Harry's tenth birthday had passed quietly, much like the others before it. There were no celebrations at the Dursleys, no cake or presents, but Harry didn't mind. He had found solace in his secret sanctuary, Runestone Castle, and in the warm company of the Lovegood family. His life, despite the hardships with the Dursleys, was starting to shape into something of his own making. But as he reflected on his recent birthday, he couldn't shake a nagging thought—a sense that there was more to his life than he had uncovered so far.
The Lovegoods had hinted at it. Xenophilius, in his usual cryptic manner, had mentioned that many in the wizarding world had left gifts and even properties to him, the Boy Who Lived. Yet, Harry had never seen these gifts. That was when the idea struck him. If such things had been left to him, they must be in the care of Gringotts, the goblin-run bank that held the wealth of the wizarding world.
Harry knew that dealing with goblins wasn't easy. They were a race apart from wizards, proud and fiercely independent. They rarely involved themselves in wizard politics or affairs unless it directly impacted their interests. But Harry also knew something that could sway them—goblin-made weapons.
In Runestone Castle, Harry had discovered a collection of goblin-made weapons, relics from a long-ago conflict between wizards and goblins. These weapons, Harry knew, held immense value to goblins, not just in terms of money, but in cultural and historical significance. To goblins, these items were never truly owned by wizards; they were merely on loan, and their rightful place was back in goblin hands. Harry didn't need these weapons, but he understood their worth as bargaining tools.
And so, armed with this knowledge, Harry made his way to Gringotts.
The imposing marble facade of Gringotts loomed over Diagon Alley, a stark reminder of the power and wealth that lay within. Harry entered the bank with a sense of purpose. The goblins, with their sharp features and piercing gazes, regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and caution as he approached the nearest counter.
A goblin with angular features and calculating eyes sat behind the tall desk. His nameplate read "Silveraxe," and he looked every bit as formidable as his name suggested.
"What brings you to Gringotts, Mr. Potter?" Silveraxe asked, his voice gruff and to the point. The goblin's gaze flickered briefly to the small bundle Harry carried—a cloth-wrapped parcel containing the goblin-made weapons from Runestone Castle. Silveraxe's eyes gleamed with interest, though he made no further comment.
"I've come to discuss my accounts and properties," Harry replied, his tone calm but firm. "And I have something here that I believe you might be interested in."
With that, Harry carefully unwrapped the bundle, revealing the intricately crafted goblin weapons. Silveraxe's eyes widened slightly, though he quickly masked his surprise. The goblin's fingers itched to touch the weapons, but he restrained himself, knowing that negotiations were afoot.
"These," Harry said, gesturing to the weapons, "are goblin-made. I believe they hold significant value to your kind. In exchange for returning them to their rightful owners, I'd like to request your services in a matter of great importance to me.I want to know all about my Gringots accounts as well as any properties I have inherited."
Silveraxe's gaze narrowed as he weighed the proposition. Goblins were not easily swayed by wizarding affairs, but the sight of their own craftsmanship, lost to wizards for generations, stirred something deep within him. Finally, after a long moment of silence, the goblin nodded.
"Very well, Mr. Potter. In exchange for these weapons, we shall provide you with the information and services you seek. Follow me."
Harry followed Silveraxe through the labyrinthine corridors of Gringotts, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the marble floors. They descended into the lower levels of the bank, where the true wealth of the wizarding world was stored. Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and apprehension as they walked deeper into the heart of the bank.
Finally, they arrived at a private meeting room, its walls lined with ancient tomes and scrolls. The air was thick with the smell of parchment and ink, a testament to the centuries of knowledge and power contained within these walls.
"Sit," Silveraxe instructed, gesturing to a large oak table in the center of the room. Harry complied, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him.
Silveraxe placed two thick ledgers on the table, one labeled "Donation Account" and the other "Family Vault." With a flick of his long fingers, he opened the first ledger.
"Your donation account," Silveraxe began, his voice businesslike, "contains 200,000 Galleons, as well as several enchanted trinkets and rare books. These items were bequeathed to you by wizards who believed in your cause and wished to support you."
Harry nodded, though the amount was staggering. It was hard to grasp that so many people had entrusted their wealth to him, seeing him as a symbol of hope. The responsibility weighed heavily on his young shoulders, but he knew he had to honor their trust.
"Now," Silveraxe continued, opening the second ledger, "your family vault is far more substantial. The Potter family has accumulated wealth over generations, and your vault currently contains approximately 8 million Galleons. In addition to the money, there are numerous enchanted items, magical artifacts, and rare books."
Harry's heart raced as he looked at the ledger. The sheer scale of his inheritance was overwhelming, but what intrigued him most were the properties listed in the vault.
Silveraxe reached for a scroll and unrolled it on the table. It was a map, marked with various locations across England and Scotland. Each mark represented a property that Harry had inherited.
"These," Silveraxe said, tapping the map with a long, clawed finger, "are the properties that now belong to you, Mr. Potter. You have inherited two manors, three wizarding houses, and two cottages. Each of these properties holds value, not just in terms of wealth, but in history and legacy."
Harry studied the map, his mind buzzing with possibilities. The first manor was located in Scotland, nestled deep within the Highlands. It was a secluded estate, surrounded by dense forests and far from prying eyes. The second manor was in London, a grand, imposing structure in the heart of the city, perfect for a more public residence.
The three wizarding houses were spread across England—one in Bath, another in Glasgow, and the third in York. Each house had its own unique features, from hidden rooms to enchanted gardens, and all of them had been left to Harry by wizards whose families had been destroyed by Voldemort.
The two cottages, though smaller, were no less significant. One was located in a quiet village near the coast of Cornwall, offering a peaceful retreat from the world. The other was in the rolling hills of the Cotswolds, a picturesque, charming home that had once belonged to a reclusive wizard who had left everything to Harry in his will.
"Can you tell me more about these properties?" Harry asked, eager to learn more.
Silveraxe nodded and handed Harry a detailed list of the properties, each with a brief description. "These properties vary in size and importance, but all of them hold value. Some are ancient manors with long histories, others are more modest cottages. However, they all come with their own unique features. If you wish, I can arrange for you to visit any of these properties, or I can provide more detailed records."
Harry scanned the list, his mind already racing with possibilities. He knew he would need to visit these places, not just to see what he had inherited but to find a suitable location where he could establish a public residence as he grew older. He needed a place where he could live and interact with the wizarding world without drawing attention to Runestone Castle, his true sanctuary.
The Scottish manor, in particular, intrigued him. It was isolated and vast, perfect for someone who valued privacy and security. The London manor would be useful for conducting business and keeping up appearances in the wizarding world. The other properties offered a variety of options, each with its own unique appeal.
"Thank you, Silveraxe," Harry said, looking up from the list. "I think I'd like to visit some of these properties and see which one might be suitable for me."
Silveraxe inclined his head, his sharp eyes gleaming with approval. "Of course, Mr. Potter. We can arrange secure transportation to any of the properties you wish to visit. And if you require any further assistance, Gringotts is at your service."
Harry stood, feeling a sense of accomplishment. This meeting had been a significant step in taking control of his future. As he left Gringotts, his thoughts were already turning to the next phase of his plans. He had the wealth, the properties, and the knowledge. Now, it was time to decide how to use them to his advantage.
For the first time, Harry felt a sense of true independence. He was no longer just the Boy Who Lived, a pawn in the wizarding world's games. He was Harry Potter, a young wizard with the means to shape his destiny. And with the goblins on his side, even if only temporarily, he knew he could navigate the treacherous waters ahead.
Harry discovered that while he had been left seven properties through various donations and wills, only four of them truly belonged to him outright. The other three were willed to him by elderly wizards who were still very much alive. To visit those properties would mean confronting their current owners, who might see it as an invitation to make his presence in the wizarding world public knowledge—something Harry wanted to avoid until he was ready.
Thus, he focused on the four properties that were undoubtedly his: two manors, a cottage, and a townhouse in London.
With the goblins' help, Harry had arranged for a goblin-made Portkey that would take him directly to each of his properties. The Portkey had been an expensive service, but it was worth it for the discretion it provided. He wasn't keen on making a public appearance at the Ministry of Magic, or anywhere else for that matter. His life had been quiet so far, and he wanted to keep it that way, at least until he was ready to step into the wizarding world fully.
First on his list was the Scottish manor, nestled deep within the Highlands. It was a grand estate, surrounded by towering trees and mist-covered hills. The manor itself was a large stone structure, with turrets and sprawling gardens that had long been neglected. The air was cool and crisp, with the scent of pine and damp earth. Harry could easily imagine spending long hours here, away from prying eyes, free to explore magic at his own pace.
He brought his house-elves, Norky and Rosley, with him. Their task was clear: clean and restore the properties to their former glory. The elves took to their work eagerly, happy to be of service to their young master. Norky, a cheerful and meticulous elf, immediately began working on the manor's interior, while Rosley, with her sharper eye for detail, handled the grounds.
"Master Harry, this place is very strong with old magic," Norky had said as they walked through the manor's grand hall, her large eyes taking in the ancient stone walls and tapestries. "It will be a good home for you."
Harry nodded. The manor felt right to him, a place where he could focus on his magical studies without interruption. There were even rumors that the area around the manor had once been the site of ancient wizard duels, and he was eager to explore its history further.
Next was the cottage in York. Smaller and more rustic than the manor, it was located in a secluded area surrounded by dense woodland. The cottage had a warm, cozy feel to it. Its thatched roof and ivy-covered walls gave it a timeless quality, as though it had been untouched by the passing centuries. The nearby stream and the small garden added to its charm.
Harry could see himself using the cottage as a retreat, a place to escape to when the world became too much. It was quiet, peaceful, and isolated—perfect for someone who valued his privacy as much as Harry did.
Once again, Norky and Rosley got to work. The cottage had been abandoned for some time, and it needed a lot of attention. But the house-elves were thorough, and by the time they were done, the cottage looked as though it had just been built. The interior was cozy, with wooden beams, a roaring fireplace, and comfortable furniture. It was the kind of place Harry could imagine himself spending winter evenings, curled up with a book in front of the fire.
The London townhouse was next on his list. Unlike the manor and the cottage, this property was located in the heart of the city, in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. It was a stately, three-story building with large windows and a small garden in the back. Despite its location, it was surprisingly private, with high walls surrounding the property.
The townhouse was already connected to the Floo Network, which would make traveling to and from the city much easier. Harry could use it as a base when he needed to be in London for any reason, whether for shopping in Diagon Alley or attending to any other wizarding matters that required his attention. It was a convenient and secure location, and Harry was glad to have it.
Finally, there was the second manor, located just outside London. This manor was smaller than the one in Scotland but no less impressive. It had a more modern feel, with large windows that let in plenty of light and a more open, airy design. The grounds were well-kept, with manicured lawns and a small lake nearby. This property, too, had been abandoned for some time, but it was still in good condition.
The manor had a certain elegance to it, a place where Harry could entertain guests if he ever needed to. While he preferred the solitude of the Scottish manor and the York cottage, he knew that this property would be useful in the future, especially if he needed to establish connections within the wizarding world.
Once Norky and Rosley had finished cleaning and restoring the properties, Harry turned his attention to security. He knew that as the Boy Who Lived, he would always be a target. It was only a matter of time before someone tried to track him down. To prevent that, he enlisted the help of the goblins once more, this time to ward his properties with the strongest protections available.
The goblins had been hesitant at first. They were reluctant to involve themselves too deeply in wizard affairs, but the offer of more goblin-made weapons had swayed them. Soon, each of Harry's properties was surrounded by powerful wards, designed to keep out intruders, both magical and non-magical. These wards were ancient and complex, the kind that even the most skilled wizards would struggle to break.
Harry watched as the goblins worked, their sharp eyes and quick hands moving with precision as they carved runes into the ground around each property. He could feel the magic in the air, thick and heavy, as the wards took hold.
"It is done," the lead goblin, Goldtooth, finally said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Your properties are secure, Mr. Potter. No one will enter without your permission."
Harry thanked him, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. With these wards in place, he could focus on his studies and his plans without constantly looking over his shoulder.
With the properties cleaned, restored, and warded, Harry began to settle into his new life. He decided to split his time between the Runestone Caste and the other properties, both of which offered the privacy and seclusion he needed. The townhouse in London and the second manor would remain as backup locations, places he could retreat to if necessary.
In the Scottish manor, Harry found himself drawn to the vast library, filled with books that had been collected for centuries. Many of the books were on advanced magic, potions, and ancient rituals—subjects that fascinated him. He spent hours pouring over them, absorbing as much knowledge as he could.
The grounds around the manor were equally intriguing. There were old ruins nearby, remnants of battles long forgotten. Harry often explored them, wondering what secrets they might hold. The air was thick with magic, and he could feel the power of the land beneath his feet.
At the cottage in York, Harry found peace. The quiet of the countryside allowed him to think, to plan his future. He spent his days practicing spells, experimenting with potions, and flying his broomstick in the open fields. The isolation gave him the freedom to do as he pleased, without fear of being watched or judged.
He knew that one day he would have to step into the wizarding world and take his place as the Boy Who Lived. But for now, he was content to remain hidden, learning and growing stronger in the safety of his own properties.
Norky and Rosley were always by his side, tending to his needs and ensuring that the properties remained in perfect condition. The house-elves had grown attached to Harry, and he to them. They were more than just servants; they were his companions, his family.
The confrontation in the cupboard had been a turning point. The Dursleys, who had long treated Harry like an unwelcome burden, were forced to reckon with a new reality. The boy they had once bullied and neglected was no longer the powerless child they had taken in all those years ago. Harry had changed, and it wasn't just his demeanor that reflected this transformation.
After that night, the Dursleys had concocted a story to explain Harry's sudden absence from school and their home. They told their nosy neighbors that Harry had gone to live with one of his father's relatives, a distant cousin who had recently discovered Harry's existence and had taken him under his wing. This excuse served their purposes well, as it allowed them to avoid questions about Harry's whereabouts while also freeing them from the burden of his presence.
Harry had no objection to this arrangement. In fact, it suited him perfectly. After years of being treated like an outcast in the only home he had ever known, he relished the freedom that came with this new chapter in his life. Now, instead of dreading his days in Privet Drive, he spent most of his time at Runestone Castle, one of the four properties he had inherited and claimed as his own.
The mornings at Runestone Castle were spent studying magic in the grand library, a room filled with shelves that reached the ceiling and contained books on every conceivable subject. Harry had access to texts that most wizards would never even dream of seeing, let alone reading. He absorbed the knowledge hungrily, his mind expanding with each new spell, potion, and ritual he learned.
In the afternoons, Harry would practice his spells in the castle's expansive grounds, away from the castle itself. There, he could experiment freely without worrying about the wards that protected the castle from magical detection. He also used this time to work on his physical fitness, something that had become increasingly important to him.
He had grown stronger, both mentally and physically, and it showed. His once gangly frame had filled out with lean muscle, a result of his rigorous training regimen. He no longer looked like the small, underfed boy the Dursleys had kept hidden away in a cupboard. Instead, he now resembled someone who had stepped out of the pages of one of his old comic books, strong and confident, ready to take on whatever challenges life threw at him.
Norky and Rosley, his devoted house-elves, ensured that Harry's time at the castle was comfortable. They maintained the castle meticulously, preparing meals, cleaning, and taking care of any other tasks that allowed Harry to focus entirely on his studies and training.
As for the Dursleys, they were content with their fabricated story. Vernon Dursley, in particular, found it a relief to be rid of the boy who had always been a thorn in his side. With Harry out of the house, Vernon no longer had to worry about strange occurrences or the fear that the neighbors might discover Harry's magical abilities. Petunia, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic but still appreciated the distance between herself and the constant reminder of her estranged sister's world.
However, Harry was not entirely free from his aunt and uncle. He knew that completely disappearing from Privet Drive would raise suspicions. The wizarding world kept a close eye on him, and he was aware that others might come looking for him if he vanished without a trace. So, every three or four days, Harry would return to Privet Drive for a brief visit. It was enough to maintain the illusion that he still had some connection to his relatives, while also allowing him to continue his studies at Runestone Castle.
These visits were brief and uneventful. Harry would spend a few hours at the Dursleys' house, usually in his old room, before returning to the castle. The Dursleys were more than happy to accommodate this arrangement. They hardly spoke to him, and when they did, it was with a mix of fear and resentment. The change in Harry unnerved them, especially Dudley, who had once been the primary instigator of Harry's misery.
Despite his newfound power and confidence, Harry was still cautious. He knew that the wizarding world had its eyes on him, and that his fame as the Boy Who Lived would one day thrust him back into the public eye. But for now, he was content to bide his time, learning and growing in the safety of his own world.
He also knew that he couldn't stay hidden forever. Eventually, he would have to confront the challenges that awaited him. There were still so many unanswered questions about his past, about his parents, and about the dark wizard who had tried to kill him as a baby. But Harry was patient. He knew that when the time came, he would be ready.
For now, though, he would continue to live his double life, slipping between Runestone Castle and Privet Drive as needed. He would keep up the charade for as long as it served his purposes, knowing that one day, everything would change.