For Harry, if he were to travel from the modern world to the medieval one, he might try to walk the straight and narrow path. In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, he had racked his brain trying to recall bits of primary school knowledge, but his limited intellect left him with few options.
Now, going from a medieval world to the modern one, he gave up entirely. His first instinct was to pull off a heist for some initial capital and then snowball from there.
Some of Gringotts' vaults belonged to owners long dead with no heirs, or to Death Eaters. Robbing those, Harry didn't even feel like he was doing anything wrong.
"Found it," Hagrid finally said, holding up a small golden key.
The goblin examined it carefully.
"Looks to be in order."
"I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said solemnly, puffing out his chest. "It's about the thing in Vault 713."
The goblin read the letter closely.
"Very well," he said, handing the letter back to Hagrid. "I'll have someone take you to both vaults. Griphook!"
"What's 'that thing' in Vault 713?" Harry asked.
"Can't tell you that," Hagrid said mysteriously. "It's top secret. Hogwarts business… not worth mentioning to you."
Harry wanted to roll his eyes. If it was really that confidential, Hagrid shouldn't have said anything in front of him at all.
It probably wasn't that important anyway.
If Harry had something critical to keep secret, he certainly wouldn't send Hagrid to fetch it. It wasn't that he doubted Hagrid's loyalty—just his ability to keep a secret. The man was far too careless.
It seemed Dumbledore had a limited pool of capable people to work with, or perhaps the average wizard's intelligence was just… questionable. Most of them weren't exactly brilliant.
Some were wise in specific areas, sure, but overall, stupidity seemed to dominate.
At the pub, Harry had already noticed it—even the evil wizards, like that one Death Eater, were surprisingly naive. Too many wizards were just too simple-minded.
Griphook opened the door for them.
Before them stretched a narrow stone corridor, lit brightly by blazing torches. The passage sloped steeply downward, leading to a small railway track.
Griphook whistled, and a tiny cart came hurtling down the tracks toward them. They climbed in, and off they went.
At first, they sped through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to keep track of the route—left turn, right turn, right again, left, a fork in the middle, then right, left…
When the cart finally stopped in front of a small door in the passage, Hagrid looked queasy.
"Motion sickness?" Harry asked, finding the ride rather fun.
He also noticed there was indeed a dragon down here—he could sense its raw physical power and magical aura. But compared to the dragons in A Song of Ice and Fire, its presence was far less imposing.
He was also certain that escaping this maze wouldn't be too difficult for him. Even if he misremembered a few turns, he could probably just blast through the walls.
Robbing the bank didn't seem as hard as Hagrid made it out to be.
The only thing to worry about was the so-called goblin magic. He didn't know the details—whether it was as powerful as Hagrid claimed, whether it involved tracking or curses, or whether his divine power could simply nullify it.
Back in the day, even a single point of the Red God's divine power had been impressive. Now, with three points of divine power, he felt even more confident.
Griphook unlocked the door.
A thick plume of green smoke billowed out, and when it cleared, the vault revealed piles of gold coins, silver bars, and heaps of bronze Knuts.
It looked like a lot, but most of it was Knuts.
"All this is yours," Hagrid said with a smile.
Harry thought of the Dursleys, who often complained about the cost of raising him. Fair was fair—he planned to pay them back for his upbringing… but what was the exchange rate between wizarding money and Muggle money, anyway?
How many gangs were there in London? Maybe he should just rob one.
Hagrid helped Harry pack the money into a bag, filling it with gold Galleons. "This should be enough for a year," he said.
Then he turned to Griphook. "Now take us to Vault 713. But, er, could you make the cart go a bit slower this time?"
"By the Seven Hells, can I come too?" Harry muttered inwardly. Hagrid really wasn't one for discretion. Couldn't he have come back to the bank alone tomorrow or tonight?
Still, Harry was curious to see Dumbledore's supposedly ultra-secure vault, so he kept quiet.
"There's only one speed," Griphook replied.
They descended deeper, the cart picking up speed.
Vault 713 had no keyhole.
"Stand back," Griphook said solemnly. He extended a long finger and tapped the door lightly, and it began to dissolve bit by bit.
"Anyone but a Gringotts goblin tries that, they'd get sucked into the door and trapped inside," Griphook explained.
So that's how it worked. The vaults of ordinary wizarding families up above used keys, but the deeper vaults of big shots and nobles relied on goblin magic.
It didn't seem that impressive. He'd start with the upper vaults.
Harry asked, "How often do you check to see if anyone's stuck inside?"
"About once every ten years," Griphook said, flashing a malicious grin.
Those inherently wicked goblins…
Inside the vault was a small, dirty package wrapped in brown paper. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep into his coat pocket.
Harry was dying to know what it was, but he didn't ask.
After another wild cart ride, they finally stood outside Gringotts in the bright sunlight.
Harry carried a bag heavy with coins, though he wasn't sure of their actual purchasing power. It was probably substantial.
He didn't need to calculate how many Galleons equaled a pound or how that compared to gold dragons from Westeros—he'd figure it out when he went shopping.
In truth, pounds and Galleons weren't freely exchangeable currencies, except for Muggle-born Hogwarts students with a set conversion quota. If Galleons were treated as pure gold, no ordinary Muggle family could afford to buy schoolbooks—they'd go broke before even starting.
It was essentially a subsidy to increase the wizarding population and reduce the risk of uncontrolled magic. Hogwarts would drag any gifted young witch or wizard to school, no matter what, and they certainly wouldn't let money stand in the way.
In a small society like the wizarding world, financial systems weren't a huge concern. Most ordinary wizards figured as long as they had enough money, that was fine.
That's why they didn't care that their bank was run by another species—a situation Harry found utterly unacceptable.
It was practically a national disgrace. Hagrid had mentioned a war between wizards and goblins, where the wizards won… but who signed that treaty? They'd thrown away Britain's pride.
"Let's go get your uniform," Hagrid said, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Harry, I'm gonna pop into the Leaky Cauldron for a pick-me-up. You don't mind, do you? Those Gringotts carts are bloody awful."
Harry wouldn't mind a drink himself, but his current body was a bit too young for that.
"Alright."
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