Chapter Text
Thanks for reading and reviewing.
This is a bashing fic. Ron, Dumbledore, Snape and Molly will more than likely be attacked. If you don’t like it, don’t read.
I have no idea where this is going, but I am trying for something darker than I normally write. I might not hit it on the nose, but I am going to try.
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“I am so tired of this shite,” Harry said, looking around at the people in the Great Hall who were all glaring at him like he had done something wrong. He had just come from the room with the judges, and they told him he had to compete. He went back to tell his friends, hoping for some sympathy, but they all looked at him like he was a leper. Well, not Hermione, but she couldn’t stand up to all these people. Neville looked like he wanted to say something, but the words never came. “I am really sick and tired of this school taking it out on me whenever something goes wrong. It is like I am some whipping boy. I didn’t ask for this shite, and I am not going to put up with it anymore.” He pushed away from the table and stormed out of the room. He didn’t even touch the doors when they slammed shut behind him.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Hermione asked, looking very worriedly at Ron.
“Who cares? He’s just blowing things out of proportion again,” Ron said, shoving some food in his gob and talking around a mouthful of chicken. “He’s just being a prima donna. Like always. He put his name in the goblet and now he wants us to think that he didn’t. Well, I’m not going to believe him, no matter how many fits he throws.”
“Ron, you can’t believe that. I saw his face; he was quite shocked when his name was called,” Hermione said, looking at all the angry faces, seeing that besides her and Neville, everyone believed that Harry had done just that. Even the twins believed it, judging by how they were carrying on.
“You bet I believe it. I am shocked that you don’t,” Ron said, pointing a drumstick at her.
“We have known Harry for over three years now; when has he ever done anything to bring attention to himself?” Hermione asked, slamming her hand on the table, making many people look her way.
“He got on the Quidditch team in his first year,” Ron said, a smug look on his face.
“He went through all those traps with you lot the same year, getting all those points,” Dean said, nodding his head, making those around him agree with various tones and nods.
“He faced the Basilisk during his second year,” Seamus said, a bit of awe in his tone.
“Let’s not forget what he did last year, when he ran into the woods and faced down all those Dementors,” Lavender stated, shivering in fear.
“Maybe he didn't start out wanting attention, but once he got it, he liked it,” Parvati stated, agreeing with her friend.
“Harry didn’t do those things to get attention,” Hermione protested, facing them all down. “He did that to save the school and to save a man’s life. He was trying to protect people.”
“That is not his job,” Ron said, trying to rile up the crowd. “He could have waited for the adults to do what they are supposed to do. He is just a kid. I am telling you he craves attention.” Those around him agreed with him. Only someone who wanted glory would do all the things that Harry Potter did.
“You are his best friend,” she protested, trying one more time to get through to him.
“Which means that I know him best,” Ron said smugly.
“You don’t know him at all,” Hermione said, shaking her head in disgust, getting up to go and find Harry. She left the Great Hall. She looked everywhere but couldn’t find him anywhere. She sighed in defeat and went to the common room. There she heard everyone still complaining that Harry had put his name in the Goblet of Fire, trying to steal the glory from Cedric Diggory. Sure, they were happy that Gryffindor was in the tournament, but not that a fourth-year like Harry Potter was representing them.
Hermione sighed again and went to her room. She wondered where Harry was.
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Harry was on his way to Gringotts. He was currently on the Knight Bus, riding on the crazy route to Diagon Alley. He would have taken the Floo, but he hated traveling by fireplace. It never worked out well for him. He wanted to see what he could do now that he was in this stupid tournament. He didn’t think the goblins could do anything, per se, but they might be able to point him in the right direction. From his past interactions with the goblins, they were greedy fuckers. Still, they were one of his few connections with the wizarding world.
When his stop came, he got off, thanked Stan and went to the Leaky Cauldron. Before he went in, he pulled on his Invisibility Cloak and snuck past Tom. He didn’t want anyone to stop him. The last few times he went through the bar, it had been a nightmare. If the Weasley family hadn’t been there, he would have been mobbed.
He used the cloak all the way to the bank, only taking it off right before he entered the building. He nodded to the guards and went inside. Going to the nearest teller, he asked, “Is there any way I can talk to a solicitor?”
“This is a bank, not a law office,” the teller said, taking a rubber stamp and slamming it on a piece of parchment. “You need to go to Verita Alley,” he told him.
“Where might that be?” Harry asked, hoping there was an office open this time of night. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was seven at night.
“Go out of the bank, turn right, three buildings down, turn left,” the teller said, slamming the stamp down again.
Harry thanked the teller and hurried out of the bank and followed the directions. He found the alley and looked for any office with lights on. He found three and read the names on the windows. He was trying to find one that didn’t sound too sleazy or dark. But they were all names, so he picked the one in the middle and went inside.
“Welcome to Waters, Ruthenfranks, and Dribbles. What can I do for you tonight?” the receptionist asked, from his place at the desk right inside the door. He was a tall, lanky youngish man with brown hair that hung to his shoulders.
“I am in need of a solicitor,” Harry said, calmly walking up to the desk.
“How old are you, son?” the man asked, looking Harry up and down. When he saw the scar, he said, “Never mind. Mr. Potter, you have to be over seventeen to hire a solicitor.” He looked down his nose at the young man who couldn’t seem to keep his name out of the newspaper.
“I think I was just made an adult by a magical artifact,” Harry stated, shrugging his shoulder. “I need to talk to a solicitor in order to make sure.”
The clerk thought about that for a moment and shrugged. It was up to his bosses if they wanted to chase the Boy-Who-Lived off. If they found out he was in the office and didn’t get a chance to speak to him, they might fire him. “You are in luck; Mr. Waters is working late tonight. I will ask him if he will see you,” the man said, standing and going to the office to the right of his desk. He talked to whomever was behind the door and then turned to Harry and waved him over.
Harry got up and went to the door. He boldly walked in and looked around. It looked like a law office, with bookcases, a desk, chairs, and framed degrees hanging on the walls. He noted the middle-aged, portly man behind the desk and went to him. He held out his hand and said, “Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Waters. I am Harry Potter and I think I was made an adult tonight.”
“David Steven Waters, Esquire. Take a seat. What makes you think that?” Waters asked, shaking his hand and gesturing for him to sit. He had black hair mixed with grey around the temples. He was wearing reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
So, Harry explained the Tournament and the Goblet of Fire. He described how the judges had informed him that he was required to compete and that there was no way to withdraw. “So, you see, the tournament is for people of age, and I am not of age.”
“I can see where you would think that, but I am not completely sure that is what happened here. I will have to do some research,” Waters stated, taking out his wand and waving it around his bookcases. Suddenly many books started flying to his desk and piling up in a neat pile. “Come see me in a week and I will tell you what I have discovered. Until then, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, you can get my innocent godfather a trial,” Harry said bluntly. He didn’t know Sirius well, but his invitation to live with him was something he took very seriously. Anything to get away from the Dursleys.
“Your godfather is Sirius Black?” David asked, rubbing his chin. “That’s a tough one. No one wants to take on the Ministry. Fudge has a real hard-on to get him Kissed. Tell me why you think he is innocent. If I think you have a case, I will see if I want to take it on.” He pulled out some parchment and a quill to take notes.
So, Harry told him everything from the time they saw Peter alive in the Whomping Willow until the last time he saw Sirius in the caves, including his dreams of the supposed dead man. “Sirius is just rotting away in guilt and not doing anything to get himself a trial and it’s all Dumbledore’s fault,” he concluded, getting bitterer by the minute.
“Who are these other witnesses? Are they classmates of yours? What of the werewolf? Do you know where he is now? What happened to Pettigrew? Did you see where he went?” Waters fired off many questions, taking notes as he went.
“Ron and Hermione are my friends. Or they were until tonight. We’ll see where they stand when I return to Hogwarts. Remus told me he’d keep in touch with me, but I haven’t heard from the bastard since he left the school. As for Pettigrew, I know he’s in England somewhere with Voldemort,” Harry answered as best he could, drumming his fingers on his thigh.
“Are you trying to tell me that You-Know-Who lives?” Waters asked, dropping his quill.
“I am not sure. I know his wraith is still around,” Harry hedged, not wanting to be called a liar. “I have dreams that Pettigrew is with something that is possessed by said wraith. Whether you call that living or not, I don’t know. I am new to magic, remember.”
David considered this and made a separate note to hand it off to the Unspeakables to investigate. Then he turned back to his own worries. “Mr. Potter, I don't need you to convince me that Black is innocent. I need you to convince a Ministry that's spent twelve years insisting he's guilty.”
“I am sure they did it on someone’s orders. Whether that was Dumbledore, to keep control of me, or someone else to keep control of Sirius, I couldn’t tell you,” Harry said.
“That's a serious accusation, Mr. Potter. Do you have any evidence of that?” the solicitor asked, peering closely at the teenager.
Harry sighed. “No, but it makes sense to me.”
Waters made a few more notes and asked, “Do you know where your godfather is now?”
“Not really. I know he’s in the tropics somewhere. The bird that delivers his post is a tropical bird,” Harry said, not seeing any reason to lie.
“I see. Okay, I’ll put my own man on this and take it on, but I have to tell you it’s a long shot,” Waters said, taking his own notes and making mental notes to get an investigator on the case of Peter Pettigrew being alive. If he was in Britain, he would leave a trail somewhere.
“You are not instilling me with confidence,” Harry stated, getting angry. He was tired of the adults in his life not doing their jobs.
“The law isn’t on your side. I will do my best, but you have some powerful people up against you,” Waters said, looking closely at Harry and seeing someone who was going to be one of those powerful people when he came of age, which if he had it his way, was going to be soon.
“You do what you can, I am going to do what I can to help you along,” Harry stated with a purpose. There was a mischievous look in his eyes.
“Don’t do anything illegal. I can’t help you if you do,” Waters stated firmly.
“Everything I do will be within the rules,” Harry promised. For now, he told himself. The silent treatment and rebellion were completely within the rules. He was exempt from attending classes as long as he was studying for the tasks. There were no rules that stated he had to socialize with anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione. As long as they thought he put his name in the cup, he didn’t have to talk to them.
“See that you keep your nose clean and we can work together,” Waters warned him, scribbling something on a piece of parchment. “Here is what you owe me for our time today. Take it to Gringotts and they will honor it,” he told the teenager. “Normally you have to be seventeen to hire a solicitor, but there are special circumstances and these are them.”
“Thank you, Mr. Waters. I’ll try to stay on the straight and narrow for now, but I don’t know how long that will last, so work fast,” Harry said, taking the parchment and standing. “The way this world treats me, it’s surprising I haven’t killed anyone yet.” It had been a close thing with Pettigrew. He was all for helping Sirius do it. It had been Lupin that had talked them out of it, with a bit of Hermione in there.
“I suggest you get some help with that temper,” Waters suggested, though he knew it was futile. There were no mental health workers worth their salt in the wizarding world.
“I’ll think about it, but knowing my luck, they will be a Boy-Who-Lived fan, or in Dumbledore’s pocket,” Harry said, with a sigh. He left the office and went back to Gringotts. While he was walking there, he contemplated what he had learned, which was next to nothing, but it was a step forward. He just needed to hang on for a week. He entered the bank feeling a bit better and went to the same teller. “I need to pay this bill,” he said, handing over the parchment.
“Very well,” the teller said, taking it and scanning it. He used his stamp and slammed it down on the parchment. “I see you found your solicitor. I hope it works out for you. Was there anything else Gringotts can do for you today?”
“Yes, I need to get to my vault,” Harry said, producing his key and handing it over. “Is there a limit to what I can withdraw?” He knew that the muggle banks did that. His uncle complained about it often enough.
“We don’t care what you do with your money, but if you take it all out, the vault will close and you will have to reopen a new one for a fee,” the teller proclaimed, with a malicious gleam in his eyes.
“Thanks,” Harry said, wondering how much he could fit in his pockets. He didn’t trust the gleam in the goblin’s eyes. Then he asked, “Do you have a bag that’s bigger on the inside? One I can carry a lot of coins in?”
“We have three different sizes. One that can carry a hundred Galleons, one that can carry a hundred thousand Galleons, and one that can carry your entire vault,” the teller told him, pulling out three bags that were silver and looked exactly alike.
“How can you tell the difference?” Harry asked, seeing they were all small and didn’t look any different.
“The knots on the string,” the teller stated, pointing out the knots that were different colors. “Tuck those inside and thieves can’t tell the difference. Of course, if you have your money sacks where a thief can get them, you deserve to be stolen from,” he said dismissively.
“I’ll take the largest one,” Harry said, not even hearing the price. He knew it was going to be high. Nothing the goblins sold was cheap.
“That will be a hundred Galleons,” the teller said, his tone dripping with delight at a big sale.
“Take it from my vault,” Harry said, holding out his hand for the bag. When it was placed in his hand, he tucked it in his pocket and then waited to be escorted to his vault.
“Griphook!” the teller called. When Griphook appeared, he said, “Take Mr. Potter to his vault.”
Griphook gestured for Harry to follow him to the carts, where they got into the next available one and careened down the tracks. Harry was tempted to tell him that he remembered him from his first trip, but the goblin’s attitude wasn’t receptive, so he kept silent.
When they got to the vault, Harry looked around to see if there was more than gold in there. He found a trunk in the back with a few books. There was a ledger that showed that he was being charged a large sum of money for monthly fees to keep this vault open. There were some debits to his vault that he couldn’t account for. He’d need to look into that. There were some credits as well, something he’d have to investigate, which was what stopped him from closing the vault right then and there. He needed to know where the money was coming from.
He looked and saw there was no interest earned on the vault. Something he had learned from listening to his relatives was that money ought to be working for you, not sitting idle. This would not do.
Harry shrunk and pocketed the trunk and books. Most appeared to be old financial records, though one looked more like a family journal. Then he emptied most of it into the bag he just purchased. He didn't trust the goblins to take care of his money and felt it would do better in a muggle bank where it could collect interest. He went back up to the lobby and to the exchange counter. “I want to convert half of this to muggle money,” he told that teller.
“Don’t you trust Gringotts with your money?” the goblin asked, taking the bag and weighing it on the scales near his elbow. It was quite a lot of Galleons, and he hoped that he had enough muggle money on hand to convert it. It would be in the millions of pounds.
“To be honest, no, I don’t,” Harry said, jutting out his chin. “The last goblin I spoke to told me he didn’t care what I did with my money. That tells me you are only in it for the fees. You don’t care about me as a client.”
“Very well, sir, you will need to stay here a minute. I must run to the back to get you your muggle cash,” the goblin said, sneering at him. He hated talking to wizards on a good day, and this one was just too blunt for his taste. Too many of them were wary of starting a war to talk to them this way. He turned, hopped off his stool, and walked to the vault where they stored the muggle pounds. This would wipe out most of it.
Harry waited for the goblin to return and thought about what he’d do with that money. He would visit the bank when he returned next week to see Waters. Since he was underage in the muggle world, he would probably need the solicitor's help to open an account. He filed the thought away for later.
Harry could just leave Hogwarts again. It wasn’t like the school was a prison. Besides, what were they going to do, expel him? He’d like to see Dumbledore do that. Little chance of that happening with the tournament happening.
When the goblin returned, he was carrying another bag. He handed it to Harry and informed him there would be a fifty-Galleon fee for its use.
“Fat fucking chance,” Harry told him. If the goblin thought he was paying fifty Galleons to borrow a bag for ten minutes, he had another think coming. He stood there and switched over all those bills into his bag, not caring that it took the better part of ten minutes to do so. “Have a nice day,” he told the goblin. He nodded to the disgruntled people standing behind him and left Gringotts.