Shadow Walker
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time.
- Bonnie Tyler, "Total Eclipse of the Heart"
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Chapter Three:
She's just reminiscing; blood, sweat, and one thing's missing. She's been breaking up inside.
--Switchfoot, "Lonely Nation"
"I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one," Ron hissed, darting an accusing glance at her as he stepped over a puddle. It wasn't raining, but had before, and promised to again. "We're not Glamored or anything. I don't think we should be doing this…. Not like this, anyway." He tried to dodge the hanging fringe of the awning over Eeylops, but missed, and cursed, as a shower of water sprinkled down the side of his neck into his collar.
"How many times do I have to keep telling you, Ron?" Hermione's words were bitten off and distinct, flying at him like so many little darts. "We haven't done anything wrong."
"Was I the only one at Malfoy's little `conference' who thought he was making threats?"
"He can't do anything to us - he's bound by Wizarding law just like everyone else, and the Wizengamot - "
"He makes the bloody law, Hermione. He's got the Wizengamot by the nose; else, he'd never have been elected in the first place - "
Hermione spat a warning at him to lower his voice. The dreary weather made Diagon Alley rather more sparsely populated than normal, which was lower still than in days of yore, but they were managing to attract attention. Even as they passed the bakery, two women in floured aprons stood in the doorway were nodding toward them and whispering behind their hands - Harry Potter's best friends.
"We shouldn't have come here," Ron continued, albeit somewhat more sulkily. "We could've sent Luna or Neville - we could have done this by Owl."
"Gringotts only allows estate settlements to be done in person now," Hermione reminded him in her trademarked snippy tone, though most of the fight had gone out of her voice. Ron's shoulders had drooped even further as they passed the vacant joke shop that had once belonged to his brothers. The windows gaped like blind and empty eyes. Hermione pressed her lips together in sympathy and touched his arm, but he was gazing fixedly toward the grocer's and would not look at her.
They walked in silence for a time, but once they had reached the marble steps at the foot of the goblin's towering edifice, Ron had regained enough of his composure to remember why he was irritated.
"Why couldn't we have done this earlier then?" He challenged her, seizing on a new tack. "In the chaos of everything afterward, we'd have been less likely to be noticed."
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione's long-suffering sigh was perhaps more plaintive than in times past. "Don't you remember how long it took us to get the Dumbledore's Pensieve after he died? The Ministry kept it for as long as they legally could, trying to figure out what treachery it held. Thank Merlin Dumbledore hid the memories, instead of willing them to us directly."
"Sent us all on a sodding wild goose chase," Ron grumbled, but he seemed to concede Hermione's point. They were quiet as they mounted the stairs, both thinking of those difficult and frustrating days hunting for Horcruxes with almost nothing to go on. Hermione found herself yearning for those days, because even in the midst of flaring tempers, sleepless nights, cold food, paranoia, booby traps, and attacks, even then, they had been three - they had been whole.
Ron's pensive face mirrored her own, as he held open the large door for her to enter Gringotts' lobby. There were several queues, and people were scattered through out the large room, as goblins darted hither and yon on various business tasks. She and Ron seemed to attract attention almost immediately, and as Hermione's face began a slow burn, she let herself wonder if Ron had been right.
"Hermione!" called out a voice, clearly in greeting, but still discreetly low. She knew who it was without turning.
"Hi, Neville," she replied.
"What brings you here today?" There was no preamble, and concern laced his voice. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Not Neville too, she thought. He carried some sort of official document, and shifted the rolled parchment from one hand to the other. The purple seal of Gringotts peeked out.
"Harry's will," she answered him. "I thought Ron was just being his usual paranoid self. Is something going on?"
"You didn't read the Prophet this morning, did you?"
"I stopped taking it." Harry had always hated the magazine, and somehow, continuing to shell out galleons for it had seemed disloyal. Plus, she had been loath to give money to an organization so clearly acting as a mouthpiece for Lucius Malfoy. In the interests of staying `fully informed', however, she read Luna's copy in the evening, when Luna had finished and Owled it to her. She told Neville so.
Neville's mouth crimped in an expression akin to pity, as if he heartily wished that she had read the paper that morning. Her eyes narrowed.
"What's wrong?" Her voice brooked no opposition, no stalling or smoothing over.
"It's begun," was all he said, but the portents of doom were easily discernible. She knew instantly to what he was referring.
"How is that even possible? How can people allow - ?"
"People are scared, Hermione. The economy is depressed, too many people have died - or disappeared. It's happened twice in twenty years! No one wants it to happen again, and he's promising a way to ensure it won't." He seemed to realize that he sounded like a ringing endorsement, and amended his tone. "I'm not saying I agree with him, or with those who are placing their trust in him; I am saying that I understand why they might…"
"Why they might what - be willing to throw over everything we fought for?" Ron queried sarcastically.
"Why they might feel as if he's their only option at this point." Neville spoke to Ron, but was watching Hermione. Ron's face took on an expression of unsurprised long-suffering.
"So what's he gone and done?"
"He's started implementing the Registry." Neville's voice lowered until it was nearly inaudible. Ron's eyes grew saucer-sized, and he grasped for Hermione's elbow.
"We need to get you out of here now!"
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione groused, yanking her arm away from him, and rolling her eyes. "They're not going to drag me out of Gringotts in chains, with a hood over my head. It's too public; it's too soon."
"Only six months," Neville agreed, nodding sagely. "Not long enough for people to forget Harry Potter - and your relationship with him." His glance included both of them. "I'd say you're safe - for the time being."
"Is there a deadline?"
"By the New Year. Gives everybody forty-five days to register. Purebloods are exempt, of course."
"And then what happens? Yellow star sewn on Muggle-born's clothes?" Hermione's bitterness was easy enough to detect, though her Muggle reference was lost on Neville and Ron.
"Malfoy says there'll be no change, that law-abiding Muggle-borns are wizarding citizens as necessary as anyone else. He merely wants the information, numbers and locations of Muggle-borns and half-bloods, for statistical purposes and preventive measures."
Hermione snorted in derision, even though the ache in her chest was acute. The isolation she felt - even standing in a populous lobby with two close friends - threatened to smother her. Ron and Neville were pureblood, and therefore, immune. And Harry - half-blood Harry - who might have understood; hell, who would have prevented this from happening at all - was gone.
Somehow, there in the bank, she missed him more than ever.
"That's what he'll say, at first. How long before he starts reminding people that Voldemort was half-blood, therefore, half-bloods are not to be trusted? How long before the first Muggle-born perpetrating a heinous crime on wizardkind is caught red-handed and thrown into Azkaban with great fanfare, to be made an example of?"
"Are you - are you going to - ?" Neville asked, miming writing a signature. His question was hesitant, as if he'd already sussed out the vehemence of her response.
"The hell I am," she replied. "Those lists will be charmed; addresses will be automatically changed, if one moves. If they think I'll allow myself to be tracked, like some kind of animal, they are sadly mistaken. And if you think that those laws are not going to be progressively more restrictive and abusive, then you're sadly mistaken." She shot a warning look at Neville, who raised placating hands in her direction.
A goblin clerk became available for assistance, and Hermione walked toward him with clipped and decisive steps. Ron had to trot for a couple of strides to catch up with her.
"You know Neville doesn't think that you - " he began, as they arrived at the counter.
"I know," Hermione answered. "We're here for the processing of Harry Potter's bequests." Ron couldn't help but admire the cool authority in her voice, marveling at how she always managed to keep control, or at least maintain the illusion of doing so.
The goblin paused infinitesimally, darting measuring glances at both of them, and then descended from his wooden stool.
"This way, please."
He led them through a door, and through a veritable rabbit warren of corridors. Ron was fairly certain they had gone down one particular hallway more than once, when they arrived at a heavy and intimidating wooden door, studded with brass.
"Wand print and blood verification is required," the clerk informed them, tersely.
Hermione quickly cut her fingertip with her wand, and pressed both the bloody digit and the tip of her wand to a softly glowing plate beside the door. Ron watched her for a moment, nonplussed, and then copied her motions. When he had done so, the plate glowed green and the latches of the door disengaged with noisy clanks.
The room that greeted them looked surprisingly like a Muggle boardroom, except for the torches gleaming in heavy metal sconces along the walls. There was a long shiny conference table, green leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with heavy tomes.
Another goblin, whose array of medallions pinned to his chest indicated his higher rank, sat at the head of the table, awaiting them.
"Granger, Weasley," he rasped. He gave no other movement or gesture of greeting. An abortive motion of his stumpy arm apparently indicated that they sit. Wordlessly, they both did so.
When the silence had stretched to the breaking point - Ron having shifted unsubtly in his seat several times - the goblin withdrew a heavy roll of parchment sealed in thick wax. He broke the seal, and unfurled the scroll halfway down the length of the table, but the odd angle and the archaic, heavily inked script made it impossible for either Hermione or Ron to read.
"You wish to claim the entitlements left you in one Harry Potter's last will and testament?" The question was calm, indifferent, and Hermione somehow felt that she was taking advantage, as if she'd been caught looting an abandoned house.
"Yes… sir," she tacked on uncertainly.
The goblin scrutinized the parchment for a few more moments, just because he could, Hermione figured.
"Very well. Your identity is in order. The documents in question are in order. Vukglut will escort you to the Potter vault." He was standing up, moving toward a door, smaller than the one through which they'd entered, and tucked unobtrusively into a dim corner.
"Wait…" Ron managed to speak before Hermione. The goblin rotated austerely toward him, brow ridge arched, as if to question Ron's temerity in saying anything at all. "You mean - you mean, that's it… what - what about the - the others…?"
"The entire Potter estate has been given into your joint custody," said the goblin, as if it were patently obvious. "Anyone else to whom Mr. Potter wished to bequeath something has predeceased you. If you'll excuse me…"
For a long terrible moment, Hermione and Ron stood in the official-looking opulence of the boardroom, staring at each other. They had not even begun to articulate this horror, a new, fresh way of reminding them how much was gone, when their escort rasped from his position by the main door.
"I'll escort you to the vault now, if you wish." The obsequiousness of the question covered his lofty disdain by only the thinnest of veils.
"Thank you," Hermione acquiesced faintly, and they meandered down the maze of corridors to the loading platform, where they endured a hair-raising cart ride to Harry's vault.
Vukglut opened the vault, and stood by the cart, politely putting up the front that he was thoroughly uninterested in anything they might do down here. Hermione stepped over the threshold, with a tight throat, and dry, burning eyes.
There were stacks and stacks of galleons and sickles, though the amount had diminished somewhat, since her last trip down here. Paintings were stacked in the corner, leaning against the back wall, next to several trunks holding Merlin only knew what, and there was a shelf holding a pile of rolled parchments, which Hermione assumed were deeds or titles, or perhaps receipts of investments. There was a clear glass cabinet to one side, full of antique vases and the like, glowing faintly with Cushioning Charms.
"So….er, what are we getting today?" Ron fidgeted, sticking his hands in his back pockets. "Might not be able to get back here for awhile."
"We're not coming back here, Ron," Hermione hissed at him. "We're taking it all."
"Now?" Ron gaped.
"You heard Neville," Hermione reminded him. "And you - you weren't so far off the mark, either. Malfoy will be itching to get his hands on this. While the money might not be so important - " Ron snorted derisively. " - he shouldn't be allowed anywhere near these," she indicated the moldy looking scrolls, "or these," and a pile of ponderous looking tomes, thickly bound in cracked leather.
"How - how are we going to take all this?" Ron's gesture encompassed the entire vault.
"Honestly, Ron, are you a wizard or aren't you?" The teasing look and tone of voice were as light-hearted as Ron had seen Hermione in a long time.
It took quite some time to shrink or transfigure everything to Hermione's satisfaction. They had lined their jackets with rows of pouches, complete with Everfill charms, of course. A tiara became a pair of sunglasses. The paintings in the corner became a book of stamps. The rolls of parchment were a packet of tissues. At last, the vault was empty save for scattered detritus and cobwebs.
"Ready?" Ron breathed. He looked nervous, and Hermione thought, understandably so. It was difficult to remember that all they carried was, in fact, their property, that they weren't technically doing anything wrong. The myriad of spells would have been utterly impossible in the vault of another.
"One more thing." She cast an Illusory spell of Duplication, and in a single flash of light, the vault appeared to be filled entirely once again. Eying her work with satisfaction, she thought that it wouldn't fool goblins and probably wouldn't fool cursebreakers, but it might fool the Ministry.
Their escort came to reseal the vault, and, if he noted that anything was different, his stoic façade did not give it away. They made their way back to Gringotts' lobby in silence.
The large entry-room looked no less crowded when they surfaced, and Neville was waiting for them by the door, tossing his scroll lightly from one hand to the other in twitchy boredom.
"Neville, you didn't have to stay." Hermione's tone said that she was glad he had.
"I didn't mind," he replied amiably. "Hadn't seen you two in awhile anyway. D'you want to grab a bite to eat?"
Before either of them could reply, there was a thunderous trumpeting sound that rattled the panes of the windows, and the double doors that served as Gringotts' main entrance flew open. The three of them stared at the dim cloudy light that flooded the marbled lobby floor, instinctively shrinking back and drawing their wands, as they assessed the situation. Hermione keenly felt the slight weight of Harry's shrunken inheritance, as if it were a millstone around her neck.
"Goblin Bankers!" boomed a magically-enhanced voice. "You are hereby under notice that this bank is now under Ministry control. You will cede all keys and magical codes effective immediately, under Financial Degree 114-20-A. Attempts to deny access to any part of this facility will be met with force. You will be given transport back to the Goblin stronghold of your choice in the Black Forest or the Ural Mountains. You will prepare for departure immediately."
"They're - they're deporting all the Goblins?" Ron's voice was a wheezy, disbelieving shadow of its usual self.
"They won't stand for it - they won't allow - " But Hermione's voice was weak too; she had seen too much happen that she'd thought wouldn't be allowed.
"Well," Ron added, apparently thinking of the defenses the goblins would try. "Too bad they don't have a dragon down there anymore."
The Ministry official, whose wand had been Amplifying his voice, strode through the flung-wide doors, with a troop of black-cloaked and hooded Enforcers moving in step behind him. The Enforcers had been brought into play after the war, as a quasi-police force/militia for the function of keeping order in a society struggling to keep its head above water. Lately, there had been darker rumors of their actions against wizarding populace, though nothing proven.
Already the goblins had disappeared, as the humans either pressed themselves into the walls, trying to look as unthreatening as possible, slipped out a side entrance, or cheered or whistled, albeit somewhat half-heartedly. They were largely ignored; clearly, the Enforcers had no quibble with the bank's customers. One Enforcer tried the door through which Hermione and Ron had been led, only a few minutes before.
"It's sealed," he said.
"Blast it," came the order.
"This ought to be fun," Ron muttered. Everyone knew the extent of the goblins' prowess for engineering and manufacturing.
But then the Enforcer drew out something from the depths of the swirling black cloak. Hermione could see a glint of silver. He aimed it at the door and murmured something in a tongue that Hermione didn't understand. The resulting shockwave from the pulse of energy made her ears ring and the very bones in her skull vibrate like a struck gong. There was a crackling noise, like the flow of electric current, and then the door was gone, a blackened, smoking hole where it had once been.
A small goblin had been in the process of retreating down the now exposed corridor, its arms laden with bulky scrolls, all affixed with purple seals. The noise of the explosion caused him to freeze and slowly rotate back toward the lobby, shock and horror clearly etched on his grotesque little face.
Hermione then realized what the silver object was.
"They've gotten their hands on Goblin talismans," she whispered. "How in the hell…?"
A quick gesture from the goblin's taloned hand Vanished the scrolls in a blink of light, and this seemed to anger the Lead Enforcer.
"You," he said, "you will take us into the vaults, and you will give us access to what we require." His tone was arrogant, imperious, and Hermione wanted to writhe in shame for her species.
The goblin said nothing, the contempt obvious, and bared his teeth with defiance. Hermione watched the red flush slowly rise up the Lead Enforcer's face.
"It can be an example for the others."
The goblin seemed to realize what this meant as soon as Hermione had, and raised both palms toward the humans, in a gesture that would have seemed like surrender on anyone else. White-blue light seemed to boil on his hands, waiting.
His magic met that from the silver talisman in mid-air, and there was a deafening crack. More Enforcers joined the side of the first, wands out.
"Wait!" Hermione cried.
"Hermione, shut up," Ron said. "Let's get out of here." He gestured toward the side door at the far end of the lobby.
"No, look - look what they're doing. He can't fight so many. Stop!" Her voice was barely audible above the din. Several other goblins had crept from their hidey-holes to join the fray, but they were still outnumbered - and wandless.
"Hermione, come on!" He was trying to drag her now, appealing to Neville for help, though her murderous glare was keeping the latter at a safe distance.
A wave of Goblin magic flowed past them, from a new direction, and they realized that a small band of goblins were concealed behind a tapestry, just beyond them. An Enforcer noticed the new battlefront, and called a warning, swiveling quickly toward the tapestry, and raising her wand.
"Please don't do this," Hermione pleaded, stepping towards the tapesty, at the same time as the Enforcer fired her wand.
"Hermione!" Ron yelled, and then a heavy weight fell into her, knocking the wind out of her, as she hit the cold marble tile with enough force to make her see stars.
Ron was still yelling her name, though it seemed very far away, and someone shrieked Neville's name once. The thing on top of her was heavy, pressing all the air out of her lungs, and she tried to will the room to stop spinning.
Finally, the weight was lifted, and Ron's face came into view, still calling her name in distinct panic.
"I'm - I'm alright, Ron," she said, feeling more than a little nauseated. "Just … hit my head. Neville?" As Ron lifted her carefully to her feet, she had caught sight of Neville's prone form, the weight that had collided with her, knocked her down. "N - Neville?"
"He's dead, Hermione," Ron said heavily.
Hermione's eyes were dry and burning, fixed on the body; she could not believe it. Neville - dancing with Ginny, babying his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, returning to Hogwarts after graduation to lead the students in insurrection - it was unthinkable that he could be dead that quickly, without warning or farewell. Ron was still holding her as if he'd never let her go again, but his cold stare was fixed toward the main fight, which was now beginning to wind down, the humans clearly the victors. There was no sign of the goblin that had been carrying the parchments, and the tapesty now flapped emptily behind them.
The lone Enforcer, who had fired was still standing there, wand arm limp at her side, hood down, staring at Neville in horror.
"Parvati?" Hermione's voice was a disbelieving squeak. Ron's ears began to slowly turn red.
The remaining Patil took a step back, as if driven by their censure.
"It was - it was a job… I - I thought it was just a job."
"You were using Avada Kedavra?" It was both like and unlike a question, and there was no accusation there, just disbelief.
"They - they said you couldn't Stun a goblin - that - that it wouldn't work… I - I wasn't trying to - I didn't - " Tears were streaming down her face, coating her cheeks like shiny lacquer.
"I suppose you are skilled," Hermione said calmly, after a moment. "Harry did train you, after all."
A sob burst from Parvati at the mention of Harry's name.
"I didn't know - I didn't think it - "
"Yes," Hermione interrupted, seeming to cordially agree. Her voice was lifeless enough to give Ron the creeps. "You didn't think, did you?"
She turned, woodenly, Disillusioned Neville, and Levitated his body from the floor.
"Let's go, Ron. Tell Malfoy to have fun with his new toy," she directed the jibe over her shoulder at Parvati.
"Hermione, please." The plea escaped from Parvati's lips among the faint weeping.
Hermione didn't turn around, moving automatically toward the side entrance, waving her wand disinterestedly to direct Neville. Ron thought she looked for all the world like a living Inferius. Somehow, he felt awful, hollow at the thought of leaving Parvati alone there, swallowed whole by the knowledge of what she'd done and that she could never go back, never undo it. Then, he saw Neville's hovering corpse, and wasn't sure who to loathe - or to blame.
"Hermione, maybe we should - "
"She's made her choice," Hermione looked over her shoulder at Parvati one time, her eyes as cool and impersonal as glacial ice. "And it's cost her everything, hasn't it?" Something in Ron's face must have stricken Hermione, for her own features softened. "Come on," she amended. "We can put him by his Gran. He'd like that, don't you think?"
"Here," Ron said, holding the door open by way of reply. "Let me help too."
TBC
Sorry for the delay on this one. My muse abandoned me completely, but after I chained her to a chair and threatened to withhold chocolate, she was a little more cooperative.
Hope everyone is still interested, and hopefully, the next chapter won't be quite so long in coming.
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.
lorien
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