Overall, Diagon Alley didn’t impress Harry much.
Sure, everything was strange and magical—clearly not the Muggle world—but when he compared it to Potter Manor in his head, nothing here felt as right.
Maybe it was just homesickness talking, but all the crooked, lopsided buildings made him feel vaguely uncomfortable.
Yeah.
His own manor was way better.
The one exception was Gringotts.
At least from the outside it looked square and proper.
A goblin stood at the entrance acting as greeter.
Dark skin, a full head shorter than Harry, dressed in a scarlet uniform with gold trim on the buttons and cuffs.
Sharp little voice.
He bowed, eyes glinting with cleverness and something sly.
Ugly.
Mean-looking.
Nothing like the cute house-elves back home.
Harry decided immediately.
The goblin led them inside to a second set of huge doors.
A warning was carved into the stone: don’t even think about stealing from the vaults.
“Only a madman would try to rob this bank,” Hagrid muttered to Harry.
He probably thought he was whispering, but Harry was pretty sure the goblin guiding them heard every word.
It gave a low, unreadable chuckle, then pushed the doors open and led them into the main hall.
Polished marble floors reflected Harry’s face.
Goblins scurried everywhere.
Behind a long row of counters, dozens more sat on high stools, handling rivers of gold coins, gems, and rare materials.
All that glittering stuff was hypnotic.
Even though Harry had no idea how much any of it was worth, he still felt the sudden urge to grab some.
“Remember, Harry,” Hagrid said, watching the goblins.
“They’re always busy.
They hate being interrupted.
If you want something done, you’ve got to catch ’em when they’re actually free.” “Don’t they have assigned jobs?
Why are they always running around?” “Course they do.
Goblins love wealth.
They don’t tolerate laziness from their own kind.
If one of ’em slows down, the supervisor just dumps more work on ’em.” Hagrid’s eyes—barely visible under all that hair and beard—scanned the hall like a wolf hunting.
He spotted one goblin finishing up and handing coins to another, then charged straight over.
“Hello,” Hagrid said.
“We’d like to make a withdrawal from Mr.
Harry Potter’s vault.” “Key,” the goblin said flatly.
“Oh—almost forgot.
I’ve got it.” Hagrid started digging through his massive fur coat.
The thing was sewn with so many rough pockets it was a nightmare trying to find anything.
Harry watched in horror as Hagrid pulled out moldy biscuits and two half-dead little animals.
Even the goblin looked disgusted and brushed stray debris off the counter.
“Ah—found it.” Hagrid produced a shiny gold key and held it carefully between finger and thumb.
The goblin adjusted its glasses.
“No problem.” “And this,” Hagrid added, placing a letter on the counter.
“Dumbledore sent me.
I need to collect something from vault seven hundred and thirteen.” The goblin’s face twisted with clear disgust and regret.
It picked up the letter and read it over and over, eyes burning holes through the paper.
Unfortunately, nothing looked wrong.
With obvious reluctance it set the letter down.
“The letter is valid,” it said, pushing it back.
“I’ll have someone take you to the vaults.
Griphook!” Another goblin appeared from a side door.
“Take them to the vaults—Potter family vault and seven hundred thirteen.” “Yes, sir.” Hagrid and Harry followed Griphook through another door.
The moment they stepped through, the marble floor vanished.
In its place was a narrow rocky tunnel lit by blue-flamed torches.
The passage opened into a vast cavern so huge Harry couldn’t see the far side.
“This way,” Griphook said, leading them to a small railway track.
It pulled a lever.
The sound of metal wheels echoed, and a mine cart rolled up.
“Get in.
Sit tight.
Hold on.
Don’t fall out.” Harry scrambled aboard.
Hagrid climbed in with a lot more effort.
The cart shot forward.
“Doesn’t seem like our family’s very famous,” Harry said over the wind.
“The goblins clearly don’t know who I am.” “They know.
They just don’t care, those creatures…” Hagrid grumbled, glancing at the goblin driving.
“Wrong time of day, that’s all.
I bet if we showed up at the Leaky Cauldron at night or first thing in the morning, you’d be swarmed.
Wizards lining up to shake your hand and welcome you back.” The tracks were a nightmare—splitting into two, three, even a dozen different directions at random points.
The cart zigzagged left, right, left again until Harry completely lost his sense of direction.
Beside him, Hagrid was starting to look green.
Even through the beard and hair, his face had a definite sickly tint.
The cart finally screeched to a stop in front of a vault.
Griphook took the key from Hagrid, unlocked the door, and stepped back as green smoke billowed out.
“Back up,” Griphook warned Harry sharply.
“It’s poisonous.” When the smoke cleared, Harry’s jaw dropped.
Mountains of gold, silver, and bronze coins filled the vault.
“All yours,” Hagrid said.
“But don’t take too much—not safe.
Enough for two terms should do it.
You can come back next year for more.” He filled a bag, handed it to Harry, and they climbed back into the cart.
“Can we go slower this time?” Hagrid asked.
“No.
Efficiency first.
Only one speed here—fast.” Griphook yanked the lever.
The cart rocketed forward again.
Hagrid went pale.
Harry felt dizzy too.
He yawned without warning, leaned against Hagrid’s massive side, and fell fast asleep.