Harry was leaving. His trunk was all packed, and he had informed Vernon – by the simple expedient of leaving a note, as his uncle was never in his vicinity long enough to exchange any sort of message – that he would be leaving the house by today, August 23.

            Harry looked around his small bedroom for what could be the last time for a year – or possibly more, if he had any say in it. He studied it not out of some desire to fix it clearly into his memory, but only to check if he had left anything behind. There was nothing. The room bore no sign that anyone had ever been there.

            He went downstairs, his trunk bobbing gently along behind him, courtesy of a Float spell. He was dressed in Muggle clothing, preferring to leave his wizarding cloaks alone until he absolutely had to go to Hogwarts, even if he was going to take a wizarding form of transportation. The summer had given him a predilection for clothing that did not hamper movement – which described Muggle clothing more than wizarding. Harry noticed the kitchen door swinging as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and grinned. The Dursleys had probably seen him with his floating trunk and were now shivering in their kitchen. Mockingly, he called out, "I'm going now. Thanks for everything!" and left.

***

            Just before he left 4 Privet Drive, Harry draped his Invisibility Cloak over his trunk, rendering it unseen. He adjusted his Float spell so that his trunk now hovered a good eight feet in the air – high enough so that no passing pedestrian could accidentally bump into it and be startled at impacting against apparently nothing. Several blocks away from Privet Drive, he stuck out his wand hand. With a loud pop, the Knight Bus came hurtling down the road, screeching to a halt so that Harry could load his things.

            "Diagon Alley," he told the elderly driver, depositing the required twelve Sickles into his hand. Harry was very glad to see that neither Stan nor Ernie was on the bus; he didn't feel like dealing with people who knew who he was. The single other passenger was an old lady who was asleep in the back. When the driver wasn't looking, he yanked the Invisibility Cloak off his trunk and dispelled the Float on it, so that it again looked like a normal wood-and-brass trunk. They reached Diagon Alley without incident.

            He booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron, and brought his trunk there before going to the bank. It was early in the day and so Gringott's wasn't too crowded; he was seated in a cart within five minutes. As they hurtled down the twisting rock corridors, Harry gave a passing thought to the first time he'd been here – with Hagrid – and suddenly felt old. Had it been only four years ago when he'd first started going to Hogwarts, first learnt about the magical world? He'd been eleven then…now he was fifteen, and who would have thought he'd be what he was now?

            The wind of their passage ruffled his hair, and he came out of his musings with a start. He realized that they'd been riding the cart for nearly ten minutes; he'd been able to reach his other vault in less than one. He tapped the shoulder of the goblin who'd been assigned to escort him. "Why are we taking so long?"

            The goblin – he'd been introduced as Silvertooth, and indeed his jaws fairly gleamed in the dim torchlight – turned to look at the teenager. "Mr. Potter,
 he said stiffly, reminding Harry of Percy Weasley at his most pompous, "we at Gringott's take pride in the security of those who entrust us with their wealth – especially the high-security vaults. These vaults, such as your own, are located deep underground, not only for the distance, but to accommodate the special measures taken to guard them."

            "I thought all Gringott's' vaults were high-security," Harry commented, clutching the side of the cart as it swung around a particularly sharp turn.

            "There's security, and then there's security," Silvertooth said. He grinned so that his teeth caught the light. "I'm sure you understand what I mean."

***

            When they finally got to the mysterious Vault 5, all Harry could think about was a scene in a spy movie he'd once watched. It had been at Mrs. Figgs' house, when he was ten years old, and there had been a part of the movie where the main character had to go through all sorts of elaborate measures just to enter his office.

            Harry was distinctly reminded of this scene as they neared his vault. His first inkling that this would not be as simple as letting Silvertooth open the vault door was when, with a groundshaking crash, something that seemed uncomfortably like a dragon jumped in front of them.

            The first thing Harry said was a curse, though not of the magical kind – more of the 'wash-mouth-out-with-soap' kind. He was preparing to cast one of his strongest attack spells – a Blizzara - at the dragon when Silvertooth seized his arm in a tight grip, long thin goblin fingers digging painfully into his flesh.

            "Do not make any sudden movements, Mr. Potter. That is a watchwher – half-dragon, half-golem. It's guarded your vault for the past eighteen hundred years. It only awakens if a living creature comes near the vault, and it kills those living creatures…" his fingers dug in more as Harry tensed, "…unless they bear the blood of their masters. Now stay still…" Despite the instruction, Harry jerked away as a sharp pain bit into his hand. He glared at the goblin with a small needle-thin blade in his hand, dark red over the silver – dark red, his blood.

            He was about to spit out a very lurid curse, and perhaps a couple of fireballs along with it, when Silvertooth raised the blood-darkened blade to the watchwher. The watchwher lowered its great head, huge eyes whirling green and gold, until it was nearly level with the tiny goblin. Harry could see himself reflected in those green-and-gold eyes, see the rows of curved razor-edged teeth – each fang larger that the goblin who stood fearlessly in front of it. The watchwher was massive. It was bigger than the Hungarian Horntail he'd had to fight – bigger than a Chinese Fireball – bigger than any of the dragons he saw illustrated in his schoolbooks.

            The watchwher's eyes glowed – really glowed, like embers – and a glimmering the exact same shade of greenish-gold appeared around the blade. The watchwher blinked, and the glow disappeared. It swung its massive head around to look directly at Harry. Then it – there really was no mistaking it – it bowed its head. A low thunder emanated from the draconic beast.

            "Good. The watchwher has accepted you as the heir proper," Silvertooth said calmly, sitting back down. Harry looked at the goblin, the stinging pain of the wound making him glare. "And what was that business with the knifing?"

            "I apologize for your injury, Mr. Potter. But as I have said, the watchwher tends to be deadly unless you can prove you bear the proper blood. We had to offer proof. Otherwise, it would have killed you, or at least used its fangs to obtain the blood. Believe me, by our method there is much less blood spilled. We will be happy to offer you a healing potion once we are back at the surface"

            The watchwher lifted its head. It spread its wings, and with a beat that made Harry feel like he was in the middle of a wind-tunnel, flew off. Harry spun around to watch it go, saw it alight somewhere far up and to the right. Its eyes, discernible still in the cavern-darkness, were fixed on him with an unblinking, somehow worshipful intensity.

            "Now if you will, Mr. Potter…" The cart started forward again with a lurch, rolling into a small side tunnel that had been previously hidden by the watchwher's bulk. They rolled steadily along for a few minutes, Harry surreptitiously using a Cure on his wound as they did so. The cart stopped in front of a featureless wall of stone.

            "Please be so kind as to alight, Mr. Potter."

            Harry, deciding that Silvertooth probably knew what he was doing, obeyed. He vaulted neatly out of the cart, making sure to use his right hand rather than his newly healed left, and then looked back at Silvertooth.

            "Please place your hand into that indentation on the right wall of the tunnel – yes, that one."

            Harry placed his hand on the stone, watching as the slight depression in the wall shifted like liquid to the precise shape of his hand. He stood very still as a pale light suddenly appeared around him. It hung around him like especially bright fog, pulsing gently. The light flared once, to brightness as great as halogen lamps, and disappeared. So did the dead-end wall. The rock shimmered, as if seen through heat-haze, and then was gone.

            Harry had to repeat this process twice more, thinking again of paranoid security measures, before they came to what seemed like a gate made of crackling energy. "I am afraid our paths must divide at this junction. Only those authorized to go inside may pass that spell of sealing. As a son of the family, you are one of those authorized. I am not. Merely walk through, and you shall find yourself within the vault. Here..." Silvertooth thrust a red velvet drawstring bag at Harry. "You may use this to carry away whatever you wish to withdraw. It is charmed to be bottomless, so do not worry about the limitations of space. Once you have completed your business, return here. I shall be waiting."

***

AN

(Hurls herself, weeping, at her reviewers)

Thank you thank you thank you thank you!