Chapter 6: Gringotts
Tamara tossed the handkerchief to the ground and headed for the courtyard behind the pub.
The red brick wall looked no different from any other piece of shabby London masonry. Tamara did not have a wand, but she did not need one. She certainly remembered how it opened, even if she could not do it herself right now.
Her eyes flicked to a wizard nearby, dressed in worn robes, busy scrubbing at a rubbish bin. He looked like the sort of person the Leaky Cauldron relied on for the unpleasant jobs.
Tamara walked over and gently tugged his sleeve.
"Uncle."
She looked up, and those large eyes filled with a soft, irresistible haze. Her voice turned sweet enough to melt ice.
"I cannot reach the bricks up there. Could you help me open the door?"
The wizard turned. The moment he saw an exquisite, doll like little girl asking so politely, his expression softened as if someone had flicked a switch.
"Oh, of course. Certainly, little lady."
He hurriedly drew his wand and tapped the wall above the bin three times.
Three bricks up. Two across.
Click.
The brickwork shivered. It began to move from the centre, stones sliding aside with a quiet, grinding precision. A small gap appeared, widening and widening until a broad archway stood before them, opening onto a winding cobbled street that seemed to stretch into infinity.
Golden sunlight spilled over a dazzling riot of signs. Cauldrons. Apothecaries. Robes. And towering above them all, the white marble façade of Gringotts.
The noise struck at once. Voices. Shopkeepers calling out. The hooting of owls. A living tide of magic and commerce flooding the senses.
Diagon Alley.
The heart of the British wizarding world.
Tamara stood beneath the archway, sunlight painting her pale face in gold, laying a saintly halo over a girl who looked fragile and harmless.
The wizard who had helped her waited with a kind expression, clearly expecting a thank you.
Tamara turned back and offered a perfect smile.
"Thank you, Uncle. May Merlin bless you."
As he stared at her, bewitched by that simple gratitude, Tamara added coldly in her mind.
"Though that old fossil Merlin has probably rotted into dust by now."
Then she turned and stepped into the world that belonged to her.
Her first stop was obvious.
The place that reeked of money, and yet was unavoidable.
Gringotts.
Tamara squeezed the money pouch in her hand. It was not particularly heavy.
You could not do anything without money.
Hogwarts had provided enough to scrape by. If she wanted more than the bare essentials, this pathetic sum would not be enough.
Gringotts Wizarding Bank rose ahead like a pristine white tooth in a mouth of crooked shops. Its snowy marble face made everything around it look dirtier by comparison.
Tamara stopped before the gleaming bronze doors and looked up at the goblin guard in scarlet and gold.
"Enter," the goblin said, giving a lazy bow. The gesture was as careless as flicking away a fly.
Tamara snorted inwardly.
In another time, with power in her hands, these greedy, ugly little creatures would have trembled at her feet, begging her not to butcher their kind while they offered vault keys with shaking fingers.
Now, she lowered her head. She made her shoulders small. She clutched the thin money pouch and slipped through the doors like a frightened animal.
Past the second set of silver doors, the famous warning poem was engraved into the metal.
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Tamara silently finished the rest in her mind.
"Of what awaits the sin of greed."
A ridiculous threat. If one's strength was great enough, greed became a virtue.
Beyond the doors, the marble hall opened wide. A hundred goblins or more sat behind tall counters. Some weighed coins. Others examined gemstones. Quills scratched across ledgers like insects skittering over paper.
Tamara approached an empty counter where a goblin was hunched over a large book, scribbling without even looking up.
"S sir."
She rose on tiptoe to get her chin above the counter and held out the envelope with her Hogwarts financial aid voucher.
"I have come to withdraw money."
The goblin paused. Slowly, he lifted his head. His long, sharp eyes narrowed with calculation as he pinched the envelope between two fingers, as if touching it too much would stain him.
"Hogwarts financial aid," he read in a high, piercing voice, contempt openly dripping from every syllable.
He opened it, glanced at the slip, and made a sound somewhere between a sniff and a scoff.
"According to the 1991 standard, you can exchange for twenty Galleons."
He counted out a small pile of gold coins from a drawer and tossed them onto the counter with a hard clatter.
"Enough for second hand textbooks and the cheapest robes that shed lint. Take it and go. Do not block the customers behind you."
Twenty.
Tamara stared at that miserable heap of gold and felt as if the last scraps of her dignity had been thrown down and ground into the marble.
What was twenty Galleons?
Even when she had worked at Borgin and Burkes, old Borgin's stingy wage had been higher than this, and that man had been proud of his own meanness. This was not enough to build an army, not enough for influence, not enough even for the materials she remembered.
It was not even close.
Fury burned in her chest.
These creatures guarded mountains of gold and handed her crumbs.
Tamara met the goblin's eyes. A flicker of red passed deep within her obsidian pupils.
She did not need a wand.
A silent Confundus. A weak Imperius suggestion. Something small, neat, surgical.
Just enough to make the goblin think the slip said two hundred Galleons.
Just enough to make him hand over an extra bag.
She had done worse tricks than that without thinking.
Tamara's hand tightened around the pouch. She reached inward for the Basic Mana Potion. Ten minutes of normal strength. Ten minutes were more than enough to pierce a mind.
[Warning! Violation detected!]
That cheerful voice rang out again. It sounded like a clown blowing a trumpet at a funeral.
[Virtue System Core Rule Three: A person of character loves wealth but acquires it through proper means.]
[Detected host attempting to use Dark Arts for fraud or robbery.]
[Punishment Warning: If you do not stop, ten points of Sanity will be forcibly deducted, which may cause you to drool and babble like a fool for five minutes on the spot, and the Gringotts security system will be notified.]
"Damn it," Tamara cursed silently, and severed the flow of magic by sheer force of will.
The sudden cutoff snapped back through her skull. A sharp pain lanced her brain, and her body swayed.
The goblin frowned. His hand slid beneath the counter towards a hidden button.
"What is wrong with you?" he snapped. "If you faint on my counter, I will charge you a cleaning fee."
"N no. Nothing."
Tamara bit her lip. Tears welled up on command, making her look small, overwhelmed, harmless.
"I am just… excited," she whispered. "This is the first time I have ever seen so much money."
The goblin curled his lip, rolled his eyes, and withdrew his hand from the alarm.
"Then take it and get out."
Tamara scooped up the coins, stuffed them into her pouch, and left without another word.
Outside, the sun was still bright.
Tamara's mood was not.
It was as dark as the Forbidden Forest before a storm.
"System, you are useless," she whispered through clenched teeth as she descended the bank's steps.
[Host, this system is designed to cultivate you into a witch of high morals and integrity. A true powerhouse creates wealth through wisdom and labour, not plunder.]
"Wisdom?" Tamara stopped on the steps, her gaze sliding across the busy shops of Diagon Alley.
If she could not rob them, then she would play by these so called proper rules.
And she would still win.