Harry Potter and the Bane of Merlin

In this, Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he delves into the mystery behind a powerful 1400-year-old mythical object that nobody even believes exists – except it seems for Voldemort. Should it truly be found, the consequences could be catastrophic! In light of the prophecy comes a distinctly darker year, with fear and fighting widespread, but also hope in the form of self-discovery, determination, friendship and…love?

(AN - Should the intended 'shipping' of relationships in this story determine whether or not you would read it, then please e-mail me and I will gladly inform you. However, I would very much like to leave such details to be revealed in the story, for those who like it that way (it is after all how Joanne works!). I would also like to point out that, although relationships will be a feature in this story, this is not a romance fiction and, as such, the plot line is not going to revolve around them).

Warning – This story contains 'spoilers' that pertain to information contained within all five Harry Potter books published to date. If you have yet to read the Order of the Phoenix (or any other Harry Potter books for that matter) then I sincerely suggest you do so before reading this fiction. The rating of this fiction has been set at PG-13 for the meantime, but is likely to increase to 'R' as the story unfolds, for good reason. Please do not continue reading if you have any issues with either of these warnings.

Disclaimer – I do not own, or claim to own, any of the rights to Harry Potter. All copyrights belong to the wonderful Mrs J.K. Rowling. I'm also not making any profit from writing the following fiction. This disclaimer pertains to the whole fiction, not just the first chapter.

Right now that we got that out of the way, lets get on to the good bit...bon apatité

Chapter 1 – 'Seeking' Independence

(July 4th 1996)

He'd been waiting twenty minutes already and quite frankly he was starting to get pissed off. It was not that he was normally an impatient person by nature, it was just that he had no idea why he'd been brought to this room and asked to wait in the first place and already he was pressed for time. Even so, this type of reaction was usually out of his character. His old-self would have been quite content to sit here and wait, but recently his ire had been easy to ignite and quick to flame.
Any psychiatrist would be quick to assure him that this kind of behaviour was quite normal, considering the awful year he had just had. However, speaking to a muggle psychiatrist was not an option for him. Not that he'd want to, even if it were. The thought alone made him snort in mild humour. He could just image the look on the quack's face as he told his life story. He would end up in a muggle mental institution before he could say Quiddich. At least it would make the Dursley's happy. Not that that was high on his agenda. He could just image his uncle's reaction: "knew the ingrate was insane all along...should have been locked up years ago!"
The humour however faded almost immediately; nothing recently could change his mood from its current default setting for very long, but it had at least managed to dampen his agitation.

In an attempt to try and pass the time and keep his volatile emotions in check, he went back to studying his surroundings. His current locality however wasn't really designed to help in this endeavour. The large room, rivalling the Great Hall of Hogwarts in size, was very sparsely decorated. In fact the only object worthy of any notice was the large, highly polished and rather grand conference table that was situated pride of place in the centre of the room. It was around this table that he was now sat, alone, waiting for a goblin that he had not asked to see, regarding matters that he knew not of.
He had not anticipated this hindrance to his plans, which was now eating away at time that he did not have. Already he'd been away from 'home' for a number of hours and if the Order hadn't already noticed his disappearance, then they'd know about it soon. He'd seen to that. The last place he wanted to be when that happened was where he was now; otherwise he might as well just wave a flag and shout at the top of his voice. Diagon Alley would surely be the first place the members of the order would search for him. Doubtful thoughts began to pass through his mind; not for the first time that day and likely not the last either, as he once again questioned the sense and logic behind what he was doing. These thoughts however were swiftly dispatched as his conviction returned.

The few days he'd spent at the Dursley's after the sending off the order had given him at Kings-Cross, had not exactly been what he could call the best in his living memory. In fact they were up there rivalling with some of the worst. The Dursley's had not reacted well to Moody's threat and had been extremely cold and distant with him. But that had suited him just fine. What had made the time there so terrible had been the onslaught of emotion and anguish that came with being alone with his painful thoughts and memories.
During the last few days at Hogwarts his mind had been too chaotic; full of worry for his friends' health along with the complete numbness that came with the fresh shock over the events at the Department of Mysteries and the disclosure from Dumbledore, to even begin to grieve properly or come to terms with what his future was to hold. However, alone in his small room at Privet Drive his mind had little else to do but to dwell on the painful memories of recent events.
He'd known almost immediately that he couldn't remain at the Dursley's for as long as Dumbledore would want. The place held too many bad memories and the stigma of too many years of oppression for him to deal with his grief and process the information Dumbledore had given him. The household held no love or support for him and all he felt himself desiring was to be somewhere else and alone. Preferably to be someone else as well.

It hadn't taken him long to decide to leave. He knew this was a dangerous idea; one that many would also say was stupid and would be against the wishes of nearly everyone he knew. But at this point in time, he also didn't care. The Dursley household, he now knew, was supposed to impart some sort of blood protection over him that could protect him from Voldemort and his minions. The order members and his friends would argue that he should remain there for his own protection. But last year two wayward Dementors, which had incidentally been ordered to attack him by the minister of magic's undersecretary, had miraculously wandered through this 'protection' without the slightest hindrance. This had been an 'unforeseen development' on Dumbledore's behalf. One that nearly cost Harry his life. Harry therefore failed to understand how, after failing to foresee and plan against this sort of simply executed attack against him, Dumbledore could so easily put faith in this protection and insist that all possible ways that Voldemort could get to him were covered. Quite frankly, Harry no longer held much trust towards the old wizard that had, for so long, been the man to which he had looked up to. Idolised. The old man had broken that trust, which just left Harry reeling; yet another emotion for him to deal with when he got to where he was going.

Leaving the Dursely's undetected had actually been surprisingly easy, which just added to his disillusion over the strength of his 'protection'. His invisibility cloak had, of course, played a vital role and the only real obstacle had been finding out whether Mad Eye Moody was on 'baby-sit' duty, as he had come to think of it, as his magical eye would have easily thwarted Harry's plans. Discovering who was on duty had actually been much more simple than he would have believed, considering the order also utilised an invisibility cloak. As it transpired, all he had to do was look out his window at the right moment to notice the ornamental birdbath in the garden fall, apparently on its own accord, to the ground accompanied by the sound of a cursing Tonks. Grasping his opportunity, he'd simply removed all the muggle clothing from his trunk, which was still fully packed from his return journey from Hogwarts, and stuffed them roughly into his school bag along with a few other essential bits and pieces that he would need. Hastily he scribbled a quick letter to Ron and attached it to the leg of his faithful owl, Hedwig. After telling her to take her time with the delivery and asking her to say with Ron for a while, he let her out through his window. The rest of his possessions he left locked in his trunk, which he placed in the wardrobe along with Hedwig's empty cage. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder and double-checking he had his wand on his person, he had donned his invisibility cloak and left his room.

It was only then that he'd realised the slight hitch in his plans of escaping under his invisibility cloak; like everyone else, he was unable to see anybody who was also using one. Randomly bumping into Tonks as she prowled the neighbourhood would have ended his escape plans immediately. He'd therefore kept to the borders of the garden in hopes that she would distance herself from such potentially trip hazardous zones. It seemed to work and he had been out of the neighbourhood faster than he could have imagined after initially coming up with the idea.
This had been the point when he'd first doubted the logic behind his actions. He was after all in an emotionally bad state and therefore much more prone to making stupid mistakes; even if he was trying to suppress these feelings until he was safely away. Nonetheless, he'd continued on and ended up at the local Little Whinging train station. Using the £20 note that he'd 'borrowed' from his aunt's secret stash (the one she kept in the ornamental vase on top of the mantelpiece), he'd bought a single one-way ticket to London.

It had taken him a while to remember how to get to Diagon alley from the muggle side of London. After all the only time he'd walked to the Leaky cauldron from this side had been before his first year and even then he'd been following the shadow of his great friend Hagrid, through what was essentially a foreign city to him. Luckily he had recalled the name of the underground station they had emerged from all those years ago (the escalator had still been faulty) and using vaguely familiar looking shops and roads he'd tried to retrace the route they'd taken. After twenty minutes of wandering, he had found himself quite suddenly standing outside the grubby looking pub; an old, precariously swinging sign proclaiming it to be the Leaky Cauldron. The now familiar feeling of being able to see (or hear) something others around him could not had once again set in, as the unseeing general public had walked on by.
The Leaky Cauldron had thankfully been rather empty and he'd wasted little time in moving towards the rear exit that lead to Diagon Alley. He had not wanted to be recognised by too many people - preferably none.

Diagon Alley was usually a hive of activity, especially at this time of year. A place that quite literally used to stun his senses every time he first joined the masses on the street. However, as he'd stood under the magical archway that was the entrance to this street, he'd found his first view of Diagon Alley in just under three years to be somewhat different to that to which he remembered. As with the Leaky Cauldron, the street was much quieter than usual. People seemed much less joyful and carefree, their actions more purposeful and rushed as if they couldn't wait to leave. The browsing of shop windows seemingly a forgotten pastime.
Harry was under little disillusion as to the reason behind this change. Within the last couple of weeks, Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself had sent out a press release through the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet, finally warning the public of Voldemort's return. It was the fear of 'you-know-who' that was keeping people off the streets and in their homes.
Knowing that he had little time, coupled with that fact that he was certainly not in the mood for window-shopping, Harry had headed directly towards the great white building that was the London branch of the bank of Gringotts.

So here he was. At Gringotts. Still. It had now been thirty minutes since he'd been brought to this room, in which he had lost any interest in long ago and Harry personally felt that he had waited long enough. Whatever business the Goblins wanted with him, could wait till a later date. It was as he consciously made this decision and rose from his chair to leave the room that one of the numerous double doors, that linked this room to Merlin knew where, opened and a rather sophisticated looking goblin walked in.
"Ah Mister Potter I presume?" enquired the goblin, who walked to the nearest chair around the conference table and sat down, seemingly uninterested in any response. Harry just nodded to the affirmative; still rather annoyed at his long wait and by the fact that this goblin did not seem troubled by this or in any hurry to apologise. He hadn't even introduced himself!
"Please take a seat Mister Potter, this may take a few moments" insisted the rude goblin, indicating the chair Harry had just vacated with a sweep of his clawed hand. Harry looked incredulously at the goblin for a moment but sat down nonetheless, breathing heavily and trying to remain calm.
"I'm here to discuss with you the particulars regarding the accounts and assets of one Mr Sirius Black who according to our records is recently deceased," said the goblin in a flat business-like tone that gave no hint of any sympathy or compassion.
To hear this goblin speaking about Sirius' death in such a blasé manner, nearly sent Harry over the top. His volatile emotions, already strained, swelled to bursting point as his anger rose within him; like a cobra preparing to strike. His hand was grasped tightly around the wand in his pocket. He could feel the sweat beads forming on his forehead and the quickened pulse in his neck. Somehow, he found some extra composure that he never knew he possessed and prevented himself from attacking the ignorant goblin where he sat. Outwardly however, the signs must have been obvious as the goblin changed his tact slightly. "I realise this is very abrupt Mister Potter, but we have found that the sooner these things are dealt with the better for all concerned" said the goblin, adopting what he must have believed to be a placating tone.
"Mr Black's orders regarding the distribution of his wealth and property, in the event of his untimely death, are detailed within his last correspondence with us - a letter dated October 1st of last year" continued the goblin, as he searched for said letter amongst the bundle of documents in front of him. "As you can see" the goblin passed him the letter over the tabletop "he has decided to split the wealth within the Black family vault three ways. One third to each of the three parties involved, a Mr. R.J. Lupin, a Ms. N. Tonks and yourself of course. There is also a property involved, that of number 12 Grimmauld place in London, the deeds to which are also to go to you. The only clause written being, that Ms. Tonks is entitled to remove any family heirlooms or items that she should wish to take from this property at any time over the next couple of months".

Harry hadn't heard anything of what the goblin had just said; after being handed the letter he'd been lost within his own thoughts. Sirius' familiar handwriting was scrawled across the page and there at the bottom, his signature. This letter was yet another symbol of Sirius' pointless death and a mad urge to tear the parchment into pieces nearly took over him. He didn't want any more money or property, damn it! He would gladly give everything he owned, every Knut, to have his Godfather back.
It was only as he heard his name called, as if from a great distance, that he returned from his trance like state. He wasn't sure if he could trust his voice, but he tried anyway. "I'm not..." his voice was very hoarse and shaky so he coughed and tried again "I'm not sure if I can deal with this right now, can't this be sorted out some other time?"
"I can see that this is difficult for you Mr Potter but as I said before, it is better for all involved if this is dealt with promptly. Everything will be taken care of on your behalf, if you just sign the parchment" insisted the goblin who past a familiar looking quill towards him over the tabletop.
Harry looked back down at the parchment in his hands, particularly at Sirius' signature. It was only now that he noticed that the signature seemed to have been signed in what looked suspiciously like blood.
"It is policy that all signatures on official documents be signed in blood Mr Potter. For positive identification of course". The goblin had obviously picked up on his confusion and had answered his unspoken question.

The quill he had immediately recognised. It was of the same type as the one that Dolores Umbridge had forced upon him so many times the previous year, in her sick form of punishment. A blood quill. The surfacing memories of the unjust punishment he had suffered though, did noting to help the inner turmoil that was going on within.
He could acutely feel the unrestrained magical energy causing though his body and he truly felt that if he didn't get out of this room soon, he might just cause something to explode. All he had to do was sign this parchment and he could leave.
In one swift determined movement, Harry picked up the quill and signed his name at the bottom of the parchment; his signature also appearing as a superficial cut on the back of his hand. The accompanying pain was familiar and almost welcoming. He deserved it; after all it was his fault that Sirius was dead. He shook his head again to try and clear these painful thoughts; this wasn't yet the time to deal with them.
"And if you could just sign here at the bottom of the deeds to the property, our business will be concluded" said the goblin encouragingly. Harry quickly took the proffered official looking document and signed where the goblin indicated; the cut on the back of his hand becoming slightly deeper.
"Is that everything?" asked Harry abruptly, wishing nothing more now than to get out of the cavernous hall.
"Yes. Thank you Mr Potter. These deeds will be placed in your vault along with your share of the monetary assets shortly. Griphook here will deal with any other business you may wish to complete before you leave," answered the goblin, briefly glancing over Harry's shoulder.
Harry turned around and was surprised to see the familiar goblin standing behind him. He hadn't heard the goblin enter. How Griphook had known he was needed Harry couldn't fathom and to be honest at this point in time, he couldn't care less. Getting up quickly from the table he quietly followed Griphook towards one of the large double doors through which he had entered the room earlier.
"Oh and Mr Potter?" The goblin called after him "You might like to know that since the death of your legal guardian, you now have complete access and control over your accounts here with us"
Harry was taken aback. "I'm legally adult now?" he asked confused
"Under Goblin laws you are" replied the goblin who, obviously seeing the confused expression on Harry's face, explained further: "Gringotts is not under the jurisdiction of wizarding law; has not been since the last rebellion in the late 17th Century. As for your wizarding laws, I am not completely certain as to the technicalities behind your situation. I do believe however, that since you are now over the age of 15 you have the reserve the right to choice whether or not another legal guardian is appointed. Naturally, you will still be subject to the same laws that abide to all wizards and witches your age".
This was a little too much to think about right now, on top of all that had happened. So Harry just nodded and thanked the goblin whilst storing the information away for later analysis. He had all summer think these things over.

"You were very honoured Mr. Potter" said Griphook, breaking the silence that had grown between them as they reached the main foyer of the bank.
"I'm Sorry?" replied Harry, having not entirely heard what the goblin had said.
"I said, you were very honoured to have been served by Warkarl Mr. Potter, he is the branch manager and does not usually trouble himself with such tedious affairs".
"Oh right" answered Harry dumbly. A rude and ignorant branch manager; who would have believed it?
"Have you any other business you wish to attend to whilst you are here Mr Potter?" asked the goblin, seemingly missing the lack of enthusiasm from Harry's earlier response.
"Uh...yeah! I wish to make a withdrawal from my vault" replied Harry, recalling his reason for coming to the bank in the first place.
"I see. Well then please follow me"

One crazy, death defying, cart ride later and Harry found himself staring at the entrance to his vault for the first time in almost three years.
"Vault number 687" announced Griphook pointlessly as he stepped out of the cart and inserted the key Harry had given him into the small keyhole in the door.
Harry's eyes widened in awe as the door swung open "How is that possible?" he whispered to himself. The vault was full to over flowing with gold galleons. So much so, that some had fallen to his feet as the door had opened under the sway of gravity. On the nearest pile of gold, in plain view, were the deeds to 12 Grimmauld Place, which he had signed barely minutes ago. "They've transferred it already?" he asked incredulously.
"All transactions are processed immediately," replied the goblin unhelpfully.
"But..." Harry let the question die on his lips. This was too much for him to think about right now. He was here for a reason and time was passing by way too quickly for his liking.
Quickly he began to fill his moneybag with gold coins and when that was full, he filled both of his trouser pockets. His task complete, he nodded to Griphook who closed and locked the vault door, after kicking a few stray coins back into the vault.

Having returned to the main hall and asking Griphook to point to him where to go, he thanked the goblin for his help and headed towards the vacant desk that he'd been directed towards. A large sign over the desk read 'Currency Conversion'. An old looking goblin was sat behind the desk and appeared to be asleep; his head propped up by an arm resting on the table. Harry, pressed for time, coughed loudly in an attempt to wake the goblin up. Almost predictably the goblin's arm jerked off the table and his head came within inches of connecting with the desk.
"Can I help you?" croaked the old goblin in a tone of voice that clearly indicated that he wanted to do no such thing.
"Yes please. I'd like to convert some Galleons into muggle currency" Harry replied.
"I see. You should know that the percentage commission is set at 7.8" the goblin informed him, no doubt trying to dissuade him from going ahead with such an costly transaction.
"Whatever" answered Harry who began to empty his pockets and moneybag onto the desk. The Goblin, after seeing the large amount of gold involved in the transaction, seemed to change his attitude quite considerably and became significantly more accommodating. Placing the coins in batches onto a pair of weighing scales, the old goblin counted the number of galleons before writing some calculations on a slip of parchment.
"After subtracting the commission, the current transfer value of 187 Galleons is set at £862 sterling," said the old goblin with a flourish, after completing his calculations.
"That's nice, but I only want half converted into sterling," replied Harry calmly.
This seemed to surprise the goblin "Sir, I thought you said you wanted all this gold converted?"
"I do" answered Harry "but the other half I'd like converted into the muggle French Franc."

-x-

There it is folks. The first chapter of my first fiction. Hope you liked it. Please review and tell me what you thought.

Take care,
Welsh Red Dragon.