Harry was sitting under the window, with his back to the bed. He was being yelled at for the God-knows-how-manyth time. This time it was about leaving the bathroom door open, although Harry couldn't see what was wrong with doing that. He spaced out and let his mind wander, as he usually did. He always got yelled at for the most trivial things. His uncle finally shouted himself hoarse and stormed away.
Harry then returned to what he was—wait, he wasn't doing anything. Ever since his return from Hogwarts a few weeks ago, he'd gone without much communication from his world where he belonged. And he knew it wasn't Hedwig's fault: he'd had a magical tracker installed on her while he was still at Hogwarts, so he knew exactly where she was at any given minute, and she was perfectly fine.
But, then again, maybe it wasn't the wizarding world's fault that nobody was talking to him. Maybe, just maybe, after Sirius' death, they'd all thought he wanted alone time to brood and recover himself. Well, he didn't like this, that was for sure.
Harry suddenly heard a soft thump against the window; an owl had stopped by. Inside its beak was the Afternoon Prophet. Harry quickly opened the window, took the paper, gave the owl five Knuts, than settled down to read the paper. There was bound to be something interesting, even among all the death and destruction.
Not much, except for that ad for something exciting—but Harry had already had too much experience with that—and a "Discover your Inheritance" article: "Find what's rightfully yours! (results kept strictly secret)." Harry thought, "Maybe other people have left me something when they died, why shouldn't I check?" So Harry tore out the form, filled it out, and sent it on its way with Hedwig.
Then, a week later, it happened.
Harry was just "working" on the impossibly long endless essay on something-so-boring-people-forgot-about-it-while-it-was-happening (who knows how they discovered it again) when a loud bang snapped him out of his stupor. He flinched and began looking around his room for the exploding thing. A strange package wrapped in yellowish purple paper had materialized onto his bedside table. Harry cautiously approached the ugly bundle and began unwrapping it.
Inside was… a smaller box. Inside that, another smaller box.
Eventually, Harry managed to get to the very last box. Inside was nothing but an envelope and a large key inside. Harry turned the envelope over. Taped to it was a note:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Last week, you ordered for your inheritances to be rediscovered for you.
So far, here is all we have found.
It was bequeathed to you by your parents, but was hidden very carefully. Here it is. Use it well.
That was it. No signature, but Harry suddenly felt very chokey in his throat and stumbled to the bathroom. After crying for a while, Harry just couldn't take the suspense anymore, walked back to his room, and eased the envelope open. Inside was a slip of parchment, on which were two words:
Vault 4415
Harry was intrigued by what could possibly be for him in Gringotts vault 4415, and he absolutely had to find out. No matter what he had to do.