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By the time dawn crept over the Thames, Li Feng looked like roadkill. Hair wild, shoulders sagging, he leaned against Sirius Black, panting.
"Finally… made it. Not easy."
Sirius, still shivering from the wind of their nonstop portal hops, glared at the hand on his shoulder.
"Not easy? That's your word for it? I swear, I'll never step through one of your insane portals again. Look at my hands—wind-burned."
He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me. Do those things only open to places you can actually see?"
Li Feng gave a shrug that was answer enough. "That's the thrill, isn't it? Beats your flying-car mods."
Sirius rolled his eyes at the thin morning crowd. "You don't have a Knut to your name. I'll walk from here—warm me up at least."
Li Feng dug through his pockets. "As if you're rich. You're as broke as me. Look at us—if we squatted on the curb, people would toss us metro fare out of pity."
Sirius's glare could've cut glass. "I'd rather scrub dishes than beg." He stalked off.
"Aristocratic pride," Li Feng muttered, trailing after him.
They trudged across London until Li Feng's legs threatened mutiny. At last they reached the hidden home of the Black family: Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Sirius stopped between 11 and 13, stamped the pavement. The buildings slid apart like stone gates, revealing the concealed townhouse. Passersby walked on, blind to the magic.
"Come on," Sirius said, motioning him in.
The instant Li Feng stepped through, he gagged, clamping his nose. "This your house or a fish market? Smells like something crawled in here to die."
Sirius winced. "My parents' place. Haven't been back since they threw me out. I thought Kreacher still kept it up."
As if summoned, a stunted figure appeared—bat-like ears, long nose, ragged tunic. The house-elf's eyes gleamed. "Thieves, come to plunder the noble Black family again? There's nothing left—"
He froze, then sneered. "The blood-traitor returns?"
Li Feng elbowed Sirius. "What's his deal? Looks happy to see you but talks like he wants to spit in your face."
Sirius ignored him. "Kreacher. You said thieves have been here. What about the family vault?"
"Master's vault is safe. Protected by enchantments." The elf muttered as he shuffled off. "Blood-traitor brings filth into the house… I must tell Mistress…"
Li Feng smirked. "Charming little psycho."
Sirius exhaled heavily. "He's been like that since I was a kid. Always knew how to sour my mood." He motioned Li Feng to follow. "No wizarding family leaves everything in Gringotts. Goblins boast about impregnable vaults, but they're greedy bastards. Every family builds its own stash. Come. Let's get your payment."
They entered a decaying parlor—only for a woman's shrieking voice to erupt from the next room, hurling curses. Sirius paled, yanked a tablecloth, and dashed out. Moments later, the screaming cut off.
Li Feng's gaze drifted to a sprawling family tapestry. "So many names. No wonder Hogwarts only admits a few hundred—everyone's related. Wouldn't surprise me if you tripped over a baby and found out you were his great-uncle."
He paused, frowning at faint magical pulses stitched into the fabric.
Sirius returned with a lamp. He bit his finger, smeared blood on the name of a long-dead ancestor. Letters swirled, forming an archway that opened onto a staircase leading down.
He handed Li Feng the lamp. "No traps. Gold's below. Take as much as you can carry."
Li Feng smirked. "What if I take it all?"
Sirius shrugged. "Then take it all. I don't care."
"Don't regret saying that." Li Feng descended, muttering, "At least feed me after this. I'm worn out."
Sirius grinned faintly, sealing the archway behind him.
Alone in the stairwell, Li Feng's smile vanished. His whisper was cold. "In the books, you broke out the second you heard Pettigrew was alive. Desperate to protect Harry. Yet all these days, you've barely asked about Pettigrew. Barely pressed me on my spells. You don't trust me. Think I'm playing an angle."
He sneered. "But all I want is your Galleons." His eyes glinted. "And you thought my portals only worked where I could see? Fool. Call your reinforcements. By the time they arrive, I'll be gone."
The stairwell ended in a cavernous underground chamber the size of a public square, lined with training dummies and partitioned vaults.
Li Feng cracked the first—rows of enchanted artifacts. Too risky. Another—shelves of spellbooks, all in archaic wizarding English. One misread word, and he'd blow himself sky-high.
"Damn it." He flicked pages with his blade inside a mirrored dimension. Nothing. "Guess I'll need a translation charm. Or Google Translate for wizards."
Finally, he found the vault he wanted: piles of gleaming Galleons. He scooped fistfuls into his pockets until they bulged.
Only then did he turn toward the last unopened chamber.
The chamber was nothing like the others. No dust, no cobwebs—just a spotless workbench lined with screwdrivers and drill bits. And on the bench, clamped in place under a halo of lamplight, a locket. A serpent etched into the front coiled into the shape of an "S."
Li Feng didn't need long. The deeper he'd gone into soul magic, the sharper his senses became. This thing was alive.
He activated Mage's Sight, leaned closer, and his face hardened. A soul pulsed inside—twisted, fragmented, black and white instead of living color. Not a ghost. Not quite dead either. A mutilated soul shard, kept animate by brutal enchantments.
A Horcrux.
Li Feng almost laughed. "All this for immortality? Chop your soul into fragments, look like a snake-faced corpse, and call it power? Fool. Better to master magic outright—or hang your portrait in a hall and sneer at students for a thousand years."
He slid his blade under the locket and lifted it gingerly. Movies made it look easy—pick it up, job done. In reality, Voldemort wasn't the type to leave his insurance plan lying around unprotected.
He weighed his options. The sealing scroll? Safe. Suppress the whispers, lock it down. The wooden box? Tempting. Designed to contain an angel feather, it was a perfect prison. But feather and Horcrux couldn't coexist—one brush of that holy energy, and the soul fragment would be obliterated.
And Li Feng wasn't ready to lose a bargaining chip.
Trade it to Dumbledore, he thought, and maybe he parts with something better. A Time-Turner, perhaps.
He sighed. "Too valuable to waste." He wrapped the locket in the scroll, slid it into his pocket, and snapped open a portal.
Escaping Grimmauld Place was child's play—he'd memorized the streets while Sirius grumbled about walking. Li Feng stepped out into daylight, cloak swirling, sword at his hip, right into the path of startled Londoners.
He threw up his hands with a grin. "Street magic! Hope the disappearing act didn't spook you." He bowed, then muttered darkly as he pushed through the crowd.
Grimmauld was behind him, but he had a problem. He hadn't asked Sirius where Diagon Alley was. He only knew it started at the Leaky Cauldron. And he had no idea where that was.
Broke but clutching wizarding coin, he crouched at the curb, stomach growling, Mage's Sight sweeping the crowd. Find someone glowing with magic. Ask for directions. Easy.
Hours bled by. Nothing.
Dusk settled. Then—blur. A triple-decker bus roared past, rattling the windows like a low-flying jet.
Li Feng's eyes widened. "The Knight Bus."
He grinned, slashed a portal into its path, and stepped out to flag it down. The bus barreled past without slowing. Right. Wand required.
He tried again. Once. Twice. Four times. On the fifth, the driver finally slammed the brakes.
The conductor leaned out, lanky and unimpressed. "Evenin', sir. You can see the Knight Bus?"
What do you think I've been chasing, a hallucination? Li Feng bit down his retort, climbed aboard, and muttered, "Leaky Cauldron. London."
The conductor squinted. "Strange. This bus is for witches and wizards who can't Apparate. You… you move like a Portkey on legs. So why're you here?"
Li Feng ignored him, collapsing onto an empty bunk. He knew the beds had protective charms—best way to survive when the bus braked like a lunatic.
"Fare," the conductor said, sidling up.
Li Feng flipped him a Galleon.
"Change?"
Li Feng shook his head. The man shrugged, broke it anyway, and slid him the destination chit. His curiosity lingered. "Sir, where's your wand?"
"Lost it," Li Feng said flatly, eyes on the window. "I'll buy another."
The conductor smirked. "Wife take it off you? Happens all the time."
Before Li Feng could retort, the bus screeched to a halt. The Leaky Cauldron loomed outside.
Li Feng rose, gathering his things. "Tell you next time how I beat you to the stop. If there is a next time."
He stepped off into noise—laughter, mugs clinking, the roar of a packed pub. Tom the barman blinked at the newcomer. "What'll it be?"
"Food. And a room."
Moments later, bread and stew hit the counter. Li Feng devoured it, barely pausing when Tom asked, "Never seen you before. What's your name?"
"Austin," Li Feng said between mouthfuls. "Tourist. Mugged in London—lost my luggage. Hopefully the muggers don't think my wand's a baton."
He widened his eyes with mock innocence. "I can buy a new one here, right?"
Tom nodded, pointing to a back door. "That way. Tomorrow morning I'll open the arch. Ollivander will set you right."
Li Feng's lips curved. Perfect. Tomorrow, I buy a wand. And then… every Galleon gets spent.
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