Author's Notes: Hey, I'm back – with the longest chapter yet!

It appears that the last chapter caused some confusion about how the ministry detects underage magic. Here is my theory:

The Ministry can detect the time, location and type of magic, but not the actual perpetrator (Dumbledore said so in HBP, and there are numerous examples). Yes, they can detect the type of magic – they knew that Patronous and Hover Charms had been performed at Privet Drive on the two occasions!

Now, if Harry was caught just because he lives in a muggle area – how come he wasn't caught when Mr Weasley (in GoF), Dumbledore (in HBP), Moody (in OotP – the Disillusionment Charm) and Mundungus (in OotP – Apparition) did magic at Privet Drive? And I'm sure the Order Guards used magic at some point or other. Did they give prior information of their visit to the ministry? I highly doubt it!

So, the ministry must have a way of knowing that the caster was underage or not. According to my theory – they do so by the power level of the spell. Think of a stunner – the power level of a stunner (or any other spell, for that matter) is lower when it's cast by a child than when it's cast by an adult. That's what they use to detect if the caster was underage. Then they make educated guesses about who the caster might be – based on location, power level etc.

Seventeen is the average age when a wizard's (or a witch's) magic reaches a certain level of maturity. In reality – most wizards reach this maturity level sometime between their sixteenth and eighteenth birthdays. But the fear of expulsion keeps them from doing it before their seventeenth birthday. And if someone does get away with it – they would certainly not boast about it – in case the authorities found out. They'd probably consider it a lucky chance!

The case of a wizarding household is different. Ambient magic interferes with the detection. So even if something is detected, it's considered unreliable. Think of radio communication, if there is too much noise, you can't consider the data obtained to be very reliable, can you? And certain charms and wards – like Fidelus Charm can stop the detection completely!

The only people who know the whole truth are the ones involved in this detection process (who are sworn to secrecy) and top ranking Ministry officials (like the Minister). That's why only the children from the influential wizarding families (read Malfoy) can use magic during the summer, without explicit permission from the ministry!

On that note, ministry can't detect very low power spells, like Lumos!

Now, some of you will probably say that if the ministry can detect spells in muggle areas, why don't they send Aurors when they detect Unforgivables – or other illegal spells – in muggle areas? Yes they do. But the ministry is corrupt and inefficient – it takes time to organize the Aurors and take necessary permissions. By the time they reach the scene, it's all over. Voldemort and Death Eaters usually go for guerrilla warfare – they wreak havoc and flee. And even if they do come face to face with Aurors, the Aurors go for stunners and other lightweight spells. They rarely – if ever – have the authority to kill. So Voldemort doesn't fear that his magic would be detected.

I tried several theories – like tracking charms on wands etc, but none of them could explain everything in canon (well, most of the things – for some of the things JKR has written, especially in DH, contradict the things written in earlier books!)

Hope it's satisfactory your curiosity. If you find any problems with the theory, please let me know – I'll try to fix it. If not, let me know what you think of it!

It's one of the chapters where I had to take some paragraphs directly from the book. Please don't flame me for it! It had to be done to avoid unexpected jumps and show some changes!

That said, Read, Review and Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters are not mine.

Chapter 9: Summer of '93

For the first time in his life, Harry wasn't miserable at Privet Drive. That doesn't mean he was happy – but at least he was getting proper food and wasn't doing slave labour for his relatives. The creature responsible for all this was, ironically, the one who had played a major role in making his last summer miserable. Dobby brought him food and helped him do the chores – that is, he did all the chores himself – when the Dursleys weren't looking! Harry had tried to help – but Dobby found it insulting that Harry had to do any work at all. In the end, it was decided that Harry would do the chores which involved a possibility of being seen. At first, Dobby had had some trouble with muggle appliances, but he had learned quickly. Harry had to tell him to work slowly, because the Dursleys had given him odd looks at his newfound efficiency, before giving him more chores.

So, Harry had spent last five weeks learning magic. Learning from the ring was an interesting experience, to say the least. Instead of reading books, it was like watching three dimensional videos. To somebody else, it would look like he was in a trance – something Salazar had already warned him about. The Dursleys rarely bothered themselves with him, so there was very little probability of someone catching him in that state. In any case, he had asked Dobby to warn him if somebody was coming into his room. The real problem would appear at Hogwarts, when he would be surrounded by people.

Harry was already done with the fundamentals of magic. He wondered why it wasn't taught at Hogwarts – he found it easier to understand things he had learnt during his first two years– things like why it was important to stir a potion exactly as mentioned in the instructions – things like the importance of precise wand movements.

'It's probably something purebloods learn before starting at Hogwarts.' Harry had thought bitterly.

After the fundamentals of magic, he had moved on to first year curriculum. He wanted to learn things properly from the ring – for it gave him far better insight into the inner workings of spells and potions than Hogwarts teachers – especially a certain greasy-haired, hook-nosed professor. Even though he couldn't practise the spells, he could still learn the theory and practise wand movements!

Harry had realised that some of the spells and potions were slightly different from what he knew. It was probably due the changes that had taken place during last thousand years – another thing Salazar had warned about. Some of them – especially Potions – hadn't been invented in his time. He'd still have to pay attention in the classes and read some books to go through the examinations. Well, another reason to spend less time around Ron! Even though he wasn't a bookworm like Hermione, Harry had never despised books – unlike Ron.

He had found several new spells, which should be first year level. It was just like Salazar had said – a large portion of magical knowledge was lost during the course of the millennium. In fact, the loss was much more than new discoveries – since magical research was tightly controlled by the ministry.

Apart from the fundamentals, he had also searched for information about several topics that interested him – like the Deathly Hallows, Legilimency, wards… He couldn't make head or tail of most of the information – because he didn't have the necessary background knowledge – but he had still managed to get a general idea of things. He really wanted to learn Legilimency, but for that, he needed a partner to work with. The same was true for advanced Occlumency. In the end, he had decided not to waste time browsing through things he couldn't understand and concentrate on the organised approach.

It was nearly midnight, and Harry was busy writing a particularly difficult essay for Snape. A smile spread across his face as he imagined Snape's reaction on his newfound potion-making brilliance. He had never been a terrible potion-maker like Neville or Ron. Even though he wasn't as good as Hermione or Malfoy, he was pretty sure he would be graded somewhere between E and O by a fair teacher, instead of barely passing.

Crack!

"Happy Birthday, Harry Potter, sir," squealed an excitable little elf, hugging him around the middle.

Harry was shocked. How on earth did Dobby find out about his birthday? And how come he had forgotten about it? He accepted Dobby's gift – which turned out to be a pair of brilliant yellow coloured socks.

"Thanks Dobby!" Even though he didn't really like the socks, he was touched. This was the second real birthday gift he had ever received – Hedwig was the first.

Thinking of Hedwig, she hadn't returned for last three nights. He wasn't particularly worried; she had been gone this long before. He hoped she would return soon – other than Dobby, she was the only friend he had at Privet Drive.

Harry was gazing absently over the rooftops, wondering why his friends hadn't written to him – even once – during the last five weeks. It took him a few seconds to realise what he was seeing. Silhouetted against the moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flapping in his direction. He stood quite still, watching it sink lower and lower. For a split second he hesitated, his hand on the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. But then the bizarre creature soared over one of the street lamps of Privet Drive, and Harry, realizing what it was, leapt aside.

Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding up the third, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and grey, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to its legs.

Harry recognised two of the owls at once. The unconscious one was Errol, the Weasleys' family owl while the large snowy female was his own, Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a parcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. He relieved them of their burdens and carried Errol to Hedwig's cage. Hedwig gave him an affectionate nip with her beak, and then flew across the room to join Errol.

Harry didn't recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny one. But one look at its letter told him where it had come from – it bore the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.

Harry sat down on his bed and grabbed Errol's package, ripped off the brown paper, and discovered two presents – one wrapped in gold, other in pink – and his first ever birthday cards. Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell out – a letter and a newspaper clipping.

The newspaper clipping said that Mr Weasley had won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw of Seven hundred Galleons and that the Weasleys would be spending their summer in Egypt – where Bill, the eldest son, worked as a curse breaker for Gringotts. The letter was from Ron. Harry was slightly disappointed – he was hoping it would be from Ginny. Ron had apologised for not writing earlier and described Egypt briefly. In the end, he had mentioned that they would be going to Diagon Alley in the last week of the holidays. He had also mentioned that Percy had been chosen as Head Boy – something he didn't seem too happy about.

'Typical jealous Ron.' Harry thought with a smirk.

Ron's present – the one wrapped in Gold – turned out to be something that looked like a miniature glass spinning top. There was another note from Ron beneath it.

Harry,

This is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Bill says it's rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn't realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.

Bye,
Ron

Harry laughed at the last line. Typical Fred and George – always trying to prank people! For a moment, he wondered if he should throw away Ron's gift. But he remembered he had decided to treat him normally for the time being. So he placed it on the table. Then he moved on to the package Hedwig had brought. It turned out to be from Hermione.

Dear Harry,

I'm on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to send this to you –what if they'd opened it at customs? But then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I've been getting it delivered; it's so good to keep up with what's going on in the wizarding world). Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he's learning loads. I'm really jealous –the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.

Harry smiled – if only she knew!

There's some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I've found out. I hope it's not too long – it's two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.

Ron says he's going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can you make it? Will your aunt and uncle let you come? I really hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September first!

Love from
Hermione

Harry shook his head – Hermione was always worried about her performance – even though she was on top of everything. Her present was rather large and rectangular. Knowing Hermione, he was sure it would be a book full of very difficult spells. He was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a rather expensive looking Broomstick Servicing Kit.

The parcel that had come with the Hogwarts letter turned out to be from Hagrid. It contained a book called The Monster Book of Monsters – it tried to bite his hand off the moment he opened the parcel. He had to tie it up using his belt. Harry found it ominous that Hagrid would consider a biting book to be useful – as the note had suggested. Deciding to worry about it later, he moved on to the pink parcel – Ginny's present – which he had kept for the end.

It turned out that Ginny had hidden her letter beneath the present – which turned out to be an album containing wizarding photographs of various tourist attractions in Egypt and a framed photograph of her as a four year old – playing with a doll. Harry couldn't help but think that she looked incredibly adorable as a child. The letter said –

Dear Harry,

I'm really sorry for not writing earlier; but Errol was injured and Percy wouldn't let me borrow Hermes. And thanks a lot for the advice – it's really good to be able to practise magic at home. I haven't told anyone else – can't risk mum or Percy finding out; but I think the Twins already know about it. The gits – couldn't have told their sister!

Harry smiled as he imagined Ginny ranting about her brothers.

I hope you liked my gift. The doll you see in the photograph is my first Harry Potter doll. I lost it when I was six.

Harry blinked. Looking closely, the doll did have untidy black hair, dark green buttons for eyes and a lightning bolt shaped scar on its forehead. Somebody must have found photographs of him as a baby. He smiled at the thought of little Ginny playing with a doll that looked like him.

Anyway, Egypt is great. I won't go into the details because I know Ron's already doing that. I'm feeling really bad that you have to be stuck with those awful muggles while we're enjoying ourselves. I tried to get mum to invite you; but she didn't think we could afford it.

Ron is being awfully nosy about what I'm writing in the letter – I think I'll hide it in your gift.

By the way, Percy got selected for Head Boy. That's made him even more pompous – if that's possible.

We'll be going to Diagon Alley in the last week of holidays. Hope to see you there.

Love,
Ginny

PS. It was the twins who spiked Lockhart's drink. They were trying to persuade a couple of starstruck girls to ask the questions; but Snape made it easy for them!

Harry placed the letter and the gifts on the table. He was happy for the Weasleys – and especially Ginny. She had always liked Bill the best among her brothers. But a tiny part of him felt unhappy at being stuck at the Dursleys for the rest of the summer.

Suppressing the unhappy part, he opened the last letter – the official Hogwarts letter. It had the usual notice regarding the start of term. It also said that third years and above were allowed to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends – but he'd have to get permission from one of his guardians. His heart sank – he had heard that Hogsmeade was a wonderful place – but how in the wide world was he supposed to get Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the permission form?

He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two o'clock in the morning.

Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade form when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down, eyes open, facing his four birthday cards.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt glad that it was his birthday.

Harry went down to breakfast next day to find the three Dursleys sitting around the kitchen table, watching brand-new television. It was a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, who had been complaining loudly about the long walk between the fridge and the television in the living room.

He helped himself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict:

"The public is warned that Sirius Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."

Harry didn't know why – but the name Sirius Black sounded vaguely familiar. Due to some reason, it brought up the image of a large, shaggy black dog in his mind. He shook his head – there was no way he could know the muggle convict. In the meantime, Uncle Vernon was ranting about how hanging was the only way to deal with such people.

Harry was brought out of his musings by Uncle Vernon saying that he was going to get Marge – his sister – from the railway station.

"Aunt Marge?" he blurted out. "She– she's not coming here, is she?" Every single one of her previous visits flashed through his mind – none of them had failed to bring some unpleasantness for him.

"Marge will be here for a week," Uncle Vernon snarled, "and while we're on the subject," he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry, "we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."

Harry spent the next fifteen minutes listening to Uncle Vernon's instructions on how he was supposed to behave like a muggle and stick to the story about attending St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. It ended with a promise of extreme pain if he failed to comply.

Harry sat there, white faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it. This had to be the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him – not that they had given many. Just as Uncle Vernon was about to leave – after Dudley's refusal to accompany him – an idea struck him. Since he couldn't do anything about Marge, he was going to make the most of it. Abandoning his breakfast, he followed Uncle Vernon to the front door. He took some deep breaths to calm himself down – to mask his emotions and make himself look calm and in control.

"Uncle Vernon?"

"I'm not taking you," snarled Uncle Vernon, who was pulling on his coat.

"Like I wanted to come," said Harry coldly. "I want to ask you something."

"What is it?" Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously.

"You see – third years and above at my school are allowed to visit the neighbouring village sometimes. I need you to sign the permission form," replied Harry, without any sign of fear.

"And why would I do that?"

"It will be rather hard, you know, pretending to Aunt Marge that I go to that St. Whatsits –"

"St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys!" bellowed Uncle Vernon. Harry was pleased to hear a definite note of panic in his voice.

"Exactly," said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon's large, purple face. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I accidentally let something slip?"

"You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?" roared Uncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. But Harry stood his ground.

"Oh yeah? But can you do the damage control? Can you make her forget everything?" he paused, "Dobby!"

The little elf appeared with a loud crack, dressed oddly as ever.

"Harry Potter calls Dobby?" asked the excitable elf, wondering why Harry had called him in presence of the muggles.

"WHAT THE RUDDY HELL IS THAT?" bellowed Uncle Vernon, at the same time as Dobby.

"He is my friend, Dobby. I can't do magic – not without risking expulsion, but he can! Think of what I could show her…" Harry left the sentence hanging. The Dursleys didn't need to know he could be punished for breaking the International Statue of Secrecy if he did that.

Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ugly puce.

"Think about it, Uncle Vernon, you don't stand to lose anything by signing it!"

Uncle Vernon thought for a while before speaking.

"Right," he snapped finally. "I shall monitor your behaviour carefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of it, you've toed the line and kept to the story, I'll sign your ruddy form."

"I don't think so! I've to send it back within the week, you know." Harry lied easily.

Uncle Vernon bared his teeth. "How do I know you won't go back on your promise if I do it right now?"

Harry thought for a while, "You don't have to worry about that. I won't be staying here during the daytime. I'll return only for sleeping. You won't have to worry about food either. You can tell Aunt Marge I'm off doing some summer job or something."

"And where will you go? How will you pay for your food?" It was Aunt Petunia. She had arrived with Dudley sometime during the conversation.

"That's none of your concern," snapped Harry.

"Boy, you'll not talk to your Aunt like that; I'll not tolerate it," bellowed Uncle Vernon.

But Harry wasn't paying attention – he was busy looking at Aunt Petunia. He could have sworn a look of hurt had passed across her face at his answer. But it was gone as soon as it had come. Harry discarded it as a figment of his imagination. Shaking his head to clear it, he asked, "So, what have you decided, Uncle Vernon?"

"I'm not signing anything without reading it properly – and I don't have time to do it right now. I'll think about it after dinner tonight." Uncle Vernon slammed the door behind him.

Harry ran up to his bedroom and started packing his things. If he had to stay out of the house, he couldn't leave them lying around. He had packed nearly everything – except for the things he would be taking with him – like his wand and the invisibility cloak – when there was a knock at the door and Aunt Petunia came in.

"Show me that form of yours," she said in her snappish manner.

Harry complied. She took a moment to read it – it wasn't very long – and then signed it.

"Don't bring it up before Vernon. And you don't need to go away – just stay out of the way as far as you can," said Aunt Petunia, before turning away.

Harry was surprised. He had never expected Aunt Petunia to go out of her way to help him. She was already at the door when he found his tongue.

"Err—thanks, Aunt Petunia! And I'm going to London to get my supplies today."

Aunt Petunia nodded before saying, "Get going before Vernon returns. You know how to get there?"

Harry nodded. He had decided to go by the Knight Bus. He quickly wrote three letters to Ron, Hermione and Ginny – explaining the situation briefly– and gave them to Hedwig for delivery. He was hoping it would take Hedwig at least a week to deliver them – he didn't want her to return during Aunt Marge's stay. Errol took off after her – probably insulted that Hedwig was carrying his letters.

As Harry stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, his head was reeling with recent revelations. Sirius Black wasn't a muggle convict – he was a wizard – a very dangerous one at that! He had murdered thirteen people with a single curse!

The Leaky Cauldron was mostly empty. Looking around, Harry quickly put on the invisibility cloak and moved out into the backyard and tapped the third brick from the left above the trash bin with his wand – the one Salazar had given him. He had left his holly wand at Privet Drive, along with the coins containing the tracking charms. The archway into Diagon Alley opened in the wall.

Harry's first destination was the Gringotts Bank. He removed the cloak just before entering the snow white building. Moving on to a free counter, he politely said, "Excuse me!"

"How may I help you, Mr …"

"Potter, Harry Potter. And I'd like to meet my accounts manager – I believe he's called Gorcrook."

"Sure, Mr Potter. Goldflag!" he called another goblin, "Take Mr Potter to Gorcrook."

Harry followed Goldflag through one of the doors leading out of the lobby. After passing through several corridors, they reached a door bearing a plaque that read 'Gorcrook' followed by several other things Harry didn't understand. Goldflag knocked at the door and shouted something in gobbledegook. The door swung open to reveal an elderly goblin sitting behind a large ornate table.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I was expecting you two years ago!"

"Thank you, Mr Gorcrook. I was stopped from seeing you during my last visits," replied Harry.

Gorcrook laughed – or at least that's what Harry thought it was – it was rather hard to tell. "We don't use titles for Goblins Mr Potter. Call me Gorcrook. And I know that you were stopped from seeing me. Am I correct in my assumption that you have come here without informing anybody?"

Harry nodded. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to come here alone. But I'm pretty sure Dum—someone is trying to hide something about my vault."

"Vaults, Mr Potter," Gorcrook corrected him, "and I don't really care how you came here."

"What are you talking about? I have got only one vault – my parents' vault!"

"Vault number nine-seven-three-six-zero initially belonged to Miss Lily Evans," Gorcrook replied, consulting his notes, "it was later converted into a trust vault meant for your use until you are ready to take control of your family vault."

There was a brief pause before Harry spoke, "I want to know everything you can tell me about my inheritance. Gorcrook, please be honest with me."

"Of course, Mr Potter," replied the goblin, before summoning a large, leather bound book – probably a ledger – with the word 'POTTER' printed across its spine. Then he took out some fresh parchment and started scribbling.

After about ten minutes, he passed the parchment to Harry. "This, Mr Potter, is a summary of your vaults – take a look."

Harry scanned the parchment. The first section had the details of his trust vault.

Vault 97360

Type
Regular
Key Based

Contents
70,869 Galleons
13,957 Sickles
10,701 Knuts

Investments
Nimbus Flying Equipments – 13,075 Galleons
Gladrags Wizardwear – 8,800 Galleons
Dr. Filibuster Fireworks Co. – 3,000 Galleons

There were a few more companies Harry had never heard of. However, it was the last entry that caught his attention:

Grunnings Drills Inc. – 87,000 Pounds

"Gorcrook, isn't that a muggle company?" Harry asked, pointing at the last entry.

"Oh yes, Mr Potter. Goblins – unlike many wizards – have no problems doing business with muggles – as long as it's profitable. How do you expect us to exchange muggle money for Galleons?" said Gorcrook.

"But how? I'm sure I've never heard of Goblins in the muggle world!" asked Harry.

"I can't tell you anymore, Mr Potter." Gorcrook's tone was suddenly stern.

Harry mumbled an apology and went back to the parchment in his hand. Following the investments was a list of last thirty transactions for his vault. Harry's eyes widened – approximately five hundred Galleons were being withdrawn from his vault – every month!

"Err—Gorcrook, I'm pretty sure I never made these withdrawals. Can you tell me something more about them?"

Gorcrook consulted his ledger before replying, "Most of it is converted into muggle money and deposited into –" he checked the ledger again, "—a Vernon Dursley's account in a muggle bank. The rest is deposited into Hogwarts scholarship vault. Twenty Galleons are withdrawn as the management charges for the vault."

It took every bit of Harry's self control to suppress his fury. The Dursley's were being paid to keep him! And he'd never received anything except cast-offs! Taking deep breaths, he asked, "Tell me Gorcrook, exactly how much money do the Dursleys get – in pounds? And how long have they been getting it?"

"At present, they receive eight thousand pounds a month. It started in November 1981. Initially, it was five thousand pounds a month – at that time it was worth about a thousand Galleons. I take it that you don't approve of it?"

"I bloody well don't! Those bastards are getting my parents money – my money – and all I ever get is rags and cast offs!" Harry almost shouted.

"Calm down, Mr Potter. Save your anger for where it's needed." It took Harry a few minutes, and every bit of his Occlumency skill, to calm down. "While I already have a good idea, can you tell me who authorised these withdrawals?"

"Unfortunately, we don't record who made the withdrawals for regular, key based vaults. It doesn't really matter – we can't prevent anyone who has a key, from accessing the vault."

"But you do have an idea, don't you?" asked Harry.

"Unofficially, yes." He leaned a little closer, "Who do you think it is, Mr Potter? You said you had a good idea…"

Harry hesitated; he wanted to ensure that this information won't go back to Dumbledore. He was about to speak when Gorcrook beat him to it, "Don't worry, anything that's said in this room, remains here."

"Albus Dumbledore, he's the one who had the key," replied Harry.

"Has a key, Mr Potter," Gorcrook corrected him; "He has to present the key once every year to verify his claim. He was here only a week ago."

"Can I somehow prevent him from accessing my vault?" asked Harry.

"You could get a new key – for sixteen Galleons. Even better, you could change the vault type to allow only certain people to access it – that would increase the fee to twenty-eight Galleons a month. There are other, more secure options, but considering the amount of money the vault contains, it would be the most viable alternative," replied Gorcrook.

Harry thought for a while, "Do it, but continue the money transfer unless I tell you otherwise. Do you think a letter will be sufficient in that regard?"

"As long as we can verify its authenticity, it'll be fine. To be on the safer side, write it yourself using a regular quill, don't use a quill with some magical properties and don't ask somebody else to write it for you."

Harry nodded, "And there will be no need to notify Dumbledore," he said firmly.

"Ah, that wouldn't be a problem. Since you are the owner of the vault, you are the only one we have to answer to."

Harry nodded again and went back to the parchment he had forgotten he was holding. The next section described his family vault.

Vault 16

Type
Highest Security
Blood Magic Based

Contents
176,970,322 Galleons
215,001 Sickles
5,712,106 Knuts

Harry's eyes bulged out – he had so much money that he could live comfortably for his entire life without working for a single day!

The investments section had a long list of companies – most of which he'd never heard of. Fortunately, there were no unexpected transactions.

"You said something about being ready to take control of the family vault, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. Most of the ancient families set up trust vaults for their children until they are of age – to ensure that the children don't get unlimited access to family gold – and to help them learn their way in Gringotts. Usually, the heir gets to see the family vault when he turns eleven. That's why I requested a meeting when you came here on your eleventh birthday…" Gorcrook trailed off.

"You don't have magical guardians, do you?" He asked, when Harry didn't say anything.

"No. I mean, I live with muggles," replied Harry.

"No magical child can be forced to live with muggles if he or she has a magical guardian – unless specifically stated by his or her parents – that's the law. Since your parents will was never found, we can safely assume that you don't have a magical guardian. Which means – not only you can take control of your vault whenever you want, you can also emancipate yourself, without needing anybody's permission. But I'd advise you to check the laws carefully before trying anything of that sort – I'm no expert in these matters."

Harry took a moment to digest all the information. The hot-headed, impulsive part of him wanted to get emancipated as soon as possible. But the rational part won – he'd have to think it through before doing anything – and a little bit of advice won't hurt either. A tiny mistake at this stage could be disastrous.

Finally, he asked, "Is that all, or does my inheritance include anything else?"

"That's the part of your inheritance under Gringotts' jurisdiction. I can't claim to know everything about your inheritance unless I have seen your parents will. Ancient families guard their secrets rather zealously, you know," he added, effectively preventing Harry from asking any questions. "And by the way, your family vault contains some artefacts and jewellery as well – I forgot to mention them in the summary," replied the goblin, looking somewhat sheepish.

Harry thought for while, "I want to take control of the vault right now. Wait; is it possible to do it such that nobody finds out about it unless I want them to?"

"Of course, Mr Potter. That's a part of our client confidentiality! Now, if that's all, you'll need to fill up a couple of forms. Here," he summoned the required forms, "this one is for taking control of your vault," he pointed towards the longer form, "the other one is for changing the type of vault."

Harry was about halfway through filling the form when he realised something. "Wait; how do you know I am who I claim to be? I could be an imposter using Polyjuice or something!"

Gorcrook chuckled, "Trust me Mr Potter; you would have received some nasty surprises if you were an imposter. No, don't ask me how – we have our ways." He added, for Harry looked ready to ask questions.

Harry nodded and went back to the form. Near the bottom of the form, he was required to sign using a peculiar quill that used his blood as ink. According to Gorcrook, it was the ultimate test of his identity.

"This is a blood quill, Mr Potter. We use it only for very important documents. It's illegal to use it for any other purpose – the punishments for its misuse can be – rather severe," he said, once Harry had signed his name in blood.

"Well, if that's all…" began Gorcrook, but Harry cut him off.

"There is one more thing I want you to do. I want to own enough of Grunnings' shares to have some form of control over it – if I need to. You can pull out the money from some of the lesser profitable investments." Harry had two things in mind – he'd be able to extract some revenge from the Dursleys – and Grunnings was a rather profitable firm in itself – if even half of what he had overheard Uncle Vernon telling Aunt Petunia was true.

Harry spent the rest of his birthday exploring the shops in Diagon Alley. Earlier, he had visited his family vault and searched for anything that might give him some clue about the remaining portion of his inheritance. He had been hoping to find his parents' will in the vault. Unfortunately, he hadn't found anything.

He visited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions first. Thankfully, it was Malfoy-free this time. He had grown nearly six inches since his last visit – something Madam Malkin was quick to spot. Needless to say, he had to spend an embarrassing hour standing on a stool, being poked and prodded as he was fitted up. As he was about to leave, Madam Malkin brought up a topic that had been a sore point for him – especially after the revelations at Gringotts.

"Tell me, Mr Potter, is it some kind of a new fashion among the muggles to wear clothes that are several times too big for them?"

Harry turned red – he hated discussing his life at the Dursleys'. Apparently, Madam Malkin had realised her mistake as well, for she apologised immediately, "I'm sorry, Mr Potter, I didn't mean to pry into your personal life. I was just curious, that's all…"

"It's all right, Madam Malkin. And no, it's not a new fashion – I'm just wearing the cast-offs I received from my whale of a cousin. I was hoping to get some new ones today – but I don't know my way in muggle London…"

Madam Malkin looked ashamed of herself for having brought up the topic, but she recovered quickly. She told him about a shop not very far from the Leaky Cauldron – where he could get new muggle clothes. It was owned by a distant muggle relative of hers – who was somewhat open-minded about magic. Harry decided to visit the shop later.

After Madam Malkin's, Harry went to Flourish and Blotts and the Apothecary to get his books and potions supplies. At Flourish and Blotts, he understood why Hagrid had said that The Monster Book of Monsters would be useful – it was listed as the required book for Care of Magical Creatures. Harry wondered what kind of a crazy teacher would set a biting book and if it had been a mistake to opt for Care of Magical Creatures.

He had lunch at a nice muggle restaurant before visiting the shop Madam Malkin had told about. Thankfully, it didn't take very long and he was back to Diagon Alley before he knew it. Stepping into an empty alleyway, he called Dobby and told him to take the packages back to Privet Drive. As the elf vanished, Harry wondered if he could take him back as well. He decided to ask him later. Checking his watch, he realised he still had a couple of hours before he was due to return to Privet Drive. He decided to explore the Diagon Alley a bit more.

As the shadows on ground lengthened, Harry decided it was time to return. He was about to step out of the Leaky Cauldron when he remembered that Ginny's birthday was less than two weeks away – and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to come back for her gift. Thinking back to her letter, he decided to get her an owl. So, he returned to Eeylops Owl Emporium and bought a handsome tawny owl. He couldn't take it to Privet Drive – thanks to Aunt Marge's presence. So, he wrote a short note for Ginny and tied it to the owl's leg for delivery. Ginny would be getting an early birthday present this year.

The next seven days were absolute hell for Harry. He tried to stay out of Marge's way as far as he could – even using his invisibility cloak if needed – but he still had to appear at mealtimes. On the first night, he had tried to take his food to his room, but Aunt Marge would have none of it. So, he had to endure her snide comments about his appearance and behaviour at every mealtime. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia – fearing he might go back on the deal and call Dobby – attempted to divert the conversation away from him to the best of their abilities – but Marge was hell bent on criticising him. Normally, Harry wouldn't have let it bother him, but after the revelations at Gringotts, he had to exercise a lot of self control not to lash out at the Dursleys.

Ever since he had returned from the Diagon Alley, he had been contemplating his next move. As much as he wanted to confront the Dursleys and get out of the hellhole, he had to wait until he had a place of his own – something he couldn't have until he was emancipated. The real obstacle in his plans was Dumbledore – he couldn't let the old man know what he was up to – not until it was too late for him to change anything. He was pretty sure the old geezer would fight tooth and nail to keep him under his control – the use of Draught of Slavery had proved that. In the end, he had decided to keep a low profile and behave normally until he was ready to strike.

The plan was working fine until the last evening of Marge's stay. He had managed to keep his head down and stay out of trouble with the Dursleys. On the said evening, Aunt Petunia had cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon had uncorked several bottles of wine. They had managed to get all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults. During the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon had bored them all with a long talk about Grunnings. Harry was essentially forgotten that evening – something that suited him just fine. He should've known it was too good to last!

Aunt Marge remembered Harry just as he was about to leave. "Where do you think you are going, boy? You'll stay back and clean up after we have eaten. Now, sit down."

Harry had no choice but to sit down. Aunt Marge apparently decided that she hadn't taunted him enough. She went on and on about how Dudley was a healthy-sized boy who'd be a proper sized man, like his father – Harry barely managed to keep a straight face.

"Now, this one here –" she turned towards Harry, "This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was…"

As usual, Harry tried to tune her out, but Aunt Marge was in no mood to allow that.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia," she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel like one, "but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best of families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

Harry's anger was rising with every passing moment. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to restrain himself. He was about to get up and leave when she asked the fateful question.

"This Potter – you never told me what he did?"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked extremely tense. Even Dudley looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.

"He – didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" said Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who –"

This was too much for Harry, he couldn't take it anymore. His resolve to keep his head down crumbled as he said in a deadly voice, "He was not."

The table went very quiet. Aunt Petunia recognised the danger and tried to send him back to his room; but, unfortunately for her, Aunt Marge didn't.

"No, Petunia," hiccupped Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash, drunk, I expect –"

"Oh really? Haven't you told her," he sneered at Uncle Vernon, "that you get eight thousand pounds a month for letting me stay here – even when I am away at school?"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia went very pale, but Harry was far from done. "Where do you think that money comes from? I'll tell you – that's my parents money – my money – you've been using to buy presents for your pig of a son."

"Shut up, you nasty little liar, your parents left you nothing! And even if they did, Vernon and Petunia deserve to get all of it," screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury, "for taking in an insolent, ungrateful little…"

But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger – but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech – next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls – she was inflating like a monstrous balloon. At the same time, unnoticed by anyone, the room was getting colder with every passing minute.

Harry had seen enough, he tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for his bedroom. Behind him, he could hear the Dursleys shouting. He quickly snatched his belongings and threw them haphazardly into his trunk. Then he called Dobby and told him to take it downstairs – to the front door. The elf grabbed the trunk and Hedwig's cage and vanished with a crack.

Harry sprinted down the stairs and was about to get to the front door – when Uncle Vernon came bursting out of the dining room. His trouser leg was in bloody tatters and there were flakes of snow in his hair. Harry glanced towards the dining room and nearly laughed at the sight – the usually spotless dining room was covered in snow.

"…COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!" Uncle Vernon was shouting.

Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. "She deserved it. She deserved everything she got. You keep away from me if you know what's good for you."

"They'll expel you! And you've got nowhere else to go!" said Uncle Vernon, panic evident in his voice.

"Any place will be better than this hellhole." Harry said before sprinting out of the room towards the front door where Dobby was waiting with his trunk. He told the elf to hide himself and wait for his summon. In the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.

Thinking quickly, he decided to go to Leaky Cauldron for the time being. He was sure he won't be punished, as the magic wasn't intentional – he hadn't used his wand. His first instinct was to call Dobby back and send the luggage with him, but he decided against it. It wouldn't be a good thing if Dobby was seen with his trunk. He couldn't ask the elf to pop him to the Leaky Cauldron either – it would be rather hard to explain how he reached London within minutes of blowing up his Aunt. So, he decided to call the Knight Bus.

Harry was sitting on his bed at the Leaky Cauldron, his head reeling with the events of the last night. He had been somewhat worried to see Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic waiting for him. But his fears had been allayed when he found out he wasn't there to punish him. The conversation with the Minister had left Harry with no doubt that there was something Fudge wasn't telling him – something big enough for the Minister to be involved personally. He had all but told him that he had people watching him – in case he decided to venture into muggle London.

Harry smirked. The Minister couldn't stop him from going anywhere – he had the Invisibility Cloak! He had found out from the ring that it could hide him from almost all means of detection. It could hide his sound, smell, aura, magical signature – anything he wanted – on command. In full concealment mode – as Harry liked to call it – the only way he could be found out was if somebody ran into him!

The next three weeks were some of the best in Harry's life. He spent the long sunny days exploring the shops and eating under the brightly coloured umbrellas outside cafes, where his fellow diners were showing one another their purchases ("It's solid gold, old man!") or else discussing the case of Sirius Black ("Personally, I won't let any of the children out alone until he's back in Azkaban").

Harry had to exercise a lot of self-control not to spend a lot of money at once. Even though he had taken control of his family vault, he had decided to leave it alone for a while – he was afraid that Dumbledore might suspect something if he found out that he had bought such expensive things. And he was sure the old man would find out – sooner or later. Besides, he didn't want to look like a spoiled little prince, flaunting his wealth – like Malfoy.

The thing that tested Harry's resolution most appeared in his favourite shop, Quality Quidditch Supplies, a week after he'd arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. It was the Firebolt – a state-of-the-art international standard racing broom. It specifications were far superior to those of his old Nimbus 2000. He had to keep reminding himself of the consequences of Dumbledore finding out to stop himself from buying it immediately. He decided to come back for it when he was emancipated.

However, he did buy a pair of contact lenses. The optician – a pretty muggleborn witch – was delighted to find a wizard interested in contact lenses. Apparently, most witches and wizards – which Harry translated as purebloods – didn't think it was safe to have something so close to their eyeballs. He also bought a pair of glasses in case he needed to take off the contact lenses in some situations. The contact lenses had the additional benefit of being able to change colour at the owner's whim.

As Harry was window-shopping, he came across a peculiar trunk. It had five compartments – all seemingly existing in the same space. The compartment that was exposed upon opening the lid was decided by the key that was used to open it. A couple of the compartments were as big as a room. Harry had a sudden burst of inspiration. He asked the shopkeeper for its price.

The shopkeeper looked at him disapprovingly, "That trunk is way too costly for you, kid! It's not meant for school-going children like you."

"That remains to be seen," Harry replied coldly, "besides, I am not planning on buying this one. I need a custom made trunk – you make them, don't you?"

The shopkeeper was taken aback at his tone, but he recovered quickly. He sneered, "And I suppose you have brought enough money for it?"

"How much?" asked Harry. His tone was still cold.

"Look kid, I'm in no mood for jokes. A custom made trunk of that type," he jerked his thumb towards the five compartment trunk, "will easily set you back by more than two hundred Galleons. Show me the money and I'll listen to you."

Harry smirked and emptied his money bag on the counter. It turned out to be just short of a thousand Galleons. The shopkeeper's demeanour changed within an instant.

"What sort of a trunk do you want, sir?"

The shopkeeper's eyes widened as Harry described the trunk he wanted. Finally, he said, "You are asking for a lot, sir. It'll take a lot of time to build – maybe three or four months – maybe more. I'll have to contact some of my overseas friends – some of the things you asked for are not easily available in England – some of them are even considered – borderline dark. All in all, it'll cost you around two to three thousand Galleons – maybe even more."

"Take all the time you need. I'll come back sometime around Christmas – or maybe next summer. And speak of this to nobody other than those involved in its making. In fact – I'll insist upon an oath to keep it as secret as possible. I'm sure some extra Galleons can get you the things that are – borderline dark. Here," he pointed to the pile of money lying on the counter, "you can keep this as advance payment. And you are allowed to be creative – as long as it makes the final product better."

The shopkeeper nodded and took the oath. "It was pleasure doing business with you, Mr …"

"Potter, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled at the gobsmacked look on the shopkeeper's face before turning around and getting out of the shop.

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate them!

I know the idea of a magical trunk is rather cliché, but so is the idea of a family manor, or buying a new house. And Harry needs some place to live – and hide from Dumbledore, if needed. If all goes well, I might even be able to add some new elements to it – that's why I didn't describe the trunk right away.

About the will, I always found it odd that the Potters would keep their will in their vault – something only Harry could access. So the will can't be executed until Harry is old enough! It's somewhat like keeping the key inside the safe!

Here is an idea that's been cooking for some time. It's actually meant for a different story. Do you think it could be incorporated into this one?

Tom Riddle Jr. has a daughter/granddaughter – either a result of rape – or a he married some girl for some benefit - maybe some ancient artefact or a unique dark tome – and left her afterwards. The daughter/granddaughter is called something other than Riddle (most likely some minor character) and doesn't know of her origin. She turns out to be one of Harry's friends/allies.

Let me know what you think!

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So, please review!