Ch304- Letter
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After dropping his trunk in his room, he made his way downstairs, where Petunia was already setting the table. The kitchen smelled faintly of roast, a simple but familiar meal waiting for him.
He looked at Petunia with a small smile. "Didn't know you liked brunches."
She smiled back, setting the table. "Well, I know they feed you at Hogwarts, but I thought you might be hungry. You’ve had a long trip."
Harry sat down, glancing at the spread on the table. There was a decent variety—toast, eggs, sausages, and even a small fruit bowl in the middle. Nothing too fancy, but certainly more effort than usual.
"Thanks," he said simply, reaching for some toast. "It looks good."
Petunia poured Harry a glass of juice and sat down across from him, her fork spearing a piece of egg. "So, who’s coming to Yule?" she asked, cutting into her food. "Your friends must be excited."
Harry nodded, taking a bite of toast before responding. "Yeah, pretty much everyone who was at the birthday party. Families, too. It’s going to be a full house." He gestured towards the plate. "This is good, by the way."
Petunia hummed, clearly pleased with his compliment but not dwelling on it. "I imagine it’ll be quite the gathering then."
The next day, the two of them decided to head out for some shopping, something they hadn’t done in a while. Harry, having spent most of his time at Hogwarts, enjoyed the break. They hit a few familiar Muggle stores first, grabbing things Petunia had on her list.
After wrapping up their Muggle errands, Harry and Petunia made their way toward Diagon Alley. The familiar bustling atmosphere of wizards and witches preparing for the holiday season was as vibrant as ever. Stalls were filled with magical trinkets, enchanted ornaments, and all manner of oddities for sale. Harry’s eyes scanned the crowd, feeling the pulse of the magical world around him but more so, he was eager to get to Gringotts.
Once they arrived at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Harry and Petunia settled down at a table by the window. Petunia was flipping through her shopping list, not looking particularly hurried but focused on what they needed. Harry, on the other hand, had his mind elsewhere. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table as he scanned the menu, though he wasn’t thinking about ice cream.
When the waiter came by, Petunia ordered something light—a strawberry sundae—while Harry chose a basic scoop of chocolate. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching people walk by outside.
"Simple," Grimbletack continued. "Before Gringotts had a physical presence in human territory, we goblins were still handling the banking. The Founders' vaults were elsewhere before we established this building. After the war between wizards and goblins, we consolidated our operations here. Same goes for the Peverell vault."
Harry listened as Grimbletack pushed the heavy vault door open with a groaning creak. He stepped inside, the cool air washing over him, the weight of history hanging in the space. Rows of shelves lined the room, filled with ancient artifacts, books, and treasure—centuries of Slytherin legacy locked away.
Grimbletack remained at the door, his sharp eyes scanning the vault. "Everything here has been waiting for the rightful heir, Mr. Potter."
Grimbletack stood aside and summoned his desk, already settling down to work. "Take your time," he said, not even glancing back at Harry.
Harry stepped into the vault, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a low groan. Inside, the room was cold, not just from the stone but from the weight of centuries of Slytherin legacy, locked away until now. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, artifacts, and small chests of treasure, each one likely holding some piece of history.
He moved past a stack of ancient tomes, his fingers brushing the spines of the books. They were worn with age, but there was no dust. Everything here had been preserved perfectly, waiting for him—or someone like him—to claim it.
At the center of the vault, Harry spotted a pedestal. Resting on it was a parchment, marked with faded but distinct symbols. "A letter?" he muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes.
He reached out and picked it up, instantly recognizing the familiar slithering script of Parselrunes. His fingers traced over the letters as he began to read aloud in Parseltongue, the words curling from his lips like a soft hiss.
To the Heir of Slytherin...
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