Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 889: The Fake Goblin in Gringotts

“What’s going on—nothing?”

Kyle had asked three times already in Diagon Alley, but Dobby’s answer hadn’t changed: he didn’t know.

He hadn’t seen anyone bring any Galleons—not even a single Knut.

“That’s odd.” Kyle sat behind the counter, frowning.

Snape had said he’d delivered the Galleons, but Dobby insisted nothing had arrived. And Kyle didn’t think either of them was lying.

So where were the Galleons? They couldn’t have just vanished into thin air.

Just then, an owl swooped in from outside and dropped a letter on the table.

“A letter from Romania?” Kyle blinked, then picked up the envelope and opened it, unfolding a sheet of parchment.

…

Dear Kyle,

Regarding what we discussed earlier, I’m sorry it’s taken this long. The goblins kept stalling and making excuses, refusing to transfer the vault that rightfully belonged to them (those greedy creatures—clearly, that gold was ours).

Funnily enough, their cousins are just as greedy. The British goblins showed up, a bit late, but they finally got it sorted. I hope you didn’t wait too long.

Your new vault is #166 at Gringotts in Britain. I’ve enclosed the key with this letter. We’ll be transferring the Galleons into that vault as well.

(Personally, I think while Gringotts is convenient, it’s always safer to keep Galleons in your own hands. Those goblins really can’t be trusted.)

Yours faithfully,

Drols Blatter

...

The letter was from the dragon reserve—and enclosed with it was a small golden key, clearly the key to his new vault at Gringotts.

Kyle held it in his hand, thrilled. Over 6,300 Galleons—he’d waited so long, and now it was finally here.

In that moment, all thoughts of Professor Snape vanished from his mind. Whatever compensation Snape owed him didn’t even compare—it wasn’t even close.

This was real money.

And on this point, he completely agreed with Drols.

Goblins couldn’t be trusted. It was safer to keep Galleons on yourself.

“Dobby, I’ll leave the shop to you.”

With that thought, Kyle jumped to his feet and headed for Gringotts, planning to withdraw the money as soon as possible.

Although the news of Dumbledore’s resignation had caused an uproar in the wizarding world, it hadn’t affected Diagon Alley. The street was as quiet as ever.

As he walked, Kyle considered whether he should write a reply to Drols.

If possible, he wanted to ask if they could bypass Gringotts altogether and send his share of the Galleons directly to him.

If that worked, he wouldn’t have to make this trip every year.

It should be doable.

Based on Drols’ closing comment, he clearly didn’t trust the goblins either.

The real issue was that Kyle simply hated dealing with goblins. Though they resembled house-elves in appearance, the feeling they gave off couldn’t have been more different.

Especially their bandit-like logic and insufferable selfishness.

In the goblins’ worldview, anything they crafted belonged to them.

Godric Gryffindor had once brought his own materials and paid a hefty fee to have the Goblin King forge him a sword—the legendary Sword of Gryffindor.

But once it was finished, the Goblin King couldn’t bear to part with it. After finally being forced to hand it over, he spread rumors that Gryffindor had stolen the sword and even sent his lackeys to try and steal it back.

A thousand years ago, goblins had been far more formidable than they were now—most wizards couldn’t beat one in a duel back then.

If it had been anyone else, the goblins might’ve succeeded.

But unfortunately for them, they’d picked the wrong wizard—Gryffindor, the least concerned with appearances among the Founders, and by far the most capable fighter (according to Legendary Duelling Masters: The Pride of Gryffindor, from the Hogwarts Library—possible idol bias not ruled out).

So Gryffindor beat the goblin lackeys to a pulp, and under threat of force, the Goblin King gave up on stealing the sword.

Still, the nickname “Gryffindor the Thief” lived on among goblins—proof they’d never stopped coveting that sword.

Some of the more extreme ones even believed that any treasure stored in Gringotts automatically belonged to goblins... To them, a wizard withdrawing their own money was no better than a burglar invading their home.

And unfortunately, there were plenty of fools who actually thought this way.

Whenever Kyle was around goblins, he found it hard to resist the urge to throw a ball of Fiendfyre at their heads.

Still, he had to admit—Gringotts was incredibly convenient for many wizards, especially Muggle-borns.

It was the only place they could exchange Galleons while they were in school.

So even if Kyle disliked goblins, he couldn’t deny their usefulness...

...

The shop wasn’t far from Gringotts, and soon Kyle spotted the familiar white building standing tall.

He remembered a photo in The Daily Prophet after the recent attack on Gringotts—cracks all over the exterior walls, and two broken columns framing the entrance.

But now, all signs of damage were gone. Gringotts looked exactly the same as before, as if nothing had ever happened.

Uniformed goblins stood on either side of the doors, each holding a slender golden rod.

Probity Probes—designed to detect concealed spells and magical items.

Clearly, the recent attack had made them more alert.

Kyle gave a glance at his Mokeskin pouch, then climbed the stairs with practiced calm. From behind his back, the tip of his wand peeked slightly from the cuff of his right sleeve.

As he stepped up to the landing, the two goblins simultaneously raised their golden rods.

“Confundo!”

The tip of the wand sparked twice. The goblin lowered the golden rod, as if Kyle were no longer visible to him at all.

The second door, made of silver, was engraved with a warning: Thieves shall meet a terrible end—a final reminder to anyone with ill intentions.

But beyond this point, there were no more guards.

Inside the silver doors, dozens of goblins were busily working in the main hall.

Kyle couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing—only that they all seemed very busy.

Behind a long counter, a goblin was carefully inspecting a gemstone. He only looked up slowly when Kyle stepped forward.

A long, fresh scar stretched across the goblin’s face, making his already unpleasant features even more grotesque.

“How may I help you?” the goblin asked, staring at Kyle.

“I need to make a withdrawal,” Kyle replied, producing the golden key.

At the mention of a withdrawal, the minimal warmth in the goblin’s expression vanished completely.

He took the key, inspected it, and handed it back. “No problem. I’ll send someone to escort you.”

He glanced behind him. “Griphook—”

“Mr. Bogrod,” another goblin spoke up, stepping forward. “Griphook isn’t available. I’ll take this gentleman to the vault.”

“Not available?” Bogrod didn’t question it and simply nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Understood.” The young goblin walked out from behind the counter. “Should I bring Kragg as well? Given the current circumstances.”

“It’s just a standard vault…” Bogrod hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. Take him too. Be quick.”

“Of course.” The young goblin picked up a small bell and gave it a shake, then turned to Kyle with a polite smile.

“This way, sir.”

Kyle studied him for a brief moment, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“Then I’ll be in your care, Mr. Goblin.”

“Just doing my duty.”

The two made their way into a rough-hewn stone corridor. Sunlight didn’t reach this far, but a row of torches lit the way.

Another goblin was already waiting. At the younger goblin’s approach, he gave a sharp whistle. A mine cart emerged from the darkness along the rails.

By the time Kyle arrived, the goblin was already standing motionless at the front of the cart.

“My apologies, sir,” the younger goblin said. “Kragg isn’t much for conversation—I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Kyle replied offhandedly, boarding the cart without hesitation. “As long as it doesn’t delay my withdrawal.”

“It won’t!”

Vault 166 was one of the most basic vaults. Less than ten minutes later, the cart rolled to a stop.

Kragg still stood at the front, unmoving. The younger goblin stepped forward with the key and approached the door.

Perhaps due to the dim lighting, it took him two tries to unlock it.

A sliver of golden light spilled through the crack as the door opened.

Over six thousand Galleons. The number alone might not sound like much, but seeing them all piled up was breathtaking.

It looked like a golden mountain, nearly as tall as Kyle. The small vault was filled with a rich, intoxicating scent.

“I love this,” Kyle murmured, running his hand through the gold coins.

“Indeed.” The young goblin nodded in agreement. “People say gold is dirty, but no one can live without it.”

“No, you’re wrong. I never said gold was dirty.”

Kyle pulled out a sack he’d brought in advance and began filling it without leaving a single coin behind. He even inspected the vault thoroughly—every corner, every crack between the stones.

Only after making absolutely sure he’d gathered every last Galleon did he leave the vault and get back into the cart.

The young goblin followed him in, and Kragg restarted the cart.

But instead of heading back, the cart continued deeper into the tunnels.

“Mr. Goblin,” Kyle said, glancing around, “no offense, but this doesn’t seem like the way back to Gringotts.”

“You’re right,” the young goblin admitted readily. “We have another task to complete—rather urgent. It might take a bit of your time. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Ah, not at all.” Kyle casually rolled a Galleon between his fingers. “I’m in no rush.”

The cart tore down the winding tracks at increasing speed. The clatter of wheels and rush of air filled the tunnel, loud and disorienting.

The torches on the walls became more and more sparse, and an unpleasant stench began to fill the air.

After a sharp turn, a third sound joined the noise.

It was the roar of rushing water slamming against stone.

Up ahead, a waterfall thundered down directly across the tracks.

“Mr. Goblin, are you sure we’re going through that?” Kyle asked suddenly. “I should remind you—Thief’s Downfall will strip away all enchantments.”

“I’m well aware,” the young goblin replied, turning around. Then he drew a wand.

Goblins weren’t permitted to carry wands. It was a firm line drawn by the Ministry—no wizard wanted to see a race that had once led a rebellion armed with wands again.

But Kyle didn’t look surprised in the slightest. It was as if he’d expected it all along.

The Thief’s Downfall appeared to have been cut off somehow, and the cart passed smoothly beneath it.

“What a hassle,” muttered the young goblin, holding his wand. “But I still need it to open the door.”

He made no move to put the wand away—because Kyle was also holding his.

“I’m curious,” Kyle suddenly said.

“Curious about what? Whether goblins can use wands?”

“No,” Kyle shook his head. “Goblins definitely can’t, but you clearly can.”

“What I’m curious about is what really happened at Gringotts. The paper only gave it a passing mention—no details at all.”

“Oh, that...” The young goblin thought for a moment, then said, “The Dark Lord needed something from Bellatrix’s vault. But after she was killed, the vault key went missing. We had no choice but to take some... aggressive measures.”

“Wasn’t there another Lestrange still alive?” Kyle asked. “Why not just have him come?”

“Rodolphus?” The young goblin shook his head. “He’s not Bellatrix. Even though they were married in name, he’d still need to provide proof.”

“But that brings us back to the start. Madam Bellatrix was too loyal to the Dark Lord. She followed his instructions to hide the item so well that even Rodolphus didn’t know where the key was.”

“So without the key, the goblins won’t let them into the vault?”

“Exactly. That’s the rule.”

“What a hassle.”

“No way around it. That vault’s too valuable—the goblins would be thrilled if it stayed in Gringotts forever.”

“The goblins...” Kyle eyed him and clicked his tongue. “You’re not even pretending anymore, are you, Professor Oren?”

“Oh, damn it,” the young goblin said carelessly. With a swipe of his wand over himself, he instantly changed form.

“Much better,” said Death Eater Oren, straightening his clothes and eyeing Kyle with interest. “When did you figure it out?”

“First time we met,” Kyle replied. “I’m pretty decent at Transfiguration, and those eyes? No goblin has eyes like that.”

“I was just going to tag along behind someone, didn’t expect it to be you,” Oren said. “What a surprise.”

“Didn’t expect a high-profile Death Eater to sneak into Gringotts disguised as a goblin,” said Kyle. “What, a hundred Death Eaters couldn’t take it?”

“There weren’t that many—barely twenty,” Oren said with a dismissive wave. “The Thief’s Downfall washed away the Imperius Curses cast on the goblins, so the whole mission fell apart. That’s why I came.”

“I see.” Kyle shrugged. “Still, I bet you won’t pull it off either.”

“Well, that’s a problem. The Dark Lord doesn’t like useless followers,” Oren sighed. “Judging by your tone, you’re planning to stop me?”

“Of course I am—what kind of question is that?” Kyle casually flicked a gold coin against the cliff wall outside the cart, then grabbed a whole handful from his bag and tossed them out.

“Besides, you already suspected as much, didn’t you? From the moment you volunteered to bring me to the vault.”

“Honestly, if you hadn’t called out to me, I might not have recognized you. But you did—and you insisted on bringing me along.”

“It wouldn’t feel right to just pretend I didn’t notice.”

“Unlucky,” Oren sighed again. “I really just wanted to catch up.”

“There’s nothing for us to catch up on.” Kyle threw out another handful of coins.

Oren watched Kyle scatter the gold, baffled. “What are you doing?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Setting the stage,” Kyle replied, guiding the coins to land in visible spots. “Even if I have to stop you, I’m not helping Gringotts for free.”

“All right.” Oren still didn’t get it, but chose to respect it. “We’re almost there. Shall we begin?”

“No—wait a bit longer.” Kyle stopped throwing coins and stared into the tunnel ahead. “We’re already here. It’s a rare opportunity, and there’s something I’ve been meaning to do along the way.”

Just then, the cart rounded another corner and entered a vast underground chamber.

The passage suddenly widened.

A massive dragon was chained to the ground ahead, guarding access to four or five of the deepest vaults.

But unlike the dragons Kyle had seen before, this one was in terrible shape. Its scales were pale and loose, ready to fall off at any moment.

Years in the cold had taken their toll. Dragons preferred hot, dry environments; being stuck this deep underground was torture.

Its legs were shackled by enormous iron chains, and the scales around them had long since been rubbed away by the cuffs, exposing raw, bloody flesh.

“All right. Go do your thing,” Kyle said as he jumped off the cart. “By the way, once the Thief’s Downfall was cut off, the goblins probably realized something was wrong. We’d better move quickly.”

“Yeah, good point.” Oren also jumped down, dragging the goblin named Kragg with him. The goblin’s eyes were vacant—he didn’t react at all.

The two parted ways without resistance—neither one tried to stop the other.

Kyle headed toward the dragon. It was a Ukrainian Ironbelly.

Sensing someone approach, the dragon turned its grotesque head and unleashed a jet of flame at Kyle.

A stone wall shot up, blocking the fire.

“Need a hand?” Oren called, tossing over a strange-looking iron shard. “I heard this thing can calm it down.”

“No need!” Kyle shouted back.

He swung his wand again, and the stone wall morphed into two enormous arms. One to the left, one to the right—they seized the dragon’s neck and slammed it down.

Boom!

The ground shuddered, dust and rubble flying everywhere.

The dragon roared furiously, thrashing and spraying fire in all directions.

“Easy, little one, easy...” Kyle murmured to the dragon, gently raising his wand.

With a metallic clink, the chains binding the dragon were sliced clean in half.