Harry gripped the edge of the wooden chair in the Gringotts office, his knuckles whitening briefly before he forced his hand to relax. He shook the outstretched hand of the old wizard standing before him, keeping his face as blank as he could manage.
"Indeed. Harry Peverell. It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Dumbledore."
Dumbledore's grip was firm but not overpowering, his long fingers cool against Harry's palm. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Peverell," he said, his voice smooth and warm, though his blue eyes sparkled with that sharp, familiar curiosity Harry had seen too many times before. "The Peverell family has a… fascinating history."
Harry tilted his head slightly, keeping his tone even. "So I'm told. Though, to be honest, I'm more interested in what's ahead than what's behind me."
"An admirable perspective," Dumbledore replied, his gaze lingering on Harry a beat too long, like he was trying to peel back layers Harry wasn't ready to show. "Yet history has a funny way of creeping into the future, whether we like it or not."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Dumbledore's attention shifted before he could get a word out. The professor turned to the young woman seated beside Harry, her dark hair pulled back in a loose braid that didn't quite tame the wild strands framing her face. "And Miss Black, I presume? Your application crossed my desk just yesterday."
Nymeria stood smoothly, brushing a speck of dust off her deep green robes before dipping into a polite curtsy. "Nymeria Black, Professor. I'm honored to meet you."
Dumbledore's lips quirked upward, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Two adult applicants in one week. Quite unusual. Hogwarts doesn't often see such latecomers, but we've always welcomed those hungry for knowledge, no matter their age."
Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he watched Dumbledore closely. "We live in unusual times, Professor."
A flicker of something—worry, maybe—passed over Dumbledore's face, darkening his features for just a second before he brushed it off. "Indeed we do, Mr. Peverell. Indeed we do." He paused, seemingly shaking himself out of whatever thought had grabbed him, his smile returning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes this time.
The room fell quiet for a moment, the only sound the faint scratching of a quill from the goblin clerk in the corner, who was pointedly ignoring them all. Harry broke the silence, keeping his voice casual but his eyes locked on Dumbledore. "So, Professor, what brings you here? I'm guessing Hogwarts staff don't usually pop by to say hello to new students before term starts."
Dumbledore chuckled, the sound soft and almost genuine. "Curiosity, mostly. It's not every day the goblins send word of two new applicants with such… distinctive surnames. A Peverell and a Black—arriving together, no less, and both well past the usual age for a first-year. It's the kind of thing that makes an old man wonder."
Harry raised an eyebrow, keeping his tone light. "Wondering enough to dig for answers?"
"In time," Dumbledore said easily, his smile widening just a touch. "But for now, I simply wanted to meet you both. Hogwarts isn't just about spells and potions—it's about the people you meet along the way. I like to know my students, especially the ones who bring a bit of mystery with them."
Harry shot a quick glance at Nymeria, who met his eyes with a faint twitch of her lips. He turned back to Dumbledore. "And has meeting us scratched that itch?"
Dumbledore's chuckle was quieter this time, almost private. "Not in the slightest. But then, curiosity's a stubborn thing—it doesn't go away so easily. Keeps me young, I suppose."
His gaze sharpened again as it landed on Harry, like he was trying to spot something hidden in plain sight. Harry held the look, refusing to flinch, though his mind was already racing through a dozen possibilities about what the old man might suspect.
"Well," Dumbledore said after a moment, stepping back toward the door, "I won't keep you from whatever business brought you to Gringotts today. Consider this a personal welcome from me. I look forward to seeing you both at the start of term."
He paused just before leaving, half-turning to glance at Harry over his shoulder. "Oh, and Mr. Peverell? I'd love to chat sometime about your family's knack for… certain kinds of magic. Whenever you're free, of course."
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him, leaving Harry and Nymeria alone in the dimly lit office. The air felt thicker now, the faint hum of Gringotts' underground bustle seeping through the stone walls.
"Well," Nymeria said, her voice low and dry, "that wasn't suspicious at all."
Harry snorted, running a hand through his messy black hair. "He knows something. Or at least he's guessing."
"Of course he does," Nymeria said, leaning back against the edge of the desk, arms crossed. "It's Dumbledore. He probably had a file on you the second your name hit his desk."
"It's not just that." Harry started pacing the small space, his boots scuffing against the worn stone floor. "The way he said 'affinity'—he's talking about the Hallows. I'd bet my wand on it."
Nymeria's dark eyes widened slightly, though her voice stayed calm. "Already? I thought you said he wasn't chasing them anymore."
"He's not," Harry said, stopping to lean against the wall, his arms crossed tight over his chest. "Not actively, anyway. But he knows the stories. It's common knowledge that the Peverell name's tied to the Deathly Hallows—has been for centuries. He's too curious and perceptive to not show interest, despite everything."
Nymeria chewed her lip for a second, her fingers tapping idly against her arm. "Should we be worried?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He stared at the flickering torchlight on the wall, letting the question roll around in his head. Dumbledore was curious—dangerously so—but curiosity wasn't proof. Not yet.
"Not yet," he said finally. "Right now, it's just him poking around. If he starts digging too deep, though…"
"We'd have a problem," Nymeria finished, her tone steady but her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Yeah." Harry pushed off the wall, straightening up. "We need to play this smart. Blend in at Hogwarts, keep our heads down, and stick to the parts we've picked. No slip-ups."
Nymeria's lips curved into a smirk. "Careful's my middle name."
Harry shot her a look, one eyebrow arched. "Really?"
"Alright, fine," she said, rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh. "It's not. But I can manage when it matters."
"It matters now," Harry said, his voice dropping serious. "We need a backstory that holds up. Something solid to explain why we're together and why we're showing up at Hogwarts as adults."
Nymeria's smirk faded, replaced by a thoughtful nod. "Fair. So, Mr. Peverell, how about we hash out the details of our little… partnership?"
They spent the next hour hunched over the desk, the goblin clerk still scribbling away in the corner like they didn't exist. Harry pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket, jotting notes as they talked telepathically. Every detail had to fit—where they'd met, why they'd teamed up, and what brought them to Hogwarts now.
By the time they finished, the story felt real. Harry could almost picture it: him haggling with a shady vendor in Knockturn while Nymeria slipped in with a sharp comment to seal the deal. That became the prelude to this meeting. It was believable, just vague enough to dodge prying questions but solid enough to stand up to any scrutiny. At least, they hoped so.
The door creaked open, and Silverclaw, their goblin handler, stepped back in. His beady eyes flicked between them, taking in the tense air without a hint of interest. "I assume your chat with Professor Dumbledore was… enlightening?"
Harry gave a thin smile, folding the parchment and tucking it away. "Informative, at least."
Silverclaw grunted, clearly unbothered by whatever wizard nonsense they were tangled in. "Your accounts are sorted. Anything else?"
Nymeria glanced at Harry, then shook her head. "No. We're good."
The goblin gave a curt nod, gesturing toward the door with one clawed hand. "Then we're done here."
Harry stood, brushing off his robes as Nymeria did the same. They stepped out of the cramped office into the winding corridors of Gringotts, the air cooler and sharper now, laced with the faint metallic tang of goblin forges deeper underground. The place was a maze—stone walls carved with jagged runes, flickering torches casting long shadows, and goblins scurrying past with ledgers or carts piled high with gold.
"Three weeks," Harry said under his breath as they walked, his eyes scanning the crowd ahead.
Nymeria slipped her hands into her pockets, her stride easy despite the tension still clinging. "Plenty of time. Just enough to fade into the background before we're the talk of the castle."
Harry let out a quiet huff through his nose, peering out at the bustling Diagon Alley beyond the bank's arched entrance. Wizards and witches darted between shops, their cloaks flapping in the late summer breeze, oblivious to the two figures stepping out of Gringotts. "Let's hope it stays that way."
They moved into the crowd, blending with the chatter and clatter of the street. Harry kept his hood low, Nymeria's braid swinging as she matched his pace.
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