A/N I do apologize for the long delay. Work kept me so busy and I sorta had a breakdown. Slowly getting back up there.
"M-married?" Harry stammered. Married, his mind repeated continuously. His aunt was marrying the bat of the dungeons; who had made the first few months of school a living hell whilst under the dour man's domain. Although things had almost settled for the two, Harry and Severus' relationship remained tender and fragile. He barely knew the man, for Merlin's sake!
"Yes, I am marrying your aunt," Severus affirmed. He sighed internally, he knew that the news wouldn't be taken so well, but Potter seemed to be in complete denial. "That is generally what two adults do, when they become engaged. Perhaps I ought to buy you a dictionary, though I doubt you'd even pick it up; you have your father's genes, after all."
"Why?!" Harry shouted, seeing red. "Why, must you always compare me to my father, and see what you think is the worst of me, or should I say him?"
Perhaps that wasn't the best way to talk to the boy, Severus thought, feeling rather floored. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as Harry's eyes were taken over by a bitterly cold glare.
"James Potter is dead, buried six feet underground! I have no memories whatsoever of the man who gave his life for me, when I was eighteen months old – and you have the unmitigated gall to badger and belittle me about the man who bullied you in school. My dead father. Who bullied you twenty years ago."
"Pot-Harry... I-" Severus began, unsure of what he could say to that. Harry Potter wasn't a saint, but was he truly making the son pay for the sins of his father?
"No." Harry stopped him, facing away from the man. Harry deflated, he just didn't have the will let out the rage that had been bubbling and boiling inside him since he had first step foot inside Hogwarts. There was many things he would do for his aunt, but it seemed that allowing Severus to make amends in some form was just nigh on impossible, for the both of them.
"I have, or rather had, a mother too, that you barely deign to acknowledge; even after you ever so kindly gave me her bracelet." Harry whispered, his voice hoarse, but his whispered words seemed to echo around the room. "Petunia Evans raised me. Not Lily, nor James Potter. Petunia gave me my first broomstick; Petunia taught me how to play quidditch." He inhaled sharply, bracing himself as he turned back to Severus and looked him in the eye, his expression stony as he willed his anger to bury itself deep inside his mind.
"It was also Petunia Evans who explained to me how Lily and James Potter came to meet their demise at the hands of Lord Voldemort," he paused, watching Severus eyes widen. "How they were targeted because of a prophecy that both Voldemort and Dumbledore alike put stock in."
"Where are you going with this, Potter?" Severus asked in disbelief. Surely he didn't know. Dumbledore had given his word that nobody, absolutely nobody knew of his part in delivering the prophecy.
"One of Voldemort's most faithful servants handed him that prophecy; you." Harry watched Severus blanch for a moment, before turning away and slinking though the door at a leisurely pace.
. . .
Dark slanted eyes, a bald head and elongated fingers didn't strike fear into young wizards; that is if they weren't looking into the eyes.
Fire, tamed with ice and utter ruthlessness. A warrior, reduced to serving humans; expected to be thankful for it. It wasn't just the eyes that struck fear; their love for unearthing anything with the potential to upset the upper echelons of Wizarding society gave the smartest of wizards pause.
So what business could they have with a muggleborn witch?
"Miss Hermione Jean Granger, born to Violet Mayhew and Harold Granger on the nineteenth of September, 1979?" The goblin confirmed, leaning forward as the person in question nodded in reply. "Miss Granger, now that you are of an eligible age, Gringotts must inform you of your duties and rights within Magical Britain." The goblin, Ragnok, paused for what must have been a dramatic effect.
Hermione, however, did not want to wait.
"Should this not be something for the Ministry of Magic? As for my duties in Magical Britain, I doubt I have any. I'd like to know what Gringotts has to inform a mere muggleborn of, considering you deal in gold I do not have." Hermione considered saying further, but Petunia's hand on her arm stopped her.
"Ah, yes. Well, all is not as it seems, Miss Granger. What you are not aware of, is there is no such thing as a 'muggleborn'." Ragnok continued.
"Then what am I?" Hermione snapped, quickly losing patience.
"Careful, Hermione," Harry whispered. "The bank itself is a sovereign land, for a warrior race."
"Yes, well if we could continue without interruption, you are a half-blood." Ragnok explained, expecting another outburst from the young lady before him.
"A half-blood? So where does my magic originate then, seeing as my parents are muggles?" She questioned, not expecting the immediate answer from Harry and Petunia.
"Squibs." They answered together, causing Ragnok to blink in shock.
"You know of this, Ms Evans?"
"I am descended from squibs after all. The question is, which of your accounts is Hermione here descended from, dear account manager?" Petunia cut to the chase, knowing full well a goblin would go in circles before fully revealing any information.
"Well," Ragnok smirked. "None other than the once highly regarded Ancient family, who owned all the farmland; the Grangers, of course."
"Quite a shock there, Ragnok, I'm related to the Grangers." Hermione sniped. "Well if they were some kind of magical farmers, why is it not documented at all within our own family history? Our family money comes from a history of dentists, not farmers."
"Only documented with in the muggle world. The last Granger able to wield magic was one Aurelia Violetta Granger, who died in 1902." Ragnok explained slowly, as if he were speaking to a simpleton. Of course, most humans were backwards. He slid a parchment across the table, worn and battered; it was considerably aged. Hermione grabbed it immediately and sputtered.
"Rastaban Black?" Hermione couldn't believe she could be descended not just from an Ancient house, but a Noble one too. To top it off, she was related to Harry? "Were you two aware of this?" She screeched, finding it too coincidental. "Be glad we're in the den of warriors, or I'd curse you."
"No," Harry shook his head. It was too good to be true though. "I can see how we ought to have known, but there could be hordes of muggles who share your name."
"If I may continue," Ragnok barked, at the end of his tether. "I take it you are unaware of the Granger's presence amongst the dark?"
. . .
Satisfied that privacy wards were in place, with a vibrant hum of magic, Petunia and Harry settled into a secluded corner of the Leaky Cauldron at a mottled beaten table.
"Harry, what's going on in your head? All I understand is you had a... disagreement with Severus. I know you haven't gotten on previously, we've all had our troubles." Petunia asked. She hadn't gotten much out of her betrothed, other than him slumping in a chair, drunkenly muttering to himself.
"I don't want to talk about it, Aunt Tuney." Harry stared down at the table, dragging his fingers down it and focused on the grain of the wood.
"What happened, Harry? I went to see Severus, and he was like... a wounded animal. There are few things that can break that man's shell, each more devastating than the others. He won't talk to me, so I can only ask you." Petunia near-pleaded with her nephew, but he ignored her for several moments until she could no longer bear his ignorance.
"Fine. You've obviously upset each other, yet again. This has gone too far now. You are going back to school to sort it out yourself. I have had enough of your spats and I'm not fixing things this time," Petunia paused, placing her hand under Harry's chin, raising it so their eyes met. "I love that man, and I will be marrying him. I love you too child, but you need to find some way to bury the resentment between you. Lord knows, I am sick and tired of it all. You can no longer shield yourself behind me after every little thing."
"Now, come." She stood and beckoned him towards the floo grate, the wards dissipating behind them.
. . .
Marriage was a wonderful thing; a time to rejoice in the unity and love, or of an alliance between two – symbolizing love and war, he pondered. He eyed an ancient vase that sparkled obliquely, whispering of money.
"I never liked that one, destroy it, Aurora." He ordered, returning to his musings.
That turncoat could not be allowed this happiness, certainly not with Potter's filthy squib aunt. Still, once he had Potter taken care of, Severus could be of some use to the Dark Lord; the man was at his best when he was bitter and broken.
"Luciusss Malfoy," Voldemort whispered hoarsely, drawing strength from his whimpering host. "Are you ready to serve your lord and master once more?"
"My lord," Lucius kneeled, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His eye twitched as he spotted the smashed vase on the ground. That had been a near priceless possession that had been in his family for almost two centuries – too old to be fixed with a simple reparo. "H-how," he stuttered. "How may I serve you?"
"You have squirreled away a fortune, Lucius. Your manor is vast and grand in its glory. Clearly you have not spent all your galleons on bribing officials and denying your servitude to me." Voldemort commented, smirking.
"My lord, I have always remained faithful to your-"
"Enough. Dumbledore is guarding an artifact that I require. It is so highly prized that he has consulted with the Department of Mysteries. An item he loaned for the protection of the artifact was found, with it inside. However, the artifact vanished." Voldemort paused, drawing more strength from Aurora, it seemed he would have to make it quick. "You, will find out what else he has asked the Unspeakables for, and if he has spoken with others within the Ministry." He ordered.
"Yes, my Lord. I will make discreet enquiries to my-"
"Quiet, get to it!"