Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.
Chapter Two | Revelations
Hopping off the bus I march up to the Leaky Cauldron, taking care to make sure that my fringe covers my scar. I'd prefer not to be noticed by anyone quite yet and deal with the incessant badgering and hero-worship that often surfaces when I find myself in the wizarding public. I shudder, remembering how terrified I was when I was first brought to Diagon Alley by Hagrid, and how people just swarmed me. Bloody disrespectful.
Lacing my way through the crowded bar and popping out the back door, I'm lucky enough that someone is already heading into Diagon Alley in front of me. Convenient, as it saves the need to wait for someone to open the way for me. Tends to be a touch difficult to open a magic doorway without a wand. At least, I think you have to have a wand to open the pathway.
Speaking of which, I do need a wand. Hell, I probably need two knowing my tendency to lose it when things go south. The attacks at the world cup, the incident at the graveyard, even the fight at the ministry. All are life threatening situations in which a second wand could have made the ensuing fights much, much easier. Additionally, I'll be able to circumvent that whole brother wand deal with old Voldy when it inevitably comes around again. Maybe I could throw a curse at him with one wand while the Priori Incantatem is in effect? Is it even possible to use two wands at once? Regardless, I need money for my school supplies first.
Winding through the alley and slipping through the throngs of shoppers littering the path I finally find myself climbing the marble steps to Gringotts. I push open the door, groaning under the effort it takes to so much as make it budge. Damn these doors are bloody heavy! Either Goblins are surprisingly strong, or I am terribly, terribly weak. Well, I do have an eleven-year-olds body… I really have to start getting used to that.
Striding (or as close to striding as an eleven-year-old can) towards the nearest teller, I notice to my chagrin that my head is barely flush with the countertop of the teller's desk. Ignoring my current vertical challenge, I greet the Goblin. "Hello! I was wondering if I could access my vault" I announce. The Goblin pokes his head out over the counter attempting to figure out where my voice is coming from, before noticing little old me. "Vault key?" he demands, sticking out a gnarled hand expectantly. Shite, I forgot about the key.
"I'm sorry, I don't have a key," I gasp, doing my best to look like I'm not trying to break into Gringotts. I know I'm physically a child, but I wouldn't put it past the Goblins to not be suspicious of anything. Just pretend I have no idea what I'm doing, and hopefully nothing bad will happen.
The Goblin rolls his eyes, obviously frustrated that he has to deal with some clueless child. Looks like I'm not being hanged as a thief today or killed in whichever gruesome way Goblins deal with those who have wronged them. "Exactly who might you be, boy?" He growls, causing me to flinch. Damn do I hate that word.
"I'm Harry Potter," I reply, meeting his gaze with my own. The Goblin waves his hand, presumably ushering over a manager who struts up and inclines his head at me, immediately turning back towards the door he entered the lobby from without waiting for me to follow. I amble on behind him musing about how funny a change it is to be the same height as a Goblin. The manager leads me through a spacious corridor that winds throughout the bank, not uttering a word as he reaches a room and beckons me inside.
The room itself is quite imposing; crown mouldings made up of gold and silver adorn the walls, intricate patterns and runes etched upon them, most likely showcasing the sheer extent of the warding that Gringotts is under. A large mahogany desk with a tall throne resting behind it is placed towards the back of the room, lavishly decorated with precious metals and gems on the rim and joints, rubies and opals shining from their settings forged of rich, polished gold. Evidently the Goblins enjoy going all out in letting the Wizarding nation know of their iron grip on the worlds gold.
The manager takes his place on the throne, pointing towards a much plainer seat across from him that I notice slightly resembles the one that Death offered me. The Goblins very much enjoy flaunting their wealth it seems. Snapping his fingers, a plain stone bowl appears on the table, with a simple silver potioneers knife resting beside it.
"Now, in case you really are Mister Potter, as you say, there should be no difficulties in us procuring your vault key and aiding you in your business today," the Goblin promises, narrowing his eyes as he continues. "Be assured, that if you are not Mister Potter, I will be very, very displeased."
"I imagine you get that a lot?" I reply, wondering about how many people must have vied for my money, remembering Ron previously mentioning (very jealously, at that. Shame he was such a berk in fourth year) that my family was to be considered quite well off, along with the impressive stack of gold that greeted me the first time I visited Gringotts. The Goblin makes a strange, strangled hissing noise, while shaking his head. Wow is that what a Goblin laughing sounds like? Jeez, it's as if a snake got thrown into a wood chipper.
"You have no idea how often we have people come into the bank stating that they are Harry Potter. My personal favourite is a young man who tried to carve a lightning bolt into his forehead. He should have read Cinderella to learn that self mutilation does not pave the road to wealth," he smiles maliciously, sharp teeth gleaming. "Now, what I need you to do is quite simple." He pushes the knife and bowl towards me, which I now notice has a thick, pearlescent turquoise liquid in it, presumably a potion of some sort.
"You need to let a bit of your blood into the bowl; if it turns green then you are indeed Mister Potter, as you say. If it turns orange, then I will be forced to deduct a sum from you and your parents accounts for wasting my precious time. Be glad we do not execute thief's anymore."
Gulping, I grab the knife and slice into my palm, the Goblin simply raising one eyebrow when I don't flinch away from the blade. I shrug mentally, after I received multiple doses of Voldemort's cruciatus curse, its taken a lot of pain to phase me. Turning my hand over the bowl and squeezing it, I allow the blood now ebbing out of my hand to drip into the bowl, smiling slightly as it very quickly turns a vivid seafoam green. The Goblin, now sporting a very shark-like grin waves his hand over my palm, sealing the wound, and then produces a sheaf of parchment along with a very expensive looking fountain pen from his vest.
"I'm very glad that you've now decided to come to Gringotts Mister Potter, your family have always been important customers here and we were beginning to worry that you were disinterested in your family's assets." He clears his throat and waves his hand lackadaisically. "Before we continue, I'd like to formally introduce myself. My name is Rockseeker and I am the manager in charge of your family's account and investments here at Gringotts. Essentially, I am an accountant although I am more inclined towards being an investments specialist."
Well I didn't know about that last time. I've got a personal accountant? Why did Dumbledore keep this from me?
"I'm sorry Rockseeker, but I wasn't aware that I had someone in charge of my money apart from my guardians, in fact, I wasn't aware that I had multiple vaults. The only vault in my possession that I am aware of is Vault 687." At this Rockseeker's hands tighten into fists, knuckles white as he grimaces dangerously. He curses loudly, nearly slamming his fist on the table but quickly stopping himself before it connects, clenching and unclenching his hand repeatedly.
"I'm quite disappointed to find that you've not been told of your financial situation. Not disappointed in you of course," he clarifies, noticing as my shoulders tense at his outburst. "Your guardians should be keeping you informed of all of this information, regardless of your age, as the heir of an Ancient and Noble House you must be kept up to date on your financial happenings."
"Ancient and Noble House?" I ask tentatively. Rockseeker face drops, his eyebrows knotting in a mix of confusion and anger.
"You don't know?" He whispers, his voice strained, eyes lit up dangerously.
"I'm afraid I don't."
Rockseeker grabs the knife and drives it into the table, launching himself from his chair with a shout and turning to face the wall. This, of course, causes me to jump back and fall out of my seat, terrified that I'm about to get killed by a Goblin. I've heard stories of Goblin fury and it doesn't sound like the nicest way to go. I'm sure Death wouldn't find it amusing for me to last less than one day after being brought back to life. Pulling myself up from my knees I notice Rockseeker is now pacing the room, furious.
"Caragu ruks!" He cries, turning his eyes towards me. He pauses his pacing, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, before speaking in a quiet and controlled manner. "Mister Potter I understand that your living situation is being kept confidential by the Ministry, but whoever you are living with, or whoever deigned to place you within that home is directly sabotaging you, and in effect, us, here at Gringotts." Rockseeker spins back to the throne, sitting in it once again and exhaling heavily through his nose.
I gulp, very shaken, yet pleased that I have not yet been gutted by an angry goblin. "Well, I live with muggles, my cousins specifically. If I recall correctly, Dumbledore was responsible for placing me with them, if that helps."
Rockseeker cradles his head in his hands, cursing harshly under his breath in Goblin. "That explains quite a bit Mister Potter, we at Gringotts have never seen eye to eye with Dumbledore," he deadpans, reining in his anger. "To explain matters quickly… in layman's terms you are nobility. Now, the Potter's aren't extraordinarily rich by any means, but they are quite wealthy and are considered to be one of the more important families politically. That is what I believe to be one of the primary reasons Voldemort was so interested in your family in the previous war… you know who Voldemort was, of course?" I nod as he rattles on, slightly mollified that I'm at least aware of Voldemort.
"Now, for some inexplicable reason Dumbledore deemed it acceptable to deny you all that your parents left for you, and from what I can tell by your state of dress and complexion," he observes, gesturing at Dudley's ratty second-hand clothing and my unmistakably malnourished body. "You have been mistreated… or are at the least not living to an acceptable standard, regardless of social status."
I nod again, internally rejoicing that someone, anyone finally had the bollocks to state out loud how horrendous things have been for me, while seething at the fact that it took a Goblin that I have never met before in my life, or any life at that to notice it. "So, what does this mean for me?" I question, excited at the prospect that I may actually get a real head start on changing things for the better in this timeline.
"What that means Mister Potter is I think we need to dust off some old documents and see what in Uruk's name went wrong."
Rockseeker snaps his fingers and a moment later a Goblin rushes in with two cups of tea. The two whisper back and forth before the attending Goblin runs off and returns with a piece of parchment, handing it to me. "This is the last will and testament of your parents, James and Lily Potter," Rockseeker intones, sipping on his tea and leaning his head forward, motioning for me to read.
Hands trembling, I set down my cup and study the sheet, eyes darting all over in an attempt to absorb all of the information laying in front of me, obsessively drinking up the sight of what appears to be my Mother's handwriting; beautifully thin, tidy penmanship decorated with tight flourishes and serifs in a deep purple ink. Before I know it, I start to tear up at finally being able to see something that carries an essence of my parents, a truly tangible bit of proof that they lived and breathed, I wipe away the tears from my eyes, sniffing slightly as I focus on the will.
The will itself is quite simple, a generous amount of money made out to each of the Marauders, Pettigrew included, unfortunately, along with money being set aside for my tuition at Hogwarts, while everything else, be it property or money is left to me. Thankfully, nothing was set aside for Petunia. The most glaring part of the will is the guardians listed within, as well as a snippet of information that confuses me deeply.
In the event of our death, our daughter Helene Lily Potter shall be placed with the Longbottom family, namely Alice and Frank Longbottom. If they are unable to care for Helene, then she shall be placed with the Bones family, namely Genevieve and Philip Bones. Additionally, if both the Longbottom Bones families are unable to care for Helene, she shall be placed with the Greengrass family, namely Octavius and Terra Greengrass. We note that in no situation whatsoever should Helene be placed with my sister Petunia and her family.
I stop to dwell on the deeply confusing part. Does this sheet really say daughter? I read it over again, the wording not changing on my second pass. "What the fuck?" I murmur to myself, reading it yet again. Rubbing my eyes, I simply start at those five words: 'our daughter Helene Lily Potter.' After the umpteenth check I realize my eyes aren't playing tricks on me and peer up at Rockseeker, who is obviously concerned, eyebrows cocked and his clothing looking a little tousled as a small hurricane whips around the room.
I quickly realize that I've lost control of my magic and rein my emotions in, breathing deeply and attempting to stifle the tenseness in my chest. "So… I wasn't supposed to be placed in the house I'm currently in. My parents blatantly said so in the will." I cough, trying to figure out how to phrase what I've just learned to Rockseeker. He inclines his head, an unspoken question written in his face. "I uh… I've just learned something that changes a lot about... well, everything. I'm not sure how to make sense of it." I take another deep breath, holding back the rushing thoughts and panic flooding through my mind.
Freak! Unnatural! Boy!
Is my hate of that word simply because of Vernon's attempts at classical conditioning or is it subconscious? Am I trying to tell myself something? Was I really born a girl? Unable to wrap my head around this revelation I slump back into my seat and stare blankly at the wall, lost in my thoughts. A sharp knocking brings me back to Earth, focusing my eyes on Rockseeker as he raps his fist across the tabletop.
"I've read the will Mister Potter. In fact, I was the notary. I do not understand why you've come to me as Mister Potter today and I had assumed you being named the boy-who-lived was a result of the terrible standard of journalism in this country. That is not the name I met you under a decade ago, although I doubt you remember our encounter, you were quite young at the time," he states, clasping his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows. "Now, I will refer to you as Mister Potter unless you so wish to make a change regarding how you are referred to, but this brings to light the sheer extent to how much your life has been meddled with."
Mister Potter. Funnily enough, it sounds a bit… well, odd for me to hear that now. The words jarring and uncomfortable as they grace my ears, like they weren't ever meant to be spoken when referring to me. I lick my lips nervously, wondering whether this changes anything. I mean, I'm still me, right? Even if I have a different body? I don't know, but this is… it's monumental. Whatever decision I make today, it's going to change the rest of my life. Fuck, and all I wanted to do today was figure out what my finances were like.
"Would you like me to be blunt with you, Mister Potter?" He queries, eyes alight with suppressed fury. Resigned to the situation I nod for him to continue, shoulders still slumped dejectedly under the weight of all I've learned today, mind still swimming with confused thoughts about my identity. "I believe your magic has been locked away," he begins, nostrils flaring dangerously. "I have strong reason to believe it was Dumbledore who did this, considering his role in the placement of you with your relatives and not with one of the families your parents had chosen." Pausing at my confusion he elaborates. "To understand the lock on your magic, I have to explain how magic works at a raw level."
"You've heard the saying, 'the wand chooses the wizard,' correct?" I tilt my head in response, wondering where he's going with this. "Well, each wizard or witches magic is specific to their own self. Every magical being in existence has their own magical signature that is unique to them, and them alone. Like a fingerprint, no one signature is alike. One cannot forcibly change someone's magic or reliably lock it away without them withering away and dying as a result."
He pauses before continuing his explanation, his expression darkening considerably. "But, if one were to make the vessel incompatible with its magic," he pointedly motions towards me, my eyes widening in understanding. "That person's magic will then be in conflict with themselves, making it difficult to draw on, use, and control. At the same time this would make it more difficult for them to function in general. It slows down their thoughts and makes it more difficult to think and respond to the world around them, simply because they're having a hard time processing themselves, let alone the outside world." He crosses his arms. "This is seen occasionally in magical newborns, where their magic and body does not align."
I sink even further into my chair, running everything over in my mind and attempting to relate it to my own experiences. I guess I could say that I've had issues with magic. I've had moments where I felt powerful, but those are far and few between. They felt like… like a bit of me was sneaking out, an unknown part of me rearing its head. "I've never specifically had difficulty casting a spell though Rockseeker," I say, figuring out how to phrase my thoughts adequately. "I mean, it can take me a little bit longer than some people to pick them up in the first place but once I master it I can cast it better than most."
Rockseeker tilts his head questioningly. "I'm sorry Mister Potter, but are you saying that you are already learning spells and are in contact with others who are as well? Notably, outside of Hogwarts?" He holds his hands out in a calming manner. "If I am to be blunt with you, I will ask you to be blunt with me. What are you hiding?"
I exhale deeply. God damnit! Me and my big bloody mouth!
Should I tell him? Will that do me any good? I've barely come to terms with my resurrection, considering it's only been about… four, maybe four and a half hours since I woke up in this time. Although if there's anyone who can help me… it's risky, but I might as well put all my chips in considering Rockseeker has been more helpful to me in the last half hour than most people have been in my entire life.
"Time travel," I state succinctly.
Leaning back in his chair, Rockseeker cocks his eyebrows and crosses his arms across his chest. "Well aren't you full of surprises Mister Potter. How old are you really?"
"About fifteen, nearly sixteen. A magical accident threw me back in time to my old body"
"That is truly, truly interesting," he marvels, rubbing his chin, astonishment written over his features, yet relatively nonplussed all things considered, to discover that I'm an inadvertent time traveler. I'm slightly shocked to find that he's not staring at me incredulously or laughing in my face. I'd imagine most people would respond with a simple uttering of the word, 'bullshit,' at least, I know I would.
"So, tell me, you said you had no real difficulty learning and mastering the required spells in your syllabus?"
"No, at least not the ones for Defense, but I've always had a bit of a problem learning transfiguration. I just can't get it to work the way I want to."
"Well that's explained by the lock Mister Potter," he admits, picking some unseen debris out from under one of his long claws. "Transfiguration requires a great deal of control over your mind and magic to use effectively. Most of the field involves picturing something and using your magic to mould an object into whatever is currently being envisioned in your mind, therefore largely based on control. I'm going to assume you also have great difficulty with healing magic as well?"
"Yes, in fact I'd say I'm absolute bollocks at healing magic. I can barely cast Episkey to be honest," I reply sheepishly, slightly ashamed of my inability to cast such a simple spell. "It's incredibly frustrating, especially with how accident prone I am."
"Well, then that just confirms my beliefs about your magical block. From what I can glean, you are not necessarily without power, as you have not had difficulty with spells that do not require a focused mind. But, this block has destroyed your control, and if you wish, I could remove this block. It's a large commitment for you," he adds, waving his hand meaningfully at my body. "It will require you to make a great change, considering you've had sixteen years to become accustomed to your body and magic. Do understand that I highly recommend seeing this through, and having the block removed. I have seen it done in the past for purebloods who were trapped into the wrong body by their parents in the hope that they may garner an heir. We also do this from time to time for magical newborns, in cases where their magic and body does not align." He pauses for a moment, crossing his arms lazily. "All of these witches or wizards, all of them, came out of that ritual indefinitely happier and more comfortable with themselves than they were before."
I sigh deeply, casting my eyes to the ceiling and trying to tame my raging mind. This is a huge decision for me to make, but I feel like it must be made now. I chuckle quietly, finding the absurdity of all of this slightly amusing. I remember Sirius once saying to me that there are some decisions in life that 'you need to grab by the balls and never let go, or else you'll always regret it.' Not the most well-spoken man, but it cuts straight to the point.
"I've always wondered why I couldn't change a bloody matchstick into a needle, while I could easily, and I mean easily, set something on fire or blow it up if I so much as felt like it," I muse, the words awkwardly tumbling out of my mouth as I allow my thoughts to be heard. "It just didn't make sense that so many fields of magic were so damned hard while I could pick up destructive spells with no problem, they're basically point and shoot, no complexity at all."
I pause, the severity of the situation slowly making itself clear. Dumbledore… how much has he meddled in my life? Why did he meddle with my life? I just… I don't get it. He's always been there for me since my first year, backing me up when I needed it, being there when I needed to talk with someone, to vent and let loose. Was it all a lie? Was it just some sick façade? I don't… I don't get it.
I shut my eyes tightly, blinking away the tears that are threatening to spill, my chest clenched from the pain of my newly realized betrayal. The man that I looked up to, the man I regarded as my own family… he did this to me? He's the reason my life is so… so shit? I breathe in deeply, sucking the air through my teeth as I open my eyes, looking up towards Rockseeker.
"Why are you doing this for me?" I ask him shakily, still not entirely believing the whole situation. "What's in it for you?"
"Thinking like a Goblin, are you?" Rockseeker replies approvingly. "What's in it for us, you say? Well, the Potter account is one of our largest. If you die, we may lose that account." He explains his reasons in a detached manner, almost robotically. "If we do what we can to make sure that you stay alive… well, it's much more likely for us to hold onto those accounts."
"Makes sense." I agree with him, really. I'm not faulting him for the business focused attitude, also taking into account the fact that he's a goblin, not a human. There's got to be some differences between the two species on some level, and that's evidenced by the way that goblins can detach themselves from what's going on around them, not allowing their emotions to affect their decisions.
I clench my jaw, teeth grinding together. "Do it. Just… do what you need to. I can't live a lie." I sigh morosely, gesturing towards myself in confusion, unsure of just about everything in my life at the moment. "Fix it. Please, just fix it."
Caragu ruks: Orc shit. (Dwarven, The Lord of the Rings. Thanks Tolkien.)
Edited, 19/05/2018.