Blinking a few times and yawning, Harry was at first confused. It was morning and everything was quiet. He didn't hear Aunt Petunia banging on his cupboard so maybe the Dursleys haven't been back from Aunt Marge's.
Stretching and blinking one more time he suddenly sat up right - not a good idea. His head met the underside of the stairs.
"Ahh!" Hissing at the sudden pain he furiously rubbed at his noggin. After a moment the pain was gone.
"That's right!" Grinning excitedly he opened his cupboard with his - thankfully - human hand. He rushed into the bathroom upstairs climbing it two steps at a time. Opening the bathroom door he immediately went in front of the mirror.
Once he got a good look at himself he gasped. He was amazed at what he saw.
He noticed he was a few inches taller now. Maybe even taller than Dudley! His once sunken cheeks and unhealthy complexion was gone replacing it with pale healthy glowing, unmarred skin. It's like he was a new person!
The hair on top of his head was unlike his old one which had been unruly and untameable before. Now his hair had a luscious sheen to it falling in soft manageable waves. Not even Aunt Petunia had such soft looking hair. Hers looked like the color of straw and was stiffly coiled in a tight up-do.
However, the biggest change he was excited about was his scar. For several years his scar was like a constant reminder for him. That something about him was unnatural. It always, no matter what, looked like it was a day-old wound. It never quite healed properly always looking quite pink and irritated. Now, now his scar was barely visible behind his dark locks like it was only a trick of the light if you don't look closer at it.
Smiling brightly at his mirror self and feeling a newfound confidence he didn't hear the door downstairs slam open.
"BOOYYY! You come here right this instant!" Bellowed his particularly large Walrus of an Uncle. Bollocks.
"I'm coming!" He grumbled a bit but quickly went down the stairs.
His relatives were back.
—-
After getting suspicious looks from his relatives at his new look he knew he had to do something or risk getting found out about his powers. It was simple enough delving into his memories and learning how to cast illusions on the unsuspecting Dursleys. He knew it was wrong but he really couldn't care as he thought of all the hardships he went through under their care. It wasn't really a powerful illusion in particular that he cast but it would let his relatives ignore anything unusual they might notice from him. They should be grateful he didn't cast a much more sinister illusion like, for example, messing with their sense of height which would cause them to feel vertigo at every step. THAT would make their precious reputation go into the waste bin. But he was not that cruel so he simply opted for a more benign one.
One thing he noticed about his powers was that they were more powerful and diverse if he assumed Mewtwo's form. Powerful illusions, elemental attacks, weather changing moves, they were all very easy to cast when he was more pink and only had three fingers. It didn't mean that he was helpless as a human. No, far from it. In fact, as he did with his relatives, he could cast more subtle mental manipulations, telekinesis, telepathy, and his favourite- instant teleportation.
It was a very special day today for one dark-haired young boy. Indeed, it was pathetically easy to pluck any information he wanted from his Aunt Petunia. All his life he has been lied to. For you see, Harry James Potter was a bonafide wizard. The wand-waving kind. Oh and his parents too were a witch and wizard before they died. As he understood from the scattered memories of Petunia, his parents died protecting him from a group of people that attacked their house in Godric's Hollow, and was left at the Dursleys doorsteps by magicals on the night James and Lily Potter died. In the investigation of the attack all that was left in the wreckage was Harry himself and all that what was left for him that night after rescuing and delivering him to his Aunt and Uncle was a blanket with his name embroidered on it and a letter saying that he survived an attack.
So it was on this day July 31st, 1988 that he officially turned eight years old that he finally decided to investigate.
Harry, after doing his chores diligently for the morning was finally let go by his Aunt Petunia with a stern talking to not to cause trouble. 'Tell that to your stupid son.' He wanted to roll his eyes instead he just nodded stoically and left.
Passing through Magnolia street a few blocks down and entering a deserted alley, Harry smiled and turned himself invisible. Without much focus he promptly morphed into Mewtwo and flew off.
Flying just felt so natural for him. He was really glad that Mewtwo can fly. He practiced every chance he got until it was as natural as walking for him.
Arriving at his destination he once again went into an abandoned alley and morphed back into a human while still staying invisible. It wasn't really clear where his target was but according to Aunt Petunia's memories it was somewhere in Charring Cross Road.
'There!' After walking for a bit and observing the people going about he finally saw a suspicious looking fellow wearing robes. Clothes that he reckoned was normal wear for wizards. The wizard confidently approached an abandoned store front ignoring the weird looks he was getting. A store front that was also being ignored by everyone else except for him and the wizard. Harry's eyes looked about to his left and right and followed his lead inside after glancing at a sign over head. The Leaky Cauldron.
Just as he was stepping into the door he cancelled his invisibility and looked around the surprisingly numerous patrons inside of what looked like a pub.
'It's like I stepped back in time' Harry was amazed at the display of magic at every corner like the self-cleaning mop, floating china, and chairs floating back into proper places but scrunched his nose at the low lighting, grimy floorboards, dust covered chairs and tables, and the forlorn looking occupants.
Unimpressed he search for anyone he could ask and his eyes landed on the barkeep.
"Hullo, Sir. I need access to Diagon Alley, please." He approached a man with too many gaps in his teeth.
"O' course, laddie. My name's Tom. I been directin' muggleborns through this here pub since my da' died! Uhh, where are ya' paren's lad?" Tom scratched his patchy beard.
"I'm Harry, Sir Tom. Nice too meet you. My parents are already on the other side but I'm too young to have a wand you see and I need access to the alley if you don't mind, of course." Remembering the spiel he practiced.
"'Course! O' course! Don' ya worry you'll be through in quick n' easy. Now follow me."
Harry nodded calmly relieved that there were no hiccups so far. He followed Tom the barkeep through the pub and they exited into the back where there was a brick wall and some trash bins.
"Three up, two across!" Tom jovially tapped some of the bricks and after a moment they wiggled in place and revealed the famous entrance. Harry almost gaped at the sheer magic he could feel and see inside.
"Now bes' be off. You don't wan't your parents ta worry now."
"Oh, um, one last thing. Where can I find the bank? My parents are supposed to meet me there."
"You mean Gringott's? Jus' walk straight through this alley here n' you will see the wizarding bank at the end. You can't miss it."
"Thank you, sir. Good day."
Quickly waving the jovial man goodbye Harry passed through the Diagon Alley's entrance and into wizarding proper. There was so much to see! Taking his time to look around he saw many things of interest like apothecaries, book stores, pet shops, clothing stores, he couldn't swivel his head fast enough. As he walked he tried to subtly gather for information using Telepathy.
'The price of dragon liver has gone up again! I don't know if I have enough galleons…'
'I can't wait! There's a new ice cream flavour at Florean's today…'
'Hmm. Does this hat make me look fat?' Harry snorted at that one.
'I'm done for. Those pesky goblins at the bank will collect my debt soon but I don't even have enough to buy me a pint at the Leaky.' Another person bemoaned his financial status.
'Goblins? Interesting.'
After a few more minutes of looking he finally arrived at the end of the street where a queer but majestic looking building attracted one's attention. It was made of white marble but the structure looked like it was going to topple with one swift kick. 'Maybe it's held up by magic', Harry thought.
Quickly climbing the few short stairs that was when he saw them. Goblins.
'They're quite short' Harry nodded at them and surprised the pair of goblin guards nodded back. Far be it for him to be impolite to magical beings. Mewtwo took the cake for weird-looking after all.
Passing by the big double doors he glanced at the warning carved into it. Well, the goblins sure know their rhymes, he thought amusedly. And if that's their motto only a drunk would dare steal from them. Or perhaps idiots.
Entering inside what he saw was even more opulent. Shiny polished golden-veined white marble flooring, high-vaulted ceilings, big crystal chandeliers that shone with magnificent light and the high tables where professional-looking goblins were counting golden coins-galleons he remembered- and weighing rubies and emeralds as big as a fist.
It was still early in the day so there was not much people lining up. Trying his luck at one of the tellers he waited for the goblin to finish what he was doing to be properly addressed.
"Yes..?" Finishing scribbling on his parchment-Harry assumed he was male- the goblin leaned over the counter and directed his beady-looking eyes at the young dark-haired human.
"Good day, Sir. I would like to access my vault and speak to my account manager, please." Now here's the tricky part. Harry didn't really know if he had money left for him by his parents at Gringgot's. He crossed his fingers that he did. He assumed based on Aunt Petunia's memory of James and Lily Potter's wedding that his father was a "right rich ponce". His aunt's words not his.
"Name…?" The goblin adjusted his spectacles.
"Harry James Potter." His prompt reply.
"Potter…hmm…Yes. And does Mr. Potter have his key?" Asked the teller as he flipped through a ledger.
"No. I've never had it."
"Hmm. Very well. Sharpclaw will take you first to your Account Manager, Longblade. Sharpclaw!" Another younger-looking goblin promptly appeared beside the teller and exchanged a few guttural sounds with.
He noticed during his wanderings earlier outside that most human magicals don't have mental shields except for a few that he could count on one hand with two or three fingers to spare. But the goblins are different. Even with just a light scan all of them had strong mental barriers so he didn't dare probe anyone here even though he would really like to know what they were saying in their weird language.
Sharpclaw finally deigned to notice the dark-haired boy and gestured to follow him.
"This way, please."
Nodding his head to the goblin teller, Harry quickly followed the surprisingly fast messenger goblin. After several turns, hallways, and doors, which he easily memorised, they finally arrived at non-descript door. His goblin guide knocked on it and after a few moments hearing a sharp 'Enter!' he opened the door.
"It's Mr. Potter, Mr. Longblade."
"Good. You may go." Sharpclaw politely nodded and immediately left after closing the door behind the boy.
Longblade was an old looking goblin, older than the goblin teller. He had leathery skin and wore a gauntlet that looked like great talons on his fingers.
"Sit, Mr. Potter, so that we may begin."
Harry dutifully followed. Looking around the room it was tastefully decorated with ancient but well-maintained long blades hanging on the wall. The ancient goblin in turn was observing the boy.
"It has been a long time since a Potter has come into my office."
"…What do you mean, Mr. Longblade?" Tilting his head in confusion.
"As you may have noticed I am old. I have been managing the Potter family account for many centuries, in fact. The last Potter before you who has ever graced this room with his presence was your grandfather, one Charlus Potter. It was quite peculiar that your father, the late James Potter, never deigned to speak with me. I could only wonder.
But you are here now so it matters little. The Potter family is an Ancient House, so ancient that they predate the Wizarding Council, the precursor to the British Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot, the current ruling body in the British Isles. Although old, the Potter family never involved themselves with politics keeping to themselves most of the time. As a result they were not Ennobled as compared to other…younger magical families. You have a family rich in history that would be a shame to be merely forgotten in obscurity. Potioneers, Spellcrafters, Alchemists, Forgemasters, Herbologists of great renown and so many other professions that the Potter Family has had a hand in creating the Wizarding World to what is today. You are its last hope, Mr. Potter."
While talking Longblade pulled out a basin, a silver dagger and a bottle with a shimmering liquid inside.
"To protect the Potter Family and Gringgot's Bank's interests you will put three drops of blood in this basin and together with this potion will determine if you are who you say you are. And if not, well, you would not like the consequences. Your hand?"
Taking a deep breath and nodding resolutely, Harry took the blade and nicked his finger with it. Not flinching at the sharp pain, he squeezed a few drops of his blood into the basin. He took his hand back and noticed that the blood on the dagger and his wound were gone, as if they were never there.
Longblade unstoppered the bottle and poured the whole potion in. Putting the bottle aside he took the basin with his hands and swirled it once, twice, three times. The potion, once before a shimmering silver, now was blood red in color.
The goblin then pulled out some parchment with runes on it with practiced ease and carefully poured the whole contents of the bowl on top.
Slowly the parchment absorbed the liquid and words started to write itself.