[[!meta title="Chapter 1: Pragmatism"]]
Petunia Dursley opened the door, and discovered what simply had to be the worst
practical joke she had ever encountered. There was a baby on her doorstep.
A *baby,* of all things. In a basket, of course. There even appeared to be a
letter.
She collected the newspaper. With a sigh, she also brought the baby inside. It
would not do for the neighbors to see a baby abandoned outside her house, after
all. At least it was asleep.
The very last thing her life needed was a storybook baby abandoned in front of
her house. Her own child was already causing enough trouble. This was all the
sort of thing Lily would appreciate, not her.
Now there was a thought. Perhaps Lily would take the child. Petunia made a
mental note to contact her sister as soon as possible. Last she'd heard from
Lily, there was some trouble and she'd been told that all contact had to go
through the lawyers at some bank called Gringotts. Goblins, if you can believe
that. Whimsical nonsense; Petunia was glad her child would never get caught up
in such an abnormal culture.
Petunia set about preparing breakfast for herself and her family. The baby was
set aside for the time in the living room; it had waited outside in the cold,
and as far as Petunia was concerned she was already doing it a favor by
allowing it indoors. As the eggs cooked, she absently read the letter which
had accompanied this morning's unwelcome guest.
Well, now there's something. Her freak of a sister had gotten herself killed,
and the child was her nephew, Harry. Of course Lily's son would get dumped on
her in such a manner. It was just like Lily to be so freakish.
But then, it *wasn't* just like her. As much as Petunia loathed her sister,
she knew Lily would never abandon her child like this. Lily was always a
responsible girl; if there was even a chance Petunia would be named as
guardian of the child, she'd have been told. And no money to help raise the
child? Lily's husband was rich! Sure, it was freak money, but Vernon's
paycheck was going to stretch just to cover the expense of their own child.
With two children to care for, they would simply never afford that vacation
home in Majorca!
No, this wasn't right at all. Something was missing. There must, she thought,
be an upcoming will reading, or perhaps the freaks thought they could get away
with shortchanging her. Unacceptable! No-one takes advantage of Petunia
Dursley!
And with that, Petunia made up her mind. Breakfast set aside to cool, she
jotted down a quick note to Vernon (fortunately, they were already planning on
taking Dudley to his first zoo trip today; Vernon could handle that on his
own) and set out towards downtown London, basket in one hand and letter in the
other.
There was no way she would let that freakishness infect her family without some
compensation.
In a castle in northern Scotland, an aged headmaster watched the silver
instruments in his office. The wards had activated, yes, but then stopped
charging minutes later. Well, that was nothing to worry about; Petunia would
love her nephew just as she loved her sister, and must simply be taking Harry
for a quick checkup at the doctor's office. Smiling to himself, Professor
Dumbledore sucked on a lemon drop and turned back to the business of running a
school.
Charing Cross Road, find the bookstore next to the record shop, start looking
for freaks. It took Petunia less than five minutes to identify someone who
clearly had no business walking around normal London, and a 30 second
conversation about her sister who just died and "I'm to meet with the Goblins
but need help to reach their bank" to determine that this particular freak was
not a magic user. The second freak she identified was, and Petunia found
herself with an escort into the Leaky Cauldron.
Dark, dank, and straight out of the middle ages. Oh, she remembered this place
well. How anyone could possibly think that magic was anything but trouble when
this was the first introduction to the magical world, she would never know.
Even so early in the morning, the bar was packed with uncouth cretins
congratulating each other and celebrating some lord's death; simply disgusting.
There were some glances at the basket, but Harry was covered by his blanket and
amazingly still asleep, and Petunia's brisk manner saw her quickly out the back
door with the barman opening the way for her and no further questions asked.
Most of the patrons seemed to be caught up talking about some Boy-Who-Lived,
which didn't sound at all impressive an accomplishment to Petunia, but at least
they weren't trying to talk to her.
Cauldrons! Brooms! Owls! Petunia was disgusted by such a blatant display of
freakishness. Somehow, it was even more loud and colorful than she'd
remembered from her sister's shopping trips. There had better be a lot of
money waiting for her if she was to put up with this nonsense for some child.
Perhaps, with the right upbringing, he might never need to learn about magic.
Petunia smiled inwardly at that thought; it would be just perfect if Lily's
son grew up to be normal. Steps would have to be taken early on to cur any
freakish tendencies.
She marched down the alley with her nose held high, exuding such an air of
aloofness that most who saw her assumed she was an oddly-dressed pureblood and
stayed out of her way. Those who didn't were simply brushed aside; Petunia had
no desire to waste any more time on their sort than she had to. Such filthy,
disturbingly-attired creatures as these witches and wizards were simply
undeserving of her acknowledgment.
Upon reaching the stern white marble facade of Gringotts Bank, Petunia entered
and walked to the first free teller she saw, thankful that it was still early
enough in the morning that she would not have to wait in line with any freaks.
Finding herself ignored, she coughed loudly before ringing the desk bell that
sat immediately in front of the Goblin.
Axeblock looked up from his paperwork and acknowledged her with a fierce scowl
and slight twitch towards the dagger hanging upon his belt. Seeing that this
failed to send the bothersome Human who dared to interrupt his work scurrying
away, he relented slightly and began his interrogation of this pest.
"What do you want, muggle?"
Petunia had never dealt with the Goblins in person before, but really, bankers
were bankers, weren't they? And she was the one stuck with an extra child,
here! Calling upon her deeply-ingrained sense of betterness and the pure
knowledge that these freaks owed her something for the atrocious invasion of
her life, she looked down her nose at the teller and made her demands.
"This," and here Petunia deposited the basket and letter in front of the
teller, "was deposited on my door this morning. If my sister left me her
child, she would've left money to care for him. I know she had lawyers here. I
demand... compensation for this atrocity. I want this taken care of!
Immediately!"
Axeblock was not completely prepared for this situation. His first customer of
the day was a muggle. A very rude muggle, who for some reason had decided to
walk up to the Foreign Tax-Related Disbursements desk. Bringing with her what
appeared to be *the* Harry Potter, the same Boy-Who-Lived which all the
foolish wand-wavers were carrying-on about. From what he could tell, she
either wished to dispute her own guardianship of said child, or she was
attempting to exchange it for currency. In either case, the solution was the
same.
"I shall have to summon a superior. You may accompany me to a private room and
await resolution there."
Petunia was quickly and quietly shuffled off to a waiting room with some
less-than-comfortable chairs and horrible magazines about something freakish
called "Quidditch". Reluctantly, she settled in and proceeded to stare at a
wall while the Goblins got on with getting her some money. Harry was resting
in his basket, unceremoniously placed against a wall.
Meanwhile, the Goblins were in something of a panic. Axeblock had called his
immediate superior Bloodrock, who had brought in Throwhook from Wills and
Inheritances and Beltlock from Unusual Currency Exchanges. After a very brief
interview with the muggle woman, Beltlock was dismissed and Throwhook ran off
to summon Sharpaxe, the current Head of the Potter Accounts. The active
foreman noticed all this activity and called Steelgash from Potential
Difficulties, who upon hearing the situation summoned Urgnok from Wizarding
Relations to assist. Urgnok understood exactly who the Boy-Who-Lived was, and
sent an urgent request for advice to Warlord Ragnok, supreme branch manager
and effective head of Goblin government in Britain.
Ragnok found himself faced with a plainly unacceptable situation. Less than a
day after Dumbledore had strode into his bank and outright demanded that they
seal the Potter will, and it was already causing problems! Letting the Wizards
inject their loathsome politics into Gringotts affairs had never ended well for
Goblins before, and this time looked to be no different. Still, Dumbledore was
politically powerful; Ragnok could not order the will unsealed without risking
significant further damage to Goblin rights in Britain.
Legally, it was a mess. After some further questioning, Ragnok determined that
the Dursley was absolutely and completely unwilling to accept the boy without
monetary compensation, an admirable if somewhat troublesome trait. Ragnok was
also somewhat endeared to her by her rampant hatred of Wizard kind, which he
shared. Still, without a will reading, no such compensation was possible; the
only funds available were the boy's own trust fund, which would not unseal
until his eleventh birthday. All Potter Family assets were locked away until
the heir's majority, barring a will that stated otherwise. Without any way to
acquiesce to the Dursley's demands for compensation, there was no other
alternative; the guardianship of the boy must be changed.
The contents of the will could not, by the agreement with Dumbledore, be read
to determine a replacement guardian. Still, the existence of the will was not
in doubt; nor that it had been trusted to the Goblins of Gringotts to execute.
This implied that the Potters trusted in the judgment of Goblins to see to the
care of their child. Ragnok acknowledged that Gringotts had already failed the
Potters by bowing to political pressure from Dumbledore, but he would still
accept the implied responsibility to find a proper guardian for the boy. And
in any case, no-one else could be trusted with the task; Dumbledore had
already proven that the Ministry of Magic was incapable of placing the child;
as its representative, he had chosen a guardian who lasted not even 12 hours
before demanding to be removed!
So, Ragnok ruled that guardianship of the boy was now a Goblin matter. They
would, in good faith, find the best possible guardian for Harry Potter.
As a matter of simple formalities, Beltlock was once again summoned.
Negotiations commenced, and less than two hours after entering Gringotts,
Petunia left much happier than she had expected to, having officially sold
Harry to the Goblins for £2500 and a prepaid taxi home. She was given a
receipt in exchange, marked with her own blood, the blood of Beltlock, and the
blood of Harry Potter. She viewed the experience as a triumph over
freakishness, and planned to have the receipt framed as soon as possible.
Obviously, it would not be displayed anywhere prominent, where someone might
see it, but she would treasure it nonetheless. Perhaps she could hang it in
the supply cupboard, under the stairs.
A tinkling sound attracted Dumbledore's attention once more to his silver
instruments. He was pleased to see that the blood wards were again active; the
blood of Harry Potter was in the home of the Dursleys, and that blood was
loved. Dumbledore smiled, and returned to his paperwork. Later this evening he
would tell Minerva her worries had been for naught. Another plan managed
flawlessly. This deserved a lemon drop.
And now, Ragnok considered the problem of where to place the boy. He could not
be placed carelessly; already, Harry had acquired scores of potential enemies
in the followers of Lord Voldemort. In any case, a Wizarding family was not a
healthy place to raise any child; every Goblin knew that Wizards were without
exception rude, incompetent, and downright useless. No, he would have to go
somewhere he could have a real childhood, with all the opportunity he deserved
to grow into a well-rounded adult member of society.
Besides, Sharpaxe would have plenty of spare time now that the Potter accounts
were idle, and had been trying unsuccessfully for a child for some time now.
Ragnok had no doubt he would make an excellent father for Harry. There was no
better place for a child to grow to adulthood than the marble rooms and stone
caves of Gringotts; any Goblin you asked would agree without hesitation.
There were other advantages as well. The boy would grow to be The Potter of
Potter, heir to an Ancient and Noble house and its corresponding seat on the
Wizengamot. Having a Goblin-raised Human on the Wizengamot would be a
tremendous leap forward for Goblin rights. And as the Boy-Who-Lived, he was
already being canonized by the Wizarding public; he was clearly an asset to
the Goblin nation if used properly.
Yes, this could work well for the Goblins. Harry would be raised as one of
them, trained both in the arts of war and the arts of politics. He would be a
force for change in the backwards society of the Wizards, and greatly assist
in the long-term plan of equal rights for Goblinkind.
If nothing else, the Wizarding public was sure to send him gifts. Already the
mail wards Dumbledore had instructed them to setup on behalf of Harry Potter
were forwarding hundreds of letters to a vault dedicated for that purpose. Some
of those letters had money! Money which, by virtue of being money, rightfully
belonged in the hands of Goblins!
And if Harry Potter was recognized as a member of Goblinkind by Gringotts,
then he could access those funds for his own purposes, and the consequent
betterment of the Goblin economy. And the Potter accounts! The vaults were
officially sealed until his majority, but as a Goblin he could enter them for
security audits. And once Harry was inside the vault, the possessions and gold
within were unarguably his, so he could not be accused of stealing if he
brought anything out when he left. It was disgusting to just leave all that
gold sitting around for decades; really, this was better for everyone.
A grisly smile crept across Ragnok's face. Without any further hesitation, he
promoted Sharpaxe from Head of Potter Accounts to Head of Harry Potter Affairs.
The child was placed in Sharpaxe's hands, and with the briefest of ceremony
adopted into his clan.
Harry looked up at his new father and gurgled happily. «Well,» thought
Sharpaxe, «I'll have plenty of time to work on fixing that.»
The child was whisked off to a Healer so the bank could be assured its asset
was in prime condition, and Sharpaxe was dispatched back to his apartment to
prepare an appropriate living space and acquire whatever food, clothing, and
any other essentials that were likely to be required in the immediate future.
As Sharpaxe set off to notify his wife, one thought repeated in his mind:
«Humans grow fast and tall. He will outgrow his swords quickly. I must
requisition extra funds for additional weaponry immediately.»
Goldknife was a very skilled, very bored Healer. Gringotts had little call for
Healers trained in Human physiology, and there hadn't been a new opening for a
Disemboweler in years. Still, she was dedicated to maintaining herself as the
best. She practiced her skill with diligence on the Human cursebreakers injured
on the job, and yearned to someday practice her *art* on those who attempted to
steal from Gringotts.
But today, a new patient arrived. Goldknife was informed that she would now be
responsible for this Human child's healing until he reached majority. Funding
was allocated from the freshly-created Department of Harry Potter Affairs for
any needed wages, ingredients, and record-keeping. This was pleasant news; it
wasn't Disemboweling, but at least it was something to do. And there was always
the hope that he would try to escape while under her care.
Harry was quickly determined to be no more injured than expected for a young
child who had had a house collapse on him. He was hungry, but Human milk was a
common enough ingredient in certain kinds of potions that she was quickly able
to satisfy that need. More worrying, however, was the rather persistent magical
reading that seemed to reside in his forehead. Careful analysis revealed the
presence of an incomplete horcrux. This required some difficult decisions to be
made.
Steelgash of Potential Difficulties was again brought forth, and was able to
verify that the signature on the horcrux matched that of a Human already known
to the bank, one Tom Riddle. This was fortunate, as Riddle had no active
contract with the Goblins for the protection of any horcruxes. Even if he
could press such a claim, Harry was determined to be a legal owner of any such
horcrux left on his person, as there was no record of Riddle ever having been
his guardian. Legally, the horcrux was a gift, and could be destroyed.
Still, the process had very serious complications. With such a risk to the
patient, the final decision must lie with the Head of Harry Potter Affairs. A
runner was sent to find Sharpaxe, eventually locating him sampling the wares of
various weaponsmiths. Sharpaxe, having the situation explained by the Healer,
immediately grasped the essential difficulty.
«You can remove the horcrux, but doing so will destroy the scar?»
«Unfortunately, yes. The two are one and the same; without the horcrux to burn
against his soul, his own magic will heal over the scar quickly.»
«But the scar is a mark of honor! Surely he will wear it as a badge of his
glorious victory!»
«He is too young to understand. When he is older, he will be able to cause his
magic to embrace scars of victory. Now, they will heal.»
«Then, we leave the horcrux until he is properly educated. Then his magic will
recognize the scar as his own, and the horcrux can be removed.»
«Unacceptable,» Steelgash interrupted, «Harry Potter is to be trained as a
Goblin. Tom Riddle is not. The horcrux is a security risk, and cannot be
present during his training.»
Sharpaxe scowled for a time, before presenting a compromise, «Harry deserves
recognition of his victory. You propose to deny him natural recognition as a
matter of bank security. I will agree, on the condition that Harry is afforded
compensation for this loss, to include special dispensation for the unlimited
use of a glamour that matches the scar as it is now.»
This was a steep price. Normally, glamours of any kind were prohibited in many
areas of Gringotts, and scar glamours especially were heavily restricted to
"inherited" scars and important marks of office. Still, no-one could deny that
Harry had earned a scar which he already wore, and the bank forcing the removal
of a genuine scar won in battle was a unique event.
«Agreed. An enchanted device will be constructed to hold the glamour. I will
see to the details.»
Sharpaxe hoped this would be enough. He promised himself that he would do
everything in his power to see Harry raised in a proper and honorable manner,
and that Harry would enter adulthood with many glorious scars. With any luck,
that would help satisfy the terrible loss Harry would surely feel for having
his first trophy stolen so unfairly.
A contract was hastily prepared and signed in blood between the two, and
detailed images of the scar drawn for the construction of the glamour.
Goldknife prepared a simple runic array for the removal process, and summoned
several underlings to assist. Within a few moments, the Goblins had donated
enough love of money to overpower the inherent hatred of the soul fragment,
dispersing it forever.
As she wiped some leftover black residue off Harry's forehead, Goldknife saw
that his beautifully violent scar was already starting to fade and smooth
over. With a grimace, she vowed silently to herself that someday she would
make amends to the boy for the harm she had just caused him.
Sharpaxe removed Harry from the Healer's presence and took him to be fitted for
his first set of armor. At such a young age it was doubtful that he would be
able to properly wield any weaponry, but it was important to get used to the
feel of the equipment as early as possible.
Harry's last stop for the day was an examination by the Matriarch for any
prophecies that entangled his fate. She was an ancient and hideous Goblin,
blinded at an early age when she first showed signs of divinatory talent and
locked away in a dark cave to improve her focus. After many years of rituals
and practice, she could feel the influence of the future on any brought before
her within moments.
The blind Oracle passed her hand over Harry, her face locked in a growl of
concentration. Long minutes passed, with the uneven smoke of torches coiling
around her cramped burrow, causing little Harry to sneeze.
With a pained moan, the Matriarch relaxed before giving an utterly terrifying
smile. Staring eyelessly into the darkness, she delivered her reading.
«This boy is four-score-times marked by prophecy. His life shall be rife with
conflict and war. Enemies great and small await him.»
Sharpaxe let out a relieved breath. He had worried that, as a Human, Harry
might not be destined to be a true warrior, and that he would have to contract
out for enemies to challenge his new ward. This way was better; with natural
adversaries selected by fate, Harry was sure to have the best opportunity
possible to become a mighty warrior. Not to mention, this way cost less.
Knowing everything he needed to know about Harry's future, Sharpaxe carried
him off to his apartment. It was nearing evening, and Harry would need to be
fed soon. Most likely he was still too young to strangle his own rat, but
there was no point in denying him the opportunity to try.