Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 48: Redux (Aftermath)

29 March 1994

Harry Potter awoke from a deep and troubled sleep to find that he was no longer in his bed or even in his dorm room. Rather, he found himself lying on a cold stone floor in a most unexpected location. It was the lobby of Gringotts Bank, completely empty save for a pair of goblin janitors who were busily mopping the floors to clean up several puddles of water.

"Ah, Heir Potter! You're finally here!"

The voice came from behind him, and Harry turned around to see a goblin in more professional attire calling to him from a nearby office. The Slytherin squinted and realized that he recognized the figure.

"You're ... Griphook, right? My account manager?" Harry asked cautiously. The goblin's eyebrows rose fractionally.

"You remember my name? Impressive. Most wizards are too stupid or arrogant to ever do so."

"Thanks ... I think," Harry said while looking around the building nervously. He still had no idea how he'd gotten here, but he was perturbed to still be in his pajamas and, worse, without a wand.

"Why am I here, Mr. Griphook?" he asked. "For that matter, how did I get here? And also ... why is the floor wet?"

"In order asked: an important meeting, a portkey concealed under your pillow, and that's not important right now."

"Ooookay. What important meeting?"

"Just step this way, Mr. Potter, and I'll explain in my office. You see, things started moving much faster than we anticipated. And the bank decided it was vital that we communicate with you before it was too late."

With that, Griphook headed back into the office with Harry following behind.

"Too late for what?"

"Too late to prevent the Dark Lord from stealing your birthright and using it to take over the entire nation."

By this point, Griphook had taken a chair behind a massive mahogany desk, and Harry sat carefully down in the chair across from it while bearing a shocked and confused expression.

"The Dark Lord? What? Voldemort is trying to ... steal my inheritance or something?"

"Voldemort?! That faker? No, Mr. Potter! It's the real Dark Lord we're talking about. The greatest Dark Lord in history! And the man truly responsible for all the misfortunes to hinder you and your family since the day you were born. But this time we've got him! Now, we'll see to it that old Dumb-as-a-door finally gets what's coming to him!"

Harry blinked twice. Then, he blinked three more times. "Dumb ... as-a-door. Are you perhaps referring to Albus Dumbledore?"

"SHHH!" Griphook hissed violently. "We goblins do not speak his true name, Mr. Potter. For it is said that he knows when people speak his name in ways he does not like. Knows ... and takes vengeance! So, we always use other names to describe him."

"You mean like You-Know-Who?"

"Pfft! No! That would be a stupid name to use! Because what would happen if you tried to talk about the Dark Lord with someone who did not, in fact, know who you were talking about?!"

"Yeeeeeaah, I ... suppose that makes sense. So instead, you call him ... Dumb-as-a-door?"

Griphook nodded. "That or Bumblebore. Or Mumblecore. Or sometimes just That Miserable Old Fucker."

Harry slowly raised his hand to his face and rubbed it across his mouth while he processed all that.

"So ... what exactly do you think Dumble...."