If you've never walked into the marble lobby of Gringotts Wizarding Bank while disguised as a full-grown adult, accompanied by your fugitive godfather in dog form and a lawyer who practically vibrated with excitement at the thought of dismantling corrupt governments, then you probably don't understand why Harry Potter was currently questioning every single life choice that had led him to this exact moment.
Not that he was complaining, mind you. After ten years of living with the Dursleys—who had the collective emotional intelligence of a particularly vindictive houseplant that had somehow learned to hate magic—being part of a team that actually *wanted* to help him was pretty incredible. Even if that team included a cosmic symbiote whose idea of conflict resolution involved what he cheerfully called "educational violence."
*"I still think we should have started with the fire and brimstone approach,"* Drakor muttered in the back of Harry's mind, his mental voice carrying the disappointed tone of someone who'd been looking forward to some truly spectacular revenge and was being forced to settle for boring legal procedures instead. *"Much more efficient than all this paperwork rubbish. Why waste time with documents when we could be teaching people about proper ethics through interpretive destruction?"*
*Not yet,* Harry thought back, trying to project the kind of patience that would keep his cosmic partner from deciding to skip ahead to the fun part. *We need evidence first. Then you can educate people about proper behavior.*
*"Oh, I'm going to educate them so thoroughly they'll need entirely new categories in the medical textbooks,"* Drakor said with the purring satisfaction of a cosmic entity who'd been planning elaborate revenge scenarios for weeks and was really looking forward to the practical application phase. *"Very hands-on educational experiences. The kind that leave lasting impressions. Possibly permanent ones."*
Ted Tonks strode through the lobby like he owned the place, which, considering how many legal cases he'd won against various wizarding institutions, he practically did. His confidence was the kind that came from years of walking into rooms full of powerful people and systematically destroying their arguments with nothing but facts, legal precedent, and the sort of devastating timing that made grown wizards weep into their law books.
"Remember," Ted said quietly, his Scottish accent making everything sound slightly more authoritative and approximately sixty percent more dangerous, "you're James Evans until we're somewhere private. Try to look like you've had regular meals for the past decade instead of surviving on whatever expired nonsense your relatives couldn't be bothered to throw away properly."
"Right," Harry replied, his voice now carrying the deeper tones of someone who'd actually hit puberty instead of a ten-year-old who'd been living on expired tinned beans and the nutritional equivalent of broken dreams. "Adult posture, adult vocabulary, adult... uh, what exactly do adults do with their hands when they're not waving them around like demented traffic directors?"
"Generally speaking," Ted said with the kind of amused patience that suggested he'd dealt with nervous clients before, "try not to fidget like you're conducting an invisible orchestra. Think dignified. Think sophisticated. Think like someone who's never had to hide under a cupboard to avoid getting hexed by their own relatives."
Sirius—currently in dog form and looking like the kind of aristocratic canine that belonged in oil paintings and country estates—managed to convey profound skepticism about Harry's ability to pull off "sophisticated" through nothing but facial expression. It was honestly impressive how much sarcasm he could pack into a single doggy look.
The transformation Drakor had pulled off was genuinely spectacular. Not just the physical changes—though going from scrawny ten-year-old to well-dressed adult was pretty amazing—but the subtle adjustments to posture, mannerisms, and that indefinable quality that separated people who'd grown up loved and well-fed from those who'd grown up as unwanted houseguests in suburban purgatory.
*"I do excellent work,"* Drakor said smugly, like a cosmic entity who'd just won first place at the universe's most exclusive makeover competition. *"Unlike some cosmic beings I could mention, I actually pay attention to details. Quality control is very important in the reality-alteration business."*
*What other cosmic beings?* Harry asked, momentarily distracted by the implication that there was apparently a whole community of universe-altering entities with varying levels of professional competence.
*"Oh, you know the type. Reality-benders who think they're too important for proper research, time-travelers who can't be bothered to check historical records before they start changing things, universe-hoppers who just wing it and hope nobody notices the plot holes they leave behind like cosmic litter."*
The lead teller looked up from his ledgers with the expression of someone who'd seen everything the wizarding world had to offer and hadn't been particularly impressed by any of it. His nameplate read "Griphook," and his general demeanor suggested he was already calculating fees for whatever complicated request was about to completely ruin his perfectly organized morning routine.
"How may Gringotts assist you today?" Griphook asked with the precise articulation that suggested he was prepared for anything from simple vault access to requests involving cursed artifacts, suspicious inheritance claims, and clients who wanted to pay their bills in rare gemstones or captured moonlight.
"Theodore Tonks," Ted said, presenting his credentials with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this dance many times before and knew exactly which legal phrases would get him the fastest results, "representing the Potter and Black family interests. We need a private consultation regarding sensitive estate matters. Specifically, we need to speak with the Potter and Black account managers about sealed documents, contractual obligations, and what I suspect will turn out to be a truly spectacular conspiracy involving systematic mail fraud and wrongful imprisonment."
Griphook's eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline like they were making a desperate escape attempt. His gaze shifted from Ted to Harry to the extremely well-behaved and suspiciously aristocratic-looking dog, then back to Ted with the calculating expression of someone who'd just realized his boring Tuesday was about to become the kind of day that would either earn him a substantial promotion or require him to completely update his resume and possibly relocate to another continent entirely.
"Sealed documents," Griphook repeated slowly, his voice taking on the tone of someone who'd just heard magical code words that meant this conversation was either going to be extremely profitable or require calling in the specialized security team that dealt with cases involving political scandals and potential governmental collapse. "And contractual obligations. Regarding the Potter and Black estates."
"Wrongful imprisonment, fraudulent marriage contracts that amount to legalized magical slavery, and systematic interference with inheritance access by high-ranking Ministry officials who apparently thought they knew better than actual legal documents," Ted said with the casual efficiency of someone ordering coffee instead of potentially toppling the existing power structure of wizarding Britain. "We'll need your most secure consultation chamber and probably some very strong tea, because this is going to take a while."
*"I absolutely love this guy,"* Drakor said with genuine admiration, like a cosmic entity who'd just discovered his new favorite hobby. *"He just casually mentions overthrowing the government like it's Tuesday afternoon errands. 'Oh, and while we're at it, we'll be exposing systematic corruption and probably causing several high-ranking officials to have complete nervous breakdowns. Do you validate parking?'"*
Griphook looked like someone who'd just realized that his boring Tuesday was about to become either the most exciting day of his professional career or the kind of day that would require therapy and possibly witness protection.
"One moment, please," he said, reaching for a communication crystal that probably connected directly to the goblin equivalent of "Sweet Merlin's beard, we have one of *those* situations again, and this time it involves the Potter fortune and someone who's supposed to be locked up in wizard prison."
After a brief conversation in Gobbledegook that sounded like someone negotiating a peace treaty between particularly irritable dragons, Griphook looked back up with the expression of someone who'd just received clearance for something that was going to require forms he'd never seen before and possibly some very expensive insurance.
"Director Ragnok will see you personally," Griphook announced with the kind of reverence usually reserved for announcing visits from heads of state, customers with account balances that had their own gravitational pull, or clients whose legal problems were interesting enough to become case studies in future law books.
As they were led through progressively more secure corridors, Harry couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer architectural paranoia on display. The walls hummed with protective magic that probably cost more than most people's houses, occasional dragon rumbles echoed from the depths like geological features having very strong opinions about property rights and trespassers, and the security measures got progressively more creative the deeper they went—including what appeared to be a corridor that tested your intentions by making you walk through a field of truth-detecting magic that felt like being examined by a particularly thorough and judgmental cosmic entity.
"Bit elaborate for a bank, isn't it?" Harry murmured, watching a security ward scan him with the intensity of a cosmic lie detector that had trust issues.
"Gringotts doesn't mess around when it comes to protecting valuable information," Ted replied quietly, his voice carrying the appreciation of someone who understood exactly how much trouble they could all be in if this information fell into the wrong hands. "Especially information that could cause the complete collapse of the current political system if it became public knowledge. The kind of information that makes governments very nervous and very desperate."
"So, Tuesday, then," Harry said cheerfully, because if he was going to be part of a conspiracy that could reshape wizarding society, he might as well enjoy it.
*"I really, really like this kid,"* Drakor said approvingly, like a cosmic entity who'd just found the perfect partner for systematic governmental destruction. *"Very practical attitude toward revolutionary change. No unnecessary angst about overthrowing corrupt power structures. Just cheerful acceptance that sometimes you have to burn everything down to build something better."*
The secure consultation chamber looked like it had been designed by someone who'd taken the phrase "privacy protection" as a personal challenge and a sacred mission. The walls were carved from single blocks of stone inscribed with enough privacy wards to prevent eavesdropping by anyone short of cosmic entities with reality-altering abilities, and the furniture suggested this was where very important people had very expensive conversations about very large sums of money and occasionally the fate of entire civilizations.
Director Ragnok entered with the commanding presence of someone who'd been successfully managing high-stakes financial operations since most wizards were still figuring out which end of a wand was the dangerous bit. The goblin had a kind of sharp intelligence, carefully controlled authority, and the kind of presence that suggested he could destroy you with either financial instruments or cutting remarks, depending on which would be more efficient and entertaining.
He was accompanied by two other goblins—one carrying files thick enough to constitute their own library and probably requiring their own postal code, the other wheeling in a cart loaded with documents sealed with enough magical protections to power a small city and possibly provide adequate lighting for a medium-sized country.
"Mr. Tonks," Ragnok said, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd seen every possible financial scandal, political conspiracy, and magical catastrophe that the wizarding world could produce and had developed very strong professional opinions about humans who ignored proper banking procedures and thought they could outsmart goblin record-keeping, "your request for consultation has been approved. However, accessing sealed documents requires verification of proper authorization and the presence of actual account holders. We have very strict policies about unauthorized access, even when the request comes from lawyers who look like they're planning to overthrow governments before teatime."
"Right," Ted said with the satisfaction of someone who'd anticipated exactly this requirement and had come prepared for precisely this conversation and possibly several backup plans in case things got complicated, "that can certainly be arranged."
He gestured to Harry, who immediately began transforming back to his normal appearance. The adult features dissolved like liquid starlight having second thoughts about the laws of physics, revealing the small, dark-haired boy with bright green eyes who was definitely, unmistakably, and somewhat unfortunately for everyone who'd been lying to him, Harry James Potter.
Simultaneously, Sirius shifted from dog form with the fluid grace of someone who'd been practicing Animagus transformations since his school days and had gotten really, really good at dramatic reveals. His human form materialized like smoke deciding to become solid—all sharp cheekbones, storm-gray eyes, and the kind of dangerous charisma that suggested nine years of wrongful imprisonment had only made him more intense and approximately three times more likely to do something spectacular and probably illegal to anyone who'd been responsible for putting him there.
The silence that followed was the kind of profound quiet that usually preceded either great revelations, complete governmental collapse, or someone getting hexed into next Tuesday. In this case, it was probably all three.
"Well," Ragnok said slowly, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd just realized he was in the presence of the most famous child in the wizarding world and a man who was supposedly locked away in wizard prison for mass murder and treason, "this is considerably more interesting than I expected when I woke up this morning. And I was expecting quite a bit of interest, professionally speaking."
"Harry Potter," Ragnok continued, his goblin composure admirably intact despite circumstances that would have sent most bank officials running for the nearest exit and possibly the next country, "and Sirius Black. Who is, according to official Ministry records, supposed to be in Azkaban for betraying the Potters to You-Know-Who and blowing up half a street full of Muggles in a fit of genocidal enthusiasm."
"Wrongfully imprisoned," Sirius said with the calm authority of someone who'd spent nine years thinking about this exact conversation and was prepared to present his case with devastating precision and possibly some very creative threats if people didn't listen properly. His voice carried the kind of controlled fury that suggested he'd had plenty of time to plan exactly what he wanted to do to everyone responsible for his situation, and it probably involved suffering. Extensive, carefully planned suffering.
"As the sealed documents should prove rather conclusively," he added, his smile carrying the kind of dangerous charm that made people remember why the Black family had been both feared and admired for centuries. "Along with providing some very interesting information about who actually betrayed my best friends and got me locked up for crimes I didn't commit."
*"Ooh, I like him,"* Drakor observed with the cosmic equivalent of rubbing his hands together in anticipation. *"Very direct approach. No unnecessary small talk or social pleasantries. Gets straight to the point about systematic injustice and government corruption. And that smile suggests he's got some very creative ideas about educational consequences for people who deserve them."*
The Potter Account Manager—a goblin whose nameplate read "Ironheart" and whose expression suggested he'd been waiting years for this conversation and had developed some very strong opinions about humans who ignored their correspondence—stepped forward with barely controlled professional frustration.
"Mr. Potter," Ironheart said, his voice carrying the sharp edge of someone who'd been trying to conduct business with a completely unresponsive client for over a decade and was beginning to take it personally, "we have been attempting to contact you for years regarding your accounts, your inheritance, numerous legal matters requiring your immediate attention, and several investment opportunities that would have made you even wealthier than you already are, which is saying something considerable. Why in the name of all that's profitable have you not responded to any of our correspondence?"
Harry blinked with the confused expression of someone who'd just been accused of ignoring mail he'd never received and was beginning to suspect that this was just the tip of a very large and very unpleasant iceberg of problems he didn't know he had.
"I haven't gotten any letters from Gringotts," he said, his ten-year-old voice carrying the bewildered tone of someone who was beginning to suspect there were significantly more problems with his living situation than he'd previously realized, and his previous realizations had already been pretty depressing. "I haven't gotten any magical mail at all, actually. Not a single owl, not even junk mail."
The silence that followed was the kind of heavy quiet that suggested several people had just realized they were dealing with a conspiracy considerably more extensive than anyone had previously imagined, and the implications were going to require some very expensive therapy for everyone involved.
"No correspondence," the Black Account Manager—a goblin named Goldspear whose expression was rapidly shifting from professional patience to barely controlled fury that probably violated several workplace safety regulations—repeated slowly, as if saying it again might make it make sense or at least make it less legally catastrophic. "In over ten years. Despite quarterly reports, inheritance notifications, legal consultations regarding your godfather's situation, urgent notices regarding estate management, and at least seventeen separate attempts to schedule meetings about your financial future."
"Someone's been intercepting his mail," Ted said grimly, his legal mind already cataloguing the implications with the efficiency of someone who'd just figured out how to build a case that would make legal history and possibly result in several high-ranking officials requiring new careers in locations without extradition treaties. "Systematic mail fraud involving a minor's inheritance rights. That's several different felonies right there, and we haven't even gotten to the really interesting stuff yet."
"The really interesting stuff being?" Ragnok asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer and wasn't particularly looking forward to the administrative nightmare that was about to land on his desk like a dragon with bureaucratic complaints.
"Proving Sirius was wrongfully imprisoned through systematic evidence suppression, exposing fraudulent marriage contracts that amount to legalized slavery enforced through blood magic, and demonstrating that there's been a coordinated conspiracy involving high-level Ministry officials to cover up evidence and maintain their preferred narrative regardless of minor inconveniences like truth or justice," Ted said with the matter-of-fact tone of someone explaining a case that was going to require entirely new categories in the law books and possibly some very creative applications of existing regulations about treason.
*"Now we're talking!"* Drakor said with anticipation that practically radiated excitement through Harry's entire nervous system. *"This is where it gets properly interesting! Systematic oppression, government conspiracy, magical slavery—it's like a cosmic educational opportunity sampler pack! I haven't had this much fun since that incident with the corrupt reality-shapers in the Andromeda Galaxy!"*
Ragnok exchanged glances with his fellow goblins—the kind of look that suggested they were all thinking the same thing and none of them were particularly happy about the implications, but they were definitely interested in seeing how this was going to play out and possibly making some money off the chaos.
"The Potter will," Ragnok said finally, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd just decided to reveal information that was going to complicate everyone's life significantly and probably result in several nervous breakdowns among high-ranking Ministry officials, "was sealed by direct order of Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore immediately following James and Lily Potter's deaths. Classified as a matter of state security requiring immediate protective measures for reasons that were never adequately explained and seemed to involve a lot of hand-waving about 'the greater good.'"
"But you have copies," Sirius said with the confidence of someone who understood goblin banking practices better than most wizards and knew that goblins kept copies of everything, especially documents that important people wanted to keep secret.
"We have copies," Goldspear confirmed with the satisfaction of someone who'd been waiting years to reveal this particular bit of information and was looking forward to watching the resulting chaos. "Complete, unredacted copies including all provisions, bequests, specific instructions regarding guardianship arrangements, and explicitly named Secret Keepers for protective enchantments. Every single detail that certain people apparently hoped would never see the light of day."
Harry leaned forward with the intense focus of someone who was about to learn something crucial about his parents' final wishes and possibly discover exactly why his life had been so thoroughly complicated by other people's decisions that directly contradicted what his parents had actually wanted.
"What did it say about the Secret Keeper?" he asked, his small voice carrying the weight of someone who suspected the answer was going to change everything and probably result in some very deserved consequences for people who'd been lying for over a decade.
Ironheart consulted the documents with the efficiency of someone who'd memorized every detail years ago and had been waiting for exactly this opportunity to reveal them in the most dramatically satisfying way possible.
"Peter Pettigrew," he read aloud with clinical precision that somehow made the revelation even more devastating. "Specifically named as Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm protecting the Potter family residence in Godric's Hollow. Changed from Sirius Black by mutual agreement of all parties on October 23rd, 1981, exactly eight days before the attack that killed your parents."
The silence that followed was the kind that usually preceded either justice, revolution, or someone getting hexed so hard they ended up in a different dimension entirely. Possibly all three, depending on how creative people wanted to get with their revenge.
"Peter bloody Pettigrew," Sirius said, his voice carrying nine years' worth of vindicated fury and the kind of satisfaction that came from being proven right in the most spectacular way possible. "Not me. Peter. The rat bastard who betrayed James and Lily and let me take the blame while he hid like the coward he's always been."
His smile was the kind that made people remember why the Black family motto involved dealing with their enemies in creative and permanent ways.
*"Oh, this is absolutely delicious,"* Drakor purred with cosmic satisfaction that felt like celebration fireworks going off in Harry's brain. *"I do love it when the evidence is this straightforward and the guilt is this obvious. Makes planning the educational consequences so much more satisfying. Very targeted learning experiences for very specific individuals who really, really deserve them."*
"The will also names Sirius Black as primary guardian for Harry Potter in the event of both parents' deaths," Ironheart continued, warming to his subject with the enthusiasm of someone finally getting to reveal information that had been driving him professionally insane for years, "with specific, detailed instructions that under no circumstances should the child be placed with Petunia and Vernon Dursley, who are described as—and I'm quoting directly from James Potter's own words here—'Muggles whose pathological hatred of magic and everything associated with it would make them utterly unsuitable guardians for any child, much less a magical one, and whose care would likely result in psychological damage, possible magical suppression, and what Lily refers to as quote-unquote probably turning our son into either a broken shell of a person or a very angry wizard with serious trust issues.'"
Harry felt like someone had just explained that his entire life had been built on a foundation of lies, conspiracy, and adults making decisions that directly contradicted his parents' explicit wishes while telling themselves it was for his own good.
"They didn't want me with the Dursleys," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd just discovered that years of abuse, neglect, and being treated like an unwanted burden could have been prevented if anyone had bothered to honor his parents' actual wishes instead of making their own decisions about what was best for him.
"They specifically forbade it," Goldspear confirmed grimly, consulting documents that were probably going to become the most important evidence in the legal case of the century. "The will includes a detailed explanation of why Petunia Dursley was considered not just unsuitable but actively dangerous as a guardian, including documented evidence of her hostility toward magical individuals, her demonstrated inability to provide a loving and supportive environment for any child, and what James Potter described as her 'narcissistic tendencies and complete lack of empathy for anyone who doesn't fit her narrow definition of normal and acceptable.'"
*"I am going to educate so many people about proper childcare,"* Drakor said with the kind of cosmic satisfaction that suggested his educational methods were going to be extremely thorough, probably very creative, and quite possibly visible from space. *"Very comprehensive lessons about the importance of following legal documents and respecting parents' wishes regarding their children's welfare. The kind of education that really sticks with you permanently."*
"Who authorized the placement with the Dursleys despite the explicit provisions of the will forbidding it?" Ted asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer and was definitely not going to like it.
"Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore," Ragnok said, his voice carrying the kind of cold disapproval that suggested goblins had very strong opinions about humans who ignored legal documents for their own convenience and then acted like they were doing everyone a favor, "using his authority as Chief Warlock to override the will's provisions in the name of 'special circumstances requiring immediate protective measures for the greater good of the wizarding world,' which apparently included ignoring every single thing the child's parents had explicitly requested regarding his care and wellbeing."
"The greater good," Sirius repeated, his voice carrying the kind of dangerous quiet that suggested nine years of wrongful imprisonment had given him some very creative ideas about what certain people deserved in return for their excessive concern about the greater good and their complete disregard for minor details like legal documents and a child's actual welfare.
"Right," Ted said, his voice taking on the brisk efficiency of someone who'd just figured out how to build an absolutely devastating legal case that would probably result in either the complete restructuring of wizarding government or several very powerful people requiring new identities in foreign countries, "now let's discuss the Black family marriage contracts. Specifically, any contracts involving Bellatrix, Narcissa, and potentially Andromeda before she married me and escaped whatever fresh hell her family had planned for her."
The goblin accountants exchanged glances that suggested this question was about to reveal information that would make the previous revelations seem like minor administrative oversights instead of massive governmental conspiracies.
"Oh, you're going to absolutely love this," Goldspear said with the grim satisfaction of someone who'd been waiting years to expose documentation that violated every principle of basic human decency and probably several international laws about human rights, "The Black family marriage contracts are among the most legally problematic, ethically horrifying, and systematically oppressive documents in our entire archive. And that's saying something, because we have some truly appalling contracts in our collection."
He opened a file sealed with enough magical protections to suggest its contents were either extremely valuable, extremely dangerous, or extremely likely to cause complete societal collapse if they became public knowledge. Definitely all three.
"Bellatrix Black's marriage contract with Rodolphus Lestrange," he began, his voice taking on the clinical tone that professionals use when discussing things too horrible for normal emotional reactions, "includes provisions for complete magical binding of will, mandatory obedience to spousal commands enforced through blood magic, total transfer of personal magical autonomy to marital control, and—this is where it gets really charming—the legal classification of the wife as 'a valuable magical asset to be utilized for the advancement of family and political interests as deemed appropriate by the husband and his associates.'"
"Complete magical binding," Harry repeated, his young voice carrying the horror of someone just beginning to understand what his cosmic partner had rescued Bellatrix from and why she'd seemed so grateful for basic human decency.
"Essentially magical slavery," Goldspear confirmed grimly, his professional composure beginning to crack in the face of documentation that offended every principle of decent civilization. "Legally enforced through ancient blood magic that makes disobedience literally impossible. The bound individual cannot refuse any command, cannot resist any order, and cannot even think thoughts that contradict their husband's wishes for more than a few moments before the magical compulsions force compliance."
He paused, consulting the document with the expression of someone who really, really didn't want to read what came next but was professionally obligated to provide complete information.
"The contract also includes specific provisions for the husband to loan his wife's services to other members of his political organization for purposes including but not limited to torture, assassination, espionage, intimidation, and what the contract delicately refers to as 'other activities deemed necessary for the advancement of their shared cause and the maintenance of proper social order.'"
*"Oh, now I'm really, properly angry,"* Drakor said, his mental voice taking on harmonics that suggested cosmic fury was building like a storm front made of justice and really creative revenge scenarios that probably violated several laws of physics. *"This is the kind of systematic oppression that requires very special educational attention. The kind that involves teaching people about proper human rights through extensive hands-on demonstrations of what happens when you treat people like property."*
The silence that followed was the kind of profound quiet that made everyone involved feel slightly sick and also significantly more interested in systematic governmental reform.
"They could loan her out," Sirius said slowly, his voice carrying the kind of cold fury that suggested he was beginning to understand exactly how thoroughly his cousin had been victimized by people who should have protected her instead of treating her like a magical weapon with convenient built-in loyalty compulsions. "Like she was property. Like she was a particularly useful tool that you could lend to your friends when they needed something horrible done."
"The contract specifically refers to the wife as 'a valuable asset whose magical abilities and complete obedience make her ideal for tasks requiring discretion, loyalty, and the willingness to perform acts that others might find morally objectionable,'" Goldspear confirmed, his voice carrying the kind of disgust that suggested even goblins—who weren't exactly known for their sentimental approach to business—found this level of dehumanization deeply offensive.
"It's basically a legal framework for treating human beings as magical weapons with convenient built-in loyalty compulsions and absolutely no legal rights or personal autonomy whatsoever."
"What about Narcissa?" Harry asked, though his voice suggested he already suspected the answer and really didn't want his suspicions confirmed.
"Identical provisions," Ironheart said grimly, consulting another set of documents sealed with similar magical protections and probably similar capacity to cause complete social upheaval if they became widely known. "Narcissa Black's marriage contract with Lucius Malfoy includes the same complete magical binding, the same total transfer of autonomy, the same legal classification as property, and the same provisions for loaning her services to other Death Eaters whenever her husband deemed it politically advantageous or personally entertaining."
"The contract actually specifies that her primary value lies in her intelligence, her social connections, and her ability to perform complex magic while under complete compulsion," Goldspear added with the kind of professional distaste that suggested he'd really rather be dealing with nice, simple cases involving cursed treasure or dragon insurance claims.
"Bloody hell," Ted said, his Scottish accent becoming more pronounced as his professional outrage built momentum like a legal avalanche that was going to bury several corrupt institutions under an avalanche of properly filed paperwork and righteous fury, "And Andromeda?"
"A contract was negotiated with Rabastan Lestrange," Goldspear confirmed with the satisfaction of someone revealing information that was going to make his clients very happy and several other people very, very unhappy, "including all the same charming provisions about magical enslavement and being loaned out for torture duties, but it was never executed due to Andromeda's elopement with you, Mr. Tonks. Her removal from the family through formal disownment prevented the contract from taking legal effect."
Ted looked like someone who'd just realized that his wife's decision to elope with him had literally saved her from magical slavery, and that their love story had been significantly more dramatic and heroic than either of them had ever known.
"So both Bellatrix and Narcissa have been magically enslaved for over fifteen years," Sirius said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who was beginning to understand that the Death Eater trials had been an even bigger travesty of justice than he'd previously imagined, and his previous assessment had already been pretty damning.
"According to these contracts, yes," Ragnok confirmed with the kind of professional distaste that suggested goblins found this entire situation deeply offensive to their sense of proper business practices and basic decency. "Neither woman would have been legally capable of refusing any command from their husbands, including commands to torture, kill, or commit any other atrocity their husbands deemed necessary for their political cause or personal entertainment."
*"The trials,"* Drakor said, his mental voice carrying cosmic indignation that felt like the universe itself was getting ready to file a formal complaint about systematic injustice. *"All those trials where they condemned women who literally couldn't disobey orders to torture and murder people. This is the kind of systematic miscarriage of justice that requires very extensive educational intervention for everyone involved in perpetuating it."*
Harry felt something cold and determined settling in his chest as the full implications became clear, like cosmic justice taking up residence in his ribcage and making itself comfortable for what was obviously going to be a long and very satisfying campaign of systematic reform.
"The Death Eater trials," he said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of focused intensity that suggested he was beginning to understand that the entire post-war justice system had been built on fundamental misunderstandings about who was actually responsible for what crimes, "How many of the women who were condemned were operating under similar contracts?"
"Approximately sixty percent of the married female Death Eaters," Goldspear said, consulting records that probably constituted the most damning indictment of wizarding marriage law in recorded history and were definitely going to require some very expensive legal reform in the near future. "The practice was apparently quite standard among pure-blood families with political ambitions. Marry off your daughters with binding contracts that turn them into magically enslaved assets, then use their abilities for whatever political cause you happen to support."
"And the families got to keep their reputations clean," Ironheart added grimly, "because officially, they weren't the ones doing the torturing and killing. That was all done by their daughters and daughters-in-law, who were acting entirely of their own free will and definitely deserved whatever punishment they received."
The silence that followed was the kind that usually preceded either great revelations, spectacular revolutions, or the systematic destruction of corrupt institutions by people who'd had enough of other people's nonsense. In this case, it was definitely all three.
*"I'm going to educate so many people about proper ethics and human rights,"* Drakor said with the satisfaction of a cosmic entity who'd just discovered a whole new category of systematic oppression that required his special educational attention. *"The learning experiences are going to be so comprehensive and thorough that they'll need to invent new words for 'complete understanding of why treating people like property is morally reprehensible and legally actionable.'"*
"Right," Ted said, his voice taking on the tone of someone who'd just figured out how to bring down an entire corrupt system using nothing but legal precedent, really excellent documentation, and the kind of righteous fury that made law books spontaneously combust, "I think we have more than sufficient evidence to proceed with multiple legal actions simultaneously. The question now is whether we present this to the Wizengamot for systematic judicial review, go directly to the press and let public opinion force the government to address these injustices, or do both and watch the entire system collapse under the weight of its own corruption while we sit back and enjoy the show."
"All of the above," Harry said, his ten-year-old voice carrying authority that seemed too large for his small frame. "We present the legal case and ensure the press has access to all the evidence. The wizarding world deserves to know that their justice system has been imprisoning innocent people while the real criminals hide behind legal technicalities and marriage contracts that should have been outlawed centuries ago."
"I love this kid," Sirius said with genuine pride. "Straight to systematic reform. No messing around with half-measures."
"The cosmic entity approves of this approach?" Ragnok asked with the kind of professional curiosity that suggested goblins found cosmic justice significantly more interesting than standard banking procedures.
"Drakor has very strong opinions about systematic oppression and people who hurt children," Harry confirmed, his voice taking on harmonics that suggested his cosmic partner was indeed paying very close attention to this conversation. "He's particularly interested in ensuring that everyone responsible for these injustices receives appropriate educational experiences regarding the consequences of their actions."
"Educational experiences?" Goldspear asked, though his tone suggested he already suspected the answer and found it significantly more appealing than conventional justice.
*"Oh, I'm going to teach them so much about proper ethical behavior,"* Drakor said with the cosmic equivalent of rubbing his hands together in anticipation. *"Very hands-on educational experiences. The kind that really stick with you. Possibly literally."*
"The kind that involve creative applications of cosmic justice and remedial lessons in treating people with basic human decency," Harry translated cheerfully. "Very thorough educational experiences that ensure long-term retention of proper behavioral standards."
Ragnok smiled with the expression of someone who'd just discovered that cosmic justice aligned quite nicely with goblin opinions about humans who violated contracts and ignored legal obligations.
"Gringotts would be pleased to provide full documentation and expert testimony for any legal proceedings aimed at correcting these injustices," he said formally, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd just decided that certain humans had violated enough goblin principles to deserve whatever cosmic education was heading their way.
"Excellent," Ted said, gathering the documents with the satisfaction of someone who'd just acquired enough evidence to win the most important legal case of his career and possibly restructure wizarding society in the process. "Shall we return to Grimmauld Place and begin preparing for what's going to be either the greatest triumph of justice in wizarding history, or the most spectacular legal revolution Britain has seen since someone figured out that kings shouldn't be allowed to do whatever they wanted?"
"Definitely both," Harry said cheerfully, his voice carrying the anticipation of someone who was looking forward to showing the wizarding world exactly what happened when you underestimated ten-year-old boys with cosmic partners and access to really excellent legal representation.
*"This is going to be so much fun,"* Drakor said with cosmic satisfaction. *"I haven't had a good systematic oppression to dismantle in decades. It's like Christmas and my birthday and the heat death of several corrupt universes all rolled into one glorious educational opportunity."*
As they prepared to leave Gringotts with enough evidence to fundamentally restructure wizarding society, Harry couldn't help but smile. For the first time in his life, he was part of a team of adults who actually wanted to protect him and ensure he received the love and care his parents had wanted him to have.
And if that team happened to include cosmic entities with creative approaches to justice, wrongfully imprisoned godfathers with dramatic flair, and lawyers who got genuinely excited about overthrowing corrupt governments, well, that just made everything more interesting for everyone involved.
Besides, Harry had always suspected his life was going to be complicated. At least now it was complicated in ways that involved helping people instead of just surviving until tomorrow.
*"Oh, we're going to help so many people,"* Drakor agreed cheerfully. *"Help them understand proper ethical behavior through extensive educational experiences they'll never forget. It's going to be beautiful."*
Harry decided he was really looking forward to showing the wizarding world what cosmic justice looked like when it was applied with precision, creativity, and a really good understanding of exactly who deserved what kind of educational attention.
It was going to be spectacular.
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