"Mom, can we go to Diagon Alley?" asked Aaric, his eyes wide and pleading like a puppy's. Edwina glanced at his expression and tried her best to stay firm—but her resolve crumbled in just five seconds. She sighed, already knowing she'd lost.
"Why do you want to go there?" she asked, resigned.
"Ice cream," came the casual reply, as if it were the most obvious reason in the world. "And I'll just look around for fun things."
She raised an eyebrow at the "fun things" part but didn't press further. "Take Nibbin with you." Her tone left no room for argument. It wasn't a big deal anyway—Diagon Alley was a safe place, especially for wizard-born children. Trips there for errands or sweet treats were part of normal life, like going to the market.
Aaric hugged his mother with genuine affection as she called for Nibbin. But what he'd told her wasn't the full truth. The real reason for his visit wasn't ice cream or window-shopping. Two nights ago, he had dreamt of a majestic, silver-scaled serpent—enormous and ancient—that spoke only one word: "Inheritance."
The serpent's voice had a soothing cadence, rich with magic, and its aura pulsed with power. Aaric recognized it instinctively: Vasuki.
He'd woken up breathless, his heart pounding, but somehow calm. After reflecting on the message, he concluded it wasn't a random dream—Vasuki had sent him a sign. He needed to go to Gringotts. He needed to take an inheritance test.
And so, off he went with Nibbin. The cheerful little house-elf, seemingly recovered from the emotional chaos of Aaric's birthday, was in high spirits again, delighted just to accompany his young master.
Aaric enjoyed a scoop of chocolate fudge swirl—his favorite—and even shared some with Nibbin, who accepted it with gleeful gratitude. As they wandered through the cobbled streets, Aaric asked casually, "Do you know where Gringotts Bank is, Nibbin?"
Nibbin nodded eagerly but tilted his head. "Why does young master ask?"
Aaric waved his hand vaguely. "I heard it's really pretty to look at."
It was a flimsy excuse, and he knew it. But he needed Nibbin to lead him there without asking too many questions.
Nibbin blinked in confusion. Pretty? It was just a bank—a grand one, yes, but hardly something children got excited about. Still, orders were orders. Without pressing further, he guided Aaric toward the towering white building at the far end of the street.
As they neared Gringotts, Aaric turned and asked, "Do you wanna come in with me?"
Nibbin was caught off guard. "Why would young master go into the bank?" he asked, concerned. "You're just eight years old."
Aaric was prepared. "Mom only gave me enough for the ice cream. I want to get her a gift, so I'll make a small withdrawal from my heir account."
It wasn't unheard of. Among noble wizarding families, heirs often had vaults set up in their name, with money added annually for their future. Most children weren't allowed access until they were older—but Aaric was an exception. His father, Simon, trusted him deeply and had given him limited access. He knew Aaric was mature beyond his years.
Aaric might have been a spoiled young master if not for his previous life.
"You wait outside, Nibbin. There are goblins inside," Aaric said with a grin. But Nibbin frowned and shook her head. "Nibbin is allowed to enter with young master. Mistress told me to keep you safe."
Though her vocabulary was better than most house-elves, she still slipped up occasionally.
"Gringotts is the safest place in Britain," Aaric said flatly, staring at her with a look that brokered no argument.
Nibbin hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. But young master must call if he needs help."
"I promise." Aaric smiled warmly. "You can go fetch some supplies while I handle things in the bank. It'll save time."
Nibbin gave one last worried glance before vanishing down the alley, muttering about parchment and polishing soap.
Aaric stepped up to the grand marble steps of Gringotts, ignoring the worn inscription above the doors that threatened those who would steal. He pushed the doors open and walked inside with as much confidence as an eight-year-old could muster.
A long hall stretched before him, lined with goblins at high desks. He made his way to one with a polished nameplate: Knuk.
"Excuse me," Aaric said, standing tall. "Can I have an inheritance test?"
Knuk didn't even look up. "Fifty Galleons."
"Deduct it from my Hawthorne heir account," Aaric replied.
That made the goblin pause. He slowly raised his head and stared at the boy. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead, he retrieved a form and slid it across the counter.
"Signature," he said curtly.
Aaric signed.
Knuk didn't ask questions. Goblins knew better than to meddle in wizarding affairs—especially old families. He simply stood and gestured for Aaric to follow.
Inside a private chamber, Knuk handed Aaric a small, silver needle and a blank parchment.
"Prick your finger. Let one drop of blood fall onto the parchment."
Aaric nodded. He pierced his finger without flinching.
But then—something strange happened.
A dormant scale within his body pulsed, reacting to the blood. A second drop emerged—not from his finger, but from the scale itself. It hovered in the air, glowing faintly, before merging with the blood from his finger and dropping onto the parchment.
There was a brief flash of light. Runes lit up along the edges of the parchment as magic flared.
Knuk's eyes widened.
Alongside the expected Hawthorne lineage and all its associated titles and assets… there was another name etched into the glowing list.
Another inheritance.
One that should not have been there.
A/N:yes, a cliffhanger. I've scattered the clues. Let's see if you can guess whose inheritance Aaric just unlocked.
Give me stone, and I'll give you chapters.