Chapter Ten: Tea, Blood, and Banking Shenanigans
Monday, April 9th, 2009 — 10:21 a.m.
Location: Gringotts Tech & Treasury, Magical London (Unseelie-Favored Wing, Nightmare Court Tier Access)
Tagline: Two Cousins, One Joint Account, and the Goblin Mafia's Favorite Clients
Two days post-rescue, post-reckoning, and the cousins had settled into a rhythm that was part family reunion, part low-level psychological triage.
Seraphina brewed violently spiced chai that could theoretically exorcise minor demons—or at least dissolve your worst memories into a manageable emotional soup. She did it by hand. No wand. No shortcuts. The kettle responded to her voice like a summoned spirit and the tea leaves soaked like they were attending a sacrament. She had a steel thermos with enchanted insulation and a scowl carved into its side, labeled: Don't Touch My Chai Unless You Want To Die (Beautifully).
Caius, in contrast, made Earl Grey like a man resurrecting an empire.
Loose leaves only. He'd stare at a tea bag like it had insulted his lineage. His mugs were bone china infused with moonstone veins and warded against existential crisis. He sipped with the quiet air of someone who had, at some point, legally declared war on mediocrity and won.
They sat on the balcony of their dwelling—technically a flat, spiritually a sentient extradimensional palace with layered enchantments, trauma-absorbing walls, and a rune-stitched silk canopy that hissed when someone cast bad vibes too close. A basilisk-shaped wind chime hung from the railing, charmingly screeching when someone nearby told a lie.
In the sky above them, stormclouds brewed like jealous tea.
"Have you been to the bank yet?" Caius asked, not looking up from his cup.
"Nope," Seraphina said, poking her chai with a cinnamon stick that doubled as a wand. "Been living off the stash from my now-dead, illegally-assigned, emotionally-backward Muggle-adjacent guardian."
Caius raised an eyebrow. "We need to go."
"We really don't."
"Bank access unlocks the vault's active wards, financial legitimacy, and blood companion rites. They've probably been trying to contact us since we were twelve."
"Blood companion?" she blinked. "That sounds like something out of a bad vampire novel where everyone has great cheekbones and no boundaries."
"Basically," Caius said, taking another dignified sip, "a magically-bonded combination of assassin, healer, loyalty pact, and emotional support dagger. Our ancestors bred them into our legacy system. Their family line has probably been serving ours since 'dirt' was a new trend."
"So like... ancestral butlers. But with murder perks?"
"Exactly. But more stabby. Less aprons."
Gringotts Tech & Treasury
Tagline: "Your money, your bloodline, your enemies—safely managed since the Dwarven Accords of 804."
What Seraphina expected: Crumbling vaults. Dusty ledgers. Goblins with vendettas and monocles.
What she got?
A fortress-meets-tech-startup nightmare designed by someone who'd studied Apple Stores, war crimes, and old Unseelie aesthetics.
The floor tiles pulsed with hex-stabilized obsidian. Floating walls of glamour flickered between financial records and veiled threats. A digital goblin receptionist hovered at the center in full glam, wearing enchanted spectacles and a smile so tight it could've sliced souls.
Above the counter, a blinking display read:
> Hexplot Rating: 7/10
(Down from 9 due to one rogue Niffler incident and a scathing review by "MorganaLovesMint" who was denied a cupcake-based extortion loan.)
The second they stepped inside, a goblin in a pinstriped vest froze mid-scroll. He dropped the gold-tipped stylus. His monocle slid off his nose with dramatic horror.
He gasped. Audibly.
"Finally," he whispered. "You're here. Twelve years. Zero response. Meanwhile, someone's been siphoning funds from the Nightmare Court vault."
Seraphina blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Someone has our key?" Caius asked sharply.
The goblin nodded grimly. "Or both of your keys. That's the only way the enchantments would've permitted access. Dual blood signature protocol. Ancient, elegant, and until now foolproof."
Enter Vexmar.
Titles:
— Nightmare Court Liaison
— Certified Account Executioner
— Hexplot Enforcer
— Legendary Customer Disservice Agent
Vibe: If a tax auditor married an Unseelie warlock and got a promotion for emotionally scarring a Minister of Finance.
He appeared like smoke and disappointment, snapped his clawed fingers, and led them to a private vault negotiation chamber. The walls adjusted temperature based on emotional trauma levels. The chairs adjusted lumbar support based on inherited curses.
Waiting inside?
Griphook.
Still alive. Still terrifying. Head of the Earthside Nightmare Court Division. Wearing a black-on-black waistcoat with thread made of spider silk and sheer spite.
He bowed. Barely.
"Lord. Lady." His voice had the dry authority of an execution writ. "I manage your vault. Or as the Ministry likes to call it: The Vault of Destabilizing Potential. We just call it the Potter-Peverell-Grey account."
"What happened to all the letters?" Caius asked, narrowing his eyes.
Griphook smiled with all the warmth of a guillotine.
"You didn't receive my correspondence?" he asked, voice silky. "Fascinating. And infuriating. Someone's been stealing your gold and intercepting your mail. I smell..." he paused for effect, "Dumbledore."
Seraphina didn't growl. But she did hiss.
"Why am I not surprised?"
Griphook slammed a black folder on the table. It sizzled.
"To restore full access," he said, "you'll need seven drops of blood each. Enchanted ritual daggers. The blood disintegrates post-binding. Fae-grade clean."
He paused.
"We're not the Ministry. We don't do slavery. We do contracts."
Seven drops each.
Sliced fingertips. Parchment ignited in blue flame. An ancient chime echoed through the marble.
The vault shifted.
Gears clicked.
Stone breathed.
A hidden room shimmered into view. Four goblins bowed silently. Five chests opened. Ten compartments hissed and released their locks.
Labels shimmered into existence:
Emergency Realm Access Keys
Bloodline Treaty Scrolls
Silasfang Hatchling Pool (Do Not Open)
Receipts of Revenge Paid in Full
Curse-Laced Wedding Invitations (Archived)
A blink of runes sparked overhead. Two glowing profiles appeared.
Blood Companions Located.
> Name: Raphael
Species: Redcap
Status: Unclaimed
Role: Assassin, Healer, Lifelong Emotional Crutch
Bonded to: Seraphina Potter-Peverell
Family Line: Weeping Willow (In service since "dirt was fashionable")
> Name: Blood Fang
Species: Redcap
Status: Unclaimed
Role: Chaos Manager, Murder Aficionado
Bonded to: Caius Everen Grey
Family Line: Weeping Willow (Specializes in poetic vengeance)
Vexmar scowled. "They should've been summoned to you at age six."
Griphook nodded grimly. "We tried. Their realm passports were revoked. Inter-realm sabotage. Not Ministry."
"Who then?" Caius asked.
"Ministry was the sock puppet," Vexmar muttered. "The hand up its backside belonged to something older."
Caius leaned back, sipping from a goblet etched with runes of subtle mockery.
"So we've got: identity theft, vault breach, blood companion interference, and realm-level conspiracy."
Seraphina exhaled through her nose. "Tuesday energy. And it's still Monday."
Vexmar straightened his lapel. "Shall I prepare your vengeance debit cards?"
Seraphina didn't even hesitate.
"Yes. Black platinum. Duel-based PIN authentication. Enchanted for guiltless spending and retail-assisted payback."
"Of course," he said, "with trauma cashback and inter-court loyalty perks."
Meanwhile, outside the vault...
The Hunt beasts waited.
Patient. Silent.
Nightmare: flicked his ear and said, "Finally. Took them long enough. The bank started contacting them at twelve. We knew it wasn't them using the vaults. Too young. Too stupid."
Gloom #3 (Vineshree): "When I was twelve, I was already assassinating minor barons and getting paid in land deeds."
Striker: "They were four and seven. You expected them to file affidavits?"
Chatteris: "This is why we don't trust goblin post."
The oldest Silasfang hissed from her coiled seat near a cooling vent.
"Eighteen years since the Veil broke. Since the Demons devoured the courts. They were babes. Now they walk like ghosts returned. The Vault lives again."
And then, she smiled.
With teeth.
The cousins left the bank richer in gold, clarity, and lingering fury.
The sky rolled thunder overhead, soft and respectful.
A Chatteris swooped down and offered them a fake unicorn-hair bracelet for twenty Sickles and a compliment. Caius gave it a look that made it combust.
Seraphina sipped her chai from a battle-worn thermos and smiled.
"I want a blood companion meet-cute," she declared. "With knives. And loyalty oaths."
Caius grinned, slinging his new enchanted card into a holster lined with old vengeance.
"Coming soon," he said, "to a cursed courtyard near you."
And somewhere, in the shadows between vaults and prophecy, the goblins toasted their favorite new account holders:
Nightmare Court Royalty.
Chaos-Infused Heirs.
Customers of the Month.