Discovery
“What is this supposed to mean?” the ghost of a hysterical screech hovered in her tone like a warning for him to watch his next few steps.
But he was trying to figure it out as well. He was nearing 200 years old now, yet he had never heard of a child being adopted solely by magic. That might be why such an adoption had gone under that Dumbledore’s radar for so long –
Wait. Adoption…
“The only explanation I can think of is an incomplete adoption ritual. Its very old, dark, magic and if this parchment is anything to go by – it was likely your son Sirius who performed it before his imprisonment.” He was quite confident with his answer, yet the witch’s baffled expression placed some doubt into which language he had just spoken.
“How can a ritual be incomplete? Rituals are designed to be done altogether and in one all-encompassing moment – and how could have Sirius performed that? That brat despised the dark!”
“Yes, but he was raised among it, he knew it well, and this is an extremely obscure ritual - it would take someone who knew what they were looking for to have come across it. There is simply no way the Potters could have found and performed it by themselves.”
The witch leaned forward, as enraptured by this guesswork as he was. “But that doesn’t explain why the ritual is incomplete… unless it drew on a limited and outside resource apart from a wizard’s magical core…”
The Goblin slammed his claws down on his polished desk, startling the poor witch who had seemingly forgotten he was there. “Yes exactly! If it is the ritual, I am thinking of then it would need to draw on atmospheric magic in the surroundings in order to complete it – but a proper adoption of both magic and blood would need more than that – so it likely had to be performed on a day of high magical and spiritual activity and over the course of two sessions. Only a day like that would be…”
A grim shadow suddenly hid the witch’s expression of grief from the watchful goblin as she muttered with horror. “Samhain… the day they died must have been the day they wished to complete it…”
A sombre mood suddenly settled over the two, sending them into silence. A reminder of the tragedy no one had truly recovered from.
“Do you have any idea why they wanted to perform an adoption in the first place?” The goblin asked tentatively, testing the threatening waters. The witch broke the strange spell upon them by letting out a wild chuckle that devolved into wheezing and pitiful gasps for air.
She wiped the tears (of joy, madness or sadness no one knows) from her eyes as she sputtered out. “I hardly knew my son, so your guess is as good as mine. But if I had to speculate – it was probably to protect him.”
“To protect him?” she nodded in grim confirmation.
“The… The dark lord was obsessed with that child…” It didn’t escape the goblins notice that she struggled to utter even that moniker. “They probably thought they would be able to pass him off as Sirius’ and lure him in with a fake – a desperate attempt really.” Pity and regret haunted her eyes, regret at not being of any help? It made the goblin wonder but now was not the time for prodding questions.
“What would you like to do about the boy, by magic’s will you are practically his grandmother and last living magical relative. Do you want to write him into your will?”
A strange completive expression passed across the witch’s face. “He should be three right now, correct?”
The goblins puzzlement must be showing on his face as her eyes bored into his own. “Yes?”
“Are the rumours true, that he is currently living with muggles?” Sharptooth didn’t think he could get more confused but apparently not.
He uttered an audible sigh before continuing. “We technically are prohibited from telling this information to in his words – curious customers and distant family members unable to provide him adequate protection –” He didn’t bother trying to hide his disdain for the meddling man and the witch across from him clearly appreciated it. “But seeing as you qualify as a close family member able to protect him from whatever flings itself at those vicious wards of yours, I think I can make an exception” With this he took off, practically flying out of his office, leaving the witch to her own devices as she pondered her next moves.
All too soon, he returned in a flurry of files and spread them across his far too large and ornate desk, revealing several written oaths, permission slips and more importantly in Walburga’s eyes – addresses.
The goblin seemed to find a method in this madness and plucked an inconspicuous file from the top of mount bureaucracy before clearing his throat and reading aloud. “Mr H.J Potter is hereby declared as safely under the care of his guardians Mrs P Dursley nee Evans and Mr V Dursley. Residing at No.4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Please direct any correspondence through his magical guardian Mr A.P.W.B Dumbledore …. You get the picture.”
That dark look returned to her features. “I should have known that barstard would be involved…” He could her grinding her teeth in frustration from across the valley of paperwork.
“May I ask what you plan to do with this information?” The goblin shot her a raised eyebrow and an evaluating look before she bristled at his doubt and answered.
“I wish to see how he is doing with my own two eyes. He is quite possibly the last heir of the house of Black if he wishes to be so – is it wrong to want to see my own grandson?” Ah the screech was back, if she was getting defensive then there was likely a plan that she was reluctant to admit to him, he narrowed his eyes at her.
“Whatever you do, swear that you will not take on what you cannot handle.”
The witch puffed up, insulted but understanding. “I swear.”
Appeased, the goblin stood and the witch mimicked his movements to the door of his office.
“I wish you luck with whatever your endeavours are and may your enemies bleed at your feet.” A strained smiled bloomed upon her face.
“Thank you for all your help and may you coffers ever flow.”
The two bid each other a sincere goodbye, a strange companionship after the odd two hours together, and the witch made it to the doors of the grand reception hall before the goblin seemed to remember something and screeched over the din of customers and bank tellers.
“HEY, YOU NEVER WROTE YOUR WILL! GET BACK HERE!” said customers flinched at the strange assault upon their ears and then keeled over at the returning shriek,
“I DECIDE WHEN I WANT TO DIE AND ITS NOT ANYTIME SOON!” And with that the bizarre witch strode out into the sunlight and the bustling street – exhausted but a mad, determined glint had returned yet again to her eyes.
Walburga was still not quite sure what her aim was here.
A week had elapsed since that fateful revelation at Gringotts, a week of which she had spent nearly every minute loitering like a common teenager on this cursed street under a stupidly strong notice-me-not charm considering she was hiding from muggles of all things. She tried to tell herself that she was simply observing the situation, but she knew that deep down she was purely just nervous.
Nervous for what you might ask? Merlin, as if she knew!
She had seen her grandson on the first day – and isn’t that a strange thing to say – and her frozen heart practically melted upon her first sighting of the little whisp of a boy.
He appeared as though that Potter brat had been reincarnated in the flesh yet when she saw his haunting eyes, she knew that there was hope still for a functional member of society. No matter how much she despised mud bloods like her – she had to admit that she had a grudging respect for the witch who took down the dark lord, because really there is no way her grandson managed that at the tender age of barely a year old! But alas, she is getting off track, shaking the distractions from her racing mind she focused back on the boy standing in the doorway of that positively hideous house.
He was hunched over in a way that made him appear so impossibly small and inconspicuous as physically possible, he wore extraordinarily large clothing that hung off his frame like elephant skin and his wild hair looked like prime real estate for Cornish pixie nests – such a ridiculous ensemble made her chuckle with a strange and unfamiliar fondness every time he toddled out of that repulsive home – often closely followed by a boy his age so overweight Walburga had wondered for a while when and how muggles managed to domesticate elephant seals.
This day seemed like it would be like any other, her grandson had tottered out in the garden at the crack of dawn to weed the ridiculously manicured flowerbeds – perhaps he already had an affinity to herbology, maybe she should try and childproof her own garden just in case - before being called back in by a shriek not so dissimilar to her own. However, not too long after luncheon the squadron of ridiculously proportioned muggles barrelled towards the pitiful little park down the road and dragged her grandson along as if he were an afterthought.
Idiotic muggles, she ought to have cursed them for treating her own line of magic in such a way.
Curious, Walburga stalked the family down to the play area as if she were an overly anxious ghost and watched with a faint amusement as the absurdly fat child cannon-balled himself into the sand pit. Strangely, her grandson hovered at the other end of the park – the furthest distance away from his family as he could get – and ignored the sandpit, play set and other children in favour of standing strangely still and staring at the floor.
That strange fondness deep in her rotting heart was now back with a vengeance – she should just say hello, she should just check he is alright, he is young he wont care for strange old ladies at the park.
Just do it. Was the mantra running through her head as she tentatively crept towards her own grandson, for merlin’s sake – why was she acting like this?
And now she was next to him, he couldn’t see her, or hear her racing heart, the silencing ward was set – her wand ready to dispel the notice-me-not charm cloaking her presence.
But her was already looking straight at her.
How? What does this mean?
He was staring. He knew that something was waiting in anticipation.
Merlin’s beard I actually have to do this now.
Taking a deep breath to calm the heart currently attempt to beat itself out of her chest – she dispelled the charm.
And green eyes met silver.