Heirships
Harry regained consciousness slowly, his body aching and a putrid odour clogging his nose. The blankets covering him were rough against his sensitive skin, and his tongue was bone dry and tasted like ash. The cot beneath him was softer than he remembered passing out on. As he breathed, he recognised the smell of antiseptic, lemons and earth hidden beneath the putrid odour.
Despite all his senses working in overdrive, he couldn't hear a thing, like a thick blanket muffled the world.
His eyes cracked a thin film of dried sleep, his vision blurry as he took in the world around him. He was lying on his back in a white room. He tried to lift his arm to feel whatever was tied around his forehead but found his arms wouldn't follow his commands. His scar felt like someone had stuck a fire poker into it and left it there. That was only made worse by the irritating itch of whatever had been wrapped around the wound.
An uncomfortable oily layer coated his skin, but his body felt weightless, muscles, bones, and aching core aside.
He was lighter than he could ever remember being.
He felt as weak as when the Dursleys locked him in the cupboard for a week as a child with nothing but a few bottles of water, but his mind wasn't weighed down by a fog of darkness and incessant thoughts.
He groaned audibly at a sharp stab of pain, and not a second later, there was a popping sound, and noise invaded the room, startling him. What he'd thought were white walls was a curtain pushed aside by a familiar Goblin.
Matron Ragnok bustled into the room, her eyes hard as she began chanting and waving her clawed hands around his lax form. Behind her, Master Blordak, Remus, Master Rickshaw, Master Spearbeak, and a group of smartly dressed goblins entered the cordoned-off area.
Harry's face lit up at the blurry, tall form of his Werewolf Guardian, even as he grimaced at the pain when his body tensed as Matron Ragnok lifted one of his arms and checked his hands. She was glaring at him as though he was a stubborn stain that wouldn't be removed, and with a click of her fingers, a line of potions danced into his partitioned-off area.
Harry doesn't get a chance to reach for them, not knowing if he has the strength to do so when Remus already reaches for him. With a strength that belied the man's stringy frame, Remus positioned Harry up the bed, leaning him against the pillows and slipped his glasses onto the bridge of his nose.
Matron Ragnok began handing Remus potion after potion, letting the man carefully pour them into Harry's mouth without a single word between them. Harry wondered if they'd done this to him earlier, but he couldn't remember.
He drank potion after potion, gagging slightly at the disgusting mix of flavours and textures, grimacing especially hard at the feeling of the last one, reminding him of the tar he vaguely remembered forcing from his core. After a glass of water to wash them down, Harry felt more alive than he had after waking up moments ago.
Master Blordak stepped forward with Masters' Spearbeak and Rickshaw as Matron Ragnok nodded approvingly at Harry and Remus, moving to his other side to continue scanning him with a whispered chant Harry could easily block out as white noise. The remaining goblins stayed back, likely not wanting to anger the Matron by crowding the area. Harry thought that was a wise decision.
Harry felt the pain in his muscles dim slightly and found the strength to finally raise a hand to scratch the uncomfortable itch beneath the thick bandage tied around his head. Remus' gentle hand took his wrist to stop the action, his face amused and admonishing when he got too close to his aching scar.
"Heir Potter, how are you feeling?" Master Blordak asked, watching Harry's eyes glow with unrestrained power that could be attributed to the pepper-up potion within the concoction he'd been handed. Harry could feel the energy running through his limbs like a current, crackling and popping with the desire to be released. His body twitched with the flood overriding his strained muscles, settling slowly as time passed, and his heart, which had been kicked up, slowed down.
"I feel alive," He whispered, reverently watching the core spinning in his mind's eye, feeling it pump magic through his limbs, chest, and head, washing him with a sense of rightness. Of Home. "My muscles burn, my bones ache, my head pounds, but I've never felt more alive. So light. Free," He looked up to the goblins, matching grins taking up each of their faces before the Matron spoke up.
"I'm not surprised. With the number of compulsions and wards stripped from you, I'd imagine it feels like walking your whole life not knowing you were wearing a blanket over your head, stifling but normal for how long you'd been under it, only to finally feel the breeze and sun after removing it. The muscle strain is likely from how tense your body was during the ritual, along with your magic pulsing out of you every second; we'll work on you containing it now that you can feel it.
"Unfortunately, your head is also due to the ritual, as the magic attempted to fight the parasite, willing to harm you to remove it. Your cursed scar opened during the attempted banishment and caused it to bleed quite a bit, so I've given you a blood-replenishing potion. Your bones are entirely the result of my meddling," she said. She did not sound ashamed of this last statement.
"I apologise for not getting your consent, but I got Mr Lupin's, who believed this action was in your best interest. I couldn't look at your scan for another minute with that horrid skeleton still inside you. I vanished the bones that had improperly healed and those that had begun to deteriorate or were beyond my capabilities to reverse.
"I'll put you on a few potion regimes and a strict schedule for the next few months. Hopefully, you'll be a healthy, if slightly skinnier and smaller boy of your age by Yule. I estimate you'll always have a slighter frame than other boys; however, you should start growing some inches with the right potions. Here," She handed him a parchment with a schedule written on it.
HEALTH & WELLBEING PLAN
Hadrian Evans-Potter
MEAL PLAN
BREAKFAST: Small meal of Protein and Carbs or liquid substitute and a large glass of milk
MORNING BREAK: Snack of dried fruit and Nuts and tea
LUNCH: Small meal of Protein with lots of Vegetables
AFTERNOON BREAK: Snack of dried fruit and Nuts and tea
DINNER: Small Protein Dish with Lots of Vegetables and a large glass of milk
DESERT: Tea, dessert treat
POTION REGIME
AFTER BREAKFAST:
Fortior Immunitas (Immunity Strengthing Potion) - 2 TBSP
Nutrimentum Auxilium (Nutrient Aid) Draught - 2 TBSP
BEFORE BED:
Occulus Sana (Eye restoration) Elixir- 1 drop/ eye
Skelegrow - 1 TBSP
Nutrimentum Auxilium (Nutrient Aid) Draught - 2 TBSP
EXERCISE
DAILY: Walk/ or Run 1hr: Helps stamina and speed. Meditation
EVERY OTHER DAY: Reflex training: Drop a ball and attempt to catch it with the same hand - spatial awareness and reflexes. Items like a Snitch are preferred.
FOUR TIMES A WEEK: Resistance training 1hr: muscle growth, strength and bone density
Harry read carefully, noting the scheduled potions regime. He asked why he had to drink certain potions at the specified times and why no one had told him about the potion that would fix his eyesight.
The Matron responded, "The Immunity Potion is to revitalise your Immune System, which has been working far too hard and over-relying on your magic the past years, so taking it in the morning will kickstart it before meeting other germ-ridden children. The Skelegrow will be painful after the first hour as it will aim to strengthen your bones and reverse years of poor mineral absorption and stress, so taking it before you sleep will hopefully stop you from experiencing the worst of it. You may wake up with aches like a growing pain, but it will be worth it so you don't break your bones by simply jumping up and down and giving your magic a rest from holding your body together.
"The eye drops will help with the day's strain and be more effective while resting. No one has told you about it because it is a forgotten potion rarely used nowadays due to its exorbitant price. Not many standard wizards remember the potion, let alone can afford it, so it is not so surprising no one has told you about it. However, I've seen the number of vaults in your possession, and I can confidently say this potion won't so much as make a dent in your wealth.
"The Nutrient Draught will assist your body in absorbing as many nutrients from what you consume daily as possible and supplement the ones you lack. When you are released from my care, I will supply the potions to you through a special box we call an Express Box. Gringotts supplies them to top priority clients and those with pesky guardians who like to ward us from mailing our clients," she said the last bit with a murderous growl.
Harry grinned.
He tensed, waiting for the onslaught of voices telling him to trust the lying old man. When none came, Harry was happy that he no longer heard the sirens' call for trust, love, and obedience; only hatred and disgust Harry knew were his thoughts and feelings.
"Thank you, Matron Ragnok," He bowed his head to her, not noticing the hint of surprise from Master Spearbeak or the other goblins behind them as he continued, "I'll be in your care for the foreseeable future," He grinned at her, eliciting a huff of laughter from the elderly Goblin.
"Cheeky brat, you'll be in my care for the next few weeks at least. You're not to leave Gringotts until I have cleared you. Understand, Little Wizard?" She warned, making Harry stare wide-eyed at her before nodding. She gave him an amused sneer before wandering past the curtains. Harry chuckled, finding Goblins far more likable than humans ever were.
He looked back to his Guardian and found the man already looking at him from where he'd taken a seat on the edge of Harry's bed, still keeping him upright with a firm hand. Harry was surprised not to feel anything at the touch except a warmth in his chest. He attributed it to pain relief and numbing potions likely to be in his system.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Remus asked, eyes darting around Harry's face worriedly. Harry grinned, nodding.
"I feel great!" He said, earning a grin in return.
Master Blordak interrupted them when Remus went to speak again with a subtle clearing of his throat.
"Heir Potter, I'd like to redo the Inheritance test with your permission. Should everything be in order, we can begin to finalise your inheritance properly. It's been a few days, and I assumed you would like to rest a bit before-" Master Blordak started but was interrupted when Harry jolted, alarmed.
"How long have I been here?!" he squeaked, feeling his head pound angrily at him for the sudden movement. The hand on his back began to rub in soothing circles as his head spun. "What time is it?" he muttered, more to himself than the Goblins, not expecting the response when it came.
"It is currently five nineteen in the morning on the third of July. The ritual lasted eight hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-nine seconds before we were forced to cancel it after removing all foreign magic except that parasite. Our Curse-Breaker on staff sealed the parasite, so it should no longer cause pain. It must remain in you until the Curse-Breaker department discovers how to remove it without killing you. An hour remains until sunrise.
"You passed out after the parasite was sealed, thankfully, and have been unconscious for a little more than five days. You have been magically operated on to ensure we could heal the most painful and dangerous of your traumas while in a coma. If one were to cast an in-depth diagnostic history, the operations Matron Ragnok performed would be shown," Master Spearbeak spoke up for Master Blordak, his croaking voice stronger than Harry remembered it from what he now knew was over five days ago.
"Oh, um, thank you," he said, "Um, sorry for interrupting, Master Blordak; you can do the test again," He consented.
"Forgiven," Master Blordak promptly brushed it aside before snapping his fingers; a familiar bowl with a pearlescent potion and a little berry appeared on the small table the goblins deposited over his lap. He fulfilled the instructions from the first time he completed the inheritance, watching his blood drip into the potion, fizzling and popping when he chanted as the Master poured it on a new, thick parchment scroll.
"We shall keep your original test along with the sample of residue we collected from the ritual and start building a case if you wish to press charges against your abusers for willful endangerment, neglect and magical violation," The Manager continued, scanning the test before smiling happily, "Very good, all seems to be in order," he handed it to Harry. He waited patiently for him to read it.
INHERITANCE TEST
July 3rd, 1994
TRUE NAME: Nil
GIVEN NAME: Hadrian Jameson Evans-Potter
KNOWN NAME: Harry James Potter
PARENTAGE BY BLOOD:
Mother: Liliana Joy Potter (nee Evans) Deceasede
Father: James Fleamont Potter Deceased
FAMILY VIA BLOOD ADOPTION: N/A
CREATURE INHERITANCE: N/A
GODPARENTS:
Lord Sirius Orion Black Incarcerated in Azkaban - Escaped - Ineligible
Lady Alice Fiona Longbottom (nee Fortescue) Long Term Hospice Care, St Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward - Ineligible
MAGICAL GUARDIAN:
Liliana Joy Potter (nee Evans) & James Fleamont Potter: 31st July 1980 - 31st October 1981
Sirius Orion Black & Alice Fiona Longbottom (nee Fortescue): 31st October 1981 - 1st November 1981
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: 1st November 1981 - 27th June 1994
Remus Lyall Lupin: 27th June 1994 - Present Day
TITLES & CONQUESTS
Warrior: Basilisk Slayer - Age 12
Heir Potter-Peverell-Black-Slytherin
HOUSES & HEIRSHIPS BY BLOOD
Heir to The Most Noble and Most Ancient House Of Peverell Paternal Bloodline
Heir to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black Paternal Bloodline
Heir to The Noble and Ancient House of Potter Paternal Bloodline
Heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Slytherin Maternal Bloodline
Blood Relations to the Noble and Ancient House of Gryffindor Paternal Bloodline
Blood Relations to the Noble and Ancient House of Ravenclaw Maternal Bloodline
HOUSES & HEIRSHIPS BY CONQUEST
Heir via Inherited Conquest to the Once Noble House of Gaunt
VAULTS
Vault 3 - Peverell Heirloom Vault: Unaccessible until emancipation
Vault 4 - Peverell Monetary Vault: Unaccessible until emancipation
Vault 386 - Slytherin Heirloom Vault: Unaccessible until emancipation
Vault 685 - Potter Heirloom Vault: Unaccessible until emancipation
Vault 686 - Potter Monetary Vault: Unaccessible until emancipation
Vault 687 - Potter Trust Vault: Maximum withdrawal of 100 G/year
Vault 710 - Black Heirloom Vault: Unaccessible until emancipation
Vault 711 - Black Monetary Vault: Unaccessible until emancipation
Vault 712 - Black Trust Vault: Recurring deposits into Vault 687
Vault 812 - Gaunt Monetary Vault: Empty
Vault 1783 - Lily Evans Vault: Accessible upon 11th Birthday
ACCESSIBLE HEIRLOOMS BEFORE ADULTHOOD
Cloak of Invisibility
Peverell Grimoire
Potter Grimoire
Black Grimoire
Peverell Heir Ring
Potter Heir Ring
Black Heir Ring
Slytherin Heir Ring
PROPERTIES
Peverell: Hallows Cottage Unplottable Charm, Seance Manor Unplottable Charm, No. 333 Oalde Way - Diagon Alley Unplottable Charm
Potter: Potter Manor Unplottable Charm, Brewery Town House, No. 7 Godrics Hollow Fidelius Charm
Black: 12 Grimmauld Place Unplottable Charm, Etoile Manor Unplottable Charm
Slytherin: Hogwarts Dungeons, The Chamber of Secrets, Basilisk's Refuge Unplottable Charm
CORE & FAMILY MAGIC
Sylvar Core
Peverell Inheritance: Peverell Necromancy Restricted*, Mage Sense, Peverell Family Magic
Potter Inheritance: Potter Family Magic, Potter Hair Curse
Black Inheritance: Black Family Magic
Slytherin Inheritance: Parseltongue, Parselmagic, Slytherin Family Magic
THE LAST LIVING WILL AND TESTAMENT OF JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER & LILIANA JOY POTTER (NEE EVANS): Sealed 0823 hours, November 1st, 1981, by Wizengamot Vote
WARDS CURRENTLY IN EFFECT
Containment Ward: Containing Soul Shard Parasite - Cast by Curse-Breaker William Weasley
BASIC HEALTH SCAN
Hadrian James Evans-Potter
OVERALL HEALTH
Poor
Extreme Potion Regime is Recommended
Diagnostic Ritual is Recommended
PHYSICALLY
Cursed Scar - Inflamed
Scared Tissue - 50%
Bone Weakness - 15%
Fatigue
Malnourishment - 60%
BLOCKS: N/A
COMPULSIONS: N/A
POTIONS IN EFFECT
Skelegrow
Fortior Immunitas
Blood Replenisher
Nutrimentum Auxilium
Pepper-up
Numbing Potion
NATURAL TOXINS/VENOMS/POISONS
Basilisk Venom: Neutralised by Pheonix Tears - Basiliscus Corrumpebant Elixir
PARASITES
Soul Shard* - Tom Marvolo Riddle - Containment Ward by Curse-Breaker William Weasley
A diagnostic ritual is recommended to check the patient's complete health status.
Harry choked on his breath.
Curse-Breaker William Weasley.
Ron had talked about how one of his older brothers worked as a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. He'd thought the Eldest Weasley was stationed in Egypt, where the entire family had gone on holiday to visit him the previous summer.
Why was he in London? Did he recognise Harry as the weird child hanging onto his kid brother for the last three years? Harry wondered what the Eldest Weasley thought of him and then felt his face burn in mortification. "I was naked in front of Ron's big brother for hours," He began physically cringing, "He's gonna tell Ron about the ritual and how I had to lay on the ground naked for hours," He moaned, face tucked into his knees as his head spun.
Knowing Ron, he'd never let him forget it.
Remus gave his back a reassuring pat as Master Spearbeak interrupted.
"Curse-Breaker Weasley is under oath not to disclose who or what occurred in the Ritual Chambers unless given explicit permission by you or Master Blordak," he declared.
Harry released a huff of relief and looked back up, noticing the amusement on the Goblin's face and reread the test.
"Would it be alright if someone could explain all this?" He asked, gesturing at the swath of information that didn't make sense to his Muggle-raised mind. Now that he was no longer faced with everything wrong in his body, he could focus on the entirely different problem he was facing.
"What's all this nonsense about Heriships, houses and creature inheritances? I didn't know the wizarding world used titles like that, and why are some of these houses Noble or Most Noble? Why did I inherit some of them from Mum when she was a muggle-born?" he paused and took a breath that rattled his slight frame, "W-why didn't anyone open their Will?" He tried to stop the hysterical edge to his voice but was unsuccessful.
Master Blordak watched him silently, and Harry saw him considering where to begin.
A high stool suddenly appeared beside his bed on the opposite side Remus had sat down. He didn't disturb Matron Ragnok as she continued her work and diligently wrote into a folder. He began sternly, but not unkindly, as he gestured to what he was explaining on the Parchment. He started from the top, working his way down. Remus looked just as interested in the information as Harry, as if this was his first time learning about it.
Master Blordak decided he should explain each part of the test even if it were self-explanatory. Harry assumed the Goblin did not want him to ask questions, so he kept his lips firmly shut.
"A child in the wixen world is given a name upon their birth by their parents, much the same as when muggles name their children and record the name on their birth certificate. Most wixen give their children long and tedious names, so the child is given nicknames until its known name, the one they are most commonly referred to in society, is decided.
"The parents and child usually choose this between the child's fifth and seventh Birthday. It is what wixen refers to others by and is often a bastardised form of the given name. Your parents named you Hadrian Jameson Evans-Potter, and someone recorded your given name as Harry James Potter, the same name the Wizarding World has revered since that fateful night," The Master paused, watching Harry's face and allowing him to ask any questions he may have.
Harry stayed silent, so the Master continued. "The 'True Name' is what a wix chooses upon adulthood and is commonly used afterwards to sign contracts and make vows. It is a binding name in the magical world tied to a soul, but until this name is chosen, either of your names can be used for legally binding contracts," He moved his clawed finger down the parchment.
"An adult, if given consent by at least one of the parents or if the child has turned eleven, can use a very restricted potion to blood adopt a child. This will give the child DNA from the adult and can even affect the child's appearance to some degree. There are two ways this can happen. If the child or parent desires it, the adult's blood can override an intended parent's DNA, or the blood can interact with both parents' DNA and meld together completely, giving the child a mixture of all three's DNA. This is tricky and can often result in unfortunate side effects if done by an incompetent Healer.
"Creature Inheritance has two origins. The first is from centuries past when Wizard families were producing more and more squibs due to inbreeding. Due to this, they decided to introduce fresh magical blood by mating with what the Wizards called intelligent creatures, including Veela, Goblins, Giants, Vampires, etc. The descendants of these pairings have a one in ten chance of inheriting their ancestor's creature characteristics and abilities upon their fifteenth birthday. If your ancestors had ever copulated with a creature, you have not inherited it.
"The second origin is through what Wizards call infecting. We Goblins, however, call it turning. A good example is your Guardian here," Master Blordak gestured to Remus, who flinched hard.
"Remus?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Master Blordak said, nodding as Harry watched Remus' face pale drastically. "Some Wizards inherit creatures via bites or stings or the ingesting of blood. Mr Lupin was bitten and, therefore, inherited the abilities of a Lycanthrope. You Wizards call them Werewolves, but we call them the Faoladh. He can pass it on to his offspring as the originating creature."
This appeared to be news to Remus as he jolted and stuttered. "R-really? I could curse my children just by being their father?"
Master Blordak's brow furrowed. "Curse? Lycanthropy is not a curse, sir. And yes, there is a higher chance than if one of your parents had been one. I understand muggles have developed a science called genetic inheritance tracking or something similar. It explains the process much better. Now, please do not interrupt again until I have finished explaining."
Remus opened his mouth as though to argue, but Harry leaned further into the man's side, effectively shutting him up. Remus took a deep breath as he held Harry tighter, seeming to take more comfort in the gesture than the child. He sighed above Harry before giving a nod for the Goblin to continue.
Master Blordak moved his finger down the parchment again and continued.
"Your parents chose your Godparents in a ceremony a month after you were born, who should have sworn a vow. This is a vow from the Godparent for the Protection of the wizarding child and a parent's acceptance of this vow. Should the Godparent harm the child, the Godparent will be stripped of their magic. However, taking this vow has become less used; some might say it is old-fashioned and has rarely been used in the last century. If your godparents had taken this vow, only they and your parents would have known, as it is a private ritual at midnight on a New Moon.
"Lady Magic decides your titles upon deeds or qualifications. I assume you have earned the revered title Warrior as described here, though I am a bit disturbed at the age at which you acquired it. Your Houses and Heirships by Blood are precisely what they appear; they are the noble or ancient houses you are descended from and have inherited from your mother or father. The houses choose who has been accepted into the house by Magic, either as the heir or a member.
"From your father, you inherited the family heirship of House Potter, House Black, and House Peverell and are a blood relative of House Gryffindor - be patient, I will explain in a moment - from your mother, you inherited the Heirship of House Slytherin and have been accepted as a member of House Ravenclaw. There's not much I can say about your Heirship by conquest, as House Gaunt is a fallen house and has been in disgrace for decades. Magic abandoned them because of the insurmountable amount of inbreeding within the family, but that is a rumour and has not been verified. We do not have their Heir or Lordship rings or any current information about them.
"Some houses have requirements to be chosen as a Heir. The House of Slytherin, for example, is a Patriarchal House, meaning if you had been born a girl, as your mother was, you would not have met the requirements to be the heir. Ravenclaw, opposingly, is a matriarchal house, but I am unsure if your mother was considered a Heir. Different houses have different requirements; however, not all are the same or publicly known.
"Now, the reason your mother could pass on these two houses despite her status as Muggle-born. It is a widely discussed theory among Goblins that Muggle-borns are descended from dormant squib lines and that when two of these lines meet, there is a high chance that a Wixen child could be born.
“Some Squibs know their wizarding lineage, while others are abandoned upon birth in the muggle world and are left ignorant. Your mother is likely descended from squib lines within the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Houses. How, I am not sure. We can discuss later if you wish to procure a Family Tree from your blood. Gringotts can help you with this for a fee, but it will likely take months.
"Getting back to my explanation. The different standings of each house depend on Magic and Politics. The Peverell House is one of the thirteen original houses that united to make a deal with the goblin nation to establish Gringotts. Those houses, though not remembered by the current populace, are considered by Magic The Most Noble due to their actions and morals, and depending on the era in which the line started, the Most Ancient. The Peverell House is the last remaining Most Noble and Most Ancient of the original thirteen. What happened to the other houses remains unknown. Lady Magic abandoned them, and Gringotts respected her choices.
"The Peverell House, however, is barely heard of today due to the Members being hunted throughout their reign for their legendary three magical artefacts rumoured to have been created by Death, The Deathly Hallows. The Peverells were known as the Masters of Death with these artefacts and were persecuted for devilry, more so than other wixen of that time, and many attempted to steal their Heirlooms.
“As more members were killed, one of your Ancestors who had married into the then Noble House of Potter created a ritual that has since been lost to us to influence the process of succession to the Peverell Line and keep it hidden within the Peverell-Potter Descendants.
"Since then, The Noble and Ancient House of Potter has been the hiding place of The Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell to protect the house from persecution and theft. They used what would be considered by modern wizards as a Dark Ritual to ensure a series of requirements were necessary to Inherit the Peverell Heirship. Even I, the Manager of the Peverells in a long line of Goblins who has held this position, do not know what the requirements necessary to be named the Heir by magic.
“However, I have it on good authority that the Peverell Grimoire will hold the answers. It has been many generations since the last Peverell Heir was Chosen, not since my grandfather was the Peverell Accounts Manager,"
"How-what is the number of heirships one person usually inherits," Harry squeaked out, overwhelmed at the sudden information about his family he'd never been told about.
"It is common for a child to possess the heirship of one or two houses depending on if any other children are eligible for heirship within the family and whether they meet the requirements set by Lady Magic. Suppose Magic has chosen a child already burdened with two prior heirships; in that case, there are unlikely any suitable replacements for either line. You are lucky that there was an eligible heir for Gryffindor, as you are considered only a member of the house," The Master elaborated on the unspoken question, and Harry nodded automatically. "Do you need to take a break, Heir Potter?"
"No, thank you, Master Blordak. I'm okay to keep going," Harry said, even when his brain pulsed with a steadily growing headache. Master Blordak's expression was sceptical, but he obliged Harry's request anyway.
"As you can see, you have numerous vaults that will be accessible to you either upon your inheritance as Lord, on your seventeenth birthday, or if you were emancipated before then. You have a Trust vault organised by the Black and Potter families until you come of age for your basic needs and supplies. Your Magical Guardian has control of these Trust vaults and should have been using the money to assist in raising you. A maximum withdrawal tied to your name has been applied since 1990 of 100 Galleons a year. I can have a statement written up of all transactions withdrawn from the vaults and any others you are concerned may have been tampered with,"
Master Blordak waited for Harry to decide, accepting his nod before continuing, "The Vault that belonged to your Mother, however, was under her name and blood warded until you came and accessed it. It has strict contractual limits to be under your control upon the death of Miss Liliana, not a guardian. We can visit it once you are strong enough to move."
Harry's eyes sparkled with hope to see his Mother's Vault, the vault where she possibly kept her things, which could house items made or bought by her hands. He nodded vigorously, and the Goblin made a noise in the back of his throat; Harry assumed it to be a chuckle.
"Your properties can only be accessed with a guardian you trust enough to bring to a place under several wards. You may also access the properties alone if you are emancipated. However, the wizarding world has far fewer things they consider worthy of emancipation compared to the Muggle world, so that is disappointingly unlikely. I will recommend some books on wizarding laws and politics that are more relevant to you later.
"Now, your Core. We analysed the residue taken after your cleansing ritual and have been able to determine that the compulsions, blocks and curses had mutated and, had you survived to your seventeenth birthday, you would've died."
Harry gaped. He appreciated the honesty of Goblin conversation, but sometimes their frankness caught him by surprise.
"Why?" Remus grunted, and Harry wondered if that grinding sound was his knuckles in Remus's grip or the man's teeth.
"If Heir Potter had forcefully inherited his family magics—Hush, I will recommend books about cores and family magics later—a few situations may have occurred. The first scenario is that if you had tried to take up all your heirships with the blocks in place, the family magics would have either rejected you or forcibly attempted to remove the blocks for you and likely destroyed your core and body.
"The second and more likely assumption. If you had reached adulthood, sometime after your seventeenth birthday, upon your core's maturity, it would have attempted to burn the blocks and caused what surmounts to a magical implosion, blowing yourself and whoever was in your fire range to particles. That's without adding the Family magics forcing your lordship upon you without prior acceptance as their heir. I don't doubt that with the number you possess, you could have decimated the entire castle of Hogwarts and its surroundings.
"However, it's doubtful the imbecile- apologies, Matron- Headmaster, cast such blocks with the understanding of how many or how powerful the families you're set to inherit truly are," Master Blordak growled very darkly at this. "If it had just been the Potter Family, as he likely surmised, it may have only destroyed yourself and anything within a certain radius of you. I suspect he had hoped it would be in the presence of Voldemort,"
Harry blinked.
The only people who had ever said the bastard's name without a hint of fear or a flinch had been Dumbledore and Remus. He wondered if Goblins didn't have the same fear of the psycho that Wizarding Britain did.
"The Parasite attached to your head is a different matter—the soul-shard of Tom Marvolo Riddle. I have my theories of who Riddle is; however, I believe you already know the identity of who's placed a slither of their soul in your head, more specifically, that famously troublesome scar of yours," The Master pointed at said famously troublesome scar, and Harry huffed a deprecating laugh.
His fingers reached up, tracing the stinging branching network of lightning that descended from his hairline to reach beneath his right eyebrow, hidden beneath the bandage. When he was younger, he'd imagined that someone had directed a small storm cloud to zap him when he was a baby. Knowing now how close to the truth that was, he grimaced.
"I should've known he'd be in here. I couldn't look at Quirel's turban or be in the same room as him without my scar aching in first year. Or when I encountered the basilisk and the Young Tom Riddle in that diary. I thought something would carve its way out of my forehead," He brushed his fingertips against the bandage, ignoring the pain.
"We are unsure how to remove the parasite based on what happened in the ritual. Evil magic that corrupts a soul like this has been forbidden since the Peverells openly used their name. Magic that meddles with death, souls and fate has always been taboo. Our Curse-Breaking department has prioritised your case but also allocated it as confidential. Even our best Curse Breaker has volunteered to focus on your case and is researching how to remove the parasite without killing you. He was the Wizard in your ritual and the man who cast the ward to protect you from the parasite." Master Blordak assured him.
Harry wanted it gone. He didn't want a piece of his parent's murderer in his head, let alone that of a psychopath he knew the monster was.
"I'm grateful," Harry bowed his head to the Goblin, gratitude rising in him with respect. He could tell the Goblins didn't like the Wizarding Community, whether they protected their gold or not. They'd been stabbed in the back too many times to put their trust in the arrogance of the wizarding world again, but they were going out of their way to help him.
That solidified them in Harry's mind.
"I am in great debt to the Goblin Nation. If I can do anything within my power and capability to help you, should you ask, I will try to accomplish it to the best of my abilities—I swear this upon my life," He didn't know where the last words came from, but they felt right. Pressure built around them for a moment, and the weight of someone's gaze rested on him.
'This feels familiar,' He felt a whisper against his forehead, like what he imagined a tender caress would feel like, and then the feeling was gone.
Remus looked at him in horror while the various Goblins around the room looked at him with fascination. Master Blordak hummed and inquired. "For a child not raised in the ways of your family, you are remarkably like them,"
Harry cocked his brow, silently asking for elaboration. Master Blordak grinned a devilish, sharp-toothed smile.
"It is customary for Wixen to swear upon their magic, not their life, just as Goblins traditionally swear upon their blades and gold. Many fear a life without magic, the life of a squib, but most still see this as a far better option than embracing death as they will still have access to passive magics, such as some potions, runes and herbology. Only the Peverells swore upon something as final as death, for no trinket or potion can get around the rules of such an oath. As the family is known to have been the Masters' of Death, it was always quite fitting if a bit grave," The Goblin looked as though he expected Harry to say something, but Harry only shrugged.
"It felt right," He mumbled. He couldn't look at the gleam in the Goblin's eye without shivering, nor Remus' without feeling guilty for some reason. He felt a premonition of years to come, of the Goblin cackling to himself in delight. Harry didn't know why, but he could see it distinctly and shivered anyway. The Goblin cackled.
"We can collect any Grimoires you wish to take from your vaults after the ritual. However, we are clueless about the Cloak's Location; it is usually kept in the Heirloom vault until the Potter Heir's 11th Birthday, when they inherit it until their 17th Birthday. Unfortunately, your father never returned it upon his 17th, as per the Potter Family rules, if he could not inherit the Peverell lordship. We will-" Harry cut off Master Blordak.
"Sorry, sir, for interrupting, but I have it," Harry said as he gestured at his trunk, which someone had moved next to his bedside table. Remus reached in for him and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. It shimmered in the strange light of the ward. "It was given to me in my first year on Christmas. No one addressed it; only the sentence, ' Use it well,' was attached to the packaging. Dumbledore told me later that year that my father let him borrow it when they went into hiding from Voldemort—" Harry paused as he realized the wrongness of that statement.
He let his brain process as much as it could and relished the ability to connect the dots without something distracting him from his suspicions.
"But why would my father give him our heirloom when they were in hiding? They could've hidden beneath it; they might've lived if they'd hidden under it,"
Harry's lungs were being squeezed in a vice grip. He tried sucking in the air desperately, but too quickly, it came rushing out with his words, stumbling as he spoke. "He-he kept it, he kept my heirloom, he didn't return it to my vaults, one of the only things I have from my family, and he kept it. He saw me walking the halls of Hogwarts for months and didn't return the cloak until December," Harry ignored the voices calling for him as he shook.
"Why? Why would he take it in the first place?!" Harry felt his vision darken as he tried desperately to breathe.
Distantly, he was aware of the curtains being thrown open through the muffled white noise in his ears.
"OPEN!" The word boomed in his mind as Harry flinched away from the person he hadn't noticed was in his face. His mouth opened to snarl a warning to get away when he felt something drop on his tongue, once, twice. Three times, he felt the silky liquid drip onto his tongue, and the taste of lemon and something he recognised as pepper mint invaded his senses.
His body fell limp onto the pillow and body behind him, muscles going lax and his lungs taking in deep, greedy gulps of air.
"Silly Wizards," A grumble spoke up to his left, which he recognised as the Matron. "Too impatient to rest, always more work for us healers," His hands gripped the Cloak he was still holding, bringing the material to his face and smothering himself. When he felt someone trying to tug it away gently, he found his voice again.
"Mine," The word growled at an octave he hadn't known himself capable of producing. The hands moved away quickly, and Harry continued to inhale the scent of the Cloak. Despite living in Harry's trunk for most of two and a half years, Harry could still smell something older, as if woven into the fibres. The smell of ash and something floral he knew he could place if his mind weren't so addled filled him, and something underneath that, something he identified as uniquely home. This Cloak wasn't only his Father's cloak, but his ancestor's, The Peverell's cloak. He had a history, a vibrant one, it seemed. And it surrounded this Cloak.
"Sorry," Harry said, removing the fabric from his face. He shakily tried to lift himself back up, feeling the tremble in his limbs as he hugged the Cloak tightly to his chest. "I'm sorry, Master Blordak, Matron Ragnok, Remus," He whispered, holding a hand up to his temple as it throbbed. He felt someone's arms, which he hadn't noticed, wrapped around his chest, and his shoulders tightened.
"It's alright, Cub. You've had a lot to deal with in such a short time," Remus said softly, stroking one of his large hands through Harry's unruly hair. Matron Ragnok spoke up beside them, startling Harry.
"If I find my patient in such a state again, I'll remove you all from this ward for a week! Do you understand?!"
Harry jumped at the sudden shout and nodded at the Matron, even when she wasn't addressing him.
"Of course," Master Blordak agreed quickly, bowing slightly to the Matron, who growled as she left through the curtain.
"Master Blordak," Harry spoke up after ensuring the Matron wouldn't storm back into the room. "Can you check my cloak, please, for anything he could have done to it," he requested.
"It will be done," Master Blordak accented, and with a snap, the cloak vanished, along with the tray. His blankets straightened out when Harry hadn't known his legs were tangled up. Stomping on the spark of terror at the Cloak's disappearance, Harry sat up again.
"Okay, so, I can take up my family magic, heirships and all that?" He asked tentatively.
"That is correct, Heir Potter," Master Blordak assured, waving his hands to summon the goblins standing behind him. "Heir Potter, may I introduce the Account Managers of your Heirship Houses. They shall introduce themselves as they hand over your rings and will be working alongside me in the future to ensure your accounts flourish." Harry noticed that each goblin held a small wooden box of different woods and sizes with unique crests.
First was Master Blordak, conjuring a box out of thin air made of the same wood as the Master's desk, the grains the same strange blood red on pale white that Harry found fascinating.
The Goblin opened the lid, where a crest was engraved and filled with gold. It was of a hippogriff surrounded by a wreathe of antlers. Within the box sat a small band of gold on a black velvet cushion. "This is the Potter Heir Ring,"
"What about the Peverell Heir Ring?" Harry wondered, still confused about the whole situation with hiding the Line within the Potter Family. Supposedly, Master Blordak should also be giving him that ring, seeing as he was the manager of both houses, but he saw no other box that would indicate one.
The Goblin smirked at him, rows of sharp pointed teeth in a vicious grin, "You'll see,"
Raising an eyebrow sceptically, Harry glanced at Remus, noting the man was looking curiously and sadly at the Potter Heir Ring as Harry reached for it. Was the last time Remus saw this ring on his father's finger?
The slim band of gold sat on his palm. The inner band was engraved with the sentence 'Sic Mors Nos Tueturr'. The outer band had delicate antlers carved into the metal, connecting and wrapping around the ring's circumference to meet at the tips.
As he slid it on, the ring seemed to expand on his finger, not physically, but he felt the magic reach for him, entering him, searching until it found his core. The magic circled his core like a dance, a wild sensation, testing it before it seemed to hum with glee and dove straight in, bypassing the shield of acid and fire that had taken residence as his core's guard since the ritual. He gasped as he felt the magic meld with his own, the ozone smell combining with a feeling of warm bonfires and the wilderness Harry associated with the Forbidden Forest and Remus.
His magic surged then, pushing against the ring until it entered it. He watched, fascinated, as the object seemed to shiver, becoming a completely different ring from its physical manifestation to even the feel of its magic. He removed the ring, turning it in his palm and examining it curiously.
It was still a slim band barely a few millimetres in width, but what had before been a shiny gold was now a strange, smooth black material speckled with subtle silver accents. Turning the ring in his hands, he felt grooves on the outer and inner band but couldn't see what was written. His magic must have sensed his desire as silver flames and golden embers suddenly ignited within the grooves he could not identify earlier, now more evident than the Potter ring's engravings had been.
On the inside of the ring was a different inscription Harry couldn't translate. He decided he'd need to learn more languages if he wanted to understand all these ancient heirlooms he was suddenly inheriting. The glowing engraving read 'Domini Sumus Mortis,'. Between the start and end of the sentence was a neatly carved symbol of a circle within a triangle and a line drawn straight through the centre of both. Harry thought it was simple and elegant, much like the ring itself.
"I've seen that symbol somewhere..." Remus murmured behind him, but Harry ignored it as he continued his examination.
Bony wings were wrapped around the outer band, a phantom copy of the Antlers adorning the Potter ring. He didn't recognise what creature the branch-like wings were from and made a mental note to check through the book of monsters Hagrid had gifted him for his last birthday, even if it did still occasionally nip at him when he opened it.
The ring slid over his finger again and seemed to hum. The magic seeped into his skin, ancient and final, a familiar floral scent enveloping the room. He had an image of Faux, Dumbledore's Pheonix when it burst into flames upon its death and rebirth. The smell of ashes had been similar to a cremation. The magic filled him, seeming to hold him in its grasp, and Harry felt something heavy weigh on his chest.
A judgement of him was occurring, not his magic. A familiar phantom breeze brushed against his bandaged forehead, passing through his hair in a caress before the pressure faded and he could breathe again. The magic settled in his body and core like a missing piece, like finally coming home. Harry knew without needing to be told that the Peverell Ring and Family Magic had just assessed and accepted him.
"These words, 'Domini Sumum Mortis,' and the other one, 'Sic Mors Nos Tueturr,' what do they mean?" Harry asked, feeling the ring's magic as he imagined it returning to its original form. Like water running over a smooth stone, the golden antlers passed over the flaming bone wings.
"Ah, the Peverell Moto. Many Potters have wondered about the inscription without knowing its other half. The part scribed on the Peverell Ring translates to, 'We are Masters of Death,' while the Potter Ring translates to, 'Thus Death Protects Us,'. Watching so many Potter heirs try to figure out the meaning behind their half has been quite amusing for my family.
"Your grandfather, Lord Fleamont Potter, spent an entire summer researching where the answering phrase may have originated in his fifth year. Unfortunately, your father was never concerned with the meaning; he wasn't the most interested in the Potter's history or his duties," Master Blordak reminisced the last part quietly, brows furrowed.
Harry didn't know what to say and was surprised when Remus did not say anything in defence of one of his best friends. He decided not to say anything and looked at the goblin standing just to the left of Master Blordak.
This goblin was older and had a far grouchier countenance than even Matron Ragnok. His suit was stark black, and the single jewel on his collar was pure obsidian. The goblin sneered at him beneath bushy white eyebrows that hid what Harry was coming to understand was the Goblin race's beatle-like eyes.
"Heir Black," the goblin addressed him, surprising Harry slightly as he'd only been addressed as Heir Potter thus far.
“I am Master Gorgeaxe, Manager of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." Harry nodded to the goblin as he extended a pristine black box to him, a simple crow-like bird over the words, 'Toujours Pur'.
"What does that mean?" He asked, pointing to the words.
"Toujours Pur. It is the Black Family motto. It is French for 'Always Pure,'" Master Gorgeaxe barked gruffly. Harry realised the Black Family was likely a stuck-up Pureblood family like the Malfoys. He briefly wondered how Sirius had turned out the way he did instead of a darker version of Lucius Malfoy.
Master Gorgeaxe opened the lid, revealing the Black Heir Ring. It was made of worn silver and engraved with various strange symbols and diagrams he thought he recognised from his Astronomy Class. He pulled the ring on, waiting for the same wild energy to test him, only for a slow, cold energy to seep into his finger like iced water, entering his body unhurried. Harry 'watched' the power move up his arm and down his chest before finding his core and sniffing it.
Harry found it amusing, comparing the Black Family magic to the cats the Dursley's neighbour, Mrs Figgs, owns and is forced to stay with whenever the Dursleys have plans that don't include him. The Black Magic seemed to contemplate him a moment longer than the previous two.
It hovered around his brightly spinning silver core before deeming him acceptable and pushed its way into his core. It wasn't soft and gentle like the Peverell Family's magic and more like a beast with its claws sheathed, whereas the Potter's magic had been a wild animal.
The last goblin approached dressed in black with a monocle on his right eye. "Greetings, Heir Slytherin; I am Master Bagrith. I am the Accounts Manager of Slytherin House. I am quite pleased to meet you as the last Heir Presumptive was unqualified to take up his Lordship when he came to Gringotts to claim it. Nasty business, Forbidden Magic," The goblin muttered the last sentence under his breath, shaking his head with disgust.
Master Bagrith held out the only box encased in leather, stamped with the Slytherin crest Harry recognised from Hogwarts on the top in silver. Inside, on a silk cushion, The Slytherin Heir Ring sat, by far the thickest of the set.
Unlike the metal rings and strange gem-like material of the Peverell Ring, the Slytherin Heir Ring was the only ring made from dark stone. It had a single symbol stamped in the centre of the outer band, just visible by the varying gradients of colour in the stone.
It looked like a serpent with tiny wings tangling into a strange knot. There were weird symbols on either side. The serpent's mouth opened wide, letting out what appeared to be flames, and he remembered Hagrid's illegal Dragon Egg from his first year at Hogwarts.
'Was Slytherin House known to revere Dragons? They're a type of serpent, aren't they? Or are they reptiles? Are they the same thing, or is there a variant version of the two?' He decided to add that to his mental to-do list of things to learn.
Slytherin's magic reminded him eerily, but not surprisingly, of a snake slithering along his body, metaphoric tongue flicking at his skin until it rested over his core. The magic reared back, like a snake coiling to strike, before it plunged into the silver fluid. Harry didn't know whether to feel frightened or intrigued by the snake-like actions and examined his newest ring.
He asked curiously, "What kind of patterns are these?" running his fingers along the two symbols barricading the serpent. He expected the Slytherin Manager to answer, but Remus answered, peering at the ring over his shoulder. "Ah, the Triquetra Knots, a Celtic faith also known as the Trinity Knot," he said interestedly.
Master Spearbeak spoke up, continuing the explanation with a nod. "In Magic and ritualism, we use many different types of languages, runes and religions, depending on our aim. Your ritual used various languages and runic systems, including some Celtic ones. The Trinity Knot relies on the belief of the Fate of Three: the Father, Son and Holy Ghost; Past, Present and Future; Maiden, Mother and Crone; Life, Death and Rebirth," He spoke patiently. Harry nodded, curious about what other runes could represent and how they combined to create different effects.
He was suddenly very upset about choosing the easiest Electives with Ron instead of the ones he wanted to take the previous year. Their first lesson in Care of Magical Creatures had been exciting and interesting until Malfoy ruined it. Still, he wasn't interested in Divination, especially when Professor Trelawney seemed determined to predict his painful demise.
However, he'd been so desperate to fit in and follow Ron's lead—so desperate to follow his first friend's opinion of the subjects—that he ignored his desires and sabotaged his education. He wished he could be brave like Hermione, taking every subject she found interesting even when Ron called her a swot.
Realistically, he'd been a pretty horrible student the past three years.
He remembered needing to get horrible marks in primary school, not endeavouring to do well, and failing classes to survive. He was finally put in a place where he could try and do better without worrying his relatives were telling people he was a cheater or fearing he'd be belted for his better marks.
And yet, he'd struggled his first semester with every spell and assignment and given up, thinking he hadn't had the talent for it as he had for muggle education.
Now that he knew about all the blocks on his core and focus, he understood that it wasn't all his fault, but he still felt disgusted with his behaviour.
He didn't need to dumb himself down so that Ron would still hang out with him; they were Best Friends. Ron had had his back when others scorned him in his second year, accusing him of being the Heir of Slytherin. He had stood in the way of a convicted murderer last year and announced Sirius had better kill him, too.
Ironically enough, he was the Heir of Slytherin, but technically, he hadn't known back then.
He knew with certainty that Ron wouldn't abandon him over something as childish as improved grades. He might rib him good-naturedly for suddenly improving, but he'd accept him, he was sure. Harry was determined to do better this year; without the blocks and being able to focus, he might get O's and A's, even in potions, if he disregards the constant oppression of Snape and the Slytherins hanging over him.
With that thought, he realised he no longer felt such hatred when Slytherin House ghosted through his mind, nor did its members. He only felt annoyance and irritation at the idea of a select few members, including the Head of House, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Draco Malfoy. But those were directly linked to memories, though slightly shaded in manipulation from the compulsions. The actions of those people did occur, and he felt justified in feeling bitterness towards them.
Master Blordak interrupted his thoughts as he gestured to his beautifully crafted, ancient ring lineup.
"You can make them so they are only visible to yourself and so they can not be removed against your will by simply wishing it so," Master Blordak gestured for him to try. Harry imagined the rings disappearing from his fingers. He looked to the Goblins and Remus for confirmation, as the rings were still quite visible to himself, and was rewarded with grins of satisfaction.
"Excellent, Heir Potter. Now, I would like to visit your vaults, but you are on strict bed rest for the remainder of the week until your body becomes accustomed to living without your magic as an aid. Matron Ragnok has organised a private ward room for your personal use until she deems you fit enough to discharge you from her care. I shall begin organising statements for your vaults and prepare a meeting to determine which investments you wish to continue funding and which new enterprises you believe could be lucrative.
"Now, do you have any further questions for me or anyone else?" Master Blordak asked, looking like he genuinely cared that Harry understood everything occurring. It was refreshing.
"Yes, actually, I'm behind my peers in... everything." Knowing everything he had to learn in the next few years was overwhelming if he were honest with himself. It also made him angry at the man who had prevented him from fulfilling his potential.
"I don't know anything about heirships, lordships, politics, laws, anything I need to know about how to act in front of others. Despite what Hermione thinks, I'm not entirely oblivious to others around me. I hear them whispering about commoner, blood-traitor, and muggle-raised. I thought they were just insults, but now, knowing all those other people assumed I was an Heir to a Noble House, I must've been a disgrace in their eyes. Slytherin House acts cold, aloof, and mean, but they're regal and composed, always seeming... well, Noble. Even some in Ravenclaw behave that way. Have I been insulting them this whole time, not respecting any of their... of my traditions?
"I need to learn everything. I'm horrible at magic, I don't understand the lectures or reading for classes, and potions never make sense; why would stirring one direction have any effect over another?
"The other kids understand things the teachers say that go straight over my head. I want to learn about my past, my family traditions and their culture. I don't want to be an ignorant puppet anymore," he said.
He was slightly horrified with how loose-lipped he'd suddenly become but felt proud of himself. He didn't even care if the goblins thought him weak and lacking because that's what he was, and Remus had already proved to Harry that he only had Harry's best interest at heart.
"I need help," he whispered.
Master Blordak and Master Spearbeak watched him keenly, eyes wide in shock at the speech from such a little thing swamped in borrowed robes. The goblins behind them appeared aloof, but Harry saw the tightening in lips, the furrow of brows. They did not pity him; Harry could tell that much. He'd always been good at reading others; he'd needed to, as a child. If anything, they looked upset and angry for him.
"If that is your wish, Heir, we will see you become a Heir worthy of your houses. Gringotts has never had reason nor desire to intervene in wizarding matters, but children are sacred. You have been forced into situations and kept ignorant through no fault of your own. We shall endeavour to assist you in any way we can, Heir Potter," Master Blordak stated, but Harry felt something expectant in the Goblin's gaze. The others stayed silent, but they also seemed expectant. Judging.
Remus stayed a silent presence behind him.
"But," Harry guessed, a grin slowly forming as he thought of the Goblin Rebellions from History of Magic in First Year. He had fallen asleep during the class, but one thing he'd learned from Hermione's review sessions was the horror of Goblin Greed. "For a fee,"
"Of course," Master Blordak cackled, "Any fees shall be taken from the Peverell Monetary Vault. Even though you can not physically remove any monetary assets from your locked vaults, we can still perform transactions on your behalf from any vaults with your consent and affirmation of your Heir Ring,"
"Brilliant," Harry had never felt quite so devious. "I look forward to working with you, Manager Blordak," He grinned.
"Likewise, Heir Potter," The Goblin replied.
~~~
Harry had assumed that, like when he got hurt at Hogwarts and strapped to his sick bed in the hospital wing, he would be bored to death while being subjected to potions and spells.
Alone.
Harry hadn't been expecting how much work was piled onto him after waking from a nap he'd fallen into after discussing his test and receiving his Heir Rings.
Master Blordak had taken Harry's request to be taught everything about his role and responsibilities very seriously. He was given stacks of textbooks to study in his free time while also being given lessons about his finances, business ventures, investments and political standing with all his managers and Remus, who used the lessons to understand what he needed to do as the Guardian of an Heir four times over.
They learned about the Wizengamot, the number of seats each of his houses had, the history behind the vacant seats and the Sacred 28 Families. Surprisingly, the only House that belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight he was inheriting was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
He learnt that because the Potters had initially immigrated from Eastern Europe/Asia when Britain formed the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they had been excluded despite their Pureblood Status. Harry thought that was presumptuous and quite ethnically racist of them, considering that many families back then had mated with what they had considered lesser creatures to maintain Magical blood in the increasingly Inbred Wizarding Britain.
Still, he didn't say this to the Goblins.
Harry learned that he held eleven votes, divided into Peverell: four, Black: three, Potter: two, and Slytherin: two. He discovered, however, that until he took up his seats upon his gaining Lordship, the Peverell Seat would remain dormant as it had been since the last Lord had passed over two centuries ago, along with the other twelve seats of the original thirteen.
The Slytherin seat was in the possession of the Headmaster of Hogwarts whenever there was no Lord to take on the seats by blood unless Harry appointed a Vote Holder to use the votes on his behalf. The Black seat had been vacant since the last Lord had passed away three years ago and had moved to Sirius, who, by law, was the owner and could not be taken by another until he died despite his criminal status. Still, as there was no trial, he had never been legally denounced in the eyes of the law as the Lord of the Black Family.
The Potter seat was also vacant as no one had ever stepped up as Harry's Legal Guardian. Harry sighed in relief at that information, thanking whatever deity that Dumbledore was not in control of more of his family's seats than necessary.
Harry was also taught about the Magical Core and Family magic. He learned about the difference between Cores and how they were inherited. There was a significant difference between Darke Magic and the Dark Faction, just as there was a difference between Lyghte Magic and the Light Faction.
Darke and Lyghte magic did not involve Good and Evil, as Harry was led to believe. It concerned the Wix's magical nature and what types of magic were more manageable for them to practice.
Transfiguration was a type of magic that was easier for Darke Core Wix, while Charms was easier for Lyghte Core Wix. Both could do either, but it came more naturally to what the Wix was aligned to.
Darke Wix was what society called Purebloods because of the saturation of Old Magic in their cores. Lyghte Wix were always Muggle-borns because of the New Magic in their Cores. Harry was stunned to realise that Ron was a Darke Wix while Hermione was a Lyghte Wix.
He was even further amazed when he learned he was neither.
Half-bloods most commonly possessed Greye Cores and very rarely a Sylvar core. Greye cores come in various shades depending on the last three generations of parents. The darker the core, the more pureblood magic they inherited, while the lighter, the more muggle-born magic. Sylvar, however, was the perfect balance of Muggleborn and Pureblood magic, which was what Harry's core was made up of.
Lily, a Lyghte Witch, and James, a Darke Wizard, had conceived him, Harry, a Sylvar Wizard and the rarest type of core, due to the deep prejudice from Purebloods towards Muggle-borns. He learned there weren't enough living in Muggle Britain to make double digits.
Sylvar Wixen were known for having an affinity for magic related to combat and were equally as good with Lyghte-type magic as with Darke-type magic. Harry wasn't surprised by this as he had excelled at everything Remus had taught him during their year as teacher and student, perfecting a NEWT Level Spell at thirteen that even Remus admitted to having difficulty mastering as an adult.
Harry discovered that Remus had a Darke core despite having a Pureblood Wizard father and a Muggle mother and was considered a Halfblood by society. He was then taught that because Muggles don't have cores, they have no New Magic to be introduced to Old Magic, keeping the core of the child Darke and not Grey.
Squibs were different as they had empty cores, allowing them to see and use Passive Magics like Potions, Herbology and Runes that Muggles could not. Because of this, a child born of a Pureblood and a Squib will have a Dark Greye core instead of a Darke one. This is also why two Squibs have a fifty-percent chance of giving birth to a Muggleborn.
Harry still hadn't completely absorbed that confusing information even as they learned about more topics, including catching Harry up on etiquette and Wizarding Traditions and starting him on learning Latin and Gobbledygook, as some of their people did not speak English. Harry's throat was very sore after those lessons.
He enjoyed every lesson with Remus as they reviewed his curriculum from the First through the Third year; the man was a natural at teaching. Harry wasn't allowed to practice the spells yet, as Matron Ragnok had told him his core needed more time to get used to no longer being suppressed, but he contented himself with writing notes and memorising all he could until he felt he could recite it in his sleep. He'd begun making a list of all the spells he'd learned, separating them into columns depending on his confidence in them: expert, average and novice.
Remus beamed at him as if Harry had revealed the Sun in Winter when he asked his ex-professor to teach him more advanced combat magic and tactics once they left Gringotts. Harry had never been more sure of his decision when he thoroughly understood the theory behind spells once Remus explained it.
He'd never been great at learning through reading and explanations the way Hermione and, most of the time, Ron could. He found that experiencing the spells and repetition helped him perform magic. Hence, as they learned, Remus performed the spells Matron Ragnok had decreed safe in front of Harry, letting the boy absorb the movements, feelings, and words the Werewolf put into the magic and giving him a far better understanding than any textbook could.
Goblins he'd never met visited him and taught him the real history of the Goblin wars, presenting far more interesting lectures than Professor Binns ever had. Harry felt sure he'd get a gigantic O if he retook his History exam.
~~~
When Matron Ragnok finally deemed him well enough to get out of bed for longer than a stretch of his legs back and forth from the bathroom, he was accompanied to his vaults.
The trip in the minecarts to his vaults was filled with exhilaration, Remus throwing up over the side of the tracks and a nervous pit that settled heavily in Harry's stomach. He knew he shouldn't be worried; the Goblins promised that his Mother's Vault had not been touched since her last visit, but fear still ate at him, what with Headmaster Dumbledore's insistence on interfering with his life.
He has his father's and his family's cloak but never had anything belonging to his mother—nothing good. He didn't count Lily's sister and her awful family because the Mother he'd always pictured in his head would never condone such behaviour on any child, let alone her own.
'Even if you deserved it?' a voice whispered silkily.
Harry gripped the side of the cart with white knuckles, willing the voice to be left behind as they flew down the passageways. He'd thought he was done with voices in his head and wished it would disappear.
Stop after stop, they collected his grimoires, having Harry place his hand with a slash down the centre so the blood wards would accept him. He was accepted, but the vaults did not open for him. Instead, a book would appear like a mirage, floating down to rest in his hands.
Now his arms weighed heavily with the three large, ancient tombs pulsing with magic, tangling with each other like the magic was playing. He began to laugh but quickly closed his mouth when a sharp turn almost made him bite his tongue off, causing Remus to panic briefly.
He wondered where the Slytherin Grimoire might be, it not having been in the Slytherin Heirloom Vault. The Chamber of Secrets, perhaps? He vowed to return this year, even if the thought of the Basilisk corpse sent a shiver down his spine.
The cart slowed until it stopped with a lurch at a small platform with a set of metal doors, far smaller than any other vault door they'd visited. They were carved with delicate flowers Harry recognised only because they were the only flowers his Aunt would throw out if they were ever given to her.
"Lillies," Remus whispered, his eyes glistening as he stared at the carvings, his jaw twitching as he held himself tighter than Harry had ever seen the man stand, even as a ferocious beast.
Harry reached up carefully, balancing the books warily in his left arm and laying his sliced palm against the delicate-looking petals. The ward pulsed, caressing him as it passed around him, and Harry felt tears form in his eyes. He knew this magic, like a nostalgic dream—a memory of silk and lavender.
The doors creaked as they opened when Master Blordak inserted the tiny key he'd collected from a hook by his shoulder. After taking it out, he handed it to Harry, watching silently as Harry held it against his chest for a moment, eyes closed as he breathed deeply. Eventually, he slipped the key into his pocket as he entered the Vault, the two adults following in after him.
It was cluttered with an ordered chaos. Framed photos and portraits, some moving and some still, were leant against the left wall, and various furniture and household objects were stacked on the right side.
The back wall held a mound of galleons and sickles, neatly stacked in a pyramidal shape. In the centre of the room was a brown trunk with a black satchel bag, a leather cuff, and a note sitting on top. He left the grimoires on the floor beside him as he kneeled before the Trunk, taking the letter with shaking hands.
He opened it, breathing shallowly as his eyes ghosted over the paper.
To My Dearest Hadrian,
I hope that when you read this letter, we laugh over it on your Eleventh Birthday after I've told you all this myself. If not, I'm sorry, Baby, and I love you so much.
If I've passed on, I can only hope that someone has taken you in and cared for you the way I wish I could have. I hope Moony, Allie, or Sev have taken you in. Maybe you've been raised with Allie's son, your Godbrother Neville. I can only hope so.
If Sirius has raised you, I hope he's matured and grown up from the troublemaker he's always been. If not, I hope Moony's been there to teach you the common sense and kindness that idiot has never had.
I've left it in my will so this wouldn't happen, and I highly doubt anyone would have been stupid enough to leave you there, but if you've been left with my sister and her... husband, I'm so sorry, Darling.
Petunia has always been jealous of my magic and our parents' excitement about having a Witch in the family. I suspect (I pray I'm wrong) she wouldn't be any kinder to you than she had ever been to me after I was accepted at Hogwarts, but who knows? Maybe she's grown up as well.
I've assembled an Eleventh birthday present for you. I don't know if you would consider my second-hand things a present, but I've turned my old-school Trunk, Bookbag, and Wand Holster into the perfect First-Year Starter Kit.
I was fascinated by the prospect of creating my version of the magical items you see in stores worth hundreds of galleons in my Enchanting Class, so I developed these items for you.
My friend Frank was given one by his mother for his sixteenth birthday; it had an expandable and preservation charm — it was inspiring. I used it as the basis for my design, and when that was finished, I thought, 'Why not add a few more bells and whistles?' I've left little notes for each trunk section so you can know what they are and how to access them. It's blood-warded and password-protected, so all you have to do is smear a drop of blood on the lid and speak the word 'Open,' and it will open.
There's a catch, however. If you've inherited my intelligence and my special gift, then you shouldn't have any trouble opening it. If not, I'll teach you as best I can. Despite the difficulty, I know some people can mimic this gift if they practice enough.
The Trunk comes with shrinking and feather-light charms, so you only need to tap the corresponding runes, and they will activate.
Now, the second present is the book bag. As you'll soon learn, it has similar but different enchantments to the Trunk. Where the Trunk needs to be put down and opened to access, the bag will be easier to use when out and about while on your shoulder. I've left it on the Trunk with all my journals inside. You can organise it however you like, and I hope my embroidery and engravings aren't too girly for you.
It shouldn't be a problem if I've raised you; however, I know how close-minded the rest of the world is on barriers between what constitutes girl's items and boy's items, especially Muggles. It has the same blood ward and password as the Trunk.
Finally, I redesigned my own Wand Holster. It was given to me on my 14th Birthday by a dear friend. He said any competent wizard will always be ready to defend themselves with their wand on their arm rather than the pocket I usually kept it in. I've added a few extra protections to it as I found it lacking. I made it so this holster would be invisible when the wand is in it, with an undetectable rune configuration and anti-summoning also stitched in.
Hopefully, Sev will teach you how to use it if I'm not there to do it myself. I only hope we've made up by then. He's more family to me than Petunia ever was.
I'm so sorry if you're reading this without me, my Darling. If you are, I want you to know that no matter what happened, I'm so glad you survived. There's nothing in this world that can hold a candle to my love for you, my Beautiful Hadri.
With all my Love,
Mum
Harry broke.
Harry had been raised never to cry. To never show grief or pain for either would make his life even more miserable. He had been so conditioned that even when faced with Death by Voldemort in his first year, Acromantula and a Basilisk in his Second year, and a Werewolf, his parent's betrayer and Dementors in his Third year, he had never shed a single tear or shown any pain.
Despite all this, a single letter was what finally cracked his defences built up over twelve years of abuse and the necessity for survival.
Guttural sobs left him as he held the letter tightly to his chest, the thick paper crumpling slightly in his grip. A flowery-woody scent he couldn't identify but was achingly familiar with wafted from the letter, intense and all-encompassing, as though she was right beside him. A breeze blew like a phantom hand, brushing his messy bangs off his forehead.
He wailed his grief in that small Vault, the fragile back of Master Blordak at the entrance, eyes closed as he mourned silently for the lonely child. Remus stood behind him, a large hand on Harry's trembling shoulder, even as his face crumpled with grief, silent tears falling down his prominent cheekbones.
He didn't know how long he sat there, kneeling on the stone floor, tears staining his Mother's letter. Sniffling loudly and wiping his puffy red eyes, he carefully unfolded the letter, trying to restore it from where it had creased from his tight grip.
He held the letter up so it was within arm's reach of Remus, much to the man's surprise.
"Moony," Harry croaked, voice hoarse and nose stuffed, tear tracks staining his sharp cheekbones. His body had removed the baby fat from them when he was too young. "She trusted me with you more than she did Sirius or even my Dad,"
Remus gaped, eyes darting to Harry's, who stared up at him, large, bright, emerald green.
Lily's eyes.
Remus scanned the letter, shaking slightly as Harry gave him a modicum of privacy and turned back to the items in the room he currently cared about. It was the only birthday present he could remember ever receiving from his mother. He briefly wondered what had happened to the presents he had received on his first birthday. Had they been destroyed that fateful night?
He inspected the trunk and shook his head.
It was a beautiful vintage leather trunk of far better quality than the cheap one Hagrid had recommended he get in his first year. It was a dark, faded maroon with silver pins and accents. Engraved on the lid in the centre was a beautiful Lilly Flower, a tiny snake poking out from within the petals, with different rune configurations circling it.
His smile was shaky as he placed his wounded palm on the flower, his voice a murmur.
"Open,"
He felt his vocal cords shift slightly as the word hissed from his mouth, and he felt himself grin.
His Mother had been a Parslemouth. She was a daughter, if distant, of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw Bloodlines. She might have even been accepted into the houses if she'd gotten tested. He knew she couldn't have been Heir Slyther, as Master Blordak had declared it was a Patriarchal House, but he had no information about Ravenclaw House or its members.
Harry laughed. It sounded maniacal to his ears, but he couldn't get over the irony.
A muggle-born could have been a member of the Noble and Ancient House of Slytherin. He'd been so disgusted by his gift when Dumbledore had told him his suspicions that he'd inherited some of Riddle's powers after that night. Now, knowing he shared not only his eyes with his Mother but also shared this ability with her, not that psychopathic tyrant, he was ecstatic.
The trunk opened with a click, the magic purring under his palms as he opened it. It looked like an empty trunk with a note on the base. He reached in for it and read quickly. It wasn't a letter like the first one but a kind of instruction sheet for using the Trunk.
Hadrian's Enchanted Trunk.
To access the different compartments, infuse the corresponding flower on the inner lid with your magic:
Compartment 1: Lily (Lillium) - Camouflage - Plain Trunk for use around muggles or undesirable company - Slightly more spacious than the outside appearance suggests.
Compartment 2: Daffodil (Narcissus) - Wardrobe - Vertical Carousel Drawers & Hangers - Organisation Charm - Managed by Magic and Desire.
Compartment 3: Orchid (Orchidaceae) - Storage - Vertical Carousel Cabinets - Preservation, Chilling & Organisation Charm - Managed by Magic and Desire.
Compartment 4: Sunflower (Helianthus) - Desk and Brewery - Pop-Out Desk & Brewery Station with access to a Cabinet in the Storage Compartment for Ingredients.
Compartment 5: Azalea (Rhododendron) - Library - Vertical Carousel Bookshelves - Organisation Charm - Managed by Magic and Desire.
External Enchantments:
Featherlight - Rose Symbol
Shrinking - Poppy Symbol
It's not much, but I hope it's helpful to you, Darling.
Happy Birthday, Hadrian.
Love, Mum
He inspected the engraved flowers curiously, noting a ring of minuscule symbols circling each flower. He earnestly wished he'd chosen to take Ancient Runes the previous year, if only so he could understand what his Mother was thinking when she decided that the standard enchanted trunks weren't good enough for her, but realised he wouldn't have been a good fit for the elective course.
He was a wizard who preferred to get his hands dirty rather than study with his nose buried in a book like Hermione or Ravenclaws. He considered learning the meanings behind runes and their uses at a later date but continued.
He followed the instructions and decided to go in order of Compartment Numbers as he willed his magic to enter the little daffodil carving. His magic obeyed gleefully, rushing through him and leaving sparks where it passed. He smelled ozone mixed with what he unsurprisingly recognised as daffodils from his Aunt's garden as the Trunk slammed its lid closed, nearly snapping his arm off.
Only Harry's seeker reflexes saved his arm as he watched. He was fascinated as the Lilly on the top of the trunk stretched and bent until a matching daffodil was engraved into the leather, the little snake slithering around until it was wrapped around the flower's stem.
When nothing else happened, he opened it again, only for a completely different interior to greet him.
On the lid beside the flowers was a lever with the Roman numeral 'I' beside it, and in the trunk was a drawer sectioned off into three parts. He reached inside, watching his arm go further into the trunk than the size on the outside.
Harry grinned.
He reached up and pulled the lever, amazed as the drawer moved forward, making way for a deeper-looking drawer.
Drawer Number 2 was deep and had a railing with felt-lined hangers. The next three drawers were variations of the same thing until he came upon the last two, one designed to hold shoes and the other with dozens of small velvet-lined cubbies. He recognised the design from his Aunt's jewellery box and his uncle's watch and cuff link holders.
Having finished with the Daffodil compartment, Harry activated the next flower. The smell of orchids filled his nose and a row of cabinets lined up within the trunk. It was the same lever system with multiple empty rows except one. This cabinet had the words 'Jam' Carved into the wood.
Harry opened it, revealing stacks of jars with different-coloured contents and labels.
He picked out a few, noting a slight chill where his hand passed the lip of the cupboard, and read the labels in his Mother's delicate scripts, 'Apricot Jam,' 'Rose Petal Jam,' 'Plum Jam,'.
Each label had a small drawing and date on it. He noted the jars at the front were older, from what seemed like her sixth and seventh years, while the ones further back were from a few months before her passing. He tapped the centre of the metal lids with a fingertip, noting they were expertly sealed, appropriately preserved, and, after carefully peering inside, safe to eat.
The Sunflower Compartment expanded out of the trunk into a large desk with two sections. One side was a typical study desk with drawers full of writing tools, parchment, blank notebooks, and a book stand. The other side held a potion station, the surface of which was carved with runes in a circle around the place where the Cauldron and burner would be set up.
Harry was intrigued but didn't linger, instead checking the equipment, noting the multiple cauldrons of different types and sizes, all the different stirring rods and even vials carefully held in cases. A cutting board, knife and wet stone were strapped to the bottom of a draw.
Potions books, both school-issued and supplementary, lined the small bookcase above the station, and Harry's eyes glossed over with tears at the manuals and beginners guides no one had ever told him about.
'Did Mum love Potions? Would she be disappointed in my Potion abilities?' He wondered. His eyes hardened as he vowed to improve in the subject; even if the teacher was a right arse and the Slytherins always threw ingredients in his cauldron, he would get an Outstanding by the end of the year, no matter what.
The Azalea Library began much like the wardrobe: a shelf with a lever, but instead of drawers and sections, it was a single long wooden bench. He cranked the lever, but the number didn't change. He figured the section would expand and organise itself as he put more books inside.
Closing the trunk with a heavy click, Harry turned his attention to the Satchel.
It was a deep brown, almost black, leather satchel, appearing newer than his school satchel thanks to the wear and tear from his school adventures. There was no Hogwarts crest on this one; a Lilly flower was pressed into the material and only visible if you were looking for it.
After placing his hand on the buckles and repeating the instructions to 'open' it, the buckles unfurled to reveal another Lilly flower elegantly stitched on the underside of the flap with delicate embroidery of another small snake slithering around the petals and stem.
He looked inside, noticing numerous pockets, and when he reached into them, his arm kept going and going. A note was laid in the large middle between the pockets.
Dear Hadrian,
I hope you've liked your Birthday Gifts, Baby. I thought of the wonderful things I dreamed about buying like all the other kids when I was your age and decided to make this for you. I can only hope this war has finished by the time you're getting this, and I hope by then, we will no longer be in hiding.
I made the inner lining with Moke-skin due to its anti-theft properties. With that and the layers of spells, runes and a failsafe, this should be the most heavily fortified bag in the Wizarding World. Both the Trunk and Bag have protection wards to prevent tampering or destruction. I won't tell you the consequences, and I hope no one is ever stupid enough to mess with my Baby's things.
All I'll say is that they will regret it; I promise you that.
Each pocket has an Expandable Rune Matrix stitched into it with a summoning rune combined into it. Reach into the right pocket and say what you need in our 'gift,' and it will come to you. It should make it easier to retrieve your things without having to dig around like Alice always did. She was clumsy and forgetful but the kindest and most loyal friend I could hope to have.
As I wrote earlier, organise the bag and trunk however you like. There are fifteen pockets. I recommend a pocket per subject for the required books and notebooks, one for writing equipment and another for potion equipment and ingredients. The rest is up to you.
Everything in the Vault is yours, my Darling. It is the collection of my life, and I hope you treasure it as much as I have.
I need you to remember, Hadrian, that nothing in the material world is more valuable than Knowledge, my child.
To become powerful and protect those you love, you only need the Wisdom to achieve it.
Love,
Mum
Harry refused to let himself cry again, even as his eyes burned painfully with the restraint.
His Mother wouldn't want him to be sad.
From her letters, she seemed like a person who saw the positive in situations without being gullible. She had a sarcastic, slightly mean streak for those who deserved it.
He grinned, emerald eyes glassy.
This was his Mum.
Pieces of her were coming together in his mind. Her letters, jam jars, creations and love of potions form an incomplete puzzle of the woman he should have grown up knowing.
He strapped the last of his gifts to his forearm, loving the smooth, cool feeling of the black dragon leather holster on his skin and quickly attached his eleven-inch holly and phoenix feather core wand to it.
Glancing around the vault, he noticed the framed photos and paintings stacked on one side.
The first one, big enough to fit unobtrusively on a bedside table, was one of the only two moving photos, showing his Mother with three other teenagers a year or two older than himself. They were posing in front of the Hogwarts Express, his mother's arms slung over two of the three people's shoulders. The girl on her right had short brown hair and a wild grin on her small round face, her arm around his mum and another boy whose face was in a shy but happy smile.
Harry thought the boy furthest from his mum looked startlingly like Neville if his friend's hair was lighter and his face longer.
The lanky-tall boy on his Mother's right looked tired but happy as he laid his head on top of his Mother's ruby locks. He laughed in the picture at the brown-haired girl excitedly jumping and jostling the group, speaking in a fast cadence Harry couldn't understand.
The tall boy's eyes opened a fraction to show a flash of territorial gold before dimming to amber and closing again. A long, fresh pink wound across his nose stretched with his smile, but he didn't notice or care.
His mum and the scarred boy held prefect badges for the camera to see, his mum pumping her fist in the air as a silent cheer went up among the group.
Just before the magic on the photo repeated, the group waved happily towards someone approaching behind the camera. His mum's face lit up with happiness, while the scarred boy's face flushed slightly.
He knew without needing to check that the boy who looked like Neville was his nervous dormmate's dad, but who was the girl? Was she Alice Longbottom, Neville's Mum? His test said that she was compromised and unable to perform her duties as his godmother, but what did that mean?
Harry had never thought to ask Neville why his grandmother was raising him, and he felt deeply guilty when he realized he'd not cared much about it. He was an orphan raised by relatives, and to eleven-year-old Harry, this wasn't significant enough to learn with everything else around him.
He vowed to write to the boy when he returned to his room.
He knew who the scarred boy was the minute he saw the flash of gold and that all too distinctive scar across the bridge of the boy's nose. He turned to search for his Guardian but found the man beside him, staring down at the photo with a melancholic expression.
"That's your mum, me, Alice and Frank Longbottom before getting on the train for our fifth year." He said, his finger lifting to stroke the faces of his long-gone friends.
"Lily and I had been chosen as Prefects and were so proud to show our friends. Your dad and Sirius called me a traitor for most of that year and were very upset with me for teaming up with Lily and telling them off for their more destructive and disturbing pranks, but they were still my friends and were happy for me," He said, and Harry smiled at the story.
"You have her smile, you know," Remus said, making Harry jolt in shock.
"Really?" He said in a higher pitch than he thought was possible from himself.
He'd spent the last three years listening to people refer to him as a carbon copy of James Potter but with Lily's eyes. Knowing he had even more of his mum in him than people had led him to believe sparked a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the warmth that constantly radiated from his Core.
Remus nodded, glancing at Harry. "People see James because of your glasses, hair and warmer skin tone. You've got some of his sharpness in that aristocratic nose and eyebrows, but the rest, that's all Lily. Her sharp cheekbones, thin lips, eye colour and shape, and even your ears came from her. You've inherited her kindness, intelligence and affinity for magic, even if you can't see it yourself. You are so much like your mother that sometimes I see a mini Lily rather than a mini James,"
Harry beamed, his mouth hurting from the stretch. No one had ever told him that. No one had ever called him a mini Lily before, and his heart was bursting with unbridled happiness.
Harry turned to the following photograph, in which a far younger version of his mum, probably before their first year from the crestless robes, was in front of the Hogwarts Express. Her arm was thrown around a boy, different from the two in the last photo.
He had straight, pitch-black hair that brushed his chin and depthless, inky eyes. His nose was slightly hooked, and his face was set in a frown. However, after a few seconds and his mother's insistent prodding, the boy gives the camera a tiny, shy smile.
"Who's that?" Harry asked. He turned to face Remus but found a fondly sad smile on his lips.
"Sev," Remus said, face pinking slightly. "He was Lily's childhood and closest friend. They loved each other like siblings, like you care for Miss Granger." Harry nodded his understanding at this comparison.
"Was?" Harry asked warily. Remus grimaced guiltily.
"It's not my story to tell. But at the end of our fifth year, they... had a falling out. The war was stirring in the shadows, a terrible prank was played, and horrible things were said. They stopped speaking to each other, and as far as I know, they never reconciled. Your mother was devastated for a long time and wished to make amends once you were born, but James and Sirius always persuaded her not to. I don't know what happened in the time they went into hiding, but what I do know is that Sev is very much alive,"
"Do you think he'd respond if I Owl'd him?" Harry asked, feeling something shy and hopeful sprout in his chest.
Remus choked on a laugh that Harry didn't understand before giving him a mischievous grin as if there was some joke Harry didn't yet understand. "I think that would be a great idea,"
Harry raised an eyebrow at his mirthful guardian but ignored it, carefully tucking the framed photos into his satchel.
He perused the other side of the vault, finding an odd collection of items, but his eyes latched onto a small jewellery box with the initials L.J.E on the top. He opened it, smiling as the soft tinkling of a music box met his ears. It was a famous muggle song he'd heard from an identical music box in his Aunt and Uncle's attic, a box that had the initials P.M.E.
"Fur Elise," He murmured, smiling at the soft song. He closed it, putting it carefully in his trunk before shrinking it and stashing it in his satchel with the grimoires.
"Heir Potter," Master Blordak spoke up from the entrance, making Harry and Remus jump in surprise, forgetting the Goblin was there.
"I recommend you invest in a Gringotts Purse. It will allow you and only you to immediately access the money within this Vault without entering Gringotts whenever you need to withdraw more funds. We can connect it to your other vaults when you come of age, but it would be good to connect it to this one for today. For larger purposes, you can use your key and a drop of blood on a banking docket, which shops can provide when taking out more considerable sums of galleons becomes tedious.
"I would also like to inquire about what happened to the Basilisk; your test says you slayed it a little over a year ago. We Goblins consider basilisk meat a delicacy, and the organs are fermented for hundreds of years and used in our most extravagant banquets. As the slayer, you have right over the corpse and can sell it to us if you are willing. As your manager, I can haggle for the highest price I can get you. Would that be something you are interested in?" Master Blordak asked the boy with a grin.
Harry smiled, and Remus blanched at the reminder that the monster had been hidden under the school. The XXXXX class Beast that a twelve-year-old boy had slain with a sword.
"Sounds brilliant, Master Blordak. If it's okay, I want to request to keep the skeleton, some blood and fangs, and maybe a quarter of the scales. Fawkes tore up the eyes, so I don't know if they will be useful," Harry said, remembering some information from Hermione's research about Basilisks.
"We will do a thorough inventory," the Master waved away the concern. "The eyes are often sold at high prices to Master pioneers; they are rare but not overly difficult to obtain through specialised hunters and the underground market, and we Goblins have limited use of them. The rest of the meat should be fine as long as it is intact. We will see their state and reconvene what will be done with them. I will procure an item to store the carcass; you only need to send it to us through the Gringotts Express Box once the object has been placed inside. We will take care of the butchering for you and store the parts you wish to keep in this vault under a stasis charm.
"Now, to guarantee the basilisk will be dealt with through Gringotts and no third party can thwart us, here is a contract and a gratuity of ten thousand Galleons as security on behalf of Gringotts,"
He brandished a contract for Harry to read. Harry blinked at all the jargon but signed anyway, hearing a clinking behind him. He turned to find a replica mound of galleons beside the previous pile, making Harry's mouth drop.
He hadn't realised how much his mother had been able to save up. He thought of the mountain of galleons in his Trust vault and felt a slight shiver at the realisation that many of his other vaults were filled with even more gold than that small vault was. He wondered idly if he'd ever have to work a day in his life with the fortune and investments the goblins would be making on his behalf.
"Guarantee," he mumbled, smirking at the Goblin, who grinned. "Gringotts must really want that Basilisk. What do you think the estimated total price will be?"
"Well, it depends on the size and age, as well as the condition of the corpse, seeing as it's been a year since it was killed and the Basilisk rate of decomposition can take four years, I estimate a minimum of ten million Galleons for the whole basilisk with the minimum age of five hundred years, not excluding the bones, fangs and desired scales," Harry doubled over in a coughing fit—ten million minimum.
Harry watched Remus sit heavily on a rickety rocking chair, mouth wide in horror and skin somehow paler, making his scars stand out even more than they usually did.
Wasn't Slytherin's beast said to be at least a thousand years old? Harry needed to buy a book about materials and their prices to prevent dying from shock in case something like this occurred again. Not that he had any plans for it to happen again.
"You better not overwhelm my patient. I've only just gotten him to a decent enough level so he can take a stroll without getting blown away by a draft." The two turned at the sound of the grumpy Matron.
Master Blordak cleared his throat. "Ah, Master Ragnok, we were just discussing—" he was interrupted.
"I heard you. We're in a cave. Your 'discussion' echoed," She said with a steely glare.
"Is it already time for supper?" Harry asked, surprised. He realized how difficult it was to tell time underground without a clock or the sky to remind him.
"It is. Come, all of you. Heir Potter needs more rest. He's as pale as snow. So are you, Mr Lupin. Should I get you a pepper-up?" Matron Ragnok growled in amusement.
Remus laughed but nodded tiredly.
"That sounds wonderful, Matron,"
~~~