London. Charing Cross Road. The Leaky Cauldron.
As soon as Alan entered the rather lively bar, he immediately headed to the counter, behind which stood a stooped man in a dark outfit, wiping a glass with a white cloth.
"How much does it cost to rent a room for two days?"
"Galleon, you'll have to pay an extra four Sickles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner," he replied calmly, but upon seeing the seven gold coins appear on the table, the owner of the establishment smiled busily, putting down the room key and taking the money. "Room twenty-nine, dinner will be served in two hours."
"Okay," Alan took the key and didn't immediately go to his room. Instead, he left the bar through the back door leading to Diagon Alley. Although he's still a strange man, he reminds me of someone...
A few minutes later he was already standing in front of a huge white building towering over the shops.
"Gringotts Bank..." he read the name above the huge, gleaming bronze doors. Entrusting the safekeeping of money to goblins... what has the world come to... although after the Basilisk in a school where children study, it shouldn't be so surprising...
The goblins who inhabited the world Alan came from were savage beasts, capable only of destruction, rape, and murder. They possessed no intelligence and acted on instinct, so the very idea of entrusting them with such a role seemed utter nonsense to him. But then, this wasn't his world, so he tried to cast aside such foolish prejudices.
Passing by a small creature that looked like a house-elf, with huge ears, a nose, and a disproportionate head, as well as elongated feet and hands, he entered the building and immediately found himself in front of two more silver doors, on which the words were engraved:
"Rise, stranger, but take into account:
Retribution awaits those who sin with envy,
You want to get wealth without work,
You won't have to pay cheaply for that.
The treasure that sleeps peacefully in the dungeon,
Remember, it doesn't belong to you,
Thief, tremble! And know that, besides the treasure,
You will find there something that you don't need at all."
Alan's eyes twitched at these words.
And goblins write about this… my world will never be the same again... Shaking his head, he walked through these doors, finding himself in a huge marble room where work was literally in full swing.
A huge number of goblins stood behind tall counters, working diligently, each dressed in business suits and completely oblivious to their surroundings. All that could be heard in the room was the rustling of pages, and only the loud sounds of stamping, out of rhythm.
He did not approach these goblins and distract them from their work, but immediately headed to the one standing in the center, looking like the main one, and was older.
"I want to access Eileen Prince's vault."
"Hm...?" The elderly goblin frowned, looking up at Alan. "Only the owner of the vault can..."
"I am her son, and I also have the key."
"Hmm..." He leaned over lazily, pulled out a golden cup, and placed it on the table. "Please drop some of your blood to verify the relationship," he said, pulling out a small vial with a drop of blood. "If the relationship is confirmed, since the owner of the vault is dead, you, as the closest relative, will be granted access. If you lied, you will be required to pay a fine of a thousand Galleons for using the ritual." At the mention of gold, the goblin's eyes lit up, and, smacking his lips contentedly, he poured the blood into the cup of water.
Without answering, Alan cut his finger and calmly let the blood drip.
For the first few seconds nothing happened, and as the smile on the goblin's lips became even more noticeable, the water began to shine and the blood began to merge.
"Show me the key," he grumbled, no longer with the same cheerfulness.
Descending into a rather gloomy dungeon, lit only by torches, they boarded a cart and rode down the railway, crossing numerous corridors and vaults at incredible speed. Within minutes, they reached a veritable cavern, sealed behind a slightly rusted steel door. Alan handed the goblin the key, who, with some difficulty, managed to turn it. Finally, with a grinding sound, the door slowly swung open, revealing a small pile of gold coins.
About six thousand Galleons... "Tell me, when was the last time my mother visited this place?"
"Twenty-three years and six months ago."
So, pride... He shook his head wearily, pulled out a small bag, and simply transferred all the coins into it under the goblin's displeased gaze. If it were the real Snape in my place, he probably wouldn't even touch this money, but I'm not him, and I'll put it to good use...
As he left the bank, Alan paid no attention to the disgruntled faces of the goblins, who looked as if he'd killed their own mother and then eaten her right before their eyes. Even the one standing at the entrance to the building didn't bother to look at him as he left, merely hissing contemptuously at him.
How are they still afloat with that kind of treatment? Even the most seedy bar in my world reveres its customers like gods, even if they've gone to their competitors. He shook his head in disappointment. He had, after all, really hoped to continue using this bank's services in the future. Although... there's no competition. If I remember correctly, it's the only bank in the country, so it's understandable why they're so arrogant. And the recognition from the Ministry of Magic certainly played a significant role.
But Alan didn't bother his head with this any longer, and immediately headed towards a rather large two-story building, the windows of which were boarded up, and on the door there was a sign: "For Sale."
And as soon as he stepped inside, he was greeted by sheer devastation: broken tables and chairs, shattered plates and bottles strewn across the floor. The walls were adorned with unflattering drawings, not to mention the stains on the wooden boards and wallpaper, which gave off an unpleasant odor.
"Hello, young man," a middle-aged man with a rather tired look came down from the second floor to Alan. "Do you want to buy this building?"
"That's right, but first I'd like to know the price, and then I'll think about whether to take it or not."
"Of course, four thousand seven hundred Galleons. I'm not going to lower the price any lower: I'm already selling it for next to nothing. A simple Reparo would be enough to restore the furniture and fix all the holes in the floor..."
"No problem, I'll take it, but this deal still looks too tempting: such a large building almost in the center of Diagon Alley and so cheap..." He narrowed his gaze and looked suspiciously at the slightly embarrassed man.
"We're moving to another country: it's very dangerous here at the moment," the salesman explained with a mournful sigh, sitting down on a still-undamaged chair. "I'm a Muggle-born wizard, and my wife is a half-blood, and she's pregnant now... if it weren't for the war, we wouldn't be selling anything, of course, but I'm worried about my family and want to keep them safe."
"I understand, I apologize for my mistrust."
"It's okay, I understand everything."
"I'll take it from you for five thousand. Of course, I'd pay more, but almost every Galleon counts these days," Alan said with an apologetic smile.
"Thank you! Don't worry, this will be enough." Taking out a small wallet, he pulled out three A4 sheets of paper, covered in text that emanated magic. "Let's go to Bank G..."
"No need," he pointed his finger at one of the tables and used Reparo, quickly restoring it under the surprised gaze of the seller. Afterwards, he pulled a smaller pouch out of his pocket and tapped it a couple of times. At that very moment, Galleons burst out of it, as if from a fountain, accompanied by a golden glow, flying towards the table and landing in neat columns of two hundred coins.
And in just a minute there were five thousand coins lying on it.
"I just came from the bank."
"I see..." the wizard nodded slowly. "As I understand it, this is your first time handling such transactions?"
"That's true, but I've still studied a lot of information on this case, so I'd like to see the real documents, not this fake."
"Of course, but we'll still have to visit Gringotts, because the real documents are there," the man answered sheepishly, and Alan only smiled dryly.
"I have a feeling that if I go back now, they'll definitely chase me away with wet rags…"
"Something wrong?"
"No, let's go..."