The Death Wish: Book One (Hogwarts Legacy)

The Pull

Turning over, you grumbled as a beam of morning light hit you in the face, waking you up. Laying flat on your back, you opened your eyes to see a decorative mural of the starry sky above you, complete with gold-leaf constellation lines.

Did all of that really happen yesterday?

Your mind drifted back to your adventure through Gringotts.

You had been shocked to discover that the sleeping goblin at the desk had been waiting for you—or at least whoever showed up with the key. The tiny man claimed to be responsible for delivering you to Vault 12.

The mine cart ride to the vault had been amazing, with Eleazar and Miriam explaining how the bank worked and its reputation for being the safest place for storing valuable objects. The friendly goblin also provided helpful information as he steered the cart.

You loved the feeling of velocity that came with the cart ride, with Professor Fig noting that you might take very well to flying on a broom.

Flying?  You couldn't wait.

Unfortunately for you and your companions, the cart ride was where the fun stopped.

The Vault that locked you in.
Another mysterious glow that only you should see.
The pensive.
Ranrok.

Miriam had been in her element when they entered the vault, hypothesising and gathering notes as she took in everything. She asked question after question...which you quickly learned were not all directed at you...Miriam just liked to think out loud.

When you had gotten separated, you had started to panic, with your trusted magical mentors nowhere to be seen after the first statue attack. But as you fought against living suits of armor you felt yourself getting stronger, your confidence with the borrowed wand growing with each cast.

You felt something pulling you forward, the strange liquid magic seeming to guide you, its tendrils laced delicately around your heart, influencing your actions.

After guiding your way out of the dark with Lumos you had entered a massive chamber.

The center held the Pensive, which, as Miriam had described—was a big bowl. You were relieved to see the Figs following through another door. A worried-looking Miriam had rushed to you, checking your face and limbs for damage, asking several times if you were alright. She then took a firm hold of your arm, clearly fearful of losing you again.

From there, things started to blur as events sped up.

The Portkey Origin. Ancient magic. A secret.

When the three of you lifted your heads from the pensive, you were already trembling, your mind beginning to stutter with too much information too fast. Miriam had started furiously scribbling in her book, attempting to record as much of the details of the memory as possible while Professor Fig gave you a comforting shoulder shake, concern etching his features as you shot him a weak smile.

The elder witch had been about to direct you to use the pensive with the memory in your pocket before you were suddenly accosted by Ranrok and his followers.

You recall the—unnatural feeling that the angry red magic that the goblin leader wielded gave you. You felt the perversion of magic this power represented. White hot anger coursed through you with a ferocity that you couldn't really justify...like a leftover emotion from a vibrant dream.

The Figs had immediately stood between you and the goblins, wands drawn, closing ranks around you. Miriam quickly shot down any prospect of handing you or the locket over to Ranrok, dismissing his request with a few choice expletives.