Sirius Black stood in the middle of his small cell, slowly stretching and flexing, practicing what he had learned over the years of tai chi. His acquaintance with the subject had come from a couple of near-perfect Saturday mornings spent staring gobsmacked at the graceful moves of a blond goddess on Hampstead Heath.
He'd been studying her with an eye toward matrimony, muggle or not, and had gone so far as to get a book on tai chi, trying to come up with the perfect line to strike up a friendship, until that next Saturday, when her husband had joined her. It had been one of his life's greatest disappointments and the only time that he'd ever been tempted to follow in his family's disgusting footsteps to vanish an inconvenient muggle.
He didn't get the girl, but his quick study had served him well in saving his body and to a lesser extent his mind, helping him survive years in the hardest prison on earth.
Sirius used his skills to enhance his discipline, thinking mostly the same sane thoughts at the same time every day, thus keeping his mind on track and spiting the Dementors.
Given the hard bed, cold, damp, poor rations and regular dementor exposure, he had to work hard to stay mentally and physically limber. Finishing his evening routine with jumping jacks, sit-ups, push-ups and deep knee bends, he listened carefully until all was still before he set to the night's labor.
Wrapping his threadbare blanket under his left arm, Sirius jumped, toes barely catching on almost invisible grooves in the brick wall. He grabbed at the remaining solid bar of the high window with his right hand. Grasping with an iron grip, he pulled himself up one-armed, anchoring himself by jamming his left arm through the gap between the last bar and the wall, cushioning his armpit with the blanket.
It had been the impulse to look out at the green sea that had driven him to discover that the Ministry, in its conversion of the vast Mythril fortress to a prison, had used rather more prosaic construction to accomplish their goal.
The wizards responsible for overseeing the reconstruction had forced their muggle laborers to lay the first course of rune stamped bricks directly over the mythril and then activated an enchantment to hold it, but all of the subsequent courses had been indifferently laid on top.
Sirius didn't think that the mortar had been properly mixed either. To the pureblood supervising the work, one muggle was probably much like another, and so pureblood incompetence had been reflected by the incompetence of unskilled muggles, doubtlessly kidnapped for the purpose, forced into the role of mason.
Ignoring the pain of the awkward position and wedging a heel into a groove in the wall, Sirius patiently scraped away the mud that he'd feathered over the surface to hide his efforts and began chipping and scraping away at the remaining mortar holding the middle bar.
He had a splendid iron nail to work with, an ancient hand cut square one, laboriously extracted from the thick oaken planks of the door with the thin steel sheets from the soles of his muggle-made shoes. Someone had botched the 'impervious' spell on the door, somehow getting only a part of it, so his glorious nail had never worn over the years.
He almost shouted with joy when the bar suddenly shifted and scraped along the trench that he had so laboriously chipped. The bricks were loose and the other bars already moved freely, so he had enough leverage to pull them the rest of the way out and go now! Right now! It made his heart pound with joy just thinking about it.
Sirius closed his eyes and got hold of his emotions. No, not now. Wasting the accomplishment, years of painstaking labor, was not an option and he had to stick to the plan. It was June second by his reckoning and waiting another thirty nine days to the night of the king tide could make the difference between life and death.
Padfoot had excellent fur insulation, but the king tide, according to his careful observations and calculations, would occur on the fourteenth of July. The warmer, deeper water pulled up by the alignment of the moon, and Jupiter on that day would help insure that he would not hit a rock during his plunge to freedom or freeze in the cold North Sea. He would jump at the turn of the tide, when it was deepest under the window and then let the powerful suction of the ebb pull him away from the grim fortress and its anti-apparition wards.
Replacing the powdered mortar and wetting it with spit, Sirius carefully concealed his work, telling himself that he could take thirty nine days in the cell standing on his head. Besides, with the window open, he was effectively free right now!
A low tortured moan from one of the sleeping prisoners alerted him to the approaching dementor and he dropped silently back to the floor, sticking his precious nail back into its hidey hole in the door and then shifting to his Padfoot form in order to stymie the hated demon. His occulmancy just barely kept the creatures at bay during the day, but his soaring joy in this new sense of freedom would attract them like moths to a candle.
lf
Moody stumped over to the secure flue and glared the magically blinded and deafened prisoners up and down. There were only nine. If one had escaped, he might warn the remaining quarry and cause them to scatter. "What happened to Jarret?"
"The puir daftie tried ta cast ae killing curse an' I shot him stone-deed." Master Auror Findlay had retired after the Blood War, but his part time retirement job as a potions brewer hadn't spoiled his aim. Findlay pulled a Colt Detective's Special from his pocket and handed it to Moody. "We hae them all."
Moody grunted with a note of satisfaction, then opened the cylinder, checking the number of rounds without dimples. One of the closely guarded secrets of Moody's war-time auror command was that bullets fired from magically silenced revolvers flew much faster than curses. Another was that the soft lead core under the bullet's copper jacket could be enchanted into a special single use portkey to the bottom of the sea, activating only when the rune stamped in the lead was both sufficiently far from the gun and deformed upon penetrating the victim.
The biggest and most closely guarded secret was that any inherently non-magical cause of death, such as a bullet wound, was automatically categorized as 'death by misadventure' on the self-inking magical Ministry forms, regardless of who was doing the shooting. There would be a cursory self-investigation with no record generated, its only purpose to insure that no one was killing real people.
Moody didn't care what happened to Tom Riddle's volunteers, and just in case it ever came up he had carefully retained a copy of the opinion rendered by the Wizengamot during the war on the legality of the disposition of dangerous magical servants of terrorists. There was a reason that unforgivable had been authorized for Aurors facing Death Eaters, even if the members of the committee that had authored the opinion had wisely chosen to conduct their business in executive session, taking no names in the agenda.
Walking to a drawer, Moody fished out an identical pistol and handed it to Findlay. "That's one less for the dementors. Get these bastards into cells and head back out." Turning to the communications flue, he threw in some powder. "Shacklebolt! Wake up!"
Kingsley, still in uniform and sound asleep on his couch, woke, saw the grim visage in the flames and recoiled. "Moody?"
Moody glared at his victim. He had decided to introduce Shacklebolt to his deadly collection of misfits so that the lessons learned from the wars would stay a hidden part of institutional memory after his time. "No, it's a bloody nightmare. Up with you now and flue to Auror Command Post 24 as quick as you can. You've an internal investigation to conduct. The flue password for the next ten minutes is delta zeta." Moody started to withdraw.
"Auror Command Post?" Shacklebolt had never heard the term.
Moody stared at him. "I always forget how inexperienced you new lot are. Just come and see."
lf
Harry woke to wan sunlight touching the window. He blinked rapidly as he lay silently, due to the sleeping woman throwing a leg over sometime in the night. She had reverted to her adult form and he found it all very… adult. Suffused with both horror at his plight, as the bloody thing didn't seem to listen to him at all anymore, and relief that she was fast asleep and hadn't noticed, he guessed that it was a little after five in the morning.
Turning slowly so that the rebellious member wasn't pressed against her, Harry slowly began to wriggle out. He must have dropped off soon after Tonks had settled in, the telly playing some completely incomprehensible American show that she liked. He hadn't understood the first thing about it and thought it too loud, but the couch could be converted into a very comfortable guest bed and they had lain in their pajamas, two kids lounging innocently as she tried to explain the show.
He hadn't lasted ten full minutes before falling asleep. Dobby must have come along and worked his house elf magic, putting sheet and blanket over them and taking his glasses to the side table for safekeeping. The pajamas that he wore were decent enough that he hadn't been too embarrassed, but enough was enough. At least the next time Seamus and that lot started boasting about feeling up girls, Harry could state with perfect honesty that he was the first of them to sleep with a woman.
Tonks was like a drooling snoring octopus, gripping with every appendage including her hair, so it took extreme care not to wake her as he began prying himself from her grasp a little at a time. He had to make it to the bathroom soon or he probably wouldn't be welcomed back.
When he stepped out of the shower he was surprised to find a fine suit waiting, neatly pressed and hanging on a wheeled chrome stand made for the purpose. The more that he encouraged Dobby to take it easy, the harder the elf worked. Harry vaguely wondered if Dobby had gotten the suit and stand from Malfoy Manor, then decided that he didn't care.
After dressing, he looked in on Tonks and saw that she was still fast asleep. The Auror trainee had explained that she got to work at seven, so Harry figured that she would want to rise at six, planning accordingly.
Harry made his way to the kitchen. He'd looked around previously and the place was well stocked with new appliances. It looked like a professional decorator had done the honors, as the pots and pans in the cabinet matched. The decorator had missed a few items though. Poking through the cabinets and refrigerator, he found that the only cups to be had were tea cups and the plastic fast-food throwaways that she had tossed into the sink. The only thing in the fridge was a long-expired tub of yogurt. Sitting at the kitchen booth, he called quietly, "Dobby?"
lf
Tonks woke to the smell of bacon, something that hadn't happened for a long time. After a blank moment, she recalled her guest and smiled.
Rising, she padded to the bathroom, spying Harry in the kitchen. He was wearing the long canvas chief's apron and skullcap that had come with the kitchen. As she watched, he deftly wielded two spatulas, tending the fry up as he danced to the music from his Walkman.
Tonks couldn't help grinning.
Harry picked up bread slices with the spatulas, flipping and spinning them, juggling them in a simple fountain before letting them drop back into the pan to fry on the other sides. Stepping back with a spin, Harry suddenly saw her and froze, blushing.
Taking off the headphones he gave her an embarrassed smile. "Good morning, Auror Tonksey. Toast is toasty, beans are baked, rashers ready, mushrooms crispy, juice squeezed, coffee brewed, jam on the table and the butter is soft. How do you like your eggs?"
"Over easy and a bit runny, please. It all smells wonderful." Tonks grinned even wider. "You, Harry Potter, will make some lucky girl an outstanding husband." Laughing at his blush, she headed for the bathroom.
"This is really good! I can't even do toast right. How did you learn to cook so well, Harry?" As a Metamorphamangus, Tonks had to eat quite a lot just to stay conscious. Moving cells about took energy that magic alone couldn't provide.
Harry sipped at his orange juice, considering what to tell her. He didn't want anyone's pity. "My Aunt Petunia taught me. I've been cooking for my relatives for years." It was mostly true. Smiling, he tried on a bit of Dumbledorian dissimulation. "I like cooking for someone that appreciates it, though Dobby wasn't happy about it."
"Stepped on his toes, did you?" Tonks grinned at the thought of the gorgeously uniformed elf.
Harry nodded ruefully. "I think that I did, at least a bit. It helps that it isn't my house and that he brought all the food and then did the cleanup."
"Dobby can cook or clean here anytime he likes." Tonks usually ate a large cooked breakfast at her mum's, but she could see that coming to an end. Neither her mum nor her dad were big eaters in the morning.
Harry chuckled. "Now you've done it."
"You're lucky to have him." She thought about the news that he had delivered last night. "How did you manage to trick Lucius into freeing him?"
Harry drank his morning potion prescription. "Ugh. We were in Dumbledore's office and there was this cursed book that had caused a flap, Voldemort's student diary. Malfoy couldn't admit it to Dumbledore, but I could tell that he wanted it back bad. While he and Dumbledore were in their own little drama and paying me no mind, I gobbed a few lemon drops, chewed them up and spat all over the diary until it was all claggy. It already had ink on it, so it was really a foul bit of work. I tucked in an old sock that I had and when Malfoy left Dumbledore's office, I went after him with some dumb remark and offered the diary."
Making a face at the potion aftertaste, he spread jam on some more toast and ate it. "Malfoy was dead keen to get it back, so he snatched it without looking and ended up with a sticky mess in his hand. He did the pureblood thing and handed the mess off to an elf without ever noticing the sock." Harry grinned. "Dobby noticed right away."
Tonks laughed. "Well played, Harry! Why were you carrying the sock?"
"Dobby visited me the previous July, telling me about some plot of Malfoy's against Hogwarts. He was pretty beat up and I'd been thinking about ways of getting him free for some time, hoping that something would come up." Harry thought about telling her of the million plus galleons that Dobby had stolen for him, but decided that news of such a sum was better kept to himself. "Director Ragnok told me that Malfoy died soon after, so he probably never told his family about losing Dobby. Do you think Draco or his mother will make trouble?"
Tonks shrugged indifferently. "After that killing curse business it's really for the best that he's dead. If they say anything about it let me know and I'll explain it to Aunty for you. You've actually met the Director of Gringotts?"
Harry nodded. "We have business." He looked at his watch. "I have to be back at Gringotts by seven." His appointment was actually for eight, but Harry didn't want to risk being late.
Tonks nodded, reminded that her fun friend actually traveled in some rarefied circles, and hurriedly finished her toast. "We'd best be getting on then. I need to report in too."
lf
Side along apparating him to a point just outside of the bank, Tonks gave him a moment to recover before kissing him on the cheek. "It was nice having you over, Harry. Send me an owl now and then. Don't be a stranger."
Unused to affection, Harry took a second to respond. "I will, and thanks again for your hospitality."
"Anytime, Harry. Be sure to flue to the Ministry and find me anytime you're at loose ends again. My wards know you now, and even if you can't find me don't forget that you always have a safe place to go."
Harry stared into her eyes for a long moment, then ducked his head, afraid that he might blub. "Thanks Tonks. That means a lot."
Watching him march into the bank, she smiled and then apparated to the Ministry.
lf
"Trainee Tonks is here."
At her desk, Madame Bones looked up from an arrest report and replied over the vox, buzzing open the door. "Send her in."
Tonks entered, wary over this interest from on high. "Good morning, Madame Bones. You wanted to see me?"
Bones stared at the trainee over the vast desk, leaving her standing. "Yes, Auror Trainee. I understand that you were assigned to escort Harry Potter yesterday. Chairwoman Reese of the Saint Mungo's Board expressed considerable anxiety over his condition after he unexpectedly left them. How is he?"
Tonks was a little intimidated, but Madame Bones was not in the same league as Andromeda Tonks. "Harry seemed to be fine, and quite happy to have that famous scar of his off. You can't see it at all anymore. He told me all about his visit to the healers on staff at Gringotts and their use of muggle methods to get around the usual issues with removing dark magic. He thought them the absolute best and has several prescriptions from their healers."
Interested, Bones stood and walked over to the couches that she used to put visitors 'at ease.' "Have a seat, Tonks."
Tonks sat, as Madame Bones had tea delivered, taking a cup that she didn't really want when offered.
"How are you finding the Auror Service?" Bones liked to keep in touch at all levels.
"I like it so far. I'm always learning something new and Master Auror Moody keeps me busy."
Bones smiled. "He was my training officer too, once upon a time. I had to learn during the war and it was all a bit rushed. You're lucky that he's taken you on this late in his career, Tonks. You're learning from the best."
Remembering Moody's eagerness to palm Harry off and be rid of her, Tonks belatedly connected the dots and realized why. "I just hope that this whole Lucius Malfoy thing doesn't change that."
Bone's interest sharpened at once. "Excuse me? 'Lucius Malfoy thing?"
"His death, Madame Bones, according to the Goblins. Good thing too, after what he tried to do to Harry. Didn't Moody tell you?" Tonks suddenly felt that she had betrayed a confidence. Unaware of her hair going from her usual brown to her base raven black in the stress of the moment, she fretted until she saw it reflected in the silver tea pot. She hurriedly changed it back, as her base form was a virtual twin of her Aunt Bellatrix and people tended to apparate upon sighting her.
"He did not." Bones carefully did not grit her teeth. Moody's old wartime group had never really disbanded and she knew that they continued to gather intelligence on the Death Eaters. If Moody had gone off reservation then she had choices to make. Remain officially unaware or stop him cold, but there could be no middle ground. "Please explain how you learned of this and everything involved."
Tonks swallowed. "Harry Potter had it from the Goblins. You see, Malfoy tried to kill him at Hogwarts the day before yesterday. He was sent to Saint-
"Hold it." Bones interest sharpened. "Why was Lucius Malfoy attempting to kill him?"
Tonks carefully controlled her blush. "Harry tricked him. Malfoy came to Hogwarts with his elf, looking for a certain book. Harry made it disgusting by spitting all over it after chewing up a handful of the Headmaster's foul lemon drops, then tucked a sock in before handing the sticky mess to Malfoy. Malfoy handed it to the elf and now Harry has an elf."
Bones had seen Malfoy's brittle temper before. "And this murder attempt?"
Harry had told the story in a humorous fashion, but relaying it to the completely humorless Bones made Tonks consider that the man had cast an unforgivable on a boy. "He started to cast and got as far as 'aveda' with the green glow of a killing curse on his wand, according to Harry. The elf attacked, broke Malfoy's wand and sent him flying before he could release the spell. Malfoy left on his feet and died some hours later from what the Goblins let slip."
Bones had spent some time reviewing the records on Harry Potter and had not liked anything that she had seen. "Was this the elf that he maintains visited him at his muggle relatives to warn him of a plot against him at Hogwarts? The one that cast the hovering charm to get him expelled?" Potter had sent a note back to the Ministry to that effect, but Hopkirk hadn't seen fit to forward it to DMLE as the Minister had gotten to her and 'fixed' the citation. She couldn't do anything about the corrupt Minister or his miserable toad just yet but feed them more rope and hope that they hung themselves. Hopkirk however, would receive a write up for bypassing procedure.
"I didn't hear about that." Tonks admitted. "What kind of plot?"
Bones fixed her with gimlet eyes, carefully controlling her ire. As guardian of the Bones Heir, upon learning of the basilisk, her first impulse had been to feed every teacher and governor, starting with Dumbledore, to the dementors. "I got a note from Percival Weasely, sixth year prefect for Gryffindor, one of Arthur Weasley's sons. It seems that the school has been dealing with the small matter of an 'heir of Slytherin' and a basilisk that's been slithering about petrifying muggleborn students, ghosts and cats at Hogwarts all year. Harry Potter entered its lair in the Chamber of Secrets and killed it with a sword, in order to rescue a first year student that had been possessed by a certain book. I'll give you three guesses as to who the 'heir' actually was."
Tonks hair shot out straight like a giant dandelion. "You Know Who!"
"Indeed I do, at long last." fumed Bones. Dumbledore was avoiding her. The man was infuriating to say the least. "We are going to be taking a much closer interest in the affairs of Mister Harry Potter in future and you will be our primary on the matter."
lf
Sitting in the antechamber and poking obsessively at his newly healed forehead, Harry was unsurprised to be called fifteen minutes early.
"Snake's Bane, You are summoned."
Rising, Harry followed the goblin through a twisted passage into the cavernous ritual chamber, feeling a little trepidation as well as a certain dislike for the name that they were calling him. He liked most snakes, appreciating their normal lack of aggression and was certainly not their 'bane.' The goblins had somehow put excerpts of the pensive memory of that fight in their newspaper and felt the need to commemorate something that he wouldn't mind forgetting and the more he objected the more they tacked on. He just hoped the goblins didn't get carried away with that 'warrior' stuff. Harry would be perfectly happy to never fight or kill anyone ever again. He knew that goblins made something of a religion of ignoring pain though, and he'd often had to ignore it too, but he didn't want to do it for nothing but some kind of showboating. Would they be completely unreasonable about it?
Two witches and four goblins waited and his heart sank to see a burning brazier. According to Ron, Bill Weasely had ritual scarifications, which was something that Harry wasn't looking forward to enduring.
The oldest and most gnarled goblin spoke. "Snake's Bane, Monster Slayer, we welcome you to our conclave. I am told that you wish for full protections. Is this true?"
Harry bowed, knowing that if he protested again, the goblins would tack on something even stupider. "I am pleased to be here and would like as many protections as possible."
"I am Hook, these are my colleagues, Hammer, Slasher, Garrote, Linda and Betty the Merciless." The goblin waved his claws, indicating each in turn. "We will be performing the lesser ritual of summoning, then the burner. It should take about two hours and quite a bit of your magic. The scar, it is healed?"
Harry shot Betty a sympathetic smile, nodding. "I can't feel the itching at all anymore."
Hook nodded. "Come forward into the circle and we will begin."
lf
Harry lay on stone, semiconscious, aware of the magic poking at him, forcibly turning his attention outward in a way that he'd never experienced before.
His body was painted in arcane symbols with an ink made from his blood and the groves in the stone were soaked in blood, a drop or two from Harry as a catalyst, and several liters made with a blood replenisher potion and spawned from a vial, forming a five pointed star around him containing the pentagram in which he lay.
A well of his blood pooled in each point of the star, with a witch or a goblin seated in front of it, chanting and forcing the powerful magic of the witches into the pool.
Sensation came in time with their low chant and he could feel their magic gently tugging at his own, each of the pools dragging at him insistently. Harry gasped, writhing as he felt his attention directed to vials of his blood hidden around the chamber, at various distances away from the pentagram. Locating each one, he suddenly understood what the ritual was trying to teach him and actively began searching out his own detached blood and magic. His range suddenly expanded and he could feel the link, feel the magic deep in his center. Farther away, he could feel more blood, blood that had been shed in fights, blood inked onto contracts, blood that had been stolen from him.
Betty made a gesture with her wand and the blood pooled in the point of the star in front of her suddenly went up in a fountain of intense flame, burning away as the magic returned to its origin. After a moment, Linda followed suit and each point burned in turn, then the rest in the grooves on the stone floor.
Harry viscerally felt every bit of the magic used.
Linda burned away the vials, one at a time and shouted, "Now, command your magic! Take back what is yours!"
lf
Dumbledore looked warily at the midday light coming through the window of his office and sighed as he rolled up the last scroll, placed his official Headmaster's seal on the parchment cylinder and then pigeonholed it into the small vanishing cabinet built into his desk. Closing the door, he waited a beat and then opened it again, slumping with relief when no new business was waiting. He was at last caught up with the endless reams of parchment-work that afflicted his existence.
Checking an ornate clock, Dumbledore lifted the chain around his neck to observe the last grains falling through his time turner. A second later he slumped, dropping the device and holding his head as if trying to keep it from flying apart, even as another time turner appeared on its chain around his neck. He gasped and shuddered as the sand ran out on the second device, and he reintegrated dual sets of memories of dealing with the tide of parchment that always threatened to overwhelm him.
Fawkes watched him with the amusement that time turners always seemed to provoke in the phoenix and then essayed an encouraging trill.
Wincing from the awful headache, Dumbledore downed a soothing potion. "Done again, my friend, in spite of the horrible cost of double-timing it. Now I have just enough time to retrieve Hagrid before it's off to Nyak Dun." The annual ICW meeting had been quite deliberately scheduled to clash with his Hogwarts obligation, as political rivals were always trying to push him out of his spot as Supreme Mugwump. It was the same for all of his positions. Life for Dumbledore was just one long scheduling nightmare.
Lucius Malfoy had inadvertently given him an out, spoiling the inevitable check-mate that far more dangerous opponents had maneuvered him into. Thinking himself clever, the foolish boy had invoked an emergency rule to suspend him as Headmaster, but this stratagem had backfired badly, as it was not permanent. With this luxurious gift of time, Dumbledore would soon drive the Death Eaters from the Board. All that had changed was that he would replace Lucius with one of his own trusted supporters, as well as retaining his ICW position as Supreme Mugwump for the foreseeable future. The boy's clumsy maneuver had only served to cleanse him of all culpability for the basilisk crisis, removing any threat of losing his Chief Warlock post while leaving Fawkes with Minerva and free to watch for trouble.
He had been able to monitor the situation that way, ready to sweep in and deal with the creature at a moment's notice, so he had allowed it. Sadly, pure bad luck had intervened, as he had been dueling several dark wizards in South America, but Fawkes had kindly taken care of the situation without him.
The phoenix trilled again, ending with a questioning lilt.
"Alastor has put me off again and there is no time, I'm afraid. I shall have to send Poppy after Harry." Dumbledore would also speak with Poppy about sending ambulatory students off without waiting for his approval.
Fawkes reply cut off mid-trill and Dumbledore frowned as he followed the bird's gaze to the blood-sensor on his shelf. The device commonly emitted gentle puffs of steam, colored to indicate the state of Harry's health, but now it was emitting an angry column of scalding red. Red was not a color with meaning to the device's function, but –
"No!" Dumbledore pulled his wand, tapped a bottom drawer on the ornate desk to open it and then levitated a brightly glowing vial, slamming it through the windowpane with tremendous acceleration. There was a deep bone-rattling explosion, the tower lurching underfoot as the rest of the window glass shattered. An instant later the sensor blew itself apart with a loud crack, knocking the heavy shelf apart and dumping all of his knickknacks and instruments onto the floor. Elsewhere, long dried blood flashed and smoldered in the dirt, on asphalt in a schoolyard, on several contracts in a hidden vault and under the new linoleum flooring of a freshly remodeled cupboard.
Petunia, having seen Vernon fed and on his way, had just finished placing the breakfast dishes into the newly installed dishwasher. She missed Dudley, but now that he was away at Smeltings she had finally managed to get Vernon to stick to his diet. Humming contentedly, she finished her tidying, looked at the clock and donned a jacket. She was on her way to her doctor's appointment and turning to get her purse she shrieked with fright when she saw the smoke roiling from under the cupboard door.
"Bother!" Dumbledore shook his head and reflexively put out the last of the smolder. Pomphrey had much to answer for. Young Harry had obviously gotten the curse breaker's ritual protection package from Gringotts. There went his most useful strategy if young Tom should bite on the tempting lure of the Bone of the Father ritual to gain a body.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, putting his shelves to rights and reassembling the windows. A decade of planning would have to be revisited and several of his better traps dismantled. "Oh, Harry." Dumbledore shook his head at this unlooked for complication to the long chess match that he had so carefully planned against Tom, and then went to check on the rest of the school for damage. He just didn't have the time for this!
lf
The cart slowed and finally stopped. "Vault Twenty Nine." The goblin turned and held out a clawed hand. "Your key?"
"Here." Harry handed over the key, treating it with great respect now that he understood just how very special it actually was. This was his ancient family vault, but it now opened with this brand new key, the old one proving unsuitable for use with the new high security investment vault that he'd opened.
Ragnok had convinced him that a new vault for Riddle's former gold would be more convenient for all concerned. The new investment vault would allow for rapid withdrawals and deposits with the fluctuations of his fortunes, holding only gold and currency that the goblins would invest freely. Any non-investment withdrawals would have to be planned long in advance . Harry had little need to touch it for the foreseeable future, or perhaps in his lifetime and had picked the maximum risk and reward option for this million galleon mountain of found money.
The goblins could profit greatly or lose greatly, but Harry honestly cared little, as his ancient comfortably full family vault would remain as it was, enriched with a nice fresh pile of ten thousand galleons and forty five thousand sickles free for his immediate usage.
Given that Harry was allowed to withdraw anything that he had put in his accounts, the trust vault had become functionally meaningless and would be used only for his pouch until folded back into the family vault on his sixteenth birthday. Harry had learned to carry out the now-necessary ritual of consent for the new key's construction due to the still-aching blue and silver geometric shape tattooed discreetly under his armpit.
The goblin opened the door with a flourish. "I can wait here if you don't anticipate being inside for a long period, Snake, or you can just summon a cart with the rune plaque on the inside of the door."
Harry looked inside, grateful for no more enhancement to his name. "Looks pretty full to me, so you might as well go, Gorbash. No need to waste anyone's time."
"Happy hunting then." The goblin sped away, leaving a tired Harry to enter the vault.
lf
"Hwaet ert bu?"
Harry spun and pulled his wand, only to realize that it was a painting of sorts, hanging above the vault door. It was small and crudely done on a wide wooden plank instead of the usual oil on canvas. Some of the haggard features were either carved or burned into the wood. It wasn't quite a portrait but he couldn't think of what it could be called. It seemed to be speaking some kind of German. "Sorry, I can't understand you."
"Hmpf. Quod nomen est?"
Harry frowned for a moment, but he could just make out the Latin. "My name…nomen es Harry Potter." He hesitated. "Quo… Quis es?"
"Hight Ignotius Peverell," the portrait snapped. "Potter." The image of the man peered at him, sneered, and then hissed in Parseltounge, "Another ill-favored peasant, ignorant as a bloody Scot with hair right off of a boar's ass. They never change."
Harry immediately hissed back, "Hey! I'm only a second year student and I can't help the rest."
The icon lost its sneer. "A speaker! I had always hoped that the talent might one day express itself."
Harry considered that for a moment. "I had a soul leach until very recently. It was broken off of a horcrux from Slytherin's line. My mother's ritual protection reflected an unforgivable back at him and the leach stuck itself to me as an infant. I thought that my understanding of the noble tongue came from that."
The portrait grimaced. "A mere leach of corrupted soul energy could transfer nothing. However, its presence may well have influenced the latent enchantment that I placed upon my blood into functioning as if you were heir primus through the male line. I ripped the gift from the last of Herpo's get to ritually bind the talent to my line, but the trigger to pass it down was sex linked, as I wanted only my direct male heirs to have it. My proud son, daughter in law and their entire brood were murdered by my enemies, my only surviving descendants being through my daughter Goltha and that worthless pet of hers, what you would call a muggle. It's likely that your exposure to a soul leach of another speaker's line gave the enchantment purchase to settle the magic."
Harry stared at the crude icon, having just lost any thought of inherent nobility that may have begun infecting his thinking. "I'm descended from a muggle?"
The figure wheezed out a laugh. "A muggle and a squib for all the magic that she cared to learn. Did you really think 'potter' a name for the Godborn? He was the third son of a merchant from Lundinwic that some ill wind carried to my lands with a consignment for my kitchen. Not believing in magic, the fool made bold in my absence with my lonely Goltha. The lowborn sneak was a city man and spoke well enough to turn my poor girl's head, but he paid a price for his insolence." The crude face grinned sardonically.
"He obviously survived long enough for me to be here. What did you do?" Harry thought that his however many greats grandmother must have been a rare beauty for a muggle to face a wizard as dark as this. He also knew that there were purebloods that considered halfbloods like him no better.
The face snorted. "The wretch had some small legal standing and his father's influence, more merchant prince than merchant in truth, spread far beyond Lundinwic. The man had quite a large number of men under his trading banner, else I'd have simply hanged the churl out of hand." The painted face grit its teeth in a frustrated snarl. "As it was I transfigured that damned muggle into a piss-pot when he came skulking back, so humbly begging my pardon. I used him for that purpose to punish his effrontery, but mark my words, only the fact that the coward had run saved his life when I first found my sweet Goltha fallen pregnant upon my return from Byzantium."
Harry frowned. "How old was she?" The way the icon spoke, his ancestor must have been some sort of rapist.
"She was but a child of twenty." The icon looked pensive. "Perhaps I should have allowed friends to visit, but 'twas risky enough behind wards. Many fell foes plotted vengeance as I weakened with age."
Harry grimaced. Perhaps his lot as an orphan was not such a terrible one if this was an example of a loving family. "Charming."
The icon gave a melancholy shake of its head. "Events… distracted me thereafter, and eventually her tears, his father's army, the high cost of wergild and the child's powerful magic persuaded me to free the loathsome villain from the transfiguration that I had worked upon him. It seemed that they had married before one of those scheming priests and the dung-foot peasant bastard dared preach to raise the riding against me! Me! As if I would not gut him direct for his trouble! I had to see off my steward for allowing it, as Aelrod was mewling something about 'preventing the stain of bastardy.' It was all foolishness, as I had never stood before one of the irksome wretches with her mother, so Goltha was illegitimate by their lights anyway."
The icon glowered. "I went so far as to acknowledge Goltha's boy as my heir, but was unable to enforce my will upon them by then, being close upon my deathbed. The potter's boy took Goltha away and so my name and your lineage became obscured. I left them this icon to guide mine heir, Harald, but the foolish girl chose to abandon my legacy completely."
Harry stared at the horrible animation. It had readily admitted to human sacrifice, blood magic, kidnapping, murder and was generally a hundred times worse than Lucius Malfoy. "I'm not the first Harry Potter then. Goltha was a squib? That means her mother was a witch, right? Wasn't she kind of young if you had grandkids?"
The icon smiled at the memory. "Goltha was as fair as her mother and never a squib, just too gentle to learn any useful spells. She was the daughter of the Fair Gudrun, who was fierce as Goltha was gentle and gave birth to her at fifty, which is old for a muggle woman but nothing for a witch. A vicious and cunning witch was Gudrun, with powerful magic, but untrained and untouched until I taught her. She had never been willing to lower herself with those not of the Godborn."
Harry was fascinated. "How did you meet her?"
The animation smiled in remembrance. "I was hired to set some wards in the kingdom of Geirstad in the north-lands for her father, Jarl Gamie, a squib of great wealth. His eldest son Ivar was a wizard, untrained as his half-sister but unlike her, a fool. After watching as I put down the first ward he decided to save my fee and gain my warding scroll by cutting my throat and doing the rest himself. I, of course, suspected his game and wore an impervious cloak and scarf, so he got my dagger to the eye for his treachery. I took Fair Gudrun hostage and escaped."
"Was that… um, Earl Jarvy the one who you feuded with?" Harry was a little confused.
The icon gave an amused snort. "Jarvy! You hit closer to the mark than you could know. No, his patronym was Gamie, and he died not a week later as the whole jarldom was overrun by the Christians. Jarl Gamie was killed in battle and every man woman and child put to the flames by the priests. None were left to arrange a ransom and Fair Gudrun liked my villa better than the northlands anyway. My wife was long dead, my heir grown and settled on my late brother's lands in Wessex so she came willingly to my bed."
"Why didn't you just marry her?" Harry half expected the old man admit to rape.
"She wouldn't hear of standing for a priest, the sorry beggars, and they had taken over all such things in those degenerate years. I could barely keep her from killing them for the sport of it anyway. They do things differently in the northlands and even there she always did exactly as she pleased, caring nothing for mundane law or custom. All Gudrun ever wanted was to live in a warmer land and to learn magic. She achieved her ambition but died of Dragon Pox when Goltha was seven, caught while seeking heartstrings for her experiments."
"Huh." There were just so many ways to get dead in the magical world. Harry frowned at the memory of standing there like a fool in that hut with Hagrid's dragon, without any vaccinations at all. The bloody thing had actually bit Ron, who would never understand just how lucky he was to have such a vigilant overbearing disaster of a mother.
"About the parsel magic. Does this mean that it's actually possible to take other people's magic? That's what the purebloods always say that really powerful muggleborns like my mother or my friend Hermione somehow did."
The icon snorted with amused contempt. "The gods were known to partake freely of the daughters of men, as did the Sidhe and many other common extra-planar magical visitors to our realm. Their blood flows in every man and woman born. Any child of that hidden lineage has a small chance of strengthening the gods-blood enough to express magic."
"Really?" Harry was shocked over the idea of other planes of existence.
"Some fools calling themselves 'purebloods' came up with this twaddle? I doth think they protest too much." The cruel old face stretched into a wicked smile. "Only an untutored peasant breft of even the slightest grasp of our history could believe the mad notion that a babe could somehow 'take' magic. All of the Godborn know magic for a gift of the blood and it can only be taken through the Rite of Conquest, which amounts to a blood adoption through ritual combat. The foes must be the last of their lines, sole inheritors of their family magic and freely consent to battle to the death within a prepared ritual circle, an arrangement beyond the power of any babe. The winner takes all and the loser's magic is used to seal the enchantment. Though it can be arranged that your enemy have an unpalatable choice, there must be choice in that the foes freely enter the arena on equal footing. The victor's line will then inherit the blood-bound abilities of the vanquished."
"Interesting." Harry considered this and wondered when the wizards had invented the modern blood ideology. It must be newer than they implied at Hogwarts.
The painted wizard narrowed his eyes. "You look a feckless villain in those robes. Has your house returned to its base ignominy as peddlers? For the blood of sweet Goltha, I suggest you avail yourself of the contents of the trunks. There is enough for a hundred starvelings within."
"I do well enough. I'm a twelve year old millionaire after all." Harry indicated the extra gold that had recently been transferred into the vault.
The icon replied with blistering contempt, "That tricksome son of a fork-tonged potter could make money in his sleep, but a wizard needs be more!"
Harry smirked. "I tricked that money away from a Dark Lord and my coat is better than a robe." Harry looked over to the wall on the right side of the vault. There were several trunks in immaculate condition. "So there are Hogwarts uniforms in those?" Harry saw no reason to pay in good galleons for things made from cloth bought wholesale in London and then haphazardly spelled together.
The icon watched the boy with considerable calculation. This one was strong willed, quite obviously powerful enough to live up to the Peverell name and not much contaminated by weaklings or fools. Its sole purpose in existing was to teach its heir and continue the Sacred House, something that the damned muggle had spoiled. By the time one of his descendants had finally found the icon and hung it up, the language had changed so much that none of the succeeding heirs cared to listen. So the icon hung, frustrated in its task, but here was a new Harald, one beset by foes, one that he could speak with, the golden opportunity to return the house to its proper roots.
"Those trunks are keyed to our blood. You'll have to place a drop upon the locks to bind them to you. I recommend a rotting curse for intruders when you become sufficiently knowledgeable. The large ones cannot be shrunk, as they contain the magical treasures of our family, items of power crafted by your ancestors, never to be bandied about or given away. There are some shrunken school trunks, but those are commonly used to store old clothing. They should contain whatever you need. They can be enlarged or shrunk with a tap of the wand. Don't leave a mess behind."
Harry opened an old but obviously muggle chest and looked at the shrunken magical trunks nesting within, selecting what looked to be the latest addition. When he put it on the floor and tapped it, it expanded and he saw the name 'James Potter.'
"This is my father's Hogwarts trunk. My parents were killed when I was a baby. I know nothing of them."
The icon watched silently, eyes narrow with calculation as the boy ran his hand over the polished dragon hide surface.
Harry spend a minute admiring the trunk. It was a much sleeker looking bit of furniture than the tatty plywood thing that Hagrid had forced on him. He'd not really noticed how scuffed and mean it was becoming while living with Ron and his other dorm mates, as Neville kept a cover on his trunk and the rest were poor purebloods, half-bloods or muggleborn that had no better. Was this finely made trunk the kind of luxury what he would have been accustomed to if he'd grown up with his family? Thoughtfully, he conducted the ritual of consent, keyed it to his blood and then opened the trunk.
The icon approved mightily, recognizing from the ritual that the boy already had strong protections. "Good, you are not a fool. This vault should have everything needed to equip you to the level befitting the Peverell heir, so search well. You'll need additional protections, proper growth potions and deeper instruction in the arts in order to gain power, so find something that you can hide me in." The icon narrowed its eyes. Again his line trembled on the brink of extinction. It was just a pity that they all looked like that damned potter. "Now tell me of your life, Boy. Tell me all. Skip nothing as you search."