July 31, 1991
England, Little Whinging — London
Mrs. Figg's house smelled predictably of cats. Professor McGonagall let go of my hand and nudged me toward an armchair occupied by a white half-Kneazle.
"Ah, Professor, you brought Harry!" a thin old woman exclaimed happily in greeting — Mrs. Figg herself. I'd only ever seen her in passing. "I've wanted to tell you everything for so long, my boy, but unfortunately I wasn't allowed. Tea?"
"Yes, please. I need a cup of tea to calm down," McGonagall said, lowering herself into an armchair after first waving her wand over it — cleaning it, probably. "When I saw Harry with that exhausted face, in those old wrinkled clothes and with bruises on his arms, I simply couldn't contain myself. And that woman even brought up money! You were absolutely right, Mrs. Figg. Harry has had such a hard life. My heart bled when I saw the address on the envelope. Imagine it — 'the cupboard under the stairs'! To treat the Hero of magical Britain so horribly! It's a nightmare! I disliked them from the very beginning. What a pity there was no choice and Albus said it would be better for Harry..."
I sat there blinking stupidly. What, had I overdone the whole secrecy thing? Was I supposed to sleep in a three-piece suit or something? I was wearing an ordinary T-shirt and shorts — soft, comfortable, basic house clothes. And 'exhausted' was a bit much. I'd simply slept badly because of all the worry and the nighttime attack by giant gamekeepers. Bruises? Any boy has bruises! The day before yesterday I'd demonstrated a stick technique badly for Dudley and his hand had slipped. It hadn't even hurt!
"Oh, you're absolutely right, Professor!" Mrs. Figg nodded eagerly. "Those Dursleys are dreadful Muggles. Lately Petunia has stopped leaving Harry with me altogether, and rather rudely told me not to interfere in their family. Can you imagine? And all I did was ask how he was doing!"
They poured tea for me too, but I didn't drink it. Who knew what they'd slip into it? Some potion, and next thing I knew I'd fall in love with Mrs. Figg and her half-Kneazles. So while the women were distracted, I poured the suspicious offering called tea — which looked more like cat urine — into the tub of a ficus conveniently standing beside my chair.
"We should go, Harry. Stand in front of me and hold my hand," McGonagall said, without even explaining how traveling by fireplace worked or giving me the most basic safety rules. No, Snape-sensei was still the best wizard I knew by far! I obeyed, briefly thinking that they hadn't even given me time to put on more suitable clothes.
"The Leaky Cauldron!" The professor threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, and green flames swallowed us.
We emerged into a rather dark room. It smelled of sour beer and unwashed bodies. Various people sat in the corners. Harry and I had been here before, back when we'd gone to the magical district. I even remembered that the doorway into the world of wonders was near some rubbish bins.
A huge black mountain rose from a table at the far end. I recognized the nighttime gamekeeper, and he roared across the entire 'Leaky Cauldron':
"Harry! Harry Potter! I'm so glad to see yeh! Welcome home!"
Some 'home' — a filthy pub any normal person would hesitate to enter.
Everyone became alert and immediately crowded around Professor McGonagall and me. A whole collection of dubious-looking people reached their hands toward me. It reminded me of that zombie movie my brother, Piers, and I had watched recently. I barely restrained myself from fighting off everyone who wanted to 'touch the Hero' or shake my hand. On top of that, the gamekeeper was the first to grab me and crush me against his hairy bulk. His jacket was hairy too, and I only just managed to fill my lungs with air beforehand so I wouldn't suffocate from the very special stink of it.
"A great honor, Mr. Potter!... Always wanted to shake your hand, Mr. Potter!... I'm so happy to see you, Mr. Potter!..." All these people practically threw themselves at an eleven-year-old child and nearly trampled their own hero.
At last McGonagall had the sense to pull me out of the crowd and take me into the back yard, toward that doorway. I felt as if I were trapped in some terrible stage production. It was unpleasant, and I wanted to wash my hands.
"Quirinus...?" McGonagall said in surprise when another man caught up with us by the exit into the magical district. A cloth was wrapped around the top of his head into an elaborate piece of headwear. I think it was called a 'turban', and people wore them in Eastern countries — the places the Crusades had been fought over. "Harry, this is Professor Quirrell. He teaches at Hogwarts as well."
"P-Potter!" the professor said, stuttering either from nerves or by habit. "I-I'm h-honored t-to m-meet y-you! I t-take it you're b-buying everything y-you'll n-need for s-school? I need a n-new book about v-vampires."
McGonagall nodded and tapped her wand against the brickwork, opening the entrance. We went in together, but the stuttering professor almost immediately went off to attend to his own business somewhere to the side. Wait! A stuttering professor?! Right! I vaguely remembered something about an evil face being hidden under that head covering!
Lost in thought, I didn't even notice when we reached the bank building, where I could read the sign 'Gringotts'. A snow-white building, gleaming doors, and those frightening little people... One of them stood at the entrance wearing a gold-and-scarlet uniform.
"The bank belongs to goblins," the professor explained. "It is this magical people who manage wizarding finances."
We passed through another door, apparently silver-plated. There were now two uniformed guards. For such small creatures, they clearly had a taste for gigantism. There weren't as many customers here as there were goblins sitting around looking terribly important. And the height of the ceilings? The sheer size of the hall?
It was funny that the goblins serving customers sat on extremely high chairs, with what was probably a little ladder attached to the side — they had to climb up somehow. They weren't any taller than a house-elf. And they were obviously putting on a show: right by the entrance they weighed coins and sparkling gemstones. Moving them from one pile to another and admiring them through magnifying glasses. What an incredibly stupid and boring job — sitting there and handling the same stones over and over. I'd never believe they really had so many gemstones that five goblins were needed to count and inspect them all every single day. Especially since I'd seen exactly the same display when Harry and I came here before. Besides, as far as I understood, these creatures only stored money and weren't even allowed to enter other people's vaults.
We approached the goblin who was supposed to serve customers. He had amusing hair combed almost vertically upward, parted into two sections over a balding head. Probably wanted to look taller. His ears didn't droop like the others', and his nose was thick and hooked, though not as long as those of most representatives of his people.
"Good morning," the professor greeted the little creature. "We would like to withdraw money from Mr. Potter's vault. Here is the key." She placed a small gilded, engraved key on the counter, which came up to her chin.
The goblin examined the key through a magnifying glass and bared small, sparse, sharp teeth in satisfaction.
"Professor McGonagall!" The ubiquitous gamekeeper suddenly appeared beside us. "Professor McGonagall! I've got a letter from Professor Dumbledore. I need to pick up You-Know-What from vault seven hundred and thirteen!" He held out a crumpled piece of paper to the goblin. "Easier if we all go together, eh, Harry?"
"As you wish, Rubeus," the professor nodded, then suddenly remembered. "I completely forgot to introduce you to Rubeus Hagrid, our gamekeeper. He was very worried about you and wanted to collect you the very moment you turned eleven."
"I even baked yeh a cake, Harry!" the hairy monster announced, and started rummaging through his pockets.
Fortunately, the goblin interrupted us. He studied the note and called over another goblin.
"Griphook!"
"Follow me, please," Griphook said and led us toward one of the doors. Quite unexpectedly, we stepped out of the marble hall into a fairly narrow cavern lit by torches. You could say we had come onto a platform, because beyond it was practically a drop. I noticed thin rails on the floor. The goblin gave a short whistle, and a cart shot up from the abyss toward us. It wasn't especially large, I have to say.
"I think I'll transform," McGonagall said after assessing the dimensions of our proposed transport. She shrank in a very interesting way and became a gray cat with black stripes. The 'glasses' remained on her face, only now as markings.
"Cool!" I commented on the transformation.
The cat meowed smugly and jumped into the cart. Hagrid squeezed himself in too with much grunting. There had to be some kind of space-expansion charms on that thing. How else could a giant like him fit inside? I sat beside the goblin. And off we went.
Visually, Griphook wasn't controlling the cart at all, while there were a great many tracks, and every now and then other carts appeared. We turned several times, and my internal compass insisted we were traveling in circles. But for the sake of Hagrid turning greener behind me, I was perfectly willing to ride a little longer. Crafty Kyoujuneko had deliberately become a cat: animals had a completely different vestibular system, especially cats. And the one thing Harry's body had always been excellent at was balance. I could do as many somersaults or cartwheels as I liked, spin on playground equipment, and never get dizzy or lose my sense of direction.
I caught a glimpse of a dragon, and we passed near a lake twice. At last the cart stopped beside a small door marked '687'. I was convinced the bank couldn't possibly have more than a thousand vaults. There simply weren't that many wizards, and yet we'd traveled so long you'd think they had tens of thousands of storage chambers. The scary little creatures really did love putting on a show. They clearly loved it.
Hagrid climbed out of the cart, and I watched with grim satisfaction as the giant leaned against the wall, puffing and gulping air. The cat transformed back into the professor. The goblin unlocked the vault with the golden key and opened the door. A suspicious cloud of smoke poured out of the Potter vault, and I held my breath.
"It's all yours, Harry!" Hagrid said with inexplicable pride, as if he'd personally put everything there. Inside the vault were heaps of coins: gold, silver, and bronze. There were also various objects that were hard to make out in the poor lighting and medieval atmosphere.
"Can you imagine, Rubeus, that woman — Harry's aunt — practically started demanding money the moment we arrived," McGonagall said. "As soon as she learned Harry was wealthy! Outrageous!"
Yeah, except I somehow remembered that when Harry and I had gone to the bank before, he'd taken money from his godfather Sirius's vault, not from the one his parents had left him. And if I remembered right, Harry had never received the key to his parents' vault at all.
"May I ask the exchange rate between magical currency and pounds sterling?" I asked the goblin.
"One gold Galleon is equal to five pounds. It is also equal to seventeen silver Sickles. One Sickle is twenty-nine bronze Knuts."
"How much does everything on the school list cost, Professor McGonagall?"
"I think fifty Galleons* will be enough to buy everything and still leave you money for personal expenses and perhaps extra books or other things through the end of the school year," she replied. "Hogwarts provides full board."
"Here, yeh can just take my pouch and put the money in it. I can help..." Hagrid muttered, holding out something dirty with horrifying embroidery.
"Professor McGonagall said I am already capable of managing my own finances," I said. "So I'd like to sort everything out myself. Esteemed Griphook, can I have some kind of pouch or box to put the money in? I don't have a bag with me, and my pockets won't hold much."
"According to the inventory, the vault should contain a magical purse enchanted with weight-reduction and spatial-expansion charms. It is protected against thieves and cannot be lost or taken from you, Mr. Potter," the goblin replied. "You may place whatever amount you require inside it. I believe I can see it on the upper shelf, to the left."
"That sounds like an excellent solution. I can put the key to my vault in the purse too, and then no one will be able to steal it and it won't get lost? How convenient!"
"You certainly can, Mr. Potter," the goblin grinned.
I put thirty gold coins, three hundred silver ones, and around two thousand bronze coins into my new purse. It made my heart ache with nostalgia because it reminded me so much of my beloved 'frog' purse, the one where I'd kept the money I earned from missions. Even after all that, it still looked half-empty. As the goblin explained, all I had to do was wish for a specific sum and it would appear in my hand — provided, of course, that the amount didn't exceed what was actually inside the purse. A very cool artifact.
I took the key too and quickly hid it inside the purse. So I left the Potter vault with a feeling of deep satisfaction.