Ian also took advantage of the Eight-Character Moustache Goblin going to fetch something to slip an Alchemy Protection Ring onto each of his ten fingers and sandal-clad toes, one after another. Even though his mind had been stuck on the Misty Illusion Realm these days, he had zero intention of returning there in the usual, upright way.
He mused inwardly that a hundred layers of protection would surely be enough.
The Eight-Character Moustache Goblin had already returned.
"What are you...?"
It glanced, a bit surprised, at Ian's new look.
"Suddenly caught a bout of that Wu-ha fashion fever, so I changed outfits."
Ian swung his ten-pound hand, giving a not-very-convincing reply.
"Alright then."
The Eight-Character Moustache Goblin gave Ian a long, searching look.
"Everyone get back to your posts! Stop hiding under the tables!" As it escorted Ian in, it hollered at the sections that had ground to a halt.
Such a deputy's air.
A bit restored now.
"Turns out he's just Medivh's descendant after all."
"I honestly thought Medivh himself was back. Damn near scared me to death."
"Even if he's only a descendant, my intuition tells me that little wizard probably also likes to snack on a few goblins now and then—my crotch has a gift of prophecy."
...
These hiding goblins had actually been eavesdropping with their already-enormous ears the whole time, so once they crawled out, they all breathed easy and resumed their regular work routines.
The only guests they had to attend to were the Granger family.
All the goblins dove back into their beloved work as if nothing had ever happened.
"Is there something we can help you with?"
The grizzled old goblin at the leasing and account opening counter, though he'd already overheard everything earlier, still eyed the Granger family with the air of a second-rate actor throwing himself into his role.
"We'd like to exchange some Pounds for Golden Galleons, please." Mr. Granger, for his part, encountered no resistance—maybe the 'Medivh-descendant' badge Ian wore really did work wonders for them.
After getting a small bag of Golden Galleons, Mr. Granger couldn't help but sigh inwardly that this money surely wouldn't be enough to feed his daughter at school, while Lady Granger was already wondering if they could ask Ian to exchange a bit more. When the old goblin saw the family not making any inquiries about vault rentals, he immediately got antsy.
"Aren't you interested in learning about our different vault rental options?"
The old goblin's tone was pure impatience.
The whole of their race just wanted wizards' money safely stashed in Gringotts—because in their eyes, once the money was here, it pretty much belonged to them already.
"Maybe we don't really need one…"
Mr. Granger was clearly showing off Muggle World negotiation skills, including the little spousal chatter with his wife earlier—it was all just a double act between the two of them.
This kind of maneuver was clearly rather baffling to the old goblin.
"That's not a wise decision, you know. There are loads of Dark Wizards out there eager to plunder your wealth. Only by keeping your money with us can you avoid such plunders to the greatest extent."
The old goblin started fearmongering with a doomsday salesman's flair.
"Is that so?"
Mr. Granger was obviously hesitant. He really didn't know much about Wizarding World society. That smidgen of hesitation was the gap the old goblin immediately pounced on.
"Absolutely! Only Gringotts can safeguard your wealth! We've got Three-headed Giant Dragons guarding the treasures! And unique one-on-one safekeeping keys, impossible to replicate!"
"You know, the difference between a great bank and a perfect bank is just a step—and that step is Gringotts!" The old goblin's spiel and performance were actually quite entertaining.
"Someone told me you got robbed before." Hermione suddenly piped up, catching everyone off guard. She's the type who, if she opens her mouth, her very first sentence lands right up in your face.
"Who? Who told you that?!"
The old goblin immediately flew off the handle.
"The newspaper… I read it in the newspaper."
Hermione was startled—she really didn't want to rat out Ian, so she bluffed with visibly shaky nerves—she had in fact seen that newspapers existed in Wizarding bookstores.
"Bullshit! We already had the newspapers change their reports! It must have been earlier…" The old goblin was about to curse up a storm, but as something dawned on him, he stopped himself cold.
"Alright, fine, fine, I'll give you a five percent discount—at least, statistically, after being robbed once, it's next to impossible for a bank to get hit again in the short term."
"You don't have to believe me, but you really should believe in math…" Good grief—once he realized he couldn't afford to pick a fight with the culprit, the goblin switched gears into a full-on science explainer.
Anything to sell those vaults, truly pulling out all the stops.
...
Deep underground.
The passages here sloped sharply downward, with tiny rail tracks laid along the ground. The Eight-Character Moustache Goblin let out a whistle, and a tiny cart came trundling along the tracks toward them.
"Please board, honored young master."
The Eight-Character Moustache Goblin clambered in first, using his sleeve to rub a clean seat for Ian—so deftly it was hard to tell if it was muscle memory or some innate goblin skill.
"Aren't you supposed to call me 'Master'?"
Ian teased, staring at the brand on the goblin's forehead.
"Oh, you do joke, sir. We all know…your ancestor never fully upheld his promises. We goblins still haven't gotten our own true Domain."