Chapter Text
Harry’s POV:
Harry Potter did not like crowds. He preferred solitude over the presence of others—the one, and only, exception being his brother. Other people made him nervous, and jumpy, rendering him constantly on-guard. It was worse when his brother was involved because—though Harry was older by only a mere few minutes—he was protective of his little brother above all else.
So, when the crowd of strangers occupying the Leaky Cauldron began to flock towards them—like moths drawn to a flame—Harry’s first instinct was to grab his brother’s arm and haul him closer.
Seren, who Harry knew hated crowds even more than he did, went easily—pressing tightly against Harry’s side and practically molding the two of them together. Subtly, Harry angled his body a bit in front of Seren’s—trying not to draw the attention of either the crowd, or Seren, to his protective efforts. Harry’s brother took every attempt Harry made at being protective as a personal offense, and would be simultaneously embarrassed and irate if he were to notice.
Seren, however, was too busy darting his eyes all around the room, seemingly trying in vain to find some quick exit they could slip through to escape.
It was futile, Harry knew, but he too scanned his eyes around the room, trying to find some way out of having to confront the rapidly advancing crowd. Not even Hagrid seemed very inclined to help them escape their fates—standing off to the side with a smile, as if he had expected this outcome. If he had, Harry thought it was rather impolite to not at least give them some warning beforehand.
“Mr. Potter,” came the voice of a small man with a top hat on, who ripped Harry from his thoughts by grasping Harry’s hand uninvited and shaking it vigorously, “an absolute honor to meet you! Diggle is the name. Dedalus Diggle.”
Harry squinted at the man, a spark of recognition flashing through him. “I know you! You bowed to me once in a shop,” he said, feeling more creeped out than he did honored. Strangers in odd clothing had done such things to him and Seren in the past, but neither had ever thought much of it.
“He remembers!” cried Dedalus Diggle—a horrendous name, truly—looking around at everyone. “Did you hear that? He remembers me!”
“Mr. Potter,” came the sound of a woman’s voice, who was addressing Seren. “I can’t believe I’m meeting you at last! I am just so proud,” she said with tears in her eyes, as if she were their mother congratulating them for graduating from primary school. Harry had to resist the urge to rip Seren away from her when she reached out to shake his brother’s hand.
More people descended upon them from all sides, throwing out their names which went in one ear and right out the other for Harry. They continued congratulating them, telling them how proud they were, how honored they were to meet them. Harry noticed the look in his brother’s eyes turning from amazement and anxiousness to annoyance quite quickly, and Harry felt himself following suit. It seemed tactless to congratulate two children on surviving the night a mad-man tried to kill them when neither of their parents did.
“You have every bit of your father’s countenance, Mr. Potter,” said one of the other patrons—who wore a mustard yellow robe and a pointy hat—to Harry.
“And you look just like your mother, Mr. Potter,” another woman followed suit, and, this time, Harry did pull Seren away when the woman reached out to touch a lock of his brother's hair uninvited. It didn’t seem to faze her, however, as she merely smiled. “Hair, eyes, and all!”
Seren was frowning deeply at the woman, his brow knitting in a way that told Harry he was close to lashing out.
“ Hatchlingsss in danger ?” came the sound of a faint hiss from around Harry’s torso which, thankfully, all of the other patrons of the bar were too busy talking over each other to hear. “ Kill for hatchlingsss ?”
There were too many eyes on Harry for him to respond, so he settled for subtly stroking the snake over his shirt, disguising it as him rubbing his stomach. He hoped the snake got the message.
Just then, a pale young man made his way forward. He appeared very nervous, wringing his hands and trembling as one of his eyes twitched visibly.
“Professor Quirrell!” Hagrid exclaimed. “Lads, Professor Quirrel will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”
“Mr. P-P-Potter’s,” Professor Quirrell nodded at Harry and Seren, “c-c-can’t t-tell you how p-p-pleased I am to meet you both.”
“What kind of magic do you teach at Hogwarts, Professor?” Harry asked, very much willing to take this new introduction as the out it was.
“D-D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts,” Professor Quirrell muttered, as if the words pained him.
Harry shared a look with Seren, sudden intrigue causing their green eyes to light up in tandem.
“Not that the two of you need it, eh, P-P-Potter’s?” Professor Quirrell laughed nervously. The twins scowled in unison at the comment and, when neither responded, Quirrell looked even more nervous than before. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I-I’ve got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, myself,” said Quirrell, looking terrified at just the thought.
Harry pointedly ignored the sudden reveal of the existence of vampires, focusing instead on how utterly nerve-stricken the professor appeared. He was supposed to be teaching a class called Defense Against the Dark Arts? If the class was anything like Harry imagined it would be, he couldn’t see how Quirrell would manage to be a very good teacher if he was so terrified of his own subject.
As Harry glanced sideways at his brother, he noticed the doubtful look Seren was giving Professor Quirrel also, and figured that he must be feeling much the same way.
“Speakin’ of pickin’ up books,” said Hagrid then, placing a hand on Harry and Seren’s shoulders, “the twins must be gettin’ off to pick up theirs!”
The crowd deflated but, internally, Harry himself rejoiced.
Though it took another ten minutes to finally get away from everyone—who seemed keen on going through a whole second round of introductions and hand shaking—Hagrid eventually led Harry and Seren through the bar, out the back, and into a small, walled courtyard.
“Told yeh two yeh were famous!” Hagrid laughed cheerily. “Everyone was just chompin’ at the bit to meet yehs! Even Professor Quirrell was trembling… though he’s usually tremblin’, mind.”
“Is he always so nervous?” Seren asked, still standing pressed against Harry’s side—neither of them keen on separating too far from each other should they be ambushed all over again.
“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin‘ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o‘ trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where‘s me umbrella?”
“Vampires…” Harry heard Seren murmur to himself as he shook his head, looking almost dazed.
Harry reached for his brother's hand and gave it a squeeze, grounding him. Seren shot him a grateful look and squeezed back. Neither of them let go afterwards, both needing reassurance as Hagrid stepped up to a brick wall and began tapping it with the tip of his umbrella.
“Three up… two across,” the giant murmured to himself.
Seren’s POV:
“Three up… two across,” Seren heard Hagrid murmuring, and he watched closely as Hagrid tapped the brick wall, memorizing the pattern. He wasn’t sure if he would ever need it, but thought he should pay attention just in case.
The last brick Hagrid touched quivered and, in the middle, a small hole appeared—a hole that grew larger and larger until, suddenly, there was a massive archway leading onto a cobbled street that turned and twisted out of sight.
“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”
All three stepped through the archway—the twins following closely behind Hagrid—and Seren glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch as the archway disappeared and became a brick wall once more. For a moment, a pang of anxiety hit him— would they be able to leave? —but he quickly shoved it down as Harry tugged on his hand and they continued following Hagrid up the cobbled street.
There were a multitude of shops crammed side by side as they walked up the street, and Seren stared in wonder at everything and everyone he saw. There were people wearing strange clothing, buying strange things, and making strange comments all around them.
If Uncle Vernon were here he would have a fit, Seren thought to himself, Aunt Petunia would have fifty fits .
Nothing about anything was normal in Diagon Alley—not in the Muggle-sense, at least—and Seren was in love .
There was a woman outside an Apothecary, muttering “Dragon liver, seventeen sickles an ounce, they’re mad…” to herself as they passed by, and Seren silently wondered what on Earth a dragon liver would be used for… and, better yet, how anyone acquired one in the first place.
Seren was distracted from his thoughts, however, when a little further ahead of them there was a group of children standing with their faces pressed against the window of a shop that sold what looked like… brooms?
“The nimbus two-thousand! Fastest ever—” One of the children exclaimed, though Seren, Harry, and Hagrid walked out of earshot before Seren could hear the rest. Seren had always figured that the speed of a broom entirely depended on who was wielding it to sweep, but thought that maybe chores were done differently in the Wixen word?
There were shops selling robes, cauldrons, owls, telescopes and other strange silver instruments. There were windows stacked with spell books, potions, quills, globes, and so much more. Seren didn’t know what to focus on—his senses were overloaded, and his mind had a million different thoughts whirling around in it, and he struggled to grasp any single one and follow it. He relied solely on the sensation of his brother tugging his hand to help lead him through the thick crowd as he stared at everything in amazement—there was so much to see, so much to learn, so much to understand !
“Ah, ‘ere we are!” Hagrid exclaimed suddenly, and Seren let out an ‘oof’ as he accidentally slammed into Harry, who had come to a sudden halt with Hagrid.
Harry instinctively clutched him close as they both teetered, on the verge of falling, but Hagrid studied them both with a large hand on each of their shoulders. Harry shot Seren an annoyed look as they straightened, and Seren—ever-poised and very mature for his age—stuck his tongue out in retaliation, to which Harry responded in kind.
Hagrid huffed what sounded like a laugh, and distracted them both by pointing up at a tall, snow-white building that towered over every shop in Diagon Alley. It seemed to be made entirely of marble, besides its massive, bronze doors, where two guards—wearing uniforms of scarlet and gold—stood armed and stoic.
The guards were a whole head shorter than Seren or Harry—who were both rather short for their age, though Seren was an inch taller than his brother—and they had clever faces, black eyes, and pointed beards. Their ears were pointed also, their faces extremely sharp and angular, and their noses were large and significantly hooked. Startlingly, they had a mouth full of razor-sharp, pointed teeth, which only added to their intimidating presence despite their significantly shorter statures.
“Are those…?”
“Goblins, yes,” Hagrid confirmed before Seren could finish his question. “Welcome to Gringotts, Seren, Harry.”
Hagrid walked them up the steps to the bank, and the pair of goblins on either side of the bronze doors bowed as they went through. Seren, without thinking, hastily bowed back—figuring it was how the goblins must greet each other, and the last thing he wanted to do was disrespect them in their own establishment.
They were directed through the bronze doors, only to encounter another set of doors—silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
Seren’s eyes widened.
“Told yeh,” grunted Hagrid. “You’d be mad ter try and rob the place… Never mess with a Goblin, yunglins.”
A second pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and, once again, Seren hastily bowed back, forcing Harry to do the same with a firm tug on his hand. The goblins appeared, for a moment, surprised, but bared their fanged-teeth at them soon after—a gesture Seren hoped was meant to be a smile and not a threat.
They entered a massive marble hall then, and there were a multitude of other goblins sitting behind tall desks—scribbling notes, weighing coins, and examining gems under magnifying glasses. There were countless doors leading out to other areas of the bank, and there were even more goblins leading other witches and wizards in and out of them.
Hagrid paid none of this any mind, and led them straight to a free goblin, who bowed at Hagrid’s approach.
“Morning,” Hagrid merely grunted in response. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry and Seren Potter’s safe.”
The goblin turned his black eyes on the twins and, before he had the opportunity to bow, Seren was already doing so, once again tugging Harry along with him. Harry seemed mildly annoyed at being jerked around, but didn’t try to protest or resist. Hagrid, however, looked at them as if they’d somehow fused together and sprouted three more heads at the same time.
But the goblin, Seren thought, looked very pleased, and Seren knew then that he had made the right choice.
“Well met, Master Seren Potter,” the Goblin bowed his head at Seren respectfully, “Master Harry Potter,” he said, then bowed to Harry as well.
“Erm, well met, Master…” Seren trailed off, panicking when he couldn’t find a name-tag on the goblins desk or uniform.
“Griphook,” the goblin finished for him.
“Well met, Master Griphook,” Seren, and Harry—who had managed to catch on—responded in unison.
Griphook bared his sharp teeth, which Seren was still hoping was meant to be a smile.
Hagrid looked stunned, as if he’d never seen such a thing before. Seren wondered why—if Hagrid was so adamant that the goblins weren’t to be crossed—the giant wouldn’t take the time to properly greet the goblins who presided over every Wixen’s financial affairs in most of Europe.
“You wish to make a withdrawal?” inquired Griphook.
“Uhm, we do,” said Seren. “We’re in need of money to purchase our school supplies,” he explained.
The goblin waved him off. “Explanations are not needed when they concern the matters of your private financial affairs,” he said. “I presume each of you possess a key to your respective vaults?”
Seren’s stomach dropped, and he shared an anxious look with Harry.
“Uhm, we don’t, sir—er, Master Griphook.”
The goblin frowned deeply at this, clearly displeased, but did not have the chance to speak before Hagrid was hastily butting in.
“Oh, I got it here somewhere!” he exclaimed, patting down his pockets, and going as far as to take out a handful of moldy dog biscuits and scatter them about the goblin’s book of numbers.
The goblin’s eyes narrowed sharply on Hagrid, but Seren had a sinking suspicion it was not concerning the dog biscuits that now littered his desk. “And why, may I ask, do you possess the key to Master Seren and Harry Potter’s vaults, and they do not?” he asked.
Hagrid, who had just managed to procure a gleaming, golden key, froze at the question. “Oh, er, well, I was given it by Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid.
Seren frowned this time. Why would the Headmaster of Hogwarts have their vault keys?
Griphook seemed to be wondering the same thing. “And Headmaster Dumbledore possesses their keys because…?”
“Erm, for safe-keepin’, I reckon,” Hagrid said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Seren’s eyes narrowed—either Hagrid knew and wasn’t willing to tell, or the giant didn’t know Dumbledore half as well as he thought he did. “Nevermind that all, here’s the key we need,” Hagrid continued, holding it out to the goblin.
The goblin took it, inspected it, then sneered. “Only one?” he asked Hagrid, seeming to focus his sudden ire on the giant. “I see two children before me, but only one key.”
“Dumbledore said it’s specifically meant fer their joint account.”
Griphook raised an eyebrow. “Joint account?”
“His words,” Hagrid shrugged.
The goblin hummed, observed the key for a moment longer, then handed it back to Hagrid. “I do believe Master Seren and Harry Potter are long overdue for a meeting with their account manager,” he said, hopping down from his stool and swiftly making his way to one of the many doors behind him.
“Oh, surely there’s no need fer such fuss—”
“Mr. Hagrid,” Griphook interrupted with a sigh, turning to face him with a displeased expression. Seren silently thought that absence of “Master” before Hagrid’s name was on purpose, and not a compliment. “It has been years since any of the Potter accounts have been touched, and it is necessary for the Primary and Secondary Heirs of the Potter House to be informed of their assets after so long away. Especially Heirs who seem… less than properly informed on the matter.”
Hagrid ran both of his large hands over his face and chewed on his lip the entire time Griphook was gone, muttering nervously to himself. Seren couldn’t make out any of the words besides the occasional “Dumbledore”.
“Something is really off about this,” Seren took the chance to speak to his brother, who’d been silently watching Hagrid pace about with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” Harry agreed seamlessly. “Why weren’t we given our keys from the very beginning?”
“And why did the headmaster of a boarding school have them instead?” Seren continued. “Why not give them to Aunt Petunia, our actual guardian?”
“Maybe because she’s not Wixen?”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Seren shrugged. “But still… why Dumbledore?”
“And what did Griphook mean when he called us ‘heirs’?” wondered Harry. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked at Seren, startled. “You don’t think we’re royalty or something, do you?”
Seren snorted. “Hardly. I’m guessing they’re referring to mum and dad’s wills… I mean, they must have left us something, right? Maybe that’s what we’re the heirs to?”
“Maybe.”
The reappearance of Griphook, who stood in the doorway of the door he’d disappeared into a few minutes prior, ceased their conversation.
“Master Harry and Master Seren Potter,” he said, gesturing to the door, “if you would please?”
Seren and Harry shared a look, then promptly made their way around the tall desk and towards the door they were being gestured through.
“Mr. Hagrid,” Griphook spoke tautly when Hagrid tried to follow, “this meeting is between the Potter account manager and House Potter’s heirs only. Confidential business.”
Hagrid frowned. “I’m not so sure two underage Wixen should be conductin’ confidential business without a guardian present, Mr. goblin,” he pointed out.
Griphook smiled thinly. “Are you their guardian, Mr. Hagrid?”
“I’m not.”
“Do they have any other magical guardian’s that you know of?”
“Perfessor Dumbledore—”
“Is counted as a magical guardian to orphaned, or otherwise displaced, underaged wixen attending Hogwarts only during term, which does not begin until September 1st,” Griphook interrupted. “For the summer months, the children’s magical guardian lies with The Ministry. Would you like to be the one to inform the D.M.L.E of the current situation? Two underage Wixen whose vault keys have been illegally held by another for the last several years? Better yet, would you like to be one to inform the Gringotts Council of the situation also?”
Hagrid shut his mouth, growing very pale, and he did not protest as Griphook turned and ushered Seren and Harry through the door, closing it behind them.
They’re led through several more doors until they come upon one with a golden plaque with the engraving: “Radagast”.
They’re ushered through quickly to find another goblin sitting behind a desk, wearing a suit and a spectacle.
Seren bowed instinctively when the goblin met his eyes, and Harry followed suit right behind him.
“Well met, Master Radagast,” they both greeted him.
Radagast’s eyebrows shot up, looking just as surprised as Griphook had—with whom Radagast shared a weighted look with before both were smiling.
“Well met, Master Seren Potter, Master Harry Potter,” Radagast said, bowing his head slightly. “I am House Potter’s Account Manager, and have been for many decades. Any and all questions you have regarding the financial welfare of your House, or any financial affairs you wish to take on as you come of age, will be answered and dealt with through me.”
“You keep calling it House Potter,” said Seren, interrupting before he could think better of it. “What does that mean, exactly? We’re not like… royalty, or something, are we?”
Radagast chuckled. “Not exactly royalty, no, but… similar, in regards to Wixen standards,” he said. “Your family, the Potter’s, are an extremely wealthy and ancient house. For many years, they were considered a part of The Sacred Twenty-Eight.”
“What is ‘The Sacred Twenty-Eight’?”
“Twenty-eight of the most powerful, pureblood families in the Wixen world.”
Seren hesitated. “What… what does ‘pureblood’ mean?”
The goblins shared a weighted look.
“If I may, Master Potter’s,” said Radagast, “did the two of you grow up in the Wixen or Muggle world?”
“Muggle,” the twins answered together.
“We didn’t find out we were wizards until, well, yesterday,” said Harry. Rubbing the back of his neck.
Radagast sighed heavily, while Griphook pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated. “The Saviors of the Wizarding World,” he murmured dryly, “muggle-raised.”
“We’re not saviors of anything,” Seren denied immediately, Harry nodding rapidly in agreement. “We were babies when Voldemort attacked us. Whatever happened to him was chance, not the result of anything we did.”
Radagast smiled. “I can appreciate your candor, Master Seren.”
Seren shrugged.
“I think we’re both a little tired of being hailed as heroes for something that we didn’t even do. For something that literally killed our parents and made us orphans,” said Harry, agreeing with Seren. Seren felt relieved—he’d yet to have an opportunity to properly discuss the situation with his brother, and he was happy to know that Harry felt the same way he did.
“Sound minds, the both of you,” Radagast complimented with another bow of his head. “To answer your earlier question, a pureblood is a witch or wizard who has no muggle ancestors. A witch or wizard who derives solely from a magical family.”
“But we didn’t,” said Seren. “Our Aunt Petunia, our mum’s sister, she’s non-magical… Actually, I’m pretty sure all of our mum's family were muggles.”
“They were indeed,” said Radagast. “Notice, I said that the Potter’s used to be a part of the Twenty-Eight.”
“So if our dad was a pureblood, and our mum a muggle-born, that makes us…?” Harry trailed off.
“Half-bloods,” said Radagast.
“So, we were the end of ‘The Sacred Twenty-Eight?” asked Seren.
“Officially, yes,” said Radagast. “But, in all actuality, there is no such thing as a truly pureblooded family. Every Wixen family, even those a part of The Twenty-Eight, have had muggle-blood at one point or another.”
“Oh, well, why is it such a big deal at all, then?”
“There is an old, blood-purist idea that Muggle-blood dilutes the magic of family’s. They believe muggle-blood to be dirty and impure, creating weak witches and wizards that, ultimately, weaken the entire bloodline. For this reason, many Purebloods actively discriminate against Muggle-borns and any who are known to possess Muggle-blood. Furthermore, they often, hypocritically, refuse to acknowledge their own Muggle-blood running through their veins”
“Is any of it true?” Seren asked. “Does Muggle-blood really create weaker witches and wizards?”
“Not in any way that is confirmable,” said Radagast truthfully. “There have been plenty of extremely powerful muggle-born Wixen who have, in turn, also conceived extremely powerful Wixen children.”
“Are there any valid reasons for Purebloods to hate Muggle-Borns at all?” he asked, curious. He wasn’t condoning the mistreatment of anyone just for the circumstances of their birth, but he wanted to understand all sides before delivering judgment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry leaning forward, obviously curious as well.
Radagast considered Seren’s question carefully. “Wixens have a culture. A religion. A belief system. All of which is very dear to them, intrinsic to their very beings,” he explained seriously. “Over the years, however, much of this has started to become… obsolete, in the eyes of The Ministry. According to certain Pureblood families, this is because Muggle-Born’s, who enter Wixen society ignorant to such foundational beliefs, have begun eradicating Wixen culture due to misplaced fear and ignorance as they’ve gained stronger footholds in Wixen government.”
“Is it true?” asked Harry this time.
Once again, Radagast took a moment to ponder the question. “I do believe there is… credence to such theories,” he admitted. “But do I believe that constitutes blind genocide of muggle-Borns? I do not.”
“Genocide?” Seren asked, eyes wide.
Radagast smiled ruefully. “Muggle’s are not the only ones who have a knack for war, Master Seren,” he said. “One of the greatest, most vicious Wixen wars only ended ten years ago, on the night of All Hallow’s Eve. The night the two of you somehow survived an encounter with Lord Voldemort, with only a scar to show for it.”
“Hagrid told us that Voldemort disappeared that night. He says most people think he’s gone for good, but others…”
Radagast nodded. “No one knows for sure whether that night truly put an end to Voldemort, or merely delayed the inevitable,” he said. “I suppose only time will tell.”
Seren had a million more questions, but Radagast held up a hand, stopping him.
“I understand that there is much you don’t know, and much you wish to learn, but I’m afraid that now is not the time for such discussions. Nor do I believe I am the one you should be having them with,” he said, honestly.
“I appreciate your candor, Master Radagast,” Seren parroted Radagast’s earlier comment, causing the goblin to smile again.
“Now then, it is time we discuss your vaults, and the matters of your heirships,” said Radagast, nodding to Griphook, who promptly exited the room. “Which of you is the eldest twin?”
“I am,” said Harry.
“As the eldest son, you are the Primary Heir to House Potter, which includes its lordship, and all of its properties and fortunes,” explained Radagast. “As Secondary Heir, Master Seren, you are entitled to a few select properties reserved for Secondary Heirs, as well as a few bank vaults reserved for the same purpose. However, the Primary Heir does retain the right to revoke these inheritances should—”
“No way,” Harry said, frowning deeply. “What’s mine is my brothers.”
Radagast raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“He has as much of a right to everything as I do,” Harry affirmed, crossing his arms and glaring somewhat unnecessarily at the goblin before them.
Seren couldn’t help but smile and, surprisingly, so too did Radagast.
“If that is how you feel, Master Harry, I could not dissuade you,” said Radagast. “Should you feel the same when you come of age, you reserve the right to divide up properties and vaults as you see fit. Meaning, if one day you wish to split all of House Potter’s assets between the two of you equally, you will have every right to do so.”
Harry nodded, accepting this.
“Admittedly, however, none of that matters at present. Considering you are both underaged, and the lordship cannot be claimed until you reach your majority, you will not have access to House Potter’s primary vaults, financial affairs, or assets, until you turn sixteen and are rendered an adult in the eyes of Wixen Law,” Radagast informed them. “However, the both of you do hold rights and access to your shared, personal vault. The vault serves three purposes: one is a small fortune for both of you, enough to cover all of your school expenses for the entirety of your seven years at Hogwarts. The second purpose is meant for personal funding.”
“Personal funding?” asked Seren, trying very hard to digest the overload of information being thrown at them.
“Until you reach adulthood, and subsequently inherit the rest of your fortunes, this vault will act as your primary source of income. Anything you may ever want, or need, over the next seven years is meant to be paid for by the finances found in this vault, and each of you have complete and total access to its contents.”
“How much is there?” Seren asked, mentally already trying to budget and find a way to make it all last for the both of them.
Radagast took a glance at the parchment in front of him. “Approximately 421,699 Galleons, 3 sickles, and 13 knuts.”
Seren swayed on his feet. “And how much is that in pounds, exactly?”
“ £ 2,100,062,” Radagast answered promptly. “A little over a million for each of you, I presume.”
“Oh.”
Next to him, Harry swayed also, both of them feeling faint.
They’d never had money of their own before.
“That’s, like, enough to live on for our entire lives,” said Seren, in shock.
Radagast inclined his head slightly in agreement. “It certainly could be,” he affirmed. “Clearly, your parents wanted to ensure the two of you were financially secure in the wake of their absences.”
They must have cared a lot, Seren thought to himself, feeling simultaneously warmed and saddened by the thought. He and his brother had never had anyone care so much, and it was a nice feeling to know that their mum and dad did care… but they were dead. The only two people who had ever seemed to care for them were both dead.
“What’s the third purpose?” Harry asked then, startling Seren from his thoughts. At Radagast’s inquiring look, Harry amended, “You said the vault served three purposes, two of which are school funds and personal funds… What’s the third thing?”
“Ah, well, your parents also used this vault to stow away a few family artifacts and other personal items.” Radagast hesitated, then slowly continued. “And… much of what was left behind in your parents home after the attack is located within this vault.”
“How come?” asked Seren.
“Upon the death of James Potter, Lord of House Potter, the main vaults were immediately locked down, seeing as there was, at the time, no viable, of-age heir to inherit them. Your joint vault, however, remained open, as it was meant entirely for the two of you… Truth be told, Master Potter’s, your vault was the only place it all could go.”
The twins nodded their heads slowly, digesting the information. Radagast watched them with keen eyes, a knowing look on his face.
“I do believe,” the goblin started, sounding uncharacteristically gentle, “that the two of you have had more than enough information foisted upon you for one day.”
“What about the whole vault key thing?” Seren couldn’t help but ask one more question.
Radagast’s eyes narrowed. “It is entirely against Gringotts policy for someone to possess a vault key that is not their own. The fact that your key has been in the hands of Albus Dumbledore who, by all accounts, only acts as your guardian during the Hogwarts term as Headmaster, is in direct violation of many of our policies.”
“So is he gonna be, like, in trouble?”
Radagast grimaced. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Albus Dumbledore is an… extremely influential figure within all branches of the Wixen government. It is very unlikely that any charges brought against him will ever make it to court.”
“That makes it seem like he has too much power then, right?” said Seren. “I mean, if he’s so powerful that he’s able to bend the law and escape the consequences for it, that's just… too much.”
Radagast observed Seren carefully. “You are exceptionally bright for someone of your age…” he murmured. “Perhaps you will be a Ravenclaw.”
Seren frowned. “Ravenclaw?”
Radagast sighed and waved him off dismissively. “Nevermind that now, I’m sure you’ll receive the full run-down of it all from Mr. Hagrid,” he said. “Now, let us take you both to your vault.”