《Monochrome (Harry Potter Fanfiction)》Chapter 19 - Down the Ladder

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Crack.

Sirius appeared at the Apparating Junction right outside Florean's parlor. Only a few days ago, he had held vigil over this place from the shadows, as Harry had his little tête-à-tête with a gorgeous veela. One who, apart from being the Beauxbatons Champion, was also delegated with the task of managing his accounts. And now, he was headed to that same place, to meet the same beauty in question, in regards to a matter she described as 'urgent', 'complicated', and 'needed to be discussed in person'.

He couldn't wait to rub the news of the meeting in his godson's face. Maybe that would finally get Harry jealous enough to make a move.

At the same time, the meet might be just the thing Sirius needed to get some things cleared up. Kreacher had recently dug up some interesting things at his command— things that made Fleur Delacour's situation as Harry's Account Manager more complicated. And now, Ripclaw had sent him a missive, all but demanding an audience with her over matters most urgent and unavoidable.

Shit had gone crazy. And Sirius couldn't help but wonder about the timing of it all.

He quickly navigated through the parlor and found the right cubicle. Opening the door, he found the girl inside, helping herself to an ice cream sundae.

"Lord Black," Fleur scrambled out of her chair. "I—"

"Call me Sirius. And please sit," he politely offered, taking the other chair. He stared at the veela for a bit, feeling satisfied with his own abilities. As a celebrated Hit-wizard, it had been mandatory for him to have minimum occlumentic shields. Contrary to popular belief, Occlumency as a whole wasn't frowned upon by the Ministry, but rather only certain aspects. While the more esoteric applications of the art allowed a person to become a genuine danger, occlumentic shields were a useful skill for Hit-wizards, especially to get past ensnaring enchantments laid out by the dark wizards they were supposed to hunt.

The veela girl's passive allure couldn't be kept completely at bay by occlumentic defenses alone, but Sirius himself had enough willpower to ignore the feather-light touch. It also helped that the girl wasn't intentionally trying to enthrall him.

"Don't worry about your allure," he assured Fleur. "I may not have my godson's ability to outright ignore it, but I'm more than capable of resisting. Should you feel it necessary at any point, I won't object to you using your wand on my person. That is, should my behavior at any point become… less than professional."

The girl owlishly blinked.

Sirius chuckled. "Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get down to business."

That seemed to do it, as Fleur squared her shoulders. "Yes. Well, I was approached by Overseer Ripclaw to meet with you and discuss this." She pulled out a stack of thin papers, neatly bundled into a single folder, and pushed it towards him.

"About that," Sirius began, "I find it odd that the Black Overseer would entrust the Potter Account Manger to have this discussion."

"Overseer Ripclaw assured me he 'ad communicated to you about this."

"Communicated, yes. But he has yet to give me any relevant details, considering how irregular this is. I understand Harry is heir to the Black name and properties while also being Lord Potter, soon shifting to Peverell. However, that does not give Gringotts carte-blanche to mix both accounts together so flippantly."

That shut her up.

Sirius smiled inwardly. He knew he was being hard on the girl, but he had genuine reasons for it. Something about the goblins' attitude back at the bank had seemed off when he'd lackadaisically handed the Potter accounts to a girl simply because they were once acquaintances at best. He wanted to make certain that this girl not only had the necessary skills, but also wasn't just a veela hired to enthrall his godson— her allure may not work on Harry, but in his humble opinion, Fleur Delacour did not need her thrall to charm someone.

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And then there was that other issue that needed to be addressed too.

"Lord Black—" She paused at his raised eyebrows. "I mean, Sirius, allow me to assure you that Gringotts has left no stone unturned to preserve and enhance your accounts. However, certain events of your own doing have exacerbated an ordinary situation into developing complications that affect both your own house and, by extension, House Potter, which happens to be my employer. Hence, Overseers Ripclaw and Griphook suggested I meet with you at your earliest convenience and attempt to salvage this situation."

Not bothering with the folder any longer, she instead crossed her arms and rested her chin atop her interlocked fingers. "On November 2nd, 1994, Lucius Malfoy, then-Regent of House Black, signed a marriage contract with Artemis Greengrass, Regent of House Greengrass."

His face slightly paled.

"The contract in question signed the fate of one Astoria Greengrass, daughter of Artemis Greengrass née Pince, and Margaret Greengrass née Carrow. It states that Astoria is to marry the Heir Apparent or Lord of House Black, whichever is available earlier, within six months of the date of activation of the contract. As per the stipulations, House Black would acquire eleven percent of House Greengrass's international trade revenue for the next thirty years. The bride price," she paused to take a deep breath, "would be unrestricted access to the fabled Black Library for a period of ten years."

Sirius wheezed as he leaned forward in his chair. The Black Library was a massive collection of tomes that his family had amassed over millennia. Manuscripts stolen from the fabled Library of Alexandria before it was burnt to ash, the Lost Sea Scrolls holding prophetic revelations about the fate of the World, various collections that the Department of Mysteries would have paid billions to acquire. And, most importantly, it contained the Secrets of the Lost Revenant, a set of scrolls rumored to contain information about entities from other dimensions. Things that made dementors look like flobberworms in comparison.

The Black Library was so sacred to their family that one of the provisions of the Black Charter was that noen save a Black might enjoy access to the library. And even then, there were dozens of other restrictions on its usage. His grandfather Arcturus might have been a right bastard, but even he considered the Library to be of far greater worth than even their family name.

And Lucius Malfoy had the audacity to pawn it off like a concubine at an auction.

Magic as black as his name stirred within him, the powers of the Lord vested in him reacting to the slight against his Family. It wanted to curse, to tear the offender's heart out, to carve out a suitable vengeance for Malfoy's foolhardy, treacherous—

Sirius tightly shut his eyes, forcibly restraining his own emotions.

"Go on."

"For his gracious aid in facilitating this transaction, Lucius Malfoy was to be paid a sum of no less than five hundred thousand galleons." Sirius choked at that. "The money changed hands on November 17th, 1994. Exactly fifteen days after, keeping true to the fourteen-day gap during which all financial contracts are held in status by Gringotts to allow both parties to rethink the terms of the agreement. Once the date is passed, the contract becomes ironclad."

"Ironclad." The word felt like brittle glass in his mouth.

"It is, of course, possible to cancel it," Fleur countered smoothly. "However, as the fourteen days have passed, such an action now requires the consent of both parties. I hope you understand the implications of that."

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Sirius angrily growled. "What I don't understand is why Gringotts is making me sit here and listen to how Malfoy pawned off my family heritage, instead of actually doing something about it."

"Gringotts might have been able to intervene on your behalf," Fleur stressed, "but recent developments of your own doing have snatched that option from our hands."

He wasn't liking this. He wasn't liking this at all.

Delacour took out a single page from the folder and handed it to him. "This is a geis, signed by yourself and Lucius Malfoy dated July 8th, 1995. Narcissa Malfoy née Black signed off her rights to the Black name and fortune, as well as the rights to succession of her children, including one Draco Malfoy. This removed Draco Malfoy from any Black inheritance. I should mention that on November 2nd, 1994, Draco Malfoy was the Heir Presumptive, to be elevated to Heir Apparent on his sixteenth birthday."

"I'm well aware," Sirius coolly replied.

"Then you must also be aware that the conditions for the contract were fulfilled precisely four days ago, when you went to Gringotts—"

Sirius widened his eyes.

"—and took over the mantle of Lord Black."

"Honestly, I'm not all that surprised. It suits you to a tee."

Harry stared at the fiery head of his female best friend. It had come as a welcome surprise when Hermione sent him a letter— using Errol of all birds —with the password for the Weasley Floo. It turned out the Weasleys had offered her the chance to stay at the Burrow for the summer, a chance Hermione eagerly grasped because of her parents' recent marital discord. Not to mention, Hermione had grown more comfortable living in a magical environment over muggle anyway.

At first, he was both shocked and a bit upset to hear she was spending time with Ron at the Burrow instead of him. It made no difference earlier when he was imprisoned at the Dursley residence for the summer, but he had a home now dammit!

Weirder still was the extra layer of awkwardness it brought to his relationship with Ron, which was already rocky. Part of it was because he'd grown weary of the redhead's jealous streak, which had risen its ugly head over and over at the most inopportune moments, but his recent altercation with the Weasley parents had driven a firm wedge in their already-strained friendship. Harry had half-expected Ron to march into Grimmauld Place to lay it on him, or at least send a Howler— if he knew how to make one, that is.

Instead, Ronald Weasley had done nothing.

Not a word. Not a letter. Nothing.

Harry had almost begun to believe it was a sign of his friend's developing maturity.

But the way Hermione approached him like a bull fixated on the truth told him everything he needed to. As soon as she stepped foot in the Weasley home, they'd told him everything that happened to him— a biased version of events, no doubt —and she decided, in a strictly Hermione-like fashion, to get to the bottom of it without any care for the dirty laundry involved.

For once, Harry was relieved her friend was always so thorough.

And now, she was trying to convince him his life was freakish. True, but it didn't mean he liked hearing it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry all but demanded.

Hermione gave him a piercing look. "You've always had a tendency to get into hairy situations like this. Or, should I say, Harry?" She snorted at the way his nostrils flared at her comment. "You have to admit, there is a history here. Precedence."

"You're making it sound like it's my bloody fault that Voldemort's been trying to—"

"I'm not talking about just You-Know-Who," Hermione pacified, both hands raised in surrender. "Remember our first year, when we got detention with Hagrid? Ron, Hagrid, and I were fine, but you met Quirrell and Firenze in that short time span. In second year, you just so happened to come down from a deathday party— which no one goes to, by the way —when you heard a basilisk in a language only you can speak. Third year, you—"

"Alright, I get your point," Harry grumbled, feeling incredibly depressed about the way his life was going.

"I'm not saying it to make you feel bad. You know I wouldn't. I just think you should talk to Sirius about this whole wraith business. It is his house, you know.."

Harry frowned. Truth be told, he'd played with the idea before. He knew Sirius had to have some inkling of what might have happened, both back at the graveyard and with the wraith. There was no telling what Kreacher might have painted him out to be. At best, it was a neutral entity. Which, in hindsight, was better than what he got from most people he knew.

"It's not that I don't want to tell him," he admitted, feeling a twisted knot forming in his stomach. "It's just… Sirius has a lot going on right now. With the Black Lordship, my trial, and Dumbledore playing him like a fiddle about the Order and my training, I don't want him to bother him with," he waved his hands in frustration, "anything extra."

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, you know you can always trust me to say the blunt truth to your face, right?"

"Yes…" he replied, wondering where this was going.

"You've asked Professor Dumbledore several times in the past about why You-Know-Who tried to murder you as a baby."

"And he has repeatedly dodged the question," Harry gnashed his teeth, his anger at the Hogwarts headmaster resurfacing in his mind.

"And why do you think he did that?"

"Because he—"

"Think for a minute, and then tell me."

Harry wisely shut up. If it were anyone else, he'd probably have grown even more caustic. But this was Hermione Granger, and she deserved a serious answer. Taking a deep breath, he considered the question more carefully. Regardless of his anger at the stubborn old man, there was no way he did things on a whim. Knowing Dumbledore, he'd have probably—

"…I did not wish to keep you from them indefinitely, merely to delay them all until you were ready. None should be shouldered by one so young…"

"He thought he was letting me be a child," Harry softly replied. "That I don't need to have any more baggage to carry around." He frowned. "But I'm not a child. I haven't been one for a long time. The Dursleys made sure of it."

"So you're upset he's making your choices for you."

"Yes," he breathed, relieved she was finally understanding.

"And what do you think you're doing to Sirius?"

Goosebumps erupted across his arms. "I— I—" Harry vehemently wanted to deny it, but no words came to his lips. He gulped. Had he subconsciously been channeling the same behavior that he'd had hated for so long? He had been deprived of making choices for as long as he could remember, and now he was repeating the same thing to the very person allowing him— no, encouraging him to make his own choices.

"I'm pretty messed up, aren't I?" he admitted aloud.

Hermione shot him a lopsided grin. "You're a real doofus, alright. But don't worry, I'll still keep you."

Both of them shared a brief chuckle.

"I should get going," Hermione sighed. "Mrs. Weasley will be wondering…"

"Can't you—" Harry fidgeted. "Can't you stay over? I mean, I have a home now. Unlike when I was still living in Surrey."

Hermione apologetically smiled. "I already promised Mrs. Weasley, and they invited me first. Not that it's your fault in any way, I know all this stuff in your life is new. I'd ask the Weasleys to invite you, but Ron says you don't want to come live with them anymore because the Lordship has inflated your ego to the size of Britain."

Harry mirthlessly snorted. "Yeah, I'm not surprised."

"Alternatively, you could come live with me. I have a house too, you know."

He gaped at that. "Live with— But I thought you moved in with the Weasleys because of your… parents."

"Well," Hermione played with her hair, "Dad's moving out soon. And Mum is..." she grimaced. "Mum is Mum. I mostly stayed in the house all by myself. Wouldn't be opposed to it if I've got another soul in the building."

Staying with Hermione? The very thought thrilled him. Naturally, Ron would be fuming if he did that. The redhead wasn't very subtle about the fact that he held feelings for the brunette, though in Harry's opinion, the two of them were ill-suited for one another. Hermione was enthusiastic and passionate about things, while Ron was laid back and lackadaisical. Even if it seemed like they bickered all the time like an old married couple, those arguments ended in hurt feelings more often than not.

Truth be told, Harry would've been lying if he said he never toyed with the idea of being in a relationship with Hermione. She was probably the closest friend he had over the last couple of years. Except for Sirius, maybe, but he was family. And even now, he was slowly getting comfortable enough to drop his walls around the man completely, but he had ways to go. Hermione, on the other hand—

"Of course, assuming Dumbledore allows you to stay at my place, that is."

Harry frowned, itching to retort how he was an adult now and Dumbledore's control was limited to what Harry would allow. But he was slowly starting to learn that the world wasn't as black-and-white as he'd imagined, and he shouldn't make rash decisions like that just because he could.

"I don't think it's a good idea," he bit out, inwardly scowling at himself. He shouldn't have to do this. "I have an ongoing trial for murder, and a lot of powerful people are blaming me for what happened at the graveyard that night. I know the Black household isn't a bright environment, but at least I won't have unpleasant intruders trying to hex me, or worse, you, six ways to Sunday."

"Isolation isn't good for you, Harry."

"I'm not isolated. I have Sirius and Emma with me. Besides, I need to get my magic back under control. This is what's best for me. It's best for everyone."

"What a load of crap," Hermione replied. The words were biting, but there was no heat in her tone. "You're just scared."

"Damn right I am," Harry shot back, grasping at his dragon-heartstring wand, which was sending out short sparks from his stirring emotions. "I'm scared that some Death Eater is gonna come calling and kill innocent people just because they happen to be near me."

"That isn't what scares you," she shook her head, her long brown hair flying around with the motion.. "You don't want that to happen, and you'll fight like your life depends on it if it does, but that isn't what scares you."

Harry bowed his head. "I— I don't want to talk about this."

"Get over it," Hermione said, even more gently. "Harry, when the graveyard incident happened, it dismantled your life. It took away everything familiar to you. Your life. Your friends. Your wand. Even your familiarity with magic."

"I have a wand!"

"And it's better you start believing it before you squeeze it to splinters," she retorted, looking towards his clenched first. He immediately let go of his wand. "You are a creature of habit, Harry. I know you. Ever since the Triwizard Tournament began, things have been spiralling out of control. First Ron, then the tasks, the reaction from the students…" She paused, looking sad. "Even I've been forced to choose sides from time to time, and now all this. Cedric kidnapping you for whatever reason, Voldemort, your wand—"

Something dark and furious stirred within him with every word. The truth hurt him deeply, and with it came a feeling of vengeance. His vision faltered for a moment, and the world shifted into a slight grayscale—

NO! Calm down!

"Naturally, the idea of a fortress, someplace secure and familiar that can't be taken away from you, is appealing. Even if it means you cut yourself off from everyone else."

"It isn't like that," Harry said.

It wasn't.

Was it?

"And I'm fine."

"No you aren't," Hermione softly argued. There was something besides compassion in her voice, and it made him feel even worse. "You're a long, long way from fine. And you've got to know that."

Harry shook his head slowly. "This is not a good time to get in touch with my feelings."

"Perhaps not," Hermione replied, standing up, "but I'm worried about you, Harry. I don't want to agree with Dumbledore here, and I know how much family means to you. But taking on the Potter Lordship on top of everything you've already got going on… Is it really healthy for you?"

He clenched his fists again. "Sirius just wanted to—"

"Ensure that you know your roots," Hermione finished for him. "And I agree. Merlin, even I know more about the Potters than you do, and I've just read about them from the library."

Harry paused at that. "There's stuff about my family in the Hogwarts library?"

"Of course there is," Hermione replied, as if affronted by his lack of confidence in her words. "Ralston Potter wrote nearly half of the stuff we have in our syllabus for the Ancient Runes OWL."

"I… didn't know that."

Hermione flipped her hair. "Well, if you want to spend more quality time together, you know where to find me. Maybe Ron will come to his senses if you decide to come visit. We're just a Floo away."

"Who knows?" Harry weakly grinned. "Maybe I will."

Hermione beamed.

The fireplace flashed green.

And once again, Harry was all alone.

Marriage to Astoria Greengrass.

The very thought felt repulsive.

He was a grown man reaching thirty-five, and circumstances forced him to marry a little girl who was a third his age. This was the younger daughter of Artemis Greengrass, who himself was a year below him at Hogwarts. Marrying Astoria would make him look like a—

Sirius forced the bile back down his throat. "…Has Greengrass been made aware of the situation? I doubt he's all that thrilled about his daughter having to marry someone older than himself."

Fleur nodded. "Lord Greengrass has expressed regret over the matter, and is willing to renegotiate the terms. Of course, given the ironclad nature of the contract, the defined terms will have to stay."

"You mean ten years of unrestricted access to the Black Library."

Fleur's pindrop silence was all the confirmation he needed.

Damn that man.

Sirius drummed his fingers against the table. "If he doesn't want his daughter to marry me, he can simply seek to cancel the contract. But he doesn't." He met Fleur's steady gaze. "Has he given any indication why he wants access to the Black Library so much?"

Delacour uncomfortably shrugged. "Gringotts cares only for the wording of the contract, not the 'opes and feelings behind them."

Typical. Fucking goblins.

"Still, I had nothing to do with this contract. It was set in stone well before I took up the mantle of Lord. Seeing as how Lucius Malfoy created the contract and is no longer here, surely Gringotts recognizes this contract as void."

The veela placed her finger on the document in front of her, on top of a particular paragraph. "It says here, in the agreement you made with Lucius Malfoy, that ''Ouse Malfoy will be allowed to retain all existing alliances tied to their name, as well as fortune gathered through exercising influence as Regent of 'Ouse Black till date.'"

Sirius stared at her in mute disbelief. He was the picture perfect definition of composure in the face of shocking news. However, on the inside, a raging tempest wrought havoc.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfucketyfuckingfuck—

This… this was precisely why he despised dealing with politics. Battling a nundu bare-knuckled was preferable to this crap. He'd thought he covered his bases with the geis, but the slippery snake managed to use even that to strike a blow where he wasn't looking.

Five hundred thousand galleons.

That was a lot of money. Hell, it was more gold than Lucius had managed to squirrel away from the Black Vaults in the fourteen years he'd served as regent. Sirius thought he was being clever in separating Malfoy from the Black fortune, but instead he was just signing his own death certificate.

He'd have to return five hundred thousand galleons to Artemis Greengrass. That much gold would significantly dent his coffers, and knowing Malfoy and his ilk, they'd use it to point out Sirius's failings as a Lord and weaken the House's status in front of the world. All his plans of using his House's might for Harry would come crashing down like a house of cards.

Artemis would get his money back.

The Black Library would be safe.

But Lucius Malfoy would emerge as the true winner.

And all this, assuming Artemis Greengrass would even want to accept the money in the first place. Sirius didn't know much about the man, but anyone who went out of their way to secure an ironclad contract wasn't one to think things halfway.

He clenched his fists.

Think, Sirius. Quit behaving like prey. Use that conniving brain of yours and think.

He breathed in and out.

It calmed him down. Not completely, but just enough.

Now, what are my options?

Relying on Artemis Greengrass to cry foul wasn't feasible. For whatever reason, the man wanted the Black Library under his thumb, and even the most inexpensive option to avoid it involved draining the Black coffers. But how else could it be done? The deck was stacked so robustly against him that even with all the resources at his disposal, he couldn't think of anything that could force Artemis to settle for less. It would take something like—

Sirius gulped.

—like his daughter.

An idea came to his mind. A horrible idea, one that made his insides churn just by thinking about it. A vile plan of action that would make even Walburga Black proud of him.

Politics is all about causing the right kind of chaos, his grandfather used to say. And chaos is not a pit. It is a ladder.

It was a ladder he would have to steadily climb down if he had any chance of coming out on top.

But it was a last resort. There had to be something else. There just had to be.

He regarded Delacour once more.

"What does Gringotts recommend?"

"A few things," Fleur airily replied. "But unfortunately, this falls under Clause 15A of Gringotts policies regarding Ancient 'Ouses."

"Which is?"

"Situations involving Allied 'Ouses, where a policy could prove beneficial to one 'Ouse but have an unfavorable impact on another." She took out another sheet of paper, making him wonder just how many damn documents she brought to this meeting. "Overseer Ripclaw forecasts the annual profits from Greengrass's trade revenue to be no less than eighty-five thousand galleons per annum. It will be a significant annual addition to 'Ouse Black's coffers."

"I don't care about profits," Sirius reiterated. "I don't want to marry a child."

Fleur pursed her lips in a strictly McGonagall-esque fashion. "Yes. Overseer Ripclaw has considered the societal ramifications of your marriage with Astoria Greengrass, and suggests you replace yourself with your godson as an alternative. 'E is of the opinion that Regent Greengrass would find this new arrangement… less repulsive. As Lord Potter is a son of Black, it is within the acceptable limits to which the contract might be stretched without incurring disagreement."

"And place Harry's head on a pike rather than my own?" Sirius coldly asked. "Do you really think I can find it in my black, twisted heart to go through with something like that?"

"As you recall, Lord Black," Fleur curtly replied, "I am paid to do my job. Not to think or form my own opinions."

Despite the current situation, Sirius couldn't help but crack a smile at her response. It had been quite some time since someone spoke to him in such an elegant combination of civility and disdain.

"And if I were to ask what Fleur Delacour thinks of this plan?"

She blinked. "It is the duty of a son of the 'Ouse to aid the Lord in times of distress, non? I fail to understand 'ow my personal thoughts are relevant in this matter."

"Humor me."

Fleur took a moment to collect herself. "As the Potter Account Manager and liaison, this situation will create an unnecessary burden on my employer, 'Arry Potter. That being said, Overseers Ripclaw and Griphook 'ave explained in detail that my job involves maintaining 'is finances, not serving as 'is solicitor or personal advisor."

"Well," Sirius brightly grinned, "Ripclaw and Griphook and get bent."

"…Pardon?"

Sirius stared back at her resolutely. "I am Harry's godfather. It is my job to care for him, not to use him as a proxy to bear the weight of my own mistakes."

The girl's eyes brightened almost imperceptibly. "I see." She hesitated, before pressing forward. "In that case, I may 'ave an idea that may be of some assistance."

"Oh?"

"It is…" the girl looked around nervously. "This is all above my station. My bosses would terminate me immediately if they knew I was offering my personal opinions as advice."

"But not if I present it as my idea." Sirius relaxed back into his chair. "So by all means, please do share."

And so she told him.

For a moment, Sirius didn't react. His eyes were locked somewhere between the tabletop and the glass of water on it. He stared at the girl in silent contemplation, the gears in his head slowly churning through all possible outcomes of the plan.

What is this girl doing at a bank? She should be in law, not wiping the greasy arses of these goblins.

It was a dangerous plan, one that could easily raise the stakes beyond comprehension. It was a gamble that would make even Godric Gryffindor think twice before jumping in with both feet.

But more importantly, it could work.

"So what do you think?" Fleur asked anxiously.

What did he think? Well, that was the big question, wasn't it? With the girl's idea and the abhorrent twist he had thought of earlier, he could turn the tables. But to do that, he first needed the veela on his side. On Harry's side.

It was time to come clean.

"Tell me, Miss Delacour, does this meeting fall under your secrecy oaths?"

"Of course," she nodded, looking offended that he even asked. "This affects my employer, and thus falls under Confidentiality Clause 17. Why do you ask?"

"Because," Sirius inhaled, wondering how to begin explaining, "this is classified information."

"And I am oath-bound to keep it private," she stressed. "Mister Black, I 'ave been granted a good opportunity to grow within Gringotts. If there is any way I can aid 'Arry Potter and two 'Ouses of such stature in the process, I will."

Sirius narrowed his eyes, studying the girl's intense expression.

Looks like Kreacher was right about her.

"Alright then. What do you know about bloodline curses?"

Fleur blinked. "Not much. But I am a quick study…"

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