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Chapter 10

Short Memories and Long Histories

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8 January 1985

It seemed every year brought with it those that believed I would be fool enough for them to access the accounts over which I was Master. This evening would undoubtedly bring with it another con to tempt or frighten me into allowing them access. It would never work, but the strange humans continued to try.

My clan had served as the account managers for the Potter family since they became Potters. Before the goblin Gringotts even thought to build the physical bank to offer services from instead of using the old ways. Now there was a wixen worth investing in, Linfred had repeatedly multiplied the value of his accounts and then his son and grandson had done the same. It may have skipped around a bit, but when I became the Manager of Estates and took up the role as Master of the Potter accounts it was just before Fleamont Potter was born and he would create another boon for the accounts.

As I settled into my office I sighed a bit at the remembrance. It would be some time before the young Mister Potter was ready and able to make the gold move again.

It truly was too bad that one of our treaties with the wixen government included clauses that forbid the "kidnapping or taking of human children" as if that had ever been something that we did. Kidnapping implies that beloved children were stolen from their beds, that was never the way of the Nation. The humans used to leave their children for us in enchanted forests. Sometimes they did this because there was not enough food, sometimes it was because a sickness was killing them, and sometimes it was because there was no love or want of the child. Sometimes the young of those horrible families would believe themselves safer in fabled woods or darkened caves. We would often find them and bring them into our homes, helped them trust again. We took these children into our clans. We taught them how to sing to the earth. They laughed and danced in our halls. They were never stolen from their homes. We gave them homes.

The treaties have been important. We have found that with the memory of these divided humans being so short we must have such agreements to remind them. The treaties state that no goblin can claim any human as kin, not that this stopped our human family members from calling us kin. After all, a good third of all the humans that are contracted for services by the Nation are descendants of our human kin taken in before the treaties. Kin that has grown in our halls.

The chair squeaked a bit as I settled behind my desk. The appointment time was fast approaching and I needed to have a clear head for whatever tricks this one would bring.

It was odd, though, that this human would try such a thing. They were well known amongst the tellers because of the disguise. Magical disguises were nothing new to Gringotts, but were required to be removed once not around other humans. All wixen knew, of course, that the goblins were perfectly capable of seeing through such things. This one was different, however, in that they used a disguise that did not require magic at all.

While I did not know what tricks she might try during this meeting it was my sworn duty to protect the Potter accounts as its Manager of Estates and there was nothing I would not do to ensure that safety.

I looked at the clock again, it was nearly time to finally meet Madam Figg.

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To say that it was a shock to be presented with an official Gringotts contract for representation would be too tame a word. I could smell the blood binding the contract before Madam Figg had even taken the form from her bag. So long have I been with the Potters that the smell of the magic that lingers in their blood is well known to me. The innumerable emotions that ran through my being as I processed the smell of it, the sting of it, would take me the rest of my lifetime to sort through. That this magic should grace the pages of a goblin contract as the first time that I meet my new charge brought a tightness to my chest.

Foolish humans.

They think Goblins to be a foolish warrior race only because they cannot remember their own history. They have too often destroyed their elders before stories and songs can be passed on. Before old knowledge can be learned from them. They end themselves over and over, but think us nothing more than greedy brutes.

There was time to rant at the unjustness of the world when I could howl at the stones, for now there were protocols. The contract would need to be authenticated. The boy would still be very young and small by human terms. One could easily force a quill in his hand and make him write his name. Goblin contracts are all written on potion soaked papers that should prevent such a thing, but it would need to be checked. Furthermore, I would be having his blood checked for any potion residue. If she had used one of the many potions to force him to sign it would be found. Knowing she could not wield enough magic to use a wand did ensure that she at least had not used any of those methods to force a signature. These were not normal checks, and in truth there was little that could be legally done to end such a contract if potions had been used. But I could do many, many things around that contract to ensure the safety of the accounts until Mister Potter was more able should such things be revealed in the test.

Her ability to not show nervousness or fear at this test could mean too many things. Was she so arrogant that she believed we would never find a deception? Or was she a true representative of Mister Potter? There were others that had tried to claim the accounts, on so many different grounds, but they failed because they could not produce either this contract or the boy himself. Even the wixen government had tried to force the issue by making Albus Dumbledore the boy's guardian. But because they continued to fail to convict heir Black, the rightful guardian, they could not lawfully appoint another guardian with privileges within Gringotts.

But here Madam Figg is with a blood signed contract and speaking of bringing the young boy in himself. The trap would have to be substantial in order to pass by the canny healers of the Nation. Then to accuse someone of not just not caring for a child, any child, but to say they are actively and purposely abusing the child? A rage seared through me. Everything she said would have to be verified over and again, but for now- for now I would listen.

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Hours passed as the woman spoke, a rushing of water falling on sharp polished rocks. Her time during the war and what she had been for Dumbledore were surmised so that she might continue with the story of how she became caretaker for the hope of the wizarding world. The forcefulness of her emotions when it came to these Dursleys that the child had been entrusted to was sharp and cutting as it sung within my office. I needed a momentary respite from the onslaught and suggested a tea after I had read the report for the contract.

This evening we would need something calming and fortifying if we were to work together on the plight of Mister Potter. The preparations allowed me the time to let the new knowledge linger and brew within me.

While it seemed much had been forgotten by the wixen, even of just the last century, due to their constant insistence of destroying each other, this woman knew things that had been forgotten by her own society. She even recalled that this Dark Lord Voldemort was once named Tom Riddle. She also recognized that the heir Black was not as guilty as the rest of her kind believed. And unlike so many wixen she had not forgotten that the Boy Who Lived was actually an orphaned child.

I motioned her to the more comfortable chairs so that we could enjoy our tea. Settling into the polished leather cushions, I was relieved that there was someone whose sharp edge would be willingly used to Mr Potter's benefit. Someone who had an extreme amount of access and knowledge. Someone whose plan I believed would work in the short term while we worked on larger scale issues. Protecting the child and giving us time to do what we must.

It was an intriguing idea to move something, or in this case someone, without actually removing them. The teams would be able to get a better read on anything that Dumbledore had done to the house and the family, but I had no doubt that breaking whatever he left behind would alert him to the change. We absolutely needed to ensure that wouldn't happen. This woman was looking to wage a war for Mr Potter and we could not tip off the enemy before we were prepared to face him.

The Dursleys, however, required little such consideration if a loophole could be found to keep Dumbledore ignorant. Vernon Dursley was slowly, but surely making his way up to director at Grunnings. As someone in an executive position who had close ties to the finances of his company it would be incredibly easy to destroy both with some fabricated illicit money movement. However, the late Potters had left Gringotts with the directive to invest in the company and to continue to do so. Gringotts would be unable to make such a maneuver, even if we were willing to overlook the slightly illegal nature of such a move. If we could sell it to Madam Figg she would no doubt destroy it and perhaps dance on the ashes. But even this we could not do while under the directives of the late Potters. If only heir Black were available to us we would be able to do so much.

It had become a repeated talking point between myself and the clan holding the Black accounts. With the heir falsely imprisoned he could still inherit as long as Lord Black allowed it and with no other direct heirs available to him it is the most obvious choice. The wars had wiped out most of the ancient house on the direct line. However, if Lord Black wanted his grandson out of Azkaban he would surely have tried something by this point. There was rumor that Lord Black, though surviving the wars physically, had not made it through with all his mettle intact. It was obvious to all those in the know that Lucius Malfoy was going to attempt to gain access to the Black accounts through the use of his son, but the younger Malfoy was descendent from another branch of the Black family and not its main line. Unless all other male heirs died his child would never inherit the title.

Such strange things these titles. They are not won in battle or earned in scholarship. Only blood and magic can grant them. The magic will recognize that the one attempting to be Lord is not the one who actually is Lord. This is lost magic. The humans have forgotten these magics as they have forgotten nearly everything else that they consider to be old or ancient. So short their memories that they do not remember themselves. Yet these magics live on in these traditions. Magics worked to decide inheritance back then still work now, but they decide title and inheritance. These titles grant them power within their government. An evolution of their governing after splitting with their muggle counterparts more and more over the centuries.

For my people it seems so much easier, so much more obvious. A babe will be born to a clan. Each clan has accounts it safeguards already, but each member of the clan will try to entice or claim more accounts. One studies the Core Lessons as a child and the Greater Lessons as a young adult. Then one works within the bank, the caverns, the mint, etc to study the Journey Lessons. After that one may take up a mastery in whichever subject best suits them. It is only when one is a Master that they are elevated to such positions as Manager of Estates in the way that I am. No magic decides that I should be one to create laws followed by my people, nor to impose laws on other Beings or Creatures.

It's not even truly a title of great power either. Over the many years the privileges those aristocrats had were slowly stripped. Occasionally it was because that same protection was given to all humans and so having it solely for them was no longer special. Sometimes it was taken from them so that they could no longer abuse the people they were supposedly sworn to guide. These days, however, it was because about a century and a half ago the aristocracy began to compete over how different they could be from their muggle counterparts. Eventually, one enterprising young inheritor decided that while he would be head of his house and take up his noble place on the Wizengamot, he would not officially take up his title as Lord. The waves that this caused was that nearly all of the aristocracy in Magical Britain gave up or did not take up their titles. In one astounding case of wanting to be as unmuggle as possible, a Lord had himself fully divested of his own titles and abdicated it for his whole line.

Apparently, he was too stupid to realize that this divested the whole line of a seat on the Wizengamot as well.

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For a fee I had allowed the new account holder of the Potter accounts to use the Gringotts floo. We had both been in my office making plans and schemes for so long that it was a new day. I had called upon our legal team to go over the wording of the guardianship contract Madam Figg had for the Dursley adults to sign. Their forté was financials, but often the family conflicts over financial arrangements can require legal assistance. Madam Figg had asked a great number of interesting legal questions and we had secured what was needed, with slightly altered wording from the original, on a Gringotts document. It would be beyond incontestable once presented.

We now had an outline of our attacks against the heinous chizpurfles that dared to harm a child in their own care. A child that I had been waiting for as he had suffered.

As I tidied my office, I thought of the glimmers of silver that hung upon my walls. Every goblin learns to defend themselves in the traditional manner as soon as they can hold the Falchtoc, a double edged sword. When one earned their mastery in their chosen subject they also fought the traditional Chaa before being presented with their Falchtuck. Where the Falchtoc was plain the Falchtuck was glorious in its beauty, carved designs and empowered jewels. Both swords were fierce in the hands of a goblin, but the Falchtuck demonstrated a devotion to not just the clan but also the Nation. That a goblin had devoted themselves to a mastery of a subject to help move the Nation forward. The Chaa was an elaborate battle dance, there was always the risk of injury, but the steps were known. It was a dance based on stories from our elders depicting some of the first battles, this was how we sang our history.

I had already put in the necessary requests for personnel and tools, meetings lined up for later today to begin the war against Albus Dumbledore. Madam Figg did not believe it a war, she believed she was stopping war. The truth was more complicated.

Dumbledore was not the type to release his game pieces without a fight, the board was his to do with as he pleased and everyone on it was just another way for him to win. I could admire his strategic mind even as I was disgusted by his maneuvering and mechanisms. He was so focused on winning against a single opponent that he forgot his own people. Using whatever means to close the battle, this was not a tactic that the Nation approved of in war or in life.

Humans, strangely, used this tactic against each other often. Send hundreds to die on a beach so that those that follow could climb over the dead bodies of their compatriots towards a supposed victory. Withdraw protections from one city so that the next city can have a larger battle, leaving behind unprotected innocents. Pillage the gold or oil or jewels from a land they have no claim over while destroying the humans that are native to it. Perhaps it is because they have this strange sense of other. Every goblin is a goblin, even the humans that call us kin are goblin. There is no other within the Nation. These humans, they separate themselves by borders or skin tone or magical parentage. They forget they are all human, there is no other. Perhaps that is why we have so many issues with the humans, their short memories and the continued violence they inflict on themselves.

With a sigh I put the last of the paperwork away and sit in contemplation. From what she had told me about the Dursleys they were the worst of humans. Memories so short they could not even remember those of their own generation, Lily Potter had been this Dursley's own sister and she had forgotten any kinship there. On top of that they create an other of everyone who is not themselves, Vernon and Petunia believing that none could be as they are, with the only exception being their son Dudley. I recall being told that there had been a split and an estrangement between the sisters, but for it to be this far removed from reality is a heavy stone.

When the Potters spoke to me about investing in the company that their brother-in-law was working for they seemed to be doing it in an abundance of caution. I can admit to myself that I thought it was a caution to ensure that their kin did not fail in their endeavors, but now I realize it was a caution in case their kin became too radical. A power move to keep such reprehensible people in check should it ever be needed. Though perhaps they would go about the maneuvering differently were they still among the living, I believe we are going along with their truest wishes.

By Monday morning Silver Hynd will be acquiring a new company, one that produces truly garish tableware, and a not so sincere search for an acceptable seller of such wares will begin. I will be making sure that Vernon Dursley's new contract for his "promotion" will be unbreakable and riddled with awe inspiring requirements. His income will be slashed to a sixteenth of what he brings in now. Though it will certainly look as though he will make incredible bonuses for selling this newly acquired product, he will never sell enough to be able to make his quota.

We could have had the business be located anywhere as long as it was outside of the UK, but Madam Figg was insistent on it being Japan. It seemed to be another of the human oddities as I don't understand how the humor of a golfing joke would cause the Dursley adults the abject horror Madam Figg seemed to be imagining for them when we narrowed down the place to send them. We had considered many places, but Madam Figg rejected all others. She wanted them punished, not the people around them, and she did not want them in a place where a war may cause them physical harm. I suppose war was more likely in Eastern European countries like Romania than in Japan. And the places we considered in Africa or South America would simply cement their prejudices and do harm to those around them.

I briefly considered sleeping for a few hours before I needed to start in on contracts and plans for all those meetings. Today was going to be a long day. No reason to sleep when something so interesting and new was just beginning. I settled back into my desk and took out a new sheet and pen. Now, how many of those plates could Vernon Dursley hope to sell?

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