Lichfield looked at him curiously. "What were you doing in Nockturn Alley?"
"We got turned around on our last trip and ended up there," her father explained. "One look at those skulls and we knew we weren't in Kansas anymore. For a minute there I thought we were going to get mugged."
"A muggle like you was lucky not to get killed," the grizzled old lawyer said.
"Yes, it did look particularly dodgy," her father smiled, safe and warm in the bright sunshine of Diagon Alley. "We prefer the term 'non-magical' though; 'muggle' sounds way too diminutive to be respectful."
"Huh," the man named Lichfield grunted appraisingly as they walked through the bank's front doors. "Never thought about what non-magical people would want to be called. I'll try to remember that."
Her father smiled and gave her his thumbs-up gesture as if to say 'score one for positive social change.' Somehow she doubted Slytherin house would become civil just from a few people adopting the phrase 'non-magical people,' but she supposed it'd isolate the bigots from everyone else, assuming there was an everyone else in Slytherin house.
"Well, Sweetie, I suppose we should pick a teller and wait in line so we can get some Fun Bricks," her father said to her as if this was all some amusement park scheme to get you to exchange real money for fake money and they weren't standing in the middle of one of the four most powerful wizarding institutions in the country.
"Actually, sir," Harry said politely. "I was wondering if Hermione could come with us. I promised her she could meet a friend of mine and it'd keep me from having to tell her everything later."
"Not sure how long it'll be," the gruff-looking Lichfield said, "but we might be able to get you a deal, one of the head fun brick makers is just up ahead. How often do you get to see one of them?"
Hermione shook her head; she was starting to believe she was the only person who ever took things seriously. They were talking about the goblins running the bank like they were some kind of Oompa Loompa. Feeling more than a little soiled by the idea of singing and dancing goblins in silly costumes and make up Hermione followed along, hoping they'd be able to sit down and talk about things logically without her father jostling things about just because he could. It probably wouldn't be so bad if just once someone did it to him instead.
The goblin in question was standing next to a bronze door on the side of the room looking through some files and wearing a suit her father would've poured something on just for the excuse to take it off and wear something else.
"Ah, there you are," he said absently as he glanced at Harry. "We're on sub-level one today. This way."
"The girl's coming with us," Lichfield interjected.
"Hm?" the bald goblin asked, looking up at them for the first time.
In an instant a stony look appeared in the goblin's eye and he smiled without any sort of warmth.
"My apologies, I was unaware we'd have visitors. I am Overseer Barchoke in charge of Hereditary Accounts here at Gringotts," he said professionally, extending his hand to her.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she replied taking his hand, glad to finally meet someone as serious as she was. "And this is my father," she gestured over to him.
A curious look crossed the goblin's face as he looked up at her dad.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you in here again," the goblin said finally.
Hermione thought she saw a crack appear in her father's normally cartoonish exterior as everyone's eyes focused on him.
"You have a remarkably good memory," her father told the goblin before turning to her with a smile. "See, Honey? It must be the teller from last time. He remembered us."
"It can't be," she told him. "That goblin had hair."
"Hermione," her father scolded, "you can't just blurt out the ma- Oh, I'm sorry," he turned back to the goblin. "I almost called you a 'man.' It's an interchangeable word for us meaning a male person. It just occurred to me it might be offensive to you. Do you have a word you'd prefer me to use?"
"'Goblin' will do fine," the goblin looked at him quizzically.
"You can't just blurt out the goblin's gone bald, it's rude," her father said as if nothing had happened.
Lichfield coughed into his hand and if Harry's face was anything to go by both of them were struggling not to laugh.
"I must apologize for my daughter," her dad told the goblin. "This is only our second trip and we are strangers to your ways. I fear she's a bit too much like her mother at times."
Hermione shot him her most fierce glare. That was uncalled for; she was simply stating a fact.
"I haven't been a teller in quite some time," the suited goblin said. "Are you sure we haven't met before? Your face is very familiar."
"Okay, this is getting kind of scary," her father said with his hands up in front of himself and looking rather unnerved. "I know I have one of those faces everyone thinks looks like someone else but this is the third time it's happened since we got here, and it's only been like an hour or so."
Hermione had never given it a second thought but people had been making that mistake a lot lately. Even professor McGonagall had thought he'd looked like someone she knew, and that was impossible. She supposed her father might have some sort of doppelganger out there except one of him was bad enough, she couldn't imagine there being two of him.
'It'd be Fred and George squared,' she thought to herself.
"My mistake," the goblin said. "I just recalled the wizard I'm thinking about was reported dead twenty years ago. The resemblance is uncanny."
Flipping open a file and scribbling something down, the goblin turned back to her.
"For the record, is it simply Hermione Granger or is there a middle name as well?" he asked.
"Jane" she answered him at the same time her father said "Jean."
The goblin looked back and forth between them but it was Harry who spoke.
"You have two middle names?" he asked.
"I have one middle name," she replied stuffily. "It's Jane."
"Jean," her father interrupted again and she shot him a look.
"My mother says it's Jane, he says it's Jean," she explained.
"Jane sounds so boring," her father complained.
"Yes, and naming me Hermione wasn't enough to make me stand out," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "And since my middle name is supposed to be the same as hers-"
"So what's her middle name?" the goblin asked with an expression suggesting they were being intentionally difficult.
"Je-" her father started to say before she rolled over him.
"She doesn't know," she said firmly. "She was adopted and the paperwork she has only has the middle initial J. It could be Jane, or Jean, or even the remains of her birth surname, so it could be Jones, Johnson, or-"
"-Jørgensen," her father cheerily added. "What? You think Norwegian's crossing the line?"