Harry and Petunia had a long talk in the next few days, and together they came up with a plan.
Dudley had wanted to join them on their trip to Diagon Alley, but Vernon wouldn't hear of it.
"No, and God help me, no! He can stick to interacting with our own personal freak. He's not going to some weirdo place full of you-know-what!"
Petunia relented, but whenever her husband was present a strange pinched look became her only expression. Harry was worried for their marriage. Was he the cause? Had their hatred united them in the past lives?
Harry didn't know, but it felt a bit forbidding.
The plan they had carefully prepared involved passing Petunia off as a rich, foreign pureblood witch. They catologue ordered her a rather posh dress in cream silk, and had a fur stole and cloak custom made just for her.
It was considered a costume prop by the producer of the cloak, something for Halloween or masquerading, as far as he was concerned. They didn't elaborate further with the company, and allowed the muggles to think what they would.
With her outfit in place, they headed to Diagon Alley, Harry wishing desperately for his invisibility cloak. He wouldn't receive it for another five months at least, so he unhappily hid his appearance as best he could.
The day that they set off to the Alley, they were dressed to the nines. Petunia called for a cab, opting for a taxi rather than trying to find parking near the Leaky Cauldron. London was a very populated area, after all, and not all the streets made sense.
It was rather early in the morning when they left Little Whinging, and they didn't have much traffic to fight through. Petunia remembered the grubby little bar her parents had brought Lily and herself to, and for the first time Harry was appreciative that his Aunt was his guardian.
Harry would have normally stood out, covered from head to toe with barely any skin visible, however, Petunia took the spotlight. Her haughty attitude and chic clothes drew the eye, making Harry's figure a vague, background sight.
For her part, Petunia seemed to enjoy the limelight. After all, she had always wanted to be recognized by her neighbors and family as exceptional. This was a part of her later bitterness, after all. Now, dressed as she was, even old Tom at the Leaky couldn't help but offer his services.
This suited them both fine, as Harry didn't have a wand yet, and Petunia was only pretending to be a posh witch.
Once they were through the archway, Harry turned to his Aunt.
"Remember, even if you're surprised, don't show it. Pretend like all this is boring, very normal. Like doing the daily dishes, you simply don't care." Harry grinned behind his scarf, "You are masquerading as the 'creme de le creme' of this world, so no one could dare to look down on you."
Petunia nodded sharply, straightening her spine ramrod-straight, and marching confidently towards the white marble building that was Gringotts, her slender heels clicking sharply on the cobblestone road.
Harry whispered one last quick instruction. "Ask for the goblin Griphook, he's the Potter account manager; and don't ever trust them, don't agree, and don't flinch! Be careful, especially if they smile."
The blonde was a little startled at the last bit, but nodded and walked past the spear-bearing goblins at the doors, making her way to the front desk at the far end of the large and cavernous hall.
"I need to speak to Griphook about a private account and make a withdrawal," she announced, her posture straight and loose, bored and casual. Only Harry could see the slight fear and surprise mixing with excitement in her pale green eyes.
The goblin before her was old, gnarled and shriveled, with several bumps on his long nose, possibly from several breaks. A scar, deep and puckered ran through his left eye and down his cheekbone to his jaw.
This particular goblin was a respected warrior and elder. He openly sneered at Petunia, showing his sharp teeth. Harry took this as a good sign, knowing what he did, especially when Petunia didn't immediately squirm or startle.
"And who," growled the goblin, looking down his nose from his lofty seat at the head desk, "shall I say is requesting young Mister Griphook?"
Harry, who was waiting silently just behind his Aunt, coughed once.
"That's confidential, I'm afraid," Petunia continued, acting as though the elder before her was a mere bug. She checked her clean and neatly manicured nails, her attention elsewhere. A good show, as this immediately implied she wouldn't budge on the matter. Harry smiled again, hidden behind his scarf.
The old goblin before them dropped his sneer and said something sharp and gutteral in gobbledegook. In response, a guard walked swiftly from the room and then returned. His staff banged twice on the floor, and the elder goblin shooed them with a brisk gesture of his clawed hand.
"Griphook will see you in Conference room 12," he announced, immediately returning his attention to the scrolls of parchment before him and completely ignoring Petunia and Harry.
Petunia's reaction made it seem like this was expected, and she was the one dismissing the elder from her service, not the one being dismissed. She moved smoothly towards the direction indicated, her shoes tapping and making a noisy staccato on the tile.
Harry was proud of her and kept his steps in sync with her, only moving ahead to open the door.
Inside the conference room was a familiar face-- at least to Harry. For the young wizard, he had done business with Griphook for over five hundred years! But then, most people were familiar to Harry.
"Greetings, wealthy clients, how may I increase our revenue?" The goblin Griphook smiled, a grin as sharp as a crocodile and just as deadly.
Petunia turned a cold glare towards the other, the sort of glare Harry had formerly associated with his failure or 'unnaturalness'. It was nice not to be on the receiving end, but he didn't pity the goblin in the least. Goblins were especially tricky and nasty creatures; people really should pay more attention in History of Magic to the Goblin Wars.
"I require a contract of confidentiality before we can begin business."
This was something Harry had insisted on. Petunia, understanding that Harry had many strange secrets, had agreed to help. Indeed, she herself was curious about Harry, but valued his company more than the urge to pry.
Griphook paused, then smiled so widely that his eyes crinkled.
"I can assure you, Madam, Gringotts specializes in confidentiality," he purred lowly, almost growling. To the untrained wizard, one would assume his oily smile and polite words were out of respect. Harry knew otherwise.
"I insist," Petunia smiled sweetly, her eyes as cold as ice. "A confidentiality contract or we'll take our vaults and business elsewhere. Perhaps the Bulgarian branch?"
She pretended to ponder this, swaying and leaning her body subtly towards the door. With a slight movement, crossed her arms at waist-level, and one foot rotated at the hip towards the exit, she stood. This pose gave the illusion that she was leaning towards the exit and the aforementioned Bulgarian option, and Harry fought not to laugh as Griphook bristled. A bit of psychology could go a long way!
Griphook paused, then stiffened his upper lip, clenching his jaw tightly. His head jerked once, similar to a nod short as it was, and he pulled out a roll of parchment with gold embossed edges. Taking a long feathered quill in hand, he loaded it with ink and began to write quickly. After a moment, he paused.
"A standard silence clause, I assume?"
Petunia shook her head decisively, picking at her nails distractedly. "A silence contract that encompasses all forms of communication. I think... a blood clause should do it."
Her smile was polite and benign, as though she were discussing interior design and wallpaper, rather than a blood contract.
Griphook sneered, but pulled out a small silver dagger with a ruby inlaid in the handle. He sliced his palm and let several drops fall, where they quickly disappeared in a flash of bright light.
"After you, Madam," Griphook invited, voice mocking, especially when he addressed her.
Petunia narrowed her eyes in a glare, but nonetheless she snatched the dagger from the goblin's hand and and thinly sliced her own palm. Holding her hand above the contract, she waited till her blood disappeared in another flash before passing the ruby dagger to Harry.
Taking his hands from his pockets, and quickly removing his thick leather winter gloves, Harry repeated the process for the last time.
Griphook seemed surprised by the appearance of Harry's hands, though whether it was his missing fingers or the long black nails, he didn't say.
"Now," Petunia continued, slightly dropping her haughty attitude and high shoulders, looking to Harry for direction. "What do you suggest?"
Harry quickly removed his hood, scarf, and dark sunglasses. Blinking in the candlelight, he wiggled his strange ears, relieved to be free from restrictions.
After a moment, he turned his attention to the goblin, who had gone very still.
"So much better," the soon-to-be eleven year old announced, sighing happily. "Now, Warrior Griphook, I am here to make a withdrawal from my account, as well as some investments. Both muggle and magical, I stand to make a killing. I also need to be put in touch with your black market contacts, potions dealers, ingredient collectors, ect."
Griphook studied him in silence for a moment before he asked one question. "And your name is?"
"Harry, Harry Potter."
Harry grinned widely, the elongated eye teeth in his mouth looking threatening and rather alarming. They were several lengths longer than normal, human fangs.
Griphook smiled in response. "Of course, Mr. Potter."
"Wonderful! I do believe we will make lots of money together," Harry laughed, and Griphook gave a small shudder. Just what was this boy? Certainly not the hero the wizarding world expected.
After several hours, the two humans (well, mostly human, in Harry's case), left Gringotts feeling confident and with much heavier pockets. They would need to return after two and a half hours, in which case Griphook would have what he required.
"A muggle of your general age and description should not be too difficult a task to find. How often do you expect to be using the polyjuice?" Griphook had asked him.
"At Hogwarts? Daily, possibly twice daily, maybe more. Enough to ensure that I remain visible as a normal, ordinary, entirely human first year."
"With that sort of dosing, your school vault won't cut it if we're talking long term. Not only are we finding a child of your picking, the ingredients, the preparation, and the supply will all cost. Plus housing the muggle child and ensuring they grow up healthy to your liking for the length of this ruse. We're looking at a great sum of money, Mr. Potter. Luckily, you brought a guardian and can legally access the main Potter vaults."
"Luckily," Harry agreed, knowing it was no such coincidence. He had planned this out, after all.
But Harry wasn't worried about money. He had vast knowledge of the future, and with enough lifetimes, he had memorized the fluctuations, the ups and downs of wizarding and muggle stocks. He therefore stood to make a lot of money.
While they waited for Griphook to get in contact with his network of underground and black market suppliers, Harry and his Aunt had lunch in a private room they reserved for the afternoon at the Leaky.
Petunia seemed to be enjoying her role, and delightedly told him of some of the reactions she had noticed as they ate large turkey sandwiches with a side of baked potato wedges and steamed vegetables.
Knowing that the wizards and witches that would normally shun her, now looked on in envy and curiosity seemed to be a soothing balm to Petunia's own inferiority complex. His Aunt was now also a fan of pumpkin juice, though she admitted she still preferred apple or orange juice, and she marveled at some of the sights they had passed.
After eating, they both went to several shops in the Alley; some for novelty and fun, others as more of a necessity.
Most of the shopping would have to wait until Harry had acquired his potion, but some things could be purchased now. His books, quills, cauldron, equipment, and potion ingredients could be bought with or without his appearance and sizing.
Harry passed his Aunt the list of supplies required for first years, and decided to leave her to it while he browsed through the books at 'Flourish and Blotts'.
Most of the books he had either read, memorized, or weren't particularly interesting to him at this time. Bearing that in mind, he told his Aunt that he was going to explore the Alley and would meet her later at 'Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour' for lunch.
In the meantime, Harry wandered the streets looking for something of use.
Harry wasn't particularly interested in getting a familiar, seeing as most animals instinctively shied away from him. He often wondered what specifically bothered them-- was it his connection to Death? Or maybe the mixing of his lives made him appear dangerous and predatory.
Either way, the thought of having Hedwig, only to lose her again, tore up his insides. Stomach clenching, belly squirming, he passed both quickly. Because of these feelings, Harry ruled out a visit to the 'Magical Menagerie' as well as 'Eeylops Owl Imporium'.
As it stood, Harry wasn't planning on playing Quidditch in this lifetime, so he avoided 'Quality Quidditch Supplies'; pranks were not something he enjoyed (aside from a certain lifetime as a Marauder), so that removed 'Gambol and Japes', too.
His suspicious and veiled appearance meant shopping for robes was a no-go, so Harry wandered the streets, browsing the random stalls that sold counterfeit or scam items-- such as amulets that promised protection from werewolves, or some too-thin-bottomed cauldrons that would have curled Percy Weasley's hair.
Harry did end up going into 'Terrortours Travel', where he purchased a bottomless and weightless messenger bag. As a second thought, he also purchased a smaller bag with expanded dimensions, and then a second for his Aunt. After purchasing, he put his velvet pouch of galleons inside, stuffing the rest back into his many pockets and sliding the messenger bag across his left shoulder.
While he was there, he also ordered a three compartment trunk with individual locks, which was especially made and crafted to his specifications. This, he would have to return for later, when the shop had been able to key it to only his magical signature.
Harry was just about to grab his telescope, scales, star charts, and phials from 'Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment' when a commotion near the side entrance to Knockturn Alley caught his attention.
"What in the bloody hell is that?!"