Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Hermione tries to cope, an announcement is made, invitations are accepted or not, promises are more or less kept, an unexpected proposal trumps an unexpected encounter, and Harry frets while picking stocks and gets some pointed counsel.

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

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

Chapter 81 - International Relations

Lord Voldemort's ambitions extended so far beyond sowing dissention amongst the original Ministry Six that the thought never crossed his mind. Had that been his objective, the Dark Lord could scarcely have achieved a more thorough disintegration of Potter's team.

The target of Harry's and Ginny's spectacular betrayal - the keystone of the Six's structure - reacted defensively. Hermione raised the sturdiest emotional redoubts her shattered spirit could muster. True to her promises, she maintained correct, if prickly, social relations with Harry. They cooperated on matters of mutual interest, as did deGaulle with NATO, but Hermione assiduously maintained her independent force de frappe.

That force primarily targeted Ginny, towards whom Hermione was icily formal. Hermione never resorted to massive retaliation, however, upsetting various betting pools and disappointing certain juvenile males. In social situations Hermione mostly sat with Neville (in the Gryffindor common room) or Luna (in the Great Hall). In group settings Hermione gravitated towards the mostly Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff contingent that chose her D.A. training section after her victory in her epic and, by now, almost legendary duel with Harry.

Hermione increasingly avoided social situations altogether. Instead, she gave her inner swot free reign. She had a well-deserved reputation for hitting the books before "that" happened, and with Harry no longer on her schedule, Hermione doubled down academically. Before the first week of the rest of her life was over, her twenty-five lost House Points were a distant memory, and she was well on her way to redeeming the remaining Gryffindor deficit. Her efforts had the not altogether unintended effect of cementing her support within the House.

Hermione would isolate herself in her customary library hideaway. She also frequented the Room of Requirement - after she and Harry coordinated schedules to avoid being alone together. Less frequently she visited other known private locations.

Ostracism by the other Boomwins left Harry and Ginny with plenty of time to get to know each other better. Goblin Cloaking magic facilitated mightily, but as hard as Harry tried….

The new couple interacted primarily with Gryffindors in Ginny's year and the largely male contingent who trained with Harry in the D.A. Like Hermione, the pair revised a lot. O.W.L.s staring Ginny in the face left her no choice. Harry had an upcoming Defence N.E.W.T., but he revised mostly as a self-defence mechanism. Hermione shared most of his classes, and - her mien driven, yet icily detached - she was more than pleased to show him up academically.

Ron conspicuously avoided both contingents. The third member of the erstwhile Trio nursed grudges against almost everybody. Contact with Harry and Ginny was almost non-existent - save on the Quidditch pitch. There, as captain of the Hogwarts picked nine, Ron managed to suppress (barely) his anger for the good of the team. He was no keener than anyone else to suffer embarrassment by Krum and his all-stars a few weeks hence. Ron still managed an occasional petty slight, such as assigning Ginny the same quasi-house-elf tasks that she performed for the Gryffindor team.

Away from the Pitch, Ron avoided Harry and Ginny like the plague, staying far away from them in D.A. meetings and instead associating with Seamus, Dean, and their music dungeon crowd. When he desired female company, Luna continued to make herself available - although even there Ron found frustration and limitations.

Ron also stood apart, albeit not quite as far, from Hermione and Neville. Sure, he was grateful that she kept him from being expelled, and for saving Harry's life - that too - although he less readily admitted that. But how she went about it…. Every step of the process seemed designed to demonstrate Hermione's bloody superiority.

From Ron's after-the-fact perspective, fighting Harry was primarily to avenge a serious slight to Hermione's honour, but she barely acknowledged her valourous defender. Worse, once events spiraled out of control, Hermione had taken unfair advantage of his vulnerability to relieve him of the Prince's Potions book, making a mockery of her assurances on his birthday.

Ron tried compensating for his lost Prince in a most unexpected - from him - way: knuckling down and revising for Potions as diligently as he could. It remained a hopeless contest. With no reservoir of knowledge, and without rigorous academic skills, Ron simply could not keep pace with the hyper-swot Hermione. As she regularly demonstrated her academic superiority in class, Ron could feel Professor Slughorn's high regard inexorably ebbing.

Luna tried remaining friends with everyone, except Harry. Uniquely, he had gratuitously inflicted terrible emotional distress upon Hermione; despite the hard façade she showed the world. Luna practically worshipped the ground beneath Hermione's feet - literally, as Luna acted as acolyte to Hermione's Druid High Priestess - however reluctantly the Gryffindor embraced that role. To Luna's regret, Hermione preferred bearing the burden of her sorrow alone; the blonde feared the morose brunette was walling herself away.

Otherwise, Luna made some romantic progress with Ron, although he was often too moody to reciprocate fully. She tried keeping lines of communication open to Neville and Ginny, but absent the Trio, she and the introspective boy had little in common. Luna shared even fewer interests with the high-flying Ginny Weasley. For Ron's benefit, she tried reaching out. But Ginny blew off Luna's invitation to join a Ravenclaw O.W.L. revision group - not that Luna followed up very diligently. Ginny was hardly guiltless, as it took two to tango.

Typically, Neville Longbottom kept his feelings to himself. His heart of hearts secretly carried torches for both Ginny and Hermione. In one fell swoop, Harry had doubly injured him, whilst reinforcing feelings of hopeless inadequacy. Neville's heart ached at Hermione being cast aside, and Harry's new relationship with Ginny rubbed salt in a much more raw and recent wound. Hermione remained his unattainable ideal - especially after the beating Ginny had given his ego.

And Harry was … well, Harry.

Neville opted for avoiding conflict. He found comfort in the greenhouses. Plants, at least, would not offend his sense of honour.

These dynamics operated Friday evening in the Great Hall. Harry was at one end of the Gryffindor table, discussing Defence over treacle tart. He tried to ignore the barely concealed hero worship from his fourth and fifth year audience. Ginny was glued to him, almost sitting in his lap, her leg neatly hooked around his ankle. Beneath the table, her near hand took liberties that, if the staff had noticed, would have cost Gryffindor points.

Halfway down the table, Ron sat with some Quidditch and musically inclined mates. Luna, ever hopeful, stationed herself nearby, but Ron was more interested in complaining about Professor McGonagall. Although the Tutshill Tornadoes' owner had sent two tickets to the upcoming grudge match with Ballycastle, he was forbidden from leaving the Castle to attend.

Neville sat by himself at the opposite end of the table. Eating slowly, he kept company with a copy of Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties, studying Dodecanese Island pomegranates and their uses in Olympian ambrosia.

Hermione was not in the Hall. She had eaten and run.

All conversation quieted as Headmaster Dumbledore strode to the High Table's podium. "Your attention please," he began, eyes twinkling. "I have unexpected good tidings this evening. I just received word from our Beauxbatons liaison that, contrary to prior indications, the interscholastic ball was merely postponed, not cancelled, as feared…."

Although security was important following the Basilisk attack, Dumbledore's ensuing discussion of such matters fell on deaf ears. The students turned to more immediate and consequential concerns - who would take whom to the ball?

"…It will take place a week from tomorrow at the Palais. Both Ministries are working in tandem on security measures…."

Ginny immediately turned to Harry, who nodded his assent. Nearby girls faked swooning as he received a kiss and a strategic squeeze under the table that promised further rewards - another try for whatever Harry sought.

"…Due to changed circumstances, no themed costumes are expected. Formal robes will suffice…."

Prior to the Basilisk attack, Luna had asked Ron to the original Beauxbatons ball. At word of the resurrected event, Luna clutched his arm. Ron seemed to respond in kind, but may only have been steadying himself, as Dean and Seamus nearly bowled him over in haste to beat the other to invite Lavender Brown. With the ball little more than a week away, time did not permit extended courtships.

Thus Neville barely had time to react before finding himself face to face with Marona's estimable endowments. A double Order of Merlin winner before attaining majority, as well as a pure-blood scion, Neville's actual prospects greatly exceeded his opinion of them. Almost before he knew it, the boy Voldemort had declined to mark was off the market.

"…Ahem, there is more…."

Headmaster Dumbledore found himself in the unusual position of being ignored.

The Supreme Mugwump's voice failed to carry its usual weight on occasions such as this.

"Sonorus!"

"If I might again have your attention," the Headmaster's amplified voice filled the Hall. "I have additional news of interest. Time is, of course, short. So you may properly prepare for the Beauxbatons ball, I am authorising a Hogsmeade day tomorrow for all students fourth year and up, and for anyone younger receiving an invitation. As before, for those interested in partnering with a Beauxbatons student, there will…."

Ginny positively bubbled at the prospect of new dress robes - "green, to match your eyes" - until catching the faraway look on Harry's face. "Harry, what is it? Oh…."

"I won't be here tomorrow, remember?" he reminded. "I'm off to bloody Bavaria with the goblins and the Sisters."

"Can't it wait until after the ball?" Ginny pleaded. "You need robes, too. When will you get them?"

"Umm … I don't think standing up the Sisters on short notice is a good idea," Harry replied after a moment's thought. "I'd rather get that - and them - behind me, since it was Hermione's idea…."

Ginny's reflex scowl at mention of that name marred her pretty features.

"…I'm also meeting Jerry McAllister, who runs the Château, and my lawyer on Sunday when I get back. I'm sure they can get me some new dress robes."

Ginny visibly brightened. "Where - at the Château? I've never seen it. Maybe I can go with you?" Expectation burned brightly in her eyes.

"Now that's an idea," Harry agreed. "We're meeting at the goblins' Hogsmeade headquarters."

Suddenly the weekend appeared less onerous for the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Let's have our own private Hogsmeade outing," Ginny purred as they cuddled closer. "Nobody can find us under that goblin charm of yours."

Elsewhere at the Gryffindor table, Dumbledore's announcements had resurfaced less-than-happy memories of less-than-calm exchanges. Without even waiting for afters, indicative of his seriousness, Ron rose - determined not to make the same mistake twice.

"Where are you off to?" Luna inquired dreamily, extending her hand.

Ron remained out of reach. "Hermione's not here," Ron answered tersely. "She deserves to know." Then he was gone, taking Luna's dreams with him.

Hermione was easy to find. Her usual spot at the back of the library was notorious to friend and foe alike. She had carefully selected this out-of-the way place - close to the Transfiguration and Charms sections and with but one route of egress not blocked by the Restricted Section. Hermione's hard-won unrestricted pass to that otherwise forbidden territory, meant that, if worst came to worst, she could not be taken by surprise.

She was not expecting visitors on a Friday evening. Even the most studious Ravenclaws skived off before a weekend. But Hermione, no longer desired time off. Free time provided time to reflect, and her reflection did not please her. Her eyes, mirrors to her soul, were deadened by emotions that she kept as far inside as she could. A mountainous workload was her way of burying her pain.

"Oi, Hermione, you back there?"

Ron?

Startled, Hermione set aside her well-thumbed copy of Belby's Expert's Guide to the Physiognomic Characteristics of Magical Fowl. Quizzically, she peered through a crenellation in her battlements of books. Was she hearing things? Ron was at the bottom of her list of anyone likely to frequent the library - especially now.

"There's news!"

Nope. No hallucination.

"Back here, Ron," she called, lighting her wandtip as a beacon. Since Luna had delivered her that Half-Blood Prince book, Hermione barely spoke two sentences a day to the grudge-holding redhead.

Unbidden, Ron Levitated books out of the chair beside Hermione and plopped down.

"You'll never guess what Dumbledore told us at dinner," he announced breathlessly.

Hermione said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"Aren't you gonna guess?" he asked, once her pause became awkward.

"Ron, you just said I couldn't, so why try?" Hermione flatly declined to play his game, whatever it was.

She sighed as Ron gaped. "Okay, what happened?"

"Umm … the Beauxbatons ball is back on again…. It's a week from tomorrow," Ron revealed.

That news could hardly be less welcome. The last thing Hermione's fragile psyche needed was bearing silent witness to her own humiliation as the French fawned over Harry-the-Basilisk-Killer and his new, improved girlfriend. Hermione forced herself to remain calm. "Wonderful. Well, I'm sure you'll have a marvelous time."

Her unenthusiastic answer perplexed Ron. He ploughed ahead. "Well, who do you think you'll go with?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, I have no idea. Obviously, since this just happened, nobody's asked me yet - as if anyone would." `Who, indeed,' she thought, `would ask a Muggle-born know-it-all just publicly dumped by You-Know-Him?'

"Great!" Ron chirped, more cheerily than Hermione thought appropriate. "How about going with me?"

"What?" Hermione was aghast. "But you're … at least you've been snogging Luna!"

Unfortunately for Ron, Luna kissed and told - at least told Hermione.

Misreading her shock as surprise, Ron jumped in with the other foot. "I haven't asked her to the ball…. Last time, you told me that you didn't care to be asked as a last resort, and I don't blame you. So I'm making damn sure not to…."

"Ron, you're with Luna!"

"But you're Hermione, Hermione." Ron stated the obvious as if it were not. "Luna's just … well, you're amazing. I've always thought that. With you single again…."

Ron was proposing to chuck Luna aside, just as Harry had her - if she offered the slightest encouragement. Ron Weasley may be dense, but Hermione Granger was not. She could almost feel her cheeks flush.

"Ronald," she used his full given name, "we had this conversation before - before fifth year - when I first told you I wasn't interested in that kind of relationship."

Ron's ears went as pink as Hermione's cheeks. "But - but that was when you were after Harry - and Vicky was still sniffing around. Harry's decided he'd rather shag my bloody sister, and I reckon Krum's moved on, too…."

"Ronald, do not do this," Hermione warned. "I didn't put you off because of Harry or Viktor." That was not entirely true; nor entirely false.

Ron's face flushed along with his ears. "Dammit, Hermione! Why can't I have a chance?"

"Ronald, this isn't about you; this is about me!" Hermione screeched, her façade of emotional indifference crumbling. "I've been hurt … really hurt. I don't want another relationship right now, okay? I've had enough pain for awhile. I'm not the type of person who can easily move on."

Surprised by the vehemence of her refusal, Ron started to back down - until the implication of her final sentence pushed him entirely over the edge. "Merlin! I don't effing believe it!" he exploded. "You're still in love with Harry-bloody-Potter. He drops you like a used Portkey to shag my sister … you're so pathetic…!"

"RONALD!" Hermione leapt to her feet, her wand pointed squarely at his chest. "You need to grow up! Until you do, shut up before I shut you up!"

BANG!!

They both jumped back at the sound of a loud report accompanied by a brilliant flash.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" yelled an irate Madam Pince. "Weasley, out - now - before it's twenty! I do not tolerate personal rows in my library."

Throwing up his hands in silent frustration, Ron turned on his heel and stormed out.

"And you, Miss Granger…," the Head Librarian turned on Hermione. "Doubtless you were provoked, but it takes two to row. If you can't keep your … personal issues … from disrupting my library, I'll be forced to revoke your special privileges. Is that clear?"

Despite Hermione's best efforts, she felt her lower jaw from trembling. "Yes, ma'am," she acknowledged, before asking plaintively, "Can you please Silencio me?"

Madame Pince complied with her rather odd request. Moments later, Hermione Granger dissolved in tears.

Some time later, following a good cry, Hermione wandered the Castle's halls, headed reluctantly in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower. She dreaded resumption - in public - of her row with Ron.

Her mind replayed Ron's angry accusations, over and over.

Had Ron, in unguarded fury, spoken the truth?

Shades of sappy Whitney Houston songs! Was she still in love with Harry, despite his two-timing with that … scarlet-haired woman?

Perhaps she could find out.

* * * *

As scheduled, Harry left Hogwarts for his overnight Bavarian expedition with the Sisters of the Moon early the next (Saturday) morning. Never greatly enthused with spending time in an abandoned Muggle lead mine with that arrogant Lilithu and her fellow sorceresses, Harry departed doubly annoyed.

Dumbledore had turned him down flat. Harry sought permission to meet Ginny in Hogsmeade on Sunday, upon his return from Germany, so they could shop for dress robes together. It was only fair, Harry had contended, since this prior commitment was forcing him to miss the hastily scheduled Hogsmeade Saturday.

Harry and the Headmaster had not seen eye-to-eye. Dumbledore insisted upon the same businesslike approach to Harry's latest Hogsmeade venture as with his first meeting with Lilithu.

That meant no girlfriends. Just as Hermione had been barred from the first Hogsmeade meeting, so was Ginny this time. With increased security after the Basilisk attack, only good reasons - such as dealings with potential allies, Auror business, and parentally required education not available at Hogwarts - permitted students to leave the Castle grounds except during school sanctioned events.

A solemn Shak accompanied a steaming Harry to the goblins' Hogsmeade outpost; a sullen, overcast sky reflecting their moods. At the Castle's winged boar gate, their seemingly self-propelled carriage received an escort - a half-dozen grey boulders bounding across the landscape.

On their way to town, Shak helped Harry revise the Order's dossier concerning the Sisters of the Moon. Contrary to steady Weasley family calumny, the Sisters at most swung both ways - or perhaps not at all. Their sexual proclivities were largely sublimated to Kabbalistic pursuits.

The Sisters' history stretched more than a millennium back to Jewish communities in Babylonia and Persia during late antiquity. More recently - and more relevantly - they increasingly concerned themselves with Muggle affairs after the attempted Nazi genocide. They employed their powers in Nazi-hunting and, apropos of the current exercise, restoration of Jewish property looted during the Shoah. Less certain were other rumoured interventions, such as ensuring uncanny accuracy of Israeli air strikes during a Muggle war in 1967, and pursuit of anti-Semitic terrorists, from Munich to Uganda.

Shak returned to the Castle after bequeathing Harry to goblin custody. Bladvak was the senior Gringotts' representative. Seeing none of the hoard that was the object of their trip, Harry turned to the goblin. "Bladvak, where's the Nazi gold I'm supposed to return?"

"Thought best to the mine directly to send," the goblin answered. "Very valuable are seven of your tonnes of gold. More secure are fewer transport stops. At the mine a temporary splixat built have we."

"Good idea," Harry agreed. "Before we leave, could I ask you something confidentially?"

"Impratraxis' confidences keep do I," Bladvak declared, that being answer enough.

"I was thinking of a request - to the Nation - but I don't want to be too much bother. I know I'm not really a goblin prince…."

"Impratraxis are and always shall be you," Bladvak emphatically disagreed. "No bother have been you. To Gablankansta, brought much glory have you."

Harry stepped back, surprised by the goblin's vehemence. "Umm … okay, then what do you think about this? I've sort of promised the centaurs…."

"Spphh," Bladvak spat on the floor at the mention of these creatures. "Useless bystanders…. Arrogant more even than wizards."

"Well, they helped arrange this trip," Harry explained.

"To change your mind time still is there. Losing this gold avoid still can you," Bladvak advised. "Something like this would suggest centaurs."

"That's not what I meant," Harry quickly clarified. "To get them to be go-betweens, I promised to help the centaurs rid the Forbidden Forest of an out-of-control Acromantulæ infestation."

Bladvak looked inscrutable, saying nothing.

"Umm … what do you think?" he asked to break the unexpected silence.

"This word … Acromantulæ, know not I," the goblin admitted. "To happen what want you?"

"Acromantulæ are giant spiders, some as big as Hogwarts carriages," Harry explained. "By now, hundreds of them are in the forest…."

He halted when Bladvak broke into a, toothy goblin version of a smile. "Big game hunting," the goblin uttered, once realising that his Impratraxis had stopped speaking.

"What?"

"An eight-legs hunt propose you," Bladvak declared with evident relish. "Great sport - not at all bother."

"You think the Nation would be willing to do it?" Harry had difficulty believing his good fortune.

"Most pleased will be the Nation," Bladvak confirmed eagerly. "In over two of your centuries no major aboveground hunt have we. And giant eight-legs … properly prepared, most tasty are they. A magnificent feast prepare shall we. Only one thing, please promise Bladvak…."

"This is great!" Harry exclaimed. What he thought a chore - a dangerous chore - the goblins evidently considered a safari, something on par with Quidditch.

Beyond helping Harry refine his ideas, Bladvak requested only the honour of presenting Harry's proposal to the Nation. The sheer number of Acromantulæ would require a substantial force. Mustering a sufficient cadre of volunteers would pose no problems. The goblin warrior caste would oversubscribe this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to exercise their bravery and skill - akin to the Battle of Stonehenge.

Logistical considerations inherent in the size of this undertaking would require deferring the event until the summer, so Hogwarts students would not be underfoot. Bladvak assured Harry that the Nation's agreement would be a formality. Harry was ready to propose the hunt to the Headmaster at the earliest opportunity.

His morale boosted, Harry was now prepared to take that splixat to Bavaria. Bladvak bade him wait a moment. "Something for you have I," he grunted and disappeared into the next room.

Bladvak emerged with a fanged smile. He produced a small package bound up in grey goblin fabric. Harry opened it and found … two rings - his Auror partner's ring and the bejewelled ring he had given Hermione, with the gems rotated to the inside.

"As did request you," the goblin commented.

Harry had not requested anything like this. He expected the bejewelled ring to be consigned to his vault and never seen again. He thought he had asked that both garnets be installed on the one Auror ring. But Bladvak's confidence caused Harry to take a closer look.

Goblin goldsmiths had worked one garnet into the band of each ring.

On the diamond and ruby ring, opposite the offset stones, was one deep red garnet, embedded firmly in the golden band. Similar goblin workmanship inserted the other garnet into his Auror partner's ring precisely obverse to his name.

Harry's request had been garbled, and one of McAllister's charmed garnets inserted into the wrong ring.

"Umm … I think there's been a mistake. I wanted both on the one ring - the Auror ring." Harry explained, hesitant to be too critical.

Bladvak was apologetic, but could do little about the unfortunate error. Excessive reworking could destroy the charms placed on the garnets. Harry recognised that, set separately, the garnets were easier to distinguish. Also, having gems on the inside of one ring made it much easier to remove. The stones were easy to grasp, and Bladvak showed Harry an easy incantation to restore them to their original position, should he ever desire.

Harry decided to leave the rings as they were. They readily nestled atop each other. With the Auror ring on top, Bladvak was correct - the other ring's gemstones simplified both insertion and removal. He needed to wear these continually, since the garnet-sensitive alarms could be triggered at any time, and Death Eaters were not exactly nine-to-five types.

Bladvak took his leave, and finally, the Bavarian aspect of Harry's adventure was upon him. Harry looked forward to it being over, so he could return to the still-fresh charms of his still-new girlfriend. He slung his rucksack with a change of clothes over his shoulder and passed through the splixat.

* * * *

Damp.

More than anything, Harry would never forget the sticky wetness of caching Nazi gold in that old Bavarian lead mine. It was damp outside. Low, pewter-coloured skies that drizzled constantly obscured the Geiselstein and the other supposedly magnificent peaks of the Bäckenalm.

Germany seemed every bit as dull and dreary as the British believed.

Spring greenery - fresh leaves of alders, birches, willows, and oaks - dripped incessantly on the two dozen goblins and four Sisters who, with Harry, were to move over seven tonnes of swastika-inscribed Nazi gold into an old mineshaft abandoned for two centuries.

The mountainside's wooded slope angled at almost forty degrees where the mine's portal punctured it. The old miners' road - used when Bavaria was an independent electorate of the Holy Roman Empire - had mostly eroded away. Access, however, was not the primary problem. The goblins erected a splixat five metres from the adit, and the Sisters Apparated in.

Level ground was more the issue.

The gradient at the splixat could not accommodate the large goblin pallets that brought the gold from Gringotts. Levitating that much gold for that many hours was strenuous, even for witches of the Sisters' calibre. It could also denude the immediate area of its tree cover, inviting unwanted Muggle scrutiny. Spells like A priori worked poorly on living things, and ordinary magic could not accelerate the growth of non-magical (or even many magical) plants.

Only earth elemental magic - Harry's magic - accomplished what was needed. The more the operation disturbed the forest, the more spellwork Harry performed. As luck would have it, of all elemental magicks, Harry's earth magic was rustiest. Neville might have helped, but was not inclined to do Harry any favours since his ruptured relationship with Hermione.

Hermione.

Inexplicable thoughts of his former fiancée began distracting Harry. He first noticed them within thirty minutes of his arrival, whilst everyone was evaluating the mechanics of moving the gold from the goblin pallets to the mine's adit.

With each passing hour, the swirl of memories and fantasies in Harry's mind became less restrained. Increasingly, he recalled Hermione during their forty-seven special shared occasions. Unable to shake these images, Harry spent much of the day as one randy bloke.

For some reason, he still wanted Hermione.

Oddly, he hardly thought about Ginny.

One of the Sisters - Harry thought her name was Devorah - was demonstrating him the Aging Charm they would use on the replicated 1940s Muggle crates that would contain the gold.

She had long curly hair….

Like a Portkey, the charm would activate at a predetermined time - exactly twenty-four hours later - well after they were done.

While black, her hair was bouncy and bushy like before….

The charm would age the crates and the faked Nazi documentation. It was accurate to a fault, modifying the carbon 14 ratio in a carefully calculated manner.

Were those Muggle jeans under her robes…?

The witch's resemblance to Hermione, though hardly exact, brought Harry uncomfortably close inappropriate behaviour. He had to do something to prevent anything untoward. Lilithu's Sisters were not to be trifled with.

Harry's decided to try sweating out his naughty thoughts. To the Sisters' surprise, and somewhat to the goblin miners' chagrin, he plunged into the physical labour of stashing seven tonnes of gold inside the ancient mine.

Whilst the surrounding Bavarian forest was damp, the mine itself was positively dripping - and dangerous. Abandoned for at least two centuries, the adit's ancient wooden roof cribs, where present at all, had largely rotted clean through. Numerous minor roof falls littered the floor.

That is, until the goblin tommyknockers went to work. Save for a couple of Gringotts accountants, the entire goblin contingent hailed from their mining cantons. Commanded by their shift boss, Brikwal, they skillfully conjured the necessary longwall roof supports.

But expandable stack pipes, self-screwing bolts, and interlocking charms restrained rock, not water. From incessant drips wetting his hair, to tiny rivulets dribbling down slimy rock faces, Harry reckoned that almost as much water percolated through the mountainside as flowed over it. The mineshaft's quartzite and schist host rock was rent by innumerable fissures - most microscopic, but some quite visible when pointed out by experienced pitgoblins.

All this water either seeped through or tricked across the muddy floor of the gloomy adit.

Until reaching the water table.

The adit's passageway drove straight into the mountainside - wide enough for metre-wide mine cars attended on either side, tall enough for a horse and rider, and old enough that the cast iron topped wooden cart rails had long since crumbled into nothing. After maybe fifteen metres, a drift split off on either side.

To the right the drift ascended at about ten degrees, following the slope of a vein that petered out in less than thirty metres. To the left, it descended, at the same ten degree angle, following the same vein. Neither drift matched the size of the adit. These were barely a metre wide, except when mediæval miners dug stopes where the vein was particularly rich.

The left-side drift's extent was unknown because after about ten metres, it was flooded. This flooding - far from being an insuperable obstacle - was crucial to the Sisters' plan. Magic would pump the water out. The Muggle crates of gold would be cached in the once-submerged drift. The gold would then be submerged again once the Aging Charm was complete.

The goblins had to make all this happen.

The waterlogged lower drift ran roughly parallel to the mountainside. After a couple more weeks, the Sisters - with no further need to involve Harry or the goblins - would cause a landslide. The slide would create a "natural" fissure that would drain off the water in the drift.

The Sisters would ensure that someone trustworthy "discovered" the once submerged gold. Its Nazi origins would be obvious from the markings on the bars. Legal proceedings would be commenced to have the gold treated as reparations to Shoah victims.

In theory, it was a great plan.

In practice, it was a lousy plan - from the perspective of pitgoblins trying to put the gold where the Sisters wanted it.

The Sisters could handle conjuring the Muggle crates and packing them with gold and fake papers. But actually entering the mine was left to the miners. Harry was both a goblin prince and eager to avoid any incident with the Sisters. Soon he was in the mine, rather to Brikwal's dismay.

Upholding their cantons' reputations, these goblins were superb pitmen. But this peculiar form of reverse mining - putting gold into the ground - taxed their skills to the fullest. Their artefacts easily expelled the water, but whilst Brikwal would have happily sent the water spilling down the hillside, the Sisters insisted upon storing it in unsubmerged parts of the mine for reuse. That the mine appear as undisturbed as possible was critical.

The water being disturbed was toxic - loaded with lead, cadmium, zinc, molybdenum, and strontium salts accumulated over many decades of disuse. The Sisters cared little about the local environment - Bavaria had spawned the Nazis - but pollution would kill the trees and goodness knows what else. Nothing could be allowed to attract unwanted, premature attention from Muggles.

It took strong magic to hold back that much water, poisonous or not. Harry was as powerful as anyone present, and he practised water elemental magic. He taxed himself mightily confining as much water as possible in the upper drift. The goblins grudgingly stored the rest on their side of the splixat - because Harry requested it.

The air in the once submerged drift was fœtid; its floor moreso. Expecting as much, the pitgoblins brought ventilating artefacts that Harry occasionally augmented with air elemental magic. At Brikwal's strong recommendation, Harry added a Bubblehead Charm to avoid breathing anything harmful.

Brownish black muck, deeper than the length of Harry's wand and more poisonous than the evacuated water, coated the floor of the drift. Again the pitgoblins were prepared. They unveiled an ingenious bevelled device that chugged along the floor, scooped up the slop, heated it, and expelled it forcefully from either side. Having the consistency of thick mud, the ejected material stuck fast to the walls. When the area was resubmerged, the sediment would loosen and slide back down to the floor.

No magic was perfect, even that of experienced goblin miners. The heat and steam created sauna-like conditions in the close-quartered drift. The workers fell into a routine. After three metres' progress, Brikwal shut down the artefacts so Harry could recirculate the air.

After several hours' labour, the grime-soaked pitgoblins rested whilst Brikwal conferred with his Gringotts counterparts. Harry was in the mine's mouth Scourgifying himself with moderate success when Brikwal returned from the splixat. "Impratraxis, good is the news, the next - " he paused to translate goblin measurements into something Harry could understand, " - eight of your metres, deeply stoped are they. Enough to fit all the gold should be they."

Harry was well pleased to learn of a light at the end of the not-at-all proverbial tunnel. This filthy job - the Dursleys' worst chores could not compare - was nearly over, and the much easier task of loading in the gold could commence.

Sod's law prevailed.

Barely a third of the way through the widest excavation so far, the pitgoblins' gunk-removing devices began uttering loud grinding noises. Objects more solid than sludge clattered off the walls.

Brikwal was shutting down the goblins' artefacts, when Harry spotted one such object. In the beam of one of the pitgoblins' headlamps, it appeared as a light coloured spot against a background of dark sludge. "Accio!" Harry found himself holding a large, mud-encrusted bone - half a human pelvis. Repelled, he tossed it aside.

The pitgoblins duplicated Harry's grisly discovery, also unearthing the cause of the mine's abandonment. Their headlamps began sweeping across the chamber's roof, soon finding what they sought.

When several pitgoblins simultaneously pointed upwards, Harry saw it, too - a black gash in the ceiling, a passage to somewhere, almost a metre wide.

After an impromptu miners' conference, Brikwal reluctantly approached Harry. Without warning, he prostrated himself on the muck-free but still squalid looking floor. It must have been a signal, because every pitgoblin followed suit.

Caught by surprise, Harry spluttered, "What the…? No, don't…. Crap. ANYOR!"

As the pitboss rose to his feet, Harry remained off balance. "What the heck is going on?" he demanded.

The words barely left Harry's mouth before he worried that Brikwal would do another face-first flop.

"No - anyor. Please, just tell me what happened."

"Impratraxis," the grizzled, mud-caked goblin pleaded, "if command do you, continue of course will we. But beseech you, to retreat do we. Here died many pitmen … Muggles. To dig over the dead is not…. Is … extremely.… Proper words of your language know not I … bad fortune, but much worse."

Harry learnt that the pitgoblins were superstitious.

Harry saw no visible ghosts. "I would never force you to do something like that," Harry told the assembled pitgoblins. "But what happened?"

Brikwal directed his head lamp towards the hole. He barked a command in Gobbledegook, and another pitgoblin did something that cleansed part of the chamber. Something new glistened in the light.

"Crystals … galena," Brikwal pointed. "Good ore. Vein being stoped - dug out - when broke through, did they. Scored that hole's edges did a flood of water. Drowned did they all."

Harry shivered. "Okay, let's back off and regroup."

The pitgoblins took careful measurements of the drift between the death chamber and the water table. At the mine's mouth, the miner and banker goblins again conferred - this time over parchments.

The verdict - no matter how closely the crates were packed, they remained almost ten cubic metres shy of enough space to fit everything in the flooded portion of the mine, given the crude Muggle containers.

The alternatives were either to convince Lilithu and the Sisters to leave some gold exposed in the dry (less wet) part of the mine, or to bring proper excavating equipment from the goblin mining cantons. Knowing Lilithu, the former was unpleasant and probably futile. The latter would cost several hours, meaning they would still be moving gold well after dark.

"Let me try," Harry asked. "I've been learning some Tunnelling Charms." From a prince, his offer was hardly optional for the pitgoblins.

Reluctantly, they acceded - he was their Prince - but only after a thorough dowsing of every wall in the drift. They carefully selected the spot unlikely to reprise the Muggles' fatal mistake.

Backing off a good five metres and casting Protego physica to deflect flying rock splinters, Harry brandished both his wands and set them spinning. "Encavernous!" he incanted. A purple cone of magic emerged from the propeller-like wands and slowly advanced on the targeted rock face, which the goblins had cleared of partly dried sludge from their prior efforts.

The racket was tremendous. Shrapnel-like shards flew everywhere, with many clinking off Harry's shield.

Harry felt a tug on the sleeve of his sodden and dirty robes. It was Brikwal. The goblin pitboss offered suggestions to improve Harry's tunnelling technique. His first was totally non-magical - explaining how Harry could use the rock's grain to his advantage. Tunnelling with the grain broke loose more rock with less magical effort.

Brikwal also had magical suggestions. Harry's whirling wands resembled the blades of goblin mining machines. He showed Harry methods to coordinate wandspeed that harmonised their magical oscillations. Even better than breaking the rock into more regular pieces, this method made the process much quieter. Finally, adding a stream of water reduced dust and (not a problem here) would prevent fires.

Harry's Charms project never required using a Tunnelling Charm for more than ten minutes. This excavation lasted a bit more than an hour - not good by pitgoblin standards, but far faster than transporting goblin hard-rock mining artefacts to this isolated Bavarian mountainside.

The pitgoblins disguised Harry's work with the same copious slime that coated the walls of the recently drained passage.

Harry was hot, sweaty, dirty, and above all tired when it was time to move the gold. With echoes of Tunnelling Charms ringing in his head, he was content to watch. The Sisters and the goblins were content to let him. Perched on a Cushioning Charmed boulder, he let the steady drizzle cool his head, soak his robes, and rinse away some of the accumulated grime from working all day in an abandoned lead mine.

He was so knackered that, for the moment, he quite lost interest in sex. Harry even forgot that he had originally entered the mine to distract himself from that subject.

Dusk was beginning to steal away the forest's green before anyone spoke to Harry. The speaker was Lilithu Mandelbrot, gliding over to take charge of his transition.

Her ear-splitting whistle jolted Harry from semi-slumber. Scrambling to his feet, Harry slipped on muddy gravel, and he almost fell down. She called out, "Wake up, Harry Potter! We're finally done, and I can't leave too soon." Harry reacted quickly enough to catch his rucksack, propelled by a Banishing Charm, before it hit him flush in the face.

"That will never do," she declared. "Even I can't get you past the front gates looking like that. Lose those grubby things and change into whatever you brought." With a sweep of Lilithu's wand, a red and white candy-striped, Brighton-style tent sprang into existence - where Harry could change privately.

Harry willingly complied. He dressed in the nice school robes he intended for tomorrow's meeting with Blackie Howe and Jerry McAllister in Hogsmeade. As for today's clothes - Harry was tempted just to Banish them. They were soiled with Merlin knows what from that mine. He doubted even Hogwarts' house-elves could get them clean.

They could use a good soaking in kerosene … followed by Inflammare.

But his clothes were too damp to burn, and leaving wizard robes where Muggles might find them was never a good idea, so Harry shrank the rancid things and stuffed them into a conjured plastic bag.

"Do hurry, Potter," Lilithu raised her voice. "You've fifteen seconds before that little beach cabana disappears."

She meant it. The improbable, candy-striped tent vanished whilst Harry was tidying up his trainers. He had Transfigured them into the boots he wore in the mine - and it showed.

Under Lilithu's direction, Harry spent ten minutes restoring the surroundings with earth elemental magic.

"Finally," Lilithu pronounced herself satisfied. "Can your goblin friends travel by Portkey?"

Harry had no idea. He turned to Brikwal, who shook his head.

"Very well," Lilithu looked down her nose at the pitgoblin. "I had hoped to keep the extent of my hospitality a surprise until we arrived. Kindly advise the guard for your Prince Potter to meet us at the gatehouse of Schloss Neuschwanstein."

She handed Harry an ivory cigarette holder with a yellowed crack down one side. Feeling the now familiar tug at his navel, Harry vanished.

* * * *

The Portkey deposited Harry in a semicircular Muggle stone plaza. He was patting himself down, whilst gawking at a magnificent portcullis far exceeding anything at Château Blackwalls, when a slight pop announced Lilithu's Apparition.

"I apologise for this rather plebian arrival, Potter," she stated, not sounding terribly apologetic. "I hoped you could Apparate in, but the intermediate stop is clouded over."

She turned and strode towards the massive gate. Harry followed. A brief chill denoted passage through some ward, presumably concealing their arrival point from Muggles.

Heedless of a departing busload of Muggle tourists, Lilithu simultaneously produced a pair of Patronuses shaped as falcons. She sent them disappearing through the high stone wall. Harry caught up to her and was briefly befuddled.

Hermione would have insisted upon "Patroni"….

"Snap out of it, Potter," she snipped, sounding vaguely Snape-like. "That was only a Muggle-level Area Confundus. It shouldn't affect you like that."

Harry shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and saw Lilithu's wand pointing at him. He almost drew his own, before she added, more kindly, "Let me freshen you up a bit."

A silent spell flashed, and Harry felt his clothes crawling about, reminiscent of his experience with wizard tailors. Looking down, he saw that his robes were now starched and pressed. Lilithu had added Gryffindor trim to his sleeves and a Blackwalls crest adorning his left breast.

"There, now you're at least marginally presentable."

The portcullis creaked and slid jerkily upwards, giving Harry his first view of the courtyard within - and of the soaring limestone structure beyond. Brightly illuminated by Muggle lighting, the white stone tower practically glowed against the blackening sky. It more closely resembled a giant Muggle moon rocket than any castle Harry had ever seen, including Hogwarts.

A gilt carriage, drawn by a pure white Thestral, approached.

"I promised you suitable accommodations," she remarked. "I have you booked in what an hotelier would call the `Tower Suite' - I assume you can deduce where it is. The Muggles think it was built just for show. You will shortly learn how wrong they are."

The carriage arrived, driven by a house-elf wearing tea towel patterned in white and sky-blue lozenges. Its gilded doors opened of their own accord, revealing a plush magenta interior.

"Mister Potter, here I must take my leave," Lilithu told him without her usual hauteur. "I wish to thank you for doing the right thing, without hesitation, even though you were wholly innocent, and it cost you a great deal. You are worthy. As Imperatrix of the Sisters of the Moon, I hereby acknowledge our indebtedness."

She offered her gloved hand, and Harry started to kiss it, as before. Instead Lilithu gave him a firm handshake. When he released her hand, she Apparated away.

Harry never noticed her satisfied smile.

* * * *

The grey-haired bellman showing Harry to the magical tower suite explained that Bavaria's Mad King Ludwig was not really mental. Rather, Ludwig appreciated magic and freely consorted with wizards, something no other reigning Western European monarch had done publicly since magic fell out of favour early in the Renaissance (after poor conduct by certain Borgia Popes and their relatives). Wizard architects helped design the Schloss Neuschwanstein, including Harry's accommodations, which were considerably larger inside than they appeared from outside.

Harry had never spent the night in a posh hotel - or any hotel, save the Leaky Cauldron. That wretched Hut-on-the-Rock where Uncle Vernon fled whilst trying to avoid his attending Hogwarts did not rate even that appellation.

Posh, this certainly was.

The castle's Floo connexion had built-in padding for comfortable fire-calling. The wireless featured surround sound, and channels from five different countries. The room service menu - courtesy of the castle's house-elves - was ten pages long.

Personalised service?

Everything in the suite automatically translated to English, since Harry knew not a word of German, let alone the local Alpenbairisch. The well-stocked wet bar was completely non-alcoholic because Harry did not imbibe.

The furnishings were classic late Victorian - lush, abundant, and cluttered - all carved hardwood and plush velvet padding. The deep pile carpets were so thick that Harry almost tripped twice before tossing his shoes and going barefoot. The bed, an ornately carved four-poster with gauzy hangings, was the largest Harry had ever seen, save the goblins' irregularly shaped waterbed he had shared with….

Dammit, there she was again, unbidden.

The wall paintings hardly helped him forget, with Baroque-style couples in various stages of undress.

No. He had ruined that….

More than food, drink, sleep, or even sex, Harry most craved getting rid of the grime from the mine. No Cleansing Charm could compete with a hot shower and a good soak.

Again, the tower suite's facilities were outstanding. The thoroughly lavish bathroom included a glass-walled, walk-in shower that merged seamlessly with a nineteenth century version of a Jacuzzi - the Prefects' Bathroom at Hogwarts in miniature.

Taking full advantage of a selection of soaps and shampoos, Harry showered for fifteen minutes, thoroughly steaming the glass. He rarely removed his wand holster, even to bathe, but made an exception. After scrubbing away every trace of Bavarian mining filth, Harry sank up to his neck in the tub with all the jets on maximum. Now that all that toil in the mine was done, it was worth it…. This was the life….

Too bad he was alone. The tub was more than roomy enough for two. Ginny would certainly have loved this.

Harry shook his head.

No, Ginny detested the Sisters and had shown little interest in the goblins. She could have come, but declined.

Thinking of Ginny reminded him…. Might as well get it over with, since almost a week had elapsed, and he was already starkers. Retrieving his wand, he pointed it at himself. "Embry-no!"

Ron's forcible coitus interruptus had one benefit. It prevented wrenching uncertainty. From then on, Harry assumed responsibility for contraception. Ginny was passionate, but not as meticulous as … as Hermione.

Dammit.

This trip - the repatriation of the ill-gotten Nazi gold - was entirely Hermione's doing. She should be here.

But then again, no. He had completely buggered that relationship.

It hardly mattered now. Grand accommodations or no, he was alone tonight.

Feeling at once randy, lonely, and empty, Harry left the bath and dried himself with the suite's incredibly soft and fluffy towels. Finished, he shrugged on an equally soft and fluffy bathrobe bearing Neuschwanstein's blue and white crest.

At loose ends, Harry wandered back into the bedroom. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair. Time for some food…. Then maybe a wank. He could certainly use….

"Well, it's about time. I was getting lonely."

Harry's head spun around so quickly he almost lost his balance. "Wha…? How the Hell? Daphne! What are you doing here?"

Lying on her side on the huge bed, her identical bathrobe revealing a great deal of her long, lean legs, was Daphne Greengrass. "Why, waiting for you, of course."

Harry could barely believe the blonde Slytherin was real. "But … how could you get in?"

Sitting up, letting her robe hang as loosely as Harry's, she answered his question precisely. "First, I had a key, courtesy of your … umm … travel agent. Second, these wards only exclude those with malicious intent. Third, I left my wand with your goblin friends."

"You, you, came wandless?" he gawked.

"Merlin, I hope not," Daphne giggled as she tossed her flaxen hair. "I reckon as long as you've got yours, that's enough."

"But Dumbledore … how could you get away from Hogwarts?"

"If anybody asks, just say I was on Auror business."

"But why?"

Daphne sighed. "Aside from the obvious, you mean? Well, you've been so wrapped up in that Gryffindor mystique that you can't take a hint - and I've dropped more than a few. You have the Gryffindor angle right well covered by yourself. Where you're headed, though, having some Slytherin around you would help enormously … and you'll find I'm the best. My Aunt Lilithu will vouch for me."

Harry tried thinking of something complimentary. "Umm … speaking of Gryffindor, you've more than a little of that in you … slipping in here like…."

"I'd like that, too."

"Like what?"

"More than a little Gryffindor in me," Daphne shamelessly flirted. She turned, giving Harry a better view.

"You - you mean you came all this way just to … umm … shag me?"

"I wouldn't say `just,' but if love is a drug, maybe a free sample will help you get addicted," she purred.

Harry said nothing.

Daphne verged on sarcasm. "Circe, Harry, it's evident how much you want to."

Indeed it was. Harry's robe hung open, and his desire was quite plain to see - even if he denied it, which he did not … not exactly. His body wanted to love the one he was with. Harry's mind was conflicted.

Hermione would hate him for this.

But Hermione already hated him … for good reason.

Ginny would hate him for this.

Meh.

"But … I'm not … in love with you."

Harry's resistance proved futile and fleeting.

"Respect me, and shag me. The rest will take care of itself." Daphne slid off the bed, leaving her fluffy robe behind, confirming that her collar and cuffs matched perfectly. Approaching Harry, she reached out, took hold of his - evidence - and led him back to the suite's commodious bed.

* * * *

Harry Potter usually did not have pleasant dreams. This night was an exception.

Home was where the heart was. Harry finally had a home of his own, a bed of his own and a woman - who might not take kindly to the characterisation - of his own. This home was neither the Château's ostentatious pile; nor Grimmauld Place's dreary leftover; nor Hogwarts Castle's ancient monument; and certainly not that Muggle hellhole on Privet Drive. He was in a secluded bungalow beside of a small mountain lake, a million miles from the rest of the Wizarding World.

Voldemort was but a distant, unpleasant memory. Here Harry could escape fame, fortune, and responsibilities, lay down his burdens, and simply live.

He cuddled his partner close under white, linen sheets, wrapping himself around her and feeling her long silky hair tickling his face.

Their wedding was a few weeks ago - a small, private affair in an exotic locale - without preachers, fancy white dresses and black robes, guest lists, or receptions - just a mutual affirmation of a love strong and persistent enough to overcome every obstacle that the world put in their way.

Here, when they were both ready, they would create the one thing Harry still wanted more than anything else, now that he was with her - a family of their own.

Pulling her close, Harry whispered in her ear….

* * * *

Morning was breaking. A light sleeper, Daphne's eyes fluttered open as sunlight leaked around the edges of thick curtains drawn across the suite's windows. Today's weather would be much nicer…. Too bad they would be leaving shortly…. Somewhere in this place was a most romantic artificial grotto.

Harry was behind her, still asleep; his body spooned in skin-to-skin contact from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. He would be ready for another round before they had to depart. Daphne wriggled her hips - definitely Harry would be up for it; he already was.

She felt an odd scratching sensation in the small of her back that took several seconds was to identify. Harry was not one she would have pegged as partial to navel jewellry, but there you were. She would keep quiet about it, but the stones were rather impressive.

Daphne used the interlude to assess her current situation as dispassionately as possible. Yesterday, her aunt's Patronus brought confirmation that, no, Harry's aura no longer betrayed any measurable Love Potion influence.

So Daphne could make her play for Harry without worrying about extraneous magical interference. So far, the state of that play confirmed Lilithu's assessment, and had progressed about as well as could be expected.

Better, in some ways; not as well in others.

In particular, better in respect of Ginevra Weasley. For someone only a week or so into a new relationship, Harry seemed remarkably unconcerned about the fiery redhead and her reaction. Daphne expected considerably more resistance and was prepared to accept failure, if it came to that. If Harry had chucked her out, Daphne would have left peaceably.

She knew - without needing Mum's constant reminders since the Triwizard Tournament - that Harry would likely become the richest and most influential wizard of their generation. As a Slytherin, and the acknowledged most beautiful witch of her year in any House, Daphne would not let the chance of a lifetime pass without playing her best hand.

She had. Harry frankly acknowledged that he was not in love with her, and the feeling was mutual. But Daphne knew that feelings could change.

They were good fits.

Harry had great inherited wealth and greater inherent power, but he was Muggle raised and naïve about so many things. Daphne was barely middle class by Slytherin standards - with a cauldron-maker father and a mid-level Auror mother - but she was steeped in wizard tradition and pure-blood culture. She could guide Harry through political and social minefields, enabling him to achieve everything his considerable talents could attain.

Provided Harry survived Voldemort, anything was possible, including the Minister's position atop the greasy pole. She could assist. His gratitude, leavened with undeniable physical attraction, could engender more profound feelings.

But not everything was sweetness and light.

Something had been off last night. Harry was solicitous and even rather skilled in bed. Unlike her prior partners, mostly concerned with their own physical gratification, Harry tended in the opposite direction. He seemed to hold back, waiting for - even striving for - something more than they were experiencing. At one point he mumbled about some "convergence." After they finished, Harry asked if she had seen "any pink."

Daphne knew nothing about convergences and certainly saw no pink, unless he made some obscure anatomical reference. Harry seemed resigned - a troubling development.

Also troubling was today's schedule. Daphne convinced Harry to shop together for new formal robes for the Beauxbatons ball - implying they would go together, although that was never explicitly acknowledged.

It seemed easy - too damned easy - for Harry to toss Ginny Weasley over for her. Things too good to be true usually were. What had Harry seen in Weasley that had possessed him to leave Hermione Granger?

That made no sense.

Harry vetoed shopping in the Paris wizard district. He feared being recognised and mobbed by fawning French magicals, whom he believed (with reason) were even more Basilisk-obsessed than in Britain. She vetoed Hogsmeade, ostensibly for insufficient selection, but really because she wanted to prove her usefulness, which required less familiar surroundings.

Daphne suggested the wizard side of Harrods, in London, where her family had shopped for dearer items since she could remember. Harry readily agreed, but surprised her by knowing that Harrods' Hogsmeade Collection even existed.

So much for navigating him through uncharted waters.

After that, Harry had business someplace in Hogsmeade; he was vague as to what and where. He was meeting a lawyer and someone she gathered was his Château Blackwalls estate manager. Daphne half hoped for Harry to invite her, but he never asked. Hesitant to be viewed as prying, she agreed to wait at Hogwarts - where they would announce Harry's latest shift in romantic allegiance.

Most troubling was something Harry did totally unconsciously. He felt so good cuddling her whilst he slept - until he whispered another woman's name as he kissed her neck.

No, not Ginny Weasley.

In making her play for Harry, Daphne thought she could handle redheaded Quidditch players.

Triple firsts were something else altogether.

* * * *

This trip to Harrods was much simpler than Harry's last. Schloss Neuschwanstein retained a rare international Floo connexion unhindered by complications such as travel documents, customs duties, or inspections - a relic of the Schloss having been sovereign territory when the spells activating its Floo were originally cast.

In fifteen minutes, the Schloss' wizard concierge made arrangements at Harrods and returned the pair's minimal luggage directly to Hogwarts. The goblins needed another half-hour for security matters, giving Daphne and Harry ample time for an escalating snog session.

Thereafter, Harry and Daphne Flooed directly into the Hogsmeade Shop annex, neatly slipped between the ground and lower ground floors on the Basil Street side.

Before leaving Neuschwanstein, Harry cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on himself, somewhat disappointing Daphne, who would have been right chuffed at being seen in public with Harry Potter.

She recovered with aplomb, realising Harry could not actually buy dress robes whilst under that charm. To save him unwanted attention, immediately upon arrival she enrolled him in the By Appointment personal shopping programme.

With nothing arranged in advance, the programme meant an hour's wait. They shopped for Daphne's ball dress first. Witches have well-deserved reputations for taking their time shopping, which Daphne exemplified. She spent almost the full hour selecting an elegant, and modest, floor-length gown that, depending on lighting and the Charms on the fabric, could be considered greyish silver or silver-grey. She had it trimmed in green - not only were these Slytherin's colours, but the green matched Harry's eyes.

To Daphne's credit, she unhesitatingly insisted on paying for everything herself.

At the appointed hour, they punctually met the assigned staffer, whose badge read Laurence, in the Warlock's section. To say Laurence was surprised to be attending Harry Potter was an understatement, but he recovered like the professional he was.

Harry initially favoured something in basic black, but Daphne prevailed on him to use a bit more daring fashion sense, hitting home with her comment that Harry looked too much like Malfoy. Harry chose royal blue dress robes that she thought were particularly handsome from the Swatch and Draper signature collection. These robes seemed to glow from within - reminiscent of magical flames Harry had seen in the Department of Mysteries' circular foyer. He had them decorated with a green trim matching Daphne's.

After Harry added some shirts and accessories to his tab, Laurence carefully Levitated Harry's purchases to a dedicated register for By Appointment clients. Already pondering his upcoming meetings in Hogsmeade, Harry handed over his BoE card to pay for his purchases.

Everyone was surprised when the register began emitting a quiet trilling noise.

Harry, in particular, was annoyed. "Oh, bollocks. That card's good, I'm sure of it."

"It's not that, Mister Potter, sir," Laurence hastened to assure his esteemed customer whilst struggling to determine the fault. This signal was unique in his experience. A button on the register has started blinking light orange and yellow. He pressed it. The purchase total on the machine's LED screen disappeared, replaced by a scrolling message.

It was no fault.

"Oh, my!" Laurence muttered. "This is new on me."

Across the screen crept the words. "THE PROPRIETOR HAS A MESSAGE FOR THIS CUSTOMER - PLEASE STAND BY."

"This shouldn't take long, but evidently Mister Fayed has something important for you, Mister Potter," Laurence offered an apology. He waved his wand, and a silver tea-trolley began rolling towards them. "Could I offer you tea and scones - or a toddy, perhaps?"

Harry declined the second offer. He was still lathering his scone with raspberry jam and clotted cream when a large barred owl, in Harrods livery, landed atop the register. Laurence took a wax-embossed letter from its talons.

The kaolin white envelope read simply Rt. Hon. Harry Potter, O.M.2(2), Baron of Blackwalls. It bore no return address, only a fancy embossed coat of arms, framed by two white ermine-spotted griffins with gilt wings, and a bunch of other stuff - white shells, a red and gold jeweled crown, and a Latin inscription saying something about God.

Harry flipped it over, thinking maybe that Echevarría bloke had replied to him instead of Dumbledore. He saw bold print above the gold and black wax seal:

EXTREMELY PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL

Suddenly very aware of Daphne - a Slytherin - looking over his shoulder, Harry requested, "Umm … Daphne, do you mind? I don't know what this is about. I wouldn't want to put you in danger."

Not wanting to be seen as prying - yet - Daphne backed off. "Okay, but remember, if some wizard's trying to suck up, I can probably help devise a response that would be most … beneficial."

Cautiously, worried that the envelope might hold some sort of elaborate trick - or even a disguised Portkey - Harry split the seal with his wand. He inched the parchment partially from the envelope. It was blank, undoubtedly still more security.

"Since your boss vouches for this, why don't you touch it - just to be sure?" Harry offered the envelope to the Harrods' staffer.

Laurence did, with no noticeable result.

Harry finally followed suit.

As the sender's name flickered into view he could not help himself. "Merlin's balls!" he spluttered. Not reading any further, he shoved the letter back in the envelope.

Daphne immediately moved to his side. "What is it, Harry?" she asked in a concerned voice.

Harry shook his head. "Damn, why does everything have to happen to me?"

"Can I help?" she persisted, "in any way at all?"

"Doubt it," he muttered. "This doesn't seem to have much to do with magic."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Talk to Dumbledore the minute I get back to the Castle," Harry declared as he jammed the mysterious missive into his robes. "Speaking of which, I guess we're done here."

The letter troubled Daphne - but not nearly as much as it seemed to upset Harry. More worrisome, from her perspective, was the Hogsmeade meeting to which she was not invited. Slytherin to the core, Daphne wanted to strike immediately and announce Harry's changed romantic allegiance the moment they returned.

Instead she had to return to the Castle alone and wait.

* * * *

From Harrods, Harry and Daphne proceeded to Diagon Alley. Duly impressed by the deference Harry received from the ordinarily imposing Gringotts goblins, Daphne was escorted to Hogwarts, ostensibly having finished "Auror business" for her mum.

Harry took the Gringotts splixat to Hogsmeade, site of two scheduled business meetings. He arrived rather on edge, due to the unexpected communiqué received at Harrods. He grew progressively moreso, the longer the Hogsmeade meetings dragged on - for completely different reasons.

Harry arrived only to find an apologetic note from Blackie Howe. Due to unspecified problems with his "financial presentation," he was running late. Harry could easily see Jerry McAllister first, but was still brassed off.

The house-elf literacy project remained equal parts progress and problems. "With Gretchen working really hard, about sixty percent of our elves now hit their literacy progress points. That's double from before we sacked that wretched Ima Hogg."

"I still can't believe she went to the Prophet," Harry grumbled.

"She certainly took your money first," Jerry agreed angrily. "Still, after making her big splash, she's dropped out of sight recently. I couldn't owl her last payment, and I'm hardly inclined to go searching."

"If I never see her again, it'll be too soon," Harry concurred, his irritation showing. "Still, I was hoping for better than sixty percent by now."

"Something happened we hadn't anticipated," Jerry explained. "There's a split amongst the elves. Our Head Elf sets a good example, but I've heard that a number of other senior elves actively oppose literacy."

"Oh, why?" Harry groaned in dismay.

"I was shocked. Dobby says they think it threatens their status," Jerry recounted. "Having mulled it over, I understand their perspective. The senior elves … they've spent their lives mastering complex jobs. With all the elves illiterate, their mastery monopolises that knowledge, and the power and prestige coming with it. Once any elf can read an instruction book … poof … the masters' skills aren't exclusive anymore, nor is their status amongst the other elves."

"Crap, I never thought of that," Harry admitted, which really meant that a certain ex-fiancée had not. Kneading his scar with one hand, he asked, "Is it getting so disruptive that I'll have to step in?"

"If you mean, are the senior elves holding back, I'd say no," Jerry answered. "Two of the chief resisters, Rocky and Snarkie, have at the same time gone beyond the call of duty in assisting the Hogwarts elves repair a certain portrait of Godric Gryffindor that unfortunately suffered severe spell damage…."

Harry winced uncomfortably. He knew exactly what portrait, and what spell damage, Jerry meant. Maybe the elves had not disclosed the origin of their project.

"…But don't worry, Dumbledore's lending you his own Godric portrait for your bed chamber until previous occupant is patched up…."

No such luck.

"…Those two specialise in these sorts of repairs, as they should with the Château having three Godrics of its own."

Harry squirmed a bit in his chair, but said nothing further. Jerry's report meandered into more mundane matters.

The vineyards were yielding a fine new year's crop.

Similarly, the greenhouses were producing a cornucopia of exotic and profitable potions ingredients.

The goblins had thoroughly searched the Château and grounds for any trace of Basilisk infestation, and pronounced everything absolutely clean.

Eight elves had accepted emancipation, none of them senior. Dobby was attempting to train them to defend the Château even against wizards, but overcoming centuries of ingrained reticence against using their magic in that fashion was extremely difficult.

Demand for out of season Mandrake had skyrocketed. An entire greenhouse was devoted to this product.

The Château's splixat was completed, and the staff had conducted several emergency preparation drills, just in case. Harry received goblin instructions, for his eyes only, how to operate the splixat's controls.

This year's champagne was shaping up as an excellent vintage.

Harry found it increasingly difficult to maintain even a veneer of interest in Jerry's report. Inside he was wracked by guilt - guilt over his dalliance with Daphne in the otherworldly environment of Neuschwanstein's tower suite.

Finally, he could restrain himself no longer. "Dammit! I've been such a bloody git!" Harry cursed as he angrily smacked his knee.

His outburst took Jerry completely aback. "Mister Potter … Harry, I assure you that your stewardship has been…."

"It's not that," Harry anguished. "I've - I've cheated … on my girlfriend."

Jerry brightened. Maybe he could assist in righting what he viewed as a nearly historic wrong. "Mister Potter, I'm certain the situation is salvable. I bear witness myself. Just tell the truth about how you feel. I have no doubt that Miss Granger will be…."

"No, dammit!" Harry emphatically cut him off. "I'm not with her anymore. I mean I've cheated on Ginny! I feel so bloody stupid!"

Jerry stopped in his tracks. He had never met Miss Weasley, and knew only what was printed in the Prophet and other publications. She had never been to the Château.

"Sir, truth and sincere regrets are all I can recommend...."

A loud knock on the door interrupted them. An unseen goblin announced. "Impratraxis, arrived has the lawyer Howe."

The solicitor's arrival was a splash of water in Harry's face. Pulling himself together, he thanked Jerry for running the Château in his absence and dismissed him. Harry drained a tall glass of ice water and took several deep breaths before receiving Blackie Howe.

For his part, Blackie was profoundly contrite for his tardiness. Dennis Creevey's start-up recommendations primarily involved esoteric American technology companies, and Howe had been chasing information until the last moment. He updated Harry on the Black Estate's financial rebalancing. Its liquid assets were now placed ninety percent in mutual funds indexed to the performance of the American NASDAQ bourse….

An assistant wheeled in and began unpacking several boxes of papers.

"…According to plan, these assets stay invested until the advent of the so-called `Y2K' moment. Anticipating a temporary slump in demand for technology products in the new millennium, we'll liquidate that position over the month of January, 2000. It's risky to be so undiversified, but I understand that given the provenance of the Black Estate's assets, risk is not your concern. Now, as for the remaining ten percent, voilà…."

Blackie turned, and proudly displayed a score of colour-coordinated binders, all carefully tabbed and organised by subjects like "business plan," "financials," "SWOT analysis," and "suggested level of investment."

He turned to his client. "Harry, it's been a frantic last few weeks, but we've finally assembled full prospectuses and other essential data for every company on Dennis Creevey's list. We've been working like house-elves on this."

"I thank you for that," Harry replied, not feeling terribly enthusiastic. He wondered where Blackie's presentation was leading.

"Now, it's time for your executive decisions," Blackie told him. "Your brand new venture capital fund has about fifty million United States dollars, so I'd recommend picking no more than seven, so the start-up funds invested in each will purchase a significant share of each company's equity…."

Harry's mind was already wandering - to his upcoming confrontation with Ginny. He had decided that his only responsible course was to tell the truth and beg her forgiveness.

Would she forgive him? Hermione had not been particularly forgiving.

Then, she had learnt of his change of heart rather rudely.

He hoped to do better with Ginny - he loved her.

"…So I'll leave you to it," Blackie finished his presentation. "Here's a tick sheet with each of company names, next to which you can add an investment amount. If you'd rather, we'll propose investing equal shares in your selections."

He handed Harry the sheet. His mind a virtual blank, Harry took it instinctively.

"I'll be outside, then, if you have any questions."

When the door clicked shut, Harry found himself alone with a table full of binders bursting with corporate financial information. Not knowing where to start, he opened the closest binder and started pouring through a business plan for something called "Pets.com."

In under five minutes, Harry's eyes were glazing over worse than during any History of Magic lesson he ever attended. He had virtually no idea what any of this meant, something he doubted any amount of Blackie Howe's explanation could change.

He needed Hermione - badly. She could make sense of this, or at least would have a plan to figure things out.

Harry had nothing. Hermione was neither available, nor inclined, to help.

Nineteen more identically labelled three-ring binders practically leered at him from their precise arrangement on the table.

Harry had only one option.

He did not really care if he made or lost money, right? He was playing with the Black Estate's slave-trading-created money.

So the companies he picked did not really matter. If he lost 100% of his investment - even Hermione would be proud of him.

Harry reverted to tried and true methods learnt during several years of Divination.

He decided to pick the companies with the strangest sounding names.

Stock picking - it was Divination by another name, anyway.

He mumbled to himself, "Let's see…. Here's one called `Google'. That has to be the funniest one here…. This `Drkoop.com', that's pretty weird, too…. Oh, and here's a third one, something called `Yahoo.' I guess I think words with double O's sound the weirdest. Let's see whether there are any others…."

In only half an hour, Harry was finished, flipping a Galleon for his last selection, Syzygy Technologies. Blackie Howe stood as Harry cracked open the door.

"Ah, Harry, you have a question?"

"No, actually, I'm done."

"Really? That was expeditious. I'd set aside the entire afternoon for this."

"Well, I'm just a quick study, I guess. Here's my list." Harry held out the completed tick sheet. "I really have no opinions about amounts. What do you recommend?"

Howe was pleased to be consulted. "With start-up technologies? I think we should aim for between a third and forty percent of equity. The way this works is we get paid back when, and if - it's a big if - the companies go public. We either sell out, or convert to a non-voting preferred stock that entitles you to a share of the profits…."

Harry's eyes were glazing again.

Finally, Blackie finished. "Anyway, we've completed my agenda for today - although the disposition of close to two hundred million Galleons is quite enough for one afternoon. Before I go, is there anything else about which you'd like to consult?"

Harry almost dismissed him. He really wanted to get back to the Castle and try making amends with Ginny. He dreaded what Daphne might be doing in his absence. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but just as breathtakingly Slytherin. He regretted everything….

But something had come up - the letter he received at Harrods was almost burning a hole in his pocket. Howe worked in both worlds. Maybe he would know what to do.

"Umm … actually, yes. I got this today … offering an `alliance' of sorts, and it's so huge, at least potentially, that I'm not sure what to." Harry handed the letter to Howe.

Without hesitation, Blackie pulled out the letter. "Harry, there's nothing on this."

"Oh, that's right, it's charmed," Harry remembered. "I have to touch it for the writing to appear." Harry reached out and gingerly put his thumb and forefinger on one of the bottom corners.

Blackie Howe's eyebrows shot upwards, almost disappearing in his elegantly coiffed fringe. Harry's correspondent possessed the best-known name in Britain, if not the world.

Howe studied the letter intently, rereading it twice, before releasing it to Harry. He leaned back in his chair, took a breath, collected his thoughts, and spoke, "Harry, before I don my Barrister's wig, let me offer advice as a friend who's seen plenty in my years on this planet…."

"Umm … okay."

"I know you're far more mature than your age," he began. "I think that's why, since I've known you - and even before - you've been attracted to older women. First, Miss Chang, or so I gather from Mister Black's will. Then there was Eliza what's her name, and after that Hermione Granger…."

"Brookings." Harry's voice was devoid of emotion.

"What?"

"Eliza Brookings. She has, had, a name; that's it." Harry shifted uneasily in his seat, remembering a young woman whose life he had not merely ruined, but ended.

"I stand corrected," Howe replied dryly. "But, my advice is, please leave things at that. This one's out of bounds. Cuckolding a man who'll one day be the King of England is not a good idea."

"What!?" Harry responded incredulously. "Nothing in this letter suggests anything … like that."

"There needn't be," Howe maintained. "Just because the public sides with her, doesn't mean she's blameless in all this. She has her appetites, and if she decides she wants you, she will let you know it."

"She's old enough to be my mother," Harry maintained.

"Hufflepuff, class of 1979, to be exact," Howe told him. "She was one year behind your mother."

"See?"

"Harry, consider this," Howe continued. "She's a witch, but she's been immersed - she might say trapped - in the Muggle world since early 1981, and even before. You're probably the first wizard she's encountered, as a wizard, in some sixteen years. Beyond that, you're both extremely rich and extremely powerful … a hero several times over."

"She already has a rich and powerful boyfriend," Harry protested, who's mentioned in the letter."

"Before that, she had a richer and more powerful husband," Howe replied. "Granted, he was a cad, so most of our kind who follow this detest him. But remember, she didn't let that stop her either. Let's face it; you're not hard to look at. Maybe she'll be all business, as her letter suggests, but reading between the lines, all the red flags are there - waving in the breeze."

Harry crossed his arms. "I still don't believe it. Maybe she wants back into the wizard world to help defeat Voldemort, like she says."

Howe said nothing at first, instead writing a note to himself. As he stood up, he slipped the note into a pocket of his pinstriped robes. "I'm going to send you a magical CD of a Muggle movie, called `The Graduate.' I think you'll find it instructive."

Harry exhaled audibly, sounding annoyed. He already felt extremely guilty over actual transgressions, and he was loathe to contemplate hypothetical infidelities that had not yet happened, and probably never would. "Fine. Now tell me what you think about this professionally."

Howe instantly became as formal as Harry. "All right. Unfortunately, as a solicitor, I must advise you to seek new counsel for this matter. I'm conflicted out. You see, since its inception, my firm has represented the Spencer/Marlboroughs in both magical and Muggle affairs. As much as handling the creation of the alliance that Lady Diana is proposing would be a professional coup, I simply can't."

That was not the answer Harry expected. It left him uncomfortably at loose ends. "Can you advise me anything, then?"

"Talk to Dumbledore," Howe responded with frustration creeping into his voice - midwifing this proposal would crown any attorney's career, magical or Muggle. "He originally introduced you to me. He can recommend someone else for this matter."

* * * *

Author's notes: a "force de frappe" was France's independent nuclear capability after Charles DeGaule withdrew from NATO's military command

Massive retaliation is another nuclear war concept

The H/Hr duel was in Ch. 49

First day … of your life, is a drug detox slogan

"Boomwin" started as an insult in Ch. 37, but the order winners coopted it

Harry can't duplicate certain sexual goals with Ginny

Menial Quidditch jobs help Ginny keep dosing Harry

The music dungeon was introduced in Ch. 56

Luna's reasons for not going as far as Ron wants will be rewarded

Ron met the Tutshill owner at the Ch. 47 Slug Club party

Harmonic Convergence is beyond Harry's reach

Eyes/mirror/soul dates to Cicero

Hermione's textbook choice is more significant than Neville's

The Houston reference is to "I Will Always Love You"

Munich refers to the Olympic attack; Uganda to the Entebbe mission

The German place names are real, as is the Bavarian history

My British beta provided the shot at Germany

Mining terms are accurate

Tommyknockers are goblin miners

The Aging Charm would figure in a seventh year fic

Carbon 14 dating calculates age in organic items such as paper

Pollution is typical of old lead mines

Galena is high quality lead ore

Echoes … ringing in his head - from Bob Seger's "Turn the Page"

Harry's changing tent would fit in at Brighton

Soaking in kerosene, then burning, is an old joke

Schloss Neuschwanstein inspired Disney's castles

White and sky blue lozenges are in Ludwig's Wittelsbach coat of arms; they can be seen on BMWs

A Waldorf tower suite is in my "Bat" fic

King Ludwig is an historical figure

Borgia family popes from the 1400-1500s supposedly used dark magic

Alpenbairisch is a southern Bavarian German dialect

The waterbed scene was in Ch. 60

Seminudity was common in Baroque Renaissasnce art

"Embry-no" comes from George Carlin

But then again no is from Elton John's "Your Song"

Only later does Harry learn that his vague randy feelings stem from the Love Potion

Daphne's mother is one of Harry's Auror trainers, starting in Ch. 6

Pandiesboxx used similar Slytherin/Gryffindor sexual innuendo in "All Roads Lead Back"

Love as a drug is a Roxy Music song

Collars and cuffs matching is a James Bond line from "Diamonds Are Forever"

Neuschwanstein has an artificial grotto

Harry went to Harrods in Ch. 16; it has by appointment shopping

Harry got a BoE card in Ch. 13

Harrod's owner is accurately identified

Harry's baronetcy is from Ch. 10

The letter's heraldry is accurate

Echevarria was introduced in Ch. 26

Ima Hogg will reappear

Dumbledore's portrait loan has consequences

NASDAQ was around 1400 in early 1997, and around 4000 in January, for a 350% return

SWOT means "strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats"

All companies were start-ups around then

Investing often resembles Divination

The Lady Di aspect is for seventh year, but hints started in Ch. 5

"The Graduate" - Mrs. Robinson

54

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