Thursday 4th November 1981.
The soft breathing and occasional muttering were music to his ears.
All the planning and plotting had not been in vain. Glancing beside himself, he drank in the imitation of his wife. As talented as Rohan had been, he had been unable to fully capture all that made Lily Potter so great.
But there was enough.
Her fiery hair glowed in the shimmering lights from the nearby lamp and an unbreakable will shone forth in her beautiful emerald eyes. They were locked, unmovable, on the sleeping form of their only son, just below their frame in the crib he'd built for the boy with his own two hands.
Well, his own hands, Padfoot's interference and several bottles of Firewhiskey.
Lily had been furious when she had come home, heavily pregnant to the chaos of timber and tools scattered around the living room. Padfoot had fled quickly upon seeing her face, but the look she directed his way only made James love her even more.
That had been only days before Dumbledore had told them of the danger, the prophecy. One he had apparently known about for months, but that had only come to possibly refer to them after their most recent tangle with Voldemort and his Death Eaters at a muggle shopping centre.
Where he, Lily and the Longbottoms had faced the man himself and managed to drive him away. Supposedly painting all four of them, and the children they carried, with Fate's mark as a result.
James had been frantic to see that Lily was alright, but she was her usually fiery self afterwards, as Dumbledore had questioned if they had a place to hole up in. James had initially suggested they come here. To the Manor in which he had grown up.
Charlus and Dorea would have welcomed them with open arms. And he knew the locale to be secure. His father had explained his tests on the wards many times. But those green eyes had swayed him.
Lily had been uncomfortable placing her faith entirely in wards she could not understand the arithmancy of. Worried there might be a hole in them that Voldemort might exploit. And the complexity of the wards over Potter Manor were far beyond any of them.
The secrets of their creation were now well lost to the history of a dying race. Even his father's years of research had barely scratched the surface of how Irabelle and the dwarves had managed the feat.
Instead, Lily had convinced James to buy the small cottage in Godric's Hollow in secret. Not leaving any trail that could link the purchase to them.
At which point she and Alice had worked tirelessly to prepare the perfect safehouse. Every protection that she could fathom was laid down over those stones before they moved in. Identical to the ones being laid around the Longbottom home to defend them, as both of them could apparently fit this mysterious prophecy that Albus refused to divulge to them. Beyond the fact that it involved their unborn sons.
Both homes were made into magical fortresses. Layers upon layers of powerful and vicious spells and enchantments protected every square inch against intruders.
And then they foolishly tied it all to a single Fidelius Charm. Whose secret James agreed to entrust to a dirty stinking rat. He should never have trusted Pettigrew.
Not with his family.
Instead, he trusted his brother. Sirius had seemed so sure that the bluff would work. It would keep the Death Eaters chasing his tail like the dog he was while the secret remained safe in their most unassuming friend. And yet, they had heard nothing from the man in the days since. Despite not being the Secret Keeper, Padfoot knew the backup plan was to retreat here.
James considered that he was probably hunting Pettigrew in his honour, and the thought brought a smile to his face. At least they would have retribution once Sirius arrived with the traitor's corpse. Though, Padfoot was supposed to be here. Helping them with Harry.
Yet James could not help but blame himself. To wonder if there was something else, anything else, he could have done to protect Lily and Harry.
Mipsy's sudden snores broke his reminiscing. The young elf had only just become of age to help around the house when he had started building the crib. She was to be Harry's personal elf, to help him with whatever he needed, keep him in line when James couldn't be there himself, and help to teach Harry his place in the world. She would still get to be that for the boy, but now it fell to her and the others to raise him entirely.
A portrait cannot truly cry, as they are not truly alive. Instead, the canvas on which James's eyes were rendered seemed to weep a clear oily substance. The only thing he could now give out into the real world were these cold imitations of real grief.
James would never truly teach his boy to ride a broom. How to talk to girls. The best pranks to pull on his teachers. He could pass on his knowledge, but it would never be the same. He fell to his knees as the reality of his mistakes finally overwhelmed him. Hard sobs wracked his body as Lily's arms snaked around him and pulled him tight.
"I failed him," James sobbed softly.
"It is not your fault, my love. Voldemort would not be stopped. If anyone screwed up here, it was me. You were right, we should have come here and trusted your ancestors."
"I don't blame you, Lily. Your magic was astounding. It was my fault for trusting the wrong person." James assured her as he quaked in her grasp. All of the failings that led them here weighed upon him. His son was alone in the world. "Harry deserved better than this."
"Get over yourself, Potter."
James sniffed and looked up in disbelief at his wife, a broad smile splitting her face.
"What?" he asked in confusion.
"We messed up, but Harry lives on. Our son needs us to be strong for him. He needs our love and our guidance, not our pity and regret. So," her grin grew even wider as he became lost in her eyes, "get over yourself. Please."
James couldn't help the smile that broke over his face at her words. For so many years she had refused to even consider the idea of dating him. He'd been a jerk and he deserved her scorn. Mostly due to her baffling friendship with Snivellous. But then that had broken and James had still not had any luck.
So he had reassessed himself, and found himself wanting in many areas. He committed to changing, to being a better man, and not long after that, she had finally turned those emerald eyes on him in desire.
Lily made him a better man. And she understood how his mind worked better than even Sirius could claim these days. She knew that empty words and platitudes did not sway James Potter. But that fire in her, that could turn his will on a knut. She was so strong, and so was he with her by his side. Even in this state.
He reached his hand behind her head, tangling it in her hair and pulling her down. Their lips were millimetres apart when a shrill cry broke through their moment. Harry's cries solidified the boost his wife had given him. Harry would always come first. He was their only responsibility now.
Mipsy was quickly roused by the hearty cries of the young child. She shot out of the small chair by the crib and was checking over Harry with her magic, trying to find the cause of his discomfort.
"Mipsy, he's hungry," Lily called, catching the elf's attention. "Trust me, that cry is hunger. You'll come to know them all well."
The elf simply bowed and popped away, returning after a moment with a bottle and gently picking the boy from his crib and settling back into her chair as he drank. James felt the remorse and regret tickling at the back of his throat at the scene below him. Just another thing he'd never again be able to do for his boy.
"Stop it, James." Lily chided him again softly as she held him close. "He'll be grown before you know it and we'll wonder where the time went. Stop worrying about the past and focus on Harry's future."
ϟ
Farkor grinned to himself as he held the small envelope in his claw. He had sent the Director's message off to the head Potter elf, suggesting that the elves secure and lockdown all the Potter properties to protect them against whoever might come searching.
The small wax seal on the rear of the letter proved it had been received by the correct party. It was the Potter seal, but the wax was steeped in natural magic that did not flow through human veins. There was no mistaking its source. Ripping into the parchment, he unfolded the letter and spread it on his small cubicle's desk.
Respected Banker Farkor,
We thank you for your concerns regarding the Potter holdings in these darkened times. Rest assured, the properties in question have been sealed since our Master's command many weeks ago now.
The elves have completed a thorough assessment of the possessions and properties of our Masters and found most to be in their proper place, with only a few known exceptions.
Our Master's commands that Buhgor continue to manage the affairs of the estate until such time as, there was an obvious pause in the writing, a suitable Heir comes forward, has never been countermanded. As such, we would greatly appreciate them continuing in this regard.
Should you have further questions, please contact me in the same manner.
Regards, Pops.
Head House Elf of the House of Potter.
Farkor smiled again. Though the letter was fairly vague, it had contained a few pieces of information that he was sure the elf had not meant to convey.
The boy lived, and the elf knew exactly where he was. It was only a small break in the pressure of the writing that assured him of this hunch, but it did not fit in its place in a piece of official correspondence from the Head elf of the Potters. Charlus was a stickler for such things in his day, or so he had been told.
Analysing handwriting had often seen Farkor ridiculed by his peers. But the skill had often come in handy since he had begun working in the bank. More was revealed by the form of the lettering than others seemed to fathom.
Poor Pops was beginning to show his age, as he would normally have completely rewritten the letter to erase such a mistake. Such knowledge would help the Nation stand ready to assist the boy at the proper time for the correct price.
But for the moment he would sit on this little sliver of information. He had done as his Gragnar commanded. He had not asked to see the correspondence and as such Farkor would have time to verify his hunch. Perhaps he could convince the elf to part with the information willingly. But it mattered not.
The young goblin had his methods, and he would get what he needed eventually.
ϟ
Monday 8th November 1981.
Dumbledore stood in the Gringotts atrium with a full half of the Wizengamot behind him.
While a number of them had not been his first choices, they did hold a significant amount of sway in their world as part of their courts. And many had large fortunes banked with the goblins. Perhaps that would be enough.
He felt off for how he'd had to sell the idea to several of them as well. Comments like 'An estate as broad and strong as the Potter's could not be left to the greedy administration of the goblins' had a few of those in attendance smirking with anticipation.
And Albus wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake in their inclusion.
He'd had to make certain concessions to other members to garner their support. Some wanted money, some support on a doomed bill being put to the Ministry which he could offer without actually making any difference. Albus had become very good at maintaining the status quo when necessary.
Practically everyone thought that he was on their side to some degree, and no one ever questioned him when their attempts at change fell in a heap at their feet. Surely it was never the fault of the Chief Warlock.
Still, others had wanted favours. All would be called in eventually. But as with the support, Albus had long ago mastered the ability to slip free of his obligations, without it seeming that was what he was doing. Or holding some long-forgotten mistake over the one trying to manipulate him into their corner.
An advantage of having seen so many of the members of this society pass through the halls of Hogwarts. He knew a lot of their dirty little secrets.
"Mister Dumbledore."
Albus seethed internally. He knew the little shits were doing it now to anger him before the meeting. "Yes?"
"The conference room is through here. If your party would like to join us."
Without waiting for a reply, the goblin shot off down a side corridor and the wizards were hard-pressed to keep up without breaking into a jog. The goblins were trying to unsettle them before the meeting. A simple distraction tactic that Albus himself had employed many times in the past. Clearly, these rodents had forgotten who they were messing with.
As the goblin came to an abrupt halt in front of a pair of floor-to-ceiling doors etched in gold, the now panting wizards finally fell in behind him. "Enter."
The doors swung inward and the small goblin disappeared, leaving the assembled wizards to enter and join the arrayed goblins already seated inside. They had clearly been sitting comfortably for some time, and Albus fumed silently at the attempts to throw him off his game.
"Welcome," Ragnok addressed the new group as they all sat, "Mister Dumbledore." He added, nodding purposefully at the aged warlock.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed at the malicious grin on the goblin leader's face.
"Manager Ragnok," began another of Albus's group, who clearly knew very little of the goblins if he thought such incorrect titles mattered to them, "we're here hoping we can resolve this issue we seem to be having with the poor Potters' last wishes."
"There is no issue with the Potters or their wishes. They are quite simple and quite clear." Ragnok replied, eyeing the upstart wizard angrily.
"Quite," Dumbledore added, "but it is the opinion of the Ministry that something must be done regardless. It is not wise to ignore a problem until it becomes too big to clean up."
Dumbledore smiled, his time had come now and he would have a modicum of revenge against these little bastards today. Not only for their former transgression, but for the sake of what he sought. They only ran this institution due to the kindness of wizards after they were thrown down and beaten the last time. A small concession to appease their retreat from their benevolent vanquishers.
"You still seem to be bumbling about under the assumption you have the ability to pass laws that matter in some way to the Nation, Mister Dumbledore." The twinkle that had been in the old man's eye quickly vanished. "Pass all the laws you want, it won't get you what you desire."
The grins on the goblins were now bordering on hysterical as the gathered wizards began to chatter and moan to one another at the gall of these creatures to deny them their rights.
"Director, we are the rightful law of this magical world. All are subject to its reach, as clearly noted in our treaty." The foolish young Undersecretary Fudge called, a smug smile on his face as he believed he had put the goblins back in their place.
"Perhaps, young fool, you need to read the treaty again." Ragnok glared, "I, however, know it very well. Seeing as my father signed it when you lot were tired of fighting any longer."
Dumbledore was truly struggling to keep his anger in check. These creatures were beyond the pale if they thought they could get away with this after all that they had done.
"We seem to be veering off the topic here," he corrected, trying to get things back where he wanted them. Where he could control them.
"Again, you labour under false pretences, Mister Dumbledore. The treaty in question is the heart of the matter. Did any of you think to read it carefully before calling this meeting?" Ragnok met the eyes of every member in the chamber all of whom looked away bashfully apart from Albus himself.
He would not be so easily rumbled, though it had been some time since he'd availed himself of the treaty's inner workings. Not wanting to interact with those who killed his joy so long ago any more than he needed to.
"As I said," Ragnok continued, "I know the treaty by heart. I have studied it long and hard, long before I took the seat of Director of this Bank. You would all do well to familiarise yourselves with it once more.
"According to the articles of the treaty of 1865, the matters of inheritance law fall solely under the auspices of Gringotts Bank. Furthermore, they also categorically affirm that the running of said Bank shall remain the castigation of the Goblin Nation for their efforts in rebellion.
"Now I assume that you learned men understand the wording of the treaty just fine, but I think it should be pointed out to some of our younger members. That is to say that you, the wizards, decided to gift the goblins the task of managing your bank as punishment for our actions in the rebellion. However, the wording of the treaty leaves no clause under which we can be removed from the management of said affairs.
In other words, you put your defeated foes in charge of all your money."
Ragnok paused and his smile broadened even further. A state that to most humans looked like a feral creature ready to strike, with their sharp pointed teeth on full display.
"You were then stupid enough to leave the assessment and distribution of all inheritance and estate management to the above-mentioned bank. So, in short, challenge us on the Potter Estate. You are correct that you write the laws of the magical world. But by the words of the existing treaty, if we were to acquiesce to your wishes, it would require the reassessment of every single inheritance that has ever been our duty to oversee."
Several of the gathered wizards paled considerably at his last words. Money had long been passed, probably under this very table, to ensure the proper wizard was always the one to receive his 'due' from a will. If the goblins were to thoroughly reassess even half of the wills they'd been 'forced' to oversee, the entire balance of power in their world could change overnight.
"As it stands, there are individuals listed as inheritors of the entire Potter Estate. Those people are alive and well, though not presently able to enact their recieval of said Estate. If any were to attempt to cheat those individuals out of said inheritance, the members of Gringotts, the very Goblin Nation itself, would be most," Ragnok stared steely-eyed directly at Dumbledore, "displeased."
Though his face showed none of the shock he was feeling, Dumbledore began to see the full extent of the goblins' threats. If he were to push matters, none of his political goodwill would be enough to let him survive the feeding frenzy that would go down in the papers the next day.
"And just to be absolutely clear, we have just finished an entire audit of the Potter Estate, as per the request of the Will. We know where every Knut, spoon and sock are located and how many there are. Should anything listed under it become misplaced, we will close the doors to this building until such time as the items are returned and the one responsible hands themselves over for judgment under the terms of our lovely treaty. Is that understood?"
Every wizard in the room shifted uncomfortably as Ragnok again made eye contact with every one of them. Each nodded their head silently as he passed from one to the next. The other goblins in the room were grinning openly as the truth of their victory became evident to the fools who had believed they had won the last war between their peoples, but who had been too stupid to read and understand all the terms of the documents they were signing.
Ragnok fixed his gaze one last time on Albus, an enormous grin spread from ear to ear "Then, you are dismissed."