The Great Gringotts Robbery

The goblin Griphook whistled, and a small cart slid along the tracks to them.

The few of them got into the cart, which began to speed along the maze-like tunnels. Quirrell tried to memorize the path, thinking he might need to come out alone later.

In his plan—if his crazy idea could be called a plan—Harry, Hagrid, and Griphook were all supposed to die, leaving him alone to present the Philosopher's Stone to his master.

It had to be said, it was a sufficiently crazy idea. The howling cold wind from the speeding cart couldn't wake him from it.

Finally, after passing a subterranean lake covered in stalactites and stalagmites, the cart stopped in front of a small door. Hagrid was the first to climb out, his face pale and his knees trembling.

"Whoa~~~" Hagrid, gagging, waved his hand, telling them not to mind him.

Click.

Griphook unlocked the door. After a thick puff of green smoke, piles of gold coins, silver bars, and mountains of bronze Knuts were revealed inside.

"It's all mine?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Hurry up and get it," Quirrell said impatiently, clearly eager.

"It's all yours," Hagrid, having recovered, glanced at Quirrell and then said to Harry, "The gold coins are Galleons. Seventeen Sickles make a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts make a Sickle."

As he spoke, he walked into the piles and helped Harry scoop many Galleons into his bag. "This will be enough for you for two terms. Let's go, Harry."

"Griphook, drive faster."

They all got back into the cart, and Quirrell urged loudly.

Hagrid wanted to say something, but he held back in the end—he thought Quirrell's odd behavior was because he had discovered something. In reality, Quirrell just wanted to weaken his combat ability through the bumpy ride.

"The speed is only one," Griphook replied coldly. They proceeded in silence.

The cart rattled and descended deeper and deeper. The air grew bitingly cold. Finally, just as Harry shivered for the third time, it stopped.

"Stand back," Griphook said solemnly. Then he extended a long finger and gently tapped the door, which slowly disappeared.

Harry wanted to lean forward and look, but Hagrid pulled him back.

"Don't go looking for trouble, let me..."

Before he could finish, the sounds of several spells rang out: "Stupefy."

At least three spells converged on Griphook, hitting him unprepared. He was instantly stunned.

Three more spells were aimed at Hagrid. He was hit too, but it only made him shudder.

One hit Harry, and he instantly fainted.

As for Quirrell, the moment the first note of the spell sounded, he unhesitatingly jumped behind the cart. The three spells aimed at him were all blocked by the cart.

Quirrell landed and didn't bother looking for the enemy. He directly picked up his wand, preparing to deal a harsh blow to Harry—he wanted to kill Harry. In his mind, this would earn him his master's reward.

However, before he could chant the spell, Hagrid acted.

"Catch him!"

Hagrid roared, and Harry flew towards Quirrell, flailing.

"Wingardium Leviosa!!!"

Quirrell chanted urgently, his wand freezing Harry in place and throwing him back into the cart.

He didn't dare let Harry touch him. He could feel the dual pain in body and soul from that burning sensation, even when he wasn't in control of the body.

"Expelliarmus."

"Serpensortia."

"Sectumsempra."

"Cruciatus Curse."

"..."

Hagrid had only raised his umbrella halfway when countless spells flooded in. He immediately rolled backward without hesitation, diving into Vault 713.

The black snake, born from the Serpensortia spell, unhesitatingly followed him in. The other spells hit the ground, kicking up a few pebbles.

"Damn it."

Quirrell growled lowly, wishing it were him who had rolled inside.

"Attack, we don't have much time,"

a voice roared from the darkness, followed by the sound of chaotic footsteps. Quirrell pressed himself tightly against the cart, calculating his next move.

"Should we kill Harry?" someone in the black robes asked.

The leader stopped, hesitating, and looked towards the cart not far away.

"Kill him, kill him," Quirrell roared in his heart.

Voldemort, trapped by the Blood Curse, wasn't overly agitated. One reason was that he couldn't control his body; even if he had thoughts, he couldn't express them.

Another reason was that he didn't want Harry to die now—facing a grieving Dumbledore over Harry's death was worse than letting Harry live as a buffer between himself and Old Bee.

But if Harry died...

Then he would adjust the plan. Dumbledore wouldn't accept his "surrender and split the difference" request. He'd prepare for war—or if that didn't work, he'd hide and outlast Old Bee.

"Whatever,"

the leader of the robed figures finally answered.

Upon receiving the reply, the robed figure who had spoken immediately stepped out from the crowd, cackling as he raised his wand. He uttered a spell, not loudly, but black flames instantly erupted…

"It's Fiendfyre."

Hagrid's roar echoed from within the vault, and then his enormous form charged out, crashing into the trolley like a tank.

"Boom."

Surprisingly, Hagrid possessed a courage unmatched by ordinary men. Before the robed figure could unleash the Fiendfyre onto the trolley, Hagrid slammed into it, sending it flying.

Quirrell had already fled in terror, hiding behind a stalagmite.

The trolley spun three and a half times in the air, and before it landed, Hagrid's bulky body nimbly snatched Harry.

He shielded the child fiercely, allowing several stalagmites to break as his back slammed into them.

"The brave are fearless,"

Voldemort couldn't help but sigh amidst the Blood Curse. He wished he had such a brave warrior among his subordinates, but…

Malfoy was a profiteer, Peter Pettigrew an abandoned soul, and Quirrell… a cowardly child who loved to play, he had no idea what he was doing, only blindly seeking validation.

"Damn it, he took Harry."

The robed figure roared, but could only watch through the Fiendfyre as Hagrid, spitting blood, shielded Harry behind a large, thick stalagmite—yet his shoulder was completely exposed.

"Soul Departure."

The leader of the robed figures acted, the spell striking Hagrid's exposed shoulder precisely, instantly controlling him.

Then…

Hagrid stood up expressionlessly. He grabbed Harry's leg, swung him around a couple of times, then flung his arm out, spinning Harry.

Judging by his actions, he intended to smash Harry to death.

Quirrell watched with excitement, tapping his wand lightly—he saw a tattered piece of cloth peeking out from Hagrid's coat pocket, which likely contained the Philosopher's Stone.

Meanwhile, the Fiendfyre had already ignited the tracks beneath the trolley and, as Hagrid was being controlled, burned along the tracks.

The flames rose with incredible speed, vanishing from sight almost instantly, racing towards the narrow stone corridor on the side of the Gringotts hall where the tracks originated.