The goblin was very short, with a pointed nose and razor-sharp ears. Deep wrinkles carved up his face, leaving it utterly devoid of anything Harriet could recognize as beauty. Had Emperor Russell ever laid eyes on such a creature, he might well have coined one of his famous remarks about ugliness on the spot. In short, no one would willingly look at this goblin a second longer than necessary.
Stepping through the door, Harriet and Hagrid approached the high counter. Several ugly faces peered down at her, their beady eyes openly sizing her up.
"Hullo!" Hagrid announced cheerfully, setting a key on the polished marble surface. "We're here to take something from Harriet Potter's vault."
"Who?" The goblin lowered his spectacles, eyes narrowing to slits as one bony finger brushed a bronze button beneath the counter. "The Potter family?"
The name tag pinned to his chest read Locke. His shrill voice grated against the nerves.
"Under Gringotts Vault Contract, clause eighty-nine, line twelve-oh-seven," Locke continued coldly, "Potter business cannot be processed at present."
"What?" Hagrid scowled. "What do you mean by that? Harriet's right here!"
"Recent theft attempts on the Potter vault have kept Gringotts security running off their feet," Locke said, lips curling. "That fortune always attracts trash looking for shortcuts."
Harriet lifted her chin and met the goblin's scrutiny. Her voice remained soft and composed.
"I am Harriet Potter. I understand that Gringotts must be strict."
Aside from a few coarse words, she didn't much mind his attitude. Who wouldn't want their wealth kept safe?
"In person?" Locke snorted, thin fingers drumming against the counter. "The parchment clearly says Harry—a boy. And you?" His gaze flicked over her dismissively. "A girl? An impostor to be punished!"
He had dared to cut off a lady mid-sentence, his tone dripping with scorn—and threats. Utterly rude.
Harriet's polite smile froze, a chill flashing briefly through her emerald eyes.
Hagrid flushed red, spluttering, "Now listen here, Locke! She is Harriet! Dumbledore himself can vouch for her! She just… changed a bit!"
"Changed?" Locke waved an impatient hand. "From boy to girl? Preposterous! The great Dumbledore never notified Gringotts of any amendment to client records. Perhaps you should visit the Ministry of Magic for proper verification first?"
At the raised voices, another goblin approached. He was older, his wrinkles deeper, and his name tag read Bogrod, marked with the prefix Senior Staff.
"What's all this shouting?" Bogrod asked sharply.
Locke jabbed a finger toward Harriet. "This girl claims she's Harry Potter and wants access to the Potter vault!"
Bogrod squinted, studying Harriet for a long moment. His expression hardened.
"Locke's handling may be personal," Bogrod said coolly, "but it follows security protocol. Until this matter is clarified, the Potter vault remains sealed. Impersonation warrants investigation."
The old Harry might have felt nothing but anger and grievance at such treatment. But Harriet was no longer a helpless child.
She noticed the subtle tension between the two goblins—the way their gazes clashed for a heartbeat before turning away with cold snorts. Interesting. These two "gentlemen" were clearly not on friendly terms.
Her irritation melted into anticipation.
Goblin rudeness, after all, was fair game for mischief.
Harriet stopped arguing. She lowered her head slightly, shoulders trembling just enough to appear shaken. When she looked up again, her emerald eyes shimmered with a thin mist.
First, she turned toward Locke, her voice timid yet clear.
"Respected goblin sir," she said softly, "such strict adherence to protocol must exist to avoid even the smallest oversight. You must be a most dutiful clerk."
Her words carried sincere-sounding admiration. Locke's taut jaw loosened almost imperceptibly.
Instigation.
The Demoness's hallmark power.
Next, Harriet turned to Bogrod. Her voice softened further, as though sharing a private concern.
"Mr. Bogrod," she murmured, "with your vast experience, you surely know that when mistakes occur, responsibility ultimately falls on those overseeing the bigger picture."
She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"I would only feel it unfair if, because of a resolvable misunderstanding, the true decision-maker—someone like you—were blamed for trouble you never personally caused."
Her gaze flickered back to Locke, just long enough to convey a hint of worry.
"Of course, I do not question him. He is merely performing his duty. Only… outsiders see results, not intentions. And reputations suffer regardless."
Words carried magic.
Each syllable struck precisely at the goblins' sore spots—rivalry and accountability.
Unconsciously, both nodded, their eyes shifting.
The Instigator's power seeped in silently.
Harriet had planted only two seeds and gently breathed upon them.
To Locke, the message was clear: You're right—but you'll be made the scapegoat.
To Bogrod, it whispered: Your subordinate is creating trouble, and you'll bear the blame.
For a heartbeat, the hall fell silent, broken only by the faint clinking of coins.
Then the goblins glared at one another, chests heaving.
Locke's face twisted, pupils shrinking with rage as his knuckles whitened against the counter.
"She's right!" he snapped. "You always hide behind procedure and leave me to take the blame while you play the good guy!"
Bogrod's wrinkles deepened as he shrieked back, "When have I ever let you take the blame? You bungled the big client last time with your inflexibility, you blockhead!"
"What?" Locke roared. "You toady! Always sucking up to rich wizards! You're ruining Gringotts' rules!"
"Slander!" Bogrod screeched. "You're jealous of my higher rank!"
"Hah! Everyone knows how you got that seat!"
The quarrel escalated instantly, spit flying as their voices echoed through the hall.
Wizards and goblins alike gathered, drawn by the sudden infighting.
Harriet quietly stepped back to Hagrid's side, watching the scene she had so carefully scripted. A pleased curve touched her lips.
Such chaos was deeply satisfying to a Demoness.
Time for more drama.
"Gentlemen, please," Harriet said faintly, "arguing solves nothing—"
Crash!
Locke seized an inkpot and hurled it straight at Bogrod. Bogrod shrieked, lunging forward and raking his nails across Locke's face.
They crashed to the floor together, shrieks, curses, and shattering glass echoing throughout Gringotts.
The hall erupted.
One wizard even whispered encouragement from the sidelines.
Hagrid gaped at the chaos, then looked down at Harriet's wide-eyed, shocked expression.
"Merlin's beard…"
A higher-ranking goblin manager rushed forward, face livid as he barked orders for guards to separate the two combatants.
After restoring some semblance of order, he turned to Harriet and Hagrid, forcing a professional smile.
"Miss Potter. Mr. Hagrid. My sincerest apologies," he said stiffly. "I am Manager Ragnuk. Please come with me—I will personally handle your business."
Harriet inclined her head gracefully, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
"Thank you, Goblin," she said politely. "Much obliged."
They followed Manager Ragnuk through the whispering crowd toward the vault passage.
Behind them, the echoes of chaos slowly faded.
Ahead of them, the promise of gold awaited.
Harriet's mood shone as brightly as the sunlight spilling over Diagon Alley outside.
If you'd like, I can also:
Tighten it further for professional web-novel standards
Adjust tone to be more canon-faithful or darker
Do a line-by-line edit comparison
Prepare the chapter for submission or reposting
Just tell me.