On Punching Gods and Absentee Dads
Enigmaris
Chapter 42: Goblin Banks and Dumbledore
Summary:
Harry receives a vague summons from Gringotts, has a peaceful class time, is confronted by Dumbledore, and learns about methods of immortality.
Notes:
Hey ya'll! I am putting in a CW here. Harry learns about horcruxes and I put in my own HC about how they're made and while I don't go into explicit detail it might gross some people out. I don't think it will bother most people but warnings are always helpful! If you don't want to read that for your own comfort, then don't read the italicized text near the end of the chapter. It's three of paragraphs from a book, you should know it when you get to it. Just skip the italics and continue to read and you should be a-okay! You won't have missed anything super plot relevant so you can rest easy!
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Chapter Text
Dear Lord Potter,
We hereby give you a summons to Gringotts Bank.
Please arrive this Saturday at 3pm.
Cordially,
Ricbert, Chief of Gringotts.
Harry looked at the letter that had been delivered to his scrambled eggs that morning with something like consternation. A very regal Eagle Owl had dropped it right onto his plate and Harry had barely managed to catch it so that the parchment wasn't stained with whatever made his eggs eggy.
"What is it Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Not sure. Here." Harry said handing the parchment to his friend who took it and read the short note quickly. Ron looked over her shoulder and did the same.
"Huh." Hermione said. "That's…odd."
"Rare that." Ron remarked. "Goblins don't like meeting with wizards."
"Can you blame them?" Hermione sniffed. "It's not like we humans have done a whole lot of kindnesses towards them. They're lucky they managed to avoid the same fate as the House Elves."
"Still." Ron said not arguing the point. They didn't need to start Hermione on the House Elf thing either. "Doesn't mean it's not weird. What did you say to them Harry?"
"Just that I'd defend the bank for 'em."
Hermione winced and Harry corrected himself.
"I told them that it was a human problem and that while they could definitely take on Death Eaters they shouldn't have to." Harry said. "It's not fair, asking the other races to clean up our messes, especially when our messes hurt them the most."
"Hmmm." Hermione mused. "Did you say anything else?"
"Gave 'em a magic vow. Just something so they knew I was serious, that I'd do my best to defend the bank that day and I did. Vow dispersed once Tom left Diagon." Harry said. He hadn't noticed at the time, there was far too much going on, but he had felt the hold the vow had taken on him flutter away once he'd done what he'd promised. He was glad that it wasn't a vow that required more long term action, he'd hoped that he'd done the wording right to avoid that.
"Well maybe they want to thank you?" Hermione suggested.
"I dunno." Ron said. "Goblins don't really…I mean they can, not saying they're not civilized but they don't like humans. Why would they break centuries of tradition just for Harry? Vow or not."
"I may have given them my name." Harry said his voice a bit lower than normal. "You know, my name."
"Oh." Hermione said. "Oh."
"That changes it." Ron said. "Cause you're not…well you know."
"But does it change it enough?" Harry wondered. "And I still don't know what they want to talk to me about."
"How are you even going to go, you've got training on Saturdays."
Harry shrugged. He didn't want to miss training with Tyr but this seemed like the sort of thing he'd be mad to skip.
"Maybe I could move training to Sunday?" Harry suggested. "Or only go to half of it?"
"Should you even go at all?" Ron asked. "The goblins could be really mad at you for fighting in their place. They're a warrior culture."
"Hiding from them won't do any good would it?" Hermione asked. "Harry made a choice and now the goblins want to talk."
They continued to mull over it throughout the entire breakfast and even as they made their way to class together, they'd all gotten into transfigurations after all. As they walked Draco joined their side, since he was also in that class. Things had been very, very weird since Harry had gotten rid of Draco's dark mark.
Not to say that Draco wasn't the same person he was before but there was something so intrinsically different about how he treated Harry.
"Potter." He said instead of Scarhead. "You got a letter?"
"Uhm. Yeah." Harry said holding out the roll of parchment. "What do you make of this?"
Draco took the roll, read the short letter, and made a 'humph' noise. Then he handed the roll back to Harry and sniffed in a very snobby way.
"Obviously you're going."
"I am?"
"Do you even know who wrote that letter?"
"Uh the head of the bank?" Harry said trying to remember the name, it had started with an 'R' right?
"The goblins have two leaders." Hermione said. "The chief of the bank and their king."
"Exactly." Draco said. "The second in command of the goblin nation asked to speak with you. You're a prince and so technically is he, even if they don't know that. If you don't go, you'd cause all sorts of political problems, wouldn't you?"
Harry shifted uneasily at the idea of acting as a prince of anything and Draco rolled his eyes.
"Potter. You're not causing another goblin war. You're going."
"But what do they want to talk about?"
"What does it matter?" Draco asked. "Either they're upset you defended them, or they want something from you. Either way you have to go to know."
"That's not very snakey of you is it?" Ron asked. "Come on, aren't you supposed to be the self-preservation one? I give Harry strategy advice, Hermione gives him the theory and you're supposed to keep him in one piece."
"That's a lost cause and we all know it." Draco sniffed.
Harry didn't stumble like the first time he'd heard Draco tell a joke in good fun but he still felt as if he ought to. Ron and Hermione had taken to Draco's change in attitude with their usual antics. Hermione had decided that Draco was now a rival in potions and that had somehow ended up with the two of them over-studying potions in the library and sending barbed looks at each other in potions class. Something that Harry could only imagine as he wasn't actually in that class.
Ron and Draco had gotten into one more fist fight three days after the dark mark's removal and now they had no problems with each other at all. Ron seemed to, in some strange way, consider Draco an alright wizard, even if he was a Malfoy. And Draco in his inscrutable fashion had decided that Ron was a decent bloke, even if he was a Weasley. Ron had also written home to his family and told them that he and Draco were on the same side now and that Draco would be coming home with him and Harry and Hermione for Christmas.
And thus, a blood feud that had lasted 2 centuries had ended without so much as a how-do-you-do.
Harry and Draco were not as lucky as all that. The first Quidditch Match wasn't for another few weeks and they had few classes together. The only time Harry and Draco truly interacted was in the DA. Draco tutored kids in potions, dueling, and charms and Harry tutored in dueling, charms, and potions. They tried to keep their griping at each to a minimum and neither of them actually knew how to talk to each other without insulting the other.
Occasionally Draco would try out a joke about Harry's Gryffindor characteristics that lacked any true malice and it would feel quite odd to hear. Draco was just as discomfited, at least Harry hoped. After all Harry had saved his life with the power of love so there was a whole lot of…
Well it was weird.
They didn't necessarily have the anger needed to goad each other into midnight duels and cruel insults but they also lacked the sort of relationship Harry had with any of his other friends.
Draco was his rival. Sort of.
His dad thought the whole thing was very funny. His dad had in fact decided that it was good Harry and Draco were working together, Draco had the skill that all three of them lacked, which was diplomacy. Which was why Harry knew he'd be going to see the goblins, wearing whatever it was Draco decided wasn't terrible in his trunk with a roll of parchment's worth of notes about how not to start an incident with the goblins.
They got to class and settled in their customary seats. Harry absently rubbed at his scar. It had been paining him in slight ways ever since the fight at Diagon. His dad's protection was strong enough that for the most part Harry didn't even notice the pain but sometimes there would be a flash of something as if Harry had pulled a muscle in his forehead somehow. Voldemort was incensed and more mad than usual, unable or unwilling to think clearly. The death of his snake had really weighed on him.
Harry didn't think it was mourning a lost love sort of thing.
He knew what that sort of anger was like. He'd felt it when Sirius had fallen through the veil. Voldemort was still more than capable of casting a cruciatus or five. Beyond that, Harry thought, when he got these flashes that he detected a hint of fear beneath the rage.
But what was he afraid of?
"You alright?"
"It's nothing." Harry told Ron. "He's not doing anything…travelling I think."
"Hmm." Ron nodded a little.
Harry was getting much better at discerning things from the flashes he got. He wasn't an expert in mind magic by any means, but his dad was quite good, and some of the spells his dad had placed on him to protect him allowed Harry to translate these attacks better than he'd ever been able to before. It wasn't perfect, and sometimes a flash was just a flash. Besides Voldemort was literally always angry, hard to explain to others that he just had another flash of the same old 'I want to watch the world burn at my feet' rage.
McGonagall walked in and started the lesson on large scale transfigurations. Harry removed his quill from his bag, along with his ink pot and his parchment and started to take notes. He actually wanted to do well this year. It was the first time in his whole life he had someone to show his grades to and he found he wanted to show his dad and the rest, good grades. Thus, he was trying a bit harder than he normally would have.
Hermione still despaired about his procrastination though.
Class passed peacefully.
A thought Harry never thought he'd think.
When they were let out with a new essay due in two weeks time Harry had almost but not quite forgotten about the goblins or the flash of pain he'd felt in his scar. He'd no clue where Voldemort was traveling but it didn't feel close nor did he feel angry enough to be starting an attack.
Hermione went downstairs with Draco to Potions and Ron clapped Harry on the back telling him he'd see him at lunch before going up for divination. Harry, well used to being on his own by this point, decided to swing down to the kitchens and get some extra food before doing some training on the seventh floor.
He didn't expect to be waylaid on the way there by Dumbledore.
The Headmaster was wearing purple, slightly iridescent robes, and his customary half moon spectacles. Harry felt a stab of rage that he wished he could blame on the scar. He swallowed and hardened his jaw.
"Headmaster." He said, intent on walking right past the man.
"Mr. Potter. You don't have any more classes for the rest of the day."
"Yes, but I do have things to do so if you'd let me…"
"We need to talk."
"We really don't."
"I have information that is relevant to your efforts, you would do well to put aside your pride and listen to me."
"If you have information then you should share it with my dad." Harry said. "We don't need to be talking directly to each other."
"This is very serious information, it shouldn't be spread around to just anyone. While you may choose to share it with whom you wish I will only share it with you."
Harry didn't growl but it was a very near thing.
"Fine. Talk."
"Perhaps we should go to my-"
"I'm not going to your office alone." Harry said. "I'm not."
Dumbledore frowned but waved a hand casting a privacy charm over them. Then the man asked Harry to walk with him.
"Mr. Potter." Dumbledore said. "I know you may feel very angry with me right now."
Harry snorted, there was no may about it.
"But you must understand that I did what I thought was best for you and for your father."
"What?" Harry demanded.
"Your father was not well when he came to me. You cannot imagine, he appeared unhinged." Dumbledore said. "And you were in my care. I feared what such an instable man would do to an infant in his care."
"My dad loves me." Harry said. "And he wouldn't have hurt me. He would have taken me to Asgard and-"
"And what would that have led you to?" Dumbledore asked. "Mr. Potter you've discovered great power that you never would have managed in Asgard."
"I…"
"You were able to destroy a Dark Mark with the power of love and compassion. That is not something you would have learnt if you had been sent to Asgard."
"You don't know that." Harry said.
"Harry." Dumbledore said looking at him with sparkling blue eyes. "You know Asgard now don't you? Tell me, do you believe such a war-loving race would have allowed you to be as you are. They would have made you into a killer my boy, like they've done with every other demi-god before you."
"That's not, they wouldn't have done that."
"No? What was the first they did to you when you got there? They put a sword in your hand, my boy. They have expectations that you use it."
Harry flinched, a tiny microscopic flinch, and Dumbledore spotted it. It wasn't fair to have his fears laid out by Dumbledore, it really wasn't. Even with Tyr's new teaching style, that didn't mean he couldn't tell that everyone in Asgard wanted him to be more aggressive. But Harry couldn't, he couldn't. He was so powerful now, what sort of person would he be if he used that power against the people around him?
There had to be another way.
There had to be.
Dumbledore's eyes smiled a bit and he continued.
"See? You were better off here on earth. Your greatest strength is your compassion, your capacity to forgive. I know about your conversation with Professor Snape."
Oh. Harry swallowed and looked down at the ground. That hadn't been something he'd told anyone. It had felt too personal, too…open. It wasn't that he felt ashamed of what he'd done, he still felt good about letting go of that frustration. But it did make him feel small to know that Dumbledore had known about it, that he approved in some way. For some reason that knowledge made that moment, something that had made Harry feel good now felt dirty, tainted. As if he ought to be ashamed of forgiving Snape because Dumbledore liked it.
It hadn't occurred to him that Snape would tell anyone.
Why had Snape told Dumbledore?
"What did you want to tell me?" Harry asked.
"I believe I know how Tom was able to survive that Halloween night." Dumbledore said.
"Oh."
"Tell me Harry, what do you know of horcurxes?"
Nothing. Harry didn't know anything about that, which based on the look in Dumbledore's eyes, the old man already knew about Harry's ignorance. He didn't say anything and Dumbledore sighed. They were very close to the kitchen now. They paused outside the painting that led inside and Dumbledore told him, he told him what horcruxes were and why he thought Voldemort had made some.
The diary, the young Tom Riddle.
Dumbledore left Harry with a pat on the back.
"I'm so glad you were willing to listen to me, dear boy. You are so kind. I know you'll do the right thing."
And so Harry stood there, swaying and reeling with disgust and horror.
How many horcuxes had Voldemort made?
And what did Dumbledore mean by the right thing?
He forgot about the food he'd been planning to get, he forgot about everything except for the book he'd stolen from Malfoy Manor and hid under his bed. He went right up to Gryffindor Tower trying to keep himself from falling over.
Perhaps in another world he wouldn't feel so very horrified by the idea of a horcrux. It wasn't like Dumbledore had told him the exact details of how one was made. Without the knowledge his dad had given him, Harry would have been disturbed but knowing what he now knew. Having an understanding of what a soul was, what it would take to split something so sacred.
Harry had only ever successfully used soul magic once and he'd done it as an act of love.
Knowing what Voldemort had done with the same sort of magic made him want to vomit.
He tripped on his way into his room. He wandlessly summoned the book from where he'd shoved it away and fell onto his bed. He pulled the curtain carefully around to give himself some privacy and told himself to calm down. There might not even be any information on horcruxes in the stupid book and even if there was, he would need to know. Even if it horrified him. He had to know.
Carefully he opened up the leather tome, wrinkling his nose at the dark sensation the leather left on his fingers. The entire book felt heavy in his hands, even as strong as he was. Dumbledore had told him that there were only a few books in existence that even spoke of horcruxes for they were so dark. Harry wondered if that was what made this one feel so awful in his hands. As if just the presence of that knowledge was enough to taint the thick pages.
He didn't bother reading anything, just filtering through pages and hoping his eyes would just magically pick up the words he needed to see. This was the first time Harry was willingly reading a book instead of asking Hermione to do it for him. He felt suddenly very protective of his friend, the idea of asking Hermione to expose herself to something so dark and toxic made him shiver. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't help it.
The book was written as a how-to guide, in the same tone that someone would write a cookbook or gardening manual. There was no judgement or incrimination, no condemnation for the reader who was willing to go to such lengths to avoid death. Each section focused on the pros and cons of a new method of immortality. There were dark diagrams and annotated images showing in far too explicit detail how to go about this newest method. Harry tried his best not to actually take in any of that information, banishing every word that entered his mind as far as he could.
He didn't know how long he flipped pages until he found the section he was looking for.
He almost wished he hadn't.
The horcrux is a widely forgotten method of immortality. It lacks certain benefits to other methods; namely longevity of the body. It does contain one undeniable benefit, immunity to death. No wounds can kill a being who has created a horcrux; no magic, no attack, no accident can end in death. It will require the creation of a new body every century, but it provides protection that few other methods can.
Creating a horcrux requires two things, an act of true hatred and an object to store the soul piece. Any item can be a horcrux, once the soul piece is inserted, the horcrux becomes immune to most if not all forms of damage as a soul cannot truly be destroyed. Nor can a soul piece be removed from the object once insertion is completed. The object would be destroyed in the process of removal. Only two forms of magic are known to destroy horcruxes. First the venom of a basilisk and secondly fiendfyre. As basilisks have been extinct in the nine realms for centuries this first is not a concern. Protection against fiendfyre can be enchanted onto the horcrux after creation.
Creating a horcrux requires an act of true hate.
First, the creator of the horcrux must kill an innocent being. This victim must be as innocent as possible, a blemish free sacrifice, it cannot have participated in any other similar longevity rituals and it must be of the same species as the castor. Human to human, goblin to goblin, etc. The magic of that victim must mingle with the chosen object, how this is done is up to the castor. Then, the body of the victim must be, in some way, consumed. Most commonly the heart of the victim is eaten, then, with this act of desecration, the soul will begin to splinter.
From there-
Harry stopped reading. He slammed the book shut and let it fall to the floor. He held a hand up to his mouth and tried to stop himself from vomiting. He shouldn't have read it. Those words would never leave his mind, the images they conjured up.
The diary was a horcrux and oh Myrtle. Poor Myrtle.
Tears stung his eyes and he swallowed back the sharp acid that his convulsing stomach had sent up. He couldn't stop his body from shaking and he found that he was so horrified by what he'd read that his mind was forcibly disconnecting from his body. He didn't realize he was panicking until he heard a tapping on his window, a very loud insistent tapping. He managed to peek out through his curtains and spotted Hedwig looking very determined to get inside.
Harry twitched his fingers causing the window to open and Hedwig flew directly towards him, landing on his knee and cooing at him in concern. Harry coughed as he tried to calm his breathing. Hedwig hopped forward and started to preen his hair with her beak. Eventually Harry found he was able to breath again, he did this by gently petting Hedwig in return and forcing himself not to think.
"Thanks girl." Harry said.
She chirped.
"I think I need to talk to my dad. Can you send him a message without being seen?"
She tugged a bit harder than necessary on his hair which Harry knew meant that he'd offended her some at the suggestion that she couldn't do something so simple. Harry grinned, feeling a bit better, even as covered in sweat as he was.
"Alright." Harry said. "Let me just write out a note then."
He didn't do that immediately. Instead he stayed there, curled up with his pet owl and wondered why anyone would go to the lengths Tom Riddle had to avoid death.