Harry amidst the Vaults of Stone
Chapter 6
"Ice mice? Aniseed golems? Great, thanks!"
Harry had been told not to say things like "I thank you, Brother of mine," while above ground.
"Well, it's not every day you have a day after your birthday," Boris Scintillion said, ruffling his hair.
"Which is why we'll be paying," said Sibilig. "From now on, though, we shall be making more frequent trips. You will start purchasing needful things yourself. A practical introduction to economy."
"For Hogwarts gear?" Harry asked chirpily, biting the tail off one of the ice mice. His foster parents had been silently pleased when the child had gone quiet for a few minutes before decisively announcing that he would, indeed, attend Hogwarts.
"We shall enter negotiations about such things as necessary books and wizarding equipment. It is only right that your guardians pay for the necessities, at least," said Badluk firmly.
"Good. Are you going to put me to working in Gringotts part-time to pay for it?" The apprenticeships Harry was doing in Underfoot merely countersunk the cost of his upkeep. It was only training in the bank itself that was paid for in Galleons. Even then, the vast majority of goblins had little use for individual wealth.
Badluk snorted. Harry clearly hadn't remembered his parents' Gringotts vault. And then there was a certain other pair of accounts – not filled with substantial amounts of coin, but comprising a worthwhile sum when taken in tandem. Still, the boy had a good attitude. Goblins despised laziness.
"I think I'm glad you didn't get me those cockroach clusters, Sibilig," Harry added, practically skipping down the street. "They looked kind of like the honeyed cave locusts which Pogsheen always gives me. I hate those."
Sibilig shook her head and frowned. "I doubt they are actual cockroaches, which even humans consider vermin. Still, you never know with wizards' tastes. A client of mine once casually admitted a penchant for 'ice cream spiders'. Perhaps such things are aimed at the hag market."
Harry shuddered at the thought of hags, dark creatures that had once been witches, before contracting a terrible curse that drove them to eat the flesh and organs of children.
Then he turned his attention to the small paper bag in his hand. "These merlin balls are nice, too. Much sweeter than our candy, though. And I still prefer walnuts."
"Goblin candy will not rot your teeth or your mind with sugar," Badluk said absently, scanning Diagon Alley. "I hope it is a worthwhile tradeoff."
The goblin looked between the two tailors' shops that were in sight. He glanced up at Mr Scintillion, who was performing some sort of charm on himself. "Suitable clothing?"
The wizard smiled, and nodded towards the nearest. "Madam Malkin is known to be very discreet."
They bought some wizard clothes for Harry, and indeed not a single eyebrow was raised when the boy took off his hooded cloak to reveal the soft leather ensemble beneath. He squirmed annoyingly, not used to strangers plucking at his shoulders or measuring his legs, but they eventually walked out with several sets of fine robes.
Sibilig and Badluk were buying him nothing that could not be better goblin-crafted, of course. Harry was bewildered by the strange cloth and odd cut of the garments he now had.
He shoved the boxes eagerly into Badluk's hands when he saw where they were headed next.
Books were much more exciting than clothes!
"Aaaalbus!"
The cry came like a delighted foghorn, carrying across rough seas of chintz. Dumbledore stepped inside with the small, broad figure fluttering around him, taking his cloak, grasping his hand and hustling him to an armchair.
The squat man vanished momentarily before returning with a tea tray. "I'm delighted to see you again, Albus, please do sit, I can offer you crystallised beetroot, candied pineapple, pomegranate treacle..."
The bald man's enormous moustache quivered about, bracketing the gale of conversation as he poured tea for Dumbledore, who sat back and regarded him.
Horace Slughorn was at once a jovial figure and a ludicrous one, small and plump and dressed in plush, stripy velvet. But underneath that innocuous exterior was a mind which exemplified his Slytherin traits. And the man was an accomplished Occlumens, to boot.
While Lockhart was an open book with colourful pictures, Horace was a tightly-rolled scroll of parchment.
He didn't think Slughorn would try to get his overeager mitts on Harry Potter by stealing him away. It didn't seem Horace's style at all. But then, Dumbledore had never thought Harry might be anywhere but safe with his relatives.
"You're really not having tea, Albus?"
"I'm afraid I just had ...some," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. "How are you, Horace? Enjoying the slower pace of retirement, or making good use of your potions mastery?"
"Indeed yes, Albus, certainly the latter, although it's never quite as rewarding as Hogwarts, of course. I'm contracted with St Mungo's at the moment, and I'm brewing for one of the very oldest noble families, very interesting stuff but there are confidentiality agreements, oh my yes. I'm consulting in various Ministry departments too, of course, I expect they'd fall over without my advice. But you know all about that, don't you?"
Horace's pale eyes twinkled at Dumbledore, who was disconcerted to find himself on the receiving end of that particular effect for once.
"I'd give my advice to them for free, of course, but they've been quite adamant about the salary! Yes, I'm doing quite nicely indeed, and I trust you are well, Albus?" The diminutive man bit into a piece of sugar-frosted zucchini with signs of great pleasure.
A considerable amount of small talk ensued. In just the last week Horace had taken tea with the Minister's niece and the Crown Prince of Wizarding Finland, attended the wedding of Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, given heartfelt landscaping advice to Lady Greengrass, received tickets to a ballet from the muggle government's Crown Prosecutor, introduced two affable Lords to a high-flying griffin feather salesman, and sat in on an almost unheard-of diplomatic meeting between House Salisbury and the Unseelie Nation of Southern England.
Dumbledore barely got a word in edgewise, but was reassured by how enthusiastic and open the Slytherin was being with him. Unless that was a bluff, of course.
Horace was angling for a letter of recommendation for a former student: Dirk Cresswell was hoping to overcome his muggleborn status to rise to the position of Undersecretary of the Goblin Liaison Office. "I'd write it myself, but his prospects would be so much better coming from you. And that boy will go far, you mark my words, Albus!"
"I'm sure you have more influence then you think, Horace," Dumbledore said, causing the little man to inflate proudly. "No, really. The way I heard it, Lily Evans received her offer from the Committee on Experimental Charms purely on the strength of your recommendation as her Potions professor."
Dumbledore poured himself a cup of tea as he spoke, and lifted the teacup to his lips, watching Slughorn casually over the rim.
"Oh, Lily, poor dear Lily." Horace shook his head mournfully, moustache swinging about like a pair of silver feather dusters. "Possibly my best student ever, such promise, such promise. And James, what an outstanding young man. How is young Harry, do you know? Do you suppose he might appreciate me sending him pictures of his parents?"
The man's eyes gleamed at the thought of bringing the Boy Who Lived into the fold of the 'Slug Club'.
"He might, Horace, although he is only eight years old yet," Dumbledore said slowly. "However, your post will probably not reach him. I trust you'll understand that we've had to keep him under very strong security. There are surely large numbers of people who mean him harm."
"Yes, yes indeed, I suppose that would be the case," Horace murmured, suddenly reflective. Then he looked up sharply. "Perhaps you could bring him to visit sometime? I'd truly love to meet Lily's son, Albus. I'm sure he's a charming lad. And if he is anything at all like her, I think we must expect great things of young Harry!"
This response was natural enough to persuade Dumbledore that Slughorn had no idea about the boy's whereabouts.
"I can't promise anything, Horace," he said, getting up. "We may have to leave it until he is at least Hogwarts age. I'm afraid I really must take my leave, Horace, thank you for your hospitality. The tea was quite superb."
Slughorn frowned, but stood. "Do stop by any time, Albus, oh – and I may forward a letter or two to you, Robert Sneezing is writing a biography of great wizards of the light and asked me the best way to approach you for an interview, and Arcturus MacMillan wants to return to Hogwarts as an apprentice to take her Herbology Mastery, I'd consider it a great personal favour if you accepted, and I told Charity Burbage to stop by also, she's looking for a research position..."
Slughorn slapped him on the back as high as he could reach and waved him out of the door. "Do give my regards to Pomona!"
Harry moved around Flourish & Blotts like a small ash-blonde tornado, ecstatic to be picking out books of his own. Up until now he had only been allowed to take home some of the more replaceable scrolls and volumes from the Underfoot library. And he had examined all the books in his parents' shelves, of course. Sibilig, as Manager of the Training Department, had books on the goblin-oaths and codes of conduct, as well as tomes for her hobbies of gardening, and Assyrian goblin-curses. Badluk had shelf upon shelf of extremely dry legal grimoires to help him in his role as Manager of the Inheritance and Contract Law Department. Harry had read fragments of these, as well as Badluk's books about his private passions: bronze miniatures and drying his own tobacco.
After his initial beeline for books on different kinds of runes, Harry shot about to look at manuals of basic warding and then wizarding texts. His guardians, under advisement from Boris, picked up Adalbert Waffling's Magical Theory, Jon Spellman's famous Syllabary, and Ziggy Moonblade's Enchantment Made Easy. When Harry asked for books on the plants and creatures of the wizarding world, they added A Compendium of Arcane Bulbs and Ethereal Flowers, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and Principles of the Potion-maker's Art.
In the history section, Badluk and Sibilig encouraged him to pick out several wizarding books for a different perspective on the past. He also found a tome of ancient centaur lore translated from the original Greek.
Eclipsing all of them, though, was a heavy book of genealogies. Harry gasped aloud when he found a section for the Potter family within it.
There was a rambling family tree, tangled with many other trees via footnotes and page references for the other families. Harry fully intended to track his family back as far it went and see if he had relations in the wizarding world.
Harry placed his finger reverently on the words James Potter & Lily Evans. A tiny balloon of ink next to the names blossomed into information on their full names, dates of birth and death, notable relations, education, and in the case of his father, insignia.
James Potter's sign was a small coloured shield. The crest had a curling black 'P' embossed heavily in gold, while the shield itself was dark red. The top of the shield featured a sword lying from left to right, with a black crown imprinted upon it.
"Wow," Harry breathed as his fingers slid up the page to the next leaf.
The names Charlus Potter & Dorea Black blossomed into new bubbles of text. Lord Charlus Potter was a pureblood Gryffindor who lived from 1917 to 1979, with the same Potter crest as Harry's father. Dorea Black was a pureblood Slytherin, 1920-1977, with a crest of black ravens on white and black dagger on red, topped by a skull on a background of vines.
Above them were Lady Magenta Potter, a Hufflepuff, and Maximilian Yaxley, whose icon featured a knot of silver centipedes on a midnight blue background.
Harry's eyes moved on and on as he traced through centuries of history.
Then he blinked as a hand waved in front of his face. "Harry?" Boris leaned down kindly. "You've been staring into that page for a good five minutes, now."
"It's- it's got my birth parents in it!"
Sibilig and Badluk had walked over to see. They found that the book tracked all the ancient families, as well as the monopolies and privileges granted to them, their former and extant rights in wizarding law, ownership of Wizengamot seats and the former disposition of expired lines.
That was well worth the hefty fourteen-Galleon price tag, and it was added to the pile.
Fifteen minutes later, they approached the counter with Boris Scintillion wobbling unsteadily, a stack of twelve books in his arms.
When the group passed by a broomstick shop on the way back to Gringotts, Harry had looked speculatively at the brooms. There wasn't enough room in most of the cavern-city to fly, and the minecarts were more than adequate to transport people through the bank.
Harry glanced up to consider the wide open sky, visible above the towering shopfronts, then clamped his gaze back to the ground firmly, feeling slightly queasy.
He was glad to return to Gringotts. He thanked Mr Scintillion and the wizard was dismissed for the day. They were travelling on oiled rails in the depths of the bank when Badluk peered over the stack of packages between the impassive guards. "Evening will be falling soon. Do you want to start learning the Brothers' secrets in what remains of the day?"
"Well, yes, but – I did still want to see my friends and cousins today," Harry admitted.
Sibilig glanced back at him. "That would be well. It is likely that some will have small gifts and tokens for you."
Harry nodded. They wouldn't be for his birthday, of course; goblins didn't celebrate the passing of years in any personal sense. But he'd seen tokens given when others passed their gadammeruk and entered the Brotherhood.
And now he could join in the quiet, secret conversations with those who had already passed. He could discuss his own threefold challenge, and find about their own tests of wit.
He grinned. "Can we start learning first thing in the morning, if you're not needed in your office?" he called forward, over the whistling passage of air.
"No, your apprenticeships still stand," Badluk said firmly. "If you get up early enough to begin work, though, perhaps we can start first thing in the afternoon."
Harry nodded and sat back in the gloom in his strange new clothes, enjoying the ride.
The investigation remained shrouded in secrecy. Madam Bones had only six of her most trustworthy Aurors on it, with several others working on minor aspects without being aware of the overarching case.
That afternoon, though, the facts of the situation were presented to a few key departmental heads. This led, a few hectic hours later, to discreet but urgent questions being asked at the Goblin Liaison Office.
"Harry Potter, you say?" Ziggiz of the Wizarding Law Department asked, raising his wizened brow. "I shall make inquiries."
"So you've heard nothing?" Cuthbert Mockridge pressed, fiddling nervously with his tie.
"I shall make inquiries."
It had been, Harry reflected, another very long day.
Prettyroot wound around his feet as he sat in bed, yawning massively.
He drank his nightly nutrient potion, then put his glasses on the side-table next to his wand. The table held a number of small gifts which had been given to him by his excited peers. His friend Katlok had forged a small but elegant hand-knife for him; she was a year older than Harry and was excelling at metalwork.
The older goblin youths had shared tales of misery and laughter about their own rites of passage. Harry was privately glad he hadn't had to dig an access tunnel, or break a sun-ward, like some of them. On the other hand, even though he had reflexively toned down his own stories, he had still received several gasps and appraising looks.
He caught his own tiny reflection looking back at him, and sank down in bed, sleepily examining the silver-framed glasses. He wondered idly what the tiny runes around the six equally tiny decorative knobs were for. There were three such clusters spaced along both sides of the frames. His foster parents, grinning fiercely, had told him to work it out himself.
"Magrakkus,"he said, waving his fingers of one hand complicatedly at them. There was the faint glow of magic, but nothing he recognised was revealed. Oh, well. He didn't even know what language the runes were in, anyway.
He might try some more goblin-charms tomorrow. Or maybe his new books would have a clue...
Harry drifted off into sleep.
There were no nightmares about firebats or blood or opals, no dreams of books or glamours or the ghastly open sky. He was simply too tired.
Deep in the bowels of the earth, deep below the first few cockerels stretching their legs in preparation for a good crow, was a dry sandstone chamber. Within the smooth stone walls, a young boy's hand flew across a sheet of parchment, scribbling numbers in a messy cursive for which he had been scolded many times.
His eyes were down and he only stopped writing to flick at a wooden bead on the abacus every now and then.
Harry grabbed a new page, and sucked thoughtfully at the tip of his quill. Accountancy was definitely his hardest and most tiring apprenticeship, more difficult even than the stoneworking he had recently taken up, more exhausting - in a strange way - than pumping the bellows at the forge. Working with numbers was definitely not his strong point.
He couldn't afford to make too many mistakes and have to start with a new set of problems, though. So after he had rushed through each page he went through it again to check.
The master of numbers, Drobwit, was the second person through the door an hour later, and the rest of the apprentices trickled in for the next hour after that. Drobwit had raised an eyebrow at the young human boy working feverishly at his figures on the low stone bench, but made no comment.
Unlike many apprenticeships, students of accounts required no supervision for safety. Harry had thus enjoyed a certain degree of independence in his work. As the morning wore on he kept his head down, staying well ahead of the rest of the goblins in the day's work. He had all his tallies completed soon after lunch, having barely exchanged a word with anyone. Only a few of the senior apprentices had finished the same number of figures, and they had their own advanced material to move on to.
Drobwit went over the first few pages of Harry's work, hummed a brief note of what Harry recognised as pleased surprise, and put the rest of the parchments in his tray. The master of numbers gave the boy a knowing scowl, then a sharp nod.
"Thank you, sir!"
Harry hurried off.
A Gringotts guard goblin accompanied him up through passages and the maze in the depths of the bank, chatting amiably about the stonefly blight her mate was fighting on the potato crop, and asking about Harry's ventures out into the wizard world.
His guardians met them amidst the vaults on the deep seven-hundreds level, and both grinned at Harry's familiar look of excitement.
"You're going to show me the vault wards, right? Are we going to gooo?" He stretched out the last syllable as long as he could.
"Soon," said Sibilig.
"We're waiting on Ziggiz," explained Badluk. "We promised – ah."
Heavy footfalls sounded, and the elderly goblin Ziggiz limped onto the platform from another labyrinthine corridor.
"Ah, Harry. You have your new wand with you, yes?"
Harry blinked at the unexpected question. "Er, yes, Ziggiz." He patted his back pocket to make sure, and tried not to blush. Nobody really wanted to talk about his wand.
"Good," said Sibilig, ushering the small group into a cart. "We have some things you may be interested in testing. The first thing you need to know, Harry, is that you should have access to three Gringotts vaults here."
Harry frowned. He had seen his birth parents' small vault, and had even been allowed inside it on the proviso that he not take anything yet. Fairly reliable gossip amongst the children said that most of the old wizarding clans also had family vaults, and he'd often speculated about the existence of a Potter ancestral vault. He couldn't imagine what a third one could be, though.
They set off with a squeal of iron, and Badluk took over. "The rules on your parents' vault are ...hazy, as you not only are a minor, but you have guardians who are automatically allowed access to any vault. Regardless, there is little in there to interest us. Mere coins. Metal is delightful in its own right, but does not concern us today. You shall have access to that vault from now on to finance any trips to Diagon Alley, or further afield."
Harry's ears pricked up at this last clause. His foster father was not one to toss phrases around lightly.
"What you do not know is that there is a Potter Family vault, set up to maintain the ridiculously-named 'Ancient and Most Noble House' of your ancestors."
Thrown knives, thought Harry, smiling to himself. A wizard might have thought, bingo.
"As an heir not yet of age, you have a wizarding regent, a man named Albus Dumbledore. You have probably heard of him. He is... better than many, it must be said. He has strictly limited access to that vault in your absence. He has not used it."
Badluk peered into the echoing darkness for a few seconds, thinking about something.
"There is also a Black Family vault," he said at last. "You are named heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."
"Really? Why is-" Harry broke off, and gripped his foster mother's arm tightly. He looked between the impassive faces. "You told me that- that a human wizard named Sirius Black betrayed my parents and killed one of their friends."
Badluk nodded slowly. "He was the last heir to the Black name, following the death of his father Orion and brother Regulus. And he named you heir in turn, so upon his incarceration, the rights did not revert to the elder Walburga Black."
Ziggiz cleared his throat and spoke in his slightly hoarse voice. "In British wizarddom, three conditions must be met for an imprisoned Lord to be legally dead, for matters of inheritance. He must have a life sentence, have served at least a year of that sentence, and have no legal recourse for appeal. Despite some ...unique circumstances, we eventually determined that all three hold in this case. So his family vault passes to you."
Harry shivered, and not because of the whistling wind.
Sibilig put an arm around him. "There is a witch named Andromeda Tonks, née Black, acting as the Black regent, but she has done little with her restricted access to the family vault. We do not know if she is unaware of the extent of her legal rights to manage that account, with the Lord legally dead, or if she is simply uninterested. She has not even claimed the – well, you will see."
"You have a twofold inheritance, both legal and financial," said Badluk, clapping his foster son on the shoulder. "And it is quite possible that today you will come into it. We shall see, we shall see. Yes."
"Yes," said Ziggiz.
After the initial shock, Harry had mixed feelings about the news. The idea of someday being a 'Lord Potter' was ridiculous enough, but being a 'Lord Black' was just eerie.
"But why would he name me heir?"
Three of the goblins shrugged. The guard was politely pretending to be oblivious to the conversation, but her eyes occasionally flickered over to them.
"The conjecture is that he was, at one time, a genuine friend of your birth parents," Ziggiz said crisply.
"Why would he-"
"Wizards fall out as surely as debris from the ceiling of an unshored tunnel."
"He was named as a possible guardian in the Potters' will," added Badluk. "I hope I don't need to tell you that the contents of any such testament is a secret of the Brotherhood, by the way."
Harry frowned. Both 'Potter' and 'Black' had stood out in his genealogy book. He remembered he'd come across them a few times in the history department of Underfoot's library, too. As an heir to the two houses, it seemed he would have a certain amount of clout if he chose to enter the 'wizarding world' he'd heard so many bad things about. Not magical powers, of course – that would be ridiculous – or even any overt political power. But the world worked on unwritten rules.
There was no point throwing away a useful tool to save shed space, the old saying went. On the other hand, the name Black...
On the other other hand, Sibilig was muttering in his ear some of the secrets of the Gringotts side of the Brotherhood, and it was proving quite a successful distraction.
"If you use your illusion-revealing charm around this corner, you'll see a faint glow. The rock face conceals a ring of probity probes which scan each passing cart in three dimensions. Some of Bogripple's pet humans maintain the parts for them. That waterfall in the distance carries a powerful charm, revealing all that is hidden. Look down when we go over the bridge, and you'll see a mated pair of Antipodean Opaleyes. We keep false eggs in the nest so they become more territorial. All along here are false vault doors, the actual seven-hundreds level is below and to the left of these. We keep trolls in most of the false vaults, but a few house some of the more interesting tomb guardians recovered from Egypt. The latter are cheaper since they don't eat, except their victims."
Badluk wrinkled his nose at Harry and gestured at the rails, which were spitting up showers of sparks now. "Notice anything about them?"
Harry frowned and reached out, lowering his hand cautiously until it was just a foot above the spitting iron. "Not... really. Is it just poor maintenance causing the sparks?"
His guardians and Ziggiz shook their heads.
Harry closed his eyes to concentrate a little harder. "I still can't- wait, I can barely sense the metal. Some sort of magic-dampening charm?"
"Dead Sea Runes," Badluk grinned toothily. "They completely suck away all wizard magic for the last stretch of track. You can't slow the cart except with goblin-charms, so any customer who gets this far and wants to make a break for someone else's vault has to either time a jump at speed, or break their neck."
"If the symbols are embossed or carved deeply, that explains the sparks," said Harry thoughtfully as they rolled to a stop.
Badluk nodded. "And here we are. The vault of House Potter, number 787."
"Interestingly, it's directly below the Potter vault which belonged to your parents," Sibilig said. "You may not be able to tell, since the rails don't only corkscrew. They also pass through several disorienting wards."
As she spoke, she was absently stroking the huge metal door with two long fingers. A bright note sang out, and a keyhole appeared.
Badluk snapped his fingers and a tiny gold key appeared in his hand. He twisted the key sharply in the lock, then consigned it back to wherever it came from.
Finally, Ziggiz whispered something to the door's surface, and there was a high-pitched cackle. Wisps of smoke drifted from the metal and coalesced into a tiny, malevolent figure, which stared at each of them briefly before dispersing into smoke once more, along with the entire door.
"Was that an imp-lock?" Harry asked.
"Yes," the old goblin said, and ushered him forward. "Of course, if it were the head of family seeking access, the process would be simpler. We enter, for now, in our role as maintainers of the vaults. Touch nothing."
Harry stepped into the room, and looked about, slightly impressed.
It seemed like somebody had started off stacking things neatly at the right-hand wall, where wooden chests and metal lockboxes were tightly packed in rows. Higher on the wall were racks of vicious-looking weapons and the occasional dinged-up helmet.
But the barrels and boxes in the middle of the room were more haphazard, and by the time the floor reached the left-hand wall it was covered in racks of discarded clothing, piles of leather pouches and trophy heads, random portrait frames scattered across rolls of cloth, and hundreds of loose books and scrolls. A few gems and jewellery boxes were visible in the chaos, but it seemed that for the most part, what got put into the Potter Family vault was nothing more than the detritus of centuries.
Harry's fingers itched to examine things, but he kept them carefully curled at his sides as he walked towards the middle of the room.
"Come over here, Harry," Badluk said. The goblin had made his way to a small stone plinth standing against one wall. Harry picked his way through the room towards his foster father, taking extreme care not to touch any of the stacked and scattered objects. He was joined by the other two managers, while their guard stood, legs splayed, in the vault entrance.
"What is it?"
The broad stone top of the plinth held only a faded cushion. The plush cushion had once been a rich reddish-purple but was now closer to pink. Half its golden tassels were gone, and its velvet was crumbling.
Sibilig sneered and flicked fingers towards it. "The locus of so-called power for the so-called Noble House of Potter. Obviously never repaired since it was first created. When a wizard too full of himself dies, the family's signet ring returns here to await the next lord or regent. In the latter case, the appointed person can access the vault to regain it, in accordance with an old covenant between the Wizengamot and Gringotts."
"Take your wand out, Harry," said Ziggiz. "This may prove quite interesting, yes? Now: stand squarely and touch it to the centre of the cushion. I've heard some families use an incantation, but I believe that to be the exception rather than the rule."
Harry glanced at his foster parents for confirmation, then carefully reached out and pressed the tip of his holly-wood wand firmly into the middle of the cushion.
There was a pause long enough for Harry to wonder exactly what he was doing, and then a golden ring appeared without any fuss on top of his wand on the cushion.
He jerked his hand up reflexively, his wand flicking the ring into the air. It clattered and spun on the floor.
Badluk sighed, picking it up with one hand and the garish cushion with the other. He placed the metal band atop the cushion and offering it to Harry, who stared.
"Your ring, milord."
Sibilig smirked at Badluk's put-upon expression and Harry's frozen one. "It was a risk, getting you a wand, so I hope you're at least going to touch it."
"The wand of the head of family is required to summon the family ring," Ziggiz explained in his dry tones. "You have a registered wand. Furthermore, I was summoned to the Ministry yesterday for a formal request to help discern your whereabouts. This is unlikely to be a coincidence. Indeed, it was earlier than I thought, given wizarding incompetence."
Harry's bemused face became a slightly panicked one. "You shouldn't have done that – got me a wand – just for me! With the danger! I wouldn't have minded not getting one!"
Badluk, who was still holding the cushion stiff-armed, said, "We wouldn't be able to try this if we hadn't allowed you one. And you would need one eventually, if you intend to attend Hogwarts. And we never planned on hiding you forever."
"Of course, we do have stockpiled several dozen illegal wands which we have secured through various means, but to risk bringing them up to Gringotts would be unconscionable," Ziggiz said idly.
"That is a Brotherhood secret and you are never to discuss it," Sibilig put in hurriedly.
Harry nodded. "Why would they be any more dangerous in Gringotts?"
"For one, the Ministry's arm is long enough to reach here – just barely. For another, the wands have what is known as a Trace, a form of magical tracking spell-locked to them with Ministry encryptions we can't break. Since we don't know whether the Trace detects not just spells but also inheritance magic, or whether it can be remotely activated to find an illegal wand, using them outside the highly specialised wards of Underfoot is a very bad idea."
"Also, we didn't know whether you specifically would be able to use any of them. Supposedly a wand has to match a personality. Now," Badluk took a deep breath, "Are you going to take the bloody ring?"
Harry picked up the gold band, ignoring his foster father's exaggerated cries of relief. The goblin put the cushion back down and massaged his wrist theatrically.
"What is it for, exactly?" Harry asked.
"Put it on," said Ziggiz, watching with an unblinking stare.
Harry put it on.
Author's notes:
→ In response to a few reviews: while not a single point of departure fic, I'm aiming to stay close to canon with as much as possible. I'm assuming Harry is myopic rather than hyperopic. I'm trying to strike the difficult balance of canon!Dumbledore that lies between the fanon extremes of manipulative!Dumbledore and condescending!Dumbledore. Invisible Runes aren't from canon, and while it's not necessarily a throwaway line, it's also not necessarily important.
→ Thanks for reading! Please, if you see a grammatical mistake, spelling error, or plot hole, leave a quick review pointing it out!