Kingsley looked up at the faintly glowing gap above.
Then he looked at the severed arm lying on the ground.
He was still struggling to process it.
The Dark Lord.
The invincible Dark Lord.
A wizard as powerful as Dumbledore—had fled? And had even lost an arm?
"Mr. Potter?" Kingsley took a deep breath, hesitating as he called out to the young man in front of him.
Harry cast a Vanishing Spell to dispose of the last blood-soaked corpse and turned back. "What is it?"
"The Dark Lord is really back?" Kingsley asked nervously.
Harry nodded. "You saw it yourself."
"And then he ran away... and you cut off his hand." Kingsley took another deep breath, his tone turning odd.
Harry nodded again. "If your eyes still work, you shouldn't need to ask."
"No, I just..." Kingsley gestured vaguely, his mind swirling in disbelief, but he couldn't quite put together the words.
That was the Dark Lord.
How could this...
"Of course, your reaction is understandable." Harry sheathed the Basilisk Bone Sword. "After all, that was Voldemort. Even if he's only just been resurrected, and his magic isn't yet at its peak, and even if this soul fragnt is still young—fresh out of school, really—and has to rely on seducing old won to achieve his goals... "
"His current level and experience aren't great. The only thing worth praising is that he might have a clever mind."
"But judging from that fight just now..."
Harry paused for a mont, then shook his head and sighed, a little disappointed.
"He's not as smart as Dumbledore made him out to be. Just average."
Kingsley nodded absentmindedly. He raised his wand and summoned his Patronus—a lynx—which bounded gracefully out of the vault and sprinted away.
Harry carefully inspected the vault.
Hufflepuff's Cup was still there, surrounded by dried, unnaturally coagulated blood. The liquid had solidified far too quickly. The cup itself had lost its luster—it looked as exhausted as Ron after a rough encounter with Crookshanks. A faint magical aura still clung to it, flickering weakly, as if so remnants of its original magic were still struggling to hold on.
Coins, gems, and various artifacts were scattered across the floor.
Most of them had been lted by Fiendfyre, dripping onto the ground like half-cooled lava.
There were no remaining traps, nor any lingering Death Eaters.
Kingsley hesitated for a long mont. "Mr. Potter, about the things you said earlier..."
"Which things?" Harry asked.
Kingsley lowered his voice. "The Dark Lord... sneaking into the girls' bathroom... seducing older won..."
He dared not say it too loudly, as if the re words might invoke disaster.
Harry nodded. "Of course. Those facts were confird by Professor Dumbledore and . They're true."
"And besides, Tom didn't deny them just now, did he?"
"He tried to shut up, which only proves I hit a nerve."
Kingsley's face twisted into a complicated expression. He rubbed his face as if trying to wake himself up from this bizarre reality.
This was truly unbelievable.
"I suppose I should have Rita Skeeter publish more of these details in The Daily Prophet." Harry's face remained expressionless as he walked toward Hufflepuff's Cup. "If Tom wants to be a widely known villain, I should help him out."
"I don't think Rita has the courage for that," ca an old, teasing voice.
"Tom isn't exactly a forgiving man."
"Professor Dumbledore." Harry didn't even look up. He recognized the voice, and he could sll the familiar scent of the old wizard.
"You arrived about as quickly as Scotland Yard. By the ti you get here, the killer's already escaped."
"Sirius did his best," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "But flying a motorcycle takes ti."
"I thought you'd realize that I just didn't trust Sirius to co alone." Harry sneered.
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, I knew. But the entire area around the Leaky Cauldron was sealed with anti-Apparition magic. Even for , Apparating in was impossible."
Harry's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "There was no magical interference when we arrived."
Dumbledore spread his hands innocently. "And yet, when I tried to Apparate, I couldn't."
Harry didn't doubt his own perception.
And he didn't believe Dumbledore would lie about sothing as serious as Voldemort.
But...
Why?
Why had the magical conditions changed?
"Harry, we can look into that later. First, tell —what exactly happened here?" Dumbledore asked gently.
Harry shook off his thoughts and began explaining. "Not much. Tom successfully resurrected. He fought , but he was weak—uninford about my combat style. I took his arm."
"I didn't kill him. I let him escape."
Kingsley's gaze snapped to him.
"Didn't kill him"—not "couldn't kill him."
"Oh?" Dumbledore adjusted his glasses.
"This Voldemort was easy to deal with. He didn't seem very powerful, nor particularly bright," Harry continued, shaking his head. "The plan is to find the remaining Horcruxes, destroy them, and then finish him off."
"And..."
"I didn't see Lucius Malfoy or Barty Crouch Jr. The only high-ranking Death Eater present was Bellatrix."
Dumbledore mused, "You suspect that Malfoy and Crouch are working on a different plan?"
Harry nodded. "They might be attempting multiple revival thods. Hufflepuff's Cup was just one of them. There's still Ravenclaw's Diadem and Slytherin's Locket that we haven't accounted for."
Dumbledore sighed. "A troubleso enemy indeed."
He flicked his wand, levitating Hufflepuff's Cup before him. "A thousand-year-old treasure, reduced to this state..."
"Poor Helga Hufflepuff."
Harry transfigured his robes into a wooden box and carefully placed the cup inside.
"We'll take it back to Sir Gryffindor. Maybe he'll know how to fix it."
"But for now, our most urgent task is eting the new Minister of Magic—Cynix Pierce."
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "I don't know Pierce well, but he was an exceptional Ravenclaw. I imagine he'll be far more competent than Fudge."
"I sure hope so," Harry said flatly.
They exited the wrecked vault, boarded a Gringotts mine cart, and sped toward the surface.
As soon as they stopped—
"Potter, Shacklebolt... Oh, and Professor Dumbledore—when did you go inside?"
A weak male voice rang out.
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