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The war is over. In fact, it has been over for the past 10 years, but Harry still can't stop thinking about all the what ifs. About all the lives taken, including his own. Currently sitting in the Black library, he ponders about his childhood, his past and this unbearable present. About the fact that it all had been stolen from him.
He's been doing well actually these past few months, visiting the Burrow quite a lot. It seemed like he was getting better mentally. What changed and brought us to today is a very passive-aggressive letter he received from Gringots. It stated
"We, The Gringots Bank, are truly saddened to inform Mr. Harry Potter that, since there has been no extension of the contract with the Potterus family manager and all calls to our facility have been ignored, we are sealing off all the possible access to your vaults. We will, of course, revisit this decision if you can give us a reasoning for such disgraceful behaviour or if your possible heir will want to claim their heirship.
Kind regards
The Great Teller of Gringots Bank
Griphilt"
Harry had been staring at said letter for the past hour, sitting as still as a statue. Poor Kreacher actually started looking concerned. So concerned, in fact, that he dared to wave his skelatony hand a few times, right in front of his Master-Not-Master's face! And there had been no reaction.
The young man has been living with him for a long time now and has always been kind. But as much as the house elf respected him, he couldn't like him. The reason for that is very simple. He was ignorant of the magical world and its customs. Kreacher could not bear to see how he never acknowledged a True Lady on the street or how he never even so much as nodded his head in the direction of a Lord. His Lady Walburga is probably turning in her grave, sensing someone like that living in her ancestral home.
Kreacher is a good elf, and so he ignores his new master's eccentricity and turns his head the other way when he commits a god awful faux pas. At that moment, though, he is starting to think that maybe he should've said something. Maybe the redheaded blood traitors kept his new Master from social education. The elf, feeling angry with himself, decided that he would teach the new master everything he saw being taught in this house. But first he needed to make some tea. Yes, that's definitely first on the list. Harry had never looked so pale.
••••••••••••••••
After supplying Master with enough beverage to last for years, Harry began to move. First, very slowly, his hands clenched into fists. Then, with no warning, he banged them on the table.
"Kreacher!" he called with desperation. "Do you know anything about vaults? Potter vaults?"
"Of course, Master. The Potters might not be one of the sacred twenty-five, but that's because they're older, richer. It is said that their first ancestor was the youngest Preverell brother. Your family's money has been kept there for centuries."
Harry took a long breath, feeling anger pulse through him.
"And that's common knowledge? Has Ron known about it?" He was hanging on by the last thread of hope. His friends always had his back. The Weasley family was just closer knit to muggles, that's all. They wouldn't have known.
"Of course he knows! He knows all about it. His mother is a Prewett for Merlin's sake," Kreacher exclaimed, shocked at Potter's delusions.
"I suppose you don't know what heirship means and about the fact that you should be a Lord?"
"A WHAT NOW!"
"Mr. Potter! I speak to you now as keeper of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The house that has fallen." Said Kreacher, his typical sneer gone from his face. His bloodshot eyes were focused, and bat-like ears stood straight. "It is an honour to have any title added to one's name. A Lord is one of the most glamorous to have. It's also an enormous responsibility. A Lord represents his kin and kindred, his entire lineage. One wrong move and allies of hundreds of years of partnership will refuse to associate with you." Harry had never seen an elf so serious. It also dawned on him that nobody ever actually sat him down and explained anything. He considered taking a notebook and quill out but decided not to as Kreacher spoke with increased urgency. "One wrong move and the entire fortune disappears!" he wailed.
"Those filthy mudbloods, those filthy blood traitors that you associate with have taken everything you could've had!" Elf's speech was becoming fast and frantic. He was nearly blabbering. Harry had to lean closer to him to understand the rambling.
"That Weasley dungbrains you insist on being friends with makes money off of you! He rides off on your train of fame, he belittles you in all interviews he gives. At this point, if we only go about the tabloids, his name could be : Harry Potter's best friend without whom the world would be lost. And do you have any other friends? Because it seems to me that you only speak with two. Don't get me started on that ugly, filthy girl-" Harry threw a cup at him. "Stop it! That's enough," He breathed heavily. "I've heard enough, you don't have to insult them."
"I don't have to insult them!?" Kreacher screeched, offended. "That girl took books from this room! She didn't have the right to, to take, my, MY books." Silent tears dropped from his eyes as he cried out his words. "This room is sacred, this house is sacred or was, now. Family heirlooms were taken by the people you brought in. A true Lord would never let that happen. You didn't even take the dog's heirship he left you, and yet you let people rob my home!" Harry's heart dropped. "Kreacher, slow down. What do you mean she took books? I know she wanted to, but to my knowledge she has never entered this library," Harry said, feeling completely lost in where the conversation was going.
"When Master is doing his auror duties, she comes in, saying you let her. Master is Master-Not Master. We don't have Lord to elf bond. You can't set home wards and house boundaries, so I was only listening to your voice commands. You have said she is to be welcomed anytime," He explained while looking frankly quite pathetic.
"Apparently I wasn't in the right mind to say that. I feel as though I still can't even think anything bad about her. Could you keep everyone out the wards for a while? It seems I haven't been myself lately, if ever."
"Absolutely, young Master." Kreacher gave a little bow. He looked weirdly smug about the order. He snapped his cranky old fingers, and a burst of old magic was felt. It was as if the time had stopped.
After a moment Kreacher broke the silence. "You must go to Gringots." He said decidedly. "I have a feeling there's a lot of foul play involved." Harry thought Kreacher must not have been aware that he even said the last sentence out loud as he muttered away towards one of the bookshelves.
After a few minutes, he came back with a stack (comparable to a mountain) of books.
"Here, sir," He basically threw the pages open. "This is a map, if you haven't noticed, with a secret passageway to the bank. You'll go at night and the only thing you say to the guard is : I implore you for a test of blood. Nothing more, nothing less. With everything you say there, you need to get straight to the point. They are business people, they don't appreciate beating around the bush. You also can't lie, they'll know if you do." Harry decided that house elves and goblins must be more closely related than he thought because Kreacher started acting like a business executive himself. "When they ask you questions about your 'usuals', you are to tell them this month's expenses and then also the most expensive thing you have bought within 12 months. That's how they verify it's you. If any discrepancies are shown, you'll probably be interrogated." He explained in quite a flippant manner. "After the guards let you through, you'll be taken to one of the higher tellers of the bank. There you'll give a few drops of your blood onto the parchment given to you. It should show your parents, godparents, lordships and heirships available to you. You do not say a single word throughout the entire thing, understood? Good, then after they confirm your blood, you'll be taken to your account manager, and you are to apologise for your ignorance and ask them all the enquiries from this page," he said, giving Harry a 7-foot-long scroll.
"All the enquiries?" Came a meekly asked question from a defeated-looking Potter.
"All of them, sir," Kreacher has never sounded happier. He was practically glowing.