an ornate, stylised death's head mask. Within minutes, the house was a blazing inferno and the band of Death Eaters had apparated away.
***Author's Note***
Thank you all for the feedback, faves, and follows! I was quite taken aback when I saw how quickly those counters were growing! I'm glad y'all are enjoying the cameos - placing them was a blast! If you're stuck on the identities of some, please be patient. I've decided that at the end of the story I'll provide a list of all the cameos and where they appear - yes, there will be a few more!
I'd also like to take this opportunity to make a couple of shoutouts. First, to my pal Xander - the identity of the Weasley account manager was his idea. I told him I was looking for someone who was pretty incompetent but absolutely not evil, and he gave this suggestion. And it was perfect! Second, I'd like to recognize one of my favorite authors in this community: RobSt. To the best of my knowledge, it was he who introduced the rank of centurion to the goblins in his fantastic novel "Harry Crow." With that work as an inspiration, I decided to blend more of the ancient Roman military structure into the Goblin Nation in this imagining of the Potterverse.