Harry Potter and the HQL - Chapter - 12

The sun was still high over Diagon Alley when Sirius Black turned to Harry and said, “Now, before we head back to Highgarden, there’s one last thing we need to do.”

Harry, adjusting the weight of his robes after their long lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, blinked. “We’ve already bought everything. What else do we need?”

Sirius gave a grin that didn’t quite answer the question. “It’s not about what we need, but who I need to speak with.”

At that moment, Norky, Harry’s ever-eager house-elf, popped into existence with a crack.

“Master Harry, sir!” Norky beamed, bowing so low his nose touched the bricks. “Did you call?”

“Yes, Norky,” Harry said with a smile. “These are all my school things. Could you take them back to Highgarden and sort them for me?”

Norky’s eyes sparkled. “Oh yes, Master Harry! It will be done!” With another bow, he vanished—along with the bags of books, potions ingredients, and supplies they had spent the day gathering.

Sirius patted Harry on the back. “Now come on, time for a little business.”

Despite how many times he had visited Gringotts, Harry still felt the same awe every time he stepped through its towering bronze doors. The vast, high-ceilinged marble lobby loomed above them, shining under the golden chandeliers. Goblins ran briskly between desks, some with scrolls, others holding tiny scales or gemstone pouches.

Two particularly nasty-looking goblin guards stood at the front gate with long silver-tipped spears. One sneered openly at a wizard with a crooked hat.

Harry frowned slightly. “They always do that. They sneer at everyone, even if you're just here to give them money.”

Sirius chuckled. “It’s not personal. Goblins don't like wizards. But they respect gold—and contracts. That’s what keeps this whole place from burning down.”

They made their way to a vacant teller’s desk, where a tall goblin with a sharp quill and gleaming teeth looked up from his parchment.

“Name?” he said with polite disinterest.

Sirius raised his chin slightly. “Lord Black, here to see my account manager. Goldaxe.”

The goblin's demeanor shifted in a blink. His tone became smooth, his eyes sharper.

“Of course, Lord Black. One moment.” He rang a small enchanted bell behind the desk, which echoed like crystal chimes.

Moments later, a smaller goblin in a navy uniform arrived and bowed stiffly. “Please follow me.”

They were led through a side door and down a winding, torch-lit staircase that grew cooler with every step. The walls were stone, the air dense with old magic.

Harry followed Sirius and the goblin through a side arch and down a spiral staircase that seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the earth. The air grew cooler, denser, and laced with iron and something faintly metallic.

As they passed rune-covered doors and thick iron gates, Harry whispered, “This isn’t the normal vault route.”

“No,” Sirius murmured. “This is where they handle old magic. Things that predate most wizarding laws. Bloodlines. Family oaths. Vault keys.”

Finally, they arrived at a set of double iron doors, embossed with ancient runes and polished gold handles shaped like dragon talons.

The goblin opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

Inside sat an ancient goblin behind a curved desk of blackened iron. His eyes were like molten gold, his skin gray with age, and a dozen golden rings glittered on his long fingers.

“Goldaxe,” Sirius greeted respectfully.

“Lord Black,” the goblin said with a voice like gravel polished by wealth. “And your ward, Mr. Potter. An honor.”

Harry blinked. “You know me?”

“Gringotts does not forget names tied to vaults of interest,” Goldaxe said, tapping his clawed fingers. “And you are tied to several.”

Sirius sat down in the chair across from the goblin and gestured for Harry to sit beside him.

“I assume this is regarding the Bellatrix situation,” Goldaxe said, not bothering with pretense.

Sirius nodded grimly. “I want every vault, every property, and every asset tied to Black family bloodline access secured. Burn her name from the ledgers. She is no longer a Lestrange. She's Bellatrix Black again. And I’m not risking her claiming anything.”

Goldaxe pulled a heavy scroll from a drawer. “We have already begun containment protocols. Your presence simply authorizes the purging. Her name will be seared from the vault-sigil trees. Should she try to claim any item or property under Black wards…”
He smiled—slow, cold, goblin-like.
“…the wards will treat her as an intruder.”

“Good,” Sirius said. “Make sure the French holdings and the old Wiltshire property are warded. She might try for those if she’s desperate.”

Goldaxe etched a signature into the scroll with a dagger-shaped stylus. The scroll burned gold and vanished.

“It is done,” he said. “Bellatrix Black is now an enemy of the Vault.”

Harry sat in silence, impressed and disturbed by how serious the goblins were when it came to vault law.

Sirius leaned back slightly. “She has no claim. No wand. No allies. She’s mad and on the run.”

Goldaxe’s eyes glinted. “A cornered viper is more dangerous than one in the open.”


The heavy stone door of Goldaxe’s private office had barely closed behind them when Sirius Black turned to the ancient goblin and said, “There’s one more matter, Goldaxe. One that must be handled today.”

Goldaxe looked up slowly, his golden eyes narrowing in interest. “Indeed, Lord Black? I was under the impression the Bellatrix matter was your primary concern.”

Sirius nodded. “It was. But the second is just as important. I need to name a legal heir.”

Harry blinked beside him. “Heir?”

Goldaxe paused, then reached for a long black ledger bound with silver wire. “You refer, of course, to the Line of Succession clause under the Ancient House of Black inheritance law.”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “As it stands, if I die without an heir, the Black Family title and fortune pass to the next male by bloodline. Which is—unfortunately—Draco Malfoy.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait. Draco?”

Sirius gave him a grim nod. “The Malfoys married into the Black line through Narcissa, Bellatrix’s sister. And since I never named an heir, and my brother Regulus is dead, the line goes to Draco.”

Harry frowned. “But you’re not dying anytime soon.”

“I don’t plan to,” Sirius said with a small, lopsided smile. “But let’s not pretend the Death Eaters wouldn’t love to kill me. If I fall in the next war, I refuse to let one sickle of Black gold fund Voldemort’s rise.”

Goldaxe looked between them. “You wish to designate an heir, Lord Black. Whom do you name?”

Sirius didn’t even hesitate. “Harry James Potter.”

Harry stared at him. “Sirius… you brought me here for this?”

“I did,” Sirius replied quietly. “You’re family, Harry. And not just through affection. Your grandmother—Dorea Black—was my grandfather’s cousin. You have Black blood. That makes this possible.”

“But I don’t need your gold,” Harry said. “And you’ll live. You have to live.”

“I hope I do,” Sirius said seriously. “But hope isn’t protection. I won’t leave this to chance. If I fall, I want everything the Black family has to offer—vaults, properties, protections—to go to someone who’ll use it to build, not destroy.”

There was silence.

Then Harry nodded slowly. “Alright. If it keeps Malfoy from getting it… I’ll do it.”

Goldaxe rang a thin silver bell once, and moments later, a ritual goblin in long ceremonial robes appeared at the door.

“The ritual of Blood Adoption must be performed in the Deep Rites Chamber,” Goldaxe instructed. “Given the candidate’s Black ancestry, the bonding should be smooth.”

Harry followed Sirius and the goblin down another passage, deeper than even the family vaults. It was cold, the air thick with ancient enchantments.

The tunnel ended at a wide iron door inlaid with runes. A carved sigil of the House of Black was embedded into the stone above it—a black star and silver serpent entwined.

The goblin placed his palm against the center rune, and the door opened with a resonant groan.

The ritual chamber inside was circular, the floor engraved with runes in glowing silver and green. In the center was a stone dais with the Black Family Seal inlaid at its heart.

“Stand on the crest,” the ritual goblin instructed. “One at a time.”

Sirius stepped forward first and removed his gloves, baring his left hand.

“I, Sirius Orion Black, last Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, name Harry James Potter my heir and successor by blood and by magic.”

He pressed his hand into the seal. The crest glowed faintly red.

Then it was Harry’s turn. The goblin handed him a ceremonial dagger.

“Blood must be given freely.”

Harry nodded and sliced a small line across his palm, wincing slightly, then placed his hand on the other side of the crest.

“I, Harry James Potter, accept the inheritance and responsibility of the Black family line.”

The blood sank into the crest. The seal flared brilliantly, then turned deep silver. The runes around the chamber spun in a circle, and the serpent on the floor reared its head.

With a flash, the serpent coiled protectively around a lightning bolt—a new mark had joined the crest.

“Confirmed,” the ritual goblin announced. “The heir is sealed. By Black blood and Black rite, Harry Potter is the heir to the House of Black.”

As they rode the stone lift back toward the surface, Harry rubbed his palm, which now bore a faint silver Black sigil that would remain until he formally came of age or inherited the title.

“Do I have to start calling myself Potter-Black now?” he asked dryly.

Sirius laughed. “Only if you want to frighten the Malfoys.”

“Honestly, that might be worth it.”

Sirius’s grin softened. “Thank you, Harry. You’ve just helped make sure that if anything happens to me… my family’s legacy won’t become a weapon in the hands of Death Eaters.”

Harry looked up at him. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

Just as Sirius and Harry stepped through the last runed corridor of Gringotts, ready to return to the surface, a deep voice echoed down the stone hall:

“Lord Black!”

They both stopped and turned as a robed goblin came hurrying toward them, his silver and crimson sash marking him as a vault herald—a messenger of importance in Gringotts protocol. The goblin gave a formal bow, then raised his sharp eyes to Sirius.

“His Majesty, King Ragnarok, requests your presence in his audience chamber immediately.”

Sirius blinked once, then gave a curt nod. “Lead the way.”

Harry, slightly confused, followed as the goblin turned swiftly and led them down a route neither of them had taken before—deeper than even Goldaxe’s office, through halls lined with obsidian and carved statues of ancient goblin kings. The air here smelled of molten metal and old stone, and the torches glowed an eerie green instead of the usual golden hue.

“King Ragnarok?” Harry whispered. “I didn’t know goblins had a king.”

“They don’t advertise it,” Sirius murmured back. “Ragnarok’s more than a king. He’s the head of all magical artifact custody in Gringotts."

“Long story,” Sirius said with a smirk. “He and I are… allies. Since the Lestrange vault incident.”

They finally reached a towering vault door set with a crest of fire and swords—King Ragnarok’s personal seal. The doors opened without a word, revealing a high-ceilinged chamber of black granite, with walls inlaid with gemstones and enchanted blades floating in glass cases. At the far end sat King Ragnarok, tall and imposing even by goblin standards, with a silver circlet on his brow and armor-forged gauntlets on both hands.

His golden eyes locked on Sirius immediately.

“Lord Black,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. “It’s good to see you again.”



“King Ragnarok,” Sirius greeted, giving a respectful bow. “You don’t usually call me up unless something’s on fire or cursed.”

The goblin king gave a small, fang-edged grin. “In this case, it’s both.”

He gestured to a floating orb hovering over a claw-shaped pedestal beside him. Within the orb, a grainy magical replay flickered—Bellatrix Lestrange, wild-haired and gaunt, approaching a Gringotts vault.

Harry leaned forward.

“She tried to access the Lestrange Vault?” Sirius asked.

Ragnarok nodded. “Two nights ago. She used a blood seal attempt. She had no key, no official claim. When the wards responded, she fled.”

He turned to Harry. “She is no longer a Lestrange by wizarding law. But her blood remains part of the enchantment. However…” He lifted a scroll from the side table. “The vault was already forfeited to Gringotts after your tip-off three years ago, Lord Black.”

“Because of the Horcrux,” Sirius said grimly. “And the dark artifacts.”

“Exactly. Bellatrix violated every tenet of vault protection by housing soul-magic inside Gringotts. The goblin nation took it as an insult of the highest order. That vault now belongs to us.”

Sirius gave a short nod. “Then she has nothing. No Lestrange claim. No Black claim. She’s cornered.”

“Which makes her dangerous,” Ragnarok said. “You were right to bring your heir today. You’ll need more than bloodlines when the time comes.”

Ragnarok stood from his throne and extended a hand. “We have not forgotten what you did for us, Lord Black. The Lestrange vault nearly cost Gringotts its honor. Should you ever need sanctuary, or the might of goblin steel… we will answer.”

Sirius clasped the goblin king’s arm with a steady grip. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. But thank you, old friend.”

As they left the King’s chamber and made their way back to the main level of Gringotts, Harry couldn’t help but glance over at Sirius.

“So. A goblin king, cursed vaults… anything else you’ve been up to lately?”

Sirius smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Harry snorted. “I would, actually.”

As they passed through the glittering marble lobby and out into the warm light of Diagon Alley, Sirius exhaled, glancing once over his shoulder.

“Now she’s truly cut off,” he said quietly. “No Black inheritance. No Lestrange fortune. Just her madness.”

“And that,” Harry said, “might be the most dangerous part left.”