Chapter 2: R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Let's Start The Insanity!
Harry finished his shower and threw on a fresh set of hand-me-down clothes that were three, no, four times too big. Really, the shirt and faded cargo pants were too big for even Dudley. And his cousin wasn't that much larger in size than himself. Why did Aunt Petunia buy these? Actually, now that he thought about it, where were the pants and shirts he wore during the Hogwarts school year?
He always kept them in his trunk while at school, but somehow they seemed to have grown legs and disappear after he returned to Little Whinging. Harry was sure that he'd put all of his attire into his main dresser. So, what had happened to his stuff?
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away
Dumbledore stared forlornly at the pile of clothes burning in his fireplace. It was a shame that Harry ended up wasting his money on new clothing each year. The young wizard had plenty of clothes handed down from his cousin, oversized and nearly threadbare as they were. Why couldn't he just appreciate having things that not even a homeless shelter would take? Alas, Albus heavily accepted the heavy task of keeping Harry in heavy rags.
"Please understand, Harry. You must endure this pain if you're to ever learn love," Dumbledore sighed.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away
"Guess I'll be shopping again later," Harry muttered irritably. A harsh tug cinched his peeling belt in place. Standing in front of the mirror, he gave himself a quick inspection. The baggy gray shirt had several holes in it, and the cargo pants were covered in stains that refused to be removed no matter how many times he'd washed them. There was little wonder the neighborhood believed his aunt and uncle's stories about Harry being a delinquent when he looked like one.
Not that Harry believed he looked like a criminal. Any sane person would see his outfit and think he was just a disadvantaged youth from a poor family. Unfortunately, Little Whinging was populated by upper-middle-class snobs that liked to look down on others for the dumbest reasons. God forbid if your grass was 3cm out of code. It really was a shitty place to live, in his opinion.
Grabbing his wand and a handful of wizarding money he kept for emergencies, Harry gave Hedwig a quick rub on the head before going downstairs. Uncle Vernon was still watching football and was in the process of threatening to lock the goalie in the cupboard under the stairs because he couldn't block a single goal. Vernon's face looked very close to matching the shade of a plum, and a line of spit was trailing down his chin.
Harry was torn between asking the man if he was alright and needed to possibly go to the hospital because in no way could that be considered healthy. Or sneaking out the door to avoid potentially being screamed at for not doing his chores.
Vernon throwing a dinner plate through the telly's glass screen answered that question.
"Maybe I should also tell Dumbledore that Uncle Vernon is having… issues," Harry wondered as he left the house. "Why would he threaten to lock some goalie in the cupboard? That doesn't make any sense."
Vernon had always had a firm attitude when it came to dealing with Harry. But the only times he could recall Vernon acting anywhere close to this was when Harry's acceptance letters were being delivered and Dobby dropping a cake of Marge's head. The man never reacted to others outside the family with such vitriol. At most, he would give a sniff and mildly rude comment on those that he found to be lesser. Ever since summer break began, however, things around 4 Privet Drive had gotten… strange.
Concerning as that was, Harry tried to forget about it for now. There were more pressing matters to handle at Gringotts. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Harry raised his wand into the air. It only took ten seconds for the Knight Bus to come shimmering into existence before him, its passengers flailing about like a fish out of water. The large vehicle came to a slow stop, brakes squealing the entire time.
The bored conductor, Stan Shunpike, leaned forward from the back entrance and started to speak, "Good morning and welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor today. Where are we headed to?"
"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry responded.
"Right then, that'll be eleven Sickles," Stan requested, accepting the money and placing it into his pocket. He pulled out a pocket watch, eyeing it for a moment before motioning Harry onto the bus. "We 'ave two stops for other passengers, then we'll be reachin' the Leaky."
"Thank you," Harry acknowledged as he found a spot to sit close to the old driver.
The trip to the Leaky Cauldron took roughly twenty-five minutes, the entirety of which Harry was thrown around like laundry in the dryer. It was a stark reminder of why he didn't care for this particular form of magical transportation, regardless of how convenient it was for an underage wizard. When he stepped off the bus he nearly lost his footing due to how disorientated he felt. Stan said something to the effect of thank you, but Harry didn't hear the exact words. Its job finished, the Knight Bus disappeared as it drove off to whatever location was next.
The Leaky Cauldron was thankfully not filled wall to wall with patrons at the moment. Harry wasn't really in the mood to deal with strangers coming up to him and essentially worshiping the ground he walked upon, thanks to the chaotic ride he'd just endured. Although, even on the best of days, Harry couldn't stand how most people reacted towards his presence. He headed into the back where the entrance to Diagon Alley was, giving a quick nod to Tom, the landlord. Tom was a nice enough man that had always been respectful and friendly, but even he was marred by how he'd acted upon first meeting Harry.
Touching the correct bricks with his wand to open the wall, Harry did his best to remain inconspicuous while heading towards Gringotts. It would've been so simple, now that he thought about it, to have grabbed a hoodie from his closet before leaving. With his head concealed by the hood, people may have been less inclined to harass the Boy-Who-Lived. Sadly, the teen just hadn't thought of it while finishing his shower and getting dressed. Luckily for him, the streets were less occupied than he would have expected. Whether that was because it was early July or a Thursday, Harry wasn't too sure.
Regardless, he managed to duck through the entrance of Gringotts with zero incidents. The line to speak with one of the tellers was mercifully short, with only two people waiting for a goblin to call them forward. Harry got in line and let his eyes wander around the lobby while he waited. Gringotts looked the same as it always did: people looking over scrolls, goblins talking with clients, massive eight-foot-tall goblins in battle armor holding large halberds standing guard by the vaults, a random owl here an-
Wait…
Harry turned his eyes back to the tall guards that stood on either side of the entrance to the underground vaults. Their heads were covered entirely by a bronze-colored helmet, so he couldn't even be sure they were goblins, but that was beside the point.
I've never seen guards around when I came before. Why would they… his thoughts trailed off as the people in front of him were called to a teller. Moving up so that he'd be the next person called Harry let the issue go. If Gringotts decided they wanted extra security to protect the vaults, then he had no real reason to worry about it. Another few minutes went by before he was finally called up.
"How can I help you today?" the wrinkled goblin asked with a scowl.
"Um, well, I received a letter that said I needed to come speak with somebody about emancipation. And some… other things, as well," Harry explained quickly. The last thing he wanted was to upset the man by beating around the bush.
"May I see the letter?" the goblin huffed. Harry pulled it from one of his cargo pockets and handed it over. After verifying the official Gringotts seal and the notary at the bottom, the goblin gave it back to him. Then he pointed towards a set of double doors on the east side of the room and said, "Wait by those doors, and someone will take you to one of our lawyers to handle this matter."
"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.
The goblin's eyes widened as far as they could, his jaw rapidly dropping several inches. He whispered, "By Jareth! I can't remember the last time one of your kind spoke with such respect."
"What?" Harry asked, confused by the teller's sudden switch in attitude. "What does that mean?"
"I thank you for your kindness, young wizard." His question went ignored. "But I have other, less respectful humans to deal with now. Please, enjoy your day."
If Harry didn't have more important business that needed to be taken care of, he might have stood there trying to figure out why the goblin was acting so strange. Much like the new guards, he let the issue go without further thought. The weird behavior of a random goblin was not a big concern.
Oh, if only he knew what awaited him in the upcoming conversation.
Harry didn't have to wait long for his escort to appear. A goblin wearing a slightly fancier uniform than the teller walked through the doors and waved him into a long hallway. They passed five doors before turning right, going by two more doors, and finally stopping at one that was cracked open.
His escort put a hand on the door, motioning inside with his other. "It should only be a few minutes at most for your lawyer to have the paperwork ready. Until then, please remain in this office."
"Alright, thank you for your help, um… " Harry trailed off, unsure what the goblin's name was.
"Griphook."
"Griphook. Right. Thank you Griphook." When Griphook's eyes went wide, Harry started to get a bad feeling.
"You… you remembered my name. You remembered me!" Griphook said reverently, hand going to his mouth in shook.
"I… but you just told me your name," Harry replied, bewildered by the goblin acting so bizarre. "And I have no idea who you are, I'm sorry to say."
"To think you value me so much that you remembered our cart ride together." Now Griphook looked to be seconds away from crying his eyes out.
"Excuse me?" Harry swore he didn't yell. No, it was just a slight raising of his voice.
"May Gazlowe shine upon your commerce evermore." Griphook didn't give Harry a chance to respond. Instead, he nearly shoved Harry into the room and softly closing the door.
"What in the bloody hell is going on around here?" Now alone, Harry stared at the door for what felt like an eternity. This... he might have been able to handwave his uncle's extreme temperament since returning from school as a byproduct of the high temperatures England was experiencing. The mail having trouble being delivered was an unfamiliar problem. But, unless Dobby had decided to 'help' Harry again, he couldn't think of any reason why he wasn't getting any. Now the goblins were acting as if basic manners were equivalent to charity work in some impoverished nation.
Each of these incidents on their own could be explained, however much a stretch that explanation would be. But together? No, this was not normal. If four years of facing life-threatening situations at Hogwarts had taught him anything, it was that there was no such thing as a coincidence. And because Voldemort had been resurrected just a month prior, Harry immediately suspected the Dark Lord had some hand in the situation. He had no clue how, but he'd learned in his first year that magic could do the impossible. The teenager was not taking any chances that Voldemort had some scheme already in play. The moment he was finished talking to the lawyer about his emancipation, he would be stopping in the post office down the street. It was rather apparent that a letter needed to be sent to Professor Dumbledore sooner rather than later.
Poor Harry. Your exposure to the Fanon has only just begun. Hope you all enjoyed this.
Next chapter: Magical Cores, Bloodlines, and Marriage, Oh My!