After a full week without owls arriving at Privet Drive, Remus deemed it safe to remove the mail redirection stone. Ceri retrieved it, and Harry spoke the deactivation spell, turning it back into a plain-looking stone once more. He handed it back to Remus; it might be handy for the future. "Can I borrow Horatio, please?" Harry asked, his brain turning to the stack of letters waiting on the desk in his room.
"Yes, just don't send him overseas," Remus replied. Harry grinned and nodded, then hurried up to his room.
Snape's owl Asphodel was already gone when Harry went up to the Owlery, but the other three were there waiting for something to do. Hedwig hooted softly, flying down to land in front of Harry. "Okay, let me get this figured out." He didn't want to overload one owl more than the others, but there were some people he couldn't send Hedwig to.
Letters to Neville, Susan and Cho went with Horatio. Letters to Blaise, Daphne and Draco went with Artemis — to give Draco his last and wait for a reply, as always. Finally, he attached letters to Charlie, Bill, Viktor and Fleur to Hedwig; she was the strongest, and would best handle the international flight.
He watched the trio of owls fly off into the horizon, letting out a long breath. It was a start. He had the whole summer to get his ducks in a row, now — certainly his two opponents would be doing exactly the same thing.
.-.-.
Much like last summer, Harry's guardians refused to work him hard on the weekends. Remus let him do his homework, and even practice some more frivolous spells, but there was to be no serious training on weekends.
Luckily, Harry was assured animagus training didn't count.
"It doesn't always work on the first try," Sirius warned him, making sure Harry was comfortably situated in the middle of the mound of cushions on the living room floor. "We can always brew the potion again in a month or so."
"It's going to work," Harry declared confidently. Across the room, he heard Snape snort quietly.
"Ever your father's confidence," he muttered, the words sounding less like an insult than they would have a year ago. The Potions Master approached with a large vial in his hands, the potion securely stoppered. "Are you ready?" Remus asked quietly, and Harry took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders. Meditation. It was all about following his magic.
"Yeah. Let's do it." His hands were steady as he took the vial from Snape, carefully pouring the potion into the bowl in front of him. The three adults stepped far back as the potion began to steam, its faint green vapours twining around Harry. He breathed it in with his eyes closed, lungs filling with the scent of smoke and green wood and magic. He let his mind fall into the meditative state that had become so familiar to him in the last week, and even before that. He let his magic relax, reach out, curl inwards. He followed it, followed the ozone smell to the deep heart of himself. He didn't dare think, couldn't let his brain do anything other than follow its instinct. Animals relied on instincts, after all.
Inside his mind, he was in a forest. He was barefoot, the earth soft under his feet, trees towering all around him. It wasn't a forest he recognised. Something told him to walk deeper, so he did.
It was dusk, the faintest light from the fading sun filtering through the trees, just enough to let Harry see where he was going. He looked down at himself, and saw he was entirely naked. He wasn't cold, and he couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed. He kept walking.
Something was humming. Distant, quiet, tuneless but somehow… comforting. Familiar. His magic, maybe? It pushed him forward, urged him to keep walking. The air smelled like new growth.
The trees parted to reveal a small clearing, tufts of lush green grass sprouting from the forest floor. In the centre of it all, sat staring at Harry with yellow-green eyes, was an animal.
Harry stepped forward. The animal didn't blink. Its pointed ear twitched, the white tip of its tail dragging to curl around its body.
"Hello," Harry greeted, bowing to the creature. It rose on four paws and ducked its narrow snout to the ground, its gaze still locked with Harry's. It cocked its head, and sat down again.
Harry drew closer. When he looked at it, he could see a smattering of lighter-coloured fur on the animal's forehead, right where his own scar would sit. The rest of its fur was a dark russet-red, fading into white under its belly. "You're beautiful, aren't you?" Was that a narcissistic thing to say? Harry didn't really care. It was a fact.
The animal stood once more, turning a graceful circle so Harry could look at it from all angles. Its footsteps were soundless on the dark earth, and it froze when Harry took one more step towards it. He reached out a hand. The animal jumped closer, butting its head against Harry's fingers.
And then he woke up.
He blinked his eyes open, staring at the ceiling of the living room. He'd fallen back against the cushions, at some point. The potion in the bowl had stopped steaming. Harry still felt a little lightheaded, but a grin split his face.
"Well?" Sirius asked, still far across the room but looking at Harry with hopeful grey eyes. Harry sat up, a quiet laugh huffing between his lips.
"I'm a fox." He'd gone into the experience with a handful of ideas about what his animagus form might be, and fox wasn't anywhere on the list, but now he couldn't imagine being anything else.
"You found it!" Sirius whooped, diving into the cushion pile to hug Harry tightly, almost knocking over the potion bowl in his enthusiasm. "A fox? Really? Blimey, I thought for sure you'd be a bird! That's brilliant, Harry."
"Cunning yet mischievous, bold yet quick-thinking, seen as both an omen of luck and misfortune depending on the culture and the situation," Remus informed him, because of course he had random fox facts tucked up in that brain of his. "I'd say that suits rather well, for a snake in lion's clothing. Congratulations, Harry."
"I'll have to buy some books, won't I?" Harry knew the next step; studying the natural state of his animal form, learning as much about it as possible, and continuing his meditations until he knew his animal skin as confidently as he knew his own. That was the part of the process that tripped up a lot of people; refusal to own up to all facets of their personality, to face their flaws and acknowledge them. You couldn't return to your own skin if you didn't fully claim it as yours.
"I don't think we've got anything on foxes in the library, but we can check," Sirius said, shrugging. "If not, you know where the catalogue is, yeah."
Harry's gaze trailed over to Snape — the Slytherin hadn't said anything yet, and part of Harry yearned for his approval as much as Sirius' or Remus'. Finally, his dark eyes softened ever so slightly around the edges. "You're about to become far more trouble than you're worth, aren't you?" he remarked. "An animal known for sneaking about, and native to Britain to boot. I should've known, from the legacy of the Marauders."
"You're part of that legacy now, Snivelly," Sirius declared cheerfully. Snape glared at him.
"Let's head down for lunch," Remus suggested. "We can talk about the next steps while we eat. Then you can get in a bit of duelling practice before we head over for the Order meeting tonight." The meetings were becoming all the more frequent, but Remus and Sirius assured Harry there was rarely anything of note decided during them. Harry privately suspected Dumbledore kept gathering everyone just to make sure he could keep a close eye on them.
.-.-.-.
Harry spent almost the entire hour and a half the adults were at the Order meeting in his room in a meditative state with the aid of his wardstone, studying his fox form. The potion was only required the first time; once you'd already accessed that little corner of your magic, it was easier to find it again. Harry needed to learn exactly what the fox looked like, moved like, sounded like — he needed to know it as well as he knew himself.
Sirius had warned him that the animagus transformation was not the most thrilling bit of magic to learn. There was no flashy spell and bam, you're an animal. There was a lot of meditation, and introspection, and a slow, gruelling process of patience and time that made Harry wonder how any of the Marauders had managed it, but he supposed they had been properly motivated.
Luckily, Harry often found himself with hours to spare and little else to do, and growing up at the Dursleys had definitely taught him both patience and introspection. If he could spend a week locked in a cupboard with nothing but his own thoughts, he could happily retreat into his own mind to play with the fox version of himself. Remus and Snape returned, but Remus' 'no war talk at the table' rule was still in place, so Harry had to wait until after dinner to get his information. "What are they planning?" he asked eagerly, desperate for any kind of direction with which to build his own plans around. Sadly, he was disappointed.
"Honestly, very little," Remus remarked. "It's all a bit frustrating, really. We go, we argue in circles for an hour and come up with nothing, then Albus tells us it's been a wonderful productive meeting and we can all go home."
That sounded more like a second year Gryffindor/Slytherin class than a room full of the light's greatest defence, and Snape's lips twitched when Harry said as much. "Considering the majority of the Order are Gryffindors, we can't really expect much more," the Slytherin declared, ignoring the eye-rolls from his Gryffindor companions. "If there were enough Ravenclaws and Slytherins to get a majority and start organising the facts, we might make progress, but it seems rather intentional that Albus is letting the meetings stay chaotic."
"To direct away from the fact that he isn't actually doing anything about Voldemort," Remus supplied. Harry grimaced. "The main topic of contention tonight was you, actually, Harry."
The teen raised his eyebrows, and Remus smirked. "It's finally occurred to some of your watchers that it's not normal for a teenage boy to never leave the house. Albus insists it's all part of your grieving process about Cedric — even though the twins shared your letter about the Dursleys with their parents and Sirius. The headmaster is quite certain that you're merely prone to exaggeration in your anguish, and would just rather be left alone."
Something burned within Harry, right beside the overwhelming gratitude that he wasn't in fact stuck at the Dursleys like people thought he was. Dumbledore was so quick to throw him aside at the end of every school year, once he'd fulfilled his daring feat and saved lives at great risk to his own. Harry wondered how long it would take his watchers to realise that the supervision was not for Harry's own safety, but to make sure he wasn't up to anything suspicious.
"Imagine what state I'd be in if I was actually left alone to wallow in grief. I might not have made it back to school," he mused to himself, missing Remus and Snape sharing a mildly alarmed look.
"There are enough people concerned about your lack of activity that I think it might be good to have you go back every now and then, just for a little bit," Remus suggested, after a beat of silence. "Sit in the window and look sad for fifteen minutes or so, then have Ceri bring you home. Just to prove you're still in the house."
"I can do that," Harry agreed. His aunt and uncle never had to know he was there — fifteen minutes of sitting and looking sad would be good thinking time. He was doing so much thinking, these days. He felt like a Ravenclaw.
They were interrupted by a soft hoot, and then through the open living room window came a large pharaoh eagle owl; Bill Weasley's owl. It had a letter in its talons, which it dropped in Harry's lap. Harry's brows furrowed; that was a much quicker response than he'd expected.
Dear Harry,
Surprise! I'm back in England. With the current political climate, I've taken a job closer to home. Gorrak himself has asked me to head the research team on a rather difficult case he's had on his desk for a little bit. I'm sure you know the one.
I've heard you're being watched, but I've also heard that you're not where you're supposed to be. If that's the case, would you possibly be able to meet me at Gringotts in the morning, at around nine? Bring someone you trust. It's important.
If you can't make it, let me know and I'll figure out some other way to get the information to you. But it's not something that should be mentioned outside of protected walls, and Gringotts isn't just good at keeping gold safe.
Hopefully see you tomorrow,
Bill
"Gorrak's got Bill looking into my scar already?" Harry said, reading the letter a second time in case there were any more subtle hints he might've missed. "Well, Charlie did say he and Bill were looking at moving closer to home to try and take their Wizengamot seats from Mr Weasley." He looked up at his two guardians. "Can I go?"
"It sounds like it's worth the risk. We'll go in disguise," Remus confirmed. "I'm sure the goblins will understand."
If Bill had found a way to remove the magic on Harry's scar, he would've said so in the letter. But maybe he'd at least identified it.
"Well, at least that's one less international letter for Hedwig to deliver," Harry said. He hoped she was doing alright in her voyages to France, Bulgaria and Romania. "Has Bill been at any Order meetings?"
"No, and Molly hasn't mentioned him either. He must've only just got back in the country," Remus said with a frown.
"If he needs to meet with you before his own family, it must be urgent indeed," Snape remarked, also looking grim. Harry shrugged, turning back to the letter. They'd find out in the morning, he supposed.
.-.-.-.
Their identities carefully hidden thanks to Snape's spells, and Harry dressed in one of Remus' casual robes that had been resized to fit him — with a promise to order him some causal wizard-wear at the earliest opportunity because really, what young man didn't have a single robe outside his school uniform? — Harry and Remus apparated into Diagon Alley at eight forty-five the next morning. They strolled to Gringotts with the air of a father and son just grabbing a bit of spending money before a fun day out; entirely ordinary in the usual summer crowd of the alley. Harry scanned the goblins at the desks when they entered, and tugged Remus over towards Farlig. He placed his wand on the counter. "Good morning, and good fortune. I believe I have a meeting."
He currently looked nothing like Harry Potter, but that didn't slow Farlig for a second, and the goblin gave him a toothy smile. "This way, please, sirs." He hopped down from his chair and led Harry and Remus into the back rooms, to a door with Gorrak's name on it. He rapped sharply on the door, and it opened.
As the two of them stepped through the doorway, their disguise spells melted off them. That was no worry; Remus had anticipated as much, and they'd reapply spells when they left. Inside the office were Gorrak and Bill, the eldest Weasley son jumping to his feet to grab Harry in a hug. "Good, I'm glad you could make it."
Harry exchanged greetings with Gorrak, then turned back to Bill. "What is it you needed to talk to me about?"
Bill's freckled face turned serious. "You might want to sit down for this. Both of you." Remus took a chair beside Harry, within reach if Harry needed him. Harry appreciated it. Bill leaned against Gorrak's desk, fiddling with the fang in his ear. "You remember when I scanned you, Harry? Before the third task? And I told you the magic in your scar looked familiar." Harry nodded. "I went back to Egypt and did a little digging, and eventually I remembered where I'd seen it before. One of the first tombs I ever cracked, way back when I was still an apprentice. There was this doll, see? It had this really weird vibe to it. Darker than anything else in the tomb, and there was some pretty nasty stuff in there — the locals all thought it was haunted, said they heard moaning coming from it sometimes. The owner had been a very rich, very evil wizard. There were a load of scrolls about immortality, and then the doll, which I couldn't figure out."
Bill bit his lip, his hands white-knuckled on the edge of the desk. "I called my supervisor in, and he took one look at the doll and the scrolls and declared an immediate evacuation of the tomb. Lit the whole thing up with Fiendfyre as soon as everyone was out. I asked him why, and he told me the doll had been used for some of the blackest magic this world would ever see, and not a single hint of it could be allowed to make it to the public. I was wet behind the ears, so I didn't question him, but it stuck in my memory. I went to talk to him last week, told him I'd come across that magic again but I couldn't tell him where, and I needed to know what it was so I could deal with it."
"What is it?" Harry asked, wondering what his scar could have in common with a cursed doll in a haunted tomb.
"He told me the doll was something called a horcrux," Bill started slowly. "A very rare, very old, incredibly dark piece of magic. Most of the knowledge has been lost these days, but like anything, you can find it if you know what you're looking for. It basically involves the caster using an act of cold-blooded murder — the worst evil a person can commit — and taking the energy from it to rip a piece of their soul free from the rest. That soul fragment is then stored, usually inside an object, so that even if the caster should die, their soul remains on earth, unable to move on until it is whole. It's the closest to immortality that magic has ever been able to grant."
There was a long, tense silence in the office. Even Gorrak looked deeply troubled.
"Usually inside an object," Harry repeated, a slow sense of dread building within him, "but sometimes inside a person. My scar is one, isn't it?" Part of Voldemort's soul was inside his body. It made sense — his visions, his claim to the Slytherin seat, his parseltongue abilities. If he'd housed part of another wizard's soul for most of his life, that would include some of his magic, too.
Remus reached across to grip Harry's hand tightly, his face pale. "Is that even possible?"
"I haven't found any literature on it," Bill replied. "But like I said, there's not much on horcruxes out there. If someone has used a living being as one before, it's no longer documented."
"How do we get it out?" Harry asked; he didn't much care how it got there, he just wanted it gone. Bill's expression told him it wasn't going to be that easy.
"Usually, a horcrux can be destroyed by damaging it beyond all magical repair. Fiendfyre, basilisk venom, some extremely caustic potions, the Killing curse. That's fine when it's housed within an inanimate object."
"Less fine when it's housed within my living body," Harry finished for him, his lips a thin line. Things were slowly starting to make sense. "Dumbledore knows." Both men blinked at him, confused. "He's got to. It's why he's done all this; put the block on my magic, kept me away from anyone who might care about me. He knows that I have to die in order for Voldemort to properly die, so he's leading me into that. Teaching me to sacrifice myself for the greater good. The block was probably a failsafe; if I refused, he could just wait until I turned seventeen and obliterated myself and those around me."
"You are not going to die!" The words were growled from Remus quite unexpectedly, his eyes glowing gold as he stared Harry down. He blinked, the wolf retreating, but there was still fire in his gaze. "Bill, is there any way to move the soul fragment outside of its container? Or from one container to another?" he asked, as if they were talking about repotting a mandrake and not removing soul pieces from Harry's literal body. "I haven't found anything yet, but I've barely started looking," Bill admitted. "If there's a way, we'll find it."
"Mr Weasley is one of the finest curse-breakers employed by this bank, Mr Potter," Gorrak said, speaking up for the first time since he'd greeted them. "And Gringotts has far more resources than most wizards are aware of. Rest assured, if it is at all possible, we will find a solution."
"What happens if we kill Voldemort before we destroy the horcrux?" Harry asked curiously.
"He'll go back to being the shade creature that possessed Professor Quirrell," Bill explained. "With the potential to return again. We'd have peace, but it would be temporary. We'd be constantly on the lookout for his return."
"And with the number of followers he has, it'd only be a matter of time before someone helped him do it," Harry said grimly. If Wormtail could manage it, it couldn't be that difficult. "Well, you can rule out basilisk venom. I got bitten by one when I was twelve, but then again I didn't actually die from it; Fawkes healed me. So maybe it only works if I die."
Bill's blue eyes went wide. "I thought Ginny was joking about that," he muttered faintly. Remus snorted.
"Never assume anything is a joke when it comes to Harry," he advised. If the situation weren't so dire, Harry would've grinned.
"Well. At least now we know what we're up against," Harry pointed out. As soon as they could figure out how to get the horcrux out of Harry, Voldemort was mortal. And if they couldn't, well… there were worse ways to go than dying to save the world. "Gorrak, feel free to use the money from any of my vaults to fund whatever's necessary for this research. I trust you."
The goblin bowed his head, and the look on Bill's face made Harry feel like those words weren't often said from wizard to goblin.
"While I've got you here, Harry, can I do some more in-depth scans?" Bill requested. Harry shrugged, assenting; whatever might help.
Once again, Harry found himself lying back on a transfigured medical bed in a back office in Gringotts. Bill pulled out his notebook and pen, and he and Gorrak both spent the next fifteen minutes murmuring spells in all sorts of languages, making lights glow around Harry and strange tingling sensations happen and even at one point a loud noise like a gun going off. Harry stayed still through all of it, though his curiosity burned. He'd never experienced so much raw magic before, it was exhilarating!
"Blimey, Harry. Your core's a bit massive, isn't it?" Bill remarked, gesturing for him to sit up. "Happy to report there's no adverse effects from all the years sitting under the block. If anything, it's grown extra big to spite that — have you noticed your magic doing anything unusual in the last year or so? More instances of accidental magic, emotional discharges, that sort of thing?"
"I mean, yeah, but doesn't everyone rattle the windows every now and then?" He'd seen Sirius and Snape do it a couple of times, when they got really angry.
"Not usually," Remus piped up. Harry blinked.
"Oh. Well that was all happening before, too, so I didn't really notice. I'm a lot better at spells than I used to be." Before the block he'd been a fairly average wizard; certainly nothing to tell tales about. Now, he could do most of his spells non-verbally, and quite a few without a wand as well. It was so much easier when you realised that all the specific pronunciation and wand movements weren't actually necessary, not if you could nudge your magic in the right way. Harry had been wondering all year why more people didn't do it.
Maybe it wasn't quite as easy for everyone else as it was for him.
"Well, you've got a lot to be working with, so I'd recommend you find some productive way of channelling it," Bill said. "You'd be great at warding, that always takes a lot of power. Kinda the inverse of my job. Or maybe spellcrafting. You're not taking Arithmancy, though, are you?"
"I'm doing it independently," Harry told him. "That and Runes. I'll take OWLs in them at the end of the year." He couldn't wait to shock Dumbledore with that one. Bill grinned.
"Good, good. You'll figure something out, then. For now, just make sure you do plenty of magic when you can, or it'll build up and go a bit haywire when you're particularly emotional. It'll all stabilise once you're of age, but a growing wizard's core can be a bit… finnicky, especially one your size."
"Why don't they teach anything like that at Hogwarts?" Harry muttered, shaking his head. Bill shrugged.
"It's mostly a pureblood thing, to be honest, so they probably expect peoples' parents to have warned them. Muggleborns have growing cores too, obviously, but they don't have family magics interacting with theirs so it's not as volatile." He clapped Harry on the shoulder, transfiguring the bed back into a chair. "Anyway, the good news is, the rest of your magic is clear and healthy. Doesn't seem to be any negative effects from having a bit of Voldemort in your head. I'll start working on some theories, and see what I can find." His crystal blue eyes locked onto Harry's. "I'll figure this out, kid, you hear me? You're not sacrificing yourself for this war."
"Okay," Harry agreed, though they both knew he would if it came down to it. "Thanks, Bill."
"No problem." Bill grinned, ruffling his hair, and shook Remus' hand. "I've got to get going, but it was good to meet you properly. I'm sure we'll see plenty more of each other in future."
Bill bowed his head to Gorrak and said something in Gobbledegook, then left the office. Gorrak turned to Harry. "May Gringotts be of any further assistance to you, Mr Potter?"
A thought drifted into his head, and he bit his lip. "Actually…" He glanced back at Remus. "While I'm here with a guardian present — could I possibly visit the family vaults? The heirloom ones." All four of his family lines had separate vaults for money and items, and while Harry had the itemised lists of everything in the latter, he wanted to see it for himself. There were some books he wanted to grab, too.
"Of course, Mr Potter," Gorrak agreed. "If Mr Lupin consents to accompany you."
"I suppose we might as well, while we're here," Remus agreed.
Gorrak stepped out of the office, and Harry was surprised to see Farlig had been stood outside the whole time. "Mr Potter wishes to visit his heirloom vaults," he told the younger goblin. Farlig nodded.
"Excellent. Follow me, sirs."
Gorrak did not come with them, so Harry bid him farewell and followed Farlig back to one of the mine carts that would take them down to the vaults.
The vault Harry had been to the last couple of times — first with Hagrid and then with Mrs Weasley — was, he had discovered, his personal trust fund vault. The section of the Potter family money he was allowed to access until he turned seventeen. Harry could look at the other vaults full of gold, but he couldn't actually take anything from them until he was of age. That was fine; there was more in the trust fund vault than he could possibly spend in the next two years anyway.
The family heirloom vaults, on the other hand, were much deeper in the Gringotts catacombs. Harry couldn't have said how long they were in the cart, passing rows and rows of vaults that got progressively older and more solid-looking. He was pretty sure he saw a flash of fire, but they were going so fast he couldn't quite tell. "Do you have a preference on which to visit first, Mr Potter?" Farlig asked, slowing the cart down a little.
"Let's go Peverell first." He knew the least about that line, after all.
The Peverell family heirloom vault wasn't particularly large, and didn't hold a huge amount inside it. A chest full of silverware stamped with the family crest; a wardrobe full of old robes; a few wands from long-deceased family members. Remus stuck close to Harry as he perused the vault's contents, just in case anything was cursed.
Behind the wardrobe there was a bookshelf, and Harry's eyebrows rose at the astonishing number of copies of the same book, all in various editions and reprints. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Remus, what's this?"
"It's a book of children's stories," Remus explained, looking equally confused. "Merlin only knows why there's so many. Perhaps someone in the family was a collector."
Harry flicked through some of the books, careful with the ones that looked like the bindings might crumble to dust at a strong wind. He was pretty sure he'd seen the title in the library at Seren Du, but he hadn't thought much of it. He might have to go back and look. On closer inspection, he found what he was looking for — The Peverell Family Magics and Traditions. A leather-bound book in surprisingly good condition, with a sprawling family tree on the first double page. Harry found his own name, tracing it back up through his father's line. The tree had quite a few offshoots into other pureblood lines that it didn't elaborate on after the initial marriage, only following the heir's progression down the line. Right at the top were the earliest recorded Peverells; three brothers by the name of Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus. To Harry's surprise, he was descended from the youngest brother — Antioch had no children at all, and Cadmus' line sprawled as long as Ignotus', to the point where Harry lost track of it on the complicated chart.
"May I remove this from the vault?" Harry asked Farlig, and the goblin nodded.
"Everything in the vault is yours, Mr Potter," he informed him. "You may remove whatever you wish."
It was tempting to grab anything that looked interesting and take it home with him, but Harry figured a lot of it was probably safest where it had been for the last however many years, and he could always come back another time to explore properly. The book was the only thing he removed from the Peverell vault.
Next they went to the Slytherin vault. As expected, there was a truly astonishing amount of green and silver, and snakes made up most of the decor. Harry again wished he could spend hours down there investigating everything — there was far more in this vault than the previous one. Huge cases full of books, glittering jewellery and weapons and housewares, portraits wrapped in canvas, an entire suit of armour with the helmet shaped like a spitting cobra. There was nothing more recent than the mid-19th century, according to Remus.
Harry found the Slytherin family book on a pedestal next to a statue of a bearded man, and he put that in his bag as well. He had to tear himself away from the vault after that, and Remus chuckled. "We can always come back, cub. When there's more time to spare." When Harry was older. When he wasn't being watched. When Voldemort was dead. Harry wouldn't have anything resembling time to spare until then.
The Black vault filled both of them with trepidation, having heard all sorts of horror stories about the family from Sirius. This vault was huge and full of all manner of things, none of which looked like they were entirely safe to touch. "One day, when the war's over," he declared, tiptoeing through the vault with Remus at his shoulder, aiming for the family book sat on a dresser. "We're going to come back here with Bill and Sirius and Snape, and we're going to get rid of every cursed, dark or potentially lethal object."
"A fun activity for all the family," Remus agreed wryly, ducking when a scarf hanging on the edge of a mirror lunged out and tried to bite him. With its fangs.
Harry grabbed the book and hurried back over to Farlig in the doorway, giving the goblin's amused face a dubious look. "You can help too," he decided. "Anything we can dismantle the spells from, we can sell it." The goblins would like that. Harry didn't care as long as he wasn't releasing cursed stuff into the general public.
By the time their mine cart slowed to a halt outside the Potter vault, Harry's palms were clammy and his heart hammered against his ribs. Remus squeezed his shoulder. "We don't have to do this today, cub," he said softly. "We can come back another time. Or Farlig can go in and get the book."
Harry shook his head, climbing out of the cart and placing his hand on the vault door as he had done with the previous three, letting it feel his magic. The door melted away.
Unlike the previous three, the Potter heirloom vault was a riot of colour.
Harry didn't know what to look at first; the gleaming wood chests overflowing with treasure; the huge piles of bright tapestries and rugs and what looked like saris; the beautiful furniture stacked all over the vault; the towering bookshelf in the corner with hundreds of titles nestled safely inside. His breath caught in his throat.
"I went down here once, y'know," Remus told him. "James brought Sirius and I down to come pick out an engagement ring for Lily from the family selection. Not sure where Pete was that day, but he didn't come with us. It wasn't quite as full then — some of the furniture was still at your grandparents' house. But when they went into hiding, they had the Potter elves clear out all the properties of anything that might be valuable, just in case. Lily always said when the war was over they'd come back down and pick some out for their own house, so you'd be able to grow up with your heritage around you." He smiled sadly, crossing over to a beautiful cabinet engraved with elephants and stained various shades of red and orange and gold. "This was in your grandparents' living room. Sirius got stuck in it once when we played hide-and-seek with some of Euphemia's friends' grandkids."
Harry snickered, feeling the emotion well in his chest. These things all belonged to his family, had memories for his father or his grandparents or other relatives. He would never learn those memories.
"I can't claim any of the Potter properties until I'm of age, can I?" he asked sadly. Farlig cleared his throat.
"Not legally. But were you to visit one and ask the wards for access, as the last blood Potter, they are unlikely to deny you," he said shiftily. "We at Gringotts cannot pass on the deed until you are a legal adult, but as none of your properties are under any sort of Fidelius that we know of, there is nothing stopping you from finding them."
A slow smirk crept over Harry's lips. "Huh. Good to know." He was happy at Seren Du, but there was a war coming, and God only knew what might happen. It was nice to know he had options.
This was the hardest vault of them all to walk away from with only the family book. Remus squeezed him around the shoulders, kissing his hair. "We'll come back," he promised. "We'll sit and look at every single item in the vault, if you want to."
He did. He really, really did.
Finally, he asked Farlig to take them back up to the surface so they could head home. It was so different, seeing all those heirlooms in person rather than just a list on a roll of parchment. His entire family history, crammed into a handful of vaults. Remnants from when all four families had had dozens of people within them, multiple lines to inherit and collect and claim items from the vaults, enough to fill all of the family houses. Now it was just Harry. What was he supposed to do with all that stuff?
As the cart flew through the tunnels beneath the bank, Harry let himself dream. He dreamed of a house with a huge garden, with the elephant cabinet in the living room and the bright rugs on the floor, and the Peverell family silverware in the cupboards — Sirius could have the Black family stuff, wherever he was living. He dreamed of several sets of tiny footsteps running through hallways, and a ring from the Potter vaults sitting on a pale, thin-fingered hand. He blushed, glad the darkness in the catacombs hid his embarrassment from Remus. Maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself there.
But it was a nice dream.