Julian stepped into the crowd on the cobbled street, wide-eyed at the busy witches and wizards bustling all around him.
"Julian," Dumbledore said, "we'll head to Gringotts first. You'll need your school grant before shopping."
"Okay, Professor." Julian followed quickly, turning his head at snatches of conversation around him.
Some shoppers argued about potion ingredients, others bargained loudly for broomsticks, and from somewhere behind them came talk of a strange game called Quidditch.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Julian asked, "what is Quidditch?"
The headmaster's eyes twinkled. "Ah, Quidditch—the only wizarding sport. Exciting, thrilling… and dangerous. Many players have been injured, and some do not survive."
Julian frowned. "That dangerous? Shouldn't it be banned?"
"Oh, no," Dumbledore said with a laugh. "It is far too beloved. Quidditch means too much to wizards. You'll see for yourself at Hogwarts—matches are a tradition, and I believe you'll come to enjoy it."
By then they had reached a massive marble building, its pale surface gleaming in stark contrast to the crooked shops that crowded Diagon Alley.
"Here we are—Gringotts, the wizarding bank."
Standing before the great bronze doors was a peculiar figure. He was shorter than Julian by half a head, with pointed ears and deeply lined, wrinkled skin.
Julian tilted his head. "Is that… a goblin?"
"Yes. Goblins are the guardians of Gringotts, and unmatched masters of alchemy," Dumbledore explained. "Their skill with craft is rivaled only by their greed."
Julian muttered, "Not quite what I expected. I was imagining something closer to… fairies."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, fairies are a different matter—nearly extinct, in fact. Goblins, however, are very real, as you will see."
Inside, the tall marble lobby was full of clamoring goblins writing ledgers and weighing coins. At the counter, an ancient-looking goblin looked up as they approached.
"Yinhuan," Dumbledore greeted, "I've come to collect a school subsidy for Mr. Julian Wooless. And… something else, from Vault 713."
The goblin squinted at him, then nodded. "Very well. Please wait." He rang a small bell, and two younger goblins appeared.
"Griphook, fetch Mr. Wooless's grant. Rollo, escort the professor to Vault 713."
Dumbledore gave Julian a brief nod and followed Rollo, leaving the boy behind.
A few minutes later Griphook returned, holding a leather pouch. He handed it to Julian and explained crisply:
"One Galleon equals seventeen Sickles. Twenty-nine Knuts equals one Sickle. Remember this conversion well."
As the goblin turned to leave, Julian spoke quickly. "Wait—may I exchange Muggle money for wizard gold?"
Griphook gave him a long, measuring look. "It is possible. The exchange rate stands at one Galleon for five British pounds. Are you certain you wish to exchange?"
"Yes," Julian said, producing a thick but uneven wad of pounds. "It's scattered, but it should be enough."
To Julian's surprise, Griphook did not sneer at the small fortune. Instead, he accepted the notes with a dignified bow and passed them to another goblin.
"Lai Lai," he instructed, "exchange this guest's Muggle currency for gold Galleons."
Lai Lai returned shortly with a heavy pouch. "You exchanged four thousand pounds in total. That equals eight hundred Galleons. Do you wish to deposit most, or carry them all?"
Julian thought quickly. "I'll take one hundred Galleons with me. Please store the rest."
"An excellent decision, honored guest," said the goblin respectfully. He handed Julian a silver key and a smaller pouch. "This will open your vault. Keep it safe."
Julian bowed slightly, mimicking the goblin's courtesy. "Thank you."
He waited in the hall until at last Dumbledore returned, muttering under his breath about "those wild Gringotts carts."
"Did you get your funds, Julian?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Good. Then let's not waste the daylight. We've robes to order."
The bell above the robe shop jingled sweetly as they entered.
"Good afternoon, Madam Malkin. How are you?" Dumbledore said kindly.
"Professor Dumbledore! What an honor." Madam Malkin beamed. "I'm well, thank you. And who do we have here?"
"This is Julian Wooless, one of our new Hogwarts students. He'll need a full set of uniforms."
"Oh my, such a handsome boy. Come, dear, let's fit you."
Dumbledore smiled and excused himself to wait at the door.
Julian stepped forward politely. "Good afternoon, Madam Malkin."
She placed a measuring robe over him, humming cheerfully as she measured shoulders, sleeves, and hem. "Well then, dear, do you prefer your robes loose, or fitted?"
Julian considered. "Loose, with a little extra length. What do you think?"
"Wise choice—practical and comfortable." She smiled. "Your robes will be ready in three hours."
"Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate your trouble."
"Nonsense. It's my craft, after all. Now, off you go—don't keep Professor Dumbledore waiting."
Julian gave a small bow and left.
Outside the shop, Dumbledore was stroking a snowy owl perched in front of the pet store. Spotting Julian, he asked, "How did it go?"
"I've been measured. Madam Malkin said to return in three hours."
"Excellent. Then now… I believe it is time we find you a wand."
Julian's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir."
Dumbledore led him down the twisting street, stopping before one of the oldest-looking shops on the lane. Its gold sign was so faded it was nearly unreadable, though the words could still just be made out:
Ollivander: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
In the single dusty window rested one lonely wand.
Julian's eyes narrowed. This shop looks truly ancient.