Harry Goes To Gringotts
Under the keen watch of Mrs. Grimore Harry and Griselda explored Diagon Alley, though maybe explored was the wrong word. It was more of Griselda pulling Harry from one shopfront to the next chattering excitedly and enthusiastically about what could be found within.
“This is Potage’s Cauldron Shop, it's quite boring in there, all dusty and musty with the stench of boring old Potioneers. But…” Griselda concluded… “It is good to know where to go when it comes time to buy your cauldron!”
Harry started wide-eyed at the shop, a modest brown and gold painted wooden shop front with large windows allowing for a display of various odd looking pots of various shapes, sizes, designs and colours. A banner to the right of the door stated in loud red ink that the Potages was dedicated to the highest level of quality and had received its ministry approved inspection on their cauldron thickness standards.
“What's a cauldron? And why would I need one?” Harry questioned, this was one of the many magical mysteries he could not quite wrap his head around.
“For potions silly!” Griselda exclaimed as if it was the most obvious thing imaginable. “Come on, let's move onto the next place. There's Quality Quidditch Supplies Over there! They do have a branch in Hogsmeade but it doesn't hold a candle to this one!
Yanking on Harry’s hand Griselda led Harry towards another even older looking storefront which displayed a variety of polished looking broomsticks in its display front. Unlike the others which had been near empty and the storefront easily accessible, Quality Quidditch supplies was crowded. Even from outside a mob of children gathered to gaze wide eyed at the collection of Brooms.
“They sell the best of the best here Harry. Nothing quite like a Nimbus! I reckon even the stars buy from here, not that we’ll ever see them slumming it with the rest of us to walk the streets. Bloody swollen heads the lot of them.”
“What?” Harry mumbled, confused at what she had just said. What was a Nimbus? And what was Quidditch… Mrs. Grimore had mentioned something about his dad, James being a star Chaser, maybe that's what Griselda was talking about.
At Harry's beguiled expression Griselda shook her head and smiled embarrassed. “Sorry Harry, I get carried away sometimes, as you may have noticed I'm not much of a quidditch fan. I'm sure you will be though, it's in your blood after all.”
They continued to walk around Diagon at Griselda's pace touring all the sights and places of interest until lunch time came around, stepping into one of the smaller offshoot alleys Mrs. Grimore found them a charming little cafe to sit down in.
Mrs. Grimore put her cup of tea down, gracefully settling it onto the saucer without so much as a clink. “So Harry dear, how did you enjoy your first taste of a wizarding community?”
“It was wonderful, thank you…” Harry smiled and settled down into the worn leather seats of the cafe booth. It was a charming place, all polished brass and leather upholstery, quiet and nearly empty, silence only punctuated by the soft melody of flute music playing from an unseen place, it was rather perfect. After the hustle and bustle of Diagon Harry was starting to get tired, his usual loner nature was starting to get a bit overwhelmed.
“I hope you aren't too sore from all that pulling my little Zel has been doing.” She turned to Griselda disapprovingly. “Quite unladylike I must say. You should hope Harry’s arm stays intact.” Again, there was that soft hint of a smile as she said it, a warm rebuke rather than the biting hurtful way the Dursleys usually reprimanded Harry.
Harry felt a pang in his heart imagining what life would be like if his parents hadn't died. Would his mother be like this? Or would she be more like Aunt Petunia, Harry hoped it was the former rather than the latter. Despite her emphasis on propriety Mrs. Grimore was warm, kind and comforting in all the ways Harry wished for an adult to be.
“Its alright ma'am, she hasn't been hurting me.”
Mrs. Grimore tutted, turning to Griselda, “You’ve had your fun, now we have some things to take care of.”
“Yes mother” Griselda averted her eyes, instead staring at Harry.
“Harry dear” Mrs. Grimore started, “I now propose we take you to gringotts, the goblin bank which we witches and wizards do our business with. I think it best, for your reintroduction to the wizarding world to get those accounts in order. You my boy are in desperate need of some new clothes, if this is the best Petunia Dursley can clothe her own Nephew it is utterly shameful!”
“I would like to do that.” Harry grinned at the prospect of getting new clothes, but then a thought came upon him. What's the point of going to the bank when I have no money?
“But, ma'am… I don't have an account? What will I be withdrawing?”
“Oh don't worry about that my dear, I'm sure your parents left you something. The Potters were far from paupers that I am sure of. Your father James was an only child, so no doubt the Potter Inheritance goes to you, as sole heir.”
When they approached the bank, it was perhaps one of the most grand buildings Harry had seen. All picturesque white marble and polished metal railings, both large and excessively opulent as a testament to its importance. Stepping inside they were greeted by a cavernous hall lined at its end with counters upon which rather odd looking men sat.
Their large pointed ears, stretched faces and beady eyes looking a mockery of the usual human form, Harry found it difficult not to stare. Catching on to his gaze Griselda poked him in the side with her elbow. Harry turned to her to ask why she had done that when she shushed him.
Whispering quietly as she could Griselda explained. “Those are goblins Harry, another type of magical creature like us witches and wizards, they look a little different, but it's impolite to stare. They can be rather rough uncouth creatures when offended and it's a really bad idea to offend those who hold the keys to your fortune.”
“Oh… Sorry…” Harry whispered back, ashamed to have been caught so easily. Despite his shame he was thankful for Griselda explaining, it no doubt would have been a rather awkward first meeting if the goblins had noticed first.
With the ushering of Mrs. Grimore Harry stepped up to one of the tall lectern-like desks where an ancient looking goblin sat sleepily and stated in his loudest most polite voice. “Hello Sir, I'm looking to access my vault!”
Roused from his nap and looking none too pleased the goblin gasped out some guttural words in a tongue Harry's ears could not comprehend, before answering in english; “Name?”
“Harry Potter, sir.”
The goblin hummed, “Harry Potter, Harry Potter… OH!” The goblins eyes rose, his overgrown white eyebrows rising so much as to reveal the iris which had been previously concealed. “What a surprise, it is good to see you young mister Potter, we have long awaited your arrival.”
“You have?” Harry fought a losing battle to keep the disbelief out of his voice.
“Oh yes, it's not everyday a young man such as yourself comes to our halls seeking the glittering gold hidden within.” The goblin then turned ninety degrees and whistled, rasping out a command in what Harry now assumed was the goblin language. Just as fast as the elderly goblin had a much younger one, faces devoid of any of the same lines came barreling from parts unseen to stand before Harry. “Potter?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me”
Harry followed and was taken down a number of maze-like hallways, to an even larger cavern upon which he was ordered into a minecart and shuttled down into the dark depths of the mountain. It was quite the ride and Harry imagined this is what a rollercoaster must feel like, he was smiling by the time they reached their destination.
“From here on you’ll go alone, understood?”
“Yes Sir.”
“How polite.” The goblin muttered some more remarks and turned away clearly dismissing Harry. Recognizing his dismissal Harry continued towards the vault, a large metal door wrought with intricate carvings runes and symbols which Harry marveled at. This could not have been a small feat, to have created something such as this the goblins must be powerful… Harry smiled to himself, it had been the right idea to use his manners after all. The last thing Harry wanted was to make enemies, he had enough of those in the normal.. Err muggle.. World.
Placing his hand on the doors proffered hand shaped carving the door began to click and groan like the chime of a lock shifting, pins settling back into places they had not been in centuries. Harry entered, heart full of hope. It was even better than he could have hoped however. Floor to ceiling sat lustrous gold, oddly minted coins unfamiliar to Harry though clearly money were piled haphazardly about. If one was to ask Harry, it was a rather odd sight; nothing in his life could have prepared him for this.
It was bejeweled necklaces, gilded swords, portrait frames and golden chains, endless mountains of gold. It was a perfect picture of wealth, wealth beyond reason, beyond satisfaction, beyond greed, it was too much. And so Harry Potter, the boy who had lived owning nothing, received a pittance from those who should have cherished him. Harry, who had lived his last nine years in fear of costing the Dursleys precious pennies, sat down, among all this wealth and finery, and wept. After all, what else is a boy to do when confronted with such life changing richness?