Chapter 11: The Gringotts Disturbance
Unknowingly, Russell had wandered deep into the back of Flourish and Blotts, far from the well-lit aisles and polished displays. The shop clerk was still busy packing his textbooks at the front, too distracted to notice his absence.
The air grew thick and musty, filled with the scent of damp parchment and mildew. He found himself standing before a creaking wooden door with a small brass sign that read:
"Used Book Storage — Staff Only."
So this was where the store kept its secondhand stock — books traded in, donated, or recovered, sorted and boxed until they were resold at a discount.
Perfect.
If there was anywhere to find something unusual, it would be here. Otherwise, he'd have to try his luck someday in Knockturn Alley — maybe even at Borgin and Burkes, a place he was certain Wednesday Addams would adore.
Then again, Russell smirked to himself — would the Addams family really be short on dark magical curiosities? Probably not. So he pushed the thought aside and focused on the stacks before him.
Dust motes danced in the faint light streaming through a cracked window as he moved between towering piles of old books. Most were worn-out textbooks or outdated wizarding magazines. Occasionally, he spotted a few wizard pin-up journals — the "Playwitch" equivalents.
Every time he stumbled across one, he snorted dismissively.
"Please," he muttered under his breath, "I read the Classics, not this drivel."
---
Just as his patience began to wear thin, his hand brushed against something different — soft to the touch, like aged leather polished by time.
He looked down.
It was a thick, heavy tome bound in smooth black hide, completely unmarked — no title, no author, no symbol. The cover was so pristine it almost seemed unnatural, as if it had never been touched by human hands.
A faint shiver ran down his spine.
Russell traced his fingers across its surface, feeling a strange warmth radiate through the leather. He hesitated — then began to open it.
But before he could lift the cover, a voice behind him broke the silence.
"Sir? What are you doing back here?"
Russell nearly jumped out of his skin.
He turned around to see the shop clerk standing in the doorway, a polite smile on his face. "Ah, there you are. I've finished packing your books. Would you like them delivered by owl, or will you take them yourself?"
Russell forced a casual smile, quickly slipping the black-bound book under his arm.
"Sorry," he said lightly. "I got curious and wandered off."
The clerk nodded, still cheerful. "Ah, well, these are just old donations and resale stock. Haven't had time to sort through them properly. Most aren't worth much — but if you'd like, I can show you where we keep the better secondhand books."
"Thanks," Russell said smoothly, "but that won't be necessary."
Without quite realizing it, he had already pressed the mysterious book closer to his chest — an instinctive, almost possessive motion.
Something about it whispered to him — softly, insistently — as though the book itself had chosen him, just as the wand had.
---
Outside, the wind over Diagon Alley shifted — carrying faint echoes of raised voices from the direction of Gringotts.
But Russell didn't hear them.
At that moment, his fingers rested on the cold leather of the book — and for a brief, imperceptible instant, the cover pulsed beneath his touch.
Russell followed the clerk back to the front of the shop. The man barely glanced at the dark, nameless tome tucked under Russell's arm — merely rang it up as a "miscellaneous used book" and charged him two Galleons.
Another Galleon for owl delivery, since Russell's home was quite a distance from Diagon Alley.
By the time he stepped outside, Professor Flitwick was already waiting by the door, cheeks rosy and expression cheerful — no doubt the result of whatever he'd just enjoyed at the Leaky Cauldron.
"Professor, sorry to keep you waiting," Russell said, scratching his head sheepishly.
"Not at all, my boy," Flitwick replied warmly. "I just got here myself."
They had barely begun walking toward Magical Menagerie, intending to pick out a familiar, when a deep explosion thundered across Diagon Alley.
A column of black smoke shot into the sky, followed by three shadowy figures in black cloaks bursting out from the front doors of Gringotts.
They sprinted in different directions — left, right, and straight ahead — moving with inhuman speed.
Moments later, a wave of goblin security guards in crimson uniforms poured out of the marble bank after them, splitting into three squads to pursue. But their efforts were futile; before they had gone far, all three cloaked figures suddenly vanished into thin air, leaving only confusion in their wake.
The goblins stood frozen, looking at one another, as the crowd buzzed with whispers.
---
"Disgraceful! An absolute disgrace!"
In an opulent, high-ceilinged office inside Gringotts, a goblin in gold-rimmed spectacles was roaring with fury, his voice echoing against the marble walls.
As the chief manager of the British branch, Kevin's temper had reached its boiling point.
"The entire wizarding world believes Gringotts to be the safest place on earth! No one dares cause trouble here — and now this?"
He glared at the trembling goblin before him. "Alpha, as head of security, you will take responsibility for this debacle!"
Kevin's tone dropped to an icy calm as he stalked closer. "Even if thieves broke in, why make such a spectacle of it? Now everyone knows. You've just shattered the illusion of our invulnerability! How are our wealthy clients supposed to trust us after this?"
He slammed a small clawed hand against Alpha's cheek — not hard enough to injure, but enough to humiliate.
"Next time, don't chase them at all. Make up a story! Say the thieves were caught before escaping, or that the vault was never breached. But no — you send half the damn security force into the streets! You've made a fool of us all."
Alpha's voice quivered as he finally found a chance to speak. "Sir, we wouldn't have acted that way if it had been an ordinary vault. The thieves targeted a pureblood Twenty-Eight family's private chamber."
Kevin froze mid-gesture. His tone, suddenly calm, was far more terrifying.
"Whose vault?"
"...Bellatrix Lestrange's."
Kevin blinked. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir."
To Alpha's surprise, the tension in Kevin's shoulders eased. He exhaled, rubbing his temples.
"Merlin's beard… you nearly gave me a heart attack. She's been locked away in Azkaban for years — she'll never get out. Even if something was stolen, she's in no position to file a complaint."
He waved dismissively. "Send a few Galleons to The Daily Prophet and make sure the story disappears. Have them print some ridiculous celebrity scandal to draw attention instead. They love that sort of drivel."
"Yes, Mr. Kevin. Right away."
Alpha turned to leave — but Kevin's voice stopped him cold.
"Oh, and Alpha," he said smoothly, "what exactly was taken?"
Alpha hesitated. "Just a golden cup, sir."
Kevin raised a brow. "A cup? Hardly worth the fuss. Now get it cleaned up."
---
Outside, life on Diagon Alley quickly resumed its normal rhythm, though the faint smell of smoke still hung in the air.
Russell, watching from a distance, couldn't help but smirk.
"Professor," he said lightly, "seems like Gringotts isn't as impenetrable as they claim."
Flitwick chuckled softly, unperturbed. "Oh, that's just their marketing slogan, my boy. Truth is, Gringotts robberies aren't unheard of — they just never make it into the papers."
He adjusted his hat and motioned forward. "Come now. Let's find you a companion."
---
The Magical Menagerie was crowded and loud, a cacophony of chirps, croaks, and hisses filling the cramped space. The walls were lined with cages of every shape and size — stuffed with everything from sleek black rats to shimmering ravens, puffskeins, and talking toads.
Russell wasn't interested in buying an owl like most Hogwarts students. The school had its own owlery for post delivery, and he didn't have many people to write to anyway.
He strolled past the cages, hands in pockets, studying the magical creatures curiously.
Sensing a potential buyer, they began showing off.
A trio of striped mice flipped in unison, performing somersaults like trained acrobats. A bright-blue rabbit transformed into a top hat, then back into a rabbit again — over and over. Even a tortoise in the corner slowly stood on its hind legs, staring at Russell with wise, glossy eyes.
He grinned, amused.
"I swear," he muttered, "they're more desperate than street performers."
Flitwick, chuckling beside him, didn't disagree.