Harry Potter, Irondeep Bank – Gilded Ascent

The bank's corridors were exactly as Harry had expected.

Immaculate, constructed from polished stone, with statues of dwarves lining them at every turn. The triangular ceilings rose to an almost absurd height, considering the limited stature of their architects.

Although, who was he to judge? Harry thought with concealed amusement, his attentive eyes coldly surveying everything around him as he walked beside Lady Larra, who apparently governed this magical city.

That was something Harry could scarcely believe. A city filled with wizards and witches, entirely magical and hidden from Muggles, was every bit as incredible as it sounded. And although the city was simply beautiful and magnificent from the outside, the young Lord Black had learned at a very early age that not everything that glittered was gold.

"I must say, I wasn't expecting such an entertaining spectacle at the bank when I rose from my bed this morning, my Lord. You seem to possess the ability to attract trouble like a moth to a flame," the elderly Lady remarked with calm elegance, although amusement was artfully concealed in her voice.

Harry merely grunted, regarding the dwarf warriors escorting them deeper into the bank with distrust. Both were trembling as they cast furtive glances toward Harry, who was doing his best to ignore them, with questionable success.

He simply couldn't help himself. They reminded him far too much of those treacherous little bastards from Gringotts. Bankers, a race different from humans, with a warrior culture.

Lord Potter could only hope they didn't share their greed and bloodlust as well, because apparently, they already shared their cruelty.

"You've caused me a few security problems. It's hardly common for citizens to witness a wizard overpowering a dwarf squadron with such alarming ease, much less one with two Stormwings under its command. I see they've taken a liking to you," the woman remarked, glancing sideways at the enormous magical creatures following Alicent and Desmella closely.

The Stormwings watched the dwarf warriors with open hostility, while the latter did everything possible to keep their distance.

Harry snorted. The dwarves' treatment of their beasts was probably rather appalling, something that was unfortunately all too common.

Not everyone treated magical animals the way he did, he thought with a certain sadness as they arrived at what could only be the bank director's office.

"Imagine that. Treating people and animals with dignity can actually benefit everyone. What a surprise," Harry retorted somewhat arrogantly, not forgetting that this woman, however friendly and helpful she appeared, belonged to the Council that brutally subjugated a large portion of the magical population.

Lady Larra sighed heavily and shook her head.

"Alas, our conversation will have to wait. We've reached our destination," Lady Hightower said as the group stopped at the end of an immense corridor.

The door was enormous, made of ebony wood with golden engravings, at least five meters tall, and guarded by two dwarf warriors wearing armor different from that of the surface guards.

The armor worn by the warriors Harry had dealt with in the atrium, although of good quality, had been nothing particularly special. Simple enchanted armor. He wouldn't have been surprised if the Irondeep clan manufactured them in bulk.

But the dwarves standing before Harry…were an entirely different story.

For starters, their beards were long and braided, indicating that they were much older and more experienced than the obvious recruits Harry had dealt with moments earlier. Their armor was imposing, made from plates of an unknown steel, although judging by its ethereal purple glow, it was clearly enchanted metal.

Both wore long cloaks made from the hide of an unknown beast, as black as night, and their faces were completely concealed beneath helmets bearing the scars of cuts and burns.

They would make interesting opponents, Harry thought, already searching for weaknesses or blind spots in case he had to deal with them. And judging by the way both warriors tightened their grips on their weapons and watched Harry from beneath their helmets, they were doing exactly the same.

"We'll be watching you, Wizard," they said simultaneously, striking the bank floor with their axes in perfect synchronization.

The enormous magical doors began to open slowly, their heavy wooden panels scraping across the floor and producing an utterly unpleasant screech.

Deliberately, no doubt, the wizard thought, more than tempted to use magic to slam the doors open, but he wanted to finish claiming the Black vaults as quickly as possible.

Of course, Harry's stubborn and rebellious side couldn't allow the dwarves to have the last word.

"Good. Make sure none of those craven shits you call warriors get in my way, and there won't be any bloodshed," the Lord said with complete nonchalance.

Alicent and Desmella stared at him in disbelief. Even Lady Larra stopped for an instant to regard Harry with surprise, although the experienced Lady concealed it almost immediately.

The two dwarf warriors bared their teeth and gripped their axes furiously, taking a threatening step toward Harry, only to be interrupted by the Stormwings.

The enormous creatures positioned themselves between the dwarf warriors and Harry, baring their powerful, threatening fangs while waving their horned-like antennae menacingly.

The result was instantaneous.

Both warriors stopped dead in their tracks, even taking two steps backward, while Harry and his companions entered the office. Once the entire group, including the Stormwings, was inside, Harry flicked his wrist, slamming the immense doors shut directly in the dwarf warriors' faces with a thunderous crash.

For several seconds, nobody spoke at all, until Lady Hightower snorted, her expression filled with equal parts disbelief and respect.

"I must admit, you certainly don't lack courage, my Lord," the elderly woman said with a hearty laugh.

Alicent and Desmella remained silent, still overwhelmed by everything happening around them and undoubtedly quite worried about possible repercussions.

Harry was about to reassure the two Ladies when a deep, masculine, yet somewhat nasal voice interrupted him.

"Normally, your actions within the bank would result in severe penalties against your accounts. But considering the incredible entertainment you've provided me this morning, I'm certain we can overlook the regrettable response of the Irondeep troops."

Those words interrupted the response Harry had prepared for Lady Hightower, drawing his attention toward the distinguished figure who had just risen from behind the enormous desk in the luxurious office.

The young Lord fell silent, observing with considerable interest the stranger who seemed to find the entire situation particularly amusing.

He was a dwarf, an extremely ancient one, although his advanced age should not be mistaken for weakness. Despite his small stature, his body possessed considerable musculature, barely concealed beneath a custom-made robe. A long white beard descended across his chest, carefully adorned with numerous golden rings, while a pair of small spectacles rested upon his nose.

Behind him, Harry caught his first glimpse of the Amethyst Catacombs that Desmella had mentioned.

An enormous window revealed a gigantic cavern before Harry's eyes, so immense that he couldn't even see where it ended, it was filled with what Harry assumes, was a Dwarven city, full of life and magic, enormous bronze tower with gears and engines that looks centuries more advanced that anything else in Westeros.

And although he wanted to examine it in greater detail, considering that he could see actual clouds, enormous pillars made entirely of amethyst, and a vast network of rivers surrounding the city, the young Lord knew this was hardly the time for sightseeing.

He quickly returned his attention to the old dwarf, who regarded him with patience and amusement upon his aged face, giving Harry his undivided attention.

He clearly belonged to Clan Irondeep, but there was another symbol on his clothes. However, unlike the dwarves Harry had dealt with only minutes earlier, the old dwarf displayed neither insecurity, contempt, nor apprehension.

His wrinkled face was illuminated by an expression of endless amusement, as though the young Lord's unexpected visit had provided him with a particularly welcome distraction.

Intrigued by that attitude, Harry clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders slightly. His expression remained serene, although his eyes studied the elderly dwarf with renewed interest.

There was something about his behavior that inspired respect, a quiet confidence that contrasted sharply with the tension of their previous encounters.

A veteran, Harry concluded calmly.

"I don't take particularly kindly to insults or abuses of power," Harry finally replied, his voice firm but perfectly polite. "However, if you believe we can reach a peaceful solution, you'll find no opposition from me."

The old dwarf regarded him for a few moments before nodding gently, wearing the same amused smile that seemed determined never to leave his face.

He adjusted his spectacles with a casual gesture and let out a small chuckle, evidently satisfied with the response he had received.

"Oh, believe me, lad. The simple fact that your presence in this institution has reactivated the Black family's accounts is already more than enough of a reward," he replied with obvious good humor. "You have no idea how many claimants to the title of Lord Black we've had to turn away over the past few days."

The old dwarf slowly shook his head, although his expression made it abundantly clear that he found the situation as absurd as it was entertaining.

Harry could only grimace. Judging by the crowds on the surface, he could easily imagine that the past few days had indeed been difficult for the bank.

"Ever since rumors of your return began spreading throughout the magical world, we've barely had a moment of peace. One after another, individuals have appeared claiming legitimate rights to the title, properties, and, naturally, the considerable wealth of the Black family."

The old dwarf released an exaggerated sigh, placing one hand against his chest with a theatrical flourish that did nothing to conceal the amused sparkle in his aged eyes.

"It's been exhausting, I assure you. My boys have been rather busy dealing with all of them," he added, shaking his head slightly. "So you can imagine our relief when the family accounts themselves finally decided to recognize their rightful Master."

Harry listened attentively without interrupting.

The old dwarf, meanwhile, slowly emerged from behind his desk and approached him with firm steps, entirely inappropriate for someone who appeared to carry so many years upon his shoulders.

And if magic had taught Harry anything, it was that, unlike in the mundane world, the older your enemy was, the more dangerous they tended to be.

The bank director's movements betrayed a lethal quality. He was a warrior, clearly a veteran of war.

Someone Harry had no desire to fight, obviously.

Stopping before the young Lord, the dwarf inclined his head slightly in a gesture of courtesy and respect. His long white beard swayed gently, causing the small golden rings adorning it to jingle.

"But where are my manners?" he asked with a friendly smile. "I'm Chief Ghevel, of Clan Black Anvil, director of the Irondeep branch in Gilded Ascent and an old friend of that harpy at your side"

His introduction was accompanied by another bow, somewhat more formal this time, although amusement continued to shine in his eyes behind his small spectacles.

"And as King Thorian Irondeep likes to say, time is gold, so let's begin with your claim!" he exclaimed in a powerful voice.

He snapped his fingers, causing a side door of his office to open swiftly as two dwarves dressed as bankers dragged an enormous obsidian statue into the center of the room.

A statue with a…familiar silhouette entered the chamber.

It was enormous and stood upon a stone pedestal, and Harry, for the first time in more than a decade, once again beheld his godfather's Animagus form.

The bankers left the statue before Harry, while old Ghevel and Lady Larra positioned themselves behind him, evidently curious and filled with anticipation to see what Harry would do next.

"The test left by Lord Sirius Black is simple, and everyone who has attempted it has failed without exception. I'm genuinely curious to see what you'll do," the old dwarf said before leaning slightly toward Harry, preparing to give his next instruction.

"Make the statue tap-dance," the old dwarf said, leaving Harry utterly dumbfounded by the…stupid request.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, still incredulous, sighing heavily and rubbing his face as the old dwarf nodded even more firmly than before.

"You heard me. Lord Sirius's final instructions were clear! Anyone wishing to access the Black vaults would have to make the statue…BY SIRIUS! HOLY SHIT!"

Harry didn't even let the dwarf finish.

He stared at the obsidian statue in exasperation as he cast the damned useless spell he'd learned during his first year at Hogwarts.

He probably thought it was an incredible joke, Harry thought with disbelief and affection. This sort of thing was much more consistent with the memories he had of his godfather.

Instantly, before the incredulous and astonished gazes of everyone accompanying him, the obsidian wolf began to move, rising onto two legs and performing ridiculous tap-dancing steps.

"Oh, by the Old Gods!" Lady Larra exclaimed in astonishment, watching the statue dance with complete amazement.

The expressions on everyone's faces were…intriguing to Harry, who frowned deeply before asking:

"Why are you making those faces? It's a simple animation charm," Harry said, disbelief evident in his eyes.

Alicent and Desmella regarded him with surprise and admiration, while Larra and Ghevel watched with considerable interest, the desire for knowledge shining on both their faces.

"Impressive. My grandfather told me stories about the Battle of Valyria when I was little. While the fleet of Westeros sailed through the skies and fought against the Dragonlords, Chief Warlock Black animated every statue in the capital to attack the city itself. It's a form of magic believed to have been lost, he never teach it to anyone" Lady Larra explained with reverence in her voice, regarding Harry with obvious interest.

However, before the young wizard could say anything about it, the wolf stopped dancing.

The obsidian began heating up with alarming speed, and the black volcanic glass started changing color, glowing an intense blood-red until it began melting rapidly.

"Oh, by the Gods!" Alicent exclaimed in terror, watching the molten obsidian levitate toward Harry's hand, where the Black ring had begun glowing with tremendous magical power.

"Harry!" Alicent screamed in terror as the burning glass touched the young Lord's skin.

Her terror transformed into disbelief and astonishment when she saw that Harry was not only perfectly unharmed, but that the molten obsidian had begun to…enter…the Black ring.

"By Sirius," Desmella whispered, completely paralyzed as she watched the statue force the ring to change.

"Interesting. Very interesting," Harry murmured to himself, far more aware of what was happening through his magic.

The statue had not merely been a test. Sirius, being the mad genius he was, had designed it as a kind of…upgrade.

These people would never have managed to obtain the title of Lord Black…

Because Harry already held that title.

The moment all the molten volcanic glass entered the ring, Harry began feeling a river of information pour into his mind.

He was certain that, if it were possible, smoke would have emerged from his ears under the monstrous volume of the grimoire Sirius had constructed.

"Shit," Harry spat, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead while employing his Occlumency at maximum strength to catalog everything new.

There were truly interesting things among those memories invading Harry's subconscious, numerous minor enchantments Sirius had developed during his time in Westeros.

They were relatively simple spells, practical applications of magic that any competent wizard from Britannia would have considered little more than curiosities.

However, what Harry regarded as practically irrelevant possessed extraordinary importance for the inhabitants of Westeros.

There were enchantments designed to help the people of Westeros, fertilize the land and improve harvests, magical protections capable of sheltering homes from the relentless winters, and methods for creating runestones that attracted animals, both for domestication and hunting.

This will be very useful when I establish Ember Fang, Harry thought, grimacing in agony once more as he felt another collection of memories approaching, these far more…interesting than the previous ones.

Domestic enchantments and agricultural applications gave way to knowledge considerably more complex, dangerous, and, above all, familiar.

Harry frowned slightly upon recognizing certain symbols and arcane principles he had studied before.

This wasn't British magic, nor any of the conventional disciplines he knew, or even something Sirius could have created himself.

It was something else. Arts far older, wilder, and more dangerous, but no less powerful for it.

They were Valyrian magical arts.

And not just any kind of Valyrian magic, but knowledge that, by right and tradition, belonged to House Targaryen.

Secrets Sirius had managed to appropriate after Aenar's submission, now carefully recorded within the Black grimoire as part of the immense arcane legacy he had assembled throughout his life.

A kind of war trophy, taken after the humiliation and destruction of the Freehold.

There were some truly interesting things, and Harry would have to devote many hours to studying this dangerous knowledge.

But what mattered now wasn't the grimoire invading his head with all the subtlety of a Nundu on roller skates.

It was a rather peculiar piece of information.

A location.

Harry watched as Sirius erected an immense walled palace on the shores of Blackwater Bay, upon one of three hills that seemed extremely familiar to the young Lord.

The memory was accompanied by the image of an extraordinarily beautiful Valyrian maiden.

She laughed heartily and danced while dressed in beautiful silks, her silver hair moving in a wind that wasn't visible, her smile illuminating everything around her.

She wasn't particularly tall and was accompanied by a small dragon with black scales and red eyes that followed her wherever she went, while she danced and sang with complete freedom under Sirius's warm gaze.

He watched her while seated upon an elegant sofa, in much the same way Harry looked at Rhaenyra.

With infinite affection.

"Balerion! Balerion!" the woman called as the little dragon flew after her, following her like a faithful puppy.

And then Sirius's voice could be heard…distant and weary.

"Daenys, my love."

The new Lord Black had barely managed to make sense of what he'd seen before everything became more chaotic and painful.

Harry saw a Sirius of perhaps fifty or sixty years, accompanied by a young Valyrian woman of twenty who carried a baby in her arms, while the dragon from the previous memory peered over them, regarding the little one with curiosity.

"Are you certain, Siri?" the woman asked.

Daenys, Harry remembered.

That name was strangely familiar for some reason. He'd heard it before, although he couldn't remember where at the moment.

Sirius nodded solemnly as he replied.

"Aye, little Aemon will make an excellent Lord Black," his godfather said proudly.

Only for the image to distort completely a second later, transforming into screams, fire, and blood.

Sirius was fighting ferociously.

Everything around him was flames, death, and destruction.

"What the fuck are you doing? This wasn't the agreement! Valyria has fallen! THIS WASN'T WHAT WE AGREED UPON, HOARE!" his wounded godfather spat.

He was surrounded by at least a dozen masked figures, all pointing their staffs toward his kneeling godfather, who looked around with hatred.

"We will not permit the rise of another filthy Valyrian. We will not spit upon the sacrifice of our brothers and sisters, whatever the cost. I'm sorry, Black. It didn't have to end this way," a female voice declared, preparing her staff to end his godfather's life.

Alas, Sirius was as stubborn as a mule.

And if Harry remembered correctly, his godfather would rather go out on his own terms than be slaughtered like a dog.

So when the previous Lord Black seized his wand, slammed it against the floor, and conjured the cursed flames, Harry was barely surprised.

"FIENDFYRE!!!"

The flames consumed the memory.

Sirius's final thought was the sight of this…Daenys Targaryen mounting Balerion with the little one in her arms, flying away from…an extremely familiar hill.

At the same time, the castle Sirius had built…vanished completely, hidden away following the death of its Lord.

In the distance, Harry watched the fire erupt, consuming Sirius and his attackers alike.

"To Dragonstone, Balerion," the woman whispered in a broken voice, tears streaming from her beautiful eyes before she disappeared beyond the horizon.

And then Harry opened his eyes, gasping for air as he felt his heart racing.

He looked around at everyone present and exclaimed triumphantly:

"I know where Marauder's Den is!"

His words were met with disbelief and accompanied by a deathly silence.

Both the dwarf and the three witches stared at him in astonishment, completely paralyzed and without the slightest idea what the fuck to say in response to such a declaration.

But Harry didn't care. Instead, he focused his gaze on Alicent and spoke again.

"Marauder's Den, the ancestral castle of the Noble House Black, was built on the shores of Blackwater Bay by Lord Sirius approximately a hundred years before Aegon's Conquest. He wanted to keep watch over the Targaryens of Dragonstone. Years later, Aegon the Conqueror established King's Landing in that very location, unaware that the Black castle was already there, concealed behind enchantments and wards. Marauder's Den is hidden within King's Landing!" the agitated wizard declared, to everyone's disbelief.

"That…well, that could explain quite a few things. Valyrian dragons are known to interfere with our enchantments. If the Black Ancestral Seat is near where the Targaryens reside, it makes sense that it has eluded searchers for so long," Lady Larra remarked.

Harry merely shook his head and turned toward the dwarf banker.

"The Black accounts are fully active. Send me a raven with all the necessary information for another meeting. The ring told me that Clan Black Anvil has managed the Black wealth for years. We'll evaluate the situation to restore our relationship," Harry said firmly, relieved to see the elderly dwarf nod gently.

"Aye, the Black accounts are immense. I'll need time to prepare the proposal, perhaps a couple of months. We can meet after your campaign against the Essosi. I'll make sure to send an emissary with the details," Ghevel said solemnly.

Harry nodded in response and turned his attention to Alicent and Desmella before ordering:

"Both of you, get ready. We're going to King's Landing," Harry said solemnly.

Both women nodded without saying a word, while the overwhelmed Lord turned toward Lady Larra, inclining his head in gratitude.

"Your assistance was a pleasant surprise, my Lady, and I would have loved to extend our meeting, but I'm afraid I have matters to attend to," Harry said solemnly, prompting Larra to nod.

"I understand completely, my Lord. I would welcome a more in-depth conversation at your convenience. I'm certain we could accomplish great things together and the offers still stand, I have a couple of granddaughters that would be delighted to know you better" the elderly woman said, extending her hand toward Harry.

He took it gently, bidding farewell to the powerful woman.

Immediately afterward, he gestured toward Alicent and Desmella, who obeyed at once, placing their hands upon the Lord's shoulders.

Harry gave one final nod to the dwarf and the Lady, while the two women were accompanied by their respective Stormwings, which apparently intended to travel with Harry as well.

"A pleasure meeting you, Lord Black! I'm certain that, if you have the time, my boys will want to redeem their pathetic performance in the atrium. Rest assured that the coming days will be extremely difficult for them!" the Dwarf Lord promised.

For a moment, Harry felt sorry for the poor bastards and the hell their Lord would put them through, but he set that aside for the time being.

He still had far too many questions, and Harry knew he would find the answers in his godfather's final residence.

Next stop, his godfather's legacy in this land, the ancestral seat of the Noble and Ancient House Black.

Marauder's Den.

There was no time to waste.