Outings
Chapter Text
Harry ducked his head, concealing a blush at the realization that he'd been staring at the wizard, lost in thought. "Loyalty," he invoked, immediately feeling the pull in his navel as he was compressed and sucked through time and space. A moment later, he found himself spat back out onto a cobblestone street. Bent at the knees, Harry fought to maintain his balance.
Barty appeared next to him, seemingly unruffled.
"You'd best pull your hood up; you won't be able to walk down a street without getting mobbed these days," Barty observed, pulling his own hood up. A shadow obscured his features, making him indistinguishable. Harry reached back and pulled up his own thick hood. He was grateful that, in a public place, he didn't have to wear the mask, as it would have immediately caused a commotion. The teen flicked his wand, silently casting a notice- me-not charm on both himself and the other wizard. The older man raised an eyebrow, looking impressed by the silent casting.
"Come," a tall figure appeared next to Harry, almost making the teen jump. Snape's bored drawl revealed the potion professor beneath the gray hooded robes. Though Harry thought they looked a bit conspicuous as three mysterious cloaked beings walking around in daylight, as they took off from the side alley into Diagon Alley proper, he realized they blended in surprisingly well.
The cold morning air bit against his cheeks, nose, and hands. It wasn't busy yet, and most of the occupants were wrapped up in winter wear. Not all had their features concealed, but many did, and all seemed to have a decidedly rushed marking their steps. He could see shifting eyes and fearful glances down shadowed streets. Gone was the carefree shopping experience Harry had enjoyed in his first few years in the wizarding world. Wanted posters of Death Eaters hung on doors, scowling down at shoppers. Bellatrix silently cackled in her black and white mugshot, eyes filled with malicious insanity. Greyback, growling, human teeth bared in a canine fashion, glared down at the shoppers. Equally unnerving were the news articles displayed in windows or stacked next to shops: "Dumbledore to be ousted!" "Muggles Making Mischief!" "Ministry not protecting the Magical!" were a few of the titles that screamed from the pages.
Harry paused, reaching down to grab one.
"No, Potter, we don't have time to dawdle," Snape snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling the teen forward.
Harry jerked his arm free. "Don't touch me," he hissed, taking a step away from the taller wizard.
"Then don't act like a child sightseeing!" the potion professor responded with equal venom.
"Alright, alright," Barty said, stepping between the two. "Let's not draw attention. I'm sure we can get any articles you want sent to the manor," he said, casting Harry a reassuring look. Sighing, Harry allowed himself to be herded between the two older dark wizards. It was clear that Snape had zero respect for Harry, Dark Lord apprentice or not. He was determined to treat him like an errant child.
They navigated the labyrinthine streets of Diagon Alley, the cobblestones echoing with the hushed murmurs of the wizarding world in unrest. As they approached Gringotts, the towering structure loomed ahead, its imposing granite facade adorned with intricate carvings and ancient symbols that seemed to tell stories of wealth, power, and secrets. Harry had a new appreciation for the details that marred the ancient stone after spending some time studying ruins and wizarding lore. He'd underappreciated the rare magic the goblins held over stone and natural minerals. The entire structure was crafted by their mostly unstudied innate magic.
They approached the entrance, Barty entering first, his silhouette disappearing into the grandeur. Following suit, Harry stepped over the threshold, the air within charged with a peculiar blend of ancient expectancy. Snape's presence behind him felt like an unrelenting shadow, a constant reminder that he was constantly under scrutiny even in this small perceived freedom.
Harry stepped into the immense and majestic interior of Gringotts, immediately enveloped by a sense of profound awe. Polished marble floors shimmered beneath his feet, reflecting the soft, ethereal light and adding to the bank's regal aura. The vastness of the space was breathtaking, with grandiose architecture that seemed to echo with an air of potent, yet controlled magic unique to this goblin-run establishment. This was a new sensation for Harry, a growing awareness of magic's presence. Similar to how he could detect the dark, serpentine magic of Voldemort, Harry was now attuned to the subtle ebbs and flows of magic in his surroundings. Whether it was the residue of spells cast by powerful witches and wizards or the proximity to enchanted artifacts, he could sense it. And in Gringotts, it was unmistakable: magic was not just present, it was a palpable, living force, interwoven into the very fabric of the stone.
As Harry followed Barty to an empty counter, he glanced around unabashedly. The ceiling soared overhead, a masterpiece of enchanted stone and ornate designs. Images of historic battles and triumphs were etched into the marble, creating a mesmerizing tapestry that unfolded above him. The weight of centuries of wizarding history pressed down upon him, a reminder that Gringotts was more than just a bank; it was a repository of magic, secrets, and the legacies of countless legends.
His eyes swept across the cavernous hall, where towering columns of gleaming gold flanked a central pathway. The walls were adorned with murals depicting goblin rebellions, each intricately detailed scene telling a tale of defiance and determination. Magical dragons, their scales glistening with gold leaf, roared in eternal defiance, casting an otherworldly glow that bathed the surroundings in light. As the teen took in the marvelous beauty, one thought hit him hard: Harry loved the magical world.
Approaching the goblin at the counter, apprehension and curiosity competed within the Gryffindor. The goblin, clad in a black, gold, and leather brown suede suit, exuded an air of stiff authority. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on its hawk-like nose framed black eyes that glittered with intelligence and a hint of malevolence. The goblin's gaze bore into the trio of robed wizards, assessing them with a shrewdness that hinted at the wisdom and cunning inherent in its kind.
"Yes?" the goblin asked, shifting in its seat to face them better. Harry could feel both wizards' eyes on him.
"May I be seen in private? I have dealings with vaults that are sensitive." "Which vaults?" the goblin asked, sounding bored.
Harry hesitated, unsure if he should say it aloud in such an open space.
"Customers' privacy is protected," Barty murmured, leaning in. "There are privacy wards around each desk; none but those in our party can hear what you say when discussing business with the goblins."
Harry nodded in gratitude, relieved that the man was actually assisting him. He suspected Snape would simply let him struggle on his own.
"I need to access the Slytherin vault," Harry said softly. Snape, the taller cloaked figure, shifted next to him, as if he hadn't believed Harry was truly entering the vault until that moment.
"Interesting," the goblin murmured. "One of our oldest clients; it has not been visited in some time. The requirements to enter are quite stringent. Are you sure, young wizard, you wish to risk it? If you are not allowed, the consequences are quite severe." Harry didn't like the sound of that but surely Voldemort would not send him on the errand if it were all a joke.
"I'm certain," Harry said firmly.
"Will all of you be accompanying him down there?"
"No," Harry replied before either could respond. "Just myself; they will stay here."
"Very well," the goblin obliged. "I will get Strongborne to take you down. Please wait here."
"Perhaps we should accompany you to make sure nothing goes amiss," Snape suggested, his voice measured yet firm, as if he were intentionally trying to hold back any annoyance or anger. Harry suspected the spy just wanted access to the vault.
"Only speakers can enter," Harry said, shaking his head. It was true, but more importantly, he wanted time alone with the goblin so he could pass over Voldemort's letter and convey that he wanted the Potter keys returned. He did not want Snape to know that part of their expedition lest he warn Dumbledore.
"We'll be up here," Barty accepted, taking a step back from Harry as a new goblin approached him. This one was clothed in dark green leather with gold chains hanging from his cuffs and around his waist.
"I am Strongborne," the goblin introduced himself, with a slight bow, his eyes never leaving the three wizards.
"Nice to meet you," Harry said, immediately sounding and feeling very foolish. The goblin seemed to frown at the greeting but nodded, indicating Harry should follow him.
The Gryffindor kept pace with the small yet surprisingly fast goblin as they left through a side door. He was led down a narrow stone passage lined with flaming torches. It grew warmer as they walked, even though Harry was certain they were heading downward.
"We'll take the cart," Strongborne announced, taking Harry to the right down an even narrower passage. It seemed darker, more menacing. Harry followed after the goblin, his eyes glancing around. They made another turn, then another. He suspected if the goblin chose to disappear, Harry would be exceptionally lost in the maze of stone turns.
"I also have other business I'd like to accomplish," Harry said, his voice echoing off the stone. "Before we rejoin the others."
The goblin glanced sideways at the hooded teen. "And what business is that, young wizard?" he asked.
"I," Harry paused, suddenly feeling the weight of what he was doing. If he blocked Dumbledore from his vaults and handed over Voldemort's letter, what did that say about Harry? He knew he was relying on Voldemort's claim that Harry was considered his magical heir to gain access to the Potter vault keys. Did he actually trust Voldemort to do right by him? While Dumbledore hadn't given him unblocked vault access, he doubted the elderly headmaster had done anything nefarious with the keys. Maybe it had been smart not to let an abused eleven-year-old access pools of gold. Merlin only knew what he might have become, possibly becoming a pompous prat like Malfoy, if he had suddenly been rich with no restraint.
"Do carry on whenever you have your wits about you," the goblin murmured sarcastically, turning back to the approaching cart station.
Harry frowned, the mocking tone cementing his decision. He was tired of not being taken seriously, of no one expecting anything of him, of being unable to make any decisions on his own without someone holding his hand.
"I need to reacquire all the keys to my vault. I am the Potter heir," he stated more boldly, pausing mid-step to make the goblin stop and actually look at him. He dropped his cloak, showing his face and his scar for effect. "My vault key is illegally held by someone who is not my guardian. I require all keys that are currently out to be collected and to be given my own key before I leave." He reached down and grabbed his pouch, pulling the letter out from within.
"That is quite the claim," the goblin said, crooked teeth bared in a smile, grabbing the letter. "You'll, of course, be willing to take a blood test; you understand we can't just take wizards at their words." Harry suspected there was a depth to the statement that went well past his understanding, something pointed, old, and probably earned through blood and time.
"Yes, of course," Harry said, deflating slightly. He took in a breath. He'd done it; he had taken the steps necessary to get back what was his. Even if that meant accepting on some level that he might actually be Voldemort's heir, he would at least have access to the Potter's magical legacy, a piece of his parents he'd been craving since the moment he learned he was a wizard.
The goblin opened the letter, swiftly reading through it, then glancing back at the teen with an unusual gleam in its eye. He nodded once, turning back to the path, fire dancing off his features. "We can accomplish the blood test and paperwork in my office as soon as your business in Slytherin's vault is concluded, young master," he said.
Harry noticed the change in the honorific. Pulling up his hood, he followed silently after the goblin. The rest of the trip went quickly. They arrived at the carts, a similar contraption to what he'd ridden in his first year with Hagrid. With a harsh steel click, the door closed, and they were soon zigzagging and flying down the discombobulating tracks.
As the cart hurtled through the dark tunnels, Harry was consumed by a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels resonated in the confined space, amplifying the tense atmosphere. He pondered what might await him in the depths of the Slytherin vault and how this mission would shape his emerging responsibilities. With this task from Voldemort, Harry found himself compliant, yet questioning. He wondered if future assignments would unfold similarly.
Harry had rationalized his role as an apprentice in the dark arts, convincing himself he was not causing direct harm and actually helping those he cared for through his sacrifice. To him, this mission seemed minor in the broader context of the war. But as he descended from the cart, the thought of obtaining the impending Potter Lordship, less than a year away, and truly embracing his inheritance and legacy added an unanticipated burden.
Did Harry's acquisition of his own Lordship benefit Voldemort? Clearly, the Slytherin had more cunning plans than Harry had initially suspected. If Voldemort assumed the Slytherin and Gaunt Lordship in the wizarding world's view, and Harry, as his heir and apprentice, became the Potter Lord, would that grant Voldemort greater legitimate power? Harry was unsure of the apprenticeship's intended duration. Voldemort had mentioned it granted some guardian-like authority to the Dark Lord, but what did that mean? Harry's lack of understanding of wizarding law and pureblood customs was becoming increasingly a point of frustration.
In his ignorance, he could be giving Voldemort even more power than the teen had originally thought. He was falling more firmly under the Dark Lord's grasp, and he had no true idea how the Dark Lord intended to win this war. Harry knew he was being used, that was a given, but wasn't entirely sure how, and that made it all the worse. Perhaps he could ask Draco, the arrogant pure-blood would certainly know all about apprenticeships and heir customs.
Resolved to question the blonde upon their next meeting, the cloaked youth trailed Strongborne, descending further through the stone tunnel. They approached what seemed to be the first of the forewarned security measures. "You must now navigate the magical barriers alone. This is one of the oldest family vaults, subject to the highest security requirements. Fail any test, and you will never see the light again. Are you prepared, young master?" the goblin cautioned. Harry nodded, though he felt anything but.
As Harry neared what Strongborne called the Reflective Mirror of Truth, the goblin grunted a warning, "This mirror penetrates all guises. It reveals your true self, your magical core—it's all reflected back. Walk through it. If you are who you claim to be and the ancestors acknowledge you as kin, then I will see you on the other side. All you must do is walk through it."
Approaching the mirror, Harry saw his reflection — not the Harry adorned in disguises or finery, but what seemed to be his most genuine self. His eyes locked with his own, unshielded and sincere. Gone were the fancy robes; he was clad modestly in wizarding attire. But also gone was the gaunt strain that had become common under his eyes. He looked healthy, unburdened, and confident.
With a deep breath, he stepped forward. The stone atop the mirror ignited, glowing a resplendent gold. As Harry passed through, the world around him seemed to twist and churn. Reality inverted, then abruptly snapped back into place as he appeared on the other side.
Emerging, Harry felt a profound sense of vulnerability. It was as if every layer of his being had been peeled back, leaving him transparent to the core. He had been both the observer and the observed, his existence examined through an ancient, all-encompassing lens compressed into a single, intense moment. He'd felt powerful, yet weak; wise, yet foolish. It was as if every extreme had been revealed then immediately hidden away. It was beyond disturbing.
Harry released a shaky breath, trying to compose himself as he stepped forward to join Strongborne. The goblin watched him with sharp, discerning eyes, giving a single, acknowledging nod. He then turned and led the way to the next task, an arch of steep stone that had seemingly materialized only after Harry's passage through the mirror.
Advancing towards the next trial, the Runes of Revelation the goblin revealed, Harry observed as Strongborne gestured towards the barrier with his sharp, almost claw-like nails, which glinted in the flickering torchlight. Above them, set into an imposing stone archway, were runes that shimmered in a metallic gold hue, imbued with an ancient and mystical energy.
"These runes reveal the truth of one's intentions. They glow when they sense genuine purpose. It's our method to ensure there's no deceit in your heart as you approach the vault, that your intent is not to dishonor the legacy you seek to access," Strongborne elaborated, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space.
The passage leading to the archway was dimly lit, further accentuating the otherworldly glow of the vibrant, acidic green runes etched into the stone floor. Each rune seemed to pulse with a life of its own, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Harry, struck by a mix of awe and skepticism, couldn't help but wonder about Slytherin's level of mistrust. Were these protective measures typical for the older families, or had Slytherin been exceptionally wary?
As he cautiously made his way across the rune-covered floor, Harry watched the runes closely. They continued to emit their iridescent green light, unchanging in their luminescence. This consistent glow, he hoped, was a confirmation of his sincerity, a silent affirmation that he had successfully passed yet another test in this labyrinth of ancient magical security.
"Why multiple tests for deceit?" Harry inquired, finding the redundancy curious.
"Each test only reveals itself after the previous one has been passed," explained Strongborne. "Those attempting unauthorized entry won't know the next obstacle unless they succeed at the first. It might seem redundant, but I assure you, it's highly effective. Had you failed either test, you would have been consumed by the magic."
Harry cast a nervous glance back at the previous challenges. Voldemort's confidence in Harry being his rightful heir seemed like a gamble now. What if Slytherin's legacy didn't regard magical conquest as a valid reason to become heir? It seemed just like Voldemort to send Harry on such a precarious mission, forcing him to rely solely on Voldemort's assertion of his lineage. The arrogant bastard.
At last, they neared the vault. Strongborne led them to a stop well before a faded silver circle that formed an arch around the ancient-looking vault entrance. "The final line of defense: the Serpent's Soul ward. Only a true heir can pass. If you possess the gift, you'll know what to do," he stated solemnly. Harry's attention was immediately captured by a striking statue of a serpent towering above them, its height reaching at least ten feet.
The sculpture was extraordinarily lifelike, with scales that shimmered like living emerald, reflecting the dim light in the chamber. In the language of the serpents, Harry spoke, "I seek entrance into the vault. I am the magical heir." His words resonated through the silent chamber, carrying a weight of authority and expectation. For a moment, the serpent's eyes flared a deep, unsettling red, eerily reminiscent of Voldemort's gaze.
"Come forward, speaker," it responded in the same hissing tongue. With a mix of caution and determination, Harry stepped over the faded silver boundary. As he crossed, a surge of intense magic enveloped him, a sensation more profound and encompassing than anything he had previously experienced.
"Welcome, heir," the serpent acknowledged in a sibilant whisper. There was a heavy, resonant creak as the door to Slytherin's vault began to swing open, revealing the long-guarded secrets within.
Approaching the entrance to the vault, Harry felt a mix of trepidation and curiosity. The heavy door lay open, revealing a cavernous space filled with ornate chests, ancient artifacts, and the unmistakable gleam of gold. The air was cool, carrying a scent of old magic and secrets. "Proceed, young master," Strongborne said, gesturing for Harry to enter. "I will await you out here."
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped into the vault, the door closing behind him with a resounding thud. The weight of the ancient chamber pressed upon him as his eyes scanned the room, searching for the specific item Voldemort had tasked him to retrieve.
The cavern was vast, filled with the whispers of time and the glint of countless treasures. Being cautious not to disturb anything, Harry began his careful exploration. In the midst of his quest, Harry stumbled upon a small, dusty portrait hanging inconspicuously on the wall. It depicted a stern-looking wizard in Slytherin green robes, his eyes seemingly following Harry's every move. Intrigued, Harry approached the portrait.
"Hello," the teen greeted cautiously, already suspecting whom he was speaking with.
"Welcome. You must be the heir to my legacy. I am Salazar Slytherin," the portrait spoke, its voice a low, echoing murmur. "What brings you to my vault?"
Harry hesitated for a moment before responding, "I seek several books and scrolls, magic of old."
"For what purpose?" the painting asked. Harry glanced away from the scrutinizing eyes.
"I…" he swallowed. Of course, Salazar would not condemn him for retrieving things for Voldemort who was actually his blood heir. But it felt odd to voice it aloud. "Your heir, well, I guess he would be your true heir; he goes by Voldemort. He sent me to retrieve spell books on ancient magic you created. He seeks to change his blood."
The portrait's gaze intensified. "Voldemort... a name that echoes through time. What is it that he desires from my vault, and why does he trust you with this task?"
Feeling a surge of resolve, Harry explained the situation, carefully omitting the gory details of his Slytherin lineage through the Dark Lord trying to kill him, but did explain he was considered the Dark Lord's magical heir due to a magical ritual, Voldemort's dark intentions for the Ministry, and a desire to change his blood status to shed his Muggle lineage.
"A half-blood who seeks to wipe away his history and a magically adopted heir," Slytherin murmured thoughtfully. "Not how I envisioned my legacy, but these vaults have been void of visitors for so long that I feared my lineage had died off. I find no immediate fault in you, young heir," Salazar Slytherin observed. "You carry the burden of my lineage. Take what you seek, but be wary, young one; there are many dangers in this vault. You will find what you seek over there." He gestured towards Harry's right, over his shoulder, where several bookshelves lined the wall.
With a nod of gratitude, Harry continued his search, guided by the direction provided by the portrait. Minutes turned into an hour as he sifted through the countless tomes filling the vault, finally finding the object of Voldemort's interest – a cryptic, ancient tome and two dust- covered scrolls, all written in the snake tongue. They looked exactly like the images Voldemort had pushed into his mind.
As he retrieved the book and parchment, an odd feeling of accomplishment washed over him. He'd done it. He'd made it into the vault and retrieved the items with no issues. However, his thoughts were already turning to the next steps, reclaiming his own legacy.
As Harry turned to exit the vault, Salazar Slytherin's portrait spoke once more, "Young heir, I hope you visit again. Carry on my legacy with pride."
Harry glanced at the solemn wizard, feeling deeply uncomfortable. No one had ever asked him to carry on their legacy; he'd never met any of his family. And yet, here was Salazar Slytherin's portrait doing just that, looking at him with what almost seemed like hope. Harry nodded, unable to speak. He quickly turned and fled from the portrait, the weight of the request hanging over him as he left the ancient chamber.
Exiting the vault, Harry met Strongborne, who had been waiting outside. The heavy door closed behind them, muffling the echoes of the ancient chamber. The air shifted, transitioning from the hallowed atmosphere of the vault to the bustling energy of Gringotts.
Harry's heart raced as he walked back towards the goblin, confusion burning in his eyes. "I have what I came for," he stated. "Now, can we do the test so I can have my family keys returned?"
Strongborne nodded, "Follow me, young master," his diminutive figure led Harry through the winding passages to his office. The goblin's steps echoed like distant incantations as they moved through the stone tunnels. It did not take them nearly as long to get to the office as it had taken to traverse from the entrance to the vault. In the office, Strongborne directed Harry to a polished wooden table adorned with intricate symbols and ancient runes.
A peculiar black stone dagger gleamed ominously under the flickering torchlight as the goblin spoke, "Place your hand here, young master," indicating a spot etched with elaborate markings carved into the wood.
Harry complied, and with a swift, precise motion, Strongborne made a small incision on his palm. The blood dripped onto the table, and the runes began to glow with an otherworldly intensity. The air shimmered with ancient magic as the blood reacted to the symbols beneath it. As the magical energy danced, Harry felt a connection to something far greater than himself, as if the very essence of his being was being scrutinized by forces long forgotten.
The goblin observed with a focused gaze, interpreting the patterns and changes in the magical energy. After what felt like an eternity, the runes ceased their luminous dance.
Strongborne nodded approvingly, "I have your results." He pulled out a blank parchment and began scratching away at it as he glanced at the glowing runes on the desk that sparkled a sapphire red, the color of blood. "The legacy of the Slytherin, Gaunt, and Potter lines runs strong in you, young master. But there is more."
Harry's eyes widened with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.
Strongborne continued, "Not only are you the heir to those esteemed houses, but the Black family line also courses through your magic. And there is another lineage, a name nearly lost to time but now rediscovered – the Peverell. By both blood and magic."
Harry's mind reeled at the revelation. The Peverell name echoed in the recesses of wizarding history, associated with one of the original wizarding families, almost as old as Merlin. He'd read about the lineage when Voldemort had forced him to learn about pure-blood legacies.
Though he didn't possess extensive knowledge about them, the name itself carried weight; they were one of the original families, older than the Hogwarts founders even.
The goblin handed him a parchment, its surface covered in intricate symbols and text. "This document certifies your heritage and acknowledges your rights as the Slytherin, Gaunt, Potter, Black, and Peverell heir," Strongborne declared.
"Did Sirius Black name me his heir?" Harry's voice was a mere whisper, a mix of disbelief and introspection. It was the only thing that made sense. He felt fairly certain there was no other way he would have a claim to the Black legacy.
Strongborne's nod was firm, his expression unreadable. "Precisely, young master. The late Black's will documents it clearly. It was read to all listed as recipients of his last requests. Dumbledore was present as your guardian since you are underage and were considered a ward of the school at that time. It would seem that he withheld certain aspects of your inheritance."
Harry took the parchment with a sense of apprehension and glanced at it disbelievingly.
Harry's mind was engulfed in a maelstrom of emotions as he absorbed the news. Learning about his inheritance from Sirius Black, especially the unexpected bequest of the Black family fortune, plunged him into disbelief. Visions of his brave and rebellious godfather flickered through his mind, stirring a tumult of feelings. The thought that Sirius had cared for him even beyond death was both comforting and heart-wrenching. All this time, Harry had been grappling with guilt over Sirius's death, blaming his own rash actions for the tragedy at the Ministry. Yet, Sirius had continued to show nothing but love and provision for him. He wished he'd known. That there was still some connection that existed between him and his beloved godfather. He wanted to honor Sirius even if the teen could never forgive himself for the role he played in his death.
A newfound sense of animosity towards Dumbledore simmered within Harry. The amount of frustration, even hatred, he felt surprised him on some level. This concealment felt more personal, more significant. He had known about his Potter heritage, but the Black will had been kept from him. Why hadn't he been informed or present at the reading? How many had known and kept quiet while he was abandoned to the Dursleys for yet another horrible summer?
This revelation deepened Harry's sense of betrayal. "I never knew," he murmured, a sense of loss evident in his voice.
Observing Harry closely, Strongborne added, "That document validates your heritage and your rights as an heir. Regardless of your choice to keep or discard it, the truths it holds remain."
Harry's voice wavered between uncertainty and inquisitiveness. "What does this mean for me?"
"It signifies a great deal, young master," Strongborne explained, almost patiently. Gone was the aloof countenance he had shown when he first took Harry into the tunnels. There was a new sense of presence; Harry got the impression that the goblin was taking this conversation very seriously.
"Old bloodlines carry more than wealth; they bestow the power to wield ancient magic and command resources tied to these noble lineages. The vaults and properties linked to each family will be yours to control upon reaching majority, unless the True Lord asserts their claim."
Harry's confusion was evident. "True Lord?"
The goblin's demeanor shifted, his discomfort becoming evident. "We goblins prefer not to involve ourselves in wizarding politics," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "Also, we do not confirm or deny the passing of lineages unless inquiries come directly from the family concerned. There are three lineages—Slytherin, Gaunt, and Peverell—where the True Lord remains unclaimed, yet magic suggests their presence among the living."
He cast a meaningful glance at Harry. "Given the letter you've shown me and your knowledge, I suspect you're aware of more than I can tell you. Should the True Lord assert their claim, it would take precedence over yours. As of now, in both the Potter and Black lineages, you are the recognized True Heir, the first in line. Once you reach the age of majority, you may take up the lordship of these families. Regarding the other three lineages, if the True Lord does not come forward before you reach adulthood, you are free to claim them. Nevertheless, if the True Lord, being the older and rightful heir, later emerges, their claim would override yours."
The weight of this revelation settled heavily on Harry. It confirmed everything Voldemort had claimed, tying Harry to him in a way that was both undeniable and deeply unsettling. The connections to the Slytherin and Gaunt lineages, the magic that seemed to acknowledge his claim, all pointed to a truth Harry could no longer deny. There was no room for doubt left in his mind. He was, for all intents and purposes, Voldemort's heir, a role that carried with it a burden of responsibility and a legacy that he could scarcely believe or understand.
One thing, however, stood crystal clear to him: this revelation would only ensure that Voldemort would never willingly release him. The Dark Lord, in his pride, would never allow his heir to defect and join the forces of light. Yet, a sly, calculating voice within Harry suggested another possibility: this newfound connection might also mean that Voldemort would place greater value on Harry's perspectives and desires. After all, as part of Voldemort's legacy, pureblood heritage was of significant importance, especially regarding the Heir of Slytherin.
It seemed plausible that Voldemort, recognizing the implications of this heritage, might desire the best for Harry if the truth of their lineage became widely known. In the twisted logic of Voldemort's world, where bloodlines and legacy held immense significance, Harry's newfound status could potentially afford him a strange, newfound leverage. This thought offered a glimmer of calculated advantage in the murky waters of their complex relationship. Harry needed to speak with Draco to figure out exactly what all this meant.
With a deep breath, Harry folded the parchment and tucked it securely into the inner pocket of his recently gifted pouch. "What about the return of my family keys? Can I get my own before I depart?"
Strongborne's gaze turned businesslike as he nodded. "Yes. The blood test has confirmed your heritage, and your family keys shall be returned. Per the guidance from your newly acquired guardian, you alone will hold the authority over the Potter vaults. All other keys will be magically retrieved before the dawn of the next sunrise."
He bent over and wrote a few words onto a pad that glowed softly before dimming. "I have requested your own vault key be brought here; you will have it momentarily. Do you wish to visit it?"
Harry felt a strong desire to explore the vault and experience some small part of his parents, but he restrained himself. After Voldemort had honored his promise by providing the key without asserting his own claim, Harry couldn't bring himself to betray that trust so swiftly. He shook his head, "No, not today."
He could scarcely believe everything that was unfolding. Now, he would have access to his own vault and, surprisingly, was the heir to many more than he had initially realized. The enormity of this revelation was overwhelming, especially considering that the day was far from over—it wasn't even lunchtime yet.
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Both he and Strongborne turned as a portly goblin entered the room, handing a key to Strongborne. The goblin briefly nodded to both of them before departing silently.
"Then, I believe this concludes our business, young master," Strongborne said, presenting the key to Harry. "I shall escort you back to your companions. It has been an interesting experience conducting business with you. Should you have any questions in the future, my door is always open."
As the goblin stood and motioned for Harry to follow him back through the winding passageways of Gringotts, the return journey felt surprisingly brief. The enchanting architecture of the bank seemed to fold and unfold around them, hastening their passage. As they walked, Harry pondered Strongborne's parting words, wondering about their sincerity. Could he count on the goblin's assistance in the future? What knowledge might the goblins possess that he couldn't uncover alone? As they entered the bank's massive receiving area, Harry resolved to remember the goblin's offer. It was a potential resource he knew he shouldn't overlook.
Harry offered a respectful nod to the goblin and made his way towards the two cloaked figures waiting discreetly in the corner of the room. Both straightened upon seeing him approach.
"Were you successful?" Barty inquired as Harry drew closer.
"Yes, there were no issues," Harry replied, feeling Snape's intense gaze on him. He sensed the man's curiosity bubbling beneath the surface, yet Snape remained silent, holding back his probing questions.
"Good. We should head back. We've lingered here longer than I'd like," Barty stated, his tone firm as he turned towards the grand doors leading out to Diagon Alley. Harry nodded, making sure his own hood was firmly in place.
As Harry stepped out of Gringotts, the bright afternoon sun bathed Diagon Alley in a golden glow. The enchanting marketplace was now teeming with more wizards and witches than before, their colorful robes a stark contrast against the cobbled streets and whimsical shopfronts. The air was filled with the chatter of shoppers, creating a lively, almost musical backdrop. However, Harry's mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the heavy realization of his inherited legacies from Slytherin, Gaunt, Potter, Black, and Peverell.
Walking silently behind the two Death Eaters, Harry was jarred from his reverie when they abruptly stopped. He narrowly avoided bumping into Snape.
"Merlin's Balls," Barty muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Harry to hear.
Harry glanced around, searching for the cause of the sudden tension. The alley, vibrant and bustling moments ago, now felt charged with a strange energy.
"Do you feel it too?" Snape asked Barty in a quiet tone.
"What's happening?" Harry asked, shifting his wand arm slightly so it would be easy to draw the piece of holly wood from the holder on his wrist.
Barty stepped closer to Harry, his voice a low whisper amidst the growing commotion. "Trouble, Potter. Our visit to the vaults might have stirred up more than just dust," he cautioned.
Harry's senses heightened as he surveyed the alley. The familiar magical ambiance of Diagon Alley was transforming, the air growing thick with anticipation. Something was wrong.
Extending his magical senses, Harry noticed an unusual dullness, as if a vast, invisible net of magic was draped over the entire area. "I feel it," he acknowledged. "It's like a net. What is it?"
Barty nodded, his hooded head bobbing once in curt confirmation. "Anti-apparition wards, blanketing the whole alley. Probably blocks portkeys too, if they've been thorough." He cast a quick glance between Snape and Harry. "I'd rather not jump to conclusions, but this doesn't seem like mere coincidence."
The younger Death Eater, quick to assess the situation, scanned their surroundings with a sharp eye. "We need to move on foot and get beyond the range of these wards. They can't have enough manpower to contain everyone. Once the shoppers realize they're trapped, there'll be panic; they'll assume it's an attack from our side." He paused, weighing their options. "We could conjure the Dark Mark, really throw everything into chaos, but I doubt the Dark Lord would approve. That's a tactic we should reserve only if we think we can't otherwise escape."
Snape, unusually quiet during this exchange, gave a single, curt nod in agreement. Meanwhile, Barty continued to vocalize his thoughts, his voice low but filled with a calculated urgency. He seemed to be piecing together a strategy, considering their next move under these unforeseen and rapidly evolving circumstances. "Let's go. We need to find the edge of these wards."
As the three of them quickly navigated through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, the atmosphere around them grew increasingly tense. The previous cheerful chatter and laughter of the crowd were slowly replaced by whispers of confusion and concern. People were beginning to notice something was amiss, and their unease was palpable.
Barty, leading the way with brisk, purposeful strides, kept a vigilant watch on their surroundings. "Stay alert," he murmured to Harry and Snape. "If the Ministry is behind this, they might be planning something more."
Snape, his usual calm demeanor now edged with alertness, stayed close to Harry, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of danger. Harry, meanwhile, felt his heart racing, his hand instinctively gripping his wand inside his robe. The weight of his recent revelations at Gringotts, coupled with the current situation, was a lot to process, but he pushed his personal turmoil aside, focusing on the immediate need to navigate this potential crisis.
They made their way through the alley, aiming to reach its outskirts as quickly as possible. Harry noticed several shopkeepers stepping out, confusion etched on their faces as they tried to understand why some of their patrons seemed unable to leave.
As they neared the end of Diagon Alley, the crowd grew thinner, and the sense of urgency among the three intensified. "Once we're clear of these wards, we'll Apparate, Potter you go first with your portkey," Barty said, his voice low but firm. "Everyone, stick close."
A sudden commotion erupted behind them. The air was pierced by shouts and the distinct sound of spells being cast. Harry turned briefly to look back, witnessing a chaotic scene unfold as Ministry Aurors appeared, wands drawn and ready. Their sudden emergence into the alley intensified the panic, with people scrambling in confusion and fear, unsure of the Aurors' intentions.
Barty's gaze hardened at the unfolding chaos. "This is getting bad," he declared, voice urgent. "We need to move, now!" With a swift motion, he beckoned Harry and Snape to quicken their pace, steering them towards a side alley and the presumed edge of the ward's boundary.
Amidst the burgeoning panic, the trio wove through the crowd, their movements deliberate yet inconspicuous. The Aurors' voices, amplified by magical enhancement, cut through the air, attempting to quell the rising alarm.
"Please remain calm!" echoed an Auror's voice, magically magnified to reach the entire alley. "This is a routine security check. We require everyone's identification before you can proceed."
Barty's eyes narrowed, and he muttered to Harry, "This doesn't bode well at all. They're not here for a casual inspection. They're looking for someone, likely us. Certainly you."
The Ministry wizards fanned out, wands at the ready. Their leader, a stern-faced witch, stepped forward. "Identification, please! We need to see everyone's identification," she commanded.
Despite the Auror's assurances, the tension in the air was palpable. The crowd's anxiety was evident, with many exchanging worried glances and hurried whispers. Many had pulled out their own wands and begun running, thinking they were under attack.
Harry, Snape, and Barty continued to try and find an innocuous path of escape. As they moved, the crowd's movements became more frantic, heightening the confusion. In the midst of this turmoil, a sudden surge of people pushed through, inadvertently separating Harry from Barty and Snape. Harry found himself jostled and carried slightly off course by the wave of panicked witches and wizards.
Amid the chaos, Harry struggled to keep his bearings. He scanned the crowd for Barty and Snape but had lost sight of them amidst the frenzy of fearful witches and wizards. Left to fend for himself, he increased his pace, his thoughts racing. Part of him wondered if this was the moment to seize an opportunity to escape, to turn himself in. If he was captured, it would be against his will, wouldn't it? So it wouldn't be running. Yet, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Harry dismissed it. Voldemort would undoubtedly perceive such an action as betrayal, regardless of the circumstances. And Harry had already concluded that the timing wasn't right for any drastic moves. The visit to Gringotts had only added more layers of uncertainty, and many crucial answers – not to mention the safety of his friends – hinged on his return to Slytherin Manor.
As Harry moved through the crowded alley, he maintained a low profile, keenly aware of the increasing presence of Aurors. Their voices, authoritative and urgent, reverberated through Diagon Alley. Navigating through the throng, Harry sought to create a distance between himself and the Ministry officials. Spotting a dark, secluded alley, he veered off the main path, breaking into a run.
He hurried through the narrow passage, the ancient buildings on either side forming a maze of shadow and stone. His breaths were short and rapid, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and anxiety. The hood of his cloak was drawn low, hiding his face as he swiftly moved through the serpentine backstreets.
As Harry emerged into a deserted square, a flicker of hope sparked within him. He hastily reached for the portkey concealed around his neck, nestled within the folds of his cloak.
Whispering "Safety" under his breath, his heart sank when he realized it wasn't activating. Scanning his surroundings, he felt exposed and uncertain. The wards' reach seemed extensive; he no longer recognized this part of Diagon Alley, or if he was still in it at all.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused him to spin around, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, ready for any threat. As his hood began to slip, revealing a glimpse of his face, familiar voices pierced the air, halting him in his tracks.
"Harry?"
Reacting swiftly, he pulled his hood back up to hide his unmistakable messy hair. Turning to face the source of the voices, his eyes widened in a blend of surprise and bewilderment. "Hermione? Ron?" he uttered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and relief.
How had they found him? His mind raced with questions. The details of the mission had been closely guarded until the last moment. He hadn't even known. The only logical explanation was Snape's involvement – he must have relayed the information to them when they arrived at the bank.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"We came for you, mate," Ron replied, his eyes reflecting hopeful sincerity.
Hermione wasted no time, rushing forward to envelop Harry in a tight embrace. Her hug was intense, as strong as Mrs. Weasley's usual bone-crushing one, filled with relief and worry. "We were so scared," she murmured, her voice muffled against his neck. "I thought I'd never…" she cut off, unable to finish what Harry himself had thought too. That he'd never see them again.
Harry gently disengaged from the hug, his eyes darting between his two best friends. "Are you okay? Are both of you okay?" he asked, his tone a blend of concern and amazement at their unexpected appearance.
"Us? Of course, we're fine. How are you? You're the one who was captured for the entire summer!" Ron stepped forward, placing an awkward arm on Harry's shoulder. The depth of worry in his friend's eyes was evident. It truly was amazing to see them both again. Harry hadn't dared let himself hope.
"I am so happy to see you, but this is dangerous. Why are you here?"
"For you," Hermione repeated, tears forming in her eyes. The sincerity in her gaze cut through the layers of Harry's defenses, and he found himself momentarily overwhelmed by the unexpected reunion.
Harry's mind whirred, attempting to reconcile the abrupt appearance of his friends against his mission. Hermione and Ron exchanged a meaningful glance before Ron spoke, a note of urgency in his voice. "Harry, the Order knew you'd be here. They set up a rescue mission the moment they got wind of your location. We used one of your old shirts to track you; we knew you had run this way and were sent to get you while the Order kept the ministry distracted.
We have a special portkey that can break through these wards."
The revelation that the Order was aware of his situation raised a flurry of questions in Harry's mind. He was all but certain Snape was the spy. However, the more pressing concern for Harry was the potential backlash from Voldemort. He'd already made up his mind.
"I can't go with you," Harry said, his voice soft, troubled. He glanced nervously at the shadowy alleyways around them, acutely aware of the danger they were all in. "If I leave now, Voldemort will know. He has methods of tracking me. I swore to him I wouldn't run. My decision isn't just about my own safety; it's about the safety of everyone else. It keeps you all safe."
Hermione's eyes widened. Ron's expression shifted between frustration and determination. "But Harry," he started, "we can't leave you here. You can't go back to him. Surely you want to be rescued?"
Harry shook his head, scarcely believing he was arguing to go back to the man who'd murdered his parents. "Of course I do, Ron, I want nothing more than to go with you. But you don't understand. If I leave now, it could jeopardize everything. I don't think I can escape him, at least not yet. We can't risk this. You have to trust me. I can only run if I'm certain he can't get me back. That he can't get at you all to force me to come back."
The trio stood in the shadowy square, the weight of the situation settling upon them. Hermione bit her lip, tears now clearly falling from her large brown eyes. Ron's gaze bore into Harry's, his anger apparent.
"We were so worried, I thought he would just kill you. You have no idea… Come with us, Dumbledore will fix this. You know he will," Ron argued stubbornly, brokenly. "We can't abandon you again."
Harry's expression softened, a hint of a sad smile appearing on his lips. "You're not abandoning me," he reassured them gently. "By trusting in my judgment, you're actually helping me."
He could see the flicker of uncertainty in Hermione and Ron's eyes, the struggle to understand his decision. He didn't have the heart to voice his deep-seated doubts about Dumbledore, his growing skepticism about the possibility of defeating Voldemort, and the fear for their safety. Returning to Voldemort was the only option Harry saw as a guarantee for their protection.
"Please, trust me," he implored, taking a cautious step backward. He felt the urgency to leave the alley. Lingering here, especially if both the Order and the Ministry were actively searching for him, was dangerous. "I have to go. This is the only way."
As he moved to leave, Ron instinctively reached out, trying to grasp his friend. But Harry's reflexes, sharpened by constant training, allowed him to effortlessly dodge the attempt. He didn't want to resort to drawing his wand against his friends, but he would if necessary. He had to do this. It broke his heart, but he'd accepted his place at Voldemort's side. It was too soon to try anything that would lose the Dark Lord's frail trust. That would make him lash out against those Harry loved.
Ron made to grab for him again, but his hand fell short as Harry once again stepped back. Hermione's voice rose, pleading with him to stay. "Harry, you can't go back to him. There has to be another way," Hermione urged, her voice thick with emotion.
"We can figure this out together, mate," Ron added, his expression one of earnest concern. He had now pulled his wand, but it wasn't pointed at Harry. He looked deeply conflicted.
Harry looked at his friends, his heart aching with the desire to stay, to fight alongside them, to be free. But he knew too well the stakes involved and the dangerous game he was playing.
That he bore Voldemort's mark. That he was the wizard's apprentice and now heir. He could not leave with them. "I wish I could," he said softly, his voice heavy with unspoken ache. "But it's not that simple."
Turning to leave, his resolve set, Harry froze as a figure stepped out of the shadows into the light of the alley. It was Professor Dumbledore, his blue eyes piercing and his expression grave.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice calm yet carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "I understand why you feel you must do this, but I can't allow you to return to Tom. There is always another way. I must ask that you trust me in this."
Harry's eyes locked with Dumbledore's, complex mix of emotions swirling through him from once unquestioning respect now tainted with extreme confusion and a sense of betrayal. He had looked up to Dumbledore, trusting him implicitly. But the concealment of Sirius's will, Dumbledore's failure to protect his friends, and the apparent lack of trust and investment in Harry's training had deeply eroded that trust.
"I... I can't, Professor," Harry stammered, his voice a testament to the turmoil within him. He was ensnared in a tangle of schemes and responsibilities, and despite his doubts about his ability to confront Dumbledore, he knew he had to return to Voldemort. It was, in his mind, the only viable option to ensure the safety of his friends. But how could he escape now, with Dumbledore standing before him?
Dumbledore's eyes remained fixed on Harry, the intensity of the moment palpable. "I'm sorry, my dear boy. I can't allow that," Dumbledore said softly, his eyes briefly flicking past Harry in a subtle signal.
In a flash of realization and horror, Harry turned just as he felt a sudden, unmistakable tug at his navel. Ron had grabbed his shoulder, activating the Order's portkey. In an instant, the familiar sensation of being pulled through space gripped him, whisking him away from Dumbledore, from the ability to make his own choice, and hurtling him towards an uncertain future.
AN: Thanks for reading, reviews are always appreciated it