Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince

Instinct is a curious thing.

Even in the wizarding world, the nature of intuition remains an enigma. Wizards who place excessive faith in it are often dismissed as eccentric mystics by their peers. Even in the Trelawney family, renowned for their gift of prophecy, only a handful possess the ability to harness intuition with any real consistency.

Nolan had gone to great lengths to disguise himself, carefully suppressing all signs of his vampiric nature. As he stood now, the only unusual thing about him was his slightly cooler body temperature; in every other way, he appeared perfectly human. Not even a skilled wizard like Dumbledore would immediately detect his true identity.

And yet, despite all his expertise, Nolan had been seen through in an instant by an eight- or nine-year-old girl. It was unsettling, to say the least. Thankfully, Nolan was blissfully unaware that the silver-haired girl had seen past his facade. With a year still to go before her arrival at Hogwarts, her revelation remained nothing more than an eerie premonition.

The main floor of Gringotts was vast, bustling with activity. Around a hundred goblins scurried about, magnifying glasses in hand as they inspected coins and gemstones. Some weighed money on scales, while others, wearing small spectacles, busied themselves with accounting ledgers. The goblins seemed perpetually busy, their sharp movements and curt exchanges filling the air with an almost mechanical rhythm.

Nolan led Hagrid and Harry to a counter, where a goblin was idling. "We're here on Professor Dumbledore's orders," Nolan said smoothly. "We need to retrieve something from Vault 713."

The goblin gave Nolan a long, disdainful look before rolling his eyes. "Do you have a letter from Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Oh, yes, yes! Got it right here!" Hagrid exclaimed, fumbling through his pockets. His large hands weren't suited for such tasks, so he ended up dumping the contents of his coat onto the counter. Out spilled a soggy biscuit, a sticky mass that resembled wet earwax, a handful of what looked like scraps of rusty metal—probably collected from the Forbidden Forest—and a copy of the Daily Prophet from 1989. Finally, after much searching, Hagrid pulled out Dumbledore's letter and handed it to the goblin, who took it with an expression of utmost distaste.

"Seems legitimate," the goblin muttered reluctantly. He beckoned to another goblin with a thick, bristling beard. "Hey, Grimsby! Come over and verify this!"

Grimsby shuffled over, inspecting the letter before letting out a high-pitched squeal. "Yes! Yes, it's genuine! That's Dumbledore's handwriting!"

The counter goblin nodded and shouted, "Clanker! Clanker! Get over here and escort these three gentlemen to Vault 713!"

Hagrid had barely taken a few steps when he slapped his forehead. "Oh, right! We also need to stop by Harry Potter's vault and withdraw some money!"

Nolan and Harry followed Clanker deeper into the bank. The polished marble gave way to rugged stone walls, and the path turned into a steep, winding slope leading into the depths. The air grew colder with every step, and Harry, curious as ever, whispered, "They called him Clanker? Is that some kind of codename?"

"It's his name," Nolan replied blandly. "Goblins like giving themselves names like that. I once dealt with a female goblin named Teacup. When I asked my maid to serve her tea, she kept thinking I was calling her name."

"Teacup is a charming lady!" Clanker's sharp voice rang out ahead of them. "Lots of goblins would give their gold to marry her!"

"Who can say?" Nolan muttered, "To me, you all look the same."

They continued walking until Nolan's gaze landed on an old, filthy mine cart parked near the track. He grimaced. "You're not seriously expecting us to ride that contraption, are you?"

Clanker turned around, clearly irritated by Nolan's disdain. "We don't have anything else!" he snapped, his voice rising to a shriek.

"Oh, no, no…" Nolan muttered as he reluctantly climbed into the tiny mine cart, his discomfort palpable. He had no choice but to endure the grimy surroundings and the breakneck speed of the ride. The young vampire felt a wave of nausea building, and from the greenish tinge on Hagrid's face, it seemed the half-giant shared his sentiment.

Harry, however, was unfazed. The boy was brimming with energy, his curiosity unbridled. "What's inside Vault 713?" he chirped.

"That's not something you need to know," Nolan replied coolly, his tone leaving no room for further inquiry.

But Harry was undeterred. "I saw a flash of fire just now! Was that a dragon?"

"It's an Italian Ridgeback," Nolan replied, his voice tight as he fought to suppress his nausea. "The smallest of the European dragon breeds…" He broke off with a gag, clapping a hand over his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick. I hate modes of transportation, especially in confined spaces."

At long last, the cart screeched to a halt in front of Harry's vault. Hagrid scrambled out in his usual flustered manner, while Nolan looked utterly drained, slumped against the cart as if it had drained the life out of him.

"Come on, Von Draugr," the half-giant coaxed, trying to sound encouraging. "Just step onto solid ground—it'll make you feel better."

Nolan's face was ashen as he clung to the cart for dear life. "Don't even think about it. If I move, I'll vomit."

Meanwhile, Harry was too mesmerized by the contents of his vault to notice their plight. For someone who had grown up with nothing, the sight of all that gold was overwhelming. Perhaps, for the first time, he felt a sense of security. Money had that kind of magic.

Afterward, the infernal cart resumed its descent, and Nolan was convinced he was about to make history as the first vampire to die on a goblin mine cart.

When they finally reached the deepest level of the bank, Nolan barely had the energy to glare at the locked vault in front of him. The vaults on this floor had no keys—they were sealed with ancient goblin magic, accessible only to goblins themselves.

Pushing Harry behind him, Nolan's voice was sharp. "Stand back. Don't look at what's inside."

Clanker stepped forward, his gnarled fingers moving with deft precision as he activated the spell to unlock the vault. The door creaked open just enough for Nolan to slip through. Inside, the vault was starkly empty, save for a small cloth-wrapped package resting on a stone pedestal.

Nolan grabbed the package and stuffed it into his pocket, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Hagrid. "We've got what we came for. Let's get back to Hogwarts—immediately."

"Hey, now, no need to be so tense, Von Draugr." Hagrid waved him off. "Harry's got shopping to do. You can show him around Diagon Alley, help him pick up his books and robes for the year. As for me…" Hagrid gave a hearty laugh. "I'm heading to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink or two. That ride on the bloody mine cart was enough for a lifetime. Good thing I don't have enough Galleons to need a vault!"

"That's rather sad, don't you think?" Nolan retorted dryly. Then his gaze met Harry's, filled with unspoken hope. The boy clearly wanted someone to accompany him.

Nolan's response was swift and uncompromising. "Don't even think about it. I'm not here to play nanny to a first-year. If you're so desperate for a guide, just flash your name around—Harry Potter—and I guarantee some busybody will come to your aid. As for me, I've got more important things to do."

He turned and began to walk away, raising a hand in a dismissive wave. "See you at Hogwarts, Potter. Though I'd wager you'll end up in Gryffindor."

Harry watched Nolan's retreating figure, disappointment etched on his face. Left to fend for himself, he glanced nervously at the bustling street of Diagon Alley. "Do you think he hates me?" he asked Hagrid.

"Hates you?" Hagrid chuckled, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Oh, no, lad. He's like that with everyone."

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