"Why not?" Leonard blurted out.
"Be serious," Midgard said with a laugh. "That's Gringotts—the goblins guard it like their lives depend on it. Fenrir has coveted it for years, but even he wouldn't dare try. The security there is airtight, the defenses rival an army."
Gringotts was the wizarding world's bank, and robbing it was the same as robbing any bank. The difference was, wizarding banks were far deadlier.
It was goblin turf. And goblins lived for wealth. When it came to guarding treasures, they were unmatched.
"Besides, robbing Gringotts doesn't even make sense. The Galleons in those vaults belong to the wizards who opened them, not the goblins," Midgard said, trying to shut down the idea. "Taking that gold would only hurt the owners."
"That's where you're wrong. I know goblins. Those greedy things claim that anything they craft is theirs. They don't care how currency circulates—no matter how many hands a Galleon passes through, they'll still insist it belongs to them," Leonard countered. "We could target vaults without heirs. That money's just rotting there anyway. I bet Gringotts has plenty of those "abandoned" vaults, right?"
"That's twisted reasoning," Midgard snapped. "And don't forget—Gringotts is the safest bank there is. Plenty of wizards have tried to break in with bad intentions. Without exception, every single one of them ended up in Azkaban."
"I know it's dangerous. The security there is the tightest in the world," Leonard said, making it clear he wasn't delusional. "But what if someone cleared away those defenses for us?"
"Impossible…" Midgard began instinctively, then froze as a thought struck her. "You've heard something, haven't you?"
"Someone's planning to raid Gringotts. They're after something specific, and it's happening soon," Leonard said.
Voldemort wouldn't wait much longer—not after realizing someone was watching him.
In this situation, he had only two options: abandon the raid, give up on the Philosopher's Stone, and go into hiding… or gamble everything, seize the Stone, and restore his strength as fast as possible.
And Voldemort would never walk away from such a chance. He didn't have the patience to wait, yet he feared his plan would be exposed to whoever was spying on him. That made it even more likely he would move early.
"I don't know the exact timing, but it'll be soon. Have someone keep watch on this man, but do it from the shadows. Be careful—he's dangerous, and very alert. Get too close and you'll be noticed right away."
Leonard couldn't exactly explain that Voldemort was bound to Quirrell's body, lurking like a parasite within a snake. If Voldemort realized he'd been exposed, everything would collapse.
Relying on years of bounty hunting experience, Leonard quickly sketched Quirrell's face and handed it to Midgard, so her people could track him down more easily.
"No need to remind me. Anyone crazy enough to attack Gringotts can't be anything good. I'll make sure the cubs stay cautious." Midgard studied the portrait, her expression strange.
The man in the sketch looked honest, even a bit youthful—nothing like the kind of fanatic who would raid Gringotts.
But she trusted Leonard. He wasn't someone who joked about matters like this.
She called Marcus in from the doorway, handed him the portrait with a few quick instructions, then turned back to Leonard once Marcus had gone. "Didn't know you could draw."
"It's a useful little skill," Leonard said casually. "Lets you pass on information without errors. I'd suggest teaching your people too—it's worth it."
"I'll pick out a few with talent and have them practice," Midgard sighed. "But I don't expect much. Most of them know their wolf claws better than their own hands."
The future of werewolf wizards really did look bleak.
"Sometimes I think Fenrir might have been right," Midgard said quietly. "He wanted to turn every wizard into a werewolf, believing that would wipe out prejudice against us."
"Don't kid yourself. That would just end with wizards hunting you down. Dumbledore himself would step in. Do you really think werewolves could stand against him?" Leonard shook his head.
"Then what do you think would work? My brother once threw in with the Dark Lord, because he promised werewolves a proper place," Midgard asked.
"I don't know much about the Dark Lord," Leonard replied lazily. "But just look at werewolves now. Even Death Eaters locked up in Azkaban are dealt with before werewolf wizards are. Do you honestly think he ever meant to give werewolves real status? More likely he just wanted to use your reputation to scare people."
If werewolves had truly been Death Eater allies, their lives would be even worse after Voldemort's fall.
And a pack of broke werewolves who couldn't pay fines would've all been dumped into Azkaban. Yet Azkaban held no werewolves—not even Fenrir, their leader, had been sent there.
Back then, captured Death Eaters had turned on each other, desperate to name names to reduce their sentences. The ridiculous part was, even in all that finger-pointing, no one ever mentioned Fenrir.
It wasn't loyalty—it was that they never even thought of him.
Ironic, really. Fenrir paraded himself as a Death Eater, but when Death Eaters betrayed each other, not one of them bothered to drag him down with them. That's how little he mattered.
Even Death Eaters thought he wasn't worth the trouble.
Midgard stared at Leonard for a few seconds, struck by his bluntness. Then, all at once, she lunged and locked an arm around his head, grinding her knuckles into his hair.
"You cocky brat. No respect for your elders. How dare you mess with my hair earlier?" Midgard grinned wickedly as she tousled his hair into a bird's nest before finally letting go, satisfied.
Leonard rolled his eyes and tried to fix the mess. "You're unbelievably petty."
"Remember this—werewolf heads aren't for just anyone to touch," Midgard huffed.
...
[Upto 50 chapters ahead for now]
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