Dumbledore blinked when he heard Charlie's words, not quite following what the boy was getting at.
"I've already got some Galleons saved up," Charlie explained, "but I want Pounds."
"Professor, Galleons can buy plenty of incredible things in the wizarding world, but there are some things you can only get with Pounds."
"I understand," Dumbledore said. "You want to exchange your Galleons for Pounds. Is that right?"
Charlie nodded. "Yeah. Exactly."
Charlie had never understood why Harry, who had vaults full of Galleons, still lived like he was scraping by every time he went back to Privet Drive. He wasn't saying Harry should blow it all, but at least use some of it to make his life a little less miserable—decent clothes, better living conditions, something.
Maybe Harry just hadn't thought that far ahead?
Well, Charlie didn't care what Harry thought. He sure as hell wasn't going to end up in that situation.
Dumbledore nodded. "Every year plenty of students bring Pounds to Gringotts to exchange for Galleons. Those Pounds get converted into gold by Gringotts' specialists."
Charlie remembered his own exchange in Diagon Alley. Gold was the bridge between the two currencies. Hogwarts students even got a special rate—five Pounds to one Galleon, up to thirty Galleons total.
Charlie tilted his head. "Professor, if it's five Pounds to one Galleon, who covers the difference? Hogwarts?"
"Cover it?" Dumbledore shook his head and took a sip of tea. Charlie glanced over—the liquid looked thick as syrup.
A moment later Dumbledore set the cup down with clear satisfaction and explained, "No need. Hogwarts receives generous sponsorships every year—from organizations across the British wizarding world and from private donors.
The Ministry, Gringotts itself, the Wizengamot, international magical groups… plenty of them contribute.
The school represents the future of our world. People are always willing to invest in the future.
Gringotts' special student rate is one of their ways of giving back."
"Really?" Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Those goblins actually care about the future of wizardkind?"
Dumbledore only smiled and didn't elaborate.
Charlie looked at that smile and somehow knew the real answer: Even if they hate it, they still have to pay up.
This was the first time he'd realized Hogwarts ran on sponsorship money.
Made sense, though. No tuition, no room and board, no meal fees—where else was the money supposed to come from?
"If you've read A History of Hogwarts, you'd know that centuries ago the school still had connections to Muggle nobility," Dumbledore added. "They used to sponsor us as well."
"If Hermione were here I'd probably already know that," Charlie muttered.
Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. "Back to business. If you want to exchange Galleons for Pounds, I'm sure Gringotts will be happy to oblige.
They'll be buying gold with those Pounds, after all, and gold prices in the Muggle world fluctuate. There's always a spread.
I'll write them a letter and try to secure you the best rate possible."
"Really?!" Charlie stood up, eyes bright. Having Dumbledore write on his behalf was a whole different ballgame from walking into Gringotts himself.
"It's the least I can do. Consider it thanks for letting me know about Quirrell clearing out your Moonlight stock."
Charlie didn't argue. He simply reached into his pouch and pulled out sixty Galleons. "Let's start with this much, Professor."
Dumbledore gave a casual flick of his fingers. The sixty coins vanished into thin air.
Charlie stared for a second, then waved. "See you, Professor. See you, Fawkes."
Fawkes answered with a soft, bright trill.
Once Charlie was gone, Dumbledore pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, wrote a short, precise note, sealed it, and handed it to Fawkes.
Fawkes wasn't delivering it personally, of course—he simply carried it to the Owlery.
The phoenix took the envelope, burst into flames, and vanished from the office with a sharp whoosh.
Dumbledore watched the empty space where Fawkes had disappeared, blinking thoughtfully. Direct Apparition? This little one really cares about Charlie's request—
The next afternoon.
Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley, London.
In a lavish private office behind the grand marble hall.
A short, stout goblin in an outrageously flashy robe, heavy jeweled rings glittering on his right hand, unfolded the letter from Hogwarts.
After reading it, his fingers tightened until the parchment crumpled. His teeth ground together.
"Exchange Galleons for Pounds? Does this little brat think we're his personal backup vault?"
"Which little brat?" Across from him, another goblin lounged on a sofa with a cigar clamped in his right hand.
"Dumbledore!" the flashy goblin snapped.
The cigar goblin paused, clearly surprised.
—
Well, from a goblin's perspective, Dumbledore was still practically a kid.
Even so, he hadn't expected to hear anyone refer to the Headmaster that way. It felt almost disrespectful.
"Hope you wouldn't say that to his face."
The flashy goblin gave his friend a look like he was slow. "Who would be stupid enough to do that?"
He wouldn't say it to Dumbledore's face, but behind his back? Why the hell not?
He tossed the envelope across the desk.
The cigar goblin caught it and glanced at the letter.
Dumbledore had explained his private request and asked Gringotts for the best possible exchange rate.
While the cigar goblin read, the flashy goblin had already started drafting his reply.
"Dear Dumbledore, according to the contract between Hogwarts and Gringotts, we are willing to exchange at the standard rate of five Pounds per Galleon."
"Hey!" The cigar goblin cut him off immediately.
"Are you insane? Dumbledore made it very clear—this is a private request.
It has nothing to do with our contract with the school."
The flashy goblin looked up. "Then what rate do you suggest we offer him?
We give ordinary Muggle-born wizards five to one. Should we give him ten to one?
What, you want to hand him free money out of the goodness of your heart?"
The cigar goblin sighed. After a long moment he said quietly, "Whether you like it or not, the truth is that when he took the time to write this letter, he was already showing considerable good faith."
The flashy goblin exploded. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? He could've just taken what he wanted by force, but he wrote a polite letter first. That's good faith to you?"
The cigar goblin looked up at his partner, who was now standing in anger, and slowly nodded.