Harry was just so very, very done with dealing with the Dursleys, and that was before Uncle Vernon announced Aunt Marge was coming to visit. Harry wavered, just a little, when his Uncle promised to sign his Hogsmeade permission slip once Marge had left, if he had behaved. But then Harry saw something in his face, perhaps a certain gleam to his eyes, and thought of all the times Dudley had sabotaged him. All the times the Dursleys have blamed him for something he did not, or even could not, have done.
Nebulous plans which had been bubbling under the surface of Harry’s mind for years floated into his conscious thoughts. He could, just, leave. It’s not like anyone would know. Well, it's not like any mages would know.
BANG! Aunt Petunia slammed his bedroom door shut. As Harry sat down on his bed and she went through the slow process of shutting all the locks, Harry plotted. He needed somewhere safe to sleep. He needed a variety of healthy food. He needed his home to be safe from mages, magical creatures, and muggles alike. And he needed something to do, or, and he knew this about himself, he would go spare.
His problems included: he couldn’t do magic or the ministry would find him. He's famous, and so he couldn’t just waltz into Diagon Alley.
What he really wanted, after a Merlin-be-damned year of everyone thinking he was a villain, was some time alone. After that, meeting up with Ron and Hermione would be great. But the more people who know he left the Dursleys, the more likely his secret would get out, so that was an idea for later. Alone could look like being alone in the woods? The Forbidden Forest aside, Harry rarely felt as soothed and calm as when he was under tree cover. But he didn’t know anything about camping. How do you shower? Where do you pee? How do you cook? Annoyingly, those problems are logistical ones which could, in theory at least, be solved with magic. If only he could do it out of school, if only his wand didn’t have the trac--
Wait. Wait. He cast his mind back to a conversation he eavesdropped on, between Malfoy and another Slytherin. Possibly the younger Greengrass sister? Neither of them saw Harry, at the time he was lurking near Malfoy trying to work out who the Heir really was. Malfoy had bragged that he could of course practice magic at home, since he had a second wand, a family wand. That of course only proper purebloods had large enough collections of their ancestors' wands for current members to find a good enough match for it to be a useful summer practice wand. Harry had been furious at the time, and covertly looked it up in the library. There was some very un-compelling justification in the book for why you couldn’t buy another wand from Olivander. It was such an obvious example of prejudice against muggleborn students, how the letter of the law seemed to treat all blood statuses the same in theory while in practice the Purebloods had a loophole. At the time, Harry had put it out of his mind. He hadn’t wanted to upset Hermione with it, or have her or Ron ask why he would want one.
It wasn’t out of his mind anymore. Yes, Harry was a half-blood. But it isn’t blood status which made the difference here, was it? It was how many magical ancestors you had, and there were a lot of dead Potters. What had happened to their wands? On the one hand, no he had not seen them in his vault. But he had been very distracted by the huge mound of gold, in fairness to his younger self. Harry did not know much about personal finance management if he was honest, but Gringotts did seem to operate as more of a safety deposit box type system than a bank account. Maybe there was other stuff in there.
He succeeded in not thinking any more specifically. Harry was practised at not getting his hopes up.
Maybe this would all go horribly wrong. Maybe he would regret it. But he had just fought a basilisk and won, with help. What had been put in Gryffindor for, if not take some risks? By this point, he had convinced himself a visit to Diagon Alley was worth a shot. So he made a plan.
What he needed was to be able to leave without the Dursleys knowing. Leaving very early in the morning would have been perfect, but that missed out that he was locked in his room overnight. So instead, after his Uncle had left for work, while his aunt was having a relaxing bath, and he was supposed to be doing laundry, he snuck the key to the understair cupboard from his Aunt and Uncle’s room. His heart pounded and palms sweated. But he put the key in the pocket of his baggy trousers and walked as calmly as he could down the stairs. He felt a little outside himself, as if in a dream.
He wasn’t sure when he would be back, so he didn’t want to leave anything truly irreplaceable. His father’s cloak, photo album, wand (even if he couldn’t use it), his small amount of galleons, sickles and knuts, and homework assignments (so far undone) all went in his school bag. The problem was his broom. He really didn’t want to leave it, but also he just could not lug his trunk around and still avoid attention. With a sigh, he left it but put his newest Weasley jumper in his bag instead. He quickly made some sandwiches and wrapped them in tin foil. They and a bottle of water went in his bag too, which was getting rather full by now.
While looking out the back window, he was hit by a bolt of inspiration. He got his broom out his trunk, out the back door, and into the shed. Some of the shed was used a lot, but some of it never was, not even by Harry when he did garden chores. He hid his broom in the back left corner behind a lot of the junk. This way, when he came back for it all he needed to do was break into the shed. That sounded a lot easier than breaking into the actual house. And it reduced the chances of the Dursleys breaking his broom while he was gone.
Before he left he realised he would need some muggle money today. Better nick a little from Dudley’s stash, it’s not like the idiot needed it or would notice. So he crept silently into Dudley’s room under his cloak, and took £30 from the hundred’s Dudley had in his piggy banks. By now he was getting really anxious. Petunia would be finishing her bath soon. It was finally time to go.
He slipped out the back, and made his way to the park. He considered whiling away some time on the swings, maybe eating one of the sandwiches he had packed… But no. Petunia would be realising he was gone at any moment. The only way he was getting away with this was if he got a move on.
So he walked to Greater Whinging. As he wandered down the highstreet, he looked for … something.
He wasn’t sure exactly where would sell a wig. Because he had decided that was what he needed. A way of covering his distinctive scar and hair in one go, without any magic from his wand which would set off the trace. Before he could find some kind of wig shop though, he struck gold he had forgotten he needed. Side by side were a Specsavers and a Boots. He didn’t know his eye prescription, and getting a custom pair of glasses would take a week anyway. But in the window of Boots were those glasses which they sold in generic prescriptions. Both lenses 4+, both 1-. Things like that. That was perfect. His glasses were almost as iconic as his scar.
--- --- ---
1 hour later, Harry was in an excellent mood. He had scored an optitian’s appointment due to a no show. And then had taken his answer into Boots and had picked the glasses closest to the proscription. He was down £17 now, only £13 muggle money left, but it was worth it.
FInally he found some kind of costume shop and talked them into selling him a man’s dark blond wig. The wig had a long enough fringe it covered his scar and all of his hair. With an entirely fake promise to be back if he decided he wanted to buy the rest of the costume, he left. He went to an innocuous side street to call the knight bus. One thing to court trouble to improve his situation, quite another to do it for no reason. On impulse he gave the name Issac Young when asked by Ernie. He paid his 11 sickles and was dropped off outside the Leaky Cauldron only a little queasy.
His wig and new glasses seemed to work a treat; no one in the pub recognised him. He tapped the bricks out the back, and wandered to Gringotts deliberately casually. His biggest concern was running into someone who actually knew him. He was pretty sure his disguise was good enough for strangers to not recognise him, but what about a Weasley? Or McGonagall? Just in case he didn’t want to draw attention by rushing. As he approached the bank, he realised he couldn’t just call his name out. That would defeat the whole point. As he kept walking towards the bank, trying not to panic, he saw there was no line for the currency exchange counter which was on the same level as him. It would be so much easier to introduce himself quietly there than to a teller on their tall perches.
The goblin at the exchange desk looked at him expectantly.
“Hello, I would like to visit my vault, but I don’t have my key -”
The goblin’s expression changed. He might have frowned? And then smoothed out. Possibly he was just thinking. “I will deliver you to the fraud prevention office. Who do you claim to be?”, he asked.
He replied, “I’m Harry potter,” before he had a chance to think. Concerningly, the goblin grinned. And not a nice one. He left the desk, and started walking down the corridor to the right of it. Harry scrambled after him.
Harry tried to push down his anger. Obviously this guy thought he was a thief about to get caught. He knew what purebloods often thought about magical creatures, so Harry assumed they had to deal with people thinking they were stupid a lot, and trying to trick them.
“It’s probably not personal,” he told himself, “take some deep breaths”.
The goblin reached an ornate stone door, and knocked. Despite it being flush with the floor and the doorframe, the door opened smoothly and without a sound.
“A petitioner, Sir, for the Potter accounts. This one says he's lost his key” he announced with a blade-like smile, and then turned around and went back up the corridor.
Harry took another deep breath, this time reminding himself he was a Griffindor, stepped into the room, and stopped. Something was familiar about this goblin.
“Mr Griphook?” Harry asked, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Correct Mr Potter,” Griphook grimaced, “if you are, in fact, Mr Potter.” Griphook tapped his side of his desk in an irregular rhythm and the draw popped open. He put on some gloves that looked a little like the dragon hide ones Harry had for Herbology, and picked up a faintly glowing gem from the drawer. He looked across at him as Harry took a seat.
“I am unfortunately obliged to tell you this is a Gringotts Identification Crystal.” he paused to scowl harder, and tilted his head towards it slightly, “It is imbued with a sample from Mr Harry Potter, entrusted to Gringotts by Mr James and Mrs Lily Potter. If you are not the real Harry Potter, the protective enchantments will activate. If you are, it will glow a brighter red. Press your hand against it”
Harry didn’t take time to pause, and touched a fingertip against the smooth surface of the crystal. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the heat of it - he had been expecting it to be cold like the rest of the room, but it was blood warm. Harry looked up at Griphook, who had an unreadable expression.
“I see, Mr Potter. You don’t know where your key is?”
“No sir.”
“Standard Gringotts procedure would be to recall all current keys and issue you a new one.”
Harry froze. What he really wanted was Griphook to make it so all the current keys stayed looking the same, but could not open his vault, and for him to have the new and only key. But what if that wasn’t an option? Or seemed suspicious or something? He asked as much.
Griphook looked at him with a curious gaze, like he was a geode he would just love to crack open. It was not a comfortable look. He did seem to take it as a request however, “Since that is both non-standard, and Gringotts will lose that key, I will charge your account 20G for that service.”
Harry knew the exchange rate was supposed to be approximately 1G to £5, so that would be £100. Frankly, considering how much money he had, and how he wanted to delay people looking for him as long as possible, that was a steal. “That would be great, thank you Griphook”.
--- --- ---
Harry was speeding down to his vault in the Gringotts cart, whooping with glee. Once Griphook had opened the vault, he peered inside and now he was looking, he saw the tops of bookcases over the top of the piles of gold.
He turned to the goblin and tentatively asked “Is there any way I could stay down here for a few hours? I don’t have much of my parents, and want to explore exactly what is in here”.
“It is protocol to wait for up to 20 minutes, or come back at a predetermined time.” Griphook gave him a piercing look as he said, “There is no method you could use to leave early, so consider carefully.”
Harry jumped at the chance and asked him to come back at 5pm.
When Griphook left, Harry checked his watch. It was 2:34, so he actually didn’t have long. After a quick lunch, he edged around the pile of gold to find what was on the shelves. There were textbooks, including some with pretty loopy handwriting in the margins, and Lily Evans printed neatly inside the front covers. Even better, some of them were potions theory. He had resigned himself to being bad at potions way back in first year because Snape hated him. But he had been so excited about it at the very start. How cool would it be to sort of learn potions from his mum? There were also books about unfamiliar subjects, like A Complete Guide to Elder Futhark and Enchanting for Beginners. They had her handwriting in too, so he set them aside.
He was excited to find a slightly battered but otherwise appealing trunk made of a warm-red wood. It was propped open with a book titled “Beyond Hogwarts: Master Alba Reversa’s Expert Guide to Advanced Transfiguration Techniques” and half full of adult’s clothes. Since they seemed to be men’s he tentatively labelled this trunk as his father’s. His throat suddenly felt tight, he looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and wiped his eyes. After he carefully removed the clothes, he found a pamphlet at the bottom. It was yellowed, a little torn around the edges, and had Madam Lovegood’s Luxury Luggage printed at the top. Under that was a guide for how to use the trunk!
Harry tried tapping the front right corner to shrink it, as the pamflet said, but it didn’t work. He frowned, sat down, and read through the whole pamflet carefully. The second time though he recognised the significance of the 6th paragraph stating that a trunk could be “keyed” to your wand. This trunk was not going to respond without his fathers’ (or possibly mother’s) wand-- and oh yeah! That is why he was here, focus Harry.
There was an odd cabinet around the other side of the bookcases. To Harry’s growing excitement, it had lots and lots of what looked like small door knobs connected to narrow draws. They were about an inch wide and an inch high each. He pulled a draw out, and as expected; a wand! Under it was a sheet of paper reading “Charlus Potter”. He felt his heart thudding in his chest as he looked down at the wand. But he carefully put the wand back in the draw, and closed it.
He wasn’t sure why his heart was racing. Or maybe he did. This was it. This could work. Actually work. He hadn’t realised that had half expected to get caught up until now, and get sent back to the Dursley’s, with them being even angrier than usual.
He went to open the same draw he chose at random, then remembered how long it took to find his holly wand. Maybe it was better to channel Hermione for once and be systematic about it or he would be here until midnight. Starting at the top left, he opened draws, removed the wands, and waved them away, towards the opposite wall. Some of the wands did nothing at all, like the pale wand of Augustine Potter. Some felt cool to the touch and somehow unwelcoming, like the dark brown wands of Winnifred and Casper Potter. Harry was beginning to lose hope, until he found a warm reddish wand. He lifted it out of the drawer, barely glancing at the note under it reading “Dorea Potter neé Black”, because immediately glittering copper sparks spilled out of the wand into the room in a wide swirl. He felt warmed through. God he loved magic, even after knowing about it for two years, it was still amazing. He didn’t feel like the connection was as close as with his holly wand, but at least he could use this one without being noticed. He stowed his new wand in his right pocket. Even after trying the rest of the wands, the red wand was still his favourite. Finding his parents' wands was anticlimactic; he didn’t feel anything in particular when holding either of them.
Harry sped back over to the trunk and tried tapping the corner again with his father’s wand while whispering the master passcode from the booklet. He cheered when it shrank on cue, and he expanded it again. He was excited to find the expansion and featherlight enchantments still worked, and you could open 7 different compartments depending on which lock you tapped. He followed some complicated instructions to have his holly wand recognised by the trunk, and to change the main password to “Dorea Potter née Black”, partially in honour of his new wand’s previous owner and partially to remind him to look her up later. Removing his father’s wand from the scheme was apparently technically possible, but it looked so hard he decided it was probably safe enough when it would be staying in the vault anyway.
Okay. So. What next? He had his new trunk to transport stuff. He still needed to find somewhere to stay this evening and dinner time was approaching quickly. His eyes scanned over the rest of the vault. He wasn’t sure when he would come back, so he opened the 7th compartment of the trunk. He then held his wand on the symbol on the inside of the right corner and thought about the space expanding downwards and a bit sideways. He watched in awe as the bottom of the trunk moved away from him and noticed the ladder extending with it.
He looked over at the bookcase and then drew Dorea Potter's wand - his new wand. Time for the moment of truth. He got part way through the swish and flick, and got hit with a wave of nerves. What if it didn't work? Then what? He closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to summon his courage. He had killed a basilisk. He had left his Aunt and Uncle’s house, which was not and had never been a home to him. He was even defying Dumbledore right now, since he wanted Harry to stay with the Dursleys. If he could do all that, he could cast a first year spell and lift a bookcase.
He swished, flicked, and cast with as much confidence as he could, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The bookcase wobbled… and rose slowly into the air. Harry directed it up as carefully as he could, over to the trunk and slowly, slowly down into its new place. He did the same with other things he found in the vault too. A set of crafting tools, which some of the books would hopefully explain. An armchair. More boxes of books and board games. Maybe he could play them at school? A tiny wood box with a gold ring, inlaid with a mottled white half-sphere that didn’t feel cool enough to be a gem.
Harry's final and most important find was a tent. Harry had never put up a tent before. Less helpfully, there were no instructions for this one. After what felt like an hour wrestling with the canvas and poles, it was up. Harry was reasonably sure he'd got it right. He might not have bothered at all, if not for a story of Ron’s about Newt Scamander. He used a briefcase which had whole animal exclosures inside. It stood to reason that a tent in a mages’ vault could be enchanted similarly.
Harry undid the front door flap, and gasped. It was huge! Well not huge huge. He wouldn’t be raising mooncalves in here. But it had space for a bed. And it had a separate space with an actual clawfoot bath. Neither the taps nor the plughole seemed to be connected to anything, but water appeared out the taps and vanished out the bottom anyway. The toilet in the bathroom corner worked similarly. There was a kitchen with crockery and utensils cupboards, burners for potion brewing and cooking, a controllable, oven-like hot box, and cooler and freezer cupboards. The outer canvas seemed battered, as if it had been on lots of adventures. Harry couldn’t wait to take it on more.
While trying to figure out how the burners worked, he jumped out of his skin by the shout of “NO! Harry Potter must not burn himself!” and the sudden appearance of Dobby.
Dobby explained shakily that he had put a monitoring charm on Harry after Lucius had attacked him. He had realised how much extra danger Harry would be in from his former master because of freeing him. He knew Harry had been in Privet Drive, and noticed when he left. He had covertly followed him to the Leaky cauldron, to Gringotts and down into the vault. They got a little sidetracked with Dobby explaining that no, of course the goblin’s didn’t stop him. Griphook knew he was there, he just assumed he was with Harry and hadn’t questioned it further.
Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It should have been incredibly creepy to be followed off and on, and to have a monitoring charm on him without him knowing and annoying for Griphook to know and not tell him! But Dobby looked so happy to be free, and so Harry said that.
Dobby grinned even wider. “Dobby is most happy to be free, Sir! Dobby is very happy with his new socks also.” He lifted his left foot to show off his eye watering orange and purple socks.
Dobby looked at Harry, shrewdly around at the tent, and then back at Harry. “Is Harry Potter moving his house?”
“Ah, yes. I am moving into the tent, but I’m taking it somewhere else first. But I’m not sure where I could put it.”
Dobby looked at him excitedly, and then bit his lip. He took a deep breath and suggested, “If Harry Potter took Dobby as his elf, Dobby would know where Harry Potter’s home is. Dobby is a house-elf. We all have a feeling for homes.” They then got a little side tracked as Dobby explained his family probably owned at least a field somewhere. That the Potters were an old family, and they used to be big in growing potions ingredients. Even if those fields weren't being leased to anyone, it was unlikely they had all been sold. He may even own a house or possibly, houses.
Harry nodded. He was quiet for a while, long enough Dobby fidgeted a little, and then said “Dobby, you remember meeting the Dursleys?” Dobby nodded, so he continued, “They worked me very hard. Too hard for a child. For no pay, of course. They hurt me. And they blamed me for things that weren’t my fault. Worst of all, until now, I was trapped with them.” He made sure to look Dobby in the eye, to see if he understood, “that is why I am worried, because I have been treated a bit like how house-elves are treated, and I don’t want that for anyone. Right now I can’t help everyone, but hopefully I can help you. This means I have quite a few conditions.”
Dobby looked excited but baffled. “What sorts of conditions, Harry Potter?”
“I insist you take two days off per week, to only work for me at most 8 hours per work day, and I want to pay you 2 galleons per hour. I want to pay for all of your essentials, including food and medical care.” If Dobby looked baffled before, that was nothing compared to now.
“I also want to give your pay to you to keep in a safe place only you can access?”
Dobby stood very still as he thought about that, “Yes, Sir, Dobby can do that”.
Harry took a deep breath and tried to pull back any extra moisture which may or may not be in his eyes, and quietly whispered “I want you to never be compelled, even to keep my secrets. I want it to be your choice. Always. Even if you chose to leave, to go back to the Malfoys or something and tell them everything, I want you to physically, financially, and magically be able to. I want it to be your decision. Always.”
Harry was pleased to find Dobby arguing. It seemed like a good sign for how their relationship would continue from here. But he was surprised and not so pleased to find him arguing for what seemed like less of everything.
“Dobby will be living with you, Harry Potter. Dobby does not need to pay rent. So Dobby does not need such big amounts. Dobby does actually like fixing things and cleaning things. It is soothing. It is no trouble Sir”.
He wanted one day off per month and to work as much as he wanted on his days of work. They finally settled on at most 10 hours per day, and 15 sickles per hour and 1 day off per fortnight. However, Dobby insisted that Harry agree to call on him in emergencies, even if it was a designated day off. He also asked for things Harry had never thought of. He asked to be able to speak his language to other elves, as long as there were no guests. He asked for his own space ideally in the centre of the house, the place of the strongest magic. He asked for his days off to include all new moons, but didn’t go into why. Harry was not pleased with a lot of it frankly. It seemed like too much to ask of anyone, even if they were specifically demanding it. And the implication of what other elves were banned from doing was horrifying. But he was running out of time today, and so he reluctantly agreed.
And so Dobby walked them through an old binding ritual. Older than the one-sided ones many modern purebloods used, it instead focused on reciprocity and mutual freedom. The elf needed only his own will to leave if he wanted to go, and the same for Harry. The elf would not be able to be compelled, and would essentially do what work he thought needed doing, unless Harry asked him to do something else.
“I, Harry James Potter, swear to shelter you and to appreciate your work, like the brownies of old. To let you work at most 13 days per fortnight and at most 10 hours per day, and to pay you 15 sickles per hour. I swear to provide money for your food and medicine in full. I swear to call for you in emergencies. I swear to never ban you or other elves speaking any language, where you live, or to ask you to work on new moons. I swear to never compel you, including to work or to stay with me.”
“Dobby the house-Elf swears to keep the secrets of Harry James Potter--” at which Harry gasped aloud. Damn it Dobby that was not something they had agreed on, “--his family and those he calls friends. Dobby swears to work for Harry Potter faithfully. Dobby swears to leave if the time comes when Harry Potter does not appreciate Dobby’s work.”
As Harry shook Dobby’s little hand and they looked into each other’s eyes, they shivered in synchrony, because they felt it as their bond snapped into place. They found themselves sometime later on the floor, breathing deeply, having giggled themselves into exhaustion at the feeling.
Suddenly, they heard a knock from the vault door.
Harry's eyes snapped open. "Quick --” But before Harry could ask, Dobby had already packed away the loose books, his father’s clothes, and their tent into the trunk.
Just as Griphook opened the door, Dobby had slipped away to wherever house-elves go when they are out of sight.
Harry greeted Griphook and stepped out of the vault. He was ready to go.