Existential Crisis
Blinking rapidly as they reappear, Harry takes note of the two brick walls on either side of them. They could do with being cleaned; who knows what germs or bacteria are stuck on there? Some might even be from the last century. He doesn’t feel like contracting the last deadly plague.
Snape brushes off invisible dirt from his shoulders and lets go of Harry. "Come, I'll take you to Gringotts Bank first. Merlin knows what those muggles haven't told you."
The man strides out of the slim space, and Harry, a bit panicked, hurries to follow him. As they walk through the crowded street, Harry notices how people clear a pathway for Snape, some of those younger people casting fearful looks towards the man.
Harry wonders why people are afraid of Snape and if there is something more to him than just being a professor at Hogwarts. Maybe his detentions are bad? Or maybe it's the fact that he looks like a greasy bat out of hell. Harry will never know. Maybe they don’t like potions, the subject Snape teaches, and their dislike of the subject extends to the man teaching it? That seems insensitive.
The crowd thins out, and Harry spots a building at the corner of the street, its name written in pure gold near its roof and towering over every other building in the street. Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The front door stands at an impressive height of thirty feet. It's an intimidating marble fortress guarded by a pair of imposing statues holding spears that are moving.
Harry's going to need something to hold his mouth shut if this keeps happening.
Once inside, the bank's interior is equally impressive with its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, polished marble floor—which Harry can see his reflection in, mind you—and rows of gleaming teller windows. Harry, staying at least two steps behind Snape, follows him up to a teller window with no line of people.
The creature behind it, Harry hasn't the foggiest clue as to what they're called. But it has a long nose, pointed ears, thin-framed glasses resting on its nose, and razor-sharp teeth in its mouth. Harry isn’t ashamed to say that they might be the main focus in his nightmares for the next week.
The creature spares him a glance, a look of indifference evident in its cold eyes, before turning to Snape and asking, "What can I do for you, Lord Prince-Snape?"
Harry can't help being a little jittery as he watches the interaction between the two. He's never been to a bank like this before, and everything about it seems so foreign and daunting. He hopes he doesn't accidentally insult anyone. Imagine if he did that? He’s not even introduced into the wizarding world for ten minutes, and he manages to insult someone over being oblivious to literally everything. He’s jinxed himself; he can already feel it in his bones.
"Potter." Snape glances down at him, an expression of mild bemusement on his pale face. "I understand that this is all new, but do pay attention to the best of your abilities. The goblins want to bring us to a more private area. Come along now."
Harry scrambles after Snape, wringing his wrists nervously as they follow the goblin through a long hallway and into a room. The room is dimly lit, with fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and rich tapestries adorning the walls. Harry is small in comparison to the grandeur of the space. Why does it need to be so shiny? Is there a reason the ceilings are so tall?
The goblin motions for them to take a seat at a large wooden desk with two large leather chairs opposite him, and Harry can feel his hands fidgeting as he tries to calm himself. The younger boy sits on the chair meant for him and huffs unhappily when his feet don’t reach the floor, feeling silly. Snape, on the other hand, seems entirely unfazed by his surroundings, his back straight and his hands folded neatly in his lap. Looking like he just crawled out of the pages of a good posture and manners textbook.
The goblin clears its throat and leans over the desk, peering curiously at Harry over the top of its glasses. It nods its head at him, and its voice comes out low and gravelly. "Good day to you; my name is Gornuk. You are Harry Potter, yes?"
Harry nods, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. The goblin hums, reaching for some parchment on his desk and setting it down in front of Harry. "Lord Prince-Snape has informed me that you are not in possession of your vault key. So, I will need you to complete an inheritance test and a history test." He leans back from the desk, and Harry hears a drawer open and close. Then, of all things, a dagger is held out to him by Gornuk. The boy stares bug-eyed at the blade as it shines from the medium lighting in the room.
The goblin's lips quirk up at the corners, watching how Harry bristles at the blade. "Don't look so worried; I only need a few drops of blood from you! Not your whole arm. Not at the moment, anyway.” A chortle bursts from him. ”Just prick the tip of your finger and let the blood land on the page. This blade is goblin-made, so your injury shall heal the moment I have enough blood."
Snape picks up the dagger and turns to Harry, his empty hand extended out, waiting patiently. Harry hesitates; he takes a deep breath and extends his left hand, feeling the cold metal of the dagger against his skin. With a quick motion, Snape pricks Harry's finger and lets the blood drip onto the page.
As the liquid drips onto the parchment on the desk, Gornuk watches it intently, excitement glistening in his dark eyes.
Snape places the dagger back on the desk and sits back in his chair, while Harry stares wide-eyed down at his finger, which is stitching the skin back together. His mental list of just strange things is growing longer and longer with every minute. He'll need a notebook to remember all of his questions soon.
"My—Oh my! One moment, gentlemen, I need to fetch a few others." Gornuk hops off of his chair, the parchment in his hands, and leaves the room in a hurry, a grin itching its way across his face. The door closes behind him and then a cackle sounds from the hallway; the noise makes Harry’s hair stand on end.
"Well, that's not ominous at all," Harry murmurs under his breath, and beside him, Snape raises an eyebrow at his unimpressed tone. Sitting quietly, Harry puts his elbow on the arm of his chair and rests his chin on his palm, his foot swinging impatiently above the polished wooden floor under them.
Snape bats at his knee with the end of his sleeve. "Stop that; it is unmannerly."
Harry mutters a sorry, but then Gornuk returns with three other goblins keenly tailing him.
The group of goblins gathers around the table, their eyes fixed on the parchment in Gornuk's hands. Harry can feel the tension in the room rise as they begin to discuss whatever is written on the parchment in a language that Harry doesn't understand.
Harry starts to feel uneasy as he realises that he may be in over his head, but he tries to remain calm and observe the goblins' body language for any clues about what they are discussing. He comes up empty, left completely in the dark. He might as well be blind. He silently curses his eleven-year-old brain, and he curses the Dursleys for good measure while he's at it.
Finally, after several minutes of frantic speaking, Gornuk turns to Harry and Snape with a near-feral look in his eyes. "Apologies, gentlemen." He bows to them. "Allow me to introduce my associates; this is Griphook." The goblin with the darkest hair bows to Harry. "He is in charge of the Potter vaults—only as of recent; his family line has been of service to your bloodline since this bank was created."
"Next, I have Odbert." The goblin with round-framed glasses and grey hair nods his head in greeting. "He is the head of all of the most ancient vaults here in the bank."
Gornuk gestures to the last goblin; this one has brown hair and a slight beard. "This is Filnot; he is in charge of a team of others that handle multiple vaults belonging to the original twenty-eight families." Filnot grins at Harry and bows low.
Snape is sitting straight in his seat, looking as though he has swallowed a sour lemon. "Ah-hem." He clears his throat, and Gornuk turns to him. "Might you inform us of the inheritance and history results?"
"Oh! Yes, apologies. My mistake, here you are." He holds out the parchment to Snape, who takes it with a nod. Harry scoots closer to Snape to see the page.
Harry Regulus Potter-Black
Parents:
James Charles Potter-Black (deceased)
Lily Hope Potter-Black, Née Evans (deceased)
Regulus Arcturus Black-Potter. (Information unknown)
Harry frowns at the third name, Regulus Arcturus Black-Potter. He tilts his head and glances at Snape sitting beside him, the man's complexion having lightened in colour. Woah, that was possible? "How do I have three parents? Aunt Petunia only mentioned her 'freakish sister' and a 'useless drunken husband,' but she didn't say anything about a third."
"Regulus Black," Snape breathes out through his teeth, "is a mystery to everyone who has heard of him in Hogwarts; he kept to himself and hardly spoke in classes, apparently. Those were just some rumours. He wasn’t one of those I had in my inner circle, though he was highly spoken of by several professors.
He wasn't someone I would want as an enemy; his wordless magic was meant to have been almost as impressive as a well-trained Auror—ah, wizarding police officer. He was in Slytherin too, if a year or two behind your parents and I. His family, the Blacks, definitely wasn't the kindest of the wizarding pureblood families, and he was forced into many unfortunate situations by them. I will leave it at that for now. You may ask more questions once we return to the manor."
Snape brings his hand up to rub at his chin, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "As for your question, I suspect that your parents may have used a remarkable kind of magic. However, I'm not knowledgeable on it, so I'll need to research it when we return to the manor. My family library could possibly have a book or two with that specific topic of magic, since most before me were healers or experimenters."
Harry hums in reply and refocuses his attention on the parchment in Snape's hand. His eyes slowly read over the page.
Guardians:
Sirius Black III (imprisoned)
Alice Elizabeth Longbottom (deceased).
Inheritance:
Potter Family Cloak, properties, vault(s),
Black vault(s), properties,
Peverell vault(s),
Slytherin vault(s) (via conquer).
Harry blinks, his hands rubbing at his eyes, and removes his glasses before placing them back on his nose and double-checking the words written on the page.
""Via conquer"?" He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at Gornuk. "I don't remember "conquering" anyone, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember something like that."
The goblins all cast peculiar glances at each other, then Odbert cleared his throat, his voice coming out dry and croaked. "Young man, surely someone told you how you ended up orphaned? No?"
Next to Harry, Snape coughs out words that have the elder goblin's face wrinkling in disgust. "The Headmaster left him to be raised by muggles and was told complete rubbish about their deaths, sir. Something along the lines of a drunk car accident."
"Right then," Odbert grunts out, "In the last wizarding war you ended it by killing the Dark Lord; your parents—Lily and James Potter, as the public knows them—stood between him and you all the way to their heartbreaking ends; both died by the Killing Curse from the Dark Lord's wand." His voice cuts off when Filnot nudges him with his shoe, a pinched expression on his face.
Harry's heart aches under his ribs as he processes the information. So much had been kept from him, and so many lies had been told. He looks down at his lap, a sense of guilt washing over him. As far as he could remember, he felt only hatred or bitterness towards them for leaving him, for being all of the horrible things his aunt had told him, and for having him at all. But knowing that they fought and died to protect him? That just felt like a punch in Harry's gut. He feels absolutely horrible now.
Screw you, Aunt Petunia, and your dirty, lying mouth.
"Let's just keep reading, please," Harry whispers with his chin tucked into his chest. Snape silently tilts the paper for Harry to continue reading, a soft light now in his eyes.
Magic:
Core: 60% blocked.
Parseltongue: 55% blocked.
Parsel Magic: 90% blocked.
Wandless: 70% blocked.
Wordless: 65% blocked.
Trust Potion: Albus Dumbledore, Ronald Weasley, Ginerva Weasley, and Molly Weasley.
Love Potion: Ginerva Weasley.
Hate Potion: Tom Riddle, all Slytherin, Black House, and Malfoy House.
Obliviate Count: Nine times with a wand made of elder wood and Thestral tail hair.
Compulsion: Albus Dumbledore.
Horcrux: Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Snape's fingers clench around the edges of the parchment, a snarl slapping itself onto his face. "His magic has been blocked?" Snape throws the page down on the desk and starts pacing behind his chair, his hands tugging excessively at his long hair and his voice rambling just under his breath.
"Had we not come here today, he could have gone all the way until he was seventeen without knowing! He could have obliterated everything within a ten-mile radius and himself when he received his family's magic!" He stops pacing, resting his face in his hands.
Then his next words are so quiet that Harry hardly catches them. "That's Albus's wand. Half of those bloody potions say, Albus bloody Dumbledore! Seeing Lily's child as a chess piece—a typical Dumbledore move—but a magical child?" He sinks into his chair beside Harry.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry turns back to the goblins. "Can we remove the, uh, blocks on my magic? Maybe the potion thingies also, if possible? The horcrux doohickey doesn't seem very good either, so that too, I suppose."
Gornuk shifts to Filnot, murmurs something in his ear, to which the other goblin nods, and marches out of the room with a grim look on his face. Harry watches him go, feeling a twinge of unease in his gut. He looks back at Gornuk. "What did you say to him?"
Gornuk meets his gaze evenly. "I asked him to fetch the necessary tools for removing the blocks on your magic, as well as a potion that can counteract the effects of the ones you've been given. He is also going to ask our magic experts if they can find anything on horcruxes."
Harry nods slowly, a small glimmer of hope rising in his chest. "And can you do it?"
Gornuk smiles wryly. "We goblins are skilled in many things, Young Potter. Removing magical blocks is as simple as tying shoelaces to us, the majority of the time."
Harry gulps, but before he can ask about the last words said, Filnot returns with a large bag in his hands, passes it to Griphook, and nods to the other goblins. Odbert bids them farewell from Gornuk's office, having decided to stay behind. Harry sees that the older goblin bows his head at them as they leave and returns the gesture, only getting a short view of the other's reaction before Snape guides him out of the room.