Below the top shelf, rows of Galleons were stacked in neat, shimmering towers. Alan pulled them out and counted carefully, finding exactly one thousand coins.
"Goodness. Between the pouch and the safe, I've harvested sixteen hundred Galleons tonight alone. The gains are significant," Alan said, a spark of genuine joy in his eyes as he swept the gold into his spatial satchel.
Next, he turned his attention to the key and the parchment he had recovered from the upper compartment. He set the brass key aside for a moment and unfolded the paper. As he scanned the text, his face lit up—it was a property deed for a building in Diagon Alley.
More importantly, it was an unregistered deed officially certified by the Ministry of Magic. In the wizarding world, possession of such a document was nine-tenths of the law; as long as one held this paper, the Ministry recognized them as the rightful owner of the structure and the land beneath it.
"I never thought the joke I made with Madam Primpernelle would come true. This is a windfall from heaven. No wonder it was protected by a bloodline lock—it's an anonymous title," Alan mused.
Unregistered deeds were rare relics of an older era. He had only seen mentions of them in obscure texts documenting the hoarded assets of ancient pure-blood families. Most properties in the magical world didn't actually require formal deeds; wizards tended to find a remote valley, stake a claim, cast a few Muggle-Repelling Charms, and call it home. For more permanent estates, they might use a Fidelius Charm or simply buy Muggle land and convert it.
However, high-traffic gathering places like Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were different. In these zones, every stone and shingle was cataloged by the Ministry. Converting a standard deed into an unregistered one was a bureaucratic nightmare, requiring simultaneous approval from multiple department heads and sitting members of the Wizengamot. Consequently, they were few and far between, mainly because their nature made them a double-edged sword.
The primary advantage was absolute confidentiality. No official audit could trace the true owner, and the property enjoyed full Ministry protection against unauthorized entry. It allowed the Travers patriarch to establish a safe house that was legally invisible—a perfect bolt-hole should the family fall from grace or find themselves on a Ministry wanted list. It was a step below a Fidelius Charm in terms of total concealment, but far superior for asset liquidity. It was, essentially, a way to convert a massive physical asset into a single, tradable piece of paper.
Alan suspected the Order of the Phoenix had only found this place by physically tailing Yaxley; even Dumbledore likely had no idea who held the legal title to the building.
Of course, the disadvantage was glaring: ownership was too easily transferred. If you lost the paper, you lost the house.
Alan spread the deed on the desk, channeled magic into his fingertip, and traced a firm line across the bottom of the parchment. The magical patterns flared briefly as the document recorded his unique magical signature. With that simple act, the house was officially his.
"While the anonymity is useful, the ease of theft is a liability. I should find a way to convert this into an exclusive deed once I've scrubbed its history," Alan resolved, tucking the paper away securely.
He shifted his focus to the key. It was a small, brass-colored thing with three circular perforations in the handle, appearing as though it belonged to a small lockbox. He turned it over in his hands but found no magical residue or hidden runes. It was made of standard Paracelsus brass.
At a loss, Alan turned to Karkaroff, holding the key up to the light. "Do you recognize this?"
Karkaroff leaned in, squinting. "That... it looks like a Gringotts vault key, Master."
"A vault?" Alan's interest sharpened. That would explain why it was kept in a blood-locked safe.
"It certainly has the look of one. I held a similar key once," Karkaroff confirmed.
"So, with this, I can simply walk in and access the contents?" Alan asked.
Karkaroff shook his head. "Not necessarily."
"Why not?" Alan frowned.
"Master, Gringotts is meticulous. Their vaults have tiers of security. For the shallow, high-traffic vaults, the key is enough. But for the deeper ones, the goblins require the owner to be present in person, or at the very least, a verified letter of authorization. The deepest vaults don't even use keys; they require the owner's touch and the specific clearance of a goblin manager." Karkaroff counted the points off on his fingers.
"So the key alone doesn't tell us the depth or the security level," Alan noted.
"Exactly. Only a Travers would know for sure. However, vaults that utilize keys are generally the mid-to-lower security ones. Given the Travers family's stature, they likely have a main ancestral vault in the deep levels that responds only to their blood. Those families don't fully trust Gringotts anyway; they prefer to keep their true treasures in their own private cellars."
"I thought Gringotts was the safest place in our world?" Alan raised an eyebrow.
"The building is safe, but the goblins are a different matter. Many of the old families remember the rebellions. There has never been true trust between the wizards and the bankers. They were enemies long before they were partners," Karkaroff explained.
"I see. Let's go back up," Alan commanded, his mind already working through the logistics of the new information.
"Yes, Master."
After exiting the basement, Alan re-sealed the wall, layering it with a heavy Shield Charm. This was his sanctuary now, and he intended to keep it that way.