For the first few steps, I tried to look everywhere at once.
That was a mistake.
A stack of books flew over my head.
I turned to follow it and nearly walked into a witch carrying a cage containing what looked like a particularly offended toad.
“Watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry.”
I moved against the wall to let her pass.
The toad regarded me with similar disapproval.
Only then could I take a proper look at the street.
Diagon Alley was narrower than I’d expected.
Crooked façades leaned over the passers-by, signs jutted out above the cobbles, and so much stock stood outside some shops that customers had to squeeze between crates.
Somewhere, a bell rang.
A crash came from an open window, followed by someone apologising loudly.
It smelled of bread, animals, and something bitter, like incense.
That last smell grew stronger when I focused on the magic.
In my room, I’d seen individual strands.
Here, they were everywhere.
They wound around shop entrances, trembled above window displays, and moved with the objects people carried.
Around one sign, they formed such a dense weave that I had to blink.
The letters were turning the other way so people approaching from the opposite end of the street could read them.
I smiled.
For two years, I hadn’t been able to make a light.
Here, someone used magic to make an advertisement turn itself round.
I continued, watching where I put my feet this time.
Not everyone paid attention to me.
Most people had things of their own to deal with: shopping, conversations, children trying to escape towards the broom shop.
Only when someone looked directly at my face did a brief hesitation follow.
A shopkeeper standing outside his shop stopped halfway through his sales pitch.
A woman studied me more closely, then looked away.
A boy about my age stared openly until his mother tugged his sleeve.
Apparently, my eyes weren’t considered ordinary here either.
A pity.
I’d hoped that on a street where someone wore a hat with a live bird in it, the bar would be a little higher.
Fortunately, no one stopped me.
I could look around.
I slowed so much by a broom display that an older wizard had to step around me.
One broom hovered above its stand, turning slowly to show off its polished handle.
Flying.
Real flying.
For a moment, I wondered whether the shopkeeper would at least let me touch it.
Then I remembered the fifty pounds in my pocket.
The bank first.
If everything went well, I’d come back to look at the brooms.
And the books.
And, really, most of the things I was passing.
The white building of Gringotts rose above the neighbouring shops.
I didn’t need a sign to recognise it.
Up close, it was even grander.
I climbed the marble steps, passing goblins in scarlet uniforms.
One looked over my face but said nothing.
I tried not to stare too obviously.
With limited success.
He was the first goblin I’d seen from less than a few metres away.
Long fingers, sharp features, large ears.
He looked perfectly natural, which somehow surprised me more than the sight of him itself.
To him, I was a child blocking the entrance.
I moved aside and walked on.
Beyond the bronze doors was another set, silver this time.
A warning against greed and taking what didn’t belong to you was engraved on them.
I read it to the end.
Then instinctively touched my pocket.
The banknotes were real.
I’d received them at a Muggle bank.
For some reason, that didn’t make me feel any less guilty.
I went inside.
The hall was enormous.
I paused just beyond the threshold and craned my neck.
Tall columns supported the ceiling, and counters stretched along the hall, where goblins weighed coins, examined documents, and spoke with customers.
Parchment rustled beneath the constant clink of money.
Several clerks looked up as I passed.
One watched me until the witch sitting in front of him tapped a finger on her document.
The magic was different here too.
In Diagon Alley, everything moved and mingled.
In the bank, I could see thick strands running along the walls and disappearing beneath the floor.
I tried to follow one, but after a moment my eyes began to ache.
I gave up.
I’d come to exchange money.
Figuring out Gringotts’ protections could wait at least until I knew more than how to light up a finger.
I approached an empty counter.
It was high enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at the goblin sitting behind it.
“Good morning. I’d like to exchange pounds for Galleons.”
The goblin finished counting his coins before looking at me.
“One Galleon to five pounds. The annual exchange limit is five hundred pounds.”
I took out the money and placed it on the counter.
Two twenties.
One ten.
The goblin examined them carefully.
He ran his fingers over the paper, then set the notes beside him.
I waited, trying not to look like someone with a reason to be nervous.
“Ten Galleons.”
Gold coins clinked against the counter.
For a moment, I simply looked at them.
Then I picked one up.
It was heavier than I’d expected.
I turned it between my fingers, examining the markings stamped into it.
My first Galleon.
I wanted to keep it separately and never spend it.
The other nine were unlikely to receive the same treatment.
The goblin slid a sheet of parchment towards me.
“Sign here.”
I read the document.
Confirmation of the fifty-pound exchange and a record of my remaining allowance.
A quill felt different from a pen.
I took care not to blot the parchment and signed as legibly as I could.
Oliver Peverell.
The goblin looked at the signature.
Then at me.
“Peverell?”
“Yes.”
He was silent for a moment.
I took the opportunity before I could start wondering what his reaction meant.
“I’d also like to find out whether I have a family vault here. I don’t have a key or any documents. Is there another way to verify my ancestry?”
In fanfiction, you usually just asked for an inheritance test.
I preferred not to begin by telling a bank employee what services he ought to provide.
The goblin glanced at the parchment again.
“There is.”
He indicated a counter at the end of the hall.
The goblin behind it was noticeably older than the others.
His shoulders were stooped, and his wrinkles were so deep that, from this distance, his face resembled parchment folded several times.
“Speak to him. Tell him Gurnik sent you.”
I gathered the coins.
“Thank you.”
The older goblin was already watching as I approached.
“Good morning. Gurnik said—”
“I heard.”
He closed the book in front of him.
“You wish to verify your ancestry?”
“Yes.”
He slid off his chair with the sigh of someone who had spent far too long sitting in it.
“Follow me.”
Beyond the main hall, the bank was considerably less impressive.
The corridors were narrower, the doors ordinary, and a crooked plaque I couldn’t read hung on one wall.
The goblin led me silently to a small room containing a desk and two chairs.
I sat opposite him.
From a drawer, he took a golden bowl, a bottle of clear liquid, and a small knife.
The last item dampened my enthusiasm a little.
“Six Galleons,” he said.
I looked at him.
I’d only just received ten.
If it turned out there was no vault, my grand shopping expedition would end rather quickly.
I counted out the coins and handed them across the desk.
The goblin put the money away, then half-filled the bowl.
I leaned forward instinctively.
Thin, coloured strands moved beneath the surface, although the liquid itself remained still.
“What’s that?”
“A reagent for the test.”
Apparently, six Galleons didn’t buy a lecture.
The goblin pushed the knife towards me.
“Three drops of blood.”
I didn’t reach for it immediately.
Blood wasn’t something I wanted to hand out carelessly in the magical world.
I remembered enough from Voldemort’s story to at least ask.
“What happens to it after the test?”
The goblin looked up.
“It is consumed.”
“And it can’t be used for anything else afterwards?”
He studied me for a moment.
Then he opened another drawer and took out a form.
“The terms of the procedure. You may read them.”
I could.
So I did.
The document guaranteed that the sample would be used solely to verify my ancestry.
Once the procedure was complete, the residue would lose the properties that allowed it to be used in blood magic.
It sounded reasonable.
Of course, most of my knowledge of blood magic came from stories in which someone inevitably did something horrible with it.
The goblin noticed my hesitation.
“Thimgrin,” he said.
I raised my head.
“My name.”
He placed a hand against his chest.
“I, Thimgrin, swear on my life that your blood will be used solely in the test described, and that upon its completion it will be incapable of serving any other magical purpose.”
A thin green strand flashed through the air.
I saw it only briefly.
It appeared beside the goblin, drew taut, and vanished.
I straightened in my chair.
“Was that a magical oath?”
“Yes.”
He said it as though confirming the time.
I was still staring at the place where the green thread had been.
“May we proceed?” he asked.
“Yes. Sorry.”
I signed the form and carefully picked up the knife.
It was very sharp.
Fortunately, I needed only three drops, so a small cut was enough.
I hissed, more from surprise than pain, and held my hand over the bowl.
The first drop spread across the surface.
At the second, the liquid began to swirl.
The third vanished into the centre of a small whirlpool that abruptly changed direction.
I forgot about my finger.
The coloured strands converged in the centre of the bowl.
The clear liquid darkened until it was completely black.
Then letters appeared.
White, distinct, suspended just beneath the surface.
Peverell.
I knew what was supposed to appear.
I’d asked for it myself.
Even so, seeing the name in the bowl made me absurdly happy.
It had worked.
I hadn’t mistaken the bank, the world, or my own identity.
By the standards of the past two years, that was a fairly good result.
I looked at Thimgrin.
The goblin didn’t seem equally pleased.
He stared at the letters, his mouth slightly open.
Only after several seconds did he push the bowl aside and look at my face.
“Peverell,” he repeated quietly.
“Is it right?”
“The test has confirmed your ancestry.”
He straightened.
“I have managed the Peverell family vault for a very long time.”
For a moment, I wasn’t certain I’d heard him correctly.
“So there is a vault?”
“Indeed.”
I smiled before I could help it.
The four Galleons in my pocket had just stopped looking like everything I owned.
Thimgrin put the form away, then stood.
“First, we must collect your signet ring.”
This time, I tried to remember the route.
I gave up after a few turns.
All the corridors looked alike, and Thimgrin moved through them with the confidence of someone who had walked this way for years.
I hurried to keep up.
Eventually, he stopped before a metal door.
One name was engraved on it.
Peverell.
My eyes moved over the letters.
In the bowl, it had looked like a test result.
Here, someone had put it in place permanently, long before I arrived.
Something belonging to my family was kept behind that door.
That thought was a little stranger than the prospect of money.
Thimgrin took out a heavy key.
I could see tangled lines of magic around the lock.
They stirred when he inserted it.
There was a click.
The door began to open slowly, revealing a thickness that hadn’t been apparent from the corridor at all.
“The signet is kept here,” the goblin explained.
“Only the rightful heir may wear it.”
“What happens if someone else tries?”
Thimgrin looked at me.
“The protections ensure that they regret it.”
I had a few more questions, but his expression suggested the answers might put me off touching anything.
I stepped inside.
The chamber was small and cool.
The air smelled of dust.
A ring lay on a wooden pedestal.
I moved closer.
White gold, a black stone, and a symbol I would recognise anywhere.
A triangle.
A circle.
A vertical line.
I bent down for a better look.
“It’s nice,” I said quietly.
That fell rather short, but nothing better came to mind.
The ring wasn’t covered in ornamentation, nor did it have a huge crest standing above the finger.
The stone drew the most attention.
It was so dark that, for a moment, I tried to find my own reflection in it.
Instead, my eyes began to itch faintly.
I blinked.
“Can I just put it on?”
“Yes, Mr Peverell.”
I picked up the signet.
The metal was cool.
I turned it once, then slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand.
It fitted.
I looked at it with satisfaction.
Then a brief sting ran through my hand.
My eyes burned.
My vision blurred so suddenly that I jerked my head back and shut my eyes.
“What—”
I braced my free hand against the edge of the pedestal.
A moment later, it passed.
I opened one eye, then the other.
The chamber looked exactly as it had before.
“Has something happened?” Thimgrin asked.
I looked at the signet.
Nothing glowed.
No ancestral voice spoke, and no list of new abilities appeared.
My eyes just still itched a little.
“I felt dizzy for a moment. I’m all right now.”
The goblin studied me for a little longer.
I straightened and took my hand off the pedestal.
I didn’t know whether the ring had reacted to me or my eyes had reacted to it.
“Is the signet the only thing here?” I asked.
“Yes. The vault is underground.”
Underground.
That meant carts.
I instinctively looked towards the exit.
When I saw the tracks, my smile returned.
When I saw the cart, it faded a little.
Up close, it looked like something that would stand behind a barrier in the Muggle world, with a sign forbidding anyone to climb in.
Thimgrin got in without the slightest hesitation.
I followed his example.
A younger goblin listened to a few quiet words, sat at the front, and took hold of a lever.
I didn’t get a chance to ask about seat belts.
The cart moved.
My back hit the seat, and my fingers clamped around its edge.
We took the first bend at a speed that should have resulted in my second meeting with the old man.
The second was even worse.
Then the tracks dropped.
My stomach apparently decided to stay at the top.
“Oh, shit!”
Thimgrin glanced at me.
He sat calmly, as though we were on a tram.
I wanted to say I was fine, but we were already hurtling into another bend, and I had to concentrate on keeping my body inside the vehicle.
After a dozen seconds or so, fear began to mingle with something much more enjoyable.
The tunnel opened into a larger space.
I glimpsed other tracks, rocky ledges, and lights hanging far below us.
Air whipped against my face.
I laughed.
I hadn’t planned to.
I simply couldn’t help it.
This was terrifying.
I wanted to do it again.
Despite the speed, I could see a surprising amount.
Cracks in the rock, pale crystals, brief flashes of magic as we passed.
I had no time to examine any of them, but everything remained clear.
At last, the cart began to slow.
The wheels squealed, and we stopped beside a stone platform.
I released the seat.
My fingers ached a little.
“We have arrived,” said Thimgrin.
I climbed out carefully.
My legs needed a moment to believe the ground had stopped moving.
An enormous set of doors stood before us.
After what I’d seen upstairs, I should have been used to excess.
Even so, I tilted my head back.
Silver letters formed the familiar name.
There was no handle or lock.
Thimgrin indicated a small recess.
“Place the signet against it.”
I stepped forward and fitted the stone into the opening.
I felt pressure against my finger, then warmth moving along my hand.
It lasted only a moment.
Something knocked deep within the doors.
I drew my hand back.
The stone beneath my feet trembled slightly, and the doors began to slide apart with a prolonged grinding sound.
With all that gold, the bank could buy some grease.
The thought vanished when I saw inside.
I stopped.
Beyond the doors stretched a chamber larger than several buildings I’d lived in.
Piles of coins rose within it.
Between them stood chests, vessels, and objects whose purpose I couldn’t even guess.
Gold reflected light all the way to the high ceiling.
For a few seconds, I said nothing.
Then I looked at Thimgrin.
“All of this?”
The goblin frowned.
Only then did I realise how my question had sounded.
“I mean… all of this belongs to me?”
“This is the Peverell family vault. As the heir, you have access to it.”
I stepped inside.
The nearest pile of Galleons reached above my waist.
Not long ago, I’d considered keeping one coin as a souvenir.
Now I didn’t know where to look.
I crouched and picked up a few Galleons.
They were real.
Heavy, cool, perfectly ordinary to the touch.
I laughed under my breath.
Six Galleons for the test.
I’d genuinely worried about those six Galleons.
“You will need a pouch,” Thimgrin said.
I turned.
The goblin held a small leather purse.
“Expanded interior and reduced weight of contents. Seventeen Galleons.”
I looked at the pouch, then at him.
“Do you always carry one of those?”
“They are often needed.”
For the first time, I saw him smile.
I had no idea whether seventeen Galleons was a reasonable price.
At the moment, I didn’t particularly care.
I wanted a magical pouch.
“I’ll take it.”
I counted out the payment and accepted the pouch.
It looked perfectly ordinary from the outside.
I pulled the opening apart and tried to look inside, but I couldn’t see the bottom.
I dropped in a coin.
Then another.
The pouch looked exactly the same.
“How do you get them out?”
Thimgrin showed me how to use it.
I tried once.
Then twice.
At the third attempt, the goblin cleared his throat.
“It works,” I said, rather unnecessarily.
“Indeed.”
I began filling the pouch.
At first, I counted, but after a few dozen coins I lost track.
Eventually, I decided I had several hundred, perhaps closer to a thousand.
That should cover the shopping.
I lifted the pouch.
It still weighed less than a school pencil case.
That alone was worth seventeen Galleons.
I put it in my pocket and looked around the vault once more.
Something glimmered with pale light at the back.
A silver vessel with oddly curved handles stood on one of the chests.
Beside it lay something resembling a coiled chain.
I could have spent all day here.
But Diagon Alley was waiting above ground.
Shops.
Books full of real spells.
A wand.
I turned towards the exit.
Thimgrin waited by the doors.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
As I stepped out, the doors began closing behind me.
I reached into the pouch and took out a few Galleons.
“For your help,” I said, handing them to the goblin.
“And please keep looking after the vault.”
Thimgrin looked at the coins, then at me.
“That is my intention, Mr Peverell.”
He pocketed the money.
We headed towards the cart.
This time, I climbed in more eagerly, although I immediately gripped the seat.
I already had a shopping list in my head.
It grew longer by the moment.
I’d waited two years to truly enter this world.
Now I had magic, a signet ring, and a pocket full of money.
All that remained was to spend it sensibly.
I remembered the broom in the window.
All right.
Most of it, at least.
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