Chapter 15 — Second Horcrux
The head goblin's eyes were as sharp as the blades hanging from his belt as he asked, "And how do you know this?"
His voice was calm, but there was that undertone — the kind that makes even brave men choose their words carefully.
"I saw it," I said slowly, steadying my voice. "When the Horcrux was purged from Harry, I… saw flashes. Bits of memories that didn't belong to me. I think… maybe Mother Magic showed me. Or gave me something — a duty, perhaps — to find and destroy the rest of those abominations."
It was a convenient lie, but one that sounded close enough to the truth that even I almost believed it. The goblins' faces changed instantly — disbelief melted into reverence. They respected Mother Magic far more than wizards ever did. To them, such a "blessing" was sacred. The head goblin nodded gravely, and even Ragnok gave me a bow of respect.
"If Mother Magic herself marked you for this work," Ragnok said, "then the Goblin Nation will aid you. It will be an honour."
I nodded back. "Thank you. I can sense those things — the Horcruxes. I can tell where that foulness hides. Let me come with you. I'll point it out myself."
The head goblin agreed without hesitation. "Very well. You shall accompany us."
Before leaving, I turned to Mum and the others in the resting chamber. Petunia looked pale but calmer now that Harry was sleeping soundly on the couch beside Dudley and Brigid, who had taken to curling around his feet protectively. "Mum, I'll go with them. Get some rest — I'll be back soon," I said softly.
"Arthur," she said sharply, then softened. "Just… be careful."
"I will," I promised, giving Brigid a pat before heading off.
The journey down to the vaults was breathtaking — and terrifying. The carts at Gringotts were nothing short of madness on wheels. We shot through tunnels that twisted and dove deeper with every turn, the wind whipping against my face, torches blurring into streaks of orange light. The sound of rushing air mixed with the faint clinking of gold from vaults we passed.
Ragnok seemed perfectly comfortable, standing firm beside me as if gravity didn't exist for him. I, meanwhile, was clutching the edge of the cart like my life depended on it.
When we finally stopped, I nearly kissed the ground. We were far beneath the city now — I could feel it in my bones. The air was cooler, denser, and faintly metallic. The walls gleamed with veins of silver and gold, glimmering faintly under enchanted lights.
Ahead, a heavy door stood — larger than any I'd seen before, runes crawling across its surface like living things. Dozens of goblins stood guard, armed to the teeth. A team of curse breakers — half goblins, half wizards — were already at work analysing the protections layered over the vault.
The head goblin motioned for me to wait as they completed the unlocking process. The runes flashed, then dimmed. A faint hiss echoed as the massive door groaned open.
Inside was a mountain of treasures — gold, silver, goblets, jewelled daggers, and grim-looking artefacts radiating a strange sort of energy.
I didn't need to look hard. The foulness practically screamed to be found. That same oily, suffocating presence clawed at the edge of my mind — the same I'd felt from Harry's scar, but quieter, more restrained.
"There," I said, pointing. "It's that cup."
The cup sat atop a pile of treasure, gleaming innocently in the light. It was beautiful — gold, polished to perfection, with two small handles and a badger engraved upon it. Even without the foulness, I'd have recognised it from what I knew: Helga Hufflepuff's cup.
Everyone turned to look. Ragnok stepped forward, studying the cup with his narrow eyes. "Are you certain?"
"Yes. It's the same feeling. Wrong and cold and heavy, like the air stops moving around it."
He nodded and gestured to the curse breakers. They began dismantling the enchantments one by one — Gemini charms, duplication wards, and enough hexes to make my skin crawl.
Finally, when the air shimmered clear, they levitated the cup out. The head goblin examined it briefly, his expression grim. "You were right. This carries the taint of soul magic."
"Then we destroy it," I said simply.
They all agreed. But before we left, I turned to the head goblin. "Now that the Horcrux has been confirmed, does that mean the vault and its contents belong to me?"
The goblin's mouth stretched into a sharp, toothy grin. "You have quite the head for business, young wizard. Yes — by goblin law, it does. The vault's owner defiled our nation's halls with soul magic. The claim passes to the discoverer."
I smiled. "Then I'll take it. All of it."
He chuckled — a low, rasping sound that might have been amusement or admiration. "You'll do well in life, Arthur Dursley. The goblins like those who think in gold."
With that, the vault door was sealed behind us, and the cup carefully contained within layers of protective wards. As the carts sped us back upward, I asked quietly, "Please try not to destroy the cup itself, if possible. It's one of the founders' artefacts — Helga Hufflepuff's cup."
That made both goblins raise their eyebrows. "You recognise it?" Ragnok asked, clearly surprised.
"I think I saw it in the memories Mother Magic showed me," I said quickly.
The head goblin gave a thoughtful hum. "Then we shall preserve it, if possible. And in honour of your gift and your deeds, the fees for the ritual shall be waived. From this day forward, Arthur Dursley and Harry Potter are friends of the Goblin Nation."
My grin was probably wider than polite, but I didn't care. "Thank you. That means more than I can say."
The ritual chamber was already prepared when we returned. The air felt thick with power, humming through the stone floor. Goblins filled the room, chanting in deep, rhythmic tones. The curse breakers laid the cup within the same kind of containment circle used before.
This time, the process was quicker — the Horcrux fought back, but it lacked the resilience of one tied to a living being. Shadows rippled from the cup like dark mist, twisting and shrieking in a voice that didn't belong in this world. The goblins' chanting grew louder, and I could feel the magic thrumming through my chest.
The sound built to a peak — then with one final, piercing scream, the darkness imploded.
Silence followed, deep and perfect. Then the faint golden light of pure magic rippled through the room, brushing across us like a soft breeze. The goblins' faces broke into wide, fierce grins. Ragnok clapped a clawed hand to my shoulder. "Another curse erased. Mother Magic blesses you again, young one."
I could feel it too — the world felt lighter, clearer. My connection to magic seemed sharper, easier, like breathing clean air after being underwater.
Afterwards, we gathered again in the resting chamber. The head goblin produced a parchment, prickled my finger with a silver needle, and let a few drops of blood fall onto the page. The runes flared, and a small golden key materialised in his hand.
"This is now yours," he said, handing it to me. "Vault number 687. All contents within are your rightful property."
Ragnok spoke up eagerly. "If it pleases you, I wish to serve as your account manager."
"I'd be honoured," I replied sincerely.
I frowned slightly then. "But I'm only ten. Can a minor hold a vault?"
The head goblin gave a grin that was almost proud. "You are blessed by Mother Magic. Her chosen are not bound by the petty laws of men."
I nodded, humbled. "Thank you."
By then, Harry had woken, colour returned to his cheeks. Brigid was perched beside him, tail flicking lazily as if nothing strange had happened at all. I sat beside him. "Feeling better, mate?"
"Bit tired," Harry muttered, rubbing his scar. "But it doesn't hurt anymore."
"Good," I said, smiling. "That's what matters."
Before leaving, I asked Ragnok for a couple of money pouches — the kind that were charmed to hold large amounts securely. He obliged, and I filled them with the five hundred galleons we'd exchanged earlier. I gave one to Mum and kept one for myself. She didn't even argue — just nodded quietly, her eyes still a little red but full of pride.
We decided to finish the day on a lighter note. Harry's smile returned when I suggested we go get ice cream.
Florean Fortescue's parlour was everything I'd imagined — bright, sweet-smelling, and full of happy chatter. We ordered towering bowls of ice cream: treacle toffee, chocolate frog crumble, peppermint honeycomb, and even a strange but tasty flavour called "Broomstick Burnt Butter."
After that, we stopped at a toy shop for Dudley and Harry, and then a pet shop for Brigid — who received a shiny new collar and some toys, much to her disdain.
Finally, we visited Flourish and Blotts. I used Snape's list to gather books on magical etiquette, wizarding history, noble houses, and basic spell theory. I even bought extra parchment and quills for practice.
By the time we were done, the sun was setting over Diagon Alley. The golden light reflected off the cobbles, and for a moment, everything looked peaceful — as if the world itself was grateful.
When we reached home, Dad listened to everything — every detail — with a mixture of disbelief and anger. He swore loudly. "Targeting children? Monsters. Animals don't even go after their own young like that."
It was bitterly ironic, considering what might've happened in the original timeline. I didn't say it aloud, but I thought it — the Horcrux had twisted everything, even their hearts. Without it, they were different people. Better people.
And it made me wonder — if Dumbledore, for all his brilliance, couldn't see this, how much else had he missed? He had never even spoken to Mum properly after the attack. Never asked how she was coping after losing her only sister. Just left a baby on a doorstep. Petunia was not even given a chance to see Lily for one last time.
It was too cruel and showed the indifference towards the Dursleys from the Headmaster.
End of Chapter 15 — Second Horcrux