Truth in Blood
Harry awoke the next morning with the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He had to leave the Burrow. If Ron and Hermione couldn't—or wouldn't—understand what was happening to the world, then he needed to act on his own. The truth of magic's decline was too urgent to ignore, and he couldn't afford any more doubt or distraction.
He packed quietly, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. The Burrow was already bustling with the noise of breakfast preparations, but Harry had no appetite for idle chatter. With his bag slung over his shoulder and his cloak wrapped around him, he stepped out into the morning fog, his heart pounding as he Apparated straight to Diagon Alley—right in front of the looming marble pillars of Gringotts.
The last time he had been here was during the war, when he, Hermione, and Ron had broken in to steal the Horcrux from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. The memory of their chaotic escape, soaring on the back of a wild dragon, was still fresh in his mind. He had expected to feel victorious when it was all over, but now, standing before the imposing bank, there was no satisfaction—only unease.
As Harry approached the steps, two goblins eyed him warily from their posts. They whispered something to each other, their sharp eyes narrowing. The tension in the air was palpable, but Harry didn't falter. He walked up the steps, his gaze steady as he passed through the giant bronze doors. Inside, the polished floors gleamed, and the clinking of gold and jewels echoed through the grand hall.
As he approached one of the tellers, Harry noticed the goblin's sneer. "Back so soon, Potter?" the goblin muttered, barely concealing his disdain. "Thought you'd be banned for what you and your friends pulled last time."
Harry kept his voice calm. "I'm here on official business. It's not about the past. I saved all of us from something worse. I need to speak to my account manager."
The goblin grunted, clearly unimpressed, but after a moment of consideration, he motioned to another goblin standing nearby. "Take him to Valkor."
The goblin who came forward was smaller but just as sharp-eyed. He led Harry deeper into the labyrinth of halls behind the main chamber, where only high-status clients were allowed. They walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached a large wooden door marked with intricate carvings and ancient goblin runes. The goblin knocked once, and a deep voice called from within, "Enter."
The door creaked open, revealing an imposing office with high shelves filled with ancient scrolls and glittering artifacts. Behind a large, obsidian desk sat Valkor, a tall and severe-looking goblin with a long, silver beard and eyes as sharp as blades. His gaze landed on Harry the moment he stepped inside.
"Potter," Valkor said, his voice low and gravelly. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble for us, but it seems you're still of some importance. Sit."
Harry did as instructed, his nerves steeled. He wasn't sure what to expect but had a sense this meeting would change everything.
Valkor eyed him for a long moment, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, sharp dagger. "Before we proceed with any discussion, we must verify your identity through blood magic. Standard procedure for clients like yourself, especially given recent... events."
Harry nodded, his throat dry. He had expected this, but that didn't make the process any less unsettling.
"Your hand," Valkor said, holding out the dagger.
Harry offered his palm, and Valkor made a swift, clean cut across it. Blood dripped onto a parchment on the desk, and immediately, the runes on the paper glowed a dull red. Words began to form, swirling into focus as the blood soaked into the page.
Name: Harry James Potter
Bloodline: Half-blood
Vaults: 4
Vault of money
Vault of books
Vault of weapons
Vault of objects and jewelry
Status: No physical poisons or potions detected.
Mind: Influenced by loyalty to the light, friendship to Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, hate toward dark magic and dark practitioners.
Harry's eyes widened as he read the words. His breath caught when he reached the section about mind influence. Influenced by friendship to Ron and Hermione? He stared at the words, a cold pit forming in his stomach. It felt like betrayal—like he wasn't fully in control of his own choices.
He looked up at Valkor, who was watching him with a knowing gaze. "I'm... poisoned?" Harry asked, his voice low.
Valkor raised an eyebrow. "It's not a physical poison. It's subtle. The kind of magic that can influence one's loyalty and perception. It seems those closest to you have left their mark on your mind, whether intentionally or not."
Harry felt a surge of anger and confusion rise up inside him. He had always trusted Ron and Hermione. They had been through everything together. But to see it written here, that their influence was shaping his very thoughts...
"How do I get it out?" Harry demanded, his jaw clenched.
Valkor leaned back in his chair. "Fortunately for you, the effects have already faded. Whether it was a bond formed in battle or a charm placed long ago, it's been weakening. Your recent decisions, the ones you've made on your own, have likely broken its hold."
Harry felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. He was free. His mind was truly his own again.
Valkor cleared his throat, snapping Harry's attention back to the present. "Now, I assume you didn't come here just to verify your bloodline. What is it you seek?"
Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Magic is dying. The world's magic is fading, and no one seems to be taking it seriously. I've been researching it, and I believe that if we don't act soon, we'll lose everything."
Valkor's expression darkened. The goblin steepled his fingers. "We at Gringotts are aware of the... imbalance. Our records indicate the same. The earth's magic is unraveling, and we goblins have been preparing for such an eventuality. But it is not just wizards who will suffer—it is all magical creatures. We believe the decay began years ago, but it has accelerated since the recent wars."
"Is there anything I can do?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "Anything to stop it?"
Valkor studied him for a long moment before reaching into a drawer and pulling out two ancient-looking books, their covers worn but marked with intricate runes. He placed them on the desk in front of Harry.
"These books hold knowledge long forgotten by most wizards," Valkor said. "They contain information about planetary magic and the flow of life energy through the earth. If anyone is to find a solution, it will be in these."
Harry took the books, their weight heavy in his hands. "Thank you."
"Be warned," Valkor said as Harry stood to leave. "This knowledge may lead you down a path far more dangerous than any you've faced. The forces at work are ancient, older than even goblin-kind."
"I understand," Harry said, though the truth was, he didn't fully. But he had no other choice. He had to act.
Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place later that evening, the weight of the books heavy in his bag. He felt drained, but the conversation with Valkor had filled him with a renewed sense of purpose. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he was getting closer to answers.
The house was dark and quiet as he settled into the library, lighting a small lamp. He pulled out the first book, its pages yellowed with age, and began to read. The language was dense and archaic, but Harry pressed on, determined to uncover the secrets that might save the magical world.
Hours passed, and his eyes began to blur with exhaustion. Eventually, he closed the book and leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. The weight of what he had learned settled heavily on his chest.
Magic was dying, and he might be the only one willing to stop it.
But for now, he allowed himself the luxury of sleep, knowing that tomorrow would bring a new chapter in his quest for answers.