Work Text:
"Excuse me, please."
Deianira Clearwater looked up from the deed she was drafting to see a child standing in the doorway to her office. A glance past him told her that her receptionist, Linda, wasn't at her desk.
Deianira bit back a grimace at the interruption and focused on the child, who had dark, messy hair and wore thick-framed glasses. Something about him seemed familiar, but she dismissed that thought and forced a smile.
"Yes?" she said.
"I need to hire a Bonder for an Unbreakable Vow, please," he said, then frowned. "And maybe also someone to swear it to."
That wasn't at all what she'd expected him to say. Then again, she wasn't certain that she'd expected him to say anything in particular. Then she realized that he was alone, which begged the question,
"Are your parents okay with you swearing an Unbreakable Vow?"
"My parents are dead."
Sympathy surged, but her frown deepened. "Your guardians, then?"
"They're the ones I'm swearing the vow about," the boy replied. "I want to vow never to live with them again. And never to live with certain other people. I've made a list."
A boy - and one who didn't look older than ten - had a list of people he didn't want to live with? Deianira's curiosity was well and truly piqued. "May I see it?"
He came fully into her office and extended a piece of parchment folded in quarters. She opened it and couldn't help smiling at the boy's messy handwriting, but her smile faded as she read:
I swear never to live with Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, or Dudley Dursley ever again.
I swear never to live with anyone who followed Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, or a family member of anyone who followed him.
I swear never to live with anyone who was sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts or a family member of anyone who was sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts.
"That's - remarkably specific," Deianira observed.
The boy shrugged. "I wanted to be thorough."
"Who are Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley?"
"My Muggle uncle, aunt, and cousin. My aunt is my mum's sister. They don't like magic."
Which meant they didn't like him, either. Deianira hoped that they only didn't like him and weren't abusing him…but that he was ready to swear an Unbreakable Vow never to live with them again meant that hope was probably in vain.
"Please, have a seat." Deianira gestured him toward one of the two guest chairs on the other side of her desk. "Have you thought about where you will live, if you're not living with your aunt and uncle anymore?"
"Not really," he said as he took the seat she'd indicated and met her gaze with his brilliant green eyes. "I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer, and if I can't arrange to stay there again next summer, I figured I'd go to Child Protective Services and find a foster family - Muggle or magical, it doesn't matter to me."
Deianira blew out a breath and forced herself to speak the conclusion that had been niggling at the back of her mind since she'd first seen him. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"
He nodded, and she tapped a finger on the parchment she'd placed on her desk as she considered the boy before her and the request he'd made.
Normally, she would never allow a minor to swear an Unbreakable Vow without the approval of a parent or guardian. That the minor making the request was the Boy Who Lived shouldn't affect that policy at all. And it wouldn't, not as long as she was a solicitor.
"I'll need to speak with your guardians-"
"They hate magic," Potter declared. "They won't talk to you."
"Perhaps they will, perhaps they won't," Deianira said. "But that doesn't mean I'm not required to ask."
Potter slumped in his seat, clearly already expecting the worst - possibly with good reason, given the vow he wanted to make.
"Understand, Mr. Potter," she said quietly, "I'm not refusing, even if they don't agree. But I have to follow the rules or I risk losing my license to practice."
Potter nodded, his expression glum.
"Would your aunt or uncle be home now?"
"Aunt Petunia might be."
"Right, then." Deianira stood. "There's no time like the present."
HP = HP = HP = HP = HP
Two hours later, Deianira sat across from Harry at a table in a small restaurant in Little Whinging. The meeting she'd just had called for something stronger than tea and biscuits, but she'd never drink alcohol while she was working.
"That could've gone better," she murmured into her cup.
Across from her, Harry snorted around a bite of biscuit, but swallowed before he said, "It went about like I expected it would."
Deianira shook her head, shaking off her irritation with Harry's Muggle relatives at the same time, and focused on the boy across from her.
"Why did you come to me?" she asked. "Why not your family solicitor?"
Harry blinked, obviously surprised by the question. "I have a family solicitor?"
Deianira stared back. "Well - I don't know for certain, but the Potter family was, and I assume still is, wealthy, and most wealthy people have solicitors and accountants."
Harry shrugged and finished the biscuit before he said, "There's lots of gold in my vault - or I think it's lots, anyway. Does that count as wealthy?"
Deianira fought to keep her mouth from falling open. "I - well." She cleared her throat and began again. "Should I assume that you haven't learned much about your family? Your father's family, I mean?"
"I know his name was James and I look like him. And I know that he died in the war with Voldemort. My mum did, too."
Deianira struggled to find words that wouldn't frighten Harry. "Well, that's a start. There's much more, of course, but for now - the Potter family has been ripe with potion masters for centuries. Some of your ancestors made quite tidy fortunes from their recipes."
"Really?" Harry looked skeptical.
"Have you heard of Skele-gro?"
Harry made a face. "It tastes terrible." Deianira's question must have shown on her face, because he added, "Professor Lockhart last year - he vanished the bones in my arm instead of healing them. I had to take it then."
"I'll want to talk with you about that incident," Deianira said. "But for now - that's just one of the many commercially successful potions that can be credited to your family. I understand your father and grandfather both generously supported the war effort, but I can't believe they'd be so foolish as to spend all they had on it."
Harry shrugged, apparently more interested in the last biscuit than in whatever wealth he might have. Deianira sipped her tea while he finished the biscuit, then set her cup aside.
"Do you have a Galleon?"
Harry flushed and dug into a pocket. "Oh - sure. Is it enough?"
"Enough? For…?"
"My tea and biscuits."
"Oh, no, that's not what I meant." Deianira silently cursed herself for forgetting the conversation with the Dursleys. "It's for my retainer, so I can work on your behalf."
"Oh, right - for the Unbreakable Vows." Harry handed over the Galleon.
"And a few other things, if you'll let me," she said gently. "I want to look into how you came to be placed with your Muggle relatives, rather than a wizard family, for one. And I want to find out why you haven't been told anything of your family's history, regardless of where you were placed."
"You won't forget the vows, will you?" Harry asked.
"Certainly not." Deianira finished the last of her tea and set her cup aside. "Though I do want to go over the wording with you - given how many wizard families intermarry, you may want to limit your restrictions to immediate family members, rather than any family member, for example."
Harry frowned. "I don't know. I mean, they could still be sympathizers even if they aren't marked, right?"
"True," Deianira admitted with a sigh. "I just - don't want you to unnecessarily limit your options."
"Voldemort's tried to kill me every year I've been at Hogwarts," Harry said. "I'll deal with limited options rather than give him another chance at me. And my options are only limited in the wizarding world. I mean, I'm fairly certain no Muggles supported him."
Deianira laughed unwillingly. "No, I don't think any did. And you're right, of course - I'm just…not accustomed to thinking in those terms. Not anymore. Right," she added briskly, unwilling to follow that thread of conversation any further. "Let's get back to my office. I have questions that are best asked and answered in private."
HP = HP = HP = HP = HP
Harry slept in the next morning, mentally and emotionally exhausted thanks to hours spent with his solicitor. Who knew that talking could be so tiring?
Okay, it wasn't just talking. After he'd signed a retainer and confidentiality agreement, Ms. Clearwater - an older sister of Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect who had been petrified alongside Hermione in May - had asked him questions. Lots of questions.
They'd started off simply enough, with, "Why do you say that Voldemort has tried to kill you both years you've been at Hogwarts?" Well, the initial question was simple. The explanation and the follow-up questions weren't, especially when she got to how he'd come to be staying at the Leaky Cauldron by himself for the summer.
Then she'd progressed to questions about his life with the Dursleys, his introduction to the wizarding world, and then to his accounts at Gringotts. Those had been harder questions, especially the last, because he didn't know the answers. Not he didn't know the answers she wanted, but that he didn't know at all.
Ms. Clearwater told him not to worry, that she could get the answers with a few court filings, but Harry wanted to know, and patience had never been his strongest trait.
He had a quick breakfast in the common room and headed out into Diagon Alley. His first stop would be Gringotts.
Harry supposed he shouldn’t be surprised so few people stood in line at Gringotts. It was mid-morning on a weekday, and, after all, Aunt Petunia always banked at this time during the week simply because the wait tended to be shorter. Just another way the wizarding world and the mundane world were alike.
So it was only two people ahead of him and a few minutes of waiting before Harry could address the teller.
“Good morning. My name is Harry Potter, and I need to speak to someone about my vault.” Harry offered his key without being asked.
The goblin teller examined the key briefly before placing it on a flat, black stone. The key flashed a gentle yellow, almost gold, and the teller handed it back.
“Someone will be with you shortly,” the teller said. “You can wait over there.”
Harry followed the goblin’s gesture to a small waiting area and sat down, amused by the how like it was to similar spaces in the mundane world, from the small grouping of chairs to the single coffee table with – yes – back issues of periodicals like Quidditch Times and Warlocks and even The Quibbler.
Quidditch Times was tempting, but after a moment’s thought, Harry reached for Warlocks. He’d barely picked it up when a goblin approached.
“This way, please, Mr. Potter.”
Harry set the periodical back on the table and followed the goblin past the banks of tellers and into a part of the bank he hadn't seen before. The corridor was lined with offices on each side, plaques with, presumably, the office number and name of the occupant beside each office door.
It was only when they stopped outside an office with a closed door that Harry realized the nameplates were lettered in an alphabet, and therefore a language, he didn't recognize. Possibly the goblins' own? Harry made a mental note to look that up later.
The goblin escorting him knocked sharply on the door, opened it, and exchanged a few words in - again, presumably - their native language with whoever was inside before stepping back to gesture Harry into the office.
"Account Specialist Bogrod will assist you," Harry's escort said and strode briskly back the way they'd come.
Harry swallowed. What had seemed so simple at the Leaky Cauldron now felt like a very big mistake. But there was no going back now, so he straightened his spine and stepped into the office. It was sparse, but the furnishings appeared to be of good quality - clearly the goblin felt no need to impress anyone.
"What do you need today, Mr. Potter?" the goblin behind the desk - Bogrod - asked.
Harry took a breath. "I - well, is vault 687 the only vault I have? Or will have access to, when I'm older?"
Bogrod blinked, his only outward sign of what Harry assumed to be surprise, just like in a human.
"It's just-" Harry continued, not having to feign his nerves. This was the only way he'd thought of to broach the subject "-I've heard my relatives talking about setting up a trust fund for my cousin, and I wondered if maybe my parents had done the same thing?"
Bogrod's expression cleared. "Indeed they did, Mr. Potter. Vault 687 is your trust vault, set up to pay for your schooling expenses, including a mastery if you so choose. As to other vaults, you have two others."
Harry swallowed hard. "Which are?"
"The Potter family vault, which you are entitled to upon your majority, and a…gratitude vault, for lack of a better term."
Harry frowned. "Gratitude vault?"
"Following your parents' death, several people sent money for your care, or to say thank you for defeating Voldemort," Bogrod explained. "The separate vault was created to allow for those gifts from people who insisted that you be able to access the funds whenever you chose."
"I - see." Harry swallowed back a lump in his throat. He'd deal with the tangle of emotions Bogrod's words stirred up later. Now, he focused on, "So what's been going on with those vaults, and my trust vault for that matter, while I've been away from the wizarding world?"
"Your family vault was effectively frozen upon your parents' deaths," Bogrod said with a frown. "Though that may not be all bad, as your father had been making rather large withdrawals in the months leading up to his and your mother's death. The funds are drawing a nominal interest rate that lags inflation only a little."
"Which means?" Harry hated his ignorance, but the only way to fight it was to ask questions.
"Which means it retains approximately the same purchasing power as it had when your father died."
Harry nodded, making a mental note to find a book on money management soon. "And the…gratitude vault?"
"Has had far more leeway," Bogrod said. "Approximately half of it has been kept in certificates of deposit, money market accounts, and bonds in order to preserve the capital. The other half…well." Bogrod smiled. "The other half has been invested in various stocks and while some have not performed as well as we would like, some have performed quite well."
"Oh. Well - thanks," Harry said with a smile. "I'm glad someone who knows what they were doing was in charge."
"Indeed, he does. It's a pity he won't come work for Gringotts."
Harry blinked. "What? I'm sorry - I thought you were in charge of the vaults?"
"I liaise with account holders and provide advice as to how they may reach their financial goals. My role is advisory only."
"Oh - like an investment advisor." Harry had heard Uncle Vernon use that term. He hoped it was correct.
"Yes. But ultimately, the account holder makes the decisions."
Harry felt his eyebrows climbing. "I haven't decided anything about my accounts. I didn't even know I had more than one until five minutes ago."
Bogrod scowled, and Harry forced himself not to flinch back. Uncle Vernon at his worst wasn't nearly as intimidating as Bogrod.
"Your statements have been sent to your account manager," Bogrod said. "As per the instructions in your mother's will. Are you saying your manager hasn't passed them on to you?"
Sensing a trap in the question, Harry thought quickly before he said, "I can't say what the manager - and who is that, anyway? - has or has not done. I can say I've never seen a statement from Gringotts."
"Hm." Bogrod glared at him, but somewhat less fiercely than a moment before. "I'll reach out to him. He should be in London - if not now, then soon - and we'll arrange a meeting."
"Who is it, sir?" Harry asked.
"A friend of your parents - Remus Lupin."