First Steps
The first thing/people Harry met once the trial was over was a gaggle of reporters; momentarily blinded by the repetitive flashes of the cameras, Harry was taken aback by the questions. It was all "How do you feel?" "Do you feel that the compensation was enough?" "What will you do now?" But Harry didn't respond to them verbally; slipping out the wand Voldemort had loaned him, he cast a mild sound spell that shut them up while he looked at them coldly.
"Why do you care how I feel? Go ahead and print a load of lies; you've done it before, so why ask me anything?" Harry asked, taking advantage of their surprise by his total indifference and he walked away. As he approached the atrium, ignoring the looks of shock he received, Harry thought about everything that had happened.
The trial had shaken him. No doubt about it. While he was glad to be freed, Harry hadn't originally intended on showing them those moments from his past; he'd long since stopped bothering trying to tell people about the way the Dursleys had treated him, nobody had bothered to truly help him although he had a few suspicions as to why that was, and it was in the past. Harry was just pleased nobody had cottoned onto the fact he had been planning to murder the Dursleys, and certainly not Hagrid.
When he had gone with the simple-minded half-giant oaf to Diagon Alley to collect his school supplies for his first year, Harry had planned on buying the books on curses with the excuse to hex Dudley, but Hagrid stopped him; still, that hadn't stopped him from planning to go back to the Dursleys, and make them pay for every single humiliation and every single beating he'd received, and he didn't care if it made him as bad as them. Later on, he had planned to do just that, and that plan was still viable.
No.
What shook him the most was how Dumbledore and the Wizengamot had foiled his plans to leave Britain; he didn't know if it was because they needed/wanted to keep him in case of the next Dark Lord, or if they wanted to keep watch over him. That forgiveness crap and the stuff spewed by Dumbledore concerning Voldemort's past and how he was afraid he (Harry) would go down that route was more plausible, but surely it would have been better if he had gone off to the MACUSA so he could be with Potters, actual Potters, and no bloody Weasels and no-one from Hogwarts.
Harry was seething with fury. He wanted to continue learning how to be a wizard, yes, but not at Hogwarts; while he'd loved the school when he was eleven, he had seen it lose its charm. Now he never wanted to step foot in that fucked up dump again. It was a toxic environment at the best of times; he wanted to go to a different school, one where he had no ties or roots, and nobody would know him and he knew nobody in turn.
But Dumbledore had foiled those plans. He didn't want Harry out of his sight, that was why he had done it.
Still seething with anger and desperate to find out how watertight this new legislation was and to see if it was capable of being fought, Harry marched towards the Floo entrances; he needed to get to Diagon Alley fast, but as he walked through the atrium, he caught sight of a blurred reflection of himself wearing Azkaban robes. The sight of the tatty clothes made him stop, and ignoring the other wizards and witches who'd taken notice of his presence, Harry slipped out his borrowed wand and, drawing upon the knowledge of Voldemort and several of the Death Eaters, he conjured a full-length mirror and, ignoring his appearance, he closed his eyes and pictured the appearance he wanted to convey before he flicked his wand.
Opening his eyes, Harry smirked as he took in his transformation.
Gone was the young teenager dressed in Azkaban robes that were too ill-fitting for his frame and barely gave him any kind of warmth, now he was dressed in a pair of black suit trousers with white sneakers on his feet. He was dressed in a purple jumper, with a white t-shirt underneath with a purple scarf wrapped around his throat, coiled like a boa constrictor.
Harry had no idea of the exact date, and for all he knew it was winter outside, but regardless, Azkaban had made him conscious of warmth and cold. Right now he was cold.
Topping the jumper was a khaki-coloured coat that was a size too big for his frame. Harry ran a hand gently down his cheek, feeling the stubble before he nodded in approval. It was going to have to do. Slipping the wand handle into his right sleeve, ready to appear at a moments, notice, he set off.
With that, he headed for the floo entrances where an elderly wizard was supervising the traffic. The old wizard had just seen two witches leave before he focused on Harry.
"Going somewhere, son?" He asked.
"Yeah, I'd like to go to Diagon Alley," Harry replied before he admitted, "but I haven't got any money."
Silently he cast a mild compulsion charm, hoping the man's abilities didn't include anything in the mind arts.
The man smiled at him. "Okay, kid, this one's on me," he said and he offered him the Floo powder pot. Harry took it and scooped out enough powder for the journey, and he stepped into the fireplace.
"Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley," he called, making sure his destination order was perfect, especially after the disastrous first time he had used Floo powder.
Dropping the powder, Harry closed his eyes shut as he shot through the network before he staggered out of the fireplace at the other end. The patrons in the Leaky Cauldron stopped when they noticed him, and it took them a few moments to realise he was Harry Potter. Some of them went silent, but others muttered quietly to themselves. But Harry did not notice this. With an irritable wave of his wand, Harry vanished the dust and stalked outside to the back.
Harry tapped the wand against the bricks and stood back as the portal opened in the brickwork. While he waited Harry went over his immediate plans. He needed to get to Gringotts and discover if what Dumbledore had told him in the Ministry was accurate or not, at the same time he needed to get something from the bank while he looked into getting in touch with the MACUSA. Another thing he wanted to do was to recover the Potter Head of Family ring; when he was thirteen, he discovered Dumbledore and Crouch and Bagman had all agreed he was an adult, and he was hoping the ring would accept him. With the ring, he could find many new plans and keys to ensuring his future.
But if he couldn't then he would not be hopeless since he could reacquire the keys to the townhouse his mother had owned. Lily had been given a few properties for investments before she died, and she'd made a nice little nest egg for herself. And she had made sure it would be given to him, her only son. Harry had found out about the townhouse when he was thirteen, he had been interested in learning more about his family and it was there he discovered the existence of his American cousins, but because he attended Hogwarts he couldn't slip away, and with Dumbledore watching him, it was dangerous to contact them.
But now there was no need to worry about that; Harry didn't care anymore. He was going to contact his American family, and if Dumbledore didn't like that, well too bad.
While he slowly walked towards Gringotts, the crowd parted for him when they realised he was there. Harry tensed, remembering the way he had been humiliated when he had tried to find magical law books and writing supplies, but was shoved out onto the streets, and hexed. He was never going to forgive them for that, and he made sure his new wand handle was firmly in his hand; if anyone attacked him, well he would be ready for them.
Keeping his expression closed off while he walked straight to the bank, Harry noticed there was a small group of Aurors, including the young one with the weird hair that changed colour. She was looking like her world had collapsed. Who was she? Why did she seem more upset than others? Harry quickly dismissed her. She wasn't important.
A wind blew through the alley, carrying the scents of the apothecary into his nostrils. Harry had never imagined how much he had missed the scent. Madam Malkin watched him walk by without even so much as a glance in her direction, and her heart broke when she saw the white hair blowing across his face, seeing the wealth of pain and anger in his too-young visage. Her heart was broken, but the shattered pieces went out to the brave young man. He had come to her before his original trial, hoping for some fresh clothes; he'd been wearing nothing but Hogwarts robes, but she'd kicked him out after telling him what she thought of him and his money.
"Mr Potter - Harry," one of the shopkeepers cried. Harry turned and saw it was Mr Flourish, one of the joint owners of Flourish & Blotts, and he was running towards him.
Quick as a snake, Harry had the wand right in his face. "Stay away from me!"
Mr Flourish stopped. "P-please, I'm sorry!" He blubbered.
"Get away from me!" Harry hissed. "All of you!"
Keeping the tip close to the older wizard's face, Harry walked around him and headed back for the bank, hearing Mr Flourish collapse to the ground, sobbing. Now in a truly foul mood, Harry quickened his pace and he didn't stop until he arrived finally at Gringotts. Harry nodded politely to the goblin guards before he walked into the bank.
Ignoring the looks, Harry went up to one of the lines. As he waited in line for his turn, Harry sorted through the myriad list of things he wanted to get checked. One of the first things he wanted to do was to check the Potter accounts. Lily and James hadn't been smart enough to leave, but they'd been smart enough to lock down their vaults until he was seventeen years old, and he hoped the Ministry hadn't gotten greedy.
He wanted to check out the latest legislation Dumbledore had pumped out to get him to return to Hogwarts. He wanted to find out if the legislation had any loopholes; the only people who'd know and wouldn't care if he went back to Hogwarts or not worked in Gringotts. He refused to give up his wishes to live in America without a fight.
Next, he wanted to collect the keys to the townhouse belonging to his mother. He needed a place to live after all, but he also wanted to check something important out; back in the summer after his second year, Harry had found out James Potter had left the Head of Family ring behind. He wanted to know if his inclusion in the Triwizard Tournament meant he could have it, but even if he didn't then it was no problem for him.
"Well, Wizard, what do you want?" The goblin teller demanded without looking up when it was his turn.
Harry frowned. This was the problem with goblins, so surly and irritable, they never realised their image was tarnished. "I'd like to see Bloodbringer, the account manager for the Potter family."
If the goblin wasn't going to be polite, then neither was he. It was petty, but it was the way he felt.
"Name?"
"Harry Potter. I've just killed the Dark Lord."
The goblin looked up at him and scrutinised him closely. "Very well," the goblin said, before he waved another goblin forward, and after a quick hurried conversation in their language, the second goblin turned to Harry more respectfully. "This way, please, Mr Potter."
Harry had visited Bloodbringer before, and he silently followed the goblin through the maze of corridors until the goblin knocked on the account manager's door.
"Enter!"
The goblin opened the door and indicated for Harry to follow. Harry walked in. The office hadn't changed in the last few years. It was still a massive, richly appointed room that combined an office of a banker and a solicitor with a museum displaying vicious-looking weapons. Bloodbringer was sitting at his desk. He looked up and saw him; for a moment there was an expression that looked almost quizzical, before recognition set in.
"Mr Potter, I wasn't expecting to see you today," Bloodbringer commented as Harry took a seat.
After he'd gotten comfortable in his chair, Harry nodded. "May the steel of your swords stay sharp, Senior Account Manager Bloodbringer. I am here to check on my accounts, to make sure the Ministry hasn't gotten greedy, but I'd also like to check if the legislation Dumbledore has pushed through to keep me at Hogwarts is ironclad."
Bloodbringer leaned back in his chair. "And may your enemies die while you prosper, Mr Potter. As for the legislation, it's only just been released."
"Have you looked at it?"
"No, I haven't, but I can," the goblin sighed. "As for the Ministry, they did try to seize your vaults; fortunately the lockdown your father imposed prevented them from plundering your family fortune." Bloodbringer sent him a sharp look. "And saved my head."
Harry knew enough about goblin law to know Bloodbringer's life hinged on the maintenance of his position. If he lost the Potter vaults then his life was a doomed one. "Could you look at it now, please? I need to know if there's any way I can keep away from Hogwarts and if I can transfer to a different magical school."
Bloodbringer nodded. "I can do that. It will take me some time, though. What would you like to do in the meantime? I get the impression you have other business here?"
Harry nodded. "There's something in my mother's vault I'd like to collect; I haven't got the key, but will that be a problem?"
"No, we'll charge your family vault for the relevant prices for replacement vault keys," Bloodbringer said, correctly surmising that he'd lost his vault keys, and he clicked his fingers. A moment later, the door opened and a second goblin entered. "You sent for me, sir?"
"Yes, please take Mr Potter to Vault 665."
"Very good, sir. Mr Potter?"
As Harry stood up and followed the goblin out, he hoped Bloodbringer could find something, but even if he couldn't, he would be with his family.