As soon as Harry stepped out of the Floo connection in the Leaky Cauldron, he was assaulted by a package-carrying owl. Relieving the bird of its burden, Harry winced as it bit his ear before flying off.

"Ruddy bird's been flying around for an hour waiting for you," Tom informed him. "What was so bloody important?"

"Something I asked for from Gringotts," Harry answered, taking a peek at the information on the box, which bore the seal of the bank.

"Ah," the bartender said. "I look forward to reading about your exploits in the Wizengamot, Mister Potter."

"Huh? Oh, the robes," Harry said, after a glance from Tom. "Yeah, should be fun." He added the last with a rogue grin that had Tom chuckling and waving him upstairs. He veritably threw the robes into his trunk, and then opened the package from Gringotts.

On the top was a letter.

Lord Potter

I must begin this letter with an apology. A recent change to Wizarding law has prevented the linking of your accounts. Enclosed in this package is your chequebook, and the best solution to the problem of determining which vault the funds are withdrawn from.

You expressed interest whilst in my office in possessing a copy of your family ledgers. If you are familiar with Muggle chequebooks, they contain a similar item that is placed in the top of the chequebook and allows the owner to record transactions the account holder makes by cheque.

Therefore, enclosed with your chequebook are two mini-ledgers that will provide you with a record of your transactions for each account. To switch accounts from which you wish to spend, simply place the other mini-ledger in the top of the chequebook.

Also enclosed are copies of the full books, should you wish to peruse the previous transactions of the Potters and the Blacks.

May your profits be many,

Silvertooth

Assistant Director for Premier Accounts

Gringotts Bank

London

It made perfect sense to Harry, and the young Lord promptly inserted the Potter mini-ledger into the chequebook whilst keeping the Black one in his pocket. He had a fair bit of shopping to do, after all, and his Potter assets were by far the most substantial.

'Now, let's see,' Harry thought. 'I need a new wardrobe, I need to find a dragonhide armour maker, I need to meet my solicitor and sue the Prophet, and I need to give the twins the extra money. Hopefully, I will be back by dinner, but a couple of these errands could delay me.'

Itinerary in mind, and chequebook in pocket, Harry walked downstairs once again and exited the Leaky Cauldron for Diagon Alley. Pulling his cloak up over his head, he hoped he would be able to delay his recognition by his throngs of bipolar fans.

His first stop was the twins' shop, and this time around the place was not packed – one of the benefits of it being not quite nine in the morning. As a result, he was able to approach the counter and get Fred's attention.

"Oi!" he whispered, as Fred regarded the hooded stranger with suspicion. "Oh, really, I'm not a bloody Death Eater," he muttered.

"Then take off the hood," the redhead said. Sighing, Harry did so, hoping nobody was looking.

"I've come to give you your money," he said, pulling out the chequebook. "What's your Gringotts account listed under, your names, or the business?"

"Business," Fred said. "What's that?"

"Chequebook," Harry replied. "I just write who the money's going to and the amount, and when the ink disappears, the transaction's complete," he said. "According to my account manager, anyway. I've got a little ledger up here so it should update like my normal one does. Wanna be the guinea pig? I've not done this yet."

"Sure, why not?" Fred asked.

"OK…Pay to: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, amount…10,000 Galleons. Date it…and sign it," Harry said to himself, filling out the appropriate blanks. Once he finished with each blank, it glowed white briefly. When he finished the signature, everything he had written flashed once again and vanished, to both Harry and Fred's astonishment. Harry excitedly turned to the appropriate page on the ledger and watched as an entry formed stating that in fact, he had successfully transferred 10,000 Galleons to WWW.

"Excellent!" Harry said, clapping his hands together after returning the chequebook and quill to his pocket. "Well, gentlemen, I have a solicitor to see about suing a group of annoying busybodies. Good day to you," he said, grinning. Fred and George waved good-bye, and yelled "GOOD-BYE HARRY" as loud as they could after he'd opened the door, forcing him to jump to the side to avoid a stampeding horde of humanity rushing into the store. Pulling the hood up once more on his cloak, he pulled the business card he'd found in his grandfather's desk from his pocket.

The Law Offices of Solomon H. Cooper & Gordon I. Curry

16 Diagon Alley

London, England, UK

That address put the office – conveniently enough for Harry – directly across from the building that housed the offices of the Prophet. Walking into the building, he approached the secretary.

"Excuse me, madam, might I speak with Mr. Cooper or Mr. Curry?" he asked, his tone very formal.

"Do you have an appointment?" the witch asked, not looking up at him.

"Er, no," Harry replied. "I just need to see the solicitor attached to the Potter family."

"Who are you and why do you need to talk to that person?" she asked, still not looking up at him.

"Lord Harry Potter," he stated, annoyed, pulling his hood down. This, predictably, elicited the secretary to snap her head up. After a moment of examination of his forehead, she appeared to be satisfied as to the veracity of his claim.

"One second," she muttered, standing up and walking into the office proper, presumably searching out Harry's solicitor. She reappeared mere moments later trailed by a middle-aged wizard with greying brown hair.

"Ah, there he is indeed," the wizard said. "Thank you, Norah. Lord Potter? I'm Solomon Cooper, I was your grandfather's solicitor. Would you like to follow me to my office?"

"Yes sir. I have a matter I wish to discuss with you," Harry said, moving towards the man whilst Norah the secretary resumed her post.

"My office it is then," Cooper said, ushering Harry into the main office through the same door Norah had left and returned through. The centre of the room was filled with filing cabinets, and along each of the walls were offices – Harry counted at least a dozen. The office he was led to was against the back wall and looked to be one of the largest. Though Harry figured that was Mr. Cooper's right as one of the partners of the place.

Once they were inside, Harry was offered and declined a cup of tea, and then offered and accepted a seat, sitting across from Mr. Cooper.

"Now, what was it you wished to speak with me about?" he asked, steepling his fingers and resting his chin atop them.

"Your across-the-street neighbours," Harry replied. It took the older man a moment to catch what Harry was referring to.

"Ah. I was wondering what had taken you so long, to be honest. Your skin must be thicker than most, if it has taken you this long to retain the services of a solicitor in this matter."

"Er, well, not exactly," Harry said. "I wasn't aware my family had retained your firm for legal services until this morning."

"Ah," Cooper said, unconcerned about being corrected by a 16-year-old. "Well then, am I correct in assuming you wish to pursue action against the Prophet for libel?"

"Oh, you're quite correct on that count," Harry replied, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "I'm quite frankly sick and tired of them. I know our country has a reputation for being somewhat…liberal in terms of libel law, but I don't have a doubt that I have a very strong case against them."

Cooper was grinning. "I think you'll find that in our world, we're a little more sensitive towards the reputation of our celebrities. The real question you need to be asking is not 'Am I going to win in court?' but 'How much do I want from the Prophet?'"

"How much do I want from them?" Harry asked. "I want as much as they can give me, and then some."

"You're OK with bankrupting Britain's largest Wizarding newspaper?" Cooper asked, teeing the question up for his client perfectly.

Harry took the bait and hit it out of the park. "They're already morally bankrupt, if they think that it's O-bloody-K to publish attacks on the character of a 12, 14, and 15 year old," he said, voice cool and eyes bright with anger.

"OK, then, we'll seek two billion Galleons in damages," Cooper replied, making a notation on a piece of parchment. "No way they're worth much more than an eighth of that, and to be honest with you, Lord Potter, Barney Cuffe has been a right pain in my arse for the last decade. I don't mind the opportunity for a little payback myself."

"Excellent," Harry replied. "Erm…now what?"

"Now, I have Norah and a couple of my junior solicitors pour over copies of the Prophet for libelous references to you, and get started on writing up all the accusations in that good ole legalese before we file it with the Wizengamot Judicial Branch, who will then contact the Prophet's solicitor to make him aware of what's going on, and then after a few motion hearings, they'll set a trial date to hash out the facts and decide you were libeled," Cooper explained with a grin. "Then they'll tell Barney to pay up, he'll whine and say he doesn't have nearly that amount of money, then they'll tell him to cough up the money or give you the paper."

"Cool. How long d'you think it'll take, and how much will you be getting?"

"On top of my retainer?"

"Yeah. How much is that, by the way?"

"The retainer is 1,000 Galleons a month, hardly a dent in your vast fortunes. Of whatever we reap from Barney, I'll get twenty-five percent. It'll probably take a year or two if they insist on litigating it."

"OK," Harry agreed, without truly caring about either answer. "What d'you mean, if they decide to litigate it?"

"Well, seeing as how I intend this opening salvo to absolutely excoriate every last insult they threw your way – we're talking at least a paragraph for each time they called you some variant of crazy – they may decide, 'Y'know, this really isn't worth fighting' and try to negotiate a settlement."

"Ah," Harry said. "Make it clear in no uncertain terms that I won't be satisfied with anything less than 2 million Galleons per offence."

Cooper smiled a predator's smile. "I'll send you an owl when I receive their response."

"Send me a copy of the suit you file as well. I'm sure I and a friend of mine will have some fun reading over it."

"I'm sure you will as well, Lord Potter. Very well. Is there any other business you need to speak with me about today?"

"I don't believe so," Harry replied.

"Very well," Cooper said. "Have a pleasant day then, my Lord. I trust you can see yourself out?"

"Yes, no problem. Good day to you as well, Mister Cooper." With that, Harry rose from his seat and walked out of the office, grinning as he heard Cooper yelling for two people to join him in his office.

Walking once more into the Alley, Harry made his way to Madam Malkin's shop, and was instantly swarmed by the owner herself.

"It's about bloody time you showed up, Lord Potter."

"E-Excuse me?" Harry asked, stammering as he was dragged by the clothier towards her measuring stools.

"I haven't seen you in here since you were a first year, and you can only magically alter clothes so far!" she exclaimed. "Now, stop complaining and let me measure you. What are you after?"

"Erm…entire new wardrobe," Harry replied. "Both for school, and for…well, being a dashing new Lord, I suppose," saying the last with his best imitation of Sirius' patented Seduction Grin.

"Hm. And you are prepared to pay for all of this today?" she asked, siccing the magical measuring tape on him.

"Yes ma'am," Harry said. "In whatever amount it's going to cost."

"Of course," she replied. "Forgot, you are a billionaire now. So, what colour would you prefer for your dress robes? And which fabric?"

Harry knew he was in for a mid-morning in the clothing shop. It occurred to him midway through the selecting of various fabrics, colours, and styles that he should also take a side-trip into Muggle London and visit a few clothing stores there, for a more casual wardrobe and a few suits as well. Of course, that would also require a trip to Gringotts to convert a few hundred Galleons into pounds, and if he didn't manage to escape here soon, he might not manage such a side trip.

It was eventually determined that Harry would be buying two new Hogwarts Uniforms, three sets of cotton business robes, and three sets of dress robes, each in different colours. Total cost: 500 Galleons. Harry wrote out the cheque once more and instructed Madam Malkin to send his new clothes to Potter Manor. He walked out of the store just as the clock struck noon and his stomach rumbled, indicating that it was lunchtime. Harry decided to return to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, after which he would visit Knockturn Alley, then Gringotts and Muggle London.

After a fairly satisfying meal of fish and chips, Harry disappeared once more into Diagon Alley, this time making the side trip into Knockturn. He tried to adjust his movements to not stand out, but felt like he was not entirely successful. He was hoping to find the armour-maker quickly before anybody took exception to his presence.

As it would turn out, whilst he was busy peering into shop windows and trying to be inconspicuous, the armour-maker was on the lookout for him, and as Harry walked past Borgin & Burke's, a strong arm grabbed his shoulder and dragged him into the shop opposite.

"What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing!?" Harry shouted once the door was shut, whipping his wand out to point it at his kidnapper, who crossed his arms and laughed.

"Doing you a favour, Potter," the man replied. Harry now noticed that the man was taller than Kingsley and nearly as broad as Hagrid. "Any more time spent out there, you'd have been cursed and/or turned into a slug. What's a goody-two-shoes like you doing down this way anyway?"

Harry sheathed his wand. "Alright then. I'm looking for a shop that sells dragonhide armour."

"What do you think you're doing here?" the man asked, pointing to the walls, which were adorned with various samples of dragonhide of various colours.

"Ah."

"Now, I'm presuming you're looking for outfits for your Knights?"

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"You're Harry Potter, there's a Dark Lord out there, and I sold your father the armour for his Knights."

"Of bloody course," Harry muttered.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing, nothing," Harry said. "Just…everybody seems to know about Dad."

"Well, he was a rather renowned wizard for his age."

"Can we just…do this?"

"Got somewhere else to be, young one?" the armour-maker said with a smirk.

"Actually, yeah. You're the middle of my shopping trip today, and I have only four more hours to visit…five or six more stores."

"You are indeed a busy young man. Well then, to business. Your father didn't want his armour to be too 'flashy'. In fact, he had it made to be wearable beneath his everyday clothes. Simple Hebredian Black shirt and leggings."

"No, I think we will be doing something different," Harry said, barely letting the man finish.

"You don't share James' anti-flash policy?"

"No, I can't say I do," Harry replied. "I've been thinking about propaganda, and one great way I can think of to tell people that there's people who are going to stand up and fight the Dark Lord, and to do that, I need visuals."

"So…you'd rather be more 'traditional'?"

"Oh yes. If you have any Chinese Fireball dragonhide, I think that would go a long way towards producing the effect I'm after. It needs to cover the chest and upper arms, and the leggings need to be full length. Oh, and don't worry about boots. I can take care of those," Harry said.

"Are you sure about the Chinese Fireball?" the armour-maker asked. "It's not one of the more magically strong hides."

"So make it thicker," Harry said. "And I'll just order more as I need it."

"How thick do you want it, anyway?"

"Two or three layers should do it," Harry said.

"You've really thought this out, haven't you?" the man asked. Harry grinned and conjured a picture, of a mannequin in red dragonhide vest and pants, with silver armour on the arms and a helm with a scarlet plume completing the image.

"Nice," he admitted.

"I know, right?" Harry said, unconcerned about the levels of cheek he was displaying.

"Alright. If you have your measurements handy, I'll begin working on a prototype for you. It'll be 1,500 Galleons and I should have it done by Monday."

"Brilliant," Harry said, handing over a sheet of parchment he'd procured from Madam Malkin with every single measurement she'd taken from him. The man took it and glanced over it.

"I didn't need to know the last one, Mr. Potter," he said, causing Harry to snatch it back, read it himself, then turn red from embarrassment and erase it magically from the sheet before handing it back.

"Alright. Monday it is then," Harry said, trying to retain his poise in front of the laughing man. "Payment upon delivery."

"Of course. Until then. Do be careful on your way back to Diagon," the man exhorted him. Harry grinned, and the last the man saw of Harry was him exiting his shop and running full-out back towards Diagon Alley, barreling past (and into) more than a few shocked witches and wizards (and hags).

To tell the truth, he didn't stop running until he reached Gringotts. He was quite certain he'd attracted a lot of strange looks. Pausing only to catch his breath, and pointedly not looking behind him, he walked into Gringotts and spent the next ten minutes converting 600 Galleons into 3,000 pounds.

Before leaving the bank, Harry performed his first ever glamour charm. Conjuring a mirror, he changed his hair colour to blond and lengthened it to cover his scar, and changed his eye colour to blue. Then he transfigured the shape of his glasses, which were probably the third or fourth most noticeable thing about him.

He was able to make his way out of the Alley happily unmolested, and just before exiting the Leaky Cauldron he cancelled the glamour and reversed the transfiguration of his glasses. Walking out onto Charing Cross Road, he hailed a cab and instructed it to take him to Savile Row – London's premier men's clothing area.

He spent the next two hours being measured yet again, this time for a set of tailored suits from the best tailors in England at a cost of two-thirds of the pounds he carried. Told that these too would be available to him on Monday, Harry paid and left for his final stop: the mall, where he would buy some simple jeans and t-shirts.

Finally, he staggered back into the Leaky Cauldron at a quarter to five, exhausted and carrying six bags of clothes shrunken in his pocket. Returning up to his room, Harry shrunk his trunk and placed it in his pocket as well before walking back downstairs and approaching the bar.

"Tom, I'm checking out," he informed the barkeep. "Time for me to move into the family manor."

"Right you are, Mr. Potter," Tom replied. "That's twenty Galleons, you owe me."

"Alright," Harry said, and handed over the necessary amount. "I'll see you Monday."

"Right-o, Mr. Potter!" Tom called as Harry headed for the Floo.

"Potter Manor!" he called, and vanished into the green flames.


A/N: I'm aware it seems a bit rushed towards the end, but I didn't see any sense in babbling on any longer about clothes when there's a Minister to sack. Expect that next chapter, which shall be posted 10 March. Now, I'm off to write an essay. Reviews are, as always, appreciated!

Phoenix II