A week later, penny is slowly but surely flying around the room. She can lift me for five minutes, then it starts to feel like she's not a coin, but a two-pood weight. I bought myself a red wig for disguise and altered one of Mom's long skirts, which no longer fits her, to suit me. If I wear my coat over it, the look is a bit old-fashioned, but decent enough. Hopefully, I'll pass as a local in Diagon Alley too.
So, D-Day. I barely managed to stuff my curls under the wig — and by the way, I was right, I'm spending a ridiculous amount of time washing and brushing this unexpected treasure. Maybe wizards have some spells for that? I borrowed a bit of Mom's makeup, added freckles, and used eyeliner matching my lashes to slightly change the shape of my eyes. Meh, still looks like Hermione, just with red hair. Whatever. Enough of playing the elusive Joe — who the hell needs me right now anyway? And who's going to look closely? Redhead with freckles — they'll think I'm just another Weasley.
I spend a whole half hour staring at the bookshop window, waiting for someone to show up from the London side. The plan to sneak into Diagon Alley behind some unsuspecting wizard doesn't seem that brilliant anymore. The shopkeepers behind the glass have started glancing at me. With pity, for some reason. Probably think I want a book but my parents won't give me the money. Especially the way I'm dressed today. Finally! Thank you, kind stranger — I hope you're headed for Diagon Alley and not the bar. I quickly slip in after them, walk straight through the pub — it really is a dump — and manage to get into the brick archway just as it's closing. No one pays me any attention.
Ooooh, wow! It looks like a magical Hong Kong market. Diagon Alley really is diagonal — and very narrow. A riot of colors and sparkles, things are flying, hopping, chirping — and I'm not even talking about the animals. There is a pet shop, but the creatures in the cages visible through the window are acting much calmer than some of the merchandise. This is fascinating! I can't even begin to guess what half of these items are for. You could easily spend a whole day here. Good thing the street isn't crowded — in summer, I bet you can't squeeze through. I turn my head constantly and slowly move forward.
A majestic white building rises like a giant among dwarfs. Gringotts. A goblin at the entrance bows and opens the door for me. I give a slight bow in return. Hmm… judging by the surprised look on his face, that might have been wrong. Maybe women are supposed to curtsey? The goblins look nothing like the movie ones. They're taller, greener, more toothy, and way more intimidating.
I head to the nearest counter.
"Good afternoon. Could you please tell me where I can exchange pounds for Galleons and get a consultation?"
"You can exchange Galleons here. The rate is five to one," he says. I nod and lay almost all the cash I have on the counter.
"A consultation costs five Galleons for half an hour, ten for a full hour. Is that acceptable?"
I nod again.
"Griphook will assist you. Please go to window three."
"Thank you," I say, sweeping the Galleons into my bag.
At the third window, the goblin looks older and more respectable.
"Good day, Mr. Griphook. I'd like to request a consultation."
"Five Galleons for half an hour, ten for a full hour," he repeats. I place five coins on the counter.
"Half an hour," the goblin confirms, and the coins vanish.
"Follow me, miss."
He settles calmly behind a large desk, gestures for me to take the visitor's seat, and flips over an hourglass.
"I'm listening, Miss…?"
"Granger. May I ask any questions?"
"You may ask whatever you wish. The answers, however, are at the bank's discretion."
"Mr. Griphook, may I open an account at your bank, or do I need to be accompanied by an adult representative?"
"You may open an account and use all services the bank provides. We do not care how old you are, Miss Granger."
"What services do you offer?"
"Account management, mediation in transactions, deposits, purchase and sale of artifacts, and the performance of certain rituals. Blood magic, in particular, is currently prohibited by the Ministry for everyone except goblins."
"What are the most in-demand rituals?"
"Bloodline verification, blood tracing, the removal of certain curses. Wizards have made their own lives more difficult by coming up with countless restrictions," the goblin added with a satisfied grin — which looked rather creepy, considering those teeth.
"What are the conditions for opening an account, and what are the maintenance fees?"
"The minimum amount to open a high-level account is one hundred Galleons," — yeah, definitely overestimated how much money I had — "maintenance is one Galleon per year."
I thought about it and decided not to open an account just yet. Otherwise, I'd have to forget about any serious purchases today.
"Are there any non-cash payment methods?" — there had to be. Galleons are pretty heavy, you can't just carry around a big sum.
"There are purses linked to your vault. If you bind it with blood, no one but you will be able to open it — stealing it becomes impossible. There are also checkbooks. Shops have special order forms; if you touch one with your wand and channel a bit of magic, the money will be withdrawn from your account. To make a purchase, you need your official wand."
"What if someone else takes my wand and tries to make a purchase?"
"Impossible. Your magical signature is unique."
"Then why does it have to be your official wand?" — Ugh, I'm wasting time on the wrong things, and I don't have much of it to begin with.
The goblin paused for a moment in thought.
"Think of it this way: the wand provides your name, and your magical signature is the password. One doesn't work without the other."
I look at the goblin with respect.
"Tell me, please — do you interact with the Muggle world? Is it possible to buy shares in a Muggle company through your bank?"
"Certainly, Miss Granger. You're quite an unusual client — most wizards wouldn't even consider such a thing."
"Thank you, Mr. Griphook. And I'd also like to undergo a bloodline verification."
"Ten Galleons, Miss Granger."
Ugh, at this rate I won't have enough left for anything else. Maybe I should wait until next time? Then again, if there's anything shady in there, I'd rather know now. I count out ten coins.
Griphook retrieves a bowl from a niche, with swirling smoke inside, and hands me a stiletto.
"For the test, we need your blood — just a couple of drops," he says. At least I don't have to cut a vein — that's a relief. I prick my finger, and two drops fall into the swirling smoke. The smoke rises into a small vortex above the bowl and spits out a scroll. The goblin unrolls it, and I read:
Hermione Jean Granger — Muggle-born.
Father: Dan Aaron Granger — Muggle
Mother: Jean Abigail Granger — Muggle
Magical father: ***
Magical mother: ***
Gifts: Light Healer, Mentalist
And for these twenty words — ten Galleons! Well, at least that clears up some doubts — that's worth something.
"Were you expecting something else?"
"Not really — that's more or less what I thought. But it's always better to be sure. A Light Healer — does that mean there are dark ones too?"
"Yes."
"I'm a Muggle-born witch. Do I have a guardian in the magical world?"
"For Muggle-borns and orphans during their time at Hogwarts, the headmaster serves as their legal guardian."
That's what I figured. Though I had hoped for something else.
"What rights and responsibilities does my guardian have?"
"He may choose your place of residence, determine the nature of your education, conduct transactions on your behalf, arrange a betrothal, or marry you off."
Hmm. Maybe that's how Hermione ended up married to the sixth Weasley in canon?
"And does my guardian have any responsibilities?"
The goblin looks at me in confusion. What? Or does he think arranging betrothals counts as a responsibility? I clarify:
"Well, for example, if due to the guardian's negligence I don't receive medical help in time and I die — would the guardian suffer any consequences?"
"Unlikely, Miss Granger. A guardian, parents, and magical parents are only penalized — up to and including death — if they intentionally take actions that endanger the child's life. If a guardian forgets, overlooks, hopes for the best, or accidentally goes too far, it's considered a hazard of upbringing or an unfortunate accident," the goblin grins. I get the feeling he knows many such cases. How reassuring.
"Can I change my guardian somehow?"
"If you become betrothed, your fiancé may become your guardian. Or you could find wizards willing to become your magical parents."
"No other way?"
"No other way, Miss Granger."
"Will the guardian have access to my vaults in Gringotts?"
"Not to your personal vault — no. But to vaults passed on by inheritance, or any vault the guardian opened in your name — of course."
"What are Galleons made of?"
"Next question, Miss Granger," the goblin says calmly, looking straight at me.
"Tell me, dear Griphook, if you were, for instance, selling basilisk hide — how much would it cost?" I think I actually managed to surprise him.
"From one thousand Galleons per square meter."
"And if you were buying?"
"Nine hundred per meter," Griphook smirks. "Why, Miss Granger — do you happen to have an unregistered basilisk hide lying around?"
"Not yet, but the future is full of possibilities," I say cheerfully. Not quite sure how to read his expression — he is the first goblin I've ever met.
"Your time is nearly up. Will you be extending it?"
"No, thank you for the consultation — I've learned enough for today."
The goblin escorts me back to the main hall.
"If you ever plan to sell a basilisk hide or open a vault — ask for me," he says, now openly chuckling.
Well, that's it. I broke the goblin.
"Goodbye, young lady."
"Goodbye, dear Griphook."
***
I fell in love with that backpack instantly — it was perfect. Expansion and weight-reduction charms allowed it to hold half an apartment's worth of stuff. It had five large compartments, one of which was enhanced with stasis charms — "for potion ingredients," according to the seller. Reinforcement spells meant it would last at least ten years before the charms needed renewing. If I put a drop of blood on the clasp, I'd be the only one who could open it. And it looked nice, too — though with specs like that, I would've forgiven nearly any design.
The only downside was the price. Three-quarters of all the Galleons I had left.
No, I admit — for something like that, the price was more than fair.
But if I had to choose between a miracle backpack and knowledge... I wasn't sure which was the wiser choice.
So, for the next half hour, I paced around it, practically drooling.
In the end, I bought it.
Next on my list was a junk shop. I hoped I could save a bit there.
Unlike the spacious bag store, this place was nearly impassable — you couldn't take two steps without bumping into something.
Stacks of old textbooks sat beside mountains of equally ancient robes. Nearby was a pile of broken... somethings, of unclear purpose. One wrong move and you'd probably die a pitiful death under a heap of magical junk.
That mound of old cauldrons in the corner looked particularly unstable — held together by wishful thinking, no doubt. I could already imagine the crash when — not if — someone eventually brought them down.
"Good afternoon. Looking for something in particular?"
A friendly voice spoke behind me. I turned and saw an elderly man with a kind face. He was dressed in true local fashion — that is to say, like a well-meaning vagrant.
"Good afternoon. Yes."
I pulled out my notebook and read from it:
"I'd like to buy first-year textbooks — preferably not brand new ones — a compendium of magical law, a book on etiquette and traditions, a history of Hogwarts — an older edition if possible — a textbook on runes, an introduction to artifact-making, a book on magical oaths and vows, a textbook on Occlumency and Legilimency, and some kind of guide for Muggle-borns who have just discovered the magical world…"
The wizard waved his hands and laughed:
"Ah, the young lady knows exactly what she wants. Unfortunately, there's no such thing as a guidebook for Muggle-borns. Everyone has to discover our world on their own. Observe, talk to people, don't be afraid to ask questions. Who knows—maybe one day you'll be the one to write that very useful book," he added with a sly wink. "Now, hand me that list and I'll fetch the rest for you. If you don't mind me asking, why the old textbooks? Most folks want the newest editions."
"I'll buy the new ones next year, when I actually go to school. I just want to compare," I replied with a smile.
"As supplementary material for Potions, I'd recommend Dagworth-Granger's Potion Theory and a compatibility chart reference book. The textbook itself isn't great," the seller advised.
"I'll take them!"
What a coincidence. You might've thought he was a distant relative — if not for the blood test.
While a respectable stack of books was piling up on the counter, the seller kept me entertained with tales and gossip from the magical world.
The entire haul cost me eleven Galleons and seven Sickles. Most of the books turned out surprisingly cheap — except for Occlumency and an Introduction to Legilimency, which alone cost ten Galleons.
Still, according to the seller, that book was the best of the best.
I said goodbye to the old man like he was family and promised to visit again.
At the artifact shop the junk dealer recommended, I bought a potion-identification ring and a pair of earrings that protect against Legilimency.
It pays to know canon.
The shopkeeper warned me right away: the earrings were weak — any skilled Legilimens would break through them instantly. But they could block surface-level readings and heat up as a warning of an attempted attack.
Stronger artifacts weren't available in stores — for that, you had to find a master and place a custom order. But most wizards couldn't afford one anyway. So:
"Better study Occlumency, young lady."
I'd spent every last coin — not even enough left for Fortescue's famous ice cream.
Well then, time to go home. All in all, I got everything I'd planned, and there's nothing else for me to do here for now.