The sound of Vernon Dursley’s heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway as Harry scrubbed at the kitchen floor. His hands were raw, his knees sore from kneeling on the cold tiles, but he didn’t care. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the same thoughts over and over.
Why hadn’t anyone written back?
Ron, Hermione—his so-called best friends—had sent him one letter each all summer, both vague and hurried. No explanations, no reassurances. Just a few paltry lines about staying safe and “things being complicated.” Harry’s grip tightened on the scrub brush, and he hissed through his teeth.
The Dursleys hadn’t made things any better. They had him working constantly, as if they were determined to keep his mind off anything remotely magical. But it wasn’t working. He wasn’t the scared little boy they’d locked in a cupboard anymore, and the longer they tried to ignore who he was, the angrier he became.
“Oi, boy! Are you deaf?” Vernon’s booming voice dragged Harry back to the present.
Harry didn’t even look up. “What?”
“What? What?” Vernon thundered, his face reddening. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that! You’ve got more chores to—”
“No,” Harry interrupted, standing up and brushing his hands off on his jeans.
Vernon’s eyes bulged. “What did you say?”
“I said no,” Harry repeated, his tone calm. He looked Vernon square in the eye, a glint of defiance sparking in his emerald gaze.
Vernon opened his mouth to shout, but Harry raised a hand, silencing him. “Listen,” Harry said, his voice low but firm. “I’ve had enough. I’m not your maid, I’m not your punching bag, and I’m certainly not someone you can order around anymore.”
Vernon’s face turned an alarming shade of purple, but Harry pressed on. “You’re going to let me go to Diagon Alley. I need supplies for school. If I don’t get them, it’ll cause problems—problems that involve people like me showing up here. And trust me, you don’t want that.”
Petunia appeared in the doorway, her face pale as she clutched her tea towel. “Vernon, maybe we should—”
“Don’t you dare, Petunia!” Vernon snapped, but there was fear in his eyes now.
Harry smirked inwardly. He knew he had them. “Think about it,” he said casually, leaning against the counter. “One trip, and I’m out of your hair. No more worrying about… magic.” He let the word linger, watching as Vernon flinched.
Petunia hesitated, her lips pursing tightly. “Fine,” she said at last. “But only if you’re quick about it.”
“Deal,” Harry said, already heading upstairs to grab his things.
The goblin at the counter in Gringotts barely glanced up as Harry approached. “Name?”
“Harry Potter,” he said.
The goblin froze. His eyes snapped to Harry, narrowing slightly as he examined him. “Wait here,” he said curtly before disappearing into the back.
Harry frowned, shifting awkwardly. After a moment, the goblin returned with an older, more authoritative-looking goblin in tow.
“Mr. Potter,” the second goblin said, his voice smoother but no less intimidating. “Please follow me.”
Harry followed the goblin through winding corridors until they reached a private room. The goblin gestured for him to sit before producing a thick ledger.
“We have been expecting you,” the goblin said. “There are matters regarding your inheritance that require your attention.”
Harry blinked. “My inheritance? You mean the Potter vault?”
The goblin’s sharp teeth glinted as he smiled. “Not just the Potter vault, Mr. Potter. You are also the last living heir of the Peverell family, as well as a named heir of the Black family through your godfather, Sirius Black.”
Harry stared. “What?”
“Your biological mother, Elara Peverell, passed away shortly after your birth. Your father, James Potter, married Lily Evans afterward. While she raised you as her own, your lineage is clear. As such, you are entitled to the holdings of the Peverell estate, along with the Potter and Black assets.”
The room swam for a moment, and Harry gripped the edge of the table. “Elara Peverell?” he echoed. “I—” He stopped, unsure of what to feel.
The goblin produced a set of rings and a sealed envelope. “These belong to you. The rings signify your heritage. As for the letter…” He placed it before Harry. “It was written by your father.”
With trembling hands, Harry opened the envelope.
Harry,
If you’re reading this, then I didn’t get to explain everything to you myself. Elara was your mother—a brilliant witch and the last heir of an extraordinary family. She loved you, more than you’ll ever know. When she died, I married Lily, who adored you just as fiercely. You may hear different versions of this story, but know that both of them loved you with all their hearts.
Be strong, son. You come from greatness. Use it wisely.
James Potter
Harry swallowed hard, his chest tight. He slipped the rings onto his fingers, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat rising in his cheeks.
“I’ll need access to my vaults,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
“Of course,” the goblin said with a bow.
Harry spent hours in Diagon Alley, outfitting himself with everything he needed—and more. At Ollivanders, he tested wand after wand, none of them quite right, until the old wandmaker disappeared into the back and returned with a dusty box.
“This one isn’t from around here,” Ollivander murmured. “Holly and thunderbird feather, twelve inches. Very temperamental. But… I think it will suit you.”
The moment Harry held it, a surge of power coursed through him. He smiled faintly. “Perfect.”
At the bookshop, Harry purchased everything from advanced magical theory to runes and arithmancy. He bought robes, cloaks, and even a sleek, enchanted broom. For the first time in his life, he felt prepared—not just for school, but for the challenges ahead.
Back at the Dursleys, Harry’s newfound confidence unsettled his relatives. Petunia was the first to confront him, clutching a letter from Gringotts.
“What is this?” she demanded, shaking the parchment. “All this money? Where did you get it?”
Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Inheritance,” he said simply.
Petunia paled. “From who?”
Harry’s gaze was sharp. “From my real mother. The one your sister replaced.”
Vernon spluttered. “Replaced? What—”
“I’m the heir of three of the most powerful families in the wizarding world,” Harry interrupted coldly. “Potter, Black, and Peverell. And you? You’re nothing to me.”
When Vernon started to protest, Harry smirked and let Viresse, his new snake, slither onto the table. The Dursleys recoiled, their faces pale.
“You’re going to leave me alone from now on,” Harry said calmly. “Unless you’d like her to convince you otherwise.”
They didn’t bother him again.
