Trust
Harry Potter floated on the still sea, staring at the stars above. It had become a habit of his, he realized absently, to brood while surrounded by the security of the water. He would miss it if he went back to Hogwarts.
"I knew you had been not living the most comfortable life and were not as happy as you deserved to be. I knew you were under chores and such, my boy but I had thought you were only put under small discomforts like those. And I admit, I had thought such small discomforts were a small price to pay for the safety that the blood wards offered you."
For a bizarre reason, it had hurt Harry slightly during the meeting to hear it. It had nothing to do with his Headmaster's admittance. It had more to do with the fact that the admittance had come from a man who was meant to be his magical guardian. It stung that all the guardians in his life seemed to not believe Harry deserved happiness and comfort, even if one of them had meant to look out for him. It stung because he had been reminded that he still had no one who would be selfish for him and would put his needs before everything else like he had seen so many parents do for their kids.
Was it so wrong of him to desperately wish that someone would truly care about him?
"You are being ridiculous." His inner voice reminded.
Harry knew that. Years of surviving had taught him that such foolish wishing was more likely to get him killed sooner rather than later. But sometimes, it was tiring to keep the part of him that longed for care and attention locked away.
What was the price of such small discomforts for safety?
Harry could think of many things.
Days and nights spent hungry and bruised inside a dark room crawling with spiders. Tending a concussion (by himself) that had left him with blurred vision for years. Dressing in the same clothes that were baggy and torn that did nothing to help him survive winter days. Fighting a high fever in his cupboard while being alone and scared as a six-year-old.
Harry stopped thinking.
He had lost much faith in adults by the age of five when even his school teachers had proven to believe his relatives' lies over the truths in front of their eyes.
He had lost faith all over again in the meeting when all Dumbledore offered for his failures were unsatisfactory excuses.
A guardian, from what he had seen from the interactions between families that cared for each other, was someone who put their ward's wellbeing before anything else. Not just the ward's safety alone but the ward's happiness and health too. They were meant to be an active presence in the child's life.
The Headmaster had failed where it had mattered.
It was too high a price in Harry's opinion. The days he had spent hungry, injured and lonely were too high a price for safety he had never felt he had. So what if magicals could not hurt him? Magic was not necessary to hurt, to harm. The Dursleys were living proof of that.
"Your mother had left a powerful protection over you. I had hoped to prolong it. To keep that protection of love going, so that you will remain protected even if you encountered Voldemort again."
Again. Such a high price. To endure hate to preserve the love that had once been showered upon him, love that he did not remember. He may not know his mother, but he could hazard a guess that she had not died to ensure he survived to live a life where he was hated and neglected.
"I had thought it would be best to not appear to you to lessen their discomfort. They were already adjusting so much to take you in and I had thought it would be the least I could do to ensure I give them space. I had not wanted to intrude and cause an adverse reaction that could have resulted in a rift between your relatives and you. In retrospect, I should have not done that."
It had been this answer that had truly started to make Harry mad. While before, he could make excuses for the old wizard that the man was forced to take the best option he knew of for Harry's safety, that answer had shattered the little hope he had that the Headmaster could be redeemed to him.
The man had cared more about not aggravating the Dursleys than Harry's wellbeing. It was unforgivable, especially when considering the man knew the Dursleys were not comfortable with magic.
"But I had employed means to keep track of your safety and security, my boy. I may have done it from shadows but I had not completely left you unmonitored."
He kept proving himself to be incapable, that old Headmaster.
How would Arabella Figg be a good substitute to watch over his ward? How would the woman realize what went on inside the Dursleys household?
The only time the old squib could observe him was when he was out in the yard doing chores or walking past her house for school or the grocery store. Those instances were too little to report accurately on a child. Especially in a neighbourhood where people did not question why a little boy was dressed in rags when his guardians were not struggling financially.
Too many mistakes. To simply put it, the Headmaster had done too many mistakes regarding his guardianship that Harry could not simply overlook. Sure his intentions were good but the ever overused but truthful fact remained that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.
No amount of apology or genuine remorse from the old man was going to earn him forgiveness from Harry on the matter of guardianship. The old man only had his guilt to live with. Harry had to live with the loss of twelve years and the constant thoughts of "what-ifs?"
Besides, Harry was even warier when he thought about the Headmaster's actions in Hogwarts the past two years. The man had obviously guided him and his friends to the Philosopher's stone in his first year. Harry was sure of it. The returning oh his family cloak, the appearance when he had been entranced by the mirror of Erised and the traps three first years could get past. The last one particularly bugged Harry. The past few weeks he had gone through his Hogwarts curriculum from the first year to halfway through his upcoming third year. He had realized that most of the traps he had encountered in his first year could have been overcome by almost anyone, especially if they knew about Fluffy's weakness. If Dumbledore had truly meant to protect that stone, Harry was sure he could have done better, considering all the masteries and achievements the man had done in his life. And the second year in Hogwarts was equally puzzling. Almost the whole school had turned on him and the man and his staff had done nothing to stop it even when they were aware that Harry was innocent. Adding to that was the fact that despite having so many grown witches and wizards who were meant to be smart, no one had thought about the beast lurking about in Hogwarts being a Basilisk. Honestly, if Hermione could figure it out, why could the teachers not? They had years of experience in the magical world compared to Hermione.
Confusing. That was all he could think of when he thought of the Headmaster's actions. He had definitely not done anything to look out for Harry during his Hogwarts years and these facts just brought down Harry's faith in the Headmaster. In fact, the man had either facilitated Harry going off to face danger (first year) or stood by and watched him be in danger (second year).
He could not believe in the Headmaster's well intentions anymore after realizing that.
"I had hoped Headmaster, that when I heard the excuses – and they are excuses make no mistake – they would at least be satisfactory excuses. What you are telling me are such pathetic excuses with so many loopholes I cannot even understand why there had been a time I had respected you as a person."
Harry still could not believe he had respected the man once. That he had believed him to be the all-knowing, friendly grandfatherly Headmaster like most of the school. The illusion had eroded slowly over the two years but in that one meeting, it had all but shattered.
He could deduct that the Headmaster would do it again if he thought it was "best for Harry's safety". He had even asked it outright.
There had been a few minutes of silence. Dumbledore had seemed caught off by the question but he gave it thought. A pained expression flittered across his face.
"Yes, Harry. I would. Perhaps with more measures to ensure your safety within the house and its inhabitants but I am ashamed to admit that I would."
"And that is why, Headmaster, you are no longer my guardian. You obviously do not know what truly matters."
The meeting had ended then. Harry had refused to continue with the man. He had refused to divulge any information on either his current whereabouts or his current magical guardian. The Headmaster had no rights to it as far as he was concerned.
"My proper title is Lord Potter, Headmaster Dumbledore. Please use that or Mister Potter to address me from here onwards. I believe we've made it clear that you do not have the proper authority or relation to claim familiarity with me through your answers in this meeting."
His last words to the Headmaster brought a smile to his face. The man's pained expression had brought a vindictive pleasure to Harry.
It had been worth it, he supposed. It had been worth opening a few old wounds and scars to get that meeting over with.
He may have been subdued during the rest of the day. It may have taken him a while to get over the sting he had thought he would never feel again.
But it had been relieving in the end. He doubted he would have to worry much about Dumbledore anymore, at least in guardianship matters.
His freedom was guaranteed. Albus Dumbledore, the Dursleys and no one else was in a position to cage him for their own beliefs on what was good for him.
And that was more than enough for him.
Harry stared ahead of him, pale-faced. This was bringing him unwanted flashbacks.
He briefly glanced at the ground. He was still on the path. That meant that he was within the warded area. It meant the harmful ones would keep well away from him and his home.
"Then pray tell what a TROLL is doing in the MIDDLE of your path?!" his inner voice screamed.
Harry was sure it was a troll. It resembled the ghastly beast he had come across in his first year too much, with a few exceptions. Firstly it was only seven feet tall rather than twelve. It had skin the colour of lush spring leaves and thick earthy brown hair that ran to its shoulders. It was also dressed in a smock made out of autumn leaves if Harry's eyes were not deceiving him. And it had no deadly club but that did not mean the golden-brown spear it held in one hand gave Harry any sense of comfort.
For all appearances, however, it appeared to be a lesser intimidating version of the last troll Harry had encountered, but he was not willing to take the chance.
Perhaps he should simply make his way back to the ocean. The troll seemed preoccupied already, what with its bizarre hopping about in the middle of Harry's path back home. Its growling was also causing Harry a headache, despite the basic Occlumency barriers he had from his Lordship rings. He had even put up the poor shields he had managed to create from his last few attempts with the goblins' lessons at the defensive mind arts but they were not helpful one bit. Every growl the creature made seemed to pound its way into Harry's skull for some reason. But it had yet to notice him from how far away Harry was standing.
Harry started inching backwards slowly. The ocean would not be too far off.
He had almost successfully made it around the bend, losing most of the view of the troll when he heard it give a soul-wrenching howl and whatever pounding through his Occlumency shields broke through.
A cacophony of sounds entered Harry's mind. Thankfully most of it seemed muted and shoved to the back of his mind – except for one.
Hurts. Hurts. HURTS!
Harry halted in sheer surprise. He looked around. There was no one else around him. Unless one counted the hidden forest animals and the troll.
Hurts!
Harry jumped, looking about for the seemingly disembodied gravelly voice.
This was starting to frighten him, a little. He was sure he was alone. Nobody could enter the area without his permission, except for the animals – magical or non-magical – that already lived within the forest. The last time he had encountered disembodied spirits, it had been a Dark Lord bent on killing him.
Hurtss Mamjll. Hurtssss!
Harry was sure there was a hint of a whine there, mingled between the obvious pain lacing the voice.
He was going insane, that was it. He was clearly hallucinating. Perhaps swimming for hours in saltwater had not been a bright idea, despite the fact that he was adapted for it.
Hurtsss. Mamjll sad..Hurtsss!
He could not help it anymore. Strange or not, the voice was clearly distressed. Besides, if he was truly losing it, then Harry might as well answer the voice. Why hold back if his mind was already well on the path to insanity.
"I'm sorry but what hurts?"
He had been expecting a reply but the image of a pale green arm covered in length by a three-inch-long thorny and thick twig answered his question all the same. Harry winced in sympathy for the being before his mind registered the colour of its skin. And the brief flash of autumn leaves he had glimpsed in the image sent to his head.
Harry paled further as the realisation that he was speaking mentally to a troll sunk in.
"Oh Merlin!"
Harry stared at the troll about five feet away from him. It had quit thrashing about for five minutes now. He guessed it was tired if the quiet sniffles that made its way into his mind were any indication. But Harry knew it was still in pain. He could feel it.
Harry shuddered slightly. It had yet to notice him. The troll was so immersed in its pain that Harry had yet to be discovered.
"You could still just walk away. You are not obliged to help. I repeat. NOT OBLIGED TO HELP" his inner voice screamed.
Harry could understand his own desperation. He was throwing every self-preservation instinct out of the window. But he could not leave the creature to its misery. Not when he could feel its pain. Besides, the scenario brought forth all the bruises and cuts he had often nursed himself under his relatives' care. He had always hoped for someone to help him then…
"Yeah, I have obviously lost it," Harry thought as he realised he was one foot away from the troll.
He obviously had a death wish.
Taking in a deep breath and shoving his instincts aside, Harry reached out to the troll – mentally, of course.
"Hello?"
Hurts. (sniffles)
The troll obviously had not heard him.
"I could help you…"
No response. "Perhaps an image would work?" Harry thought.
Closing his eyes, Harry thought of the image of the troll's injured hand healing slowing and sent the image through the weak link he found and recognised as his means to connect with the troll and waited. A moment later, he knew it worked as the troll stopped its sniffles.
Help?
"Yes. Help." Harry sent an image of the troll's back. "Behind you."
The next thing he knew, the troll was facing him, crouching down halfway to be eye-level with his small self. It stared at Harry, as though surprised at his small stature. A sense of curiosity washed over Harry from the link, along with the pain. Harry had a feeling it had never met a human before. He hoped it was not curious about how a human would taste.
"It's not too late to run away?" his inner voice whispered weakly. Harry shoved it aside.
Help? A pale green injured hand extended in front of Harry's hand. Startled by the easy trust the creature displayed, it took Harry a moment to realised that the arm of the troll was almost thrice his arm's size.
"Funny that. It looked smaller in the mind-image," Harry thought, a slight tinge of hysteria creeping into his mind.
"Help. I will help." Harry desperately hoped the creature could not sense his fear. He vaguely remembered predators being able to sense such things in prey. He fingered his Lordship rings. Even a small move that seemed threatening and he would vanish in a moment to one of his safe-houses.
A wave of pain filled him again. Harry sighed, looking at the troll that was gazing at him expectantly with large trusting eyes. Or perhaps he would still stay.
"Really, though," Harry thought, "For an intimidating creature, it looks like a sad puppy right now." Harry could see its tear tracked face and quivering lips from where he was standing eye-to-eye with the crouching creature. It made for a pitying yet slightly, slightly adorable picture.
"We'll see how pitying it looks like when you get killed by it," his inner voice muttered sarcastically.
He sent an image of the golden-brown spear lying on the forest floor to the troll. Hoping the creature would understand the message, Harry sent his own uneasiness at the sight of the weapon to the creature. He would really prefer dealing with the troll without the added threat of a weapon looming over his head.
The troll seemed to stare at him again. Harry was almost reminded of Griphook's piercing stare which the goblin often used to determine whether Harry was truly dim-witted or simply ignorant. He still got indignant at that sometimes despite knowing it was the goblin's way of riling him.
A movement startled him out of his thoughts. Harry saw the spear lying beside the troll. He stared at it for a moment, surprised once again at how easily the troll trusted to put away a weapon in front of a total stranger.
Taking a deep breath, Harry took the hand still extended in front of him slowly.
"Might hurt."
No hurt?
"No, this might hurt."
Hurts. No hurt?
Harry winced internally. It seemed he would not get this message across well. He thanked whatever deities that existed for at least letting the troll part with its weapon.
He could already see it, him being squashed by the troll when it reacted to the pain of the thorns being pulled out of its hand. He cursed his bad luck for not having any numbing potion or such.
"You could have run away. Now you are going to die for being stupid." His inner voice murmured.
Harry scowled internally. Stupid self-preservation instincts.
Preparing for flight and bracing his ears and mind for the assault of loud howls of pain, Harry grabbed onto the thick thorny twig that was almost fully embedded into the troll's thick skin and yanked it with all his might.
The thorns came right off and as he suspected, the troll let out a howl of pain. What Harry was not prepared for was seeing the blue liquid trailing down the arm of the troll. And with the waves of pain washing across him from the troll and his own panic at realising the troll was bleeding, Harry did the only thing that came to his mind. He grabbed at his magic and threw it out at the arm of the troll, desperately wishing the creature would heal.
A flash of white encompassed the troll's arms and the next thing both the troll and Harry knew was that the pain stopped and in the place of the troll's once bleeding arm was a scar-less, pale green arm.
The troll blinked at its arm. Harry could only mimic it, lost in his own shock.
"Why are you shocked? You threw your magic at it." Harry ignored his logical inner voice again.
A beat of silence later, Harry was washed in feelings of happiness and gratefulness. A small smile graced his lips at the feelings.
He watched as the troll picked up its spear and stood at his full height. It looked down upon Harry and seemed to wonder at him again. Harry watched, not knowing what else do.
After a long silence, Harry decided it would be best to leave. Though he was pretty sure the troll did not feel it, it was becoming rather awkward for him to be standing so long in silence.
"Um... I'll be leaving then." Harry hoped the troll understood the words. "Bye-bye?!"
He really needed to be more eloquent but he doubted the troll would understand him that way.
He was starting to inch around the creature when it moved. This time, it got down on a knee and swiftly bowed, spear held at its side, forehead almost touching the forest floor. Then it stood up and sent a last wave of gratitude before disappearing into the trees.
Harry stared at the spot the troll had stood in, bewildered by its actions. This was certainly different from the last time he had encountered a troll.
"Well, at least the path is clear now…" his inner voice whispered.
Harry blinked.
It would be a while before he started heading for home.
Griphook of Gringotts was a very angry goblin. He was angry for a lot of reasons but currently, he focused upon the green-eyed Lord Potter who was causing him to worry instead. The wizard child had all but run off after his meeting with Albus Dumbledore. Not that Griphook blamed him much after everything he heard from the meeting. He could understand the child's need for privacy but the boy could have at least told him he was leaving before storming off to where nobody, not even the goblins, could find him since they required his express permission to even enter Lord Potter's new home, wherever it was.
Griphook was sure the twelve-year-old was going to be the death of him.
The one who had most of the goblin's ire, however, was the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was beyond furious for the old Headmaster's failings at his guardian duties. It seemed that disregarding his charge's heritage was the least of the old man's mistakes. He had disregarded the child itself in his naïve beliefs in familial love if what Griphook gleaned from the meeting was correct.
Griphook glanced at the clock hanging in his office.
Five minutes to half-past four.
The child should have been here by now. He had always arrived at least half an hour earlier, bent on disturbing his account manager with questions or just his mere loud presence. Griphook had learnt to tolerate it. It was one of the few times he had seen his client act his actual age, which was concerning in itself.
The Floo flared and the subject of his thoughts entered his office. Griphook pierced said subject with his harshest glare.
"Good morning, Griphook?" The attempt was weak. Griphook could see it in the boy's face that he knew he had failed at his effort to lighten the atmosphere.
"We need to talk, Lord Potter." If Griphook's voice was steelier than ever, the boy did not mention it. The soon to be thirteen years old seemed to sigh and seated himself, resigned to his fate.
"I'm sorry for my abrupt departure, yesterday. I got overwhelmed by my anger and had to get away."
Griphook nodded. He had guessed that much.
"You are not going to let me go till your queries are satisfied, are you?"
"That would be accurate, Lord Potter."
"I don't really want to discuss it, Griphook."
"I can understand the need for privacy for many things, Lord Potter but some circumstances require involvement no matter how much a person wishes privacy. And as much as I am aware you are too mature for your age, you are still a young one and in certain matters need help. You can protest as much as you want but I want to know about this matter. If you refuse to tell me, Gringotts will start an investigation."
Griphook watched the child in front of him sighed. He knew the boy knew that he was fighting a losing battle.
"I've never talked about it in detail to anyone Griphook. Nobody listened before. I am used to keeping it to myself."
Griphook softened internally. "I assumed as much from your responses during the meeting." The goblin sighed. "I can understand if it is hard for you and that your trust is limited, especially after all the neglect you seemed to have suffered. But I promise you, this will not travel between anyone other than you and Gringotts."
The child remained silent. Griphook could see the conflict in his eyes. "I am willing to swear an oath on my life and magic if it would make you more comfortable, Lord Potter."
The boy's head snapped up at the declaration. "NO!"
Griphook raised an eyebrow at the response. That had been unexpected.
The child flushed, embarrassed.
"It is not a matter of trust, Griphook. Alarmingly enough, I trust you and the goblins of Gringotts the most right now in my life." With his gaze boring into the table, Griphook was sure the child missed how both his eyebrows were raised. "While you goblins keep your professionalism at all times, you have shown me subtle gestures of care and concern. And unlike most others I've encountered before, I can tell the gestures are genuine. I appreciate that a lot. Not many people have looked out for me without expecting anything in return. So I don't need the oath to tell me your trustworthiness in the matter. It is just difficult to share about such matters. I've never trusted enough to even consider mentioning it to people like I am doing with you. It is making me feel frighteningly vulnerable."
Griphook had to admit he was flattered by the wizard child's faith. He was sure if he were to share it with the others, their appreciation of the wizard child would only grow. Little Lord Potter truly had no idea how well the goblins of Gringotts liked him. The goblins too were capable of recognising genuine actions and the child had nothing but genuine respect and politeness for them since they had gotten to know him this summer. It was rare to find humans like him nowadays amongst the bigoted Wizarding World. Even if the majority of witches and wizards did not believe in blood supremacy, they had an unconscious belief of being a superior magical race which showed in their interaction with magical creatures, be the creatures intelligent or not. It was a reason why the goblins only tolerated the majority of their witch and wizard clients. The goblins only respected those who proved worthy of respect.
"I, Griphook of Gringotts, do hereby swear on my magic and life to guard the secrets of one Harrison James Potter and to never reveal them without the express permission from him. I further swear that if any other goblin is to be let in on the secret with Lord Harrison James Potter's express permission, they would be subject to swearing the same oath of secrecy."
A golden glow surrounded Griphook, under the astonished eyes of twelve-year-old Harry Potter.
"I am truly honoured you believe so much in Gringotts, Lord Potter. And while I am glad you believe in us so, it is still essential for us to show you that we are truly willing to help you out. And we will do our best to make you safe."
The little wizard's posture relaxed slightly.
"Thank you. It had truly not been necessary but it means a lot that you take my worries seriously."
The boy took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for the worst. "What do you want to know Griphook?"
"Perhaps you could start with that cupboard-under-the-stairs, Lord Potter."