Chapitre 22: Chapter 22
And so very interesting they were. Harry's wind nature seemed to give him a vague sense of how the tunnels went. And his senses were hardly taxed by the myriad of twists and turns the cart took in its journey. He could probably draw a map if he wanted. Not that he had to, it was just that this seemed to be the first place where his skills could be used in something resembling a useful fashion. Not to mention he just plain liked the speed. It almost felt like he was flying. Hmmm...that was an idea. After all he had read about ninja who could fly, and while he could certainly jump a very large distance(and more with some pressure assistance from his wind nature) flying was out of reach at the moment. That would have to be rectified. Perhaps seals would have the answer.
Harry was brought out of his thoughts when the cart finally stopped in front of a vault, which he assumed was vault 687-his vault. Now he would know exactly what McGonagall had meant when she said that Harry was 'fairly well off'. And now would be an excellent time to ask about the currency, not to mention how to change it to British pounds. If he had enough, he could do a fair bit of the things he had put off for being prohibitively expensive. And then the vault door opened.
Harry was for once truly shocked. The term 'pile of gold' had not really meant anything, until now. He was definitely grateful that his parents had left enough gold so that he could do...wait, how much did that pile of gold translate to in hard cash anyway? He asked.
"The gold coins are Galleons, the silver ones, Sickles, and the bronze ones, Knuts. There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon and 29 Knuts in a Sickle. And that Mr Potter is the currency system used by the wizarding world"
The reply was oddly enough, from the goblin standing behind him. When he turned to look at Griphook, the goblin grinned savagely. Now that was more like it! Hidden from McGonagall's view, he returned the gesture, adding a bit of killing intent. The goblin now looked distinctly happy, which is actually quite a weird look for the usually snarky species.
"So how much would a galleon be in British pounds?" Harry asked.
"A galleon is 5 pounds. You may exchange them at the appropriate counter in the main floor."
"Most useful information, Griphook."
Griphook merely smiled, this time refraining from showing his distinctive teeth. Harry and these goblins would get along famously. He turned around. He had galleons to take. McGonagall for some strange reason had to shake off the sudden image of Harry laughing maniacally – quite odd that.
The ride back was passed in as much silence as the ride down. McGonagall winced visibly and Harry internally whooped for joy. He would have to check up on flying soon...
XXX
After Gringotts, the first stop was Madame Malkins. The robe shop was quite interesting as far as clothing shops went. Well, it was his first magical clothing store, and he had to admit that the experience had slight differences, though the basic procedure was somewhat the same. Harry vaguely wondered why there simply wasn't a spell that the necessary stuff. That would get rid of the uncomfortably close contact that seemed unavoidable for all the fat lot of good magic was. Then again, he supposed that having a wand pointed at you, especially by a complete stranger would be worse. McGonagall had mentioned that there were many highly dangerous spells, not just the one shot kill that was the killing curse, Avada Kedavra.
He wondered if he really ought to bother with learning these 'combat spells'. He doubted they could beat jutsu. And he instinctively knew that a Suiryudaan (water dragon) could outrun a killing curse, though how he knew was another question. Speaking of killing curses, he had received his scar at the hands of magic, so perhaps there was a way to spell it away? He really didn't like having that mark on his forehead. Like his glasses, they were a simple means of identifying him. And maintaining a henge 24/7 was not his idea of a perfect plan. On second thought, he could now just pay for plastic surgery...
XXX
After the thought provoking visit to get robes, Harry was pleasantly surprised when he was led to a bookshop. Flourish and Blotts, as the sign announced, seemed to be the average bookshop. It was likely that the basic things he would need to learn, like customs, practices, jargon – all the details that made infiltration easier would be found in this one place if he looked really hard. Muggleborns used this place too, and it was likely that they would stock books that would both help in assimilation and was a sure seller, especially to such an established and self replenishing customer base. All he would have to do would be send a henged clone. A quick illusion, a handseal or two later, a nondescript eleven year old was headed towards somebody who could help. Said clone was also carrying quite a few of the galleons that Harry had been carrying. Meanwhile Harry hurried to get the books he would need. Ten minutes later, several books that had not been on the school list were safely sequestered in storage scrolls. By the memories he had received, he had exactly what he would need. Besides, he could always come back later...
The apothecary was a very smelly place – one that Harry's sensitive nose seemed to take particular offense to. There were too many rotten smells to handle and Harry had finally given up after all of 5 seconds and plugged his nose with chakra. He felt instantly better, though his companion seemed to find the whole shop distasteful. He couldn't say he really blamed her. After all, the very labels were indicative of the body parts that stocked the place. Harry mused that if ever they changed the name, mortuary would fit the place much better than apothecary ever did. He also took a note to self to get used to the smell of death and decay. A near silent voice in his head muttered 'first kill' but Harry put it away for now.
The last store, as was appropriate, was the wand shop. Ollivander's, as the board said looked quite the worse for wear. The dust that coated the place did nothing to raise his opinion of the store. Yet for some reason, it occurred to him that it was a representation of how the wizarding world was still stuck in the past, and for not moving a long time, it had a layer of dust on it to boot. This trip was making his thoughts go in weird ways, some of it actually useful. Perhaps there was something more to this magic business than he had first considered. Now that was an original thought...
An old man, who he assumed was Ollivander, strode in looking at him with beady eyes. It looked particularly unnerving, or at least would have been, if he wasn't looking at him as if he some new museum exhibit. After a few seconds of mutual staring which McGonagall was looking at with pursed lips, Ollivander turned to the professor. Deciding, that looking around at the shop was not going to hurt him any, he began to try and get a feel for the chakra in the shop. Magic and chakra were different, that he knew, but there was bound to be some relation. After all, he was by now pretty sure by now that neither his parents nor anyone else in this crazy world had no clue how to use or develop chakra. That was all Harry, and from an idea in a book no less. No, he had started with magic, but he had been using chakra. There was some connection here, but he just couldn't put a finger on it.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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Power Stone 
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