Chapter 6: Gringotts
Tamara let the soiled handkerchief slip from her fingers, watching it flutter to the damp cobblestones. She turned on her heel, her small shoes clicking softly as she made her way toward the walled courtyard at the rear of the pub.
She came to a halt before the dilapidated red brick wall. Weeds sprouted from the crumbling mortar. Not having a wand was a temporary nuisance, but it hardly bothered her. She knew the exact sequence to unlock the gateway, wand or no wand.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement. A wizard in threadbare, patched robes was wrestling with a dented metal trash can. He smelled faintly of stale ale and cabbage—a perfect, gullible target.
Tamara adjusted her posture, shrinking her shoulders to appear even smaller. She padded over and gave the frayed hem of his sleeve a gentle, hesitant tug.
"Excuse me, Uncle..."
The man paused. Tamara tilted her head up. She widened her obsidian eyes, summoning a glossy sheen of unshed tears. Her voice emerged as a fragile, sugar-sweet whisper designed to shatter the hardest of hearts. "I can't reach the bricks up there. Could you please help me open the door?"
The wizard wiped his grimy hands on his robes and turned. The moment he laid eyes on the exquisite, doll-like child gazing up at him with such polite reverence, his weary posture softened completely.
"Oh, of course! Certainly, little lady!" he beamed, puffing out his chest.
He hurriedly drew a battered wooden wand from his pocket and approached the wall above the trash bin. Three bricks up. Two bricks across. He tapped the worn stone three times.
Click.
The designated brick quivered. Dust cascaded from the mortar as the wall began to fold inward, shifting and rearranging itself from the center outward. A small hole expanded rapidly, bricks tumbling over one another until a wide, magnificent archway stood in their place. Beyond it lay a winding, cobblestone street that stretched out of sight.
Late summer sunlight poured through the opening, illuminating a chaotic, dazzling array of swinging shop signs. Stacks of pewter cauldrons glinted outside one window; the pungent, earthy scent of dried roots and dragon liver wafted from an apothecary next door. Further down the street, the pristine, towering white marble columns of Gringotts Wizarding Bank dominated the crooked skyline.
A cacophony of life washed over her. The haggling of witches, the sharp cries of street vendors peddling enchanted trinkets, and the rhythmic hooting of owls instantly flooded her ears.
This was Diagon Alley.
The beating, chaotic heart of the British Wizarding World.
Tamara stood perfectly still beneath the archway. The golden light caught the edges of her dark hair, casting a soft, almost sacred halo around her pale, delicate face. To anyone watching, she was the picture of frail, harmless innocence stepping into a world of wonder.
The shabby wizard leaned against his trash can, offering her a warm, grandfatherly smile, clearly waiting for his dose of gratitude.
Tamara pivoted gracefully. She gifted him a flawless, radiant smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Thank you, Uncle. May Merlin bless you."
As the man practically melted into a puddle of enchanted pride, Tamara's internal voice dripped with glacial venom.
'Though that old fossil Merlin has probably rotted into worm-food centuries ago.'
She turned her back on him. Her light, skipping steps carried her forward, crossing the threshold into the world that rightfully belonged to her.
Her first destination was obvious. It was a place that reeked of copper and greed, yet remained utterly indispensable.
Gringotts.
Tamara pressed a hand against the flat, empty fabric of her money pouch. 'You cannot conquer a world with empty pockets,' she mused. The meager financial aid Hogwarts provided to orphans would barely cover the absolute bare minimum of school supplies. If she intended to operate from the shadows, to build her foundation, she needed gold. Lots of it.
The bank loomed ahead. Its snowy white marble facade stood in stark contrast to the charmingly crooked, weathered brick shops flanking it. It looked like a single, pristine fang jutting out from a mouthful of rotting teeth.
Tamara paused at the base of the white stone steps, her gaze drifting up to the gleaming burnished bronze doors. A goblin guard stood at his post, clad in a crisp uniform of scarlet and gold.
"Enter, please," the goblin grunted. He offered a lazy, abbreviated bow, the gesture so dismissive it looked more like he was swatting away a pesky gnat.
Tamara's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
If this were decades ago—or in the inevitable future when she reclaimed her absolute power—these greedy, grotesque little beasts would be groveling on the marble floors. They would tremble at the mere hem of her robes, weeping and begging her not to slaughter their entire miserable race as they eagerly surrendered every vault key in their possession.
But now...
She forced her shoulders to slump. She lowered her chin, adopting the wide-eyed, timid expression of a lost lamb. Clutching her pathetic, withered money pouch to her chest, she scurried past the guard and through the heavy bronze doors like a frightened little animal seeking shelter.
Beyond the bronze lay a second set of doors, these forged from solid silver. The famous warning poem was etched deep into the metal.
Enter, stranger, but take heed—
'Of what awaits the sin of greed,'Tamara silently finished the verse in her mind, her lip curling in a microscopic sneer.'What a pathetic, ridiculous threat. As long as one possesses absolute strength, greed is not a sin. It is a virtue.'
She stepped into the vast, echoing marble hall. Over a hundred goblins sat perched on high stools behind a long, continuous counter that stretched down the length of the room. The air was filled with the clinking of metal and the scratching of quills. Some goblins were carefully weighing brass coins on scales, while others squinted through jeweler's loupes at glittering gemstones.
Tamara approached an empty section of the counter. The goblin stationed there was furiously scribbling in a massive, leather-bound ledger. He didn't even bother to lift his head to acknowledge her presence.
"E-Excuse me... Sir."
Tamara stood on her tiptoes, her calf muscles straining just to get her chin over the polished wood of the high counter. With a trembling hand, she slid forward the crisp parchment envelope containing her Hogwarts financial aid voucher. "I've come to... withdraw some money, please."
The scratching of the quill ceased. The goblin slowly leaned over the edge of the desk, his long, calculating eyes narrowing as he peered down at the small girl. He extended a spindly arm, pinching the corner of the envelope between two knobby fingers as if it were a diseased rat.
"Hogwarts financial aid..." the goblin drawled. His voice was a high-pitched, piercing rasp, dripping with undisguised contempt. He broke the seal and lazily scanned the authorization slip inside.
"Based on the 1991 standard, this entitles you to exactly twenty Galleons."
The goblin pulled open a heavy drawer. He counted out a meager stack of gold coins and tossed them onto the counter. They scattered with a hollow, insulting clatter.
"This is just enough for you to purchase second-hand textbooks and the cheapest, thinnest robes that will shed lint all over the floor," the goblin sneered, waving a dismissive hand. "Take it and go. Don't block the paying customers behind you."
Twenty Galleons.
Tamara stared at the pathetic, glittering pile of gold. A cold, suffocating rage coiled in her stomach. It felt as though her very dignity as the Dark Lord had been scraped off the bottom of a boot and trampled into the mud.
What in Merlin's name could twenty Galleons accomplish? Even back in her youth, when she had degraded herself by working the counter at Borgin and Burkes, that stingy, miserable old Borgin had paid her a weekly wage higher than this!
This pitiful handful of change wasn't enough to fund a single clandestine meeting, let alone build a new army of Death Eaters. It wouldn't even cover the cost of a single, high-grade unicorn tail hair for a wand core!
Absolute fury burned white-hot in her chest. These lowly, subterranean creatures sat upon literal mountains of gold, hoarding the wealth of centuries, and they dared to toss her this insulting pittance?
Tamara locked her gaze onto the goblin's dark, beady eyes. A dangerous, bloody flash of red light flared deep within her obsidian pupils.
She didn't need a wand for this. A wand was merely a focus. All she needed was a silent Confundo, or perhaps a very weak, subtle Imperio suggestion slipped directly into his greedy little mind.
Just a slight mental nudge to make this wretched creature believe the slip authorized two hundred Galleons instead of twenty. Or a simple compulsion to make him reach under the counter and hand over an extra, unmarked bag of gold. She had played such trivial mind games countless times in her past life. It was child's play.
Her hand drifted toward her pocket. She fully intended to unstopper the Basic Magic Power Potion she had stored away. Drinking it would restore ten minutes of her former strength—more than enough time to concentrate, mobilize the meager magical reserves currently trapped in this frail body, and ruthlessly pierce the goblin's mental defenses.
[Warning! Violation detected!]
That damned, aggressively cheerful voice chimed directly into her cerebral cortex. It was as jarring and offensive as a clown blowing a brass trumpet at a solemn funeral.
[Virtue System Core Rule 3: A person of noble character loves wealth, but acquires it only through proper, honest means!]
[Detected host attempting to use Dark Magic for the purpose of fraud and/or robbery.]
[Punishment Warning: If you do not cease this malicious intent immediately, 10 points of 'Sanity'will be forcibly deducted. (Note: This may cause you to turn into a drooling, babbling fool on the spot for five minutes.), the Gringotts internal security system will be anonymously notified of your intent!]'Damn you to hell!'
Tamara cursed viciously in her mind, slamming the iron doors of her occlumency shut and forcefully severing the flow of her gathering magic.
The sudden, violent cancellation of the spell caused a brutal magical backlash. A sharp, blinding spike of pain drove itself directly through her temples. Her vision blurred, and her small body swayed dangerously on her tiptoes.
"What's wrong with you?" the goblin snapped, his bushy brow furrowing. His long fingers were already creeping beneath the mahogany desk, hovering over the brass security alarm. "If you're going to faint and soil my counter, I'll deduct a cleaning fee from your twenty Galleons."
"No... it's nothing."
Tamara bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper. Genuine tears of pain and frustration welled in her eyes, which she immediately weaponized. She looked up at the goblin, her expression a portrait of overwhelmed gratitude. "I'm just... I'm just so excited, sir. This is the first time I've ever seen so much money in my entire life."
The goblin curled his lip in utter disgust. He rolled his eyes, slowly withdrawing his hand from the alarm button. "Pathetic. Then take your money and get out of my sight."
Tamara scraped the handful of heavy gold coins off the polished wood. She stuffed them into her worn pouch, the metal clinking mockingly against the fabric, and turned to walk away.
As she walked out through the silver and bronze doors of Gringotts, the late morning sun was still shining brightly over the alley. Yet, Tamara's internal landscape was as dark and suffocatingly gloomy as the depths of the Forbidden Forest just before a violent thunderstorm.
"System, you are entirely useless," she whispered through gritted teeth, her voice barely carrying over the bustling street noise.
[Host, this system is specifically designed to cultivate you into a witch of high morals and impeccable integrity! A true powerhouse should create their wealth through Wisdom and honest labor, not through thievery and plunder!]
"Wisdom?"
Tamara stopped dead in her tracks. She stood at the top of the white marble steps, her cold, calculating gaze sweeping slowly across the vibrant, bustling shops of Diagon Alley.
A dark, chilling smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Since she was forbidden from simply robbing these fools blind, she would just have to use these so-called proper means to play their little game.
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