novelraw Chapter 3: Diagon Alley and Gringotts
Chapter 3: Diagon Alley and Gringotts
Chapter Three: Diagon Alley and Gringotts
Diagon Alley—a long, winding cobblestone street lined with some of the world's most enticing wizard shops.
How noisy, bustling, and vibrant it was!
In the past, Draco had scoffed at noisy, chaotic environments like this. Even today, he still frowned at crowds. In Malfoy's eyes, noise meant disorder—neither elegant nor respectable.
However, having experienced the oppressive rule of the Dark Lord in his memory, he'd learned to appreciate and cherish this long-lost prosperity.
Groups of black-robed wizards walked noisily down the street, silly smiles on their faces, while streams of people entered various shops. Young wizards barely out of their teens didn't need to crane their necks to see the shop signs. Through spotless windows, they could see dazzling arrays of magical items: flying brooms, robes, telescopes, silverware, potions, potion ingredients, spellbooks, quills, parchment, phials, pets, moon globes...
Draco silently observed the bustling scene, a sense of unreality suddenly striking him. This wasn't the Diagon Alley of his nightmares.
He remembered the desolate, gloomy scene vividly—so clear, as if it had happened just yesterday.
Large notices posted by the Ministry obscured colorful shop windows, displaying photos of wanted Death Eaters. They laughed maniacally in the photos, distorted faces sending chills down the spines of all who saw them—his mad aunt Bellatrix among them.
The streets, once neat and orderly, had become filthy from Death Eater sabotage. Shops had been repeatedly ransacked, leaving them dilapidated. Even Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which he'd loved visiting as a child, had closed—also the work of Death Eaters.
For some reason, the Dark Lord hadn't even spared a peaceful ice cream shop owner.
Fortescue was kind to all little wizards who liked his ice cream, regardless of background—Muggle-born children, pure-blood children, even Death Eater children.
Even when Lucius was imprisoned in Azkaban and Draco's life hit rock bottom, Fortescue would smile and hand him an ice cream instead of spitting on him like other shopkeepers.
Before his death, Fortescue was seen in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, driven insane by repeated Cruciatus Curses.
With complex feelings, Draco had once secretly brought him food. He'd vaguely heard Fortescue mutter fragmented words: "The Elder Wand... Ravenclaw's Diadem..."
This statement was worth pondering, Draco thought.
The Dark Lord was looking for the Elder Wand? What was this thing?
The Dark Lord never wasted time on useless people. He didn't hesitate to cast a Killing Curse. He wouldn't torture someone without reason unless they knew information extremely important to him.
Most wizards knew little about Florean Fortescue beyond his ice cream shop. Only a few pure-blood families might remember that the shop owner was a descendant of Dexter Fortescue, a former Headmaster of Hogwarts.
So it wasn't impossible he knew some exclusive secrets.
Clearly, the Dark Lord was very interested in what Fortescue had mentioned—and these weren't just stories, but things that actually existed.
This was a breakthrough. He recalled how the Dark Lord frequently changed wands later. After his own wand broke in battle with Potter, the Dark Lord even took the wand Father Lucius cherished as his life.
Sadly, the wand was used only once before being mercilessly destroyed during the Dark Lord's battle with Potter.
The Dark Lord called Lucius's shattered wand "a supreme glory, a great sacrifice." Draco thought this was complete rubbish—the sacrifice was utterly meaningless.
Though Lucius never commented to his son, Draco had seen the slight pause in Father's expression when he'd handed over the wand. He'd hesitated.
Upon learning of the wand's destruction, Lucius remained expressionless, but Draco noticed him gripping the hollowed-out snake-head cane tightly. A pang of heartache.
But the Dark Lord didn't care. He was in a hurry to find a new wand.
Later, Dumbledore's wand—the Elder Wand—appeared in the Dark Lord's hands. Draco vividly remembered the smug smile on the Dark Lord's face after receiving it.
It seemed necessary to speak with that smiling Fortescue, hoping to extract information. Draco, holding his mother's hand and hurrying past the ice cream parlour, had a glint of cunning in his eyes.
The Malfoys walked along the winding cobblestone path, standing out from the crowd of simply dressed wizards.
This family exuded elegance and nobility, their gait conveying confidence, arrogance, and self-importance. Coupled with bright sunshine and striking platinum blonde hair, it was hard for anyone not to notice them.
"Attracting attention" meant maintaining a dignified posture and walking with eyes straight ahead, rather than looking around.
For example, right now, when Draco heard a few boys by the shop window saying enviously, "That's the new Nimbus 2000—the fastest one," he had to keep his eyes straight ahead instead of gaping like a country bumpkin.
In his past life, he'd been reprimanded by Father in front of this shop window for being "too unambitious." In this life, there would never be a second time.
Besides, Potter already had a Nimbus 2000 this year. He didn't want a copy of the Savior's broom.
Be patient. Next year, when the Nimbus 2001 came out, the 2000 would be nothing. He pursed his lips, deciding to make do with his family's Comet 260 for now. Anyway, Hogwarts didn't allow first-years to bring brooms.
As for Potter? That was treatment reserved for a favored Gryffindor Seeker, a special privilege Dumbledore bestowed upon the "Boy Who Lived." Draco didn't consider himself entitled to such treatment.
As he was thinking this, he'd already stepped into Gringotts with his parents.
A towering, snow-white building that stood above the surrounding shops. You had to pass through two doors to reach the marble hall. Behind the gleaming bronze door and the second silver door engraved with warnings, dark-faced, long-bearded goblins with long fingers bowed to greet them and respectfully led them to the Malfoy family vault.
In Gringotts, goblins defined a vault owner's wealth level by its location and how it opened. Highly secure vaults were located deep underground, their doors imbued with advanced magic—not something opened with an ordinary key.
As one of the oldest wizarding families, the Malfoys stored their wealth in the deepest level—miles beneath London. The Malfoys had barely boarded their cart when it began its descent, winding down a labyrinthine network of tunnels through frigid air, navigating massive stalactites and stalagmites, seemingly hurtling toward the earth's depths.
The cart slowed as it passed a massive dragon tethered to a giant stake. This allowed Draco to glimpse the drowsy creature—one of the main reasons he'd been willing to ride this dizzying cart in his previous life.
Draco had loved dragons since childhood. But looking at it now, he simply couldn't appreciate it.
It looked anything but majestic. Its face was covered in terrible scars, its loose scales not shiny silver-gray but pale white. Its eyes were not deep red but murky pink, its two hind legs shackled with heavy chains, its spiked wings folded to its sides.
The sound of the cart provoked the dragon. It turned its ugly head toward them and roared, making the stones tremble, but it hesitated at the sound of the goblins' Clankers—small metal objects that made loud, clear tinkling sounds.
A truly majestic dragon should be fearless. It had clearly lost its pride under the goblins' violent taming. Draco gazed at it, then sighed softly.
The cart finally stopped at the deepest point underground. A goblin gently tapped the ornate, ancient door, and it slowly vanished.
Inside the vault, coins, goldware, silverware, various gems, rare furs, and potion ingredients were piled high. Of the Malfoy family's wealth accumulated over ten centuries, those Galleons were perhaps the least valuable. For them, the most precious things were those money couldn't buy.
Lucius proudly dusted off nonexistent dust and casually swept his snake-headed cane, sending a large pile of Galleons flying into several palm-sized dragonhide pouches.
"Draco, take these and spend them wisely." Lucius handed Draco a pouch, then leisurely walked out and instructed, "A proper Malfoy must learn to invest and spend money where it should be spent. You'll soon find that most friends in this world can be bought with money."
"Yes, Father," Draco replied, just as he had in his previous life.
This philosophy was effective to some extent, allowing the Malfoy family to maintain considerable connections within the Ministry over the past decade.
Ironically, after Lucius was imprisoned in Azkaban, those friends avoided him like the plague and kicked him when he was down. Clearly, relationships maintained solely by money weren't reliable.
The Malfoy family motto: there are no permanent friends, no permanent enemies, only permanent interests. Of course, interests weren't limited to material things.
Draco pursed his lips, deep in thought. He had no intention of giving up using money to win people's hearts—by making good use of others' power, he could accomplish much with minimal effort.
However, he must remain vigilant even in peaceful times. Relationships bought with money were mostly fragile—they could be bought with higher prices. As for hearts that couldn't be bought with money, they were even more unpredictable.
"My dear little dragon, I've transferred some money to your private vault." Narcissa smiled and patted Draco's platinum-blonde head, interrupting his thoughts. She said affectionately, "Don't let your father know."
Aside from the family vault, which only the head could access, every Malfoy had their own private vault. Draco's had existed since birth and already contained considerable fortune.
Grandfather Abraxas gave his beloved grandson an education fund every year, and maternal grandfather Cygnus Black—because of his favoritism toward Narcissa—also transferred Galleons to his grandson annually.
Not to mention Narcissa. As one of the richest and most powerful noblewomen in the wizarding world, she would definitely spoil her child, always giving her son a large allowance for fear her precious son would lack anything.
Draco looked up at his mother. Her smiling eyes shone with genuine love. His mother might not be the person who understood him best, but she would always be the one who loved him deeply—she'd stood by him through countless anxious, gloomy days.
Looking back, Draco realized his seemingly most vulnerable mother had become the family's pillar when everything crumbled. Without her, he couldn't imagine how destitute he and Father would have become.
Even after Potter took his wand, Mother had "lent" him her own.
A wand was a wizard's life. By giving him her wand, she was sacrificing her own life to protect her son. She exposed herself to deadly danger with no chance of fighting back.
Like her husband, she'd faced the menacing, dangerous Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor unarmed. Draco couldn't imagine how terrified his mother must have been.
They were nothing more than lambs to the slaughter.
*This time, let me protect you, Mother.* Draco never wanted to see her tired, melancholy face again, nor her panicked state.
In his past life, due to naivety, ignorance, and vanity, he hadn't made good use of this wealth. When he finally wanted to do something, that fortune had become a tool for the Dark Lord. The Malfoy family had fallen into ruin, and the three of them were regarded as disposable pawns who could still breathe. They trembled with fear, exploited to the point of being squeezed dry—the Malfoy family tragically became the Dark Lord's "lackeys" and "money bags."
A disgrace.
This time it wouldn't be like that. He clutched the money pouch tightly, as if clutching his own destiny.
Draco looked up and gave Narcissa, still radiant, an innocent smile. "Thank you, Mother."
*I'll prepare myself well before facing that predicament,* Draco told himself.
He rode with his parents through the labyrinthine tunnels, then paused briefly before the Lestrange family vault.
Lucius wasn't happy about this.
He didn't want his wife having anything to do with prisoners in Azkaban. To outsiders, it was a stain on their history. Lucius had gone to great lengths to clear his family's name, and Narcissa's actions were tantamount to exposing their own shortcomings.
However, Narcissa couldn't abandon her blood relatives. At her frail father's request, she had to manage everything for those in Azkaban—at least to prevent Bella and her good-for-nothing husband from dying there.
Fortunately, she always found a way to persuade her husband. While her son turned to ask the goblin, "Is that dragon the Ukrainian Ironbelly?" she planted a light kiss on Lucius's cheek.
"I'll be back soon, Lucius," she said with a smile. This worked—Lucius's expression immediately softened.
He shook his head helplessly, watching Narcissa follow a goblin named Griphook into the vault.
Not long after, she gracefully walked out carrying a small package.
Draco casually peeked through the crack as the door closed. While not as luxurious as the Malfoy vault, it was impressive: from floor to ceiling, it was crammed with gold coins, golden goblets, silver armor, furs of various strange animals with spines or drooping wings, potions in phials, and skulls adorned with crowns...
The Lestrange family did have some wealth. His aunt Bellatrix held the key and could clearly live a life of luxury. Draco grimaced. *Unfortunately, her taste isn't very good. Not only does she dress herself up like a madwoman, but she also follows a madman.*
She was a madwoman. And a cruel one at that. Draco shared Lucius's sentiment—he didn't want Mother having anything more to do with Bellatrix. It was dangerous.
Bellatrix was undeniably gifted. Unlike Mother, she was a master of the Dark Arts and highly skilled Occlumens, even teaching Draco at Narcissa's request.
But she was also a ruthless madwoman who would turn on anyone. For a mere casual compliment from the Dark Lord, she'd sacrifice everything without hesitation. She could even kill her cousin Sirius Black without a second thought, showing no regard for their shared surname.
Having different stances didn't mean having no bottom line.
All wizards shared a basic consensus: the wizard bloodline was Merlin's gift and invaluable.
For prominent families that valued lineage, being expelled was the most severe punishment. For families with few members, even with blood traitors or conflicting beliefs, they couldn't kill each other or commit genocide.
Bellatrix, however, could cross that line and kill without psychological burden.
She killed those who shared her blood without batting an eye and even laughed about it.
Absolutely cold-blooded and ruthless.
She'd also tormented Granger.
Merlin, that experience was terrifying. Even though he'd only watched, he'd almost suffocated.
That was probably an item on his "list of most terrifying nightmares," tied for first place with the horrific scene of Dumbledore's death.
He couldn't wait to get his own wand.
The first thing to do after getting it? Perform Occlumency on himself, sealing away these suffocating, terrifying memories so he'd never have to think about them again.