Chapter 53 — The Vault's Secret
The soft morning light bled through the tall arched windows of Gryffindor Tower, casting a pale glow on the stone walls. It was Friday. The last day of the first full week at Hogwarts.
Thomas was already awake when the first rays of light touched his bed. The notebook lay on his lap, its pages worn and creased, the ink slightly faded with age but still legible. His wand rested beside him, casting a faint glow inside the curtain-hung privacy of his four-poster bed.
He hadn't gone to the training courtyard like he usually did before breakfast. For once, he let his routine slip. The Ice Room still lingered in his mind — the fight with the knights, the way his magic evolved in the moment, and more than anything, the notebook and broken wand he had retrieved.
He opened to the first entry again. The handwriting was tight and cautious, but the thoughts within were unmistakably urgent.
"They call them myths. Whispers. But I know the truth. There are Vaults beneath Hogwarts — five of them. They were here long before the castle, I'm certain of it. And each one holds a different force. Each one is cursed."
The writer, a student from long ago, had discovered these vaults through careful observation, hidden markings in ancient tomes, and a series of almost fatal experiences. Their name wasn't written anywhere in full, only the initials A. M., scrawled faintly on the back cover.
Thomas read slowly, line by line. He was trying to make sense of the scope. The notebook described five Curse Vaults — each tied to a unique magical phenomenon, protected by dangerous curses and sealed away in parts of the school that even professors avoided.
The Ice Vault, it said, had been locked for decades, sealed with layers of enchanted frost. Whoever wrote the diary had opened it once, just as Thomas had. They spoke of freezing air, of armored figures made of living ice. But unlike Thomas, they had fled before making it to the center of the chamber.
"I locked it behind me with everything I had. It was too strong. The frost spread fast. I hope it never breaks free."
The writer hadn't succeeded in containing it. Not completely. And Thomas… had reopened it.
His eyes moved to a more recent entry, this one marked with a faint burn mark on the edge:
"I believe the next vault is tied to fear. It's somewhere near the Library — near the Restricted Section. But no spell I know will allow me past the wards. Then I found the wand. It's broken — damaged — but it resonates when near that place. I think it's a key. But I don't dare try it yet."
Thomas looked down at the wand, its wood cracked and splintered in the center. He could feel it — a faint echo of magic.
He closed the notebook slowly, letting the silence of the room sink in.
The next Vault was waiting. But he wasn't.
Not this time.
------
By the time he made it down to the Great Hall, the breakfast rush was in full swing. The smell of toast, eggs, and treacle tart filled the air. He slid into his usual seat beside Fred and Emily, mumbling a quiet "morning" before piling his plate.
Fred glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "No morning routine today? I was starting to think you are ghost of the morning."
"Needed to rest," Thomas replied. "Long night."
Emily gave him a curious glance but said nothing. She seemed to sense he wasn't in the mood to talk. He appreciated that.
They were halfway through breakfast when a commotion rose near the front of the hall. A third-year girl from Ravenclaw came rushing in, wide-eyed and pale. She didn't speak to the students — she headed straight to Professor Flitwick at the staff table.
Flitwick's expression darkened as he leaned down to listen. He stood quickly, whispering something to Professor McGonagall. Then both left the hall in haste.
Whispers filled the room instantly.
"What's going on?"
"Did someone get hurt?"
Thomas straightened slightly, a cold chill forming at the base of his spine.
A few moments later, Professor Snape returned to the hall and went directly to Dumbledore, speaking in hushed tones. Thomas could see their expressions tighten, and even Dumbledore's calm seemed unusually stern.
Then — just as the whispers reached a fever pitch — the Great Hall doors opened again.
This time it was Maribel Knox, her face flushed, her eyes wide. She rushed over to the Gryffindor table and whispered something to Brenda Collins, who dropped her spoon in shock.
Emily frowned. "What happened?"
Brenda leaned over. "They found a second-year. Frozen. Like— completely. On the fifth floor."
Thomas's fork stopped mid-air. He stared at her. "Frozen?"
Brenda nodded. "Covered in frost. Just standing there like a statue."
No.
His breath caught in his throat.
Dinner came early that evening. Everyone was uneasy — even the Weasley twins weren't joking much. The chatter died the moment Dumbledore stood from the staff table.
The aged headmaster surveyed the hall, his face grave.
"There has been… an incident," he began, his voice clear and deep. "A student was found this morning on the fifth floor, afflicted by what we now believe is a magical ice curse. The origin of this curse is unknown, but its effects are dangerous and unpredictable."
The room was silent. Not even the clink of a spoon.
"The student is currently being treated in the Hospital Wing and will recover. But until further notice, the entire fifth floor is closed to all students. This is a matter of safety. Anyone found entering the restricted area will face immediate disciplinary action."
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Thomas sat frozen. His heart felt heavy in his chest.
It was real.
It was spreading.
And it was his fault.
That night, back in the common room, the air was heavier than usual. The fireplace crackled softly, but no one sat too close. Emily and Cedric were murmuring quietly in the corner, while Fred sat with George, unusually quiet.
Thomas had retreated to his dorm, notebook on his lap once more.
He flipped to the final entry again. The writer had been brave — or reckless. Maybe both. But their final words stood out to him more now than ever before.
"If I don't return, let this be a warning. The Vaults are not puzzles to solve. They are traps. They are prisons for the magic inside. And they don't want to stay locked forever."
Thomas exhaled shakily.
He had thought opening the Ice Vault would give him understanding. That it was a mystery to unravel.
But it wasn't. It was a danger barely contained.
And now… someone had paid the price for his curiosity.
He stared at the broken wand in his hands — the supposed key to the next vault. It pulsed faintly, like it could feel the presence of its destination.
He stood, walked to his trunk, and buried it deep beneath his extra robes. Then he pulled the false bottom he'd crafted and tucked the notebook and the broken wand beneath it..
He wouldn't open the next one.
He couldn't.
Even if it called to him, even if the echo of magic within those vaults whispered temptations…
He had already made one mistake.
He wouldn't let another curse escape.
He would hide the key. Forget the path.
And this time… keep everyone safe.