When Harry woke up on Saturday, the first day of February, it was with both dread and excitement. Dread because they would be visiting the grave of his parents. Subdued excitement to be visiting his vault.
Needless to say, Harry was having trouble eating breakfast, while Ginny and Ron tried to make conversation.
"Harry, I was thinking about throwing Luna a party," Ginny said.
"Hmm?" Harry said distractedly, busy pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he jerked up.
"What?" he said in an annoyed tone.
Ginny just looked at him for a moment. Then she relented, with a sigh and rolling her eyes, "I'm thinking of throwing Luna a birthday party in two weeks, but I'm not sure when or where."
"When's her birthday again?" Ron asked, saving Harry the effort of speaking.
"February 13th, it's a Thursday, so normally, I'd say let's throw a party on Friday, but that's Valentine's day," Ginny said.
"Oh, right," Harry said.
When neither Ron nor Harry said anything more, Ginny groaned. "Ugh, you guys are so boring. Let me take care of it."
Harry shrugged and then turned to Ron. He wasn't in the mood to think about parties or Valentine's day.
"So, what are you doing today?"
Ron thought for a moment, "Well, I'll save the homework for tomorrow, so we can do it together."
Harry nodded his thanks. Ginny scoffed and shook her head. Harry assumed she thought Ron didn't need an excuse to not do his homework.
"So," Ron continued, "I'll practice for McGonagall and work on some other ideas I've had."
"Ideas?" Harry asked. He hadn't heard Ron mention anything about this.
"You know, like trying to make spells invisible, stuff like that. Can I use your Instant Letter? Fred & George are bound to have some ideas about stuff like that. I mean, they already made those hats that made your head invisible, right?"
"Yeah, sure!" Harry said, wondering what else Ron would come up with.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore standing up from the Head Table. Harry stood up as well. So fast, in fact, he bumped the table so hard Ron's pumpkin juice spilt over it.
"Shit, sorry," he apologized distractedly. Neville, who had just come up to them, took out his wand and wordlessly vanished the mess.
"Nicely done, Neville!" Ginny complimented him.
Neville shrugged and smirked self-deprecating, "I use that spell a lot, you know how clumsy I am."
While Neville took Harry's place at the table, Ginny whispered "good luck", reaching out to squeeze his hand.
Harry waited until Dumbledore approached, greeting the headmaster.
"Good morning, Mr Potter, are you ready for our little excursion?" the old man smiled genially.
"Yes, sir," Harry said, not sure if that was a lie or not.
As they made their way onto the Hogwarts grounds Dumbledore spoke up again. "I tried to get Remus to join us, but sadly, he was otherwise engaged."
"Order stuff?" Harry guessed. He hoped Remus would have shown if had been anything else.
Dumbledore nodded. "Would you rather visit Gringotts or Godric's Hollow first?"
Harry thought about it. "Are we sure we can get into Gringotts?" He questioned.
"I'm sure that won't be a problem. For a wizard, my relations with the Gringotts Goblins are rather good, that is to say, we treat each other respectfully," the Headmaster responded.
"Then, Godrics Hallow first," Harry said, swallowing away the lump in his throat.
When they made their way out of the Hogwarts gates, Harry thought he felt it when he passed through the wards.
"Yes," Dumbledore mused, noticing Harry's reaction, "with the wards as thick as they are, it is sometimes possible to feel them."
Harry nodded, reaching out to grab the Headmaster's proffered arm. They arrived with a slight stumble, Dumbledore having to grab Harry's arm to keep from falling over.
"My excuses, Harry," Dumbledore said, a frown on his face, "It's been quite a while since I've been here. I miscalculated a bit there,"
"It's okay, sir," Harry said distractedly. He was already looking around in interest.
"What do you know about Godric's Hollow, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as he led them toward what Harry supposed was the town square.
"Er, not much," Harry confessed, "I'm assuming it has to do with Gryffindor in some way?"
"Nicely deducted, Harry," the older man chuckled, "Indeed, this town was named after its most famous former inhabitant: Godric Gryffindor. But as you know, many a famous witch and wizard have lived here."
Harry looked around, the town did seem to have an old look to it. Not dilapidated, but grand, or rather, ancestral.
"As I believe I told you already," Dumbledore continued, "Bathilda Bagshot lives here. And your classmate, Hannah Abbott does as well. When we visit the cemetery, I dare say you'll find many familiar surnames: there are some Fleamonts buried here, Prewetts, Rosiers, Peverells, even some Quirrells, all families that have since left Godrics Hollow."
"But muggles do live here? Hogsmeade is the only all-magical village in Britain, right?" Harry questioned.
Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, but as Godric's Hollow is one of the few towns in Great Britain that was founded by solely magical people, it remains one of the few in which the magical population outweighs the muggle population. But that also has to do with the fact that most witches or wizards don't live in cities or towns. Apart from those residing in places like Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, most choose to live away from others."
Harry guessed this was right. Potter House was in the middle of New Forest, the Weasleys, Lovegoods and Diggorys all lived away from others as well. He imagined the Malfoys wouldn't live in a city or town either.
They turned a corner. There, at the edge of the town square was the town's church with a cemetery next to it and a statue in front of it.
"Sir? Is the church muggle?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore stopped walking. "Why do you ask?" he asked curiously.
"Well, it's just that, I've never even heard anyone, magical that is, mention anything about religion. I know Luna believes in some sort of afterlife, but well, she isn't representative of the wider magical population. But my parents were buried next to this church, right? Does that mean they were religious?"
"An astute observation, Harry," Dumbledore said, "What do you remember from your History of magic classes?"
Truth be told, Harry thought, not a lot. But he wasn't going to tell Dumbledore that! He stretched his mind back as far as he could, trying to remember anything about religion mixing with magic.
"I mean, there were a lot of witch burnings, right?"
Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling. Harry suspected he knew exactly how little he remembered from his History of Magic classes.
"There certainly are places on earth where religion and magic, either muggle or actual magic, mix. But here, in Great Britain, the two have long been separated. It wasn't unheard of in the early medieval period for priests to be wizards. They saw their magic as a gift from their god. But when the muggle population turned against the use of magic, most witches and wizards left the organized religions they had been part of."
Dumbledore looked contemplative. "You could make the argument, however, that they never stopped "believing", but rather replaced what they used to believe in with a higher power they could readily see and use: magic."
"Would you say that is why certain traditions like Christmas, are kept alive, even if most magical people aren't necessarily religious?" Harry asked.
"That might indeed have something to do with it," Dumbledore said, smiling. "But let us leave these philosophical questions for later. There is something you must see first."
They walked on in silence, their destination being the statue.
As Harry came closer he could see it was a memorial for fallen soldiers. He wondered why Dumbledore wanted to show him this.
But as he came even closer the statue suddenly shifted. The obelisk covered in names, shrunk but got wider. Instead of one long object, there were now two smaller ones. People sitting next to each other. They were holding something in their arms.
As Harry looked closer he began to recognize certain familiar details. The left person was a man with untidy hair and glasses. Next to him was a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face. They were holding a baby.
Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents' faces. He had never imagined there would be a statue. How strange it was to see himself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on his forehead.
"Yes," Dumbledore said softly, understanding Harry's unspoken questions. "It was placed here not even a week after that fateful Halloween. It was commissioned by the Ministry of Magic."
Harry looked at it again, in silent contemplations, the what-ifs filling his mind
"Will we go see the cottage?" he asked. He knew he owned it, but he wondered what state it was in.
"If you want," the Headmaster said, inclining his head, "would you prefer to visit there first?"
Harry shrugged. He didn't know what he wanted.
"Let us go visit the cottage first, then go back to visit your parents' graves," Dumbledore said, deciding for him with a heavy tone.
Harry followed him in silence, not paying that much attention to the houses around him. But he did pay attention to the route they were taking. They'd passed the church on the left hand side, turned left into a street and continued until they turned right into the third street. There, at the end of the street, a dark mass blossomed.
Harry felt the weather was appropriate for this visit. It was dreary and overcast with a strong wind. His flapping cloak and the noises made by the swinging trees made Harry feel like he was walking in some kind of post-apocalyptic world. For some reason, this helped straighten out his feelings.
Unknowingly, he had sped up, leaving Dumbledore a couple of steps behind. Then he came to a stop and looked at the place that had once been his home, his first home.
The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since Hagrid had taken him from the rubble that still lay scattered amongst the now waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy.
The left side, though, had been blown apart from the inside. Harry knew for certain that was where it had happened. He had seen enough Avada Kedavra's being used to know of its power.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, from somewhere behind him, "the house has been left with a scar. Nobody has ever tried, as far as I know, but this damage is irreparable, by magical means at least. The magic that clashed here, it must've been tremendous."
Harry just stood there, staring at it, taking in every little detail he could see. There were a lot of planters around, now growing different kinds of weeds.
"Touch the fence, Harry," Dumbledore encouraged him.
Harry hesitated for a second, then reached out and grasped the thickly rusted gate. He thought it felt good to hold a part of his history like this. Then, a sign sprouted out of the ground, like a flower trapped in that time loop he had seen in the Department of Mysteries.
The sign told the story of the house. But Harry was more interested in the scribbles surrounding the official text. Years of encouraging messages had been left, the newer ones all saying things like "we believe you, Harry," or good luck messages. Harry thought it was brilliant.
"Can we go in?" he asked, looking back at Dumbledore, who nodded.
"The magic your mother used is still present, I hardly think anything dark could get through," he explained.
Harry opened the gate, the creaking sending shivers down his spine. He walked up to the house, slowly, like he had to convince himself with every step to continue.
As he walked up, he felt his scar beginning to sting and he stopped. He knew Voldemort wouldn't be here, but still.
"Sir? My scar…"
Dumbledore smiled sadly, "yes, I would imagine it would hurt being here,"
"Is it because it's a remnant of dark magic?" Harry questioned.
Dumbledore nodded but didn't explain further.
Harry turned around and walked up to the front door, which only hang on half of its hinges.
He stepped his first two steps into the cottage and stopped, standing in the hallway.
What was immediately clear was that whatever had stopped dark creatures from entering the house, had not prevented dust from settling, as everything was absolutely covered by it. Except for one place near the stairs. Harry couldn't be sure but he thought he saw an outline, like the layer of dust there was thinner somehow.
Was that where…?
He quickly continued, hearing Dumbledore enter behind him.
He entered through the left-hand door and stepped into the living room. He looked around with bated breath, hoping for some memory to come back, or recognition to spark. He couldn't suppress the disappointment when neither happened.
But memories were held in this place, in the form of photos. They were everywhere, possibly giving Harry a small glimpse into what it was like to be unable to leave your house for your safety. Harry would have gone crazy, knowing his friends were out there risking their lives. He knew Sirius had struggled with it. He assumed his dad had too.
Most of the photo's he recognized from his albums, but there were a couple of ones Harry didn't have. There was one depicting his father with a cat perched upon his head. Had they owned a cat? What had happened to it? Others featured his mother with her friends. He grabbed one such picture. His mother was posing with four friends, at the shores of the black lake at Hogwarts. They looked to be about fifteen or sixteen.
Harry hadn't looked at the album in months, but now he looked at this picture of his mother, he remembered what Slughorn had said. She and Ginny didn't look alike, apart from the hair colour, of course, though the texture wasn't the same. His mum didn't have freckles and she was taller than Ginny. But both were pretty, Harry thought.
He shifted his focus to the other girls. One he recognized as Marlene McKinnon, who had been part of the Order as well. The others he didn't recognize, and they weren't all Gryffindors either. He could see two Hufflepuff ties and one Ravenclaw.
He looked back at where Dumbledore was standing, studying the photos as well.
"Sir? Could you tell me who my mum's friends were?" he asked, handing Dumbledore the photograph.
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said smiling, he pointed at the most left one, a tall and heavy-set girl with blonde hair. "Mary MacDonald, Hufflepuff, the same year as your parents. She fell victim to a nasty prank in their fifth year due to her blood status. She fled to the United States almost immediately after she graduated, partly due to her boyfriend being American, I believe," Dumbledore said pensively.
"Then, Marlene McKinnon, have you heard about her?" he continued.
Harry nodded, so Dumbledore pointed at the third girl instead. This girl had black hair, wore a Ravenclaw tie and had a stern expression, though Harry thought he could see her lips twitch as she tried to maintain her expression.
"Cassia Barlow, Ravenclaw," Dumbledore said, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what happened to her. I do remember they had a big falling out in their sixth year, although I'm not sure what the cause was."
Harry thought that name sounded familiar, but he wasn't sure.
The fourth girl in the picture was Harry's mum, so their focus shifted to the fifth girl. She had curly sandy brown hair and was for some reason missing a front tooth. It was undeniable Alice Longbottom, who Harry had not recognised at first. In the only photo he had seen of her, she had had her hair short.
"Yes, Mr Longbottom's mother, in this photo still a Fawley. She's a year older than the rest of the girls in this photo," Dumbledore commented.
Harry looked at the photo and sighed sadly. He didn't know what he expected but he was still sad to learn that none of his Mum's friends seemed to be around anymore, albeit in different ways.
"I gather you had not yet seen some of these photographs?" Dumbledore noted.
Harry shook his head.
"Why don't you call Kreacher and ask him to transfer them to Potter Manor?" Dumbledore suggested.
Harry smiled. "Good idea, sir, I will, but I want to see the rest of the house first."
The kitchen was also coated in dust, so they slowly made their way up to the stairs of the two-floored house. Somebody, probably Remus, had removed all the food from the cupboards.
The steps creaked as Harry made his way up, Dumbledore following sombrely.
Harry kept looking down until he arrived on the landing. Then, he slowly looked up. Two doors on this floor were closed. The other one was missing. Through the doorframe, he could see the sky outside. There was a crib to the left of the room he was looking in.
He let out a shuddering breath.
There it was.
His scar, which had been hurting the entire time, gave a sudden pinch and he rubbed the back of his hand against it. It made sense it would hurt the most at the place where he had gotten it, he thought.
He stood in the doorframe, not daring to fully enter the room. He looked around the room. There was a crib near the wall to the left, across from the gaping hole in the walls and ceiling. In his crib lay what Harry supposed used to be a flying chime of some sort. It was rather small, but Harry thought he could at least recognize the miniature broomsticks that had once flown around it.
The dresser featured more photos of himself as a baby. Harry smiled as he spotted the large Gryffindor quilt on the wall. There was a visible discolouration from where the sun had shone through the hole in the wall.
"Harry?" a soft voice inquired from behind him, spooking him. He had completely forgotten Dumbledore was there also.
Harry swallowed. "I…" but he didn't say anything more. He just turned around. He had seen enough. He brushed past the Headmaster and quickly made his way down the stairs and stepped outside of the house.
He breathed in deeply.
Then, remember what Dumbledore had suggested, he called for Kreacher.
He popped in immediately, looking around himself wearily.
"Master Harry called?" he said in a polite tone of voice before he continued whispering to himself. "What is this place, Kreacher wonders. Very powerful magic in the air, oh yes…"
If it hadn't been for where they were, Harry would have probably noticed Kreacher's politeness. But Harry felt like he could hardly keep himself together. He had never been good at controlling his emotions, and the only reason he wasn't outwardly acting out was that the turmoil inside hadn't yet resulted in a clear winner. He simply didn't know whether to prioritise anger or grief.
"Hello, Kreacher," Dumbledore said from behind, "do you know where we are?"
Kreacher shook his head, "Kreacher doesn't know, Headmaster Dumbledore."
"We are at Potter cottage, where the one you will know as the Dark Lord first fell, 15 years ago," Dumbledore explained to the elf.
Kreacher's eyes widened in what Harry thought was fear, not the admiration Harry might have expected, considering his former masters. He couldn't remember whether he had ever been in Kreacher's presence when Voldemort was discussed, so he didn't know whether this reaction was unusual for the elf.
"And what does Master Harry want Kreacher to do?" Kreacher croaked, his eyes wide.
"I want you to go into the house and retrieve all the personal items left there: photos, books, diaries, letters, basically everything that isn't furniture. Bring it over to Potter House and put it all together in one of the rooms. Can you do that?" Harry asked.
Kreacher seemed to relax a little, before nodding and popping away.
- In Her Memory -
Harry had made it a point not to think about all the things he might think about when he was confronted with his parents' graves for the first time. But if he had, realizing his mother would have turned 37 just that past Thursday, wouldn't have been on the list. Somehow he had never quite realized how young they had been.
January 30th, 1960. That's when Lily Evans had been born. His father had been born on the 27th of March. His mum had been older than his dad. He wondered whether they had joked about that. Considering what he knew about his father, he probably had. He should ask Remus about that, Harry told himself.
The stone itself was of white marble. In Harry's mind, this meant that it had not been commissioned by Petunia. Harry could not even imagine she would choose something so nice.
The flowers surrounding the stone seemed to be charmed. Otherwise, they would not have been in bloom in January.
Harry figured that that's what was meant by the message on the stone: "The last enemy that shall be defeated is death."
At first, Harry had mistaken it for a Death Eater idea. But with the flowers and white marble, which seemed to shine in the dark, the picture gave an impression of life, even in death. He figured that's what was meant by whoever had commissioned the message.
He turned around to ask Dumbledore who had commissioned the graves, but the Headmaster stood two rows further back, staring at a different grave.
With a last look at his parents' names, Harry made his way over to Dumbledore. The headmaster was whispering and Harry only caught the last part of what he said: "… you proud."
The dark tombstone was much older than his parents had been. It also held two names: Kendra Dumbledore and Ariana Dumbledore. Both had passed away in 1899, Ariana aged only 14.
"Your mother and sister, sir?" Harry inquired softly.
He was surprised to hear Dumbledore let out a shuddered breath. The Headmaster smiled sadly at him but didn't respond. Harry didn't need an answer anyway, he could see it on his face. Did Dumbledore look almost … guilty? But, also determined in some way.
"Are you okay, sir?" he asked.
"Yes, Harry, thank you. Forgive an old man his emotions, will you? I was supposed to be here in support of you," Dumbledore said.
Harry shrugged, a tiny smile tugging on his lips. "It's clear you loved your mother and sister, sir, there's nothing to forgive."
Something shot through the Headmaster's eyes, but it was gone before Harry could analyse what it could have been.
"Was there something you wanted to ask, Harry?" the Headmaster asked instead.
"Oh, yes, that message on the tombstone, about defeating death? Does it mean that life exists even in death?"
Dumbledore, who had by now regained his usual demeanour, looked thoughtful. "That's one way to explain the sentiment, yes. Another would be that death isn't the end for us, in whatever way you envision it."
Before Harry could say anything about the discussion they had had early that day, Dumbledore continued. "Well, I guess I must amend that statement somewhat. 'Life after death, in whatever way you envision', yes, but crucially, not in the shape of portraits."
"Why not?" Harry asked before he frowned, "Now you mention it, I guess I had expected there to be at least some portraits of family members at Potter House."
"The Potter family has traditionally not believed in the use of magical portraits," Dumbledore explained. "The actual reason I don't know, it was kept in the family, although I have theories."
"Of course you have theories," Harry said wryly, and Dumbledore chuckled.
"Yes, my guess is that the Potters of old decided that what is dead should stay dead. Even a facsimile of life, like a ghost or a portrait, was looked down on by them. You could even argue that the Potters, who were mostly sorted into Gryffindor, might have seen the idea that one needed to leave something behind that could speak as a failure of some kind."
Harry frowned. He wasn't sure what to make of that.
"But," Dumbledore continued, "I do know for certain that there have to be some non-magic portraits of family members, somewhere, because the use of such "mugglish tendencies" was used as one of the arguments that led to the Potters being labelled as "blood traitors" in the earliest years of this century."
"What were the other reasons?" Harry asked interestedly. He really should look up some history of his own family.
"Depending on how far back you want to," Dumbledore said, as they made their way out of the graveyard, "Well, centuries ago, the first big reason was the Potters were in favour of the Statute of Secrecy, as opposed to going to war with the muggles."
It showed the dismal state of the History of Magic class that Harry hadn't even known about the possibility of open warfare between the Muggles and the Magical world.
"Then various centuries of siding with so-called pro-muggle laws, like the abolition of muggle-hunting, up to your great-grandfather wanting Magical Britain to aid Muggle Britain in the first World War. That's around the time your family was no longer considered a "sacred" pure-blood family."
Harry couldn't help but feel proud of his family. It sure sounded like they had always been progressive politically. Even if they had been pure-blood up until he and his mum.
"Yes," Dumbledore smiled, as always being quite aware of what he was thinking, "you truly are a Potter, Harry."
- In Her Memory -
It was weird, walking through Diagon Alley in the company of Albus Dumbledore. Harry was quite used to being stared at, but he wasn't quite used to people making room for him the way people seemed to do for Dumbledore. It was almost like he had cast an Imperturbable charm on himself.
As the white marble of Gringotts Wizarding Bank raised in front of him, Harry thought of something. Something that potentially could be very bad.
"Gringotts is the safest place in the world for anything you want to keep safe – except maybe Hogwarts,"
The words Hagrid had told him the first time he had come to Diagon Alley came back to him. As they made their way up the stairs he read the message engraved in the large doors. You had to be mad to break into Gringotts, Hagrid had said. But Voldemort had done that not even 24 hours later.
And if you had to hide something very important… Harry swallowed.
"Sir?" He spoke up, making Dumbledore stop and look back at him.
"What is it, Harry?" he asked, frowning when he saw Harry's wide-eyed look.
"Do you think…" he hesitated, aware that they were in public. He had to make a statement vague enough but somehow get his message across. Dumbledore quickly cottoned on that he couldn't talk out loud here. "Let's wait until we are back at Hogwarts, Harry."
Harry nodded and followed Dumbledore into Gringotts. Walking up to Gringotts he had wondered how Dumbledore and the Goblins would treat each other. He knew Dumbledore had a lot of respect for the other magical races, so he guessed their relationship would be as cordial as it could be.
Unsurprisingly, Dumbledore greeted the goblin at the nearest free counter in Gobbledegook. Harry assumed that this was something that would please the Goblins.
Harry couldn't understand what they were saying, though the process was smooth. The goblin left and came back with another goblin not a minute later.
This goblin came up to Harry. He bowed, only slightly sarcastically it seemed, toward Dumbledore and squinted menacingly at Harry.
"Mr Potter, I'm Geldgraag, your account manager. May I ask why you are here? You are not yet 17."
"Hello, Geldgraag, nice to meet you," Harry said, trying his best to pronounce the "G"s as Geldgraag had. His only reward was a sneer. "I'm aware I'm not yet seventeen," he answered, and, remembering something Bill had told him and Ron about the Goblin's sense of humour, he continued, "but as it's quite likely I won't live to see my seventeenth with Voldemort around, I thought I'd ask if I could see the vaults anyway."
Geldgraag didn't smile but his sneer lessened. Harry considered it a victory.
"I'm sure that isn't a problem?" Dumbledore inquired politely.
Geldgraag looked up at him and grumbled something in Gobbledegook. Dumbledore said something back. Geldgraag nodded and spoke to Harry again.
"We will have to subtract a fee," he explained.
"Sure," Harry said, happy that they managed to convince him.
A couple of minutes later they sat down in one of the cars.
They took the familiar path to his vault, but instead of stopping they continued, diving deeper and deeper. Harry saw flashes of magic in corridors that shot by. Harry swore he saw something huge move at one point, but before he could discern whether it was a dragon he was distracted by a sudden dousing of water. Looking over his shoulder he saw they had ridden through a waterfall.
With a simple wave of his wand, Dumbledore dried them both and then, speaking up to be heard over the racket made by the cart, he explained: "That was a Goblin invention called 'Thieves Downfall', it washes away all enchantments and concealments. It's an ingenious bit of magic."
Coming from Dumbledore, that was certainly a huge compliment. Harry couldn't help but surreptitiously check himself to see if anything had changed. He was glad to see nothing had. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore wave his wand over his blackened one. Because of the darkness and the speed with which they were travelling, he couldn't tell for sure what Dumbledore had done.
A minute later, with screeching brakes, the cart came to a halt. As they were slowing down, Harry could see multiple vault doors. They were all extensively decorated and often bore crests signalling their ownership.
The vault in front of which they stopped was no different. The name "Potter" was elegantly engraved on the door, in the sort of medieval lettering that Harry associated with monks and monasteries. There were many different plants depicted, probably referencing the Potter family's history with potion-making.
Geldgraag walked up to the doors and waved Harry over. Dumbledore walked with Harry and spoke up.
"Ah, yes, correct me if I'm wrong, Geldgraag, but these older vaults often used blood keys, didn't they?"
Geldgraag just sneered at him and removed a small, ceremonial-looking dagger from inside his Gringotss uniform.
"What do I need to do?" Harry asked.
"I will need some of your blood, to key you into the vault," Geldgraag explained.
"Just a drop will do," Dumbledore said.
Geldgraag waved his free hand toward the vault door and then toward the dagger. He beckoned Harry over, and when Harry offered his hands, roughly grabbed his hand and pricked his middle finger. The dagger absorbed the blood and began emitting a soft glow.
Geldgraag walked over and put the dagger into a thin hole that Harry hadn't seen yet.
Then, with the characteristic sound of heavy, old doors that haven't been opened in a while, the vault opened.
The first thing Harry saw was the mountain of galleons. Just like the first time he had seen the vault he now knew was just a minor vault that was refilled every summer. Then his eye caught the other items in the vault and his heart skipped a beat. Even if he had had some indication of what was in this vault, the sight of what the thought were two chests of drawers and the boxes that he knew held photos and jewellery made his stomach queasy with nerves.
Dumbledore gave him the space to enter on his own. As he set his first step into the vault, magical lights turned on and he saw that he was right. Aside from the huge pile of gold, that dwarfed the pile in his Minor vault, he also saw some mannequins, made to display jewellery. Curious, he stepped close to investigate.
His eye caught a tasteful necklace, housing a dark green stone. Harry knew immediately that his father had bought this necklace for his mother. The stone had the exact same colour as her, and Harry's, eyes. He tried to picture his mother wearing the necklace, but for some reason, he could only think of Ginny wearing it.
Reaching out, he took it off the mannequin and studied it more closely.
"Goblin-made, that is," Geldgraag sneered from the entrance, "worth –"
But Harry interrupted him. "I don't care how much it's worth." He put the necklace in a Gringotts bag. It would be a good birthday gift to Ginny, he thought.
Next, he opened up one of the chests and saw it was filled with books. He eagerly made to look at them, which made him think of Hermione. He sighed sadly but continued nonetheless.
Some of the books he already owned. Clearly, the Hogwarts curriculum hadn't updated much in the past twenty years or so. But there were some advanced transfiguration books, and most interesting to Harry, his father's notebook on the Animagus transformation. He took that one as well, to give to Ron when he was done reading it himself. He flipped through it quickly and chuckled when he saw the doodles in the margins.
Another familiar book was an old copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, which he decided to leave in the vault. He also took a look at his Mums old copy of Advance Potion-Making but didn't see anything that caught his eye. Apparently, Lily Evans had been above doodling in schoolbooks.
He turned to the other chest, which when opened, seemed to contain a lot of papers. He shifted through them quickly, but sadly they seemed to be out of order. He found the deed to the house in Godrics Hollow and, digging deeper, some papers that seemed to be about the history of the Potter family.
Thinking it would be interesting to read more about it, he called for Kreacher. The elf popped into existence a mere second later, and with this croaky voice asked, "Master Harry called for Kreacher?"
"Hi, Kreacher. Yes, could you take this chest to Potter House, please? And this necklace as well?" Harry asked, getting the necklace from the bag again.
"Of course, Master," Kreacher murmured and he popped away again.
Harry and Dumbledore spend the next 10 minutes or so looking through the rest of the vaults. Harry found another stash of photos, this time of his grandparents. As Remus had said, Harry's grandfather, Fleamont, did indeed have the exact same hair Harry had, even if it was grey in all the photo's that also featured James. Euphemia's hair was reddish, but also mostly grey in the photos. Harry took some of the photos with him, to put them in the album that Hagrid had given him after his first year at Hogwarts.
- In Her Memory -
When Harry and Dumbledore returned to the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore sat down in his chair with a sigh, resting his eyes momentarily. Harry thought he looked tired, really tired. Harry was tired himself too, with all the emotional upheaval he had gone through that day. But, he still had to broach a subject. And he really hoped he was wrong.
"Sir?" he said, after sitting down himself.
Dumbledore sat up, "Yes, Harry, there was something you wanted to tell me?" He waved his wand and a goblet of water and two glasses appeared.
"I was wondering," Harry began, "do you think Voldemort may be hiding a Horcrux at Gringotts?"
Dumbledore didn't respond immediately, but Harry could see he was thinking hard about the suggestion.
"I am not sure," he said slowly, after a minute. "While I do believe that a young Tom Riddle would have envied those with vaults at Gringots, and the idea would certainly suit his egomania, I'm not sure whether he would trust the goblins with a Horcrux."
"He trusted Lucius Malfoy with one," Harry countered.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, stroking his long white beard. When he didn't say anything more, Harry continued.
"Do you know whether there is a Gaunt vault? Or does he have his own?"
"He does not, of that I'm sure," Dumbledore said, "I checked with the Goblins after he disappeared 15 years ago. But between the Lestranges, the Averys, the Malfoys, multiple vaults could house one of his Horcruxes if he so chooses."
"Is there a way for us to know for sure?" Harry wondered.
"Once again, I'm not sure," Dumbledore confessed. "But you have given me a lot to think about, Harry," Dumbledore said seriously. "I will see whether I can work something out with Gringotts."
