As the Hogwarts Express left Hogsmeade Station, Harry had an epiphany. Quickly, ignoring his friends for the moment, he got out a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkpot, using his trunk as a table as he wrote a carefully-phrased letter. When he finished, he used his wand to dry it, knowing from last year there would only be six more hours before he wouldn't be allowed to use it. Then, folding it haphazardly, he let Hedwig out of her cage and whispered, "Bring this to Aunt Petunia." When his snowy owl left, he sat back with a satisfied grin and started planning – and refusing to tell Ron or Hermione what he'd written to his so-called 'relatives'.

Upon arriving at Kings Cross, Harry said goodbye to his friends and sped far past Hermione and her parents so he could start walking towards Charing Cross

He had a plan. Basically, he was going to buy a tent and live in it for two weeks in the Dursleys' backyard. That would hopefully be enough time that anyone who was watching him would get the idea that he was staying at Privet Drive. Not that anyone was watching him…maybe. Harry had no clue, maybe it was just paranoia. Though Dumbledore did seem to have an awfully comprehensive knowledge of his life, despite everything…

Anyway – after two weeks in a tent, he would start travelling around the country. He knew how to get bus and train tickets, and getting an aeroplane ticket couldn't be that different if he really needed one. There might even be an easier, magical way to travel, like the Knight Bus, though he didn't want to take that bus ever again if he could help it. Harry might only be twelve, but who cared? He would be thirteen soon, anyway. Of course, he'd need money, which was why he was going to Gringotts – hopefully he could get some converted into pound coins.

The walk wasn't very long, but it was difficult. There were a lot of people in London, and commuters didn't pay mind to his bulky trunk. When they bumped into it, they were more likely to shout at him, or even ignore him rather than help him right it, if the thing had fallen sideways. I'll have to get a proper suitcase, or a backpack, or something, he mentally noted tiredly.

Guiltily, he dumped Hedwig's cage in a skip as soon as he could. He got odd looks for it while walking, but he knew in the skip it wouldn't be looked twice at. People had more unusual things than bird cages. It wasn't as if Hedwig used it other than during the holidays anyway, and even then, they both preferred it when she wasn't locked inside. He'd probably end up asking her to go to Hermione's while he travelled, and her water-bowl could be easily substituted when she was with him. Really, the only problem with getting rid of it was having no handy tray to collect bird droppings.

Once he made it to Charing Cross, he went into the Leaky, going up to the bar. Tom, upon seeing him, gave him an odd smile.

"Mr Potter, what brings you here?"

Harry gave an awkward look, "Uh, just a stop in. Is Gringotts open at this time?"

Tom gave a slight laugh, "Gringotts is always open, Mr Potter – why, it's even busier at night most days! Goblins are nocturnal by nature. It's only because our business hours are in daytime that they have people at desks."

Harry nodded politely, "Thanks. Oh, and, uh…would you know where to get a tent?"

Tom put down the glass he was wiping, "Magic or muggle?"

Harry's brow furrowed, "There's a difference?" As Tom laughed to himself, snickering, Harry felt with annoyance towards himself, that there must have been a big one. "Where could I buy them?"

Tom wiped his eyes, "Second shop on the right, just as you enter the Alley, Mr Potter. Where you would have gotten your school trunk in your first year."

Harry pursed his lips, before nodding again. "Thank-you." Adjusting his trunk, he went to go towards the entrance to the alley, when Tom called out.

"Would you like me to hold onto your trunk while you go, Mr Potter? You won't have to lug it round with you, then."

Harry hesitated, fringe catching on his glasses. Answering as he brushed it away, "Would that be okay?" he turned to the man again. Tom just gave him a kind smile before waving his wand, levitating it up and over the bar, pushing it to the side. "Thanks. Again."

"It's no problem, Mr Potter."

Before it could get awkward, Harry scarpered, quickly entering Diagon Alley, fingering his wand as he pushed it up his sleeve. He'd not bothered to change out of anything other than his robe, tie and piped school jumper, wanting to wear something that wasn't Dudley's hand-me-downs. Maybe I can fix that properly, he thought to himself as he looked around the alley properly. It was weird – he'd never actually had a chance to look around before. Hagrid had directed him around for his first year, and then in his second year, it had been Mrs Weasley. As he walked the street, heading towards Gringotts, he noted the names of most of the shops, taking in the most obvious produce from each, and if he couldn't, guessed as to what they might advertise.

Unfortunately, it was only once in front of a goblin asking him for his key did he realise it was still in his trunk. As the goblin waited boredly, Harry searched his pockets, hoping that maybe he'd actually had some foresight and forgotten – but it was not to be.

"Uh…" he hesitated, stupid Harry! "Is there any way I could get into my vault without having a key? Like, identity verification, or something?"

The goblin narrowed his eyes, "Yes, there is, but it would require payment afterwards. If payment is not supplied, Gringotts would extract items of value that match up to the cost of payment. If that is not supplied, as a minor you would be required to work off what money is owed."

"What if I were an adult?" Harry questioned, not worried about it – very much, at least. He was a Potter, and it was his vault. Nothing could go wrong.

The goblin smirked, "We would kill you." He blanched on automatic, before shakily nodding his head.

"I don't want to waste your time, so yeah, I'll do whatever is deemed necessary to get money from my vault."

The goblin snapped his fingers, calling another goblin over. Harry stepped forward as it opened a door, motioning him through.

"Follow me, please." It ordered, before leading him down a short corridor into a dark room. He squinted, before realising they were in both a cave and an office. The goblin sat down at a desk. "Sit, please." Harry did so, waiting for the goblin. They were silent for a while, as the goblin signed different pieces of parchment, before handing it to him. He skimmed through it, noting that it was a contract basically saying that Gringotts couldn't be held accountable for any inaccuracies that came to light, and demanded to be paid the total sum of sixty galleons for the whole process, plus interest the longer it was put off.

"Do I sign somewhere?"

The goblin held out a quill, "Back page, bottom right-hand corner." Harry took it, knowing there would be no problem whatsoever, and signed his name – Harry James Potter. "Hand, please." He looked up, immediately jumping at seeing the wavy silver knife in the goblin's hand.

"What the hell?!"

The goblin didn't react to his exclamation. "For identity verification, blood is required." Harry swallowed, eyeing the knife before pulling himself together. It's just a little blood. He'll probably only cut my finger, he assured himself, before holding out his hand.

The goblin immediately lowered the knife to his palm and sliced.

He let out a yelp, clenching his hand as blood dripped down onto a piece of parchment, bringing his hand to his chest. Once more the goblin ignored him, eyes focused on the parchment. Harry glanced at his fist – burning like hell and covered in dark, thick, red blood – before looking to it, not knowing what it was. But then the spilled blood sank into the parchment, an unfamiliar name appearing in blue ink, black, ivy-like lines leading up to Lily Antheia Evans, who was followed by Rosa Margaret Minty in red, who was then followed by Poesy Millicent Pomfrey in purple.

"Pomfrey?" Harry blinked in surprise, "Like Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts?" At his words, Poesy's name shimmered, before a black ivy went sideways, Poppy Ailsa Pomfrey in blue writing itself out.

The goblin grunted as, slowly – much, much more slowly than with his mother's, grand-mother's and great-grandmother's names appeared – the ivy started swirling up to make his father's name.

"Poesy Pomfrey is Poppy Pomfrey's squib half-sister. Madam Poppy Pomfrey herself can be notified of your relations, and if you cannot access any vaults that you have had access to previously, fees will be lifted from her, upon her grace." Goblins can read upside down?

Harry went to reply, but his father's name caught his attention.

My father's name does not start with an 'N'.

He leant forward as it started to spell the name out. It was agonising, watching as it was laid out before his eyes. He didn't even care to look at his grandfather's name, or his great-grandfather as the shining green Neptune stared up at him from the yellowing parchment, in glaring opposition to the blue of his mother's.

"No, it can't be, James Potter…" his throat closed up, and he felt a hollowness in his gut. "This has to be wrong," he choked out as the goblin tapped the name with a dirty nail. Beside the name, words in a foreign language appeared that made the goblin become still. Harry, trying to find distraction, on glancing saw them as Latin and looked at them properly, immediately becoming confused as they bent out of shape. He took off his glasses to rub them of what dirt had obviously got on them, before freezing as the Latin became perfectly clear to him, his brain interpreting them enough that…that he somehow understood it. The English beside them bent as the words had just before.

He put his glasses on. The Latin became bendy. The English became clear. He took his glasses off. The Latin became clear. The English became bendy.

Frowning, Harry kept his glasses off, looking more closely at the symbols. Nep…Neptune, King of Atlantis, God of the Sea, Water, Earth- Earthquakes, Hurricanes, Storms and…Horses, he slowly realised what he was reading. This…this is my father? He's a God? Harry looked up at the goblin, who was still unmoving.

"The Gods are real?" The goblin didn't answer, and Harry, nervous, was too scared to touch him. Instead, he just sat back down, glancing at the parchment from afar. That was when he realised something. The name at the start was where my name was supposed to be… he leant forward sharply again, prompting the goblin to lean back as he traced the letters, putting his glasses back on. Henry Iakobus Evans. He swallowed. Harry's a nickname for Henry…I suppose that could just be a mix-up. Everyone got so used to using it that they forgot… He had no idea about Iakobus though.

Evans… Harry flinched. I'm not a Potter.

"Your Highness," the goblin spoke suddenly, knocking the boy out of his thoughts. "As bastard son of King Neptune, you have limited access to the Royal Trust Vault, and upon your majority, you are given a retainer vault in your own name, but under command of King Neptune. As an act of goodwill towards His Majesty and Your Highness, Gringotts will waive the fee for your identification process."

Harry stared at the goblin.

"What?"

It was a tiring evening for Harry James Potter. He refused to go by the name Henry Iakobus Evans, and managed to find a way with the goblins to be legally 'nicknamed'. He'd have to fill out the form again on his seventeenth birthday, but that was years away, and as long as he didn't sign anything under his 'real' name, then the document wouldn't be rendered invalid.

He did manage to get his tent though, and some money converted. Unfortunately it was a bit too late by that time to go on a serious shopping trip, and while it wasn't anything he really wanted to do, Harry had to take the night bus home or be confronted by a steaming Uncle Vernon at midnight for being five hours late in getting back to Little Whinging. As it was, he was still shouted at for getting back at nine in the evening, before being directed to a cleared area of dirt under the single, neglected apple tree in their backyard. He pitched his tent and went inside without much more fuss, being joined by Hedwig a few minutes after before she left for her dinner.

The reminder had Harry's stomach growling, but he ignored it as he tied the tent flap shut and stripped, before falling flat onto the soft double bed of his tent. The next morning after cooking breakfast in an attempt to butter her up to the idea, he informed Petunia he would like to have permission to go back and forth between London and Surrey. In reply, he was told to tend the garden and repaint the house, fence and shed that summer, and forbidden from coming inside for anything other than for the bathroom. Harry didn't bother mentioning his tent had a built-in bathroom, and simply used the morning to paint the shed with left-over paint from the summer before his first-year before leaving.

He didn't go straight to Diagon Alley though. First he went to shops in Muggle London for new clothes, but after seeing various amusements, made a quick-second decision to explore the city and just do the occasional shop. It wasn't as if he actually wanted to be carrying half a dozen bags all day. As it was though, he did get to Diagon Alley, and spent the late afternoon strolling around, buying whatever he liked – which included enough groceries, as it turned out, to last a few days.

When he finally went home to Privet Drive, he packed all his purchases away around his tent, knowing that leaving them would be fine. The shop-owner had said when he bought it that everything within the tent was unable to be harmed, damaged, broken, or warped. After Harry had asked what would happen to the items when it was rolled up, the shop-owner told him a story from her youth about how she smuggled his squib brother to Hogwarts by putting him in a wizarding tent, rolling it up and putting it in her trunk to be opened in her dorm. Her brother was in Hogwarts over fifteen hours before Professor Flitwick realised he didn't have a timetable to give him, perfectly fine after getting out of the tent.

The next day was similar from the last, but he spent it all in Magical London, using his invisibility cloak to traverse Knockturn Alley, Vertic Alley and Musik Alley. It was amazing to find more than just Diagon and Knockturn existed, and by the time he, once again, went home to Privet Drive, his fingers were aching from all the shopping bags he was carrying. The routine of either going out to muggle or magical London continued for two and a half weeks – by which time, Harry had been to most of the amusements in Muggle London, and had bought items from half the shops he'd come across settled around or in Diagon Alley.

He realised, quite suddenly after the end of the third week, that he'd forgotten to leave to go on Holiday – but then it occurred to him that actually, he didn't really need to go on holiday. He'd had enough fun just in a single city in all this time, and he'd gained a little sense too, while touring London – even older teenagers got questioned on their activities by the police when wandering about alone. There was no way he'd get away going on a holiday by himself…at least for now.

Writing a short note back to Ron's request he came over for the rest of the break, as they had renovated their house with some lottery money and he wanted to show him everything – Ask your mum if it's okay if I come over using the Knight Bus tomorrow (Tuesday) – and sending it off with Hedwig, he went over to his trunk to start packing. It was only after emptying it that he realised he hadn't read most of the books in here – and they were from both his second and first year. A frown flitted across his face at the realisation and put all the books off to one side, giving them occasional glances as a slowly-building feeling of guilt grew in his stomach. What if I could have done better if I read the books? He asked himself time and time again as he thought to his poor 58% average from this past year. I could have done a lot better.

But he kept with the clearing of his trunk, moving everything onto the floor surrounding him. I'll put the books to one side instead of just throwing them in, he thought, before tipping the dregs from his trunk – broken quill nibs, scraps of parchment, dried up potions ingredients – so then I can just pick them out instead of mucking everything else up. Hermione would be proud, he chuckled to himself, before piling them at the left end of his trunk neatly, before putting in his cauldron and potions ingredients beside them in the middle. My clothes and loose things can go in the last bit. He'd put his tent in with it once he was ready to leave tomorrow.

When he was done, Harry wiped his forehead, throwing his glasses off to the side. Ever since Gringotts, he'd been noticing the difference his glasses were making with everything. He'd always thought glasses were for reading, because that was what he used them for – nothing else was affected. But now knowing that they actually enabled him to read English made it hard to establish hard facts. If he took them off, he could see perfectly well, but then when he tried to read anything else other than Latin and spells, his head would start aching. Another thing was the weird hallucinations he had without them on.

He'd been visiting the Tower of London the week before when he'd seen a woman and almost screamed. She had fangs, and red eyes, and her skirt showed her mismatched legs – and she'd been staring right at him, practically salivating. But then he'd put his glasses on, and she'd gone back to normal, if looking at him confusedly. It happened a few more times, and each time he swore he saw some kind of creature – a cyclops, a hairy bull-man, snake-women. It was all very 'Greek Mythology', and it creeped him out. Having a guy named 'Neptune' as your supposed father prompted you to read up on the Roman's, not the Greek's. It made him wary that things might not be all that they seem. Though in no way did he even think about contemplating the reality that not only were Roman Gods real, but so were the Greek.

Flopping down on the carpeted ground, Harry started to do some random sit-ups, ignoring the pain with years' worth of experience from much worse. After all, neglect had only made his toddler-self more annoying. He could still remember the time that Vernon first physically disciplined him. Sit-ups were paltry in comparison to what Vernon had inflicted upon the three-year old. He'd taken to fitness as a way to pass the time when he was bored, surprisingly, inspired by Dudley. Apparently he didn't fit into Smeltings' largest size of trousers, so needed to lose weight. Harry, after some thinking and some staring at his own wiry form, only made more dense from Quidditch, decided to exercise just because he could. Also, it helped attract some confidence-boosting attention from others his age that he saw when he walked around more age-appropriate areas of London. Harry nowadays found more ease in wearing a smile and a wink whenever he caught someone's eyes.

(In no way would he be telling Ron or Hermione about his experimentation during the first half of his summer. Erik had been a good kisser, but he liked it more with his twin Erin. While he knew it might take more time to properly decide, if he did at all, he was leaning towards being straight.)

After about two hundred sit-ups, Harry moved to crutches, and then to press-ups. Then he was back to the beginning again, and again, and again…