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HP475- Wand!
🕑 Added 2025-07-27 23:04:45 +0000 UTCHarry tried Astral Sight again. Nothing.
He frowned. The Vial of Everlasting Night even blocked that. He hadn't thought it could, but in hindsight, it made sense. It didn’t just eat light, it twisted perception. Maybe that was a good thing. If he couldn’t see out, Voldemort likely couldn’t either.
Still, no point testing luck. Harry shifted to the side and crouching low, edging along the edge of a toppled shelf until the warmth of the cursed flames was behind him and the air thinned out. His palm landed on cold stone instead of dusty floorboards, and the darkness faded from pitch black to a soft, dull grey.
He was out of the radius.
He took a step further out of the darkness. The air cleared quickly once he crossed the threshold. He took a look around, trying to figure out where Voldemort had brought him.
It wasn’t a ruin, not exactly. Looked more like an old underground vault, wide, with uneven stone tiles, and arches too thick for style. Dust clung to every surface, but there was no rot. This place had been sealed for years, not abandoned.
Harry tried to Apparate. Nothing. The magic didn’t even twitch. He reached for a portkey next, one of the backup ones. Same result. No spark. The entire room was under lockdown, heavy anti-transport wards, probably buried into the stone itself.
“Lovely,” he muttered.
He wasn’t surprised. Voldemort wouldn’t risk a prisoner vanishing on a whim. Still, worth checking. He moved away from the wall, quietly tracing a slow circle, checking exits. The place was wide, but not empty. Crates, some metal-rimmed, were piled along the left-hand side. Old tables stood crooked, parchment half-curled on their tops, most of it stained or burnt.
Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better sense of the place. He closed one eye and activated Astral Sight.
At once, the colours shifted. He turned slowly, scanning for Voldemort. The stone beneath him lit up with faint traces of wardlines, grey-blue threads running in circles, layered deep. Defensive enchantments, some keyed to blood, others to presence.
Frowning, Harry muttered, “Grimbletack.”
A moment later, a roll of parchment blinked into existence and landed neatly in his palm. It read, "Yes, Mr Potter?"
Harry stared at the parchment, then gave a short, unimpressed snort. “I am really in Gringotts.” It explained the architecture. The anti-Apparition. The silence. The fact Voldemort thought it was clever.
He scanned the room again with a fresh eye. Stone walls carved directly into the mountain. Low arches, solid steel grates, barely any decoration, just function. Dust lay thick, but the protective enchantments were humming beneath everything. He was inside a vault. Not just any vault. A deep one.
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the parchment. “Grimbletack,” he said again, “I am being held in one of your vaults by Voldemort. Need an escape.”
It took less than a minute for the response to reappear, the paper unfurling mid-air this time, "You always do find yourself in the most inconvenient places, Mr Potter. For the sake of our ‘friendship,’ I will see what I can do.
Harry sighed through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Charming as ever."
He pushed the parchment into his jacket pocket and took another step into the grey-lit vault. The space itself was oddly shaped, hexagonal, maybe, or something close. But what caught his attention was the floor.
Blood ward.
Keyed. Old goblin security.
He turned his head slowly. The red flicker throbbed faintly again near the far side of the vault, close to one of the crates. Likely the vault’s exit mechanism, but it wouldn’t activate for just anyone. Not unless Grimbletack pulled some strings.
Voldemort hadn’t tried to kill him. The wand pressed to his spine, the threats, it had all been for show. The puzzle clicked together. The Vanishing Cabinet hadn’t been just a shortcut. It was transport to a prison, hidden away inside a Gringotts vault. And Voldemort had brought him here alive. That alone said everything.
Harry scanned the space again. The protections, the wardlines, the sealed exits, it was all meant to keep him in. Not kill him. Which meant Voldemort had a reason to wait. A reason not to fire a second Killing Curse the moment they were alone. The prophecy.
"And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.”
He didn’t understand it. That was the problem.
"He is trying to buy time.” Keep him locked up while he worked out what the line meant. If killing him wasn’t a guaranteed win, then locking him away was the next best option.
It also meant the bastard had already left.
Harry spun toward the Vanishing Cabinet.
“Shit,” Harry hissed, breaking into a sprint across the vault floor. He yanked a capped vial from his jacket. The lingering mist of Everlasting Night was sucked back into the container with a dull whoosh, clearing the suffocating black in seconds.
The Vanishing Cabinet stood quiet and crooked. Harry didn’t waste time. He grabbed the edge of the cabinet door, tried to pull it open, nothing. It refused to budge. A quick scan confirmed it, dead magic. The return route was sealed.
“Of course it is,” he muttered.
“Grimbletack. Door is dead. I need out, now.”
This time the reply took longer. Not a great sign. “One moment. Do not breathe on the north wall.”
Harry blinked. “I, what?”
The vault groaned.
A dull grinding sound rattled through the floor as something shifted near the far arch. A line split open along the seam of stone, and with another loud scrape, a narrow door peeled back from the wall. Goblin-made, clever, silent unless you knew the frequency.
“I take it back. You are bloody brilliant,” Harry muttered and darted toward the opening.
He slipped through and didn’t stop until the air changed again, thinner, colder, the taste of open magic closer now. The tunnel split off in three directions. He followed the one heading up.
Three turns later, he reached the surface exit of Gringotts, one of the emergency ejection routes the goblins never admitted existed. A low arch, cleverly hidden by glamour, led straight into a quiet alley just behind the bank.
The second his foot touched the cobbled street, he turned on the spot, crack.
He reappeared just outside the Hogsmeade boundary and took off running. Hogwarts sat ahead, tall and solid against the horizon, but even from a distance, the signs were wrong. The sky above the castle had shifted, thicker clouds, unnatural green flickers sparking through them.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered and pushed harder.
As he passed the final crest of hill, the courtyard came into view.
They were all there.
Students clustered in uneven lines, some clutching wands, others gripping each other’s arms. Professors stood nearer the castle steps, tense but silent. The air felt wired, like the seconds before a match lit.
Luna spotted him first. She broke from the front. “Harry!”
Dozens of heads turned.
“Where were you? We couldn’t find you,” Susan said, scanning him up and down like she expected a missing limb. They came near him, fast.
Harry glanced around. The courtyard was tense. He spotted Flitwick on the steps, wand loose in hand, eyes scanning the sky. Sprout stood beside him, face tight. Most of the students looked confused, some scared. Others, angry.
“I was kidnapped by Voldemort,” Harry said. “Did he come here?”
The girls’ mouths pressed into thin lines. Nott stepped forward, “Yeah. He did. Didn’t stick around long, but he made a bloody entrance.”
“What happened?”
Blaise rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. “He... he and Dumbledore fought. Voldemort left in the end, but the Headmaster didn’t look too pleased. Like he’d lost something.”
Harry’s frown deepened. He glanced up toward the castle, then back to Blaise. “Wand?”
“Probably,” Blaise said, voice low. “He looked down at his hand for a while, then vanished into the castle without saying a word.”
“Where’s Dumbledore now?” Harry asked.
“Hospital Wing, I think,” Neville replied. “McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey took him in. He wasn’t limping or anything, just… quiet.”
