Compared to other somewhat shabby shops in Diagon Alley, Gringotts stands out like a splendid beacon. With its gleaming white building and shining bronze doors, it's even more striking with two goblins in bright red and gold uniforms standing guard at the entrance. This grandeur rightfully befits the only official bank in the magical world.
However, the decision-making of wizards is somewhat puzzling; they actually entrust their financial matters to outsiders. Wayne remembered that goblins in history had not been trustworthy—they were greedy and treacherous, having sparked rebellions more than once. They had even coveted Gryffindor's sword. Over a century ago, they attempted to manipulate ancient magic for their own ends and were thwarted by a fifth-year transfer student from Hogwarts.
But these matters were not for Wayne to worry about. If the sky were to fall, there would be a tall person to support it. When he eventually became that tall person, if the goblins stirred up trouble again, they would be crushed with a mere flick of his finger.
Upon entering the first door, a second door appeared in front of McGonagall and Wayne, marked with a warning inscription aimed at would-be troublemakers. Wayne didn't even bother to look at it, stepping into the marble hall. About a hundred goblins sat on high stools behind counters—some weighing coins on brass scales, others examining jewels and recording in ledgers. The hall contained countless doors leading to various places.
McGonagall led Wayne to the rightmost counter.
"This is a new young wizard this year, needing to exchange for Galleons," she informed the goblin.
Her tone toward the goblin lacked warmth; she urged impatiently, and the goblin didn't mind, barely lifting its head as it replied, "Each young wizard has an annual exchange limit of 70 Galleons, with an exchange rate of 1 to 5.75. How much would you like to exchange?"
"Is that all? What good is that?" Wayne frowned.
"In reality, that's already sufficient," McGonagall whispered to him. "After purchasing your necessities, you'll still have ten Galleons left for spending money each year."
McGonagall assumed Wayne was unfamiliar with the currency and purchasing power in the magical world, and began explaining it to him.
"One Galleon equals 17 Sickles, and one Sickle equals 29 Knuts."
Listening to such absurd fractional rates didn't overly surprise Wayne. This type of confusion had long been a tradition in Britain. Before 1971, one pound equaled 12 shillings, and one shilling equaled 20 pence. Those poor in math often found themselves bewildered by these intricate exchange rates.
"Fine, let's just go with seventy," Wayne said, no longer fixated on the amount. He pulled out eight fifty-pound notes and placed them on the tray, followed by a five-pound note for change.
The goblin took the money, gave it a cursory glance, and roughly shoved it into the drawer. It then retrieved a small cloth bag and handed it out through the window.
Once Wayne secured his money, McGonagall said, "Alright, now let's go buy wands and other supplies."
"Uh, Professor McGonagall, I understand you're in a hurry, but please hold on for a moment."
Seeing Wayne was not leaving the counter, the goblin frowned, asking, "You've already exchanged your share for this year; is there something else you need?"
"To access the vault, your assets do not meet the requirement. You must have over five hundred Galleons to apply for a vault," it added.
Wayne set his backpack down and slightly unzipped it to reveal a glimmer of gold.
"Are you sure you want to discuss this here?"
The goblin's eyes widened at the sight; with its eighty-plus years of experience at Gringotts, it knew that dazzling shine could only mean gold!
Its previously indifferent demeanor shifted to enthusiastic hospitality, and the goblin quickly hopped out from behind the counter, bowing and scraping as it led Wayne and McGonagall to a private room.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Several gold bars piled onto the table, and the goblin's breathing became heavy; even Professor McGonagall's eyes went wide in astonishment.
No wonder she thought Wayne's backpack felt heavy; it was filled with gold!
Unlike Muggle currency, gold is hard cash in the wizarding world. It is not only valuable for producing Galleons but also serves as a crucial ingredient for various alchemical processes and potions.
Nicholas Flamel became famous because the Philosopher's Stone he created could grant immortality and turn stone into gold!
Wayne had prepared for both scenarios: if pounds could be exchanged for Galleons without limits, he brought twenty thousand pounds, enough to get four thousand Galleons; if not, he'd simply use gold to make transactions.
After some bargaining, the goblin agreed to buy Wayne's gold bars at a price of five thousand Galleons. Wayne couldn't take all that money with him, so he opened a vault at Gringotts and deposited four thousand eight hundred Galleons, leaving just two hundred and the seventy Galleons he had just exchanged for spending money.
After the transaction, the goblin wore a less-than-satisfied expression.
"Mr. Lawrence, you are a natural financier. Perhaps after graduation, you could come work at Gringotts."
The goblin had hoped to cash in on Wayne's ignorance of the market, but this savvy young wizard, with McGonagall's assistance, left the goblin with little profit.
"If the opportunity arises, I would definitely consider it," Wayne replied, beaming. Working at Gringotts might be possible, but he wanted to be the bank manager!
Only after stepping out of the Gringotts door did Professor McGonagall remark, "Coming into Gringotts with gold… Mr. Lawrence, you're the first young wizard I've met who's done this."
"It's just a bit of family money, nothing remarkable," Wayne replied humbly, omitting any mention of funds won from the system lottery.
As a true aristocrat from the heart of London, the Lawrence family's inheritance was nothing less than astronomical.
To date, sixty percent of London's real estate is in the hands of the monarchy and aristocrats, yielding significant annual rental income.
Even though newspapers now propagate tales of aristocratic decline in this democratic era, claiming opportunity is everywhere, centuries of foundation won't be easily surpassed by a mere decade of hard work.
Oh, with the exception of Ding Zhen.
He doesn't even need hard work!
Next up, it was time to buy wands—not weapons, but magical ones!