Taking Flight
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Angry and isolated in the summer after fourth year, Harry leaves Privet Drive in search of something better. He finds it - and more - in the metropolis that is old London town. Independent AU. Post Goblet of Fire.
Rating: T for language and teenaged debauchery.
Author: tlyxor1.
Taking Flight
Chapter One: The Great Escape
It had taken him only three days at Privet Drive to decide to leave it. The Dursleys were particularly hellish this summer and after his last year at Hogwarts, Harry had no interest in putting up with his relatives and their prejudice tendencies. Moreover, it was evident that his friends had chosen Dumbledore's authority over Harry's friendship, which, Harry thought, was rather disappointing. So Harry, tired, fed up and in desperate need to get away from his yearly prison, had stewed and he'd planned and then he waited for the perfect opportunity to strike.
It was midnight on the 1st of July, Harry's guard had departed for destinations unknown, and with a pleased smirk, Harry picked the locks on his bedroom window and door, sent Hedwig on her way and crept downstairs. He made easy work of the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, retrieved his trunk and such things from within, and headed out of the house without regrets, and without looking back.
For all Harry gave a damn, his relatives could go to hell.
On the Knight Bus, he headed to the leaky Cauldron, booked a room for the night and deposited his possessions within. Rather than head straight to bed however, he instead retreated back downstairs, passed the haggard looking barman, out into the back alley and through the portal into Diagon Alley.
It hadn't changed in the slightest.
Harry had learnt in the summer before his third year that Gringott's was open twenty four hours a day and that was where he headed now, determined not to spend the next two months living out of a hotel room. harry was almost certain that the goblins could help him with that concern.
The Gringott's building loomed overhead, as foreboding as ever and equally as luminescent. The guards bared their sharp and pointed teeth at Harry and the teenaged wizard suppressed a shudder, determined not to show weakness in front of this race of warriors, but no less intimidated. Goblins were bloody scary and Harry simply hoped that he would never have the misfortune of crossing them… or their monstrously sharp weapons.
Inside the lobby, Harry wasn't particularly surprised to find the bank traffic a far cry from the daytime rush he was familiar with. A hag was bartering with a goblin, a vampire was trading gems for gold and several other creatures of the night milled around, awaiting their turn. Some turned to eye him warily, but once they'd all deemed him a non-threat, they all returned to their business without fuss.
Unsure of whether or not he should be insulted, Harry joined the 'General Enquiries' queue, and it wasn't long until he was on the other side of the unfairly high desk of a particularly cantankerous looking goblin, and not for the first time, he wondered about the existence of customer service in the magical world.
"Yes?" The teller barked.
Harry shifted on his feet, took a glance around and cleared his throat, nervous despite himself. "My name is Harry Potter. I wondered if you could tell me if I had an account manager or not."
Harry had heard Neville explain to Dean that an account manager was a goblin who oversaw the accounts of any witch or wizard who didn't have a head of house. Considering Harry quite plainly fell into that category, he was hopeful that this trip out to the bank wouldn't end up being for nothing. it was time he sorted out his own life, and Harry was almost certain that it would be best if he started with his inheritance - or possible lack thereof.
"One moment," the goblin rumbled dispassionately. It withdrew a ledger as thick as it's own head, turned the pages to somewhere down the centre and began flicking individual pages further to the end. he came to a stop on a page covered in goblin script. "Ancient and Noble House of Potter, Estate Accounts Manager Ironhand. You are fortunate, wizard, that Ironhand is working nights this week. I will send a missive to him. He will send for you shortly."
Harry nodded, thanked the goblin and settled back along a shadowed wall to wait, relieved beyond belief. An account manager would make his life far easier.
Minutes passed and Harry spent it staring up at the domed ceiling, upon which was depicted a gruesome looking battle scene, likely lifted out of one of the various piss pour essays Harry had written for History. The craftsmanship was impressive despite the violence displayed and Harry, despite himself, was reluctantly impressed.
"Mister Potter."
Harry turned his head, straightened up when he caught sight of an armour-clad goblin and obeyed in silence as the warrior instructed Harry to follow. He was led through a labyrinth of corridors and such things, to finally come to a stop in front of a single oak door, on which was a golden name plate that simply read 'Ironhand'. His guide knocked thrice, pushed the door opened and allowed Harry through, to shut it behind him with an ominous click.
The office Harry found himself in was surprisingly practical, with a set of filing cabinets along two walls, a large study desk in the centre of the room and surrounded by three armchairs. A goblin with a wispy grey beard sat across from him, gestured Harry to settle himself in one of the available armchairs and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
"Mister Potter, I wasn't expecting a meeting with you until I requested one in two year's time."
"I'm sorry for the short notice then," Harry answered, "But I need some help and I think you're the only one who can and will give it."
"And what might that help be?" Ironhand queried.
"What can you tell me about my family's estate?"
"Before I can give you private information concerning the Potter accounts, you must first undergo an identification ritual, for self-explanatory purposes, of course."
Harry nodded his acquiescence, idly wondered why that hadn't been the first thing done, and winced at the sight of the ritual dagger the goblin withdrew from a desk drawer. Nevertheless, he sliced open his palm and allowed a fair mount of blood to drip into the silver ritual bowl Ironhand had slid over.
When it had taken enough blood from harry, the wound sealed, the blade cleaned and the blood in the bowl poured itself across an empty piece of parchment, to coagulate into a variety of letters that eventually read something like the first part of his birth certificate with extras.
Harrison James Potter, heir Apparent of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter and heir apparent of the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black, born to Lord James Charlus Potter (deceased) and Lady Lily Rosemary Potter (deceased) on the 31st of July, 1980.
"Thank you for your patience, Mister Potter," Ironhand acknowledged, "Now concerning your family's estate, I will provide you with a ledger that contains all of your family's holdings. You may run through them at your leisure. To briefly summarise your holdings, you have a total value of 24 million galleons that are currently accumulating interest in your three family vaults and the seven sub-vaults linked to them. You have half a million galleons' worth of shares, a net worth of 1.2 million galleons in precious stones and minerals, a family library beyond priceless, seven house elves and a variety of housing across the globe that comes to a total net worth of 9 million galleons. Of course, none of that takes into consideration what you will one day inherit from the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black."
Harry couldn't be sure if he made a sound in response to all of that, inordinately dumbfounded by the load Ironhand had just dropped on him. Once he'd collected himself though, he finally asked the question that was most important. "Can I access any of it?"
Ironhand gave a shark-like grin, full of sharp and pointy teeth. "That's the beauty of it, Mister Potter. Since your illegal entry into a competition meant for adults, Mother Magic herself considers you an adult, even if the law does not. Therefore, if you claim the Black and Potter Lordships, then by all means, you can access all of them as you please."
Harry gave a shark-like grin of his own, very, very pleased with how the meeting was going. "Perfect."
Ironhand sent a runner to the inheritance department without ado, and Harry, to pass the time, began what would be a long process of combing through his family's ledger. Ironhand had done an excellent job of managing the family's accounts, had assured that they'd been untouched until his eleventh birthday and upon Harry's offer, had agreed to continue management of the family's accounts - even after Harry became head of house. It was apparently a great honour in the goblin nation to be offered such a responsibility but honestly, Harry just didn't want to be responsible for the estate, valuable as it was.
Harry was focused primarily on the housing he had available in Britain and hit pay dirt when he came across an empty two-bedroom flat in Camden. Further reading explained that it had been rented out until the month prior, when the muggle tenant had moved to live with her longterm boyfriend. The furniture was out of date, though it was clean and in good-repair and therefore, it was exactly what Harry needed.
A knock disturbed Harry from his internal celebration and a goblin entered, two small jewellery boxes in hand. The runner passed them to Ironhand, retreated from the room and in his wake, Ironhand gave Harry the two ring boxes without ceremony. Harry opened the first and then the second, settled them on his knee and withdrew the two rings from within.
They were both platinum bands, though the Potter ring was accented by a square cut ruby, the Black ring with an oval cut opal. They were both rather gaudy but he donned them both one by one, embraced in both family magics and welcomed like he'd never been welcomed to anything in his life. It was a feeling he thought he would never get used to.