Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
The door shut softly behind them, muting the noise of the London street outside. For a moment, none of them spoke. The air inside the Leaky Cauldron was thick with the scent of old wood, smoke, and a faint trace of something spicy and unfamiliar. Shadows flickered across the low-beamed ceiling, cast by lanterns that seemed to burn without oil.
Harry reached for his cap immediately, pulling it down low over his forehead. It was Vernon's idea-practical, as usual. "If what that professor said is true," he had muttered while parking the car, "you'll be treated like a celebrity in this place. Last thing we need is a crowd of wand-wavers fainting all over the floor."
Now, standing in that dusky pub, Harry was glad for the advice. His lightning scar was easily hidden beneath the cap's brim.
The Dursleys followed him in cautiously. Petunia held her handbag close to her chest, her eyes darting about the room. Dudley's round face was pale with curiosity. Vernon's moustache bristled as he surveyed their surroundings. "Good grief," he murmured. "Looks like something out of a Dickens novel."
The room was a curious blend of ancient and homely. The tables were scratched and uneven, yet they gleamed faintly as though freshly polished. A fire crackled in a small stone hearth despite the warmth outside, sending curls of orange light dancing across the walls. A few patrons sat scattered about-an old witch with a patchwork shawl stirring her tea without touching the spoon, a cloaked man whispering to his pint, and a group of younger witches giggling over some parchment that glowed faintly blue.
Dudley gaped. "They're really doing magic," he whispered. "In public!"
Petunia nudged him sharply. "Don't stare, Dudley."
Harry felt a strange rush in his chest-a mix of awe and belonging. This was it. The wizarding world. The world his parents had belonged to. The world he would soon join.
Then, remembering the letter from Professor Vector, he straightened and made his way toward the bar. The bartender, a bald, toothless man with eyes that seemed older than the rest of him, looked up with a knowing smile.
"Good afternoon," Harry began politely. "We, um... received a letter. We're supposed to meet someone from Hogwarts here. The letter said to ask the bartender."
Tom's eyes twinkled. "Ah," he said softly, voice gravelly with age. "So that's you, then." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his tone. "Don't worry, lad. You'll find who you're looking for at table six-over there by the window."
Harry blinked in surprise, wondering how the man had recognised him despite the cap. Tom gave a discreet nod toward the far corner, his expression carefully neutral. Clearly, he understood more than he let on.
"Thank you," Harry said.
"Any time, young sir," Tom replied, turning to polish another glass as if nothing remarkable had occurred.
Harry gestured for his aunt, uncle, and cousin to follow him. Vernon muttered under his breath, "Looks harmless enough. Though if one of these mugs starts floating, I'm out the door."
Petunia gave him a look, but her own steps were hesitant. Dudley, however, was wide-eyed and thrilled, soaking in every detail.
They approached table six. Seated there was the smallest man Harry had ever seen. He was not much taller than the table itself, with neatly combed white hair and a tiny pointed beard. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor, and he wore robes of deep indigo trimmed in silver thread.
As they came closer, the man stood-well, half stood, for he had to climb slightly onto his chair to reach the table's edge. "Ah!" he exclaimed in a bright, cheerful tone. "You must be the Potters-or rather, young Mr. Potter and his family!"
Harry blinked, momentarily startled by the high-pitched voice. The man bowed deeply. "Professor Filius Flitwick, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at your service."
Vernon extended a hand automatically, though his brows furrowed. "Er-pleasure," he said, shaking the professor's small hand, which was surprisingly firm. "Vernon Dursley. This is my wife, Petunia, and my son, Dudley. And-well, I suppose you already know Harry."
Flitwick's eyes twinkled as they settled briefly on the boy beneath the cap. "Indeed, Mr. Dursley. I have heard quite a lot about him. It is a true pleasure to meet you, young man."
Harry managed a shy smile. "It's nice to meet you too, sir."
"Splendid!" Flitwick clapped his hands together, a faint shimmer of magic rippling through the air at the gesture. "Now, I expect you have many questions-and we have quite a bit to do today. But first, do have a seat! You'll need your strength before we head into Diagon Alley."
The Dursleys exchanged uncertain looks, then carefully sat down. Petunia adjusted her skirt, glancing around at the flickering lanterns. Dudley leaned forward eagerly. Vernon folded his arms, trying to appear composed.
Flitwick smiled kindly. "No need to be nervous, my dear family. Today, we shall take the first proper step into your nephew's new world."
Harry sat down slowly, his heart thudding again-this time not with fear, but anticipation. Something in Professor Flitwick's presence felt reassuring, even warm. Whatever strange, magical journey lay ahead, it suddenly seemed a little less daunting.
Flitwick noticed his curiosity and smiled wider. "Ah, yes! I daresay we'll get along splendidly, Mr. Potter." Then, with a flick of his wrist, he drew a polished wand from his sleeve.
Vernon's hand twitched toward his coat pocket. "W-what's that for?" he barked, his voice sharper than intended.
Petunia instinctively grasped Harry's arm. Dudley let out a small, "Blimey!" under his breath.
Harry, however, froze. The moment the wand appeared, he felt something-a soft hum rising from the air, like warmth threading through his skin. His pulse quickened. The atmosphere thickened, humming like a chord struck just beneath hearing. He felt it in him, around him, deep within his chest.
Flitwick paused mid-motion, his expression shifting from focus to astonishment. "Merlin's beard!" he exclaimed softly, eyes darting toward Harry. "You can feel that, can't you, my boy?"
Harry nodded, uncertain. "Yes... like-like a vibration. Or warmth. Is that normal?"
The professor chuckled, utterly delighted. "Normal? Good heavens, no! Not for a child your age, certainly not for one without formal training. You're feeling the flux of raw magic itself. That's quite extraordinary."
Harry blinked. I can feel magic? His heart gave a strange leap. For the first time, the idea of being a wizard felt tangible-alive.
Flitwick smiled kindly, then turned back to the task at hand. "Nothing to fear, my dear family. Just a few quick privacy wards." He twirled his wand, murmuring several incantations under his breath-"Silentium totalis... Protego discreta..."-and a shimmer spread briefly over the air around their table like rippling glass.
The noise of the pub-clinking glasses, laughter, muttering patrons-dimmed to a muffled whisper. Vernon's jaw dropped. "What-what did you just-?"
"Merely a bit of protection, Mr. Dursley," Flitwick said, slipping his wand away. "No one outside this ward can overhear or intrude. We may now converse freely."
Petunia stared at the faint golden glow that lingered for a moment before fading. "That's... remarkable," she whispered, almost to herself.
Flitwick smiled, signaling Tom for service. "Now then, let us have some lunch. The Leaky Cauldron does a splendid Shepherd's Pie-though the version here uses puffskein meat instead of lamb, rather gentler on the tongue. And perhaps treacle tart for dessert?"
Vernon's eyebrows knit together. "Puff-what?"
"Puffskein, Mr. Dursley. Gentle, round little creatures. Quite harmless. And delicious."
Dudley looked vaguely horrified. "You eat... animals with fur?"
Flitwick chuckled. "You eat , do you not? Much the same, only fluffier before cooking."
Harry stifled a laugh. "I'll try it," he said quickly.
The food arrived in floating platters that settled neatly onto the table. Petunia gasped softly, then watched one plate arrange itself before her. The rich aroma filled the air-warm, buttery, with faint spice unlike anything from the Muggle world.
Vernon hesitated, fork hovering uncertainly. Petunia took the first bite, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my-this is lovely!" she exclaimed.
Harry grinned and tried his own. It was rich and savoury, melting in his mouth with an aftertaste that tingled faintly-almost magical. "This is brilliant!"
Even Dudley's skepticism faltered as he took a cautious bite. "It's like... Mum's Sunday roast but better!"
Flitwick beamed proudly. "Magic, dear boy, refines flavour. It brings out the essence of an ingredient."
Vernon finally took a mouthful, his expression guarded. Then, begrudgingly, he swallowed and muttered, "Well... suppose it's not bad."
Harry caught his uncle's attempt to remain stoic and hid a grin. Petunia sipped pumpkin juice-hesitantly at first, then with growing enjoyment. "This isn't half bad either," she admitted.
"Quite right," said Flitwick cheerily. "The Cauldron's kitchen is a bridge between both worlds, you see. Old Tom prides himself on making Muggles comfortable."
Harry listened intently as the professor described wizarding ingredients-mooncalf milk, essence of gillyroot, and star-thistle honey. Petunia grew fascinated by the culinary details; Dudley looked intrigued yet cautious, and even Vernon, despite his effort to appear disinterested, nodded occasionally.
Harry couldn't help but feel warmth spread through him, not just from the food but from the sight of them all-his family-sharing a meal in a magical pub. It was strange and wonderful all at once.
For the first time, he thought, Maybe they'll fit into this world too... in their own way.
Flitwick wiped his hands delicately with a napkin and leaned back, looking rather pleased that the Dursleys had survived a wizarding meal without incident. His eyes gleamed with quiet intelligence as he regarded them all, his tone light but patient, that of a man used to explaining the extraordinary.
"Well then," he began, brushing a few crumbs from his robe. "Before we proceed to Gringotts, perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself-and about what you may encounter there."
Petunia nodded politely, while Vernon folded his arms across his chest, his mustache twitching. Harry listened intently, still feeling the lingering hum of excitement from the wards earlier.
"I am Professor Filius Flitwick," he said proudly. "Charms Master at Hogwarts, former dueling champion, and member of the Hogwarts faculty for nearly five decades."
"Five decades?" Dudley blurted before catching himself. "You don't look that old, sir."
Flitwick chuckled, his voice like the ring of a bell. "Ah, I am blessed with certain... advantages of heritage. You see, I am not entirely human."
Petunia blinked, unsure how to respond. "Not... entirely?"
"Indeed," Flitwick said warmly, his tone free of embarrassment. "I am one-eighth goblin. My great-grandmother was from a proud lineage of goblin artisans. She married a wizard-a scandal in her day, though not without precedent."
Harry's eyes widened. "You're part goblin?"
"Quite so," Flitwick replied with a twinkle. "It explains my stature and my knack for precision spells. Goblins are marvellous craftsmen-metalwork, enchantments, and warding arts are in their very blood."
Vernon frowned slightly. "Goblins... aren't they the ones who run the bank? Gringotts, was it?"
Flitwick nodded. "Correct. They are the custodians of nearly all wizarding finance. Which brings me to a rather important matter."
He leaned forward, his small hands clasped together with surprising gravity. "When we visit Gringotts, you must treat the goblins with respect. Absolute respect. They value formality, clarity, and courtesy above all else. Speak plainly, no jokes about money, and avoid touching anything unless given leave. Especially gold."
Harry nodded quickly, though he was puzzled. "Of course we'll be respectful. Why wouldn't we be?"
Vernon made a low sound of agreement. "Exactly. The ones who handle finances are to be treated properly. It's just good business sense."
Flitwick's expression softened, but there was a faint sadness in his eyes. "If only all shared that wisdom, Mr. Dursley. Unfortunately, many in our world look down upon goblins. They see them as lesser beings-servants, not equals. It's foolish, of course, but prejudice is a stubborn weed."
Petunia frowned. "You mean... like racism?"
"Yes," said Flitwick gravely. "Something quite akin to it. The wizarding world does not struggle with racism as your world does, nor with discrimination based on love or orientation. But we are not without our faults. Here, prejudice runs along the veins of blood-ancestry, magical lineage, purity."
Harry tilted his head, trying to piece it together. "Blood... status?"
"Precisely," Flitwick said. "You see, some wizards-particularly old families-believe that those born from two magical parents are 'pure-bloods,' and therefore superior. They view Muggle-borns-those born to non-magical parents-as lesser, unworthy of magic."
"That's ridiculous," Harry said at once, indignation flaring. "Magic's not something you can control where it's born!"
Flitwick smiled proudly at him. "Well said, my boy. Quite right. The world needs more who think as you do."
Vernon looked visibly uncomfortable. "So you're saying there's... classism, then. Just dressed up in fancier robes."
Flitwick nodded. "An apt description, Mr. Dursley. The roots of that prejudice are deep, though fading in many circles. Hogwarts, for instance, teaches equality. Magic is magic, no matter whose veins it runs through."
Petunia's expression softened as she murmured, "Lily... she was one of those Muggle-borns, wasn't she?"
Flitwick inclined his head gently. "Indeed she was. A remarkable witch, brilliant and kind. She earned her place by talent alone. The same, I suspect, will be true for young Harry."
Harry flushed at that but said nothing, though a flicker of pride stirred in him.
Dudley frowned. "Do they treat half-goblins differently too?"
"Oh, indeed they do," Flitwick said with a small sigh. "Half-breeds, they call us, though not kindly. Part-goblins, part-giants, part-veela-all looked at with suspicion by certain circles. Old ideas die hard, even in a world filled with wonder."
Vernon scowled. "Seems to me, magic doesn't make people less foolish-just gives them new ways to be it."
Flitwick laughed heartily. "An astute observation, Mr. Dursley! I daresay, you're not wrong."
Harry smiled faintly at that, but inwardly he thought of what Flitwick had said-of prejudice, blood, and power. It unsettled him, this shadow beneath the glittering world he was only just beginning to glimpse.
Flitwick sensed his unease and added gently, "Remember, Harry. Light and dark are not divided by blood or heritage, but by choice. That truth holds stronger than any wand."
Harry nodded slowly. "I'll remember that, sir."
"Good lad," said Flitwick, his eyes gleaming with quiet pride. "Now, if everyone is ready, we shall head to Gringotts. Keep your wits, your manners, and your curiosity-you'll need all three."
Harry rose, his heart thudding with anticipation. Petunia smoothed her dress, Vernon adjusted his tie, and Dudley pocketed the last crumbs of treacle tart. As they followed Flitwick toward the hidden archway, Harry couldn't help but feel that with every step, the world was unfolding-layer by layer-into something far grander and far stranger than he had ever imagined.
Flitwick led them through the back of the Leaky Cauldron, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and old wood polish. The little professor's robes brushed against the stone floor as he moved with quick, deliberate steps, his wand already in hand. The Dursleys followed hesitantly, exchanging uncertain looks, while Harry's curiosity burned bright in his emerald eyes.
They emerged into a small courtyard, enclosed by tall, soot-stained walls. A few dustbins stood near the far end, and a faint breeze carried the scent of rain and chimney smoke. It looked perfectly ordinary-mundane even-but there was something in the stillness, a hum in the air that made Harry's skin prickle.
Flitwick stopped before a crumbling brick wall and turned toward them with a knowing smile. "Now then," he said, voice light but precise, "this, my dear friends, is the gateway to the beating heart of wizarding commerce-Diagon Alley. Do pay close attention, Mr. Potter. You will likely visit often."
Harry leaned forward, watching eagerly. "Yes, sir."
Petunia clutched her handbag nervously. "You mean... through that wall?"
"Indeed, Mrs. Dursley," Flitwick said, amused. "It's quite safe. There are two ways to enter-one magical, one designed for visitors without wands. I shall demonstrate both."
He stepped closer and gestured toward the bricks with his wand. "First, the magical method. Three up-two across-just here." He tapped lightly, and the brick rippled beneath his wand like a pond disturbed by a pebble. A low rumble followed, and to the Dursleys' astonishment, the wall began to shift.
Bricks folded inward, twisting and rearranging themselves until a tall archway yawned open, leading into a bustling street beyond.
Dudley's jaw fell open. "Blimey..."
"Language, Dudley," Petunia said faintly, though her own voice trembled.
Vernon stared, his mustache twitching violently. "Good heavens... it's like something out of a film!"
Flitwick chuckled softly. "Quite real, I assure you."
Harry stood frozen, his heart hammering as sunlight spilled through the archway, bathing his face in gold. The street beyond shimmered with life-people in robes of every color, shop windows glittering with strange wares, the sound of chatter and clinking coins echoing like music. His breath caught.
Merlin's beard... this is real!
Flitwick turned to Harry, eyes bright. "Now, the Muggle method, for future reference. There's a hidden lever just behind that third bin. When pressed, it triggers the same enchantment mechanically. Somewhat less elegant, but useful when one has no wand."
Petunia blinked. "How very... considerate."
"Yes," said Flitwick, smiling faintly. "The Ministry insisted on such accommodations decades ago. Many witches and wizards have Muggle relatives, after all."
Harry stepped closer to the archway, eyes wide. The street beyond seemed endless, curving gently uphill, alive with motion and color. A witch balanced parcels with a flick of her wand; a group of children chased a fluttering paper bird; an owl swooped overhead with a letter clutched in its talons. The air itself smelled faintly of parchment, caramel, and ozone.
"This," Flitwick declared proudly, "is Diagon Alley. The oldest continuous wizarding marketplace in Britain. Every wand, robe, broom, and cauldron worth its name can be found here."
Vernon looked around, equal parts wary and impressed. "It's... crowded," he muttered, as a wizard in bright orange robes nearly tripped over his shoe.
Dudley nudged Harry's shoulder. "Look, that shop's got live frogs jumping in the window!"
Harry laughed. "That's nothing-look at the one next to it! Are those-flying books?"
"Indeed," Flitwick said, following their gaze toward Flourish and Blotts. "They're self-sorting editions. Quite handy until they develop a mind of their own."
Petunia's expression softened slightly as she took in the lively street. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "Not at all what I imagined."
Flitwick gave a knowing nod. "Magic often surprises those willing to look beyond fear, Mrs. Dursley."
Vernon grunted but said nothing, his eyes fixed on a group of goblins walking briskly across the cobbles in sharp waistcoats. He muttered, "Efficient-looking folk, those. Suppose they're from the bank?"
"Quite so," said Flitwick. "We shall be meeting their kind shortly."
Harry barely heard him. His gaze darted from one marvel to the next-the flicker of enchanted lanterns, a display of self-stirring cauldrons, the shimmer of a silver broomstick labeled Nimbus 1000. The world he had only dreamed of was alive around him, vibrant and vast.
He turned to his aunt and uncle, voice trembling with excitement. "Can you believe it? This is where Mum and Dad must have walked! Where they bought their wands, their books-everything!"
Petunia smiled faintly, a hint of nostalgia softening her usual reserve. "Yes, Harry. I remember... Lily was just as bright-eyed as you."
Flitwick's voice broke gently through the moment. "Come along now, everyone. We have much to do-banking, outfitting, and perhaps a sweet or two from Sugarplum's if time permits."
Dudley's eyes lit up. "They have sweets here?"
"Oh yes," Flitwick said with a twinkle. "The best in all of wizarding Britain. I promise you, a single Chocolate Frog will change your opinion of confections forever."
Harry grinned, the wonder of it all swelling in his chest. As they stepped fully into Diagon Alley, the wall sealed silently behind them, leaving the Muggle world far away.
For the first time, Harry felt truly between two worlds-one he had known, and one waiting, alive with magic, laughter, and mystery. The sunlight fell on the cobblestones like gold dust, and he thought, This must be what it feels like to finally come home.
They moved along the cobblestone street in quiet awe, the hum of Diagon Alley filling the air like a living melody. Harry led the way beside Professor Flitwick, his eyes darting from shop to shop as if afraid to miss a single wonder. The Dursleys followed, keeping close, their usual stiffness melting slightly beneath the enchantment of the place. Even Vernon, who prided himself on remaining stoic, had a look that betrayed both suspicion and reluctant curiosity.
Before long, the shops grew grander, their façades carved with marble and gilt. The street sloped upward toward a towering white structure that gleamed like polished bone in the sunlight. Flitwick's short stride slowed, and he lifted his wand slightly, gesturing toward the massive building.
"Ah, there we are," he said proudly. "Gringotts Wizarding Bank-the safest place in Britain for anything you wish to keep secure."
Harry tilted his head back to see the spires. The marble tower seemed to stretch endlessly, its bronze doors glinting like fire. Carved upon the steps were runes that pulsed faintly with magic, and two goblins stood guard, dressed in crimson and gold uniforms, sharp-eyed and still as statues.
Dudley whispered, "They're... small."
"Careful," murmured Flitwick, a faint twinkle in his eye. "Small in stature, perhaps, but never underestimate a goblin, young man. They are a warrior race, proud and precise. Their blades are legend-and their sense of honour, absolute."
Vernon's brows shot up. "Warrior race? You mean they actually-?"
"Indeed," said Flitwick, as they approached the great bronze doors. "Those warnings on the walls are not for show. Gringotts takes security very seriously."
Harry's gaze flicked to the inscription etched in burnished metal above the door:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take but do not earn
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
He felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Blimey," he muttered softly.
Flitwick chuckled. "It does keep the less honest folk at bay. The goblins tolerate no deceit, and I daresay the vaults beneath us could swallow an entire army if provoked."
The bronze doors opened silently before them, revealing a set of silver ones beyond. The family stepped through with quiet reverence, shoes echoing on the polished floor. The main hall of Gringotts spread before them like a cathedral of wealth-marble pillars soared to a vaulted ceiling, and long counters lined the room, each manned by goblins busy with ledgers and clinking coins. The air smelled faintly of metal and parchment.
Harry stared, utterly fascinated. "This... this is a bank?"
Flitwick's eyes sparkled. "Indeed. Every vault here is protected by centuries of goblin enchantments. Even dragons guard the deepest ones, or so they say."
Petunia exhaled softly, a rare note of awe in her voice. "It's magnificent."
"It is," Flitwick agreed. "Now, Mr. Potter, the bank has a very strict policy. As you are a minor, only your guardians may speak regarding vault access or financial arrangements. I shall wait in the hall until your business is concluded."
Vernon nodded solemnly, straightening his tie. "Understood, Professor."
"Excellent. Before you proceed, however," Flitwick continued, turning to Harry, "a brief explanation of wizarding currency may help." He flicked his wand, and three glittering coins materialised mid-air-one large and golden, one silver, one small and bronze.
"These are Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Seventeen Sickles make a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts make a Sickle. Rather simple once you grow used to it."
Harry leaned forward, studying them closely. "So... like pounds, shillings, and pence?"
"Precisely," said Flitwick. "Now, for your reference, one Galleon is roughly equivalent to fifty British pounds. The exchange fluctuates slightly, but that should serve you well enough for calculation."
Harry's eyes widened slightly. "Fifty pounds a coin? Merlin's beard!"
Flitwick laughed softly. "Indeed, though best not to say that particular phrase too loudly. Goblins prefer not to hear human wizard names in their halls."
Petunia looked faintly alarmed. "Why not?"
"Old tension," he said with a shrug. "Best simply to show respect. Speak clearly, avoid condescension, and remember: they value precise terms. Treat every word as a contract."
Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Understood."
"Good lad," said Flitwick approvingly. "As for how much to withdraw today, I would suggest no more than one hundred Galleons. It will cover all school expenses and leave you with ample allowance. More can always be withdrawn later."
Vernon made a mental note, his business instincts sharpening. "Very wise," he said thoughtfully. "No point in carrying more than one needs."
"Precisely," said Flitwick. "Now then, if you'll proceed to Teller Three, he will assist you. I shall remain here."
Harry took a deep breath and turned toward the counters, his heart thudding with nervous excitement. The Dursleys followed, their footsteps echoing faintly in the marble hall.
As they walked, Harry could not help but glance at the goblins-each one hunched over ledgers, long fingers scratching across parchment with unnerving precision. Their eyes gleamed with shrewd intelligence, and though none spoke, the air felt charged with quiet power.
This was no ordinary bank. This was the heart of wizarding finance-ancient, exacting, and alive with hidden danger.
He felt the weight of it all settle on him like invisible armour and thought, Mum and Dad must have walked here too. They must have trusted these goblins with everything they had.
He straightened his shoulders. Whatever awaited beyond those counters, he would meet it with respect-and with the quiet pride of a wizard who finally knew where he belonged.
The marble floor gleamed like water under sunlight as they stepped deeper into Gringotts. The echo of their footsteps mingled with the soft clinking of coins and the scratch of quills from countless goblin clerks. Vernon, still rigid in his bearing, guided Harry to Teller Three, while Petunia and Dudley lingered near a bench, their eyes darting from armored goblin guards to marble columns that seemed impossibly tall.
Vernon adjusted his tie, cleared his throat, and said in his most courteous tone, "Good afternoon. We are here to access young Harry Potter's vault and, if possible, to obtain a statement of his account."
The goblin behind the counter looked up slowly. His eyes were sharp as blades, gleaming gold under the light. He studied Vernon and Harry for several heartbeats before replying in a surprisingly crisp voice, "Wait here."
He gave a curt nod, but his expression held a flicker of approval at Vernon's formal manner. Many wizards came demanding, not requesting. The Dursley man, though out of place, knew how to show respect.
Harry shifted beside him, glancing toward Petunia and Dudley. His aunt gave a small, encouraging nod-more nervous than comforting. The boy's hands tightened on his cap. They're so serious, he thought, watching goblins glide between counters with such precision it almost felt military.
Moments later, a smaller goblin approached, walking with a brisk but confident gait. His uniform was slightly finer, and a nameplate on his chest read Bloodfang.
"Teller Three," he greeted his colleague with a bow of the head, before turning his gaze to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I presume?"
Harry nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
The title drew an almost imperceptible smirk from Bloodfang. "Good manners. Rare these days." His sharp voice softened a degree. "As Teller Three has no doubt explained, the heir of an Ancient House does not deal at the public counters. Your family's account is managed privately. Please follow me."
Vernon blinked. "Heir?" he muttered, then caught himself. "Ah, yes, of course. Lead the way."
Harry felt a small thrill of curiosity. Heir? He'd always thought of himself as just a boy from Surrey. Now the word hung in his head like a spark waiting to catch flame.
As Bloodfang led them past the public hall, Vernon gestured discreetly toward Petunia and Dudley. "My wife and son-may they accompany us?"
Bloodfang regarded them for a long moment. "If they are family, then yes. Gringotts values the unity of blood and oath alike. Follow closely."
They obeyed. Petunia took Dudley's hand, and the boy, wide-eyed and pale, whispered, "Mum, they've got swords."
"They won't use them if you behave," she hissed softly, though her own eyes were locked on the armored guards.
Bloodfang stopped at the far end of the hall before what appeared to be an ordinary stone wall. He did not raise his wand-goblins had no use for such things. Instead, he touched the wall lightly with one clawed finger and murmured something in a harsh, musical tongue.
The wall shimmered like heat over sand, then dissolved into a drifting mist. "This way," Bloodfang said, his voice echoing strangely as he stepped through.
Harry hesitated only a second before following. The mist clung to his skin like cool silk before fading away, revealing a long corridor lit by greenish lanterns. The walls were lined with heavy oak doors, each carved with sigils and numbers in runic script.
Vernon's eyes widened. "Remarkable craftsmanship," he muttered under his breath. "Puts our banking offices to shame."
Bloodfang's ears twitched slightly in amusement. "Goblins craft for endurance, not display. Each door is protected by wards-both magical and blood-bound."
Harry studied the carvings with fascination. The air here felt thicker, humming faintly. It's like the air itself has magic, he thought, a shiver running through him.
Finally, they stopped before a large door inlaid with silver and gold lines forming an intricate crest of crossed blades and a hammer. A bronze plaque beside it read:
Griphook, Chief Accounts Director
Bloodfang turned to them with a slight bow. "This is Director Griphook's office. He manages the affairs of several Noble Houses, including that of Potter. He is expecting you."
Petunia swallowed audibly. "He's... the one in charge, then?"
"Of your nephew's estate, in financial terms, yes," Bloodfang replied. "Griphook answers only to the High Council of Gringotts and the Goblin King himself."
Vernon straightened his coat and glanced at Harry. "Well, lad," he said in a low voice, "remember your manners. We're guests here."
Harry nodded. His pulse raced as Bloodfang knocked twice on the door. A deep, resonant voice answered from within, "Enter."
The goblin pushed the heavy door open, revealing an office lit by golden fire. The scent of parchment, ink, and metal filled the air. Behind a massive black desk sat a tall goblin with silver-streaked hair and keen, assessing eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian.
"Mr. Potter," Griphook said, standing with surprising grace for his age. "Welcome to Gringotts. You and your family have been expected."
Harry's breath caught slightly. The world of magic, he thought, was nothing like the dusty fairy tales he'd once imagined-it was older, sharper, and infinitely more alive.
Griphook gestured toward the elegant seats before his desk. They were carved from dark oak, polished to a mirror sheen. "Please, be seated," he said, his deep voice carrying a tone of command that brooked no argument.
Vernon gave a polite nod, guiding Petunia and Dudley to one side while Harry sat directly before the desk. The air in the room felt alive, almost humming with a quiet, restrained energy. The fireplace behind Griphook glowed a steady gold, no smoke rising from its enchanted flames.
"This being your first formal visit to Gringotts, Mr. Potter," Griphook began, folding his clawed hands neatly before him, "a small verification is required. All accounts that have been dormant since a client's infancy must be reactivated. The process is simple. A drop of your blood on this rune needle will suffice."
He opened a small silver case and revealed a slender, sharp instrument that glowed faintly blue. Harry's green eyes studied it curiously, medical habit kicking in immediately.
"Is it sterile?" he asked, tone serious and precise.
Griphook blinked once, then a faint smile curved his lips-a rare expression on a goblin's face. "Indeed, it is. Goblin tools are cleansed with silverfire, a purification stronger than any Muggle sterilization method. A most prudent question, Mr. Potter. You possess a healer's caution."
Vernon looked briefly impressed, and even Petunia's lips twitched as though suppressing a smile.
Harry gave a small nod. "All right then," he said, extending his finger. The needle pricked lightly, drawing a single crimson bead. The runes along its length flared brilliant gold, then sank back into calm blue.
Griphook placed the needle back into its case. "Identity verified," he announced. "Dormant accounts of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter are now reactivated."
Harry tilted his head slightly. "House of Potter?"
"Yes," Griphook replied. "You are the last living member of that line. By blood and law, you are Lord Potter, heir and head of your House."
The boy froze. "Lord?" he repeated faintly.
Vernon blinked several times, his jaw slack. "Good heavens," he muttered. "Lord Potter! That's... well, that's quite something."
Griphook inclined his head gravely. "Understand, however, that this is presently a ceremonial title. As a minor, you cannot access your family's full holdings. Your primary estate and Vault 89 remain restricted until you reach seventeen-the age of majority in the wizarding world-or unless you are emancipated earlier through official petition and trial."
Harry leaned forward, brow furrowed. "So... what can I access?"
Griphook opened a leather ledger, its pages shimmering faintly as numbers danced across the parchment. "You have a Trust Vault, created by your parents for your education and early needs. It contains sufficient funds for schooling, personal purchases, and other essentials."
He gestured to another document. "You may, however, enter the family vault to retrieve heirlooms, books, personal items, and certain heirlooms of magical importance. Financial withdrawals, however, are restricted."
"That's fair," Harry said softly. "It sounds... responsible."
Vernon gave an approving grunt. "Quite right. A sensible system. Protects the lad from mismanagement or greedy relatives."
Griphook's sharp eyes glinted. "Indeed. The goblins of Gringotts pride themselves on fairness and precision. We ensure that wealth remains where it is rightfully due."
He then reached into a small chest and withdrew a velvet pouch. Setting it before Harry, he said, "Within are your preliminary Lordship rings. These serve as proof of your title and bloodline. Though you cannot yet vote in the Wizengamot or exercise full authority, you will be recognized as Lord Potter in all formal correspondence and dealings."
Harry stared at the pouch as though it were something alive. "They... they look ancient."
"They are," Griphook said, voice deepening with respect. "Forged when your House first ascended to Nobility under the reign of King Edric the Wise. They bear enchantments tied to your lineage. Only you may wear them without harm."
Vernon adjusted his tie again, voice low but steady. "Remarkable craftsmanship. Your people take heritage seriously, it seems."
Griphook inclined his head. "We do. To honor legacy is to honor life itself."
Harry lifted the ring-a golden band inlaid with a tiny snitch engraved in motion. As he slipped it onto his finger, it tightened perfectly to fit. A faint warmth spread through his hand, not unpleasant, but deeply comforting.
Petunia inhaled sharply. Dudley stared, wide-eyed.
Harry exhaled slowly. "I can feel it... like it knows me."
Griphook gave a rare smile. "It does. The magic of inheritance recognizes its rightful bearer."
Vernon leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. "I must say, this wizarding world has its order. Tradition, manners, responsibility. I rather like it."
Griphook's eyes gleamed. "A practical view, Mr. Dursley. The magical and non-magical worlds differ, but wisdom and civility hold the same value in both."
Harry looked down at his ring once more, feeling a strange mix of pride, weight, and belonging. For the first time, the name Potter did not feel like a shadow of the past-it felt like something alive within him, waiting to be lived up to.
Griphook's sharp eyes gleamed with quiet approval as Harry studied the ring on his finger. The faint golden shimmer from the crest still glowed softly before fading. The goblin leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering into something ceremonial.
"There is more to your lineage, Lord Potter," he said gravely. "The House of Potter stands not alone. Your blood also binds you to two other ancient lines-the House of Peverell and the House of Gryffindor."
Harry blinked, the names sparking immediate recognition. "Peverell? Gryffindor? As in... Godric Gryffindor?"
"Indeed," Griphook replied, his tusks glinting faintly in the golden firelight. "Through the Peverell line-specifically Ignotus Peverell-your family inherited both magical legacy and ancestral rights that trace directly to Godric Gryffindor himself. The connection runs through generations unbroken. Such convergence of bloodlines is rare, even by wizarding standards."
Vernon adjusted his tie again, looking halfway between astonished and incredulous. "So you're saying the boy's descended from... well, some kind of magical royalty?"
Griphook inclined his head slightly. "One could say that. The Houses of Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor are among the oldest recorded in wizarding history. All hold recognition in the Wizengamot, Britain's High Magical Council. Your nephew, Mr. Dursley, by birthright commands three of its seventy-five seats."
Harry stared blankly for a moment. "Three?"
Petunia whispered softly, "Lily never said... she never knew, did she?"
Griphook folded his hands neatly. "Most do not. The war clouded many truths. Yet Gringotts keeps records that never lie."
He drew out a long parchment scroll, unrolling it across the desk. The parchment shimmered faintly, numbers and sigils shifting like living ink. "These," he said, "are the current holdings of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."
Vernon leaned forward instinctively, business instincts immediately snapping into focus. Harry looked on with equal curiosity.
"Vault 89-Potter Vault," Griphook began formally, his tone that of a seasoned financial master. "Bearer of the crest: a shield with a golden snitch in flight. Motto: Fortis et Fidelis-Brave and Loyal."
His quill traced a line across the parchment. "Liquid assets: twenty-eight billion galleons, one million sickles, fifty thousand knuts."
Dudley's jaw dropped. "That's-blimey, Harry-that's loads!"
Vernon's throat worked as if swallowing invisible tea. "That's... quite the account," he managed, voice steady but strained. "And I thought Grunnings had strong returns."
Griphook's mouth curved faintly. "Indeed. Additionally, the family's holdings extend far beyond currency. A book collection exceeding one hundred thousand volumes, a jewellery collection of two hundred certified pieces, and five hundred documented magical artefacts."
Petunia exhaled shakily. "That's a museum's worth of history..."
"Precisely," Griphook continued smoothly. "In the realm of influence, House Potter holds three Wizengamot seats-Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor. Political capital is therefore significant. Properties include several hundred estates, both magical and Muggle, spread across continents-manors, shops, villas, islands, and agricultural lands. The main residence remains Potter Manor, Wiltshire."
Vernon gave a low whistle. "Merlin's beard..." then corrected himself hastily, "Er-well, you know what I mean."
Griphook ignored the slip. "The household retains three bound elves: Pipkin, Mixel, and Jugsy. They are registered under Gringotts' Domestic Stewardship Law of 1795."
Harry's brows furrowed. "House elves... like servants?"
"Servants, yes-but not slaves, at least not in enlightened houses," Griphook said with surprising dignity. "Properly treated, they are loyal guardians of their masters' legacy."
He turned to another parchment. "The family enterprise-Potter's Eldritch Consortium, abbreviated PEC-remains the largest wizarding conglomerate in existence. Founded in 1728 by Henry Potter, it operates in nearly every major sector: transport, tourism, fashion, food, manufacturing, research, entertainment, trade, defence, and healthcare, among others. PEC's dominance has persisted for nearly three centuries."
Vernon blinked rapidly, visibly impressed despite himself. "A cross-sector monopoly..." he murmured, almost admiringly. "They built a wizarding empire."
"Accurate," Griphook affirmed. "The Consortium's revenues alone surpass the GDP of several small magical nations."
He adjusted his spectacles, continuing seamlessly. "Philanthropy is conducted through the Potter Foundation-a charitable trust that supports both magical and Muggle communities. Its medical relief fund is currently one of the largest private sponsors of St. Mungo's."
Harry smiled faintly. "That... sounds like something Mum and Dad would've wanted."
Griphook gave a small nod of respect. "Indeed, Lord Potter. Your lineage has always been known for generosity, even when it was not politically convenient."
He moved on briskly. "Your wizarding world investments are as follows: Daily Prophet, fifty-one percent; Madam Malkin's, twelve; Gringotts Bank, two-the maximum share permitted to non-goblins. Ministry of Magic, six; Quidditch World Cup, five; Nimbus Racing Company, thirty-seven; Wizarding Wireless Network, sixty-seven; Floo Network, thirteen; St. Mungo's Hospital, seventeen; and of course, Potter's Eldritch Consortium, one hundred percent."
Dudley muttered under his breath, "That's... mental."
Petunia shot him a look, though her voice trembled when she asked, "And... the Muggle world?"
Griphook smiled faintly, as though anticipating the question. "In the non-magical sphere, your family maintains diversified investments-General Motors, twelve percent; IBM, thirteen; Disney, thirteen; Nestlé, seventeen; Unilever, twelve; Walmart, twelve; and Harrods, seventeen."
Vernon's eyes widened to the size of galleons. "By all the saints-those are giants of industry!"
"Indeed," Griphook replied serenely. "Total yearly returns, approximately twenty-one million galleons, compounded at a stable interest rate of five percent."
For a moment, silence settled in the chamber. The only sound was the soft crackle of enchanted fire and the distant clink of gold.
Harry finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "That's... more than I ever imagined."
Griphook's golden eyes softened slightly. "Wealth is a tool, Lord Potter, not an end. Your ancestors built it to ensure their descendants had the freedom to act with honor."
Harry straightened, voice steady. "Then I'll try to be worthy of that."
Vernon gave a small, approving nod. "Spoken like a proper man."
The goblin inclined his head. "A proper Lord, Mr. Dursley."
Griphook rested his clawed hands upon the desk, the golden ring on one long finger glinting in the firelight. "That concludes the basic overview," he said, his tone formal yet oddly courteous. "However, there are matters that require your attention sooner rather than later. Since the House of Potter has been dormant since 1981, certain bureaucratic and legal inconsistencies may have arisen. Gringotts operates under its own sovereignty, separate from the British Ministry of Magic. Here, your accounts remain fully protected. Outside these walls, however, the Ministry may have allowed some of your properties, rights, or records to fall into administrative limbo."
Harry frowned slightly. "You mean... someone could've taken our things?"
"Not unlawfully," Griphook clarified, "but titles and properties often default to temporary stewardship after decades of inactivity. To prevent such confusion, it would be prudent to contact your family's attorneys-Aurorium Legal, under Cyrus Greengrass. They have long served the House of Potter with distinction."
Vernon leaned back in his chair, digesting the information. His mind was already whirring in its usual, practical rhythm. "So, to sum up, you're saying the boy's not only wealthy beyond measure but technically a noble too, and his affairs have been left unmanaged for years?"
"Precisely," Griphook replied smoothly. "Lord Potter will require both strategic and fiduciary counsel until he comes of age."
Harry looked between them, uncertain. "I'll need help managing it all, won't I? I don't even know where to start."
Vernon cleared his throat. "Well, lad, finances aren't child's play. You've got investments, estates, probably taxes-or whatever the wizard version of them is. Until you're older, you'll need someone with a firm business head to keep things tidy."
Petunia glanced at him sharply, but Vernon's expression was unexpectedly thoughtful. There was no greed in his tone, only the familiar steadiness of a man who had spent his life making numbers work.
Griphook nodded approvingly. "That is a wise assessment, Mr. Dursley. Many heirs have lost fortunes by trusting those who flatter rather than those who understand value."
Harry gave a small smile. "Uncle Vernon's always been good with money. Grunnings did really well under him."
Griphook's sharp gaze flickered to Vernon, weighing the man. "Indeed," he said after a pause. "A Muggle with strong business acumen is rare to meet in these halls. If Lord Potter were to appoint you as his temporary financial adviser in the Muggle sphere, Gringotts would honor that oversight."
Vernon straightened in his seat, surprised by the recognition. "I'd be honored to help the boy manage his affairs responsibly. At least until he's of age to make his own decisions."
Harry's expression softened. "Thanks, Uncle Vernon."
Griphook reached into one of the drawers of his desk and withdrew a sleek black card edged in silver runes. "There is one more tool you may find useful," he said, sliding it across the table. "A Gringotts Universal Transaction Card. It functions similarly to your Muggle credit instruments but is backed by vault funds. It allows for large purchases without the need to carry gold. Transactions are automatically converted into the appropriate currency-wizarding or Muggle-depending on the merchant."
Vernon picked it up carefully, studying the intricate sigils that pulsed faintly when touched. "Efficient system," he remarked. "Better than carrying sacks of coins, that's for sure."
Griphook's thin smile widened. "Efficiency is one of our hallmarks. Few humans appreciate it." He paused, the faintest glimmer of amusement crossing his angular features. "You may find, Mr. Dursley, that goblins are not so different from shrewd Muggle bankers."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Vernon said with a small, approving nod.
Petunia glanced at Harry, who was watching the exchange with quiet pride. He actually respects Uncle Vernon, he thought, surprised. Maybe the wizarding world isn't as closed-minded as people think.
Griphook rose from his seat, the motion smooth and commanding. "If there are no further questions, Bloodfang will escort you to the vaults. You will find the experience most enlightening."
Vernon hesitated briefly. "One last question, if I may. These vaults-are they... safe?"
Griphook's lips curled into something between a smirk and a challenge. "Safer than any fortress, Mr. Dursley. Even dragons guard some of the deepest levels. Those who attempt theft are not seen again."
"Right," Vernon muttered, tugging at his collar. "Just checking."
Griphook gave a low chuckle, surprisingly warm for a goblin. "You may rest assured, your nephew's fortune is in capable hands."
He tapped a rune on the desk. The heavy door swung open, and Bloodfang appeared once more, bowing slightly. "This way, Lord Potter. The cart awaits."
Harry rose, still half in awe. "Thank you, Griphook. For everything."
"Your parents were honorable clients," Griphook said quietly. "Their son is proving no less."
The family stepped through the misted archway once more, following Bloodfang down a narrow, torch-lit corridor that sloped deeper into the earth. The air grew cooler, the walls humming faintly with restrained power.
Vernon glanced at Harry, then at Petunia and Dudley trailing behind. Despite the strangeness of it all-the tunnels, the goblins, the gold-something inside him had shifted. The wizarding world, he realised, might be foreign, but it was not foolish. It had order. Logic. Even dignity.
"Hold tight," Bloodfang called sharply as they reached a waiting cart gleaming in the dim light.
Harry climbed in eagerly, heart pounding. The rails stretched ahead into darkness, promising mystery and motion.
Petunia and Dudley followed nervously, and Vernon settled beside Harry, gripping the edge. "Here we go, lad," he muttered. "Into your family's vault."
The cart lurched forward with a metallic clang! and shot into the tunnels like a bolt of lightning, wind whipping through their hair as Bloodfang's laughter echoed through the subterranean halls of Gringotts.
A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.
Okay so what do you think ? Isn't Flitwick the best escort? And what do you think of the Goblins. I always liked them to be trustworthy !!
And I know many will not be comfortable with Vernon being handling this all, but what can I say ? I really want to redeem Vernon !!
Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.
Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!