Stuttering forward ever so slightly, as if hypnotized, Ted passed through the now-open brick wall — the magical threshold between the Leaky Cauldron and the unfamiliar street beyond — and stepped into an entirely new world.
Diagon Alley, even in the early morning hours, was already bustling with life. Countless figures moved along the narrow street, clad in robes of every imaginable colour, from somber darks to dazzling brights, engaged in lively conversations as they drifted seamlessly from one shop to the next.
Yet none of this registered with Ted. His mind seemed to shut down entirely, refusing to process the impossible scene unfolding before him. Mouth agape, eyes wide with disbelief, he moved forward slowly, his steps unthinking — yet somehow he blended effortlessly into the enchanting chaos of the crowd.
It took Ted several long minutes to finally clear his head. By the time he came to his senses, he realised he was already halfway down the cobblestone path. And then — just as he had regained his clarity — something deep within his mind suddenly cracked.
It was like an invisible wall — one that had somehow kept his sanity intact until now — shattered without warning, allowing the flood of new information to pour in.
And with it, memories rose to the surface — fragments of his life snapping sharply into place, reshaping not only his understanding of this extraordinary world but also the way he viewed everything that had come before.
His slow walk turned into a contemplative journey through his own past, every memory he unearthed subtly altering not just how he viewed this magical place — but how he viewed everything that had come before it.
All the while, his sharp eyes kept scanning the ancient buildings and peculiar shops lining the long and winding street, adding detail after detail to his already-overloaded mind.
Strings were being woven together inside his head, forming connections between things he had never once thought related.
He remembered a school trip to the site of the Battle of Hastings, where they had visited an old abbey. Standing by a distant window, half-asleep from the long bus ride, he had caught sight of something impossible — a silvery, humanoid figure floating in the air, muttering words in some unknown language.
The figure — a warrior clad in chainmail armor — had carried a kite-shaped shield strapped to his arm, its surface tarnished with darker streaks of silver like scars that would never fade. Of course, Ted had dismissed the sight at the time as fatigue. The notion of ghosts had seemed absurd.
Another memory surfaced — an incident at school. A particularly unpleasant science teacher had tried to blackmail him, threatening to report Ted to his father for sneaking into the library at night unless Ted endorsed one of the man's ridiculous inventions — something he had already firmly refused to do a week prior.
And yet... on that very day, the cage containing a pair of snakes in the teacher's office had mysteriously exploded. The snakes had burst free — and, almost comically, one of them had launched itself straight into the teacher's face.
More fragments surfaced. Images from old books in his mother's library. Things he had seen her do — strange things that had never made sense to him. Moments from the streets outside his home. Memories from the night at the Leaky Cauldron. And, finally... that night. The night his mother died.
Piece by piece, all those fragments slid into place.
It was like uncovering part of a grand puzzle — a piece that had always belonged, but until now had somehow been kept away from him.
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Ted wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he finally returned his full awareness to his surroundings, the sun was already high in the sky — noon, most likely.
This time, however, he was calm.
Turning back slightly, he cast a contemplative glance over the crowded alley he had just walked through. And now, for the first time, he truly looked at it.
The buildings leaned into one another, their rooftops casting layered, overlapping shadows across the uneven cobblestone road beneath — a road worn smooth by countless footsteps over the centuries, yet somehow never slippery. Likely a feat of magic.
Everything here was older — far older — than the streets he knew from the world outside.
The shops, colorful and vibrant at first glance, revealed far stranger details upon closer inspection.
Clothes and robes changed colour and size on command. Sleek broomsticks hovered invitingly, clearly intended for riding. Cloaks floated a few centimeters off the ground without support. Quills fashioned from the feathers of strange magical creatures produced ice or sand on the parchment simply by writing.
Impossible objects. Unimaginable things.
The sight was still staggering. But at least now, Ted kept his face impassive. The same mental wall that always shielded his emotions from the outside world had risen again — allowing him to observe, analyze, and adapt, even in the midst of his lingering disorientation.
'I need to find Gringotts', Ted decided at last, recalling something from one of his mother's books. The wizarding world didn't accept pounds or 'Muggle money', as they called it.
Their system was far more primitive — closer to the medieval era — with bronze, silver, and gold coins serving as currency. Here, they were called Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons.
And if there was one lesson Ted had learned early — drilled into him by his father since the age of four — it was that money ruled the world. No matter where or what that world was.
Glancing around, he spotted it almost immediately.
The towering, snow-white marble building loomed high above its neighbors, rising twice as tall as any surrounding structure. Its sheer presence created an oppressive weight — a quiet, intimidating pressure that seemed deliberately crafted to discourage even the thought of theft.
As Ted approached the grand entrance of Gringotts, an odd feeling stirred in his chest — respect, yes... but something else too.
A faint, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He would never say it aloud... but despite all the trouble wealth brought, despite the obligations and the risks, despite even the loneliness, — he loved being rich.
He loved having power. He loved being able to reach for things others could only dream of. Because no one knew better than he did the helplessness of wanting something desperately... only to know it was forever beyond your grasp.
Lifting his gaze, he read the words engraved deeply into the enormous bronze-coloured door — words written, fittingly, in Latin.
'Fortuna Favet Fortibus.'
'Fortune favours the bold...' Ted thought, lips curling faintly. 'Typical for a bank.'
Just inside the entrance stood a small figure — a head shorter than Ted — clad in a sharp red and gold uniform. The creature's black, judging eyes followed Ted closely, scanning him with an unnerving sharpness.
'Goblin,' Ted noted, studying the creature with open curiosity. He had seen drawings before, in old books. But, of course, this was his first encounter in person.
Continuing forward, Ted reached the next set of doors — these ones silver, intricately engraved, their craftsmanship nothing short of breathtaking.
He brushed his hand over them lightly, feeling the cold, flawless metal beneath his fingertips.
And again — Latin.
'Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.'
'The irony...' Ted exhaled quietly.
Had he not read about the goblins and their history, he might have found the rhymed warning amusing. But Ted knew better. History had a way of warning those who were willing to listen — and Ted always listened.
Gringotts had a flawless record for a reason.
Whether that was because no one dared steal from them — or because none had survived to tell the tale — Ted didn't know. And honestly? It didn't matter.
Either way, their reputation was well earned.
Goblins were infamous for their cruelty. Armed with armour and weapons forged from the hardest metal in existence — goblin-made steel — they had waged war after war against wizard kind.
The Goblin Rebellions were proof enough. Despite their size and lack of magical prowess, the goblins had slaughtered hundreds — perhaps thousands — of witches and wizards alike, armed only with their cold steel and ferocious will.
True, they had lost in the end. But it had never been an easy victory for wizard kind. The rebellions were bloody, brutal, and costly for both sides. And the fact that, even after their defeat, wizards still allowed goblins to hold so much power... spoke volumes.
Ted was honestly surprised that the inscription remained in Latin. The books he had read had only ever provided an English version. But then again — he had been studying Latin for two years now, largely to read through his mother's older books, and was already quite fluent.
It occurred to him that some sort of translation spell might be at play — but he wasn't entirely sure. There were books on the subject in the mansion library, of course...But he had always viewed books that covered seemingly imaginary spells without background or logic as odd, too fanciful and too detached from reason.
Now? He planned to read every last one the moment he returned home.
He felt like he had wasted a treasure that had been sitting beneath his nose for years...
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Ted allowed his features to settle back into their usual calm.
And with a small push, the ancient silver doors creaked open — revealing the grand interior of the only wizarding bank in all of Britain.
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The inside of Gringotts was as grand as the outside, with massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting flickering golden light on the polished marble floor. The air was thick with a peculiar mix of a rich metallic scent and the faint aroma of old parchment.
Gold and silver carts traversed the hall, and the sound of quills scratching on parchment echoed as the hundreds of goblins sitting in their ornate teller-booths meticulously recorded transactions. The atmosphere was both hushed and bustling, creating a strange sense of tension.
For a moment, Ted nearly lost his composure.
'Stay cool, Theodor. Stay cool,' he reminded himself sharply.
The sight before him truly was something to behold. He had read plenty about the magical world and its creatures — but seeing it in person was an entirely different matter. Just this morning, Gringotts had been nothing more than another one of the many legends he'd read about. And now? Now he was standing right in the middle of it.
And out of all the places in the wizarding world, Gringotts had always fascinated him most — the bank with its legendary tunnels said to stretch thousands of meters beneath the earth, guarded so heavily that no intruder had ever lived to speak of its secrets. The sheer number of myths surrounding what might lie hidden beneath its floors only added to its allure.
The only place that might compare was Hogwarts, but as the son of bank owner himself, and not a great fan of other kids, he wasn't sure where he would have rathered spend a day.
Stepping forward slowly, Ted's sharp gaze swept the hall.
Countless doors lined the sides, with goblins leading witches and wizards through them at steady intervals. Behind the counters, Ted could see goblin tellers performing a variety of tasks — weighing gold and silver, appraising old weapons that looked like something straight out of a museum, and jotting down figures with unnerving precision.
Toward the far right of the row of booths, Ted spotted an unoccupied teller — a goblin with a perpetually sour expression — and made his way over.
He stopped neatly in front of the counter, waiting with measured patience, careful not to appear impolite or demanding.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed other witches and wizards engaged in conversation with the goblins... yet curiously, he could not hear a single word of what they were saying.
'A noise-cancelling charm?' Ted wondered, raising a mental brow. Interesting.
In the few books he had read on basic magical theory, there had only been mention of charms that blocked all sound — the sort used primarily for sneaking or sleeping. But this? This was a different approach entirely — selective, precise, and far more elegant.
Such a charm concealed both sound and lip movements without muting the background noise of the hall itself. That made it perfect for conducting business in public without drawing attention.
Ted's mind immediately spun with possibilities — not just for banks, but for classrooms, negotiations, even casual conversation when privacy was needed. It was a small thing, but the logic behind its design fascinated him. As he assumed only some subtle differences were needed, in order to create entirely new applications of the same basic concept.
True, he hadn't yet learned a single spell himself... but logic was his forte. It was how he approached everything — breaking things down into cause and effect until even the strangest magic could make some sort of sense.
Of course, it occasionally worked against him too. He had a certain talent for overthinking simple things until they sounded much more complicated than they really were.
"Are you planning to stink up my whole counter," a sharp voice cut through his thoughts, "or will you get to the point?"
Ted blinked, abruptly dragged back to reality.
The goblin was glaring at him — black eyes narrowed in obvious distaste. His words were blunt enough... but given their race's reputation for bluntness, it was almost polite by goblin standards.
Then again... goblins had abnormally large noses — and by extension, an abnormally strong sense of smell.
Ted, who hadn't managed a shower after he sweated his ass off while fleeing his pursuer on Charing Cross Road and was probably as stinky as they come—for your average wizard at least— could only wince internally.
Still, he did his best to maintain a calm face.
He had been taught since he could walk: never show weakness in a negotiation. Not unless you wanted it used against you.
"I wish to convert Muggle money," "I wish to convert Muggle money," he said, in the most steady, decisive voice he could muster. But it still came out high and faintly squeaky, being the voice of an 8-year-old, even though it was still comparably low-tuned for his age.
"The amount?" the goblin asked flatly.
Ted knew well enough that goblins weren't fond of Muggle currency. Paper bills had little meaning to creatures who valued gold above all else. If not for the necessity of catering to Muggle-borns entering the wizarding world every year, Gringotts probably wouldn't accept them at all.
Most of his funds were in a credit card — useful everywhere else... but utterly worthless here.
"Seven hundred and twenty pounds," Ted said calmly, pulling out the wad of cash from his pocket. He counted it swiftly, setting it on the counter — save for a single £50 note he kept tucked away, just in case.
The goblin counted the bills with equal speed and precision.
"The current exchange rate is 0.037 pounds to a Knut," the goblin stated without pause. "Wizarding currency maintains a standard 29:17:1 ratio. That would be thirty-nine Galleons and eight Sickles. Acceptable?"
"Yes, thank you," Ted replied with a slight nod. "And... what would be the minimum deposit for a personal vault?"
That earned him a look.
Ted recognized it instantly — the subtle, half-disbelieving expression that silently said: Aren't you a little young for this?
He didn't get it often — most people who dealt with him knew better — but when it happened... well, it always felt like a personal challenge.
"It would require a minimum of five Sickles and a drop of blood," the goblin answered, his sharp grin faintly mocking as eyes dropped deliberately to the stack of Muggle banknotes Ted had just handed over. "For minors, of course, there may be additional requirements."
"Namely — as part of every contract with a client, their underage children need authorization from said client to open their own personal vault." A pause. A beat just long enough to make a point.
It was quite clear the goblin didn't appreciate being made to handle Muggle bills — nor did he seem particularly impressed by his current client. An unaccompanied child, far too young for Hogwarts, arriving without escort and carrying non-wizard currency? The situation practically explained itself.
As far as the goblin was concerned, Ted was almost certainly the child of a Muggle-born wizard — probably one raised outside the magical world — who had slipped off on some childish adventure while his parents were otherwise occupied with shopping or the like.
It wouldn't have been the first time.
He'd seen it happen before — curious little brats wandering off into the bank while their parents haggled over cauldrons or robes. Of course, none of them had ever come to exchange currency or request a vault... but frankly, that wasn't his problem.
No wizard with even a shred of sense would send a child that young here alone. Especially not with Knockturn Alley right around the corner and the dark wizards running loose as of late, causing all sorts of trouble. One would have to be mad to let a kid roam these streets unattended.
What the goblin could never have expected, however, was the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the lips of the otherwise poker-faced child in front of him.
Ted's neutral mask broke — just barely — as a small, satisfied smirk rose to his mouth.
This? This was perfect.
He had prepared himself for all kinds of answers — most of them along the lines of no minors allowed. But this? This was basically everything that he'd hoped for.
The vault itself didn't matter to him. Not really.
Sure, hauling around a bunch of gold wasn't ideal, and maybe — Probably, even — he'd end up using the vault properly in the future. But right now? He had no intention of keeping any of the money he'd just gotten.
There were far too many things he wanted to see. Too many things to buy. And the amount of money he had on him wasn't nearly enough to last long.
No, what Ted was really aiming for was simple.
Sightseeing.
The vault was just the key — the ticket to the underground rail system of Gringotts he had read about. The legendary cart ride described in many journals, which till this very morning, he only thought of as fantasy adventure books. This was a part of this world one couldn't experience unless had real business within the bank.
He was very much looking forward to that.
The goblin's glare sharpened — but he reached beneath the counter all the same, retrieving a small, glassy orb and a short, metallic knife that gleamed faintly in the golden chandelier light.
The knife was small, but its blade shone with a dangerous clarity — alarmingly sharp.
The orb, by contrast, was perfectly clear, like glass, etched all over with delicate markings in a script Ted didn't recognize.
"Drop the blood on top of the orb," the goblin instructed, pointing a long, bony finger at it. Without wasting another word, he turned and summoned another goblin, passing over Ted's pile of Muggle notes along with a parchment slip.
Ted picked up the knife carefully.
A little hesitant, he pressed the blade against the tip of his left index finger — only for it to cut a little deeper than he intended.
The blade was absurdly sharp — even more than he had expected — and only the slightest pressure had been needed to draw blood. He hadn't known that... and had applied a touch too much force.
Ignoring the faint sting, Ted pressed his bleeding finger to the surface of the orb.
Immediately, a soft red glow began to spread across its surface.
The strange markings etched into it caught light like lines of fire. Ted watched, fascinated, as the glow lingered for nearly fifteen seconds before slowly dimming — leaving behind delicate lines of red script floating within the clear glass.
He leaned in slightly, curious — just as—
"Give it here."
The goblin's sharp voice cut across his thoughts.
Suppressing a faint sigh of disappointment, Ted passed the orb over silently. The script inside was tiny — he suspected he'd need a magnifying glass to read it properly anyway.
The goblin examined it closely for a few moments before giving a small, acknowledging nod.
"Your current guardian does not appear to hold a vault in our establishment," he stated at last — and though his voice remained even, Ted caught the faintest note of surprise.
"The process will be completed shortly," the goblin added. "Once confirmed, you will be escorted to your vault. In the meantime, I have already sent for your currency conversion. It will be returned shortly."
Ted gave a small nod of acknowledgement.
With business concluded — at least for now — he allowed himself to relax. Just a little.
But his mind? His mind was already moving ahead — occupied fully with everything he'd seen so far... and all the things he planned to see next.
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This chapter was originally separated into two parts that were merged and edited(I'm sorry if your comments were deleted as a result.)