Harry amidst the Vaults of Stone
Chapter 8
"I assume nothing came of it, Albus?"
Dumbledore shut the door quietly and brushed his hands absently down his robes, collecting himself. "Amelia, I fear a dreadful mistake has been made."
Madam Bones shoved a stack of folders aside and looked at him, trying not to glare. She was growing more exasperated by the hour with the meddling Chief Warlock. Sometimes Amelia wondered if people ever looked past Dumbledore's old-man-charm and mildly intimidating aura, to see the real man. Lately she had found herself wondering if the rumours were true, and he really was going senile.
"What is it this time, Dumbledore? I'd have my hands full even without this blasted Harry Potter business, what with the recent Yorkshire naga sightings, and the latest on the shillelagh situation in North Ireland."
She waited, scowl deepening as the old man tiredly squeezed his nose bridge, concern bare on his face. "I believe it is possible – no, I think it very probable that Sirius Black is innocent," he said at last.
Bones looked briefly surprised, and then shuddered as she assimilated this news. "You learned something important from him that didn't come out during his trial?"
Dumbledore winced slightly, and began the story.
"Ah-ha," said Harry quietly, proudly observing the pattern of light in front of him.
He heard Bidpruk the filigree master pace over and stand behind his stool, waiting.
Harry put down the jeweller's glass carefully and extracted his new spectacles from the vice, putting them on as he turned to face the instructor.
"There are four enchantments placed upon the glasses. The crafter of the grisherur also carved two more rune-knots but left them empty, so two more spells can be placed upon them in the future. The first of the four enchantments is dark-sight," Harry said confidently. Bidpruk, face locked in his perpetual snarl, made a go-on motion.
"I can tell by the lustre of the weave. One separate spell is linked to each of the three rune-knots on this side. There is enough interference between the glyphs for them to give off different shines where they interact. The shimmer isn't steady enough to be heat detection, and the sigil is far too responsive to goblin-sign to be a charm for seeing through invisibility. The enchantments on either side are much more passive than this one. That leaves dark-sight."
"Yes," said Bidpruk shortly. "And how is it activated?"
"I, um, hadn't got that far – but," Harry hurriedly continued as the jeweller's sour look deepened, "If it's the goblin-charm which Old Mother Blagwed and some of the other elders with failing sight use, then... judging by the complexity of the enchantment, the activation should just be the first two gestures of the charm itself."
"Show me."
Harry did so, and hissed between his teeth as the lamps of the workshop suddenly became too bright to bear. He tore off his glasses and blinked rapidly. "Rocks fall," he swore.
Bidpruk shook his head sharply. "Little fool. The charm responds with greater or lesser intensity depending on how many of the handsigns you make. Only the first motion is necessary for a low level of dark-sight. Learn from this mistake."
Harry waved his fingers slightly in the opposite direction, and tried the glasses again. Now the lamps appeared bright, but not painfully so, and he could see clearly into every corner of the tidy workshop.
Bidpruk nodded at him, scowling deeply. "Very well. Now you will do as well in the tunnels as a goblin by blood. Alert me when you have discovered the other three charms, Harry Potter. In time, perhaps you will become adept enough that I will be willing to help you enchant the two remaining rune-knots."
Harry smiled, but the goblin's face remained sour.
"And do not think that you can avoid your cold-joining practise to work on them, boy, or your jewellery will remain sub-par forever. Understand?"
Harry nodded meekly at the warning, but was still smiling to himself as he turned back to the bench.
Remus, walking briskly between the hedgerows, flared his nostrils. He detected nothing but traces of mud, damp bird and old apples, trickling in with the ever-present smell of the mist. This was the last street. No scent in the country lanes or hint of gossip in the local pub suggested Harry Potter had recently been near the sleepy village of Mould-on-the-Wold.
Find Harry Potter, find James' son, he chanted in his head, slightly manic. The days after the full moon always left him feeling strangely jumpy, as if he had drank one cup of Sylph Blend coffee too many. Today was worse than usual, though.
Remus came to a halt as the cobblestones gave way to a muddy path, and he peered around the fog one last time. Then he pictured the tiny town square of the magical quarter in Dirk's Common, and spun on his heel, disappearing with a sharp crack.
"You want to make me a full Brother of the Nation," Filius Flitwick said in Gobbledegook, staring at the Bank Director across from him.
The diminutive professor had received a letter that morning from Gringotts on behalf of the Brotherhood. Being a half-goblin himself, he knew that actually meant: a letter from the Brotherhood. It was only ever politically useful to pretend the two entities were separate. So he had paused only to buckle on his best blue boots before hurrying out from his holiday cottage.
"Yes," said Gurmsalt.
"Something which, to the best of my not-insubstantial knowledge, has never been done for anyone not of full goblin birth," Flitwick added, trying to get a feel for the old goblin's motives.
King Gurmsalt the Wary folded his hands and ignored this last remark. "You have shown your worth several time in the past. Flattaks has spoken for your character and Bogripple's research did not turn up any, as we say, bad welds in your personal history. And now we have a situation where your expertise would be very useful. We would like you to visit Underfoot to provide it."
The Ravenclaw blinked twice, immediately hooked by the thought of being granted access to the fabled City of Stalagmites. "Very well," he said. "What do I need to do?"
"There is a test..."
Flitwick inclined his head gracefully as the goblins removed their masks and applauded.
Somewhere in the labyrinthine caves behind him lay a fully-grown rock worm cut to ribbons by serrated silver discs, and a well dug by his own hand, and three broken metal doors.
Needless to say, nobody in living memory had completed the threefold trial of gadammeruk as quickly as the duelling champion with a charms mastery and six decades of experience.
Flitwick walked with the group into Underfoot, where his eyes drank in the unbelievably distant ceiling of the main cavern, the hundreds of cave buildings and stone structures, the lamps filled with glow-worms and parks dripping with phosphorescent fungi.
His second cousin, Flattaks, took her leave, and soon only Gurmsalt and a goblin named Badluk accompanied him as they ambled towards a dwelling on the outskirts of the city.
Filius was feeling both excessive excitement and tremendous trepidation. He was walking through the stronghold of the Brotherhood, seeing things no wizard had seen before. But... why, exactly, was he here?
There was only one thing he could think of which could spur the goblins to bring in a sympathetic outsider like himself for advice, and that was imminent war. But what could have brought the old goblin-wizard hostilities to the surface again? How had he caught no word of it? Had some anti-goblin legislation secretly been brought before the Wizengamot?
Badluk opened the stone door before them. Someone was seated with a book in the room beyond, and stood up quickly.
"Hello," said the spectacled boy. He was dressed in soft leather leggings and a sturdy linen shirt. There was a very distinctive lightning bolt scar visible under close-cropped hair.
Flitwick gave a squeak of surprise and fell off the doorstep.
The most prehistoric of Aurors in the office exchanged nervous glances with the greenest of trainees, then made themselves busy as the magically-muffled yelling from the boss's office gave way to an ominous silence.
Inside, the troubling matter of Harry Potter was forgotten for a moment while an old miscarriage of justice was addressed.
"I'm afraid we fudged a great deal of paperwork," Dumbledore was saying, knotting his gnarled fingers in the depths of his beard. "I expect Minister Bagnold will not be happy if that is uncovered, especially given that she was complicit in it."
"She can't just ignore both the Chief Warlock and the Head of the DLME," Madam Bones said. "Most likely she'll try to make you carry the can for it."
Dumbledore looked grave. "Do try to think, Amelia. I do not believe that will be her first choice of response. Elections are in two years, after all, and she knows that she would not escape the débâcle unmarred. She might even be hounded from office immediately. No, I believe the easiest way would be for her to have Black suffer an 'unfortunate accident' on the way back to the DMLE cells."
"Oh. Yes, that could be the case. Bagnold is..."
"Career-oriented?"
Madam Bones flicked her wand, sending an additional privacy charm at the door. "Utterly ruthless and ridiculously power hungry, just like every Minister before her," she said grimly. "Unfortunately, transit to and from Azkaban is outside my direct authority - although I could lean on the Auror Office, through Scrimgeour."
She paused, and tapped her wand on the table thoughtfully. "In fact, Azkaban is meant to be out of the Minister's direct jurisdiction, too. How exactly did the three of you bypass the Wizengamot to get Black imprisoned in the first place?"
Half an hour later, she stared tiredly into her coffee mug. It was a mess, it really was. Dumbledore, in his capacity as Chief Warlock, had switched the usual Wizengamot arraignment papers for a bizarre waiver which Barty Crouch had come up with. Crouch had used his clout as then-Head of the DMLE to get the chief Auror to sign off on it. Then, while Dumbledore stonewalled the retraction of Bagnold's special wartime powers in the Wizengamot, the completely invented form had been delivered to the Minister's office for her to approve. It had been the last use of those wartime measures; the motion had carried scant minutes later.
Not a word had been spoken, apparently, between Crouch and Bagnold, which would give her plausible deniability if she were to argue that she'd never read the paperwork properly. Dumbledore, on the other hand, would crash and burn like a nine-broomstick pile-up.
Most Ministers of Magic in Britain's history would have happily signed off on even a Kiss without trial – although they might have stayed their arm in this particular case, given that it was the scion of a Noble and Most Ancient House in the cells.
But it was Dumbledore, in the throes of mercy, who had not sought execution. He had only pushed matters as he had because of his certainty that the Potters would have specified Black as a guardian to Harry Potter. An Imperius defence and a sack full of gold would have got him custody of the Boy Who Lived.
Albus had hinted before leaving that control of the Boy Who Lived was a much bigger deal than just political power. That was disquieting, but nothing she had the patience to follow up on now.
Amelia was having a hard time suppressing her disgust with the old wizard, but she had to admit to herself that, if she had been in his position, and knowing that Black was guilty as sin, she might have done the same thing.
At least he had the ba- the courage to do what was right. It would have been no effort at all for Dumbledore to simply shrug and announce that neither Black nor Lestrange had anything to do with the disappearance of Harry Potter.
Dumbledore, for his part, was passing through the Wand Registry Office on the way to see if a Priori Incantatem had been cast on Black's wand upon his arrest, when the word 'Potter' drifted into his ear. He stopped, and walked slowly behind the row of cubicles.
"-registered just three days ago, yeah, iffen I remember."
"Ollivanders', then?"
"O' course. The bleedin' Boy Who Lived wouldn't want some swishy foreign wand, would 'e?"
"So, he's Hogwarts age? That can't be right."
"Nah, that's the weird thing. He's only eight, accordin' to the records. Prob'ly they're givin' 'im some special trainin', bein' who he is, so got 'im a wand early. Hey, is that..."
Dumbledore stepped into the sight of the two young men, annoyed at himself. He should have thought to check all the Ministry departments. Given the secret nature of the investigation, information about Harry Potter wouldn't be automatically passed on to the Aurors.
"Ah, Miles," the Headmaster smiled. "And Joshua Jacobson, I believe? Discussing Harry Potter's recent wand purchase?"
"Er, yeah, Professor," said one of the young men working in the office, and glanced shrewdly at the elderly professor. "You're here to check he's not been doin' anything untoward with it, then?"
"Oh, I'm just passing through. Mr Potter has my full confidence," Dumbledore smiled. "I'm sure I would have heard if the Trace had shown him performing underage magic illegally."
Both men shook their heads. "Not that I've 'eard, sir," said Miles. "An' the Improper Use of Magic Office're meant to give us the carbon copies fer each wand's file iffen there's an incident."
"Capital. Carry on then, gentlemen," Dumbledore said, and spun on his heel, heading briskly off towards the atrium.
Why would Harry Potter be bought a wand? Now, if nothing had been detected from the wand in question, then either it was not being used, or it was being used close enough to adult wizards to confuse the Trace. Or it could be somewhere out of British sovereignty, where the Trace didn't extend – but that hardly seemed likely. Surely somebody would have noticed the Boy Who Lived leaving the country.
His next stop, then, had to be Ollivander's.
"Hello," Harry said, standing shyly by the doorframe, Prettyroot wrapped around his neck. He put A History Of Ironmongery carefully on the shelf above the coat rack, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
The small, elderly wizard in front of him, after recovering from falling off the doorstep, was boggling in surprise. He felt like boggling back. Badluk and Sibilig had told him the Council was going to try to bring a half-goblin into their confidence, but Harry really hadn't expected to met him so quickly.
"Filius, this is Harry Potter," Badluk said, waving a hand airily. "Harry, this is Professor Filius Flitwick the Useful. He is a Brother amongst Brothers."
Harry's foster father turned to Flitwick. "Do come in, Filius. Our dwelling is your dwelling."
The Charms professor shook Harry's hand in a daze, then squeaked, "Forgive me, but what is Harry Potter doing in Underfoot?"
"I will pour you a cup of bakh," Badluk said, closing the door behind Gurmsalt, "And tell you."
When the four of them were gathered around the kitchen table, Harry stared across at Filius Flitwick with open curiosity, amused that he was receiving an equally curious stare back.
Harry listened with half an ear as his foster father told the story of his adoption by the Brothers, and wondered exactly how the diminutive man had earned the glaumernom 'the Useful'.
He was also worried about how to address the visitor. Goblin custom called for recently-introduced elders to be called by their name, title and secret name if in private. But he wasn't sure if Flitwick qualified as an elder, and visitors in your own home could be called by just their name.
Of course, wizards had two names - most of the goblins called him 'Harry' or 'Harry Potter' interchangeably, if they were used to dealing with wizards, or ran 'Harrypotter' together as one name if they weren't. ...But then, Gringotts policy was to not call wizards by name at all, if possible.
"I like your snake, Harry," the tiny wizard said in his squeaky voice, smiling across at him. "A rock worm, yes? Is it a pet?"
"Yes, sir, she-"
"Please, call me Filius, Harry."
Well, that settled that.
"Yes, she is, Filius. We've know each other for ages. Her real name's Sssthsnnss, but most people can't pronounce that, so we just call her Prettyroot, and she... doesn't mind..."
His eyes flickered to Badluk when the goblin sighed theatrically. "Harry is a Parasolmouth," his foster father said, drawing out the last word as he rolled his eyes across at Harry.
Harry had remembered with some embarrassment that he shouldn't advertise his knowledge of Parseltongue. He looked sheepishly at Badluk for a moment before scowling as his ears caught up. "You said 'Parasolmouth' deliberately, didn't you?"
He turned back to Flitwick, who seemed vaguely uncomfortable. "I'm a Parselmouth, actually. I talk to snakes and some other reptiles, not umbrellas. Badluk is just jealous that he doesn't have a pet willing to sneak him food from the kitchen at night, yes?"
Flitwick smiled, then looked curious. "Other reptiles, too? Really?"
Harry grinned toothily across the table. "Only a few. I talk to any creature I find in the tunnels, and I try to test a few more in that Eeylops store on Diagon Alley whenever I get to go out and nobody is looking. It seems I can talk to slow-worms, and basically any type of true snake. Geckos are hard to understand, and the chameleons seemed interested in what I was saying but never replied. I wasn't sure if the monitor lizard didn't understand me, or if it was just sleepy. The Giant Galliwasp in the petshop was very talkative but I only understood about one word in three, he had such a strong accent."
Harry stopped to tell Prettyroot what he was talking about, and she whispered a reminder to him. "Oh, yes. I definitely can't talk to cave crocodiles or tunnel turtles, or any of the tortoises they had in Eeylops. The iguana ignored me. I haven't tried talking to dragons or wyverns or hydras but there's a few history books which agree that Parseltongue doesn't work on them. I've found two books with chapters on Parselmouths and one says we can talk to amphisbaena, and one says we can't, so I'm hoping to test that."
Harry nodded in satisfaction with his own account and sat back.
"Fascinating," Flitwick chirped, peering at him and looking genuinely pleased at this revelation. "I don't pretend to know a lot about the ability, but it's interesting to hear that it doesn't only cover true serpents. What group do rock worms fall under, do you know?"
"They're not really related to any non-magical animals," Harry said, tickling Prettyroot's spine as she crawled onto the table. "They're descended from the ancient wyrms, just like water wyrms, dragons and wyverns. The books show that water wyrms look really similar to rock worms, so maybe they speak Parseltongue too. They're meant to be really rare, though."
"Well, I hope you'll keep me updated on your research," Flitwick smiled.
The eight-year-old nodded uncertainly. "If I can."
Badluk placed a bowl of zesty glakk roots on the kitchen table. "Filius is a teacher at Hogwarts, Harry. You will probably see him a lot."
"Ah, you are going to attend Hogwarts, then," Flitwick said. "I admit I was concerned, when I first saw you, that you would not be returning to the wizarding world..."
Harry could tell there was a hidden question there, but the conversation was in English, and he wasn't as well-versed in its subtleties as he was Gobbledegook.
"It would be considered a major affront if he did not," Gurmsalt said, toying with a half-eaten root.
Flitwick nodded slightly, then turned back to Harry. "I teach Charms, and I'm responsible for Ravenclaw House, the choir and the Gobstones Club at Hogwarts. That last one's a lot of fun, if messy."
Harry had seen Hogwarts Houses mentioned in the wizarding genealogy book he had pored over, but hadn't a clue what a gobstone was. A goblinstone was the eye-wateringly recursive keystone used in the most expensive goblin wards, the ones that didn't follow normal geometry... but it didn't sound like it was related, from context.
"I'd imagine you have a lot of questions, perhaps about the wider world as well as Hogwarts," the tiny professor prompted.
"Yes, sir – er, Filius. Hundreds."
"Excellent!" Filius squeaked.
"Actually, I already have quite a few books talking about history and politics from wizard and goblin perspectives, and I've started reading the easier books on wizard magic. But they don't touch on-" Harry fumbled for the word- "deeper things. How do things work? Why do things fall, and where does magic come from, and why is there one sun, and is it magic that makes it warmer deeper down in the earth, and why do people look like their parents? My learning has been more, er, practical in Underfoot."
He glanced at Badluk, hoping his foster father knew he wasn't trying to disparage a goblin education. But the slight grimace on the manager's lips was one Harry recognised as wry amusement. Of course, he was probably reflecting that Harry had a marked tendency to bring up rather different questions to those young goblins asked.
"Does Hogwarts teach things like that?" Harry continued.
Flitwick blinked. "Underlying theories are emphasised in some classes, such as transfiguration and arithmancy, and you will certainly learn about the sun in Astronomy, but it really sounds like what you need is a book of natural philosophy, such as Hendrick the Half-Damned wrote... or even a primer on muggle science."
"Science." Harry frowned. "I've heard the word, but not a good translation of it in Gobbledegook. It means something like ...rigorous exploration, right? Something closer to the principles of economics than to artistry, but also sort of like, well, debating, or philosophy?"
Flitwick paused, obviously deciding how to answer. "Wizards sometimes call it muggle magic, but that's not really right. I'm no expert, but I would say that science is the tool the muggles use to examine the functioning of the world, just as we use arithmantic principles to examine the functioning of a spell. The things that muggles learn about the world helps them make Technology, which really is muggle magic."
Badluk, who had been listening to the conversation with undisguised amusement, said, "We can arrange to have some human muggle books bought through Gringotts. I do not imagine that there is a great selection of them in the Underfoot library."
"No," agreed Harry.
"No. There is not." Gurmsalt shook his head. "Our kind argued long against the Statute of Secrecy, but that was more for business interests than the mutual exchange of ideas. At the time, the magical races were far more learned in every area one might be interested in. That the human muggles have built new frontiers of knowledge after our societies separated is an unforeseen event."
Flitwick frowned briefly. "I didn't know that."
"It is hardly a secret." Gurmsalt's eyes glittered. "But it is not surprising that you do not... if the conceits of the buffoons at the Liaison Office are representative of the history taught by wizards."
Harry heard Filius mutter something like "bins", then take out a notebook and a length of polished wood which Harry recognised.
The half-goblin spoke as he jotted something down with the wand, words appearing neatly as the tip moved across the page. "I should be able to find a few relevant books to lend you, Harry. I mentioned Hendrick's tome, but it might be a bit ...advanced. Now, the ancient Greek sorcerers, in particular, established a lot of our ideas about the world. Then there is some excellent work by the Swiss gnomes on the basic functioning of magic... perhaps even an introductory Alchemy text could be useful, as long as I can find one where you won't drown in the jargon..."
The two adult goblins were scowling at the wand. Harry looked carefully from it to them, trying to judge their mood. "I got a wand for my birthday," he volunteered carefully.
The tiny professor looked up, eyes alight. He clearly knew where Harry was going with that. "Ah, excellent. And you're keen to try wizard magic, hmmm?"
Harry nodded eagerly. "I have Adalbert Waffling's Magical Theory, and I've tried the exercises from it, but I really don't know where to begin with spells. From what I can tell, they're very different from goblin-charms. Even wizarding enchantment isn't at all like the way we forge magic into metal."
Flitwick's look of pleasant surprise, which had appeared at the mention of Waffling's book, grew deeper. "You've learned goblin spells? Wonderful! I hope you'll teach me some, if the Brotherhood permits it."
Harry blinked at him in confusion, and the two managers chorused, "You are a Brother amongst Brothers."
Flitwick shook his head in bemusement. "I may never get used to that," he said solemnly in his high-pitched voice. "Well, we are not required to abide by the Ministry under-age magic laws here, in the depths of the enclave. Do you have your wand here, Harry?"
Harry took it out. He tried not smile at the fact that Badluk's scowl at the sight of this wand was much less pronounced.
"Ah, good. Now, the key to wand magic lies in the movement, pronunciation and focus. We'll start with the least demanding spell I know, the Whistle Charm. It just makes a single shrill note. Hold your wand like this. The incantation is simply Barba, but you have to roll the 'r'..."
Half an hour later Harry was sitting on his bed, Prettyroot coiled sleepily in his lap. He was wiggling his wand and muttering, still trying to cast the spell. Flitwick had assured him he had grasped the basic form of the charm, and now just needed to learn to direct his magic firmly.
It really was very unlike goblin-charms, which drew on ambient magic when they were cast and usually grew stronger over a few hours before fading away. Having to use his own magical core and then direct that through a wand, rather than his fingers, was quite taxing. In fact, Harry was beginning to feel that knowing goblin magic might actually be making it harder for him to learn wizard magic.
...Or maybe he was simply being unreasonable to expect progress after so short a time.
He had left to keep practising in the quiet of his room when the adults had started talking about Council matters. Amongst those matters was the question of what the Brotherhood was going to tell the Ministry of Magic about him, Harry. Of course, he was glad that with the passing of his threefold test, he was trusted to listen to such things if he wanted to. But he knew that more experienced heads than his were considering matters, and they'd ask for his input if they wanted it.
Besides, magic was so much more interesting.
"Ah, Albus. Twelve inches, weeping willow and nundu tongue, wasn't it? Well, once upon a time, anyway – a strange combination, very strange indeed, but I understand that you did some unquestionably brilliant things with it. I trust your new wand is serving you well, though?"
Dumbledore had forgotten just how trying it was to visit Ollivander.
"Indeed it is, thank you. I hope I find you in good health, Roderick?"
The silver-eyed man moved quietly forward out of the gloom of the small shop. "Yes, actually, and thank you, Albus." He paused. "You are here about young Harry Potter."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly. "I am," he admitted. "Have rumours reached the streets already?"
Ollivander shrugged a negligent shoulder, and turned to dust off a shelf. "Barely. I have heard only a whisper here, seen a stray thought there. Has he really gone missing?"
Albus hesitated, then sat down on the spindly chair near the front of the shop and cast a privacy charm. "I'm afraid he has. There is a high-level Auror investigation under way. He was supposed to have been placed with his relatives."
"There is always a gap between that which is supposed to happen and that what does. Sometimes the gap is unbridgeable, sometimes it is very narrow indeed. But always, we find a gap."
The Headmaster ignored this. He was fairly sure he was having his own words quoted back at him, anyway. "Could you tell me what happened when he came to buy a wand, Roderick?"
Ollivander dusted another shelf. "He came disguised, guarded by Gringotts goblins, along with Boris Scintillion – alder wand, the best you can have for wards – and had a very strong result from the brother wand to the Dark Lord's, which he purchased." The wandmaker smiled thinly. "He also complimented me on my Invisible Runes."
Dumbledore took in these revelations. "Invisible Runes?" he asked at last.
"Just one of the secrets of the wand-carver's trade. They act as – well, I doubt you have the background knowledge to understand it." Ollivander gave a prim little smile. "It would be a good metaphor, although entirely inaccurate in almost every way, to say that they act as a key, unlocking the magic used in every spell. Every wizard's wand has them, and never before has a customer in my shop seen them. I can only assume that Mr Scintillion has made a special study of them, in his professional capacity, and shared it with Mr Potter."
Dumbledore stood up, mind beginning to race. The news about the wand was troubling, in more ways than one, but now at least they had a name to go on. Scintillion, he recalled, was a curse-breaker and former ward expert, a long-term contractor for Gringotts. Did the goblin nation have Harry? It was almost unthinkable, and yet...
He frowned deeply and made his departure. No, there was a much more likely option. The goblin-oath would prevent Scintillion from speaking about anything done on Gringotts business. Possibly someone – someone who didn't wish to show their own face – had simply contracted Gringotts to provide security for Harry Potter's trip to Diagon Alley.
On the other hand, it took powerful magic to deflect Ministry-grade tracking charms and post owls, as was currently happening. The goblins protected their meeting rooms with magic like that. Blood wards could do it, too, to some extent, and would have done at the Dursleys' house. What else could it be? Albus was fairly sure that he was one of perhaps a dozen wizards in the world who not only knew of the Fidelius charm, but could cast it.
It could be, he reflected uneasily, that he would have to wait on the Founders' legacy to resolve his questions. The magic they had left to Hogwarts would be used to address letters to every school age witch and wizard in Britain, and in three years' time, Harry would surely number amongst them.
Author's notes:
→ Things have been pretty hectic at my university, hence the long time between updates. I tend to write huge swathes of notes on what will happen in much later chapters, so hopefully writing will get faster and faster as I have a more and more detailed framework for each new chapter. On the other hand, it means I get 'story bloat'.
→ A note on inheritance. According to film canon, both of Sirius' grandfathers would have been alive at this point in time. I'm changing this so that the Black grandfather is deceased. Since in this fic the title is passed like a baton from heir, lord or regent to heir, lord or regent, Regulus put Sirius in the line for inheritance again after he rebelled against Voldemort. Since Sirius' father died after Sirius was kicked out, the order goes... Lord Orion Black (deceased) → Lord Regulus Black (deceased) → Lord Sirius Black (legally deceased) → Regent Andromeda Tonks → Lord Harry Potter (now of age).
→ I know that some people want to read things like Harry becoming a phoenix animagus, or the Heir of Gryffindor, or whatever. I must say, I see these as the most boring, unbalanced and ridiculous tropes. The use of Lords of Ancient And Most Noble Houses is the furthest I'm prepared to go in this non-canon direction. I want to be clear: there is no special magical power associated with such titles; they are only used for politicking.
→ Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing, please continue to do so!