The First Visit
Harry is silent when Hagrid arrives. It wasn’t quite who he expected, but it worked all the same. There had been a part of him who hoped Severus would be the one to come for him so that he might meet his mother’s brother in all but blood. It would have been nice to have an uncle who loved him, one whose love didn’t come as a double-edged sword that did nothing but hurt.
It was for the best. No matter how much he wished otherwise, it would be better if Severus knew not of their connection. The weight of his father carried too much history for the man to ever truly like him. Hadrian could understand that, could respect that. He could understand wanting to stay far away from those who have caused nothing but pain and misery.
Still, the thought made his bones heavy, a sort of grief filing him for what he would most likely never receive. It is always harder to mourn for what might have been (of what could have been) than what has been lost. Some losses were expected and accepted because of their certainty, but others had the potential to be great, only to be dashed at the last moment. Severus, Harry admitted to himself, could very well be the same.
It’s why he couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone. The only person he could truly trust was himself. People were cruel; that’s what life had taught him so far. The Dursleys, along with his classmates and neighbors, were proof of this. They never saw, and a part of him hated them for that. He was just a child, (is) just a child.
He follows Hagrid and allows the giant to lead him to the entrance of the wizarding world. This is the beginning of his new life, and he can’t wait. At last, there is something else besides unfair expectations and cruelty in his future. He would dance, laugh, and skip if he could, but he won’t. It is far better to watch and observe, to absorb the world he was meant to live in so that he might blend in. After all, that’s his best bet in living under the radar. He would have to do that if he wanted to be free of the Dursleys.
Living under the radar, he soon discovers, will prove to be rather challenging. He was a celebrity, praised for surviving an attack by the Dark Lord. Everyone seemed to believe he was chosen and had done something to stay, but he doubted it. At the time, he was barely a year old and hardly able to walk on his own. It was much more likely that his mother had done something, a ritual perhaps if her journals were anything to go off of.
Thank the seven heavens for those journals; they ensured he wasn’t naive about the world that was his birthright. No doubt, someone wanted him to be ignorant, unknowing of the wizarding world until they deemed it necessary. Dumbledore, he suspected, had something to do with it.
Hagrid was rather impressed with the man and was quick to spew admiration and adoration for the man. He was a little too adoring, and Harry didn’t like that, not when it seemed too akin to hero worship. The man gave him the heebie-jeebies, and he would be hard-pressed not to listen to his instincts. They were what kept him alive all these years, and he would be stupid to forget them now. Living in a new world did not mean he was entirely safe, especially if the Dark Lord wasn’t truly dead.
Honestly, he didn’t think the Dark Lord was dead. The man would have had measures in place to prevent his death. All he could do was hope the man would leave him alone. He didn’t care about some stupid war, about two opposing sides that he didn’t understand. If he learned more, that might change, but for now, he wants to live in anonymity. Is that too much to ask for?
It was best not to dwell on it, though. Doing so would only bring a headache and heartache. There had already been too much of that so far, the senseless death and cruelty of others weighing heavily upon his soul.
In a daze, he entered the bank, Gringotts, as the giant had informed him, mind wandering. It was much easier to deal with life like this. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but it came far too easy to push away. His politeness and following of goblin customs earned him a pleased, wicked grin. Once again, he was grateful for his mother's journal. A lack of knowledge wouldn’t have brought anything but misfortune.
Goblins are not a race to be taken lightly. They are vindictive and honest in the cruelest way, handling the money of wixen with exactness. It’s what makes them so good at what they do. No one should make an enemy of them, not when their hands are the ones passing money. Too many people forget that the goblins have just as much power as they have. It’s what the wizarding world seems to do if Hagrid hushed shit-talking and the disgusted looks towards the giant had anything to do with it.
People are bigots who discriminate, and Harry can’t wait to see what happens when someone messes up. Time has made him vicious- both vicious and tender. (The conundrum has only hurt him.) A large part of him hopes that Dumbledore will be the one to mess up and get screwed over by the goblins. That man has the word ‘manipulative’ written all over him. In some ways, it reminds him of one of his school teachers who claimed his punishments were for the best to train the ‘freakishment’ out of him.
So, in some ways, he can understand the goblins. They are similar in how they have suffered and been discriminated against despite what one might expect. So he watches and listens silently as he is smuggled away from Hagrid and led to a small office.
“Heir Potter.” His voice was gruff, filled with a rough honesty that led him to relax in his chair.
“Well met, master goblin.” He tilted his head, fighting the urge to pick at his nails. It was a nervous tick that had yet to be beaten out of him.
It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t surprised by the knowledge held by the child. There weren’t many wizardkind that took the time to learn their customs.
It pleased the goblin to no end. If only for that reason, he gave the young boy a smile- or at least the goblin version of a smile: sharpened teeth barred to the room. “You may call me Ragnok.”
“In that case, call me Harry.” He offered a small smile, eyes lighting up slightly. Perhaps this would be his first true friendship.
He nodded decisively. “Our meeting is long since overdue.”
“I apologize for that.” He twisted his hands in his lap. “Until recently, I had been trapped in my relative's house.”
Harry’s mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. “They don’t like me or magic, and I’m afraid Dumbledore has a part in keeping me trapped there.”
Ragnok swore, muttering something in Gobbledegook that was probably insulting Dumbledore- or at least that’s what Harry hoped for.
“What?”
“Dumbledore, if you didn’t know, is a rather famous figurehead of the light and claimed to have placed you with a loving family.”
“Bull.” He scoffed. “He did no such thing.”
He gave the younger one a scrutinizing look. “I can see that.”
He stiffened. Could the goblin see through his glamours? Most of them had been put up by accident, a subconscious desire to keep everyone from knowing what he honestly looked like. While not ashamed of the scars that were proof of survival, he’d instead not share them with the wizarding world. They already knew too much. That much he knew for sure, especially after the debacle in The Leaky Cauldron.
“I’d like to request a blood test.” His hands clasped in his lap as he hoped to hide the tremors plaguing him. “From what my mother’s journal has told me, that’ll be my best bet at getting out from Dumbledore’s thumb.”
“Most likely.” He inclined his head.
He knows this, knows that this is one of the only ways out. Whatever the test reveals will be vital in escaping. It has to; it has to help him. He will do it even if it means shedding the rest of his childhood. There are some things worth it and others that are not. This, he thinks, is worth it.
Harry is only eleven and has scars no child should ever have. The Dursleys have seen to that, their cruelty never stopping. He is dying even as he is alive, and the thought isn’t frightening. Maybe that’s why his hands are always cold.
If he stays, he will die. It’s something he knows with a surety.
He watches the goblin gather the supplies, silent as always. Their methods are fascinating, so different from what he knows.
“A blood test would be most advisable. It ought to reveal the information needed.”
“We can tell you..” He bared his teeth. “For a price.
Harry was unable to hide the snort that came out. “Take it out of whatever vault provides the most discretion.”
“Of course,” the goblin all but purred.