Tom led Chris through the pub's back door, his weathered hand pushing against worn wood that seemed to sigh as it opened. The brightness of the morning made Chris squint as they stepped into a small courtyard enclosed by brick walls spotted with moss and age. Compared to the dim mystique of the Leaky Cauldron's interior, this space felt disappointingly ordinary, just a cramped square with a trash bin and weeds poking through cracks in the concrete. Chris glanced at Tom, wondering if this was some kind of joke.
"Not much to look at, is it?" Tom chuckled, noticing Chris's expression fall. "That's the point, lad. Magic's best kept secrets often hide behind the most unassuming doors."
Chris nodded, trying to mask his momentary disappointment. The courtyard was nothing like the vibrant magical world he'd been anticipating. Brick walls rose on all sides, trapping them in what felt like a dead end. A few birds chirped overhead, oblivious to the transformation about to take place.
Tom approached the wall opposite the door, his fingers drumming against the bricks with familiar confidence. "Now, pay attention," he instructed, raising a gnarled wand that had appeared from his sleeve like a magician's trick. "From the bin, three up..." he counted, tapping a brick above eye level, "and two across." The wand connected with a brick that looked no different from its neighbours.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the brick quivered as if suddenly alive. It wiggled like a loose tooth, a small dot of light appearing in its center. The light spread, the brick receding into itself. Next to it, another brick began to move, then another, creating a ripple effect across the wall.
"Magic," Chris whispered, his eyes wide with wonder as the bricks folded and twisted away from each other like interlocking puzzle pieces, revealing glimpses of colour and movement beyond.
The bricks continued their dance, folding back with precision to form a large archway. The transformation seemed both deliberate and joyful, as if the wall had been waiting all day for someone to ask it to perform. Within seconds, what had been solid brick became an elegant arch, framing a cobblestone street that stretched into the distance, alive with activity and colour.
"There you have it," Tom announced with the satisfaction of someone who had just revealed their favourite magic trick. "Diagon Alley."
Chris stood transfixed, his breath caught in his throat. The street beyond the archway pulsed with life, shops with crooked signs and window displays full of items he'd only dreamed about, witches and wizards in robes of every hue moving purposefully between them. The air itself seemed different, charged with a vibrant energy that made his skin tingle.
"Go on then," Tom encouraged with a gentle push to Chris's shoulder. "Best part of my job is seeing the look on faces like yours." His toothless grin widened with delight. "I've got to get back to the pub, but you've got a whole world waiting for you out there."
Chris tried to thank him, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he possibly express gratitude for this moment, this gateway to everything he'd been given a second chance to experience?
"Thank you," he finally managed, the words feeling wholly inadequate.
Tom waved him off, already retreating toward the pub door. "Make the most of it, lad. And if you need a room again tonight, you know where to find me."
Left alone at the threshold of two worlds, Chris hesitated. The archway framed Diagon Alley like a living painting, inviting him to step through. Behind him lay the Muggle world, ordinary, predictable, devoid of magic. Before him stretched the impossible made real.
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering faces from his past life, his wife's smile, his children's laughter. The pain was still there, a dull ache beneath his ribs, but it felt different now, tempered by the promise of this new beginning. They would have wanted him to embrace this chance.
With a deep breath, Chris stepped through the archway.
The sensory assault was immediate and overwhelming. Sounds crashed over him in waves, merchants calling their wares, the hoot of owls, children squealing with delight, the clinking of strange coins changing hands. Smells wove through the air, herbs and spices from the apothecary, the sugary sweetness of ice cream, the mustiness of old books, and something distinctly magical that tingled in his nostrils.
The street itself seemed to bend and curve, revealing new wonders with each step. Shop windows glinted in the sunlight, displaying objects that defied physics, self-stirring cauldrons, broomsticks that hovered without support, quills that danced across parchment without being touched. Colours appeared more vibrant here, as if the saturation had been turned up on reality itself.
Chris moved forward in a daze, nearly colliding with a witch who carried a stack of books that occasionally snapped at each other. He mumbled an apology, feeling like a ship adrift in unfamiliar waters.
"Watch yourself, dear," she called over her shoulder, not unkindly. "First time in the Alley?"
He nodded, unable to find words.
"It gets easier," she assured him with a knowing smile before disappearing into the crowd.
Chris stood in the middle of the street, letting the flow of people part around him like a river around a stone. In his previous life, he had been a father, a husband, a man defined by his relationships and responsibilities. That man had ended his life in grief and despair. But here, in this moment, he was reborn, not just into a new body, but into a world where impossible things happened every day.
He looked down at his hands, small, young, but thrumming with potential. In this life, he would be more than just Christopher. He would be a wizard, the heir of Merlin, a boy with the power to reshape his destiny. The heavy weight of his past memories would always be with him, but now they were balanced by the lightness of possibility.
For the first time since awakening in the Leaky Cauldron, Chris smiled without reservation. The sorrow hadn't vanished, but it had made room for something new. Something like hope.
Chris let his feet carry him forward, each step on the uneven cobblestones a reminder that this world existed beyond imagination. The street curved gently ahead, revealing its treasures gradually, like a river of magic unwinding before him. Children darted between adults, their laughter punctuating the morning air, while shopkeepers arranged displays with casual flicks of their wands. Chris felt both ancient and newborn, a mind that remembered death housed in a body that hadn't yet seen twelve winters.
A cluster of young boys, not much different in age from his current form, had gathered outside a shop window, their bodies pressed against the glass like magnets. Their excited chatter spilled into the street.
"The new Nimbus Two Thousand!" one exclaimed, his finger leaving a smudge on the glass. "It's the fastest model yet!"
"My dad says it can go from zero to sixty in under four seconds," another replied, his voice cracking with excitement.
Chris squeezed past them to catch a glimpse of what had captured their attention. The broomstick in the display floated at a perfect horizontal angle, its polished handle gleaming under magical spotlights that followed its every subtle movement. A small placard beside it proclaimed: "The Nimbus 2000 – Racing Perfection."
The sight triggered something in Chris, not quite nostalgia, but recognition. He'd known about the Nimbus 2000, but seeing it in person sent a strange thrill through him. The line between fiction and reality blurred further.
Moving on, he passed a shop with dried herbs and animal parts hanging in its windows. The sign above read "Slug & Jiggers Apothecary" in faded gold lettering. Just outside, a plump witch in emerald robes was engaged in fierce negotiations with a wizened shopkeeper.
"Sixteen Sickles for dragon liver? Highway robbery!" she declared, waving a gnarled finger. "It was fourteen last month, and the quality hasn't improved a bit."
The shopkeeper shrugged, his expression weary from what was clearly a regular exchange. "Supply and demand, Madam. The Welsh Green population is protected now. Makes harvesting more complicated."
"Supply and demand," she mimicked, her tone acidic. "More like greed and gouging. Fourteen Sickles and three Knuts, final offer."
Chris lingered just long enough to see the shopkeeper sigh and begin wrapping the glistening, dark red organ in brown paper. The haggling dance was strangely comforting in its ordinariness, magic might change the merchandise, but commerce remained familiar across worlds.
A symphony of hoots and screeches drew his attention next. Eeylops Owl Emporium stood across the street, its entrance framed by ornate perches where owls of every size and colour preened their feathers. Some dozed with their heads tucked under wings, while others fixed passers-by with unnervingly intelligent stares. A majestic eagle owl spread its wings suddenly, the span impressive enough to make a nearby witch duck unnecessarily.
Chris paused, watching the birds with fascination. In his previous life, owls had been just birds, beautiful, certainly, but ordinary wildlife. Here, they were messengers, companions, symbols of the wizarding world's connection to nature and magic. As he watched, a small boy emerged from the shop with a cage containing a tiny scops owl, his face alight with the joy of a first pet.
"What will you name her?" the boy's father asked.
"Archimedes," the child declared without hesitation. "Like in the book about King Arthur."
The casual reference to Arthurian legend made Chris smile. If they only knew that King Arthur's friend, Merlin, that his descendant stood before them.
A small crowd had gathered up ahead, their appreciative "oohs" and "aahs" suggesting something worth seeing. Chris edged closer, finding a spot where he could peer between shoulders. In the center of the circle, a tall wizard in midnight-blue robes juggled what appeared to be ordinary balls of fire, until they changed colour mid-arc, shifting from orange to purple to emerald green with each toss.
"Watch closely," the performer announced, his voice melodious and carrying. "For what goes up..." He tossed the flames higher, where they seemed to pause at the apex of their journey. "...must come down transformed!"
When the flames descended, they were no longer fire but butterflies, iridescent and trailing sparks as they fluttered above the delighted audience. Children reached up, trying to touch the magical creatures before they dissolved into shimmering dust.
Chris applauded with the rest, though his mind was working on a different level. He could feel the magic in the air, could almost see how the spell was constructed. This wasn't just entertainment to him; it was a promise of what he might learn to do himself.
As the crowd dispersed, the full length of Diagon Alley opened before him. Shops lined both sides of the winding street, each more fascinating than the last. Flourish and Blotts with its towering bookshelves visible through the windows; Ollivanders, narrow and shabby yet emanating an ancient power; Madam Malkin's with robes of every colour spinning gently on enchanted mannequins.
But dominating the skyline, impossible to miss at the street's end, stood Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Snowy white and imposing, it towered over the neighbouring shops with an air of permanence and authority. Burnished bronze doors gleamed in the sunlight, and even from this distance, Chris could make out the small figures of goblin guards flanking the entrance.
His heart quickened its pace. This wasn't just another marvel to observe, this was his destination. Beyond those doors lay proof of who he truly was in this world, the inheritance that would give him power and freedom few could imagine.
Chris's fingers brushed against the pouch in his pocket, the coins inside a mere fraction of what awaited him. The One Above All had promised him three wishes: strength, safety, and happiness. Gringotts held the key to at least two of those.
He quickened his pace, weaving through the crowds with new purpose. The wonder of Diagon Alley remained, but it was now tempered with determination. He wasn't just a tourist in this magical world; he was its rightful heir, returned to claim what was his.
As he drew closer to the bank, Chris could see the goblins more clearly, shorter than humans but formidable with their clever eyes and formal attire. They watched the street with expressions of perpetual suspicion, their long fingers occasionally adjusting their scarlet and gold uniforms.
This was it, the first real step toward embracing his new identity. Inside those marble walls, he would discover the full extent of his inheritance as Merlin's descendant. The knowledge sent a thrill of anticipation through him, dispelling any lingering disbelief.
He was Christopher Emrys Ambrosia, and he had come to claim his birthright.
The warning engraved above Gringotts' burnished bronze doors gave Chris pause, not from fear but appreciation. The silver words gleamed with menace: "Enter, stranger, but take heed of what awaits the sin of greed, for those who take, but do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn." A smile tugged at his lips as he considered the irony, the very bank that prided itself on security would one day be breached by a stuttering professor with Voldemort attached to the back of his head and, later, by three teenagers riding a blind dragon through the roof.
"Impressive security," he murmured to himself, amused at knowing things no eleven-year-old should. "Until it isn't."
He passed between two goblins stationed outside, each wearing uniforms of scarlet and gold, each regarding him with eyes that missed nothing. Their fingers rested casually on what Chris suspected were concealed weapons. Neither spoke as he entered, but he felt their evaluating gazes follow him through the first set of doors.
Beyond lay a second pair of doors, silver this time, with their own poetic warning. Chris hardly glanced at them, too eager to see what lay beyond. As these doors swung open, the vastness of Gringotts' main hall stretched before him, somehow larger than the building appeared from outside, magic bending the rules of space.
The marble floor gleamed impossibly white, polished to mirror-like perfection despite the constant foot traffic. Rows of high counters ran the length of the hall, behind which sat at least a hundred goblins. Some weighed coins on brass scales, their long fingers deftly sorting gold, silver, and bronze. Others examined gems through eyeglasses that magnified their already keen eyes to insect-like proportions. The scratch of quills on parchment created a constant background noise, like industrious insects working through the night.
Witches and wizards stood in lines before the counters, some looking impatient, others intimidated. A witch in elegant purple robes handed over a tiny golden key to a goblin, who examined it with exaggerated suspicion. Nearby, a harried-looking wizard counted out coins from a leather purse while a goblin watched with undisguised disdain.
Chris approached an available teller, a goblin with a particularly long nose and ears that tapered to sharp points. His desk nameplate read 'Gornuk' in precise engraving. The goblin didn't look up from his ledger until Chris cleared his throat.
"Yes?" Gornuk asked, his tone suggesting that whatever Chris wanted was already too much trouble.
"I'd like an inheritance test, please," Chris said, keeping his voice steady and polite.
The goblin's eyes narrowed slightly, his quill pausing mid-calculation. "An inheritance test?" He set down his quill and pointed to a sign on the counter listing various Gringotts services and their fees. "Five Galleons. Gold only."
Chris nodded, reaching into his pouch to count out the coins. He placed them on the counter, the gold catching the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Gornuk swept the coins into a drawer with practiced efficiency. "Name?"
"Christopher," he replied, deliberately omitting his surname. Let the test reveal that particular surprise.
The goblin's mouth twisted, but he didn't press further. "Follow me," he instructed, sliding off his high stool and coming around the counter. He barely reached Chris's chest in height, but there was nothing diminutive about his presence.
Gornuk led him away from the main hall, through a door nearly hidden in the marble walls, and into a network of corridors that seemed to shift and rearrange themselves. The temperature dropped noticeably, and the smooth marble gave way to rough-hewn stone that sparkled with embedded minerals. Torches in iron brackets cast dancing shadows that sometimes moved independently of the flames.
They passed several closed doors marked with runes that pulsed with faint blue light. Chris tried to decipher them, but found they slipped from his understanding like water through fingers.
"In here," Gornuk said finally, stopping before a door that looked identical to the others. He pressed his palm against it, and the wood shimmered before swinging inward.
The testing chamber was small and circular, with a stone table at its center. Unlike the opulent main hall, this room felt ancient and raw, closer to the heart of goblin magic. Runes were carved into the floor in concentric circles, and the air smelled of metal and what he could only describe as old power.
"Sit," Gornuk instructed, gesturing to a chair at the table.
Chris obeyed, watching as the goblin retrieved a shallow stone bowl from a shelf. The bowl was etched with more runes, these glowing faintly red. Gornuk placed it on the table before Chris.
"Three drops of blood," he explained, producing a small, wickedly sharp silver knife. "Into the bowl."
Chris took the knife, its handle cold against his palm. He pricked his index finger without hesitation, a small pain compared to what he'd endured in his previous life. Three drops of blood fell into the bowl, each landing with a hiss that echoed oddly in the small chamber. The cut sealed itself immediately, leaving no mark.
The runes on the bowl flared to life, glowing bright red, then blue, then a startling white that lit the room like lightning. The blood began to move, swirling of its own accord until it transformed into dark ink. A quill that had been resting beside the bowl rose into the air, dipping itself into the transformed blood-ink.
A piece of parchment appeared beside the bowl, and the quill began to write. The scratching sound filled the room as words materialized on the page, golden and shimmering:
*Christopher Emrys Ambrosia*
*Last Descendant of Merlin Ambrosia, House of Ambrosia*
*Heir to:*
*- Ambrosia Manor*
*- Private Ambrosia Island*
*- Gringotts Vault Number 1*
*- Multiple investments in both Magical and Muggle worlds*
*- Ancient alliances with the Goblin Nation, Centaurs, High Elves, and Merpeople*
Chris stared at the words, feeling a strange combination of vindication and disbelief. Seeing it written made it real in a way that even the letter from The One Above All hadn't.
He looked up to find Gornuk staring at the parchment, his eyes wide and his usual composure shattered. The goblin's mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to speak.
"You... you are the heir of Merlin?" he finally whispered, his voice holding a reverence Chris hadn't thought possible from a goblin.
Chris nodded, trying to appear appropriately solemn while suppressing a surge of excitement. "It seems so."
Gornuk suddenly stood straighter, smoothing down his jacket with trembling hands. "I must, Chief Ragnok will, wait here." He snatched up the parchment and scurried from the room, leaving the door slightly ajar in his haste.
Alone in the testing chamber, Chris allowed himself a moment of triumph. He traced the runes on the bowl with his finger, feeling the residual magic tingle against his skin. The plan was unfolding perfectly, each piece falling into place.
Now came the challenge of explaining his sudden appearance in the wizarding world. He needed a story simple enough to be believable, yet complex enough to discourage too many questions. Found by house elves, yes, that would work. Family magic seeking out the last heir. Nothing too elaborate, just enough to satisfy curiosity.
Chris leaned back in his chair, imagining the possibilities that Vault Number 1 might contain. The oldest vault in Gringotts, untouched for a millennium. Even he, with memories of a previous life and knowledge of this world's future, couldn't predict what treasures awaited him.
The sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor brought him back to the present moment. He straightened, composing his features into an expression of innocent bewilderment. Time to meet Chief Ragnok, and with him, the full weight of his inheritance.
The door swung open with deliberate slowness, and the goblin who entered made Gornuk look like a garden-variety pest by comparison. Chief Ragnok stood taller than any goblin Chris had ever seen, his shoulders broader, his presence commanding respect without demanding it. He wore a suit of midnight blue, cut with precision that suggested Giorgio Armani rather than Diagon Alley. His eyes, dark and knowing, fixed on Chris with an intensity that seemed to peel away layers of deception. This wasn't merely a banker, this was a king in his domain.
Behind him, Gornuk scurried in with the parchment, looking like a courtier bearing royal proclamations. Ragnok didn't acknowledge him, his focus unwavering from Chris's face.
"Lord Ambrosia," Ragnok said, his voice deeper than Chris expected, resonant with gravity. He bowed, not the shallow nod of a service provider, but the measured acknowledgment of one power to another. "The House of Ambrosia returns to us after a thousand years."
Chris rose from his chair, inclining his head in return. "Chief Ragnok," he replied, "I'm honored to make your acquaintance."
The goblin leader settled into the chair opposite Chris, his movements fluid despite his stocky build. He placed his hands on the table, fingers spread wide, showing rings on each digit, symbols of authority Chris couldn't begin to interpret.
"You understand," Ragnok began, "that I have questions." His tone was neutral, but his eyes were sharp. "The last of Merlin's line has been unaccounted for. Believed extinct. Yet here you stand, a child, bearing blood that has shaped wizarding history."
Gornuk had taken a position by the wall, still clutching the inheritance parchment like a priceless artifact. The air in the chamber felt heavier, charged with the weight of history and expectation.
Chris settled back into his chair, assuming the posture of someone trying to appear honest rather than defensive. "I was raised in a orphanage," he explained, his voice carefully modulated to sound young but not afraid. "I had no knowledge of my heritage until recently, when family house elves sensed my magical signature reaching maturity. They found me and explained who I was, or at least, what little they could say. They said I needed the family ring before I could know everything."
Ragnok's expression didn't change, but his fingers tapped once against the stone table. "And these house elves? Where are they now?"
"At Ambrosia Manor, I assume," Chris replied with a hint of uncertainty. "They brought me to London but said they needed to prepare the manor for my return. I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron." The lie came easily, though he knew it would need to be reinforced later. He would need to find house elves willing to confirm his story.
Ragnok nodded slowly, as if placing the final piece in a puzzle. "The ancient magic of house-elf bonds would indeed seek out the last heir, especially of a line as powerful as Emrys." He leaned forward slightly. "Your appearance is... fortuitous."
"How so?" Chris asked, genuine curiosity mixing with his calculated performance.
Ragnok's lips curved in what might have been a smile on a human face. "Few wizards remember the alliance between Merlin Ambrosia and the Goblin Nation. Fewer still honour its terms." He gestured to Gornuk, who immediately brought forward the parchment. "Your ancestor was not merely a powerful wizard. He was a bridge-builder, a peacemaker in an age of distrust."
The chief goblin ran a long finger along the line that mentioned the goblin alliance. "When Gringotts was first established, it was Merlin who convinced the wizarding community to entrust their gold to our care. He recognized our skill with metal and magic, our integrity in matters of finance." His voice took on a storyteller's rhythm, rich with history. "In return, the Goblin Nation swore to protect the Ambrosia wealth until the end of days, and to recognize the head of your house as a friend of our people."
Chris felt a genuine thrill at this revelation. The books had never mentioned Merlin's connection to the founding of Gringotts or his alliance with the goblins. This was new knowledge, an advantage he hadn't anticipated.
"I'm honored to inherit such a legacy," he said, and meant it.
Ragnok nodded, seeming satisfied with Chris's response. "Now we must confirm what the blood has already told us." He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small box of dark wood, carved with symbols that shifted subtly as Chris watched. "The Ambrosia Lord Ring has waited for its master's return."
He opened the box with ceremonial slowness. Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay a ring unlike any Chris had seen. It was crafted of what appeared to be goblin silver, wrought in the form of an Eastern dragon coiling around a tree. The dragon's eye was a sapphire that caught the light with unnatural brilliance, seeming to glow from within.
"This ring," Ragnok explained, his voice taking on a formal cadence, "has been in our keeping since your ancestor's passing. It recognizes only the true blood of Merlin Ambrosia. No enchantment, no potion, no deception can fool it."
The goblin's eyes fixed on Chris with new intensity. "I must warn you, young lord. Should you place this ring upon your finger and not be of Merlin's blood, the consequences would be... immediate. And fatal."
Chris felt a genuine flutter of nerves. His blood test had already confirmed his identity, but magic could be unpredictable. What if The One Above All's transformation wasn't complete enough to fool the ring?
Ragnok seemed to read his hesitation. "The test has already confirmed your bloodline," he said, "but the ring is the final arbiter. It will not just verify your blood, but accept you as the Head of House Ambrosia. Are you prepared?"
Taking a steadying breath, Chris nodded. "I am."
Ragnok extended the box. "Then take the ring, Lord Ambrosia, and claim your birthright."
Chris reached out, his hand steady despite the tension coiling in his stomach. The ring felt unusually warm to the touch, as if it had been sitting in sunlight rather than a dark box. He slipped it onto the ring finger of his right hand.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then magic surged through him, a blue light engulfing his hand so bright it made shadows dance across the stone walls. The power was neither painful nor pleasant, simply overwhelming, like standing in the center of a storm that recognized him as its eye.
The ring resized itself to fit perfectly, the dragon seeming to tighten around his finger before settling. The sapphire pulsed once, twice, three times, each glow illuminating the chamber, and then faded to a steady, subtle shimmer.
Ragnok released a breath, satisfaction evident in his posture. "The ring accepts you, Lord Ambrosia. Your claim is true."
Chris flexed his fingers, feeling the comfortable weight of the ring. "What exactly does it do?" he asked, studying the exquisite craftsmanship.
"It serves many purposes," Ragnok explained. "It will tingle when in the presence of poison, protecting you from common assassination methods. It shields your mind from intrusion, what wizards call Legilimency. And it serves as a portkey to all Ambrosia properties, activated by your command and intent."
Chris nodded, already seeing the advantages. Protection from poison would be useful at Hogwarts, especially around certain professors. The shield against Legilimency would keep Dumbledore and Snape from prying into his secrets. And instant transport to safe locations might prove invaluable.
"There is one more matter to discuss," Chris said, his voice dropping slightly. "I'd prefer to keep my full heritage secret, at least until I'm older."
Ragnok tilted his head, waiting for elaboration.
"Register me as Christopher Emrys until I'm fifteen," Chris continued. "The world doesn't need to know the last name Ambrosia yet, or about my seats on the Wizengamot. I'd rather... grow into my responsibilities."
The goblin considered this, stroking his chin. "A wise precaution," he agreed finally. "The wizarding world would not know how to handle the return of Merlin's heir. Better to establish yourself first, build your strength and knowledge."
"Exactly," Chris said, relieved at the goblin's understanding.
"It shall be done as you request, Lord Emrys," Ragnok said, emphasizing the shortened name. "Your heritage will remain between us until you choose to reveal it."
The goblin rose, signalling the end of this part of their meeting. "And now, perhaps you would like to see your vault? The oldest and most secure in Gringotts awaits its master's return."
Chris stood as well, the ring a comforting presence on his finger. "Lead the way, Chief Ragnok. I'm eager to see what a thousand years of goblin security has kept safe.
Ragnok led Chris through winding marble corridors that gradually narrowed and descended, transforming from the polished opulence of the bank's public spaces to rougher, more ancient passages. The temperature dropped with each turn, the air growing heavier with an earthy dampness that spoke of great depths and old magic. When they reached a small landing cut into the stone, Chris spotted a metal cart perched on a thin track that disappeared into darkness. It looked absurdly fragile compared to the solid craftsmanship he'd seen throughout Gringotts, its wheels and frame appearing almost skeletal in the dim light.
"The carts have remained unchanged for centuries," Ragnok explained, noticing Chris's dubious expression. "Sometimes the oldest magic is the most reliable."
The goblin climbed in with surprising agility, settling into the front of the cart and gesturing for Chris to join him. Chris hesitated only a moment before stepping in, the metal groaning slightly under his weight. The bench was hard and cold against his legs, and he found himself gripping the sides instinctively.
"You may wish to hold tight, Lord Emrys," Ragnok advised, a hint of what might have been amusement coloring his voice. "The journey to the oldest vaults is... invigorating."
Before Chris could ask what that meant, the cart lurched forward with a sudden jerk that nearly snapped his head back. They plunged into the tunnel at a speed that seemed impossible, the wind whipping his white-blue hair as they hurtled downward. The track twisted and turned without warning, each corner taken at what felt like the edge of disaster. Despite his adult mind, Chris couldn't help the childish whoop that escaped him as they dropped into a near-vertical dive.
Torches flashed past, illuminating glimpses of other tunnels, other tracks, the entire underground a labyrinth of paths that seemed to defy logic and physics. Chris's stomach lurched with each turn, a roller coaster sensation that felt both terrifying and thrilling, so unlike the mundane experiences of his previous life. The cart rattled and shook, but Ragnok sat unperturbed, as if they were taking a leisurely stroll rather than plummeting through the bowels of the earth.
They flashed past vault after vault, the numbers blurring with their speed. Seven hundred, six hundred, five hundred—descending not just physically but numerically, heading toward the first vaults ever created. The air grew colder, the darkness between the torches longer, the magic in the walls more palpable.
Without warning, the cart swerved around a corner and Chris found himself face to face with a sight that stopped his breath. A massive dragon, its scales a deep crimson that caught the torchlight like fresh blood, lay chained to the stone floor of a vast cavern. The beast's head swung toward them, nostrils flaring, and a growl like distant thunder rumbled through the space.
Chris flinched, genuine fear coursing through him. The dragon's eyes fixed on them, ancient and malevolent, filled with a hatred born of captivity and abuse. Heavy chains wrapped around its legs and neck, connected to iron rings embedded in the cavern walls. Its wings, tattered at the edges, shifted restlessly against its body.
"The Ukrainian Ironbelly," Ragnok said calmly as the cart slowed to a more sedate pace. "Guards the high-security vaults. Partially blind from years underground, but no less dangerous for it. The sound of the clattering cart warns it we're authorized personnel."
As if to contest this claim, the dragon opened its massive jaws and released a roar that echoed through the tunnels, the sound vibrating in Chris's chest like a physical force. He pressed himself lower in the cart, sweat breaking out across his forehead despite the chill.
"We must descend further," Ragnok continued, unfazed. "Your vault lies beneath even these."
The cart moved on, leaving the dragon behind, and approached what appeared to be a dead end. Before Chris could question it, the floor beneath them opened, revealing a vertical shaft. The cart transformed smoothly, its wheels retracting as it became an elevator platform. They descended in silence, the only sound the occasional drip of water against stone and the creaking of ancient mechanisms.
"The last vault we passed was ten minutes ago," Chris noted, trying to comprehend the isolation of his family's repository.
"Vault One stands alone," Ragnok replied. "When Gringotts was first established, Merlin insisted his vault be placed deepest, with the most comprehensive protections. 'Build your bank around my treasure,' he told my ancestor, 'and I shall ensure its success for all time.'"
The elevator finally stopped, opening onto a short corridor that ended at a massive steel door. Unlike the other vaults Chris had glimpsed, this one bore no number, only a complex array of runes etched into its surface. As they approached, the runes began to glow with a soft blue light, pulsing gently as if greeting them.
"Place your hand upon the door," Ragnok instructed when they stood before it. "The ring will do the rest."
Chris extended his right hand, the Ambrosia Lord Ring gleaming in the ethereal light of the runes. As his palm touched the cold metal, he felt a sharp prick on his finger. The ring had drawn blood, a single drop that spread across his fingertip before being absorbed by the door itself. The runes flared brilliantly, their color shifting from blue to gold, and a series of clicks and groans emanated from within the door as ancient locking mechanisms disengaged.
Slowly, ponderously, the door swung inward. Light spilled from the vault, not the expected torchlight but something brighter, purer. Chris stepped forward, and what he saw stole his breath more effectively than any dragon.
Gold. Mountains of it. Coins piled in heaps that stretched into darkness, some stacks towering higher than he stood. Gems scattered among the gold caught the light, winking like stars. Silver, platinum, and metals he couldn't name formed smaller piles, organized with meticulous precision. Chests lined the walls, their contents unknown but clearly valuable enough to merit such protection.
"The Ambrosia fortune," Ragnok said quietly. "Untouched for a millennium, save for the interest payments and investments managed by Gringotts. You are, without question, the wealthiest individual in the wizarding world, Lord Emrys."
Chris tried to speak, but words failed him. He had expected wealth, yes, but this... this was beyond imagination. Nations could be bought with what lay before him. Wars funded. Empires built.
"There is more than gold here," Ragnok continued, gesturing toward a simple pedestal at the center of the vault. "Merlin's grimoire awaits its heir."
Chris approached the pedestal, drawn by an instinct he couldn't name. Upon it rested a book, ancient yet perfectly preserved, its cover crafted from some material that seemed to shift between leather and metal depending on how the light struck it. Symbols similar to those on the door decorated its surface, forming patterns that moved subtly as he watched.
When his fingers touched the cover, the grimoire shimmered and began to shrink, collapsing in on itself until it was no larger than a locket. A fine silver chain materialized, threading through an eyelet that had formed at its top. Without conscious thought, Chris lifted the chain and placed it around his neck. The miniature book settled against his chest, warm and somehow comforting, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
"The grimoire contains knowledge Merlin deemed too valuable to leave behind," Ragnok explained. "It will reveal its secrets only to you, when you are ready."
The goblin then produced a small pouch of dark leather, offering it to Chris with a formal bow. "This is bound to your blood and to this vault. It bears anti-summoning charms and a Notice-Me-Not enchantment. None but you can open it or take it from you."
Chris accepted the pouch, turning it over in his hands. It seemed ordinary enough, but he could feel the magic woven into its fibres. "How does it work?" he asked.
"Simply think of an amount you wish to withdraw, and it will appear inside," Ragnok answered. "Within reason, of course. The magic has limits for your protection."
Testing this, Chris closed his eyes and pictured ten gold Galleons. When he opened the pouch, the coins lay inside, gleaming as if freshly minted. He smiled, delighted by the practicality of such magic.
An hour later, they sat in Ragnok's office once more, finalizing the details of Chris's inheritance. The goblin chief slid a parchment across his desk, covered in legal terminology regarding property ownership.
"Ambrosia Island has been under a Fidelius Charm since Merlin's time," Ragnok explained. "With your claiming of the ring, you have automatically become the Secret Keeper. None can find the island without you revealing its location to them."
Chris feigned confusion. "Fidelius Charm? I'm not familiar with that term."
Ragnok regarded him thoughtfully. "It is complex magic that conceals a location within a living soul. The island cannot be found, even if someone were standing on its shores, unless you willingly share the secret. It is among the strongest protections in existence."
Chris nodded, filing this explanation away while pretending it was new information. "That will certainly keep unwanted visitors away. But what about my mail? If no one can find me..."
"Gringotts can redirect your correspondence," Ragnok offered. "For a modest fee, of course. Owls would deliver to us, and we would forward them to you."
"Perfect," Chris agreed, signing the parchment with a flourish. The business concluded, Ragnok rose from his chair.
"Your ring will transport you to any Ambrosia property," the goblin explained. "Simply touch it, think of your destination, and speak the command word 'Home.' The sensation is... unpleasant for first-time users, so I suggest bracing yourself."
Chris stood, extending his hand to Ragnok. "Thank you for everything, Chief Ragnok. I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship between House Ambrosia and the Goblin Nation."
The goblin clasped his hand firmly. "As do I, Lord Emrys."
Chris touched the ring with his opposite hand, focusing his thoughts on Ambrosia Manor, a place he had never seen but somehow felt he knew. "Home," he said clearly.
The hook behind his navel seized him instantly, yanking him into a swirling vortex of color and sound. Gringotts disappeared, and with it, the beginning of his journey ended as the next chapter began.