I trailed behind the two goblins, who were walking at a pace that could only be described as "determinedly brisk." They were shorter than me—not by much, but enough to make me feel like a giraffe in a suit of armor at a tea party. Both of them were clad in what looked like armor forged from some magical metal. Probably goblin-made.
They seemed younger than Ragnok and Ragrim, maybe around 50 to 70 years old in goblin terms, which, as far as I understood, was roughly equivalent to a human in their early twenties. Not quite teenagers but still young enough to think they know everything.
As we walked through the hallways, I couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. The walls were carved stone, intricately detailed, and lined with gold and gems that glimmered even in the dim light. It was all underground, yet it felt grander than anything above ground. Honestly, the goblins didn't just build structures; they practically created works of art out of the earth itself. No wonder they're considered masters of forging and carving. If Hogwarts ever wanted a renovation, I'd put them at the top of the list—though I doubt the goblins would take kindly to being asked to patch up a castle full of exploding cauldrons and poltergeists.
I glanced back at the goblins ahead of me and noticed their weapons. Both carried spears and shields, but I caught a faint glimmer of magic from hidden daggers they had tucked away. Goblin craftsmanship again—so efficient that even their concealed weapons announced their presence if you knew how to look. I made a mental note: pay attention to magical weapon interactions. The last time I ignored that detail, I ended up caught by Dumbledore. It had worked out, sure, but I'd prefer to avoid another round of his "knowing smiles" in the future.
We eventually reached a door that opened into a massive cavern filled with platforms and carts whizzing back and forth. It was like the Ministry's lifts on a caffeine high. One of the goblins turned to me abruptly and said, "Wait here." He muttered something to his companion in Gobbledegook before heading over to a senior goblin who looked like he ran the place—or at least bossed people around convincingly.
After a brief exchange, he returned and led me to one of the platforms. A cart arrived moments later, and we climbed in. I was just getting comfortable when the cart jerked forward. Slowly at first. Then not-so-slowly. Then terrifyingly fast.
The ride twisted and turned through narrow tunnels, looping and spiraling like a madman's idea of a theme park. At one point, I was convinced the tunnel had actually looped in a full circle. My stomach agreed.
"What is that?" I exclaimed as the tunnel suddenly opened into a cavern so vast and dark it felt like staring into The Abyss itself. The air was cold and heavy, the kind that made you wonder if something was watching you. Thankfully, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, swallowed up by yet another twisting tunnel.
After what felt like an eternity of careening through the earth at breakneck speeds, the cart screeched to a halt. I staggered out, trying to maintain some dignity. Goblins didn't seem fazed, of course. Just another day in their underground roller coaster of death.
I shook my head—nothing in this world could ever make me get used to that. Flying on a broomstick at high speeds was one thing, but hurtling through a claustrophobic, stinking tunnel in a rickety cart alongside two perpetually grumpy goblins? That was another beast entirely. Honestly, there aren't enough words in English—or Parseltongue, for that matter—to fully describe just how awful it is. And don't even get me started on the safety hazards. Seat belts? Nonexistent. Regulations? I doubt they've ever heard the word.
This route was definitely worse than the one I'd taken last time to get here, but complaining wouldn't change anything. "So, shall we get going?" I asked, plastering on my best let's-pretend-this-is-fine tone. The goblins exchanged a look of shared irritation—clearly, my attempts at casual conversation weren't appreciated. One of them gave a curt nod, and we began walking. The echo of their spears hitting the stone floor reverberated through the narrow tunnel, a rhythmic clang, clang that only added to the ominous atmosphere.
After a minute of walking, the oppressive tunnel widened into a massive hall, almost as big as Hogwarts' Great Hall. Almost. But instead of enchanted ceilings and feasting tables, this hall housed something far more intimidating: the Ukrainian Ironbelly.
I paused to take it all in, my eyes flickering to the chained dragon in the distance. It was huge, its scales dull from years of captivity, its body hunched like it had long since given up any hope of freedom. Honestly, I felt bad for the poor creature. Imagine being chained up your whole life, guarding a treasure that isn't even yours. I clenched my fists briefly, but this wasn't the time to save dragons. I had other priorities.
"So, this is where the most secure vaults are?" I said, my voice laced with a dry chuckle. "Nice touch with the dragon. Very welcoming."
"Yes," one of the goblins muttered. "Lazy bastard is always sleeping." Judging by the way he glared at me when he said it, I had a feeling the insult was meant for me, not the dragon. Charming fellow.
The goblins grabbed clankers from a nearby rack, just in case. Of course, the dragon woke the moment the sound of those accursed things reached its ears. Its massive head jerked up, and it recoiled in fear, pulling back as if the noise alone could harm it. I stared at the pitiful sight, my stomach twisting. The dragon wasn't just trained—it was terrorized. The clankers were proof of that. Goblins certainly knew how to instill fear.
But I couldn't afford to dwell on the dragon's misery. Not now. "Focus, Harry," I muttered to myself as I followed the goblins down the winding pathway. I recognized this route from my last visit. The Bellatrix vault lay at the end of this hallway, the only one here. If memory serves me right, there were only seven vaults in this dragon-guarded section. One belonged to the Black family, another to the Bones family. The Slytherin vault had been here once, but it had been removed after the family's fortune dwindled to nothing.
"Normally, only the vault owner can access a vault in this section," one of the goblins explained in a voice so grating it could rival nails on a chalkboard. "But when an owner violates a policy, the goblin nation has the right to nullify all enchantments."
I nodded, pretending to listen as they got to work. Both goblins pulled out strange quill-like tools made of some gleaming metal, tipped with obsidian beads that pulsed faintly with magic. They began dismantling the vault's enchantments with painstaking precision.
I leaned back against the cave wall, watching them work. To be fair, it was impressive. They moved with an efficiency and skill that only goblins could manage, their tools tracing the delicate magical circuits with exacting care. If it were up to me, I'd just bombard the weak points with oversaturated magic and let the enchantments collapse under the pressure. Crude? Maybe. But it would work. Still, I had to admit their method was… cleaner.
As they continued their work, my thoughts began to drift. The goblins would be at this for a while, so I had plenty of time to replay my earlier conversation with the Goblin King. There had to be something I missed, some clue hidden in his words. It was never just about what goblins say—it's what they don't say that matters most.
And the Goblin King... I just couldn't accept that he would give in to my demands so easily. Sure, he complied in the moment, probably out of fear, but who's to say he wouldn't reconsider later? Goblins don't exactly have a reputation for playing fair, and I had no illusions about their loyalty. If anything, I'd have to tread carefully from here on out.
Then there was the Duskfall Prophecy. The fact that it was broken into so many parts—it was odd. Why even write it down? Why would Eveline or Slytherin bother to document it in the first place? And why split it up, hide it, make it a scavenger hunt for future generations? The whole thing felt deliberately convoluted, and I hated that I couldn't make sense of it.
I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Bloody prophecy," I muttered under my breath. Wasn't one prophecy enough? Now I had this... looming over my head, its full implications only beginning to sink in. The last guy who attempted this task—he died 3,000 times. Three. Thousand. Times. What kind of twisted precedent is that? And the line that everyone seems to know? 'Time rewinds for the Last of the Last, till the age's end.'
Yeah, great. Sounds like a cheerful little loophole, doesn't it? Immortality with a side of constant dying. Just what I always wanted.
I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. "I don't want to see the prophecy," I said aloud, mostly to myself. "I know my tasks. I know what I need to do." The how, though? That was a mystery for future me to figure out. I still had time. Plenty of time. No, not eternity—I refused to live miserably for eternity. I'd rather...
"Human," a goblin's gravelly voice snapped, yanking me out of my spiraling thoughts.
"Ah, is it open?" I asked, noticing the vault door glowing faintly. The residual magic was weaker now, no longer radiating the oppressive energy it had earlier. I walked up to the Goblin-steel door, running a hand over its surface. It was cool to the touch, but the enchantments still hummed faintly beneath my fingers.
"Horcrux... here I come," I muttered, pushing the door open.
Darkness greeted me, thick and suffocating. With a snap of my fingers, I conjured floating orbs of light, their soft glow illuminating every shadowy corner of the vault. Gold glinted from the piles of treasure around me, but I didn't have time to marvel at it. Turning back to the goblins, I raised a brow. "You two not—"
Thump!
"What?" I spun around, staring at the now-closed door in disbelief. Before I could react, the door's magic surged, flaring brighter and brighter, heat radiating off it in waves. The glow intensified until it burned white-hot, sealing every crevice, every possible escape route.
"For Merlin's sake," I muttered, my voice calm but simmering with barely contained fury.
Lesson number one, kids: Never trust goblins. Lesson number two: Always, always check for lingering enchantments before stepping into suspicious magical spaces. Honestly, I should've known better.
When the door's glow finally faded from blinding blue to a faint ember-like red, I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Fair enough," I said aloud, the bitterness in my voice undeniable. "I did walk straight into that one like an idiot."
Pushing my frustration aside, I turned my attention back to the vault. The Horcrux wouldn't find itself. Time to get to work.
The vault was filled with riches—gold, artifacts, and ancient tomes scattered haphazardly across the room. The air was thick with magic, oppressive and foul, as dark energy seeped from many of the items, curling like smoke in the dim light.
I paused, my gaze sweeping over the treasures. "Where are you hiding, Hufflepuff's cup?" I murmured to myself, stepping carefully through the chaos.
It was sickening—this hoard of wealth belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the most sadistic Death Eaters to ever exist. The thought of her, of the lives she'd destroyed, made my blood boil. She didn't deserve this fortune. None of them did.
They burned Britain to the ground, spreading death and destruction, and for what? The idea that Bellatrix's tainted hands had amassed such treasures made my anger swell, a storm within me building with each breath.
With each step, the silence in the room deepened, thick and suffocating, as if a fire was waiting to ignite. The oppressive atmosphere pressed against me, dredging up memories of the cruelties inflicted by the likes of Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and the rest of their deranged little club.
I moved carefully, my gaze sweeping over the cursed artifacts—some shimmering ominously, others flickering like mirages, and a few lying deceptively still, as if they hadn't just spent years ruining lives. The grimoires and tomes were laid bare, stripped of ownership, abandoned by a master who had betrayed even her own blood.
I wanted to burn it all. Every last coin, every last trinket. Lestrange didn't deserve any of it.
"They deserve nothing," I growled, my voice low and venomous as my eyes finally landed on the object I had come for—the cup, the Horcrux.
Raising my wand, I aimed at the wretched thing.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Magic surged through my veins, racing through my fingers, mingling with the wand's core before exploding from its tip in a jet of dazzling emerald light. It struck the famed cup of Helga Hufflepuff with deadly precision.
WAAAIIIILLLLLL! BOOOOOOOM!
The explosion sent me flying. I barely had time to register the force before I hit the cold stone floor, pain lancing through my back. Dazed, I blinked up at the swirling tendrils of black smoke rising from the ruined cup. I pushed myself up, wand at the ready.
And then I noticed it.
The cup was multiplying.
Shit. The Gemino Curse.
The wispy, smoky soul let out a guttural shriek that made my ears ring. I gritted my teeth and raised my wand, summoning the strongest spell I could think of.
"Ignis Infernus!"
Like a floodgate breaking, my magic surged outward, funneled through my wand. Massive plumes of red-hot fire erupted, twisting and writhing as they consumed the Horcrux's soul. The inferno roared to life, devouring everything in its path, its heat searing even from where I stood.
No time to admire my work—I needed to leave. Now.
I turned toward the door, legs unsteady.
"Goblins, fuck," I muttered under my breath.
Raising my wand, I pointed it at the massive door blocking my way and hissed in Parseltongue, "Break."
The effect was… dramatic.
With a deafening roar, the door detonated, blasted off its hinges as my magic sent it rocketing into the opposite wall. It embedded itself deep into the stone with a final, metallic screech.
More destruction than I intended, but I wasn't complaining. I bolted.
Behind me, the inferno danced wildly, swallowing the room in its fiery embrace. The cursed objects, the gold, the tomes—it all burned.
CRACK! SWOOSH! WAIL!
I turned just in time to see the soul wailing as the flames consumed it entirely. A sense of grim satisfaction flickered through me—then was promptly replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. My vision blurred, my body trembling.
Too much magic. Conjuring an inferno was draining enough, but shattering a Goblin-steel door? Yeah. I had overdone it.
Blood filled my mouth, and I coughed, spitting crimson onto the stone floor. My knees buckled, but I forced myself to stay upright. The door—still embedded in the wall—mocked me. I needed to move it back.
Shaking, I raised my wand.
"Come on," I whispered, voice barely audible over the raging inferno behind me.
The door shuddered, vibrating violently as I poured what little magic I had left into it. The stones around it glowed orange, the heat unbearable. My free hand joined in, fingers twitching as tendrils of white magic leaked from them.
BOOM!
With a final, resounding crash, the door ripped free and hurtled back into place. The flames surged forward, desperate to escape—but just as they reached the threshold, the door slammed shut.
Magic flared. The hinges repaired themselves in an instant, sealing the inferno inside.
I collapsed.
Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. My vision swam, my breaths came in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from my lips. With a shaking hand, I wiped it away.
Survived. Barely.
For a good half hour, I lay sprawled on the cold floor, unmoving. My body felt like lead, utterly drained.
Shivering, I lifted a trembling hand to my lips. Dried blood—mine—stained them, smeared across my chin and cheeks. Some had even trickled from my nose.
"What…"—I coughed, the sound ragged and grating—"the hell."
I stared at my hand, the dark red stark against my pale skin.
How the hell was I supposed to get out now?
With a groan, I dragged myself upright, leaning heavily against the wall for support. My legs shook beneath me, every muscle screaming in protest. Behind me, the fiery tornado raging inside the vault had dimmed about fifteen minutes ago, but the heat and magic still radiated faintly—like the dying embers of a storm.
Slowly, I forced myself forward, each step an effort. My magical reserves were shot. I reached the end of the hallway—then stopped dead.
The dragon.
I cursed under my breath. Of course.
I wasn't in any condition to face it. If I were at even half my strength, I might've stood a chance—but right now? One good breath of fire and I'd be extra crispy.
Think. Think. Think.
There had to be another way.
A shaky but plausible idea flickered to life.
My Invisibility Cloak.
At first glance, it was just a slightly-more-powerful-than-average—but immortal—cloak. But more importantly, it was one of the fabled Deathly Hallows. Its greatest strength wasn't just hiding a person from sight—it could also mask magic. Not completely, but far better than any ordinary concealment spell. And as a bonus? It muffled sound—not just my footsteps, but my very presence.
Not perfect. But it was the best shot I had.
Luckily, I always kept it on me, stored safely in my ring.
With a shaky hand, I twisted the ring on my finger. The familiar fabric materialized in my palm, and I let out a slow, relieved breath.
In one fluid—albeit unsteady—motion, I threw the cloak over myself.
The world around me shimmered as the enchantments took hold, wrapping me in perfect invisibility.
I clenched my fists, steeling myself for what lay ahead.
The dragon wouldn't see me. And with any luck, it wouldn't sense me either.
All I had to do was move quietly, carefully—and pray my luck held out just a little longer.
Now concealed under the cloak, I moved slowly toward where the carts were. With each step, my confidence grew. A little more sure-footed, a little less shaky…
Until—
Slip.
"Oh, shit," I muttered as my foot dislodged a bit of loose gravel, sending it tumbling down the stone floor.
The dragon immediately turned.
Its veiny green eyes widened, scanning for the intruder. But, of course, it saw nothing.
Unfortunately, that didn't stop it from staring.
And then—it opened its mouth.
I glanced at the corridor I had entered from. Maybe 20 feet away.
Not great. Not terrible.
In one fluid motion, I yanked off the cloak, willing it back into the ring, and bolted for the corridor.
Behind me, the dragon unleashed hell—a torrent of blistering, white-hot dragonfire.
If I had been even a millisecond slower… Well, let's not dwell on that.
Thankfully, I barely managed to throw myself into the corridor before I became extra crispy.
I leaned back against the corridor wall, panting. "Okay… now I just have to escape through the cart…" I muttered, scanning the area.
A pause.
"Wait… there's no cart."
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. Of course. Because why would anything be easy?
Shaking my head, I raised a hand and used what little magic I had left to conjure a cart for the track. I may have been running on fumes, but even this was well within my abilities.
"Let's stay and recover for an hour," I told myself.
After all, trying to make an escape with my magic reserves still dangerously low—especially after being betrayed by goblins—was a spectacularly bad idea.
So, I rested, letting my strength slowly return.
Finally, when I felt ready, I mounted the cart, gave it a small push of magic, and set off down the track.
Author's Note: So, I explained this in a note under my PJO fic, but yeah, sorry or the late update... School and coaching are being a little intense right now since its the last month before exam. Also I got sick for like a week. Anyways, this chapter is... something. Hope you all like it. Honestly, I am thinking about taking this book to around the end of the fourth year and then start a second part, because otherwise I am finding that my writing is very messy in some places, and I really need to fix it in this book.
Anyways, if you find a mistake, please tell me. And if you have a complain... I don't know, join my discord I guess. here: https://discord.gg/3N552VP5pS
Also if you like PJO check my other fic out.
Thank You.