Chapter 30: News from an Old Friend
"After that incident where Mr. Potter and Ranrok perished together, there has been no news of his friends," Hagrid shrugged. "But it's been a hundred years; even if they were still alive, they'd be elderly by now."
He added one final remark.
"Time, you know, is always unforgiving."
"But they were all such remarkable people," Harry asked with a furrowed brow. "Surely they wouldn't just vanish into obscurity?"
Hagrid shook his head and replied, "That, I don't know. But I've never heard of any of Mr. Potter's Friends from that time being mentioned. So much so that many people believe he was just a fictional character."
As they continued chatting, Hermione noticed a report in the newspaper about a break-in at Gringotts.
"Seems Gringotts isn't as secure as they claim," Hermione read aloud from the paper. "Latest update on the illegal break-in at Gringotts on July 26th: investigations are ongoing, with suspicions falling on unidentified dark witches and wizards. The goblins at Gringotts have reiterated that nothing was stolen. The vault that was targeted had, in fact, been emptied earlier that day. A spokesperson for the goblins commented: 'As for what was in the vault, no comment. Stay out of it.'"
"July 26th?"
Harry suddenly remembered—that was the very day Hagrid had taken him to Gringotts.
He asked, "Hagrid, the day of the Gringotts break-in was the same day we went there. Could it be that it happened while we were there?"
This time, however, Hagrid avoided the question, lowering his head and avoiding Harry's gaze as he handed him a cup of tea.
"Here, try this. I picked these chamomile flowers in the Forbidden Forest earlier," Hagrid said, trying to change the subject. "It's good for the inflammation in your gums."
Seeing Hagrid's reluctance to talk and his attempt to shift the topic, Harry chose not to press further.
After all, it was something Professor Dumbledore had entrusted to him; it couldn't be casually discussed.
Taking the newspaper from Hermione, Harry carefully read through the report again: The vault targeted had, in fact, been emptied earlier that day… Combining this detail with Hagrid's reaction, Harry deduced that the vault in question must have been the one they visited.
And since the vault had already been emptied, it meant the only thing left from it was that small parcel.
This indicated that whatever the mysterious wizard was after, it was the item Hagrid had withdrawn.
On the way back, Harry couldn't stop brainstorming.
As he thought, he also began reminiscing about Ominis, the Slytherin boy who had essentially been his external brain for several years.
If Ominis were here, he would undoubtedly help unravel the threads and find useful clues, Harry thought.
Not only was Harry pondering the Gringotts break-in, but he also found himself missing his old friends.
He still refused to believe that such extraordinary classmates could have simply vanished without a trace.
Something must have happened!
After some thought, he recalled two names: Cassandra Malfoy and Gareth Weasley.
Their descendants were currently attending school, and one of them was now his close friend.
But how could he bring this up? Asking Ron outright, "Hey mate, does your family have an ancestor named Gareth?" would surely get him a skeptical response like, "How do you know about my great-grandfather?"
As for Malfoy, that was even less likely—there was no way that insufferable boy would cooperate.
Just as Harry was thinking about Ron, he heard him speaking loudly nearby.
"Muggles' flying contraptions are so clunky," Ron said. "Back when I was riding Charlie's old broom, I almost crashed into a glider..."
Hermione looked up and shot him a stern glance, a look that clearly said: You know what I'm going to say.
Ron's face flushed crimson. He had forgotten that the all-knowing Hermione came from a Muggle family.
Oops, he had just boasted in front of an expert.
Luckily, Hermione merely glared at him without exposing his exaggeration, and Ron sighed in relief.
He considered salvaging his dignity but decided against it, though Draco at the Slytherin table behind him had started boasting loudly.
"Too bad, Weasley, you only almost hit a glider," Draco sneered. "You must have heard about me—once, while flying, I nearly collided with a Muggle helicopter. Luckily, I'm quick and agile, so I dodged. My dad was terrified and gave me a scolding afterward."
Draco added, "It's a shame first-years aren't allowed to join the Quidditch team. Otherwise, I'd show everyone what I'm made of."
"What a braggart," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron. "Someone like him, who can't even use magic properly, would just get shredded by the rotor blades if he ran into a helicopter."
As Ron was her friend, Hermione refrained from debunking his exaggerations on the spot. Draco, on the other hand, was someone she had disliked since the beginning.
"Hey, M... Miss Know-It-All!" Draco sneered, holding back a more offensive insult. "You think you know so much about flying broomsticks? I bet you wouldn't even dare ride one!"
Hermione smirked and retorted, "Oh, Drama King Malfoy, I may not know much about broomsticks, but I do know about helicopters."
Draco's face turned red as he began rambling about how annoying Muggles were, throwing in some snide comments about Hermione. The Gryffindor table erupted in laughter.
"Draco, don't pay attention to them," coaxed Pansy Parkinson, who resembled a poodle. "They're just jealous of your flying skills. When flying lessons begin, make sure to show them what you're made of."
Perhaps Pansy's encouragement worked because Draco regained his usual smug demeanor.
After all, apart from the helicopter bit, the rest of his boasts weren't entirely untrue.
Draco was confident in his flying abilities.
Ever since he was four years old, he had been zipping around the Malfoy Manor on a child-sized broomstick. Seven years of broomstick experience isn't a joke!
Harry, for his part, also enjoyed flying. Although Headmaster Phineas Black had banned Quidditch, he never skipped flying lessons.
But now, Harry had more pressing matters to attend to—like investigating the whereabouts of his old friends.
He decided: that night, he would sneak into the castle's lowest level to check the Map Room. Perhaps Veratia, who shared the same ancient magical heritage, had left him a clue there.
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