Waking very early on a cot in the infirmary, Harry made his way to the bathroom and admired his smooth forehead in the mirror as he cast the tooth cleaning charm. Scourgifying his clothes and then dressing, he grimaced over their state. At least the school robe hid the rumpled mess. Gringott's security had stripped away every bit of his magical tailoring and the soles of his trainers were flapping as he made his way to the caf.
Harry had a breakfast of cornflakes, a banana and toasted muffins with jam, a little surprised to see Goblins eating the same fare. It was something that he never got at Hogwarts, so he made the best of it. It was barely five in the morning when he reached the lobby, but there was already a line at the single teller's station that was open. He took a step to join the queue.
One of the guards walked up and pointed. "Over there, Mister Potter."
"Much obliged." Wondering how the guard knew where he was going, Harry walked over to what was labeled 'Currency Desk.' There was a goblin that he didn't know 'manning' it. "Good morning. I'm Harry Potter." He proffered his key.
The goblin took it. "I know. Your story was in the paper, Snake. My name is Hardwin." He put the key in the usual slot to verify it.
Harry's eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't think of any vast insult inherent in being called 'snake.' He had been in too many publications and didn't really want to know. "Well-met, Teller Hardwin." Harry gave the shallow bow that Chopgrill had explained was fitting to one of his status as a student to an adult goblin with an earned name and work-title.
"Well met indeed." The goblin inclined his head in response. "They said that you had some manners. At least you didn't bid me to eat my enemy's entrails, or drink their blood."
"Everyone was eating cereal and drinking orange juice in the caf this morning, but live and let live I always say." Harry was glad that he'd ignored Binns.
Hardwin laughed. "It will be a pleasure to prepare the pouch that Director Ragnok has ordered for you." He put a high-security Gringott's money bag on the desk in front of Harry.
"Thank you. How does it work?" Harry looked over the bag, smiling as he traced the 'galleon' symbol on the side with his finger. It seemed straight out of Looney Tunes, which he realized had a disturbing resonance with the magical world that he'd seen so far.
"First we must blood-key it. I'll take three drops of your blood with one of these," Hardwin showed Harry a lancet, then waved a hand, making the lancet vanish, "and use it to form a runic seal with an inherent symmetry to your magic. The lancets are conjured by a jobber in Slink Alley. They are unstable and vanish for your protection when touched by certain types of magic. The blood will be completely absorbed by the leather of the bag and then burned away as its iron component is transmuted by the array. As the lancet technically never existed, it therefore demonstrably poses no danger to you."
Harry frowned. "I didn't know that blood could be a problem."
Hardwin frowned back at him. "It most assuredly can. You never want anyone to get even the slightest amount of your blood because they can use it to break your wards, forge magical contracts, lock you into a curse and a hundred other things that you don't want."
Harry sighed. Hogwarts was useless for teaching anything important. "I've left lots of the stuff about. How does one protect oneself?"
Hardwin nodded, slowly. "You have enemies. I would suggest that you look into the protections that our curse breakers prefer and a blood-burner ritual at the very least. It summons the magic from any blood held outside of your body and burns it as a side effect. Once all of your blood is accounted for, there is the very useful blood-lock tattoo, a runic matrix to prevent your blood from holding your magic more than a pace away from your body unless permission is given. It will run a good four hundred galleons for the ritual and perhaps a hundred seventy more for the tattoo, but Gringott's guarantees its work."
Harry paled, thinking of the blood on the floor of the chamber, in the cupboard at Number Four, the playground at his old primary. What if Malfoy had Crab or Goyle punch him in the nose and collect some? Why had no one told him? He'd left the stuff everywhere! "I want everything! All of it! Who do I have to see to get it done?"
"I can take care of the appointments for you." Hardwin grunted happily at the thought of his commission. "Ordinarily there is a waiting list to see the Ritual Master, but due to the recent loss of an entire curse-breaking team an unusual bit of slack has opened in the schedule. I'll make the arrangements right after we get this pouch set and you can get it done tomorrow."
"My friend Ron's brother is a curse-breaker. I didn't know that it was so dangerous. Will this bag still work for me after the ritual?" Harry suddenly wondered about the rest of his things. Would the map and his cloak still respond to him?
Hardwin patiently explained, "The first half of the Blood Burner simply traces the sympathetic link between you and any of your blood that may exist outside of your body. Wizards call this the 'associative law of magic,' and the principle is 'that which was once, is always.' The magic in your blood is always yours, and always remains a part of you, so it can be traced."
Harry frowned, committing it to memory. "Then if someone has my blood they can find me."
The goblin continued, "Indeed. Find you and kill you in many interesting ways. The closely related second principle of the ritual relies upon the distributive law of magic, in that 'what is yours is always yours to control.' It helps you to instruct the magic in that separated blood to burn it up and then return to you. Neither of those principles will affect any items not containing your actual blood, and anyone or anything that you don't know about that is holding your blood is your enemy."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "So with the blood all used up, my bag will still work."
"Correct." Hardwin was a little surprised at how fast the boy caught on. Humans weren't often very bright. "The ritual to key this bag uses the magic in your blood to mold a keyhole of sorts, a distributive enchantment that will only react to your magic. All of the magic in the sample is consumed to power the keyhole's operation and the blood is completely destroyed. As keyholes work without holding any of your blood, and your magic cannot be changed, they will continue to work."
Harry swallowed. "Could that burner ritual be reversed and someone get burnt up because someone else had their blood?"
"It is theoretically possible, if difficult. Thus the care taken with one's blood. Nails and hair are much less dangerous, but should be incinerated if possible." Hardwin peered at him to make sure that he understood. "Now the one thing to keep in mind is that nothing is completely foolproof. You untie the money-bag and it samples your magic through the mechanism of the keyhole, but the rest of the enchantment is far less specific. Once open, anyone can access your gold so long as your magic remains in contact."
Harry frowned. "So if I got stunned then they could just stick my hand to the bag and keep pouring it out until my vault was empty."
"Indeed. This is a common tactic of stun-thieves and Gringotts does not warranty your vault against it, as nothing can be proven." The goblin fixed him with an intense stare. "Freedom, Mister Potter, includes the freedom to lose."
"There's no such thing as a free anything." This was something that Harry knew in his bones.
The goblin laughed. "Just so. Now you need only think of the amount to be withdrawn as you reach in, or just upend the bag and pour it out and the sorting runes inside the bag will respond to your intent and do the rest. If you think about the instructions for using the bag, you'll get the pamphlet. If you put galleons, muggle paper money, jewels or any other items into the bag they are not deposited in your vault, but will remain hidden in the bag unless specifically called for. Only you or a service goblin can open the bag, but be aware when setting the automatic refill that your mind doesn't have to be the one guiding its magic. Your dear friend Lucius 'withdrew' 1826 galleons from his personal business vault with such a bag not half an hour prior to his death. The fool had set his withdrawal limit to two thousand galleons."
Used to pounds sterling, Harry had to shift mental gears to realize what a truly enormous sum that was. He wondered if Dobby had done it, then realized that Dobby had been busy robbing Voldemort's tribute vault on a truly epic scale when Lucius had met his end. "Why didn't they take the whole two thousand?"
The goblin grinned at the goblin-like question. "They cleaned him out and even if his killer is found there is no way to prove that the money was stolen. Keeping that lesson in mind, to which of your vaults do you wish your bag to attach, how high do you wish your withdrawal limit to be set and how often do you wish it to refill?"
Harry thought about the previous expenditures that he'd made."Can I change the withdrawal amount or the vault later?"
Hardwin nodded. "Either or both. It's a galleon and nine sickle charge. You have to leave the bag overnight."
"My trust vault please and limit the withdrawals to fifteen galleons. It can refill Mondays. Are you saying that I have more than one vault?" Harry frowned.
"Didn't you read your statements?" Hardwin looked into the wizard's eyes, seeing only confusion. "You never got your statements."
"Are they supposed to come by regular post?" Harry's frown deepened. "I only get owl post from Hogwarts and sometimes my friends. I suppose they must have done something to keep Vernon from shooting hundreds of owls. Maybe Dumbledore forgot to tell me. How much for copies of all my statements?"
The goblin sighed. "I'll notify accounts to prepare a detailed report for you. There won't be a charge for this as it is Gringott's responsibility to see that you get your statements. We will be taking the matter of these anti-post wards up with your guardian, however."
lf
Harry didn't want to be forced back to Hogwarts before he could complete his business with the ritual master, so after testing his new moneybag, he pulled the hoodie over his hair, took off the glasses and jogged to the Leaky Cauldron. The bar was empty but for a man reading the Times at one the tables and he paid no attention whatsoever as Harry made his way into London.
Standing within the 'notice me not' charm in front of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry took off the annoyingly dress-like robe that Hogwarts made him wear. Rolling it up and securing it round his waist he set off down Charing Cross Road, shivering in the morning cool and looking into all the shops along the way. Stopping at a nearby bookshop, Harry entered.
The proprietor was sitting on a stool, reading the paper. He frowned slightly at the state of the boy's attire. "Welcome to Marks and Company. What can I do for you?"
"I need to buy a map of London and some sort of business directory please." Harry looked curiously at the shelves. "I'm looking for a department store."
"Well, young man, the good news is that you are in the middle of the largest shopping district in the world." The proprietor handed him a map and several pamphlets. "There you are, no charge. The Worshipful Company of Merchants provides them for the tourists."
"Thank you and good morning." Harry took the map and then cleared out before the man could ask him about his parents.
It took about ten minutes of wandering to make sense of the map and to find a store, but it wasn't a department store like he'd been in before.
The bewildering courtyard that he found was no less strange than Diagon Alley, with dozens of shops on multiple levels of some sort of repurposed Victorian building, all of them very upscale compared to the boxlike discount stores that he had occasionally visited to carry items for Petunia. The prices were incredibly high, but then he had ten thousand pounds in the money pouch to blow and he deserved all of it for killing the snake.
Unable to decide, Harry simply bought everything that took his fancy, replacing his clothing in various shops. He got undershirts, socks, both boxers and briefs, various trousers and a very comfortable set of leather hiking shoes that raised his somewhat disappointing height by a good half-inch. They came in brown and black, and he liked them so much that he bought a brown pair to wear now and the next size up in black for later. As he shopped, the bags containing items that he'd purchased vanished whenever so one was looking. After the first time, he'd panicked a bit until he'd realized that Dobby was on the job.
Because it was still a bit cold for May, he looked for jackets and found an actual trench coat that looked right off of the Western Front. It was too big of course, but would be perfect with a little shrinking.
He found a changing room in which to don his new finery, gleefully dropping Dudley's castoffs into the bin where they belonged. He selected a shirt with a printed shirt collar and tie to wear under the coat.
Harry dithered and almost threw the despised wizard dress away with the Dursley rubbish, even with its enormous cost, but it disappeared at the same time that his smart new coat tightened, accompanied by a faint echo of Dobby saying 'master.'
Feeling free for the first time in well, ever, Harry wandered along the London streets, buying anything that took his fancy and enjoying the pageant of people as the streets filled. He saw himself reflected in the store windows more than he'd ever seen himself before and eventually decided to get a haircut.
Stopping in a barber shop, he was immediately sent on to a hairdresser after the barber got a look at his hair. The woman completely washed, combed out, trimmed and shaped his hair into a style that fit him much better. After he left, he decided that if it grew out again like it had when Petunia had butchered it then he would just get a hat. He did ask Dobby to discreetly dispose of the clippings.
Harry bought gifts for all of his friends, along with some things for himself. Considering his watch battery, he found a jewelry store that sold him a smart new self-winding mechanical 'automatic,' with a luminous dial, a watch that used the motion of his body to wind itself. As he took off Dudley's watch, the battery finally died, so he dropped it into the bin. Walking out, he realized that for the first time since the day that his parents had been killed, he wore nothing belonging to the Dursley's. All in all, it was quite a glorious morning.