Chapter 22- Replies( part 3).

Harry had rolled his eyes at the irony. Her hissed threats and warnings were a bit rich, considering most if not all his glasses mishaps were caused or orchestrated by her dear "Dinky Duddydums." He'd taken the time to mull the matter over carefully, though, and decided to withdraw 500 galleons. Surely that would be enough. He'd gotten the shock of his life, when Griphook, the goblin who was waiting on him, did some quick computations.

"You say you want to withdraw 500 galleons, and you want that converted to pounds?" the teller had asked.

"Yes, please."

"Very well. You'll be wanting one of these, then," Griphook said, placing an object on the counter, that looked for all the world like one of the folders Harry had used in muggle school. The difference was, this one was sized to hold pounds sterling. Seeing Harry's blank stare he sneered, "It's a money minder. It really isn't safe to be carrying around such a large sum. That's charmed to make it look like a more reasonable amount."

"Oh," was all Harry could think of to say, realizing for the first time that this was not to be a one-to-one transaction. How much money did I just request, anyway? he wondered, then watched in alarm as Griphook rapidly counted out 2500 pounds.

"Exchange rate's good for you today," the goblin commented as he worked. "Five to one-not bad at all. The exchange fee is waived of course, because of your account status," he continued, counting the money again, then stuffing it in the money minder. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Potter?"

Not wanting to look like a complete idiot, Harry had calmly accepted the little folder, reasoning that he could always re-deposit what he didn't use later. Then, with aplomb that would have made Dumbledore proud, he had requested information on the balance and status of his account.

"You have not been receiving statements?" Griphook asked, looking shocked. At Harry's negative response, he excused himself, then returned a few minutes later carrying a large ledger.

Harry watched while the goblin flipped rapidly through the book, then ran one yellow fingernail down a column of vault numbers. "Ah. I see. Before their deaths, your parents mandated that should you placed under your muggle relatives' guardianship, all information pertaining to this account was to be held here at Gringotts until you reached the age of majority, and Albus Dumbledore was entrusted with your key until you began studying at Hogwarts." He frowned up at Harry. "It appears your parents thought it wise to hide this account."

Stunned, Harry had merely nodded. He'd chosen to do the same thing.

"Well then," Griphook snapped the ledger shut and became brisk and businesslike again. "Since you have very little activity in your account, Mr. Potter, it is subjected to quarterly instead of monthly audits. All activity is recorded and tracked, and I can give you the last tally, but I do not have your current balance at my fingertips. I can find out, but it will take time. Would you care to come back, or shall I owl you?"

"An owl will be fine, thank you," Harry had replied, becoming uncomfortably aware of the increasing number of people about, and itching to return to the Leaky Cauldron before he was spotted.

"Very well Mr. Potter, you may expect an owl in about five business days."

Harry broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out a blank piece of Gringotts letterhead stationary, with a goblin watermark. A life-size silhouette of a typical vault key was centered at the top of the page, and printed above the bank's name and address. The green-eyed boy raised an eyebrow in confusion. Weren't they supposed to be sending his account information? He turned parchment over, and glanced at the back which was blank as well, then turned it back over and sucked in a startled breath. The watermark had moved, and was looking directly at him. "Key, please," it said.

Harry blinked and stared for a couple of seconds before blurting, "What?"

"This letter contains privileged information. Your identity must be verified." the little picture explained tersely before repeating, "Key please."

"Erm...yeah. Right. Just a moment," Harry laid the letter down on the bed, and fetched his vault key from his trunk. He retrieved the parchment, and held his key in front of the watermark. "Here it is."

"Oh, yes. Griphook did say you were new at this." The goblin on the paper pointed up at the letterhead. "Lay your key on the silhouette."

Harry obeyed, and watched torn between fascination and horror as his key was drawn into the letter. The little watermark was holding the key now, and glancing between it and a piece of parchment it had retrieved from somewhere. "Yes, yes," he muttered distractedly. "Everything seems to be in order." He tossed the key up and to Harry's immense relief, it re-appeared where he had put it. "Good day, Mr. Potter," the little goblin said with a polite incline of his head, before vanishing from sight. In his place, the parchment started to fill with rows and columns of figures.

Harry scanned the numbers as they filled in, raising his eyebrows, and letting out a low whistle of surprise. Whoa! he thought, unable to find the words to form a more articulate response. There was more in his vault than he thought. His parents had deposited a fair amount when they had started the account, and set up an agreement with the bank so that it earned an aggressive rate of return. There were stipulations, of course. For example, the money had to remain untouched, and completely at the bank's disposal for a minimum of 10 years. Afterwards, only a fixed number of withdrawals per year would be allowed. Deposits would be allowed at any time, of course. The account had grown impressively over the past decade, fed by the interest it earned until he had started Hogwarts. No wonder the currency he took out for school on his annual trips to Diagon Alley never seemed to matter. He earned that and more in interest every year.

Of course, the account as it existed currently wasn't practical for everyday life. It was earning a lot of interest, yes, but the strict rules on the number and amount of withdrawals he was allowed in a year would be horribly inconvenient once he graduated. Harry reckoned he would eventually need to set up the equivalent of a muggle checking account when he had an actual residence, and regular day-to-day expenses, but that could wait for now. Still slightly stunned, he carefully re-folded his account statement, and put it, and his Gringotts key back in his trunk.

That done, Harry sat on the floor by his trunk, and leaned against it, still trying to assimilate all the information he had just read. A glance at his clock told him he still had a while before he was expected anywhere. He was just beginning to wonder what to do with himself, and was thinking about nipping down for a spot of lunch, when his attention was caught by the box he'd brought with him from Mrs. Figg's house. It been sitting on the floor beside his dresser. Now it slid over to him, and bumped him on the hip with a palpable air of, Well, is it my turn? Are you finally going to pay attention to me?

Harry wondered for a minute if he had truly lost it, then decided the box must be charmed somehow. Well, okay, he already knew that. The thing practically ripped with magic when touched, it had emerged looking brand new even after being drenched by rain and puddle water, and it had spontaneously hidden the label that so obviously declared his identity when Stan Shunpike had loaded and unloaded his things on the Knight Bus. "Okay," he told it finally. "Sorry. I was just waiting to hear back from Mrs. Figg."

The box did a happy little spin, then untied and untaped itself, flinging its flaps open wide. Harry chuckled a little, then peered in.

The box contained a hodgepodge of items. It appeared to mostly be full of papers, but there were other things inside as well. Reaching a hand in, Harry drew out some official looking papers-his muggle school records, his medical records, his birth certificate... Yep, he really was Harry James Potter. The teen had been asked, and often wondered himself if "Harry" was short for anything. Evidently not.

Laying these aside he slipped his hand in deeper, and pulled out a slightly charred parchment envelope addressed to Mr. H. Potter, Cupboard under the Stairs? Harry shook his head in disbelief. His first Hogwarts letter! But how? Uncle Vernon had burned it! He had kept the letter Hagrid had finally hand-delivered to him, addressed to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea, but he'd always regretted the loss of that first letter. It was the first indication he'd ever had that someone other than his aunt and uncle knew he existed-and now here it was! A little toasted, maybe, but mostly intact. He carefully removed the letter and looked over it, before gently laying it aside with his other legal papers.

He reached into the box again, even deeper this time, and pulled out a handful of assignments he'd done at his old muggle school. I don't understand! Harry thought in stunned disbelief. Aunt Petunia threw all my things away! She only kept Dudley's papers! How in the world did Mrs. Figg get them? Flipping through the stack, he grinned at the subject matter, the little notes his teachers had written, and his own childish handwriting and artwork. One drawing in particular caught his attention. He had drawn a motorcycle and rider silhouetted against the moon. "Charming! Great imagination!" his teacher had noted, writing carefully near the top of the paper. Harry looked critically at the drawing. It wasn't bad, really, but its existence defied logic. His aunt and uncle always treated his schoolwork with indifference, sparing it one short look before tossing it in the bin, but because this drawing was "imaginative" they had ripped it to pieces before throwing it out. How then, was it in the box from Mrs. Figg's house, looking as though it had never been torn?

Harry shook his head in amazement, and decided not to worry about the "how" just yet. For the next half hour or so, he explored the wonders hidden in the seemingly bottomless box. One of the more poignant items he unearthed was a book of fairy tales that he had won one day at school. Dudley had been home with the flu, so he'd actually had the nerve to do his best at the little trivia quiz his teacher was hosting. The book had been first prize. He had sneaked it into the house, and managed to keep it hidden in his cupboard for quite a while, but Petunia had run across it one day, and flown into a rage. She had yelled almost hysterically about how such rubbish wasn't allowed in her house, and rapped him smartly with the book, before tearing a handful of pages out of it, and throwing it into the kitchen bin.

Grinning happily, Harry had been ready to flop on the bed and take in a tale or two, when his little clock chimed. Time to Go, it read. "Oh, hang it," the wizard muttered in irritation, "I forgot to get lunch!" He placed the book beside the clock and shrugged. At least I have a plan for later, he thought, hurrying down the stairs. Perhaps he had time to make a quick sandwich, or at least grab a piece of fruit before heading over to Madam Malkin's.

______

A full dozen cats looked up disinterestedly when the fireplace at Magnolia Crescent blazed, and their mistress came tumbling out. "Finally," Arabella grumbled, brushing herself off, and dropping her bags on the floor. She tromped to her very unlived in kitchen, and scowled into her nearly empty refrigerator. Eurgh. Definitely nothing edible there. Arabella cast a banishing charm and a cleaning charm in rapid succession. Well, there was her reason to go fetch Harry. Petunia had allowed her to "borrow" the boy to help her carry groceries home from the shops before, and she was literally out of everything.

Brightening, she shed her robes, revealing the muggle clothes she wore underneath, snatched up a few shopping bags, and hurried out the door. As she walked two streets over to Privet Drive, she rehearsed what she would say: "Petunia, dear, how lovely to see you! Is Harry available to help me do a little job by any chance?"

As she neared #4, she noticed there were more than the usual number of cars about. Frowning, Arabella walked a little more quickly, then smiled in relief when she spotted a dark-haired figure in the yard. He seemed okay...taller than when she had last seen him, but that was to be expected. She was about to call him over to her, but a group of people exiting the house made her stop, and listen instead.

"As you can see, this is a very comfortably sized house," a smartly dressed woman with a clipboard was saying to an unfamiliar couple. "Easy access to shops, quiet neighborhood, good schools..." she listed, pointing out the benefits of living on Privet Drive while the couple listened politely. Noticing his parents had exited the house, the boy ran over to them.

Mrs. Figg watched as the realtor and her perspective clients spoke a few minutes more. When the family climbed into their car and drove away, she cautiously approached the other woman. "Excuse me, do you happen to know what became of the family who used to live here?"

The realtor turned with a surprised smile, "Friends of yours?"

Arabella shrugged. "They have me babysit for them from time to time," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I was just popping 'round to see if one of their boys could help me with an errand."

"One of their boys? I thought they just had one," the other woman frowned as she marked something on her clipboard, then faced Arabella. "The father was transferred with his job, that's all I know. They're using another agent to find their home on the other end."

Arabella nodded. She chatted with the agent for a few more minutes, then the woman got into her car and drove away. The witch waited until her companion had driven a few blocks, then hurried to the edge of the anti-apparation wards, checked for possible witnesses, and apparated for her house. Something really weird was going on here...

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