The air was thick with an indescribable, rancid stench as boots crunched over damp, mossy ground. They passed unmarked dark magic shops, heading toward the shadowy end of a dank alley.
The young professor and his boyish companion looked out of place here, drawing the curious stares of many witches and wizards.
In the dim doorways of shops along the way, faceless wizards whispered among themselves. Occasionally, a haggard or sinister-looking wizard with a limp or a missing limb would pause to stare, their gaze chilling Harry to the bone.
"Don't wander into those unmarked shops in Knockturn Alley," Melvin said casually, strolling ahead as if leading a student on a field trip. "You never know what kind of business they're running. Even the shops with signs need caution. Take that candle shop across the street—you know they sell candles and oil lamps, but do you know what they boil the lamp oil from?"
Harry, about to start his second year at Hogwarts, glanced up at the skull-adorned sign above the candle shop. "…"
A grim suspicion crept into his mind, and his face paled.
He really didn't want to know.
"If you get lost in Knockturn Alley, don't bother asking for directions politely," Melvin continued. "Your best bet is to knock out whoever's in front of you and then ask. Veritaserum or an Imperius Curse makes it even easier."
Hearing Professor Lewent's advice and feeling the hostile gazes around him, Harry felt a twinge of fear. He wondered if, without stumbling into the professor, he'd have made it out of here in one piece.
As if reading his thoughts, Melvin chuckled. "No need to see Knockturn Alley as some dragon's den. Sure, it's crawling with dark wizards, but it's also home to goods you can't find in Diagon Alley. That draws underground traders and customers. If you're ever stuck, just find a crowded spot, shout that you're the Boy Who Lived, and flash that scar on your forehead. Plenty of people would escort you out."
Harry's expression twisted, unsure if the professor was joking or serious.
They wove through the twisting alleys, and Melvin went on. "If you're lucky, you might even run into someone familiar. Before term starts, lots of professors come here for teaching supplies. Sprout, Snape, and Burbage are regulars. Hagrid swings by for pest repellents too."
"Hagrid's not back yet…" Harry said quietly. "I've been staying with the Weasleys. Yesterday, the Burrow got a letter from Charlie saying Hagrid broke his leg in Romania. Professor Kettleburn will bring him back in a couple of days."
Melvin smirked. That sounded exactly like something Hagrid would do.
As they neared the alley's exit, an old hag carrying a stack of corpse fingernails shuffled by, stopping to stare at them. Melvin met her gaze calmly, then led Harry out into the brighter expanse of Diagon Alley.
The rest of the journey was much smoother.
Melvin had planned to drop Harry off at the Leaky Cauldron with Tom, but they ran into the Weasley family on the steps of Gringotts— a boisterous clan with a gaggle of kids in tow.
"Harry! Harry!"
"We were hoping you just missed one fireplace—Mum's been worried sick!"
"Where'd you pop out?"
"Knockturn Alley! Blimey, that's so cool! Mum never lets us go there!"
"You should've stayed longer so we'd have an excuse to go in after you!"
The Weasley kids swarmed Harry, bombarding him with questions. Mrs. Weasley, clutching Ginny, checked Harry for missing limbs, nearly blocking the entrance to Gringotts.
Arthur Weasley, pushed to the edge of the chaos, noticed Melvin and grinned warmly. "Thank goodness you found Harry in time, Professor Lewent. If a dark wizard had spotted him first, the consequences would've been unthinkable."
Melvin smiled softly. "Just doing my job as a professor."
"Fancy a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, Professor?" Arthur asked. "Old Tom's always talking about you—says you invented those Invisibility Mirrors and films. Absolutely brilliant! Very Muggle-inspired—did you get the idea from televisions or movies?"
Arthur rambled on, and Melvin felt a headache coming. He suspected the gratitude was just a pretext; Arthur was clearly more interested in the mirrors.
Lingering outside a shady repair shop, pouncing on a respectable professor with relentless questions.
Melvin shook his head quickly. "No thanks, I've got other business."
"Pity…" Arthur looked disappointed.
The Weasleys' fussing finally died down, and they turned to greet Professor Lewent. Melvin exchanged formalities with Mrs. Weasley.
"Professor Lewent! I'm so thrilled to see you!" Molly Weasley gushed, grabbing his hand and shaking it vigorously, her eyes almost teary. "I've been meaning to invite you to the Burrow all last term to thank you for looking after the kids, teaching George and Fred the right values, and that performance fee for Ron—it's just…"
The slightly stout housewife choked up, her emotions spilling over. "I don't know how to thank you. This year's textbooks were so expensive, and with Ginny starting school, we needed new robes and supplies… If it weren't for…"
The Weasley kids flushed with embarrassment. George and Fred's shoulders slumped, and Ginny tugged at her mother's hand, suddenly feeling her outburst was inappropriate, not appreciating how much their mother worried.
Only Ron stood tall, his freckled face beaming with pride, chin practically touching the sky.
He'd been insufferable this summer.
Handing over his film earnings to the family without keeping a Knut had earned him his mother's favoritism, elevating his status above even Ginny. George and Fred had been avoiding him for two months.
"It's nothing," Melvin said, offering a few comforting words to finally extricate himself from the emotional witch. He bid them a quick farewell and hurried into Gringotts.
In his mind, he was already plotting how to recruit Arthur into the Mirror Club.
With markets opening in Budapest and Romania, Invisibility Mirrors could spread to wizarding pubs worldwide. Demand was outstripping supply, and Wright was swamped. Arthur might lack theoretical expertise, but he'd make a fine technician.
Melvin vaguely recalled Arthur's flying car, which had survived a Whomping Willow and Forbidden Forest creatures and still ran. Reliable character, dependable quality…
Muttering to himself, Melvin decided to ask Arthur's birth year next time—Ox or Horse?
---
Marble steps led to a pair of gleaming bronze doors, flanked by goblins in scarlet-and-gold uniforms. Beyond the first doors was an antechamber, then a second set of silver doors engraved with a warning:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn
Must pay most dearly in their turn…
Gringotts, the wizarding bank founded before the fall of the Goblin Kingdom, had employed witches and wizards since the 16th century. Beyond banking and insurance, it controlled the minting and issuance of wizarding currency.
"Gringotts…" Melvin murmured, stepping inside.
There was no third golden door, only a grand marble hall, nearly ten meters high. Over a hundred uniformed goblins stood on high stools behind a long counter, weighing coins with copper scales, inspecting gems with monocles, and scribbling in ledgers. Others guided customers through small doors to unknown destinations.
Melvin approached an idle goblin and tapped the counter. "I'd like to open an underground vault."
The goblin looked up, eyeing Melvin's Muggle-style clothing with a wrinkled nose. Its voice was shrill and grating. "Very well, sir. What kind of vault?"
Underground vaults varied in size and security. Smaller, less protected ones sat near the surface, while the deepest, most secure vaults belonged to the oldest wizarding families.
"The highest security level, deepest underground."
"Sir, may I ask what you plan to store?" the goblin asked tactfully. "For most wizards, a standard outer vault is sufficient. Gringotts' security is highly reliable—only one breach in history."
There'll be more… Melvin thought, smiling faintly. He placed a small linen bag on the counter with a dull thud.
The goblin's expression shifted. With years of counter experience, it recognized a bag enchanted with an Extension Charm—a sign of wealth. Its thick fingers untied the bag, catching a glimpse of Galleon piles inside, and its eyes gleamed.
The dark, ominous magical artifacts nearby? Standard for Gringotts clients.
"Sir, I'll arrange for your vault immediately," the goblin said, its tone suddenly warmer and more polite. It called out, "Griphook! Griphook! Take this…"
"Melvin Lewent," Melvin supplied with a smile.
"Take Mr. Lewent to open a vault—the highest-grade one!"
Griphook, indistinguishable from other goblins save for his uniform, nodded to Melvin and led him through a small door.
Beyond it was a narrow corridor, torches flickering in stone crevices. At the end stretched a rough-hewn railway with a grimy, coal-cart-like trolley.
Griphook climbed aboard, his high-pitched voice explaining, "Mr. Lewent, before we proceed, I must inform you of some details. Gringotts is dedicated to serving its clients. Items stored in our vaults are protected against theft, leaks, robbery, and destruction. Even Ministry searches require the owner's consent…"
His chatter mixed with the clatter of the trolley's wheels.
The spiel boiled down to three points: deposit, inheritance, and duration.
High-grade vaults required a deposit, larger for deeper ones. Vaults defaulted to blood relatives or key-designated heirs. Without either, the vault's duration came into play.
Gringotts didn't charge for deposits or withdrawals, but inactive vaults—"dead vaults"—were maintained for decades or centuries based on the deposit. After that, Gringotts would periodically open them, deducting maintenance costs based on the contents' value.
The goblins retained the right to assess value but were careful not to empty vaults too quickly.
Melvin nodded thoughtfully. Gringotts' service was thorough. Even by the time Voldemort returned, Bellatrix Lestrange's vault with the Hufflepuff Cup remained untouched.
The trolley sped through labyrinthine tunnels, twisting and turning, cold air whistling past. They passed dark rocky areas, a damp underground lake, and then a cascading waterfall.
"This is the Thief's Downfall!" Griphook shouted. "It washes away all enchantments and disguises! If it detects ill intent, it'll flip the cart!"
As they passed through, icy water poured over them, leaving a shallow pool in the trolley. Griphook watched Melvin closely.
"So we passed the test, right?" Melvin asked, his tone low and perfectly annoyed, as if irritated by the soaking.
"Yes, sir!" Griphook exhaled, quickly casting a spell to dry Melvin's robes.
After the 713 vault break-in, Gringotts' Diagon Alley branch had faced penalties. Since then, all new clients faced the Thief's Downfall, especially during the busy back-to-school season. The goblins were paranoid about another incident.
Unseen by Griphook, Melvin's back and pockets remained completely dry, untouched by a single drop.
The rest of the journey was smooth.
"My apologies, sir. Gringotts will compensate you," Griphook said, snapping his fingers to summon a warm breeze that evaporated the water.
Melvin nodded. In half a minute, they reached the deepest vault area.
At the railway's end, an ancient dragon lay sprawled, its faded, peeling scales like withered leaves. Its eyes were cloudy, the nictitating membranes dry and shriveled, its hind legs and wing joints shackled to a stone pillar.
"This is the highest-security vault area," Griphook said, barely glancing at the dragon. "There used to be a sphinx guarding it—its eyes could detect lies and see truth—but it was too old. After the 713 vault incident, it retired. The new sphinx isn't trained yet."
Melvin glanced at the surrounding vaults, unmarked and indistinguishable, wondering which belonged to the Lestranges.
Griphook seemed to sense his curiosity. "Sorry, sir, we can't disclose client information for privacy reasons."