Diagon Alley
London was loud.
Louder than Harry expected, even on a Saturday. Cars honked. Pigeons scattered. Someone shouted about fish down the street. He walked beside Professor McGonagall through the bustling crowd, his steps quick to keep up with her robes.
He hadn’t asked too many questions on the train ride in. He’d been too busy watching. Listening. Memorizing.
But the moment they turned into the Leaky Cauldron—an actual pub, hidden right there in plain sight—his brain kicked into overdrive.
It wasn’t just the sign that shifted from smudged to sharp when they approached. It was the whole place. One step through the door and it was like slipping into another layer of reality. A quieter one, buzzing with power.
Inside, a few people looked up. Some nodded to McGonagall. A few did double takes at Harry.
He felt the weight of those stares. Like people were measuring him without knowing him at all.
“Why are they looking at me?” he asked softly.
McGonagall glanced at him, her expression unreadable.
“Your name is known here,” she said. “More than you know. But we’ll get to that in time. Come—through the back.”
She led him through a courtyard to a blank brick wall. Harry tilted his head, noting the pattern of soot along the edges. Something magical, then. Not a hidden door—an activated one.
With a few taps of her wand, the bricks rippled, rearranged, and opened.
And beyond them—
Magic.
Diagon Alley wasn’t just a street. It was a storm of color and sound, of flying parchment and steaming cauldrons and owls hooting from high rafters. Shop signs danced in the air. Children pressed against glass displays showing broomsticks, telescopes, and books that bit.
Harry took one step in and immediately cataloged a dozen things that defied physics.
And then he grinned.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him. “Overwhelmed?”
“Intrigued,” he corrected.
She gave him a rare smile.
“We’ll begin at Gringotts,” she said. “The wizarding bank.”
The white marble building towered at the end of the alley like a fortress, guarded by short, sharp-eyed figures with pointed ears and long fingers.
Goblins.
Harry kept pace with McGonagall as they approached, watching the goblins with interest. Not fear. Not suspicion.
They watched him back, calculating.
Inside, the bank gleamed. Marble floors, chandeliers that hummed with enchantments, and a long hall of goblins at high desks, writing with metal-tipped quills. Wizards stood in queues. Coins clinked. Magic pulsed in the walls.
McGonagall stepped up to a free desk.
“Excuse me,” she said with crisp politeness, “this is Harry Potter. He needs access to his vault.”
The goblin behind the desk paused mid-scratch.
Then looked at Harry.
Harry looked right back. “Good afternoon,” he said, voice steady. “Thank you for your time.”
The goblin blinked. Not used to manners, clearly.
“…You are polite,” the goblin said slowly. “Unusual for your kind.”
Harry shrugged. “I figure it costs nothing to be decent. And I’m new. I’d rather not start badly.”
The goblin smiled—sharp and small. “Indeed.”
Another goblin appeared—a lean one with silver cuffs and a thin ledger. “I am Ripclaw,” he said. “Vault escort and identity verifier. Come with me.”
Harry nodded and followed, ignoring the way Vernon would’ve sneered at “creatures like that.” He liked Ripclaw already—efficient, direct, and smarter than anyone in the room.
They took a private cart, not a standard one—“Special protocol,” Ripclaw said. “For heirs.”
The ride was chaos. Twisting tunnels, enchanted rails, waterfalls that hissed when passed—but Harry didn’t scream. He asked questions.
“Are the vaults shielded with more than stone? How deep does this system go? What kind of detection wards are—”
“You’ll make the Cursebreakers nervous,” Ripclaw said with a grin.
They stopped at a side chamber instead of a vault.
“Before we access the Potter vaults,” Ripclaw said, “you are eligible for an Inheritance Test. It is optional—but I suggest it. You may hold more than you realize.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Test me.”
A glowing crystal basin appeared on a pedestal. Harry pricked his thumb with a silver dagger (sterilized by spell, of course), and a drop of blood fell into the basin.
It lit up instantly.
Then pulsed. And pulsed again. The runes around the edge began to spin. The goblins all stopped and stared.
Ripclaw’s eyes widened.
“Sweet Morgana,” he murmured.
McGonagall tilted forward. “What does it say?”
The runes solidified into a list.
Harry James Potter
Titles & Heirships:
Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter
Heir of the Ancient and Honorable House of Peverell
Lord by Right of Conquest: House of Slytherin
Chosen Heir by Lady Magic Herself: House of Ravenclaw
Financial Holdings:
— Potter Vaults: 87,000,000 Galleons
— Peverell Holdings: 14,000,000 Galleons
— Slytherin Legacy: 9,000,000 Galleons
— Ravenclaw Trust & Artifacts: 6,000,000 Galleons
Total: 116,000,000 Galleons
Magical Gifts (Granted by Lady Magic):
True Sight (Passive): Ability to see magical intent and hidden enchantments.
Runic Resonance (Passive): Natural affinity for ancient runes and spellcrafting.
Magical Core Stabilization: Vast magical reserves with precise control.
Harry stared.
“That’s… a lot of zeroes,” he muttered.
Ripclaw gave a goblin’s version of a chuckle. “You are one of the wealthiest beings in magical Europe.”
“Not bad for a cupboard kid,” Harry said under his breath.
McGonagall looked half-staggered. “The Slytherin line—by conquest? When did that—?”
Harry shrugged. “No one tells me anything.”
Ripclaw’s expression turned thoughtful. “Mr. Potter, if I may—most humans treat us as beneath them. You do not. If you are ever interested in forging a formal alliance with Gringotts, we would be willing to discuss such terms.”
Harry blinked. “You’re offering a business relationship.”
“Yes. We rarely do.”
Harry extended his hand without hesitation. “Then I accept.”
Ripclaw took it.
An alliance was born.