Iridescent

Author's Note: Well, here is the next chapter. I'm pretty excited about this chapter, because we're getting pretty close to revenge, and soon enough we'll be meeting the Avengers. I'm extremely happy because I've actually been getting suggestions from my readers. I'm also planning on using just about all of the suggestions I've received because they are all just so amazing. This and the next few chapters may feel rushed, but that's only because I want to get started on the main plot. P.S. I'm still looking for a beta, or an editor, if anyone is interested. – CJG

Warning: This story contains homosexual relations, violence, foul language, extremely light sexual content, and slight graphic content.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Avengers, or Harry Potter, I'm simply borrowing characters in hopes to make a relatively good fiction.

Chapter Three: Fehu

Fehu: The Rune of Wealth

Walking into Diagon alley again was like taking a step back to his days of innocence. He was glad he was alone, and he was even more thankful he was wearing his soft cream colored hooded cloak to hide his face. He was sure he would be either weeping, or sneering, the expression would more or less look like a wet animalistic snarl. He could feel his jaw grinding in the urge not to strike out. He needed to watch himself, anyone recognizing him would be a nightmare, and he wasn't going back to Azkaban. No matter how badly he wanted to throttle the damn beings.

Along with his cloak he was shrouded in one of the most complex glamour spells that he personally had ever seen, and he was more than proud of that fact. It was no secret that his mother had been one of the most talented witch at Charms ever known to Hogwarts, and it was even less of a secret (seeing that nothing in Harry's life stayed a secret) that Harry had followed in his mother's footsteps. His normally long hair had been shortened into shoulder length wheat colored hair. His eyes were the most vibrant shade of azure, splashed with an almost white shade of grey. His face was covered in a light dusting of facial hair, his cheek bones and jaw shaped like a proper aristocrat, and his scars covered by muggle concealer. Harry had been found practically kicking himself because of all the grief using said muggle make-up would have saved.

Somehow he had managed to rein in his rather annoying and murderous feelings for the wizarding world to slowly stride towards Gringotts. When he stopped at the front of the large grand stone building that took up a large chunk of one of the many corners on Diagon Alley, he stopped. He honestly didn't care that he was blocking people's way; he wasn't bothered that he was staring at the building, all he could do in that moment was grin. He was so close now; he could almost taste his freedom.

The Goblins had always seemed to have his side on things; it was they who had informed him through appearing personally to him that Ronald and Hermione had been stealing a large sum of money from him, courtesy of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry honestly hadn't been surprised that Ron and Hermione had stolen from him; yes it had hurt worse than he expected, but at that time he had thought that was all they had done to betray him. Little did he know that three days later, after he had secured his vaults and made it so that no one excluding his heir could touch his money that they would help in betraying him. It was in a rage that they had cried wolf, saying that he had murdered twelve people. They had been the ones to plant the bodies, they had been the ones who had broken his already battered heart. The wizarding world was fools enough to believe the lies that his once best friends spewed. They never once asked just who their said savior had supposedly killed. Now they would see what utter idiots they have been, and soon they would find out just who they had been messing with.

The cloak slid carefully around him as he moved forward, his presence seemed enough to clear a path of people who had taken to staring at his strange glamour. They seemed to have all paused, soaking in the powerful essence of his being. He seemed to float gracefully up the stairs, as if he was a ghost, as if he wasn't even touching the ground. He paused at the door, reading the warning posted, he always had loved that poem, even if he wasn't sure why. It made one instantly cautious, and they always seemed to proceed with care. Harry had ensured that the hood of his cloak was on well as he opened the door, and instantly felt his glamour melting away. He slowly stepped forward into the building, his eyes peeled for any wizard he knew pleased to find no one he recognized was in the building.

His legs carried him towards one of the last desks that were open, soon finding that he was glad he did. A familiar face was found scribbling in a book. The goblin looked up with a disapproving glare, seeming to sneer hatefully at the person who had disrupted his work.

"Can I help you?" His deep voice hissed, clearly unwelcoming, but extremely professional despite his distaste.

"Greetings Griphook," Harry's voice was its new husky deepness, still resulting from Azkaban as he regarded the Goblin in Gobbledygook. At his name and foreign tongue the Goblin's eyes widened, their milky black depths seemed shocked with good reason, "I'm here in regards to vault six-hundred and eighty seven, and well vaults six-hundred and eighty five, three-hundred and fourteen, and seven-hundred and eleven." The tongue of the Goblins seemed to flow so fluently from his mouth that it had attracted the attention of a few bank tellers seated nearby, "I also am in need of assistance, involving the crude and illegal goings on that involved my imprisonment, including the lack of trial I received, and the betrayed life debts that must be repaid. I wish to request a moments of your time, as well as a private room." His words were slow, showing that he did not jest. His tone was full of respect, and that alone would have any other goblin jumping to their feet.

If the formal and polite tones of his requests weren't enough to convince Griphook to allow more than a few moments of his time, than the beautiful sound of his language was. With a quick yet graceful nod the Goblin stood, the look in his eyes showing that everything would. With the tilt of the Goblin's head as motive he followed the creature back behind the desks, watching over his shoulder as man walked behind him with grace that the potterling had never possessed to date. This boy wasn't James Potter's Spawn, this man was a lord, and according to him, completely innocent.

Griphook was slightly shocked that as soon as they were out of the gawking eyes of the public, the man had reached up and lowered his cloak's hood, allowing the long hair to billow from its confines and settle to a comfortable location on his back.

"Lord Potter, I must say I am quite surprised to see you." Griphook said cautiously, his eyebrow still had yet to come down from its perch on his forehead, his expression quickly schooled itself into a more contained amusement as he stared at the scarred man with a interested expression, "Do forgive me, but is it not a known fact that you are supposed to be in a containment cell of Azkaban?" The goblin coughed to cover up the interest he was feeling at the moment, clearly overly interested in the situation.

"Indeed, Griphook. I am supposed to be located in Azkaban, but as you can see I am not. I need a bit of assistance," Harry started, his voice slipped into English with ease, noting that Griphook had only slipped into Gobbledygook in the marble entrance way of the bank. "I need to unlock my accounts, and I must speak with Rowena Ravenclaw. She should have received notice that I was imprisoned, but I have word from a source that she did not. If she had received said notice, she would have been able to assure a trial, and I would have been found innocent." His gravel like voice was strong, not holding any weakness. He was here to clear his name, and that was what he would do.

"Rowena Ravenclaw? Do you mean one of the founders of Hogwarts?" Griphook questioned, his eyes looking around, he scoffed loudly clearly disbelieving.

"That is exactly who I mean, She goes by Elizabeth, Queen of England. Before my incarceration I had tea with her every Thursday and Friday. We had the date set since I was thirteen years of age." Harry said his voice was full of mirth, though he was extremely serious. He was pleased to be able to know a bit of information that the Goblin didn't know. "What? You think that one of the most intelligent witches in existence wouldn't have found a way to extend her life? Please, Lady Ravenclaw has so much talent; she created a potion to allow her to travel a head in time. She retained her memories, but de-aged herself so she would fit into the life in the future."

There was a moment of silence before the Goblin nodded, it indeed made sense. It was quite close minded to assume that she would die out with age. She was the brightest witch, and if anyone could have done it, she most certainly could.

"Well Mister Potter, to ensure you are you. As requested to unlock your vaults I will perform the test of blood. I will also contact Head Goblin Nagnok to send a letter to her majesty the Queen." The Goblin began, his eyes understanding, "I'm also going to request the Judge, and a vile of Veritaserum simply to make sure. I shall return Mister Potter."

With that the Goblin rose, he bowed gracefully. Harry watched the Goblin move out of the room, a small smile on his face. "Perhaps this will be easier than I expected."

Oh if he only had known what would come within the new months.