Seeing Harry change the subject, Hagrid finally calmed down. The terror faded from his face, replaced by a look of reminiscence.
"They were both kind and gentle people. Your dad was an excellent Chaser, and also captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team—a real Gryffindor star!
"And your mum was even more impressive. She was president of the Hogwarts girls' student council, and her skill with potions was incredibly deep—a true Potions Master…"
Hagrid talked on and on beside him, while Harry grew more and more silent as he listened.
The more he learned about how outstanding and gentle his parents had been, the deeper his hatred for the mysterious man grew.
He should have had a wonderful childhood.
Before long, the little cart arrived at vault seven hundred and thirteen. Unlike vault six hundred and eighty-seven, Griphook merely knocked on the bronze door of vault seven hundred and thirteen, and it swung open.
But Harry didn't think that meant this vault had weaker protections; on the contrary, he felt its defenses were stronger.
He could sense a faintly hidden magic in the metal of the door, and when it opened he caught the clear clack of mechanical parts shifting into place.
There was no doubt these were all defensive mechanisms for vault seven hundred and thirteen, ones that vault six hundred and eighty-seven completely lacked.
When the door opened, what appeared before Harry was just a grimy little bundle wrapped in brown paper.
Hagrid clearly took it very seriously; he immediately tucked it away close to his body.
Harry was thoughtful. He could feel a powerful surge of magic coming from inside the parcel. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a powerful alchemical artifact.
But that was all.
Never mind Kamar-Taj—any random magical item stored in the New York Sanctum would be stronger than this alchemical trinket!
Harry was losing more and more confidence in the wizarding world. Treating a single alchemical artifact like some priceless treasure—was the wizarding world's vision really that limited?
He shook his head at once, denying that thought.
No, he couldn't underestimate the wizarding world. Maybe the truly powerful alchemical artifacts here just didn't give off much magical fluctuation.
After all, magic power was an important standard for judging how strong a spell was, but it wasn't the only metric.
The quality of the magic itself was also a crucial factor—and the magical quality of this world seemed very high.
They left vault seven hundred and thirteen, climbed back into the cart, and in a short while shot back up to the surface. A moment later they were back in the sunlight.
Once they came out of Gringotts, Hagrid took Harry shopping. He knew Diagon Alley like the back of his hand, and it didn't take him long to lead Harry to a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
Hagrid scrubbed a big hand through his messy hair, then looked down at Harry and said,
"Off yeh go, Harry. You buy yer school robes—I need a cup o' somethin' to perk me up. Those Gringotts carts are ruddy awful.
"D'you want a cup too?"
Mentally, Harry was already an adult, and he wouldn't get nervous just because Hagrid wasn't with him. He nodded to Hagrid.
"Of course, if that's okay. I'm very interested in wizarding drinks."
Stepping into the shop alone, Harry met its owner.
Madam Malkin was a short, plump witch dressed in purple, with a warm, pleasant smile. She looked very kind, just like Aunt May, and that made Harry instantly feel fond of her.
Before Harry could even speak, Madam Malkin greeted him enthusiastically:
"Oh, my dear, I suppose you're here for Hogwarts school robes.
"We've got uniforms here—there's bound to be something you like. There's already a young gentleman in the back choosing his robes. I think you can talk to him; perhaps you'll become friends."
Harry nodded politely and walked toward the rear of the shop.
Madam Malkin seemed to like Harry very much. She sent the other assistants away and personally helped Harry into a brand-new robe, then took his height with a measuring tape.
Harry, for his part, liked Madam Malkin too and chatted with her happily. People liked Harry wherever he went; with his sunny, cheerful personality he soon had Madam Malkin laughing and talking as if they'd known each other for ages.
She ended up liking Harry so much she even wanted to give him a set of robes for free. Harry didn't refuse. He didn't really need the gift, but he understood you shouldn't turn down someone's goodwill.
Just then, the little wizard standing on another stool to have his height measured suddenly called over to Harry:
"Hey, you're going to Hogwarts too?"
The little wizard was pale, with a head of blond hair. His expression was arrogant, like he thought he was something special, and his tone toward Harry was rude, as if he were deliberately spoiling for an argument.
Harry didn't take the boy's rudeness to heart. He was an adult, after all; he couldn't lower himself to bicker with a child.
So he just gave the blond little wizard a gentle nod.
"Yes, I'm starting this year."
"That's great, I'm a first-year too. Oh, do you have your own broom? I don't know why first-years aren't allowed to have their own brooms—maybe I can sneak mine in."
The blond little wizard wore an expression of pure bragging, babbling on and on. It made Harry's brows knit slightly, but he still answered now and then, patiently humoring him.
"I don't have a broom of my own."
"Then have you ever played Quidditch?"
"No," Harry replied. He had no idea what Quidditch even was, and he didn't care. Right now his mind was fixed on the mysterious man.
What was the best way to kill him?
With the Sword of the Vishanti?
Crush him with telekinesis?
Erase his soul, or sacrifice him to some dimensional demon god?
Or just toss him through a portal so he kept falling until he starved to death—that wasn't a bad option either!
Harry must have been thinking too deeply, because he forgot all about the blond little wizard beside him and didn't answer any of his questions for quite some time.
The blond little wizard grew annoyed. When they were done measuring his height, he could no longer stand Harry's cold indifference and gave him a hard shove.
"Damn Mudblood, I'm talking to you—don't ignore me!"
The instant Harry sensed hostility—and that it was right beside him—his battle-hardened body reacted on its own. The calm magic within him instantly completed a complex runic matrix.
Harry vanished from where he was and reappeared behind the blond little wizard. The dazzling Sword of the Vishanti was already laid across the boy's throat.
Just then, a strand of blond hair happened to fall. As it brushed the sword's edge, it was sliced cleanly in two.
Without the boy even realizing it, a thin scarlet line of blood began to trickle down his cheek.
Madam Malkin's robe shop fell utterly silent.
Harry was the first to recover. A brilliant magic circle flared to life in his palm as he reached out and wiped the blood from the blond boy's face.
By the time Harry withdrew his hand, the ugly, gaping wound that had started to open there had completely vanished.
He spoke with a look of apology:
"Sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you just now—I was thinking about something. I'm really sorry I hurt you. If you want compensation, you can tell me.
"Oh, and what does 'Mudblood' mean? I've been living in the Muggle world, so I don't understand a lot of wizarding terms."
The blond little wizard's whole body was shaking as he turned around stiffly. Hearing Harry's question, he even felt a sudden warm dampness spread between his legs.
Digging deep and using more brains than he ever had in his life, he forced his voice to stop trembling as he stammered:
"It… it means 'good friend.' We, um, plant magical plants together in the mud, so it means really good friends.
"Y-Yeah. That's it exactly!"