Having traversed the alleyway, Cassius made his way up the simple flight of steps to the front of the sole wizarding bank in Britain.
Gringotts, an institution run by goblins and the sole hub of the wizarding economy within Britain, a responsibility granted to goblinkind following the last of the goblin rebellions, with goblins getting to play a larger role in the wizarding community and in return the ministry received a signed guarenteed to prevent further uprisings from occuring so long as the terms of the treaty were adhered to.
Gringotts wasn't solely a goblin bank however, goblin owned and goblin run perhaps, but many witches and wizards also work for the bank, primarily being cursebreakers, trapmasters, and security forces all meant to deter thieves and protect the fortunes in which they were meant to protect.
Inside, the air shifted.
The chatter of Diagon Alley dulled into the heavy hush of money.
The ceiling soared impossibly high, every beam and arch dripping with ironwork shaped like claws.
Polished stone floors reflected light from crystal chandeliers, though the crystals themselves seemed to pulse faintly, as if they weren't entirely inert.
At the far end stretched a hall of desks — no, not desks, but high perches.
They rose above the floor like cliffs, their polished wood and brass fittings exaggerated in height so that goblins could sit in chairs taller than a grown wizard.
From their vantage point, they looked down on their clients.
The symmetry amused Cassius.
Wizards had ruled goblins with wands and edicts; here, goblins ruled wizards with ledgers and economic laws.
He slipped into the queue.
Witches and wizards bustled before and behind, parchment clutched in nervous fingers, jingling pouches slung over shoulders.
Many were families: fathers adjusting glasses, mothers clutching lists, children whispering about broom models or potions kits.
The air reeked faintly of ink, gold, and candle smoke.
Cassius folded his hands behind his back, expression cool.
From where he stood, he could watch the goblins dip their quills in iron-black ink, their hands quick and precise, not wasting a single stroke.
Not a single wizard here looked directly at them — not really.
They came to deposit, to withdraw, to appease necessity.
Not one seemed to remember this was their master's house.
And Cassius, all of four years old, smirked at the thought.
When his turn came, he stepped forward, chin tilted, his noble clothes granting him a presence most children lacked.
The goblin teller before didnt even raise his head, not that doing so would do him any good since thanks to the height of the desk, and Cassius's current diminuitive size he was invisible, reaching for the next parchment stamp instead.
Cassius drew in a breath and let his tongue shape the harsh, angular syllables that had no place in a wizard's mouth.
"Agneddi," he said softly, yet clearly. "May you have fortune in your endeavours."
The sound cut across the hall like a blade.
Every goblin within earshot froze.
Quills halted mid-stroke.
Ledgers remained half-closed.
Even the scratching of parchment stilled as though the ink itself had been startled.
The teller blinked, then slowly rose from his chair.
He placed one clawed hand on the polished desk and pulled himself higher, standing atop the chair to peer over the lip of the desk at the boy who dared speak in the old tongue.
His eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers.
"And to you as well, young sir," the goblin answered at last, voice roughened but… warm.
Gasps rippled through the queue behind Cassius.
Witches and wizards craned their necks, bewildered.
Goblins did not bless customers.
They did not offer fortune, nor did they respond with civility.
It was unheard of.
They simply did their jobs and valued the efficiency of getting in doing what needed to be done and getting a move on to the next job.
But for Cassius who had read into numerous Harry Potter fanfictions in his free time during his other life, he knew this was simply frustration may manifest by the goblins who were never respected by the wizarding community.
The teller's gaze lingered, weighing him as if Cassius were some coin to be tested for forgery.
Then the goblin nodded, a curt motion, but unmistakably respectful.
The single sharp word spoke was not in any human language but instead the goblinspeak of Gobbledegook.
Cassius allowed himself a small smile.
The meaning of the word was complelty lost to wizard kind, but it was akin to greeting an Arabic person with "Salam alaikum" culturalry this was a sign of mutual respect, follow that up with a desire to see the other suceed at business, and boom you've found yourself in a goblins backpocket.
The air remained taut with shock as Cassius plucked one of the two shoeboxes from his backpack.
He opened it to take out a brick of crisp fresh from the muggle bank British pounds, but there was the unmistakable clink of metals rubbing against one another from the bag upon his back that caused the tellers long ears to twitch.
"I am here," Cassius said crisply, "to convert Muggle currency into galleons. And to open a new vault."
The teller tilted his head, teeth flashing faintly in the lamplight.
His long fingers brushed the edge of the desk, drawing out the moment, and building up tension.
The goblin glanced once more at the boy, then to the paper money held in hand before scowling slightly, but sitting back and drawing up a bell and ringing it thricely.
Behind Cassius, someone muttered — "Merlin's beard, what is going on?" — but no one dared speak louder.
"Very well," the goblin replied at last. "You will follow the procedure. There of course is a limit to the conversion amount, as im sure you're aware?"
His lips curved into something not quite a smile.
Cassius inclined his head, every movement measured.
"Understood there won't be a problem."
The goblin's eyes gleamed at that, respect deepening.
All magical creatures and beings were deserved respect and Cassius would be one to give it to them, and one day demand the world followed in his wake.
A new goblin sauntered over having been called by the ringing bell.
Without a word spoken he just waved his hand in a 'follow me' gesture, leading Cassius away from the main line and towards a row of wooden doors, most likely leading to meeting rooms or private quarters to discuss business and contracts related to the bank while protecting the customers privacy.