Let's do It Right This Time, Chapter 4: Gringotts Bank
Harry was painfully aware that he didn't actually know where in London the Leaky Cauldron was from his location, as he had always either flooed or been taken by adults in the last timeline, but he couldn't exactly return to the Dursleys after the stunt he had just pulled, had he even wanted to, and he didn't have any muggle money or ID to get a hotel room.
And so he spent several hours of wandering through London, with the snake, Sssasha, disillusioned and wrapped around his shoulders like a living scarf. At last, he spotted the dingy pub, shimmering in and out of view between a restaurant and a jewelry store.
Harry pulled his hat down to hide his scar and strolled through the doors, carefully keeping up the wandless glamour on Sssasha, as well as silencing charms (she had been keeping up a steady commentary). Several pubgoers looked up at his entrance, but Harry kept his head down and walked straight to the counter, not wanting undue attention.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Tom looked up. "Here for Diagon, I assume?"
Harry nodded gratefully, and Tom put down a cloth he'd been using to clean up an ale spill. "Right this way," he said, leading Harry to the courtyard behind the Cauldron. Then he drew his wand and tapped the bricks in the correct sequence, explaining about the entrance to Diagon Alley as he did so. Harry thanked him tersely, too excited to listen to an explanation he'd heard thousands of times before, and almost tripped as he half-ran through the archway, Sssasha complaining plaintively about being jostled as he did so.
It was even more spectacular than Harry remembered. It had been rebuilt after the second war, of course, but after the resurrection of Voldemort, there had always been a hint of apprehension in the air that however Voldemort had come back before, he could always come back again. Then, too, some of the shops such as Twillfit and Tattings had been badly damaged or even leveled, and the Ministry reparations were not enough to cover everything a second time. And of course most of the shops had lost owners, cashiers, managers, and so on.
In this time, however, the Alley had been mostly rebuilt, and the post-war jubilation had not yet worn off. The streets were full of chattering people, and like the first time he had been here, he wished he had eight independently-moving eyes. But he had to get to Gringotts before anything else.
Gringotts was just as he remembered it, tall marble columns and grinning goblin guards wielding pole-axes, with the inscription against theft carved over the great mahogany doors. Harry inclined his head to the guards as he entered, not noticing the looks of surprise and the confused glances that the goblins shot each other, wondering why he was so respectful.
Harry got into one of the lines, lazily scanning the room for anyone he knew. There was no one. No one, that is, except for the teller in his own line. Griphook.
The line crawled along like an Asian centipede, but finally Harry reached Griphook's desk. Harry smiled without teeth, then nodded to the goblin. [After the break in at Gringotts, Harry had had to learn gobbledygook and goblin etiquette fluently, as well as pay plenty of fines, to get them to drop charges. They'd apparently been very impressed that he'd pulled it off, but as he'd managed to mess over their bank, free one of their dragons, and imperius a guard, they had also been very pissed off. They'd told him, in fact, that anyone else would have found himself in a blood feud with the clan of Gringotts so fast his head would spin.] Then he greeted Griphook in flawless gobbledygook.
"Well met, teller Griphook; may your vaults be without number and your enemies without escape. I ask to speak to Sculdig, account manager of House Potter."
Griphook's pupils dilated descernably, and the wizards behind Harry in line stared at both of them. Then Griphook returned the nod. "Well met, scion of House Potter, may your treasures be innumerable and your force inexorable. I will take you to Sculdig." Then he waved over one of the other tellers to take over where he left off, and led Harry deep into the bowels of Gringotts.
Sculdig's private office was rather plain, marked only by a silver plaque etched with his name on the door, and aside from unornamented furniture, the only furnishings within were several well-made tapestries. An older goblin who Harry recognized from the last timeline was sitting behind the desk, and Griphook rapidly explained everything to him in gobbledygook. Sculdig stared. Then he started smiling toothily. "Scion of House Potter, why do you wish to speak to me?"
Harry blinked. "I wish to have a heritage test done, and I would like to speak to a goblin healer and possibly a cursebreaker at once. As I don't know my assets, I guess we'll have to go from there."
"I have sent you statements for a long time, care of your magical guardian Albus Dumbledore. They should have been forwarded to you at the age of seven. Do you mean to say you have never received them?" Sculdig sounded affronted. "And why would you want to visit a goblin healer, rather than...one of your own kind?"
"I have never received any mail at all, much less bank statements, which leads me to believe that there is a mail ward on me or my place of residence." Actually, Harry knew that there was a mail ward, and not just that, either, but he would have no legitimate way to explain how he knew that, and he already sounded way too adult. Although to be fair, he was an adult, just stuck in a young body. Not that he could have explained that, either.
Sculdig was looking angrier and angrier. "That is illegal! And..." he sounded almost hesitant, "What of the healer?"
Harry decided just to go for it. "I have never had proper treatment for malnutrition and abuse. In addition, I would like to get my eyes fixed. I also believe that I have several magical blocks on my core, and my scar is..." He tore a corner of a bit of spare parchment, to write 'a horcrux'. Goblin law forbade the word to be spoken out loud.
Sculdig read the parchment and blanched. "WHAT?!" he roared when he could speak. "Malnutrition? Abuse?! That type of magic?! Who have you been living with?"
"My mother's sister," Harry responded. "Oh, while I'm here, could I possibly have acces to my mother's will?"
"Her will was sealed by Albus Dumbledore ten years ago; however, as primary beneficiary and blood relation, a copy can be provided for you," responded Sculdig mechanically, still in shock that a ten year old manchild should come to the goblins speaking fluent gobbledygook, and with such problems.
"Good. So...um...what should be done first?"
"I will send for a healer," replied Sculdig, and sent Griphook off to fetch a goblin called Murdock.