The individual commitments.
Sirius: ten thousand, announced with the ease of someone who had worked out what to do with money he hadn't expected to have and had found that giving it to people who would use it well was the most satisfying available option. 'I'm in,' he said. 'Tell me what you need for the account.' He had already, visibly, moved past the question of whether and was thinking about the mechanics. Sirius had always been quick.
Harry: ten thousand, stated without ceremony. He didn't say anything about the amount or why it was that amount. He said: 'What do you need from me for the account documentation?'
Hermione had thought about this since the letter, which Ron had known she would. 'My parents set aside money for genuine necessities,' she said carefully. 'Things that matter. I've been thinking about whether this qualifies.' A pause. 'Ten thousand. They trust my judgment. I'll explain it to them when I have the outcome to explain alongside the process.'
He looked at her.
'You're sure,' he said.
'You told me you're putting in your full account,' she said. 'One hundred thousand Galleons. That's not a question you ask after that.'
He accepted this.
Neville put in a thousand with the steady certainty of someone who had a significant inheritance and had decided, after sitting with it quietly, that this was the kind of thing it was for.
His parents: he had raised it at breakfast two days earlier. His mother had given him the expression she used when she was deciding whether this was a Ron decision or a Ron-needs-to-be-talked-out-of-something decision. His father had asked three quiet, precise questions. Ron had answered all three fully and without evasion. His father had then looked at his mother with the look they exchanged about the children when something sat outside the standard model of what was possible.
His mother had looked back with the expression of someone who had decided, some months ago, to let go of a model that no longer fit.
Five hundred Galleons. His father had counted it from the kitchen tin with the care of someone for whom five hundred Galleons was meaningful, giving it anyway because they had decided the giving was the right kind of meaningful.
Ron had not told them the expected return. He had said it was a sound investment with real risk, which was true in every way that mattered.
Bill, Charlie, and Percy each put in a hundred. Small enough to be genuinely what they could afford, large enough to be a commitment rather than a token. He took each of their contributions with the same care he gave the larger ones, because the care was not proportional to the amount.
For Ginny and Luna, he opened separate sub-accounts from his own holdings that morning and lodged ten thousand each under their names. He had not asked their permission. He had considered this and decided it was appropriate: neither of them had Galleons available in the relevant quantity, both of them were people he had decided were his to look after in the specific way that a person with capacity could look after someone without it, and the money was genuinely his to give. He would tell them after. They would both have opinions. He was prepared for the opinions.
The pool, when he totalled it in his head, was one hundred and fifty-one thousand, nine hundred Galleons.
He was going to Gringotts in the morning.