Daisy and Dahlia

Aunt Petunia made Harry grovel for missing his check-in, and wasn't best impressed when he told her he was going to have to check himself into a hospital soon, and might possibly miss more check-ins on that account. She was eventually mollified by Harry's promise that he would definitely turn up to Privet Drive and take the twins off her hands on the second of August. What was another week, after all, set against the alternative: a shameful divorce, and another nine years of having freaks in the house full-time?

The hospital wasn't too bad, really. He had the bright idea of asking for the healer he'd seen last time; he hadn't actually learned her name, but it would be in his records. Senior Healer Andromeda Tonks, it turned out, was indeed a former Slytherin; and she was married to the law-wizard Ted Tonks. The wizarding world could be very small at times. Madam Tonks complimented him on his overall improvement in health from two years previously. He had been eating properly, keeping the prescription for his glasses up-to-date, and not subjecting his back or feet to unnecessary strain, and apparently it showed. She puzzled for a while over the basilisk-phoenix combination in his bloodstream, did a variety of tests on his blood, saliva and other fluids, and eventually told him that the 'peculiar additions' weren't harming him; didn't make him a danger to others; might make him somewhat immune to the venom of a variety of other creatures, but he wasn't to test it willy-nilly; and she didn't think she could undo what had happened anyway, so it was just as well. He should probably come back for more check-ups every couple of years, while he was still growing, just to be on the safe side. The mention of Harry's fast healing in childhood had her double-checking the various bones that he reported as having been broken, and in a couple of cases re-breaking and straightening them; she ran an overall osteoskeletal scan on him, and gave him a rather unpleasant potion to take, some kind of Skelegrow variant. She was wholly unimpressed with his guardians' care of him, and seconded her husband's recommendation for him to separate himself from his Regent as soon as possible.

It was the mention of Dumbledore's saying Harry had 'a piece of Voldemort in him,' that really lit a fire under the increasingly outraged witch. She cast a variety of diagnostics, received his consent to cast some more diagnostics which were 'not St Mungo's standard, but something I learned from my former family,' and finally wrote out a long letter for him to give to a Gringotts' cursebreaker. Apparently, his scar was full of 'dark curse residue,' which was responsible for his headaches, and the goblins were the experts on removing that kind of thing from living creatures without doing them permanent harm.

"It won't be cheap, but it'll be worth every knut," she told him. "And if it was my daughter with that kind of vileness trapped in her, not that my daughter would be left untreated for over ten years mind you, I'd want it out as soon as possible. My advice as a healer, a former Black, and a parent. Oh, and don't forget the confidentiality fee."

So back Harry went to Gringotts. At this rate, most of his trust vault was going to be handed over to the goblins. Still, he told himself, it was all necessary things, things any decent and sensible parent would have done for their child. His parents would want him to be in good health. They would want him safe behind functioning wards. They had loved him. They wouldn't mind if he spent lots of Potter money on things for himself; it wasn't like he was spending hundreds of galleons on chocolate frogs, after all. And surely his father's expenses showed that it was OK to spend lots of money, if it was in a good cause. He determinedly ignored the little voice in the back of his head that shouted "Freak! Selfish! You don't deserve nice things!" He wasn't going to listen to it; it sounded like Aunt Petunia.

Apprentice Cursebreaker Fawley took the confidentiality fee and the letter; got halfway through reading it and looked like she was going to be sick; told Harry the matter was above her paygrade; obtained permission from him to discuss it with other Gringotts employees whose expertise might be of use (letting them know that there was a confidentiality agreement in place), and bolted like a curfew-breaker faced with Mrs Norris. Half an hour later, Harry was sitting in a conference room with Senior Cursebreaker Odrog, Specialist Cursebreaker Bladvak, Senior Healer Glurg, Ritualist Dalnak, and the less-than-enthused-looking Junior Account Manager Gornuk. No humans were present apart from Harry, and most of the conversation was taking place in Gobbledegook. At one point, Harry's permission was sought to bring in an expert in Goblin and Wizarding Law, and another goblin 'whose authority might be useful'; Harry then sat for another half hour, doing his best to seem respectful and patient, in the hope that someone, eventually, would tell him what was going on. When Harry was introduced to Legal Expert Riptooth, he finally thought he was about to get some answers: but no, it was questions.

Would Harry consider He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named an enemy? Was Harry aware that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was neither dead nor alive, existing as a wraith? Oh, he had encountered the wraith personally? Attempts on Harry's life? Did Harry wish to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named completely destroyed? How keen was he on actively pursuing this? Harry apparently believed that his parseltongue was naturally occurring, as he had two younger cousins who were also parselmouths, and furthermore he believed that he was somehow related to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Slytherin line, via a squib connection? Did he have any additional evidence for this? How interested was he in obtaining evidence of that connection, and possibly of other wizarding connections? At this point, Harry snapped.

"Could somebody please explain to me what this is all about, and how it connects to the curse residue in my scar?" Glances were exchanged, and finally it was Head of Investments Ragnok, the most senior goblin in the room, who spoke.

"The so-called 'curse residue' in your scar is also part of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and proof of how he has tethered himself to existence, to the point of surviving the destruction of his mortal body. The technique he used - well, your scar is one such anchor, but there are others. At this juncture, we cannot be sure how many. While a variety of dark wizards throughout history have used this particular technique, for the last few hundred years Gringotts has only really encountered them when clearing out tombs, mostly Ancient Egyptian, but also Sumerian and Cretan. As such, the beings whose anchors they were could not be wholly, verifiably understood to be wizards or witches, and had never been citizens of countries where Gringotts, during those beings' lives, had had bank branches and been party to treaties on how to treat with the witches and wizards of those countries. Do you see the problem yet - or the opportunity?"

"No, sir." The elderly goblin sighed.

"You are young, I suppose. Very well. Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Voldemort, while never a Gringotts client, was a British citizen, and a wand-wielding wizard, of age, holder of OWLs and NEWTs, making him a full wizard citizen also; even in his wraith-form, he cannot be considered wholly without certain legal rights and protections. Specifically, goblins may not kill full-citizen wizards unless the wizards are caught in the act stealing from Gringotts."

"So you can't take the anchor-thingy out of me, because it might kill him?"

"Oh, we could transfer it from you to another vessel, but standard procedure is then to destroy the vessel, which we couldn't do here; and anchor-contaminated vessels are not the kind of thing we want in Gringotts, or, for that matter, the kind of thing we should be sending out from Gringotts into the wider world. There are all kinds of laws about cursed artefacts, you know."

"So where does that leave us?" Harry asked. Ragnok smiled. It was not pretty.

"This is why I was called in. As Head of Investments, you know, I am one of the four most important goblins in Gringotts. I can authorise things other Goblins can't; such as brokering a deal with you, if I deem it in the interests of the Bank and the Goblin Nation to do so. Which in this case I would. That unfortunate conflict He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named headed was very bad for business, you know. Bad for the economy. And what is bad for the wizarding economy is bad for the Bank and the Nation."

"So you want him gone, and you have the means to do it, but you can't do it yourself, for legal reasons. But if you set things up so I'm paying you for services that just so happen to result in his - what did you call it? - destruction, then you're in the clear legally. But what about me? I don't want to get in trouble for murdering someone, even if it is him."

"I am an expert in wizarding law, as well as goblin law, though of course I am not licenced to practice among wizards," said Riptooth smugly. "And your destroying him would not be murder. He killed your parents and tried to kill you before he was disencorporated; his wraith, possessing another, tried to kill you at least once; another of his anchors, working through an artefact, made another attempt on your life. If he is not your relative, you would have grounds for Blood Feud; if he is your relative, he is a kinslayer and wolfshead, and the Head of your shared family would have every right - and, indeed, the duty - to put him down as one would a rabid animal."

"But I don't know who that is. And what if he's the Paterfamilias?"

"He can't be," piped up the Ritual Magic expert. "He shattered his soul to make the anchors. The rituals wizards use to assume Head of House are puny and primitive, with very few requirements built in, very little elegance or sophistication. But the one thing they do require is a whole soul. A Head of House can be a killer, a rapist, a thoroughly wicked person, and still ascend. A fool, and an idiot: not a problem. But a Head of House must have magic; they must be at least thirteen; and their soul must be intact."

Harry sighed. Why is this my problem, he thought. But it would be nice not to have to worry about some Voldemort-related problem seeking him out in the coming year, as it had the past two years. And it would be nice to finally earn the stupid title he'd been granted when he was a baby. But he had his own priorities, and his own responsibilities. He wasn't just going to let the goblins use him as a catspaw, not without someone else to see fair play. And he wasn't going to do anything that might stop him taking Daisy and Dahlia away from Aunt Petunia on the second of August, and providing a safe home for them.

"I am open to this idea in principle," he said carefully, "but I would like to go into more detail about what the agreement would entail, and what the costs would be, before I commit myself. I would also like to bring in a lawyer of my own, since, with all due respect, Master Riptooth, you said yourself you are not licenced to practice among wizards. I am happy to give much of my time, energy, and gold this summer to the task of destroying Voldemort, but I do have other commitments I need to honour, and I don't want to sign myself up for something that would stop me doing so."

"We don't mind negotiating with a human lawyer," said Ragnok, "if Gornuk confirms you can pay him, with the moneys you currently have full access to legally."

"He has enough in his trust vault," said Gornuk, "even with his recent warding expenses."

"I want Ted Tonks, then," said Harry. And so it was agreed that they would reconvene once Harry had secured his services. As Senior Cursebreaker Odrog put it: "He's been walking around with that thing for over a decade, another few days won't hurt."