Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Kane took the knife from his knees, gripping it in his right hand; the blade flashed coldly in the firelight. He glanced up at her, his grey eyes devoid of emotion. "You're wrong."

Bellatrix's smile froze.

Her pupils contracted sharply, as if she had finally realized that the boy standing in front of her was not threatening her, but stating a fact that was about to happen.

Kane grabbed her left arm, moving as fast as a snake.

Her shoulder slammed against the stone wall with a dull thud. She struggled, but Kane's hand was much heavier than she had expected. His fingers were gripping her wrist with a force that seemed to come from the very bones.

She raised her other hand, fingers spread, nails digging towards his face. Kane didn't flinch. His hand remained motionless, as if he hadn't even noticed the fingers approaching his face.

"Scared?" Kane said. "Too late."

Bellatrix opened her mouth; she wanted to speak, to yell at him, to shout something to prove she hadn't lost yet.

But she couldn't utter a single word; the truth serum was still flowing in her veins, slowly draining her strength away.

The tip of the knife pressed against an old scar on the inside of her forearm. Kane didn't immediately slash down; he just held it there. He could feel the muscles in her arm twitching slightly, as if she wanted to dodge but had nowhere to hide.

Then the blade slashed down.

"Where is the key?" Kane asked.

She didn't answer. Her lips were trembling, her teeth were clenched together, as if she were using the last of her strength to remain silent.

Kane didn't press the matter. His hand didn't stop; the blade continued its downward probe along the edge of the scar, neither speeding up nor slowing down. Bellatrix could feel the blade tip tracing its path beneath her skin, very slowly, like a finger sliding along bone. Her breathing quickened, then subsided, as if she were using her breath itself to fight against some deeper impulse.

"Right next to the bone," Kane said, almost to himself, "you put it in the muscle next to the bone."

The blade changed direction and probed upwards less than an inch from the bone.

Kane widened the blade slightly, put it down, and inserted two fingers of his left hand.

Bellatrix looked down at the wound on her arm, watching as two blood-stained fingers slowly pulled a small piece of silver metal from under her skin.

When the key was taken out, her shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a taut string had been pulled out.

She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, but made no further sound.

Kane held the key up to his eyes, wiped the blood off with his sleeve, and then held it in his palm.

"I got it."

The moon was already setting in the west when they left Azkaban.

The sea breeze rushed in, carrying a cold, salty taste, and ruffled Kane's robes and the hair on his forehead.

He stood at the top of the steps, opened his palm and glanced at the key again—the bloodstains had been wiped clean with his sleeve, the silver metal surface gleamed coldly in the moonlight, and the fairy symbol was clearly visible.

"Gringotts," Dumbledore said. "We must finish before dawn."

Kane put the keys into his inner pocket and pulled up his collar: "How do you plan to get in?"

"Use your key. Go through the front door."

Dumbledore's tone was calm. "Going through the front door is the fastest way. Goblins recognize keys, not people. As long as the key is real, they won't stop you."

"They recognize you. They recognize me too."

"That's why I cover my face with a cloak."

Dumbledore pulled a dark gray traveling cloak from his robe pocket, draped it over his shoulders, and pulled the hood down to cover most of his face. "Let's go."

The two people walked south along the coastline.

They didn't use Apparition—the protective magic around Gringotts would react to people appearing suddenly, and it would be safer to walk to the nearest Floo point.

The night was quiet, with only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the crunching of pebbles underfoot.

After walking for about twenty minutes, they arrived at an abandoned Muggle phone booth.

Dumbledore pushed open the door, walked in, and picked up the microphone: "Gringotts, visitor entrance."

The floor of the phone booth sank down.

A few seconds later, they stood in a dark alley, turned a corner, and the outline of Diagon Alley gradually became clear in the moonlight.

Gringotts’ white building stands at the end of the street, more than twice the height of the other shops, its bronze doors gleaming darkly in the moonlight.

Elf guards in scarlet, gold-trimmed uniforms stood on either side of the door, each holding a spear. They were taller than ordinary elves, their sharp eyes scrutinizing the late-night visitor.

Kane walked over, stopped at the door, and took out his keys.

One of the fairies stepped forward, glanced down at the key in his hand, then looked at his face: "Are you from House Lestrange?"

His voice was hoarse, carrying a scrutinizing tone.

"I'm doing things for her," Kane said.

The fairy stared at him for a few seconds, then took a step back: "Go in."

Kane pushed open the bronze door and went inside, with Dumbledore following behind him. They passed the goblin guards without pausing.

The second door was silver, with ancient fairy script engraved on it. Beside the door stood a shorter fairy, wearing a gray coat that looked larger than its body.

It reached out and took the key, examining it twice before looking up: "The Lestrange Vault. Deep underground." It turned and walked towards a passageway on one side of the hall. "Follow me."

They followed it through a long corridor lined with neat rows of small doors, each engraved with a different family crest and number. At the end of the corridor was a narrower door, beside which stood a goblin. As Kane pushed open that door, he felt a surge of air rise from below. A row of small carts, each with a seat, like mine carts but narrower, with iron handrails that were polished to a shine, stretched along a track.

"Get in," said the goblin leading the way. Kane got into the first trolley, with Dumbledore behind him. The goblin stood on the footrest at the back of the trolley and pulled a lever—the trolley started moving, then suddenly accelerated and plunged downwards.

The tracks stretched endlessly into the darkness, flanked by rocky walls, some oozing dark water, others adorned with stalactites. The cart tilted sharply as it turned, the metal wheels screeching against the tracks, the echoes bouncing through the tunnel like a cacophony of voices. Kane gripped the handrail tightly, his grey eyes fixed ahead. Dumbledore sat behind him, his hood billowing in the wind, revealing half of his gray beard, which he made no attempt to straighten.

After about seven or eight minutes, the cart began to slow down. A massive stone gate appeared ahead, its surface covered with dense runes, some of which emitted a faint silver glow in the darkness. The fairy jumped off the cart, walked to the gate, inserted the key into an inconspicuous lock, and turned it once. The gate slowly slid open to both sides with a heavy, low rumble, and dust rustled down from the cracks.