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.
<=================>
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 heedOf 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 floorsA treasure that was never yours,Thief, you have been warned, bewareOf 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.