Chapter 12: May I Withdraw All This Money?

As the three of them stepped into the main hall of Gringotts, the sight before them was even more overwhelming.

The hall was spacious and magnificent, with polished marble floors and massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the entire space in a resplendent, golden glow. Behind the counters on either side sat rows of goblins—short in stature with pale skin, pointed ears, and eyes that were exceptionally sharp. Each goblin was hunched over, focused intently on their work; some were counting gold Galleons, others were recording ledgers, and some were attending to wizard clients.

Harry’s gaze fell upon the nearest goblin. His fingers were long, slender, and nimble, recording numbers into a ledger at a speed so rapid it was dizzying. The goblin seemed to notice Harry’s stare; he looked up and gave him a cold, sharp glance with his small, piercing eyes. Harry quickly lowered his head, feeling a flutter of nervousness.

Just as Morris was about to lead the two children toward a counter, a goblin suddenly approached from the other side of the hall. His gait was light, his black uniform was impeccably pressed, and he wore an exquisite golden badge on his chest—it was clear that his status was far from ordinary.

"Mr. Morris," the goblin stood still, looking up at him with a hoarse voice. "Welcome back to Gringotts. We are most honored."

Morris stopped, tilting his head slightly to look at the goblin, his face wearing its usual composed smile. "So many years have passed; I didn't expect you to remember me. And I certainly didn't expect my arrival to draw your attention, Mr. Gringlary."

Hearing Morris call his name so accurately, the goblin’s pupils contracted involuntarily. He nodded gently, observing every move Morris made with his eyes. "This is no ordinary visit. Your presence always makes us... extra cautious."

Harry and Hermione stood to the side, watching the exchange between the goblin and Morris, unable to grasp the subtle, tense atmosphere hidden beneath the veneer of politeness. Hermione shifted her feet subconsciously and whispered to Harry, "What are they talking about? Why does it sound like there's something more going on?"

"I... I don't know," Harry whispered back, his eyes darting between the goblin and Morris, sensing that things were far from simple.

For Gringlary, he would never forget what that man had done last year. To be precise, it was three hundred and seventy-two days, seven hours, and fifty-two minutes ago. That day, this man had stood at the entrance of Gringotts with a group of followers and began his inflammatory speech. As he spoke, the crowd’s emotions surged, and their anger spiraled into an uncontrollable frenzy. At the man's single command, all that rage transformed into an unstoppable torrent—the crowd stormed Gringotts.

They surged in like a tide, frantically smashing counters and seizing valuables. Amidst the chaos, the roars of goblins, the spells of wizards, and the scattered screams wove together into a hellish scene. If the Auror strike team sent by the Ministry of Magic hadn't arrived in time to quell the situation, Gringlary dared not imagine how far out of control things would have spiraled.

That day remained an unbelievable experience for him. The absurd act of "zero-dollar shopping" was something he had only heard whispers of from his American counterparts; he never imagined it would actually play out before his very eyes. For him, it was a deeply humiliating disaster and a haunting memory. As a senior management goblin at Gringotts, he had been on duty that day and became the primary scapegoat. The reprimands from the Ministry and the harsh censure from Gringotts’ upper management followed one after another, and he had nearly lost his position as a result.

Whenever he recalled the chaos and the angry faces of that day, a complex mix of emotions surged in Gringlary’s chest—humiliation, resentment, and deep-seated wariness. And the perpetrator of it all was the man standing right before him. As for the "so many years" Morris mentioned, Gringlary didn't care; he simply assumed the bastard had been in Azkaban so long that he had lost track of time.

"Mr. Gringlary," Morris’s tone remained as calm as ever. He lifted a hand in a gesture that seemed casual. "My visit today is merely to help two Hogwarts freshmen complete their entrance preparations. There is no business here that requires any extra 'concern' from you."

Gringlary froze for a moment, then bowed slightly as if in concession, though a flicker of complex emotion flashed in his eyes.

"Of course, Mr. Morris," he said calmly. "I shall serve you this time. Which client's vault do you need to access?"

"Mr. Harry Potter," Morris replied simply. He pulled a cloth bag from his coat, which contained a small gold key given to him by Dumbledore, along with a letter. "Professor Dumbledore's letter regarding 'that object' in underground vault 713."

Gringlary took them, examined both carefully, and bowed. "Very well, please follow me."

Harry, Hermione, and Morris followed Gringlary through the hall and into a dim passageway. At the end of the tunnel sat a row of strange carts, appearing to be some sort of rail-bound transport. Gringlary climbed onto a cart with practiced ease and signaled for them to board.

"Er... is this safe?" Harry asked hesitantly, eyeing the dilapidated state of the cart with some trepidation.

"Perfectly safe—if you hold on tight," Gringlary replied coldly before pressing a switch at his side.

The cart jolted into motion, speeding along the tracks. Harry and Hermione let out a simultaneous gasp, their hands clutching the sides of the cart for dear life. The tracks wound through the dark underground, twisting around sharp corners and plunging into sudden drops. A fierce wind whipped against their faces, and the only sound was the sharp, screeching friction of the metal on the tracks.

"This is the fastest thing I've ever ridden!" Hermione screamed, though her face was filled with irrepressible excitement.

"Wait until you see a flying broomstick before you say that," Morris’s voice drifted faintly through the gale—Britain’s abysmal transportation was just like this; he was already getting used to it.

The cart finally came to a halt before a massive iron door. Gringlary jumped off and inserted the key into the lock. With a crisp "click," the door slowly creaked open, revealing the sight within.

Harry couldn't help but hold his breath. Inside was a small "mountain" piled high with gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts. The golden luster reflected on Harry's face, leaving him unable to look away; he could hardly believe this wealth belonged to him.

"This..." Harry was speechless. "Is this... really mine?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Morris nodded, a rare softness in his eyes. "This is the property your parents left for you. You may use it with peace of mind to prepare for your studies and life."

Harry was still in shock, while Hermione stood by, equally astonished. "My goodness, this is much more than I imagined!"

Gringlary watched them expressionlessly and said coldly, "Please take the amount you need quickly; we do not allow you to linger for long."

Morris signaled for Harry to step forward. Harry walked slowly toward the pile of gold, his fingers touching the shimmering Galleons, his mind still in a daze.

"Take it," Morris said softly. "This belongs to you. And this is only the beginning of your life ahead."

Standing before the "mountain of gold," Harry’s mind suddenly recalled what Professor Morris had said earlier: *They will take your money away, bit by bit.* At the time, he had no money, so he hadn't cared. But now... he was truly wealthy.

And so, three seconds later, Harry made what he considered the most impulsive and daring move of the day:

"Excuse me, may I take all of this money with me?"

The air seemed to freeze for an instant. Gringlary, the goblin who was always so cold, raised his eyebrows slightly, staring at Harry with sharp eyes.

"Take it all? Mr. Potter, I must remind you that this is not a small amount of wealth. Transporting and storing it will be a very troublesome matter."

Hermione, standing nearby, was startled by Harry’s proposal. "Take it all? Harry, you can't possibly need that much money! Besides, these gold coins are useless in the Muggle world! And Hogwarts tuition isn't that expensive..."

Morris raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by Harry's request, but he regained his composure quickly, recalling his own earlier words. He adjusted the brim of his hat and said, unhurriedly, "Mr. Potter, that is your choice. If you wish, I can provide you with a briefcase enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm."

Harry’s face flushed. "I just want... to take it away. I don't want to leave this money here for others to... for others to just take away."

Gringlary immediately locked his gaze on the culprit—Morris. Who else but him would put such ideas into someone's head?

Seeing this, Morris shook his head, leaned down, and smiled at Harry. "Mr. Potter, my advice is that you'd best leave the money here."

"Why?"

"Because they are much faster at taking your money from the outside. Compared to this gold, which they already view as being tucked into their own pockets, they are less likely to chip away at it bit by bit."

Gringlary’s expression stiffened for a moment, but he quickly returned to normal.

"Mr. Potter, please make your decision quickly."

Hearing Professor Morris's words, Harry bit his lip, thought for a few seconds, and finally nodded. "Alright... then I'll just take some."

Gringlary’s expression relaxed slightly. "As you wish."

Morris handed over a cloth bag, which Harry carefully took before turning toward the gold mountain. He scooped up a handful of Galleons, added a few silver Sickles and bronze Knuts, and only when he felt the weight was sufficient did he step back.

"Very well," Gringlary nodded coldly. "Your withdrawal has been recorded."

Afterward, they arrived at the second vault. Compared to Harry’s, this vault door looked much older and didn't even have a standard keyhole. Harry stood on his tiptoes, curious to peer inside, only to find that it was—empty.

"There's nothing here?" he whispered.

Morris offered no explanation. He calmly walked into the vault, scanned the area, and bent down to pick up a dirty, small package wrapped in brown paper. He gently brushed the dust off the paper, treating it with the care of a precious treasure as he tucked it into his coat.

"Mission accomplished," Morris said in a low voice, his tone so calm that it betrayed no ripples of emotion. He turned and beckoned to Harry and Hermione. "Let's go; it's time to head back to the surface."

Harry and Hermione dared not ask any more questions. Although their hearts were filled with curiosity about the vault and the small package, the fact that the smile had vanished from Professor Morris's face made them instinctively choose to keep quiet.

The three of them climbed back into the cart, preparing to return to the Gringotts lobby. However, just as the cart was about to start, Gringlary suddenly spoke up.

"Mr. Morris, wait a moment." His voice rang out coldly.

Morris looked back at him, his smile returning to his face. "Is there something you need, Mr. Gringlary?"

"Could we have a word in private?" Gringlary stared at Morris, his tone chillingly calm.

Morris’s eyes flickered slightly, and then he nodded. "With pleasure."