Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

"Harry Potter?" Hermione perked up at the name, curiosity lighting her eyes. "Who's that?"

"A young wizard who defeated the Dark Lord over a decade ago," Viktor explained calmly as he led them up the creaking stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. "He'll be starting at Hogwarts the same year as you. No one really knows how he did it. It was... a miracle, and that's why he's still remembered today."

The stairs were old and narrow, groaning beneath their feet. Given the recent influx of witches and wizards, they often had to press to one side to let people pass going the other way.

As Mrs. Granger sidestepped a particularly rotund wizard, her brow furrowed at a term Viktor had just used.

"The Dark Lord?"

"Think of him as a wizard who promoted magical racial supremacy," Viktor replied. "He believed that Muggle-borns—those born to non-magical parents—were an inferior breed, while pure-bloods were superior. He rallied others to his cause and persecuted the former, nearly taking control of the magical world at one point."

"That would mean Hermione...?" Mrs. Granger's voice tightened with concern.

Viktor turned his head slightly, catching the anxious look on her face.

"Most of the magical world did not support his ideology. Hogwarts included. You don't need to worry."

Yet even as he said that, something in Viktor's seer's intuition twitched uncomfortably. A twinge of foresight—not a full vision, but a whisper in his instincts.

Hermione would have reason to worry. Not now. But someday.

He frowned, the thought lingering like a shadow.

Behind him, the Grangers had also fallen silent, their expressions clouded. Years of navigating London society told them this was deeper than it appeared. If the "Boy Who Lived" was revered as a savior and the "Dark Lord" once threatened to dominate the wizarding world, then clearly, danger was not a thing of the past.

They were already beginning to worry for Hermione's future.

Eventually, they reached the second floor of the pub, passed through a small garden, and arrived at a modest brick platform—empty, save for a few trash bins.

Viktor stepped up, counted three bricks from the top and two from the left, then tapped the correct one with his knuckles.

Knock, knock, knock.

There was a faint sound as his knuckle met stone—and then, the wall began to shudder.

Brick by brick, the wall receded and twisted inward, revealing a widening archway that opened onto a bustling, otherworldly street.

Hermione gasped as she looked through the gateway.

Across the way, the window display of a shop showcased an array of cauldrons. Around the corner, a herbalist's storefront overflowed with herbs and twitching magical plants Hermione had never even imagined. A woman at the shop's door was shaking her head, muttering:

"Sixteen Sickles an ounce for dragon liver? They're insane…"

The surreal sight washed away much of the earlier tension.

They stepped onto the cobbled street, and as they passed through, the bricks reformed behind them, restoring the solid red wall.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Viktor said with a nod. "Let's start with Gringotts. You'll need some Galleons."

"R-right. Of course."

The Grangers were so awestruck by the surroundings that even forming full sentences became a challenge.

As they walked deeper into the alley, the sights became more vibrant and bizarre. Hermione spotted Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions—its window filled with elegant, animated cloaks in various colors that bowed courteously when people walked past.

She was spellbound.

But as she took in the wonders around her, Hermione couldn't help but notice how out of place she looked.

In London, her white blouse and jeans were nothing special. But here, amid wizards in flowing cloaks and eccentric attire, she stuck out like a garlic clove among oranges—easily picked out, and not in a good way.

And once again, her thoughts returned to what Viktor had said about the Dark Lord.

"We're here," Viktor announced suddenly.

They had arrived at an enormous, gleaming marble building.

The bank was at least two stories tall, built in a baroque architectural style with soaring domes and elaborate carvings. The name "Gringotts" was etched at the top in elegant script.

Viktor led the way, pushing open the grand doors.

Two goblins flanked the entrance. As they entered, the goblins gave stiff bows and opened the second set of doors.

Viktor glanced at the inscription carved into the inner threshold and sighed inwardly.

Lack of imagination, he thought. If I ran a bank, I'd have enchanted this place with ten layers of anti-theft curses—something bold and terrifying.

Like:"Beware: should you lay hands on riches not your own, death will be swift and certain."

Inside, a sharp-voiced goblin greeted them.

"Muggle currency exchange—first desk on the right. Withdrawals and deposits—second. New accounts—third. All other services—last."

"Please queue in an orderly fashion."

The interior of Gringotts was nothing short of breathtaking.

The marble vaulted ceiling stretched three stories high. Counters lined both sides of the hall, with goblins seated behind each one. Some examined gemstones under magnifiers; others scribbled entries into thick ledgers. Doors dotted the rear walls, with customers being led in and out by goblin tellers.

Viktor gave it all a cursory glance before turning to the Grangers.

"I've got business of my own. I'll head to the third desk. You go to the first. If anything comes up, come find me."

"Got it." Mr. Granger nodded.

Viktor made his way to the third counter, which was empty except for a goblin in a crimson robe trimmed with gold. The goblin was hunched over his ledger, looking thoroughly bored.

When Viktor approached, the goblin barely looked up.

"Yes, sir? Can I help you?"

"I'd like to open an account. Salary transfers from Hogwarts."

"Identification and employment proof, please."

Viktor handed over his documents.

The goblin scanned them, then blinked rapidly, eyes bulging.

"You're—Viktor Vanderboom?!" The goblin's voice shot up an octave.

"Yes. Why?"

As soon as he confirmed his identity, the goblin's demeanor did a complete reversal. It nearly leapt out from behind the desk in excitement, hands outstretched—though Viktor stepped back just in time to avoid the attempted handshake.

Unfortunately, no amount of distance could dull the goblin's eagerness.

Its eyes glittered.

"Professor Vanderboom! It's an honor. We've heard of you for years! Sadly, we never knew where to send correspondence. But I assure you—our admiration is heartfelt!"

"Our Director issued special orders: if you ever came to open an account, all fees would be waived, and you'd be granted access to our top-tier services!"

"Please, provide an address—we'd love to send Gringotts gift hampers during the holidays! Not to mention vault privileges, premium loan rates…"

Viktor cut in coldly:

"Why are you doing all this? You want something from me?"

"Oh no, no obligations! Merely… a humble request," the goblin said, leaning in with a grin so wide it nearly split its face.

Viktor frowned and stepped back again.

Lowering his voice, the goblin whispered conspiratorially:

"We've heard you're a gifted seer. That you accurately predicted Professor Trelawney's accident—right down to the timing."

"That's true. And?"

"It was a miracle! Truly remarkable! Which is why we'd like to make… a small proposal."

"Would you consider predicting the price fluctuations in the magical commodities market for us?"

Viktor blinked.

"…Excuse me?"

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