Blake practically dragged me toward a broom shop when I gently steered her the other way.
"Alastair, Gringotts is that way," she said, confused.
"I know," I replied, keeping my stride steady.
She blinked.
"Why are we going back to the bank? We already got the stipend"
I paused for a moment, watching wizards bustle past us.
Then I answered quietly:
"I want to find out if my parents were wizards too."
I glanced at her.
"Don't you?"
I expected curiosity.
Maybe excitement.
Instead—
Blake froze.
Completely.
Her shoes rooted to the ground as if she'd grown into the cobblestones. Her eyes widened, shimmering too quickly, too suddenly.
Tears.
My chest clenched.
"Blake?" I stepped toward her. "What happened?"
She swallowed hard.
Her voice trembled.
"It's okay if they weren't magical," she whispered. "Really. I'm used to… not having anyone.
"Her fingers curled into fists.
"But if they were magical… and they still didn't want me… if they abandoned me anyway—"
Her breath hitched.
"How am I supposed to feel? What do I do with that?"
For the first time all day, Diagon Alley's brightness felt muted, distant.
I reached out and took her hand.
"Blake."
She looked up, eyes wet.
"You're amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have you."
Her lips trembled.
"If they didn't want you," I continued, steady, certain, "then it's their loss. Not yours."
She blinked hard, tears threatening to spill.
"Show them. Show the world what you can do."
Slowly… very slowly… a small, fragile smile curved her lips.
"Okay," she whispered.
I squeezed her hand once and led her toward Gringotts.
This time, we didn't walk like children.
We walked with purpose.
I stepped up to the nearest goblin clerk.
No timid posture.
No hesitation.
My shoulders straightened, chin lifted, steps measured.
Blake watched me with surprise—This wasn't the quiet orphan boy tone.
This was something else.
Something sharp.
Something regal.
Something ancient.
"I would like to request an inheritance test," I said calmly.
The goblin snorted.
"Kid, inheritance tests cost 200 Galleons each. Are you sure? Can you pay?"
"Of course I can," I replied.
"As soon as the test is complete."
Blake whipped toward me, horrified.
"TWO HUNDRED—Alastair, we don't have—"
I gently squeezed her hand to silence her.
"We'll be taking two tests," I continued. "One for me and one for my friend."
The goblin's smirk grew, razor-thin and mocking.
He clearly doubted us.
Good.
Let him.
"We will receive payment," the goblin said dryly."One way or another. Follow me."
He led us down a long corridor lit by flickering blue torches. The room he ushered us into was small, stone-walled, and strangely solemn.
He left for a moment.
Blake tugged my sleeve.
"Alastair, we can't afford this—how—"
"Trust me," I said softly.
Her eyes widened, but she nodded.
The goblin returned carrying three parchments and a silver dagger.
One parchment was already filled—a contract.
"You have requested Goblin services for the inheritance test," he said. "Sign here. Payment due upon completion."
I read every line. Every clause.
Then signed.
The quill shimmered faintly as my name sealed itself.
Blake signed too, hand shaking slightly.
Then the goblin placed the two blank parchments on the table.
He set the dagger between them.
His grin widened.
"Blood on the parchment," he said simply.
I picked up the blade.
Sharp. Clean. Cold.
I pricked my finger—a small bead of crimson forming instantly.
And trust me—
I resisted the urge to slice my palm open like in the movies.
Blake made a small horrified noise anyway.
I held my hand above the parchment.
The single drop of my blood struck the parchment—
and instantly split into two streams,
crawling across the page like living red threads.
Blake gasped softly.
I held my breath.
The left thread flared emerald-green,
and glowing letters formed:
SALVIUS
Under it, seven vault numbers burned into existence.
Seven.
My heartbeat stumbled.
The Salvius family—
once powerful, nearly wiped out in the Grindelwald era.
Seven vaults…
Seven branches lost…
Seven legacies that had no heir.
Until me.
The right stream ignited silver-white,
swirling into a familiar name:
PEVERELL
Below it were three vault numbers
, each glowing faintly like old stars.
The goblin overseeing us froze.
His smirk vanished instantly.
His mouth twitched—
Then his entire demeanor shifted.
Mocking to stunned.
Stunned to alert.
Alert to…
Respect.
Real, sharp, fearful respect.
Even Blake noticed.
The parchment completed itself:
Alastair Caelum Salvius–Peverell
My true name.
My full heritage.
My chest tightened painfully as I touched the locket around my neck.
Mom… why didn't you give me your full name?
Why hide this from me?
Were you scared?
Protecting me?
Running from someone?
My throat burned.
But this wasn't the time.
I wanted—No, needed—to see those vaults.
To learn everything.
But Blake's test wasn't done yet.
I turned to her.
She had gone pale… but smiled softly.
"I'm happy for you," she whispered. "Really. But now I'm… nervous."
I squeezed her hand.
"Whatever happens, you aren't alone."
She swallowed, nodded, and picked up the dagger with trembling fingers.
This time, she didn't hesitate long.
One prick—one drop of blood fell onto the parchment.
It spread slowly.
No splitting.
It formed only one sharp line, and then—
The name appeared.
A name that made the goblin's face drain of color.
A name that made even me jerk in surprise.
And beneath it:
Vault 12
But then—another line etched itself naturally, glowing faintly beneath the vault:
Kreacher