CHAPTER – 13 THE PEVERELL FAMILY VESSEL

Harry remained unaware of the extent to which Sirius had unsettled the goblin with his words, but the process continued without any further interruptions. In less than fifteen minutes, Ripclaw returned, accompanied by two other goblins who were assisting him with what appeared to be a large, thick scroll of parchment. In terms of size, it could easily have been mistaken for a delicate, costly carpet. The goblins unrolled the massive parchment against the wall while Ripclaw placed a smaller, lavish vellum scroll from his desk atop it.

At the very top of the vellum, Harry noticed the House Black insignia.

"So..." he began awkwardly. "How does this procedure work?"

"You sign here," Ripclaw pointed to a specific line, "and Mister Black," his tone briefly sharpened, "will sign here. After that, both of you will take a Vow with me as your Binder."

"That's all?"

"You wizards and your extravagant fantasies," Ripclaw snorted, revealing his yellow, gum-like fangs. "Did you expect something more elaborate? Such as drinking Mister Black's blood or invoking ancient magic through intricate, outdated incantations?"

Harry blinked, exchanging glances between the goblin's irritated expression and Sirius's amused one. "Uh, no. I just thought it would be more complex than this."

"Sign your full name at the bottom," one of the assistant goblins interjected, handing him a peculiar crimson-feathered quill. "You'll find it uncomfortable to use, but it's part of the process."

Harry cautiously lifted the quill, hesitating as he approached the line at the bottom of the contract.

"Harry James Potter," Sirius helpfully suggested.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Harry quipped. With a sharp breath, he pressed the quill's nib against the vellum and began to write. As the goblin had warned, he felt an uncomfortable prick on the surface of his hand. A sudden itching sensation quickly overcame him, but before he could react, it vanished as if it had never been there, leaving only a faint bruise on the back of his hand.

"What—"

"That's called a blood quill, Harry," Sirius explained. "It uses the writer's own blood as ink for signing official contracts and the like."

Harry regarded the quill with strong disapproval, his fingers itching to draw his wand and obliterate the thing. "It has my blood," he grumbled, glaring at the goblin. "What are you going to do with it?"

"The quill is enchanted to self-destruct once the process is complete," Ripclaw replied casually.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he muttered darkly. Blood. It always came down to blood. Seeing a quill, of all things, draw blood from him to use as ink was unsettling enough. And that didn't even touch on his horrifying experience at the graveyard, where Voldemort used his blood to create a new body. Then the wand. And now... These bankers also resorted to such unsettling practices—

"Harry!"

He looked at the hand on his shoulder, then at Sirius. A single glance at his godfather's concerned expression made him realize that he was trembling once more.

"So–sorry!"

"No need to apologize," his godfather reassured him, his concern unwavering. "Are you sure you're okay? We can postpone this if you're uncomfortable."

Harry stared at him in disbelief. Just a few minutes ago, he had witnessed his godfather nearly wrestle the right to proceed with this test from the goblin. And now, the same man was ready to set it aside because his godson was feeling a little discomfort?

"I'm fine, I can continue," Harry said. He looked at the quill with disdain once more. "That thing will be destroyed, right?"

"Absolutely," Sirius affirmed.

"Alright," Harry breathed. "Alright. Let's proceed."

Without further prompting, Sirius took the quill from his hands and elegantly signed his name on the other line. Harry noticed that his own signature looked like mere scratches compared to Sirius's graceful cursive script.

"Don't worry," his godfather chuckled, casting him a knowing glance. "We'll work on that."

Wonderful, more homework. Yet, strangely enough, he didn't feel the least bit annoyed about it.

"Next," Ripclaw twisted his fingers, and semi-transparent, ribbon-like energies began to emanate from them. "Both of you stand facing each other and grip each other's forearms. Do not release until I instruct you to do so."

Sirius gave him an encouraging look as Harry took hold of his arm.

Here's a reworded version of the passage:

"Will you, Sirius Orion, Heir and Acting-Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, willingly accept Harry James, the blood and magical heir of House Potter, as a member of your House, without any external influence or coercion?"

"I will," Sirius affirmed.

Ribbon-like energies gradually encircled their clasped forearms.

"Even though you are aware that Harry James Potter is of mixed blood?"

The moment the goblin uttered those words, Harry sensed something was amiss. Sirius let out a whimper, as if he were enduring excruciating agony. However, he didn't release his grip on Harry's hand, instead twisting his neck to fix a piercing glare on the goblin, who was staring back at them with a cruel and surprised expression.

"I will," Sirius rasped.

"Sirius," Harry began.

"I can," his godfather coughed, "I can do this. Don't worry."

"Even with the knowledge that this contradicts the Black Charter, as established by Arcturus Sirius, the former Lord of Black?"

Sirius screamed as he collapsed to his knees, his eyes bloodshot, and drool dribbling from his open mouth. But he didn't let go of Harry's hand. "I—I will."

Ripclaw's fangs gleamed in the light of the swirling energies, which were sinking into their clasped hands. "By my authority as Binder, I declare this Vow sanctified by Magic. Harry James Potter," he met Harry's clouded gaze, "take pride in calling yourself a Black, both in name and magic."

The goblin clapped his hands.

The spell dissipated.

And Sirius crumpled to the floor, devoid of strength.

Family Charters were intricate matters.

Every Lord taught their heir to recognize, comprehend, and respect them. When skillfully employed, a Family Charter could employ emotional magic to subtly steer the sociopolitical course of a House, according to the intentions of the current Lord. Some noble Lords used it to consolidate power within their family, essentially creating a mini-monarchy where they were the sole authority. It was, for all intents and purposes, unbreakable—no one, not even the Heir, could defy or challenge an official command issued by a reigning Lord. Any attempt to do so would result in severe consequences dictated by the Family Magic itself.

Yet, like all things, exceptions existed.

This case was one such exception.

While a standing Heir would undoubtedly suffer the consequences for resisting the directives of a Charter established by a previous Lord, if that same Heir also held the position of Acting-Lord of the family, the situation entered a murky territory. In such a scenario, death was not necessarily the only outcome.

This was the loophole Sirius had planned to exploit in order to bring his godson into the Black family. However, he had overlooked one crucial detail.

Loopholes, like doors, could be opened from both sides.

Just as he had used them to his advantage, Ripclaw had done the same.

That's why he found himself sprawled on the floor, contorted in agony as the Black Family Magic, as dark as his name, surged through his being, sending unbearable waves of pain coursing through his nerves. He could vividly envision his grandfather Arcturus standing before him, wielding his dragon-heartstring wand, punishing him for his defiance.

"You..." His words emerged as a raspy croak. Breathing was painful, but speaking was excruciating. "You know... I'm right... grandfather!"

Arcturus remained silent. His wand moved again. Sirius screamed once more.

"You taught... you taught me... AARRGGHHH!" Maintaining composure was a monumental task, but he persisted. "You... you taught me that a Black never submits. To... to anyone!"

The wand twisted again, and pain coursed through his veins like scorching molten metal.

His heart threatened to burst from his chest.

It was the Cruciatus Curse in all its horrifying glory.

"A BLACK," Sirius bellowed, "never yields to anyone. And I—" he forced himself onto his knees, using his hands for support, "I am Sirius Orion. Orion, after my own father—" he pushed himself upright, "—Sirius, after your namesake. The Black Magic. The Charter. They— they are mine to command."

He clenched his fists.

"Mine to reshape."

The agony wavered.

"Mine to shatter."

Slowly, Sirius rose to his feet.

"My will is the Will of House Black. Toujours Pur, for I am Sirius Orion. The next Lord of Black."

The apparition of his grandfather dissolved into a fading mist, leaving Sirius standing in the same room as before. His entire body felt like a single giant bruise, and his mind still reeled from the aftermath of the torment. And in front of him, a peculiar, cold energy began to twist and take form. Limbs emerged first, followed by a lengthy tail, and finally the body and head. He gasped as realization dawned.

This was— it was—

The Black Family Totem.

The Jaguar.

"Tezcatlipoca," Sirius murmured in astonishment, his voice tinged with surprise, reverence, and a touch of caution. Totems were a serious matter. Utilizing Family Magic passively was one thing, but for a Totem to manifest like this, seemingly out of nowhere...

He couldn't determine whether this omen boded well or ill. Nevertheless, it held significant meaning.

He met the jaguar's gaze, unwavering. Tezcatlipoca. The Smoking Mirror. Herald of the Nocturnal Sky. And most importantly, the Totem of the Black Family Magic.

After several tense seconds, the jaguar dissolved into motes of light that converged and descended toward his ring finger. In place of the Heir ring that had been there before now rested an intricate obsidian ornament engraved with the image of the Jaguar itself. There could be only one interpretation for this.

"Lord Black."

Surprised by the hoarse voice's source, Sirius turned to find Ripclaw standing a few feet away, his eyes filled with an odd sense of pride.

"Lord Black," the goblin repeated in his gravelly voice. "Allow me to extend my congratulations on your ascension."

"I thought goblins adhered to a policy against recognizing wizarding titles," Sirius quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"We make exceptions, for the right kind of wizard."

"What does that—" he began, before being abruptly tackled by a black-haired missile that buried itself in his abdomen. Sirius laughed heartily, ignoring the ache in his ribs as Harry enveloped him in a bear hug.

"Hey, it's alright," he reassured. "I'm alright."

Harry nodded and reluctantly stepped back. The boy appeared rather uncomfortable with displaying his emotions. It was a shame that the Ministry had to interfere. Some time away from Britain might do him a world of good.

But that was a concern for another time.

Sirius examined his new ring for a moment, then turned his attention back to Ripclaw. "I need an explanation."

"Ages ago," the goblin began, "a name held more significance than a mere label assigned at birth. It could represent one's reputation, magical prowess, or social standing. Names possessed power; they symbolized actions, deeds, and accomplishments. Yet in today's wizarding world," Ripclaw sneered as if the term "wizard" were an insult, "people boast about their family names as if being born into a bloodline is an achievement in itself."

Ripclaw's expression softened as he fixed his gaze on Sirius once more. "But you, my Lord, have defied the Charter, the Will of the Black Family Magic, and emerged victorious. That, in and of itself, is a feat deemed worthy by any goblin."

Sirius chuckled. Frankly, all of this was still a bit overwhelming and fantastical. "So, does this mean you'll be less of a pain in the arse now?"

"Don't push your luck, wizard," the goblin retorted, although his words lacked their usual sharp edge. "Being a pain in the arse is part of my job description."

Harry couldn't quite comprehend what had transpired. He knew that Sirius had been involved in something important, but then his godfather suddenly collapsed, screaming as if he were subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, only to subsequently rise and break free as if nothing had occurred. Then there was the ethereal jaguar that materialized in the room, leaving Sirius looking as though he had just been informed that magic was real.

Perhaps most unsettling of all, Ripclaw was being civil—well, by goblin standards at least. He no longer appeared intent on ripping out their throats.

After that tumultuous episode, the remainder of the process proceeded relatively smoothly. There was more legal jargon exchanged, along with some insults that went over Harry's head. Nevertheless, he grasped that Sirius was now officially recognized as the Lord Black, at least according to Gringotts. And Sirius had achieved this status in a manner that greatly impressed the goblin.

Gringotts would still charge him a considerable fee—after all, they were goblins—but at least they would be courteous about it.

Additionally, Harry was now a Black, a fact he still found difficult to fully comprehend. While he would continue to identify himself as Harry Potter—Harry James Potter on official records—he would also be registered as a member of House Black. It would have been a nightmare if he had to hyphenate his two family names, creating something like "Harry Potter-Black."

Introducing himself as Harry Potter-Black to others would have made him sound as pompous as Malfoy.

The inheritance test that followed was much like the previous one: a straightforward process with no extravagant steps involved. The same two goblins from earlier unrolled another large parchment, and Harry signed at the bottom as indicated by the goblin.

The final step turned out to be a test of his wizarding genealogy. According to Ripclaw, the process was similar to the one used in creating magical tapestries—or perhaps it was the reverse? In any case, magical tapestries were considered status symbols among the haughty purebloods. Sirius had explained them to Harry when he introduced him to the Black Tapestry.

These tapestries employed an exceedingly intricate blood-based monitoring charm to track all family members descending from a specific individual, usually the current Lord of the House, as well as their spouses. They were highly useful for tracing distant relatives and even identifying squib lineages among Muggle-borns, though the latter was an exceptionally rare occurrence in a bigoted Wizarding Britain.

Naturally, inheritance tests were relatively expensive affairs, designed to deter any random individual from walking into the bank and attempting to claim descent from Merlin or some ancient, noble House.

Gringotts' policy of "payment first, services later" served as an effective deterrent. To undertake an inheritance test, one had to put up a substantial sum—seven thousand galleons—before the process even began. In a world where the average Ministry Department Head earned around ten thousand galleons in a year, this fee was far beyond the reach of most individuals, especially Muggle-borns.

Furthermore, even if someone were determined to discover their lineage or potential ties to a noble or ancient family, there was no guarantee that the existing family members would accept them. Sirius had shared his suspicions about Hermione possibly being a distant relative of the Dagworth-Grangers, perhaps through a squib ancestor in the past. Still, it was unclear whether the current members of the House would welcome such descendants back into the family.

This led Harry to contemplate whether Tom Riddle, who had declared himself the Heir of Slytherin, had ever attempted an inheritance test. He envisioned a sixteen-year-old Tom visiting Gringotts with hopes of claiming the Slytherin name and vault for himself. After all, being recognized as the Lord Slytherin would hold more weight than a self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort.

However, Tom hadn't done so—either because he wasn't a direct descendant of Slytherin or because he lacked the necessary funds.

"So, what happens now?" Harry inquired of Ripclaw, who appeared rather pleased with the situation, likely due to the activation of the Black Family Vaults three weeks ahead of schedule.

Harry had decided not to delve deeper into the matter.

"Now," Ripclaw responded, "we establish your ancestry." The goblin touched the bottom of the tapestry, dragging his clawed finger along the line. The border began to glow as strange symbols—runes, Harry deduced—materialized along its entire length, forming an archaic script.

Hermione would probably understand what those symbols meant.

His thoughts drifted to his Muggle-born friend, who had not accompanied him on the train back to London for the first time in their years at Hogwarts. There had been no farewells, no promises to write.

But Harry hadn't expected Ron and Hermione to neglect writing to him for the past few weeks. Dobby wasn't pilfering his letters again, and he couldn't fathom what might be happening.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as two thin streams, composed of ink mixed with his own blood, emerged from his signature and ascended, forming two names.

James Charlus Potter. Lily Jean Evans.

A third stream rose quickly to create a name alongside the others.

Sirius Orion Black.

Harry blinked and then blinked again.

Sirius Orion Black.

It was still there. Perplexed, he glanced at his godfather, who wore a reassuring smile. Oddly enough, it calmed him.

"Nothing to worry about, Harry. When I adopted you, I brought you into the Black Family. Although we don't share blood, I shared my family and, by extension, my magic with you. That magic now flows in your veins. So, while not connected by blood, I am still considered a parent by magic."

Harry shyly nodded and returned his attention to the parchment.

The ink continued to ascend. From his father's name emerged two more names.

Fleamont Potter. Euphemia Greengrass.

Greengrass? Wasn't there a Greengrass at Hogwarts, perhaps in his year or a lower one? For the first time, Harry realized that his exclusive friendships had left him ignorant of students in other houses and even many within Gryffindor.

It was something he intended to rectify this year, provided they weren't busy blaming him for a murder.

As the ink reached "Greengrass," the lettering turned a bright gold but did not extend any further. Instead, it ascended past his grandfather. Harry furrowed his brow. As someone who had never really experienced the concept of family before, this reverse-tapestry felt strangely comforting. Viewing all these names felt like discovering pieces of himself.

Nathaniel Potter. Elizabeth Carrow.

Harold Potter. Victoria Appleby.

"This is… strange," Sirius muttered.

Harry looked at him inquisitively. "What is?"

"The tapestry. It shouldn't be continuing upward like this. It's supposed to stop once it reaches a Pureblood family. I anticipated it would move up through your mother's lineage, but it's instead progressing through your grandmother's family, which is surprising but not entirely unexpected. Yet it still proceeds further into the Potter line, as though—"

"As though there's more," Ripclaw interjected, his eyes locked onto the tapestry with poorly concealed intrigue.

Harry sighed, reminding himself that he had always been different. Even that eccentric house-elf had viewed him as an anomaly.

The names continued.

Abraham Potter. Josepha Edgecombe.

Ralston Potter. Cornelia Prewitt.

Iacomus Potter. Illeana Macmillian.

Then, it happened.

Hardwin Potter.

The black ink seemed to pause, then turned into a deep, rich green as it etched out another name.

Iolanthe Peverell.

Both Sirius and Ripclaw inhaled sharply, almost simultaneously.

The black ink appeared content to halt at Hardwin Potter, while the golden ink continued the genealogy test. Ascending from Iolanthe Peverell, it began to form another name above it.

Ignotus Peverell.

The new name suddenly became outlined in a radiant, golden sheen.

And then, everything stopped.

"This—this—" Sirius uncharacteristically stammered, "this has got to be a mistake." He and the goblin exchanged matching wide-eyed stares. "No family has ever been able to claim that descent."

"Gentlemen," said Ripclaw, ignoring him completely, "let's take a walk."

Harry and Sirius followed Ripclaw through the hallway, passing several rooms filled with enough weaponry to wage a war. Racks of ash-wood spears stood alongside metal scalemail armor, and he could see katana-style swords sharing a room with heavyweight broadswords. One shelving unit housed an evolutionary progression of weapons, including the heavy artillery he'd seen Muggles use on television. Judging from the variety, it looked like a museum, but with the quantities present, it was clearly an armory.

He glanced at the other two, who walked in complete silence. After the peculiar genealogy test experience, Harry had many questions but decided to keep them for later. Ripclaw had promptly summoned them to meet the current Overlord of Gringotts, who held office at the London Branch. Since both Sirius and Harry had followed without questioning, it had to be something of significance—though with him, there was often a blurred line between significant and freakish.

Harry entered an elevator with metal-grid walls, allowing him to see outside as they ascended. He stopped counting after witnessing seven floors filled with similarly equipped armories.

"Your boss seems to believe in being prepared," Sirius chuckled.

Ripclaw smiled, displaying his prominently sharp teeth. "It is one of his many qualities."

"Though it's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

Harry took another look at the weaponry. Yes, extreme was an understatement.

"One can only be as prepared as one is foresighted."

Harry contemplated Ripclaw's words for a moment, finding them cryptic. They reminded him of Dumbledore, but with less warmth and humanity and more weaponry.

The elevator continued to rise, and Harry caught brief glimpses of other floors. One appeared to be an enormous gym filled with sweaty humans and goblins. The next resembled an expensive legal office, followed by an antiseptic white room that smelled strongly of disinfectant. Then there was a room lit by candles, with murmurs that sounded like chanting. Another seemed to be an expansive chemical laboratory. The next held cells with shadowy silhouettes, and so on.

Harry couldn't help but marvel at the sheer number of floors in this building. Unlike Hogwarts, Gringotts appeared to be much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. However, something struck him as odd.

"I thought Gringotts was just a bank."

Sirius let out a soft hiss, but Ripclaw merely laughed.

"For a celebrity, you are quite ignorant of the world around you, Mister Potter. Gringotts is one of the premier institutions globally, offering a range of services beyond banking."

"Such as?"

"Curse-breaking, bounties, extraction, enchantment, and metalsmithing," Ripclaw replied. "Our metalsmithing, in particular, is renowned worldwide. We craft exquisite weapons and artifacts, which fill our armories and contribute significantly to Gringotts' revenue."

Harry wondered why the goblin was being so forthcoming, and whether he had crossed some line with his questions. Nevertheless, it was too late to backtrack.

Oh well, there was no going back now.

"What about curse-breakers?" Harry asked.

"I assume you're referring to a certain William Weasley?"

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected the goblin to know about Bill.

"Don't be surprised, Harry Potter," Ripclaw said with a toothy grin. "Even among goblins, you are quite famous."

After ascending through an enormous atrium that housed corporate offices on a dozen stories, the elevator disappeared into a short tunnel before opening into an unconventional reception area. It contained all the elements of an office, including a large table, several chairs, and two couches.

However, there was one significant difference—everything, from the floors to the chairs to the table, was made of steel. It was a surprising choice, as steel was magically inert, as Professor McGonagall had taught them in a lecture on material transfiguration.

That meant none of these items were enchanted. No listening charms, no hexes, and no magical manipulation. Harry couldn't help but wonder if it was even possible to use wand magic effectively in this environment.

"You are to enter the office behind me," Ripclaw instructed Harry, then shifted his gaze toward Sirius. "You are to wait until this meeting is over. Afterward, we will complete the remaining paperwork."

"I am his guardian," Sirius protested.

"This is a matter for the House, wizard. You should know better than to involve yourself."

Harry turned to his godfather, waiting for his confirmation. Though Sirius scowled, he reluctantly nodded. Harry followed Ripclaw further into the building.

At the end of the reception hall, another set of doors opened soundlessly, revealing a room furnished entirely with wrought iron. Behind a massive desk sat a wizened figure, his chin propped up on the heel of his hand, and his bright blue eyes locked directly onto the newcomer—Harry.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end, and his instincts told him he was in the company of something utterly, dangerously powerful. Dumbledore had always seemed like a well of power hidden behind a benevolent façade, and Voldemort reeked of darkness and terrible power. But this goblin—or whatever it was?

It felt like a thundercloud. Something benign but capable of hurling spears of lightning if angered.

Was this creature even a goblin? Or perhaps an elf? Harry honestly couldn't tell, but one thing was certain—it was dangerous, and for some reason, it wanted to meet with a fourteen-year-old like him.

Just my luck.

"Ripclaw," the creature said.

Ripclaw immediately went down on one knee and bowed his head. It was not a mere formality; Ripclaw's actions showed genuine reverence for the Overlord.

"My lord," Ripclaw intoned. "I have brought the wizard." He glanced back at Harry. "Wizard, you are in the presence of Bodrag the Third, the current Overlord of Gringotts—"

"Leave us," Bodrag interrupted. Ripclaw stopped speaking, bowed again, and promptly left the room, leaving Harry alone with the enigmatic figure.

"Erm, hello," Harry said, feeling slightly out of his depth.

"Tell me, wizard," Bodrag began, his voice deep and baritone, "do you know why you are here?"

Harry pondered the question, aware that he was venturing into unfamiliar territory. Sirius had provided some basic knowledge about the Magical House system, purebloods, and related topics during their evening sessions. He knew that the Potters were an Ancient House with a family seat in the Wizengamot, which granted them three votes. The Black family was also Ancient and Noble, with a staggering seven votes. However, in all their discussions, the Peverell name had never come up.

"Not exactly," Harry replied. "But I'm hoping you'll tell me."

Bodrag chuckled softly. "Humility is a good trait to have. However, remember, wizard, all information comes at a price. To answer your question, I wished to meet the first descendant to claim the Peverell name in fifteen hundred years. A rather novel event, I'd say."

Harry raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He had thought that Ancient Houses were old, tracing their lineage back ten or twelve generations at most. But something that existed before the sixth century? That was ancient beyond imagination, even by wizarding standards.

"As your godfather should be able to confirm, the House of Peverell is a Noble and Most Ancient House, much like his. Forgive me," Bodrag said with a small, wry smile, "now yours. Do you understand what that means?"

"Four extra votes in the Wizengamot?" Harry ventured.

Bodrag stared blankly at him for a full two seconds before letting out a snort. "Not quite," he replied, still wearing a small, amused smile. "The repercussions are vast, far beyond what either of you can conceive. Tell me, young Potter, is it true that you claimed the lives of fourteen of your fellow wizards last solstice?"

Harry clenched his teeth, feeling uneasy. It seemed he was always being dragged back to that incident. He was about to deny it when Bodrag continued.

"I am not a Ministry bureaucrat, wizard. I know things, and if I don't, I can find out. Much like you, from what I am told."

Harry blushed at the reminder.

"I find myself rather interested in your upcoming trial," Bodrag admitted. "Wizards fighting wizards—it may not always be profitable, but it can be entertaining, if nothing else. Unfortunately, Gringotts has much to gain or lose depending on the outcome of such conflicts. Your upcoming trial happens to be one of them."

Harry looked up, genuine surprise on his face.

"Perhaps some context is in order," Bodrag chuckled. "By blood, one in every three witches and wizards alive may claim Peverell descent, and they would be speaking the truth. However, not a single person in the last one and a half millennia has been able to claim the name, except for you. Can you tell me why that is?"

Harry slowly shook his head. The inheritance tests relied on blood-based magical principles, tracking inherent traits passed down through bloodlines to establish appropriate lineages. But if blood alone wasn't sufficient to claim Peverell descent...

He had no idea what would be.

"It seems my hunch was correct. For a celebrity, you are surprisingly ignorant of the ways of our world."

"You're only the hundredth person to point that out to me," Harry muttered. "Can you tell me what I don't know?"

A small smile played on Bodrag's lips. It revealed his cruelly curved, sharpened canine teeth.

"You'll never value information that comes too easily."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And what will it cost me to find out?"

Bodrag's smile widened into a genuinely merry one. "I would tell you to ask your own godfather. Perhaps the scion of Black can explain why your kind's Wizengamot needs a Peverell scion and what they expect you to do." He paused for a moment. "Well, except it seems unlikely you'll have that opportunity on this side of the veil, I'm afraid."

Harry mentally noted the information. "So, what's this all about?"

"...?"

"Goblins don't do anything without a profit. All information comes at a price. You told me that. Yet you brought me here, shared information you knew I'd investigate. So what's the information, and why should I pay you for it?"

The way Bodrag's teeth revealed themselves in his smile felt more animalistic than reassuring. "It is not common to see a Noble House resurface, especially one as old as Peverell. The line went extinct in the male line half a millennium before your kind even formed the Wizengamot. Only a Vessel could bring the line back, and frankly, the idea of a Peverell Vessel is, I must admit, formidable."

"Vessel?" Harry stared at him intently. "What does that mean?"

Bodrag's smile grew wider, appearing genuinely merry. "The Lordship of House Peverell died with Ignotus Peverell sometime during the later sixth century. His granddaughter, Iolanthe, married Hardwin Potter. However, Gringotts did not come into existence until 1257, barely a century after the formation of the Wizengamot in 1166." He peered at Harry. "Do you understand what that means?"

Something clicked in Harry's mind.

"It means," he replied, "that House Peverell doesn't have a Gringotts Vault. Or a seat at the Wizengamot." He paused, considering further. "You're telling me that even if I claim the Peverell name, it means nothing to the Wizengamot." He thought for a moment longer. "But it's still a Noble House, and the Wizengamot is all about Nobility. How can I be part of the Nobility and not be a part of it?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Bodrag remarked. "I suggest you ponder it with great care. Your... trial may depend on it."

Harry regarded him carefully. "Please don't take this the wrong way," he began politely, "but why are you providing me with this information?"

"So cynical for one so young," the Overlord mused, eyeing him up and down. "But you have reason to be. You have reason indeed."

"I'm still waiting for an answer."

Bodrag chuckled. "It's not complicated, boy. I am on your side."

"Why?"

The Overlord raised an eyebrow.

"All information comes at a price," Harry argued. "That's the first thing you said to me. So if I'm not the one paying that price, then who is?"

Bodrag laughed aloud. "Let us consider this conversation a long-term investment, and we'll leave it at that. Especially if the legends prove true."

"What legends?"

He smiled. "Now, that is information I am not willing to part with. But know this, Harry Potter, instrument of Fate. You have defied powers far greater than yourself. And for that, you have my respect."

Bodrag rang a small bell on his desk, and Ripclaw returned to the room.

"This meeting is now over. Farewell, Harry Peverell."

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