Golden Cup
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When the dragon was still young, the goblins tormented it relentlessly, lashing it with whips and swords while ringing jingles in its ears.
The cruel treatment left deep scars, conditioning the dragon to associate the clanging sound with searing pain.
Even now, at the mere sound of jingling, the dragon trembled, its body curling in on itself as if reliving the torment of its past.
The onlookers understood this all too well, their expressions grim.
Yet Bogrod, seemingly oblivious—or perhaps indifferent—continued shaking the jingle excitedly.
His short stature contrasted sharply with the dragon's towering, quivering form, making the scene almost grotesquely ironic.
Moving as one, the group followed Bogrod through the cavernous depths of Gringotts. Finally, he stopped before a grand vault. Without hesitation, he pressed his palm against the door.
In an instant, the door vanished, revealing a vast chamber overflowing with treasure—piles of gold coins and gilded chalices, gleaming silver armor, and the pelts of exotic beasts.
Potions filled delicate vases, and a skull was still adorned with a crown atop the hoard.
"Now, gentlemen, we only need to find Hufflepuff's cup," Dumbledore said, his piercing gaze sweeping across the vault.
They entered the Lestrange family's treasury—one of the oldest pure-blood vaults.
The sheer opulence was staggering.
Ethan stood in awe before the mountain of gold.
Among the treasures, his eyes caught sight of a counterfeit Gryffindor sword.
"Interesting," Sirius murmured, drawn to the fake blade. Instinctively, he reached for it.
"Wait, Black!" Ethan's voice rang out urgently.
His witcher pendant had been vibrating since they entered, a clear sign of powerful enchantments lurking within the vault.
"It's the Gemino Curse," Dumbledore declared after a quick assessment.
"Anything you touch will multiply. The replicas are worthless, but if you keep touching them, you'll be buried alive beneath an avalanche."
Sirius exhaled sharply and quickly withdrew his hand, stepping back to avoid accidental contact.
"There!"
Moody suddenly pointed upward.
All eyes followed his direction. Nestled among the riches sat an exquisite golden cup, untouched by time.
Unlike the tarnished gold surrounding it, the cup gleamed as if freshly forged.
Two finely crafted handles adorned its sides, and intricate engravings of badgers—Hufflepuff's emblem—wrapped around its body.
Even after a thousand years, Helga Hufflepuff's cup shone brilliantly.
"Perfect," Sirius Black whispered.
"Accio Horcrux!" Sirius shouted, raising his wand.
Nothing happened.
An awkward silence filled the vault. Sirius stood frozen, his expression caught between confusion and frustration.
A low sneer broke the stillness.
Snape.
Sirius's face turned red, then white, embarrassment flickering in his eyes as Snape smirked.
"An Anti-Summoning Charm protects this treasury," Bogrod explained slowly as if savoring the moment.
"Let me handle it," Ethan said, stepping forward.
With a flick of his wrist, his wand shifted, elongating into a whip. He cracked it once, sending it flying through the air.
The whip coiled expertly around the golden cup's handle. A gentle tug and Hufflepuff's cup soared into Ethan's waiting hand.
The moment he touched it, a shiver ran through him.
Dark magic. Familiar, malevolent.
Ethan glanced at Dumbledore, nodding slightly before passing him the cup.
Dumbledore took it, closing his eyes as if feeling its aura.
A moment later, he exhaled, then tucked the cup into his pocket.
"Well, that concludes our mission," he said lightly.
"I believe it's time we left."
Under Bogrod's lead, they ascended back to the surface from the vaults.
Outside, Dumbledore dismissed the group.
"Moody, return Bellatrix to Azkaban. Sirius, Snape—you're free to attend to your matters. And Lucius, I believe you have some errands to run."
Lucius nodded curtly before disappearing into the crowd.
Though many Death Eaters had been captured, he preferred keeping his family at Hogwarts.
The school had granted him and Narcissa a spacious dormitory, a temporary refuge from the chaos.
Meanwhile, in Azkaban, Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming.
Moody barely flinched as he shoved her back into her cell.
Her shrieks echoed through the prison walls, ignored by everyone.
Finally, exhausted, she curled up in the corner, her breath ragged.
Despair clawed at her. She had failed the Dark Lord.
His most prized possession had fallen into Dumbledore's hands.
With a strangled cry, she slammed her head against the cold stone wall.
The sharp impact sent a terrible screech through the cell.
Then, suddenly—
A nudge.
Something inside her pocket.
Frowning, Bellatrix reached in, fingers curling around a small object.
A mirror.
Her brows furrowed. There were no mirrors in Azkaban.
Had this been here all along?
Lifting it, she gazed at the reflection.
A pale, hollow-eyed woman stared back.
Gaunt, wild-haired, barely a shadow of the beauty she once was.
The sight made her stomach twist.
She hadn't looked at herself in years.
But just as sorrow crept into her gaze, something shifted.
Her reflection changed.
Her breath caught.
Fingers trembling, she ran them over the mirror's surface. A chill prickled her spine.
Then, suddenly—
She laughed.
A shrill, hysterical sound filled the prison, reverberating off the stone walls.
Something was in the mirror.
And Bellatrix knew exactly what it meant.