Harry left Gringotts with his purse weighed down with gold, and his head weighed down with thoughts. He glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows rose — he'd only been in there for a little over an hour. It felt like a lifetime, it had changed so much.
Buying the wand holster was now the last thing on his mind. Instead, Harry made straight for Flourish and Blotts. He'd already spent half a day wandering the shelves, learning the many varieties of books available inside — no longer just going straight to the shelf for Hogwarts students and never venturing further. Familiar with the shop's layout, Harry found his way to the shelves full of books on wizarding history and culture.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he thought about what Hermione might say if she saw him buying books of his own free will. That smirk faded, however, when he thought of Ron's expression at the sight of the books themselves — titles like 'The History of the Wizengamot' and 'Inheritance Magic Explained'.
His eyes scanned the shelves, looking at the other people in there purchasing books. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea for Harry Potter to be seen buying books about pureblood culture.
Harry was about to start putting the books away, when his gaze caught on the bright paper of the bag from Gambol and Japes — of course! He'd almost forgotten about his purchases there, he'd had so much on his mind since then. He rifled through the bag until he found what he was looking for; small, egg-like capsules that promised a cunning disguise for up to thirty minutes. Supposed to be used to avoid being caught setting a prank, but Harry had bought some for the days when he wanted to go outside without being Harry Potter, with all that entailed.
He hid behind a deserted shelf and split one of the capsules over his head, feeling the magic run down him as if he had indeed just cracked an egg in his hair. Glancing at himself in the window, he grinned; staring back was a pale boy with straw-blond hair and dark brown eyes, his square face nothing like Harry's own. A shift of his fringe made him grimace when he saw his scar was still there, but luckily the disguise's hair was long enough to cover it. It would be enough.
Now on a time limit, Harry raced through the bookshop, tossing titles into his basket whenever they appealed to him. He didn't want to look too suspicious by just getting a stack of books about purebloods, so he threw in a few more that looked interesting — a book of defensive charms and wards, one titled 'A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know', a small book called 'A Muggleborn's Guide to the Wizarding World', and one on goblin culture. It looked like he'd found some valuable allies, after all, and he wanted to learn more about them. Satisfied, he took his heavy basket up to the register, handing over the gold with a smile and adding the large bag of books to his other purchases.
There was a spring in his step as he left the bookshop, and he hid in a small side-alley until the disguise charm wore off. For the first time, he was desperate to get back to his room and actually read some books.
First, however, he made a quick detour to Wiseacre's, emerging a few minutes later with a brand new black leather wand holster strapped to his wrist. He hadn't entirely forgotten what had started the whole thing, after all.
.-.-.-.-.
Harry spent all of that day and most of the next holed up in his room in the Leaky Cauldron, reading his new purchases. He felt like he was discovering the wizarding world all over again. He wished the Muggleborn's Guide had been part of his first year book list; it would have answered so many questions, and saved him a lot of trouble.
It amazed him that no one taught muggleborns all this stuff when they were introduced to the wizarding world — or perhaps they did, and everyone just forgot he was muggle-raised. But then surely Hermione would have said something? He made a mental note to buy a copy for her upcoming birthday, and see what she thought of it. From some of the things she'd said and done over the years, he didn't think she'd had any real introduction to wizarding culture either. All the things that Ron and the others took for granted about being raised in the wizarding world. The history, the background knowledge, things like household spells and Ministry forms and inheritance magic — all of it was brand new to Harry, and he couldn't get enough.
That aside, the books on pureblood culture were an eye-opener of an entirely different kind. After all he'd heard about the purebloods being backwards and traditional and fearful of anything muggle, reading about the history he couldn't really blame them. Of course, he'd studied witch burnings in History of Magic — even had some summer homework on it that Florean Fortescue had been surprisingly helpful with — but those textbooks never went into the detail of how difficult it was to be magical in a time when the muggles were suspicious of everything. The origin of the Statute of Secrecy, and how the wizarding world changed after it, made Harry realise just how much history was in his family. Especially when he saw both the names Potter and Black popping up as notable figures in several of them.
He still hadn't figured out how he was named heir to the Black family, but he wasn't really bothered by that just now. He was too busy trying to wrap his head around what it meant to be an heir to not one but four prominent families in the wizarding community.
One of the few times Harry left his room, he bought himself a blank notebook with a password charm, so that he could take notes on everything and keep it secure. He now had pages and pages of writing on all sorts of subjects, not just inheritance.
From what he could gather, being an heir now was a little like being an heir back in the regency days of England, when inheritance actually meant something. All the families properties and money would pass down to the heir, and they would become the head of the family when the previous head stepped down. That left them in charge of the family magics and wards, any Wizengamot seats they held, and the family name itself. This was mostly used for things like marriage contracts and such — everything had to go through the head of the family before it could become legal. That meant that when Harry turned seventeen, he would become the head of four families — he'd checked Wizengamot records, and all four seats were currently held in proxy. All four by none other than Albus Dumbledore.
It made Harry's blood boil when he thought about it — the more he'd connected the dots, the more he was sure that Dumbledore was the only person who could have put the block and curse on him. But for what end? He was training Harry up for something — that much had been clear since he'd met the man — but why did it involve cutting him off from his family magics, and causing his core to implode when he turned seventeen? What plans did he have for Harry that didn't let him become a happy, healthy adult wizard?
Either way, Harry resolved to watch his step around the headmaster in future. And if Dumbledore was false, then who else might have ulterior motives… no. He couldn't go down that road, or he'd drive himself crazy wondering who he could trust.
Remembering what Farlig had said about learning to sense his magic, Harry eventually managed to find a book about magical cores when he went back to Flourish and Blotts, and he had notes on that now, too. It would take time, but apparently wizards could learn to sense their own magic, which was how wandless magic became possible. Harry liked the idea of being able to perform spells even if he didn't have his wand on him, though hopefully now he'd bought that holster that wouldn't be a problem.
Eventually, however, Harry's brain began to hurt from the influx of new knowledge. Though he certainly found it easier to sit and read than he ever had done since starting Hogwarts — it was like being back in muggle primary school, when he'd spent most of his breaktime sat in the library reading and hiding from Dudley and his friends, taking refuge in the written word and spending hours buried in books. He wondered if the recent lack of attention span was due to the curse that made him more impulsive. He hoped so; he was used to having to pretend to get lower grades so as not to make Dudley angry, but at Hogwarts he actually struggled to keep up average grades on his homework. He felt a pang in his chest when he realised he'd have to go back to pretending, or Dumbledore would definitely know something was up.
Leaving his books securely hidden in the bottom of his trunk, Harry made his way back out to Diagon Alley, blinking at the bright sunshine. Maybe he had spent too much time indoors.
Hands in his pockets, he wandered aimlessly down the alley, intending on picking up where he left off the day he went to Gringotts. Wiseacre's was hardly the end of the alley, and there was so much more he hadn't explored.
Harry bought a glass bottle of cold pumpkin juice and sipped from it as he walked, eyes roaming the shop fronts with mild interest. Being thirteen, there were a lot of places in Diagon that he had zero interest in — offices and specialty stores and places selling furniture — but every now and then he came across something interesting. The toy shop caught his attention, though he only looked through the window; he was too old for toys, even if part of him did wonder what it would have been like to grow up with the magical ones. There was a tattoo parlour as well, which he was definitely too young for, but looking at the artwork was fun. Maybe when he was older, he'd get a tattoo. The wizarding ones moved.
The further he went, the more the shops seemed to cater for a different clientele; they were more off the beaten path, not the kind of things families shopping for Hogwarts supplies would need. He stopped outside of a blue-painted shop with the words 'Silverling's Wizarding Fashion' above the door. The window held mannequins wearing both regular robes and the more muggle-style clothing that younger wizards and witches wore on a day-to-day basis.
Harry looked down at himself. His jeans were only held up by his belt, rolled up several times at the ankle so he didn't trip over them, and his t-shirt hung halfway down his thighs. All his clothes were the same; at one point in time, they had all belonged to Dudley. Harry at thirteen could fit into clothing that Dudley hadn't worn since he was seven.
He could change that, now.
When he stepped inside the shop, his palms were sweaty and his nerves racing even more than they had been in the back room of Gringotts. He pushed the anxiety away, striding resolutely towards the menswear side of the shop. He had no reason to wear Dudley's cast-offs now. He was a respectable young wizard with plenty of money, and he could buy himself clothes that fit.
It looked like the kind of place that the cool pureblood and half-blood kids at Hogwarts would shop. Perhaps Parvati and Lavender had been in there. The clothes were definitely wizarding wear, but it wasn't anything like his school uniform. Many of them had in-built charms according to the labels; dirt repelling, or self-mending, or size-adjusting. It was all a bit overwhelming for Harry, who had barely been shopping in the muggle world, let alone the wizarding one.
At that, he had a thought that almost made him wonder if the spell making him impulsive hadn't been removed after all. A slow grin spread across his face; it was about time, really.
He only bought a couple of things at Silverling's — a pair of jeans that promised to be self-mending, a pair of comfortable black dragon-hide boots, and a jacket with in-built warming and cooling charms depending on the weather. When he left the shop, he turned back in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, already pulling together a plan in his head.
When he made it to Gringotts, he stepped inside, his stride far more confident than it has been the last time. To his delight, he saw Farlig behind the same desk as before, and approached. "Good morning, Farlig! I hope your gold is flowing rapidly," he greeted, remembering what he'd read in his book about goblins. Farlig blinked for a moment, surprised, then gave a smile that showed all his teeth.
"Good morning, Mr Potter. My gold flows well, and I guard yours faithfully," he returned the greeting. "How can I help?"
"Can I make a withdrawal? But, in muggle money, this time?" he requested. Surely Gringotts had to do some sort of currency exchange?
Farlig nodded. "Of course, Mr Potter. If you would consent to a scan?" Harry nodded, letting Farlig check his identity through his magic. "Excellent. And how much will you be withdrawing today?"
"Um. Let's say… five hundred pounds." He'd never even seen that much muggle money in his life, except for when Dudley opened his birthday and Christmas cards. But he knew the rough exchange rate, and he hoped it would be enough for what he had in mind. Besides, after the portfolio the goblins had sent him detailing all his assets, he wasn't exactly worried about his future spending rate.
Farlig didn't bat an eyelash at the amount. "As you wish, Mr Potter. One moment please." He typed something into his old-fashioned typewriter, then pulled a lever. Crisp muggle bank notes began stacking on the desk in front of him. "Here you are, Mr Potter. Five hundred pound sterling." He passed the substantial stack to Harry, who shoved it securely in his pocket. "If I may make a suggestion, Mr Potter?"
"Absolutely," Harry replied. The goblin hadn't steered him wrong yet.
"Twilfitt and Tattings makes a bottomless bag, which can carry far beyond its usual capacity, yet never weighs more than its empty state. I believe it's popular among young people these days." Farlig gave a shark-like grin, his words casual but his gaze knowing. Harry grinned back.
"Thank you for the recommendation, Farlig. May your vaults ever be full."
"And yours, Mr Potter," Farlig replied, bowing his head in acknowledgement.
Harry took a detour to Twilfitt and Tattings, purchasing a bottomless bag in the style of a black leather messenger bag, fairly unremarkable but stylish in its simplicity. Twilfitt assured him it would hold up to thirty times its natural capacity in size, and up to a hundred kilos in weight. Harry couldn't ever imagine needing to carry a hundred kilos worth of anything, but it was good to know for the future.
His plan in place, Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron, waving a cheerful hello to Tom behind the bar on his way up to his room. There he deposited his purchases and changed into his new clothes.
"Oh, that's much better, dear," the mirror in his room complimented, making him beam despite himself. The only clothes he'd ever had that fit him before were his school robes, and the few items of Dudley's clothing that Hermione had once experimented with Shrinking charms on. He'd never had brand new jeans before in his life. He actually looked his age for once, rather than a ten year-old playing dress-up.
His smile couldn't be dislodged as he grabbed his new bag, the wad of muggle cash, and his invisibility cloak. Briefly, he remembered the warnings about not venturing into the muggle world, and a pang of guilt surfaced. But he pushed it away. Unlike most wizards, he was perfectly comfortable navigating the muggle world. And he was long, long overdue some time there.
.-.-.-.
It was almost insultingly easy to sneak out into muggle London using his invisibility cloak, ducking into a public toilet to take the cloak off and stuff it in his new bag. From there he walked to the nearest tube station, his heart thudding with adrenaline at his blatant breaking of rules, and bought a travel card for the day. He glanced at the tube map, checking his journey, and stepped confidently through the barriers to join the flow of people going about their day. No one looked twice at him. No one did a double-take at his forehead, or whispered about him from several feet away, or did any of the other things he'd gotten used to in the wizarding world. It was refreshing, to say the least.
When Harry was next above ground, it was to step right into the hustle and bustle of Oxford Street. It was all a little overwhelming, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, remembering his plan. This was likely the only chance he'd get to do this — he had to make it count.
Harry looked up at all the shops, bearing names he recognised from the Dursleys' clothing, and he smiled. He could do this.
.-.-.
Four hours later found Harry sat outside a cafe in Covent Garden, drinking a chocolate milkshake, not a trace of his earlier anxiety in his body.
It turned out, he liked shopping. Once he got the hang of it, of course.
Figuring out what sort of clothes he wanted to wear — given entirely free rein, no restrictions, no outside influence — had taken him a little time, but once he started to find things that made him happy, he was off. In London, no one questioned a thirteen year-old boy by himself with seemingly endless amounts of cash. No one questioned anything in London.
He was down to his last thirty pounds, which surprised him; he hadn't expected to get quite so carried away. But he couldn't help himself once he started. Years of living in hand-me-downs had him yearning for a full wardrobe of his own choosing, his own style. He knew he'd grow out of it all sooner rather than later — if he ever actually got around to having that growth spurt — but that's what spells were for. Besides, there was plenty more money in his vault. If he didn't get back to the Leaky Cauldron soon, Tom would start wondering where he was, so Harry finished off his milkshake, shouldered his bag and set off back to the tube station. He made a mental note to give Farlig some kind of present or reward for the tip about the bag; he dreaded to think what it would be like trying to sneak back into the Leaky carrying his purchases the muggle way.
Thanks to his invisibility cloak, Harry easily made it back up to his room with none the wiser, and there he emptied all his purchases onto the bed, staring round-eyed at his new clothes. His gaze shifted to his school trunk, which was already messy and overflowing from over a week of living out of it. Sighing to himself, Harry ran a hand through his hair. He'd better tidy up, then.
As tempting as it was to have a ceremonial burning of all things Dursley in the fireplace of his room, Harry knew he'd have to keep up appearances if he didn't want anyone — namely Dumbledore — getting suspicious. Still, he was unable to help himself from burning the most offensive items of clothing. Some of Dudley's old things sort-of fit, and they weren't that bad, so Harry kept them. Hopefully if he gradually mixed in his new clothes, no one would notice the difference. He hadn't bought anything enormously flashy, anyway.
With all his new clothes folded up and piled with the older ones he was keeping, Harry looked at the stack on the bed. For the first time in his life, he might actually struggle to fit all his possessions in his school trunk. The thought made him smile.
Perhaps Twilfitt and Tattings did bottomless trunks, too.
.-.-.-.-.
It turned out, Farlig didn't need a present — all he wanted was for Harry to get his family money moving once again.
While the Potter and Black accounts had ongoing investments made by previous heads of the family, the Peverell and Slytherin vaults had been stagnant for decades. Between the four houses, Harry's Gringotts portfolio was several inches thick; and Farlig was determined to make it thicker, once Harry made him account manager.
If he'd known what would follow, he might have reconsidered that. With the lure of getting to learn what artefacts and interesting objects lay within his possession, Farlig had beckoned him into his office and immediately sat the young wizard down in front of an enormous stack of parchment.
"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Harry declared warily. Farlig's returning grin showed all of his teeth.
"The top parchment lists all the current investments and regular transactions within your holdings," Farlig explained. "While prolific, it would do you well to invest more of your money in a wider range of businesses. I've included a list of the current businesses our investigations show will make good investments; including a few in the muggle world, if you aren't opposed."
Harry glanced down at the list, grimacing at some of the dark-sounding investments under the Black family name. Yes, it was going to be gruelling, but it would be worth it.
As the Gryffindor got to work, scrawling numbers and rifling through Farlig's list of suggested investments, the goblin watched with something akin to pride.
Young Harry Potter might be off to a late start, but if he carried on with this determination, he'd take the pureblood wizarding circles by storm and give them a much-needed shake-up.
And if he could make as much money as his accounts projected, Farlig's wife would be very happy indeed with his new position. After all, he now worked on commission.
.-.-.-.
About done with adventures for the summer, Harry decided to spend the rest of his time in Diagon Alley actually behaving — somewhat. He made no more jaunts into muggle London, but he did make a few more reckless purchases, taking advantage of having no one around to question his spending habits. A new trunk with more space than the old one, even more books, and a small Wizarding Wireless so he could listen to quidditch matches sometimes. If he was being really foolish, he told himself, he would have bought a Firebolt. But he didn't, so no one could begrudge him a little shopping spree. No one had to know how much he'd really bought.
The start of the school term was drawing ever closer, and Harry was keen to make the most of his remaining freedom, wandering around Diagon in his new clothes, getting used to actually wearing things he liked. As the week went on, he spotted more people he knew from school, all there to buy their things for the upcoming school year. He stopped and spoke to some of them, but most he just observed with a small smile, keeping his head down. Until one.
Harry was wandering past Twilfitt and Tattings when he — quite literally — bumped into someone. "Watch where you're going, you filthy— Potter!"
He looked up into the steely grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. Harry winced. "Sorry, I wasn't looking." He'd been too busy thinking about a passage in one of the books he'd been reading, about the history of the Wizengamot and why the fifty houses had originally been chosen. "Malfoy," he greeted, bowing his head briefly, keeping his palms open at his sides like the etiquette book had said, to show that he wasn't holding a wand. That seemed to throw the blond boy for a loop, and he blinked, before his eyes narrowed.
"Looks like you're finally learning how to dress yourself, Potter," he retorted sharply, though he too showed empty palms. "Where's your usual entourage? They finally got sick of you?"
"They're on holiday," Harry told him. "I've been at the Leaky Cauldron for a while."
"Alone?" Malfoy's pale eyebrows shot up. "I find it hard to believe Dumbledore's letting you wander around without a babysitter, all things considered."
"What do you mean, all things considered?" Harry asked, bracing himself for some kind of insult or remark about how he was too stupid to survive by himself.
In reading his new books, Harry had discovered that he'd actually been enormously insulting in refusing Malfoy's hand before the sorting back when they'd started Hogwarts, and it was probably that that got Malfoy's back up around Harry all the time. That and Ron constantly antagonising him. He'd decided to try and be civil instead, and see where that got him; if he could take Malfoy off the list of things he had to worry about, it would make all the other things — like Voldemort, potential danger, and exams — a lot easier to bear.
"You mean no one told you? Merlin, it's like they want you to die," Malfoy muttered disparagingly. "Sirius Black? Ring any bells?"
"Wait— The escaped criminal? What's he got to do with anything?" Malfoy sighed impatiently.
"Do those glasses even work, Potter? The man's face is up on wanted posters all over Diagon! He broke out of Azkaban."
"Yeah, I know that," Harry replied slowly, wondering why he should be any more scared than anyone else.
"He was one of the Dark Lord's most loyal supporters. And, rumour has it," Malfoy gave a vicious smirk, "he's after you, Potter."
Harry's heart stuttered. "What?"
"He's coming for you. Talking in his sleep, the same words — 'he's at Hogwarts'. He wants revenge for his Lord, so you'd better watch out, Potty."
Malfoy sounded gleeful, but he actually looked a little disturbed that Harry had been left alone under the circumstances. Harry thought about all the times he'd been alone and unguarded — his trip to muggle London, his forays into the emptier parts of Diagon Alley. No wonder Fudge had been waiting for him when he'd arrived. He probably thought Black had got him.
But in that case, why hadn't he been given a guard?
Shaking his head and figuring it was probably all part of some scheme of Dumbledore's, Harry turned back to Malfoy. "Well, he's not likely to come into the middle of Diagon Alley, is he? I'm perfectly safe."
"Are you?" Malfoy retorted with a smirk. "I suppose at least you can defend yourself here. If you were capable of that, anyway," he added disparagingly. Harry stared blankly at him again. "Sweet Salazar, they really don't tell you anything!" He pulled his wand, and Harry automatically took a step back, but all the blond did was send out a trail of green sparks that formed a hissing snake before fading out. "Underage magic can't be traced in Diagon Alley," he informed Harry smugly. "There's too many people around for them to tell who cast what. As long as no one sees you, you can cast what you like."
"Well I wish I'd known that before I got here," Harry muttered, thinking of all the spells in A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know that he'd been desperate to try out for days. Two whole weeks, wasted! "Why are you telling me all this, Malfoy? I bet you'd love to see Sirius Black get me."
"There's something different about you, Potter," Malfoy remarked, eyeing him over with his arms folded over his chest. "I feel like it's going to make the year… interesting. It'd be a shame if you died before I could see how Weasley's going to react to your new look. Silverling's isn't cheap." Harry was wearing his new jacket, but he hadn't expected Malfoy to notice that, much less where he'd bought it from. Still, it made him wince; if Ron noticed, would he start thinking Harry was trying to rub his money in his face? He was always so sensitive about that sort of thing.
"Draco!" The call could only come from his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, and Malfoy jerked his head to see her at the end of the street. "Draco, dear, we have an appointment."
"See you at school, Potter," Malfoy spat.
"Malfoy!" Harry called, and the blond turned around with a raised eyebrow. "Thanks. For the information. I'll see you at school." He smiled and Malfoy seemed baffled by it as he went to catch up to his mother. Harry turned away, feet leading him back towards the Leaky Cauldron.
He had some spells to practice. He wouldn't worry about Sirius Black, for now — like he'd said, the man was hardly going to pop up in the middle of Diagon Alley to grab Harry. If no one else seemed to be worried enough to have someone watch Harry, then he wasn't going to worry about it.
He was, however, going to worry about what Malfoy meant by the year being interesting. He was weirdly happy about having had an entire conversation with the other boy without either of them threatening to hex the other, but the blond's words about Ron settled heavy in his chest. The last thing he wanted was to make his friend feel uncomfortable, but he wouldn't do that at the expense of his own happiness.
Harry shook his head, trudging back up to his room and trying to keep his mind on the spells, and which to practice first. He'd deal with Ron when he got there. As for Malfoy — maybe he'd misjudged him. Time would tell, he supposed.