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May Your Gold Grow

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“May your gold grow and your enemies be slain in battle.”

Griphook hated wizards.

Under pressure, he would admit there were probably a few of them who were decent folk. Occasionally, however, monumentally stupid ones would show up in the bank, pulling some rubbish about perceived goblin culture out of thin air. Evidently, they hoped that this would endear them to the poor unappreciated goblins, oh, just look at them, I bet not one soul has ever walked into Gringotts and remembered something as simple as a name, the poor dears.

Which brought him back to the boy. It had been shaping up to be a fine day so far. The air was dry, his arthritis was not acting up, and he had slept wonderfully because of it. His good mood evaporated as he glared into the eyes of the boy standing before him.

The boy looked quite pleased with himself. Griphook supposed that he would be pleased with himself in the boy’s position, proud that he managed to string together a somewhat coherent sentence when he possessed a number of brain cells in the single digits.

(Griphook made a note to himself to contact an old friend, because really, it was quite remarkable that 200,000 years of human evolution had amounted to this stupid, arrogant boy. His friend studied evolution, and he would be interested to know that everything had come full circle, and human intelligence was once again equivalent to that of an ape.)

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a cough. The boy’s eyebrows were furrowed now. Seems he had begun to suspect he had said something wrong, possibly insulting. Griphook decided to put his worry to rest.

“May your fortune be protected, because really," here he leaned forward, as if telling a secret, "it would be such a shame if something happened to that all that lovely gold of yours.” He grinned and leaned back, making sure to show off his yellowed, razor sharp teeth. He picked up a ruby encrusted dagger from his desk, stroked the gleaming gold of the blade, and began to pick his teeth with it.

The boy looked rather scared now, and with good reason. It was only those pesky laws against murder that saved his life, specifically his intact chest cavity. Unfortunately, those laws had yet to be repealed, so the goblin was forced to content himself with idle threats.

Griphook began to walk towards the cart. “Follow me,” he said, and led the boy to his vault.