When Voldemort was alive, he feared Dumbledore discovering his secrets and destroying his weakened physical form. Even with Horcruxes, he knew nothing was foolproof—Dumbledore surely possessed more than nine ways to eliminate Tom.
Now that Voldemort is technically dead, if he still harbors fear of Dumbledore, then that death would have been in vain. He would likely avoid confrontation with Dumbledore once resurrected.
Harry, of course, had no knowledge of Voldemort's obscure Horcrux magic. His understanding of magic stemmed only from Hagrid's explanations and the Red God's Shadow Magic from another world. Considering how different the worlds were, in practice only Hagrid's insights felt reliable. Hagrid himself had been expelled in his third year, so it must have been Voldemort who first learned about Horcruxes during his own third year.
At present, Voldemort had not merged into Quirrell's body—he merely inhabited the turban, in a possessed state. Thus Harry sensed two distinct magical energies. Had they been truly merged, Voldemort would not have been able to physically contact Harry; the moment they shook hands, something would feel deeply wrong. The presence of the love charm—an invisible protective force—always triggered itself against Voldemort.
Since Harry had crossed over into the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, he had never realized that the love charm was active. Upon returning to his childhood body in this world, the spell reawakened. The Harry of today was different from who he had been before; he could feel multiple anomalies within himself, suppressed and integrated by the "King's Power" inscribed on his forehead.
The two most prominent anomalies were the divine powers of ice and fire, which would require considerable time to fully integrate into his strength. Beyond those, there were other, subtler anomalies—various types of magic. Harry hypothesized that whenever his body matured in another world, it reverted to its original state upon his return—but fundamental attributes, skills, and bound "equipment" remained unchanged. Which aspects changed and which persisted needed further transmigrations to verify.
Putting aside these speculations, Harry turned his mind to more immediate matters after entering Diagon Alley, no longer dwelling on Quirrell. The other world was called A Song of Ice and Fire, likely a name assigned by the system. But Harry suspected its true essence was better described as A Song of Kill and Dominate. Just as Dumbledore had influenced Tom Riddle, the system and that brutal realm had profoundly shaped Harry.
In that world, having participated in major events, Harry discerned a truth: no matter what event you face, no matter the conspiracy or adversity, the response should be to crush it with supreme, overbearing force. That is how he justified the title King of Strength. When confronted by malicious enemies, analyze their trump cards, wait for opportunity, then strike decisively and end it. Overthinking is useless. Some people refuse to change—only death, or total domination, ends them. This, Harry saw as his supreme wisdom.
He had encountered many cunning actors, hidden behind schemes, believing themselves safe and destined to win in the end. From his time in the other world, he learned that the more cunning someone is, the more fragile their foundation becomes. All of their intricate designs can collapse in the face of raw, unrelenting force. They might deceive many—but not the Legendary Hero, who possessed animalistic instincts. The only true judgement for the wicked was death, delivered by Harry: Bringer of Light, Slayer of Darkness, King of Strength. In their final moments, many would show terror stronger than any before.
After passing through strange, dazzling shops, the two of them arrived at Gringotts. In front of a towering white edifice that overshadowed nearby buildings, gleaming bronze doors and ornate heights, stood a goblin in a scarlet‑and‑gold uniform. The goblin bowed as they entered. A second silver door swung open before them, with verses warning thieves inscribed in elegant script.
"If you think of robbing this bank, you're foolish," Hagrid muttered softly.
Harry nodded. The warning was tastefully worded, but placed at the very entrance of a bank it felt banal—even petty.
Two goblins bowed and led them into a vast marble hall. Behind a long counter sat nearly a hundred goblins: some weighing coins on brass scales, others examining gems through lorgnettes, many writing into ledger books. High ceilings, countless doors leading to various vaults, and goblin guides ushering clients in and out—all spoke of majestic efficiency.
"Morning," Hagrid greeted a bored goblin. "We've come to withdraw funds from Mr. Harry Potter's vault."
The goblin eyed them. "Do you have his key, sir?"
Hagrid produced a ring of keys and documents and placed them on the counter.
All of Harry's inheritance—ancestral treasures, family assets—had long been managed by Dumbledore. Before setting off, Dumbledore had entrusted the key to Hagrid to deliver to Harry. That gesture alone indicated Dumbledore did not covet the Potter family wealth.
Harry thought back on the Potter family's history. They had once been affluent and held some renown in the wizarding world—not in the same league as aristocratic magical families, but respectable. His grandfather had invented a powerful shampoo formula and made a fortune, but had since sold shares. Over generations the Potters had accumulated moderate wealth, though not immense. His parents, James and Lily, had inherited enough to oppose Voldemort, but not to launch any empire. Sirius Black, disowned by his family and ever-spendthrift, had lived with the Potters, contributing little financially.
In earlier generations, Harry's great-grandfather had criticized the Ministry and advocated Muggle rights. That antagonism had caused the Potters to be excluded from the ancient Sacred Twenty‑Eight pureblood families. But Harry cared little for bloodline prestige; to him, strength earned honor, not heritage.
Now, the wealth he had was more than enough to cover schooling and regular expenses—but insufficient to build a true force. He had to find his first pouch of gold.
The goblin keeper examined the keys, documents, and identity papers carefully. One by one, he verified seals and signatures. Around them, other clients came and went, and the goblins carried ledgers and chests with mechanical precision. Finally the keeper nodded.
"Vault number?" he asked.
Hagrid stated the vault number. The goblin slid aside a chain of brass beads and led them through an arched corridor lined with vault doors. As they proceeded, the air grew cooler, more still. The walls glinted with metal and stone. Beside them, small signs indicated depths underground in fathoms. The deeper the vault, the fewer visitors. Goblin attendants accompanied them, leading to an elevator-like platform.
Within moments they reached a chamber lit by glowing crystals. The door slid open, revealing the vault interior. Something about the space felt both secure and ominous. Stacks of chests, locked boxes, jewels, ancient tomes—they all awaited. The keeper removed the locks one by one, sliding panels, lifting covers.
Hagrid gestured: "You first, Harry."
Harry stepped forward and laid out his instructions. The goblins removed several chests and crates, bringing them toward a service counter.
As he watched the process, Harry reflected. The wizarding world had many assets—but wealth alone was hollow unless backed by power. What good was gold if you could be burned or crushed? Strength gave meaning to influence; wealth without strength was vulnerable.
When the goblins finished, Harry had secured his inheritance: coins, magical artifacts, vault-bound heirlooms. He signed receipts on parchment, the quill scratching final marks. With goblin escorts, he and Hagrid retraced their steps, exiting into the daylight of Diagon Alley.
Outside, Harry paused and took stock. The money would let him manage everyday life—but what of the bigger goal: building alliances, raising an army, influencing magical politics. Those required far more than silver and jewels. They demanded trust, fear, prestige, and the ability to deliver.
He glanced at Hagrid. "Let's head to the shop next," he said. "I want to procure items—not just from school lists but also things that strengthen me."
Hagrid nodded. "We'll have plenty of time. But yes, best to begin early."
Walking down Diagon Alley, Harry's mind buzzed with possibilities. He could purchase defensive talismans, artifacts of power, rare magical components. He might also invest in trustworthy allies: obscure families, goblin merchants, wandmakers. Each coin extracted from the vault was a token of power he could spend wisely.
Still, something niggled at him. In the other world he had faced conspiracies, betrayals, and secret plots. Back here, in the wizarding world, the same patterns would emerge—possibly magnified. The lesson from that brutal realm was clear: cunning humans often weave webs, but the more intricate the web, the easier it can collapse under blunt force.
As they turned a corner near a shop selling floating candles, Harry mused: those who scheme tirelessly often rely on hidden contingencies—a trusted confidant, a backup spell, a secret stash. But it takes only one wrench, one sudden revelation or surprise, to unravel it all. In the end, the schemer is judged by how they handle the unexpected. Many would crumble.
To remain safe, Harry resolved to minimize exposure. He would reveal little, trust few, but be ready to punish betrayal instantly. In this world, he would be known not just as the Boy Who Lived, but as the force who ends schemes and punishes darkness. He would prefer fear over intrigue.
Hagrid broke his silent reverie. "Harry, which shop next? Quality is everything with magical gear."
Harry smiled. "First, wand supplies — cores and wood. Then we visit a few rare artifacts shops. But I want to see whether any concealable defensive items are available."
Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. "I'll guide you to the best ones."
Thus, they dived deeper into Diagon Alley's winding streets. The shops became narrower, more magical objects on display—enchanted mirrors, shimmer cloaks, hidden blades, charms and wards. Harry's eyes gleamed. This was no longer about just being a student—it was about building the foundations of a sovereign force.
As they passed one shop, a cloak with shifting runes caught his eye. The sign read: Cloaks of Concealment & Warding. Harry paused. "Hagrid, let's enter that one."
They stepped inside. A quiet hush, the scent of rare woods, and shelves of cloaks, belts, bracers, small statuettes. Behind the counter stood a focused shopkeeper, with eyes that appraised them both.
"Welcome," the shopkeeper said. "If you seek concealment or protection, we have many items."
Harry nodded. "I wish to see cloaks or worn items that guard, that subtly boost defense — but nothing too flashy."
The shopkeeper selected several cloaks and held them before him. "This one shifts color to ambient lighting; this one wards against detection spells; this one dampens noise."
Harry examined each: the fabric, weave, internal sigils, stitching. He used a quiet detection charm to feel magical layers. Some felt strong, others superficial. He chose two: one adaptive-shade cloak, and one warded weave cloak with a minor protective barrier.
As he paid with freshly withdrawn funds, he felt the weight of what he was doing. Every purchase, every decision, every item would matter. In the coming days, as he returned to Hogwarts, he would need to test, calibrate, and integrate these acquisitions into his life.
Stepping back into the alley, Harry felt a surge of resolve. He had assets, he had items, yet he still lacked the human support network: reliable allies, intelligence, perhaps magical familiars. But that would come.
Above all, though, he clung to the lesson he had learned in the other world: the more cunning humans are, the more dangerous they are—and yet the more vulnerable they become if struck with overwhelming force. Let them scheme; he would overwhelm them. Let them hide; he would find them. Let them plot; he would break them.
And in this world, unlike that cruel realm, he had the advantage of youth, magic, legacy—and perhaps destiny. He would not let conspiracies fester unchecked. He would not be surprised by betrayal. He would act first when necessary.
Together with Hagrid, carrying his new items and princely wealth, he strode through Diagon Alley. Behind him lay Gringotts, vaults unlocked and filled. Ahead lay opportunities, hidden dangers, and the first steps toward his future.
Harry was ready ,