Ethan unfolded the parchment, turning slightly as if to catch the torchlight better.
Really, he was positioning himself so the others couldn't easily read over his shoulder.
His eyes scanned quickly, adult reading speed processing the words in seconds while he maintained an expression of careful concentration appropriate for an eleven-year-old.
---
My son,
If you're reading this, you've made it to Gringotts and entered my vault. You're eleven now, beginning your magical education. I wish I could be there to see it.
By now you've read my other letter—the one I left at home. You know I suspected the Egypt job might be dangerous. You know I want you to be careful, to live your life, not to chase revenge.
But I also know you deserve the truth.
The Tomb of Khatep expedition was not what it seemed. I was invited by Theodore Nott Sr. and Lucius Malfoy to "consult" on unsealing a series of protective wards. They claimed it was a standard contract through Gringotts, but Griphook can confirm—it wasn't. I went independently, against his advice.
They wanted something in that tomb. Something specific. When I realized what they were after, I refused to help them access the innermost chamber. We had... words. Heated ones.
Two days later, the "accident" happened.
I have no proof it was murder. The curse that hit me came from a trap we were disarming, not from a wand. But the timing was convenient. And Marcus Flint—Malfoy's associate, also on the expedition—seemed unsurprised when the ward activated early.
If they did orchestrate it, they're clever. Patient. Dangerous. And they have the Ministry in their pockets.
So here's what I'm telling you, Ethan:
Don't trust the Malfoys. Don't trust the Notts. Don't trust anyone who served the Dark Lord and walked free claiming the Imperius Curse. They're Death Eaters, or they were. They haven't changed.
The grimoire on this table contains knowledge they would kill for. Dark magic, yes—but also protective spells, detection charms, counter-curses. Study it carefully. Learn everything. But never let them know you have it.
The vials contain my memories of the expedition. The full truth of what I saw in that tomb, what they wanted, what went wrong. View them in a Pensieve when you're older. They're evidence, if you ever need it.
The amulet is cursed. I took it from the tomb as insurance—if they wanted it badly enough to kill me for refusing to retrieve it, I wasn't leaving it for them. It's dormant now, sealed. Keep it that way. Never put it on.
The cloak is yours to use. Be smarter than I was.
As for your wand—when you go to Ollivanders, pay attention to what chooses you. The wand selects the wizard, Ethan. What it selects says something about who you are and who you might become.
I love you. I'm proud of you. And I'm sorry I won't be there to see the man you'll grow into.
Be careful. Be clever. Be better than me.
Trust Griphook. Trust Andromeda Tonks if you need an ally outside Hogwarts. Trust very few others.
—Your father, Marcus Aldric Drake
P.S. - The jewelry box contains your grandmother's wedding ring and your grandfather's watch chain. Sentimental value only, but they're yours.
---
Ethan's hands tightened on the parchment.
Shit.
This was evidence of murder conspiracy. Against the Malfoys. Against Theodore Nott. Naming them explicitly. Claiming they were Death Eaters. Saying they had Ministry corruption.
And the amulet was cursed. And the vials were memories that could prove everything.
If McGonagall saw this letter, she'd confiscate half the vault.
She'd report it to Dumbledore, maybe the Ministry. She'd lock away the grimoire "for his safety." She'd demand the memories be turned over to authorities.
And if those authorities included people in the Malfoys' pocket...
His father was basically telling him: You're in danger. They might come for you. Here are the tools to survive. Don't trust the system.
Ethan couldn't share this. He absolutely couldn't share this.
But he also couldn't just hide it obviously, or they'd know it contained something sensitive.
Think. Think.
He was eleven. He'd just read a letter from his dead father. He should be emotional.
Ethan let his eyes fill with tears—not hard, given the content. Let his breath hitch.
"Ethan?" His mother's voice, concerned. "What does it say, sweetheart?"
He folded the letter quickly, clutching it to his chest.
"It's—" His voice cracked genuinely. "He says he loves me. That he's proud. And he's—he's sorry he won't see me grow up."
All true. Just... not the only things it said.
"Oh, darling." Catherine moved toward him, but Ethan stepped back slightly, protective of the letter.
"Can I—" He looked up at her with wet eyes. "Can I keep this private? Just for me? It's personal. From him to me."
McGonagall was watching him carefully. Assessing.
"Of course you may," she said gently. "That's quite appropriate, Mr. Drake."
But her eyes lingered on the way he was holding the letter. On how quickly he'd folded it. On the slight tremor in his hands.
She suspected there was more. She was too sharp not to.
But she was also allowing him the dignity of privacy with his father's last words.
"Thank you," Ethan whispered.
He tucked the letter carefully into his inside pocket—the same one where he kept the watch and the first letter. Right against his heart, where it would stay.
Catherine was crying openly now, and she pulled him into a hug.
Ethan let himself be held, let himself tremble slightly.
Over her shoulder, his eyes went to the table.
The cursed amulet. The memory vials. The grimoire with dark magic.
And somewhere in London, the Malfoys and Notts. Who might have killed his father. Who might want what was in this vault.
His jaw tightened.
Noted.
---
After a moment, Ethan pulled back from his mother and wiped his eyes with his sleeve—childlike, vulnerable.
"I should... probably take some of this, right?" He gestured at the table, voice steadier now. "For school?"
"The grimoire," Griphook said from the doorway. "The cloak. Your father's wand if you wish to keep it. The gold necessary for your school supplies and expenses. The rest will remain secure here."
Ethan nodded. "What about—" He pointed at the crystalline vials. "What are these?"
Griphook's eyes narrowed slightly. "Memories. Stored for viewing in a Pensieve. Your father left them for you."
"Should I take them?"
"They will be safer here," Griphook said firmly. "Memory vials are delicate. Volatile. Best left in the vault until you have both the means to view them and the wisdom to understand what you see."
Translation: Don't take the evidence out of the most secure location in the magical world, you idiot child.
Smart goblin.
"Okay," Ethan agreed. "I'll leave them here."
"The amulet?" McGonagall asked, eyeing it warily. "That appears to be Egyptian. Is it cursed?"
Everyone looked at him.
Shit. How did he know if it was cursed without admitting his father's letter told him?
"I... don't know?" he said uncertainly. "It was with his things from Egypt. Should I—is there a way to check?"
McGonagall moved closer, wand out.
She didn't touch the amulet but waved her wand over it in a complex pattern, murmuring something under her breath.
The air shimmered. The amulet pulsed once with a sickly green light.
McGonagall stepped back sharply.
"Extremely cursed," she said flatly. "Leave it. Don't touch it. Don't even look at it too long. Griphook, can this vault contain it safely?"
"Yes," the goblin confirmed. "Gringotts vaults suppress curse activity. It will remain dormant unless removed."
"Then it stays," McGonagall said firmly. She looked at Ethan. "Do you understand, Mr. Drake? That amulet is dangerous. You are not to take it. Ever."
Ethan nodded quickly. "I won't. I promise."
Internally, he was recalibrating.
His father said never to put it on—he didn't say never to take it. But if McGonagall was this adamant, and it was safely contained here... maybe leaving it was smarter.
For now.
He could always come back for it later when he understood what it did and why the Malfoys wanted it.
"Right," he said, turning to the practical matter at hand. "So... I take the grimoire, the cloak, maybe the wand? And some money for school supplies?"
"A sensible plan," McGonagall approved.
---
Ethan approached the table again, more confident now.
He picked up the Invisibility Cloak—it was impossibly light, shimmering in his hands. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his bag.
The grimoire was heavier.
The leather was cool to the touch, and when his fingers brushed the cover, he swore he felt a faint vibration—like the book was aware of him.
He added it to his bag with reverence.
His father's wand went in last. Ethan paused with it in his hand.
"Should I try it?" he asked McGonagall. "The wand?"
She considered. "You have no training. But a simple spell... Lumos, perhaps. To see if it will answer to you at all."
Ethan gripped the blackthorn wand properly, the way he'd seen his father hold it in the photographs.
"Lumos," he said clearly.
The tip sparked. Flickered. Then produced a weak, unstable light—like a candle flame in wind.
"Reluctant," Griphook observed. "But not entirely hostile. Your blood calls to it."
Ethan lowered the wand. "I'll still get my own, though. Right?"
"Absolutely," McGonagall said. "Ollivanders first, after we finish here."
He nodded and added the wand to his bag.
Finally, the money.
Catherine was already filling a leather pouch with Galleons from the stacks—counting out exactly one hundred.
"This should cover school supplies with plenty left over," she said. "The rest stays in the vault."
Ethan accepted the pouch. It was heavy with gold.
Real, magical gold.
He was holding a fortune. Literal magic books. An invisibility cloak. Evidence of murder conspiracy.
And no one in this vault except him knew the full scope of what he was walking out with.
---
Ethan looked around one last time.
The curse-breaking tools. The sealed scrolls. The jewelry box, unopened. The memory vials glinting in their stand.
"Can I come back?" he asked Griphook. "Later? To see the rest?"
"You are the vault holder," the goblin said. "You may access it whenever you wish, provided you have your key and proper authorization. Though visitors require notice."
"Okay." Ethan nodded. "Thank you. For everything. For knowing my dad."
Griphook inclined his head slightly. "He was a good man. An honorable man. I hope you will prove to be the same."
The weight of that statement settled over him.
Ethan thought about the letter in his pocket. The warnings. The accusations. The tools for revenge his father had left him.
"I'll try," he said quietly.
And he meant it—in his own way.
---
They left the vault, the door sealing behind them with a sound like a thunderclap.
The cart ride back up was just as intense, but Ethan barely noticed.
His mind was racing.
The Malfoys killed my father. Or arranged it. Theodore Nott was involved. They wanted the cursed amulet from the tomb. They have Ministry connections. Father left me evidence and warned me to be careful.
I'm eleven years old. I'm walking into a school where their children probably attend. Where they have influence.
I have advantages—adult mind, 3x learning, immortality they don't know about. And now I have dark magic to study, an invisibility cloak, and a legitimate reason to learn everything I can about protection and defense.
But I'm also a target. If they know what's in that vault...
They emerged into the marble hall of Gringotts. The light seemed too bright after the depths below.
Catherine squeezed his hand. "Ready to shop for school?"
Ethan looked up at her and managed a smile. "Yeah. Can we get my wand first?"
"Ollivanders," McGonagall confirmed. "Follow me."
As they exited Gringotts into the sunshine of Diagon Alley, Ethan glanced back once.
Griphook was watching from the entrance. Their eyes met.
The goblin nodded once. Almost imperceptibly.
He knows something, Ethan realized. He knows, and he's not saying. But he approved of me keeping the letter private. He warned me the memories were safer in the vault.
He's protecting me. Like he protected my father.
Ethan nodded back, equally subtle.
Then he turned and followed McGonagall into the crowded street, his bag heavy with secrets and power, his mind already planning his next moves.
The wand came next.
Then Hogwarts.
Then... everything else.