1stAugust 1991
When Professor McGonagall came by promptly at nine am the next morning (this time with a cloak added to her outfit), Harry was ready to go. He was dressed in a pair of his nicer school pants (with only one torn and mended place at the knee), a baggy old orange t-shirt of Dudley's with a bmx bike on the front, and some ratty old trainers. She sniffed at his outfit, but didn't comment on his clothes except to tell him to go and get a hat. "No young man of standing should be seen in public bare-headed," she explained, with a quick glance at his forehead. So he went and fetched a faded red cap of Dudley's. It was almost pink, it had faded so much, but it would have to do as he didn't have any other hats.
They travelled by Apparition, which Harry thought was the worst thing he'd ever experienced, to a dingy old pub called the Leaky Cauldron. The pub failed to impress Harry in any way. Then they walked into Diagon Alley, which most decidedly was impressive. Though a little frightening. She hurried him past shops selling cauldrons, disgusting ingredients like dragon liver (dragons were real?), scrolls, robes, and for some demented reason, broomsticks. That last shop seemed very popular with a number of teenage boys crowding around the shopfront window admiring a "Nimbus Two Thousand", whatever that was. The broomsticks, plus the large number of people bustling around wearing pointed black hats and robes, suggested that a lot of the stories about witches were real after all. Harry wondered if it was mandatory to have a black cat, and asked McGonagall. But she just seemed amused and said, "I have no need for a pet cat, Mr. Potter. Did you want to buy one? You're allowed a cat, an owl or a toad as a familiar. But none of those are mandatory."
"No thank you."
At the end of the street they reached a snowy-white building that towered above the other shops. Standing guard with two on each side of its silver and burnished bronze doors wearing uniforms of scarlet and gold were some odd looking short little men, glaring at anyone who approached.
"Gringotts," said McGonagall. "Our banking system is run by goblins, remember to be polite and business-like."
"Halt!" challenged a guard as they approached. "What business do you have at Gringotts today?" The other three held their spears tightly, watching carefully.
"Mr. Potter is here to withdraw some of his gold," said McGonagall.
"No account closures are permitted today," warned the goblin.
"He's not closing his account, just making a withdrawal," she said, sounding a little puzzled.
"Withdrawals are limited today to no more than ten percent of the total value," the goblin snarled. "If this is acceptable to you, then proceed inside. If you have a problem with that then come back next week." He stepped back to his station and waved them inside.
"That was odd," she said, "they're usually not quite so… brusque."
The bank was very busy that morning. Inside the vast marble hall were about a hundred goblins sitting on high stools behind a long counter, and the bank was crowded with people wanting service, some of them were yelling loud enough for Harry to overhear.
"I just want to know my money's safe!"
"What do you mean I can't empty my vault? It's my vault!"
"Next week! You must be joking!"
"Do you know who I am?!"
Professor McGonagall spotted someone she knew, and went off to ask them what was going on, leaving Harry standing awkwardly near the doors next to another armed goblin.
"What's going on?" he asked them.
"I'm not paid to answer the stupid questions of children," the goblin sneered.
His future teacher returned fairly quickly. "Apparently there was a break-in yesterday evening. It seems nothing was stolen, but there's a lot of panic about it. I'll have to pick up a copy of the Prophet later and see what they're saying about it," she said. Harry wasn't sure what the "Profit" was. Perhaps a bank newsletter?
Eventually they got to speak to a harassed looking teller who asked them their business.
"We're here to take some gold from Mr. Potter's vault," said McGonagall, presenting a small gold key for inspection. "Less than ten percent, as per your guidelines for today," she added reassuringly.
"I don't have an account here, ma'am," said Harry.
"It's professor not ma'am, and of course you do. The Potters have kept their gold here for generations. You didn't think I was going to personally pay for all your schooling expenses, did you?" she asked.
"I thought there might be some kind of school scholarship fund, or something," he ventured apologetically.
"Enough chatter! I haven't got all day you know. Who's going down to the vault, or would you like some funds retrieved for you, for a small fee?" snapped the irritated teller.
"Mr. Potter will be going down on his own," McGonagall replied, despite Harry's anxious face. "Professor Dumbledore thought you might like to experience the fun of the cart ride on your own. Certainly the novelty has long since worn off for me."
So Harry was sent off with a goblin, and he did indeed enjoy the rollercoaster cart ride! The sight of the mounds of gold and silver in his vault was quite impressive, and he bugged the goblin for exchange rate information (much less than he would've expected, given what he suspected gold was worth). When he asked for a statement giving his account balance and how school fees would be paid though, he ran into trouble.
"Account statements are issued yearly," the goblin said. "There's a two galleon fee for additional statements."
Harry looked at the piles of gold, and figured he could afford that. "All right, I'll take one."
"You'll need to talk to your account manager about that," responded the goblin. "I just work the carts."
"Well who's my account manager?"
"How should I know! I told you, I just work the carts. Your account manager is listed on your statements."
"But I don't get any statements," Harry explained.
"Your mail problems are not the responsibility of Gringotts - our owls always fly out yearly. If you are under wards that's not our fault," the goblin said defensively.
"Well who should I talk to about that? Maybe change how things are sent?"
"Your account manager. Or whoever did your warding."
"But I don't know who my account manager is…"
"I don't have all day for this Mr. Potter! Arguing with customers is outside my pay grade – I'm only authorised to operate the carts. And have you seen what it is like on the surface? There's customers queuing for carts! Now get your gold and let's get going. If you want to badger Gringotts for a new account manager you can come back another day," snapped the goblin.
Harry didn't think it was very good customer service but the way the goblin's hand kept brushing against the dagger at its waist strongly suggested it might be time to drop the topic, since he was on his own. Maybe things would go better if he talked to them about it when everyone was less high strung.
When he rejoined Professor McGonagall after another thrilling cart ride, she encouraged him to add a necklace or fob chain to his shopping list - to keep his key on. "Professor Dumbledore thought it best if he kept looking after your key, but you seem like a sensible young man and I think its best you learn to budget responsibly yourself. Just remember that you don't have endless funds – just because there's a massive pile of gold doesn't mean you should waste it all on frivolities. You'll need to pay for Hogwarts, of course, and any apprenticeship costs you may incur after graduating, and one day you'll want to buy an estate of your own, no doubt. You must think of future generations, too."
"You want me to budget for having children?" Harry asked incredulously.
"This is family money, Harry! Your inheritance. Don't squander it. You should make the memory of your father proud."
"Yes ma'am, I mean, Professor. I will," he responded solemnly. She was right, his father would no doubt have wanted him to be sensible with his wealth. Well, he presumed so. It's not like he really knew, but he thought it sounded nice. Though it did make him wonder.
"Aunt Petunia said my father was… unemployed," he asked cautiously, "so where did all the money come from? My mother's family wasn't very rich."
"Oh, your father came from old money, Harry. The Potters might not be an Ancient house, but it's a very respectable old Noble family all the same."
"But not like Dukes, or anything?"
"No, not like that – no Muggle titles. Well, I think we'd best start off by getting you outfitted with your school uniform, then the bookshop, and then we'll wrap up the other assorted items on your list."
They headed to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and Harry greeted Madam Malkin, who was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. Under his professor's instructions, she popped him up on a stool to start fitting him out for his Hogwarts uniform. McGonagall was quickly distracted though, as she greeted an elderly witch who'd just entered the store, who was wearing a truly incredible hat with what looked like a stuffed vulture perched on top of it. A short, slightly plump round-faced boy with brown hair was escorted by Madam Malkin to the stool next to Harry.
"Hello," he said shyly.
"Hello," responded Harry. "Hogwarts too?"
"Yes," said the boy. "My name's Neville Longbottom." His eyes flicked up to Harry's exposed forehead. "And you must be Harry Potter, right?"
"How did you know that? Magic?" said an amazed Harry.
"No! I don't… I'm not very good at magic," Neville said. "They weren't even sure I'd have enough magical power to go to Hogwarts. No, it's your scar, of course." He sounded a bit embarrassed.
"My scar? Really? But why would you know I have that?"
"Well, that's what's left from when you defeated You-Know-Who."
"Who?"
"Uh…You-Know-Who…Voldemort," Neville whispered. "When his curse bounced off you, you got a lightning bolt scar. Everyone knows that. Though, well, I suppose maybe not everyone. But my Gran talks about your parents all the time. Our parents fought You-Know-Who together, you know. Our mums were friends."
"Really? Wow!" said Harry excitedly. "Is your mum shopping with you? I've never met anyone who knew my parents. Well, except Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but they never talk about them."
"It's… no. No, my mum's not here. She and dad, well, look I don't want to talk about it right now, alright?" Neville pleaded. "It's just me and Gran, really."
"Oh, sorry," apologised Harry. He wondered what the mystery was, but he totally understood about not wanting to talk about your family. He wasn't keen on discussing details of his life with the Dursleys. He tried to think of something else to say to change the topic, but didn't know enough about the wizarding world to talk about that. And he wasn't very experienced with making friends either. After an awkward silence he eventually thought of something.
"I uh… I didn't think I'd go to Hogwarts. But they say I have to, because I have too many magical accidents, or something."
"I didn't think I'd go either. But for the opposite reason," Neville shared quietly.
"I don't think I'll do very well, I don't know any magic."
"Me either," said Neville comfortingly. "Maybe we could study together?" he suggested hesitantly.
"Like, friends?"
"Well, if you wanted. I mean, I'm sure you'll have lots of friends. We could just study anyway, we don't have to be friends," Neville said, shrinking into himself a bit until Madam Malkin prompted him to stand up straight lest the line of his robe be ruined.
"I'd like that," Harry said awkwardly, smiling at the boy hopefully. He'd like a friend. A friend who had so little magic he was almost like a normal person. He wished they could swap their magic. Life would be simpler. He hadn't known people could have different levels of magic. It was very interesting.
"That's you done, dear," said Madam Malkin, taking the robe off him. Neville gawked at the bright orange t-shirt Harry was wearing underneath.
"What are you wearing?" he asked, staring. "Is it a Muggle fashion?"
"Just an old t-shirt," said Harry.
"Aren't you worried people will stare?" asked Neville anxiously. "Wouldn't you rather wear something a bit more normal? I wouldn't want people staring at me."
Harry froze. He never wanted people staring at him. He hadn't considered that in this new world he was being forced into that to dress like a normal person would in fact be odd and unusual, a possible source of scorn and condemnation. He needed to learn the rules about what was normal for the wizarding world. "What should I wear instead?" he asked Neville.
"Maybe some casual day robes?" suggested Neville. "My gran would say you should have at least one set of formal robes too, just in case there's a ball or something at school. And a hat."
"But… I don't want to wear a dress," worried Harry. "Is there something else I could wear?"
"Well, my gran usually insists on robes, but men and boys can wear trousers as well - yours aren't too bad. But you'd really need a waistcoat, and maybe a frock coat or cloak to go over the top. And a proper shirt with a cravat or tie. You know, something traditional. And definitely not orange. Well, not unless you're a big Cannons supporter."
After a consultation with Madam Malkin, with occasional input from Neville, Harry settled on buying some black trousers, two waistcoats (one bottle green, one blue), two white shirts with proper cuffs but no lace ("you'll need cufflinks of course"), a cream cravat, a leather belt with a belt pouch, and a half-length black cape lined with black satin. He got a pointed black hat as part of his school uniform, which apparently would be fine for everyday wear too. He changed into his new clothes with the blue waistcoat, and they all agreed his shoes rather ruined the look. Apparently he'd need to go to another shop for new boots, which thankfully did not need to be high heeled if he didn't want them to be. He also placed an order for dress robes to be delivered to Hogwarts later, as they'd need to be specially made to measure. Black, which was apparently a very "neutral" colour that anyone could wear, with some hopefully tasteful gold embroidery.
It was around then that Professor McGonagall and Neville's grandmother wrapped up their conversation and bustled over to see what was taking so long. "So this is Mr. Potter!" said Neville's grandmother. "Augusta Longbottom, Mr. Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. Welcome back, Mr. Potter. Oh! And happy birthday for yesterday. It was Neville's birthday the day before that, of course." Harry felt a bit overwhelmed by how Neville's family seemed to know all about him.
"Oh, a belated happy birthday, Neville."
"Well, I-"
"You may join us for ice-cream," proclaimed his grandmother. Neville blushed and looked embarrassed. Harry felt embarrassed too.
"I err, I don't eat ice-cream, sorry, I'm lactose intolerant," he explained. "I don't want to be rude, but I –"
"They'll have something for you to eat at Florean's, I'm sure. They've got a lot of flavours," Augusta said, blithely dismissing his concerns.
Professor McGonagall chatted with Augusta about the amount of shopping Harry had left to do, but concluded in the end they had time for a quick stop for ice-cream. It turned out that Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour did have a couple of dairy-free options, in the form of teeny tiny tubs of sorbet that Mr. Fortescue enlarged to full size with a tap of his wand. Harry got a lime and passionfruit sorbet; it was quite delicious. Neville got a large mulberry and chocolate sundae, with some kind of whizzing firework on a stick stuck on top, just for fun. While the adults deplored the state of society and youth today and how much better standards at Hogwarts were back in their day, the boys quietly sat at a table nearby and shared their whispered anxieties about Hogwarts.
"My Gran wants me to be in Gryffindor, but I don't know if I'm brave enough," admitted Neville. "I bet I'm in Hufflepuff."
"I don't know what any of that means, I'm sorry," said Harry. He explained about how his aunt and uncle were Muggles.
Neville told him all about the four Houses, and how they were each named after one of the Founders of Hogwarts. "Gryffindor is the House of the brave, Hufflepuff is for the hard working, Slytherin for the ambitious, and Ravenclaw for the smart. Gryffindor's element is fire, Hufflepuff is earth, Slytherin is water, and Ravenclaw of course is air. I don't know how the sorting is done, how they pick your House is kept secret. But I think it's probably some kind of elemental affinity test. Which means I'll probably end up in Hufflepuff. I do love working with plants. And I don't think I'm very brave. Or smart," he added gloomily. "I'd like to make my Gran and parents proud, and be in Gryffindor like them, but I don't know if I've got what it'd take. I'm such a duffer I'll probably be in Hufflepuff."
"I think Hufflepuff sounds nice," said Harry reassuringly. "I like gardening too. Flowers, mostly. And there's nothing wrong with being hard working. I think I'd like to be in that House."
Neville brightened happily. Neville asked if it was alright to call him Harry (what else would he call him?), and they promised to look for each other on the train. Neville chatted about how to get through the barrier, since obviously Harry wouldn't know.
They split up after that after Neville shook his hand in farewell. Neville went off with his grandmother to buy potion supplies, and Harry and Professor McGonagall went to the bookshop. Harry wanted to browse in the second-hand bookshop next to the ice cream parlour, but his professor insisted they go to Flourish and Blotts for the latest textbooks. Harry got all the required books on the list, plus Shrubs & Trees for the Garden by A. Osborn, Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions, An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, and the intriguingly titled Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to Do with them Now You've Wised Up. He would've added some more books to his basket, but McGonagall insisted he had enough books "even for a Ravenclaw", and that they had other shopping to complete before all the good shops closed at sundown.
Buying a cauldron, various potion supplies and quills was quite straightforward and pleasant. Buying his wand, on the other hand, was extremely eerie. He didn't want to own the brother wand to Voldemort's, but apparently that was another thing he didn't get a choice about. At least Professor McGonagall told the creepy old man off for saying Voldemort did "great things". He didn't think killing his parents was a great thing. Clearly while the war might be over his old supporters were still around, here and there.
McGonagall bustled him along to buy his telescope and scales, and at Harry's request they stopped off at Gladrags Wizardwear where Harry bought some cufflinks, a fob chain for his Gringotts key, and some very plain black leather boots, definitely not enchanted, much to the disappointment of the sales clerk. He also bought some plain woollen socks, avoiding the incredibly lurid coloured socks on display, some of which seemed to be enchanted with flashing gold and silver stars. He added some new underwear to his pile of shopping when McGonagall wasn't looking, which was rung up discreetly. The last stop of the day was to find a trunk to hold all his supplies, which were currently being carried in miniaturized form in an embroidered soft fabric pouch tied to his professor's belt (apparently it was called a reticule, not a handbag). Looking around tiredly McGonagall spotted a little store nearby called The Junk Shop, and they ended up finding a worn but serviceable second-hand trunk for sale there. Harry's money was running a little low (probably because of the cufflinks and extra clothes), and McGonagall ended up buying it for him as a late birthday present, which was greatly appreciated.
He didn't appreciate her insistence they return to Little Whinging by side-along Apparition, though. And she didn't appreciate him arguing about how much better (and less nauseating) a train ride home would be. In the end he saw she wouldn't be persuaded and caved though, and was dropped home with a polite farewell and a nod of her head. And a roiling stomach. He definitely didn't like teleporting.