AN: With a family line as long and well-established as the Potters are presumed to be in the wizarding world, it's impossible to believe only his father's once-close friends could've provided Harry with such a valuable link to his past. It's a true literary sin that Rowling left the Potter family so undeveloped, for even dead they could have provided Harry with a large part of his identity.

Warning: There's a fair bit of legalese ahead in the next couple of chapters but there's a good recap in Ch. 6, so if you find yourself getting lost in the technicalities just know there is help ahead.

Major Warning: This chapter also contains the dreaded "Name Change" issue that is many people's pet peeve; it's mine as well. I would ask you to relax and simply go with it because it's ultimately meaningless. It's not something done to make Harry an OC and give me license to change everything about him, it's a coping mechanism he employs to handle being thrust into an adult role he doesn't feel ready for and it's gone by Ch 11. Harry is Harry regardless of what it says on a birth certificate.

.o0O0o.

Harry followed Overseer Barchoke back down the hall, the faint whisk-whisk of his robes and a faint squeak with every other step the goblin took the only sounds to be heard. He briefly wondered if the stillness of the hallway had been magically induced.

He was led to a small door directly across from the large bronze door he had first entered. The only thing that distinguished this door from any of the others was the noticeable lack of any handle. Only a tiny silver key-hole marred its smooth surface; it was placed at precisely the right height to make anyone not-a-goblin have to stoop uncomfortably to reach it.

A tiny silver key to match the tiny silver lock was attached to a tiny silver chain on the Overseer's belt. That produced, and a simple turn to the right, had the goblin motioning him to stand clear. A moment later the door shot open to reveal a room he'd be hard pressed to lie down in and no wider than the two of them abreast.

"After you," the goblin motioned him inside.

With nothing else to do, and confident he was as confused as he could possibly be, Harry entered the cramped little closet. He wasn't sure if it was the claustrophobic closeness of the walls or something about their puke-green color but Harry was forcefully reminded of the wonky chocolate movie where some mad singing candy-maker crammed a load of tourists into a room like this only to take them back out the way they had come – only for them to find themselves somewhere else entirely.

He was wondering just how much of the magical world had bled its way over to the muggle one when the door closed, sealing them in. A small puke-green panel, invisible while the door had been open, sprang to life to the Overseer's right. After inserting his key into another tiny silver lock and pressing the button second to the top in a vertical row of five, the goblin gave out a warning.

"Hold on to something," he said as he closed the panel again.

Before Harry could even wonder what he was supposed to hold on to he felt the most disturbing thing in his life. He was turned upside down, right-side up, upside down, spun around, and corkscrewed halfway so he was right-side up again all in the split second before he could have the chance to fall.

For the first time Harry regretted not being deprived of breakfast. Feeling like his stomach was inside out and in his mouth had him regretting every bit of food he'd ever eaten. Slumped against the wall with his eyes closed helped fight the dizziness but it did nothing to put his stomach back where it belonged.

"You coming?" the goblin asked, now standing outside the little room again.

Harry made his way out of there before the flipping closet could do again whatever it was it did. 'At least now I know why it was painted puke-green,' he thought as he attempted to swallow his stomach.

The small antechamber Harry found himself in was nothing like the hallway they'd left. He had trouble even believing this was the same building. The floors weren't covered in carpet to begin with; these were a dark gray marble tile. The walls were also marble, though they were a silver-gray. Also gone were the torches and metalwork, replaced by softly glowing orbs clutched in the claws of various stone dragons that seemed to be growing out of the walls.

Every surface he saw was polished so much that it shined. Everything was so immaculate even the Dursleys would be tripping over themselves for the chance to eat off their floor. Harry heard the faint tinkling of water coming from somewhere which added to the cooler feeling of wherever he was and had a pleasantly soothing effect on his stomach.

"My office is this way, Mr. Potter," Barchoke said as he gestured to the hallway proper.

Harry was glad to hear their steps ring out properly when they walked and to see there were actual signs of life on this level. Small groups of obviously senior goblins conversed amongst themselves, occasionally giving him a second glance. The hallway they were in opened up around a small indoor courtyard, at the center of which stood the fountain he had been hearing.

While it didn't spout water up three floors it certainly was a spectacle all its own. The statue at the fountain center was a dense dark granite. Rather than slowly sculpted or gradually grown out of the stone as all the other reliefs had been, this one looked to have been hacked and beaten until the rough figure of what it was supposed to represent had started to take shape and then left unfinished as if the stone itself had committed some sort of crime.

The rough-cut and half-formed figure of a goblin was on its knees, face twisted in tragedy, water trickling from its eyes as it cried out in defeat while before it an exquisitely carved sword – the only part of the statue that resembled anything near the other finished works – was embedded into the statue's base, around its tip the splintered remains of a wand were depicted. At each corner stood a stone representation of a goblin's severed head, water trickling from nose, mouth, neck, or ears to simulate the crying goblin's ultimate fate. In severe gouges between them were carved phrases like 'Humbling the Halfwit,' 'Pride Before Fall,' and 'Thieves Turn Tides.'

The Overseer seemed strangely at home with the gruesome display as he didn't even remark on it as they passed. The other goblins didn't pay it any mind either as they walked between their offices, going in and out of various side hallways labeled such things as Confidential, Corporate, Personal, and Dodgy. His goblin guide took him down one such hallway. His was labeled Hereditary and would take them back towards the front of the building, unless Harry had been turned around completely.

The Overseer's office was at the very end of the hall. To say it was oddly shaped would be to put too fine a point on it since the whole room seemed to be built on odd angles. On either side of the door the walls flared out only to turn on a sharp right angle and head back in again. Rather than meeting at a precise point the walls – which were mostly windows – curved inward again so that the room's shape resembled a dulled misshapen spear point.

"Go on and take a look," the goblin said, gesturing to the windowpane making up the room's rounded edge as the goblin himself went to root through some old cabinets on the room's right side. "Odds are you won't be seeing the inside of this office again."

Harry found he had been right, they were at the front of the building again, with the Overseer's office forming part of the wedge-shaped edge of the building as it thrust its way out into the street below and Diagon Alley split around it. The window itself did present a rather unique view of the tiny little ribbon of wizarding London. With a good view of muggle London spread out beyond the alley's border, even seeing the comforting view of the tiny shops lost to time and the stream of witches and wizards going about their daily lives made for an unsettling combination.

In his mind Harry suddenly got the image of a colossus; feet planted wide in defiance, lord of all he surveyed, firmly rooted in both worlds and ready to take on all challengers. Having seen a tiny bit of the wizarding and muggle worlds, Harry wondered if this was the goblin world he was looking at. He suddenly felt every inch the twelve year old boy that he was.

"Now," the goblin said, drawing Harry's attention back to the present. "Now that we've got a bit of privacy we don't have to stand so much on formality." He was sitting at a sturdy mahogany desk which took up almost the entirety of the room's left side and had one of those nice leather chairs that swiveled. Harry resisted the urge to ask how the little goblin's feet reached the floor to swivel it.

The most peculiar thing about the office wasn't the bizarre shape or disjointed view but the odd snow-globe now sitting amongst the Overseer's files and folders on his desk. Unlike any other snow globe Harry had ever seen this one didn't have a happy little village with glitter swirling around it but a fashionably-dressed olive-skinned couple dancing scandalously close to each other. It was very much like a television stuck inside a crystal ball only without any sound.

"Since this Investigation and Audit are the result of your Inquiry, it entitles you to what answers we have," the goblin started in a very business-like tone that had Harry thinking the Overseer was actually quite comfortable with formality.

"It is by no means a complete picture; we're actually hoping you might be able to fill us in on some of the important points. Feel free to take a seat," the Overseer gestured to a pair of goblin-sized chairs that faced the rounded-end bank of windows, "this will probably take a while."

Harry pulled one of the tiny chairs closer to the desk and tried to make himself look comfortable.

"Gringotts corporate would like me to take this opportunity to express how shocked and appalled we are at the actions of your former account manager. While Gringotts assures you there was no malice aforethought on its part, it remains as committed as ever to guaranteeing the safety and security of your assets – in accordance with Ministry regulations, so on and so forth," the goblin finished with a wave.

The goblin seemed to suddenly get nervous as he shuffled his files.

"I suppose by way of an introduction to – shall we say Gringotts corporate culture – a bit of an explanation is in order as to why certain irregularities had not been picked up until now."

"What irregularities?" Harry asked.

"The ones raised in your letter, as a matter of fact." The goblin took out a handkerchief and mopped its bald head, shooting glances at the door as if he'd been expecting help for this particularly uncomfortable conversation.

"Here at Gringotts, Mr. Potter–," and suddenly the goblin stopped. "–Or do you prefer to go by Harold?"

"Er– My name's Harold?" Harry asked poleaxed.

The Overseer's eyes whipped back down to the files it was used to dealing with, flipping a few pages in one until he found what he sought.

"Harold James Potter, born Saint Mungo's, July 31st, 1980 to James Charlus and Lillian Evans Potter?" the goblin recited.

"That's my birthday," Harry said. "I've never heard of Saint Mungo's before and everyone's always just called me Harry, and my mother Lily."

"Huh," the goblin grunted, making a note in his files. "Saint Mungo's is a wizarding hospital here in London, it's where most wizarding children are born, just so you know. Personally, I thought all that Harry stuff was part of that 'Boy-Who-Lived' rubbish. You know," Barchoke looked up at him curiously, "I'll never understand the human need to alter your own name. The only thing similar goblins have is 'Gotts' and 'the Halfwit' out there," he said, referring to the statue in the hall. "Gotts knows what they'd come up with if it became widespread with us. What would you call me, Chokey?"

Harry wondered if he was supposed to laugh and was thankfully saved by a well-timed knock on the door as the stump-faced wizard from before poked his head in.

"I heard salsa dancing so I thought I'd knock," the man he remembered as Lichfield said.

"Lester! Come in, come in," the goblin cried.

"Salsa dancing?" a confused Harry asked.

"Nice to see you again, Harold," Lichfield said, his gnarled hand pressing a bit on Harry's shoulder as the man moved behind him to retrieve the other chair.

"Apparently he goes by the name 'Harry,'" Barchoke explained.

"The mother always wins in the end," Lichfield said behind him.

"Everything underway?" the Overseer asked.

"Wouldn't be here otherwise. Sorry it took so long; Gropegold has a lot of cousins. Doubt you'll get anything from them though, they've been trying to get a piece of the action for years."

"Any bit of extra pressure we can bring to bear to get him to talk," Barchoke said with a wave.

Harry's tiny seat lurched as it quickly grew up around him. He thought the goblin had done it until a prod from Lichfield's wand saw its companion expand as well before the old wizard sat down beside him.

"Is he talking yet?" the goblin asked.

"Not yet," the warlock replied. "Hasn't stopped shouting at us to realize how much trouble he's really in. Now that the panic's worn off he must think he's in a good position not to have folded immediately."

"We could do with a bit more panic."

"So what's going on?" Harry asked, tired of being treated like he wasn't there. "And what do you mean 'the mother always wins'? You said we've met before?" Harry asked the Litigator.

"You could say I've seen you before, though I doubt you could say the same. I doubt your eyes could focus at the time, you were very young. It was back when your father took over the estate from Charlus."

"Lester here got his start as bailiff for your grandfather," Barchoke said as way of an introduction, finally seeming to find a topic he was comfortable with.

"If your father had had it his way you would've been named James Jr. or Jamie – Merlin help us, but your mother insisted on Harold – or Harry, after her father," he said offhandedly. "But aye, that's my bailiwick," Lester agreed. "Enforce borders, resolve disputes, collect usage fees and rents, thump a few heads if people forget what's what," he said with a wink. "Not that I had to do a lot of that," he explained. "Your family was always good about getting good people. Sit down with them for tea and suddenly they're all 'Oh! I forgot we owe you money!'"

"My family owned land?"

"Owns land," the old wizard corrected. "'Potter and earth go hand-in-hand,' or so they used to say. Even Gropegold couldn't sell it for all he was for kicking people off it. Not without you being of age and with your specific approval."

"Then why was he kicking people off their land?"

"Off your land," Lichfield corrected him again with a pointed finger that said Harry'd get a good poking if he didn't learn the difference soon.

"It's not so uncommon with landed estates," Barchoke provided. "There's very few of them left but from time to time things change over from one generation to another, the new one bringing in new ideas on how to use the land, or just wanting a bit more cash-on-hand, and so they shuffle people off their property–"

"Naturally, we all thought that's what he was doing for you," Lester said. "Might be another five years before you can properly inherit but if you had already decided you'd prefer glittering gold over your family's land–," Lichfield pulled a face to show what he thought of that idea. "Best start early rather than re-up someone's lease for another ten or twenty years and make you wait to squander your inheritance."

And with that Lichfield settled into a deep silence, the look of concentration on his face making him look all the more like a gnarled root. 'An old root that'd likely poke you if you went on without him,' Harry thought. Just when he was finally trying to think of a way to bring up something he wanted to talk about – namely his problem with Dobby or the reason Gropegold was carried off in the first place – the wizened old man gave out a single terse "Damn."

"You remember something?" Barchoke asked.

"No, that's the problem," Lichfield groused. "I can't for the life of me remember where the Potter estate was. The main estate," he clarified, "the home estate, the center of Potter power. I visited there more times than I can count–," the grubby old wizard said with a shake of his finger, as if to order himself to recall it. "–But for the life of me I just can't remember the name. It should be right about–," he made a grasping motion as if to grab the air in front of him only to come away with nothing.

"Locked?" the goblin suggested.

"Could be," the old bailiff said cryptically. "It'd keep anyone from any minor lines we don't know about from sniping his Investiture and keep the likes of Gropegold from leveling the place. I'll have to check the old records for it. Might be in there. Gropegold would've been too lazy go back that far. But the name. Potter's Soil? No. Potter's Wheel? No, that's just stupid."

"Anyway," the goblin said, drawing their attention again. "We seem to have gone a bit far afield–"

"It's the boy's fault," the old bailiff said, squinting at him with one eye larger than the other. "He's got Charlus's way about him," he said to Barchoke. To Harry he said, "To his dying day the old man would sit back and smile while everyone around him would natter on for hours, saying nothing. I swear it was some sort of spell. Your father on the other hand, the few times I met with him you couldn't get him to shut up."

"Will you please shut up?" the goblin cried.

Lichfield held his hands up in mock surrender, lips a thin gnarled line on his face, and then pointed at Harry as if he'd been the one doing all the talking.

"Anyway," the goblin said. "As I was trying to say – before a rampaging hippogriff stormed through the conversation–," Barchoke shot Lichfield another look. "Here at Gringotts the relationship between Account-Holder and Account Manager – well, it's virtually sacrosanct."

The goblin seemed to settle himself once more in his chair.

"Gringotts itself does not pay Account Managers, outside of a small training stipend to get them started. The Managers make their money from the account profits and lose money, in the form of Remittances back to the Holder, should their advice prove faulty. That said, who are we to care if both Holder and Manager lose their shirts because of bad investment strategy so long as the Holder himself signs off on it? As Lester here said, for the longest time that's what we thought Gropegold was doing for you–"

"–More precisely, for your guardian," Lichfield clarified.

"My guardian?" Harry asked curiously. "But the Dursleys don't know anything about Gringotts."

"And there's the rub," Lester emphasized with a point.

"The Dursleys?" Barchoke asked, scribbling a new note on his page. "These are those muggles you wrote about?"

"Yes, my aunt and uncle. If they knew I had any money it would have been gone before they had to change my first diaper."

"Just how long have you been with them?" Barchoke asked incredulously.

"As long as I can remember," Harry said. "They said I'd been left on their doorstep just after my parents died."

The goblin and the stump shared a look and Harry thought he saw a gleam in the old stump's eyes.

"Now this aunt and uncle, as you call them. Who are they exactly?" the Litigator asked.

"They're–," Harry floundered, at a loss for any other words than the ones he'd already used, "my aunt and uncle. My mother's sister and her husband."

"A real aunt and uncle. Huh," Lichfield grunted. "I thought she was dead. Or maybe I just hoped she was."

Barchoke looked at him curiously.

"The woman was a shrew, the man was worse – if it's still the same one she was with."

"That sounds like them," Harry said curious as to how a Gringotts Litigator knew Aunt Petunia.

"Nearest blood relative then," Lester said as he nodded at Barchoke. "That's clever."

"Very clever," the goblin agreed.

"What's clever?"

"A blood relative," Lester repeated. "Back then, You-Know-Who and his followers–"

Barchoke made a disgusted face.

"–They targeted whole families, not just certain people. Young people, especially very young kids, they were moved around all the time. Grandparents, godparents, friends-of-the-family, whoever they had in the hopes that if You-Know-Who came to call, at least some of the family would survive."

Lichfield noted the disgusted face Harry was wearing now as well.

"It was grisly," Lester agreed, "but it worked. Some kids your age and older are only alive because they weren't at home when their parents were killed. It was Ministry law at the time for any wizarding orphan to be placed with their closest blood relation–"

"So I should have been placed with the Dursleys?"

"–Their closest blood relation in the wizarding world," the Litigator clarified. "Unless it was specifically spelled out otherwise."

Harry was having difficulties seeing where he was going with this.

"We have no evidence yet to say it was supposed to be anything different. We may not even find that once we comb through your vault and dig through our files–"

"It's the Ministry that handles Wills," Barchoke interjected.

"–And we don't want them involved just yet," Lichfield finished for him. "Those sisters hated each other though and your parents had plenty of friends to call on – and they knew they were being targeted, so why did you end up in the muggle world?"

Harry had no answer for him.

"You were a wizarding child, born in the wizarding world to wizarding parents and you end up with them? That, to me, says a guardian was involved and a guardian means the Ministry. By the spirit and letter of the law, anyone in our world would have had a better chance at getting you than a muggle couple, even your mother's sister, so that – to me – says abandonment."

"Abandoned." Harry suddenly felt cold. He knew he'd been left, but to have had a guardian and then to be abandoned by them – and left with an aunt and uncle that hated him? Suddenly something clicked and everything he'd gone through on Privet Drive didn't look quite so rosy any more.

"I was named for her father," Harry said bitterly.

"What's that?" Barchoke asked.

"I was named for her father, and she let him lock me in the cupboard under the stairs until I got my Hogwarts letter, refusing to even let me be fed."

The goblin and litigator shared a look.

"Exactly how bad were these people?" Lester asked quietly.

"You don't want to know," Harry said evasively.

Silence reigned for several moments before Lichfield started up again.

"Well, that's the case I'm wanting to make. Barchoke and I both know the only way a goblin like Gropegold got his hands on your account was by guardian consent. With a Ministry writ in hand this guardian could have had preliminary access to your account here, and with what happened to your last Account Manager–"

"What happened to him?" Harry interrupted.

"They say his mind cracked when he heard about your parents' deaths," Barchoke said quickly so as not to prolong things now that Lichfield had them safely past Harry's past treatment. "He may have thought the whole family lost and everything he'd ever worked for simply gone – though I never believed it. Lester's theory now brings the issue back into play."

"–With him out of the way," the Litigator continued, "it would have been easy to find someone willing to look the other way as this guardian drained your inheritance and paid this manager under the table for his trouble. Anyone who was familiar with the Ministry's familial placement priorities at the time could have simply dropped you off on your aunt's doorstep and most people wouldn't have thought twice about it."

"Anyone inside Gringotts," Barchoke explained, "who saw your account active, would have believed it was doing so under normal guardianship practices. I thought so myself, and I knew that your parents had decided to shut things down as much as they could until you came of age. I just thought your guardian simply wanted to grow the account more than simple securities ever could. I just assumed this guardian was keeping you out of sight."

"You may have noticed you're a bit of a celebrity," Lester said dryly.

"And with Gropegold being no stranger to a finely-cut suit, how were we to know he was throwing bad money after good and losing money when everything looked like he was making money? Without an Account-Holder complaint we'd be hard-pressed to look through someone's files–"

"So how much money have I lost?" Harry asked concerned that he had just spent his last twelve galleons on a pair of shoes he couldn't take back.

"Your guess is as good as ours. We won't know that quite some time yet."

"You should still be comfortable," Lichfield said, "just not as comfortable as you should be."

"Define 'comfortable.'" Harry said.

"In relation to what?"

"Having nothing."

"Having nothing?" Lichfield asked, looking over to Barchoke for an answer.

"You're doing good," the goblin beamed, giving him a thumbs-up gesture.

"And compared to what it should be?" Harry prompted.

"You're doing baaad," the goblin sagged and shook his head morosely.

"So how do we find this guardian?" Harry asked shortly.

"What about the transfer orders for today?" the goblin asked Lichfield.

"Axegrind stopped those dead. I've got them here," Lester said, pulling out a file for Barchoke to read. "There may be a few hints but unfortunately they're not going to do us a lot of good. They were signed magically–"

"–So unless we compare this magical signature against the magical signature of every person we've ever done business with we're never going to find them with it," Barchoke finished for him.

"So why don't we do that?" Harry asked, wanting to get a move on things.

"Because we're a bank, we're not the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We can't violate the privacy of the entire wizarding world just because we want to. We'd find ourselves in Azkaban faster than Sirius Black."

Lester's eyes went wide and Barchoke gained a greenish tint. The goblin mumbled an apology and buried himself in his files, his blush extending from the tip of his nose and the ends of his long ears. Harry thought it best not to ask.

"If you want to get the Ministry involved and take this through an official channel, that's your call," Lichfield said. "Gringotts would prefer to handle this internally for now. Either way, I'm authorized to act as your litigator as an extension of my previous bailiff responsibilities for your family. But I have to say, we take this forward now it's likely never to see the light of day. There are some rather large obstacles in our way that would bury us if this gets brought before the Wizengamot too soon."

"Like?"

"You're too young," the goblin said, his face now back to its normal color.

"Twelve is too young?"

"Twelve is too young," Lester said. "If you were thirteen we could sue for emancipation on the grounds that you're the last of your line. It's on the young side of the scale, but it's been done before. Once that's done we could sue this absentee guardian for the mismanagement of your financial affairs, but there's also problems with that."

"Which are?"

"It takes forever," Barchoke groused.

"And it legitimizes this claim of guardianship," Lichfield explained. "By claiming they were a bad guardian we're still recognizing their status as a guardian. With them recognized as your guardian, even minimally, it immunizes Gringotts from any liability and leaves that guardian and Gropegold as the sole persons responsible for what happened and may end up limiting how much you're able to get back of what they stole from you."

"So if they already wasted all of the money they stole I'm not likely to get anything back," Harry summed up.

"Exactly."

"Wonderful," Harry said, silently cursing this shadowy guardian. Just because he never cared about having the money before doesn't mean he wanted it stolen.

"There are some within Gringotts who would prefer you take this option–"

"–But you two don't?" Harry interjected, looking at Barchoke.

"I may not like Gringotts being seen in a bad light," the goblin said, "but what Lester's saying makes a lot of sense. Plus," the Overseer leafed through the files in front of him, "from what I'm seeing there are some pretty big fish out there to catch with this. But it will take time," Barchoke said meaningfully.

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," Lichfield grumped. "Your youth will be an obstacle for us either way, but with this being a purely civil matter we have all of Gringotts behind us – or rather, in front of us, providing a very nice cover for our joint investigation. As your litigator what I would suggest, and the Overseer here agrees, is we handle this as a case of ward abandonment and let Gringotts pursue this would-be guardian for bank fraud."

"Why bank fraud?" Harry asked.

"Because if this guardian got you, already intending to abandon you, then an easy case can be made that he was never really your guardian at all."

"And if they were never your guardian–," the Overseer prompted.

"–Then they had no right to administer your account and ten years of transactions and transfers go up in smoke," the litigator waved his hand as if wafting away a breeze.

"So what exactly would that mean for me?" Harry asked.

"What bank fraud means for you is that you're back in black."

Harry looked at him quizzically.

"It means all your money goes back to the way it should have been," Barchoke said, seemingly engrossed in the transfer orders.

"Just like that?" Harry asked, wondering what the catch was.

"Just like that," Lichfield said.

"Not just like that," the goblin said sharply.

Lichfield moved to explain.

"Gringotts honors its account security when it comes to fraud–"

"Gringotts is required to honor its account security when it comes to fraud–," the Overseer grumped.

"Do you want to do this yourself or do you want piddle with your papers?"

The Overseer gave him a chagrined look and silently backpedaled into piddling.

"By Ministry banking law Gringotts is required–," Lichfield shot Barchoke a look, "–to honor its account security when it comes to fraud. The law was designed to stop Gringotts, or any affiliated goblin, from defrauding the public for their own gain. Your accounts are insured so your losses are reversed and all the debt incurred becomes the property of Gringotts."

"Why would who owns the debt be important?" Harry asked.

This time it was the litigator who looked wary.

"Let's just say it's never good to owe a bank," Lichfield said, carefully not looking anywhere near the Overseer.

"Especially not a goblin bank," Barchoke interjected, now safely beyond rebuke.

"Right," Harry said to fill the tense silence that followed.

"So when it comes to finding this guardian," Lichfield said, choosing to address the least scary topic raised so far. "As it stands right now, I can see three ways of going about it. The first is Gropegold; we've got him safely stashed away. He'll be facing goblin justice soon anyway so the only hope he has is giving up his accomplice–"

"–And even then he won't get much," the Overseer pronounced.

"Our second avenue of inquiry is these Dursleys."

Harry made a disgusted look, already seeing where this was going.

"Now I'm not gonna say I like it," Lichfield said quickly. "Or even that I'm suggesting it. I'm simply saying that bringing civil or criminal charges in the wizarding world against muggles is almost impossible and it'll bring all sorts of attention I'm sure you don't want, while bringing those same charges in the muggle world threatens the Statute of Secrecy. We can't even arrange for anything unfortunate to happen to them without breaking a dozen anti-muggle persecution laws ourselves."

"But they don't know that," Harry said quietly.

"They may not know that," Lichfield corrected him. "And even if they don't the only leverage we'd gain on them is for information in exchange for leaving them alone."

Lichfield let the silence linger.

"And this third option?" Harry asked.

"We do nothing."

Harry looked up at him.

"We've already closed down their access to Gropegold," Lichfield explained. "The rest of your account is easy enough to put under seal so they can't possibly touch it. We pinch them in the pocket book and eventually they'll turn up."

"That's not to say we'll give up on Gropegold," Barchoke said. "Not by any means. It just means if he doesn't talk we can still find this guardian."

"We'll just be a little flat-footed when they show up and if they're suitably important–"

"–And it looks like they are–"

"–Then they may catch us with our pants down before we're ready to display what we've got."

"So what do we need in order to get ready?" Harry asked.

"The first order of business is to deal with that youth issue," Lichfield said.

"Second order," Barchoke corrected him. "First order is getting him out of that house and into our world."

"You mean away from the Dursleys?" Harry asked, looking from one to the other, hopes rising for the first time. "You mean never going back?"

"We mean never ever going back," Lichfield agreed.

.o0O0o.

AN: When I initially posted this, I made the mistake of chopping the Gringotts visit up with the misguided idea I should try to keep the chapters roughly even in length. I've since learned that's a horrible idea. It made it feel like Harry was there forever. I've kept Ch 4 - 6 as they were to keep all the reviews but you should really think of them as parts of the same chapter. It might allay this frustrated feeling.

Thanks for reading.