A/N: Welcome Back to Promise of Potter, Blood of Black!

I hope you enjoy this new chapter.
Thank you Reynair and Silviarre for working with me on this chapter pretty heavily!

Have fun! (Longer A/N at the end)

The echoing clang of metal resonated through the cavernous space as the massive vault door swung inwards. It moved with a speed that belied its sheer size and weight, revealing the giant chamber beyond. Arcturus stood speechless, intimidated by the gigantic proportions of the vault.

"Merlin's saggy arse," he muttered, "I always thought my family's vaults were massive."

"The Peverells and now the Potters have been some of our oldest clients," Magnok explained, amusement edging on his face at the amazement of his old friend. "Vault ten is the only one in the first dozen that is still accessible. Their wealth is considerable."

Considerable was an understatement. Heaps of Galleons rose almost as far as the ceiling. Chests filled with sickles and knuts. Jewelled artefacts glittered under the faint, flickering light of floating wisps of magic, whispering tales of forgotten magic.

"Considerable, my arse," Arcturus spat, "This is … inconceivable."

Arcturus entered the Potter vault with a whisper of ancient magic. Torches flared to life at his approach, revealing more of the chamber that extremely dwarfed the Black family vault.

"The vaults currently contain enough Galleons to rank in the top three of the wealthiest British families that have assets at Gringotts, only two of which are still active," Magnok explained, entering the vault behind the Lord Black, a glint of pride in his dark eyes. "Most of the assets in this vault are family heirlooms and books, the Potters always believed in knowledge being power."

Arcturus ran a hand over a gleaming golden shield, its surface etched with runes that seemed to shift before his eyes. It was something the old Lord had never seen. The roman style shield radiated a power, making the air around it thick and pulsating.

Magnok, his face unreadable, joined the Lord looking at the ancient artefact. "Many of these relics are quite … unique. Their purpose most often lost in time and magic too potent to wield for most. We have been allowed to inspect many of them, but couldn't decipher much of their histories or ever origins." His face turned sour. The admission of a failure from Gringotts curse-breakers and record-keepers was still a tough pill to swallow for the proud goblin.

"And you lot almost let that blithering idiot Dumbledore claim this vault through proxy? Harry bloody Potter was going to be stuck in a cupboard at the filthy muggles, while this was laying dormant?" Arcturus' voice dripped with venom. He jabbed his wand towards a towering stack of gold coins. "Did you lot think a couple of measly galleons a year couldn't have covered for him, you witless—"

"Lord, Black … Arcturus," Magnok's voice was calm, but there was a steely undercurrent present urging the wizard to recognize who he was talking to. "We have already admitted our negligence in this matter. We will rectify this."

Arcturus Black nodded, seemingly having regained his composure. "I apologise, old friend. I'm still shocked regarding the future that could've awaited Harry."

"No offence taken, Lord Black," Ragnok said, already beginning to make a systematic inspection of the vault, his keen eyes missing nothing. "But we should continue with the reason we are here."

"Right, let's fetch the grimoires," Arcturus agreed, his gaze sweeping over the cavernous space. "The boy needs proper instruction, not the watered-down rubbish they peddle at Hogwarts nowadays. They rather sing frog songs than teach even the basics of ritualistic magic."

For hours, they searched, their footsteps echoing in the silent vault. They moved chests overflowing with silver Sickles, navigated around precarious towers of ancient tomes bound in dragon hide, and carefully examined delicate crystal vials filled with shimmering potions. The Potter family history surrounded them, whispering of a legacy far older and more powerful than Arcturus had ever imagined.

They moved deeper and deeper into the vault, searching through the vault that hasn't been visited by an outsider of the family or even a goblin in generations, if ever. As they passed more and more shelves filled with ancient heirlooms and countless books, both old and new, the muted whispers of magic Arcturus had heard when entering the vault kept steadily increasing in volume.

"Time … the time has come … the one is here."

Arcturus could finally understand the mumbling of the voices as they reached a wall that shimmered slightly. It was practically invisible against the stone. Magnok pressed the Potter ring against the surface, like he had done with the entrance of the vault. "The Potter heir ring will allow us one-time access to all the sections of the vault as well. This seems to be an even higher security ward than the vault itself."

The air rippled as the band, made of the finest goblin silver, touched the barrier, dissolving it immediately. Beyond was a smaller chamber, cluttered way less than the main vault of the family.

"This," Magnok announced, his voice echoing in the confined space, "seems to be where the veritable treasures lie."

The air within the inner vault felt different. They could sense a weight to it, a power that hammed beneath the surface. A shiver ran through Arcturus' body as he stepped inside, his gaze drawn to a slender, leather-bound book resting on a pedestal in the centre of the room.

The book seemed to pulse with an inner light.

"The Potter grimoire," Arcturus breathed, his gaze fixed on the book. "Incredible."

The instant the Lord touched it, images flashed through his mind. He saw a sprawling family tree, names, and dates swirling before his eyes. He saw whispered conversations, snippets of spells and rituals passed down through generations.

"Powerful magic," a choir of voices whispered in his ear. "Ancient magic, long thought to be lost and begone. You will teach our heir, allow him to fulfil his prophecy, allow him to bring our family back to greatness. The time has come."

"Arcturus … Lord Black," frantic shaking woke the old Lord from restless sleep.

The shaking increased, nearly banging Arcturus' head onto the soft pillow it was propped onto.

Soft pillow!?

Arcturus' eyes snapped open rapidly, his hand already reaching for the trusty wand in his robes, when he recognized his surroundings. "Why am I here?" he asked into the dark void of one of Gringotts' quarters.

"You collapsed as soon as you touched the Family Grimoire," the voice of Ragnok whispered, still shaking from the adrenaline that pumped through his veins when the Lord abruptly lost consciousness. "You gave us quite a fright, Lord Black."

"The Grimoire," Arcturus said, his voice softer now. "It reacted to my magic. Showed me things … things that will help me teach Harry." (You mentioned some spells, rituals and conversations in the past, not anything about future in the paragraph above the one in bold letters)

"We barely got you out in time," Ragnok said, his voice sharp with concern. "The magic in that chamber … it's ancient and overwhelmingly powerful. Nothing to be trifled with. It seemed to leech off your magical core."

Magnok grunted in agreement, his gaze fixed on Arcturus. "Indeed. The Grimoire chose you, Lord Black. It's no coincidence we found this. I've never seen it react like that to Charlus or James when they had it with them."

Arcturus pondered the new information for a few minutes until he shook his head in annoyance. "I've never heard of magic like this. Our Grimoire doesn't do something like that at all, not to a person allowed to touch it."

He would have to find out more about what happened today in the Potter's vault, but had no other option than to wait until Harry was old enough to give him permission to access the family's vault once again. It was necessary to assess the magical signatures and magic that had affected him today.

"No need to worry, Chosen. We will work quite well together."

It was the same choir of voices Arcturus had heard in the Grimoire room. The same deep baritones and high sopranos in the back of his head, whispering in his mind.

"What the bloody hell?" The Lord exclaimed. "Who are you?"

The two goblins looked at each other in concern. "Nobody said anything, Arcturus. Do you feel quite alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I must've imagined it," Arcturus only said against his better judgement. Hearing voices isn't something common even in the magical world, and he didn't want his friends to think he had lost his mind.

But deep down, he knew he hadn't fabricated the voices. He didn't know how it was there and why, but it existed. What had the Grimoire done to him?

His thoughts were abruptly cut short when Ragnok placed a small pouch on the bedside table. It was tied with a ribbon of emerald green, the exact colour of Harry Potter's eyes.

"We've found this right next to the Grimoire," the goblin explained. "We believe it wasn't a coincidence we found it." His brother nodded, wonder edged in his face. They hadn't opened it yet.

Arcturus picked it up without a word, his hand trembling slightly. Dread filled him when he opened it. A shimmering orb, its surface swirling with an ethereal mist, laid in the velvety bag, together with a small, new scroll.

"Is that what I think it is?" Arcturus asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Magnok nodded solemnly, after a brief glance at the orb. "It is a prophecy, Arcturus."

With trembling hands, Arcturus reached out and grasped the orb. As his fingers made contact, a ghostly voice filled the air, echoing off the room's walls.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies …"

Arcturus listened intently as the prophecy unfolded, his brow furrowing with each passing word. When the final syllable faded away, he turned to Magnok, his expression grave.

The goblin had an expression of complete shock on his face, the open scroll of parchment in his hand hanging limply down his side. He passed the note to Arcturus without saying a word, his dark eyes comically large.

Sybill Patricia Trelawney to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,

Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter.

"Bloody hell," he growled, his grip tightening on the orb. "No wonder Dumbledore was so keen on keeping the boy hidden away. If this prophecy is true, then Harry's fate is tied to that of the Dark Wanker himself."

Ragnok nodded, his eyes glinting in the torchlight. "Even if it wasn't true, Voldemort seems to know of it and won't stop until the boy is dead. The Potters must have known of the gravity of the situation, to have entrusted a copy of such a valuable piece of information to our care."

Arcturus ran a hand through his short, jet-black hair, his mind racing with the implications of this discovery. "We'll need to keep this under wraps, Magnok. If word of this prophecy was to get out, every single dark wizard in Britain would be after the boy to get in favour with Voldemort."

"Of course, Lord Black," Magnok agreed, bowing his head. "Gringotts will ensure this knowledge remains secure. You have my word."

"And I don't believe Voldemort has told anybody. His belief in his invincibility was always too high to share a weakness with his followers or anybody else," Ragnok added.

With a heavy sigh, Arcturus tucked the prophecy into the folds of his robes. "Right then. Harry will not face the challenges lying ahead without support, and he'll need all the knowledge and training I can provide."

It was loathsome for him to ask for help, but this time, he would need to swallow his pride and reconnect with some of his business partners to ensure Harry would get everything he needed. "The still active prophecy means Voldemort must still be out there somewhere. We need to prepare Harry. Let's hope we have enough time to bloody do it."

The road ahead would be fraught with danger, but he was determined to see Harry through it. After all, the boy was family now, and Arcturus Black would stop at nothing to protect his own.

"He will be prepared. We'll ensure that," the voices chimed in once again, startling Arcturus for a second.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, sat in his office at the top of Hogwarts castle. He idly stirred his cup of tea, his mind swirling with thoughts about young Harry Potter. It had been a few weeks since he had placed the boy with the Dursleys, a necessary protection and useful tool to shape Harry into the person the wizarding world would need in the future, however unpleasant the experience may prove itself. He hadn't visited, not wanting to rouse suspicion or anger the Dursley family and possibly hurt Harry even more. The blood wards he'd erected around the house would alert him if any magical person came near. He'd planned to visit the boy soon, to gauge his magical core and perhaps leave a birthday present.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings.

"Enter," Dumbledore boomed, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious office.

Minerva McGonagall, her face creased with worry, entered the room.

"Albus," she said, "I've just returned from Privet Drive."

Dumbledore's hand, which had been reaching for a lemon drop, froze. "Didn't I tell you to leave them alone? They aren't any danger to Harry and it is a necessary step to ensure his security from the remaining death eaters."

McGonagall's lips thinned. "But wouldn't a magical be better? Somebody who could defend them should they be attacked?"

Albus sighed, annoyed with the repeating questioning of his deputy. "No Minerva, he needs to be with his blood. The protections I erected are fail-proof because of Lily's sacrifice."

"Seems like your wards did little," McGonagall huffed. "The neighbours confirmed that the family left rather abruptly a few days ago. They haven't seen the boy with them."

Dumbledore felt a chill crawl down his spine. The blood wards should have alerted him if the boy had left with a magical person. Unless … unless they were already gone before the wards were in place. He should've checked on Harry sooner.

"Did you speak to the family directly?"

"They're gone, Albus. The house is empty. For sale, in fact."

Dumbledore stood, his face grim. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't even had time to set up the tracking charms he usually placed on young students, charms that worked even before the trace activated at the age of eleven. He'd been preoccupied with the rumours of Voldemort's surviving followers and the whispers of the prophecy … the prophecy that centred around the boy who lived and the Dark Lord's eventual return.

"Thank you for informing me, Minerva," Albus said to his deputy, dismissing her from his office. "I'll find Harry and bring him back, don't worry."

Albus Dumbledore watched Minerva leave his office, her footsteps echoing down the spiral staircase. He leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was missing. The implications were staggering. If the wrong people found him … if the remnants of Voldemort's followers got their hands on the child … Dumbledore shuddered at the thought.

He stood, pacing the room. His instruments were whirring and puffing, but one was still silent: the one meant for Harry Potter. It was supposed to be attuned to Harry's magical signature, but because of his mistake it still laid stock still. Wherever the boy was, he was beyond Dumbledore's reach.

Fawkes, his phoenix familiar, trilled softly from his perch. Dumbledore glanced at the bird, taking comfort in its presence. Fawkes had always been a source of strength and guidance, and the phoenix seemed to be sure Harry wasn't in any immediate danger.

But nonetheless, Albus would need control over the boy once again. Harry Potter would unfortunately need to be sacrificed to defeat Voldemort. It filled the old headmaster with deep sorrow to throw away a life that had already seen so much pain and death, but there was no other way. He hadn't found one and would do everything for the Greater Good.

Maybe the goblins can track Harry. I'm his guardian. They will have to tell me if they can.

Dumbledore approached the fireplace, throwing a pinch of floo powder into the flames. They turned emerald green, casting an eerie glow across the room.

"Gringotts, High-Value Client Entrance," he said clearly, stepping into the fire.

A pristine envelope, sealed with the Black family crest, lay upon Cyrus Greengrass's desk. It arrived earlier that morning, delivered by a haggard owl bearing the marks of a long flight. Cyrus traced the intricate silver insignia - a falcon clutching a bejewelled sword - a tremor of unease winding down his spine. Such formality from Arcturus Black could only signify one thing: trouble.

He'd known Arcturus since his first day in the hallowed halls of the Wizengamot, when the already aged Lord had taken him under his wing. As a first generation member of the Wizengamot, Cyrus had been lost in the machinations of the political body, not knowing how to handle ruthless politicians and the attention coming with the position.

It was Arcturus Black that had noticed his issues with adapting to the new situation and offered his help. Over the years, he had taught the younger Lord numerous invaluable lessons and helped him take the position he now had within the Wizengamot: As one of the most influential individuals in the body and wielding lots of power. A shared respect for tradition and a staunch belief in protecting one's family had forged a bond between them, though friendship felt a term too casual, too … sentimental. No, theirs was a connection born of necessity and ambition, solidified through countless political battles fought side-by-side.

Yet, for all their shared history, Cyrus had noticed a distinct shift in Arcuturus' demeanour in recent years. A brooding silence had settled upon the old Lord, replacing his usual acerbic wit. Their interactions, once frequent and charged with political manoeuvring, had dwindled to them not seeing each other for weeks and months at time.

Everything had worsened dramatically with the rise of the latest Dark Lord, when the Black family had splintered by supporting both sides simultaneously. Arcturus had seemingly not fought them enough and let the family break apart, something that had made the formerly staunch Lord falter and avoid the public and the Wizengamot altogether.

Cyrus picked up the letter, the parchment cool and heavy under his fingertips. The sight of Arcturus' spidery script sent a shiver down his spine. It spoke of a meeting, a matter of utmost secrecy and importance. A location was specified: the old Manor Black, a building shrouded in mystery for centuries. Nobody knew of its location or even if it really existed, as the Blacks had moved their businesses to Grimmauld place for several generations already. But why did Arcturus need to reactivate their old home?

The request in itself was unusual, to say the least. Arcturus, for all his cunning and ruthlessness, rarely sought help. He was a man accustomed to dictating terms, not seeking favours. Which begged the question: what issues had ensnared the old Lord so deeply that he sought Cyrus' aid?

A prickle of apprehension ran down Cyrus' spine. Whatever Arcturus had gotten himself entangled in, it had to be serious.

A/N: Thank you for reading this story and the great support from everybody. Please like and review once again, it keeps me motivated and is just great in general!

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