The goblin manager's eyes were glued to the golden goblet, practically sparkling with greed, the reflection in his gaze almost outshining the goblet's shimmering surface.
"Yes, Hufflepuff's Cup," Melvin murmured softly. "A relic of Hogwarts' founders."
The goblin squinted, utterly captivated. "Such a precious treasure, Mr. Lestrange. Something this valuable belongs in a secure place—like Gringotts' underground vaults, safe from prying eyes."
"If anyone's got ill intentions toward the cup, it's you greedy goblins," Melvin said with a wry smile, teasing as he reached for the goblet. A Levitation Charm enveloped it, gently lifting it from the shelf and guiding it into his hands.
The cup's surface was polished to a mirror-like sheen, its engraved patterns rough under his fingers. Closing his eyes, Melvin could feel the immense magical energy pulsing within, though its exact purpose eluded him. Unlike Gryffindor's indestructible sword or Ravenclaw's wisdom-enhancing diadem, the cup seemed unremarkable beyond its costly materials.
Helga Hufflepuff had crafted it to help house-elves transport food, supposedly imbued with unique magic, but no book or legend clarified what that magic was. Her descendants treated it as an antique, and when Voldemort poisoned Hepzibah Smith to steal it, he valued its symbolic weight over its hidden enchantments. After turning it into a Horcrux, he entrusted it to Bellatrix Lestrange. A faint, ominous trace of dark magic—Voldemort's soul fragment—lingered within, detectable only with careful scrutiny.
Melvin turned to leave. "This is the item I came for. Let's go."
"Of course, Mr. Lestrange," the goblin said, forcing a smile, his eyes still locked on the cup. "If you ever need to store it at Gringotts again, we're at your service!"
Melvin chuckled. Goblins had no limits to their greed, hoarding gems, gold, and treasures like dragons. Centuries ago, Gryffindor commissioned Goblin King Ragnuk I to forge his sword, only for the goblins to claim ownership, insisting Gryffindor stole it. They'd sent lackeys to retrieve it, only stopping after a few beatings.
Footsteps echoed ahead, growing closer, accompanied by heavy breathing. In the deep underground tunnels of Gringotts, only Melvin, the goblin manager, and two guardian beasts roamed.
Melvin frowned, pausing to meet the gaze of a towering sphinx.
Up close, it was a massive lion, chained at all four limbs, standing nearly as tall as Hagrid. Its golden fur and thick tail were imposing, each paw larger than the goblin's entire body. Yet, atop this fearsome creature was a woman's head—sallow skin, sharp features, and strikingly beautiful almond-shaped eyes.
It showed no hostility, merely blocking the path with a low, raspy voice: "Clever wizard, you've taken what you came for, but to leave, you must pass me."
Melvin raised an eyebrow, studying the sphinx's eyes for a hint of its intent—did it see through his disguise, or was this just its love for riddles? Sphinxes, with their blend of human intellect and animal instinct, were said to possess mind-reading magic akin to Legilimency.
"Back, you savage beast!" the goblin manager snapped, stepping forward. He turned to Melvin, apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Lestrange. This sphinx was recently assigned to guard the vaults and isn't fully trained. It's offended you. I'll send it back—"
He rummaged in his bag for a clinking coin, and the sphinx's face flickered with fear, though it stubbornly held its ground.
"Hold on, Manager," Melvin said calmly, addressing the sphinx. "What's your riddle?"
The goblin glanced at him, surprised, but stopped searching and waited.
The sphinx met Melvin's gaze, settling onto its haunches, its chained paws clinking.
"Invisible, untouchable, felt by heart and soul.
Bars cannot stop it, nor chains bind it.
The wealthy lack it, the destitute have it in abundance.
Some give their lives for it, others cast it aside like trash."
The sphinx's tone was odd, a faint sadness woven into its flat delivery. Melvin listened, unflinching, meeting its almond eyes, their reflections mirroring each other.
For a Muggle Studies professor, this allegorical riddle was child's play. By the second line, the answer was clear. That morning, he'd visited several places, discussing this very topic with house-elves. Now, hearing it from a chained sphinx in the dimly lit vault, the words—chains, giving life—felt like a coded plea.
"If I'm not mistaken, the answer is… freedom," Melvin said softly, as if it were just a game.
He felt little emotional weight. As a wizard—his soul from another world—he couldn't fully empathize with a magical creature. The sphinx's human face triggered an uncanny valley effect, its lion body pure beast, its limbs bound by heavy chains. In the dim torchlight, its beautiful eyes gleamed.
Melvin looked away. Freeing it, blasting the vault, escaping together—it was too much hassle.
"Correct," the sphinx said, its smile warm, as if pleased someone solved its puzzle. It stepped aside, watching them leave.
Before boarding the cart, Melvin glanced back. The sphinx had retreated into the tunnel's shadows, crouching in the dark.
---
Back at Hogwarts, the young professor strolled along a garden path, his crisp coat slightly rumpled, hair tousled by the wind. His steps left a trail in the soft mud.
"Amazing! Harry Potter's the best Seeker ever!" Dobby shouted, staring at the Quidditch pitch scoreboard, buzzing with excitement.
A gentle breeze swept through the Scottish Highlands, cooler than Cornwall or London but rain-free. The shift in weather was disorienting, and Melvin's mind kept drifting to earlier: the dim Lestrange manor, Gringotts' vaults, and the sphinx.
He exhaled deeply, glancing at the pitch. The scoreboard hadn't been cleared—Gryffindor won 180 to Hufflepuff's score. Subtracting the Snitch's 150 points, Gryffindor's 30-point lead meant three extra goals. Harry's victory over Cedric as Seeker had clinched it.
"Didn't expect you to care about Harry's Quidditch games," Melvin said, glancing at Dobby. "Last time, you were rigging a Bludger to kill him."
"I—I—" Dobby stammered, wringing his hands, his face flushed with shame. "Dobby wasn't trying to harm Harry Potter! Dobby was protecting him, keeping him away from dangerous Hogwarts. It was the only way Dobby knew!"
"First, you wrecked the Dursleys' place, nearly getting Harry convicted for breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Then you sealed the platform, another violation with a serious warning. Third, you charmed a Bludger to hospitalize him. Each time, it got worse. What's next—killing him outright to 'protect' him?"
Melvin nodded mockingly. "Solid plan. Take him out first, and no one else can hurt him."
"No! Dobby would never!" Dobby shook his head frantically.
"Relax, I'm kidding." Melvin climbed the marble steps into the castle. "Mr. Malfoy transferred you to me, but I'm at school most of the time. I don't need you for chores or personal care."
Dobby tensed again.
"Since you need to earn your freedom and living expenses, I'm recommending you for a job in Hogwarts' kitchens." Melvin ignored Dobby's wide-eyed panic. "I'll write you a letter of recommendation. Take it to Dumbledore and negotiate your salary."
A house-elf negotiating pay with the greatest wizard alive? It was unthinkable, heretical. If other house-elves found out, Dobby imagined they'd string him up, flay him, and burn his remains—unfit even for owl food.
Dobby's heart pounded like a drum, his limbs trembling, lips quivering in silence.
Melvin glanced at him. "What, you expect your employer to handle everything? Writing the letter's enough work. I can't do it all."
Dobby wanted to vanish into the floor. Professor Lewitt was right—rescuing him from the Malfoys was already a burden. How could he ask for more help?
The plan was set. In the Muggle Studies office, Melvin dashed off a casual recommendation letter in under five minutes—more a note than a formal document, with zero deference to the headmaster.
Clutching the letter, Dobby left the office in a daze, eyes glassy. The paper felt heavier than a red-hot iron, more crushing than being strung up by his thumbs.
---
George and Fred sauntered out of the common room, arm in arm, bits of colorful confetti from the post-match celebration still stuck in their hair. Other Gryffindor players and students trailed them, chattering as they headed to the Great Hall for dinner.
Harry and Ron walked together, still dissecting the morning's match.
"Cedric's really good," Harry said. "His top speed's a bit slower, but his turns are so steady—the steadiest Seeker I've seen."
"How'd you snag the Snitch first, then?"
"Thanks to Angelina and the others. They built a lead, which rattled Cedric. When he's rushed, he speeds up and misses small details in the corners."
Ron laughed, grinning wider than if he'd played himself. "Winning means house points! Percy can finally stop sulking. He's been moping like Snape all week."
Harry grinned at the thought of Percy's sour face. Even Hermione couldn't hold back a small smile.
As they descended the stairs to the third floor, Harry slowed, frowning. "I keep feeling like someone's watching me."
"Of course they are," Ron said slyly. "Parvati, Lavender, Ginny, and your superfan, Colin Creevey."
Harry ignored the teasing, scanning the shadows. Behind a suit of armor, he spotted a familiar figure.
"Dobby!?"
He rushed forward, shoving the armor aside. "What are you doing here?"
Caught in the gaze of three young wizards, Dobby flinched, trembling, muttering about being a useless, foolish elf, ready to bash his head against the wall.
"Calm down!" Harry and Hermione each grabbed an arm. "Answer me—what are you doing at Hogwarts? Did something happen? Did Malfoy find out you tipped me off? Stop crying and tell us what's going on!"
Dobby sobbed, tears and snot streaming, cursing himself incoherently.
From his garbled whimpers, Harry, Ron, and Hermione pieced together the story: last week, they'd asked Professor Lewitt to help free Dobby. Despite his grumbling refusal, he'd gone straight to Malfoy Manor and rescued him, sparing Dobby further torment.
But like Dumbledore, Lewitt was cryptic. Instead of freeing Dobby outright, he insisted Dobby "earn his freedom" and recommended him for a kitchen job at Hogwarts.
Though Dobby was a mess, he didn't mention Melvin's morning at Gringotts—loyalty to his master was a house-elf's duty. He admitted he was too scared to approach Dumbledore and had been hiding, unsure what to do.
"Why wouldn't a house-elf want…" Ron started, his tone envious.
"Come on!" Hermione said, her eyes blazing. "I'm taking you to the headmaster!"