The grey heir

The stone chamber pulsed with faint heat as Harry stood once again before Ironbone, the deep hum of ancient enchantments still echoing in the vault walls. Vaelrik had returned to the forge, and Ironbone had summoned a fresh scroll of parchment and a ledger.

"Begin compiling full evidence on Albus Dumbledore," Harry said. "Every unauthorized withdrawal. Every sealed document. Every act of suppression. I want it all."

Ironbone's sharp features curved into something like a grim smile. "We anticipated this. The vault records are detailed, and our legal scribe, Groznak, has already begun documenting the chain of violations."

Harry gave a slow nod. "Keep everything under the name Hadrian Evans. Until my seats are activated, no one can know who I really am."

"Understood."

A moment passed before Harry spoke again. "I'll need a money pouch — something discreet."

Ironbone produced a small satchel from beneath the desk. "Enchanted to draw from the Black trust vault. Standard untraceable runework. Withdrawals are private and bound to your magical signature."

Harry accepted it and slid it beneath his robe.

"And now," he said, reaching into his cloak for the glamor ring Ironbone had previously provided, "it's time for a walk in the light."

He slipped it on. Magic shimmered briefly, warping his form. The face staring back in the mirrored vault door was elegant and unfamiliar: auburn hair, high cheekbones, sharp gray eyes. His voice, when he spoke, carried a clipped, noble tone.

"Let's blend in with the pure-bloods, shall we?"

---

Diagon Alley bustled under the midmorning sun. Witches and wizards milled about, too caught in their errands to look twice at the sharp-featured boy stepping out from the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry moved with practiced ease, walking first to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The tailor, a kindly woman with silver hair pinned back tightly, greeted him with a flick of her wand.

"New robes, sir?"

"A full set. Traditional formal wear. Casual wear. And one custom robe — lined with the Peverell sigil."

Madam Malkin blinked, studying him a moment. "Peverell, you say?"

Harry smiled faintly. "Old line. Lost to time. I'm just reviving the memory."

She nodded, respectful but intrigued. "You walk like a Rosier. But your eyes…"

He didn't answer.

Measurements were taken, gold exchanged. Within the hour, he stepped out carrying a discreet case of enchanted garments.

Next stop: The Magical Menagerie.

It was filled with the usual chaos — screeching bats, whining crups, and purring puffskeins. But Harry's attention was drawn immediately to a cage draped in shadow.

A snowy owl sat in silence, eyes glowing gold. She didn't hoot. Didn't shift. Just stared.

Harry approached.

"She's a strange one," said the shopkeeper. "Won't bond with anyone. Pecks anyone who comes near."

But as Harry extended a hand, the owl leaned forward and gently touched his finger with her beak.

"I'll take her," he said. "No need for a carrier. She'll follow."

The shopkeeper blinked, but didn't argue. "Name her quick. Might help."

Harry looked into the owl's eyes.

"Hedwig," he said. She blinked once, as if satisfied.

A low hiss echoed from a far tank at the back of the shop. Curious, Harry turned to investigate.

A long black serpent with silver patterns lay coiled within enchanted glass. Its eyes were as green as his own.

It raised its head, staring at him.

"So much magic, little master…" the snake hissed.

Harry blinked. Parseltongue.

He looked around, then flicked his wand and whispered, "Imperturbable Charm." A thin magical dome shimmered around the tank — no sound could pass in or out.

He leaned closer. "You hear me?"

"Of course. You carry the mark of death and the scent of serpents. You are not prey."

"Why haven't you spoken before?"

"No one listened. No one dared. But you... you are like the one who came before, and unlike him, you do not reek of madness."

Harry studied the snake. "Will you follow me?"

"I will follow the one who walks both shadow and blood. Your tongue is old, your power older still."

The shopkeeper looked up. "Strange thing. Hasn't spoken since it arrived. Doesn't even eat unless the room's empty."

"How much?" Harry asked.

The goblin-crafted pouch opened silently. The price was paid without question.

The snake slithered from the glass into his arms, curling around his wrist beneath his sleeve.

"I will name you later," Harry whispered. "Stay hidden."

"As the grave," the serpent hissed, vanishing beneath his new master's cloak.

---

As he exited the shop, a drawling voice cut through the crowd.

"New pet, then?"

Harry turned, face unreadable. Draco Malfoy stood beside his mother, arms crossed, gray eyes already full of suspicion.

"Indeed," Harry said smoothly. "Exquisite breeds, both of them. Not meant for commoners."

Draco smirked, intrigued. "You speak like someone raised in the old ways."

"I was."

Draco stepped closer, looking him over. "You've got a foreign air to you. Not from the Isles."

"No. But blood matters more than borders."

Mrs. Malfoy's eyes lingered, but she said nothing.

"And your name?" Draco asked.

"Evans."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Haven't heard it. But it has weight. You should visit Wiltshire sometime. We host only the worthy."

Harry inclined his head. "I may."

Draco looked over the owl on Harry's shoulder, then the faint hint of scaled movement under his sleeve.

"Interesting companions. That owl's got the look of a predator. And that..." he tilted his head, "You're hiding something else, aren't you?"

Harry allowed a small, confident smile. "We all have secrets. I find they're best kept close until the time is right."

Mrs. Malfoy spoke softly then, her voice like silk on glass. "You carry yourself like one of the old families, even if your name is unfamiliar. Should you ever require... discretion, the Malfoy name has long memories and longer reach."

"Noted," Harry replied politely. "And appreciated."

Draco gave a respectful nod. "May your vaults overflow and your enemies falter."

Harry echoed the phrase with equal weight. "And may your bloodline endure."

They parted with the air of lords who had nothing to prove.

---

By evening, Harry walked alone down Magnolia Crescent, glamor ring dimmed and pocketed. Hedwig flew silently overhead, then swooped into a tree by Number Four. Beneath his robe, the serpent stirred but made no sound.

Inside the cupboard beneath the stairs, Harry cast another Silencio, then lit a faint magical flame in his palm.

The snake uncurled, resting its head on his knee.

"You said I carry the scent of death. Why?"

"Because death has touched you. You are its chosen, whether you know it or not. The mark is old… deeper than blood."

"Will others like you obey me?"

"If you command. If you prove stronger than their fear."

Harry nodded, thoughtful.

"Sleep now. We'll need our strength."

The snake coiled again, a quiet guardian beneath the cot.

Hedwig watched through the open vent, her eyes glowing in the dark.

> "Let them believe I'm still trapped here," Harry whispered. "Let them think I'm helpless."

He closed his eyes.

---

Inside Number Four, no one stirred. Vernon Dursley grunted in his sleep upstairs. Petunia muttered something about the boy being too quiet these days — but never checked. Dudley snored on, blissfully unaware.

Harry's return had been ghost-silent. No footsteps. No creaking floorboards. Just the shifting air of something ancient slipping back into a prison it had already outgrown.

To the world, he remained the forgotten nephew, sleeping in a cupboard.

But in truth?

The Grey Heir had already begun to rise.

> "Because when I rise… I won't rise alone."

---

To be continued...