The moment Duchess stepped into Diagon Alley, it felt like the air had changed—not just the smell, though it did smell different, like parchment and chimney smoke and something sweet and metallic—but the air itself seemed alive, as though it breathed with her. Her sneakers clicked oddly on the cobblestone, and she held tight to her mother’s hand, half in awe, half in nerves. They had just landed in London that morning from California.
Duchess was a tall, half-Vietnamese, half-white eleven-year-old with hair that had always grown in a silvery white with a tint of blue shimmering as if dusted with starlight. Not like the hair of an old woman—it looked enchanted, like something belonging to a magical creature, and people were often left staring in awe. She wore it just past her shoulders, where it bounced in soft, natural curls at the ends.
Her parents often joked she must have been adopted, that her real parents were fairies—but aside from the ethereal hair, she looked unmistakably like them. She had her mother’s heart-shaped face and delicate features, and her full lips mirrored Kim’s exactly. Her bright blue eyes came from her father, Ben. She even had his chin dimple, but her nose was a perfect mix of the two—long like her mother’s, but with the height and structure of her father’s.
Kim stood tall at five foot six, just a shade shorter than Ben, but anyone could tell Duchess would soon outgrow them both.
Her mother had grown quiet since they passed through the Leaky Cauldron, her eyes scanning every crooked window and fluttering sign. Her father, Ben, looked out of place, broad-shouldered in his cat t-shirt, but his eyes twinkled as they always did when they saw something new.
They were looking for Gringotts.
Duchess adjusted the strap on her backpack and turned to the ornate map the Ministry had sent in the welcome packet. It was heavy paper with an enchantment that made the little sketch of Diagon Alley shimmer faintly. The map was mostly plain, except a colorful icon that glowed switching between all the colors imaginable with little explosions coming from it reading, “Weasley’s.” A red dot pulsed where they were. A blue one glowed up the street—Gringotts. The map always knew where you wanted to go.
“There,” she said, pointing past a teetering shop of broomsticks.
And there it was, just like the book had said: a gleaming white marble building that towered over every crooked shop around it. It looked as though it had been jammed into the street by accident, too grand for its neighbors. The steps were wide and shallow, and flanking the doors were two goblins in armor that shimmered like oil.
Inside, the air shifted again.
The lobby stretched long and tall, with crystal chandeliers dripping from a vaulted ceiling that caught the gold light and threw it in soft patterns on the marble floor. Rows and rows of goblins sat behind high counters, quills scratching in ledgers, some counting coins, others examining gems with tiny monocles. Duchess already knew they were goblins—small, sharp-featured, with long fingers and eyes like ink spots—because she’d read about them in the Ministry’s “Muggle-born’s Guide to the Wizarding World.” The packet had arrived the week after the Minister herself came to visit their home in California and told Duchess she was a witch.
“I’m here to exchange currency, please.” A goblin looked up at her.
“Exchange rate is posted,” he said in a gravelly voice.
Kim stepped forward with a large duffle bag full of cash. Fresh bills all 100s and neatly wrapped. It took months for the US mint to get it to her, but she didn’t want to take any chances insulting anyone at the wizarding bank with dirty or old money. They tried to question her about why she needed so much cash in brand new bills. She didn’t know what to say. It was supposed to be a secret. Then one day, all the questions stopped.
“The minister says you will exchange muggle American dollars for me,” she told the goblin and with a thump, lifted the bag onto the counter. It looked like drug money from a movie, but Kim had taken extra care to request uncirculated bills from her own muggle bank. The goblin did not appreciate that. Ben would have had the strength to lift it more easily and not drop it on the counter so hard, but he was distracted staring at the ceiling at the magical succulents that continually bloomed and disappeared only to bloom again.
Hermione had mentioned there were scholarship programs if Duchess needed it. But her parents were well off enough. Her parents owning several businesses between them in Orange County, California.
The goblin accepted them without blinking, he turned to the end of the row of goblins and just gave a short growl. A large man, at least 12-feet tall came, lifted the large bag, emptied it out into a gold box being the goblin and it all the cash quickly flew up the shoot. The man folded the bag as best he could and politely handed it back to Kim with 2 hands.
The goblin returned a small velvet pouch heavy with coins.
“Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts,” he said. “Try not to lose track. Granger told me not to give you too much. She wants you to try that credit wand thing, but you’ll need some in your pocket.” The goblin looked back down as he mumbled to himself, “Bloody mad woman.”
Suddenly, a mining cart pulled up behind the goblin and he stepped down to open the gate next to the counter.
“Step in,” he commanded. “Grimblethorn will take you to your vault.”
She thanked him, a little awkwardly, and stepped behind the counter and into the cart. There wasn’t any room for her parents.
“Witch only,” Grimblethorn growled at them. A little taken aback, they nodded and stepped back.
