Chapter 6: Chapter 5

Summary:

"Stendhal syndrome, Stendhal's syndrome or Florence syndrome is a psychosomatic condition involving rapid heartbeat, fainting, confusion, and even hallucinations allegedly occurring when individuals become exposed to objects, artworks, or phenomena of great beauty."

It does match with the side-effects of a portkey a bit, though.

Notes:

originally, as in "back when i was planning this fic" this part was all put together with the next chapter. But things got a mind of their own and i ended up writing 2.8k only on Harry arriving at Gringotts and, since the next chapter will be an important one and a very chunky one, I decided to split them up.
Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Harry immediately regretted using the enchanted coin.

If he had known better, he would have definitely taken a bus. He didn't even care about the possibility of getting lost on the way or not having a proper address and means to reach the bank.

He thought that there were very few things as discomforting as travelling through magic, even if only this experience was anything to go by. He would have gladly done anything rather than repeating the experience.

At first, back when he was still at Privet Drive, he felt an uncanny twist happening all over his body. It was weird and unpleasant and it caused goosebumps to spread all over his skin. His vision became blurry and the air was sucked out of his lungs. He thought it might feel similar to how a loose sock felt inside a washing machine and felt quite a kinship with the article of clothing.

Then, there was some sort of light show happening all around him just as he could feel his surroundings disappear and he was practically shoved inside the coin, somehow. Harry had closed his eyes tightly to avoid the strobing lights from messing with him and kept a tight hold on his rucksack, afraid that it might fly away in the tornado that seemed to be happening, all the while still inside that stupid enchanted coin.

If he could travel through coin maybe he could also travel through time and he should go back to convince himself not to take the coin trip, he thought as he tried not to lose his grasp on the straps and on his sanity.

The hawk buried their talons in his arm, holding on for dear life, and Harry had to wince at the cumulative pain. He didn't know what hurt more: his spinning head, his almost blinded eyes, the sharp claws inside his flesh, or the constellation of bruises he had acquired the night before.

But he had other problems, like making sure his glasses didn't disappear in the whirlpool of light, yet they thankfully remained on his nose.

Although he supposed that he would have to get rid of them anyway and update them as soon as possible, given that he could hardly see shapes any longer. He had had to shove words right under his nose to read them properly and he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of the goblins in case they asked him to read some documents.

Yet, again, that was an issue for when he didn't have to hold himself together for dear from life twisting and turning in the air.

Harry did not know who or how to pray, but in that moment he sent his thoughts into the Universe, begging to survive the trip.

Not that he had never been actually religious nor had ever been properly to church.

He supposed he might have liked it: an entire hour, or sometimes more, when he was expected to do nothing but sit and listen and, if he had understood correctly, occasionally stand up and recite something.

The Dursleys had better things to do than to sit through mass. Dudley did not have the patience to stay still for an hour, not even for five minutes really, and was too destructive and was always unchecked, ending up bothering the other children and the older ladies who were actually interested in what was happening, and his uncle could not stay awake while listening to someone else talk and always had to argue with people, and his aunt would be too interested in gossip to pay any attention to what was happening around her.

Besides, even if they were religious, as Aunt Petunia always claimed with new acquaintances to try and charm them, they could not go to their local church any longer. There had been a terrible gossip that had spread throughout the community that Harry, her marauder nephew, was possessed by the Devil and they had been shunned.

It did not matter that the rumour had been started by his aunt herself to avoid bringing him with her to her "weekly chatting get-togethers," what mattered though was that it had backfired and now the entire family avoided the church, afraid they would be found out in their treatment of said marauder nephew.

The priest, having heard of the rumour, had decided to investigate. And, when Aunt Petunia pretended to be a pious woman and all but begged him to perform an exorcism to "remove the freakishness out of him, I can't allow for it to take him as it did his mother," he had done nothing but have a nice long conversation with three-year-old Harry and pray with the boy, who he deemed to be "perfectly normal, if a bit skittish and thin. Perhaps you should bring him to his paediatrician for a check-up?"

Obviously they could not show their faces in the community any longer! And it had all been his freakishness's fault, Aunt Petunia had shrieked as Uncle Vernon punished him.

To the day, he still did not know what he had been punished for, but he had long lost the will to try and make sense of their reasoning.

Then, finally, almost as soon as he had felt his feet leave the parquet in Privet Drive, they thankfully collided back with another cold floor, only to be immediately followed by the rest of his body.

He wasn't even disappointed with himself for not being able to land upright, he was just grateful that torment had ended and he still had all of his belongings and appendages.

His stomach felt pulled into four different directions, all at the same time, in a way it had done only once, during a particular nasty bug that had caused him to clutch to the toilet bowl for dear life just last winter. Uncle Vernon had been away for a business trip and Aunt Petunia had allowed him to remain in the bathroom longer than he was supposed to. Granted that he would have to clean up everything afterwards, she had added once Dudley had complained that it was unfair for him to dirty up the place.

Just as Harry believed he had puked out his entire body weight, another wave came. It was gross and it made him feel terrible and his throat burned.

Once he felt better, after spending an entire night sweating and not even drinking a drop of water, because "you'll just throw it up anyway!", he resolved to learn how to avoid the terrible situation altogether, and trained himself to suppress nausea.

It was only thanks to his tenacity that he managed to avoid spilling the contents of his empty stomach onto the marbled floor that appeared after he managed to open his eyes.

The hawk didn't seem to have fared any better. The poor bird had held onto Harry tightly and had left their claw marks on his arm and, now that they had reached their destination, had decided that they needed a few more moments to themselves, lying on the cold floor.

Harry got the feeling that they too were regretting using the enchanted coin.

He ran his trembling fingers over their plume soothingly: "I'm sorry it was bad for you too," he told them honestly, even if he was a bit glad to have someone share his discomfort.

At least, this way, he had someone showing him a proper reaction and he could try and mirror it, even if he didn't particularly want to stay on the floor and remain as if gathering the courage to resume his workload. He secretly thought that the bird was exaggerating a bit, but he could understand the reasoning: he too would have preferred to not return to his chores after such a turbulent trip.

The hawk simply stared at him with deep eyes, as if to share their sympathies, when someone approached them.

"Good day," said a short man, who Harry assumed to be a goblin, since he had deep black eyes and pointy ears and sharp teeth, that were on full display as he smiled down at him, not menacingly but not kindly either. He was covered head to toe in shiny armour, which Harry thought made him a guard or a warrior or probably both, and handling a spear casually, even if Harry could tell that he knew how to use it and wasn't afraid to do so, "How have you reached our doors?"

He had asked it all too jovially, so much so that it sounded forced, as if he secretly thought Harry was a particularly inexperienced burglar or someone with ill intentions but no necessary means, and so he was being cautious.

Harry supposed not many people travelled by coin directly inside the bank. And he doubted that those who did would fall gracelessly onto the floor.

Nevertheless, the goblin wasn't downright threatening, and he was used to much scarier looks, so Harry assumed he was safe to be around and that it was safe to snoop around, since curiosity was eating him from the inside, as it usually did whenever he left Privet Drive.

After being forced to live in a tiny cupboard, everything became fascinating.

And he had to admit that the Bank was probably the most fascinating place he had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

He looked around with eyes wide as saucers, taking in all the grandiose architecture and gold accents on the wall, mesmerized by the shining and gleaming beauty of the room he had appeared in. Not that he thought it could be called a room, since it was the size of a cathedral, and just as beautiful as the ones he had seen in the books.

He must have been too distracted, lost in all the beauty, because the guard had to cough and move directly into his line of sight, bringing back his attention and making sure it didn't stray again.

Harry was immediately put on the spot.

How had he reached the doors?

It was, by all means, an impossible feat. The entire thing went against science and physics. One moment he was standing in the middle of Aunt Petunia's pristine and sterile kitchen, clutching a golden coin, and the next he was sprawled on the marble floor of a goblin bank.

In a world where magic was real, such as the one he lived in apparently, there must have been an explanation. But Harry had no way of knowing it. He didn't even know if the coin had a particular name it was called colloquially. He found "coin that magically transports one from place to place" to be a mouthful. So he doubted he would have been able to even begin explaining how and what had happened that made him remain dumbfounded and starstruck.

But he had to start somewhere.

"I don't really know," he admitted meekly, trying and failing not to be embarrassed. He did not like not knowing things. "The letter said to read aloud the words on the coin and I just fell here."

He could see the cogs turn inside the guard's head as he tried to understand Harry's words. He had just wanted to make a good impression, on everyone really, and hoped that no one would believe him to be a good-for-nothing freak without his relatives spewing their poison, yet there he was, stupidly sprawled on the cold marble floor of a prestigious and beautiful bank, spouting utter gibberish that made absolutely no sense even to beings who had magic!

He was doomed.

"A coin?" the guard said suspiciously, gripping his spear tighter.

In a flurry of wings and feathers, the hawk decided to join the conversation and perch themselves on Harry's shoulder, effectively shifting the guard's gaze from Harry's panicked form. In a second, the tight grip on the spear loosened and recognition dawned over him, with his mood visibly changing. He no longer looked at Harry suspiciously and he offered him a gloved hand, to help him stand up.

Harry tried his best not to show signs of weakness. The fall, combined with the remains from the almost daily punishments Uncle Vernon gave him and with the fresh set that had been gifted the night before, had taken a toll on his body and he could feel his knees refusing to work and his tummy straining at the movement. Yet nothing could be read on his face, since he knew better than to grimace.

"May I see this letter that gave you instructions?" the guard asked once he deemed Harry stable enough on his feet.

He simply nodded, mindful of the hawk, and shoved his hand inside the rucksack, grabbing the crimson crumpled envelope alongside its newer twin, offering both silently to the guard.

Despite what Rotgard had written, apparently the tellers hadn't been told about his arrival yet, or perhaps they hadn't shared the news with the guards. And all Harry could do, as the guard read intensely the newer letter, was squirm and try not to run and hide away. He had never been too good with the spotlight and they had amassed quite an audience in between the bank dwellers. Tall humans with pointed hats and long robes were passing them with surprise written on their eyes, before returning to their own lives and businesses, although still keeping an eye on the odd trio.

Harry unconsciously moved more of his hair over his forehead, just as he always did when he was around people. He had never liked the way his scar always seemed to draw everyone's attention and had always managed to regrow his hair after Aunt Petunia hacked it off, preferring the way the bangs covered it. He didn't even mind his curls and tried to take care of them with the limited time and talent he had, instead of leaving them to be and then complaining about how much of a hassle it was, just like she did when he was unable to brush it.

Finally, the guard seemed satisfied with what he had read and returned his gaze to Harry.

They were roughly the same size, even if Harry knew that he was a bit too short for a seven-year-old. And he was quite glad for it: he didn't like to stand out and he enjoyed a bit being small, since it made hiding much easier.

"Well, young wizard," the guard said, causing a spark of excitement to run down Harry's spine at being addressed with something other than insults, "If you would follow me, I shall lead you to Master Silverfang Longsword's office."

And with that, he turned around and led the way into a maze of corridors that Harry would have never been able to recall even if he had a map. There was a sort of innate understanding of the various twists and turns they were taking that spoke to Harry about magic, intricate and ancestral and powerful magic that seemed to react to the very blood of the goblin leading him, to the same blood that ran in all of the goblins inside the bank.

"May I ask what is your name?" he asked around the fifth turn, for the first time in his life not liking the silence. Besides, he wanted to thank the guard for accompanying him and for not stabbing him.

It had been a very nice thing to do, not stabbing him. And Harry always tried to be polite.

The guard seemed surprised at the question, making Harry fear he had said something wrong and offended him somehow, but quickly scolded his features and turned a quick smile at Harry, putting him at ease despite the pointed teeth visible.

"I am Anouk of the Spleenripper Clan, Heir Potter," he said, clasping his free hand in a fist over his heart and slightly nodding his head.
Harry, not knowing what to do, imitated him and brought his hand to his chest as well, unsure of what it meant but believing it was a nice gesture: "Mr Anouk of the Spleenripper Clan, thank you for accompanying me. And for not stabbing me with your spear when you believed I was an intruder, sir."

The surprise reappeared on the guard's expression, this time followed by a smile, less restrained and weirdly hopeful.

They kept on walking in a nice silence, despite curiosity eating Harry from the inside at the thousand questions that swarmed inside his mind. He knew he was close to all the answers he could bargain for and that he simply had to be patient and wait some more, even if a little voice inside of his head begged him to return to the Dursleys.

Then, they suddenly stopped in front of a golden door with a plaque with letters Harry had never seen before.

"Wait here as I inform Master Silverfang Longsword of your arrival."

As soon as he had knocked, Mr Anouk disappeared inside, leaving Harry alone in a dark and empty corridor, with the hawk casually pecking at his messy hair and with his heart beating wildly inside of his chest.