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Chapter 18 – Gold, Goblins, and Awkward Glory
After finally calming Paggie down, Darren remembered Hermione and Mungdus.
Before he could even ask, Paggie's eyes sparkled with admiration.
"The little master is so kind — still thinking about the Muggle man and his daughter!"
The elf pressed the recording crystal at its waist and reported dutifully, "Paggie delivered that man — Mungdus — to Professor Dumbledore's office. Mr. Dumbledore said he's very grateful to the little master. He'll handle everything himself.
If not for your courage, there might have been a tragic Muggle attack today! It's all thanks to your righteous heart, little master!"
Paggie looked at him with a face full of devotion, practically glowing with pride.
Darren looked away, fighting the urge to sink into the floor.
Oh, come on.
If anything, without him, the "incident" might not have even happened in the first place.
He cleared his throat, forcing a modest smile.
"Cough—It's really not as dramatic as you say. I just did a small thing. Honestly, I might've… made it worse."
But Paggie wasn't listening.
The house-elf puffed up proudly and announced to anyone within earshot,
"No! My little master prevented a murder! Such kindness! Such humility! He deserves the World Peace Prize!"
Every head in the shop turned toward them.
Darren wished the floor would open up and swallow him.
He considered digging his way down to the Chamber of Secrets with his bare hands just to escape.
House-elves, he thought miserably, are natural-born social assassins.
And Paggie was an expert.
"Little Master Darren," Paggie continued, hands clasped dramatically, "you'll grow up to be the greatest wizard of your age — the second coming of Dumbledore!"
"...Merlin, please smite me now," Darren muttered into his hands, inching away from the overly enthusiastic elf.
Finally, he blurted, "Okay, Paggie! Let's—uh—focus. I still need a wand. Take these cakes back first."
If he stayed any longer, he'd die of embarrassment right here in Diagon Alley.
Paggie, oblivious, nodded cheerfully, took the bag of cakes, and Disapparated with a sharp crack—
Only to reappear a second later, looking guilty.
"Little master," it said softly, "before we buy your wand, we may need to… take out more gold. Paggie has spent everything it brought."
The elf drooped its ears in shame. "The Potter family vault doesn't have much coin left. There are property deeds and some shampoo formulas, but little else. If Paggie had been wiser, it would've managed the estate better. Useless Paggie deserves a punishment—"
"Stop." Darren raised a hand firmly.
"Paggie, you're already doing great. I know nothing about this world — I need your help. But you don't need to punish yourself like other house-elves, okay?"
It wouldn't exactly fit the Holy Father image if my servant was beating himself while I was preaching kindness, he thought dryly.
"The little master is so compassionate!" Paggie wailed, tears instantly returning.
Darren sighed deeply. "Let's… just go to Gringotts."
He walked faster, muttering under his breath. Please, please, please act normal for five minutes.
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Gringotts Bank
They arrived at the gleaming marble steps of Gringotts — the second-safest place in the wizarding world, according to legend.
Only Hogwarts was safer… which wasn't saying much, considering this bank had been broken into twice in the books.
Inside, rows of goblins bustled about — sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and all equally unpleasant.
Their voices carried across the hall, curt and impatient.
Customer service clearly wasn't part of goblin culture.
"Next!" barked one, until he spotted Darren — a young boy escorted by a house-elf.
Instantly, his tone softened. Families with house-elves were always old, noble bloodlines. And noble blood meant money.
"Good day, young master," the goblin said, bowing slightly. "What business brings you to Gringotts today?"
"Our little master wishes to access the vaults of Harry Potter and Darren Potter," said Paggie proudly, placing a small golden key on the counter. "This is the key."
That key had once belonged to James and Lily Potter.
After their deaths, Dumbledore had kept it safe — intending to give it to Harry when he turned eleven.
But now that the Potter family's own house-elf had returned, he'd naturally handed it over to Paggie.
"Harry Potter and Darren Potter?" the goblin repeated, eyebrows raising. "Two heirs to the Potter line — most prosperous indeed."
Paggie beamed with pride, holding her head high.
Of course it was thanks to Lady Potter — the brilliant witch who had given birth to two little masters.
Especially Darren, so pure and angelic—
Thank Merlin Paggie didn't say that out loud, or Darren might've died of secondhand embarrassment on the spot.
After inspecting the key and confirming its authenticity, the old goblin called for an escort.
"Griphook!"
No response.
"Then… Ragnuk's boy — come here!"
A younger goblin hurried over, muttering something under his breath.
"This is Larring," said the elder goblin. "He'll take you to the vault."
Larring — or "Pullring," as some humans mispronounced it — gave Darren a curious look.
He'd guided another boy named Harry Potter just a few days ago.
That boy had been scruffy and nervous, with clothes several sizes too big.
This one, though, carried himself differently — calm, polite… and with a house-elf trailing behind.
Two Potters?
There was definitely a story there.
Still, Larring kept his thoughts to himself. Goblins didn't care for wizard drama. They cared for treasure — and not getting hexed.
Besides, he thought grimly, no goblin bows to a wizard.
---
Darren followed Larring through the long stone tunnels, his curiosity piqued.
So this was the Griphook replacement — the same goblin who would one day betray Harry for the Sword of Gryffindor.
He almost smiled.
Small world.
"Funny," Darren thought. "My first trip to Gringotts, and it's already foreshadowing a future break-in. Figures."
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