The Gringotts Heist

Griphook the Goblin whistled, and a small cart slid along the rails to a stop in front of them.

They climbed aboard, and the cart sped through the maze-like tunnels. Quirrell tried to memorize the route, thinking he might have to make his move later.

In his plan—if you could call a crazy notion a plan—Harry, Hagrid, and Griphook would all die. Then he would stand alone, holding the Philosopher's Stone aloft for his master.

There was no denying it was a sufficiently crazy notion. Even the icy wind rushing past as the cart sped along couldn't clear his head.

At last, after passing an underground lake covered with stalactites and stalagmites, the cart stopped in front of a small door. Hagrid climbed out first, his face pale and his knees trembling.

"Whoa~~~" Hagrid kept retching and waved them off, telling them not to mind him.

"Click."

Griphook unlocked the door. After a thick cloud of green smoke, they saw piles of gold coins, silver bars, and heaps of Bronze Knuts.

"All of this is mine?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Hurry up and take some," Quirrell said impatiently. He was clearly eager to get going.

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

As he spoke, he went inside and helped Harry scoop a large number of Galleons into a bag. "That'll be enough for two terms. Come on, Harry."

"Griphook, go faster."

Everyone climbed back into the cart, and Quirrell urged him loudly.

Hagrid wanted to say something, but in the end he held back. He thought Quirrell's strange behavior meant he had noticed something. In fact, Quirrell simply wanted the jolting ride to weaken Hagrid's fighting ability.

"There's only one speed," Griphook replied coldly. They continued on in silence.

The cart clattered along, descending deeper and deeper. The air grew bitterly cold, and at last, just as Harry shivered for the third time, it came to a stop.

"Stand back," Griphook said solemnly. Then he reached out a long finger and tapped gently on the door. It slowly vanished.

Harry tried to step forward for a better look, but Hagrid pulled him back.

"Don't go nosing around. Let me..."

Before he could finish, several voices cried out together, "Stupefy!"

At least three spells struck Griphook at once. Caught completely off guard, he was knocked unconscious instantly.

Three more spells were aimed at Hagrid. They hit him too, but all they did was make him shudder.

One spell hit Harry, and he immediately passed out.

As for Quirrell, the moment he heard the first syllable of the spells, he leaped behind the cart without hesitation. The three spells aimed at him all struck the cart instead.

Quirrell landed and didn't even bother looking for the attackers. He raised his wand, ready to give Harry a hard time—he would kill him. He thought his master would reward him for it.

But before he could utter a spell, Hagrid was already moving.

"Catch!"

Hagrid roared, and Harry went flying toward Quirrell, limbs flailing.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Quirrell hastily chanted the spell. His wand stopped Harry in midair and tossed him into the cart.

He didn't dare let Harry touch him. Even when he hadn't been in control of the body, he had felt that searing heat—the pain in both flesh and soul.

"Expelliarmus."

"Serpensortia."

"Sectumsempra."

"Cruciatus Curse."

"..."

Hagrid had barely raised his umbrella when countless spells came flying at him. He immediately threw himself backward, heedless of anything, and tumbled straight into Vault 713.

The black snake conjured by Serpensortia followed him inside without hesitation. The rest of the spells struck the ground, sending a few pebbles bouncing into the air.

"Damn it."

Quirrell growled under his breath. He wished he were the one who had rolled inside.

"Move in! We don't have much time," a figure shouted from the darkness. Then came the sound of hurried, disorderly footsteps. Quirrell pressed himself tightly against the cart, working out what he should do.

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

The leader stopped. He hesitated, looking toward the cart not far away.

"Kill him! Just kill him!" Quirrell roared in his heart.

Voldemort, trapped by the Blood Curse, wasn't all that worked up. For one thing, he couldn't control the body, and even if he had an opinion, he had no way to express it.

Another reason was that he didn't want Harry to die just yet. Rather than face Dumbledore after Harry's death, he would rather keep Harry alive as a buffer between himself and Old Bee.

But if Harry died...

Then he would adjust his plans. Dumbledore wouldn't accept a request to "split the difference and surrender," so they would prepare for war. If that failed, he could always hide and wait Old Bee out.

"Whatever."

In the end, the leader of the black-clad group gave that answer.

The one who had asked immediately stepped out from the group, raising his wand with a strange laugh. He murmured an incantation, not very loudly, but black flames surged out at once...

"Fiendfyre!"

Hagrid's roar came from inside the vault. Then his enormous figure charged out, barreling toward the cart like a tank.

"Boom!"

To everyone's surprise, Hagrid had a courage ordinary people couldn't match. Before the black-clad wizard could spread the Fiendfyre over the cart, Hagrid slammed into him and sent him flying.

Quirrell had already fled in terror, hiding behind a stalactite nearby.

The cart spun through the air three and a half times. Before it hit the ground, Hagrid somehow nimbly snatched Harry out of it with his bulky frame.

He shielded the boy fiercely, letting his own back smash through several stalactites.

"True bravery knows no fear."

Voldemort couldn't help sighing within the Blood Curse. He wished one of his followers could be such a brave soul. But...

Malfoy was in it for personal gain, Peter Pettigrew was an outcast, and Quirrell... He was a timid child who loved fooling around and had no idea what he was doing. All he wanted was recognition.

"Damn it, he's got Harry!" one of the black-clad wizards roared. But all they could do was watch through the Fiendfyre as Hagrid, bleeding from the mouth, shielded Harry behind a massive stalactite. His shoulder, however, was completely exposed.

"Soul Departure."

The leader of the black-clad group struck. The spell hit Hagrid's exposed shoulder with pinpoint accuracy, taking control of him instantly.

Then...

Hagrid rose expressionlessly. He grabbed Harry by the calf and swung him back and forth twice, then planted his feet and started swinging Harry around.

It looked as if he was going to smash Harry to death.

Quirrell watched excitedly, while also giving his wand a slight flick. He had spotted a length of tattered fabric trailing from the pocket of Hagrid's overcoat. The Philosopher's Stone was probably wrapped inside it.

Meanwhile, the Fiendfyre had ignited the rails beneath the cart. While Hagrid was under control, it raced along the tracks.

The flames surged forward at incredible speed, disappearing from sight almost at once as they raced toward the end of the line—the narrow stone passage beside the Gringotts lobby.