Well, hello there!

Welcome back to Perseus's Stories, where yesterday's true stories are today's chapters.

HAHA, JK

Anyway, Perseus is back with Chapter 3 of 'The Name's Potter… Harry Potter' (IDK why FFN doesn't accept the triple periods)

My exams are over, and I am finally in peace (NOOOTTT!)

My tuition centre has decided to keep ANOTHER test, a 300-mark MCQ. Le me who still can't understand General Organic Chemistry (it's the one with Carbon Radicals and Resonance, Mesomeric etc.)

Well, IDC about Org Chem. I still have Inorg and Phy and Maths to rely upon.

Anyway, rant over.

Mild language present down below, in some unknown sentence.

EEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY !

HEEHEEHEE

Oh how I love being immature.

THE NAME'S POTTER… HARRY POTTER

CHAPTER 3

Grim Thoughts In Gringotts

"Jones, get the car please." James said into his cell phone, after dialling a number.

A couple of minutes later, the same Lexus that James drove pulled up alongside the café, though this time with a chauffeur driving it. Harry looked around while getting in and saw quite a few jealous, envious, and curious eyes staring at him from most of the houses on the street and from the café they just vacated.

"Take that Polkiss!" Harry said, sotto voce, thinking about that Malfoy wannabe, who boasted that his parents would buy him a Lexus for his eighteenth birthday.

And now, Harry was getting into a Lexus, two and a half years before that brat would be in one. Small steps, but great victories.

"Hey… yeah… Jones, can you take us to Charing Cross?" James asked the perfectly groomed chauffeur.

"So, Harry, Jones over here, Joshua Jones," James tilted his head at him, "Is a muggle-born wizard."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter! I must say, even though we don't know whatever the hell happened, thanks for getting rid of that… villain." James said, with immeasurable vehemence on the last word. Harry was sure he meant to say worse. He agreed though. Villain was the politest word for him.

Harry took a closer look at Jones. He had greying black hair, with a cleft chin and a well-defined jaw. His arms seemed muscular, and he had a wand holster just under his right wrist.

"As you can see Harry, MI6 has quite a few well-accomplished wizards and witches, most of them graduating from Hogwarts, and a few from Beauxbatons."

Then Harry asked a question that had been niggling at him for the past ten minutes. "How am I going to contact you once I'm in Hogwarts? I mean, I don't usually contact anyone by owl, save when Hermione borrows Hedwig to write to her parents. Dumbledore will get suspicious."

James sighed. This was a problem. "We initially tried to get one of our people the DADA post, but the Ministry got there before us. Now you have a (I'm very sorry diananne, I need her here. Don't worry, she'll get her comeuppance) Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, as your professor. She is, per our intel, absolutely incompetent. So, we are unsure why she is there. It could be that she's keeping an eye on Dumbledore, you know the Ministry doesn't believe him, or she's keeping an eye on you, or she's there to enforce Ministry control over the school. Most likely, she's out to get control. And the best way to do that would be to prevent any unity against her, and what better way to do that, than oppress the leaders, AKA, Dumbledore and you? She's out to get you. You're the more easily manipulated one."

At Harry's offended look, James continued, "Don't deny it, even though it is not your fault. You're still a kid, and no kid needs to know how not to be manipulated."

Harry reluctantly nodded. He should've been better than this. How could he miss the signs that he was being used, being manipulated? How could he forget that the Ministry was nothing but a flock of sheep, governed by another sheep, and shepherded by bribe money?

"What we do know about her suggests that she is a hardcore bigot, a stereotypical evil pureblood Slytherin. She is definitely going to look down upon Ms Granger, so I suggest you calm her down when you have your DADA class."

"How do you know all of this?"

"We have three operatives in the Ministry, and one in Hogwarts."

Harry was stunned. "Hogwarts? How? Who?"

"Classified right now, so don't ask yet. Once you are completely affiliated with MI6, and you return to Hogwarts, he'll be your handler."

"Sure," Harry replied, his nervousness returning.

"In the meantime, wear these," James handed Harry an open suitcase with a jacket, a pair of sunglasses and most importantly, a cap.

Seeing Harry's confusion, James said, "It won't do to have the 'Boy-Who-Lived'," he said in air quotes, "recognized in public."

"Do you have your wand?" James asked, while Harry adjusted the cap over his head.

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm a squib, I can't open it. And I don't want to ask anybody either."

As the car pulled up beside the Leaky Cauldron, Jones exclaimed, "Aaaaand we're here!"

Before leaving the car, James tapped Jones on the shoulder, and said, "Return to Nicew. We'll take some time here, so we'll just grab a cab."

"Sure, sir!" He said, saluting. After James left the car, he simply drove away.

"Now, let the games begin!" James proclaimed, grandly raising his arms. The duo, Harry and James, went into the dimly lit pub. They appeared like a normal father-son duo trying to enter Diagon Alley. Harry tapped his wand on the brick wall, and it opened, the bricks folding into each other, revealing a sprawling shopping district hidden in the depths of London.

It was almost night, and the lamps were glowing. Harry then took a good look at his saviour.

James Verlan, MI6, was a fairly innocuous late middle-aged man. Harry would guess him to be in his mid to late forties. His hair was greying ever so slightly, and his brownish-black eyes twinkled in the lamplight. He didn't have the broadest shoulders, but they weren't too weak either. He had the slightest hint of fat around his waist, but all in all, he could take on easily take on Vernon, since his arms were quite solid.

Harry pulled his cap down lower and sidled up to James, who put his hand lightly on his shoulder. James chuckled and nodded towards Gringotts. Harry grinned and walked forward.

On the route, he took a look at the shop displays, and started mentally listing things he wanted. James pushed him ahead. Harry sheepishly looked at him, and strode towards the bank.

It was just as he remembered it from his first visit. Elegant, magnificent, beautiful… and just pure, plain gold walls. But then he paid more attention towards them, and he was surprised to see intricate patterns carved into them. The pillars had friezes and the columns supporting the domed roof had colourful murals.

The main tellers worked on a high podium, and the lower positions worked on raised platforms, so that they could look the customers in the eye. Several goblins walked through the back corridors, a few holding scrolls in their arms, a couple with refreshments and several with sharp, glinting swords and axes in their hands. It seemed that they did in fact value security.

While Harry stood there mesmerized with all the happenings, James walked up to one of the lower tellers, but looked at one of the main goblins. The one he looked at gaped at him, and rushed down.

"What do you want wizard?" the lower teller goblin sneered.

"Squib. I need to meet Account Manager Jarkill."

"Jarkill is unavailable. And he doesn't meet random people from the streets. Don't disturb me again!" the goblin answered gruffly.

Suddenly, the main teller came up behind the goblin, and shook his shoulder roughly.

"Who is that bas… Oh, sir, I did not see you there. Please, how can I help you?"

"Teller Axeslam, you may leave. I shall handle this customer."

"Oh… oh, of course, sir!" Axeslam quickly left his post, and the new goblin sat down.

"Good evening, sir, how may I help you?"

"Head Goblin Torchhell, I am James Bancroft, and I would like to meet with my account manager, Goblin Jarkill, of Vault 57."

Torchhell rushed to a pile of folders behind him, and pulled out a thick one, and handed it over to James. He then picked up a wooden cone, and spoke into it. Harry could distinctly hear the name 'Jarkill' spoken into it. He assumed it was some kind of magical intercom.

Harry watched on, fascinated. When James lied about his name, Harry was about to interrupt, but a glare stopped him in his tracks. Now, he saw, or more accurately, heard a voice respond in the goblin language through the intercom, presumably Jarkill.

Torchhell grunted in response to something Jarkill said, and he bowed respectfully to James, and told him, "You can meet Account Manager Jarkill in conference room 21. I shall send for a messenger to lead you to him. Meanwhile, sir, you both can rest on the couches over there."

Harry was astonished. He just saw a complete, radical change in behaviour. The last time he came here, and the conversation with the first goblin gave him the impression that they were just tolerating of wizards, and Binn's classes reinforced that impression. Here, he saw a goblin bending and falling over himself to serve James.

"James? Why were they suddenly so respectful?" Harry whispered to him, while another goblin led them to the couches.

"Moneeeeeey!" he responded, drawing the word out. "The Monarchy's vaults here are THE largest, and it also helps that the only people who can access the magical vaults belong to the magical section of MI6, which has a nice-ish alliance with Gringotts. However in this case it was mostly the size of the vault."

"The goblins respect all warriors and warrior clans. And MI6 is a prominent warrior clan. Plus, it helps that we treat them with the utmost respect, and not as animals or savages like most magicals. They want equal rights here, and though we can't give them that, we at least tried to treat them equally." He said, laid back on the soft leather couch.

"I guess I'll have to read up on the 'real' goblins then." Harry replied.

"You will. Getting your grades up to the sky is another part of your training." James calmly said, glancing at Harry.

The sheer horror on his face was amusing. But it was soon replaced with thoughtfulness when he realised that he had to do all he could to get rid of Voldemort. He nodded, albeit with a slight reluctance. While James was proud of him, he couldn't help but feel bad. He shouldn't have to become a topper only to kill Voldemort. Harry shouldn't need to be a figurehead for Magical Britain.

A goblin clothed in the style of a muggle businessman ran out from a door to their left, looked around, and upon spotting them, he walked up respectfully, bowed, and said, "Account Manager Jarkill is ready to meet you, sirs. Please follow me."

The duo got up and followed the goblin though a very long corridor.

"Jarkill is in the seventh to last room on the right side. I shall excuse myself now, sirs."

"May you and your family prosper and thrive." James replied with a bow, and the clearly pleasantly surprised goblin bowed back. Harry too then decided to bow and treat him with respect. If that could cause the wonders he saw today, then why not?

James fixed his coat and tie, and then tried to fix, and only TRIED to fix, Harry's hair.

Needless to say, he failed.

Giving up, he just took off Harry's jacket, and told him to drape it over his arm.

"When you enter, bow to him. MI6 has a long reputation of respecting the goblins, and my project WILL NOT mess that up. Now, let's get going." James said, before striding down the corridor. Harry rushed to follow, mindful of his instructions.

By the time Harry reached him, James knocked on the door, and it opened magically, with nary a squeak. They both entered and together, they bowed to a wrinkled goblin seated behind an opulent table.

"Well met, Account Manager Jarkill."

"Well met, sir?"

"James Verlan, and I'm here about a topic of common interest."

"How may Gringotts help MI6 today? Please be seated." He gestured towards a pair of single sofas on the other side of the table.

"Harry James Potter." James replied, seating himself comfortably.

"What about him?" Jarkill asked, with a significant glance at Harry's disguised form.

James nodded. "He needs our help. A lot of it. As you have guessed, the young man beside me is the person in question. Could you perhaps get the Potter Account Manager, I believe his name was Drakontooth, to come here?"

With a wary look at Harry, Jarkill picked up an ivory conical device encrusted with gold patterns, which Harry guessed was a premium version of the intercom. Again, in the goblin tongue, he asked for Drakontooth.

"He'll be here in five minutes. Would you like any refreshments?"

"No thank you, sir, we aren't hungry."

"Very well. Relax, or say anything you need to."

"MI6 will have to withdraw some galleons, about 1000, to provide Mr. Potter with some new items."

While Jarkill nodded and reached for a bag in his desk drawer, Harry gaped at James, who grinned.

"Harry, you are now MI6's pet project. Just let us help you. Sit back, and well, enjoy the ride for a day or two, because after that you'll want to run away the day your training begins."

Harry gulped. He didn't like it, but he knew he had to do it. He nodded once, but firmly. Jarkill passed over the bag to James, who took it and pocketed it.

"How is it fitting?"

"Shape changing and space expansion charms. The goblins are better at this than you wizards." Jarkill answered.

Suddenly, the door opened, and another goblin stood at the entrance. Harry assumed him to be Drakontooth.

"Now why did you call me? Tell me now, and don't waste my time, you dragonshit Jark!" he snarled.

"Drak, you don't use your time to shovel the shit you make, you stupid goblin! I called you for a reason, and you will shut that gob of yours and help us out!" Jarkill retorted, sneering.

Harry was waiting for the Third World War to break out. There was no chance in hell that Drakontooth, who looked quite fearsome, would not take offence at Jarkill's remarks.

And they started laughing raucously. James snickered, and Harry was yet again rendered stupefied by the events.

"So, Mr Verlan and Mr Potter, this is Drako…" Jarkill tried to introduce them, but was cut off by Drakontooth's enraged growl.

"MR POTTER!" he spat, "Gringotts, and by that I mean I, have been sending you letters about your lordship and your vaults since the day you became eleven! I even tried looking for your coming to Gringotts, and I even confronted Madam McGonagall (RIP) about it! YOU NEVER CAME! How dare you dishonour us by ignoring our constant messages!" he shouted at Harry.

"But… but… I never received any letter from Gringotts!" Harry replied, scared of Drakontooth's outburst.

"What?" Harry's answer blew the wind out of Drakontooth's anger.

James interrupted, sombrely, "Albus Dumbledore has been blocking all of his correspondence via owl mail, including Gringotts letters. He never would receive them. They were diverted to Dumbledore himself."

"WHAT!" both Harry and Drakontooth shouted together.

...

OH, THE ORDEAL! My wrists are aching. But the rewards are worth it.

THANK YOU WHOEVER READ AND REVIEWED MY WORK! IT PLEASES MY BLOODTHIRSTY… I MEAN NICE YOUNG HEART SO MUCH!

I really wish I had a TARDIS.

But I don't.

So, I'll have to settle for doing the HW myself.

Anyway, RIP Dame Maggie Smith. You were the best out of them all.

Very Un-Fun Fact – Dame Maggie Smith died on the same day as Michael Gambon. Plus she died on Jenna Ortega's birthday, and coincidentally on one of my classmate's birthday.

So yeah. Life and death seem to go hand in hand.

Sheesh. That was too philosophical. Meh, disadvantage of being bored – You turn into Plato.

Anyway, Perseus, OVER AND OUT! Another week for Chap 4!

P.S. Sorry diananne.

P.P.S. Umbridge will see her own blood sooner or later, don't worry