Harry exited into the hallway in a trance. He had expected to leave the interrogation quite convinced that Bellatrix was dead and that Narcissa had been insane. Instead, he had discovered a great swell of new problems that hit him only now as he watched a group of richly robed wizards enter into the large courtroom escorted by Romulus Redberg.
“They all think they're witnesses to the end of everything,” Kingsley said pensively from behind him. Harry jumped. He had completely forgotten about the minister. His mind was racing. Narcissa had told him that it wasn't over. Could that have meant that Voldemort, just like Bellatrix, had survived his curse? Were there more Horcruxes? Is that why his scar had hurt? Narcissa had given him so precious little information.
"I have to go to Gringotts," he said absentmindedly. Part of him wanted to stay for the trial in the hopes that Narcissa would give away any more information in her attempt to escape a life sentence in Azkaban, but there was a trunk full of answers waiting for him in the Black family vault. He looked up at Kingsley who smiled knowingly back at him.
“I think you’ve seen enough trials now to know how this one will go, don’t you think?” he said wisely, turning his eyes toward the crowd of trial goers. “Take the chimney in my office. No lines.” He started toward the courtroom, and Harry marveled at how composed he could seem after hearing such devastating news. He turned back briefly. “Be careful, Harry. Narcissa thought that you had taken her son when she planned this little journey. It could be a trap. I could arrange for Romulus to accompany you.”
Harry considered this for a moment and shook his head. “I’ll go alone. Redberg can tell me what I missed when I come back with the memories,” and the determination in his voice ended any protest. Kingsley nodded his agreement as Harry headed quickly towards the lift.
The goblin at the door to Gringotts Wizarding Bank stared quickly up at Harry’s lightning scar and touched a shiny silver bell behind him with an unfriendly scowl.
“It will be just one moment, Mr. Potter,” he grumbled. Harry shifted his feet guiltily. He had become somewhat unpopular among the goblins at Gringotts ever since he, Ron, and Hermione had made their destructive escape from the vaults on the back of one of the sentry dragons. He felt a flash of amusement as he imagined the look on the goblin’s face when he told him that his destination was the exact same vault that he had broken into”and out of one year ago. Then a familiar voice interrupted him.
“How may we help you Mr. Potter?” Griphook’s pessimistic tones were unmistakable.
“Griphook,” he stammered. The last time he had observed the tiny goblin, it had been from a distance as Griphook had disappeared into a frantic crowd carrying away the sword of Gryffindor. The sword had later appeared to Neville in the sorting hat, leaving the goblins once again without their treasure. “How…how have you been?”
“I have been well, Harry Potter.” He did not show any emotion that might reveal the month he had spent in close quarters with Harry planning to betray his own race for the good of wizardkind. “I have been asked to show you to the Black vault.” His voice took on a suspicious tone. “If, of course, that is your destination?”
“You?” Harry asked, confused. The Daily Prophet had reported Griphook’s heroic retrieval of Gryffindor’s sword and his subsequent promotion Gringotts Supreme Keymaster just before Christmas. “I thought you were supposed to cater to a higher class of wizard than me now.”
“I have been given this assignment especially,” said Griphook. “To disuade any aspirations of…repetition.” The first goblin made a guttural clicking sound that must have been an admonishment.
“There won’t be any repetition,” Harry said. “I have permission this time.” The urgency of the situation was beginning to weigh on him. “Yes, I would like to go to the Black vault now please.”
“As you wish,” replied the goblin, and he showed him through one of a row of doors leading off into the hall. He whistled shrilly and a small cart came to a stop in front of them. Griphook motioned for Harry to step in first.
As the cart began its twisted descent into the deepest regions of Gringotts treasure hold, Griphook turned to speak again, yelling over the rattle of the cart on the tracks.
“There are many here who believe that your possessions should no longer be housed here, Harry Potter,” he said, bracing himself for a particularly jarring turn. The cart tipped sideways and Harry was pushed toward the tiny goblin. “There are others who consider it an honor to protect them, as they owe you their lives and their well being.”
Harry said nothing. Griphook’s mannerisms had always given him the feeling that he was being mocked and judged at every turn, and he was not in the mood to argue with a goblin today. After a long pause, in which Harry guessed he was supposed to have responded, Griphook continued. “The sword is no longer in our vaults.”
“I know,” Harry said cautiously. “I saw it appear to someone during the battle”a Gryffindor. He used it to destroy one of the horcruxes.” The cart twisted to the left and into a darkened tunnel, saving him the trouble of having to meet Griphook’s eyes. He had himself, after all, planned to keep the sword much longer than he had promised the goblin before the break-in.
“It was promised again to the goblin race,” Griphook said simply.
“I can’t stop the sword from showing up where it does! It didn’t come to me! It’s not mine to give back any more.” The cart was beginning to slow and Harry saw a faint yellow light ahead.
“If it is returned by a true heir of Gryffindor, then the charm is reversed and it will remain with its true masters,” replied the goblin over the screech of break as the car slowed.
Harry guffawed. "I hope you don't mean me!"
The goblin looked mildly affronted. "His line was lost long ago. And you are not like any other wizard that I know."
"Is that why you asked me for the sword in the first place?” Harry asked unbelieving. "You thought that I was the heir of Gryffindor?"
Frustration spread across Griphook's face as the car came to a jerking halt in front of a waterfall. Harry recognized it as what the goblin had previously called the Thief’s Downfall. The year before, they had gone hurtling through it. It seems so much easier entering the legal way, Harry thought.
They exited the cart onto a weakly lighted path and walked a ways in uncomfortable silence. Then Harry, aware that he was being led deep into an inescapable maze with a goblin whom he had possibly offended, spoke awkwardly. “Listen, Griphook. If it serves for anything, I would give you the sword if it was mine to give”even if I were the true heir of Gryffindor.”
“Then I will wait for your return,” the goblin responded, pausing at a space of blank wall. “For it is sure to come to you again in time. As I said before, Mr. Potter, you are an unusual wizard.”
He ran his hand over the smooth stone and the mysterious golden outline of a large door appeared before them. Harry looked around astonished. He had not recognized where he was without the white dragon standing guard. With two of his long fingers, Griphook pushed the outline. There was a rush of stagnant wind as the door opened and Harry saw before him what seemed like a transparent field of green light. He turned apprehensively.
“What is that?”
“The sentry dragon has been retired,” Griphook responded. “It has been replaced with a Truth Line. You must pass through it with no secrets in your heart. If there are any lies, then you will be closed inside. It was placed at Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy’s request.”
Harry frowned. Narcissa had to have known that a Truth Line would have prevented her from entering her own vault. Why had she arranged for something so drastic? Unless, Harry thought as he walked carefully toward the green shield, she had been that anxious to keep Bellatrix out as well.
Thinking of the trunk of answers awaiting him, he walked through. A warm wind swept through his clothes and tousled his untidy hair. The green field turned red for a moment and then melted away, leaving Harry with a clear path to the vault. Griphook remained dutifully just outside the door.
A year ago, he had been nearly unable to move from the sheer amount of gold and silver, goblets and jewels, but this time he entered into a half empty cavelike entrance. The ministry had stripped the Black family of all of their valued treasures to pay for the treatment of victims and family members they had tortured and killed during their twenty years of faithful servitude to Voldemort.
He passed through a row of tarnished silver candlesticks and strangely colored leatherlike skins, and rounded a corner stacked with ancient books. There, on a small thin shelf stacked to the ceiling was row upon row of sparkling potions in hundreds, or perhaps thousands of stoppered vials. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. The memories had to be somewhere near. He scanned the shelves for any sign of a trunk, turned another corner, and discovered another shelf larger than the one containing potions. This one contained trunks of all shapes, sizes, and ages. He silently wished that he had asked Narcissa more about the memory trunk’s appearance. Frowning, he brandished his wand and thought, “Accio memory!”
Just as he suspected, nothing happened. The horcruxes had been protected with anti-summoning spells as well. Should it really surprise him that the memories fell under the same protection? Unable to think of any easier solution than to look through every trunk, he pulled out the lowest one and opened it. It was full of aged photographs of smiling moving wizards. Harry looked closer at the top photo and recognized the white blond hair of both Narcissa Malfoy and a baby Draco. He rummaged deeper, but did not find anything more than stacks of photographs. Perhaps these were the memories that she had spoken of. Perhaps her information had been nothing more than a clever attempt to gain more sympathy for her missing son by showing Harry how Draco had been as a child.
A strange shuffle from outside the vault made him look up.
“Griphook?” he called, worried. There was no answer.
“Are you alright?” Harry called again, louder.
“We are to remain outside always, Mr. Potter,” came the businesslike response.
Satisfied, Harry turned back to the shelf, but a gleam of light from the opposite corner caught his eye. He slipped slowly over to the source. It was coming from under a very strange skin of an animal with metallic purple scales. He lifted a flap and elation overtook him. At least thirty vials full of shining, flowing, nearly liquid memory sat safely in a tiny half-open trunk. Harry grabbed them up hastily and exited the vault as quickly as he could. There would be time to search for whatever Narcissa had told him was missing at some other time. For now, the priority was to find Headmaster McGonagall and procure from her once again the all important Pensieve.
There was one triumphant moment before he realized that something was wrong. Then he noticed Griphook slumped over and unconscious on the pebbled floor and he went for his wand.
“Lumos!” he whispered, for he had suddenly become aware of the absolute darkness that had surrounded him upon exiting the cave. His wand tip lit up and illuminated a comfortingly familiar face. “Hermione?”
But it wasn’t Hermione’s eyes that stared out from her friendly face. Her eyes were blood red and nearly slitted, and her wand was pointed directly at him. She spoke in a voice that was only half Hermione. Harry recognized the wickedness behind it quickly. “Yes, Harry. The minister told me everything. I thought you might need help getting the locket out of the vault.”
“There wasn’t a locket in the vault”Hermione,” he nearly whispered, certain that it was imperative to make whatever was in front of him think that he had fallen for its horrific ruse. He backed up one step for every step the Hermione doppelganger moved forward, slowly inching toward the prone body of the tiny goblin. Doubt appeared to blossom in the imposter’s face as it eyed the tiny trunk under Harry’s left arm.
“What are you carrying then, Potter?” It asked and surged forward to grab the box. Harry saw excitement in the bloodshot eyes, and he used the opportunity to snatch up Griphook from the cold floor.
“Stupify!” he yelled offhandedly, and he saw red sparks fly past Hermione’s right ear. The thing let out a horrible laugh and looked straight into Harry’s eyes, and he suddenly grasped the situation. He had recognized that demonic, childish laughter and he glared into the eyes to be sure. He was staring into the face of the one and only Bellatrix Lestrange, revived and transformed somehow into Hermione. He tripped on a protruding boulder and fell backwards just as her wand shot a dangerous green flash through the place his head had just been.
He sent a distracted counterjinx that hit her in the left shoulder. She spun in her tracks and fell with a yelp of pain. It gave Harry the time he needed to regain his footing and begin his frantic escape back to the cart. He ran, zig-zagging as best he could with a trunk under one arm and a goblin under the other, making it impossible to fire off any defensive spells.
Twice he felt Bellatrix’s curses breeze past his face, the last time coming so close that he noticed the smell of singed hair and he wondered crazily without stopping, if she had hit her target. As he emerged onto the platform where the cart sat awaiting them, he heard her scream another spell from just behind him. He whirled around in one last desperate attempt to defend himself, but he tripped on his own spinning feet and his wand flew out of his hand. It disappeared into the cart and Bellatrix’s curse caught Harry in mid-fall. By pure luck, or pure misfortune, as he would come to think later, he had pulled the trunk of memories in front of him to prevent them from being destroyed as he fell backwards into the cart. The curse smashed full-on into the half open trunk, sending shards of crystal and glimmering smoky memory flying everywhere.
“Give it to me Potter!” Bellatrix screamed as he pulled Griphook into the cart and felt it begin its jerking ascent. Harry reached crazily under the seat for his wand, desperate for one last shot at the crazed Bellatrix-Hermione that was quickly diminishing into the darkness, but by the time he had righted himself, she was nothing more than a maniacal scream in the distance.
He wheeled around to look at Griphook. There was a cut over his left eye, but he was otherwise unhurt and already showing signs of waking. He chanced a painful glance at the remnants of the trunk, but it was too disappointing to look for long. Shining bits of crystal rolled around on the floor as the cart wheeled unsympathetically upward carrying the memories of a generation of Death Eaters away into the tailwind.
The Legacy of Four by spaniard
Chapter Notes: A journey under London to find the last clues to the whereabouts of Voldemort's most loyal servant.
Chapter Endnotes: Up Next: Revealing Bella