Gringotts

It took us nearly two weeks to collect the money for the inheritance test. Gellert's assets would be unavailable to us until his other self died, Barty had nothing but the clothes on his back, and Tom needed to go through the same channels as I did to access any of his wealth. It was decided that I would take my inheritance test first, as Tom did not know how much gold if any was left in the Slytherin account.

(His goal, in that case, was being recognized as Lord Slytherin).

I'd asked about that, since it seemed odd that he wouldn't know how much money he had, and found out that he'd been denied access in his previous life because he wasn't a pureblood. Harry had apparently informed him he would, upon being reborn, be a viable heir since Harry had decided to 'make' him a pureblood to enable him to pass himself off as his own grandson, if necessary. (Because there was no way Voldemort would even consider someone with less than pure blood as worthy of bearing his child). Even Dumbledore would be forced to recognise he wasn't Voldemort if he passed such an ancient test of purity.

I asked him when Harry had found the time to tell him that and was surprised to learn that Harry had spoken to both Tom and Gellert individually while speaking to me using some Master-of-Death power neither of them knew anything about. I wasn't magically capable enough yet to see through the glamour of sorts that made it possible, so I'd been none the wiser.

In retrospect, it made a great deal of sense. There was no way Tom or even Gellert would have sat quietly down to listen to Harry speak any way else.

So Tom went out, being the only one both with a wand and a face no one in Germany, 1991 would recognize, to scavenge for supplies. He stole enough muggle money to buy food, which was our main concern due to the fact that most other things could be conjured or transfigured, and was unbelievably lucky enough to stumble across a wizard who he quickly divested of his purse and wand, and sent on his way with a quick obliviate.

By the time he got back to the prison, we had enough food to last us a few days if eaten sparingly, wizarding money to the amount of six galleons, nine sickles, and three knuts, and some spare change in the form of muggle currency. The stolen wand was given to Barty, and from then on it was him that went out, to buy more food and filch money whenever possible. If there weren't enough wizards around to outfit us with galleons, we'd just need to steal enough muggle money to cover the fee after conversion.

When Barty was at home, I was permitted to borrow the stolen wand to begin lessons with Tom and Gellert with the goal that by the time I got my own wand, I'd be able to cast a few spells on my own. They were both insistent on teaching me as much magic as possible before we attended our first year at Hogwarts which I had no objection to.

So we passed the time with lessons when the stolen wand was available, and reading when it wasn't. We ate simple meals I'd thrown together with what we had, and then the time came that Tom, with a triumphant smirk on his face, announced that, after nearly two weeks practically imprisoned in the bowels of Nurmengard, we had enough.

We had enough muggle money when paired with Tom's initial bounty off the one and only wizard we'd come across to equal the precise amount of one hundred and twenty-seven galleons, sixteen sickles, and twenty-six knuts. The inheritance test I was to take, being the most thorough one available that could trace one's lineage back even to ancient times, such as when Circe ruled in Greece, cost one hundred and twenty galleons to take. It was the reason no one ever bothered with it; a hundred and twenty galleons on a test that could in all likelihood yield no profit?

No, I didn't think so.

Of course, most people didn't have the Master-of-Death's personal assurance that they were heir apparent to an extremely wealthy line, which was precisely what I had before he'd made me his heir to the title of Gryffindor. To Gringotts, then, we would go.

We had planned the trip meticulously. We couldn't just waltz into Diagon Alley expecting no one to recognize Gellert or even Tom. If we had been reincarnated as children, we'd have had little enough difficulty. As it was, we all looked exactly as we had in the Void, meaning that there was an unfortunate chance that Gellert or Tom might be recognized. Barty had a similar problem, though one exacerbated by the fact that he was a more recent graduate of Hogwarts and might bump into some of his peers.

Our respective ages were the main problem; in the Void, you were not exclusively represented as you were in the instant in which you died but rather as you were at one or another period of particular significance in your life. I looked the same age as I'd been when I died when I appeared in the Void, only for whatever bizarre reason my hair was as long as it had been when I was a little girl.

Gellert appeared as he had been, he confided in me one day as we thumbed through the library in his lair, the day he procured the Elder Wand from Gregorovitch. He'd been fortunate, he mused, that the triumph he had felt then was stronger than the despair he'd felt when he was left to rot in the darkness of his cell. Otherwise, he might very well have appeared as his older, defeated self.

Tom was himself as he had been working at Borgin and Burkes, of all things, because the satisfaction he had felt upon acquiring the locket that was his family heirloom was the last time he had felt anything so strongly before he split his soul again and was no longer human enough for any of his later years to count. The latter reasoning was conjecture on my part, but the rest Tom had told me himself while we waited for Barty to come back with food.

The problem was that Tom looked nineteen, I looked twenty, and Gellert looked twenty-three. Not particularly appropriate for first years at Hogwarts. Gellert said it was nothing to worry about; Harry had told him that things would be sorted out once I had access to my vaults. Until then, though, we needed to be careful.

Three children were unlikely to be looked twice at, even less suspected as Dark Lords, and growing older within sight of the public would cement the idea that we were just that - normal children. Three adults, one of which looked suspiciously similar to a long-defeated dark lord and another which some might recognize as the charming young man who had worked in Knockturn Alley could easily be subject to scrutiny.

We would go to Diagon Alley and head directly for Gringotts; the bank was neutral ground we would be safe on, so we could take our time investigating the contents of our respective vaults. We'd collect money for supplies, and see what properties, if any, we owned that we could move into immediately.

First, the bank. Then Ollivander's for my wand; I'd be going in just myself and Gellert since Ollivander would remember Tom. Once I'd gotten my wand, we'd meet Tom at Eeylop's Owl Emporium to purchase owls. After that, if there was time, we'd stop to have our measurements taken and put in an order for robes. If there wasn't time, we'd skip to the last step, which was to retrieve mail order catalogues from each shop of interest so that we could make necessary purchases remotely when needed.

I would take the stolen wand with me just in case something went wrong and I needed to defend myself; I could successfully set something on fire, stupefy a grown man, and had, through careful, careful coaching, become good enough with the bone-breaking curse to break a rib, if I was lucky. If I was, I could use it well enough that upon connecting it would feel like being punched by a bowling ball. They were three of the five spells I'd learned thus far, the other two being the summoning charm and banishing charm.

I'd been leery of learning how to set things on fire without learning how to conjure water to put them out, but Gellert had happily assured me that since the point of learning Incendio was for use in self-defence, I wouldn't need to put it out when I used it since setting my enemies on fire was the idea. It wasn't until then that I realized that he and Tom actually expected me to use the spell to hurt someone at some point.

For better or worse, though, when it came time to gather around the port key Barty had made for us, the unassuming cherry wand was tucked into a little holster Gellert had transfigured for my temporary use.

"Just say the password and it will bring you back," Barty reminded me, nearly trembling in pleasure at having been asked to use his skills to his lord's benefit.

"I will," I promised, and smiled a little unsurely at him. "Thank you, Barty."

Tom had commanded I hold onto the port key, as he and Gellert could apparate and had been keyed into the wards of the lair, as I'd taken to calling it. The wards were meant to assist in guiding and disguising international apparation, making it safe, secret, and simple for Gellert to return to his safe house even under duress. So when Gellert, upon arriving, had tracked Tom down using a hair nicked shortly after Harry first informed us we would be leaving, he had been able to quickly retrieve him. He tracked me down with the same method and sent Tom to fetch me, awaiting Tom's attempt to apparate back in order to add me to the wards before I was expelled (and probably splinched).

Barty was very fortunate Gellert had decided to allow him through the wards as well, which he only done out of curiosity as to 'what kind of stray we were returning with.'

Which thus allowed for my second attempt at travelling the wizarding way. We would take a port key to Diagon Alley, leaving Barty behind due to risk of him being recognized and thus drawing unwanted attention to us. I couldn't apparate, so if things went wrong, I was to activate the port key to get away, even if my attacker was holding on to me. This decision was reached with the knowledge that Barty was competent (and deranged) enough to take down an attacker with or without the stolen wand, should one be brought back with me.

"If we're all ready?" Gellert inquired impatiently; he'd been dying to get out since we'd arrived. No one blamed him.

"Silmaril," Tom stated dryly in answer, (I picked the password), and then we were gone.

Port key travel, I mused, noting the pull at my stomach that turned into an insistent tug before spitting us out at our destination without bowling us over or knocking us flat, was no where near as awful as Harry described it in the books. We arrived standing, for one. I didn't even feel all that sick. It was as simple as an insistent tug at my navel and then there was Diagon Alley, and Gringotts looming ahead of us.

"That wasn't nearly as terrible as I'd thought it'd be," I remarked, pleasantly surprised.

Gellert snorted.

"That's because Bartemius is particularly adept at creating balanced port keys." Tom informed me, his eyes sharp as he scanned the Alley. "This one was set for three people; if he'd come with us after setting it, we would have likely been thrown around upon arriving."

That explained it, I thought, thinking of how Harry and Cedric had been tossed into the graveyard. Although, in the same breath it did not speak highly of Ministry port key makers, considering how Harry felt going to the Quidditch World Cup. Or maybe it just spoke of Barty's vastly superior skill?

"Gringotts first," Tom reminded me grimly, casting his disdainful gaze over the bright, cheerful colours of the alley before starting off.

Gellert offered me his arm, which I took, and then the pair of us followed as Tom slipped through the busy street like a shadow stealing away from the sun.

I think I drew more attention that either of them did, mainly because all the paranoia I'd been surrounded by concerning our little outing had apparently gotten to me and I was glancing around looking generally suspicious. What if someone did recognize them? Didn't wizards have longer life-spans than normal people? It would be a bit of a push for Gellert, but Tom was definitely within range of memory. What if -

The interior of Gringotts took my breath away.

"You're gawking like a muggle," Tom reprimanded me disdainfully.

"Don't listen to him, Spatzi," Gellert told me patiently, hiding a malicious smirk beneath a haughty sniffle. "Gawk like a muggle if you like; you've still got purer blood than all of the wizards in this room, present company most certainly included."

Tom's glare was scathing and, considering the way Gellert grinned as he swept past us to the next available teller, rather well deserved. Gellert knew how sensitive Tom was about his heritage, he was baiting a viper and would be bitten if he kept it up.

We caught up to Gellert as he slid our bag of money onto the teller's desk and announced that we would like to have it converted to wizarding currency, firstly, and that secondly we had a candidate who wished to take an inheritance test. And then he pulled me forward, where I stood awkwardly as the goblin sneered down at me over the edge of his desk. I was fairly certain, in that instant, that goblin desks were designed for the very purpose of sneering at wizards and witches while they were literally as beneath them as wizards had the audacity to think goblins metaphorically were.

"Very well," the goblin said, and took the purse from Gellert and proceeded to inform us that, "There is a five galleon fee for money exchange involving a sum between one hundred and one hundred and fifty galleons."

Gellert nodded and waved his hand dismissively; we had thought of that already and saved accordingly.

He dumped the contents of it on the desk and methodically sorted it into different denominations of Deutsche Mark and Pfennig. We had come up with DM 1.779,31, which were the currency of the part of Germany we were in at the time. That, we had calculated using the exchange rates printed in a muggle newspaper, was equal to £612.50. Those were the exchange rates from January of 1991; they were outdated by nearly a month, but it seemed they were still accurate, because we had calculated a return of -

"122 galleons, 16 Sickles, and 26 knuts is your change." The goblin stated, counting gold coins into the bag as the muggle money vanished to who knows where. It was precisely what we had expected. Well, once the five galleon fee was subtracted.

"I presume the inheritance test will be paid for by this sum?" The goblin asked snidely, and I wondered if it was really that obvious we were utterly broke.

"Yes, it will," Tom answered him sharply, and then gave me a push forward. "This is the candidate. She'll take the Ancient Line test."

The goblin's grin widened.

"I'm afraid the sum you have provided is inadequate. The Ancient Line test, which can trace a witch or wizard's lineage back to 163 B.C., has cost one hundred and fifty galleons to take since 1963." He informed us, glancing gleefully at the sudden misery in my face. "I expect that will be all?"

Tom looked as though he wanted to murder him and Gellert had a strange expression on his face that seemed to be a cross between actual, genuine disappointment, and a little amusement. It meant we would be returning to Nurmengard, which was the last thing Gellert wanted to do, but at least it gave him something to torment Tom over, (since Tom had calculated our costs) until Barty collected another thirty or so galleons worth.

My hand clenched reflexively into a fist at my side as I thought of the haunted look on Gellert's face sometimes, when he woke up alone in the dark. There had to be some other way, I thought desperately, some way to avoid going back to that awful place.

And, as easily as that, the thought struck me in form of the discomfort of having a ring on while making a fist.

"Wait!" I exclaimed hurriedly, causing Tom and Gellert to glance at me in something not unlike surprise. "What about this?"

I twisted the ring off my finger, practically thrusting it in the poor goblin's face.

"This is an heir's ring, right? Can it open a vault?" I asked, nearly bouncing in place as the goblin, whose name I still didn't know, picked it up to examine it. He turned it in his hand and his eyes widened a fraction before he fixed me with an inscrutable glance.

"No," he said carefully, consideration on his features. "Only the ring of the head of a family or, in this case, a lord can do that. Since there is no lord to grant you permission, and there are no records of the previous lord granting you the title of heir, you cannot be granted access without prior passing an inheritance test."

My face fell.

"However," the goblin continued, the ring clutched in his long, bony fingers. "The fact that you were able to wear this ring means you are indeed the one and only heir of that house."

Hope blossomed in my chest; perhaps returning to Nurmengard could be avoided.

"Well, since I have proof that I'm an heir, can I take the test and pay the difference with money from the vault?" I asked eagerly.

The goblin shook his head, upper lip curling in distaste as he reluctantly shoved the ring back in my face.

"No, you may not take the test until you have paid the fee." He refused with a tone of finality that made other people start to look in our direction. My cheeks burned furious red with embarrassment.

"What about," I began, but wasn't sure what there was left to do. Gellert couldn't go back to Nurmengard. He just couldn't. "What if I gave you the ring as insurance?"

"No," Tom hissed in outraged parseltongue; but it was short enough a word to sound like he simply exhaled sharply through his teeth.

Even Gellert put a hand on my arm as though to tell me that I'd been stupid, but I didn't see what they were on about. Harry had told me I had two vaults essentially in the bag; all I had to do was take the test. If offering the ring as insurance worked, then we'd do it. It wasn't as though I was giving it away.

"You would offer to a goblin freely your inheritance? For the paltry sum of twenty-seven galleons and three knuts?" He asked, and I suddenly understood why Tom's murderous look was directed at me now.

"I wouldn't if I wasn't sure," I said, and swallowed. I mean, he had essentially confirmed that the Gryffindor vault Harry had given me was mine, and there was the vault Harry had said was my actual, got-it-from-my-parents birthright.

There was a brief interlude in which I was sure the goblin would laugh, but it ended and then he was all business.

"Hold out your wand arm," he commanded briskly. I stuck out my left without thinking, reasonably sure he meant the hand I wrote with.

He drew a knife from under his desk, a silver one that glinted maliciously in the light. Goblin silver, I thought, thinking that it was beautiful and wondering if Gryffindor's sword was the same sort of pretty. I made myself look as the knife slid across my palm in an immaculately straight line and made a promise to myself. The world I was in was real, it wasn't safe, and by some strange twist of fate I'd been blessed with a second chance in it. Not only that, but a second chance in which I was blessed with magic and hopefully wealth and even childhood again; I would do whatever it took to stay alive, to keep Tom and Gellert alive, and to fulfil to the best of my ability Harry's hope for a better life. I would save people when I could, and I would do what I could to improve Wizarding Society.

Maybe the majority of my ideas for the latter were based on fan fictions I'd read in life, but it was a good goal to work towards, wasn't it? At least I'd have a start.

I watched as my blood dripped onto a squat, shallow bowl, drop by drop, dark red against gold. I would make this second life perfect, I swore, or as close as I could get. And…it was a strange thought that flitted through my head as I took in the angry red line on my hand, but it was one backed with an inner fury I didn't know I had.

No one would ever hurt me again.

Perhaps it was the sight of my blood dripping into the bowl, the searing pain I felt as the goblin mercilessly squeezed a few more drops out of the cut on my palm. But I swore then and there that I would become a master of the Dark Arts if that's what it took; I would never let anyone hurt me again. I would arm myself and fight, I would never take anything lying down again. I wasn't sure what it was that motivated me so passionately, but on my life I would never, ever be afraid and helpless. Not again.

The goblin waved his hand over the blood, doing some sort of magic, no doubt, and then, very carefully, poured it slowly onto a tremendously large piece of parchment.

And then, I saw a sight a nearly hysterically laughing Tom later assured me I would never see again - an utterly gobsmacked goblin.

"Lothiriel Muliphen Llywarch, you are declared Lord of the Exalted and Most Ancient House of Merlin, Lady of the Noble House of Gryffindor, Proxy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and Heiress Potential of the Noble House of Ravenclaw."

I shivered at the thought that Harry had been right.

"Lord Merlin?" Tom demanded, not quite pushing me out of the way to stand right in front of the desk. "You're sure it's Lord and not Lady?"

The goblin nodded with a sneer on his face.

"I do not make mistakes, and this parchment doesn't lie."

Tom stood briefly still before actually picking me up and spinning me around.

"Brilliant girl!" He muttered, holding me close enough that I felt trapped against him. "You brilliant, brilliant girl."

I stood stock still until he let go of me. My hands had only very tentatively touched his back in the ghost of an embrace; I'd been too shocked by his bizarre behaviour to do much else. Gellert's fingers brushed over my wrist in a comforting gesture as I managed to at last tear my eyes from Tom. What on earth had that been about?

"I would like," I began, and then decided to correct a grievous oversight I'd been overlooking practically since the start of the conversation. "I'm terribly sorry, but if you don't mind, I would like to know your name? It was awfully rude of me not to ask it. I'm Lothiriel; these are my friends Gellert and Tom."

The goblin fixed me with a scrutinizing glare and I felt that I'd insulted him.

"Gornuk," he supplied after a moment, and briskly moved on. "I presume you have further business with us in light of your recent inheritances?"

"Yes," I said with a hasty nod. "I would like for Tom to take an inheritance test like I did; I suppose you can take it out of whichever of my vaults will cover the cost. Please take the difference of my test's payment from the same vault, if possible."

Gornuk nodded, making a note of that on a spare piece of parchment while motioning forward an assistant goblin for another inheritance test bowl, as the one he'd used for me was contaminated by my blood and could not be cleaned by magic as magic residue could affect the results.

"Also, I have a question," I began, brow furrowed in thought. "I thought I was heir to the Gryffindor line, not it's…lady."

The very idea made my skin crawl. Lady. That'll be right.

"An heir will remain heir until reaching his majority or, in more unusual cases, until such age as the family magic chooses to accept him." Gornuk informed me. "You are over the age of seventeen, correct?"

That's right, I was, I thought with some bewilderment. How the hang were we to go to Hogwarts like this? It didn't make sense, but Harry had been quite clear.

"Shall we get on with the test?" Tom interrupted, his eyes flashing with a dangerous sort of impatience. His sleeve was rolled up and his arm held at the ready; honestly, I hadn't even noticed the assistant come back with the bowl and a clean sheet of parchment.

Gornuk took Tom's hand and cut it with a different but no less beautiful knife, letting the blood drip into the bowl just as he had with me. Surprise flickered across his face briefly, but it seemed I had exhausted his capacity for shock because he cast it aside quickly in favour of making the expected announcement.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, you are declared Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell, Head of the Most Ancient House of Gaunt, and Heir Potential of the Noble House of Ravenclaw."

Tom's face was one of smug, smug satisfaction and the faintest glimmer of amused surprised, as though he hadn't expected Peverell and Ravenclaw. I considered it for a moment before realizing that he probably hadn't. His claim to Slytherin he had expected; his claim to Gaunt he knew about. I didn't understand what Heir Potential meant, but you could practically hear the capitalization of each word in Gornuk's tone, so I presumed since it was apparently important enough to list along with lordships that it was significant enough to surprise Tom.

"Of course," I murmured aloud, thinking of his claim to Peverell. "Harry's descended from the third brother; you probably gained lordship through the Gaunt family. They handed down the Stone for years without knowing what it was. If they were descended from the second brother, well, middle brother trumps youngest brother in the line of succession."

Tom grinned, and it was a savage look of amusement.

"I wonder if the old fool knew?" He wondered, making a strange sort of strangled hissing sound that I thought almost sounded like he was chuckling. He caught my curious glance of question and shook his head slightly. He'd tell me later, I hoped.

"We would like to be taken to our vaults," he said high-handedly to Gornuk instead.

"Certainly," Gornuk sneered at him, less obviously this time, but not so subtly as for him to miss it. "This way."

I hadn't been sure on the way to the cart whether or not I was excited or full of dread. The Gringotts carts, well, I minded what they were like in the film. So I wasn't sure if I was going to embarrass myself by bawling like a baby or if I was actually going to enjoy it. I was tempted to ask how fast the carts went, but thought better of it.

"How tedious," Gellert complained as we settled in. It gave me hope.

Tom's face didn't.

"I hate these things," he grumbled under his breath, taking his place at my side.

That very statement likely sealed our fate, because Gornuk turned back towards us with a wide, leering grin, pulled the lever, and then my question was answered.

"Vault 1001," Gornuk announced when we came to a stop, "through 1009. Lord Llywarch, you will be required to activate the blood seal on vaults 1001, 1008, and 1009 before being permitted to enter any associated vaults. Stand here and place your hand on the door."

My vaults, I was sure, were at the absolute rock bottom of Gringotts. The cart ride - it wasn't even a cart ride! We'd just plummeted down into nothingness. Taken the fast track to hell. The cart, I think, had stopped but my heart was still racing. I hadn't even had time to scream, although I was sure I would regard that as a good thing later.

"Miss Llywarch," the goblin's annoyed voice demanded. "If you would be so kind."

I stared at him blankly for a minute before Gellert pinched my cheek and nearly shoved me off the cart. I tumbled off it, nearly knocked Tom over, and then did as I was told and placed my hand on the door. A sharp pain in my palm struck without warning and I instinctively tugged my hand back to safety.

My blood glistened red on the door and then disappeared.

"Very good, Miss Llywarch," Gornuk said, and then placed both of his hands on the door and began dragging them downwards, letting his pointed fingers drag deep into the strange liquid-like metal of the door. Blackness melted away from it, revealing the image of a dragon in the metal which reared and seemed to rise out of its place in the metal.

"Speak to it, Miss Llywarch." Gornuk ordered sharply. "Command it to open."

"Open," I hissed instinctively in parseltongue. "The Lord of your master's line is returned for her inheritance."

The dragon roared silently and faded back into the water-dark until there was nothing left but a smooth, polished surface. The door swung open and torches flared to life inside, two by two, down what seemed like a great hall filled with piles and piles of gold.

"Lothiriel and I will be requiring spelled purses to link to our respective accounts," Tom began, brow furrowed in concentration. "Blood-bound, of course, with the best anti-thievery enchantments available. Your strongest lose-not charm as well, I think."

I wandered into the vault curiously, ignoring the money as I searched for the thing Harry had told me to find. Like a time turner, but not one, he'd said. There didn't seem to be anything but gold in the vault, though.

"I also expect that my heritage will be kept secret until such time as I am prepared to reveal it," Tom continued somewhere behind me.

Like a time-turner, I thought, but rapidly came to the conclusion that this vault was entirely dedicated to money. Galleons everywhere, with the most ridiculous sight I'd ever seen in form of two separate piles, one containing sixteen sickles and the other three knuts.

I snickered a little before sobering. The amulet that wasn't a time-turner would protect me from legilimency. I needed to find it; Tom and Gellert already knew everything I knew, but I trusted them and they were both versed in occlumency. I was the weak point, and Harry had pointed me at a solution that would hold until I could keep people out of my head on my own. I needed to find it.

As Gornuk would be supplying Tom and I with our magic purses upon returning to the atrium, I didn't need to grab any money before I left, so Gornuk just closed my vault and we moved on to the next one. 1002 was full of what were no doubt priceless, probably magical artefacts that I skimmed over searching for the amulet. Vault 1003 was a vast library that I was practically slavering over in want. Even Tom and Gellert, those consummate masters of magic, looked lustfully in the direction of the books, but there wasn't time. Later, I promised the shelves of knowledge. Soon.

It was in vault 1004 that I found what I was searching for. I spoke to the dragon guarding the door in parseltongue, as I had the others, and when it let me through there was nothing but a pedestal at the end of a great hall. My pulse quickened in my veins and I jogged over to it to see what was on it.

An amulet lay innocently across a musty old book. It did look like a time-turner, somewhat; the rings around it were nearly the same, although the writing was in what looked like Welsh, and the centre was a dragon twined about a little hourglass. There was no mistaking it; this was the amulet Harry had mentioned. I couldn't imagine anything looking more like a time-turner while obviously not being one. I picked up the book, sensing its importance, and stuffed it into my bag. And then I did what Tom and Gellert would have called a thoughtlessly stupid thing in slipping an amulet of unknown origin that hadn't been checked for curses of any kind over my head.

A strangled cry came from behind me even as I yelped, and then suddenly I was more than a foot nearer the ground than I had been before.

"Lothy, are you alright?" called Gellert, though there was something strange about his voice. "Lothy, what happened?"

"I'm fine!" I tried to respond, but the words died in my mouth when I noticed how the pitch of my voice had changed. I looked down at myself. "Gellert, I think I've shrunk."

The first traces of panic were beginning to bleed into my voice.

"Lerty, I've either shrunk or I'm ten again. Oh, God. I'm ten. Or eleven, maybe. Well, no, I haven't had my birthday yet." I rambled, and then was struck by a sudden moment of clarity. Of course I was ten. I would turn eleven on the 31st of August and then I would be going to Hogwarts. Brilliant.

"Figured it out, have you?" Tom asked snidely, still managing to sound like the haughty man I'd spoken to not a moment ago despite the handicap of his newly childish voice.

He might have sounded unimpressed, but a quick glance at Gellert confirmed my train of thought. As children, there was no need to rush. We would have time to supply ourselves well; the danger to Gellert and Tom was far diminished by our apparent youth.

Gornuk seemed almost suspiciously unsurprised by this turn of events.

I continued visiting my chain of vaults; 1005, 1006, and 1007 had belonged to a famous ancestress of mine whose line had long since been incorporated into Merlin's. They were filled with an only slightly less vast amount of gold and a wider variety of priceless artefacts. There was no library, but there was a slew of potions ingredients that Tom assured me were rare beyond monetary value, preserved in strange jars charmed with stasis spells. There were also an assortment of miscellaneous items, such as bolts of precious acromantula silk in every colour and heavy rolls of what looked to be dragon hide.

The last two vaults associated with the line of Merlin both needed my blood to open; 1008 had a tree depicted on a door of the same liquid-like metal that actually attempted to strangle me when I took too long to place my bleeding palm to the door, and 1009 was guarded by a hooded sorcerer who reached out and took my hand, brought it to his mouth, and sank his teeth into my palm to draw the necessary amount of blood.

Unlike the other door guardians, he did not melt back into a still engraving, but rather disappeared in a burst of black smoke, leaving a smooth, polished surface behind. The tree vault was full of interesting items that seemed more geared to ancient rituals than anything else, along with a fair bit of gold and a few books. Vault 1009 was filled dark artefacts and a very generous amount of gold. At Gellert's intrigued instruction, I removed a set of jewellery that I shuddered to think was probably real diamonds.

Tom, ever the connoisseur of ancient, valuable objects, informed us that the set was a parure and that the style of it was known as en pampilles and it was designed in a series of 'foliate figure-of-eight links,' whatever that meant, and that the spells on it were dark and powerful and very likely geared towards protection. It was worth, he concluded, a small fortune and it would befit my new title to wear it, once it had been checked for curses or other harmful magics.

The box was dropped into the bag I'd brought and then we were back in the cart and off to visit the last of my vaults and Tom's. The first of Tom's we came to was vault 971, which was on the floor above mine and belonged to the Peverell family. There was a substantial amount of gold there, enough to have kept the Gaunt family going by a Malfoy's standards for five or six generations; no doubt they had never discovered their claim to it, or it would have been empty by now. Then, we were off to vaults 903, the Slytherin family vault which we learned could only be opened by a true lord. It held a very substantial amount of gold, possibly in part due to the fact that no one had been able to claim it in centuries and it, like mine, had sat there collecting interest and dust that length of time. The Gaunt family, as we were informed, lost their Noble status around the same time they lost the gold due to the name of Gaunt, thus losing the required ability to inherit lordship needed to receive any inheritance from Slytherin. They didn't even have a vault at Gringotts anymore. Having skipped over the Gaunt part of Tom's inheritance due to this fact, we made our way to 899, which was the Gryffindor vault. There wasn't much actual gold in the vault, as a large percentage of the vault's income and interest went towards funding Hogwarts, but there were several objects, both magical and simply valuable.

Our last stop was a surprise to all three of us, really, was vault 710, which I was informed was an allowance vault for Lothiriel M. Llywarch, Proxy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, as left to her by its previous Lord. It was located near the other individual vaults pertaining to members of the Black family that did not have access to the family vault a floor beneath them, and unlike that of those other members, was topped-up from the Black family vault to the tune of 1,000 galleons every month from the moment the account was made active and was refilled once a year to maintain the balance of the account at 30,000 galleons.

It was hardly anything in comparison to what I had as Lord Merlin, but it was a lot. It was £150,000 a year, not counting the added monthly stipend that could, added up, equal to 12,000 galleons - an additional £60,000 to top up the account! What on earth had Orion Black been thinking to set aside such an amount for a proxy's use? What was a proxy anyway? And how had I even become one to the House of Black?

I was so caught up in that line of thinking that I missed most of the cart ride back, though I had to admit, none of the cart rides had been anywhere near as terrible as the first one, mainly because the ride down to vault 1001 had been rounding a corner and then plummeting down ten levels of Gringotts. It wasn't until Gellert nudged me with his elbow that I snapped out of it; I had to conclude my business with Gornuk, as Tom did, and as soon as it was done we were on our way out.

We would procure an owl, we decided, and send a letter to Gringotts asking for them to draw up a list of whatever properties we owned and alliances our houses held to be presented during a meeting as soon as possible. At that meeting, we would formally receive our rings of lordship and discuss any other outstanding business with our accounts and decide whether we were satisfied with our designated account managers. We would stay in Nuremburg until we had a property fit to house us; no matter how wonderful a bed at the Leaky Cauldron seemed in comparison, we couldn't bring Barty with us for obvious reasons, and I wouldn't leave him. We would buy supplies at our leisure and head back with dinner.

"But before all these things, lelkem," Gellert pronounced, the endearment making my cheeks flush in pleasure, "there is a lovely young witch needing her own wand, yes?"

I think I managed to drag him and a disgruntled Tom down the long hall of the atrium and out the door in record time.