Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Ancient and Noble Houses	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 29877 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 17
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- 19
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Chapter Eighteen—Heir to the House of Black
            Harry looked up at the doors of Gringotts, and sighed. He doubted the goblins would want to do him any favors, since he had broken into the place and ridden out on a dragon. And now he was coming to tamper with inheritance procedures, something Hermione had once told him the goblins took very seriously.
            But he wasn’t taking money out of the bank, just moving it around from vault to vault. Maybe that would be enough.
            When he walked in, there was a moment of intense silence, as goblins counting piles of coins shifted closer to them and others simply turned around and glared. Harry set his shoulders. Maybe he ought to be glad that he was uncomfortable. It made him feel more like himself. The heir of the House of Black, the way they were meant to be, would have just looked through the goblins as not worth bothering with and strode straight ahead.
            Harry went to the nearest goblin instead, who might be familiar, but he wasn’t sure. The goblin sneered down at him and pushed some of the coins out of the way, his claws lingering over the Galleons as if he needed to count them and be sure to count them again after Harry had left. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”
            Harry glanced back once, to make sure that Malfoy was still with him. Malfoy raised his eyebrows and nodded. Harry supposed that was what he got for trying to rely on someone like him. Malfoy didn’t think that goblins had rights, or at least he hadn’t been of that opinion the last time Harry asked.
            “I want to see someone about transferring some of the money in my Black vaults to Malfoy vaults,” he said.
            The goblin’s eyes narrowed so far that they almost disappeared. Then he said, “Wait here,” and jumped down behind the counter, vanishing.
            Harry blinked. That was different from the response he’d got almost every other time he was here, but perhaps it meant something good. He stood there and tried to ignore the curious stares of the other wizards in the bank. There weren’t many, this hour of the evening, and he didn’t think they’d realized who he was yet, but it was only a matter of time.
            The goblin came back around the counter, and stared at Harry for a long time, as if he couldn’t believe that he’d dared to come here and ask this. Harry put his chin up and swallowed. He was still going to do this.
            The goblin finally grunted and said, “It’s not my problem,” to the world in general, before turning on his heel. “Cushfoot, the head goblin in charge of the Black vaults, will see you now,” he added over his shoulder.
            Harry grimaced and followed him. He was turning over in his mind what the goblin had said. Head goblin in charge of the Black vaults? How many worked under him?
            How many fucking vaults did the Blacks have, anyway?
            Prickles running down Harry’s spine made him wish he’d found out before now.
*
            Draco kept a careful expression on his face as they were ushered into a blank stone office with locked boxes climbing up the walls. He knew the way to deal with goblins. Keep it short, keep it polite, and keep it legal. They were geniuses at twisting legal contracts around to ensnare people, and even some of Draco’s ancestors had fallen victim to them in their time, usually because they thought goblins too far beneath humans to take them seriously.
            Now, Draco knew the lesson.
            He wasn’t sure if Potter did or not. He hunched his shoulders, and he hadn’t said anything offensive so far, but that didn’t actually reassure Draco. It might be too much for Potter and burst out of him in the end. Draco would have trusted true calmness better than this version.
            “Mr. Potter? I am Cushfoot.”
            The goblin who stood up behind his desk and regarded them as they came into room was taller than any Draco had seen. He had long claws on his hands, immaculately cut and a pearly color that was also unusual. His eyes were golden, and tracked them with utter polite indifference. Draco would have chosen him, if he was human, to wait on him in any shop. He promised discretion and speed and good service.
            But to a goblin, those values didn’t always mean the same things as they would to a human.
            “Mr. Cushfoot,” Potter said, and then seemed to realize that he had no idea what to say next, and trailed off awkwardly.
            Cushfoot gave him no help. He sat down behind the desk, which gleamed as if it was made of black glass, and folded his hands, regarding Potter attentively.
            Potter finally cleared his throat and forged ahead. “I would like to transfer some money from the Black vaults to the Malfoy vaults.”
            Cushfoot bowed. “It can be done,” he said, and pulled a few pieces of parchment towards him. “How many Galleons were you thinking of?”
            Potter hesitated, then said, “I don’t know. How much is currently in the Black vaults?”
            Cushfoot gave a tiny sigh, as if he couldn’t believe that he was dealing with a human so abysmally ignorant of his own money. “You currently have a sum three Knuts short of a million Galleons, Mr. Potter,” he recited. “That is in the main vault. There are two satellite vaults, which would ordinarily have provided for minor branches of the family, but are now yours since there are no minor branches of the family left. The one that originally belonged to Cygnus Black now has three hundred thousand Galleons in it. The one that provided support for Lycoris Black has two hundred thousand, seven hundred sixteen Galleons in it.”
            Potter sat there as if dazed for a second. Then he snapped, “But wait a second. There are still minor branches of the family. What about the Malfoys and the—the Lestranges?” He had probably just remembered that Aunt Andromeda wasn’t on the Black family tree and wouldn’t have any money, Draco decided.
            “They do not count, under the Black family will,” said Cushfoot, folding his hands again, “because they produced no children with the name of Black.”
            “I’m not named Black, either.” Potter glared at the goblin from under a strand of dark hair. Draco shivered again. If Potter would apply the green fire in his eyes properly, then he would indeed be a force to be reckoned with.
            And for different reasons than he was right now.
            “Yes, but you were legally designated heir by someone who was,” said Cushfoot, with an expression that suggested he didn’t give these kinds of explanations every day, and thank Merlin for that. “That overrides the issue of name.”
            Potter visibly gave up, and nodded. “Then I’d like to spread the sum of a—a thousand Galleons into the Malfoy vaults, please.”
            “From which of the Black vaults?” Cushfoot took up a quill and studied Potter as if he’d been waiting all along for this.
            Potter visibly flailed for a second, then straightened and all but snapped, “The vault that was intended to sustain Cygnus’s family.”
            Cushfoot nodded and wrote something down, a long, looping scrawl that started on one side of the parchment and didn’t end until the other, as far as Draco could tell. Then he pushed it across the desk. “Sign here.”
            Potter picked up the quill and leaned forwards as if he was about to sign, unthinkingly. Draco reached up and caught his wrist. Cushfoot glanced at Draco for the first time, the same indifferent way that he’d looked at Potter when he first came into the office.
            “What?” Potter snapped, turning his head and giving Draco the benefit of his glare, this time. “Given that this is going to help your family, you’d think you could be a little more goddamned grateful.” He tried to pull away from Draco’s grip, the tendons in his arm tightening as he did.
            “Read it first, Potter,” Draco said harshly. “Always make sure that you read something a goblin gives you.”
            “The young Malfoy shows good business sense,” said Cushfoot, nodding.
            “Then why didn’t you tell me to read it?” Potter demanded, swiveling back to Cushfoot.
            “Because you did not ask me for advice,” Cushfoot said, without turning a hair.
            Potter snarled and bent over to read the goblin’s scrawl. Draco read it above his shoulder.
            It said exactly what Potter had requested that it say, with the addition of one clause about objections from any other Black heirs. Draco didn’t see why that should matter. He and his mother were the only ones left; Andromeda and her grandson had no way to challenge it.
            Potter signed with a flourish and started to pass the parchment back to Cushfoot. Cushfoot touched it with one nail and said something in a language so jagged that Draco doubted it was normal Gobbledygook.
            The parchment sizzled, and a black mist rose from it. Potter jerked back. “What does that mean?” he demanded.
            “That means that another Black heir has to be heard from,” Cushfoot said, in a hollow, soft voice.
            “But you said—”
            “The house itself, Mr. Potter.” Cushfoot’s eyes glittered as the black mist formed into an approximation of jaws. “The house itself deserves a chance to speak.”
*
            delia cerrano: As long as you can understand everything, it’s all good.
            moodysavage: Draco already finds Harry more interesting than he did, because he didn’t think before that Harry was ever selfish or wanted something for reasons that he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe he might be less interested if Harry does go completely back to normal.
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Ancient and Noble Houses