The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 4

Hi all, 

Here’s the next chapter. Harry meets with the goblins and attends the funeral service at Hogwarts.

Chapter 4

Harry emerged from the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, a plume of emerald flames dying behind him. He brushed the soot from his robes and looked around.

Only two patrons occupied the room. At Harry's arrival, their eyes flicked upward, widening in recognition before quickly darting back to their tankards. Harry raised an eyebrow at their reaction but didn’t say anything.

Tom, the wizened barkeep, looked up from polishing the same glass he'd likely been fussing over for hours. "Mr. Potter," he said. "Good to see you, lad."

Harry nodded. "You too, Tom. How's business holding up?"

"Quiet days, Mr. Potter," he muttered. "Very quiet days."

"It'll turn around," Harry offered, the platitude ringing hollow even to his own ears. "People just need time to..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish. Time to forget? To heal? To stop being afraid of their own shadows?

"One can hope," Tom replied. “I’m looking to retire anyway. Know anybody interested in buying this old place?”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

He entered Diagon Alley and headed towards Gringotts. Boarded-up shopfronts lined both sides of the street. Faded "closed" signs hung forlornly in doorways, fluttering faintly in the breeze.

The few witches and wizards brave enough to venture out scurried from shadow to shadow like nervous mice. Shoulders hunched, heads bowed, they conducted hushed conversations in alcoves and doorways. An old witch caught sight of Harry. Recognition flashed in her eyes, followed quickly by... was that fear? She clutched her parcels tighter to her chest, offering a curt nod before hurrying away. 

"You'd think I was Voldemort himself, the way they're acting,” Harry muttered.

Kaze's voice echoed in his ears. "Perhaps they believe Skeeter's drivel about you being the next Dark Lord.”

"That wouldn't surprise me. People will believe anything."

"Most are sheep," Kaze agreed. "Critical thinking requires effort. Far easier to swallow whatever tripe is fed to them."

As they approached Gringotts, Harry's steps slowed involuntarily. The imposing white marble facade loomed before him, somehow colder and more forbidding than he remembered. But it was the sight at the foot of the stairs that gave him true pause.

A phalanx of goblin guards stood at rigid attention, a wall of green skin and gleaming armor. Their beady eyes fixed unwaveringly on Harry. Wickedly sharp spears glinted in gnarled hands, and more than one guard's finger twitched eagerly towards triggers on their crossbows.

"Quite the welcoming committee," Harry called out. "You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. A simple 'hello' would have sufficed."

A particularly gnarled goblin, his face a mass of scar tissue, stepped forward. “Words of your exploits have reached our ears, Mr Potter. We are just being cautious.”   

“Do you subscribe to the Daily Prophet, by chance?” Harry asked.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Harry said. “There’s no need to be wary of me. As far as I’m aware, your not my enemy. I wish to discuss business in a reasonable manner.”

The goblin grunted. “We shall see about that. Come inside, Mr Potter. We have closed the bank for your meeting, so I don’t want to waste any time.”

“Right. Time is money.” 

Harry climbed the stairs and entered the bank. At the far end of the hall stood an impressively large goblin, his stature easily a head taller than his kin. He was surrounded by even more guards, all wearing shiny ceremonial armour. The goblin's waistcoat, detailed with gold thread in complex designs, indicated that he held a position of great significance.

Harry's posture was relaxed despite the tense atmosphere. He could see why they closed the bank if they greeted him this way. Any customers that walked in to see this sight would probably soil themselves. It felt like overkill just to meet him, but he could roll with it. 

Kaze's voice whispered in his ear. "They look ready for war, not a simple meeting."

The tall goblin in ceremonial armour stepped forward. "Mr Potter, I am Ragnok, Director of Gringotts. We'll conduct our meeting here in the main hall."

At his signal, several goblins appeared, carrying a table and chairs. They set them up swiftly, and Ragnok gestured for Harry to sit.

"This is highly unusual," Harry said, taking a seat with an air of confidence. "I understand the need for caution, given recent events. But I’m not here to fight you."

Ragnok's expression remained stern. "There's another reason for this unconventional meeting, Mr Potter. Some elders in the Goblin Nation are displeased with your actions. They claim that because of your break-in, Voldemort killed several goblins, including Griphook—grandson to one of these elders. We're meeting here for your protection."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry for the loss of life, but I must protest. Voldemort was responsible for those deaths, not me. He chose to kill those goblins. My actions may have been the catalyst, but the blame lies squarely on Voldemort's shoulders."

Ragnok studied Harry for a moment before nodding slightly. "A fair point. However, the fact remains that your break-in led to these events."

"I acknowledge that," Harry said firmly. "And I'm willing to discuss fair compensation for the damage caused to the bank. But I won't accept blame for Voldemort's actions."

"Very well," Ragnok replied. "Now, explain why it was necessary to break in and release a dragon, causing significant damage to our bank."

Harry hesitated, unsure whether he should reveal the secret about Voldemort's Horcruxes. After a brief deliberation, he determined that it should be okay. The goblins didn’t strike him as being foolish enough to use such dark magic. 

"We needed to retrieve a Horcrux from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. A Horcrux is-"

"I’m aware of what a Horcrux is, Mr Potter," Ragnok interrupted. "Continue."

"Right," Harry said, unfazed. He continued to tell the story of the hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes until it reached the point where he and his friends broke into the bank. "We were in a desperate situation, fighting against time to defeat Voldemort. In hindsight, there might have been a better approach. But if Griphook hadn't betrayed us, we wouldn't have needed to escape on the dragon."

"So you're saying Griphook's actions justify the destruction you caused?"

"Not at all," Harry replied calmly. "I'm explaining the circumstances. We never intended to cause so much damage, but we were left with little choice given Griphook's betrayal and the immediate danger we faced."

"Your actions nearly exposed our world to Muggles," Ragnok said coldly. 

"A regrettable consequence," Harry acknowledged. "But given the choice between momentary exposure and allowing Voldemort to win, I stand by our decision."

Ragnok leaned back, studying Harry intently. "You speak with conviction, Mr Potter. Now, let's discuss how we move forward. Despite your actions, you remain one of our most valuable clients. The Potter and Black Vaults contain a significant amount of wealth."

"I'm listening," Harry said, meeting Ragnok's gaze steadily.

"I propose a fine to cover damages to the bank. I will not charge you for the loss of the dragon, as he was old and blind. He was about to be replaced."

Harry nodded. "That seems reasonable. What figure did you have in mind?"

Ragnok named a substantial sum. Harry didn't flinch, knowing his vaults could easily cover it. He felt he was getting off easy because the reparations amounted to only about one percent of his total wealth. He had a rough estimate of his worth because Sirius had told him that he was leaving everything to him before dying, along with how much his family was worth. The Potters' wealth was insignificant in comparison to that of the Blacks.

"That only covers your portion of the damages," Ragnok said. "I will be charging the same fee to Mr Weasley and Miss Granger."

"I will cover their expense," Harry replied without hesitation.

"Very well. I will withdraw the amount from your vaults," Ragnok replied, motioning to one of the goblins standing behind him. "Speaking of your accounts, we may as well deal with them since you are already here."

The goblin walked forward and handed two ledgers to Ragnok before retreating. Ragnok snapped his fingers, and Harry felt magic wash over him. He didn't react to it, as he didn't sense any harmful intent from it. 

"A privacy spell," Ragnok explained. "Your accounts are your business, and shouldn't be shared with everyone here."

"But you're different?" Harry asked.

"I will be your accounts manager for the Potter and Black accounts going forward."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Isn't that unusual? As the Director, you should have more important responsibilities than managing my account."

"I think you underestimate your importance." Ragnok gave a mirthless smile. "Your value doesn't lie in just the amount of money you hold, but in your importance to the magical community."

Harry nodded, understanding the implications. His status as the defeater of Voldemort and his newfound powers made him a significant figure in the wizarding world. It was clear that Gringotts wanted to keep a close eye on him, both as a potential threat and a valuable asset.

"I appreciate the personal attention," Harry said, his tone neutral. "I assume this means we'll be working closely together in the future."

"Indeed," Ragnok replied, opening the first ledger. "Now, let's review your holdings. The Potter vault has seen significant growth due to various investments and interest..."

As Ragnok began to explain the contents of his vaults, Harry listened intently, occasionally asking questions about specific investments or properties he owned. The sheer magnitude of his holdings was overwhelming, and he knew he needed time to process it. For the time being, he was content to leave his investments in the capable hands of Ragnok and gradually learn everything.

After he finished the meeting, Harry left the bank in a good mood. Although the beginning wasn’t great, the rest of the meeting had gone well. It was one less thing he had to worry about, and it lifted a weight off his shoulders.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the Hogwarts grounds. Rows of chairs faced a raised platform where a line of coffins lay, each draped with different house colours or family crests. The castle loomed behind them, its exterior restored to its former glory. Everyone had worked hard over the past few days to repair everything in time for the funeral service. The interior still needed a lot of work, and there were structural issues, but those could wait for another day. 

Harry stood at the back, cradling Teddy in his arms. The infant's hair had shifted to a solemn black, as if sensing the mood of the gathering. Andromeda stood beside them, her face etched with grief.

"They would be proud," she murmured, gently stroking Teddy's cheek. "Remus and Dora. Seeing you step up like this."

Harry nodded, unable to find words. He watched as people filed in, taking their seats. The Weasleys huddled together, a sea of red hair standing out from the crowd. Hermione sat with them, her hand clasped tightly in Ron's.

The ceremony began, and the acting Minister of Magic appeared on stage to deliver a speech. Kingsley's deep voice echoed throughout the grounds as he honoured those who had given their lives to fight for peace. Harry listened with half an ear, but he felt detached from the proceedings. He wasn’t sure if it was his new mindset, or if he just found funerals uncomfortable in general.  

Following the main service, some people left or formed smaller groups to discuss the day's events. Harry made his way through the crowd and spoke with several people, including the families of the deceased. It was difficult, but he felt obligated to say a few words. He paused at Fred's coffin, where George stood alone, his face a mask of pain.

"George," Harry said.

George turned, his eyes hollow. "Harry. I... I don't know how to do this. How to be just George."

"You don't have to figure it out alone. We're all here for you."

George nodded, his gaze drifting back to the coffin. Harry stood with him in silence, offering what comfort he could through his presence.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry found himself cornered by his former Gryffindor teammates. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm seemed out of place amidst the sombre atmosphere, but Harry welcomed the distraction.

"A charity Quidditch match?" Oliver's eyes gleamed. "Brilliant idea, Harry. And you'll be playing, right?"

Harry nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

Angelina Johnson smiled. "Fred would have loved it. A proper send-off, you know?"

They quickly fell into planning mode, deciding on a date the following weekend. "We'll need to advertise," Katie Bell pointed out. "Get the word out quickly."

"Leave that to me," Alicia Spinnet said. "I've got contacts at the Daily Prophet. We'll have it splashed across the sports pages by tomorrow."

“I can speak to Luna as well,” Harry told them. “She can post an advertisement in the Quibbler.”

As they talked, Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a reporter, quill poised over a notepad.

"Mr Potter, a word about today's service? How are you coping with the loss-"

"Not now," Harry cut him off firmly. "This isn't the time or place."

The reporter pressed on. "But the public has a right to know-"

Harry felt his temper flare. "The public has a right to let people grieve in peace. Back off."

A gust of wind suddenly whipped around them, sending the reporter's notes scattering. The man stumbled back, eyes wide with fear.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, not feeling sorry at all. "Must be a draft."

As the reporter hurried away, Harry noticed several other members of the press hovering nearby. He sighed, realising this was likely to be a recurring issue.

"Vultures," Angelina muttered. "No respect."

Harry nodded, then turned back to the group. "Right, so the match. We'll need two teams. I was thinking current students versus alumni?"

Oliver grinned. "Perfect. I suppose you'll be playing for the students. I’ll have to find someone that can give you a run for your money."

Harry smiled. “Good luck. I will leave you to organise your team. I think Ginny has already the players in mind for the students.”

The sun had nearly set by the time the last mourners began to leave. Harry found himself by the lake, Teddy still in his arms. The infant had fallen asleep, his tiny hand clutching Harry's shirt.

A snippet of conversation reached his ears, carried by the wind. Harry frowned, realising he hadn’t bothered to turn off the specific ability. He was about to tune it out when the heated exchange caught his attention.

"I want to go home, Daphne! Mum needs us!" a young voice pleaded.

"Absolutely not, Astoria," came the firm reply. "That woman is dead to me."

Harry's curiosity got the better of him. He focused on the voices, which seemed to be coming from further down the shore.

"How can you say that?" Astoria cried. "She's our mother!"

Daphne's voice was cold. "A mother who betrayed our father to the Death Eaters. She's lucky to be alive."

"She had no choice! They threatened to kill her!"

A derisive snort. "Please. Mother was never a Death Eater, but she's definitely a pureblood supremacist. She silently supported Voldemort and the Death Eaters' actions."

"You're horrible!" Astoria shouted. The sound of running footsteps followed.

Harry debated with himself for a moment before deciding to investigate. He made his way around the curve of the lake, spotting a lone figure standing at the water's edge.

Daphne Greengrass stood with her arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the dark water. Harry had never really interacted with her before, but he couldn't deny how striking she was. Long, dark hair fell in waves down her back, contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Her features were aristocratic—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full lips currently pressed into a thin line. Even in her grief, she carried herself with unmistakable poise.

As Harry approached, Daphne turned, her ice-blue eyes narrowing. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry stopped a few paces away. "I, uh, couldn't help overhearing your conversation."

"How? I didn't see you anywhere near us."

"It's part of my abilities," Harry admitted. "Sorry for the invasion of privacy."

Daphne shrugged and turned back to the lake. "Whatever."

Harry hesitated, then asked, "Was it true? About your mother being a Death Eater supporter?"

Daphne's shoulders tensed. "Are you going to turn her in?"

It was Harry's turn to shrug. "No, that's not my problem. Only you can decide if she deserves to be arrested."

Daphne glanced at him, surprise flickering across her face. "That's unexpected of you, Potter. I assumed you were a typical Gryffindor who sees things in black and white.”

"I'm full of surprises," Harry said dryly. "Mind if I join you?"

Daphne gestured vaguely, which Harry took as permission. He moved to stand beside her, adjusting Teddy in his arms.

"Is that... Lupin's son?" Daphne asked, her voice softer. 

Harry nodded. "Yeah. This is Teddy."

They stood in silence for a moment before Daphne spoke again. "To answer your question—yes, it's true. My mother never took the Dark Mark, but she believed in their cause. She fed information to the Death Eaters, thinking it would keep us safe." Her laugh was bitter. "Fat lot of good that did for my father."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

Daphne's eyes flashed. "I don't want your pity, Potter."

"It's not pity," Harry replied. "Just... I understand complicated family situations."

Daphne studied him for a long moment. "Astoria doesn't understand. She still sees our mother as this perfect, loving figure. But I saw the ugliness beneath the surface. The casual cruelty, the bigotry..."

Harry nodded, thinking of the Dursleys. "It's hard when people can't see past their own experiences."

"Exactly," Daphne agreed. "And now she wants us to go home, to pretend everything's fine. As if our father isn't dead because of her actions."

"What will you do?" Harry asked.

Daphne shrugged. "Stay here, I suppose. Finish my education. I asked the headmistress if I could stay here over the summer and help with repairing the castle. After that... I don't know. The Greengrass name no longer carries the same weight it once did, but as the Heiress, I must deal with it eventually."

“You're coming back for another year?"

"Just because I got treated better for being a pureblood doesn't mean it wasn't hellish. I watched other students tortured for the smallest things. It was sickening."

"That must have been tough," Harry said quietly.

"I tried to help them secretly," Daphne explained. "Even joined Neville and  Dumbledore's Army in their rebellion."

Harry's eyes widened. "You did? I don't remember seeing you in the Room of Requirement when I came back."

A small smirk played on Daphne's lips. "You were a bit distracted at the time, Potter."

Harry nodded sheepishly. "Fair point."

Daphne glanced at the darkening sky. "I should head back. It's getting late."

"Right," Harry agreed. "I should put Teddy to bed."

Daphne took a few steps, then paused. "This was... nice, Potter. Talking to you. Maybe we could do it again sometime?"

Harry smiled, surprised by the warmth he felt at the suggestion. "Yeah, I'd like that."

As Daphne walked away, Harry realised she hadn't once asked about Voldemort or his new abilities. It was refreshing, talking to someone who seemed to see him as just Harry.

He looked down at Teddy, still sleeping peacefully. "Come on, little man," he murmured. "Let's get you to bed."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Harry approached Buckingham Palace, its sandstone walls gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Tourists milled about, snapping photos and gawking at the guards in their distinctive bearskin hats. Harry felt out of place in his casual attire for meeting the Queen again, but at least it was neat. His unruly hair, on the other hand, was a lost cause, so he simply ignored it.  

As he neared the entrance, a dishevelled man with wild, unkempt hair and bloodshot eyes stepped in front of him.

"Wait!" the man cried, his voice hoarse and urgent. "Don't trust them! The royals are hiding a terrible secret!"

Harry froze, caught off guard by the man's sudden appearance and fervent tone. "What?"

The man leaned in close and whispered. "Wizards and witches walk among us. They abuse us mundanes, and the royals know all about it! They're all in it together, protecting the magical folk while we suffer!"

Before Harry could respond, a suited security officer appeared. He grasped the man's arm firmly but not roughly. "That's enough, sir. Come with me, please."

As the protester was led away, still shouting about magical conspiracies, Harry stood rooted to the spot. How did that man know about the magical world? He reckoned the poor bloke was about to have his memory wiped, but the whole encounter left him deeply unsettled. 

An aide in a crisp suit appeared at Harry's elbow, startling him from his thoughts. "Mr Potter? This way, please. Her Majesty is expecting you."

Harry followed the aide through opulent corridors. When they entered the meeting room, he was surprised to see not only the Queen, but also the Prime Minister, Tony Blair, Prince Charles, and a number of serious-looking officials.

The room was impressive, with high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork and walls lined with bookshelves. A large oak table dominated the centre, its surface polished to a mirror sheen.

The Queen smiled warmly, rising to greet him. "Mr Potter, welcome. Please, have a seat."

Harry sat in the offered chair. He accepted a delicate china cup of tea and a biscuit from a silver tray, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the formality of it all.

The conversation started pleasantly enough, with questions about the current state of magical Britain. Harry did his best to give a balanced overview, touching on the ongoing reconstruction efforts at Hogwarts and the Ministry's attempts to get back to a sense of normalcy. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this meeting than simple curiosity or gratitude for his actions against the Dementors.

Finally, the Queen's expression turned grave, the lines around her eyes deepening. "Mr Potter, I'm afraid we have a rather serious matter to discuss."

She nodded to an aide, who handed Harry a letter. The paper was thick, expensive-looking parchment, but the words scrawled across it in angry black ink sent a chill down his spine:

Your Majesty,

You have failed in your duty to protect your subjects from the magical menace that walks among us. We demand immediate action to curtail the abuses perpetrated by wizards and witches against mundane citizens. Failure to act will result in further repercussions.

You have been warned.

The Mundanes.

Harry looked up. "This is... concerning. Does it have anything to do with the man I saw outside?"

The Queen nodded, her face grim. "That is our assumption, but having someone protest outside Buckingham Palace seems a little too obvious. He's being questioned as we speak. It seems there's a group of... what did they call themselves? Mundanes? They've somehow learned of the magical world, and they're not pleased with what they've discovered."

The Prime Minister leaned forward, his forehead creased with worry. "We've been aware of some grumblings for a while now, but this letter represents a significant escalation. They've never reached out to us directly before."

"How did they find out?" Harry asked, his mind racing. "With memory charms—"

"Is not as foolproof as your Ministry might believe," Prince Charles interjected, his tone matter-of-fact. "With modern technology and the widespread use of surveillance cameras, it is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal magical incidents from the public."

One of the officials, a stern-looking woman with greying hair pulled back in a tight bun, spoke up. "Through the combined efforts of our government and your Ministry, we’ve managed to contain most breaches, but it seems some have slipped through the cracks. This group appears to have been operating for some time."

"What do they want?" he asked, his voice low. "Besides 'protection' from wizards?"

The Queen sighed, looking older than her years. "That's what we're trying to determine. Their demands are vague, but the threat is clear. We fear they may take matters into their own hands if they feel we're not responding adequately."

"Which is why we've asked you here," the Prime Minister added. "We need someone with a foot in both worlds, someone who understands the delicacy of the situation."

Harry frowned, a sense of foreboding settling in his stomach. "What exactly are you asking me to do?"

The Queen met his gaze steadily, her eyes sharp despite her age. "We'd like you to work with our investigators, Mr Potter. Help us identify this group and determine the extent of their knowledge. And perhaps... find a way to address their concerns without compromising the safety of the magical community."

Harry sat back, stunned by the enormity of the request. It was one thing to fight Dark wizards, but this... this was politics and diplomacy on a scale he'd never imagined.

"That's... a tall order, Your Majesty," he said slowly.

"We understand," Prince Charles said, his tone sympathetic but firm. "But you've already shown remarkable ability in dealing with magical threats. We believe you're uniquely positioned to handle this situation."

The stern official spoke again, her voice crisp. "Of course, this would all be strictly confidential. Your Ministry of Magic needn't be involved at this stage."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Shouldn't they know about this threat?"

The Queen shook her head, a hint of steel in her voice. "We fear their response might be... heavy-handed. Memory charms and cover-ups won't solve this problem in the long term. We need a more nuanced approach."

Harry nodded slowly, understanding the delicacy of the situation. He thought of all the times the Ministry had bungled interactions with the Muggle world, of Fudge's incompetence and Scrimgeour's heavy-handedness.

"Alright," he said finally. "I'll help. But I have conditions."

"Name them," the Prime Minister said, leaning forward.

Harry took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "First, I want full access to all the information you have on this group. No holding back, no matter how sensitive it might be."

The officials exchanged glances, but the Queen nodded. "Agreed."

"Second, I want to be kept in the loop about the man from outside. I want to know what he says, and I want a say in how he's handled."

Another nod from the Queen. "Reasonable."

"And finally," Harry said, his voice firm, "if this escalates beyond our ability to handle, I reserve the right to inform the Ministry. I won't keep them in the dark if the Statute of Secrecy is at risk."

There was a moment of tense silence before the Queen spoke. "Very well, Mr Potter. We accept your terms."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Right then. Where do we start?"

The stern official produced a thick file, placing it on the table with a soft thud. "We've compiled all the information we have on the group."

As Harry began to leaf through the file, the gravity of the situation settled over him. It was about preventing a potential war between magical and non-magical people.

The Queen walked him to the door. "Thank you, Mr Potter. We're placing a great deal of trust in you."

Harry nodded. "I understand, Your Majesty. I won't let you down."

As he left Buckingham Palace, stepping out into the bustling London afternoon, Harry felt the weight of his new responsibility settling on his shoulders. 

"Well, Kaze," Harry murmured as he navigated through the throng of tourists, "looks like I have gotten myself into another troublesome situation."

"Indeed. At the very least, you will not be lacking in excitement.”

“I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime.”

So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry participates in the Quidditch Match, and the potential for a new career path opens up to him.

Thanks for reading.