Ragnot was losing it. He stormed up to Leon in a few quick strides.
"Bl—"
Leon flicked his fingers, instantly silencing Ragnot's voice from the surroundings.
"Easy now, no need to get worked up," Leon said, casually slinging an arm around the goblin manager's shoulder.
"Chill, mate. I'm exchanging all these Galleons at once—it's way too heavy to carry, and I can't take it all with me. Doesn't that mean more business for you?"
Ragnot's head was practically steaming with agitation. "That's not the same thing!"
"Oh, come on, how's it different?"
Leon, ever helpful, laid out the logic: "Look, I trade in my pounds, you get your performance stats, and Gringotts scores a massive deposit."
Patting Ragnot's tiny shoulder, Leon summed it up with a flourish. "We all get a bright, shiny future!"
A buffering symbol might as well have appeared above Ragnot's head.
"Wait! No! That's not right! Let me think… You, pounds, me, stats, Gringotts… No, it's all mixed up! Me, pounds, you, Galleons, Gringotts…"
While the goblin was still spiraling, Leon leaned over the counter.
He strong-armed the elderly goblin clerk, Bogrod, into speeding up the transaction.
Just then, Hermione approached, her face full of suspicion, ready to ask something when a shout echoed from across the hall.
"Hermione! Hermione! We're here!"
She turned to see a procession of seven redheads, plus one dark-haired boy, heading her way.
The Weasley family, with Harry Potter in tow.
"Hey! Over here! Come on!" Hermione called, bouncing on her toes and waving excitedly.
The group quickly merged into a noisy, chaotic huddle.
With over a dozen people chattering away, Hermione introduced her parents to everyone.
Mr. Weasley was thrilled, insisting on dragging Mr. Granger off for a drink.
Harry and Ron sidled up to Hermione, eager to share what Harry had just seen in Knockturn Alley—the Malfoys, father and son.
But Hermione couldn't shake the feeling she was forgetting something.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the counter, looking like a tornado had torn through it.
And behind it, a frazzled goblin clerk, disheveled by the storm.
"Wait, where's Leon?"
Leon?
Leon had bolted, obviously.
Why stick around to get caught?
The goblin manager was still a mess, not fully dealt with.
And now the Weasley clan had shown up, full force.
Sure, Leon had grown into himself over the past two years, but there was still a chance someone might recognize him.
Not because he'd gotten more handsome, practically rivaling the readers' own good looks.
But because no one could forget that dazzling, unforgettable white moonlight from their youth.
"Mum! I think I just saw Rollin!"
"Hm, alright, Ginny. Wait, Rollin? Who's that?"
"Rollin is…"
At the entrance to the vaults, Ginny glanced back, scanning the hall, still unsure if her eyes had played tricks on her.
"Rollin's… someone special."
…
Harry and Ron were about to head into the vault passage, and Hermione parted ways with them for now.
"Hermione, you still haven't told us who Leon is," Ron said.
"Leon?"
Hermione's expression softened, as if some people were like an unexpected dream—appearing out of nowhere, then vanishing just as fast.
Leaving the dreamer wistful, yet somehow fulfilled.
"Leon is someone special."
…
Back at the counter, Ragnot, the goblin manager, was a sight—eyes bulging, whites shot through with red veins, muttering feverishly, looking utterly deranged.
Clutching fistfuls of pound notes, he crouched on the now-empty counter, as if cursed, spiraling into a logic-fueled madness.
"I give 1,000 pounds, get 220 Galleons.
"You give 220 Galleons, get 1,000 pounds.
"You give 1 million pounds, get 100,000 Galleon promissory notes, 2,000 Galleon coins, 20 magical gems, 1,000 grams of raw gold, a high-end brass scale, an antique pocket watch, and a silver ring.
"Gringotts, Gringotts…"
Gringotts got a pile of mostly useless Muggle paper.
Ragnot jolted upright like he'd been electrocuted, then convulsed violently, crashing to the floor.
The other goblins in the hall, thinking their manager was having a fit, rushed to help.
Ragnot scrambled to his feet, shoving away their outstretched hands.
With a manic laugh, he roared, "Gringotts is done for! Hahaha… Gringotts is finished!!!"
His crazed bellows echoed through the Gringotts hall, following him as he tore through every corner.
"…Haha, it's over! All over! …Hahaha! I'm not mad! I did it! I made it! Hahaha… Brilliant! I'm not mad!…"
Gringotts' strict security kicked in. Guards swarmed, tackling the frenzied goblin manager and tying him up tight.
"I'm not mad! I'm not mad! You little Black brat, I &@% you $£¥#… I €[BEEP]! You ¢[BEEP—BEEP—BEEP]!"
A couple more goblins stepped in, landing two solid punches to shut him up.
They hoisted Ragnot and hustled him out of the hall as fast as possible.
But as Ragnot regained a sliver of sanity, he transformed into a prophet, preaching enlightenment to the masses.
Amid the other goblins' mutterings—"Too much work stress," "He was fine just a minute ago, then snapped," "No big deal, don't panic"—he began to chant the familiar yet strange poem carved on Gringotts' 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…"
"Underground vaults… not yours… retribution…
"Underground… aboveground… not yours… yours… retribution… reward…"
…
Outside Gringotts, under the blazing sun, on steps of gleaming white marble, a dashing young man on a skateboard sped by like a fresh breeze.
Amid awestruck stares, he launched off the steps, landed, accelerated, and vanished into the crowd.
Leaving behind only a tale, later whispered far and wide, of the handsome Gringotts thief.
Leon, skateboard in one hand, sack slung over his shoulder, strolled confidently into an alley between two shops.
In a blink, he swapped his clothes for a wizard's robe and his face for an unremarkable one, stepping out empty-handed.
Leon wandered the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.
He paused at every shop selling curious trinkets, fiddling with them, only to leave reluctantly—his pockets too poor to buy.
Just like any other young wizard milling about the street.
Licking a chocolate ice cream, Leon pressed his nose to a shop window, squeezed among a gaggle of kids drooling over the new pre-order Nimbus 2001.
Behind him, two or three waves of Gringotts goblin guards rushed past.
Leon tilted his head, glancing at their retreating figures.
"Wow, so many of them."
With a half-hearted sigh, he tossed out a lazy compliment: "Pretty efficient, huh? Keep it up! Nothing's impossible if you just give up. I believe in you."
Leon felt zero guilt.
And why should he? It's not like he'd pulled a zero-cost scam.
That million pounds was realer than real gold.
At the standard 5:1 exchange rate, it could've been 200,000 Galleons.
But no one could carry dozens of tons of gold coins alone.
So, he took what he could.
Even those high-value promissory notes, worth 100,000 Galleons, would probably take some extra effort to cash in later.
And there'd likely be some loss in the process.
"Ugh, now that I think about it, I might've lost out a bit," Leon muttered, briefly considering a return to Gringotts to make up the difference.
But no—can't keep shearing the same sheep.
Shear it bald, and in this economy, it'd take forever to grow back.
Sustainable shearing was the way to go.
Time to find new sheep to fleece.
As Leon pondered, his eyes landed on two blond heads—one tall, one small—practically screaming Malfoy without needing the name etched on their foreheads.
He watched Lucius and Draco Malfoy step into a Quidditch specialty shop.
One thought consumed him.
Right here, right now, was Riddle's diary on Lucius Malfoy?