Gringotts Wizarding Bank loomed over Diagon Alley like a creature asleep but listening. Its doors were heavy bronze, etched with runes so old they might as well have grown there.

Harry and Hermione stepped inside together.

It was cool in the bank—cooler than it should've been for August. The kind of cold that made you straighten your spine and keep your hands to yourself.

The goblin at the front desk didn't look up.

"Purpose of visit?"

"Genealogical testing," Hermione said. "And account review."

That got his attention. He checked the visitor log, paused, then glanced up at Harry and set his quill down.

"Names?"

"Hermione Granger. Harry Potter."

There was a pause, then recognition.

"Wait here."

They didn't sit. Neither of them wanted to. The marble echoed too much, and the entire lobby felt like a place where the wrong word could cost you something you didn't know you had.

A few minutes later, a second goblin arrived—taller, older, in crimson robes and silver rings. He paused when he saw Harry.

"Mr Potter," he said with a slight bow. "I am Tharkun. If you'll follow me, we can begin your account review."

Harry blinked, glancing at Hermione.

"She's coming too."

Tharkun inclined his head. "As you wish."

The office was all dark wood and brass—quiet, expensive, and serious. The kind of room built for decisions people didn't come back from. Tharkun opened a thick ledger on the desk and adjusted the brass-rimmed inkwell beside it.

"Mr Potter," he began, "you should have been introduced to your account manager upon your first visit to Gringotts. That did not happen."

Harry frowned. "I didn't know I had one. I thought it was just a vault for school stuff."

"That vault," said Tharkun evenly, "is merely your educational trust. In truth, you are the hereditary heir to the Noble House of Potter, and—provisionally—the House of Black."

Harry blinked. "Wait—Black? As in… Sirius Black? The one who broke out of Azkaban?"

"The same. A sealed claim was added to your file the day he swore a godfather's oath."

Harry stared. "Godfather?"

"You were not informed?"

Harry shook his head, slowly. "I thought he was a criminal."

"That matter," Tharkun said carefully, "will need reassessment. Regardless, the magical contract was never broken. With no other direct heirs, and no legal disownment on record, you are next in line."

Harry sat back. "I don't even know who the Black family is."

"Old. Influential. Controversial." Tharkun didn't soften the words. "You have direct claim through them. You also currently hold four vaults," Tharkun continued. "Two active Potter holdings, the educational trust, and a sealed Black vault. In addition, you possess the title of Lord Potter—formally, Lord Henry James of the Noble House of Potter, Heir Presumptive of Peverell and Gryffindor."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "That's… that's a lot."

"Titles in the magical world are not always public, but they are binding," Tharkun said. "The Ministry recognises them in full under the Old Blood Compact. You hold seats. Estates. Political weight—though none has been exercised on your behalf."

"So I've just been walking around with titles and vaults I didn't know existed?"

"Yes," Tharkun said calmly. "And no legal guardian to oversee any of it."

Harry went quiet. Hermione was silent beside him, but her eyes were locked on Tharkun like she was filing every word.

'But I live with my Aunt and Uncle…"

"The placement with your relatives," Tharkun continued, "was done without proper magical documentation. It is not recognised by this institution."

He gave Harry a long look.

"From a legal perspective, you have been unrepresented in the magical world since the age of fifteen months."

The words landed like a spell with too much power behind it.

Hermione glanced at him, worry flickering across her face. But Tharkun didn't push. He simply turned the page in the ledger with sharp precision and addressed her instead.

"Miss Granger, while Mr Potter considers these revelations, I'd like to discuss yours."

She straightened.

"Your file reflects dual-world registration—both magical and Muggle. This places you in a unique legal category. Normally, Hogwarts manages such transitions. However, your record includes a sealed adoption flag, which suggests concealed magical lineage."

Hermione froze. "I didn't tell anyone I was adopted."

"You did not need to," Tharkun said. "The bank verifies magical status and ancestral magic. The seal is foreign—placed outside British jurisdiction."

Hermione's heart thudded. "Is that… common?"

"No," Tharkun said. "And it implies someone with influence altered your magical identity at the source."

She looked down. Her voice was small. "Can we still do the testing?"

Tharkun nodded. "Yes. But two requirements must be met. First, you'll need an evaluation from a certified mind healer. The results of the genealogical rite can be psychologically and magically destabilising—especially if magical concealment or bloodline oaths are discovered."

Hermione nodded once.

"Second," he continued, "if you do not have one, you will need to appoint a magical guardian—or authorise the bank to act as temporary proxy. You are legally a minor. Should your biological family be politically or magically active, their claim could supersede your current guardianship—unless challenged."

She frowned. "I thought a magical guardian was like a foster parent."

"Not necessarily," Tharkun said. "A magical guardian represents a child's magical rights, inheritance, and legal protections within magical society. They may act as advocate, steward, protector—or more, depending on circumstance. For example, they may speak for you before magical courts, manage protected artefacts, authorise spellcasting thresholds, and shield you from exploitative contracts—magical or legal."

Harry stirred. "What if someone else appointed one without consent?"

Tharkun's expression darkened. "In that case, the appointer and appointed guardian have breached the Goblin Charter and violated the Compact of Minor Magical Custody. Both are grave offences."

He picked up a file and tapped it. He passed it to Harry and Hermione as the parchment updated listing two names and brief summary of their qualifications:
• Lady Clarisse Marchand
• Elijah Dorne

"These individuals are cleared by the International Confederation of Wizards for consideration. They hold no Ministry affiliations. They are currently available for assignment, but further recommendations can be provided upon request. You may review this and decide if you would like to meet with them after your healer evaluations."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Thank you. How long does the process take?"

"It varies, Gringotts can coordinate your testing as soon as the mind healer has cleared you. Resolving what you find cannot be predicted."

Harry was quiet. Then: "I want to do the testing too. And I want a guardian. One I choose."

Tharkun inclined his head. "Very good, Lord Potter."

Harry startled at the name but said nothing.

They stepped out of Gringotts into the late afternoon haze. The sun struck the marble steps and made the street shimmer.

Neither said anything at first.

Then Hermione asked, quietly, "You okay?"

Harry was quiet for a beat. "I don't know. But I'm glad you were there."

She nodded. "Me too."

They started walking—slowly, deliberately—toward Fortescue's.

They weren't out of the storm yet—but for the first time, they were walking into it with their eyes open.