If he had his way he'd just kill the sadistic bigoted bitch, she was a bigger blemish on the wizarding world than Voldemort. Her death count was higher than any Death Eaters. Those camps were responsible for hundreds of deaths. Now that they were disbanded, what was going to happen to those that lost everything? Families torn apart, children orphaned and wands snapped. Was the Ministry going to help? Could they? He didn't know the answer to those questions.
With Diagon Alley in such a state, no one seemed to be able to help anyone. It'll take a lot of money and time to get the marketplace back to the bustling wonder it use to be. He remembered well the awe his ten year old self had when he first entered the Alley all those years ago. It saddened him to see it in the shambles it was.
Ollivander's shop was ruined, the windows gone, the display that adorned the shop since its opening was broken and all of the wands snapped. The poor wand maker was going to be hard-pressed to get enough wands for the new first years and all the Muggle-borns. That was if he wasn't too mentally scarred from his time in Voldemort's hands.
Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour seemed to be up and running, even though the tables that used to litter the front were fewer. Harry recalled that Mr. Florean had a daughter, maybe she was running it. He felt sad that the man had died; he was always kind to the youngest Potter.
Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes was open and appeared to be doing well. The dark-haired wizard made a mental note to visit George when he was done with the bank. He'd need to tell him about all that anyway, if Ron hadn't already passed that message on. Well, he would just make sure.
About every third shop was open, the rest were boarded up or abandoned. Patrons were hustling quickly through their shopping, like Death Eaters were going to come and snatch them any minute. He had enough with the depressing sights and hurried his way to the bank.
This time as he made his way up the marble stairs two guards flanked him. Their weapons were poised to strike should He do anything funny. The trio was met in the lobby by that traitor Griphook. Spiteful looks passed between human and goblin, but neither spoke. The cart goblin took them to the tunnels in an uncomfortable silence. When they arrived at the first vault, Harry waited for the goblin to open it, not taking the chance that they'd trap him and leave him there. He remembered well the warning this goblin told him the first time he visited Gringotts. Griphook sneered at the young man and a flash of disappointment flew across his face, confirming the youngest Potter's paranoia.
The vault had the name Frostwell posted over the doorway, He never heard of that family, so they probably didn't have children in Hogwarts. He still didn't understand how this vault came into his possession. When the door opened the teen only stepped far enough in that he could get out if the door started to close. He lifted his wand and levitated all the money then directed it to just over his left shoulder. After all the coins were sucked into the pocketspace, he then turned to the jewels, the trunks, the books and the armor. There were also gizmos the dark-haired wizard couldn't identify, but he placed them in the pocketspace as well. Soon enough the vault was empty. He took great pleasure in making sure the goblins didn't get any of the goblin made items in the vault.
It took about an hour for Him to clear out the other three non-family vaults; the Black vault took a half an hour alone. He didn't even take time to look at what he was putting in the expanded space, he'd go through it all at Grimmauld Place, maybe even invite his friends over to help. The dark-haired young man then turned to Griphook and broke the silence. "Take me to the Potter vault," he demanded.
"There is no money left in the Potter vault," snarled the greedy goblin, a healthy dose of pleasure coated his words.
"But there are artifacts and books, now take me to the Potter vault." He stood firm; he wasn't going to let these bastards take anything more from him.
"Fine," the cart goblin spat.