Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

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A/N – I thought that I'd better clarify something from last chapter. It seems that there were many of you who were concerned for the house elf that Dumbledore called while in his towering rage. What actually happened was that the Headmaster ordered the elf to provide him with his dinner in his office instead of taking the chance that the students would see him in that sort of mood in the Great Hall. I can assure you that no elves have been hurt in the making of this or any other chapter of The Fourth School (at least, not yet at any rate).

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The Fourth School

Chapter 20

Harry snickered softly as he and Sirius were led along the narrow rock corridor within Gringotts.

A grunt of pain from behind him caused his snicker to morph into more of a chuckle. And then he was the one grunting in pain as he put a hand up to the back of his head where he'd just been slapped.

"What'd you do that for?" Harry groused glancing behind him.

"It's not polite to laugh at your elders," Sirius declared haughtily, although the effect was negated somewhat by the fact that he was walking with a distinct stoop in an effort to not hit his head on the low rock ceiling.

"Sorry, old man, I'll try to remember that," Harry retorted, only to have to duck to evade the second swat. "What? You're the one who said you were my elder."

"Account Manager Slipshard is ready for you," the goblin broke in, clearly displeased with the air of non-professionalism the two were displaying.

"Thank you," Harry replied, sketching a half-bow in a show of respect.

After straightening with a pointed grin over his shoulder, Harry strode into the room. Behind him, he heard Sirius muttering something about waiting until Harry'd had his next growth spurt, a sentiment that he dutifully ignored.

The small cave-like room was exactly as Harry remembered it from his last visit. Shelves and pigeon holes full of books, weapons and trinkets were carved into the very walls to either side of the room. Behind the enormous rich desk, were floor to ceiling bookshelves, laden with books, files and folders. And behind the desk, sitting regally with his fingers steepled, was Slipshard.

"Greetings, Slipshard. It is good to see you again," Harry smiled, offering the bow of respect that he'd learnt so long ago from the book on goblin etiquette that Slipshard had once gifted him.

"Mister Potter," Slipshard returned with a heavy nod of his head. "Lord Black. You are both exactly on time."

Harry grinned at the elderly goblin and offered a truism in both the goblin and muggle societies. "Time is money, after all."

"Indeed, indeed," Slipshard agreed. "I believe that you have something for me?"

"We do," Sirius replied before pulling a scroll out of his robes and handing it over."

Long goblin fingers accepted it, unrolled it and began waving over it in an intricate pattern.

"Congratulations, Mister Potter. It appears that you have managed to attain your majority nearly three years early," Slipshard said, his eyes piercing the boy across the desk. "Much responsibility comes with this. I trust that you are up to the task?"

"I hope so, too, Slipshard," Harry replied. "Especially if I can count on you and Sirius and even Mister Tentridge to advise me, that is."

"Still the unusual wizard," Slipshard noted. "One who is still aware of his limitations and works to find others to counter those limitations and to teach him what he needs to know."

Harry ducked his head, remembering something similar that Slipshard said to him the very first time that they had met.

"Gringotts accepts this Ministerial decree of Harry James Potter's emancipation," Slipshard stated formally. "Within Gringotts, you are now seen as being eligible to control all vaults, investments and properties that you are entitled to."

Harry nodded, recognising the full weight of what Slipshard was stating.

"Shall we see exactly what that entails?" Slipshard asked.

Without waiting for a reply, he lifted one hand, causing a stone bowl, silver knife, potion vial and a piece of parchment to float from one of the nooks carved into his wall across to his desk. With a backhand wave, the piece of parchment was banished to the opposite side of the room where it promptly stuck to the wall before enlarging until it filled two-thirds of the wall.

The instant that the vial touched down onto Slipshard's desk, it was snatched up and its contents poured into the stone bowl. The bowl itself wasn't as crude as Harry had first thought. What he'd originally taken as scratches, he now saw were some type of rune, but of a language that he was unfamiliar with. If he had to guess, he'd say gobbledegook, which made sense, considering that it was a goblin artefact.

As he watched Slipshard prepare … whatever it was that he was doing, Harry made a mental note to ask about language lessons being added to the Diricawl subject load. He particularly thought that it'd be kind of cool to learn to speak and read the goblin language.

"I shall need seven drops of your blood, Mister Potter," Slipshard stated, interrupting his thoughts.

Resisting the urge to grimace, Harry leant forward and took the handle of the silver knife that was offered to him. Steeling himself, he then quickly cut his thumb and held it over the bowl to allow the blood to drip into it. After the required amount had been added, Harry pulled his hand back and held it out towards Sirius for him to heal.

By the time Harry looked back, it was only to find Slipshard's chair empty. Looking around, he found the elderly goblin knelt on the ground in front of the massive piece of parchment stuck to the wall. Once Slipshard had stood and moved back, Harry was able to see what he had been doing.

His brows crinkled together as he saw the bowl now sitting at the base of the parchment with part of it lying in the potion. Before he could ask about it, his eyes widened: the potion was being absorbed by the parchment. Once the bowl was empty, the parchment pulsed a pale gold before deep red writing began to appear near the bottom.

Harry slid out of his chair and knelt to get a better look. There, at the very bottom, in elaborately curly writing, was his own name. A single line rose from it before splitting off at the names of his parents – James Charlus Potter and Lily Evans. Again single lines rose from each before splitting off towards two new names.

Harry gasped at what he was seeing. This was his family tree. His eyes drank in the sight of every name greedily. Higher and higher the names rose, through generation after generation. Once the entire wall of parchment had been filled, three smaller pulses of bright gold, almost the size of pinpricks, shone from three spots on the parchment that Harry was unable to pinpoint.

"As expected," Slipshard noted, almost to himself.

Once more a pulse of gold light erupted, this time from one of the nooks in the wall. When his eyes focussed on that spot, Harry found a stack of folders, folders which Slipshard was already reaching for.

"Let us begin," Slipshard said as he once more took his seat behind the great desk.

"It would appear that you are entitled to claim the vaults, properties and investments of three family lines," Slipshard stated.

"Three!" Sirius exclaimed, then elaborated seeing the other two staring at him. "But James was only eligible for two."

"Be that as it may, Harry is eligible for three," Slipshard reiterated.

Then, taking the top, and coincidentally the thickest of four folders from the pile that he'd placed to the side, he began to peruse it.

"The Potter account is quite extensive, although not as extensive as it once was. Between the last war among wizards and the fact that there has been no Head of Family for the past thirteen years, the account has been allowed to diminish.

"You are already aware of the three vaults that you control."

Harry nodded in agreement. "My Education Vault; the Investment Vault; and the one that we set up with the money that we got for selling that basilisk."

"Indeed. Those vaults are now eligible to be rolled into the main Potter vaults if you so desire. But that is a matter that can be decided upon later.

"As the recognised Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, you gain access to an additional two vaults. The first is the main Potter Vault. In it, you will find the majority of your disposable monies, as well as a collection of prized possessions that your ancestors have stored there over the centuries. The second vault was opened in your name by the Ministry of Magic. Its holds the contents that were salvaged from your family home in Godric's Hollow after the events of October thirty-one, nineteen eighty-one.

"These contain an itemised account of each vault," Slipsharp stated, handing over a stack of parchment.

"Next, we come to Potter investments. The vast majority of these are based in the magical world. This," Slipshard said, handing over another, even large stack of parchment, "outlines the businesses that the Potters have invested in, the percentage of the business that they hold and the profits or losses from each business for the past ten years. I would like to point out, though, the businesses that you hold total ownership thereof. The largest and most profitable is Pottarius Magical Plants and Menagerie. This company is based in the depths of the jungles of Brazil. Within Britain, you also wholly own Terraca's Pottery Barn and Obscurus Books and Printery.

"Your father, on the word of your mother, also had me investing in the muggle world. Only a few purchases were made before he passed away. You will find those businesses listed at the end of the sheets that I just gave you."

"We now move on to properties," Slipshard said, shuffling the parchment in front of him. "Any property that is covered under a business agreement, has been highlighted in the information that you have already been given. This leaves you with an additional five properties, not counting Potter Haven.

"I own five other properties?" Harry asked incredulously, already feeling overwhelmed with everything that Slipshard had been bombarding him with.

"Indeed," Slipshard nodded. "Only two of these are within Britain. Godric's Hollow, of course, which I have already mentioned. Unfortunately, although you own the deed to this place, the Ministry of Magic has appropriated it and turned it into a memorial to you and your parents. This means that, at this time, you cannot touch it."

"I can't touch a property that I own? That doesn't sound right," Harry commented. "Can we do something about that?"

"Possibly," Sirius replied. "I'll do some snooping around the Ministry for you, if you like."

"Thanks," Harry replied before turning his attention back to his account manager.

"The other property is Ynys Crochenydd, which includes a small parcel of land on the Welsh shore, closest to the island itself," Slipshard stated.

Harry stared at him. "What?"

"Ynys Crochenydd is Gaelic," Slipshard supplied. "It means 'Potter Island'. This is an island just off the coast of Wales that your ancestors claimed. It was given the best in muggle-repelling wards and made unplottable as well."

Sirius snorted. "Not that it did much good. Sorry, Harry, I was just remembering when I was there when I was still just a kid, about your age. Potter Island was dominated by your ancestral manor. It's where all the Potters grew up and lived. Until Voldemort, that is. He and his Death Eaters managed to breach its defences after your parents had gone into hiding at Godric's Hollow. Voldemort personally killed your grandparents there before they burnt the manor to the ground."

"Your father set up a fund to rebuild the manor, but it was never put into effect," Slipshard supplied.

"That's something that you can do, if you like," Sirius suggested lightly.

Harry nodded. "I'll think about it. I … I think I'd like to see it before I decide."

"Not a problem, kiddo," Sirius said, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Just tell me when and you and I'll take a trip to see it."

"The three remaining properties that you now own and have access to are a chateau in the Andorran mountains; a house and property in Ontario, Canada; and a large parcel of land on the shores of the Whitsundays on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia."

"Wow!" Harry replied. "Sounds like I've got my next few holiday destinations decided."

Having finished with the Potter file, Slipshard moved that folder to his right before picking up the top of the remaining three folders.

"We now move on to the Ancient House of Peverell," Slipshard stated. "This House ceased being an entity of its own many generations ago and passed into the safe-keeping of the House of Potter. Each generation of Potter Heads has decided to keep the House of Peverell separate instead of merging the two.

"The Peverell estate is quite small, consisting of a single vault containing money and a number of heirlooms. There is also a single property and dwelling on the outskirts of Gosforth, Cumbria that has been maintained for the House of Peverell."

Slipshard passed across the relevant piece of parchment before closing the file and setting it aside.

"This final inheritance that you are entitled to comes via your mother," Slipshard stated, moving the relevant file in front of him.

"But my mother was a muggle-born!" Harry exclaimed.

Sirius eyed the file speculatively, before turning in his chair to look at the family tree adorning the great piece of parchment.

"Maybe not, Harry," he mused. "The goblins are never wrong in this sort of thing. The only thing that I can think of is that your mother comes from a line of squibs."

"You are in fact correct, Lord Black," Slipshard stated, inkling his head. "In fact, it was your mother's great-grandfather who was born a squib. According to Goblin Law, a vault may only lay dormant for five generations. If you, Mister Potter, had not claimed this vault, then it would have been surrendered to the Goblin Nation upon your death."

"There's another vault?" Harry asked, counting in his head how many he now had access to and coming up with the astonishing figure of seven.

"Indeed. Vault two seven nine. Vault of Clan Lomas," Slipshard informed him. "There is only a very small amount of money in it, but it now belongs to you."

"Clan?" Harry asked Sirius. "Not House?"

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "It basically means that they were only a very young family; maybe two or three generations of magicals at most. It's what Hermione or the Creeveys could become in a couple of generations. Assuming that they don't become a part of another House," he finished with a playful nudge of his shoulder and a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

With the completion of the third folder, Slipshard tapped a particular spot of his desk and sat back. A minute later, a sharp rap indicated that there was someone at the door. Upon Slipshard's call, a young goblin scurried in, placed two small ring boxes on the desk, bowed and scurried back out.

"These, Mister Potter, are your Head of House rings," Slipshard said, indicating the two boxes. "Unfortunately, the Peverell ring is not the original – it was lost centuries ago and a replacement was commissioned by your ancestor, Tomos Potter."

"Just two?" Harry asked as he cautiously leant forward and slid the two boxes closer to him.

"Clans don't rate high enough to warrant a ring," Sirius said simply.

Cautiously, Harry opened the first box. Inside he found a sparkling platinum ring. The face of the ring was encircled by a slim gold band around an image of a small bushy tree growing from a pot, a griffin in full flight above it, its eye created by a tiny emerald.

"That's the Potter ring," Sirius said softly.

With a nod, Harry opened the second box. Like the first, this ring was also made of the finest platinum. The design on this ring, the Peverell ring, was a strange symbol etched in black. It appeared to be circle inside a triangle, split by a vertical line.

"What does it mean wearing these?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Will they make me a Lord like you?"

Sirius shrugged. "In the long run, sure. The honorific 'Lord' that I've been saddled with just means that I'm a member of the Wizengamot. The fact that you can basically only get on the Wizengamot by holding a family seat and the fact that those seats are traditionally held by the Ancient Houses, I'm sure is a coincidence. Both the Potters and Peverells being Ancient Houses mean that there are two Wizengamot seats waiting for you; but you can't take them up until you're twenty-one. So, as you can see, you will be a Lord, but just not yet."

Harry nodded slowly. "And there aren't any catches that I should be aware of? Being the Head of two Houses isn't going to force me to marry two girls or something stupid like that, is it?"

Sirius' barking laughter echoed throughout the chamber and it lasted so long that by the time Sirius finally began to settle down to just the occasional chuckle, he had tears in his eyes.

"What is something I said?" Harry deadpanned.

"Whatever gave you such a daft idea?" Sirius chuckled. "More than one wife! I've never heard anything so funny in my life and considering who my best friends have been, that's saying something. Look, if it means that much to you, simply make sure that you have two kids and name one Potter and the other Peverell. Hell, have a third and name them Lomas if you want. Two, wives, hah!"

"So, that's a no then?" Harry clarified.

Ignoring Sirius' continued chuckles, Harry turned to the rings and one after the other, picked them up and slipped them on the ring fingers of either hand: Potter on his right; Peverell on his left. A brief flash of white light shone as each resized itself to his fingers.

"That just leaves this final folder," Slipshard stated.

"What is that one for?" Sirius asked, mirth still in his eyes even though his laughter had finally subsided.

"This folder contains any outstanding contracts that Mister Potter may have inherited as Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter; the Head of the Ancient House of Peverell; or the Head of Clan Lomas," Slipshard stated.

"I really hope that that thing is empty," a suddenly sombre Sirius stated.

Harry shivered in trepidation as Slipshard opened the folder to show a single piece of parchment. Picking it up, the goblin perused its contents quickly. It wasn't until he got to the bottom of the page that a vicious grin quickly appeared, sending Harry's pulse-rate rocketing.

"This," Slipshard stated, placing the parchment back upon the desk, "is a betrothal contract."

"What!" Sirius exploded.

Harry meanwhile slumped backwards in his chair. Betrothal. That meant marriage. His mind spun to Hermione and the kiss that they'd shared before he and Sirius had left that morning. Betrothal. There was a betrothal contract and he'd only just gotten a girlfriend.

"Who's it between?" Sirius asked, drawing Harry's attention back to the here and now.

"This contract is between Mister Harry James Potter and Miss Ginerva Molly Weasley," Slipshard stated.

Harry's face scrunched up with distaste as his mind supplied the image of the red-haired fangirl who had an annoying habit of following him around Hogwarts whenever he'd been there.

"Who created it?" Sirius asked, anger clear in his voice.

"This contract was signed between Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, acting as magical guardian for Harry James Potter, and Molly Muriel Weasley, mother of Ginerva Molly Weasley," Slipshard read, "and was signed on January two, nineteen ninety-three."

Sirius' face, if possible grew even darker with anger before it suddenly went blank and he blinked, as though rebooting his brain.

"What was that date again?" Sirius asked.

"January two, nineteen ninety-three," Slipshard replied, a clear grin on his face.

"January two, nineteen ninety-thee," Sirius repeated, before turning to Harry and slapping him on the arm with a laugh. "Then we don't have to worry about it."

"What? We don't?" a clearly confused Harry asked. "Why not?"

"Because Minerva and I became your official guardians on December twenty-seven, nineteen ninety-two," Sirius declared. "Dumbledore signed this after that date. He wasn't your guardian at the time. The thing's completely invalid!"

"That is indeed correct," Slipshard said and promptly picked up the contract and prepared to tear it in two.

"Wait!" Sirius half-yelled, throwing out a hand at the same time. "Don't destroy it."

Slipshard cocked his head at the wizard. "Why not? It is nothing less than it deserves."

"Oh, I know that," Sirius replied, "but it might be handy to have on hand to use against the two meddling fools later."

"I don't know what you're thinking, Sirius, but count me in," Harry declared.