Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension
Written by abi2301
Chapter 04
v.01: 03/06/2005
Official disclaimer:
The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Soul In Tension' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.
Chapter 04: A Lord Among Us
"And to my dear godson, Harry James Potter, surrogate son and nephew, I bequeath the hereditary titles and privileges of Elderblood Clan member, of Head and Heir of the Most Noble House of Black, as well as the rank of Lordship."
It is often said that when suffering nasty emotional shocks one often feels like the world had stopped spinning. Even though that eventuality is physically impossible without suffering dire consequences like being thrown at supersonic speeds through the landscape because of the inertia principle, the image had prevailed in many minds, conveyed by literature and tales, and the expression became quite popular when it came to describe what one felt in such heart-stopping situations. For Harry Potter, despite his being the Boy-Who-Lived, the only wizard ever to survive the Killing Curse and the youngest Seeker in a century, his being was no exception to the rule. Such were the caprices of Fate. For one blessing always came an additional boundary or a reminder of sorts.
However, unlike his two other companions, Harry did voice his bewilderment. "WHAT?"
Ripbag, Elderblood Senior Solicitor and Elder Goblin, frowned in disapproval, noticing the infringement of the required etiquette. However, as the young wizard, he guessed, was quite new to those nearly forgotten traditions, he let that part pass, noticing that the woman Tonks and the man Lupin both broke out of their trances to shush the disbelieving teenager, preventing him from rising from his chair and definitively ruin the austere atmosphere. Ripbag let a few moments fly away for the three to recollect their wits then went back to reading Sirius' Will, even though he knew his next words would fall on half-deaf ears. Not that he blamed them; it was as if he were just a Gringotts teller being announced that he was promoted as the Bank's president or its chief executive officer. Quite a nasty shock, he judged.
For Harry, things were not going better; in fact, they were taking a sour taste. His mind was spinning like mad and his head dangerously felt like throbbing. A bloody Lord? What in the blazes is happening? Me, Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived, nemesis of Voldemort, idol of the wizarding world, a Lord? Aristocracy? Elderblood? Bollocks! What's going to come after that? Dalai Lama? Pope? His self-control training, that he been polishing off the whole summer, did not, this time, pay off as the declaration struck home, stinging deep into the deepest recesses of his soul, reawakening the pent-up hurt and setting it free. The piece of news had, unknown to him, broken his emotional barrier by the sheer element of surprise and taken his guard down. What's this? My bloody two-cent, written-on-a-hunch, modern fairy tale? Setting his head between his hands, he begged for his world to return to normalcy, not even feeling the soft, comforting hand Tonks had put on his shoulder. Nonetheless, the high-pitched, guttural voice of Ripbag was the one thing that took him away from his daze. Hermione is going to kill me if she learns that I'm going to become a pureblood. But pureblood is a question of ancestry and behavior, right? Not succession. Yes, that's it, that's it, he thought feverishly.
"I originally intended to give a title to the Weasley Family, but unfortunately it seems like someone had, quite recently, assumed the headship of that line, which unfortunately leaves me with nothing to offer them, except for a few assets that will help them well in the long term and we have already discussed in private over those matters so it won't be covered in the will. Besides, I don't think Arthur and Molly would have cared about titles, as they have completely forsaken and forgotten the pureblood nature of the lines they were sprung from. Harry, don't curse me, please, I don't want to have you thinking ill of me for the rest of your life - you must understand me, it's for your own good. There are secrets about the Black line that will help you deal with your destiny. Use them well. It's an opportunity you cannot dismiss that easily. You'll understand why when you'll come to handling the reins of the Black line.
"I hope that, even though I will no longer be with you, you will keep me in your memories alive and lively, as I wish I could remain to your hearts' eyes. Carpe diem. Harry, Tonks, Remus, let me go. Don't destroy yourselves over me. As long as you have the will to live you will have the ability to find happiness everywhere, even whilst waging war against an evil enemy. Men were given hands to change their world. So use them. Do your best. You were prisoners to what you did, and I was enslaved to what I was. Free yourself from your bounds and change the world around you. Shape it the way you want, for the best. If you have the will and the means, then you stand a good chance to make this world a better one. Just do me favor: play some pranks from time to time on Snape on my behalf. I wouldn't go away without leaving him my own version of a last farewell, would I? Harry, I expect you to be the one to carry out my wish. I hope it'll cheer you up.
"Goodbye...my son."
So ended the last message addressed to Harry by his godfather, concluding on an ultimate acknowledgement of what the ex-Marauder thought of Harry. The young wizard's vision became blurred as his grief finally overcame his inner defenses and tears brimmed in his eyes. It is so unfair, he wailed. Sirius didn't deserve to die. He should have died old and happy, surrounded by friends. Not alone and so young... "Harry, get a hold of yourself," pleaded a stricken Remus, whose countenance was no better looking than the teenager's. Even Tonks lacked her usual merriness, thinking about her relative's last wishes. The darkness around the seven beings suddenly seemed to swell, threatening to swallow everything. The flicker of the torches sent shadows to dance over the walls, accentuating the dramatic ambiance. "We need to remain composed. We...we can mourn him back home...please," he whispered. Harry nodded weakly, fumbling for his slipping self-control. They needed to have this done with as soon as possible.
"Then so said, so decreed!" announced Digring and Baldvook, bowing their heads in respect of the late Black's last whishes. Ripbag remained silent for a moment, then spread his arms apart, as if beckoning the trio to come forward. "Would the three inheritors please come forth for the application of the Passing of Power Ritual?"
"Aye," replied Tonks and Remus, heads hanging low. Harry said the same and followed his companions to the desk, which conspicuously looked more like an altar than a simple piece of furniture with all the ceremonial atmosphere lingering in the chamber. Sirius wanted me to be happy. Change the world with my hands, and find my happiness. Sirius...Harry lamented silently, crunching his eyes in unspoken pain. Goodbye, my son. Remus' earlier statement reinforced the will's content. You lost for the second time the closest thing to a father you had. How true it was and Harry hadn't even realized the depth of that statement until much later. He had known Sirius as his godfather but not as a kin by blood - maybe a cousin, an older brother, an uncle, but not as a father. Such things were left silent but were obvious to the onlookers. True love, even among siblings, needn't be spoken, just conveyed by means beyond speech. The three individuals glumly gathered around the table, looking on with great solemnity, though theirs was unrivaled by that displayed by Ripbag. The elderly Goblin took one of the silver platters in his gnarled hands and held it high above his head, as if making an offering to an unknown deity. His voice rang through the Chamber, striking a chord in the hearkeners' hearts by the imperious tone it bore.
"By blood purest and soul untainted,
Sacred flesh and blessed bone,
Last summons and final wishes,
Let the powers of the Elders come forth,
True and strong, never wavering,
To pass from hands old to new,
To serve masters sturdy and young,
For a world to keep unscathed,
And faithful to its heart,
As Time the Almighty comes and go,
In its everlasting dance,
And as the world is once again renewed,
By bloody war and unsullied peace,
Blazing wealth and distressing poverty,
Brightest day and darkest night,
Prized faithfulness and foulest villainy,
Merriest life and sorrowful death.
Let the Will of the Departed
And past oaths be fulfilled
For the greater honor of the Elders!"
Tonks and Remus then proclaimed, with finality ringing in their tone: "So be it."
As soon as the words finished echoing in the vast expanse, the air began thickening with agitation. Harry could feel a previously nonexistent wind picking up and billowing around, making his robes flap madly and his hair fly up. The silver plate Ripbag held tightly between his fingers started to glow then vibrate, as if coursing with sheer power. Eventually, electric bolts appeared on the object's rim, wildly dancing around without even seeming to hurt the Goblin's hands. Power crackled through the room as the dark walls vibrated under an unseen force, threatening to burst apart from the commotion. Harry could hear the air howling around, rippling with cracks that reminded him of a raging thunderstorm. The walls glowed white for a moment, as the surge of energy reached its apex, donning the color of purity - the greatest honor the Elderblood held in their hearts. The surrounding settings changed for a second, adopting more joyous tones, changing from dead colors to hot, vivacious ones like cold switching heat and darkness reverting to light. Then, suddenly, springing from the center of the ornamental plate came a great flash that forced the onlookers to look away as the luminous glare picked in intensity, rivaling the midday sun. Then through the commotion, Harry heard the faint lyrics of a mysterious song, chanted by an unseen choir, growing strong and terrible - all while filling the wizard's ears with harsh-sounding words.
O Fortuna,
Velut luna
Statu variabilis,
Semper crescis
Aut decrescis;
Vita detestabilis
Nunc obdurat
Et tunc curat
Ludo mentis aciem,
Egestatem,
Potestatem
Dissolvit ut glaciem.
Sors immanis
Et inanis,
Rota tu volubilis,
Status malus,
Vana salus
Semper dissolubilis,
Obumbrata
Et velata
Michi quoque niteris;
Nunc per ludum
Dorsum nudum
Fero tui sceleris
Sors salutis
Et virtutis
Michi nunc contraria,
Est affectus
Et defectus
Semper in angaria.
Hac in hora
Sine mora
Pulsum tangite;
Quod per sortem
Sternit fortem,
Mecum omnes plangite!
The voices grew louder, catching an urging accent that made Harry's heart ache with a longing for action, a need to do something, to fulfill his destiny. As the 'choir' started the last line of the song, the young wizard's eyes glazed for a moment as his whole became caught in the moment. Damn it, if people gave their money for the decorum, they sure didn't waste it for nothing! Even Buckingham Palace's interior must look like a homeless' shack compared to THIS!
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, emerging from nowhere, the phenomenon ended, leaving three wizards looking on in awe and four Goblins to watch on with a fervent gleam in their dark eyes. Harry's ears were ringing, as they were no more used to the complete silence that had fallen on the Chamber, a change emphasized by the return in full force of stillness. For an instant, neither party - be it human or Goblin - moved, as their attention was still riveted on the Elder Solicitor who had still not shifted from his position to a normal one.
As if on cue, Ripbag then slowly and with great reverence lowered the plate to chest level before stepping forward, offering it to the unmoving trio. Harry's eyes widened as they fell upon the piece of chinaware and its contents, as mystifyingly, as if under the command of a higher being or all-powerful authority hiding beyond the walls of reality, inside the object were now set three fine pieces of jewelry, appeared from nowhere and glittering with pent-up energy.
Three rings.
Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, for the thirtieth time in five minutes, took his watch out of his waistcoat before cursing the heat that rendered his magical vision slightly fuzzy by hindering his ability to keep an eye on the surroundings. The scarred, retired Auror knew that everything would go down in less than twenty minutes and consequently wanted to get out of this area as soon as possible - so that he wouldn't have anything to explain to the Order when the situation would turn to chaos. He had, last night around a good bottle of Macallan, laid down his plan to Remus and Tonks, thoroughly devising all contingencies to prevent Dumbledore from making counterproductive steps. That part of their little plot had taken more than six hours to sort out and the bottom line was that everything would come down to timing. If Moody were to go to train Harry then he couldn't be suspected, since he, of all people, was imparted with magical sight, allowing him to watch everything, even through walls. As a senior, experienced member of the Order who always ranted on about constant vigilance, he wouldn't have any excuse for himself and that was to be avoided. He would immediately draw to himself Dumbledore's suspicions and sink the whole covert operation.
"Ten seconds - what the hell is that darned fellow Fletcher doing?" he growled, his gnarled face breaking into a forbidding scowl. "I must get back to headquarters as soon as possible before all hell breaks loose."
The children some houses away were still playing in their inflatable swimming pool and constantly making a great ruckus that started getting on Alastor Moody's nerves, all while adding to the building tension. The one-legged man paced to and fro, trying to get his mind clear and bracing himself for the next chapter of this day. "Come on, mate, what are you doing?" Surreptitiously, he glanced back at four, Privet Drive, directly staring at the two adults sitting in the living room and sipping a tea with smug expressions, as well as that wart of a son that kept playing on his game console on the floor above. No threats in that direction, he deemed before wiping his eyebrow with a bony hand. "Damn heat." He cast a Cooling Charm on himself to relieve his body of the physical pressure and returned to his growling. "'Wonder how Muggles can bear this heat without magic - must be a thorough miracle, that one is."
A sharp crack from his left made the veteran Auror spin around, pointing his wand at the approximate source of the noise. Death Eaters? he first thought, his instincts taking over his conscious. His eyes, magical and normal, fell instead on a panicked-looking Mundungus Fletcher, who was still as scruffy as he could be. The old, tramp-like Order member held his hands in the open, in token of peace, with an apologetic smile plastered on his face. "Aye, sorry, mate - I had an owl from that good fellow Otho Mendlebrock from Hamburg - brand new cauldrons, half-price, ya know? Couldn't pass that on, that was."
"Password," Moody ground, fingering his wand in anticipation and not caring for idle words.
"Hey, hey, keep your eye on, Mad-Eye. Skittles," replied Fletcher, waving his hands in alarm. Moody lowered his wand, shaking his head at Dumbledore's piteous choice for passwords. That man really could be ridiculous even in terrible times. But then...such words wouldn't be the first ones you'd think of - the reasoning was both logical and childish at the same time. "Still lurking 'round for your effing cauldrons, Dung?" he asked, looking around for any intruder. Fletcher, seeing his brother-in-arms lower his guard, relaxed a little and broke into a large smile. "Aye, right. That chap got meh a whole set of cauldrons straight from Germany, can yeh imagine it? With the export taxes 'round, half-price's a bargain I'll never stumble upon again in meh friggin' life!" he declared delightedly, his lips moistening at the thought. While Fletcher's dealings were highly questionable, his contacts within the wizarding world's lowest classes were inestimable for the Order, as they provided the secret organization with a clear insight of those shady places and people. "Especially if the Aurors catch you," shot back Moody. "You wouldn't want that, would you?" The dark wizard hunter within him begged to report the old smuggler to the authorities but it wasn't time for such pleasantries. War was coming.
"Nah, won't happen. I always cover meh back, Mad-Eye, and yeh know that like the two faces of a coin, right?"
"Indeed," begrudgingly admitted Moody, wondering what type of expression was that again. Like the two faces of a coin? "Anyway, I'm leaving now. Keep an eye around and don't you dare go around to steal things from the Muggles," the old Ministry employee replied, before Apparating away without waiting for an answer.
Fletcher scratched the back of his head, slightly perplexed by his colleague's haste; but then, Alastor Mad-Eye Moody wasn't one to stay long in a potentially dangerous area in fear of increasing his risks of being attacked. "Well, tha' fellow was sure as rain in a hurry, I tell you," he said to no one. He blearily looked back at four, Privet Drive, seeing nothing too conspicuous and decided for a short walk around the street block. He looked at his tattered garments, wondering if a pair of pink polka-dot pants worn with a yellow, striped waistcoat was enough to stay unnoticed. He fingered the garment, before sighing. "I really need a bath."
And that, in less than twenty minutes, would be the last of his concerns.
The first ring, set in fine gold, was sporting a glowing emerald, while the second, wrought in pure platinum, was adorned with a large amethyst and the third, made of quality silver, had a yellow, shining sapphire. The bands were covered in precisely engraved runes, all of which symbolized protection spells bestowed upon the wearer - a very old and shadowy, near forgotten science once held high in esteem by the wizarding community before being washed away by the caprices of time. Those jewels weren't only the recipients of powers but also the unofficial scepters of families that considered themselves as royalty. The stones they bore, along with the material they were made of sufficed to convey the importance of their owners and pass the knowledge onto the mere mortals who were only deserved to grovel in the dirt before such magnificence and authority. While many lines created themselves seals and other emblems, along with their self-made fashion, jewelry was considered to be one of the most efficient way to show off in public. Many ladies of unfathomable fame wore necklaces made of diamonds and rubies while others wore shining tiaras and blazing diadems - all basking in the reverence of their admirers, loving the respect and bedazzlement they enticed from others. Slowly but surely a code of sorts built itself in the wizarding aristocracy, as the traditional combinations of material and precious stone became a means of identification. Symbols, mottos and coats of arms flourished in the same span of time, spreading deep and wide inside the world that high class reigned over. As the aristocracy slowly died, that line of fashion dwindled and jewels no longer held their erstwhile significance, reverting back to their original role as tokens of wealth and influence, that is, when they were not enchanted with powerful spells like a Strengthening or Invisibility Charm and so on. Then they would be more and more prized, before being used solely as tools instead of show-off paraphernalia.
Harry couldn't help but gape at the objects, taking in their splendor and unconsciously feeling the power they radiated. They seemed like wild beasts of a bygone era, held in check by stout chains and eagerly waiting to pounce on their new owners. Harry could hear Tonks mutter an awed "Springing skunks, how many Galleons must they be worth?" under her breath, whilst Remus stared at the plate with a mix of apprehension and dread. Ripbag, oblivious to their less-than-ecstatic state, took a step forwards, offering the plate at the werewolf. The graying man reached for the silver ring, before Ripbag resumed his part of the ritual.
"Dost thou, Remus Julianus Lupin, swear on thy blood and kin, before God and Devil, to abide by the laws of the High Ones and respect thy pledges, through sun and storm, sorrow and happiness, war and peace, till the end of thy time and the coming to power of thy designated successor?" Ripbag's voice carried an edge, as if daring Remus to refuse such an honor and taint the sanctity of the room. Such sacrileges wouldn't and couldn't be allowed in the name of the illustrious Elders, as long as those who were assigned to pass on the respect of the ways of old still lived.
The werewolf, to his credit, didn't react to the implied warning and bowed to the Goblin, choosing instead to hold his wand's tip to his heart and answer, in a loud and clear voice: "Iureiuro!" before finally putting the ring around one of his digits. Remus' entire body then started to glow, just as Ripbag announced in a booming tone:
"Then by friendship and fealty, in the name of the Elders, in accordance to the will of one Lord Sirius Orion Black, late Heir and Head of the Most Noble House o Black, I name thou, Remus Julianus Lupin, today by thy leave and agreement, regent of Abhainn Moors and their owner, to rule over those lands with great honor and authority. Long may thou live, and stay true to thy commitments! May thou be gifted by wealth, health and force!"
The eerie glow ceased to exist just as the Goblin finished his sentence, revealing a worn-looking Remus, slightly panting but still looking fine. It seemed like the ring had taken some of his energy for a mysterious task, leaving his new owner slightly tired but obviously in good health.
Ripbag bowed in turn to the werewolf, his head hanging low in acknowledgement of the man's new title. Even if Remus was officially no earl, knight or duke, he still remained someone bestowed with great possessions and thus worthy of their respect. So were the rules of the Elder Goblins. Ripbag straightened up before turning towards the second attendant of the Ritual, a shimmering plateau in his hands.
"Miss Tonks," said Ripbag, presenting her the plateau. She took the platinum ring and, with shaky hands while silently begging her body not to drop the precious item and cause a major incident (which would get her not only decapitated, but disemboweled, dismembered, burnt to the bones, thrown through the window and so on), once again swore obedience and honesty to the Elders and set the jewel on her right hand's ring finger. As soon as the platinum entered in contact with her skin, her whole body, like Lupin's, began to shine like a light bulb, while her long hair started to drift, as if freed from the pull of gravity. Like dancing in the wind. My God, Sirius...what did you pull me into? Harry thought, gazing at the glimmering metamorphmagus, entranced by the display. He had never heard of such ceremonies, not even in Professor Binns' class - mostly because he chose to sleep during those hours - and was definitely stupefied by their arcane nature. If Hermione ever hears about my having witnessed such phenomena, she's going to have kittens for sure - not that Crookshanks would object, of course, he absently thought, his whole attention drawn to his companion.
"Then by blood and bone, in the name of the Elders, in accordance to the will of one Lord Sirius Orion Black, late Heir and Head of the Most Noble House of Black, I name thou, Nymphadora Black-Tonks, today by thy leave and full agreement, Countess, Heir and Head of the Most Noble House of Terrington, to take the reins of that illustrious bloodline and guide it towards a new eon of wealth and success. Long, healthy and strong may thou live, and stay true to thy commitments, oath and rules of the Elders. I also hereby name thou member of the Elderblood Clan, most noble house of all. As such, I hand thou over thy title and thy new office. But beware! for those who art of the purest lines art those who remain faithful to the Clan and its allegiances. Remain loyal to thy heart and thy soul, as long as thou live!"
The plate shimmered once again, the material simmering in a sea of ancient, raw magic. Ripbag bowed low for the umpteenth time, acknowledging her new status too. A new Elderblood Lady had been named and she therefore deserved utmost respect and consideration from Gringotts' part. Any fault from the Elder Goblins could easily be considered as an insult according to their own standards, and their kind did not suffer their honor to bear a single stain. Death was the only way to remove that disgrace and ensure that their descendents would live long without suffering any prejudice from the past. Many lines' future had been poisoned through that way, be it either wizard or Goblin.
Elder Ripbag looked with solemnity at Harry while presenting the wizard the emerald-adorned ring and bowing one last time. He will have one hell of a lumbago tonight. I hope they have their own Goblin Thai masseurs,the teenager thought wryly, trying to find some humor in a situation that held none. Harry picked up the jewel from its recipient and, with an unsure hand, fit it on his right ring finger.
What happened next was completely unexpected as well as shocking, more so for Harry who witnessed and experienced it firsthand. Pain coursed through the young man's body, as if provoked by a Cruciatus Curse. It seemed like white-hot metal rods had been inserted in his innards, burning him from the inside, harassing the nerves to the point of destruction and threatening to break his nervous barriers. His brains exploded in agony as the feeling escalated to a maddening level, causing the wizard to lose control over himself. Harry collapsed on his knees as his torso pitched forwards, slowly falling towards the ground. His mouth sprung open and a deafening, bloodcurdling scream was let loose, conveying to his companions the ordeal he was going through. His hurt filled his unarticulated screaming, as his limbs trashed around, trying to get rid of the invisible torturer that kept on tormenting him to the verge of insanity.
He felt nothing, but a sea of white pain, making his skin feel like bursting open and pouring forth large streams of blood, though not yielding.
That was when Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, finally fell into the soothing arms of oblivion, just as his two companions scrambled at his side to help, leaving four completely terrified Goblins staring at them, frozen in place. The last thing he saw was the panicked face of Lupin, screaming something at him, but he knew no more after that.
The abyss swallowed him whole.
"And then I told him, the idiot, to ask for a pay rise the next time he saw the head accountant. Grunnings should really engage more competent people that have at least decency and some ambition! Those ruddy, worthless employees that swarm through the company today have no goals at all, no will to rise through the echelons of the company, which is the purpose of every reasonable people in this world!" loudly complained Vernon Dursley, setting his tea mug on the table with a little too much force. Yet, no one could blame his excitation as today had been a good day so far. The bloody freak they had to momentarily consider as their nephew was gone for good and that new development had announced a lot of favorable changes for them. Dudley would be able to store his toys in the newly vacated room, Vernon could once again speak freely in his own household and walk around without the fear of encountering a wizard or witch, Petunia would no longer have to sniff when passing in front of their...relative and cook for him...and so on, and so on... Luckily, they had asked that...freak...to do his own chores - how belittling it would be for the perfect Dursleys, to do Harry-bloody-Potter's own worthless work!
"I totally agree with you, Vernon dear," haughtily agreed Petunia, looking through the window at the neighborhood as if accusing them of some unknown, unfathomable crime. "People nowadays have no ambition at all! Absolutely scandalous!" Her husband flushed as his wife's flattery swelled his ego; he didn't like being contradicted and for the first time in fifteen years, everybody in his home agreed with him. What a memorable day it was. "Like the Fillibers, at number eight - look at them! Their son is a sales clerk in some clothes shop downtown - even though he could have easily become an engineer or an executive in the ministry! How the Fillibers can allow such a degradation is beyond my understanding," she sniffed, reveling in her own superiority complex. "Our Dudders, however, does not risk such a shameful fate!" she added, her horse-like face breaking in a proud, watery smile. Vernon vigorously showed his agreement and voiced it with the same vehement tone. "Dudley will probably have my job in the future, when I'll decide to retire - he'll do us honor, I tell you, Petunia dear," he boasted, with a proud grin, a declaration that elicited tears of happiness from his wife. Vernon poured himself another cup of tea, savoring the ecstasy he was now freely experiencing. Life couldn't be any better. Looking around him, he took in the immaculate state of the living room - no speck of dirt at all! Dudley was upstairs playing on his PlayStation, killing some monsters in a nameless game, and trouble was nowhere in sight...well, not anymore ever since the freak wasn't in the surroundings anymore. A pity we cannot make the government make this day a holiday in celebration - ungrateful dunderheads! thought the beefy man.
Normalcy is about to return in full power in four, Privet Drive, he silently proclaimed.
How wrong he was.
Just as he was gulping the content of his cup down his throat, a loud screech rose from the walls, making the house's occupants start in surprise and fear. "WHAT THE PETUNIAAAA!" Vernon screamed, tea spurting from his wide, fat mouth. Chinaware started to rattle before noisily exploding, setting the air alive with flying shrapnel. Books fell from their cases, and papers began to fly away, borne on an unfelt wind, like a flock of birds gathering for a great migration. Chairs were knocked over and tables broke asunder, some of them even instantly turning into sawdust in a dangerous game of havoc and chaos. Wallpaper started to peel off from their support, falling in heaps onto the ground, just as small bits of plaster fell from the ceiling. Cutlery and little items were rebounding off the walls, like sharpened Bludgers, adding destruction to the increasing ruin. "VERNON, HELP MEEEE!" Bolts of electricity appeared everywhere, short-circuiting multiple contraptions here and there. In the living room, the television imploded with a loud pop, sending Aunt Petunia into hysterics and a panicking Vernon Dursley into the throes of madness. In Dudley's room, the computer screen suffered the same fate as the TV, much to the terror of the fat, whale-like teenager, who began squealing loudly. "MUUUUUM!"
Then, to the growing horror of the three onlookers, fire sprung from the ground, lit by an unseen furnace, spreading fast. Upstairs, Dudley yelped as he saw the dark flames appear out of nowhere, licking his sneakers. "MUUUUUM! I'M BURNIIING!" He pushed himself off the floor and sprung to his feet, clearly terrified to end his life as a barbecue meal. He ran out of his room, knocking vases and pieces of furniture all way long, before roughly tumbling down the staircase, falling, spread-eagled, with a thunderous boom in front of his two parents who were just vacating the living room. "MUM!" he wailed, fat tears rolling down his huge cheeks, eliciting a pathetic "DUDDERS!" from his mother and a positively terrified "SOMEBODY HELP US! HEEEEEEEELLLPPPPP! CALL SOMEONE, THE POLICE, THE ARMY!" from his white-faced father. All while trying to dodge airborne items that constantly tried to pelt them with a vengeance and avoiding the beginnings of a churning inferno, the trio made its way towards the front door, coughing violently as greasy smoke gathered around them like a gale of sorts, threatening to set their lungs aflame.
They finally found themselves bursting out in their garden, in the arms of a few neighbors that had come to contain the fire and see whether someone was left in the now burning house. The three denizens of four, Privet Drive collapsed on the ground, choking violently and trying to clear their eyes from their dirt-filled tears. A pitiful wail from his wife made Vernon Dursley look behind him, trying to see what had made his beloved Petunia so upset. He was so shocked from the sudden, unbelievable turn of events that his own biased mind couldn't correctly kick into gear. He and his family had just missed death by a scant hair and were still trying to come to grips with reality. He didn't think at all about the humiliation he had been given with his current state, appearing soot-covered, completely panicked and tear-covered in front of his neighbors, all of which would then look at him with condescending pity and use him as gossip material afterwards. Normalcy, their ultimate goal and pride, had just been robbed from them in one great apotheosis of infamy and misfortune, just when they thought they had just been gifted with an unquestionable promise of happiness. Realization of their problems would dawn on the shaken family a little bit later but it wouldn't come at once and neither would it come whole. Vernon's head was still reeling from the shock and his daze would still hold on for a long time until he would finally understand the meaning of everything. But the question Vernon Dursley would have and could have asked himself at the moment was, 'how could heaven suddenly transform itself into hell?' Not that anybody would blame him for that queer-sounding interrogation, though as he had every right in the world to wonder about it.
Vernon Dursley's heart stopped for a second, as he stared at his own house, being consumed by high flames, drowning in a sea of ever-spreading, purple fire. He could actually see, like his mesmerized neighbors, geysers of green-colored energy kicking up skywards before falling downwards, like lava being thrown up by a miniature volcano. The once proud roof was no more but a pile of ashes disappearing under fountains of dark fumes, whilst the walls crackled with electricity and heat, smoldering brightly before crumbling to the ground in incandescent cascades of molten wood, plaster and stone. But what was most bewildering were the symbols.
All around the ruins of what once was four, Privet Drive - the household that once served as the home of one Harry Potter - swirled runes, gathering around symbols-filled rings that were spinning madly, before shooting rays of light everywhere like in a sci-fi movie. The pictograms flickered endlessly, like stroboscopes, ever changing colors, building links between them while relentlessly emitting the loud screech that had startled the Dursleys just before the whole phenomenon took place. To those who knew nothing of wizardry, it was nothing but the pure work of the devil.
To wizards and witches, the meaning of the scene was extremely obvious.
Magic was swirling around in a vortex of uncontrolled energy, its structure rapidly breaking down.
The blood wards set around the house were falling apart.
Albus Dumbledore bolted upright in his chair, as the wailing broke his office's once peaceful silence. The sound had originated from a small angel statue standing on his desk, a lone figure of bronze trying to take flight, wings swept aback and torso leaning forward. The symbolism behind the piece of furniture wasn't without irony, as many would have thought. It was the embodiment of freedom, of liberation. It represented Icarus, wearing wax-covered and manmade wings, trying to run away from the maze he and his father, Dedalus, had been thrown in by the Cretan king Minos, condemned to die by the hands of the bloodthirsty Minotaur. Hogwarts' 160 years old Headmaster had been writing a letter to his French counterpart, Headmistress Madame Maxime (entitled to the management of the Beauxbatons Academy), when the little figure opened its tiny mouth and started screaming, making the old man drop his quill and rise in alarm. After the customary second of shock had passed, the wizened wizard grabbed the object from its little pedestal and pointed his long wand at it, muttering the word "despair" in a worried tone.
The little piece - a disguised Portkey - glowed white for a moment and then both of them, figurine and man, disappeared from Hogwarts' Headmaster's Office in a whirl of colors.
In twelve, Grimmauld Place, things weren't going better. The new Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had for many months since the return to life of the dark lord Voldemort served as an operation base for the secret organization, sheltering many gatherings of witches and wizards fighting against the dark side in hope of creating a better world and rid it of all evils. Since the recent passing of its owner, the bustle that usually reigned inside had somewhat abated, even though the mansion's purpose had not ceased to exist along with the previous inhabitant. As it was under the Fidelius Charm and magically kept away from the Muggles' eyes, it provided an excellent safe place for the Light side and it would remain so until the end of the incoming battle. That afternoon, the few people lounging inside, waiting for orders and other pieces of news, thought that it would be once again an eventless day, to be spent without encountering any trouble. Routine. Even Mad-Eye Moody, who had returned a little bit early to check up on the Ministry for urgent matters, seemed quite relaxed, even though people couldn't make the differences between his various states of mind. Paranoia was as natural to him as flying for a bird. A second nature, in other words.
Yet, what wasn't expected was that a little jade statue - depicting a grim-looking gargoyle spreading its wings and clawing at the ground - would start roaring loudly, startling the Order members from their trivial occupations. One wizard even spilt his glass of Butterbeer on his robes in surprise and another fell from the couch he was reclining on. The imperious bellow of an alarmed Moody took them off their daze, cueing them on what had to be immediately done without a second thought. In less than twenty seconds, all living beings in Grimmauld Place had Apparated away, for an unknown location, but not before triggering another set of alarms, all spread around the country in other minor Order hideouts.
The Order of the Phoenix was now in full alert and its members had to face a worst case scenario.
Meanwhile, in the Ministry of Magic, the situation was close to utter chaos, but for other or similar reasons. In the Accidental Magic Oversight Office's headquarters, a bell had begun ringing like mad, making many employees spill their ink over their paperwork as they jumped from their chairs and others look wildly around for the source of the disturbance. A forty-year old man finally located it and gaped at the board riveted on the wall, not believing his eyes. It displayed every alarming display of magic in front of Muggles and provided the Aurors and the Magic Reversal Squad with the position of the incident, so that both forces would be able to Apparate at the location and Obliviate every non-magical individual wandering about. Underneath that piece of information stood a bar that resembled much a thermometer, which appraised the Ministry of the situation's gravity, the level of magic and the number of Muggles witnessing the events. Usually, most cases the Ministry employees had to deal with were careless Wizards and Witches who didn't bother to look around before performing a spell or accidental magic done by children and defunct artifacts whose enchantments were breaking apart. But this time, it was completely different.
A hundred and sixty-eight persons to Obliviate, and rising.
Level one magical activity - the highest in the indicator.
Level one gravity - damages in the surroundings.
The man shook his head before pointing at the board, motioning for his colleagues to look at the readings and watching their expressions turn from concern into bewilderment. Two minutes after, thirty wizards and witches were on their way to the location of the phenomenon, preparing themselves for a long, tedious work. None of them would come back before noon.
Three floors above, in the Section of Social Standards - an illustrious division of the Department of Social Data and Facts - a fifty-year old witch saw her desk erupt in flames as a new high importance folder appeared before her, clearly requiring her immediate attention and hereby rescinding all other tasks' priorities. Straightening herself and cursing her heart for its frailty, she grabbed the object and unsealed it with an irate flick of her wand. The disbelieving gasp that came five seconds later, however, was not something her friends at the department expected from her part. As they always had to deal with haughty purebloods and other pompous individuals who tried to use their wealth and social status to get their business and paperwork attended to before the others', they had managed to build within themselves a great deal of self-control. They had learnt to fend them off and make them wait their turn but there were indeed times where they were caught unawares and unprepared. Like now.
"Two new Elderbloods?"
A thirty-year old wizard, fresh from the Aurelius Chatterbole Wizarding Politics University, heard her awed whisper and started. Two new Elderbloods? What the hell is going on? That class is nearly dead for all I know! he thought, baffled by the news. Elderbloods were part an extremely secretive and isolated group whose lineage stretched back to the birth of wizardry. They had ever since the nineteenth century decided to go underground as the number of Muggleborns dramatically increased. In fact, it wasn't the consequence of the pureblood belief that ordered them to stay away from new blood, but rather an attempt to flee a society whose standards were degrading to a humiliating level. People forsook the ancient beliefs and customs, leaving but a few to keep the old traditions alive. The Elderbloods, surprisingly, didn't mingle or ally themselves with the purebloods, as a feud grew strong and deep between the two classes. For those layers of the wizarding world, purity of blood was a must and many went to great lengths to prove their worth. The attitude of those smug individuals had elicited from the Elderbloods a strong sense of dislike followed by resentment, as they tried to grope at positions highly situated in the pyramid of power. Elderbloods were literally the brains of the magical world and didn't, for many obvious reasons, want to share their power with the lower classes. Eventually, the Elderbloods left the Ministry, retreating into their manors and great halls and relishing the wealth they had accumulated over centuries. Of course, their power still maintained its grasp upon the government, but it worked in a different way...more indirectly. The Elderbloods eventually split up as their clan dwindled - they formed groups, some of which could be compared to the famous Illuminati, as they were seduced by that sect's strong fondness for traditions. From political influence they switched to an economical one. As of now, the few Elderbloods still living held many shares in equally numerous companies, all of which highly successful and providing high amounts of revenue. Those families' income wouldn't decrease until a very long time. But what fascinated the other wizards was the flamboyance that very select group displayed. They had built castles and palaces, basilicas and mausoleums of great fame...enough to make people wonder about the amount of gold those monuments must have cost. Even the purebloods had to admit their inferiority before that caste as they couldn't compete against them in matters of money and power. Their meager mansions were nothing compared to the buildings and landmarks the Elderbloods erected over time.
Nobody had heard anything from them for a whole century. More pressing matters like Grindelwald and lastly Voldemort had taken the society's attention off the Elderbloods, towards a battle that tore bloodlines apart and ruined many communities. Eventually the world nearly completely forgot about them, except for the higher classes and those who had secured a prominent position within the Ministry. But the few who knew about the Elderbloods knew also that the members of that clan were practically royalty and that they could sway the Wizengamot just by a movement of their finger. The belief that they meddled with dark magic was still not dead and that was the main reason why many witches and wizards feared them.
The man surreptitiously took a pencil and a sheet of parchment before jotting a few notes on it, cautiously gazing at the woman over her shoulder, taking care not to rouse his colleagues' attention. His indiscretion and infringement of the privacy laws could very well cost him his job and make him bear, for the rest of his life, an inerasable stain in his curriculum vitae. Not to mention a note about his staying at Azkaban for a while. Ever since Voldemort came back to full power, an extra set of surveillance had been added on the Ministry workers, as the previous reign of the ark Lord had been marked with intelligence lapses that had proven fatal to many a witch or wizard. Some Death Eaters even used the gained information to impersonate those individuals, through either the Polyjuice Potion or metamorphmagus skills. If he ever got caught...it was better not to think of that eventuality, as times were too dark to even add more to the list. All while feverishly copying, his eyes widened as he took in the papers' contents, not believing what he was reading. His fingers tightened sharply as he thought of the development's implications for his private life.
Burping ballerinas! That information must be worth two thousand Galleons grand!
His hand started scribbling maddeningly over his letter as he thought of the money the Daily Prophet would give him for that piece of news. Maybe I could get two weeks off at the Bahamas. No, scratch that, Zanzibar sounds better. How about New Guinea? Sounds a winner to me! As he ended his message with a large artistic loop of his quill, he briskly stood up from his chair, hastened away from the room and ran towards the Ministry's owlery, where he chose a nondescript bird and tied the letter to its leg, before sending the animal off through a warded window.
And Tahiti looked soooo scandalously exotic it should be forbidden by the Wizengamot!
What he didn't know was that he had just done a wrong move - as his office would be swamped with reporters for the next two weeks, preventing him from going to his much-wanted vacation. Of course, he couldn't have foreseen that scenario as his fingers eagerly released the owl and stayed there, dreaming about wild adventures in tropical countries and anticipating the relaxation he would experience. Not at all.
There was nothing but darkness.
He was floating in a world of nothingness, feeling absolutely nothing. His whole body was unresponsive, as if someone had deprived him from his five senses. Taste, hearing, smell, touch, sight...all were silent. He had no stimuli. Only conscience remained in place, even though it was quite illogical to be conscious yet to experience no feeling at all. Am I dead? Is that it? Is it finally over? Nothing to worry about anymore? Can I finally rest in peace, till the end of Time? He felt like drifting in a great sea of blackness, enjoying the strange sensation while it lasted, living for the first time in a universe where he didn't have to worry and to fight for his own life. He was finally at peace.
Then, like a wind silently picking up, he heard whispers come to him, growing in intensity. He couldn't make out the words as the conversation - if it was indeed one - was still too remote for him to hear but he nonetheless felt the agitated tone the talkers bore. What's happening? What're they saying? Hello? Blistering barnacles, can't they hear me? HELLO? Hermione? Ron? Remus? Tonks? SIRIUS? HELLO? Silence answered him, mocking his panic.
Harry's mind, as soon as it felt the voices talking around, undertook a desperate attempt to shake off the state he, the Boy-Who-Lived, was currently drowning in. But how did you make a body obey when it didn't even acknowledge your confused orders? So was the ordeal Harry Potter was facing, much to his growing distress. An ocean of unfelt pain...that was where he actually was, Harry thought, imagining his body 'drift' inside the confines of this dark universe, floating to an unknown destination. That was when he heard again the voices. At first, he thought that they were nothing but the figments of his own imagination working furiously to assess the situation...but as seconds ticked by and the sound didn't back down, he became certain of their existence. Their reality. They seemed like the garbled static of a defunct radio, with near-inaudible words fading into nothingness, before returning back with slightly more force and again receding into a persistent silence. The fuzzy conversation seemed to slip away from his diminished consciousness before coming back close to his grasp, almost tauntingly, like waves washing over and back away from an abandoned beach. Try again! Try again!
Agitation swirled around him, even though he couldn't sense it. The notion just came to him, as if glaringly obvious. Then...
I AM TRYING, TONKS! I AM TRYING!
Tonks? thought Harry. Is she here? But where?
Do it, he's barely breathing, damn it!
Stand aside, then! I'll try to...
Stop darn talking, Remus, and do it!
Remus? What's going on? Where am I? Where are you?
Enervate.
Enervate!
ENERVATE!
The last order had been shouted, Harry realized, as he suddenly felt his body springing back to life, feelings returning to his dazed brain like a tsunami destroying everything in its path. The change was so brutal that he could feel his head spinning as his eyelids slowly opened, letting feeble rays of light pass through his dilated pupils. His chest seemed oddly constricted and his arms fared no better - as if something was squeezing the life out of them. "HARRY!" The female shriek caused him to wince, as it hammered his eardrums inwards. It seemed like she had cast a Sonorus Charm on herself and bellowed straight into his ears...which was quite the truth as he realized that he was half-lying on the ground, wrapped in the metamorphmagus' arms. Tonks was sitting on the floor, holding him tight to herself, trying desperately to revive the fallen wizard. Harry falling to the ground after putting the ring on his finger and screaming his soul out had scared her out of her mind as much as it had horrified Remus. They both had tried to lessen their protégé's pain by casting an Insensibility Charm on him, but their attempts had all gone to no avail as Harry kept on desperately trashing on the cold tile, still in the throes of a tonic attack. Their combined Healing Charms had even less success as they dissipated into thin air just as they entered in contact with the maelstrom of colors that swirled around Harry's body. Their magic was being canceled by that mysterious force field that shrouded the Boy-Who-Lived, like a demonic mantle and the Goblins were too petrified to assist them and didn't make a single move until Lupin had actually tried the Reanimation Spell on the unconscious wizard.
"HARRY! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Please, Harry..." she sobbed, her ravaged, tear-streaked face coming in the awakening wizard's line of sight. She was nearly hysterical, her fingers digging into his shoulders at a painful level. The way she hugged him, as if to convince herself that he was indeed still alive and well, was slowly but surely becoming a danger to his breathing abilities. Remus looked no better, sporting an ashen face and tightened knuckles, bending over his two companions, trying to see how Harry was. His eyes were slightly unfocused, the result of unbridled panic - a strange sight for someone who knew the composed but inwardly miserable werewolf - and on top of it all, Remus' whole body was shaking. Harry tried to answer Tonks' question but he only got a croak out, much to his own surprise. "Let him go, Tonks, you're squeezing his lungs," ordered Remus, clasping his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't speak! You've been screaming your head out - your throat must be too sore for you to speak adequately," he explained, as Tonks gave the teenager a last hug before helping him to his feet, her arms slipping under his own armpits and holding him upwards. The Goblins' faces were drained of all color and the four of them were standing a bit away from the trio, as if embarrassed by the situation. Harry could sense the uneasiness in the air but he paid no heed to the creatures' discomfort. His mind was elsewhere, roaming around his sudden torture. He weakly tugged at his own collar, trying to facilitate his breathing but didn't manage to ease the buttons out of their sockets. Tonks eventually assisted him in his endeavor before dragging him back to his seat, where he dropped like a stone, exhaustion overcoming him. As he drew in deep breaths to qualm his fevered mind, he tried moving his limbs around to get their feel back in. He eventually succeeded but he still felt a bit sore whilst still like under anesthesia - completely numb. His hand then proceeded to deny that idea as it suddenly grew hot. Harry hissed in pain and his eyes darted to his hurting appendage, falling on a glowing, iridescent-looking ring.
"The ring..." he breathed, his eyes narrowing at the jewel.
That muttered sentence was all it took for a shamefaced Ripbag to get out of his self-imposed silence, taking a step forward with his head hung low. "I think I must offer you deepest and most sincere apologies, Lord Potter," he declared in a low, subdued tone. Harry didn't notice the Goblin using for the first time his new title as stared at the jewel, mesmerized by the display of colors it gave. 'Enthralling' was a more appropriate word to describe the effect it had on the wearied wizard; he couldn't get his gaze off the piece of gold, taking in the power it radiated. "I didn't expect your aura to react that violently to the Inheritance Spell and I would like to apologize in the name of Gringotts Bank for the...discomfort the Ceremony gave you." Ripbag then bowed deeply before taking at step back, still bearing his humility-filled demeanor. All smugness and looks of importance had been taken from him in the vilest way possible according to the Goblins' opinion. Obviously the Senior Solicitor had taken the incident as the consequence of an eventual mistake from his part and blamed himself for it. Harry grunted in acknowledgement, and waved a shaky hand at him, in a dismissing manner. "I think he wants to say that it is of no importance and that no consequence will be held against you," translated Remus, who knew him quite well. Harry was very easy to predict once you got to acquaint yourself with him, and third year's Patronus lessons were enough for the werewolf to analyze the young wizard. Sirius' death had undoubtedly changed a few things here and there - he still didn't know the extent of the psychological evolution - but deep inside he remained true to his old self. The true Harry. "You couldn't have predicted that accident and neither could we," pressed on Remus, favoring another approach over blame, that of soothing diplomacy. "There is no need to hold Gringotts as the sole 'culprit' of this. You couldn't have known his magic would have reacted that way," he explained further, seeing the Senior Elderblood Solicitor's figure loose a bit of its stiffness and regain some of his lost composure. "And as much as I am ashamed to admit it, I couldn't have either."
Harry croaked again, trying to tell Remus that it wasn't his fault, before Tonks' hand landed on his shoulder, urging him to shut up and let their companion bridge the ravine that had regretfully sprung to existence between the two parties. "Harry - don't. Just - don't," she pleaded, wiping her tears away. Harry nodded numbly, trying to regain his strength and leaving his friends take over his business. He squeezed his eyelids shut as his body strained to get the pain out and exorcize whatever demon had taken hold of him. In the background, he could hear Remus talking in a muffled voice to the four Goblins, trying to salvage whatever remained of the ruined ceremony and raise their downcast spirits. "I think it is in our best interest to postpone for a few minutes the remainder of the ritual. Lord Potter isn't obviously able to proceed further, especially for the Blood Purity part." Harry's mind stepped back in silent amusement as he heard Remus struggle with saying his new title, obviously not used to call him like that. To Remus, Harry was just...Harry. Nothing more, nothing less. Not a Lord that strutted around dressed in rich robes and with shining jewels hanging around the neck as if trying to serve as Great Britain's newest lighthouse. He would leave that to the Malfoys, as they would be delighted to carry out such a 'glorifying' mission, even though Malfoy Sr. was now locked deep within Azkaban and his son sulking around and thinking about ways to repay Harry Potter for that unforgivable insult.
"I...understand, sir. But...in a thousand years never did such an incident occur in our midst. It is something completely unheard of. Would His Lordship be able, nonetheless, to finish the Ceremony or should we call it a day?" he questioned, his dark eyes darting to the seated wizard, hopefully appraising his state but finding no sign of encouragement.
"I think he will be able to perform the Ceremony," Remus assured, holding a hand up to quell the Goblins' fears. "He's just...exhausted at the moment. As you said, it was just his magic badly reacting with another one. As they are both of ancient nature, the conflict was inevitable and rather...painful."
"What an understatement, Sir Remus! I've never seen such pain bestowed upon a single being!" answered a shaken Digring, breaking out of his customary silence and speaking for the first time in Harry's recollection of the day. "But would there be interferences for the next parts?" the Goblin pressed on, searching for reassurance while trying to keep his dignity intact. Begging was a degrading behavior and no one would ever see a member of that prideful species ever resort to that tactic to see his wishes fulfilled.
"I know of the Blood Purity Ritual, but unless I'm mistaken, the rest of the ceremony just covers the reading of the bequeathed assets; am I wrong in that assumption?" Remus asked, stroking his chin.
"No, Sir," confirmed Baldvook. "You were correctly informed and I'm most impressed with your knowledge of Elderblood lore and customs. But His Lordship will need to seal the Inheritance Spell by giving us his agreement," he pointed out, stressing the last word. "But since it seems that his voice..."
"Leave Lord Potter a moment of respite, mister Ripbag," interrupted Remus, trying to get things clear for the last time. He needed to have this ceremony be over with as soon as possible and even if it ashamed him to admit it, Harry's ordeal provided him with a chance to cut the ritual's length shorter. "His Lordship will eventually perform the ritual, but his well-being supersedes our problems and concerns at the moment. It would do a great deal of harm to Gringotts should it be made public that an Elderblood had been hurt by Goblins when that accident could have easily been avoided," the ex-teacher suggested with a apologetic face, noticing the Goblin flinch in horror. "The Elderbloods are now very few but I know that Gringotts is bound to them by many oaths and enchantments. It would only do you honor to help His Lordship recover fully and allow him to finish the Ritual a little bit later," Remus added, trying to calm the Goblins before they lost their mind. Senior Goblins were extremely harsh went it came to make people respect rules and traditions, but when they could be held either as culprits of a crime or the cause of a great harm, all their defenses fell. However, that state of mind wasn't easily reached, as Goblins were very wary of their actions and thought about them beforehand. They had their best interests in their mind, but the pledges they had taken centuries ago forced them to cater to wizards' and witches' needs too, a situation that could only be described as favorable grounds for dilemmas and trouble.
"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Tonks as she checked the wizard over all while casting a couple of Strengthening spells to lessen the pain. Harry nodded hastily, trying to recover his lost strength. So much for my bloody training, Harry grumbled inwardly. I spent two months lifting weights, doing jogging, working out...and here I am blasted all over the place because of a single spell. Notice the irony: I'm not about to be killed by Lord Moldy Warts but by a spell by Goblins that were supposed to give me an aristocratic title! "Mmh...hh...I...I'm...okay," he got out, straining to pronounce the words, his vocal chords still not correctly responding to his brains' confused orders. Tonks smiled weakly, before touching Harry's forehead. "Does the rune hurt?"
"...R...rune?" the teenager asked, not knowing one bit what the metamorphmagus was talking about.
"Yes, the rune," she repeated, frowning. "Don't you feel it? You've got a rune on your forehead," she finished, pointing a finger to his forehead, somewhere near his accursed, bolt-shaped scar.
Harry's eyes shot wide open as he slapped his hand on his head, trying to feel something standing out of place. Of course, as he couldn't sense it, he found nothing. Tonks then conjured a mirror with her wand and held it in front of Harry's face, showing him his tired figure. The Boy-Who-Lived's eyes then fell upon a most surprising symbol etched onto his very skin, two centimeters above the eyebrows. It looked like an inverted triangle, surrounded by what looked like bramble branches but were in fact tribal pictograms. Inside the three-pointed polygon was a single, complicated-looking rune. Harry held a hand on his forehead, trying to erase the drawing but accomplishing nothing worthy of note.
"What..."
"I think I can help you, your Lordship," cut in Elder Baldvook, breaking the wizard from his dazed state. Ripbag didn't object to that new infringement of Elder laws, thinking that he was in too much trouble to say anything else and try to maintain a semblance of decorum without highlighting the previous infractions. He had, after all, an honor to regain, not one to lose completely. Baldvook was stocky and constantly held gold-rimmed spectacles in front of his eyes. For some reason, Harry assimilated him to a librarian as the Goblin looked too much like the Muggle stereotype. Educated and stern. Knowledgeable. "From what I see...yes...yes," he mused, looking at Harry's face, his beady eyes narrowing in concentration. "Well, your Lordship," he spoke out after a moment of perusal, "It seems that you have been gifted with three different magical runes, all of which appear to be fused together into a single symbol," he explained, looking at the new Lord straight in the eyes as if meaning, no bullshit with me - you deal with it. Harry became slightly uneasy under the hard gaze but his self-control finally kicked in, preventing him from backing down. "The left corner of the pictogram looks like the rune for 'power'. Ilfáz. The center is the one for...'protection' or, to an extent, 'preservation'. Lôkim. And the right side...hmmm...tricky one..." he said, frowning deeply and bearing his fangs, unconsciously showing his deep thinking. Tonks looked a bit unnerved by the Goblin's fascination, which strangely seemed out of place, with the other three creatures still mulling over their dishonor.
Remus then voiced everyone's interrogation, as the two other wizards weren't very versed in that language. Maybe Hermione could have helped them, Harry thought, but she wasn't here this afternoon and he had no time to ask for her assistance in that matter. No need to bring more people in a sinking boat. "Why?"
Baldvook looked up at the question and scowled in annoyance. "Well, to be truthful, the symbol can be mistaken for two different words. Or a third one, which has two meanings. The two different terms are 'fate', terad, and 'hope', neshtar. The two last meanings are 'lightning', ürbeck, and 'storm', seldjem. As you might know, runes were once used by warlocks to cast spells that could last a very long time - actually, warped versions of enchantments. Stonehenge, for instance, is covered in ancient enchantments that date back to the sixth century before Christ and that are still active as of today. Carnac, in France, is subjected to the same phenomenon as well as some areas in Germany, Switzerland and northern Italy. Nobody knows how to perform rune-spelling nowadays as the lore has been lost save for a few Elderblood families," he said, looking at Tonks and Harry, subtly telling them that he was relinquishing the matter in their own hands as he was stepping into an unknown and forbidden territory. "...But runes are commonly used, as strange as it sounds," he corrected with a raised finger, before adding a new nuance. "Unconsciously. Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries, when they research new spells or try to deepen their knowledge in a special field of wizardry, break down the analyzed magic to their very core. The magic is in fact translated into runes, which are then read so that everybody can understand how the spell is woven or how it works. But rare are those who can correctly interpret runes today. For all we know, those strings of runes are like a list of orders written in a foreign language, which still must be deciphered before being thoroughly analyzed."
"I think I understand some of the runes," cut in Remus, voicing his understanding as well as his restlessness. "Their meaning is rather obvious to us, but we would like to keep it secret for a while." Baldvook nodded before returning back to the shadows, his time for input done with.
Harry frowned as he heard Remus' statement - he didn't understand what had happened, contrarily to what his friend had admitted, and wanted to know more but a short glance from the werewolf silenced his question, killing it on the teenager's lips before it came out. "Are you okay, Harry?" The Goblins looked slightly scandalized at Remus' use of Harry's first name, knowing the difference of status between the two of them. For Tonks and Harry it didn't matter much but the Goblins took it as a point of honor to address Elderbloods by their given ranks and not by familiar names or nicknames, even at the individuals' bidding. Harry ignored the indignant looks from the Goblins and nodded affirmatively. "Are you ready for the last part?"
"Yes," he confirmed, making an effort to stand his ground against his rampaging exhaustion.
Remus smiled in answer. "Right, then." He turned towards the four creatures standing behind him and gave them a small nod before coming back towards Tonks and Harry. The Goblins retrieved their respective positions behind the desk, shuffling nervously and trying to slap back a look of importance upon their faces. The procedures had not gone as they wanted them to and that turn of events was certainly reason enough to be crossed or ashamed. Remus sat down on his chair, keeping a weary eye on Harry, ready to help his surrogate godson should he feel faint or unwell. Tonks, for her part, kept glancing from her 'relative' to the Goblins, trying to keep her behavior acceptable. Ignoring the Gringotts employees would be an insult but she deemed Harry's health more important than that. As she was a Ministry employee, soon-to-be Elderblood member, she had to keep appearances up. As for Harry...well, he wasn't in shape enough to keep himself 'decent-looking' enough but the Goblins understood the problem and let it slip as a silent apology for the pain the wizard had to endure. Ripbag coughed twice, trying to get the words out.
"As...as the Passing of Power Ritual has been...successfully performed in accordance to the late Lord Black's wishes, we are now going to read the actual will of His Passed Lordship and announce the redistribution of the Black's assets to the designated heirs. Included in the inheritance are also major shares of what is called the Blackland Trust, a concentration of many small companies and other firms, all of which were founded with the help of the Most Noble House of Black's investments in specific parts of the world market. The management of these enterprises, however, had become independent from the Black Line a few years ago as the late Heads of House didn't wish to spend their time peering over paperwork and counting Galleons. That task is left to the companies' managers but the annual revenue they gain from their economic activity is deposited in the Black Family Vaults deep within Gringotts. The accountancy is managed by our services, of course," pointed out Ripbag, trying to re-put some shine on the bank's coat of arms.
"The incoming amount of money, as a side note, eventually erases the expenses the family members make over the years, keeping the Black fortune intact in the end. The Trust, even though independent, still allows the House of Black to give its advice and opinion over future market operations as a privilege given to those who have contributed to the Trust's existence by either investing, counseling or just by ownership of a significant part of Blackland shares. His Late Lordship had asked us here to convert the Trust's assets into its theoretical monetary value so as to give the concerned inheritors of what it they are worth, should they feel the need or the want to sell the assets to other people and keep the gained money instead. In the inventory of the said assets are included houses, machines and devices needed for the aforementioned firms' production and lease of services, and so on.
"All assets and other items will be directly passed onto you the moment you give your agreement to receive the inheritance. You have the right to refuse your share, but you will have to voice your disagreement now, lest your chance to not take hold of your inheritance pass away forever." Ripbag looked at the trio and saw them staring resolutely back. Satisfied with their silence, the Senior Goblin took the piece of parchment he had been reading earlier, scanned the contents and found whatever he was searching for. Sensing his authority coming back full-force, he increased his voice level.
"Then please hearken unto me as I recite the Will of His Lordship.
"I, Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the Most Noble House of Black,
"To Remus Julianus Lupin, friend, comrade and brother, I bequeath the sum of thirty million Galleons, along with some items from our childhood so that you can remember me as I want you to, at the apex of my youth. That sum will be stored in Vaults Thirteen and Fourteen and will be available at all time, for you to use to your own liking. I also give you the lands of Abhainn Moors near Inverness, Scotland, for you to dwell in. The Abhainn Inns still stand up and will be your new home, as I know you were forced to stay away from our ungrateful world because of your unfortunate illness. The propriety is forty acres wide and I am sure you will appreciate the area as you have shown your fascination for Scottish landscapes. As Abhainn Moors are blessed with peacefulness you will find there your paradise. Finally, I bequeath to you two of the nine shares that make up the Blackland Trust's monetary and material assets so that they will provide you with enough annual revenue to keep your wealth afloat. Included in the shares are two proprieties, one in Wales and the other in London. Both are unplottable locations and will serve you as secondary residences if you need somewhere else to live in, should you travel around in Great Britain. Goodbye, my friend. I know that partings should never be long and heartbreaking but that's the only thing I can say to lessen your pain and not revive the hurt of my passing. Goodbye. Remember the many times we sneaked out of the dormitories to prepare pranks for the next day and how you adamantly tried to stop us. It is one of the many memories of that time that I cherish the most and I hope I could share it with you. Need I remind you the time we tried to make Snivellus dance the French Cancan, clad only in female underwear, in front of Prof. McGonagall? You should also remember that one, as it is one of my favorites.
"To Nymphadora Tonks, cousin, blood and comrade-in-arms, I bequeath the sum of sixty-eight million Galleons, along with thirty other millions that should come from the sale of some minor objects and pieces of furniture I asked Gringotts to sell separately. The entire sum will be stored in Vaults Six, Seven and Eight, while the last addition will be dropped in Vault Nine to complete the circle. I also bequeath to you the Manor of Narrowdale, near Carlisle and the Argyle Halls, between Blackpool and Preston, along with the possessions and facilities inside. I think you will like the two houses, as they are near the sea and the area is quite pretty to behold. They are legally yours since you are of the Black Line and your family deserves to have some of their assets returned to them. Don't think of it as pity, Tonks, but as Justice finally fulfilled - that is why I took the precaution to welcome you back to the family at the beginning of the year - so that you could finally inherit. Finally, I bequeath to you three of the nine shares that make up the Blackland Trust's monetary and material assets to give you enough income for the rest of your lives. Living as an Auror won't help you survive - the wage is, as you know, completely ridiculous. Now that you have the wealth, show it to your colleagues. I think they'll finally shut up once they see what you got from me. Included in the shares are four properties, two of which are abroad. The first is a cottage in the Sussex, the second a small villa in the Wessex, the third a house in Australia and the fourth an inn in North Carolina, United States. My ancestors traveled a lot and that is how they got those properties. Make sure Harry and Remus take advantage of them as they would do the same for you with their own possessions, will you? Now, last but not least, the Terrington assets. I became the regent of the Terrington line a while ago when that line disappeared and now, I'm entrusting it to you. The inheritance is made of forty-three million Galleons, and two manors in Essex. The Vaults are numbers Thirty-four and Thirty-five. Unfortunately, the Terrington Works Trust no longer exists as its previous owner decided to convert the assets into its monetary value and dump the sum in his own Gringotts vault so there will be nothing from that side. Take care of it, though, Tonks, and farewell. You were my favorite cousin and will forever be. Don't forget it. And...don't trip on the stairs while exiting the room, though. Just a last piece of advice. I think it might help you.
"And finally, to Harold James Potter, godson, friend, protégé and son, I bequeath the rough sum of ninety-seven million Galleons, along with forty-four other millions that are the fruits of the aforementioned sales of minor assets that I have judged unneeded and that had to be sold as soon as possible. That amount of money will be held in vaults Three, Four, Five, Ten and Eleven, which are the greatest of all in Gringotts. Harry, I know that I never told you about my being an Elderblood, but I hoped to put that heritage behind as soon as possible. I never behaved as an Elderblood and endeavored never to. I am sorry you are now reaping the fruits of my unsuccessful attempt. However, there are some things I think you will benefit from. You'll have to discover them by yourself, as they require a sharp mind and a love of challenges. When you'll find the items, you'll understand why I took that precaution of silence. It is a test, Harry, to see whether you're worthy or not. Of what, you'll know. Or not. What I'm talking about can not only be your salvation but also your damnation. Many of my ancestors died trying to tame the thing I'm talking about. It is like a monster that you must first locate then try to bridle before turning him into your battle steed. Good luck. But beware! Remind my words, Harry, with those items come power but also death and destruction. I wouldn't want to be the cause of your demise when the world around you needs you the most. Remind yourself about that. Now, I bequeath to you four of the nine shares that make up the Blackland Trust's monetary and material assets, so that money will keep flowing in and keep yourself quite comfortable for a time. Do not forget, however, to keep a distance between you and that wealth. Do not become what Malfoy turned into at the sound of the word 'money'. It is enticing but poisonous. I know what I am talking about, as I experienced it during my childhood, which was, as you know, less than happy and pretty to remember. With the shares come five residences, including twelve, Grimmauld Place, Shadowvale Castle, Etherhill Mansion, Lone Island, and Dragonclaw Estate. All are unplottable and will serve as homes for you who were homeless even though you were given a roof to sleep under. Make sure to send a picture of your new residences to the Dursleys, I'd like to see, from where I am, their faces when they'll receive it. Even in Heaven I'll need some fun to live with. A prankster remains a prankster...even in death. Included in the 'package' are also all items, possessions, facilities...well, everything you will find inside those buildings: pieces of furniture, books (try to give Hermione a visit of the area, will you?), et cetera. The Marauders' Map, my motorcycle, all my possessions are now yours as you are my heir as well as that of the Blacks. The last thing I want to give you is the key to everything. The ultimate password to unlock your destiny should it become your choice. Solicitor Ripbag will give you a second ring after the Ritual. The one who bears that jewel will be automatically recognized as the owner of those places, provided he or she performed the Passing of Power Ritual with the leave of the Goblins, who oversee such occurrences. I entrusted them with keeping the ring, as I now that their free willingness to give the item away will unseal the enchantment lying in the ring. If they don't release it of their own volition then it will become useless. As you see, I took a leaf out of Moody's book. Constant vigilance, indeed!" recited Ripbag, tugging at his collar, embarrassed by the letter's private content.
"I know I should have given the Malfoys their share of the Black assets, but since they are clearly supporting Voldemort, I will bequeath to them nothing. Not until they finally recognize the errors of their past and make amends to those they hurt and insulted. If they do not revoke their allegiance to the dark side before the Dark Lord's passing, then all assets, nearly two million Galleons, will be equally divided into three parts and given to you, Remus, you, Tonks and you, Harry. I also forbid, should you three leave this world for one reason or another - though I hope not before a century, at least - the Goblins from giving the Malfoys and Lestranges your shares. If you are to disappear, then all will be given to the Elderblood Trust, an office that endeavors to keep the relicts of old times alive. Much like the curators of a museum, if you want." Baldvook nearly let out an expletive at the less-than-official comparison. Harry assumed that the reason behind the Goblin's behavior was the fact that Baldvook probably belonged to the Elderblood Trust.
"To Dumbledore I bequeath nothing as a punishment for his not letting me come out of my own house. I have disagreed with him since a couple of months ago concerning his handling Harry and I consider the Headmaster's actions as an insult to my duties as a godfather towards my heir. However, I allow him to use twelve, Grimmauld Place, as long as he swears upon his life, magic and soul, to not confine my godson within either Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, Privet Drive or whatever area he thinks. If he refuses to comply, then Grimmauld Place's ownership will be solely relinquished to Harold James Potter and all individuals currently occupying the property will be expelled by force, even if I need to posthumously call upon the Ministry to get the job done. A will is a will and I will suffer no one to contradict it." Ripbag, this time, along with his peers, seemed to fully agree with that statement. Harry could see the Goblins vigorously nodding in the darkness, as the statement fully conformed itself to the traditions. For once. Their acquiescence, however, was a little bit decreased in intensity by the mention of people stealing the freedom of an Elderblood. The Goblins' mood instantly darkened as they wondered how it could have been had they been in Sirius' stead. Needless to say, the thought wasn't pleasant to mull around.
"I have now to depart from this world and the only words I can find the strength to say are just...'farewell'. Farewell, indeed, as a friend, as a brother, as a Marauder, as a student, as a man, as a godfather, as a mentor, as a cousin, as a relative...everything that I am. In my wholeness. As I said earlier, do not mourn me overmuch. Once you do, the barrier between the dead and the living becomes too thin for you to live properly in this world. I do not want you to follow me or lose your happiness over my passing. I am gone and you have still a long road to tread and a long life to live. Enjoy it. But I only ask for one thing, from all of you, and one other thing, this time from my godson.
"My friends and kin, remember me as you knew me. That's the only thing I ask of you. Keep me alive inside you. For your sake. For my soul's. Just remember to put flowers upon my...grave, if there is one to be found. Pay the dead some respect like you would do for the living. They are always near you, no matter the circumstances. Whatever state you are in, I'll always be close, to help you get out of whatever pain you're suffering from or ordeal you're dealing with. I will be there, invisible but still there. When you'll feel a little breeze washing over you neck, you'll know that it will be me, breathing over your shoulders. When you'll hear a rustle of cloth or a floor creaking nearby, it will be again me, moving around to console you or just pay you a visit.
"Harry, you already know what I'm going to say. You should have rehearsed it many times by now as I know you would be going to dread such a moment - not that I can blame you for it, though. I hope, however, that you'll find solace in the new world I've unwillingly thrown you into, for your own good. For your salvation. There's more to the Elderbloods than you think. Search for the hidden past and the extinguished flames and you'll find whatever you're seeking for. Do not mourn me. Celebrate me. Remember me. But after that, Harry...promise me...no, swear to me that you will bring the Dark Lord down for good. If you do so and will be able to live afterwards to have a family of your own and taste the sweetness of happiness, then you can be sure I will be happy, there, overhead, between the clouds, with your parents and those who have already left us. You will no longer have to worry for my opinion. I will be at peace. Forever.
"If you're feeling down, just call my name and I'll be there for you. Always.
"Farewell, my friends."
As Ripbag closed his mouth and bowed in respect, Harry finally let the tears flow through his eyes. Sirius was now gone. Forever. He had said goodbye. For the last time.
"My God, Harry!" breathed Albus Dumbledore as he ran towards four, Privet Drive, seeing the throngs of onlookers gathering around the location. The old Headmaster saw flames rising to the skies, mingling with billowing smoke and accompanied in their ascension by the constant wailing of a siren. Putting the pieces together, the defeater of Grindelwald realized that Harry's house was burning to the ground, probably along with his protégé. He made his way through the crowd, trying to get the closer possible to the ruins, not even caring about the Muggles who looked at him with disapproving eyes, appraising his strange attire. He heard behind him a set of loud cracks, as people Apparated in. Not taking a glance backwards, he kept shoving people out of his way, ignoring the angered cries he got in answer. He finally made it to the security line and hopped inside, trying to see how he could get within the house. The Muggles could be Obliviated later, but Harry needed to be rescued now. He looked around, searching for an unkempt mass of raven hair and found none in the group of people surrounding him. He glanced from left and right, paying no attention to the fireman who was trying to keep him back and the lone figure of an embarrassed, white-faced Mundungus Fletcher who was trying to get his attention.
His gaze finally fell on the Dursleys, huddled against each other at the back of an ambulance, pressing oxygen masks to their face to cleanse their bronchi from the carbon dioxide they had inhaled. A policeman tried to stop him but he walked resolutely towards the family who had still not noticed his brisk approach. The officer behind figured he must have been a relative or acquaintances of theirs and dropped the matter. After all...he had already enough business as it was. He turned back to keep the onlookers out of the firemen's way and get them out for their safety, even though they were quite a distance away from the inferno. "Dursley!" he said, gaining the fat man's attention and making him look straight at the wizard. Vernon Dursley was not a pretty sight. His face was covered in soot, ecchymosed and even bore burn marks, reminders of his painful escape from his burning house. His eyes were bloodshot and his breathing irregular, a bad sign for someone of his temper and corpulence. His torn, battered clothes didn't look any better, blackened by the smoke and the heat. His skin was slightly darkened because of the flames and his wife and son looked like they had taken a recent holiday trip to a tropical country. However, as the beefy individual saw Dumbledore, a dark rage took him, making him launch himself at the old Headmaster and forget all about his weakened state. Dumbledore recoiled in surprise at the man's aggressiveness and managed to pull Harry's uncle away from him neck, barely escaping a violent death by strangulation. He took a step back, just as a second police officer, wearing a neon green chasuble for traffic control, tried to drag the madman back to the ambulance by wrapping his arms around Vernon's armpits, effectively blocking the limbs. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU FREAK! YOU AND YOUR RUDDY KIND! ALWAYS TRYING TO RUIN OUR LIVES! NOW YOU'VE COST US OUR HOUSE! I'LL KILL YOU!" he bellowed, fat tears breaking out of his swollen eyes and spilling down his front. He coughed up violently before slumping to the ground. Two medics hurried forwards, bringing life-sustaining instruments with them as Vernon breathed heavily, lying on his back. The crowd behind the rope frowned in confusion, some of them looking with disapprobation at Dumbledore. Vernon was biased, indeed, extremely prejudiced, but judging by the way that strange man dressed himself...well, there was perhaps some truth behind that spoken-in-anger statement.
"Damn it, blood pressure is above the limit. Tension is rising. Keep him down!" ordered one of the two emergency officers, keeping two fingers close to Vernon's jugular. "Bring me a mask - he needs to breathe. He's got too much dirt down his windpipe. Prepare the phrenic nerve stimulator if need be."
"NO!" said Dumbledore startling the two orderlies who looked back with amazement. Is he telling us not to treat him? they asked themselves, not believing their eyes. That'd be a crime! "I need to know where his nephew is - he lives with them and he is not here!"
"Ah - then go on, but make it fast, sir!" urged one of the two, reluctantly putting the said contraption aside for a moment. "Bring us a gurney - he needs to cool down," he told his colleague. "Bring me some cold water too or that fellow will start burning up."
"Dursley, do you hear me? Dursley!" Dumbledore asked, urgently shaking the fat man's shoulder. Vernon's eyes fluttered open before once again falling upon Dumbledore. This time he was too weak to react but chose to blister vocally instead. "You're the freak - you're the one who did that us," he declared weakly. "You destroyed my life! You tried to attack Dudders and now you take our house away from us! All that because of that bloody boy!" he coughed up, the flame of conscience in his eyes fading.
"You can hate for the rest of your life, mister Dursley," calmly observed Dumbledore before sharply looking back at the burning four, Privet Drive. A fire ladder had been erected and a fireman was currently spraying the house with a water hose, making sure to spread the fluid on a wide arc, to quench the fire. The jet of cool liquid, however, didn't have much effect because of the remaining magic burning itself off, transmitting its power to the flames, which danced without losing their intensity. As the French physicist Lavoisier once said, 'nothing is lost, nothing is gained but everything mutates'. "But I need to know where Harry is. It is a matter of life and death. Where is he?" he pressed, growing desperate. If Harry was lost to them...
Vernon Dursley grumbled loudly and spat out on the sidewalk, before falling into a series of violent coughs. The medics beside hauled him up on a gurney, under the eyes of his son and wife, as the former dumbly remained seated on the ambulance's back while the latter took off her oxygen mask and came to her husband's side, sobbing loudly. "VERNON! Don't leave me! DON'T!"
"Mrs. Dursley, please..." Dumbledore began, knowing that Vernon wouldn't be able to speak anymore for the day. He hadn't even got the fourth word out that Petunia exploded in rage, effectively cutting him off. "HOW DARE YOU COME HERE! YOU TRIED TO KILL US! YOU RUINED OUR LIVES, THREATENED US, HURT MY DUDDERS, MADE THOSE FREAKS COME TO OUR HOUSE, IMPOSED YOUR WILL TO US! AND NOW YOU BURN OUR HOUSE! HOW DARE YOU!" she shrieked loudly. Mutters arose from the audience and some policemen could be seen closing in, hearing Mrs. Dursley's accusations. A dozen meters away, Mundungus Fletcher shifted on his feet uneasily, not liking at all the turn of events and wishing his colleagues from the Order would show up soon. "BECAUSE OF YOUR LOT MY SISTER DIED! NOW YOU WANT TO TAKE US! YOU - YOU..."
"Mrs. Dursley, for once, I admit, I have nothing to do with your ordeal, but I need to know where Harry is!" he hammered, feeling desperation taking a hold of his mind. He had failed. He had FAILED.
F. A. I. L. E. D.
"HOW DO I KNOW WHERE HE SHOULD BE BY NOW? HE IS GONE! HE LEFT! HE TOLD US HE WOULD LEAVE US ALONE AND LOOK NOW! OUR HOUSE IS GONE! OUR LIFE IS RUINED! WE HAVE NO MORE HOUSE!" she screamed to the top of her lungs, not even minding her weakened state. A medic went beside her, trying to get her calm down, but his advice fell upon deaf ears but not upon a mute mouth.
Dumbledore's entire world then came crashing down at that moment. He couldn't believe his ears. HE IS GONE! HE LEFT! Harry had left the house, resulting in the cancellation of the blood wards set around the property. His face turned from a shocked countenance to a near-furious one. Harry had escaped. What was the boy thinking of? By going away, he had destroyed the only way to replenish his mother's protection within him! He had definitively alienated himself from his relatives and there was no way the Dursleys could take him back, even after Obliviating them. There were marks that wouldn't go off even after using an enormous amount of magic to rebuild the place and fix everything back to normal. Dumbledore spun away, ignoring Mrs. Dursley hysterical screams. There was no need procrastinating here as a new job needed to be done immediately.
"YOU MURDERER! FIRST LILY NOW US! YOU ARE DEATH! YOU ARE CURSED! EVERYBODY WHO BECOMES LIKE...LIKE YOU DIES! YOU DESTROY EVERYTHING IN YOUR PATH, YOU DESTROY NORMALCY! YOU...YOU...EVERYTHING!"
"Why did you do that, Harry?" muttered the former Transfiguration teacher as he started for the security line that roped off the surroundings, preventing the bystanders from walking in. He was filled with disappointment and a hint of anger as a dozen years of careful planning, of hard work had just been ruined in a single second for the mere caprices of a boy whose destiny didn't belong in his own hands. Why couldn't Harry understand that? That they were all pawns of Fate, that all of them couldn't have any freedom of action until they fulfilled what they were meant to do in life? He shook his head, frustration boiling within him. He now had to find Harry back and keep him at Hogwarts at all costs, for his own safety; he had allowed him too much freedom and now the world would have to suffer the consequences of his deeds. He had nearly killed his family by defusing the wards and was now potentially in harm's way. He wouldn't allow that - Sirius was a death too much and he wouldn't let Harry die, even if it meant locking him up in a dungeon with Snape and a dozen Blast-ended Skrewts. He saw Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody making their way towards him, forcing through an indignant crowd. From the corner of his eye he spotted some Aurors trying discreetly to Obliviate the Muggles while trying to let the firemen and police officers do their work unhindered. "Albus, what happened?" questioned Diggle before Petunia Dursley showed once again the stupefying sturdiness of her vocal chords, even after trauma.
"FREAKS! BASTARDS! ASSASSINS! YOU WILL BE THE DEATH OF US! ALL OF US!"
"Harry is gone," he breathed, frowning deeply. "He left the house."
That statement was met with gasps from the Order members, who took in the hidden implications. "Impossible!" growled Moody, taking the plunge and going on with his act. "He was still there when I left my shift. I know it - I saw him!" he ground, glowering at his brothers-in-arms and daring them to say otherwise. No one took up the challenge, instilling the retired Auror with a dark sense of satisfaction and deep relief. All's going well according to the plan, he thought. You aren't the only one who can plot behind everyone's back, Albus. Remind yourself that. "Well, it seems that Mr. Potter isn't, Alastor. He must have left after you Apparated out but I wonder how he managed to get everything down unless..." he trailed off, not liking the possibility one bit. There were many implications to that hypothesis, all of them picturing Harry turning slightly to the darkness or exposing himself to the enthralling looks of ancient magic. A scenario Dumbledore couldn't afford. Harry belonged to the Light. Period.
The world was too small for two Voldemorts, one old, one young, to live in.
The thought sent chills through his spine.
I. Cannot. Allow. That. To. Happen. Never.
"Then where is he if he's not here? He could be anywhere!" asked Hestia, futilely looking around for the said wizard. She only saw Muggles scowling at them and Ministry wizards merrily erasing memories and enthusiastically practicing spin control. The level of residual magic around them was still too high for them to consider the situation abated. "His relatives don't know but unless I'm sorely mistaken, Mr. Potter is currently at Gringotts and stands a good chance of still being inside the building," Albus answered, taking a look back at four, Privet Drive. "That would be the only reason why the wards fell. He must have been tampering with the blood magic within him."
"Gringotts? What the hell is he doing there?" enquired a perplexed Shacklebolt. Obviously, he wasn't informed of Harry's late activities.
"Sirius' Will," replied Dumbledore, before striding towards an adjacent street where he could Apparate safely away. Policemen tried to stop him but the Order members took out their wands without anyone seeing them and erased the Muggles' memories. The officers staggered back, a little dazed and wondering what had happened. They soon returned to work, as the sirens brought them back to the current situation and unconsciously informed them of what needed to be done. Dumbledore ducked under the security line and dashed away from the scene, along with his subordinates.
Behind them, at four, Privet Drive, the flames roared a last time as the local magic flared, before disappearing, the rage that had animated them at long last extinguished. The firemen blinked in surprise, not understanding at all the miracle they had just witnessed. Many strange things had happened today and no one would contradict them.
In Diagon Alley, in Gringotts' infamous Hall of Fame, hung from the wall a great board made of pure, white marble and surrounded by golden leafs. Upon that rectangle of finely chiseled stone stood many names, that of those who held the greatest wealth of Great Britain. There were roughly two hundred of them, along with the amount of gold stored in the vaults. In the Muggle world, many would have blistered at that display of private information and petitioned for the removal of such a device but things didn't work the same way in the wizarding world. In fact, as many could have guessed, that contraption had been created by purebloods who wanted to demonstrate their superiority towards the 'lesser' individuals by showing off their assets for the world to see. In a sense, it was another way to show how much power one held and how well he had succeeded in the society's hierarchy. Through a little moment of reasoning, it would become clear that success was closely linked to wealth. And therefore blood lines. However, that list had changed when ordinary people who owned large enterprises like Honeydukes and Quality Quidditch Supplies entered in the Top 100, to the great displeasure of old families who hated to see commoners gaining more than them. Such an insult it was and the worst was that it had come by one of their creations...one that had badly backfired. It was, in short, a humiliation they couldn't stand but purebloods took comfort in the knowledge than in the Top 50, forty-five of the fifty individuals listed were of ancient lineages. The ten first were Elderbloods. People tacitly more respectable, honorable than them, but pure. They responded positively to the notion they abode by and that alone sufficed.
Today, however, things were going to change drastically as three names, all belonging to purebloods situated within the Top 50, were violently evicted and replaced by three individuals known for their dislike of blood purity and their being shunned away from the wizarding world for many reasons. What was most infuriating was that they were not only in the Top 50, but two of them were in the Top 10 and the third in the Top 20. An elderly pureblood witch by the name of Bartlett, who had been peering haughtily at the board to see whether her family still remained in the Top 20 or not, nearly had a heart attack when she saw her list number drop from 19 to 22. The shame.
Others gazed in consternation at the sudden evolution, not believing their eyes.
There were two new Elderbloods.
For the first time in fifty years.
When Harry had been a very young boy and whenever he got in trouble or hurt, nobody had ever come to comfort him, to hold him close and soothe his pain. He always took the full brunt of the Dursleys' beatings and deprivations with calm as he grew accustomed to that dysfunctional family's antics. They had mystifyingly become a part of his life. In a way, they had hardened him faster than a eight-month training session in a military boot camp. If he were to let the sorrow get under his skin then he'd be weaker than ever. Easier to destroy and to crush into the ground, never to stand up again. Each disappointment, each moment of sadness had been spent in silence and stillness, in the solitude of his cupboard, his makeshift room. When the Dursleys screamed at him, he would tune them out, go back to the cupboard and try to forget. The void was his shelter. He had always been alone, with no friends, no true relatives to talk with.
But now it was different.
As he sobbed into Remus' shoulder, he felt the final release of a dozen years spent in frustration, anger and misery. He was free...from now on...forever. But it had taken Sirius' death to achieve such a moment of his life. He was now an adult. A responsible one.
"I think we should begin the last part now, Solicitor," urged Remus, turning his head to the Elder Goblin, while patting Harry's back in a comforting way. "We have lost too much time and we need to tend to the damage the Ritual must have done outside at the Ministry," he lied, trying to quicken the ceremony's pace. Ripbag scowled at that (while paling a bit), but didn't object. "I understand your reluctance to speed things up but I plead you to do it. If His Lordship has reacted that way, then there are probably aftereffects in the Muggle world that could have been seen from unwanted witnesses and that need immediate mending. Do you understand?" he asked, quirking a pleading eyebrow at the disappointed creature. Rituals like this were so rare it was almost a crime either to botch them up or to shorten their length. A sacrilege...but one that could be overlooked judging the current circumstances. Rules had been broken and the sanctity of the situation had flown away, destroyed by events that had gone out of control. Both parties fully understood it but didn't like it either.
"Ar, true, true," replied Ripbag, scratching his head in frustration but not in anger. "But it pains me to do so. My ancestors raised me to perform the Great Rituals in all due honor and now I can't but feel ashamed by all the rule-breaking this Ceremony has seen. Such a pity it is for those walls to behold so much sacrileges..." He gazed at the ceiling, as if trying to read the answers to his interrogations in the darkness looming above. The gesture, however, was not lost on the three humans, who saw in it the picture of a being trying to find a way out in a world where the future was absolutely uncertain. A man crawling in the dark, looking for an answer.
"Then it would give you nothing but honor to see to His Lordship's well-being, sir. Your ancestors prided themselves in the quality of their services - from what I know they always put their clients' needs before themselves through hard work and total dedication to their cause. Why don't you follow their steps? His Lordship feels unwell - why not alleviate the burden on his shoulders? Even though the Blood Purity Ritual is harmless, you wouldn't want anything to happen to His Lordship, would you?" argued the werewolf, trying to sway the Goblins. Ancestry was supremely important among them and using that point always gave you an advantage over them as it was one of their soft spots. That and the transmission of traditions.
"Ar, you're right. Forgive my selfishness, my Lord, my Lady, sir," he mumbled to the trio, his eyebrows furrowing and knitting themselves together. The three other Goblins were uneasy at that show of humility and bowed in apology, imitating their superior so as to emphasize their point. Respect had to come from both parts.
"Right. Could we go on, now, please?" Remus pressed on, regaining his seat and handing Harry a handkerchief. Tonks dabbed at his eyes with the fabric, attempting to soothe the overwhelmed teenager. Now was not a time to falter when being so close to the end. Harry had already broken his vow to stay strong during Sirius' Will and that was one transgression too much. He couldn't afford himself to stay weak, even for Sirius. His godfather wouldn't have wanted it. The young messiah of the wizarding world remembered the last words of his departed familiar: do not mourn me overmuch. Ripbag strode over to the desk, deposited the piece of parchment on top of the second silver plate and took the sword, holding it high, in front of his eyes, as if challenging an unknown opponent to a spar. He closed his dark eyes for a moment and muttered something under his breath, the words inaudible to the attendants.
"Now, to definitively seal the Will and mark your acceptance of the document's terms, I will ask you in the name of the Departed and for the purity of the Elders, to please take the sword, cover its edge with your blood and touch this plate here," he gestured to the silver plate. "with the tip of the weapon. Your names will appear at the end of the Will and show that you indeed took part to the ritual and came to full possession of the aforementioned assets and prerogatives. A copy of the parchment will be then sent to the Ministry for the archives where it will be processed and filed. The concerned departments will be notified of your new status and will take steps to facilitate the changes so that no complications will arise in the next few months. As the late Lord Black wrote his Will of his own volition, nobody can contest the document, especially if the inheritors were all present and showed no sign of being forced to attend the ceremony. The Blood Purity Ritual is not only a way to hallmark your membership to the Elderblood Clan but also a means to confirm your belonging to the bloodlines you inherited from. It will also seal the signatures of those families deep within you and constitute the final test to your admittance to the world of the pure."
The trio calmly nodded, motioning the Goblins to go forward with their duties. Ripbag, Digring and Baldvook took the sword, phial and plate and set all three on a stool in front of the desk, two meters away from the wizards and witch. Digring took out the cork off the little bottle and poured its crystalline contents inside the plateau. Tonks looked at Harry who was looking at the scene with tear-filled eyes and murmured, "It's crystal-water, the purest liquid one can find in this world - there are only six sources in the world and all their locations are kept secret by the families who sell the water to alchemists, potions masters and other individuals. Extremely powerful, rare and...expensive." Harry nodded. It was all about purity and it only made sense that crystal-water would be used to confirm his membership to the Elderblood clan. Ripbag solemnly offered the sword to Remus, who took the weapon with a look of determination and pressed the surface of his palm against the cutting edge, effectively drawing blood from his previously unblemished hand for the second time in the day. He smeared the crimson fluid across the blade before dipping the tip of the sword in the crystal-water-filled plate. The liquid turned red for a moment then blindingly white. Runes appeared on the dish's center, glowing brightly under the tainted water. The ex-DADA professor then incanted, "Accipio canonicum hereditatem," causing the blade to be lit aglow and be covered in what looked like electricity bolts. Ripbag showed the humans the bottom of the parchment, where Remus' name was appearing...written in blood. "Blood is the ultimate proof, Harry," reminded Tonks as she leant towards the frozen wizard. Bad memories from Umbridge and her Blood Quill shot from the recesses of his memory, reminding him of how horrible fifth year had been, even without counting Sirius' passing. Harry shook his head, shifting his attention back to the young Auror.
"Your life-fluid, as people sometimes call it, is impregnated with the characteristics of your very soul, your core. Every person's magic has its own signature. Don't ask me how or why...it just is. It is like a...a scent or something like that. An identity card. That is how we manage to determine whether a wizard or a witch committed a crime or not - by analyzing the magic's signature and seeing whether the match that of the suspect or not. When you perform a spell, your magic is smeared all over the place and leaves traces so it will be easy to get matches afterwards. The blood you're going to put on the sword is a sample of your being. A fingerprint can be easily forged by transfiguration spells and charms or just metamorphmagus abilities, but blood cannot. Even people who are under the Polyjuice potion's effects cannot duplicate your blood, because it is the vessel of your soul. The closest thing to your true self. That's how power is transmitted from generation to generation - by blood. Squib cases occur when the blood's magical matrix is either incomplete or unstable - the magic is not able to reside in there and is discharged in the environment during the birth. It's very painful for the mother but it cannot be helped. So when your blood will enter in contact with the crystal-water, which will act as a catalyst for the Ritual, it will transmit to the Will your complete identity, as well as the bloodlines you were originated from."
Harry nodded, processing the new amount of information he was getting. Another thing he hadn't learnt at Hogwarts, he mused. How could Dumbledore not allow people to know about something as basic and important as this? It could have made a lot of difference in this world...it could have unveiled Voldemort's plans in fourth year by unmasking Crouch Jr. ... And then, Cedric would still be alive...
"But for Inheritance Ceremonies, a lot of Soul Magic is used. And this, I mean, that which is going to happen, is extremely fascinating," Tonks whispered, an excited look on her face, despite the circumstances. She was trying all her best to cheer Harry up and the wizard couldn't be any more grateful for her efforts. "When you inherit the possession and leadership of a bloodline, the magical signature proper to that line is transmitted to you. I mean, the magical signature only, but not the physical part that come along with the blood. Do you understand me?" she asked, frowning. "No."
"I mean, blood is filled with your...essence, right. All what you are. That 'essence' defines everything you are: appearance, abilities, soul, mind...et cetera. When you become the Head of a Family Line, your blood receives a new signature that is bracketed together with yours. However, that added signature is partial. It is magical only, and does not retain the physical part. If it did, then you'd start looking like the guy or girl you inherited from. Why do you receive it, then? First, to determine which family you belong to and who could be your relatives. Second, for magical contracts. They are bound to your signature only and not another, as it is unique, even among brothers and sisters. It's like what the Muggles call...what's it, again? Ah, yes, DNA," she continued. "It's like a very complicated code that is read by Identifying Spells and used to see whether you're the one they're searching or not. Three, well, some of the deceased's possessions can only be touched or seen by those linked or belonging to the family - thus bearing that signature. It's like, you know, wearing a name tag on your shirt's...excuse me, robes' front. You can have multiple signatures for a reason or another and it wouldn't either merge with your own or mess it up. It's a...an add-on, for lack of better term. It can also be removed from your being if someone, a patriarch or matriarch, for example - or just your Head of House - decides to call you a blood traitor or plainly disinherit you. It nearly happened to Sirius but old Darius Black got in before the whole ritual was finished. My mother was disinherited but Sirius gave us back our name so I am able to inherit."
"I see." With an encouraging smile on her lips, Tonks rose from her chair and took the sword from Remus' hands, repeating the same gestures, with identical results. Harry's turn finally came and the young man took the weapon with a small tad of apprehension, fearing another fit. The Goblins even held their breath, waiting for another disaster to happen. However, this time nothing happened as he slit his palm and covered the steel with blood before dipping the tip of the sword in the fluid. His name appeared on the Will. The four creatures relaxed and Girtgold even let out a relieved sigh, earning himself glares from the three other Elders.
But what happened next did surprise Harry, this time.
The will took fire, as if lit by an invisible source. Ripbag's fingers, however, remained in place as if unfazed by the phenomenon. The flames turned purple as the document smoldered. A hiss from beneath Harry took the young wizard's gaze away from the Goblin and unto the silver plate, which seemed to react in accord with the parchment. The crystal-water was boiling and long, diaphanous wisps of vapor started swirling from the liquid's surface, impotently dancing around. "What's happening?" asked a bewildered Harry, fingering his wand, ready to act on cue. "The Will is being sealed, Harry - Ripbag doesn't risk anything. The flames are magical, not material. It's just blood magic flaring."
"Blood magic?"
"Long story," replied Remus. "Highly complicated but it bases itself on the whole stuff Tonks explained to you. You just need to know that in blood resides a lot of highly refined magic, Harry. In its purest state. It is then only normal that some people have tried to use it as another means to fulfill their tasks. The Philosopher's Stone or Alkahest for the ancients, was one of the artifacts created through the use of massive blood magic."
"Merlin."
"You said it, Harry. Merlin was a great specialist of blood magic. Used to make great sacrifices upon altars in Avalon and use the blood of slaughtered sheep to create potions and magical jewels. Druids often used human blood, though. Also through sacrifices. Same thing for the Aztecs and Mayas. Ancient Polynesians too. And let's not forget about Babylonians and Assyrians. Romans were also very merry when it came to that - happily slaughtering geese and ox in front of great altars in wizarding Rome for divination and other things. They sometimes even made it for fun."
"Oh."
The parchment emitted a loud wail before vanishing in a swirl of colors, just as the crystal-water suddenly became hardened ice, its magic stolen away to seal the contract between the dead and the living. Ripbag sighed in acceptance as the Ritual was definitively sealed. For all those who had attended the Ceremony, it had been an afternoon of many woes and equally numerous developments, most of which were either unexpected, agreeable or disagreeable and most of all, dire to see unfold. Harry had been the most touched one, as he was the one to suffer the most of loss of his godfather. He had come here to get over his grief and had miserably failed; finding instead other burdens and words that could break through his hard-earned shields. It was a lesson he wouldn't forget. No one was invincible. He still had a lot of work to do until he would finally be protected against those lurking evils, those memories that would harass you till death did part you from the living, as well as those reminders of your past mistakes. For some, the Will's Reading would have been a path to salvation. For others, like Harry, it had been a small preview of damnation. Never again. I swore I would be strong, Harry thought, refraining from sobbing. I've cried too much. Steel yourself; think about how the Dursleys reacted to your departure. Remind yourself about how Sirius was delighted to see you. Remind yourself of Hermione and Ron. Of Hogwarts...
"Remus..." he said, loud enough for the mentioned werewolf to hear his call.
"Yes, Harry?" gently asked the former Marauder, a sad smile on his tired features.
"Get me the Hell out of here. Now," he whispered.
"That's what we were going to do," Remus pointed out. "The whole ritual went to hell when...when Lily's blood protection interfered with the Passing of Power spell, so I guess the Goblins won't object to our early departure, now that they've done their job. By the way," he added darkly. "Albus and the Order must be on their way - another reason to evacuate the area before everything falls down."
"I second that," agreed Tonks, rising from her chair. Behind them, the four Goblins were mournfully putting their paraphernalia back to their storage places, bearing a look of discontent and disappointment. Harry followed her, staggering slightly. His face became withdrawn, as his defenses came back to life, at long last, having been swept under a torrent of bad, destroying emotions for too long. Return back inside, within yourself; remember, you're someone else. Your worries exist no more. You have control. You have the means. You have the will. Act like that, then. Keep breathing deeply, Harry chanted to himself. Besides him, the two adults watched with a little unsettlement the drastic changes their protégé was undergoing. From hot to cold, they mused. Fire and ice.
"Then...shall we?"
Remus sighed, nodded and turned back to the Goblins, who were looking at them, waiting for a comment or a wish to be fulfilled. "We must go now; we will come back later to perform the Blood Purity Ritual if everything goes to our wishes. I also would like to apologize on my and my companions' behalf for the turn of events - you aren't the only ones at fault in this chamber, if there are any to be held responsible for what happened. As I said, no one would have foreseen all this and it would have been difficult taking steps to prevent that scenario. I think we should both consider ourselves the victims of Fate's caprices and happy to have gotten out of them fairly unscathed," Remus explained diplomatically, his benevolent features radiating warmth instead of the aggressiveness and outrage the Goblins were obviously awaiting despite Remus' previous attempts to calm the situation. "The Ritual is not needed and we do not consider it necessary to perform the ceremony now. I suggest we come back a little later to set things right when we will know exactly what can be done without putting anybody in harm's way."
The Goblins cringed at that, but nodded gravely, gloomily looking at the chamber and at its morose atmosphere. Ripbag's scowl lessened a bit and the old Solicitor could be seen looking at Remus with a tinge of resignation in his eyes. "I understand your motives, sir, and I agree with you. We do not wish for both our parts to risk anything else in this room. Too much mistakes have been done and I do not wish for the traditions to be sullied in such a fashion, even though not voluntarily. I only wish the ceremony could have been performed as we would have wanted it to," he concluded. He turned towards Harry, before taking out of a white case a small square-like package and handing it solemnly at the wizard with a deep voice. "His late Lordship entrusted us with the keeping of this ring. It is the Black Line Ring, the one that will help you enter all of the warded possessions of that family. The artifact will also legitimate your position and secure your power within the lands your line holds in possession. It is given from generation to generation and I trust you will, in due time, transmit it to your designated successor when the time will be right," he explained, leaving Harry looking at the box, not daring to open it. Tonks put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, compelling him to do the last step. With shaking fingers, Harry opened the lid and found himself gazing at a ring made of pure gold but sporting a black diamond, that seemed to swell with darkness. The Black Line Ring. He took the jewel out of its case and set it around his right hand's middle finger. Small flames erupted from the precious stone but Harry felt nothing, much to his relief; he had braced himself for another wave of pain but he felt his discomfort eased away as he took in the cold feeling the small band gave him.
Tonks and Remus seemed relieved as well, their shoulders slumping down from the tension they had suddenly been given.
Ripbag then presented the other two humans with the same type of packages, informing them of their signification and role. Once again, not much happened. The Goblins looked absolutely happy about that. At least they ended the ritual on a slightly happy tone. The Senior Solicitor sighed and took a step back, staring at the trio straight in the eyes.
"Would you please grant me leave to return to my offices, sir, my Lord, my Lady?" he asked to the trio with a deep bow. Remus dismissed him with a nod, before watching the four creatures glumly shuffling towards the exit. Remus frowned then called out, remembering one last topic. "Oh, Solicitor Ripbag? Before you go, could I ask you one last thing?"
Ripbag spun on his heel and faced the pale werewolf. "Yes, sir? May I help you?"
"Yes...I would like to know if there was another way out of Gringotts apart from Penfield Alley. We do not wish to attract too much attention to ourselves despite what the Elderblood rules require of us and...well..." Remus hesitated for a moment and went on with his explanation before the inquisitive gazes of the Goblins got the better out of him. "...Some unwanted parties are likely to show up and...bother us, for lack of a better term. Is there a way to...sneak out, in absolute discretion, out of Gringotts?"
The four Goblins looked at each other, before Baldvook leant forwards and muttered something in the Senior Elderblood Solicitor's Ear. Ripbag nodded in understanding and spoke up. "There is a secret passage in the Golden Halls that leads to a portrait in the entrance hall of the bank, even though you'd wish there were a less...crowded area for you to enter. The ancient Path of Illumination, which leads to the Nepomucena Neidleberg Mausoleum is now blocked to everyone, Goblins included, because of safety matters...so apart from Penfield Alley, the Barrabag Passage, as we call it, is the only way out."
Remus looked a bit dissatisfied with the news but acknowledged his lack of choices. "Very well. Could you please lead us to that passage, if you please?"
"We could go now if that is your wish as well as that of the Lady and the Lord, sir," replied Ripbag. Harry acquiesced along with Tonks and the seven beings finally left the Inheritance Chamber, leaving nothing but silence and stillness behind them.
As the doors closed, the torches that lit up the massive room gave a final flicker before extinguishing themselves, leaving the darkness to envelop the surroundings and reassume its reign over that small, sealed world. The phenomenon couldn't but give an eventual onlooker a feeling of finality, of an end finally come after a long wait. Which, in a way, was the case.
With that, the living left the dead to their world of silence.
"As soon as we find him, we escort him back to Hogwarts - we cannot let him dawdle in the open like that. Death Eaters are likely to take him for an easy target and we cannot risk that! Many would spring at the chance to defeat the one that stands between their Lord and his victory so leaving him here is out of question! Stun him if he refuses to hear the voice of reason," ordered Dumbledore with a resolute tone as he climbed the stairs at the entrance of Gringotts Bank. A dozen Order members were hot on his heels as they rushed in to retrieve their only hope for salvation and bring it away from the evils of a sinking world. They had managed to elude the policemen by using Obliviator charms and had hurried to a deserted alley where they Apparated away to Diagon Alley. Even though a lot of damage had been done by showing themselves to the Muggles in wizarding attire, they wouldn't risk an interference from the local Aurors by performing magic in front of the non-magical community. Dumbledore, despite his newfound leading role in this new conflict, couldn't afford himself any wrong steps, especially if they could be reported to the public by mass media. It would give a grudging Fudge a great deal of solid-rock material to fine the organization and order its dissolution. In a statement made at the end of July, the Minister of Magic, despite his desperate call to resistance, had forbidden the arising of vigilantes and private militias to contain the threat that Voldemort and his minions posed to the society. Hit Wizards were accepted to an extent but those particular individuals that could be hired by any people who had the means to pay such services still had to have the Ministry's job approval. Law enforcement and crime prevention had been dramatically improved but some critics in the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network had stated that all the reforms had been done the wrong way on the wrong people. So much for national security, some said. And good news for the dark side, others quipped in return.
"What if he doesn't want to?" asked Dedalus Diggle, huffing as he ran through the doors, much to the astonishment of the clients queuing behind the tellers' desks. Seeing a dozen witches and wizards barge in unannounced, in such an agitated fashion and with Dumbledore at their head, no less, was not something one could easily dismiss as a common occurrence. Some even began to fear an attack from the Dark Lord on the Alley. There were a few cries but the commotion died down as the Hogwarts Headmaster waved his hand dismissingly, showing them that there was nothing to fear. The stares he got, however, persisted despite his reassurance. "I mean - he came here because he wanted to, isn't it - so what if..."
"I fear he doesn't have an option," replied Dumbledore, scanning the surroundings. "He put himself in the possibility of danger and I made it clear that he couldn't do anything like that. His safety comes first!" he emphasized, before spotting a lone Goblin from the corner of his eye and striding towards the creature. "Sir! Could I ask you where Sirius Black's Will is being read at the moment? It is of the utmost importance that I know the location within the bank!"
The Goblin narrowed his eyes at the wizened wizard and bore his fangs in a silent snarl. "I fear I am not at the liberty of telling you confidential information, sir. Only people who have an interest in the reading of the will or are named in the will itself can attend such an event. If an attendant of the will can vouch for you then you may be allowed inside the chamber. Normally, if you belonged to at least one of those three possibilities you would have been notified through an owl - but since you aren't, I cannot discharge such information. Good day," he concluded, turning away and smirking all along.
Shacklebolt blistered at that comment, grabbing the creature's shoulder with a rough hand and make him turn back. "Wait a minute, you darned Goblin! This is a question of life and death and we do not have times to play chicken or give-me-a-riddle games, got it? I am an Auror and I request your answer to the Headmaster's question NOW!" he thundered. Hestia Jones tapped the Auror on his back, making him look around and notice that Goblins and other employees rising from their seats with disapproving, bordering on scandalized looks. Dumbledore, sensing matters complicating to a disastrous level, raised a hand, silencing his 'subordinate'. He then turned back to the Goblin, giving off his trademark 'grandfather smile' and willing his eyes to twinkle in a well-wishing way. The offended employee, however, didn't relieve his face of his scowl and glared back at the human's gall.
"Look here, sir, I do not want any trouble with Gringotts - but, well, could you please put me in contact with one of your superiors? It would save us both a lot of trouble and an unnecessary mess," he said, gesturing to the other Goblins, who were still looking on with angered faces. Dumbledore didn't want to lose the Goblins' support in this war as they were quite powerful and had a lot of useful resources and Harry's escapade made things more and more complicated, if not highly explosive. Why did you have to do it, Harry? Can't you see the depth of your actions' consequences?
The teller snarled and spun on his heel, walking towards an older-looking Goblin before harshly speaking to him in Gobbledegook - a disguised insult to the gathered Order members, as speaking in a different language was equivalent to ignoring the other speakers, shunning them out of the discussion. That, of course, wasn't missed by the agitated headmaster, who frowned worriedly at the turn of events. From bad it had gone to terrible and from terrible to utterly disastrous. Catastrophic. A-po-ca-lyp-tic. How many things must you bring down in one day, Harry? Haven't you had enough? I let you ruin my office back then - must you know take out your anger at the world around you? All the alliances we made, the precautions we took, the devices we discussed and the plans we wrote? Isn't that enough when Voldemort still plots the end of the wizarding world, waiting like an adder for a chance to spring from the darkness and strike?
The other Goblin, an accountant according to the blue-colored uniform he wore, ended the conversation and turned to Dumbledore, dislike evident in his speech. "I believe, if you're trying to attend - by force, no less, a blatant disregard of our rules - a will's hearing, that you will have to talk to Senior Solicitor Ripbag, but he is currently unavailable for he has to attend crucial matters at the moment."
"Look - you little," began Shacklebolt, stopping mid-sentence as Diggle struggled to restrain the incensed, dark-skinned Auror. "Is there a way to summon his assistant, then, if the Head Goblin is not free right now? Fast?"
The creature pursed his lips and frowned as he thought of the possibility. "If Solicitor Ripbag is tending to the good proceeding of a ceremony of that high an importance, then his assistants will most likely be unreachable too, as they are more than likely to attend the said ceremony and assist their superior. I fear you are on your own, gentlemen." Behind the Order members, Alastor Moody scoffed inwardly, knowing that the Elder Goblin wouldn't be here anytime soon, because of the Inheritance Ritual and most of all, Harry.
It's incredible how funny Fate can get, eh, Dumbledore? Not to mention ironic, on top of all things! Payback's a bitch, as the youngsters say nowadays, he chuckled in his head, keeping nonetheless his look of paranoia on his face - which wasn't very hard due to the presence of many scars and chunks of missing flesh that made his expressions hard to read.
"Where are the Inheritance rooms, then?" waved off Dumbledore, feeling time running out. As soon as Harry is in Hogwarts, I'll make him stay at the Gryffindor Tower. I must make him understand that his life no longer belongs to himself. It belongs to the entire world. Why can't he accept that?
The accountant bared his teeth in annoyance, then snarled, "The rooms you are looking for are at the second level, fourth wing, in the Philibert Roddlebow section but if you are to enter without leave the said rooms, then we will be forced to call upon the Ministry and have you arrested," he warned, finality ringing through his tone. The threat was not lost upon the wizards, especially Shacklebolt and Moody, who were both actual and former Aurors.
"Thank you," answered the headmaster with a short nod. Moody was now laughing in his mind, as he knew they were taking the wrong direction and probably clearing the way out for his three accomplices. Really, Dumbledore, I think I have been right when I said you were making counterproductive steps. You're just shown me how to dig your own grave and set yourself inside the coffin without anyone's help! And what about constant vigilance? Bollocks! he grumbled inwardly. Dumbledore then strode towards the elevators, his pace quickening in anticipation. The group, with a sigh of relief, finally took off behind their leader, leaving a hall full of begrudging Goblins and clueless humans behind them, the former harboring dark feelings towards rule-breakers and wrongdoers and the latter wondering what the hell was that scene all about. Suffice it to say, the list of surprises for the day weren't at all finished, as a certain pureblood, an elderly woman, was being levitated away by St Mungo's nurses in a state of shock and muttering curses under her short breath. The only clue the bystanders had about that new event was a mutter from one of the Healers, "Having a fit because of a darned list full of names and numbers. Really! Old ones, these days..."
Whoever said life was made of rationality only?
"They're gone. Finally," murmured Remus, watching through hidden peepholes at the dozen witches and wizards leaving the area. He opened the door in front of him, stepping into Gringotts' entrance hall, tugging Harry behind him while holding Hedwig's cage under his arm. Tonks took her wand out, searching for any possible threats, her eyes darting from left to right. "Let's go now!" she ordered. The trio got out of the corridor they were hiding in, leaving its door wide open (the 'door' was in fact a sliding portrait of Bellerophon 'Bountyseeker' Barrabag, a famous warlock that had been one of Gringotts' most important contributors in the past, placed in front of the secret passage and hiding it from everyone's view). They crossed the entrance hall in great haste, drawing looks from many people whose eyebrows rose at the sight of such a rich attire. The eldest Goblins, who knew the implications behind paled and went back to work, muttering among themselves in frenzied Gobbledegook. Harry, for once, was glad that nobody could recognize him. His hair was still shoulder-length, tame and his scar was hidden from the others' sight. He still attracted attention because of his rich robes, but this time it had nothing to do with his being the Boy-Who-Lived. He was someone else, a new Lord maybe, but someone different from the slandered savior people grew to known him as. He, Tonks and Remus had draped long, dark shawls around their shoulders to lessen the impression of wealth they exuded. The trio made its way through the great chamber, ignoring the hushed conversations around. Wizards and witches usually wore conservative dresses but rarely ceremonial ones. Those particular garments were only worn for great occasions and important events and many onlookers took the hint at first sight. The Muggleborns, for their part, remained clueless to the depth of the wizarding society. There seemed to be an omerta about the upper classes, the ones at the top of the pyramid as nobody dared to speak about them. A law of silence. Darkness enshrouded them, literally and figuratively and countless were those who were reluctant to reveal secrets to the newcomers, as if it were a crime to even talk about such important matters. Tonks saw from the corner of her eye three Mediwitches levitating an old woman away, struggling to keep her calm by Silencing her voice. Wonder what happened...Tonks thought. That's old Ulrica 'Iron-nerves, Panzer Division' Bartlett. Never thought I'd see the day she would finally crack down. Weird.
"Come on, come on," the werewolf urged, pushing the front doors open and letting Harry out. "We'll have to go to the Leaky Cauldron or another area with a hearth so that we can Floo out." They descended the stairs rapidly and entered Diagon Alley, while quickening their pace. Once again, people stared at them as their surprise was comparable to that of Muggles seeing people casually walking down the street wearing a tuxedo instead of casual clothes. It was just out of place.
"People are looking at us, Remus," worriedly observed Tonks, not liking the display they were offering and noting with slight annoyance the heads turning in their direction as they walked past. She felt like a cat strolling in a kennel full of Dobermans. Fish out of water, she thought.
"I know, don't mind them," cut off Remus. "Just keep going."
Harry saw from the corner of his eye Justin Finch-Fletchley staring at the trio but didn't stop to acknowledge the young student. This was not the time for greeting people when some serious individuals were after you. By the way, Finch-Fletchley, even though he was a DA member from Hufflepuff, wasn't one of his closest friends so it was useless starting a chat with him. By the way, he felt too tired for that. The trio walked past Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop and strode towards one of Diagon Alley's most famous inns, The Leaky Cauldron.
Remus pushed the door and entered inside, beckoning his two companions to follow him quickly. "Hello, Tom!" he greeted the bartender, who looked at them in surprise before frowning in concentration. "Do I know you, sir? Forgive me my impoliteness but you seem awfully familiar - I just can't put a finger on..." he started, trying to recognize the three individuals that had barged in as if they were hounded by the spawns of hell. Remus strode to the counter and beckoned the man forward. Tom leant over and Remus spoke in his ear. The middle-aged wizard's started in surprise. "Are you? My word, Remus, you certainly look good like that!" he exclaimed, recognition dawning on him. "I really didn't recognize you - dresses like this surely become you, I tell you that!" The innkeeper eagerly turned towards the two others. "You too, mister Potter, miss Tonks," he said, bowing. "It's always a pleasure to meet you. How can I serve you?" he inquired, wondering what brought them here in such a flourish.
"Could we borrow you one of your rooms for a moment then use your fireplace to Floo out?" asked the werewolf, discreetly looking out of the windows to check out the Alley. People were still staring at them, but were slowly starting to go back to their own business as they dismissed the event as peculiar but not overly alarming. Tom's smile widened in answer. "Sure, sure. Why don't you take room number six? It's the only empty one right now." He looked behind him and snatched a key from a board before handing it to the werewolf. "Leave it on the nightstand and leave the door unlocked, I'll take it back as soon as you leave the building," he added. Remus' face, for one of the first times in two months, split in a large grin. "Excellent - thank you, Tom. You never disappoint us," he replied, making the bartender swell with pride. Harry knew that Tom was an individual one could blindly rely on. He wasn't someone with hidden agendas; just a man who wanted to live his life to its fullest extent and do his job the best he could. Someone normal, to sum everything.
"Hello, Harry."
The aforementioned wizard's heart stopped beating for a scant second as he heard his name being uttered behind his back. If this is Dumbledore, I'll throw a fit. Hmmm, no. A full-scale Bomberman Hysteria Combo sounds better, he reflected, remembering Dudley's constant gaming on the PlayStation as well as his childish war cries He slowly spun around, noting that Remus and Tonks had also stiffened at the call. He came face to face with a dreamy-looking Luna Lovegood, still as weird, mysterious but honest and sympathetic as he could remember her. His bloodstream's speed fell as relief took his body over, happily realizing that it wasn't the Order but just Luna 'Loony' Lovegood, the Ravenclaw girl who believed in strange beings like Heliopaths and Crumple-horned Snorkacks and wore radishes as a necklace. The other student who could hear the voices behind the Veil...
The other student that had followed him to the Department of Mysteries...where Sirius had died.
"H...hello, Luna. Fancy seeing you here..." he stammered, trying to regain his composure. Get a grip, Harry. Get a bloody grip or I'll make you eat the remains of the Basilisk you slew in the Chamber of Secrets, harshly threatened the young man's conscience. And I'll make you sniff Snape's boxers, too!
"Likewise...pretty robes, though. I like the new haircut, by the way...mmmh...maybe you should add dreadlocks on the back of your head," she observed, looking him over. Harry's eyes nearly bugged out at the proposition. Dreadlocks? Heavens, no, bloody sodding NO! "Thanks...but I think I'll pass...the haircut's temporary, you know. I'll revert back to my old self as soon as I can," he corrected. Tonks was now looking at the two with a confused look, trying to understand the girl's logic. "Oh well," she replied airily, as if talking about the weather. "People nowadays have no sense of innovation at all. Not like my father who set his head on fire last Thursday to make it look frizzier and not always rely on spells... But then I could hardly impose my will on you, don't you think?"
"Ye...yeah, sure," he answered, as the question hit home.
Hard.
Even though the girl had no idea how many problems the quest of free will had given Harry. "Luna, err..." he turned back to Tonks. "This is Tonks. Tonks, this is Luna."
"Wotcher, Luna," greeted the metamorphmagus in her cheerful fashion, her hair brightening in response to her good mood. Luna blinked and answered, "Hello, miss Tonks, nice hair you've got. Do you dye them with the essence of Asphodel roots mixed with the crushed leaves of a Ficklebaum Tree?"
Tonks' eyes fluttered in confusion as she tried to process the question. "Ficklebaum Tree? Never heard of that one."
"Well, it's a cousin of the American Giant Sequoia that grows inside caves full of luminescent fungus, the only difference being that the Ficklebaum Tree is reported to sprout poisonous mushrooms all over its bark," Luna explained airily. "From what I gathered, it is very useful against kappas. It gets them drunk, according to what my father says - you just pour the tree's sap into the water where the water demons live to cause a small-scale pollution. Kappas then get confused and drowse off in a near-ethylic coma. The only downside of that device is that the water takes an unhealthy color and can then be used either as a dye or a light paint for temporary works. Bluepelt Bears do love the mushrooms' taste, though, despite their toxicity. As well as the Snorkacks."
Tonks, without a doubt, was a loss for words. Being an Auror she had had to study dark creatures to qualify for her job and that wasn't certainly in her textbooks. Snork-whatsits? Bluepelt Bears? Ficklebaum Trees? Man, she's barking! She must be high on Firewhisky and drugs! Which SANE girl in this sad world wears RADISHES on a necklace, too? And...CORKSCREWS as earrings? she thought, bewildered. Tonks sometimes wore grungy clothes that would make her look like a punk in the Muggle world, but her fashion notions didn't go that far in that scale of weirdness. Harry sent his 'relative' a pitying glance, silently mouthing a 'don't mind her, just play along'. "Ah," Tonks managed to comment, her jaw snapping shut with an audible click.
"How were your holidays?" Harry inquired, trying to steer the conversation away from fashion and looks. He was as clueless as Ron when it came to such notions. A complete nitwit.
"Oh, nothing really interesting. Father thinks he saw a Crumple-Horned Snorkack in Sweden but he didn't manage to locate it again afterwards. I think it must have been frightened by our approach - they have a good hearing, you know - that is how they always manage to elude us. But it is nonetheless a good sign that Snorkacks do exist, contrarily to what most advance without proof to support their opinion. We also received from a wizard in Ecuador some news about a new breed of Snorkacks, this time with curly hair and flippers. I wonder what they must look like? Don't you?"
"Yes, indeed," Harry replied softly, not wanting to upset the girl. Luna always had to put up with the prejudices of her fellow students, from all years. They always called her 'Loony' and stole her books, quills, ink bottles and parchments, to annoy her but with little effect. Just because she believed in strange things and had unorthodox opinions about certain matters. The fact that most individuals considered her as a complete airhead if not a downright nutter just aggravated the whole subject. But Harry held a certain 'fondness' for her...even though 'benevolence' or 'sympathy' would be more appropriate. Even though Luna was too eccentric for him she had, managed, along with Hermione and Ginny, to soothe him when he was mourning Sirius' death. At the end of fifth year, he had had a little chat with her over the strange voices behind the veil and the fact that both of them could hear them had established a strange, unspoken connection between the two of them. One of trust. They both believed in something nobody else did. They could relate to each other in that and Harry took the whole 'bond' as a sign that Luna wasn't stupid and that to her rumors truth lingered behind. Oddities were but the garbled interpretation of reality, after all. Coincidences and illusions. Misunderstandings.
"I mean, does their fur serve to protect them from the rain or is it there only for fashion? I wonder if it has magical abilities - you do know that unicorn skin is often used in restorative and healing potions, don't you?" she asked, the Ravenclaw in her kicking in. Harry nodded, despite his mediocre knowledge of potion-brewing. "Well, I was wondering whether one could use it as a draught ingredient. Some creatures' most prominent features like horns, tails, teeth, pelt and skin are always laden with magic even though the amount is small and cleverly distributed. If one could use the Snorkacks' fur as an ingredient, the possibilities of creating new potions could be increased by a large percentage."
"I understand. But what are you doing here?"
"Well," she answered breezily, shaking her head and making her makeshift necklace jingle. "My father is here on business with a couple of colleagues and asked me to stay at the Leaky Cauldron while he tries to find the proof that Fudge does have Heliopaths under his command. According to some snippets of conversation my father overheard at the Ministry, Fudge's soldiers are living just below the Department of Mysteries - it is truly a pity I didn't have the chance to check that out, it would have made good material for the Quibbler's next front page." Harry's face fell somewhat as she reminded him of the place his godfather fell under Bellatrix' assault. "Oh..." she said, noticing his downcast expression. "I'm sorry...I thought you had come to grips with his departure - our little talk at the end of the year made me assume you did indeed release your grief over that matter. I guess I was wrong. I apologize," she added calmly, blinking owlishly. Behind her, Tonks was scratching her head, vainly attempting to figure out the former fourth-year Ravenclaw student. The metamorphmagus' hair was a little bit unkempt - something that always happened when she was perplexed or troubled.
"I see," pleasantly interjected Remus, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and tacitly putting an end to the conversation. "I'm glad to see you are having a good time and enjoying your holidays, miss Lovegood, but pressing matters unfortunately require our departure. Could we be excused?" he asked, smiling at the Ravenclaw, who agreed immediately, as if it were no trouble at all. "I see no trouble letting you go, professor."
"Mr. Lupin or Remus, dear, I'm not your teacher anymore," the werewolf corrected.
"Isn't it common courtesy to acknowledge someone by the role he has taken in your life, professor?" she asked, fingering the radishes around her necks and even taking a bite off one. "One knows the other in many ways - and I only recall knowing you as a student and you knew me through the eyes of a teacher. Multiple identities, if you get the point - like layers of a soul. I trust the most appropriate word to convey my opinion is 'aspects'. 'Facets' is also another way to put it."
Remus seemed taken aback by the girl's logic but chose to dismiss it. "Indeed, indeed. Very insightful, I must say. But we must go now so if you please..."
Luna waved a hand. "Well, then so be it. It was a pleasure meeting you...goodbye, miss, professor. Goodbye, Harry - see you at the station at the beginning of the term, then," she concluded, breezily waving a hand to the trio, while going back to the back of the inn, a copy of the Quibbler's latest edition under her arm. Tonks watched the girl walk away with a dazed look before shaking her head. "I wonder where you get your acquaintances, squirt. You sure do have a interesting collection."
"What don't you know..." Harry muttered. Half-giants, werewolves, hippogriffs...now Elderbloods. Whoever is in the heavens writing my destiny, well...bring it on! "Can we go now?"
"I was just waiting to remind you," snapped Remus. "Let's go NOW."
"Yeah, yeah, jeez, you don't have to be THAT snappish, you know!" shot back Tonks as they went to the staircase and climbed upstairs. In less than five seconds, the Auror had managed to trip six times and stumble twice, nearly making Harry tumble backwards and break his neck. "Look out - step!" the wizard cried, not wanting to have a clumsy Auror in her twenties barrel into him and use him as a bowling tenpin. "Alright, alright!" Tonks huffed, aggravated. "Look - you see, I managed to reach the top of the stairs, okay? I'm safe."
That was when she missed the next step and fell flat on her face, digging her teeth deep into the carpet.
Harry rubbed his forehead with his fingers, feeling a headache coming. "What in the nine hells have I done to deserve this?"
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione looked up from her book about Nundus and found herself staring at the tight-lipped face of one Minerva McGonagall, standing in the middle of her room. Startled by the sudden appearance, the Hogwarts' most clever witch let her Nundus: Demons of the Bush by Edmond Ettlemeyer fall on her lap and gave a surprised yelp, nearly falling off her bed as she scrambled to her feet. Crookshanks, her pet cat who had been dozing off on the rug, hissed in alarm, his hair standing upright in fear, before streaking under behind the bookshelves, seeking for cover.
"Pro - professor? Wh...what are you doing here?"
"Hello to you too, my dear," sternly answered the Transfiguration teacher, frowning at the lack of greetings. Hermione's face flushed in embarrassment as she reminded herself of McGonagall's love of traditions and rules. She bowed her head in disguised apology and muttered a meek "Hello, professor."
McGonagall's features relaxed into an indulgent smile as she took note of the correction, and spoke up. "Well, how are you doing these days, Ms. Granger? I haven't heard from you for a long time, since you usually send me owls about Transfiguration spells," she inquired, scrutinizing her student and looking for signs of untreated illness and unhealed wounds. Hermione, in her never-dying thirst of knowledge, had taken the habit of asking her favorite teacher extremely elaborate questions about one of magic's most complex and powerful sciences. McGonagall, however, didn't do anything to hinder that quest, as she favored studious people and held them dear to her hardened heart. Of course, she never showed her weak spot for those individuals, but it was only in times of punishment and sorrow that her leniency would be unveiled. Her sternness, however, masked all the 'symptoms' from the alumni and students, perpetuating the belief that she was 'one heck of a tough, strict teacher', as many put it.
"Well, I tried not to bother you since...well, you know, the Order business and all...but why are you here, professor?" she asked, before anxiety took her over, as eventualities rose in her mind's eye, all giving her horrible reasons for the professor's visit. "Has something happened? Is it Harry? Ron?" Crookshanks growled from his hiding point, wondering if the commotion was over and the place safe again for him to stroll around without risking being hurt.
McGonagall raised an old hand, beckoning her prize student to stop her flow of questions. "Calm down, my dear, calm down. Nothing such has happened, if that can relieve you of your fears. I have, however, been compelled to take some steps because of new developments that are not to my liking and that need to be sorted out with the concerned parties. In conclusion, I am here," she added briskly, her tone becoming harder and resolute. "to discuss about some...important matters. Time is of the essence."
"Oh."
And with that simple statement, Albus Dumbledore received another source of dreadful worries, for the second time in less than twelve hours. Things were indeed getting into motion, but not the way the old headmaster would have wanted it them to be.
Remus closed the door behind him, muttering about how such clumsy people could be allowed to become Aurors. Tonks, as one could have guessed, was none too pleased by that comment. "I heard that, Remus!" The werewolf flinched as he realized he had been caught and shut up, merely choosing instead to discard his fine robes and settle Hedwig's cage on the ground, eliciting a relieved hoot from the owl who had been subjected to a less-than-comfortable travel in her 'skeleton house' for the past fifteen minutes. "Sorry, girl. Couldn't be helped," said Harry, kneeling next to his pet and passing his fingers through the bars to pat the bird's back in a soothing way. Hedwig let out an indignant hoot (Translation: 'couldn't be helped my ass!') and ruffled her wings. Harry withdrew his limb and sent her an apologetic look.
"So. What now?" he asked Remus, who was taking from his trousers' pocket a small pouch full of Floo Powder.
"We're going to our new quarters," came the short answer.
"What?" blinked Harry.
"You heard me. My place is no longer safe - Albus will check it up first. And as soon as he learns that Tonks was with us, he's going to bug her family till they tell him where she's gone."
Harry's lips tightened as he thought of the Headmaster. He was a man who always meant the best for everyone but his actions had all been done the wrong way. He couldn't just understand what people really needed and chose instead what seemed to be done for everyone's good. The choice was rational but not wise in the slightest. The conflict of interests always had sad consequences...like Sirius' death, for example. Or letting people in the dark, till they drown in the madness of unawareness and impotence. He sighed in resignation before turning to Tonks. "I'm sorry."
The young Auror waved him off, giving him a bright smile that, however, didn't reach her worried eyes. "Don't sweat it, squirt. My mother knows about our plans. She doesn't know where we're going so Dumbledore cannot get anything from her," she explained with a wink. "And for that matter..." she continued with a pensive look, setting a finger on her lips. She turned to Remus, who was looking at her with an expectant look.
"WHERE are we going, by the way?"
"Not Grimmauld Place, please," pleaded Harry. He didn't want to face Sirius' abode now, just after hearing the will. He needed to regain his shields and re-strengthen them first before confronting the plaguing memories such a place would elicit from him. Not to mention that traitorous, sniveling creature that called himself Kreacher - the house-elf that had betrayed the Order because of its bigotry and so-called faith to the Most Noble House of Black. Kreacher. Now that he thought of it, Harry deemed that he should and would have a little chat with the scum sometime in the future to settle things right, to avenge his departed godfather. Kreacher wouldn't live to see another year being born, he told himself. He would meet the Creator of this universe first and meet his judgment. Unbeknownst to the three humans, Harry's Ulciscor Oath flared to life for a mere millisecond as the first object of the spell's wrath had been identified.
"Don't worry, Harry, we aren't going there," assured Remus, trying to liven up the young man. "The Order is still maintaining its headquarters there as part of the contract between Sirius and Dumbledore so...it would be a complete ruin of our plans to just come to a place full of the people we had tried so hard to avoid. I have no doubt Mad-Eye is going to lead them onto false tracks, but we won't be able to fool them eternally. And Moody will have to quit the Order so that he can join us, so..."
"Ah," sighed Harry in relief, before recomposing himself. Face of steel, heart of stone and soul of ice, Harry. Remember.
"Then where are we going again, Remus?" asked a puzzled Tonks. "I don't see where we could go..."
"In fact, Sirius once talked to me about a...residence of his that should fit our needs perfectly. I think I should remind both of you Harry inherited that place merely moments ago..." the ex-DADA teacher finally answered, quirking an eyebrow to his erstwhile student. "And that's where Harry comes in. He's our key to asylum. To protection."
"Me?"
"The place where we are going is protected by a variant of the Fidelius Charm - it will be hidden from our sight unless a member or the Head of the House of Black decides to reveal its location. The spell is triggered by one's will, not one's knowledge. The Black Line Ring will make sure we, Tonks and I, will be able to enter in safely. You, for your part, will be able to see the residence and enter it without assistance, thanks to the ring," he explained, fingering the green powder with almost sweaty hands and striding over to the fireplace, lighting up the stored wood inside with a flick of his wand. "Ignitus."
"Oh. And which place are we going to?" asked Tonks, scratching her head with long, manicured finger.
"Shadowvale Castle," came the curt answer. As long as we're away from the Order, I don't have any problems with it.
And with that, the tired man threw the magical substance into the crackling flames, making them glow a bright, vivid green. With a last glance at his companions and a "follow me", he shouted "SHADOWVALE CASTLE!" before actually stepping into the hearth and disappearing in a blinding flash. Harry and Tonks looked at each other and nodded, steeling themselves for the next part. Harry took a pinch of Floo powder, dropped it in the fire and followed Remus towards his new home.
As he wildly spun around inside the Floo Network, wondering about the most incredible events of this day, he couldn't but wonder about what was awaiting him at the location known as Shadowvale Castle.
"Well, it's not like I'm going to be eaten alive by huge, fanged and clawed monsters. But then, even the Dursleys must be feeling cozier than I am right now," he mused. "Now that I am away from them, they must be absolutely ecstatic right now."
As the ancients once said, ignorance was indeed bliss.
An author's notes: of plots and other features...
Didn't you like it? Hee hee hee hee. Evil me. Or not.
While I was just tempted to just leave Harry with money and Grimmauld Place, I had planned this all along...well, err...erm, okay, I admit it. The Elderblood thing just popped up but it was so perfect for me, as it was a good introduction to how Harry would train himself and to the skills and power he would get next. Oops...did I say 'power'? Yeah, but not politically...but then...the prerogatives coming with Harry's lordship make for a nice bonus since Fudge's still here as a Minister, heh? Okay, I'll give you a very small clue to what I may plan for the few next chapters (when I say few, I say in the near future, not very soon or in the next three chapters): Remus said something about the Elderbloods' grip on the Ministry...and a bloke called Cauldwell. Ooh yeah. Got it? Excellent! If not, check it up or just guess. By the way, for the Passing of Power Ritual, I think I really sucked for the incantation. I couldn't think of anything better. I'm no John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. Have you noticed tried to make this fic a little bit funnier? I hope my attempts weren't a complete waste of strength and imagination.
But for the moment, I'm trying to pull some things off as well as answer some questions some of you might ask, about Sirius' will. That's why the previous chapter was so long. I didn't want to leave unanswered questions around and longed to introduce you to the Elderbloods' universe - even though it is nothing but a dying one. But it will have a lot of importance for some other individuals... Another clue to what I'm suggesting: if the Malfoys, who call themselves 'pure-bloods' are equivalent to aristocracy, then the Elderbloods are something like...royalty. Ohoooo... Hah! Another thing for you to whip around, Harry! But not now. Later, but I'll try to make it worth. Harry first has to get a bit stronger and get his bearings now that he's confused. Learning you're something close to royalty in a few seconds is not something to dismiss like an everyday occurrence.
'Oh, Ron, did you know that I've just become a member of the royal family?'
'Huh? YOU? Wait a minute...'
'Why? Weren't you one of them too? Pity, I figured you were. Queen Elizabeth looked a lot like Ginny without the mustache, so I guessed... Then again...'
'Hey! Listen to...'
'...It's not as fantastic as it sounds, though. The Rolls-Royces are made out of pure gold but I prefer the diamond-covered Ferrari in the garage, though it's only there as a decoration for my two hundred-acre private amusement park. The place is quite tiny in my opinion, but...'
'WHAT? Come on, mate, come here...'
'And with the few thousand, half-naked, blonde girls trying to enter my palace to have a good shag with me...really boring...'
'HEY, LISTEN TO...! HARRY!'
Yeah. Really. When Harry rambled on about his 'written-on-a-hunch fairy tale', I meant it as a private joke about me and my making up my fics on the way without any exact predetermined goals. But don't worry - I do have some things intended for this series. I did have, too, for 'NGE: TBI' but as I stated in my bios and a previous chapter, I had to put it on hold because I was having problems keeping innovation going in my chapters. HP offers me more freedom of movement, though so I switched to this area as my chaps keep coming faster than ever. Bloody hell, I'm even writing faster than I did for TBI, even for its prologue which is shorter than HP-ASIT's! Last but not least, sorry about the delay. I tried to download small videos through Bittorrent and the files filled my hard drive to the brim with imaginary information. The disk cleaner jams every time I try to activate it and I had to uninstall Frontpage for a while to keep some free space in the HD. I'll eventually have to reinstall 2000NT if not install XP. So...expect delays. Sorry again.
About making things clear: answers to recent reviews
Nomoreseverusharryslash: I won't deign answer your review. I won't even stoop down to your level by using your type of language. I won't even talk back to you unless you learn two important things in life: RESPECT and POLITENESS. Until then, mister I-think-I'm-so-mighty, you can shove your keyboard up where the sun doesn't shine. When I write a review and want to point out either a mistake or a flaw to a fellow author, I give him a respectful and polite message - not like the piece of shit you gave me. As for the self-esteem, I don't know where you got that, so get the hell out.
Alen: the H/Hr thingy won't happen before a long time. The first events pictured in this series are about Harry trying to adapt himself to his new life and prepare himself for the war but that doesn't mean that his relationship with Hermione would be instantly doomed to disappear. Sure, in the beginning it is shoved in the background, with little to no mention of it, but it is still there. As for the summary, well, the only thing I can say about that is a saying I've always worked with: 'do not judge a book by its cover. It is not the mirror of its content and there is more to the content than to the cover. Appearances can be misleading'. Too bossy for him? Well, yes, I admit it, but if you haven't foreseen it, most Harry-goes-independent fics always sport character changes. Even if they are little, they are still there. Life is evolution and as chaos theories state it, if a species doesn't evolve enough over time, it will be on its way to complete extinction (by the way, the same thing goes for the species who evolve too much or too fast). So... As for Hermione, in a way, she has to understand, as she stated in HP&tPS/SS before Harry went to confront Quirrell, that there was more to life around her than in her books, before even beginning a relationship. Bossy know-it-all? If she isn't the right one for Harry then she absolutely isn't the one for Ron who likes fun like nobody and dislikes books. If you're a R/H shipper, then your argument backfires. Slash? Sorry, but I'm not into slashes.
Meg: the part with Harry in the dark chamber was a metaphor to emphasize his feeling of confinement while danger is slithering towards him (Chamber of Secrets reloaded, hmmm?). The room was comparable to four, Privet Drive and the red eyes, well, it's undoubtedly Voldemort - but it wasn't a mental link-induced nightmare. Just his mind mulling over his being cooped up in that house, telling him to get the hell away out of there - you know how our subconscious translates our feelings and experiences into either good dreams or nightmares. I once spent the whole week dreaming about werewolves chasing after me because I read a comics book called 'Tales Of The Crypt'. Since it wasn't exactly my favorite type of reading, we'll, the whole thing rather stayed in my mind, much to my...discomfort. Try to guess in what mood I woke up...(been dreaming about werewolves and mummies for the entire week...brrrrrr!) For the relationship point, you got it right. It won't happen anytime soon. As for Ron, well, he's going to act like a prat, but there are reasons to that...let's just say that it will be sporadic...like schizophrenia, if you see what I mean. And look at Loopy dane's part underneath to get another spoiler. SM. (by the way, it doesn't mean sadomasochistic, all right? ;-)) Oh, dear, I revealed too much...kill me.
AllAboutMe: OOC? Well, I don't know...I wanted to portray him as a guy who indeed wants to ensure everyone's safety but in a way goes too far and starts hurting people. Mind you, AD here just wants your average student to be safe, okay? It's his responsibility. However, I believe that he's trying to steel himself up for the upcoming war and knows that he has to do some sacrifices to win over the Dark Side. But I'll try to fix it during the next chapters and show what he exactly has in his mind (note: check Grookill's part, beneath). But, by the way, having him showing a rather inflexible and cold mind was a way to justify Harry's resentment towards Dumbledore and provide a trampoline for the whole series. As for the change of perspective, sorry, but in my HTML docs, I did have a set of symbols showing the change of perspective, but FFN's QuickEdit took them out as they don't display them in the finished HTML format. Sorry.
Voakands: Harry will have his own house...or something bigger than that. You'll see next. I intended to let him go to Remus' but it would then be easy for Dumbledore to locate him. So that was out of question. As for Harry staying with the Muggles? It would have hampered the whole Elderblood and Inheritance thing, as well as what follows them.
Schmanski: I'm awfully sorry about that, but it can't be helped, at the moment. I had to introduce a lot of things and, well, I couldn't make Harry go Matrix in Gringotts just for a will, right? But then, his training begins and there'll be a little action. For the Death Eaters confrontation, well, I'll see what I can do. Do not despair, though. The Great Wall of China wasn't built in a scant second, you know? It takes a lot of time and planning.
Loopy dane: well, you got me: you just pointed out a little problem I got, a trap that I myself set and walked straight into. With Harry becoming an elderblood he doesn't need to go to Hogwarts anymore for many reasons, especially the fact that he will have a brand new curriculum and other new fields to study. I named some of them in passing in chapter three. If you remember well, I named two types of near-dark types of magic. Their initials are BM and SM. But I think politics are going to come in to make him go back to Hogwarts, much to his displeasure. Which doesn't mean that Harry won't be tutored anymore by Moody. What's more to say? Ah yes, Hogwarts is also an excellent environment to see how people would react to such a high level of aristocracy. Heh, spoilers... (grin)
Grookill: Dumbledore, in this story, is not someone inherently evil, just an old wizard who feels that the world is getting out of hands and that control must be preserved at all costs. Yes, he does want to keep everybody safe, but he doesn't make the good decisions. They hurt people like they did with Sirius and Harry for book five. Desperation, then? Maybe, I don't know, there are a lot of ideas spinning in my head, I cannot put them right here...but Dumbledore's not evil. He just made the wrong decisions. As for Harry being the weapon? Well, even though he still cares for his student and unofficial pupil, he knows that Harry is the only one who can kill Voldemort. And he'll not allow the only chance to bring the Dark Lord down slip away or be hurt. The other outcome would be hopeless. Now, for your comparing HP to NGE, well, I mean no offence, but it's a bit far-fetched. Harry's definitely not acting like Shinji. He's got more backbone than that. Misato maybe looks a lot like Tonks but she'd be less cheerful...and clumsy (grin). And a Gendo-like Dumbledore? No. Dumbledore means NO HARM. Gendo does. Harry OOC? Well, with your godfather dying, learning that you have a new power to master and that the final confrontation would be between you and your nemesis...well, who wouldn't change after that and work to change things? For the OWL point, don't worry. Harry did score well, but I won't give him too high marks. He still failed, without doubt, two courses, History and Astronomy. Divination...maybe. By the way, do you know how this OWL thing works? How many OWLs per class and the like? I need pointers! Hermione falling straight for Harry? Nuh-huh, won't happen. Harry's still inside his shell and Hermione...well, I'll see. Let's not forget that there will be other girls in that fic (hint, hint). Minee and Kath? I wouldn't know, I don't have siblings, but thanks for the compliment! (laughs merrily)
Tillantria: erm, yeah, you're right, but I can't exactly say it was a cliffhanger since those things are intended to let you hanging on the fic asking yourself 'what's going to happen'. It's not the case here and well, since I'm not as fluent as that in English, I didn't have the perfect word for it. I just wanted to conclude the chapter on that announcement, because I was starting to feel the fic getting heavier and heavier. I didn't want to bore you to the bones. As for the sarcastic comment, well, I don't know if the Elder Goblins would have appreciated such a transgression of the rules of decorum and well-conduct. But thanks for the suggestion, though. I'll see what I can do about it. Maybe later. I tried in this chapter, though. I'll try to do better than that.
Shadow101: har, har, har. Assumptions, assumptions (insert evil laugh) - the word 'soul' does have something to do with it, but you'll see it a bit later. However, I did mention something about the soul a while ago. Just look back at my answer to Loopy dane's review, and well, put two and two together, will you? (wink) Strange thing about your review problem, though. I had one of my own: my email review alert, which provides me with an update of my fics' reviews, had a queer bug a few days ago. Kept on arriving at my mailbox at a snail's pace, whilst on FFN the review count literally exploded. I don't know why, but as long as you got what you wanted...who's going to complain? Thanks for the trouble, though. Oh, last thing: the title was taken (and I hold it as a homage to that incredible fic, which is extremely well written - nothing like me, period) from the last words of a very famous Evangelion fanfic series named 'Eva-R', but in here, well, the soul in question is indeed Harry's. The tension, though, mean a lot of things, like the war brewing and the trouble he has to cope with, not only magically but personally. As for the title not being that 'seducing', well I can't exactly rename it 'Harry Potter: Sex, Guns, Voldemort In A Bikini And A Prissy Bitch Called Umbridge' with all the serious events, can I? (sweatdrop)
Me'shell: err...were you high on crack when you wrote that? I don't really get what you intended to tell me (sweatdrop). Humor here is not the main theme - so sorry.
Quizer: sent you the mail, you got the spoilers. Sorry about my not forwarding you the files, but when I upload them through QuickEdit I usually do last-minute changes and some of them are quite drastic, when it comes to spelling and grammar...so you might want to wait for a while till I finish rechecking them before mailing them. The changes can be quite extensive, I tell you. Not to mention restoring the formatting. And with 2000NT waiting for its uninstall and reinstall...
Maddie: well, sorry if it doesn't look like HP, but do you expect Harry not to change especially after what happened in the DoM? I don't see him practicing dancing the salsa after that as a way to vanquish Lord Voldemort. The Power He Knows Not. Figures. Heh. No, that'd be ridiculous. My guess for the HBP book's prologue is that it shows Harry bordering on depression, but that'd counterproductive for the upcoming battle. As for his lifting weights...well, mens sana in corpore sano, as the saying goes. The Auror training must imperatively include P.E. for aspects of the job like dodging spells and reflexes as well as endurance. And if a wizard loses his wand in a duel, then it all comes down to fists and blows. So... As for Harry being OOC, I guess it couldn't be helped. This series is about examining him taking his life in his own hands. Sorry if it looked OOC to you. Magic will come in chap five and beyond - the Elderblood thing was the introduction to new fields, universes and features.
Ooops, by the way, not-so-innocent-me, there was a little homage to Evangelion here. Could someone tell me where and what? (I'm joking - don't put it in the reviews or FFN will ban me) If you've seen EoE, you'll know immediately. The song picking up in the Chamber was Carl Orff's O Fortuna, Imperatix Mundi, taken from his Carmina Burana opera. O Fortuna also happens to be the original soundtrack of the Excalibur movie. I also put a little wink here to Hoobastank's Crawling in the dark. Guess where. Don't answer either in the reviews.
KEEP REVIEWING - it keeps me going on, but keep it civil. Not like that brat called nomoreseverusharryslash. I can understand if someone gives me a flame because I said something outrageous but this is downright ridiculous. He insults me because he doesn't like my writing. That's really worthy of an intolerant idiot.
Kill him for all I care.
And please cheer me up. :-)
Until next time,
abi2301