The heavy bronze doors closed behind Harry and Hagrid with a deep, echoing thud. The sound rolled through the marble hall like a warning bell. Cool air swept over them, carrying the faint scent of ink, metal, and something that felt like it could charge interest.
Harry's first thought was that this wasn't a bank—it was a shrine to money. He could almost picture goblins tucking piles of coins into bed at night and reading them bedtime stories. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful pile of gold… and they all lived richly ever after.
Nyx's voice slid into his mind. They'd melt it down first.
Hedwig, perched on his shoulder, added, And then invest the proceeds.
Harry smirked. "Efficient at making me feel like I've already done something illegal," he muttered under his breath.
Rows of goblins perched on high stools behind long counters, their quills scratching in ledgers with the precision of surgeons. Each one looked like they could calculate compound interest faster than Harry could blink.
Hagrid's boots thudded toward a counter. "We've come to take some money from Mr. Harry Potter's trust vault," he said, placing a small key down. "And I've got business in Vault Seven-One-Three."
The goblin clerk looked at the key, then at Harry, then back at the key. The stare was slow, deliberate, and unsettling—like the way Aunt Petunia looked at milk that was two days past its date.
Harry's mind supplied the caption: Inspected for freshness.
Nyx chuckled. You will not pass.
Hedwig's tone was flat. You will not pass.
Harry imagined a little sign popping up on the counter: Rejected: May Contain Trouble.
The goblin finally spoke. "Verification required. The likeness does not match the last record. Follow me."
They followed him through a side door into a long hallway lined with doors. The air was cooler here, the light dimmer, the sound of the main hall fading behind them.
Harry eyed the endless stretch ahead. This hallway is so long, I'm expecting to see a snack stand halfway down.
Nyx perked up. If there is, I'm ordering the dragon-on-a-stick.
Hedwig didn't miss a beat. That is not food.
The door plaques started out normal—Records Office, Vault Access Control—but quickly veered into the bizarre: Misplaced Time-Turners, Unclaimed Curses, Lost and Found Dragons.
Harry shook his head. "If we open the wrong one, we're either getting treasure… or a lawsuit."
At the very end of the hallway stood a reinforced door with an engraved plaque: Bloodline Ritual Room.
Harry eyed it. "That's either where they check your family tree or where they feed you to it."
Nyx sounded hopeful. Hopefully both.
Hagrid stepped forward to follow Harry in, but the goblin raised a clawed hand. "You will wait outside. This is a bloodline matter. Only the heir may enter. Goblin law forbids disclosure of bloodline secrets to any not bound to the blood."
"Family secrets?" Hagrid frowned. "I'm just here to—"
"You will wait," the goblin repeated, tone like stone grinding on stone.
Harry pictured Hagrid outside a velvet rope, holding a drink, looking confused. Nyx murmured, Exclusive club. Dress code: DNA only.
Hedwig's voice was calm. It is tradition.
The goblin opened the door, and Harry stepped inside. The room was circular, softly lit, with a silver bowl on a pedestal in the center. The runes etched around its rim glowed faintly.
Harry eyed it. "That's not a ritual bowl, that's a cereal bowl that's seen things."
Nyx purred. Pour in some milk, see if it screams.
The goblin gestured. "Blood and magic. Left hand."
Harry held it out. "If we end up summoning a demon, you're explaining it to Hagrid."
"Correct," the goblin said without blinking.
Nyx: If a demon appears, I'm naming it.
Hedwig: If a demon appears, I'm leaving.
The goblin pricked Harry's finger with a needle that looked like it could double as a weapon. A drop of blood fell into the bowl. The runes flared, and the liquid inside glowed gold, then red, then swirled into colours like a lava lamp having an identity crisis.
Nyx pretended to read the colours. Blue means you're rich, red means you're cursed, green means you're both.
Symbols rose from the surface—names, crests, branching lines, and faint outlines of creatures: wings, claws, eyes that gleamed knowingly.
The goblin reached to the side and handed Harry a parchment. "You are confirmed as the heir to the Potter family."
Harry glanced at the parchment. Bloodlines and creatures sprawled across it in neat ink. "That's… a lot of family. And pets. And possibly lawsuits."
The goblin continued. "You may access your trust vault. The main family vault remains sealed until you claim lordship. Upon recognition, all unclaimed vaults tied to your bloodline will merge into it—including those of ancient founders."
Harry folded the parchment and tucked it into his coat. So I'm basically a vault magnet with legs.
Nyx: And claws.
Hedwig: And responsibility.
Harry left the ritual room and rejoined Hagrid, who looked like he'd been waiting for hours.
They descended a spiral stair to a platform where a cart waited on narrow rails. Harry stopped, eyeing it. "Oh, brilliant. A roller coaster with no seat belts. What could possibly go wrong?"
Nyx: At least it's fast.
Hedwig: At least it's functional.
The goblin climbed in. Harry slid in beside Hagrid.
"Didn't take long, did it?" Hagrid said.
"Depends," Harry said. "Do you count demon-free as quick or slow?"
The cart jerked forward, and the world became wind and motion.
Harry gripped the side. This is like a shopping trolley possessed by a stunt driver.
They twisted, dropped, rattled over rails that sounded one insult away from quitting. Doors flashed past—plain, carved, rune-covered.
A waterfall appeared ahead.
"That's not—" Harry began, and then they were through it, soaked and freezing.
Nyx: Refreshing. Like being slapped by a glacier.
Hedwig: Focus.
The cart slammed to a stop before a tall black-iron door. The goblin unlocked it. Inside, gold Galleons gleamed in piles, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts spilling into neat mounds.
"All yours," Hagrid said.
Harry stepped in, coins shifting under his shoes. "Finally getting paid for surviving childhood."
He filled a small bag, the weight solid in his hand.
Back in the cart, they plunged deeper into the tunnels until they stopped before a smaller, unmarked vault. The goblin unlocked it, and Hagrid stepped inside alone.
When he emerged, he was holding a small wrapped package, tucking it deep into his coat.
Nyx: That's suspicious. I like it.
Hedwig: It is important. Do not ask.
Harry: "Bet it's a cursed teapot. Or a very angry sandwich."
Nyx: If it's a sandwich, I'm eating it.
The return was just as fast, the tunnels whipping past in a blur.
Sunlight hit Harry's face as they stepped back into Diagon Alley.
Nyx: Now we shop.
Hedwig: Now we prepare.
Harry grinned. "Both. Preferably in that order, because I'm starving."