Inside Gringotts Wizarding Bank, money was both simple and complicated.
The goblin teller squinted at the ledger, his long fingers tapping the counter with impatience. "Each person can only exchange seventy Galleons. But since you're with Professor Dumbledore…" He hesitated, clearly weighing respect for the old wizard against his natural goblin stinginess. "...we can raise the limit to one hundred Galleons. That equals five hundred and five pounds, including a five-pound handling fee."
"So little?" Tom frowned. He turned his head toward Dumbledore, who looked mildly guilty. "Professor Dumbledore just told me it could usually be exchanged for around two hundred Galleons."
The goblin snorted. "That was fifty years ago. Times have changed, boy."
Goblin courtesy was rare, and usually extended only to people who made them richer. The only reason this one was still being polite was because of Dumbledore's presence.
"Muggle money," he explained, "is useless to us. We can't spend all the pounds we exchange each year, so Gringotts strictly limits the amount. Still, don't complain—one hundred Galleons is more than enough for a year at Hogwarts."
"Two hundred Galleons?" The goblin sneered. "Back then, perhaps. But tell me—has your Muggle pound kept its value after all this time?"
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Dumbledore's Embarrassment
"Sorry, Tom," Dumbledore said, shifting awkwardly. "The last time I brought students to Gringotts was more than forty years ago. I… don't keep up with exchange rates."
Tom rolled his eyes. Prices in Britain had skyrocketed in those forty years. To be honest, the goblins were almost generous compared to Muggle inflation.
But Tom was never one to waste an opportunity. He leaned in, his tone careful but persuasive.
"Professor, could you lend me some money?"
Dumbledore raised a snowy eyebrow.
"I don't think one hundred Galleons is enough if I want to buy additional books," Tom explained smoothly. "I can repay you with pounds, or—if you're patient—I can return the money after graduation in Galleons, with interest."
Inside, Tom smirked. He suspected Dumbledore would prefer the second option. After all, if Dumbledore were destined to die before Tom graduated, wouldn't that mean… a free loan?
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The Principal's Generosity
"Muggle money is of no use to me," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "So yes, you may return it after graduation. In fact, I rather look forward to that day."
Tom hid his satisfaction. He'd gambled again—and won.
Dumbledore, always generous with his students, especially those in need, agreed readily. To him, it was only natural to extend a helping hand, especially since the misunderstanding about exchange rates had been his fault.
"Wait here a moment," Dumbledore instructed. "I'll fetch you some money—and take care of a personal matter."
And with that, he disappeared with a goblin guide into the underground vaults.
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A Dangerous Thought
Tom's heart skipped. Personal matter? Could it be the Philosopher's Stone?
He remembered from canon that Hagrid had been tasked with retrieving it. But perhaps his very presence in this world had changed events. Perhaps it was Dumbledore himself who went to collect the Stone.
It was a thrilling thought—but irrelevant for now. With a shake of his head, Tom turned back to the goblin and asked about exchanging gold for Galleons.
The goblin's answer nearly made him faint.
According to Muggle rates, five pounds could buy 0.8 grams of gold. Ten grams of gold equaled one Galleon.
Do the math, and it came to about sixty pounds per Galleon—twelve times more expensive.
Tom grimaced. What kind of scam is this?
Of course, a Galleon wasn't pure gold. It was forged of goblin metal, mixed with who-knew-what arcane materials. But still, the exchange rate was daylight robbery.
His forty-thousand-pound fortune suddenly looked much smaller. Better to earn inside the wizarding world than squander his savings here.
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Eight Hundred Galleons
Half an hour later, Dumbledore returned. He carried a small bag and a key, which he handed to Tom.
"Here are one hundred Galleons," he said kindly. "And I've also rented a vault for you. It contains six hundred more."
He added, "That's one hundred Galleons per year. Plan wisely, Mr. Riddle."
Tom accepted the bag with a smile. "Thank you, Professor. I'll make good use of it."
Inside, he marveled. Eight hundred Galleons! Enough to live comfortably until graduation, as long as he didn't splurge on luxuries like racing brooms or custom robes.
Dumbledore blinked, suddenly feeling that Tom's phrasing was a little odd—your money, not my gift? But he let it go, changing the subject.
"Come. We have much to buy."
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Shopping Spree
They left Gringotts and began the round of shops. Uniforms, textbooks, brass scales, a pewter cauldron, glass phials—it was a whirlwind of errands.
Everywhere they went, shopkeepers greeted Dumbledore warmly and offered discounts. Even so, the bill was staggering.
By the time they finished, Tom's purse was lighter by over forty Galleons. Without discounts, it would have been more than fifty.
And that was before the wand, the most important purchase of all. Once added, the total cost of starting Hogwarts rose to over sixty Galleons.
Tom did the math grimly. The one hundred Galleons in his hand wouldn't stretch far. Thankfully, food and housing were included at Hogwarts, but luxuries like extra books would have to wait.
Well, Tom thought, if Ron Weasley scrapes by on less than one Galleon of pocket money a year, then I'm practically a lord.
Still, he had eyed several enticing books in Flourish and Blotts, each with prices that made his teeth ache. He would buy them gradually, perhaps dipping into the vault funds when Dumbledore wasn't around.
With the old wizard watching, every purchase felt like being examined under a magnifying glass. Tom preferred to keep some ambitions discreet.
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Why No Cheat System?
As they approached the final stop, Tom sighed inwardly. "Why is there no system?"
He'd read enough webnovels in his past life to know how this was supposed to go. Cheat powers, magical interfaces, endless resources. But here? Nothing.
If he wanted power, he had to earn it the hard way—through study, skill, and careful maneuvering.
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Ollivander's Shop
Finally, they pushed open the door to a narrow, dusty shop. The air smelled of polished wood and faint magic. Tom instinctively held his breath, afraid the drifting dust might invade his lungs.
"Ah, what a rare visitor, Albus."
A soft, reedy voice came from between towering shelves stacked with boxes. An old man emerged, his pale eyes gleaming.
"The last time you visited my shop was forty-eight years ago, also in the summer."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Garrick, must you always show off your memory? You make me unbearably jealous."
The wandmaker laughed. "My memory is only for this shop and its wands, my dear friend."
He stepped forward and embraced Dumbledore briefly, then turned his gaze on Tom.
"And who," Ollivander said softly, "is this lucky young wizard? How fortunate to have Dumbledore as your guide."
Tom stood straight. "Tom," he said. "Tom Riddle."
Silence.
Then—Plop!
Ollivander's knees buckled, and he fell hard to the floor, staring up at the boy in sheer disbelief.
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