Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is only being made for the sake of enjoyment and I am not gaining any profit by its creation. The original work, characters, world concept etc does not belong to me, and I am not taking credit for their invention.

A/N; I haven't actually read the Harry Potter books or seen the movies, but I have a really really good idea of it from reading fanfiction and have begun my journey to create something that I am sure is original and will be a lot better than what ever the original books are because there are plotholes like why would you just leave brooms lying around with flying keys int the actual room. My friend told me this. Anyway I am an A+ level engwish student in Amirica so this will be good for British writing. Now! Thou must travel so yonder to encounterth the story.

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The metal felt cold and corse in his hand. Once more, his muscled, six year old arm raised the hammer, salvaged from his uncles discarded hobbie kits of which none were complete, over his lightningbolt marked head. Marked he was indeed, marked by fate and destiny to forever bare a symbol, a secret symbol his relatives, oh how he hated that word, his so called relatives were hiding and claiming to be a scar. He knew, he was marked by lightning. He was lightning, Harry Secretlightning. It couldn't just be a scar from a car crash, as the Dursleys claimed it to be. It couldn't, for he could feel power run through his vanes, pumped buy his mountainous dragon's heart. He knew, because he could do the impossible, leap enormous distances, add extra atoms to an undersized shirt, change the aura of an object that interacts with the physical world, that is the colour, and that which he refurred to was the changing of the wig's colour which was a great feat of inherited power. He knew, that he was special and powerful and independent and that he had godly inheritance waiting for him. His so called family were all weak and cruel. His cousin Dudley couldn't do anything but play video games like Candycrush and tried to fight him with his fists but Harry broke his arms with his powerful build and when the teachers came to investigate, he gave them a cold stare and said in a frosty voice,

"I don't have to listen to you because you didn't feel how bad the Dursleys are like I and everyone else can and didn't break their privacy because they should have no rights because of how bad and stubborn against anything that isn't rational that they are, and you didn't bust into their house and spy on them and then take them to court." Harry said frostally as he turned away like a winter storm of shadows on a grey marsh of stones.

When his uncle tried to hurt him with abuse, his innate power of his accidental magic was triggered and through hinm across the room, but uncle Vermin tried to hit him and things anyway and he got tromertised by his childhood to become dark and calculating even though his emotions triggered into rage when ever his uncle tried and he wasn't able to do anything but shout at his nephew and keep trying because his freekishness kept turning on. His Aunt Patunia was much nicer and taught hin how to calculate and watch people. He discovered he could control his power at the age of five. He was very smart and saw there in a great tome of power, that was so titled as being a lord of all things rings and he learned and saw a passage of it because he was smart and could read well that a passage of it said "and great spells of ruin were upon it", and so before the book was wisked away from him, his power of his soul decided he would craft magic, for such was the symbol upon his head that marked him as Secretlightning.

He began by watching videos on youtube on Dudley's computer which was an apple computer and not Microsoft. He saw the image of a forge and smithing and new that the molten fury of steel and the tempered strength of metal was his destiny. He knew from Dudley's video games that he most likely had dwarven ancestriay because of his strength and feeling of power in his blood. He took upon himself the greatness of his feeling, and took there in from the kitchen a great knife. The knife in the beginning was small, but he opened his magic to it and roared, and thus it grew to be a great blade. He took there in the blade, and thrust it into the ground of the weeded guardens done through his own effort and cried

"Lift you ground. Lift up and form what I wish. Lift into stone and earth and fire!"

And he heaved on the handle of the great axe and the dirt was wrent asunder to form a mighty pit for his forge. He then went to his driveway, it was his house because of the blood wards tied to his blood, and dragged his uncle's car back with him by pinching his fingers together like how he had practiced since four years old after watching starwars. His uncle, great as a whale came barreling towards him, bellowing, but Harry simply stopped and stared at him with cold, cold eyes.

"You old fool! You are nothing but a biggited bully who doesn't approve of anything that isn't your organised society. You shrink at any suggestion of anything other that is not of order and your morality. I tell you now the darkness is nothing to be feared, but a source of power for my rage!"

And his words were so cold that Vernine quailed and shrank back into his leather jacket. Harry dragged his prized car to the pit and through it in. He then breathed upon the pit, and into his breath he pushed all his anger at being powerless and mistreated by those that would create despicable scared societies into his breath, and it poured out as dark flames! The flames rushed forth into the pit, like a great horned serpent finding its meal and coiled there, burning. He then took his hammer and began pounding away at the car with all his might and forging the pure metal incased in flame into a great and powerful weapon, for the wizard chooses the wand and must obey him, for that is the path of independence and true morality, grey morality! He chanted then, words of ruin, all the words of ruin that he knew with each strike of the great hammer.

"Damn, freek, stupid, bugger, fail, f grade, Dudley Durseley, Danuel Radclif, republican, crap crap crap crap, yomama, piss off, boyeeeeeeeeee, corona, the chaos emeralds, nya nya nya, kamehamehame, ni ni, avada kadavra, HAKUNA MATATA, reeeeeeeeeeeee, stupidredditersthinkingtheyaresoprogressivewiththeiralwaysrightargumentsandgoldandsilversandpolliticalcorrectnessIwannagoonarampagecauseyoukillingmythicalcreaturesyoualwayshavetoargueandbeconfrontationalandberightineverythingandknockdownwhoeverdoesn'thavethesameviewasyouI'mHarryFreekingPotter, edit atheists, stupidleftwing,stupidrightwing,troll, ALAKAZAM!"

And within the great pit, an artifact was taking place. A great sword, born from trial and rage took shape, words of cleaving and ruin upon its blade, carrying all the swiftness of the car it was made from, the abandonedness of the hammer of its creation, the tiredness of the yawning pit it was burthed in, and all the power of the wizard who had crafted it.

Gripping the gleaming hilt of the great blade, which was named Thorndoom, Harry wielded the flaming blade, 10 feet in length and curved like the scythe of an inevitable reaper.

"Hear me oh world. I am Harry Potter Secretlightning. You thought me weak and easily manipulated. You were wrong. Look upon me and tremble!"

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Far away, secreted high in a tall, wizardly tower, an old man looked up as an instrument began rapidly pinging a bright and pericing alarm. Shaped like a spinningtop, resting upon a mushroom shaped bass woven of thin silver wires planted into a shelf, with a funnel like a half spinning top of smaller size emerging from its top. It was from this funnel, or bell that the clear chimes rang out. With great ergency, the old man rushed over to the device, and hurriedly began adjusting dials and tiny levers, pinpricked upon its stainless surface. Peering into the funnel for a few seconds while light pulsed through the wires of the apparatus's bass, he seemed to slump in relief … but suddenly straightened with a gasp. With a desparate shout of "Nooooooo!", he fled the room down a set of moving spiral stairs.

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Elsewhere, a small, blond haired girl looked up from her delicate work, carefully threading tiny golden strands of glowing material through a necklace of bottlecaps. Staring into the far distance of the north, her bright silver eyes widened in shock, before narrowing slightly in contemplation. Shrugging, and absently humming to herself, she returned to her careful work, softly chanting as she wove.

"A Elbereth, a Elbereth."

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Back in number 4 Privit Drive, Harry Potter trained hard in the use of his sword, Thorndoom. He had hollowed out a great shadowed cavern beneath the house and naborhood. Wide and open and running the length of the entire street, it was well spaced for him to swing about his mighty weapon of vengeance and triumph. He had discovered, through experimentation, that his power could be channeled through the blade of Thorndoom when he pushed it forward. It first occurred when he tried to both strike the rock wall with his magic and his steel at the same time. A beam of flaming red light, flowing like molten metal had sprung from his blade and scortched the stone surface before him. After that, he had tried to direct how his power was projected from his sword, and shaping it with words, and discovered that he could levitate things, slice them from a distance, and create a great sword shaped beam of distruction to eminate from the edge of his blade. With great joy, he set to swinging and blasting, venting all his pent up frustration at the stupidity and lack of integrity of all people around him, digging deeper and deeper into the lightless earth. Until he came at last unto a small cavern, previously without entrance or exit, barried deep beneath the earth. Shaped roughly like an olive, it held an unassuming stone slab in its middle. However, springing from the slab was the hilt of a historically accurate longsword from midivial times, covered in gems of diamond. As Harry approached it with some suspission and weariness, the slab seem to call out to him. Reaching a hand forward, but gripping his Thorndoom with the other hand ready to destroy anything that would seek to attack him, he grasped the warm hilt of the gem studded sword, and pulled. With a bright, silver ring, the sword came free.

Light filled the cavern, soft and golden, trickling forth from the equally brilliant blade. Golden and pure it was, with ancient inscriptions in white silver written upon it beneath a somber and gentle black ribbon, separating the gleaming blade from the bottom of the crossguard and jeweled hilt. With disgust, Harry through it to the ground with a harsh clang.

"Look at this! Look at this abomination! It looks so pure and bright and noble, when all of those things are false and created by feeble humans unable to come to turms with only the doubting and awakened can survive. Look at its golden blade, so pretentious and stupid. Look at its jewelled hilt, better off used for something else like trade in this cold world. Look at the empty words of good upon it. Just a lie to keep the sheep passified and unable to claw and fight. Worthless! No! Only the grey morality is the truth!" he shouted in outrage.

Striking it with Thorndoom and pushing forth his own emotions and memories, carried through his magic, he struck the golden blade. The sword on the ground shivered and quaked. Slowly yet quickly, like the coming of stormclouds, the bright parts of the once beautiful sword blackened like tar, and the somber and gentle dark parts of the sword paled like death. The blade twisted and writhed, cracking and splintering until it became a far more powerful looking weapon with a corkscrewing blade bent slightly to the left and a hilt covered in spikes that pointed forward and the arms of the crossguard hugging the hilt as if in sudden pain at the realisation of the nature of reality and how wrong it had been. Triumphantly, the grey wizard lifted the new weapon and placed it on his belt, satisfied that the light had been taught a lesson.-

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As Harry emerged back into the dying sunlight of the evening, he saw there a was a torny owl waiting for him sitting on the fence. At first weary, and ready to smite this intruder, he allowed it to approach and violently rip a letter from a string attached to its claw and offer it mockingly to him with a shark beak. Glowering Harry drew himself up and stared coldly into the night bird's eyes and pushed his power against that of the owls. At first the owl resisted with its aragant confidence in the night, but qualed at last to Harry's superior strength and command of the night. Smruking, Harry extended his pale hand and retreaved the letter to read. Deliberately, he ripped the parchment open slowly, sending the sound of slow papter grinding bouncing around the yard. The leter was written in a spidering black ink, its letters spiky and cruel on the paper. It was from someone called account manager Ragnarok and was from an organsensation calling itself Gringotts the Goblin bank. It said that the goblins had detected not too long ago a surge of artificer magic burst out from his location, not too disamilar from their creating magics. It said that they would like to see who it was that had such power that the goblins alone wielded. It claimed the letter was a portkey, a magical transportation device activated by a passcode that would transport him to meet with the goblins. Suspicious that this might be a trap of further manipulation, Harry cloaked himself with a shroud he altered and changed to a tougher material and different colour from high quality bedsheets that were stored away to impress guests. Shrouding himself into a dark figure, he gathered his weapons and spoke the passcode while gripping the letter in his claw like hands of steely power.

"May your enemies' blud always flow like gold price inflation." He whispered and felt a sharp pull on his knavle as he vanished from the grounds of Private drive.

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Elsewhere far away in Scotland, an old man rushed into an almost abandoned room, secreted away behind many layers of wards to stop even the most stubborn houseelf from gaining entry. There, upon a table sat a small spherical device, ringing out the same alarm as the device in his office. Walking quickly over to the sphere, he tapped it with a thin yet ornate stick from his pocket several times, until it stopped ringing, and began bobbing up and down. After a moment, the top split open, and moved to either side, letting a puff of acrid smoke into the air. Inside the bottom of the sphere, continuing to smoke was a burnt mass of yellowish material. Desperately, the old man reached out, cunduring a glove onto his hand and scooped out the scortched and melted material. Dispatinently, he sifted through the dense matter, throwing chunks aside onto the floor. Suddenly, he stilled, staring in amazement. With new found vigger, he carefully extracated a small round object from the burnt mass and held it in his palm. Smiling, he waved his wand, vanishing the over-cooked material and popping the object in his moth.

"One perfect sherbert lemon is better than none at all." He said to himself as he returned to his office, eyes twinkling like a sparkly vampire or mind probe.

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Harry arrived in a roped off area in a vast marble hall, filled with golden counters lined up like giant piano keys with a thud. Not at all put off by his landing, he bent his knees slightly and his black leather boots capped in steel and with spurs on the heels landed like a conquering warlord, drapped in heavy fabrics, leather, and spike'd chains. Ever since he was young, he was profisiot with all manors of transportation, be they through non-magical science or magic. Scattered throughout the vast hall of stone, many armoured warriors, pointy of ear and teeth and long fingered, were either gathered in densely packed groups around entrances and along walls and on balcony vantage points, or else working behind counters, counting and measuring gems and gold. A long line of robed figures, shabby compared to Harry's lordly garments ran from each counter to the distant silver gates of the main entrance, funneled into position by velvet ropes and cool and composed goblins. Harry stood in the only area that had seemed to be specially reserved, an honer that none of the other humans were deserving of. From an archway, three goblins approached him, moving with caution, but confidence, their teeth bared and spearheads sharp and wicked in the light. Two of them were guards, dressed in spiked armour decorated with many gems and their breastplates shaped like dragon claws with their muscular phiseek showing through the gaps of the dragon claws. They also had chainmail all over them which was all of dark steel and rattled heavily as they moved like a hurricane forward. The one between them was less aarmoured, but still carried a longsword on his gold and iron belt. He was wearing light chainmail and a freshly tailored designer suit with a helmet of black steel on his head. They marched up to him with dignity, ignoring the confused wizards question and the clerk in the middle stepped forward, raising one clawed hand in greeting.

"Greetings human." He said in a posh English raspy confident voice of nobility and trustworthiness and cunning. "I am waaaagh chief clerk transporter Griphook, here to take you to see our director regarding your mighty power that we sensed, which is reminacent of the power of our own kind, which is stronger than that of wand waving wizards. It is quite impossible, after all, that they can destroy our tightly packed warriors with area of affect spells because we have ancient enchanments and wards that we carry in our armour. It is not as if we have ever failed to try and rebel." Said the grand and noble goblin lord.

Harry nodded and bowed to the goblins as equals,

"I thank you for this welcome, chief clerk Griphook. I believe it would be wise for me to meet your overseeing chief. Please lead the way." Harry intoned courteously in his deep refined 8 year old voice.

Griphook gasped, eyes widening in surprise, almost collapsing. He looked at Harry with new found awe and astonishment.

"Friend wizard!" he said, hardly able to believe that he had heard thanks and please from a wizard, muggleborns don't count because although their magic was just as important, they were raised that way and they could sense that he was pure blood even though non magic born childryn were just as strong. "This is the first time that a human of your stature has ever treated a goblin with respect, and as an equal. There is a great fire lit in my heart, and hope for the future in our interactions. Please, follow me."

Nodding, Harry followed Griphook and his guards down a long and tall hallway, decorated with many carvings and gleaming weapons, who's enchantments sang out to Harry. They soon reached a set of ornate double doors, made from polished redwood and painted with many seens of goblins in battle against powerful beasts and dessamating wizard villages, who all had flimsy skinny limbs unlike Harry who was ripped. Hookwolf approached the doors, bowed once and wrapped with the hilt of his sword on it three short taps, followed by three long taps, then another three short taps.

"You may enter." Came a deep, gravelly voice, slow and echoy like a noble king of stone, in his seat of power within an ancient and powerful cavern of magic. Silently, with a grind of gears, the double doors swung inwards like inexrable moving continents, letting forth an airy red glow from the chamber within. Fearlessly, Harry proceeded beneath the great carved lintal of the doors, boots heavy with authority against the polished black marble, cloak billowing behind him like mighty wings of secret night and balanced morality. The vast office chamber was even more decorated than the grand hallway in singing weapons, golden plates and moving paintings of wise goblins. Thor Ragnarog, a great goblin king beneath the mountain, the king of carven stone, the lord of silver fountains stood upon his deskchair throne. His desk was cast of solid platinum inlayed with mithril, and many stacks of paper were on it, and within it, for it was magically expanded.

"Wellcome friend into this place, you who hath shared our magic. Welcome to the great halls of Gringotts, bank of goblin and gremlinary. Thank you Captainhook, you may leave." Said the mighty goblin king, his voice echoing in the round chamber. Bowing once more, Grimhook backed from the room with his guards, and closed the doors with a soft boom.

"Please, mighty hero, do take a seat friend." Said chief manager Thor Ragnarok, moving a low seat, reserved for wizards like Lucy Malfoy and other rich wizards that met with him aside, and replacing it with a chair at the same height as his. Harry and Ragnarok shared a conspiratorial snicker together as Harry glanced at the low wooden chair. Taking a seat on the proper leather armchair, they both turned serious and Ragnarok looked into the shadow of Harry's hood curiously.

"Ever since the dawn of time, goblins, of which only I and gripphen are named, have possessed magic of crafting and enchanting, one that the wizards have never been able to match or replicate in any extent. This is why none but their paintings and photograps can move and have special properties. Their moving staircases are undoubtably caused by elves, or else their building have grown into genius loci, self aware faerey spirits of a place of magic. It is absolutely proprostris to consider otherwise." Raganak, the goblin king explained, settling back into his throne. "So, it is as you imagined, we were therefore quite astonished when we picked up a magicka signature, similar to our greatest crafters, namely Griphook and I, emanating from a human non-mage settlement above ground where no goblins usually trod. Further examining it, we found it also held traces of human magic, and some of the forgotten arts of the ancient dwarves, long lost to thyme and the manipulations of wizards."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, applying his keen intalect. From Ragnarok's information, he surmised he must also have the spirit of the goblins clans running through his vanes, along side that of the ancient dwarves of old.

"Yes, this is correct, manager Ragnok. I had indeed perfected my craft upon the day which thy letter was sent forth upon the wings of a great bird of the night, which is both light and dark and in balance. I had forged, from my fatuous uncles vehicle a great sword of power, and spoke there in words of might and ruin over the blade. Such was the enchantment that, when I smote the ground in a fury with it, the magic of the blade was transmitted to the ethor and sensed by many dark and light powers. I believe, therefore, my right and ansenstry to contain that of the dwarven and goblin might, as well as that of mighty wizards of the line of Marlin."

"Indeed?" Ragnarok questioned, raising his eyebrow. "It has been a thousand years since one with goblin spirit, true goblin power among the humans hs walked this earth. How do I know you are telling the truth." And he seemed to grow taller, filling the room with his shadow and the sound of grinding voices within rocks, clanging blades in battle and drumbs in the deep. "Who are you, goblinkin! Who are you that walks and claims our blood. Tell me, and show me so that I may confirm if you speak the truth to the goblinnnnnnnnn!"

Unflinching before the king of all goblins, Harry stood to his full height, and his song was of hissing serpents, awakening from deathless sleep. Of pounding steel inside forges of fire, deep within a spewing volcano. His presence was like a great cloud of grey, of pressure and rebellion.

"Here me, goblin king! I am Hairy Potter, first born of acatosh, paladin of balance, chosen of metal magic, wielder of Thorndoom! Hear my name, and recall it, for it shall be upon your tongue for many days to come."

Ragnarok gasped in astonishment, a sense of excitement entering his eyes.

"Harry Potter has not responded to our numours letters for over 9 years, and ergent they have been. A man, by the name of Albert Dumordor has been accessing your frankly enormous trust fund, possessing the only key to the vault. We have preemtively shut down its access to your other vaults, including the family vault, as we are sure he had been trying to access those as well to drain those funds. If you are truly who you say you are, we need to speak of your account details ergently."

Harry exploded in fury, rattling the weapons on the wall as he levitated off the ground. His breathing grew mechanical and raspy as an air of menace filled the air."I find these lack of letters disturbing. This man must pay!" he ground out through gritted teeth, incandescent with rage that he was not in control of his gargantuine fortune, it wasn't fair!

"Peace friend. It is only a matter of a brief test for your identity to solve this issue as we can transfur the key to you. This test will reveal your true identity, as well as any and all inheritences and powers through your bloodline."

"Very well." Harry agreed. "What does this test entail?"

Ragnarok rummaged through his bigger on the inside desk, accidently knocking a lever that made the desk produce a sound like a hundred war elephants dragging pianos across concrete and vanish in and out of existence before he managed to pull the lever back. With a triumphant grunt, he withdrew from his desk a large square of fresh parchment and an ornate leaf-shaped dagger. The dagger was crafted of ebony with a sarated edge, each tooth carved with a tiny glowing red rune of itallian. Along the center of the dagger, the phrase "we don like strangers ere" was written in jagged gobliglok45.

"Simply prick your palm, which is the best place to make a cut to draw blood because it takes forever to heal and is really painful, and then drop three drops of blood onto this parchment. The magic of blood, sacrifice, and pain will reveal the truth."

With confidence, looking into the serious gaze of Thor Ragnarok, Harry pricked his palm with the offered dagger, unaffected what so ever by the pain due to his steel like mental shields, stronger than that of the U.S.S Enterprize. As the crimson blood struck the pale parchment, it seemed to spread out and multiply, forming awesome looking symbols like skulls and laserguns and the words "my immortal" before turning into a long ornate scroll.

"Identity Identified

You are … Harry Harolde Hadrian Happy Janes Potter, heir to the ancient and most noble houses of Potter, Black, Griphookdore, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Merlin, Morgana, Pendragon, Dumbledore, Gandalf, Dovahkiin, Baggins, Snape, Lovegood, Wesleton, Odinson, Jackson, Ragnarok, Alduin, Flamel, Baba yaga, Peverell, Maleficent, Ravenway, Vader, Hamilton, Saruman, Riddle, Bloody Mary, Slenderman, Dracula, Frankenstein, Gargamel, Thanos, [and a few thousand more that will not fit onto the scroll].

This gives lord Harry Harolde Hadrian Happy Jambs Potter access to many of the above vaults, or if not, the right to lay taxes of no more than 15.4352321534323424341 percent tax on all income for those accounts and houses.

Through your blood and spirit, you also have several inheritences through undoubtably unethical acts or dark magic, several non-human inheritences of right and power a and authority. Such includes;

Goblin, dragon, houseelf, high elf, wood elf, star elf, elf elf, Christmas elf,Altmer, Bloodthursty elf, night elf, drow, eldar, faerie-all fairies, merfolk, unicorn, pehonix, pepper pig, dementor, boggart, Pennywise, giant, frostgiant, and all other creatures in fantastic beasts, in addition to all non-magical beasts like narwhales. Questionable actions from your ancestors aside, and we will be returning to this point, we blame your family for the destruction of several wildlife reserves ye dark magic fowel arts ancestors, this grants you many powers, including multiple animagus forms which include light, dark, shadow, grey, mega, and super [insert creature] god super [insert creature].

Examples may be … light dragon, dark lion, shadow owl, grey kangaroo, mega pikachu, and super turtle god super turtle. You also have several inheritences, achieved undoubtably through the same disgraceful dark arts that no doubt tampered with biology, magic, souls and anatomy, from many plants and fungi. Some of these include devil's snare, ent, womping willow, monkshood, wolf's bane, peace lilly, geranium, and all other plants mentioned in your school textbooks. Additionally, not talking about how again, but you have inherited power from diamond, emerald, amber, obsidian, adamantine, mithril, ziff, infinity stone and a few more found by google searches for metals and minrels.

You are also the avatar, and can use all elemental powers of fire, water, earth, air, metal, wood, hydrogen, friendship, harmony, greyness, darkness and light. You also possess alpha genes in your creature inheritance, as well as omega genes at the same time, making you truly grey in alignment, for there is no light, there is no dark, only grey. You are also the heir to all of the non-magical world.

Thank you for signing up with Gringotts. We greatly appreciate what you bring to our coffers. May your pockets ever overflow into our hands, and your enemies ever fall to your suing for monetary gain."

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Elsewhere, in a high tower. A dottering old man didn't notice a gold key vanish in a flash of light from one of the numerous drawers in his desk. All his attention was on a towering pile of forms and ledgers, standing there on his desk, menacingly. With reluctants, he reached out, picked up his quille, and began randomly ticking boxes.

"I wish Minerva was back from holiday. Still, she works so hard all year. Why is there always so much paperwork at the beginning of the year!" he muttered to himself, ticking the name Granger off on a list.

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Elsewhere, just outside Gringotts'ses marble edifice, a small, blonde hair girl looked up sharply towards the building. Cocking her head, she seem to listen for a while, before stiffening. Blinking twice, then thrice, her palm met her face as she turned away to continue shopping with her dad.

"I'm not sure the jumblies are quite ready to mix with a parotitic bullrush." She quietly murmured.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. Please like and subscribe to my profile and I will right the next chapter soon. Any flames will be used to improve my writing, even though I'm confident that I am at novelist level already.