Bearings
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.
And we'll all float on ok
And we'll all float on alright
All ready we'll all float on
Now don't worry we'll all float on
All right already we'll all float on
All right don't worry we'll all float on
Modest Mouse
Float On
Chapter Seven: Home…Or Something Like It
May 17th, 2002 (continued)
Harry appeared almost silently on the magical side of the Leaky Cauldron, immediately casting a glamour charm over himself. Though he wasn't exactly adverse to Britain's magical population knowing he was back, he wanted to delay it for at least a day. Most of the businesses opened at nine, and since it was still five until, the Alley was nearly empty. Scattered here and there, a few witches and wizards walked toward whatever destination they had in mind, and he could also see several more opening their respective shops.
He stood in the shadow of the Leaky Cauldron for a moment, taking in Diagon Alley as it stood around him. He had not been here since the Christmas of 2000, and it had only been a quick trip during the busy holiday season. The crowds of people had distracted him from actually observing the Alley itself, but now there were no such diversions. The most significant change was the apparent removal of Knockturn Alley. Where the entrance had been now stood a brick wall, and Harry wondered what was behind there now. Besides the obvious associations with criminality and Darkness, some of the stores in Knockturn Alley had actually been legitimate businesses.
Further perusal of the Alley provided him the answer he was looking for though, because he noticed at least five or probably ten new shops in a section that had been vacant when he was younger. Two of them he recognized as having been located within Knockturn Alley, so it seemed whatever powers that be had forced the closing of Knockturn had given some of the businesses a chance.
He was momentarily impressed with the thinking of what was probably the Ministry-how often had they given chances to the supposedly less reputable during Fudge's or Scrimgeour's tenures? It seemed that, with the new, more balanced power in the magical government, things were actually beginning to change for the better. Harry knew it was a cynical observation, but he had been jaded for far too long to expect much from Britain's Ministry of Magic. Even though Arthur was the Vice Minister, he recognized a bureaucracy for what it was.
He cleared his thoughts, and moved away from the Leaky Cauldron. The only other noticeable change in the alley was the vast expansion of a certain store, and Harry couldn't contain the grin as he stopped in front of the much larger Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. What originally had been only 93 Diagon Alley was now 90-95 Diagon; the sign had been upgraded into the most garishly humorous thing Harry had seen in quite a long time, and it seemed that Fred and George had somehow charmed it to send personal messages to those looking at it. Right now, the bottom of the sign read, "Get your mind off the brown-haired broad sunbathing nude."
Harry immediately reinforced his Occlumency shields, which was an almost foreign sensation because he hadn't had to do it in so long, but was satisfied when the message changed to, "Ah, a real Wizard. It's too bad…I liked that image." He was intrigued how the Twins had charmed the sign to have some kind of passive Legilimency, but he was also wondering how to actually get that image out of his mind, for the time being at least. He didn't need to be distracted today with suppositions of what went on behind Hermione's hedgerow…
Somewhere a bell tolled nine o'clock, and the sign indicating the state of the store pointed out it was now open. Harry put a palm to the door, paused briefly, wondering how this first reunion of many reunions would go, and pushed it open after collecting his Gryffindor courage.
Even though he had seen the external evidence of the success of the Twins' store, the rows upon rows upon shelves of goods were still surprising. And he even saw that they had started to offer services…at weddings and birthdays, and things like that. After standing in the doorway for a few moments, he headed toward the side of the store, where he knew the counter to be. Rounding a corner of a row and dropping the glamour charm, he saw both Fred and George standing behind the counter. They were laughing about something.
"Oi, what's so funny?" Harry called out. He thought they would have been surprised to hear his voice, after so long an absence, but they merely turned to him, still laughing. Harry stopped in front of them.
"Harry Potter!" George finally said. "How are you?"
"Err…good. You two?"
Fred laughed and shook his head. "From the look on your face, you're probably wondering why we're not more surprised to see you in our shop after so long."
Harry took a look around the store for a brief moment. "I'd say this is more than a `shop', eh?" he asked, smiling once again.
"Yes, about that-" George started.
"We noticed one third of our profits- " Fred continued.
"Coming back into the capital-"
"For the store and we were-"
"Wondering if our super secret third partner-"
"Had anything to do with that?" Fred finished. Harry was amused that they still completed each other's thoughts. He had always wondered if they had some form of telepathy…
Harry arched an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, though there was some humor in his voice.
"Well, we just wanted to be sure that our original financial backer was getting his fair cut," George said, but then quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "So, I could be wrong, but was that a naked Hermione you were thinking about out there on the street?"
"What?" Harry asked. They had seen that?
"You must have figured out the sign by now, Harry," Fred said.
"Sure-passive Legilimency."
George shook his head, and Fred responded: "Not exactly passive. We hired someone to control it, but since it's so early George and I were taking a go at it. We liked what we saw…"
Harry felt his cheeks getting slightly warm. Just what he needed to show the Twins, of all people-his lecherous thoughts about the brunette witch he had just spent the last two weeks sleeping with. However, he could give as well as he got, and his wand slipped from the holster around his forearm into his hand. He had thought it a prudent idea to carry it while in and around magical society. He tapped it against the side of his leg, staring hard at Fred and George.
"Am I going to have to Obliviate it from your memories?" he asked. He was joking, of course, but he enjoyed the slight wavering of the smiles on the Twins' faces. He hadn't seen them in over a year and a half, so who knows what he might do? He smirked.
"No, I don't think so," Fred said. "The image was very interesting, though…" he pondered. "Does it indicate what I think it indicates, or are you just particularly randy today?"
Harry laughed. "I'm back for the first time since two Christmases ago, and you lot are asking if I'm randy today. The mind boggles," he said, as his wand slipped back up his arm into the holster.
"We do our best," George said. "Anyways…how are you doing, Harry? Back in Britain to stay? Or…?"
"For a week at least," Harry replied, suppressing the sigh that came with knowledge of everything he faced over the next few days. They would ultimately determine what he would be doing for a very long time, and he kept forgetting that. He kept getting distracted-partly from images such as the one the Twins had pulled out of his head.
"And as for how I'm doing, fine really," he shrugged. "Still the same old Harry, just a little more distance between everything, you know?"
Fred nodded. "Sure. I assume you didn't come into Diagon and risk your legions of adoring fans just to chat with us, so what can we do for you?"
"Actually I was just on my way to the bank and I saw the changes to your store. Figured I'd stop in and say hello, and all," Harry replied.
"That's so sweet," George replied. "We never knew you cared so much."
"You two haven't changed a bit, have you?" Harry asked.
"Why should we?" Fred asked, faking offense. "We're doing pretty well for ourselves."
"Yeah, I can see that," Harry said, looking around the large store once again. "Still…any lucky ladies?" They both shook their heads.
"We don't really have time at the moment," Fred said, sounding uncharacteristically serious. "The store in Hogsmeade is finally off the ground and running smoothly, and we're scouting locations for a third store. Perhaps once that one gets established, we can slow down a bit, but right now we can't afford to. This market has become extremely competitive, and our success comes from staying on top and ahead of the competition." Harry raised his eyebrows slightly. He felt like he was back in one of his classrooms, getting a lecture on economics or something.
"Quite impressive there, Fred. I never knew you two were so completely interested in business," Harry commented.
"We did drop out of school to start one," George pointed out.
"Yeah," Harry chuckled, "with the parting line, `Give her hell from us, Peeves.' Not exactly indicative of your bright futures in business, was it?"
"And everyone expected you to go major in business at a Muggle university?" Fred asked.
"Touché," Harry responded. "It certainly has been interesting, since the end of the war."
"And profitable," George smiled.
"I realized that," Harry replied, dryly. There definitely was enough visual evidence. "How are you two handling yourselves? Investments, or just saving all of it?"
"A little of both, actually," Fred responded. "We do need some readily available capital to purchase the real estate for our new location, but other than the galleons we've set aside for that, much of our profits are invested in the development of our products as well as some Muggle toy manufacturers, believe it or not."
Harry nodded. "I'm actually not surprised. As savvy as you too are, I kind of expected something like that, really."
George suddenly started laughing, and both Harry and Fred looked at him curiously. "Well, this is fascinating," he said, after calming down.
"What is?" Harry asked.
"The three of us discussing our business with any kind of seriousness-talking about investments and portfolios. Four years ago, could you have imagined this?"
Harry finally got the joke, and smiled. "I suppose not. But that was a different time. Our priorities were elsewhere…"
"Yeah," Fred added, "Harry was saving the world from the bloody Dark Tosser and we were still wet behind the ears. Now…our Boy Who Lived has been through four years very few wizards or witches have ever considered and we're the second most profitable Wizarding business in Britain."
"Oh? Which one is first?" Harry queried.
George looked at him oddly. "The Quibbler, of course."
"The Quibbler?! No, you're joking," Harry said. Fred and George weren't smiling, though.
"No, my brother is not lying, for once. The Quibbler has been revamped since you've been gone, and is now wildly popular."
"Remarkable…" Harry said.
"They reduced the amount of tabloid news and report much more accurately and objectively on some very relevant things. Seems like old man Lovegood has become very interested in politics and how our society is actually run," George supplied.
"It doesn't hurt that one of the most striking witches in Britain is a reporter for the rag," Fred commented, and George nodded, smirking.
"Who?" Harry asked.
"Luna," Fred said.
Harry took a second to process everything he had just heard. Beyond the various intricacies over what was the most profitable business in Wizarding Britain, his attention latched onto Luna being one of the most striking witches on the island. When had that happened? The last time he had seen Luna was, again, the Christmas eighteen months before, and she had been as ethereal as usual…nothing too amazing, but certainly nothing to scoff at, either. He suddenly wondered something-
"You're not jealous of your dear brother, are you?" Harry asked, laughing at the same time.
Fred and George looked offended, and responded at the same time. "We could never be-"
"Jealous of dear Ronald-"
"But some of the things Luna says-"
"Are positively amazing, especially when-"
"They are not about Ronald's penis."
"Whoa, whoa," Harry stopped them, holding up his hands, trying to contain even more uproarious laughter. "That's more information than I ever wanted to hear."
Fred shrugged. "You will just have to hear some of it for yourself," he said. The door to the shop opened then, and all three of them looked over as gaggle of witches and wizards crowded into the shop. Seemed like the morning rush was beginning, so Harry quickly put a glamour charm back on himself.
"Don't feel like dealing with people today," Harry said, in response to their raised eyebrows. "I do have to be getting on to the bank, anyway."
"Alright," Fred said.
"It was nice seeing you, Harry," George said. "Don't be a stranger, Mr. Silent Partner."
"I won't," Harry replied, nodding and turning away.
"You mind if we spread the word that you're back?" Fred asked. "You know, just between our family and friends?" Harry paused and thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged.
"Go ahead," he said, and waved over his shoulder. "I'll be seeing you," he added, and continued on his way. The shoppers thankfully did not recognize him through is rather simple glamour charm, and he exited the store into the Alley. There were a few more people wandering about, but he paid them no mind as he headed toward the large white structure of the bank.
As he ascended the marble steps in front of the main entrance, his glamour faded, and he stopped for a moment. He could feel a light buzz of magic along his nerves, so the goblins must have added some kind of anti-concealment charm since the last time he'd been there. Shrugging, and unworried because no other witches or wizards were near him, he continued up the steps and through the rather imposing entrance.
Immediately inside were two surly looking goblin guards, also new additions to the bank. They glanced at him and, sensing no threat or possibly even recognizing him, returned to their watch. The lobby was empty except for the goblin tellers and a few more of the small creatures behind various desks. Harry looked around for a moment, and then went to a desk labeled `Account Management.'
The goblin glanced up and seemed to frown, returning his eyes to his work, but then did a sort of double take. He must have recognized Harry.
"Good morning, Lord Potter-Black. What can Gringotts do for you today?"
Harry winced at the official title. He had never really felt like a Lord. "Good morning, Shank," Harry replied, using the name he saw on a small placard in front of the goblin. The goblin's features remained unchanged, but Harry thought he might have seen a twinge of something in his eyes at the use of his name. "I was wondering if I could speak with my account manager?"
"Of course, Lord Potter-Black. Give me a moment to summon him." The goblin waited for confirmation from Harry, who nodded, and then disappeared through a door directly behind the desk. Harry stood there for a few moments, considering how the interaction with that goblin had just gone.
Shank had seemed slightly surprised at the use of his name, and had been unusually accommodating the entire time. His memories of goblins were that they were rather angsty creatures, prone to drastic mood swings in a matter of seconds if something was said they didn't agree with. Harry understood that because he was officially Lord Potter-Black, he commanded some respect from the goblins, but he didn't want them to think he assumed he was above them. There was enough bigotry left in the world following Voldemort's demise to do away with at least one form.
The door opened then and Shank followed by a very familiar looking goblin came through.
"Lord Potter-Black, this is your account manager-"
"Griphook," Harry interrupted Shank, hoping not to offend him too much. On the contrary, both goblins were visibly surprised to learn that Harry knew the second goblin's name.
"Yes, how did you…?" Shank asked.
"He was the first goblin I ever met," Harry said, smiling at the distant memory. That had been the day Hagrid had introduced him to the magical world.
"Interesting," Shank muttered, and waved to Griphook. There was a curious goblin smile on his face as he turned toward Harry.
"I'm impressed that you would remember my name, Lord Potter-Black," the goblin said. "Please follow me through this door and we can address any issues you have with your accounts," he said, and retreated through the door. Harry followed, noticing as it shut behind him without a word from anyone, and fell in step behind Griphook as they traveled down a well-lit, somewhat ornate corridor. Doors lined both sides of the hallway, probably leading to offices, and Griphook stopped outside of one after a short time.
"Here we are," he said, and opened the door. Inside was a cozy office, with a desk that had a placard reading Griphook on it. The goblin took a seat behind the desk and motioned for Harry to sit in one of the comfortable chairs opposite him.
"It is actually most convenient that you've come here today, Lord Potter-Black. In your absence, several things regarding the estates of Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black have come to our attention, though you've only recently just finished your magical maturation, which these items stipulated."
Harry was slightly taken aback for a moment, as he processed the new information, but the first thing he needed to do was eliminate his bloody title from their conversation. Then, and only then, would he allow his brain to wrap itself around what the goblin had just said.
"Please, Griphook, call me Harry. Lord Potter-Black takes far too long to say, and is only the result of the deaths of some fine people…"
Griphook said nothing, considering Harry with his small beady eyes, but then nodded. "As you wish, Harry. Though I must say you are a most unusual wizard."
"How so?"
"Not only do you know my name and address me by it, but you prefer that I use your given name, as well. Most wizards and witches do not take the time for such niceties," Griphook responded. He was eyeing Harry oddly.
Harry smiled a bit. "And even though most wizards or witches probably consider themselves above you and your kin, they still trust you with their money and control of their assets. Seems a bit hypocritical?"
"Indeed, Harry," Griphook responded.
"Welcome to the Wizarding world…full of hypocrites," Harry returned. Again, he knew he was cynical and jaded, but it was mostly true. There was no reason for the poor treatment the goblins garnered from much of the magical population, especially considering they were their bankers. Harry shook his head briefly at the sad irony.
"Yes," the goblin said. "In any case, let us continue with your business, though in a much more pleasant manner than I am used to. Both Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black left provisions in their wills that were kept secret until your magical maturity, which according this," Griphook stated, looking at a piece of parchment, "was only three days ago. So, as you can see, your timing is impeccable."
Harry was confused. Magical maturity? Why had he never heard of that before? It was clearly something of importance in the Wizarding world, but he had been ignorant of it. He sighed slightly, considering everything that he did not know about the world he supposedly saved.
"And those provisions are?"
Griphook smiled at Harry, baring his goblin fangs. "Not so fast, Harry. First you must verify what this parchment says. We must be sure that you have indeed reached your maturity before moving forward."
"And how do I do that?" Harry asked.
"See that panel on the wall behind you?" Griphook asked. Harry turned and saw a section of the nondescript wall that was shiny and metallic. It looked like there was some kind of runic marking on it. He turned back and nodded at his account manager.
"Simply fire your most powerful stunner into the panel, and the runes within will analyze your magical core. If they acknowledge your maturity, we can proceed with the wills."
"Ok…" Harry stated, slightly dubious. He was wondering why he had never heard of any of this, especially since his best friend…or possibly something more…was the most brilliant witch in generations.
Griphook made an odd sound in his throat that Harry could only assume was goblin laughter. "Don't worry, Harry, this is normal procedure. I see that you have never been told any of this, though."
"No, Griphook, I haven't, and I'm wondering why," Harry mused, but stood and drew his wand. He positioned himself in line with the panel, about 15 yards away, and pointed his wand at it. He centered himself, gathering power in a very familiar though long dormant sensation from his core, and took a deep breath. The tip of his wand began to glow red as the word for the stunner slid across his consciousness.
Albeit Harry was oblivious to it, ripples of magical energy began to flow through the room. Magic arced between the ornate rafters near the ceiling, leaving the smell of ozone. Fully charged now, because Griphook had told Harry to use his most powerful stunner, he set himself.
"Stupefy!" he said, surprised as his arm bucked back violently. The surge of energy forced him a step back, and he watched, alarmed, as a violent dark red mass of magical substance sizzled across the room. It seared the very air, sending an acrid smell to his nose. Random red bolts of magical discharge speared out from the main source, but Harry barely had time to consider that as the stunner splashed against the panel, literally shaking the room. A cold gong-like tone sounded out, immediately reminding him of the time Dumbledore dueled Voldemort at the Ministry, and then everything settled. He let his magic return to its dormant state, and the supercharged atmosphere of the room died away.
The panel had a large black scorch mark on it, and unless he was seeing things, the wall behind it had caved slightly. He had never produced a spell that powerful; he hadn't had reason to test his magic since the final battle with Voldemort, and he knew none of the spells he'd cast that day looked like that stunner had.
He turned back to Griphook, who was looking very bemused, or at least as bemused as a goblin could. Harry sat back down and waited for Griphook.
"The tone you heard indicated that you are indeed magically mature, so we can proceed. Let me just say, however, that you are the first wizard in a very long time to damage the sensor."
"Sorry," Harry said, but the goblin waved it off.
"Do not worry about it, Harry. Now, whose provisions would you like to hear first?"
"Uh…Dumbledore's, I guess," Harry replied, really at a loss for words. What could the Headmaster have left him?
Griphook picked up a parchment and began to read from it: "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, being of sound state and mind, leave one Harry James Potter-Black items within my personal suite off the Headmaster's Office at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They will become available to you once you reach your magical maturity."
Harry sighed. He was afraid of something like that, though the thought hadn't actually formed in his mind until after Griphook had started reading.
"So I have to go to Hogwarts to retrieve these items?" Harry asked.
Griphook nodded, setting the parchment down and picking up another. "Yes, as that is how he stipulated within the document. Now, are you ready for Sirius Black's?" Resignedly, Harry nodded.
"I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sound state and mind, leave one Harry James Potter-Black three items upon your magical maturity: a magical painting of myself, which will be moved to Potter Manor when you reach your magical maturity; my charmed motorbike, currently stored within one of the Black vaults; and access to both the Black and Potter family libraries, the latter of which your parents entrusted to me."
Silence fell across the office for a few moments as Harry considered all that had just been said and done. He would have to make a trip to Hogwarts at some point, something he had told himself he'd never do again, but now it looked like he would have to in order to find out what Dumbledore had left him. Though the pain from the incident had long since faded, he could still hear the hate in Snape's voice as he called out the curse that killed the Headmaster.
And he had to wonder why Sirius had waited for his magical maturity-a concept of which Harry was completely unfamiliar with until five minutes prior-to bequeath the named items. The motorbike he could fathom, but the painting and libraries were things he possibly could have used to end the war sooner. He would have to question the painting at some point, which brought him to his next question.
"Potter Manor is one of the properties I own, correct?" he asked. The goblin grunted an affirmative, and pulled another parchment from a folder.
"As of right now, the Potter estate controls five properties. Two have residences and three are just land-prime real estate, however. And the Black estate controls eleven properties, with three having residences, two having businesses, and six being just land."
Harry frowned in thought for a moment. He had visited Gringotts before he'd left for America back in 1998, but he couldn't remember much of this information. He wondered if it had been withheld for some reason.
"What are the businesses?"
"Quality Quidditch Supplies and The Leaky Cauldron," Griphook stated.
"I own the Leaky Cauldron?!" Harry asked, incredulous.
"It is not that simple, Harry," the goblin said. Harry sensed that if Griphook were dealing with any other wizard, he would have been frustrated by now. Harry could tell he was admirably trying to contain his annoyance at Lord Potter-Black's ignorance.
"You own the land The Leaky Cauldron and Quality Quidditch Supplies are built on, and you also control a majority interest in both businesses. You may not know this, but the Leaky Cauldron near here is only one of many similarly named establishments throughout Wizarding Europe.
"Quality Quidditch Supplies is a subsidiary of Nimbus Racing, and your majority control of QQS allows you a spot on the Nimbus Racing board of directors. You have not claimed that position yet, though," Griphook finished, glancing at a parchment.
Harry was a little overwhelmed. Why had he never been told any of this before? The only thing he was told before he'd left Britain was that he controlled a few Muggle businesses, and that his net worth had been something like thirteen million galleons.
"Why have I never been informed of any of this?" Harry asked, the business major in him already mulling over his assets.
Griphook grinned, exposing those pointy goblin teeth. "Because you never asked, Harry. As your account manager, I'm obligated to provide you with the information you request, and almost nothing more. Wills are one of the few items we actually actively pursue clients about, though not necessarily immediately."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "So your time is worth more than my natural ignorance of the Wizarding world?"
If anything, the grin on the goblin's face widened. "Not at all, Harry."
"What if I supplemented your Gringotts salary-would you be willing to keep me updated on the status of my estates, as well as answer any questions I might have?"
"Now you are speaking my language," Griphook said.
"How much does Gringotts pay you per week?" Harry asked.
"40 galleons," his account manager responded. Harry sensed the avarice in his voice, but it was completely acceptable. Greed was something he knew how to deal with.
"I'll double that, making it 80 per week. Deal?"
"80 more per week," Griphook responded. Harry smirked-the goblin was falling right into his trap.
"60, to make it an even 100," he counter offered. Griphook considered it for a moment, and then nodded. The goblin had done exactly as Harry had expected. He had almost offered 60 at first, but then realized the goblin would want something higher. Oh, how Harry loved business.
"Ok, then, do whatever is necessary to seal the deal, as they say," Harry said. Griphook looked at him strangely.
"You trust me to draw up the arrangement correctly?"
"Well, you are in control of all of my assets-if I can't trust you to draw up a simple business arrangement, then what can I trust you with?" Harry questioned.
"I see your point, Harry, though you are a most unconventional human. I hope you do not mind if some of this conversation makes its way back to Ragnok, our director?"
Harry shrugged. "As long as my words are not misrepresented." Griphook nodded.
"So what else is on your mind?"
"Could you just give me a general summary of my accounts?"
"Of course," the goblin said, now much more willing to help. Harry smiled at what a little money could do. Reading off another parchment, Griphook said, "You were not far off when you said your net worth is thirteen million galleons, except for the fact that your liquid net worth at the moment is just under fourteen million. That includes both the Potter and Black estates. Non-monetary assets, including properties and businesses in both the magical and Muggle worlds, raise that total to nearly twenty-three million."
"Ok," Harry intoned, nodding. His assets had grown in the last four years, but he supposed that was reasonable. Economies usually boomed after victories in wars, and he apparently had a vested interest in many intrinsic facets of the Wizarding world.
"Now, where is Potter Manor and how do I get there?"
"The Manor is located somewhere in the Scottish highlands, though I do not know its exact location since it is unplottable," Griphook responded. He then opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out two small rings. One was a simple gold band with a moderately sized ruby, and the other was an equally as simple silver band with similarly sized amethyst.
"These rings signify your lordship over both the Potter and Black estates, and again you can now wear them because of your magical maturity. The Potter ring doubles as a portkey to the Manor, with a keyword only you can know and activate," Griphook explained. Harry reached out and took the rings, slipping them both on his right ring finger. They automatically resized to fit him, and suddenly he knew what the activation word for the portkey was…funny how things worked like that, and even funnier that the activation word was `friend'.
"Ok…" Harry said, taking in even more new information. "My final question for you today is about something your may or may not be familiar with. Do you know anything about agents for Muggle sports?"
Griphook was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, I believe I know to what you are referring. They act as legal go-betweens between the player and the team, correct?"
"Yes, that's it," Harry affirmed.
"We outsource those issues to a Muggle firm which, coincidentally, you have some financial interest in. Logan & Associates is the name of their enterprise. If I may ask, what prompted the question?"
"You may, and I need an agent to deal with the New York Yankees. I played college baseball while I was away from Britain, and they expressed interest in me," Harry said, unsure of how familiar the goblin would be with some of what he'd just said, and also unsure how he felt about this whole baseball thing. He wanted to hear the Yankees out, though.
"Suffice it to say, you need a professional sports agent?" Griphook asked, clarifying.
"Yes."
"I will contact them and set something up for you, if that is acceptable?" Harry nodded. "I will let you know the details in a day or two, and you will probably have to come back into Gringotts or go to their firm for a meeting."
"That's fine," Harry said.
"Any other questions, Harry?"
Harry considered everything for a moment, which was a lot, and shook his head. "I think that about covers it," he said, standing and extending a hand across the desk. Griphook eyed it for a moment, and then looked to Harry's face. After another few seconds, the goblin shook hands with Harry and stood as well.
"I cannot tell you the last time a wizard shook my hand, Lord Potter-Black," Griphook said.
"Back to the formalities, are we?" Harry asked, though he was smiling at the goblin.
The goblin grinned back. "Our meeting is over, so yes."
"Very well, Account Manager Griphook. I will not intrude upon any more of your time," Harry said. "You do not even need to escort me out," he continued, smiling even more. The goblin looked curiously at him, but his vision shifted as he touched the ring portkey with his wand and whispered the activation word.
It took Harry a moment to reestablish his bearings; when he did, he saw he had been transported to a rugged country lane, sloping gently up through a large meadow toward some iron gates. Beyond and further up the dirt road, he could see a large house, presumably the Potter Manor. The weather was wonderful, though a little chilly because of the hour of the morning and high latitude.
He started up the lane toward the gate, taking in more of his surroundings. Far to his left and right, where the meadow ended, forests spread even further, as far as his unaided eyes could see. Beyond the gate and toward one side of the house was a pristine lake, reflecting the clear blue sky. The gate opened for him as he approached, and as he went through he saw a Quidditch pitch had been built on the opposite side of the house. The expansive property was overgrown, though not terribly so. Harry wondered when the estate had been occupied last.
The closer he drew to the house, the more its proportions impressed him. The small dirt lane he walked on widened and evened out as he came toward the house, and he stopped about fifty yards away to view the structure. It reminded him of a cross between a non-gloomy Grimmauld Place and a smaller, more airy Hogwarts. It was at least three stories, from what he could tell, and it had been kept in immaculate condition. There were several large balconies on the third level, with a very significant veranda over the main entrance of the house.
His first general impression was one of sunlight and large open spaces, because of the many big windows and balconies, and he continued on toward the door. He saw no way to open it once he stood in front of it, although there was small circular hole where a doorknob would usually go. Shrugging, he placed the tip of his wand in it, and the hairs on his forearms stood up as he felt a magical discharge from somewhere. The door clicked open, and Harry stepped into his house.
Harry was suitably impressed, because the foyer was large and inviting, but also slightly opulent. The wealth was disguised, though, and he was glad his namesake hadn't flaunted their good fortune. The foyer reached all the way to the top of the house, some forty feet, and as he craned his neck he saw a large chandelier above him. A large central staircase rose in front of him, splitting at a landing and continuing to rise toward opposite sides of the house. There were landings for each floor.
To his left and right, there were doors that led to other parts of the house. He decided to go left first, and found himself in a humongous parlor. It was a combination sitting and recreation room it seemed, and his breath caught at what he saw hanging on one of the walls. He rushed over there, and confronted three images that had haunted his nightmares for years.
Two paintings, one of Lily and James and another of Sirius, stared back at him. Harry eyed them for a moment; his heart racing as memories soared along his nerves, but something struck him as odd. The people were not moving, though their poses suggested they had been at some point. James was twirling Lily, and Sirius was looking toward their portrait, laughing.
Unless they weren't magical portraits, which he found highly unlikely considering the information he had just learned from Sirius's will, something was wrong with them. He looked at them for another minute or two, marveling at his parents and his godfather, and then turned away. He would have to ask Hermione why they weren't moving, because he would love to sit and chat with them for hours.
Moving through another door, he found himself in a casual dining and cooking area. It seemed to have many of the modern conveniences most Muggle homes had, and again he wondered how long the house had stood unoccupied. He reasoned that his parents were the last people to have lived here, though that would have been more than twenty years ago. Someone had updated the house's furnishings since then.
His eyes were then drawn toward the table, upon which a plain white sheet of paper sat. He walked over there and sat down, sliding the paper toward him so he could read it. It said:
Master Harry
This is your elf, Hatty. I have waited many years for you to return to your house, but I am afraid my time has run out. My old age prevents me from welcoming you back into the home your parents loved so much, but I have taken it upon myself to keep the house in tiptop shape over the years. I am the last of your parents' elves, so you will need to find new ones, if you choose to. I am sorry that I could not meet you.
Farewell
Hatty
Harry stared at the note for at least minute, trying to understand what had happened. During the twenty years the house had stood empty, the elves his parents owned had died off, with the last one being this Hatty. He studied the note once again, and noticed the prose sounded nothing like the way Dobby or Winky spoke. That led him to assume that his parents had educated their elves, which would surely warm Hermione's heart.
He sat in the comfortable chair at his new dining table, and contemplated everything that had happened. He had only been back in Britain for a few hours, and so much had already occurred. He wondered what other surprises this day and the following ones had to offer?
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