It was a big thing, to go from a pathetic orphan to a wizard in less than 24 hours. Harry Potter, said eleven year old wizard, was reveling in the notion of magic. He was walking alongside Hogwarts’ groundskeeper, Hagrid in the incredible Diagon Alley.
“We should get yeh a trunk,” Hagrid mused when they passed by a shop boasting luggage and various storage containers. Harry was just happy to be here in Diagon Alley. They walked in the store. There were shelves of large trunks, faintly glowing with spellwork, and racks of purses that claimed they could hold over a hundred pounds.
Harry wandered through the aisles while Hagrid talked to the shopkeeper. By the door was a display of trunks that held whole rooms in them. Harry imagined Dudley coming after him. He would step into his trunk. Dudley would charge at him, then stop, looking around in confusion while Harry hid, laughing, by his feet.
Yes, this sounded like a wise purchase. Plus, he could use it for school! He picked one up (it was enchanted to be light) and held it up to Hagrid.
“What do you think, Hagrid? This one says it has a whole house inside!”
Hagrid smiled at Harry, and gently guided him back to the stands. “They do look nice, but they don’t tell yeh tha’ yeh have to pay for all the furniture an’ upkeep here, too. See?” He pointed to a shelf in the back with beds and magical equipment that looked like they belonged in a dollhouse. “Harry, when yeh shop, yeh have ta be aware, yeah? These shopkeepers are all very nice, but they’ll try ta take every Galleon from yer pocket!”
Harry frowned. He didn’t really understand what the big deal was. So what if he would have to buy furnishings with his trunk? He was rich now. Adults with money got what they wanted. Why couldn’t he? But Hagrid had already bought him a trunk, which, while nice, was only slightly expanded. He trotted alongside Hagrid outside the shop, and tried not to let his mood be put out by this. He was a wizard!
And anyway, he could always get whatever he wanted later. Anything.
~~~
Harry Potter, age fifteen, was angry. He climbed the stairs to Dumbledore’s office (more like Dumbledork!) like he was on a mission. Which he was. He tried to shove Dumbledore’s gargoyle aside, but the ugly thing stayed put, only glaring at him.
Harry was not surprised. He had recently learned that his whole life had been a giant manipulation from Dumbledore. He was just a puppet in a grand scheme to, well, Harry wasn’t sure yet, but it was something and it was bad. He had new evidence that suggested Dumbledore had orchestrated the rise of Lord Voldemort, had made Harry into a perfect little hero, and was going to use it all to make the whole of Wizarding Britain adore him.
When he had told his friends all of this, Hermione had side-eyed him over her book and Ron had given him a dirty look.
“Mate, how can you say that! Dumbledore is the best headmaster Hogwarts has ever had!” Ron had exclaimed.
“Oh really? What about all the times I’ve almost died?” Harry shot back, voice cold as ice.
Hermione snorted but didn’t put down her book. “Harry, you decided to get involved with things that the faculty had under control.”
“If I hadn’t done anything, Ginny would be dead! Sirius would be in prison. And the Triwizard Tournament was not my fault. Why didn’t Dumbledore intervene then, hmm?”
Hermione rolled her eyes and adjusted her position to better read her book. Ron sighed. “No one is saying any of this was your fault. I just don’t think you should blame it on Dumbledore.”
Harry had enough. “Really. Tell me one thing that he’s done for you.”
Ron turned red, and Harry knew he had won. Or at least he thought he did, until Ron said quietly, “He’s the reason I’m here, Harry.” Ron looked right at him. “He set up a scholarship for my tuition. If Dumbledore hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “He’s… paying you? What did you do to deserve that?” Once the words came out of his mouth, he knew exactly the reason why. Dumbledore was paying Ron to be his friend. That was the only solution. It was the truth.
Ron, of course, tried to backtrack. “He isn’t just paying for me. He set up financial aid for everyone who couldn’t afford Hogwarts.” It was too late. The truth had been discovered. And that was why here, now, Harry was at Dumbledore’s door, ready to confront him.
“Let me in, you colorful buffoon!” Harry called. Dumbledore’s gargoyle ignored him. It was a few more minutes before the gargoyle slowly moved aside and he heard Dumbledore’s voice say, “Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise! Please come in.”
Dumbledore, that old goat, was seated at his desk, a grandfatherly smile pasted on his mask of a face. “Please take a seat. And a lemon drop, if you like?” He motioned to a bowl of candy on his desk. There was a seat on Harry’s side of it, clearly positioned to force him to look up into Dumbledore’s eyes. Harry was not going to play this game.
“I know what you’ve done, Albus,” he said, jabbing his finger at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore’s smile faltered. “You will have to excuse me, Harry. I have done a lot of things recently.”
Harry laughed bitterly. “Oh, you know. The whole manipulating my whole goddamn life thing?”
The headmaster blinked. “Er. What?”
“Alright, I can play dumb, too. Let’s start from the beginning. You sent me to live with my aunt and you knew that she was terrible!”
Dumbledore sighed. “I hadn’t been planning on having this conversation with you until you were older. I did not want to burden you, but I see that I cannot wait any longer. Some years ago, there was a prophecy made–”
Harry almost let his jaw drop. Did Dumbledore really think he would believe this crap? “Your improvisation skills need work, Headmaster.”
“I am afraid this is no act,” said Dumbledore gravely. “True or not, Voldemort deeply believes in this prophecy. It is why he hunts for you so, because he thinks that you have the potential to be his undoing. A self-fulfilling prophecy, if you will.”
“Cut to the chase,” Harry snapped.
“As you wish. Your mother’s protections are through blood, and her sister is the only adult with it running through her veins. I admit I had heard Lily mention she found magic unpleasant, but I think some complaining is greatly preferred compared to your death.” Dumbledore took off his glasses, cleaned them on his robe, and perched them back on his face. “Is there anything you would like to tell me about your aunt, Harry?” he asked.
“What, beyond that she’s a miserable hag?” Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, but Harry did not want to hear it. “I don’t care about your excuses. Anyway, that’s just part of what I wanted to say. First year. You knew I would try to find the Philosopher’s Stone. You were trying to train me in some messed up way to be your soldier.”
“If you recall, Harry, I very clearly told you not to go to the room where it was hidden–”
“Second year! The basilisk!”
“I don’t see how this fits into your vision of me as a ruthless puppetmaster. You may be interested to know that the only class I failed at Hogwarts was Care of Magical Creatures, though.”
“This isn’t funny! Year three! You didn’t give Sirius a trial!”
Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I was not as influential then as I am now. Crouch had assured me that Sirius was guilty and I believed it. I am sorry for that. Once Voldemort is taken care of, Sirius will be pardoned. For now, I am sheltering him with the strongest magic I know.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Convenient. You won’t do what I want until I do what you want.”
“That is an awfully transactional way of viewing events. If you insist on making this economical, then I shall remind you that is how a trade works, yes.”
“Fourth year. You did nothing to get me out of that damn Tournament.”
Dumbledore sat up in his chair. “We did try. The Goblet of Fire is an ancient artifact and its magical bindings are very powerful.”
“So says the so-called most powerful wizard in the world. There’s more. How about how you’re paying Ron to be my friend?”
Dumbledore flipped through a folder on his desk. “Ron is not on my payroll. Harry, I care about you, but why would I pay someone to be your friend? I trust you to select your friends on your own.”
Yeah, right. “You want to indoctrinate me with your foolish Light morals!” Harry slammed his hand on the table. “I refuse to continue to be your pawn!”
There was a second of quiet. Dumbledore took a deep breath in, then out. “Harry, why don’t you sit down? Would you like something warm to drink? I find it helps me when I am upset–”
Harry was already on his way to the door. “No, this was a waste of my time. You’re just going to weasel out of everything I say. Goodbye, Albus Dumbledore.” He slammed the door on the way out. Hopefully it knocked down a painting. From the whispers inside the office, it probably did.
~~~
Harry Potter, age fifteen and a few days later, was in Diagon Alley. There were technically no rules that he couldn’t leave Hogwarts on the weekend, and it wasn’t like anyone could really stop him. Ron, of course, had not been invited. Harry didn’t want to invite him, no matter how much the Quidditch displays reminded him of his former friend. Hermione, who was his only real friend, had declined after carefully telling him that she didn’t want to risk being expelled. Being expelled was the least of Harry’s worries. Actually, being expelled would take him out from Dumbledore’s tyrannical thumb, which would be a net positive. Of course, he wouldn’t be expelled for that very reason.
It was quiet today, or what passed for quiet in one of the most popular Wizarding shopping districts. People hurried by, shopping for potion ingredients and magical groceries. A few small children looked into windows at cheery displays. Harry ignored all of that and strided to Gringotts’.
The bank had a few patrons in it, but it wasn’t long before a goblin teller ushered Harry over.
“What can Gringotts do for you?” the goblin asked.
Harry put his key on the counter. “I want to see my statements and I want to know if my parents left a will of some sort.”
The goblin grinned, showing off pointy teeth. “Name?”
“Harry Potter.” The goblin lifted his hand and muttered under his breath. Harry felt a tingle. The goblin nodded and said, “We can certainly give you copies of your statement and previous ones as well. That will, of course, incur a charge as we only provide statements quarterly. Would you still like a statement?”
“Yes,” Harry said impatiently.
“One moment, please.” The goblin took Harry’s key and strolled to an office in the back. A few minutes later, he came back with a few papers.
“The contents of your vaults are on this paper. Here is your transaction history.” The goblin put both pages on the counter. Harry took them. The transaction page was surprisingly short. The first line on the page read July 31st, 1991. His eleventh birthday, then.
“I only retrieved the past ten years. If you wish for more, that can be arranged. For a fee, of course. As for the will, I have asked my coworker, Balagag, to provide it. She is waiting for you in Office 3, that room over there.” The goblin motioned behind Harry to a door. “We thank you for your continued patronage.”
Harry walked to Office 3. It was small, but nice. A goblin sat behind a wooden desk with a few papers on it. By her hand was a white mug that read, Coffee First. You Second. The mug contained a fruity scented tea with the tea bag still floating inside. There was also a framed photograph of two goblins embracing and smiling at a child below them, who was making a silly face. In front of the goblin herself was a nameplate that read, Balagag, CFA.
“Hello, Mr. Potter. I am Balagag,” the goblin said, extending a hand for him to shake. He did so, firmly. “I have a copy of the will of Lily and James Potter. I should remind you that this is only the first draft of the will, as they were very young when they died and did not have the time to fully put their affairs in order. Shall we begin?”
Harry frowned. “Wait, how did you know this was a draft? Why did they not make a full will?”
“I helped them write it, of course. Gringotts is not just a bank. As for a full will, well, twenty-year-olds do not often make wills. Do you have a will? I think not.” Harry considered this. Maybe he should make a will.
“Oh, no. I can see that look on your face. You must be an adult to write a will, and you clearly are not.”
“But I–”
“Mr. Potter, I do not write the laws, but I am in the habit of following them because I would like to keep my job. Let us begin the reading.”
Harry sat down at the desk across from the goblin, who took a sip of the tea and cleared her throat. “Lily and James Potter bequeathed their money to one Sirius Black until you came of age. If Sirius Black was to be incapacitated, as you know he was, Albus Dumbledore would become manager of your vault. The same applies for their property. As for yourself, guardianship would fall to the next of kin.” Balagag looked up at him expectantly.
“That was it?”
“Yes,” Balagag said flatly.
“Why was I sent to live with my mother’s sister? That doesn’t sound like something she would do.”
Balagag drank another sip of tea. “I was under the impression that you have not met your parents, Mr. Potter. There is all of this Boy Who Lived nonsense I keep hearing about. If you must know, it is standard for children to be sent to a family member.”
Harry crossed his arms. “I don’t buy that. And Dumbledore is in charge of my vaults?”
“Are you upset about not having full access to your vaults as well? Feel free to voice any complaints you may have about the laws. You may file them here.” Balagag motioned to the small waste basket by her desk. “Is there anything else I may do for you today?”
“Can you remove Dumbledore from my vault?”
“Considering he is currently in charge of it and you are a minor, no.”
“Are you sure there is nothing you can do?”
Balagag took a swig of tea and held it in her mouth for a while. Finally, she swallowed and said, “I will likely still be here when you come of age. Ask me then. If there was nothing else you needed, fees for this meeting will be deducted from your account. Good day, Mr. Potter.”
Harry took that as a dismissal. He thanked Balagag, who nodded. As soon as he stepped out of Office 3, the door slammed shut. He was determined to make this trip not a total bust. He went back over to the teller and held out his key again.
“I want to access my vault,” he said.
“Of course,” said the goblin. “However, before I do so, I understand you were doing some estate planning?”
“Trying to,” Harry muttered.
“Wonderful!” the goblin said, completely ignoring Harry’s bitter tone. “Have you heard of our new complementary inheritance tests?”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Inheritance test? What do you mean?”
The goblin smiled brightly at him, like the highlight of his day was explaining this. “Our bank is an ancient one with many wonders hidden beneath the surface. So many vaults are untouched simply because there is not an heir listed for them! We do not like to see such valuables go to waste, and so we provide these tests to see if you are related to anyone who has left money behind.”
Harry didn’t want to get his hopes up, but a secret new stash of treasure could be what he needed against Dumbledore. “Let’s do it,” he said decisively.
“Follow me, please.” The goblin led him to another office. This one was larger, with a dark wood desk inlaid with gold accents and a fancy red rug. A goblin wearing beautiful purple robes dripping with jewels looked up at him. The teller bowed and closed the door softly behind him.
“Ah, Mr. Potter. I am Kurhog, the king of the goblins. Welcome to my office!” Kurhog flicked his hand and the chair across from him moved out. It was wooden with a plush seat. If Harry didn’t know better, he would have thought it looked like a throne.
“Why is the king of the goblins a banker?” Harry asked.
Kurhog smiled. “Is a king not allowed to enjoy helping in the vibrant world of finance?” He laughed. “I joke. This is not an everyday occurrence. It is not often I interact with wizards, but your presence here made me wish to meet you. You see, Mr. Potter, you are very special.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Are you seriously obsessed with that Boy Who Lived crap?”
Kurhog gasped. “No, of course not! I do not subscribe to such… silly things. No, Mr. Potter, I refer to what I believe we will find in the course of your inheritance test. I would like you to sign this form first. There is not much in there, simply just agreements about what will be done with any lordships you accept.” Kurhog passed over a thick packet of parchment and a peacock feather quill.
Harry skimmed over the parchment. It was written in small, dense print with words he couldn’t make heads or tails of. From what he could gather, Kurhog was right in that it was just financial minutiae. The goblins had been trustworthy from the beginning, and if he couldn’t trust the people who protected his vault, then he could trust no one. He flipped to the end and signed the parchment with a flourish. Nothing magical happened; the ink slowly dried on the page.
“Excellent!” Kurhog put the parchment contract aside and brought out a large bowl of water that looked reminiscent of a pensieve and a gleaming silver knife. “This ritual knife was crafted a hundred years ago by my predecessors. Please cut yourself and drip your blood into the basin.”
Harry slashed his hand across his palm. Kurhog didn’t even wince. Hand burning, Harry held it over the water. Once a drop hit its surface, it began to ripple. Kurhog stood up and raised his hands, chanting in a language Harry did not know. The blood coalesced into names on the surface of the basin.
“Oh… Oh my!” Kurhog exclaimed. “My intuition was correct! Mr. Potter… has anyone ever mentioned that you are related to Merlin himself?”
“What?” Another thing hidden from him!
“Yes! There’s more, look!” More names began to ripple into existence. “Godric Gryffindor! Salazar Slytherin! Helga Hufflepuff! Rowena Ravenclaw! By magic itself, this is unheard of!”
Harry felt dazed. “You’re telling me that I’m really related to all of these famous people?”
Kurhog motioned to the basin. “Our inheritance tests never lie. You are simply an exceptional individual.”
“Wow. What does this mean, then? That I’m related to them?”
“A great many things, Mr. Potter! Their vaults lie underground, untouched. Because you are related to them, you can claim their riches for yourself! For a fee, of course.”
There was really no question, no debate to be had. “I’ll do it.”
Kurhog produced more parchment. “This is simply remarkable, Mr. Potter. My ancestors have searched for years to find the true heir of these vaults and we have finally found him! Please sign here. Sign here if you would like to legally change your name to include your new lordships. This will incur a fee to your vaults.”
Harry signed the first one. “Why would I change my name?”
Kurhog shook his head. “Mr. Potter, do you not want everyone to know your status? Why would you be a nobody when you can be Lord Potter Merlin Gryffindor Hufflepuff Ravenclaw Slytherin?”
He was tired of everyone treating him like an attention seeking fool. Malfoy would never be able to do anything against the lord of these houses. The Ministry would have to bow to him like they bowed to all of the other rich purebloods!
“Those who claim lordships often change their first names to reflect their new status. We have never had so many lordships claimed as yourself, but many express happiness with more regal names. This is an extra fee.”
Harry mulled it over. A new name… It would be a new him. A stronger, more independent Harry. A powerful Harry. Yes! He signed the line and wrote carefully, Hadrian James Potter Merlin Gryffindor Hufflepuff Ravenclaw Slytherin.
As Kurhog began to recount his new gold (and new interest rates) he thought about what he could buy at Diagon Alley. Books of new spells to counteract Dumbledore. A new wand as a backup. More clothes. Anything.
Things were finally looking up.
~~~
Hadrian Potter Merlin Gryffindor Hufflepuff Ravenclaw Slytherin, age eighteen, was in a new era of his life. Voldemort had been slain through a series of conspicuous events. Dumbledore was dead in the ground after a duel with Voldemort at the Department of Mysteries three years ago. It turned out that Dumbledore had been spying on him and had followed him to the Ministry when he thought Sirius was kidnapped. There was this whole thing with a prophecy and blah blah blah. Hadrian did not care. Both tyrants controlling his life were dead and now Hadrian was free.
Today was a quiet day. Hadrian came back to his Diagon Alley apartment after a day of avoiding the press again. There was a note attached to the door. In all capital letters and bright red coloring were two damning words: Eviction Notice!
Eviction notice? Surely something was wrong. Hadrian’s rent payments came directly from his vaults. That meant one of two things: his landlord was evicting him because she didn’t want to deal with his fan mail, or Gringotts had messed up. Hadrian knocked on the door of the landlord’s office thoughtfully.
His landlord was an older woman, her graying hair tied up in a bun. “Oh, Hadrian. Yes, the eviction notice on your door is for you.”
Hadrian walked inside and shut the door behind him. “That can’t be right. You should be receiving my rent directly from my vault at Gringotts.”
His landlord rubbed her eyes. She looked tired. “Hadrian, you haven’t paid your rent. You have thirty days to figure it out.” The landlord motioned to the direction of Diagon Alley. “Gringotts is still open.”
“Right,” Hadrian said. “Thanks.” He did not want to thank this woman. He was a lord, and lords were not treated this way. Of course, lords also did not often live in apartments, but this was simply a step until he could find somewhere else to live.
Hadrian stepped out into Diagon Alley. It was a warm, pleasant day, with a gentle breeze. Families were taking advantage of the weather to shop for their Hogwarts supplies. Hadrian wished that were him. Instead, he went to Gringotts, where Muggleborns looked around in awe and bored purebloods demanded the attention of the goblins.
“Sir, have you heard about our complimentary inheritance tests?” Hadrian looked to the side at the speaker. A goblin teller was speaking to an older man and his young teenage daughter.
“No, what’s that?” the man asked.
“We are more than happy to explain that to you! Please, follow me.” The goblin guided the man and his daughter to the same room Hadrian had his own test in. He tilted his head a little and saw a familiar face. Kurhog, the goblin king, was sitting at the desk.
“Welcome, sir!” he heard Kurhog say before the door was closed. But why was Kurhog here? He had said he only came when someone was special. Was that girl special, then?
A goblin waved him over to the teller. “I want to see Balagag,” he said. Hadrian wanted to yell at someone and a teller wasn’t going to do.
“Balagag will be with you shortly,” the goblin said flatly. “Next!” Hadrian went to sit on one of the couches in the back, feeling antsy.
It was fifteen minutes later when Office 3 opened and Balagag beckoned him over. The office was much unchanged, though the photo on the desk showed an older goblin child and the white mug had been replaced with a blue one reading, Inspirational quotes are for losers. Give me coffee. The mug was filled with iced tea.
Hadrian didn’t bother saying hello. He sat down and said, “My landlord says I haven’t paid. What gives?”
Balagag had already pulled his file. “Mr. Potter, do you read your statements? We do, in fact, send them to you.” She pushed a parchment at him. Hadrian read it, eyes widening. He turned it around and pointed to the Total Amount line. “What does this mean, zero Galleons?”
“Well, it mostly means you are an idiot.”
“Hey!”
“You signed up for the Lordship Program, no?” Balagag asked, sipping iced tea. “Did you read your contract? No, of course you didn’t. You were an angry fifteen year old. You still act it, I might add.”
Hadrian directed a cold, lordly glare at Balagag. “Firstly, I am Lord Hadrian Potter Merlin Gryffindor Hufflepuff Ravenclaw Slytherin. Secondly, my lordships have given me more money than most people could even dream of! You can see that in the rest of my files, I’m sure.”
Balagag groaned. “Mr. Potter, do you know how many children Merlin fathered in his time? Do you know how inbred you purebloods are? Everyone is an heir to something.”
This couldn’t be true. No way. “It doesn’t matter. I claimed the lordship! I have the vaults!”
“Yes,” said Balagag. “You and thirty other people. Look at the fees charged to your account. The money goes fast and everyone shares in the fees. It’s a scam, Mr. Potter.”
“No, that can’t be right. How would you know, anyway? Goblins have been forced to work at Gringotts. Maybe you just don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was so sad that the goblins had been so oppressed by the wizards, truly.
Balagag bared her fangs. “Look at my nameplate, Mr. Potter. Do you see those three letters, CFA? I went to school for four years for a bachelor’s in finance. Two more for my master’s. Then my CFA certification. Banking may be a popular job among my people, but despite your surprise, I chose to do this. Now,” she huffed, “Are you finished being a racist imbecile so we can discuss your financial plan?”
“Er, yes. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Unfortunately, you will not be because you signed a contract for life. It binds you to the vaults of the lordships you accepted and requires you to pay for their upkeep as well as interest. Of course, since they have long been empty, you have been paying out of your own vault. Any money taken from those vaults are actually from the vaults of all of the so-called lords.” Balagag set down her mug. “Do you have income, Mr. Potter?”
“Are you telling me to get a job?” he asked incredulously.
“Why yes, I am asking that. Be lucky I didn’t ask why you don’t have one.”
Hadrian– no, Harry now, he supposed, put his head in his hands. “Balagag, what am I supposed to do? My rent is due soon and I have nothing.”
“Find another, cheaper apartment,” Balagag said tonelessly. “Get a job. You do not want to go into the negatives. Between you and me, you may want to agree to some press photoshoots if they’re willing to pay you. Yes, the fees will continue to come out of your account, but the sooner you can get more money, the better.”
“How do I know you aren’t scamming me?”
“Naturally, I would not have told you that you were being scammed. Unlike those other idiots, I have morals.”
Harry slammed his hand on the table. “Wait, Balagag, can’t I sue them? This can’t be legal.”
“Oh, Mr. Potter,” Balagag laughed, taking a sip of her iced tea. “Of course it is. You signed your rights away.”
~~~
Harry Potter, formerly a lord, age thirty-seven, was tired, broke, and unhappy. He worked an unfulfilling job at the Ministry. His fame had rendered him a curiosity to his coworkers but nothing more. With every passing year, the terror Voldemort had left faded more and more. Now, he was just a name. This was good for Harry, but bad for his financial situation, which got worse and worse after his marriage and children.
The siphoning funds from his idiotic mistakes in his past was an unshakable burden. How could he have been so stupid? He was even starting to believe that Dumbledore may have had a point.
Ron, of course, never forgiven him. Harry didn’t blame him. Ron married Hermione and the former best friends never spoke again. Harry himself married a Muggle woman named Caroline Wren.
This morning, Caroline was smiling and cooking up breakfast when he joined her. “Good morning, dear!” she said. “What are you doing today?”
“Taking James to get his things for Hogwarts, remember? We talked about this,” he said tiredly, sitting down and letting her serve him. He didn’t like being served and he actually in fact enjoyed cooking for himself. Caroline had some old fashioned ideas about womanhood which were a thinly veiled excuse to not have to work.
Harry had originally believed that Caroline had simply not been taught there were other avenues for women other than motherhood, but Caroline had turned him down and threatened divorce unless he agreed she could be a stay-at-home mother. And so, Harry worked and Caroline doted on James in their idyllic facsimile of a life.
It would be fine, he supposed, if Caroline didn’t constantly forget he hated ketchup in his eggs. What kind of barbarian put ketchup in eggs, anyway?
James thundered down the stairs. “Diagon Alley!” he said brightly. Caroline served him ketchup eggs (ugh) and he dug in. “Dad, are you excited?”
“Sure,” Harry said, trying to subtly wipe red goo onto the edge of his plate.
“You could at least try to be a little more excited,” Caroline said. She was right; James looked a little put out at his flat answer. He hated it when Caroline was right.
“Don’t worry, James, I am excited. Just a little tired is all!” Caroline smiled at him. Her smiles were beautiful, still. “Are you coming with us, Carry?”
“No, I don’t think so. I have things to do here. You two go have fun.”
After breakfast, Harry Apparated the two of them to the Leaky Cauldron. There were a lot of people. He saw a flash of red hair and quickly moved them out of the way.
Harry wanted to be excited for his son. He wanted his son to feel the same magic that he had. But all he could see were price tags. Their first stop was Gringotts, of course. He skipped the line for the tellers and went to Office 3.
Balagag had another new photo (a graduation photo of a grinning goblin) and a green mug reading Teatime is Everytime containing coffee.
“Mr. Potter…s. What can I do for you and why did you not ask the tellers for me first?”
“I don’t trust any of them. I want to make a withdrawal.”
Balagag looked up at the ceiling. “Great. Go ask someone who isn’t me. I have a lot more to do other than listening to you whine and make bad decisions.”
“Hey, I’ve gotten better. I have a job and a house.”
“Congratulations, you’ve done the bare minimum. Listen, ask for Griphook, okay? He’s usually pretty reliable.” Balagag gently closed the door behind them.
“Why was that goblin mean to you?” James asked, looking up at Harry.
“It’s complicated. It’s not nice to call someone mean things, but I deserved it. Let’s go get some money for your things, okay?”
Griphook turned out to be an older goblin who must have had a death wish with the speed he put their cart on. Still, they were able to obtain a meager amount of gold, enough for James to get everything. Probably. If prices hadn’t gone up too much and Harry got some things second hand…
Harry showed James the pet store where Hedwig had come from and the Quidditch shop. James was especially taken with the potion ingredients and Harry was thankful Snape had retired. They got most of James’ things secondhand, but at least there was enough for his own wand. Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.
And then the day of whimsy and magic was over, and Harry was back in his awful mundane life in his small house with his boring wife. But at least James was happy, so Harry could be happy.
~~~
James Potter, age fifteen, wanted more from life. His dad hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about why he was famous (apparently he had killed a Dark Lord!) and now everyone thought he’d be just as good. Well, he wasn’t, and everyone was going to have to live with that.
His dad was going to have to live with that, too. Harry Potter expected quite a lot from his son, which was ironic considering that he was a washed-up divorcee. It had been a long time coming, James knew, with all of the late night arguments and dirty looks his parents shared.
James knew it was because his parents were incompatible, but he couldn’t help but feel it was his fault, somehow. If he had been a little better, maybe he could have kept them together. He could have forced them to get along, like in the movies, and then they would have to love each other.
Oh, who was he kidding himself. His father was the most stubborn person he knew and his mother was the pettiest. Add in their money troubles and it was the perfect recipe for disaster.
If only he had a little more power. If only he could do something to impress his parents.
James walked into Gringotts bank, looking around at the milling people and goblins.
“Sir! Have you heard about our inheritance tests?” the teller asked James.
“No, I haven’t,” he said.
“Well,” said the goblin, a bright smile on his face, “Allow me to tell you all about it, and then you too can partake. For a fee, of course.”