When Sal woke up, he was lying on the floor of the Chamber.
He was alone, except for the unconscious boy he had rescued.
A boy, whose name Sal finally knew…
He had never met the boy before, but the way he looked made sure that Sal recognized him anyway.
He looked just like a younger version of his brother and Sal's friend.
And while Sal had only heard of Sirius Black having a brother, he knew the boy's name, nevertheless.
Regulus Black.
At that moment, a rustle of feathers could be heard to his left and he turned his head just in time to see his grandfather change into his human shape.
His grandfather didn't look good.
His face looked a lot more avian than it had ever before, with feathers on his cheeks and neck. His hands were also feathered.
"Grandfather," Sal whispered, and his grandfather slumped.
"You're awake," the phoenix said, relief colouring his voice.
Sal frowned.
"Grandfather?" he asked, concerned.
His grandfather sighed.
"It's been two years since I found you," he said. "It's 1981."
"1981?" Sal asked, confused.
It had been 1981 when the whole ordeal started… but with the whole… what had happened?
Sal frowned.
He remembered memories.
His own and those of a stranger.
It was a bit jumbled in his head, but he was sure that the stranger had been Peverell's and Rowena's father…
Sal didn't remember everything that he had seen, but he was pretty sure that he basically saw the life of Peverell's father from his… conception? - that was an odd thought - to Peverell's birth and childhood.
He reached for his head when a headache made itself known.
And then, feathered hands reached for his own.
"How are you, egg of my egg?" Fawarx asked.
His eyes were scanning Sal and Sal winced.
"What day is it?" he wanted to know.
"It's the fifth of November," his grandfather immediately answered.
Sal gritted his teeth.
Too late.
He woke too late.
At this time, Sirius was already arrested and most likely in Azkaban and baby Harry-
His thought was interrupted when Regulus's vitals stopped.
He cursed and forced himself to his feet.
It seemed that when he woke his grip on the wards that kept Regulus alive had loosened and the poison inside the other man whose spread had been slowed down to a trickle thanks to the wards had lurched forward again and tried to claim the man once more.
"Salvazsahar!" his grandfather admonished him, but Sal just freed himself from his grandfather's hands.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But I went through too much trouble to let him die now."
And with that, he hurried to Regulus Black to stabilize the man.
It wouldn't be the last time that he was forced to do that.
Thanks to the fact that Sal hadn't been able to attend to Regulus for the last two years, Regulus had fallen into a coma.
Sal might have been able to keep him alive thanks to the tether between them, but he hadn't been able to prevent the poison slowly working through the man's body.
He gritted his teeth when he recognized that fact.
"It's going to be a long recovery for you," he said to the comatose Regulus Black. "If you ever wake up again, that is."
He wouldn't be able to leave him for now - at least not for a longer time.
Not, when he wanted Regulus to survive.
The poison had been slowed down thanks to the wards surrounding him, but that didn't mean that it had stopped spreading.
Sal would have to find a counter, and until then, the best he could do was keep the wards active and Regulus asleep.
"It's going to be a long search," Sal sighed.
"Salvazsahar," his grandfather said sadly. "Do you really think…"
"I saved him, grandfather," Sal pointed out. "The last thing I should do now is to abandon him - not to mention that my oaths demand of me to do everything I can to help him… which I haven't done until now."
He looked up and into his grandfather's eyes.
"It's going to take months, maybe even years - and even then, I won't know if he'll wake up," he confessed. "But even if he doesn't, at least I tried."
Something told him that Regulus would wake someday.
The answer from his grandfather was a sigh.
"You're not going to give up, are you?" he asked resigned.
Sal smiled wryly.
"Since I didn't give up while dying, I think now that I'm alive and actually able to move, it's just right that I give it another try," he countered.
Fawarx sighed.
For a moment, grandfather and grandson looked at each other, searching each other's gaze.
"Will you stay?" his grandfather finally asked.
For a moment, Sal looked thoughtfully at Regulus Black.
Would they stay?
He mentally reached for the wards in the Chamber.
They were the same as always.
He couldn't say what state the rest of Hogwarts' wards were in from here since the Chamber had a separate set of wards - which was needed considering it was a place to hide in case the rest of Hogwarts' wards fell - and he doubted he would be able to check on Hogwarts' wards if he didn't want to be found within the next decade, but… at least in the Chamber, they were safe.
He looked around the Chamber.
"How are the rooms?" he asked and nodded towards one of the snakes that hid the entrances of the emergency rooms Sal had added centuries ago when Hogwarts still belonged to its Founders.
"They're ready for use," Fawarx replied.
Which meant that they had actual beds and facilities…
Sal looked at his grandfather and while the phoenix didn't show any emotion, Sal could see the longing in his eyes.
He wanted Sal to stay.
Maybe he even needed Sal to stay.
And no matter how long they hadn't seen each other, they were still family…
Well, Hogwarts' Chamber of Secret was as good a place as any…
"Alright," Sal decided and reached for Regulus to pick him up. "We will stay."
And while Fawarx just inclined his head, something in his shoulders loosened.
Sal saw it.
No, no matter how inconvenient it might turn out, Sal didn't regret agreeing to stay.
"There are things I will have to do," he finally said. "It won't be now. Most likely, it won't be for a few months, but I will have to do them as soon as Regulus is half-way stable."
His grandfather nodded.
"But you will return?"
Sal hummed in agreement and then walked towards the nearest snake. The door hidden by it opened without any trouble.
The room was outfitted as a dorm-room with five loft beds.
Sal took the one closest to the door to put down Regulus on the lower one of the beds.
After, he removed the upper bed with a wave of his wand and shrunk it before putting it on one of the shelves where a few other shrunk loft beds were sitting.
After, he reworked the wards that tied him to Regulus a bit, to ensure that they were steady and then started to look the other man - barely more than a boy - over.
Regulus was in a good condition.
It was surprising considering that nobody had actually looked after him for the last two years, but then, Regulus had also been in a modified stasis over that time.
Sal grimaced a bit at the implications of that, but shrugged them off, in the end.
The stasis might slow down recovery as well since spells like that liked to linger - which wasn't a problem for short-term stasis, but in this case, it hadn't been one.
"I guess we'll see how long it'll take you to wake up," Sal told the man. "It's something to worry about in the future - not now, when the potion in you is still active."
After all, it was done, and there was nothing he could change about it now.
He would have simply had to work with what the circumstances offered.
It took him a few hours to ensure that Regulus was stable and under stasis wards again.
Sal didn't like the fact that he had to keep the man even longer in stasis at all, but with the poison spread as far as it was, there was no way to stop it anymore without a proper counter… which Sal didn't have.
"He looks like he's sleeping," his grandfather commented and Sal sighed.
"It's going to be a few long months," he said and rubbed his eyes. "I need to distil the poison in his blood and then either find or make a counter."
"My tears," Fawarx offered hesitatingly, but Sal shook his head.
"If they didn't help me while I was trying to keep him alive through the bond, they won't help him," Sal answered tiredly. "Not to mention that I tried those first while stabilizing him. Using mine, though - that shouldn't make that much of a difference."
His grandfather inclined his head.
"It wouldn't," he agreed and sighed.
Sal smiled grimly.
"It's not going to be an easy fix, no matter how much I wish for one," he agreed with a sigh and then shook his head.
"Do you need anything?" Fawarx immediately asked him.
"Potion supplies," Sal answered immediately. "I think there was a lab down here near here, so I should be equipped with most… even if the things are about a thousand years out of date… but I need ingredients. Those won't have kept, at least, most of them won't have."
His grandfather nodded.
"Give me a list and I'll see what I can do," he agreed.
Sal raised an eyebrow at the other man.
"You're a phoenix," he pointed out. "In your usual appearance, it will be hard to interact with anybody and as you are now…"
He hesitated.
"I will stand out," the phoenix finished for him calmly. "I will go to the goblins and other Firbolg for ingredients. I'm well aware that most wizards in this day and age would be more likely to stare at me than to trade with me."
Then, Fawarx's mouth twitched in half-concealed amusement.
"And if I don't manage to get something," he continued. "We have a competent potion's master here at school. He might end up a bit suspicious of the students somewhat if his ingredients, but a little supply-theft won't hurt him."
Sal snorted, but he guessed his grandfather was right enough with that and conceded that point.
He sighed and then looked at the comatose Regulus.
"Are you alright?" Fawarx asked him softly.
Sal grimaced.
"I'm not sure," he told the other man with another sigh and looked around the room. "It still feels all so unreal."
"Unreal?"
Sal nodded.
"Everything," he said. "The man responsible for the war we had over the last few years is gone… and with him went some dear friends of mine - and not one of them can be returned to me."
"They died?" Fawarx asked, his voice full of understanding.
"Some did," Sal agreed tiredly. "Others…"
He shook his head.
"One of them was brought to Azkaban," he said slowly. "And as much as I want to find a way and get him out… I can't break the treaty I have with the Dementors. At least, I can't for now. Not without them breaking it first."
He grimaced at that.
"Didn't they work with the other side in this war?" Farwarx asked slowly.
"They helped me once against a Headmaster of Hogwarts in the fifteen hundreds," Sal replied with a pinched look on his face. "There was a boon open for them to take from back then. At that time, I swore that I would be lenient with them once if they dared to enter the magical kingdom of Britain again. I can't go and enter their lands now, after their last coming to magical Britain was covered by a boon."
"And you're not willing to break the contract?" Fawarx asked slowly.
"And let them roam the realm of my father as they wish as a consequence of that?" Sal countered and then shook his head grimacing. "No. I would break my solemn oaths if I put the life of a man, I know will survive them above the lives of thousands."
He shook his head.
"As much as I hate it, I'm Prince of this realm," he said and looked into his grandfather's fire-eyes. "Just like I am Healer and Guardian of the innocent. And no matter what, in this case, it's the safety of many… ' Even if you have to kill someone or let someone die to ensure the safety of others is part of my oath… against the safety of one. I can't. I wish, I dearly wish, but I can't. Not, without breaking my oaths."
And it hurt.
It hurt to know that he couldn't go and save Sirius Black - a man he had come to like, his friend…
But Sirius was already in Azkaban.
Sal didn't need to confirm it, he remembered it from the time he had lived in the future.
Sirius was in Azkaban - and little Harryjames at the Dursleys.
Sal clenched his fists.
Why had he grown up at the Dursleys?
Why had he never come and visited his younger self?
He knew it had nothing to do with the warning about seeing oneself.
He had proven that one wrong in his third year in Hogwarts, after all.
And again, when he had seen baby Harryjames.
As long as he wasn't recognized by his past self as their future self, there was no danger when it came to seeing oneself.
So why hadn't he come?
He shook that thought away.
"Regulus first," he said to himself. "Everything else can come after."
"You don't look too happy," his grandfather observed calmly.
Sal rubbed his face.
"I still can't believe that the war is over for now," he said truthfully. "And I'm not sure I'll like the consequences of it. They might not have reached us right now, but they most likely will someday in the future."
His grandfather looked at him in consideration.
"You know something," he observed.
"The current dark lord isn't dead," Sal said calmly. "He will come back again, someday."
"The current Headmaster suspects the same," the phoenix replied.
Sal's eyes darkened.
"I thought as much," he agreed and then shook his head. "It doesn't really matter right now. I know how he kept himself alive and I know how to destroy him. I took the knowledge of his protections from death from his mind… but I can't act on it right now."
He sighed and turned towards Regulus.
"I can't act on much right now," he said quietly.
The phoenix hummed.
"That will change," he said calmly. "It will take time, but it will change."
Sal sighed but agreed.
"Do you want a newspaper?" the phoenix offered and for a moment, Sal was tempted to know what was going on in the world right now.
In the end, though, he shook his head.
He knew he would have to look over them later when he could, but looking at them now and feeling guilty for things that he couldn't have prevented… no, it would just distract him from what he needed to do to save Regulus Black.
"I saved him," he said and looked at the younger Black. "And as long as he needs my wards to stay alive… as long as he stays alive beneath my wards… my oath is bound to his life. With starting to treat him, I swore I would do everything I could to keep him alive - being distracted by things I can't change as long as I am bound to him will do me no good."
In the end, it would take him a year to find a counter to the poison.
And only after that, he would be able to step out of the Chamber of Secrets again, to take a look at those things he had ignored while keeping Regulus Black from dying.
"It's now a game of wait and see," he told his grandfather thirty-two hours after he had administered the antidote. "Either he will wake or he won't. I can't even predict how long it'll take… but most likely, it will be at least another two to three years until his body is recovered enough to even hope that he might wake. Most likely longer since I can't predict the effects the prolonged stasis spell had on his system."
"What are you going to do now?" Fawarx asked.
Sal smiled grimly at his grandfather.
"Watch over him," he replied. "And do some things I wanted to do but couldn't since he wasn't stable. He's stable now and the stasis wards are gone. He's still tightly monitored by me, but at least, I can leave now and take a look at some things I let slide until now."
His grandfather nodded slowly.
"So, you're leaving," he said.
"For some short times, only," Sal agreed, his eyes fixed on his grandfather who had gained even more feathers over his transformations over the last year.
The other man barely looked human anymore.
"I'm going to return," Sal promised quietly. "I will return and if you want me, I will be there for your last."
His grandfather smiled sadly.
"I don't want you to watch me lose myself to the flames," he said calmly and his eyes turned towards the main Chamber. "Your grandmother and I… I think it should be just us when I go. I don't want to make you suffer by watching me go."
Sal returned his grandfather's sad smile with one of his own.
"Hold out for me for a few years, please," he begged.
"I will," his grandfather agreed and reached for him to pull him into a hug. "I will wait for you to catch up with time - and I will wait beyond until you're settled."
"So, you know," Sal said tiredly.
His grandfather laughed softly.
"Your grandmother and I always suspected," he said and then reached for Sal's arm. "But I knew when I saw you revive after dying on that horrible night a year ago."
"You mean last Samhain," Sal said.
"Yes," his grandfather replied and then pushed up Sal's sleeve to expose a very old scar.
Sal watched Fawarx while his grandfather's face turned thoughtful.
"You survived her bite," the phoenix said, his eyes meeting Sal's. "You're her grandson - and yet, you survived her bite."
Sal shook his head.
"I wasn't her grandson back then," he pointed out. "And it was your tears that saved me."
His grandfather's fingers caressed Sal's scar.
"It doesn't matter if you were not yet our egg's son, you were her grandson already - at least to her mind," he said sadly. "That she bit you is proof enough. That you lived…"
His grandfather shook his head.
"You shouldn't have," he said. "My tears shouldn't have done anything. You were her grandson. Bitten by her, you should have died, no matter what."
"I didn't," Sal countered softly. "You saved me."
"The beast inside you-" his grandfather started to say, but Sal interjected before he could say more.
"I can't remember ever having a beast inside me. I have heard about it, but I have never felt it… never had to fight against something inside me which wanted to overwhelm me, control me. I'm not sure what happened, and I don't know for sure if the bite is at fault, but whatever you think should be clawing in my mind… it's not there."
He saw surprise in his grandfather's eyes at that.
"There's nothing that wants out inside of you?" his grandfather asked.
"Nothing," Sal affirmed. "At least nothing that I've ever felt."
For a moment, there was silence between them.
Then his grandfather shook his head.
"You might not have survived the bite fully, then," he said and there was sadness in his voice. "A part of you might have died back then."
"More than one part has died of me over the millennia," Sal replied calmly. "And for all I know, I was never whole in the first place. I died for the first time when I was but a year, after all."
For a moment, his grandfather searched his face after that declaration.
There was a realisation there that made Sal suspect that Fawarx had connected the dots and drawn the right conclusion.
He smiled at his grandfather softly.
"There are things I need to do," he reminded him. "I will have to start taking care of them."
His grandfather nodded, his eyes still roaming over Sal's face.
"I will tell you when I go," Fawarx finally said, his voice calm.
I will tell you when I go and decide to die.
Sal knew that his grandfather would never say those words, but that was the promise implied anyway.
He nodded and the phoenix stepped back, away from him.
"Take care, egg of my egg," Fawarx said softly before he returned to his phoenix body and flashed away in a bout of fire.
Sal snorted.
"You could have at least taken me with you beyond the wards," he complained fondly - not that the wards stopped him.
With that, he ensured one last time that Regulus would be safe for the next few hours before he apparated from the Chamber to Diagon Alley, without even bothering to go to Hogwarts proper. It wouldn't do, to be found, after all…
"Clan-brother! Have you fought today?"
Nardog was in the middle of weighing amethysts when the traditional greeting in Gobbledegook reached his ears. It had been a long time Nardog had heard a greeting like that. Even the goblins themselves just used this greeting on formal occasions now. Hearing it here meant either the speaker was very old or he had something very important to say.
Nardog looked up.
The first thing he registered was that the speaker wasn't a goblin.
It was a wizard.
For a moment Nardog had the urge to bare his teeth at the human for misusing such an important phrase - then he stopped in surprise.
No human should know this phrase. It was just used between goblins so how…
"I had a blessing challenge," he finally answered in the traditional way, intrigued by how the wizard in front of him would react. Traditionally a goblin would offer another battle to conclude this greeting.
The human withdrew a dagger from his belt, putting it down in front of the goblin with its peak pointing at Nardog.
Nardog was impressed.
An old, formal challenge for a mock-battle from a wizard was impressive - very impressive. Most of the younger goblins would struggle challenging someone with such elegance.
Nardog showed his teeth, a sign, that he would come back to the challenge later, and that it was now time for business. The human reacted instantly.
"I am here to claim the Lordship of House Grim," he said without hesitating.
It was the goblin way to honour those who fell in combat, so they were honouring House Grim by having their current circumstances known by most every goblins after its Heir was orphaned in the last Wizard's War was something they had no qualms about doing. Not to mention its connection albeit narrow one to its Clan Leader ancestor. But those facts were only known by Ragnok and his closest advisors. It was the last thing they could do.
Because of that, Nardog didn't need to look up any information on the House to answer.
"The Lordship of House Grim goes to its heir. The babe is currently two years old, as such, his newly named guardian and proxy Mr. Albus Dumbledore will have access to his money until the babe is of age." Nardog answered, marvelling why a wizard who knew as much of goblins as the one in front of him would demand something like that.
The man should have known better.
Gringotts was bound to their laws and no decent goblin would dare to steal - especially not from an innocent child.
"Newly named?" the man asked surprised.
"Just a week ago," Nardog replied calmly. It wasn't as if that wasn't official information, so he saw no reason to deny an answer. "It apparently took some time until the wizarding government got around to it."
Nardog sneered at that.
It spoke of the incompetence of the highest decree that it had taken a year for the wizards to sort out the guardian of an important child of their own.
Then Nardog raised one of his impressive eyebrows to demand an answer from the wizard in front of him why he thought he could claim the Lordship of House Grim.
The stranger immediately reacted to the silent demand - which just showed how well-versed he was in goblin customs.
"While the child is undeniable Heir to Grim, the right of Lordship by blood is mine," the man said calmly, his lips twitching a bit. "From the two of us, I am the older one, after all."
Nardog just stared at the man.
"Do you have proof?" he asked finally.
"Just my blood," the other man replied calmly.
The way he looked at Nardog was the unspoken goblin version of "I am willing to prove my claim with the one thing that can't be forged.
Nardog could respect that offer - even if he was unimpressed by the implication that Gringotts didn't know their clients.
Nevertheless, wrong or not, the man had a right to contest a claim by trying to prove that it was wrong with his blood.
It just normally wasn't done.
"And your name, stranger?" he asked, while he reached for the potion to prove heritage.
The man hesitated.
Then, he slowly nodded towards the rune sequence built into every desk of the tellers around the hall.
"Activate it, and I will tell you," he said calmly.
Nardog felt some surprise.
While the man had displayed goblin-clan-customs, Nardog still had thought the man was more like the wizards.
To ask for an activation like that just for a name spoke more of a goblin-nature than the wizard-one Nardog had expected. Only goblins were that cautious with their names - especially their full names.
Nardog inclined his head and activated the runes.
He had to admit, watching the man's eyes light up when he clearly assessed the rune work's activation was something else. The man hadn't drawn a wand or moved, and yet, Nardog was sure he had noticed the magic picking up and somehow… judged it.
The way his eyes returned to Nardog and his head inclined just slightly, told the goblin that the assessment was 'decent'.
Nardog glared and the man's lips twitched for a moment, clearly unbothered that he had implied that he could do better towards Nardog.
Nardog had never had a customer that could actually talk that well without uttering thousands of unnecessary words.
Against his will, he was slightly impressed.
Nevertheless, the man hesitated for another moment.
"An oath," he said calmly, and Nardog wanted to scowl, while at the same time congratulate the man for being more cautious than even the oldest of goblins.
Nevertheless, he spoke the oath.
This was the least he could do for a man who was clearly more than he appeared to be - one who actually knew how to conduct himself in company, unlike all those other wizards.
"Not a word from my lips," Nardog said. "Not a letter from my hands. Not a thought from my mind. In my honour, so mote it be."
Nardog knew that this wasn't the way of the wizards to offer oath, but the goblin way. While Nardog was willing to offer oath, he definitely wasn't willing to lower himself to the standard oath for wizards - not even for a man who knew goblin customs.
This time, when the man inclined his head, it looked downright regal.
Nardog should have guessed he shouldn't be surprised that the other man knew how goblins offered oath and therefore was agreeable to their version.
"I am Salvazsahar Pendragon-LeFay," he said calmly, his green eyes boring into Nardog's eyes, proving part of the claim immediately.
Nardog's eyes widened.
"Pendragon?" he repeated his eyes searching the man's face while he could still hear the ringing of truth in his head. The ringing was the wards that confirmed that the man had at least told the truth as far as he knew it.
The man's lips pressed together.
"Not a name I go by, normally," he said. "And not one I have uttered ever before."
Nardog shivered.
If the name had been true, he wasn't surprised by that.
If it was true, then Ragnok-King would have to be notified.
The goblins, while never direct subjects to the Kings of the land, still had a tight bond with them. And while the same couldn't be said for the prince and heir until he took the throne, just the knowledge that there was an heir was something Ragnok-King would need to know.
Then the man shrugged slightly.
"Though I guess for you, Morganaadth is the more important one to know, when it comes to my name," he added calmly as if he hadn't just made Nardog's life difficult enough.
Morganaadth.
Morgana's son.
A goblin name.
No wizard had a goblin name, and yet, the man claimed one anyway…
And what a goblin name it was - Morgana's son… Nardog shuddered at the implication.
And if he was saying the truth and not just believing that he was saying it… then… then… no, Nardog wasn't sure he wanted to deal with the sure headache that would follow.
On the other hand… it would be a challenge, and no goblin would ever step down from a challenge, no matter how headache introducing it turned out to be…
Then the man gestured towards the potion in Nardog's hand.
"I guess, you wish to confirm my claim?" he said calmly and Nardog forced himself to put aside the man's ridiculous claim to go through the motions needed.
"No matter your name, stranger," he said, forcing himself to add the 'stranger' to his words even if he feared that this kind of impoliteness might cost him if the claim of the man held true. "That still doesn't explain why you believe yourself available for the Lordship of Grim."
"The young Heir's mother was a born, yet on her side unacknowledged LeFay," the stranger replied calmly.
Therefore, as long as the child wasn't of age, the heir of LeFay if he was of age, also had the right to claim Grim as a Lord-proxy.
Yes, Nardog was impressed by the wizard who managed to speak in the true goblin way without all those unnecessary words other wizards needed.
"Indeed," Nardog said, agreeing to the man's reasoning and then sat down the potion in front of the stranger before producing the parchment that was the other component of the ritual.
"You are aware that this counts as a ritual," he pointed out.
Wizards, Nardog knew, were stupid enough to fear rituals of any kind - but especially one using blood.
The man just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Nardog, basically telling him without words what he thought of the warning.
Nardog wondered if it was bad service to start to like one of his customers…
When the man produced another knife to cut himself, Nardog was even more impressed.
Having one knife for a ritualic challenge was well and good - but having another one of the same quality spoke of a knowledge in combat with knives at the very least.
Nardog couldn't remember having ever seen a wizard-warrior before.
He wasn't even surprised anymore when he noticed that the man ensured that six drops of blood fell into the potion and not one drop more.
Enough for a thorough reading, but yet, not enough to use the blood-potion for anything nefarious.
A cautious fellow who would fit very well within the goblins.
"Not very trusting, are we?" Nardog snarked when the stranger handed back the potion to be poured onto the parchment.
"I trust you wouldn't give up your honour," the stranger replied while showing teeth. "We are still in challenge, after all."
Which basically translated into: ' No, I'm not trusting at all, but I trust in your customs that the little trust I extend to you will be well placed.'
The man should have been born a goblin.
Nardog was almost willing to petition to accept the man into his birth-clan just to ensure the man in front of him wouldn't continue to be wasted to the wizards.
Nardog poured the potion.
And of course, the first one to appear was the one name that was the most important.
Nardog inclined his head to the man in front of him, this time in deference.
"Morganadth-Leader," he said formally, acknowledging not only the position of the man in front of him as a clan-leader but also his goblin name. "I am Nardog and willing to serve this one in any way this leader needs me to."
The man returned the formal acknowledgement by showing his teeth in agreement.
Then, Nardog's gaze returned to the parchment.
The next moment his eyes snapped back up at Morganaadth.
"You are the babe in question," he said in surprise. "The young Heir of Grim."
He searched Morganaadth's face.
"How?" he asked. "You are Morganaadth, Morgana's son. You are the Heir of Pendragon, the Prince… and yet, you should be a babe of barely two-years-of-age!"
"I am and I should," the other man replied. "And the babe still is what he should be as well."
Morganaadth's cool green eyes assessed Nardog calmly.
"I will take back my place as the babe in question in another thirteen years," Morganaadth continued. "And I will send him back to grow into the man I am."
Nardog's eyes widened.
"There were rumours," he said, his eyes still searching the Prince's. "The Immortal Prince… that's you, aren't you, Morganaadth-Leader?"
The man… being… closed his eyes for a moment before he inclined his head slightly in agreement.
And Nardog had to admit that he had never thought to ever meet the Prince of the Land, nor had he ever thought the Prince to be a time-traveller whose journey had not yet begun and would not yet end.
"I am honoured, Morganaadth-Leader," he finally declared towards his elder.
It was the only thing he could say or do in face of the show of trust the other man had given him right now.
"And honour-bound," the other man replied, clearly pointing out to Nardog that his trust had only gone so far.
Nardog agreed with an inclination of his head.
"What can I do for you, Morganaadth?" he asked.
"I am here, to disavow Albus Dumbledore as my younger self's regent," the man replied calmly.
Nardog was a bit surprised at that, but as the Lord of Grim, the man had every right to disavow the regent decided by the Wizengamot.
Nevertheless, this wasn't something Nardog could change.
He was just a lowly goblin in customer service.
He had nothing to do with vault-holders - even less with vault-holders like Morganaadth.
"I will tell it to your account manager," he said calmly, ready to stand up and get the other goblin to care for his venerated customer.
Maybe one day, Nardog would have the rank to have vault-holders like the Clan-Leader as well… he could dream, at least.
"No need," Morganaadth replied calmly, before adding something that stumped the goblin. " You are my manager."
This time Nardog stared openly surprised at the wizard in front of him.
"I beg your pardon, Morganaadth-Leader, but I am not," he finally managed to say. "Sliffax is. I cannot take over his post…"
"He treated me without the necessary respect," Morganaadth answered as if he was talking about the weather while Nardog's world turned inside-out. "I greeted him and he bared his teeth at me. I won't work with a goblin unable to accept me as a fellow clan-brother. As the leader of my Clan, I'm allowed to choose my account manager. I wasn't willing to work with him, so I looked for another."
Nardog blinked absolutely flabbergasted. His gaze went down to the dagger in front of him, still challenging him to a mock-battle. Then he looked back up at the green eyes of the wizard.
A test.
The first greeting had not just been a greeting, it had also been a test - a test, and Nardog had passed while Sliffax failed.
Then Nardog remembered his urge to bare his teeth at the stranger.
And as much, as he wanted to agree and take the offered place, he was a goblin of honour - he would not take what he hadn't earned.
"I cannot be your manager, Morganaadth-Leader. I wanted to bare my teeth at you when we met - I failed your test all the same so the honour to be your manager should go to someone more worthy."
"You might have wanted to be rude," Morganaadth said while shrugging. "The important point is: You weren't. I will not ask again."
And this time, Nardog bowed, accepting his post without another thought.
He had done the honourable thing - and if the Clan-Leader in front of him was willing to take him no matter his first reaction, who was Nardog to deny a Clan-Leader their choice?
The man bared his teeth in acknowledgement, clearly amused by Nardog's unease.
This would be a terrible challenge.
Being account manager was one thing - being account manager to a Clan-Leader… worse, the Prince of the British magical world… that would be something that could either be Nardog's chance to shine… or his utter ruin.
Nardog was looking forward to it.
"You wish to be your own regent?" he asked, returning to his task without showing how utterly terrified he felt of the challenge he would have to overcome in the next decades.
Morganaadth bared his teeth to show the negative.
"I can't," he said calmly. "Not without drawing undue notice to my person."
"Then what do you wish to do?" Nardog asked.
"Albus Dumbledore can be a proxy in absentia," Morganaadth answered.
That basically curbed the other man's access to the vault and ensured that every decision he made in the name of Grim would be written down and stored in the vault so that the real regent or the Heir could look it over after the fact - and maybe even change his vote.
Nardog raised an eyebrow in amusement.
"The babe needs care," he pointed out calmly.
"He can have his trust," Morganaadth immediately answered. "In child-function and with a reasonable spending limit."
Nardog hummed in agreement.
"You are aware that the proxy can be claimed if there is no other proxy named?" he pointed out calmly.
Morganaadth hummed thoughtfully.
"I'm not too aware who counts as a suitable relation in this time and age," he said.
Nardog reached into the magical dimension of the desk and had to suppress his joy when the Book of Grim that contained anything related to the Grim accounts immediately appeared.
This was a function only account managers could access, so just the fact that Nardog could show him his change in status - something that still sounded unbelievable to the goblin.
Nardog put down the book in front of him and opened it.
It took only a minute to find the necessary information.
"The Blacks are the most recent," he said calmly.
"And not an option," Morganaadth replied. "Too many are related to the Blacks… it's too risky."
Nardog hummed in agreement and looked further.
"Lovegood is also a possibility," he offered. "Their connection isn't recent at all, but the only other person who could claim through that line would be Ollivander."
Morganaadth looked amused.
"So, Pandora's marriage with her Lovegood was successful," he said.
"They have a daughter," Nardog replied. "Luna."
Morganaadth inclined his head.
"I might have to come by Pandora's place sometimes," he said thoughtfully. "Just to ensure that the girl's potential godfather doesn't suggest that she goes dragon hunting before her third birthday."
Nardog raised an eyebrow at that non sequitur.
Morganaadth replied with half-amusement, half-horror.
"I fear, if Xenophilius Lovegood didn't have another godfather to offer, it will be my son who has taken that place," he said. "The last time I left him alone with my daughter, his younger sister, he tried to send her after dragons. As much as I love him, I trust him to do the same with his goddaughter."
Nardog snorted in amusement.
"He sure is a wild one. Isn't he?" he commented and felt even more amused when Morganaadth just bared his teeth at him in a show of ' You're right but I'm definitely not telling you that .'
Oh, yes, Nardog liked his new vault-holder.
"The proxy?" he asked, nevertheless, returning to the previous question.
"Lovegood is a good choice," Morganaadth answered immediately. "I doubt Xenophilius Lovegood will officially try to take the seat and I doubt the same when it comes to Pandora or her father, Garrick Ollivander - and if any of them do, they won't hurt the House Grim. They're all reasonable people."
And it clearly didn't hurt that Morganaadth knew Pandora and Garrick personally.
Of course, nonetheless it was a surprise that Xenophilius decided to take up the seat thirteen years later - and even more that he decided to attend the Wizengamot-meeting as proxy and regent of Grim.
But then, the Lovegood descended from the elves… and as much as the Centaur were known for their knowledge of the future, some High Elves were even more aware of it than them.
Not that it mattered in 1982.
Nardog just nodded and put down the Lovegoods as a proxy to House Grim.
"Anything else, Morganaadth?" he asked.
"I need you to buy up as many shares of the Daily Prophet as you can," Morganaadth replied immediately. "I have some parts of it already, but anything else under any of my names and different accounts will just help me further along."
Nardog pulled out another parchment to note it down.
Over the years, he would ensure that Morganaadth would have the majority on the shareholder-board of the Daily Prophet, even if it was through different names.
It would only help when Sal would finally reach out to the people as Oliver Twist.
"There's also the fact that I will need all the paperwork about Dumbledore's decisions as a proxy when I return in thirteen years," Morganaadth added calmly. "I need to look through it to ensure that I can live with his decisions, or if I need to change any before I will return to the Wizengamot in January."
Nardog noted that down as well.
The paperwork would accumulate in the vault anyway, but if Nardog knew, he would ensure that everything was filed and secured for Morganaadths return.
Thirteen years later, Sal would sit and look through everything, most of it being dismissed as unimportant, some of it put on the back-burner for after Dumbledore's removal… and a single ruling withdrawn quietly.
The withdrawal of his vote against Arcturus Black'sappeal for his Heir would ensure that Sirius Black would have an easier time getting a trial than he would have otherwise.
Not that it would ever become public knowledge that Sal's withdrawal was the thing that toppled the vote in favour of the appeal and therefore made it easier for Sirius Black to get his trial.
"What about your birth parents' will, Morganaadth," Nardog asked. "It hasn't been read. There's nobody who can ask for a reading right now but you or Proxy Lovegood."
"It will have to wait," Morganaadth replied with a grimace. "If Albus Dumbledore asks for a reading, you are welcome to follow his wishes… if he doesn't then I will take a look at their will after I return in thirteen years."
He would have the will to look through. Albus Dumbledore never got around to the reading of wills.
Sal would find himself reading through those who were named as possible guardians in amusement.
Alastor Moody, the most amusing choice.
Reading that his Aunt Petunia also had gotten a bit of money from her sister, was less amusing but Sal could deal. He was old enough to accept that this had been his mother's will and so he was willing to give his Aunt what his mother left her.
"There's one last thing," Morganaadth said and then pulled out a letter and handed it to Nardog. "This is about the Heir Black. It's signed in my blood and claimed by a healer's oath to ensure no falsehood. He's in a coma and not yet able to come himself, but this needs to go to his account manager. It contains information for the House of Black and its Head Arcturus Black."
That letter would ensure that the accounts of Black would be tightly shut down after Arcturus Black died nine years later. After his death, only Regulus and Sirius Black would have access - and one of them was in Azkaban, while the other one was believed to be dead. It would keep the Ministry from meddling and would also keep away distant relations who hoped to get a bit of fortune while the new Lord Black was in Azkaban.
It would also ensure that Sirius would keep his potential Lordship.
And while Sal could have gone to Arcturus himself, sending it through Gringotts was the next best solution. It didn't mean that he wouldn't go and see Arcturus and Pollux Black, it just meant that the official business between the Healer of the Heir Secundus of Black and his Head of House would keep happening through Gringotts for the next few years until Regulus would wake up a few years later.
Nardog took the letter and inclined his head to show that he would hand it over with haste.
"Anything else, Morganaadth?" he asked.
"Just a letter to Ragnok-King," Morganaadth answered with clear amusement on his face.
Nardog nearly sagged in his chair.
While the change in account manager had clearly been accepted, having to tell that one of their own had offended a Clan-Leader hadn't been high on Nardog's list to do.
Having a letter from said Clan-Leader would at least mean that Nardog wasn't forced to search the words to find the right way to explain.
Morganaadth's amusement just showed that he knew that as well.
He handed over the letter and Nardog took it carefully.
"I will go to Ragnok to express your wishes, Morganaadth," he promised.
Nardog still did not look forward to the prospect of visiting the chieftain to tell him he had taken over the Grim-accounts. It would not go well - but he could not back out. Morganaadth had the right to get rid of Sliffax. He also had the right to make poor, simple Nardog his account manager…
"I am indebted to you," he said, nevertheless, while stowing the letter in his west.
"Do as I told you and you will repay it tenfold," Morganaadth answered and bowed to him.
This time Nardog wasn't even surprised anymore at the other man's unprecedented manners.
He also bowed.
It was the sign that business had been concluded and that they'd return to the still open challenge to a mock-battle.
Nardog took the dagger, then he held it out with the peak still showing to himself. It was a polite current refusal and a promise for a mock-battle in the future.
Morganaadth smiled showing that he agreed and took his dagger back.
Then he turned to go.
But Nardog wasn't finished.
"What would you have done, if I'd have accepted the challenge?" He asked, interested.
"I'd have gone with you to fight," Morganaadth answered sincerely. "I don't offer lightly - and even if I am a healer first, I have fought more than one battle in my life."
And then he simply left.
Nardog blinked. It would definitely take some time to get used to a man who saw a goblin as an equal…
Then Nardog turned his thoughts back to business, stood up, and closed his counter.
It took some time until he was able to meet Ragnok and when he finally entered the golden room where the chieftain greeted the other goblins and his guests, Nardog had to encourage himself to enter.
"Nardog," Ragnok-King's booming voice greeted him. "What is your business with me?"
There was no formal greeting - Ragnok-King's time was measured in gold.
"A letter, Ragnok-King," Nardog answered. "And a change in position."
Ragnok-King raised an eyebrow.
"You know that all accounts have their managers. I won't change your position - even if you were the next in the line."
"I know, Ragnok-King," Nardog answered. "But you didn't. Sliffax changed it."
Now Ragnok-King raised the other eyebrow, too.
"I wasn't aware of such a thing."
"He mistreated his client. The client declined his service after that," Nardog answered while holding out the letter to the chieftain.
"A client can't change his account manager without my consent."
"He is a Clan-Leader. Sliffax refused to answer to the traditional greeting," Nardog could hear Ragnok-King sucking in the air. He knew that his words would shock the chieftain. Refusing a traditional greeting was insulting the offering person to the highest degree.
"Who? To whom do I have to apologize?" Ragnok-King asked warily.
"His name is Morganaadth," answered Nardog sincerely. "He's Prince of Britannia and the new Lord Grim."
"Lord Grim?" Ragnok-King asked, with a frown that showed his clear disbelief at Nardog claiming Morganaadth as a Pendragon. He knew that the name implied that this was a son or descendant of Morgana LeFay, so hearing that he was the Prince when Morgana's son hadn't been the heir, left him reeling. Not to mention, there was something about the name that left him unsettled… but he couldn't recall what it was.
"How can he be Lord Grim?" the chieftain asked, dismissing the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that told him there was something more to Morganaadth that he should know.
Again, Nardog held out his hands with the letter, this time Ragnok-King took it and studied the signet. A few moments Ragnok-King just stared at it, then his face went ashen and his fingers shook when he finally opened the letter.
His 'uncomfortable feeling' was proven correct.
Nardog saw that the chieftain was reading quickly, as if waiting to read it line by line would kill him. And then Ragnok-King sighed and the tension left his body again.
"I will reprimand Sliffax, Account Manager Nardog," he finally said, the letter still clutched in his hands. "He will never insult someone like Morganaadth again."
Nardog nodded, then hesitated.
"Is there something else, Account Manager Nardog?"
"I… I was just wondering… what has troubled you so much when you saw the signet?" Nardog finally stuttered.
"I saw this signet before" the chieftain answered. "It is Morganaadth's personal one. When I was a mere boy - some four hundred years ago - Morganaadth had returned to us to help us in our war against the wizard law. The older goblin feared and worshiped him at the same time. The younger ones instead…
"One of the younger clan-leaders insulted his expertise and refused to follow his commands in a critical situation, and Morganaadth did what every clan-leader would do: he challenged him to a battle to regain his honour. I was allowed to watch. It was the first battle I ever saw a goblin losing without the use of magic on the rival side. The goblin gained gruesome wounds and Morganaadth just turned away from him and let him bleed to death."
Nardog shuddered. It sounded incredibly gruesome - but it was Morganaadth's right to turn away. The opponent had known that one of them would die in this battle - he had taken the risk when he accepted Morganaadth's challenge…
"It was his right," Nardog finally said.
"It was," Ragnok answered calmly. "But Morganaadth was our healer. We were all used to the fact that he'd try to rescue us. Nobody ever thought of him as a warrior, able to turn away and let someone die. The gruesome part wasn't that the goblin died. The gruesome part was that everyone - even the challenger - thought that Morganaadth would rescue him and Morganaadth showed him that he'd withdraw his help, when someone would withhold his rights and endangered others in doing so. He's a Healer, yes, but he pointed out to us that he's also a Guardian - and as a Guardian, he can and will let someone die if he sees said someone as a danger to the rest of his charges."
"He did it intentionally to show that he doesn't need to help them, didn't he?" Nardog asked in understanding. "He showed them that he was someone they wouldn't like to have as an opponent."
"Oh yes. And he showed them well. There was no-one after that, who would even think about challenging him…"
"… until Sliffax." Nardog ended Ragnok's sentence.
"… until Sliffax" Ragnok answered. "Morganaath wasn't pleased, but he was content, that there were other goblins who wouldn't think of insulting someone who wasn't a goblin by blood. So, I have to thank you, Nardog. It would have been worse if you wouldn't have been."
Nardog's ears twitched in embarrassment, then he bowed and left.
He knew that Ragnok had dismissed him with his last sentence. Dismissed and blessed. Nardog didn't envy Sliffax. Ragnok wouldn't let someone be in a high position who endangered the bank's honour like that.
Sliffax wouldn't live through the night.
Nardog dismissed the thoughts about Sliffax and the dangerous person who was now his client in the back of his head. He had to look over his new post. It would be a challenge to manage an account - especially an account belonging to a legend like Morganaadth…