Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore did not err often over the course of his long life. In fact, the number of serious cases could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare. The first and easily the most disastrous had been Grindelwald. The next, of course, was Tom Riddle. What a mess that had all turned out to be.
But whatever the case, he had never, never expected Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to be added on the short list.
Losing Harry Potter was perhaps the greatest mistake he's ever made.
The morning that he received a suspiciously thick letter from one Arabella Figgs, he knew that something had gone horribly wrong. When he finished reading, his fears were only confirmed.
Harry Potter was gone. Lost.
To make matters worse, she had no idea when Harry actually disappeared. That year was supposed to be Harry's seventh, but by then, Harry was already long gone from Number 4, Privet Drive. Petunia and Vernon had upheld the pretence that Harry was still living under their roofs whenever the rare question was asked. Only when Ms. Figgs babysat Dudley and realized that there was zero trace of another child in the house, did she start to worry. Three days later, she had sent Dumbledore the letter.
Dumbledore had immediately alerted the professors of Hogwarts. He had never revealed Harry's original living arrangements since he had been safe and alive. The fewer people knew, the better. But things have taken a change for the worse. The only logical thing he knew to do was to gather the brilliant minds that he trusted, and request their aid. They had a long, tense meeting over what actions to take next. They unanimously decided against going to the Ministry, nor letting word of the matter out to the press. Once again, the fewer people that knew Harry Potter was no longer 'protected', the better.
Following that, Dumbledore had taken the obvious course of action and personally visited the Dursleys. His first two attempts ended up with spittle shot in his eyes and a door slammed in his face. When he finally wrung a meeting out from the man, the situation only worsened.
Neither Petunia nor Vernon Dursley remembered exactly when they left Harry there, and neither Dursley knew exactly where 'there' was, either. Even legilimency had yielded no results. After all, when the memory was blurred beyond saving, even magic could only do so much.
The only morsel of information he had gotten from the frustrating meeting was that Harry was at an adoption center, foster care, or a youth shelter somewhere, probably. Furthermore, he's been there for years.
Then, Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts feeling decades older, retelling the news to the other professors. They had been furious of course, but McGonagall had also been just a tad smug that her warnings had come true after all. After another tediously long meeting, Dumbledore retreated to the quiet of his office and spent the afternoon deep in thought.
The following morning, he had called on every favour he had ever been promised by his resourceful ex-Slytherin acquaintances, flooed every accomplished Ravenclaw he knew, and still, he was nowhere close to locating the Boy Who Lived. He had taken certain precautions when sending Harry off to the Dursleys. Now, those same precautions which were meant to keep Death Eaters off of Harry's trail were coming back to work against him.
Who knew it would be so hard to find an eight years old boy in muggle London. If he had known earlier, that's where he would've sent Lily and James during the war, Fidelius Charm be damned.
Now Harry was lost somewhere, caught amidst the London crowds, the long traffics, the endless records of the hundreds of public schools, and perhaps even under a different name, if he was still alive. That question will plague Dumbledore for years to come.
The search was never called off, but the professors all came up equally empty-handed.
While the quill was penning every outgoing Hogwarts letter, all the Hogwarts professors had crowded around the desk, waiting with bated breath as it reached the P section. There was a collective sigh of relief as the quill scribbled Harry James Potter in green ink, and then the tension returned when they saw the address.
Mossdale's Orphanage, London, First Bedroom Across the Stairs
At the mention of an 'orphanage', Dumbledore's blood had already chilled. He remembered another dark haired boy once, sitting alone on his bed, all sharp gazes and smooth words. But then he caught himself and remembered that it was James and Lily's son that he was thinking of, not some psychopath born from a loveless marriage brought upon by Amorentia.
Needless to say, Dumbledore and quite a few others wanted nothing more than to Apparate there on the spot. But McGonagall and Flitwick, their voices of reason, both urged them to calm first and think.
A Harry Potter that grew up in an orphanage would be very different from a Harry Potter that grew up with his family. Sending Hagrid with his letter no longer seemed to be the best option. First, they must know exactly where it was that Harry grew up. Only then, would they know who would be the most fitting to introduce him to the magical world.
It took them a day to visit the general vicinity of the building and then another to determine how most of the children there acted. Seeing the relatively developed area and the group of orphans happily playing tag on a nearby field, the professors set their worries at ease and returned to Hogwarts. Finally, it was decided that Albus Dumbledore himself would bring young Harry his Hogwarts letter since he had the most experience with muggleborn children.
And so, on the morning of the fourth day, since they discovered Harry Potter's whereabouts, Dumbledore dressed in one of his more magical robes and set out for muggle London.
He stood outside the gates leading up to the orphanage and took in, with some relief, the sight of the bright seeming orphanage. There were flowers planted along the gate and groups of children were chattering happily around the gardens. He tried fruitlessly to catch a sight of that familiar messy black hair amongst them. Then, as he entered the gates and walked towards the structure, he got a distinctly prickling sensation as if he was being stared at. That was nothing new, with all the children around him stopping to gape. Yet one of the stares, he couldn't pinpoint where from, felt different. It was like he was being studied.
The feeling was gone as soon as he scaled the steps and rang the doorbell.
Ms. Ellis was a slender and kindly seeming woman in her middle years. She wore a floral patterned dress and had cropped short hair. She welcomed him in and led him down tot he dining room, lips twitching involuntarily when her disapproving eyes scanned his eccentric choice of robes.
"How may I help you, Mr. Dumble-Dumble…"
"Albus is fine," Dumbledore smiled.
"My apologies, I was never quite good at remembering longer names. How may we help you today, Albus?"
Dumbledore stared up at the woman, determined to catch her reaction when he voices his question. "I was wondering…is there a boy here-he should be around ten or eleven-who goes by the name of Harry Potter?"
Almost immediately the woman stilled and a glazed look came over her eyes. Magical Compulsion, Dumbledore realized with a start, but not in any advanced form. But who could be around to place it on her, and why? The thought that it might have been Harry didn't even cross his mind. After all, accidental magic cannot compulse.
"Harry…" Ms. Ellis began in a daze. "Harry has always had trouble forming bonds with new families. If you're looking to adopt, there are some other boys I could recommend…"
Dumbledore barely listened as she continued to list out better candidates for adoption. Someone-someone magical-didn't want Harry to be adopted, and he wanted to know why.
With a burst of his magic and more effort than he thought he'd need to combat the intermediate level compulsive magic, he wiped the dazed expression from the Matron's face and instead was faced with a confused frown.
"Excuse me, I'm afraid I lost my train of thought…"
"Oh, not to worry. It happens to the best of us," Dumbledore said jovially. "I was just asking after a boy-young Harry Potter. He's one of yours, isn't he?"
Dumbledore was not prepared for the slight widening of the eyes and the rapid paling.
"Oh no," Ms. Ellis murmured. "Did he do something? What happened?"
Dumbledore frowned. Alarm bells were going off in his mind, but he pushed his instinct to the back of his mind and continued his questioning. "Nothing to worry about. I'm just an old friend of his parents hoping to visit. The headmaster of a boarding school they enrolled him in, actually. Why? Are there any concerns?"
Ms. Ellis's expression twisted as if she couldn't decide on what she wanted to say. "Well…Harry, he's a…peculiar child? Not to say that there's anything wrong with him…I would never imply…but the point is, he isn't quite normal."
Ah. Dumbledore felt himself relax somewhat. Another case of a muggle guardian being frightened by a few bouts of accidental magic. "What do you mean?" He asked softly, encouraging her to say more.
"It's just…you may not believe me, but, strange things happen around him. Things that can't be explained. I'm sure it may not be his fault, but…" Ms. Ellis trailed off, looking unsure. Her eyes seemed to gain that glazed quality again, and Dumbledore felt a tinge of surprise. A Compulsion ingrained this deep? That'd take not only time but powerful magic as well.
"But?" Dumbledore pumped, giving her his warmest smile.
Her posture relaxed somewhat, but not entirely.
"The thing is, this particular orphanage has had quite a few accidents over the last few years. Since Harry got here, in fact."
Dumbledore nodded along, thinking of all the dangers that could come out of being around accidental magic without being prepared. Moving furniture, shattering windows, floating objects…the list was endless.
"Of course, he never directly do anything to them. But if you watch close enough, the ones that get it are always the bullies of the particularly bad sort. Sometimes, things happen to them. Things that can't be explained."
"Oh?" Dumbledore hummed, still giving her encouraging smiles. It wasn't rare for magical children to be picked on in the muggle world. Accidental magic lashing out in self-protection occurrence, but it mainly just had a scaring factor. Actual harm was rarely done.
"Yes. A few children were hospitalized over the years. It's mostly because of different causes, except for that one time with the three…sorry, I digress," Ms. Ellis was nervously tapping her manicured nails against the surface of the table. Dumbledore frowned at the sign of magical withdrawal. Just how long had the person who spelled her been feeding her their magic?
"They were always somehow linked to Harry. A push down the steps, spilling hot soup over his pants, all that common childish cruelty. You're a Headmaster yourself, you'd understand." At Dumbledore's light nod she continued. "Then…it's almost as if as soon as they cross a line, they're just…gone. And nobody knows how it happens, but it does. The other children can sense it too. They avoid Harry, they don't bother him when he's alone. When strange things happen, we all turn a blind eye."
Dumbledore mulled over the words. It seemed like young Harry didn't have a happy childhood. It was a saddening thought, but Hogwarts would change it all.
"These children that were hospitalized…May I speak to them?" Dumbledore asked instead of dwelling on his thoughts.
Ms. Ellis' lips thinned. Her eyes were downcast for a brief moment before she looked up and met his eyes again. "That would be impossible, I'm afraid. They're still there."
It was like a sudden bucket of cold water had been poured down his back. No accidental magic should be able to cause such long-lasting injuries.
"And…young Harry caused these injuries?" Dumbledore questioned.
Ms. Ellis' eyes widened. She was quick to shake her head. "Oh, goodness, no. That would be a harsh accusation for me to make. Besides, they're not injuries that anyone could cause. Once, there were these few children who were sent off to the hospital and just never woke up. They're still alive, on life support, but it's like they're stuck in some sort of self-induced coma. Then, there are these older boys, almost thirteen. They…"
While Ms. Ellis spoke, Dumbledore stared into her eyes and watched the memories unfold. His blood chilled at the sight of Jackie's blank expression. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary with the three children that had been a part of Jackie's group, at least from what he can see. The other few incidents featured various different accidents that couldn't be anything but simple accidents. Besides, there was no method of detecting magical signatures from the memory of a muggle.
"Now it all seems foolish, once I say it out loud…" Ms. Ellis mused as she finished recounting the few events. "Maybe this is what they call karma…what goes around, comes around. Maybe poor Harry is just caught up in the middle because they always make him a target…"
Dumbledore wasn't sure what to think, but he knew that he had to speak with Harry Potter. Those weren't bursts of accidental magic. If they were, the Ministry would have long since followed the Trace and sent people over for damage control and Obliviation purposes.
"Thank you for letting me know," Dumbledore rose and the Matron followed, appearing much more relaxed than when they had just begun talking. "May I speak with Harry, now? I think he would appreciate knowing what his parents left him, even if it is just a lousy spot at some boarding school."
Ms. Ellis chuckled, more at Dumbledore's attempt to bring humour into the situation than the words themselves. "Of course. Follow me."
They silently walked up the stairs and came to an abrupt stop atop the last steps. Ms. Ellis reached out a and to gently knock against a closed door.
"Harry?" He heard her say as she peered into the room. "There's an Albus Dumbledore here to see you."
A pause followed before a hum of assent sounded.
Ms. Ellis quickly stepped to the side and for a moment Dumbledore got the impression that she appeared almost relieved to have the boy out of her sight again.
"Go ahead," she smiled and motioned to the door. Dumbledore opened his mouth to thank her, but before he could, she was already quickly fleeing down the corridors.
The similarities were stacking up, he realized with a start. Forcing the sense of deja vu from his mind and a pleasant smile on his face, Dumbledore stepped through the doorway and his eyes came to rest upon the boy he had expanded every resource searching for the past few years.
The moment he entered the room, he felt the same concentrated gaze he had felt earlier when walking up to the building steps. He was barely able to contain his surprise as he studied the young boy before him.
Even for a ten-year-old, Harry was quite small. He had the same bony build as many of the other orphans and he was similarly dressed in the Mossdale greyish blue shirt and pants. He was sitting on the bed, legs draping off the side and a slim book laying open across his lap. His hair was combed down somewhat at the top, and Dumbledore could only imagine how much effort it must have taken to even minimally tame the infamous Potter hair. Still, it stuck out messily at the back and sides, where shorter locks spiked up in all directions.
Half hidden beneath spiky bangs were a pair of hauntingly brilliant eyes. They were a deep, rich green, not unlike a cut of pure emerald…or the banner of Slytherin. For a moment Dumbledore thought that he could see himself reflected completely in those unblinking eyes. For a moment it seemed as if the boy had managed to see past his every Occlumency shields, and dove down to the very depth of his mind.
Then the boy blinked and the moment passed.
"Mr. Dumbledore, sir," Harry greeted politely.
Dumbledore returned a cheery smile. Harry's eyes swept down his brightly coloured robes, and his lips pressed tight in a straight line. Dumbledore couldn't be quite sure if it was to hide a smile or a grimace.
"Harry, my boy," he said instead, putting the boy's unreadable expressions out of mind. "I must apologize I didn't come to see you earlier. You see, we only recently found your name among the records here as Mossdale's-"
"Pardon me, sir," Harry interrupted, almost impolitely, Dumbledore would've thought, had his tone and words not been the epitome of a respect. "But have we met?"
"Harry-"
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't believe you are under any obligation to visit me, sir," Harry continued, smoothly cutting off his words yet again. "So apologies are unnecessary, no?"
Dumbledore's lip twitched. The tone was so reminiscent of the haughty one young James Potter had always used before meeting Lily that it was hard not to smile in response. "As I was saying, my boy, I was an acquaintance of your parents. But first, why don't you tell me how you came to be using such big words at such a young age?"
The young boy's words had surprised him. He didn't expect a boy who grew up with minimal means in an orphanage to be speaking in a manner that would've fit right in amongst some of the more privileged pure blood heirs.
"I read," Harry said, almost drily. A second passed before he added, as if he had forgotten, "Sir."
"I see," Dumbledore continued to smile. "Well, first, I believe some introductions are in order. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A school I hope you'll attend in September."
For the first time since they met, Harry's stoic expression cracked. A mixture of surprise and smug satisfaction bled through his eyes before he seemed to pull himself together. "A school? Sir?" There was barely suppressed excitement lacing his voice.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the boy's expression. The part he loved the most about these trips was seeing the children's eyes light up once he revealed to them Hogwart's existence. It turned out that Harry would be not too different from the other muggleborn children, after all.
"Yes," he continued. "That's what you are, in fact. You're a wizard, Harry."
Harry's eyes widened marginally before narrowing again. "You're one too?" A nod. "Prove it."
Dumbledore held out a hand and the book that now lied ignored in Harry's lap fluttered up, circled around them gracefully, and finally landed in his outstretched hands. All the while he watched Harry's expression. He was surprised when the boy looked unaffected and almost unimpressed. Nevertheless, Dumbledore pushed on.
"Strange things happen around you sometimes, don't they?" He questioned. "Things you can't explain."
"Yes." Harry's quiet reply garnered his attention once more. "When I'm angry, things break. When there's something I can't reach, it will come to me. Things fix themselves when I want them to be fixed, and when I need light-" As if on command, several bright orbs of light flickered into existence around him.
More than a little surprised, Dumbledore's eyes flickered up and met the boy's. There was a nervous tension reflected in the green orbs. Suddenly, Dumbledore realized that Harry had thought that he was being tested. As if there was a requirement or some sort for him to be able to attend Hogwarts.
Something in Dumbledore's gaze must've reassured him, for Harry relaxed his posture ever so slightly. Dumbledore was still busy processing the fact that Harry's accidental magic had already matured to an extent that could almost be considered wandless magic, and so he didn't see the smirk that flitted past Harry's face for a fraction of a second.
"Sir." Dumbledore's eyes snapped up again at the voice. "When does the school year start? How will I get there? Are there anything I need to bring?"
The series of questions brought a smile to the older wizard's features and he said brightly, "Nothing to worry about, Harry, my boy. I will send a professor one day to take you to get your supplies. As you're first two questions, every student will be boarding the Hogwarts Express on Platform 9 and 3/4, King's Cross station. The boarding ticket is in your letter of acceptance." He handed over the envelope with Harry's name inked in green and watched as a peculiar glint entered the boy's eyes.
"If that is all, my boy-"
"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir," Harry spoke up again. Dumbledore paused. "Where is it exactly that I'll be…getting my supplies? And what if I'm unable to…" He trailed off near the end.
"Unable to afford it?" Dumbledore finished for him, smiling calmingly. "You needn't worry about that, my boy. Your parents have left you quite a fortune, mainly for financing your education, of course." His wrinkle-lined eyes twinkled mischievously. Harry returned a small smile. "You will be able to withdraw however much you need from your family vault in Gringotts. A wizarding bank." He clarified at Harry's questioning gaze. "It's the best-the only in Britain, in fact. Safest place on earth should you ever need to store something. Everything you need for school can be bought at Diagon Ally."
"Diagon Ally?" Harry's tone was innocently curious. "How is it that I've never seen any magical stores when we go on field trips around London?"
A part of Dumbledore still felt guilty over leaving poor Harry in the care of a second-rate muggle orphanage, and so he decided to indulge him.
"Diagon Ally can only be entered through a bar in London called the Leaky Cauldron. Witches and wizards have placed spells on it so that juggles-non magical people-won't be able to see nor enter."
"What's the address, may I ask?" At Dumbledore's furrowing brow Harry quickly spoke again to clarify. "I need to inform Ms. Ellis, you understand. She needs to know where I'll be at when the professor comes to pick me up."
Dumbledore's brow relaxed. He jotted the address down on a spare slip of parchment in his pocket and handed it to the boy. "Of course. Well, my boy, it's been very pleasant meeting you today. I'll be seeing you in September."
Harry nodded and smiled. Dumbledore was amused when Harry held out a hand for a handshake but complied anyway.
"Thank you, sir, for coming all this way," Harry said politely, smiling as he saw him off at the doorway.
Dumbledore bid Ms. Ellis farewell before strolling out the muggle establishment and Disapparating once he was in the secrecy of one of the nearby alleyways. He had a content smile on his face.
It wasn't until he set foot in Hogwarts again when he realized that he had completely forgotten to ask Harry about the magic-induced incidents that have been occurring over the years.
"Severus," he greeted once the potions master entered his office an hour later. "I need you to look into something for me. Find out if there are any Magicals around the vicinity of Mossdale's Orphanage, London."
Severus Snape quirked a brow, but he nodded stiffly all the same and swept out of the room.
Harry watched as the strangely dressed man-Albus Dumbledore, he reminded himself-just about skip out the orphanage and disappear around the nearest turn. Only then did the polite attentiveness fade from his face into something akin to amusement. He let out a laugh.
He knew that he had been different from all the other children, but this was beyond his expectations. To think, there was another society full of people like him in London, and he had never known. He was a wizard. The things he could do were the result of his magic. Soon, he, too, will be stepping into that foreign world.
And Harry will be prepared.
The elderly wizard had been entirely too trusting. He had entered with suspicion-tinged eyes but within a few words, slight smiles, and rapid-fire questions, Harry had a spot-clean record in his mind. Harry had prepared answers should the wizard question him on the matter of all the incidents that occurred in the orphanage. He had been ready to clear his mind of any of his possibly incriminating memories over the years, should Dumbledore be able to do to him what he had done to the other children when he read their thoughts.
But it seemed that all his preparations had been for nothing. Dumbledore either didn't suspect him of being capable of causing all the injuries, or he had simply forgotten to ask. Either way, it was his own carelessness.
Harry smiled to himself, humming as he took his book back from the stool on which the old headmaster had sat at a moment before and set it beside his bed.
One of the good things about growing up at Mossdale's, surrounded by dozens of children, most of whom had a mean streak, was that he learned to quickly pick apart people's expressions, and how to hide his own. Dumbledore had been open and expressive-perhaps he didn't expect a child to be able to read him so closely. Yet Harry had gleaned several interesting pieces of information.
The older man had, interestingly enough, been almost apprehensive prior to entering the room. Harry tapped his fingers against the bed thoughtfully. Maybe he's had a bad history with magical children that grew up in orphanages? Harry wouldn't be surprised. Once Harry had played up a more haughty, childishly rebellious facade, the wizard had relaxed and appeared…fond.
That had been a strange expression to see directed at him, Harry mused, lips twitching up at the corners.
Dumbledore did say that he knew his parents. Maybe he reminded him of one of them? Harry's mind drifted to his distant dream, or memory, of soaring through the air in some dark-haired man's arms, and the scolding the red-headed woman and given afterward. Most likely his dad, then.
During moments when he thought Harry hadn't been looking, his eyes also flashed with a mixture of guilt and worry. Harry thought for a moment then sighed. There was no point in thinking up baseless conjectures. He had already revealed just enough of his magical talent to impress the headmaster, but not enough to frighten or bring unnecessary attention. That was all that mattered for now.
Harry stood suddenly and opened the door just as Ms. Ellis passed. She stiffened subconsciously at the sight of him.
"Ms. Ellis. Good morning," Harry nodded.
"Harry," Ms. Ellis hesitated. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"My birthday is in a week."
Ms. Ellis's posture relaxed somewhat. "Ah, yes. Have you thought about what you would like?"
Harry smiled. The unusual expression visibly threw Ms. Ellis off. She blinked. "I was wondering if I may have two bus tickets?"
A beat of silence passed before Ms. Ellis spoke. "Bus tickets? What do you need them for?"
Harry focused his thoughts and felt a familiar prickle run down his arms as his magic gathered. "Headmaster Dumbledore must've informed you earlier-that is, I'll be attending a boarding school my parents signed me up for when I was born. I need to get some school supplies and the uniform, and I was hoping to take a day trip to the shopping district. It's the same bus we take for field trips, so there is no need to trouble any caretakers to accompany me."
Despite the slight pressure of his magic urging her to comply, Ms. Ellis still seemed hesitant.
"I'll be back before dinner," Harry promised. He then added for good measure, "I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore would be willing to write a permission slip if you give him a call."
Harry wasn't even sure if the ancient wizard had a phone.
"That's not necessary," Ms. Ellis finally decided. "When are you planning on going?"
"Is the day after tomorrow alright?"
Ms. Ellis nodded. "That's fine."
And so two days later, Harry stood across the street, peering incredulously at a dingy structure across the road sporting the name Leaky Cauldron across its store top in faded paint. Shaking stray thoughts from his head, Harry quickly weaved through the traffic and slipped in through the creaky doors.
Harry had mentally prepared to accept anything he'd be coming across, yet he still felt a jolt of surprise at the sudden change in ambiance. Gone was the pale artificial light that lit up the London indoors. Instead, the entire tavern was suffused in a warm glow. A sweet, buttery scent permeated the air along with a variety of other, lighter fragrances. Laughter and loud chatters sounded from all around, and the antiquated tables and stools scattered around the room were nearly completely occupied by various cloaked figures. Harry was partially relieved to see not all wizards shared the eccentric headmaster's sense of fashion.
Remembering that Dumbledore had said that Diagon Alley lied behind the pub, Harry pushed his way through the crowd and slipped with a group of witches and wizards through the back entrance. He kept his head lowered and no one noticed his presence amidst the group.
Confusion flickered across his eyes when he caught sight of what appeared to be a dead end until one wizard stood forward and pulled out a long stick from his sleeve. A wand, Harry realized. He walked up to the brick wall and expertly tapped several bricks in succession. Harry couldn't help from gaping just slightly when the wall folded inwards, revealing a bustling, brightly decorated, and beyond all else, magical, street lined with countless shops. Quickly pulling in his slackened expression, Harry joined the thick crowd pushing through the road.
This was the world of wizards, magic, and the impossible made possible. Harry didn't even bother suppressing the wide grin that split across his face. This was where he belonged.
But if he wanted to stay…At the thought, his eyes darkened. He wouldn't make the same mistake he had with the Dursleys or with the other children at the orphanage when he just arrived. He would prove himself worthy of his place in this world from the very start. He had no lingering attachments to the dusty streets of muggle London nor the peeling walls of Mossdale's Orphanage. But this-this was home.
Harry felt his conviction grow. Still, he had to start somewhere. As for that somewhere…his eyes drifted upwards at the towering, white structure in the near distance. Golden letters curving over white marble read Gringotts. Harry quickened his steps and neared the daunting structure. He would first have to see what his parents had left him.
It said something about how distracted Harry was that he had not noticed that the guards and bankers of Gringotts were not human until he stood before the front desk. He started at the sight of the wrinkled face, long hooked nose, and thick lips that split a long line across his face. Still, he managed to keep the surprise from showing on his face. If a secret society of magic users existed in the midst of London, it was only a given that other magical creatures may exist, as well.
"Excuse me, sir?" Harry called out when the creature ignored his presence.
He was still ignorant of the ways of the magical world. Before that, he determined that it would be better to be safe than sorry, and so his tone towards the other was polite and respectful.
The creature leaned over the desk and peered down at him. Suddenly, he grinned, showing a mouthful of jagged teeth. To Harry's credit, he showed no outward reaction.
"My name is Harry James Potter, sir," Harry introduced himself, maintaining eye contact. He knew that that was important to getting any adult to take him seriously. "I would like to make a withdrawal."
Surprise flashed across the creature's features. He set down his quill, now paying the child before him his full attention. "Well, does little Harry Potter have his key?"
Harry felt a tinge of annoyance, partly at knowing nearly nothing about how things worked in the magical world, and partly at the other's condescending words. "I apologize. I grew up with muggles after my parents passed away and so I am not in possession of one. Is it required for entering the vaults? Is there some other way I may prove my identity?"
A scrutinizing gaze settled on him for a moment before the creature gave a long-suffering sigh and stood. Harry heard the clicks of several drawers opening and the sound of flipping through paper. Quite suddenly, a blank parchment and a pure black quill slammed down towards him.
Purely by instinct, Harry reached out with his magic and caught the items just they flitted inches from his face. They hovered before his eyes, and Harry felt another pang of annoyance as he realized he had no idea what he needed to do.
"Well? I haven't got all day," the creature behind the desk snarked. When he was met with Harry's blank stare, he scowled. "Did the muggles teach you how to write your name?"
Harry pushed down the urge to lash back at the creature with his magic and grabbed the quill. He scrawled his looping signature across the yellowed parchment. Seeing a wisp of his magic sink into the paper in crimson ink was surprising, but that was quickly replaced by a jolt of pain from his inner wrist.
Harry turned over his left arm just in time to see faint red lines fading from his skin. The pattern was familiar. When his eyes flickered up and past where the creature sat, he realized it was the same as the symbol of Gringotts.
"That's a Gringotts authorized blood quill," the creature must have sensed Harry's alarm, for he clarified. "The mark was simply for checking if you're the same person you're claiming to be. It takes a few drops of blood, mixes it with your magic, and we'll know who you really are."
Harry stared down at the parchment in wonder. For a moment nothing happened. Then the ink shifted, trailing down in a scratchy line from his signature. Then it split off and continued to spread across the page. Harry watched with amazement as letters etched themselves upon the parchment in a spidery script, followed by a series of numbers. A second later, Harry realized they were dates.
James Charlus Potter. Harry blinked. That must be his father.
Lily Potter née Evans.
His mother. His mind drifted back to the sight of the red-haired woman from his memories who had died protecting him.
Harry wasn't entirely surprised when he felt no sudden change in emotion. There was no sudden burst of yearning, or love, or even bittersweet remembrance. As things were, all he had to remember them by was a fragmented memory that he had thought of as a nightmare for years.
He had no idea who James Potter or Lily Evans was, and he would never know. They might have been his birth parents, but Harry had grown up alone. He never had a mother nor a father, only guardians.
So, while he was grateful that they gave up their lives for him, Harry couldn't truthfully say that he felt anything beyond that certain degree of gratitude. To him, James and Lily were strangers who died before their time.
He pulled his attention back from his thoughts just as the process neared its end.
The pattern continued until the entire page was filled with the same barely legible writing. When the last of the words appeared, the red dulled until it became a standard ink-black. Harry sent the chart floating back onto the tall desk. The words there meant little to him at the moment, when he had no idea who any of those people were. He would find out later, but for now, it was more important for him to gain access to his vault.
The creature took the page and studied it carefully. Finally, he turned his gaze back towards Harry and smiled, much less antagonistic than he had been previously. "Well, well. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Harry James Potter. The name's Griphook."
Harry barely held himself back from voicing any of his relevant questions-he didn't have all day to spend in the bank. But...What did the creature see that resulted in a near flip in attitude? Pushing back on his curiosity was hard, yes, but not impossible. Finally, Harry spoke again. "Likewise, Mr. Griphook. Is it possible to visit my vault now?"
"Griphook is fine. There is no need for that 'mister' nonsense," the creature grinned sharply. "As for your enquiry, which vault are you referring to, exactly?"
Harry stared down at the surprisingly long list of the Gringotts vaults under his name. At the very top of the list was the Black Family Vaults, then the Potter Family Vaults, followed by Trust Vault, Harry J. Potter. The listed amount of galleons, sickles, and knuts (Harry made a mental note to learn the exchange rate as soon as he is able to) was at a number Harry wasn't even sure how to say. Beneath the three were a smattering of smaller vaults holding significantly fewer amounts of money. He was astounded, to say the least, and also somewhat furious.
For more than a decade, he's lived without so much as a penny to his name. The Dursley's underfed him, and the orphanage underfed all the children. He's dressed in rags for the better part of his life and he'd even been thankful just to get a small notebook for his ninth birthday.
And now, someone was telling him that all along, he's had piles of gold and silver at his fingertips?
"These are all of your active vaults. When you come of age, other vaults that you are a potential heir of will be added," Griphook explained. "Those are vaults with more than one potential inheritors. The heir will only be chosen once every one come of age."
"Why are there so many?" Harry asked, counting over two dozen vaults in total.
Griphook's eyes shone as if he knew something that Harry did not. "There were quite a few witches and wizards without heirs who saw fit to name you the sole inheritor of their estate."
"Were they friends of the Potters?"
Griphook's expression, if all possible, twisted further. "Not that I'm aware of."
But why? Harry held the words back. He was sure that it wasn't normal at all to leave all of your riches to some random stranger. In fact, more than anything else, he felt a growing suspicion. There would be time to find out on his own, later.
"Then let's go to my trust vault, for now," Harry decided, rolling up the list and handing it back to the creature-a goblin, Harry reminded himself. Griphook had mentioned it in passing while Harry made another mental note to gather some information on other magical creatures.
Griphook gave a grunt of assent before standing and motioning for him to follow. Harry quickened his steps to keep up with the goblin's brisk strides. Griphook snatched a hanging lantern from the wall as they ventured into darker corridors.
"Would it be possible to get another set of the keys you mentioned earlier?" Harry spoke up. "I never possessed any, and I don't want to go through that test again every time I come."
Griphook eyed him cautiously for a moment before speaking hesitantly. "Gringotts cannot provide replacement keys when the original set is not 'lost'."
Harry blinked, letting the implications of the words sink into his mind. "Not lost? You mean, someone else has keys to my vaults, and could have been taking money out all these years?"
Griphook's steps faltered and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, yes, but-"
"Doesn't Gringotts advertise itself as the topmost wizarding bank for its tight security?" Harry cut forth, ignoring the protests of his increasingly nervous companion. "The safest place on earth, in fact, was what I have been told."
"Yes, but-"
"And now you're telling me that someone else had access to everything my parents had left me, that Gringotts knew about it, and chose to do nothing?" His voice had steadily quieted, but if anything, the goblin only appeared more panicked.
"Mr. Potter, I assure you- Your keys are safe in the hands of Albus Dumbledore. After the incarceration of your appointed caretaker, he stepped up as your magical guardian and swore to be responsible for your well being. Yes, yes, he had access to your vaults. He could come and go and he pleases, but we at Gringotts take our duties very seriously, and I can ensure that for the past several years, not a knut has left your vault. Only in the early years were there monthly withdrawals, and only in small amounts. Albus Dumbledore himself took a magic oath that the minimal amount he did take were being put to your welfare!" Griphook spoke quickly, no doubt hoping to calm Harry before he could interrupt again.
Harry processed the words before finally giving a stiff nod. He sneered as he remembered his days at the Dursleys and every cold meal of leftovers he had to sit through. His welfare? Either Dumbledore was naive beyond saving, or he knew, but refused to acknowledge it or do something about it. Either way, Harry decided then that Dumbledore was not to be trusted nor respected. There was nothing more dangerous than having someone careless in a position of power. And Dumbledore was powerful, that much Harry could tell.
"I want my keys returned before the month's end," Harry finally said, picking up the pace again. This time, it was Griphook who had to scramble to match his steps.
"It will be done, Mr. Potter," the goblin promised, his scratchy voice tinged with relief.
A few minutes and a nauseating railway cart ride later, Harry stood to the side while Griphook stepped forward and ran a bony finger down the center of a dark, stone door. The material seemed to melt away right before his eyes, revealing what could only be described as a mountain of gold, silver, and copper coins.
And this was only his Trust Vault.
Harry blinked in surprise. If this was what his parents expected him to need for a few years at school, then either thing cost significantly more than he expected, or his family was rich. He was leaning towards the latter.
"There are a total of 391,800 galleons, 5785 sickles, and 98 knuts. Keep in mind, this is only your Trust Vault. You can visit every other vault, but you can't withdraw from the Potter and Black vaults until you are of age and gain your inheritance. You can take anything from the smaller vaults left to you, of course. A galleon is equal to 17 sickles, and a sickle is equal to 29 knuts. A galleon is worth approximately 5 pounds," Griphook recited at his side. "That is the base amount. When you're fifteen, another 300,000 galleons will be dispensed into your vault for you to spend on your Coming of Age ceremony, which will take place on your sixteenth birthday. After that point, you will have full access to each and every one of the vaults listed under your name."
Harry was speechless. Just how rich was his family to be willing to spend 200,000 galleons on a glorified birthday party? Sure, he had seen the outrageous figures detailed under the Potter and Black family vaults on his inheritance papers. But 300,000 galleons-almost two million pounds-seemed to be going overboard. He took a deep breath, then pushed the thought out of his mind. Perhaps the ceremony was more important than he thought it to be.
After all, he was new to the magical world. He should reserve any and all judgments on their practices until he learned all he could.
Forcing his attention back to the matter at hand, Harry began to mentally calculate the amount of money he'd need.
He had a list of all the materials he'd require in school. But outside of that, he also planned to purchase a few books to get himself caught up on the customs and traditions of the wizarding world. He also had to read up on history, Hogwarts, his own family, and of course, magic.
Turning his gaze towards the mounds of coins, Harry felt another wave of annoyance. He was not going to carry around a heavy sack on his back. Briefly, he wondered if wizards had bags that could carry enough coins yet still be compact and lightweight. Or perhaps, something akin to credit cards?
"We are able to provide you with an expandable pouch with adjustable size and weight," Griphook coughed, reading Harry's thoughts. "If you want, you can also directly purchase items in stores and they will sent expense here for us to sort out. That is a feature available only to the more wealthy of our client. Including you, Mr. Potter."
Harry pushed the previous thoughts out of his mind. "That's perfect. Do I need to carry identification?"
"Your magic is enough," Griphook explained. "When you underwent the ancestry test, we already acquired a sample of your magic and have keyed it into your vaults. Most stores should accept this form of payment. All you'll be required to do is leave behind a copy of your receipt with remnants of your magical signature."
"Are there stores that don't offer this service?" Harry asked, catching the word 'most' in the goblin's sentence.
Griphook smiled crookedly. "Mr. Potter, you'll soon come to learn that there are certain things that witches and wizards don't want to be seen purchasing, never mind leaving behind evidence that they did. There is no way to trace a galleon back to its owner."
"Ah," Harry nodded. He peered contemplatively at the coins again, before heaving a sigh. "How much do you charge for one of those bags?"
"It was nice doing business with you. A word of advice before we part, Mr. Potter. It would do you well to hide that scar you have across your forehead."
Harry raised a brow but smoothed down his bangs nonetheless. "Thank you, Griphook. Until next time."
"Until next time, Mr. Potter. Have a pleasant day."
Afterward, Harry strolled down the steps of Gringotts with a small pouch tucked safely in his pant pockets. He paused before the line of shops and decided that it would be best to first acquire a proper set of wizarding attire. The strange and occasionally disdainful glances cast his way were more than enough to reinforce his decision.
A cheerful chime sounded when he stepped through the double doors of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
"Oh, hello, dear," a cheerful voice sounded. Harry turned his head just in time to see a short and chubby witch dressed in mauve appear from behind a stack of colourful fabrics. "I'm Madam Malkin, and I'll be helping with your fitting today. A bit early for Hogwarts shopping, isn't it?"
"Hello," Harry greeted. "It's not for Hogwarts. I was hoping to purchase some everyday wear. Do you offer express services?"
Harry knew that someone would pick him up for school shopping in a week. It would be suspicious if he had nothing to buy, so he decided that he would simply purchase a few extracurricular books and the like that day and leave all of his school supplies for the following week.
Madam Malkin's rounded eyes flickered down to his hand-me-downs from Mossdale's Orphanage, and she clucked her tongue. Her gaze was almost pitying. "Ah. I can see why you'd need it." Then her smile brightened. "But that's alright, dear. One set of robes complete with shoes will be done in a quarter-hour. I can have the rest delivered to you via Owl Post."
"Let's do that, then," Harry agreed, following the cheery woman into the shop and stepping up onto a square stool. A thwap sounded suddenly as a roll of measuring tape straightened, giving itself a good shake before flying over and hovering just behind Harry.
"Casual, dear? Any preferred materials?" Madam Malkin asked, directing the tape with a flick of the hand.
"I'll take 3 sets casual, and 2 sets formal," Harry decided. Then, thinking of the colder winter days he had to suffer through in the orphanage, he added, "I'll also take two sets of winter robes. I'll take the best you have, as long as it's versatile and comfortable."
"Good choice, dear. Any colour preferences?"
"I was thinking something low-toned. Black or dark blue, maybe?"
"Alright. A set in black and another in dark blue. Green would also be flattering. It brings out the colour of your eyes," Madam Malkins suggested, sending the measuring tape around Harry's waist.
"Make it a forest green." Harry assented. He wasn't too picky about the colour of his clothes as long as it didn't make him stand out in a crowd. Thinking back to Dumbledore's robes, he grimaced.
"Anything else, dear?" Madam Malkins stepped back, satisfied. The measuring tape rolled itself up again and returned to its place atop a messy desk. "We have got a shipment of pure acromantula silk-just came in this morning. They'd make fine sleeping robes. With your large purchase today, I'll even throw in a discount. How's that?"
Harry considered for a moment, then nodded. "Two sets."
He didn't know what acromantulas were, but it sounded comfortable enough. He added the term to his ever-growing mental list of research topics. He was prepared to have a busy remainder of the summer.
"Shoes?"
"Two pairs," Harry answered quickly. "Darker colours, and preferably on the durable side."
Madam Malkin retreated into the backroom, humming a bright tune to herself. Harry sat himself down on a long bench at the side of the room, eyeing the shop with interest while he waited. True to her word, the witch strolled out fifteen minutes later with a finished black robe floating along behind her. A pair of rich brown boots followed a moment later, setting itself down before Harry with a thump.
"All done, dear," she motioned to a nearby door, which swung open at her wave. "If you like, you could get changed here." Harry nodded in thanks. "Here's an expandable pouch for your old clothes, if you'd like to keep them."
Harry took the proffered pouch and headed into the room. A moment later he walked back out, dressed snugly in a form-fitting black robe that reached down to his ankles and a pair of sturdy seeming yet somehow lightweight boots. There were intricate designs woven along the sleeves and edges of his robe in black velvet, and anyone skilled enough to tell from a glance that the material used was of the highest quality.
Madam Malkin took in his new appearance and beamed widely, a proud glint in her eyes.
"Can I pay by magic signature?" Harry asked.
The witch looked surprised at his words but nodded quickly nonetheless. She probably wasn't expecting a scrawny boy dressed in worn clothes to utilize Gringott's high-end payment services.
"Three sets of casual, two set of winter, and two sets of sleeping robes. Two pairs of boots, adjustable up and down 2 sizes. Your total comes up to 78 galleons and 3 sickles. Delivery fees to London will be an extra 9 galleons altogether." Madam Malkin informed him, handing over a parchment detailing everything she just said.
Harry read through the list, then nodded. It was just under four hundred pounds, much cheaper than he expected, and if the robes and boots he wore were anything to go by, he was getting quite the deal. He remembered some of the orphanage's wealthier visitors clad in stiff, uncomfortable seeming fancy thousand-pound suits, and couldn't stop the sharp smile that pulled at the corners of his lip.
But then again, magic probably made everything easier, hence the cheaper price. He let a tendril of his magic sink into the parchment, which shone with a pale glow for a moment. Harry handed the receipt back to the woman, hesitating as he took in her wide-blown eyes.
"What's wrong?" His brows furrowed.
"N-nothing," Madam Malkin shook her head and said shakily. "Sorry about that, dear. You must be quite the magical prodigy, huh? And at such a young age, too."
Harry hummed noncommittally, watching as the address of the orphanage inked itself across the bottom of the page. If that simple use of magic was enough to cause the witch that much shock, Harry decided that it would be best to hold back most of what he could do in front of others.
One day, the world will know what he is capable of. But it would be dangerous to reveal too much talent when he was still new to that world.
"I'm coming back for my school robes next week," he brought up. "Would it be alright to pick up my order then? There is no need for deliveries."
Madam Malkin gave her agreement, still staring at him with a complicated gaze.
Harry thanked the seamstress again before stepping back out into Diagon Alley, now blending in much more easily with the crowd. Now he could head for the place he'd looked forward to going to all along: the bookstore.
Flourish & Blotts was nearly entirely empty when Harry entered. The aged wizard sitting behind the counter barely glanced up at him before turning his attention back to his paper. Harry cut through the shelves, eyes scanning over the titles of the countless books. Whenever he found one that interested him, it would slide out from its place and join the small pile floating beside him. Harry made sure that it was out of sight of the other occupant in the room so that he wouldn't elicit another response like Madam Malkin's.
Before making his way back to the front of the store, he checked through his selection once more. There were over a dozen books, including ones on magical creatures, the history of magic, important people in the wizarding world, old and powerful families, traditional customs and etiquette for witches and wizards, wizarding holidays, Hogwarts, and of course, magic itself. Of all the books he chose, Harry had two that he was particularly looking forward to. One was Different Types of Magic and Their Applications, and the second was An Unbiased Overview of Banned Magics.
When he lugged the books over to the front counter, the older wizard behind it gave him a bemused stare. His face quickly lifted into a smile, however, when he took in Harry's obviously costly robes. "How may I help you today, young heir?" The man asked as Harry began to load the counter with his books.
"Do you sell school bags with expandable and light-weight charms?" Harry asked. "Something that can fit at least all of these." He motioned to the pile that currently stood taller than him.
The wizard's lip twitched, but he quickly hid his amusement. "We can provide a temporarily charmed bag that'll last the day, but if you're looking for long-lasting trunks and packs, L.C. Rossin's Quality Leathers should have what you're looking for."
"Thank you," Harry nodded, then paid for his purchases before exiting the shop.
L.C. Rossin's Quality Leathers was only a few away. When Harry crossed over the threshold, the smell of tanned leather and aged wood instantly washed over him. He looked around the shop, admiring the intricate silvery designs on some of the larger trunks and the rich, deep brown sheets of leather that hung from the walls. Somewhere further in the shop, a cuckoo clock sounded.
"Good afternoon, young sir," a pleasant voice drifted down from the second floor. Harry looked up to see a middle-aged man in a white dress shirt, trousers, and a brown apron make his way down the stairs. "Are there anything in particular you're looking for, today?"
"Good afternoon," Harry echoed, gazing around the room. "I'm hoping to find a durable school bag with expandable and lightweight charms. A trunk, too. Something that'll last me through all seven years at Hogwarts." At the mention of the school, the other wizard's face broke out in a grin. "Privacy wards and detection charms, as well," Harry added, remembering the few terms he came across while skimming one of the upper year textbooks.
"A first-year, eh?" The man grinned. "Lloyd Columbus Rossin, at your service. But you can just call me Rossin. Everything sold here is guaranteed to last for at least three decades without showing any sign of wear, and after that, if properly cared for, it can last for up to two centuries and still function. That's the thing about leather-if it's authentic it can last a lifetime."
Harry nodded along. "Then that's fine by me. Can you add sizing charms, as well?"
"Just a moment. I'll retrieve an order form so you can choose from all the services we offer," Rossin said happily, flourishing his wand. A browned parchment drifted over into his open palm, and he passed it to Harry. "All wards and charms will be added in the form of runes, and will, therefore, last as long as the product does. However, that also means extra expenses will be added."
Harry tipped his head in acknowledgment, skimming through the list of possible add-ons. There were a variety of protective charms and wards, including anti-burn, anti-freeze, anti-creature damage, curse protection, security wards, privacy wards, anti-modification charms, anti-intruder/theft ward, waterproofing charms and a few more. There were also several functions enhancing options, such as the expansion charm, lightweight charm, resizing charm, and soundproofing-
"Soundproof?" Harry read, looking up towards Rossin for clarification. "What do you need to soundproof a trunk, for?"
Rossin, in return, looked equally confused. "You are looking for trunks with other compartments, right?"
"Other compartments?" Harry tilted his head.
"If you're looking to splurge, we have trunks that contain what might as well be a manor," Rossin motioned proudly to a collection of larger trunks stacked along the side wall. "We also have built-in libraries, rooms, fields or rocky outcroppings if you're looking to house larger pets, potion labs, and herb gardens. Oh, I almost forgot. Our newest arrival comes with a duelling room, so that's also an option."
Harry swallowed his surprise. Even after he had steeled his determination to accept whatever seemingly impossible concepts the wizarding world will introduce, he was still thrown by the sheer incredulity of fitting an entire pasture or garden inside a trunk.
"Can I custom order one to fit what I need?" He asked, visibly surprising the other wizard again.
"Well, of course. But very few people ever do it," Rossin's expression was a complicated mix of apologetic amusement and hesitation. "All our trunks here are mass produced and prepared in advance. If there are specifications, I would have to purchase individual wards from ward masters abroad and have them shipped over. The trunk would also have to be made from scratch in order to curtail to the buyer's needs. In the end, the price isn't one that most people can afford, and even if they can, it's not one that most would be willing to pay."
Harry hummed. "What is the price of the most versatile trunk, with every add-ons?"
Rossin blinked, but complied anyway. "Our most expensive prepaid trunk comes with every protective measure and function included in a package. It includes a eight bedroom manner complete with a library, warded storeroom, kitchen, garden, potions lab, and a two acres quidditch pitch. It is 6000 galleons."
Harry's brows rose. Thirty thousand pounds for the equivalent of a countryside mansion, with over 2 acres of spare land. He had expected a much more ludicrous estimate when Rossin stated that it was a price many couldn't afford.
On the other hand, Rossin must have read Harry's surprise differently, for he gave a wry smile. "Of course, that is our most expensive model. It trumps even some of the simpler custom-made orders. Most of our other products are much cheaper-"
"I would like to make a custom order," Harry spoke up. "Do you have pen-er, a quill? And parchment, of course."
Rossin stared at him dubiously. At Harry's unrelenting gaze, he finally took out a slip of scrap parchment along with a quill from the pockets of his robes. "Here you are."
Harry outlined what he would like, reading them out as he did. Rossin had said that the trunk would last for decades, maybe even a lifetime. If so, he would rather invest extra money to get exactly what he wanted than to have to upgrade a few years down the road.
"I want there to be an adjustable standard size where I can comfortably pull it along. It should be rectangular and fashioned after a suitcase-with retractable wheels along the side, like so." He drew out a rough sketch, ignoring Rossin's stunned silence. "The wheels are only useable in the standard size. Naturally, there has to be a resizing option. This is so that I can make it small enough to carry on my person when I'm not able to lug a trunk behind me, and larger for easier access when I set it down. I want the best leather you have-functionality wise. As for the components, obviously, it has to be able to function as a regular trunk. It should be able to second as a closet as well. I also want a library that is directly connected to the trunk, so I'll be able to retrieve books without having to enter myself. Make it big. There also have to be a warded ritual room and multiple barriers so that there is no chance for anyone to detect the going-ons within. Also, include a ice room with built in stasis charms so whatever foods I store down there will remain fresh. Add a small potion lab and duelling room-there's no need for a platform. Oh, don't forget a studio room."
At Rossin's numb, questioning stare, Harry continued. "It's just a large room with nothing in it. The size of this shop should be enough. Add a fireplace to it; I want to be able to make floo calls. No floo-travel, I know that's impossible from a trunk. But calls should be fine, right?"
Rossin gave a slow, dazed nod, and he jotted it down in satisfaction.
"As for the charms and protections…I'll take all of them. Make it the strongest you can have and keyed only to my magic and my blood. But change the anti-alteration ward so that I, and only I, will be able to make modifications. Ah-I nearly forgot. Add a secret compartment within the trunk that'll only open when all specifications have been met. I'll list them here." He continued to scribble on the nearly full page, taking care to not smudge any of his words. "Appearance-wise, go for the classical, quality look. Nothing too flashy or gaudy. That's good for now. I think."
Harry set the the quill on the paper with a sigh, looking upwards at Rossin. The other wizard was currently at a loss for words. His eyes were widened and lips pressed in a thin line, almost as if he was trying to prevent himself from gapping.
"Mr. Rossin?" Harry called out tentatively.
He knew he didn't act like a child most of the time, but that was only a given when he grew up surrounded by children who either hated or feared him. Books have always been his constant companion, and having so much time to think allowed him to mature much faster than other kids his age.
Unfortunately, everyone else expected him to act like one. When he did, the result was always the same disbelieving stare. Harry sighed in resignation.
"Mr. Rossin, would this be alright?" He asked again.
This time the man shook himself out of his stupor, and hesitantly took the parchment. His eyes scanned down its contents and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he inhaled deeply. "This…"
"Is it possible?" Harry pressed.
"Yes, it is. However…"
"What is the estimated price?"
Rossin stared at him as if he was crazy. Which Harry supposed was fair. After all, he was a ten years old boy-who looked even younger-who simply strolled in through the door and began acting as if he would actually purchase a trunk worth over a thousand galleons.
"While this is significantly smaller than our most expensive case," the wizard began in a dulled voice, clearly shaken. "The ritual room would be much more expensive to build than any bedrooms or sport fields. Your requirement for there to be minimal magic leakage-"
"None," Harry corrected. "I want there to be no magical leakage whatsoever."
"No magical leakage, my apologies," Rossin amended, continuing on. "That would also require the services of a warding grandmaster, which isn't exactly…cheap. A secret compartment within an already tightly warded and charmed trunk…that'll require some very intricate spell work."
"How much?" Harry asked, impatient and hoping to get to the point. "How much would it cost in total?"
"If you are willing to wait a year, it'd be 8000 galleons. We would spend a portion of the money to dispatch a team of contract wizards and witches to gather the needed materials. The actual construction wouldn't take that long. A week or so, at most. But if you want it by the start of the school year," Rossin paused, thinking deeply. "We would express order the materials from stores but it would be much more expensive. Probably…8700 galleons and it'll be ready for pick up by the next weekend."
"Consider it done," Harry nodded. It would be useful to have a private room for him to practice his magic in without drawing unwanted attention to himself, as well as somewhere to hide some of the more questionable items he may be acquiring. It was worth any price. "8700 galleons, was it? Do you accept payment by magical signature?"
Rossin's eye twitched violently. It would have been funny to see such an expression of shock on the face of a fancily dressed wizard, had Harry not been the subject of a few too many similar expressions over the years.
Wordlessly the man made his way over to the counter and returned moments later holding a smaller slip of paper. Harry took it and promptly entered his magic, seeing the pale flash that marked the completion of the transaction. If anything, Rossin actually appeared more stunned that Harry had successfully paid.
"I can pick up in person. Next weekend, you said?" Harry asked, preparing to head out once more.
It was only then that Rossin's years honed instinct snapped him back to the present and he gave a bow, expression becoming more composed. "I'll see you then. It was an honour to conduct business with you, young heir."
"Likewise," Harry murmured, slightly miffed at the previously easy going shopkeeper's sudden change in mannerisms.
Once he was at the door, he suddenly stopped and turned around again. "Oh. I still something for my books. Do you have any that are ready for purchase?"
Harry left L.C. Rossin's Quality Leathers with a sophisticated school bag hanging over one shoulder. It was done in reddish brown leather and white gold clasps, complete with silvery zipper and the name 'Potter' etched in the bottom left corner.
Rossin had stared at him with suspicion and dawning realization when he gave his family name, but had enough tact not to directly question him. For a moment Harry got the strangest sensation that he had known exactly who he was. Thinking of it, the goblin had also said something along the same lines of his scar drawing excessive attention.
Harry hated nothing more than being left in the dark. His grip tightened around the straps of his new bag. Even with the fifteen books it held, it was still comfortably light and settled snuggly at his side.
The next most important thing would probably be to get himself caught up with the current wizarding world. Mind made up, Harry headed back towards the inconspicuous entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. On the way, he stopped by a stall to pick up a roll of parchment, a set of quills, and a bottle of ink. Otherwise, he determinedly ignored the other eye drawing shops and his own tingling curiosity.
After a hearty lunch at the small pub, Harry left Diagon Alley behind and found himself back in the magicless streets of muggle London. The shift was so drastic and complete that there was a part of him that felt a swell of panic at the thought that perhaps he had imagined it all, but he pushed down the thought. He knew better than to question what he saw with his own eyes.
On the way back to the orphanage, Harry ignored the blatant staring of the other passengers on the bus. His new robe stood out in a crowd of t-shirts and shorts, but he had chosen one that had a classical enough look that it could easily be passed off as an old-fashioned suit. Besides, Harry didn't care all that much about what these muggles thought of him. It wasn't like they were ever going to meet again, anyways.
When he finished the 10 minutes trek from the bus stop and stepped into Mossdale's Orphanage, he was met with even more wide eyed stares and whisperings. Harry hid an eye roll when a grubby boy openly struck a finger in his direction while chattering loudly to his companion.
One more week. Harry told himself. One more week, and then you'll be free.