Chapter Text
To Heir Harry James Potter,
It has come to the attention of Gringotts Wizarding Bank that on the 31st of October, 1994, you were officially emancipated by the esteemed Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and your magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore. This significant event means that you are now of legal age in the wizarding world, granted the rights and responsibilities that come with such an honour.
In light of this development, Gringotts would like to formally acknowledge the change in your legal status and request your immediate presence at our vaults. Enclosed within this letter, you will find a Portkey which will transport you directly to Gringotts. Use the phrase ‘Emancipation’ to activate the Portkey and ensure a safe journey.
Once you have arrived, you are requested to meet with your dedicated account manager, Griphook, at your earliest convenience. The matter at hand is of the utmost importance: the formal acceptance of your Lordship and the responsibilities that come with this title. This includes, but is not limited to, the oversight of the Potter family vaults, the proper management of the Potter estate, and the inheritance of any lands or properties that are now legally under your care.
Gringotts, as the keeper of your family’s legacy, is prepared to assist you in navigating these matters with the utmost care and professionalism. As this is a significant moment in both your personal and family history, we urge you to attend to this matter without delay.
We trust that you will make the necessary arrangements to meet with Mr. Griphook promptly, so that all formalities may be settled.
Should you require any assistance prior to your meeting, please feel free to contact Gringotts through your secure correspondence channels. We look forward to facilitating the smooth transition of your new status.
Sincerely,
Chief Ragnok
Head of Gringotts Account Managers
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Harry sat at his small desk, the weight of the letter in his hands a stark reminder of just how much his life had changed in the past 24 hours. His eyes, still blurry from lack of sleep, traced the carefully penned words once more. The letter, though formally written, seemed to hold a gravity that sent a shiver down his spine. Gringotts, the bank of all wizarding wealth and power, had reached out to him. Emancipated . It was a term he'd only ever read about in the library when hiding from Dudley and his friends, a term that meant he was no longer under the care of any guardians.
But the news came on the heels of the nightmare that had unfolded since his name had been dragged from the Goblet of Fire. The past day had felt like a blur of hostility-sneers, hexes, and accusations thrown his way, all as if the entire school had forgotten the simple fact that Harry had no control over what had happened. He was no stranger to being a target, but the venomous remarks, the suspicion in every glance, made him feel more alone than ever.
The hexes had come first-quick, sharp curses from students who couldn't believe his words of denial, as if his placement in the tournament itself had been his personal betrayal. He’d hidden in the Owlery long enough to calm himself, but even there, in the quiet solitude, the words lingered- traitor , cheater , fame-hungry .
But this letter…this letter felt different. It was from Gringotts. Not a warning, not a letter of consequence regarding his fame or his part in the tournament, but something else entirely. His fingers tightened around the parchment as he reread the lines one more time, his heart hammering in his chest.
Emancipated.
He wasn’t just a teenager anymore. No longer under the Ministry’s care, or the Dersley’s or even Dumbledore's-something he hadn’t even known about-he was a wizard of legal standing. A Lord .
He wasn't sure how to feel about it. He’d only just turned fourteen, yet here he was, being thrust into a world of power, responsibility, and history that he could barely begin to comprehend. He had thought, for a fleeting moment, that maybe he could still be a child-still protected by the walls of Hogwarts and the people who cared for him. But it seemed those walls had crumbled.
His hands, still shaking, turned the letter over to reveal a small golden coin, the weight of it surprisingly heavy in his palm. He couldn’t quite place why it felt so important, but the sense of foreboding only grew stronger the longer he held it. With a deep breath, Harry bit his lip, resisting the urge to put the coin down. Could the Goblins help him? Could they somehow offer a way out of the tournament? A loophole, perhaps, a legal clause regarding his newfound status as a lord, something that would allow him to opt out of the deadly competition without anyone questioning him?
He needed an answer, and Gringotts might just have one.
His mind raced with possibilities, but one thing was certain-he had no choice but to follow through. The Goblins had summoned him, and to ignore them would be to risk even more unknown consequences. Clutching the coin tightly, Harry whispered the activation phrase aloud.
"Emancipation."
The moment the word left his lips, a sharp, uncomfortable tug pulled at his bellybutton. His body lurched forward as though a giant invisible hand had gripped him, and before he could brace himself, the world around him spun into a dizzying whirl of colours and lights. His stomach churned as the nausea from the Portkey washed over him, and he fought the urge to double over, to ground himself in the dizzying sensation. It felt as though the very fabric of reality was warping around him.
In a matter of seconds, the vertigo ceased, and the world snapped back into focus. Harry blinked, his vision still blurred from the disorienting journey. He found himself standing inside a vast, marble-floored hall, the towering golden pillars of Gringotts surrounding him. The cavernous space was illuminated by an eerie golden glow, the light bouncing off the walls and highlighting the intricate designs etched into every surface.
A low hum of activity filled the air-Goblins moved briskly between counters and vaults, their sharp eyes flicking toward Harry as he stumbled to steady himself. The sheer scale of the place overwhelmed him. The grandeur, the wealth, the power that emanated from every stone and corner, made him feel smaller than ever.
And yet, at the same time, there was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that seemed to whisper this is your world now .
The world stopped spinning soon enough, and the nauseating feeling in Harry's stomach began to fade as he took steadying breaths. When his bearings returned, he scanned the room for an open till. Spotting one, he approached, feeling nervous under the scrutiny of the Goblin standing before him.
“I-I’m Harry Potter,” he stammered, trying to sound confident, though it came out more like a question than anything. “I’m here to speak to Griphook?”
The Goblin sneered for a moment before thrusting his clawed hand out.
“Key.” It demanded. Harry’s heart sank.
“I-I’ve never been given a key to my vaults. It’s with Dumbledore. I can-”
The Goblin interrupted him with a frustrated huff, then beckoned him forward with a sharp gesture of its finger. Harry reluctantly stepped closer, flinching as the Goblin pointed a knife at him.
“Woah-!” Harry blurted, taken aback.
“Blood,” the Goblin said flatly. “Blood doesn’t lie.”
It repeated the command, and Harry, confused but following suit, gingerly took the knife. The Goblin placed a small scrap of parchment on the counter. Harry awkwardly pricked his finger and dropped a few drops of blood onto it, before quickly sucking his finger to stop the bleeding.
It took a moment, but soon the name ‘ Hadrian James Potter ’ appeared on the parchment.
“Huh, I didn’t realize that was my-” Harry began, but the Goblin snatched up the paper before he could finish and scurried off.
“Come!” it barked, drawing the attention of a few other wizards nearby. Heat rushed to Harry's cheeks, and he quickly followed the Goblin, wishing he could avoid the sudden spotlight.
The walk felt like an eternity, winding through long, twisting corridors. Harry was certain he would have gotten lost without the Goblin leading the way. Finally, they arrived at an obsidian door with a plaque covered in Gobblygook.
“In.” the Goblin ordered, giving Harry a push. Harry barely caught himself before the door slammed shut behind him, and another voice greeted him.
“Harry Potter,” it intoned, sounding faintly annoyed. Harry looked up to see a Goblin seated behind a large, ornate desk, its hands steepled in front of it. “I’ve been trying to contact you for some time. I am your account manager, Griphook. I think it’s time we had a conversation about what that means.”
“I...I never received any previous letters-” Harry began, settling into the chair opposite Griphook, but the Goblin waved him off dismissively.
“We are aware,” Griphook replied in his gravelly voice, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Your magical signature never touched the letters that were sent. We are currently investigating the cause.” He paused for a moment, before shifting his focus. “But that is not why you’re here. We need to discuss your emancipation-and what that will mean for you. I understand you were entered into the Triwizard Tournament against your will?”
Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, irritation flashing across his face. He immediately shook his head, his voice tight with frustration.
“I’ve said it a hundred times, and I’ll say it again. I didn’t enter the tournament. I was forced into it. I don’t want to compete-I wanted to have a normal bloody year!” Harry's voice trailed off in frustration, the weight of the past few months pressing down on him. Griphook remained unfazed, his sharp features impassive as he responded.
“You’ve been given an opportunity,” he said simply, his voice cutting through Harry’s rant like a blade. “The emancipation you now hold would typically require months, if not years, of pursuit. But that’s not the case here. You’ve been granted it swiftly, and with it, comes a unique advantage.” Griphook’s clawed fingers scratched thoughtfully at his chin. “The rules of the tournament…there are ways we can exploit them. But before we discuss that, we need to test for the Lordships.”
“Wait-what? I won’t have to compete?” Harry felt a small flicker of hope light up inside him, his heart giving a cautious lurch. But Griphook merely hummed in acknowledgement, his expression unreadable.
“If we can exploit the rules,” Griphook said, his voice low and even, “then you can indeed have that ‘normal’ year you crave.” He reached under his desk and pulled out two small velvet boxes. “Now, due to your parents’ death, you are the only eligible person to inherit the Potter Lordship. It is customary for the heir to the Potter title to also be tested for the Peverell Lordship-though, I should note, no one has successfully claimed it for centuries. Since Ignotus Peverell, the fifth of his name, there has not been a claimant. He was the father of Iolanthe Peverell, who later married into the Potter family.”
“Peverell?” Harry echoed, his brow furrowing. The name was familiar, but it took him a moment to connect the dots. “Like in The Tales of Beedle the Bard ?” Griphook nodded briefly, his eyes gleaming with a kind of ancient knowledge.
“Exactly,” he replied, pushing one of the boxes toward Harry. “This is the Potter Lordship ring. Place it on your right pointer finger. If it accepts you, it will shrink to fit your size. You’ll feel a…change.”
Harry stared at the box, his curiosity piqued. He opened it carefully, revealing the ring nestled inside. It was a rich gold, the band inlaid with deep, glowing rubies. The front of the ring was engraved with an intricate design- a triangle with a line through the middle, and a circle nestled within the triangle. Beneath the triangle were strange words, written in a language Harry didn’t recognize. He’d ask about that later.
Tentatively, Harry slipped the ring onto his right pointer finger. At first, it was too large, but then a strange, searing heat spread through the metal. Harry winced slightly, feeling it grow unbearably hot-until, suddenly, it shrank to fit him perfectly.
The moment the ring settled around his finger, something within him shifted. A rush of magic flooded through him, intense and alive. Harry’s chest filled with a blazing warmth, as if the heat from the ring had spread throughout his very core. It was exhilarating and dizzying all at once, like his magic was singing inside him, rejoicing at his acceptance of the Lordship.
His heart raced as the sensation pulsed through him, the energy swirling around him like a tangible force, but also a familiar one-as though his very magic was happy, relieved even, that he had taken on this responsibility.
“That feeling you’re experiencing-your magic now knows it has a purpose, a higher claim.” Griphook said, his voice soft but knowing, as if this was exactly what he had expected.
Harry's breath hitched. He had never felt anything like it before, this overwhelming surge of power, of purpose. It was as if he were more connected to the magic around him than ever before, and it was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
“And now, the Peverell Lordship,” Griphook said, his voice as calm and impassive as ever. He pushed the second box across the desk toward Harry.
Harry swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing on him. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the box. The ring inside was strikingly similar to the Potter Lordship ring-engraved with the same triangle, circle, and line-but this one had additional, intricate detail. A skeletal hand hovered above and below the triangle, as though it were holding the symbol in place, or perhaps revealing its secrets to Harry. Unlike the golden, ruby-encrusted Potter ring, this one was crafted from a stunning opal stone that shimmered with soft hues of green, blue, and purple, its surface reflecting the light in a way that felt almost…alive.
With quiet curiosity and a growing sense of awe, Harry slipped the ring onto his finger. The moment it touched his skin, the familiar, intense heat surged through him, just like the Potter ring had. But this time, there was something else-a creeping coldness that started in the ring and slowly wound its way up his arm, burrowing into his chest. The contrast between the heat and the cold was disorienting, yet Harry didn’t pull away. He let the sensation wash over him, a strange fusion of power and chilling clarity.
It took a few moments, but eventually, the ring shrank to fit him perfectly, the magic of the Peverell line accepting him as its heir. The coldness receded, leaving him with a different kind of energy, a quiet and ancient strength that hummed through his veins.
“A Lord to both Potter and Peverell,” Griphook said, his tone flat but carrying the weight of centuries of tradition. “Two old bloodlines, one reawakened, both continuing.” He closed the velvet box, sliding it back toward himself with a swift motion. “You will now have many responsibilities, young Lord, responsibilities that you must carry with you from this moment on. I’ll provide you with a list of texts to help you understand your role and obligations in society.”
Harry blinked, the magnitude of what had just happened sinking in, but his thoughts quickly turned back to something that had been gnawing at him.
“But the tournament…” he began, his voice faltering slightly. Griphook raised a hand, cutting him off.
“Time works differently in this room, Harry Potter.” His eyes gleamed with something akin to pride or perhaps even amusement. “The world outside remains at seven forty-five until you leave. It’s an ancient Goblin magic, meant to ensure that no matter what, you have the time you need to fulfil your duties and your responsibilities. So, we have all the time in the world to discuss the tournament, your new titles, and everything else.” Griphook’s voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “Now, do you require a drink before we begin?”
Harry, who had barely realised how parched he was, nodded without hesitation. This meeting was clearly going to be far longer and more complex than he had anticipated. As Griphook poured a drink for him-something dark and rich-smelling-Harry settled back in his chair, preparing himself for the long journey ahead, one that would teach him what it truly meant to be part of the oldest and most powerful wizarding families in the world.
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Cornelius Fudge sat at his desk, quietly scanning through his schedule for the day. His mind was already anticipating the waves of publicity the Triwizard Tournament would bring. He was confident it would be overwhelmingly positive. Even the surprise of Harry Potter’s unexpected entry would only serve to enhance the excitement. Seeing the Boy Who Lived compete would be exactly what the public wanted-his face on every magazine, his name on every headline.
Fudge couldn't help but recall last year’s mess: the fiasco involving Harry’s aunt flying through Surrey and the fiasco surrounding Sirius Black. Despite it all, Cornelius had managed to protect Harry, refraining from sending him to Azkaban or to the Janus Thickey Ward, where he could have been labelled ‘deranged’ due to that fateful Halloween night so many years ago. In his eyes, the boy owed him-he had done him a favour by not locking him away.
Just as he began to daydream about the positive coverage the Tournament would generate, a shrill voice pierced the air, cutting through his thoughts.
“Now hang on! The Minister isn’t seeing anyone today-”
It was Dolores Umbridge, her high-pitched tone echoing through the door. Fudge's brow furrowed at the interruption. Standing up to investigate, he was startled when the door swung open unexpectedly, and there stood Albus Dumbledore, as calm and unflappable as ever.
“Albus-” Cornelius began, but before he could say more, Umbridge was at it again.
“I told him you were busy, sir! He just doesn’t seem to listen-” Dolores stammered, her words cutting into the moment as she fluttered her eyes at him, a sickly-sweet look that made Fudge want to recoil. But he held his composure.
“It’s fine, Dolores,” he said smoothly. “I’m sure the headmaster simply wishes to discuss the Tournament. Would you be so kind as to fetch us some coffee? Anything for you, Albus?” Dumbledore, unfazed by the spectacle, gave a small nod toward the woman.
“Honey lemon tea, and some lemon drops if you would.”
Dolores seemed on the verge of refusing but caught Fudge’s gaze. With an almost imperceptible sigh, she scurried off. Fudge quickly closed the door with a spell and sank back into his chair, letting out a quiet exhale.
“Now, Albus, what can I do for you?” he asked, his voice tinged with both politeness and impatience as he eyed the parchment Dumbledore had placed on his desk. Dumbledore didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“It appears young Harry Potter has been mistakenly emancipated. I need you to overrule this decision and reverse it.” Cornelius frowned as he lifted the parchment to read it. His eyes skimmed over the words.
‘ It has come to the attention of Gringotts Wizarding Bank that on the 31st of October, 1994, Harry James Potter has been emancipated due to his entry into the Triwizard Tournament, along with the mutual agreement of one Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore- ’
"Albus-" Cornelius's frown deepened. He began, but Dumbledore cut him off, his tone steady.
“He’s just a boy, Cornelius. A boy with very little experience in the Wizarding world. We can’t allow him to roam free with no one to guide him, no one to answer to. Surely it won’t be difficult to reverse this.”
"The Triwizard Tournament emancipated him, Albus. Not me. It’s right there-our mutual agreement to let him compete ensured his emancipation. I can’t refute this. There’s nothing to be done." Cornelius sighed, his voice firm but regretful.
"But surely-" Dumbledore’s brow furrowed, and he began to protest.
“It was Magic, Albus,” Cornelius interrupted, the weight of his words sinking in. “Magic emancipated him. There’s nothing we can do about it. Besides, you’ve been grooming the boy for his seat on the Wizengamot and his Lordship. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Cornelius reasoned, not noticing the unsure and unhappy look on Albus’s face as he spoke.
How much trouble could a fourteen-year-old really cause, after all?
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“So…this seat in the Wizengamot means I have political responsibilities?” Harry asked, uncertainty clear in his voice. “I can make or stop laws and things?” Griphook nodded calmly.
“In essence. Your ring will heat up when a meeting is called. The Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot meet once a month to propose new laws, discuss changes to existing ones, or address issues that have yet to come to the attention of the other Lords. Occasionally, meetings may be called when a law is broken, and the Lords and Ladies will decide if the case should go to trial.” Harry nodded, processing the information.
“Okay, that makes sense. And this book on the list here...it’ll help me learn how to handle my seat in the Wizengamot?” He tapped the book list for emphasis. Griphook gave another brief nod. Harry hummed thoughtfully.
“What are my other duties as a Lord? I’ve never heard of any Lords having holdings like the Muggles used to-”
“That’s because most Lords don’t look beyond their family’s needs,” Griphook replied simply. “They have estates capable of holding investments, but they find managing their family affairs taxing enough. It’s a shame, really, as only two major holdings exist in Wizarding Britain now.” He sighed. “Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.”
“Wait, really?” Harry asked, surprised.
“Diagon Alley is a shared holding, controlled by the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot. Hogsmeade, however, is controlled by the Smith family, as they are the only ones with a claim to any of the Hogwarts founders,” Griphook explained.
“Merlin,” Harry muttered, both shocked and amazed. Griphook grunted in agreement.
“I know. But it’s a strange and forgotten truth.”
“I appreciate you going over all this Lordship stuff, Griphook, but I really need to find a way out of competing in this tournament. Otherwise, none of this will matter,” Harry said, his voice growing desperate. Griphook sighed, pulling a book from his desk.
“After learning of your entry into the tournament, I requested the bank’s records on the rules,” he explained, flipping through the pages. “Other than death, that is.” The Goblin smirked slightly as he turned the book toward Harry.
‘ In the event that the entered Witch/Wizard is pregnant or under a surrogacy contract said Witch/Wizard will be disqualified without risk to her/his magic or life. This clause takes place after the first insemination attempt for surrogacy-’ ’
“...Are you telling me I can get pregnant?” Harry blinked in disbelief.
The idea made him feel queasy, and he swallowed hard. Griphook gave him an amused, but somewhat sympathetic look.
“Some can,” Griphook said matter-of-factly. “We have it on record that you are a carrier, as well as your legitimisation.”
“Legitimisation...?” Harry asked, confused. Griphook sighed, tilting his head upward as if asking for strength.
“Sirius Black is five generations removed from your bloodline-and he is also a pureblood. Shortly after your birth, a potion mixed with his blood was used to legitimise you. It made you a pureblood in both blood and magic. All you need to do is have a child with a pureblood wizard, and your children will be considered pureblooded once more. It’s a method many families have used for centuries to keep their bloodlines ‘pure.’”
“But...if his blood is in my veins, wouldn’t that make me the heir to the Black family’s line too?” Harry’s mind raced. Griphook shook his head.
“He did not adopt you. You are not a Black. Sirius Black remains the Lord of the Black family and will need to either provide an heir before his death or choose the next male heir from within the family line-currently, that would be the Malfoy heir. All he did was purify your bloodline, removing the taint of Muggle heritage.”
Harry’s confusion deepened, but he absorbed the information in silence.
“…Ok…ok, so my only way out of this is through pregnancy?” Harry asked, his voice trembling as a sick feeling rose in his stomach. “I’m fourteen. I can’t just-I can’t be a dad at fourteen-” He could feel his panic rising, the weight of the situation sinking in. How had it come to this? How was this his only choice?
Harry's thoughts spiralled. He couldn’t fathom it. Either he competed in a deadly tournament that would likely kill him-or he became pregnant, forced to carry a child at fourteen. How could he even think of being a parent? He was a child himself.
“I’m afraid that is your only option to get out of the tournament,” Griphook replied seriously, his clawed finger tapping steadily on the book in front of him. “All other options would result in the loss of your magic…or your life. You needn’t be pregnant to be disqualified, just being within a surrogacy contract would do, after the first insemination attempt is made, of course.”
He bit his lip, trying to focus, but his hands were already tugging at the base of his neck in frustration.
“Surrogacy?” Harry echoed, confusion furrowing his brow. Griphook gave him a toothy smile, his yellow eyes gleaming with something Harry couldn’t quite place.
“It’s where you carry a child for another family-a family unable to produce an heir naturally. Whether because the wife is barren or neither husband can carry a child. After the birth, you give the child to the family to raise. Sometimes, you sign away all rights to the child; other times, you can name the child as a dual heir. It all depends on the contract in place.” Griphook’s gravelly voice was calm as ever, and he slid a few papers across the desk, leaning back in his chair.
“I’d…I’d be helping someone have a family?” Harry swallowed, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. Griphook nodded, flipping through some contracts in front of him. He paused at one and slid it toward Harry.
“The only unfulfilled surrogacy contract in place is with the Lestrange family.” Griphook said, his voice steady. Harry froze, paling slightly.
“The Lestranges?” Harry repeated, his voice small. “As in…the ones in Azkaban?” Griphook nodded.
“Yes. Both the heir and spare are currently incarcerated, but their…material is available for use. It’s held in a special vault at Gringotts.” Harry’s heart dropped. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
“We’d need to contact Lord Corvus Lestrange to request permission to fulfil the contract. He may refuse or ask for amendments. Once an agreement is reached, we would take you to our healing ward, where you’d be put to sleep and artificially inseminated.” Griphook’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“Inseme-” Harry began, his voice breaking slightly.
“We’d attempt to impregnate you artificially,” Griphook finished, his tone unwavering. “It may not take and could result in no child but the first attempt would result in your immediate disqualification in the tournament, you would work out with Lord Corvus Lestrange when the next attempt would be made after the first attempt and so fourth until it took.” Harry could feel the cold sweat forming on his forehead. “Does this sound agreeable?” Griphook asked, waiting for a response.
Harry’s throat went dry. He couldn’t believe it, but if this was the only way to survive…
“I want to discuss this contract with Lord Lestrange first. There are clauses here I don’t agree with,” Harry muttered, his voice a little more firm. Griphook nodded, standing and scurrying out of the room.
Harry sat back in the chair, staring at the contract before him. He couldn’t believe he was even considering this, but if it meant he could live…he’d do it. He’d have to.