Chapter 4
A member of the Hogwarts' Staff accompanying a nervous, wide-eyed child into Gringotts late in summer was not an unusual sight.
(Though the staff member in question had never before been the half-giant Groundskeeper.)
Still.
This was clearly a muggleborn intake, and everygoblin knew the routine. GraniteClaw waved them forward, already pulling out the forms for setting up a new vault, connecting it to or requesting a periodic transfer from one of the many banking institutions in the muggle world, and applying for financial assistance through either the wixen Ministry or Hogwarts.
(The majority of muggleborn students ended up needing at least a little financial aid at some point, even if only a waiver for the usual testing fees on their elective NEWTS, or what they would call 'medical insurance'. Better for all involved to have the bureaucratic part taken care of upfront.)
His first impression of the Groundskeeper being a bit ... slow ... was reinforced when the man began pulling all manner of random detritus from his pockets (and quite rudely scattering them across his counterspace!) in search of the key he should, rightly, have had ready to present from the beginning. Far too accustomed to the dismissive arrogance and lack of consideration by wixen toward goblinkind, GraniteClaw merely pursed his lips in displeasure. He was slightly mollified that the child seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable with his chaperone's disorganized behaviour. Muggleborns did tend to have somewhat better manners than wixenborn, at least at first.
(It was unfortunate that assimilating into wixen culture usually involved adopting their worst habits and attitudes.)
GraniteClaw accepted the key for inspection, eyes widening slightly as the account holder and details registered. Unfortunately, the vault the key would actually open was empty of coinage and on lockdown. However, there was an adjunct Educational Trust Vault, and an associated Trust for the Care and Maintenance of a Minor Dependant Vault. They'd need to do a proper verification of identity, but there was no need to make a fuss here in the lobby - a simple drop of blood on the door of either vault would suffice for the moment, so long as no indication of coercion was witnessed by the accompanying Guide. GraniteClaw made a note to alert the Inheritance and Bloodline Verification Department before handing the key to its proper owner.
The half-giant accompanying him objected, "Headmaster Dumbledore needs that back."
Ah. That explained a few things. Stories of the 'illustrious' wizard who had finagled his way into several vaults he didn't own were well known around the bank. Due to the various formal and informal agreements, they couldn't properly claim him a thief, but he was generally considered little better than one among the goblins, particularly with his general incompetence in managing Hogwarts' accounts and refusal to turn that management back over to the goblin assigned to Hogwarts.
(He hadn't even asked for an audit in well over two decades! Not that it was truly their business, what a wizard did with his money, but it was something of a red flag with an Institutional Account.)
Finding out that the man had likely been in extended possession of a key that wasn't his own opened new possibilities of forcing an investigation, though. The Heir to the Potter Account had been, officially, in protective custody, and the Owner's Key had been assumed to be in his possession. Once the main vault went on lockdown awaiting the Heir's return, any request for access would need special handling, so it had been of little import. But in the larger scheme of things...
He'd have to bring the matter to the attention of the Potter Account Manager and probably the Repossession and Restitution Corps as well.
For now, however...
"Mr. Dumbledore is registered as having his own key to the Potter Vault, and should have no need to access a child's Educational Trust Vault. Tuition is paid directly to Hogwarts' vault as it comes due, and the remainder is for young Mr. Potter's other expenses", he sneered.
The child looked up at him in something akin to awe. "I... I have money?"
(And promptly flinched at his own words.)
Well, that was a most unexpected reaction.
The half-giant opened his mouth and GraniteClaw interrupted, having no desire to hear anything about 'The Headmaster'. "Indeed, Mr. Potter. Your parents were quite well off and your Guardian should have been going over your finances with you, and making certain you are aware of how to manage them and your Family Estate."
"...I think my aunt and uncle probably don't know; they always complain how much I cost them to take care of." The boy's words would have been almost inaudible to anyone with lesser hearing. Most wixen, for instance. He ducked his head and hunched his shoulders defensively at the sharp look Graniteclaw sent him.
"To the best of my knowledge, James Potter had no siblings." Was this proof that the child was, actually, an imposter? That could be interesting, as he was clearly here with the backing of Albus Dumbledore.
"um... on my mum's side."
"Your mother's side? I was under the impression that Lady Potter was muggleborn?"
"I... I don't know what that means, Mr. Goblin."
"I was unaware that your mother had any magical relatives."
"Oh. No, they hate magic."
"WHAT!!?!?" He leapt to his feet, disregarding the looks he got from other customers.
The boy shrank in on himself in the face of his sudden roar, and GraniteClaw found none of the pleasure from the sight he'd normally have from a wizard cowering before a goblin. (Much to his own surprise.) This was the cringing of a beaten House-Elf, not the cowing of someone suddenly realizing they were not as influential as they thought.
He huffed, setting his posturing aside, and sat back down. "Clearly you are needing proper instruction. Gringotts will arrange a meeting with your Account Manager pursuant to providing such training."
The half-giant, who'd been watching the exchange rather bemusedly, interrupted. "My instructions were to fetch the you-know-what from vault you-know-which, get Harry's shopping done right quick and get him back home. Don't got time for any meetings."
The boy flinched again at that, and the goblin kept half an eye on his reactions as he addressed Hagrid. "As you say. Follow Griphook, please."
The boy's face shuttered to a blank mask, but not before Graniteclaw has seen the flash of despair. Clearly the child was well accustomed to hiding his feelings - his pain - but not quite proficient. The woodenness of his movements as he turned to follow his half-giant guide were a stark contrast to the brightly curious mien he'd entered with. Gringotts rarely involved itself in wixen affairs on their own initiative, but there was more here than merely another minor account. Particularly with the purported identity of the minor. Graniteclaw made a decision.
With a small gesture and flick of his fingers, he sent a scrap of parchment flitting into the boy's hand. The child startled slightly and glanced back at him. Upon catching his eye, Graniteclaw dipped his head slightly with a slow wink before going back to his work, sending a discrete notification to the Potter Account Manager and beckoning to the next person in line.
Harry was despondent as he turned away from the first goblin to follow the second. For a brief time, he'd thought his life would be so much better. Being told he wasn't just a Freak, that there were others like him, finding out that magic was real and he was part of a whole different world?
He'd dared to hope.
Hagrid was amazing! Giving him his very first ever birthday cake and taking him from the Dursleys, travelling to this unbelievable place with brand new sights and sounds and smells of all the interesting and incredible things magic could do swirling all around him and finding out he had money and could maybe buy things for himself?
He'd dared to believe that hope.
And now he knew it didn't actually change anything - he'd still be living with the Dursleys at the end of the day. Hagrid was kind... but not really any better than his Year 2 teacher, the first to listen when he tried to ask for help. Not the last to fail to help at all.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the goblin flick his fingers and a slip of paper tucked itself into his hand. Harry glanced back at the teller, who was watching him. Their eyes met and the goblin gave him a shallow nod and a wink before turning to help the next person in line.
Maybe, just maybe, some things had changed, after all.
Harry quickly slid the paper into his pocket (making sure it was the one without a hole) and hurried to catch up with Hagrid.
He'd wait a while before believing in the new hope that was trying to bloom.
(He dared to hope that he'd get the chance to believe.)
The carts were brilliant! He'd never gone so fast, and the twists and turns and sudden drops were exciting in all the ways he'd heard Dudley and his friends talk about rollercoasters, but better! Because he was not just listening from behind the door of his cupboard. He was feeling the rush of the wind and the sudden swoop of his stomach being left behind, the rattling of the cart's wheels along the rickety track that kept gravity from throwing them all the way to the bottom of the gaping chasms they crossed and breath-stealingly sudden curves that threw them against the sides of the cart.
(He hadn't known that having his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest in something other than helpless fear, that feeling alive was so amazing!)
Seeing the stacks of coins, and knowing they were for him? That his parents had cared, had not been worthless drunks, but had given him something besides freakishness? That he'd be provided some of the things he needed because they'd planned ahead for his schooling? That was an entirely different kind of rush.
And the slight crinkle of the paper in his pocket that he felt more than heard as he collected some of his money reminded him that maybe, just maybe, he might have actual help. And that was a heady thought that almost rivalled the cart ride.
(almost.)
When Hagrid left him alone to get his robes fitted in Madame Malkins, he took the chance to look at the paper. The sharp, slanted writing was fairly easy to read, once he had the page tilted just so. "when you are ready for a meeting, hold this and say 'Snarglefast'. Have a good firm hold on anything you wish to bring along with you."
A few hours later, once Hagrid had seen him onto the train back to Surrey, Harry dragged his trunk into the washroom ("Snarglefast.") and was gone.