Defense Against the Dark Arts and Blood Test
Next day, young Harry headed down the same park he went last time with the excuse of meeting with a teacher. Not a lie, nor is it the whole truth, but the Dursley don't need to know any more than that.
A pale young man was standing awkwardly when he arrived, giving him his back. His hair is short and dark in color, same as his clothes although with a tint of purple on them. Harry made his way forward, very nervously, uncertain of what to expect. His mind is telling him to be cautious. His scar is throbbing. He's... familiar. As if he had heard him, the man turned around. The boy's eyes widened and he took a step back. Blue eyes fixed on him with a clarity that didn't seem possible for someone that appears so nervous. And he's nervous. One of his eyes was even twitching.
"Professor Q-Quirrell," stammered the young man "I will be o-one of your t-teachers at Hogwarts."
"Harry Potter," the raven introduced himself grasping Quirrell's hand. It felt odd. Cold.
"Can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to finally meet you," Harry's face scrunched in visible confusion. Having a hunch, the man asked if he knew anything about his role in the war. He frowned at the boy's blank look realising that indeed Harry Potter doesn't know anything about his story. With a sigh, Quirrell looked around the park before holding his hand to the boy. "We're going to ap-apparate," was his only explanation. Still hesitant, but trusting that a teacher wouldn't hurt him, Harry took his hand. The last thing he saw was a whirlwind of color and then black.
It felt like being forced through a very tight rubber tube.
...
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" asked the green-eyed boy some minutes after recovering from the apparitions side effects.
They were in a completely different place to Harry's amazement.
"Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "We're at Diagon Alley. Here's w-where you'll be getting all your equipment. I've got to p-pick up a new book on vampires, myself. That's why I'm the one helping you t-today. I guess no-no one else had free time," he laughed bitterly.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons -- All Sizes -- Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them. Harry turned to his guide.
"Excuse me sir, I don't have any money to get my... equipment," the boy blurted out.
The man scoffed at the ridiculous idea. "Of course not. You need to go to G-Gringotts first," Not saying anything else he started walking, Harry after him.
The raven turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the people. All the smells. Despite being certain he's never been here everything's feels familiar. Old and new at the same time. Like a dream.
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. A sudden sadness came over him at the sight of the white owl. Then his eyes moved to a family of blonde hair, a kid with them. Harry's age. Immediately after he focused on shops that were selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...
"We are here," announced Quirrell, which startled the young wizard. He could have sworn he heard another voice for just a moment.
Shaking his head, Harry looked around. They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was an odd looking creature.
"That's a goblin," explained his teacher quietly as they walked up the white stone steps towards him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they approached him. Quirrell bowed back and, to not be seen as disrespectful, the boy hastily bowed too. Was it him, or did the goblin look shocked?
Once inside they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"I don't s-suppose you have any intentions to rob them," said Quirrell. Harry hopes he's joking.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Quirrell and Harry made for the counter.
"Good morning, Griphook," said the professor to a free goblin. "We've come to t-take some money out of M-Mr. Harry Potter's safe."
"And does Mr. Potter have his key?" Black eyes stared at the green-eyed boy for just a second before turning back to his teacher. Harry shook his head at the questioning gaze from Professor Quirrell.
"It seems he doesn't. W-We'll do a blood test."
Griphook called out to another younger looking Goblins in a language Harry had never heard before. "Follow me." Griphook called them, leaving the other Goblin behind at his post.
They both followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.
Griphook held the door open for them. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. The two wizards and the goblin walked for a long time, to the point where Harry thought that perhaps they were lost. He immediately put that thought out of his mind, sensing that it didn't ring true.
Minutes later they arrived in front of a reddish wooden door with a gold frame and intricate drawings on them. Once inside and in their respective seats, the goblin took out a parchment and a sharp knife. The razor is very nice, Harry thought, his green eyes unable to look away. The light reflected off the embedded gems.
"Potter," his teacher's voice snapped him out of his reverie, his attention returning to Griphook.
"Sorry."
The goblin grunted at the boy before starting his explanation. "Cut your finger and let three drops of blood fall on the parchment," once the knife was handed over, he continued. "With this we can find out if you are telling the truth about your identity. If so, you will see a list of vaults and how much gold is in them, other valuables from your family, and if you have any creature inheritance. Among other things."
Harry did as told, remembering the dreams and flashbacks he's been having lately. That giant man was probably half giant half human, he thought distractedly.
A pale hand grabbed his wrist making him flinch, pulled the knife away from him, and with what looked like a wand healed his cut and cleaned the blade. "Only th-three drops, Mr Potter," Quirrell reminded him.
Embarrassed, the boy nodded. Then his attention went to the parchment where red writings began to appear:
Harry James Potter
Date of birth - July 31, 1980
Blood Status - Halfblood
Magical Core - Damaged
Family
James Potter I - Father - deceased
Lily J. Potter née Evans - Mother - deceased
Harry scrolled down, making a mental note to ask for a copy. He really wants to know more about his family, and with some luck he could find someone else to take him over the Dursley.
Magical guardian
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Godparents
Sirius Black III (Blood Adoption; Unavailable)
Alice Longbottom née Fortescue (Unavailable)
Family Lines:
Potter
Gryffindor
Peverell
Soulbound to Tom Marvolo Riddle
"Who's Tom Riddle?" he wondered out loud with a frown. Another thing that sounds familiar, he noted. Quirrell's shoulders tensed.
Family Vaults
Potter's Main Vault - 319,995 Galleons (Books and other Valuables included)
Vault 687 (Safe Vault) - 50,625 Galleons 12 Sickles 1890 Knuts
300 Galleons a Year transferred and exchanged into Muggle currency to the accounts of the Dursley family, November 1981
Reading this, Harry's hands gripped the parchment tightly, wrinkling it. Furious was nowhere near what he really felt. All those times they told him how much money it cost them to take care of him, give him food and clothes and a place to sleep. And all this time they had been paid out of HIS money. His, not theirs. His.
"You have-you have his identity verified. P-Please, make a copy of the test and prepare a new key for Mr. Potter. I don't want to drag this day out any longer than is necessary," came his teachers voice. His presence helped him to calm down enough to pay attention again.