The Unraveling of Truth
The ritual chamber deep beneath Gringotts thrummed with ancient magic. Obsidian walls carved with runes older than Hogwarts itself surrounded Harry as he stood in the centre of an intricate circle. Nine goblins, each representing one of his newly discovered ancestral houses, took positions around him.
"The process will strip away decades of magical interference," Griphook explained, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Each block removed will restore another piece of your true nature."
Harry's wings shifted restlessly against his back. "How long has this been planned? How many people knew?"
"That," Griphook said grimly, "is what we're about to discover."
The ritual began with a low chant in Gobbledegook. At first, Harry felt nothing beyond a slight warmth. Then the first block shattered.
Memories flooded back—his mother's voice, speaking not of sacrifice but of ancient bloodlines. His father, performed rituals in the dead of night to protect their legacy. Dumbledore, arriving not to save him, but to ensure his power remained bound.
The second block fell. Harry's magic surged, raw and hungry. His wings spread involuntarily, their span now reaching fifteen feet, the metallic tips gleaming with inherited power. Each feather hummed with magic that had been denied for too long.
The third block's destruction brought an understanding of languages he'd never studied—Gobbledegook, Mermish, the ancient tongue of dragons. Knowledge suppressed since infancy rushed back, along with a crushing awareness of how much had been stolen from him.
Through the pain, Harry felt something else—that distant connection to his mate growing stronger. Their presence in his mind crystallized from a vague awareness into something more defined. Someone whose magic called to his own, whose destiny was intertwined with his.
Hours passed as block after block crumbled. When the final seal broke, Harry stood transformed once again. Power rolled off him in waves that made the very foundations of Gringotts shudder. His eyes blazed with internal fire, and shadows danced at his command.
Griphook approached, offering a mirror. "Welcome back, Lord Pendragon-Peverell-Black-Potter."Harry examined his reflection. The changes from his midnight transformation had refined further. Markings in an ancient script now traced his skin, telling the story of his bloodlines. His wings had gained additional patterns in silver and emerald, each one representing a different ancestral house.
"The blocks are gone," Griphook continued, "but their effects linger. Your magic will need time to stabilize. And there's the matter of your mate—"
"I can feel them more clearly now," Harry interrupted. "They're..." He paused, sorting through the new sensations. "They're awakening too. Someone else is going through their inheritance."
"Indeed. The timing is not coincidental. Your mate's awakening was triggered by yours."
Harry's expression hardened as he processed everything he'd learned. "I need a list," he said finally. "Everyone involved in placing those blocks. Everyone who knew. Every contract made in my name without my consent."
"Already prepared," Griphook replied, producing a thick scroll. "Though I warn you—some names may be... difficult to accept."
"After what I've learned today, nothing could surprise me."
"Don't be so sure," Griphook muttered, handing over the scroll. "Read the third name."
Harry unrolled the parchment. His eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. Shadows gathered around him as his wings flared in response to his anger.
"Well," he said softly, deadly calm. "It seems I need to pay a visit to my godfather."
Harry paced the length of Griphook's office, his wings shifting with barely contained energy. The revelations from the inheritance test had awakened something primal in him—a need to take control of his own destiny after years of manipulation.
"These files," he said, gesturing to the stack of documents detailing the extent of Dumbledore's interference, "I want them organized by date, importance, and severity of the breach. Everything needs to be documented properly."
Griphook nodded approvingly at Harry's methodical approach. "The old families would be pleased to see their heir taking such care with matters of inheritance."
As Harry sorted through the papers, his new instincts guided him. Each document found its proper place in a growing system of organization. His enhanced senses picked up the magical signatures on each parchment, helping him track the web of manipulation that had ensnared him for so long.
"I need a strategy," Harry declared, his voice carrying that new note of authority. "First, secure my accounts. Then, investigate every contract made in my name. Finally..." His wings flexed, casting dramatic shadows across the office. "I need to understand exactly who I am now."
The inheritance test had revealed more than just betrayals. His creature nature—part vampire, part dragon—came with instincts he was only beginning to understand. The need to protect, to possess, to control his environment grew stronger with each passing hour.
A sudden pulse through his mate bond made him pause. Somewhere, his destined partner was feeling uncertain, perhaps even afraid. The protective urge surged, along with something deeper—a desire to shelter, to guide, to command.
"Your mate," Griphook observed, noting Harry's distraction. "The bond grows stronger."
"Yes." Harry's fingers traced the edge of his desk, ordering and reordering the items there until they felt right. "I can feel them more clearly now. They're... waiting. Worried." He frowned. "They've been through something difficult recently."
"Many were caught between opposing forces in the war," Griphook said carefully. "Your mate may have their own healing to do."
Harry considered this, his new instincts processing the information differently than he would have before. "Then we'll heal together," he said firmly. "But on my terms. No more manipulation. No more games."
The sun was rising over Diagon Alley when Harry finally finished organizing the evidence. His plans were laid out with precision—each step carefully considered, each potential obstacle accounted for. This new version of himself demanded nothing less than perfect order from chaos.
"I'll need access to the Pendragon vault," he told Griphook. "There are books there about creature inheritances. About what I've become."
"Of course, Lord Potter-Black. Though I should warn you—the powers you're developing, particularly the need for control and dominance... they will only grow stronger."
Harry's lips curved into a slight smile, fangs just barely visible. "Good. It's time someone took control of this mess. And this time, it will be on my terms."
As he prepared to leave Gringotts, Harry felt another pull through the mate bond—stronger this time, almost like a beacon. His wings rustled with anticipation. Somewhere in wizarding Britain, someone was waiting for him. Someone who would understand both the darkness and the light within him, who would submit to his protection while challenging him to be better.
First, though, he had a visit to make to his godfather. And after that... after that, he would begin reshaping the wizarding world into something worthy of the legacy he'd inherited.