Harry sighed as he received yet another letter. He usually looked forward to letters, but for the past week he'd wished that the bank would stop sending him them. These were no ordinary bank letters, though. They were written on scrolls of parchment by goblins and delivered by owls. Harry was no ordinary boy, either, for he was a wizard.

It occurred to Harry that today was the day when his first Hogwarts letter came through the door. Normally, people would only get one, but Harry's relatives were Muggles, and they hated magic. But, as Muggles, or non-magic folk, they could never get away from the magical world, and it had eventually caught up to them in the form of a half giant knocking down the door to their hiding place. That was the best birthday Harry had ever had.

He was going to have to talk to the goblins at Gringotts bank. Earlier that year, he had broken into one of the most secure buildings in the world and stolen a valuable item from one of the vaults inside. No matter whether it was in the name of defeating Voldemort, the goblins wanted their revenge. And so they were holding his accounts until further notice.

The next day, Harry resolved to talk the matter over with the goblins. He took a pinch of floo powder from above the fireplace and threw it into the flames, which immediately turned a bright emerald green. Pocketing another few pinches of powder, he stepped into the flames and called "Diagon Alley!" He closed his eyes as he spun, then, feeling that he was about to stop, leant forward to propel himself out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron.

Smiling at Tom the barman, he flicked a silver sickle towards him as thanks for the use of his fireplace. Few people were so kind, and Tom appreciated this. Barely breaking his stride, he tapped the brick in the wall behind the pub, which opened quickly into an archway, sensing his purpose. He smiled as he thought back to when Hagrid, the half giant, had opened Diagon Alley for him, and it had opened slowly to put on a show.

As Harry strode past Gringotts, the two goblin doormen scowled at him and shook their fists in anger. He quickened his stride as they began to start after him. Thankfully they remembered that they had to hold their positions, and retreated. A bell tinkled in the gloom as Harry pushed open the door to Ollivander's shop and Harry waited for the surprise appearance he knew would come. He jumped as Ollivander loomed out of the gloom to his left, even though he had expected it.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. A pleasure to see you again. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to talk about wands," replied Harry.

"Well," smiled Ollivander, "what luck that you walked into a wand shop. Follow me." He led Harry behind the counter and into one of the back rooms. On the desk was a wand in progress, a short hazel twig, roughly cut and unpolished, with a unicorn tail hair laying beside it.

"Ok, I'd be happy to do it. I'd have to make some changes to the design, though. Of course, we can't do anything until you've checked with the Minister, though..." Shaking Harry's hand, Ollivander stood up and concluded the conversation. He led Harry back through the gloomy shop. "By the way, how's the wand?" he asked before Harry left the shop. Harry held up the wand he'd had for seven years. "But how did you fix it?"

"The elder wand isn't just used for duelling," Harry replied as he walked out of the shop.

"You found it?" he called after Harry. Harry kept walking, passing the goblins again and increasing his pace. He strode through the Leaky Cauldron and back over to the fireplace, calling "The Ministry of Magic!" as he stepped into the flames.

After the recent problems, the Ministry was no longer connected directly to the floo network. Instead, a neighbouring building had been set up as a security outpost, and Harry appeared in the fireplace within. He was taken through a series of rigorous checks and, after stating his business in the Ministry, was allowed through. Though he didn't have an appointment, Harry was immediately granted audience with the Minister. Knocking on his door, Harry heard the deep, soothing voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The witches and wizards who worked at the Ministry knew that any attempt to listen at the Minister's door would be futile as it was imperturbable. It was a very well-protected door, and nobody heard the conversation taking place inside, although a few junior officials still tried to listen in. What did the Boy who Lived want with the Minister of Magic? After an hour, the door opened and the two appeared from the office, shaking hands.

"I'll trust you to take this forward, Harry," rumbled Kingsley, "and to pass my message on to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. Good luck."

"Thank you, Minister," smiled Harry. He walked back through the Ministry and back into Diagon Alley. This time, instead of striding quickly past Gringotts, he strode purposefully into the bank. The main counting hall was filled with stamping sounds and the scratching of quills as the goblins appraised items and managed accounts. Barely a few seconds after he had walked in, there was silence. Every face in the room turned to him and was filled with a look of deep loathing. Bracing himself, Harry walked over to the nearest available goblin.

"I'd like to speak with the manager, please," requested Harry politely.

"You're not welcome here, Harry Potter," growled the goblin, sneering at Harry.

"I've come to repay my debt," Harry retorted, keeping his cool. The goblin turned back to his giant ledger and pointed towards a door behind him. Harry thanked the goblin, then stepped around the counter towards the door. As he began to knock, the door swung open and a swarthy face peered out.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. You'd better come in." The goblin pointed at a chair and Harry sat down. "I hear you've come to repay your debt. You are to pay for..." He pulled out a list from the draw labelled 'Potter'. "...kidnapping a Gringotts goblin; kidnapping a very old and rare dragon; damage to the tunnels of Gringotts; damage to the counting hall; damage to the Thief's Downfall, costs including the recasting of ancient goblin magic; and theft of goblin artefacts. That comes to around thirty seven thousand, eight hundred galleons."

"I think I have something that can pay off that debt," said Harry. He detailed his plan, agreed by Ollivander and Kingsley, while the goblin looked at Harry over his crooked fingers.

"So you'd give us wands and teach us magic in exchange for your debts being paid off and the ownership of rented goblin artefacts? What's the catch?"

"There's no catch," confirmed Harry. "The Minister of Magic would be happy to draw up an agreement. He's contacting the Wizengamot now, and if they can be persuaded to agree to this, it'll be put down in law. Mr. Ollivander's already experimenting with goblin wands now. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal!" exclaimed the goblin, grasping Harry's hand before he could go back on it. "Griphook!" Griphook entered the room, scowling at Harry. "Reactivate Mr. Potter's accounts, please." Griphook brightened up at this and smiled at the two of them.

"Of course, sir. Follow me, Mr. Potter." He led Harry out to sign the forms needed to release his accounts. He was about to sign his name at the very bottom of the last page when Hermione and Bill Weasley burst in.

"Harry," panted Bill, "stop. You don't know what you're signing. Didn't anyone ever tell you to read a contract before signing it?" Of course, it turned out that the very last page was a separate contract, authorising the payment for the damage he'd done.

"My apologies, Mr. Potter," said Griphook, taking the form away. "We'd forgotten to take this out." He left the room, leaving Harry, Hermione and Bill to read the final forms. Bill took the sections relating to Gringotts as he knew their regulations off by heart. Hermione was given the task of reading through the rest of the legal documentation and Harry was left to read through his personal information.

I, Harry James Potter, son of James Potter and Lily (Evans) Potter, do hereby acknowledge the reactivation of all accounts in my name and accept the responsibility of all such accounts. I also acknowledge receipt of the keys to each of vaults 8, 687, 713 and 1024.

"That's odd. It says here I have four accounts. And one of them is the one the Philosopher's Stone was in..." Bill called Griphook in and asked him to explain.

"Ah, yes," mused Griphook. "Of course, you know about vault 687. That's your normal vault. Vault 713 was Albus Dumbledore's vault and is empty. As such it was not legally required to be processed by the Ministry, so Professor Dumbledore wrote a personal Gringotts will bequeathing it to you. I assume it is for sentimental value. Vault 1024 is the type of vault every wizard gets when they're eighteen. It's the vault that your money goes into when you get a job. Surely you could have told him that, Bill?"

"I thought those vaults were numbered above 2000," claimed Bill, obviously baffled.

"Ah yes," conceded Griphook. "You weren't to know. Those numbered below 2000 are governed by the Ministry. Of course, I shouldn't tell you this, but you are to be offered a job in the Ministry. You will probably get a letter in the next couple of days." Harry thanked Griphook and, having found that there were no catches among any of the forms, signed them with a loopy signature.

"Hang on!" exclaimed Bill. "You left out vault 8. What's that for?"

"Ah," replied Griphook, "that, I cannot say. Mr. Potter, you will be told in due course. I bid you good day." And with that they were ushered back into the counting hall. "I presume that you would like to make a withdrawal, though?"

"Yes, thank you, Griphook." Harry parted from Bill and Hermione and followed Griphook down to his old vault. He gathered the usual handful of galleons, sickles and knuts into a bag and left, eventually finding Hermione and Bill eating ice cream outside the ice cream parlour. Ron was sitting with them eating a huge chocolate ice cream. He had a blob of ice cream on his nose, which Hermione wiped off and ate while Bill wasn't looking.

"Tasty?" asked Harry from behind Hermione. She squealed and looked round sharply. Ron gave him a dark look. "Are we ready to go back then?" he asked. They nodded and got up from their seats, paying a handful of sickles for their ice creams. They all headed into the Leaky Cauldron, throwing floo powder into the fire and calling "The Burrow" as they did so.