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ellie-e-marcovitz · 1 year ago

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One: The Winding Road to Hogwarts

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Monday, 1 September 1890

Cyrus's pov

He rubbed at his cheek, sitting up and dazedly trying to remember what had happened.

Oh, right.

A dragon. Some dark magic. A ministry official, dead. And a destroyed carriage, including schoolbooks and other supplies.

All he had was his wand, his owl (which had flown off), and the ability to see Thestrals. Not the best way to kick off his arrival at a new school.

Speaking of which…

A potion bottle… vial… had appeared in his line of sight, filled with a somewhat familiar potion.

“Wiggenweld?” he asked, voice rough, belatedly realising he’d been screaming before the portkey had whisked him and Professor Fig off to wherever they were now.

“Indeed, Mr. Northrup.” Came Professor Fig’s voice from above him. He gratefully took the small bottle, downing half of it in a gulp, before finishing it off.

Looking around, he took in their surroundings, not entirely hearing what Figg was talking about. Most of the soreness was fading, as the Wiggenweld kicked in, allowing him to catch what Professor Fig was saying.

“…A typical dragon would never -!”

“Professor?” he asked, interrupting Professor Fig’s flustered rant about the dragon. “Sir, where are we? Exactly?”

It’s coastal, wherever they’re at, plenty of water, and salt in the air. Waves crashing against rocks, a sound he knew all too well.

“…I’m not sure,” Fig admitted. “But that key you discovered was clearly a portkey…”

He pushed himself to stand, the space spinning slightly. “Isn’t that something enchanted to bring someone to a specific place?” He breathed deep, letting his brain catch up with his body.

Professor Fig nodded. “Exactly, Mr. Northrup. Glad to see that you’ve paid attention.” A brief pause, as he steadied himself.

“I’m feeling better, professor,” he murmured. “If you’d like to look around a bit.”

Professor Fig nodded. “I would.” His expression grew serious. “But stay close. We have no idea who created this portkey – or why they did so.”

Beckoning for him to follow, Professor Fig started off towards the entrance to the cave they were in.

He quickly caught up with him, emerging out onto a cliffside, looking out over a vast stretch of water, possibly the ocean. Straight in front of them, sticking out of the ocean on a rock pile, was some kind of ruins.

“How far did that portkey take us?” he asked, pausing with Professor Fig close to the edge of the cliff. He was vaguely reminded of the New England coastline. Except for the large ruins jutting from the water, it was almost familiar.

“Farther from London than the carriage travelled…” Professor Fig noted, looking around. “It seems we’re somewhere in the Scottish Highlands.”

He pointed at the crumbling ruins across the water. “Sir… those ruins? Do you think…?”

“…that the portkey was meant to lead us there? I do.” Fig agreed, shouting a little over the waves. “This has not been the day either of us expected.”

Professor Fig’s expression grew deeply serious. “But Miriam sent that portkey to George for a reason. And I have to believe that she – and now, George – died in pursuit of whatever it was meant to lead to in the first place.”

A scrutinising look. “If you’re sure you’re all right, and wouldn’t mind indulging me… I’d like to have a look around myself.”

He nodded. “Absolutely, sir.”

“Good.” There was a note of excitement in Fig’s voice. “Let’s see if we can find a path… However faded it might be.”

He looked off to the right, noting the ragged fabric flags trailing off in that direction. “It seems to be to our right, sir.”

Professor Fig glanced in the same direction. “Good observation. Follow me.”

They moved from the edge of the cliff, close to the face, a faded stone trail marking their way.

“Mind your step,” Fig called back, as he followed, dodging the loose bits of stone and possibly porcelain decorating the ground.

“Professor!” he called, trying to keep up. “Where do you suppose your wife got the portkey that brought us here?” For all the grey hair Professor Fig had, he was in remarkably good shape.

“A good question,” Fig replied, pausing long enough for him to get closer. “Miriam spent years searching for evidence of a long-forgotten form of ancient magic.” A small cliff face scaled, they continued.

“Ancient magic?” he asked, feeling confused. The small cliffs were getting taller.

“Yes,” Professor Fig acknowledged. “A powerful magic, only wielded by a rare few… and one that seems to have been lost to time.” Another pause, and the path sloped around and down, back towards the sea.

Hopping down another few ledges, Professor Fig continued, “Hogwarts castle, where you’ll be attending, was built by, and itself a stronghold of, that ancient magic.”

He was surprised by that fact, nearly face-planting in a patch of grass from a mistimed jump.

“I don’t know where she came into possession of the portkey,” Professor Fig continued, once he’d rightened himself. “But I am certain it was to do with that search.” They moved closer to the edge again, trying to find a hint of where the path might lead. “Ah,” Professor Fig exclaimed, spotting it again. “There’s the path down below.”

He edged closer. He could just make it out in a gap. Professor Fig pointed to the right. “This way.”

Part of him suspected that there used to be stairs here, as he pushed himself up. “But sir,” he asked, following Fig further along the path. “Why was your wife searching for evidence of this lost ancient magic?”

Professor Fig glanced back. “Miriam wanted to understand why such powerful magic had disappeared from the wizarding world… she spoke of the good it could do. Jump down,” he added, before making a leap down.

“Whoa!” he shouted, making the same leap, landing with a groan. “Ow.”

“But magic isn’t any different than any other power,” Fig continued, hopping down another couple ledges. “What really matters is the one who wields it, and the choices they make in using it.”

He nodded, being careful to not land too hard.

Only to face what seemed like ice blocking their path. “Is that ice, professor?”

Professor Fig shook his head. “No, it’s not cold enough here.” He approached the mirror-like blockage. “It appears to be some kind of… enchantment.”

Something about it tingled at his senses.

“Someone wanted to block the path…” Professor Fig muttered, scrutinising the magic. “Let’s see some that wandwork I had you practicing. Focus on the centre.”

He nodded, pulling out the wand he was having to borrow. It still felt weird being able to have a wand with him over the summer months. A flick of his wand, cracks appeared. Another, and it shattered like a mirror.

He closed his eyes, hands in front of his face. Fig seemed to be doing the same, as he opened his eyes.

“Excellent,” came Professor Fig, and he relaxed slightly. “Now, come on.”

Fig hurried forward, almost immediately sliding down a sloped bank of earth. “Whoa!”

He wasn’t much farther behind. “Whaa-!”

“That was a bit rougher than I expected…” Fig noted as they both got to their feet. “Mind your step, the stone seems to be slick up ahead.”

He nodded, before following Professor Fig further into the cliffside.

Rounding the corner, and thankfully not trying to climb the slab of rock above, they reached what almost seemed like a dead end. Nothing but the ocean and crumbling stone in front of them.

“Professor? Where-?” he started, but was cut off by Fig exclaiming, “Ah, up there,” and pointing behind him. Another small cliff face to scale.

Not as small as he’d hoped, as they scrambled up it. Fig seemed more energetic the closer they got. “We’re close now… It’s just ahead!”

Managing to stay close, the ruin filled the view ahead. Despite its ruined appearance, it still seemed quite stately.

As they approached, the wind coming off the ocean picked up.

“Steady yourself!” Fig shouted over the gale, bracing against the wind. He did so, creeping forward and trying not to get blown off. “Reparo!”

He gasped, as huge chunks of rough and hewn stone flew through the air, coming together to form a bridge across the crashing water below.

He paused as the last few pieces fell into place, before hurrying after Professor Fig.

Neither of them said a word, as they hurried across, and up the wind beaten stone steps. He wished there was some kind of railing, though suspected they had been destroyed over however many years this place had been abandoned.

“Almost there!” Professor Fig called out, hurtling up the handful of stairs that remained, and into the decaying ruin itself.

“Whoa…” he gasped. Despite the centuries, there were several walls still standing, blocking the worst of the wind, even as plants wove their way into them.

There was something hauntingly magical about this place, in a way that made him even more curious as to why it was here in the first place.

“Why would someone build this here?” he asked, the question escaping before he could stop it.

Professor Fig seemed equally contemplative. “I suspect they valued their privacy,” he observed, taking in the room at large. “But the portkey led us here for a reason… Let’s have a look around, for anything that seems… out of place.”

He nodded, looking around himself. An odd sense was telling him whatever they were looking for was nearby. He pulled his wand out, not sure what to expect.

Better safe than sorry.

He flicked it several times, feeling the need to practice ‘basic cast,’ figuring it might come in handy. Something on the far wall drew his attention.

Approaching, the weird lines resolved into a carved mural of a man, studying the cards in front of him. “Professor… it’s, well, it looks like a mural of some kind…”

“Hmm…” Professor Fig approached where he stood. “Perhaps our host was a noted Seer. That is interesting…”

Moving out of the professor’s way, he explored further. Something vaguely interesting sat near where they entered, though it was hard to say if it was a trunk or another vase.

Continuing, he found a statue of the same man depicted in the carved mural. “Professor!” he called. “This statue…”

“This may have been his home!”

He nodded to himself, looking around further. The feeling of …whatever it was, grew stronger as he continued further into the ruins.

Pausing in the middle of the archway, he found a narrow and partially destroyed path leading to another part of the ruins. Shrugging, he continued forward, the feeling growing stronger and stronger with each step.

Hurrying up the short flights of stairs, he noticed a flash of sunlight glint off the stone building, which seemed to become mirror-like, much like the enchantment they’d encountered earlier.

There’s that enchanted, crystallised stone again… But what could it be blocking here? He wondered, carefully approaching it. What’s this…? “Professor Fig?!” he called, not sure where in the ruins the professor was currently.

Thankfully, it seemed Professor Fig hadn’t strayed too far behind him and his exploring. And, this time, they approached the enchantment close enough to see their reflections in the room behind it.

“How odd… Why would someone have conjured that enchanted stone here?”

Wait, what? A room? “And how is there a room behind it?”

“What room?” Professor Fig seemed unable to see it. “I don’t see anything.”

A glimmer caught his attention, as he stepped back. “There’s that glow again… like the glow on the portkey container.” Which had vanished as the remainder of the carriage had been torched by the dragon, while they fell.

Something about it implored him to touch, right where the odd torch design lay. So he did.

The magic from the enchantment seemed to crash down onto both of them.

“What in Merlin’s name-!” Professor Fig exclaimed, as the stone wall seemed to shift. Turning around, it took everything for him to not swear.

“Godric’s heart!”

“…Where are we?” he asked, feeling unbalanced. Surely not…

“I don’t believe it…” Fig muttered, surprised. “It’s Gringotts…”

He blinked, then blinked again. How? How did we get back to London?

They cautiously approached the sleeping goblin, still wrapping their minds around the wild circumstances.

“Hello?” he asked, to no avail.

Fig cleared his throat, once, twice, the third time loud enough to wake him. “A-hem.”

“Oh!” the goblin startled, detaching himself from the ledger upon which he had been napping. He leaned over said ledger, realising that there were people in front of him. “It can’t be. Erm, just a moment.”

He promptly scrambled down from his perch. Reaching the floor, he promptly gave a short bow. “Welcome,” he said, “to Gringotts Wizarding Bank.”

He and Professor Fig shared a look.

“Vault number twelve, I presume?” the goblin asked. Professor Fig gave a short nod.

“Precisely.”

“The key?” the goblin asked, holding out his hand.

“Your wife’s portkey?” he asked Fig.

“Oh, yes! Of course…” He fished out the small, metal object, before handing it over to the Gringotts goblin.

Taking it, the goblin pointed to his right. “This way, then.”

Fig paused briefly before following the goblin. “Stay close. Unfortunately, we’re in Ranrok’s territory, being here.”

He nodded at that, remembering the headline before the dragon attacked, before following Professor Fig.

Reaching a platform that had been embedded, the Gringotts goblin whistled into the cavern. That was followed by an odd rattling noise and a metal cart arrived out of the nearby tunnel.

It came to a stop, and the Gringotts goblin turned to face him. “After you.”

He carefully took the right hand seat facing the atrium area, figuring it would be easier to get off from there. Professor Fig, the seat to his left.

“Keep your hands inside the cart,” the Gringotts goblin mentioned as he settled into the driver’s chair. “If you don’t wish to lose them.” The goblin gave a menacing chuckle, that did nothing to sooth whatever nerves were affecting him now.

It was a curvy, gravity-defying ride that left him feeling nauseous at times. “How many vaults are there in Gringotts?” he asked, trying to avoid focusing on the wild ride he was currently on.

“Hundreds,” the Gringotts goblin replied, clearly at ease with the hairpin turns and moments of disorientation. “In fact, you’ll see quite a few on our way to vault twelve. As it is, we’ve just passed beneath the main lobby. The vaults here are some of the newest ones.”

“Are private entrances to the bank common at Gringotts?” Professor Fig asked, picking up on his distraction method, and clearly wanting to know more.

“They are most uncommon. Only a person with great wealth, or power, or both could have arranged for such a service,” came the reply, before the track dropped into a steep dive, one that had him holding onto the cart for sheer life.

“You’ll want to take a breath.” The banker continued, as if the drop was an everyday occurrence.

He felt like being sick, not holding his breath. Then they plunged into a waterfall.

“That waterfall,” Professor Fig gasped. “Washes away all enchantments. It’s one of the security measures here.”

“Experienced the Thief’s Downfall before, have you?”

“I’ve certainly heard of it.” Fig replied.

Another drop. “These are the lower vaults we’re passing now.” The goblin noted, as a row of vault doors flickered past.

“How low are we going?” he asked, still reeling from the impact of the waterfall.

“Vault number twelve was commissioned shortly after Gringotts was founded,” the Gringotts goblin noted. “Which was over four centuries ago. Thus, it resides in the deepest part of the bank.”

He glanced back just when the banker gave a wide smile. “Settle in… We’ve got quite a distance to go…”

It was silent for the majority of the ride, as he tried to focus on the track ahead, rather than the movement of the cart.

Until they pulled into a flatter part, and were stopped by another goblin, this one in a guard’s uniform.

“Vault number?” he asked, more of a growl.

He noted, almost immediately, the dark reddish hue on the band the guard wore. The same dark reddish hue that he’d glimpsed on the dragon before it attacked them. He hoped Professor Fig noticed it as well.

The goblin banker, however, seemed oblivious to the fact. “Vault twelve,” he cheered. “Momentous day. Heh.”

The guard seemed to scowl, though he wasn’t sure. “Mm.” He then gestured, slowly. “On your way.”

He couldn’t help but notice further details about the band. The reddish hue wrapped all the way around the band, along with some kind of pattern decorating it.

That was all he got, before the cart shifted back into motion. It felt like all he could do was watch, numbly, as the guard hopped on his cart and sped off, towards another part of the bank.

A nervous glance towards Professor Fig told him Fig was just as interested.

“Professor -” he hissed, hoping the goblin driving them didn’t hear.

“Hmm?” Fig leaned closer.

He gulped. “The armband that guard was wearing… it was glowing.”

“Like the glow from the portkey container?”

He shook his head, remembering the soft blue glow. “No. Darker, more of a reddish hue.” Another gulp. “I saw that same glow on the dragon’s collar, before it attacked.”

“What was that?” asked the banker, and he swallowed a yelp.

“We were just wondering about that goblin back there.” Thank Merlin (?) for Professor Fig.

“He watches over the oldest section of the bank,” the banker noted. “Rare anyone goes down there anymore…”

A few more twists and turns, they pulled up at another grated platform. “Here we are,” the banker said, bringing the cart to a full stop.

Professor Fig hopped off, followed closely by the banker. He gave himself a shake and followed. No need to linger in one spot too long, if Professor Fig was right about Ranrok.

“When was the last time this vault was accessed?” Professor Fig asked, as he approached.

“A goblin has been stationed at my desk for hundreds of years,” the banker replied. “In that time, no one has visited vault twelve… until today.”

They stopped in front of the fairly nondescript door, framed by dripping stalactites and a stone border with ‘12’ etched at the keystone.

The banker hurried forward, inserting the key into the surprisingly tiny lock. Stepping to one side, and with much clanking, the banker allowed the door to swing open on its own.

“Vault twelve,” was all he said.

Professor Fig entered first. “Thank you for your help,” he told the banker, before beckoning towards him and entering the vault.

He hurried after the professor, giving the banker a short nod in thanks, and dodging dripping water.

Stepping inside, he was surprised at how small it seemed. “What do you suppose we should be looking for?” he asked Fig,

Professor Fig shrugged. “I’m not sure. Sir,” he started, turning to face the banker. “I wonder if you might…”

“The instructions for vault twelve,” the banker stated, now framed by the vault door. “Indicated that I am to grant access to the holder of the key… and then close the door.”

“Wait-!” Fig exclaimed, as the banker did just that, the vault door closing with a solid thud and locking.

“Best of luck.”

Professor Fig heaved a sigh.

“Professor?” He tried to keep his growing panic out of his voice.

“That was certainly unexpected.” There was a flash of annoyance that crossed Fig’s face, before he shifted to contemplative, more like during their study sessions. “Let me think… There must be something here. Hmmm… I wonder…”

He grew a tad uneasy at what Fig might be thinking.

“What about… Revelio, perhaps.” He tilted his head at the spell. He’d heard of it, but never learned it.

“Revelio? I’ve heard of it…”

“Yes. Rather simple, a revealing charm.” Professor Fig smiled. “Pull out your wand. There’s no time like the present to learn it.”

He pulled out his wand, giving it a slight twirl to get the best hold.

“Let’s see what we’re missing here, shall we?” Professor Fig continued. “Right, focus on my wand movement.”

He watched as Professor Fig traced an ‘R’, before copying his movement.

“Excellent. Now, try casting it.”

“Revelio,” he murmured, fluidly drawing the R. There was a ripple of magic, followed by other, darker ripples across the back wall of the vault. “There! I saw something!”

“Hmmm. Move a bit closer and try casting it again.”

He hurried closer, covering the distance quickly. Barely pausing, he muttered, “Revelio,” and the wall changed. “A door…?”

“Well, that’s a start, at least.” Professor Fig noted. “And there’s that symbol again… I don’t suppose you see a way to… open it?”

“I do, professor! That symbol has the same glow as symbol on the portkey container had, before it opened for me.” He came closer, half a step behind the professor.

“Hmm,” Professor Fig intoned. “If what you can see reveals the way forward, then there’s a fairly good chance that we are about to discover what secrets this vault holds.”

He gestured towards the door. “Lead the way, Mr. Northrup.”

Stepping up, he gently touched the glowing torch symbol, and pushed. There was a moment of disorientation, as door vanished beneath his fingers and the vault went dark.

“Lumos!” came Professor Fig, light bursting from his wand tip and illuminating a small area around them.

The vault had changed. No longer a long, narrow rectangle, it now seemed to be infinitely large, and more circular in shape.

“This is no ordinary vault,” Fig observed, and he nodded in agreement. “I suspect we will need to earn our way out of here.”

He gulped. “What do mean ‘earn our way out’, Professor? Do you think this is some kind of test?”

Professor Fig nodded, keeping the wand light focused on him. “I do. But to exactly what end, I can’t say.” He started moving forward. “Stay close to me. There will be no Disapparating if things go poorly. Not out of Gringotts.”

There was a particularly ominous tone to Professor Fig’s voice, one he hadn’t heard before. So he hurried after.

Something about the vault unnerved him. He kept his wand in hand, squinting at the mist that seemed to hang at eye level. Professor Fig, lighted wand in hand, led the way.

He wasn’t sure how far they’d travelled, or how long already they had been here, only seeing the occasional, random column. But there was also the feeling of something drawing them towards whatever it was, slowly pulling them through the mist.

Until he spotted a burst of light, blue like the glow decorating the portkey container and door. “I see something, up ahead!”

“What is it?” Professor Fig asked.

“That glow again,” he observed, hurrying forward. “But it’s on the floor…”

He noticed that Professor Fig walked just to the right of it, as he continued straight on. An interesting effect followed him. It was almost like he was stepping in mud on a rainy day. The ground seemed to ripple with his footsteps, as he approached the whirlpool like spot.

As he stepped into it, his body reacted instinctually, and the ground seemed to shift, light exploding out in a ring, changing the floor yet again, taking on the strange, mirror like appearance of the enchantment they’d seen earlier.

“Whoa!” It appeared that, whatever that was, had snuffed out Professor Fig’s wand light. “Lumos!”

Wandlight back, he caught sight of what appeared to be beneath the enchantment.

“What happened?” Professor Fig asked, as he picked himself up out of a crouch.

“When I moved towards the glow,” he started slowly, still trying to wrap his own mind around what just happened, heart pounding in his throat. “It… suddenly seemed as though the ground was, well, swirling about.”

“Are you all right?” Fig asked, voice agitated.

He nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m fine.” Something told him it was far too late to turn back now.

“You seemed to have caused the floor to change…” There almost seemed to be awe in Professor Fig’s voice, for what, he wasn’t sure.

“That statue…” he breathed, slowly standing.

“What statue…?”

He pointed, shakily, out in front of himself. “There, to your left. I see some sort of statue, like some kind of guard, but only as a reflection, it seems.”

Professor Fig paused, bringing the wandlight over the hidden reflection. There were darker glimmers, much like the ones disguising the door they’d entered.

Stepping closer, he raised his wand. “Revelio.”

A full-bodied statue seemed to bloom into existence, almost exactly mirroring the kneeling reflection. Except…

“I presume this is what you saw reflected on the floor?” Professor Fig asked, clearly curious.

He nodded. “What I see, yes… the reflection’s still there. Except, the statues’ positions don’t match…” he noted, as Professor Fig slowly started to circle it.

And the reflection turned with him. “Wait!” he called out, and Professor Fig paused. “When you moved, the reflection turned in the direction of the light!”

“Hmmm…” Professor Fig was clearly intrigued. “Perhaps you should cast Lumos…”

He nodded, quickly adding his own wandlight. “Lumos!”

“Well done…” There seemed to be a slight grinding sound, as the reflection shifted towards him.

“Now it’s shifting towards me…” he told Professor Fig. “It does follow the wandlight.”

As he moved the reflection the right way around, the statue started to stand. A brief step back, it fell back into a crouch. Moving the reflection into place, the statue stood tall, raised its sword briefly, and touched the tip to the enchanted ground with an almost-musical ‘ping.’

Magic swirled around them, creating a boundary. He gulped, as several more dropped in around them.

Oh no… was his only thought, staring down masked statues.

“Look out…!” came Professor Fig, as the one they’d woken up raised its sword. He just managed to throw up a shield, before all hell broke loose around him.

Professor Fig seemed to do most of the defensive work, as he tried his best not to lose his head, throwing up shields and throwing basic casts, and even managing to destroy a couple of them himself in the process.

The magic around them seemed to howl, almost storm-like, and he hurried over to Professor Fig.

“Stay close!” the professor shouted as he approached. He was within grabbing distance, when… Professor Fig just disappeared. Right in front of him.

The howling stopped. It went dark again. He was on his own.

Little bits of light streaked through the darkness, catching his attention. Lighting his wand, he called out, “Professor!”

He didn’t exactly like being in this situation. “Professor Fig! Professor, where are you?”

Nothing. This isn’t good… he thought, panic rising, not helped by the feeling of disorientation. Where am I supposed to go?

He took a step, and more of the sparks of light appeared, flying off to his left. Turning in that direction, he set off, following the sparks as they bounded forward with each step.

The wisps seem to be leading me somewhere… he mused, dodging another column, and fruitlessly keeping an eye out for Professor Fig.

Again, he wasn’t sure how long had passed, as he spotted another of the glowing whirlpools of magic up ahead and gulped. That’s where they’re leading me… that glow again.

Stepping into the whirlpool, it again snuffed out the light. And yet again, another mirror like enchantment upon the floor.

And this time, he was looking at waking three of the guardian statues. “Revelio.” I suppose I’m on my own this time.

It took some trial and error, before he realised that he was meant to wake all three at the same time. He gulped. One had been bad enough…

Finding the correct spot, he took a deep breath. It seems I have no choice… I’m going to have to fight my way out of here… He raised his lighted wand, and watched in silent panic as the three statues silently pulled themselves out of a crouch.

“Ping. Ping. Ping.” They came sharp and clear, ringing through the area.

“Protego!” he roared, blunting and halting the blow from the one nearest him. Somehow, he kept his head and blew through the initial few. More arrived, their thuds shaking the ground.

Adrenaline seemed to take over, blurring the battle in his mind, turning his panic into a flurry of fighting and activity. “Protego! Stupefy! Blast!”

Destroying the last one, he was plunged back into darkness. He was really starting to hate this. “Lumos!”

Light flared from his wand again, as more wisps and sparks appeared at his feet. He hurried after them, nervous of what might lie ahead.

Light appeared faster, closer, this time, possibly only twenty, thirty maybe forty feet from where he’d just fought. Fifty at his furthest estimate. And with it, that same strange, torch symbol.

Another whirlpool, more dramatic magic… and the torch symbol seemed to melt, reforming into an arch of some kind. Beyond it, a massive room.

He sprinted forward, barely hesitating. It seemed safer than staying where he was. He hoped he wasn’t wrong.

Hurrying forward, he passed through the arch, gaping at the other side. The room was cavernous. He continued forward, stepping up slightly on a dais, which held a basin of some sort.

Making a circuit of it, he noticed the odd pendant-like object floating above it. Picking it up, he examined it, hoping that, somehow, he’d get an answer.

The sound of large doors opening caught his attention, and he turned to face who or what might be coming in. The dim light glinted…

It was Professor Fig. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “How did you… What is this place?” Professor Fig seemed equally in awe of its proportions.

He shrugged, as the professor walked towards him. “I don’t know.” He held out the pendant object. “But, I found this floating above that, well, basin…” He gestured to the slight basin in the middle of the dais.

Professor Fig seemed to recognise it. “That is no mere basin, Mr. Northrup. I’m unsure if they have them in America, but either way, it’s called a pensive, for viewing memories.” He ran a hand along the smooth edge, clearly surprised at finding one here. “I wonder… “

He held out the pendant, and Professor Fig took it. Pulling the cap off, Fig poured the contents in, stashing the pendant in one of his pockets. The contents of the basin seemed to churn as he did so.

“Now, follow my lead.” He mirrored Professor Fig’s position, grasping the sides as he did, and reluctantly stuck his face into the silvery mixture.

Which somehow resolved into the room they were in, just with two men he didn’t recognise at all. Each putting their finishing touch on the room.

“All is in place…” came the one in red, and who appeared younger than the other man.

“The portkey is well hidden?”

“Perhaps too well. I have to wonder if the path we’ve created…”

“…May be impossible to follow? It will only be impossible for one who cannot see traces of ancient magic – as I can.”

“Your ability to see what others cannot will not be enough, Percival. We are entrusting the one who embarks on this path with powerful secrets, and with knowledge others will do anything to obtain.”

The elder of the two, Percival, grew stony. “Yes, and if we’re correct, Charles, the witch or wizard who completes the trials will have proven themselves worthy of that knowledge and the responsibility that accompanies it.”

A pause, as they surveyed what they had done.

“We’ve done all that we can.” Charles noted. Percival nodded in agreement, raising his wand to his head, before drawing out a single, silvery thread-like fluid, and the memory ended.

He had plenty of questions buzzing around in his mind, as they came up. “Who-? How-?”

“That’s what you’re seeing?” Professor Fig asked, his voice stunned. “The glow that surrounded them?”

He nodded, feeling dazed. “Yes, sir.”

Professor Fig took in the room again. “Astonishing.”

“Professor,” he asked tentatively. “Can I see magic?”

“Traces of magic, to be precise,” Fig confirmed, clearly preoccupied with putting the pieces together. “The magic that Miriam had always believed, but could never…”

He grew silent, the grief clear on his face. “Miriam, and now perhaps George, died in pursuit of knowledge that has been dormant for centuries... And you, you seem to be the key to understanding exactly why.”

Professor Fig seemed to become manic at the thought. “We wou-.” He broke off the sound of doors opening.

“It all looks rather…different than it did a moment ago…” came the voice of the banker who helped them.

He gaped silently to Professor Fig. What? Professor Fig stiffened at the sound of the goblin, his face darkening.

“Someone’s coming.”

A deeper voice growled, “Who were they?”

The banker’s voice stammered. “I- I don’t know… But, sir… You shouldn’t be here.” Another growl, as the doors were forced open.

And the newspaper seemed to come to life. It could only be Ranrok. Flanked on his right by the guard, the banker to his left, the armoured goblin swept into the room, a nasty scowl on his face.

“I. was. Right,” Ranrok declared, and he noticed that there were several others not far behind Ranrok himself.

“Ranrok,” Fig seemed to snarl in return.

The dark goblin gave a twisted smile. “Seems my reputation precedes me. I was beginning to think that no one was ever going to visit Rackham’s vault.”

He filed that piece away, for when he was less scared. Professor Fig pulled his wand.

“And why are you here?” He drew his as well, half a second behind Fig. No need to be defenceless.

Ranrok held up a hand. “No need for that. Just give me whatever it is you found here, and we can let bygones be bygones.”

A ripple of magic danced across Ranrok’s armour, the same dark, reddish hue that had decorated both the dragon collar and guard’s arm band. He doubted it would really be that easy.

It seemed Professor Fig shared a similar thought, no doubt thinking of both his friend and his wife.

The banker interrupted the stare down. “Sir, they had the key to the vault.”

Ranrok appeared to not like that fact. He grew even more menacing. “Choose your next words wisely.”

“I- I only meant that the instructions for vault twelve were quite clear…” He glanced around, panic on his face growing. “Sir, I must insist. I was to grant access to only to one with the key. And you didn’t ha-”

He just managed to close his eyes, as Ranrok’s armour flared with magic, and the poor banker was thrown. He winced at the thud that followed.

“I have no patience for traitors.” Ranrok growled, and he cracked his eyes. “Now, where were we…”

“I’m not giving you anything,” Professor Fig growled.

Ranrok turned his focus to him, and he gulped. There was something terrifying about being stared down by this particular goblin. “Mmh, well, perhaps your young friend here will be more helpful…”

He gave a short shake of his head, stepping back.

Professor Fig reacted, throwing one spell, which impacted against Ranrok’s had.

Ranrok, in return, threw them against the floor, blasting the magic back. He impacted roughly, briefly blacking out.

It wasn’t long, a minute at most, but it had been enough for the vault to shift into defence, and a towering Guardian had emerged where the pensive had been before.

Ranrok’s whole attention was now on fighting the Guardian. He looked around, helping to steady Professor Fig. There has to be a way out…

He spotted another arch, which seemed to be looking out into a forested area. Anywhere but here… He moved towards it, almost spellbound by it.

“I know a way out!” he shouted at Professor Fig, who seemed to be repelling the giant metal Guardian as well. “Professor!” he shouted, as the Guardian blindly took a swing.

Professor Fig hurried towards him, racing the column the Guardian had broken through. They stuck their heads through the arch…

To suddenly appear in the wooded area, surrounded by the night sky and rustling leaves.

“Oh! Ha!” Professor Fig exclaimed, as they took in their surroundings. “Are you all right, Mr. Northrup?”

“Fine sir.” He said, his voice faint, and he took a moment to take several deep breaths and calm his wildly racing heart. “Where are we…?”

Professor Fig didn’t seem to be listening, not that he could fault him. “I’ve never seen such strong a goblin…” he muttered. “He seemed wholly unaffected by my magic…”

“Where are we?” he asked again, still curious as to where they’d ended up.

Apparently, Professor Fig had no problem figuring out where they were. “It can’t be.” The professor grinned, and he followed Professor Fig towards the lighted signpost. “It seems those who set up the pensive, the locket, along with the path to both, wanted someone with your ability to end up here.”

They paused, almost basking in the glow of the solitary lamp. After the insanity of the afternoon, he relished this brief moment of peace.

“Come,” said Professor Fig, breaking the silence. “We’ve a Sorting Ceremony to get to.”

Chapter 2

#A Fifth Year's Guide to Hogwarts Chaos #chapter 1 #fic #cyrus northrup #hogwarts legacy

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