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GRINGOTTS RENEWS INTRUDER DETECTION ENCHANTMENTS: SIDING WITH DUMBLEDORE?
Dear Readers, it will shock you to know that the Goblin institute of banking, Gringotts, has closed its wards to outside visitors. This unusual change lasts from sunrise to sunset of June 17th. Their representative described this as "an integral part of our centurial defense reinforcement" and has called the wards "particularly zealous for the first half decade." Because of this dramatic change in the bank's already violent aura, they are obligated by the Goblin-Wizarding Treaty of 1783 to alert the public. Take heed, readers, any petty theft or malignant intentions will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. Goblin law, that is. I'm afraid to say that the Goblins continue to refuse to acknowledge the Ministry's jurisdiction. Let this be a warning to you, dearest readers, these new wards of the Goblins will not take kindly to any perceived slights. This is exacerbated by the Goblins' unwieldy magick methodology, as the wards will not be sentient enough to understand mitigating circumstances or innocent intentions. It's frankly ridiculous! The Ministry ensures everyone gets a chance to testify, but the Goblins insist on their own flawed systems.
However, it is the timing of this manoeuvre that is most suspect. It comes only a week after allegations were brought forward by Harry Potter, who was under the guardianship of Albus Dumbledore at the time. The boy, obviously in severe distress and unlikely to be the one behind such inflammatory speech, declared a significant threat to the public had returned. But! Rest assured, readers mine, I myself have looked into this, and have found it to be nothing more than the political macgyvering of the power hungry Albus Dumbledore.
I believe, and know you will too, my dears, that this all points to a sinister conclusion. Albus Dumbledore, a man who no longer holds any political titles, is communicating with the Goblins directly, deliberately excluding Ministry. We truly are in dark times. Although, thankfully not Dark times(!) as those concluded fourteen years ago and happily remain behind us. Have a happy, non-banking Saturday! - An Article By Rita Skeeter
Harry slunk into the bank, hunching into his hoodie. Diagon Alley was remarkably quiet, but he still didn't want to risk being seen. This was his third time doing a runner from the Dursleys, and it was the furthest he'd ever gotten. Both previous times odd wizards Harry didn't know had escorted him back to Number 4 Privet Drive. Escorted was a generous word for it, though. More like manhandled, while conveniently ignoring his fresh black eye.
Uncle Vernon was not taking Harry's nightmares very well. Every night without fail he woke up screaming, and each night Vernon came thundering in. Usually he just said a lot of hot air and pointed his finger menacingly at Harry. By the sixth night, he'd well and truly lost his temper. It was the first time Vernon had ever hit Harry, for all his effing and blinding, and the first time Harry had actually run away. Things quietened down for another week, but it was too late. The line had already been shattered.
Harry learnt to put up with it, as he'd dealt with the chores and the Harry Hunting. He tried to run once more, more to see what would happen than anything else. Two stern faced goons had plonked him right at the Dursleys' door. Right, Harry had thought, fine. He would just wait for Hogwarts.
Three days into his resolution, this Saturday evening, Harry woke up screaming again. Vernon came bursting in, but something was different that time. There was an awful, cruel glint in his eyes. Screaming and kicking, he'd dragged Harry down the stairs and to his cupboard. "Look here, boy" he'd breathed, face inches from Harry's, "you're going in there and you're not coming out for a long, long time." As Vernon's foul breath burned like mustard gas, and Harry's collar dug painfully into his throat, something snapped. Harry knew, he just knew, if he went back in that cupboard, he'd never make it out. Panic had flooded his system, screaming at him to do something.
"No," he rasped, desperately, "you can't!" Vernon just smiled. It was a sickening sort of smile, and reeked of danger.
"Oh, but I can. " And Harry snapped. Magic flared out, burning Vernon's hands and making him yell and drop Harry. The cupboard door banged open and Harry didn't waste a second. He grabbed his trunk and booked it. Hedwig was already at the Weasley's and there was nothing worth risking his life for in the second bedroom. Vernon roared as Harry raced out the front door and away as fast as he possibly could. Green tendrils of magic were twining around his legs, urging him on faster. Harry didn't dare look behind him.
It took twenty minutes before Harry dared to duck behind a shop to catch his breath and it was only then that everything hit him. Vernon wanted to kill him. Harry had run again, but if he lingered even a second too long, the wizards would find him again. They'd drag him right back. Deliver him to his death. Bile forced itself up his throat and Harry threw up on the cobblestone below. If he was caught, he'd die. Somehow, it felt worse than any confrontation with Voldemort. Those had always been contained to one room, or one set of people. It was the Chamber or the Death Eaters. The danger was always clear and escapeable. Not now. Now, he had no idea who to turn to, let alone an enemy to defeat.
So he had to leave properly. Harry would leave Britain, get an international Portkey somewhere he'd be safe.
And that was how Harry found himself in Gringotts at one in the morning.
There was no one in the bank and Harry sighed in relief. He approached the nearest teller, and dug his key from his pocket. "I'd like to make a withdrawal from the Potter vaults," he said firmly. They wouldn't stop him, Harry knew. Goblins didn't partake in Wizarding affairs.
"How much?" the Goblin grunted.
"Enough for an international Portkey." The Goblin raised an eyebrow. Harry held his chin high, holding firm. He had to leave, and wouldn't let himself fail now.
Eventually the Goblin just snorted, handed back his key, and indicated the carts. "Go on then, wizard."
Harry didn't hesitate, practically booking it to the carts. Everything was going to plan, he thought as he swooped along the rusty tracks towards the waterfall.
He practically jinxed himself then and there.
As the water crashed onto him, and every nerve in his being lit up with agony. Those few seconds felt like every cell in Harry's body was being ripped apart and pushed back together in new configurations and amalgamations. Then blessed darkness fell and Harry knew nothing anymore.
Something was gripping Harry's wrists. The hold was painfully tight and sure to leave bruises. Awareness filtered sluggishly back to Harry and he realised that he was also lying on something that was somehow more uncomfortable than his bed at the Dursleys.
Harry shot up with a gasp. The Dursleys! Vernon, running away, and everything else crashed into Harry. The last thing he remembered was pain- awful, soul-rending pain. And now he was here. In a… prison cell? The three surrounding walls were a dark and claustrophobic stone, while a fourth wall was made of iron bars with gaps too narrow for Harry.
It certainly looked like a prison cell and a chill of fear ran down Harry's spine. Had the Death Eaters gotten to him? How?
Footsteps echoed outside, and Harry scrambled back as they approached. He pressed himself against the wall of the cell, catching a glimpse of his arms as he did so. They were pale, so pale, and iron cuffs were clamped around his wrists. It only terrified Harry more. How long had it been since he'd last been outside? How long had he been here?
The footsteps stopped outside his cell, but Harry couldn't make out the silhouette. Someone spoke in a rough language he didn't recognise. The bars of his cell disappeared to reveal… goblins?
Not Death Eaters then. Harry deflated in relief, but it didn't last long.
"Wix," the goblin snapped. "You are to be taken to trial. Get up."
"T-trial?" Harry stuttered, stunned. "No, there's got to be some sort of mistake. I haven't done anything wrong!" He looked at the goblin pleadingly, but they were unmoved.
"Move, or I will move you," they snarled.
The goblin was half the size of Harry, but between the heavy metal armour and their spear, Harry didn't doubt that he didn't want to be moved.
He stumbled to his feet. The goblin grunted and started to walk away. It only got a few metres away, before the cuffs on Harry's wrist started harshly pulling him after. He was led through a maze of tunnels in this fashion, his fear mounting all the way. Harry felt like he was going to be sick. A disconnected part of him wondered how offended the goblins would be if he was actually sick. Would they make him clean it up himself too?
This line of questioning was cut off when he arrived in front of a tall set of doors. A three-way set of scales was carved into them, and Harry could tell that this was the entrance to a courtroom. He tried again to pry answers from the guard, but got nothing. The doors opened slowly with a creak.
The courtroom was split into three sections. Two with a desk and a goblin each, but it was the third in the middle that was truly eye catching. It looked like a shrine, with candles and flowers surrounding a throne. The throne was huge, bigger than even Hagrid's furniture, and the same dark rock as everything else. Veins of gold and sapphire ran through it and it was… beautiful. So beautiful Harry almost missed the chair in front of it. It was far less grand, but still significant. Taller than that of the other sections' seats, with no back.
Harry was pushed from his stupor as a spear end butted into the small of his back. He stumbled forward, scowling briefly at the goblins behind him.
"Now, now, Spear Wielder, we have a duty of care, and are under the eyes of Mother Magick." A goblin Harry hadn't noticed before stepped forward from the desk on the right. They were dressed plainly, but had an air of authority. Harry straightened when they turned to him. "Hello, Wix. I am assigned to your defense. May we be prosperous together."
Harry had no idea how to respond to that. "Erm, thank you. Me.. too?"
The goblin snorted. "The correct response is 'And may our collaboration be littered with fruit,' but that is irrelevant. Are you aware of the charges?"
Harry was not. He shook his head.
The goblin looked sharply to the guard and said something in their language. The guard looked uncomfortable but responded. The goblin eventually sighed and turned back to Harry.
"Right. Well-"
They fell silent as doors opened again and two more goblins strode in. One split off and went to the opposite desk, while the other marched over to the chair that was directly in front of the throne. They wore robes that reminded Harry of a monk, but looked fierce. It barked something in their language and both… lawyers(?) bowed.
"Defendant," the robed goblin began. "You stand accused of attempted and completed theft, passing under Her Sacred Waters with a deceptive identity and theft of another's vault key. These are serious charges. What is your statement in response?"
"Theft?!" Harry cried. "I haven't stolen anything."
The goblin at the next desk laughed. "You perjure yourself, Wix." That was the prosecution, then.
The robed goblin ignored the interruption. "You submit a plea of Unfaulted?"
Harry didn't know what to say to that. He had no idea what was going on, he was only trying to get out of trouble. Stealing had been the last thing on his mind! Thankfully, his defense stepped in.
"Priest, Wix is a minor by both Wixen and Goblin standards. Wix should not be standing trial for Wixself." Harry shifted through the third person, trying to understand what they were saying. Why did they keep calling him 'wix'?
The priest goblin was nodding while the prosecutor looked irritated. "Defense motions to bring in Wix Parents. Priest finds this motion reasonable and under the guidance of Mother Magick." The priest said something in the goblins' language.
Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. It was a hysterical desperate sort of laugh. His defense was suggesting that to get out of the trial they should bring in his parents. His dead parents. Harry sunk to his knees, ignoring the goblins shouting at him. He held his head in his hands, feeling like his mind was trying to spill out of his ears. "This can't be happening," he muttered. "This can not be happening." But it was. Harry rocked in place, still holding his brain in by his hands, as more tears ran down his face. He hadn't cried in years. Not since long before Hogwarts or Voldemort. Vernon barely stood for having a freak in his home. A soft freak was one step too far.
"You had better not exhume them," he half gasped, half laughed. It was a horrible thought. One that suddenly felt very possible, as the courtroom doors flung open. He half expected the rotted bodies of the last people to love him to be there, lying on the stone floor.
Harry shut his eyes tightly. He didn't want to look.
Someone gasped. Loudly, and very much alive and Harry's eyes flew open without his permission. He peaked out from his hands. Standing in the doorway were… Lord and Lady Malfoy. Prime Dark Lord Loyalists, and, most importantly, not his parents.
Harry properly laughed, then. A cackle that echoed in the high ceiling. The Malfoy could only gape at him, along with the goblins. Harry kept laughing. He laughed until he cried, and he wondered if he had ever stopped. He laughed until his lungs burned, and finally he had to stop. He stood and turned to face the Malfoys, disgust twisting his face.
"You've really pulled a fast one, haven't you?" Harry sneered. "Come to deliver me to your fucking Lord? I mean, I have to give it to you, pretending to be my dead parents is new. Think you forgot to look the part, though." The words came thick and fast, loaded with venom.
The couple flinched back, wide eyes suspiciously watery.
Harry opened his mouth to keep going, but-
"Priest will have silence under Mother Magick's rule!"
Harry turned sharply to the front of the room. He hadn't known goblins could shout that loudly. The court room was silent. The priest held the moment, glaring fiercely at Harry, before speaking. "Mother Magick summoned Wix Parents, as is Her ruling. She and Her doings will be respected. "
The priest turned to the Malfoys. "Wix Parents have been summoned to stand on behalf of Child Wix and their infractions as they are under the age of Judgement. Do you understand?" The Malfoys seemed to collect themselves under direct attention. They stood tall, though still leaning on each other, and nodded. "Good. Wix Child is charged with attempted and completed theft, passing under Her Sacred Waters with a deceptive identity, and theft of another's vault key. These thefts come to a tune of 200 galleons from Vault Potter. What do you say in response?"
"Potter…" mouthed Mrs Malfoy. Mr Malfoy looked like someone had just slapped him. Harry didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was happening. He turned to the defense goblin. "How can I have stolen from my own vault? I'm Harry Potter! Look," he pushed his fringe away to reveal the scar, "see!"
The defense goblin's eyes widened as they looked from the scar to Harry to the Malfoys. They suddenly turned to the priest and spoke rapidly in their language.
The priest too looked between Harry's scar and the Malfoys. Several more minutes passed with frantic speech, the prosecutor cutting in at times. Harry watched desperately, hoping that this whole ordeal was over soon and ignoring the Malfoys.
Eventually, the priest turned to face Harry and the room fell silent. "Child Wix. All charges against you are being dropped by exemption of Intent. However, Priest now has a Mother Magick driven duty to unearth information She will not see hidden." The priest paused, and Harry's relief drops away. News is never good news. Not for Harry, and especially not when the Malfoys are still hovering by the doors.
"Child Wix," the priest was speaking almost gently now and it scared Harry more than anything he could be about to say. "You passed under Her Sacred Waters exactly three hours after Her Prayers were renewed. Thus the connection between Mother Magick and Her Waters was at full height. The sacred number three only strengthened this. Thus, when you passed under Her Waters, She was able to undo Magicks that were previously too ingrained for even Her. These Magicks," the priest paused, "were tied to Child Wix's identity and Child Wix was wrongly given Harry Potter's key. Hence the charges. However, Child Wix is not Harry Potter."
Harry stood still, numbly taking in the court. His defence lawyer looked sympathetic but worse was the the priest, who looked excruciatingly sincere. And the Malfoys? The Malfoys who were supposedly his parents all along? They were looking at him like at any second he'd be snatched away. Like the very sight of him was precious.
Harry swayed in place. "But," he started in a quiet voice, "I'm Harry Potter?" His words came out like a question, and he hated it. Hated that there was now doubt where there previously was none.
"No." It wasn't the priest who answered. Harry's gaze skirted around the Malfoys, landing on the doors behind them. "Non, mon chou. Tu es mon bébé. Mon petit garçon. Corvus."
Her voice, those words, they touched something in Harry. Something he'd clung to in the dark of his cupboard. It was soft and gentle, and the only thing his parents had left him with. So he'd thought. The word fell from his lips, both new and achingly familiar. "Maman?"