"The Overseer said to keep it on you at all times. Litigator Lichfield said for you to hide it until you need it and to clean it regularly," the goblin recited. "I'll leave it to you to decide how to match those up. You also get this," he said, taking out a small leather-bound book full of tiny forms.
"And these are?" Harry asked.
"Your cheques," Dirtclaw explained. "The Overseer said you'd understand what to do, based on the additional security requirements of your account."
'Of course,' Harry thought. 'Sealed with Blood and Magic. For the cheques to be good they'd need them both .'
"Right," Harry said as he stuffed both case and book into his pockets. "Thanks."
"You also need to sign this," Dirtclaw said, producing a clipboard with built in inkwell and quill holder, "to show you've received your belongings."
As Bill was busy keeping the other Weasleys distracted by pantomiming a confrontation between what looked to be a walrus and a herd of goblins - which didn't look to be going well for the walrus - Harry made his quick scratch with the Blood Quill, signed his name with the other, and covertly drew his wand to add his magical signature to the form.
Fred, George, and Ron broke out in laughter as the walrus went down for the count. Mrs. Weasley looked torn between whether to reprimand or be amused. If the look on Bill's face was anything to go by, Harry didn't think the Dursleys had a pleasant afternoon at all. 'Serves them right,' Harry thought.
"Right then," Dirtclaw said. "Where do you want the tub?"
"The tub?" Harry asked, thinking for one crazy moment the goblins had ripped out the Dursleys bathtub. 'That had not been on any form I signed,' Harry thought to himself, though he supposed Lichfield might have added it as a joke.
"The tub," Dirtclaw repeated. "The one with your clothes," he explained, pointing to the small group of goblins struggling to haul a glossy white metal contraption trailing tubes and a trickle of water behind it.
Harry broke down laughing. The goblins had stolen Aunt Petunia's prized washing machine.
...
For the first time in his life, Harry was excited to be in his room because while the furniture was the same as the day before, this was a very different room. For one, it was in the Burrow, the home of the Weasley family, and for another - the room just felt free. Everything about it just shouted freedom to him, and Harry didn't mind in the least that it was a hand-me-down.
With an entire bedroom set to accommodate, Mrs. Weasley had been forced to admit more than just a corner of Ron's room would be necessary to get all of Harry's things to fit into the house. Bill had volunteered his old room and quickly moved to shrink all of his old stuff down to take with him before his mother could voice her objections. She had drawn the line at the washing machine though. That remained right where it was, on the ground outside .
He had been surprised Hedwig had turned up as well. Apparently she'd been resting up in Ron's room to make the trip back to Surrey, so she was already there when he arrived. Harry was glad she understood how crazy his day had been and he hadn't meant to make her take the trip in vain, he just didn't know he'd be coming.
The guys had been eager to show him their makeshift Quidditch pitch or for Harry to join them in hearing Bill's exploits as a Curse-breaker for Gringotts, but he had begged off saying he had just about enough of Gringotts as he could stand for one day and just wanted to get settled in. This was how Harry found himself sitting at his own desk, in his own room - and faced with the most uncomfortable part of his day so far.
How was he supposed to start his letter to Hermione?
'"Dear Hermione"?' he wondered. 'No, that sounds like I'm down on one knee with a bouquet of flowers .' He discarded the idea.
'Just a simple "Hermione"?' Harry considered for a moment. 'That one reminds me of how she signed the second letter,' he finally realized. The last thing this letter was supposed to do was tell her he didn't like her.
'How about, "Hey Hermione"?' Harry asked himself. 'It's not distant like just "Hermione" is, because she's still our friend, but it's not too friendly or showering her with flower petals and chocolates .' Harry nodded his head. That could work.
He dipped his quill in the inkwell and took a breath, readying himself to start. Quill poised over the parchment, his hands refused to move. They'd gone cold and numb, like they'd been turned to ice. Harry shook them to get his blood pumping again, sending ink splattering all over the place. He sighed, head slumping to the desk. 'Why did this have to be so hard?'
Cautiously, Harry retrieved his wand. Straining to hear if anyone was nearby, he whispered a spell he remembered Hermione using when Ron had gotten ink all over his homework last year. The splattered ink now safely sucked up into his wand, Harry dashed over to the window to look for any incoming owls in the fading afternoon light.
As the minutes passed by Harry began to think Lichfield was right, maybe the Ministry couldn't tell if he had done magic after all. 'Still,' Harry thought to himself. 'I'm going to have to keep what I do small, just so I'm not found out. If Fred and George discovered that legal loophole they'd go nuts and it'd be all over Hogwarts in half a second.' The Harold part of him said, 'For homework use only, young man.'
'Won't Hermione be surprised when we get to school and I already know some of the spells, ' the Harry part of him said with a grin. 'That'd definitely make holding off on magic the rest of the time worthwhile,' he thought. Harry supposed studying did have its upside.
He sat back down at the desk and refilled his quill with ink but before he could write a thing there was a knock on the door and Ron stuck his head inside.
"Hey, Harry, you hungry?"
.....
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