piratefiction Chapter 321 Gringotts Vault Exits on Two Fronts
Chapter 321 Gringotts Vault Exits on Two Fronts
Chapter 321 Gringotts Vault Exits on Two Fronts (5.6K) (2/2)
"So you didn't directly observe Voldemort's current state?" Lynch asked.
"I didn't see him," Dumbledore shook his head, "but I saw the trajectory of the spell, and more importantly, I clearly felt the twisted, dark magic attached to it."
Dumbledore's blue eyes peered at Lynch through his glasses as he slowly said, "I'm certain that was Voldemort. He was nearby, or rather, his power was somehow precisely projected there."
Lin Qi had a thoughtful expression on his face.
"So that's how it is. My people have been searching for any trace of him in Europe, but I never expected that after the failure of the Philosopher's Stone incident, he would have been lurking and active near Hogwarts all this time. We were truly caught off guard."
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded heavily, "none of us expected him to appear in this way, at this moment. He rescued Peter, a servant who knew many things about the past and still had a morbid loyalty to him."
This is definitely not a good sign; Voldemort—he won't be quiet for long.
Lin Qi picked up his cup and lowered his head to hide the complexity in his expression.
He knew that the dark soul, clinging to life, was like a venomous snake lurking beneath the frozen earth, gathering strength, and that its time to break through the soil would be next year!
The office was quiet for a moment, with only the soft chimes of the silver instruments.
"So, Headmaster Dumbledore," Lynch broke the silence, "is there any new progress on the investigation into the Horcruxes that you mentioned earlier?"
Dumbledore's expression grew even more serious.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingertips touching, organizing his thoughts.
"Yes, ever since we confirmed the nature of the diary, I'm convinced that his most core and fervent followers are crucial clues in our search for the other Horcruxes!"
"So you chose to frequently travel to and from Azkaban," Lynch said.
"That's the only place that holds enough core Death Eaters." Dumbledore nodded, his tone heavy. "Since the end of last school year, I've been there many times under the guise of the Chief Wizard of Wizengamor to inspect the prisoners' mental state and ensure the prison's security. It's not a pleasant place, not even for me. The presence of Dementors makes every conversation exceptionally difficult; they suck away hope and make lies and truth cold and distorted."
He paused, as if recalling those meetings filled with despair and madness.
"I've spoken to many people, or more accurately, tried to speak with them. Antonin-Dolohoff remembers only violence and killing; August-Lukewood is consumed by self-justification for betraying the Ministry of Magic; and as for Gagson, McNeil, and the others—their souls seem to have been devoured by darkness and Dementors, leaving only empty resentment." Dumbledore's voice was soft. "However, among all of them, there is one who seems—different. That is Bellatrix Lestrange."
"She's different?" Lynch asked, but his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
“Completely different.” Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened. “Others showed more or less remorse, numbness, or utter collapse. But Bellatrix—her madness was fiery, worshipful. The Dementors didn’t seem to completely consume her religious fanaticism toward Voldemort. She lived in her own world, a world where her master was the only god. When I cautiously and tentatively mentioned the great legacy Voldemort might have left behind, the glorious rewards,” others were either bewildered or yearning. Only she, Bellatrix, would show an expression of extreme awe, pride, and a guardian-like obsession. She wouldn’t say it aloud, but her reaction, the almost divine light that instantly ignited in her eyes, spoke more than any denial from anyone else.”
Lynch pondered, "Fanatical believers are harder to deal with than shrewd followers, but they also leave a more lasting mark. Their loyalty isn't based on calculations of self-interest, but on devout faith. In this faith, safeguarding the master's sacred objects is the highest honor, a core symbol of identity. She wouldn't reveal it easily, but that sense of honor permeates every corner of her consciousness."
"That's true." Dumbledore nodded slightly, agreeing with Lynch's analysis.
"Bellatrix's mental state is more complex and dangerous than the walls of Azkaban. Using Legilimency directly could not only trigger the defenses left by Voldemort, but also allow me to see what she wants me to see in her labyrinth of consciousness, which has been completely transformed by fanaticism and paranoia, or even a complete hallucination of utter collapse. False memories are sometimes more misleading than silence."
He picked up his teacup, his gaze becoming distant, as if reminiscing about those unknown days of investigation.
"So, I chose a more roundabout path. I accessed all the records in the Ministry of Magic archives concerning the Lestrange family's assets—under the guise of investigating the potential circulation of Dark Arts items, of course. I revisited the Lestrange family properties that had been seized and cleared after the First War, not to search for hidden chambers, but to observe the overlooked, seemingly normal details: Bella's dowry list, her post-marital property notarization, even her deposit and withdrawal records at Gringotts Vault—only the publicly available parts, of course."
Dumbledore's voice was steady, as if he were describing a complex chess game: "I have discovered an interesting paradox: in the years before Bellatrix went to prison, there were very few major changes in her personal assets, which fits the image of a witch immersed in the ideals of pure blood and a life of serving her master. But her visits to a particular vault in Gringotts increased unusually, slightly, during the chaotic period before Voldemort's downfall. That vault has an old number and belongs to the Black family, not the Lestrange family."
He paused briefly: "As is widely known, Sirius Black broke with his family at the age of sixteen and ran away from home. His name was subsequently removed from the Black family's list. His brother, Regulus Black, disappeared before Voldemort's downfall and remains missing to this day; the Ministry of Magic has declared him dead. The Black family's direct bloodline has suddenly ceased, plunging family affairs and a large amount of assets with no clear heirs into chaos."
Dumbledore explained, "Under these circumstances, Bellatrix Lestrange, as the eldest daughter of the Black family and the most illustrious member of the family at the time, and the one most aligned with the family's pure-blood ideals, effectively took over a significant portion of the Black family's 'gray' assets through a series of complex legal maneuvers and with the tacit approval of the family, including this particular treasury at Gringotts."
"This vault, numbered anciently, was originally used to store the Black family's most prized possessions—items they couldn't bear to part with but couldn't bear to see displayed. It was protected by complex family magic and goblin contracts. After Regulus's disappearance and Sirius's removal from the family register, the legal control of this vault, at least on the goblin ledgers, was quietly transferred to Bellatrix Lestrange. The Ministry of Magic's records are vague, but Gringotts' contract magic doesn't lie—I've confirmed this through some indirect channels."
He put down his teacup, tapping the table lightly with his fingertips: "Given Bella's twisted mentality of aligning pure-blood honor with loyalty to Voldemort, if she was indeed entrusted with a relic," then hiding it in a place that is both safe and consistent with her bloodline pride, and separates it from Lestrange's main assets, is perfectly logical.
After ruling out all other more obvious possibilities, Gringotts' specific vault became the most likely target.
"With a direction, things become simpler." Lynch leaned forward slightly. "We need to know the vault's specific serial number and the nature of its protective magic, the sooner the better, so we can devise a method for infiltration and search."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, his gaze behind his half-moon spectacles deep and complex. He gently shook his head: "That's not the direction I'm preparing to take."
He understood what Lin Qi meant and the sense of urgency in Lin Qi's heart, because the same sense of urgency existed in his own heart.
“But Professor Lynch, Gringotts,” Dumbledore’s voice was slow and firm, “that was not merely breaching one of the world’s most secure defenses against non-wizard magic. It was a political act, a symbol. Gringotts is more than just a bank to the goblins; it is the ultimate symbol of their racial independence, their reputation, and their magical craft, the core of their millennia-old pact with the wizarding world. For centuries, we have maintained a fragile balance with the goblins: they control the most complex metal magic and financial systems, while we dominate politics and law. This balance is built on mutually recognized rules and ancient oaths.”
He looked at Lynch, his gaze devoid of blame, only revealing a clear understanding of the consequences. "Unauthorized trespassing, especially orchestrated by people of our status, carries a very high chance of being discovered—considering Gringotts' defenses—and it won't just be a failed theft. It will be seen as a blatant disregard for the entire goblin race, the most serious betrayal of that ancient oath. The goblins will see this as a wizard attempting to once again seize their last remaining, most core autonomous territory."
"Consider the consequences: Gringotts might close its doors to all wizards, freeze their assets, goblin craftsmen might refuse to serve the Ministry of Magic or any official institution, and—it could even—incite a deeper and wider hostility and turmoil than the last goblin rebellion. The Ministry of Magic is now in turmoil, Fudge's authority is undermined, and the conflict between pure-bloods and non-pure-bloods is brewing. We fight Voldemort to preserve the wizarding world, but if in the process we tear apart the bonds of trust that connect wizards to other magical races, and shake one of the foundations upon which society functions, then isn't our victory too costly?"
Lynch met his gaze directly into the sunlight, unwavering, and calmly stated, "Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. You yourself know that goblins are stubborn; unless Bellatrix goes there herself, the goblins of Gringotts will never open her vault. Your hesitation now might cause you to miss a golden opportunity. Every day you delay increases the uncertainty. You yourself just said that Voldemort won't be quiet for long. His minions are moving. Are we going to sit idly by and watch a Horcrux possibly be within our grasp just because we're worried about goblin protests?"
"I'm not advocating for inaction," Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly. "I advocate trying all normal and legal means first. In my capacity as the Head Wizard of Wizengamor and Headmaster of Hogwarts, I will contact the Gringotts Goblin Council and submit a formal application to investigate a highly dangerous legacy of Dark Arts involving items that the fugitive Peter Pettigrew and his backers might covet. I will request that the vault be opened for inspection under strict supervision. After all, the goblins don't want to see Voldemort return. But this will take time, negotiation, and possibly some—deal. But if successful, we will achieve our goal in the safest and least troublesome way."
He paused, lowering his voice, but with a resolute tone: "If—I mean if—all normal methods prove ineffective, and we have irrefutable evidence that the Horcrux is among them, and the danger is imminent—then we'll discuss drastic measures." Even then, any action must be meticulously planned to minimize the impact and be prepared to bear all possible consequences. What we need is a precise operation, not an explosion that could cause a fire. Do you agree, Mr. Lynch?"
A brief silence fell over the office, broken only by the soft hum of the silverware.
Fox raised its head and let out a low, melodious chirp.
Lynch looked at Dumbledore and finally nodded slowly.
He understood Dumbledore's concerns and the heavy responsibility he bore.
This old man is not only fighting against the Dark Lord, but also trying his best to maintain the fragile balance of the entire magical world.
"Then let's proceed on two fronts," Lynch said, his tone regaining its usual calm. "You go through the official channels and deal with the fairies. Meanwhile, I'll use my resources to gather as much information as possible about that vault from the outside—without compromising its core security, but to understand its history, the related contracts, and even the patterns in its access records over the years. This will lay the foundation for 'that plan' we might need to implement. As for time—we'll prepare for the most urgent situation."
A subtle hint of seriousness appeared on Dumbledore's face.
"Very well. Well then, let's split up and prepare. May we both be blessed with good fortune, and may our choices ultimately prove to be the right ones."
Lin Qi nodded, downed the slightly chilled special drink in one gulp, and then stood up to say goodbye.
Just as his fingers were about to touch the office doorknob, Dumbledore's voice came from behind him again, more serious than before.
"Mr. Lynch."
Lynch stopped what he was doing and looked back.
Dumbledore slowly stood up, walked around the desk, and his silvery-white beard and hair stood out clearly in the flickering firelight of the fireplace.
"When you go to investigate the vault, remember not to take any actions that are too outrageous."
""
He paused, his blue eyes, peering through his half-moon spectacles, fixed on Lynch with a gentle yet sharp gaze. "I know your intentions are good. You genuinely want to eliminate Voldemort, protect many people, and do something—good in your own way." I can see that, and I thank you for that. But," his voice softened, yet each word was clear, "sometimes, perhaps you could try to trust others, including me, just a little bit more. We're not always on opposite paths."
Lin Qi's gray eyes narrowed slightly, with a hint of inquiry and confusion, as if he were trying to figure out the deeper meaning behind these words.
Dumbledore didn't look away. He continued calmly, as if recounting a past event unrelated to the current topic yet inextricably linked: "Remus Lupin—he was bitten by a werewolf as a child, an unfortunate accident. I personally went to his home and persuaded his parents to admit him to Hogwarts. To ensure his safety and that of all the students and staff during every full moon, I specially arranged for the craftsmen to modify the Whomping Willow on the edge of the grounds, making it guard the passage to a shed outside Hogsmeade Village. That shed was later called the Shrieking Shack by the students." He paused slightly, his gaze seemingly piercing through time. "It was a very private, very meticulous arrangement. In theory, apart from myself and a very few friends whom Lupin later trusted, no one should have known the specific purpose of that place or how to enter it."
Lynch's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly when he heard the words "Screaming Shack".
It turned out to be the case.
All the subtle clues instantly connected to explain why Dumbledore spoke probing words in Hogsmeade after Sirius Black first entered the Gryffindor tower, and why he so easily believed him. Why did he never question Sirius's arrangements in the Hogsmeade incident, but instead provided extraordinary cooperation? — The old man already knew.
As early as the night of Sirius's reckless "invasion," or even earlier, when he realized there was some connection between himself and Sirius, and that this connection revolved around Harry and that secret location, he already knew part of the truth, but chose to remain silent and observe.
He chuckled softly, met Dumbledore's gaze, which seemed to see right through him, and finally nodded.
"I understand, Headmaster Dumbledore." Lynch's voice returned to its usual calm. "I will—be careful."
He didn't make any further promises, but his response itself was a statement.
He understood Dumbledore's warning: cooperation is acceptable, but do not overstep boundaries; necessary means can be taken for a greater purpose, but the overall balance and trust must be taken into account.
Dumbledore nodded slightly and said nothing more.
He watched Lynch open the oak door and disappear down the spiral staircase.
The office fell silent again, with only the soft clanging of silverware.
Dumbledore slowly walked to the huge arched window, his gaze sweeping over the area outside the castle that was gradually being enveloped in night.
The early winter evening breeze ruffled his silvery-white beard and hair through the cracks in the window.
Just then, he saw that figure.
On the long road leading to the gates of Hogwarts, a thin figure in a worn-out suit was walking alone, carrying a tattered leather suitcase.
It's Remus Lupin.
His steps were not fast, even somewhat heavy, but steady, and he did not look back.
The warm light shining through the castle windows cast a long, lonely shadow on the cold ground, which gradually disappeared into the deeper darkness outside the gate as he moved.
He walked quietly away from the castle that had briefly given him shelter and meaning, and once again embarked on that uncertain road of wandering.
There was no grand farewell, only the cold winter wind for company.
Dumbledore stood by the window, gazing at the ever-shrinking figure for a long time, until it completely disappeared outside the closed school gates, merging into the distant night.
His deep blue eyes shimmered with a complex light: concern, regret, deep understanding, and a hint of indescribable weariness.
After a long while, he sighed softly, almost silently.
Fox flew to the perch by the window at some point and let out a soft, sigh-like cry.
Dumbledore reached out, his fingertips gently brushing against the phoenix's warm feathers. He continued gazing in the direction Lupin had disappeared, murmuring to himself, as if answering the phoenix, or perhaps offering a small commentary on that departing figure, on the ally who had just left, or on all the choices he had made throughout his long life: "Everyone has their own way of doing things, Fawkes. The key is which side they ultimately choose to stand on, and—whether their hearts still remember what they are fighting for."