The Muse never leaves me but she oftentimes drags me where I should focus on and it's hard to keep up with her especially when she decides to be spicy
Prying the information of Diagon Alley from his aunt was relatively easy; he did not need to flex his will upon her to obtain what he wanted. She was more than willing to tell him everything and even went as far as to get into the vehicle that Vernon boasted about being his pride and joy, in comparison to what he or Petunia possessed, which he should already be proud of having.
He would arrive, and his aunt would drop him off with nothing said between them as she hit the gas with a screeching sound of rubber burning against asphalt. She zoomed off, leaving him behind, possibly for the last time. "Goodbye forever, Petunia," he coldly muttered as he made his way to the dingy-looking pub called The Leaky Cauldron.
Once inside, his senses were immediately assaulted by the smell of smoke—not of tobacco, but unique weeds and other herbs that were being inhaled, along with some muttering conversation between folk. Yet, as he stepped into view, a few patrons looked at him but immediately returned to their conversations or their beverages, leaving him to slowly approach the innkeeper.
"Something I can help you with, little lad?" the barkeep asked the boy who had approached the bar, all while his magic was busy polishing off some grime that had ended up on the fine dark oak.
"Yes, can you assist me in getting into the alley? I don't have my wand yet. Also, do you know where I can find the Wizarding Bank? I would like to exchange my Muggle money for Wizard currency," Harry asked hurriedly.
To the surprise of the barkeep, he looked back and forth, wondering if Harry was alone. Confirming his suspicion that he was definitely alone due to the lack of anyone else, Tom immediately snapped his fingers, calling over his house-elf. "Dobby, watch over the bar while I'm gone. I'll be helping this little lad to see his things are done," he informed the elf. Then he made his way around the bar and gestured for the boy to follow him, leading him towards the secret entrance to the alley. "Watch this pattern; if you can't remember it next time, I'm more than willing to show you again, but only once. After that, I'll charge you a sickle each time you make me do this," he lectured. Though he would never really charge the child for something he would have normally done for free, he had to make sure the boy wanted to remember the pattern and not have to give up any of his money for a simple tapping of the bricks. A few seconds later, the bricks opened up into the magical alley.
Despite having dreams of magical things that were both impossible and amazing, nothing truly dampened his surprise and slight excitement as Harry looked upon the magical alley. "Thank you for your assistance. I just need to go…" He paused for a moment, not really knowing where he needed to go in order to exchange a few hundred dollars he had taken as compensation from his aunt and uncle's cousin's abuse.
"Just over there at Gringotts," Tom answered, pointing his finger towards the crooked-looking building that best summarized the twisted nature of goblins and their dealings. As the boy was about to go, he immediately grabbed the raven-haired child, preventing him from moving forward. "Best to be polite and courteous with them, especially now while they're in a tizzy. Someone has looted one of their golden mountains, so expect to be insulted at least ten times before they ask you for your key or exchange your money," he sagely warned the boy, so he would not end up like the few who were mercilessly kicked out of the bank with a soft ban penalty.
"Thank you, sir. I think I can handle things from here." He politely dismissed the man's further assistance but made sure to mentally note his advice; the last thing he needed to deal with was getting banned from the bank.
Upon his approach to the bank, Jenkins noted how crooked it looked. He always glanced over at the warning.
Enter, stranger, but take heed. Of what awaits the sin of greed. For those who take, but do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn. So if you seek beneath our floors a treasure that was never yours, thief, you have been warned; beware of finding more than treasure there.*
It was both a warning and an invitation. By the wording alone, he wondered if these goblins would have the same type of invitation if the red-headed girl from his dreams decided to come to this bank, just like various acts that he had seen her do—nothing malicious, but gruesome at times.
He had walked past the threshold and felt magic causing his pointed ears to twitch in mild agitation, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It even made his somewhat straight black hair start to become a tangle of mass. "Wards?" he muttered to himself as he continued through the bank and saw the various nasty-looking creatures. Unlike the goblin he had seen in his dreams, these ones looked a lot more plump and were dressed in opulence in comparison to being warriors. Then again, he had seen two warriors with their halberds guarding the entrance, and with his abnormal sight, he could see a number of goblins hiding in certain nooks and murder holes, crossbows at the ready for anyone who would dare to lay siege in the lobby of the goblin bank. Pushing aside his observations, he headed straight for the main teller, who was looking over accounts in his large book.
The main lobby goblin teller was watching the magical pages show the increase and decrease in the number of accounts, with exchanges being made throughout the wizarding world and the individual stocks that were being held by the wizards who did their business at this bank. One would think the loss of a major goblin horde mountain that had so much wealth would drive certain prices down while increasing others, not completely crashing the economy within the goblin markets. The value of the Galleon had only increased since the gold that was used to manufacture them became even more difficult to obtain, forcing many goblins like him to go to their Muggle counterparts and ask for a loan of their gold in exchange for precious gemstones and other valuable minerals that weren't so magically applicable. As he thought of these things, his attention was immediately grabbed by a small child who was just standing there, staring at him.
The goblin blinked a few times; at first glance, he thought he was dealing with another human, and he was about to simply bark a very rude response at the little wizard. But as he took a second glance, it would be hard to believe that this person was human. His crooked hook nose breathed deeply of the surrounding smells. The only thing human about this child was that he had the scent of a human on him—not from him. His ears were too pointed in and pointed out, and just what he could sense with his magic told him that this being was a little more powerful than the average wizard child, and the magic itself felt off for a human.
With both his magical and non-magical senses confirming what he believed this child was, he wasn't going to greet a new magical species—or an old one that had decided to come out of hiding—with rudeness. "Greetings! Welcome to the Bank of Gringotts. Im Sliverclaw, How may we be of service?" The goblin spread his arms out as he bowed respectfully, as one would greet a non-human magical being.
The greeting was a bit off to Harry, as he tilted his head to the side in some confusion and curiosity. "It is good to make your acquaintance, Master Teller Silverclaw. I'm here to open an account and would like to make my first deposit. I take it that Muggle currency can still be used here?" He was already fishing out the large wad of cash he had taken from Vernon since the time he discovered that he was a lot stronger than the overweight man and began taking as much as he liked every couple of weeks. Only once did his uncle try to stop him, only to end up with all of the fingers on one hand broken. After that, Vernon stopped keeping any cash in his wallet and kept it at the bank. Still, it didn't stop him from taking whatever Harry perceived as valuable from Petunia's wallet.
The goblin had a greedy gleam in his eyes at the prospect of opening up a new account. The only wrinkle in his joy at having a new patron was the use of Muggle money. Still, the banks of Britain and the goblin bank had a cordial arrangement to exchange currency for gold, and with gold being so difficult to obtain now, every little bit counted. "Yes, at this present moment in time, the exchange rate for British pounds to wizarding Galleons is 20 British Pounds Sterling to 1 Galleon, but since you are opening up a new account, you may exchange 10 British pounds for one Galleon within your first deposit," the goblin explained as he pulled out a box that started floating down from the desk of the bank teller until it was just hovering at the same level as Harry's chest.
He opened the box and began pulling out large clumps of cash that were rolled up, along with a few wrinkled bills he had taken, and some jewelry he had thrown in just for good measure. When he was done, he watched the box close and float back up to the desk. The goblin looked at the box for a brief moment before closing his eyes and doing some rough calculations in his mind. "With a combination of the money that you have acquired through dubious means and the jewelry, the total is four thousand. When converted, the overall total shall be 400 Galleons and two Knuts." The goblin reached over and grabbed a blood parchment contract that would handle the legal process of opening a new account and the transfer of the funds into the vault.
Harry grabbed hold of the floating parchment and black quill. Thinking of it, he started to sign after reading the full details of the contract and finding nothing wrong with it. It was only when he started to write that he noticed a sudden pain in the back of his hand. The contract itself flew back to the goblin, who looked at it with confusion as he took the contract and began passing his magic through the paper, making it glow green for a brief moment.
"It seems that you already have an account with us. If you head down to the left here and through the golden doors, turn right at the end of the hall, you'll find the Vault Recovery for Lost Heir and Heiress Inheritance Department. They shall deal with your vault recovery. I hope you continue to do good business with the nation." The goblin bowed respectfully again and then waited, watching the child leave.
Wanting to be respectful, he bowed his own head back, which caused the goblin to smirk as he turned and headed in the direction he had described. Harry noticed the goblins guarding the golden door giving him a wary look for a brief moment. Thinking nothing of it, he pressed his hand against the golden doors and pushed them open, straining his muscles only a little. to both shock and the surprise of the goblins, he could hear a small gasp as he pushed open the obviously heavy door. 'They believe this is heavy? Vernon's new car is heavier, along with that useless amount of metal attached to it. It would probably be even heavier if he was in it,' he thought to himself as he headed straight to the right department to recover whatever lost vault he was entitled to inherit. He wondered who he would be inheriting from. He knew everything about his mother but little to nothing about his father; that was as far as he got with threatening bodily harm to his aunt if she did not reveal everything he wanted to know about the one who had birthed him into the world.
As he approached the correct door, he considered simply barging in, but since the goblins had been polite—or at least one of them had—and the others were giving him wary looks, even the ones hiding with their spears and crossbow bolts trained on him, he thought it best to return the same amount of politeness.
Knocking on the golden doors with not enough for us to dent a soft metal but enough to make his presence known he waited until he got a response from the other side of the door.
The goblin sitting at his desk, who had received a notification that he would be receiving an unexpected visitor, heard the knock, put down his quill, and channeled the magic through his throat to carry his voice through the door to be heard by the respective client. "Enter," he said briskly. To the goblin's surprise, he saw a little wizard—or what he thought was a wizard—as the heavy doors were pushed open by a child with no visible sign of strain.
He couldn't help but smirk at seeing another being truly in awe of a small display of what he was capable of, even though there was much more he would like to try if the situation were different. He confidently and calmly walked toward the desk and gave a respectful bow. "Greetings, sir. I was informed that you could assist me with an account issue that I seem to have at this bank, which your master teller has informed me of, and you are the goblin I am supposed to speak with." Harry's words conveyed nothing but respect; even the bow was a little much, but in his mind, honey attracts more flies than vinegar.
Despite the little surprise of the young one's strength, they still showed respect, whether it was out of the possibility that the goblins had the right to kick anyone who displeased them out and bar them from their services for a time, or if this was truly genuine, which in itself was a rarity even for a goblin who could be on the receiving end of such respect. "And what type of information about the account do you wish to know?" the goblin asked as he gestured towards the fine leather chair for the child to sit in.
Taking the offered seat, Harry relished the comforting, soft, warm leather that he seemed to sink into just a bit, taking a few seconds to come up with a response. "The master teller informed me that I already have an account. I wish to verify this and know the current balance of said account." He watched the reactions of the goblin before him.
The goblin knew the magical being before him was trying to inquire about another existing account; after all, it was attached to the notice that had been sent to him when he was expecting a client. "If you have an account, we will have to verify through our methods of verification, which only requires a single thing from you," the goblin stated as he reached over towards his drawer, pulled it open, and began rifling through it. He grabbed the correct materials: a needle and a parchment, and placed them on his desk.
Harry looked at the two items with puzzlement and slight curiosity about what these two items would mean in order to find the information he sought about his account or possible accounts if he had multiple. "And that would be?" he asked, though he had a guess based on what the needle could be used for in order to extract the information both the goblin and half-human wanted.
"Through blood," the goblin quickly answered as he grabbed the needle between his clawed fingers. "One little prick and a single drop of blood on the parchment will reveal everything: your identity, by whom you are related to, possible lordships, property that you own through inheritance or by right and rights of conquest, and any living relatives and family members that you could get in contact with," the goblin explained further while still holding the needle.
A rush of excitement began coursing through him at the idea of finding anyone besides the Dursleys—a family that he had left horrified after finally deciding to no longer make that place his home for the foreseeable future after learning everything he needed to know about the Wizarding World and how big it could be, and how he wouldn't need to feel like a freak amongst the mundane. "So just a drop and I will know everything," he stated more to himself than as a question, as he reached out with his right index finger, pressing the needle tip against the skin that he had always reinforced to protect himself from his uncle. Now, with his defenses lowered just a small bit of skin, he felt that sting. When he withdrew his finger, he began squeezing until a single droplet fell onto the parchment, which was blank for a second before words began to emerge.
Name: Harrison Jameson Potter
Age: 11
Sex: Male
Race: Half Human, Half Ainur
Relations:
Father: Jameson Charles Potter, deceased
Mother: Lily Violet Potter, née Evans, deceased
Sister: Rose Doria Potter, alive
The number of names passed down included his grandparents and a few other cousins who weren't alive. Harry stared at the one name that said "alive": his sister. He had to close his eyes and recompose himself, not allowing his emotions to run rampant, knowing for a fact that he wasn't truly alone but that he actually had kin somewhere in the world. One day he would find them, even if he had to turn every corner of the world just to see that one little bit of relations he had always wanted and always needed. Even if the voice that he heard in his dreams was comfort enough, it was nothing compared to having the comfort and presence of an actual family member who would love him, care for him, and share his woes with—or even argue with—something he had always longed for.
A fake cough broke Harry out of his musings as he looked at the goblin who had got his attention before seeing the crooked clawed finger pointed at "inheritance" as he quickly read up on what he was entitled to at present and what he would soon be entitled to once he reached majority.
"So I am the heir apparent to House Potter and will become Lord Potter once I reach my majority or emancipation," he stated as he looked at the other things he was entitled to, such as the House of Black inheritance, which could be contested by the true inheritor, who was his sister, who could claim the title of Lady Black if she took up the mantle.
The goblin nodded. "That is correct, Heir Potter. Being that there are no other existing Potters, you can be designated as the full scion and receive your head of house ring. It will grant you the rights to access more of your family vaults, but only those related to artifacts and the carefully stored magical knowledge in the vaults. The main Potter fortune remains locked until you reach your full majority and your placement into the Wizengamot," the goblin explained, all while still glancing over the parchment that was revealing more and more information before stopping at the vault the last Potter owned.
Looking at the last thing on the list, Harry could see that his family had left him a trust vault to be shared between himself and his sister, with 20,000 galleons that would be split between them and refilled at the end of the year. "I do not know how to access this vault, nor do I possess anything that could grant me access," he admitted. From what he remembered of his uncle going into the bank, most banks would allow a patron to simply punch in a number, and they would be granted their account, or flash their card or use some other security measures that would grant access to money—something he did not possess.
"You should have your trust vault key, but since you are here, it is most likely that it has been misplaced or even stolen." The goblin noticed the strange expression change on the boy's face when the mention of something belonging to the Potter heir may have been stolen made the goblin shiver in place, and he could feel as if the temperature in the room became cold and the light almost seemed as if it were being absorbed into the boy's presence.
"Stolen, you say? Do you know if my accounts have been tampered with or if any of the gold has been taken or transferred to another vault? If so, you'll tell me by whom has been stealing from me and my missing sister." Harry's voice became deeper, much like distant thunder that was growing closer as more of the light around him began to be absorbed, leaving an ominous darkness surrounding him.
The goblin began to shrink in his chair, forgetting the fact that he was protected within the vault and the various bylaws that prevented magical beings such as wizards from harming them. Yet, he wasn't dealing with a normal wizard, especially one with the unique pedigree that this one had—something he would have to send to his king. This was new information about a possibly re-emerging race of magical beings. "Heir Potter, I assure you, if anyone has taken gold from your vault without your permission and had it transferred somewhere, we will inform you if such information presents itself, I assure you," the goblin managed to gasp out, feeling the intense pressure on his very being as if he were about to be crushed under an ocean of power—something that almost seemed impossible for someone so young to amass. Even a seasoned goblin warrior, who had seen at least two centuries of magical battles and wars, felt such power bearing down on him; not since the times of old had goblins felt such power from wizards.
As the pressure subsided, the room returned to normal along with the temperature. Harry closed his eyes and worked on his breathing to calm himself further before opening them, his slit pupils becoming narrow and focused. "Can you issue a new key?" he managed to ask with restrained politeness despite his rage at the idea of someone stealing from him and the one family member he had yet to meet.
"Yes, we can issue one immediately and cancel the old one, though there will be a fee of 50 galleons for the replacement and the changing of the locks. If you lose the key again, that amount will double for both replacement and refitting the locks," the goblin was able to answer without difficulty, as the magical pressure he had felt finally lifted and he no longer felt as if he were in a void from how cold the room had become. This just further added to the level of concern that all goblins should now have when dealing with the current future Lord of House Potter—advice to not provoke this one until they better understood the creature blood coursing through the boy's veins, something he may have inherited from his mother, since there were no Potters that had any relations with Ainur, at least in their records, which they would have to go through again just to verify.
He managed to calm himself and sat comfortably in the leather chair, but he still felt agitated. He immediately eliminated the Dursleys from the list of possibilities of those who may have stolen his keys. As far as he knew, his aunt hated everything to do with magic, but Harry wouldn't put it past his greedy, fat uncle to try to steal from him—a man who was a braggart and enjoyed flashing and flaunting his wealth as though it were some challenge for all the neighbors who didn't play the competitive game of how much Vernon could waste with the few meager things he could buy, many of which Harrison had either destroyed or broken after discovering he could no longer be harmed by normal means. "Will this take long? I would like to collect some gold so I can purchase the items I require for this year of my schooling." He didn't bother being respectful, but he didn't speak out of rudeness; it was rather slight agitation, and the Goblin didn't seem to react negatively to his less-than-polite tone of voice.
The Goblin recomposed himself in his seat for a moment while also straightening his suit before answering. "Issuing a new key is quite quick." he answered as Goblin simply snapped his fingers, and a small gold key hovered just above the clawed finger of the Goblin. As the little being was about to hand the key over to the Potter heir, the key immediately flew out of the tip of his claw and into the waiting hand of its intended owner.
Harry looked at the key and felt a small trace of magic—nothing much besides that identifier indicating that the key did belong here, but there was nothing else. He redirected his slitted emerald eyes towards the Goblin. "Thank you for issuing this key and resolving the issue of my loose key that's floating around. I hope that when the person comes to check on my vault, you will notify me immediately," he said as he got up from the leather chair and made his way towards the door, pausing only for that split second. "No harm is to come to the thief. I want to deal with them myself." That rumbling, booming voice carried through the open chamber of the Goblin's office, causing the sole occupant, besides his hidden guard, to shiver in his seat before he left for the lobby.
The Goblin at his desk did not waste any time before sending out a notice to his king regarding a new emerging magical race or a reoccurring one, along with arranging discussions with other Goblin historians and those few wizards that they tolerated who were in the know about lost and forgotten races of magical beings. An additional attachment to the notice stated that anyone who possessed the stolen key to the trust vault of Harrison Potter should be detained within the holding cell and await judgment from the original owner of said key. With the notice completed, he immediately transformed it into a fly with a tap of his Goblin-twisted, talon-like nail. It buzzed and flew off into a small hole in the wall, going where it needed to go, leaving that Goblin reflecting on how dangerous this person could be and yet how valuable they would be in the next Goblin Rebellion if the boy lived long enough to participate, either as an ally or as a pawn; both were good.
Harrison—a name that he couldn't help but feel comfortable with. It was far better than simply being called Harry. It was far better than being labeled a freak, where his name was always used to state that he was very hairy, and that was the only reason why he was named that way. Whether it was the mop on his head or the rumors that his cousin had made about him, that was until he tamed the fat pig to not oink as much about him. Walking down the same hallways into the lobby, he couldn't help but notice how the Goblins were now looking at him with a sign of caution or a small gleam challenge in their eyes, as if he were some great predator that they could try to fight and slay to earn some great honors by tangling with him. If he knew his own abilities, if he truly understood where his powers had come from and had mastered them, he would welcome the challenge. From the dreams and memories he had of these things, they weren't as strong as they appeared to be, nor were they as formidable in comparison to the other creatures he had seen who were bred and built for war. Probably, these Goblins were made for combat, but that time had long passed; they were nothing more than bankers.
Approaching the main bank teller, Harrison placed his key on the desk, and the teller briefly looked at the key for a moment before nodding his head and waving his hand towards a Goblin who quickly rushed to the side and stood perfectly straight while holding an unlit lantern.
"My name is Griphook. It is a pleasure to meet you, Harrison Potter." The Goblin bowed his head before the boy, raising it again. The Goblin didn't receive the same treatment of greeting that he had bestowed upon the wizard, yet he wouldn't make any responses that would appear negatively, as most Goblins on this level felt the power coming from the office of inheritance and recovery. The last thing that Griphook wanted to be was just a simple smear against the golden marble walls of the bank.
Nodding his head with his key in hand, Harrison approached the Goblin. "Take me to my vault. I will take what I require, and I'll be off from here. I do apologize for my less-than-hospitable behavior; at this point, I am just not used to thieves. I have yet to see who I cannot release my wrath upon." He managed to say this politely and slightly apologetically, but there was still anger and power in his words—not as much in comparison to how he had spoken to the Goblin who had informed him of the possible theft of what belonged to him.
Griphook nodded his head, understanding the boy. If anyone had stolen something from the Goblins themselves, they would go to war, and if they could wield such power as the boy, those Goblin wars would have ended in far greater human casualties. "I understand your agitation, and I accept your apology. Follow me; I shall take you to your vault. As an additional apology, we will provide you with a Mokeskin bag. It is the bank's hope that this little gift would truly show our sincerity regarding the possible theft of your vault." The Goblin held out the magical bag as an offering to appease an angry god, hoping that would be enough to avoid being crushed by said angry god.
Without too much of a glance or response, he took the bag without question, waiting for the Goblin to take the lead, where he would follow.
An hour later
Walking out of the Goblin bank, Harrison felt a thrill. Riding those carts to the levels where his vault was being held was more exhilarating than the magical bag he had now gain. It held a great deal of his gold and sickles, which was enormous—big enough for him to want to just lay in and enjoy. The bit of magic radiating from the coins felt warm against his skin, filling the emptiness that stemmed from the lack of love or joy he had in his life. Other than those small, warm instances in his dreams, or occasionally during his waking hours when he would hear whispers in his ear, he had little else. Those whispers encouraged him to continue and provided him the courage and strength he needed.
He didn't dwell on those thoughts or his pleasant sensations from having so much gold. Instead, he redirected his focus to other important matters, such as how he would store all of his possessions and what he needed to get on his list. He headed straight for the nearest shop that offered storage options for magical items and materials.
After purchasing an expansion chest with many enchantments, he bought and stored all the school materials he required for this year: his books, potion kit, and a few other ingredients on the list. The only things he hadn't gotten were his uniform and his wand. For that last one, he couldn't help but imagine bearded old men with long sticks, some of which were adorned with crystals or gems. They wielded immense power, including a white stick that was ornately carved at the end but almost appeared to be like a temple before it shattered within the vision or dream he had of it. Maybe he could get a staff himself; if he couldn't, he would just make one, as he had vague whispers in his mind about how they were crafted. But he would need to find the right wood; if not, he would use metal.
Moving towards the one store that was on his list to do for today he looked up at the sign and stared at the peculiar name Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. he stepped into the shop and looked around and saw a number of various Fabrics on display along with the different robes being on display along with the Fabrics on mannequins that seem to move in the various poses there was one mannequin that waved at Harry and he returned the friendly greeting if not awkwardly at the strangeness of an inanimate object moving as a real person.
"First year, my dear?" a rather plump woman asked excitedly as she slowly approached her newest customer. She briefly stared at the pointed ears of the boy for a moment before switching her focus to the child before her. she glanced the entrance of her shop, wondering if the parents were somewhere else or if they had entered and she just didn't see them.
The appearance of the shop owner did put him on the back foot for a brief moment before he mentally shook himself out of the surprise and focused on the witch. "Yes, ma'am, I'm here to get my school robes and maybe something along the lines for everyday wear." He couldn't help but notice her excitable expression, which became even more animated, her warm smile turning into a grin.
"Yes, dearie, I can provide you with every attire you want, though I must ask if your parents are out there or if I had just missed them," she questioned. She was more than willing to do the necessary measurements and provide whatever materials the boy may have wanted for his robes, but she didn't like the idea of having an order of robes set up only for the parent in question to be unable to afford the Acromantula silk with gold trimmings and the various charms and enchantments that made it into an expensive wonder item, only for the parent to immediately apologize and drag the child by his ear out of her shop. That had only happened once to her, and she would hate to make the same mistake again.
He felt a pain in his chest at the thought of his parents, yet as quickly as the pain struck him, he pushed it aside to the back of his mind and did not allow his melancholy to show. "I'm afraid my parents are long gone. I am an orphan, but I was left with some inheritance to see to my school supplies and whatever I may require," he answered her question while lightly patting the magic money bag that he had attached to his hip.
She had a look of sympathy for the boy at the loss of his parents; it always tugged at her heart. In recent years, after he who shall not be named perished, there were more and more of these children being brought up into the Wizarding World without parents. Some she suspected were the illegitimate children of the various Purists who failed to eliminate the Muggles or Squibs they tried to slay during their mini rampages through Britain, since she found a great many similar-looking Muggle-born children who bore a strong resemblance to the various Death Eaters that had been captured and incarcerated. "My apologies, little dear. On to a new topic: what would you be interested in for your everyday robes? And if you are interested, I do have formal wear for formal occasions." She waved her hand toward the colorful yet well-decorated robes and the mannequins posing in ways that allowed the splendor of the various enchanted fabrics to be on display.
If anything, he would admit that the robes looked stunning, but he felt a certain longing for a specialized robe of white that almost reflected the light of a distant star, as images of a person with pointed ears like his, and blonde or silver hair with blazing eyes and sharper facial features than his own, wearing such beautiful robes always occurred in his mind whenever he wanted something other than his hand-me-down clothes before forcing his aunt to get him something that properly fit him. "They're nice, but I think I would prefer something more custom to my preferences. Also, are there enchantments to keep them clean and resizing in the event that I have a growth spurt, and maybe some defenses against other magics?" As soon as he had listed those things, he could see her eyes glimmer with the same shine as the gold in his little pouch.
After some measuring, Harry stood in front of a mirror examining his school robes that were made of the finest silk, complete with all the enchantments to keep it clean, along with a scent freshening charm and other utility magics that maintained it in pristine order. While he was mildly distracted looking at himself in the mirror in his new robes, another individual forced his way into the same spot to examine his own robes.
"Acromantula silk?" the blonde-haired boy questioned as his eyes roamed over the soft yet slightly shining fabric of the other boy whom he was sharing the room with.
Part of him wanted to simply eject the blonde out of his little mirror booth, and all it would take was a simple wave of his hand. Yet he stayed his hand, not really knowing who this person was, as it was obvious that they were of the same age and possibly future schoolmates. The last thing he needed was to make an enemy of someone who could have been an ally, so he swallowed down his own irritation, cooled his desire to show his wrath toward those who were rude to him, and answered the question. "Yes, and among other things." He looked at the blonde with his arms crossed and a neutral expression on his face.
"Excellent choice! We wizards deserve only the finest fabrics. Best not to look like some Mudblood peasant stumbling around in the world and making a mess of everything," the blonde said haughty, with his nose stuck in the air while glancing down at his own school robes and examining every seam of his fine uniform, which was made of the same type of material as the other boy's robes.
Harry only let out a hum and watched the blonde still looking at himself through the mirror until he was satisfied and redirected his attention to the raven-haired boy.
"This year, I hope to get into Slytherin. Maybe we will be classmates there. I can't imagine myself going anywhere else. It's the house where the real witches and wizards belong, not these Mudbloods—especially that cursed house, Gryffindor. It's the worst house ever! Only those of the light and the stupid would join a house filled with blood traitors." Again, the blonde said this in a haughty tone to the somewhat ignorant audience of one, who simply watched with an expression of indifference, unsure how to respond due to a lack of actual proper information about the topic being discussed.
"So what house do you think you're going to be sorted into?" the blonde continued with a question, all while eyeing the other boy and failing to notice the pointed ears or the odd slit pupils.
Knowing that he couldn't simply let out a grunt or hum for agreement, Harry realized he had to respond on a topic he didn't quite know much about. He figured out what would be the best response in that instant. "I do not believe it would be wise to give my own desires regarding which house I wish to reside in. When the time comes, it will all be revealed, and I do not believe it is best to announce which house you wish to go into." Harry replied to the question while also offering a little friendly word of advice.
Draco couldn't help but be stunned by such words that sounded truly Slytherin, causing him to nod in agreement with the unknown boy he was sharing space with. He saw the merit of it—something he might teach his own heir when the time came for him to ascend to lordship. "Truly wise and yet Slytherin words! I believe you'll be sorted into the House of Slytherin, and I hope to find you there as my classmate." The blonde said smoothly, wearing a cocky smirk as he extended a hand. "The name is Draco Malfoy, of the magical House of Malfoy." Draco initiated the formal greeting between wizards in the respectful customs of their British world.
Eyeing Draco's hand for a moment and hearing the formal introduction and greeting, Harry returned the courtesy by extending his own hand and clasping it with his future fellow schoolmate. "Harrison Potter, of the most ancient and noble House of Potter." He curled his fingers into a firm grip with restrained strength for the brief moment that he thought he might have hurt the other boy based on his shocked and surprised expression.
"Your Harry Potter?!" Draco slightly spluttered as he shaking hands with the most famous wizard in the British Wizarding World. He couldn't help but remember what his father had instructed him to do: find the Potter, befriend him, and find out what his leniencies were towards those who were not of pure magical blood, along with other topics he was struggling to recall while standing in front of the person he had been told to target for this year.
Harry was the one who began to disengage from the handshake, bringing both hands behind his back. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sudden surprised response from the one named Draco. "Have I said something to offend you?" he asked somewhat sarcastically, as if his own name meant any offense to anyone.
Remembering his own training from both his mother and father, Draco recomposed himself, smoothed out his robes, and put his mental shields in order to dampen his own surprise, excitement, and worry. "No offense was taken. It is I who should be apologizing for acting as if I were a fish out of water. Though I will admit, I am surprised to see you here. I had expected you to be somewhere else, possibly wearing clothes that are unfit for a wizard such as yourself." Draco spoke with a sense of elegance that still had a bit of haughtiness in it, but it sounded more like those speaking among fellow lords—something that made Harry slightly amused at such respectful treatment.
"Would it be bad if I dressed up as a full non-magical person, with all the accessories that go with it?" Harry questioned, watching as Draco made a disgusted expression at such a question.
Just the mere thought of dressing up as a Muggle made him want to gag. The non-magical world was savage and unfit for civilized folk, just as his father often told him. "You would be shaming your family name and legacy by attempting to appear anything other than what we truly are." His voice returned haughtyness as Draco continued to wear a disgusted look, not directed toward Harry, but at the very thought of the Muggle world.
Harry couldn't help but rub under his chin for a brief moment while smirking. "Then you failed to see the snake hidden among the mice," he said smoothly, noticing the confused expression on Draco's face. He continued with his explanation. "Say I dress up as a Muggle and wander among Muggles. Would you be able to find me there if you were looking for me? Yet you, with your fancy robes, stand out as unsuspecting prey, unable to see when I strike through the shadows I create for myself among those who stand in the light. You would never see the one who delivered that lethal strike." He lectured with his explanation, unable to suppress a laugh as he saw the dumbfounded expression on Draco's face.
Draco blinked a few times, hearing the explanation. He couldn't help but take mental notes on what was said. Draco compared this to a few lessons he had with his mother, a former daughter of the House of Black, who often lectured him about taking advantage of any opportunity and never being limited by what others perceived as distasteful. He assumed that his mother was telling him that he should strike a wizard while he wasn't aware he was about to be struck, but maybe she meant something else. Did she try to suggest using whatever means would help him achieve victory, even if he had to dirty himself among Muggle things? This line of thought would have his father ringing in his ears at such ideas, but he pushed that to the back of his mind as he soon realized he was no longer in the presence of the famed Potter.
Draco stepped out of the mirror booth and tried looking for Potter, only to not be able to find him. Instead, he ran into his mother, who was shopping with him today while his father dealt with Ministry work.
"There's my little dragon! You look absolutely handsome in those school robes of yours!" Narcissa smiled and cooed at her blushing son.
He tried using his mental barriers to push down the embarrassment from his mother addressing him, as his eyes darted around looking for Potter. He was still giving her the same type of smile that he often received from his aunt Bella when he had the opportunity to see her, thanks to his father showing him what it meant to fail in the fight for traditions. "Mom, did you see a boy with black raven hair walk by?" he asked, desperately trying to find Potter as his eyes scanned the shop.
Narcissa blinked in confusion but recognized how panicked and slightly excited her son was as he looked around the shop. "I'm sorry, my little dragon. I didn't see a boy exit the booth you entered. You're the only one I have seen enter," Narcissa said soothingly to her son as she noticed that he was giving her an incredulous look, as if what she had said was pure madness. "So who are you looking for?" she asked, knowing he wouldn't reveal anything unless she directly asked him.
He didn't want to speak out loud; then again, there was no one else besides himself and his mother. Looking around, Draco leaned toward his mother as she lowered her head and brought her ear close to Draco's lips. "I met Harry Potter in that booth, and now he's gone," he whispered into his mother's ear. Then he pulled back and watched her expression, which was at first shocked, then neutral. He noticed there was a bit of a shine in her eyes that transformed her normally blue irises into gunmetal gray, a common eye color for most Blacks, as her eyes darted around, searching for the expected Boy Who Lived. Yet her magical eyes couldn't find him.
"If he is here, he has found a way to hide from even Black family magic," Narcissa said lowly enough that only her son could hear. She knew the importance of her husband's plan, though she was more interested in finding that small bit of family descended from Dorea Potter, née Black, her great-aunt and the most powerful and vicious of all members of the Black family, yet she had a kind heart that was paradoxical to her family's nature with a motherly or that welcomed any to all the children of the House of black if only her older sister Bella had went to their aunt instead of confronting Uncle Arcturus Bellatrix Lestrange would have never come into being. that's why she was using her family magic that she still had access to find that last Remnant of her beloved great aunt but alas she couldn't see him.
Draco had a disappointed look on his face as he looked around with just his naked eyes. He even glanced towards the entrance just to make sure that Potter didn't simply use some invisibility spell on himself. "Father is going to be upset with me," he said shamefully at his failure, knowing that his father would lecture him about it, then refuse to acknowledge his presence for some time, until Samhain, if not Yule.
Placing both hands on her son's shoulders, she gave him a gentle squeeze and allowed her maternal magic to wash over him in a protective embrace, just as her own mother had done whenever she felt upset, before the Black Madness set in. "Do not inform your father. You did not fail; you did as he wanted, and you met up with Potter. Now you have to play the long game, my little dragon. Do not search for him when he does not wish to be found. You will find him during the Sorting. There, you can reacquaint yourself. A true Slytherin is patient and does not leave the shadows of anonymity. Your father, unknowingly of what has happened in this shop, is your anonymity. When he asks you how your day was, unlikely as it is, you will tell him only a half-truth. Once it is known that you were able to speak and have a cordial conversation with Potter, then you can reveal, but do so at the high ground of your choosing, not on your knees." She counseled her son in the same manner that many of the other Black portraits had taught her how to be a proper Slytherin and a daughter of the House of Black, the same methods that she tried to impart onto her only son.
Between the magical warmth that Draco could feel from his mother and those encouraging yet very Slytherin words, he was filled with determination to do as she had counseled and say nothing of what had happened today, reporting to his father when the time was right. "Yes, Mother," he said, still sounding a little dejected, but he couldn't help but want to extend the conversation with Potter just a little longer.
Seeing that her son was still moody, she lightly patted his shoulder. "Come now, Draco, let's go get some ice cream. It's been a long time since I've tasted Fortescue's more exotic desserts." Narcissa watched her son's expression change from moody to rather excitable, as all children do when given the promise of ice cream or anything sweet, for that matter. Sure, she would have to take a few potions to fight off the small buildup of fat that she would gain from this little indulgence, but it was worth seeing that smile on her son's face—one that belonged in the Black family and not the Malfoys.
Within the realm of Wraith, Harry watched both mother and son for a moment and couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the interaction between Draco and his mother. However, as soon as that anger toward what he could never feel with his own mother quickly died down, it was pushed to the furthest parts of his being as he watched them move toward the exit of the shop before rematerializing in the waking world to collect his completed robes.
With his school uniform and other outfits stored in his trunk, he headed out of the clothing shop, crossed the alley, and walked into Ollivander's. Before stepping into the shop, he could feel an unusual magic emanating from the place that was both old yet new, wild yet tamed, orderly yet chaotic—a constant balance between the two, including light and darkness. These feelings were coming off the old-looking shop that was covered in layers of dust, yet it burned brightly with magic itself. Even if he appeared in the world of the Wraiths, this building alone would act as a beacon to draw things in and also repel them. Pushing aside the odd feelings he had, he opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was the large stack of rows of long, short rectangular boxes, along with the smells of decades, if not centuries, worth of dust from all sorts of creatures. Not just that, but through the song of magic, he could hear all sorts of creatures ringing in his pointed ears, making them twitch just a bit. He couldn't help but close his eyes and listen to the rhythms in each and every tone he could hear, which almost sounded like a large orchestra that was disjointed.
While his vision was black and he relied on his ears to follow the various sounds, he couldn't help but see color in the darkness as he extended a hand, following the noises and managing not to step on anything or stumble. He followed the various sounds and colors until a bird-like trill sang out in a musical tone that beckoned him, calling for him and even speaking a name that went beyond the name he was always called—a name that was truly his, one that meant something intimate to his very being.
"Elentir…"
The musical voice called out to him as he felt a magnetic pull within his being, guiding him where he needed to go. The other sounds, which had been showing him the music within the symphony, became drowned out by the one song that sang so brightly and warmly. He felt as if he was walking toward a warm summer day—the type of warmth he enjoyed when he used to attend the gardens, seeing the birds and feeling a small bit of envy as they flew away to destinations unknown. Yet, he didn't feel envy; he felt joy as he placed his hand on a rectangular-shaped box. Even without actually touching it, the warmth inside didn't so much as beckon but demanded to be held and wielded, and to be wielded by no one other than him.
Opening his eyes, he could see the dusty box and opened it up to look at the holly wood. It was about 11 inches, if he had to guess, and the handle looked as if it had come straight from the tree that had been used to craft it. Its make, its dimensions, its style hardly mattered as he wrapped his fingers around the handle and felt an overwhelming warmth and light radiate from his very being. He closed his eyes and basked in the great magical power coursing through him, burning brighter than any star he would ever gaze upon or dream of. But as quickly as the pleasant feeling came, it soon died down, and the connection he felt between himself and the object he wielded in his hand truly felt like he had found a missing part of his soul.
"Truly curious!" an unfamiliar voice spoke out as Ollivander watched the whole spectacle of Mr. Potter—a boy he instantly recognized thanks to the high cheekbones and hair color. But it was the odd pointed ears and emerald eyes, with their peculiar pupil slits, that were also an oddity. However, he recognized the coloring of the boy's eyes, which matched his mother's.
Harry reacted like any other person wielding a very powerful weapon. He pointed it at the person he did not know. He didn't know any magic spells to cast, but he could still pour his own magic through the tip of this wand, even if it would be a chaotic mess and not as refined as the magic he had seen thus far. "Who are you?!" Harry demanded, wanting answers from the stranger who had chosen to reveal himself in such an abrupt manner.
"My apologies, Mr. Potter. I have this unhealthy habit of trying to spook my new customers—something that many have warned me not to continue," Ollivander said as apologetically as he could. The man, with his twinkling gaze, looked at the boy through his magical sight and saw a blinding light, as if the boy's very being was made of starlight. The boy was already bright when he entered the shop, and now, with the wand in hand, it was as if the star within him had been ignited.
Hearing the man's words, Harry sensed sincerity in his apology, though the small smile from the shop owner conveyed that he was at least half sorry, in Harry's mind. "Perhaps you should practice restraint. I would hate to rob the alley of its only wandmaker." He lowered his wand before bringing it into his gaze and noticed a certain form of magic that didn't belong—something that was shackled to his wand. With a bit of will, that shackle was broken.
"To be so in tune with magic that you could find the trace is truly astonishing. And more than that, you destroyed it," Ollivander said in absolute awe at what he had witnessed. Out of the many decades of crafting wands and handling them to their destined wielders, none had the skill or power to find the trace or the ability to break it—not until now.
He turned his focus away from his new appendage and toward the one who had crafted it. As Harry expanded his magic just a bit to sense who this person was, he felt a similar magical signature radiating off the man, echoing similarly to the one he possessed, as if the object he held in his hand was recognizing the man as a parent. "You are the wand crafter," he managed to deduce, and he couldn't help but notice how the man smirked.
Lowering his hands, Ollivander placed one hand in his pocket and his fist on his hip. "Again, you surprise me, Mr. Potter. Even now, in your youth, you have the magical sight and can sense the maternal connection between a wand crafter and his creation. You will truly have a very bright future, as far as I can see," he said rather sagely as he walked past the boy and toward the register of his shop, beginning the necessary calculations on a reduced price. After witnessing such a spectacle, the boy may perhaps have earned a discount, especially since Ollivander hadn't seen such a wonderful display of magic from someone entering the magical world for the first time.
Walking toward the register, Harry looked at the price and pulled out the appropriate number of galleons, placing them onto the counter. He then received an additional item that looked like a holster, and he regarded it with mild puzzlement.
"It's the wand holster, so you don't have to stick it in your pocket or somewhere that could cause it to become damaged or snap. That's the last thing I would want to happen to such a wonderful wand, especially considering the magical core I put into it," Ollivander explained, detailing the reasons for and the importance of the wand holster.
He slightly bowed his head in thanks as Harry took the holster and attached it to his left arm, then snugly placed his wand into the holster. Before redirecting his attention back to the wand crafter, he wondered about the core. "And what is the core of my wand?" he asked rather smoothly and politely, not sounding as hostile as he once had toward the wand maker.
The man's joyful expression took on a melancholy look as he stared toward the entrance of his shop, recollecting some past memories of the one to whom he had given the very wand that had set the British magical community aflame as he felt shame, regret, and anger toward himself, yet resignation for all that had happened, and hope for the small spark that stood before him. "Your core that resides within your wand is that of a phoenix feather—very rare. I obtained such wonderful ingredients to make powerful wands far more powerful than even dragon heartstring. A phoenix rarely gives its feather, and it so happens that this feather is the twin brother of the one that gave you that scar," he said in a way that almost sounded regretful, as if he were the one wielding the magical instrument that had seen so many suffer. Yet there was a spark of warmth and hope that could be seen in the man's eyes, as if his own shame could be resolved within this young boy.
His left hand twitched just a bit, his fingers curling and relaxing as he felt the warm pulses of comfort coming off his wand. "I know whom you speak of, and he has haunted my own dreams. They have no power over that which I wield, and I shall not fall, as they did, into the abyss," Harry stated, his eyes glazing for a moment as he remembered small fragments of that night—the way his mother begged for his life. That was the only thing he recalled before a green flash. Part of him wanted to remember more—the smells of home, the warmth of his mother, and possibly his sibling, of whom he had no memory or sensation beyond just a warm, fiery presence.
"I expect great things from you, Mr. Potter, and I hope it's for the good," Ollivander said as he took the coins and watched the boy leave his shop.
A red-headed girl waking up with a shuttering gasp in her chambers within the tower that she had erected shortly after she became old enough to wield her magic without harming herself, Rose looked around and felt a powerful surge of magic. The connection she had with her twin felt as if a blazing inferno had ignited and was pouring into her, filling her own reserves of magic to the point of overflow. She had to dampen the connection before she felt lethargic from the amount of magic flowing into her. Despite the distance between her and her sibling, she could still whisper to him, see what he had seen, and teach him some things within the limitations of her connection, which only afforded her some communication.
Khamûl entered her dark lady's chambers after sensing a small bit of distress from her one and true master, while wearing Éowyn's body as if it were her own. "My lady, what is wrong? I felt distress from you," she asked, dropping down to one knee and placing a fist over her heart, her head bent down.
Turning toward her most loyal and immortal servant, Rose took a shuddering breath, still feeling slightly woozy from the flow of magic that was somewhat muted now and would take some time for her to adjust. "It is fine. I am not in distress. My other half has found a surplus of magic, and it seems to be flowing into me. It will take time for me to acclimate, if not find a counter-source to balance things out," she explained to her servant as she walked over, trying not to fall to her side as she still felt the effects of the magic.
Khamûl raised her head and looked at her lady with mild concern but didn't question the authority of her lady. "If all is well, then I shall report on the current happenings around your new domain." Khamûl quickly summarized that the orc patrols in the surrounding forest lands and other human ruins had revealed no trespassers, spies, or anyone of that nature who would try to seek entry into these formerly poisoned lands.
Listening to her second-in-command, the red-headed girl nodded and gestured for her servant to rise with the raising of her hand. "Good. So long as the humans believe this land to be poisoned and beyond their ability to recover, they shall keep their distance until the illusion is broken. As for right now, continue training and refining our forces; the time has yet to arrive to begin the conquest." She walked into a war room connected to her bedchamber, which had a perfect replica of the world map and their current position on the continent, with a small figurine of her new tower based on the old one she had constructed in Mordor. Glancing over, she read the name of the land she now occupied, which she had christened as Mordor instead of simply calling it New Mordor, and noted the old name.
"Chernobyl," she read out loud. When she first arrived here, she could sense the poison in the air and soil and discern its source. Through rituals, she managed to banish the structure that contained the malevolent object crafted by man and performed a number of cleansing rituals throughout the land to remove the taint. It was the main reason why she had chosen this place; no human would dare walk upon this land, especially after she had learned what the poison was. But despite it killing anything it touched, it seemed to change the various wildlife in a manner that was beyond even Morgoth's dark and twisted grand design.
Wolves, about the same size as Wargs but with greater intelligence and twice as difficult to tame, were one result. With the taint removed from their bodies, they became a force unto themselves, something that she had decided to cultivate with the few handlers who had dealt with raising and training the orc war mounts. There were other things besides larger and more intelligent wolves; the plant life around had mutated and become carnivorous, eating anything it could wrap its deadly vines around, with its razor-sharp leaves tearing at the flesh. Then there were the insects: roaches about the size of hounds, flies no bigger than birds, and many other deadly insects that had yet to be discovered, along with other creatures and anomalies that appeared and disappeared frequently. She left the discovery to her more studious servants and Orcs to define any use of them for her grand plans.
Finishing up her internal summary of her little domain, she went into another room. This one was her throne room, with a large, ominous black throne that looked angrier in design, made of a polished black stone material with a single cushion on the seat.
She went over and sat on her throne, closing her eyes to focus her power to the top of the tower. When she opened her eyes, an emerald flaming eye appeared between spikes, and an emerald beam shone over the land. As she looked around, she watched her Orcs work, observed the animal life moving under the underbrush of trees, and noted the many other things happening in her domain. But her sight was truly switched and focused on the west, to a single island where her other half resided. She watched him exchanging coins at what looked like an inn. She wondered what he would think of her, of all that she had built, and all that she had yet to do. Would he be interested in the conquest, or would he be against it? These thoughts always filled her with a sense of worry and fear—a sensation she had never felt aside from the fear of being destroyed by her former master and the fear of death or even being sent into the gate of Eternal Night.
This fear was something else; it was of rejection. Since her original creation, she had been alone, a servant to one master after another, with no one she could truly converse with—no one who could be her equal. With the taint of the first Dark Lord corrupting her, when she was Sauron, she didn't seek an equal, a companion, or a sibling. All she wanted was power, destruction, and domination. Those were Morgoth's grand plans; hers were much different and would end differently compared to his.
She withdrew herself from her great emerald-flamed eye and opened her eyes, simply sitting back and relaxing on her throne, wondering what else she could do for now.
The doors to her throne room burst open as a pale green orc with ruby red eyes and two protruding teeth from his lower jaw stepped inside. The orc bowed his head in respect. "Forgive my unannounced intrusion, great one. We have captured an intruder during our scouting within the perimeters of your domain," he reported, before looking towards the couple of orcs that had followed him and gesturing with his head to bring forth the prisoner.
Igor wasn't expecting what had just happened to him. He had been wandering through the outskirts of this place, filled with ruined buildings made by Muggles—long abandoned—only to be captured by greenish-black creatures with crimson eyes and sharp teeth, some wearing fur clothing while others donned a type of leather armor. He tried defending himself with his magic, but they overwhelmed him, deprived him of his wand, bound his arms and legs, and dragged him what felt like an entire city's worth of distance to arrive in this place. The next thing he noticed was that he was in a large room with a dark decor similar to what Voldemort had favored, except there were no snake themes—just sharp-looking architecture that seemed quite unpleasant if someone were to fall onto the various spikes lining the walls. The last thing he expected was what looked like a little girl, a redhead wearing white robes and having pointed ears. Realizing what she was, he immediately spoke up for himself.
"Forgive my intrusion, my lady. I did not mean to trespass," Igor yelled out, only to be cuffed on the back of his head by the creatures holding him.
Rose eyed the bearded man warily and tilted her head to the side in slight puzzlement. She made a 'come here' gesture, pulling the man out of the grip of her orc scouts and dragging him across the long, expansive floor of her throne room until he stopped just at the base of her throne. "Who are you, and why are you here?" she asked coldly while staring down at the human.
Raising his head, he got a better look at the girl after being dragged across the entire throne room by an unseen force. He couldn't tell what manner of magical being he was looking at; she wasn't a Veela—wrong hair color, and they didn't have slit pupils or pointed ears. Could she be one of those more obscure races? he briefly wondered before registering her question. "I am Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute. My reason for being here is that a potential student was detected who is of age to join my school. I have come personally to review the potential student with my own eyes," he answered honestly, feeling no reason to omit any truth.
Her emerald eyes remained fixed on the man still on his knees, her expression stony. She got up from her throne and walked down the steps towards him, raising her right hand. "Let us see your school, and I shall measure its worth," she stated coldly as she placed her hand on the side of his head.
He was slightly confused by her statement, but soon he felt something penetrating his mind far more brutally than any Legilimency intrusion. His own mental barriers were more or less a wet paper bag in comparison to this overwhelming force, and he became a mere passenger, forced to see what she was looking for within his mind and memories of the school he had spoken about, and his own thoughts about it. She seemed to delve deeper into his past even after he tried to steer her away; all he did was cause himself pain as he resisted her probing of the shameful memories he always kept guarded at the back of his mind.
A few moments later, she pulled her hand back, and her stony expression began to twitch into an angry one. "You served a dark master—one who killed both my mother and sire—and even worse, you betrayed those once your master was defeated," she said, her voice becoming loud and booming, causing the very tower they resided in to shake with her fury.
The dark wizard was confused; he didn't know this girl, and the only one he had ever called his master realization began to Dawn on him is his eyes widen "I never wished to play a part in the affairs of Britain. I only came for gold and maybe some magical knowledge—that's what the Dark Lord had promised," he tried to excuse his involvement with his master and his desires in Britain, especially after he had met his master when the man looked more human than snake-like.
"Your excuses will not save you, cowardly, traitorous, impudent swine," she said, continuing to speak in that menacing, booming, cold tone before waving her hand as if she were backhanding him, causing him to slide a great distance to the side from her throne. Then she drew him back towards her, waving her hand again, tossing the man about and hearing his whimpers and begs for mercy before letting the battered man lay on his front before her feet.
Catching his breath and trying to ignore the pain of his body being bashed around as if he were dealing with a mountain troll, he raised his head. "Please, I can offer you great magical knowledge. There are things even I do not know; the school will give you all you would desire and more," he said while groveling, hoping that she would see his words as truly sincere despite his desperation to save himself from whatever dark fate she might be planning for him.
She wanted to break him, break his body and let him recover before breaking it again, tossing him into the few poisonous pits she had found that she had yet to cleanse, letting him suffer just as the women and children he had forced to suffer beneath him. Igor—the name she learned from his mind—was the worst type of creature: a man who would rape women and children for fun, a thief who had only gotten away with his treachery. Yet his words, his promises, did appeal to her. Leaning down, she grabbed him by the chin with a single finger, forcing him to stand until he was on his tiptoes as she raised her arm into the air. "I do desire magical knowledge, and since you were looking for a student to enroll, I accept the invitation. But know this: Do anything against me, or those whom I care about, or anything that is of my own design, and you will suffer in ways you could not even imagine—far worse than what your Dark Master once did to those who displeased him. In the end, you'll be begging for death—a death that I will refuse to give." She accepted his invitation to the school while punctuating the fact that even while enrolled, he would be at her mercy at any moment she deemed fit.
Part of him wished to feel relief that the girl accepted, and as threatening as it was, the situation seemed doable. He did not need to interfere with her affairs, and he would choose not to. Yet he felt as if he were making a terrible mistake, just as he had felt when he joined the terrorist organization in Britain—all for the sake of gold and family grimoires and lastly a few women to lay with. Yet he couldn't refuse, not while his life hung in the balance. "I'm glad that you accepted, and I will take the necessary steps to pay for your tuition and all your supplies for your classes," he managed to choke out while being held up by a single finger.
She stared at him for a long moment while holding him up by a finger before letting him go, allowing him to crash onto the ground in a heap. She turned her back and headed to her throne, sitting down and facing the man who was slowly picking himself back up. "I will inform my orcs that you will not be attacked on sight when you will return to bring me to this school of yours once you have supplied me with all that I need. Just remember, I do not give second chances." Her voice was no longer booming, but it still had that cold, dangerous edge sharp enough to cut through goblin steel.
The dark wizard nodded before turning his back and limply walking toward the exit. The orcs guarding the entrance stepped aside, giving him malicious grins as he made his escape from this place until his inevitable return.
BTC
A/N
The Goblins only treat Harry right only because they are uncertain of his race even if he is only half human they just don't want to deal with another bank or Goblin stronghold being destroyed.
I think everyone can guess where I'm going for the role for Harry to fill he is still Gray but a bright Lord does not need to be purely light either.