I took the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley, and headed straight to Gringotts. For my plan to work, I'd need to have cash. Lots, and lots of cash.
"How can I help you?" the Goblin behind the counter inquires as I approach.
"I'd like to make a withdraw."
"Key please."
"I have it right here," I said, handing it over. "And there wouldn't be a way for me to obtain the balance and details of my assets, would there?"
"Yes, we can print you a statement if you'd like."
"I would, thank you."
"Certainly. Will that be all for you today?"
"No actually, I'll need to convert some of my money to pounds. I have some business in the Muggle world to take care of."
"Of course."
"And… is there any way that I could speak to someone who handles the assets passed on to an heir? I have a few question I'd like answered."
"You'll need to schedule an appointment for that. You are more than welcome to do that after you retrieve your funds."
"Ok, thank you," I said, taking my key back from the goblin.
"Of course," he responded. "Thank you for banking with Gringotts."
I followed a second goblin into a corridor and around a corner to the carts. As I whisked through the tunnels at breakneck speed, I reflected on what I planned to do. I have no idea why I didn't think of it before. The scar is what made me noticeable as the Boy-Who-Lived, and if I removed the scar, then I can have a bit more privacy. And if magic can't remove it, then I'll have it removed the Muggle way.
The cart screeched to a halt, and I placed the key to my vault in the goblin's outstretched hand. After it was unlocked, I decided to take a good look around inside. To my disappointment, there was nothing but gold.
"You wouldn't happen to know if I have any other vaults, would you?"
"Yes," The goblin answered with an inquiring look on his face, "They are being held in trust by the Inheritance Department until you come of age."
"So I can't see them," I ask, slightly disappointed.
"Of course you can. You just can't make any withdraws, or remove any documents."
"Oh," I thought this over for a moment. "So if there was something other than money and documents, could I remove them?"
"It depends on the object or objects in question. What did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I don't know. Heirlooms. Personal items."
"Like…?"
"Pictures, furniture, jewelry, clothing. That sort of thing."
"You would be able to remove those, provided you didn't intend on selling or trading them."
"Oh, I'd never do something like that. I just… feel like they were stolen from me. My parents, I mean. I want to know what they were like."
"I suppose that would be agreeable. Would you like to do that now?"
"No. I can come back. I have more pressing issues to tend to at the moment."
"I see."
I filled my bag with coins, and rejoined the goblin in the cart, which set off back towards the surface. I resolved to make an appointment to come back and look through the other vaults. I wonder what there is. There must be something. The vault's existence is proof enough of that. I wonder if there are any wizarding portraits of them? I mused. Maybe then I could kind of talk to them…
The abrupt stop of the cart jolted me out of my thoughts, and I hurried back across the main lobby and over to the counter marked "Currency Exchange".
"What's the galleon to pound exchange rate?" I asked, stepping up to the counter.
"Five pounds for every galleon, or thereabout."
"Ok. I'll need… five thousand seventy five pounds," I said, putting my bag of coins on the counter.
"As you wish."
I watched the goblin write something down, and disappear. He came back with my coin bag, and an envelope.
"Here you are, Mr. Potter," he said handing me my small bag of coins. "Five thousand and seventy five pounds, in large and small notes for your convince. Have a nice day."
I bid the goblin a good day, and left. The day was still quite early, and my appointment wasn't until two o'clock in the afternoon, so I left Diagon Alley and headed over to the Ministry.
After cramming myself into the phone booth and dialing the obligatory MAGIC, a woman picked up.
"State your name and business," she said in a bored voice.
"Harry Potter, Apparition License." I stated clearly.
The coin slot spit out a visitor's badge that read Harry Potter, Apparition License Applicant in bold black letters.
"Thank you, and enjoy your visit to the Ministry of Magic," she replied as the phone booth began to sink into the ground.