The dim, early morning light barely filtered through the heavy curtains of the room at Grimmauld Place, leaving most of it shrouded in gloom. The air was thick with the musty smell of old wood and lingering traces of dust, a hallmark of a house long neglected and only recently reclaimed. Harry Potter lay on a narrow, creaking bed, his breath coming in quick, panicked gasps as he bolted upright, drenched in sweat. The remnants of his nightmare clung to him like cobwebs, the screams and chaos of the Department of Mysteries still echoing in his mind.
Blindly, his hand searched the bedside table for his glasses. Once they were perched on his nose, the room came into focus—its tall, shadowed bookshelves and faded wallpaper seemingly pressing in on him. He wasn't at Hogwarts, he realised with a sinking feeling, but in the grim and imposing headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
For a moment, panic gripped him. Then the memories of the previous day slammed into him, harsh and unforgiving, like icy waves battering against a rocky shore. Sirius—his godfather, his last link to family—was gone. Dead.
A strangled cry escaped him before he could stop it, and Harry clamped a hand over his mouth, his green eyes wide as he turned to glance at the other bed. Ron was sprawled across it, one arm hanging over the side, his red hair sticking out in every direction as he snored loudly. Harry's chest loosened with relief. At least he hadn't woken him.
Turning his gaze to the ceiling, he let the wave of grief crash over him, silent tears tracing hot paths down his face. His hands clenched the thin blanket tightly.
"How could I have been so stupid?" The words tore through his mind like jagged glass."I should have known it was a trap. Sirius died because of me."
The silence was broken by a sudden rustling sound, and Harry's heart jumped. A majestic owl, its plumage shimmering in shades of silver and grey, swooped gracefully through the open window, its wings cutting the air with quiet precision. Before Harry could react, it deposited a large envelope onto his lap and vanished into the morning sky, leaving only a faint whisper of wings behind.
Still trembling, Harry stared at the envelope. Its creamy parchment bore an official Gringotts seal embossed in gold, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
With trembling fingers, he turned it over, his name standing out in elegant green script:
Harry James Potter
Grimmauld Place
"Open the letter, pup."
The voice, deep and unmistakably familiar, froze Harry in place. His heart thundered in his chest as he whipped his head around, expecting to see Sirius standing there, perhaps leaning casually against the wall with that roguish grin.
But the room was empty.
"Sirius?" Harry whispered hoarsely.
No response came, only silence. His shoulders sagged as disappointment clawed at him. Turning back to the envelope, he fumbled with the wax seal, his fingers still shaking. Finally, he unfolded the parchment inside.
Gringotts Bank
Dear Harry James Potter,
This letter is to inform you that there will be a private will reading for Sirius Orion Black at Gringotts Bank at 11 AM tomorrow morning, 15 June. As the sole beneficiary, it is imperative that you attend the will reading as it cannot happen without you. Please do not bring anyone else with you as this meeting is meant to be private.
This letter will act as a Portkey to transport you to the Black Account Manager's office. It will activate at 10:55 AM.
Regards,
Scarclaw
Wills and Probate Department
Gringotts
The words blurred before Harry's eyes as the weight of their meaning settled over him. His hands gripped the parchment tightly, and his chest heaved as fresh tears welled up.
Sole heir struck him like a blow. There was no escaping it now. Sirius was gone—truly gone.
"He's really gone…" Harry whispered brokenly, his voice cracking. His hands trembled, and a sob escaped his lips. The room seemed colder, emptier. A suffocating ache settled over him.
"Why?" he whispered into the silence, his voice filled with anguish. "Why does everyone I care about die? Why can't I protect them?"
"You're not alone, pup. I'll be here for you as long as you need me."
Harry gasped. The voice again—strong, warm, and tinged with a faint note of mischief—filled his mind.
"Sirius?" he whispered, barely daring to hope.
"Yes, it's me, Harry," the voice replied with a chuckle. "But you can't see me. Don't worry—you're not going mad."
It felt as though a floodgate had opened inside him. Relief, confusion, and hope all surged together. "How is this possible?" Harry thought, afraid to speak aloud with Ron still snoring a few feet away.
"Fate's given me a second chance," Sirius said gently. "I can't come back physically, but for now, I'm here—in your mind—to help you with the task ahead."
Harry's breath hitched. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I… It's my fault you're dead. I should've stopped you—"
"Stop," Sirius interrupted, his tone firm but kind. "It's not your fault, Harry. It never was. Blame Bellatrix, blame Voldemort—but don't blame yourself. Life's too short to dwell on guilt."
Harry closed his eyes, letting Sirius's words wash over him. The heavy weight on his chest eased slightly.
"While I'm here," Sirius continued, "I'll teach you everything I can—about magic, pureblood traditions, and what it means to be a Lord. I'll do everything in my power to prepare you to take down Voldemort. And, pup, I promise—I'll help you find happiness."
Harry felt something inside him shift. For the first time in weeks, a faint glimmer of hope stirred within him. Sirius might not be here physically, but he wasn't truly gone.
"Wait—did you say Lord?" Harry's brows furrowed.
"Yes," Sirius said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You're the heir to the Potter lordship, but as my heir, you'll inherit the Black lordship too. Tomorrow, you'll officially become Lord Black. That makes you an adult in the wizarding world."
Harry blinked, struggling to process the enormity of it. "But I don't know anything about being a Lord!"
"That's what I'm here for, pup. Don't worry—we'll figure it out together."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Harry smiled—a small, tentative smile, but a smile nonetheless.
Exhaustion weighed on him like a heavy blanket, and he sank back onto the bed, his eyes drifting shut as Sirius's comforting presence lulled him to sleep.
o - o - o - o
The next day dawned with a peculiar stillness, and as Harry descended the creaking stairs to the kitchen, the smells of frying bacon and fresh bread greeted him. Molly Weasley, bustling around with her usual energy, caught sight of him and immediately enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug.
"Oh, Harry, dear! You look exhausted! Sit, sit—you need to eat." She ushered him to the table, where a steaming plate of food appeared before him. The chatter of the Weasley clan and Order members filled the room, a cacophony of warmth and noise that was almost overwhelming.
When Harry mentioned the will reading, Molly's maternal instincts kicked into overdrive. But despite her protests, Harry stood firm. He had to face this alone.
As the day wore on, Harry retreated to his room, where Sirius shared stories about the Black family and offered guidance for the challenges ahead.
By evening, Harry felt more prepared for what awaited him at Gringotts.
Or at least, he hoped he was.
The next morning, Harry stood in the centre of his room at Grimmauld Place, gripping the Gringotts letter so tightly his knuckles turned white. The morning sunlight slanted through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows on the floor as Ron still snored softly from the other bed.
"Well, here goes nothing," Harry muttered to himself. He barely had time to brace before the letter flared with a warm light, pulling him forward with the familiar, uncomfortable tug of a portkey. The sensation of being squeezed through a too-narrow tube made him gasp, and moments later, he landed in an inelegant heap on the cold, polished marble floor of Gringotts. The chill of the floor seeped into his palms as he pushed himself up, groaning softly.
The room was unlike any other he'd seen in the bank before. Towering marble columns lined the space, their intricate carvings glinting faintly under the golden light spilling from crystal chandeliers above. The grandeur of the space was both awe-inspiring and intimidating, with an air of timeless authority. Each archway between the columns led to a door, some grand and gilded, others simple but heavily reinforced. At the far end of the room stood a set of imposing golden double doors, guarded by a row of goblins in ceremonial armour, their sharp eyes following Harry's every move.
Curiosity tugged at him, and Harry found himself walking toward the golden doors, temporarily forgetting why he was there. A sharp cough from behind jolted him back to reality. He turned to see a goblin he recognised immediately—Griphook.
"Mr. Potter. This way, please," said Griphook, his gravelly voice echoing slightly in the vast chamber.
"Thank you, Master Griphook," Harry replied, bowing slightly as Sirius had advised. Goblins valued respect, Sirius had said, and Harry wasn't about to risk offending them.
Griphook's sharp eyes widened momentarily before narrowing in curiosity. "You remember my name?" he asked, his tone tinged with surprise.
Harry shifted awkwardly, feeling the weight of the goblin's scrutiny. "Uh—yeah," he mumbled, glancing down at his shoes.
Griphook gave no indication of his thoughts, turning abruptly and leading Harry toward one of the simpler doors. Harry trailed behind, his footsteps echoing faintly in the otherwise silent chamber.
"You did fine, pup," Sirius's voice whispered in Harry's mind. "They're just not used to wizards treating them with respect."
Harry felt a small surge of relief at Sirius's reassurance. They stopped before a heavy door, and Griphook ran his long, sharp fingernail along its edge. The door swung open soundlessly, revealing a smaller but no less grand room.
"This way, Mr. Potter," Griphook said, stepping aside to let Harry enter first.
The room was furnished with a single massive desk of dark, polished wood, its surface spotless except for a silver inkwell and quill. Behind the desk, shelves filled with ledgers and scrolls climbed the walls, and a high-backed chair awaited its occupant.
"Have a seat, Mr. Potter," Griphook said as he shut the door with an echoing thud. "Master Scarclaw will be with you shortly."
Harry nodded and sat down in the plush chair before the desk, the fabric surprisingly soft under his fingers. His stomach churned with nerves as he glanced around the room. After a few tense minutes, another door appeared in the wall behind the desk, and an older goblin entered. He was taller than Griphook, with silvery streaks in his dark hair and a regal bearing that made Harry immediately stand and bow.
"Good morning, Master Scarclaw," Harry said respectfully.
Scarclaw's thin lips quirked in what might have been a smirk. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. Let us begin."
Scarclaw sat down, and with a snap of his fingers, a scroll materialised before him. He picked it up with long, clawed fingers and unrolled it, clearing his throat before speaking. His voice carried the solemnity of centuries of tradition.
"We are gathered to read the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black."
The words sent a pang through Harry's chest, but he forced himself to focus as Scarclaw continued.
"I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare that this is my last will and testament. As the last member of the Black family, I am first and foremost naming my godson, Harry James Potter, as my heir. As my heir, Harry shall inherit the entirety of the Black fortune, properties, and assets, as well as take on the title of Lord Black, with all the responsibilities such a position entails. My only request is that Grimmauld Place be gifted to Remus Lupin. This is my final request. So mote it be."
As Scarclaw's voice fell silent, a sealed envelope and several stacks of papers appeared on the desk. Harry reached out with trembling hands, picking up the envelope. Sirius's handwriting—so familiar from the letters they'd exchanged—looped across the front: Harry.
Scarclaw stood. "Take your time. I will return shortly," he said, leaving through the door, which vanished behind him.
Harry hesitated before opening the envelope, his fingers brushing over the edges as if to hold on to Sirius a moment longer. Finally, he unfolded the letter inside.
Hey Pup,
If you're reading this, then I've kicked the bucket, as the Muggles say. I wish we'd had more time together. I wish I hadn't been so foolish back then—following Peter, landing myself in Azkaban, and missing out on so much of your life. But I want you to know that I've loved you like a son, even in the little time we had.
That's why I've named you my heir. The Black family magic is powerful, and I hope it gives you the tools you need to survive and finish what you've started. I have three pieces of advice for you:
First, remember that you don't have to do this alone. Let your friends help you carry the weight of this fight.
Second, you're a Lord now. Take control of your life. Don't let Dumbledore or anyone else decide your path for you. Trust your instincts.
And third, don't be afraid to love, even if it comes from an unexpected place.
Take care of yourself, Harry. Change the world for the better. I believe in you.
Love,
Padfoot
Harry's vision blurred with tears, and he wiped at his eyes hastily as the door reappeared and Scarclaw returned.
"Are you ready to proceed, Lord Black?" Scarclaw asked, his tone neutral.
Harry straightened, clutching the letter tightly. "Yes, Master Scarclaw. I'm ready."
"Very well, as the new Lord Black you are now considered a legal adult in the magical world. This will allow you to also take up the headship of Lord Potter as well. Is that your wish today?"
"Yes Master Scarclaw."
Scarclaw nodded, not even looking up, as if he knew what Harry's answer would be. Suddenly two small black boxes appeared on the desk. Scarclaw opened the first box and gave it to Harry.
"This is the Black family ring. Put it on your left ring finger. If the Black family magic accepts you as the new lord you will feel a shock as the family magic merges with your own and then you will immediately gain all of the knowledge of the Black Lords before you. It will take a lot of practice for you to be able to control this knowledge and pull it up intentionally..."
"There is a book at Grimmauld Place that will help with that," said Sirius. "The knowledge on how to control the ring's magic is usually passed down from Lord to Lord but my great great grandfather wrote it all down when he almost died from dragon pox before he could pass it on. It should be on my personal bookcase in my room." Harry nodded.
"…..You will also gain access to the whereabouts of all properties and hidden assets belonging to the House of Black, although I do not think there is much as most of the assets were liquidated during the war against Grindelwald," continued the goblin still not looking up at Harry.
"And if the Black family magic doesn't accept me?" asked Harry with a hint of worry. The goblin looked up at him with a feral toothy grin.
"Right," said Harry with a gulp. "Based on his look I'm sure it's something real pleasant" he thought.
After a few moments he sighed and then put the ring on his finger as instructed. He held his breath and tightly shut his eyes hoping something awful wasn't about to happen. Suddenly a warm sensation spread throughout his body as if something was scanning him to determine his worth and then a sharp jolt shot through his body and bolts of magic streamed out of the ring for a moment while millions of images flashed through his mind. Seconds later the sensation was gone and the ring re-sized itself to fit his finger with a "snap". When Harry opened his eyes he saw Scarclaw looking at him in slight disappointment. Apparently, goblins enjoy whatever happens if the house magic doesn't accept you.
"Now for the Potter ring," said the goblin handing him the other open box. Once that ring resized Scarclaw continued.
"Now there is one more matter I need to discuss with you and then your account manager will be in to go through the rest of the paperwork with you." Harry nodded.
"Would you like to honour Sirius' request of gifting Grimmauld Place to a Mr. Remus Lupin?"
"Yes I would Master Scarclaw." said Harry politely.
"Very well," said Scarclaw taking a sheet of paper from the top of the smallest pile and sliding it over to Harry along with a blood quill.
"Sign here," the goblin said pointing at the bottom of the paper. Harry picked up the quill and signed.
"Ouch. I hate blood quills," thought Harry as memories of the year before crossed his mind. As soon as the paper was signed it disappeared and Harry rubbed his hand absentmindedly.
"It was nice to meet you Lord Potter-Black," said Scarclaw as he stood up.
"You as well Master Scarclaw." replied Harry.
"Griphook will be in shortly." Then Scarclaw turned and left through the disappearing door.
Harry sat back in the chair, letting out a long, steadying breath. His mind reeled from the whirlwind of information, the weight of the two titles he now bore, and the sheer gravity of his new responsibilities. He absently rubbed the finger where the blood quill had pricked him, feeling a faint sting.
Moments later, the door swung open again, and Griphook entered, carrying a thick ledger and a smaller leather-bound book. He climbed onto the chair across from Harry and placed the items neatly on the desk just as several large piles of parchment appeared.
"Congratulations, Lord Potter-Black," Griphook said with a toothy grin, his tone more formal than when they'd last met. "As your account manager, I will assist you in navigating the holdings and affairs of both House Black and House Potter."
"Thank you, Master Griphook," Harry replied earnestly. He was trying to remember Sirius's advice: show respect, listen carefully, and don't rush. The goblins valued precision and courtesy, after all.
Griphook opened the ledger, flipping expertly through its pages until he reached the section he sought. "We will begin with an overview of your combined vaults and properties. This is a summary—more detailed accounts can be provided upon request."
Harry leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. He had always known the Potters had been well-off, but he had no idea just how much wealth and property he now controlled.
"House Potter has three primary vaults," Griphook began. "The main family vault, which contains liquid assets and heirlooms. The trust vault, which you have been using since your eleventh birthday. And the legacy vault, which contains rare magical items and documents accumulated over centuries."
Griphook tapped a claw against the ledger. "The combined liquid assets of House Potter total approximately three hundred and twenty-seven thousand Galleons, with additional investments in magical businesses and stocks. The estate also includes Potter Manor in Godric's Hollow, along with smaller properties in the Scottish Highlands and France."
Harry blinked. That was... a lot.
"Now, for House Black," Griphook continued, his tone sharpening slightly. "The Black family vault has significantly fewer liquid assets—just under fifty thousand Galleons—but it holds a considerable collection of rare artifacts, cursed items, and tomes of magical lore. As you heard in the will, many Black assets were liquidated during the Grindelwald war and the Voldemort uprising. However, the family retains significant property holdings, including Grimmauld Place, the Black summer villa in Cornwall, and the hidden estate in the Alps. Details of the latter two will be accessible once you review the family ring's knowledge."
Harry's head swam. This was far more wealth and responsibility than he'd ever imagined. Griphook's steady voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Do you have any immediate questions about your holdings, Lord Potter-Black?"
Harry hesitated, thinking. "Not... right now, Master Griphook. I think I need some time to process everything."
Griphook nodded approvingly. "Wise. Many wizards make the mistake of rushing these matters. However, there are a few more item of business before we conclude today."
Griphook reached for the small leather-bound book he'd brought in and slid it across the desk toward Harry. "This is the compendium of Ancient Houses, an enchanted ledger that records the alliances, feuds, and histories of the Noble Houses of Britain and beyond. As the head of two ancient houses, you will find this invaluable when navigating politics in the magical world."
Harry picked up the book, its weight feeling oddly reassuring in his hands. The cover was embossed with intricate runes, and when he opened it, the first page shimmered with the words Lord Potter-Black written in golden ink.
"Thank you, Master Griphook," Harry said again, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling.
"Now we have the request for Lord Quarters at Hogwarts next year. Trust me you will want and need it," said Griphook when he saw Harry looking at him skeptically. "You will have pretty much a constant stream of paperwork to deal with on top of your studies and if you decide to live at Potter Manor you will be able to link the floo between the manor and your quarters so you can attend to things there as needed as well as being able to leave for Wizengamot sessions or private business." Harry could see how that could be useful. He would miss his friends, but if he was going to be as busy as Griphook suggested he would need less distractions.
"Okay then," said Harry as he signed the paper with a self inking quill that Griphook had just handed him. Like the others, the paper immediately disappeared once signed along with the small stack in front of Griphook. Now there was only the one huge pile left. Harry looked up towards the ceiling. "What could that possible be?" thought Harry.
"Nearly there" said Griphook. "Last thing to deal with is marriage contracts, leered Griphook as he motioned to the giant pile.
"There's that goblin smile again," thought Harry. "They really seem to enjoy ruining a wizard's day."
"That many?" asked Harry. He tried to sound nonchalant, but it came out as a high-pitched squeal. Harry grimaced and Griphook let out a hearty laugh that was truly a horrifying sight to behold.
"Yes, apparently the boy-who-lived is quite the catch. You seem to be a most desired commodity in the wizarding world Lord Potter-Black." Harry blushed at this and stared intently at the pile like he was willing it to go away.
"Look at you pup. You're even more popular with the ladies than I was and that's a feat! I'm so proud!"
"Shut it mutt," thought Harry with a frown. "He couldn't possibly be expected to marry all those girls, could he?" Suddenly Harry became very nervous and he noticed his palms begin to sweat.
Griphook stared at him for awhile and then seemed to decide to take mercy on him and tried to ease his anxiety.
"Luckily for you none of these are binding. They are contracts that have been submitted to House Potter for consideration, but since none of them have been signed by the head of House Potter all you have to do is write a letter to each petitioner formally rejecting their request. Unless of course there are any you wish to consider." Harry rubbed his temples and sighed in relief despite the daunting task of writing all those letters. "It's going to take me all school year just to get through that," he thought.
"I'll just take them with me and deal with them when I have time." said Harry. He could feel a headache coming on.
"Very well," said Griphook as he shrunk the pile like he had before. Harry quickly put it in his pocket. When he finished, Harry noticed that not all of the stack had been shrunk. There were about ten pieces of paper still on the desk neatly bound together. "This can't be good," thought Harry as be let out another sigh. Griphook picked up the bound document and eyed it curiously.
"I must have missed this one when I looked through your documents earlier. My apologies Lord Potter-Black. However, it appears this one is legally and magically binding unlike the others" said Griphook as he pushed the contract towards Harry. "I'm sorry Lord Potter-Black, but as the only member left of the Potter line if you do not honour it, you will lose your magic. It was created and signed by your great-great-great grandfather."
"Of course I would," said Harry as he rubbed his eyes. He was definitely starting to get a headache.
"I don't understand Griphook. If was created so long ago why is it impacting me now," asked Harry in confusion. "Shouldn't my great-great ancestor or whatever have honoured it?" Griphook took the documents back and looked over them carefully before he answered Harry's question.
"The contract was created between the two houses to protect either house in the case that one of them had no male heir. I believe it was very common back then. Up to this point, the contract has not come into effect because the conditions specified in the contract have not existed. So far, every generation of both houses has managed to produce a male heir so the contract just passed down until the specified conditions existed and the contract was needed."
"Which is now?"
"It would appear so Mr. Potter. If it is any consolation the contract will not continue to be passed down once it is fulfilled. Future generations of Potters will be free to marry who they choose."
"Thanks Griphook, that's comforting." Griphook laughed again.
"Well, what family is the contract with then?" asked Harry. "Please be nice, please be nice," he thought.
"The noble and most ancient house of Bones."
"Susan," thought Harry. "We've never really talked much, but she seems nice. It could be worse I suppose."
"Amelia is a wonderful woman Harry, she was a year ahead of your parents and I at Hogwarts, but we were close friends. She was one of the few that always believed I was innocent. She is one of the brightest, fairest, and most fiercely loyal people I have ever met. She will welcome you to her family with open arms," said Sirius. Harry smiled at that. He liked the idea of having a family. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
"Great, now I just have to tell Susan," thought Harry with a wince. "That ought to be a fun conversation."
"Good luck pup." laughed Sirius.
"Is there anything else I need to know Griphook?," asked Harry looking over at the goblin who pushed the documents back to him.
"When you've spoken to Madam Bones and reached an agreement make sure you come back here as soon as possible. There is paperwork you will both need to sign agreeing to the contract so that you don't lose your magic. You have one fortnight to reach an agreement."
"Right," said Harry standing up and taking the contract. "Well, if there is nothing else, could you please take me to both the Black and Potter vaults. There are some items I would like to collect before I depart."
"As you wish Lord Potter-Black." said Griphook as he stood.
"Thank you for your help Griphook," said Harry as he put his hand out to the goblin, who shook it with a look of surprise.
"You are not like most wizards Lord Potter-Black," said Griphook as be gave Harry another curious look.
"I'll take that as a compliment," said Harry with a laugh as he followed Griphook out of the room.
Griphook led Harry through the winding halls of Gringotts, the echoes of their footsteps muffled by the thick stone walls. The air grew cooler as they descended deeper into the bank, and Harry couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation. His thoughts swirled around everything he'd learned: the new titles, the responsibilities, and the marriage contract.
"So, uh, Griphook," Harry began, trying to keep his tone casual, "how common are these magically binding marriage contracts? I mean, for other old families?"
Griphook glanced back, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. "Quite common among the most ancient and noble houses, Lord Potter-Black. Such contracts were historically used to ensure alliances, secure wealth, or preserve bloodlines. However, with the decline of many pureblood families, most of these contracts have fallen out of use or become irrelevant. You are... something of a rarity."
Harry sighed. "Lucky me."
Griphook's smirk deepened as they arrived at a large, ornate cart. "Indeed. Now, step aboard, and we will proceed to the Black vault first."
The ride down was as harrowing as Harry remembered, the cart careening through the twisting tracks at breakneck speeds. When they finally screeched to a halt, Harry felt his stomach lurch, but he managed to step out with as much dignity as he could muster.
Before them stood a massive, wrought-iron door adorned with the Black family crest. Griphook approached it, pressed a long, clawed hand to the centre of the crest, and muttered something in Gobbledegook. The door groaned and creaked open, revealing the vault's contents.
Harry's eyes widened as he stepped inside. The room was filled with treasures—stacks of Galleons, rows of priceless artefacts, and shelves lined with ancient books. A faint hum of magic seemed to fill the air.
"You may take anything you require, Lord Potter-Black," Griphook said, stepping aside. "However, I advise caution with any items that may be cursed or heavily warded."
Harry nodded and stepped deeper into the vault. He carefully avoided the more sinister-looking objects—one particularly menacing necklace practically radiated malevolence—and focused instead on what might be useful. He picked up a few bags of Galleons, a set of ornate quills, and several books that caught his eye, including one titled The Secrets of Ancient Warding Magic.
As he scanned the shelves, his gaze fell on a small, black box tucked away in the corner. It seemed unassuming, but something about it drew his attention. "What's this?" he asked Griphook.
Griphook stepped closer, examining the box. "Ah, that is a Black heirloom known as the Keeper's Vault, it allows the lord of the house to safely store and access critical documents, such as family wills, contracts, and other sensitive information. It will recognise you as its master when you place your hand upon it."
Harry did so, and the box opened with a were several scrolls, each bound with a black ribbon. Harry took them, making a mental note to review them later.
After ensuring he'd gathered everything he needed, Harry followed Griphook back to the cart. Their next stop was the Potter vault, which was less imposing but no less impressive. The warm glow of gold greeted him as the doors swung open, along with rows of family heirlooms and artefacts.
Unlike the Black vault, this one felt welcoming. Harry could almost sense his parents' presence as he moved through it. He picked up a few more books, including one labeled Potter Family Traditions, and retrieved a beautiful, intricately carved wooden box containing a set of matching engagement rings.
Lastly, Harry found a photo album filled with images of the Potter family through the ages. He smiled as he flipped through it, recognising some faces from the Hogwarts portraits and others that must have been long-gone ancestors.
When he was finished, Harry thanked Griphook again and boarded the cart for the ride back to the surface. By the time they returned to the atrium, Harry felt both physically and emotionally drained.
"If you require further assistance, do not hesitate to contact me, Lord Potter-Black."
"I will," Harry said, slipping his hands into his pocket. "Thanks for everything, Griphook."
The goblin gave him a sharp nod. "Safe travels, Lord Potter-Black. And good luck... with everything."
Harry took a deep breath and walked out into the sunlight.