The Package
June 30th 1995
Surrey, England
Harry had to be the only teenager in the world that despised the summer holidays with a burning passion.
Even before he went to Hogwarts, school always meant a reprieve from the Dursley's for 8 hours a day, five days a week, and despite having no friends, it was bliss.
For so many years, school had represented the possibility of escape. He'd had no illusions that the Dursley's would tolerate his presence a second after he turned 18, which made university his only option. If he studied hard enough, he could get a scholarship to some school far from the Dursley's abuse. However, the Dursley's couldn't tolerate the thought of their freak of a nephew being smarter than their darling Dudley.
Luckily, Harry had always known when to pick his battles.
Those grades didn't matter, no university would look back on his second grade math test and ask why he'd failed. But in the year before he went to Hogwarts, Harry had scored in the top 10% in the nation for both his 11+ exams in October, and his SAT's later that June. Harry wasn't stupid, he just knew when to prioritize his pride, and when to sacrifice it for more important things.
Then Hogwarts happened, and Harry was swept away by the fantasy of a secret magical community that he was apart of. After all, if magic was capable of all of these wonderful things, then there would be no sickness nor famine, neither racism nor cruelty. No little boys forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs.
Yeah, he should have known better.
After all, magic was merely an incredibly powerful tool in the hands of humans, and humans were rarely kind.
That's not to say he didn't love the magical word, his friends, and Hogwarts, but it wasn't the safe haven Harry originally thought it to be.
This new world had its own problems, and in his darker moments, Harry questioned if maybe Voldemort was right, and was just going about it in the wrong way. After soon-to-be three major wars, in less than a century, all about the same bullshit racist ideology? It wasn't difficult to wonder if maybe the problem was the Ministry. The prejudice was too ingrained, rooted too deep, that maybe the only way forwards was to tear it down, and start again.
(Of course, this is usually when Harry would pull himself back, and remind himself that was probably what every future Dark Lord thought, and Harry had no desire to add Dark Lord to his list of names.)
Still, it hadn't taken Harry long to recognize the role that had been laid out for him, by both Dumbledore, the Ministry, and the general populaces expectations of how the 'Boy Who Lived' should behave. Harry knew that to resist would mean returning to the Dursley's, if he was lucky, and possibly death or something equally unpleasant.
But cooperation was no longer an option.
Voldemort wanted his head on a spike, and since Harry had no intentions of going quietly, that meant the Golden Boy had to go.
At 11 years old, Harry had assumed the role of mediocre, brash Gryffindor Golden Boy, as the lesser or two evils. He let himself be manipulated, tested, never retaliated against Snape's abuse, nor the Slytherin's childish taunts. He fought the Dark Lord, slayed the giant snake, saved the girl, sacrificed a life of living with someone who loved him, knowing that they would hunt Sirius relentlessly if they thought he had 'kidnapped' their darling Boy Who Lived. He'd fought in the stupid death tournament, nearly been fried by a dragon, drowned in the lake, and killed in the maze, only to watch a friend die, and be forced to witness his parents murderer be resurrected with his blood.
And still... The Ministry refused to see what was in front of their faces.
They would deny Voldemort's return, call him crazy, drag his name through the mud, but their cowardice would cost innocent lives. But they didn't care, because war wasn't good for reelection campaigns.
Much like the Dursley's, who wouldn't tolerate their freak of a nephew showing up their darling Duddikins, the magical world, and especially the Ministry, would not tolerate a savior who thought for themselves.
It had been very clear that no one wanted to teach him how to fight, despite him nearly dying every year, but he'd have thought Voldemort returning would change that.
No such luck.
The drive back from London was so tense, Harry was tempted to make a snarky comment, just so he could see Vernon's head explode. The tension almost exploded when Vernon reached to take his trunk, and nearly recoiled at the barely tethered rage and hatred he saw in Harry's green eyes. Harry isn't sure if Vernon would have been stupid enough to push him, had Petunia not fearfully gripped Vernon's arm.
"Go upstairs. Now" Petunia grit out, and Harry stalked up the stairs, dragging his trunk noisily behind him, just to grate on their nerves, then slammed his door closed behind himself. Harry was seconds from face planting into his godforsaken uncomfortable bed, when he saw the box on his desk.
It was a small rectangular box, maybe six inches by three inches, wrapped in plain brown paper, a small roll of parchment attached to the top, crisp and unwrinkled, but oddly yellowed. Harry would almost think it was something from the Dursley's if they had ever been inclined to give him anything in his life, besides a boatload of trauma.
Warily, Harry dropped his trunk, and slipped his wand out of his pocket, approaching the innocent looking parcel as if it were a dragon.
Up close, he poked the package with the tip of his wand, almost expecting it to explode, but it didn't, so Harry warily set his wand down, and unwrapped the twine to read the letter.
And only a few sentences into the letter, Harry lost all the feeling in his legs, and found himself slowly sliding to the ground, the letter held delicately in his fingers, as if it might crumble to dust in his grip.
Dearest Harry,
If you're reading this, all of our plans have gone to shit, and neither I nor your father were there to see you grow up. I can't tell you how sorry I am, but I can only hope that you grew up into the strong, independent, intelligent young man I'd always known you'd become. I hope you've lived a joyful and peaceful life full of mischief and love and happiness. Hopefully, Voldemort is deader than dirt, and the only war you'll be waging is in Quidditch.
But, just in case the worst has happened, I've prepared you the best I can.
Firstly, Dumbledore seems sure that Voldemort is out to kill you. Of course, he's short on explanations, which is typical, but if its true... I've left you my collection, all my research, and my best creations. You'll find everything, including my grimoire, in my vault. Go forth and create chaos, my Little Mischeif.
Secondly, I, the youngest Charms Mistress in 300 years, was offered an spot in the Department of Mysteries. They told me I was talented 'despite my upbringing'. I told them to piss off, I refuse to work for a system that will always look down on me for my blood. Do not ever let someone tell you that your worth less than anyone else, or treat you as less. Be as bold and outrageous as you want, the people that matter will stick by you.
Hopefully by now the Ministry has changed, but I'm not holding out hope.
Which brings me to the last reason I did all this: Dumbledore.
When it comes down to it, he's a politician, and its always about the bigger picture with him. Right on the brink of the War, Voldemort started reaching out to the Werewolf Packs, and Dumbledore spontaneously decides to let Remus, the first and only werewolf, attend Hogwarts in almost 200 years.
Coincidence, I think not.
I don't want to think about the political power he'd have with you. Not only as Heir Potter, but Dumbledore seems certain Voldemort will see you as a threat. Harry, I want you to take what you learn here, and go out into the world knowing three very vital lessons.
- If something is wrong in the world, it is not your responsibility to correct it, its a choice. Make sure every choice you make is one that you can live with, but do not let yourself be pressured.
- Question everything. Your failures will teach you, learn from them and they will make you stronger. Keep bettering yourself, and don't worry what the masses think.
- Survive at all costs. I hope to not see you in the afterlife for many years.
My darling boy, I love you more than life itself, nothing will change that. I hope that this is all for nothing, but I can't bank your future on hope.
Love you always,
Mom
Harry is not ashamed to admit that he buried his head in his knees and cried his eyes out, biting down on the end of his hand to try and keep the noise from reaching the Dursley's.
By the time his sobs had tapered down, Harry chest burned, his eyes felt like sandpaper, and his throat felt like he'd swallowed glass.
A soft clanging sound made him look up, and he saw the box hovering slightly, as if someone were trying to levitate it.
Shock. Despair. Rage.
The box had not moved more than a foot when something inside of him shifted.
Like most muggle raised students, Harry had grown up with the constant hum of electricity all around him. When he went to Hogwarts, he couldn't pinpoint what had been missing. Hermione had figured it out, pointing out that as something that was always just there, they hadn't noticed it until it was gone.
This was both like that, and yet, the complete opposite.
Like the constant hum of electricity, the crackle of magic under his skin had been with him even longer. His years at Hogwarts had taught him how to sense and even direct that crackle, but it had always been this calm and soothing presence under his skin.
It wasn't a crackle now, it was a roar.
Harry felt electrified, the gentle whoosh in his chest turning to a livewire, and making his hair stand up on end, his pulse pound in his head, and his eyes burn like they had been replaced with coals.
And then the energy crested, overflowing, exploding, and suddenly the world was awash in color.
Harry stood in a nebulas of color, blues and greens and gold, with a rainbow of other colors tying into it, more beautiful than anything Harry had ever seen, had it not been for the black veins diminishing it. But like ying and yang, for every black vein created, another was destroyed.
The more Harry noticed the black, the spiderweb thin lines hiding in the brilliance of the mosaic, old lines that were never truly burned out, the more his scar screamed in pain.
Seconds felt like hours as the mosaic burned bright enough to blind him, energy chasing out all but the most persistent black roots, and the more black that vanished, the brighter the colors shone. By the time he'd collected himself, it was so thick that Harry couldn't see anything beyond it, just inches of color and energy separating Harry from the real world.
Then, his eyes adjusted, and suddenly the mosaic had expanded, his room was awash in golden light, his window shattered, and the thread connecting the box to the figure outside his window snapped. The box floated into Harry's hands, hitting his palms with a dull thud, and glowing green eyes narrowed on the familiar face of his ex Professor, though this man had never actually taught Harry anything, standing outside his window.
Somehow Harry knew that he was wearing an invisibility cloak, but Harry could see him anyway.
"Moody, that doesn't belong to you" Harry said, and at first Harry didn't recognize his voice, as it sounded smooth and melodic, in a way he'd never been.
"Merlin's balls, Albus, you never mentioned this" the grizzled wizard grunted under his breath, too quiet for Harry to normally hear.
"Why are you here?" Harry demanded, and Moody disaperated with a crack.
There was a slight fizzing sound, and suddenly it felt as if someone had taken a bat to the side of his head. Moody gave a startled yell as he reappeared in the exact same spot, only to richochet off of an invisible barrier, and be launched several feet back, skidding painfully along the grass, before sliding to a stop, firmly unconscious.
"Whoa" someone gasped, running to Moody's side.
As fast as it had come, the lightning was gone, fading back to a soft crackle under his skin, though now that Harry had felt it, he couldn't mistake it for anything else.
Another familiar face looked up at him, another ex Professor, though seeing this one hurt more than Harry had expected.
"Harry," Remus looked the same as he had two years ago, when he vanished from Harry's life as fast as he'd entered it "the gift could be a trap" Remus cautioned, and Harry tried to hold back the usual wave of bitterness and anger.
"Leave," Harry grit his teeth, feeling raw from reading his moms letter "its what your best at, anyway" Harry said spitefully, and hurt filled Remus' eyes.
But fuck that.
Harry had spent years getting beaten down by the Dursley's because Remus had abandoned him as a child, he'd largely ignored Harry for the year he'd taught him, and hadn't contacted him since. Now he thought he could lurk outside Harry's window? Spy on him? Watch him suffer through the grief and pain of seeing Cedric die? Then make him feel guilty for calling him on his shit?
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
"Harry, I-" Remus started, and Harry picked up the broken clock on his nightstand and threw it at the werewolf's head.
"Go!" Harry yelled, the electricity in his veins spiking, making the lights in his room flicker, and Remus silently knelt down, touching Moody, then the two wizards disappeared with another crack.
It was only once they were gone that Harry realized his glasses were shattered, but he'd seen them crystal clear. Not only that, but his walls still glowed softly, thin as gossamer, but there.
What the hell had happened to him?
The box from his mother looked unassuming, but once Harry opened the paper, he saw that the inside of the paper was covered in runes, some Harry recognized from his reading, but most looked far too complex for Harry to bother trying to decipher.
The box itself was made of cherry wood, the lid inlayed with golden lilies, and it practically glowed like a beacon to Harry's new sight. On the hinge, there was a rune that looked like a giant knot, but when Harry tried to open it, the rune unraveled, and it opened easily.
The inside was rather anticlimactic, polished wood, with a simple gold key, hardly discernable any other, had Harry not recognized it as a Gringotts key.
Despite not being the idiot everyone thought he was, Harry was still impulsive sometimes.
(Also, he was still pissed off that Dumbledore had people spying on him)
So, as soon as Harry recognized the key, he was moving. He pulled the enchanted messenger bag from the secret compartment in his trunk, where he kept his most treasured items, such as his Firebolt, his invisibility cloak, the marauders map, and his parents photo album.
And then he was gone.
Harry threw his summer cloak on, tossing up the hood, and was out the door in a flash, ignoring Vernon's roaring demanded to know what the racket had been. Harry barely checked that no one was watching before he summoned the Knight Bus. The entire ride to Diagon Ally passed in a blur, and not just because of the bus didn't know the meaning of a speed limit.
He earned a couple looks due to wearing a cloak in the middle of the afternoon, but not as many as if people saw Harry Potter, recent Triwizard Champion and raving lunatic, according to the Ministry.
As soon as he stepped into the ally, it took all his willpower not to throw up everything in his stomach, as the world spun in a psychedelic cascade of color. It wasn't just the people, the shops, or the merchandise, the very air here radiated magic, distorting Harry's vision like he was trying to look through a dense cloud of fog.
Slowly, the colors faded, until Harry could ignore them enough to stumble his way towards Gringotts, where the goblins took one look at his face, even under the cloak, and did a small double take.
Since the goblins had never given a flying fuck who he was, Harry could only assume that they sensed whatever was going on with him, and it surprised them.
"Next" the teller barked, and Harry walked up, and handed over the key.
"I need access to this vault" Harry said, and the goblin looked up at Harry, his face twisted into a sneer, only to falter, the same way the guards had, at his face.
"Please sign this, then follow Ripthroat to Vault 1256" the teller said, signing a piece of parchment, then turning it to Harry.
Harry read it carefully, but it was rather straightforward, it was just an acknowledgment that Harry on todays date had presented the key to Vault 1256, and was claiming its contents, and any associated monies, artifacts, properties, or inheritances, in accordance to the Will and Last Testament of Lily Evans.
Harry signed it, and it was only when he did that he realized that the words were glowing slightly. The letter disappeared, and before Harry could question it, he was being led down a series of hallways to the carts.
After a dizzying trip down to the vault, Harry wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't what awaited him.
Harry knew that his mom and aunt grew up comfortably middle class, and his mom died young, so he wasn't expecting the mountain of gold that sat in his own vault.
And yet, when the vault opened, Harry was faced with more gold than he'd ever seen in his own vault.
Harry hadn't done the exact math, but he knew he had roughly 500,000 galleons in his trust fund, and since the average conversion rate was 1 galleon to 5 pounds, meaning he had roughly 2.5 million pounds sitting in his vault.
This had to be twice that amount, maybe more, and most of the vault wasn't even reserved for money. There were rows upon rows of bookshelves, full to bursting with more books than Harry had ever seen outside the Hogwarts library. Shelves full of potions equipment, including a green glowing storage cabinet full of ingredients, antique furniture, a cabinet of antique dishes, and several trunks of who-knew-what. At the center was a large work table, engraved in runes, and covered in more books. Racks of weapons stood to the side, each of them glowing garnet red at the core, but branching off into different colors.
"What. The. Hell. My mother was only 21 when she died, where did all this come from?" Harry muttered, and Ripthroat gave a terrifying smile.
"Your mother was one of the brightest entrepreneurs we've seen in decades. She opened this vault at 13, and accomplished much in her years. Those inventions and investments continued to pay off" Ripthroat said, and Harry swallowed thickly.
No one had ever told him anything about his mom besides the fact he had her eyes, and it made him angry to think that the woman who could create all this in just a few short years could be reduced to one characteristic.
His mom had been a genius, a one of a kind witch, and the world was less without her in it.
"This is going to take a while" Harry said, as he head for the worktable, and found a dragon hide bound book, dark red, inlaid with gold in the image of a bouquet of lilies.
When Harry picked it up, his fingers stung as the surge of power that rushed through him, the runes on the hide shifted and swam under his eyes, and the cover unlatched by itself.
"There is also the matter of her properties" Ripthroat said, pointing to three frames on one of the shelves, which Harry realized were deeds.
"Such an overachiever, mom" Harry couldn't bite back his smile as he looked around at his moms accomplishments.
"Would you like to schedule an appointment with the Evans Account Manger?" Riptroat asked, and Harry nodded.
"Yes. When are they free?" Harry asked, and Ripthroat held up a roll of parchment, which he had not been holding before.
"Richard Clark is the CEO of Evans & Clark Holdings, which is based in New York City. Unless you can go to him, it will be several weeks before he'll be available" Ripthroat said, and Harry was momentarily distracted by the deeds mounted to the wall in front of him.
'The Ghost Terrace', 460 63rd St South, New York, New York.
'Petal Cottage', 12 Huckleberry Lane, Hogsmeade, Scotland.
'Lily's Pad', 46 Constellation Drive, London, England.
'unnamed', 1 Montgomery Drive, British Columbia, Canada.
Harry didn't know how to feel.
Lily Evans had left her mark on the world, despite all the setbacks and obstacles she probably faced as a middle class muggleborn. She used her intelligence, her cunning, and her bravery to trailblaze her way through life, and no one talked about it. They ignored her existence, as if her life started the minute she married his dad.
And she gave up everything, all her potential, her intelligence, her life, to save Harry.
How could he ever live up to that?
"How do I access these properties?" Harry asked, his voice choked, and Ripthroat flipped through his parchment,
"The ward key was placed in an anchor, most Houses tie them to the Lord Ring, if they have one, or a particularly important family heirloom. It should be somewhere here" Ripthroat said, and Harry cleared his throat.
"You can go if you want, I'll probably be here for a few hours" Harry said, and Ripthroat eyed him shrewdly for a moment, before giving a sharp nod and existing the vault.
It didn't take Harry long to find that despite his initial impression, the vault was very well organized.
All the money was to the left in piles, the workstation in the center, with the racks of weapons behind it, and then the bookcases, potions cabinets, and shelves formed isles to the right of the vault. Then in the front of the room was six standard trunks, they were bigger on the inside, but nothing outrageous. Most of them contains clothes, more books, and other odds and ends, but when he focused on them, they glowed oddly to Harry's sight.
It was when Harry took a closer look at each trunk that he realized that they were numbered with magic, from 1 to 6. The same cherry wood as the box that the key had been in, so, now even more curious, Harry lined them all up.
Something was still missing, so Harry pulled out the aforementioned key box, and placed it last.
It happened so fast, he wouldn't have even noticed if it weren't for his new sight.
The magic blended together like a kaleidoscope, and suddenly there was only a single trunk, cherry wood, the lid engraved with lilies, and glowing like it was containing a nuclear reactor.
"Holy shit, mom" Harry pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until the glow began to dim.
When Harry looked back, Harry opened it, and found a removable tray containing a plethora of jewelry. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and several other stones he didn't know the names of. There were earrings, necklaces, rings, and bracelets, all of them glowed unlike anything Harry had seen today.
Harry had noticed that peoples magic was always moving and changing, it flowed like water, shifting colors on a whim, one second as thick a fog, and the next all but indiscernible. But magical objects, even buildings, were all the same, they stayed the same color, didn't move much, and remained the same thickness.
Oddly, the only exception to this was his cloak, and now these.
Harry lifted the trays of jewels out of the trunk, three layers in he found only raw gems, and on the last, and seventh (Harry was sensing a theme) he found the greatest treasure he'd ever seen.
Harry found a pensive at the bottom of one of them, and a box, no bigger than a briefcase, which unfolded to reveal hundreds of vials filled with silvery liquid, which was more priceless than any amount of gold or old books could possibly be.
There was also several photo albums, his birth certificate, both magical and muggle, a few baby mementos, a single book, and a pair of earrings. Simple square emerald studs in yellow gold, they were by no means plain, but compared to the pieces he'd found above, they weren't impressive.
That is, if you couldn't see the magnitude of power radiating off these emeralds.
Harry carefully took everything out, and sat in a circle of them for several minutes, not sure where to start.
Deciding it would be best to save the memories until he could view them somewhere where he could break down in peace, Harry picked up the book, hoping that there would be more information in there about what the hell he was supposed to do now.
Now, Harry was by far not the only student he knew to routinely fall asleep during History of Magic, but after pouring through his moms journals, Harry figured if she'd lived, Lily Potter would have made one hell of a History Professor.
History had never been his forte, he was too restless for that, but he knew the basics regarding the formation of Magical Britain.
Basically, the Pendragon's were killed, the muggles tried to take over, the Statue was created, and Magical Britain lived happily ever after.
Yeah, nothing was ever that simple.
His mom had written a whole ass book breaking down pureblood supremacy, how it had evolved through history, and the effects would continue to effect Magical Society for generations to come. She had been intending to publish it after the war, but never got the chance.
It started, as most things with Modern History, with King Arthur's death, or, more specifically, with how Merlin reacted to King Arthur's death.
(Centuries later, even Harry had heard the rumors that the 'bond' between the two legendary figures wasn't as platonic as historians claimed)
In the aftermath of Arthur's death, Queen Guinevere discovered she was pregnant, but, as was common in that age, underwent a miscarriage. She would have lost the baby if it weren't for Merlin. No one is entirely sure how he did it, a theme with Merlin, but he bound his own lifeforce to the baby. Merlin hardly strayed from Guinevere's side for the rest of her pregnancy, and when Prince Jonathan was born, he was born with glowing golden eyes.
Every child of Pendragon blood would be born with these signature golden eyes from that point forewords, until the line was killed in 1687, only two years before the creation of the Statue of Secrecy and the formation of the Wizengmont.
While muggle England had been conquered in 410, magical Albion had rallied behind Jonathan, who, with Merlin's help, had created the first Wizard Space, where Camelot was located. By the time of his death in 437, Jonathan had won the trust and allegiance of magical society, who had continued to be weary of the Pendragon line for many years.
You would be hard-pressed to live in the magical world and not encounter Wizarding Space, which was the way Wix, the gender-neutral term for wizards and witches, made something bigger than it appeared.
Magical land was Wizard Space, tied to a bloodline with forgotten and forbidden magic, so when the bloodline died out, the land simply vanished. Geographically, it was like there were two layers of the United Kingdom on top of each other, except one was much bigger than the other, and the bloodlines were the pillars holding the bigger land up. As they vanished, the whole system began to crumble.
Hogwarts was Pendragon Land, but it had been gifted to the People of Albion by Olivia Pendragon, under the guardianship of the Founders, and so it was the only Crown land not to vanish when the Pendragon's died out.
The 'United Kingdom', as muggles know it, was created in 1801 when Ireland became part of the UK, a century after the Statue went into effect. However, Scotland, Wales and Ireland had been sworn to the Pendragon lines centuries before
But then, the Pendragon line went extinct, and to this day, Magical Britain currently had no active ruler.
With the Pendragon line inactive, either fully wiped out or reduced to squibs, the magical parts of Wales, Scotland and Ireland had declared independence, they were allies of Magical Britain, but they didn't answer to the British Minister of Magic.
And with the Pendragon line went extinct, the muggle royalty attempted to take over, to which all of Albion promptly lost their shit over.
Not surprising.
Shortly after a brief but bloody war, the Statue of Secrecy was created, along with the Wizengmont, which replaced the Magic Council that had been in place since Queen Guinevere's rule.
And this is where Lily had explained why it was called Magical Britain, not Magical United Kingdom.
Which brought us back to the Wizengmont, and why the hell this had anything to do with blood supremacy.
The Statue of Secrecy wasn't just a law, it was a highly complex spell, which wiped all knowledge of magic from muggle history, erasing millions of muggles memories, and practically rewriting reality.
But this spell was tied to the Nobles, more specifically, the Wizengmont Chamber, which quite literally sprouted from the ground with the creation of the Statue. The Chamber contained seven levels of nobility, totaling 300 seats.
And each of those 300 seats powered the magic that held up the Statue.
Magical society, Harry had discovered, really liked the number seven, because there was 7 layers to the Wizengmont.
Knights, Barons, Viscounts, Earls, Marquises, Dukes, and the Throne. The fact that the Throne had been left open, lead many of them to believe that one of them was a descendent of the Pendragons, which would lead to another round of bloodshed and blood feuds.
Post Separation, none of the existing Nobles could claim the Throne, no one knew who the surviving Pendragon was. And, as expected, once the Nobles adjusted to the new status quo, greed set in, and the magical aristocracy decided they didn't fancy sharing their newfound power. After all, the more empty seats there were? The more sway their own votes had, and the better for them.
Yeah, that's what they thought, but between Grindewald, Voldemort, and the Pureblood's tendency to inbreed, causing all sorts of fertility issues? The nobles started dropping like flies, and within 300 years, there went from 39 Duke's to 17.
This emphasis on bloodline was the root of blood supremacy, but despite some discrimination, it was never a major problem, in fact muggleborns were pretty uncommon, and more often than not would be Sponsored by a House, and married into a magical family in order to bring in new blood.
And then the Statue of Secrecy.
As magical and muggle culture began to separate, the divide between wixborn and muggleborn began to widen. Harry hadn't even known the magical world had its own religion, but when Muggleborns started trying to change things, as most things regarding religion tended to do, it got messy.
Purebloods stopped marrying outside their circles, infertility skyrocketed, more and more bloodlines went extinct, Family's started losing their Gifts, and not being able to access the Family Magick, and things, as his mother described, went to shit in a handbasket.
The muggleborns began to outnumber the wixborn, and this is where the belief that muggleborns stole magic came from. Lily had theorized that it was actually coming from the increase in squibs that were thrown into the muggle world.
So, on top of this new divide, the Statue was getting weaker, as less and less Lords were being sworn into the Wizengmont. Suddenly muggles weren't forgetting what they were seeing, and this caused a lot of clean up for the Ministry. And this caused even more tension between wixborn and muggleborn, as wixborn saw the muggleborn as a threat to their continued secrecy.
And that, Lily explained, was how blood supremacy evolved from familial pride to genocide.
Hours later, Ripthroat returned to find Harry in that same circle, the emerald earrings firmly in his ears, and several books had been added to Harry's pile on the floor.
"Have you found what you were looking for?" the goblin asked, and Harry snapped the book shut carefully, his eyes troubled as he considered the question.
"No, but I think this is enough for today" Harry said, his jaw clenched, and got to his feet.
It took a few short moments for Harry to pack everything he would be taking with him into the trunk that he had found underneath the workbench. Much like Alastor Moody's trunk, it had a ladder that descended into a living space, with (you guessed it) seven rooms: a library, a greenhouse, a potions lab, a dueling ring, a 3 bedroom apartment, a armory, and a vault.
(Inside the vault was the box his key had come in, now holding only a few pieces of his mom's collection, the other six trunks remained unassuming looking in the vault)
Harry exited the trunk, everything in place, and tapped the lid with a finger. The magic danced in front of his eyes, his earrings glowed briefly, and the trunk vanished.
"Impressive magic" Ripthroat said, and Harry held his chin up high.
"My mothers creation" Harry smiled proudly, and followed the goblin back to the surface.