Harry Potter: I am the Legend

Gringotts was located at the center of a bustling shopping street, a towering white building that stood out sharply against the surrounding architecture.

In every world, banks always exude an air of grandeur.

Before its gleaming bronze doors stood two solemn-looking goblins, clad in crimson uniforms with gold trims. When they saw Hoffa approaching, they both gave a slight bow.

It was said that this establishment was the very first shop in all of Diagon Alley.

A human and a goblin walked into Gringotts one after the other. Inside, Indor, now wearing a suit, held his head high with confidence, completely shedding the shifty and opportunistic demeanor he had shown earlier.

Passing through the second set of silver doors, they saw a series of warnings inscribed on the surface:

Enter, stranger, but heed this warning:

Greed and avarice will lead to your undoing.

Take not what you have not earned,

For the greatest punishment awaits.

Should you attempt to steal treasures

That were never meant to be yours,

Beware, thief, for your reward

Shall not be riches but ruin.

The inscriptions, written in ancient English, carried a distinct aura of antiquity.

Hoffa, who had remained calm until now, couldn't help but feel his heart pounding wildly. Starting his reborn life with a visit to Gringotts to deceive the bank into funding his education—this had to be madness.

But seeing Indor's unwavering confidence, Hoffa could only try to calm his own nerves. At this point, complaints were futile. His only option was to play his role well, for trust was the currency of any bank.

Indor said, "Your name now is Sylbie Spencer, a descendant of French nobility. Got it?"

Hoffa sneered, "You certainly came prepared."

Passing by a group of goblins perpetually busy weighing gemstones, Hoffa and Indor approached the main counter.

Indor's lips moved slightly as he whispered, "Sylbie doesn't speak English. From now on, leave everything to me. Understood?"

Hoffa silently nodded, resigned.

Indor looked up at the bald, bespectacled elder goblin sitting behind the counter.

"This guest has traveled from France. He represents his family to discuss investment opportunities with us. Here is proof of the Spencer family's overseas holdings."

As he spoke, Indor produced a document seemingly out of nowhere and handed it over.

The elder goblin, maintaining a composed demeanor, clasped his fingers together and gave Hoffa a once-over before nodding at him with a slight bow.

Hoffa returned the gesture with restrained politeness.

The elder goblin then retrieved a magnifying glass and began scrutinizing the document provided by Indor.

Seeing that document made Hoffa's teeth clench in frustration. Indor had obviously been planning this for some time. Perhaps he had even deliberately lost Hoffa's tuition money just to rope him into this scheme.

After examining the document thoroughly, the elder goblin gestured, and a goblin secretary stepped forward from behind him.

"Take them to Room 103," the elder goblin instructed.

The goblin secretary promptly nodded and led Hoffa to the elevator in Gringotts. After pressing a few buttons, the old-fashioned sliding-door elevator floated upward.

Hoffa recalled how Harry Potter and Hagrid had descended underground during their visit to Gringotts, yet here he was, heading upward with Indor. The uncertainty of it all left him feeling uneasy.

The elevator stopped at the tenth floor, and the doors opened.

Indor immediately stepped aside at the entrance, bowing slightly in a servant-like manner, allowing Hoffa to go first. This gesture was clearly intended to highlight Hoffa's supposed noble status.

Hoffa smirked inwardly. What a consummate fraud Indor was—his act was complete down to the smallest detail.

Not wanting to break character, Hoffa imitated the poised demeanor of the aristocrats he'd seen in films from his previous life and gracefully stepped forward.

The corridor exuded an air of refinement, with the scent of high-grade roses wafting through the air. A red carpet stretched across the floor, and the walls were adorned with ornate magical lighting fixtures plated with gold. The luxurious atmosphere was undeniable.

The goblin secretary escorted Indor and Hoffa into Room 103 and then left.

Although it was broad daylight outside, the fireplace in the room blazed with warmth. The walls were lined with silverware and oil paintings, creating an ambiance that was both dim and opulent.

"Mr. Larfah, take a look at who I've brought today," Indor announced cheerfully after clearing his throat.

From in front of the fireplace, a wheelchair slowly turned around.

Sitting in the chair was a goblin—an old goblin, a decrepit goblin on the verge of death.

He was wrapped in a red blanket, his head trembling slightly, and his nose was as long as Hoffa's forearm.

Hoffa swore he had never seen such a frail and ancient goblin before. This one might as well be the Stephen Hawking of goblins.

Indor strode over and planted a loud kiss on the few remaining hairs atop the old goblin's head.

What a sycophant!

The sight made Hoffa shudder.

The old goblin cracked a thin smile and gestured toward the red sofa nearby.

Hoffa sat down quietly.

Indor walked over to a cabinet, helping himself to a glass of red wine as if he were in his own home.

As he poured, he began to speak. "Larfah, the wizarding world in France is currently facing serious trouble. Germany's ambitions can no longer be ignored. This Mr. Spencer is willing to mortgage some of his family's assets in France in exchange for the protection of the British Ministry of Magic."

Larfah grumbled, "Fearmongering as always, Indor… you're incorrigible." His voice was hoarse, like the creak of a rusty bell.

Indor handed over a parchment. "Believe it or not, here's the deed. See for yourself."

Larfah took the parchment and glanced at it before muttering, "Delphina Spencer… Truly unclaimed land." The old goblin cast a sidelong glance at Hoffa. "I wonder what relation this gentleman has to Miss Delphina…."

Indor patted his chest confidently. "Her brother, her blood brother—the sole heir of the Spencer family. Rest assured, there's absolutely no issue."

The old goblin nodded slowly.

"But the price…"

Indor raised a single finger.

"Ten thousand Galleons, plus a security agreement. That's the price. If agreeable, you'll gain access to vast lands, including Bordeaux's port area, with the transfer finalized within two years."

The old goblin's murky eyes lit up as he looked at Hoffa without saying a word.

Indor interjected, "Relax, he doesn't speak English."

The old goblin immediately launched into a negotiation with Indor.

As the two bickered in front of him, Hoffa maintained a polite smile while inwardly cursing. This goblin, Indor, is an unrepentant liar—so smooth it's revolting. How could someone like him possibly earn Dumbledore's favor?

Dumbledore, the renowned sage of the Harry Potter world—had this goblin's thick skin even fooled him? Or was it that Dumbledore, in his younger years, had been outwitted by Indor, only to grow wiser from the experience?

Finally, the haggling ended.

The old goblin turned to Hoffa with a look of anticipation.

Indor, wearing a dour expression, leaned close to Hoffa's ear and whispered, "Doesn't that big, bulbous nose of his look ridiculous? Nod for yes, shake your head for no."

Hoffa silently studied the old goblin's enormous, swollen nose. Under the goblin's expectant gaze, he adopted a grave expression and solemnly nodded.

The old goblin smiled with satisfaction.

Indor rose and cursed, "Damn it, fine—five thousand! You old miser, even Scrooge himself wasn't as ruthless as you!"

...

Ding!

A crisp sound rang out.

Ten minutes later, Hoffa and Indor stood outside Gringotts' entrance. A thick gold coin spun deftly between Indor's long fingers.

Carrying a small leather bag, Indor turned to Hoffa with a grin. "Well? Didn't I tell you? Goblins never run out of money."

Hoffa eyed the bag. It looked small, but it had clearly been enchanted with an Extension Charm. Inside were at least 5,000 Galleons.

Five thousand Galleons—probably more than what Harry Potter's entire vault contained.

Hoffa asked, "So those property deeds—were they all forged?"

Indor shrugged. "Of course. What, you actually thought you were some French aristocrat?"

Hoffa sighed. "Aren't you afraid they'll come after you? This is outright fraud."

"Kid, if you think long-term, you'll never worry about coins again."

Indor chuckled, striding ahead confidently.

"Times are changing. By the time these greedy fools attempt to finalize their deals, those lands will be scorched earth. Prosperity will turn to ash. By then, whether the deeds are real or fake won't matter."

Hoffa stared in shock at Indor's back.

For any ordinary 11-year-old, Indor's words would've been incomprehensible. But Hoffa understood. The Second World War was imminent, and France would be the first to fall, turning into a war zone.

Forget Indor selling fake deeds to goblins—he could've brought them the title to Versailles itself, and they'd still end up with nothing. This guy was exploiting the time lag to profit from impending chaos.

Baffled, Hoffa hurried after him.

"Hey, how do you know all this? What makes you so sure there'll be a war? What if they realize the truth before it begins?"

Indor turned, his face momentarily illuminated by a strange glint.

"Of course I know. I'm a goblin from Heligoland, Germany. As for being found out—don't worry. No one dares to bother a first-year student at Hogwarts."

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