He imagined it like a stone cocoon, his soul. Everything light and optimistic inside of him was like a small flickering candle flame in the middle of a hurricane-force gale, and the only way he'd managed to protect it even a little bit was by wrapping himself in a stone cocoon, its surface cold and slick to the touch as it was battered by the howling winds and torrential downpour that was his life.
He imagined that his tiny little light had been a bonfire once, that long ago he'd been a happy and warm person until the storm came and extinguished most of it. And locked up inside a statue, there was only so many ways a candle flame could flicker.
The cynical stone had been getting colder, that tiny flame in mortal danger of languishing, and with this discovery of a magical world and promises of freedom, something whispered at him constantly even as proof began to unfold under his eyes. The owls, Hagrid, the Leaky Cauldron… clue after clue piling up but it didn't hit home until the wall fell and a world he'd never imagined existed in this universe burst into life in front of him.
He had subconsciously been preparing himself for that tiny candle flame inside of him to be snuffed out for good, when this turned out to be an elaborate lie meant to cause him pain. He was already in too deep, his hopes too high, and when the disappointment came and he was tasked with returning to a world with no magic and no warmth at all, facing a reality somehow even harsher than it'd been before in light of the dream and the hope that'd been cruelly given to him and then brutally ripped away… his heart would finally be fully cold as stone and quiet as a grave. A part of him had been counting on that, preparing for it.
So it was an earth-shattering moment to feel that tiny flame burst inside of him, as if someone had just poured gasoline all over its tiny warmth. Suddenly it wasn't so weak and gentle, it was roaring, and it warmed the stone that made its shell from the inside out. The stone didn't give way—it couldn't afford to do that—but suddenly he cold winds barely tickled.
Hagrid laughed beside him at whatever expression he had on his face, and for once Harry didn't care a bit what his face was revealing without his permission; there was other things to worry about right then.
There was just… so much… color.
That was the first thing that hit him, the immense amount of color crammed into such a relatively small space. It was filled with noises and smells that were both pleasant and not but it was all at once and everywhere and Harry just didn't know what to look at first. So he just stared, feeling his heart stuttering and skipping beats like he was actively drying, but his mind was too dazed to even care about his imminent death.
"We shouldn't stand in the doorway 'Arry, come on," Hagrid chirped, guiding him with one huge hand down onto the street, Harry just gaping and looking every which way trying to take it all in at once.
"This is…" Truly, there were not words for what this was.His heart clenched painfully, but he liked it.
"S'a lot to take in at firs', isn't it?" The giant man beside him chuckled. "Ya look to be havin' a hard time takin' it in so why don't we walk up n' down the street once to see the sights. We got some time, eh?"
Harry could only nod mutely and let himself be lead down the street, his head on a swivel to take in each shop and what it sold… trying to wrap his head around some of the odder sights. A shop for broomsticks, for owls and other animals, for wizard robes, for wands, an apothecary… there was just so much. He didn't even know where to start, he could only gape as he walked.
They got the end of the street and turned around back down, and by that time Harry could breathe a little more easily and was actually trying to take in the information around him now. All these people… they were witches and wizards? They wore those robes he saw those in the Leaky Cauldron wearing so that must be a thing here. The odd colors the robes could be looked a little last-century to be honest but hey, Harry was somehow into it.
Somewhere along their journey Hagrid seemed to get bored with just walking and figured Harry had had enough time to get over his shock, picking up the conversation gain. "See that big white building where we're headed? That's Gringotts—the bank I's tellin' you about and our firs' stop." He looked forward for once and did notice that impressive and slightly-out-of-place building and figured that yes, it sure looked like a bank. "An' ya know, ya never did answer my question; that hat turned out to be pretty lucky but I'd a thought you'd want people ta see ya now tha' you know yer story?"
Poor, naïve Hagrid. Harry could only smile a bit fondly at him and shrugged.
"I don't really want to be famous Hagrid, much less for something that killed my parents. It's not a pleasant thought to be thanked for something I didn't even know about until fifteen minutes ago."
"Ah, I see." Thankfully his guide just nodded, seeming content with that answer. Harry blessed this simple, easy-going man and just grinned. "Then per'aps the hat's a good idea since people'll recognize a Potter anywhere!" he acknowledged.
That still bothered him, since Hagrid had said he looked like his mother. Did that mean…?
"Did he have weird hair too?" He wondered aloud, and Hagrid chuckled.
"Oh yeah, wild as all be it—never once was it presentable I don' think." He seemed highly amused at some memory and Harry was itching to hear more, but recognized now was not the time as Gringotts came up on them. "Is that why ya hide it? Got more decency than James ever did in tha' respect then." He huffed good-naturedly.
"Oh, well uh… my Aunt always hated my hair and I, um… it started changing unnatural colors when I was younger so I've sort of… hidden it since." He shrugged a bit, trying to be casual about it but obviously failing when Hagrid looked down at him in surprise, his steady pace faltering a bit. He shouldn't have said anything really, just kept his mouth shut and his hair under his hat, but…
Maybe it was the warmth flooding through him or this new high he'd never felt before as he realized just walking down this street he felt… light. He realized he wanted to trust Hagrid and he wanted this chance to be real. This chance at freedom where he could actually be himself and… well, the words came out before he could think better of them, but even as he did think twice he knew he didn't want to regret them.
No more.
"Unnatural colors? Well I'll be! Tha's not too strange fer wizards, ya know—a metemorphmagus can change all sorts o' colors and faces." Hagrid chatted, fully stopping now and beaming down at him. "Yer dad had dark hair ya know, and tha's the Potter signature I was talkin' aboubt."
"R-really?" He paused, breath leaving his lungs. He carefully looked around the alley, bustling with life around them. "It wouldn't look weird here?"
And he realized, no it wouldn't. This place, so bright and colorful alley… no, his bright hair would fit right in actually.
"Not at all," Hagrid unknowingly agreed with his thought process, waving it off as nonsense.
"Well…" He bit his lip… but, it was something he'd always wanted to do from the day he decied he loved his hair; the day he turned around and decied that this was him and that was okay.
He reached up and slid his hat off, heart beating a little too hard as he did so.
Hagrid's eyes widened in surprise… and he smiled. "Ah… you look just like your mother, 'arry. Her spittin' image."
"Really!?" He inhaled, slightly dizzy from relief that Hagrid didn't scowl or react badly to the burning locks now falling free around his face like that now-significantly-quieter cynical side of himself half thought he would. He touched hair almost in awe, not quite believing he was doing this… and realized people were looking at him, eyes trailing to his hair as they did so. He couldn't tell if it was interest or not, but no one seemed horrified or anything…
"Aye—her hair was that exact color. She was mighty proud of it, she was, and I 'eard yer father rant about it often enough. 'E was a lovesick fool all seven years of Hogwarts for her so it was kind o' well known. People called her a Fire Witch fer her 'air and her temper; was a forced to be reckoned with it was!" Hagrid laughed good naturedly, seeming lost in memories at the sight of his hair and not quite noticing Harry's newly-dazed expression.
"This… is my mother's hair?" And just like that his love of it increased ten-fold. He didn't want to hide it— he didn't want to hide it.
He was proud of it… and proud to be like his mother he'd never known. Apparently he had her face, her eyes, her hair… and he was a little bummed he still knew next to nothing about his dad, but it couldn't put a damper on the rush he felt to finally be just that much closer to at least one of his parents. He soaked up Hagrid's words, committing them to memory and reaffirming his vow to be kind to his hair—that he now knew he shared with a precious connection he'd never gotten the chance to cultivate.
"It's unique fer sure, but not unnatural, ya know. Why da Weasley family's got halfa dozen o' 'em with bright red hair. Ah," He paused, tilting his head slightly as he glanced back pointedly at the bright scarlet locks atop his head. "Ginger maybe, certainly next to yours, 'arry." He chuckled heartily at that as if entertained by the joke Harry didn't get.
"Oh, okay then… red hair is normal?"
"Normal enough." Hagrid shrugged, beginning to walk again and forcing Harry to half-jog to keep up with him. "I doubt a muggle woulda ever been born with 'air like that; its definitely got some magic in it. But yer mother had a ton 'o it and muggles never thought it weird—just pretty like, ya know?"
"Oh. Oh."
Red hair was normal? That was news to him but… huh. He was too overwhelmed with all of this to think on it too much, and besides that was the moment they reached Gringotts, and he knew he needed his wits about him when he caught sight of that poem over the door.
000
Gringotts was a lesson and then some, and he was sitting in his vault (surrounded by piles of gold—seriously, what alternate dimension had he been tossed into this morning) already plotting on how to get back here and figure out the growing list of questions he had. He did not think Hagrid was the person to answer any of them, and he didn't even want to ask it to the goblin—Griphook—who'd escorted them down because too many questions and there was too much of a chance it's be reported back to Dumbledore by Hagrid's too-naïve nature. He still hadn't even met the Headmaster yet and was not willing to leave anything to the chance that the mysterious man would somehow use it against him.
Not sure how, but as excited as he was about this whole magical-world business, he was discovering he was super paranoid.
Eh, not much he could do about that right now, if even he wanted to.
There was however some specific questions that couldn't wait, and since Hagrid was still by the cart trying not to lose his last meal from the wild cart-ride and Griphook was standing by the vault door looking bored and angry at the same time (maybe that was just his face though) Harry lowered his voice so that it wouldn't carry but not too low to give the impression he was trying to hide something from Hagrid. Maybe he was aiming for shy or soft-spoken, or somewhere in between.
"Mr. Griphook, do you know if anyone else has keys to this vault?"
The goblin looked at him sharply. "Absolutely not—this a trust from the main Potter vault and your key is the only one that has access to it."
"Oh… I was just thinking maybe there were relatives I didn't know who had a spare key." He intoned a little sadly. Although the sadness was feigned, the words themselves was in fact not a lie since he thought lying to a goblin was a bad idea (that poem by the front door was very clear, thank you very much), however it wasn't the main reason he'd asked either. Someone had had his key before Hagrid, and he already had a main suspect. "Apologies for not knowing much, but I didn't know magic was real until this morning; is Gringotts like a nor—uh, a muggle bank that is has statements and, like, everything? Sorry, I didn't even know how other banks work but since I've an account here I am just curious, if you know anything." He hedged.
The goblin took the bait of him implying he might not know the details and gave a sharp-toothed grin that might also have been a snarl.
"Gringotts is no muggle bank, but it functions the same on many levels—you should have been getting statements monthly since this was transferred to your name, so since the night you became an orphan." He explained sharply, his tone clearly implying he was gloating his knowledge but Harry let him have it, taking in the information carefully as he filled the sack Hagrid had gave him—and added more into the back pack he'd brought with him. He didn't think Griphook would give a flying frock since it was his money and Hagrid wasn't looking. "This is a trust vault off of the main Potter vault—you'll get access to that one when you turn of age at 17. I'm also aware you have several other vaults willed to you but have remained untouched since you have not been present to accept them. Your account manager would be able to open them for you."
"Account manager?" He blinked.
"Your statements would have his name." Griphook huffed. Harry frowned…
"So if I haven't been getting statements, where would they have ended up?"
The goblin paused, eyes narrowing. "Gringotts doesn't make such mistakes. The statements were sent out." His tone was ice cold and Harry realized his misstep.
"Definitely not, you seem more… ah, competent than most humans I've met." He raised a brow pointedly, the goblin's icy look melting one degree or so. "As I said I didn't know about magic until this morning. Someone has clearly been keeping things from me, in my perspective, not just about bank statements but literally everything else. I didn't even know my parents didn't die in a muggle accident until half and hour ago if that proves my point."
Goblin seemed to measure him up for a long while, and in that time Harry finished with the gold and put his back pack on once more, going up to the door and pausing to stare back at the goblin sizing him up.
Eventually....
"We will look into this matter and determine the location of the missing statements. If they've been destroyed, we will have record of it and an indication of who has destroyed them."
Wow, that was surprisingly helpful. He ducked his head respectfully, even though the creature was shorter than him by quite a bit.
"Thank you sincerely for your help."
He sneered at him again, and Harry got the feeling that was just how goblins smiled.
000
The first thing he did upon leaving Gringotts was coerce his key from Hagrid's overly large hand. As expected, the giant's first response was that Dumbledore said he shouldn't be wasting money unknowingly until he was older and knew more about the magical world. What he didn't say but that Harry filled in, is that Dumbledore would then hang onto his key until he saw fit to give it back to its rightful owner.
First of all, why did the Headmaster of a boarding school have any say in his finances? If he were some kind of guardian than Harry should've grown up with him, not the Dursleys, ergo he was either a busy-body sticking his nose into the life of someone who wasn't even his student yet OR he was neglectful in that he was the one who was supposed to have been his guardian and instead of fulfilling his role passed him off to muggles who very much did not want him.
If either of those were true then Harry didn't trust this Headmaster in the slightest and he was absolutely not leaving this alley without HIS key in his pocket.
He felt a little guilty about it but easily brushed it off as he threw everything he had at Hagrid—pulling the orphan card, the clueless card, the 'you're my friend, aren't you Hagrid?' card, and literally anything else he could think of as the giant swayed over his loyalty to Dumbledore and his newfound friend in the son of two people he once cared about.
By the time they were entering the first shop they needed to stop by for his school list, he had his vault key tucked safely in his backpack in a small, secure zippered pouch. He genuinely liked Hagrid, but the guy was way too easy. He made a note to keep an eye out as they shopped for ways to secure valuable items—there had to be something safer than a zipper in this magical world that could be bought for one of the shiny gold coins he'd filled his backpack with.
The shopping itself was extremely fun, especially since he was counting the prices listed on each item, using his rather average math skills and the information about how much knuts, sickles, and galleons were worth to determine that he was indeed a very rich child all of a sudden and could easily afford most of what he was seeing. It was one thing to see the piles of gold and another to realize what one gold coin could buy you, and the answer was actually quite a lot. Multiply that by the mounds of gold he now knew he had just in his trust vault and he figured he and his grandchildren probably didn't really need to ever work if they didn't live outrageously lavishly (ahem, like some certain Dursleys with their new cars every two years and long vacations four times a year). If he wasn't imagining things, a lot of stuff in the wizarding world was way cheaper than its muggle equivalent—and trust him, he'd spent a lot of time going pence for pence at the grocery store and drug store he spent his stolen pocket money in to make sure he had just enough for the next small item he wanted. Maybe because it cost less to make it magically? Magic did seem very convenient, after all, but one would think it'd be a little closer.
He'd already read his equipment list back-to-front a dozen times and as they'd walked down the street to the first shops and browsed through the paper shop first, he cataloged which ones would be the most worth his time and decidedly-not-hard-earned-money. Hagrid had said a trunk would be a big purchase, so there was that… and he knew books was going to be another large purchase since aside from his textbooks he needed to know more about the magical world than he currently did. He wasn't particularly a bookworm but there was six weeks until September 1st and he had a feeling he was going to get a lot of cupboard time when he inevitably told the Dursleys he wasn't going to Stonewall, so why not use that time productively?
They stopped at a couple places along the way, getting parchment, quills, ink, and a new over the shoulder bag as even Hagrid expressed concern about the one he was wearing holding up. It was in that store that sold all sorts of bags and storage devices that he found a small draw-string bag that the saleslady said was charmed to reappear in a location he chose every morning regardless if someone has taken it, as well as that it only have something in it when the person who owned it opened it. Fascinated by the up-close magic he put one sickle in it and tested it out, having Hagrid open it and show him nothing was inside—he immediately added it to his purchases knowing this is exactly what he'd been looking for, for his key.
The bag itself he went wild on despite Hagrid's insistence that he didn't need all of the bells and whistles, telling him that they still had a trunk and other more expensive things to buy, which would've been good logic had he known Harry had swiped quite a bit more gold than Hagrid was aware of. He easily soothed the giant's concerns and deflected the conversation so his chaperon forgot what he was trying to say and instead launched into a detailed story about someone named Fang instead, which Harry kept one ear on while also telling the saleswoman that yes, he wanted all the bells and whistles. She smiled knowing, seeming aware of what he was doing to poor Hagrid, but since she was making a sale happily rang it up for him.
He was thrilled with his new purchase as it was a solid brown canvas thing with spells he was now learning the meaning of—and loving it, by the way. Something called a feather-light charm that meant no matter what he put into it, it didn't feel any heavier than when it was empty, a protection charm that would have it hold up for a guaranteed thirteen years, and a security charm that would shock anyone who tried to forcefully remove it from him in addition to the it's-there-again-every-morning charm that was on his pouch. It was also magically semi-bottomless, the saleslady explaining that the space inside of it was as big as a "quidditch pitch" both length/width and height wise. Pretending to be a muggleborn, as Hagrid had called them, she'd helpfully explained how big a quidditch pitch was in simpler terms and basically by the end of it he was sure he'd never actually be able to even halfway fill this bag.
He put all his new purchases and his old back pack into it so Hagrid wouldn't see him transfer the gold coins into it, which meant he could just reach in and pull coins out without Hagrid realizing how much he was spending unless he was keeping a careful tally—of which he was almost positive the large man was not. All in all, the bag was about six times as expensive as the plain leather ones, but if a knut was worth a pence there about, then it was only a slightly-more-expensive than average purse at best. He'd seen the price tags on some of Petunia's fashionable "name brand" purchases she got just so she could gloat to her neighbors and this still didn't come close to that.
Besides, it was a good purchase. Now he could have literally all his textbooks on him and be prepared for any class in school, plus they'd only been to two shops so far and his hands were already filled with bags so this was going to be a long day without the additional help. Again, he liked Hagrid but he was clearly reciting his reminders to stay simple with his purchases from someone else, and Harry had a feeling who. If he was right, then he wasn't going to listen to that advice in any way and keep on with his own prepping, thank you very much.
He kept it simple in he next couple stores, collecting odd bits here and there and taking note of what else the store had to offer. By the till they had free catalogs from which to order by owl and he helped himself to those happily, slipping them into his bag before Hagrid could notice.
When they got to the store that seemed to have everything he needed for potions, which was apparently a class at Hogwarts, he bought the basic set-up the list recommended and then freely helped himself to several other more interesting purchases such as gloves, a slightly nicer knife (by price at least, since he knew little about the quality difference between pewter and silver and gold, etc.) and some odd bits and ends of potion ingredients not in the basic kit. He didn't know what they were for but potions struck him as something he'd be really interested in and wanted to be prepared for it. For some reason Hagrid didn't comment on these purchases, and when asked why his answer was a bit chilling.
"Eh, well, Snape is the potions professor at Hogwarts an' he's a bit o' a bat. Heard 'is class was a tough one and I never 'ad a talent with potions in the firs' place so if ya want a leg up I can't fault ya." He shrugged, going back to keeping his large frame from bumping into any of the closely placed and glass-lined shelves, which seemed to take quite a bit of concentration.
Hearing that and seeing his chaperon sufficiently distracted, Harry immediately turned and scooped up pretty much one copy of every potions manual and guide on the nearby bookshelf. It sounded like he was definitely going to need them. While checking out he even asked the older gentleman at the till what kind of equipment more experienced potion brewers bought and he was kind enough to exchange the knife Harry had picked out for one of the same kind of silver but better quality (he made a better sale, but Harry let it go since the old guy seemed harmless) but other than that just said to stick with the guides he was buying if he was still a first year, and read them cover-to-cover before he got to potions class.
"That Severus Snape is a genius potions master but if he ain't got a stick up his ass," He croaked in a throaty voice, shaking his head in half amusement, half exasperation. He seemed to be talking mostly to himself, but Harry made a point to remember that two separate people had mentioned this Snape guy and his less-than-stellar character. Hagrid was one thing, but this guy worked at a potions' shop so one would assume he saw quite a bit of a potions master coming in here to buy materials and such.
"Thank you sir," was all he said outwardly though, smiling at the guy and going to leave—before a pretty glowing ball a perfect periwinkle and covered in what looked to be dusted sparkles caught his eye on the shelf behind the man's white head. The whole shop has a stereotypical muggle-idea-of-a-witch type feel with jarred animal parts and funny smelling dried plants hanging from the ceiling, tools made of pewter and sharp silver lying everywhere, so something that soft looking really stood out.
He had no idea what possessed him to blurt out, "What's that?".
But the guy just turned around and saw what he was looking at and smiled. "It's an atmosphere bulb, charmed to help regulate an area for a potions workstation. Some potions are sensitive to humid or too-chilly air, so this keeps everything a standard temperature optimal for potions."
Harry blinked. Huh. That was… useful.
"So it heats in the winter, cools in the summer? How big a range does it have?"
"Sure does! It's a little less than four-square meters in space—as I said it's only for a potion's workstation. Some people have their workstations in drafty areas away from main living areas because it can cause quite a mess." He explained. Harry did some quick mental math of a space he thought he might be able to use this in, an idea forming that caused him to smile.
"I'll take two."