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The goblin had sniffed the air like a trained Niffler. Judging from the scent of Galleons clinging to the family, he quickly began pitching.
"Alright, we'll inquire about it. But first, we'd like to exchange so Muggle currency into Galleons," Mr. Granger responded politely.
"You can handle that at the desk over there. This year's allowance is up to twenty Galleons, much more than in past years. The Ministry of Magic has ramped up its exploitation and oppression of us once again. Honestly, I don't see what use you Muggles have for your worthless paper…" The goblin muttered with clear disdain, but still pointed them to the appropriate desk.
"I specialize in buying worthless paper, so sell it to " Ian chid in jokingly.
The mustached goblin gave him a slight bow, but offered a sowhat disappointing reply: "The Ministry would never allow us to handle Muggle money off the record.
If they did, I'd gladly give it to you. But to us goblins, it's worth less than our own lives."
The goblin clearly treated Ian with extra respect now, The glowing brand on its forehead was plenty effective.
"Please wait here while I fetch my ding-dang token." The goblin suddenly recalled sothing and jogged off toward a station that clearly hadn't been used in a long ti.
In Gringotts' underground vaults, the goblins kept fierce dragons as guards, to deal with any intruders with ill intentions.
After one had died previously, they had replaced it… with three more.
The ding-dang token was an access item,
used to let goblins and clients safely move through the underground vaults.
"Take your ti," Ian replied calmly.
While the goblin was off fetching the token, Ian slipped enchanted protection rings onto all ten fingers, and even onto his toes, exposed through his sandals.
Despite having focused his mind on the Twilight Zone these past few days, he had no desire to return there in any "honorable" way.
"A hundred layers of protection should be enough…" Ian mused silently.
The mustached goblin had returned.
"And… what's this getup?" It looked Ian up and down, visibly surprised by his outfit change.
"I suddenly felt the urge to go full Wuha style. Just a quick costu swap." Ian swung his ten-kilo-weighted hands a little as he replied with an unconvincing excuse.
"Alright then…" The mustached goblin gave Ian a long, deliberate look.
"Everyone! Back to your posts! Stop hiding under the tables!" As it led Ian forward, it barked a command toward the halted workstations around them.
That commanding officer energy, was starting to co back.
"So he's just a descendant of divh…"
"I really thought divh himself had returned. Scared half to death."
"Even if he's just a descendant, my instincts tell that kid probably enjoys goblin snacks in his downti, and I swear, my pants have prophetic powers."
…
The goblins that had been hiding had, in fact, kept their oversized ears tuned in the entire ti. Now that things had cald down, they all let out sighs of relief and resud their usual duties.
The only clients needing service were the Granger family. All the goblins returned to their beloved work as if nothing had happened.
"What can I help you with today?"
The elderly goblin at the vault rental and account desk, despite having heard everything,
still put on a perfect performance and turned to the Granger family with practiced professionalism.
"We'd like to exchange so pounds into Galleons," Mr. Granger said politely.
There wasn't much resistance, perhaps thanks to Ian's "divh descendant" identity working its magic.
After receiving a small pouch of Galleons, Mr. Granger couldn't help but sigh,
wondering if that amount would even be enough to feed his daughter at school.
anwhile, Mrs. Granger was already thinking about whether they could exchange so more through Ian.
However, the old goblin grew visibly restless upon noticing they weren't inquiring about vault rentals.
"Aren't you going to ask about the different vault rental options?" The goblin's voice was a bit too eager.
As a race, goblins loved hoarding wizard money in Gringotts. In their minds, once it entered the bank, it practically belonged to them.
"We might not have that much need for it…"
Mr. Granger's hesitation showed the kind of negotiation tactics one learned in the Muggle world, even the earlier conversation with his wife had been a coordinated setup.
This kind of maneuvering was clearly unfamiliar to the old goblin.
"That's a very unwise decision. There are plenty of dark wizards out there looking to plunder your wealth. Only by storing your money with us can you minimize the risk of being robbed!"
The goblin began fearmongering with dramatic flair.
"Is that so?" Mr. Granger was visibly unsure. He truly didn't know the social dynamics of the wizarding world.
And that mont of doubt, was all the opening the goblin needed.
"Absolutely! Only Gringotts can protect your wealth! We have three dragons guarding the treasure! And one-on-one personalized vault keys, completely unforgeable! You see, the only difference between a great bank and a perfect one,
is Gringotts!" The goblin's pitch was both passionate and hilarious in its delivery.
"Soone told you were robbed before," Hermione suddenly cut in out of nowhere.
She didn't speak often, but whenever she did, it landed like a direct hit.
"Who?! Who told you that?!" The old goblin instantly flew into a rage.
"The newspaper… I read it in the newspaper…"
Hermione flinched at his reaction. She didn't want to get Ian in trouble, so she resorted to an unconvincing lie.
(She had seen wizarding newspapers in the bookstore, after all.)
"Nonsense! We already had the papers retract that! It must've been that, " The goblin began to curse but suddenly caught himself.
"Fine, fine! How about a 5% discount? Statistically speaking, a bank that's already been robbed is way less likely to be robbed again in the near future. You don't have to believe , but at least believe in mathematics…"
Wow. Once it realized the person it was about to scold couldn't be offended, this goblin went full-on scientific. All in the na of selling a vault rental.
…
Deep underground,
The tunnel sloped steeply downward, with narrow railway tracks running along the ground.
The mustached goblin blew a sharp whistle, and a cart ca rattling toward them along the track.
"Honored young master, please step aboard." The mustached goblin climbed in first and used his own clothing to wipe clean a spot for Ian. His practiced movents made one wonder whether this was an instinctual skill etched into his very bones.
"Shouldn't you be calling master?" Ian teased, his eyes fixed on the branding mark on the goblin's forehead.
"You really do enjoy a good joke. We all know... your ancestor never fully fulfilled his promise. We goblins still haven't been granted our rightful living territory." The goblin chuckled awkwardly, politely refusing Ian's demand.
And just like that, the young wizard had fished out another piece of valuable information.
Of course, perhaps the goblin had deliberately let that slip.
"Let's go see my... my family's vault first."
It was Ian's first ti riding the Gringotts mine cart. He had only experienced it through the films and William's descriptions.
The actual ride lived up to the hype, a violently rattling, brain-jarring, borderline berserk experience.
(To Be Continued…)
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