Chapter 2
Harry dived and caught the tiny golden cup, and although he could feel it scalding his flesh he did not relinquish it, even while countless Hufflepuff cups burst from his fist, raining down upon him and Griphook, who continued to grip grimly to his shoulders and hair. They were sliding uncontrollably on an expanding avalanche of fiery gold and silver that bore them towards the door - but Harry and Griphook were ahead, one clutching the cup, one the sword, and Bogrod, their way out, was behind, being held dreamily aloft by Ron and Hermione.
Harry hit the door first and it sprang open. He shouted in surprise, but the avalanche bore him into the outer chamber; Griphook slid from Harry’s shoulders and sprinted for cover amongst the surrounding goblins, brandishing the sword and crying, “Thieves! Thieves!”
There was no time, in the panic of escape, to question the door. Perhaps it had opened under the sheer weight and heat of the multiplying riches; perhaps Griphook had lied, and he could in fact have let them in or out as needed, and he touched the door just as Harry did. Perhaps one of the waiting goblins in the outer chamber had opened the door, aiming for the element of surprise, knowing thieves were afoot on the other side.
But later, after the adrenaline had worn off, and they were soaring on the back of the dragon they had unceremoniously liberated… he wondered.
“Stand back,” said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. “If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there.” Griphook told eleven-year-old Harry.
“How often do you check to see if anyone is inside?” Harry asked.
“About once every ten years,” said Griphook, with a rather nasty grin.
Surely the owners of the vault could get back out, though? You couldn’t, after all, steal from yourself. But even if they could, that didn’t explain why he had been able to get out of the Lestrange’s vault. He wasn’t the owner; he had no business there.
He wished he could recall the Black Tapestry. If Sirius was related to Tonks and to Mrs. Weasley, and to the Malfoys… couldn’t the Blacks also be related to the Potters? Or the Lestranges to the Potters? Maybe there was some trace of Lestrange blood in his veins. Maybe there was some loophole in the Gringotts security system.
The thought made him feel faintly ill.
Anyway… the goblins would soon have found and corrected that.
Wouldn't they?