Chapter 83: Gringotts? Ha!
Inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, Quirinus Quirrell looked half-dead.
His face was ashen, his body trembling violently as he forced down a large jar of unicorn blood in a single gulp. A foul, metallic scent filled the room. For a moment, he convulsed—then slowly, painfully, a hint of colour returned to his cheeks.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound startled him.
Wasn't it the Slytherin vs Hufflepuff match right now? Why would anyone come here?
Before he could react—
"Open the door."
A cold, sharp voice came from behind him.
"That's my Little Water Snake."
Quirrell froze.
Then, scrambling to obey, he rushed to open the door.
Standing there was Audrey.
Her face was pale—not with weakness, but with something colder.
She stepped inside without even glancing at Quirrell.
"Let my father speak to me."
"Y-yes, Young Master."
Hands shaking, Quirrell untied the turban wrapped around his head.
A nauseating stench spread instantly.
And there—on the back of his skull—was the grotesque, flattened face of Lord Voldemort.
"My Little Water Snake," the Dark Lord's voice whispered. "What's wrong?"
"Someone annoyed me."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Who?" Voldemort's voice sharpened instantly. "Who dares provoke you?"
Quirrell's spine went cold.
The last time someone angered the Dark Lord, an entire family had been drained dry.
Was it happening again?
"Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
Even Voldemort fell silent.
At his peak, he had influence—but even he had never fully controlled Gringotts. Too much gold. Too many interests.
"What did they do?" he asked slowly.
Audrey's tone was calm.
"What they did to me isn't important. What matters is this—Gringotts is burning through the wealth of the pure-blood families."
She met his gaze.
"If nothing is done, when you return… you'll be leading beggars."
Voldemort's voice grew colder.
"Explain."
Audrey raised a single finger.
"Let's make a deal. I explain everything—you give me a free pass in Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Even one month of freedom was worth it.
"…Agreed."
He didn't hesitate.
Power came from wealth—and influence. Without gold, pure-blood families were useless.
"Speak."
"Gringotts borrowed enormous sums from pure-blood families," Audrey said, "and invested it all in Ukraine."
"Investment?" Voldemort frowned. "Goblins are cautious. They don't make such mistakes."
"They do," Audrey replied smoothly, "when they overestimate others."
She continued without pause.
"The Ukrainian economy collapsed. Their currency lost seventy percent of its value in months."
Silence.
"That means," she said evenly, "the pure-blood families have already lost seventy percent of their wealth."
Quirrell sucked in a breath.
Voldemort's voice turned icy.
"Impossible."
Audrey shrugged lightly.
"The Soviet Union collapsed. Ukraine inherited resources. Western support flowed in. Everything looked perfect."
Her gaze sharpened.
"But their government ruined everything."
Even goblins hadn't anticipated that level of incompetence.
Voldemort erupted.
"Fools! Are all Muggles fools?!"
Audrey didn't bother correcting him.
Instead, she gave him exactly what he needed:
"The only solution now is simple. Force Gringotts to repay early. Forget the interest—recover whatever you can before everything disappears."
She turned toward the door.
The stench in the room had become unbearable.
Without another word, she left.
Behind her, Voldemort's voice echoed coldly:
"Quirrell… take a shower."
Quirrell nearly collapsed.
Master… do you really not realise the smell is coming from you…?
But he didn't dare say it.
"Master… are we truly going to act? I feel… she's just using you to deal with Gringotts."
Voldemort scoffed.
"Fool."
"Does her intention matter?"
"If Gringotts has truly lost money, doing nothing means I inherit nothing."
A pause.
"Do you expect me to fight Albus Dumbledore with beggars?"
Quirrell lowered his head.
"…No, Master."
---
Back in her dormitory, Audrey lay lazily on her bed, sipping wine.
The two-way mirror flickered.
Edmond's image appeared.
"Audrey, what's happened?"
"I need two things done."
"Go on."
"First—have Vida Rosier and the others contact their networks. Pressure Gringotts for early repayment. Spread fear that they won't survive."
"Second—find Squibs working in Muggle finance."
She smiled faintly.
"We're building our own bank."
Edmond blinked.
"That's… not your original plan."
Audrey scoffed.
"They threatened me."
That alone was enough reason.
"Also," she added casually, "contact Rita Skeeter. I want articles—Gringotts' failed investments."
"Major papers won't publish unverified claims."
"Then pay them."
A pause.
"If they still refuse—buy them."
Edmond: "…Understood."
---
April 11, 1992.
The darkest day in the history of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
Wizards flooded its halls.
Demanding repayment.
Every newspaper screamed the same story—massive losses, collapsing investments, financial disaster.
Truth didn't matter anymore.
Perception had already decided everything.
Gringotts tried to resist.
"The contract is sacred!" they insisted.
"If we hold until May, we recover!"
Then came the final blow.
An article by Rita Skeeter.
Gringotts shamelessly demands early repayment and full interest—while refusing the same to its clients.
The outrage exploded.
Crowds surged.
Doors were torn down.
And beneath the chaos, the ancient warning engraved at the entrance lay trampled underfoot:
Greed will be punished.
For once—
It wasn't a warning to thieves.
It was a prophecy fulfilled.