Pushing through the crowd, McGonagall confidently led Stephen forward. Every collision with a passing wizard or witch caused a wave of irritation in Stephen. He tried to keep as far away from others as possible, but in this crush, it was almost impossible. The crowd was unpredictable, and its movements illogical.
Finally, they stopped in front of a tall, snow-white building that sharply contrasted with the crooked and old shops. Above the massive bronze doors, an inscription shone: "GRINGOTTS. WIZARDING BANK." Stephen looked up, examining the columns, as if carved from huge stones, and the meticulously balanced geometry of the facade. It looked immobile and stable, which somewhat calmed him. But near the doors stood... creatures. Not humans. They were short, with long fingers and sharp, greedy faces.
"Those are goblins, Mr. Strange," McGonagall explained briefly, noticing his gaze. "They run the bank."
Stephen frowned, looking at the goblins.
"Goblins? Are they... a biological species? Or some form of magical creatures? What is their evolutionary history? And these creatures run a bank? How efficient is their system? I'm used to high-tech banking operations, not medieval aesthetics. Do they use ciphers? Or do they just count on abacuses?"
McGonagall merely gave him a stern look, saying nothing. She pushed open the bronze door, and they entered.
Inside, the bank was enormous, with high ceilings and many counters where goblins sat, writing in large ledgers and weighing coins on scales. Gold and silver gleamed everywhere, and the air was filled with the clinking of coins and the rustle of parchment. Stephen, though he wouldn't admit it, felt some respect for this order. It was unlike the chaotic street outside. There was a system here.
McGonagall approached one of the counters where a particularly old and wrinkled goblin sat.
"Professor McGonagall," the goblin said, his voice creaky. "How may I help you?"
"Mr. Strange has come to withdraw funds from his vault," McGonagall replied curtly, gesturing to Stephen. "He has been accepted to Hogwarts."
The goblin scrutinized Stephen from head to toe, his sharp eyes seemingly piercing through him.
"Mr. Strange has a vault. But access requires a key or identity confirmation."
Stephen immediately interjected:
"A key? I've never seen any key. And I have no documents confirming my identity in your... banking world. I can provide my fingerprints or a retinal scan. That's much more reliable than some key. Your security methods seem outdated."
The goblin merely smirked, revealing sharp teeth.
"Here we use magic, Mr. Strange, not your Muggle tricks. If there's no key, then a blood signature or special family magic is required."
McGonagall, anticipating Stephen's next complaint, quickly pulled a scroll from her robes and handed it to the goblin.
"Everything is specified here. He is a ward, and his access is permitted via his guardian's signature and magical identity confirmation."
The goblin checked the scroll, grunted, and nodded.
"Very well. Griphook will escort you."
From behind one of the counters emerged another goblin, with an even sterner expression.
"Follow me," he rasped.
They walked through long corridors leading deep underground. The air grew cooler, smelling of dampness and metal. Stephen felt a slight unease. These corridors were frighteningly complex, like a labyrinth.
Finally, they came to a small cart sitting on rails. Griphook gestured to it.
"Get in."
Stephen raised an eyebrow.
"This is... a means of transport? It looks extremely unreliable. What's its maximum speed? And why are there no seatbelts? Are you sure of the structural integrity? It's just a cart!"
McGonagall, ignoring his questions, had already sat in the cart. Stephen had no choice but to follow her. Griphook jumped in front, pulled a lever, and the cart shot forward with incredible speed, hurtling down the dark, winding tunnels.
The wind whistled in Stephen's ears. He almost flew out of his seat on the turns, clutching tightly to the edge. His brain, accustomed to calculations and control, was overloaded. The speed was dizzying, and the turns unpredictable. He couldn't even understand how this cart stayed on the rails, which seemed to have been hastily constructed. It was dreadful, but at the same time... exhilarating. He felt a slight rush of adrenaline that drowned out his usual irritation.
Finally, the cart stopped abruptly in front of a massive metal door. Griphook got out and, taking a small key, inserted it into the lock. The lock clicked, and the door swung open, revealing a small room filled to the ceiling.
Stephen peered inside. The vault was piled high with gold, silver, and bronze coins. They gleamed with a dull light, reflecting the torchlight from Griphook.
"These are... coins?" Stephen murmured, picking up one gold coin. It was heavy and cold. "But these are... ingots. What is their real value? And how do you intend to use this as currency? You don't have paper banknotes or electronic payments? This is extremely inefficient for trade!"
McGonagall, ignoring his criticism, approached the pile of coins.
"These are Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, Mr. Strange. The primary currency of the wizarding world. Take enough for your school supplies."
Stephen, still clutching the gold coin, reluctantly began collecting them into the pouch McGonagall held out. The gold was real. Heavy. Strange. He already foresaw how long it would take to adapt to this "economy."
Emerging from the bank, they found themselves back in the bustling Diagon Alley.
"What now?" Stephen asked, trying not to look at the crowd. "I hope the next destination will be more... logical."
McGonagall calmly nodded.
"Now, Mr. Strange, we need a wand."
Stephen frowned.
"A wand? Just a stick? And this is the primary tool for your magic? I would have thought that such serious power would require more... complex mechanisms or, at least, interfaces for controlling this 'energy.' It's not just some conductor's baton, is it? And it must be scientifically calibrated, I presume?"
McGonagall ignored his questions.
"We are going to Ollivanders."