Chapter 107: Darjeeling
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He had to accept this quest, and not just because of Lisa, but also for himself. He couldn't let Lisa Turpin die. Not when him saving her life had inadvertently resulted in the deaths of nine other people. Her life was worth more now. More than ever before.
She had to live.
With determination, Harry pressed yes, before saying to Dumbledore. "What do you need me to do?"
Four days before the day the Petrified victims woke up, in the warm confines of his manor's study, Wentworth Wright was looking through the same newspaper that Harry would be reading in the future, calculating and recalculating the possible fallout from the massacre happening as he sipped on his Darjeeling tea.
The severe blow to Dumbledore's power was obvious and imminent. Even if the old headmaster spun it the right way, it would significantly decrease his tout in the political community. He would most likely never be able to run for public office again.
The boy on the other hand…
He took another sip of his tea, before putting it down on the table beside his armchair and turning the page to look at the small blurry photo of the boy in question.
The photo looked like it had been snapped in a hurry Harry Potter was turning out to be quite the unexpected force here.
Not even thirteen yet, and he had a foot on every side of the camp, being at least casual acquaintances with Lucius Malfoy, Dumbledore, the Minister and even Bones herself.
And now, with even more public goodwill on his side after this entire debacle, the boy was politically untouchable.
He had always been firmly entrenched in the Neutrals in the Wizengamot, leaning more towards Traditionalists, but seeing this rise to power in action was making him seriously consider choosing a side.
A small pop behind him distracted him from his thoughts. He turned to look at the house elf that had popped into the study.
"Tibby is sorry to disturb Master sir, but the goblins have Floo called from Gringotts are insisting on meeting Master.." the little creature stuttered out.
He nodded, and the elf popped away. Folding the newspaper up and putting it into a pocket, he stood up and headed out of the study towards the living room where the fireplace was located. The goblins had never contacted him before, and them using the Floo was almost unheard of, so this must have been quite the emergency.
Entering the living room, he headed straight for the fireplace, where the hook-nosed face of a Gringotts goblin waited impatiently in the embers. Its eyes widened when it noticed him, and it promptly started speaking.
"Are you one Wentworth Alan Wright, primary and only holder of the Wright Gringotts Premium Vault?"
Wentworth's grey brows pushed together in a frown. This sounded like some official business. "I am," he replied, "Can I help you?"
The goblin ignored his question, instead of asking, "Have you ever had any contact with one Dean Thomas or his immediate family?"
'Dean Thomas?' he thought curiously, wondering what was going on. "No. I have not."
The goblin's head disappeared for a minute before it reappeared. "You might want to step through Mr. Wright. There has been an interesting development that might be of concern to you. If you would just step through the Floo."
"This is highly irregula-"
"It is about your son." the goblin interrupted, striking him silent. His son… John had been dead for over twelve years now.
It took him a moment to recover, but when he did, there was only one thing to do. "I'm coming through."
The goblin gave a sharp nod before his head disappeared from the fire. He stepped into the green fire, and with a burst of flame, was flung through the Floo Network to the Gringotts floo that he had been called from.
Stepping out into what appeared to be a small sparsely furnished office, he dusted off his robes. The door leading out was closed, and the goblin that had called him was sitting on a tall chair at the table in the center of the room, looking through a folder. With a wave of its hand, it invited him to sit in the guest chair across him.
"What is this about?" he asked as he took his seat.
The goblin put down the folder and looked at him.
"When a Muggleborn student dies in the magical world," it said out of the blue, "the Ministry registers the death and then contacts Gringotts, supplying us with a small vial of blood of the deceased as proof of death.
This is done since Muggles cannot own a Gringotts Vault, and as such, the contents of the student's vault would need to be emptied and handed over to the Muggleborn's family."
"And how does that pertain to my situation?" he asked.
"Greatly. The same procedure was followed for the death of Dean Thomas after he died at Hogwarts. We received a vial of his blood from the Ministry and ran the blood through our Vault Register as part of the protocol.
For a Muggleborn, that search would only show one match, which would usually just be a Student Vault. Dean Thomas's blood showed two. One his Student Vault, and the other a PremiumVault. Your Premium Vault."
"That is impossible!" he said, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. And even as he rebutted the goblin's words, his own mind brought up thoughts to the contrary.
'There was no body.'
"That is what we thought at first, especially since your only known heir had been declared dead. However, when we made contact with our DMLE contacts, a piece of evidence that the DMLE had just acquired erased all doubt."
The goblin opened its folder and pulled the first of the stack of papers inside before handing it to him. He took it from the creature before looking at it. The first few lines by themselves shocked him frozen.
Dearest Son,
This letter would have found you only if I were no longer alive. And if I am indeed dead, I do not wish to die without you ever knowing about me.
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