Bearings
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. Harry's perspective here. We've finally come to the softly beating heart of the story. Two paths are diverging and only one can be taken…. By the way, there is absolutely no chance this story will be finished by DH's release.
I need some place simple where we could live
and something only you can give
and that's faith and trust and peace while we're alive
Goo Goo Dolls
Better Days
Chapter Twelve: More Important Things
Friday, May 24th, 2002
"Why don't we get comfortable in here?" Harry asked, leading Dobby, Winky, and Libby into the Manor's library. The three elves trailed behind him slightly, looking up in wonder at the tall shelves as they crossed the threshold.
"You've never been in here before?"
Winky shook her head. "The wards prevented us from entering, Harry, without your accompaniment."
"Hmm," Harry intoned. He hadn't considered that possibility when he'd realized the library was protected so only Potters and those they authorized could use it-he had just assumed his bonded elves would get automatic access.
"Can you see the books?" he asked the elves, indicating the full shelves with a sweep of his hand.
They shook their heads. "Are they full, Harry?" Libby squeaked out, bending her head back from her low vantage point to see up into the highest of the stacks.
"Yes," he muttered, and then waved them over to the shelf where he knew a familiar book would be. He summoned a pen as he came near the shelf and spotted the title The Most Courageous House of Potter. He took the book down, and a wave of magic just like last time rippled out from the tome. He heard the elves gasp as the shelves no doubt filled with books before their very eyes.
He turned and presented the book and pen to Winky. "The three of you need to write your names in here and then you can use these books whenever you want to."
Winky took the two items but did nothing for a moment; the three elves just stared at him. He crooked an eyebrow, waiting for one of them to explain.
"You would trust us with the Potter, Black, and Dumbledore libraries?" Winky asked, very slowly, as if her brain wasn't even equipped for such a thought. He had almost forgotten that the Black library had been transferred and absorbed into the Potter library and that the books he'd received from Dumbledore had disappeared into the shelves as well.
"Of course, Winky. I trust you three with everything else, including my life, don't I?"
Winky's lip trembled then, and Harry saw small pools of water collect on Dobby's bottom eyelids. The two adult elves looked at each other and then embraced gently. Libby, on the other hand, was grinning hugely; she glanced at her parents, did a sort of eye roll that reminded Harry strongly of Hermione for some reason, and then bounded forward to hug Harry's leg.
"Thank you, Harry!" she said.
"Yes, thank you…so much," Winky said, thickly, and then opened the book and wrote her name in it. She handed the book and pen to Libby, who had let go of Harry, and she also wrote her name in it. The tiny elf passed them on to her father, who hesitated for a moment, staring up at Harry with huge, wet eyes.
"Go ahead, Dobby," Harry said, gently, for he was realizing how much of a big deal this was for the elves. Not only was he entrusting centuries-and maybe even millennia-of knowledge to the elves, but also he was effectively telling them they had the right to educate themselves.
He wasn't placing limits on what they could learn or do, which was contrary to everything the elves had no doubt been exposed to so far. Harry sighed internally. The Wizarding world had so many problems, and the bitter irony that surfaced when Harry thought of the Fountain of the Magical Brethren was only one of them.
He didn't know if he could take Arthur's offer seriously because of those problems. The Wizarding world lived in the past. Something as drastic as Voldemort's demise hadn't really even changed that, and Harry wasn't sure if anything ever could.
Dobby touched the pen to the page with a trembling hand and shakily wrote his name. He then handed the book back to Harry, who saw that the three elves had signed their names with a `Potter' on the end of each. He was touched for some reason. He banished the pen back into the ether and put the book back on the shelf. It faded out as soon as he removed his hand.
"Ok, now that that is settled, shall we get started?" he asked, and the elves nodded. They made their way to a group of comfortable chairs in one corner of the room and sat; Winky conjured a small book with a snap of her fingers, glanced at Libby who had taken up residence on Harry's knee, and turned to Dobby.
"Where did we leave off?" she asked. Dobby's ears drooped for a moment, and then he brightened.
"Chapter 18!"
Winky opened the book, turned to the correct page, and began to read what was written there. For the next half hour or so, Harry listened in as Winky drilled Dobby on the mechanics of the English language, for Dobby had advanced past the essentials and was working on the minutiae now. Every now and then the elves looked to him for clarification, and he provided it as best he could.
After thirty minutes passed, Libby slid off his knee and wandered over to one of the shelves. Harry watched her peruse the titles, listening to Winky and Dobby as well. It was funny how the elves had become an extension of his family after so short a time, but he didn't want it any other way. They were always a joy to be around, and it was quite exhilarating to watch them slowly adapt to the freedoms he gave them. It pained him slightly when it was obvious they expected to be rebuked for something, for perhaps taking too much liberty in some activity, but said reprimand never came.
He would never do that. He might have to have a discussion with them on something every now and then, but it would never be in the context of punishment. They were not used to personal liberties, and the acclimation process would naturally be unfamiliar. Harry was not worried about it, and almost smirked at what someone like Malfoy or even Riddle would have said could they see his elves now.
Libby came back then with a rather thick book floating before her, climbed back into Harry's lap, and looked up at him with wide, protuberant eyes.
"Fancy a read?" Harry asked, and she nodded. "What do you have there?"
"World History, Volume One: 20,000 BC to 5,000 BC," she said. Harry saw what looked like a wooly mammoth being pursued by several cavemen on the cover.
"Weighty reading," he commented, and she grinned at him.
"I'm really interested in history, Harry!" she exclaimed, and then proved the comment true by settling against his abdomen and cracking open the book. The first sentence read, "The earliest historical recordings are paintings done by cavemen around approximately 20,000 BC…"
"You should ask Hermione for a copy of Hogwarts, A History," Harry responded, dryly. A soft snort reached his ears after he'd said that and he turned his head to see Hermione standing in the doorway of the library, surveying the scene with amused eyes.
"Is it story time, Harry?" she asked, lightly, and bounced over to him.
"Why, you want me to read you one?"
"Sure," she cooed, and sat on the arm of his chair opposite Libby. The small elf started to get down, but Hermione laid a gentle finger on her minute shoulder.
"No, it's ok Libby, you can stay right where you are. And I will give you a copy of that book Harry mentioned, if you want."
"Yes please," Libby said, looking up adoringly at Harry and Hermione. Harry noticed that Winky and Dobby had stopped their lesson and were watching the three of them, smiling grandly. Hermione turned her head toward them.
"How's the English coming, Dobby?"
"Very well, Hermione," Dobby said, using the correct affirmation and pronouncing Hermione's name right. Harry was impressed. He almost didn't know the elf because his language had changed so much, but Harry knew Dobby was still the same excitable and humble elf he always had been. Harry was deeply appreciative of everything Dobby had done for him over the years, and sometime he would sit the elf down and explain that to him.
"What's the time, `Mione?" Harry asked. When Hermione didn't answer right away, he looked over at her and saw a wondrous expression in her eyes.
"What?"
"You just called me `Mione," she near-whispered.
"Oh." He hadn't even realized. "Sorry, didn't even know, I'll make sure not to from now-"
"No, Harry," she laughed, cutting him off. "It's alright, you can call me that." She grinned, exposing two rows of immaculate teeth (her parents were dentists, after all). "It just surprised me."
"Why?" Harry asked, truly curious. The smile faded just slightly from her face.
"It's something my grandmum used to call me, when I was very little."
"Oh…" Harry trailed off, a snippet of Wednesday's conversation coming back to him. "The same one that…?"
She nodded, and then looked at her watch. "It's almost eleven, by the way," Hermione said, answering his original question.
"Ok," he said, exhaling as he did, so that it was drawn out. Hermione cocked her head at him but said nothing.
It looked like the time had finally arrived to begin their journey overseas-not that it would take that long-and as he had one errand to run before making the long-distance Apparition, he wanted to get started.
"I suppose we should get going," he said, and both Libby and Hermione took the hint, removing themselves from his chair and allowing him to stand.
"When will you two be back?" Winky asked, setting the book aside and looking up at them expectantly. Harry glanced over to Hermione, who had bit her lower lip, and then cut his eyes back toward Winky and Dobby.
"Few hours, I'd imagine, so you three don't need to wait for us. In fact," he said, thinking of something, "why don't you all take the day to yourselves." When Dobby looked like he was going to protest, Harry held up a hand.
"Nothing needs to be done around here. Seriously, do whatever you want today, as long as it's not work," he told them.
"I'm going to read this all day then!" Libby said, proudly thumping the large book floating in the air in front of her.
"Thank you Harry," Dobby said, his voice full of emotion. Harry nodded at him and then turned toward Hermione, who was grinning at him again. He asked the question with his eyes.
"Oh nothing," she said. "You're amazing, you know that?"
He puffed out his chest and buffed his fingernails on his shirt. "Of course, my dear," he said, thickening his accent to almost unintelligible heights.
She chuckled and shook her head. "You're incorrigible."
"Be that as it may," he continued, dropping the charade, "I need to make a quick stop at Gringotts before we head over there."
She nodded stoically. "Lead the way, oh conquering hero," she said, in a weirdly distant voice. She grabbed his hand and, with a wave at the elves, they left the Manor accompanied only by a very soft swish of air.
When Harry's vision oriented itself, it was filled with the gleaming marble facade of the Wizarding bank Gringotts. He looked around quickly-Hermione was staring up at the building-and saw that the Alley was pretty busy for a Friday morning. He saw the usual crowd of people outside of WWW.
"Come on," he urged, starting up the steps and pulling Hermione along with him. As soon as they had passed through the ornate doors and into the lobby, a goblin waylaid them.
"Lord Potter-Black, what can I do for you and your guest today?" he asked.
Harry was momentarily shocked at the prompt service from the goblin, but recovered quickly. "I would like to speak with Griphook about some matters, if that is at all possible."
The goblin nodded. "Certainly. Follow me," he said. Harry and Hermione fell in step behind the goblin, who led them through the same door Harry had gone through during his last visit and into the familiar hall. Hermione had never been in this part of the bank before, with its opulence, and was staring around at everything as they made their way along the corridor.
The goblin stopped outside of Griphook's office, knocked twice, and then excused himself with a swift bow. After he had turned away, the door opened and Griphook stood there, smiling toothily up at them.
"Ah, Lord Potter-Black," his account manager said. He then looked at Hermione. "And you must be Hermione Granger," he said, nodding at her. "My name is Griphook," he added, bowing slightly.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Griphook," she said, sticking out her hand, and this time Griphook seemed ready for it. He shook it with another feral grin and led them into his office. Harry immediately noticed another goblin off to the side; slightly taller and older looking than Griphook, but said nothing of it. He and Hermione took two seats across from Griphook, who had seated himself behind his desk.
"I hope you do not mind, Harry," Griphook said, dropping the formalities as Harry had instructed him to do, "but when I learned that you were on your way back here, I informed Ragnok, our director, and he wished a personal meeting with you." His account manager motioned over Harry's shoulder at the goblin standing off to the side.
Harry turned in his seat and watched as the regal goblin came slowly from the shadows, stopping a few paces away from he and Hermione.
"Lord Potter-Black," Ragnok said, slowly, gazing at Harry as he did so. His voice was deep for a goblin; he had his clawed hands clasped behind his back. "And Hermione Granger," he added, turning toward Hermione.
"Please, Director, call me Harry, at least when we are in private like this," Harry said, hoping to at least get off on the right foot with this very important person.
Ragnok cocked his head to the side slightly, looking at both Harry and Hermione, and then the corners of his thin lips rose into a small smile. He glanced at Griphook, who nodded, also smiling.
"I had a feeling you might say that, Harry," the Director said. "And I would ask you to call me by my given name in similar circumstances."
"Of course, Ragnok."
"And may I call you Hermione?" the goblin asked.
Hermione nodded. She seemed like she couldn't believe what was happening for some reason. "Yes, surely, Director."
Ragnok then emitted a noise that could only have been goblin laughter, his fangs glinting in the light of the office. "Well then you can of course call me Ragnok." Still smiling, he went around Griphook's desk and stood by the other goblin.
"Now that the formalities have been disposed of, I would like to extend my personal gratitude for the way you have treated the employees of Gringotts," Ragnok said, looking at Harry with his beady eyes.
"It's how I would want to be treated," Harry replied, shrugging a bit. He wondered where all of this was leading.
Ragnok merely looked at him for a moment, and then turned to Griphook. His account manager met the Director's eyes for a second, and then Ragnok nodded. He stepped back slightly.
"Wizards could learn from your example, Harry," Griphook said. "Ragnok was very impressed with how our last meeting went, and supplemented my salary even more than you did because of it."
"May the gold flow into your coffers, then," Harry said, inclining his head slightly, in what he knew was a show of respect for the business savvy of the goblins. Ragnok chuckled again with that weird laughing noise.
"And yours," Griphook returned, smiling toothily again.
"Harry, if I may ask, what are your plans for the future?" Ragnok inquired, speaking up once again.
Harry almost laughed out loud at the timing of the question, considering his meeting in a few hours and Arthur's offer he still had to seriously think about. Right at this moment, he had no bloody idea what his plans were.
"Undecided at the moment, but I should have some idea after this day ends," he finally said, in what he hoped was a calm voice. Hermione reached for his hand and gripped it rather painfully. She had crossed her legs at some point and leaned back into her chair, seemingly content to just observe this meeting.
"I may have something for you to consider," Ragnok said, coming forward once again. He rested his hands on the desk. Harry couldn't fathom what Ragnok was talking about.
"Hmm?" Harry intoned.
"It has been some time, in fact almost a century, since a witch or wizard served as a member of our board of directors," Ragnok said. "The last one to do so was none other than your former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."
Harry sat back a little. Albus had been on the Gringotts board of directors before he'd been a teacher, and later a headmaster? He wondered why Albus had never shared that piece of information.
"There have not been any since he resigned to focus on Hogwarts because relations between goblins and humans have been very strained since then; only recently have they begun to ease up, primarily because of your defeat of Voldemort."
"What did Riddle have to do with anything?" Harry asked.
"Wizards bought into his bigoted propaganda, very easily I might add," Ragnok said, bitterly, letting some of his goblin roughness through for just a moment, before he contained it. Harry wondered what it would be like to truly fight a goblin, and then quickly decided that he never wanted to find out.
"Since you were here last Friday," Ragnok continued, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione now, "I have discussed the matter at great length with the other board members, and we all feel that it is time we seek out another human to augment our ranks." He stared directly into Harry's eyes. "And we all consider you, Harry, to be the best candidate for that position."
Harry said nothing for at least a minute; instead, he was thinking about how of course this would happen to him, and on this day of all days. For some reason, instead of becoming less complex, as his life should have been doing during the course of this day, it was only becoming more and more so. He honestly did not know how to respond to Ragnok's offer, neither knowing anything about how Gringotts was run nor what being one of its directors actually meant. Another squeeze of his hand by Hermione prompted him to look at her, and he could tell from her gaze that he needed to respond, so he looked back to Ragnok.
"Why me?" Harry asked. It was the best thing he could think of to say.
"You do not know?" Ragnok asked, sounding somewhat surprised. He looked at Griphook. "It appears that the humility you mentioned is genuine." Ragnok met his eyes again. "You, Harry, because you do not discriminate against other sentient magical beings, as most other witches and wizards do, whether they do so consciously or not."
Harry wasn't used to praise, especially from someone as important as the Director of Gringotts, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Hermione saved him from having to say anything.
"Ragnok, if I may?" she asked. Ragnok nodded at her. "What would Harry's responsibilities be as a board member?"
"In terms of the day-to-day operations of Gringotts, nothing," the Director responded. "The capacities in which board members serve the bank are voting on important issues as well as meeting with different businesses, institutions, and governments around the world. Also, many advise our CFO on various issues, as they see fit."
"So it would not be a primary occupation?" Hermione asked.
"Certainly not," Ragnok said, nodding as if understanding the direction of her questions. "Harry," he said, looking directly at Harry again, "being a board member would not affect your daily life too much. Mostly, you would be a liaison between goblins and humans."
Harry exhaled. "I would like to thank you for your offer, Ragnok, and request some time to think it over."
"As I expected," the Director said. "A wise decision, not rushing into things. You are even better suited for the position than I imagined," the goblin said. "Now, I have already taken up too much of your time, so I will excuse myself. After you have thought it over and discussed it, I'm sure," he said, with a glance toward Hermione, "please return here and request a meeting with me."
"I will do so," Harry said, standing as Ragnok came around the desk. Harry extended his hand, which Ragnok took tentatively, and they shook. Hermione offered the same and they shook hands as well.
"Most curious humans," Ragnok said, gazing at Harry and Hermione. He then turned and strode quickly and silently from the office. As the door clicked shut behind him, Harry and Hermione returned to their seats.
"Let me just say, Harry, that I fully support the board, as do the majority of goblins here, in their endorsement of you," Griphook said. "And now, let us get to business. What can I do for you today?"
Harry blinked twice, focusing his scattered mind, and returned to the task at hand. He could think about what had just happened later. Hermione found his hand again.
"The first thing I would like to do is give Hermione co-ownership of all of my assets." Silence greeted his statement, and then Hermione erupted:
"What?! You can't do that, Harry! That's-"
"Hermione." She stopped talking. He stared into her eyes. "I don't know how many times I've told you in the past few days, but I'll tell you again. What's mine is yours."
"Harry…" she trailed off.
He looked back toward Griphook. "Can it be done?"
Griphook inclined his head, looking between Harry and Hermione quickly. "Yes, Harry, but it will take at least a few days to add her as co-owner to your businesses and other less…defined…assets."
"That's no problem," Harry said, waving it off.
"I just need you to sign on this and bind it with your magic," Griphook said, sliding a sheet of parchment across his desk. Harry did so, and slid it back. It disappeared. "The process is beginning as we speak."
Harry nodded, glanced at Hermione, and saw that she was looking at him with gratitude and wonder and-was that love?-all mixed in one.
"The other thing I would like to do," he said, looking back at Griphook, "is procure means of swift payment in both the Muggle and magical worlds for Hermione and I."
Griphook considered the request for a moment, and then nodded to himself. "I can give you both Muggle and Wizarding debit and credit cards, if you wish. I can also give you checks, which would work in both worlds. They would be better for larger purchases, anyway."
Harry looked at Hermione; when she said nothing, merely shrugging her shoulders, he turned to Griphook and nodded. "That sounds good," Harry affirmed. "Do you know how long that will take?" he wondered, thinking of his meeting with the Yankees in a short time.
"As soon as Hermione's name has been added to your liquid assets, which shouldn't be more than ten minutes," Griphook answered. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a parchment. "I just need you to fill out this simple form, requesting the cards and checks for both of you."
Harry took the parchment from the goblin, filled in the appropriate information, signed it and bound his magic to it, and had Hermione do the same.
The goblin took it and filed it away in a folder on his desk; just then, a small parcel popped into the inbox on the corner of the low cabinets behind Griphook. He turned and took the package, sliding it across the desk to Harry. Harry opened it and took out two wallets, both of which contained a debit and credit card, as well as two hundred pounds and two hundred dollars. There were also a hundred or so checks and a register. He handed one of the wallets to Hermione, who took it while slightly pursing her lips, and then pocketed his own. He tapped the checks with his wand, sending them off to the Manor.
"Anything else I can do for you today?" Griphook asked.
"No, unless there is any information regarding my accounts you think I should know," Harry prompted, thinking that Griphook would have already told him if there was.
"Not as of right now, Harry, but I will of course keep you informed of any future develops I think are pertinent."
"Thank you for your time then, Griphook, and may all your ventures be prosperous," Harry said, standing. Hermione stood and moved into his side.
"With you, Harry, I'm sure they will be," the goblin returned, grinning again. And even though Harry's knowledge of goblin customs was limited at best, he was aware that what Griphook had just said was one of the highest compliments a goblin could offer someone.
Harry bowed slightly and turned for the door.
"It was a pleasure, Griphook," Hermione said, following Harry.
"Likewise, Lady Granger," the goblin said. Harry could hear the smile in the goblin's voice. Out in the corridor, they headed back toward the lobby, hand in hand. Hermione still had her wallet clutched in her other hand.
"Harry, you didn't have to do all that," she eventually said, as they neared the end of the hallway.
He stopped, turned toward her, and took her face gently in his hands. He looked into her chocolate eyes.
"Yes I did," he said, simply. He kissed her chastely on the lips. "Stop questioning it, Hermione. It's done and I'm happy with it and you should be too." He kissed her briefly again. Then he grinned at her. "And don't forget, you're now one of the richest witches in the world."
Almost against her will, it seemed, she cracked a smile; she then moved forward to embrace. He sighed softly as her supple curves pressed against him. He knew the feeling would never, ever get old.
"Thank you," she mumbled.
"No, thank you," he said, and turned out of the embrace, grabbing her hand and leading her back into the lobby. The passed outside into the partly cloudy day, with splotchy patches of sun and shadow, standing atop the marble steps for a moment.
"About what Ragnok said," Hermione began. "What do you think?" She was looking sideways at him. He pursed his lips and then stared off down the Alley.
"I think my life couldn't possibly get more sodding complicated." He knew there was a small amount of bitterness coloring his voice, and didn't like it, but at the moment it was hard to keep it out.
"Do you understand the significance of it…?" she trailed off.
"I have some idea, Hermione," he said looking at her. "But it just seems like they want me for my name."
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, in a way only she could. "Were you listening to Ragnok?" she asked.
"Of course-"
"Then you should know that he doesn't want you because of your name. He wants you because you're someone who genuinely does not discriminate against goblins and holds a position of some notoriety, because of all you've done and all you have."
"Merlin, I've only been back for a fucking week and I have Arthur wanting me to be Vice Minister and Ragnok wanting me on the Gringotts board of directors. What's next, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?" he asked, wondering where his sudden outburst of anger had come from. Hermione didn't seem fazed, though.
"Would that be so bad?" she asked. He locked eyes with her, and then looked away.
"Can we just get going and forget about all this for now?" he asked, to which she nodded and grabbed his arm. He took a deep breath, focused on the bathroom at Newark, and felt the compression sensation of Apparition. In that incalculable time between places, Harry knew that he'd used too much magic, and sure enough, all of the mirrors shattered in the bathroom as they arrived. The stall closest to them shrunk in on itself. Harry threw up a noise muting charm and a small shield charm in the next instant to prevent anyone from hearing and to protect them from the glass.
After a quick check of the loo to make sure it was empty, and a few Reparo spells to restore it to its former state, he and Hermione strode from the bathroom, ignoring confused looks from the one or two people that saw them both exit the men's washroom.
"What was that about?" Hermione muttered. They were slowly making their way toward the taxi port through the thick crowds.
"Guess I should have calmed down more," he said, shrugging slightly. "You might want to put that wallet in your front pocket, Hermione," he said. She jumped slightly, as if she'd forgotten the small object in her hand, and complied with his advice.
"Are you really all right?" she asked, after another moment's silence.
"As long as you're with me, yes."
"If I didn't know you better, I would think you're trying to flatter me, Potter."
"I believe it was you who once said flattery will get me anywhere," he responded, as they exited the airport headed toward a waiting taxi.
"Indeed," was all she said, and they got into the vehicle. The driver looked back at them.
"Where to?" he asked, in a thick New Jersey accent.
"Yankee Stadium," Harry answered, sitting back against the seat as the driver nodded and pulled away from the curb. Harry looked out of the window and saw the Manhattan skyline across the water. He was back in America, and though it had only been a week since he'd left, it had seemed like a lifetime. An amazing one, too, he knew as he glanced at Hermione, who was gazing out a window. He found her hand on the seat and closed his fingers over hers.
----------
Harry handed the driver a fifty-dollar note and said, "Keep the change."
"Thanks!" the man said, and as soon as Harry closed the door, pulled away from the curb as if worried Harry would rescind the offer.
Harry and Hermione turned on the spot, and looked up at the large and impressive face of the Stadium. A sign high overhead indicated that the Yankees were playing in some other city at the moment, which meant the Stadium would mostly be empty. As they approached a small door off to the side of the ticket counters, a man stepped out and waved them over.
"Harry Potter?" he asked. Harry nodded and stopped two or three paces from him. The man then looked over at Hermione with a question in his gaze.
"Who's this?"
"Hermione Granger," she answered. "I'm here with Harry today." The man shrugged, turned, and walked back through the door. Harry and Hermione followed; when their eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness inside, they found themselves in a long concrete tunnel. About halfway along, a large sign hung down from the ceiling, which in bright red letters said PLAYERS ONLY PAST THIS POINT.
They continued to follow the man for several minutes, winding deeper and deeper into the bowels of the stadium. As they went, things became nicer and nicer, and by the time they reached a glass elevator, the tunnel was no longer just a concrete shaft but had turned into a fairly opulent hallway.
"This will take you up to the administrative level-it's the button with the A on it. Once there, just follow the signs to Mr. Cashman's office. Your agent is already waiting for you," the man they'd been following said. The doors to the elevator slid open and he waved them inside.
"Thanks," Harry said, but the man had already turned and was walking back in the direction they had come. Hermione reached out and pressed the correct button; the doors closed and they started to ascend through the stadium. After about 10 seconds, the world around them opened up, and they found they could see both into the stadium and out into New York. On one side was a field of green and on the other was a city.
"New York is kind of beautiful," Hermione commented, looking out over the city. It was just before eight o'clock, so the sun was still fairly low in the east. Hermione shielded her eyes against the light.
"Yeah, I guess so," Harry said, joining her in gazing at the skyline. Their smooth upward motion suddenly halted and the doors slid open behind them. They turned and exited the elevator. The corridor they entered simply reeked of money. Several signs on the opposite wall directed people where to go, and the bottom one told Harry and Hermione the way to Cashman's office was to their right.
Harry gripped her hand, looked over at her, and then led the way. They passed many doors, some of which were open, and the rooms they could see into were appointed lavishly with furniture and other items. If the Manor understated the Potter's wealth, this level of the Stadium surely overstated the Yankees'. It was almost ostentatious.
Finally, they came to a door that had a small nameplate on it, one that read `Brian Cashman'. It was ajar and they could hear two voices issuing from it. Harry stopped and looked at Hermione once again.
"Here we go," he said, quietly. She nodded and, taking the lead, pressed her hand against the door and pulled Harry into the room.
The first thing Harry noticed about the office was its grand view of the stadium and field through the huge panoramic window that took the place of an entire wall. From what Harry could see, they seemed to be between the second and third decks, and so they were fairly high up. The view was almost disorienting, as if he could just walk forward and fall out of the office.
Then, he saw that the two voices he'd heard were Cashman and another man, who could only be his agent. Both were dressed in expensively tailored suits-Harry suddenly felt self-conscious about his simple slacks and polo shirt-and were standing by the glass, gazing out onto the field and talking. They turned toward Harry and Hermione as they entered the room.
"Welcome to Yankee Stadium, Harry," Cashman said, coming around a table with his hand outstretched. Harry shook it, and when Cashman offered his hand to Hermione as well, she shook it.
"My name is Hugo, and I'm representing you Harry, per your request," the other man said, coming around the table too. "I'm associated with our mutual friend," his agent said, significantly. Harry nodded, understanding what he meant, and shook his hand. He hid a frown that wanted to manifest itself when his agent didn't offer his hand to Hermione.
"How was your trip?" Cashman asked.
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. "No delays," Harry said, now hiding a smile.
"That's good," he responded, and then waved them all back toward the glass. "The first thing I'd like to do today is give you a tour of sorts of the Stadium, from up here, and then tell you a little about the team." He paused, as if waiting for Harry to say something.
"Sure, ok," Harry responded.
Cashman then launched into a quick and efficient talking tour of the Stadium, pointing out various things through the glass as he went over the most important items: the dugouts, the VIP seats, Monument Park, the bleachers and who the Bleacher Creatures were, and although he couldn't point it out from his office told of the many amenities the Players' Clubhouse had to offer.
"So, any questions Harry?" he asked, having finished the tour.
Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think so."
"Where's the team right now?" Hermione asked. Cashman didn't respond for a moment, instead just looking at Hermione, but then he gave her a small smile.
"I don't believe I ever got your name, Miss…?"
"Granger. Hermione Granger."
"Miss Granger-ah, of course," he said. "Anyways, they are on a nine-game road trip at the moment, and won't be back for four more days." He looked at Harry. "Harry would join them in Baltimore if he accepts our offer…"
For some reason, nothing had seemed real to Harry since he'd arrived in America, but now that Cashman had said that, things started crashing home like he'd expected they would at some point. He was actually here and he would actually be deciding whether or not to play for the goddamn New York Yankees in just a short time. He was tempted to press his fingertips to his temples, to ward off the oncoming headache. Why was his life so impossibly complex?
"Why don't we all sit down?" Cashman prompted. Harry, Hermione, and the agent sat on one side of the table, and the General Manager sat across from them. They all seemed to regard each other for a few seconds.
"Before we begin, I'd just like to say that this is a most unusual situation-professional teams are not normally in the practice of offering amateur players positions right out of college." He looked from Harry, to Hermione, the agent, and then back to Harry. "However, you are a special case, Harry. Most MLB teams were interested in you, so we took the initiative and I myself went out to Stanford to talk to you right after you graduated.
"Now, don't be alarmed by what I'm about to say," Cashman continued, and paused to let them consider his words.
"Go on…" Harry said, wondering what the small man could possibly say to alarm him. Hermione looked like she was wondering the same thing.
"I know of your world, Harry, and what you've done for it in the past," Cashman said, without preamble. It took just a second for Harry to decipher the meaning, and when he did, he sat back in the chair, looking at Cashman with slightly wide eyes. Harry saw that Hermione was actually fingering her wand under the table.
"But-" Harry started, at a loss for what to say. This man, the General Manager of the New York Yankees, knew of the magical world, and by what he said new that Harry had defeated Voldemort? But how was that possible…unless he had some magical relations.
"I'm sure you're wondering how I know that magic actually exists?" Cashman looked to Hugo, who didn't seem surprised at all by his proclamation.
"Well-yes," Harry said, still surprised.
"The nature of my position affords me a unique perspective in certain business interests, which means that it would be virtually impossible to hide knowledge of the magical world from me. On top of that," Cashman said, glancing at Hugo again, "my mother is a squib."
"So you've known since you were a child?" Hermione asked, shrewdly.
Cashman inclined his head. "Yes, I have."
"Then why didn't you tell me last week at Stanford?" Harry asked.
"It was too crowded, Harry, and it's really beside the point. I just wanted to let you know that I might understand some of the predicament you're facing."
"Not bloody likely," Harry muttered, so that only Hermione could hear. He noticed her bite her lip to stop a smile.
"And now, let us cut to the chase," Cashman said, reaching down and picking a suede briefcase from the floor, setting it on the table. "I have a meeting to attend very soon, so I will be as brief as possible; then you and your agent can discuss things. When you're done, you can leave a response with the receptionist out in the lobby," he said, nodding toward his office door. Harry hadn't noticed a receptionist on the way in. "She will have someone see you out, if that's what you want."
Cashman opened the briefcase and pulled out a thin sheaf of papers. He arranged them on his desk and then looked back toward Harry.
"Very simply, Harry, we're offering a ten-year contract for thirteen million a year, plus other perks and signing bonuses that are detailed in this," he said, tapping the top page. "Also, with the contract comes a secured place on a professional baseball team, one with a storied history, that will offer you a completely different kind of fame and notoriety than what you enjoy in Britain."
Harry was tempted to tell Cashman he was misinformed about Harry enjoying his fame back in Britain, but decided to keep quiet instead. 130,000,000 dollars was a lot of money, no matter which way he looked at it.
"Before I leave you to discuss this, I just want to say that we're totally serious about this. Should you accept the offer, I would want you to meet the team in Baltimore on Sunday. We're playing an interim shortstop at the moment, and you would take his place immediately. Unprecedented, I know, but we have full faith in you."
Cashman stood, holding his briefcase, and extended his hand toward them. All three shook it. "Now I must be off. I hope you consider everything I've told you today," he said, and then turned away from them. Harry watched him exit his own office, and as soon as the door closed, he exhaled and sank into his chair. Hugo reached across the table and pulled the pages toward him. He began to peruse the contents of the document. Several minutes of silence passed before anyone said anything.
"Harry," Hermione said. He looked over at her. "What are you thinking?"
"I don't know, `Mione," he said, only realizing after he'd said it that he'd called her `Mione again. She didn't seem to notice or mind this time, though. "It seems like a dream deal, doesn't it?" he asked her. She blinked once and nodded slowly.
"It does," she affirmed, though her voice was very quiet. Harry felt a curious squeezing sensation on his heart when he realized what this was doing to Hermione. But then he knew that it wasn't only what it was doing to her, but also what it was doing to him. The last week had been…sublime. And now this…
"It's as Brian said," Hugo told them, closing the packet and resting his chin on his hands. He appraised Harry and Hermione with his eyes. "There are a few perks he didn't mention, but they're all positive things. I can't really see any reason to refuse such a deal."
And there was the rub, wasn't it? There was no good reason to refuse such an astounding proposition, except for the fact there were several good reasons neither Cashman nor the agent could know about. Harry stood abruptly and paced over to the glass, staring out at the field.
He could be playing as a member of the New York Yankees down on that expanse of perfectly manicured green grass in only a few short days. He could be 130 million dollars richer if he accepted the deal; he could jet set around the country with a professional baseball team if he wanted, and as Cashman said he could enjoy a completely different kind of fame.
Harry had never really enjoyed his fame, though; especially considering it had at least initially existed because of the murder of his parents, because of his mother's sacrifice. It had its perks, he knew that, but he'd never exploited them. And frankly, the negatives had far outweighed the positives over the years, if he was going to be truthful about it. Would this kind of fame be any different?
The press that was fickle in Britain would undoubtedly be fickle here in America as well, so if he played baseball not everything would be jolly good fun. Fun…an odd word considering how much `fun' he'd had during the past week, which had included nothing of baseball. In fact, the only times during the past seven days that Harry'd felt bad about anything were when he was thinking about baseball.
Hermione had ignited something in him that was beyond passion-it was almost a longing, and it was something that he had never felt before. It was comforting; it felt almost like a security blanket, knowing that someone cared for him so much. They had always been the best of friends, with the exception of when he'd unknowingly distanced himself from everyone, and now that they were more than just friends he didn't want to ever give that up.
If he played for the Yankees, would he have to? Would Hermione say the hell with it all and return to Britain to her new job and her family and friends? He knew she'd said that she would be with him whatever it took, but now that they were both actually faced with the difficult choice, would the words hold up?
And wasn't he being selfish? She had come along on this trip with him, even though she had a spectacular job waiting for her back in Britain. If he took the job and expected her to give that up, what kind of friend to her would he be? Sure, he could Apparate long distances, but the time difference between Britain and the United States would make that very difficult and tiring, and he knew they'd both be miserable if he decided to do that.
Back to baseball itself, though, he didn't know if he wanted to play a professional sport for the next ten years. One of his options after Hogwarts had been professional Quidditch, but he'd opted away from that because he didn't think it was profound enough for him. At the time, he'd felt like he'd had something to offer, to someone or somewhere at least, and had that changed since then? Did he want to be merely a baseball player, or was there something else, something more important waiting for him?
Neville's words from Wednesday came back to him, when the Herbologist had talked of possibly finding a cure for Alzheimer's. Neville was making real contributions to society-he was improving the world in ways a baseball player never could. He didn't feel like he had to measure up to Neville, but would he be happy with himself if he were playing baseball?
His eyes swept over the field, considering again what it would be like to actually play down there. He could be shortstop for the Yankees…but that might mean giving up Hermione. The other option, right now at least, was running with Arthur as Vice Minister, and he wouldn't have to give up Hermione or his new home to do so. And there was also what Ragnok had asked of him earlier in the day to consider.
Harry closed his eyes against the field before him. He tried to imagine himself as Vice Minister of Britain, and then as shortstop for the Yankees. In the first image, there was Hermione, in her position as Chair of Muggle Liaisons, standing by his side. In the second, she was conspicuously absent. He opened his eyes, breathed deeply, and turned to face the woman in question and his agent. They were both looking at him expectantly; Harry saw something like fear in Hermione's eyes. It hurt him to see that.
"I think…" Harry started, slowly, "that I'm going to have to decline." He locked eyes with Hermione and saw them light up with a kind of excitement he'd only seen once or twice before. The pain from before vanished instantly, and he could hardly contain the goofy grin that threatened to split his face in two.
"Are you sure, Harry?" Hugo asked, though it was clear that the agent didn't expect Harry to change his mind.
"Yes," Harry affirmed. "I am."
"Very well," Hugo said, pushing the pages away and standing. "I will let the receptionist know on my way out."
"Sorry for your trouble in coming here," Harry said, pulling out his wallet, and holding out the 150 dollars and 200 pounds that remained there. Hugo hesitated for a moment, and then pocketed the money.
"Thank you, Harry, I appreciate it."
"No problem," Harry answered, and he watched as Hugo left the room. Hermione suddenly leapt from her chair and wrapped him in a strong embrace.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so glad…" she said, though it was muffled in his shirt.
"Me too," he said, softly, rubbing small circles on her lower back.
"I don't know what we would have done," she continued. "It would have been hard, but I suppose we could have managed, with your ability to Apparate so far. But it would have been very tiresome, with the time changes and all…" she rambled. There was a deliriously happy tone to her voice, and this time Harry did grin. He gently lifted her head from where it was pressed into his chest.
He stared into her eyes for a moment, and then leaned forward to push a languid kiss onto her lips. She relaxed against him a little more and tried to deepen the kiss, but Harry pulled back. He chuckled at the slightly disappointed look on her face.
"Not here," he whispered, and saw her pupils dilating before his eyes.
Suddenly, inspiration struck him. His thoughts of Ragnok earlier had triggered something in his mind, which had only registered just now.
"Hermione," he said, backing out of her arms and moving toward Cashman's desk, "what's your home phone number?"
"Um…" she said, clearly at a loss for why he wanted to know. Eventually, she gave it, and he picked up Cashman's phone and dialed a number he of course still remembered.
"What are you doing?" she asked, but he just smiled at her.
"Come on you wanker, pick up," Harry said, impatiently, as the phone rang for the fifth time. Finally, after eight rings, the voice mail picked up. Harry listened as a familiar voice sounded into his ear. "Hi, you've reached John Sanders and Erin Lowell, we're unable to pick up the phone at the moment, leave a message and we'll get back to you." Harry heard a beep.
"Hey, it's Harry, was just wondering what you've been up to for the past week. When you get a chance, call me at," and he gave the number Hermione had given him. "I think I might have a proposition for you. Talk to you later," Harry said, and hung up the phone.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked. "And why did you give out my house number?" Her hands were on hips, though she didn't seem like she was actually mad.
"I've just been struck by an insane idea," Harry said, smiling mischievously, refusing to divulge what he was thinking. This was just too good to tell her right now. He wanted it to be a surprise, not only for her but also for John and Erin. "You remember John and Erin, right?"
She nodded. "Of course."
"Well, that's all you need to know for now," he said, and moved toward her. Her eyebrows crawled up her forehead.
"Harry…what aren't you telling me…" she asked, sounding slightly wary.
He embraced her again and rested his chin on the top of her head. She relaxed into his grip. They stood there in silence for just a moment, very comfortable in each other's arms.
"You'll see," he whispered. "Let's go home." He heard her swallow and then felt her nod, and suddenly the General Manager's office was empty.
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