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56.14% Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince / Chapter 64: 64: The Freelance Writer, Mr. Lovegood

Chapter 64: 64: The Freelance Writer, Mr. Lovegood

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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Chapter 65: 65: Sealed in Vault 713

Instinct is a curious thing.

Even in the wizarding world, the nature of intuition remains an enigma. Wizards who place excessive faith in it are often dismissed as eccentric mystics by their peers. Even in the Trelawney family, renowned for their gift of prophecy, only a handful possess the ability to harness intuition with any real consistency.

Nolan had gone to great lengths to disguise himself, carefully suppressing all signs of his vampiric nature. As he stood now, the only unusual thing about him was his slightly cooler body temperature; in every other way, he appeared perfectly human. Not even a skilled wizard like Dumbledore would immediately detect his true identity.

And yet, despite all his expertise, Nolan had been seen through in an instant by an eight- or nine-year-old girl. It was unsettling, to say the least. Thankfully, Nolan was blissfully unaware that the silver-haired girl had seen past his facade. With a year still to go before her arrival at Hogwarts, her revelation remained nothing more than an eerie premonition.

The main floor of Gringotts was vast, bustling with activity. Around a hundred goblins scurried about, magnifying glasses in hand as they inspected coins and gemstones. Some weighed money on scales, while others, wearing small spectacles, busied themselves with accounting ledgers. The goblins seemed perpetually busy, their sharp movements and curt exchanges filling the air with an almost mechanical rhythm.

Nolan led Hagrid and Harry to a counter, where a goblin was idling. "We're here on Professor Dumbledore's orders," Nolan said smoothly. "We need to retrieve something from Vault 713."

The goblin gave Nolan a long, disdainful look before rolling his eyes. "Do you have a letter from Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Oh, yes, yes! Got it right here!" Hagrid exclaimed, fumbling through his pockets. His large hands weren't suited for such tasks, so he ended up dumping the contents of his coat onto the counter. Out spilled a soggy biscuit, a sticky mass that resembled wet earwax, a handful of what looked like scraps of rusty metal—probably collected from the Forbidden Forest—and a copy of the Daily Prophet from 1989. Finally, after much searching, Hagrid pulled out Dumbledore's letter and handed it to the goblin, who took it with an expression of utmost distaste.

"Seems legitimate," the goblin muttered reluctantly. He beckoned to another goblin with a thick, bristling beard. "Hey, Grimsby! Come over and verify this!"

Grimsby shuffled over, inspecting the letter before letting out a high-pitched squeal. "Yes! Yes, it's genuine! That's Dumbledore's handwriting!"

The counter goblin nodded and shouted, "Clanker! Clanker! Get over here and escort these three gentlemen to Vault 713!"

Hagrid had barely taken a few steps when he slapped his forehead. "Oh, right! We also need to stop by Harry Potter's vault and withdraw some money!"

Nolan and Harry followed Clanker deeper into the bank. The polished marble gave way to rugged stone walls, and the path turned into a steep, winding slope leading into the depths. The air grew colder with every step, and Harry, curious as ever, whispered, "They called him Clanker? Is that some kind of codename?"

"It's his name," Nolan replied blandly. "Goblins like giving themselves names like that. I once dealt with a female goblin named Teacup. When I asked my maid to serve her tea, she kept thinking I was calling her name."

"Teacup is a charming lady!" Clanker's sharp voice rang out ahead of them. "Lots of goblins would give their gold to marry her!"

"Who can say?" Nolan muttered, "To me, you all look the same."

They continued walking until Nolan's gaze landed on an old, filthy mine cart parked near the track. He grimaced. "You're not seriously expecting us to ride that contraption, are you?"

Clanker turned around, clearly irritated by Nolan's disdain. "We don't have anything else!" he snapped, his voice rising to a shriek.

"Oh, no, no…" Nolan muttered as he reluctantly climbed into the tiny mine cart, his discomfort palpable. He had no choice but to endure the grimy surroundings and the breakneck speed of the ride. The young vampire felt a wave of nausea building, and from the greenish tinge on Hagrid's face, it seemed the half-giant shared his sentiment.

Harry, however, was unfazed. The boy was brimming with energy, his curiosity unbridled. "What's inside Vault 713?" he chirped.

"That's not something you need to know," Nolan replied coolly, his tone leaving no room for further inquiry.

But Harry was undeterred. "I saw a flash of fire just now! Was that a dragon?"

"It's an Italian Ridgeback," Nolan replied, his voice tight as he fought to suppress his nausea. "The smallest of the European dragon breeds…" He broke off with a gag, clapping a hand over his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick. I hate modes of transportation, especially in confined spaces."

At long last, the cart screeched to a halt in front of Harry's vault. Hagrid scrambled out in his usual flustered manner, while Nolan looked utterly drained, slumped against the cart as if it had drained the life out of him.

"Come on, Von Draugr," the half-giant coaxed, trying to sound encouraging. "Just step onto solid ground—it'll make you feel better."

Nolan's face was ashen as he clung to the cart for dear life. "Don't even think about it. If I move, I'll vomit."

Meanwhile, Harry was too mesmerized by the contents of his vault to notice their plight. For someone who had grown up with nothing, the sight of all that gold was overwhelming. Perhaps, for the first time, he felt a sense of security. Money had that kind of magic.

Afterward, the infernal cart resumed its descent, and Nolan was convinced he was about to make history as the first vampire to die on a goblin mine cart.

When they finally reached the deepest level of the bank, Nolan barely had the energy to glare at the locked vault in front of him. The vaults on this floor had no keys—they were sealed with ancient goblin magic, accessible only to goblins themselves.

Pushing Harry behind him, Nolan's voice was sharp. "Stand back. Don't look at what's inside."

Clanker stepped forward, his gnarled fingers moving with deft precision as he activated the spell to unlock the vault. The door creaked open just enough for Nolan to slip through. Inside, the vault was starkly empty, save for a small cloth-wrapped package resting on a stone pedestal.

Nolan grabbed the package and stuffed it into his pocket, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Hagrid. "We've got what we came for. Let's get back to Hogwarts—immediately."

"Hey, now, no need to be so tense, Von Draugr." Hagrid waved him off. "Harry's got shopping to do. You can show him around Diagon Alley, help him pick up his books and robes for the year. As for me…" Hagrid gave a hearty laugh. "I'm heading to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink or two. That ride on the bloody mine cart was enough for a lifetime. Good thing I don't have enough Galleons to need a vault!"

"That's rather sad, don't you think?" Nolan retorted dryly. Then his gaze met Harry's, filled with unspoken hope. The boy clearly wanted someone to accompany him.

Nolan's response was swift and uncompromising. "Don't even think about it. I'm not here to play nanny to a first-year. If you're so desperate for a guide, just flash your name around—Harry Potter—and I guarantee some busybody will come to your aid. As for me, I've got more important things to do."

He turned and began to walk away, raising a hand in a dismissive wave. "See you at Hogwarts, Potter. Though I'd wager you'll end up in Gryffindor."

Harry watched Nolan's retreating figure, disappointment etched on his face. Left to fend for himself, he glanced nervously at the bustling street of Diagon Alley. "Do you think he hates me?" he asked Hagrid.

"Hates you?" Hagrid chuckled, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Oh, no, lad. He's like that with everyone."

~~~----------------------

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