Chapter Text
August 3rd, 1994 - Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
The Idea, when it hit him in the middle of weeding the front of number 4 Privet Drive, seemed like such an obvious solution to the problems he’d been trying not to think about for longer than he’d care to consider.
The noon day sun was beating down on his back, blazing hot and turning the air thick as syrup.
He’d been at it for hours, dirt and the odd broken off bit of weed and grass sticking to his warm brown arms. Dark brown earth packed under his nails from the few times a weed had been particularly stubborn and he’d had to dig out the roots, all for want of the tools he’d been denied the use of.
Those are your aunts, he was told, he had to make do once again with just his bare hands and a small but sturdy stick he’d found wedged near the fenceline by the footpath.
But then the Idea popped into mind as he grumbled to himself - something that was becoming more and more frequent as the years went by- about the unfairness of it all. Worked like a slave in a place that should have been home, beaten and starved for failure to comply, or if one of the Dursleys had had a bad day and wanted someone to punish, regardless of any actual deservedness on his part. Then finding a home of sorts with people just like him that supposedly wanted him, but only when it was convenient to them.
Thrown up against trolls, murderous teachers, bullies and worse. Sent right back to a place he knew realistically he should not be, that no child should be. Somewhere just as unsafe in its own way as the place he had wanted so desperately to call Home.
Why not leave them all behind?
Why not go somewhere new?
He knew through painful lessons how to cook, clean and care for a home. How to mend clothes, how to recognise poisonous plants both magical and muggle - both from school lessons and painful experiences from desperate hunger- enough certainly, to know what to avoid and what was safe to eat if he should need to forage a little. He could buy a tent and set out to somewhere far enough away that no one would bother him, at least until he was bored of it and wanted to come back.
As if that would ever happen.
The thought that maybe he should talk it over with someone popped into his mind. To send a letter to Ron or Hermione, maybe try to get one to Sirius or Professor Lupin since the man had been so willing to chat with him outside of classes.
But he quickly realised if he were to stop and talk it over with someone, he knew he’d be summarily talked out of it, his perfect solution smashed to bits with all the reasons why he absolutely should not follow along with the Idea. That there are tens or hundreds of reasons why it was a bad idea. That it was short sighted, irresponsible or selfish. Especially if the person on the other end was Hermione. She always seemed to know exactly what to say to make all his and Ron’s great ideas seem so very dull and silly.
But young Harry was full of all the grim determination and confidence a boy of fourteen with a less-than-ideal upbringing and home life could muster. So he set about finishing up the yard while he turned it over in his head, planning out the how's and what's and where's of the Idea as it rapidly went from An Idea to The Plan.
After all, the last time he had tried to run away at the tender age of six, after Dudley and his new friends had taken turns pushing him over on the playground, telling him that he should just stay down since it was where he belonged, hadn't ended at all like he had hoped at the time.
It had ended with him being found and taken right back to the Dursleys, stomach empty and both pride and backside smarting something fierce. Not to mention the other bits. Neither his aunt or uncle had been particularly pleased with him or the event in question.
Although if you asked him, the only thing they were unhappy about really, was that he hadn’t succeeded. Ended up instead right back where he started from and brought the curious attention of the police to the Dursleys, however short-lived that attention had been.
But now. Oh now he was older, wiser and had the best tool available.
He had magic, and he had already learned a lot of ways he could use it too.
He would have to get to the goblin bank, Gringotts, and make a pretty hefty withdrawal since he needed to buy plenty of food, water and other things to last him.
That thought of course led into another.
He was already quite good at taking care of plants thanks to having to keep up his aunt's prized garden, surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to buy a bunch of different seeds and plants. Then he could put together a garden that was all his own and grow his own food.
Harry considered that for a moment before he nodded to himself and came to the conclusion that if he did it right and got a bit lucky then he could have food ready to harvest year-round if he was lucky, which in turn would make the food he brought with him last that much longer. Especially when he factored in the preservation charm that they’d been taught the previous year, though admittedly he hadn’t quite mastered it as well as Hermione had. But if he was out on his own, he’d surely get plenty of practice. Enough to get it down to the same thoughtless action Hermione seemed to manage.
The last of the weeds pulled and tossed in the compost in the backyard, out of sight from any passerby who might stop to admire the garden - though Harry wasn’t sure just who aunt Petunia thought would go walking past, much less care about where the compost was - Harry did a last minute check to make sure there was nothing out of place before quietly letting himself into the laundry via the back door and set to scrubbing the dirt from his hands.
It was round about midday so he was positive the bank would be open. Though come to think of it, he hadn’t noticed any signs displaying trading hours like most of the other shops that lined Diagon Alley and its neighbouring streets that made up the wizarding shopping district. Maybe it was one of those few places that stayed open all day and night.
Probably do, he thought absently, anything to make more money.
Job done he shut the tap off, dried his arms on the dingy old towel his aunt kept aside for his use and used it to wipe down the sink, faucet and tap just in case someone decided he had left a mess and made him scrub the whole laundry from top to bottom in order to make up for it.
The last time he’d had to do that it hadn’t even been him that made the mess, but Dudley coming in from playing in the yard with Piers. But it was fine, soon he wouldn’t have to clean up after anyone else but himself then the Dursleys would have to get used to picking up after themselves and he could cook the bacon as crispy as he wanted without having to worry about being smacked upside the head with the frypan. Or having someone shave him mostly bald because they thought his hair looked scruffy. Or point and whisper when he walked past. Stare at his scar. Make snide comments about him or his schoolwork. Or his dreams.
Peeking his head out of the laundry to make sure his aunt was still out at the salon, Harry made his way over to the cupboard under the stairs and quickly picked the padlock uncle Vernon had added to the latch, glad that he had learned how from Fred and George so he wouldn’t have to resort to using his magic so soon and possibly drawing unwanted attention before he’d even gotten anywhere. That, the teen decided, would just be embarrassing after having come this far in deciding to leave.
Rummaging through his trunk he pulled out his school books, wand, cloak, cauldron and the few wizarding coins he had left from the previous year's shopping trip.
Gazing down at the lot he pondered over the small pile for a bit.
Having a trunk would make it easier to carry a lot of things true, but his school trunk was very basic and thus very heavy and a bit too unwieldy for a smooth getaway, for all that it was proudly marked with his initials and thus a small point of pride. Hagrid had talked him out of buying any of the fancier options the salesman had originally posed to him when they’d done his first year shopping, stating limited funds and the fact that it really only needed to carry his books for the year and some clothes. Which had all made sense at the time. Less so now, though. To make his plan work, he realised he was going to need to get his hands on one of the really fancy trunks that had lots of storage compartments and hidden charms worked into them. Otherwise, he had no hope of carting around all the essentials he was going to be buying.
With that in mind the teen ran up to his rather sorry room to sort through Dudley's old things, most of which had been either broken or cast off in favour of newer and shinier items. Returning with an old navy blue backpack and a cream linen library bag that had never actually gotten any use he set to work squeezing his things into the two bags before zipping up the backpack and pulling the drawstring on the library bag closed. Then with a last look at his trunk and the bits and bobs still in it he closed it with a sigh and locked the cupboard door again, with the quiet hope that it would help keep the Dursleys from noticing that anything was different for a little while.
Though he was pretty sure it would take them a while since the only time they look at the cupboard under the stairs anymore was to make sure it was locked between bouts of throwing something of his away in there.
Jogging back up to his room he pulled out his least ratty jumper and tied it off around his waist. It was still a few sizes too big for him, but it was still relatively thick. The weather outside was much too warm to be wearing it and doing so would only draw more attention, but he reasoned that he’d probably be happy to have it later in the evening. Especially since he hadn’t quite come to a decision just yet in regards to where he was going to end up once he made his grand escape.
That done, he picked up his two pilfered bags, staggering a little under the heavy weight, gave the place a last look around before stepping out the back door and quickly shuffled his way to the shed uncle Vernon kept Hedwig locked away during the summers. From now on no one would be locking her up and that thought alone did wonders to wipe away the scowl that had started to settle on his face at the sight of the padlock. With only a few grumbled words that Mrs. Weasley would certainly not approve of he made quick work of picking it, and mentally thanked the Weasley twins once more for the valuable skill.
Inside was just as dusty and cluttered as it always was, stuffy and uncomfortable with the summer heat. The lawn mower took up the most space along with Dudley's old bikes that he had ridden once or twice over various summers with his gang of bullies before being put away and discarded. Hedwig's cage sat to one side, the door open so the snowy owl could get out and hunt so she wouldn’t starve and die in the shed. Hedwig herself was instead perched on the handle of the mower, watching him attentively as he poked his head inside.
He smiled happily at her and held out an arm for her to light upon his wrist, ignoring the painful prick of her talons in favour of carefully petting her soft feathers. “Hey girl, it’s time to go. I’m leaving here now and I’m going to do a lot of travelling before I can stop. Do you think you’ll be able to follow along, find me when I stop?”
A soft chirrup answered him and his smile widened.
“Always such a clever girl. I’m not going to be coming back here, not ever. We’ll find somewhere new to live. Somewhere nice where no one can hurt us, yeah?” He prompted, slowly stepping back out of the shed so he wouldn’t upset her perch on his arm. “I need to run some errands first, get food and other things, but then we’ll be gone. We’ll be free.”
Another soft chirp echoed his words and she nipped gently at his fingers before taking flight. Harry watched her go for a little while before he shook his head and turned back to lock the shed door. “Now to get the Knight Bus to the alley and into Gringotts.” He muttered to himself as he hitched up the straps of the backpack and set out to the front of the street.
A raised wand and a wish and the bus jerked to a stop in front of the house a bare second later causing a grin to flash across his lips, excited despite the little voice in the back of his head that told him he should probably try to play it cool so no one caught on. Though how they would, he couldn't say. So he grinned up at the driver as he tucked away his wand and climbed onto the triple-decker bus. “Good afternoon, Mr. Shunpike, Ernie. I need help getting to Diagon Alley.”
Stan the conductor gave him a nod and held out a hand. “Easy as pie, eleven sickles will take you there in a jiffy.”
Carefully counting out the fare Harry handed it over and headed past and quickly decided on taking a seat on a bed with a red cover just in time to be thrown onto it as the bus took off at breakneck speed, starting the unbolted furniture on their frantic dance around the bus. Luckily enough there didn't seem to be anyone else riding on the bottom level. Though admittedly he hadn’t been able to see if anyone else was on the top two levels of the bus so there could be other escapees being flung about up there for all he knew. Since the bus travelled on a first come first served basis he would have to wait for anyone else riding to be dropped off at their destination first, which could in theory take him all over the place including the other side of the country before he finally got his drop off at the Alley. On the plus side, usually only witches or wizards that couldn’t floo or apparate for whatever reason ended up taking the bus, which meant realistically very few people did use the Knight Bus to get about. That and the Leaky Cauldron at the start of Diagon Alley with its public floo was a logical stop of choice for a lot of people. So maybe he’d get lucky that way too.
The subject of travel got Harry thinking. How best to make his way to parts unknown?
He had his cloak so he would be able to avoid being seen if he needed to travel by broom, although that in itself meant one of his stops after Gringotts would be to buy a new broom since his old one had been smashed to bits thanks to the dementors last year and he hadn't a chance to replace it before he was dragged back to the Dursleys. Although thankfully the incident with the dementors had also ended up with quidditch being cancelled while they were on the grounds since no one trusted them to stay away anymore, so he hadn't missed out at least. Instead a couple of enterprising muggleborns had introduced fantasy sports leagues to the rest of the students and now Fantasy Quidditch was a new obsession for the quidditch fans of Hogwarts. One he'd be missing out on since he was running away.
Still he imagined that flying long distances on a broom would get old very quickly, not to mention uncomfortable if he was flying for hours at a time trying to cover as much distance as possible so he wouldn't get caught.
Portkeys, which according to Professor Flitwick required some very delicate and intricate charm work to function, were supposedly monitored by the Ministry of Magic which would make one awkward to acquire. Especially when it came time to explain why he, an unaccompanied underage wizard, wanted one. There too was the fact that portkeys were apparently keyed into very specific locations and since he hadn’t decided yet on exactly where he wanted to escape to...well getting a portkey had several issues, realistically. The floo network was exactly that, a web of connected buildings, most very local and mostly linking private residences and a small handful of public venues. Nothing remotely close to what he’d need.
Besides, floo travel was terrible and he’d really prefer to avoid it if at all possible, thanks very much.
Getting on a plane would be incredibly awkward, though he reckoned he could probably fib his way through why he was travelling alone at the ancient age of fourteen. There was still the trouble of actually buying a ticket and figuring out which city or even country he could fly to that he wouldn’t be found out and shipped right back.
Hopping on a train wasn’t a bad idea, given how connected Europe was. He’d even gotten some practice with long train rides thanks to taking the Hogwarts Express each year. He could probably just travel along until the end of the line before jumping off onto a new train, repeating the process several times before picking somewhere to settle in. It wasn’t even too uncommon to see teens travelling via train over the summer to visit friends or family. He could just tell anyone curious that he was meeting up with a friend and their parents to go camping. It would be decently cheap too. At least compared to international airfare.
Harry was shot out of his thoughts when the bus jerked to a sudden stop. It seemed to him that he’d barely sat down. He’d honestly forgotten just how fast the Knight Bus travelled in the time since his first trip the year before.
“The Leaky Cauldron!” Stan called from the front of the bus.
Scrambling to get his feet under him and double-checked that he had everything, Harry quickly moved to the door and gave both wizards a wave of thanks as he stepped down and off the bus. No sooner had both feet touched down on the pavement than the purple wonder was taking off again, gone in a zip to rescue some other stranded witch or wizard.
Taking a moment to carefully make sure his hair - which had grown out a fair bit and had been thrown about during the ride - was concealing his telltale scar, Harry rucked up his backpack, tightened his jumper around his waist and pushed his way into the pub. The teen had considered, briefly, wearing his cloak to keep him hidden from the nosy gossipers but in the end though he’d decided against it. The last thing he needed was the commotion it would cause if the cloak slipped or someone stepped on the hem.
It turned out to be a smart move when the pub turned out to be just as crowded as he had thought it would be, packed full of people stopping in for lunch and a pint while they went about their own business. Harry gingerly picked his way through the crowd, careful to keep his head down, making his way to the wall that separated the Leaky from Diagon Alley proper, reaching it just in time to duck through the entry behind another wizard, no doubt on his way back to work from his own lunch. At least Harry thought so, based on the suit he seemed to be wearing under his robes.
Keeping his head down Harry carefully navigated the bustling alleyway, glad for how close the bank was to the pub since it kept him from wading through the entirety of the shopping district and its patrons. As it was he halfway jogged up the pristine white stairs up to the double doors with their ominous poem written out in precise gold lettering. A step inside he quickly scanned the tellers and made his way briskly to the first one that appeared to be free.
The small figure on the other side of the bench peered down its nose at him and arched a shaggy eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I’d like to speak with someone...discreetly please.” Harry answered quietly, raising his voice just enough to be heard across the small distance that separated them.
The eyebrow stayed raised as the goblin teller stared down at him. He continued to do so for a long moment after Harry raised a hand to brush his fringe aside for a moment so his scar could be seen before covering it over again. “Indeed.” The goblin grumbled before huffing. “Very well, if sir will follow assistant Hooktooth, he will lead you to an appropriate office.”
He waved absently to a goblin dressed in the scarlet and gold uniform most Gringotts employees wore that came around to stand next to Harry, taking his beady black eyes from Harry to say something sharp to him in Goobledygook before turning away from them both in clear dismissal. In turn the goblin, apparently called Hooktooth cleared his throat to make sure he had Harry’s attention before taking off, leading the way to a side door, off the main floor. Stepping quickly into place behind his guide Harry followed along without comment and they passed through the doorway and into a very long winding hallway that seemed just as askew as the outside of the bank, for all that it wobbled side to side as it led down just as much as most buildings in the alley seemed to.
There weren’t any portraits on the walls, like he remembers seeing the couple of times he’d had to accompany aunt Petunia when she ran errands - if only so he was available to carry all the groceries so she wouldn’t have to - about town during the day. In the bank his aunt went to there were pictures of people on the walls, employees or managers and the like, along with the odd landscape piece that was maybe meant to be peaceful. Gringotts had landscapes, not just any landscapes though. Dotting the walls at appropriate intervals were large framed canvases with great battles painted onto them, the figures in them charging at each other, weapons clashing violently.
In a word. Epic.
They stopped outside one of the many doors, Hooktooth rapping on it sharply then sticking his head in after an equally sharp voice answered. A moment later he drew back and held the door open for Harry to step through, closing it firmly behind him.
“Mr. Potter, please be seated.”
Glancing towards the desk that was situated in the centre of the room, Harry spotted what looked like the same goblin that had taken him down to his vault on his very first trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. He was well dressed as far as Harry could see, a white shirt, a tie of some sort and a jacket. He was also quite a bit smaller than the dark wood desk he was sitting behind. And dwarfed again by the sheer size of the room that really shouldn’t be anywhere near the size it was given how close the doors in the hall had been to each other. You could have had five Hagrids lying down, head to foot from one side of the room to the other, meanwhile on the outside you just might fit a single Ron between the doors. Standing up. The room itself was the same dark wood as the desk, as were the few bookshelves and wooden cabinets that lined one wall. The rest of the wall space was taken up with a multitude of office filing cabinets, dozens of them wrapping around the room, hugging the walls from floor to ceiling. It was a rather bland room all things considered, the only thing giving it any real colour was the red rug and armchairs. The rest was a wash of dark brown and grey. And did he mention, bigger than it should have been?
He never got tired of seeing magic in action, especially not so casually.
Just a bit of reality warping, no biggy.
Harry moved forward to sink carefully into one of the two deep red armchairs on the opposite side of the desk to the goblin, settling his heavy bags down softly beside him.
“Now, what brings you to Gringotts, alone and weeks before school shopping occurs?” The goblin, Griphook, Harry recalled, asked mildly and absently wondered for a moment if all the goblins cycled through the different jobs or if there was some structure to the different jobs a person that worked in a bank might do and then they were promoted or moved around like other jobs.
He admittedly knew very little about goblins thus far, except what he had heard from other people. And even that was a pretty small amount. Certainly not enough to have any sort of understanding regarding job prospects.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, then leaned forward just a little. “I don’t have my vault key, but I need to make a withdrawal and it will probably be a lot of money. I need to buy a lot of things.” He explained, meeting the smaller figures' expectant gaze.
An eyebrow raised. “And where, Mr. Potter, is your vault key?”
“I think maybe Hagrid or Professor Dumbledore have it, sir. I’m not sure really, I’ve never actually had it, since coming into the magic world someone else always has it, they bring it out for long enough to take out money to buy my school things and then it's gone again. I don’t know where it’s kept, I don’t know if people are using it for things besides my school things, I don’t know anything and no one will tell me.” Harry explained, not bothering to push down the frustration and confusion he usually felt when he thought about it.
Griphook hummed, slipping out of his chair to approach one of the many filing cabinets that lined the room, pulling open a drawer that like the room was much bigger than it should have been, coming out nearly seven feet before stopping. He walked his clawed fingers up a section of the files before extracting one and nudging the drawer shut again, which it did with a snap. Harry watched as he strolled back to his chair, file in hand and hopped back into it, spreading the file open revealing a small stack of papers and a small velvet bag. He rifled through the papers before pulling out one in particular and scanning it.
“According to your customer file, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is listed as your legal guardian in regards to everything magical related, up to and including your education and accounts with Gringotts Bank and its associated services.” The goblin stated absently while he read. “As such he does have the power to hold onto your vault key if you should happen to be deemed too young or similarly unable to manage your own accounts.”
Harry frowned at that, expression scrunching up in confusion. “How can my headmaster be my guardian?” He demanded crossly. “I didn’t even meet him until my first day at Hogwarts. If he was really my guardian then he shouldn’t make me go back to stay at the Dursleys. He said it’s where I’m safest but I can think of loads of places that are safer than a place where I’m treated like a slave, beaten and starved just because they don’t like me ‘cos I’m magic.”
There was a long bead of silence as they both stared at each other before the goblin set down the page he’d been reading from and leaned forward. “If that’s true Mr. Potter, and you are being made to stay in an unsafe environment then it is grounds for an immediate suspension of Mr. Dumbledore's position as your guardian.”
“I wouldn’t lie about that!” Harry burst out, frowning at the goblin.
Ideally he would have been able to get through the conversation and get his needs taken care of without throwing anyone under the bus, and certainly not the old, old, headmaster who had always seemed so kind. But he didn’t know anything about the professor supposedly being his guardian. He had been told that the headmaster was responsible at least in part for his education and wellbeing at the school, but had assumed it was a blanket statement for all students since that was a headmasters or principles job along with managing the teachers and other stuff that mostly went over Harry’s head since he had no real interest in the topic. Although, the less said about some of his teachers was probably for the best.
“Implying you would lie about other things?” Griphook queried, a sharp grin with too many teeth appearing for a moment.
“Sometimes telling a lie means I get to eat.” Harry shot back, annoyed that his character was being called into question and that he was having to be so candid about a topic he didn’t much like to think about, let alone discuss with someone he didn’t really know.
The goblin account manager stared across the gap between them for several long moments, obviously weighing what Harry had said and probably how he’d said it before he finally sat back in his chair, reached for one of the many stamps that had been sitting innocently along with several other bits and pieces to one side of the large desk. Without pause he brought it down roughly on the top most page which had presumably contained the information regarding anyone else besides Harry himself who had legal access to his vaults. “I am stripping access to your account from anyone besides yourself. I assume given the apparent lack of care regarding your welfare and the fact that you said you had not met Mr. Dumbledore before attending Hogwarts, that you have not been instructed in the care and management of your personal and house finances?”
“Ah, no.”
Griphook huffed a very gravelly, put upon sigh and picked up the velvet bag that had been in the rather plain-looking file with his account papers. Pulling the black ties loose he reached inside and pulled out a black square jewellery box then set it on the desk as close as he could reach to Harry. “Put that on while I retrieve a few things you’ll need.” He instructed gruffly.
Brows raised at the shift in attitude, Harry reached for the box, watched out of the corner of his eye as the goblin got up and moved to a cabinet positioned to one side before he pulled the box towards himself and flipped it open. Inside, resting snuggly on a black velvet-covered cushion was a rather ornate-looking ring. An old ornate-looking ring. It had a thick gold band and a flat face with a crest on it depicting a black shield, three odd star shapes and a band of little black tree-looking things with dots above them. Above the shield stood a griffin and what he remembered from his Care of Magical Creatures class as a hippocampus, both reared back on either side of a gold knight's helmet.
“Which finger should I put it on?” Harry asked absently, green eyes locked on the ring that managed to be large but not overly clunky. “It’s a bit big?”
“That, Mr. Potter is the Potter family signet ring. Tradition dictates that it should be worn on the pinky finger of your non-dominant hand with the bottom of the ring's design pointing outwards, so if you are right-handed like most of the populace, you will be wearing it on your left-hand pinky.” The goblin explained as he moved back and forth around the room and stacked several books on the edge of his desk. “The ring is goblin wrought and well charmed. It will adjust its size automatically to provide the most comfortable but sturdy fit. You needn’t fear it coming off accidentally.”
“Oh...that’s good, I think.” He muttered back then shifted the suddenly heavy-feeling piece of jewellery in his hands before he slipped it onto his pinky, watched and felt the gold band shrink down into a snug fit. A warm feeling washed over him, skin prickling as he stared at the little hunk of his family now secure on his own hand.
“Now that I know beyond any reasonable doubt you are indeed Harry James Hyperion Potter, let us discuss the real reason you’ve come to Gringotts today.” Griphook stated flatly as he levied himself back up into his chair, the last of the books and pieces he had been fetching from about the room sitting in a row to one side of the large desk.
“I told you I came to make a withdra...wait, what?” Harry blinked then frowned. “Hyperion? And what do you mean now that you know?”
“Without your vault key you were led to me in order to confirm your identity, which I have done. Both because a curse scar, of the sort you carry with you, cannot be falsified by enchantment, potion or any other more common means. And because your heart would have stopped if you had been anyone else and had tried to don the Lord's signet of a Most Ancient House.” Griphook told him blandly, though his eyes were narrowed just slightly and the corner of his lips tilted just so in a shift that Harry had no trouble recognising the edge of malicious mirth to his craggy features, even as he squawked at the thought that just putting a ring on could have killed him.
“As for your name, you are listed quite clearly upon your birth and naming certification as Harry James Hyperion Potter, and well publicised besides thanks to some less than scrupulous news persons. Named thus in honour of your paternal great-grandfather Henry Aluicius Montgomery Potter, for your father James Fleamont Oswalt Potter and in honour of your godfather via the naming conventions of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. They have a long-standing tradition of naming their offspring after celestial bodies, typically stars. In this instance Hyperion being the name of a sun. There is great power in names, something many wizards forget, although you’ll find only families born into our world use this particular naming system.”
“What if I’d been born a girl?”
“Then you would have been named in honour of the women of your line, a first name traditionally taken from an ancestor, your mother's name, a name that honours your godmother if you had one and her role in your life and finally your family name. With the right knowledge, an individual can use the names they are gifted at birth to summon up more power, old power for use in difficult spellwork, particularly rituals. It is also frequently used to make the most important and binding of personal contracts, such as are common in arranged marriages between old houses.” The banker informed him before pointing to one of the stacks of books. “Given what you said about your current home situation I took the liberty of including books on house politics, finances, traditions and history. Now that you are Lord of your house it is crucial that you learn these things as quickly as possible.”
Harry gave the other a nod of his head, going over the influx of information before he frowned. “‘Lord’, I thought you couldn’t claim a title or be head of your house until you came of age. At least that’s what my friend told me.”
“Usually that would be the case. However, that time period was implemented to ensure a clean line of succession and the welfare of a house's heirs. If someone of that house is old enough to see to the day-to-day business while the next in line is under a certain age, even if that person is not of the main line, then they are expected by law to act as proxy and regent. Becoming a guardian or custodian for the house and its line until such a time as they are no longer needed. These ‘rules’ do not however apply when a house has been rendered down to just a single remaining member. In these instances, rare though they may be, that individual automatically ascends to the position of Lord or Lady and is afforded the same rights and privileges granted to any other ruling Lord or Lady of an Ancient or Noble House. The moment you donned your signet you made this legal and binding as far as the laws and customs of our world are concerned.” Griphook explained at length, dark eyes locked on Harry as he did so. Likely to make sure he was actually listening and processing it all.
And it was a lot to take in. He had another name he hadn’t even known about. He was apparently the last magical Potter in the world if the title had defaulted to him the moment his parents had died, at least that’s what he thought his account manager was getting at. The fact that just putting on the ring made him just like…
Harry blinked. “Wait, does this mean I’m technically an adult now?” He asked, both eyebrows making a valiant effort to reach his hairline. “You said I had the same rights and privileges as any other Lord or Lady. If most other people only become head of their house as an adult, does that mean I’m legally an adult too?”
Griphook grinned back at him, obviously pleased that he had made the connection and nodded. “Exactly so. As of today, you are free to make your own decisions, which neatly take care of your concerns regarding your currently unfavourable living arrangements.”
Unable to help himself, a huff of a laugh escaped Harry as he fell back into his chair. It was quickly followed by another and another. Laugh after laugh spilled out of him in a relieved wave until the sound choked off, settling thick in his throat, eyes prickling as it really sank in. Freedom. No more Dursleys. No more ‘I’m sorry, dear boy’. Quickly he reached up to rub the moisture from his eyes and roughly cleared his throat as he pushed himself back into a more proper sitting position. “You know, I came here to get some money out so I could buy a new trunk and fill it with food and plants and books. I’d planned to run as far away as I could get myself, at least until I was seventeen or eighteen and no one could tell me what to do anymore. So no one could make me go back to living with my aunt and uncle...I don’t know what to do now.” He confessed in an emotionally rough but quiet voice. “I don’t know where to go.”
They slipped into silence each weighing the events of their meeting thus far and what it meant going forward. Or at least Harry was. He was pretty sure the goblin already had it all figured out and was just giving him time to really digest it all in the form of a little professional courtesy. Either way, he was glad for the thoughtful silence. He’d been so set on The Plan, so sure it was his only option going forward that now it wasn’t really necessary he felt rather adrift.
As a legal adult he had full access to the Potter vault and anything tied to it, he could go out right this very moment, find himself a realtor and buy himself a flat somewhere, furnish it however he wanted and live there for the rest of his life if he really wanted to.
He could even travel with relative ease without having to avoid the magical world for fear that someone would recognise him and send him right back where he started from. He could go to Venice and ride those little boats around the city, or to China and walk the Great Wall. He could fly to Australia or Hawaii and learn to surf on the beaches that always looked so perfect in the adverts. Or go to Africa and see the cradle of life on Earth, or the pyramids and things that the Weasleys had gotten to explore during their own vacation. He could go anywhere.
He could go anywhere.
So where did he go when there’s no real limit to his options?
Griphook cleared his throat to grab his attention. “If I could make a suggestion. There’s no need to discard your previous plans to distance yourself from the area for a period of time. On the contrary, giving yourself space to learn and grow at your own pace is a valuable opportunity few get the chance to enjoy. In fact, Gringotts does have a few business ventures in need of a partner of reputable standing and means, ventures that would take you away from the mainland and the immediate complications of the current political climate.” He hedged, beady eyes watching Harry intently, no doubt to try and gauge whether he was really interested or not.
“What kind of ventures?”
“The goblin nation and by extension Gringotts Wizard Bank has over the last several thousand years acquired several rather sizable plots of territory via acts of conquest. Most of these house resource mines serve as extensions of our native territories in this realm, allowing our people to continue to grow and flourish. There are some however that are large enough to sustain a decent population but are not so rich in the resources we place value in. Their value is limited for the most part to their base land mass and as such are of lesser value to our people than they would be to your own who largely spread out rather than down.” Griphook explained, linking his sharp clawed fingers together and letting them rest on the desk before him. “Given the successes and the wealth we have seen grow from the settlements of humans worldwide, our chieftains and our King have considered establishing these territories as joint settlements, allowing humans and other races to make their homes there as a new magical community.”
Harry sat forward, immediately enchanted with the prospect of something new being built in a world that was by and large stuck several centuries in the past depending on where you visited. “That sounds amazing, why haven’t you done it before?” He asked the other, eyes sparkling with excitement.
“By and large the majority of the reasons can be traced back to most humans in power being unwilling to work with anyone not strictly human themselves. Those that would be interested either don’t have the capital required to go forward or lack the spine necessary to take the risk. And it would be a risk, young Lord Potter. An undertaking of this magnitude is always full of potential pitfalls, no matter how well-intentioned or well-planned it may begin. The person or people that lead such an expedition would have to go in with minimal support or infrastructure in place. There will be no hospitals should they fall ill or run afoul of a native beast. No ready home to protect them from the elements. The lack of such safety measures is more than most can stomach.” Griphook replied with a shrug, though there was a subtle shift to his features that gave Harry the impression that he didn’t think very highly of those people at all. “If you are interested, Gringotts is willing to front half of the cost for initial settlement and our people would send a group of miners and warriors to help safeguard the chosen build site and to begin work on a deep cavern system that any of our people willing to live there would make their home.”
Considering how quickly he had set his mind to his original plan to run away just an hour or two ago, Harry wasn’t exactly shocked to find himself agreeing with the offer, accepting it as something that sounded reasonable. Hermione would absolutely flip. “You’re not worried about putting up so much money?”
Griphook gave his head a shake. “Not in the least, if we couldn’t afford to lose the gold we would not consider the venture to begin with. And that aside the money and other resources are an investment that will in time be returned in full via investors looking to cash in on a new and exciting community, both to us in terms of deals and fees for services and to yourself as well in the form of taxes and tithes.”
“To me?” Harry blinked, not having thought that far ahead.
“Of course, being the primary wizard investor in this instance you and any family you have after you will be afforded the place at the head of the visible power structure. In looser terms, the Potter magical family would take over ownership of the land, effectively becoming monarch of the settled territory. We would need to draft an alliance between house Potter and the goblin nation to ensure neither you nor your descendants use the land as a fortress to wage war with us and that the terms of trade are favourable to us. But afterwards, we would be ceding control to you in order to reap the benefits from the background.”
“Oh.” Harry said softly, blinking rapidly at the shock of it all. “I guess I really need to study up on laws and politics then...king…”
“King.” Griphook agreed. “I need you to understand Lord Potter, that I’m not making this offer lightly. We have been watching you most keenly since you stepped foot back into our world and so far, you’ve handled yourself well. Admirably even, given the obvious holes in your education and upbringing. Your willingness to meet those of other races without prejudice, and to treat them as equals speaks well of you. And believe me, Lord Potter, we beings of magic do talk. We know about your meetings with the centaurs of Hogwarts, your meeting with the acromantulas and the kindness you have shown to the elves you have met. Certainly, I wouldn’t have the ability to have made this offer to you if you had otherwise, regardless of any other abilities or resources.”
He wet his lips, hands squeezing and relaxing in his lap all the while pushing the fact that he was maybe definitely being spied on at least some of the time and instead focused on the possibility, the offer of something new, something his. Someplace where - barring a few things he didn’t really care about - he made all the rules. Somewhere he could make sure everyone went to bed with a full belly and no one was forced to live in a cupboard with only spiders for friends and smelly old boots for company. He could be the one that belonged, could make a place for everyone else that didn’t really belong where they were. A place to laugh and cry, sing and play without being told to shut up.
Maybe he could make it safe enough that Sirius could live there too.
“Wh-what do I need to do?” He stammered out.