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The Son of Storms 14
🕑 Added 2023-08-29 05:54:50 +0000 UTC“Keys for the vault of Harry Potter, Son of James Potter and Lily Potter,” Taranis growled as they walked up to a teller—a goblin, Harry remembered, looking around at the short, old ones counting coins and jewels on various counters, while burly, and a little larger ones stood around with halberds and axes as guards. His fingers twitched as one seemed to glare at him and Hestia from the cover of his helmet, and Harry barely resisted the urge to see whether these monsters bled as golden as the one back home.
“And you are decidedly not Harry Potter, wizard,” the goblin sitting on the counter spat back, and for a moment, Harry couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer hate and disgust the little creature had managed to fit in that one term. Evidently, racism went both ways in the wizarding world, and given the lack of scandalized or appreciative looks on anyone’s faces…it was quite accepted too. Sneering at Tamaris and Hestia both, it flicked its wrist in the direction of the doors and continued. “That concludes your business in Gringotts, and don’t ever think of stealing someone’s vault ever again. Now move before I see whether the dragons below like your flesh or not!”
“Fine,” Taranis growled, clearly angry about the tone the goblin had taken with the god, but unable to do anything about it. Turning around, he glared at Harry and thumbed at the creature at his back, “Get this done with brat. I’d rather not breathe the same air as them any longer than I have to.”
“I am Harry Potter,” he sighed and introduced himself, taking a step forward before the goblin could spew some more insults at them, making the creature pause as it looked down at him, “I would like to get my vault key…please.”
“Harry Potter,” the teller remarked, its eyes squinting at the demigod as the goblin leaned forward, “It will require proof of identity. Get it at the Identification counter, and then we will see about the key you need. It is the second counter from the left.”
“I had forgotten how miserable these pests are,” Taranis snarled as they moved toward the mentioned counter, glaring at every goblin in the hall. Not caring in the slightest about lowering his voice, he continued. “Bloody fuckers lost their pesky little rebellions against wizards, and are now considered barely more than animals in Europe. If it hadn’t been for Dagda’s strict instruction and Gwydion’s leniency, I would have turned this bank into a smoldering pile of death and rubble!.”
“Why did the wizards leave them alive if they had won?” Harry asked, looking around at the goblins who were either counting money, or glaring at the wizards and witches walking in the hall, “I doubt it was because they didn’t have the means to manage money.”
“The same reason why your father let Prometheus live,” Taranis chuckled, looking down at the son of Zeus, “Eternal chains of suffering are a much greater punishment than the release of Death. Now, get your business concluded quickly, and let us move away from these filthy animals.”
“Yes milord,” he nodded, sighing internally at the rather…volatile nature of his father’s counterpart, before he looked up at the counter they had arrived at. “I need to get an identification done.”
“Place your hand on the parchment in front of you, if you have a vault here, it will show up,” the ancient-looking goblin droned out, peering at an emerald in his hands as a parchment materialized before him, stuck on the surface of the counter, “If your vault shows up, get to the Key counter for information on your key.”
Nodding wordlessly, Harry placed his hand on the parchment…and unlike his expectations, there was no flash of light, or something sharp to prick his skin and take his blood. Instead, all he felt was a weird sensation like there were ants running down his palm, before ink began to appear on the parchment. Pulling back his palm, he watched with fascination as his name appeared first—and evidently, his full name was Harry James Potter. It was followed by his birth date before the names of his parents appeared.
“So my adopted father’s name was James,” he muttered softly, his eyes tracing over the letter right above the name of his mother, noting the same dates of death they shared, “Harry James Potter…that is my name…and evidently, I am the inheritor of four vaults.”
“A trust vault, their own vaults, and a family vault,” he explained at the querying glance Hestia gave him, showing her the names of the vaults right next to their numbers. “Let's get their keys and take a look at them before we leave, I don’t think he can endure much more of their glances before he snaps and breaks the laws.”
“Who do you take me for, your father?” the god in question scoffed, a smile as sharp as the edge of his sword on his wizened face, “It may be a norm for the Greeks to break the oaths they swear, but the rest of us gods aren’t as frivolous as your lot boy. Now go and conduct your business quickly, I shall be waiting outside the doors.”
Taranis walked away with that, his hands crossed behind his back and his eyes spitting fire at every goblin in his sight. Sighing once again at the god’s antics, Harry smiled as Hestia ruffled his hair and sent a pulse of warmth and calmness through him. “Come now Harry,” she spoke, her voice softer and more welcoming than any could ever hope to be as she steered him towards the counter that had the symbol of a rusty key upon its front, “We shouldn’t waste Lord Taranis’ time any more than we have to. It is imperative that these two days go as smoothly as they can, so that your own stay in Celtic dominion is peaceful.”
“Yes mom,” he rolled his eyes, walking towards the goblin, unknowing of the way Hestia froze behind him. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed a little as Harry’s voice resonated in her very being. Love and protectiveness burned through her soul as she stared at the boy who had given her the greatest gift of her life with just a simple word, the boy she considered her own in all but name and blood. Her eyes moistened a little, and she wiped them clean as her child turned around to raise an eyebrow at her, “What happened? Did something get in your eyes?”
“Nothing, my dear,” she shook her head and joined him, laying a hand on his cheek, “It was nothing.”
“If you say so,” he nodded, tilting his head as if examining her before he turned around and knocked on the counter, pushing the parchment from the Identification under the goblin’s eyes. “Keys for these vaults please.”
“Harry Potter,” the goblin rasped, his bony fingers grasping the parchment before he leaned over to peer down at the demigod, squinting past his thin spectacles, “The keys for the vaults 686, 345 and 2035, belonging to you, James Potter and Lily Potter were last known to be at your residence, in Godric's Hollow. The Potter Family Vault doesn’t require a key, so your business here is concluded. If you wish to get new keys commissioned for vaults, proceed behind me through the door. If you wish to further know the state of the accounts, proceed to the Accounts counter.”
“Very well,” he sighed, taking the parchment back and walking over to the aforementioned door, groaning as he saw the guards glower at him and Hestia. “Hades, this is taking too fucking long.”
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“I refuse to wear a hat,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the owner of the store they had walked into. Madam Malkins in turn, looked over at her aide for help, but the young woman simply shrugged uncomfortably, not really sure on how to handle the matter.
“Mr. Potter, it is a part of your uniform, and every student at Hogwarts is expected to wear it,” she tried again, waving her wand to summon a bunch of framed photos, depicting dozens of students in various uniforms, each one wearing a hat, “Your own parents had worn them when they were first years, and you will get scolded on your very first night if y-”
“Madam Malkins,” he interrupted, pointing at a boy standing in one of the photographs, “He isn’t wearing it, so there goes your point about everyone. As for the scolding, it is I who is going to hear that, not you, so please. Pack the rest of the things, and strike out the hat from the billing.”
“You want to copy Albus Dumbledore,” she raised an eyebrow, finding the boy he had been pointing at, before she chuckled a little. “Fine by me Mr. Potter. I will let you explain that logic to Minerva once you are off the train. Now, you have chosen the standard uniform, but if you spend a few galleons more, it can be an enchanted cotton one. Add a few more galleons, and you can get the one with automatic cleaning renewing charms upon it.”
“Just give me the standard one for now,” he said. Taking the pouch from his waist, he thought about the number of galleons and sickles he wanted to pay for the Uniform, feeling the required number of coins appear on his palm directly from his trust vault—a thing which had cost him hundred fucking gold coins. He put them on the table as Malkin packaged their purchases in a bag and handed it to him. Giving her a smile as he waved at him, he turned around and walked out of the store.
Hestia had decided to get his books and the trunk for him, while Taranis had decided to supervise him, standing outside the stores as he completed his purchases. By now, he had gotten his uniform, and the potions kit along with the cauldron. Now the only thing left was his wand, supposed to be acquired from Ollivander—and the store had been open for almost 24 fucking centuries!
Walking towards the old store, he smiled as Hestia waved at him from outside the door, a dark, polished trunk in her right hand. “Did you get everything?” She asked as soon he got within the reach of her hand, her fingers ruffling his hair affectionately as he leaned into touch, “Your books and stationery are inside this trunk, and so are your other clothes. The trunk can be shrunk with a touch of the runes on it, and you can also store some food in it for a few weeks at least.”
“Magic is awesome,” he grinned as he saw Hestia demonstrate the shrinking enchantment in question, her finger touching a series of curved carvings before the trunk turned into a matchbox-sized box. “Now, let’s buy my wand and be done with this shopping. I am feeling hungry enough to eat through the whole KFC right now!”
With that, he walked into the store, wincing at the whine the hinges made as he pushed the dust-laden door open. Hestia and Taranis walked in behind him, and Harry watched the motes of dust fly by his face, his eyes flicking over the hundreds of boxes arrayed upon the dozens of shelves before them. “There must be millions of wands in those boxes,” he whispered, awed beyond measure at the sheer skill, time and patience it would take to craft so many, “But where is Ollivander? I can’t hear him anywhere.”
”Not everything in this world can be sensed physically, Mr. Potter,” an ancient, whispery voice rasped out from the depths of the dusty store, and Harry blinked as an old, almost stooping man walked out from amidst the aisles, “Good day to you, Lady Hestia, Lord Taranis. Though, I wonder what brings two gods to my humble establishment.”
“It's been a while, Garrick,” Taranis grunted, grabbing a rickety chair before he sat down on it, making it creak dangerously beneath him, “This brat here needs a wand, and he is the charge of Lady Hestia. I am here as the guide for them until Cerridwen rises tomorrow.”
“I had heard of your family when we still lived in these lands,” Hestia commented, a look of wonder on her face as she walked by him and Ollivander both to look at the boxes on the shelves, “I think it was Hecate who mentioned your ancestors, having taught a few of them the art of creating and finding focuses.”
“That is true Lady Hestia,” the old wandmaker nodded, his eyes brightening as he waved his hand, and all the dust in the shop was swept away by a gust of wind, leaving behind only clean and pristine surfaces. “Forgive me for the less than stellar state of the shop Milord, Milady. Shall I get you some refreshments while I match young Harry with his wand?”
“Not this time, Master Ollivander,” Hestia shook her head, while Taranis just grunted in agreement, as she too took a seat besides the Celtic deity, “I have always been curious regarding the way you match the focus with the magic of a wizard, and I wish to see you play your craft. Besides, Harry is most eager to get his own wand and begin his journey as a wizard.”
“Right, right,” the wandmaker muttered, nodding to himself as he turned towards the visibly shocked demigod. He hummed for a moment, his glassy blue eyes sparkling with new vigor as the man seemed to lean close to him, and he murmured “Harry Potter…I remember your parents. James Potter and Lily Evans had both been chosen by wands suited for transfiguration and charms respectively. I wonder what magic shall choose you to be its wielder? Here, try this,” Ollivander’s voice suddenly gained strength as he opened his palm, and a box shot into it from one of the shelves, “Mahogany and dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches. Good for transfiguration and defensive magic.”
“Oh dear,” Taranis muttered as he leaned back, “This one has never gotten a demigod now that I think about it.”
Before Hestia could ask what the god beside her meant by it, a spark of light leaped from Harry’s outstretched fingers to the wand….right before it detonated in a blast of pure energy and lightning.
Hestia watched with wide eyes as the light cleared from their eyes, revealing a translucent shield covering both Ollivander and Harry, both of them unharmed from the blast that happened literally on their face. “Ah well, that was a blast,” Ollivander commented with a hearty laugh as he lowered his hand, and the bluish shield faded away into nothingness, while all Harry could do was gape at the clearly mad wandmaker. The wizard hummed a little as he leaned closer to the demigod, his eyes seeming to peer through his very soul as Ollivander’s fingers reached out towards his face, stopping just shy of touching his forehead, “My my…why didn’t you tell me you are a demigod?! Divinity courses through your veins, and your magic isn’t normal by any means! No wonder a normal wand couldn’t handle the power! No no no, we are going to d-”
Olliavander’s voice descended into murmurs as he turned around and walked deeper into his shop, disappearing amidst the aisles. Bemused and more than a little weirded out, Harry turned around to look at Hestia and Taranis, both of whom seemed to enjoy his plight if their smiles were any indication. “Just what did he mean by my magic being different?” He asked, tilting his head in the direction of the eccentric older wizard, “Am I gonna be different than the others at Hogwarts?”
“Your magic isn’t different in its usage, except perhaps it comes more freely to you than others,” the god of thunder answered, waving a hand at the wizards and witches visible outside the shop, “What is different between you and the others is the way it…flows through your body. Others don’t have a literal god powering their energy, and while being a demigod doesn’t make you magically stronger than what you would have been normally…it does make your magic more…raw or potent. Difficult to control, and you would need more practice and focus to do the fineries of various magical arts. Spells that don’t require control, on the other hand, will be easier—since your godly heritage makes your energy more…wilder compared to the average sorcerer.”
“Quite an apt description, Lord Taranis,” Ollivander lowered his head in respect as he walked into view, several boxes held in his arms. He lowered them reverently on a table that suddenly floated down from the ceiling, and Harry’s eye twitched as the wizard seemed to smirk at him. Opening the first box of the many, Ollivander brought out a wand as black as night sky, slowly raising it to his eye level as he looked at Harry, “Your magic is volatile and calm at the same time, a coloring from your divine parent. Thus, you need a wand that can match your temperament, one able to be a gentle river bed in your calmness, and be the swirling tempest of storms the next moment in your rage. That rules out the dragon's heartstrings, as well as the unicorn hair. The wood of your wand also needs to be as fluid as the sea or the sky, which makes mahogany, birch, and rowan unfit for you. Try this one will you? Phoenix feather in Oak, twelve inches.”
However, just like the last time, this wand too broke apart under his magic, and once again, Ollivander shielded them as with a fading, melodious cry of a phoenix, the wand burned away into nothingness. “Oh my,” he muttered, staring at the spot where he had held out the wand, “Even the phoenixes reject your magic from bonding to them…I am going by a hunch here, but have you killed any avian creature? Something like a phoenix or an eagle?”
Understanding lit up in his head, and Harry cursed mentally as he asked, “Does a thunderbird count? I didn’t deal the final blow, but I certainly attacked it and played a part in its death.”
“Ah yes,” the wandmaker breathed, closing his eyes as he flicked his hand, and almost half the boxes vanished from the table, “That would do it. Thunderbirds and Phoenixes share a close relation, even though both have vastly different origins I am afraid that...you have been cursed, they won’t let you wield any phoenix feather wand, not unless the phoenix personally lifts the curse from you. But no matter,” Ollivander’s somber voice turned energetic as he clapped his hands once, “It is clear that even the legendary creatures are not going to be a perfect fit for you, owing to the divinity flowing through you. No…what you need, is a wand crafted with your essence already in it. Tell me, Harry, do you have any remains of the powerful monsters you might have killed? Especially that thunderbird that died…a feather or a heartstring of it will surely be compatible with you.”
“I do have the fangs of the Hydra that I killed,” he nodded slowly, a part of him still unable to come to terms with the fact that apparently, he was now cursed by birds—and what the fuck was gonna happen with that thunderbird egg he had taken?! Deciding to think about it more later and find information in the wizarding world, he turned towards Hestia, “And I guess that we can still find that thunderbird on that cliff?”
In response, Hestia just hummed and raised her hand, and with a swirl of fire, two fangs about a foot in length appeared above her hand, floating in a barrier made of golden magic. A moment later, Taranis sighed and nodded at her, and Hestia raised her other palm, and in another burst of flames, a heart as big as his entire torso appeared over it. He blinked at the sight, his eyes catching the way it was pierced on one side, the flesh and fibers blackened and rotted by that centipede’s poison. Above the heart, a single feather rested, its shade as beautiful as the evening sky full of stormy clouds, blue and gold mixing together to create a majestic sight, stained only by the blood that had dried upon it.
“Your spoils of war, dear Harry,” she whispered, floating the various things over to Ollivander, where he took hold of them with his own magic. The ancient-looking man looked upon the parts of the powerful creatures with naked awe and excitement, before his eyes looked at them all with a shine that made him look decades younger.
“This is going to be glorious,” he whispered reverently, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, before he looked at a surprised Harry. “You are going to have your wand Mr. Potter, one made of your own magic, of your own blood. One that shall serve you better than any wand you shall ever acquire, one that shall surpass any of my creations…this is my promise.”
