Dumbledore pushed open the door of the rundown shack. He staggered as the wards pulsed in an attempt to repel him. Mustering his strength, he let his magic flow, overpowering the old runes protecting the dastardly treasure inside.
Crossing through the old room, he looked down at the old kitchen table, upon which lay a small locked box. Could it really be so simple? Was Tom so arrogant? The box was un-warded, curse-free, its treasure unguarded. Muttering a quick Alohomora and smiling to himself, the Greatest Wizard of Our Age reached down lifted the lid.
His smile fell almost immediately. The sole item in the box was a scrap of paper. Picking it up in his shaking hands, he unfolded it and read the neat handwriting:
Sup Albus,
Came by a while ago, grabbed your little ring. Took a hell of a beating from all those curses. Fortunately, immortal demon and all that shit, so no harm no foul. If you want the ring, how about you give me a call, and we'll trade favors.
See you in August, sweet-cheeks,
Vassago.
In spite of his disappointment and anger, Albus smiled, crumpling the paper in his hand. "The crafty devil."
PART 2, MOTHERFUCKAS!