Chapter Text
A loud roar filled the ears of Harry Potter as the people inside the Great Hall cheered what they had all just witnessed. Lord Voldemort, dead at last, his body slowly decaying as the magic that held the alchemically created flesh faded away with what remained of Tom Riddle's tattered soul. As people reached out to Harry, pulling and shoving him around whilst the rest dealt with the now leaderless and morally exhausted Death Eaters, few noticed how quiet Harry was. Seven years of his life. From the moment he had set foot into Diagon Alley, the specter of Lord Voldemort had darkened his every step. Every spell he learned, all the pain he endured, all the loved ones who were taken from him. They all lead back to Voldemort. For the last year of his life, Harry had dedicated his every breath to discovering Tom's secrets, locating his phylacteries and destroying the Horcruxes that kept the Dark Wizard bound to this world. In so doing, however, he discovered the secret that Dumbledore had hidden from the Wizarding World. What no one but he and Harry had known, though Harry had never truly understood until Snape revealed it to him with his last act. For Voldemort to die for all time, Harry had to die as well. That for the last seven years of his life, everything that Harry had endured, praying that at the end there would be some grand reward, some measure of peace… there had only ever been death waiting for him. Numbed and exhausted beyond measure, Harry had allowed Dumbledore's plan to come to fruition. Surrounded by the specters of the dead, Harry had walked to his own death in the Dark Forest. And that should have been the end.
But now, as he held the Elder Wand in his hands, Harry found himself feeling… hollow. The man he had looked up to as a mentor and almost like a grandfather, had always suspected that for Voldemort to be destroyed, that Harry would have to die. From the moment he had held him after Sirius had pulled him out of the rubble of the Potter Cottage at Godric's Hollow, Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of the last century, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Harry's mentor… had been leading Harry, as Severus Snape had put it, like a lamb to the slaughter. On the other side of the coin, of course, had been Tom Riddle. Driven mad by his Dark Artefacts and the loneliness that he endured through all of his life, the self anointed Dark Lord had sought to destroy Harry every step of the way to secure his own survival. From the third floor corridor to the Graveyard at Little Hangleton. From the Department of Mysteries all the way back to Hogwarts for their final battle, not a single moment between Tom and Harry had been anything but a violent and desperate battle for survival on both their parts. Now, he was dead too. Bested by his own hubris and madness, Lord Voldemort, the specter that haunted Britain for decades, was no more. Harry knew that he should be like everyone else around him, celebrating the death of a monster. But for some reason, he just couldn't.
For one man, he had been the culmination of years of planning, for the other, the final obstacle that stood between him and his ultimate triumph. Without them in his life, pulling and tugging at the strings that held Harry together, what was left of the so-called Boy Who Lived? For so long he had been defined by his conflict with Voldemort. His every triumph had been against the bastard. With him gone now, what was left for Harry in this world? After Shacklebolt and McGonagall took control of the scene, Harry found himself moving past where the bodies of the dead were being laid out, Order or Death Eater alike. He stared for a second at the bodies of Nymphadora and Remus Lupin, closing his eyes as he thought back to Lupin attempting to name Harry as Teddy Lupin's godfather. Harry hadn't been a fool. He knew the dangers that the boy would face, the possibility that he would not only lose his parents, but his godfather as well, in the coming battles. Haunted by the hole left in his heart when Sirius slipped into the Veil and vanished from this world, Harry had known that he couldn't make the same mistake as Sirius and his parents had done. He just couldn't. He refused to be the boy's godfather. Sighing, Harry vowed to at least make Teddy's life a bit easier, but right now he didn't know what he wanted to do. If anything, nothing seemed to interest him. It was as if the moment that the Killing Curse struck him down, all his worldly desires had faded away. Walking slowly, almost dragging his feet, Harry made it past the great doors leading out of the Great Hall and watched the chaos that was still unfurling in the courtyard, though thankfully there were no more curses flying around, as Death Eaters were stripped of their wands and had their hands bound.
"Harry?" The young man with dark hair turned towards the source of the sound, finding himself looking into the face of Ginerva Weasley. The redhead was covered in sweat and ash, tears still tracing paths down her cheeks. "Harry, are you all right?" Harry blinked at her, finding it odd that the need to kiss her that had been prevalent for the last two years had vanished almost completely, only finding the absence of the need as the only proof that there should have been something there. But there wasn't. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Harry did his best to give her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I… think so. I just… have been through so much in the last few hours." Ginny smiled, and Harry found that it was wrong. "Shacklebolt is going to be making a press conference in the next hour, hoping to get the word out that Voldemort is dead and that the war is over. He said he wanted you there, to ask you a few things before they reported what was happening to the country. Think you are up for it?" He knew he was terrible at hiding his feelings. He knew it. So then, why? Why was Ginny unable to tell how tired and hollow he felt. Shaking his head again, Harry looked towards the courtyard, watching as Shacklebolt did his best to get everything back into some semblance of order. He sighed before speaking, but even to his ears, the words sounded devoid of any feeling. "Fine, let's just get this over with so I can get some rest." For the second time in his life, Harry stood before a throng of reporters, flashing cameras blinding him over and over again as others spoke for him. And for a second time in his life, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, stared out, looking over a sea of people, the world feeling dead to him once more. Why was he still alive? Why?
-✿-
After unceremoniously dumping a pile of rotting and charred planks of wood, Harry took a moment to catch his breath as he looked towards the cottage where his parents had been killed. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he had spent almost a week at the Castle, helping to rebuild, while also keeping an eye on what was happening in Britain at large. He had hoped that his lack of emotional connection with the people around him would eventually pass, and to his surprise, it had, but not in the way he had hoped. Anger and frustration were the first emotions he felt stirring his heart once more and both were aimed at the Order and the provisional Ministry they were managing. Sure, the reconstruction of Hogwarts was paramount. That was why he had been there, helping to repair the damage, the Elder Wand getting its first true trial in his hands. The wand did surprisingly well, feeling comfortable in his hands and eager to be used. He had considered using the wand to repair his old Holly Wand, but instead felt that he could do better than that. Using the power of the Elder Wand, he was able to alter the appearance of his broken Holy Wand to match that of the Elder in its intact state, before smashing the fake wand before the eyes of his friends and Dumbledore's portrait, along with all the other Headmasters, before promising to leave the broken pieces of his wand in Dumbledore's tomb. He hadn't exactly been lying either when he called it Dumbledore's wand, since his Holly wand had been made with Fawkes' tail feather inside of it. He also told them that he had dropped the Resurrection Stone in the Dark Forest, where it would likely never be found again. Again, he didn't exactly lie, as he had dropped it and surely no one would find it there, since he had used the Elder Wand to summon the stone back into his possession on a dark and quiet night when he was able to sneak out all on his own.
At first he had felt bad about lying to Hermione and Ron, but their behaviour and words after the battle made it less troubling in Harry's mind. Ron had taken to spending his time either talking to the reporters that constantly returned to the Hogwarts Courtyard to gather as many first hand accounts as to what occured in the battle as they could, or doing the same to the students that had stayed studying in Hogwarts during the Death Eater occupation. Since then, the redheaded Gryffindor spent every single moment basking in the glory and adulation, milking everyone for what approval he could get. Harry, looking back at his time with Ron, realized that he had read the boy wrong. Sure, he had been somewhat loyal, but it now seemed to him that it had been entirely in the pursuit of fame and glory. Even when they had their fight thanks to the influence of the Locket Horcrux, he had left, bemoaning about how they were doing nothing but sneaking around, eating scraps, while everyone else was fighting or dying in battle. At first, Harry wondered how he could have missed it, but he was able to understand now, with the threat of death or failure no longer burdening his mind. He had wanted companionship and Ron had given it to him at a time when he needed it most. Rather than starting up another argument like they had had in the tent months back, one that would have nothing to do with Dark Magic, Harry decided to leave Ron to his idiocy and fame. He just couldn't be bothered to fix a relationship that he could now readily admit had been falling apart since their fourth year.
Looking towards his oldest and dearest friend, he could also see the same cracks forming in their relationship too, but for very different reasons, as Hermione Granger was handing out pieces of parchment to a few of the other students. After the battle, he had overheard her speaking to McGonagall, who was acting as Headmistress while the Ministry and the Board were still pulling themselves back together, about whether she could return to Hogwarts to complete her education after missing out a full year of classes in the hunt for the Horcruxes. Shacklebolt had already promised them that he would get them special permission to forgo the NEWT Exams due to extenuating circumstances, something that Ron had cheered loudly for when he had been told. For his part, Harry had been undecided, but had assumed that Hermione would have taken advantage of the offer to take up a position in the interim government, hopefully to fix the issues that still plagued muggleborns such as herself. He had also believed she would have wanted to search for her parents, in the hope that her memory spell could be reversed. Instead, she was already making plans to spend another full year at Hogwarts to complete her examinations. Unlike with Ron, he had pulled her aside in the Gryffindor Common Room and had asked what she was doing.
She had lowered her brown eyes from his, her hand rubbing her wrist where Bellatrix had carved into her the word "mudblood," the wound healed but the scars still legible. "I… thank you for worrying about me, Harry, but I am sure about this. After my parents and the war… I just need a bit of normalcy back in my life. And I… I don't think I can do that while trying to fix the Ministry or spending weeks or months searching for my family, who won't even recognize me. At least, I can't do that right now. I hope you can understand and will be joining me in September in coming back to Hogwarts. It would be your first, completely normal year. I think it's something we could both use in the coming months. Please, think about it." She had kissed his cheek after he hugged her, before she left up the stairs, looking to return to the room McGonagall had set aside for her. After several hours of quiet thought, Harry had pulled the Invisibility Cloak around himself and had ventured up the stairs of the Girl Dorms, unsure as to why they weren't reacting to him right now. Leaving that aside as a consequence of the damaged wards, he was able to locate Hermione via her point me spell, before kneeling down beside her sleeping form. His eyes had stung then with unshed tears, but he resisted the urge to touch her hair or speak, as he placed a bag filled with galleons on her bedside table, with a short note explaining that it was for her to use when she decided to search for her parents. It would more than cover the expenses of the trip and any medical treatment her parents would need.
After Hogwarts had been rebuilt, Harry had gone to the Ministry, hoping to find anything he could do to help. It soon became clear that they didn't want his help. Despite the seriously understaffed DMLE and the Order leadership handling the Ministry of Magic's daily operations, the Wizengamot had refrained from convening. Harry had asked Interim Minister Shacklebolt if there was anything he could do to rally the members of the Wizengamot back into session, hopefully to reverse the many laws that had been passed during Voldemort's rule by proxy. Shacklebolt had been able to use his office's authority to reverse the decrees his predecessor had established and had promised to undo all the laws passed during the last year's sessions, but that was it. Harry, feeling the need to do something, tried to get the Wizengamot back to work, suggesting the passage of laws to protect muggleborn witches and wizards, their families and to open up the Ministry to them. He had been shocked when Shacklebolt had pulled him aside and asked him to stop making statements to the press about changes to the muggleborn situation, that he and his office would handle it. But rather than using their current position to pass legislation in the Wizengamot to prevent the crimes from the war from ever being repeated, Shacklebolt's Ministry was more interested in hunting down Death Eaters and arresting them, with plans for Trials being set later in the year. In not one of his articles did he say that he wanted to fix the muggleborn situation, except to state that Mr Potter had erred in making such statements on behalf of the Ministry.
That was the moment that Harry knew that he had been wrong, not only about Dumbledore, but also about the Order. Sure, they tolerated muggleborns and encouraged their education, but few if any of them did anything to improve the lives of those considered lesser in magical circles. Dumbledore's own record showed that while he steered away from the customs and traditions of the Magical Families, he also didn't support nor pass major muggleborn legislation during his long tenure as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. While that could have been to the makeup of the Wizengamot as a whole, Dumbledore certainly had enough political and popular support to push such measures through, and yet he did nothing. The Order of the Phoenix, for all of its apparent virtues, was nothing more than a vigilante organization that favored sustaining the status quo. They were the reason Hermione was forced to do something so drastic as erasing her parents' memory of the magical world, as the Order refused to have them kept safe within Britain's borders. After being used as a propaganda puppet for a few days, Harry had had enough. Using the mail redirect wards Hermione had learned to cast in order keep the three of them safe while they hid from the Death Eaters and Snatchers, Harry took what he would need from the ruins of the Black Townhouse, before arriving at Godric's Hollow with what was left of the supplies he and Hermione had kept in the Wizard's Tent, setting it up just inside the front garden of the Potter Cottage, before warding the entire place.
If Harry was honest with himself, he had no desire to live here at all, but the Black Townhouse was filled with enough bad memories and was relatively unsafe after the Order and the Death Eaters had been inside of it, so this property was the only one he could claim as his with relative ease. Keeping the notice-me-not charms in place, while adding the mail redirect wards, Harry had been able to find some relatively calm nights here, with his days spent dismantling the wreckage left by the two times the house had been attacked. He doubted that anything of the house itself could be saved, but with the disappointments from both the Ministry and his friends, Harry felt his only option was trying to make his living away from all of them. He couldn't exactly build a home on someone else's land and spending life inside a wizard's tent, even if some were nicer than certain houses, was still too unstable for his tastes. Hence why he was tearing down his family's home, plank by plank, brick by brick, hoping to one day build his own home on top of the foundations. For the parts that were too large or heavy, he gladly used his wand, though he wasn't above using elbow grease when he felt the need to get some exercise in. Trying to decide what else he would throw into the expandable bag he was using to dump all of the debris in, he found his attention drawn elsewhere. "Mr Potter. You are a hard wizard to reach." Looking towards the gate of the front yard, he saw a small figure standing on the other side. Harry sighed, having some idea what this was about.
"My apologies, Master Goblin. As you can imagine, having a mail redirection ward seemed prudent, what with all of the possible threats against my life, let alone the letters from certain members of the current British Ministry of Magic." Taking a towel off from a table nearby, he wiped off the sweat from his face, before walking up to the Goblin as he placed his glasses over his face. "What can I do for you?" The goblin, wearing a dark business suit with a red vest, bowed his head. "Mister Potter, my name is Golstrud and I am here on behalf of the director of Gringotts Wizarding Bank." Harry blinked at the Goblin. "Don't you mean Gringotts Bank, Londinium Branch of the Goblin Nation?" The goblin, possibly of middle age, if not older, blinked at Harry in surprise, before a brief smile appeared on his face. "Indeed. It seems you were expecting our summons." Harry nodded, before he approached the gate and pulled it open. "After what happened in London, I wasn't under any delusion that I wouldn't be receiving a visit from a representative of Gringotts. Please, come in. Would you accompany me into the tent? While I am certain all Goblins approve of individuals capable of physical labour, I doubt your elders would be pleased if I entered their offices as I am now." The goblin bowed his head before stepping past the gate and into the wards. "You assume correctly. While I was to inform you that if you refused to accompany me back to the Bank, a Goblin Retrieval Team would be coming in my stead, it would seem my warning isn't necessary."
Pulling the flap aside, Harry allowed the Goblin to inspect the interior of the tent, finding it quite spartan, just as it had been for the year Harry had spent with Hermione and Ron for company. "I have every intention of following you back, Master Golstrud, if you would but allow me to freshen up. You are welcome to inspect the rest of the tent and leave behind warning wards, if you feel so inclined. I assure you I have no desire to flee." The goblin accepted the suggestion and inspected every corner of the tent, leaving faint traces of magic behind, whilst Harry stood still within the center of the tent, before the diminutive creature nodded. "Very well. You may freshen up, Mr Potter." Harry nodded, though he first entered the kitchen, placing a cold jug of water on top of the dining table, followed by a variety of cups, before pulling a bottle of alcohol from the wine wrack. "Here, please, help yourself. I will be out in a few." The goblin took the offered drinks and hummed to himself as he inspected the bottle, whilst the shower turned on in the bathroom. "What a curious wizard." He served himself a small serving of the alcohol and drank it slowly, until he heard the shower turn off. In a few minutes, Harry Potter stepped out, wearing a white button up shirt and a black jacket with black pants. He took a shot of the alcohol, making a brief face as the drink touched the back of his throat, before setting the bottle back into its recess, and rinsing the glasses in the sink. He then turned to the goblin and bowed slightly. "Very well then, please lead on, Master Golstrud." The goblin shook his head though he had what many would say was an uncharacteristic smirk on his face as he stood up, straightening out his jacket. "Right this way, Mister Potter."
-✿-
As Harry walked past the guards at either side of the front entrance to Gringotts Bank in London, he could see that he was very much the center of attention of every goblin manager and accountant in the lobby, their eyes following him as he followed after Golstrud past the tellers and into the hallways that led deeper into the bank, with Harry barely catching a glimpse at the rotunda where he and his friends had ridden a dragon through in order to escape with Helga Huffleouff's Chalice, the rotunda itself seemingly repaired, though he wondered how much was simply for appearances. As he had told Golstrud, he had been aware of the possibility that he would be summoned and took the initiative to research Goblins, stealing a few books from what was left of the Black Family's library. While a lot of magical tomes had been ransacked by the Death Eaters, it seemed that wizarding prejudice served him this time, as the books dealing with Goblin customs and etiquette survived relatively undamaged. Of course, several weeks worth of reading wasn't enough for Harry to be fully prepared for the meeting with the Director of Gringotts Londinium Branch, but at least he wouldn't make a total fool of himself. As they approached a massive set of doors in a back hallway, the goblin that escorted him bid Harry to wait outside, before he asked the guards to inform the Director of their arrival. After a few minutes in silence, the guard that had entered the chamber stepped out and spoke to Golstrud before retaking his place. His escort approached Harry and bowed slightly. "The Director will see you now. For what it's worth, I wish you the best of luck, Mister Potter."
Nodding, Harry pulled out five galleons from his pocket and handed them to the clearly surprised creature. "My thanks, Master Golstrud. May your coffers run full and your enemies tremble in your presence." The two guards spared a silent look as Golstrud took the coins, before bowing his head, leaving Harry before the doors of the Director's office. One of the guards granted him entry, before closing the door as soon as Harry was within the chamber. Inside the darkly lit room, Harry found his eyes drawn to an elder figure waiting for him behind a heavily ornate desk, with two skulls adorning the edges of the table. It took him a second to recognize the skulls as belonging to Nudu, which meant that the Goblin before him was more than capable of dealing with Harry all on his lonesome. He stood before the seat that had been placed before the desk for him and kneeled down before the goblin, his head bent low. "I am here as summoned, Director Ragnar, viceroy of Gringotts Londinium, Nundu Slayer." The goblin, his face marred with scars, raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Well spoken, Mister Potter. Please, be at ease and take a seat." As Harry followed the Director's instructions, the goblin steepled his bony fingers over the desk. "You have been summoned before me due to the fact that you and two associates broke into a Gringotts Vault, stole property therein and then destroyed Gringotts property as you escaped on the back of a dragon that belonged to the Bank, leading to the death of one of our account managers. I hope I don't have to say how serious we view your crimes against the Goblin Nation."
Harry shook his head. "Not at all, sir, and I doubt that much of what I have to say could in any way reduce my punishment, for which is why I was summoned before you." The director nodded. "Indeed." He pulled up a piece of paper and read. "In the case of Harry James Potter, Heir Apparent to the Potter and Peverell inheritances, it is the judgment of the representatives of the Goblin Nation that the accused be barred from ever having business with Gringotts in any of its branches, his properties confiscated and sold, after which 75% of the total wealth of the accused is to be collected as payment, the rest returned to the individual to do as they see fit with it." Harry swallowed, realizing that he wasn't as safe in the Potter Cottage as he once believed himself to be. While he would still have a sizable stack of galleons, he would be unable to do business anywhere in any magical community, limited only to black market transactions and personal dealings. He would likely be unable to own property, trade magical for muggle currency or make any income, meaning that he would eventually run out of his funds. Without the necessary documents to live in the muggle world, let alone the funds, he would be left with nothing. "Viceroy Ragnar, while I doubt it will do much to diminish my punishment, may I be allowed to provide my memories as evidence in hopes of at least earning your willingness to negotiate my punishment?" The Goblin lowered the paper back onto the desk. "And what exactly do you expect me to find in your memories, Mr Potter." Harry took a deep breath. "Confirmation that the object stolen from the Lestrange Vault was a Horcrux."
For a few seconds, Harry saw no movement in the Director's face before he started yelling in Goblin Speech, not stopping as a goblin entered the room. Said goblin waved his hands over Harry's head, who felt his mind go a bit foggy, before the feeling passed. The goblin turned to Ragnar. "He has little occlumency to speak of and no dangers that we can detect." The Director left his chair and walked around the desk, before standing before a still seated Harry. "Do you give me permission to search your memories?" Harry lowered his head so that the Director could reach him. "You have my permission, Director Ragnar." The Goblin placed his hand on Harry's head, his pale finger contrasted heavily with Harry's messy black hair, before magic linked them both. Harry saw every memory the director sifted through, which was his every interaction with every goblin, including Griphook, as well as his time spent within Gringotts, before finally ending the connection after seeing Harry desperately casting the killing curse at the Cup, having lost the sword in the breakin to Griphook. Ragnar pulled his hand away from Harry's head, his face livid. "Summon Golstrud!" As Harry rubbed his forehead, the Director re-took his seat behind his desk, before speaking as soon as Golstrud arrived. "I want a full audit of every vault in Gringotts Londinium and I mean every Vault! I just saw evidence that one of our account managers allowed a Horcrux into the Bank and had it stored in one of our oldest Vaults. Leave no stone unturned! I will have heads roll for this!"
The startled Goblin bowed heavily before fleeing the chamber as the Director rubbed his heavily wrinkled forehead. He looked towards Harry, his expression softening. "Very well, Mister Potter, the charges for the death of the account manager and theft are hereby dismissed. That still leaves breaking into Gringotts and destruction of Gringotts property. Let us hear your counter offer." Harry sighed a bit in relief. "Thank you sir, though it's less of a counter offer and more of a question. I have read that Gringotts often had debtors repay what is owed through service to the Goblin Nation. Would I be allowed to maintain the ability to do business with Gringotts and all its branches if I were to submit myself to serve the Goblin Nation as a laborer and how long would my service be for if that was the case." The director rubbed his chin in thought. "After what you have shown me and the respect you have for our customs and people, I would indeed be willing to have your punishment commuted to hard labour for the Goblin Nation. Now, let's see." Harry watched as the Goblin Viceroy read through the paper in front of him once more, probably making the necessary calculation in his head. "Twenty five years of service and 10% of your wealth, without the need to sell your properties beforehand, though they will be evaluated and their price used to come to the adequate figure for the fine."
Twenty five years? Harry felt the wind knocked out of his lungs. He had already lived for eighteen years, though he wouldn't call any of that time living, so the very idea of going through another lifetime of hard labor didn't really appeal to him. Though it was better than being forced to live hand to mouth for the rest of his life. Licking his dry lips, Harry spoke up. "And would there be any way to prove myself worthy to not spend the full 25 years in service?" Director waved his hand dismissively. "Well, there is always the Arena. Taking part in the arena matches and completing the 12 challenges will automatically reduce a subject's labor sentence to zero, though they are still required to work in the interim period between each match. The matches are not technically to the death, but they are quite dangerous. Should you succeed, you would only have to pay the remaining fine and your debt would be settled." Harry thought for a second as he sat back in his chair. Sure, it was a gamble, but if he could manage it, he was certain to gain some much needed good will with the goblins and he would retain his properties, though he would have to enquire about what inheritance he had access to as the Heir of the Peverells. This was the first he ever heard of being their heir. "I would be more than willing to provide my services in the form of hard labour to the Goblin Nation in order to repay the debts I incurred with the nation. My only final request… would I be able to take on the debts of my companions, as it was my decision to break into the Bank in the first place?"
Ragnar raised an eyebrow, before looking back down at the paper, his glasses reflecting the light from the desk's candle. "To cover their debts and spare them from being summoned or shunned by Gringotts, we are willing to accept your service for a maximum of 25 years to the Goblin Nation and the payment of 25% of your monetary value in fines. Will that be all, Mr Potter?" Harry sighed, in a mix of relief and resignation. While he would have happily allowed Ron to get some much needed comeuppance, he had no intention of letting Hermione suffer for what had been his plan. And if Hermione and Ron did somehow end up together, then this was the best way to keep his best friend safe. "Aside from requesting an escort to retrieve my personal items and clothes, that will be all sir." The director nodded, before handing him a piece of parchment and quill that Harry was intimately familiar with. "Please sign here." Harry took the blood quill and signed his name, before he was escorted out of the room by the guards. It was safe to say that the moment he reached the lobby, the entire room's worth of tellers, receptionists and managers were in a frenzy, escorting every witch and wizard out of the bank as they were stating it would be closed for the day until further notice. "It would seem your reputation as a troublemaker is warranted, Mr Potter." Harry chuckled as he bowed at Golstrud. "My apologies, Master Golstrud, but if I was to serve the Goblin Nation, I had to provide you with everything I knew to be true."
The younger looking goblin shook his head, before guiding him to the front entrance of the bank. "I will escort you back to your… home and then escort you back to Gringotts once you have collected your belongings. I suggest you leave nothing important behind. You will be allowed to send letters, but this will be the last time you will walk free before your debt is paid. Use your time well." Harry nodded as he looked up at the cloudy sky, knowing the next few years of his life would be difficult. He only hoped it gave him the means to come to terms with what he wanted for his future and the person he wanted to be. Arriving back at Godric's Hollow, Harry dumped all the rubble out of the expanded bag he had been using, before collecting a few trinkets that had been left within the wreckage of the house. After dismantling the Wizard's tent and turning into its box configuration, he took one last look around, seeing the wrecked remains of the statue that had depicted him as a child in the arms of his parents. Whilst he would have liked to have met them and lived up to be the son they had wanted him to be, he knew that he needed to make his own way through life. Fixing the mistakes he had made in his short life and atoning for his sins in the labor force of the Goblin Nation would hopefully do that for him, as he had no desire to fix the mistakes others had made. Checking his pockets, Harry was briefly confused as to why the Hallows were in there as he distinctly remembered storing all but the Wand in his old trunk, but he decided to ignore that for now as he turned to Golstrud. "I am ready to go." The goblin bid him to take his hand and as Harry gripped it, both of them vanished from Godric's Hollow as the rain began to fall over the sleepy town.
-✿-
"Tante Gabrielle!" A small blonde missile launched itself from the foyer as the front door swung open, with the young woman barely avoiding tumbling as the little girl struck her legs. The woman reached down and pulled the girl into a hug. "Re-bonjour, Victoire. How is my nièce doing?" The girl with reddish blonde hair smiled as she told her aunt all about the boat ride home across the channel as an older woman with platinum blonde hair passed through the entrance, two suitcases in toe. From inside the house, an older woman approached, drying her hands with a towel as Fleur closed the door of the Delacour Family Home, cutting off the bitter cold temperatures from outside. Fleur looked at the older woman and sighed. "Bonjour, ma mère." Apolline, her platinum blonde hair touched by flecks of grey, pulled her oldest daughter into a hug, kissing her on the cheeks as they pulled away. "It's good to have you home, Fleur." Looking at the closed door, she returned her attention to her daughter, who shook her head. "He isn't coming this year either and… I don't want him to. Could you talk to your lawyer friends? I think… I think it's time. I can't keep doing this." Apolline rubbed her daughter's cheek lovingly. "I will let them know, but it is the holiday season so they may ask us to wait until after the New Year to get the processes started." Fleur nodded, before she stepped past her mother, going up the stairs. The Delacour home, while not grand by the standards of Noble Magical Families such as those from Britain, was still more than capable of hosting over a dozen invited guests comfortably, as Fleur took her and her daughter' belongings to the third floor, placing them in adjoining rooms.
Stripping out of her warmer jacket and gloves, she took a moment to check her appearance in the mirror, concealing once more the dark circles under her eyes with mascara, before pulling her hair out of her ponytail, before retying it back again, getting the locks that had slipped out back in place. As she stepped back down the stairs, she smiled briefly as she watched her sister playing with Victoire. The five year old was growing like a weed and had taken to speaking well, though she prefered spending her time running, especially at the beach, though snow was a close second. As Fleur reached the first floor, her mother Apolline, scooped up her granddaughter in her arms, her strength greater than what her form and age would seem to suggest. "I just happen to have been baking cookies earlier. Would you like some, my dear?" The girl's squeal of delight made the three Veela smile as the grandmother led her by the hand to the kitchen, leaving the two sisters behind. Fleur took a moment to look over Gabrielle and shook her head. While both of them would qualify as pretty to most observers, Gabrielle had a more rounded face with soft looking blue eyes. Her hair was left loose over her back, its golden locks far more conventional than Fleur's almost unnatural platinum. Even still, Gabrielle radiated the typical Allure aura of all Veela, though hers seemed a bit more controlled. It was certainly better control than what Fleur had demonstrated during her last year at Beauxbatons. Deciding to test her sister's English, she spoke to her after giving her a hug. "How is Beauxbatons, Gabby?"
The younger of the two Delacour sisters shrugged her shoulders as the two sat down on the sofa, the softness of it almost making the tired mother of the two sigh in relief. "It's the usual. I spend most of my time in the library, finishing up on my charms and warding term papers, while most of the men and about a third of the women are kept outside by a locked door." Fleur sighed, knowing that experience all too well. While most Veela loved spending time outdoors, the fresh air calling to that avian part of their being, the reality was that without complete control of one's aura, the people in the vicinity would be on top of them in an instant. Finding friends was difficult as many would grow envious of the attention the young women had everywhere they went, while the others would be forced to fight their own instincts at every turn to just have a pleasant conversation with a Veela. Finding people with the right level of control was rare, though not as rare as those who were altogether immune to the effects of the allure. "No one actually catching your interest?" Gabrielle huffed. "With the school filled to the brim with pretentious boys? Of course not. Not one of those boys can even come close to being my type." Fleur leaned back. "You might want to loosen up your tastes." Gabrielle raised an eyebrow, before biting back whatever it was that she was about to say. Fleur, however, could make an educated guess. She sighed. "Then again, perhaps a higher standard would have saved me from my current predicament." Gabrielle rubbed her upper arm. "What happened?"
Fleur sighed, before slumping forward. "Everything? At first it was him asking for more kids and me saying no. Then it was all his trips out of the country, which meant he barely spent a moment back home, looking after Victoire. I had to cut my hours at the Bank just to make sure Victoire wasn't all alone. I especially didn't want to leave her with his family. That mother of his still refuses to apologize to me for every name she ever called me, let alone his "perfect" little sister." Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "If she was so perfect, I doubt Harry Potter would have actually dumped her. Say… have you heard any news about him?" Fleur stared at her sister. "You still have that silly little crush?" Gabrielle bristled. "You yourself said he was immune to our aura. At fourteen! Don't tell me you haven't thought about what could have been if you actually decided to pursue him instead of William Weasley." Fleur rubbed her face. Gabrielle was right. She had thought about what her life might have been like had she pursued Harry, though it had only started after her marriage to Bill Weasley took a turn for the worse. "Perhaps it would have been better had I made that choice. He was always polite and understanding, mature beyond his years. Hard to believe he has been missing for six and a half years." Gabrielle visibly deflated. "So, no news?" Fleur shook her head. "Aside from the sudden acquisition of all of his family's properties by Gringotts a year and a half ago? Nothing. My higher ups won't say anything but it's very likely that Harry Potter died a year ago, Gabby."
The younger blonde shook her head. "I don't believe that. He wouldn't just vanish and die without leaving anything behind for someone to find." Fleur thought for a second. "Aside from Hermione Granger's assurances that she got a letter every year for five years from him, there is no other evidence that he is still alive. Last time I met her, she said that the last letter never arrived. She is beginning to accept that Harry might have died… Eventually, you will have to do the same." Fleur left the sofa after her mother called her from the kitchen, leaving an adamant Gabrielle behind. The young veela returned to her room, before she threw herself on the bed. She knew that Harry Potter was alive. She knew it beyond a doubt. After all, that day back in the Black Lake, something happened to Gabrielle beyond the fact that she had been saved by the young Gryffindor, even though she wasn't his hostage to recover. He had seen the rage the Merfolk had for her small form, as the organizers of the event failed to realize that Veela and Merfolk had centuries worth of hostilities between them, born from a schism that started some time in the ancient past. Ignorant of the risk he was taking, Harry Potter had successfully retrieved Gabrielle from the Black Lake. And, in the process, one of the rarest bits of incidental magic occurred between them. She had only been told about it when she had visited the conclave that same summer after the end of the Triwizard Tournament.
According to one of the Elders of the Veela Conclave, Gabrielle had been magically bound to someone. Bonds born from Veela magic were rare and while they tended to result in romantic attachments, it was not always the case. The chieftain had been very clear that the bond wasn't a guarantee, but a promising start. "Right now, your magics are bound together, but it is a thin bond, easily broken by time, death and emotional upheaval. Should you find the person to whom you are bound to, you should endevour to discover what this promising start could mean. It could be a lifelong friendship that will bring you great confidence and strength, or it could become something far deeper and more beautiful… but only if it is nurtured. Be warned, my dear little fletchling. You should not abandon your path through life to seek this bond, but you should always keep it in mind, for when you are reunited and given the chance, the life that may yet flourish between you could be made all the sweeter." Gabrielle rested her hand over her heart, feeling the connection there, and the emotions that were there, just on the other side, somewhere in the wider world. After she had been told about the bond, a part of her had been daydreaming that it was Harry Potter. She had been nine years old at the time and he had seemed to be like the mythical knights in shining armour, rescuing the poor damsel in distress. Her dream was confirmed the day that her sister married the eldest of Weasleys, as she found herself drawn to the "cousin" of the family, someone she had never met before. Fleur had confirmed that it, in fact, had been Harry.
Of course, had she had been told of every event befalling Harry Potter since the end of the Triwizard Tournament, she would have been able to guess. The all consuming heartbreak that had followed for months after the death of his godfather, Sirius Black. That event and its echoes had left Gabrielle in a similar state. The almost constant anxiety that filled his heart during the final year of the war, which he spent almost entirely on the run from a madman, had also been a difficult time for her, but more so for her unaware parents. The summer that he disappeared and the years after… they hadn't been easy on Gabrielle. Whatever he had been doing had been causing him physical and emotional pain. But unlike his time at Hogwarts, that pain almost always seemed to have been followed by relief and a sense of accomplishment. Then, a year and a half ago, the pain, anxiety and fierce determination gave way to relief. Gabrielle had scoured the newspapers since, hoping beyond hope that the sense of relief meant he was finally coming back. He never did, and those same newspapers revealed why, at least in Gabrielle's eyes. Magical Britain had experienced a brief period of peace after the fall of the Dark Lord, but it was soon replaced by a constant stream of violence, with not all of it coming from the same people that had backed the Death Eaters decades earlier. Neo Death Eater terrorists and their opposing force, The New Blood Order, were waging a war of terror on each other, with the Ministry caught in the middle, desperate to quell the violence, but ultimately failing to address the causes of it. Her father, the Director of France's Magical Security Force, was constantly keeping tabs on the news from Britain, worried the violence might spread across the channel and into French Territory.
For someone like Harry, who deeply cared about the first generation witches and wizards like his friend Hermione, the fact that the Order he had fought alongside of had failed to protect the muggleborns, leading to this violent terrorist group forming in a desperate attempt to fight back, must have been deeply disappointing. After everything he had lost, everything he had sacrificed, all for the world to still end up tearing itself apart? Gabrielle wouldn't have stayed either and she was very glad that Fleur was finally leaving Britain for good. Leaning up, Gabrielle turned her gaze to the nearby window, the winds beyond the panes of glass picking up again in strength as snow blew past, leaving an endless void of whiteness everywhere one looked. Another storm was brewing, but now that Fleur and Victoire were home, they could just stay safely inside until their father arrived. Gabrielle rubbed her chest over her heart once more. "Wherever you are, I hope it's not too cold." As always, she got no response. The connection, because of it being delicate and unnurtured, was only flowing one way, so Harry wouldn't feel anything she was feeling, though that didn't stop Gabrielle from hoping that he somehow could. For the last year and a half, the feelings coming from Harry had been so different from every other time. Gone was the pain, the anguish and the anxiety, all replaced by a quiet contentment and a few bouts of confusion or even embarrassment. The one prevailing feeling, one that had been with him probably since before the bond and almost entirely throughout it, was loneliness. Wherever he was, Harry Potter seemingly remained alone and all Gabrielle could do was hope that that too would pass, with a soft, probably immature prayer of her wishing that she could be the one to bring Harry's loneliness to a definite end.
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The bell above a door chimed as a gust of cold wind blasted through the small apothecary in a small nondescript town in the French Countryside. The woman at the counter, who had been suggesting potions to an old man, looked up and smiled as a bundle of black clothes entered the shop, before the young woman took off her furry hat and pulled down the black and red scarf from her pale, unblemished face, her cheeks a bit red from the cold. The shop owner would recognize her anywhere, she was sure. "Mademoiselle Peverell! I wasn't expecting you so soon!" After straightening out her long but unruly black hair, the green eyed witch smiled at the shop owner. "I hope it's not too much of an imposition. With the holidays coming up, I thought you and the town would benefit from a fully stocked potions shop, especially as this cold weather seems to only be getting worse." The dark skinned brunette behind the counter chuckled and motioned with her hand towards the far end of the shop. "Not at all, my dear. Please set the vials on the table and I will look them over. I need to fetch the order slip to verify that everything was delivered." The older man looked as the young woman placed a small brown leather bag on the table, before she began to pull out more vials than the size of the bag would seem to be able to hold. He looked back at the store clerk. " Is that your new Potion's Master, Madam Charbonneau ?" The middle aged woman smiled at her customer. " Yup. Elysia Peverell. She was introduced to me by Gringotts as a certified Potions Master. All the recent potions over the last year, especially the rare ones like Wolfsbane and Restorative Draught are all hers."
The old man hummed in appreciation as the young girl pulled out a bit of parchment from her own back, reading through it quickly, before digging out a few dozen more potion vials. He chuckled lightly. " She's certainly keeping you in business. " Jeanne ran a hand over her cloth covered hair. " Trust me, she has been a godsend. The local pack isn't skimping out on her potion since they swear it's better than the one made by the Paris Potions Institute. " The old man sighed, rubbing his chest as he winced. Jeanne looked at him for a second, before opening one of the vials in front of her. " Here, it's not much but it should chase away the pain." She took a spoonful from the glass container and served it to the gentlemen, who was instantly filled with relief. Resealing the jar, Jeanne muttered a soft "wait here", before stepping back into her shop's store room. She approached the dark haired witch at a brisk pace with a list in hand. "Is this everything, Elysia?" The Peverell witch nodded. "Everything from your order earlier in the month, plus a dozen extra Healing and Pain Numbing Potions each." At Jeanne's raised eyebrow, which made Elysia blush. "Gringotts placed a higher order for them and I had leftovers that I could send your way. They are all tested and certified." Jeanne checked the seals, knowing better than to doubt the witch that had suddenly become her largest potions supplier just a year prior, but still having to do her part to verify the supplies. As she went through the stacks, Elysia looked towards the gentleman at the other end of the counter, who had taken a seat in a nearby chair. "Is he alright?"
Jeanne sighed, shaking her head as she marked the delivered vials in her parchment. "Monsieur Chauvin. He's got a heart condition. Non-magical doctors and our Healers can't do anything about it, with the former warning that an operation would likely kill him. He needs some heavy Pain Numbing Potions, as well as a Stabilizing Potion, but his pension from the French Ministry can't cover the full cost for a monthly supply. I try to do what I can but I can't diminish the effectiveness of the potions or they simply won't help him. His family provides what they can, but ingredient scarcity has made the prices rise for a lot of potions this year." Elysia looked towards the old man, her eyes briefly lighting up, before her face turned mournful. Digging into her pant pocket, she counted the appropriate amount of Galleons that she knew the potions went for, before getting a few more. She handed them to a surprised Jeanne. "It's the Yuletide and everyone is entitled to a restful and pleasant season. This should more than cover it for the current month and his pension and the rest should cover for the next. If he holds out longer, let me know. I wouldn't mind covering his expenses a bit. I will also have a chat with Gringotts about testing out a few alternate ingredient recipes. If we can find safe and plentiful potion ingredient alternatives, the prices should drop back to normal again." Jeanne took the coins into her hand before placing them over her heart, as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "You are an angel, Elysia. Please, wait here. I will give Monsieur Chauvin the good news."
Elysia did her best not to blush too much as the gentleman thanked her, before Jeanne handed him the full set of vials for the month, followed by the instructions. Chauvin left the store, clearly happy that he wouldn't be in so much pain for the Holidays, as Jeanne finished registering her new inventory, before paying Elysia the down payment for the next month's supply of potions. As the raven haired girl finished writing the list of potions she would have to deliver in a month, Jeanne slouched down lazily on the counter next to her. "So, any plans for Yule? Or perhaps Christmas?" Elysia barely paused to think. "Nothing really. Just another quiet evening back home. I had managed to get a roast and my elf is dying to try out a new recipe she read in the last few weeks." Jeanne sat up. "Oh, come on. Sure, the language barrier has been a problem for you but your French is getting better. Besides, aren't there any men worth your interest here." Elysia shuddered. "Hate to disappoint you, Jeanne, but I prefer female company." Jeanne tisked. "Damn. While I have nothing against that, I have never actually had a girl talk about other girls. Regardless, you shouldn't spend the holidays on your own, especially in that old house of yours." Elysia looked up from her parchment. "I have a few pets and an elf back home, so I don't think I am that alone." Jeanne sighed, before her face lit up. "I know, why don't you come and have Christmas Dinner with me and my daughter? I make some fantastic roasted chicken. Besides, I always make too much for just two people and it would be nice having someone else there for a change."
The young Lady Peverell sighed and thought for a moment in silence. "Alright, but I need to be home by eight that night." Jeanne pulled the surprised Elysia into a hug. "That's wonderful. Why don't you drop by the 25th at five? Adeline will be back from visiting her father by six and I could use some help setting the dining room table. I promise, you will have a wonderful time with us. You will see!" After a few more pleasantries, Elysia waved goodbye at Jeanne from outside the store's window, before tightening the scarf over her face as she trudged through the snow covered streets. She thought she had dealt with the cold before, and had in fact enjoyed it a few times up north, but the current weather was one of those rare instances where it was beyond bitter cold. Without warming charms and the right clothes, a person could die within an hour, if not less. The sound of laughter drew her attention to the people on the other side of the road, with Elysia recognizing Monsieur Chauvin besides a young looking couple, a small child holding the hand of the mother as they walked towards the nearest Apparition point. The sight of the old man made Elysia feel melancholic. Had she not intervened, he would probably have died before the year was out. Even with the help from the potions, he wasn't long for this world, though at least he would be more comfortable now before the end. That was one gift she hadn't been fond of discovering she had a few years ago. While she was no Seer, she could easily tell when a soul was on the verge of crossing over due to natural circumstances. Accidents and murders were beyond her, but someone dying from heart failure or bone cancer? That she could see plain as day. Jeanne's comment came back to her mind. "An angel, huh? More like an Angel of Death."
Her melancholy triggered her three stowaways, each one responding differently to her feelings. The Stone promised her that Death wasn't the end and that she could meet anyone who had passed on if that was her wish, whilst the Wand asked to be brought out to give the poor soul a painless and swift end. The Cloak, as always, was more understanding, urging restraint and acceptance of what was to come. Of the three, the Cloak was the easiest one to understand, as its essence was closer to Elysia's than the other two, at least most of the time. She wondered if that was because the Cloak had been with her the longest. Back before she became Elysia Peverell. Back then she didn't have much of a life and that didn't change until a few months ago, though she could happily admit that while trying and painful at times, her times among the Goblins had been truly enlightening. Not only was she one of the few outsiders given the honor to not only observe Goblin customs but to actually participate in them, her time amongst the diminutive creatures had given her a better understanding of the world at large and what constituted a healthy lifestyle. It was an irony not lost on her that Goblins, not Witches nor Wizards, were better prepared to teach her what making a living truly meant, a fact that she would ever be grateful for when it came to her dear friends living full and satisfying lives beneath the cobblestone streets of London. Thanks to them, she was able to even get a measure of control over her emotions, though she was told she would likely always be brash and impulsive at times. She could live with that.
Clearing her mind, Elysia made her way down the street towards the closest Apparition point, before a newspaper attached to the bookstore's window drew her attention as she walked past it, the front page detailing the most recent terrorist attack against one of the estates belonging to a member of the British Wizengamot. The DMLE on site Auror, which reminded Elysia of Susan Bones, stated that it was still unknown which of the two groups was behind the attack, though they promised to investigate and detain those responsible in due time. A byline caught Elysia's eye, an opinion piece on whether Harry Potter, the Hero of the Last War, had deserted his duty as the Saviour of Magical Britain when he vanished from public record and if the British Ministry should rescind his Order of Merlin First Class award. Elysia shook her head in disgust and kept on walking, surprised they hadn't rescinded the award already. It had been over six years, after all. Then again, maybe it wasn't that hard to believe. It would never surprise her how bigoted the British Magical population happened to be, laying the blame of their current situation on anyone but themselves. Harry Potter was the same as ever in their eyes; the scapegoat to all their troubles and the miraculous saviour to the people in their most desperate time of need. To them, he would only ever be a symbol, a prize, an object to be coveted and used to serve their own needs, only to be discarded when they had no further use for him. He could never be just a person to them, no matter what he did. That was why Harry Potter left Great Britain all together. Why he ceased to be Harry Potter. As Elysia Peverell, she could finally have what they had always wanted since they were children; to be able to live as just another person, in peace.