Heraclean
The setting sun cast an orange hue over the rooftops of Privet Drive, a few stray beams just managing to filter through the window of the smallest bedroom in Number 4.
Harry was sitting on the carpeted floor of his room, trying to read his potions book from last year. A bit of fading light hit the page he was already struggling to focus on, and he sighed heavily before snapping the offending thing shut and sliding it back under his bed. He replaced it with the Bible from his bedside table, just incase any of the Dursleys decided they had nothing better to do with their time but terrorize him.
He couldn't stop thinking about Sirius, his godfather. It was crazy- no, mind-blowing to think about, and he kept having to convince himself he hadn't made the entire year up. He couldn't help but wonder if Sirius was okay, where he was now, and most importantly: when he would see him again.
Taking a deep breath, he let his head fall back against the wall with a quiet thump, legs crossed with his hands fidgeting in his lap. His thinking was cut short by a tap on his windowsill. He looked up, neck craning, expecting to see Hedwig back from her hunt, but instead saw an unfamiliar barn owl. His pulse spiked, and he backed up on the floor cautiously, slowly steadying himself on his rickety desk as he stood, grabbing his wand.
Was he paranoid? Maybe, but that owl could be from anyone – and he certainly didn't have any shortage of enemies. His mind began to race, thoughts barrelling around and over each other like freight trains on crossing railroads.
Instead of doing something sensible, like not getting closer to the bloody thing, he crept back towards the window and managed to make out that the large owl had a letter in its beak. It tapped impatiently on the window again, talons scuffing against the outer sill.
He could see the sigil on the wax seal; was that Gringotts?
The goblins hadn't seemed very malicious when he had gone to Gringotts with Hagrid in first year, but by God was he not about to take any chances. The owl began tapping its beak against the window again, much louder as it was obviously getting fed up. Harry rushed to open the window – he did not need the sound waking up the Dursleys.
"Okay okay, just stop!" he whispered as he got the window open and let the owl fly in. It flew over to his desk with a hard flap and dropped the letter before unceremoniously flying back out the window with nary another sound. A stray feather twirled to the floor, and Harry could only stand there.
He stared after it as it flew away, wondering why it didn't wait for a reply. What could this letter even be about? He hadn't been to Gringotts since he went with Hagrid, but to be fair he didn't know much about how the magical banking system worked, so how could he really know?
He blinked the stupor from his brain and cautiously walked over to his desk, sitting down before grabbing a broken pencil to break the letter seal with. He carefully opened the letter, and pulled out the parchment paper inside. It was filled with slanted, dark green cursive that he could sort of read, but not really.
The first thing he noticed was that it was addressed to 'Heracles Potter'.
Okay, what?
He read on.
To Heracles Potter,
We at Gringotts were concerned when you failed to arrive for your inheritance test on the day of your 13th coming of age. We have sent numerous notices and reminders to your magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore. As we have received no response or acknowledgment from the Headmaster on this matter, we have sent you this letter stating that you have a meeting to take your inheritance test at Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley, at 8 AM on July 3rd, 1994.
This letter is a portkey that will take you to Gringotts at the aforementioned time, with the activation word 'Gringotts'.
Sincerely, your account manager
Silverclaw.
...
Again, what the bloody hell?
Harry had honestly only understood about five of those words. First of all, Heracles? Was that supposed to be his full name or something? Also, what was an inheritance test? At least he knew what a portkey was, having heard Mr. Weasley explain all the different types of magical travel to him after that Floo incident where he had wound up in Knockturn, of all places.
He folded the letter up, putting it back in the envelope before carefully placing it in a desk drawer. It had said that he had a meeting at Gringotts at 8 AM, and despite the fact that going with no further information—especially without telling anyone—was monumentally unwise, he was probably going anyway. Gryffindor idiocy, as Malfoy or Snape would probably sneer.
He glanced over at his alarm clock: a battered old thing that he had repaired himself, after Dudley had thrown it out of his window one excruciatingly loud morning. It currently read 11:32 PM, meaning he had about 8 and a half hours until that meeting.
Quickly getting ready for bed, hiding away anything magical he had gotten out, he lets himself have a single moment of pause – stopping completely with an uncertain little breath, Harry really tried to process the whole situation. He knew he was being stupid about this, barely even attempting to err on the side of caution before just diving into it headfirst, but- but honestly, he's not sure he knows what else to do. It's almost second nature for him to just ram into whatever new danger comes at him, barreling through until it's done.
He glanced up at the window, the last vestiges of sunset fading behind the rows-upon-rows of suburban hell. Shaking his head, he resigns himself to whatever tomorrow will see fit to bring.
Leaving the window open since Hedwig would probably come back inside before sunrise, he curled up against the wall on his bed, wishing he could be somewhere far away from all this – somewhere soft and quiet, where the blankets weren't threadbare and cold, and the windows didn't have indents where bars used to be.
The silent, duct-taped alarm clock read 6:38 AM, and Harry was extremely thankful that he had woken up before any of the Dursleys. Blearily glancing around the small room, he saw that Hedwig had indeed flown back in during the night, and was preening herself on his desk. Sighing in both drowsiness and anticipation for the day ahead, he made sure to quieten his steps as he got up.
He hurriedly brushed his teeth and tried to tame his impossible hair, before going through everything he owned, trying to find whatever was the most presentable. So far, he'd found a pair of dark slacks from a couple of years ago that were thrown at him after Dudley couldn't fit into them. Dudley had hardly worn them, complaining that the material bothered him, so they were fairly unstained and only slightly baggy on Harry.
His best shirt was this white dress shirt with slightly puffy sleeves; one that actually hadn't come from Dudley, but Aunt Petunia. She had also thrown this at him last year before Hogwarts, saying that they 'couldn't have him looking like a street animal and earning us good normal people a bad reputation', with all of his Dudley-shirts being so stained. He had no idea where it had come from, as he doubted she'd actually bought it for him.
To be honest, it was a bit more of a girlish style than most dress shirts, but given the flamboyant kind of stuff he'd seen some Wizards wearing—Dumbledore immediately came to mind, with his kaleidescope of outfits—it was practically a flannel in comparison.
He threw on the outfit, hoping he didn't completely look like he was playing dress-up, and grabbed the letter out of the envelope. Hedwig hooted at him, and she had that look in her eye, like 'what the bloody hell are you doing?'
Harry actually felt chastized. "Don't look at me like that, I have a meeting at Gringotts…" he muttered, cheeks burning a bit at his owl having such sway over him. Hedwig only glared at him harder.
He huffed, petting her feathers in concession. "I'll be back before they even notice I'm gone, alright?" He didn't even sound convincing to his own ears, and he's pretty sure Hedwig is smarter than him at this point.
She relented, flying over to the windowsill and basking in the pale dawn, pointedly twisting her neck away from him. Harry sighed again.
The clock now read 7:55, and he figured it would be good to arrive a few minutes early. He didn't go to banks—or anywhere that wasn't Hogwarts—that much, but he's pretty sure he's heard Uncle Vernon say something about on time being late – not that he ever wants to do something Vernon Dursley deems acceptable, as that'd end in disaster for all reasonable people of sound mind.
He quickly reviewed the last part of the letter, fingers antsily tapping against the paper as he double checked everything, before he readjusted his grip on the envelope and cast a last, wary glance at his bedroom door.
"Gringotts," he whispered.
Harry stumbled a little, regaining his footing as quickly as he could.
Looking around, he realized that he was in some sort of waiting room. There were no windows, which made him a more than a bit nervous, but the room had the same general look as the entrance of the bank. He had just noticed the large, wooden doors at the front of the room when they began to suddenly open.
He flinched, before realizing it was a goblin. The goblin in question was standing ramrod straight with a scowl that could curdle cream. Harry's eye caught on the glint of a monocle on his left eye and a dagger on the goblin's belt.
The goblin looked him up and down, before nodding and motioning for Harry to follow him. He didn't pause or wait, simply turning around and just walking out. Harry blinked, feeling already overwhelmed at the confusing situation. He wasn't really sure what to do, and the closer he looked, he could make out that the wallpaper in this windowless waiting room was printed with scenes of what was probably supposed to be the goblin wars—based on the amount of gruesome deaths depicted—so he rushed out into the hallway to follow the stranger he'd not spoken a word to with no context.
God, he's making so many smart decisions.
He followed the goblin, still clutching the letter as he looked around, marvelling at all of the gold-framed paintings on the walls. The hallway was all white marble – with plenty of windows, surprisingly. He hadn't seen any windows in his last visit to Gringotts, nor in the room he'd just left. Though, the paintings and walls here had less torturesque depictions, so he wasn't exactly compaining. In retrospect, he realized that waiting room was probably meant to be an intimidation tactic of first impressions.
Huh. Note taken.
He was surprised though, that the goblin hadn't tried to confirm his identity in any way. How did he know where to lead him then? He wasn't going to try and figure out the goblin's reasoning—and he didn't get the impression that he was open to conversation—so he just kept his mouth shut as they approached an even larger set of ornate wooden doors.
The goblin led him to the doors, knocking twice before they swung open. He motioned again for Harry to go inside, before standing off to the side with nary another noise having been made all the while.
"I-... thanks, for guiding me, I think." he said with no small amount of uncertainty, before walking in – and missing the brief look of intrigue on the goblin's face.
He looked around at the empty office: the floor was covered in an intricate red rug, and the walls had a ridiculous amount of weapons and armor just hanging around. Harry walked towards the dark wooden desk across the room, before hesitantly sitting down in the chair on his side of the desk.
He started reading over the letter again as he waited, wondering why no one had ever told him his full name. The Dursleys, he understood: he hadn't even known about the 'Harry' part until he'd started elementary, but Dumbledore surely knew, right? Sirius had to have known, but probably assumed Harry already knew. And, now that he thought about it, why had Dumbledore been ignoring Gringotts's letters? If they sent so many, then surely this test must be important.
He jumped in his seat a little when a door that he hadn't noticed in the back of the room opened, only to reveal another goblin that he assumed must be Silverclaw.
"Greetings, Mister Potter. I am Silverclaw, your account manager." The stern goblin- Silverclaw said as he sat down across from Harry.
"Erm, hello." Harry so eloquently replied. He mentally slapped himself across the face.
Silverclaw did not seem deterred in any way apart from a small raise of his brow, and kept speaking as he eyed Harry critically. "Now Mister Potter, you do know what an inheritance test is, I presume?"
Harry immediately shook his head, which made Silverclaw's eyes widened in surprise. "I see then… well, I'll explain."
"An inheritance test is a magical form of identification that tells you everything about your blood and your inheritance, per the name. It is customary to come take the test once one is 13 years of age, and your guardian should have brought you before now. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you… Mister Potter?"
Harry's eyes widened at that, was it that serious? "No, uhm- sir, I didn't even know that I had a magical guardian until I got your letter-" he stammered out.
He wasn't sure Silverclaw would believe him, but he really hoped he wasn't going to be in any trouble with the bank. They were ridiculously intimidating, which Harry thought was most likely the point.
When Silverclaw processed what Harry had said, his eyes widened even further before his stony mask slipped back into place. "I understand. Excuse me Mister Potter, but I think it would be best if we took your inheritance test now."
Silverclaw then snapped his fingers, sending a blank piece of parchment and an ornate knife flying onto the desk.
Harry's eyes widened at the knife, wondering if he would have to slice open his palm or something. He wasn't really sure how these things worked, but no magic he'd encountered so far required human blood. Well- no magic he'd been purposefully taught, at least.
"If you would, please prick your finger and let three drops of blood fall to the parchment, just in the middle." Silverclaw explained, a slight hint of cautious anticipation in the goblin's tone.
Harry hesitated, not knowing if someone having something with his blood—even just a little from the knife—would be a bad thing. He figured this was probably standard though, since apparently people did this all the time.
Again, he's making so many amazing decisions today.
He reached over and picked up the dagger's golden hilt, before pressing the tip to his finger. He winced a bit at the pain on reflex, before setting the dagger back down on the desk and holding his finger over the parchment – letting three drops hit before he pulled away.
Silverclaw brought out a handkerchief, and wiped the dagger before offering it to Harry.
"Oh, thank you-" he mumbled, again not noticing the double-take Silverclaw gave him. He held the handkerchief to his finger while he watched the parchment soak in the blood. All of the sudden, the red began to spread out, curving into a delicate cursive, and before long the entire page was filled with it.
Silverclaw motioned to the paper, and Harry was beginning to wonder if hand motions were how most goblins preferred to communicate.
He reached over, slowly picked up the paper, and right at the top was Heracles Potter.
He started to read further and promptly got the air punched out of him.
The Blood and Truth of
Heracles Potter
Full Name: Heracles Lilius Potter
-Commonly referred to as 'Harry'
Birthdate: 3: 33 AM, July 31, 1980
Biological Parents:
-----------------Potter, -----------------Evans & -----------------Black
- All deceased as of October 31st, 1981
Means of Birth:
Ancient Ritual by Magic
Godparents:
Sirius Orion Black
- Unlawfully Incarcerated
Pandora Lynesse Lovegood
- Deceased as of November 10th, 1990
Available Titles:
Potter Heirship & Lordship
Black Heirship & Lordship
Vaults:
Potter Main Vault (1,040,216 Galleons, 6 Sickles, & 14 Knuts)
Black Main Vault (4,434,536 Galleons, 7 Sickles, & 28 Knuts)
Properties:
Potter Manor (destroyed)
Godric's Hollow (destroyed)
Black Manor (in stasis)
12 Grimmauld Place (recently used)
Artifacts:
Slytherin Locket (in 12 Grimmauld Place)
Cloak of Invisibility
Various Family Artifacts and Heirlooms
Patents & Stocks:
70% of Sleekeazy's Hair Potions
-Product invented by Fleamont Charlus Potter, previously owned by James Fleamont Potter
Spells & Compulsions:
Horcrux (by Tom Marvolo Riddle on October 31, 1981 - destroyed via basilisk venom on May 22, 1993)
Magical Core (50% Blocked)
Blood Glamour (by Albus Dumbledore)
Harry looked down at the parchment – that innocuous, bloody piece of parchment. This changed everything. His entire life was a lie.