"This isn't harassment, sir..." the goblin supervisor tried to explain.
Leonard's sudden outburst made his expression tighten—after all, Leonard had been perfectly cooperative just moments ago.
"This is harassment." Leonard raised his voice, though the childish pitch robbed it of any real authority.
"This is a required inspection." The supervisor, now somewhat suspicious of Leonard's attitude, pressed on stubbornly. "If you are dissatisfied with our conduct, you may file a complaint. We would face penalties afterward."
"Is that so?" Leonard sneered. "Too easy on you. You may inspect, but if nothing turns up, I expect you to transfer the permanent usage rights to Vault Twelve to me—for free."
"That is impossible." The goblin supervisor's tone was flat. "I have no authority to do such a thing. But I can grant you a one-year pass to the direct access corridor."
"Direct access corridor? What's that?" Leonard narrowed his eyes, suspecting a trick.
"It is a privilege reserved for wizards of immense wealth or great renown," the supervisor explained. "Through teleportation, you may enter a private reception chamber and access your vault at any time. After a year, if you wish to keep the privilege, you must pay an annual maintenance fee of 300 Galleons."
"Not bad." Leonard was satisfied—it was, after all, a privilege. And three hundred Galleons was a fair enough price. Still, what kind of fortune must one have to throw away that much money every year just for a dedicated passage? Utterly extravagant.
He handed over his wand, and at his signal, Midgard followed suit.
Leonard's intention wasn't to resist the inspection itself, but to avoid appearing too eager. As a "noble wizard," complying meekly with unreasonable demands would have looked out of character. Whether useful or not, a little protest and a cold look kept up appearances.
Soon enough, under the effect of Prior Incantato, both wands were checked and found clean.
The goblin supervisor muttered a perfunctory apology, his face dark as he departed. The gloom came not from finding nothing, but from the extra costs incurred.
That was the contradiction of goblins—forced by wizarding law to make promises, then fuming at the price of keeping them.
Leonard looked perfectly at ease. He watched the supervisor's retreat with a smile, then turned to the clerk.
"Take us to Vault Twelve," Leonard said.
And with that, his plan had come together flawlessly.
"Right away, sir." The goblin clerk nodded, leading Leonard and Midgard to the door of Vault Twelve, then used the same method as before to open it.
"This is one of the oldest vaults in Gringotts. It was leased for a very long time, until the contract ended." The goblin gestured toward the chamber. "As agreed, permanent usage rights are three thousand Galleons, with an additional year of direct access to Gringotts free of charge."
"Good, I understand. Wait outside," Leonard said with a wave of his hand.
"Yes, sir." The goblin nodded knowingly and stepped out.
Naturally, an outsider couldn't remain while valuables were being stored.
Once the goblin had left, Leonard turned to Midgard. "Half the gold?"
"Of course. Didn't we already agree on that?" Midgard grinned.
All profits were to be split evenly. Since the vault belonged to Leonard, only half would be deposited.
A torrent of Galleons poured out of the case, clattering across the floor. There had to be tens of thousands at least, but Midgard didn't bother counting. She gauged the volume roughly, then began dumping the coins with bold enthusiasm.
This kind of work didn't need Leonard's help. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes.
Though everything had gone according to plan, his nerves had been tight the whole way. Now that the tension eased, drowsiness began to set in.
As he rubbed his eyes, he felt his sleeve stir. A silver-leaved sprout poked out.
"What are you doing out here? Get back inside," Leonard whispered, tapping one of its leaves.
But the usually obedient sprout didn't listen. Instead, it shook its leaves, urgency radiating from it.
It was yearning for something, urging Leonard to follow.
Puzzled, Leonard let the Ancient Sprout guide him deeper into the vault until he reached the far wall—plain, bare stone.
Nothing seemed unusual, yet the sprout extended its tendrils as though trying to touch something unseen.
"What are you doing?" Leonard asked in confusion.
The sprout twisted, curling its leaves into the shape of eyes.
Eyes? Magical sight?
Leonard understood immediately. He linked himself to the sprout's vision.
The moment their sight connected, the wall transformed. At its center appeared a mysterious flame-shaped sigil woven from two intertwining lines. Around its edges, square seams emerged.
It was a door.
Leonard froze, watching as the Ancient Sprout strained toward the sigil. Almost without thinking, he reached out.
The instant his fingers touched it, a flood of fragmented knowledge surged into his mind. The influx stirred old impressions, knowledge buried deep within him—knowledge passed on by the sprout.
Pieces of information collided, broke apart, and rejoined. Much sank back into obscurity, but one strand fused into a clear, coherent body of knowledge.
Leonard staggered back two steps, his dazed mind nearly sending him sprawling into the sea of coins, almost buried alive beneath them.
Thankfully, Midgard caught him in time.
"Leonard? What's wrong?" Her worried voice reached him, though it sounded distant, like a call from far away.
But Leonard's mind was wholly absorbed by that single, complete fragment of knowledge. As it settled into him, an ancient magic revealed itself—one steeped in history, unlike any spell he had ever studied.
And yet he knew this wasn't the first time he had encountered it. He had seen it once before—when reinforcing the Ancient Sprout.