Feeling a bit lazy and enjoying the freedom he had, Harry had delayed his visit to Gringotts Bank—where he needed to examine the finances of the Potter estate—until he could withdraw money for his upcoming shopping trip for his second year at Hogwarts. Instead, the green-eyed wizard spent the week nestled in his room at the Leaky Cauldron or savoring ice cream at Fortescue's, engrossed in his medical books.
After the week he had asked off for work passed, Harry returned to the workshop of the man who had enchanted some items for him, eager to test the results personally. Satisfied with the enchantments, he paid the craftsman and even promised to return if he ever needed more enchantments done.
On the evening of July 29th, Harry penned a birthday letter to Neville, wishing his friend all the best. Enclosed was a small package containing an enchanted fountain pen adorned in the colors of the Longbottom family crest, along with instructions for its use and care. Harry fervently hoped Neville would appreciate the gift, especially since it was both visually appealing and practical.
Neville's response proved his delight in the gift. In his letter wishing Harry a happy birthday—after all, they were born within a span of twenty-eight hours—Neville's neatly written message was composed with the same ink Harry used to test the pen's enchantments, assuring Harry that his friend was genuinely pleased. Additionally, Neville sent him two antique tomes on medical herbal mixtures, further affirming their thoughtful connection.
August 4th saw the arrival of his letter from Hogwarts, outlining the required reading for his second year. A wave of unease washed over him upon seeing seven books authored by Gilderoy Lockhart on the list. Harry had never been fond of overzealous fangirls, and Lockhart's reputation suggested he might be one himself. Ah, well...
As the letter arrived late in the day, Harry opted to postpone his shopping trip until the following morning, when all the shops would be open. He also intended to meet with the Potter estate manager.
~/ *** \~
Bright and early the next morning, Harry stepped into the pristine, white marble building of Gringotts Bank. The early hour meant few customers were present, making it easy to find an available teller.
"Good morning, master teller," he greeted. After his second visit to Gringotts—on the day he first entered the wizarding world—Harry had resolved to treat the goblins managing finances with proper respect, unlike many wizards who disregarded them. After measuring a few gems, the goblin teller finally acknowledged him after a long silence.
"What do you want, wizard?" he sneered, flashing his teeth.
"I need to meet with the manager of the Potter account at his earliest convenience," Harry replied, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.
The goblin gave Harry a scrutinizing look. "Even if you are indeed Harry Potter, you are too young to bother master Goldsaw. Unless you have other business with Gringotts, I suggest you leave."
"According to Gringotts' rules, as the last living heir of the Noble house of Potter, I am entitled to oversee my house's estate once I turn eleven." The goblin scowled but ultimately acquiesced to Harry's request.
"Very well. Master Goldsaw will see you if he is not too busy." The teller summoned a younger goblin and spoke to him quickly in gobbledegook. After a brief wait, the assistant goblin returned and conveyed a message in the same language. Nodding, the teller turned to Harry. "You are fortunate—Goldsaw will see you, provided you can prove you are, in fact, Harry Potter." He handed Harry a sheet of parchment and a deep red, almost black quill. Realizing what was required, Harry winced as the blood quill imprinted his signature onto the parchment and his hand—a brief sting followed, but it healed instantly.
"Mr. Potter, Rustknife will escort you to Master Goldsaw," the teller stated.
"Follow me," Rustknife instructed, leading Harry toward a door in the bank's lobby. As they traversed the maze-like corridors, they finally arrived at a massive dark wooden door bearing the nameplate for 'Goldsaw' along with an array of titles. Inside was a large room divided into two levels: a lower seating area for customers and a dimly lit upper level where Goldsaw sat behind a grand desk.
"It's been over a decade since a Potter visited me," Goldsaw remarked once Harry was settled on the sofa. "I hear you want to review your house's finances." Harry nodded; despite the goblin's demeanor, he found him rather intimidating. Goldsaw handed him a thick ledger emblazoned with the Potter crest. "Read it. If you have questions, ask. But try not to be too wearisome; I am quite busy."
Harry nodded again as he opened the ledger and began to read.
First, he noted information about his trust vault, which would be activated on his tenth birthday and would remain active until he reached adulthood—usually upon passing his OWLs. The trust vault contained two thousand galleons, replenished annually on July 31st. He was free to withdraw any amount but would have to wait until next August for it to refill if emptied.
The ledger revealed that the main Potter vault was currently inaccessible to him, filled with over three hundred fifty thousand galleons—and that was not the entirety of its holdings. The vault also contained gems worth an estimated additional hundred thousand galleons, rare books, and other invaluable treasures.
Next came information about the Potter family properties. First was the family manor, heavily warded and located in Wales, which had been nearly destroyed by fire in 1983. Then there was the cottage in Godric's Hollow, which had been obliterated and memorialized after Harry's parents were tragically murdered there. They also owned a penthouse in London and a summer home near Brighton, but both remained under stasis, only accessible by his legal guardian—Dumbledore—or himself once he reached adulthood. This meant Harry would likely be stuck living at Number Four, Privet Drive, for several more years.
Finally, the ledger detailed the family's shareholdings in various wizarding businesses. Unfortunately, Harry found little of interest here; most investments were in potion ingredient firms and charm suppliers. The only muggle investment seemed to be shares in General Electrics, worth about thirty-five thousand galleons collectively.
After familiarizing himself with the current state of the estate, Harry delved into its past. His grandfather, Charles Potter, had been a savvy businessman, once amassing nearly a million galleons in the main vault along with substantial jewels. However, after Voldemort's rise and the subsequent war, James Potter had funded the Light side, depleting the family resources over time.
"Master Goldsaw," Harry addressed him respectfully. "Thank you for providing me with this information about my house's finances." He returned the ledger to Goldsaw. "As the last member of a Noble house and now older than eleven, I would like to propose a few adjustments to the Potter estate's investment strategy. While I understand that you, as my estate manager, ultimately make the decisions, I would appreciate it if you'd at least consider my suggestions."
"Very well. I will listen, Mr. Potter, but as you said, it's up to me to determine whether or not these changes will be made." Goldsaw observed Harry with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
"Since my uncle runs a business, I've been exposed to various market trends. I'd like you to triple our holdings in General Electrics. Additionally, I recommend investing five thousand galleons each in the stocks of Microsoft and Apple—both are muggle companies with promising growth projections." Floyding Goldsaw's expression revealed his surprise; it took him a moment to regain his composure.
"I see," Goldsaw said slowly. "I'll have our analysts review the companies you've mentioned. If their findings align with yours, I will follow your recommendations for investing." Harry nodded in acknowledgment.
"Is there anything else Gringotts can assist you with today, Mr. Potter?" Goldsaw inquired.
"Yes, though I don't wish to trespass upon your time. I'd like to withdraw some galleons from my trust vault," Harry said, preparing to leave.
"Quite unnecessary, Mr. Potter; I'll make sure you don't endure the lines again." Goldsaw activated a rune on his desk, summoning another young goblin. "Sharptooth will guide you to your vault."
"Thank you." Harry smiled as he followed the young goblin out of Goldsaw's office.
~/ *** \~
Harry had to agree with Hagrid—those carts were a rather evil invention. Yet, they also represented the goblins' way of getting back at the wizards who disrespected them. After double-checking the pouch containing nearly all of the two thousand galleons he was allowed to spend for the year, Harry set off for his shopping.
His first order of business was to restock potion ingredients, as Professor Snape had made it clear that anything less than perfection in Harry's potions would result in a failing grade. And, perfecting his skills required ample practice, which had been swiftly depleting his inventory. He also needed new vials.
Once he finished at the apothecary and other smaller shops, Harry made his way to Flourish and Blotts for the necessary schoolbooks. However, as he approached the bookstore, he noticed a massive crowd—much larger than usual—mostly comprising housewives and teenage girls exhibiting fanatical behavior.
As he neared the store, his suspicions were confirmed: the throng was indeed there to see Gilderoy Lockhart, who was hosting a book signing. Resigned, Harry decided to postpone his visit and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron to drop off his purchases. As he passed the entrance to the bookstore, the crowd of fangirls began to shift aside, revealing a tussle between a red-haired man, whom Harry deduced was Ron Weasley's father, and the slick-haired Lucius Malfoy.
Scanning the crowd, he noticed Draco Malfoy strolling toward the queue with a handful of books. He gave Harry a curt nod of acknowledgment. Harry, prepared to avoid the fracas and head to Leaky Cauldron, didn't pay much attention to Mr. Malfoy, who now appeared fixated on a cauldron of books held by a young girl—presumably Ginny Weasley. Feeling that he should steer clear of the brewing tension, Harry moved on.
After stowing his purchases in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, and enjoying a quick lunch, Harry returned to the alley with a singular focus: he wanted to purchase a new broom. While he was certain his captain, Oliver, would allow him to use his broom for another year, Harry felt guilty about subjecting Oliver to the use of his outdated Cleansweep Four.
This summer had seen the release of a new Nimbus model, leading to significant discounts on earlier models. Harry aimed to splurge on a Nimbus 2000 and upgrade his equipment.
Now, he just had to figure out what to do with his Cleansweep. His practical instincts urged him to keep it as a spare, but his sentimental side wanted to donate it to the school. After considering his options, he ultimately decided to attempt selling it to Hogwarts at half its market value.
~/ *** \~
The following day, Harry revisited Diagon Alley, heading straight back to Flourish and Blotts. After selecting all of the required schoolbooks—grateful there were still copies of Lockhart's work after the chaos of yesterday—he browsed the shop for materials on magical medicine.
However, he found no titles addressing anatomy, physiology, or any related fields. Instead, the magical approach to healing seemed to revolve around spells and potions that aided specific ailments without employing any scientific principles. Still, Harry understood the value of these spells and potions, so he purchased several books covering basic healing charms and medical potions.
The shopkeeper, although surprised by Harry's unusual choices in reading, asked no questions and completed the sale without a hint of curiosity about the Boy-Who-Lived's interest in medicine. This suited Harry just fine.
Later that afternoon, he dived into Lockhart's books hoping to discover their actual utility for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Unfortunately, he found that they were little more than glorified autobiographies penned by a self-absorbed author. These books were, in his opinion, a complete waste of money and reflected poorly on the choice of teacher. If anything, the new instructor seemed destined to be even less competent than Professor Quirrell, who had at least shown signs of fear for the very shadows that loomed around him. Hogwarts had a well-stocked library; he knew he could rely on it for more reliable resources for his second-year studies in DADA.