Sunday, 23rd July
For a famous place, The Leaky Cauldron was very dark and shabby.
A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter briefly died down when Harry walked in before everyone seemed to glance him up and down as one and then promptly dismiss him.
Good.
Walking straight towards the bar and having to physically restrain himself from staring at the floating candles, the self-refilling pots of tea, the moving photos on the walls, the- was that a vampire?! Well, whatever it was, it currently had a plate of raw bloody steak in front of it and it was digging in with gusto.
Reaching the other end of the room, he waited patiently until the bartender finished his conversation and then turned to him with a friendly smile.
"'ello laddie" he greeted, "What can I get ya?"
Harry put on his most harmless expression and did his best not to look like he was new to this.
"Hello, sir" he greeted politely, "I wondered if you could let me into Diagon Alley, please? I'm meeting my mum soon but she got a bit delayed and, well, I can't exactly do magic outside of Hogwarts yet, can I?"
It wasn't exactly a lie, and anyway, it wasn't as if the barman was going to remember him later on either.
"No you cannot!" he agreed cheerfully, before stepping out from behind the bar, "No problem, lad. Right this way".
Harry followed him through the pub, weaving past tables and around chairs until they stepped out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a rubbish bin and a few weeds.
If he hadn't already been expecting it, he'd have started getting worried.
The bartender took out his wand - and wasn't that fascinating?! Seeing his first real-life wand up close? - and tapped the bricks three times. The wall quivered and wriggled in the middle, a small hole appearing that grew wider and wider until, a second later, they were facing a huge archway that led out onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
The barman gestured for him to step through and, after quickly thanking him, Harry did as told, watching as the archway shrunk instantly back into a solid wall behind him.
This was… absolutely insane. This was Diagon Alley. This was magic!
He couldn't help but grin widely as he spun around, trying desperately to take it all in at once. The narrow street was lined with an array of shops and stalls, each more magical and wondrous than the last. Owls hooted from their perches in the windows of a pet shop, while cauldrons of all sizes were stacked high outside an apothecary. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it.
"Look!" he heard one of them say, "The new Comet 290! The fastest ever-"
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of quills, rolls of parchment, potion bottles, and globes of the moon. He could hear the distant chime of a bell as a wizard with a long beard exited a store called Flourish and Blotts, his arms laden with books - and Harry immediately made a mental note to return there later on.
Right now, however, he had someplace else to be.
Continuing down the street, Harry finally reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops, just as he'd hoped he would. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was an actual, real-life goblin. He was about two heads shorter than Harry with a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard, and very long fingers and feet, and was just-
Fascinating.
Slowly walking up the white stone steps towards the bank, the goblin bowed at him as he walked past and, for lack of anything better to do, Harry bowed back and then continued on, missing the surprised, confused, and somewhat suspicious look that the goblin gave him in response. Another pair of goblins bowed him through the burnished silver and bronze doors and then suddenly, he was standing in the middle of a vast marble hall.
There were a hundred or more goblins surrounding him scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, and examining precious stones through eyeglasses. Taking a deep breath and refusing to let his fear or anxiety show, Harry cautiously stepped up to an empty counter.
"Good afternoon" he said quietly, "I'd like to find out if I have a vault please".
The goblin glanced up at him, looking terribly bored. "Muggle-born?"
"Half-blood" Harry corrected, although he wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, "But I was raised by muggles, if that counts?"
The goblin looked down at the ledger in front of him, seeming to be more interested now. "Half-blood, eh? Alright. Name?"
"Harry Potter".
There was a pause, another pause, and then yet another painfully long pause before finally, the goblin slowly looked back up at him and frowned.
"... Harry Potter?"
"Yes sir".
"... The Harry Potter?"
"So they say".
"... And does Harry Potter have his vault key?"
He did have a vault then. He'd expected no less, really; the Potters were a reasonably well-off family, but to have it confirmed… Perhaps he'd be able to buy himself lunch and wizarding robes today after all.
"No sir" he replied, "I wasn't even sure if I had a vault and I've never seen a vault key before; this is my first time in Gringotts".
In the wizarding world too, he mentally added, but he didn't want to confirm anyone's suspicions just yet.
"Is it? Well then, let me tell you something about it. Gringotts prides itself on our security, boy. We don't let just any witch or wizard waltz into anyone's vault without proving that they are, in fact, who they claim to be. If you do not have the Potter vault key, then you cannot enter the Potter vault".
"But I never got my key!" Harry exclaimed, "I was raised by my muggle relatives who didn't even tell me I was a wizard, much less teach me about wizarding finances! Surely there's another way I can prove my identity?"
"Do you have a wand?"
"Not yet".
The goblin sneered at him. "Then no. There isn't".
Harry thought, desperately.
If he couldn't get access to his family's vault then it wouldn't be the end of the world, but having no identification in general was going to be a massive problem down the line when it came to getting a job or renting a flat. There was also the earldom and dukedom to think of, as well as figuring out this whole wizarding war thing that Dumbledore and Voldemort had going on.
Put simply, his name could get him into a lot of places but without proof that it was his name, it was useless.
But he didn't have any vault key and he had no idea how else he could prove that he was telling the truth. He highly doubted that the Durlseys kept his birth certificate, after all, and even all of his school documentation was under the name Harry Evans so that was useless too! If only he had some way to prove for definite that he wasn't lying like some sort of magical promise or-
"I can make an Unbreakable Vow!" he blurted, and in front of him, the goblin raised an incredibly unimpressed eyebrow. "You can make… an Unbreakable Vow?"
"Yes! Would that be proof enough?"
"More than, Mister… Potter, given that it is an extreme overreaction to being asked to show some ID".
He felt heat creep into his face and angrily shoved it down.
"Yeah, well, I grew up with magic-hating muggles alright? They didn't exactly keep anything that might have had my name on it in case it forced them to acknowledge my existence!"
"… I see". The goblin suddenly stood up. "Very well, then. If you will follow me".
"Wait, you- you believe me?" Harry asked, stumbling as he tried to catch up with the surprisingly quick goblin.
"Given that if you make this Vow and are lying about your identity you will die" he replied, "I'm feeling reasonably confident that you are, in fact, telling the truth".
The goblin paused at one of the numerous doors leading off the hall and gave him a particularly vicious look over his shoulder.
"I hope for your sake, Mr Potter, that you are".
Harry followed the goblin through a maze of corridors, feeling a stomach-churning mix of anxiety and determination. He was led to yet another heavy silver door, which the goblin pushed open to reveal a richly furnished office. Behind a large, ornate desk sat another goblin, who looked up with sharp, curious eyes.
"This is Griphook" the goblin who had led Harry there said, "He will facilitate the Unbreakable Vow. Take a seat".
Harry obediently sat down and then promptly jumped, startled, when Griphook started making a string of rattling, guttural noises. For a moment he was worried that the goblin was choking on something, but then the other goblin, whose name he still hadn't got, replied in much the same way.
It was… a different language, then? The goblin language? He remembered briefly reading about "gobbledegook" in one of his magical creatures books, but the name sounded so childish and so ridiculous that he'd dismissed it as being incorrect. Now, however, listening to the harsh, rasping back and forth between the pair, he couldn't help but second guess himself.
But-
Really.
Gobbledegook?!
That could not, possibly, be the correct name for the goblin language.
"Mr Potter" Griphook suddenly said, and he automatically straightened up at his stern tone, "Odbert has informed me that you do not have access to your vault key".
"No sir" he agreed, "But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to prove my identity".
"Including making an Unbreakable Vow? You understand, surely, that this is a very serious matter. If you are lying to us, then the Vow will kill you".
"I understand, sir, but I'm not lying".
"... Very well. You will make the Vow with myself, and Odbert will act as witness and Bonder. You will swear that you are Harry Potter, born to James and Lily Potter, and in return, I will swear on behalf of Gringotts to provide you with the bank services that you require. Is that acceptable to you?"
"Yes sir".
Griphook nodded once, sharply, and held out his right hand. Harry stood and clasped it, although he had to crouch down a bit awkwardly to reach. Stepping closer, the other goblin, Odbert, placed his own hand on top of their linked grasp and Harry suddenly remembered that goblins didn't use wands - so just how on earth did they make Unbreakable Vows?
"Do you, Harry Potter, swear that you are the only child of James Potter and Lily Potter neé Evans, born July 31st, 1980?"
"I do".
A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the tips of Odbert's fingers and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire.
"And do you swear to provide us, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, with the necessary proof of your identity in any future dealings as required by our security protocols?" Griphook asked.
"I do".
A second tongue of flame shot out and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain.
"Then we, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, swear to recognize you, Harry Potter, as the rightful heir to the Potter vaults and provide you with all services expectant of your status".
Odbert's face glowed red in the blaze of a third tongue of flame, which twisted with the others, and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands like a snake. The flames tightened, and Harry felt a brief, intense heat before it faded away.
"The Vow is made" Griphook said solemnly, "It is done".
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as both goblins stepped away from him and he all but collapsed back in his seat.
"Since you are still with us, I believe it's safe to say that you are, in fact, Harry Potter" Griphook continued, "And now that you are here, there is much that we need to discuss".
"Odbert, please retrieve the necessary documentation from the Potter vaults".
With another sharp nod, the goblin left, shutting the door behind them.
"You have been missing for quite some time, Mr Potter" Griphook told him, "We were starting to think that you would never grace us with your presence".
Although his words sounded sincere enough, there was a trace of mockery in the tilt of his head that irritated Harry to no end.
"I apologise then, for any inconvenience my absence may have caused" he replied tightly, "As I mentioned earlier, I wasn't made aware of my heritage until very recently".
Which, again, was not entirely a lie even if it was stretching the truth somewhat.
"Yes, your… upbringing with the muggles must have been… challenging".
He snorted before he could stop himself. "That's one way of putting it, sir. Now that I am aware of the wizarding world, however, I believe that I'm here to stay".
"Yes. Quite" Griphook replied, "And as to why you've chosen now to return?"
"Why not?" he replied brazenly, distantly wondering why none of Rowle's books had warned him just how gossipy goblins really were, "Forgive me, Griphook, but I wasn't aware that it was standard practice for account managers to question the life choices of their clients".
"And who said anything about me being your account manager?"
"Odbert brought me to you for a reason, and it wasn't because of the Vow".
"… You are remarkably shrewd for a boy your age, Mr Potter. You would do well not to lose that skill".
"Oh, don't worry. I don't plan on it".
There was a quiet knock on the door and Odbert stepped back in without waiting for a response. In his long fingers he held an extremely thick file that, if it hadn't been for magic, Harry was sure would have burst at the seams long ago.
"The documents you requested, Griphook" he said, placing the folder on the desk before retreating from the room once more.
"Well then, Mr Potter, onto our first order of business".
He flipped open the file and rifled through paper tabs that stuck out the side, that were marked with a script that Harry didn't recognise. It was likely organised using the goblin language then.
"Proof of identity" Griphook said, finally pulling out a piece of paper and sliding it across the desk to him.
It was an odd greenish-cream colour that had a familiar stamp at the top belonging to the Ministry of Magic and various printed sections that had been written underneath in unfamiliar cursive handwriting. It was only when he saw the date, as well as his parents' names, that he realised what he was looking at.
This was his birth certificate.
Which was… interesting.
Apparently, Vernon didn't have a copy of it to give to Hayward all those years ago - which at least finally explained how he'd been registered at St Brutus under the name Harry Evans since whatever birth cert his uncle had given the man had clearly been fake.
But there was his date of birth, and his parents' names, and the hospital he'd been born in, and his own name which was-
Henry James Potter.
What the fuck? No. Ew! Henry? His full name was fucking- Henry?! Nope. That sounded like a grumpy old man's name - his great grandfather's, no doubt - so he was just going to stick with Harry, thanks.
But at last, he had solid proof of who he was, an actual official document that proved he was Harry Potter… and that also proved he was the Boy Who Lived. Based on what he'd read and heard from Rowle, there had been far too many coincidences for him not to have been the wizarding world's saviour, but he still felt a strange sense of… relief, almost, that this document in front of him confirmed it.
A sense of relief that was quickly followed by a wave of panic because-
He was the Boy Who bloody Lived now, wasn't he? That meant people had expectations for him - for who he was, what he was like, probably even down to what he wore or ate. He couldn't slip through the cracks anymore and just do his best to get by; he had people who were looking for him, people who would recognize his name immediately, people who would want to tie him up and put him on a shelf until the next Dark Lord came along.
Harry didn't react very well to being locked up, and although societal expectations weren't quite the same thing as a cupboard or secure children's home, it was still just another form of being trapped.
"Can I assume that you know nothing about your inheritance, given that you were, as you say, raised by magic-hating muggles?"
Griphook's voice dripped with scorn - evidently he wasn't too pleased that Harry was about to take up his entire day with mindless questions.
"I know of some things" he replied carefully, looking up from the certificate, "If you could give me a brief overview, then I would be most obliged. I can read about the finer details myself or contact you at a later date to set up a scheduled meeting if I have any further questions".
At this, the goblin's scowl lessened ever-so-slightly.
"Yes, you can. A brief overview then". He rifled through the folder, pulling out pages one at a time. "As you may or may not know, you are the sole heir to the Potter estate and as such, can claim the Gloucester earldom as your father did before you. This title comes with various vaults and deeds, all of which you can find here".
He slid one of the papers across to him and Harry quickly reached out to take it.
"What you likely do not know is that you also have a possible claim to the Peverell dukedoms. The Dorset title has been in the Potter family for generations and was last held by your grandfather. The other two dukedoms, in Devon and Somerset, are also currently in abeyance, as the only other male heir for those lines is currently… indisposed".
His lip curled up as he spoke but Harry honestly wasn't sure if it was a sign of happiness or annoyance. He wondered if the goblins knew that Voldemort wasn't actually dead. He'd have to be listed as such officially, given that his two Peverell titles were up for grabs, and clearly this new 'Thomas Slytherin' persona of his was staying as far away from his previous self as possible - which was a smart decision if you asked him.
But then again… so far the goblins hadn't exactly struck him as creatures who would do their civic duty and inform the Ministry that Voldemort was back either. And they'd have to know, wouldn't they? Thomas had to have given them proof that he was related to the Slytherin line, and goblins were nearly impossible to fool.
"You can read up on the rules of succession and peerage titles in your own time" Griphook continued, "But the main thing that you need to know is that Wizengamot, the wizarding parliament, is governed by a series of standing orders. It is my understanding that some of these differ from those used in the muggle parliament. One such difference is a rather archaic rule known as Standing Order Eighty-Nine. After the last wizarding war, a lot of peerage regulations were changed in order to allow the titles to continue, given the vast number of deaths that many families experienced. Standing Order Eighty-Nine is one such rule. Put simply, Mr Potter, it allows you to put in a claim for all three dukedoms".
"As opposed to just one, like the muggle system" Harry finished, "But how does that affect my seats in Wizengamot?"
The goblin gave him a look, and he realised that he'd revealed he knew far more than he should, but he merely shrugged and gave a bland smile in response. Let Griphook think what he liked - as long as he did his job, which the Vow would ensure he'd do, it wouldn't affect him in the slightest.
"Seat singular, Mr Potter" he corrected rather sharply, "Despite potentially having numerous titles, and despite three of those titles being on the same level and arguably the most deciding seats in Wizengamot, Standing Order Eight-Nine does not allow you to claim three seats. You can keep the dukedoms, but you still only get one vote… in the interest of diplomacy, or so they say".
This time, Harry knew that the goblin was sneering in annoyance, no doubt disgusted at what wizards called democracy given how poorly most magical creatures were treated.
"Nevertheless, this information won't impact you for another two or three years. A wizard comes of age at seventeen and so you won't be able to join Wizengamot until then either - unless, of course, you can convince them to let your guardian cast a vote in your favour, but that's irrelevant at this time, given who your guardians are. However, since you are the only remaining direct male descendant of the Peverell line, you are eligible to apply for the titles".
"And what would that entail?"
"A lot of paperwork" Griphook said bluntly, "But Gringotts could offer its services as a… middleman, as such, if you wished for us to handle the application in your stead".
"For a fee?"
Rule Number One: Everything comes at a cost.
"Of course. But nothing too drastic, Mr Potter, I assure you".
Griphook gave him what he thought was meant to be a reassuring smile, but in reality, was rather off-putting. It would make sense for them to handle it, though - Harry had no idea how to fill out any of the forms he'd mentioned, much less know where to send them to. And perhaps agreeing to this would make his account manager a bit less cold towards him.
It would mean more money for the bank, after all, plus his claiming of the Peverell titles was undoubtedly going to turn Wizengamot on its head, and if there was one thing he'd learned, it was that goblins loved causing chaos that undermined the wizarding worlds thinly crafted veneer of civility.
"Alright" he agreed, "I trust that you can deal with all of this quietly?"
"Gringotts can offer you the utmost discretion… For an additional fee".
"Naturally". Harry sighed but nodded all the same. Based on the Potter vault summary he was holding, he could more than afford it. "How long will it take?"
"A few weeks, perhaps, maybe a few months, but it's a straightforward petition that should hopefully be presented for rubber-stamping by the end of the year. Since you are the only possible claimant to the dukedoms, however, you are free to use the titles in the meantime as you please".
Well. It wasn't as if dear old Voldy was going to contest it. Although Harry did wonder if the man's new identity was somehow… building up to reclaiming the Peverell dukedoms, and he couldn't help but feel amused at the thought of beating him yet again, if only in the political sphere this time.
Either way, he didn't intend for the man to find out that he'd claimed the titles insteadjust yet - he didn't intend for anyone to find out. His status as the Boy Who Lived was already going to gain him more than a few sycophants, so if he revealed the fact that he was also a duke thrice over, every mother, father, and legal guardian would start flinging their youngest children at him left, right, and centre and he had absolutely zero interest in pursuing a relationship right now.
How could he waste time thinking about love and dates and kissing and all that other gross mushy messy stuff when he could be learning magic?!
"Then I would be most grateful for your assistance" Harry finally decided, "Do I need to petition for the earldom too?"
"No. The Gloucester title has always belonged to the Potter family, so you were named Earl the second your father died, being the only remaining heir. As you are still underaged, however, you are unable to manage the money or properties that came with that title. In cases such as these, it is the legal guardians of the heir that act as regent until they come of age - however, given that your current legal guardians are muggles-"
"-that didn't happen" Harry finished, and the goblin gave him a somewhat irritated look. "Quite. Since they were deemed unfit, the regency should have passed to Sirius Black, being your godfather-"
"Wait, what?!"
This time, when the goblin glanced up at him he appeared to be more curious at the interruption rather than annoyed. "You were unaware?"
"Yes! No! I mean- I- I didn't know that we were related". He stumbled over his words. "Aside from the whole pure-blood-inbreeding-everyone-is-everyone-elses-cousin thing, of course. Is he… He's really my godfather?"
"Yes" Griphook answered simply, "As so declared by your parents. Given that he was very shortly sentenced to life in Azkaban after their deaths, however, he was deemed unsuitable for regency as well".
Harry barely heard him, his own thoughts deafening in his head. He had a godfather. Sirius Black was his godfather. The rightful Duke of London was his godfather. He was the godson of the most politically powerful man in wizarding Britain. He was the godson of the man that would have raised him with magic, if he hadn't, you know, gotten arrested for multiple murders.
Still though.
Harry would have preferred to have grown up with a serial killer than with the Dursleys - and he distantly wondered just what that said about him.
"-to Albus Dumbledore".
Startled, Harry blinked at the name and quickly zoned back in.
"I'm sorry, what? Albus Dumbledore? He was named regent?"
"Yes" Griphook bit out, "As I said, he was declared your regent by Wizengamot. He was already a viscount in his own name, a member of the same political party as your father, and he'd apparently been quite close to your parents, so he was deemed to be a suitable replacement. He acted as your proxy for a number of years, casting votes as the Earl of Gloucester until he was named Chief Warlock. Since then, your seat has been frozen, with the expectation that you yourself would retake it as soon as you came of age".
Albus bloody Dumbledore was the overseer of his accounts. Albus bloody Dumbledore had used his seat to make legal decisions. Albus bloody Dumbledore was in control of his vaults, his money, his future.
Harry knew that Rowle was obviously biassed towards the man, given that his family was a firm supporter of the Dark Lord and he agreed with many of Voldemort's original goals too - so maybe… maybe Dumbledore wasn't so bad? Maybe he actually was as good as he portrayed himself to be. Maybe Harry was being too cynical and paranoid and the Headmaster of Hogwarts had only ever done what he'd thought was best.
But he was still a stranger, and - good guy or not - it just didn't sit right with Harry that a complete and utter stranger had control of his inheritance.
A complete and utter stranger that had left him with the Dursleys.
"Albus Dumbledore is my regent" Harry repeated, needing to hear it out loud once more, "Okay. So. Is it… Is it possible to change that? To- To somehow use my seat in Wizengamot myself, now that I'm here? I am the last Potter".
"No. Not until you turn seventeen or become emancipated".
"And how would I do that?"
Griphook waved a dismissive, clawed hand.
"It's a long and complicated procedure that would involve your muggle relatives as well as Dumbledore. You would have to prove that they are unsuitable guardians, give physical evidence, stand up in court a few times… and even after all of that, given your… position as the Boy Who Lived, it is very unlikely that the Ministry would even reach a decision before you turn seventeen anyway".
In other words, he'd have to splash his abuse on the front page of The Daily Prophet and have everyone look at him with horror and pity for the rest of his life, and even then, there was no guarantee that it would work… If he had to do it, then he would, but only as a last resort.
"Okay, so I can't claim the seat myself, but what about removing Dumbledore as my regent? Is that possible? Could I change him to someone else? It is my accounts that he's overseeing, after all, so shouldn't I have some say in the matter?"
"Not without proof of misconduct, no. Albus Dumbledore was appointed by the Ministry in light of your named regent, Sirius Black, being no longer fit to fulfil his duties. So unless you can prove without a doubt that the Chief Warlock has been misusing your vote or stealing from your vaults, it is incredibly unlikely that the Ministry will grant your request".
Another dead end, then. As far as Harry knew, the man had never used his inheritance inappropriately - he was positive that Griphook would have told him immediately if that were the case, if only so he could gleefully demand retribution from the Headmaster. He didn't want to talk to whoever he needed to in the Ministry either, since he planned on laying low for as long as possible. Except…
"You said that the only reason Sirius Black was deemed unsuitable was because he was sent to Azkaban, right?"
Griphook silently inclined his head in agreement.
"But he has since been found innocent and was freed of all charges" Harry finished, "So why wasn't he named my regent then?"
"Well, to put it bluntly, Mr Potter, it was because most of the wizarding world believes you to be dead". The goblin had a nasty smile on his face. "So why bother changing the guardianship of a dead child?"
Harry bet he was a right riot at parties.
"Alright. So I have three options. Either wait it all out until I turn seventeen, change my guardianship from the Dursleys to someone in the wizarding world, or find physical evidence that proves Dumbledore took advantage of being my regent… Fan-fucking-tastic".
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.
The safest option was undoubtedly to just wait out the two years until he could claim his entire inheritance; earldom, dukedoms, and all - but he didn't exactly have two years. He also didn't have anyone in the wizarding world that he could trust enough not to misuse his vaults or his seat in Wizengamot either. Which left option number three.
"Being regent means that Dumbledore has access to my accounts, right? As in, he has a vault key? He can use the funds how he pleases?"
"Within reason, yes" Griphook allowed, flipping towards the back of the folder before pulling out a thick stapled stack of paper. "This is last year's financial statement for the Potter accounts".
A quick glance through it didn't reveal much - Harry had no idea what half of those symbols or words meant - but thankfully he was able to grasp enough to understand the money-in and money-out side of things. From the look of it, Dumbledore had never touched the main vault at all, which was as much a blessing as it was a curse, but there was a monthly stipend being sent to the Dursleys for his "well-being" which finally explained why and how they were paying for St Brutus.
Harry was furious.
All those times Vernon told him he was a burden and waste of space, all those times Petunia complained about the cost of buying his second-hand school books, all those times Dudley got abso-fucking-lutely everything that he asked for while he'd been ignored and shoved to the side like an unwanted dog.
All this time they were being paid to keep him!
Harry's grip on the financial statement tightened, crumpling the edges as a storm of anger and betrayal churned inside him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, knowing he needed to remain composed in front of the goblins. Anger wouldn't help him now; he needed a clear head to figure out a way to put an end to this.
"Can I stop these payments?" he asked, pointing at the correct line. Griphook had to lean almost full-bodily across the desk to see it, but then, unfortunately, horribly, shook his head.
"No. It was in your parents' will that a monthly fee goes to whoever got guardianship of you until you came of age. There is a small chance that your regent could submit an application to us to have it cancelled, but only if you can prove-"
"-let me guess, that the Dursleys are misappropriating the funds?" he interrupted bitterly, "And what if I got you that proof without my regent's knowledge?"
"You are still underaged, Mr Potter. Legally, we cannot conduct business with you".
"Well can't you do something?" he exploded, "Anything?!"
Griphook gave him a very unimpressed look.
"Mr Potter, were I anything but a goblin I would have already long since contacted the Ministry regarding your position as a… runaway".
He felt his heart rate suddenly stutter.
"Given, however, that I am a goblin, and as such, have no interest let alone inclination into meddling with the affairs of wizards, I shall not". He gave him a rather pointed look. "Nevertheless, should I become… irritated, then I might, perhaps, change my mind".
Harry swallowed thickly and mentally added don't piss off the goblins to his list of wizarding rules.
"Understood, Griphook".
Gathering up the papers he'd been given, he handed them back across the desk. "Thank you for your time today. Would it be possible for me to get a copy of that folder?"
"Speak to Odbert on your way out".
"Thank you" Harry repeated, forcing his anger and frustration and annoyance firmly down inside of himself, "And… I know that you said Dumbledore is my regent and as such he's informed of every transaction that takes place, but… is there any chance I could withdraw some funds without him finding out?"
He didn't want to reveal his cards too soon, after all.
Griphook gave him another long, hard stare, but there was a hint of something very like amusement glinting in his dark eyes.
"Gringotts is a very busy bank, Mr Potter" he eventually replied, "We do not have time to inform the regent of every wayward young lord what their charge is doing… provided, of course, that the ward in question only withdraws money from his trust vault".
Harry quickly got the message.
The trust vault had been set up for his own personal use, so of course the goblins wouldn't tell anyone what he did with it - but the main Potter vaults were technically under the purview of Dumbledore and any action related to them would send an alert to the account holder.
Thankfully, from what he'd read, his trust fund had more than enough to keep him going for now - especially since it had originally been set up for his use during Hogwarts and so, had an additional four years' worth of added interest on galleons that should have been spent on sweets and textbooks.
As long as he was careful, he should be fine for now.
"Thank you, Griphook" he said, smiling, "Truly".
The goblin tossed the folder across the desk at him.
"Ask Odbert to make a copy of these along with a copy of your trust fund vault key before you leave. It was a… pleasure doing business with you, Mr Potter".