Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry gets a report from the Creeveys, Quidditch is postponed, Harry plans for his relatives, Hermione sends a note, an engagement and an inheritance are revealed, Orders of Merlin are awarded, an incident occurs, Harry gets the cold shoulder, Hermione has an unwanted meeting, and Harry and Hermione receive awards from the goblins.

Thanks once again to betas Mark Gardiner, Mathiasgranger, Shane, and new beta Mike P.

Chapter 74 - Ceremonies

Study time in Gryffindor Tower.

Along with the rest of their House, Harry and Hermione were hard at work. They scribbled out charts and directions for their N.E.W.T.-Level Charms projects. To no-one's surprise, Hermione's paper mountain towered over Harry's molehill.

Hermione was not in a position to help Harry with his coursework, because they were working on different projects. Individualised projects, no two the same, were a hallmark of Professor Flitwick's advanced courses.

Hermione's project attempted to address her borderline acrophobia. She had selected ærotecture - the art of building castles in the air. Just a sixth year, Hermione was designing a modest castle, more of a bungalow in the air than anything resembling Warwick or Caernarvon.

Harry's chosen assignment was much more prosaic - tunnelling. He had goblin connexions, and their being mostly underground, Harry thought that mastery of Tunnelling Charms might someday prove useful.

Someday seemed quite far in the future. Tunnelling Charms proved considerably more complex and difficult than Harry anticipated. Various types of rock required separate spells - granite, slate, and chalk were much different, not to mention clay, sand, and salt. Nor did Harry need to impress the goblins further, as the fast-approaching Alitserat reminded him. He would be participating in a traditional goblin victory jubilee, his role much greater than a nominal army commander. The goblins remained thoroughly convinced that his actions had won the bloody battle.

This bloody (in more ways than one) battle was the goblin army's most significant engagement since the last rebellion, over three centuries ago. Their festival promised to be just as memorable.

But for now Harry needed to sort out these blasted Tunnelling Charms.

Hermione breezed through the initial stage of her multi-part project. Whilst things would get harder, she had always excelled with Levitating Charms - from the outset of her magical education.

An unexpected interruption broke her concentration.

"Hermione, could you help me with this Arithmancy problem? I've done everything but hex myself to get the required value, and I can't derive it. I need it for the next step, but what I get looks awful, with a square root and two variables…."

Jazzy's request was highly unusual. As a rule, she did not seek anyone's assistance. But being tipped for an Order of Merlin could do wonders for one's confidence.

Hermione lowered her book. "All right, but the same rule as with Harry here…."

"Don't worry, I'm not about to snog either of you," Jazzy replied cheekily.

"Good thing, that," Harry deadpanned without looking up. His sketch bore striking similarity to a computer game Dudley once played for a couple of days before binning it in frustration.

"I meant I'm not solving your problem for you," Hermione clarified.

"Yeah, only Ron gets that," Harry added.

"Careful, if you want snogging tonight," Jazzy smirked.

Hermione, in her element, ignored Harry's barb. "Anyway, let me see…." Hermione reached for the younger girl's parchment. "Oh…."

Hermione remembered the problem distinctly from her third-year Arithmancy class.

"Call it whatever you like and proceed," Hermione tersely instructed.

"What?" Jazzy squeaked. "But I need it to…."

"Just what I said," Hermione repeated. "I don't care what you think it is. It doesn't matter. Call it the number of angels that can dance on the head of a pin. Just move on…."

"It's necessary to have this value for the next step," Jazzy maintained, bristling at the merest hint of a brush-off.

"I just told you, denominate it anything you like," Hermione reiterated. "That's as much as I'll tell you. The rest, you can do yourself."

"But…."

"Go ahead, try it," Hermione directed, trying not to seem cruel. "It will work out … trust me."

Jazzy, looking perplexed but determined, nodded her head and departed.

"Weren't you rather hard on her?" Harry remarked. "She doesn't ask for help very often. That was a compliment from her."

"I gave her precisely the help she requested," Hermione sniffed. "My directions were straightforward. If she follows them, she'll get the answer. If not … well, I'm not doing anyone else's homework for them."

Harry looked archly at his fiancée. "That was help?"

"Yes," Hermione answered audibly before switching to Legilimency. `I took that course, and I vividly remember that problem. That truly nasty-looking term…. It cancels out in a step or two and goes away.'

`She'll love you for that,' Harry chuckled silently.

`She'll probably end up hating me,' Hermione sent, leaving Harry guessing if she were joking.

`Why would she hate you?' Harry retorted. `I never would have thought to do that.'

`That's the point. Very few - almost none - solve that problem,' Hermione patiently explained. `She'll hate me once Professor Vector hauls her up in front of the entire class to demonstrate how she figured it out. She's nowhere as used to that as I was….'

"Hey, lovebirds!"

Ron ambled over. He had obviously finished his Wizard Government assignment. "Either of you up to being humiliated in Wizard Chess?"

Harry gave Hermione his `I'm really swamped' expression. Looking back, she nodded. Without words, they had come to terms.

"I'll play you, Ron," Hermione agreed, ready to sacrifice herself for her fiancé. "I'm pretty well along with the first part of my project."

`You owe me another one,' she Legilimenced to Harry.

"Scary," Ron commented. With Hermione scowling, he hastily added. "Not that you're way ahead of us. That's normal. I mean how the two of you … you know … do that."

True to his word, Ron methodically dismantled Hermione's strategies and tactics for the next forty-five minutes whilst Harry struggled with various Tunnelling Charms. Every so often bouts of loud clattering disturbed the chess players' concentration, which offered Hermione's embattled and besieged pieces an opportunity to hide under nearby seat cushions.

Every time something got bollixed, Harry cursed silently, detected by Hermione's Legilimency.

One notable misadventure saw Harry's wands attacking each other - not behaving in the least as intended. He was having severe synchronicity problems. By the time Colin Creevey slunk up to him, Harry was rereading a Charms book from the library for the third time.

"Umm … Harry, could I talk to you … er … in private?" Colin asked haltingly, looking anxious. Although necessary, this conversation was not desired.

Harry cast a sideways glance at Hermione, seated but facing away. Ron had dismantled her supposed Sicilian Defence and just claimed some important piece, judging from his seated back-and-forth dance.

"Yeah, sure," Harry muttered, and followed Colin upstairs to the boys' dormitory. He thought it odd that Colin passed his own year's room and continued to the third years' quarters - until finding Colin's brother Dennis waiting there by himself.

"Umm … what's up? Gonna give me your company's annual report?" Harry spoke casually, but was concerned by the Creeveys' long faces.

"That's … actually … what we wanted to discuss," Dennis squeaked. "Since you've staked us."

"Harry, we've talked this over," Colin spoke bravely. "We think - we know - we're over our heads. We ought to give the company to you. Most likely, you'll want to shutter it. It was probably a mistake to mix magic with Muggle computers like this."

"You can't mean that," Harry protested. "I mean, your Creveputers … they're almost miraculous."

"You won't think that once we're done…. Actually, they almost killed you … and Dennis." Colin's new information disturbed Harry.

"I know that the stuff your computers can do is invaluable," Harry retorted, still surprised at the news. "We couldn't have rescued Ron without it … wouldn't have known where he was…."

"Harry … it was an ambush," Dennis spoke up. "The really crazy one … the one called `Bella,' I think…."

Harry's jaw clinched. "I gather you met Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Sort of," Dennis grumbled. "Tall, black hair, black robes - enjoys killing people…. Would have killed me…."

Harry had never heard exactly what had befallen Dennis that night. What little he knew sounded traumatic. "What happened to you?"

"It was a bloody - hah, some adjective - ambush, like I said," Dennis explained. "I was with the Aurors' technical team. We were swapping out the old system in their Wiltshire headquarters and installing ours. We were well into it, but nowhere near done…. Merlin … it was a massacre…. They were only techs. The fighters weren't … awful…."

Dennis crumpled.

Harry laid a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Dennis, you don't have to tell me this."

"You won't understand if he doesn't," Colin intervened.

"He's - he's right," Dennis mumbled, trying to pull together. "I was the only survivor, and she tried to b-b-burn me alive. I'm here only because we'd done the installation by the book. She hated our joining of magical and Muggle stuff…. Set up this bonfire; hung me over it in a … a cage; set it alight…. Then she and her crew left me to roast…. Oh God…."

"But you didn't," Harry reminded.

"The first rule of installing major electronic systems," Colin carried on as Dennis again tried composing himself. "Activate the safety features first so if anything goes wrong, you don't lose everything. Our really big model - that the Ministry, the school, and the Order bought - generates so much heat that the manual requires casting regular and emergency Cooling Charms first."

"We made them do it," Dennis restarted. "The techs didn't want to. They didn't like being out of touch and wanted to start with the communications link. I insisted…. They were right. When attacked, we couldn't call for help…."

Harry thought Dennis would lose it again. He was only third year. He had never encountered Death Eaters before, let alone a maniac like Lestrange.

Dennis recovered by himself. "They left just after touching off the bonfire. Didn't know what would happen. Not fifteen seconds after they Disapparated, the heat tripped the emergency Cooling Charm, and no more fire. I was trapped in total darkness for what seemed like hours. At one point they came back, but only to hide one of their wounded, I guess. They paid me no mind and Disapparated again almost immediately. Not much later, real Aurors finally showed up and let me out."

As Dennis finished, Harry's face was drawn. Harry had also gone through Hell. Everyone had, but at least Harry's group could fight back. "I'm sorry all that happened," he commiserated. "But to me, it proves you build good products. It saved your life…."

"You haven't heard the worst," Dennis groaned. "That Bella … whilst building the bonfire, she told me they knew exactly when and where to attack thanks to information from us - that maybe she should give me a medal…."

Dennis started shaking again, so his brother stepped in. "I know what happened from here. Lestrange gloated that our security was breached. Blackie Howe engaged a corporate security firm, and now it's worse than we thought. We hired a Chinese wizard, Johnny Bao, to run transport and shipping at our Shenzhen factory. He's gone missing. He must have been either a Triad or in league with them. We suspect that he tipped them what we shipped to the Ministry, when it was to arrive, and where."

"Really?" Harry said, looking as suspicious as he sounded.

"Just the other day, Shak called us in," Dennis took up the narration. "It wasn't school-related like we thought. He'd received DMLE information … parchments and such from the Chang place. Bao was a Triad, not White Lotus, but with a smaller group called `14K.' Bao was paid handsomely - over thirty thousand pounds in gold - for our delivery details. He even put some Chinese Tracking Charm that the Ministry couldn't detect on the shipments. He's now vanished; word is he might be in Macau."

Harry was seething - at himself for not connecting the dots. He knew full well that the Creeveys had moved their assembly to China. They had told him ages ago. The minute he learnt of the involvement of Chinese Triads in … everything … he should have at least warned them.

But like an idiot, he had forgotten all about the Creeveys - and the reason for magical communication being shut down across Britain last New Years Eve.

His omissions were worse.

Harry had known about contacts between Death Eaters and Chinese wizards for much longer. He'd had that dream … and Chinese mercenaries in Death Eater ranks had been confirmed since the first night of attacks. Hermione's father had shot one - probably the last worthwhile thing that sod had ever done.

It made sense. Whilst the prejudiced and bigoted British wizarding community shunned Muggles, why should that attitude persist everywhere else? Especially amongst criminals, magical-Muggle ties would be stronger.

Harry smacked his forehead with his right hand. "Dammit!"

"We're sorry, Harry!" Dennis pleaded. "That's why we want you to take the whole lot of it. We're just a couple of geeks in way over our…."

"That's not what I mean!" Harry roared - silencing the pair instantly. "I'm the git here, not you. I bloody well knew about the Death Eaters' Chinese links. I knew where your shop was. I just never put two and two together. I all but hung you out to dry."

The Creevey brothers looked at each other and nodded. "Don't blame yourself, Harry," Colin stated. "The security breach was ours, not yours. But for you, who knows what might have happened. We're not competent to do this."

"Well, I'm sure not," Harry turned on the older Creevey. "I don't have the time, I wouldn't know how to run it, and it wouldn't be right. This was your invention, and you should benefit…."

"We don't want it any longer," Dennis stood up to Harry - probably for the first time ever.

"Well, I need you to want it," Harry focussed on the one with reputed financial acumen. "See how the Death Eaters reacted? They're really threatened. They can't deal with Muggle technology. Whatever brings magical and Muggle together hurts them, and what hurts them helps us. I need you to keep at this."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Dennis inquired, surprised at his vehemence.

"Yes - just remember that the Death Eaters will try to destroy anything we build," Harry declared. "Whatever you need for security, Blackie Howe will help you get it. And from now on, ship anything sensitive through Remus and the Order. Can you do that?"

Colin spoke for both brothers. "For you, we will."

* * * *

Snow falls in Scotland in late January.

A lot.

His early alarm still ringing in his ears, Ron stared at the darkened landscape - or lack of same.

"See anything?" Harry groaned from his bedclothes, asking the silhouette in the window. His own alarm whined in the background.

This long day demanded an early start.

"Can't see any light in Ravenclaw Tower, and they always leave their common room lit," Ron stage whispered, being considerate of three roommates still trying to sleep. "Hell, I can't even see the ground. They'll have to call off the match if this keeps up."

Saturday, January 24, 1997 was the date for the Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match. The Ministry had chosen the same date to confer Orders of Merlin on honour the victors of the Battle of Stonehenge. Quidditch was notoriously unpredictable. Matches could be five minutes or five days, but such extremes rarely occurred at the scholastic level. Matches longer than five hours' duration were highly unusual.

The Ministry scheduled the Order of Merlin ceremony for five in the afternoon. That forced the start time for the midwinter Quidditch match forward from 10:30 to 8:30 - well into what was normally breakfast. Worse, the match would start in total darkness. Nobody liked playing under the blinding glare and odd shadows of Artificial Lighting Charms. For Seekers, lights meant that the Snitch could escape merely by flying out of the lit area.

Since none of the Ravenclaw team - and certainly no Slytherin - was attending the awards ceremony, the Ministry's announcement did not endear Harry to either house.

The sparse attendance was because (to Harry's great relief) this ceremony was small - not the spectacle the Ministry had concocted the first time. Minister Scrimgeour, whilst profoundly thankful for the thwarting of Death Eater sneak attack, was hardly keen on more scrutiny of how narrowly disaster had been averted. That near miss hardly fit the pledges of aggressive action against Dark wizards that fuelled the Minister's rise.

Nor, Harry suspected, would the Minister enjoy the house-elf story that would headline today's Prophet. The entire wizarding world would learn of Dobby's bravery at Stonehenge, the devotion of elves who died at Grimmauld Place, and that house-elves at Château Blackwalls - the largest private agglomeration in Britain - were learning to read and write at the Proprietor's express orders.

To Harry and Hermione, this story was the perfect backdrop for the Order of Merlin ceremony.

Such thoughts were far away at the moment. Not much postponed a Quidditch match - except the total whiteout blizzard raging outside.

Ron flopped back inside his bed hangings. His snores were soon audible.

Harry envied Ron's ability to sleep, but he had become so acclimated to early rising that sleep evaded him.

Throwing an old robe over his pyjamas, Harry shuffled downstairs. Maybe the Muggle Internet connexion on the D.A. Central Station would have a weather forecast.

After a false start, he found a Scottish report complete with fancy colour radar images like the Dursleys watched on their telly at Privet Drive. The blue across the screen meant the furious snowstorm would rage at least five more hours. The match could not possibly commence as scheduled. With the Ministry event hard on its heels, a postponement was a certainty.

Harry was ready for another go at sleep when a familiar voice called his name. An equally awake Hermione appeared at the foot of the girls' stairway.

"Hi, Harry," she hailed, "what's got you up?"

"I needed to check the weather."

"Awful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry had to agree. "They'll have to call off Quidditch, so I suppose the Order of Merlin ceremony will start early. No reason for all those Ministry swells to work later on a Saturday than they have to…. Umm … Hermione, what's with that look?"

"You're going through with it, aren't you?" she asked, her expression serious.

"The moment the Minister refused Dobby, I promised," he reminded her.

"I know you did, but you don't really want to, do you?" Hermione pressed.

"I do lots of things I don't want to," Harry maintained stoically. "I'll do this."

Hermione did not enjoy adding to Harry's burden of unwanted tasks. "If you don't want to, tell me, and I'll do it."

"That, I don't want." Harry reiterated. "You know it'll cause problems with the pure-blood crowd. I'd rather those problems fall on my head than yours."

"Harry…."

"You do have a reputation, you know," he smiled at her. "They can't mess with me nearly as much - not after the goblins saved their sorry arses."

Hermione sighed and gave in. "Oh, all right … I do want the Second Class."

"And if you did that, you'd never get another chance at anything that would put you automatically in the Wizengamot," Harry teased lightly, with things now settled. "You'd have to drown Voldemort in the Brethren's Fountain in front of the entire Auror Corps and dump his body on the Minister's desk to get a second shot."

"I'll leave that to you, thank you very much," Hermione replied with a nervous titter. She veered towards the serious side. "Umm … did you use your invitations?"

That subject was touchy - for both of them. Attendance at this Order of Merlin ceremony was by invitation only. Harry was notoriously without close relatives, and Hermione was now in virtually the same situation. So were the other orphans, Neville, Luna, and Jazzy. None was likely to use their full allotment of four invitations.

"I tried, believe it or not," Harry revealed. "But Dumbledore said Lao Kung died of his cancer…."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione commiserated; her hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't be," Harry told her. "According to Dumbledore, Sefu was more than ready, with how badly the Death Eaters hurt him. He also said that Lao Kung was very pleased with the results of his final project - me."

Hermione kissed the crown of his head. "That's nice, but still … it's too bad. He'd be really proud - I am," she tried comforting him, but for once he did not seem to need it.

"Anyway, if everyone I invited had come, I'd have used all the invites," Harry went on, "but Uncle Vernon's still the biggest Muggle git ever born. Aunt Petunia was tempted, but between Vernon and Hogwarts being `Lily's place,' in the end she chickened out. I think Dudders is coming, though."

Hermione shuddered. "I don't like him," she declared. "Every time we met over the summer, he leered at me like I was a piece of meat."

"That was before … well, you know," Harry pointed out. He squeezed Hermione's hand. "He's not that bad a chap; not any more. A bit of a chav, sure, but he won't bother you now that we're together. If I'm wrong, we can figure out what to Transfigure him into."

"A pig would be suitable," Hermione sniffed.

"Not creative enough," Harry frowned. "Fred and George would be disappointed."

"A sonic hedgehog, then," she offered.

"A what?"

"It's a gene," Hermione told him. "Actually, that's inappropriate, since it organises the brain."

"Hmmm," Harry mused, wondering if this was a good time for one of Hermione's scientific talk fests.

That possibility went by the boards. "How about a ring-tailed kappa?" she offered.

"Too dignified," Harry smirked. "Dudley trying to impress you would be more like … well, how about ten kilos of troll dung?"

"In a five kilo sack," Hermione added.

"Now, we're getting close," Harry prolonged the joke. "How about a troll toilet?"

"That's it," Hermione decided. "He's your cousin, so how about a hairy potty?"

"Ouch," Harry winced at her pun. "Fair enough. If Dudley takes any liberties, a furry loo he will be. And now … about liberties…."

Harry leaned in and gave Hermione a kiss, which she returned.

Liberties were limited to mild snogging. Neither sought to go further in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. Eventually, Hermione's brow furrowed. "Harry, who was your fourth invitee?"

Harry looked rather self conscious. "Well, you know the Minister urged me to invite the French Minister for Magic - to foster `fraternal ties' and all…."

"You didn't, did you?" Hermione replied sceptically. "You don't even know him."

"Nah," Harry returned. "I'm not Slughorn. But that started me thinking…. So in the end I invited Fleur. I know her, and she's Beauxbatons' liaison. She doesn't have full staff privileges, so I doubt she could come without being invited."

"Fleur? She could have wheedled an invite from the Ministry, being the liaison," Hermione lectured.

That made Harry a bit uncomfortable. "Well, she seemed pleased enough to get the invitation."

"Who wouldn't? To be invited by the man of the hour personally," Hermione reminded him.

"For starters - my aunt and uncle," Harry reminded her.

"Just watch yourself, that's all I'll say," Hermione spoke more seriously whilst squeezing his hand. "You know she's interested in you."

"And you know - and she knows - that she has no chance. I have who I want," Harry declared. He bent in to kiss her again, well aware of her insecurities.

After another kiss in the still deserted Gryffindor common room, Harry inquired, "So, who are your guests - your mum?"

Hermione updated him. "We thought about that, but in the end, with the security issues raised by her returning to England, and the demands of her start-up practice, she's better off staying where she is…." Her voice faded, reflecting conflicted emotions.

"So, no guests, then?"

Hermione brightened. "I didn't say that - not at all."

"So, who?"

"Beth Dunstan, Ed Carmichael … and Ginny," Hermione revealed.

"Why them?"

"Ginny was part of a deal with George," Hermione explained. "He had to ask Fred, of course, and his mum - leaving Ron and Ginny. Since he also wanted to invite his girlfriend, Angelina, I agreed to invite either Ginny or Ron. Ginny had seemed a bit jealous lately, so I took her."

"I would have invited Ron!" Harry protested.

"You were still holding slots for relatives who turned you down," she reminded. "Anyway, I'm sure Ginny wishes she hadn't given our last great adventure a miss - even though we almost got killed - so I thought I'd have her as my guest."

"But you don't really know the Heads very well," Harry accurately commented.

"Nope," Hermione admitted with a crafty smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Her statement was totally unexpected. "You … what Valentine's Day?" Harry immediately asked.

"It's called quid pro quo," Hermione told him. "After all, they run the System."

Harry was still at sea. "What … oh, that System…."

Hermione pulled Harry towards her. "Yes, that one. I have Silver and Gold Charm reservations on Valentine's Day for nine p.m. - prime time. Ordinarily one of the Heads would claim that, or else another seventh year. It's ours for a couple of invitations I wasn't likely to use anyway."

He gathered her in his arms. "Hermione, I like the way you think…."

"Ahem."

They jumped apart and gawked at the fireplace, where a familiar head appeared amongst the flames.

"Ah, Mister Potter, Miss Granger … just who I was hoping to find. I trust I was not interrupting anything…."

"Of course not, Headmaster," Harry answered, his voice belying his words. "We were just comparing our guest lists."

"Excellent," Dumbledore replied, cheerily ignoring Harry's tone. "I am announcing the postponement of today's Quidditch match until next week, when I trust the Snitch will be visible if perched on the end of one's broomstick. As a result the Ministry is advancing the Order of Merlin Ceremony by three hours, to two o'clock this afternoon."

"Doesn't surprise me," Harry said, still peeved.

"Nor I, frankly," the Headmaster agreed. "I trust you will inform your House?"

"Of course," Hermione cut in, to keep Harry from saying anything rude. "And you'll inform our invitees, I trust. Harry has at least one Muggle guest."

"Indeed, I shall," Dumbledore affirmed. "And I saw today's Prophet. I must say, whilst your cause is righteous, it is not wise to provoke the Ministry in that fashion…."

Cheekily, Harry replied, "Well, I recall someone once telling me to choose what was right over what was easy."

The Headmaster rolled his eyes - a neat trick in a fireplace. "True enough, but one must also fight one's battles judiciously. Please remember, the Ministry is not our enemy," he added as their Floo conversation ended.

"Well," Hermione shifted gears crisply. "If you hurry, I believe you can have breakfast and then perhaps an hour to ourselves in that Room."

"Again, I like the way you think, but what about you? No breakfast?" Harry inquired curiously.

"I need to write a letter," she told him.

"I assume it's personal," Harry sort of asked.

"That's correct. It's something I realised I need to do … if you don't mind."

"That's okay," Harry smiled. "I'd want to tell my parents about it, too, if I could."

Harry left for the Great Hall, and Hermione did not seek to correct him.

* * * *

Harry's worries about his cousin being late due to the advance in scheduling proved unfounded. If anything, Dudley was early, courtesy of the Château's house-elves' promptitude. Not quite sure what to do with him, Ministry security had the Muggle cool his heels in Hogwarts' antechamber until Harry arrived to vouch for his bona fides.

"Dudley! Glad you could make it," Harry exclaimed once he spotted his rather broad-beamed cousin. Hermione followed, doing her best to be unobtrusive.

Dudley was goggling well before Harry arrived, resplendent in bright gold Order of Merlin Second Class robes. "Harry!" he responded, jumping to his feet. "I can't believe this place! This is a school?"

"A magical school," Harry reminded.

"That's for sure," Dudley concurred. "It looked like a lousy pile of rubble, and then - BOOM - all of a sudden here was this castle, like something out of King Arthur…." An awkward pause followed as Dudley thought. "I mean … it isn't, is it?"

"Isn't what?" Harry asked.

"This isn't King Arthur's old Camelot, is it?" his cousin clarified.

"Nope, not old enough, although some of the portraits may be," Harry answered. He felt Hermione slip beside him and take his hand. "You remember Hermione, I'm sure?"

Although her purple robes were completely foreign, recognition flared in Dudley's eyes. "Sure do." He offered his hand most properly, with none of the leering Hermione had feared. "Congratulations, Hermione."

She shook hands. "You're welcome," she answered. "I don't what Harry's told you, but this award is for something quite dangerous. It's really Harry you should congratulate. He did much more than I did."

Dudley waited patiently for her to finish. "All true, I'm sure, but my congratulations were for landing this bloke." He poked Harry in the side.

Harry he dodged away. Hermione Legilimenced him, `Does he know what happened?'

`Not at all,' Harry quickly replied in kind.

`Lucky for him,' Hermione observed. They both kept quiet and still until….

Splash. Splash.

"Oi … what the hell?" Dudley yelped as two water balloons drenched him.

"Fat Muggles make easy targets!" sing-songed an annoyingly familiar voice

"Peeves! Get out of here!" Hermione yelled - secretly relishing the timely attack.

"Transenna Culicidæ!" Harry ineffectively shot mosquito netting after the now fleeing poltergeist.

He turned to his cousin. "Sorry about that, he's uncontrollable."

"Who's uncontrollable? Can we go someplace where the roof doesn't leak?" Dudley requested.

"You didn't see or hear that?" Hermione asked, innocently enough.

"See what? All I know is I'm bloody well soaked," Dudley complained, "but you seem peeved."

"Well, I can take care of that," Hermione replied. "Dessicatus."

"Wow, that's cool!" a dry and mollified Dudley thanked Hermione.

Harry pointed to a portrait on the opposite wall. "Dudley, describe that painting."

"One of your kind, in blue robes with stars, looking rather bored, I'd say," the Muggle answered.

Currently, the portrait's walrus-mustached occupant was half bent over laughing at Dudley's drenching. Old Constantine Widdershins evidently enjoyed his Muggle baiting.

"I don't think he can see magic," Hermione commented.

"Oh," Dudley remarked, eying his surroundings suspiciously. "Then can we go someplace private? That's sort of why I came … to talk with you. She can come if she likes. If you trust her, so do I."

Hermione, shrugging off being described as `she', took them to the nearest private place she knew - the stairway to Dumbledore's office. Receiving the password, the guardian gargoyle stood aside, and the two wizards led Dudley onto the slowly rotating staircase. Hermione trotted a little ways downwards against the flow of stairs. The others followed.

"Surveillius revelato!" Hermione checked their surroundings and pronounced them clean.

"So what's so important that you risked a trip all the way to Hogwarts in the teeth of a howling blizzard?" Harry asked.

Dudley downplayed any trouble, "Eh, with those elf thingies, the trip wasn't half bad." Then he got to the point. "But … well, I think you were right about that Oblivitation bit wearing off. I remember practically everything about that attack now. It was definitely those masked death guys who did it…."

Hermione looked scandalised. "Harry, I know you're on better terms with your cousin, but did you actually help him overcome a Ministry Obliviation?"

"Not exactly," Harry responded, somewhat annoyed at being criticised in Dudley's presence. "The spell was already failing - causing nightmares. He knew I had them and came to me for help."

"The proper help would be to arrange a re-Obliviation," Hermione reminded Harry of the rules.

"Umm … he offered me that," Dudley entered the fray reluctantly, not sure if he would be caught in some sort of cross-fire. "He said it was that, or the truth. I chose the truth. Why's that such a problem?"

Quite justly, Dudley was not known as a deep thinker, but that question brought the most brilliant witch of her age up short.

"It's not, actually," she conceded. "In fact, I hope I'd make the same choice. It's just - well the laws we wizards have…. Your knowing anything puts Harry at risk for allowing it. When that happens, I react…."

"I see. I meant it when I congratulated you," Dudley chuckled. He turned to face Harry. "And congratulations to you, too. You absolutely need a bird like her if you're going to do in that nutter…."

Both were rather taken aback. Harry hoped his cousin would shut it before saying something stupid. Fortunately, he did.

"…and that's why I'm here. How likely is that nutter to come after my folks?"

Harry looked guiltily at Hermione, both knowing that - in Uncle Vernon's case - Voldemort already had.

"The same magic, and what it is I'm not sure, protecting me at Privet Drive also protects you," Harry reminded his cousin.

"Yeah, but not other places- like me at the gym. Then there's my dad's work accident. They called that a gas explosion, too…." Dudley watched the magical pair closely as he spoke. Seeing no shock in their expressions, he assumed he had his answer, so he pressed on.

"…And Mum tells me that whatever this protective magic is, it ends when you turn seventeen."

Harry looked to Hermione. For once she had no ready answer. Looking worried and conflicted, she avoided his eyes. He took a deep breath. He always hated being lied to.

The Golden Rule….

"Dudley, you're right," he told his Muggle cousin. "I've thought about asking Dumbledore about this, but I screwed up. Things happened - like what caused your invitation. I don't know what, if any, planning they've done…."

"Harry, please," Dudley pleaded in a voice totally new to Harry. "I know we've fucked up. We didn't treat you very well…."

"Quite the understatement," Hermione interrupted acidly - visions of cupboards under stairs weighing on her mind.

Harry silenced her with a disapproving look.

"No, she's spot on," Dudley acknowledged. "I can't even fit in that cupboard - Hell, cage - where you were kept. We were all horrid; Dad the worst of the lot. But do we all deserve to die for it?"

"No, you don't," Harry answered thoughtfully.

`Harry, don't commit to anything,' Hermione warned through Legilimency. `There's more here than you know. I'm certain.'

Unaware of the girl's intervention, Dudley kept going. "I was wondering. Your kind is good at this sort of thing. Could we go underground…?"

They regarded him suspiciously. How could Dudley know about Harry and the goblins?

"You know, like in cinema, get new identities. Move us somewhere - away from Surrey; maybe even away from England - like that witness protection programme stuff on the telly. If that Bumblebore of yours could manage whatever's protected the house for so long, he ought to be able to hide us out somewhere … don't you think?"

Harry had difficulty following Dudley's request. His cousin not only talked fast, but also stream-of-consciousness. When the flow of words finally ceased, Harry was not sure what to say. At least nothing required foisting the Dursleys on the Goblin Nation, which might have taxed even their fealty.

Something could probably be arranged. According to the Headmaster, Professor Slughorn had used magical disguises - even concealing himself as furniture. Harry was a bit perplexed when Hermione answered.

"You could be on to something," she told Dudley. "We'll make inquiry. So that's why you're here?"

"Umm … yeah," the Muggle boy stumbled, a bit surprised at speaking to her rather than him. "Dad still doesn't want to be within a hundred klicks of your kind, and Mum … I think she just didn't want to come to this place…. Too bad. Even if I can't see half of it, sure beats hell out of Smeltings."

They left the stairwell and brought Dudley back to the Great Hall. Visitors were starting to trickle in.

`Let's talk,' Harry Legilimenced to Hermione.

"I'll be right with you," she promised. "I need a word with your cousin."

"No hexing, please," Harry joked to cover his uncertainty. What would Hermione want with Dudley?

Harry warily moved off as Hermione addressed the large boy. "Dudley, I have a letter for your father," she said solemnly.

"Umm … okay," he replied every bit as stupidly as Hermione anticipated. "But why? Why would you want anything to do with him?"

She stifled a sarcastic laugh. "Good question, but you wouldn't like the answer. Right now, his most recent `generosity' concerns me. I wasn't really expecting it."

"He's an arse, sometimes," Dudley admitted. "But he…."

"Drop `sometimes', and we'll agree on something," Hermione cracked.

Her attempt at humour went over the Muggle's head. "Umm … I guess, but it's legit, I'm sure. Once he learnt Harry's rich, he tried to treat him better, the git."

"This goes beyond anything fake," Hermione said stiffly. "Anyway, everything's in the letter - including why Harry's kept the gift, even though he can't use it here. Just make sure your father knows this note is from me, Hermione Granger," she spoke slowly, emphasizing her surname. "Lest you forget, the envelope has a return address. Can you do that?"

"Umm … sure," Harry's cousin replied gormlessly. "Anything for you and Harry."

"Thanks, Dudley," she broke off in chipper fashion. "Maybe I'll see you after the ceremony…. And don't you try opening it - you'll just give yourself a nasty shock."

As soon they were alone, Harry and Hermione ducked into the nearest private place. "Muffliato."

"You know something; I'm sure of it," Harry immediately challenged her. "What's up?"

"Why ask if you already know?" she saucily replied.

That slowed him down, but only momentarily. "What? Er…. You have some sort of idea about this?"

"True," she allowed. "But before I tell you, why would you help them? They abused you for years … did awful things. Why, Harry? Why? Why them?"

Her emotional response did not dissuade Harry. "Yeah, everything you say's true. I shouldn't care, but I do…. It's just … I don't think I should leave anybody, even them, to the mercy of the Death Eaters…. Not if I can help it, anyway."

"Harry, I love you," Hermione gasped before kissing him - hard but briefly. "It's who you are…. You'll save anyone, even them, after they've wronged you so."

Harry slowly recovered from her kiss. "Umm … yeah, I guess…. But you've still got some idea."

"Yes, I'd been afraid for my own family," Hermione told him. "That is, before my father ran for it and my mum moved to Australia on her own. Not long ago, I was quite worried that they could be Death Eater targets."

"I know you; you had some plan to hide them, didn't you?" Harry realised.

"I considered having Professor Shacklebolt Obliviate them," Hermione admitted. "He's excellent at that kind of thing - I'm nowhere near qualified to do something that complex. If they couldn't remember me, I thought they could receive new identities and be sent far away, until … well, until the war's over or forever, if things didn't work out…."

"You'd do that to your own parents?" Harry asked sceptically.

"To keep them safe, yes," Hermione declared. "I'd do whatever necessary. I'd send them somewhere English speaking. Australia, New Zealand, British Columbia, maybe … even someplace like Fiji. They don't need it now. But Dudley…. You'd think the Order would have plans, but if so, they're well hidden."

"So you think we should have the lot of them Obliviated?" Harry went on.

Hermione gazed thoughtfully into the distance before answering. "Well, not Dudley, unless he wants. He's already had that choice. But the other two? They've been horrible to you. Their need to hide is your opportunity to be rid of them. Nor are they exactly chuffed to be related to you. Wouldn't everyone be better off?"

Harry pondered that. "Do you mean they'd be better off without me? Or me without them?"

"My guess is both. After what they've done to you, there's no reason for you to arrange that they live out their days in the lap of undeserved luxury. This world has plenty of lousy spots to live in."

"Like Somalia, perhaps, or maybe Uganda," Harry suggested.

"No, why torture them? You're better than that," Hermione demurred. "Revenge isn't the reason. I meant lousy, but safe. You heard Dudley. If they want to go underground, I know the perfect cupboard-under-the-stairs place for that."

"Where?"

Hermione cracked a sly smile. "Someplace safe, but just as desolate as they made your life."

"Where?"

"Coober Pedy."

* * * *

The Great Hall was filling rapidly. Hermione initiated a conversation with the two Heads, soon joined by Professor McGonagall. Harry participated in desultory fashion until Shak tapped him on the shoulder and discreetly pointed to the entrance. The Goblin Nation delegation had arrived.

Harry approached the three goblins, Chamberlain Yastrop, representing the state; General Barduk, proxy for the army; and Director Klamdok, on behalf of Gringotts Bank. They greeted Harry warmly as he personally ushered them to seats in the front row

Returning to the foyer, Harry had just attracted Hermione's attention when he saw a familiar cloak. "Remus!" he yelped. Numerous heads turned, as Harry was the man of the hour. "You made it!"

The last of the Marauders turned towards Harry. He looked awful - exhausted, hollow-eyed, haggard - despite being cleaned up and dressed up for the august occasion.

"Are … are you all right?" Harry gasped Remus' appearance stopped him in his tracks.

"Tough question, that," Remus answered weakly. "Don't usually go out in public less than two days after … well, you know…."

"Two days after…?"

Harry avoided sticking his foot in his mouth when Hermione Legilimenced from behind. `The full moon, Harry - the first since the battle….'

Hermione's warning stopped Harry just short of his target.

Closing the remaining gap, he whispered. "Tonks … did she…?"

Remus Lupin smiled a sad little smile as he turned to face Harry fully. A slighter figure, still heavily cloaked against the blizzard outside, hove into view. Dropping her hood, Tonks stood there looking every bit as exhausted and wan as her escort - except for her hair, which flared bubble-gum pink.

"Yes," she said.

Harry's face fell at the news.

"And yes," Remus echoed. He raised Tonks' hand, which Harry had not noticed him holding, to his lips, and kissed it.

"Oh, come now," she encouraged, "you can do better than that on the occasion of our announcement." Tonks left hand rose to stroke Remus' cheek. She gave him a proper kiss - proper for a public place.

Harry was too stunned to move or speak. A huge smile lit his face, and he felt unusually warm….

"Congratulations!!" he heard Hermione squeal. She brushed by Harry and launched herself into the surprised couple's collective arms. They staggered beneath the full-scale Hermione hug. It was a bit much for two weres so soon after a full moon.

"When did it happen?" Hermione excitedly inquired. "When did he do it?"

Only then did Harry notice the engagement ring on Tonks' left hand.

Remus spoke first. "When I found her on the battlefield … all ripped to shreds. I vowed that, if she lived, I wouldn't cock this up again…. That was before I knew what had happened. Then it was … like fate. I had no more excuses. I couldn't deny fate - deny her - any longer…."

"Greyback did it," Tonks took up the narrative. "I was duelling Lestrange when he attacked me from behind. I tried fending him off, but he was too strong. He kept biting. I weakened…. He would kill me, I was sure. Then I thought I'd died - so much bright light…. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up the next day at an Order safe house…. I still don't know where. Remus was there, holding my hand…. I'd never managed to have him do that for more than a few seconds."

"But when did he ask you?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"Yesterday," they both said, and then, "sorry," for talking over the other.

"All right, I'll tell it," Remus chuckled. "I suspected the … well, most people would say `the worst,' all along. One reason, ironically, was the rapid healing of her injuries. That's what we do. Weres are quick healers."

"So are Metamorphmagi," Tonks reminded him.

"After denying it much too long, I finally confessed what I felt for her - not just to her, but to myself. That happened about two weeks ago. Tonks had been … umm … clear about where she stood for quite some time…."

"This git thought he was protecting me by staying away," Tonks interjected.

"Well, I know how that feels," Harry murmured sympathetically. Hermione squeezed his hand.

"I informed him that with two of us and only one of Greyback, we've improved the odds," Tonks related. Her voice remained weak - she was only two days removed from her first turning - but her vibrant rainbow hair revealed her true attitude.

"Point, that," Lupin conceded. "When I saw her at Stonehenge, I knew that, if it happened, I had to follow my heart - no more excuses - just like you, Harry. I like to think I would have anyway, but the full moon was the occasion. Besides, a Metamorphmagus werewolf could be very interesting. Have you ever seen a bright purple…? Umm…."

As Remus went silent, Harry felt an all-too-familiar hand slide onto his shoulder. "Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry uttered before even turning around. He encountered not only the Headmaster, but the Minister for Magic himself, both looking rather sombre.

"I am truly sorry to intrude - and my congratulations as well - but I need to borrow Mister Potter to discuss a matter of some urgency," Dumbledore informed everyone.

`You didn't tell them?' Harry frantically Legilimenced Hermione.

`Certainly not,' she likewise replied, slightly affronted he would think such. `Perhaps it's the Prophet story.'

`But how…?' Harry's silent communication merged with frantic thoughts flooding his brain. The Ministry's final word was only the other day. They had never breathed a word to a soul - not even their fellow Boomwin Twos. It was a secret…. What if they ordered him not to…? Would the entire ceremony blow up…?

Harry was on autopilot as the two men guided him to a quiet corner.

"Mister Potter, this has to do with the ceremony," Scrimgeour began sourly.

Harry clenched his jaw to appear as determined as possible. He had promised Hermione….

"A slight change in plans is called for…."

Harry searched for the right admixture of defiance and regret.

"We want you to accept Alastor Moody's award as next of kin," the Minister finished, not mentioning house-elves.

Harry's jaw dropped. His fight or flight instinct, thoroughly stranded, simply vanished - leaving him distinctly light-headed.

It was not close to what he expected.

"Umm … why?" he delayed, trying to regain an even keel whilst giving nothing away.

Fortunately, Dumbledore played fair - no Legilimency. Harry's Occlumency might not have been up to snuff.

"As I'm sure you're aware," Scrimgeour proceeded ponderously. "Auror Moody was extremely private. He had been known to take rather extreme measures to ensure his security…."

Harry finally relaxed enough to engage. "I've heard about his exploding dustbins."

"Against his more recent measures, I'd consider those quaint," the Minister commented dryly. "For at least a year, perhaps longer, Moody protected his residence with extremely advanced magic. Essentially, he cast his house into an enchanted bolthole of some sort. It shifted locations at least daily and was only accessible from secret Floo stops known to nobody else. Several weeks after his death, Moody's house finally stopped hopping about long enough for a team of Aurors and Unspeakables to inactivate its other defences. Inside, amongst his personal effects, was his last will and testament."

"Oh … crap," Harry groaned, oblivious to swearing in front of the Minister. "Not again. Somebody else killed on my behalf decides to leave every bloody thing to me…."

Dumbledore's hand squeezed his shoulder. "I beseech you to think otherwise. Alastor, I assure you, viewed his selection as your guardian as a great honour. He lost his family decades ago when his siblings regrettably perished in 1918."

"The Great War?" Harry asked, showing some knowledge of Muggle history.

"No, Dark Legion remnants in Spain concocted a deadly strain of influenza that killed wizards and Muggles indiscriminately," the Headmaster replied, demonstrating that the boy's historical knowledge remained deficient.

"Oh."

"He never married," Dumbledore continued. "Until your decision, Alastor was alone for many years. You gave him something he could call family."

Harry thought of his own alleged "family," but decided any comment about the Dursleys would be rude. The Headmaster, misreading the emotion that danced across Harry's visage, hastened to add, "The estate is minimal - one nominally stationary bit of property. No accounts to speak of, as Alastor donated everything above subsistence to the Order. He had a small but interesting library, and some quite useful Dark Detectors…."

"What about his funeral?" Harry asked to change the subject.

"He left strict instructions," Dumbledore revealed. "He wanted no ceremony, as it would provide Death Eaters with an attack opportunity. He dictated immediate cremation and that his ashes be scattered in some beautiful place."

Harry was surprisingly miffed at being excluded. "Where?"

"That, he did not specify; leaving it to you as next of kin," the Headmaster explained. "You may have his ashes at any time."

"Whatever…. Moody did what he did," Minister Scrimgeour rumbled impatiently, having had enough of Dumbledore rambling. "Will you accept his decoration? It's his second bar, placing him in quite exclusive company."

With the question put that way, Harry could give only one answer.

* * * *

At the ceremony, Harry and Hermione shared the staff table (bedecked in Ministry colours) with the other award winners, the Minister, and Dumbledore. Rows of the same chairs used at the Masked Ball stretched across the Great Hall's floor, replacing the house tables. The award winners' guests filled the front several rows. Quite a few Weasleys attended, including - Harry noticed - Ginny in her shawl. Neville also had a couple of relatives. Some Hogwarts students, fortunate enough to wheedle invitations, observed. Assembled behind the invited guests were Order of Merlin holders. Order laureates could attend all inductions.

For this low-key ceremony, only a few dozen prior Order holders braved the blizzard. They comprised about half of the audience. Many prior recipients still had qualms about Harry, and especially Hermione.

With the hall only partially full, large banners alternating between Ministry and Hogwarts house colours formed a backdrop. The ceiling reflected the featureless white-out outside.

Minister Scrimgeour officiated. All the honourees could receive their decorations directly from the Minister, or from a chosen designee.

Harry, representing Mad-Eye, went first. With the Minister and Moody not on the best of terms, Scrimgeour displayed unexpected tact and had drafted Professor Shacklebolt to perform the honours for the crusty deceased Auror.

Tonks followed. She chose to receive her award directly from the Minister. The buzz in the hall and the expressions of several prior award holders reminded Hermione of another important point. Order of Merlin recognition of a werewolf was also unprecedented, and judging from the reaction in the hall, not particularly appreciated.

That buzz abated as the Minister recited the magnitude of Tonks' heroism from the official communiqué that accompanied the award.

George Weasley was next. After declaring his intent to have Fred do the honours, he relented (or maybe was joking all along) and accepted the decoration from his father.

The recitation of George's accomplishments whetted the crowd's anticipation of the next award. Jazzy designated no presenter, just as she had invited no guests. Rather, as the Minister read the official description of her piloting an unprotected - save for speed and manœuvre - broom against a thousand Dark wizards, she stepped to the award table and placed the ribbon bearing the gleaming medal about her own neck.

Another disapproving undertone filled the room. Jazzy, used to opprobrium, ignored it. She returned to her seat of honour with a defiant glare in her eyes.

Then came Luna. As a prior Order winner, she wore the purple robes of her Third Class rank. A tall, relatively old wizard clad in unadorned ivory-white robes conferred the medal upon her. Harry and Hermione only vaguely remembered him. He was introduced as the Senior Druid of Luna's nemeton.

Hermione's foreboding rose as the man delivered his prepared remarks. He described Luna's involvement in "cleansing infinite evil from the great circle" and "summoning forth lost power." Whilst oblique, the Senior Druid's words left Hermione certain that he knew, or at least suspected, precisely what had happened.

Returning to his seat, the white-robed Druid stared unblinkingly at Hermione.

Hermione knew that Luna would insist that she speak to this man after the ceremony.

As Neville's moment began, Hermione Legilimenced Harry, `Luna's senior knows. I'm sure he wants to meet me. I could strangle her.'

`Inevitable, don't you think,' Harry replied silently. `What do you want to do?'

`Learn how to resign,' she answered. `I'm no Druid. You're going ahead, right?'

`Hermione, I promised I would,' came Harry's reply. `I told the truth.'

Neville had chosen the Minister to bestow his laurels - a bar on his prior Third Class Order.

The entire hall - Harry and Hermione foremost amongst them - were shocked when, instead of taking his seat, Neville turned and faced the crowd. "Dobby, can you come here, to me?" the boy requested.

The house-elf was present, of course - to receive a made-for-the-occasion award for special services to wizardkind, or whatever the Ministry had invented.

"Dobby?" Neville repeated, his voice quavering just a bit.

The elf seemed paralysed, entirely uncertain what to do.

Harry raised his voice, "Dobby, please obey Neville," he commanded.

The Minister purpled.

Dobby could never refuse Harry Potter. With a CRACK, the elf popped to Neville's side.

Neville extracted his original Order medal from his robes. "Dobby, I don't deserve this award; you do," Neville spoke, his voice suddenly firm and unwavering. The audience began whispering furiously. "I couldn't have done a thing without your shields…."

Harry's jaw dropped, as did Hermione's. Their plans had been secret. Neville was acting independently.

"…I would have died without you. You deserve this as much as anyone - more than I…."

Spreading the medal's ribbon, Neville bent over to place it around the trembling elf's neck.

Scrimgeour moved forward to intervene; to put a stop to the impromptu recognition. "Now see here…."

Harry shot to his feet. He practically shouted. "I agree with Neville!"

Instantly, Hermione joined him - and did shout. "I ALSO AGREE WITH NEVILLE!"

The protest stopped Scrimgeour in his tracks.

Luna rose. "I concur!"

Tonks followed, and then Jazzy, as each of the honourees announced support of Neville's decision to confer his Order of Merlin upon a lowly house-elf. Unexpectedly, another voice joined. "I applaud the young man's initiative." Headmaster Dumbledore, his silver robes adding his prestige as the only living recipient of a First Class Order, had risen. He clapped his good hand against his withered one - wincing every time they came together.

As one, the Order of Merlin inductees cheered whilst Neville draped the ribbon around Dobby's scrawny neck. A few of the audience, such as Fleur, started applauding - but very few. A majority of the specifically invited guests clapped, ranging from the Senior Druid's and goblin representatives' enthusiastic ovation, to the elder Weasleys' rather lukewarm joinder.

The Minister, humiliated publicly, sat down in stony silence. Like a missing front tooth, his sitting was in stark contrast to the rest of the High Table.

The Minister's view was shared by probably 95% of the Order of Merlin laureates in the hall.

Dobby would have happily disappeared into the crowd, or altogether, but Neville guided him towards the High Table. Neville would have taken the elf in his lap but, from thin air, an additional chair appeared.

Hermione, sitting next to Harry, whispered. "I believe, in their own way, Hogwarts' elves just registered their opinion."

Neville having stolen their thunder, Harry's and Hermione's awards occurred without drama. They did regret agreeing to accept their distinctions directly from the Minister. Scrimgeour achieved his photo opportunity, and the pair shared an extremely cold shoulder.

Of course, some pure-bloods would have argued that the Minister should not have proceeded at all, because Harry and Hermione supported that house-elf "travesty."

Little did they know.

During Hermione's ceremony her purple robes recoloured to burnished gold when the Second Class medal touched her chest.

Harry's ceremony was notable for receiving a bar - a repeat Second Class award. Although Harry was the only speaker on the programme, his speech was not very notable. He had been upstaged thoroughly by Neville's actions.

The speech was not one of Harry's better efforts, partially due to extenuating circumstances.

I stand here today amazed … that I stand here at all. I also stand in awe of everyone's bravery and loyalty. Words cannot express my gratitude for, and admiration of, the honourees' deeds.

That was supposedly an applause line. Harry started clapping for the other recipients. Besides the Headmaster, Fleur, and the invited guests, practically nobody (least of all Minister Scrimgeour) joined. Harry's face flushed with embarrassment, but he continued.

None of us could foresee what we would encounter when we left the security of Blackwalls that evening. I just wanted to rescue Ron - Ron Weasley, in the front row here. His presence means we succeeded

Theoretically another applause line - for Ron more than for mostly - but except for the High Table, and the best efforts of everyone surnamed "Weasley," the room remained notably silent.

Even after we knew what we faced - over a thousand Dark wizards led by Voldemort himself, we all carried on. I speak for us all when I say that none of us expected to survive. I know I did not.

I can't say enough about wizards who fight against impossible odds. The citations say "conspicuous gallantry" and "pre-eminent bravery," but don't begin to describe what my friends did.

Remember Mad-Eye, dying how he wanted, battling against the Dark forces.

A fair amount of applause. Many of the laureates had served with him.

Tonks, going alone into nobody-knew-what so we'd know where to go later.

Virtual silence, outside of the High Table. Most of the crowd held her werewolf status against her.

Neville and Dobby, holding a multitude at bay for a critical half hour.

The Minister continued his frosty silence. Even though Neville's parents were well thought of, he had just become the face of the house-elf heresy.

Jazzy and George, attacking that same multitude with an unshielded broom.

Applause from the High Table and the Weasleys. Jazzy had no guests.

Luna, armed only with an Invisibility Cloak, running the gauntlet to rescue Ron.

She was associated with the Quibbler. Enough said.

Hermione, looking death in the eye to stop enemy reinforcements, and then coming through once I was too exhausted.

Between her blood status and persistent vocal association with house-elf heresy, Hermione was probably less acceptable than Neville - but her gold robes signified she would be joining the Wizengamot.

Those are the names on the programme, and they all deserve recognition. But other names cannot go unmentioned - names like Slamdor, Roxtar, Tubifor, Selfōn, Azdak, and Fozfor. Everything we did, or might have done, would have been for naught without the goblin army coming to our aid when our own forces could not. We lost Mad-Eye; the goblins lost hundreds.

"Ulululululu…." The goblins responded, but the audience mostly followed the Minister's polite applause.

Given the odds, I can't believe that anybody followed me. I can never repay my debt to those who did. Thank you one and all.

Harry sat down another smattering of applause. He still fumed as the programme ended. Hermione deeply desired to leave with Harry, but the goblin delegation wanted to meet with him. Hermione gazed fondly after her fiancé as she accepted congratulations from various Weasleys.

She hoped to talk to Neville. He had been magnificent.

She did not particularly relish talking to Luna. But Luna was determined to accost her. "Congratulations, Hermione," Luna called, showing little of her usual airiness. "I have someone who very much wants to meet you - in private."

"Yes?" Hermione answered rather reluctantly, meeting the gentle gaze of the blue-eyed, silver-haired man standing beside Luna.

"This is Loxos Dromit, Senior Druid of my nemeton, and its elector to the Brythonic College of Covens," Luna continued.

"My pleasure," Hermione responded untruthfully, offering her hand.

"The pleasure is mine," Dromit answered as he heartily took her hand. "You, on the other hand, are suspicious and rather frightened. You should not be…."

They made small talk as Hermione led them to the deserted anteroom behind the High Table. Between the weather and the unnerving tensions revealed during the ceremony, practically all the other attendees headed the other way - to the Hogwarts Floo and home.

"We can talk here," Hermione indicated after Surveillius revelato revealed no eavesdroppers. "I assume you know, then … and that it's true."

"I felt it," Dromit admitted. "I'm sure many did. I dared not believe it, as the ancient magicks are … so ancient." He regarded Hermione peacefully. "Any possibility, though, compelled inquiry. Then I learnt of Stonehenge, and matters moved from possibility to probability. I was prepared to be convinced when Luna came to me…. Now I know you are truly Brenhines o yr Coedwig, the returned medium of the Dynion Mwyn…."

He started to bow, and Hermione feared that he would act like the goblins did towards Harry. She could not abide that. "Stop, please!"

He did - instantly. "Have I offended you?"

Hermione could barely answer. "Just … don't," she shook her head vigorously. "I won't be worshipped. For goodness sake, I'm not even Druid. I don't believe in any god, let alone dozens."

"Fear not," Dromit spoke calmly. "It matters not. You were consecrated on the stone, and had the stone rejected you, you would not have lived. You have proven yourself. You can channel the stone's power. Let no one tell you that you are not Brenhines o yr Coedwig - least of all yourself."

"Those are just words - concepts," Hermione resisted mightily. "There's no hard evidence that I did anything at all."

"There is hard evidence - the hardest," Dromit overrode her resistance. "I've been to Stonehenge, following the battle. I know."

Notwithstanding the transparent rhetorical trap, Hermione was interested. "What do you know?" she asked.

"All the marl underlying the nemeton was cleansed," Dromit maintained. "Instead of marl, it is chalk - white chalk of great purity. How far your cleansing penetrated the bedrock I cannot say. But the power of your magic is undeniable. I say again, do not doubt that you are truly Brenhines o yr Coedwig."

"That's the problem," Hermione declared. "I don't want it. I'm not a high priestess. I'd be lousy, since I don't believe any of it. Why not Luna? I'll see that you - or whoever you want - can access the stone to consecrate someone else. I only did that to save Harry."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Luna apologised, looking downcast.

"What? Why?"

"Luna tells me you are a genius," Dromit observed. "Surely you can grasp her apology."

Hermione bowed to the inevitable. "Umm … it's a lifetime job, I presume."

Dromit nodded. "Until death or magical incapacity. The office is ancient. Periodic elections were not held in Druid Brython 2000 years ago - older than that, since even then the office was venerable."

Hermione tried stubbornness. "And should I refuse?"

"All Druid adepts felt it," Dromit informed her. "This is too huge - the first proper Brenhines o yr Coedwig since the Romans - to be ignored. If I fail, other more desperate delegations will follow, beseeching you to accept. I assure you, the position's demands are not rigorous. They cannot approach what you have already experienced using the stone."

Hermione smiled bitterly. "No choice, then?"

"Not unless you prefer constant visits from others, only more inclined to treat you as the goblins treat your Harry."

Hermione heaved a great sigh. "All right…. I'll give it serious consideration," she promised neutrally. "What do you need, and when?"

The answer was refreshing, and indicative of his earlier promise. "We'd like your answer before the Gathering of the Groves on the June solstice. By then, we hope to have Stonehenge restored to a semblance of its former self. You would re-consecrate the nemeton. Since you had a hand in its destruction, I think that's only fair…."

* * * *

A thick blanket of snow precluded running, so Harry performed calisthenics in the deserted Gryffindor common room. "…forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight…"

Maybe he heard something; maybe he sensed her in the predawn gloom, but Harry knew Hermione had entered the room.

He stopped at fifty.

She smiled whilst blatantly ogling him. "My, my, aren't we fit this morning?"

"Finite." His chin-up bar Retransfigured into someone's leftover quill. "I usually do a hundred," he commented. He noticed the sizeable bundle of parchment she carried. "What's that?"

Hermione uncertainly scanned the area for something unusual.

"Under your arm," he clarified.

She relaxed. "Oh, The Sunday Prophet. I don't usually take it, because all the extra print doesn't mean any extra news. But I collected a copy from the honour box by the staff room. I wanted to read the coverage of yesterday's ceremony…. Given what happened."

"And?"

"They're downplaying everything," Hermione reported, her face falling. "The lead story is the Auror Corps announcing their own eight Orders of Merlin, matching ours, of course."

"For what?" Harry scoffed. "They never showed until everything was over."

"Says here that one's posthumous for valour defending the Wiltshire Auror Headquarters," Hermione said whilst scanning the article. "The other seven involve what they're now calling the `Battle of Pantllefrith.' That happened later that night, after our battle ended."

Harry shrugged. Aurors had fought an engagement at the Changs' compound, although not involving Voldemort. "Anyone we know?"

"No...," Hermione answered, scanning the rest of the article. "Wait, yes, Andy Carluke, one of our summer instructors, gets a Third Class…. Also, your friend Mannock will get his second. He did seem rather smug when I saw him at our event."

"Whatever," Harry waved that off. "What's the Prophet saying about us - about Neville?"

"Nothing … nothing at all unusual," she told him in a disbelieving voice. "Not a bloody thing about Neville, except his getting an award. The whole story must have been copied rote from a pre-prepared Ministry press release. `Before an invited audience, the heroes of last New Years' Battle of Stonehenge were awarded…' and so on and so forth. Not a word about Dobby. Not a word about anything out of the ordinary…." The parchments rustled as she thumbed to an inside page. "Oh, and you'll love this, `The ceremony ended when the Light forces' leader, Harry Potter, fresh from' blah, blah, blah `gave a well-received address to the small crowd of mostly prior award winners.'"

Harry's face darkened into a scowl. "Well-received? Shite! That was excruciating. I should have thrown down my notes and walked off."

Hermione sat beside him. "No, did the right thing," she caressed his cheek. "Sometimes grinning and bearing it is the better part of valour - something I've learnt the hard way. I'm sorry you went through that, but it was a valuable learning experience."

"How?" Harry grumped. "Having to stand there and watch a bunch of old fogies ignore everything we did and sit on their hands? They didn't even clap much for Mad-Eye, and he died."

"Exactly right," Hermione agreed. Her hand left his cheek and aimlessly stroked his arm. "It's a useful reminder of the full extent of wizard racism. They're not our friends, Harry. They're allies of convenience. Nor is it just house-elves, although Dobby certainly bore the brunt. Those Order laureates weren't even well disposed towards the goblins - it showed."

"I'll say," Harry sighed ruefully. "After the ceremony the goblins revoked their invitation that a Ministry representative attend today's Alitserat. Tit for tat."

"So that's why Percy was shooting daggers at you yesterday," Hermione realised.

"He probably thinks I suggested it," Harry replied. "He thinks that way - wizards driving everything. He's wrong. The goblins saw the Minister insult me and decided to invite Neville instead. They only asked to be sure I approved, and of course I did. Better Neville than Percy any day."

"Well bravo for them and bravo for you," Hermione cheered. "I think that deserves a kiss, Mister Potter…."

She leaned into him, ready to make good on that promise.

"But you haven't heard the best part," Harry stopped her with his words. "They're making the cave available afterwards. That's because … well, I found out more about the Alitserat - it's not like an Ashrak. It's … umm…."

"Umm, what, Harry?" Hermione asked when he hesitated, noticing his flushed face.

"The entire victorious army attends, with their wives or girlfriends. A huge feast follows the awards and the army's formal demobilisation. After that … maybe I didn't understand it exactly, but it sounds like an orgy - a mass celebratory mating."

* * * *

Escorted by Māktrax, who assumed command of Harry's personal guard with Slamdor and Roxtar promoted, the party of four "wand bearers" - Flitwick, Harry, Hermione, and Neville - emerged through a goblin splixat into what they expected would be Gringotts.

They were surprised to find themselves outdoors, beside the bank.

Stepping into the chill, Harry and the rest met a double row of goblin warriors, dressed in their finest greys and standing at attention, with their various weapons pointed skyward.

The wizards paused, uncertain.

"Please, Impratraxis, Savini, come," Māktrax beckoned. "To front go we."

Professor Flitwick caught the drift first. "Yes, we enter through the great bronze doors. Harry, the goblins wish to honour our party. You should lead."

The snow (much less in London) was cleared from the entrance, and a grey and red striped carpet laid across the cobbles. Harry led his friends to Diagon Alley where - sure enough - the great bronze doors stood wide open.

Behind him, Harry heard Flitwick take a deep breath.

Atop of the stairs, leading the goblin welcoming party, stood Crown Prince Maragnok, accompanied the three high-ranking goblins who had attended yesterday's event at Hogwarts.

The party enjoyed the goblins' mind-boggling hospitality. Neville had never entered the goblin realm, and Hermione only briefly.

Thus they gawked, Neville more openly than Hermione, at the goblins' display for their honoured guests. The awe Harry experienced when he attended the Ashrak last August was back.

Harry's friends were not alone. Many goblins did double-takes. In keeping with Alitserat tradition, Harry and his friends all wore the same goblin-forged Basilisk-skin armour as during the Battle of Stonehenge.

The issues that armour raised with the goblins approximated the house-elf question amongst wizards.

In the Goblin Nation, women did not fight. The sight of Hermione in full warrior garb was unprecedented. Without a word, Hermione cut an even more radical figure amongst the goblins than she had yesterday in publicly supporting a house-elf for the Order of Merlin.

Hermione knew exactly what she was doing. Just as house-elves were oppressed in wizard society, so were goblin females. To her, both phenomena were indistinguishable, as was her adverse reaction. She was confident of Harry's support.

Still, nothing could have prepared her - or Neville, or Professor Flitwick - for the grandeur of the goblins' ceremonial cavern.

Passing through the gold-chain curtain on what amounted to a self-propelled throne, resplendent in gilt and brocade, Hermione was amazed. Harry had, of course, described the chamber, but his words could not do it justice.

It was, by some margin, the largest enclosed space she had ever seen - at least twice the size of the Chamber of Secrets. It exceeded even the Yanks' moon-rocket building she had visited with her parents as a child.

Nor was this space bare and Spartan like the Americans' structure. As Harry had described, it resembled the inside of a great tent, its grey fabric supported by dozens of gigantic gold chains extending in a starburst formation from the massive overhead lights.

The floor near the stage was packed. The entire victorious goblin army was present.

`Sweet Circe, Harry,' she Legilimenced. `I know you said it was huge, but I had no idea….'

`It's even bigger than before,' he responded. `Look to your right.'

At first, she thought Harry meant the grandstands, where mostly women sat - the mates, she understood, of those who fought.

But Harry's arm pointed further up.

Above and beyond the upper (currently empty) grandstands yawned a large antechamber of sorts. Silver railing rimmed its mouth, and a number of goblins, so far away as to appear tiny, stood behind it. Whilst smoothed out and partially decorated with more gold chains and cloth, that space was out of place. It interrupted the chamber's otherwise rough symmetry, and forced to either side the gold chains otherwise extending from the centre of the ceiling.

`That's the chunk the Death Eaters broke loose?' Hermione asked, already suspecting the answer.

`That's where it came from, yes,' Harry confirmed.

`You kept something that large from falling?' she went on.

`Umm … Dumbledore helped … a lot,' he again confirmed.

`No wonder he suspected … you know what…,' she speculated, unwilling to speak the phrase, even silently.

`Yeah, but none of that blasted mercury this time….'

With a slight bump, the line of moving chairs halted. They exited, and Hermione heard a roar from the crowd as the assembled warriors caught sight of Harry.

Time for some theatre. Hermione moved quickly to Harry's side. He waved Neville over. The boy, invited too recently to know about their prearrangement, hesitated but did what Harry wanted. Standing between them, Harry grasped their hands firmly and raised their arms as high over his head as he could.

That prompted another roar, but as the wave of sound subsided, a tittering buzz persisted - not much different from the Order of Merlin crowd at yesterday's ceremony.

They split up. A goblin escort led Harry to a polished cube of jet black obsidian three times his height. Surmounting it was the speaker's platform where Harry would award various decorations. Impatok Ragnok, the Crown Prince, and other goblin dignitaries were already seated.

Another goblin led Neville and Professor Flitwick to a visitor's box otherwise filled entirely with goblins. From their colourful robes, Flitwick supposed they represented the various goblin cantons of Britain.

A third goblin led Hermione around what looked like, of all things, a wok - if a wok could be five metres across. The silvery metal had scorch marks.

Neville and the professor may have appeared out of place, but to her group, Hermione seemed almost as if from another planet. She was to sit with Impateki Runasa, Imprexii Imuna and Karanata, and other women of the goblin court. They wore their best goblin finery. Hermione, by contrast, was clad in the Basilisk skin armour of a goblin berserker - armour that, whilst diligently cleaned up, bore obvious battle scars.

Hermione would receive one of the higher goblin awards - with several goblin braves who had distinguished themselves in battle. Despite passive resistance, Harry had prevailed. Hermione's battle commendation was the Goblin Nation's first ever conferred upon any female.

Unlike Minister Scrimgeour, the goblins would do almost anything Harry wanted. He was not only a prince, but also the Victor of the Battle of Stonehenge. Harry had informed General Barduk in no uncertain terms that Hermione had devised the mosquito-netting spell that had turned the tide of battle….

BOOM boom-boom. BOOM boom-boom. BOOM boom-boom.

With reverberations from great drums, the Alitserat ceremony commenced.

Loud inhuman screeches from the opposite side had Hermione cocking her head. On far stage left rested a half-dozen goblin fliers - with their mounts. The drumming startled the great leather-winged beasts, but their riders soon soothed them.

Hermione's initial reaction was what are they doing here? Then she recalled Harry's account of the Death Eater attack on the Ashrak. Squinting at the ceiling, she spotted at least a dozen goblins, no doubt specially detailed, dizzyingly perched by the lighting fixtures at the very top of the hall.

The throbbing in Hermione's head, however, was not from vertigo. The goblin drums pounded out a driving, constantly changing, double four time rhythm. Very soon….

A peal from something approximating trumpets burst forth. Hermione looked for the musicians but saw only several large glowing crystals next to the central flowstone pillar. The crystals flared again, and she realised that the hundreds of crystals provided the music that accompanied the drumbeat rhythms.

The curtain at stage right drew back. Dozens of goblin honourees entered, marching to the rhythms. Accompanying them were … were they not goblins, Hermione would have called them "break dancers." They performed their choreography with blades flashing in either hand.

The honourees were smartly dressed in their home cantons' uniforms. They carried various red and black standards….

No, those were not banners.

As the soon-to-be decorated goblins approached, Hermione recognised their hoisted cargo as trophies captured during the Battle of Stonehenge - red and white banners with Chinese characters, black Death Eater robes, red Triad robes, various brooms, and wizard wands tied up with string.

At least they left those ghastly severed heads on spikes behind.

The award winners strutted past. They formed two single file rows that passed on either side of the huge silvery bowl. To a goblin, they hurled the spoils of war into the basin.

Their ranks reformed before the obsidian platform. Vibrating crystals emitted another brassy burst. The award winners halted and stood at rigid attention in a perfectly rectangular formation.

A blinding white spotlight illuminated them. Seconds later, all other lights in the cavern went dark.

Another piercing spotlight, this one pencil thin, found Harry on the speaker's platform. Its light was like nothing Hermione had ever seen. In contrast to the limelight white that bathed the goblin honourees, the light shining on Harry was silvery, even greyish. Bathed in it, Harry practically sparkled.

A flame - real fire - flickered from a different angle. Harry fumbled with a goblin crossbow to little effect. A nearby goblin tried to assist him with the unfamiliar weapon, but the flame went out.

Instead, Harry drew his wand.

"Enflagrate!"

The silver bowl filled with booty from the Battle of Stonehenge burst into intense orange flames.

With the fire holding crowd's attention drawn, nobody noticed Harry touch his wand to his own throat.

"ULULULULULU!!" boomed Harry's magically fortified voice.

Virtually every goblin in the chamber responded in kind - "ULULULULULU!!" The battle cry rolled through the huge space.

Not even BerlitzMagical taught Gobbledygook, so Harry's brief speech thanking the army for its service, saluting its valour, and commemorating its victory was translated and amplified for the audience's benefit.

Hermione's Gobbledygook was nearly as bad as Harry's. She could not follow much of what he said, the syntax was so different.

The goblins seemed to like it, responding several times with loud cheers.

The award of decorations followed Harry's speech. Roxtar was the only name she recognised in the first group that ascended to the spotlit honour box. Roxtar's deeds - chopping off his own finger so the army knew where to go, and then combat throughout the desperate fight (including cutting down Dolohov to save her life) - were such that Hermione surmised that the highest acts of valour, meriting the most important medals, were awarded first.

The Alitserat was surprisingly informal, given the presence of the Nation's sovereign and his entire court. The audience was grouped by canton, and each award winner wore his canton's colours. Every award brought raucous cheering from the winner's hometown crowd. The cantons competed good-naturedly to generate the most deafening applause, the most elaborate chants, or the loudest clanks from banging their weapons together.

The awards were lengthy. Many warriors had distinguished themselves in combat, and victory had a thousand fathers. The goblin army had not fought such an engagement - against a large number of wizards - in several centuries.

Listening to an extended ceremony conducted in a language she did not understand, Hermione became bored.

Protocol demanded that she project outward attentiveness. At all times she was undoubtedly being watched, since she was a human, a female, and wearing goblin armour - something unheard of.

Finally, she heard her own name, "Hermione Granger," announced from the podium.

Hermione knew she would receive some sort of award near the end of the ceremony, shortly before the feast. Beyond that, the goblins played things close to the vest. All she knew, because it initially offended her, was that she was the only human - besides Harry - accorded goblin "status." That "status," stemming from her relationship with Harry, allowed Hermione to receive a goblin military decoration.

It was a singular honour. No female, let alone a human female, had ever won a martial award from the Gablankansta.

From the cavern's topmost reaches, a floodlight found Hermione. With all eyes on her spotlit figure, she gracefully exited the court ladies' box and made for the even more brilliantly illuminated platform. Reaching the top of the stairs, she found herself sharing a three-metre-square space with Impatok Ragnok, his imperial chamberlain, General Barduk, a goblin translator, a couple of goblin gofers, and - of course - Harry.

Visibly sweating from almost an hour in the spotlight, Harry was still doing the honours. "Hermione … er Miss Hermione Granger, for exceptional bravery in single-handedly destroying the enemy's reinforcement capability, and also your remarkable spell casting to banish the enemy…."

The goblin translator repeated Harry's every word in Gobbledygook for the goblin audience could follow. At the mention of "banishing" the enemy, the translator's voice noticeably hitched. Hermione looked around. Almost every goblin, save General Barduk and the King himself, wore surprised expressions.

Harry had deliberately kept Hermione's pivotal role a secret - even from most goblins. Now, equally intentionally, he revealed it to the entire goblin army.

"…I am pleased to award the Rank of Distinction, First Class, the highest award the Nation can bestow on a non-citizen."

A goblin aide handed Harry a grey ribbon that supported a strikingly white heptagon inlaid with shiny goblin runes, probably made of platinum or palladium. Its centre was a stylised knot, symbolising unity.

Her forehead beading with perspiration from the hot lights, Hermione bent forward at the waist as Harry placed the decoration about her neck. The goblin crowd responded with a tremendous cheer complete with the clanking of goblin steel.

In return, she curtseyed slightly. She turned to leave the honour box.

"Savini … semlit…."

The voice was Ragnok's, gravelly and low.

Chamberlain Yastrop quickly translated, "Impatok, stay you wishes he."

Hermione pivoted to face the goblin sovereign.

The old king's face displayed the toothy grimace she now knew was a goblin's smile.

"Yam rimikat," he said.

"Surprise can I, as well," Yastrop translated.

The King motioned, and a retainer produced an object about a half-metre long and otherwise fairly narrow. It was symmetrical in one dimension and curved in another. The object was encased in goblin grey, save for small golden rivets along the edges.

Impatok Ragnok stood.

"Semat," he commanded Harry.

"Kneel, he wishes," Yastrop whispered close to Harry's ear.

The goblin crowd, heretofore boisterous and raucous, fell silent. The celebration assumed a more solemn cast.

Harry hesitated, not sure how "kneel" translated from Gobbledygook. He dropped slowly to both knees and extended his hands. He had seen goblins prostrate themselves often enough.

"No. Knees only," Yastrop hissed in Harry's ear.

Impatok Ragnok made another motion. The goblin translator surrendered the amulet connected to the goblin public address system.

"Ramsus akadak Impratraxis Potter…."

As he spoke, Ragnok reached for the object. Hermione recognised a scabbard - sized for a human but otherwise similar to goblin armament.

With a metallic "schliiiiiiiing," Ragnok withdrew from the scabbard a goblin dirk almost the size of a scimitar. Patterned red gemstones and shining black onyx glinted from the hilt. Save for its gleaming silver cutting edge, the nastily curved blade was ivory white. The tip positively sparkled. From its size, the dirk had to be custom claw-crafted for Harry. No goblin could wield such a blade comfortably. Ragnok needed both hands just to heft it.

For Harry's and Hermione's benefit, the translator began interpreting Ragnok's Gobbledegook into English.

"Righteous warrior Prince Potter, to victory most glorious the Goblin Nation led hast thou. Far from honourific was your command. But for your actions beaten would have been the Nation. Most worthy have proven you. Pleased is Ragnok. Passed has more than a millennium since so honoured has been one not of our birth. Truly, in the Sempiternal League belong you, in the histories of the Nation forever to walk. So be it."

King Ragnok tapped the dirk once on Harry's right shoulder, once on Harry's left, and once atop his head. He slid the bowed blade into the scabbard, and, with both hands, personally presented the dirk to Harry, pommel first.

The goblin King nodded to his adopted human son.

Harry grasped the grip.

"Aynor." King Ragnok bade him

With the glittering dirk in hand, Harry rose. So did the goblin crowd, roaring their approval.

The adulation embarrassed Harry almost as much as induction into the Sempiternal League - whatever that was - honoured him.

"Time is it, for the ceremony to close you," Yastrop almost yelled at Harry through the din.

Harry felt relieved, and not just to be done with the hot lights. He was back on programme and knew what he was supposed to do. He raised both hands, one holding the dirk, over his head. All that remained was the command that officially prorogued the goblin army.

Then it struck him … the grip, the quillons - felt familiar in his hand….

Harry waivered. The goblins waited expectantly.

Finally, Harry forced out, "Melchikor!"

He intended a bellow, but his call to liberty emerged rather raggedly.

A goblin retainer offered a goblet of water, which Harry gratefully emptied. He was parched, but thirst was secondary.

At Harry's command, returning the army to civilian status, the side doors flew open and goblin caterers wheeled in table after table groaning with unfamiliar food and drink. The goblin warriors, famished after the protracted ceremony, practically dove into the repast.

Harry and Hermione were not much tempted. Goblin cuisine consisted altogether too much of large insects, arachnids, and other invertebrates for human taste.

More rasping and banging arose as stairs unfolded at the rear of the chamber. The soldiers' mates were now permitted to rejoin their loved ones.

Which they did, enthusiastically.

Harry and Hermione had been warned that the next phase of the Alitserat could get rather … out of control. The honour box began emptying, with Impatok Ragnok leading the way - straight to his Queen, Runasa.

Yastrop came to their rescue. "Impratraxis, Savini, please follow me. Prepared are your accommodations."

Harry and Hermione exchanged knowing looks. The princely glow worm cave retreat awaited - for their private version of what goblin warriors and their mates were beginning to share.

Harry sheathed the dirk in its scabbard, primarily to get it out of the way. Yastrop led them through increasingly rowdy festivities to the leather chairs that had brought them to the cavern.

Unfortunately, the chairs sat only one, and could not be magically enlarged.

Fortunately, Hermione found Harry's lap most inviting.

"Hermione," Harry rumbled before the chairs began moving. "The grip of this thing feels so much like the sword of Gryffindor. It's uncanny."

"No, Impratraxis, better is it," Yastrop commented.

Startled, Hermione almost fell out of Harry's lap.

"My humblest apologies," Yastrop murmured, prepared to prostrate himself.

Harry put a stop to that. "Don't … please."

"Only a change of clothes to bring meant I," Yastrop explained. "Perhaps, your armour's damage, might repair our armourers?"

Yastrop made a good point. Their Basilisk skin armour bore all the dings and chinks collected during the Battle of Stonehenge.

"That will be fine, Yastrop," Hermione answered for them both. "Can you have them picked up outside the Retreat?"

"Of course," Yastrop agreed.

Harry was curious. "Yastrop, how is mine `better' than the sword of Gryffindor?"

"Basilisk fang fashioned - undamaged from yours," Yastrop disclosed. "Largest in existence and with loaded venom in its diamond tip. More capable than anything to Godric the Gryphon given."

Harry turned the glinting blade over in his hands. "And this edge?"

"Vorpal steel has this one, Impratraxis," Yastrop explained, "Not invented when the sword awarded the Gryphon forged we."

"What's vorpal steel?" Harry followed.

"Happy you to show, but get moving may we?" Yastrop requested.

"Sure," Harry nodded.

Yastrop moved to the chair in front and sat down. He reached underneath and swivelled it around. Then he raised his arm, signalling someone unseen.

The chairs lurched into motion.

"Your inherent righteousness, vorpal steel, during battle calls forth. And is practical also. With something like your Transfiguration magic is imbued," Yastrop explained. "If point would you…."

Harry did.

"Now this ristrop…. I'm sorry, word for this blade in your language know not I," Yastrop admitted.

"It's probably closest to a scimitar," Hermione offered.

Harry gave her an odd look.

"We worked with knives and swords in one of the Auror sessions after you were kidnapped," Hermione clarified.

"Scimitar then," Yastrop continued. "For fighting single combat is excellent, but suppose instead thick ropes to cut wish you … or say this restraint."

Yastrop reached underneath and yanked out the male portion of a goblin seatbelt. He extracted the female half from Harry's seat and fastened them together.

"Into the scimitar, please to channel your desire."

"Okay," Harry agreed as he concentrated on the seatbelt connecting the two chairs.

The silvery edge of his blade shimmered and reformed into a scissors.

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed, examining the reconfigured blade.

"Vorpal steel," Yastrop stated, sounding quite pleased with himself. "Rare and difficult to forge. Some five hundred of your years ago invent did we."

"So goblins did give Godric Gryffindor his sword," Hermione jumped in. "Why?"

"Gablankansta, not us," Yastrop corrected. "Long ago, when existed fewer humans, more stansir … er … above ground went we. Even Impatok. Wizard brigands, and Muggle Norsemen, ambush did they, Ragnuk the First and imperial family. Stolen everything, perhaps even kill Impatok might have they, except appeared the Gryphon and with our guards drove them off. Alliance proposed we, and to confirm, sword awarded we."

"Godric Gryffindor was allied with you?" Harry goggled.

"Not last, did it," Yastrop spoke, shaking his head. "In with wrong crowd, fell he. When founded Hogwarts, did they, willing to participate were we. Others would not allow. Them chose he … over us. Ended badly, did it. Ever since our separate ways, have gone we. Believe many of us that the sword to obtain our Impatok enchanted the Gryphon."

"So Godric…."

With a bump, the chairs came to a halt.

"Arrived have we," Yastrop declared, changing the subject. "Path to retreat is before you. Please communicate, if more than three hours wish you. Dumbledore to return you then wants he. But control does your word, not his."

Harry looked suggestively at Hermione. "Well, I'm ready to get out of this."

"Beat you to it!" she immediately replied. Hermione took off running down the path to the brightly lit Retreat - leaving Harry to sort out the scissored dirk before he could pursue her.

* * * *

Author's notes: Hermione's mastery of Levitation Charms goes back to Wingardium Leviosa

Dudley once played "Pipes"

Jazzy's Arithmancy problem is like something that happened to me in 10th grade

The dream reference is to what happened in Ch. 4

Hermione's father shot a Death Eater in Ch. 23

Macau, a former Portuguese colony with peculiar governance, is a notorious site for shady dealings

Lao Kung dies of pancreatic cancer, a quick killer

The sonic hedgehog gene exists, and was named after a videogame

The "hairy potty" line originates with the Captain Underpants series

The "system" was introduced in Ch. 54

A shot at the idea of Hermione being able to Obliviate her parents; otherwise everybody would be Obliviating everyone

Cooper Pedy, in the Australian outback, is where people literally live underground in abandoned opal mines

The moon phase matches the date

Lupin referenced his prior problems with Tonks in Ch. 45

Dumbledore refers to the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918

Harry and Hermione met the senior Druid at Luna's father's funeral in Ch. 25

Harry promised Hermione to do essentially what Neville did

Loxos is "oblique" in Greek; Dromit is a random English place name

Brythonic is a term for Celtic languages in Britain

Brenhines o yr Coedwig = a Druidic term for a witch queen

Dynion Mwyn = Celtic Druid/magical tradition

Marl and chalk are both forms of calcium carbonate common in England

Luna recognized a Druid consecration spell among the spells Hermione used to find Harry in Ch. 35

Gathering of the Groves is an annual Druid meeting

With my daughter attending Pomona, there will be more "47" references in the story

Hermione feels the same about Sunday papers as I do

The private goblin cave appeared previously in Ch. 60

Hermione's memory is of NASA's Vehicular Assembly Building at Cape Canaveral

The descriptions of the goblins' gathering cavern is consistent with Ch. 14

Hermione used the mosquito netting spell in the duel in Ch. 49

Harry used BerlitzMagical to learn French in Ch. 25

Victory has a thousand fathers is part of a quote from John F. Kennedy

The Sempiternal League is something of a goblin warrior's hall of fame

Vorpal is a nonsense word from Lewis Caroll's Jabberwocky describing a sword; I've added its properties

The Godric Gryffindor backstory is not canon, but is a plausible interpretation

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 3/20/2010

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