Chapter Text
“Harry James Potter, we have reviewed the evidence brought against you and found you guilty on all charges. For your crimes of harboring a terrorist for 16 years, as well as breaking into the Ministry of Magic and causing significant property damage on two separate occasions, breaking into a Gringotts Vault and stealing a priceless heirloom as well as a dragon, as resisting arrest for more than 3 years you are hereby sentenced to death, to be carried out immediately. Do you have any last words?” Asked Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, looking down at where Harry was chained to the chair in the middle of the courtroom.
“Yeah, actually, I do.” Harry said forcing eye contact with as many people in attendance as he could, committing their faces to memory so if he ever met them in the afterlife he could pay them their due. “If this is the thanks that I get for saving all your sorry lives from Voldemort then it’s clear to me I should have never bothered to stand in his way. Every person in this room, in the British Wizarding Community owes me their life and I ask that magic judges them accordingly for their actions and inactions alike.”
The lights in the court room flickered ominously as an Auror carrying a syringe filled with the potion that would end his life approached the chair he was shackled to. The man hesitated for half a second, giving Harry just enough time to recognize him as Zacharias Smith, before injecting Harry with the lethal potion. Harry used his final breaths to laugh heartily as the room was filled with a blinding flash of magic.
XXX
Harry’s eyes snapped open and it took him a moment to realize just where he was. The space was small and dark, with a thin strip of light near the floor to his side. This coupled with the familiar thin mattress he could feel beneath himself and the stale dusty taste of the hair he inhaled told him he was back in his cupboard at the Dursley’s. He pulled the chain for the lone lightbulb that hung just barely above his head. Harry pulled on the first clothes that his hands touched, trying as he did so to figure out how and why he had ended up here. Surely this was not the afterlife and if it was he wanted a refund. At least when he’d died in the forest he had woken up in that strange vision of Kings Cross where Dumbledore (or at least who he had perceived as Dumbledore at the time) had appeared and given him the option to go back or go on. Probably would have worked out better for him if he’d just gone on considering how things had turned out after he’d made the choice to go back so he could end the war.
Fuck.
…He’d chosen to go back…
Had the whole going back schtick been applied to every time he died? He’d never considered it had been more than a one and done type of deal. It’s not like he’d had more than one Horcrux living inside him that would have prevented him from dying from that potion Smith shot him up with. Sure he’d collected all the Deathly Hallows and that supposedly made him the “Master of Death” or whatever but how in Merlin’s name did that translate to him waking up with all of the memories and knowledge (and trauma) of a 21 year old man in his pre-eleven year old body in the bloody cupboard under the stairs at Number 4 Privet Drive. He’d never wanted to down an entire bottle of fire whiskey so badly before in his life and there was no way he’d be able to convince anyone, even the seediest barkeep in the deepest pit of Knockturn Alley, to serve him alcohol in his current body. He needed to do some serious research if he was going to have any hope of figuring out what was going on, which meant he needed to figure out how to get out of this house as soon as humanly possible.
The stench that assaulted his senses when he finally steeled himself enough to leave the confines of the cupboard and enter the kitchen was enough to knock him out of his spiraling thoughts that were absolutely not helpful to figuring out what was going on and how to proceed. It also told him when exactly he had ended up. He might not have a photographic memory but there was only one thing that stench could be: Aunt Petunia’s attempt to dye Dudley’s old clothes grey so she wouldn’t have to actually buy Harry one of the Stonewall High School uniforms. He didn’t say anything as he sat at the table, waiting in barely contained anticipation. Apart from the truly awful smell, the most memorable part of this day was the arrival of his very first Hogwarts letter.
He had literally zero desire to redo his entire Hogwarts education, not only because he would be surrounded by people he had once considered friends before they either died during the war or shortly after it ended. Luna and George along with Charlie, Bill and Fleur had been the only ones to try and speak up for him when the tide had started to turn shortly after the final battle. Despite how fickle the public had always been, calling him a saint and a hero one minute before claiming he was unstable and deranged the next, he’d foolishly assumed that he’d have a longer grace period after defeating Voldemort before being accused of being the next Dark Lord. The remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix and the DA members that had looked to Neville for protection and guidance while Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been on their camping trip from Hell had not taken kindly to Harry speaking up and requesting leniency in the sentencing of those arrested after the battle. They didn’t care that Narcissa had lied to Voldemort’s face buying Harry the time he needed to get to an area he was not alone and surrounded only by those considered most loyal. Nobody, including Hermione and Ron, wanted to think about the fact that Draco who had seen Harry’s face everyday for years while going to school had told those gathered in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor that he couldn’t be sure that it was Harry, or how when Dumbledore had offered the blond teen protection for him and his mother his wand had wavered at the top of the astronomy tower. Nobody wanted to listen to him when he told them that Professor Snape had been ordered by Dumbledore himself to kill him when the time came so save Draco from that fate and solidify his cover as a spy in Voldemort’s ranks.
They certainly hadn’t wanted to hear him speak out against the laws proposed to round up all werewolves in the United Kingdom and force them to register their status as a dark creature before sterilizing them and confining them to designated “Packs” that were nothing more than glorified concentration camps surrounded by solid silver walls. Harry had reminded them that Remus Lupin had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix during both of Voldemort’s reigns of terror, that despite being a werewolf he had been one of the most gentle and kind people Harry had ever known; that Lupin had shown up and laid down his life in his efforts to fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, had sacrificed everything to try and make sure that the Wizarding World that his son grew up in was safe and cared about everyone regardless of their blood or creature status.
Neither the public or those that had appointed themselves the leaders following the battle that were “rebuilding” and “removing the corruption” that had infested the Ministry wanted to hear any of it. Harry had argued, given speeches, even pleaded with them to look at the situation objectively despite the pain and injustice they had suffered during Voldemort’s reign of terror. He had all but begged them on his knees not to make irreversible decisions that would be just as prejudiced and damaging to members of their world as they themselves had been subjected to while Voldemort had Thickness as his puppet running the government. They chose not to listen. They looked at him with disgust and hatred. They told him that the only way forward was to eradicate everything associated with Voldemort and the Dark Arts and if he couldn’t see that then maybe he wasn’t the hero they had thought he was.
He was either with them or he was against them.
So he’d been against them. Not even six months had passed between when he died and came back to end the war and build a better, more accepting world for the Wizards and Witches in Britain and when he was once more labeled “Undesirable No. 1”. Luna had wanted to use the Quibbler to speak out in support of Harry and try to gather more people that would stand with them. George, Charlie, Bill and Fleur had been of the same mind, offering to give statements or write articles anything to get Harry more support among the wizarding community. He had considered it briefly, it had helped him get much needed support back during 5th year when Umbridge and Fudge had been doing their best to drag his name through the mud and discredit him after all. Before anything had actually been decided the Daily Profit had released their own article.
An article full of direct quotes and backed by Ron and Hermione. An exclusive interview detailing how “You-Know-Who”, which really he’d been dead and all of his followers imprisoned at that point and they couldn’t bring themselves to say his name, had dedicated himself to mastering the most vile Dark Arts to ever be discovered. They told all about how while he was still at Hogwarts the Dark Lord had killed another student and split his soul for the first time before placing it in his diary, but he hadn’t stopped at just the one Horcrux instead he had chosen to continue to delve into what even dark wizards believed was the most horrible of all the Dark Arts. They explained that he had continued to tear his soul to pieces to be preserved so that even if his body were to die his soul would remain and allow him the chance to rise once more. First the diary of Tom M. Riddle, then the Gaunt Family Ring, Slytherin’s Locket, Hufflepuff’s Cup, Ravenclaw’s lost Diadem, his familiar Nagini had all been planned out and protected by spells, enchantments, and his most trusted followers. It had taken years for Professor Dumbledore to gather enough information to begin tracking them down and leading up to the final confrontation they had done the nearly impossible task destroying every last piece of soul that had been split off and protected. “Well, almost all of them anyway.” Ron was quoted to have said while Hermione explained that there had been one more Horcrux that had been created by accident that You-Know-Who didn’t know he had made, the famous scar that everyone recognized had been one of the anchors keeping the madman that nearly destroyed their world from actually dying.
The two of them told how every other container used as a Horcrux had needed to be completely destroyed to remove the piece of soul inside of it. Yet somehow, Harry had managed to survive. Except, they argued, were they really even sure that Harry had survived? Their best friend, the Harry Potter that they had known for years, would have never spoken out against eradicating the Dark Arts. He wouldn’t have spoken up to save Malfoy of all people. Really, they postulated, with the way he had been acting since the war ended it wasn’t hard to believe that Harry Potter had truly died in the forbidden forest and what had remained had been the fragment of soul in that final Horcrux.
Harry’s fate had been sealed.
He made Luna and the Weasley’s that had remained steadfastly on his side take an Unbreakable Vow that they wouldn’t speak out for him. That they wouldn’t fight this because in the end he couldn’t bear the thought of them dying for such a hopeless cause. He’d shoved everything he could into a rucksack, that he’d charmed similarly to Hermione’s beaded bag, in the limited time he had before the Aurors had stormed Grimmuld Place. A furious Neville Longbottom flanked on either side by Ron and Hermione had been the last thing he saw as he once more fled with no plan other than to do his best to survive.
“...the main Harry,” Uncle Vernon’s voice yanked Harry from the unpleasant memories.
He stayed silent as he stood, dodging Dudley’s attempt to whack him with his Smeltings Stick as he passed his cousin. He scooped the pile of mail from where it sat in front of the door, shoving the thick envelope containing his Hogwarts letter deep into his front pocket where it would be safely out of sight. Returning to the kitchen he passed the post and bill that remained to Uncle Vernon and retook his seat at the table. The hidden letter was practically burning a hole in his pocket, he knew if he’d actually been 10 years old in more than just physical body he would have already given himself away. Even at 21 he didn’t excel at patience but he at least understood the value of it better than he had when he was younger. It also helped that he knew what would happen if Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon realized that he had this letter. He would gladly sit through the remainder of breakfast and Petunia listing off his assigned chores without bringing undue attention to himself if it meant he wouldn’t be dragged all over the country as his family tried to outrun thousands of letters in an attempt to keep his heritage from him.
After what felt like an eternity Vernon finally left for work and shortly after Harry was ordered out to the back garden with orders to tend the flowers growing there and mow the lawn. He did as he was told without complaint, keeping an eye on the quiet block beyond the Dursley’s fenced garden as he did so. Gratification filling him when not 20 minutes after being banished from the house he saw Mrs. Figg hobbling with her broken leg towards the corner shop on her crutches. He waited, barely breathing as he did so, until she had fully disappeared from sight and then he returned the garden tools to the shed and launched himself over the back fence the same way he could remember doing dozens of times between the ages of 9-16 when he needed to get away from his family for a while and didn’t want to risk being stopped if he walked through the house to use the front door.
Shoving his hands in his pockets Harry made his way as casually as possible towards the squib’s house. None of the residents of Wisteria Walk paid him a second glance as he passed them completing their individual chores and activities, he had spent enough time in his younger years being looked after by Mrs. Figg while the Dursley’s were away that their eyes just slid right over him as they would any other neighbor going for a casual midmorning walk. Unlike the homes on Privet Drive only a select few houses on Wisteria Walk had fenced in gardens, Figgs was not one of them making it all the easier for him to let himself in through the backdoor that the woman only locked before retiring to bed in the evening.
Slightly more tricky was weaving through the numerous cats that swarmed him wanting attention as he made his way to the sitting room. A quick survey of the mantle revealed a small pot containing floo powder that he had been hoping he would find. He pinched just enough to get him to his destination to avoid her noticing that anyone had used it besides herself, and tossed it into the fire (that he really hoped had some type of containment ward around it considering the batty old squib made a habit of leaving it burning unattended) calling out “The Leaky Cauldron" in a clear voice as he stepped into the green flames.
Harry stumbled slightly as he landed in the pub, grateful that he managed to avoid being flung violently from the grate as had been the norm for him when he was originally this size and attempting floo travel. Taking care not to linger, lest somebody recognize him, Harry strode purposefully through the pub towards the entrance to Diagon Alley. He casually lifted a hand to brush soot from his hair while simultaneously releasing a trickle of magic in the form of a wandless notice-me-not charm that would hide the distinct lightning bolt if his bangs shifted on his forehead. With magic still tingling through his fingertips Harry tapped the bricks to open the archway regardless of his lack of wand.
The sight of the bustling alley, full of life and untouched by war after nearly a decade of peace was almost painful. So many people flitting from shop to shop without a care in the world, confident that they can complete their errands in peace without being attacked. It took his breath away for a moment before he pushed away the memories of how the alley had looked on his last visit and made a beeline for Gringotts, keeping his head down to limit the chances of anyone noting his resemblance to James Potter. It would be imperative that he secure access to his vault despite his lack of key. Once he had funds he could hopefully utilize glamours to rent a room somewhere until he needed to catch the Hogwarts Express on September 1st.
Diagon Alley, despite how much more lively it was now than it had been after the war truly broke out, was thankfully not nearly the madhouse it had been when Hagrid had brought him for the first time. Presumably if the Hogwarts letters had arrived today, most families wouldn’t actually start arriving to get their school shopping done for at least another day or two with the vast majority of them waiting until the weekend so that parents wouldn’t have to miss work. Despite this, Harry found himself unsurprised to see the entirety of the Weasley family (minus Bill and Charlie) at one of the teller desks when he entered the bank. Funny how a family that struggled to make ends meet would take the time for both parents to bring their children school shopping the day that supply lists go out, regardless of it being the start of the week, while more wealthy families such as the Malfoy’s would wait until the weekend to complete their shopping instead of interrupting the work week.
When he’d been on the run and completely isolated from the rest of the world after Hermione and Ron’s betrayal Harry had nothing if not time. Time he’d used to study books or magic he could get his hands on, but he’d also had plenty of time (and experience successfully living out of a tent and a rucksack) to realize that unlike in the muggle world where it was next to impossible to pull yourself and your family out of poverty wizarding families had a distinct advantage that made such things far easier. In the muggle world they had to make monthly payments for their housing, utilities, and transportation not to mention the cost of feeding their family. Meanwhile in the wizarding world the vast majority of purebloods and half bloods, including the Weasley family, lived on land or in homes that they inherited from their family so they had no actual housing costs because unlike the muggle world they weren’t charged property taxes on land that they owned. Utilities like lighting, heat, and water that muggles paid companies to supply their homes with were supplied with different charms and enchantments that wizards could set up themselves in a wizarding home. There was an initial charge to connect to the floo network and charges associated with the creation of portkeys but nothing that resulted in monthly payments or insurance fees like owning a car in the muggle world did. Food and clothing were quite literally the only expenses in the wizarding world outside of school fees and any leisure purchases that a family might want.
The Weasley family grew all their own vegetables plus they raised both pigs and chickens meaning that clothing and school fees were their only required expenses. When he’d been young and had no understanding of how the wizarding world operated differently than the muggle one he’d felt a deep sense of shame over how much money sat in his trust vault while the Weasley’s barely scraped by. After years on the run, unable to risk being seen in either muggle or wizarding society Harry had gotten pretty good at living in a self-sustaining manner, he’d ended up with a mostly plant based diet since he couldn’t exactly raise livestock while living out of a tent but after he’d figured out how to store planters without destroying what was growing in them while he moved to a new location he hadn’t had to worry about starving or trying to live off of only what could be foraged in the area he was hiding out in. Mr. Weasley might not have the highest paying job available in the wizarding world but he and his wife also had significantly more advantages that should have realistically helped them stay out of poverty as long as they weren’t reckless with their finances.
Recklessness like taking an unscheduled day off work to take your family school supply shopping that could realistically wait until the weekend. Or an entire summer long holiday to Egypt after winning a lottery draw as opposed to a short holiday and saving the majority of the money, or purchasing 10 tickets to the Quidditch World Cup that placed them in the top box. Rather than think ahead with their finances and prioritizing making sure their children had new books or better quality robes through the years Harry had known them they had instead chosen to spend a good portion of their money on exciting luxuries that were certainly thrilling for their children but didn’t necessarily benefit them much on a daily basis.
Shaking his head at the blatant disregard for financial responsibility, Harry approached the desk farthest from where the Weasley’s were being helped by who he was fairly sure was Griphook. He waited patiently for the Goblin to acknowledge him, only speaking when the creature laid down his quill and made eye contact with him.
“I require access to my trust vault, however I am unaware of what became of the key after my parents death. I have been living with my Aunt and Uncle who are both muggles since shortly after my parents' passing and neither of them was ever given a key after taking custody of me.”
The Goblin eyed him skeptically for a long moment before nodding. “Very well, follow me. You will need to submit to a genealogy test to confirm your identity and vault access before keys can be recalled to the bank.”
Harry returned the nod and followed as he was led out of the lobby to an office with a plaque labeling it as “Account Verification”. Interesting, this was apparently where he, Ron, and Hermione should have ended up if Griphook hadn’t ordered him to Imperious the Goblin they spoke to the day they broke into Bellatrix’s Vault. He was led inside the office and the teller Goblin gave a short explanation to the Goblin they met inside in Gobbledygook before exiting back to his own desk in the lobby.
“I am Krurx, I handle all instances of account verification. Bluirk says you never received the key to your trust vault that should have been issued to you on your 7th birthday?” Krurx asked, introducing himself.
“No, I did not. My Aunt and Uncle are both muggles and the first and only correspondence I have received from the magical world since being sent to live with them was my Hogwarts letter that arrived today.”
“And what of your magical guardian? Did they receive it instead since you live in the muggle world?”
“I am currently unaware of who my magical guardian is to be able to verify that.” Harry said pursing his lips in thought, he’d not actually ever had unlimited access to his vault key. More often than not he had been given an allowance from the account that somebody else gathered for him, and he’d certainly never known that he was supposed to receive his key at age 7. “If I had to guess, it would be either Sirius Black or Albus Dumbledore, neither of whom I have had contact with in nearly ten years.”
“Very well.” Krurx looked unhappy by this revelation as he pulled out a sheet of parchment and a black quill Harry recognized as a blood quill. “Write your full name to verify account ownership and inheritance status.”
Harry looked at the blood quill in distaste but did not hesitate to pick it up and sign his full name at the top of the page. The benefit of being 11 again appeared to be that he hadn’t ever encountered a blood quill in his current body so signing his name barely stung and did not result in his hand being torn open as would have happened if he’d had to do this after Umbridge forced him to write lines for hours multiple times a week in his 5th year.
Krurx eyed him curiously over his lack of reaction but refrained from saying anything about it as the two of them turned to watch the parchment that was filling up with his family tree going back several generations on both his mother and fathers sides. From his father he saw names he expected based on what little he knew of the Potter family, such as his grandparents Fleamont and Euphemia as well as his great grandfather Henry who he’d been named after according to Sirius. He was not, however, expecting what he found on his mothers side. Instead of the Dursleys and the Evans family he had expected to find his mothers side was filled with members of the Black family. He blinked owlishly, trying to comprehend the fact that according to this his mother was the sister of Sirius. His godfather had never once said anything about having a sister, he’d made a brief mention of his brother Regulus and said even less about his parents but never a mention of a sister.
“Interesting.” Krurx said, staring at the various members of the Black family listed on the page. “Wait here, I will return.”
Harry barely registered the command too transfixed by the genealogy test on the desk in front of him. He was certain if Sirius had known he was Harry’s Uncle and not just his Godfather he would have mentioned it at some point. It also begged the question, how had Lily ended up with the Evans family? Not to mention how had Dumbledore never noticed that there weren't actually any working blood wards at Privet Drive considering Petunia was not actually a blood relative? Had he known the whole time and just used wards as a convenient excuse to ignore Harry’s pleas to live literally anywhere else but with the Dursleys?
Krurx returned with another Goblin before Harry’s thoughts could spiral too much. “Mr. Potter, this is Glil. She is the account manager for the Black family, I have also sent for Phith, the Potter account manager, asking that she join us at her earliest convenience.”
“Right. So have we got any idea how my supposedly muggle born mother is showing up as the daughter of Orion and Walburga Black? I was under the impression that they only had 2 male children?” Harry asked, pushing his rising hysteria at the unexpected influx of information down to worry about later.
“Without a full investigation I cannot say how exactly this occurred.” Glil said rifling through a folder and pulling what appeared to be both a birth and a death certificate from inside. Harry noted as he looked them over they had the same name and date listed on them. Both were for Lyra Melania Black and dated November 3, 1959, the same day Sirius was born. “What I can tell you is that Walburga Black gave birth to twins in November of 1959 and only the male was believed to have survived the birth. Orion Black stopped in to file copies of both birth certificates as well as a death certificate for Lyra several weeks after the fact.”
“What would you need to start an investigation?” Harry asked, forcing himself to look at Glil rather than the documents in front of him.
“The Black family has an account dedicated to covering any potential Gringotts investigation fees so as you are the Heir Apparent to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black I would need only your permission to begin.”
“Is verbal permission sufficient or are there written forms you require me to sign? I want to know anything we can find about how my mother ended up being raised as Lily Evans instead of Lyra Black.”
Glil’s smile showed an alarming number of her razor sharp teeth as she placed a form in front of Harry on Krurx’s desk. “Sign here and I can begin as soon as we’ve finished here.”
Harry read through it carefully before signing with the blood quill that was still lying on the desk when he felt confident that it was no more than a basic release form. Glil snatched it back as soon as it was signed, then handed him the folder she had pulled the birth and death certificates from. “This contains copies of all current Black family holdings and investments. You will have restricted access to the vaults as well as investment decisions until you are fifteen at which point you will be able to claim your title as the Head of House Black. You do also have access to any and all properties owned by House Black, though I would warn you that both Orion Black and his predecessors were known for being both ruthless and creative in their warding so if you are to visit any Black properties do so with caution. Now, unless you have questions for me I will take my leave to begin investigating.”
“That’s fine,” Harry agreed thoughtfully. “ I’ll owl you if I have questions once I’ve had a chance to look through everything.”
Glil nodded to him before exiting the office just as another Goblin was entering. The new Goblin wore a stormy expression on her face as she spoke. “For 4 years I have attempted to make contact with you and received replies from your magical guardian that you refuse to come in for any sort of meeting with me and now you come to Gringotts at last and my office was not your first stop?”
“Phith -” Krurx started but was cut off by the angry account manager.
“I demand to know why I should continue to serve as the Potter Account Manager when the account holder refuses to show me even the smallest amount of respect due by actually meeting with me so that I can complete my work effectively!” Phith snarled, fire dancing in her eyes as she glared at Harry.
“Well,” Harry said, taken aback by both the fury directed at him and the fact that this Phith hadn’t hunted him down in the previous timeline to murder him for apparently ignoring her. “As I told Krurx before completing the genealogy test required to verify my account access, the first communication I received from the magical world since my parents death was my Hogwarts letter which arrived this morning. I do not actually know who my magical guardian is as the only guardians I have ever known about are Vernon and Petunia Dursley who I was told were my mother’s sister and her husband. I apologize if whoever my magical guardian is has told you previously that I don’t want to meet with you as that is very much incorrect and I was never actually consulted on the matter. If I had known that you wished to speak with me about my account I would have let the first Goblin I spoke to know that rather than informing him that I needed to access my vault but didn’t know what had happened to my key after my parents passed.”
Phith scowled at him for a long moment before speaking. “In that case we have a far larger issue at hand to go over. The entire reason I’ve been attempting to meet with you for so long is to discuss the improper use of your trust vault and to ensure you are following spending guidelines set forth by your parents. If you have not been receiving magical correspondence before now someone else has been using your trust vault for unsanctioned transactions. James and Lily Potter set out clear guidelines for what your trust vault could be used for before you started school, including a limit of no more than 500 galleons per month with the expectation that receipts be turned in after purchases to validate the funds were not being misappropriated. Since the issuance of your trust vault key on your 7th birthday the maximum allowance has been withdrawn without a single receipt being turned in.”
Harry didn’t know whether to be sick or furious at her words. 24,000 galleons or assuming the allowance hadn’t been withdrawn yet this month since he would need funds to get his school things 23,500 galleons had been taken from his trust vault without his knowledge or say so. £117,500 of his money just gone over the course of a couple of years while he was forced to sleep in a cupboard and complete every chore his guardians could think of while wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs, glasses from a charity bin, and being fed little more than scraps.
“Am I understanding correctly that you’re saying I should have had access to thousands of galleons per year but was instead forced to get by with nothing but my cousins cast offs, meanwhile somebody was stealing money my dead parents left me that I wasn’t even aware that I had access to before I was old enough to start Hogwarts?” Harry asked, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep from completely losing his cool.
“Yes. Furthermore, if you had not come in before the end of the month to speak with me all other Potter Vaults would have been considered forfeit due to continual non-compliance with guidelines set for the use of your trust vault.”
“In that case, I’d like a full investigation into who was using my vault and where the funds ended up. I have never personally withdrawn funds or requested that anyone else make withdrawals in my stead so all transactions since my parents deaths should be treated as fraudulent until this matter has been resolved. I would also ask that all withdrawals be stopped unless I am physically present in the bank and sign a consent form using a blood quill to prove my identity.”
“That can be arranged.” Phith agreed, nodding. “Will you be withdrawing your full monthly allowance today while you are here?”
Harry pursed his lips in thought, on the one hand he was nearly certain that he had no chance of spending 500 galleons before the end of the month but he also wasn’t sure how much he would need for everything he planned to get. “Am I correct to assume that despite the restrictions on my spending from my trust vault that I am not barred from holding onto funds for future use so long as receipts are turned in once purchases are made?”
“Your parents did approve the use of a monitored coin pouch for funds coming from your trust vault until such time as you come of age or claim your place as Head of House Potter, depending on whichever should come first, after which time all spending restrictions including monthly withdrawal limit and the requirement of turning in receipts for purchases will be removed.” Phith advised. “Keep in mind that if you do make use of the monitored coin pouch it will send an alert to your account portfolio in my office here at Gringotts at the end of each day. If the amount carried inside the pouch changes, the expectation is that a receipt will be submitted within 48 hours. If whoever you are paying can not offer you a receipt then you can be assured that it is not an approved use of your trust vault.”
“I can work with that. Is submitting receipts via owl acceptable, or do you require that I bring them into the bank in person?”