The Silver Trio and an Auspicious Beginning

Harry didn’t sleep much that night, eyes flickering to be sure that the massive form on the couch was still there.

By the time he was able to see daylight through the grimy windows of the hut, he was debating on eating the cake by the fire, just to get a sugar rush and wake up a bit. Before he could shift the massive coat from on top of him, there was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

He sat up and Hagrid’s heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over. Hagrid, as he had been every time Harry checked through the night, was still asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was a brown owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry scrambled to his feet, ready to do something other than stare at the ceiling as he had been doing all night. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn’t wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid’s coat.

“Hey, don’t do that.” Harry settled on the floor, sitting slightly to the side, a hand outreached towards the bird. “Shh, you’ve flown probably through a bit of the storm, you’re probably tired.” He reached towards some left over sausage still sitting near the fireplace. Holding out a piece, he let the owl turn its head to watch him sitting calmly. After half a minute, it hobbled closer, pecking the food out of his hand and then hesitantly nudging his still outstretched fingers with its head, nuzzling slightly before hopping away to eat.

Harry grinned as he gently rubbed the feathers at the crown of the owl’s head, and then stood slowly to walk over to the couch.

“Hagrid,” Harry said loudly, “there’s an owl—”

“Pay him,” Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

“What?”

“He wants payin’ fer deliverin’ the paper. Look in the pockets.”
Harry mumbled something about it not having to be a male owl as he knelt next to the satisfied owl, who stopped as it watched him. Hagrid’s coat seemed to be nothing but pockets—bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags… Finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

“Give him five Knuts.” Hagrid was blinking at him from the couch.

“Knuts?”

“The little bronze ones.”

Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out its leg so Harry could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. It flapped up to his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his face once, then it flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched. “Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an’ buy all yer stuff for school.”

Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them, biting his lip worriedly. “Um, Hagrid?”

“Mm?” Hagrid was pulling on his huge boots, beetle eyes scanning the newspaper now spread out next to him.

“I haven’t got any money, and you heard Vernon, he won’t pay for anything.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. “D’yeh think yer parents didn’t leave yeh anything?”

“But if our house was destroyed—”

“They didn’ keep their gold in the house, boy!” Hagrid didn’t seem to notice Harry’s unwilling flinch at the title, and Harry bit back any other negative reaction. “Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards’ bank. Have a sausage, they’re not bad cold—an’ I wouldn’ say no teh a bit o’ yer birthday cake, neither.”

“Wizards have separate banks? And use gold?”

“Just the one in Britain. Gringotts. Run by goblins.”

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding. “No way, goblins?”

“Yeah—so yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe—‘cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o’ fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid drew himself up proudly, causing Harry to hide a snort. “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you, getting’ things from Gringotts—knows he can trust me, see.”

Harry nodded as he hid his grin behind another sausage.

“Got everythin’? Come on, then.”

Harry swallowed quickly and followed Hagrid out onto the rock, barely sparing a glance up the stairs where the three Dursleys had hidden for the night. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

“How did you get here?” Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

“Flew.”

“You flew? Through the storm?”

“Yeah, but we’ll go back in this. Not s’pposed ter use magic now I’ve got yeh.”

They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

“Seems a shame ter row, though,” Hagrid said, giving Harry another sideways look. “If I was ter—er—speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin’ it at Hogwarts?”

“Of course not,” Harry replied, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella from the night before, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward the mainland.

“Does everyone use umbrellas to do magic?”

Hagrid shifted very uncomfortably. “No, just me. Don’t mention that, either.”

Harry just nodded awkwardly, confused. Trying to keep the man happy, he thought back through their conversation. “So why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?”

“Spells—enchantments. Not that the goblins are someone yeh’d want to cross to begin with, nasty little buggers.” The man unfolded his newspaper as he spoke, shifting in the boat dangerously. “They say there’s dragons guardin’ the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way—Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh’d die of hunger tryin’ to get out, even if yeh did manage ter get her hands on summat.”

Harry parsed through that information while Hagrid read the paper, the Daily Prophet. Harry had learned from Vernon that people preferred to be left alone while they did this, but he felt like he had never had so many questions in his life, and Hagrid seemed like he wouldn’t mind answering. And at some point, Harry needed to snag that newspaper.

“Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual,” Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

“There’s a Ministry of Magic?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“’Course. They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o’ course, but he’d never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.”

Harry put aside the fact that Hagrid seemed utterly devoted to the Headmaster of Hogwarts and focused on the conversation. “But what does the Ministry of Magic do?”

“Well, their main job is to keep it from Muggles that there’s still witches an’ wizards up an’ down the country.”

“You need a full ministry for that? Why?”

“Blimey, Harry, everyone’d be wantin’ magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we’re best left alone.”

Harry thought that was a bit hypocritical of someone who could use magic to solve their problems, but at that moment, the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

“Hagrid? How will the Dursleys get back since we took the boat?” Harry asked before the man could get too far.

“Ah. Right. Should prob’ly send the boat back then.” He shuffled awkwardly down towards the boat again, tapping it once more with his umbrella so it was sent back towards the island. He gave a sheepish smile when he was back on the street with Harry.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harry couldn’t blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, but he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, “See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?”

Harry flushed as people stared at him in turn, and thought to himself that it was probably a good thing that this Ministry of Magic helped keep the Muggles unaware of the wizarding world, if wizards were this obvious about being in the Muggle one.

Eager to change the subject, Harry tried to catch his breath from running to keep up with the man. “Hagrid, did you say there were dragons at Gringotts?”

“Well, so they say,” he replied. “Crickey, I’d like a dragon.”

“You’d like one? Are they common?”

“Wanted one ever since I was a kid, but nah, they aren’t too common ‘round here, they’re out in preserves for the most part—here we go.”

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes’ time. Hagrid, who didn’t understand Muggle money, gave the bills to Harry so he could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Harry tried his best to hide behind Hagrid, who took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

“Still got yer letter, Harry?” he asked as he counted stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

“Good,” said Hagrid. “There’s a list there of everything yeh need.”

Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn’t noticed the night before, and scanned the list. “Robes, a cloak, a cauldron, a wand—can we buy all this in London?”

“If yeh know where to go,” Hagrid replied with a wink.

Harry had never been to London before, but had read all about the Underground, and took to navigating Hagrid around the city easily, especially considering how the man was obviously not used to the ‘muggle’ world. He got stuck in the ticket barrier to the Tube, and complained loudly that seats were too small and the train too slow.

Harry winced at each proclamation, attempting to hide beside the bulk of his companion. As they climbed a broken escalator, he walked quickly to keep up with Hagrid’s large steps, keeping close as Hagrid easily parted the crowds of the city, even as the man spoke about how muggles manage without magic.

Looking around, Harry tried to find any evidence of magic around them. Cinemas, hamburger restaurants, bookshops, and not one sign of a magic wand. Harry was amazed that there were apparently piles of gold underneath his very feet. Could it be true? Could there be goblins and dragons and broomsticks and spell books? Or was this some elaborate joke the Dursleys cooked up because Harry was getting freedom in the form of Stonewall and they wanted to keep him down and under their control?

But something in him compelled him to keep behind the man leading him through the city. Maybe not trust, that never came to Harry that easily. But belief, at the very least. After all, it was hard to fake the pig’s tail and the boat rowing itself.

“This is it,” Hagrid said, stopping abruptly, causing Harry to almost run into him. “The Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.”

Harry followed his gaze to the tiny, grubby-looking pub, having to blink and look again to actually notice the dark building between a brightly colored record shop and a gleaming bookstore. Everyone around the two of them didn’t seem to see it, eyes just skipping over it as if it didn’t exist at all. Harry eyed the crowd around them, wondering if he and Hagrid were the only ones able to see it. Before he could ask, a massive hand was guiding him through the door.

Harry was not impressed by the dark and shabby interior of this ‘famous place’. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry, even with the early hour. One of them was smoking from a long pipe, like one illustrated on the cover of The Hobbit. Harry tried not to judge them drinking in the morning—maybe things were culturally different in the wizarding world. A little man in a top hat was talking to the bartender, who was quite bald but grinning amusedly at the energetic man. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid, waving and smiling at him.

Harry just tried to hide again, eyes flicking around at all of the new faces. The bartender, upon seeing Hagrid, reached for a glass, saying, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business with Harry ‘ere.” His great hand reached for Harry’s shoulder, pulling the frozen boy in front of him and then clapping down, making Harry’s knees buckle.

Suddenly, the entire pub had gone completely still and silent, and the number of eyes on Harry was a palpable weight on his extremely still chest. Never in his life was Harry more irritated with someone’s actions, not even when Vernon locked him in his cupboard for a week with limited meals. If anything Harry could have done to Hagrid would have actually affected him, he would have done it, or anything, to escape the gaze of the people in this room.

“Bless my soul,” whispered the bartender. “Is that—” He stopped himself, eyeing the small shaking boy, who was now fiercely ignoring everyone and everything, eyes firmly on the dirty floor in front of him.

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushing toward Harry and seizing his hand, tears in his eyes blocking his view of Harry flinching back.

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, unable to even decide if he should keep his eyes on the people watching him, or try to melt into Hagrid’s broad side. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. The little man was vibrating with such excitement that his hat was threatening to fall right off. Hagrid was simply beaming behind him, unable to sense the tension in the shoulder under his hand.

The pub was still for another second before it was suddenly entirely in motion. Chairs were tipped over and tables shifted so everyone could surround the two newcomers. Harry’s small hand was being shaken by practically every single person in the pub. Harry was thrown—usually people avoided meeting his eyes, and here these people seemed to know his name just on sight. He heaved a silent breath before forcing the fear underneath a pile of fake smiles.

“Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.” The woman with a pipe was enthusiastically grinning with smoke-stained teeth.

“So proud, Mr. Potter, I’m just so proud.”

“Always wanted to shake your hand—I’m all aflutter.”

The man with the hat bounced on his feet as he got closer, introducing himself as Dedalus Diggle. Harry searched his face for a second, before a moment of familiarity occurred.

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You bowed to me once in a shop.”

The man’s hat finally fell off of its precarious position on his head. “He remembers!” he cried, looking around to everyone. “Did you hear that? Harry Potter remembers me!”

The next few minutes were full of handshakes, many from the same people. Harry did his best to memorize people’s faces, plastering a fake smile on his face. He might have been terrified at being the center of attention, but he was obviously in these people’s good graces, and he planned to stay there until he understood what was going on.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously, one of his eyes twitching.

Hagrid finally shifted again behind Harry. “Professor Quirrell! Didn’t expect to see you here. Harry, Professor Quirrell here will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”

“P-P-Potter,” the man stammered, grasping Harry’s hand, “c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”

Harry forced a pleasant expression on his face again, the usual look he gave a teacher, interest and eagerness. “What sort of magic do you teach, sir?”

“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” he muttered, as though he’d rather not think about it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” He laughed nervously, eyes shifting around to their surroundings, where the other patrons were pretending to go back to their usual business, and not watching Harry still. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at the very thought.

As he stepped away, leaving a strange odor of stale garlic in his wake, the others decided to shift back, revitalized at the recollection that Harry would be entering his first year at school. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. It took a frantic look to Hagrid after Doris Crockford came back for yet another handshake for the man to raise his voice above the babble.

“All right, you lot, must get on—lots ter buy. C’mon, Harry.”

Hagrid pushed Harry in front of him through the simpering crowd of the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

And no one else.

Harry tried to be subtle about breathing the open air, relishing in the distinct lack of people.

Hagrid just grinned, blind to Harry’s rapid breathing. “Told yeh, didn’t I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh—mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”

“Is he always that nervous?” Harry asked, keeping his mind off of his own nervousness.

“Now he is, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of students, of his subject, his own shadow… Where’s my umbrella?”

Harry’s mind was spinning. Famous? Vampires? Hags? What exactly was he agreeing to? Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

“Three up, two across… Alright, stand back, Harry.” He tapped the wall three times with the point of his pink umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered, wriggling like a cat poked while it was sleeping. In the middle, a small hole appeared, growing wider and wider, until a second later, an archway large enough for even Hagrid led out onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley.” Hagrid pushed Harry through the archway, as Harry was unable to move by himself, eyes locked on the bricks and what led beyond. There was almost a weight to the air past the wall, and as Harry breathed in a gasp, he could almost taste the headiness of possibilities.

Harry looked quickly back over his shoulder and watched the archway shrink back into a solid brick wall. His jaw dropped, much to Hagrid’s amusement.

“Let’s keep movin’, lots to get through.” He guided Harry down the street.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop with a descriptive sign of the shop hanging above them. Harry traced his hand along the different colors.

“Yeah, you’ll be needin’ one,” Hagrid said, “but we gotta get yer money first.”

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes, trying to soak in as much of the street as he could. This was like the first time he had walked into the library—a world he didn’t know but could learn all about if he tried. Everything was different, the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping, the stalls on the street trying to entrance them.

People discussing the price of dragon liver, a soft hooting of owls from an emporium, kids barely older than him discussing racing brooms? Instruments in windows Harry had never seen, potion ingredients that seemed to come right out of a storybook.

Finally, Hagrid’s hand pulled Harry into a stop in front of a snowy white building that towered above the other shops. “Gringotts,” the man said.

Standing beside the burnished bronze doors of the bank, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a creature Harry could only assume was a goblin. It was about a head shorter than Harry, with a clever face and a pointed beard, and long fingers and feet. The goblin bowed as they walked inside, and Harry reactively bowed back, much to the amusement of the creature.

Now they were facing a second pair of ornate doors, silver with words engraved. Harry traced the words with a hand, reveling in the Tolkien-like poem promising destruction to any possible betrayers.

Hagrid spoke up as a pair of goblins bowed them through the doors, Harry returning it. “Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it.”

Suddenly Harry was standing in a vast marble hall, goblins lining a long counter to the side. It was a flurry of activity, people lining up at the counter and being shown through one of the many doors along the walls. Hagrid guided Harry towards a shorter line at the counter.

“Morning,” Hagrid greeted the goblin when they reached the front of the line. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter’s safe.”

“Key?” the goblin drawled, eyeing Harry’s nervous form shrewdly.

“Got it here somewhere.” Hagrid began emptying his pockets onto the counter, with Harry blushing bright red and trying to hide once again. A handful of moldy dog biscuits spewed across the goblin’s book of numbers, causing the goblin to wrinkle his nose. Harry avoided his gaze by watching the goblin at the next window weigh a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

“Aha! Got it!” Hagrid finally pulled a tiny golden key from one of his massive pockets. As the goblin took it from him to inspect it, Hagrid began shoving things back in his pockets.

A piercing look at Harry once more, and the goblin nodded. “All is in order.”

Hagrid pulled an envelope from another pocket. “An’ I’ve got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore.” He threw out his chest importantly. Harry had to bite back a smirk. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

The goblin read the letter carefully before handing it back to Hagrid. “Very well. I will have someone take you to the vaults. Griphook!”

Another goblin appeared, and began to lead the two through one of the doors.

Harry eyed the crowds around them, not wanting to risk asking in front of others, but shooting Hagrid a curious glance at the letter still in his hand.

“Can’t tell yeh, Harry. Very secret.” Hagrid played up being mysterious, and Harry put on the most innocent, amazed look he could muster. “Hogwarts business. Dumbledore’s trusted me. More’n my job’s worth ter tell yeh that.”

Harry just nodded seriously, before having to turn away when the goblin in front of them shot him an amused look as he held a door open. Harry’s laughter was smothered when they were suddenly in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches, sloping down to a small little minecart on a set of tracks. They climbed in, Hagrid wobbling precariously, and with a whistle from Griphook, they were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry lost all sense of direction after just a few turns, and decided to just enjoy the rush of exhilaration as they went. He kept his eyes open as they plunged deeper, ignoring the way they watered as the wind swept past. Harry swore he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage, but they passed by too quickly for him to confirm. He shot a look at Griphook, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow. At his gesture, the goblin shrugged with a sharp grin. Harry couldn’t help but grin back, looking back around to watch them pass an underground lake.
When they finally stopped, Harry leaped out eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hagrid, however, and to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling. He met Harry’s worried gaze, but motioned him forward.

“All yours,” smiled Hagrid as he nudged Harry forward with a giant hand.

Harry’s jaw dropped when the door to his vault opened. Green smoke rolled out, revealing mounds of gold coins, columns of silver, and heaps of bronze. Hagrid left him to explore his vault, as the large man stayed in the cart, trying to catch his breath. Griphook stood to the inside of the vault door, watching Harry with a muted expression.

Harry stared. It was… incredible. All those years the Dursleys had complained that Harry was costing them more than he was worth. All the comments that he didn’t get dinner because he wasn’t worth it. And all that time, there had been a small fortune all for him, miles deep under London, in a room that was larger than the Dursleys’ house.

“Mr. Griphook, is there a proper way to carry coins, a bag or something that I can purchase?”

The goblin grinned. “One galleon for a standard bag, three for a bag which withdraws directly from the vault.”

Harry looked at the piles of gold around him. “Knuts are bronze, right?”

He nodded. “Silver is sickles, galleon is gold.”

“I’ll take the withdrawal bag, please.”

Griphook snapped his fingers and a bag shimmered into his hand. “The fee will be removed from the vault as soon as you take your new bag. Simply just think of the account you wish to remove from, in this case, the Potter Heir vault, and the amount you want to remove, up to one hundred galleons at a time. If you need to purchase more than one hundred galleons at a time, the shop should be able to provide a bank slip that will remove it from your account directly.”

“What about muggle money? Can my funds be withdrawn as pounds?”

The goblin sneered. “Indeed.”

Harry grinned and took the bag, attaching it to the belt wrapped tightly around his waist.

He took a second to walk around, looking for anything other than coins that could be in the vault. He knew that banks in the muggle world take care of wills, help in estate management. Surely a bank in the world of magic does more than just have a bunch of rooms and a dragon. Hearing Hagrid calling him from outside, he resolved to find a way to get back to the bank later.

Hagrid shifted on the cart. “All set? Dunno when yeh’ll be able teh come back here, so make sure yeh keep that in mind.” He turned to Griphook. “Vault seven thirteen now, please, and can we go any slower?”

Griphook gave an unimpressed look. “One speed only.”

They were going even deeper now, gathering speed as the chill of the underground rose to meet them. Harry leaned over the side to see what was down at the bottom, feeling the wind rush through his hair with a grin, seeming to amuse Griphook, but Hagrid just groaned and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, pulling him back. Harry gulped at the contact, and settled quickly back in the cart.

Hagrid may have fed him and taken him from the Dursleys, but he didn’t know the man well enough to be comfortable quite yet, especially with his size.

The next door, vault seven hundred and thirteen, had no keyhole.

“Stand back,” Griphook told them as they all piled out of the cart. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers, the metal simply melting away as he went.

“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,” Griphook murmured to Harry, who was watching with wide eyes.

Harry turned to him, eyebrow raised. “How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?”

The goblin gave a nasty grin. “About once every ten years.”

Harry smirked and turned to the vault, assuming something amazing had to be inside with such high security. At first, however, he thought it was empty, but he finally noticed a small, grubby package wrapped in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry didn’t even have a chance to ask before Hagrid shook his head.

“Top secret, this is. Dumbledore trusted it to me specific. Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don’t talk to me on the way out, it’s best if I keep me mouth shut.”

Hagrid and Harry emerged from the bank one wild cart ride later, blinking in the afternoon sun. Harry made sure to thank Griphook as they left, the goblin giving him yet another nasty grin. As Harry once again was faced with the long road of magic and mayhem, the large man gave a pained groan.

“Might as well get yer uniform.” Hagrid nodded towards Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions on the street. “Say, Harry, would yeh mind if I ran back to the Leaky for a bit of a pick-me-up? Them Gringott carts always leave me with a bad taste in me mouth.”

Harry nodded, a protective hand still on his new bag full of coins. As he watched Hagrid waddle down the street, he turned back to the bank.

Turning to one of the goblins guarding the front door, Harry gave a small bow of his head. “Excuse me, Mr. Goblin. Are you able to list off a few of the… other services this bank can offer? I’m new to this world and find that I’m short on information, but not of gold.”

The goblin leered at him from the corner of his eye. “A wand waver wants more from the goblins? How unsurprising.” He shifted the spear in his hand. “Gringotts Clan offers storage and management of fortunes, valuables, and legal paperwork, as well as inheritance tests, heir and lord initiations, blood rituals, artifact retrieval, and currency exchange.” He gave a sharp grin, teeth glinting in the sunlight. “All for a price, of course.”

Harry bowed again as he backed towards the entry way. “My thanks.” Heading back for the line, Harry kept his eyes down but wary.

The goblin looked unimpressed at the top of Harry’s beanie as he stared down from his podium.

“Apologies, again, Mr. Teller, but I was told that the bank not only stores financials, but manages them. Is there a specific bank representative that I can speak to regarding my family’s vaults?”

The goblin gave him an assessing look. “Griphook will walk through any questions you may have. A galleon fee for a standard meeting will be pulled from the main Potter vaults.” His mallet banged against the countertop, and the same goblin from the cart appeared from a hallway.

“Follow me.” The goblin turned and walked back into the hallway, not looking to see if he was being followed or not.

Harry almost tripped in his haste to catch up to the goblin as he disappeared into a room. Harry slides through the door as Griphook snapped his fingers to close it behind him.

“You had questions, young wizard?” He settled behind a desk, leaving Harry standing awkwardly with no available chairs on his side.

“Yes, Mr. Griphook. I’m completely new to this world, even though my parents left me their accounts as well as my own. As I’m sure you could tell, my chaperone for the day isn’t in a position to answer my questions. I was hoping that you could walk me through any responsibilities I may have, as well as a list of things my parents may have left me.”

The goblin leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Mr. Potter, are you implying that you have yet to open your parents’ will?”

Harry eyed him cautiously. “I didn’t even know they had a will. Is that something we can open today? Or do other named people have to attend?”

Griphook snapped his fingers again, a chair appearing in front of Harry. “Sit, Mr. Potter, we have much to discuss.”

Harry settled on the edge of the chair, leaning forward eagerly as the goblin shifted through stacks of papers on the desk.

“Firstly, in the eyes of magic, you are Lord Hadrian James Potter, however, the Wizengamot and the rest of your world will only recognize you as Heir Potter until your sixteenth birthday. Until then, the chair Potter will remain empty unless you elect a proxy. You also hold the honorary title among wix of The-Boy-Who-Lived due to the events of Halloween 1981”

“Hadrian?” He muttered to himself. “How do you get Harry from Hadrian?” He shook his head and looked up to the goblin. “Why was my full name and title not on my Hogwarts letter?”

Griphook laughed, teeth glinting. “Let us say, young sir, that Hogwarts is of an… independent nature. Similar to us here at Gringotts. Yes, the Ministry may have some limited power over things, but all in all, there is much they can’t control, if only because they do not know. I would recommend reading up on the politics of the world you now find yourself in, and not simply the books that are Ministry approved.”

Harry nodded, and moved on. “For the proxy, I can choose anyone?”

“Anyone over seventeen, yes. However, as this proxy will be voting in your stead, you may want to ensure that they align with your opinions on the laws. There are books on this, I’m sure, that can explain more.

The Goblin Nation does not keep track of the meaningless changes in the wixen courts.”

His fingers snapped again, a folder appearing on the desk. “This is the will of your parents, Heir Potter. You may request an official reading, or we can go over the benefits you will be collecting.”

Harry blinked rapidly, before rubbing at his eyes. “Today, let’s just go over my things, and when I have more time and understanding, maybe next summer, we can have a full reading with all of the others named.”

Griphook nodded. “Very well. Your parents left the majority of their holdings to you. Your father, of course, left the entire Potter fortune, including a majority holding in Sleakeazy Hair products, and portion holdings in both Zonko’s Joke Shop and Quality Quidditch Supplies. There also seem to be a few holdings in Kalale, India. Notes state that was where a portion of the Indian sect of the Potters migrated after leaving Britain. One can only assume that someone prior to your father immigrated back.”

“India? Do I have family there?” Harry’s world stopped at the idea of family in a far-off country.

“There is nothing to suggest an answer either way to that question, young wizard. If I may continue. Your mother, being a first-generation witch, only had a personal account that she had transferred from a Muggle bank, and her personal things from her years of schooling, most of which was left for you.”

“Personal things? I didn’t see anything other than coins down in my vault.”

“That was just the heir vault, Mr. Potter. Anything else would be in the main Potter vault, which you may access after your thirteenth year.”

Harry simply nodded, pulling out a small notepad he had stolen from Dudley’s school things to take notes, including the holdings, and noting the term “first-generation” rather than “muggleborn”. He also wrote “research Kalale, India” with a few underlines underneath.

“Also in your possession are the ruins of both the Potter Manor and a cottage in the village of Godric’s Hallow. At the time that the will became activate, neither of these buildings were inhabitable. The house elves working at Potter Manor were sold to other families before your parents’ passing. You will have the ability to gain access to these estates when you become Lord Potter, or if your magical guardian allows you.”

Harry wrote down house elves? before looking up. “Magical guardian? Do I currently have a magical guardian? What even is that?” Harry leaned forward with sharp interest.

Griphook sighed, holding a finger up as he continued to scan the paperwork in front of him. “A moment, Heir Potter. We will get there. In the event of your parents’ passing, you were to be left with your godfather, Sirius Black, close family friend Remus Lupin, or the closest magical family you had if neither of the two mentioned were available. At the time the will was enacted, Sirius Black was incarcerated, and Remus Lupin never responded to any missive regarding your guardianship.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “Does it mention my mother’s muggle family?”

The goblin met his eyes quickly. “No, there is no mention of any muggles. It specifically requests you be placed with a magical family. Are you saying that you have been living in the muggle world? That is why you were unaware of your place here?”

He nodded slowly in response, fingers gripping the small pencil tightly to the point of almost breaking. “I knew nothing of the magical world until I received my Hogwarts acceptance letter.”

Griphook flicked through the pages in the folder, furiously running a finger down the text. “Due to the lack of your placement in the wixen world, your magical guardian defaulted to… Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.” His fingers tapped the top of the desk as he read.

“What power does a magical guardian have over me? Other than apparently leave me with people that my parents did not want me with, and people who definitely did not want me.”

“Your magical guardian can set or become a proxy for your Wizengamot chair, control the owls you receive, and maintain your accounts. According to this, Dumbledore has left your accounts mostly alone, only taking a few magical items from your family vault. According to this, the home of your muggle relatives does have an owl ward placed on it. You will have to go to the post office to have that altered or removed. This would suggest the reasoning for you not receiving our missives prior to today.”

“Is there a way to retrieve the items Dumbledore removed?”

Griphook shook his head. “Until you are assigned another magical guardian or come of age, he has every right to remove whatever he wishes from your vaults.”

He looked up to meet Harry’s eyes. “Dumbledore does not, however, seem to be aware that you are also named heir to the Black family. Your godfather must have named you his heir before his arrest, and upon his grandfather’s passing, which, according to reports, may be any day now, Sirius will Lord Black, leaving you official Heir Black as well as Heir Potter.” He paused for a moment. “And according to the laws of magic and the Wizengamot, you are able to use the title of Heir Black immediately, with Sirius in prison. No other Blacks in the main line are in a position to inherit, and no cadet lines can beat your claim. There are heir vaults associated with each, the Potter heir vault being the one I accompanied you to earlier today. The bag you purchased can gain access to either vault, simply have the intent of pulling from the one you wish to use.”

“Interesting. What was Black arrested for?”

“According to this, he killed a wizard and a number of muggles, was convicted immediately, and sent to the wizarding prison.”

“Does his imprisonment affect my status as his heir?”

“No, upon his death in Azkaban, you will become Lord Black and have access to all of his current holdings that are not given to the Black cousins still living.”

Harry continued to write on his notepad. “Is there anything else I need to know, Mr. Griphook? I have other shopping to do before I return to the muggles.”

Griphook watched Harry, eyes glinting. “Not in regard to your finances, Heir Potter. I do recommend using the inheritance you have access to in Flourish & Blotts to… catch up to the rest of your cohorts.”

"Right. For sure. While I'm here, can I get a key to all vaults I am allowed access to? I'm assuming this Dumbledore bloke wants to keep a hold on my Heir vault, but I'd rather have them."

A sneer. "Wise decision." Griphook snapped, and two keys appeared. "Three galleons will be taken from each of the Heir vaults."

Harry took the keys and stood, bowing slightly. “Many thanks, Mr. Griphook. Is there a way that we can remain in contact if I have further questions about my account?”

The goblin shifted. “You currently have no account manager, Heir Potter, but you may assign any goblin you wish to manage your vaults.”

“I would be honored if you would accept the position, Mr. Griphook, as you’ve been so helpful to me today.”

A sharp grin, almost a sneer, appeared on Griphook’s face. “Then you may drop the title, Heir Potter. I, Griphook of clan Gott, will be glad to run your estate.”

“Wonderful. Perhaps you may call me Hadrian?” Harry met Griphook’s nod with a grin. “And maybe you can begin to look into other investments for my personal accounts, and let me know my options.”

“It will be done. It truly has been a pleasure, Hadrian. In the interest of our new affiliation, I should let you know, even as a minor you have the option, legally, to rent a room in the wixen world for the remainder of the holiday. Say, at the Leaky Cauldron?”

Harry grinned wider. “Awesome. May both of our fortunes grow between our meetings, Griphook.” He pulled a stack of gold coins from his pouch and placed it on the desk between them.

The goblin sneered again as he snapped for the door to open. “And may our enemies tremble before us, Hadrian, Heir Black-Potter.”

Harry left with a spring in his step, bowing again to the goblins he passed, ignorant of their stares. He began to whistle as he blinked against the sunlight once more, and weaved his way through the crowd to find a store to buy a trunk or a bag so he could truly begin his day of shopping.

Glancing at the storefronts he could see, he headed into Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment, a smell of rich leather meeting him as he opened the door.

A boy was sitting behind the desk, looking between two separate books open in front of him. He barely gave Harry a second glance, head turning to an open doorway to his right. “Da, customer!”

“Be right there!” A few moments later, a head peered around the corner. “Hello, lad, I’ll be with you in just a mo’.” The man ducked back through for a moment, a clash sounding from the room, before he appeared with a rag, wiping his hands, apron loose around his middle.

“Right, sorry bout that.” He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Jacob, would you go check on your sister?” He turned back to Harry as Jacob rolled his eyes, stuffed a piece of old looking paper in one of his books with a strangely-colored feather, and disappeared through the back room. “Now, I’m Walt Wiseacre, pleasure to have you with us. What can we do for you?”

Harry looked around at some of the wares. “Well, I’d like a trunk, maybe a bag. Though I’m not sure what else you offer.”

The man grinned. “What kind of trunk? We have a few options, all with lifetime guarantees, of course. We have your standard student trunks, your travel-specific trunks, trunks for various careers, and then a standard adult trunk.”

Harry eyes got wider with each word. “Uh…”

He laughed. “Apologies, sir. May I ask some questions, maybe that’ll help us figure out what would best suit you?”

At Harry’s nod, he continued. “I’m going to assume you’re a first year? Any idea what house you want?”

The boy shifted. “Um, I’m not sure. I was raised in the muggle world, I don’t know much.”

“Ah, understood. How big a reader are you? Planning on getting a lot of books?”

“Yes sir. I apparently have a lot to catch up on.” He thought back to hungry nights in the cupboard, after half a piece of burnt toast that morning. “Is there also anyway to keep food in a trunk?”

Mr. Wiseacre pulled a scrap of parchment from his desk, scribbling on it. “Of course. We have trunks that have areas for potions ingredients, which can also be used for food storage, or trunks that have specific food storage areas. With you being in school and needing your potion compartment, I’d say giving you both would be beneficial. We’ll make sure you have a decent wardrobe section, a general storage for knickknacks, an area for your writing and homework assignments. The one I’m thinking for you can actually be removed from the trunk and set up on a desk, just to make things easier for you. A nice, large library section for all the books you’ll need. And, of course, a password protected private storage. Anything else?”

Harry shifted. “Is there a way to add something later on? Once I know what I need from it?”

The man grinned while he stroked his chin. “Not usually, but I could tweak a few of the runes and see if I can leave some room. Most people just buy a new trunk. So, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll go ahead and make your trunk, which is just gonna be a traveler’s trunk with a few modifications geared towards students. It’ll take me about an hour, luckily not many people have special orders in right now, they just grab a premade trunk and head on their way.”

He tucked his parchment in a pocket of his apron. “Now, you said something about a bag?”

“Yeah, I was hoping for something a little more accessible than a trunk. Especially since I have so much to buy today.”

“Of course. We have a variety of bags, but I’ll suggest an expandable bag for school. Not the biggest the charm can offer, we aren’t allowed to sell bags with too much storage to minors, Ministry rule. But it’ll hold all your books and notes for your classes, and it’ll do for what you need today, at least until your trunk is ready. The trunk will have a shrinking/expanding charm written in, so you’ll be able to keep it in your bag until you want to use it.”

“Sounds great!” Harry grinned.

The man winked at him. “I’ll grab the bag for you. Any preferred colors?”

“Uh, darker colors, probably, more natural colors. For both, please.”

He holds up a finger and ducks behind a shelf, coming back out with a dark brown leather bag. “How’s this look?”

Harry nodded almost violently. “Perfect.” He took it, stroking the leather.

“Do you want your initials on it? Maybe on the flap? And on the trunk, on either the top or above the lock is the usual spot.”

“Please. Above the lock for the trunk. My initials are HJP.”

“And your full name? Just for the bill?”

Harry looked down, unconsciously flattening the hair above his scar. “Hadrian. Harry Potter.”

The man barely blinked, looking over the boy quickly and just making another note on his desk. He took out a wand that had knots every inch, waving it in a swirling pattern over the bag. In a slow thrum, a flash of light left three black letters right at the edge of the flap. Harry smiled softly, tracing the letters.

“Thank you, Mr. Wiseacre.”

“No worries lad. I’ll add this to your tab, you can pay when you come back for your trunk, but feel free to go ahead and use the bag while you’re shopping. If you don’t come back, well, I’ve got your name now, I’ll settle it with the goblins.” He winked again.

Harry thanked him once more and left the shop with a smile, the bag settling perfectly at his hip. In the doorway of the store, he looked at the Alley sprawling in front of him, his grin growing. He felt the weight of his gold pouch in his bag, a world of opportunity in his grasp.

A step off from the stoop of Wiseacre’s and he knew exactly where his next stop would be—he could practically feel the cobblestones through the thin layer of Dudley’s hand-me-down shoes.

Walking down the street, he scoped out any clothing store he could find. He hesitated at Madam Malkin’s, but a large family had just walked in, and he didn’t think he had the patience for dealing with that. A little farther down the street, he saw an elegant sign for Twilfitt and Tattings, and headed inside.

The woman who greeted him had the stiffest posture of anyone he had ever met, but she didn’t even blink at his tattered clothes before ushering him onto a riser. “What can we do for you today, young sir?”

Harry straightened his own posture as he looked at himself in the mirrors now surrounding him. He was apparently a lord in this world, or at least would be. He should probably begin acting like one when dealing with adults, especially with his money and his appearance. “Uh-an entire wardrobe, please. All seasons. I’m a first-year at Hogwarts this year, so I mainly need things for casual wear as I’ll be in robes for the majority of the time.” He thought through what he had at the Dursleys—which was pretty much nothing. “I should probably get some underthings, as well. Pajamas. Socks. Shoes. Winter boots. Slippers, probably. And no robes, or anything on the Hogwarts list, please. I am meeting a friend at another store for that.”

The woman gave him a satisfied smile and snapped her fingers. “Of course. Any preferences in color or material? Any restrictions on cost?”
He gulped as a measuring tape flew from a desk near the door and started flying around his body. “I’m eleven, so let’s not go with anything too fancy. I’ll leave the colors and styles at your expertise, but let’s try to stick to fabrics that will survive a few years of school without completely draining my yearly funds. I’m trying to fit in, not stand out, so nothing that will turn too many heads, please.”

She looked a little disappointed but nodded. “As you wish, sir. I’ll take your measurements and sample a few colors, but getting the entire wardrobe will take at least two hours.”

Harry nodded. “I have other errands to run, I can come back later and pick up my things, preferably after I get my trunk. Though I would like something to change into, at least, I don’t think these clothes really are up to standard around here.”

She eyed him speculatively. “Indeed.” The woman turned to walk into another room, coming back with armfuls of color swatches. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
Twenty minutes later, Harry stumbled out of the store, blinking against the sun once more. He had a change of clothes in a bag at his side, but he didn’t want Hagrid asking too many questions, so he decided to wait until later to change into them. He groaned at the thought of getting measured again, but Madam Malkin’s was just in front of him, and he bit back his internal complaints and straightened his spine, passing by a hoard of kids and a few parents in front of a shop that looked like it was selling brooms. Harry blinked in confusion, nearly knocking into a tall man with silver-blonde hair.

“Apologies, sir, excuse me.” Harry looked up at the man before bowing his head briefly.

“Nothing to worry about, child. Hardly your fault for being interested in the newest brooms, it’s all any boy your age can think about, it seems.” The man barely glanced at him as he watched the crowd, then headed through them to go in what looked like a massive bookstore.

Harry quickly disappeared into Madam Malkin’s, barely getting greeted before being shoved into the back of the store and onto yet another riser by an older woman with pins hanging out of her hair and her mouth. “Hogwarts, deary? Got another first-year getting measured here as well. I’ll finish him up and start on you, just stay there.”

A pale boy with a pointed face was on a riser a few feet away, and nodded lightly at Harry before turning back to the mirror, watching the woman come back over and finish his adjustments. “Hello. Hogwarts, too?”

Harry nodded, and then realized the boy wasn’t looking at him. “Yes.”

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy, drawling his words like he was bored. An idle hand went to his slicked-back hair, which was silver, just like the man Harry had run into.

Before he could ask, the boy continued. “After this is done, I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I can’t believe they won’t let first years have their own, I must see if father can help me smuggle  one in anyway. I’ve been flying since I was old enough to walk, it’s not dangerous for me.” He pushed his chin out, nose held high.

Harry was reminded of Dudley, but pushed that down. This wasn’t his world. Maybe this kid had information to share, a perspective from someone his own age.

“Say, have you got your own broom?” the boy went on, glancing over.

He stood a little straighter. “No.”

“Play Quidditch at all?”

Harry thought through the conversation, assuming it must be a sport or something. “Unfortunately, no. My guardians seemed set on me ‘surviving until Hogwarts’, apparently.” He said this with a derisive tone, which the boy seemed to appreciate.

“I do—Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, of course. Know what house you’ll be put in?”

Harry had never felt stupider, but took a deep breath. Information. “No, but I’m staying open to whatever options are available.”

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I’m sure I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family has been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm, bit of a ridiculous reason to leave school, don’t you think?” Harry replied, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

“Maybe, but—I say, look at that man!” said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in.

“That’s Hagrid, he works at Hogwarts,” Harry told him as a measuring tape began flying around his body.

“Oh,” said the boy, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He’s the gamekeeper, he tends to the grounds.” His patience was running thin at this snotty boy.

“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds. I even heard sometimes he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.” He had leaned in, as if imparting a secret to Harry.

Harry leaned in as well. “Sounds like school is bound to be fun then, if the adults at school are that brilliant.”

“Brilliant?” Harry’s clear sarcasm went over the boy’s head. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

The last of Harry’s patience drained out of him as he pulled back and blinked at the boy. “They’re dead. Hence my use of the term guardians just moments ago.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he replied, not sounding sorry at all. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

Harry had a bad feeling about the undertones of the boy’s words. “They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.”

The boy nodded and turned away from him. “I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s you surname, anyway?”

Before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin told the other boy, “That’s you done, dear,” prompting him to step down from the footstool.

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose.” The boy nodded at Harry again and left the store.

Madam Malkin turned to Harry, pulling a scroll from where it was hovering with a feather that was scribbling on it. “I’ve got your measurements now. Just the school robes?”

Harry was about to nod, but thought it through. “Actually, I’m new to the wizarding world, so could we do a full robe wardrobe as well? Nothing too fancy, but I think I’ll probably need casual robes, if that’s a thing, and maybe a formal robe or two just in case. I’d rather be prepared than not. No preferences on color, but nothing too out there.”

She nodded, making a few notes. “I’ll have it ready for you by the end of the day, I’m a mite busy today. Or would you rather I sent it somewhere?”

Harry thought quickly. “I’ll come back for it. Thanks, Madam.”

She nodded and smiled at him as he made his way out, meeting Hagrid on the street for his ice cream cone.

“Blimey, Harry, yeh in there with that Malfoy boy?” Hagrid asked, walking them towards a seating area.

“Was that his name? He never got around to introducing himself.” Harry dug into his ice cream, choosing the spoon rather than licking at it.

Hagrid was already almost finished with his own cone. “That boy’s from bad stock, Harry. Slytherins, the lot of them.”

“Yes, so he said. What is Slytherin?”

“School house. There’s four. Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor.”

“Families all go to one house?” Harry started searching for a trash can to toss the last of his ice cream, unable to eat the entirety of it. Or most of it at all, Hagrid had chosen an extremely sweet flavor, and Harry found himself overwhelmed.

“Nah, not always. Some families like the legacy of it, sayin’ they’ve been in a house for generations. It’s why the Malfoy boy was so proud of his claim to Slytherin.” His voice turned dark. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

Harry stopped mid-step. “Vol-, sorry— You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?”

“Years an’ years ago,” Hagrid replied, shifting uneasily.

He ushered them into a store that sold parchment and quills of all things, which Harry assumed was the feather that Jacob Wiseacre had at the trunk store. Harry was in awe, watching someone show off an ink that changed color as he was writing. Seeing how the workers of the store winced at Hagrid ducking through the doorway, Harry quickly bought a few rolls of parchment, a couple of bottles of plain black ink, three simple quills, and an owl-order form.

Hagrid was still looking at him awkwardly. Harry sighed but figured that another conversation would be less work than staying silent under the man’s gaze.

“Say, Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?”

“Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know—not knowin’ about Quidditch.”

He had to bite back a sharp retort. “Yes, but what is it?”

“It’s our sport. Wizard sport. It’s like—like soccer in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there’s four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules.”

Hagrid seemed more settled as they walked into a shop called Flourish and Blotts, where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. As it was, Harry was trying not to drool. Hagrid had to pull him away from multiple different books, nudging him gently towards the first-year books. Harry grabbed a self-updating owl-order form that was several pages thick, and the teenage girl behind the register watched him with a grin.

Hagrid wouldn’t let Harry browse for too long over the cauldrons, quickly guiding him towards the pewter one that was on his list. They got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was yet another place Harry was dragged out of, barely noticing the horrible smell for the fascinating ingredients that lined the walls and hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns and glittery-black beetle eyes.

Outside of the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry’s list again.

“Just yer wand left—oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

Harry felt himself go red. “I appreciate that, but you don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at—an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer mail an’ everythin’.”

Harry bit back his comment of ‘yes, but who would I have to send mail to’ and dutifully followed the man. Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Harry also carried a huge grin, and couldn’t help but thanking Hagrid a third time as he watched his new friend with eager eyes.

“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Don’ expect you’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now—only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”

A magic wand… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to. He could feel his heart begin to race at the idea of finally being able to do magic.

The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait, the new owl tucked in the most shadowy corner next to him. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. The back of his neck prickled, the same feeling he got when he had vanished the glass at the zoo, the feeling of the weight of magic on the air. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with power. Harry was so enraptured he didn’t notice that he and Hagrid weren’t alone anymore.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Harry jumped, turning around from where he was looking at the boxes that were stacked on nothing above the door. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hello,” said Harry politely, trying to hide the awkwardness he felt.

“Ah, yes. Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon, Hadrian Potter.” It wasn’t a question, and Harry had no idea how the man knew his full name. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inch long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry couldn’t bring himself to blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy, and he had learned early on to trust his instincts about people.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes, and froze in place.
“And that’s where…”

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger. Harry had to bite back the urge to back away, or react a little more… violently.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

He shook his head, and then, to Harry’s relief, spotted Hagrid.

“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?” He backed away from Harry and crossed halfway across the room.

“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.

“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” Mr. Ollivander seemed suddenly stern.

“Er—yes, they did, yes.” Hagrid was back to shifting awkwardly. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.

“But you don’t use them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

“Oh, no, sir,” Hagrid replied quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke. Harry had to bite his cheek from betraying any expression as realization flooded through him. Ollivander moved his gaze back to his blank expression after giving Hagrid a piercing look.

“Well, now—Mr. Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. Harry couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him at the sight of the third measuring tape of the day. The man gave a slight smile. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Er—well, I’m right-handed, sir.”

“Hold out that arm, that’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round his head. As he measured, he started talking, and Harry couldn’t help but listen, enraptured. “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. Here at this store, we use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two magical creatures are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

“Do other wandmakers use other cores?” Harry asked as the tape measured between his nostrils, Ollivander flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

“Indeed. Whatever ingredients are harvested in the area, or what the maker has on hand, or simply tradition.” He hummed to himself. “That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Harry gripped the handle of the first wand he’d ever held, pushed down how foolish he felt, and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once, another in its place.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—”

Harry tried—but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander. Harry was in awe of how easily the man seemed to be able to read the magic in the wands, and had to hold himself back from asking a million questions.

“No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was seeing or waiting for. The pile of tried wands was growing higher on the spindly chair that Hagrid had vacated, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to be.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Harry ignored the far-too-interested glint in the man’s eyes as he took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, a power that raced through his veins, like the freakishness he felt sometimes was burning an inferno on his insides. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of gold and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped, and Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”

He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, eyes looking in the distance as he muttered. “Curious… curious.”

Harry had an inkling that the man was hoping that he would prompt further conversation. Not the kind to dismiss the potential for more information, Harry was (mostly) happy to oblige. “Sorry, sir,” said Harry, “but what’s curious?”

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed, that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother gave you that scar.”

Harry swallowed as he stared down at the wand box.

“Yes, curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great.”

Harry shivered under the weight of his expectations, but still had the weight of questions on the back of his tongue. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop,

Harry bowing in return before following Hagrid out of the door.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall and into the Leaky Cauldron, now empty.

“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,” Hagrid told him, settling a hand on Harry’s shoulder before he could get too far into the pub.

Harry just nodded.

Tom brought out a hamburger for Harry, and left them in the back corner to talk as he started wiping down tables from the lunch rush.

“You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet.” Hagrid watched him as Harry picked at some chips.

Harry wasn’t sure he could explain, or that he particularly wanted to. But, Hagrid was decent enough, and Harry didn’t see the harm.

“Everyone thinks I’m special,” he said after he chewed through his sandwich. “All those people in here earlier, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don’t know anything about magic, or this world. How can they expect great things from someone who doesn’t even know what he’s famous for? It’s not like I can remember the night my parents died.”

Hagrid leaned across the table, the wood creaking under him. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile. “Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts—I did. Still do, ‘smatter of fact.”

Harry gave him a small smile in return and finished his burger.

Hagrid paid, and they walked to the entrance of the pub.

“Hagrid, you’ve been so helpful for me today, surely you have other things to do today before it gets late. I can find my way back to the Dursleys. I have an errand to run here in London anyways. You can go ahead, and I’ll see you at Hogwarts.” Harry gave a bright smile.

The man looked at him warily. “Yeh sure, Harry? Yeh aren’t worried about gettin’ back?”

He nodded quickly. “I do this all the time for my aunt. It’s not strange at all for muggles.”

Hagrid seemed to hesitate, but handed him an envelope. “Yer ticket fer Hogwarts. First o’ September—King’s Cross—it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she’ll know where to find me… See yeh soon, Harry.” The man ambled off, leaving Harry to watch him with a wave.

As soon as Hagrid was out of sight, Harry ducked back inside the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom looked up with a smile. “Forget something?”

Harry grinned back. “I heard you aren’t entirely against renting out rooms to minors?”

Fifteen minutes later saw him leaving the Leaky Cauldron with a key in his pocket, new clothes on his back, his new owl flying overhead from where he had left the cage and the window open. He felt like an entirely new person with the button down short-sleeve shirt, black trousers, and a nice pair of leather boots with a cushioning charm on the insoles. He headed back down the Alley to pick up the variety of his orders. Mr. Wiseacre had shown him how to shrink or expand his beautiful wooden trunk with a tap of his wand, no spells required. His initials were in a striking font under the latch, a gleaming gold that shone from the dark wood. He grinned and shook Mr. Wiseacre’s hand enthusiastically.

“Thanks so much, sir. I’ll be sure to come back if I ever need anything else.”

The man gave Harry one last wink and pushed him out of the door with a receipt. “You go have fun out there, Mr. Potter. I’ll see you around.”

His stops into the clothing stores were much quicker, just stopping to pick up his orders and place the bags in his trunk, which he kept in his satchel. He figured he would have plenty of time in his room later to organize his trunk.

Finally, he stood in front of a near-empty Flourish & Blotts again with a grin.

One that was matched by the girl behind the counter when she recognized him from earlier. “Hey, sprog. Thought I’d see you back, didn’t think it’d be so soon. You lose the chaperone?”

Harry eyed the girl, who couldn’t be more than seventeen. His grin widened. “Yeah. I figured that I’d hang around the Alley until term starts. I’ve got a bit of catching up to do.”

The girl nodded. “Muggleborn?”

“Half-blood, but raised with the Muggle side of the family.”

“Sucks. Want some recommendations? We’ve got a list for muggle-raised, and I know a handful more that’ll help.”

“Don’t you have other customers?”

She shook her head. “Nah, store usually clears out by dinnertime, all the families gotta get home and sit around the table. I’m all yours.”

“Then I’d appreciate it. Anything you can suggest on politics, heritage, hell, even Gringotts.” He started to turn, eyes wandering around the shelves and shelves that populated the store.

“Gringotts? What are you planning on doing with the goblins?”

He turned back. “They have control of my family’s estate. Thought it would be a good idea to make sure I know enough not to piss them off.”

She watched him with an eyebrow raised. “Smart. I’m Flick, by the way. Going into seventh year at Hogwarts, Slytherin House.”

Harry tucked her house away for a later conversation. “Nice to meet you, Flick. I’m Hadrian.”

Her eyes flicked to his forehead, but she met his eyes with a softer smile, and held out a hand. “A pleasure, Hadrian. Why don’t you grab a basket, they’ve got expansion and featherlight charms, go wander, and I’ll pull our first-gen-friendly books.”

Harry jumped towards the baskets, grabbing one, and ran into the stacks, ignoring Flick’s laughter from the counter.

He had a variety of extra books on each of the subjects from his list, plus a few history books that just looked interesting, when he came across the fiction section.

He browsed a little, not really paying much attention, though the idea of magical fiction made him want to come back and look further when he had time. He wasn’t taking anything in as he ran a hand over the books.

Not until he saw his own name on one of the spines.

He blinked, shaking his head a little before looking again. “The Adventures of Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived by G. Lockhart” was staring back at him, gold letters shining from a red cover. He pulled it off the shelf dumbly, staring at a cartoon drawing of a kid slightly similar to him, but one who had muscles and height, not one that was scrawny and could almost count his ribs through his new shirt. The back cover was a whirlwind of words of grand adventures, of a life of happiness and friends and love. Not of an orphan abandoned to the Muggle world, but a hero who had the world at his feet. Everything he knew about his past, and what the wizarding world thought of him, was in a book for children, kids who would have the story read to them by people who loved them. A situation he never remembered having. He was still staring at it a few minutes later when Flick walked up to him.

“Don’t bother with that, sprog. It’s a load of shit, made up so the general public think that the war can just be forgotten, that the sacrifices were worth it.” She took it from his hands gently, placing it back on the shelf. He stared after it, all excitement about books gone as a cold anger flooded through him. The hairs on the back of his neck shifted as his magic began to build.

Flick’s eyes widened. “Hadrian, look at me.”

His eyes met hers, and she swallowed at the look in the sharp green.

“No one who is anything thinks that this is really you, okay? And if anyone does, then you show up to that school and you show them who you really are. You aren’t some hero for them to fawn over, you’re a kid who’s lost more than most.”

Harry took a deep breath as he stared in Flick’s eyes.

“I want to know everything I need to know to prove them all wrong. I’m not some martyr for them to put on a pedestal. I don’t want to be some golden child.”

She nodded, pushing his fringe back to show his scar.

“You, Hadrian Potter, will take the world by storm, and it will have nothing to do with this.” She ran a thumb across his forehead. “And I’ll be there when you do, I promise.”

“You don’t even know me.” He pushed her hand away.

“Maybe.” She gave him a soft look. “You ever read Peter Pan?” Flick turned, grabbing another book from a lower shelf.

“That’s a muggle book, isn’t it? I think I read it a few years ago.”

“Read it again. It’s good. And you look like you could use the company of some fellow lost boys. I know I did when I was your age. And it’s a much better tale than that hippogriff shite Lockhart writes.” She gave him a grin and ruffled his hair, ignoring his swatting hand. “Finish up. It’s getting late, I’ll need to close up soon.”

She disappeared back towards the front, leaving him with a picture of kids flying through the air staring back up at him.

He slipped it into the basket and continued browsing, jaw set as he hovered over yet another book on the modern politics of the wizarding world.

Flick checked him out at the counter, nodding and humming at his choices, occasionally stopping to wave her wand to make a book fly over from the shelves, or to shake her head and tuck a book away.

As she was creating a third stack as tall as Harry on the counter, Harry shifted on his feet. “Hey, do you have any empty journals? Something simple, not to fancy. Just to… document my first year.”

She tilted her head as she eyed him. “Yeah. Purebloods always try to have their kids write journals to put up in the family libraries. I never remember to write in mine. There’s a bin over by the door, go grab one.”

He plucked a simple black leather journal from the pile, rubbing a hand over the smooth cover before nodding and heading back to Flick’s station.

Finally, she handed him the receipt to sign. “Don’t look at the price, just sign. This is a one-time haul of books you’ll use for the rest of your life.”

“That worries me, Flick.” He awkwardly picked up a quill and scratched out his name.

She laughed as she watched. “Thank Merlin I made sure to grab the how-to on writing with quills. Make sure you practice, the professors at Hogwarts will want to be able to read your assignments, sprog.” She handed him a copy of the receipt. “Want these bagged?”

Harry just shook his head. “No, I’ll go ahead and put them in my trunk and organize them when I get back to my room.” He pulled the trunk out of his bag and tapped it with his wand. Flick gave a low whistle as she watched all of the tall stacks disappear into the opening as Harry lined them up in the library unit.

Before he left, he turned back to Flick one last time. “Is there somewhere on the Alley to get more… muggleish clothes? Just in case I need to go into London, or just for… familiarity, I guess.”

She gave him a long look, but nodded. “There’s a shop behind the ice cream place, that has some muggle things. Not much of a selection, but it’s probably the best we’ve got without heading into muggle London. I’d also suggest stopping by Madam Primpernelle’s for a hair potion for that bowtruckle’s nest on your head.”

He blushed, but nodded his thanks.

With a wave and a “see you around, Hadrian,” Flick walked Harry to the door and locked it up behind him.

As he walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron, a sign caught his eye, hanging above a door that must have led to a second story office. The advertisement for a lawyer was tucked away between a used robes shop and a metal worker, but Harry stopped in his tracks.

A smile on his face, he headed back to his room, setting up his trunk at the foot of his bed and pulling out his brand-new parchment and a quill. By the time he had read through the instruction manual on writing with a quill, his owl flew through the window and settled on a perch next to the desk in the room. He scratched out a quick missive and rolled up the parchment to hand to the owl.

“To Gringotts, girl. Make sure Griphook gets this before it’s too late in the day.”

She chirped at him and flapped her wings once, and then flew back out the window. Harry watched her head towards the bank, and then pulled out a history book.

That beautiful owl needed a name.

That night, just as Harry was about to blow out the candle (a candle, how weird was that) in his room, a flurry of wings signaled his owl’s return with a reply in her talons.

After sending her out, he had dipped out of the muggle side of the Leaky to the closest store he could find, picking up pens, notebooks, sticky notes, and other muggle school supplies. He knew they wouldn’t be acceptable in his assignments, based on what he had read, but it would make taking notes and studying a lot easier. The bag he came back to the Leaky with was bursting, and Harry ignored Tom’s raised brow as he headed to his room with an eager spring in his step.

He had spent most of the evening jumping between organizing his trunk, flipping through his new books, making notes in one of the spiral notebooks, and hovering over the empty page of the journal. He couldn’t bring himself to start writing about life on Privet Drive. Not yet. He wasn’t sure that this wasn’t a dream, or that it was a mistake that would see him back with the Dursleys within a week.

He took an hour, however, to drag all of his muggle clothes, all of the hand-me-downs, all of the things that tied him to them, and took them to the back alley after a stilted question to Tom, who was closing the pub down. The man wisely didn’t say anything other than incendio, and stood back to watch the young boy’s determined expression as he glared at the burning pile of clothes. Tom went back inside when the fire was small enough to not cause any damage to anything, leaving Harry alone for the final bit of his funeral for Freak. Even if he still wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not, he wasn’t going to let himself fall back to those habits, not if he could help it. A while later, Tom locked the door behind Harry as he walked silently back up the stairs and collapsed on the first actual mattress he had been on since he could remember.

At his owl’s arrival a while later, Harry sat up in the bed, tossing aside the book he was reading and grabbing the scroll she had dropped on his lap before settling on the headboard. “Hey, girl, what do you think about Hedwig? It means to fight a battle. And I think that’s what we’re gearing up for here. There’s a lot of expectations on us, and it’s going to be a lot of work to make them realize that I’m not who they think I am.”

She hopped over to where he was sitting and nuzzled his hair.

“Alright. Hedwig it is.” He opened the scroll and grinned. Griphook’s reply was brief but informative. It looked like Harry had a meeting with a lawyer the next day.

The next morning, Harry woke up as sunlight filtered in through the open window. He couldn’t remember the first time he had woken up naturally and not from Aunt Petunia’s rapping on the cupboard door. He stretched, shifting under the duvet. A thud startled him to an upright position, and he looked to see his new journal now on the floor, a biro pen rolling across the hardwood beside it.

Harry went to stand, his foot crumpling the note Griphook sent him the night before. He grinned, getting up quickly to change into one of his new outfits. He straightened his casual robes, an open-face brown robe over his button-down shirt and slacks. Hedwig chirped from her perch before tucking her head under her wing to nap.

Slipping on his dragonhide boots, Harry tucked his notebook in his bag and settled it around his shoulder before heading downstairs. Tom met him with a grin, looking far too cheerful.

“Late start, Mr. Potter, you nearly missed breakfast. Can I get you something?” He set aside the rag he was using to clean the counter, but Harry was already shaking his head.

“Not this morning, Tom, I have an early meeting. Tomorrow, though. And call me Hadrian, please. I’ll be back!” Harry walked out the alley door, catching the brick opening behind someone heading into Diagon.

He followed the directions in the note from Gringotts, ducking into a sideroad where a few more secondhand shops were just starting to open. A rickety flight of stairs led up to a courtyard atop of some of the stores, and one of the doors leading off of the empty space sported a sign for Flint & Associates.

He stood in front of the door awkwardly, straightening his robes once more before knocking on the wood. The door opened under his touch, and he walked into a small waiting room as a chime sounded throughout the office.

“Come in, come in. I’ll be out in a minute.” A gruff voice sounded from one of the open doors down a hallway.

Harry stood as straight as he could, cursing his lack of height yet again. Especially once the man came out from the office, a tall man with a scarred face and muscles shifting underneath his dress shirt.

“Who’re you then?” He stared down at Harry, even as a hand was sorting through a floating pile of folders at his side.

“My name is Hadrian Potter. I understand that your office had a working relationship with my family before the last war, and I would like to reinstate that, as I have some concerns with my estate and my image in the wizarding world.” He didn’t even have to glimpse at the note to make sure he was saying what Griphook suggested.

The man chuckled as he leaned down, closer to Harry’s level. “Potter, eh? Now that I look atcha, you do look a right sight like your da. Prolly just the hair, though. I think I still got the Potter files somewhere around here. Come into my office, we’ll have tea and a talk. You’re lucky you came in this early, my afternoon is booked fuller than Flourish & Blotts.”

Harry followed the man back into the hallway and into an office with G. Flint on the door.

“Name’s Gerard, feel free to use it. What concerns are you having?” He waved his wand, and a tea table in the corner animated, and started to boil a teakettle.

“There are a few. But first I’d like to put you on retainer, if your workload allows. I’m new to the wizarding world, and I need all the help I can get to make sure that my estate is well managed until I’m old enough to take over and know what I’m doing.”

“New to the wizarding world?” His voice didn’t betray any judgement.

Harry worked his jaw for a moment. “And that’s part of why I’m here. My manager at Gringotts suggested running through my options with you. I would like to…” He thought through some of the wording in the politics books he read the night before “…discuss litigation against those involved in sending me to be raised by my mother’s muggle sister and her family.”

Gerard watched him for a minute before sitting down, and gesturing to a seat opposite him. “Who in Merlin’s saggy underpants sent you to live with muggles?”

Harry sat and leaned forward. “My magical guardian. Albus Dumbledore.”

The man gave a nasty grin as he pulled out a quill. “Dumbledore, eh? It would be my honor to work with you, Mr. Potter. An honor indeed.” A cup of boiling tea hovered into his view.

Harry matched his grin as he took the cup in front of him. “Then please, Gerard, call me Hadrian. Do you have any lemon?”

The next two hours were filled with Gerard muttering under his breath furiously, Harry shifting awkwardly on his seat as he described in detail his life with the Dursleys and his introduction to the wizarding world, as owls flew in and out of the office window with an ongoing conversation with Griphook about his estate and his inheritance. Gerard was ruthless in his questions, but seemed honest when he answered Harry’s own, and didn’t sugarcoat his replies or how difficult it would be to see real change in the situation.

“Dumbledore is a large figure in this society, Hadrian. Even if he put you in an abusive situation,” Gerard ignored Harry’s wince at the term, “it would be impossible to get him completely out of your dealings. We can try to chip away at his influence bit by bit, but by the time we make substantial moves, you’ll almost be old enough to claim your titles.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “Just keep everything on file. Maybe something will crop up that we can act on. Nothing too serious, I just don’t like the fact that a man I’ve never met has power of my accounts, my holdings, and even my access to them. Besides, even if it ends up not affecting me, maybe something we do will stop him from being able to do this to someone else in the future.”

Gerard nodded. “You can bet I’ll be keeping a close eye on Hogwarts. Even if my own boy wasn’t there, your da was a good friend of mine before you lot went into hiding, and now it’s even my job to make sure you’re doing well. We’ll make plans for any contingency we can to get his fingers out of your estate.”

“Good. Good.” Harry just nodded as he looked past the man out of the window.

“Anything else on your mind?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry. The whole reason I asked Griphook about you. I was in Flourish & Blotts yesterday and came across some kind of Harry Potter adventure book?”

Gerard rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Aye, Lockhart is a blithering idiot, who got bored writing his own exploits and decided to turn a hand to the national treasure that is the Boy-Who-Lived. What of it?”

Harry leaned forward again. “Surely there’s some law against using someone’s name like that without their consent. Slander, or something of the sort?”

The grin he got in return was sharp and wide. “Libel, since it’s written. Let me dig into this, and I’ll have an answer for you by the end of the week. Will you be accessible?”

“I’m staying at the Leaky until term begins. I have a lot to catch up on, and I thought it smart to stay nearby in case I had questions or concerns. If this goes our way, will I see any share of the profit?”

“If I have any say in this, you’ll see a fair chunk of change. Libel, reparations, and a share of any sales going forward. Just have to make sure Dumbledore didn’t authorize it on your behalf. Why? There’s no way your inheritance vaults for both the Black and Potter families is running low.”

“No, of course not. I couldn’t put a dent in it if I bought the Alley. But I’m worried about having access in the future. Call me paranoid, but I would rather I have a separate vault, one that isn’t controlled by Dumbledore or my godfather, not that Black can do much right now.”

“Smart, lad. I’ll write to Griphook and set up a private vault, one no one outside of us even has to know about. Shouldn’t be difficult to link it to your money bag. Can’t guarantee it’ll be much in comparison to the other vaults, but you’ll have some.”

“I’ll just have Griphook invest a portion of it, maybe siphon off a bit of my yearly allowance from my inheritance vaults over. I’m beginning to learn that I can never be too careful.” Harry stood and shook Gerard’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Counselor.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Hadrian. I’ll stay in touch about the libel suit, and please feel free to contact me if you have any questions. Even just in general. A shame that a good kid like you lost out on a decade of living in our world. I owe it to your da, and even if I didn’t, just thinking of my own boy growing up like that would drive me mad.”

Harry nodded and left, a spring in his step as he wandered back to the main street of the Alley for some celebratory ice cream.