Chapter Text

The Harry Potter universe and it's associated characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, who has generously allowed us to play in her sandbox. Thank you, ma'am. As there is not a 1950s Vanden Plas Princess parked in front of my house, I don't make any money from this, and haven't won the Lottery big time. Non-canon.

Vignettes

Things That Could Have Happened

Plans Gang Aft Agley

Harry had plans. Survive until he was eighteen. Take his GCSE and leave his prison. Find a job, and/or join the British Army. At present, the survive part was a problem; some sort of letter arrived just before his birthday, and his aunt and her husband (Harry refused to think of him as “uncle,” that implied they were related) went berserk. Then there were more letters, and the customary beatings, followed by starvation. Leave now, live on the streets was moving up toward the top. Rapidly.

When the door burst open, followed by a huge bearded man’s entrance, the Leave now hit the top of the list. He’d never survive the beating his aunt’s husband would administer after this.

Listening to the bearded giant explain the wizarding world left Harry planning to join it, hell, it couldn’t be worse than the non-wizarding world, at least Harry’s corner of it.

As Harry and Hagrid headed towards Gringotts, Harry told Hagrid “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back for this stuff, Hagrid.”

“Oh, ya don’ worry about that, young Harry. Yer parents left money for ya, tha’s why we’re goin’ ta Gringotts.”

“I have MONEY?”

“Yeh, gobs o’ it. Yer parents were rich.”

Harry was momentarily stunned speechless.

“Dumbledore — great man, great man — gimme yer vault key jus’ b’fore I left.”

“Vault key? And who’s Dumbledore?”

“Vaults is where yer money is, young Harry. An’ Dumbledore’s th’ headmaster.”

“Ah.”

They slowly progressed through the line of customers to a teller. Harry stepped up to the counter. “Excuse me, sir. My name is Potter, I’m told I have an account here.”

“Key?” asked the teller. Interesting. This human actually has manners.

“Ah’ve got it som’eres,” Hagrid stated as he fumbled though his many pockets. “Dumbledore gave it ta’ me.”

“Why did you give your vault key to another party, young wizard?”

“I didn’t, sir. Until just now, I’d no idea I had an account,” Harry answered.

“Ah, here ’tis,” Hagrid announced.

“Give it to the young wizard, human,” responded the teller.

“But Dumbledore …”

“Give it to him, human,” the goblin snarled.

Hagrid reluctantly handed the key to Harry.

“I’d like to speak to a manager about my account,” Harry told the teller. “I’ve no idea how much is in it, and I’ve got to make some plans.”

The teller rocked back on his stool in surprise.

“We don’ ha’ th’ time fer that, young Harry. Dumbledore said yer …”

“Make the time, human,” the teller snarled at Hagrid. “Dumbledore shouldn’t have had his key in the first place. There is much to do.”

Subdued, Hagrid hung his head. “Ah’ve gottta do some stuff fer Dumbledore, an’ …”

“Then be about it, human. Gringotts will take care of Mister Potter. Wait here when you’re done, we’ll bring Mister Potter to you. Come with me, young wizard,”

— • —

The grizzled-looking goblin rose from behind his desk as Harry and the teller entered his office. “I am Gutripper,” he introduced himself. “Be seated, young wizard.”

Harry walked over to the goblin, and extended his hand. “I’m Harry Potter, sir. Are you one of the managers here?”

“I’m your account manager, Mister Potter.”

“Wow. I’d just wanted to speak to a manager about how much I have. I’d no idea I had an account manager of my own. So to speak.”

An expression of anger flitted across Gutripper’s face. “No idea?” he parroted. “You know nothing of your vaults?”

“No, sir. I didn’t know I was a wizard until a few hours ago.”

“I’m told your key was in another’s possession.”

“Yes, sir. Sort of. No idea how Dumbledore got it.”

“I see. As you said, sort of.” He pressed a button that was on a plaque of buttons atop his desk, and began speaking in the Goblin language. After a minute or two, he spoke to Harry. “We’re going to have a lot to do, Mister Potter.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, what about Hagrid? He’s supposed to take me to get my school stuff. Apparently this Dumbledore is very insistent upon it being done today.”

“He is, is he? Well, we’ll just work around that.” Gutripper’s face twisted into a horrible smile. “Indeed, we will do just that.”