The unveiled truth

Ⅱ. Inheritance of Darkness

As Harry stepped out of the whirlwind of the portkey, he found himself standing in front of the imposing marble columns of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. He took a moment to steady himself, the letter from the bank still clutched tightly in his hand.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit interior. The bank was a hive of activity, with goblins scurrying around and witches and wizards waiting in line to be served.

Harry approached the front desk, where a stern-looking goblin sat behind a mountain of paperwork. "Excuse me," he said, his voice barely audible over the din of the bank. "I'm here about a letter I received regarding some irregularities with my account."

The goblin peered at him over the rim of his glasses, his expression unchanging. "Name?" he demanded, his voice gruff and businesslike.

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, feeling a surge of anxiety as he said his name out loud in this unfamiliar place. The goblin raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning instead to rifle through the stacks of parchment on his desk.

After what felt like an eternity, the goblin finally located Harry's file and gave it a cursory glance. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone still brusque. "Irregularities with your birth certificate and vault access. You'll need to speak with one of our account managers to sort this out."

He gestured towards a row of desks at the back of the bank, where several goblins sat, quills scratching furiously across parchment. "Griphook will assist you," the goblin said, his attention already returning to the pile of paperwork in front of him.

Harry thanked the goblin and made his way towards the back of the bank, his eyes scanning the nameplates on the desks until he found Griphook's. The goblin looked up as Harry approached, his expression guarded.

"I understand you're having some issues with your account," Griphook said, gesturing for Harry to take a seat. "Let's see what we can do to get this sorted out."

Harry sat down, his mind racing with questions. Griphook wasted no time in getting to work, pulling out a piece of blank parchment and setting it on the desk between them. "First things first," he said, reaching for a small vial and quill. "We'll need to verify your identity with a birth certificate test."

Harry nodded, a knot forming in his stomach as Griphook slid the parchment towards him. "Just prick your finger and let three drops of blood fall onto the parchment," Griphook instructed, offering the vial and quill to Harry.

With a trembling hand, Harry took the quill and pricked his finger, watching as three crimson droplets fell onto the parchment. For a moment, nothing happened, and Harry held his breath, waiting.

Then, slowly, words began to appear on the parchment, written in a flowing, elegant script:

"Hadrian Slytherin-Gaunt-Riddle," Harry's eyes widened in shock as he read the name. How could this be? He had always believed he was a Potter, not a Slytherin. He looked up at Griphook, who was studying the parchment with a serious expression.

"This is... unexpected," Griphook said, his voice low and guarded. "It seems there is more to your heritage than we initially thought."

Harry's mind was racing. If he was a Slytherin, then who were his real parents? And why had he been led to believe that he was a Potter all these years?

Griphook seemed to sense his questions, and he spoke up, his voice still calm and measured. "I believe it would be best if we conducted some additional research into your family history," he said, rising from his chair. "With your permission, I will consult with our genealogical experts to see what we can uncover."