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According to history books, long before Diagon Alley ever became the crowded hub it is today, the goblins had already carved their mark into the heart of magical Britain, which over time grew into the colossal organisation famously known today as Gringotts, the wizarding bank.
It was a symbol of security for the vast majority of the magical community, a place where fortunes slept and secrets rested deeper than bedrock. Even now, as the wizarding world developed with each passing year, the goblins guarded their halls with the same unwavering diligence they had maintained for centuries, and no other party in all of wizarding Britain had even dared to challenge them.
But was that truly the case? Yes, in the sense that no other party, not even the ancient noble families, had contested the goblins' grip on public wealth. Yet the cause was hardly remarkable. Quite simply, the witches and wizards of England cared too little, or perhaps never even considered the idea of running a bank-like organisation themselves.
Not surprising, since they have always fallen behind the developing world, and truly, it is the only magical community where the general public recognises another magical species as the leading authority for protecting their valuables.
This so-called understanding had lasted for so long that many in the public now even believe it is the only wizarding bank in the world. Especially newly awakened non-magical-borns discovering their magical heritage, assume that goblins are the only ones who manage the wizarding world's wealth.
It's laughable. No wonder many magical communities label the English magical comunity as the most backward in the world. In reality, Russia, India, China, America, and many others already have their own banking systems, run directly by their respective magical governments to safeguard the public's money. They may not have the over-glorified history of Gringotts, but what they do have is the fact that they are run and organised entirely by humans, and not by another species.
The main headquarters of this goblin-run monopoly stands in the heart of Diagon Alley. It might sound like a large international organisation, but it certainly is not. While they do have branches across borders, none come close to the scale of the structure in England, and most of the others were little more than agents stationed for appearances.
In fact, many countries had outright banned the greedy creatures from running their business within their territories, and only in Britain could they act with such arrogance, as if without them, the entire financial system would collapse. Sadly, most people believe that notion.
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It was another quiet day at Gringotts. The main hall stretched high and wide, marble floors shining under the glow of chandeliers suspended in midair. Behind the counters, goblins worked swiftly and silently, their eyes sharp, their hands never idle as they attended to the endless flow of coins and ledgers.
The general interior layout was already in Maverick's head, so he knew exactly where to go upon entering. He paid no mind to the clients, nor to the arrogant little creatures counting coins. Under true concealment, he made his way deeper inside, masking every movement with illusion magic, slipping through door after door until he finally reached the underground structure.
Under ordinary circumstances, one would have to endure a ridiculously uncomfortable cart to reach the vault they sought, but he gave it only a cursory glance and plunged headfirst toward the depths of the underground structure.
While plummeting, he cast a casual glance around, letting his gaze drift lazily over the structure's so-called impenetrable defenses. They could be described as only passable at best, enough to stop witches and wizards of magus rank or lower. For anyone of greatmage rank or above, breaking in would be trivial if they wanted, but would a dignified greatmage, let alone an archmage, rob a bank for gold?
Any country holds its greatmagi in the highest regard; money and business are placed at their disposal on a silver platter, so the last thing they needed to worry about was wealth.
To the goblins' credit, though, the place was massive indeed. Even if it had grown gradually over who knows how long, the depth to which the structure extended was truly remarkable. There was no sense of aesthetics or design, yes, but still, remarkable.
It didn't take him long, and within a couple of minutes he was already in front of the so-called most secure section of the entire structure. But really, it was just the deepest depths and nothing more, and he found not a single ward or magical formation designed to detect unauthorized entry.
Of course, for any ordinary person, reaching this point the way he did would be impossible, and that was the only reason he rated the security as passable. That said, it did not mean there were no security measures in place to prevent intruders.
The cart, first of all, he could tell at a glance was laden with enchantments, and along its path, as he fell, he also spotted several magical formations designed to detect disguises.
There was also the enormous Ukrainian Ironbelly, one of the largest and most dangerous dragon breeds in the wizarding world, stationed in the depths to deter any daring soul who might try to sneak in. Although "guarding" might not be the right word, it was more like being held captive there to intimidate intruders.
The most important thing was that if one didn't know exactly what they were looking for, it would take a despairingly long time to locate a particular vault. Fortunately, Maverick did not have to worry about any of those problems.
The Lestrange vault was located in the deepest section of the underground structure. There weren't any names labeling the vault doors, just numbers, but from Griphook's memories, Maverick was certain the door in front of him was his target.
Although there weren't any magical wards around the area, the door was certainly packed with enchantments to prevent forced entry. And not just simple enchantments, for even his magical sense struggled to pierce the layers upon layers of magic embedded in the entrance.
But⊠a smile curled his lips as his eyes fixed on the wall near the vault door, where he detected far fewer enchantments on the rocky barrier separating the inside from the outside.
Regardless, he wasn't planning on breaking any doors or walls today. His eyes focused, and with deliberate motion, he wove a spell from the sorcery system, and before long, the section of the wall under his focus became transparent, revealing what lay beyond.
That was all he needed. Then, with another motion of his hand, a portal materialized before him, and a moment later, he finally found himself inside the Lestrange family magical vault.
Well, I'll be damnedâŠ
There was⊠a lot of gold. Bricks upon bricks were stacked into hills, and from a rough estimate, if it were regulated into the Muggle world, Maverick was certain the wealth inside could amount to billions at the very least. And it wasn't just goldârubies, diamonds, and jewels of every kind sparkled among the piles. Ancient-looking artifacts, ceremonial swords and shields, and delicate ceramics lay scattered as if tossed aside. A few shelves were heaped with books, their spines worn from age. Basically everything here spoke of centuries of accumulation, a hoard both priceless and perilous.
But Maverick had no interest in the gold, nor did he plan to take any of it. To an archmage, money was just numbers. The art pieces, however, were slightly more tempting. Still, not now, as he could feel trigger enchantments scattered throughout the vault, and he had far more important matters to attend to than disarming them and pocketing trinkets.
Perhaps, once Voldy was dealt with, he would make another stop here, and next time, he don't have to endure the cumbersome journey, as he could portal directly.
With that thought, he spread his magical sense, scanning every corner of the vault for his objective: the Hufflepuff cup. And speaking of cups, there were countless golden ones scattered everywhere, so without his ability to sense the dark magical signature of the Horcrux, locating it would have been a nightmare.
In the original story, Harry was able to find it so easily only because he himself was a Horcrux, acting like a trigger radar to pinpoint a Horcrux like himself.
What Maverick was doing was much the same, as he had already come in contact with other Horcruxes and knew exactly how the dark magic felt to his magical sense.
Soon, while disregarding the other shady objects that also gave off dark magic and appeared on his radar, his eyes darted to an inconspicuous corner where a small, ornate cup rested alone. This one, in particular, reeked of pure malice and evil.
From a distance, it seemed unremarkableâa simple golden chalice adorned with faint, intricate engravingsâbut the aura emanating from it was unmistakable. This was the vessel sealing the final fragment of Tom Riddle's soul.
Without a second thought, he floated toward the corner, and the closer he got, the more certain he became. Already, the disgusting thing's whispers were trying to probe him mentally, tempting him to take it.
Don't mind if I do, Tommy.
Fortunately, there were no other enchantments that would trigger if it was moved, so he acted immediately. After giving one last glance around the space, a portal materialized behind him, and in the same breath, with a nudge of his magic, the cup floated toward him, and they both disappeared from the spot.
A few minutes later, inside the Chamber of Secrets, the familiar ear-piercing scream once again reverberated through the stone walls before the blob of darkness curled in on itself and burned to ash. The sixth piece of Voldy's soul fragment was now destroyed and only his wraith remained.
Clasping his hands, he let out a long breath. From the moment he had entered the bank to this very moment, barely half an hour had passed, and the entire operation had unfolded cleanly without a single alarm.
Next, he needed to stop by the Malfoys and ask whether Voldy had any plans involving the World Cup finals like in the original story. If so, he would prepare countermeasures and send a heads-up to Minister Jameson in the meantime.
And speaking of, he wondered if Alaster would suffer the same tragic fate he did in the original story next year. He shouldn't, right? After all, the man was a dignified great mage while Barty Jr. was only a magus. On top of that, Barty's situation was drastically different from the original story here, where his father, in a mix of guilt and desperation, secretly rescued him from Azkaban using influence and authority.
In this world, the madman had only recently escaped during the prison break, so Maverick could not be sure if events would continue to follow the old script. Thankfully, among the many lunatics who fled that day, Barty was one of the individuals he had tagged with a tracking spell.
In any case, none of it mattered. Even if the timeline twisted here and there, the general plot would still align because he had placed every necessary card to make sure old Voldy finally received the resurrection he had been chasing for so long.
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Author's Note:
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