Harry Potter and the Greater Path
Summer of 1993, Diagon Alley, London, England
Having spent the last week in Diagon Alley, and by now feeling quite bored during the later parts of the days, a young thirteen year old boy by the name of Harry Potter had just finished reading a book on the history of older wizarding families, amongst them his own. Having read of such things as family vaults and the treasures contained within, Harry made his way to Gringotts, to enquire with the Goblins as to whether or not his family still had such a vault.
Upon entering the bank, he approached the tellers, and made his request. A goblin shortly arrived to guide him once more into the depths of Gringotts, in a roller-coaster ride even more spectacular than riding his Nimbus Two Thousand in the middle of a Quidditch match. The ride lasted much longer than his first one had, but he was still quickly delivered to a vault door. The goblin who had brought him down directed him to place his hand upon the door, and if he was truly a member of the Potter family it would open for him, but he would only be allowed to go inside to look, not remove anything – that would wait for his fifteenth birthday, and he would not be able to gain full control of the vault until he reached his senior majority, at the age of twenty one.
Harry nodded, and placed his hand on the door. A brief pinch later, which had him wince from the unexpected nature of it rather than the pain, and the door swung open. A tapestry hung from the short ceiling, neatly blocking the view of the rest of the vault, and Harry eagerly drank in what was clearly his lineage. It looked like his family had stretched back beyond the birth of Christ, and if some of the names where correct, from the rise of the Roman Empire. He stepped into the vault and past the tapestry, and gaped at the heaped piles of gold, the shelves crammed full of scrolls and books, racks of swords, spears, bows and other weapons and armour, chests filled to the brim with jewellery.
A small pedestal held a couple of tattered books, their bindings cracked with age and use, and a bracer of some dimly shiny metal. Stepping up to the pedestal, Harry grinned when he noticed one had several titles on the front, ranging through a number of languages until it's latest, which simply read "Grimoire of the Potter's". The other book seemed to be a treatise on ancient magical species, while the bracer had some elegantly flowing lines of text and decoration on it, but nothing that Harry recognised from his, admittedly not great, knowledge.
Harry ran his hand over the spell book briefly, before regretfully turning his back on the pedestal, sweeping the vault with one last gaze before he left it, and headed back to the surface. He would spend the rest of the summer at the Leaky Cauldron, exploring the rest of the Alley, content with the knowledge that he would be able to come back on his fifteenth birthday to claim the grimoire, and anything else that caught his eye.
Of course, being the Boy-Who-Lived, things didn't go exactly according to plan...
Some plot bunnies just never die. This one... this one is such a one. It's gonna have a couple of references to a work by an author by the name of DisobedienceWriter, namely in relation the the Potter Grimoire and it's contents. The rest of it...
Don't know when I'll write more... just wanted to get his off my chest.