Chapter 188: Hufflepuff’s Goblet
Bright lights illuminated the Marble Hall, and in front of Dobby was a row of long counters, where hundreds of goblins stood on high stools, handling business for passing customers.
Copper scales weighed coins, eyeglasses inspected gemstones, quills scratched across ledgers, and the goblins’ appearance was actually very similar to that of house-elves, with short statures and long fingers, but the work here was completely different from the housework in manors; every goblin wore a scarlet and gold-trimmed uniform, and no one used a whip to beat or urge them on.
Watching those dazzling movements, Dobby felt an indescribable sensation in his heart for some reason.
On Saturday morning, wizards handling business came in an endless stream, and the goblins busied themselves inside and out nonstop, with those at the counters receiving customers and goblin attendants in the corridors guiding them to the underground vaults.
Melvin stood in front of the counter observing, his gaze sweeping around before landing on a relatively young goblin teller, who had just seen off a male wizard and, now idle, straightened the scales.
Melvin walked forward unsteadily: “Good morning, we want to retrieve an item from the collection in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault.”
The young goblin teller lifted his eyelids: “Do you have her key, sir?”
Melvin was certain this goblin was indeed young, probably hadn’t lived through the era when Death Eaters ran rampant, or hadn’t been working at Gringotts then and didn’t follow Muggle news.
The Lestrange family’s vault should be a key target of Gringotts’ attention, as this pure-blood family had no successors, its last bloodline serving time in Azkaban; once they were completely gone, everything in the vault would belong to Gringotts.
“Of course.” Melvin pulled out the gold key and handed it over slowly.
He had deliberately used Human Transfiguration to adjust the skin on his hands, making it look wrinkled, with the frail and weak arm trembling slightly; after all, he had worked on Broadway, and every detail showed Melvin’s thorough understanding of the role.
“This key…” The goblin teller leaned in to examine the gold key closely. He didn’t know what kind of mark Gringotts had made; mentioning Bellatrix’s name elicited no reaction, but upon seeing the gold key, the goblin immediately recalled the corresponding special vault and its related materials.
He looked up and eyed the old wizard suspiciously up and down. According to the materials, this family had no heir, and the vault was nearly abandoned—how had an old wizard suddenly appeared to open it?
“Sir, I need to get someone to verify your identity.” The goblin thought for a moment and added, “As far as we know, the owner of this vault…”
“Is in Azkaban, right?”
Melvin was unconcerned, even a bit impatient. “I can tell you, this has nothing to do with Bella. With the Lestrange surname and bloodline as proof, I have the right to open the vault.”
“May I ask who you are?”
“Corvus Lestrange, Corvus V.”
The goblin teller was unsure, turned and made a few hand gestures toward the inside, and soon a goblin manager hurried over, carrying a small leather bag containing some metal pieces.
The two goblins huddled together, muttering in discussion, occasionally glancing at Melvin and Dobby behind him.
That aged appearance dispelled some of their doubts; a wizard this old spoke and handed over the key with feeble breath—surely not capable of bank fraud. That house-elf’s face also matched the photograph in the materials; they had thought he died years ago, but he was still alive. The odd clothes fit the style of a pure-blood wizard perfectly.
Whatever, Gringotts’ security was tight; any ill-intentioned wizard would only bring trouble on themselves.
“Yes… the materials say he died in a shipwreck… long dead…”
“Wizards are cunning fellows… these pure-blood families… who knows?”
Dobby kept his head down, examining his new clothes, which he had sewn himself, with some loose threads still sticking out, trembling constantly like his pounding heartbeat.
He suddenly felt that even a great wizard like Harry Potter could be wrong, like his complete misjudgment of this professor—way off.
Fortunately, banks in the Wizarding World still needed reputation, especially after the goblin rebellion war; the goblins’ attitude and posture in business had softened a lot. The manager was greedy but didn’t dare make too much of a fuss.
“We’ve wasted your time.” The goblin manager bowed slightly, apologizing sincerely. “That vault hasn’t been opened in a long time; these fellows are out of practice. Allow me to serve you.”
“Hurry up.” Melvin was very impatient, acting bossy.
As they walked inside led by the goblin manager, Dobby was stopped outside by a goblin attendant; house-elf magic differed from wizard magic, and the goblins didn’t dare let a house-elf into the underground vault, fearing it would let thieves into the nest.
Melvin climbed onto the cart: “You greedy miserly lot, can’t you make a more comfortable carriage? I’m already 93 years old…”
The goblin manager started the cart and bowed his head in apology: “I’ll suggest it to the board.”
“I hear perfunctory in your words…”
“I guarantee it in the name of the Goblin King.”
The goblin manager eyed him secretly, his gaze hidden like flickering candlelight on both sides.
Because the Lestrange family vault was at the deepest underground level, the cart’s track had no one else; it followed the steep track deeper, the cart speeding up, making clear clacking sounds that echoed in the silent, empty underground.
“I hear water sounds—there’s a waterfall ahead?”
Melvin looked at the path ahead; the air had moist water vapor—they had reached the Anti-theft Waterfall area.
“The Lestrange family vault has been sealed too long, untouched for many years, only this railway!” the goblin manager said. “And the Anti-theft Waterfall is one of Gringotts’ security measures, to protect customers’ treasures by washing away all magic and disguises!”
“You’re going to wet my clothes!” Melvin feigned anger.
Twisting through maze-like corridors, under the goblin’s expectant gaze, they crashed into the waterfall and out the other side; aside from their clothing getting soaked, there was no other change.
This clearly exceeded the goblin’s expectations. He looked back at the water curtain pouring onto the track, then at the grumbling old wizard, and this time truly believed.
“The vault is just ahead. To express our apology, we’re willing to compensate you—generously.” The goblin soothed.
Melvin muttered curses as his gaze swept ahead; around the corner hid an aged fire dragon, with cloudy eyes, sparse and loose scales, covered in scars, heavy shackles on its wings and feet, thick chains linked to a stone stake deeply embedded in the ground.
At the end of the road behind the fire dragon were the deepest vaults, one of which was Melvin’s, but his attention stayed on the right, where a copper nameplate was nailed to the stone wall, matching the pattern on the gold key, marked with goblin script and a crow.
In Melvin’s memory, this old dragon was quite docile; it hadn’t stirred on his previous two visits here, but now it opened its cloudy eyes, staring at them fixedly, wings trembling and pulling the shackles with them, sparks flickering from its mouth and nose, eager to act.
“No need to worry, this fire dragon is trained.”
The goblin manager pulled a metal apparatus from his leather bag and shook it, producing a loud, crisp clanging like a small hammer on an anvil, shrill sound. “A new sphinx arrived, and it doesn’t get along with him, so he’s been a bit restless these days.”
Hearing the metallic sound, the fire dragon let out a hoarse roar and trembled back.
Melvin looked deeper into the narrow stone wall passage and sure enough, there was another giant beast, human-faced and lion-bodied, also emitting pained hisses, burying its head deep under its claws.
This wasn’t training at all, just long-term abuse, conditioning the fire dragon to fear the clanging sound. Goblins didn’t have to follow wizard law; if the keepers in Romania used this method, the Ministry of Magic would have prosecuted them long ago.
“Open the vault.”
“Gringotts is at your service.”
The goblin pressed his palm to the wooden plank on the vault’s outer wall, and the stone door opened with a sound, revealing the vault sealed for twelve years to the two.
A vast treasure trove, with galleons and various pure gold vessels piled into small mountains, gleaming silver armor, rare and exotic animal pelts, potions in exquisite gemstone bottles, even a skull wearing a crown.
Melvin used a whirlwind to dry his robes and was about to enter the vault to search for the goblet when the goblin stopped him.
He lightly touched a golden wine goblet with his finger, and it split into two, instantly glowing red-hot: “These treasures are protected by Fire Charm and Duplication Charm; anything touched will burn and duplicate, and if crushed by replicas, one might be roasted alive in the gold mountain by the heat.”
The goblin took a glass bottle from his leather bag, half-filled with water, and splashed the water over the treasures: “Now it’s safe.”
“What do you mean?” Melvin didn’t understand.
“Water from the Anti-theft Waterfall washes away the hexes.” The goblin grinned smugly. “If burglars or petty thieves bypass the Anti-theft Waterfall to break in, they’ll be trapped and die here by their own greed and stupidity.”
Melvin paused his steps briefly, grunted, and began searching in the vault.
In the room, golden goblets of various styles were everywhere: gilded filigree cups, gem-encrusted coffee cups, intricately carved red wine glasses, plus all sorts of vessels, gleaming with jewels and gold; Melvin felt dazzled.
Relying on his sense of magic power, Melvin locked onto a row of shelves by the wall.
The shelves held shields, goblin-made helmets, gem-inlaid clocks—all luxurious, expensive collector’s treasures. The goblin manager’s eyes gleamed, his face showing regret again; these things had nearly become Gringotts’.
Melvin paid little attention to these; his gaze fixed on the top shelf, where a small, ornate golden goblet gleamed.
Two finely wrought pure gold handles, the cup body carved with symbolic fine engravings, a cute badger.
“This is…”
The goblin manager looked at the golden goblet and clearly recognized this legendary treasure, mouth agape in surprise: “Hufflepuff’s Goblet!?”
