Dumbles is Manipulative
The revelation that Grim could see ghosts was really more of a non-surprise than anything, what with the whole magical school thing.
Grim had sat him down when they both couldn’t sleep, and calmly walked him through just how he always had food on hand. Why he should always respect the dead, and stay on your toes, be respectful of every culture and way lest you dig your own grave, be polite to everyone, for you are always watched.
When Harry shuddered, not particularly liking that particular thought, Grim nudged him with his shoulder. “It’s not a bad thing, mostly. The dead are just incredibly bored, really. And want to help those they can. And it’s never bad to have backup.” And then there was that sharp grin Harry had grown to love, promising shelter from the danger and a plan to move forward.
They planned for the magical school eventuality; Grim did a deep-dive of what a magical culture presumably filled with alive and well pagan culture would include, they read all his school books in the dead of the night to try to get a better grasp of things. (Grim was as miffed as he was about the lack of introduction. Yes, just throw them into a new culture without any sort of guide why don’t you?)
They packed him as well as they could, but they didn’t have much. Kala, Grim’s main ghost companion, managed to get him some formal-ish clothes after only one mishap with a disappearing button-up. Three button-ups, one black instead of white, two pairs of slacks, a plain black tie, and leather boots from a thrift store on the other side of town. Grim used a sturdy bolt of cloth he just happened to have along with his full sewing essentials collection to create a cloak for him- it was simple, with a clasp at the neck, and he’d have to stick his arms through to do anything, but it would keep him warm. It even had a hood, though it was a bit small. Grim added embroidery when bored to cover up the patch-job work on it, and it was turning out pretty well with the extra details. They also got him a sweater- a nice, deep blue. It was massively oversized, but it didn’t feel like Dudley’s old hand-me-downs- it felt more cozy, deliberate.
Grim just smiled and introduced him to the concept of sweater paws.
He’d be a bit warm sometimes, he supposed, but he’d rather be warm than cold. Cold was the worst type of pain, past burns. Cuts and bruises he was well adjusted to, but cold you could never quite shake the feeling of.
He received a near copy of Grim’s leather messenger bag to put everything in, and they added a medical kit stuffed full, a scarf, socks, toiletries, and extra paper and pens alongside his books. It was a hard fit, but Grim was magic with adjusting and readjusting everything to get that clasp to finally close.
They were both pretty comfortable with the idea of one of them having magic and the other modified sight- Harry had known he was strange all his life, and was more than ready to use this to advantage rather than detriment, and Grim had been cozy with being strange all his life- he laughed off Vernon’s rants about normalcy behind closed doors with practiced ease.
Then Hagrid came to their door.
It had been an otherwise quiet morning- they both got a small portion of eggs and some burnt toast for breakfast, and were doing well with keeping everyone else happy and on schedule.
The mailman was late again. Vernon grumbled about the laziness of ‘that blasted man’ before a knock sounded on the door, heavier than usual.
Harry swallowed. How strong was the person knocking?
Grim gave him a look and shook his head, and slipped off to get the mail himself.
His eyes narrowed at the distinct lack of mail on the carpet, and slowly opened the door.
There was an absolute mountain of man, easily dwarfing Grim’s short stature. It was intimidating, despite the man’s friendly smile.
Grim engaged standard procedure for when overwhelmed- chin up, posture loose but ready, the picture of bravery.
Well. Not stupid bravery- he had backup plans in mind, plans of action building themselves with every movement.
“Hello, you’ve come to the Dursley residence, what do you want, need, or hope to accomplish here?”
The giant of a man blinked, slightly taken aback by the quick and to-the-point greeting. “Ah, hello, lad. Would you happen to be ‘Arry?”
Grim’s eyes narrowed slightly, almost unnoticeably. “No, my name’s Grim. And you are?”
“I’m Hagrid! I’m here to speak to ‘Arry on… important matters.” Grim flicked his eyes to the kitchen, and hearing nothing too crazy and no one coming their way, lowered his voice.
“Is this about that school letter?”
More confused blinking. “Well… yes.”
Grim nodded, grabbed the man gently by the arm, and pulled him inside. Hagrid came along willingly enough, and Grim closed the door efficiently behind him before marching them to the kitchen.
“Mr. And Mrs. Dursley, it appears we have a visitor.” Hagrid had to duck to fit into the kitchen door, giving the Durleys quite the fright as he straightened back up to full height. Harry, pale but less scared than he could have been, shrunk further into the wall.
Grim led Hagrid subtly away from the kitchen entrance to clear an escape route and had Harry put a kettle on. Boiling water and hot porcelain made a fine weapon, if a bit on the extreme side. However, this did also put him by literally every cabinet in the kitchen, and he had faith Harry could and would get creative.
“Hello, Petunia Evans? Great to meet ya, haven’t heard much of ya from Lilly. How are things going for you two?” Dudley’s eggs fell off his fork back onto his plate, making Grim internally laugh. While he was still very much on his guard, he was always down to have a bit of fun, up to and including the worst possible moments imaginable.
But that didn’t mean he was dumb.
He positioned himself for the exit would be kept open, made sure he had food and money on him, and carefully monitored the emotions of everyone in the room. While some emotional vengeance would be lovely and well deserved, it was also a potentially dangerous event, and Harry and him weren’t doing so hot, physically. Sure, neither of them were starving or dying of infection, but that was a pretty low bar to clear.
Time skip bc inspiration is funny like that.
Diagon Alley, aside from the ridiculous name and underwhelming (and entirely impractical) entrance, seemed entirely illogical. Buildings tilted dangerously side to side, which would probably give off a charming effect to anyone else, but to him just set off warning bells of structural unsound-ness and claustrophobic fights. He had seen one too many injuries from a rock slide, it seemed.
Still, he kept quiet. Partially because the raw awe and joy in Harry’s eyes was more than enough for him to hush up, but also because of just how badly they stood out. Putting aside Hagrid’s staggering height, which no was not the norm here, Grim and Harry both were very visually different. Everyone else was wearing loose robes and leather shoes, pointy hats and canes dotting the crowds. Off-brand medieval Britain much?
He should have known. The parchment was a warning.
Hagrid was leading them cheerfully towards the most structurally steady place on the block, and also what seemed to be the centerpiece of this main street area; Gringotts Bank, as was carved into the big space above the impressive white rock pillars.
Hagrid led them both through the hustle and bustle confidently, keeping up a steady stream of nearly-useless but well-meaning chatter. “Goblins run the place, so be nice. They can hold a grudge, they can.”
Grim, having taught Harry well on respecting cultures, had no fears.
Well, rather than the whole thing of goblins existing, really. But they could unpack that when needed at the very earliest.
He’d have to interrogate the local dead, see why they were apparently keeping such a big secret from him.
God, what a pain.
But the happiness in the kiddo’s eyes made it worth it.
Harry was so happy he’d thought he’d burst.
He and Grim were in Diagon Alley, a fantastic place of wonder and mystery and endless fascination. Hagrid was really nice, if a bit intimidating, and goblins were real!
He was glad Grim’s guess work with the cloak had been close- even with the t-shirt and jeans underneath, he didn’t stick out as much as the more confident teen did. He was pretty sure he’d be shrinking under the curious glances, but Grim was standing tall, carefully taking everything in.
Hagrid led them up the steps of Gringotts, and Harry noticed Grim nodding to each of the guards standing to each side of the large double doors. He followed suit, much to the pleasure of Hagrid, who grinned and uttered a low good morning to the two, almost as if it was forbidden for him to do so.
But nothing was forbidden when Grim was around, so in they went.
The inside had a large space filled only with an elaborate floor pattern of stones of different textures and colors and people in different pockets. Desks lined the large hall, each staffed by a stern-looking smallish figure with wrinkled skin and large, pointy ears. Monocles seemed to be in fashion, along with very good impressions of a brick wall. Their skin was faintly green, but mostly a lighter brown, and they were very efficient about the paperwork forming towers around them.
Hagrid led them straight to the main desk, the one that was a straight shot from the door and by far the largest. He nodded to this goblin as well, even while the other being half-ignored him, finishing up some business involving balancing a pair of golden scales slightly to the left of a typewriter.
He then focused on the giant(?) with laser-focus. “Hagrid. What brings you here, then? Not normal business, I see.” His voice was a slow drawl, with a slight sneer that wasn’t quite real.
“No, no, not today, Sharptooth. Hogwarts business, mighty official. This here is Harry and Grim, and Harry would like to see his vault.”
He had a vault?
The goblin nodded, and shuffled a pile of papers in his hands. A new stack appeared in their place, and the goblin picked those up too, scanned them, and nodded. “Key?”
Hagrid’s mouth went into an ‘o’ shape, and he started going through his pockets, pulling out such things as a notepad, a matchbox, a handkerchief, homemade dog treats, three separate feathers (miraculously not totally crushed) and a glass bottle with an ominous thick liquid inside before a small but ornate golden key finally emerged.
Harry was too busy wondering if Hagrid's coat pockets had a similar arrangement to Mary Poppins’ carpet bag to put much thought into any of that, but Grim was more than able and willing.
“Why do you have Harry’s key, Hagrid?” He asked, looking right up at the giant.
Hagrid half-shrugged, almost looking like he felt bad. “Ah, well. Dumbeldore’s ‘Arry’s guardian, ain’t he? With him being raised by muggles and all, he wanted to make sure you could get where you needed to go.” Grim’s eyebrows raised in tandem with the goblin’s.
Harry blinked, trying to puzzle out why Grim looked so angry all of the sudden.
The goblin clerk moved them along swiftly, a bit more stony than he had been a moment before. “Cartdriver Griphook will show you the way.” Another goblin, this one in a more casual version of the full suit the teller sported, appeared from a wooden doorway gesturing to a spottilly lit hewn stone corridor.
The inside was what he imagined an olden mine to look like, right down to the railroad track and bulky silver cart.
Shockingly enough, all three of them fit in the cart, though it was a bit of a squeeze. The goblin seemed to disappear, but Harry suddenly became far less worried about that when the cart lurched into the motion.
They immediately hurtled down a long slope, lined with various sharp, very-much-not-smooth stone bits before the scenery started the change the deeper they went, as hard as it was to appreciate what with the brake-neck pace and hair-pin turns. Unloved stone became smooth and polished, before melting to quartz and obsidian, before gemstone of all hues began to emerge, and finally wood, ancient and well-cared-for, as the treasure it would be in an underground civilization. The oldest were engraved with runes and writing he couldn’t understand but yet seemed to be in English, (kinda) with tapestries, murals and carvings showing detailed and historic scenes.
They stopped in one such richly decorated hallway, this one made of a pinkish-red sort of rock, with a deep black melding in at the floor, sandy gold at the very top. Each doorway was rounded, and tastefully embellished with highlights of gold, silver, and copper.
The one Griphook approached had a design on the actual door itself- a griffin, rearing back, with a sprawling tree with deep roots behind it.
The goblin didn’t react whatsoever to their surroundings or the nauseating journey there- simply opened the door with a muttered incantation and the press of a key into a certain spot. Magic, he assumed meant to protect the vault, glowed, as the door opened smoothly.
Grim hauled him out of the cart with only slightly unsure arms to join him, since Harry didn’t quite trust his legs yet. He did notice about how careful the older boy was with distributing his weight, though.
Hagrid waited for the both of them to be clear before getting up himself, which Harry was quite grateful for in hindsight.
Before his mind could be properly overrun with various comedic/horrifying scenes involving him, his brother, the giant and the cart, his eye caught on the vault itself. Or, rather, what it contained.
Gold. Piles of it in neat coinage, also in silver, copper, and brass in smaller sizes. Portraits lined the walls and gathered in clusters, tables dotted with variously fascinating-looking objects- goblets, cloaks, jewelry, shoes, hairbrushes… all coated in a fine shimmery light he was coming to associate with magic in action.
Grim had a similar reaction, if with a touch more caution and distrust on multiple fronts. He didn’t like the concept of wealthy people hoarding money, Harry knew. Something about ‘lack of circulation’ and’ funds in better use elsewhere’, but in more simple terms he could actually understand: the fact that some people had way too much money while others in the world suffered for lack of it.
Also the question of where all this came from, that seemed pretty important.
“Griphook.” Grim spoke up first, seemingly only moments ahead of the befuddled Hagrid. “Apologies if I’m rude, but I am unfamiliar with your culture. But may I ask where all of this came from?”
The goblin turned to the muggle with half curiosity and half distrust. “The Potter fortune. This is only the main vault, of course. There is Heir Potter’s personal one, which has been filled the maximum amount as allotted in the document signed at his birth. It simply felt pressing to make the full situation available. Heir Potter, please pick what you will be needing in coinage, the amount will be replaced from your personal vault as necessary.”
Harry, motionless with endless questions, made no move to do so, despite the strong tone of the goblin he was nervously eyeing.
Grim hummed, and carefully walked closer to Griphook, once again drawing his attention. “Well. We’re shopping for Hogwarts, so how much would that mean we would be needing? And is this in measure of weight, say?” He nudged a golden coin that was laying loose on the floor, testing it’s heft.
The goblin face twitched slightly. “The golden coins are a galleon. There are seventeen sickles in a galleon and twenty-nine knuts in a sickle. The average necessary amount would be roughly 100 galleons per person, but due to Heir Potter’s higher standing a recommendation of around 150 might be more accurate.”
Grim nodded respectfully, clearly thinking. “Well. That amount would be very heavy-”
“A small enchanted bag can be provided by the bank for more convenient usage. Ask the bag for an amount and it will be withdrawn from the main vault and into your purse. However, several such bags are already in Potter possession.” The goblin gestured to another, smaller table, this one with a small collection of leather drawstring bags atop. One richly embroidered, another with simply silver highlights and a delicate cord, and the last a plain brown leather. Grim nodded, and picked up the middle one. “We can replace the cord if necessary, I assume?” He asked as he handed it to a wide-eyed Harry, certain this was the most expensive thing he had ever been trusted with.
Griphook nodded. “While normally not necessary due to anti-weathering and protection measures, yes, the cord can be replaced and swapped without affecting the bag’s enchantments.”
Harry swallowed, and looked into the bag. “100 galleons.” He half-whispered, and took a fast breath in when gold coins began to spill into view.
Grim peered over his shoulder to check if everything was as it seemed, and nodded.
“Anything else we might be needing?”
Griphook narrowed his eyes almost invisibly. “A general check would be encouraged- to test you are who you claim to be, see your bloodline, any compulsions or potions in your system. Accepting the House bond would also be highly encouraged.”
Grim hummed again. “What would that entail?”
“Seven drops of blood onto a specific piece of parchment.”
Grim nodded and smirked in one motion. “Well. That can be arranged.”
Harry had been more than a little weirded out about the bleeding onto a piece of paper thing, but was easily convinced considering he bled more than that on a normal day anyhow.
The goblin- Master Scribe Spearquill- was very angry about what the test revealed. Several blocking potions and spells on him, some to limit certain abilities (including teleportation, much to Grim’s chagrin) like Metamorphagus, the ability to change one’s appearance at will using an innate magical ability. Harry had apparently been using it to appear more healthy to better fit in. This also helped his failing health, though it had improved since Grim had shown up to the Dursley household.
A loyalty, familial love, and trust potions towards Albus TooManyMiddleNames Dumbledore. Friendliness, familial love, trust and loyalty to the Weasley family, and Rubeus Hagrid whoever they were. Distrust and dislike of Slytherin House, one Severus Prince, the Malfoy family, (also a mystery) ‘dark wizards’ ‘dark magic,’ and those of ‘creature bloodlines.’ Griphook explained that meant those who were descended from non-human races, such as centaurs, vampires, veela, etc. Grim was brimming with questions, but was momentarily settled by a quick discussion over the stupidity of warding against those descended from ‘creatures’ (Grim was unwilling to call anything that may even have a chance of being a sentient being a creature, no thanks) but not actual ‘creatures’ themselves. Loyalty, friendliness, and trust to those of Gryffindor house, ‘light families,’ members of the ‘Order of the Phoenix’ (which Grim would henceforth refer to as the Order of the Burnt Chicken) and a fun blank that could be updated by however was on the other side of the tampering.
Spearquill immediately sped along their new appointment with the Goblin Nation’s top healers, while they went through the rest of the parchment. A family tree Harry asked for permission to pocket that went on for ages, an extensive list of every injury he had ever received they ignored, (they were well aware, thank you very much) and one other page in the middle. ‘Lordship and Heir Responsibilities.’
Neither of them liked the sound of that.
It listed a bunch of families Harry was descended from, their vaults, responsibilities, alignment on a ‘Light to Darke’ (with an e) scale, other members, known magical traits, allyships, including Harry apparently being Heir to the Lord position of the Potter, Black, Perrevell (second place behind George and Fredrick Weasley anyway, thanks to favor for whatever magical twins meant) and Syltherin. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were all listed as pending, since he qualified to be heir but had yet to be ‘judged.’
They stared at that lengthy piece of parchment for quite a while, to say the least.
Spearquill walked them through it with minimal angry grumbling towards the Dursleys, Dumbledore, and Wizards (referred to as Wix, which he guessed to be the gender neutral form) in general and as a whole.
Potter House was unsurprising, to a degree, though the whole Lord thing was new. Apparently a lot of the ‘High, Most Noble and Ancient Families’ of the wizarding world had been intermarrying for ages, so it wasn’t surprising he was a member of a ton of different houses. The Syltherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw was new to everyone involved, human or no, since those bloodlines apparently were thought to have died out but in reality just went dormant. Spearquill assured them that those in the Catacombs and Archive sections of the Goblin Nation would be ecstatic.
Hagrid came back in with an odd stone-sized bulge in one pocket about halfway through the goblin explaining the political system as large.
They were both suspicious of the giant man now; his stature was already threatening, and the potions keyed towards him hadn’t exactly boded well.
He didn’t say anything, though, just awkwardly shuffled into the back and looked uncomfortable when Spearquill sneered about human-creature interactions, and just how discriminatory it was.
Grim was almost glad Harry was some sort of weird Lord figure; it gave them an opening to do real change.
Almost.
Because it also made things so much more complicated.
There was an overview of the how and why and when of the kid’s Boy-Who-Lived status. A dark wizard, in a gambit for power against Dumbledore and in response to a horrifying culture-suppressing movement in recent decades, moved on his phropeized true rival; one of two babies: Neville Longbottom or Harry Potter, both only days old.
Longbottom’s parents were tortured to insanity but not killed, and infant Neville was judged to have too little magical power to be a real threat. Harry, on the other hand, had a good bit of magic upon birth, and such, well.
It happened on Halloween night; a double murder that should have been a triple one had tiny Harry not somehow rebounded the killing curse back onto the older wizard.
However, Spearquill imparted on them a horrifying bit of history; that their self-updated records did not list one Tom Marvelo Riddle, Voldemort’s real name, as dead. Simply incipacitated.
Spearquill theorized that the power behind the spell had somehow fractured, part of it hitting the man and another part the cottage around him, destroying it. It explained the explosion-like state it was later found in, anyway.
With that fun bit of trivia, they went out to get some shopping done and clear out their heads a bit.
Hagrid was more than relieved to be out of the weird political situation he obviously didn’t want to be involved in but was roped into anyway. Grim caught whispers of half-giant and Dumbledore and manipulation and debts, and looked at the (half?) giant with new eyes.
Maybe he could work with this after all.