"In case you didn't know, Harry," Dumbledore turned his head with a youthful face and blinked, smiling as he said, "I once used a Confundus Charm on a young Madam Marcia during my N.E.W.T. exams, and she didn't notice until the end of the test."
"Then you were really... Gryffindor," Harry gave Dumbledore a strange look. In that case, this old man's personality in his youth was indeed worlds apart from now.
Bogrod pressed his hand against the door, and the vault door abruptly vanished, revealing a cavernous opening stuffed from floor to ceiling with gold coins and goblets, suits of armor, pelts from various bizarre creatures with thorns or wings, potions bottled in jewel-encrusted flasks, and even a skull still wearing a crown.
Not just common treasures like gold and jewels—far more were magical items, materials, or books. This was the gap between ordinary wizards and true pure-blood nobility.
"Lumos."
Dumbledore lit his wand to illuminate the vault, and Harry spotted a sword on a high shelf.
"Gryffindor's sword?" Harry said in surprise. "It must be a fake, though. The Slytherin nobles actually collecting replicas of Gryffindor's sword?"
After officially becoming headmaster, Harry had seen the real one preserved in the Sorting Hat—the last founder's relic not corrupted by Voldemort into a Horcrux.
Quite sharp.
"It's indeed a replica, but likely goblin-made, so it still has value," Dumbledore nodded slightly. He had already begun searching through the piles of treasures and shelves for that small golden cup.
"Be careful, Harry," Dumbledore said seriously after bending down to tap a massive ruby lightly with his wand. "Don't touch anything rashly. They've been enchanted with Flagrante and Gemino curses. If you touch them, they'll burn you and multiply rapidly, and the copies are worthless."
"So we can only look with our eyes?"
"Yes, no time to dispel the curses," Dumbledore shrugged. "I suspect the goblins up there will soon realize we didn't go to the vault we were supposed to. Opening a prestigious vault like the Lestranges' always draws attention."
"That makes it a bit tricky."
Indeed it was, because the mountain of treasures completely filled the vault, and from where Harry and Dumbledore stood, they couldn't see the items piled behind the gold mountains.
"Remember, a small golden cup, about the size of a palm," Dumbledore reminded aloud. "Engraved with a badger, two handles—"
"Found it." It didn't even take much effort; Harry's wand pointed to the top of a layered shelf nearby, where a small golden cup sat, its little badger visible under the light.
"Accio Cup!"
Nothing happened. Clearly, anti-summoning charms were standard on these treasures.
At the same time, faint clamor and clanging sounds echoed from the supposedly quiet underground passages outside, like the noise Bogrod made with that metal instrument to repel the dragon, along with rushing water sounds.
"They've released the Thief's Downfall," Dumbledore said suddenly. "It washes away all enchantments and magical concealments. Looks like they've discovered we've opened the Lestrange vault."
"Then let's hurry," Harry nodded. He pulled a wooden stick from his pocket, and under a Transfiguration spell, it elongated, eventually reaching the cup's position and hooking its handle.
Like sliding down a slide, the cup glided right to Harry's side. Without direct touch, the stick turned into a rope, hoisting the cup up.
"It really is Hufflepuff's Cup," Dumbledore said casually, not worried at all about the incoming horde of goblins. "But we have a quicker way to verify."
"Yes." Harry pulled his warhammer from the dragon-hide pouch—not his imagination; in the past six months, he'd done this operation far too many times.
Raise the hammer, bring it down.
A mass of dark gray, blood-like smoke erupted with a piercing scream from the cup's smashed, twisted mouth. This was Voldemort's last Horcrux—at least the last one Harry and Dumbledore had clues for.
The diary, Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Soulstone... and finally, a fragment of soul that had already died in Azeroth.
Six pieces.
"It's a pity we can't verify from Voldemort's main soul if he'll truly die," Dumbledore sighed with slight regret. "Can you divine if he has any other Horcruxes?"
"Probably," Harry thought for a moment. "Then let's take the cup back. So far, we have remnants of five Horcruxes, all closely linked to Voldemort. Using that connection, we should manage a successful divination."
"That couldn't be better," Dumbledore looked relieved. "At least for me... it couldn't be better."
Not leaving the trouble of Voldemort to future generations, but resolving it while he was still alive—that was the best outcome for Dumbledore.
"I have a question. The Lestrange family is gone, right? After Bellatrix died," Harry asked suddenly. "So won't these treasures just stay here forever? What will the goblins do with them?"
"According to the goblins, they'll be preserved forever in Gringotts... but you know how goblins view treasures," Dumbledore smiled.
"All treasures in the world are theirs, and others are just temporary custodians," Harry laughed too.
"Exactly. So, want to take some?" Even with the goblins' shouts of pursuit growing closer, Dumbledore showed no panic, just nodding toward the vault. "I'm sure the Lestranges wouldn't mind their wealth being used for a more meaningful cause."
"No joke," Harry shrugged. "Then I'll grab some. The Earthen Ring could use it for recruiting."
Adventure, slay enemies, divide treasures—this routine was all too familiar to Harry.
"They're there!! Hurry! Hurry!!!"
The goblins had spotted the figures on the platform, torches in one hand, swords in the other. Clearly a magical race capable of spellcasting, yet for some reason they looked like cold-weapon warriors.
"Alright, let's go," Harry stepped out of the vault.
"Just taking that little?" Dumbledore said in surprise. "I must remind you, Bruce, an opportunity like this won't come again."
"Thanks for the reminder, Karl. I grabbed your share too," Harry had already stepped into the cart. "Consider it a memento, fulfilling a dream."
"Haha," Dumbledore laughed. "Then let's depart."
Dumbledore's mental state... was unprecedentedly good.
He was as carefree as if he'd shaved a 1 off his age—not 112, but 12—the kind of twelve-year-old yelling to blow up the school.
Only today, Dumbledore wasn't blowing up a school, but a bank.
A minority race's bank.
No need for the old goblin Bogrod to board this time. Once Harry and Dumbledore were seated, Dumbledore tapped the cart with his wand, and the next second, it rocketed off like it had a jet engine, speeding back the way they came—toward that dragon!
"Do what you want! Bruce! Don't say I didn't give you the chance!"
No need for more hints. Harry swung his wand directly at the dragon—or more precisely, at its rear half: the heavy shackles binding its hind legs, and the massive stakes tied with thick chains—snap!
Shackles and chains that could restrain an adult dragon, such massive things, turned in an instant into a cluster of blue-glowing flowers.
"Beautiful Transfiguration! Bruce!" Dumbledore laughed loudly. "That's worth at least fifty points!"
"Then Hogwarts gets fifty points!"
Harry couldn't help laughing too, because now the two were in this speeding cart, the velocity, the whistling wind, this thrill making his rusty bones feel alive again.
Harry thought of how this dragon must have been chained since young, forcibly trained to cower at mere metal clangs, losing the majesty of its kind, more like a pitiful guard dog... even worse than a guard dog, since at least those could see sunlight and run on the ground.
Harry disliked the sight.
Thanks to his past green dragon companion and now Ragehorn, Harry actually had a soft spot for dragons. He didn't want to see a free life chained here forever, even if this dragon couldn't speak and might not even understand that Harry was freeing it.
Its eyes were ruined; years in the lightless underground had degenerated its vision, rendering it blind. Its scales were pale and loose from lack of sun.
The painful training from youth made it fear leaving, and the goblins' constant rattling of metal sheets drove it to spit flames in rage, but it didn't notice its backward shrinking had shredded the flower clusters wrapped around it—meaning the chains and stakes were no longer an issue.
The goblins' eyes were fine, so they clearly saw the dragon break free. This realization made many forget to keep shaking their metal sheets, their raised swords drooping instinctively.
Some goblins were already retreating in small steps; more just hadn't reacted yet.
"Bruce!!!"
The clanging rush of the oncoming cart and a long shout snapped the goblins to the situation, but Harry had no time to respond to Dumbledore. He just raised his wand—rip!!
Like tearing fabric, Harry slashed a small wound on the dragon's rear.
Not big, not deep, but enough as a switch to drive the dragon mad with pain.
If the dragon hadn't realized its freedom before, then when the sudden pain made it instinctively lunge forward a few steps without being yanked back, even its dull brain grasped the situation.
The dragon roared, it bellowed, rearing up. The goblins sprawled on the platform looked like tiny crackers before it, then it flung open its wings, trying to fly in the underground cavern—more like gliding, toward the tunnel exit!
"Follow it tight! Karl!" Harry shouted. "We'll save a lot of trouble!"
Things went far smoother than Harry anticipated. He and Dumbledore reached Gringotts' deepest vault like strolling in their own garden, found Hufflepuff's Cup without a hitch, and destroyed Voldemort's Horcrux without fanfare.
Even though the goblins had now spotted the anomaly and sounded the alarm, Harry and Dumbledore didn't need to worry about fighting their way out—the dragon was their vanguard, bulldozing a path like a bowling ball.
Reinforcing goblins, massive stalactites or boulders—nothing hindered it in the face of the dragon's brute force.
The goblins who'd come down earlier scattered in flight; they had no intent to die for Gringotts, or rather, for others' property. The ones above couldn't descend now; instead, they desperately fled outward, lest they be ground to paste like soy milk by the dragon.
Along the long tunnel, the dragon clawed outward with all its might, forcibly widening the passage by at least double, while Dumbledore and Harry followed in the cart behind it. Their only caution was avoiding the swipe of its spiked tail.
Not to mention in overly narrow spots, Harry and Dumbledore used spells to clear the way—Reducto and Softening Charms ensured the dragon wouldn't truly get stuck—it had realized help was behind it.
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