Harry Potter left the room without looking back. He greeted the minders politely on the way to his room, not allowing his excitement to show.

Different. Yes, Harry was always aware how different he was, but he never imagined such a fantastic reason as magic. In a way, he supposed it made sense. What he was able to do went against everything he learnt about how the world worked, so magic was a logical answer, as ridiculous as that sounded. However, he had his doubts about the people that contacted him and their school.

Didn't they know what brochures were? Or how suspicious it was for an old man to contact an orphan child to offer a place in his school? Did they even know what credentials were? It was definitely fishy. And yet, Harry knew it was real. He could feel those two men's power sizzling under their skin. Something he only felt with Elizabeth and, occasionally, with some stranger in the street. He would investigate this Diagon Alley and see the magical world himself before taking a decision.

Harry pushed open the door of his room and saw little Elizabeth reading a book, not even noticing him. He took a second to observe the girl he considered a little sister.

The day he met her was still fresh on his mind. A tearing girl being almost dragged into the orphanage's canteen by that annoying minder that loathed and feared Harry in equal parts. He was about to dismiss the girl as inconsequential when he felt it, that same power he possessed coursing through her. It was only natural for him to take care of someone like him. The world was against them and they had to protect each other. Since that day, he did his best to teach her how their strange talent worked. In spite of his lessons, Elizabeth was still soft, far too kind and forgiving for his tastes, but that was just her nature. Sometimes he wondered if the girl tried to be soft for his sake, in order to remind him both were children with much to experience and learn.

"I see you couldn't wait," Harry said in a soft tone that still managed to startle the girl.

"I hate you," Elizabeth muttered, patting her chest in an effort to calm herself. "Who were they?"

"Two weirdos with questionable intentions and shady information," he answered cheerily, amused at her confused frown. "I was offered to go to a magical school. Apparently, there are more people like us."

"Then what's the problem?" she whispered, perhaps picking on his apprehension.

"The supposed headmaster said he knew my parents and even told me how they died, but he didn't really tell me anything. He knew my parents paid for this school in advance but didn't tell me how he knew so, he didn't even tell me why I should attend this school, he just assumed I would. It's fishy. He mentioned this place named Diagon Alley, so I'll take a glimpse of the magical world."

"You are going alone." Not a question, but a statement.

"You know that my... magic," he hesitated a bit in using this foreign concept for his power, "responds to me. I will be back after lunch."

Elizabeth didn't say a word, she simply glared at him. Any other day he would tease her, but today there was no time to spare. Harry simply stuffed his messenger back with his wallet, the key and the letter that the shady man gave him, and a book to keep boredom at bay.

“I will see you in a couple of hours,” he told her while petting her head, and left without waiting for a response.

He walked out of the orphanage, telling the Matron he wanted to go to the library. Being the perfect example of behaviour certainly had its perks. With a small smirk, he reviewed his plans of the day and walked to the station. First stop was the bank, getting all the information about what his parents left him was crucial. Maybe he should get a lawyer, but then again, what adult listened to children?

Then, Harry needed information about how the magical world worked, which meant the library. Afterwards, and not so vital, he wanted a wand, curious about how it would work with his magic. Only after that he would consider attending this school. Sighing, he got on the train and took out his book.

As Harry walked along Charing Cross Road, looking for the Leaky Cauldron, he spotted a dilapidated pub with that name. He raised an eyebrow at his first glimpse of the magical world. Children were supposed to enter a pub. Was that even legal?

With wary steps, Harry walked inside inside. The inside looked even worse than the outside, if possible. Noticing the very bald, kind of creepy, and undoubtedly ancient barman, Harry took the wise decision to walk away and pretend nothing happened. Then again, why did he ever consider following the instructions of an old man wearing a vivid red suit and sparkly shoes was a good idea?

Unfortunately, the barman noticed him. "Heya, lad! What can I do for ya?"

Was it rude to run away now? Perhaps. Harry composed a pained smile, regretting how his curiosity overwhelmed his common sense.

“Good morning sir, I’m looking for Tom the barman. Do you know where I might find him?”

“That's me, lad. Looking for the entrance of Diagon Alley, I guess. Follow me!” the man exclaimed and walked away.

It was definitely a bad idea to follow old men, but he trusted his magic and his lung capacity. With a sigh, Harry followed the man to the back of the pub. Taking his wand, the old man tapped the bricks in a sequence which Harry was careful to memorize. Once he was done, the wall moved to reveal a chaotic marketplace that disenchanted Harry from the magical world.

“Good luck, lad!” Tom exclaimed and left before he could answer, much to Harry's relief.

After taking a deep breath, Harry followed Dumbledore's instructions in order to arrive at the bank. He observed the Victorian fashion magicals seemed to fancy wearing under colourful robes. While he was not a fashion connoisseur, Harry was sure he would rather not wear it. Once he caught a glimpse of the exquisitely carved marble building, he let out a breath of pure relief. At least the bank looked decent.

He almost raised an eyebrow when he caught a glimpse of the bank’s guards. They were short, had strange features, and wore splendid armour. But who was he to judge? Besides, they were better dressed than any of the strangers Harry saw so far. With a polite greeting, he entered the bank. Finding a free counter, he approached the worker and noticed the plaque that read Teller, but had no name, so decided to play it safe.

“Good morning, Mister,” Harry greeted the teller, whose head snapped towards him. “I was wondering where and how I can obtain information about my parents' accounts."

“... Good morning. We only need the name and key. Some accounts have personal managers but others are managed by the clerks. May I have your name?” For some reason, Harry had the impression he somehow insulted the man.

“Harry James Potter. May I know your name?” The teller gaped at him. Yep, Harry now knew he managed to insult the man. He only hoped he didn't start an accidental war or got banned by the bank.

“You can call me Sharpclaw,” the man said in a single breath, looking at Harry as if he was a particularly bizarre purist.

“Likewise, Mister Sharpclaw,” he saluted, almost feeling like an adult. Hypocritical and sycophantic.

“If you wait for a few minutes, I will talk with the Potter account manager,” the teller said blandly, muttering something under his breath and rubbing his eyes furiously.

Harry sighed and decided to look around. The tellers were using quills, how strange. But then again, the people wore headache inducing cloaks and overly pointy hats. Compared to that, using an old fashion quill was nothing. Though Harry did wonder what magical people had against aesthetically pleasing fashion.

“Mister Potter, Manager Ragnok is waiting for you. If you would follow me."

“Of course, Teller Sharpclaw... Would you mind me asking a few questions?" Harry decided to ask. He already offended this man, what did he had to lose?

“I will do my best to answer."

“Thank you. I'm wondering to what species to do you belong?"

The teller chuckled and Harry let out a relieved sigh. Perhaps he was not getting banned today.

"I'm a goblin. My people have sovereignty over Gringotts, just like other creatures have control over their territories," Sharpclaw said and looked at Harry, frowning afterwards. " Similar to how muggles own their houses."

“Fascinating," and it truly was, perhaps this place was not as terrible. Though he had to ask something vital, "what are muggles and creatures?"

Sharpclaw groaned and muttered something under his breath. This time, however, Harry had the impression the man - or goblin - was not annoyed at him. At least he hoped that was the case.

“Muggles are non-magical people and creatures are sentient beings capable of magic, such as house-elves, centaurs, merpeople, werewolves, goblins like myself, among others."

“I understand. Thank you for your time, Teller Sharpclaw."

“It was an honour, Mister Potter,” he said as a farewell. Knocking and opening an ornate door before taking his leave.

Harry watched the goblin leave with an inscrutable expression. The definition Sharpclaw gave him of creatures sounded the same way the colonizers described slaves. Not the magic part, the part of totally dehumanizing those people in an effort to justify their cruelty. He definitely needed more information about this world, but wondered if it was truly worth the effort.

“Mister Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. Take a seat,” the goblin behind the desk said. Harry examined the office on his way, noting it was tastefully decorated - simple, elegant, and practical.

“Good morning, Manager Ragnok."

“Though I do not doubt your identity, Mister Potter, the bank requires verification for all the major accounts,” he commented, placing a thick, tawny piece of paper and an intricate golden needle before Harry. “The process is simple, you only need to drop three drops of blood onto the parchment.”

Once again, he wondered if this was a wise decision. Before he could over think, Harry took the needle and, without hesitation, punctured his index finger. The parchment absorbed his blood and words began to appear in black ink. James Charlus Potter and Lily Jane Evans could be read above his name. A diminutive smile managed to escape at the proof of him definitely belonging to a family, even if it was gone. he paid no mind to the slight sting of magic healing the would.

“These are the folders containing information about your personal vault and the Potter family accounts. If you excuse my audacity, I must say your mother was a brilliant woman. She made plans for every possible scenario in order to assure your wellbeing. Thanks to her and your grandfather, the Potter vault has never been fuller,” the goblin commented with a curious version of a smile. Harry took the folders and fought with himself to control his expression. He could easily spend thousands every month for the rest of his life and his grandchildren would be able to enjoy the family fortune. Unless magical money was thoroughly devalued, of course. This would bring other hindrances and Harry would rather live in a stable muggle society than in an impecunious magical one.

“There is much more money than I expected. Would you please explain what galleons, sickles and knuts are? And their value in pounds?”

“Of course. There are 50 knuts to a sickle, 20 sickles to a galleon, and galleons are worth fifteen pounds, give or take a few pence. The ledger in your hands contains the figures of your Family Vault, which you will not have access to it until either you become a legal adult. Your trust vault, on the other hand, is under your full control,” he commented, signalling a considerably thinner folder.

"Why do I have so much money?” Harry asked, frowning at the paper.

“It's a Potter tradition to deposit ten thousand from the main vault each birthday until the heir is seventeen. If I’m not wrong, another deposit will be made in less than two months. The Potters believed in hard work; they gave all the tools to their offspring and let them decide what to do. Many of your ancestors thrived and multiplied their money. Others lived a comfortable life doing what they enjoyed while some were unable to make intelligent decisions and lived in poverty. It was created as a way of safekeeping the family fortune,” the manager explained.

Well, Harry already liked his ancestors way of thinking.

“If you don't mind answering, is there any possibility of you telling me about my family?"

“It would be a pleasure to tell you about one of our most loyal customers. I knew Lady Evans from the day she walked into the magical world. She was a brilliant woman with a keen eye for business. You see, she entrusted us with a copy of all the documents she owned and allowed almost free reign over the account, with certain conditions, of course.” Harry did his best not to gape at the tall pile of papers that appeared on the desk. “It contains a copy of the deeds to every single property the Potter's own, along with an inventory of her and her husband's personal belongings in their last residence. There is also a copy of their will and a few portkeys she left under our care,” the goblin commented, handing Harry a large, ornate, rectangular box that he eyed with curiosity. “This contains the portkeys - each will take you to a different property and the activation code is written above each of them."

“I don't think it would be wise of me to take them now. Would you keep it until I ask for it?” Harry asked, deciding it would be wiser to consult with the pillow first.

“You remind me of her, Mister Potter. She was unfailingly polite and had a mind so sharp that, when she graduated, she received many offers despite her blood,” Ragnok commented, apparently approving of Harry's decision.

“Despite her blood...” Harry repeated with apprehension.

“Purebloods despise any other being that is not, according to them, pure. In this case, however, they have a solid reason. Muggleborns tend to be ignorant about the magical traditions, clinging to their roots. However, unlike any other muggleborn, your mother researched this world. She was a constant customer at the bookstore in Knockturn Alley, if my memory serves me right.

“I believe you will be able to find her books and any other personal belongings in a vault she opened a year before her demise in case of them leaving in an emergency or dying. She opened this vault so we could retrieve any personal belongings, by force if necessary and without repercussions. As I mentioned before, your mother was brilliant,” Ragnok reminisced.

“Could you tell me why they were attacked?"

“I have no idea, Mister Potter. The day she opened the vault was the last time she came to the bank. Your parents went into hiding soon after. I can take you to the vault in order for you to examine it. Now that I remember, we were unable to retrieve a few things from the house; the objects in red are the ones. We need your signed approval to retrieve them using… other means."

“Of course,” Harry muttered as he read the contract. An small smile adorned his features.

Now he understood why Ragnok said his mother was a brilliant woman. Harry signed, almost feeling pity for the fools that stole from him. “I want to visit the vault,” Harry said with a smile, picking up the offered folders and putting them in his bag. “Is there anything you know about my father, Manager Ragnok?"

“Not much about your father, unfortunately. Your grandparents, however, were excellent in business. That is the reason why they gave Lady Lily Evans free reign over the account once she married your father. Charlus, your grandfather, always complained about your father being too naive and gentle. James would have spent all their hard earned money by supporting a war that was not his."

While he wanted to know more about the war, something told him it was better if he found this information by himself. However, thanks to the information Ragnok provided, Harry now had an image of his parents: an intelligent and rather ruthless woman, and a somewhat dim-witted, yet gentle, man. Until this moment, his parents were a mere concept - Harry din't miss or love them. But now that he knew his mother did everything in her power and beyond to ensure his safety, there was a strange warmth blooming in his chest. He ignored it in favour of planning.

First of all, he needed more information to make a decision about his future. His life violently changed and the odds seemed to be in his favour. This world offered him endless perks and many troubles.

The goblin led him to a cart, on which they descended for heavens knew how long until they stopped at a cavernous corridor that ended in an elegant black door with golden accents. Harry did his best to keep his breakfast down and pretended the floor was not moving.

Ragnok handed him a key without uttering a word, understanding they were not needed at the moment. Harry absently noted the key matched the door and the vault opened with a loud click. It was full of furniture and other paraphernalia he ignored in favour of the two wands emblazoned upon the wall. He looked away and scanned the room for books. Nothing. Harry did his best to contain his disappointment when he hear Ragnok's steps nearing him.

“Your mother enchanted this trunk herself," he said, showing Harry a simple leather briefcase. "It will only open with your magical signature, Mister Potter. First, touch this button in order for it to enlarge."

“Call me Harry,” he muttered, amazed at the travel trunk that replaced the briefcase.

Placing his hand on one of the four locks, he heard an audible click and decided to open it. It was a small wardrobe, one side had five drawers while the other had hangers. Out of curiosity, Harry opened a drawer. It looked way deeper than it was supposed to be... Was the drawer supposed to be that long? He checked the trunk and decided that no, it was not meant to do that. He would blame this physical law violations on magic.

He tried another compartment. One side looked like an organizing shelve while the other had ten square (and not large) drawers. The next compartment was similar. The last one was an unexpected surprise. It was filled with dozens of books, perfectly organized in shelves. There was a strange white space that replaced a book.

“That is a book finder," Ragnok said, almost giving Harry a heart attack in the process, "one of your mother's personal creations. You write the title or author on it and the books will appear in the bookcase. If you write the subject, it will give you titles of the books containing that information. I have no idea of how many books it contains but, knowing your mother’s love for literature, I suggest being thorough and not buying any new titles, unless they were published in the last decade, until you are able to see its contents. Your parents had this especially made for you to go to school,” Ragnok announced, looking strangely proud.

“I will be taking it with me, then. I also want to withdraw some money, just in case."

“It will be done,” Ragnok agreed, writing in his book with a quill.

It was a little after lunch when a pensive Harry Potter exited the bank, after making an appointment for next week. He reviewed all his family's investments (while Ragnok patiently explained how everything worked) and he was pleased with his ancestor's good decisions, even if it meant he now needed to actually understand how the business world worked. Troublesome.

However, Harry took a decision. Next week would be dedicated to learning and putting all his affairs in order. Finding a way of home-schooling would be simple, though finding a subtle way of leaving the muggle world behind would be a bit trickier. It was not convenient for Elizabeth and him to disappear without a trace and faking an adoption would be too troublesome, so at least he needed to forge the documents that would give him and his sister independence. Once again, the thanked his magic because she would make his job easier. Not to mention the goblins that, like any banker, will provide the right services in exchange for golden motivation.

Warily, Harry eyed the people on his way to Ollivander's - some looked at him with unwarranted intensity while others downright ignored him. The magical people was something he was not eager to deal with. Taking a soothing breath, he entered the dusty store, his eyes hardening at the state of the place but his magic dancing at being in contact with more of her own kind.

“Good evening, Mister Potter. I must say it is a surprise to see you,” an old, dishevelled man announced behind him. Harry would be surprised had he not felt the man's magic.

“Good evening, sir. As you may assume, I want to buy a wand,” he greeted with as much politeness as he could muster to the creepy man. Wanting to leave as soon as possible, he added, “I don't have much time and will be unable to come back until December, so please, if we could hurry." Politeness never tasted so bitter.

“Of course, Mister Potter, we will find your wand soon!” the man exclaimed, with too much enthusiasm.

In that way, Harry was given wand after wand with specifications provided by the strange man. He only sighed each time a wand was taken from him. When he got tired, he put on an anxious expression and looked through the window.

“Let's see, holly with a phoenix feather core, nice and supple. Give it a try."

With an annoyed sigh, Harry took the wand, only for it to burn in a white-hot flame, leaving a beautiful feather and burned fingertips behind. Grabbing it with gentle fingers to examine it, he noticed the wand maker's aghast expression. Harry guessed it wasn't normal, even in this strange world.

“I could have sworn that was your wand... This will be the first time in seven generations the Ollivanders will make a personalized wand!” the man exclaimed, his excitement taking over once again. “Follow me, Mister Potter. We will be going to my workshop,” the man began blabbering, to which Harry paid no attention. Though he wondered if it was common for old men to ask kids to follow them in this world. “Along the wall, we have different kinds of wood. Touch each one of them and you'll know when you find it."

Harry intently ignored the man and let his magic dance. He felt a strong pull towards a handsome wood that seemed to be isolated from the others but decided to feel for others just in case. An indescribable feeling washed over him when he touched a wood that was labelled as Yew. Picking that one and the other wood, he walked towards the man, whose slack jaw would be comic if Harry wasn't so annoyed.

“Taxus, also known as yew, and Sambucus, also known as elder...” the man whispered to himself, frowning at the wood, “Are you sure?” he asked.

Harry nodded and the man sighed, but took the woods and guided him to a shelf. “Each wood requires a core, you must choose two,” the man muttered in a trance.

Once again, Harry examined the shelf. Feeling pulled to curious-looking horns, he picked the jar. Seeing glossy dark hairs, he picked them up as well, his magic dancing inside him in approval. Whatever trance the man was in broke when he saw the objects in Harry's hands, a wide and slightly manic grin spread on his face.

“Ah, horned-serpent horn! I got that sample in my youth. Unfortunately, I was never able to use it. Oh my! The Thestral tail hair my father obtained during his student years at Hogwarts - a temperamental core that almost cut a finger off the last time I tried to make a wand with it. I never used elder wood, you know? The only time I tried ended up with so many splinters I looked like a cactus! This will be a powerful wand indeed; we need a sealer to fuse the cores...” Harry tuned out the man's incessant chatter, caressing the feather in his hands and wondering when it would be done. “Phoenix feather would be the perfect stabilizer. If you don't mind giving me the feather, Mister Potter,” the man said, looking intently at his hands.

“How long will it take?” Harry asked, surrendering his feather with reluctance.

“I will have it done next week."

“Very well. If I’m unable to come, I will send someone. How much will it be?"

“Eighty galleons. A normal wand can cost up to fifteen galleons, but this in particular-"

“I don't mind. I will pay half now and half next week,” he interrupted the man, saving himself a headache. Taking out his gold pouch, he counted out the necessary coins while he walked towards the counter in the shop. Muttering a polite farewell, he left the place.

On his way out of the pub, Harry sighed. The magical world was both - better and worse than expected. While he walked to the station, he decided to buy food for him and his sister. After all, he could splurge a little now, knowing he had more than enough money.

However, he had a couple of questions that kept bothering him: who was responsible for him growing up the way he did and, most importantly, why?