Chapter Text
Harry is Ten, and has just been superficially delivered a letter. Seeing as the Dursleys mistreatment has bred a certain sneakiness within him, he quickly bypasses the minute moment of pure shock that someone as inconsequential as Harry, apparently Harry James Potter as the aforementioned letter addresses, would ever receive a letter. How uniquely bizarre, yet the unsettling uncertainty does not cause him to falter in swiftly shoving the letter in the back of his too worn and faded jeans. Lest the Dursleys steal his only attempt at individualism. This letter is his and he'd die before allowing it to be taken away from him.
With a quiet yes sir and no sir Harry hands the remaining unimportant stack of letters to his uncle. Before being dismissed by the ruling patriarch of the family. Too be honest, Harry wouldn't want to stick around and hear the dull and rather boring updates on the Dursleys extended family. Even with as little freedom to do as he pleases Harry certain has better things to do. With a click of the backdoor Harry departs of the overwhelmingly lameness that is being in their presence.
His aunt won't be checking on in progress for at least another few hours, Harry has the relative freedom to satiate his curiosity regarding this bizarre letter. Mysteriously enough in neat swirling letters, it addresses;
Mr H.Potter,
The cupboard under the Stairs,
4, Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
Surrey.
Harry can say without a doubt that a brief moment of sheer mortification freezes his blood. This letter directly addresses his unfortunate housing situation. His sordid cupboard under the stairs. Yet, there's no longing concern, no outrage. How perfect, it seems that all those aware of the circumstances of his life would rather ignore or dismiss it all together. Fun.
In this very moment Harry can not control the grimace that contorted his face. How could he not? Regardless, Harry swiftly opens the letter. Shaking out the contents of the envelope, garnered a piece of parchment? And a pull tab of a can. Setting aside the rather out of place, junk for the moment Harry unfurled the odd note.
'Dear Harry James Potter,
In accordance with goblin laws, you are required to attend a meeting with the goblin in charge of supervising your vault, there is an immense back up of outstanding paperwork regarding the contents of your heirship and associated lack of parental figure. Due to the circumstances regarding your muggle family we have added an additional portkey for an easier transportation. This cost of this will of course be taken from your Trust Fund. If you don't attend this required meeting monetary penalities will be applied, due to the regulations and contract signed when your membership began.
The phrase for the portkey is, Galleon.
Make sure you attend this meeting Heir Potter.
Supervising Goblin manager, Griphook.
Gringotts, London branch."
Surely, the ridiculous nature of this letter has to be an attempt at mocking Harry's Circumstances. Give the abused boy hope of monetary gain, when he has never even breached the thought of avid materialism. What use is this fictitious attempt at hope when Harry
Has long since squandered away his unconscious longing and yearning for a better life. Nevertheless, Harry cannot help but admire the complexity of this joke. Surely not the Dursleys work, their humour consists of mindless violence rather than this. But who else would be aware enough of Harry social status in regards to the Dursleys? Squashing even the inkling of hope Harry grasps the pull tab in his hand, stares at it in indecision until surely he's more crossed eyed than he is normally and promptly utters the foreign word.
And with a pop Harry disappears.
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And promptly lands in a chair too oversized for his small frame. As a result of his circumstances Harry has learned to unfailing go along with whatever happens. No matter how undeserved or unwarranted. This situation is no different. With a resound sigh he looks around at the unfamiliar environment he is thus force subjected to.
An office. How dull. There are filling cabinets overtaking the large expanse of the walls, surely containing mountains and mountains of paperwork. A grand dark wooden desk, a peculiarly small chair and a distant chiming of a clock. How bizarre.
A door dramatically swings open, and in walks a small deformed man, with oversized ears, nose and pointy teeth. Rather quickly Harry makes the assumption that this being is a goblin, otherwise if not, what an unfair set of genetics to be inflicted with.
"Heir Potter" the goblin greets, when finally seated in his chair. Now the chair makes sense Harry thinks. The goblin, Griphook, as the letter included, looked at Harry Potter with unflinchingly calculating eyes. With a snap of a finger a miniature mountain of paperwork promptly settles upon the desk.
Oh great. a raised eyebrow and a sigh is Harry's form of greeting. No spluttering like a fool, or questions that are no doubt obvious in this scenario. Harry wishes that this already could be over with, he feels the beginning of a headache clawing behind his eyes.
"Griphook, I presume?" Harry is ignorant of the world he has been literally teleported into, although with his onset tiredness, (Too busy reading his squandered treasure trove of forbidden books to sleep at a decent hour), he wishes that this would be quick. Harry values two things in his desolate world, sleep and reading. Not in this place though , he is definitely dreading the paperwork.
"You assumed right, I am the goblin in charge of the vaults that your heritage presides over. Which," with a sharp smile, flashing his rows and rows of sharp teeth, "We will be discussing today. Due to the death of the Lord tied to these accounts and our recent inability to access your place of residence, there has been a build-up of overdue paperwork to be filed. There a whole number of set circumstances and legal technicalities that need to be considered. And not to mention your ignorance in your lordship and the world around it." The goblin seems rather self-satisfied in delivering this speech.
"Gringotts will provide you with the necessary equipment and resources that are functionally owed to you, but it is not our responsibility to oversee educating you, overcoming your ignorance around this world is solely your prerogative, as long as it constitutes your continued business with our business." Griphook sneered at the young boy.
"Of course " Harry sighs wearily. Eyeing the exit momentarily, even though he has no knowledge of what's past that door. It solely represents an escape from this meeting. Harry is not all uninterested in the proceedings of this meeting, this could facilitate the discontinuation of his permanent residency at the Dursleys. Squandered money and wealth could mean independence. Harry gestures at the goblin to continue his self-satisfied speech. Perhaps rude, but Harry is eager to explore his new found possibilities.
The goblin Huffs at the rather unbecoming behaviour of this young man, set to be a lord! Some leniency is required though. Learnt behaviour from the muggles! Hopefully he outgrows these habits. With an equally weary sigh the goblin continues.
"Although this society is not monarch based as is muggle Britian, nobility and old wealth still hold an immense influence upon this world. Your inheritance is among this nobility. Within these noble families there are rules and customs and such forth. Such as allocated heirships and Inheritances. Due to the passing of the Lord presiding over your set inheritance and the unavailability of further godparents and parental figures allocated in your parents will this leaves us with a primary legal loophole. A law was enacted to propagate the continuation of old lines which decrees that orphan heirs with ties to old nobil families can take up lordship earlier than legally allowed. Usually the law would require you'd be seventeen."
With a rather disinterested noise of agreement, Harry urges the goblin to continue, what use is nobility if it could not spare Harry from the abuse he suffered, with a sober moment of realisation, Could it truly make up for what he's so far experienced? A prize, a reward for his mistreatment?
The goblin sends Harry a pointed look, but nonetheless continues.
"Gringotts does not care about these legal issues or the youthfulness of a lord as long as it brings and continues the business of the bank. Your mother unfortunately was a muggle born with no affiliated noble ties, but your father was the Lord to the Potter family. One of the sacred Twenty-Eight, which means one of the founding families that can be tied back to early in the wizarding world. This particularly means that they've acquired great wealth, unless they squandered it away with no attempt at retaining this wealth. Which is of course is the fate of a few of these families. Not only that, but you have a few ties with other noble families. Particularly the Peverell family, in which the Potter family directly descended from. The Potter's are the most closely related, in which you are entitled to the Lordship. Secondly, the Black family, you were nominated as the heir by your GodFather Sirius Black, who is otherwise dispensed in Azkaban at this current moment. Seeing as he is still alive, you are not entitled to the Black lordship, as well as the fact that there are a few other heirs that are alive and are equally entitled to the Lordship."
Digesting this amount of information in so little time is somewhat of a challenge, not that Harry was particularly unable to, but seeing as how this was a unique scenario in which he was turned up on his head and literally thrown into a world in which he was completely ignorant too was somewhat annoying. Finding out you are part of a world that you were completely unaware of and defies what you have come to think of reality is mind-blowing, and then to further the point to find out you have ties to nobility and hold a legitimate connection to old wealth? Mind-shattering. Yet here harry sits, with a constipated look on his face, he feels that at the end of the day he's going to have gone completely crossed eyed. Sighing as he does, Harry leans back in the chair he was so graciously afforded, and rubs at his temples with both hands hoping to soothe the raging headache. It is futile. He can't wait to fall asleep.
Opening a single eye, Harry stares at the goblin,
"So I am a direct descendant of multiple old lines and with a legal technicality I can become a lord to multiple families at the ripe old age of Ten?" He asks tiredly. Lovely.
"So you are able to digest the information I've been giving you. Good, this makes this significantly easier. The process of becoming a lord usually takes a fair amount of paperwork, seeing as how you are entitled to two, the paperwork is significantly doubled." The goblin illustrated this by insistently tapping on the dreadful mountain of paperwork, Harry noted that there was a strict, no nonsense look on his face, as if daring Harry to try and get out of the required paperwork.
"Next there's the issue of the Lordship Rings and the account statements. Do you need a moment Heir Potter? Of course when you've completed the allocated paperwork I will refer to you differently."
There were two old ring boxes placed upon the table, supposedly the Lordship Rings. Harry hoped the rings weren't as gaudy as the boxes were. Would they even fit on his small hands?
"Yes thank you, give me a moment, I am ten after all. One can not expect a developing mind to retain all this knowledge so rapidly. Let me organise my thoughts and then we can move onto the outstanding paperwork. Actually, one thing. Do you have any Panadol?" After the goblin's reaction to the word, Harry expanded further.
"Anything to sooth or stop a pounding headache? Lest I become unable to complete the paperwork". Harry grumbled.
The goblin seemed downright murderous yet equally resigned, "If this is a feeble attempt at bypassing the paperwork, you'd be wholy mistaken." Replied the goblin, meanwhile sliding a vial of something to Harry. "Drink all of it".
Wordlessly he did, perhaps too unflinchingly uncaring about the possibility of harm. Anything to relieve the headache pounding in his head. And miraculously, it did stop. Harry silently promised that he'd do anything, even mountains of paperwork of it meant that he'd get an escape from the headaches that seem to continuously affect him.
"Where do I sign" he queried, with a determined resignation.