Trinity; Chapter 4 – Not Even a Birthday Card (or Cotton Wool Won't Stop Voldemort)

A/N: In which Harry finds fortune and changes irrevocably, but is it for better or for worse?

"Make yourself comfortable while I get the files we need," Anthea said whilst dropping her bag onto an empty chair at the conference table in the meeting room that they would be using to properly examine Harry's inheritance. The blonde witch then left the room.

Harry did as he was told, he went and got himself a cup of goblin tea (something he had a growing fondness for since his first meeting Pogrook Pronick) and a few biscuits on a saucer from the tray on the sideboard. He then sat down on one of the green leather padded chairs that surrounded the dark mahogany conference table which formed the centre piece of the room.

Anthea returned a few minutes later with half a dozen folders in her arms.

"Sorry for taking so long, the number of files under 'Potter'…anyway, I managed to dig up the summary of the Potter holdings, your inheritance and your parent's wills." Anthea looked quite flustered.

"Wills?" Harry asked, "What wills, I didn't even know they existed."

"According to Albotrak in Records, the wills were sealed by the Wizengamot after your parents' deaths, until you were officially deemed to be of age. And seeing as the Wizengamot recognised this fact today, we can now look at the wills."

"Can we start with them then?" Harry asked.

Anthea handed Harry a manila envelope marked 'The Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter' on the back, Harry saw the purple wax seal of the Wizengamot sealing the envelope shut. Somebody had then added to the back of the envelope 'To be opened when Harry Potter comes of age.'

Harry opened the envelope, breaking the seal and extracted from it, two sheets of parchment. They were near identical and both were short and to the point:

I the undersigned, name my wife; Lily Potter as sole beneficiary of all my titles, properties, possessions and other belongings upon my death. Failing this I name our son; Harry James Potter as my sole beneficiary to all of the above. – James Potter

I the undersigned, name my husband; James Potter as sole beneficiary of all my titles, properties, possessions and other belongings upon my death. Failing this I name our son; Harry James Potter as my sole beneficiary to all of the above. – Lily Potter

Lily's will had an added postscript;

Should we both be unfortunate enough to leave Harry an orphan, we would request that he be left in the care of either or both of his god-parents; Sirius Black or Alice Longbottom. Should both be incapacitated in some way, as a last resort, we would suggest our son be left in the care of my sister and brother-in-law in the hope that they would care for Harry as they would Dudley. – LP

A small tear came to Harry's eye. A tear followed by a small twinge of anger. Anger towards the Dursleys for proving his mother wrong, anger towards his mother for even suggesting the Dursleys, anger towards Dumbledore in keeping this secret from him…

"You alright?" Anthea said quietly in an attempt to break the silence that had enveloped the room.

Harry cleared his throat before speaking. "Yeah, just trying to comprehend why I was sent to the Dursleys when my Mum called it 'a last resort'."

"Maybe they didn't know, after all the will has been sealed for so long." Anthea suggested.

"Perhaps, but I someone had told me. But there isn't any point in dwelling on the road not taken."

"Shall we look at the rest of it then? Or do you want to just glance at the top sheets?"

"Can we have a look at the details of the main properties, because I don't even know where they are, let alone what they are, but I know they exist. Then I want to go down to the family vault, and then we can go and meet Sirius and Madam Bones."

"I'm at your disposal." Anthea smiled at him before passing over the property folder.

As Harry read on down the list, he became more and more astounded. As well as Potter Manor in the West of England with thousands of acres of surrounding land, there was a summer home in the Lake District, apartments in New York (overlooking Central Park) and Paris (in the Seventh Arrondissement with views of the Seine), and a house in Kensington. Various properties in Diagon Alley belonged to the Potters and were under long term leases, including, Harry noted: The Daily Prophet offices. Yet most exciting of all, in Harry's opinion was thirty square miles of land in Jamaica with five miles of beaches.

Harry whistled through his teeth and passed the folder back to Anthea.

"What am I supposed to do with all that?" he asked in bewilderment, "I've never had my own house before, let alone six around the world."

"And that is why Pronick left me at your disposal," smiled Anthea.

"You knew?"

"Not until five minutes ago, forgive me Harry but I wanted to see your reaction."

Harry gave her a half-hearted glare before chuckling quietly and then laughing heartily. Anthea just smiled and shook her head. Harry gave her another funny look.

"What?" he asked.

"I've never seen a human go from a glare to laughing like its Christmas so quickly. I've seen goblins do it but never a human."

"Well, after the day I've had…I'm now faced with the fact that I never have to return to the Dursleys again!"

"And that's good, right?" asked Anthea, although she'd got to know Harry better over the past few days, she'd never inquired about his home life.

"To think they were boasting of their holiday in Ibiza at Easter when I returned to Privet Drive last month. I now have island I can access whenever I want." Harry chuckled again, "imagine the look on their faces if they ever found out."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, you could probably buy up most of Privet Drive without even denting the vault in your name which is according to this document her, only a trust vault. But it's a trust vault to the value of about two hundred and fifty thousand galleons. The pound is currently eight to the galleon so you have two million sitting there before we even delve into the family vault." Anthea paused, "you my friend are a very rich man."

"How much is in the family vault?" Harry asked.

"And that is the million-dollar question," Anthea quipped, "but in this case it has a multimillion dollar answer." She passed him a sheet of parchment.

Harry's eyes fell on a single figure. "Fifty three million seven hundred and sixty eight thousand two hundred and seventy seven galleons, four sickles and fifteen knuts," Harry whispered in disbelief. He looked at Anthea who was beaming.

"That was in 1981. If it makes you feel any better you now have the largest personal fortune of any living Gringotts account holder, become one of the wealthiest individuals in the Wizarding World and in Muggle terms; you've made it onto the Sunday Times Rich list."

"Is there anything else I can add to this new found wealth?"

"You own shares in various companies both magical and muggle. It's very unusual that a magical family has such large investments in the muggle world but they seem to be paying quite well."

"Anybody I'd know?"

"There is a twenty percent stake in the Prophet and small shares in Flourish and Blotts, Honeydukes and a few apothecaries."

"The Daily Prophet? The same newspaper that has been printing garbage about me since the middle of last year?"

"The very same."

"Could I do something about it?"

"You could-"

"Good I want to-" Anthea held up her hand to stop him.

"I suggest you wait before doing so, so we can use it to our maximum advantage, who know, with the right story we could topple the government." Anthea suggested. "Besides, I doubt the Ministry knows that you have a controlling interest in the newspaper they are using to broadcast their propaganda."

"True, you know this could be rather fun. Think about it; if I control the media, I control the message, I control the news so I control knowledge."

"And that is more powerful than every galleon in existence at this moment."

"So I should keep it for a rainy day?"

"We'll make a goblin out of you yet Harry," Anthea chuckled before looking at her wristwatch. "We'll have to go down to the vault now if we want to make it to lunch on time."

"Yeah…" Harry said quietly.

"Are you OK Harry?"

"I just don't want this to change who I am, I don't want people to start to only see my money and not see me the person."

"You know that you don't have to tell anyone what you have." Anthea suggested.

"But then what use is it?"

"At the end of the day; money, fame, fortune – it's all as superficial as the clothes on your back. What matters is your heart. Don't forget that. Don't let the money change you."

Harry smiled weakly at her. "Let's go see what's in that vault," he said, "the excitement is killing me!" he smiled.

The trip to the Potter Vault took several minutes. Copperbolt accompanied Anthea and Harry down to some of the deepest vaults in Gringotts' stewardship. This was the furthest Harry had ever been in the tunnels below the magical bank. Towards the end of their journey they took a hairpin bend at speed and were faced with a cascading wall of water.

"Hold on tight!" exclaimed Anthea.

The Gringotts cart didn't slow down and they shot through the water like a torpedo. Water filled Harry's eyes and mouth until the cart zoomed out through the other side with a pounding headache.

"The Thief's Downfall!" Anthea spluttered. "It washes away all magical enchantment, all magical concealment. We'll dry off when we get there…Harry are you alright?"

"Headache!" Harry shouted. "It feels like my head has just burst like a balloon. The sensation is now wearing off."

"That shouldn't happen." Anthea raised an eyebrow, thinking. "If you don't mind, I'll get one of the healers to take a look at you before we go."

"Sure."

The cart began to slow down.

"Nearly there!" called Copperbolt.

The cart slowed to a stop in a large cavern with a pool of water at its centre. Stalactites and stalagmites were dotted about and Harry could hear the dripping of droplets of water. Copperbolt led them by the light of his lantern to a large dark oaken door whilst Harry and Anthea dried themselves with their wands. There was no keyhole. The only thing that adorned the door was a brass plaque engraved; 'Potter'.

"Copperbolt if you could do the honours?" asked Anthea.

"It would be my pleasure," replied the goblin with a toothy grin. "Let's see what is in the vault…" Copperbolt placed his palm onto in the centre of the door. It opened with a hiss, green smoke billowed out from the doorway. As the smoke cleared, Harry was faced with a spectacle as Copperbolt set about lighting the torches on the wall.

The vault was huge; as large as the Gringotts trading floor. Harry could see piles of gold, silver and bronze, mounds of emeralds, rubies, sapphires and diamonds and stacks of books and scrolls. His mouth dropped open for about the hundredth time that day.

"Well, shall we explore?" Harry said after several moments of trying to take it all in.

"Go ahead, it's all yours after all. You can remove what you like Mr Potter," said Copperbolt.

Harry wandered over to a large trunk. It was unlocked and so Harry opened it. He was faced by a pile of what looked like grey cloth.

"Acromantula silk," Copperbolt commented dryly, "very rare, highly desirable and consequentially very valuable."

"Is there a list of contents for this place? You could spend a week in here and still not see everything," a bewildered Harry asked.

"I'm afraid not. If I may suggest it sir, why not let the bank audit the contents of this vault? For a fee, we could have a list for you by the end of next week." Copperbolt suggested.

"How much?" asked Harry.

"I would have to make enquiries with my superiors but it will be an inconsequential amount and we will of course conduct ourselves with utmost discretion," said Copperbolt.

"I'll talk to Anthea." Harry said before moving to another trunk. This one was full of various potions ingredients.

Anthea on the other hand had found a cabinet. Inside two dozen pieces of fine jewellery sat resplendent, their velvet lined cases open. The quality was at its finest – diamonds sparkled, silver shone and gold glowed. She called Harry over.

"Wow!" he whispered before opening the cabinet doors to examine the brooches and necklaces inside. A piece that had caught Harry's eye was an ornate brooch in the form of a snitch. A single large yellow diamond formed the walnut sized ball whilst the wings were crafted from silver with tiny diamonds embedded upon the metal. The object glittered in the torch light.

When Harry opened one of the drawers in the cabinet he came across an ornate ebony and ivory wizards chess set. Harry set it up on top a nearby chest of drawers. It looked magnificent. The chess pieces were grumbling after being rudely awakened after several decades asleep. Harry thought it was a shame that it was stuck here gathering dust when it could be used and admired. Harry looked around and found an empty wooden box he could store the chess set in before summoning a large wicker basket he spied lying in a corner. 'While I'm here, I might as well get something for my friends.' He thought to himself before shutting the cabinet and moving to the nearest bookshelf to find something to satisfy Hermione.

Harry found several editions of A History of Magic, Hogwarts; A History and Nature's Nobility; A Wizarding Genealogy along with other obscurer titles such as Broompedia, A History of Magical Art, Notable Squibs and If You Should Happen Across a Hinkypunk and Other Tales which appeared to be a collection of magical fairy tales. There were a few titles in what Harry recognised as French and a small number had runic titles. Harry gathered a few volumes and placed them in the basket, feeling sure that his bibliophilic friend would find something useful. Yet he also decided to collect some of the books on defence and the dark arts for his own use. 'Any new information is good information' he surmised.

"Mr Potter!" Copperbolt called, beckoning him over. "I think you'll need this," he said, gesturing to a leather bound volume on a brass lectern. The binding looked old and embossed in gold on the front was the name 'Potter'. "If I am not mistaken, that is your family's grimoire. It is probably only accessible by you and would contain details of family spells, rituals and the information about the family properties; all of which are either unplottable or under the fidelius charm."

"It might be an idea to take that with me too."

"Keep it secret, keep it safe. I would advise that you leave it at Potter Manor when you go back to school."

"That would be best." Harry replied, imagining the damage Malfoy would do if he ever got his hands on such a precious item.

"Is there anything else you would like to take at this time?" asked Copperbolt.

"Uh-"

"Harry, you might want to take a look at this," Anthea called Harry and Copperbolt over to a large trunk. "I think this might be the things from your parents' house in Godric's Hollow."

Harry went to look. Inside the trunks he saw a little jewellery; 'Mum's' he thought, a broomstick; 'Dad's' and some books and various robes. Most moving of all though was a half sized broomstick and a small scarf. 'That must have been mine.' Yet on top of it all was small biscuit tin sized lid. Harry opened it. He found two wands, a silver ring and four gold rings; two with rubies inlaid or mounted upon them.

"An engagement ring, two wedding rings and two house rings." Copperbolt summarised.

"Were they your parents' rings?" asked Anthea, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"They must have been wearing them the night they died." Harry said quietly, before taking the box, and the small broomstick and stowing them in his wicker basket. He walked out of the vault, trying to keep his composure. Copperbolt was about to follow him but Anthea stopped him with a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Let him be, this would be too much for anyone."

"Shall we? It's time to depart." Copperbolt gestured towards the door.

Outside the vault, Harry sat down at the edge of the cavern pool and listened to the drip dripping of the water from the rocky ceiling. He sat deep in thought. Copperbolt was the one to bring him back to reality.

"Mr Potter, are you alright?"

"Yes…it's just I've never had anything that belonged to my mother…as you can see…well…" he trailed off.

"Well if I could give you a bit of advice Mr Potter…?" Harry nodded at the goblin to continue. "A life isn't best represented by objects, it isn't represented by silver or gold – as ironic as that is, coming from a goblin such as myself. A life is best represented by the actions of a person. Don't forget that there are many worlds out there for you to explore – in London alone there are three! But if you want to live your life properly, do what you alone want to do, don't listen to Dumbledore, don't listen to the Ministry, don't even listen to the Goblin Nation – as treasonous as that sounds. Choose your own path, and then you will be great. Don't mull on the past when you have your whole life to live." Copperbolt stood in silence for a moment. "Anthea and I will be waiting for you," he said before returning to the cart.

After several minutes of silence, Harry followed him.

"I'm sorry, but we're going through that waterfall once again!" Copperbolt shouted as the cart began to climb through the maze of tunnels under London's only magical bank.

"Thanks for the warning!" Anthea replied. Harry was still deep in thought.

He only noticed their passing through the waterfall when the torrent of water hit him in the face. As he was spluttering he felt another sharp pain in his scar as a sticky black substance seemed to leach from it, covering his shirt. Somebody was screaming in the distance, or so he thought, maybe it was just his imagination.

"I guess lunch will be delayed," he called quietly, as his vision blurred he slumped in his seat unconscious.

Harry thought he saw something golden flashing in front of his face and reached out to grab it. It was then that the image of Albus Dumbledore, his half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose, came into focus. To Harry, the image looked crisp, too crisp so he checked whether he was wearing his glasses. He wasn't. It was then that Dumbledore spoke.

"Good morning Harry," he said, his face serene, eyes twinkling.

"Morning? It was getting close to lunch time when I-," Harry paused, sitting up as he did so, "Where am I?"

"You've been out for three days, as to your location you are at Headquarters, welcome to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. This is Sirius' home in London and Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix."

"So this is where you wanted me to taken two weeks ago."

"Yes, we didn't expect you to evade us."

"It seems you got what you wanted." Harry swung his legs over to edge of the bed before looking for his clothes. He spied his trunk in the corner, on top of which sat the wicker basket full of items from the Potter vault. "Now I'm sorry to be an ungrateful guest but I'm afraid I must be going."

"Why, where would you go? Sirius had Tom bring your things here. Besides, your friends are already here, I'm sure you wouldn't deny them the opportunity to speak to you?"

"Deny them the opportunity to speak to me? They haven't really been in touch with me since the end of term. I had a brief note from Hermione saying that she wouldn't be able to write. I don't know where they've been, what they've been doing, where Voldemort is, what Voldemort has been doing…I've had to rely on the Prophet for news and we both know that is just a Ministry propaganda machine."

"Harry, I believe I should apologise. I merely told them not to put anything about the actions of members of the Order in their letters. Not cut you off entirely."

"I guess Hermione took her instructions too literally. I have had nothing from either of them, not even a birthday card."

"I'm sorry."

"Well I have people to see and places to be professor."

"At least wait here for a few hours."

"I'm sorry, but I've had enough of waiting. Until whatever just happened I was for once doing something for myself. What did happen to me by the way?"

"The goblin's wouldn't tell Sirius when they placed you in his care."

"Well I was going to see them anyway, we have unfinished business. Now if you excuse me professor, I have to dress." Dumbledore didn't take being dismissed by the young wizard very easily.

"Harry, I must insist-"

"Professor, I have the right to privacy, I'd like to dress."

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed before leaving the room.

Once Dumbledore left, Harry found his wand and his glasses, putting on the latter, only for him to find that his vision had blurred. 'Odd', he thought, before removing his glasses and putting them in his pocket. He then summoned a set of clothes from his trunk before putting them on. He looked at his face in the mirror, he noticed that his scar had become considerably fainter whilst his brilliant green eyes were only made more obvious through the lack of glasses. All in all, although he wouldn't say it, Harry thought he cut quite a dashing figure. Whilst shrinking his trunk and bewitching it to become feather light, he took a last look around the room. From the wicker basket he took the chess set and some of the books and placed them on the bed before scrawling a short note to his 'friends':

Dear Ron and Hermione,

I'm sorry to be so abrupt but I have a lot to do this holiday and so I am afraid I won't be around, but while I'm away, I've left you both something. The chess set is for you Ron and the books for Hermione. It's a shame I don't have that much time but I'm sure you'll both understand. Have a good rest of the summer and I'll see you on the train on the first of September.

Yours,

Harry

Harry put the note along with his gifts on the centre of the bedspread before picking up the wicker basket and leaving the room without a second glance.

On the landing, Harry seemed to get his bearings, leaning over the bannister, he saw that he was two floors from the top and three flights of stairs from the main entrance hallway. If there was one place that could describe what Harry saw, it would be; 'gloomy'. The house looked like it belonged to a family of dark wizards and had been abandoned years ago. As Harry descended, he looked through the doorways of some of the rooms of the landing. Here he say layers of dust, inches think, cobwebs dangling from the ceiling and the quiet murmuring of people in paintings. Harry was about to descend the final flight of stairs when he heard a girl's voice call out to him.

"Harry!" she called. Harry turned only for his face to be engulfed in a cloud of bushy hair as Hermione squeezed him tightly. "Oh, Harry! We were so worried, first you escaped from the Order then Dumbledore said you were cleared at your hearing then Sirius brought you here unconscious a few days ago…" Harry held up a hand to stop Hermione's torrent of a speech. "Well how are you feeling?"

"I'm off out actually. I've got things to do and jobs left unfinished after I was so rudely interrupted by whatever caused me to black out under Gringotts." Harry turned his back on Hermione and started for the stairs.

"Harry, you've only just got here! We've got so much to tell you!"

Harry paused, his foot hovering in midair, before swivelling on his heel back to face her. "So much that you couldn't of perhaps broken it all down and put it in your letters?"

"Dumbledore made us…"

"I know what Dumbledore 'made' you do and then you took it to mean that you couldn't send me a single thing. Not even a birthday card."

"Harry, I'm sorry, I really am…"

"Hermione, if I was in your situation, do you think I would cut you off completely from the world?"

"No but-"

"I've been alone for most of the summer, no news from anybody until two dementors decide to turn up in the middle of Surrey and then just happen to come across me and Dudley. Then all hell breaks loose and the Order come to take me to 'Headquarters' which I assume is here." Harry's voice was beginning to rise.

"Do you know what, I've had enough. I've had enough of being seemingly ignored by everyone! You couldn't even write a birthday card Hermione! All I get is a single line telling me that you can't write and then a few lines earlier this week telling me how everyone – most of whom I haven't either met or heard neither hide nor hair from in weeks – is really worried because I've managed to drop off the radar.

"The one time, the one time I decide to do something for me, everyone decides it's not a good thing! Who fought to save the Philosopher's Stone? Who defeated the basilisk? Who managed to defend his godfather from well over a hundred dementors? Who got entered into an adult contest by an escaped Death eater? Who faced dragons, grindylows and maze filled with dark creatures only to find that at the end he had to see one of his friends die and then he had to battle Voldemort?

"You would have thought that everyone would think that I have had could look after myself by now. It's not like I do so most of the time and yet everyone wants to wrap me in cotton wool and pat me on the head at the end of the day saying "Well done!" I'm sorry but I've had enough! Voldemort is back, and cotton wool won't stop him!"

Harry's eyes were blazing. Burning like green lasers into a frightened looking Hermione who had shrank back against the wall in fear.

Hermione took a deep breath, "Harry-", but she was immediately cut off.

"Don't speak Hermione, it will only make the situation more difficult for the both of us. Now, I'm sure you can explain what I've just said to Ron and I'll see you both on the express on September the first." Harry didn't bother to wait for her reply. Hermione didn't try and stop him.

Harry approached the front door and saw a plethora of locks and deadbolts upon it. "Alohamora" he incanted and too his surprise Harry heard the door unlocking, he pushed it open and walked into the summer sun.

Inside, Hermione found an empty chair and sat down and let her emotions out. She cried for nearly half an hour. What had happened to the Harry Potter she knew?

Out on the pavement, Harry stuck out his arm, wand in his hand and a purple triple-decker bus popped out of nowhere with a bang. It careered around the greensward at the centre of Grimmauld Place before coming to a halt in front of Harry with a screech of its tires. A wiry young man of about twenty jumped down and announced himself.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be you conductor this morning!" Stan announced proudly.

"Yes I know who you are…" Harry said impatiently. "How much to get to the Leaky Cauldron?"

Stan dropped his professional manner almost instantly. "Eight sickles but for eleven you get an armchair." Harry took the more comfortable option and paid Stan eleven silver coins. "'ere what 'choo say your name was?"

"I didn't, but we've met before. I'm Harry Potter."

A/N: What 'choo think of 'at then? Note to self, refrain from using accents in the author notes…all feedback appreciated. You should know the drill by now…