Chapter 3: Harry Gaunt - Chapter 3
Harry appeared on the streets of Diagon Alley, a bit stuck on where to start in the crisp morning air. Most of the shops wouldn't be open yet, aside from a few like Gringotts, the Leaky Cauldron and so on.
Harry did mental tally of how much money he had, which was a fair amount after he'd emptied his trust vault. It was currently in a box in his trunk. "Gringotts it is."
They'd be more than happy to setup an account for him as Harry setup off down the cobbled street, which appeared slightly smaller than he remembered. Some of the shops weren't shops anymore, but houses and homes that lined the alley's streets.
"Good morning," said a man passing by, wearing a tartan outfit that Harry didn't like.
"Good morning," said Harry back, surprised at how polite people were.
"Good morning."
Harry said it to another man, then a woman and another few before he finally arrived at Gringotts.
"Good morning," said the Goblin guard.
Harry blinked. "Good morning," he offered rigidly, shocked it had actually spoken to him.
The Goblin grunted, wanting Harry to stop gawking. Harry moved swiftly along, arriving at a teller that was blissfully bereft of any queue.
"Good morning," said the Goblin at his approach. "How may I help you."
Harry twitched. It raised a brow.
"I need to open an account," stated Harry, refusing to say good morning anymore. "Please."
The Goblin heard him, yet appeared unimpressed at Harry's manner. "You don't have an account already?" it asked, narrowing its eyes. "You cannot open two."
"I don't have an account," assured Harry. "I just need to open one, and maybe a few other things if possible."
Harry was trying to be polite.
"Very well," the Goblin said eventually, hopping down from its chair. "Follow me."
"Thank you."
Harry followed behind the slow Goblin, who was short even by their standards. Which was good, it gave Harry time to think about how he would do this.
"In there," pointed the Goblin abruptly. "Greycup will assist you."
Harry came to a stop by a door, then followed automatically through its shallow doorframe. Harry looked inside.
"Greetings dear wizard," said a Goblin with a plump frame, gesturing for Harry to sit. "I am Greycup. And you?"
Harry took a seat on the small chair. "Harry."
"Harry…" Greycup spoke leadingly.
"Just Harry."
Harry crossed his arms.
"I'll need a little more than that," said Greycup, looking at Harry in a curious way. "Why do you conceal your last name? I know you have one, all wizards do."
It was a pointless attempt at slowing this whole process down, something Harry was more than willing to do as he sat stubbornly. "I cannot tell you," he said. "Can I not just pick a new one?" he asked.
"No, it doesn't work like that," returned Greycup. "Now tell me your last name - or begone from here!"
Greycup flicked his hand in a wide gesture, then thumped his fist on the small table. He wouldn't be denied.
"I cannot tell you," remained Harry, speaking calmly from his chair. "There must be another way. Please understand, I do not do this without reason, I simply cannot use my real surname."
It would be unexplainable.
"Is that so," hummed Greycup, swivelling to a stand from his chair. He looked at Harry carefully, especially his eyes. "Come with me."
Greycup walked away, expecting Harry to follow as he exited the small office. Harry did follow, yet remained cautious as he walked behind Greycup, who carried an air of anticipation around him. "This way," Greycup swerved, heading down towards winding stone steps. "Keep up."
Harry huffed. "You needn't walk so fast," he said, as they arrived in a small room. "What is this place?" Harry looked about at the cavernous room.
Greycup had stopped near a table in the middle. "This room precedes even Gringotts," began Greycup lowly, touching the marble bowl set atop the table. "It was built by wizard - for wizards. Gringotts is merely its custodian."
He turned back, wanting Harry to come. "I'll need your blood," he said, watching Harry walk towards him. "It is the only way. I cannot give you a name, only show those which you have."
Greycup presented an intricate knife.
"You're joking," said Harry, curling away from it. "I've never once heard about this. And you want my blood?" Harry scoffed. "No."
Harry stepped away.
"Do not call me a liar," warned Greycup. "You and I both know you are no ordinary wizard. I feel your magic. It is… old." Greycup grinned. "Now come. See for yourself."
There was no time to lose, Harry would have to choose.
"Fine," snapped harry, following his gut when all else failed. "How does it work?" he looked down at the polished bowl on the table, which had lines carved all over it. "That's very detailed."
Harry didn't think it was Goblin either.
"It is a masterpiece," said Greycup in appreciation, showing not a hint of contempt for the wizards who'd made it. He handed the knife to Harry. "A few drops."
Harry nodded, then cut his palm with a wince of pain. Greycup was watching intently from the side, his eyes glancing back and forth between the bowl and Harry's hand.
Then, one by one as the blood dripped in, the lines lit up with a brilliant blue.
"YES!" Greycup thumped the table. "Watch the air!"
Harry didn't know what was going on, but stood all the same with the blade in hand as light began to plume from the bowl. "What are…" Harry saw symbols begin to materialise. "Greycup," said Harry urgently. They were pulsing, spreading like balls of floating fire.
Harry ducked.
Greycup laughed. "Behold," he stated with grandiose. "Your history." And with a final pulse, the symbols became clear.
"Hm?" Harry glanced up from his protective crouch, spotting many symbols floating in the dim light. They were coats of arms. "My history?"
"That's right," Greycup waited for Harry to climb to his feet. "These symbols represent the families you are born from - at least those with an established House," that was an important point. "And I was right. I knew it!"
Greycup hurried between the symbols, peering up and around at all that filled the room. Harry meanwhile, whose hand was still bleeding, set about trying to fix that. He still didn't have a wand.
"Leave it," instructed Greycup from a spot near the wall. "You'll interfere with the magic."
Harry glanced at the jubilant Goblin. "Easy for you to say," said Harry, walking over to him and the symbols Greycup was so interested in. "Do I pick one then?"
There seemed to be quite a few, at least 10, none of which Harry could recognise.
"I'll pick," said Greycup forcefully. "Some of these are next to worthless, while some are still alive." Greycup glanced at a few in particular. "Bones," he pointed, then again to another. "Potter. No good."
He looked over to another symbol, and another sat just beside it. He regarded them with warm admiration. "These however, are a prize," he pointed to the first, the light showing a familiar horse. "Peverell."
Harry blinked, but remained steadfast. He knew the connection already.
"Gaunt."
Harry froze.
"Though," added Greycup thoughtfully. "The best is but a memory, there is nothing left of House Peverell. A shame."
And as for the other.
"Not that one," growled Harry, staring at the snakes with open hate. "Chose another."
Harry felt near ready to destroy the floating ball, hating so much of the what house had stood for. It was why Voldemort had been made. Why so many muggleborns had died.
Hermione.
Harry turned away, feeling weak as he arrived at the bowl again. "It cannot be that," he said weakly, they were already so alike, this was too much. "I am not a Gaunt."
"It's a prestigious house," came Greycup from behind. "A member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, you'd have real power. And the house is without an heir, the last, Morfin Gaunt died in Azkaban. Are you his son?
"Of course not," Harry snapped, affronted at the assertion. "And without an heir?" he looked at Greycup disbelievingly. That was a sick joke. "I know of one who was born of house Gaunt, he is the heir, not me."
Harry shook his head, beginning to search between the remaining symbols. That one looked good, it had a bird on it.
"Entirely possible," admitted Greycup. "If for one caveat. If he was the heir, why is he not Lord Gaunt?"
Greycup came around the table, looking at Harry with a fiendish smile. "Because he is not the heir. He is unworthy, think about it."
Harry did, a moment passing in reluctant quiet while Greycup watched, waiting for the moment when the boy realised. "I am half-blood," said Harry with finality. "So is he."
"Your parents," hurried Greycup. "They were magical, yes?"
Harry nodded. "My father was a Pureblood, and my mother a Muggleborn."
"Proof then," concluded the Goblin with a nod. "If this man you refer to is a half-blood, with one muggle parent, then you win."
Harry stared at him blankly. Greycup huffed, taking on a lecturing tone. "When the house of Gaunt was first founded, a Pureblood was considered so not by their combined heritage, but by their immediate parentage," Greycup looked at Harry pointedly. "By their standard, which still holds to this day for the Lordship, you are a Pureblood. Both parents are magical."
Greycup stepped away, smiling as it dawned on Harry's face. He would do well, he'd made it this far through whatever his past had done to him. The Gaunt's would be proud, as would Salazar in Greycup's humble opinion. "There are no other suitable options," he added. "None which will not condemn you to mediocrity. So take it, it is yours."
Harry closed his eyes, taking a breath with a shake of his head. He didn't want to be Lord Gaunt, nor have anything to do with Pureblood society. He hated them - all of them. Harry could just walk out that door.
But as felt the felt the table beneath his hand, Harry could not dismiss no matter how much he tried the potential benefit this could bring. Harry could prevent some of the Pureblood families from joining Voldemort, become a trusted ally that could save them from themselves. After all, if there was no enemy to begin with, then you'd already won.
"How?" asked Harry with firmness. "How can I be related to the Gaunts. My father's family - they, they didn't-"
"Why do you assume it is your father," smiled Greycup. "Your mother, as many have speculated over the years, may have been a squib descendent, cast out as a result of… activities."
Greycup wrinkled his nose.
"Can we be sure? Can you show me?" Harry wanted proof beyond these floating candles.
"I am afraid not," said Greycup, disappointed himself. "We cannot know exactly, this device was built only to recognise these bloodlines, beyond that, it cannot say."
It was actually a rarity for Gringotts to even use this method, since it only carried blood that existed up until its creation, and that was ages ago. "Come, we have much to arrange," Greycup clapped his hands, the sound dispersing the floating symbols.
He then left in hurry.
"Wait, hang on!" Harry hurried after him, asking him still as walked with purpose back to the office.
Harry gave up trying as they arrived back, his posture down and defeated. "I don't want people to know yet," he said, standing in the doorway. "About the Lordship. Can we delay it?"
"Maybe, I'll have to check what commitments House Gaunt has. We might be obligated to inform certain parties - including the Ministry."
Greycup didn't like it, but that was the way it was as Harry sat back down, waiting while Greycup arranged various documents on the table. It looked like Harry would be here a while.
"Oh, and one more thing," Greycup appeared from below his desk, papers in hand. "Do you speak Parseltongue?"
Harry slumped in his chair. "Yes."
"Excellent," grinned Greycup, this was beyond doubt as he disappeared below again. "Truly sublime Lord Gaunt. Truly sublime."
Break.
It was several hours later when Harry left down the steps of Gringotts, holding in his hand a small folder that it truly sunk in. He was Lord Gaunt now. "Ron would have a field day," he muttered, thoughts of his friend doing well to raise his spirits. It was mid-afternoon now, and Harry had somewhere to be.
He needed a wand.
"Should be fun."
AN
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