Author's Note: I wrote this in May 2019, and I don't have a place for it in my story yet. People liked it (three people mentioned it); I liked it, so I'm putting it here.
Gringotts was a towering, lopsided marble building constructed to look like each of its three floors were competing in a tug of war with the ground floor tilting right and the second floor tilting left. Inside hung grand chandeliers and below them were marble floors in pristine condition that stretched from the large doorways to the end of the corridor and beyond. Rows of dark wooden counters started where the corridor ended, each manned by an aging goblin.
The goblins that ran the Gringotts Bank were of miniature size with large pointy ears and pale skin. Their kind were prideful and wily, not as honorable as the Centaurs but nowhere near the volatile tempers of the merfolk. For whatever reason, these stout, shrewd creatures were seen as trustworthy guards for most, if not all, of the gold in the Wizarding World.
From his place in line, Remus could see the brows of the goblin wrinkled in deep concentration, and he was suddenly aware of their similarities to house elves, the only enslaved magical beings in the realm. What alliance did the goblins have with wizards that house elves did not? And how could one be so inferior to the other?
When Remus approached the dark mahogany counters, a goblin fixed his beady, dark eyes on Remus and said coldly. "Well, well, a werewolf."
Remus felt his heart drop. Was it so obvious?
"And how can I help the werewolf?" the goblin asked, folding his hands together as he gazed down at the young squib.
"I'd like to make a withdrawal," Remus said. The brunette wondered briefly if anyone behind him had heard. With the goblin's stare looming above his head, Remus reached into his pocket for his key and placed it on the counter, waiting as the goblin held it by the candle for inspection.
"Seems to be about right," said the goblin. Then, the goblin stopped and turned back to Remus. "Is this yours?"
"No, it's my parents'," Remus said, a little more unsure now, wondering if he would have to return another day with his mother or father. "I'm running an errand."
The goblin paused and seemed to consider Remus's words before he continued. "Alright, I'll take you there myself, but if what you say is untrue, you'll soon find yourself in Azkaban."
The goblin stepped down from his high chair and unlocked the door to the teller desk.
His height was astonishingly short to Remus, who was much taller than goblins when he last visited. Now a gangly youth, Remus was several heads taller than the shorter creature who ushered him to the train and unlocked his vault.
The Lupin family had a modest fortune, and they sought to give their children the same middle class opportunities that they had. What they could not foresee was the cost of moving every few years for Remus's condition, nor the money lost caring for a child unwelcome in the Wizarding World.
The gold in the vault was the remainder of his family's nest egg.
He grabbed a handful and pocketed it.