Unofficial Portkey Archive

A big welcome back to Fenriswolf. It's always good for a writer to receive a thoughtful review that questions the logistics of his work. Hermione is an intelligent witch, but any conclusion is only as valid as the information on which it is based. New information results in new conclusions, but it also raises new questions. More surprises await below.

Harry tried to ignore Tom's toothless leer as he and Hermione passed through the Leaky Cauldron on their way to the back wall leading to Diagon Alley. As the bricks closed behind them into a solid barrier once more, Hermione tugged her cloak around her shoulders. If anything, the afternoon sun was warmer now than it had been upon their arrival some two hours ago. But Hermione felt a chill all the same, one entirely unrelated to the state of the weather.

Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that he was aware of neither the sun on his face nor the icy wind that ruffled his already untidy black hair. His thoughts were focused on a single face: cruel, snake-like, with flat nostrils and red, unwinking eyes.

Voldemort had stolen so much from him already. His parents. His godfather. Voldemort had robbed Harry of ten years of his life, the terrible decade he'd been forced by Dumbledore to live with the Dursleys, being denied his very birthright and heritage while suffering torments both physical and emotional. Now, how many more years had Voldemort stolen from him via the Dust of Set?

Without his realizing it, the chill October wind was penetrating Harry's cloak and seeping into his bones. But when he felt the cold slithering through him, he did not associate it with the wind. Instead he thought of tall, hooded creatures, with scabrous hands and rattling, fetid breath. The dementors. And with that thought came memories.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off - "

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything - "

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

"Harry?"

Hermione was tugging on Harry's sleeve. He snapped out of his reverie and turned to look at her.

"You looked like you were in a trance," Hermione said with a touch of worry.

"I was remembering my parents," Harry said. "I was remembering their last moments, the way I remembered them when the dementors came to Hogwarts four years ago."

"You don't have the dreams any more, do you?" Hermione paused before adding, "Because, after we're married, I don't fancy being awakened out of a sound sleep every night the way you used to wake Ron up in Gryffindor Tower."

Harry gaped for a moment before his face split in a warm smile, which Hermione returned.

"No worries there," he said as he slipped his arm around her, pulling her close against him. "But I'll never forget. Especially now.

"Did I ever tell you that Dumbledore told me the whole story of Voldemort's attack?"

"When?" Hermione asked with interest. "And how did he know if he didn't arrive until after it was over?"

"My memories were the missing pieces," Harry said. "Added to what he'd already figured out, the whole picture came clear. We had a talk about it a year ago, when we came back to school following Sirius' death."

"So, what exactly happened?" Hermione pressed delicately.

"Voldemort was the most terrible wizard of his day," Harry said. "Maybe of all time. But that's not all he was. He didn't rely on magic alone to achieve his goals. According to Dumbledore, who knew him better than anyone, he was also a strategist. He studied history and psychology. He understood the subtle ways to gain a victory in the swiftest manner.

"He came to my parents' house at dinnertime. That's when most people instinctively let their guard down. Add to that they'd just engaged the Fidelius Charm, the last thing they were expecting that night was an attack by the Dark Forces, much less Voldemort himself.

"When they heard the knock on the door, they thought it must be some Muggle with a collecting tin or handing out election leaflets. They were confident that no one in the wizarding world knew where they were. Pettigrew had instructions to tell Dumbledore straightaway, and then Sirius, who'd go straight into hiding to act the decoy, but there hadn't been time to tell either of them. So they were completely off guard when my dad opened the front door and found himself looking straight into the eyes of Voldemort."

"Your dad held him off while your mum tried to rescue you," Hermione repeated Harry's narrative from the many times they had discussed his dreams.

"Mum was going to get me out of bed and Apparate the both of us to safety," Harry said. "She got to me in time - my dad accomplished that much before he died - but neither of them knew that Voldemort had placed a barrier around the house to block magical travel. Dumbledore detected traces of the spell as soon as he arrived. He said that even a portkey wouldn't have been able to get through."

"Portkeys can breach such barriers sometimes," Hermione reflected. "But only under certain conditions. Like when Dumbledore sent you to his office from the Ministry of Magic. But that was a special case. I imagine Dumbledore has special spells on his office, and on his private chambers, that allow him and only him to come and go. You told me about how he grabbed hold of Fawkes' tail feathers and vanished in a flash of fire when Fudge wanted to take him away. Only an extremely powerful wizard can do something like that, and even then, it only works with oneself. No one else could enter or leave Hogwarts magically, not even Voldemort."

"Then how did I get sent back to Dumbledore's office," Harry asked, "if it only works for him?"

"Because he personally enchanted the portkey for you," Hermione replied. "I've read about such spells. The only person who can get around them is the one who cast them. That's why Voldemort's barrier around your parents' house was effective. Since he cast the spell, none but he could breach it.

"You know," Hermione said in a professorial tone, "in their way, portkeys are more powerful than Apparation magic. Little wonder that the Ministry of Magic regulates portkeys so stringently. Look at how Barty Crouch changed the Triwizard Cup into a portkey. It would've been impossible for him to just snatch you and Apparate you to Little Hangleton. But one of the flaws in Hogwarts' wards is that, while a portkey can't bring someone in, it can take someone out. When Crouch used the Portkey Charm, he harmonized it specifically for you, just as Dumbledore did."

"Then why did it take Cedric, too?" Harry asked.

"If Cedric had touched the Cup alone, nothing would have happened," Hermione said. "But when you touched it at the same moment that Cedric did, the spell was activated and Cedric just got carried along. But that's a whole different story. It's all very complicated. I'll explain it all to you in detail sometime. Sometime when we're not under so much pressure."

"We'll be older than Nicholas Flamel by then," Harry smiled thinly.

Hermione hugged Harry as they continued down the street, which was deserted save for themselves.

"Are you sure Gringotts will be open?" Harry asked as they passed shop after shop shut tight, their proprietors all departed for one Halloween celebration or another.

"Goblins don't keep the same holidays as humans," Hermione said casually.

"What holidays do they keep?" Harry asked with sudden interest.

"The biggest one is Founding Day," Hermione said. "The anniversary of the day Gringotts Wizarding Bank was founded."

"And what day is that?" Harry asked. He had never even heard of Founding Day.

"The date is in dispute," Hermione replied. "But while different factions dicker over the particulars, it's presently celebrated on May 28th. One of the arguments is whether one counts the date the bank was first incorporated under charter as the true beginning. Some hold to this date, while others believe the day the bank opened its doors and accepted its first deposit of wizard gold represents the true beginning."

"How do you know about all this?"

Hermione sighed. "It's all in Hogwarts: A History."

"What does a bank run by goblins have to do with the history of Hogwarts?"

"Because the gold used to build Hogwarts came from Gringotts," Hermione explained. "As payment for the loan, Hogwarts provided the goblins with Curse-breakers from the first few graduating classes, which enabled the bank to acquire large sums of gold from loads of ancient tombs, more than repaying the loan."

"I'm surprised Binns never mentioned that in History of Magic," Harry said.

"He did," Hermione said accusingly. "If you hadn't always been dozing during classes…"

"It's impossible not to fall asleep in History of Magic," Harry said defensively. Then his face relaxed as he said mournfully, "But that's all behind us now."

"Yes," Hermione said softly. "But," she added on a more positive note, "we're both seventeen, so we're perfectly within our rights not to go back to Hogwarts, whatever the circumstances. Fred and George left early."

"I wonder what they're up to now?" Harry said longingly. "I've been looking all up and down the street, and there's no sign of their joke shop."

Hermione did not reply. If Fred and George had followed the example of their older brothers and joined the Order of the Phoenix (as they were all too keen to do the year of Voldemort's return), their absence now might be an ill omen. How many of their friends had given their lives in the war against Voldemort while she and Harry were spinning through uncounted years on the Wings of Horus? That was one of the first things they must learn if they were to resume their own personal fight against the forces of Darkness.

Harry should not have been surprised to find no trace of a calendar anywhere within the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had told him in their first year at Hogwarts that wizards routinely disdained logic and common sense. Most wizard clocks did not tell the proper time the way Muggle clocks did, and their calendars were just as confounding, covered as they were with boxes that moved about according to their owners' changing plans, and shouting reminders like, "School starts in three days! Have you been to Diagon Alley yet to buy school supplies?"

Harry finally gave up, reasoning that they could always find a Muggle calendar in London proper once they left Diagon Alley for good. And the moment they had secured enough gold from Harry's vault to make their new start, that was precisely what they intended to do.

As they approached the pillared entrance to the bank, they saw the familiar uniformed goblin standing beside the door. For all Harry knew, it could be the very same goblin that had greeted him on his first visit to the bank with Hagrid - he had no idea how long goblins lived. As they mounted the steps and made for the door, the goblin bowed deeply, a scowl etched onto his grotesque face.

"I don't suppose the goblins care who rules the wizarding world," Harry said as he closed the door behind Hermione and stepped back against the wall, drawing her alongside him as he dipped a hand into a pocket of his robes and fumbled about.

"No," Hermione agreed. "They'll deal with anyone, and even Voldemort knows better than to incite a goblin riot by interfering with the bank."

"I still wonder if we shouldn't just take out all of the gold in my vault," Harry said, resuming the debate they had had before leaving their room above the Leaky Cauldron.

"No," Hermione said decisively. "As I said, even Voldemort knows that, if he's to have a proper world to rule, he has to keep that world running as smoothly as possible. Upsetting the banking industry would plunge the wizarding world into chaos. No," she repeated with a shake of her bushy head, "Gringotts is still the safest place to keep your gold, Harry."

"Our gold," Harry corrected her. "It's as much yours as it is mine."

Hermione gave Harry's hand a squeeze. "Not until we're married, it isn't. Your parents left everything in your name. It's no one else's to claim."

But it was Harry's turn to shake his head. "Do you remember when Sirius bought me my Firebolt? He couldn't come into the bank, but he wrote a note and had Crookshanks carry it to the bank for him. I'm sure they verified his signature from their records before accepting it as genuine. He may even have placed some personal identifying Charm on the note. But we know that, in the end, they did take the gold from his vault to buy the broomstick, even though he wasn't there to open the vault himself. And Mrs. Weasley got some money out of my vault for me, using my key."

"All such keys are enchanted," Hermione said knowledgably. "If they're taken and used without the owner's consent, they scream out Thief! when they're thrust into the keyhole. I used a similar spell on the D.A. parchment two years ago, only changing the hex from verbal to physical. But why are you telling me this, Harry?"

Harry's hand now emerged from his pocket. His fingers opened to reveal two small keys lying on his palm.

"I had a spare made," he said, holding one key out to Hermione. "Take it." Hermione demurred at first, but Harry said, "Please."

Hermione took the key and looked at it, then lifted her eyes to Harry's. "Are you sure, Harry?"

"With all my worldly goods I thee endow," Harry said solemnly. Then, grinning: "Except my Firebolt, of course."

Hermione threw her arms around Harry's neck and kissed him just under his ear.

"So," Harry said, wary lest someone see the flush rising to his cheeks, "how much do you reckon we'll need for a start?"

"A couple of sackfuls should do," Hermione said. "We don't want to draw undue attention to ourselves."

"You're joking, right?" Harry smiled. Brushing aside his bangs to reveal his lighting scar, he said, "Do you really think we can remain incognito for long?"

"Good point," Hermione said soberly. "Maybe it's best if I go get the gold. I assume you've already Charmed the key?"

"Of course."

Harry had learned when having the duplicate key made that such objects were commonly enchanted with an Isomorphic Charm so they would not work for anyone but their owners. This spell could be limited to an individual, or broadened to encompass an entire family. Harry's key fell into the latter category. The goblin who created the duplicate informed him that James Potter had specified that any member of the family have access to his gold. This explained why Harry was able to open his parents' vault on his first visit to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. The spell was briefly transferred to Molly Weasley when Harry gave her his key on the occasion he had recalled to Hermione. But Harry did not want Hermione to have to ask for his key whenever she had need of some money. In her absence, Harry had used one of Hermione's hairs (which he'd deftly plucked from her shoulder without her knowledge) to combine her own personal aura with that of the Potter family. By placing this combined Charm on both keys, Harry made it possible for either of them to open his vault without the other being present. He realized only now that this Charm was very much like the one Hermione had described in regard to the portkeys of their earlier discussion. He was beginning to wish he had listened a bit more closely in Professor Flitwick's class.

Flashing Hermione an appreciative smile, Harry said, "I'll wait here while you go down and get 'our' gold. I've never been too keen on those carts, truth be known. So I'll - "

Suddenly Harry froze. A young man was walking toward them from the back of the bank. He looked to be in his late 20's, Harry reckoned. He was tall and angular, with a long, pale face and eyes like chips of grey ice. His white-blond hair was worn long, tied in the back in a short pony tail.

"Malfoy!" Harry spat. He reached for his wand without thinking, and only Hermione's iron grip on his arm stayed the completion of the intended action.

"Harry, no!" Hermione hissed. "We can't let him see us! If he knows we're back, he's sure to run straight to Voldemort. Don't you see? It's just like when Voldemort returned two years ago. It was safe for him to move about only so long as the Ministry thought he was still gone. It's the same for us. We can't let our enemies know we're back until the time is right."

Hermione felt Harry's wand arm relax, and she sighed gratefully.

"He's coming this way," Harry said. "I'd better go before he sees me. I wish I had my dad's cloak."

"We don't need it," Hermione said as she drew her own wand. "We have something just as good."

Hermione tapped Harry on the top of his head. Instantly it was as if ice water were being poured over him, sending a chill down his spine. His momentary surprise quickly melted into appreciation. He looked at his hands, sighted down his robes to the polished floor. Thanks to Hermione's Disillusionment Charm, his body was now camouflaged to look just like the paneled wall of the Gringotts entrance hall against which they were standing.

"I love you," Harry whispered as Hermione slipped her wand back into her robes and pulled up the hood of her cloak. He saw her smile at him before she covered her face and glided forward, slipping past the approaching Malfoy, who did not so much as glance in her direction.

Harry studied Malfoy's face as the tall man approached. It was little changed from the way Harry remembered. It was older, more mature. But it was also more calculating, severe and cynical. It was a face devoid of compassion or human decency, Harry reflected.

A young woman appeared as if from nowhere, her graceful stride calculated to intercept Malfoy's path. She was tall and lithe, with a serpentine beauty that Harry instinctively found repellent. Her beauty was that of a marble statue, with as little warmth and softness. Compared to Hermione, Harry thought, this woman was uglier than the most grotesque Gringotts goblin.

The woman glided toward Malfoy with the inhuman grace of a dementor, and Harry saw now that she was carrying a baby in her arms. Harry caught a glimpse of a tiny, pale face with a crown of white-blond hair. Malfoy's pale eyes ignited like twin spotlights as they fell upon the baby. He extended his arms, and the young woman surrendered her precious bundle with fluid ease as she regarded her husband with shrewd, narrowed eyes.

"Is all our business concluded, my dear?" Malfoy said distractedly, his full attention on his baby son.

"Yes," the woman replied. Then, leaning in very close to her husband, she said in a soft, venomous hiss, "It's tonight."

"Excellent," Malfoy breathed. He surveyed his son with something like triumph. "Soon the Dark Lord's power will be absolute," he said to the child. "I will bequeath to you a world free from the pollution of Mudblood filth, my son. You will serve the greatest wizard who ever lived, even as your mother and I. After this night, the Dark Lord will be supreme among wizards. There will be none to challenge his might."

Harry held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. Hermione's supposition had been right. The two of them had been returned to this time because Voldemort was about to become supreme and all-powerful. The last barrier between Voldemort and ultimate victory was about to be eradicated. Given Harry's removal by means of the Dust of Set, who else could this be but Dumbledore, the only wizard Voldemort ever feared?

But according to Malfoy, it hadn't actually happened yet. There was still time to stop it, time to avenge the deaths of their friends by saving the life of perhaps the greatest wizard who had ever lived. Harry reached up and touched his scar. It was hot to the touch, tender. But it did not yet burn with the white-hot intensity that marked Voldemort's extreme moods, whether exultation or raging fury.

Harry thought again of Trelawney's prophesy: "Neither can live while the other survives." The Dust of Set was supposed to remove Harry to a time when he could no longer threaten Voldemort or his plans. And the spell had been powered by Voldemort's magic, which, according to Hermione, could not be countered by any save its own master. Why, then, did the spell return Harry to a time before Voldemort's final victory?

There seemed to be only one answer. In speaking of Harry, Trelawney's prophesy had also said, "The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal." It was Voldemort's own magic, embodied by the scar on Harry's head, that had thrown a spanner in the works and deposited Harry here, at a time when he could still make a difference. Despite the Dark Lord's schemes and Malfoy's treachery, there was still time to tip the scales back into balance.

But how? Where?

Harry wanted nothing more in that moment than to leap upon Malfoy, place him under the Imperius Curse and wrest the knowledge from him that would send Voldemort's plans of ultimate conquest tumbling like a house of Exploding Snap cards. Indeed, it was only the baby in his enemy's arms which stayed his hand. He could not see a way to attack Malfoy without injuring an innocent child in the process.

Innocent? his mind scoffed. This was Malfoy's son he was talking about, the latest in a line of pureblood scum reaching back into the mists of time. This child was just another twisted link in the Malfoy chain, like Draco and Lucius and all those who came before. Young he may be - but innocent? The blood of a thousand generations of suffering was mingled with the milk this babe suckled. Strike! Harry's mind screamed. Strike now, before it's too late!

But he could not. He could only stand helplessly as the three Malfoys passed through the great doors and exited the bank, the goblin outside bowing them on their way. When the door closed behind them, Harry felt as if a door had closed for him as well - the last door leading to a vengeance long overdue.

Jerking his head away from the door, Harry was startled to see Hermione running toward him, her bushy hair flying about her shoulders. He saw at once that she was carrying no gold; indeed, she had not been gone nearly long enough to have made the miles-long journey to their vault and back again.

He was sure that Hermione could not see him, but she ran toward him unerringly, no doubt remembering where he had been standing when she placed the Disillusionment Charm on him. As she drew nearer, he saw that she was holding a piece of parchment in her hand.

"Harry," she gasped, drawing her wand and holding it out. Harry instinctively bent his head until it was just beneath Hermione's wand. Hearing the scuffle of Harry's feet, Hermione brought her wand down, felt it tap the top of Harry's head. Waves of warmth poured over Harry as the Disillusionment Charm was lifted.

"You didn't go to the vault," Harry said. "Was there a problem?"

"No," Hermione shook her head vigorously. "We have to go, Harry! Back to our room, now!"

"Hermione," Harry began, "I have to tell you - "

"Later, Harry!" Hermione hissed through clenched teeth. "We have to go now!"

"Is it something to do with that?" Harry asked, nodding at the parchment in Hermione's hand.

"Yes!" Hermione said impatiently. "Now let's go!"

Harry knew better than to press Hermione for information before she was ready to divulge it. After a swift journey back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry retrieved his room key from Tom, who fairly cackled with glee as he handed it over.

"Back fer more, eh?" he chortled. "A little wildcat, that'n is. Kin tell by lookin' at 'er. The small ones is the best, they is. I remembers one - "

Harry snatched the key from Tom, resisting the urge to take a leaf from Dudley's book and cave the old innkeeper's face in with his fist.

When Harry opened the door to their room, Hermione dashed inside without a word. Closing and locking the door, Harry saw Hermione sit back down at the table and spread the parchment out flat. He walked over and bent his head slightly, trying to see what was written on the parchment. When he finally got a good look, he was more in the dark than ever. There was writing on the parchment, scribbled hastily, it seemed. But the characters were in no language Harry had ever seen.

"What is that?" Harry said at last, daring Hermione's wrath as his curiosity gripped him with talons sharper than those of Horus. "What are those letters?"

"They're numbers," Hermione rapped as she pored over the scratchy characters, tracing her wand over them time and again, her brow furrowing deeper by the minute.

"I never saw numbers like that," Harry said. "What language are they?"

"Gobbledegook," Hermione said without looking up. "Goblin language."

"Where did you - "

"Harry!" Hermione snapped peevishly. "I need to concentrate! This is important!"

Feeling slightly hurt, Harry backed away and sat down on the bed. Glancing around idly, he spotted the shattered plates lying where they'd fallen when he'd sat himself and Hermione down before. More to pass the time than for any other reason, he drew his wand and reassembled the plates, thereafter cleaning up the spilled food with a Scouring Charm. He levitated the plates and silverware onto the night table and replaced his wand. If nothing else, his little exercise in boredom allowed his wounded pride the respite it needed to heal. Turning back to watch Hermione working at her usual frantic pace, he realized that, given the situation in which they had unexpectedly found themselves, she would not be laboring with such energy if this were not important. Harry could not imagine what she could have found in the bank that was so critical to their predicament, but he was not prepared to challenge her reasoning. If there was one thing he could count on in a world of uncertainty, it was Hermione's ability to think clearly in a crisis. Her manipulation of Dolores Umbridge on the night they'd gone on their ill-fated mission to save Sirius had been nothing short of masterful. Comforted by that thought, Harry relaxed as best he could and waited.

When Harry looked up again, he saw that Hermione was no longer studying the parchment. Her head was bent, her face buried in her hands. Harry jumped up and put his arms around her.

"What is it?" he asked gently. "What are those numbers?"

"They're the date," Hermione said, speaking with an eerie calmness. "Today's date. I copied it from a desk calendar at one of the clerks' stations. Unlike wizards, goblins measure time in very precise terms. Wizards could learn a lot from non-human magical creatures if they take their heads out of their collective arse once in a while."

"Why are there so many figures?" Harry asked. There appeared to be at least a dozen strange-looking runes scribbled over the parchment, which Harry could see clearly over Hermione's shoulder.

"The goblin calendar goes back more than 12,000 years," Hermione said. "It's the devil's own work to translate. Part of the language is borrowed from other, extinct languages. There are fragments of text in my Ancient Runes book. I wish I had it with me now. I don't know if I translated this right. Because if I did…"

Harry sat on the edge of the table and looked into Hermione's eyes. "Tell me. It can't be that bad. We know the Dust of Set took us into the future. The only question is, how far."

To Harry's astonishment, Hermione laughed, a high-pitched titter nearly devoid of sanity. She pulled herself together quickly, brushing her hair back from her face.

"I used the day and month as the key," she said in as clinical a voice as she could manage. "We know it's Halloween, because of the decorations, and the fact that the shops are closed early. And Madam Malkin confirmed the date when she said she was closing early for the holiday. So we know the day and the month. All that's in question is the year. But if I'm right…"

"What year did you come up with?" Harry said. "How long were we away? Five years? Ten? It couldn't be much more, from the way Malfoy looked."

"Malfoy," Hermione whispered, her face suddenly going chalk-white.

"What about him?" Harry said blankly.

"The woman with him," Hermione said distantly. "His wife. I didn't pay much attention to her. I was busy copying down the date figures when she walked past me. Did you get a good look at her, Harry?"

"No," Harry admitted. "I was more focused on Malfoy."

"Did she look familiar, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "Was she someone we know? Someone from Hogwarts?"

"We know her," Hermione said in a faraway voice. "We've only seen her in person once…at the Quidditch World Cup. She was older then. She was a lot younger in the picture on the tapestry."

"Tapestry?" Harry echoed vacantly.

"The tapestry at Sirius' house. The tapestry of the Black family tree."

Harry's brain went numb, seized by an iciness colder than the Disillusionment Charm had been.

"It's not possible! That would mean…" His mind refused to shape the words for his mouth to speak.

"That would mean," Hermione finished. "the man we saw in the bank wasn't Draco. It was Lucius! Lucius, and Narcissa…and their one-year-old son, Draco."

Harry stared down at the parchment on the table, then up at Hermione. His mouth was open, but he was incapable of speech, nor of any sound at all.

"I didn't mistranslate," Hermione said, her lips dry and numb. "The date on the calendar at Gringotts is…October 31, 1981!"

Thanks for being here. See you soon.