Gringotts was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that made Harry's skin crawl. He knew why. The goblins weren't ones to forget debts, and his escape on the back of a dragon had left a lasting impression. It didn't matter that Voldemort was dead, or that he had no choice at the time—goblins had long memories.

Yet here he was, standing in the grand marble hall, invisability cloak wrapped tightly around him under his robe, just incase. The war was over, the survivors had moved on, celebrating, mourning, rebuilding. But Harry Potter had nothing left.

He approached the nearest teller, ignoring the side-eyes and wary glances from the guards stationed around the bank.

"I need a blood test to verify my vaults and then I need to empty the contents of my vaults," he stated plainly.

The goblin narrowed his eyes. "Vaults?"

Harry pulled out a key and a roll of parchment. "Potter, Black, and the Lestrange holdings, that i know of" he said, placing the keys down. "I want them emptied, their contents transferred into personal storage."

There was a pause. "The Black family vault is in your possession?"

"I was named heir by Sirius Black. I assume you have the records."

The goblin's lip curled, but he gestured to a side room. "Follow me, Mr. Potter."

An hour later, Harry stood before 6 massive vaults, his new trunks expanded and open. Gold, artifacts, books, heirlooms—everything was carefully sorted into the appropriate storage. The Peverell vault was the most intriguing. It was ancient, untouched for centuries, filled with scrolls, ritual texts, and enchanted weapons that pulsed with power.

Among them, a single book stood out. Bound in dragonhide, it radiated magic so strong it made his fingertips tingle. The Peverell Grimoire.

Harry collected the other grimoires to keep separate from the other belongings. He had a small backpack that he cast t and undetectable Extention charm on, along with tieing it to his blood so only he could access it. Besides the Potter, Black, Peverell and Lestrange grimoires was the slytherin one since magic accepted him as the new lord by conquest. He also had a vault that was a mix from different lower level families that died in the war and left him everything.

He was overwhelmed by all of it. The gold alone would see to it that not a single potter for the next several hundred years would need to work.

--

As he left Gringotts, his mind racing with possibilities, he nearly collided with someone.

"Harry?"

He turned sharply, wand half-drawn, before his mind caught up. Fleur Delacour.

She looked... lost. Her blue eyes weren't as bright as he remembered, her robes slightly wrinkled, her usual grace subdued.

"Fleur," he said, startled.

She swallowed, composing herself. "I 'eard you were leaving."

Harry nodded. He told her about wanting to travel and see the world. He then asked her how she has been?

A flicker of pain crossed her face, and that was all the answer he needed.

Silence stretched between them. Then, impulsively, Harry spoke.

"I need help," he admitted. "I emptied my vaults and filled several trunks with artifacts—cursed, trapped, old magic. I was going to sort through them myself, but..." He trailed off.

Fleur studied him. "You want my 'elp?"

"You're the only person i know with any curse-breaking experience," he said honestly. "And I figured... we both need something to focus on."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "When do we start?"