The trip to Diagon Alley had left Harry with a sense of awe, but more importantly, a deep and sobering realization about the Wizarding World. It wasn't just a place of magical wonder, strange creatures, and powerful spells. It was also a world full of history, conflicts, and power struggles, where heroes and villains weren't just characters in stories—they were real people. And somehow, Harry found himself at the center of it all.
As he walked through the ancient halls of Runestone Castle, Harry's mind buzzed with the revelations he'd uncovered. The stories he'd overheard at the Leaky Cauldron painted a vivid picture of the war that had torn through the Wizarding World not too long ago. The Dark Lord, the powerful wizard who had terrorized the magical community, had been defeated—but not without great sacrifice. And it was his parents, Lily and James Potter, who had fought on the front lines of that war, alongside other brave witches and wizards who had stood against the darkness.
For the first time in his life, Harry truly understood that his parents weren't the reckless, irresponsible figures Aunt Petunia had always made them out to be. They were heroes—people who had risked everything to protect others. And they hadn't died in a car crash, as Petunia had told him. They had been murdered, struck down by the same Dark Lord they had been fighting against. And somehow, in the midst of all that chaos, Harry had survived when no one else could.
That thought weighed heavily on him. He had defeated the most feared Dark Wizard of the time, but not because of anything he had done—he was just a baby, after all. Yet, the Wizarding World saw him as a hero, "The Boy Who Lived," the one who had done the impossible. The weight of that title now felt more burdensome than ever. It wasn't just about fame or recognition; it was about living up to a legacy he hadn't even realized he had until now.
Sitting in the castle's library, Harry poured over the books he had bought at Flourish and Blotts. Modern History of Magic, Great Wizarding Wars of the 20th Century, and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts—all of them filled with accounts of the war that had shaped the world he was now a part of. The names of the people who had fought, both for and against the Dark Lord, became more than just words on a page. They were the faces of those who had shaped the world he now inhabited, and some of them were still out there.
That realization unsettled him. The war might have been over, but it wasn't truly finished. There were still wizards and witches who had supported the Dark Lord, who had fought for his cause, and who undoubtedly wanted revenge for their defeat. They would see Harry not just as a symbol of the Dark Lord's downfall but as a target—someone to eliminate in order to avenge their fallen leader.
But Harry wasn't going to be caught off guard. He had been thrust into this world without warning, but he wasn't about to let that make him vulnerable. He needed to be ready. If those who followed the Dark Lord were still out there, waiting for the right moment to strike, then he would be prepared. He would train, he would learn, and he would become stronger than anyone expected. And most importantly, he would keep his strength hidden
Reeny had been right all along. There was no honor in wars, no fairness, no mercy. It was about survival, about being strong enough to protect yourself and those you care about. And if that meant pretending to be weak, letting others think they had the upper hand, only to strike when they least expected it—then so be it. Harry had no intention of letting anyone get the better of him.
His training intensified after that. Every day, Harry pushed himself harder than the day before. He practiced his spells until he could cast them flawlessly, he worked on his dueling skills, and he studied every bit of magical theory he could get his hands on. He also took Reeny's advice seriously, focusing on mastering the more subtle aspects of magic—illusion, misdirection, and concealment. If his enemies thought he was weak, they would be careless. And that would be their downfall.
But while Harry trained, he also kept up the façade of being an ordinary young wizard. He would smile and act curious about the magical world, just like any other student might. When he returned to Diagon Alley, he made sure to ask questions that made him seem inexperienced, and he played the part of a wide-eyed boy who was just starting to understand the wonders of magic. It wasn't difficult—after all, much of it was still new to him—but he also knew it was a role he needed to maintain.
The more he thought about it, the more Harry realized that this was the only way he could ensure his survival. He wasn't going to rely on luck or hope that others would protect him. He had to take control of his own destiny, just as his parents had done when they decided to fight against the Dark Lord. And when the time came, if those who supported the Dark Lord came for him, Harry would be ready.
But for now, he would remain in the shadows, quietly preparing, quietly learning, and quietly growing stronger. Let the world think he was just "The Boy Who Lived," a lucky child who had survived by chance. They didn't need to know the truth—at least, not until it was too late.
In the quiet of Runestone Castle, Harry found solace in his training. The weight of the world on his shoulders was heavy, but he bore it with determination. He was no longer just the orphaned boy living in a cupboard under the stairs. He was Harry Potter, the son of heroes, and one day, he would be ready to face whatever darkness awaited him.
The days at Runestone Castle passed with a mixture of intense training and quiet reflection. Harry would rise early, often before the sun had fully broken over the horizon, and begin his daily routine. Under Reeny's watchful eye, he practiced various spells and dueling techniques. His mind absorbed everything—each spell's incantation, each wand movement, each subtle flick of his wrist that could make all the difference in a duel.
Reeny was a strict mentor, but Harry appreciated it. The ghostly tutor knew what it meant to face dark wizards, and she wasn't going to let Harry go into that kind of fight unprepared. She drilled him relentlessly, making sure that every spell was second nature, that his reactions were instinctive and swift. Harry often found himself drenched in sweat, panting from exertion, but he never complained. Each day made him stronger, sharper, and more aware of the dangers that lay ahead.
In the evenings, when the castle grew quiet and the shadows lengthened, Harry would retreat to the library. The books he had bought in Diagon Alley were a treasure trove of knowledge, and he devoured them hungrily. He read about the rise and fall of dark wizards throughout history, noting the patterns of their actions, the way they amassed power and the mistakes that led to their downfalls. He studied the history of the wizarding wars, learning about the tactics and strategies used by both sides. And he read about his parents—Lily and James Potter—who had fought bravely, sacrificing their lives to protect him and others.
Each page he turned, each fact he learned, only solidified Harry's resolve. He wasn't just training for himself; he was training to honor their legacy. They had given everything to stop the darkness, and now it was his turn to continue that fight. He would make sure that their sacrifice wasn't in vain.
Reeny, always hovering nearby, watched Harry with a mixture of pride and concern. The ghost had seen many young wizards come and go, but there was something different about Harry. He had a fire within him, a determination that reminded her of Master Eldritch. But there was also a burden, a weight on his young shoulders that no child should have to bear.
One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Harry sat down in front of the fireplace in the castle's great hall. Reeny floated beside him, her ghostly form flickering in the firelight.
"You've come a long way, Harry," she said softly. "You've learned more in these few weeks than many young wizards learn in years."
Harry nodded, staring into the flames. "I have to, Reeny. I can't afford to be weak."
Reeny's ethereal face softened. "I know you're preparing for the worst, and you're right to do so. But don't forget that strength isn't just about power or skill. It's about heart, about knowing when to fight and when to stand back."
Harry looked up at her, his green eyes reflecting the firelight. "I understand that, Reeny. But... if they come for me, if they try to hurt the people I care about, I won't hesitate."
Reeny nodded, her expression grave. "And when that time comes, you'll be ready. Just remember, Harry, that you don't have to do this alone. There are those who will stand by your side, who will fight with you when the time comes."
Reeny's form shimmered as she nodded approvingly. "And fight back you will, Harry. But for now, get some rest. Tomorrow is another day, and there's always more to learn."
As Harry stood up and made his way to his room, the weight of the world still pressed down on him, but it no longer felt unbearable. He had a plan, a path forward, and he knew what he needed to do. The road ahead would be long and dangerous, but Harry was ready. With each passing day, he grew stronger, smarter, and more prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.
And when the time came, he would face those challenges head-on, with the strength and determination that had carried his parents through the darkest of times.
For now, though, he would sleep, knowing that tomorrow was another step on the journey that would define his future and the future of the Wizarding World.
Harry woke up early the next morning, feeling a mixture of excitement and determination. Today would be his second trip to Diagon Alley, and he was more prepared this time. He had gathered the galleons he needed, mapped out what he wanted to buy, and even mentally rehearsed his plan for the day.
As Harry sat at the grand wooden table in the dining hall, enjoying his breakfast, he turned to Reeny, who hovered nearby, looking as attentive as ever. She had been a source of comfort and knowledge since he had discovered the castle, and now he relied on her more than ever.
"Reeny," Harry began, after swallowing a mouthful of toast, "I was thinking. Should I hire goblins to ward the castle? You know, make sure it's protected against anything and everything?"
Reeny's reaction was immediate and fierce. She floated closer to Harry, her transparent face a mixture of concern and indignation. "Master Harry," she said firmly, "this castle was built on the intersection of two powerful ley lines. The wards protecting it are ancient and incredibly strong, far more potent than anything goblins could muster. These wards have protected this place for centuries, long before you claimed it. And now, with you as its master, they have become even stronger."
Harry blinked in surprise at Reeny's vehemence. He hadn't expected such a strong reaction. "But… goblins are supposed to be really good at this sort of thing, aren't they?" he asked, a bit confused.
Reeny shook her head vigorously. "Goblins are cunning, yes, but they are also greedy and untrustworthy. In my time, they were notorious grave diggers, always seeking to unearth the treasures of ancient wizards and witches. They constantly quarreled with wizards, seeking to take what was not theirs. The idea that they now run a bank is shocking, to say the least. You won't find a greedier race than goblins, Master Harry. If you must deal with them, be prepared for every possible outcome. Trust nothing they say at face value."
Harry absorbed her words, his brow furrowing in thought. He hadn't known that about goblins. Reeny's perspective was valuable—she had lived through times that Harry could only read about in books. If she didn't trust goblins, perhaps he should heed her warning.
"Alright, Reeny," Harry said with a nod, "I'll be careful when I deal with them. No goblins near the castle. And when I go to the bank, I'll keep my guard up."
Reeny smiled approvingly. "Very wise, Master Harry. The goblins at Gringotts will respect you more if you show them that you are not easily fooled. But always remember—never reveal all your cards to a goblin. They will take advantage of any weakness they see."
Harry took her words to heart. He finished his breakfast quickly, eager to get on with the day. He had a lot planned for his trip to Diagon Alley, and this time, he wasn't going to spend the whole day in the Leaky Cauldron reading books. Today was about exploration.
He stood up from the table and turned to Reeny. "I'll need more money today," he said. "I'm planning to buy a lot more—books, potion ingredients, and clothes that actually fit me."
Reeny nodded. "A wise decision, Master Harry. The clothes you're wearing now are fine for the castle, but if you wish to blend in with the wizards of Diagon Alley, proper attire is essential."
Harry smiled and went to the vault within the castle, taking out a generous amount of galleons. He decided to carry enough to cover all his purchases without having to worry about running out. This time, he wouldn't underestimate the costs.
Before leaving, Harry took a moment to adjust his appearance subtly with magic. He didn't want to stand out too much, especially after learning how famous he was. His hair, normally messy and untamed, he smoothed down with a quick spell. He also changed his eye color from bright green to a more muted hazel. It wasn't a drastic transformation, but enough to avoid immediate recognition. He still went by the name Harry Gosley, a wizard who no one would suspect was the Boy Who Lived.
Satisfied with his appearance, Harry grabbed his wand and headed outside. He raised his hand and traced a circle in the air, calling for the Knight Bus as Reeny had shown him before. In a flash, the bright purple triple-decker bus appeared before him with a loud bang.
Harry stepped on board and was greeted by Stan Shunpike, the conductor. "Morning, Mr. Gosley!" Stan said cheerfully, clearly remembering Harry from his previous trip. "Back to the Leaky Cauldron, are we?"
"Yes, please," Harry replied with a smile. "And could we make it a bit quicker this time?"
"Quick as a flash, sir!" Stan assured him, motioning for Harry to take a seat.
Harry found a seat and held on tightly as the bus sped off, zooming through the streets of London at breakneck speed. As they barreled along, Harry couldn't help but glance around at the other passengers. Most of them were half-asleep, clutching onto their luggage or simply staring out the windows.
One older wizard with a long, crooked nose caught Harry's eye. He was reading the Daily Prophet, muttering under his breath about some political issue that Harry didn't quite catch. The wizard looked up and noticed Harry staring. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment, which Harry returned politely.
"First time in Diagon Alley?" the wizard asked, folding his newspaper.
"Second time, actually," Harry replied. "But there's so much to see, I don't think I covered half of it on my first visit."
The wizard chuckled. "Aye, Diagon Alley's a fascinating place. Full of wonders, that's for sure. But watch your back—there are still dark forces lurking in the shadows. The war may be over, but some scars take time to heal."
Harry nodded, grateful for the advice. The bus continued its wild journey through the city, and before long, they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry thanked Stan and stepped off the bus, feeling a renewed sense of determination.
He entered the pub, greeted by the warm, dimly lit atmosphere. Tom, the innkeeper, gave him a friendly nod as Harry passed by. The Leaky Cauldron was quieter today, with only a few patrons scattered around, nursing their morning drinks and reading the newspaper.
Harry didn't linger this time. He headed straight for the back of the pub, where Tom had shown him how to enter Diagon Alley. With a quick tap of his wand on the bricks, the wall shifted and revealed the bustling wizarding street beyond.
Harry stood before the entrance of Diagon Alley, feeling a surge of excitement as he prepared for his second visit to the bustling wizarding street. It had been only a short time since his first visit, but already he felt more confident and ready to explore. Today, he wasn't just here for school supplies—he was here to truly delve into the wonders of the wizarding world.
He stepped through the brick archway and into the narrow, winding street of Diagon Alley. The sun was shining brightly, casting long shadows across the cobblestone path. Wizards and witches of all ages bustled past him, their robes swishing as they moved from one shop to another. The air was filled with the sound of chatter, the clinking of coins, and the occasional whoosh of a broomstick overhead.
Harry's first stop was a shop that had caught his eye on his previous visit: a trunk store nestled between a shop selling enchanted quills and another offering exotic magical pets. The shop was small, with a wooden sign that read "Vanderkin's Trunks Cases" hanging above the door. The windows displayed various types of trunks, from simple wooden ones to elaborately carved and rune-inscribed models.
As Harry pushed open the door, a bell tinkled, and a short, wiry wizard with thinning gray hair and a neatly trimmed mustache looked up from behind the counter. He adjusted his round glasses and smiled warmly at Harry.
"Welcome, welcome! I'm Mr. Vanderkin. How can I assist you today, young man?" the shopkeeper said, his voice full of enthusiasm.
Harry smiled back. "Hello, Mr. Vanderkin. I'm looking for a trunk—something sturdy, with plenty of space. And it should be secure, too."
"Ah, a young wizard with discerning taste!" Mr. Vanderkin said with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, you've come to the right place. We have trunks of all shapes and sizes, with various enchantments to suit your needs."
He led Harry to a row of trunks displayed along one wall. Each trunk was labeled with a small card detailing its features. Mr. Vanderkin began explaining the different options, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.
"This one here," he said, pointing to a polished oak trunk, "has a basic Undetectable Extension Charm. It may look small on the outside, but inside, it can hold up to three times the amount of a normal trunk."
Harry nodded, intrigued. He listened as Mr. Vanderkin described another trunk, this one made of dark mahogany and reinforced with iron bands. "This model has additional security features. Not only is it password-protected, but it also has a built-in Anti-Theft Charm. If anyone other than the owner tries to open it, they'll receive a nasty shock."
Harry was impressed by the variety, but one trunk caught his eye in particular. It was sleek and unassuming, made of smooth black wood with silver hinges. The tag read: "Deluxe Traveler's Trunk – Five Compartments, Password Protected, Secret Compartment."
"What's this one?" Harry asked, pointing to the black trunk.
Mr. Vanderkin's eyes gleamed as he approached the trunk. "Ah, an excellent choice! This trunk is one of our finest models. It has five separate compartments, perfect for organizing your belongings. The main compartment is for clothes and everyday items. The second compartment is for books and parchment. The third is an extra-large space, perfect for storing larger items like brooms or cauldrons. The fourth compartment is temperature-controlled—ideal for potions ingredients or perishables. And the fifth compartment… well, that one is a secret. Only the owner knows how to access it, and it's protected by multiple layers of enchantments. No one but you will be able to find or open it."
Harry's eyes widened in amazement. "That sounds perfect!"
"It is indeed," Mr. Vanderkin agreed. "And it also has a Shrinking Charm built in, so you can shrink it down to the size of a matchbox when you're not using it. Very convenient for travel."
Harry knew this was the trunk he wanted. He hesitated only slightly when he saw the price—200 Galleons. It was a hefty sum, but he felt it was worth it. After a bit of haggling with Mr. Vanderkin, who seemed to enjoy the banter, they settled on 180 Galleons.
Harry tapped the trunk with his wand and set the password: "Rune Stone Castle." The trunk glowed faintly, acknowledging the command. It felt like a solid investment, and with a flick of his wand, he shrunk it down and placed it in his pocket.
Next on Harry's list was a visit to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. He remembered the store from his last visit and decided it was time to get some proper wizarding attire. As he entered the shop, a witch in mauve robes greeted him with a cheerful smile.
"Hello dear?" Madam Malkin asked as she bustled over to him. "Looking for robes or muggle clothes, or something a bit more fashionable this time?"
"A bit of both, actually," Harry replied. "I need some everyday robes, but also clothes for non-magical use. And maybe something special, too."
Madam Malkin clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! Let's get you fitted, then."
Harry spent the next hour being measured and fitted for various robes. He chose a set of traditional wizarding robes in deep green, a few more casual outfits in navy and black, and even a set of silk pajamas. Madam Malkin also helped him pick out some Muggle-style clothes—jeans, shirts, and a leather jacket that looked both stylish and durable.
As they finalized his order, Madam Malkin assured him that his robes would be ready by evening. Satisfied with his purchases, Harry thanked her and left the shop, feeling lighter and more prepared for the magical world.
His next stop was Slug Jiggers Apothecary, a narrow, musty shop filled with shelves upon shelves of potions ingredients. The air was thick with the smell of herbs, spices, and various magical substances. Harry spent a long time browsing the shelves, picking out potion kits for every year at Hogwarts, as well as rare ingredients that caught his eye. The shopkeeper, an elderly wizard with a bushy white beard, nodded approvingly as Harry filled his basket.
"You've got a good eye for ingredients, young man," the shopkeeper said as he rang up Harry's purchases. "These will serve you well in your studies."
Harry smiled and thanked him as he carefully packed the potion kits and ingredients into his new trunk. The secret compartment proved invaluable as he stored away the more delicate items.
After leaving the apothecary, Harry treated himself to an ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. He sat at one of the outdoor tables, savoring a scoop of chocolate and raspberry ice cream while watching the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. It was a perfect moment of peace, and Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging here.
With his ice cream finished, Harry headed to Flourish and Blotts, the famous bookstore. The shop was crammed from floor to ceiling with books of all kinds, and Harry felt like he could spend days just browsing the shelves. He picked out all the textbooks he would need for Hogwarts, from first year to seventh year, as well as several extra books on various subjects that piqued his interest—history, charms, defense against the dark arts, and more.
The shopkeeper, a kindly witch with spectacles perched on the end of her nose, smiled as Harry placed the large stack of books on the counter.
"Quite the reader, aren't you?" she remarked as she rang up his purchases.
"I just love learning," Harry replied honestly. "And there's so much to discover."
"Well, you've certainly chosen some excellent titles," she said with approval. "These will keep you busy for quite some time."
Harry left Flourish and Blotts with a smile, his trunk now significantly heavier with the weight of knowledge. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that he was preparing himself for whatever lay ahead at Wizarding World.
Next, Harry visited the shoe store and purchased several pairs of sturdy, comfortable shoes, both for wizarding and Muggle wear. He also splurged on a pair of dragon-hide boots, which the shopkeeper assured him were nearly indestructible.
Feeling more confident than ever, Harry made his way to Quality Quidditch Supplies. The shop was filled with broomsticks, Quidditch gear, and posters of famous Quidditch players. Harry couldn't resist picking up several books on Quidditch, including one on the history of the sport and another on advanced broom care.
As he browsed, Harry asked the shopkeeper, a jovial wizard with a handlebar mustache, if they had any books on broomstick-making.
The shopkeeper chuckled. "Ah, broomstick-making, now that's a tricky business. The big companies keep their secrets close to the chest, I'm afraid. You won't find any detailed guides here—those are guarded like treasure. But we do have a few books on broomstick care and minor enchantments if you're interested."
Harry nodded and picked up the recommended books, as well as the latest model of the Comet broomstick. It wasn't the fastest broom on the market, but it was reliable and well-built—perfect for a young wizard like himself.
Finally, with his shopping nearly complete, Harry decided it was time to visit Gringotts. Gringotts Wizarding Bank, nestled in the heart of Diagon Alley, was a sight to behold. The towering white marble structure gleamed under the sunlight, its massive bronze doors polished to perfection, reflecting the bustling alley around it. Intricate carvings adorned the building's façade, depicting fierce goblin warriors, legendary treasures, and ancient goblin gods. Each figure seemed to tell a story of its own, with piercing eyes that followed you as you moved closer.
As Harry stepped inside, the grandeur of Gringotts took his breath away. The floors were made of gleaming white marble, and massive columns stretched up to the high ceiling, which was painted with scenes of goblin mythology. The walls were lined with intricate tapestries and ancient goblin armor, giving the entire place an air of authority and power. Chandeliers of silver and crystal hung from above, casting a soft, glowing light that illuminated every corner.
Behind the long counters, goblins were busy at work, counting coins, examining jewels, and scribbling on parchment with sharp quills. Their desks were cluttered with gold, jewels, and strange artifacts, yet everything seemed meticulously organized. The goblins themselves were short, with pointed ears and sharp features, their eyes glittering with a mix of intelligence and suspicion. Each goblin had an air of menace, their sharp teeth flashing whenever they spoke.
As Harry approached the nearest goblin, his shoes clicking softly on the polished floor, he noticed that the goblin didn't immediately acknowledge him. Instead, the creature continued counting a pile of gold coins, its long fingers moving with practiced ease. Harry cleared his throat, causing the goblin to glance up with narrowed eyes.
"Excuse me, sir," Harry said, his voice a bit nervous but polite. "I want to know if my parents left anything in this bank. I've just found out that they were both wizards."
The goblin's eyes gleamed with interest as it regarded Harry. A slow, menacing smile spread across its face, revealing sharp, pointy teeth that made Harry's stomach churn. "What is your name, boy?" the goblin asked, its voice low and gruff."
Harry Potter, sir," Harry replied, trying to maintain his composure despite the goblin's intimidating presence.
At the mention of his name, the goblin's smile widened even further. "Mr. Potter, you say? Very well. You will need to proceed to the second door on the left, where you will find a clerk who can answer all your questions. But be warned," the goblin added, his voice dripping with a sinister tone, "your identity must be confirmed. If you are not who you claim to be, the consequences will be... severe."
Harry nodded, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine. The goblin's threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, and for the first time, he fully understood what Reeny had meant about goblins being dangerous.
Following the goblin's instructions, Harry walked to the second door on the left and knocked. The door creaked open, revealing another goblin sitting behind a desk cluttered with scrolls and ledgers. This goblin was older, with a pair of tiny spectacles perched on the end of its long nose. It looked up as Harry entered, its sharp eyes scrutinizing him.
"State your business," the goblin demanded, its voice sharp and to the point.
"I was told by the goblin outside that I might have something in this bank left by my parents," Harry explained, trying to keep his voice steady. "They were both wizards."
The goblin, whose nameplate read Silver Axe, nodded and reached for a large parchment scroll from a nearby shelf. "Before we proceed, we must confirm your identity," Silver Axe said. "Place three drops of your blood on the bottom of this parchment."
Harry hesitated for a moment but then did as he was instructed. Silver Axe muttered something in a strange, guttural language, and suddenly, names began to appear on the parchment. First, Harry's name emerged, followed by his parents' names: James Potter and Lily Potter. Then, to Harry's surprise, the names of his grandparents appeared: Fleamont Potter, Euphemia Potter, Mark Evans, and Violet Evans.
Harry stared at the parchment in shock, realizing that this was the first time he had ever learned his grandparents' names. It was a strange, overwhelming feeling.
Silver Axe gave a satisfied nod. "It is confirmed. You are indeed Harry Potter."
The goblin then rummaged through a series of files, muttering to itself as it sorted through them. Finally, Silver Axe pulled out a large, dusty file and began flipping through its pages.
"You have two vaults at Gringotts, Mr. Potter," Silver Axe explained. "One is the Potter family vault, a very old account with considerable wealth. However, you cannot access it until you are of age—seventeen—or if you are emancipated. The second vault is a more recent creation, established after the fall of Voldemort. It contains the donations you received from various wizards and witches in gratitude for your role in ending the war. Many of these funds were left to you in wills, particularly from those who lost family members during the conflict. This vault is managed by your magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore, and can only be accessed with the key he holds."
Harry's heart sank a little at the mention of the guardian. "How much money is in that vault?" he asked, hoping for some information.
Silver Axe shrugged. "I do not know the exact amount. It is not my business to keep track of wizard accounts."
Harry nodded, feeling a mixture of disappointment and confusion. He had never heard of having a magical guardian before. "I... I never knew I had a magical guardian," Harry said, trying to process everything. "I never even met a wizard until I came to Diagon Alley."
The goblin looked at him with a steely gaze. "That is none of our concern, Mr. Potter. We are here to run the bank, not meddle in wizard affairs."
Realizing there was nothing more to be done, Harry sighed and stood up. "Thank you for your help," he said politely, though he couldn't shake the feeling of dejection. He had so much wealth, yet it felt out of reach.
As Harry made his way out of the clerk's office and headed toward the exit, he heard a voice call out from behind him.
"So, you are Harry Potter?"
Harry turned around to find himself face-to-face with a man who have shoulder length blonde hair