"Astra!" Alister called, as he changed into casual robes. "I need to go out for a few hours!"
His sister appeared in the doorway, bookmark still between her fingers. "Where?"
"Diagon Alley. Flamel asked me to pick up some specialty alchemical supplies from Slug & Jiggers. Apparently they got a shipment of Peruvian Darkness Powder he wants me to analyze."
"That sounds tedious," Astra said.
"Extremely. Which is why you should stay here, practice your Levitation, and definitely don't eat all the treacle tart"
"I would never."
"You absolutely would." Alister ruffled her hair. "I'll be back by 10 PM at the latest. If anyone asks—"
"You went to Diagon Alley for potion ingredients. I know." Astra tilted her head. "You're being extra careful about your story today."
"Just being thorough."
"Right." She studied him for a moment, those too-perceptive gray eyes searching his face. "Be safe, whatever you're actually doing."
"I promise," he said quietly.
She nodded, satisfied, and returned to her book.
Alister grabbed his bag—the one with the Undetectable Extension Charm containing all his gear—and headed for the Floo.
Diagon Alley
Alister stepped out of the Floo into the Leaky Cauldron, looking like any other young wizard running errands. A few patrons glanced at him, but no one paid particular attention.
The alley outside was tense. Shops were closing early, and small groups of wizards stood in clusters, talking in worried voices about the vault freeze.
Alister walked quickly to a shadowed alcove between Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkin's. He cast privacy wards with practiced efficiency, creating a bubble of don't-notice-me that would hold for several minutes.
The transformation took less than three minutes.
Armor on. Coat secured. Mask in place. Gloves. He let his magic rise, feeling the Dragon Core pulse in response. His eyes shifted to that cold, glowing blue-white. His aura expanded—controlled, but radiating power like heat from a forge.
When he stepped out of the alcove, he was no longer Alister Potter.
The Architect walked through Diagon Alley with slow, deliberate strides.
The effect was immediate.
Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Wizards and witches turned to stare, some backing away instinctively.
Whispers followed in his wake:
"Is that—?"
"The Architect..."
"What's he doing here?"
"Oh Merlin, he's heading toward Gringotts..."
Alister ignored them all. His focus was singular.
The white marble steps of Gringotts rose before him, gleaming in the evening light. Two goblin guards flanked the entrance.
The Architect didn't slow down.
He climbed the steps, his coat billowing behind him, shadows clinging to the fabric like smoke. His glowing eyes fixed on the guards, and he let just a fraction more of his dragon aura leak out—enough to make the air feel heavy, oppressive.
The guards shifted uneasily but held their ground.
"The bank is closed for the evening," the one on the left said, his voice carefully neutral. "No customer access until—"
"I'm not a customer." The Architect's voice resonated with that dual-tone harmonic quality, making several nearby wizards flinch. "I'm here to see Director Ragnok."
The guards exchanged glances.
"Do you have an appointment?" the second guard asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"No."
"Then I'm afraid—"
"Tell your Director that the Architect has arrived." The words weren't loud, but they carried absolute authority.
"Tell him that he can either meet with me now, tonight, or he can explain to the Goblin Nation why he passed up the opportunity when I was here." His glowing eyes narrowed slightly. "Your choice. But choose quickly. My patience has limits."
The first guard's hand moved toward a communication crystal at his belt. "Wait here."
He spoke into the crystal in rapid Gobbledegook.
After a moment of tense silence, a voice crackled back through the crystal—older, harder. Director Ragnok himself.
More Gobbledegook: "Bring him to Sublevel Twelve immediately. Chamber of Arbitration. No delays."
The guard lowered the crystal and met the Architect's glowing gaze with visible effort.
"The Director will see you now. Follow me."
"Wise choice." Architect spoke in the same cold tone.
The main hall of Gringotts was nearly empty—unusual even for evening hours. The few remaining tellers behind their high desks stopped working entirely as the Architect entered, their eyes tracking his movement with wariness.
The guard led him past the main desks, through a side door marked with goblin runes that meant "Authorized Personnel Only - Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted and Possibly Eaten."
The corridor beyond was carved from solid stone, lit by crystalline lamps that pulsed with cold blue light. The walls were covered in more runes. Ward after ward, layer upon layer of protective magic that made the air itself feel heavy with power.
Stairs carved directly into the bedrock, spiraling down into the depths of London. The temperature dropped with each level. The magical pressure increased.
This was the real Gringotts. Not the public face, but the fortress beneath.
"You are entering the sovereign territory of the Goblin Nation," the guard said without turning around. "Guest-right protocols are in effect. You will not be harmed unless you initiate hostilities. In return, you will show appropriate respect to our customs and authority."
"Understood," the Architect said. "I have no desire for violence."
"Then we may find common ground."
They passed two more guard posts—each with heavily armed goblins who watched him with intense focus.
After what felt like ten minutes of descent, they reached a massive bronze door engraved with intricate goblin runes.
Two more guards flanked the door, these ones in full battle armor rather than ceremonial dress.
"The Chamber of Arbitration," the first guard announced. "The Director and the Council await you."
One of the armored guards pressed his palm against the door. The runes flared to life in sequence, each one lighting up in a cascade of gold and silver light. The bronze door swung open silently despite its obvious weight.
"Enter," the guard said.
The room beyond took his breath away, though he was careful not to show it.
Circular. Carved entirely from black volcanic glass that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Crystalline formations jutted from the walls at precise intervals, glowing with soft white radiance that was somehow both beautiful and vaguely threatening.
The ceiling arched overhead in a perfect dome, covered in containment runes so complex that Alister's enhanced perception struggled to track all the interlocking patterns.
These weren't just protective wards. They were suppression wards—designed to prevent magical violence, unauthorized teleportation, any form of external communication, and probably a dozen other things he hadn't identified yet.
In the center of the room sat a circular table of dark wood polished to a mirror shine. Seven chairs surrounded it, all occupied by goblins.
Every single one of them was studying him with the focused intensity.
The silence stretched for five long seconds.
Then Director Ragnok stood.
"The Architect." His voice was gravelly, aged, but carried absolute authority. "You honor us with your... unexpected... presence."
The pause before "unexpected" was deliberate. A subtle criticism of his unannounced arrival.
The Architect remained standing, not moving toward the empty chair clearly meant for him. When he spoke, his modulated voice filled the chamber with that unsettling dual-tone quality:
"Director Ragnok. I received word that you wished to meet me." He let his glowing eyes sweep across each goblin in turn.
"We had planned to request a meeting through appropriate channels," Goldgrip said, his tone carefully neutral.
"And I decided to save us all the tedious dance of negotiation scheduling." The Architect's voice carried a hint of cold amusement. "You froze all the vaults to get my attention. You have it. Let's not waste time with formalities."
"Direct," A goblin named Sharptooth spoke. "I appreciate that. Sit, Architect. Let us speak plainly."
The Architect moved to the empty chair with deliberate slowness, his coat billowing behind him. He didn't sit immediately—instead, he placed both gloved hands on the back of the chair and leaned forward slightly, his glowing eyes fixed on Ragnok.
"Before we begin," the Architect said, his voice dropping half an octave, "let's establish something clearly."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. His dragon aura expanded slightly—not aggressive, but present.
"I didn't come here to be threatened or intimidated. I didn't come here to negotiate from a position of weakness. I came here because I prefer cooperation to conflict—but make no mistake, I am capable of conflict." He paused, letting that sink in. "The Exchange will not be shut down. The System will not be dismantled. Those are not negotiable points."
"Bold words," one of the unnamed goblins muttered.
"Honest words," the Architect corrected, his glowing gaze shifting to the speaker. "The reality is that magical finance is changing whether you like it or not. The only question is whether Gringotts adapts and thrives, or resists and becomes obsolete."
Ragnok's eyes narrowed. "You speak of our institution as if it were already defeated."
The Architect finally sat, his movements controlled and precise. "Every day your vaults remain frozen, you lose credibility. Every day wizards can't access their gold, they look for alternatives. Every day you maintain this 'demonstration of power,' you prove that Gringotts is unreliable."
He leaned back in the chair, somehow making the relaxed posture look dangerous rather than casual.
Sharptooth leaned forward, his armored elbows resting on the polished table.
"You have courage, I'll grant you that. Walking into the heart of goblin power, alone, and speaking to us like we're merchants who've displeased you." The old warrior's eyes glittered. "Most wizards wouldn't dare."
"I didn't revolutionize magical society by being intimidated." The Architect's glowing eyes met Sharptooth's without wavering. "We can trade displays of strength all evening, or we can discuss actual solutions."
Then, unexpectedly, Sharptooth laughed—a short, barking sound that echoed in the chamber.
"This one has teeth," he said to Ragnok. "I like him."
"Very well, Architect. Let us discuss terms." He gestured to Goldgrip. "Present our analysis."
Goldgrip pulled out a ledger and opened it with precise movements.
"The Exchange has reduced our transaction volume by forty-three percent in three months," he said, his voice clinical. "Peer-to-peer trading bypasses our authentication fees, our escrow services, our currency exchange operations. We project a seventy percent revenue decline within one year if current trends continue."
The Architect leaned forward, his glowing eyes intense.
"You're treating the System as a threat to eliminate. That's wrong. The System is an inevitability—the magical world is evolving, and centralized communication and trading networks are part of that evolution."
But," he continued, "you can choose how you relate to it. Right now, the Exchange operates completely independently of Gringotts. But what if it didn't?"
Goldgrip's eyes narrowed with interest. "Explain."
"The Exchange allows peer-to-peer trading, yes. But it has limitations. No formal authentication verification. No escrow for high-value transactions. No legal recourse if someone reneges on a deal." The Architect's tone was matter-of-fact. "All services that Gringotts traditionally provides."
"You're not competing with the Exchange. You're offering a better version of the Exchange for people willing to pay for quality. And trust me—for large transactions, people will pay."
Ragnok drummed his clawed fingers on the table, the sound sharp in the silence.
"Currency exchange," he said thoughtfully. "The System doesn't handle Galleon-to-other-currency conversions."
"Because I didn't want to compete with your established services," the Architect said. "But if you wanted to offer instant currency exchange through the System, with appropriate fees, I wouldn't object. In fact, I'd support it."
The silence stretched as the goblins processed this.
Finally, Ragnok spoke:
"And in exchange for this... integration... what do you want?"
(END OF CHAPTER)
"Can't wait to see what Alister does next?
You don't have to wait! I am currently 10 chapters ahead on Patreon.
Link: patreon.com/xxSUPxx
Or you can buy me a coffee at:
buymeacoffee.com/xxSUPxx
special thanks to all my EPIC members and,
MYTH: Dutchviking
MYTH: Christopher K Wright