Gringotts and Mother's Letters

Magnus was in the Room of Requirement, lying on a bed he had conjured himself, reading the letter Gringotts had sent him. His countenance was full of displeasure. He had only been in the bank twice before, and neither time brought back good memories.

The first time was with Professor Fig, when they ended up inside vault number 12, which belonged to Keeper Percival Rackham, where they faced Ranrok for the first time. The second time was when he officially claimed vault number 12 as his own, since Percival Rackham's portrait had declared him his heir, guaranteeing him definitive possession. On that occasion, he also opened a safe in the name of his store.

Magnus had unpleasant memories, but he knew he had to deal with the goblins. Gringotts seemed desperate to have him as an ally and he recognized the advantages of that position.

Besides, there were other reasons for his visit. He needed to check that the accounts were in order and find out who was running his store during his absence. Magnus knew that the elves would do anything to secure his loyalty and trust. He intended to exploit this to the full.

What struck him about the letter was the almost deferential tone of the elves. Ranrok's rebellion had drastically altered the relationship between wizards and elves. At the end of the revolt, the elves were forced to give in to various demands from the wizards, including one of the most controversial issues: inheritance rights.

The elves have always maintained that "the object belongs to the one who created it, not the one who bought it". This principle has always brought them into conflict with wizards. However, after the near-total destruction of Europe caused by Ranrok, the goblins had no choice but to negotiate and ensure that similar events never happened again.

Now, if an elf wanted to recover an artifact made by his race, he had to buy it - as long as the owner was willing to sell it. Although this new law was received with bitterness by the elves, international pressure forced them to accept it. The whole world was watching them and any resistance could lead to new hostilities that the elves couldn't afford to face.

Magnus couldn't be happier with this change. Although he respected the culture of the elves, he was still human. If he paid for an object, then it was his, regardless of who had forged it.

As he continued to reflect on recent events, Magnus made his decision. He got out of bed and began to prepare for his trip to Gringotts. If the goblins wanted his alliance, they would have to offer him much more than just promises. And Magnus would make sure that he came out of this meeting with every possible advantage.

Now, the goblins seemed desperate to make him an ally. Magnus was well aware that he couldn't trust them completely, but he was curious to find out what they had to offer. He also wanted to check that his accounts were in order and find out who was running his store.

He dressed in a formal black suit, appropriate for a visit to the bank, and covered up with a long dark coat. Before leaving the Precise Room, she cast a glamor spell on herself, softening her features to avoid unnecessary attention.

As he left for Diagon Alley, Magnus noticed how busy the streets were, even at that hour. Witches and wizards were hurrying about, but when he entered Gringotes, a respectful silence overtook the place. The elves stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads in recognition. Magnus raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in behavior.

An elf in luxurious robes approached quickly and bowed deeply.

- Welcome to Gringotes, Mr. Riddle. Grand Master Ragnok III is waiting for you in his private chamber.

Magnus nodded slightly and followed the elf through well-lit corridors to a sumptuous room. Grandmaster Ragnok III was sitting behind a solid mahogany desk, watching Magnus with an impassive expression.

- Mr. Riddle, it is an honor to welcome you. Please, sit down.

Magnus sat down in the leather chair in front of the table and crossed his legs, waiting for the elf to speak.

- I imagine you wondered why we asked you to come. - Ragnok gestured and an assistant brought out a ledger. - You are one of Gringotes' most valuable clients. Over the years, your fortune has grown exponentially.

The elf opened the book and pushed it towards Magnus. He looked at the figures and couldn't help but smile a little. Hundreds of millions of galleons. The amount was absurdly high, but he wasn't surprised.

- In addition to his personal fortune, his store in Hogsmeade, "Arcana Antiquis", has become one of the most renowned in the wizarding world. The administrators we chose to manage it ensured that its reputation remained impeccable.

Magnus drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully.

- Excellent. I'd like a full report on the investments and the wizards who run my store.

Ragnok nodded.

Ragnok snapped his fingers, and a second book was placed on the table.

- There's another matter we need to discuss. You've received an unexpected inheritance.

Magnus raised an eyebrow.

- Inheritance? From whom?

Ragnok hesitated for a moment before answering.

- Calliope Potter.

The name evoked no emotion in Magnus. He already knew that his biological mother had abandoned him, and he had no interest in the Potter family. But Ragnok continued.

- Calliope Potter was his mother. When she found out about your story and sacrifice, she was overcome with remorse. She left letters for you, expressing her regret for abandoning you.

Magnus picked up the letters and read the first one. The handwriting was elegant, but shaky. He absorbed the words, but felt only indifference. The woman expected his forgiveness, but he saw no point in it. He was over that part of his life.

- Did she die waiting for my forgiveness? - Magnus asked, no emotion in his voice.

Sitting in front of Ragnok, Magnus began to review his finances. As expected, his wealth had grown exponentially over the years, amassing incalculable fortunes in vaults protected by ancient spells. However, something unusual caught his eye: a set of old records relating to the surname Potter.

Ragnok hesitated.

- Yes. But there's one more question. - The elf took out a sealed parchment with the Potter coat of arms.

Looking at the Potter family crest, Magnus was about to question the goblin about it, and Ragnok began to explain that, when his sacrifice was reported, the Potter family, at the request of his mother, Calliope Potter, tried to legitimize him as a Potter. However, this decision was quickly rejected by the then Headmaster Black, who, as his Wizarding Guardian, vetoed the proposal. Magnus couldn't hold back a cynical smile. The irony of the situation did not go unnoticed by him. The family that had never supported him was now trying to claim him. It was almost funny. 

- "Lord Riddle," said the goblin with a neutral expression. - "Due to your direct lineage as a descendant of the Potter family and your position as the only living blood relative, you have been appointed temporary Wizard Guardian of House Potter. 

Magnus snorted in disbelief.

- Me, head of House Potter? How ironic.

Ragnok nodded.

- That means you have control over the Potter family's possessions, property and influence. And, as your first act as Head, you can make a request to Gringotts.

 - As Harry Potter's last living relative, the magic of the Potter family has recognized you as temporary head of the house until Harry Potter comes of age.

Magnus frowned. He knew the weight of that title. It meant that until the heir of House Potter came of age, he was legally and magically responsible for him.

- And who is this heir? - Magnus asked, his voice firm, but internally anxious for an answer.

- Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter.

Magnus didn't hesitate.

- Find out where Harry Potter is and bring me all the information about him.

Ragnok smiled slightly and nodded.

- As you wish, Mr. Riddle.

Magnus leaned back in his chair, satisfied. If the goblins wanted his loyalty, they would have to work for it.

##########

As he waited in the Gringotes office, Magnus held his mother's letters tightly, his fingers curling around the aged paper. His heart was pounding against his chest as his eyes traced the first few lines. The handwriting was elegant but shaky, as if each word had been written with hesitation and regret.

"My son,

I don't know if these words will ever reach you, and perhaps it's better that they never do. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, nor do I expect to receive it. But I still need to write. I need you to know the truth, even if it changes nothing for you."

Magnus felt his jaw clench. He already knew how this story would end. He had been left. They had thrown him away like a burden. But even knowing that, he couldn't stop the knot forming in his throat. She continued reading.

"I was young, foolish and selfish. When I found out I was pregnant, I was consumed with fear. I never wanted to be a mother, I never thought I could be one. The weight of the Potter name was too great, and I feared that my family would never forgive me for having a child without being married. I was a coward, Magnus. And for that, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I abandoned you."

Magnus felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered the Wool orphanage. The cold nights, the harsh nuns, the cruel children. The endless days of hunger, loneliness and rejection. Those memories were still engraved on his soul, like scars that would never fade. And now his own mother was admitting that she had done it for fear of a scandal?

He took a deep breath, trying to contain the growing rage inside him. He continued reading.

"The years passed, and I tried to move on. I convinced myself that what I did was for your own good. That an orphanage could look after you better than I ever could. But the truth is, Magnus, there hasn't been a single day when I haven't thought about you. When I didn't wonder if you were all right. And when I heard your story... when I found out everything you'd been through, the pain was unbearable."

The anger burning in Magnus' chest began to mix with something he hated: pity. His mother was a coward, but he could feel the pain and regret overflowing from every line. He didn't want to feel compassion for her. He didn't want to forgive her. But the words kept hitting him like invisible blows.

"I know that I can't erase the past, and that no words can undo what I've done. But I want you to know that I always hoped that you would find your way, that you would be stronger than me. You've become a great wizard, Magnus. A man the world looks up to. And even though I have no right to say it, I'm proud of you."

Magnus clenched his fists, the cards trembling in his hands. How dare she? How could she say she was proud of him when she had never been there? When she never even tried to look for him?

But at the same time, part of him wondered: what if it had been different? What if she had been a real mother? Would he have been loved? Would he have been raised in a family? Would he have known the warmth of a home?

He hated these questions, because he knew he would never get the answers. And that made him even angrier.

The first letter was short. The words seemed more desperate, as if she had written it crying.

"If one day you can, forgive me. I don't expect it from you. But I had to ask. I loved you, Magnus, even if I never showed it. And I'm sorry every day that I failed you."

The silence weighed on Magnus like a suffocating blanket. He closed his eyes and tried to process everything. He felt torn between anger and sadness. Between hatred and understanding.

He still had three letters to read, but Magnus didn't have the energy to keep reading.

He didn't know if he could forgive her. Not now. Perhaps never.

But one thing was certain: those letters changed everything.

And he had to decide what he would do with this truth.

##########

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Magnus held the letter between his fingers, the paper slightly crumpled by the unconscious grip of his hand. His eyes scanned the words again, but he had already absorbed every line, every drop of regret impregnated in his mother's handwriting. He felt... something.

It wasn't pure anger or absolute sadness. It was a mixture of conflicting emotions that he refused to name.

He couldn't allow himself to waste time dwelling on what might have been.

"The time for being a family has long since passed," he thought coldly.

Calliope Potter, his birth mother, carried a burden of regret, but him?

He couldn't miss what he never had. That was the reality.

Magnus had always been alone.

During his childhood at the Wool orphanage, he learned early on that there was no one to catch him when he fell. There were no hands to guide him, no arms to comfort him. Solitude was his only reliable companion, and he used it as a fortress. It was only when he arrived at Hogwarts, when he met his friends and teachers, that he began to understand what it meant to have people who cared.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. His heart, always firm, wavered briefly. Motherly love was an abstract concept for him, something he had seen in the eyes of other children, but had never experienced. Calliope had not been a mother to him. She had only been the woman who gave him life and then abandoned him. He could blame her, curse her for what she had done, but... what good would it do? Time wouldn't come again, and he was already the man he was supposed to be.

His pragmatic mind told him that clinging to it was pointless. He didn't need her acceptance or her belated love. What he needed was to continue his mission, to walk the path he had chosen for himself.

Emotions were a distraction. And Magnus couldn't afford to be distracted.

And yet...

He looked at the letter one last time, letting his eyes wander over the words full of pain and guilt. "You're a foolish woman," he thought. "Many women can be mothers, but few can become mommy."

He closed the letter carefully, folding it precisely before putting it away. His hands were steady, his expression unwavering. The pain, hurt and coldness that tried to fight their way inside him would not be his master.

He didn't want to call. He didn't want to care. But deep down in his soul, a tiny spark from the abandoned child inside him whispered the truth he was reluctant to accept.

"I forgive you, Mom."