July 31st, 1991

Professor Minerva McGonagall was sitting at her desk, sipping her favourite cup of tea. A strict woman, usually never seen without thinned lips and an upright posture, was taking a moment to look over acceptance letters. She frowned, where was Mr. Potters response? The deadline was today, she thought, "I hope the poor boy is alright." Tap. Tap. Tap. She looked towards the window and saw an owl waiting to be let in. Rising from her chair she opened the window and relieved the owl of its burden.

At first, she was surprised. It was a Hogwarts acceptance letter. The same letter the school sends out to all perspective first year students. Turning the letter over, her confusion dissipated. On the reverse, in a tidy yet obviously rushed scrawl were the words, "I accept. Please send information as to where to acquire the items that were listed." It was signed "H.J.P." Minerva thought "why wouldn't he know where to go? I know when lily first went to Diagon Ally the whole family went, including her sister." It gave her an uneasy feeling but brushed it aside thinking "I'm sure he just wants a guide. Petunia was a difficult child back then. I'm sure she hasn't gotten any better. The last few times lily mentioned her, were to say the least, uncomplimentary."

Minerva looked at her desk and the piles of documents, most of which were painfully dull. She then cast the tempus charm and decided that she needed a break anyway. "I'll go and help the poor boy out. It will be good to see the little scamp again, it's been ever so long." With her mind made up she collected her pointed witches' hat and grabbed a pinch of floo powder. Dropping the powder in her fireplace she stepped into the green flames and spoke "the Three Broomsticks." With a burst of green light, she left her office and appeared at a pub located in Hogsmeade, a village near Hogwarts. She left the pub, giving a wave to Rosmerta who was tending the bar, and immediately apparated to Little Whinging.

Harry was at the park carving some crude words onto the underside of the slide, well he was until a loud "crack" sounded out and he dropped his Swiss Army knife in surprise. The real surprise though came in the form of a sharp pain from his leg. Looking down Harry stared at the cut in his jeans and the small trickle of blood coming from said jeans. "Well, that sucks" Harry thought. "Karma really is a bitch. Not sure being maimed is a proportionate response to a bit of vandalism but sure, why not." Checking his leg, he was pleased to see it was only a scratch.

"Ahem." Harry looked up to see an old lady dressed in an old-fashioned green robe and a suspiciously pointy hat gazing down at him with a stern visage adorning her face. "Can I help you?" Harry asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance at being loomed over. He quickly pocketed the knife realizing to late that he forgot to close the blade and that yes, it was still sharp. A wince escaped as he stood up brushing some dirt off his pant legs, quickly shoving his hand in his pocket, he closed the knife and looked to the old lady who was watching him with a gimlet eye.

Minerva looked at the youth. He was dressed in baggy worn out clothes, and round glasses. Looking at his face she had no doubt that he was James Potter's son. Black messy hair that was tied back in a ponytail, and a sloppy one at that. A sharp angular face only tempered by lily's more soft jaw line. His eyes though, they were one hundred percent lily's. Bright emerald green eyes that shined and almost pulsed with power when looked at closely. "Would you happen to be a Mr. Harry Potter?"

Harry blinked and realized that she obviously wasn't from around here. His legend or was that infamy, was well known in little whinging. He decided to try and be polite, after all kindness never killed anyone. It just gave him indigestion from time to time. "That would be me yes, and who might you be madam?" Minerva's lips quirked slightly at his apparent shift in attitude and replied; "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall deputy headmistress of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. I received your response letter and decided to come meet you and answer any questions you might have about the school. Are your guardians at home? We could sit down and discuss anything you wish to have clarified." Harry snorted, "I wouldn't wish to subject you or anyone really to their company. No, I just need to know the basics like how do I get to the school, where the school is located, where to buy magic books and a wand. Those sorts of things." Minerva frowned. He clearly didn't like his family and since it was rude to show up unannounced, she figured that it was best to just answer his questions now and to reach out to the Dursleys at a later date.

"Well to start Hogwarts is located in Scotland. You will arrive there via the Hogwarts express from platform nine and three quarters. To get to the platform you need to look for platforms nine and ten at kings' cross station. There will be a pillar between them. All you need to do is walk into said pillar." "Wait" said Harry. "You want me to walk into a brick wall." Minerva looked at him and said "of course not. It's a pillar." Harry raised an eyebrow and said "right, pull the other one. Whether it's a wall, a pillar, or a hole in the ground I'm not walking into it. I'm not falling for that."

Minerva rubbed her temple and replied "no Mr. Potter, you don't walk into it. It is a portal. I suppose it would be more correct to say you walk through it." Harry's face lost some of the incredulity and said "oh, okay. It still seems a little weird to me, but I'll trust you on it I guess." "Your faith in me is greatly appreciated." "By Merlin" she thought, "I sound like Severus." "Now as to where you will be shopping for your school supplies, they can all be found in Diagon Alley. It is England's largest shopping location." "Diagon Alley?" Harry parroted. "Huh, sounds like you're saying diagonally." Minerva sighed "Yes well witches and wizards are not always the best at naming things." "No, I like it" chirped Harry.

"Umm professor, how much will all this cost, and for that matter how much will tuition cost?" "Your tuition was paid for when you were born and if you're worried about money, I can assure you the Potters were not poor." "Wait" Harry interrupted, "I have money? Where is it and how much do I have?" "Calm down Mr. Potter your inheritance is kept safe in Gringotts bank. As to how wealthy you are, I am unsure. Family finances are not disclosed by the goblins." "Goblins?" Harry asked. "Like little grey turtle like beings?" "I suppose that's a way to describe them, although I would caution you Mr. Potter to treat them with respect. They are quite ornery creatures, vicious too." "Okay I will professor. How do I get to the alley?" Harry asked. "Well, if you wouldn't mind the company, I can show you. It's one of the reasons I came in person." Giving him a gentle smile. Harry perked up and said "Sure, that sounds good professor."

"Now pay attention Mr. Potter. We will be taking the night bus to Charing Cross Road. There is a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. Muggles, that is, non-magical people can't see it since there are repelling and notice-me-not charms cast on its entrance. This helps to keep the statute of secrecy intact. The statute is the most important rule we have. Muggles as a whole must not find out we exist. In the past we have been hunted down and burned at the stake. Do you understand Mr. Potter?" Harry didn't need to question why. He knew that if given the opportunity and the blessing to do away with him, his uncle wouldn't hesitate to hand him over to those god damn Spaniards and their inquisitions. "Yes, professor I understand completely." Minerva checked to see if he was being sincere and nodded, "good."

"Now before I call the night bus, we need to hide the scar on your forehead." She then whipped out her wand and conjured a tweed cap, handing it to Harry. He took it first looking amazed at the casual show of magic and then rather reluctant when he noticed the pattern. "You do realize professor," looking up from the hat he gave her an unimpressed look, "that I'm going to look like tiny Tim from a Christmas Carol? Between the tweed cap and the baggy worn clothes I look like a 17th century workhouse kid from a Dickens novel.

Why do I have to cover my scar? It's really not that grotesque." Minerva gave him a queer look, glassing over the reference she didn't understand she replied. "You need to cover the scar because it, and you, are rather famous in our world." Seeing that he was again giving her an odd look she said, "let's get on the bus and I'll explain it to you. I don't know how much you were told about the night your parents died but I am beginning to suspect we have a lot of ground to cover." And with that, she extended her arm to the street, wand in hand and almost instantaneously a loud bang and a large purple double-decker bus appeared. "Wow, this is unreal" Harry thought. Out loud he said, "lead the way Ms. Frizzle." "What did you call me?" A pimply faced teen asked as the doors opened. "Nothing" Harry replied, quickly shuffling onto the bus.

"Those lying, lowlife, lazy, fucks. I'm going to burn their bloody house down and piss on the ashes." Over and over in Harry's mind new and creative ways to cause his relatives pain and misery swirled. His parents weren't lazy drunks that died in a car crash. They were murdered and by the sounds of it he almost was too. Some snake man hybrid started a war about blood, or some such nonsense and his parents decided to oppose him.

Why they didn't just leave the country and let the police or army or whatever do their jobs was of particular interest to him. "I kind of understand not wanting to leave your homeland but you have a kid, why not stay out of it. If you were being specifically targeted that was all the more reason to leave. But no, apparently stubbornness won out and they stayed. They stayed and they died." His emotions were all over the place. There was pride in them for standing up to evil. There was loss and sadness. Anger and disappointment with the outcome and shame. Shame for thinking the worst of his parents for 10 long years. For believing those fuckwits he called relatives. He pushed all these feelings to the back of his mind. He could sort his feelings out later, for now there was a brand-new world to explore.

Entering the Leaky Cauldron Harry kept his head down and soon they were standing in the alley behind the pub. Minerva took her wand and tapped three bricks in a pattern. "Welcome, Mr. Potter to Diagon Alley." Harry's eyes became impossibly wide as a bustling shopping district appeared from behind the fading wall. There were so many people moving in and out of shops. Shops which advertised things like cauldrons and broomsticks, books and pets. Harry was particularly interested with a conversation he overheard from a passing witch who was complaining about the price of llama toenail clippings.

He was so awed at the sights and sounds he didn't notice how the professor was practically dragging him towards a giant white marble building until he heard her say, "pay attention Harry. There will be plenty of time to explore after you get some money from your vault." At the word money Harry's attention was refocused on their destination.

"My god" Harry thought. "They are even uglier than I imagined them to be." As they walked into the building Harry kept one eye on the goblin guards not trusting them to not stab him in the ass when he wasn't looking. Minerva chuckled inwardly. "He's a smart one, that's for sure." They approached the front desk and got in line waiting for a teller to call them forward.

"Next!" The goblin called. The line shifted forward. He was next. He would finally get to see how much money his parents left him. Having to scrounge for money to supplement his wholly inadequate meals at the Dursleys left him with a constant awareness of the value of money. When they finally got to the teller Harry was unsure of what to do or say. "Key" the goblin asked holding out his hand, not even sparing them a glance. "Umm, I don't have one" Harry replied. Looking up at his professor she jumped into the conversation. "He will take a blood test to verify his identity."

The goblin looked down at Harry and Harry just shrugged. "She's the boss." The goblin sighed and took a piece of parchment out of the desk and picked up a knife, handing them to Harry. "You need to cut yourself and put three drops of blood on the parchment. Hurry up i don't have all day." Harry scowled at the short-tempered goblin and did as he was asked. Wiping the excess blood on the back of his jeans. He wasn't leaving any of it around any longer if all that was needed to get a key to his vault was a few drops. Having done what was asked of him he returned the knife and watched as the goblin put his hand over the parchment and muttered something guttural. The parchment glowed briefly, and then red lines started flowing and mixing to create words.

"Harry James Potter, son of James and lily Potter." The goblin read out. Mumbled a bit and continued, "Heir to the ancient and most noble house of Potter. Well, all seems in order. We can make you a new key for a fee of 5 galleons. This will invalidate all other keys to your trust vault. Do you wish to purchase a new key?" Harry rolled his eyes and said "yes." In his mind he scoffed "it's not like I can access the account without it." "Very well then. Griphook will take you to your vault where your key will be waiting for you. Next!"

They followed Griphook to a mining cart and got in. Without warning the cart took off in no time at all and without anyone throwing up, although it was a close thing, they arrived at vault 687. Waiting at the door was another goblin who handed Griphook the key and then left. When Harry first saw his vault, he was amazed. Stacks of gold and silver coins were piled as tall as he was. With a whisper he asked Griphook how much money there was in his vault. Griphook checked a ledger by the door and stated, "10000 galleons refilled every year on the 31st of July."

Harry was momentarily speechless, but quickly rallied, "What is the exchange rate to muggle money?" "The exchange rate is set by the I.C.W and differs depending on the type of muggle currency. Currently it is set at £5 to 1 galleon." "So, I have the equivalent of £50000 a year that I can spend. Wow, I'm rich!" Harry shouted. "How much is in the main family vault?" Griphook flipped a few pages in the ledger and said "the main Potter family vault contains at this time 11 million galleons and an undisclosed amount of jewellery and rare gems. You are wealthy Mr. Potter but you are not in the top 20 richest families in England. It took over 600 years for your family to acquire what you have now. If one were reckless, it could be drained in a single generation."

Harry took a moment to think about it. He heard of lottery winners blowing through hundreds of millions of pounds and ending up destitute. He nodded and said "yeah, I understand Griphook." Now that his state of euphoria had settled, he looked to the coins. "How do I carry enough to buy my supplies? These look heavy." Griphook replied "each vault has a bag with an undetectable extension charm and a feather-light charm added to it. Each bag can hold 2500 galleons, 500 sickles, and 50 knuts." Harry was impressed but wasn't convinced that carrying close to £15000 around with you was a smart idea. "Hell" he thought, "I used to steal £5 if I could get my hands on it."

Deciding to just throw around 250 galleons in and two handfuls of sickles he closed the bag and exited the vault. Coming up to Professor McGonagall she told him to blood lock the bag. That way no one could open it except for himself. He did so and they all climbed back into the death cart for a harrowing climb back to the surface.