The vault was not dark.
Jewels glittered everywhere, piled into little mountains.
At the very center of the treasure stood a bookshelf made of gold. A few glowing beads cast light over a tightly sealed drawer.
Vernar walked to the innermost shelf and extended his dry, knotted fingers.
With a loud clank, the bookshelf underwent a dramatic transformation.
All of the drawers were pushed open by some invisible force. As Vernar swept over them with his sharp, calculating gaze, most of them slid back into place, until only one drawer remained extended, labeled:
[Highest Confidentiality Level: No. 7]
Sean could see the ancient scroll bound inside.
"This is the one, honored friend of the goblins, great Mr. Hermes."
Vernar bowed.
"You may take it out."
Sean stood still. He saw Vernar offering him a pair of gloves, and guessed this was how one avoided the Duplication Charm and the fire enchantment.
But…
He didn't use the gloves.
He simply looked at the scroll, and very soon it floated steadily into his hand as if some invisible fingers had lifted it.
"Not many wizards can do that. Originally, that talent belonged to goblins."
There was surprise and delight in Vernar's sharp, clever eyes, and his posture lowered even further.
"A goblin talent…"
Sean repeated softly, looking at the scroll.
"Goblin talent, traced back far enough, is probably an extension of magical bloodlines.
Just as every magical creature in the wizarding world has its own unique magical gift—the phoenix's rebirth, the Demiguise's ability to vanish, the dragon's power to breathe fire…"
Professor Quirrell recited, quoting directly from The Wizarding Chronicle of Magic.
"Goblins, and once even house-elves, were born with blood that naturally suited forging. They can use wandless magic, and even… develop certain contractual traits. As a result, they display an instinctive obedience toward contracts, and unique contract magic is born from that."
"A wizard with truly remarkable vision…"
Vernar did not argue. He looked Quirrell up and down, and something strange flashed in his eyes.
"You study us deeply. But what about yourselves, wizard? Have you studied yourselves with the same depth?"
"Maybe not in the past. But now, yes."
Professor Quirrell answered respectfully, looking toward the young wizard.
Sean was still examining the scroll. He could feel the dense magical force within it, just like the more powerful alchemical creations, which always carried extraordinary magical effects.
The bearer of the contract, its master, cannot be named, cannot be betrayed, and cannot suffer the slightest harm from the servant… The servant's life and death are held in the contract's power, and even resisting death itself becomes an illusion.
Those words rose naturally into Sean's mind, and he roughly understood the strength of the contract magic bound into the scroll.
This was exactly what he needed.
"Now… this is?"
The old goblin could not make sense of Quirrell's words, and so he asked.
"The Wizarding Chronicle of Magic, from the ancient age of magic to ages even older."
Quirrell made no effort to hide it.
"That book… knowledge like that is being sold in the streets now?!"
The goblin lost his composure.
"Perhaps this is something your kind already knew. The difference between wizards and goblins is that, in wizarding history, greatness and weakness both exist. A powerful wizard is unstoppable, while the weak may not even be able to cast."
Seeing that the young wizard was still focused on the contract, Quirrell casually kept the old goblin occupied.
"You know that. Which is why you made your choice, didn't you?
A goblin race that seems collectively strong yet remains profoundly mediocre chooses to attach itself to a wizard destined for legend…
But I must remind you once again, clever goblin—you must fulfill your duties perfectly if you hope to receive a rich return. I will advise my master to evaluate exactly what you offer."
When Quirrell finished, he stepped forward again and shielded the young wizard behind him.
Like a loyal steward.
Vernar said nothing more. The humble look on his face remained there all the way until Sean left Gringotts.
Once he had the contract in hand, Sean's plan finally advanced to its last step.
"Go to Room Ten at the Leaky Cauldron and tell Padfoot and Moony: tomorrow.
And tell Mr. Will: his task is complete. He did very well."
On the streets of Diagon Alley, Sean released Bai Yi.
The silver-white owl spread its wings into the sky, and now and then transformed into a flying dragon, cutting a graceful arc between the clouds.
"At least try not to breathe fire, Bai Yi—"
The slate floated upward, and Sean sighed as he gave the reminder.
"Please take me back to Hogsmeade, Professor."
Sean said to Quirrell.
"As you wish."
Quirrell nodded. As for the flying dragon, he simply pretended not to see it.
…
Diagon Alley, Room Ten at the Leaky Cauldron.
A green-skinned Pukwudgie was the master of the room.
He kept an unusual pet, a large black dog, and from time to time he would even speak to it. People generally agreed that both man and dog were odd creatures.
Room Ten was not small. There was a very comfortable-looking bed, and several gleaming oak furnishings.
The hearth burned with a lively, crackling fire that lifted the spirit, and atop the wardrobe—
"It's the master's messenger."
Will accepted Bai Yi with delight.
Suddenly, a black paw lashed out like the wind, reaching for the letter.
Bai Yi immediately let out a frantic hoot, and Will cried out in shock:
"Close your eyes, you stupid wizard!"
At the same time, the floor shook violently, and slick scales pressed close against the Pukwudgie and the black dog.
Both man and dog could feel the creature's huge, dangerous presence. The black dog did not dare make a sound. Will, eyes squeezed shut, hurried to explain:
"That's Sirius. He transformed into his Animagus form—a black dog."
The oppressive gaze vanished. A moment later Bai Yi hooted again, and only then did Will dare open his eyes.
He looked furiously around at the walls that had been forced apart, the rat in the corner turned to stone, and the silent wizard who had resumed human form.
"Until the task given to you by my master is complete, wizard, you are not allowed to go getting yourself killed on your own!"
Will was furious.
"I…"
Sirius still hadn't fully processed what had just happened.
"That is the master's messenger. It was granted powerful abilities by the master and can command the powers of many magical creatures."
Will snorted and shot Sirius another vicious glare.
The wizard, no longer quite as gaunt as before, didn't dare say anything, but the question in his eyes was obvious.
"If you weren't so ignorant, wizard, you would know that what you just faced was a basilisk."
Will explained impatiently.
"You'd better remember this—wizard—you are not permitted to die on your own. Until you complete the task my master gave you, I'll be watching you."
Sirius fell silent for a moment.
"Th… thank you…"
It took him a long while to force out the words.
Only then, still rattled, did he finally turn to the letter.
But before he could open it, Will had already shoved the door open and hurried out, delighted beyond measure.
"Oh, oh, I didn't do that well…"
Sirius could faintly hear his shy muttering.
"Where are you going?"
Sirius asked, baffled.
"Stupid wizard, my task is done. If I don't go back to Mr. Green, do you expect me to stay here and keep you company—"
Will looked Sirius up and down with obvious disdain, then disappeared.
Sirius was silent again.
All he could do now was hope the letter contained good news.
[Honored Mr. Sirius, time has now flowed to the proper shore. Please come to the Shrieking Shack tomorrow…]
Sirius could hear his own throat working. His breathing turned heavy and unsteady, so much so that he could barely hear anything else beyond the pounding of his heartbeat.
He looked down.
**[And a final reminder: Mr. Lupin will arrive soon and assist you in entering Hogwarts.
Lastly, please prepare proper clothes, rest early, and tomorrow, we will restore the truth to the wizarding world.
—Sean Green]**
"Padfoot…"
There was a knock at the door.
Still trembling, Sirius forced himself to open it.
"You got the letter?"
Lupin stepped inside, pacing with barely contained excitement.
"You too?"
Sirius bared his teeth in a grin.
"Get ready. We need to go—back to Hogwarts,"
Lupin said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"As a man cleared of his crimes."
Sirius's breath caught. He forced himself not to indulge too easily in such a future.
He knew their struggle had perhaps only just begun.
"I'm happy for you."
Lupin added, smiling gently.
"Oh…"
Sirius still couldn't stop himself from smiling.
"But before we go back to Hogwarts, there's one more thing."
Lupin's face shifted from joy to worry. He clearly wasn't sure whether he ought to say it.
"Still hesitating, just like always, old friend."
Sirius said.
"It's about Sean…"
Lupin looked around, shut the door, and lowered his voice.
"What about Mr. Green?"
Sirius's reaction was immediate and intense.
"Snape."
Lupin said the name slowly.
"Snape found out about our plan?"
Sirius frowned.
"No."
Lupin answered.
Sirius visibly relaxed.
"It's about someone we never would have expected. Sean… Snape."
Lupin repeated.
Sirius's heart leapt straight into his throat.
He had relaxed too soon.
It didn't take much effort for him to understand what Lupin meant.
But he would rather have understood nothing at all.
"What do you mean?"
He forced himself to speak, still clinging to a last scrap of hope.
"Much as I hate to admit it, it's true. Mr. Green's identity is more complicated than we thought. He grew up in an orphanage, and Snape is…"
Lupin could feel how shocking his own words were and tried to say them as evenly as possible.
"We have to eliminate every possible risk, Padfoot. Dumbledore vouches for Snape—but do you? Do you trust him? I forced myself to trust Professor Dumbledore, but what if? Padfoot, we cannot afford failure. You understand that better than I do."
Lupin looked toward the windowsill.
Outside, the sky was shifting rapidly—from velvet-dark blue to a cold gray, then slowly into a pale gray-white laced with lamplight.
"You know what sort of man he is. Dumbledore trusts him, but I don't,"
Sirius said, his voice frighteningly hoarse.
"I don't know what means he used, but there can't be even the slightest hidden danger anywhere around Mr. Green. What is it you want to ask, Moony? You wouldn't have told me all this if you didn't mean to ask something."
"You always see right through me, Padfoot."
Lupin sighed.
"We all know how deep he once was in that crowd, how much he pursued dark power, and what he did back then.
What changed him? Why did he turn to Dumbledore's side? I need to know more—especially about that prophecy. Out of all of us, you, as the Secret-Keeper, probably know more than I do."
"Dumbledore did tell me… some things about that prophecy…"
Sirius said, the look in his eyes turning distant.
"He told me because I had to understand how serious it was…"
Sirius gave Lupin a look, and Lupin immediately cast a silencing charm.
"A child born at the end of July—he would become the Dark Lord's enemy, which is why Voldemort hunted them so hard."
As soon as Sirius said it, something seemed to click violently into place inside him, and his words sped up.
"What else could have changed him, Moony? It can only be that! How did I forget? How did I miss it?
He knows. He must know!"
Lupin's face abruptly turned grave.
He looked at the agitated Sirius.
"This is bad…"
"What?"
Sirius asked.
"How many people knew that prophecy? Who could have communicated between Dumbledore and Voldemort? If Voldemort had learned it first, would he have let it spread? He would have killed everyone who knew. Dumbledore, too, would have sealed it away. But even so, somehow a traitor appeared among us. Maybe it was Peter—but I don't think so. I think he didn't know. Someone did, though."
Lupin said it with an ugly expression.
Night settled completely over the two of them.
"We need to warn him. Mr. Green must be kept away from any risk."
Sirius said hoarsely.
"It still isn't settled."
Lupin shook his head stiffly.
"Dumbledore needs to know. We have to go to the headmaster's office."
And then, in Room Ten of the Leaky Cauldron, one sentence lingered in the air.
…
Hogwarts.
The Halloween feast was full of pumpkins.
All the young wizards had been looking forward to the evening.
The ghosts had begun their performances. They shot in and out of the walls and tables, gliding about in elaborate formations.
Nearly Headless Nick reenacted his execution once again and was a tremendous success.
Sean sat at the High Table. Snape was beside him, occasionally pretending to glance his way.
McGonagall sat on his other side, smiling as she watched him eat with real enthusiasm.
As far as Sean remembered, Hogwarts feasts were as delicious as ever, and he didn't notice at all that Professor Lupin was watching him with an expression full of sorrow.