The parchment hissed when my blood touched it, searing hot, as though it had waited centuries for this moment. The fibers drank greedily, pulsing, and then—light. Golden fissures spiderwebbed across the surface, bright enough to sting the eyes, before curling letters rose out of the glow like shadows made solid.
The goblin snatched it before the last line had finished etching itself. His claws dug into the parchment as if afraid it might escape. Slitted eyes darted line by line, his gray skin paling with each word.
A goblin, paling. That was interesting.
His lips peeled back from sharp teeth, but no sound came out. He looked at me, looked back at the parchment, then down at my small frame. His expression trembled between outrage and fear, and the latter was winning.
I held out my hand. "Let me see."
He didn't move. Didn't even look at me. Just clutched the parchment tighter, his throat working.
My eyes narrowed. Wrong answer.
The document shivered. His claw tightened instinctively—but it made no difference. With a tug of will, the parchment ripped itself free of his grasp and slid across the desk into my waiting hand.
The goblin hissed, the sound raw, feral, but he didn't try to stop me. His gaze was fixed on me now, unblinking.
I lowered my eyes to the parchment. Words gleamed, each one a hammer striking iron:
Harry James Potter
Parents: James Charles Potter, Lily Rose Potter (née Evans)
Godparents: Sirius Orion Black, Alice Longbottom (née Prewett)
Date of Birth: July 31st, 1980
Physical Age: 5 years (63 years old)
Soul Age: 58 years
Status: Pureblood
Bloodlines:
– Royal House of Potter
– Imperial House of Emrys (Evans)
Vaults:
– Trust Vault #687 — 12,500 Galleons
– House Potter Vault #147 — 987,365,000 Galleons; heirlooms, enchanted tomes, estates in England & Scotland
– House Emrys Imperial Vault #001 — 9,389,765,376,234 Galleons; priceless artifacts, enchanted weaponry, grimoires; properties worldwide
Bloodline Abilities: Parseltongue, Ancient Magic
Magical Alignment: Gray, Dark-leaning
I stared for a moment, then let a slow smile creep across my lips. I had expected wealth, yes—but not an empire. Enough to drown the Ministry in gold ten times over. Enough to turn every wizarding nation upside down.
I folded the parchment once, deliberately, and set it in Petunia's trembling hands. She scanned it, eyes widening as though the words might bite. By the time she reached the totals, her mouth was dry, her breathing sharp. Vernon leaned in, mustache twitching as his face blanched. Dudley leaned closer, only to have Petunia clutch the parchment to her chest as though afraid it might evaporate.
I turned back to the goblin.
He hadn't moved. His eyes were still locked on me, unblinking, slitted pupils dilated in something that looked disturbingly close to panic.
"Well?" I asked softly.
The goblin's throat bobbed. He wet his lips. "That name…" His voice was low, hoarse. "…Emrys."
The word hung in the air like a curse.
Around us, other goblins who had pretended disinterest were suddenly still. One dropped a stack of coins. Another's quill snapped. They knew.
The goblin—Gornak, his nameplate read—leaned forward, his sneer faltering into something more cautious. Almost reverent.
"That line is not meant to exist. The House of Emrys vanished before your Ministry was born. Their vaults have not been touched for nearly four centuries. They were…" He hesitated. "…the first among us. The crown of wizardkind. Not even the Potters or Blacks could rival them. And you…" His gaze flicked again to the parchment. "You should not be what this says you are."
I tilted my head. "And what is that?"
His claw tapped the parchment with trembling precision. "Five years in body. Sixty-three in truth. Fifty-eight in soul. That is an impossibility. And yet…" He looked at me again, searching, and his voice lowered to a rasp. "…and yet, you exist."
The silence stretched. Goblins in the room shifted uneasily, some bowing their heads slightly, others glaring at me with naked fear.
I leaned forward, my small hands folded neatly, eyes gleaming like knives. "So tell me, Gornak. What can Gringotts do for me today?"
The goblin swallowed once, twice. Then, bowing his head just enough to acknowledge what the parchment had revealed, he whispered:
"Anything you wish, Lord Emrys."
Lord. How quickly they changed their tone.
Moments ago, Gornak had been a creature of marble sneers and iron rules. Now, as the light of my bloodline still shimmered faintly on the parchment, his claws trembled over the ledger. He did not meet my eyes.
"I will not be Lord Potter," I said. My voice was calm, but every syllable landed like a weight. "I will be uniting the Houses of Emrys and Potter. Their vaults, their properties, their names. From this day forward, both shall be bound under a single banner: Evans. My name is to be officially changed to Hadrian Marvolo Evans."
The goblin's head jerked up. His quill scratched furiously over the page, almost frantic to keep up. "Of course," he murmured, bowing his head. "Of course. And you wish the vaults merged under the Imperial line?"
"Yes," I replied. "Consolidate them. Their histories will remain preserved, but their resources will be one. The banner of House Evans shall stand again at full strength."
Gornak hesitated, then gestured toward the others with a flick of his claw. Two lesser goblins froze mid-step, then bolted out of the office at his barked command in the guttural goblin tongue.
"And… the humans?" His eyes flicked toward Petunia and Vernon, wary, testing. "They cannot—"
"They will," I interrupted smoothly, letting my gaze sharpen. "You will draw up papers of blood adoption. Vernon will be bound as a branch of House Evans, though his status remains mundane. Petunia…" My eyes slid to her, and she swallowed hard under the weight of my stare. "Her magic lies dormant. Adoption will not only awaken it, but you will unbind it. Now."
The room went still. Gornak's quill stopped scratching. Even the fire in the hearth hissed lower.
Unbinding magic was no small request. It was dangerous, ancient, and reserved for goblin-led rites.
For a heartbeat, his pride flickered. Then survival instinct won. He inclined his head slowly—no longer a sneer, but a bow. "As you command, Lord Evans."
He barked another order, sharper, and a group of three goblins entered, robes dark and heavy with sigils. One bore a silver basin etched with runes; another, a knife whose edge shimmered with green light. They bowed low before me and waited.
"Take the Lady," Gornak instructed them, voice low. "Lead her to the Unbinding Chamber. Prepare the rites. She is to be unbound under the seal of House Evans."
Petunia stiffened, eyes darting to me. I inclined my head once. "Go," I said softly. "You'll understand soon enough."
She hesitated only a moment, then followed the goblins out. The heavy door swung shut behind them, sealing with a muted click.
I turned back to Gornak. "While they perform the unbinding," I said, "we will finish the paperwork."
"Yes, my lord." His voice was tighter now, but respectful. Gone was the sly condescension; he spoke as one might to an old and dangerous thing.
Scrolls and quills appeared on the desk, carried by yet more clerks. Piles of parchment covered the surface like white waves.
I signed first, each stroke deliberate, the quill scratching my new name with a flourish: Hadrian Marvolo Evans. The ink shimmered gold, sinking into the document like molten metal.
The next parchment required blood. I drew the blade across my palm without flinching, letting the crimson drops fall. The page drank greedily, sigils flaring—Potter and Emrys weaving together in curling, interlocking symbols of black and gold.
When it was done, the light sank into the paper like a breath leaving a body.
Gornak slid the blood-adoption contracts across the desk. Vernon's signature was scrawled in a rough, uncertain hand, but he obeyed without question now. Three drops of his blood fell, dull red, and the parchment glowed faintly before sealing the cut shut.
I pressed my palm to the crest at the bottom. It flared, sealing him as a branch under House Evans.
"It is done," Gornak said, voice low, almost reverent. "House Evans is restored."
He risked a glance at me. "The Lady's unbinding will take some time. It is an ancient rite. Few living goblins have performed it."
I leaned back in my chair, eyes hooded. "Then you had best make sure it's done right."
Gornak bowed deeply this time—no half-measures, no pride. "As you will, Lord Evans."
He clapped his hands sharply. From a perch above, a great owl stirred — larger than any Muggle bird, its feathers silver-tipped, its eyes gold. It swooped down silently, landing on the desk with talons that clicked against marble.
"This will deliver the documents to the Ministry," Gornak explained. "They will be processed immediately."
The owl spread its wings, nearly the span of Vernon's armspan, and took off with a soundless rush of air. Through a high window it vanished into the London sky.
I leaned back in my chair, studying the goblin. He would not meet my eyes now. Professional, yes — but the pallor of his skin, the twitch of his fingers on the ledger, betrayed what he felt.
Fear.
Good.
I stood, smoothing my shirt. "That will be all. For now."
The Dursleys rose with me. Vernon looked faintly green. Petunia clutched her handbag like a lifeline. Dudley looked as though he wanted to tell every child in Smeltings about the giant owl.
As we stepped into the corridor, Vernon cleared his throat. "So… what now?"
I smiled. "Now? We prepare for the future. In a few months, you and Dudley will be entering first grade."
Vernon frowned. "At Smeltings?"
"No," I said smoothly. "At Thomas's Battersea Academy. A private school. Prestigious. Difficult to enter."
Petunia blinked, then laughed — high, sharp, nervous. "That school costs more than a small fortune! And you need connections just to apply!"
"Do not worry." My smile widened, cold and assured. "I have my own ways of doing things."