Three Hallows' Eve || Harmione & Jily

Chapter 12.2

Gringotts, Wizarding Britain's premier (and only) bank, had pride of place in London's magical district. The goblin bank had branches in a number of countries across mainland Europe and Scandinavia; the British branch was directly across from Diagon Alley's main entrance at the back of the Leaky Cauldron, standing tall and leaning distinctly to the left. Harry and his parents walked purposefully through the Alley, ignoring a few awed stares and whispers which seemed to follow them wherever they went in magical Britain. It was for that reason that they tended to stay in the Muggle world.

Outside of the grand marble building, a goblin stood guard in his scarlet and gold-trimmed armour. He was maybe a foot shorter than Harry, which he noted seemed pretty tall for a goblin. The expression on his face was dour and severe, as if issuing a challenge to everybody at the same time, but nobody in particular.

In no small part because banking was dreadfully boring at the best of times, Harry had never actually been into Gringotts before. Of course, he knew from a number of books he'd read that the goblins were a warrior race, and weren't best known for their patience or sense of humour, and his parents (mostly Dad) had told him about the goblins' stubborn rudeness and how they more than made up for their lack of stature in sheer intimidation.

None of that had prepared him for actually entering the bank for the first time, though. The guard at the door bowed them in as they climbed the marble steps after studying them with a hard, critical gaze. They entered into a large, spacious foyer facing a huge set of double doors which looked to be made of pure silver, with a pair of armoured goblins standing guard on either side. An unsettlingly poetic message was engraved in large letters on the grand doors, warning against greed and theft. As they were bowed through the doors once more, Harry got a clearer view of the halberds the guards held and absently thought it'd be a really foolish thief to make an attempt on this bank.

The silver doors opened into a vast marble hall, lined on either side by two long counters, behind which about a hundred goblins sat on large stools, scribbling in ledgers, weighing gems and coins, or doing other such banking things. There were wizards queuing before many of the tellers, who didn't seem to be paying much mind at all to the amount of time they were taking.

As he looked around the room, drinking in the intricate masonry and the bustle of the bank, a wooden door in the corner of the room inexplicably caught his attention. It was nondescript - completely overlookable - but for the two goblins standing guard either side of it. His vision darkened and, now recognising the next step of whatever purpose he had for coming here, he stood a little straighter and set off in that direction, leaving his parents to catch up with him once they realised that he'd marched off.

Once he had his back to the queues of wizards, he took off the sunglasses he'd donned before leaving the house. The armour these guards wore wasn't the same as those at the doors - the scarlet and gold trim was replaced with that of a dark midnight blue, and the Gringotts crest was emblazoned onto the centre of their breastplates. The goblins straightened up menacingly as he approached.

'The Chief will want to see me,' he announced without preamble in the raspy voice that was, by now, quite familiar to him. What wasn't familiar, however, was the language he spoke in. It was guttural and harsh, and he wasn't sure that humans were even capable of making some of the sounds that he just had - it had felt like he was choking on his tongue. He'd spoken Gobbledegook - the goblin tongue - he assumed, and not for the first time he found himself wishing he could call upon some of this magic at will. Maybe when he was older.

The guards glanced at each other before levelling their gaze back at him, not moving from their post. Obviously, he hadn't been clear enough.

'I see,' he continued in their native language. 'I'll leave you to decide between yourselves as to who gets to tell him that his people ignored the Master of Death.' Taking his sunglasses back out from his pocket, he smirked at their disbelieving looks. 'Who knows, perhaps one of you will even live,' he whispered in English and turned on his heel.

Mum and Dad were staring at him wearing twin shocked expressions on their faces as he started to stride confidently away. He'd barely made it five paces before the guards came to their senses. 'Halt!'

Harry stopped and turned slowly, smirking as one hastened to open the door. 'That's better. Please, after you.'

One of the goblins led them down a complex network of winding and forking stone corridors while the other remained in the hall, closing the door behind them. After a few minutes of walking in silence, Dad spoke to him in a whisper so as not to be overheard. 'I'm all for the direct method, Harry, but is it wise to be rude to the goblins?'

'There's a difference between rude and confident, Dad.'

'And which were you?'

They reached a heavy wooden door which was trimmed with gold and stopped as the goblin leading them knocked loudly three times before taking a step back. 'I think we're about to find out,' Harry whispered.