"I swear, if that teapot glares at me one more time, I'm going to ban all ceramicware from the trunk," I muttered.
Hermione snorted beside me, hugging her satchel a little tighter—a satchel adorned with a painted design of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and the Beast, eyes wide and smiling from one corner. "It's not glaring. That's just the design."
"It's judging me. I can feel it judging."
Harry let out a snort.
She rolled her eyes, but the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. We stepped through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, greeted by a wave of clinking glass, low chatter, and the scent of firewhisky and baked bread.
The place was bustling this morning, packed with travelers and last-minute school shoppers funneling through to Diagon Alley. My eyes swept across the room until I caught sight of Molly Weasley frantically waving us over like we were long-lost family returning from sea. Next to her, Ron was inhaling a scone like it owed him money.
"Harry! Sky! Hermione! Over here, dears!" Molly called, her voice motherly and commanding all at once.
Arthur looked up from his tea and gave us a smile. "Ah, there they are. Just in time."
Fred and George, of course, stood and saluted me as though I were some war general returning from battle.
"Morning, Kingston," Fred said, offering a dramatic bow.
"Ready to buy Diagon Alley by lunchtime?" George added.
I gave them a slow, exaggerated nod. "Buy it? No. I'd lease it, make questionable improvements, flip it for double, and disappear before the Wizengamot gets involved."
Fred gave a low whistle. "I like this one."
"He's dangerous," George muttered to Ron, who nodded solemnly while chewing.
Once everyone had gathered, we made our way through the archway behind the Leaky Cauldron. Diagon Alley was just as chaotic and beautiful as I remembered: shopfronts painted in clashing colors, vendors hawking every magical trinket imaginable, and owls flapping overhead with letters and packages.
Hermione tugged gently on my sleeve. "We should go to Gringotts first. You said you had something important to handle."
"Right," I said. "Let's see how deep the rabbit hole goes."
Gringotts loomed over the street like a marble fortress, its white pillars and iron doors imposing even in broad daylight. The goblins inside watched every customer with thinly veiled suspicion. I approached the nearest desk and slid a sealed parchment across.
"Letter of recommendation," I said casually. "From Nicholas Flamel."
The goblin's eyes narrowed. He examined the seal, then peered at me like I had insulted his entire lineage.
"Flamel, you say."
"That's what the letter implies, yes."
Without a word, he tapped something on the side of his pedestal. Moments later, a senior goblin in darker robes arrived. He had a pinched face, silver spectacles, and the air of someone who judged people based on their walking posture.
"Verification required," the desk goblin muttered.
The senior goblin took the letter and examined it. When he pressed his thumb to the seal, a bright light pulsed across the parchment.
His eyes widened just slightly.
Then he gave a crisp bow.
"Mr. Kingston, this way please."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. Ron looked like someone had just offered him a riddle in Swahili.
"What was in that letter?" Harry asked.
"Power, social capital, and what's left of my sanity," I replied. "Which, in fairness, isn't much. But it shines where it counts."
We followed the goblin—Rinkhollow, he later introduced himself—into a private stone chamber lit by floating lanterns. He got straight to business.
"Your request for an upgraded vault has been reviewed. Under normal conditions, barn-sized vaults are not authorized to minors. However, with the Flamel endorsement…"
He glanced again at the parchment.
"Exceptions will be made."
I nodded. "I'll be storing an apartment-model trunk within. The vault needs to be completely soundproofed, reinforced with a null zone. I want the door sealed once it's in, the key destroyed, and the mold given to me directly. Future keys must be cast from goblin silver under my request only."
Rinkhollow jotted everything down. "This is acceptable. It will be placed under a private ledger, separate from your family or public accounts."
"Exactly what I wanted."
He handed me a blood quill. The moment I touched it to parchment, a sharp sting flared across the back of my hand.
"Ow," I muttered, flinching. "You couldn't have just given me a regular quill?"
Rinkhollow didn't even blink. "Blood binding confirms your identity and intent. It is Gringotts policy for special contracts."
I eyed the quill like it had just asked for a kidney, then narrowed my eyes. "Do you sell these?"
Rinkhollow looked up sharply. "No. Not even the Minister of Magic is permitted to own one. Possession of a blood quill is tantamount to declaring a blood feud with the goblin nation."
"Charming," I muttered, then resumed signing with exaggerated care. "Brilliant. I love policies that draw blood. So charming."
By the time I finished, my hand had a thin red line running across the knuckles. I handed the form back, and passed over the trunk. It was quickly whisked away by four goblins, each nodding silently.
"Your banking advisor will be assigned shortly."
"Hopefully someone with a decent sense of sarcasm."
"We discourage humor."
"Good thing I bring enough for two."
I returned to the lobby where the Weasleys were waiting, most of them looking restless.
"What happened in there?" Ron asked.
"Just had to adjust the size of a vault," I said. "Hermione's reading list doesn't fit in small spaces."
"Hey!"
"He's not wrong," Harry added with a smirk.
Fred leaned closer. "Was that really a goblin with a monocle?"
"Yes," I said. "And no, you can't steal it. I called dibs."
We stepped into the sunlit chaos of Diagon Alley proper. I let the group lead while I fell a little behind, watching shop windows with idle curiosity.
Behind my calm face, my inventory did all the real work.
A self-inking quills from Tomes and Scrolls? In. A rare potion ingredient from the apothecary display? Pocketed. A charmed compass from the old cart vendor near the alley corner? Thank you very much.
I kept my hands in my pockets, staying close to the chatting group.
Hermione glanced back at me, frowning slightly. "You're awfully quiet."
"Just meditating on restraint."
"That sounds suspicious."
"That's because it is."
She narrowed her eyes. I smiled.
Ron was pointing excitedly at a new broom display across the street. George dragged him away before he started drooling on the glass.
It was shaping up to be a very productive day.