The next morning, I woke before sunrise.
Grimmauld Place was still quiet, the house only beginning to stir as the first hints of winter light filtered through the enchanted windows. After a quick breakfast prepared by the house-elves, I left with Liri and made my way into Diagon Alley.
Contrary to what most would expect, I didn't head straight for Gringotts.
Instead, I entered the Leaky Cauldron.
The old pub was quieter than usual at that hour. A handful of witches and wizards occupied scattered tables while Tom moved between them with practiced ease, carrying trays and exchanging greetings with regular customers.
I ordered a simple breakfast and settled into a corner seat.
Then I watched.
To most people, the patrons probably looked ordinary.
To me, they represented opportunities.
I wasn't looking for purebloods.
Nor was I looking for Ministry officials.
I was looking for people who moved comfortably between two worlds.
Muggleborns.
Half-bloods who had lived extensively in both societies.
Witches and wizards who made a living outside purely magical circles.
If my plans were going to succeed, I would eventually need someone capable of operating in the muggle world on my behalf.
The magical side was manageable.
House-elves could handle properties.
Goblins could manage vaults.
But neither understood modern technology.
Neither understood investments, corporations, patents, software development, or the industries I intended to enter eventually.
For that, I needed an agent.
Someone trustworthy.
Someone competent.
And preferably someone who wouldn't immediately sell my ideas to the highest bidder.
I took slow bites of breakfast while observing the room.
Several customers entered and left during the hour I remained there.
Most were quickly dismissed.
Some were obvious purebloods.
Others possessed the unmistakable posture of Ministry workers.
A few were tourists visiting Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping.
But several individuals caught my attention.
One wizard in his thirties arrived wearing a tailored muggle overcoat and carrying what appeared to be a leather briefcase.
Another witch paid for breakfast with pounds before converting them at the counter for wizarding currency.
Interesting.
Not enough information.
But interesting.
Eventually, I approached Tom.
The innkeeper was polishing glasses behind the counter.
"Tom," I said casually. "The gentleman in the gray overcoat who left earlier—does he visit often?"
Tom glanced toward the door before nodding.
"Every few weeks."
"And his name?"
Tom looked mildly curious but answered anyway.
A few questions later, I had gathered several names worth investigating.
Nothing more.
Just names.
But names were a start.
I'll investigate them later, I decided.
Finding the right person wasn't something to rush.
A bad agent could cost fortunes.
A good one could build empires.
Roughly an hour after arriving, I finally left the Leaky Cauldron and crossed Diagon Alley toward Gringotts.
The white marble building towered above the street as imposing as ever.
Inside, the familiar atmosphere greeted me immediately.
Polished stone.
Echoing footsteps.
The quiet tension that seemed unique to goblin institutions.
Griphorn was standing near one of the teller stations speaking with another goblin when I entered.
His sharp eyes found me almost instantly.
The conversation ended immediately.
"Lord Salvius."
The goblin inclined his head respectfully.
I returned the gesture.
"Griphorn."
Without further delay, he stepped away from the counter and motioned for me to follow.
"Everything has been prepared."
Together, we moved deeper into Gringotts, passing through corridors inaccessible to ordinary clients before eventually arriving at a private meeting room furnished far more comfortably than most wizarding offices.
A thick stack of ledgers already waited upon the table.
Financial reports.
Property records.
Investment summaries.
And, if Griphorn had followed my instructions correctly—
A complete list of every debt still owed to House Salvius.
I spent the next several minutes reviewing the financial reports.
The numbers were absurd.
Even after accounting for reconstruction expenses, maintenance costs, taxes, dormant properties, and various holdings that had deteriorated over the years, the wealth accumulated in the main vault and the recovered branch family vaults was staggering.
If converted into muggle currency, I could probably finance a small nation.
Perhaps not a particularly competent nation.
But a nation nonetheless.
That wasn't why I had come today.
Money sitting in a vault was potential.
Nothing more.
Potential only became power when it moved.
I set the financial reports aside and opened the income records.
That proved more disappointing.
Current revenue streams were limited almost entirely to a handful of patents registered by previous generations of the Salvius family. A few potion-related innovations still generated royalties, while several warding techniques licensed to old families produced modest but reliable income.
Enough to sustain the family indefinitely.
Not enough to justify the scale of our holdings.
Next came the property records.
Salvius Manor was progressing according to schedule.
Good.
The Peverell manor was another matter entirely.
I closed that file after a brief review.
That project would have to wait.
Before sending any construction team there, I needed to ensure there was nothing remaining that might reveal the family's hidden heritage or secrets. The last thing I wanted was some overly curious contractor stumbling upon evidence linking the family directly to the Peverells.
Certain discoveries were better left undiscovered.
Beyond Britain, the records listed several overseas properties.
The Peverell family possessed a manor in America.
The Salvius family maintained one in France.
Both had been preserved through various legal arrangements and remained technically under family ownership.
I stared at the entries briefly.
Interesting.
Completely impractical at the moment.
I barely had enough time to manage Britain.
International properties would have to wait.
That brought me to the commercial holdings.
The situation there was significantly more complicated.
The shops in Diagon Alley and the one in Hogsmeade stood abandoned but structurally intact.
Most of the remaining commercial properties throughout Britain were another story entirely.
Some had previously been rented and simply continued operating after the fall of the family.
Others had been occupied outright.
In certain cases, families had apparently decided that decades without an owner constituted permission.
I looked up from the reports.
"Have notices been sent?" I asked.
Griphorn folded his hands neatly atop the table.
"Yes, Lord Salvius."
"And the response?"
A faint smile crossed the goblin's face.
"Quite substantial."
That wasn't surprising.
The return of an old noble house tended to attract attention.
"Several influential families who became aware of your return have already contacted Gringotts regarding compensation and rental agreements for continued use of certain properties."
Interesting.
At least some possessed enough sense to act before legal action became necessary.
I considered the matter for a moment.
"Those families who previously rented from us and have demonstrated willingness to continue paying rent may remain under their previous agreements."
Griphorn nodded.
I continued.
"Those who occupied properties without authorization but contacted us before receiving official notices will be charged the lowest commercial rate."
The goblin's smile widened slightly.
Merciful.
By goblin standards, anyway.
"Those who responded after receiving formal notice will pay current fair market rates."
A quill began moving across parchment as Griphorn recorded the instructions.
"And afterward?"
"If they wish to continue renting, negotiate proper contracts based on fair market value."
Reasonable treatment encouraged cooperation.
Cooperation generated profit.
Profit generated influence.
The cycle was simple.
"As for those who ignored the notices entirely," I continued calmly, "or refuse to pay..."
I closed the property ledger.
"Submit a formal complaint to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on my behalf."
Griphorn's smile became genuinely predatory.
"As you wish, Lord Salvius."
I suspected several families were about to discover that abandoned property and inherited property were not the same thing.
With the property matter settled, I turned toward the final stack of documents.
Investment reports proved largely useless.
Most ventures established before the family's fall had either collapsed outright or slowly bled money for years until nothing remained. Those still operating showed mediocre returns at best.
There was little worth preserving.
Eventually those holdings would be liquidated and reinvested elsewhere.
That left only one file remaining.
The thinnest stack.
And potentially the most interesting.
I lowered my gaze toward the cover page.
Outstanding Debts Owed to House Salvius.
__________________________
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