"The division of labour, however, so far as it can be introduced, occasions, in every art, a proportionable increase of the productive powers of labour."
- Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations
Hagrid beamed, enjoying the stunned look in his young charge's face. His Muggle uncle, on the other hand, wasn't so pleasant to get along with, but he wouldn't let that bother him!
Young Harry had so many questions, just like his mother, that one!
He was having a little bit of trouble answering 'em though.
Mass production? Industrialization? Never 'eard of 'em!
That's right, all the potions were made by hand.
A hand-made wand that you bought for life? Only seven galleons!
"Uncle," the boy turned around slowly, "did you hear that right? They actually send things via owl. I thought they were just being fancy with the first letter."
The man shook his head, "Boy, that's not the real issue. Did you hear that they make the cauldrons by hand? And they're made from pewter? I reckon we could buy out a small production line and do stainless steel dirt cheap. Lighter, too. We'll cost control and make these shops go bust!"
At the thought of driving another business into bankruptcy, Vernon began to guffaw loudly, causing passersby to shoot annoyed glances at him.
Harry rolled his eyes. When his uncle got in this mood, nobody could stop him.
"Uncle, don't forget they sell other types. Brass and copper, and even silver. I see flasks and other types of goods too," he pointed out, as he always did, because Vernon would miss some fine details when he got too excited.
"That's no problem, boy. We only need two models. Brass? Copper? Doesn't matter. We've got stainless steel, dirt cheap. Light, durable, and easy to clean. And for those with bigger pockets, we can do silver. I know someone who can source that from Bolivia at a decent price. We just need to market it right, make it look high end. It's all about the branding, you know. For the rest, I think we can go with laboratory equipment – test tubes, flasks, and the like. I'll look for a supplier, we just need to stick our logo on those, and they're good to go."
Harry offered a silent prayer to the cozy little cauldron shop (family-owned, he noted).
As Vernon continued gleefully pointing out all the ways they could destroy people's livelihoods (with Hagrid feeling somewhat lost in the conversation, but happy that the Muggle was taking more interest in the Wizarding World and asking questions), they soon arrived at a large building.
'GRINGOTTS BANK', it read.
o - o - o
As he walked into his vault, the goblin sneered arrogantly, expecting to see a sense of wonderment and shock on the wizard's face. The Potter trust vault had a mountain of Galleons, and it was a small fortune for anybody his age. However, things did not occur as he expected.
There was indeed shock on his face. But it was one of horror, as if he had been told that his pet Kneazle had passed away.
And then the boy adopted a hopeful look, nodding thoughtfully, "these are antique coins, aren't they? I have to say, don't you receive any complaints about how poorly they're stored?"
The goblin shook his head in disappointment. The only thing worse than wizards were Muggles, with their idiotic questions and bizarre notions.
"Mister Potter, those are Galleons. You can use them to buy things."
Harry staggered back in shock, clutching his chest.
"But ... it's just there! How are you going to loan it out?"
The goblin shook his head, looking at Harry as if he were stupid.
"Loan it out? Gringotts prides itself on keeping money on behalf of others, and certainly doesn't give it out! If you need a private loan, I can put you in contact with several goblins."
"You mean the money just sits in the vault? This isn't a bank, it's an underground warehouse!" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. Tears had begun to stream down his face, his worldview crashing down. Next thing you'd know, they would start charging customers to hold their money.
Wait a moment ...
"How does Gringotts actually make money?" he asked, hesitantly.
"That is a closely guarded secret," replied the goblin curtly.
No, how I mean does Gringotts earn money?"
Griphook stood straight with pride, announcing, "Gringotts charges vault maintenance fees commensurate with the level of security. We also offer treasure hun-"
He trailed off as he noticed the wizard had fallen to the floor, and was twitching as if he had a bad potions reaction.
So not only were they not paying him interest, they were charging him for the privilege of loaning them money! And they were too stupid to loan it out and earn interest on it themselves! No wonder they didn't pay any interest!
Harry cleared his throat.
"I'd like to close my account."
A devilish smirk took over the goblin's face, and he replied, "Unfortunately, Mister Potter, you don't have access to the main Potter family account until you come of age."
A dark expression crossed Harry's face, and he vowed to himself that one day, he would drive this bank out of business. If there was one thing he'd learned from his uncle, if people tried to screw you over, you'd pay them back double!
And while carrying the coins, he'd noted that the Galleons were made of pure gold … and they were only worth five pounds each? He was going to make a fortune!
Busy plotting his revenge, he'd returned to the bank lobby to see his uncle beside a man with long, platinum hair and a silver cane that screamed old money, while Hagrid stood awkwardly to the side.
"It's clear to me, that a Muggle like you couldn't afford it, not with clothes like that," the man sneered.
Harry shook his head in pity. When it came to flaunting, nobody surpassed Uncle Vernon. This was already over before it started.
"That's Sir Vernon Dursley to you, Mister Mouthful, thank you very much. I've always tried to remain humble, being self-made and not inheriting my wealth like others, but I do indulge occasionally. Like this suit here, which ran me over twenty thousand pounds. And at least another thirty for this whole outfit," boasted Vernon, making sure to flash the Rolox on his meaty wrist in a not-so-subtle manner.
Harry noticed that Uncle Vernon glanced down at his clothes anyway, and knew that he would be booking an appointment with a high-end bespoke tailor to update his style, as he always did whenever someone made a snide comment on his sense of fashion. 'A modern, trendy cut', they always assured him.
"That's Lord Mal-foy to you! I care little for some Muggle title. And fifty … thousand … pounds," he swallowed notably, having just done the pound-galleon conversion in his head. That was a lot for a set of clothing. Even dragon-hide and Acromantula silk didn't cost that much! It'd cost him about that much to outfit the whole Slytherin team with the upcoming Nimbus 2001 next year, and that didn't leave him with a whole lot of spare Galleons after paying off Cornelius, buying Narcissa some new jewelry, and all the other expenses that came with being well-connected and influential. "That's not that much," he lied dismissively, silently promising to find a more expensive supplier for his clothing. Maybe Manticore hide would do the trick? He'd have to find the money somewhere …
"Why, the Malfoy Manor, with countless generations of history – we date back to William the Conqueror, you know – is easily worth a few million Galleons," continued Malfoy.
His Uncle turned to him, and anticipating the request, Harry helpfully explained, "It's one to five, Sir."
And then Vernon chortled in an incredibly annoying fashion, leaving Malfoy furious and looking to teach this fat Muggle a lesson! The goblins standing guard quickly made him reconsider though.
The beefy man explained in a condescending tone, "After a thousand years of history, all you've got left to show is a shabby, run-down house and some land. Me, on the other hand? Just bought a new estate in an upscale neighborhood, it cost me over 30 million pounds, and that's not including all the renovation I had done afterwards. Looks like we're not at the same level, hm?"
Gritting his teeth, Malfoy stormed off with his trademark sneers, leaving Vernon happily chortling as he one-upped yet another poor sod with his superior wealth and success.
And speaking of clothes, it was time for him to get some 'Wizarding' ones. Hagrid had begged off to the pub to get drunk, no doubt tired of Vernon's antics, as they always did. Or maybe he'd been driven away by the thought of Malfoy, who clearly looked down on the poor (perfectly understandable, thought Harry), and Hagrid clearly fit in that category.
Soon they arrived at a store which called itself 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occassions.'
Robes? Oh no. These people wore robes?
He frowned, looking down at his tailored suit – a fine blend of cashmere and high-quality merino wool – with the sinking feeling that he'd be forced to downgrade.
Harry was a simple man, content with simple pleasures and not one to drown in luxuries like his uncle, but he'd gotten used to dressing nicely, and draping a carpet over his shoulders was a bit too much of a downgrade, even for him.
A minute later, he discovered that this shop, like many others in Diagon Alley, also turned out to be family-owned, when the proprietor arrived to take care of him. Terrible service, he noted. What kind of clothing store would ignore a customer for so long? It was common sense that you sent over a sales associate to greet your customers, to flatter and compliment their looks while upselling your products and draining every shilling from their wallet! Vernon had let him watch then, when they had opened some new jewelry and high-end clothing stores under the 'DURSLEY' brand.
And on top of that, he'd noticed that none of the clothes in the shop had logos! How could you sell clothing without a brand? Perhaps Vernon would start selling some 'DURSLEY' clothing to the wizards …
He gave another silent prayer, because his Uncle would no doubt drive poor Malkin's out of business, the way Tesca had sunk many small mom-and-pop stores.
But that was the nature of business, after all. Adapt or die. And from what he could tell, Diagon Alley hadn't adapted for centuries. Change was on the horizon, and nobody could escape the reach of the invisible hand, not even wizards.
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale face, and the same platinum hair as 'Lord' Malfoy from earlier, sat on a stool. Harry suspected he was related.
"Hullo," said the boy, "Hogwarts too?"
After some polite conversation, the boy asked if he had a broom!
On second thought, perhaps the boy wasn't related to Malfoy, after all. No self-respecting scion to a fortune would buy a broom to clean. No, that was what servants were for. Your time was more valuable than that.
Or perhaps his family sold brooms? Yes, he had to give people the benefit of the doubt. There was nothing wrong with selling cleaning equipment, as long as it made you money. Uniloafer also sold laundry products, and they had a multibillion operation going on.
And then the blonde explained that wizards played sports on racing brooms. Harry turned out the rest of the conversation, thinking of all the profit potential there. Sports betting was a huge money maker. Fantasy sport leagues were picking up in popularity across the pond too, and these wizards seemed real fanatic about people flying about on brooms and chucking balls at each other. They liked card collecting too, with those 'chocolate frogs', so maybe he could sign a deal and produce collectible Quidditch player cards. Oh yes, this was going to be brilliant…
When they had finished purchasing everything Harry needed, the sun was already beginning to set. Hagrid had to return to Hogwarts for 'groundskeeping' – wait, had the school really just sent their gardener to pick him up?
Fortunately, they didn't need to take the Underground back, with a private car. When you were poor, people called you 'strange'. But when you had money, that upgraded to 'eccentric', and it's not like you needed to care about what they thought anymore. Who said money couldn't buy happiness?
In any case, the only person who would see the eclectic mix of magical supplies and ingredients was their driver, and he was paid well enough to shut up and ignore any oddities.
As they made their way home, Harry closed his eyes, exhausted from the day, and began to dream of building his own business empire …