The boy came to Holmes expecting a fellow voice of reason in what must have seemed a world gone mad. To his utter surprise, Sherlock took not Harry's side, but that of the wizards. It seems my old friend's keen perception of human nature held true even through veils of magic.

"Do you wonder," asked Holmes, "How a refrigerator works? Oh, you have a general idea. Coils and coolant and electricity. But beyond that, nothing. It keeps things cold, and thats all you need to know, really. Why should you exert yourself over trivialities when more important matters press? To wizards, magic is the same."

-Excerpt from A Study in Magic, by John Watson, MD

-oOo-

It was the right choice, thought McGonagall, not to take Harry through the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was too crowded, with too many people who noticed the details. Details like young Harry's scar, just barely visible through messy bangs. Better to avoid the attention, and apparate directly to their destination.

They arrived in a small, sunlit alleyway with a small pop of displaced air. Harry stumbled slightly before gaining his balance, and looked about with bright eyes. "So," he said, "You can go anywhere like that?"

"Nearly, unless the location is warded against apparation."

Harry peered around, squinting in the sunlight. "Where are we?"

"We're at one of the few physical doorways to magical Britain."

Harry nodded, and completely ignored the nearby pub door, focusing instead on the brick wall at the alley's end. "Okay. How do we get through?"

McGonagall raised a single eyebrow. The boy was at it again. "I don't suppose you'll explain how you know the way?"

Harry pushed at the brickwork, scrutinizing the mortar. "Footprints."

"Beg pardon?"

"The footprints. They all go this way."

McGonagall glanced at Harry, who stared wistfully up at the wall, looking ready to try for a handhold in the brickwork. She turned a skeptical gaze to the ground; hard-packed dirt with occasional patches of grass. Certainly not the plethora of footprints he claimed.

Frowning, she joined him at the wall, and extended her arm, wand in hand. A few sharp taps on several bricks, and the wall began to part in the middle, bricks obligingly folding themselves out of the way.

McGonagall suppressed a smile as Harry's jaw dropped. "Welcome, Harry, to Diagon Alley."

-oOo-

Harry moved through the crowded street, and seemed to have lost his finer motor functions. He slowly shuffled along, head constantly twisted about at alarming angles and velocities. Every so often, it would jerk to a stop before stuttering back to full speed, as if he had tried to look two ways at once.

McGonagall took the boy's hand, coaxing him into a faster pace. "Come along, Mr. Potter. I'd prefer to reach the bank today, if possible."

Harry snapped out his reverie. "Bank?"

"Of course. Your parents left you a substantial amount, if I'm not mistaken."

Harry tried, but couldn't think of an appropriate response. What was one supposed to say, exactly? No one to thank, and he couldn't even remember his parent's faces. In the end, he decided to merely nod.

-oOo-

The bank, Gringott's, was an experience to match the situation. More fortress than bank, the great structure was all marble and pillars and granite. Goblins weren't anything to trifle with either, if claws and teeth were anything to go by. In a fit of fancy, Harry predicted security would be suitably over the top.

He was not disappointed.

Hunkered into a mine cart with the professor and Twistclaw, a goblin attendant, Harry hurtled through pitch black mineshafts at breakneck speeds. He was sure he caught glimpse of a dragon at one point; a flash of red fire in the dark, harshly lighting a huge, scaly form draped in shackles. After that sighting, he was very careful to keep his hands inside the cart at all times.

After a minute the ride came to a bone-jarring stop. Harry listened in the darkness to quiet drips of water and the sound of other mine carts clattering in the distance.

"Left, right, right, left, right," Harry thought. "Then that curvy bit and a two more lefts-"

His train of thought was broken by a single, echoing snap. A lone torch flared into life, revealing a windswept McGonagall and dour Twistclaw. The goblin had a hand raised and fingers poised. A second snap and the cart door opened.

Harry hopped out, followed closely by his companions. They stood on a wide ledge carved from the sheer cavern sides. Harry walked to edge, peered over, and fought the resulting vertigo. Slick walls dropped down into infinite chasms, with lonely mine tracks fading away in either direction. Even if you knew the way, navigating Gringott's caverns appeared nigh impossible without an official cart.

Turning away from the edge, he examined his vault door. It was a massive thing, set into rough-hewn stone and made from iron slabs bound by rivets the size of apples. A small plaque set into the floor, like a macabre doormat, read ominously: "Thief, turn ye back. A pale horse waits."

Twistclaw approached the door and ran a single claw across the surface. Harry watched closely as the Goblin moved his hand in ever more complex patterns across the door until, with a final elaborate gesture, a slightly winded Twistclaw stepped aside.

McGonagall tapped his shoulder. "After you, Mr. Potter."

-oOo-

A substantial amount. That's what McGonagall had said. Standing in the vault entrance, Harry could only stare dumbfounded at the sight before him.

Substantial indeed, he thought.

Glittering in the bright torchlight, piles of bronze, silver, and gold coins reached for the cavernous ceiling. A bureau stood against the far wall, with a wooden chest tucked beside.

Harry coughed, a slightly strangled sound, and waved a hand toward the mountain of coins. "All of this belongs to me?"

Twistclaw appeared at his shoulder, all business. "This is the entirety of your family holdings, Mr. Potter, including material possessions. Though, please note, all monetary withdrawals will be restricted until your coming of age."

"Restricted?"

"All withdrawals will be at the discretion of a legal guardian or approved representative. Today, that capacity is being filled by one Minerva McGonagall." The goblin motioned towards the professor.

As Harry listened to Twistclaw enumerate the finer points of vault legalese, he made his way across the room, carefully stepping around piles of coins. The money came as a surprise, certainly, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the image of Sherlock Holmes looking decidedly bored. To the great detective, money matters were a tolerated evil. Necessary perhaps, but wholly uninteresting.

Reaching the bureau, Harry began opening many small drawers. "Do material possessions have any withdrawal restrictions?"

"No." said Twistclaw.

McGonagall carefully made her way to his side, and watched him examine the bureau contents. All of it was quite ordinary, albeit of higher quality than usual. Quills, blank parchment, and minor magical knickknack filled the drawers. She assumed most of the objects had more sentimental value than anything. One thing, though, did catch her eye.

Harry paused in his rummaging to watch McGonagall examine a small pouch he had already passed up. She passed her wand over the bag in a circular pattern before nodding, and proffered it to him.

"You'll want this."

Harry accepted the plain leather bag and eyed it with newfound curiosity. "I'm guessing there's more to it than meets the eye?"

McGonagall smiled. "Look inside."

Harry loosened the bag's drawstring and peered inside. It took his brain a moment to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. As far as he could tell, the pouch contained a night sky, complete with minute stars shining in the far distance.

He closed the drawstrings tight, and held the bag close.

"It's a mokeskin," said McGonagall.

"What does it do?"

"Holds things, of course. In this case, an awful lot of things."

"How much?"

McGonagall bent down, and picked a bronze coin off the floor. "More than all your school supplies, I suspect. If you open it, I'll demonstrate."

Harry again loosened the drawstring and McGonagall dropped the coin in, letting it fall into the bag's night sky. Harry watched as the coin fall, fall, fall, until it disappeared into the distance.

"The coin," said McGonagall, "Is called a knut. To retrieve it, you just reach in and say, 'one knut'."

Harry did so, and felt something cool and metallic brush his fingertips. He grasped, pulled out his hand, and stared in wonder at the bronze coin resting on his palm.

"Where does it go?" he whispered.

McGonagall fixed him with an odd look. "I...never really thought about it." She pursed her lips and began tapping her foot, finally shaking her head. "It's magic, Mr. Potter. And rather minor magic, at that. If it was imperative, the original spell crafter would know. Why do you ask?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. She never thought about it? The words of Sherlock Holmes sprang to mind unbidden.

"To a great mind, nothing is little."

"Just idle curiosity," he answered.

Abandoned the pillaged bureau, he moved to final unexplored object, a large wooden chest. The container was polished to a dull luster, with drawers oddly set into every side. He tapped the chest thoughtfully, noting the finely crafted claw-like feet. "What about this? More than meets the eye again?"

The professor waved her wand over the chest in the same circular pattern she used with the pouch. Her eyes widened. "My my, I daresay you'll be taking this too."

Harry rubbed his hands together. "Why's that?"

McGonagall bent down and grasped the largest drawer handle. Pulling it out revealed not a shallow drawer, as Harry expected, but a set of stairs.

The stairs lead downward, seemingly into the cavern floor.

Harry looked at the professor, who nodded. Mounting the steps determinedly, he began walking down with McGonagall close behind. His eardrums tightened a few meters down, as if he was quickly traversing a massive change in elevation.

Stepping off the final step, Harry looked around. "You know," he said, "I didn't really see this coming."

The stairs led to a room. A rather nice room with rather nice furnishings, it must be said. Empty bookcases lined the walls and a cozy fire burned beneath a handsome mantle. Dark wood paneling gleamed in the warm light, and luxurious furniture dotted the room.

Harry had not fainted in a very long time, but decided it might be a good idea to sit down. Sinking slowly into a plush armchair, he gestured vaguely at the posh surroundings. "Is this…normal?"

McGonagall ran a finger across the mantle's top. It came off perfectly clean. "It's not uncommon for things to hold more than they should. That said, this is the work of a master spell crafter."

Harry decided to skip the obvious "where are we" question. He strongly suspected, like the mokeskin, that people simply didn't wonder about those things. Still, what he was seeing broke about a dozen laws of nature. What would that make the original spell crafter, a god? Harry shook his head. Too many questions and not a single answer.

McGonagall walked to the staircase and began climbing. "Come along, our day is just begun."

Walking behind her, Harry found himself hoping the remaining day would be a little less mind-bending. Emerging from the chest, he watched the stairs drawer snap shut behind him.

"One more point of interest, concerning your chest." said McGonagall.

"More?" asked Harry, bracing himself.

"It's considerably less impressive than a hidden sitting room. Just step this way."

Harry crossed the few feet to her side. "Now," she said, "Say 'here' in a firm, clear voice."

"Here."

Maybe, he thought, I'm burnt out. Too many new ideas at once, that's what it is. Whatever the reason, he didn't even blink as the chest, on it's sturdy claw-like feet, trundled towards him. Reaching his side, it settled to the ground with an unmistakable purr.

McGonagall smiled. "Still in perfect order. Incredible charms work. It responds to your family's magical signature. It should follow basic commands and seems to already be spelled with some minor charms; Bunny-Be-Gone, for one."

"Bunny-Be-Gone?"

McGonagall nodded with approval. "For dust."

-oOo-

Harry walked out of Gringott's Bank considerably wealthier than when he walked in. His new chest crawled behind him, weaving through the crowd with surprising nimbleness. The mokeskin hung around his neck, under his shirt, and it made him mildly uneasy to be walking around with so many galleons.

McGonagall led him through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley with ease, taking her time and pointing out various shops and points of interest. A bookshop there, a broom emporium here, and I don't want to ever see you in one of those shops, Mr. Potter.

They made their meandering way to a small, unassuming shop. The building's black paint was cracked and peeled. Instead of an inviting display window, it had closed curtains.

"You'll be awhile in there," said McGonagall, "If you don't mind, I'll purchase the rest of your supplies while you take your time."

"Doing what?"

McGonagall patted her wand holster affectionately. "Choosing a wand."

She prodded him towards the shop entrance, then turned with a swirl of robes, disappearing into the crowd.

Harry approached the shop entrance, took a nervous breath, and turned the doorknob.