Lost Memories

lxix. lestrange's vault

Walking through the field with Harry and Ron by my side, I heard the door of the shed open to see Bellatrix Lestrange look awkwardly around the yard. Coming out of the shed, she strode across the lawn towards us, accompanied by Griphook. As she walked, she was tucking the small, beaded bag into the inside pocket of another set of the old robes we had taken from Grimmauld Place. My stomach flipped at the sight and slowed my path to the shed.

Though I knew perfectly well that it was really Hermione Granger, I could not suppress a shiver of loathing and flashing memories. She was much taller than me, her long black hair rippling down her back the way my blond hair did, her heavily lidded eyes disdainful as they rested upon us; but then she spoke, and I heard Hermione through Bellatrix's low voice.

"She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots!"

My eyes softened at the complaint and I felt slightly more relaxed. Hermione disguised Ron and me as random wizards while Harry and Griphook hid under Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

All of us glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point, just beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Charm stopped working and we would be able to Disapparate. Once past the gate, Griphook spoke,

"I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?"

Harry bent down and the goblin clambered onto his back, his hands linked in front of Harry's throat. Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of the beaded bag and threw it over them both.

"Perfect," she said, bending down to check Harry's feet. "I can't see a thing. Let's go."

The four of us turned on the spot and Disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron. The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Hermione and drew back into the shadows.

"Madam Lestrange," murmured Tom, and as Hermione passed he inclined his head subserviently.

"Good morning," said Hermione and I saw Tom look surprised.

"Too polite," I whispered in Hermione's ear as we passed through the inn into the tiny backyard. "You need to treat people like they're scum!"

"Okay, okay!"

Hermione drew out Bellatrix's wand and tapped a brick in the nondescript wall in front of us. At once the bricks began to whirl and spin: A hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley.

Carefully, Ron and I trailed Hermione like bodyguards we were meant to seem like. The five of us made our ways down Diagon Alley, people shied away from Hermione as we walked, and came up to the large gleaming, white building of Gringotts. Two goblins stood before the inner doors, which were made of silver and which carried the poem warning of dire retribution to potential thieves.

Hermione, Ron, and I headed toward an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass. Hermione stepped ahead of us as Ron and I "examined the decor" trying to hear instruction from Harry, bracing ourselves for our little heist.

The goblin at the counter paid no attention to Hermione as she stepped up. Hermione glanced back at me, only for me to widen my eyes in slight encouragement.

"I wish to enter my vault," said Hermione abrasively.

"Identification?" asked the goblin without looking up.

"Identification? I — I have never been asked for identification before!" said Hermione.

"Madam Lestrange!" the aged goblin recoiled. "Dear me! Very well, excuse me, won't you?"