Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

Thanks to his invisibility cloak, Harry easily made it back up to his room without anyone being the wiser. Once there, he emptied all his purchases onto the bed, staring wide-eyed at his new clothes. His gaze shifted to his school trunk, already messy and overflowing after more than a week of living out of it. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. He'd better tidy up.

As tempting as it was to ceremonially burn everything the Dursleys had ever given him in the fireplace, Harry knew he had to keep up appearances if he didn't want anyone—namely Dumbledore—getting suspicious. Still, he couldn't resist burning the most offensive items of clothing. Some of Dudley's old things sort of fit, and they weren't that bad, so he kept them. Hopefully, if he gradually mixed in his new clothes, no one would notice the difference. He hadn't bought anything particularly flashy, anyway.

With all his new clothes folded and stacked alongside the older ones he was keeping, Harry glanced at the pile on his bed. For the first time in his life, he might actually struggle to fit all his belongings into his school trunk. The thought made him smile.

Perhaps Twilfitt and Tattings sold bottomless trunks, too.

It turned out Farlig didn't want a present—what he really wanted was for Harry to get his family's money moving again.

While the Potter and Black accounts had ongoing investments set up by previous heads of the family, the Peverell and Slytherin vaults had been stagnant for decades. Between the four houses, Harry's Gringotts portfolio was several inches thick—and Farlig was determined to make it even thicker now that Harry had named him account manager.

Had Harry known what that entailed, he might have reconsidered. The lure of discovering what artifacts and treasures lay within his possession had led him straight into Farlig's office, where the goblin had immediately sat him down in front of an enormous stack of parchment.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Harry said warily.

Farlig's returning grin revealed all of his sharp teeth.

"The top parchment lists all current investments and regular transactions within your holdings," Farlig explained. "While prolific, your portfolio could benefit from further diversification. I've compiled a list of promising investment opportunities, including some in the Muggle world, if you're open to it."

Harry glanced down at the list, grimacing at some of the darker investments under the Black family name. Yes, this was going to be tedious—but it would be worth it.

As he scrawled numbers and sifted through Farlig's suggested investments, the goblin watched with something akin to pride.

Young Harry Potter might be getting a late start, but if he continued with this level of determination, he would take the pure-blood wizarding circles by storm—and give them a much-needed shake-up.

And if he made as much money as his accounts projected, Farlig's wife would be very pleased with his new position. After all, he now worked on commission.

About done with adventures for the summer, Harry decided to spend the rest of his time in Diagon Alley actually behaving—somewhat. He made no more jaunts into Muggle London, but he did indulge in a few more reckless purchases, taking advantage of the fact that no one was around to question his spending habits. A new trunk with more space than his old one, even more books, and a small Wizarding Wireless so he could listen to Quidditch matches.

If he were being really foolish, he told himself, he would have bought a Firebolt. But he hadn't, so no one could begrudge him a little shopping spree. No one had to know just how much he had really bought.

As the start of the school year drew closer, Harry was keen to make the most of his remaining freedom, wandering around Diagon Alley in his new clothes and getting used to actually wearing things he liked. Throughout the week, he began spotting more of his classmates as they arrived to do their back-to-school shopping. He stopped to chat with some of them, but mostly, he observed from a distance with a small smile, keeping his head down. Until—

Harry was passing by Twilfitt and Tattings when he—quite literally—bumped into someone.

"Watch where you're going, you filthy—Potter!"

Harry looked up into the steely grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. He winced.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking." He'd been too caught up in thoughts about a passage in one of his new books, something about the history of the Wizengamot and how the original fifty houses had been chosen. "Malfoy," he greeted, dipping his head briefly and keeping his palms open at his sides, just as the etiquette book had advised—to show he wasn't holding a wand.

The gesture seemed to throw Malfoy off, and he blinked before narrowing his eyes.

"Well, looks like you've finally learned how to dress yourself, Potter," he sneered, though he, too, showed empty palms. "Where's your usual entourage? Finally get sick of you?"

"They're on holiday," Harry replied. "I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a while."

"Alone?" Malfoy's pale eyebrows shot up. "I find it hard to believe Dumbledore would let you wander around unsupervised, all things considered."

Harry stiffened. "What do you mean, all things considered?" He braced himself for an insult or some remark about how he was too incompetent to survive on his own.

In reading his new books, Harry had discovered that, by refusing Malfoy's handshake before their sorting, he had actually been enormously insulting. That had likely put Malfoy on the defensive from the very start—and Ron constantly antagonizing him certainly hadn't helped.

He'd decided to try civility instead, just to see where it got him. If he could take Malfoy off the list of things he had to worry about, everything else—Voldemort, potential danger, exams—would be that much easier to deal with.

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