December, 1991
A couple of days after Christmas he caught the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley (he thought it was horrible). His aunt and uncle thought he was out with Dudley, of course. He took a backpack with him and changed into his wizarding vest, cloak and hat on the bus. He rendezvoused with the Parkinsons at the Leaky Cauldron. Her parents were dressed in traditional wizarding robes and had the same short brown hair that Pansy did, and her mother had the same upturned nose. It looked nicer on Pansy, he thought. Pansy introduced him to her parents, Perseus and Megaera Parkinson, and her father did a short bow and extended his hand to shake, which Harry did. Her mother offered her hand and Harry politely kissed the back of it. Pansy beamed with approval, proud of her protégé.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. Well young cousin, shall we venture in the direction of Gringotts?" asked her father. "I understand you have some matters of business to attend to. I would be happy to assist you in your negotiations."
The wait for a spot at the counter wasn't half so long as the last time Harry had been to Gringotts, and there seemed to be less guards bristling at anyone who looked in their direction. When they reached a teller, Mr. Parkinson asked to meet with the Potter account manager.
"And who is that?" asked the teller.
"We are unaware of his identity."
"Then we can't help you. If you don't have any other business, then come back when you know," grumbled the teller.
"Are the goblins of Gringotts so incompetent now that they cannot keep track of the accounts they manage then? How sad for your clan."
The teller's pointed ears twitched as he snarled and stomped away. Pansy smirked.
Harry looked worried. "I think you offended him."
"I believe you will find that was my intent, Mr. Potter," said Mr. Parkinson, calm and unconcerned.
Eventually the teller returned with another goblin wearing a tiny suit with a vest, who led Harry and Mr. Parkinson to a private room off the main hall. Mrs. Parkinson and Pansy peeled away from the group to wait on some comfortable sofas in the hall.
"My name is Griphook, I'm the Potter account manager. What business do you have at Gringotts today?" he said, climbing up to sit on a stool behind a desk. Mr. Parkinson gestured for Harry to sit next to him at the chairs in front of the desk.
"Hello, I'm Harry Potter…"
"Obviously."
"Uh well, I would like a full statement of my accounts. I was told last time I visited that I should get yearly bank statements. But I haven't received any."
Griphook flipped through a heavy, leather-bound ledger. "Your account statements have been sent on schedule, every April. If you have not been receiving them that is not the responsibility of Gringotts."
"Mail trouble, Mr. Potter?" asked Mr. Parkinson.
"I guess so. It might be some kind of ward, someone said?"
"Definitely something to look into. Well Griphook I think perhaps Mr. Potter should collect his statements personally from Gringotts, for the time being."
"I suppose that could be arranged. Picked up promptly on the 6th of April."
"I believe within the first week of the financial year would be more appropriate. That would allow for any illnesses or for arranging leave from school that might cause tardiness."
"From the 6th to 10th of April then," countered the goblin.
Mr. Parkinson looked at Harry, and nodded.
"That will be fine," said Harry. "And I'd like a copy of my most recent statement now, please."
"There will be a 1 galleon fee for the copy," said Griphook.
Harry hesitated - he'd thought it was more, last time he asked. Mr. Parkinson nodded at him again.
"Alright." Harry got a galleon out of his belt pouch and passed it over.
"Including a full listing for all his personal and family vaults, including any properties administered by Gringotts," said Mr. Parkinson in a warning tone of voice.
"Naturally," said Griphook, with a bit of a snarl to his voice in return.
Griphook flipped to a couple of pages in the ledger, and pressed a blank piece of parchment on top of them, resting a gem on top. The gem flashed with light briefly, and the blank parchment filled up with a copy of the writing in the ledger. He also went to a shelf and retrieved a couple more books, which he repeated the process with, using new gems each time.
Harry took the copies, and looked through them, with Mr. Parkinson peering curiously over his shoulder.
Vault 687 was listed as "Harold James Potter Trust Vault - Medium security". The statement contained a starting and ending balance for the past calendar year, which was unchanged except for a 10 knut bank fee deduction. His galleons, sickles and knuts were totalled. It seemed like quite an impressive number to Harry.
"My name is Harold? I thought it was Harry."
"The vault is listed under both your full name and also under your more casual sobriquet, Mr. Potter. You may announce yourself as you choose to gain access to it."
I didn't know my own real name, he thought with wonderment. On the whole, he rather preferred Harry, and decided to stick with the name he was used to.
It seemed he had a second vault, as well. The much longer statement for Vault 704 was for "Potter Family Vault - High security" and listed a total of galleons, sickles and knuts (not many of the latter though) that made his personal vault look quite unimpressive. There were no transactions on the account, yet the ending balance was higher than the starting balance.
"The total went up?" he whispered enquiringly to Mr. Parkinson, pointing at the ending balance.
"Standard investment contract on the Potter vault, yes?" Mr. Parkinson asked Griphook.
"Yes, with shared returns of 70% for the account holder, and 30% for Gringotts, as agreed upon by the late Mr. Charlus Potter."
"Open for negotiation? Or too scared?" he goaded.
"Ha! I don't fear your paltry words. No. The vault investment conditions and contents are all sealed and frozen until such time as Mr. Harry Potter comes of age, or his regent makes an application for special early release of the vault contents as needed for essential supplies for the Heir or to aid the war effort."
"The war effort?" asked Harry curiously.
"It was a specification laid down by Mr. James Potter in case of the event of his early demise. Any current application for funds under that provision would be extremely likely to be unsuccessful."
"And who is the listed regent for the family vault?" Mr. Parkinson enquired.
Griphook flipped through his ledger to the relevant page. Harry flipped through his own documents, but didn't spot a regent listed. He got distracted instead by the second page of his family vault statement that started listing quantities of furniture, artwork, jewellery, arms and armour, and "sundries". He had stuff! Lots of stuff!
"A Mr. Sirius Black."
"Ah."
"Who's that?" said Harry, looking up. "I've never met him."
"I do not believe you can be too harsh in judging him remiss in his duties. He has been imprisoned in Azkaban for many years now," said Mr. Parkinson softly.
"Oh." The name sounded a little familiar, and not just the surname. He must've read it in either the Pure-Blood Directory or one of his history books. He would look him up later.
Harry finished reading through his statements. He really wanted to go and see his family vault, it sounded like it was full of lots of cool old stuff. The last page listed his properties; there were only two.
"I see Potter Manor is listed as destroyed in a fire, and Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow is listed as destroyed too. If they're both ruined, why are they still listed?" Harry asked.
"Because you retain ownership of the land, Mr. Potter. And some exciting piles of historical rubble of course," snarked the goblin.
"You enter a battle of words with a child?" said Mr. Parkinson.
"It's not a personal attack as you would realise if you were less ignorant," rebutted Griphook, making Mr. Parkinson scowl. "You'll find the Ministry has declared Potter Cottage a historical landmark, and thus refused permission for Gringotts goblins to enter the site and retrieve property for disbursement according to the terms of the late Mr. and Mrs. Potter's wills. Nor have any repairs been authorised. I'm afraid you may find the cottage in a rather sorry state, Mr. Potter, but that lies outside the purview of Gringotts."
"Can I visit my family vault? Or my properties?"
"You are entitled to visit the ruins of Potter Manor at any time you wish, Mr. Potter. The house-elves formerly resident there are deceased, so there is no urgency to the matter. Visiting Potter Cottage is something I understand many wizards do - though if you wish permission to pass the wards and enter inside no doubt you'll have to arrange that with the Ministry in advance. You are not permitted to access to your family vault until you come of age."
Harry looked disappointed.
"Yet surely he can view the contents? Perhaps retrieve a small trifle or two as mementos?" said Mr. Parkinson smoothly. "You are capable of managing such a visit, are you not?"
"I am capable of many things, Mr. Parkinson. Especially with an axe in my hand. However, the only things a minor of the family would be permitted to remove from the family vault would be the Heir ring if entitled to it, and any letters or gifts specifically addressed to him. He may not even touch any other items. A visit to the fault to view items only would be acceptable – are you capable of understanding that condition? The fees for breaching it and triggering vault security needlessly would be quite high."
Harry perked up happily. "I'd like to go there straight away, then. I can have a look around and see if there's a ring or a letter for me."
Griphook took him, on his own, deep into the tunnels to Vault 704. The higher level security meant this vault needed Griphook to run his finger down the door to make it melt away so they could enter. It was rather impressive. Inside the vault it looked like a pirate's treasure cave. There were rugs on the floor, chests full of coins, cloth covered paintings on the walls, a couple of swords on the walls, and a variety of items of antique furniture (though not nearly enough to fill a manor, he thought).
"You may not touch any items, Mr. Potter, and that includes the rugs so be careful where you walk lest you trigger the vault security wards. I will see if I can locate anything addressed to you," Griphook warned.
Harry carefully shuffled into the middle of the vault, avoiding the rugs. He gazed around in awe at the treasures around him, thinking about what he'd like to take if he was allowed. One of the cool-looking rapiers with the intricate silver lattice basket hilt, for sure. The big ancient looking book on its own stand labelled Potter Familie Grimoire. The red and gold Persian style rug with the tasselled edges – he wondered if it could fly or if it was just a rug. He flipped through his paperwork to find the vault inventory. It was just a rug. He sighed with disappointment. It would still look nice in his room back home. But there were two other rugs listed as "Carpet – enchanted", so there would surely be some flying carpets in here somewhere.
There was a pearl necklace dangling out of a jewellery box he thought Aunt Petunia would like. But… if he started giving the Dursleys treasures, he wasn't sure they'd want him to stop doing so until his vault was empty. Except for the magic stuff – they wouldn't want that. They probably wouldn't mind having a giant pile of gold. It would probably be best if he kept it to himself for now, just like he had with his other vault. Since they thought he was going to Hogwarts on a scholarship there was no need to disabuse them of that notion.
Eventually Griphook emerged from rummaging around in a desk, and some jewellery boxes.
"I was unable to locate any letters or gifts addressed to you, Mr. Potter. However, I did locate the Heir ring, which you may have now. The Head of House ring I have placed in the middle of the desk," he gestured at a small satin-covered ring box on the desk, "which you may retrieve when you come of age, or are otherwise authorised by your regent as ready to claim that status."
"Are there more Potters in the family than me?" asked Harry. "Could someone else be my regent?"
"I'm a banker, Mr. Potter. Not a genealogist. And as to your second question, I very much doubt it. I believe wizards often arrange for such matters to be magically binding." He handed Harry a faded purple satin-covered ring box.
Harry opened it and inspected the ring inside. It looked like a solid gold signet ring, with a shield shape and smaller inner engravings carved deeply into the top as a sunken design. It was divided horizontally into three rows. The top section of the shield had what looked like two five-petalled flowers on it, the middle row had a repeated pattern of three lines of some decorative little crosses or flourishes (it was hard to make out it - the engravings were so tiny), and at the bottom of the shield was a third flower. He put it on his right hand, and waited, but nothing happened. He guessed it wasn't magical. Or at least not obviously so. He didn't mind that at all, though. He had a family ring!
Griphook took him to his personal vault to retrieve a little more money, then back up to the office to rejoin Mr. Parkinson. The two of them farewelled Griphook.
"May your gold overflow and your enemies quail at your feet," said Mr. Parkinson.
"And thanks for your help," said Harry, making the other man sigh gently. Griphook bowed to them curtly, and they left for the main hall.
"Well you may as well take Cadogan's pony and see what you can claim from the Potter Cottage," suggested Mr. Parkinson as they walked. "I would be willing to assist you in negotiating with the release of your goods by the Ministry, if you wish."
"I have to ride a pony there? Can't I take the Knight bus?"
"It's an expression, Mr. Potter. It means to make the best of a bad situation."
"Right. Well," he paused thoughtfully, thinking about how Pansy's mind usually worked. Her father was likely to be similarly Slytherin and want a favour in return, he thought, and he was already in his debt for today's help. Sure he'd been helpful, but adults really couldn't be relied on. "I think I might look into the matter on my own first, but I do appreciate the offer. I might get back to you later if I run into difficulties, if that's alright."
"I would be amenable to providing some small assistance if required later."
"And thank you for all your help today, Mr. Parkinson. I really appreciate it. May I take you and your family out for some ice cream, or lunch?"
"You are most welcome. I am sure the ladies would appreciate a light lunch. They have been most patient waiting for our business to be concluded this morning." They wandered back out into the main hall, and rejoined Pansy and her mother. Pansy cooed over his new ring and was impressed by the description of his family vault, while Megaera chatted quietly with her husband. She then asked if she and her husband could call him "Harry", which he agreed to. They were so formal! Dumbledore was ancient, and always wore traditional robes, but he was more casual and always called him "Harry" or "m'boy". He didn't like being called "boy" though. It reminded him of Uncle Vernon in a temper.
They had lunch at an outdoor table at one of Diagon Alley's many cafes, under a brightly coloured umbrella. Her parents introduced him proudly to a number of acquaintances who passed by, some of whom bowed politely to him, and others who shook his hand excitedly and thanked him for defeating You-Know-Who. They often walked away chattering happily to their friends about meeting him. It was most disconcerting.
"A bit obvious, isn't it?" he whispered to Pansy as her father spoke grandly and loudly to yet another friend of his about "our cousin, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived".
"Perhaps a little. He is speaking to a former Hufflepuff you know, so he can't be too subtle. Do you mind?"
"No, it's alright I suppose, so long as it doesn't go on too long. I owe him for the help today." She nodded approvingly.
When things were quieter and the Parkinsons had settled down to eat lunch, he asked Pansy's parents if they knew anything about Heir rings. Pansy's grandfather was apparently the current Head of the family, but Pansy's father Perseus wasn't the Heir, as he had an older brother.
"I do know that it's common for family Heads to enchant their rings for durability, or for self-cleaning. They're also often made into portkeys to the family manor. Yours is in the intaglio style, suited for impressing your crest into warm wax to seal missives or to affix a seal to the bottom of a contract."
He checked Harry's ring with a couple of muttered spells.
"It is not an active portkey, and the only spells I can find on it are an anti-theft charm that would prevent it from being summoned by anyone not its owner, and a very simple one to increase its hardness, for durability. But I am not a Master Enchanter by any means, so you may wish to seek further counsel."
Harry needed to have the terms "portkey" and "summoned" explained to him, which Pansy's mother did with a pitying look for his Muggle-raised ignorance.
He asked about Sirius, and was told that he had been imprisoned many years ago for "treachery and association with the Dark Lord", and it would be wisest to avoid all contact.
After lunch, Pansy nagged him to buy her an expensive dessert in a wheedling tone that reminded him of Dudley. He bought some for everyone, except himself.
"Aren't you having any?" his mother asked.
"No, I'm allergic to dairy," he explained. "Too much makes me sick."
"That's stupid, milk can't make you sick," said Pansy, digging into her delicate tower of chocolate, custard and pastry.
"Pansy," said her mother, sounding shocked, "don't be rude."
"Sorry Harry," she said, not sounding very genuine. Harry sighed and let it go. She wasn't the first person to not understand it, even though he'd phrased it as simply as he could. It didn't sound like her parents really grasped it either – Mrs. Parkinson was explaining to her daughter that Harry must have "a delicate constitution".
Pansy and her family accompanied him as he bought a new thick fur-lined cloak for winter as the standard school cloak was thinner than he liked, a casual robe with a little extra room to grow into it (Megaera insisted upon him buying a robe and he eventually gave in), and a few more books including his own copy of Jigger's Potion Opuscule, a great new book he found that listed common Potions cross-reactions, and one on dining and party etiquette that Pansy's mother recommended relatively tactfully.
His last stop of the day was Eeylops Owl Emporium, where he browsed with Pansy at his side who seemed eager to help him choose a new pet. She'd had fun helping him pick his robe and cloak earlier, but found the book shopping less exciting. Pet owls were clearly in the "fun" category for her. He really liked the look of the handsome long-eared owl, with tufts of feathers sticking up on top of its head like two pointy ears. But he wasn't completely sure he needed an owl at all – he hoped he'd be able to get mail to Dudley without one. He chatted about it with Pansy, and she told him that the school owls would probably do for now, and he could borrow their family owl if he ever needed to send out formal invitations and didn't want to look cheap by using a rented (or school) owl. The shopkeeper and many of his owls looked disappointed, but Harry was happy. He hadn't really known where he would keep an owl, anyway.
Harry kissed Pansy and her mother's hands in farewell, and exchanged bows with her father, then headed back to Little Whinging on the Knight bus. He packed away his shopping (including his shrunken cloak and robe) and documents in his backpack. It had certainly been a productive day, he thought happily, admiring the new ring on his hand. It was even better than the cloak.
He left for Hogwarts a week later. He felt like he was almost looking forward to it. He still didn't love all the magic, and some of the teachers were honestly dreadful - but he did miss his friends.
A/N: Hello to PaC! Thanks for your long reviews. Please see the reviews page for "A Definition of Normal" for a review I popped in addressing some of your points on that fic. I regret I cannot give a better response to you via PM like I do for my reviewers who are members here. So, just some short points.
Harry strives to please the Dursleys because he's been abused, not in spite of it. Like a kicked puppy who still whines for attention, or a battered wife who knows her husband didn't mean it and doesn't want him arrested, Harry is not yet able to see the Dursleys for what they are, and isn't yet ready to cut ties with them (though he is old enough to think about "one day", which is why he's been slowly making plans for a future career - without their aid, and hopefully leading to a better life away from them). This is not a fic where an 11yo suddenly has a burst of maturity and strives to live totally independently and knows all the right things to do.
In terms of character development, remember that Harry has only been at Hogwarts for four months. That's not a long time, really! Changes in Harry's attitude are going to be slow and gradual. I would feel he would be too OOC if I had him make drastic changes - Harry in canon is very much a go-with-the-flow obedient kind of child.
Yes, McGonagall lied to Harry, a scared young child reluctant to go to Hogwarts, with a falsely confident assurance that Voldemort was gone for good. You're not the only reviewer to pick up on the dissonance of her statement with her canon portrayal, which makes me think I need to add an A/N in that chapter. Much like with Vernon's tampering with Harry's milk - I thought these things would be understood, but they seem to be confusing people, sorry about that.
I'm sorry I don't have time to write more, or I won't get this chapter up on schedule. I will merely add that the information about other schools is planted partly for world-building background flavour, and partly as a bit of foreshadowing background for stuff that will happen in the next fic in the series. Don't get me wrong, though. This is a Harry-at-Hogwarts fic. I may one day write an alternate story with Harry at Stonewall, or another school, but this isn't it. I like to plant info early when I can - for example, the date of Harry's parents' wedding is chosen for its cultural significance, a dozen chapters before there's even a clue about why, and even longer before someone will bother to mention it on screen. It's there for flavour for alert readers.