Harry James Potter looked around his tiny bedroom, frantic for a second, before realizing where he was. It had just been a dream, more like a nightmare really.
Placing his hands on his face, as he took several slow deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves, and to help settle his roaring emotions, he sighed with a mixture of tiredness and despair at the situation. He always had the same reoccurring dream after suffering a beating from his uncle. It always set his pulse racing; it felt so real, so powerful in its haunting nature.
Harry opened the door to his cupboard, before looking out to see it was still dark outside. Looking over in the direction of the grandfather clock, to check the time, and too find out how long he had until he had to get up and start on breakfast.
The clock hands indicated it had just gone past midnight, which made him smile. Being careful not to wake his relatives, and faintly whispering, "Happy Birthday to Me..." He was 11 now, so only another five more years of his hell hole until he could escape.
He hated his family with a passion; he hated the unfairness of his life. The only escape he had for these feelings was the books at his local library, and his mind. It was his only sanctuary from the hardships he endured, and the unfairness.
Moving back into his cupboard, causing his shoulders to protested at the sudden movement, triggering a wave of minor aches and pains across his back in response, which he ignored.
Once again letting a tired sigh escape him, as he got back into his make shift bed, which happened to be an old battered sleeping bag, along with some old sheets he'd been able to save from being thrown out, to help keep him warm during long winter nights so he wouldn't freeze to death.
His body was still aching from his uncle's belt as he tried to make himself comfortable, without resting on his aching back. He had developed a tolerance to pain over the years, but there was only so much one could ignore.
If anyone had examined his body, they would have seen it was covered with scars from all the beatings he had received. But his uncle had taken it as a personal challenge to make him beg, to beg him to stop the beating. Whilst his Aunt watched on, as if it was a perverted show for her entertainment, with wine glass in hand, drinking away.
What was worse was after they were done beating him raw, they would just dump him back into cupboard or leave him bleeding on the floor. They would then retreat back into their bedroom and have sex if he guessed correctly. Based on the animal like groans, moans, and grunts he'd heard coming from the floor above, in the direction of their bedroom.
Not that he had ever bothered to check his theory, since he was often not in any state to make his way up the stairs. The sounds alone were evidence enough to suggest their activities, as well the morning after duties, when he had to often clean up their room. It was so degrading, having to clean up after such filth, after such pigs, it just made him so angry, before he would remember the vow he'd made to himself each year.
"I swear someday I will have my revenge." It was the same promise he made to himself every birthday, since he had grown old enough to understand his mistreatment at his guardian's hands. It was the vow he made whenever thinking of beatings that he had endured; it was a promise that helped him to keep going.
Closing his eyes, and taking several deep breaths, he tried to relax. However, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a flash, a glint of gold coloured metal, which instantly triggered his interest, recalling how his cousin had set him up by stashing one of his Aunt's necklaces in his cupboard, then ratted him out.
He would get his cousin back, that beating had left the biggest scar, suppressing his rising anger at the memory he reached out towards the gold object. It seemed to call to him, pulsing in darkness, calling to him to touch it.
Grasping it with his hand, he felt something engraved on the heavy object. Bringing it to his eye to look at it better, he saw it had a faint symbol of a dragon with the letters beneath it spelling out 'Gringotts Bank'.
Harry didn't recognize the name, nor the symbol on the coin. The only banks he could recall were NatWest and HSBC. Then again, what type of bank still uses gold nowadays? Looking back at the coin, and the unique dragon engraved on, he felt compelled to read it aloud, "Gringotts Bank?"
He felt a pulling sensation on his body. Blinking his eyes rapidly to take in the rapid movement around him that looked like a vortex, he tried to let go of the coin, but he couldn't. He tried to wake himself up, thinking that it had to be a dream.
Next thing he knew he was on floor; it was clear white floor, made of marble. The aches in his back burned as he pushed himself upright, climbing to his feet. Noticing the same odd dragon symbol as the gold coin in his hand on the marble floor caused him to start examining the room.
"Good Evening Mr. Potter, we have much to discuss," said an unknown voice, coming from behind him.
Turning to face the direction from which he had heard the voice, his heart started pounding instantly at the sight of the non-human individual, encased in black plate amour trimmed with gold.
"Please remain calm Mr. Potter, you're at Gringotts Bank, and all shall be explained to you in time," said the creature before him, causing him to blink several times, confirming what he was seeing.
Looking at individual or creature before him, he couldn't help but ask, fear lacing his voice, "What are you?"
A sneer appeared on the creature's face, before disappearing quickly as the creature schooled his features. His voice tinted with a hint of anger, looking him straight in the eye, "Mr. Potter, my name is Bloodmoon. I am your account manager, and you are currently at the Goblin bank called Gringotts, near central London. We provide banking services for magical Britain."
His mind starting running at max speed, trying to process what he was being told, trying to make sense of the information he'd been giving. 'Account manager? Goblin? Magical Britain?' the logical part of him rebelled at idea of magic, his aunt and uncle always said magic wasn't real.
Plus he was man of science and math, but it made sense, he could feel it in his gut, in his core. Thinking over everything in his short life, he could remember strange things happening around him whenever he was mad or upset, like the TV going up in flames. Or the cupboard door unlocking, allowing him to get some food during the night.
Looking back at the creature, no he corrected himself, Goblin in front of him, watching him closely caused his heart to start pounding a hundred beats per minute, as he spoke the forbidden word aloud, "Magic? Or have I finally gone mad."
"No Mr. Potter, you're not mad, magic is indeed real," Bloodmoon answered patiently, whilst walking towards the table now at the centre of the room. This table had two silver goblets and a jug of water on it, before pouring a glass of water, prior to making his way back over to him and forcing the cup into his hand.
"Please drink this Mr. Potter, it is water, it will help calm your nerves, so I can begin to fill you in. I was informed you are currently living in a non-magical household with your Aunt. We were led to believe that she had knowledge of our world, and would have informed you of being wizard, and about your heritage," his account manager stated, before walking back to desk, looking back at him.
"Please take a seat," he said in a commanding tone.
Nodding quickly, recognizing the tone of voice, before making his way over to the offered seat as he thought over what Bloodmoon had just said about his Aunt, and that she knew of magic.
This resulted in him looking quickly back at the goblin waiting for him, so he could continue on in his explanation, since he was getting the feeling that Bloodmoon hated time wasters. Taking the offered chair, he focused all his attention on his account manager, so it was clear that he was listening carefully and was ready for Bloodmoon to continue.
"It appears your Aunt has not informed you of your heritage, nor has she informed you of our world, therefore the task falls to me." Bloodmoon sneered, before adding "I forgive you of your rudeness, and your ignorance of our world."
He just nodded accepting Bloodmoon's apology of sorts since he didn't want to say anything else, and risk losing any more respect. But he felt he should at least say sorry for his earlier rudeness and hopefully he could start again. "I am sorry for my earlier outburst and rudeness, I meant no disrespect."
"Apology accepted Mr. Potter, now since it is clear you have no knowledge of our world, I have to ask, since it logical place to start," Bloodmoon said whilst looking at Harry across the desk, "What do you know of your parent's death?"
Answering truthfully and calmly, all the while trying to suppress his rising anger, as well mixture of other emotions, "Nothing besides what my Aunt and Uncle told me," he said with his own sneer.
"But I expect now that it is a lie, based on everything you have told me," tears forming in his eyes as he spoke, prior to taking another couple deep breaths, trying to calm himself, before continuing on.
"My Aunt and Uncle told me my parents died in a car accident resulting from drunk driving. And that my father was a drug addict and my mother was a common whore," tears now flowing freely.
Looking up at Bloodmoon, it was clear that the goblin was angry at what he was being told, based on the new fire in his eyes and the rigid posture his account manager shifted to, before he finally spoke up confirming Harry's private hopes that it was an ugly lie.
"Mr. Potter, your Aunt and Uncle have lied to you; both your parents were respectable members of the magical community. Both as Lord and Lady Potter, as well as in their careers, your father was a highly skilled and respected Auror, and your Mother was a respectable researcher." Before refilling the cup with water, as Harry processed this new information.
After handing the cup back to Harry, Bloodmoon continued his explanation, "Your Mother was an Unspeakable at the Ministry, essentially a researcher investigating magic, as well several other areas of research. Whilst you're Father, when not conducting his Lordship duties, was a Hit Wizard, who was responsible for leading a team of wizards and witches to hunt down and capture dangerous criminals, basically a high level law enforcement officer."
All he could do was nod, as Bloodmoon explained about his parents and their careers. It was comforting knowing the truth about his parents; it didn't make him feel worthless anymore.
"Now let me tell you the basics of what happened, just so you can understand, because I am not responsible for wizarding history, just your wider financial dealings," his account manager explained.
Clearing his foggy eyes as he looked back at his account manager, he said calmly as possible, "You have my full and undivided attention."