Mrs. Figg walked stiffly at my side, her handbag clutched like a lifeline. "Remember, boy," she muttered as we approached a crooked little pub sandwiched between two larger buildings. "Don't dawdle, don't draw attention. This is dangerous ground for someone your age."
The sign creaked faintly in the breeze: The Leaky Cauldron.
I paused at the threshold, the faint hum of magic pressing against my skin. For the first time, I was standing before the gateway into the world that was supposed to be mine all along.
Inside, the air was thick with pipe smoke, laughter, and the clatter of mugs. Witches in worn robes haggled over parchment, a warlock muttered into his tea, and owls hooted from cages in the corner.
The bartender, Tom, gave me a gap-toothed grin, though his eyes lingered on my scar a little too long.
But Mrs. Figg hurried me past, muttering excuses, until we reached the brick wall in the back courtyard. With a tap of her wand, the stones shifted and folded inward, revealing a hidden archway.
And there it was.
Diagon Alley. what a pun rowling.
The street unfolded before me like something out of a dream. Cobblestones shimmered faintly underfoot, lined with crooked shops stacked side by side like old friends.
Signs creaked in the breeze:
Flourish and Blotts, its windows crammed with towers of spellbooks.
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, bolts of cloth glittering faintly with enchantments.
Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, the air thick with the sharp tang of herbs and potion fumes.
Eeylops Owl Emporium, cages filled with feathers, hoots, and gleaming eyes.
And farther down, the towering silhouette of Ollivanders, its windows glinting with the promise of wands that had chosen legends.
Families bustled past with bags of cauldrons, parchment, and robes.
Children pointed eagerly at displays of sweets in Sugarplum's, or broomsticks gleaming proudly in Quality Quidditch Supplies. The alley felt alive buzzing with magic, history, and possibility.
But above it all, my eyes were drawn to the great white building at the alley's heart. Marble, gleaming in the sunlight.
Stern goblins stood guard at the bronze doors, their eyes sharp, their posture unyielding.
Gringotts.
I felt my lips curve into a faint smile. Finally.
Mrs. Figg cleared her throat nervously. "Well, boy, we're here. Don't take too long."
"I won't," I replied, already striding toward the steps.
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The marble hall was cold, the weight of gold and history pressing down from every polished stone. Goblins peered at me from their tall counters, quills scratching across endless ledgers.
One with a sharp nose and scarred hands approached. His black eyes studied me like a merchant appraising a suspicious gem.
"I am Griphook," he rasped. "You are for?"
"claim access to Potter holdings," I said calmly, though my small body hardly looked the part. "I am Harry James Potter. And I request to see the account manager for my family's vaults."
Griphook's eyes narrowed. "Do you have a key?"
I shook my head. "No."
"An adult sponsor? A guardian's writ?"
Again, I shook my head.
His lip curled. "Then by Gringotts' law, you have no access."
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Then test me."
That made him pause. Around us, quills stilled, and two other goblins glanced up.
"I don't want guardians. Especially not the one you think," I continued, meeting his gaze unflinching. "If Albus Dumbledore comes asking questions, you tell him nothing. Do you understand me?"
The goblin's expression sharpened. "Bold words for a child."
"Not bold. Careful." I folded my arms. "Dumbledore doesn't need to know what I have, or what I'm building. You do your tests, prove who I am, and then we speak like partners. Otherwise, you've wasted the chance to make an ally who respects your craft."
For a long moment, silence pressed heavy between us. Then Griphook's mouth twitched into something sharp, almost a smile.
"Very well. Follow."
I was led past the public halls, deeper into Gringotts' guarded corridors. Finally, we entered a chamber where a runed pedestal stood, glowing faintly.
"This," Griphook explained, "is the Bloodstone. Touch it, and it will verify your lineage. Should you lie, it will burn you. Should you speak truth… it will reveal all."
I placed my hand on the stone without hesitation. The surface was cool, then searing hot—before a pulse of light spread outward. Runes flared across the chamber walls, etching themselves in bright scarlet.
The goblins watched as words shimmered into existence:
"Harry James Potter, son of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Evans Potter. Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."
The glow faded, leaving only silence.
Griphook inclined his head, respect gleaming in his dark eyes. "Identity confirmed."
He escorted me to an office marked in silver script: Snagrock, Senior Account Manager.
Inside, an older goblin rose from behind a heavy oak desk. His golden spectacles glinted as he bowed low.
"Lord Potter," he said smoothly. "We had not expected you so soon… nor alone."
I slid into the chair opposite, keeping my tone firm. "I'm not here to waste time. And remember that Dumbledore must not know. He is not my guardian. He is not my master. My affairs are mine alone."
Snagrock's lips curled into something sharp. "At last… a Potter who understands discretion."
He pulled a glowing ledger forward and began.
"Your trust vault which was created at the time of your birth contains 493,744 Galleons, 12,359 Sickles, and 365 Knuts.
Your main ancestral family vault contains 74,585,549 Galleons, 582,218 Sickles, and 36,722 Knuts."
Even prepared, my pulse quickened at the numbers. Wealth beyond kingdoms. Enough to build empires.
Snagrock's grin widened showing his sharp teeth. "And now, Lord Potter, the real work begins."
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Snagrock's long fingers tapped the glowing ledger. "We have not yet spoken of your parents' personal vaults. These are separate from the family holdings, meant for their individual use during their lives."
Two smaller ledgers appeared, glowing faintly with Potter crests.
"Your father's vault contains 237,893 Galleons, 8,214 Sickles, and 491 Knuts. In addition, it holds his personal trunk, filled with notes, pranks, and private belongings, as well as several broomsticks most notably, a custom-model Nimbus prototype he was testing for Quality Quidditch Supplies."
A pang of something sharp twisted in my chest at the mention of James. I forced my voice steady. "And my mother's?"
Snagrock adjusted his spectacles, voice smoothing. "Your mother's vault contains 82,447 Galleons, 5,732 Sickles, and 276 Knuts. Within rests her trunk heavily warded, its locks keyed to her bloodline."
He continued "The contents include her school journals, research notes on charms and potions, and several personal belongings. Priceless, though modest compared to the main family treasury."
I sat straighter. Her journals. A connection to the woman I had never truly known.
Snagrock continued, his tone growing weightier. "These are distinct from the main Potter vault. That holds the collective wealth of your line, heirlooms, ancient jewelry, records, and the journals of Potters past. To open it is to inherit not just gold, but legacy."
His sharp gaze met mine. "Tell me, Lord Potter, what do you intend to do with this fortune? Many heirs squander their birthright within decades. We goblins do not respect squanderers."
I folded my hands, meeting him evenly. "I intend to expand it. I know what's coming in the world outside these walls. Both magical and muggle. I want investments placed where they will grow into empires."
Snagrock's teeth flashed. "Then speak."
I leaned forward, voice calm and deliberate.
"In the muggle world, I want early stakes in oil and energy, companies like British Petroleum and emerging Middle Eastern ventures will remain lucrative for decades. I also want shares in the coming technology boom: computing firms, telecommunications, and eventually companies like Microsoft and Apple. And pharmaceuticals, the world will always need medicine."
Snagrock's quill scratched rapidly across parchment. His eyes gleamed with interest.
"In the magical world," I continued, "I want majority shares in Quality Quidditch Supplies, the sport is growing, and brooms are the future. The Daily Prophet is unstable, but with proper ownership, it can become a propaganda machine as well as a business. Invest in potion ingredient farms, herbs, rare plants, anything that will rise in value when potions become more regulated. And finally, I want quiet stakes in Ollivanders' competitors, because no monopoly lasts forever."
Snagrock's lips curled into a feral grin. "You think like a goblin, Lord Potter. Ambitious. Long-sighted. Ruthless."
I allowed myself a thin smile. "That's the idea."
Snagrock cleared his throat as junior goblins brought forward a series of glowing parchments, contracts shimmering with goblin runes.
"We shall formalize your investments now, Lord Potter. You have a remarkable fortune to work with, and wisely placed, it will shape both worlds."
He tapped his quill and the figures appeared in glowing ink:
Muggle Ventures (Initial Investments):
[British Petroleum & Middle Eastern Oil Fields] – 150,000 Galleons (conversion managed through discreet goblin channels). Energy demand will remain dominant well into the next century.
[Pharmaceutical Corporations] (Glaxo & smaller research firms) – 100,000 Galleons. The medicine boom will only grow.
[Emerging Technology] (Microsoft, Apple, IBM shares) – 200,000 Galleons. Computing will dominate the next age.
[Telecommunications] (Vodafone, AT&T Europe division) – 50,000 Galleons. The rise of global communication is inevitable.
Magical Ventures (Initial Investments):
[Quality Quidditch Supplies] (early majority stake) – 85,000 Galleons. Secures retail dominance in the broom industry.
[Daily Prophet] (silent stake, 15%) – 120,000 Galleons. Influence over wizarding media and political narratives.
[Potion Ingredient Farms] (Wiltshire & Scottish Highlands) – 60,000 Galleons. Growing demand ensures steady profit.
[Firebolt Consortium] (backroom deal with Randolph Spudmore, Firebolt inventor) – 150,000 Galleons. The Firebolt line will eclipse Nimbus by the mid-90s, guaranteeing astronomical returns and prestige.
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The Potter Vaults
After the ink dried, Snagrock motioned for Griphook to escort me deeper into the caverns.
The cart screeched along rails, torchlight whipping past, until we stopped before a set of iron doors.
"James Fleamont Potter, personal vault," Griphook announced.
The doors swung open to reveal neat stacks of gold, though nothing compared to the family fortune.
My eyes, however, were drawn to the side: a battered trunk with Gryffindor stickers peeling off, and several broomsticks gleaming under stasis charms.
One bore the Nimbus crest, though sleeker, thinner, a prototype.
I knelt, running a hand over the trunk. 'James. Harry's dad' I thought in pity
The cart rattled deeper, stopping again.
"Lily Evans Potter, personal vault."
Inside, coins glittered less brightly, but here it wasn't the gold that mattered.
A slim, rune sealed trunk rested against the wall, humming faintly with protective wards keyed to blood.
I touched the surface and felt it respond to me, the lock glowing before clicking open.
Inside were stacks of journals, their neat script visible on the top page: potion formulas, charms experiments, thoughts scribbled in careful, looping letters. A life's work, preserved.
'Damn, she really cooked with her genius' I thought in awe.
Finally, the cart stopped before a gate larger than the others, engraved with the Potter crest in gold and silver.
"The Main Potter Vault," Griphook said, his voice softer, almost reverent.
Inside was a treasury fit for kings. Mountains of gold, racks of heirloom jewelry, swords and enchanted trinkets glimmering under torchlight.
But I didn't linger on the wealth.
Instead, I walked past it all, straight to the shelves at the back. Leatherbound tomes and weathered journals lined them, each marked with the crest of generations past.
The knowledge of centuries of Potters, their experiments, successes, failures, and wisdom, waiting to be read.
I pulled several volumes free: advanced dueling notes, ancestral charms, estate ledgers.
Enough to prepare for the future.
Closing the trunk at my feet, I whispered into the still air of the vault:
"Your work won't be wasted. I'll carry it forward."
The cart clattered back toward daylight, trunks beside me, journals stacked high.
I wasn't just an outsider with a fortune anymore.
I was a Potter with a legacy.
I AM HIM.
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yeah this is a long one cuz I am not uploading one after this. took a lot of time to write it properly
hopefully the conversations were decent.
Its kinda a lore drop but whatever its important in long term so wait for it to cook
See ya!!
-Nine11P2