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Chapter title attributed to Stephen King, from his 1983 novel Christine: "If being a kid is about learning how to live, then being a grown-up is about learning how to die."
Chapter 5: Learning How to Die
The change was immediate; there was no slow wake-up period. One moment Harry was unconscious and the next he was fully aware of his surroundings. Well, not quite fully. He as yet lacked the willpower to open his eyes, but he was aware of a warmth on his left hand. Slowly his eyelids opened, squinting against the glare of the strong lighting. He couldn't see much, someone had evidently removed his glasses, but he could perceive a mass of brown connected to a flesh-coloured blur lying on his hand. He looked around, and spotted the form of what was probably a nightstand to his right. Slowly, so as not to disturb the object currently using him as a pillow, he reached over and stumbled upon his glasses. Setting them on his nose, he finally examined his location. It looked like the Hogwarts hospital wing, but he had been there so often he could tell that it wasn't. Looking down the room he could see two more beds. The one farthest from his was empty, but the nearer one held the form of Aleksandr Ivanóv. The poor man was hooked up to an IV drip, as well as an untold number of muggle life support machines. Given his limited knowledge of such things, Harry could see only that the powerful Russian was stable. Barely. It was such a moving thing to witness a man who had conveyed such strength laid low, unconscious and barely breathing. His sunglasses were on a night table nearby. He looked younger without them. A stirring from the region of his hand drew his attention back to the person sleeping there, now identifiable as Hermione. Harry smiled softly to himself. Of course she would be the one to brave sleepless nights to be with him.
"Hermione." He rasped softly, hating the sound of his weak voice. She stirred; he watched her blink the sleep from her eyes before sitting bolt upright.
"What did you call me?" she asked him, the confusion in her face quickly transforming into joy.
"Hermione." He repeated, fearing more than slightly for the sanity of his best friend-turned-secret-girlfriend. A brilliant smile erupted on her face and she kissed him firmly on the lips. "What happened Hermione? Why are you asking me this?" he questioned, having been reluctantly released.
Upon releasing his lips, Hermione had begun planting kisses all over his face. Each word was punctuated by them as she answered his question. "All Ron would tell us is that you had been Kissed. Everyone was worried that you'd be gone. Lost."
Harry smiled weakly. "Well I'm rather glad I'm not to be honest." She chuckled at that. "Hermione, not that I'm complaining, but you should probably stop that. What if someone comes in?" she grudgingly sat up, pouting only slightly. "So how long was I out?"
"Surprisingly enough, only a few hours. It's about midnight on Friday. The reading of Dumbledore's will is this afternoon." She seemed downcast with this admission, and understandably so.
Harry nodded, understanding and sharing her melancholy mood. He once more looked down at Aleksandr's bed. He could not shake how unusual it was to see him so peaceful, having only seen him in action. "How's everyone else?" he asked Hermione, slightly dreading the answer.
She followed his gaze to the Russian mercenary, and it lingered there. "Mr Weasley's fine. No damage at all. Ron was just in shock apparently. Mad-Eye broke nearly every bone in his body, completely drained himself of magic and pulled several muscles. Madame Pomfrey tried to hide the cuts on his face and chest, but they were hard to miss. He was put in a body cast and ordered to stay in bed, but you know Mad-Eye." She rolled her eyes and Harry grinned. He certainly did know Mad-Eye. "As for that guy." She motioned at Aleksandr. "He seems to have had a heart attack or something. He's in very good health, despite the open pack of cigarettes the nurse pulled out of his jacket. He might have a few broken ribs, but he should be fine."
Harry frowned at the prone figure. "I'm not sure about him. He risked his life for me and Ron, a couple of times, but something seems...off about him." Hermione cast him an odd look.
"Really? No one seems to know his name. Ron's been in no state to talk and Professor McGonagall wouldn't even look at him. He seems familiar though. Like something out of a dream." She trailed off, a distant look appearing in her eyes as she was lost in thought. Finally she pulled herself back to Earth and fixed her best mothering glare on Harry. "And you need your sleep. You have a big day today." She ordered, sounding quite vicious.
"Only if you stay with me." He pleaded, shuffling over to make space for her. She hesitated, but finally relented. Smiling happily Harry replaced his glasses on the night table, while Hermione spooned him, and draped his arm over her side. "Love you." He murmured, feeling himself succumbing to exhaustion. She purred contentedly in response, shuffling closer towards him. And it was in that warm position that Harry Potter fell into a deep sleep.
***
Harry awoke several hours later to an empty bed. Evidently Hermione had woken up early and left so as not to arouse suspicion. He wasn't sure if he should be glad that she had the foresight to think of these sorts of things, or irritated that they had to sneak around. Then again if the alternative was having Hermione killed by Voldemort, or Ron or Ginny, he'd take sneaking around any day. Feeling rather hungry he pulled himself off the bed, finding himself to be clad in white cotton hospital pyjamas. Not particularly caring, he set off towards the kitchen. Neither did he notice that the Russian merc's bed was also empty.
He entered the kitchen to the sight of Aleksandr Ivanóv having commandeered the table for his own nefarious purposes. At one end white strips were pulling themselves off a block labelled C4, sticking a piece of metal in one end, and rolling themselves in cigarette paper. At the other, Aleksandr was personally disassembling, cleaning and inspecting his gun. His sunglasses were pushed up on his head, allowing Harry his first glimpse at the Russian's cold brown eyes. He glanced up, brown meeting green. Despite everything, Harry could still detect a glimmer of humanity in their cold depths. The merc grunted, and began reassembling his gun. "Good, you're up. The reading is in an hour, so eat quickly. I'll be escorting you due to Moody's condition."
Harry heard a disgruntled snort coming from the other end of the table, and realised that he had never really inspected the room beyond the table. Hermione was leaning against the counter, fully dressed, nursing a cup of coffee. Sitting at the table was a formless object only vaguely recognizable as Mad-Eye Moody. His head was reasonably normal, but the rest of him was swathed in so many bandages he looked like the Michelin man. "You know I got one of those damn letters too." He argued.
The Russian wasn't swayed. "Yes, and you cannot stand under your own power. I will take this one." He coolly informed the crippled ex-Auror. He tightened the last screw in his gun, and gathered up his explosive cigarettes. "Now hurry up and get dressed ребёнк. We don't have all day." Aleksandr ordered, loading his Glock with a fresh magazine. Not exactly fearing the man, but eager to get away from the menacing black pistol, Harry complied quickly. He wasn't all that hungry anyway.
Scarcely half an hour later Aleksandr's black Charger was pulling up in front of the Leaky Cauldron and the tall Russian and his two teenaged charges entering into the bar. (Without a doubt every single person reading this will wonder whom the second teen is. Some will probably guess right, but you will have to wait for now.) Aleksandr ushered them quickly through the bar, not making eye contact with anyone. It was clear that he didn't want to be there. When they reached the rear of the building, he dutifully pulled out his wand and opened the wall for them to enter the scarcely populated Diagon Alley.
The constant threat of Voldemort had all but emptied the once bustling marketplace; all that remained were a few shops showing optimism to the point of insanity in staying open, and the small clumps of people who couldn't or wouldn't order by owl. As they passed, shopkeepers would bound from their dismal stores hoping for a customer. Each time they were rebuffed they looked a little more woebegone retreating into their businesses. But Aleksandr, eternally the practical mind, kept them on a straight path towards the glistening white building that was Gringott's Bank.
"Reading of Albus Dumbledore's will." He informed one of the desk goblins shortly. The diminutive demi-demon bowed and lead them into a small room. It was decorated with oak paneling and very expensive pieces of art, both wizarding and muggle. At an oaken desk was a very old-looking goblin, surrounded by stacks upon stacks of paperwork. Sitting in a corner was an old man Harry recognized as the bartender at the Hog's Head. Surprisingly Professor McGonagall was also present, wearing a golden ring Harry didn't think he'd ever seen before. Before he could ask her, Aleksandr ushered him and his companion to their seats, and the reading began.
The old goblin stood on his desk, though he was still shorter than anyone else in the room, and read from a long roll of parchment. "I, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, being of sound body and, forgive me, exceptionally sound mind do record here my Last Will and Testament, to be read only after 31 July 1997 A.D., and revoke all previously-made wills and codicils." The throaty voice declared. Harry smiled despite himself; despite the formal tone it was certainly Dumbledore.
"First, to my brother Mister Aberforth Dumbledore; I bequest the sum of one million galleons. I realize our relationship has been rather rocky over the years Abe, and this money is not my way of making amends. Know that I always cared for you, and am grateful for the aid you gave me over the years. Therefore I also bequeath to you the cottage in Nice where we would often spend our summers." The bartender, who wore golden coke-bottle glasses and brown robes made of some kind of fur, accepted the proffered envelope with a warm smile.
"Second, to my good friend Mister Alastor Moody; I bequeath my Deluminator. I know the kind of man you are Alastor, you will never cease in your work even having been retired for over a decade. I hope this item will make your tasks easier for you as time goes on." Aleksandr rose to receive the bequest. He handed the goblin a letter and whispered a few words in his ear. The executor nodded, and handed over a silver cylindrical object which the Russian pocketed.
"Thirdly, to Mister Harry Potter; I am sorry our time was cut short, I had much more to discuss with you. However, I know you will use what little I was able to teach you to the best of your ability. To make things easier for you, I bequeath to you my pensieve, and the contents of a box held by my executor. No one will be able to open the box but you Harry, this is important. Finally I bequeath to you the sword of Godric Gryffindor. While legally the sword is to be kept in the custody of the school until one who fulfils certain conditions comes forth to claim it, the sword is accompanied by a document that will prove that you do so." Harry accepted the wooden chest, as well as a folder of papers. Glancing through them, he saw a large and extensive family tree.
"Fourthly, to Miss Hermione Granger; I bequeath what matters most to you in the world, bar one thing, knowledge. The executor of my will has a letter addressed to you, that is my bequest. I trust you will use what you learn from the note with the same degree of effectiveness as anything from the school library." Hermione, for that was who Harry's companion was, gratefully took the letter. She glanced over it, before hiding it with crimson face. It was all Harry could do not to wonder what Dumbledore had told her.
"Finally, to Missus Minerva Dumbledore neé McGonagall my long-time wife." Harry and Hermione simultaneously turned to gaze at McGonagall in shock. Sure he had known that Dumbledore and McGonagall had been close, but never that close. Shockingly, considering that he had likely never met either professor, Aleksandr looked extremely unsurprised. "I bequeath to you the remaining sum of the Dumbledore fortune, and its remaining properties, all my remaining worldly possessions, and my pet phoenix Fawkes. I want you to know that these items are meaningless; you already possess the single most valuable thing I ever owned and no one can ever take that from you. Farewell and, don't take this personally, I hope I don't see you for a very long time." The old professor accepted the proffered envelope with a rare, sad sparkle on her lower eyelids. After doing this the goblin motioned that the reading was complete. Harry had intended to corner Professor McGonagall to ask her about her alleged status as Mrs Dumbledore, but Aleksandr had other ideas.
He herded the two teenagers towards the door as quickly as he could. "Come. We have one more stop before heading home." He told them, steering the triad through the labyrinth of stone hallways with unusual ease. A man of many talents it seems. Silently he pushed open an office door and ushered the teenagers inside. He did not follow them, instead leaving them to the goblin behind the very extravagant desk.
In fact the entire office was opulent, but it felt different than the last office Harry had been in. Three walls were decorated with Wizarding heraldry, and a colossal family tree dominated the fourth. Behind the desk was a female goblin with long black hair, wearing a severely buttoned grey jacket. "Vasa, I presume?" Harry asked.
The goblin looked up from her paperwork, examining first Harry then Hermione. "Mr Potter? And Ms Granger as well." Harry didn't bother asking how she knew Hermione's name; he probably didn't want to know. "Well, sit down, sit down. We have quite a bit to get through today." Harry and Hermione took the seats before the desk, one or both being rather worried by Vasa's comments about 'a lot to get through.'
The goblin rubbed her hands together quickly before extracting a particularly thick dossier from the mountain on her desk. "Okay then, let's get the biggest shock out of the way. I am aware that the late Albus Dumbledore bequeathed to you the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Is that correct?" Harry nodded, wondering where this was going. "As you are likely aware, the sword is an extremely valuable item. In fact, besides the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, it's the only known artefact of that particular founder. A lesser-known fact is that Godric Gryffindor stipulated in his will that the sword be passed on only to his direct descendants." Harry's eyes widened. The corners of Vasa's lips twitched upwards. "As you have no doubt surmised, you are descended through scores of sons and daughters from Godric Gryffindor himself. In your hands are the documents to prove it." Harry again glanced at the sheaf of documents, the family tree having more meaning for him now.
Vasa cleared her throat, drawing Harry's attention again. "Now, as you have recently come of age you are entitled to receive your inheritance from Mister and Missus James Potter." She pulled a bundle of papers from the dossier. It had to have been at least an inch and a half thick. "The paperwork." The goblin declared, gesturing to the mini-mountain of forms. "Don't worry, most of the pages are histories of the items you are receiving. The essence of it is that you inherit an enormous sum of galleons, coupled with a considerable amount of investments, several properties, and a sizeable number of heirlooms." Harry flipped through the papers. From what he could decipher of the legal jargon, the 'enormous sum' Vasa had described was a 12-digit figure. He had inherited over five billion pounds!
"In addition," Vasa continued, "being the last of the Potter family, and eldest of the Gryffindor line, means you are entitled to use the title of Lord. Whether or not you choose to is entirely up to you, but all official documents have been updated to list you as Lord Potter." The goblin gave Harry a moment to recover from the shock of it all. He noticed that Hermione had been rather silent so far, and it was starting to worry him. But goblins, even female goblins, have no time for personal matters, as Vasa demonstrated when she got the meeting started again. "As I said before you have also inherited a number of properties. There are some very old residences in various European countries, a hunting lodge in the backwoods of Canada, a cottage in Godric's Hollow, and the family's ancestral home outside of Ancroft. Details enclosed in the paperwork." She gestured toward the stack of papers in Harry's hand.
"Is there anything else?" Harry asked, still overwhelmed by the extent of his inheritance.
"As a matter of fact yes." Vasa grinned, showing rows of very sharp teeth, at the exhausted looks crossing Harry and Hermione's faces. "That was just the Potter will. Mister Sirius Black also bequeathed to you the contents of his vault, besides the Black ancestral home. Due to the poor financial management of Missus Walburga Black over the years, the monetary value amounts only to a 7-figure sum. Far more precious are the numerous Black family heirlooms that are enclosed therein." Vasa glanced at a dusty clock in the corner. "My next appointment isn't for some time, Should you desire I would be able to accompany you to the Potter and Black vaults to appraise or describe some of the artefacts."
Harry never had a chance to enter, as their mercenary bodyguard chose that moment to burst in. "I'm afraid that won't be happening today Madame Vasa." He looked at the two teenagers. "We have to leave, now." He instructed them adamantly. Harry was going to press Aleksandr for details, but Hermione seemed to understand his reasoning.
"Thank you for your time." She politely bowed to the goblin before dragging Harry out of the office. "Alright sir, I still don't know your name but Harry trusts you. Why do we have to leave?" she fixed the Russian with her coldest glare, the one usually reserved for Snape or Malfoy.
Aleksandr smiled. Really smiled, even showing teeth. It did not suit him, and looked more than a little feral. Hermione took a couple of steps back. "My name is Aleksandr Ivanóv. I am a Russian mercenary, hired by certain members of the Order of the Phoenix to keep this ребёнк," he gestured to Harry, "Safe from those who wanted him dead. And he does not trust me, as well he shouldn't. I am not very trustworthy. As to why we should be leaving де́вушку, one day you may understand. For know, follow me." And that was all he would say until they had climbed into his car and were driving away. Curiously they encountered nothing preventing their escape, but Harry was sure he caught a glimpse of tall cloaked figures converging on the Cauldron in the Dodge's rear-view mirror.
Hermione spun around in her seat to watch the Dementors, for that was what they were, hover around for a moment before departing. "How did you know they would be coming?" she asked the driver, settling back into her place.
"Ours is not to question why." He responded simply.
While the remainder of the drive was mostly silent, Hermione could not long resist her natural curiosity. "Mister…Ivanóv." Aleksandr titled his head ever so slightly in her direction. "I've been wondering, how did Harry manage to survive the Kiss?" Leave it to Hermione to want to know the mechanics behind Harry not getting killed, or worse.
The Russian was silent for a long time. "He knew love." He finally replied. Hermione made a noise that indicated her dissatisfaction with that answer, but he did not continue.
"Love." Harry whispered, remembering Professor Slughorn telling them in class that love was the most powerful force in the world. He was starting to understand the magnitude of that power.
Aleksandr nodded. "You should feel very fortunate Potter, you have achieved what few others have ever dreamed of." No matter what they asked, Aleksandr Ivanóv would not say another word for the duration of the trip. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.
Soon enough he pulled up before 12 Grimmauld Place. After letting them out, Aleksandr rolled down his window. "This is where I leave you. I will be watching, but there are other ways to protect you now. Until our next meeting." The Russian inclined his head at each of them, then rolled up his window and disappeared into the fog. Harry and Hermione shared a brief glance, neither wanting to face the people who would endeavour to keep them apart. Eventually they had to relent, knowing if they did not go in that a mass panic would follow. In the kitchen, their immediate destination, were Remus Tonks and Sirius enjoying a light lunch. Moody was there too, the wand in his outstretched arm levitating food into his mouth.
At the sound of their footsteps, Remus looked up. "Well, how did it go?" the sound of his ever-weary voice caused Tonks and Sirius to perceive their presence. Moody, of course, had likely known they were there the moment they had stepped through the door.
Harry glanced at Hermione. She motioned that he should recount the tale. "The bartender from the Hogs Head was there, apparently he's Dumbledore's brother Aberforth." No one seemed particularly surprised by this news. "He left Mad-Eye something called a Deluminator, which Aleksandr picked up." He dropped the cylinder, which had been given to him on the drive over, in front of the incapacitated ex-Auror. "Mum and Dad left me an enormous amount of money, among other things." Remus smiled slightly and Sirius snorted, obviously they would have known about the Potters' extreme wealth. "And Professor McGonagall is Dumbledore's widow." This piece of news caused Remus to drop his glass, and Tonks to choke on a mouthful of sandwich. The only occupant of the room not to react, save Harry and Hermione, was Mad-Eye.
This did not go unremarked. "You knew?" Tonks asked the crippled retiree with an incredulous tone to her voice.
Moody nodded morosely. "I gave away the bride." He responded simply. What else was there to say?
Plenty, as far as Sirius was concerned. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"It was Albus Dumbledore for Christ's sake," Moody snapped. "Can you possibly conceive the danger in being the wife of the only person Voldemort ever feared?" Oddly there was something about the conversation causing Mad-Eye an enormous amount of anguish.
Seeing the man's stress, and the worried glances Hermione was shooting him, Harry intervened. "Remus, Tonks, I've really enjoyed staying with you two these past few weeks, but I think I should move out on my own."
Remus and Sirius shared a knowing glance. "They left you the Manor." Sirius stated, a grin splitting his features. Harry nodded. "Well how about I help you move in?" he asked, clearly excited to visit the Potter ancestral home once again.
Harry smiled in gratitude. "Thanks Sirius, that would be great." He looked at Hermione, eyebrows raised in question. She flashed a smile that clearly said 'how could you even ask?'
"Don't forget about Bill's wedding next Sunday. I think Fleur will flame-grill you if you do." Remus called after the three retreating backs. The idea brought a slight smile to Harry's face, though he was fully aware that Fleur was capable of doing it. What a month it was going to be.
Anyways, ребёнк is still Russian for 'child,' and де́вушку is Russian for 'female between puberty and womanhood'
For those of you who have read Infamous Marauder's fic Against the Odds on ff.net, or similar fics where Harry is descended from Gryffindor, I do not plan to make this a SuperP00nage!Harry fic. His being Gryffindor's heir is just my way of justifying him getting to keep the sword.