Harry looked around him in wonder. The single street was lined up with old but colorful buildings on either side. He could read a lot of shop names, which were from a completely new language as far as he was concerned. The morning sun shined just off the spires of the only shop whose name made sense to him- the Second Hand Bookshop, such that the whole cobblestoned street was basked in long shadows from the buildings.

Harry had never visited a shopping district ever before, so he had no way of knowing that the early morning shoppers that often spared curious glances to Professor McGonagall were by no means close in number to those he would have encountered later in the evening. Still, the alley was amongst the liveliest places Harry had ever seen. Indeed, only his school and the Zoo had held more people.

McGonagall set a brisk pace straight ahead, and Harry scurried to keep up, while taking in all the shops on either side. Ultimately they reached a wide square, with the straight path ending in front of a towering white building, whose facade seemed to be made entirely in carved marble. Harry traced his hands on the walls. The carvings seemed to tell a story; or multiple ones, thought Harry. Most figures, however, looked anything but human: they had long, pointed fingers and feet, sharp noses, small ears, bald, flat scalps and seemingly short heights. They seemed to be brandishing swords, crafting cups, approaching much larger winged creatures…

"These," Professor noted from behind, "are goblins Mr. Potter. They are master craftsmen and the caretakers of wizarding resources. This is Gringotts- the only bank in Wizarding Britain. We are here to withdraw money for your requirements."

Goblins… Harry had surely never heard of them before. He looked around as the small party ascended the marble steps to the humongous hall. Indeed, there they were, on several tables right ahead, at the end of queues of Humans. They were all wearing black coats over striped shirts and pants, and some of them were fiddling with various metallic devices. A fair amount of clinks could be heard. Harry wondered why a different specie of creatures handled money for wizards? He recalled Professor had said something about his parents having paid his fees already. At that time he had merely filed the information for later, but this bank visit seemed to indicate that he had some money left through them. The world was becoming more and more magical by the minute for him though, that was for sure.

Professor approached an unoccupied Goblin to the right side.

"Business," drawled the goblin in a cracked, raspy baritone.

"Withdrawal from the Potter vault," responded McGonagall curtly, while pulling out a bronze key from her cloak's inside pockets. Harry had never been to a bank before, but he had heard a lot about lockers from his Uncle, and reckoned the key would be keyed to one of those. He was slightly excited to think that there might be something left by his late parents for him and him only; something on which the Dursleys have no claim. Idly he wondered how magical locks might look.

The goblin barked something in a strange language, and another one approached. The key was exchanged and Professor began following the new Goblin to a door behind the desk, which, Harry noted, hadn't been there before.

The insides were, in sharp contrast to the exteriors, dark and slightly chilly. More importantly, Harry could notice a network of rails leading downwards, and what looked like a small cart right in front of them. The goblin entered the cart and the Humans followed. As soon as they were settled, the cart jerked forwards with a terrific speed.

This was nowhere near what Harry had expected his first Bank visit to be like. If anything, this seemed like those exciting Roller-coasters from Dudley's ninth birthday. Surprising even himself, Harry let out a whoop of joy. Noticing the goblin glaring, he subdued immediately. Professor McGonagall had firmly grasped the rails, but she, unlike what Harry had seen till now, sported a slight smile. Harry himself couldn't keep a grin off his face, having discovered the joys of wind rushing past at such speeds for the first time. Even if as they descended, the air around them kept getting colder.

Finally, they disembarked close to what looked like a sturdy bronze door as tall as Harry. As the Goblin went ahead to place the key flat against the door, McGonagall said, "I haven't forbidden you to ask questions Mr. Potter." Harry smiled sheepishly. It was like him to simply keep observing and ruminating without asking all the things he wondered about. It was a habit deeply ingrained in him by the Dursleys: He minded his business and was told what he needed to know. But if Professor allowed him to ask anything…

"Do you enjoy driving, Professor?"

McGonagall's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You noticed. In the wizarding world, the closest thing to driving is flying on broomsticks. And yes, I did. Flying, that is."

"Okay."

McGonagall sighed and added, "I used to be a part of the Gryffindor quidditch team till my seventh year..."

"Erm, Quidditch, Professor?" Harry took the bait, figuring that McGonagall wanted him to ask that question, strangely enough. He wondered why she used past tense, but thought that he could not imagine the stoic lady playing a sport anyway. With what seemed like eagerness by her standards, McGonagall launched into an explanation of a sport that, apparently, his father was very good at.

He noted that although she seemed to be a formal and professional person, she was making an effort to converse with him. So he politely listened as she explained about 'Quidditch' while withdrawing some coins (coins?) from a pile of Gold, Silver and Bronze ones. Harry wondered if his parents were poor. Sure, that was a lot of coins, but in the end, coins were lower in value...

Harry asked, "Is this all my parents had?"

That seemed to pull the Professor out of her reminiscences. "You think this is insufficient, Mr. Potter?" She asked, somewhat shocked. Harry waved a hand dismissively, saying "even if they are more coins than I've ever seen in a place, but they are still only coins…"

"A common misconception. You see, in the wizarding world, these coins," she made a sweeping gesture, "are the only currency. Twenty-nine knuts; the copper ones; make a silver sickle, seventeen of which is a gold galleon. Believe me, this," McGonagall gestured towards the bag in her hand, "is sufficient for your first year supplies." Clearing her throat, she added, "and this is only the trust vault your parents granted control of to Hogwarts for overseeing your education. The rest is in your family Vault, which is much deeper inside."

Harry felt the hierarchy of currency was unnecessarily complicated. Why didn't the wizards stick to an easy number? He could already see his maths lessons at Hogwarts being a nightmare. But he kept his misgivings to himself, lest he annoy the Professor. He had already asked too many questions, though he still felt awfully ignorant. That was always the way with Harry: He never asked the obvious questions and preferred to wait for them to answer themselves. It was worth it if he got to know something about his father, a common wizarding sport, and about the presence of his family vault while having spoken very little. Harry silently followed as the Professor and the goblin went back to the cart.

Another fun cart ride later, Harry and the Professor were finally ready to tackle the task of purchasing school supplies. Harry decided it would be best to let professor McGonagall do all of it and keep his ears open to anything he could learn from stray conversations. Professor McGonagall withdrew a piece of parchment from his envelope; one he had failed to notice earlier due to surprise at the contents of the accepted letter; and took a deep breath. "Hold on to this for reference, Mr. Potter. We've got a long day ahead. Remind me if I miss anything from the list."

Harry spared a glance to the list, and wasn't really surprised by anything in it. The oddest thing mentioned was a cauldron anyway. Harry would know its use soon enough he guessed. "Yes, Professor."

Harry noticed a small crowd of kids in front of a display at the Broomstix, and found the object of their attention to be a sleek broom with a long and glossy wooden handle. Certainly not for cleaning, he thought. Right next to it was a shop called Flourish and Blotts. It wasn't in the name, but the presence of so many bookshelves inside its amber interiors meant that the cramped place must be a bookshop. Indeed, professor McGonagall approached the clerk and before she said anything, he levitated?! a neat stack of books to the table. "One set of first year books. Professor. Though isn't it a bit late for buying supplies?"

McGonagall nodded. "Thank you Mr. Ainsworth. This young man here," she said drawing attention to Harry, "was unable to respond to the letter in time."

"Good morning young man…" the clerk trailed off, having noticed something above him. He turned around to check but could only see some people walking past the Apothecary. He heard the clerk inquire McGonagall a touch breathlessly, "he's Harry Potter isn't he?"

McGonagall looked at the clerk pointedly. "Thank you for your discretion, Mr. Ainsworth."

Getting her drift, the clerk nodded, never taking his eyes off Harry's forehead. Getting slightly nervous, Harry ignored the man as the Professor paid him. Letting his eyes wander off, he noticed many intriguing titles. There were newspapers titled 'Daily Prophet' magazines titled 'Witch Weekly' and 'The Quibbler', colorful covers with 'Tales of Beedle the Bard' over them, one with a similar crest to what had been on his letter- 'Hogwarts, A History'… He heard Professor's voice say, "These are some of the more popular books among wizards. I feel you should get into the habit of reading the Prophet regularly… If it is okay with you, may I get you a subscription?"

Harry had never read a newspaper. The only encounters he had with them were on the dining table at breakfast, where Uncle Vernon preferred to hide his pudgy face behind one. "Yes, thanks." It seemed a good way to find out more about the world his parents had come from.

"All right then. Inside, you would find books about all your Hogwarts subjects as well as on most other things you wish to know about the wizarding world. I would advise you to take a look. But first," she waved her wand over his forehead. "There. I've hidden your scar."

Harry gave her a questioning look. McGonagall sighed.

"You, or rather your scar, is very famous in the wizarding world. It would take a lot of time explaining why, but I think you should read one of these titles," she beckoned him inside the shop and pointed to a shelf with 'Rise and Fall of Dark Wizards', 'Important Historical Events of the Twentieth Century' and other books on what seemed like modern history, "before you come to Hogwarts."

Harry knew it was important to know more about the world he was stepping foot into, but there was a slight problem. "Um… I won't be able to read anything at home."

"And why do you think so, Mr. Potter?"

"There is not enough light in my, er, room," Harry replied, slightly apprehensive. Indeed, the professor seemed disappointed.

"I expected better than this from you Mr. Potter. This is no excuse for not reading up. I take it you go to school. Don't you study your subjects?"

Harry realised there was no way out of it. Not wanting to make a repeat of events of his primary school, he sighed and said, "I'm telling the truth, Professor. There are no lights in my cupboard."

The ensuing silence stretched uncomfortably. Harry, having a sense of deja-vu, hoped against hope that she would believe him. "They make you live… in a CUPBOARD, MR. POTTER?" McGonagall snarled. Feeling scared, Harry simply stared at his feet, waiting for the scolding to begin. Though oddly enough, it seemed that the Professor was angry at the Dursleys and not him. "I WILL be havin a word with your Aunt. How dare she!" she bristled. Taking what seemed to be a calming breath, McGonagall picked a few books from some shelves and added them to his pile.

"You… believe me?" He asked, hoping his face did not show the dread he actually felt. McGonagall, who had started pacing, confided, "I wouldn't have, but I saw what they were capable of ten years back. I told Albus it was NOT a good idea…" She glanced at a confused Harry, having aged quite a bit in a few moments. "For what it's worth, I apologise for playing a part in you having to live with them. Ten years ago when your parents were killed, I, along with Albus Dumbledore: the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Rubeus Hagrid, the Gamekeeper, left you there. I had spied on them for a whole day and had warned Albus not to leave you there… but I got convinced, somehow."

"Um… may I ask something Professor?"

McGonagall took a calming breath. "You may Mr. Potter."

"My parents were…" Harry tasted the word on his lips, "killed?" Upon being looked at sharply, he clarified, "sorry but Aunt said my father was driving drunk and they both died in a car crash."

Harry could tell McGonagall was seething. "Car crash? Oh that lying-" she looked at Harry. "I had expected her to not tell you about magic, but this! I will be having words with them."

Harry was alarmed at the new bit of information, but there was a pressing matter to attend to. "Please don't do that professor," he all but pleaded. "I still have to live there. I have gotten good at not making them angry, but they will if they find out I have told you this. They'd not allow me out of the cupboard in time for school!" Harry withheld saying that he might be punished with no meals like all the times he had done accidental magic before. That would only make professor angrier. And however nice it felt for someone to be angry for him, he had to live with his guardians for a month more. He could not forget that in a hurry.

"Okay. But I am sorry." McGonagall had her head down in shame, so Harry, despite himself, had to attempt consoling her. "It's okay Ma'am. They are my only living relatives. And it's not too bad there. Promise."

She looked at him dubiously. "But the cupboard…?"

Harry gave her a sheepish smile. "Please don't tell anyone, but I like it. It's my home. I have it completely to myself and no one bothers me there." He could tell McGonagall was quite bothered by his statement, but luckily she didn't press. She still kept those books inside his basket, saying "I'll take care of the light inside your… room, Mr. Potter. I hope you will come prepared to Hogwarts." Without waiting for his reaction, she paid the clerk and strode outside. Harry noticed a cool but seemingly insignificant thing: his books were floating in the air behind the Professor! Harry figured it was magic again. It was neat though.