Stepping out of the room and back into the corridor, the surroundings were still eerie and dim. But Melvin had what he came for, so the urgency had faded. His steps slowed as he took in the decor on either side.
This castle might still hold plenty of secrets, but the musty, moldy smell and the faint rustling of doxies in the shadows killed any desire to poke around further. Melvin made his way toward the staircase.
"Sir, I saw more treasures in that cabinet," Dobby said, holding up an oil lamp as he descended the stairs ahead of Melvin, ever mindful of his duties. "There was a silver dagger with a blade that gleamed purple and black—definitely laced with poison. And those boxes and bottles with slimy liquids? They look disgusting, but they've got to be valuable. Then there were venomous fangs and claws on a tray. No idea what creature they're from, but if they're stored in a cabinet like that, they're worth a fortune."
"They've got stuff like that at Malfoy Manor too," Dobby continued. "Whenever the Ministry comes sniffing around, they sell it off to Borgin and Burkes. Once the dust settles, they buy it back."
"Those are just cruel, dark magic artifacts," Melvin said offhandedly, glancing at the gold key in his hand. "Neglected for years, they've got no magic left in them. They wouldn't fetch much on the market."
The key bore the Lestrange family's raven crest and the Gringotts emblem, clear signs it unlocked their underground vault. Melvin tucked it away and turned toward the entrance hall. "Screech, we're leaving. Are you staying here?"
The old house-elf stood rooted in the hall, cloudy eyes fixed on a portrait, tears streaming down its wrinkled face, dripping onto the carpet. Its expression was heavy with guilt and remorse.
Screech was lost in its own world, completely oblivious to Melvin's question.
"Thank you for your help, Screech," Melvin said. "If you want to stay here and linger on the past, take as long as you need. I'll let Headmaster Dumbledore know you're taking some time."
Melvin crossed the dim hall, reaching the entranceway, and followed Screech's gaze to the portrait on the wall. Dust and oxidized wax blurred the details, but the figure's features were still clear.
The central painting was of Corvus Lestrange IV, the father of the ill-fated infant.
Like most Lestrange descendants, he had dark brown curls, deep-set eyes with pale blue irises, and a thick beard.
"Been in the Hogwarts kitchens too long, forgot all about manners," Dobby muttered, standing beside Screech, practically speaking into its ear. "Ignoring a wizard's question as a house-elf? Honestly."
"Screech is probably caught up in memories," Melvin said, looking away. "This place must bring back its time with the Lestranges. That kind of loyalty is admirable. Let it stay and reminisce." He nodded to Dobby. "Come on, we've got work to do."
"Coming, sir," Dobby replied.
"…"
As they left the manor, a light drizzle fell outside, raindrops drifting in the breeze toward the wizard and house-elf. But an invisible barrier deflected them, sending the droplets sliding to the ground.
Dobby trotted beside the young professor, his short legs moving quickly, though his gaze was distant, not watching the path.
He was still mulling over Melvin's earlier words, puzzled about how to earn freedom or why it couldn't be measured. It was beyond a simple, uneducated elf like him. Freedom might not come anytime soon.
Still, Dobby was content enough. It was like having a new master.
Unlike Mr. Malfoy, Professor Levent didn't whip him or scald his hands and feet with boiling water. In the few hours they'd spent together, there wasn't a hint of the usual beatings or threats. The professor even extended his rain-repelling charm to cover Dobby. As Harry Potter had said, Levent was clearly a kind wizard.
But…
Dobby stole a glance at the professor.
This same professor had once schemed with Malfoy at Borgin and Burkes, plotting something shady that nearly dragged Harry Potter into trouble. And now, he'd snuck into the Lestrange manor and taken their vault key.
Not exactly a good wizard in the usual sense.
"I didn't come to the Lestrange manor for their riches," Melvin said, walking along the valley path, addressing Dobby. "I'm after something specific: Hufflepuff's Cup, one of Hogwarts' founders' relics. For reasons I won't bore you with, it ended up in Bellatrix Lestrange's hands, locked away in her vault."
"I get it!" Dobby's eyes widened. "Harry Potter said you're a good wizard, sir. You'd never steal someone's fortune. You're just taking back what belongs to the school! Returning it to its rightful place!"
"…"
Melvin neither confirmed nor denied it. "The Lestrange vault is deep underground, and Gringotts' verification process is strict. I'll need your help to prepare."
"Dobby will do whatever you ask, sir!" the house-elf said firmly.
…
After the young professor and house-elf left, darkness reclaimed the castle. Screech snapped out of its trance, lighting the remaining wall candelabra, illuminating a trail of clear footprints on the carpet.
For reasons unclear, Screech followed the footprints upstairs to the second floor, retracing their path to the room at the corridor's end.
The cabinet's contents were mostly untouched: dark magic artifacts, a raven statue, a family tapestry. Though old, the materials were rare, the craftsmanship exquisite. They might not sell for much, but they'd turn a profit.
Screech's expression was unreadable as it looked at the tray where the gold key had been.
Covered in a thin layer of dust from years in the cabinet, the key's absence left a distinct outline—not quite a key's shape, but more like a strange ring.
Screech leaned closer and saw it wasn't a ring at all. It was an ouroboros—a snake eating its own tail.
…
Knockturn Alley, 13B, Borgin and Burkes' Antique Shop.
The shop's decor hadn't changed a bit. The windows were still caked with unidentifiable grime, a rusty copper bell hung behind the door, and the shelves displayed creepy-looking dark magic items that were more bark than bite.
Despite it being daytime, a "Closed" sign hung in the window.
The shop was dimly lit, but the back room glowed with candlelight. A house-elf's thin fingers worked deftly, cutting fabric to size, stitching it together with a few quick pulls of a needle, and adjusting the fit for sleeves and armpits.
With a shake of the collar, a rough little outfit was complete.
Malfoy Manor rarely had sewing tasks, or perhaps Dobby wasn't the elf for the job. The clothes were passable, nothing fancy, but functional.
Borgin stood nearby, his eyes glinting with sly cunning.
Melvin was inspecting the items on the shelves. "Borgin, what do you know about the Lestrange family's past? About that infant who died."
"Corvus V? That starts with his scoundrel father, Corvus IV," Borgin said, his oily hair gleaming as he hunched forward. "Back in the day, he was obsessed with Sir Carma's Muggle wife, Laurina. Snuck into their home under cover of night, used the Imperius Curse to abduct her, forced her to marry him, and had a daughter, Leta Lestrange."
"Leta, the one tied to the Scamanders?" Melvin asked, recognizing the name.
"Yes, yes…" Borgin said, a touch too eager. "Laurina was a Muggle. She died of blood loss after giving birth. Corvus IV, only after her beauty, didn't shed a tear. He remarried soon after and had little Corvus."
"Corvus V, the one who died young," Melvin said.
"Exactly. Not long after Corvus V was born, Sir Carma learned the truth. On his deathbed, he made his and Laurina's son, Yusuf, swear to kill young Corvus to avenge the Lestranges, as Laurina was the only one he ever loved."
Borgin let out a mocking chuckle. "To protect his son, Corvus IV sent both children to America with a servant. Leta, annoyed by her brother's crying, swapped him with another child. Then… the ship went down."
Melvin took a few minutes to piece the story together. By the time he'd sorted it out, Dobby's clothes were finished.
"Put them on," Melvin said.
"They're… for me?" Dobby asked, holding the clothes, eyes wide with surprise.
"Or I could hand them to you myself," Melvin said with a cryptic smile.
Dobby froze, eyes bulging. For a house-elf, being handed clothes by their master meant freedom—release from servitude.
"I… sir…" Dobby stammered, clutching the clothes, torn between panic and longing. Freedom was his dream, his constant wish, but now that it was within reach, he hesitated, afraid to accept.
He felt he shouldn't.
The professor had paid a price to free him from the Malfoys—Dobby didn't know what or how much, but he felt he owed it to Melvin to repay that debt before accepting freedom.
After a struggle, Dobby shook his head, refusing the gift—or perhaps charity.
"Then let's go. We've got work to do," Melvin said calmly.
Half an hour later, Dobby stood before the towering marble structure of Gringotts, his heart pounding. He was about to help the professor pull off a scam at the bank. Suddenly, Malfoy Manor seemed pretty good—safe, at least. Part of him wanted to go back.
"Remember, no matter what happens, you're Screech, the Lestrange house-elf, and I'm Corvus V. Got it?" Melvin said, looking down at Dobby.
"Got it," Dobby replied, his face grim.
He looked up at the polished bronze doors, which reflected their transformed appearances.
The young professor was no longer young. A white beard covered his face, his eyes a pale blue in deep-set sockets, his features adjusted to resemble the Lestrange portrait with striking similarity.
Beside him, the house-elf had sagging, wrinkled skin, a bald head, and tufts of white fur sprouting from its ears—a perfect likeness of Screech.