The sound echoed inside the vault.
Too loud.
Too raw.
Too real.
I stiffened immediately, sucking in a breath through my teeth.
Blake and Kreacher were still here—standing a respectful distance away, waiting for me to finish.
Kreacher had explained more about the Black family while I was submerged in memory, but both of them had fallen silent the moment I stumbled out of the Pensieve.
Blake watched me with wide, uncertain eyes.
Kreacher stood beside her, wringing his hands anxiously.
I turned my face away quickly, wiping the tears with the back of my sleeve before they could drip.
I didn't want my first real moment of vulnerability to be displayed like this.
Not in front of anyone.
Not even them.
But Blake wasn't stupid.
Her voice came out small, careful.
"…Alastair?"
I inhaled, but my chest felt tight—tight in a way I hadn't prepared for.
Because the memories hadn't just shown me my mother.
They had shown me her life.
Her hopes.
Her strength.
Her love.
And now, in the dim light of the vault, surrounded by echoes of everything she left behind—
My emotions were a fire I could no longer smother.
I swallowed hard.
My voice cracked anyway.
"I'm fine."
Blake didn't move closer—not yet—but her fingers curled around the edge of her sleeve, nervous and hesitant.
She had cried earlier today over Regulus.
She knew what it meant to learn a truth that changed everything.
Kreacher bowed his head low.
"Master Alastair is seeing sad things," he whispered sadly.
"Kreacher… Kreacher is sorry the memories caused pain."
I shook my head firmly.
"It's not that," I managed.
"It's… she was real. All of her. And seeing that—seeing who she was—it just…"
My voice trailed off, because I didn't have words for the ache twisting in my chest.
Blake finally stepped closer—slowly, gently—like approaching a wounded animal.
"You don't have to explain," she said quietly.
"You don't. I get it."
Her hand hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure if I'd accept it.
She didn't know that small gesture alone almost made me break again.
I forced my breathing to steady.
Forced my spine to straighten.
There were things I still needed to do.
Answers I still needed to uncover.
A future I had to build.
And the past—the past was now something I carried with me, not something I hid from.
My legs steadied enough for me to breathe again.
The memories—her memories—still shimmered faintly in the bowl of the Pensieve, silver threads curling lazily like smoke underwater.
But they didn't belong there.
They belonged with her.
With us.
I reached out, unscrewing the locket.
Its inner chamber glowed faintly—warm, familiar, welcoming.
Then, with a slow exhale, I tapped the Pensieve's rim.
The silver liquid trembled… then rose in delicate tendrils, swirling like moonlit mist before flowing gently back into the locket.
All except a few memories.
I left some—just enough for Blake.
The ones that mattered to her.
The ones about Regulus, her mother, and the short but undeniable thread connecting them.
When the last strand settled, I tightened the locket shut.
It pulsed once against my fingers—steady, content.
I turned toward Blake.
She watched me silently, worry still etched in her eyes.
I drew a breath.
"Blake… I saw them."
She blinked, confused. "Saw who?"
"Your parents," I said softly.
"Regulus. Your mother. Their story."
My voice gentled.
"They were friends with mine. Our families… they crossed paths more than we realized."
Her lips parted.
Shock flickered across her face.
Hope.
Uncertainty.
Fear.
"I…" She swallowed. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to," I assured her.
We stood there for a beat—just breathing in the cool vault air.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
"I want to see."
I guided her to the Pensieve, lifting her hand.
"Focus on the memory. Lean forward. The magic will do the rest."
She hesitated only a moment before placing her face into the swirling surface.
Silver ripples swallowed her.
Kreacher wrung his hands anxiously, glancing between her figure and me.
I crouched down to meet his eyes.
"You want her to be accepted in the Black family, right?"
Kreacher stiffened—then bowed so low his nose touched the stones.
"Yes, sir. More than anything. It is Kreacher's duty. Kreacher's promise to Master Regulus."
"Then listen carefully," I said quietly.
"When you return home, inform Arcturus Black that Blake arrived at Gringotts today."
Kreacher's ears perked. His entire body leaned forward.
"Give him this."
I scribbled the orphanage address on a small parchment and handed it to him.
Kreacher clutched it reverently, as if it were a sacred decree.
"And Kreacher," I added, lowering my voice, "do not tell him her mother was muggleborn."
His eyes widened in understanding.
"You will say only that you were instructed by Master Regulus to take her somewhere safe. Nothing more."
A sharp nod.
"Yes, sir. Kreacher will protect Young Miss. Kreacher will protect her story."
Before I could respond, the Pensieve surface rippled.
Blake emerged, gasping softly—eyes red, breath unsteady—but not destroyed.
Changed.
She wiped her cheeks, shoulders trembling.
"…They were good people," she whispered.
I nodded.
"That's what I saw too."
We didn't need more words.
The weight in the vault shifted—the air somehow lighter, yet carrying more meaning.
Two hours had passed.
Griphorn and Rugnot were waiting near the entrance.
I collected the memories. Took some family history books.
With one last glance at the ancient vault walls—at the heirlooms and secrets waiting for another day—I touched the cool metal of the door.
It swung open.
Blake, Kreacher, and I stepped out.
The managers bowed and led us toward the carts.
Our descent into the past was over.
It was time to return to the world above—strengthened, steadied, and no longer alone.
_____________________________________
By the time we returned to the private meeting chamber, exhaustion had begun to settle into my bones—but something else stirred beneath it.
Purpose.
A pull.
A quiet voice I didn't remember learning, whispering instructions from somewhere deep in my blood.
Blake sank into a chair, still shaken from the Pensieve, Kreacher hovering protectively at her side.
Griphorn and Rugnot waited silently, professional but curious.
I stepped to the center of the room.
The signet ring—silver, ancient, pulsing with dormant magic—felt almost warm on my finger.
And before I fully realized what I was doing…
…I lifted it to my lips.
A whisper escaped me, guided by instinct older than I understood:
"My name is Alastair Caelum Salvius–P."
The incomplete surname.
The only one I had the right to speak.
The one my father left for me.
The moment the words left my mouth, the air changed.
Magic rippled outwards like a silent shockwave—shivering across the walls, crawling along the ceiling, settling over everything like a mantle of recognition.
The goblins stiffened.
Their eyes widened—Griphorn's especially—because they felt it:
A bloodline oath.
A declaration of identity.
And the vaults themselves answered.
A low hum vibrated through the stone beneath our feet.
Magic acknowledging heirship.
Claiming me.
I exhaled shakily as the ripples subsided.
Blake stared with round eyes.
Kreacher fell to one knee reverently.
"Master… has spoken the Ancient Name…"
Even Rugnot bowed.
Griphorn inclined his head deeply.
"Heir Salvius–Peverell," he said softly, voice carrying genuine respect,
"Gringotts recognizes your claim."
The air settled.
I lifted my head.
There was still more to do.
I turned to Griphorn.
"I wish to purchase two young house-elves."
Blake jerked upright.
Kreacher gasped.
Rugnot's eyebrows shot up.
But Griphorn only nodded once, sharply.
"As you command, Heir. It will be arranged immediately."
Within minutes, two small house-elves were guided into the chamber.
Barely older than Kreacher had been when Regulus bonded him.
Large eyes, nervous expressions, tiny hands twisting the edge of their rough cloth tunics.
They bowed low.
The first piped up shyly,
"H–Humble elf Liri greets great wizard."
The second followed,
"Kipp greets master and young miss."
Blake blinked in surprise.
"I… I get one?"
I nodded.
"You deserve someone who can look after you. Properly. Always."
Her eyes softened, shimmering with emotion she didn't try to hide.
I placed a hand gently on Liri's head.
"I accept you as mine."
A soft pop of ancient magic sealed the bond.
Blake hesitated—but only for a second—before placing her hand on Kipp.
"I… I accept you too," she whispered.
Kipp squeaked with joy and burst into happy tears.
Kreacher looked envious and worried he might loose his job.
I patted his head.
"You'll be the one to train them. teach them well and make Grimmauld place habitable for your miss when she comes during christmas."
He nodded and looked at Blake.
Blake also gave her approval.
Then Kreacher vanished with a pop with Liri and Kipp
I turned back to the goblins.
"For the remaining vaults under my name," I said steadily,
"move all coin to a newly created vault in the upper layers."
Griphorn's quill flew across a parchment, recording every word.
"And any items—artifacts, heirlooms, documents—should be moved to their respective family vaults. Salvius to Salvius. Peverell to Peverell."
"Of course, Heir," Griphorn said, bowing slightly. "It shall be done."
"Additionally," I continued,
"the fees for the inheritance tests and payment for the two elves will be taken from the new vault."
"No issue," Rugnot confirmed gruffly.
The arrangements were clean.
Efficient.
.
But more importantly—they marked the first time I had acted as a Head, not a child.
Blake watched quietly, expression soft and proud.
"You really are… different," she said quietly.
"Not in a bad way. Just… this fits you."
I looked at her.
And for the first time since I'd opened the locket…
…I didn't feel like I was carrying everything alone.
Griphorn closed the final ledger.
"Your instructions are clear. When the reorganizing is complete, you will receive an official report."
"Thank you," I said.
He bowed.
Rugnot bowed next.
I opened the door to leave the private room…
And for the first time, I felt the weight of two ancient houses settle onto my shoulders.
Not crushing.
Empowering.
I was no longer just an orphan.
No longer just a muggle-raised boy.
I was Alastair Caelum Salvius–P.
And the wizarding world was about to learn that name
______________________________
Far beneath Hogwarts, in a sealed stone chamber older than the Founders' portraits, the Book of Admittance lay in perfect stillness.
Until it wasn't.
A faint pulse of magic brushed through the Hogwarts wards—subtle, but ancient.
Magic tied not to a child's accidental burst…
…but to the awakening of a bloodline.
The Book shuddered.
Its pages flipped on their own, rustling softly until they stopped on a familiar entry:
Alastair Caelum S–P
Born: 10 September 1977
The letters glowed faintly—then brightened, trembling as though responding to an unseen force.
What had happened?
Not wand magic.
Not accidental magic.
Not Ministry interference.
But a name spoken with authority.
A claim.
A recognition of heritage.
The ink rippled.
S–P melted away like snow touched by fire.
Slowly, new letters formed in its place:
Alastair Caelum Salvius–P
Born: 10 September 1977
The quill hovered above the page, waiting to see if more would change.
But the boy had not spoken the full ancient name.
The bloodline remained veiled, unclaimed.
So the entry held.
A final pulse of emerald light flared—not silver, not dual-hued, but distinctly Salvius.
Then the page fell still.
The Book closed itself with a soft thump, as if nodding.
A forgotten branch of a nearly extinct house…had just reawakened.
And Hogwarts—silent, ancient, ever-watching—recorded it without hesitation.
__________________________
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