Loose ends
The next Wednesday, Harry met with Bill in the morning in his breakfast break outside the golden doors of Gringotts to make his appointment. He had spent most of the last two days frantically working his way through the book on goblin culture that Fleur and Bill had given him, and was therefore even more nervous than on his last visit to the bank, because he now knew exactly how much goblins loathed thieves: for a goblin, there was no worse crime, not even murder. And to commit a burglary in Gringotts, the pride of the British goblins, was even worse; a successful burglary, was nothing less than a sacrilege. This was not the first time he had been wondering how Kingsley had achieved that the goblins had not demanded his head.
"Because your burglary made sure they got back control of the bank," Bill said when he asked him. "Last year, the Board of Management was only allowed to manage day-to-day business, all fundamental decisions were made in the ministry. Nevertheless, they have not forgiven you," he added earnestly, "and they never will. Goblins forgive nothing, and certainly no theft. Bagman will notice that when he comes out of Azkaban. Are you ready?"
Harry nodded silently and nervously straightened his tie - he was here for business, and according to The Goblin Society of Great Britain, they had to appear suitably dressed, so Kreacher had prepared his shirt, a tie and a black winter cape for him. Bill led him inside the bank and past the counters to a small office next to the main room, where three goblins sat behind a wide desk, not bothering to get up, introduce themselves, or shake hands with him. Ragnok was not there, he noted somewhat anxiously. These goblins here were much older, and they all tried not in the slightest to hide their anger at Harry.
"You can go, Weasley," said the one in the middle, who had particularly hairy ears.
"He's here at my request, sir," Harry said more calmly than he felt. Goblins only respect strength, was written in the book.
The goblin gave him a sharp look. "It is the business policy of Gringotts to regulate sensitive matters such as will readings only with the persons concerned, without the presence of a third party."
- "And it is the business policy of me to be accompanied by a competent adviser in such delicate angles."
The left-handed cast a disgruntled look at Bill. "Apparently you were given false information, Mr Potter. Weasley is a curse-breaker, not a banker."
- "As far as I have read in your brochures on professional advertising, this does also include basic banking training, or am I wrong?"
- "An extremely rudimentary training," confessed the goblin and snuffed.
"That's enough for me," Harry said, "because that's more than I know about these matters."
Bill followed the exchange unmoved.
"Well, Weasley, you can stay," the middle goblin bluffed, sniping furiously with his fingers, after which his colleague handed him a folder from which he took a stack of papers. He pulled a golden monocle out of his chest pocket, peered through it and began reading.
"Testament and Last Will of James and Lily Potter..."
A plethora of legal phrases followed, until the goblin briefly cleared his throat and continued.
"We leave all our assets and all our possessions and houses to our son Harry James Potter. Among them especially
a) the assets in our vault No. 513 and
b) the property, the artifacts and all other objects in vault No 134;
c) the house at 34 St Edwards Street, Godric's Hollow, Devon and
d) Potter Manor in Exeter, Devon.
In the event of our death before our son's adulthood, all these things are to be managed by his godfather Sirius Arcturus Black and, in the event of his death, by his godmother Marlene McKinnon. In the event that both godparents are unable to care for our son, the administrator of our assets until the age of majority of our son will be Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. However, until Harry's seventeenth birthday, the contents of dungeon No. 134 may not be touched, nor may the house in Godric's Hollow and Potter Manor be structurally modified, rented or sold."
This was followed by a list of other people who had been considered: Sirius, Lupin, Wormtail, Marlene and other friends of his mother, even Aunt Petunia had received some money. Finally, the goblin concluded with the words: ... London, 12 December 1980."
Harry swallowed briefly and then cleared his throat.
"The others mentioned in the will," he said succinctly. "Have these sums been paid out?"
"Only to Mr Remus John Lupin, Mrs Petunia Dursley and Mrs Mary MacDonald, now Gudgeon," said the middle goblin. "The others had either already died, like Mrs Marlene McKinnon, or thought dead, like Mr. Peter Pettigrew said. In light of his arrest and the allegations against him, Mr Black was also not considered."
Harry nodded, somewhat reassured that Pettigrew, the rat, had not received anything from his parents.
"Vault number 134, what's it all about?"
"This was the old family vault of the Potters," said the right-hand goblin, pulling another sheet from his portfolio. "Here is a list of all the items contained."
Harry read through it and felt a slight dizziness given the huge amount of money that was at the top. The middle goblin sighed briefly and then shoved two keys to him, a small one, as used for the dungeons at Gringotts, and a larger, old one with a gripping head on it.
"These are the keys to dungeon number 134 and Potter Manor, Mr Potter."
"Thank you," Harry said thoughtfully. "If I understand it correctly, Professor Dumbledore managed my assets for me?"
This explained where Hagrid had got his Gringotts key from.
"That's the way it is," said the right-wing goblin.
Harry nodded slowly. "Do you know what he did with Potter Manor?"
"That's not our job, Mr Potter," the middle goblin said grimly. "But as far as I know, the house is protected by various protective spells, so you shouldn't expect any unannounced visitors."
"Well," Harry said calmly. "Thank you for your time. I wish you good business. If possible, I would like to visit vault number 134 to get an overview."
"Of course, Mr Potter," said the middle goblin, nodding lightly. "And good business to you, too."
"I hope you won't get any problems because of that," Harry said nervously as they left the room.
"Don't worry about me, Harry," Bill said with a wink. "I'm indispensable here."
Harry thanked him and was then taken by a younger goblin to his new vault, which was even deeper in the bank than that of the Lestranges. It was not secured by a dragon, but by a three-headed creature, which he knew only from the Monster Book of Monsters and which had on its lion body the heads of a lion, a snake and a goat, all staring at him murderously.
"You have to talk to it," the goblin said, visibly nervous. "It only lets the owner of the vault pass."
"How does it know I am the owner?" asked Harry perplexed.
"It sniffs you," the goblin stammered.
Harry stared at him in disbelief. "What?!"
The goblin shrugged. "The Potters insisted on the best possible protection and that no goblin could visit their dungeon."
- "How are the interests paid, then?", Harry growled.
"They aren't, we credit the other vault," the goblin said.
Harry sighed and drew his wand. Was this finally the goblin's attempt to take revenge on him?
"Harry Potter wants to visit his dungeon," he said aloud, looking at the lion's head (the snake made him mad and the goat's head looked decidedly stupid). The Chimera growled quietly, got up and came majestically towards him. Harry hoped that the lion's head wouldn't eat a Gryffindor, but when the monster sniffed him for a moment, he was still scared. Then the lion purred like a little kitten and sat down again. Harry relieved his paused breath and opened the vault.
It was big, huge., even bigger than the Lestranges, and yet it was almost completely filled with chests full of galleons, with several goblin-made armors and with pictures, statues and strange-looking artifacts. In another chest were a plethora of documents, including participations in the magic potion magazine The Potions Master, which he had seen occasionally on Slughorn's desk, and heritable season tickets for Puddlemere United, which he took after a short deliberation. Harry pulled out the inventory list and went through it briefly; it all seemed to be there. Although some terms did not mean anything to him, this was roughly in line with the things that were unknown to him, and from this he concluded that the Chimera had served its purpose at the door. He nodded briefly to the monster, finished and then walked back to the goblin, who brought him back upstairs with relief.
After taking lunch together at Grimmauld Place, he invited Ginny, Ron and Hermione to explore Potter Manor with him, an invitation which they accepted without hesitation.
"How can we find it when it's untraceable?", Ron asked with a ruffled forehead, as they were about to leave.
"Kreacher," Hermione said thoughtfully.
"What about him?", Ron asked.
"Kreacher can take us there," Hermione said impatiently. "House elves can get through such protective spells as Dobby did last year, as-"
She broke off and Harry nodded grimly. "Kreacher!" he shouted, before tearing up old wounds too deeply.
The house elf appeared with a bang and bowed deeply. "The Master calls and Kreacher comes! What does Master Harry wish?"
"Bring us to Potter Manor, Exeter," Harry said succinctly. "Can you do that?"
Kreacher gave his master a squealing look, as if the question was a personal affront. "Of course, Kreacher does it, Master Harry!"
"Good," Harry said. "Bring Ginny and me first and then Ron and Hermione."
The house elf stretched out his two hands without further discussion, which they took, and then they disappeared with another loud bang.
They found themselves in the south-west of England, in front of a cast-iron gate that showed the Potter family crest: a red griffin on white. Behind the gate, a cobbled path led to a large, well-kept, white mansion.
"Marry rich, indeed," Ginny muttered softly, grinning at him. "I can't wait to tell Parvati about it."
Ron and Hermine's appearance spared Harry the answer. Ron stared at the house with teller-sized eyes, but Hermione pulled out her wand.
"Someone's here," she hissed nervously.
Harry followed her gaze and also drew his wand, because she was right: the whole area was buried under a fine layer of fresh snow, but the paved path had been neatly cleared.
"What if it's Selwyn?" Ron growled softly. "Who would suspect him here?"
"The protective spells shouldn't allow this," Harry said, as he critically eyed the house. All the curtains were drawn, but wasn't there a light behind one of the basement windows?
"Not if it's Dumbledore's protective spells," Hermione said quietly. "They will have collapsed at his death, like at Grimmauld Place, or not?"
"We got here, after all", Ginny muttered.
"Kreacher is in the service of the House of Potter, the protective spells are probably not binding him," Hermione said after a brief deliberation.
"Anyway," Harry growled, "Ron and I go ahead, you stay behind us."
The two witches briefly made a quick attempt to protest, but Ron gave them a sharp look. "Because we were with the Aurors and you were not, not because you are girls!" he growled. "Come now!"
Hermione and Ginny grumbled behind them for quite a while, but Harry didn't pay attention to them and nodded to Ron. Ron pressed against the gate - but it didn't move.
"Alohomora!" he said confidently, but even that didn't help.
"Try it, Harry," Hermione said impatiently.
Ron threw an angry side glance at her, which she replied no less annoyed. "The house belongs to him, so it may open for him!"
Harry choked off the controversy by following her suggestion. The gate simply swung up without much ado, without even squeaking a bit.
"You probably don't have enough in your arms, Ron," Ginny grinned broadly.
Ron seemed to want to say something, but Harry grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Leave it."
He pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket and gave it to Ginny. "You go along with that. No rebuttal," he added earnestly, and she sighed and threw it over herself and Hermione as Harry and Ron became disillusioned.
"Let's go now," he said, making his way to the house. Behind them, the gate closed by itself.
"How do we know if the two of them really stay behind us?", Ron asked quietly.
Harry pointed to the snow to the right and left of the path. "If they overtake us, we'll see."
As they approached the house, he found that everything here was impeccably clean, quite different from the house on Grimmauld Place when it had been empty for years.
"Maybe it's just a house elf," he muttered, and Ron nodded vigorously after a short deliberation.
They reached the front door, where Harry pulled the key he had from the goblins out of his pocket and put it in the lock. It fit and could easily be turned around. Harry opened the door and scurried in with a raised wand, closely followed by Ron. They were in a large entrance hall, not dissimilar to that in the house of the Lestranges. Huge numbers of pictures hung on the high walls, in front of the staircase leading to the upper floors, there were two armors bearing shields bearing the Potter coat of arms.
"Homenum Revelio," Hermione whispered behind them.
"We are alone," she said, relieved. "But who cleared the way then?"
"And why is it so clean here?", Ginny asked.
"There must be a house elf here," Harry said, breathing deeply before unleashing his disillusionment.
"Harry, are you sure that-" Hermione began, but she was interrupted by a cheerful call.
"Master Harry, Master Harry, you is at home!"
From behind the left armor came an old house elf, who cheerfully wobbled with her eyes and clapped her hands with pleasure. Hermione, Ginny and Ron showed themselves, all very calm.
"These are friends of mine," Harry said in a hurry, as the house elf looked at the three suspiciously, after which the elf made a small leap of air.
"Welcome to Potter Manor, friends of Master Harry!"
"Thank you," Hermione said kindly. "I am Hermione, and who are you?"
- "Master Harry has very polite friends!" quipped the house elf. "I'm Tupsy, Miss!"
Ron closed the front door with a grin.
"That's Ron and Ginny, Tupsy," Harry said, smiling.
"Be welcome, Mister and Miss!" said the house elf, bowing deeply.
"How do you even know who I am, Tupsy?" asked Harry after a brief deliberation.
"Everyone knows who master is!" said the elf with unmistakable pride. Ron chuckled quietly.
"Um, of course."
- "Do the Master and Master's friends want to eat something?"
"Later, Tupsy," Harry said, before Ron could react. "Would you be so nice and show us the house?"
- "But gladly, Master!" Tupsy hesitated briefly. "Do Masters and his friends want to hang up their winter coats first? Tupsy has freshly cleaned."
Harry and the others took off their coats and hung them on the wardrobe next to the door.
"This is the entrance hall," Tupsy quipped, waving briefly throughout the room. "The pictures on the walls show some ancestors of Master Harry."
"Obviously recognizable by the hairstyle," Ron said with a grin. Tupsy gave him a reproachful look, but it was true: some of the faded Potters had as wildly sprouting, scrubbed hair as Harry had.
Ginny stopped in front of the image of a particularly dignified-looking wizard wearing a wig, who paid no attention to her.
"Who is that?"
- "This is Sir Ralston Potter, Miss," Tupsy quipped eagerly, moving over to her. "Master Ralston is one of two Potters who served in the Wizengamot, and he was an ardent supporter of the International Non-Disclosure Agreement!"
"Who was the other?" asked Hermine.
"Master's great-grandfather, Henry Potter," said the house elf, pointing to one of the more recent portraits showing an old man nodding kindly to them.
"Are there any portraits of my grandparents here?" asked Harry eagerly. It was the portrait, not the house elf, that answered the question.
"Fleamont and Euphemia hang in the study," the old man said.
"Fleamont?!", Ron and Ginny asked in disbelief.
Henry Potter shrugged his shoulders with embarrassment. "My mother, you know. She insisted that her family name live on, and I am sure I couldn't deny her that wish.'
"Your son certainly didn't have it easy," Ron said dryly.
Henry Potter shrugged. "He always said that all the teasing had probably helped him become a good duelist - what is your name, young man, if I may ask?"
- "Ronald Bilius", Ginny said grinning and the portrait chuckled.
"Thank you, Ginevra", Ron growled.
"Let's move on, Tupsy," Harry said hastily.
Next to the entrance hall was a salon, which was probably intended for receptions. A large, long table stood in the middle of the room, the red curtains were drawn, so that the room was illuminated only by the candlesticks on the ceiling, which Tupsy lit with a snap of her finger. The walls were bare except for the curtains and windows, bright spots on the walls showed that all the pictures had been removed.
"Woah," Ron said.
"Master Fleamont held his evening parties here, sir," Tupsy squealed. "And after his death, Master James and his friends met here."
- "My dad met here with Sirius and Lupin?", Harry asked confused, who couldn't think of a place that would have been less suited to the marauders.
"Only if the others were there," Tupsy said. "Professor Dumbledore always sat right there."
So the Order had had its headquarters here, Harry thought, stunned. Of course, Grimmauld Place Number Twelve had belonged to Sirius' parents at the time and they certainly would not have opened their doors to the resistance against Voldemort. Now he recognized the space again: there, in front of the large fireplace on the east side, all these years ago the group picture of the Order of the Phoenix, which Moody had shown him, had been taken.
"Was anyone here after my parents died?", Harry asked.
Tupsy shook her head. "Professor Dumbledore was here once, Master Harry, but no one else."
- "What did he want here, Tupsy?"
Tupsy rallied with her feet a little embarrassed. 'He's ordered Tupsy to take care of the house and to not disturb Master Harry with the muggles.'
Harry nodded slowly. "We can move on."
They went to the other side of the entrance hall, where there was a much more comfortable living room. Several pictures of Harry's ancestors hung on the walls, in front of the fireplace stood a few armchairs and, on a cupboard, a considerable collection of bottles of Ogden's fire whiskey.
"The tapestry would fit in well here," Ginny said, smiling.
"The family room," Tupsy announced.
The other rooms in the basement and were the kitchen, a few storage rooms and a closet, where a good dozen old brooms and a few quaffels were stored. The upper floor was more interesting: next to the unassuming bedroom of Harry's grandparents was the study, where their portraits hung behind the large desk littered with papers. Fleamont Potter had the scrubbed Potter hair and remarkably large ears that Harry fortunately hadn't inherited, and his wife Euphemia tapped around slightly nervously on an expensive-looking pearl necklace she wore around her neck. Both froze in amazement when they entered the room.
"James?!" Fleamont groaned, stunned, before sighing deeply. "Euphemia, my eyes play a prank on me."
Harry slowly approached and a joyful smile suddenly spread on Euphemia's wrinkled face. "Harry!"
- "You… know who I am?", Harry asked quietly. The others stayed in the background a little embarrassedly.
"You look like James's twin," she said, somewhat sadly. "And you have Lily's eyes, you must be our grandson."
"It took you a long time to come here," his grandfather said.
"I couldn't come sooner," Harry said in a hurry. "I didn't know anything about this house at all."
- "These cursed Dursleys, Euphemia," Fleamont growled unwillingly. "I told Dumbledore that it was irresponsible to let him grow up with them."
- "Dumbledore talked to you?"
Fleamont nodded earnestly. "He was here after your parents died. I told him - a little rude, I must admit - that Lily would never have allowed you to grow up with her crazy sister."
"Now don't be too hard on the Dursleys, Fleamont", Euphemia said appeasingly. "Look at him, he can't have done so badly with them."
- "As if," Ginny growled softly.
"What was that, Miss?", Fleamont asked.
"They didn't even tell him he's a wizard," Ginny said angrily. "And that his parents died in a car accident!"
"Merlin's underpants!", Fleamont roared angrily. "I told him, Euphemia, but the wretched man didn't want to listen to anyone else, as usual!"
"Everything went well," Harry said. 'That's the past, and I'll never see them again.'
Fleamont still didn't seem to have calmed down, but his wife smiled at Ginny curiously. "And who are you, young lady?"
"That's Ginny," Harry said, somewhat embarrassed. "Ginny Weasley. My girlfriend," he added.
Fleamont laughed barking. "Like father, like son!"
"Don't be silly, Fleamont," Euphemia said sternly. "I'm happy for both of you, Harry."
"Thank you," Harry said, smiling.
"And who are these two?"
"Ron and Hermione," he said. "My best friends."
"A pleasure", Euphemia said, smiling, while Fleamont was still giggling.
"Now that you're finally here, Harry," his grandmother said, "How did you fare? Is there any news? What is happening in the world? We haven't heard anything new since Dumbledore was here, and if Tupsy is to be believed, it's been seventeen years."
Ron laughed out loud. "Oh, this is going to be a long story..."
It took a while for Harry to give his grandparents a brief overview of everything that had happened in recent years (which made them alternately speechless, horrified and proud) and then they left the study.
"Does Master Harry want to look at the rest of the rooms?" asked Tupsy, somewhat shyly. After hearing of Harry's experiences, her respect for her master had apparently increased to stunned reverence.
"Yes, gladly," Harry said, and the house elf led them to two doors that read "Sirius" and "James."
"These are the rooms of Master Sirius and Master James," Tupsy quipped, quite unnecessarily.
"Were you here when Sirius moved in?", Harry asked quietly.
"Yes, master," Tupsy said, nodding eagerly. "Master Sirius was sixteen, and he apparated right in front of the gate. He got into a lot of trouble with the ministry, but Master Fleamont took care of that."
- "How is it that he was allowed to stay, Tupsy?", Hermione asked kindly. Sirius had not yet come of age, so his parents could have insinuated on his return.
"Mr and Mrs Black agreed," Tupsy quipped excitedly, then looked at something on her feet. "They had argued very badly with Master Sirius and didn't want him at home anymore."
Harry tiredly wondered what had caused the barrel to overflow, and had just decided that he wasn't concerned when Ron asked, "What were they arguing about?"
"Master's parents had guests with whom Master Sirius did not get along well," Tupsy said.
Harry nodded grimly. Death Eaters, for sure. What had Sirius once told him? His parents had felt that Voldemort had the right ideas. It had certainly been hell for his godfather to live in such an environment. Sirius's room was empty except for the bed and a few quidditch and motorcycle posters on the wall. Unlike at Grimmauld Place, there were no pictures of girls in bikinis - apparently Harry's grandmother hadn't allowed it. He had probably taken everything else to his apartment when he moved out.
James's room was more exciting. The walls, as next door, were decorated in the Gryffindor colours gold and red. Above the bed hung a lion banner next to a table of the Quidditch League from 1975, when Puddlemere United had last won the title. As Ron curiously peered under the bed, he grinningly procured a plethora of wildly muddled parchments that turned out to be Transfiguration notes from year seven.
"Top," he said with a grin. "We can use them."
"McGonagall will have changed her curriculum a bit since then, I guess," Harry said absently as he looked through the desk drawers. In the top one there was a collection of Crimean scrambles, including a Golden Snitch (was it the one with whom he had seen his father play in the pensieve?), a few goblin stones and a good dozen broken feathers. In the middle one there were old newspaper clippings about Voldemort's ascent, the earliest of which came from the spring of 1973. He reckoned briefly and came to the conclusion that his father had been in his third year at the time. Apparently, even then, he had understood how dangerous these people were. He pulled up the bottom drawer and, with a grin, noticed that the newspaper articles in it revolved around his father himself: most were brief match reports on the Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts.
"Record for the most goals scored in a season," Ginny read aloud, smiling. "He must have been prettygood."
Harry nodded silently and looked around the room. James Potter had grown up here, where he had spent most of his far too short life, so very different from his son: with parents who loved him, for whom he had been their everything, with school friends who could visit him, with whom he laughed and planned pranks, and Quidditch to play. He had had it well, had been loved and gifted and popular: animagus and Head Boy (the badge lay carelessly on the desk), Quidditch star and marauder, married to the love of his life. And James had fought for this life, had opposed what had come, instead of just looking away and just worrying about himself. As he stood here and looked around his father's nursery, he realized once again what a wonderful man his father had been: he had let Sirius live with him like a brother, accepted Remus' and stood by him, even though he was a werewolf, and without hesitation, he had stood without a wand in front of his wife and son, when Voldemort came to fetch them.
"It's fine, Tupsy," he said, smiling. "That's enough for today."