Chapter 4: Chapter 3

Summary:

wait... it wasn't a joke? Heck yeah!

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

A whole long and tiring week had passed and Harry had yet to forget about the letter.

He had twisted it in his hands and reread it countless times, each time trying not to get his hopes up. The paper felt honest under his fingertips and he thought that, if what was written was true, then he might receive a new one. He thought that, if this Goblin was truly set on working with him, for whatever reason, then they might reach out again to understand why he had missed his appointments.

Yet, when Wednesday came around, nothing had happened.

Harry didn't know what to make of the silence.

He had missed his appointments, if those were real and he desperately wanted them to be real, and he knew first hand that those actions came with dire consequences.

He had once missed a math quiz because he was stuck home "sick". He wasn't properly sick, he didn't have a fever and his nose was not stuffy and his stomach wasn't upset more than usual, but Aunt Petunia had sent a message to the school regardless, since he was not allowed out of his cupboard. His whole body did hurt just in the way it would when he was sick, he had discovered, but that must have been due to the fact that most of his skin was purple and blue.

Regardless, he was out sick and had missed a big test. And, when he came back to school, three days later once the bruising had become less visible and with his long sleeves covering him up, his teacher had not only made him retake it, which was fair, but he had also berated him in front of the whole classroom, with a snickering Dudley enjoying the scene way too much. Apparently his aunt had simply given Dudley a note to pass to the school and he had taken the initiative to spread rumours about his sickness, claiming he had either caused it himself or faked it entirely to skip out on quiz-day. His teacher hadn't taken too kindly to his fast recovery afterwards, telling him that it was irresponsible to miss an appointment and that he should apologise for his behaviour and disrespect.

Harry secretly thought that he had not been disrespectful and that it was the teacher who was making a big fuss out of something that wasn't even his fault, yet he kept quiet and finished his test, writing out some wrong answers on purpose as to no attract even more spotlight on himself.

He was not supposed to do well in school, after all.

Technically he was not supposed to do better than Dudley, but considering his cousin was absolutely abysmal, Harry had to try extra hard not to surpass him. Holding back was probably that was more tiring than cleaning the entire house top to bottom was.

Anyway, Wednesday had rolled around and there had been no sight of the armoured bird.

A part of Harry wasn't expecting it to arrive in the slightest and he was disappointed with himself for believing something could happen. He knew better than to wait for something to come and change his monotony, for someone to believe him when he said something was wrong with how the Dursleys treated him, for someone to take him from his relatives and improve his situation.

He knew better than to believe miracles and magic.

He did not remember fondly the last time he had brought the topic of magic up, chose to forget just how upset Uncle Vernon had been and how scared Aunt Petunia had looked and the consequences of his questions. Some things were best locked inside his mind and left there.

He was just disappointed because it wasn't every day that one could witness the sight of a hawk wearing a plate of armour and carrying a fancy letter, he told himself as he ignored the hunger that settled on his bones at the umpteenth missed meal, this time because the Dursleys had decided to take Dudley out for dinner and a film, leaving Harry alone in the house and locked in his cupboard.

He could have taken something from his stash, he had realised when he couldn't seem to fall asleep due to his loud stomach, but went against the idea. He didn't have much to begin with, having sneaked only little non-perishable food after learning firsthand how foul the smell of rotting fruit was, and he didn't believe a missed dinner could count as a reason to raid his little treasure.

The Dursleys often forgot to feed him and, if that summer went anything like his previous ones, he would end up missing many more, therefore he should try to save even more before dipping his paws into the stash. He might need it more another day, he reasoned with his grumbling tummy and, surprisingly, it stopped complaining, as if it had heard him.

Then, Thursday morning came around, with no unexpected visits.

He did not know why he had even bothered hoping for something different. All his life he had received disappointment and closed doors. Why would have this time been different?

He went through the motions of his chores on autopilot, not really seeing what he did, as he suppressed his sadness. That was why he hated hoping, it left him dumb and dull and made everything grey around him. He knew it had been a terrible joke played on him, he knew it had to be. And he knew that the cruellest thing out of it was the hope it had left in him.

His sadness quickly transformed in anger towards himself because he was smarter than that. He was not a stupid kid who should fall for fake acts of kindness, he should've known better.

Still, his emotions had no space in the Dursley household, so he carried on with his tasks, cleaning the bathrooms until all surfaced reflected his scrawny face, and cooking each meal to his relatives' wishes before turning the kitchen spotless, and, finally, returning to his cupboard with a bit of bread and some cheese in his stomach, tossing and turning as he clutched the letter in his sleep.

Regardless of how tired and down he was, he still ended up dreaming of swords and blood and battlefields, but it did nothing to lift his spirit.

Yet on Friday, things took a different turn.

Harry was out in the garden, having already cleaned the kitchen after breakfast.

Unlike the previous week, he had decided not to experiment with their food, cooking what was expected of him flawlessly, even if Dudley complained that his scrambled eggs were too cooked and forced him to put another batch on the stove after dumping his previous plate all over the floor.

But Harry already knew he would have had to mop anyway after the was done washing the dishes, so it didn't particularly faze him. What hurt was the loss of perfectly good and edible food that Harry himself couldn't have eaten, for his cousin had decided to stomp all over the yellow bits, to add insult to injury.

At least Uncle Vernon hadn't been upset with him already, he tried to reason with himself as he scrubbed down the pans he had used, washing away the bacon grease and ignoring the pang of hunger at the bottom of his stomach.

Harry loved the garden, considered it his little sanctuary. He could stay as long as there was something to be done and it seemed to react to his needs. Whenever he felt badly or poorly, the flowers seemed to sing to him, to console him. When he felt lonely, small animals seemed to find their way to him and, if he was particularly sad on those days, a snake or a gecko or a lizard would show up, talking his ear off with tales about their lives. The snakes seemed incredibly fond of him, calling him "hatchling" whenever he spoke with them. On particularly hot days the weeds seemed to disappear or conceal themselves, leaving him with nothing to do but fill his stomach with water from the hose and clean himself a bit as well.

He was not allowed to bathe more than once a week or spend much time in the bathroom unless he was cleaning it, so watering the plants was his way of refreshing himself and preserving his hygiene.

Apparently his quick showers wasted too much water that could not be wasted, especially in the summer, while Dudley's hour long ones in the mornings and the evenings didn't.

But Harry was past trying to reason with the Dursleys, which left him following their orders while finding loopholes, hence the stolen food which wasn't really stolen, since it remained under the same roof and only in a different room, even if it wasn't supposed to be a room, and hence the hose while watering the plants and flowers that also served as a mean for him to wash himself, since he was allowed to use as much water as he needed to tend to the garden and to make sure it was perfect even in the scorching summer heat.

And the garden was always perfect, yearlong, but Harry doubted it had anything to do with the amount of water he used.

He was just about to finish trimming the hedge of a shrubbery, already contemplating what he should cook for lunch for his relatives and if he could afford to take some for himself, or perhaps burn a bit and hide it away for later, when a gleam caught his eye.

Harry would have turned around so fast he would have definitely fallen and hurt himself, but he was always extra careful when the shears were in his tiny hands. So he hurriedly glanced at the empty kitchen window to check that Aunt Petunia was still engrossed in her show on the telly and put them down, cautiously eyeing the returned armoured hawk.

Who was, just as he had dreamed about, carrying a crimson envelope in his talons.

"Hello," Harry politely said, long past feeling foolish for trying to speak to animals, especially since they seemed to always understand him and occasionally talk back to him.

And, indeed, the hawk seemed to understand him, tilting their head in what Harry assumed to be acknowledgment.

"Is this for me?" he asked, afraid of what a rejection might have done to his precarious state.

Hope was a terrible thing, after all.

But the hawk nodded and offered their leg to him, encouraging him to grab the letter.

Harry's heart soared in his chest as he did so, but he was quickly distracted and startled by the feeling of urgency and confusion that emanated from the letter. The sender was the same as the previous letter and the ink felt the same, as if it came from the very same pen, or rather quill. The paper still felt ancient and purposeful, but this time there was the underlying necessity to be read as soon as possible that compelled Harry to do the imaginable.

Careful not to tear the fancy envelope, he opened the seal right then and there, tossing all caution to the wind.

Heir Potter,

I must admit my disappointment.

Were the times I gave you unachievable? You seem to not have left the country, therefore I assume it is not distance the issue.

Is your magical guardian not aware of the correspondence I have sent you?

What seems to be the issue keeping you from our appointment?

We Goblins do not tolerate delays, normally, and I must believe you have found some difficulties. Otherwise, retribution would not be kind to you, no matter your name and lineage.

Contact me posthaste for I demand an explanation.

Rotgard Longsword of the Silverfang Clan

Master Goblin of the Office for Hereditary Affairs and General of the Goblin Armies

Harry's heart pounded steadily in his chest.

This was what he had expected, this was what he was used to.

An adult, or at least who he supposed to be an adult since he had a job at a bank and all those who worked at the bank were old, at least that was what he had envisioned hearing Mary Poppins from his locked cupboard, an adult was disappointed in him for something he had had absolutely no control over.

He was used to it and, for the first time in his short life, it seemed that he could do something about it, that the other person was wanting answers directly from him instead of believing the lies spread about him.

The only problem would have been sending a letter back, since he did not think that the local post office had meaning to contact goblins, but thankfully the hawk had stuck around this time, instead of flying back immediately once he had grabbed the letter. Harry didn't think it was a coincidence, since this Master Rotgard had demanded an explanation and, therefore, must have thought ahead on how to get one.

Goblins were very smart, Harry thought, feeling emboldened to run his fingers along the bird neck as his own heart pounded in his chest.

"Can you wait a moment while I write back? And can you deliver it back to Master Rotgard?"

The hawk preened under his ministration and looked quite annoyed that he would need to stop them in order to write his response, but nodded regardless.

Harry couldn't help but coo and then laugh at the scene, feeling slightly mad and on the verge of tears. Anyone who dared to look at the little garden would be flabbergasted, but he couldn't care less about his appearance.

So what if he was petting an armoured hawk who had delivered him a magical letter and was waiting for his reply?

There were definitely weirder things happening in the world that many people seemed to ignore or simply couldn't see.

Like magic.

Which was apparently very real. And not only inside Harry's head.

Feeling a surge of sureness, he rushed inside, not really caring if he dragged some dirt on the floor. He would have cleaned it up after the euphoria had worn down.

He knew Aunt Petunia kept a notepad in the kitchen to pen down all the ingredients he would need for a recipe or to list down what she would need to buy on her next grocery run. And he knew that she was so engrossed with the telly that she would have not told him off for being inside when he still hadn't finished his outside chores if he was quiet enough.

And Harry was always quiet enough.

Still, not wanting to risk discovery, he grabbed a few pieces of paper and a spare pen from the counter and went back outside.

He tried not to think about how he might make a terrible impression on the nice goblin that was giving him the chance to defend himself by not using fancy stationery and by having what his own teachers called "chicken scratches" as handwriting, but he truly had no time to worry about that. Any second longer that the hawk stayed in the garden, they could be seen by a neighbour, who would go and tell his relatives, who would retaliate by locking him in his cupboard, if he was lucky.

He didn't have the time to think about what would have happened if he wasn't lucky either.

So he went to writing, trying to sound professional and not desperate at all.

Master Rotgard Longsword of the Silverfang Clan,

I am so sorry to disappoint you, I didn't mean to.

You have to believe me when I say this. It was not my intention to be a disappointment, ever. Thank you for allowing me to explain.

First, I didn't really believe your first letter. It was all too surreal for me. I am nothing special, so I cannot understand why you would write to me, but I think you know more and better than me. And my relatives are adamant that magic does not exist, as well as all magical things, so I thought this was a prank or a punishment.

And I live in Surrey, we don't have this species of hawk here. And, if we did, they would not wear clothes. So I was not sure you were serious. It all felt too good to be real, I suppose, and even if the ink felt strong and powerful, I didn't want to believe something that could have been false.

I don't want to disappoint but I also don't want to be disappointed.

But now that I know you were serious, and you must be because the hawk is still here and is going to send you this letter and I have to apologise for not being proper, I'm just so happy that someone is listening to me, I'm sorry, and magic is really real, isn't it? It's wonderful, I'm not a freak-

Now I definitely would love to come to London to meet you. It'd be my honour!

Second, I don't know about the magical part, but my guardians certainly would not get me anywhere, let alone to a bank in London. Especially not one who is run by Goblins, since they despise all things magic and are not nice people generally. I don't think you would like to meet them at all.

And I did not tell them about the letter, because they would not be happy about it and it's best to keep them happy, as best as I can.

But I promise, I am nicer than they are and I would very much like to come to your bank, if it was still possible.

I just don't know how to.

Again, asking my relatives would not do because they would think I'm lying and would just keep me here, which would only make the situation worse for me. And I cannot come to London alone, unfortunately. I don't have enough money to get a bus ride to the next town, let alone London. And stealing is very wrong.

You told me to tell you about issues and this is an issue.

Perhaps we can do this business you mentioned in letters? I can try to sneak in my responses if I'm careful.

I won't ask you to pay for my fair, it wouldn't be right. But since you said in your previous letter that I might have access to an inheritance, perhaps you could take the money from there?

I don't know. And I cannot ask anyone else.

I'm so sorry and I hope you can forgive me.

Harry Potter

There.

He had done the impossible and managed to write a reply that didn't sound too much like a desperate plea for help.

He had had to cross out a few things that seemed to be a bit too much in his opinion, not really craving to share his life story with the nice goblin and put him off by how weak Harry was, but overall he had done a good job at being polite and had tried his best to be proper! It was a win in his books and he took all the wins he could get.

He just hoped the goblin would not take him asking to help with his transportation issue as disrespect, but the way he would have reacted was out of his hands. Harry had learnt a long time ago that there was nothing he could do to help the way people responded to him and what he did, so he had given up on bothering.

Either he was at fault and he deserved the consequences, even if he found them extreme at times, or he wasn't and received them either way.

He looked up at the hawk, who was eyeing him curiously, before he rushed to add a post scriptum. It only felt right to, after all.

Ps.

The hawk is really pretty and seems nice, what is their name? And I'm sorry I didn't have treats or a snack for them. Next time I'll try to sneak something for them, I promise!

And then, immediately after, he was struck with the thought that had bothered him since he had gone to the library to find out more.

PSs.

I have searched in the library what "Heir" means and I think you have the wrong person. It's impossible for me to be noble, my relatives told me my dad was a drunk and a good for nothing, so I cannot be someone important. I'm nothing important, actually, I'm sorry if I'm wasting your time. Can I still talk to you, please?

Finally, satisfied with the letter he had composed with the tools and time he had at his disposal, he took back the crimson envelope and stuffed the tiny pages inside, pleading with the seal to hold for the voyage back to London.

"You are such a good and nice hawk, thank you for delivering this to me and I'm sorry I don't have a snack for you," he told the bird a bit wetly, because it felt important to.

The hawk grabbed the envelope in their claws, eyes shining with intelligence as they nodded and demanded one more pet by rubbing their head against Harry's still outstretched hand, before soaring into the sky and disappearing into the day.

And with them, Harry's heart also soared once more, for the first time hopeful that something good was about to come, for real.