Gringotts was the bank where wizards across Britain stored their wealth. It was said to have branches in France, Romania, and Morocco, though these were far less well-known—the goblins who operated them were notoriously secretive. The British branch of Gringotts sat at the far end of Diagon Alley, near the shadowy Knockturn Alley. At first glance, it appeared to be an unassuming white building, its entrance guarded by iron gates and patrolled by goblins in violet-and-gold uniforms.
"Who are they?" Harry Potter seemed particularly intrigued by the goblins.
Goblins were, indeed, a fascinating species. They exhibited many primate-like traits but had eyes more akin to those of reptiles and habits resembling dragons in their greed for gold and gemstones.
Nolan had dealt with goblins before. Once, a female goblin had ventured into the Randall Canyon to peddle one of their absurd insurance schemes. Goblin magic was, in some ways, more formidable than wizardry—much like how you could never stop a house-elf from Apparating if it set its mind to it. Some magical creature researchers had proposed that house-elves were merely a mutated form of goblins, though this theory had been hotly debated among wizards for centuries without any definitive conclusion.
Guiding Hagrid and Harry through the grand entrance of Gringotts, Nolan glanced up at the ominous inscription carved into the massive doors:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed.
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
The words, though polite, carried an unsettling weight.
Hagrid leaned down to whisper to Harry, "Like I said, only a mad wizard would think about robbing Gringotts."
Nolan, however, had a different perspective. Speaking just loud enough for Harry to hear, he muttered, "I've never understood why wizards insist on keeping their Galleons at Gringotts. If it were me, I'd exchange them for pounds and store them in a Muggle bank. Muggle banks are simpler, more efficient, and don't charge exorbitant fees. Plus, they even pay you interest."
Harry's curiosity was piqued—likely because his parents had left him a considerable inheritance stored in Gringotts' underground vaults. "Are the fees really that high?" he asked.
"Goblins don't safeguard Galleons for free," Nolan replied calmly. "Unlike Muggles, they don't understand the concept of investments. Your Galleons will sit untouched in your vault until someone withdraws them, effectively 'asleep' forever. Goblins don't give you interest; instead, they charge a storage fee. For a medium-sized vault—likely what your family uses—it's thirty Galleons annually. Quite steep, I must say."
"Thirty Galleons?" Harry's voice rose slightly.
"At the current exchange rate, roughly one hundred and fifty pounds."
Harry's face turned an alarming shade of red as he calculated. "So over eleven years, that's more than sixteen hundred pounds! I've never even spent sixty pounds in my life!" He glared at the goblins milling about but didn't dare speak louder. Hurrying to catch up with Nolan, Harry whispered fiercely, "That's outright robbery!"
At that moment, a man's voice cut through their conversation. "Ah, children! I couldn't help overhearing. What's this? A new Hogwarts student daring to call out Gringotts—brilliant! And you're absolutely right. It is robbery! Oh yes, the goblins have always been like this, haven't they? Rude, grasping thieves!"
The speaker was an eccentric-looking man with disheveled hair and a slightly wild gleam in his eyes. He gestured theatrically as he continued, "These little creatures never reflect on their own behavior. Instead, they believe wizards have some sort of obligation to feed them Galleons every year. But let me tell you, my young friends, old Lovegood has seen it all! These ugly little dwarves are nothing but opportunistic crooks, guarding our treasures while helping themselves on the sly. It's time we spoke up—called on wizards everywhere to take a stand! Why should we remain under their tiny, grubby boots?"
Nolan, Harry, and Hagrid turned to the man who had been loudly rambling. He was in his mid-thirties or early forties, with a scruffy beard and wild silver hair that looked as though it hadn't been combed in weeks. His robes were visibly unwashed, exuding a faint suggestion of unpleasant odors.
Nolan frowned, muttering under his breath, "Great, just my favorite kind of wizard. Why can't they ever take a bath?"
Hagrid seemed to know the man. "Oi, Lovegood! What brings you here, gettin' some Galleons? Is it yer little one startin' at Hogwarts? What's her name again, Mars?"
"Mars? No! No, why would I name my daughter after some barren, undeveloped planet?" the man exclaimed, clearly affronted. "Her name's Luna—like the most beautiful celestial body in the night sky! And you're mistaken, big fellow. Luna can't start at Hogwarts just yet; she'll have to wait till next year. That is... if she's lucky enough not to turn out a Squib." Lovegood spoke cheerfully, as though discussing the weather.
At his feet stood a small girl, no older than eight or nine. She had inherited her father's silver hair and possessed a pair of elfin green eyes that sparkled with an otherworldly gleam. Though she shared her silver hair with Eve, the two couldn't have been more different. Eve was like a fragile, tragic princess from the Middle Ages, a damsel who could do nothing but cry when captured. This girl, however, resembled a whimsical spirit straight out of an epic tale—ethereal, mysterious, and utterly out of place.
The girl stared at Nolan, her large green eyes unblinking as though trying to uncover some deep secret.
Nolan met her gaze, his own expression annoyed. Yet the girl didn't flinch; instead, she widened her eyes even more, as though challenging him.
What is this? A staring contest? Nolan grumbled inwardly.
Fine, he thought bitterly. I lose.
Lovegood broke the silence, laughing as he turned to Hagrid. "Today I came up with several fantastic headlines that I think the good folks will love. Everyone's been grumbling about Gringotts, haven't they? Those high fees! Outrageous, though I admit the place is secure. Say, if you're curious, be sure to grab the next issue of The Quibbler! We're doing a special Gringotts edition. The first article's title? 'Why Gringotts Might Be the Best Refuge... If the Dark Lord Rises Again!'" He gave a dramatic bow. "Thank you, big friend, and thank you, young gentlemen! The freelance writers of The Quibbler salute you!"
With that, Lovegood performed an elaborate, nonsensical gesture and led his daughter out of Gringotts.
Incidentally, it seemed his loud remarks had irked all the goblins. As Lovegood exited, the doorkeeper goblin flicked his fingers, and the wizard tripped over his own feet, landing face-first on the cobblestones.
"Daddy, why can't you walk properly?" Little Luna pouted as she helped her father up.
"Those cursed goblins! They'll pay for this!" Lovegood huffed, brushing off his robes. "The second article in this issue will be titled, 'The Secrets of Gringotts: Goblins and Dragons' Underground Deals Revealed!' Yes, we'll need a special expanded edition of The Quibbler for this!"
Luna stared at him blankly, then tilted her head as though processing his words. Finally, she said something entirely unrelated. "That boy just now... he was strange."
"What's that, Luna?" Lovegood paused, his eyes widening. "The boy just now... Oh, Merlin's beard! That was Harry Potter! Our Savior! I missed my chance to interview him!"
"No," Luna said dreamily. "I meant the other boy. I don't think he's a wizard. Actually, I don't think he's even human."
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