"The underground vaults are secured with magical doors forged from a special clay. Only certified goblins can unlock them with a tap. Anyone else who touches the door gets sucked inside and trapped within the walls. For vaults left unused for long periods, we check every ten years to see if any thieves' bodies are stuck inside.
"Stored items can also be enchanted with Gemino and Flagrante Curses. If a thief touches them, they'll burn and trigger endless duplication, potentially crushing and scalding the thief to death if they don't give up."
Griphook stood before an unmarked vault, placing his hand on the unidentifiable metal door and tapping twice.
Layers of dusty green rust peeled away, revealing faint, blurred carvings. Melvin studied them closely, confirming they weren't any familiar runes.
Likely a product of goblin craftsmanship.
The vault rumbled open, revealing a space tinged with iron-blue and dust. A cold, dry scent, tinged with rust, hit them as air flowed in—like wet cement on a rainy day. The walls and ceiling looked sturdy, their material unclear, with faint traces of alchemical runes glowing softly.
The space was fairly large, about the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall, though smaller than the Room of Requirement's storage.
"Don't you clean it up?" Melvin asked, turning to Griphook.
"Leave it to me, sir," Griphook replied with a slight bow.
The open room had no clutter, and the dust wasn't too heavy—no cobwebs or doxies. With a few snaps of his fingers, Griphook cleared a large area quickly.
While the goblin worked, Melvin examined the walls and vault door—obsidian and refined iron mixed with strange powders in the mortar, looking reliable. He wondered how many curses it could withstand.
Glancing at Griphook, who was nearly done cleaning, Melvin asked, "Do you need to register items stored in a vault for the first time?"
"Yes, sir!" Griphook's sharp voice echoed in the empty room as he cleared the last patch. "Rest assured, it's for long-term cooperation. Gringotts keeps only one list as a precaution. We don't inquire about the origins of stored items. Even regular goblins or managers can't access the records."
"Is that so… I'm planning to store these. Can you take inventory?"
Melvin tossed over a linen bag, and a pile of Galleons clinked loudly. "Also, I'm still a bit concerned about the walls' defenses. Can I test them with a spell?"
"Well…"
It was just a young wizard's test—shouldn't be a problem… right?
Griphook weighed his hesitation against the heavy stack of Galleons. The scales tipped decisively. "Alright, Gringotts has a duty to ease clients' concerns."
"Excellent service."
Melvin gave a soft, approving chuckle, then, without warning, fired a thick beam of magic at the wall.
Confringo!
A deafening explosion shook the vault, as if the ground itself trembled. Lamps and torches flickered, casting wavering shadows.
"…"
Griphook froze, mouth agape, staring dumbfounded at the shallow dent in the wall, then at the young client, as if the curse had hit him instead.
Even a dragon's full-force breath wouldn't make such a racket.
"Pretty sturdy, isn't it?" Melvin said, his tone admiring.
Snapping out of it, Griphook clutched his face, wailing, "I'm done for! My performance review is ruined!"
"Don't say that, Griphook… You've shown me Gringotts' reliable defenses. If you can ease my final concern, I'm willing to pay the maximum deposit," Melvin said patiently, like a professor gently guiding a student.
Griphook looked up, muttering, "Final concern?"
Melvin nodded gravely. "That test proved the vault can withstand blasting curses, but I'm still unsure about cutting or piercing ones."
"…"
"If you can put my mind at ease, Gringotts will gain a loyal client, and it'll all be thanks to you, Griphook. Perhaps I'll mention your stellar service to your manager on my way out."
Griphook stared at the dent, picturing a promotion to the front desk, and gritted his teeth. "Fine, one last time."
"You'll be a manager in no time!"
Melvin offered heartfelt praise, then turned to the dent and cast another spell.
Diffindo!
A thunderous crash reverberated, as if an adult Erumpent had charged the vault. Griphook stumbled, the spell's impact sending pebbles flying. A stray stone hit his forehead, leaving him dizzy.
"Truly sturdy and reliable. I'm reassured," Melvin's surprised voice rang out.
Griphook, pale, took solace in the registered items and the prospect of a major client. "Professor Levent, the Galleons are stored. Let's head up to sign the contracts and hand over the vault key."
"Of course."
Melvin nodded with a smile.
They returned via the cart, passing the ancient, listless dragon by the Thief's Downfall. The icy water cascaded down, and Griphook exhaled, his tense body relaxing.
The rest was routine—signing contracts, paying the deposit, and handing over the key. For the sake of the Galleons, the goblins' service was impeccable.
In the end, two goblins personally escorted Melvin out of Gringotts.
Clutching the vault key, Melvin glanced at the silver doors' inscription, his dark eyes gleaming with intent.
…
Diagon Alley was packed during the back-to-school season.
Shopping had gone smoothly. The Weasleys and Harry bumped into Hermione along the way, their group growing so large it nearly blocked the street.
The young witches and wizards each held an ice cream, chatting and laughing as they walked, their carefree voices ringing out. A passerby cursed under their breath:
"You redheaded lot! Blocking the whole street—think you're undigested nutshells from a dragon's arse?"
"…"
Harry and Ron stared at their nut-flavored ice creams, suddenly losing their appetite.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look, deciding to split up.
They parted ways at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Percy muttered about needing a new quill, while George and Fred chased Lee Jordan to the joke shop. Arthur planned to grab a drink at the Leaky Cauldron with the Grangers, and Ron insisted on joining since the enchanted mirror was showing Charlie's Cannons match.
Molly led the others to Flourish and Blotts to buy textbooks for the new term.
The bookstore was crowded enough to give a dragon constipation.
Flourish and Blotts was hosting a signing event for the legendary adventurer Gilderoy Lockhart. Nearly every housewife shopping in Diagon Alley was queued up, stretching from inside the store to the street corner, staring at the second-floor banner and the shop window's standee.
The exhausted manager stood at the door, hoarsely shouting, "Ladies, please, stay calm! Mr. Lockhart isn't going anywhere—don't push!"
Harry and Ginny quickly regretted not joining Ron at the Leaky Cauldron. Instead, they were stuck in line, listening to Mrs. Weasley and Hermione gush about Lockhart's adventures.
Occasionally, strangers greeted Harry and his friends.
To some wizards, Harry's fame rivaled Lockhart's. The curly-haired witch beside him had also starred on the enchanted mirrors, her school exploits last year outshining Lockhart's tales. If only she had books or posters, they'd be clamoring for her autograph too.
Harry and Hermione responded politely to friendly faces, while Molly stepped in to shoo away any pure-blood extremists sneering at Hermione.
When it came to blood purity, only the Sacred Twenty-Eight could hold a candle to the Weasleys.
Inside the bookstore, the noise finally quieted.
"Hermione…" Harry glanced at the long line ahead, whispering, "Guess who I saw at Borgin and Burkes?"
Hermione, engrossed in a Lockhart book, answered without looking up. "Professor Levent? That's not surprising."
Harry faltered. True, Levent wasn't the stereotypical "good" professor. He'd flooded a troll, used Norbert to intimidate them, and wielded dark magical items against Quirrell.
"Not just Professor Levent—also the Malfoys, father and son."
"What were they buying?"
"They were selling something…"
Harry answered instinctively, then lowered his voice. "That's not the point. The point is, Levent met with the Malfoys and talked privately for a long time!"
Hermione looked up from her book. "You think they made some kind of deal?"
"Exactly!" Harry nodded firmly.
"…"
Both frowned, lost in thought.
Ahead, Ginny held her mother's hand, pretending to look around aimlessly but stealing glances at Harry, occasionally eyeing Hermione—a subtle, practiced move.
Harry, deep in thought, didn't notice.
"…"
Ginny's face scrunched up, her fists clenching slightly.
Were they whispering to each other?
Why were their heads so close?
…
Night fell, and Charing Cross Road glowed with lamplight.
Melvin sat by his hotel room window, observing Gringotts from afar, reflecting on the day's reconnaissance.
The underground vaults were indeed heavily guarded, with goblins on watch and the ancient dragon at the Thief's Downfall. Those obstacles were manageable—he'd tested them. The Thief's Downfall could dispel magic and pierce Shield Charms, but mental focus could counter it.
The real challenge was locating the vault.
From his brief observations, there were roughly four or five vaults deep underground, but he couldn't tell if there were other restricted areas or which one belonged to the Lestranges.
Breaking into a vault was no small feat either.
Melvin's magic far surpassed that of an average adult wizard. His powerful curses could damage the walls, but they caused too much noise and took too long. At full strength, cracking all the vaults would take at least half an hour.
Then there was the matter of finding the cup among the vault's treasures.
That was enough time for the goblins to call the Ministry. Whether he could handle Aurors was beside the point—he couldn't afford to make a scene. A renowned young professor couldn't be seen acting like a dark wizard.
It would reflect poorly on Hogwarts.
If brute force wasn't an option, he could bypass the Thief's Downfall, get the Lestrange vault key, and use Polyjuice Potion to impersonate someone, letting the goblins lead him in.
"Lestrange…"
Like the Rosiers, the Lestranges were a sprawling pure-blood family with branches across countries, originating in France. The British branch rose to prominence in the 19th century, joining the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Traditionally patriarchal, they'd been swayed by Voldemort, with Bellatrix becoming the dominant figure.
The British Lestranges were currently in Azkaban.
No immediate leads there.
Since the adult Tom Riddle was out of reach for now, perhaps it was time to meet the student version.
Melvin's gaze shifted from the window to the diary on the table, a glint in his eyes.
It looked like an ordinary diary, about thirteen inches long, its black cover faded, the date illegible. Aside from its age, it seemed unremarkable.
The diary had passed through many hands—Lucius Malfoy had held it, and in the original story, it circulated among students. It likely bore no curses or poisons.
Horcruxes could peer into minds, akin to Legilimency, though it was unclear if the diary did so through its text or some hidden magic.
Melvin lowered his eyes, pressing a finger to his temple, fully activating his Occlumency.
Simultaneously, he wove a false identity with a False Memory Charm.
"I'm Melvin Levent, an incoming teaching assistant at Hogwarts, specializing in Care of Magical Creatures. I found this diary in a cabinet in an abandoned classroom…"
Before age eleven, he lived in a remote town, attended a magical school, worked a year after graduation, and returned to Hogwarts as an assistant when Kettleburn neared retirement.
Half-truth, half-fiction—a blend designed to be convincing.
Thanks to last year's film project, where he spent hundreds of hours editing memories, few in the wizarding world could rival Melvin's skill in this area. In just three minutes, 他 crafted a believable twenty-year life story based on real experiences.
Fully prepared, Melvin opened his eyes and flipped open the diary.
The title page was blank. The paper, yellowed and oxidized with age, bore faint water stains at the edges, as if it had once been soaked.
Flipping further, faint ink spelled out: T.M. Riddle.
The ink had bled, the "Tom" barely legible, smudged into a shadowy blot. The remaining pages were blank, except for the back cover, which bore the name of a newsagent on Vauxhall Road, London.