Hours later, exhausted but satisfied, he collapsed against the rough wall of his new hideout.
Using Gringotts would have been far simpler, but he had no intention of explaining the constant influx of Muggle money.
Better to deposit everything at once when he finally revealed himself as Lord Slytherin.
Besides, a secret emergency vault was never a bad idea.
Once he caught his breath, Harry conjured a simple camp bed with a warm sleeping bag.
He placed a Notice-Me-Not Charm over the entrance, added a few temporary detection and Muggle-repelling wards, and finally lay down for a well-earned rest.
≤○≥
FWHOOOOOSHHHHH!
A blast of searing heat and blinding light ripped through the cave.
“AAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNGH!”
The roar was deafening, shattering the last threads of sleep.
Harry scrambled out of his sleeping bag and seized his wand.
He was still inside the cave he had carved the night before, but something very large was trying to force its way in.
FWHOOOOOSHHHHH!
A roaring torrent of dragonfire surged down the entrance tunnel, filling the passageway with incredible heat.
The moment the flames died, Harry lunged forward, cast the strongest Shield Charm he knew, rolled into the corridor, and leveled his powerful new yew wand, ready for whatever nightmare had found him.
Filling the entire entrance was a massive head covered in midnight-blue scales, crowned with spikes and rows of razor-sharp teeth.
A single enormous dark-blue eye stared straight at him.
A dragon.
“FUCK!” Harry shouted, diving back into the chamber as another jet of flame roared past.
“A dragon! A motherfucking dragon!” he yelled at the ceiling.
“Seriously?! Why not a hydra while you’re at it? Or a nundu?! Because clearly I don’t have enough shit to deal with already!”
His shield could have held for a while, but it would drain him badly for no good reason.
He glared at the entrance, forced himself into a Parseltongue mindset, and scream-hissed:
”
Hey!
Winged Serpent!
Would you mind not toasting me?
”
Silence.
Then another explosive burst of fire answered him, forcing him deeper into the chamber with his arms shielding his face.
Well, it was worth a try.
Even Voldemort had been too cautious to face these beasts head-on.
Harry smacked himself on the head with his wand, feeling the familiar cold sensation of the Disillusionment Charm wash over him, and apparated with a sharp crack.
He reappeared fifty metres behind the dragon, now furiously clawing at the cliff entrance.
It was a Hebridean Black.
A sarcastic voice in his head sneered, A Hebridean Black?
In the Hebrides?
You don’t say.
He promptly locked the voice away in an Occlumency prison.
The dragon sensed he was no longer inside and whipped its head around.
Harry shot forward, streaking just beyond its snapping jaws.
The creature reared onto its hind legs with another earth-shaking roar and launched itself into the sky.
Harry didn’t look back.
He flew hard away from the cave, trying to lure the beast as far as possible.
Come on, you aggressive bastard.
He dodged a fireball.
Thirty minutes of relentless pursuit later, the dragon was still right behind him.
Enough of this bullshit.
Crack!
Harry reappeared at the cave entrance and immediately began the intricate wand movements for one of the most powerful charms in the wizarding world—the Fidelius Charm.
Ten minutes later, he finished the gestures and switched to carving massive runes into the corners of the cave with his wand.
The fifteen-inch yew focus wasn’t designed for such work, but the runes would suffice for now.
Fifteen minutes after that, he stood at the entrance, eyes closed, using his masterful Occlumency to visualize every tiny detail of the cave with perfect clarity.
When he opened his eyes, the dragon was returning in the distance, pursued by a team of wizards on broomsticks firing red stunners.
He raised his wand in a single, decisive stroke, touched a glowing rune on the floor, and poured every ounce of power he had into it.
“Fidelius Occultum!”
In an instant, all knowledge of the cave—and the future hoard it would contain—vanished from the world.
≤○≥
Curtis Lawless was pissed off.
Why couldn’t those useless gobshites ever get anything right?
He had been expecting a major shipment last week, but the police had intercepted it and his supplies were running dangerously low.
He controlled a solid chunk of the city, and if he couldn’t deliver, rival wholesalers would happily move in on his territory.
Normally, if some unknown pretty boy walked in off the street offering to supply, Curtis would have told him to fuck off.
But right now, he was desperate.
He glared at the open door of his office in the back of the nightclub he used as headquarters.
Five minutes, he decided.
If the guy was full of shit, he’d let the lads deal with him.
The would-be supplier stepped in, escorted by his chief enforcer.
The man looked… striking.
Platinum-blond hair fell in a messy sweep across his forehead.
A short, neatly trimmed blond beard framed his face.
But it was his eyes that truly unsettled Curtis—cold, piercing gray that seemed to look straight into his soul.
“Alright,” Curtis grunted.
“What’s your business, mate? I’m a busy man.”
The blond nodded politely.
“Mister Lawless. I have a way to move goods across the border safely and quickly. I can supply when no one else can. No more inconvenient interruptions… like shipments getting seized at petrol stations.”
Curtis looked him over again.
Most smugglers tried to blend in.
This man did the exact opposite.
He doubted the posh-looking tosser had ever slipped past customs unnoticed in his life.
“Look, Mister… what’s your name?”
“Malfoy.”