Harry Potter: No Thing Not Earned

This is a work of fan fiction set in the Harry Potter universe created by JK Rowling. This work is not for profit, all characters and settings within that are borrowed from those works remain the property of JK Rowling, her heirs and successors. This work will remain weaving within and around the cannon structure, but will draw upon older folklore which JK Rowling herself grew up exposed to, and which I have chosen to weave a little more deeply into the story.

I am also not writing for children, and grew up child and grandchild of veterans before joining the army myself so if my goblins have a morality that has very little to do with Dumbledore's famous second chances and clearly defined stance on non-violence, any offensive content would be entirely my fault.

...

Griphook was not a happy goblin. Director Ragnot, King of all the Goblin clans of Wizarding Britain looked upon the Potter account manager and sneered.

"You have been taken, and taken after having been warned of the danger." Director Ragnot sneered, fingering the axe hanging from the side of his desk.

Griphook felt the presence of his Clan Dagger at his waist, but it was beneath his coat, and before he could free it and close with his king, Griphook's head would be bouncing backwards from his body. The Director had been in charge of Gringotts in Britain for almost sixty years, and the number of challengers is not known, for the bodies didn't leave through the front door, but out the ass of the Gringotts dragons in rather harder to identify clumps.

"I have managed the Lord James Potter's accounts since his ascension and our profits have done nothing but swell as our bargains are more and more in our favour, due to the young lords being more warrior than merchant." Griphook said, defending his record prior to yesterday.

Ragnot smiled, and a forest of sharp goblin fangs flowered in his mouth as he steepled his fingers and looked down upon his errant goblin. Ragnot laughed, and twisted the metaphorical knife in his subordinate, hoping he could learn before Ragnot stuck a real knife into him.

"Yes Lord Potter is a pureblooded noble, an Auror, and a most trusting gentleman. Unlike his father Charlus who was a dangerous and meticulous player of the great game. The Potter vaults grew full to bursting under his lordship, and we did well enough, even if our portions were smaller than I would have liked. The young lord does little better than breaking even, while our own share grows.

They young lord fights like half a goblin. His enemies fall, but their gold falls with them. His glories bring no profit."

This was the second greatest insult a goblin could offer, for a warriors duty to the clan was to fight to provide for his clan, to win and not profit was to dishonour the battle itself.

Both goblins laughed, and Griphook thought himself safe, that is when Director Ragnot struck.

"Yet Lady Potter, the former Miss Evans, has been through three account managers. Each selling her account at a loss, until one fooled you into taking it on as part of Lord Potter's account. Her vault was small, muggle born witch of no notable ancestry, yet gold flowed to it like blood from a cut throat and none of it stuck to our hands." Ragnot smiled like the dragons when a prisoner was lowered for execution.

Griphook snarled. "She is a witch! Lord Potter treats her as some simple housewife, yet she bargains like a goblin, charms like a veela, and strikes like a starving basilisk at the slightest weakness."

Ragnot smiled. "Hair red as fresh spilled blood, eyes green like the killing curse. Too tall, no claws to speak of and teeth that would be hard pressed to tear open a throat but for all that, if my son were to bring her home, my wife would have her chained with wedding gold, and bearing a Hearth Mother's ring before the door closed behind her. Funny looking or not, that one has the soul of a goblin. A better goblin than you. "

The knife twisting within him, Griphook cast his eyes down to stop an angry retort that would cut short his life, or worse, his career.

"It was one clause. Once clause she wanted to add to her sons trust account in return for a whole percentage of his account profit." Griphook whimpered, memory of his gold lust overcoming his warrior sense shaming him.

"Like a nifler to the trap, she baited you with pocket galleons and left Gringotts on the hook for an UNKNOWN and potentially LIMITLESS liability!" Ragnot roared. His calm failing and his axe coming quick to his hand.

"Speak the clause, tell me again what the witch tricked you into signing an agreement to." Ragnot demanded.

Griphook snarled, and spoke the hated phrase that could doom his entire clan, for the Goblin Nation would honour the terms, but if gold flowed out of other coffers than his clans to cover it, his clan's blood would flow in return.

"In return for an additional one percent of all net growth of Harry James Potter's account, Gringotts will undertake to protect the person and acquired assets of said Harry James Potter from all curses, compulsions, enchantments, and legal entailments until such time as he attains his majority and seat in the Wizagamot."

Ragnot slammed his axe down, cleaving his own desk in two.

"The Potters are at war with Voldemort! The greatest Dark Wizard since Grindewald, the foulest sorceries forgotten since Herpo the Foul have been dug up to use to the most trivial of his ends, and his twisted genius continues to push into curses the Black Family would not touch, and you have not only promised to keep the Young Lord clear of all curses and compulsions, but to pay his legal fees until he comes into estates that Voldemort will never let him possess. In the event the Dark Lord wins, Gringotts will be liable for Harry James Potter's protection for life. In the event that the Dark Lord is cast down, Gringotts is liable for the protection of Lord Harry James Potter and any properties, assets, and even brides until he passes his OWLs, comes of age, and chooses to take up his seat in the Wizangamot. Should he fail to pass his OWLS, die before his majority, or flee the country and not take up his seat Gringotts will be in breach of contract and all the penalty clause for a Most Ancient and Noble House will come due."

It would not bankrupt the nation, but it would set them back at least three hundred years. Heads would roll, not simply Griphook, but his entire clan down to the babes in arms and the elders in their dotage.

Griphook knew what Ragnot wanted, and he acted with the courage and desperation of a Goblin Warrior facing certain death, or a Gringotts account manager facing an audit.

"I, Griphook of the Hematite Clan, of the shining Gringotts dynasty of the great Goblin Nation do hereby swear that I will undertake at my own cost to deal with all curses, compulsions, enchantments and legal entailments of young Lord Harry James Potter at my own expense until such time as he attains his majority, and takes up his seat in the Wizangamot. This I swear lest the gold spill from my vaults like blood from a slit throat, lest my weapons rust and break, my runes bleed out their silver, and my blood turn to water in my veins." Griphook swore, drawing and cutting his own palm in the ancient ritual.

Power flared around the blood, burning it in black flame as it seared his flesh closed, as magic bound the oath to his very soul, flesh, and through him, to his entire clan. Goblins took no thing not earned, but gave up nothing so taken without blood.

Griphook was soaked with sweat, straightening his pinstriped suit carefully. The oath was potentially terrible. Still, one percent of the earnings of one of the most powerful families in Wizarding Britain was huge. How many curses could a baby acquire in his crib? Unless the world hated Griphook more terribly than any goblin in history, there should be nothing in Harry Potter's next sixteen years that should require more than ten minutes with the duty curse breaker.

Griphook smiled as he returned to his office.

After all, what is the worst that could happen?

...

James Potter was not happy.

"Look Lilly, you know how Dumbledore feels about that sort of thing. Ritual magic is dark." James said softly, trying to use soothing tones to stem the reaction those words drew like sparks from hammered iron when Dumbledore spoke them.

"Women's magic you mean. He is happy enough to use ritual magic for his Lordship, to use ritual magic as Supreme Mugwump of the Wizangamot to gain power over all the families sworn to it, to stand as Headmaster of Hogwarts as the focus of the power the Founders intended to be a check and balance against the power of the Wizangamot over its students.

Dumbledore suddenly is against ritual magic when it belongs to women, when it is rooted in ties of blood and family, not politics and power. Any magic he cannot use suddenly and magically becomes dark. Well I don't care James. He has staked us out like a stalking goat in a tiger hunt and I am tired of our family being a noble sacrifice for his greater good. If I have to be a little less good for my child to not end up another noble sacrifice for Albus Bloody Dumbledores legend, then so mote it be!" Lilly railed on her husband, wand in hand.

"Now Lils," James said wrapping both his hands around her wand and using his greater physical strength to force it to the table. Reluctantly, she released her wand, and he wandlessly used telekinesis to slide his wand beside hers on the table.

"You know Dumbledor has used his Fidelius charm to make this house unplottable. No one but the secret keeper can share it, and he used one of our Marauders to keep it. We are like brothers, they would die before giving us up, or little Harry." James assured her smoothly. He wrapped his arms around her and took in the scent of her hair, feeling himself relax as his power enfolded hers, and her magic smoothed as they began to flow together.

"Sirius would die before telling them what panties you ordered me from that muggle lingerie catalog I regret showing him. You and Sirius are not trusting Remus nearly as much as you used to since your precious Dumbledore has tried turning him into a spy among the packs. Instead, you entrust it to Peter." Lilly spat angrily.

"Peter is a Marauder. Wormtail is as much a Marauder as Moony or Padfoot. He even became an Animagus with us to help keep Moony safe when his little furry problem came out." James soothed.

"The weakest of you." Lilly muttered, then turned and her voice went hard again "As this is the weakest house. A cottage? You have Potter Manor with wards holding a thousand years of paranoid fortification and warding from the first family of war mages in all of Britain and Dumbledore has us hiding in the weakest possible Potter holding, a vacation cottage whose only protection is the Fidelius charm held by the weakest of the Marauders. It is hard not to feel like that goat, tugging at my rope, wondering if the darkness is full of tigers."

The wards did not flutter, did not signal, because they were opened by the Secret Keeper. Wormtail, the wizard known as Peter Pettigrew was the weakest of the Marauders, but the subtlest as well. He was the best spy among them, and the ward breaker of their prankster days. Keyed in to command the wards as the Secret Keeper, he was able to silence even the alarm that should have triggered when the Morsmorde, the Dark Mark blazed in the sky above the cottage, blocking all apparition and portkey escape.

The first clue the Potters had that they were under attack was when their front door exploded, blowing the kitchen table over and burying the Potter's wands out of reach. Voldemort was inside before the sound of the explosions could die, and his cutting curse lashed out faster than any bullet, but James Potter was a Transfiguration generational genius, and the shattered splinters of the furniture had already transformed into so many wooden ravens, three shattering under the cutting whip but six more diving in to attack Voldemort.

"Get Harry and get out!" James screamed as he wandlessly transfigured a dozen javelins from the metals of the kitchenware and sent them punching at Voldemort like a company of Roman ballista in ancient war.

The Ventus that Voldemort had screamed to blast the birds from the air would not stop the dense iron projectiles but Voldemort used his shadow step to flow out of thier path and beside Lord Potter before he could react. His wand lashed out and even as James reflexive Protego Maximus shield formed between them, the one spell that cannot be blocked by any magic at all sounded in the serpentine hiss of Parselmagic that intensified the already unstoppable killing curse.

"Avada kedavera!" Voldemort hissed. The beam of emerald light connected wand to wizard for less than a second, but James Potter and all his transfigurations died at the first touch of the beam. Voldemort stalked to the stairs, climbing them two at a time, his true prey was cornered, but he had lost Death Eaters to both Potters before, and knew not to underestimate the muggleborn witch.

Lilly ran to the crib, and grabbed the Portkey worked into the crib and activated it. In a heartbeat she and Harry would appear in Grimmauld Place behind the Black Family's wards, not a strong as the Potters but also not nearly as clean or legal as the Blacks didn't care for law or ethics. Those who came for the Black blood could die screaming before the whole of the Wizangamot and House Black would apologize to no one. Harry was godson of Sirius and blood grandson of Dorea Black, those wards would recognize and defend them even after Dumbledore or Pettigrew had turned traitor.

The Portkey failed to operate, and Lilly could see the green skull with snake emerging from its mouth dominating the night sky of Godrik Hollow. The Dark Mark blocked all apparition and Portkey travel. Snarling Lilly turned to grab the Nimbus Matronae broom with the stupid little kiddie seat that Sirius had got them as a joke gift, but Lilly kept here for just these emergencies. If she could not teleport out, then she would fly. She had spent the last months of boredom working her own charms and runes into the broom, notice-me-not charms, disillusionment charms, displacement charms to make those able to sense the disturbance of air and magic of broom operation to see the broom as several meters away from its true position. The work was so paranoid Mad Eye Moody urged her to keep it secret from the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, as it represented a trump card Voldemort should not know about or be able to counter.

Yet there was Penny, James own Elf-Nanny, the house elf inherited from his mother who had raised him from a baby and now took Harry as the next generation with the love and devotion only a House Elf could show, standing weeping over the broken brooms, and magically sealed window. Only the Imperius Curse could compel a House Elf to act against its family, and no elf who had done so would allow themselves to live afterward.

Lilly drew her athame from her belt, a witch tool Dumbledore and polite pure blood society shunned as a remnant of the peasant pagan magic of ancient days, but as much a part of her witchcraft as her wand.

Wordlessly she slammed the blade into Penny's heart, taking the life of the devoted House Elf for one final service as she drew on the ties between House Elf magic and the House they were sworn to one last time, even as she felt the Imperius Curse that Pettigrew had put her elf under die with Penny.

She had seconds, she knew James could not match Voldemort alone and wandless, she tore off Harry's jumper and with the blood of her sacrificed elf, with two generations of devotion willingly surrendered she painted over his chest two runes. Allowing the athame to cut herself and mingle the blood of family House Elf and mother together, she worked swiftly.

Othala-the rune of family. House Elf representing the power of the line of the blood of the fathers, the inheritance of the House and family magics, all the magics tied to the House of Potter were woven into the Othala rune, the diamond shape like a shield on his left chest.

Algiz-the rune of protection. The form of the rune was that of antler, like the stag and doe forms of their animagi forms, this was Lily's magic, wild magic, witch magic. Muggleborn, whose magic came from the world and the earth, only now tied to the wizarding world and its ancient half slumbering powers by marriage and her son. She drew that sign on his right chest in the shape of the antlers she and James would never wear again.

She could here Voldemort charging up the stairs. There was no escape, and no power she had could stand against Voldemort, so she did the only thing she could, she added it to the sacrifice.

With her mingled blood and that of her devoted House Elf, she drew the whole of her magic to her allowing it to flow from her core until there was nothing left. She burned it into his brow until baby Harry screamed. The last rune, the lightning bolt shape of Soweilo the sun rune, the rune of power.

Voldemort screamed "Reducto!" and the door to the childs room dissolved into dust too fine to easily transfigure into more munitions to fire at him. He stalked in to see this child of prophesy that could be his equal if allowed to live.

"Stand aside mudblood." Voldemort sneered.

Hissing in defiance like a cobra, Lilly shouted back "No, take me instead. My life for his."

Voldemort had battled Potter who at least faced his end like a wizard, fighting for his family like a pureblooded lord, now this pathetic muggle born bitch begged like some helpless victim. She was a shame to the blood she polluted. He was doing House Potter a service by removing any trace of her weakness from noble blood.

"Avada Kedavera" He hissed and the bright beam struck her and seemed to pass through her to the child itself.

The screaming stopped and the child gripped its crib and wobbled to its feet to face Voldemort, green eyes blazing with hatred and a bloody wound upon its head, blood staining its chest as well.

Staring at the child, Voldemort's Legimancy lanced out and he could feel not the terror of a child but the focused rage of a killer, the infant didn't have the berserker of Bellatrix, nor the the sadism of Dolohov, but rather the intense pure focus of his childhood self, the child that looked upon the world that cast aside and persecuted him and swore to make it beg before he allowed it to die.

Alone among those he faced tonight, here was his equal. Given time, as little as two decades, this child could indeed become his peer if not equal.

"Harry James Potter, this night I have killed your entire family. Every witch and wizard with a drop of Potter blood died today simply to make sure that my path to you would be clear. Others slaughtered your family, you alone, child of prophesy, are worth my own wand and power. You alone face me without fear or weakness. Know this, when I tell the tale of your death in centuries hence, it will be you alone I speak of without mockery."

Saluting with his wand, as if begining a duel, Voldemort's wand slashed out and one last time he spoke.

"Avada Kedavera!" Voldemort chanted, and a green blade sliced out to strike the open wound in Harry Potter's head, searing the Soweilo Rune into his flesh and skull beneath with its power.

The power of the ritual Lilly's coven had woven to protect mother and child had been mixed with the power of the House Potter elf who willingly surrendered power and life to redeem her Imperiused betrayal, bound with the sacrifice of both power and life of the mother, the magic of Witch and Elf, of the whole line of families that stretched across generations of birth and death met the killing curse, and shattered.

Two screams split the night in Godrik's Hollow as a dozen jagged emerald tongues of lightning, like living serpents lashed out from the boy to the wizard and the ritual of Voldemort's final Horcrux creation merged with the ritual for Lilly's child protection as magic sought a way to honour all its conflicting comittments.

Voldemort's soul split, but rather than bind into the object of power he carried, it bound the the child in the Soweilo rune that Lilly had poured her own life's magic into. The Killing curse ravaged Voldemort's body, but the Horcrux creation secured the safety of Voldemorts soul even against the soul killing curse.

A wraith of darkness blasted from the house, tearing the roof and side before it like a dragon of shadow. A baby fell screaming into the blood of its mother.

A Dark Lord fell, undying. A boy lived.

A contract lit in an office of Gringotts, and Griphook swore softly.

...

"The young Lord Potter? How can a baby not out of diapers have acquired a curse already?"

Wrapping himself in his best magical protections, for the cruel treaties of Wizard kind kept Goblins from the surface world unless called by some Wizard lord upon his own business. Goblin magic was not the equal in speed or power of wizard wand magic, but it was its superior in subtlety. Goblins could, if sufficiently motivated, move among the wizards more or less unchecked if there were no wards against them.

Taking up his curse breaking kit, a whole workroom reduced into a bag at his left hip, his right hip held his axe, for to be a goblin above ground was to be a criminal, and no goblin would ever be taken as such alive. Letting the other fellow die was just good business. Getting captured was a good way to activate penalty clauses in your Gringotts employee contract. There was no way generations of hard won gold would be lost if killing himself or any number of others could prevent it. He drew upon his compass that had a drop of Harry James Potter's blood from his vault registration ceremony and wondered.

"Why in the name of Fenris fuzzy ballsack is Lord Harry Potter in Little Whinging?" Any goblin worth his salt had targets they wanted to raid during the next Goblin rebellion (there would always be a next Goblin rebellion), but no one wanted to raid Little Whinging. Even Upper Whinging was safe, because while clearly superior to Little Whinging, it had less to offer than a troll's privy and was about half as decorative.

If Lord Harry Potter was in Little Whinging, and somehow cursed (which was still better than being in Little Whinging), then so would be Griphook!

...

Professor McGonagall looked at the baby basket left on the Dursley's doorstep at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging and shook her head.

"Albus, are you sure this is for the best? They are the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. I really don't think it right they have the boy. He is known to everyone in our world, he is famous. Surely we can do better than this?" Professor McGonagall pleaded, her rich Scots brogue thickening with emotion.

Dumbledor smiled serenely. "He would grow spoiled and arrogant surrounded by that kind of fame. His mother was involved in some very disturbing magic, blood magic, that she worked at her very death. While I cannot condone such magic, it will protect Harry Potter from detection from any in our world as long as he dwells with someone sharing that blood. When the time comes, I will be his guardian in the magical world, and we will shape and educate him into the kind of boy who can be a symbol of hope against the rising of the Dark Lord." Dumbledor said confidently.

"You are sure he will return?" McGonagall said fretfully.

"All this has been fortold. The Dark Lord will return, and, under my guidance, Harry Potter will be ready to complete the sacrifice of his family, and end the threat of He Who Must Not Be Named forever."

Dumbledor said smugly. For the boy will have no one but Dumbledor to turn to, no one but Dumbledore to teach him, and will know no more of his fate than Dumbledor chooses to allow him. There will be no second Grindewald rising. No. Harry will not be the power to reshape the world, that power could only be trusted to Albus Dumbledor, Champion of the Light. If a child must be sacrificed for the Greater Good, well, Dumbledor would offer his remorse at Harry's tombstone. He had made so many offerings at so many tombstones it had stopped actually hurting over a war ago.

...

Griphook looked at the boy. Left beside the milk cartons, like another delivery. Six bottles of milk and the heir to a Most Ancient and Noble House. He should be happy the small children muggles used instead of post owls to deliver papers hadn't buried the child under a thrown newspaper as well.

Goblins were cruel. Life was cruel. Goblins murdered, tortured and plundered, but if there was one thing that goblins did not do, they did not abandon children. Goblins would raid and slaughter other clans, warriors and matrons would die to the last goblin to defend their gold and their children, but while the goblins would indeed steal every last knut and sickle of their enemies gold, the children would likewise be stolen as the true prizes of the raid. A goblin child taken in raid was lucky, and would be educated, equipped, armed and dowered as any child of the house.

You did not THROW AWAY CHILDREN.

Griphook took his axe in hand and prepared to kick in the door to 4 Privet Drive. He would simply kill the muggles and take the child for his own. He was keeper of the Potter accounts and charged with his protection anyway. Decision made, he stepped forward, axe at the ready to cleave the door when he passed the Blood Wards Dumbledor had leaching off the boy to protect the house. As soon as he did, the cold foulness of the Horcrux washed over him, and he nearly dropped his axe.

Griphook looked with horror as the baby writhed in agony under a mufflato spell silencing his screams. There were three magics at war in the boy. A baby's own wild magic, some sort of witch blood magic, and something more evil than any curse he had ever seen, like a living intelligent parasite striving to consume the boy. All of it was swirling around the rune in the boy's head. A Soweillo rune, the sun rune, the power rune.

This was not man magic. This was woman magic. The sun rune banished darkness, and whatever was powering it would not last through a turning of the sun. This was witch magic, without Goblin silver to anchor it, and without a wizarding rune array to stabilize it, it would fade, and whatever it was containing would be free to devour the child.

Griphook would have failed his contract, and his whole family would pay the default fee to protect the Goblin nation. Blood and gold is the price of an oath broken, his family would be slaughtered and the gold of generations would be given to the sodding politicians of the Wizard Witagamot to fight over with no sitting Lord Potter to defend it.

Loss of honour and loss of gold? Two fates worse than death, although death would also be in there. Gringotts contracts terminated by axe, dagger, or dragon. No Griphook knew that he was standing on the deck of a burning ship, and standing on the deck of a burning ship the only choice was to charge and take the enemies. Either you died in glory or slaughtered to victory. If you were going to die, you should always die trying to win something.

The only thing here was a child, therefore, Griphook would win the child. Or rather, Frithweaver, his mate could. Without a second thought, he scooped up the child and portkeyed back to his home in the caverns under Gringotts.

Frithweaver stared at Griphook holding a living breathing tornado of soul and blood magic brought across her own wards into the home she defended for her own children and considered if her marriage dagger might need sheathing in Griphook's empty head.

"How dare you bring that cursed thing into our house, the magic inside it is more powerful than the deepest vaults of the Founders in the bank. Together even with our lives we could not protect our children from it inside our own wards!" Frithweaver hissed.

Griphook pulled the wrappings away, showing the human boy. "This is Harry James Potter, and I am his account manager. His entire family was slaughtered today and his mother's own life is bound in that rune holding that dark soul magic at bay. It is witch blood magic, and will not hold past dawn. If he dies, my contract with his House and my contract with the Goblin Nation is forfeit, and our whole family faces sanction."

Goblins are cold, cruel, greedy, these are the slurs that wizards hurl against them. When pressed, they will admit that goblins are also honest, loyal (to their own) hardworking, and above all, fearless.

Goblin magic is bound in silver. Goblin silver is created by the merger of goblin magic and silver in an alchemical process that yields a very small amount per session. This is why goblin made weapons are not sold, but leased to wizards and kings for only one lifetime, because the work of several generations went in to crafting a single sword blade, and no amount of gold could take that from the Goblin Nation for more than a single generation.

Goblins did not use wands, they were forbidden by law. Goblin warriors used runes in their weapons to focus their magic. Goblin women did not have the training to work runes into great blades or larger ward structures because their magic was imbuing runes into the bodies of goblin children to focus their magics internally and externally. No goblin male could work that combination of blood and goblin magic to imbue goblin silver into flesh runes, but it was a part of goblin family magic, taught mother to daughter since the days before the rise of man.

Working swiftly, for the fate of her family rode on it, and with the skill and precision of a rune master, a title given grudgingly by the Goblin Nation, Frithweaver began to work her own family silver, the silver she had set aside and blessed for her next child, she began to work the silver and her power into the burned Soweillo scar in the boys forehead. The dark magic fought her, causing her to burn two stamina potions and a clear mind draught to overcome the fear and exhaustion to bind her family magic to the magic of the mother. Together they bound the third magic, the magic of a soul not the boy's and bound it into submission, weaving it into the blood and bone, soul and power of the child.

As Frithweaver worked, she felt the power of two more runes upon the boy, and cried out in despair. Drawing her wedding dagger, she pulled the goblin silver from the blade itself to fill the two other runes she had not noticed because the blood had been smeared. Family and protection, Othala and Algiz. The human child now lay with three runes of goblin silver in his human flesh, his own power, the sacrificed power of his witch mother, the stolen power of his enemy, and somehow binding and blending them together, a whisper of elf magic.

"The child will live." Griphook said in wonder.

"The child is an abomination. If the wizards knew what we have wrought this night, they would burn the child in fiendfire to blot all trace of it away." Frithweaver said softly.

"That would remove our obligations under the contract." Griphook mused.

"He is marked by me with the rites of my mother, he is bound to our house with the blade of our marriage knife. Griphook, I give you my son, Harry James Potter, son of Griphook, of the Hematite Clan." Frithweaver said in tones of naked threat that should have sounded ridiculous from a goblin female who had spent so much of her power this night she could not even stand. Still, she had claimed the child by blood and power, to harm him, she would have to be killed first. He grinned the wide fanged grin of a predator. He had married well. What she had taken, he would defend.

"I see my son. Harry James Potter, son of Griphook, of the Hematite Clan." Griphook drew his own knife, cut baby Harry's palm and slapped the hilt in his hand. The baby angrily closed his hand on the knife and refused to let it go. Griphook laughed. They let him fall asleep holding the knife.

Goblin runes marked him, and inside goblin wards, they would drink the power of his family, weaving it into his flesh, even as the strange powers in him would weave themselves into his wards and his own family in return. Already he could feel his wards singing. Goblin magic and human magic didn't mesh, but both used runes. Elves did not use runes, but they lived off of human magic and made something other than human with it. This boy had all three bound in him, and something dark and unholy as well. If the Wizards would burn him with Fiendfire because he wasn't human, goblins had a simpler view. To Griphook, Frithweaver, their son Fangborn and daughter Glitterbright he was simply, theirs. What a goblin took a goblin held. Harry was theirs.

For ten years Albus Percival Wilfred Brian Dumbledor used every art and device in his power to locate Harry Potter. It was with something between shock and relief that he noted the Book of Acceptance write out his name in the list of students. Harry Potter lived, and would be coming to Hogwarts. Why in the name of Merlin's left saggy ball was the letter addressed to Gringotts?