The grey heir

The torchlight in the vault-chamber flickered like it remembered the truth.

Ironbone laid out the Gringotts access records before Harry. The parchment glowed faintly with tracking sigils, inked in red and obsidian. At the top, a single name was stamped repeatedly in authoritative script:

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"Your magical guardian accessed the Potter Vault under emergency authority six times," Ironbone said. "Each instance bypassed family seals through Ministry override codes."

Harry stared at the list. His jaw clenched.

Ironbone turned another page, one that glowed with high-value transaction markers.

"In addition," he said darkly, "Dumbledore transferred two million galleons from the primary Potter vault to a private, undisclosed Ministry fund. The record was disguised as a 'war contingency withdrawal.'"

The Gryffindor Battle Journal

Chronicle of the Flameborn

Three Potter grimoires bound in staghide

The Resonant Mirror of Blackstone

"He stole from me," Harry said.

"He did more than that," Ironbone replied grimly. "He obscured the will. Shall we open it now?"

Harry nodded.

Two scrolls shimmered into view, bound in silver cords. As Ironbone cast the revealing flame, the cords unraveled and a projection of James and Lily Potter materialized before Harry.

James was grinning, arms crossed. Lily glowed with fierce tenderness.

> "If you're seeing this, Harry," James began, "then we're gone. But not defeated."

> Lily continued, "We named Sirius as your guardian. Not Dumbledore. If he blocked this will, it means he's taken more from you than just time."

> "You're the heir of great houses. Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor. We left instructions, properties, protections. You should've had them at eleven."

> James added, "Live loud, son. Burn bright. And remember who you are."

Lily's voice lingered a moment longer, her eyes locked with Harry's even through the magic.

> "You must understand something, Harry. The Potters have long held three lines of inheritance: the Potter blood, the Peverell ancestry, and a buried claim to Gryffindor. For centuries, only the Potter heirship was recognized, as the others lay dormant — unacknowledged by family magic. But you, Harry... you are the first in generations to awaken all three."

> "You were never meant to be hidden away. Not in that house, not with those people. Dumbledore promised protection, but we asked for Sirius. We trusted him."

> James's voice followed, more serious than before. "If you're hearing this, it means we were betrayed — and you were denied what was yours by right and by blood. Reclaim it. All of it."

The projections dissolved into glowing motes.

Ironbone presented another record: Sirius Black's will.

"This will remains sealed. It was never read. Sirius Black was imprisoned without trial. Dumbledore made no attempt to contest it."

Harry's hands shook. Not from fear, but fury.

"Activate my Wizengamot seats. The ones that are mine."

Ironbone bowed. "As Lord Potter and Lord Peverell, your seats are now active. Gryffindor and Slytherin seats remain dormant—ancestral protocols require full ritual recognition."

He brought out a stone crest. It lit up with gold flames and shifted into the form of two serpents and a lion circling a circle of three stars — the mark of full succession.

"Political reactivation is possible. It will take time. But the council will know your presence."

Harry nodded. "And legal action? Can I hold Dumbledore accountable?"

Ironbone's grin was sharp. "As a sovereign magical Lord, you may bring charges once all seats are active. In the meantime, we can assemble Goblin Legal Advocacy to begin preparing cases. Theft, unlawful guardianship, suppression of magical heirship… the list is long."

Harry folded his arms. "Do it. Quietly. I'll strike when the time is right."

Ironbone seemed pleased. "Wise."

Harry hesitated, then said, "One more thing. I need a wand. But I won't go to Ollivander. I need something… more suited to who I am."

Ironbone's eyes gleamed. "A rare request. Most humans believe wandlore belongs only to them. But we goblins have our crafters. We do not use wands in your lands, but we are not barred from forging them."

Harry blinked. "Wait… isn't it illegal for goblins to use wands?"

Ironbone smiled, all sharp teeth. "In your nation, yes. In Gringotts, no. We are sovereign. Our laws are our own. Goblins may craft, own, and wield what they will beneath the stone."

He pulled out a black-forged medallion.

"Vaelrik Runeclasp," he said. "One of our finest. He crafts only for lords and for those touched by Death. If you bear Peverell magic, he will speak with you."

Harry accepted the medallion.

Ironbone leaned closer.

"Wands choose their masters, yes. But Runeclasp's wands do more — they remember. And your wand may know truths even your allies do not."

Harry turned to the torchlit path.

He would descend deeper. Find the forge. Claim his weapon.

The world had taken from him.

Now he would take it back.

---

To be continued...