Silent Publishing Company sat at Number 18, on the south side of Diagon Alley—its biggest claim to fame being the publication of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander. Well, Hufflepuffs had to look out for each other.
That was Douglas Holmes's destination for the day, but first, he needed to make a stop at Gringotts.
Gringotts—the wizarding bank, run by goblins. In Douglas's experience, it was never quite as secure as the goblins claimed, but there was no real alternative. He couldn't exactly keep a mountain of Galleons under his bed.
His royalties were usually deposited straight into his vault at Gringotts by Mr. Slane.
Unfortunately, even though the bank was only a short walk away, fate had no intention of making things easy for him. It was the start-of-term rush, and the already narrow street was packed to bursting. The crowds reminded Douglas of his very first trip to the magical world, when Professor McGonagall had led him through these same bustling lanes.
A shout jolted him from his reverie. He realized he'd been swept along with the crowd right to the front door of Silent Publishing Company.
There was Mr. Slane, waving and elbowing his way over.
"Oh, Merlin, Douglas! I thought I'd never see you again in this lifetime. Coming to Diagon Alley and not visiting me first—where exactly were you off to?"
Slane's expression was three parts genuine, seven parts mock outrage as he grabbed Douglas by the neck. He valued this fellow Hufflepuff, and their partnership had lasted a solid decade. But aside from his reliable schooldays, Douglas had spent most of his post-graduation years wandering the globe "for inspiration." The owls Slane sent after him either dropped from exhaustion in Egypt, vanished somewhere in the Far East, or—once—nearly got themselves caught in North America. Tracking him down was a nightmare.
When Slane slung an arm around his neck, Douglas managed an awkward smile and quickly cleared his throat.
"Oi! Senior, long time no see! You're positively glowing these days—must be something to celebrate! Let me pop over to Gringotts, grab some Galleons, and treat you to a feast. We'll toast your good fortune!"
Slane eyed him up and down, snorting in disbelief.
"A feast? Where would you find a meal better than what you used to cook up in your private Hogwarts kitchen? The last time I tasted your cooking was right after you graduated. And what good fortune? I just got threatened by one of your fans—sent me a Howler!"
Douglas took the opportunity to slip free, quickly pulling a thick manuscript and a box of pastries from his bag.
"I told you—just toss the fan mail in a spare room and read it when you've got time. If you spot any special ingredients, you can even add them to the menu. Speaking of Hogwarts, I've got good news—I've successfully—"
Before he could finish, Slane had already snatched the bundle from his hands, not even bothering to check what it was.
"Save your good news for later. I've got bad news for you—and it's about you."
Douglas frowned. He rarely visited the magical world—what could possibly have gone wrong?
Slane balanced the papers in one hand and patted Douglas on the shoulder with the other.
"You know Gilderoy Lockhart? The bloke who wrote Travels with Trolls and Magical Me? I mentioned him before."
Hearing that name again, Douglas felt a strange twinge. Sure, he'd taken Lockhart's teaching slot, but they'd never met, so there was no real grudge. Besides, Dumbledore had said Lockhart turned the job down first. And they weren't even signed to the same publisher.
Seeing Douglas's silence, Slane rolled his eyes.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, my dear Mr. Holmes, you really ought to pay more attention to what's happening in British wizarding circles. Lockhart is the golden boy of our old rival—Lumihart Publishing. Today he even held a fan event at Flourish and Blotts. He actually showed off Dumbledore's invitation letter, asking him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts..."
Douglas had been bracing for something truly terrible. Dodging a group of shoppers, he replied, "Don't worry, dear Slane. What I've given you is the latest volume of Master of All Professions—and it's a magical world exclusive. The Muggle edition isn't even started yet..."
Slane didn't hear a word after "latest volume." His eyes went wide, and he clapped Douglas hard on the shoulder.
"Brilliant, lad! Nothing could top this news—unless, of course, you'd finally reveal your real identity as the author. That would be even better..."
He shot a wary glance at the crowd, hugged the manuscript close, and lowered his voice.
"I need to get back and check the next chapters—sorry, I mean, review them—so we can push for publication. And promotion! It's been ages since the last update. This might even boost sales of the earlier books..."
Without another word, he dashed off toward the company building, leaving Douglas to watch his retreating figure with a helpless shrug.
He'd always known that Slane's constant manuscript-chasing was just an excuse to read the new chapters first. After all, magical publishing was hardly fast, and Douglas was considered prolific—three series in ten years, each with about twenty volumes. That was more than enough for the publisher to forgive the occasional year-long break.
With Slane out of earshot, Douglas made his way to Gringotts.
A goblin in scarlet-trimmed gold uniform stood by the bronze doors of the towering, snow-white bank. Douglas was relieved the goblin didn't announce, "Welcome, one guest!"—otherwise, he'd think he'd wandered into a bathhouse.
The goblin led him into a grand marble hall. Though the place was packed, his guide expertly found him a counter with no queue. After confirming his identity, the goblin quickly brought him to his vault.
It was a small vault, but it contained all of Douglas's magical world fortune—about 400,000 Galleons, saved over nearly a decade. There was nothing else of value—no rare alchemical materials, no magical artifacts—unlike the old wizarding families. Douglas was, as he liked to joke, "rich in Galleons, poor in everything else."
Not that he hadn't picked up a few magical odds and ends during his travels, but it was nothing compared to the real old families. Still, the vault wasn't static—every month, Silent Publishing Company transferred a share of royalties here. Meanwhile, his Muggle bank accounts had already topped two million pounds. If he'd been willing to market himself publicly or license merchandise, his fortune would be many times greater.
But enough to live on, enough to eat—that was all he'd ever wanted. Before the System appeared, he'd mastered the art of the lazy transmigrator.
If the System hadn't set a deadline, Douglas figured he could have coasted like that forever.
He withdrew 10,000 Galleons, along with some loose Sickles and Knuts, and followed the goblin back to the surface.
Stepping out through Gringotts' bronze doors, Douglas paused, staring at the bustling street. For a moment, he felt oddly lost.
What had he come to Diagon Alley for again?
Oh, right—Slane had asked to meet. Too bad, once he'd gotten the manuscript, he'd abandoned Douglas without a second thought.
Suddenly, Douglas remembered another place: the Junk Shop.
A treasure trove hidden in plain sight, like the magical world's answer to a black market. He'd found old Hogwarts textbooks and notes from former students there during his school years. Those notes had been a huge help on his magical journey.
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