Chapter Twenty
Harry’s feet met pavement on Charing Cross Road. He opened his eyes and took in the feel of the city for the first time in ages.
Muggles bustled past wearing the hangdog expressions of morning—some wore suits and dresses, others joggers and trainers. The sky above was overcast, the street and pavement grey and stony. Bright red double-decker buses and black cabs drove past quietly, and overhead a flock of gulls took flight toward the rolling, flowing Thames in the distance. Outside the Charing Cross Underground station, a street-singer sang into a microphone and strummed their guitar—
Armageddon, Come Armageddon
Come, Armageddon, Come!
Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey
Harry and Griphook, concealed by the Cloak, followed Bellatrix (Hermione) and Ron (disguised) into the Leaky Cauldron.
Tom, the hunched barman, was polishing glasses behind the bar top.
“Madam Lestrange,” Tom murmured as Hermione passed.
Instructed well by Sirius, Hermione lifted her chin into the air and smiled disdainfully down at Tom, her heavily lidded eyes glinting with malevolent joy.
They passed through the pub-inn and stepped into the tiny back garden. Hermione drew out her wand and tapped a brick on the wall in front of them. At once, the bricks began to whirl and spin and a hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider before forming an archway onto the narrow, cobbled street of Diagon Alley.
It was quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly any shoppers abroad. The shop fronts of the crooked, cobbled street were boarded up and Harry’s own face glared down at him from posters plastered over many windows, always captioned with the words: UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE.
As they set off down the street, the passersby cowered away from Hermione, melting away before her and drawing their hoods over their faces, fleeing as fast as they could. Hermione just smirked.
They approached the snowy-white tower of Gringotts, looming above the other little shops. They climbed the marble steps, Hermione’s long black hair rippling down her back as they approached the great bronze front doors. Soon, they crossed the threshold and two goblins stood before the inner doors, which Harry was shocked to find were now made of solid silver.
They stepped into the entrance of Gringotts Bank and Harry was struck by the fond memory of his first visit with Hagrid. He would never have imagined that he would return to break in, to steel, and much less something such as Horcrux…
Things had gotten quite Dark, hadn’t they? But Harry looked at the long counter was manned by goblins sitting on high stools, serving the first customers of the day and felt a small flicker of the brightness of the room flash within his own chest. Their cause was for the Greater Good…a mighty slippery road that was…but decisions had to be made for any chance at a better future. Harry knew he was seventeen, just a lad, and who was he to make such choices?
He was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived. It meant everything and also nothing; but whether he wanted or deserved the titles, they were his all the same. And Harry knew that all he had to decide was what to do with the time that had been given to him, with his spared life, with his parent’s sacrifice, the sacrifices of all who cared for him, and all who hoped for a better world.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry and Griphook approached the counter and an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass.
“Leprechaun,” the goblin muttered, tossing the coin aside and then looking up at Hermione.
“Madam Lestrange!” He cried, “How—how may I help you today?”
“I wish to enter my vault,” Hermione said coolly.
The old goblin recoiled a little. Harry glanced around; the other goblins down the counter had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione.
“I must identify your wand,” the goblin said, holding out a slightly trembling hand.
Harry’s blood ran cold; Hermione possessed her own wand, not Bellatrix’s.
“They know!” Griphook whispered in Harry’s ear, “They must have been warned there might be an imposter! Act now, act now!”
Harry raised Draco’s wand beneath the Cloak and for the first time in his life, whispered, “Imperio!”
A curious sensation shot down Harry’s arm, a feeling of tingling warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse that it had just sent. The goblin took Hermione’s wand, examined it closely and then said, “Your wand is excellent as always, Madam Lestrange.”
Hermione smiled, and on Bellatrix’s face, with Hermione’s careful study, the smile was sharp and fully mad, “Jealous, are you?”
The goblin looked up, his wizened face paling as he swallowed, “I shall fetch the Clankers,” he said, dashing away at once. He returned a moment later with a leather bag that jangled loudly.
“If you will follow me, Madam Lestrange,” the goblin said, hopping off his stool and appearing around the end of the counter, “I shall take you to your vault.”
He hurried toward one of the many doors leading off the hall and Hermione and Ron followed; Hermione strutting with her head held high, glaring and smirking at every single goblin on the counter, who shifted and watched her anxiously. They were not Imperiused, and Harry did not have the time to curse every single of them…
They reached the iron door and passed through the stone passageway beyond, lit with flaming torches.
“We’re in trouble; they suspect,” Harry said as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Griphook jumped down from his shoulders but the goblin leading the way did not show any sign of surprise at the appearance of Harry Potter in their midst.
“I Imperiused him,” Harry said in response to Hermione and Ron’s confused queries.
Harry stared at the goblin—and he remembered Bellatrix shrieking at him in the Department of Mysteries when he had first tried to use an Unforgiveable Curse: “You need to mean them, Potter!”
Had Harry meant it well enough?
Every part of him was sharply attuned to the incredible need to get into the Lestrange’s vault. He meant to break in with every fiber of his being, but still an Unforgiveable Curse…it felt so wrong.
“We go on,” Harry said.
“Bogrod must control the cart,” Griphook said, “I no longer have the authority.”
Harry pointed his wand at the goblin—Bogrod—who whistled to summon a little cart that came trundling along the tracks toward them out of the darkness. Harry was certain that he could hear shouting behind them in the main hall as they all clambered into the cart…Bogrod in front with Griphook, Harry, Ron, and Hermione crammed together in the back.
With a jerk the cart moved off, gathering speed and then they were twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the while. Hermione’s (Bellatrix’s) hair flew behind her like a black cape as they swerved between stalactites, flying ever deeper into the earth, but Harry kept glancing back…
They were now deeper than Harry had ever penetrated within Gringotts; they took a hairpin bend at high speed and saw ahead of them, with seconds to spare, a waterfall pounding over the track. They zoomed through it and water filled Harry’s eyes and mouth—and then the cart flipped over and they were thrown out of it, Harry heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek a spell, and Harry felt himself glide toward the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor.
“Cushioning Charm,” Hermione sputtered and as Ron helped to her feet, Harry saw to his horror that Hermione was no longer Bellatrix and Ron was red-haired and freckly and beardless again.
“The Thief’s Downfall,” Griphook hissed, clambering to his feet and looking back at the deluge onto the tracks, which Harry realized had been more than water.
“It washes away all magical concealment,” Griphook growled, “They know there are imposters in Gringotts, they have set off defenses against us!”
Harry turned to see Bogrod shaking his head in bewilderment—the Thief’s Downfall had lifted the Imperius Curse.
“We need him,” Griphook said, “We cannot enter the vault without a Gringotts goblin, and we need the Clankers!”
“Imperio!” Harry cried again, his voiced echoed through the stone passage.
Bogrod submitted once more to his will, and Griphook led the way into the darkness.
As they turned a corner, they saw the thing for which Harry had been prepared, but still brought all of them to a halt.
The gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in Gringotts. The beast’s scales were pale and flaky due to its long incarceration underground; its eyes were milky pink and both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it turned its head toward them, it roared with a noise that made the rock tremble.
“It’s partially blind,” Griphook panted, “but it has learned what to expect when the Clankers come. Give them to me.”
Ron passed the bag to Griphook, and he withdrew a number of small metal instruments that when shaken made a loud, ringing noise like miniature hammers on anvils.
“It will expect pain when it hears the noise; it will retreat,” Griphook said, handing Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Bogrod each a set of Clankers, “and Bogrod must place his palm upon the door of the vault.”
They advanced around the corner, shaking the Clankers, and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly magnified. The dragon let out another hoarse roar and then retreated. Harry could see that it was trembling, and as they drew neared, he saw the scars made by various slashes across its face.
Harry pointed his wand at Bogrod as they approached the vault and the goblin pressed his palm to the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cavelike opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of magical creatures, potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull wearing a laden crown.
“Search fast!” Harry said as they hurried inside the vault.
Harry had described Hufflepuff’s Cup to Ron and Hermione, but if it was the other unknown Horcrux that resided in this vault, he did not know what it may look like. Harry had barely glanced around before there was a muffled clunk from behind them—the door had reappeared, sealing them inside the vault.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione whispered “Lumos!” together and the vault was lit once more by their wand-tips.
“Bogrod will be able to release us,” Griphook said, “But we must hurry, we have very little time!”
Harry moved his wand around the space and the fake sword of Gryffindor glinted upon a high shelf amongst a jumble of chains.
“Harry, could this be—argh!”
Hermione screamed in pain and Harry turned to see a jeweled goblet falling from her grip to the floor. But as it fell, it split, and a second later, with a great clatter, the floor was covered in identical goblets rolling in every direction.
“It burned me!” Hermione moaned.
“They have added Gemino and Flagrante Curses!” Griphook hissed, “Everything you touch will burn and multiply, but the copies are worthless—and if you continue to handle the treasure, you will eventually be crushed to death by the weight of expanding gold!”
“Just stand still and look around!” Harry instructed, “Remember the cup’s small and gold, it’s got a badger engraved on it, two handles—otherwise see if you can spot Ravenclaw’s eagle anywhere…”
Harry cast his wandlight higher and higher, over shields and goblin-made helmets, until suddenly his eyes found an object that made his heart skip and his hand tremble, “It’s there, it’s up there!”
The cup of Helga Hufflepuff sparkled in the wandlight.
It was high upon a shelf, and they knew from Griphook’s lessons that they could not Summon it.
“The sword!” Harry said, “Maybe I can insert the sword into one of the handles!”
Hermione fumbled inside her robes, pulled out her beaded bag and then removed the shining sword. Harry seized it by its rubied hilt and touched the tip of the blade to a silver flagon nearby, which did not multiply.
But the shelf was too high—even for Ron to reach, who was tallest. Outside the vault, the dragon roared and there was the sound of Clankers.
Harry turned to Hermione, “I’ve got to get up there.”
Hermione pointed her wand at Harry and whispered, “Levicorpus.”
Hoisted into the air by his ankle, Harry hit a suit of armor and replicas burst out of it like white-hot bodies, filling the cramped space. With screams of pain, Ron, Hermione, and the two goblins were knocked aside into other objects, which all began to multiply.
Harry thrust the sword through the handle of Hufflepuff’s cup, hooking it on the blade.
"Liberacorpus!” Harry yelled and with a crash he landed on the surface of the swelling treasure beside the others, and the cup was flung into the air—
Harry dived and caught it, 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 them as the vault door opened and he found himself sliding uncontrollably on an avalanche of fiery gold and silver and jewels that bore him, Ron, Hermione into the outer chamber.
Harry shoved the cup into his pocket and whirled around—Griphook had snatched up the sword and was running now toward the other goblins, crying “Thieves! Thieves!”
Griphook vanished into the crowd of goblins, all of whom were holding daggers.
Slipping on the hot metal, Harry struggled to his feet and bellowed, “Stupefy!”
Ron and Hermione joined in: jets of red light flew into the crowd of goblins, and some topped over, but others advanced, and Harry saw several Wizard guards running around the corner.
The tethered dragon let out a roar and a gush of flame flew over the goblins—the Wizards turned heel and fled back the way they had come, and inspiration, or madness, came to Harry.
Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the dragon to the floor, Harry yelled, “Relashio!”
The cuffs broke open and hit the stone floor with a bang.
“This way, come on!” Harry yelled, and still shooting Stunning Spells at the advancing goblins, he sprinted toward the half-blind dragon.
The dragon had not yet realized it was free as Harry’s foot found the crook of its hind leg and he pulled himself up onto its back. The scales were hard as steel. Harry stretched out his arm and helped Hermione clamber up, Ron climbed on behind them, and a second later the dragon became aware that it was untethered.
With a roar, the dragon reared and Harry dug in his heels, clutching as tightly as he could to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblins aside like chess pieces, and the dragon soared up into the air. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, flat on its back, scraped against the ceiling as it fived toward the passage opening, while the pursuing goblins hurled daggers that glanced off the dragon’s flanks.
The dragon struggled upward toward the fresher air, away from the screaming and clanking goblins, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione aided it; blasting the ceiling apart with gouging spells as the dragon belched fire to clear the passage…
And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon’s brute strength, they had blasted their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. Goblins and Wizards cried out and dove for cover and the dragon turned its head toward the entrance, stretching its wings…
Harry, Ron, and Hermione clung on to its back for dear life as the dragon forced its way through the metal doors, staggered into Diagon Alley, and then launched itself into the sky.
London unfurled below them like a grey-and-green map. They soared over Regent’s Park, St. Pancras, and Islington, and Harry imagined he could see 12 Grimmauld Place below them…The cool breeze was soothing on Harry’s blistered skin and behind him, Ron was swearing at the top of his voice and Hermione was half-laughing and half-sobbing.
The dragon climbed steadily until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud and Harry could no longer make out the headlights of the cars below which poured in and out of London. On and on they flew, over countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.
The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo, and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them. Every part of Harry ached with the effort of holding on to the dragon’s back.
“Is it my imagination or are we losing height?” Ron shouted.
Harry looked down and saw deep green mountains and lakes, their surfaces coppery in the sunset. The landscape grew larger and more detailed and lower and lower the dragon flew, in great spiraling circles, honing in, it seemed, upon one of the smaller lakes.
“I say we jump when it gets low enough!” Harry called, “Straight into the water before it realizes we’re here!”
Harry could see the dragon’s wide yellow underbelly rippling on the surface of the water—“NOW!”
Harry slithered over the side of the dragon and plummeted feetfirst toward the surface of the lake and he hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world. He kicked toward the surface and emerged, panting, to see enormous ripples emanating from the spots where Hermione and Ron had fallen. The dragon was already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in its scarred snout. As Ron and Hermione emerged, sputtering, the dragon flew on, its wings beating hard, and landed on a distant bank.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione struck out for the opposite shore and at last they flopped, sodden and exhausted, onto slippery grass.
Harry staggered to his feet, drew his wand, and started casting the usual protection spells around them.
Hermione pulled out Essence of Murlap from her beaded bag and they all set to work dabbing the Essence on their angry red burns. Hermione then retrieved three bottles of pumpkin juice—given to them by Sirius before they had left—and clean, dry robes. They changed and gulped down the juice.
“Well, on the upside,” Ron said, watching the burns on his hands fade, “we got the Horcrux. On the downside—”
“No sword,” Harry said through gritted teeth.
Harry pulled out the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had taken off and set it down on the grass before them. It glinted in the dusk sun.
“What’ll happen to it, do you think?” Hermione asked, staring across the lake at where the dragon was resting.
“It’s a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself,” Ron said, “It’s us we need to worry about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t know how to break it to you,” Ron said, “but I think they might have noticed that we broke into Gringotts.”
All three of them burst into uproarious laughter. Harry’s ribs ached with it, and he lay back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laughed until his throat was raw.
“What are we going to do though?” Hermione said at last, hiccupping herself back into seriousness, “You-Know-Who will know must know now that we know about his Horcruxes!”
And at that moment, pain cleaved Harry’s head like a sword stroke.
He was standing in a dimply lot room and a semicircle of Wizards faced him, and on the floor at his feet was a small, quaking figure.
“Say it again,” he said in his high and cold voice. Fury and fear burned within him—the one thing that he had dreaded…but he could not see how it could be true…
“M-my Lord,” the goblin cowering before him stammered, “We t-tried to st-stop them….I-imposters my Lord…broke into the—into the Lestranges’ vault…”
“What imposters?”
“It was…it was the P-potter boy and two accomplices…”
“What did they take?” Fear gripped him.
“A…s-small g-golden cup, m-my Lord…”
The scream of rage, of denial, left him as if it were a strangers. He was crazed; frenzied—it could not be possible, no one had ever known…how was it possible that the boy had discovered his secret?
The Elder Wand slashed through the air and green light filled the room. The kneeling goblin fell over, dead. The watching Wizards scattered before him and again and again his wand fell, and those who did not make it to the door in time were slain, for bringing him this news, for hearing about the golden cup….
Alone amongst the dead he stormed up and down, and they passed before him in vision: his safeguards, his anchors to immortality. The diary was destroyed and the cup was stolen, what if the boy knew about the others? Could he know, had he already acted, had he traced more of them? Was Dumbledore at the root of this?
But surely if the boy had destroyed one of his Horcruxes, he, Lord Voldemort, would have known, would have felt it? He, the greatest Wizard of them all; he, the most powerful…how could Lord Voldemort not have known, if he himself, most important and precious, had been attacked?
But he must know, he must be sure…he paced the room and the pictures blurred and burned in his boiling brain: the lake inside the cave, the hovel cottage, Hogwarts…
A modicum of calm cooled his rage. How could the boy know that he hidden the ring in the Gaunt shack? No one had ever known he was related to the Gaunt’s. The ring, surely, was safe.
And how could the boy, or anyone else, know about the cave? Or penetrate its protection? The idea of the locket being stolen was absurd…
As for the school, he alone knew where in Hogwarts he had stowed the Horcrux, because he alone had plumbed the deepest secrets of that place…
And there was still Nagini, who must remain close now, no longer sent to do his bidding…
But to be sure, to be utterly sure, he must return to each of his hiding places, he must double the protection around each of his Horcruxes. But which should he visit first? An old unease flickered inside him. Dumbledore had known his middle name…Dumbledore may have made the connection with Gaunt’s…it was to their abandoned home he would go first…
Harry’s eyes flew open.
“He knows,” Harry said, wrenching himself into the present and turning to Hermione and Ron’s alarmed faces beside the lake, “He knows and he’s going to check where the others are, and the last one is at Hogwarts. I knew it!”