Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Snape relives painful memories and tries to send warning, Hermione tends to Harry, McGonagall metes out punishment, Harry and Hermione visit Harry's new Gringotts vault, Harry plans a good surprise, but Hermione finds a bad one, they visit a goblin Xanadu, Ginny gets criticized, and one of Snape's efforts gets shot down.

Thanks once again to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, and Mathiasgranger.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 60 - All That Is Golden Does Not Glitter

Under the watchful eye of his master, the black-robed man studiously reviewed the Quick-Quotes Quill-generated list. After finishing, he lowered the parchment to his side with a carefully nuanced expression, just short of a scowl.

"So, Severus, how long do you require to collect these ingredients?" the Dark Lord inquired, his expression being all the more menacing by its complete absence.

"My Lord, this is a most unusual mix," Snape answered. "The loadstone; a magnetised cauldron.… Those will not be a problem. I have, perhaps, two thirds of this ingredient list on hand. But oxytocin is a Muggle substance, so procuring it requires … special measures. Unicorn liver, and dragon blood - at least the indicated type of dragon blood - are so uncommon that the only place I've seen them routinely kept is at Hogwarts. And powdered sea blue chalcedony … that's rare, expensive and has very limited uses. Not much good for the Galleon. Nor is it feasible to keep Ashwinder eggs about, since they are so flammable that they are typically kept submerged in a cauldron of tetrachloromethane, and we move about too often for that to be safe."

"I didn't ask for excuses, Severus," the Dark Lord spoke with frightening precision. "I demanded a schedule."

"Ten days, My Lord. Perhaps two weeks if my sources are unlucky," Snape quickly responded. "But, Master, would it not be preferable for me to prepare personally a potion of this degree of difficulty? You yourself have said that I am the best there is at brewing."

Lord Voldemort pondered the suggestion. "You are correct in general, but as you know, I prefer to separate my operations so that, if one is … betrayed … the others may proceed."

Snape paused at his Master's ominous mention of betrayal. "My involvement in any operation is your decision," he continued. "All I wish is to ensure that a complex potion is brewed correctly so as to enhance the success of whatever you have planned…."

"Quite right," the Dark Lord replied, "but I'm afraid not in this instance. After all, what would you know about brewing a Love Potion?" As the last few syllables escaped his pale lips, he rounded suddenly on Snape and fixed him with his eyes.

At the same instant Snape knew - knew that, somehow, Lord Voldemort was aware that he, Snape, had created this particular potion. To appear to resist the Dark Lord's Legilimency was a death sentence. Snape had no choice but to surrender the memory.

Snape briefly relived that moment as his recollection responded to the Dark Lord's summons. A disturbed and vengeful sixth-year version of himself squirrelled away in the wee hours of the morning - frantically working, alone by candlelight, in the recesses of an otherwise dark and deserted Hogwarts Potions dungeon.

The pieces of parchment strewn about, many crumpled into tiny, tight balls, were testament to his frustration. Surrounding the young man were various potions ingredients or combinations - some quite unusual. A huge Potions encyclopædia lay open in front of the teenaged Snape. Every now and then, he scribbled something furiously with his quill.

In what amounted to a fit of spite, Severus Snape created the most subtle, most insidious Love Potion ever brewed. He intended to use it on the witch who had spurned him.

He had prepared it - once - and even tested it. As a result, the romance of "KateandSpence," a pair of seventh years so thoroughly involved with one another that the entire Castle believed their marriage was inevitable, was destroyed by her infidelity with one of Snape's Slytherin roommates. The potion had worked, inducing a virtually irresistible sexual urge - precisely the effect Snape had sought to create.

But that turned out to be the only time the potion had ever been concocted. It had certain physical limitations … the ley lines…. And there was a moral issue….

For reasons both practical and philosophical, never fully sorted out, Snape could not bring himself to use his creation on its intended target. Now, caught up in his much Darker life, he had not given this particular potion any thought in many years. Snape had no use for romantic love any longer, or for potions that could mimic or manipulate that emotion.

"So - this supposedly `ultimate' Love Potion was your invention, after all," Lord Voldemort pronounced when he was done.

"All you needed do is ask, Master," Snape answered as evenly his gasping for breath permitted. "From the ingredients, I suspected that it might have been the one. That is why I offered my assistance."

Lord Voldemort appeared almost to smile. "As well you should have. Mixing Oxytocin with Tinctura Nucis Vomicæ as a catalysing agent under the influence of a magnetic field was a true stroke of genius…"

Snape allowed himself to breathe again.

"…but the presence of a Muggle picture of Lily Evans disturbs me."

With that Lord Voldemort launched his second surprise Legilimency attack upon Severus Snape in less than a minute.

Again, Snape could only hope that his preparations - the one memory that Albus Dumbledore had helped him remove entirely - would save his life. He could not even attempt to resist the Master, not if he hoped to live.

The Dark Lord's power tore images loose from Snape's mental recesses. Flashbacks, at once taunting and tantalising, passed through the servile one's mind.

A tomboyish third-year Lily Evans in the Great Hall, being surreptitiously watched from three house tables away….

The same thing recurring a year later in the library - but with Lily recognising it for what it was. Her rising, approaching, and asking, "You've hardly said one word to me since we were sorted…. But if you're going to look at me that way, I might as well try making your reacquaintance. Remember me? I'm Lily Evans…." Snape looking like he could barely remember his own name….

Giving each other Potions tips….

A stolen kiss behind the greenhouses. Lily looking shocked, but not displeased….

Another kiss, only partially stolen this time, in the otherwise deserted Potions classroom….

An attempted visit with Lily over the summer holiday going awry as Snape hexes Petunia Evans….

A reconciliation, and another kiss, not at all stolen. Her giving him the picture….

Lily challenging Snape's stated desire not to be seen with her in public. Their argument. Her calling Snape a coward. Him calling her a Mudblood. Her slapping him and stalking off….

Snape attempting to apologise to Lily. Just when he might be making headway, feeling a harsh hand on his shoulder. The memory ending abruptly….

His cauldron in ruins before him, Snape watching as Professor Slughorn praises Lily's potion. From behind him, hearing James Potter's stage whisper boasting that he had sabotaged Snape's potion. Alongside, Peter Pettigrew sniggering….

Lily ordering James to stop hexing Snape….

Returning to London on the Hogwarts Express. Stumbling upon James and Lily in one of the compartments….

Deep into creating the ultimate Love Potion, a tired and haggard Snape stopping to contemplate Lily's picture….

Snape wadding up the Daily Prophet society page after reading about James Potter declaring for Lily….

Another issue of the Daily Prophet bursting into flame after Snape reads of their engagement. Joining the Death Eaters shortly thereafter….

The night Lily died, confronting her in Harry's nursery. His misdirected Stunner flashing by her. Her screaming, "You evil bastard!" Trying to Disapparate a bit too late, as she fires a Reductor at him. Her superior aim, and his getting hit in the leg just as he vanishes….

Finally the Dark Lord had seen enough. He terminated his Legilimency and an exhausted Snape fell to the floor.

"Interesting," the Dark Lord hissed. "So she was the reason for your decision to serve me?"

"Yes, My Lord," Snape mumbled from a kneeling position. "I would gladly have told you all, but you've always said you're not…."

"Interested in my followers' motives, as long as you give me complete obeisance," Lord Voldemort finished. "Again, in general quite true…. But under the circumstances, an exception should probably have been made. A romance with the mother of the boy…."

The Dark Lord circled. Snape's breath caught in his throat. Was he a dead man?

"…And what of the memory that you cut off?" came the next question.

"I didn't. It was … Dumbledore," Snape hastened to explain. He had no chance if the Dark Lord thought he had resisted. "The rest of the recollection no longer exists. For the sake of harmony within the Order, last year Dumbledore ordered me to purge my memory of confrontations with Sirius Black. I sent word of that to you at the time."

"Yes…. Very well," Voldemort replied slowly. He seemed to accept Snape's explanation. Then his ruddy eyes fixed upon him again. "But I don't recall inviting you along for the Godric's Hollow mission. Separate operations, you know. Why?"

"I thought I had missed a signal and was failing you," Snape struggled. "When I found out … from Avery … there was no time to check. I made a split-second decision to serve you actively. So I went…."

Snape felt the Dark Lord's Legilimency rip into him again. A small, tightly concealed portion of his mind thought, `Now comes the ultimate test of Dumbledore's precautions.'

The memory now being extracted began with an upset and hurried Snape Apparating outside of the Potter house. The attack was already in progress. No sooner had he arrived than the protective wards surrounding the place fell. Voldemort was engaging James Potter at the front of the house. Through side windows Snape saw Lily rush upstairs to what he presumed was the nursery. Snape Apparated inside.

"Lily stop," Snape's anguished voice rang out. "It's all over. The Dark Lord is here and will not be denied."

Lily, who was beside Harry's crib, whirled around, her wandtip glowing and her eyes wide with surprise. Spotting him, her eyes narrowed and grew spiteful. After the slightest pause, Snape relived the memory of her cursing him. The scene ended with Snape, badly injured, collapsing after Apparating back outside.

"As you see, I attempted to assist by capturing Lily Potter," Snape forced out. "However, I failed you. I was over-anxious and under-prepared. I deserve your punishment…."

"Nonsense," the Dark Lord brushed his servant's mea culpa aside. "You made the attempt, and in the end it changed nothing. But, I confess as well. You were deliberately excluded from that mission, given your history with that Mudblood. Avery should not have let things slip…. Were he still with us, he would be punished. However, I suppose Bella was mistaken. You are dismissed."

Suppressing all emotion, Snape nodded and turned to go.

"Wait."

Snape stopped in his tracks. Was the Dark Lord playing with him again? Had the Headmaster's excellent, but imperfect, precautions failed? Was he yet again a dead man?

"To answer your original question," Snape heard from behind his back. "No, you cannot brew your ultimate Love Potion, even though you undoubtedly could do it better. Again, it is not part of your assignment. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, My Lord," Snape replied without turning around.

"Then return to your assigned tasks," he heard the Dark Lord order.

* * * *

Hermione downed a quick breakfast of marmalade toast and a ham-and-cheese omelette. Always solicitous of Harry's welfare, she collected some food for him. Confined by Madame Pomfrey to his dormitory room for a mandatory lie in, Harry's convalescence would not be complete until well after breakfast.

Still, that beat hell out of the alternative.

Taking informal roll as she left the Great Hall, Hermione ticked off Ron (sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Cho), along with Dean, and Seamus, who had just entered.

She completed her roll by greeting Neville in the common room, where he was only a few inches into their three-foot essay for Professor Flitwick on Orientation Charms. Both she and Harry had, of course, finished, since it largely duplicated one of their Auror lessons.

"Hi, Neville, we need to talk about Professor McGonagall's changes to the patrolling schedule," she mentioned.

"Can it wait?" Neville replied in a pleading voice. "I'm going to be at least another two-and-a-half hours at this bloody essay."

"No problem, Neville," Hermione said with a smile. "No problem at all."

Up the stairs she vanished, leaving Neville to his work.

"Harry?" she called out tentatively as she brought her breakfast offering into the sixth-year boys' dormitory.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry replied sleepily. "It smells like you brought me some breakfast. Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," she told him.

"Why?"

"Because you have to wait to eat," Hermione reminded him. She flicked out her wand. "Temperatus." She cast a Warming Charm on the plate and its contents.

Harry groaned and flopped back on his bed.

"First, you have to apply that," she added, pointing to the bottle of bluish salve. "Thoroughly, over the entire affected area, remember? Madam Pomfrey's orders."

"Oh … right," Harry grudgingly agreed. He looked rather self conscious. "Er … do you want to stay for this?"

"Stay?" Hermione regarded at him with a tight little smile. "Well, since I am a Healer in training, I was rather hoping you'd let me do it."

Sudden warmth spread throughout Harry's "affected area," and the waistband on his pyjama bottoms grew rather tight. In the semidarkness, that odd smile of hers broadened into a sly grin. He choked out, "Oh hell yeah…."

Hermione climbed in and charmed the bed curtains shut. She picked up the jar whilst sliding under the sheets next to him. "Oh, goody," she said theatrically. "Peppermint is one of the main ingredients."

A bemused Harry asked, "You … you checked that out last night, didn't you?"

Hermione had already smeared the bluish salve on her hands. She waggled all her fingers at him suggestively. "So what if I did…? Now, go ahead, take those off…."

Some time later Hermione, having borrowed Harry's Invisibility Cloak, slipped down the stairs from the sixth-year boys' dormitory and into her own. From there she planned upon soon making a normal, unaffected appearance.

She had not counted on encountering Avvie, who was sorting out some star charts on her bed. So, Hermione diverted to the loo, rather than her sleeping quarters. She ignored the mirror's prurient comments whilst using old fashioned shampoo to remove peppermint remnants that had survived her Cleansing Charms.

In the future, she would keep her hair well away from Madam Pomfrey's salves.

As Hermione descended the stairs (with as much normalcy as she could muster) she witnessed a strange scene.

Ginny had evidently been lying in wait for Harry. Practically weeping with remorse, she rushed at him the moment he appeared.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry, I'm so sorry! I still can't believe I did that to you!" she wailed. "I don't know what came over me. I was just so angry that when you pulled me away like that I just snapped…."

Under the redhead's onslaught, Harry sought to retreat. "Ginny … I … uh…."

Ginny, however, seemed oblivious to Harry's reticence - hesitation that Hermione judged altogether understandable. Ginny had injured Harry in a peculiarly personal and private fashion.

Now, many of their housemates were looking on with keen interest, hoping to learn exactly what had upset Ginny.

And that girl was relentless. "Can you ever forgive me? Please don't kick me off the team! I'll serve water duty for the rest of the term, with no whingeing…."

Hermione knew that Ginny and her brother were not exactly on the best of terms even before this latest incident. Undoubtedly, Ron would be more than willing to get shot of Ginny - but he would need Harry's concurrence, as co-captain, to do that.

Being sacked from the team was probably Ginny's worst fear, Hermione surmised. As she made her way across the common room to rescue Harry - and hopefully to quiet Ginny's carrying on before she let slip something embarrassing.

Hermione never made it to Harry. Instead, the common room door flew open with a shriek from the Fat Lady, and in strode Professor McGonagall - an air of icy disdain on her face. She took one look at Harry and demanded, "Potter, come with me."

Before the rest of the Gryffindors could relax, she declared, "I want the entire house Quidditch team assembled here by the time we get back," she snipped, her voice as cold as her countenance.

That stifled Ginny more effectively than anything Hermione could possibly have done.

Without awaiting further orders, Neville and Romilda (who had also been enjoying the show) shot for the dormitory stairs to roust out any team members they could find. Several of their housemates bolted out the door to search the Great Hall, the library, and the remainder of the Castle if necessary. An angry Minerva McGonagall was not to be trifled with.

Professor McGonagall did not even bother taking Harry to her office. They entered the nearest vacant classroom. As his Head of House Imperturbed the door, Harry rather rebelliously asked, "What am I being accused of now?"

Suddenly expressionless, the professor stared down her spectacles at Harry. "Why nothing, Potter. I just have a few questions for you about the team."

Harry relaxed just a bit.

Bad move.

"For example, I'd like an explanation of Cho Chang's presence in the Gryffindor team dressing room after yesterday's match - and of why she was fighting with Miss Weasley."

Harry broke into a cold sweat. He was trapped. Somehow, Professor McGonagall knew everything.

"Umm … er … because I … er … made a mistake … I guess," Harry finally choked out.

"Oh come now, Potter," Professor McGonagall responded, in a voice relatively mild for her - when she was angry. "Give your elders some credit and stop the poppycock. As Deputy Headmistress I receive reports on all student admissions to the Hospital Wing. From that, it was hardly difficult to put two and two together, especially since the circumstances of your own injuries were fully disclosed. Thus I find it hard to believe that you bear any responsibility for what took place."

"But if I hadn't let him, Ron wouldn't have done it," Harry persisted. "He couldn't have."

"No, I suppose he couldn't," Professor McGonagall replied evenly. "But active and passive fault are quite different."

Harry could guess the reason that McGonagall was making nice (for her) with him, and he did not like it one bit. "I'm not so sure about that," he responded. Preemptively, he added, "And it really doesn't matter anyway, since I'll sooner quit the team than replace Ron as captain."

Professor McGonagall visibly tensed. Her lips thinned, and she no longer minced words. "Potter, you know as well as I that what Mister Weasley did yesterday was a disgrace to Gryffindor House - and that this was hardly the first time he…."

"I know that Ron very nearly Kept a shut out against Slytherin, and that we won by over 500 points. Oliver Wood never did either of those things," Harry resisted almost defiantly. "And I also know that, if I did what you want, Ron would never speak to me again…. I can't let that happen. It's just that Ron…."

"Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall almost shrieked, "must you always go about tidying up Mister Weasley's messes? Think about house pride. For a Quidditch captain to entertain the opposite sex in the team's own office, and from another House…."

Again Harry cut off his Head of House. She could punish him all she liked; he was not going to do this. "I'm sorry, but friendship is more important than house pride," he declared flatly. "Ron's sick, not right, and he has nothing else to keep him going."

"I don't believe Mister Weasley is sick - except perhaps with lust," Professor McGonagall dismissed the notion. "I want you as sole interim Quidditch captain."

"I can't. I've neither time nor inclination. I'll resign from the team first," Harry informed her. "You - you have no idea what happened to Ron in the Department of Mysteries. I only found out from the Unspeakables over the summer…."

Harry promptly told Professor McGonagall what he knew about Ron's encounter with the brain, or more specifically, how Ron became a target of the primary defence mechanism of Mystery Intelligence Unit Six.

Although somewhat mollified, Professor McGonagall was still not convinced. "I'm not sure I believe you, Potter," she resisted, "and it's not an excuse for…."

"You didn't believe me the last time, either," Harry replied hotly. "And what did you find out? I told the truth after all. You know, if you think I'm such a liar, maybe you should drop me from the team instead…."

A tense silence filled the room for several seconds as McGonagall mulled what to do.

Professor McGonagall backed down. "No, Potter, I think not."

If she sacked Weasley, he might react in some even more self-destructive fashion, possibly jeopardizing his future. Nor did Potter need such a sideshow, particularly if the Headmaster's concerns over the boy's fate were accurate. More selfishly - if Potter quit, how many other team members might follow? Gryffindor might not even be able to field a team - let alone one capable of yesterday's demolition of arch-rival Slytherin.

With some reluctance ("he should get professional help, not sex therapy") Professor McGonagall agreed not to dismiss Ron as captain.

Potter's loyalty to his friends, albeit rather misplaced on this occasion, was an excellent attribute in these dangerous times.

But that was the extent of her concession.

The entire team was assembled in the common room when Professor McGonagall returned, trailed by a rather wrung-out looking Harry Potter. Pausing only to shoo all non-team members out of earshot, she drew herself up to full height and launched into a diatribe.

"I understand that, following yesterday's match, a rather prolonged incident occurred in the Gryffindor team quarters - an incident casting shame upon both the team and upon this House. I shall not have it. If anything of the sort happens again, I will personally mete out a proper punishment, even if Gryffindor must forfeit the rest of the season. Do I make myself clear?"

A few grumbled assents were heard, along with a great deal more nervous shuffling of feet. The Head of House carried on.

"Ronald Weasley!"

The accused snapped to attention, his face approximating the colour of his hair.

"You were the instigator and primary offender. Your conduct is plainly unbecoming of a team Captain. Were a satisfactory replacement available…"

McGonagall turned her head and glared at Harry.

"…I would happily have sacked you. As it were, you are on probation. Any more incidents from you, Mister Weasley, and I mean infractions upon team discipline of any sort, you will be off the team, and perhaps expelled from this School. Further, you will serve detention with Mister Filch for the next two weeks."

"Ginevra Weasley!"

Another red-haired head stiffened.

"Your role in this incident inflicted injuries upon two students - serious enough to send both to the Hospital Wing. Members of my House will not resort to low fisticuffs, or worse. You are therefore also on probation. You have detention, with me, for a week."

"Harry Potter!"

Harry's attention fixed exclusively on McGonagall. He did not hear his teammates' surprised gasps. Nobody had thought he would receive any punishment.

"Without your acquiescence, none of this would have happened. You, too, failed in your responsibility as team Captain. Detention with Professor Slughorn for a week - but not next week, the week after."

"Nor did any of the rest of you see fit to report anything to me or to any other member of the staff. As punishment for your complicit silence, all of you will report, at the crack of dawn on Saturday, a week hence, to Professor Hagrid. Under his supervision, you will muck out Hogwarts' stables and holding pens - without using magic."

There was a pause. Was she finished?

No.

"Also, I am docking one hundred House Points for this incident."

With that, Professor McGonagall turned her back upon her stunned audience and made for the portrait hole.

In anticipation, the Fat Lady moved as far out of the way as she could. But before she exited, Professor McGonagall turned and once again faced the now dispersing Gryffindor team. They regarded her suspiciously, wondering what additional blow was to fall.

"One final thing," she declared. "You played an outstanding match against Slytherin, beating them more soundly than I can remember since I first came to Hogwarts as a little girl. I therefore award you all one hundred House Points."

With that, she left.

* * * *

A shaken Severus Snape returned to his quarters. Using one of his aliases -Chipley Broome, manager of a licensed potions facility on the Isle of Wight - he prepared ingredients lists to send to several likely suppliers.

Snape had expected truly thought he would die during his last encounter with the Dark Lord. Dumbledore's precaution, taken years ago, had excised several memories from his mind with great precision. The Headmaster's work had been excellent, but not perfect.

Snape had seen the glitch, but providentially the Dark Lord had missed it.

When Snape's final encounter with Lily Potter began, minutes before her death, Harry's crib had been to Lily's left (from his perspective). When she had cursed him, however, the crib had been to her right. The patch job - although as good as it possibly could have been - thus was not seamless.

Although he now lacked any first-hand recollection, Snape knew what had transpired during the wiped-out memory. He had informed Lily that the Dark Lord meant to kill James and baby Harry, but was not interested in her. She had accused him of trading them for her. Not bothering to deny it, he had begged her to let him help her escape. He even offered to try to hide the baby. She refused to leave James, believing (not altogether wrongly) that Snape's motives were less than pure. Time ran out, and in desperation he had tried to stun her.

Back to the present.

The Dark Lord was not as perfect as his high opinion of himself. Voldemort had watched Snape's memory of Lily so intently that he missed the subtle background change. That diversion had saved Snape's life.

A shudder ran through his body. Giving his head a vigorous shake, Snape returned to the task at hand. He had to use regular owls. Both the Dark Lord and the intended recipient would be suspicious if he employed any form of concealment.

But Snape also had to alert Dumbledore to this new scheme afoot - one involving a powerful and virtually undetectable Love Potion that less than a handful of people even knew existed. Snape kicked himself for never telling the Headmaster about this potion, but it had been (he thought) ancient history - a dirty little secret, with a belatedly discovered flaw, that need never be revealed.

He had been wrong.

Somehow the recipe, which he had written down but twice, had fallen into the hands of the Dark Lord.

What could possibly have happened? Snape wracked his brain.

He had transcribed the formula onto parchment in a legible form. Then, realizing too late the spatial limitations of ley line interference, he binned it shortly after graduation. The original copy, hastily scribbled into the back of his Potions textbook during that fateful all night session, was irretrievably lost decades ago. That book had been in his possession through his last Potions class of Sixth Year. Then, he went to Budapest for a summer Potions apprenticeship (and to get away from home). Unpacking his things in that strange city, he noticed the book had gone missing. He never saw it again.

It could have been lost in the castle. It could have been lost on the way to Spinner's End, where he had stopped briefly before saying what turned out to be (he had not realised it at the time) his final farewell to his parents. It could have been lost at any of several of transit points across the continent.

But somewhere, someone possessed a copy of his handiwork. In his present straits, Snape could do nothing more Snape to investigate.

All he could do was try to warn the Order, despite their (and his) being watched by the Dark Lord's minions.

Snape did the best he could.

Inside the order he placed for potions ingredients with his best supplier, Scarpin's Potions for All Purposes, Snape enclosed a second sealed envelope. That envelope was addressed to Ambrosius Flume, owner of the Honeydukes, the Hogsmeade confectionery. Although not an Order member, Flume could be trusted to deliver a note to Dumbledore.

At the bottom of his potion ingredients order, Snape scrawled, to the recipient:

I have a second order to place, but unfortunately only one post owl at the moment. Kindly forward this owl on to the addressee herein, and charge the additional owl delivery fee to my account.

Snape could only hope that his warning got through.

* * * *

The appointment Harry and Hermione had made to visit Gringotts was upon them. That Harry would have to inspect his new, single-digit numbered vault was inevitable. Hermione would have quite preferred that Harry to go without her, but he had requested her presence.

Hermione would never refuse Harry, and did not. But she did demand her own concession in return.

Not only would they be entirely safe whilst in goblin custody, they would be away from Hogwarts and its prying eyes. For several hours, after finishing with his vault, they could have complete privacy.

She knew what she wanted to do with that private time.

A quid pro quo.

As her price for accompanying him, Hermione asked Harry to arrange for the goblins to provide get them with a secluded room.

Harry all but tripped over himself in his haste to agree.

Hermione let the matter drop. Harry could not. He had sporadic communication with the goblins about arrangements for a couple of weeks. Now the day had finally arrived.

The weather was foul, rainy, and raw, so Dumbledore provided a Hogwarts carriage to take the pair to Hogsmeade. Having been evicted from Hogwarts, the commander of Harry's goblin guard, Slamdor, had re-established some sort of headquarters there.

Ensconced in the carriage, surrounded by both heavy rain and heavy guard, Hermione could finally ask Harry the question that had puzzled her ever since Professor McGonagall had ordered everyone save Quidditch team members out of the common room.

"Whatever happened in there, Harry? Everyone looked so out of sorts afterwards, but nobody would say anything to anyone, except `team business'."

Harry told her what transpired. After that he moaned. "It was terrible. Everybody thinks I grassed to McGonagall, but she already knew. Pomfrey not only passed along my version of events, but Ginny and Cho's stories were as well. I thought that kind of stuff was, well, private…."

"Afraid not, Harry," Hermione replied sympathetically. "Hogwarts stands in loco parentis until you're seventeen. Remember what happened with my mum. Even afterwards, Madam Pomfrey is supposed to inform the staff about anything relevant to disciplinary matters - unless both students and parents sign an EU-compliant nonwaiver declaration."

"Oh, great," Harry muttered. "And how did the know-it-all, love of my life learn this?"

"It's in the first appendix to Hogwarts, A History, Harry," she answered whilst burrowing under his arm and cuddling closer to him. "That's another reason you should finally sit down and read that book. Anyway, what are you going to do about things?"

"I'm not sure if I can do anything about it," Harry muttered disgustedly. "Ron knows - McGonagall damn sure let him know - that he'd have been sacked as Captain if I'd been willing to take the job. You know how much he hates to feel in my debt. He's furious, especially since my slip up caused everything…."

"That's not true, Harry, and you know it," Hermione disagreed. "Ron's problem is that he can't keep his hands off Cho, and for reasons that need no further discussion, that's perfectly all right with her. Even when he apologised to me for his own conduct, he still can't bear to hear anything about her."

"So I've heard," Harry commented with a scowl. "Ron told me. I'd been on him pretty hard to do that. Are you satisfied with it?"

"Well, sort of," Hermione sighed. "He apologised for the nastier things he said about me. But he still won't let bygones be bygones unless I do the same to Cho. I told him I won't, and that he'd be better off reassessing their relationship. He stomped off again, but at least he didn't call me any more names."

"Well, I guess that's progress," Harry allowed.

"Not nearly enough," Hermione responded with a sniff. "Anyway, enough of him. How are things on the other Weasley front?"

Harry made a face and shook his head. "Ginny's almost as bad, except that I think she's more embarrassed than hacked off. After McGonagall's team meeting, she couldn't even stand to be around me today - not that that's a bad thing."

"I suppose not," Hermione agreed. "Although I think the two of us agree about Ron's girlfriend."

"Be thankful for small favours. I've got detention every day next week," Harry glumly changed the subject.

That bothered Hermione the most of anything he said. Deep down, she was not unhappy that everyone … well, Ron, anyway … thought Harry had spilled the beans. Anything that might lead Ron to reconsider Cho was fine by her. But detention - that meant she would have even less time with Harry for a week.

"With whom?" Hermione asked.

"Damn suck-up Slughorn," Harry grumbled, "and not this week, but next."

"That's odd," Hermione wondered. "Why wait? It's not like Slughorn's ever away from the Castle, since he's scared to death of He Who … Voldemort. Besides, it won't be that bad. As you said, he loves sucking up to you."

"Dunno," Harry sighed. "Don't much care, either."

The carriage, with an escort of a half dozen bouncing boulders, was now rolling into Hogsmeade. Harry and Hermione gazed out the window, wondering where the goblins had their new headquarters.

"Bet it's the Shrieking Shack," Harry guessed. "Nobody much goes there."

"I doubt it," Hermione disagreed. "Something tells me that your leathery friends are a bit more creative than that."

As usual, Hermione was right. With a goblin at the reins, their carriage turned away from the direction of the Shrieking Shack and soon came to a halt in front of….

"Why this is the old wax museum," Hermione realised as the carriage doors opened and a goblin with a footstool rushed forward to facilitate the debouche of the prince and his consort. Behind the goblin loomed a large rainshield - resembling an oversized brolly without a handle - moving towards the carriage, seemingly of its own accord.

"Sure is," Harry agreed. "That makes sense. They I'd bought it, and when I didn't do anything with it, I guess they decided to move in."

Ever the gentleman (when he tried), Harry let Hermione step out first. She swung a vaguely familiar beaded bag over her shoulder and exited, under shelter of the goblins' rainshield.

"Haven't seen you use that before," Harry mentioned as he hopped down to the soggy turf after her.

"The bag? Oh, it was a birthday present from Su Li," Hermione told him. "She's clever, but doesn't have many friends, so I got her a little gift last year. We so rarely go out that I don't have much chance…."

"Impratraxis! Savini! For out of the rain this way to get."

Slamdor approached them at a trot from what used to be the entrance to the shop portion of the building. The alert goblin even remembered Harry's distaste for prostration rituals - no doubt helped by the muddiness of the turf.

The old, frequently vacant building on one of Hogsmeade's lesser side streets retained its unassuming exterior. Inside, however, it was completely redone, mostly as a goblin military barracks. Slamdor indicated that the premises also had a vastly enlarged cellar.

For once, Harry's dithering paid off. Despite Blackie Howe's persistent requests for instructions, he had never bothered to decide what to do with this place. He was pleased that the goblins had found a use for it.

Slamdor led the pair to His commander's quarters - a belowground suite of rooms much more elegantly furnished than the rest of the building. Slamdor opened a pair of French doors, and Harry and Hermione came face-to-face with one of the goblins' floor-to-ceiling transport mirrors.

Slamdor strode to the control sphere, rotated it this way and that, and bade them, "Enter, may you. Within Gringotts emerge will you."

Harry and Hermione easily stepped through the shiny surface, which rippled as they passed. Otherwise, they felt nothing.

Goblin transportation was far superior to either the Floo or Apparition.

They emerged and were welcomed by Glaksosmit, who was responsible for all Gringotts' Wizard Estate matters and - if further indication of goblin esteem for Harry were necessary - by Klamdok, Managing Director of the entire bank.

"Asak, Harry Potter," Klamdok greeted.

"Asakisim," Harry replied. "This is more honour than I deserve. Surely you have more important business than showing us a new vault."

"Every day hosting Impratraxis not in the habit are we," Klamdok answered. "And to you Asakisim as well, Savini Hermione."

Hermione joined in the introductions, as did Glaksosmit. Notwithstanding Klamdok's politesse, the Managing Director would not be participating in the actual vault visit. For one thing, he was old and fat, and might get in the way.

"To supervise signings and distribution only, good for am I," Klamdok remarked.

"What's to sign or distribute?" Harry asked.

"New security directives to activate," Klamdok explained. "Wishes of the Impratraxis to effectuate must I. Then the keys to distribute." Klamdok snapped his sharp pointed fingers and a previously unnoticed goblin stepped forward from the shadows. He carried a folder of parchments, a pair of quills, and for Harry a platter of hot, semi-liquid sealing wax.

The papers were mostly routine, but one of them halted Hermione. "What does this language mean?" she asked pointedly.

"Provide to you an ownership interest in the entire account maintained by Impratraxis Potter at the Bank it does, and conversely that the same interest in the entirety of your account has he," Klamdok explained.

"Entire and undivided?" Hermione followed.

"Correct," Klamdok confirmed.

"But that's a marriage financial arrangement, isn't it?" Hermione pressed, worrying it the goblins somehow knew, or even if Harry had done something without telling her….

"Correct," Klamdok repeated. His explanation assuaged Hermione's concerns. "By goblin magic does operate Gringotts security, and recognise not do we any category between Savini and courtesan or concubine as describe would you. By such persons impossible is complete access."

"Right, they're quastri," Hermione remembered.

Klamdok flinched just a bit. He had not anticipated Hermione knowing the Gobbledygook term.

Hermione turned to her secret fiancé. "Are you comfortable with this, Harry?"

"As long as it doesn't get out and encourage Ministry interference, I've no problem," he answered after some thought.

"Of that, no fear should have you," Klamdok responded confidently. "Internal Gringotts security issue this is, on no formal document will appear will anything appear. More than any wizard or Muggle institution jealously our secrets guard we."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances and smiled. Then they signed the documents. When he finished, Harry leaned over and gave Hermione a little kiss. "It's only a matter of time," he whispered in her ear.

With the documents executed, Klamdok motioned to Glaksosmit, and the latter produced two boxes each the size of a pen and pencil set. With a bow he presented one to each of them. "Ready are your keys. To activate, Impratraxis, please both of them take and touch simultaneously to your tladimax and your manmak."

The boxes contained identical gleaming silver keys with three-sided pins. Lacking tumbler cuts, each side bore a unique pattern of circularly machined indentations. The keys' bows were inverted chevrons, but they had an odd colour scheme, that of a well-known Muggle flag.

"Why Germany?" Hermione asked in puzzlement.

"What Germany?" Glaksosmit responded, thrown by the question.

"Our keys are the colour of the German flag," Hermione pointed out, "black, red and, I guess, gold."

She heard the raspy sound of a goblin chuckle. "Nothing of the sort. Signifies merger of the House of Black with the colours of Gryffindor does this design."

"Oops, I should have caught that," was Hermione's embarrassed reply. "And a bit of Slytherin silver as well?"

"Too soft would be silver," Glaksosmit corrected. "Solid goblin-forged iridium are these. Last forever and much more difficult to counterfeit."

"Oh," she said, again. She was wrong a second consecutive time, a rarity.

Harry performed the required identification-activation charm. That ended Klamdok's role. After assuring Harry that every function and every employee of Gringotts was at the service of the young couple, the senior goblin graciously took his leave.

As one goblin left, another approached. "This, also for you is," Glaksosmit said, indicating a sheaf of official-looking papers he carried under one arm. "Should any questions have you."

It was time to visit the vault.

Glaksosmit called on them to follow. "Impratraxis Potter and … er … Sav… Hermione Hermione, this way. In readiness everything is, with Impratraxis' directions in accordance."

Sensing the goblin's uncertainty, Hermione set him at ease. "You may call me Savini like everyone else, Glaksosmit. It seems so much a goblin habit, that I've given up trying to change it."

"Thank you, Savini. That is it," the goblin responded as the party moved steadily towards a large door at the end of the hallway. "Most appropriate certainly is it, since came back confirmatory the tests."

"What tests?" Hermione asked.

"Verified your purity did they," Glaksosmit revealed. "From Slamdor's … er … evidence, as is traditional."

"Oh Merlin, you mean you actually tested the sheets?" Hermione squealed, catching Harry's attention.

Harry now knew why he responded suspiciously to Slamdor's request that evening.

"As is tradition," Glaksosmit confirmed. "With flying colours, passed you."

"Why would you do that?" Harry broke in. "I didn't ask." He was not happy. His goblin friends, it seemed, were as preoccupied with "purity" as the Wizengamot - judging by that transcript Dumbledore had recommended he read.

Sensing Harry's displeasure immediately, Glaksosmit prostrated himself. "Necessary to obey your instructions your vault to grant Savini access, Impratraxis," he whimpered from his prone position.

"Anyor," Harry demanded. "I'd say `please,' but I know that doesn't help with goblins."

Glaksosmit scrambled to his feet.

"Go on, please," Harry requested as the party started moving again.

"The charms available to protect the vaults, especially large ones like yours, ancient are they," Glaksosmit explained. "Certain prerequisites require they. As was explained, your requests concerning Savini Hermione's access rights translated properly could only be in the context of the options allowed by our magic."

"And with no effective option short of marriage, I had to pass some sort of marriage test?" Hermione broke in.

She was right this time.

"Correct, Savini," Glaksosmit agreed, not knowing whether things were getting better or worse. "Old the spells are, as said I. Equally old is the test. Without it, impossible to provide the desired access was it."

"I see," said Harry evenly. "Does this mean that the Goblin Nation now regards us as husband and wife?" Harry was not sure whether he wanted the answer to be yes or no.

"No, Impratraxis, as has occurred no ceremony," Glaksosmit explained. "But limited to Gringotts Bank security, that answer is yes."

By now, they reached the door. "Special cart entrance?" Harry asked.

"No cart anymore, Impratraxis," the goblin replied. "By private lift, are serviced the great vaults. Far more comfortable than carts are these - and more secure." With exquisite timing the doors opened to reveal a spotless lift, with hardwood sides, a mirrored ceiling, and shiny, green marble flooring.

Glaksosmit continued. "In the future, from the main floor a lift may access you. Just your key to one of us show. Critical is your key. Observe."

The goblin produced a third key. To their untrained eyes it appeared identical to what they had just received.

"The same as yours is this key, only not properly activated," Glaksosmit explained as he inserted the key into the elevator's operating mechanism.

In an instant the floor simply vanished. Anyone in the elevator would have fallen to the bottom of the shaft.

Glaksosmit hastily removed the fake key and motioned Harry to insert his. He did, and the floor returned - just as solid as before.

"Had much longer waited I, automatically descend to the bottom would the car, and in boiling acid been immersed," he explained. "Additional security in case of levitation - also the lift clean does keep it."

An underling approached. Following the usual submissive gestures, he handed Glaksosmit several small metal instruments with black carved-stone handles. "What are those?" Harry asked.

"Albopitz," was the reply. "But `Clankers' call them your kind. Dragons keep at bay when shake them you do."

Glaksosmit gave his Clanker a vigorous shake. It made a surprisingly loud, high-pitched clanging sound, like a flock of færies banging on tiny anvils with tinier hammers.

"Ack," Hermione groused about the racket. "Can we just get on with it, please?"

"A command is your wish," agreed Glaksosmit.

Harry and Hermione made sure their goblin escort entered the lift before they got on. Only one button - the vault level - appeared on its control panel.

They emerged into much warmer air. "Dragon breath," Glaksosmit announced cheerfully without being asked. "Its own dragon has each vault. This way is your vault," he directed, pointing to a set of icons. Directional arrows pointed only to symbols. No other identifiers were present.

"Which one is mine?" Harry asked.

"Lightning bolt upon red and black background is your symbol," Glaksosmit told him. "The prior symbol, a solid black square, replaces does it."

Due to their size, these vaults were widely spaced. The goblin magic infusing everything recognised the pair as rightful owners. A glowing barrier followed them. That, along with occasional vigorous use of the Clankers, kept the guardian dragons for the intervening vaults well away from the party. Hermione could identify all the various species of dragons they passed until they reached Harry's vault.

There, the pair encountered something new - a two-headed, two-legged dragon, smaller, but quite high-strung in its behaviour. Its underbelly was tan, almost beige, but its upper scales were grey-green. It had black, batlike wings; intense yellow eyes; and a tail tipped with a red barb. When the dragon breathed, mist rather than smoke or fire emerged. Its tongue, flicking incessantly, was almost identical to, although smaller than, the tip of its tail.

"What's that?" they asked in unison, their Clankers raised in case it showed signs of aggression.

"Hmm," Glaksosmit paused. "My department, not. Consult roster, let me." The goblin pulled a device from beneath his waistcoat that resembled a three pronged divining rod. He placed it bodily against the nearby wall and turned it this way and that. He read the odd writing that appeared.

"Here says it, Wallachian Wyvern," Glaksosmit told them. "Only recently has been possible them to train. By Charles Weasley achieved first was this feat. Him know you believe I."

"Quite well," Hermione chirped. She would have gone on about Charlie had Harry not inserted his key as indicated by Glaksosmit. A portion of the wall flickered and then dissolved like a mirage. What they saw inside stunned them both into silence.

Harry dropped his Clanker, but the sound it made did not register.

The vault was huge - more like a banquet hall than any bank vault either of them had ever seen. The entrance was offset to the right. On the left-hand side stretched row after row of multi-layered shelves, each a metre or more deep. They rose to a ceiling well over their heads.

The only comparable thing Harry had ever seen was the Hall of Prophecy.

To Hermione the expanse brought back memories of the great exhibition halls at Earls Court and Olympia where her parents had taken her to the Boat and Horse Shows.

The shelves groaned under the weight of huge brownish sacks of what both of them supposed was money. There were more sacks than they fancied ever counting.

There was a slow but steady clinking sound. "Compounding interest," Glaksosmit replied when Hermione asked what that was.

On the near side of the vault, taking up no more than one-quarter of the total space, were miscellaneous desks stuffed with papers, cabinets full of knickknacks, armoires crammed with clothing, and display cases loaded with collectibles.

Interspersed amongst the furniture were just plain piles of stuff. One pile contained vases, flatware, and assorted dishes and other tableware. Another pile contained the mixed up components of several suits of armour. Some stacks were still covered with canvas - as if they had not been disturbed since being delivered, however many years ago that might have been.

Harry and Hermione finally had some idea of what a billion pounds (or at least a substantial fraction of that) might actually look like. At first, they simply walked around looking dazzled, but after a bit, they started asking questions.

"Is it Galleons in all of those bags?" Harry asked Glaksosmit after trying - and failing miserably - to count them.

"Yes, Impratraxis," Glaksosmit answered quickly. "100,000 Galleons holds each bag. Of course, actually present are not all of the bags, as a lending institution is Gringotts. On loan are most deposited assets."

"Well, which of those bags aren't really here?" Harry followed up.

"Sure of that will never be you," Glaksosmit enigmatically replied.

"Huh?"

"As much as anywhere else, in your mind is the illusion," the goblin continued. "Touch any bag may you. Feel it will you. Real will be it, relative to you."

"How many of these bags are there, exactly?" Hermione asked.

Glaksosmit consulted a parchment-containing folder he pulled from under his arm. He thumbed through until finding what he sought. "Believe I, currently, one thousand, three hundred, and sixty one. On loan is the rest."

"I've been looking around," Hermione mentioned, "and whilst I've seen all sorts of armour, clothing, and assorted similar things, I'm surprised not to find any art - or any books."

Harry gave her a knowing smile. It was so - Hermione - for her second question to be about books; he would have not have been surprised had it been her first.

Glaksosmit again shuffled through the parchments he carried. Extracting a couple, he told them, "Art, mostly in the Château kept is it. At the Château and in London both are books. See you, of houses mostly intact their contents. Moved to vaults have not they. Mostly of items that outlived their usefulness thought the Blacks, the inventory consists … such as these maps." The goblin gestured towards a large, blocky wooden chest with dozens of wide and deep, but extremely low pull-out drawers.

Hermione stepped forward and randomly pulled open a drawer. "It's an old map, all right, but it's in Chinese." Always fascinated by ancient documents, she opened another and another and another. "Finally, here's one that at least uses our alphabet," she remarked, recognising a map of West Africa, with Portuguese place names.

Hermione recoiled and slid the drawer shut with authority. "Umm … how long have these maps been in here?"

Harry was rapidly losing interest in the maps as Glaksosmit rummaged through his folder of parchments again. Harry ambled towards the front of the vault, giving everything he passed a cursory once over. If he appeared to looking for something, he was.

"These maps … let's see … deposited here for safekeeping, in 1589 were they. Some dispute with the Muggle Crown was having the family. On our contemporaneous receipts, notations see I … `obsolete' and `traces of decaying magic.' More than that, cannot say I."

"But why are so many of them Chinese … and of places like Patagonia?" Hermione asked as she moved away from what she considered a slaver's cache. "That makes no sense."

All Glaksosmit could say was, "As good as mine, is your guess," as he followed in Hermione's wake. She continued inspecting storage areas along the right-hand wall of the cavernous vault. The goblin changed course abruptly as he saw Harry beckoning to him. At the same time, Harry motioned for him not to tell Hermione.

Glaksosmit began easing away from Hermione, but at that moment she made to open an overstuffed armoire. It was full of garments that were no doubt the height of wizard fashion in the time of the Hundred Years War.

"Savini, please, not good idea in there to examine," the goblin called out urgently.

She looked at him oddly.

His right index finger stabbed the air. "On the door," he directed. "Says the note, `store in isolated area due to exposure to the Great Mortality'."

There was indeed a note, Hermione noticed - but written in Gobbledygook.

She drew back, expecting to hear from the goblin whether this `Great Mortality' was what she suspected, but no follow-up was forthcoming. Instead, Glaksosmit had his back turned and was walking nonchalantly towards Harry. Her fiancé was standing by a metal and glass display cabinet of some sort at the opposite end of the large room.

Resolving to be more careful, Hermione continued her own exploratory jaunt. If Harry found anything important, he would tell her. She trusted him to do that.

"My presence sought you, Impratraxis?" Glaksosmit inquired in a low voice as he approached.

Harry gestured to the large case next to him, "Is this … are these, what I wanted you to get together for me?"

"As commanded you," Glaksosmit confirmed proudly. "Centuries of acquisitions, brought together and displayed, the Black family jewels."

"But I … I thought there'd be more," Harry remarked, with a twinge of disappointment creeping into his voice.

"But of course." Glaksosmit withdrew a key-shaped object from a pocket in his goblin-grey vest. "Requested to maintain a modest appearance did you. That so little would have accumulated the Blacks did think you? For centuries the most efficient way wealth to transport was this." The goblin placed the key on the cabinet next to what Harry gathered must be the corresponding keyhole. "When ready are you, Impratraxis."

"You've had everything checked, haven't you?" Harry continued.

"Better than that," Glaksosmit answered confidently. "For almost a week, on this project hard at work have been two of Gringotts' best Curse-Breakers. Remains does no magic at all. As if everything were Muggle, is it."

Harry then breached the ordinary formality of goblin royalty. "Thanks," Harry told the goblin. "Now I can do this right. Save the rest. Maybe it can be reworked to match whatever she picks."

"…As wish you, Impratraxis," the almost stunned goblin rotely responded. Royalty never thanked subordinates, save for gallantry in battle.

Hermione had almost made her way to the back of the vault. Interestingly, what had looked like disorganised piles of this and that had jumped apart at her approach. They resolved their clutter into, say, a table setting for one hundred, or sets of armour for five knights, or a finely appointed magic carpet with every piece of optional equipment imaginable. There was only one more pile to investigate before she reached the burlap (or goblin equivalent) covered stacks that lay against the rear wall.

`Hermione, could you come here?' Harry Legilimenced to her. `There's something I think you need to see.'

Urgency sounded in his thought. Had he found something horrible? Ledgers of slave transactions perhaps?

With some trepidation, she quickly went to him.

He was still standing beside the low metal and glass cabinet when she arrived. It appeared to be an assemblage of bejewelled necklaces and bracelets.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she voiced her concern. "We saw these when we came in. Is there something more that doesn't meet the eye?"

"You're right clever as always." Harry grinned at her. "How did you know?"

He turned the key in the lock.

The cabinet quivered, flickered, and vibrated as if it were a mirage. One end shot out as the entire case Transfigured itself into three levels of glittering brass and cut glass display fixtures nearly ten metres long.

As shiny as the cabinets were, their contents put them to shame. There, resting on velvet as black as night, lay the entire Black collection of gemstones, mounted and unmounted. On display were dozens of diamond, pearl, and emerald necklaces, some with pendants and some with rows of stones. Even more bracelets were present, and row upon row of rings and earrings. Amongst them were tiaras, diadems, brooches, and anklets, and even more unusual pieces such as circlets, belly chains, and thigh bands. Some of the pieces, she did not even want to think about how intimately they were likely intended to be worn.

The gems themselves glistened with every colour of the rainbow. Green emeralds of all shades predominated - the Blacks were Slytherins, of course. But amongst the green dazzled the brilliant white and flashing yellow of diamonds, the vibrant reds and bright pinks of rubies, the intense blue of sapphires and lapis lazuli, the rainbows of opals and chalcedonies, and the deep purple of amethyst. In the lower cabinets lay piles of loose stones, organised by type and colour. Beginning with a pile of black pearls, these extended through the spectrum, and ended with an even larger pile of flawless diamonds at the opposite end. On the third layer, beneath those, were raw, uncut stones.

"Oh Merlin and Morgana," Hermione gasped. "This is incredible. It's … it's the British Museum and Samuel's all lumped together. What can we possibly do with it all…?"

"You can pick, that's what," Harry told her.

Hermione was still stunned by the opulence of it all. "Pick? Pick what?" she asked.

"Pick what you want for a wedding ring," Harry smiled as he spoke the words. "Since I didn't know what I was doing, I've never given you a decent ring. Now I'm fixing that. Pick whatever you want to go in your ring and I'll ask the goblins to forge it. Anything you want, either as put together here or in some different grouping. Just tell me."

"But I can't, Harry, these are so extravagant," Hermione said, reeling. "It would be obvious to everyone."

"Oh, yes you can. I've planned this with the goblins since Dumbledore first told me I needed to see the Black vault," he revealed. "The goblins are the best magical forgers in the world. They'll add unbreakable Invisibility Charms, so that only you and I can see it - until we decide to change that."

"But Harry, the miners…."

He talked over her. "Forget that. This stuff's mostly centuries old. Hermione, I'm not leaving here until you've picked a proper ring." Then he sat down, Indian-legged on the floor.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Hermione looked down at him. A knowing smile began replacing her prior look of shock and awe.

"I've been working on this surprise for weeks," Harry revealed with an almost embarrassed smile of his own. "What do you think?"

"Well … I did have an idea." She gave in to his persistence.

"I thought you might," Harry smiled more broadly. "After all, girls are supposed to think about stuff like this since … since, like forever, aren't they?"

"Oh tosh - listen to you, mister sexist," Hermione chided. "I didn't think about this until…." She stopped, and put a hand over her mouth.

Harry waited. When the silence stretched too long, he asked, "Until what, Hermione?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Until I saw it in the Mirror of Erised," she confessed.

Harry grinned even more broadly. "That's great. Maybe if I'd had a look at it, a lot of this year's nastiness could have been avoided…. Go on. Pick out your heart's desire."

Hermione did. She chose two modest (compared to what she could have selected) blood red rubies from a set of earrings. To go between them, she selected a substantial blue-white diamond from amongst the loose stones on the second level. The three stones added up to maybe fifteen carats, twenty at the most.

Harry seemed disappointed. "Is that all you want?" he asked when she finished so quickly. "There are lots bigger ones, just in the rings. I don't want you holding back because…."

She could put her foot down too. "This is what I want, Harry. Now all we need is a gold band."

"That should be easy enough," Harry said brightly, forgetting about gems as he clambered to his feet.

But one thing missing from this display was gold. The Blacks were Slytherins, and silver was their colour. All the fittings in the entire cabinet were silver, or platinum, or some similar metal.

"We can just melt down a Galleon then," Harry shrugged, slightly embarrassed that the trove he had the goblins display contained not a speck of gold.

"That won't work, Harry," Hermione told him. "Ministry coinage is charmed to prevent counterfeiting. I discovered that whilst creating those coins for the D.A. I had to use a Protean Charm because everything else bounced off the Ministry mint's protections."

Glaksosmit, who had been silent throughout Harry's little surprise, chimed in, "Not to worry. Here is gold aplenty. Muggle gold it is, so worry about no charms."

The goblin shot off towards the rear of the vault. Hermione took advantage of the private moment. Wrapping her arms about Harry's neck, she whispered, "I was so overwhelmed just now that I think I forgot to tell you…. I think that your little surprise was really quite romantic…."

Her statement ended prematurely as Harry leaned over and brought his lips to hers. Hermione's eyes flickered closed as she brought one arm into his hair. A quiet series of clinks followed. She set the three gemstones on the glass of the nearby cabinet, temporarily out of mind.

Harry's heartbeat accelerated as he felt her embrace. His tongue flickered along her lips until, with one of her small mewling sounds, she granted him access. Grunting slightly, Harry began to surrender to the moment, his own hands trending lower, seeking out either side of her delectable bum….

Hermione teased him, "When we're done here, I've a surprise for you…."

Reality - Glaksosmit's shout - intruded. "Impratraxis, Savini, as I promised all is…!"

Their flushed, dreamy expressions of love fled in an instant. Instead they stared at what before had been three nondescript - albeit large - canvas-covered pallets.

The canvas was gone, revealing the gleam of more gold than either had imagined could exist in one place. Stack after stack of shining ingots merged into one another to create rectilinear forms as wide as a lorry and taller than they were. It was a horde worthy of an oriental despot….

And already hastening back was Glaksosmit, carrying an ingot in his leathery, clawed hands.

"As promised," the middle-aged goblin puffed as he approached. "About nothing need worry Savini. More rings than could count you, enough to make is it!" Glaksosmit stopped short a few metres away, and composed himself to approach royalty properly. Bowing, he extended his arms to present the aureate block to Hermione.

"For you, Savini."

With sort of a dazed smile, she reached for it. "Thank you, Glaksosmit. You really don't … ooh…."

Hermione almost dropped it. For its size, the gold bar was surprisingly heavy. Only about ten centimeters long and a quarter that tall; it weighed well over a kilo. She better appreciated how strong goblins were.

Recovering, Hermione ran her hands across the bevelled ingot. "Oh, Harry, it's so lustrous and…. Oh, God…."

This time she did drop it. Actually, Hermione essentially flung it away, as if it had suddenly Transfigured into something poisonous. The ingot fell with a dull thunk.

In over five years, through all manner of dangerous and stressful situations, Harry had never before heard Hermione invoke the Deity.

She turned to him, looking shattered.

Harry wondered what on earth could have happened. "What have we gotten ourselves into, Harry…?" she groaned, as tears started flowing freely down her cheeks. "What are we becoming…?"

Glaksosmit reached for the fallen metal, but Harry was quicker. "Accio bullion."

Harry winced as the heavy, solid object smacked into his hands. He turned the bar over to see its widest face. Stamped into it, just beneath a row of what looked like repeated nines, he saw a stylised eagle, and in its claws….

A swastika.

With a clunk, the bar again dropped to the floor, just in front of a very confused Glaksosmit, who dove unsuccessfully at the last second attempting to catch it. Harry put his arms around a hunched over Hermione as he tried to make sense of it all. "Hermione, darling, you don't think, do you…?"

"Yes…. Read it, Harry," she choked out.

"I … I don't read German," he whispered back.

Glaksosmit was inquiring uncertainly, "Impratraxis? Savini…?"

"Nor do I," she groaned, leaning heavily into him. "But I recognise one word…."

"…What can do I?" the bewildered goblin continued. "Good delivery bars are all these…."

"…Treblinka…."

Harry was not as well versed as Hermione. "Umm … I'm not sure I follow," he muttered.

"…Papers documenting proper ownership have we…."

"It means death," Hermione moaned in an undertone, "…death … extermination … genocide…. Oh, God…." She broke down again, sagging into his arms, weeping.

"…Nothing to be concerned…."

"Glaksosmit, be quiet, please!" Harry barked. Instantly the goblin went silent. Seeing the anguished look on Harry's face, he prostrated himself and stayed there, face firmly impressed into the vault floor.

"Hermione, we'll get to the bottom of this, I promise," Harry reassured her whilst stroking her long, soft brown hair. "When you're ready … tell me what you think I need to know. Remember, I love you…."

It took a while, but as was inevitable, Hermione regained control. Harry's repeated whispering, "I love you," in her ear helped.

Finally, he felt her muscles tense. Instead of leaning on Harry, she stood on her own two feet once again.

"Harry … I - I love you too, but … but we can't keep that." Although tears glistened in her eyes, she spoke firmly, gesturing at the stacks of gold. "I had always thought…. Well, I thought that slave trading was the worst the Blacks could have done. I was wrong…."

She stopped and took several exaggerated deep breaths to calm herself again.

"Treblinka was a Nazi extermination camp," she informed him. "Rumours have abounded, ever since the war ended, about Nazis hiding gold they stole from all the people they killed…. I think we've just found where a lot of it ended up."

"Shite!" Harry muttered. "Goddamn you, Sirius! Why couldn't you have been like the rest of them…?"

Hermione's breath hitched audibly. "No, Harry, don't think that, please. I'm sure Sirius had no idea…."

"Doesn't matter," Harry shook his head resignedly. "I wish I was never involved in this. It's one more damn thing that now I have to set right."

Hermione warned, "Harry, if you start thinking this is somehow your fault…"

"Not my fault. Just my effing mess," Harry grumbled. "You're right, Hermione, this isn't ours because it wasn't rightly theirs to start with. They can just dump it back where it came from…."

"No, Harry, that's not right either," Hermione countered. "Now that we've found it, we have to give it back, as best we can."

"But how, Hermione? I don't know anything about all this," Harry protested. "I just want out."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I want out, too, but it's not that simple," Hermione said as she stroked his cheek. "But we can start finding things out."

The know-it-all was back on her feet. Whilst Auror training taught Hermione to take a physical punch, being with Harry taught her to take an emotional one.

She addressed the still prone goblin gently but firmly. "Glaksosmit, we need some questions answered."

The goblin scrambled to his feet, still confused about what had just happened. "For you anything can do I?" he squeaked.

"You said Gringotts has documentation for this Muggle gold. We need to see it. If it's not in English, we need a translator. I don't trust my spellwork on these types of documents."

"Yes, immediately," Glaksosmit agreed. He opened his file and pulled out a collection of goblin parchments and Muggle papers. He spread them out atop the cabinet, where obscured the glittering gemstones. A number of the papers were obviously in German. "A translator will need we. A moment…."

The goblin produced some sort of artefact - a key of sorts - but not at all like those Harry and Hermione had received. It twisted like a corkscrew. Glaksosmit inserted the key in a panel by the vault door and started speaking Gobbledygook. Other than "Impratraxis" and "Savini," Harry could not follow the conversation. Neither side sounded very happy.

"A translator, shortly will have we," Glaksosmit informed them through. "Until then, how of help can be I?"

"When and where did Gringotts acquire this gold?" Harry went straight to the point.

"Part of consolidation of Black family affairs in light of the legal proceedings," Glaksosmit answered as he rummaged through his file. "Aha! Eighteen months ago from Swiss National Bank 5,344 kilos received Gringotts, and from Union Bank another 1779 kilos, for a total of 7,123 kilos, or a little more than seven tonnes."

"And this was owned by the Blacks?" Hermione followed.

"Yes," Glaksosmit confirmed, "Deposited for the account of Arcturus Black, was it - 17 May, 1945 in SNB and three days later in UBS. Legitimate appear transactions."

"Did these Muggle banks know what this was?" Harry asked.

"`Gold bars' is all that say the records," Glaksosmit answered whilst squinting at the fifty-year old Muggle documents. "However, precise is the bar count. To the nearest one fortieth of a troy ounce was weighed each bar. Also taken were assays. Impossible, would say I, that with so much testing to read and understand these markings in position was nobody. Knew the source must have Arcturus Black."

At this point a klaxon briefly sounded. The translator had arrived. Glaksosmit introduced him as Alblak. Seeing Harry, he started to prostrate himself, but Glaksosmit stopped him. Alblak spent several minutes examining the German-language documents before nodding that he was finished.

Hermione asked the critical question, "Do the records indicate where Arcturus Black got the gold?"

Glaksosmit had anticipated this question, "Do not these - the English ones from the banks," he told them.

"Sketchy are the German records," Alblak began. "To sellers, Kaltenbrunner and Spacil refer they, no first names, but Muggles were they, as indicates the term `Muggel.' Recite that for their government they had proper custody do the documents. Occurred, in Oberbayern did the transaction, which would be Bavaria believe I."

"What was it?" Harry asked.

"Sorry, am I. What was what?" Alblak responded to the vague question.

"What was the nature of the transaction?" Hermione clarified.

"Odd, for a wizard was it," Alblak remarked. "In Muggle money was it, but with in Galleons a finder's fee. Paid in American dollars was the bulk, but also Spanish pesetas."

"How much?" Harry asked

Alblak was a goblin banker through and through. "A good price received he," the goblin stated admiringly. "Even at the low fixed American rate, at the time was worth that much gold … hmm…?" The goblin's eyes went out of focus as he did the calculations in his head. "…nearly nine million American dollars. For little more than one million American, plus a two-hundred thousand Galleon finder's fee, acquired it did Arcturus Black. Plus … now interesting is this…."

"What?" Hermione pressed.

"Notes in Arcturus Black's own handwriting see I," Alblak revealed. "Was to the finder's fee … hmm … Gellert Grindelwald…."

Harry and Hermione exchanged dark glances. Before his defeat at Dumbledore's hands, the Dark wizard Grindelwald had acted as a soothsayer for Hitler himself.

Neither Alblak, nor Glaksosmit, looking over his shoulder, noticed their exchange. They were too busy reviewing the notes on the parchment.

"…Indicate also some unusual terms do the notations," Alblak droned on. "Eight International Red Cross laissez-passer documents to Seville…."

"Safe conduct documents," Hermione broke in.

"…and steamship tickets, also for eight, to Delta del Tigre."

"Where's that?" Harry asked.

"Impratraxis, that not know I," Alblak answered hesitantly. Glaksosmit's arm shot out, restraining the other goblin from prostrating himself again.

"Forgive me please, Impratraxis," Glaksosmit added, "for also deficient of Muggle geography is my knowledge."

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. For once she did not know the answer either. Until…. "Wait," she blurted. Into her beaded handbag she fished. A bit of rummaging, produced her D.A. mirror. "Dennis added some memory and helped me input some things that we thought might come in handy. One was a detailed map of the world."

She tapped on the mirror a couple of times with her wand, dragging the tip across its face. Hermione squinted as she moved the image around. After a few seconds she announced, "It's in Uruguay."

Harry's face was still blank. "Where's that?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry, it's in South America," Hermione told everyone. "I think that means that part of the deal was to help those two, and probably their families, escape capture by the Allies."

Glaksosmit and Alblak were not at all sure what was going on. To them the Muggle transaction was just a transaction, no matter how irregular - especially since the wizards seemed to have gotten the better of the deal. "To do, what are proposing you?"

Harry drew himself up and spoke with a commanding voice. "The men Arcturus Black dealt with were Nazis. They killed millions of people at places like Treblinka. I'm sure they stole all this gold from those people. We can't keep it. Those two didn't properly own it, so neither did the Blacks, and neither do I. We have to give it back … er … to somebody."

"Who, Impratraxis?" asked Glaksosmit.

"I-I-I … don't know right now," Harry confessed with a shake of his head. Turning to Hermione, he asked, "Well, I think this is a Dumbledore-level issue, don't you?"

Hermione paused before answering. "Actually not," she allowed. "I'm not sure I trust him on this. He was involved in all that litigation over the Black Estate, and I wonder…. Dumbledore was so determined to keep the Black Estate out of Voldemort's hands. This is the kind of thing he might have decided to `forget' about telling us…."

Harry stiffened. That was exactly what Dumbledore might decide to do - especially once he had been kidnapped, and the Headmaster needed Hermione to keep the Black fortune in the "right" hands.

"Impratraxis, if too irregular was the transaction, the gold refine can we. Facilities to make it utterly untraceable have we," Glaksosmit suggested, thinking that Harry and Hermione wanted their money laundering services. "A good price, we could get…."

"No," Harry replied coldly, the force in his voice almost driving Glaksosmit again to prostrate himself in apology. "This is worse blood money than the rest of it. I don't need more money and wouldn't take it for this anyway. It's reparations. It needs to get back to proper hands."

"Tell us who, and delivered will be it," Glaksosmit submitted, even if, from a goblin perspective, the Prince's reasoning was inexplicable.

"I just don't know, that's the problem," Harry responded ruefully. "I don't want to have to answer questions about this, but I can't just drop it off at Scotland Yard and say, `have at it.' I'd probably get arrested."

Hermione squeezed Harry's arm. "I've got an idea," she said, "and it might help down the road, too."

She used one of her euphemisms for when Harry finally had to fulfill the prophecy. Hermione never stopped thinking about how to better Harry's chances.

"I'm not using this to buy anyone or anything," Harry resisted, rather surprised at Hermione's presumed suggestion.

"Merlin knows I wouldn't ask you to," Hermione promptly clarified. "But I think we should send that" - she pointed to the gold bar that had started it all, still firmly clutched in Glaksosmit's claws - "along with an note requesting help, to the Sisters of the Moon. They're supposedly powerful seers, even if I don't put much stock in Divination. But most importantly, they're Jewish Kabballists, so they'd probably be inclined to help with a Holocaust-related problem."

"How to reach them, tell us and be done will it," Glaksosmit pledged.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "but I'll bet I can find out. After all, Ron knew about them, so they can't be all that secret."

The Nazi gold affair put a damper on both Harry's and Hermione's desire to spend any more time in the vault than absolutely necessary.

In a couple of minutes Harry had directed his now even more eager-to-please hosts to inventory the Nazi gold and to sell or swap a loose gemstone or two from the cabinet to obtain untainted gold for what would eventually be Hermione's wedding band.

In only a couple of minutes more, Hermione showed the goblins how she wanted the three stones she had selected to be mounted on her ring.

Finally, Harry had the goblins copy some of the documentation concerning the gold - items that Hermione thought would be useful to study.

As they were leaving, Hermione asked to use the facilities. Glaksosmit disappeared for only a few seconds and returned with one of the minimal number of witches that Gringotts employed. She could show Hermione to a proper (that is, wizard usable) loo, since the goblin had no idea where that might be.

Watching Hermione walk away, chatting with the slightly shorter witch and once again rummaging through her beaded bag, Harry shook his head. He remembered what she had wanted to do after finishing with his vault. Unfortunately, the discovery of this even blacker secret of the Blacks was a mood breaker. Sighing, Harry could hardly blame her for just wanting to get back to Hogwarts.

Glaksosmit looked quizzically at Harry, asking if his presence were still needed. Harry thought not, and so the goblin took his leave - but not before vowing a full audit of the Muggle gold. Slamdor would be waiting for them in the main Gringotts lobby.

Damn the Blacks and all their evil business dealings, Harry thought. He almost wished he had never met Sirius. It was wrong, Harry knew, to blame Sirius for what his relatives had done before he was born, but still … making a profit from genocide…?

Absent-mindedly Harry kicked at the wall with his trainers. It had turned into a terrible day….

He heard Hermione's voice behind him, "Harry, stop moping around and come here. I need you to help me with something."

From the lightness in her voice Harry knew that, despite what had happened, nothing serious was wrong - at least no more wrong than before.

He turned towards her. She had discarded her school robes for a green dress nearly as shapeless. "Hermione, why did you change your…?"

As she approached, his question answered itself.

"That's … that's your goblin outfit," Harry stated the obvious.

"What's more appropriate for a goblin-hosted rendezvous?" Hermione replied with a sly smile. "Now come over here and energise these charms."

Harry hesitated, "But … I thought … er … I didn't think…."

"I never thought I'd be telling anyone to stop thinking too much," Hermione chided as she advanced on him. "But you're thinking too much." She reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. She had the opal necklace in her hands, and she passed it to him as they embraced.

Hermione leaned in for what she intended to be the first of many kisses. Her hands moved lower whilst his moved higher, around her neck. As delicious as his fingers felt on the nape of her neck, she kept waiting for the even more ticklish sensation of the dress Transfiguring.

It never came. Finally, Harry broke the kiss. "Sorry," he puffed, "I can't concentrate enough to make this work when I'm kissing you like that. All I want to do is snog."

"Not a multitasker, are you?" Hermione whispered back to him, her own breath rather ragged.

"More like a one-track mind when we're together like this," Harry corrected.

Hermione stopped distracting Harry and stayed more or less still. A suddenly more dexterous Harry got her clasp closed, and the goblin magic that infused Hermione's mafaswele began working once more.

The fabric rippled and tightened around her curves. Hermione's neckline dropped and her breasts rose. Her tantalising midriff came into view.

Harry could not help slipping his hands inside the wrapping of Hermione's most fetching packaging. She responded with a turn at wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Sorry," she giggled as his roaming hands reached pay dirt of sorts, "only white cotton this time. I ran out of the fancy kind."

"Doesn't matter," he sighed as he rubbed the aforementioned white cotton. "I'm still trying to believe this is real. I felt sure you would be upset about what happened."

Hermione drew back and looked him straight in the eye. "I am," she said seriously, "but I'm not upset at you. As for you - I. Thought. You. Were. Magnificent."

That gobsmacked Harry. "Me? How?"

"You didn't hesitate an instant in turning your back on more gold than either of us will see in a lifetime," she told him. "Their offer to launder it all didn't tempt you at all. You've done a lot of things that make me proud, Harry Potter - risking your life and all that - but I don't think I've ever been prouder of you than at that moment you told them that you wouldn't think of profiting from genocide. Because you didn't even stop and think…."

"I've got an excellent conscience…," Harry started to reply.

Hermione did not let him finish, "I've always known that," she purred, "that's why I…."

"…and I'm looking at her." Harry did not let her finish either.

At that, they stopped talking and started snogging again, there in the deserted hallway. The moment lasted until Hermione came up for air.

Grinding into him, she said impatiently, "Harry, your conscience is feeling rather naughty right now. I think we need to find Glaksosmit and that room we've been promised."

Together they strode back to the main banking chamber, Hermione attracting slack-jawed looks from practically everyone - goblin or human - they passed. They hailed the first goblin they saw. Within minutes a much happier sounding supervisor of Harry's account once again led them through the maze of Gringotts' back hallways.

Their destination, at least at first, was familiar. They soon stood before another of the goblins' floor-to-ceiling transportation mirrors.

Stepping through, they arrived in some secluded hideaway. A retinue of several attendants, all clad in goblin grey with red trim, awaited them.

Anticipation rising, Harry and Hermione followed their hosts (although these particular goblins would not have described themselves as such) through several obsidian panelled corridors lit by large white crystals. The couple was surprised to find a stone dock fronted on an underground lake, rather than some sumptuously appointed room.

Two comfortable-looking seats - obviously meant for them - were on the dock. "Here must wait we," one of their hosts told them. "Not long should be it. Study this may both you. Please rest. Need it will you…."

As the two of them settled in, each received identical cards of what seemed to be stiff paper. They bore lists of goblin commands and their English counterparts - such as "warmer," "darker," "end," and "summon."

Before having time to pose appropriate questions to their hosts, a small boat tillered by a goblin hove into view. Moving without any visible means of power, the boat eased to a stop next to the dock. The stern of the boat was quite wide enough to hold them, and smelled strongly of rose petals.

They boarded somewhat uncertainly, since neither had been in such a small boat since crossing the lake to Hogwarts to begin their very first year.

"Impratraxis, Savini … please … stay seated," the boatgoblin requested urgently.

They did as instructed. With a low hum, the chairs moved forward and bore the pair into the boat without it even rocking.

"Take you there, shall I," announced the boatgoblin as the vessel pulled gently away from the dock.

"Umm … where's there?" Harry asked.

"Retreat of Impratraxis," the boatgoblin said with some surprise in his voice. "Requested by Savini, was it."

"Wow!" Hermione commented breathlessly. "All I really asked for was a room."

The dock disappeared behind them, and soon no vestiges of civilisation were apparent on the banks of the subterranean stream they navigated. Instead they floated through an underground cavern, surrounded by stalactites, stalagmites, fantastically twisted shapes, and equally fantastic shadows. Curtains of white, red, and rusty orange flowstone shimmered in the boat's headlight. Other speleothems cast weird shadows in the background.

"How long will this take?" Harry asked again.

"Time short to retreat. Like it will you," the boatgoblin answered respectfully, yet mysteriously.

"What do these … commands, I guess … do?" Hermione inquired.

"Control of magic, permit they," the boatgoblin tersely explained.

Allowing the couple more minutes of gawking at the marvelous natural cave sculpture, the boat slowed to a halt at a slip on the edge of the stream. A smooth path - the only man (goblin) made thing anywhere to be seen, snaked away into the shadows.

The boatgoblin cut the headlight as he came to a halt.

"Eek!" Hermione squealed, clutching Harry's hand as they were plunged into total darkness.

Not quite total darkness.

As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, the two of them gasped at what looked like a starry sky above them.

"But I thought we were far underground," Harry goggled.

"So did I … and I'm having trouble making out any of the constellations," Hermione echoed. Their chairs were once again levitating - carrying them to the path.

"Those aren't stars," Hermione realised as they glided along. "The patterns are changing as we move. Those lights are much too close…. You know what…?"

"Okay, what?" Harry put the penny in the slot.

"I think they're cave glowworms," Hermione told him with bated breath. "Thousands of them - almost enough for me to see my way."

"Command to use," the boatgoblin offered from the shadows.

"Umm … thomat," Hermione incanted.

Immediately lights buried at ground level illuminated the path. The walkway t curled away through the large cave chamber towards a now-brightly lit room - or area - about fifty metres away.

"I guess that's the retreat," Harry said understatedly. Turning to the boatgoblin, he asked, "Are you our guide?"

"No guide needed, Impratraxis," the boatgoblin answered. "No further go I … your privacy to respect."

Holding hands, and fairly shivering with anticipation, they trotted along the now well-lit path. Hermione shivered more than a little, since the cave's temperature was only about 13^â-‹C. She was not warmly dressed, so Harry did the right thing and gave her his outer robe.

The path meandered towards the retreat past a series of rimstone pools, each one flowing into the next.

Reaching the retreat itself, they passed through some invisible ward - and the temperature suddenly became much more comfortable.

"Excellent," Harry blurted. "Never doubt the goblins."

Hermione replied, "How do you know what temperatures they prefer…? Merlin's uncle! What's that?"

"The bed, I think," Harry replied, getting his first look at a roughly oval-shaped expanse of what appeared to be black velvet. Its long axis must have been four metres long.

"I'd guess they converted one of the pools into a waterbed," Hermione observed. "Well, Harry Potter, what are you waiting for?"

Harry shot a mock-evil grin at her. "How much time do we have?"

"Close to three hours, Harry," she answered. "Plenty of time for anything you could imagine." Then she saw the look he was giving her. Hermione struck a saucy pose and responded, "Just what exactly do you have in mind, Mister?"

"Remember during our first time - you told me I could only get off a couple of times, but you had no limit short of being completely knackered?" Harry asked.

"I remember reading that, but whether I mentioned it, I don't recall," Hermione responded cautiously. "I suppose I must have…."

"Well, how about finding out if that's right?" Harry suggested as he plucked his outer robes from her shoulders.

She nuzzled him. "Umm … sounds good. You know I have a weakness for original research. But, Harry…."

He had lifted her hair and was mouthing the back of her neck, raising goose pimples everywhere. "Hmmmmm?"

"Whose exhaustion? Yours or mine?" she half moaned at him.

Harry stopped for a moment, causing Hermione to pull him closer. "You know, that's a good question…. I guess we'll find out."

"You're on, Potter."

"Not yet, but I will be."

* * * *

"You did what?" He looked at her incredulously.

"Stop smirking. I told you, I snapped," she replied, her voice an angry hiss. "Right then, I'd quite forgotten about it. I was in a fight. I reacted to being grabbed … and I let him have it with the whole self defence bit."

Draco Malfoy shook his head. Once again the redhead's impetuosity had set back his plan's progress, possibly severely. "Dammit, Reds, all you had to do was let him drag you away. The whole bloody situation reeked of sex. With Lust Powder in him, he'd have been lucky to get past the showers before he jumped you."

"Oh, go ahead and laugh if you want," Ginny growled at him. "You've probably never even been in a real, physical fight - you had those goons of yours for so long. I'll bet you have no idea what it's like being in the middle of something like that. Hell, even Hermione smacked the daylights out of you and got away with it."

Draco purpled at her mention of that incident. "Hah! That Mudblood bitch. She got…." The blond boy caught himself just in time. However much he wanted to boast that his revenge had burnt that bint almost to a crisp, it was one secret he absolutely had to keep.

"She got what?" Ginny shot back into the verbal gap left by Draco's pause.

He hemmed and hawed. "She got…. She got … got Potter, that's what. And now you're cocking it up."

Draco effectively deflated Ginny. She had been so appalled at her own actions that almost half the tutoring session elapsed before she told Draco what had really put Harry Potter in the Hospital Wing shortly after Gryffindor had given Slytherin its worst Quidditch spanking in anybody's memory. There had been rumours, of course, but they had centred on Hermione - not Ginny. One of the Slytherin players said he had overheard Hermione apologising by Harry's bedside. That was also secondhand, as Draco no longer gave a rat's arse about Quidditch.

He had more important fish to fry if he were to rescue the fortunes of the Malfoy name.

"You berk … I hate when you're right," she muttered, remembering to keep her voice down in the Potions dungeon. Then she looked at him hopefully. "Have you made any progress with the ingredients?"

"As a matter of fact, I think I have," Draco allowed, feeling a bit better about the enterprise. She had come around without him having to call for mental intervention. As long as her heart was in this…. Things would be so much easier. "Let it never be said that a Malfoy lacks connections. Some of those ingredients are rather hard to get, but now I've got a source for all of them."

"How long?" she asked.

Another good sign.

After her latest debacle, this strong-willed Gryffindor finally seemed content to let him take the lead on matters of mutual interest. "A couple of weeks, tops," he estimated. "After that's the brewing process. I've already told you it will take a while, and I'll arrange to do most of it in a secret location. In the meantime, I think you'd best stay away from him - that shouldn't be hard - and lay off the Lust Powder, if you've any left."

"That's … that's probably the best thing to do," she agreed. "He's probably quite content for me to make myself scarce after what happened."

Success, he thought.

* * * *

The three men trudged across a misty and slowly darkening expanse of purple heather. The estate had promised them a bag of eight to twelve head a day, chiefly woodcock and grouse, but the actual yield had been far less.

They had been out since mid-morning, each sporting a new shotgun provided by the safari company that had arranged the holiday. The weather had steadily worsened over the course of the day, and the nearby peak of Cairn Gorm had long since fallen victim to the lowering clouds.

"What say we retire to the manor for some pints?" the tallest of the three asked his compatriots. "There doesn't seem to be much about this afternoon, and it'll be dusk soon."

"Just a wee bit longer," said the hunter in the green and orange vest. "Let's check out the gorse bushes by the stream."

"All right," grumbled the third man, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder, "but I've just about had it for today, too. Those pints sound bloody good. Maybe tomorrow we can get something driven. Damn sight easier that way. What the…?"

They heard a sudden disturbance in a nearby thicket. Something, possibly a predator, had put several grouse, and something larger, possibly the first pheasant they had seen the entire trip, aflight.

The three hunters instantly aimed. Three shotguns roared. At least one shot found its mark. A relatively large bird dropped from the sky.

Encouraged, the three hunters trotted in the direction of their kill.

"Blimey, that wasn't a pheasant, that was an owl," the tall hunter said in a disgusted tone of voice.

"Aren't those on the protected list?" another asked.

"Bloody hell, I think you're right," the first one replied. "Let's just get out of here. An effing perfect ending to a perfect day, I'd say."

"It's got something around its leg," the third hunter observed.

"All the more reason to get the hell out of here and retire," said the first. "Probably a banded bird."

Without a single backward look at the dying post owl, the Muggle party made its way hastily back the way it came.

"So waddya think…. Major again?"

"Not on your life…. Lacks bollocks … not like Maggie. Won't even go after those bloody terrorists wot torched London…. She'd have blown somebody to hell by now. This time, that new boy, Blair, for sure…."

* * * *

Author's notes: The potion's physical limitations become important, and apparent

Oxytocin is a powerful hormone with numerous medical uses

Sea blue chalcedony is a semiprecious stone

Tetrachloromethane is the British term for carbon tetrachloride; one of its uses is to prevent fires

The KateandSpence concept is a takeoff on Richandamy from the cartoon Zits

Tinctura nucis vomicæ is one of many traditional remedies for impotence

The fourth-year Lily scene is based on how Hillary met Bill Clinton

Snape has never liked being called cowardly

Active and passive fault are legal terms

The conversation with the Unspeakables occurred in Chapter 21

In canon, Scarpin invented a potion analysis technique

"In loco parentis" is another legal phrase, meaning "in the roll of parents"

The reference to the EU has to do with European Union medical privacy rules

Klamdok made his first appearance in Chapter 32

Joint ownership of the entirety of an estate is called "tenancy by the entireties," and is a legal status available only to husband and wife

The goblin keys resemble, in shape, the vault keys in DaVinci Code

Iridium is a very hard metal

In Chapter 53, the goblins requested the sheets on the night H/Hr lost their virginities

The description of the Potter/Black vault's dragon matches that of a wyvern; Wallachia is a region in southern Romania

Earls Court and Olympia is a London exhibition hall

Harry and Hermione will encounter the Black family's art and books later

The Chinese maps are those of early-mid 15^th century voyages that Chinese wizards passed to Black family mariners to prevent their destruction

Other maps arose from slave trading voyages

1589 refers to the dispute described in Chapter 10, leading to the Blacks' involvement in the Gunpowder Plot

The Great Mortality was a contemporaneous term for what is now called the Black Death

Before the development of banking, conversion to jewels was the most compact way to move wealth

The British Museum has a large gem collection; Samuel's is a major London jewelry store

Hermione's miners comment has to do with conditions in third-world mines

The stones Hermione chooses recreate the ring she saw in the Mirror of Erised in Chapter 33

Hermione's charming of Galleons struck me as a canon weak spot, given counterfeiting problems, so I've tried to address it

"Good delivery bar" is a term for properly assayed gold

As mentioned in Chapter 10, the Black Estate included seven tons of gold that had been in Swiss banks for 50 years

I wrote this chapter shortly after coming back fro New Zealand; hence the goblin name Alblak

The two Swiss banks have been involved in Holocaust assets litigation

According to the Black Family Tree, Arcturus Black was head of one of the main branches of the Black family at the end of WWII; his line died out

The timing names, and places in the transactions correspond to Internet accounts of missing Nazi gold

The fixed American rate for gold in 1945 was $35 an ounce

The D.A. mirror will come in handy later on

The glowworm cave is another New Zealand idea

Most caves have year-round temperatures around 13^â-‹C

Cairn Gorm means the Muggle party was close to Hogwarts

The last lines mention the upcoming Muggle election

68

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 1/26/2008

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

-->