The hall was impossibly high.
So high that the ceiling looked almost like a sky.
The goblin at the entrance led Iain and Dumbledore to a counter.
The goblin behind it was even shorter, wearing a pair of pince-nez spectacles with lenses as thick as bottle bottoms. It did not even bother to look up, only kept moving its claw over an enormous ledger while muttering to itself.
"What business?"
"A withdrawal."
The reception goblin kept its voice very low.
"Vault Zero."
The goblin behind the counter froze.
It looked up, and the first thing it saw was Dumbledore. Its expression shifted. Then, with a trace of awe, its gaze slid toward Iain and turned contemptuous.
That contempt did not last long.
"Hm!?"
The pince-nez slipped down its nose.
They swung twice on the fine silver chain.
"Oh! Good heavens!"
The goblin's mouth opened soundlessly, its eyes went wide, and its pupils shrank. It was reacting exactly as the first goblin had.
"That's impossible!"
It shot to its feet so violently that the chair behind it toppled backward with a loud crash. Other goblins in the hall, and several wizards conducting business nearby, all turned to look.
"Fraud!"
It pointed at Iain, finger trembling, the nail slicing a few silver-white lines through the air.
"Absolutely fraudulent! Fraudulent! Even if Albus Dumbledore himself has come, he will not use some counterfeit heir to cheat even a single Galleon out of Gringotts!"
This goblin was positively beside itself.
And with two goblins reacting this way in succession, Iain's curiosity only grew.
"So my family's that powerful?"
His mother belonged to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but his father did not. And when Dumbledore had spoken of his father's side, he had said born to power. The goblins, too, had reacted strongly at the mention of that family.
Which meant the family fortune had to be enormous, or the goblins would not look so unwilling to let go of it.
"Don't tell me it's Helga Hufflepuff money. Am I Iain Hufflepuff?"
Iain calculated silently to himself. He knew Hufflepuff had been a very wealthy witch.
Hufflepuff's cup, after all.
Of course, that particular object did not interest him. He was already a young wizard capable of privately minting currency. What interested him more was whether Hogwarts happened to have a deed of ownership attached to it.
If he truly was descended from Hufflepuff, then surely he ought to own a share of Hogwarts too.
Iain's eyes settled on Dumbledore's back.
The old man stood there quietly, neither angry nor explaining.
He did not even look at the shrieking goblin.
He simply waited.
The goblin ranted for roughly half a minute.
Then it met Dumbledore's eyes.
Those eyes behind the half-moon spectacles were deep.
Instantly, the goblin's mouth snapped shut.
Its claw retracted.
It stepped back, lowered its head, and spoke in a voice muffled in its chest.
"Griphook. Take them."
The goblins' understanding of Dumbledore had never been quite the same as that of most wizards. They had always known that Dumbledore's famous kindness did not mean softness.
"Very well."
The goblin named Griphook looked thoroughly unwilling. He took a step deeper into the hall and indicated that the two should follow.
Iain said nothing. He followed Dumbledore through the hall, past a massive oak door.
The iron relief set into the door showed a dragon breathing fire, its tail curled into the shape of the handle.
The goblin paused before it and laid a hand on the dragon's tail.
Clack, clack.
The door slid open without a sound.
Beyond it stretched a narrow stone staircase, descending into darkness.
The air turned colder, carrying that peculiar mixed smell found only deep underground.
Tap-tap-tap-tap...
Iain's footsteps bounced lightly on the stairs.
He was still speculating about who his ancestor could be. By now, his thoughts had reached all the way back to the first time he had met Dumbledore, when the old man had somehow known at once that he was an upright Gryffindor and the sort certain to be persecuted by the great evil bat, the utterly hateful Snape.
The stairs ended at a small platform.
A cart was waiting there.
"Get in."
The goblin's tone was as unfriendly as ever.
Dumbledore climbed in first. The hem of his robes brushed the metal side of the cart with a soft rustle. Iain followed and sat opposite him.
The metal was cold.
Pleasantly cold on the backside, really.
"Hold on."
The goblin sat at the front, gripped the control lever with one hand, and pressed something on the armrest with the other.
Rattle!
The cart shot forward.
Wind rushed into Iain's ears and yanked his hair backward. The rails flew by on either side, and the torches set into the tunnel walls stretched into long orange streaks.
Like ribbons pulled perfectly straight.
They tore around a bend, and Iain was flung sideways, shoulder slamming into the side of the cart. He did not cry out.
The young wizard simply made a quiet note in the ledger of his soul.
Gringotts goblin Griphook. Already one-third of the way to deserving death.
Then again, deep down, Iain remained a kind young wizard.
The cart came to a stop before a stone door.
The number on it was 713.
Dumbledore took out the little pouch from inside his robes, handed the key to Griphook, and the goblin opened the vault door.
There were quite a lot of Galleons inside.
Enough to make Iain swallow hard.
Dumbledore went in.
A moment later he came out empty-handed.
Iain glanced at him.
Depositing the Philosopher's Stone right in front of a goblin, without even trying to hide it?
"Perhaps this really is a trap for Voldemort. For all I know, the goblins have his informants among them."
The young wizard pondered this privately, his face giving nothing away, and he did not ask.
Once Dumbledore climbed back aboard, the cart launched off again.
The tunnel grew deeper and deeper, and the air colder and colder. They passed through a vast underground cavern and heard the roar of some unknown dragon.
Far off, flames churned.
"A dragon!"
Iain stretched his neck, but all he could see was a silhouette.
Huge.
Very huge.
The sort of creature that looked as though, in terms of sheer meat yield, it could keep his freezer stocked for a year.
"Mere cravings of the tongue shall not overcome my wizardly will."
Iain wiped the tears from the corners of his mouth.
At last the cart stopped.
Beside the narrow track stood another vault door, seemingly grown out of the rock itself. Its bronze surface bore no decoration, no relief, no lettering.
"Go on. Open it."
The goblin hopped down from the cart and folded its arms, leaning against the tunnel wall with an expression that plainly said, Let me see how the two of you explain yourselves now.
Iain looked at Dumbledore.
The old man stood beside him and gave a calm nod.
"Step forward. Speak to the door."
That, apparently, was the identity verification.
Iain understood at once.
He walked to the vault door and looked up at the towering metal face of it.
"Open."
It was only ordinary English, with no grand elaborate phrasing. Yet within those simple words there was a note of command.
And so the door swung open with a great roar.
Light poured out from within.
In that underground treasury, stretching farther than the eye could see,
lay heap after shining heap of gold, ton upon ton of it, rising like little mountains.
The brilliant radiance lit the young wizard's face as his eyes widened.
Crowns.
Scepters.
Swords set with rubies.
Necklaces strung with black crystal.
Mountains of armor.
All of it was only the visible edge of this small hidden world.
"Merlin's luncheon meat!"
Iain's eyes reflected more treasure than he had seen in his entire life.
Behind him, Dumbledore's voice came, carrying a peculiar depth.
"It would be more accurate to say that this is the wealth Merlin left for you. Yes. Your true name should be Iain Ambrosius. Iain Kent was only a set of shackles a stubborn old man once tried to place upon you."
Dumbledore had come to stand behind him, his expression somewhat complicated.
Iain did not turn around.
He did not even hear Dumbledore properly.
His eyes were still nailed in place by the glittering brilliance before him.
"All of this is mine?"
Even now, he could hardly believe it.
"Yes. Only a descendant of Merlin whose bloodline has awakened can open this treasury."
Dumbledore gazed into the vault, though what was reflected in his eyes was not the worldly treasure before them.
It was something else.
"Child, your ancestor was once the most powerful wizard in the world, and the greatest seer as well. Of all the things he left behind for you, the most precious is not any single object in this vault, but..."
Dumbledore hesitated for a long while before continuing.
"Enough to buy the land beneath our feet. Enough to buy half the wizarding world."
He paused.
"Power."