"Lord Potter," Rognuk began, his voice trembling with urgency, "is it true that you can just… go inside any of our vaults? Whenever you wish? Without being detected?"
I turned slowly toward him, letting the silence stretch a little before smiling. "Oh, Rognuk. We meet again. You look winded—did you run here? Come now, sit down before you collapse. Bogrod, what are you doing? Fetch your manager a glass of water. Look at him—he's practically shaking."
Rognuk ignored the offer, his eyes wide and desperate. "Lord Potter… my lord, great sir, I beg you—don't play games with me. Tell me, is it true?" His voice cracked on the last word. For a moment, I simply watched him. The mighty branch manager of Gringotts, reduced to panic and pleading—it was a sight that warmed my very vindictive heart. I hadn't forgotten the arrogance from earlier, how they'd tried to dismiss my complaints as if I were some bothersome child.
Finally, I said with casual indifference, "Yes, Rognuk. I can indeed do it."
He paled visibly, gripping the armrest of his chair. "Then… what will it take for you not to do it in Gringotts?"
I arched a brow, feigning surprise at his directness. "That's quite the heavy demand, Rognuk. Are we talking about just your branch, or all branches of Gringotts?" I asked with a grin that was polite on the surface, but the glint in my eyes made him curse violently in gobbledegook. His voice grew hoarse as he spat out a string of guttural words—no translation needed.
After several deep breaths, he composed himself again. "Please," he said stiffly, "state your condition. What will it take for you to refrain from doing it—and perhaps, occasionally, help us open long-abandoned vaults we can't access due to the wards?"
I pretended to think, tapping a finger against my chin. "Hmm. Let's see… the goblins will owe me one favor every month, even if it goes against your laws. And if I help you open a vault, I get fifty percent of its contents—with priority selection, of course."
He opened his mouth to protest but froze when he saw the look on my face. I wasn't negotiating. There was no room for it. After a tense pause, Rognuk exhaled shakily and nodded. "Agreed."
Another contract was drawn up, signed, and magically sealed. When it was done, I leaned back, stretching slightly. "There now. All settled. You may go, Rognuk. I'd hate to see you suffer another heart attack today."
He didn't even respond, just bowed stiffly and left. The door clicked shut, and I allowed myself a quiet chuckle.
Turning to Bogrod, I said, "Now, Bogrod, let's get back to business. Schedule a meeting with a reporter—Rita Skeeter. Tell her a wealthy VIP client wants to discuss a private arrangement. Prepare an open room with anti-Animagus wards for the meeting."
"Of course, Lord Potter," he said briskly. "But it will take about two hours to prepare. Also, this document contains information on Andromeda and Edward Tonks." He handed me a neatly bound file. "You can also leave your wand here. I'll return it to you before the meeting—trace-free."
"Very well," I said, passing him my wand. "Set a glamour on me so no one recognizes me. I'll return here in two hours."
Moments later, under a subtle disguise, I appeared outside Gringotts. The warm air of Diagon Alley greeted me. I wandered leisurely through the bustling street, scanning the shopfronts—apothecaries, quill shops, broom boutiques—all fascinating in their own right. My mind quietly catalogued which establishments might be worth visiting in the future.
Eventually, I stopped at Flourish and Blotts. The scent of parchment and ink met me as I stepped inside. The place was comfortably warm, the walls stacked high with books that whispered of hidden power.
Approaching the counter, I found a young shop attendant—sixteen, maybe seventeen—bright-eyed and cheerful.
"Hello, miss," I greeted politely.
"Oh, hello, little sir," she said with a friendly smile. "How can I help you?"
"I'm searching for a book, but I don't know its name or author. I'll only recognize it after reading the first page. Would I be allowed to do that?" I asked, adding a touch of nervous charm.
She laughed softly. "Of course, cutie. Help yourself."
I nodded gratefully and began scanning through books, flipping one after another as my system silently analyzed each. Time slipped away unnoticed—until someone collided hard into me.
"Ouch!" cried a young female voice.
I barely kept myself from falling, steadying us both. "Are you alright?" I asked, helping her up quickly.
When she lifted her face, I froze. Brown, slightly frizzy hair curled at the ends, intelligent eyes, and those slightly large front teeth. Recognition sparked instantly—Hermione Granger. But she looked softer, prettier than I remembered from the films. Not Emma Watson, no—but this Hermione had an innocent charm that was hers alone.
And no, I told myself firmly, this had nothing to do with my harem fantasies. In truth, I always thought Hermione was a flawed character—brilliant, yes, but desperate for approval. Too willing to be used by others in the name of friendship.
I'd only stay her friend if she learned to fix that flaw; otherwise, she'd be more trouble than comfort.
"I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
"It's fine," I replied warmly. "But are you hurt? Anywhere?" I asked, watching her closely while quietly activating my Observe skill to confirm her identity.