"Ugh, of course something bad needed to happen this year. There was no way it would end up perfectly."
Rick stood motionless in front of the rusted iron gates of Wool’s Orphanage, a dull ache blooming in his chest. The gates were chained shut and a weather worn sign swayed gently in the summer breeze, declaring in plain bureaucratic lettering that the building was now closed deemed "structurally unsafe" by the local council. He scoffed at the irony. Unsafe? It had been a hazard to human life since before he could walk. That didn’t stop anyone from shoving orphans inside it like it was a secondhand cupboard.
But now it was shut. Not because someone had finally grown a conscience, but most likely because the final child had been adopted. When Rick left the previous September for his fourth year at Hogwarts, only two children remained himself and a timid eight year old girl who barely spoke.
Miss Willson, their aging and perpetually tired caretaker, was the last adult holding the place together with overworked hands and weak tea. Apparently, once Rick left, the government decided an orphanage with only one occupant but no children wasn’t worth the budget line.
So it ended not with fanfare or closure, but a padlock and a laminated sign. And just like that, Rick Wald was officially homeless.
When he returned at the end of his second year, only three children remained. By the time he came back after his third year, there were two. The pattern was obvious, inevitable even he would be the last one left. Still, he hadn’t expected the orphanage to actually close.
Yet it made a twisted kind of sense: he was gone for ten months out of the year, and if some faceless inspector happened to drop by during that time, it would’ve looked like the building was already deserted. And inspections? Laughable. In the entire fifteen years Rick had lived there, he remembered exactly one. He had been six. The inspector had poked around, frowned at some stains on the walls, scribbled on a clipboard, and left. That was it. No repairs, no follow up. Just apathy wrapped in red tape. So of course now, when it mattered least, someone finally decided to shut it down. Typical.
He was now, by all practical definitions, homeless. The word echoed in his mind like a cold draft through an empty corridor. He wished fervently that Professor McGonagall had waited a moment longer before apparating away. But she hadn’t, and now he was alone again, just a boy with a trunk full of books, clothes, and carefully organized parchment, walking down the streets of London like a misplaced parcel.
He gripped the handle tighter, drawing strength from the weight of his belongings, and set his steps toward the Leaky Cauldron. As he walked, the sting of abandonment began to dull, slowly replaced by softer thoughts memories of Hogwarts, of a year nearly perfect, carved in golden ink in the back of his mind. Almost perfect, he corrected silently. Almost.
The first thing that came to mind was the Winter Holidays. Amelia had approached him then not for company, not even for comfort, but for help. Help with breaking her betrothal contract. And the method was as stark as it was intimate: she needed someone to take her virginity. He didn’t hesitate to say yes. Amelia had been a constant in his life, especially during the holidays, when most others went home and the castle turned quiet.
She’d stood by him through messes big and small, and this strange as it sounded felt like one more thing he could do for her. It had nothing to do with the fact that Amelia was, to put it mildly, stunning. She had the kind of body that turned heads without trying broad hips, a narrow waist, full huge breasts that pulled at every blouse she wore. The perfect hourglass, he always thought, though he tried not to think too long about it.
Maybe that played a part. A little one. But what mattered more was that she asked him. Not some older boy, not someone slick with charm and experience. She came to Rick. Because she trusted him. Because, even though she wasn’t in love with him, she loved him trusted him not to speak of it, not to make it ugly. She wanted her first time to be with someone she liked, someone who would see her and not just the act. She’d joked, dry as ever, that she thought of him more like a little brother anyway, but that it didn’t matter because purebloods practically encouraged incest.
He’d laughed because it was ridiculous, because it was Amelia, and because behind all the sarcasm was a truth she rarely showed: she wanted this to be hers. On her terms. And he would never be the one to deny her that.
He hadn’t been bewitched. Of that he was certain. No charm, no potion, no flicker of magical compulsion pulled him into what happened between them. It was a choice his, hers, fully conscious and mutually charged. And yet he’d been just as aware of the consequences. If word ever got out that he was the one Amelia Bones had lost her virginity to, the fallout wouldn’t be some polite political scandal negotiated between pureblood families over firewhisky and parchment. He was a Muggle born.
There’d be no careful diplomacy. Just insult. Just fury. Maybe her family, or the family of whatever poor bastard had been promised her hand, would try to exact revenge subtle, legal, or otherwise. Maybe they’d press charges. Maybe they’d duel him in some back room. Or maybe they’d just wait until he left the castle walls and try to disappear him quietly. But Rick had always known he could vanish into the Muggle world if things went bad.
They couldn’t follow him there. Not easily. And he was willing to take the risk. Because by then, it wasn’t just a single favor or awkward memory it had become something else. Something messy and unforgettable. Their first time had been clumsy, too much breath and not enough rhythm, but it hadn’t stayed that way. Over the course of the Winter break, their strange little arrangement turned into a full blown sexual campaign. They’d started keeping mental tally. Notches in locations, not people.
After one reckless shower quickie in the Quidditch locker room, it became a challenge. The four House common rooms? Hit them all sometimes twice. The Astronomy Tower? Twice again, once under open moonlight, once just for the acoustics. A shadowed alley in Hogsmeade where frost still clung to the stone walls? Done, though the snow made her squeak. The greenhouses, with moon lilies glowing around them like voyeurs? Perfect. Sprout’s office had almost made the list until the sound of something breathing inside the compost bin convinced them not to test their luck. They weren’t in love, not really. But they couldn’t seem to stop. It was reckless. Stupid. Addictive. And for those few weeks, it was theirs.
No sexual act had been off limits, not a single craving left unexplored. Amelia, truly a Gryffindor in spirit, had thrown herself into every depraved fantasy with an almost reckless abandon, her adventurous streak finding its true home in the raw, unbridled pursuit of pleasure.
She'd always argued there were no boys worth her time in their year, or even the one above, and once Hogwarts was done and the grueling Auror program began, there'd be no time for anything as complicated as a relationship. Rick was her secret, her safe harbor for every carnal desire, and he certainly wasn't complaining. Not when he had the indelible memory of his throbbing dick, hot and engorged, swallowed whole between her massive, pillowy breasts, their lush fullness cradling his shaft as she worked her mouth on its crown.
Each lick, each suck, each delicate rasp of her tongue against his sensitive head was a sweet agony, making his hips twitch involuntarily as she devoured him with the ravenous hunger of a woman tasting the forbidden fruit for the very first time.
Her hands, delicate yet firm, gripped his thighs, pulling him deeper into her luscious cleavage, urging him closer to the exquisite torment. Her eyes, those piercing, lustful blue pools, burned with an unholy fire as she gazed up at him, reflecting his own desperate need, a silent promise of more to come.
And more did come. The next indelible image, etched into his very soul, was the hypnotic sight of her perfect, heart shaped ass, ripe and plump, slamming down onto his lap. The flesh of her buttocks would ripple and jiggle with every powerful, eager thrust as he ploughed into her tight, welcoming asshole.
The raw, primal rhythm of her body pounding against his, the soft, fleshy slap of skin on skin, her moans muffled against his neck, the exquisite friction of his cock buried deep within her, stretching her delicate tissues it was a symphony of sin that echoed in his very bones. He'd grip her hips, his fingers digging into the soft, yielding flesh, urging her faster, deeper, as a grunt tore from his throat. Her back arched, hair splaying across his chest, as she drove herself onto him, each downward plunge taking him closer to the edge, closer to a release so profound it threatened to shatter him.
The scent of their mingled arousal, musky and sweet, filled the air, a heady perfume of their shared transgression. He could feel the pulse of her blood beneath his hands, the tremors that ran through her body with every thrust, a clear sign of the ecstatic friction he was creating within her.
But just as abruptly as their sexual explorations had begun, with the uninhibited freedom of a winter storm, they ceased with the arrival of the end of Winter break. A brutal, agonizing cut off that left him perpetually hard, a constant throb of raw, unreleased need in his groin. His balls ached with unsatisfied desire, his mind haunted by the phantom touch of her lips, the ghost of her ass grinding against him. It left him feeling hollowed out, utterly unsatisfied, perpetually chasing the lingering echoes of their shared hedonism. Yet, amidst this new, gnawing hunger, another, far more profound and unexpected shift began to unfold in his life.
He had started to secretly date Lily.
Lily Evans, his red haired anchor, sharp as a blade and warm as summer sun. The girl whose hair had caught his eye the first time they met, a gleaming crown of auburn fire that eventually led him down a much deeper, more treacherous path: falling completely in love.
What started as innocent admiration for her looks had grown into something richer and far more dangerous. By their third year, it wasn’t just her hair it was the way she challenged him, stood by him, understood him like no one else. Her unwavering kindness, her fierce intelligence, and her refusal to treat him as anything less than her equal had cemented that affection into love.
And for eighteen long months, Rick had carried that feeling in silence, convinced she didn’t return it. She hadn’t changed her behavior, hadn’t dropped hints, hadn’t altered their friendship. So he’d buried his hope. He’d made peace with being “just friends.” And then without warning everything changed.
They had been in the Room of Requirement when everything changed. The room, a marvel of ancient magic crafted by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, could conjure nearly anything the user needed so long as it didn't violate the fundamental principles of magic or attempt to manifest something from nothing. It operated with a strange but strict logic: conjured items stayed within its walls if they were creations of the room, and anything that defied the natural laws of magical theory was off the table. Rick, for instance, had once tried to summon food, only to learn the hard truth that even the Room couldn't create sustenance out of thin air Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration remained supreme.
He had stumbled upon the Room of Requirement midway through his third year an accident born of curiosity, solitude, and a touch of nocturnal madness. With his roommates off indulging in some vague mischief, Rick saw a rare opportunity to explore the castle undisturbed and put the finishing touches on his ever growing map of Hogwarts.
The timing was no coincidence. He'd discovered over the Winter break that at least one secret passage only revealed itself at night, suggesting the castle’s magic itself might be tied to the hour. If one hidden path operated under the cover of darkness, who was to say there weren’t others? Driven by equal parts ambition and restlessness, he took to the shadowed corridors like a cartographer on a ghost hunt quiet, methodical, and utterly absorbed in the thrill of magical discovery.
He was on the seventh floor landing of the Astronomy Tower when the sound of footsteps startled him. Voices drifted down from the top someone descending. Rick instinctively turned to retreat, only to hear more voices rising from the stairwell below. Trapped between both, he swore under his breath and pivoted, eyes scanning for anywhere to hide. That’s when he saw it.
A door. Solid wood, unmarked, set into the stone wall opposite that absurdly ugly tapestry the one with the wizard hopelessly trying to teach a trio of trolls to dance. Rick hadn’t noticed a door there before. In fact, he was almost certain there hadn’t been a door there before. He didn’t think twice. He lunged across the corridor, twisted the handle, and slipped inside.
The room wasn’t like anything he’d seen in Hogwarts so far plain at first, quiet, almost waiting. And it was only after several moments, once he was sure no one had followed him, that Rick began to really look. There was something odd about the place. Something reactive. It felt alive in a way stone walls shouldn’t. Curious, cautious, he began to experiment testing its limits day by day, slipping in after curfew or stealing time early in the mornings when the halls were empty. What he discovered wasn’t just a hidden room it was a place that changed. A space that shifted to meet his thoughts, his needs.
It didn’t take long before he sought answers. Barmy, the perpetually grinning house elf he’d befriended in his first year over stolen pies and mutual dislike of curfews, proved to be more than helpful. Over the course of a few late night kitchen raids, Barmy explained what the students called the Room of Requirement what it was, how it worked, and how few knew of its existence.
Eventually, he shared it but only with three people he trusted without question. Lily, Amelia, and Marlene. Each of them had sworn, in their own way, to keep the room a secret. Rick had made them promise. Not just out of selfishness, but because he understood what the room could be. What it could do. And they’d agreed, instantly. Because once they saw it for themselves, there was no question.
A few months earlier, during the Easter break, Amelia had gone home unexpectedly (Marlene, as usual, did), leaving Rick and Lily the only two from their group staying at Hogwarts. Lily had made it clear she wasn’t ready to deal with her sister Petunia, whose passive aggressive disdain had finally crossed into open hostility.
Left to their own devices, Rick and Lily spent their days diving deep into magical experimentation specifically enchanting techniques and the finer nuances of rune carving. It was during one such session, half focused on their spellwork and half lost in conversation, that Lily vented her mounting frustrations.
She ranted about Potter still an arrogant, bullying toe rag in her eyes and about Snape, whose descent into the darker corners of magic was becoming more noticeable by the day. What bothered her most was his growing possessiveness; he couldn’t stand seeing her spend time with Rick and Marlene, and had started subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) pressuring her to cut ties with them.
Rick, amused and a bit exasperated, had casually pointed out the obvious: both James and Snape were completely in love with her. Lily had scoffed and laughed like he’d just told her dragons did karaoke.
“I can write a list of at least twenty names of people who either want to get in your pants, love you romantically or both.” he had told her.
“Riiiight. Tell you what, if you can do that, I’ll… share my notes on the charms and spells I’m working on. If you can’t, you share yours.”
“Deal!”
That was an easy win or so they both thought and the reward was sweeter than either expected. Since the start of their third year, each had kept a meticulously guarded journal where they poured out ideas, half formed theories, polished incantations, and experimental rune patterns essentially a magical brain dump of everything that caught their curiosity.
These journals were more than notebooks; they were equal parts diary, spellbook, and intellectual proving ground. They'd never peeked at each other’s pages not out of lack of interest, but because their respect for one another ran deep... and so did their mutual sense of academic rivalry. The thought of someone else seeing an unfinished charm or a botched rune sketch was both mortifying and thrilling.
When Rick found himself stuck at the nineteenth name, staring down an incomplete list with mounting frustration, he hesitated. His competitive streak burned at the thought of losing, and the chance to finally read Lily’s spell journal was almost too tempting to ignore.
With a deep breath, he gave in overriding the flicker of shyness and wrote his own name down as the twentieth. He’d long since accepted that Lily didn’t see him that way, which made it marginally easier to sign his name and slide the parchment her way without flinching.
As she began to read through the names, brow furrowing with curiosity and disbelief, Rick turned his attention back to the sphere in his lap, resuming the precise wand carving of runes as if nothing at all had changed in the air between them.
“Now I know, you’re joking. You put your name on it.”
“Mean of you to think my feelings are a joke.” he had replied, biting his tongue because the effort and precision needed for the very small rune he was carving was tremendous. He didn’t even bother to look at her.
“... You…”
“It’s not like I expect them to be answered. I’m well aware you don’t feel that way and I’m fine with us being best friends. As long as I have you in my life, I’m happy, Lily.”
“...”
He barely etched the final curve of his rune before Lily spun him around in his chair and kissed him fierce, sudden, and without warning.
The world narrowed to the press of her lips, the taste of cinnamon, the heat blooming across his face. For a few stunned seconds, he didn’t even react his mind too busy crashing, rebooting, and trying to understand what was happening. Just as he finally began to lean into the kiss, heart racing and confusion turning to wonder, Lily pulled back. He blinked at her, dazed and breathless, then frowned.
"That’s taking the joke a bit far, don’t you think?"
“It’s not a joke! I’ve liked you for years, you idiot! Since you saved me from that fall during our flying lesson in first year!” she shouted in both embarrassment and anger.
Immediately, Rick understood why Lily’s behavior had never tipped him off. It was because she hadn’t needed to change anything she had already been acting like someone who was infatuated. Every glance, every brush of concern, every time she made space for him in her world it hadn’t just been friendship. It had been something deeper, something steady and unnoticed only because it had always been there, like background music you only truly hear when it stops.
From that kiss onward, they were something new quietly, cautiously dating. They chose secrecy not out of shame, but survival. Rick already had enough enemies: Slytherin purists who barely veiled their contempt, Snape who seethed with possessive jealousy, and Potter, who would take one look at them and double down on his worst behaviors. Why add fuel to the fire? Keeping it quiet protected their peace. It also, unfortunately, meant not telling Marlene.
That part hurt. She was their third musketeer, the irreverent wild card in their trio, but even best friends had blind spots and Marlene’s was subtlety. She could be trusted with almost anything, but her explosive temper made her unpredictable, and her love for teasing meant she’d turn their secret into a performance piece the moment they were all in the same room. Not maliciously, of course. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t, say, flirtatiously announce their hand holding across the Great Hall or drop a ‘guess who’s snogging who’ bomb just to watch Potter implode. For now, discretion was safer.
As Rick reached the Leaky Cauldron, he found himself chuckling quietly at a stray thought: maybe there really was something about redheads. While Lily was nothing like Amelia in demeanor or boldness, she had surprised him by taking the lead in their quiet, secret relationship often kissing him first, boldly guiding his hands with hers, and exploring the space between affection and desire with a sort of unspoken trust.
They hadn’t crossed any serious lines yet, but there was a growing spark between them, a slow burning fire that neither seemed eager to extinguish. He suspected that, before their fifth year ended, their quiet chemistry might evolve into something more something real, intimate.
“Hello, Mister Wald.”
“Hello, Tom.”
After years of using the Leaky Cauldron as his gateway to Diagon Alley, Rick had come to know Tom, the pub's owner, fairly well. Despite Rick’s repeated requests to be called by his first name, Tom insisted on maintaining a formal tone, always addressing him as 'Mister Wald' with quiet respect. At first, Rick had assumed it was a sign of pureblood prejudice an old wizard’s subtle way of keeping distance from a Muggle born. But over time, he realized that wasn’t it at all. Tom was like that with everyone pureblood, half blood, or Muggle born alike. Polite, measured, and just a touch mysterious, as if he carried secrets soaked into the very wood of the bar he tended.
“It’s a surprise to see you so soon in the summer.”
“Well… circumstances made it so. The orphanage I live in closed definitely while I was at Hogwarts and I just found out. I thought I could pay for a room tonight and contact Deputy Headmistress McGonagall to know my options since she’s my magical guardian.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mister Wald. I do have free room however. Seven sickles for one night, three for supper or lunch, two for breakfast.”
Searching inside his pocket, Rick picked up ten silver coins and handed them to Tom. The man thanked him and waved at Rick with his hand to follow him upstairs. Up the third floor he hande in the last room on the corridor. Mentally, Rick joked as it has been the same at the orphanage. The room was way bigger however and there was a bathtub adjacent to it.
“Supper is between 6 and 9pm, breakfast between 6 and 9 am.”
“Thank you, Tom.”
The man went back downstairs, leaving Rick alone with the quiet creak of the floorboards and the muffled sounds of the Leaky Cauldron below. He heaved his trunk onto the bed and sat beside it, weighing his options. Morrigan, his ever reliable crow, was likely already soaring south from Scotland and would probably reach him in a couple of days.
He could send her back with a letter to his Head of House and wait for guidance, giving him just over a week to figure out a long term solution. Staying at the pub all summer was technically possible but financially reckless. The idea gnawed at him. The place was safe, yes, but comfort came with a cost he wasn’t sure he could pay.
‘Sixty days of lodging is 420 sickles. Eight sickles a day for food, meaning 480 sickles for the whole summer. 900 divided by 17… makes it almost 53 galleons.’
In his opinion that was a fortune. While he didn’t have any money problems anymore, that was still expensive in his opinion. Furthermore the bit of money he had on himself was supposed to be used for an inheritance test at Gringotts.
‘Bless be the house elves and the room of requirement. Had it not been for the lost objects I sold, I would be living under a bridge for the foreseeable future right now.’
During his deep dive into the mysteries of the Room of Requirement, Rick had stumbled upon one of its strangest configurations a vast chamber that seemed to stretch endlessly, filled wall to wall with objects spanning generations.
When he brought it up to Barmy during a late night kitchen raid, the house elf had casually explained that it was the room where elves placed lost items, or where students hid things they never meant to find again. It wasn’t so much a room as a forgotten graveyard of magical junk. Quidditch pitch huge, chaotic, and completely unsorted like every hoarder in Hogwarts history had been given one place to dump their secrets.
It took Rick weeks to comb through it all. He focused on older items things clearly untouched for decades, maybe even centuries hoping their original owners were long dead and no one would come asking questions. Finding valuable trinkets was one challenge. Finding someone willing to buy them? That was another.
He’d only managed to make sales during the summer break between third and fourth year, slipping into Diagon Alley with carefully disguised items tucked into his trunk. His haul had been modest in volume but substantial in value: 542 galleons by the end of it. A small fortune by his standards, enough to shift the trajectory of his entire life.
Or it would’ve been if the inheritance test at Gringotts didn’t cost 500 galleons. He had planned to take the test this summer. But after calculating the cost of his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, he realized he'd fall just short. One more year. Just one more, if he was lucky.
“Or maybe not.” he spoke aloud to himself.
He opened his truck and put on his school robe then went back down on the first floor and approached Tom again.
“Do you know if one of the shops in the Alley is in need of help for the summer?”
“Hm… Not that I know of but I’ll keep an ear out.”
“Thank you, Tom, that’d be really helpful.”
The old man nodded and Rick made his way to the Alley in search of a job himself. He didn’t need a lot, he just needed to earn enough money in a day to pay for a room and at least breakfast and supper. He could forgo lunch, saving him three sickles. He didn't need much to be secure for the summer and be able to take the inheritance test. Only eleven galleons.
His foray into the Alley proved fruitless however. No one was hiring for the summer, for the simple reason that some older students had already secured a job a few weeks before the final exams at Hogwarts. That is, for those that didn’t require OWLS. Dejected, he went back to the pub but just passed through and ended up in muggle London. His intent was to distract his mind of his current situation by reading books at the library next to the establishment until supper in an hour.
“Ah ah, ah!
Ah ah, ah!
We come from the land of the ice and snow
From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow
The hammer of the gods”
Stopping mid step towards the library, Rick listened to the sudden music reaching his ears and coming from the music shop on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. Entrance by the catchy rhythm and the voice of the singer he turned around and looked at the store. He saw the owner, a man in his mid thirties, smoking outside near the entrance of his establishment.
Rick had passed by the store for years but had never paid attention to the music or what was being sold. He didn’t have the money to buy a turntable or some vinyls and paid little attention to the music played loudly to attract customers. For the first time however he was curious about it.
Changing his mind he changed his direction from the library to the music store to satisfy his curiosity and to listen to the song more.
“I’m not surprised Led Zeppelin made you stop.” said the owner with humor in his voice.
Rick looked at the man confused before the latter explained himself.
“I’ve seen you walk by my store for years to go to the library, kid. I know who you are. Kind of. It’s the first time you stop to listen to the music though. For Led Zeppelin at that. No surprise here.”
“That song… It’s good.”
“Like most of them from the band.”
“They’re good then?”
“Good?” the man said after scoffing. “They’re the best rock and roll band that ever lived.”
“Sorry if I’m not well cultured musically. The orphanage didn’t have a radio.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re from Wool, right? Shame it closed.”
“Considering that I’m now homeless, yes.”
The man took a puff of his smoke and looked at Rick in curiosity.
“Were you not moved to another?”
“No. Because I’m a good student I was accepted by a boarding school in Scotland with a scholarship. I’m only here in London during the summer. Unfortunately no one told me the Orphanage had closed. I just found out an hour ago when I came back.”
“Shit, kid. That sucks. Did you try the bobbies?”
“I’d rather not. But it’s fine. I found a room at the pub. Pretty sure the owner is giving me a discount. I just have to find a way to earn five pounds a day for the rest of the summer to pay him. I have enough for most of it but not for the last few days.” he said, lying a bit about the discount.
The man took another puff then another. He was clearly thinking of something.
“Tell you what. My wife is visiting her sick mother with the kids for the week. I could use help with the shop. Monday to Friday from 9 to 5. Half an hour break at noon. 10 pounds a day.”
“That’s… that’s perfect, sir! Thank you!”
That was an unexpected stroke of luck for him ten pounds a day for a full week translated to nearly two galleons daily, which was no small sum. In fact, it struck him as absurdly ironic: it was somehow more lucrative to work a Muggle job than most gigs in the wizarding world.
Ten pounds wasn’t exactly a fortune, but its value, when exchanged and budgeted right, made a noticeable dent in his expenses. It also underscored a strange truth sometimes, the Muggle world simply paid better for honest work. And with that, he was now just one galleon short of his goal. One. A problem he could absolutely solve.
“Don’t be late Monday. Or ever.”
“I won’t, sir! Thanks again.”
Rick began to ask questions about music in general to the man until his break was over and a customer came into the shop. He bid the man goodbye. And went back to the Leaky Cauldron, any thought of visiting the library gone. In his mind that one single galleon he was missing didn’t matter much. He had 59 days to find it or earn it and he had a good idea as to where.
‘King’s Cross should do. People are often in a hurry there and often lose a coin or two when they buy something in their haste. Finding those five pounds to change into a galleon shouldn’t be difficult. Honestly, I don’t know if I’m lucky or not.’
Tucking his entire coin purse securely into the inner pocket of his robe, Rick made his way down to the first floor and headed straight for Gringotts. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, casting long shadows across Diagon Alley, and he knew instinctively that most witches and wizards would be anywhere but the bank at this hour. He was right aside from a single human couple quietly speaking to a teller, the marble floored hall was almost deserted. The goblins, of course, remained steadfast. They understood what many didn't: time was money, and profit never slept. Their desks stayed open day and night, and efficiency was gospel. Rick approached one of the vacant counters and offered a respectful nod.
“Good evening, sir. I’d like to take an inheritance test, please.”
The globin stopped writing on his book with his quill and raised his head to look at Rick with a sneer. After a moment of tense silence he spoke.
“The price of an inheritance test is of 500 galleons, wizard.” was said with such distaste that Rick’s neutral expression on his face turned a bit harder. “Beyond the fifth generation it’s 500 galleons every fifth generation.”
Rick simply took his purse and put it on the teller’s desk. Slowly, the goblin opened it and emptied it with a snap of his finger. Quickly 20 stacks of 25 gold coins were on the table.
“Follow me, wizard.”
The goblin snapped his fingers again and the money disappeared. He then got down his high chair and began to walk deeper into the bank. He entered a room and Rick followed him inside, the door closing behind him.
“Your hand, wizard.”
Rick bristled at the way the goblin addressed him 'wizard' spoken like a curse rather than a title. Oddly enough, being called a 'mudblood' by the Slytherin crowd barely registered these days, but something about the goblins' tone grated against him.
It was cold, dismissive, and laced with a condescension that made his blood simmer. Still, he kept his reaction in check and extended his hand. The goblin seized his wrist with clinical efficiency and, without a word, dragged a wickedly sharp dagger across Rick’s palm. A sharp flash of pain flared, then vanished almost instantly, leaving no trace of a wound behind.
Rick watched, fascinated and wary, as the goblin let his blood drip from the dagger into a carved stone bowl. With a snap of clawed fingers, several unidentified ingredients appeared mid air and tumbled into the swirling liquid. The contents of the bowl stirred themselves in a slow, counterclockwise spiral before another snap conjured a quill, which dipped itself into the glowing mixture. It began to write on a fresh parchment with uncanny precision, its strokes sharp and deliberate.
For nearly two minutes it continued without pause, as though transcribing something not written but revealed. When the quill finally set itself down beside the parchment, the goblin leaned over to inspect it. Rick stepped forward instinctively, but before he could catch a glimpse, the goblin snapped his fingers again.
Nothing happened.
“Is something wrong?” Rick asked, now a bit worried.
He realized that ‘wrong’ didn’t even begin to cover it when four goblin guards in full plate armor stormed into the room with alarming speed, halberds at the ready. The clang of metal echoed sharply as they fanned out around him in a tight formation, each razor sharp weapon angled with intimidating precision. Rick was suddenly hemmed in on all sides, the air thick with silent threat. There was no mistaking the message: do not move.