The wizards were growing restless. "You can't single us out like that, Mr. Tom! That bloke got his way just fine. Why not us? We've got phone credit too!"
"Exactly," another chimed in. "The Cavendish family can't play favorites!"
"If you can't sort this, fetch Mr. Erwin! He'll set it right."
Old Tom shifted uncomfortably, clearly at a loss. The growing crowd was drawing attention, and now even wizards with ready Galleons in hand were joining the fray, eager to use their phone credit to pay up.
Just then, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
Erwin stepped out, surveying the scene. "What's all this about?"
Old Tom hurried over, whispering the details. "I'm sorry, Master. My mistake—I didn't see it coming."
Erwin's expression hardened. "You're right, Tom. This is on you. How could you let this happen? What built the Cavendish name in the wizarding world? What put this building on the map? Fairness. We treat every wizard the same. We're here to serve them all, not just pick and choose. You can't bend the rules for one without extending the courtesy to the rest."
Old Tom hung his head, silent.
The wizards exchanged glances, a flicker of sympathy crossing their faces. Old Tom had run the family's Diagon Alley operations for years, and most knew him as a decent sort. They hadn't meant to cause real trouble—everyone loved a bit of preferential treatment—but seeing Erwin call him out like this felt off.
One stepped forward. "It's not that bad, Mr. Erwin. We were only asking. Everyone knows the Cavendishes look out for folks like us, not like those stuffy pure-blood clans."
"Yeah!"
"Don't sack old Tom over it. Really, it's nothing."
Erwin huffed. "Fine, for their sakes, Tom—this once. But don't let it slide again. Our roots are with the everyday wizard. They're the heart of what we do. We've come this far because of them."
Tom nodded vigorously, relief washing over him.
The crowd softened, murmuring approval. A few even patted their pockets, tempted to splash their Galleons right there as a show of loyalty.
Erwin turned to them. "My apologies for Tom's slip-up. But this ruckus has got me thinking. Lugging around sacks of Galleons for shopping? It's a nightmare. And if you're queuing at the counter, someone else snags your pickings. So, following Tom's lead, I announce—as head of the Cavendish family—that today, everything in this building can be bought with equivalent phone credit. Consider it our way of making things right."
Cheers erupted. "Brilliant! Mr. Erwin always has our backs!"
"Every call he makes eases life for us lot. What a merchant!"
Erwin kept a straight face, though inwardly he grinned. Perfect—they'd begged for the option themselves. If the truth ever surfaced, the blame wouldn't stick to the Cavendishes. Or him.
As the wizards buzzed toward the shelves for a spending spree, the instigating wizard reappeared, box in hand. He marched to the counter and plonked it down.
Tom blinked. "Sir? Something amiss?"
"I've mulled it over," the wizard said. "Gringotts feels dodgy these days—robbed last year, and goblins will be goblins. I'd rather swap my Galleons for phone credit to use later. But can I cash it back to Galleons if needed? I've got other bills, and I'd convert the lot if possible."
Tom glanced at Erwin.
Erwin feigned thought, then nodded. "Of course. Phone credit works here in the building, and we'll exchange it back to Galleons at face value. Sound fair? Though mind, it's only good with us—other shops won't touch it."
Laughter rippled through the group. Even the wizard chuckled. "Then all in Galleons it is! Five hundred, the lot."
He flipped open the box, revealing a cavernous interior under an Undetectable Extension Charm, brimming with gleaming coins.
Tom set to work counting and processing.
The onlookers watched, eyes narrowing in contemplation. A few slipped away quietly, striding purposefully toward Gringotts.
Erwin lingered by the counter, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he tracked their exits. The trap was sprung. Once wizards tasted the ease of phone credit, they'd be hooked—no going back. And after today, the wizarding economy might just shift gears.
Rita Skeeter, disguised as a beetle but now fluttering nearby in human form for a scoop, snapped a few discreet shots before dipping her head to Erwin in thanks.
He gave a subtle nod. She scurried out.
Erwin smoothed his robes and addressed the room. "Right, that's sorted. I'll leave you to it, but go easy on the staff—Tom especially. The old chap's not as spry as he was. I can't keep dashing down here; I'm a student, remember? Professors are sticklers, and I've got prep for classes. Wouldn't want detention hanging over next term!"
The wizards roared with laughter. "Detention for you? Pull the other one!"
"The youngest Order of Merlin awardee, top of his year at Hogwarts—detention? That's rich!"
"The other lads would hang their heads in shame!"
Erwin flashed a warm grin, trading barbs with them a moment longer before riding the elevator to the top floor.
Moments later, a knock echoed at the office door.
It was the wizard from the earlier exchange—still under Polyjuice, his face a temporary mask.
"My lord."
Erwin nodded. "Good work. All tied up?"
The wizard confirmed with a sharp nod. "Cleanly done. When the potion fades, that mark's wiped from the world for good."
...
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