Harry Cotter and the Philosopher’s Brothel.
Natwest
“First stop, Natwest!”
“What? Even Wizards need a bank”
“I have no money”
“Yes, you do”
Haggis pushed back the door of the small branch, walking up to the desk
“Upsies?” he motioned to the desk, then for Harry to pick him up and place him on the surface, which he did, a little reluctantly.
“How…er…may I help you?” a small cashier was behind the desk, no older than 17, or 18.
“Well, this is ‘arry Cotter, and he wants to withdraw some cash” Haggis indicated to Harry
“Does he have his book?”
“Nah, I do” he flung the book onto the desk “We’ll take 5000 Quiggles”
“Quiggles?”
“I mean…euros? Pounds? Whatever damn currency you’re in”
“We need pre-notice…”
“That’s why we gave you it” Haggis sighed, “’arry you might aswell sit down.”.
Harry, noticing the man’s inability to pronounce the H on his name any more, sat down on the chair, furthest away from Haggis and the small woman who seemed to be boiling with stress. 30 minutes later, they had managed to leave with the £5000, after a bit of magical persuasion, but one question burdened Harry’s mind:
“What are Quiggles?”
“Wizard Money, take one step in an only magical place, like Piealong Alley and any money you’ve got will become Quiggles, then they’ll change back. Saves us Wizarding folk having two bank”
“Piealong Alley?”
“You’ll see” he smirked
Haggis began to totter off, weaving in between the crowds, causing Harry to run after him
“Haggis!” people stared at the boy with the dark hair, the penis scar on his forehead, thinking he was mental, possibly screaming the food he was craving. Harry blushed, but kept running, only catching up to the dwarf giant when he stopped at a crossing opposite a small pub; The Dead Chicken.
“This is our stop”
“What? This pub?”
“It’s for us magical folk only, only the rare fuggle drinks here”
“I can see why”
The Dead Chicken was filthy, black soot caked the place, but the people inside were clean. Haggis stepped inside, calling out to the barman, who looked up towards the door:
“Holy Shit”
“What? Even Wizards need a bank”
“I have no money”
“Yes, you do”
Haggis pushed back the door of the small branch, walking up to the desk
“Upsies?” he motioned to the desk, then for Harry to pick him up and place him on the surface, which he did, a little reluctantly.
“How…er…may I help you?” a small cashier was behind the desk, no older than 17, or 18.
“Well, this is ‘arry Cotter, and he wants to withdraw some cash” Haggis indicated to Harry
“Does he have his book?”
“Nah, I do” he flung the book onto the desk “We’ll take 5000 Quiggles”
“Quiggles?”
“I mean…euros? Pounds? Whatever damn currency you’re in”
“We need pre-notice…”
“That’s why we gave you it” Haggis sighed, “’arry you might aswell sit down.”.
Harry, noticing the man’s inability to pronounce the H on his name any more, sat down on the chair, furthest away from Haggis and the small woman who seemed to be boiling with stress. 30 minutes later, they had managed to leave with the £5000, after a bit of magical persuasion, but one question burdened Harry’s mind:
“What are Quiggles?”
“Wizard Money, take one step in an only magical place, like Piealong Alley and any money you’ve got will become Quiggles, then they’ll change back. Saves us Wizarding folk having two bank”
“Piealong Alley?”
“You’ll see” he smirked
Haggis began to totter off, weaving in between the crowds, causing Harry to run after him
“Haggis!” people stared at the boy with the dark hair, the penis scar on his forehead, thinking he was mental, possibly screaming the food he was craving. Harry blushed, but kept running, only catching up to the dwarf giant when he stopped at a crossing opposite a small pub; The Dead Chicken.
“This is our stop”
“What? This pub?”
“It’s for us magical folk only, only the rare fuggle drinks here”
“I can see why”
The Dead Chicken was filthy, black soot caked the place, but the people inside were clean. Haggis stepped inside, calling out to the barman, who looked up towards the door:
“Holy Shit”