Chapter Text
It had been nearly two weeks since Harry walked through the gates of the garden of his small estate to find the building aflame. A thick trail of smoke joined the endless high of the cloudy sky to his Georgian-styled dwelling, well, at least what was left of it. Though the structure was mostly brick and had the proper disaster-proofings any well-to-do wizard should have, the fire, viciously marked by its red edges, tore through brick, gold, and silver. As a merchant, he had not participated in his fair share of battles, but he recognized fiendfyre when he saw it. This was no accidental disaster from a cooking fire left on for too long — no, those were the types of mishappens that befell muggles; this had been deliberate.
At first, Harry did not panic. Sure, his immediate home was gone and the splendid furniture, books, pictures, gold, silver, were too. But that did not necessarily mean so had his fortune. He had his muggle ships when he dealt with muggle gold and merchants, and his extensive floo systems for transporting goods when dealing with other wizards. Though no small sum of gold in his Gringotts bank was previously donated to the Goblin relief effort, he still had a base to keep his mild wealth.
That thought was sourly ruined no more than a day later when he found that his muggle ships were lost upon the sea, either by dint of pirates, shipwreck, or fire. His floo and portkey systems were also thoroughly ruined, though in a far more mysterious manner. It was as if they simply did not exist, and when Harry had gone to the wizarding merchants guild to ask about them, he was met with odd stares. This was about the time that panic truly set in Harry’s heart.
It was also around that time that Harry found himself in Gringotts. He initially went there to negotiate what was left in the Potter family vaults, but he had turned up with only a spare few pennies. His Wizingamot ring was the second most notable thing gone besides the large piles of galleons.
‘Donated to the Brotherhood of Goblins, under your discretion, Sir Potter,” one of the goblins told him with an admiring glint in his eyes as if Harry was some sort of self-sacrificing savior. If the previous feeling in his heart was panic, his heart was now a beat away from stopping completely. He had no home, no way to make money, and not even a few galleons.
Now, Harry found himself sitting in the small windowless room at the back of the bank. Only lit by a single candle on the table before him, the flickering flame cast obtuse shadows on the walls around him like ominous demons. He tapped his foot nervously and rubbed the enchanted galleon that his old friend Hermione had given him those many years ago when they were still attending Hogwarts together. She said something about how it would allow them to stay in touch, and seeing that Harry had been on his way to becoming a merchant, a galleon had been a fitting choice. Inevitably, they had not made any efforts to keep in touch, both too busy with their careers. Though, it still brought him comfort in times like these.
Harry didn’t hear the door open. Instead, the candle gave an extra vicious flicker. Then, three figures, two tall and one short, emerged from the shadows. The two tall ones remained in the back, standing in the light, but still heavily obscured by darkness. The smaller figure, a goblin with a small button nose, climbed onto the higher chair behind the other side of the small table and clasped his clawed fingers together.
“Potter,” the goblin acknowledged.
“Stanrebs,” Potter greeted in return. After a momentary silence, Potter’s eyes flicked warily to the two figures standing behind him. Though he could just barely make them out. They carried a strange aura around them — roguish and almost animalistic. “Werewolves? And here I thought we were on better terms than to warrant your newly made allies.” Despite his tongue that had been trained well over the years, he practically hissed the words.
“Yes… We are on better terms than that…” Stanrebs drawled, his tongue flicking at his chapped lips.
“You almost act as if I hadn’t donated a particularly large sum of galleons to the Brotherhood. I thought you would be the first to notice that considering you’re the head of all things financial for the leading group of the… relief.” Harry had almost said ‘rebellion,’ before catching himself on the milder word.
Stanrebs let out a low chuckle, though it sounded more like a series of pained coughs. He knew what Harry was getting at, and to his appreciation, he cut straight to the subject they were dancing around.
“Your muggle ships are gone, your home burnt down, your floo systems wrecked. Some of it has been in the news, some of it not, but you would know best how dire your situation is. And we all well know that it wasn’t you who donated the rest of your fortune to the brotherhood.”
“Then who was it? Who’s sabotaging me? I know this is deliberate. If this was for the Wizengamot ring, I would have gladly given it.” Harry practically spat. He shifted in the seat. The heat from the candlelight felt almost unbearably hot, yet Stanrebs remained stoically cold.
“That almost sounds like an accusation, Potter. You had already donated to our cause before, this is just… a preemptive step.”
Harry snapped his mouth shut. He knew how it sounded; accusing the Goblins of tricking and deceiving, as if he hadn’t spent numerous efforts in the past to deter such stereotypes from them after showing support for their cause. He knew better than most not to make an enemy of the goblins, seeing how minister Flack barely lasted two months in office after the goblins had gained their infamous werewolf allies.
“Just because I donated to your cause a few times doesn’t mean you can take freely from my vault,” he said, simmering. Stanrebs only nodded in half-hearted acknowledgment.
There was no good way out of the situation. If he accused Stanreb and the Brotherhood of sabotaging his fortune without any idea of what their motive could have been, he would make an enemy out of them. The two werewolves looked particularly hungry to bite as the tension between the goblin and himself rose. It was either die, get bitten, or walk away from the situation entirely, penniless and with nothing but his sharp tongue that he gained through the years and not from natural talent.
“It was a good meeting with you, Stanreb,” Harry said with a quick breath as he rose from his seat and made his way towards the door. The two werewolves leered at him as he left. He didn’t turn to look back as he walked out of the dark office and emerged at the entrance of the bank onto Diagon Alley. No longer in the presence of the claustrophobic room, Harry cursed, slamming his fists into one of the pillars of the bank. He tore his fist back quickly after the impact, grimacing in pain. It would surely bruise.
“Those goblins been troublesome, have they?” A light voice came from a bit lower down the steps of the bank. Harry looked up and was met with a shock of red hair and a fading blue petticoat and robes. “I’m sure Ron will have a thing or two to say about them, he’s at the alehouse just down the street like he always is,” smiled Ginny.
Harry sighed, and leaned on the column that he had just hit, rubbing at his hurt hand. On any other day, he would have been surprised to see the mediwitch without owling her beforehand, but after the stream of constant surprises in the past few days, he almost welcomed it.
“I’m sure Ron is the last person I want to hear about when it comes to his opinions about the Goblin relief.”
“Relief, You certainly use that word to describe it, don’t you.” Ginny reached out a hand, waiting for Harry to take it and follow her down the steps. Harry took it with his good hand.
“It’s not strange, is it? Me using that term instead of rebellion?”
“There are many things strange with you, Harry,” she let out a breathy laugh as her heel met the last step and on to even ground. “But you know that’s what I find endearing about it. You make the rebellion sound almost friendly.” She twirled a lock of her red hair, and at that moment it seemed possible to forget all the misfortunes that befell him. To run away with Ginny, turn his back to Britain, and go start life anew with her elsewhere. It didn’t last long, as Ginny turned to address the elephant in the room. “I heard about your house and your business, you know,” she said quietly as they walked towards the alehouse where Ron must have been waiting for them. “And seeing how you left Gringotts, your fortune is gone too?”
“Yeah,” Harry said weakly, not wishing to elaborate.
“I’ll be blind to assume this is a simple case of bad luck. But I’m no investigator. What will you do now?” She did not leave any room for Harry to sulk. It was what he admired about her, straight to the point, observing and practicing when he’d rather sink into his emotions and imagination.
He wanted to tell her about his fantasy. Of running away with her, as he knew her family would no longer support marriage between her and his now-penniless self. Of making life in another country, away from the prying eyes of her family. Away from where his parents and godfather had died. But after a moment of thought, he simply settled on an “I don’t really know.”
The mediwtich frowned at his response, and Harry quickly picked up the cue.
“What I mean is, I’ll salvage whatever I can if there is anything left to salvage. I’ll likely have to go from there.”
Ginny abruptly stopped. They were by the entrance of the alehouse now, and she spun on her heels to face Harry, a determined smile on her lips. She took both his hands in her own, being careful to be gentle with the hurt one, and looked up at him.
“You make sure you do that, Harry James Potter.” Harry froze, entranced. “You salvage what you can, and if there’s nothing left to salvage, then you will rebuild your fortune from nothing. If there’s anyone capable of doing that. It’s you. Do that, Harry, and then we can marry with the graces of my family.” Though she didn’t say it, the silent statement hung in the air. So I don’t have to marry somebody else.
Before Harry could respond, Ginny swung the entrance to the alehouse open, and Harry was dragged into the sweaty and packed interior where the noise drawled together into one big clamor. He had always avoided places like this before — too much noise, too small, too many people. It was moments like these that he thanked Merlin for Ginny. She would always lead him through the crowds, navigating them expertly, and always allow him to emerge on the other side. The other side, this time, was Ron Weasely, who was raising his drink in drunken fervor. The redhead mumbled something about house-elves and goblins. Harry did little to decipher his slurring as most of the things he said about them were brash and he had little energy to argue. He would rather not hear.
The pair sat down at the dark oak table amongst Ron’s peers. He spotted Neville, and to his surprise, Luna Lovegood, amongst some of them. The others he recognized but had long since forgotten their names from his days at Hogwarts. If this was any other interaction, he would have admonished himself for the slip of their names, but Harry often enjoyed it when he didn’t have to remember much of the details of his days at Hogwarts.
The evening went smoothly from there, well, as smoothly as most evenings at alehouses were. He tried his best to not think about his situation, and would only nod and thank the others who would inquire and give their condolences.
Ginny clung tightly to his side, sitting in between him and Luna. She chatted lightly with Luna in a tone that was far removed from the barbaric yelling of the men about politics and such. But that did not mean that they did not talk about such subjects like most of the men expected they wouldn’t. If anything their conversations were deeper, unclouded by the effects of wine and beer. Whenever he found the conversations of Ron’s poorly thought out opinions on the Goblin Rebellion, he would tune out of their conversation and in between the two womens’.
It continued like that for a while until a familiar face made an appearance. The evening took a turn when he caught someone with distinct silver-blond hair approaching their table. Harry was unsure if it was a turn for the worst or the better as Malfoy, with his signature sneer plastered on his face, approached the table. Malfoy observed them coldly, his eyes stopping on Luna and Ginny with quick disapproval of two women in an establishment so predominated by men, before swallowing whatever criticisms he had. Harry appreciated his silence. Harry often disagreed with Ron about his views on the current state of Britain, and now Malfoy would make it two people he disagreed with, not that he was the confrontational sort.
The table quieted down as they caught sight of Malfoy. They shifted nervously, being a table predominated by Gryffindors, before Ron turned to Malfoy and smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. Harry had heard the two of them had reconciled somewhat after their days in Hogwarts, house rivalries being juvenile after they stepped into adulthood. The tension between Malfoy and the other members of the table lessened as Ron accepted Malfoy into their company.
By the time Malfoy had thoroughly integrated himself into the talks about the goblin rebellions and the new Minister of Magic after the previous one shamefully left office, Harry could feel himself nodding off. All the talks of goblins and money brought him back to Stanrebs. He certainly wouldn’t say that goblins were the most pleasant of people, especially Stanrebs, but then again he didn’t find most of the people in his life pleasant. Perhaps it was Ginny’s influence or just common sensibility that made him support their efforts. Everyone deserved a right to live their lives properly, magical creature or not. It was what Ginny liked about him — his sensibility.
Ginny pinched his slack arm sharply, promptly waking him up from his dozing. She leaned in to whisper in his ear quickly. Her breath was cool against his cheek.
“They’ve stopped talking about that politics shite now,” she breathed. Harry exhaled a small chuckle from her vulgarity. “You only get to doze off when we’re alone,” she teased. Harry met Ginny’s eyes briefly, and a small tired smile spread on his face. He turned attention to Malfoy now, who seemed to have entrapped the entire table with what he spoke about in low, hushed whispers.
“There’s a rumor of some sort of… demon, living in the forest just north of Dorset,” Malfoy spoke quietly, seizing everyone’s attention as they leaned in to listen closer. He recognized the name of the province. It was a place he always made sure his ships avoided, the coves and sandy beaches being ripe with smugglers and, merlin forbid, pirates. “Greatly ugly, immensely powerful, I hear it steals both muggle and witch maidens alike.” The men shared interested glances between each other.
“You suppose if we killed it, we would be rewarded?” suggested Ron, somehow managing to form his sentence coherently. “Unless it’s the same deal like with the goblins. Creatures and rebelling and all that. Before you know it, wizards won’t be able to take care of any violent creature running amok because of these blasted goblins.”
Malfoy shrugged. “The forest is filled to the brim with werewolves and the like. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some goblin involvement with that demon. Perhaps we’ll take care of it unless the muggles get to it first. You know how they are.”
Besides Harry and the women, The men at the table nodded in agreement. He hoped they didn’t notice. Ginny frowned at his side.
“That poor demon…” Luna started. “Wrackspurts everywhere, I tell you. It’s in his head and all of yours.”
Luna was met with a few condescending laughs. Ginny put a hand on her arm in a poor attempt to comfort her, not that she showed she needed it. She rarely gave anything away on her face or voice, always that same sibilant voice and serene expression. Harry knew from Ginny that she was unintelligibly observant despite her aloof attitude.
“What do you think, Harry?” Ron turned towards him, ignoring Luna’s comment.
Harry blinked, suddenly aware that he was spoken to. He fumbled a bit before replying.
“I think if the demon is kidnapping people, it surely can’t be good.” He settled for a middle-of-the-road answer. Ron and his crew knew how he favored the goblins, even if they did disapprove, but they respected him enough not to argue. He hoped he still managed to maintain that respect even if he was virtually penniless.
Ron nodded, pleased with the answer. It felt good when his friends were pleased with him. He rarely interacted with people outside besides when it came to negotiating for goods, often finding it tiring. But perhaps it wasn’t so bad. At least with Ginny by his side.
~-<>-~
Without a home to stay in, Harry had spent the next few weeks living with the Weasleys at the Burrow. Back during his days in Hogwarts when he would visit on the holidays, this small dwelling was packed to the brim with the red-headed siblings. But now as they graduated and moved away, the house felt almost large in its emptiness. Ginny was the only one who still stayed with Arthur and Molly Weasley, providing her assets as a mediwitch to the muggles and wizards in the local area.
It was simple to say that although Molly Weasly was glad to have him over, Arthur Weasley greatly disapproved. Perhaps he was already making plans to marry Ginny off to some other richer wizard now. The man groaned in disgust whenever he would pass Harry and Ginny interacting with each other, even if it was just chatting pleasantly. Harry liked to think it didn’t get to him, but he found himself avoiding Ginny in increasing stretches of time. Perhaps he truly was undeserving of Ginny.
Ginny confronted him about it and traded some harsh words about how foolish it was to avoid her because of such a trivial matter. But they both knew that Harry’s situation, and inadvertently Ginny’s, was no light matter.
When he wasn’t sulking and looking over his old papers in the Burrow, he was instead touring muggle Britain, checking the areas where his ships were last seen. He usually only came upon wrecks or simply no ship at all. He even tried to reach out to his other merchant acquaintances, but the letters either returned with no information or the owl would come back empty. It was nearly a fortnight later when he finally received a brief glimpse that his future might turn for the better.
It was a simple letter, delivered to him by a long-eared owl with a stamp marked by what he knew was the French Merchant Guild. He recognized the handwriting.
In a dainty script, it simply wrote:
One of your muggle ships has been spotted at the south coast of Britain near the province of Dorset. It has come into port with an abundance of rich goods.
Your fellow merchant, Fleur Deleclour
It was too short to have been formal, yet the wax stamp and the signature proved it otherwise. Fleur was respected in the circles, and although he only met her a few times, she was cunning in a way Harry never could have been and they had exchanged brief pleasantries to earn each other's respect.
He stroked his fingers over the words Dorset . It was the province Malfoy had mentioned when he talked of something about a creature that lived there. He couldn’t quite remember as he often made little effort to remember interactions outside of work and Ginny. He’d just have to be careful, and he was always careful, especially when it came to such precarious shores such as the one in Dorset. Not that he worried about smugglers much as he always made sure to ward his ships.
It was as if color suddenly returned to his vision.
He practically skipped towards Ginny, who was lounging on the couch in the common room to bring her the news. She raised her eyebrows, looking up from the medical text she was reading to look him over.
“Good news, I suppose?” she asked.
“Good news indeed,” he said, gesturing his arms wide with a flourish. He reached a hand down to her on the couch, and she took it, sitting up properly now. They gazed intently into each other’s eyes. “I’ve received a tip. One of my ships has arrived at port.”
A toothy smile broke on her face, mirroring his own.
“Truly?” she whispered as if the idea would leave once they left this moment.
“Perhaps not truly, but very likely,” Harry said, trying his best to ease off his doubts.
Even if he did have doubts, they were quickly quashed away as Ginnie smiled into a kiss with him. It was chaste, yet the most reassuring thing Harry had felt for the past month.
Their faces parted, but they were still held close together. “Would you like anything? What shall I bring for you?” Harry asked.
“The only thing I wish for is to see you come home safely,” she answered sincerely.
Harry let out another chuckle, pressing his forehead against Ginny’s.
“Of course you’d say that.” They held that position for a few more breaths before parting. “Surely you want something,” Harry urged playfully.
Ginny sighed, adopting a tone as if she was performing in a theatre.
“Well, dear Harry,” she said with a flourish, “as you insist upon it, I beg that you will bring me a rose. I have not seen one since my extended stay in the Burrow, and I love them so much.”
Harry squeezed her into a tight hug. Finally, there was a chance for a future that wasn’t so bleak.
Preparations were quick afterwards. It was hardly a day after when Harry had prepared his charmed suitcase and apparated to the largest port in Dorset after exchanging a brief goodbye.
He had apparated in a deserted alleyway in the port town, just a short walk away from the docks themselves. There were the barest wisps of dark clouds that edged on the horizon, but Harry thought little of it as he made his way towards the docks. A crisp fall breeze washed over him, ushering with it the scent of the salty ocean.
He could hear sailors now and then the towering skeletal masts of ships jutted out from the sea, looming like spires. He asked around quickly for a ship with his family crest on it, it being well known about the sudden misfortune that befell all boats that bore it. He was quickly pointed towards a nearby inn where the captain and some of the crew were supposedly staying. Before he went he cast a brief glance over the long lost ship, and started in surprise.
It was a ship that had been lost almost two years ago, one of the first ships he had ever owned. He had thought the crew dead when it never arrived at port, but now he thought them immensely lucky to have survived whoever had sabotaged his ships all those weeks ago. He hurried to the Inn he was pointed to, giddy with excitement.
That excitement was quickly drenched as if by a bucket of cold water as he met with the purser of the ship in the inn.
“We split it, the lot of us.” The muggle started, smoking his pipe. The smoke trailed upwards like when Harry had found his house on fire, only this time it was abruptly stopped by the brim of the muggle’s tricorn hat before it dissipated into the air. “We thought you died after we heard what happened to all your ships. Thought you offed yourself,” he let out a too wet snort. “I certainly would have if that’d happened to me.”
Harry blinked, unable to process the words.
“You… You split the cargo you mean? With...your crew?” he said weakly.
“You heard that right. Captain was a nutter. Held the crew hostage as he toured around the Africas for a few years. Took most of it god knows where, and ‘rest of us used it to live while we could. Gone now. All of it—”
Harry had already left the room before he could hear the rest of the man's explanation. He walked into the empty room he had rented from when he decided he would stay the night to drink and celebrate and collapsed. The empty suitcase was propped against the chair across from him, taunting him.
The world was no longer as colorful as he thought it. It appeared just as bleak and grey, if not more so with the new knowledge as it had when he found his fortune donated away at Gringotts. He couldn’t face Ginny now. Not his friends, not that he had many of those, and definitely not Ginny’s parents. He had nothing to his name, not even a Wizengamot ring. He thought he would find answers to the perpetrator for his bad luck. Maybe there was a curse placed on him. Too many broken mirrors perhaps. Maybe there really wasn’t anybody behind the misfortune besides himself.
He did not return to Ginny after that. He spent the next few days drinking himself dumb, dancing, and singing sea shanties with the muggle sailors. For a few brief moments of clarity, he thought that perhaps life wasn’t so bad after all, getting drunk, dancing, and singing.
Eventually, the money used to provide for his room at the inn ran out, and he was left truly now with nothing to his name. He slept on the streets instead, huddling in the charmed warmth of his clothes to stave off the brisk ocean breeze.
He was sleeping in an alleyway that night. Was it his third night? His fourth? His head hurt too much from the drink, and his mouth was parched and dehydrated. The storm clouds were closer now, so heavy that they nearly spilled, but just heavy enough that they didn’t.
He barely made out the murmur of french in front of him. He weakly opened his eyes and could make it several robed individuals. They gripped wands in their hands. Wizards.
Harry struggled to bring his head up to get a clearer view.
“Stupefy,” he heard being uttered by one of the Frenchmen.
Harry could feel his consciousness slipping away, and before he could completely fade to the inky depths of unconsciousness, he saw a cutting charm aimed at his abdomen. Then the world abruptly faded.