The Unwanted Malfoy Heiress

Five: Vault Number 12

The Gringotts lobby in the room the stone wall portal transported us to was cold, almost too cold for my coat. A goblin teller was snoring loudly at his high desk and muttering in his sleep, a most annoying sleep trait I've always found. Professor Fig and I looked at each other, and I shrugged my shoulders.

I cleared my throat. "Sir?"

Fig cleared his throat loudly, "Ahem!"

The goblin stirred awake, startled to have been woken out of his long nap. He was clearly the only bank teller in this cavernous lobby, so his job must be the easiest one in the bank. I always found it amusing that in France and England the wizarding world relied on goblins to handle their currency when in America it was veelas that did it, and seemed to not be ashamed to reveal their wings at work. I had a few veela friends at Ilvermorny and one in Beauxbatons, although she seemed ashamed in some way to be one and seemed envious. I was merely a pureblood

The goblin bank teller startled awake, sending his quill flying about. He peered over his heavy book, his black eyes widening in astonishment. "It...It can't be. Hold on, I'll be right with you."

He muttered to himself as he got down from his high podium, and of course, like all goblins, he was very short. He seemed to be a middle-aged goblin with salt and pepper hair, if one could guess his age.

He looked up at us and bowed regally. "Welcome to Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Vault number 12, I presume?"

Professor Fig cleared his throat. "Oh. Yes, yes, we are here for that."

The goblin teller inquired, holding out his hand, "The key, then?"

"Hm?"

"Your wife's port key," I put in as an aside to Professor Fig.

"Oh. Yes, I have it right here." He reached in his coat pocket and produced it, handing it to the bank teller.

Satisfied we weren't impromptu thieves after examining the key. He whistled to the bank tram, and it rolled into place on the rails. I certainly was not looking forward to this journey through the underbelly of Gringotts, but I had no choice in the matter.

"After you," the bank teller invited.

Professor Fig helped me on to the tram, and he sat beside me. I was alarmed that there were no seat belts in the tram, as there was in America, but then again France was like this as well.

"Keep your arms and legs inside the cart if you don't wish to lose them," the goblin teller warned.

We got in, and of course, I hated the feeling of the motion of going up and down and almost upside down. Professor Fig noticed my distress and whispered, "Are you alright?"

I winced. "It's the motion. Things like this make my stomach flip flop. It's a big reason I never tried out for Quidditch."

He nodded. "Oh. I'm sorry."

He decided to talk to the bank teller to glean information from him, "Is this sort of service...a common service for Gringotts?"

"Oh. It is a most uncommon service. Only a very wealthy or powerful witch or wizard or both could have arranged for such a service. All I know is that a goblin has been stationed at my desk for hundreds of years, and in that time, no one has visited vault twelve until today."

"I see. So how far are we going?"

"Vault twelve was commissioned as one of the first vaults built when Gringotts Bank was built five centuries ago. It resides in the oldest part of the bank. You might want to take a breath."

"A what?"

We came upon a waterfall that was falling downwards at a fast pace. The waterfall washed over us, making us have to cast drying spells over us both afterward.