Chapter 158 – Into the Summer Daily Prophet Article Excerpts

Ministry Hero Harry Potter and his wife, Ginny Weasley Potter announced the birth of their daughter, Lily Luna, yesterday. Mother and daughter are said to be doing well and resting at home in Godric‟s Hollow. Harry Potter, Head of the Office of Aurors, is best known as the wizard who stopped the evil of You Know Who on two separate occasions. For the past few years, he‟s played a vital role in thwarting several serious challenges to the Ministry, including helping stop an invasion by forces unknown last March. Ginny Potter, a former all-star Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies is the senior Quidditch correspondent for this newspaper and is in line for a journalism prize for her extraordinary expose of the Chudley Cannons use of Felix potions over their recent unprecedented winning streak. Lily Luna Potter is the third child for the couple, joining her brothers, James Sirius and Albus Severus.

Hermione Granger Weasley, Director of Legislative Affairs for the Ministry of Magic and daughter-in-law to the Minister of Magic, announced the birth of her second child with husband Ronald Bilius Weasley, a Senior Auror Team Leader in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mother and child are said to be resting well in the family home in Godric‟s Hollow. Mrs. Weasley is best known for her revolutionary legislative wins that emancipated the house-elves and eliminated blood purity as a basis of land ownership and citizen‟s rights. Her husband has just been awarded his third Order of Merlin, First Class for his role during the recent invasion by forces unknown last March. The baby, Hugo Arthur Weasley is the couple‟s second child, joining his sister, Rose Molly.

The International Confederation of Wizards announced today that long-time General Secretary Gabner Yakov has retired, saying that he wanted to spend more time with his family. In a break with a thousand years of tradition, recently appointed Ministry of Magic delegate Domina Hopkins Malfoy was unanimously elected as General Secretary, marking the first time that a Briton has held the prestigious post. “We are ushering in a new era of prosperity and growth for the international wizarding community and I intend to push this august body towards change for a new century.” Said Mrs. Malfoy, who is the wife of shipping scion Draco Malfoy. When asked about the appointment of his longtime legislative rival, the Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley said, “We are extremely excited about Mrs. Malfoy‟s appointment. She brings a decisive edge to the position and we look forward to working with her in promoting global harmony among the wizarding nations.” Minister Weasley had no comment as to his often contentious relationship with the new General Secretary during his pro-muggle legislative push in the Wizengamot. Gabner Yakov could not be reached for comment and was rumored to have already left for a comfortable retirement in America.

*** June is the sunniest time of the year in Godric‟s Hollow. It was a sleepy, rural town in the southwest of England, in the heart of the West Country, very near the Bristol Channel. Its proximity to the channel made for very mild temperatures and bright, blue sunny days in the summer. When the International Statute of Secrecy was passed in 1689, the peaceful village saw an influx of wizarding families to the area that became intermixed with the magic-friendly muggles of the area. Located in the most wizard-tolerant region of England, it was within a very short drive of Ottery St. Catchpole. The center of the village, there was a square, with a post office, a pub and a church with a graveyard behind it. In the middle of the square, there was an old war memorial that transformed to wizard‟s eyes into a memorial to a young couple‟s defiance to the Dark Lord and their eventual sacrifice to save the life of their infant

son during the attack that destroyed their nearby home. For the most part, Godric‟s Hollow was a quiet town. That quiet was shattered by the drone of a high performance engine. The car was a 1969 Pontiac GTO painted a bright matador red with goldenrod yellow trim. Harry kept his speed down as he maneuvered through the square, but the car itself let its presence be known as the 350 engine growled like a chained beast tugging at its bonds. The convertible top was down and Ron Weasley in the passenger seat could barely contain his grin as car exited the square and made its way to the coast road. Once clear of the town, Harry gunned the engine and the car practically leapt forward, the caged beast unleashed on the unsuspecting twists and turns of the rural country lane. In the back seat, Arthur Weasley stood up and let the wind over the windscreen push on his cheeks as he echoed his son‟s unremitting laughter as Harry put the car through its paces. “Faster, Harry!” Arthur urged his son-in-law on and Harry was more than happy to oblige. Tapping on the accelerator, Harry drove the muscle-car forward, into the Exmoor National Park, and onto the road atop the bluffs overlooking the Bristol Channel. The heavy car strained as Harry took the twists and the turns as the seascape raced by. Eventually, they came to an parking area, with access to a scenic overlook and Harry pulled into the rest area and shut the car down. “That‟s utterly brilliant! I think I like it better than Sirius‟ motorbike. Are you going to charm it to fly?” Ron was out of breath from the experience. “I don‟t think so. The car seems to fly as it is.” Harry was positively giddy. The car had been a present from the American Ambassador to the Ministry of Magic in appreciation for Harry‟s role in the recent war. “It‟s extraordinary, Harry. I must say, I can‟t think of a better gift.” Arthur‟s hair was in wild disarray from being buffeted by the winds from the car‟s progress through the country side. “Thanks, Arthur.” Harry lightly caressed the steering wheel and tapped on the three speed gear shift. “Can I drive?” Ron looked at Harry eagerly, rubbing his hands together. Harry was a little anxious. Recently, Ron had failed his driver‟s license examination three times in a row. He could drive forward and turn fairly well, but his parallel parking left a lot to be desired, not to mention the damage that was done to the examiner‟s vehicles. Harry looked at the avaricious face of his friend and tried to distract him. “How‟s the new house coming along, Ron? Any trouble with your muggle neighbors?” Harry hoped he‟d shifted his friend‟s attention to another topic. “It‟s great, Harry. We‟ve got Rose‟s room all set and Hugo‟s nursery is just about done. I still have to get some more Cannon‟s posters.” Harry‟s gamble paid off, because now Ron was fixated on the new addition to his family, his son Hugo. “You‟re still going to follow the Cannons after everything that‟s happened?” Harry‟s wife, Ron‟s sister, Ginny was the senior Quidditch reporter for the Daily Prophet and had uncovered a scandal regarding the Chudley Cannons, who had been perennial losers, but had gone on an unprecedented winning streak of late. It turned out that they‟d been using Felix potions to gain an edge over their competition. The team had been stripped of its titles and its coach fired on the spot. Growing up, Ron had been an unswerving supporter of the Cannons, despite their losing ways and had not given up on his team.

“I‟m still not convinced that they did it. I love my sister, but what if they only thought they were taking the potion? It worked for me.” When Ron was struggling as the keeper for the Gryffindor team, Harry had tricked him into believing he‟d taken a Felix potion, when he had not. Ron was willing to give his beloved Cannons the benefit of the doubt. His loyalty was one of the qualities that Harry admired most about his friend. Instead of pressing the point further, Harry turned to Arthur. “Have we heard from the goblins at all?” Arthur Weasley had granted the goblins certain rights during the Leclerc crisis, including the use of wands. During the battle‟s nadir, the goblins had disappeared, leaving the Ministry Army at its most desperate hour. “No one has seen a goblin since the battle. They‟ve simply disappeared. Raimundo Baretto has taken over running Gringott‟s but the goblins removed their security charms and recreating some semblance of security is taking quite a while. Fleur and Bill are working as hard as they can to help. We‟re fortunate that Fleur is such an exceptional witch. Dean and Isabella are overseeing the work and Dennis‟ team is providing extra security.” Arthur leaned back in his seat, allowing the midday sun to wash over him. Harry nodded and thought back to the Tri-wizard Tournament. Fleur had been selected by the Beauxbaton‟s to represent them in the tournament and was, by all accounts, a very accomplished witch. “Do you think that the goblins will give us trouble, Dad?” Ron had exited the car and was seated on the hood, looking out over the sea. “Who knows, Ron. No one has ever really understood what motivates the goblins. I really made a mistake on that one. My opponents in the Wizengamot are having a field day with that one.” Arthur Weasley had always been a humble man and one that did not want the position he held, but Harry had never seen him so nakedly dumbstruck at being so wrong with one of his decisions. The goblin issue was one that had rocked the Minister to the core. “Speaking of your opponents, Dad, what about Domina Malfoy? I didn‟t expect you to push her for the General Secretary role. Won‟t she be a problem?” Domina had been one of the most vocal foes to Arthur‟s policies. Now, she was the head of the international wizarding body, mostly due to Arthur‟s insistence. “No, Ron. Of that, I‟m sure. Something‟s changed in Domina. She‟s been a true partner. Oh, we have our differences, but I can safely say that real change is occurring in Xanadu and she‟s been the catalyst. At the very least, we won‟t have a dark army on our soil bent on genocide anytime soon.” Arthur chuckled to himself. “From what Hestia tells me, Domina has got those people on their toes. She‟s truly in her element.” The three sat for a while in silence, grateful for the fellowship and for the lack of any real pressing crises. A flicker of movement in the summer sky caught Harry‟s eye and his hand drifted to his jeans pocket where he‟d stashed his wand. Ron caught his movements and made for his own wand and a sense of dread came over them for a brief second. Harry realized that he was holding his breath, the terror and fear of the past few years overwhelming his judgment. Soon, the black image in the sky resolved itself into the shape and form of an owl. Specifically, it was a golden owl, its body cast in shadow by the sun. Harry and Ron shared a brief laugh, but Harry wondered how long the black terror of combat would take to go away and then his mind drifted to the other warriors who‟d been with him. All must be going through the same trauma as he. “It‟s only Helios.” Harry said in a relieved voice. Helios was the owl Ginny had purchased to replace Hedwig. The owl drifted in the light air currents and then alit softly on the top of the GTO‟s windscreen. Firmly affixed to his leg was a note, with the seal of the Office of Aurors. Harry‟s hand swept up and removed the letter, while passing a treat that he carried in the car to the bird. He broke the wax seal and read the letter.

“What is it, Harry?” Ron didn‟t see a overly concerned look on Harry‟s face as he read the letter. “A witch has disappeared from her home in Tinworth and there‟s been a rash of burglaries from homes in Upper Flagley. Lachlan is dispatching Williamson‟s team to look into the robberies and your team is next in the rotation, so you can look into the disappearance.” Harry carefully folded the note and jammed it into his back pocket. He sighed and looked back out to the calm waters of the channel. “It looks like it‟s time to go back to work.” Harry watched as Ron leapt over the door and slid into the passenger seat. With practiced ease, Harry turned over the key in the ignition switch and gunned the engine. “Arthur, you‟re closest, so I‟ll drop you off first.” Ron‟s home was within walking distance of the Potter‟s new residence. The car thrummed from Harry‟s application of the gas pedal and the peaceful quiet was interrupted by the strong, steady sound of the car‟s classic engine. Ron whipped his head over to Harry. “Can I drive?” His words were lost as Harry pealed out of the rest area and took off down the road. Chapter 159 – Gringott‟s Gold (or the Return of Isabella Ramirez) As a muggle, the woman should not have been here, in the center of Diagon Alley. She wasn‟t the parent of a wizard or witch, nor, as of this moment, was she married to a wizard. That was still to come. Even so, she shouldn‟t have been there on business, much less on Ministry of Magic business, yet, there she was, carrying out a profoundly important task at the behest of the Minister of Magic himself. She walked with a rapid gait, easily sidestepping more casual walkers. She had rich, luscious black hair that bounced about her shoulders as she strode down the path. Her tanned, mocha skin contrasted nicely with her light yellow sundress. She glanced about her warily, her light brown eyes taking in everyone and everything like a predatory cat stalking her jungle abode. The seriousness of her face was masked behind her full, red lips and bright white teeth that shone in a smile that melted more than one gaze of a casual passer by. As she neared her destination, her smile grew wider as she spied a tall, dark skinned man calmly leaning against a white, marble pillar down the way. He spied her immediately and his smile could be easily seen. He stood straight and walked down the steps of the building, where he‟d been waiting for her. The sign on the veranda above read “Gringott‟s Bank”. Gringott‟s, the wizard bank, was located in the center of Diagon Alley, not far from its intersection with Knockturn Alley. It was an imposing white marble building with large bronze double doors at its entrance. In the past, patrons would have walked between two goblins standing on either side of the door, but today, the man had been flanked by two members of the Ministry‟s Hit Team, carrying Probity Probes. Spying the woman approaching, he raised a hand in greeting and they met in the center of the alley. His lips sprang forward of their own volition and he kissed her hard, right in the middle of the crowd. She growled under her breath and pushed him back, as he smiled at her with a devilish look in his eyes. “Dean, easy there acho! You look like the perro con huele carne! We‟ve got work to do so cool off.” Isabella Ramirez‟s had very little venom in her voice, after all, the kiss had been nice and she was a flamboyant personality, but she also was an extremely professional and ruthless person when it came to doing her job, that‟s what made her so good at it. For the past several years, practically the duration of Arthur Weasley‟s administration, she‟d been the

Controller of the Ministry‟s finances, unraveling centuries of mismanagement and graft and driving the administration into a surplus. This had provided Arthur with some much needed political capital to further his progressive agenda, up to the invasion that had been kicked off by the International Confederation of Wizards. The war had another unintended consequence. In the course of rallying the goblins to his cause, Arthur had granted emancipation to them, including the use of wands. In the midst of the battle, the goblins had suddenly disappeared. Their retreat from the battlefield was mirrored by their retreat from general wizarding society, including the goblin-run institution of Gringott‟s. Now, Dean, who was the Exchequer for the Ministry and Isabella were part of the team that was trying to build the goblin bank back into a secure place for the public‟s finances. Dean grinned unabashedly, his understanding of the Puerto Rican dialect had become better and better and her retort brought a chuckle. “Bow wow, baby.” He winked and then led her into the front entrance to the bank. The main lobby was highlighted by a long bank of teller positions that normally held hundreds of goblins who were responsible for serving the needs of their customers. Most of the teller positions were closed while the rest were manned by the wizarding staff that had worked at the bank. In the center, there was a round, mahogany information desk and several people were congregated in front of it. Dean and Isabella walked up to the throng and shook hands all around. “Hello, Raimundo. Dennis.” Dean shook hands with Raimundo Baretto, the senior wizard official of the bank and nodded over to Dennis Creevey, whose Ministry Hit Team was providing the bulk of the physical security for the premises. Off to the side, Fleur and Bill Weasley were engaged in a heated dialogue with an older wizard, who was complaining about something. Isabella leaned in to hear what was going on. “Madam, as I told you, even with the goblins departing, your vault is secure and accessible. If you will only be patient, we will have someone take you down to it.” Bill was dressed in an impeccable three piece, gray worsted wool suit which contrasted with his long pony tail and ear rings. The horrible scars, remnants of his encounter with Fenrir Greyback, were painfully evident. The woman seemed to pay no heed to his words. “I have come here for almost a hundred years, young man, and I have never seen the service so poor.” Her voice came out as a wheeze and she gripped a bent, black cane tightly. “I‟m sorry for the inconvenience, Madam, truly.” Bill‟s eyes swept around and he raised his arm. A young wizard loped over. “Tom? Will you take Mrs. Tierney down to Vault 705?” Somewhat mollified the old woman gave a huff and followed the young wizard towards the entrances to the vault catacombs. Bill gave a sigh of relief and walked over to where Dean was standing with the rest. “Sorry about that, it‟s been a nightmare ever since the goblins left. Hello Dean. Hello Isabella.” Bill shook hands with them and Fleur leaned in and kissed both on both cheeks. “Why don‟t we go into the conference room?” Despite the obvious manic nature of the lobby, Fleur, as always, looked stunning. Her long, blonde hair was in neat an in place and her eyes danced with merriment. Raimundo nodded and agreement and led them to one of the conference rooms off the main lobby.

Once inside, they took up seats around an oblong, oak conference table and they all began to open attaché cases and pull rolls of parchment and ledgers out. Once seated, Dean looked around the table and began the meeting. “So, where are we?” Raimundo let out a long breath and then leaned his elbows on the table. He was a slightly built man, the complete image of a banker, complete with mourning suit and tails. He had a slight jaw and a pencil-thin mustache over his tanned skin. He had a full head of jet black hair and a pair of silver, wire rimmed glasses perched on his angular nose. He cleared his throat and Dean wondered for the umpteenth time how a man like him could capture the heart of a wild woman like Adelina Baretto. He felt an intense pressure on his toe and looked down to find the heel of Isabella‟s shoe pressing down on his foot. He looked over at her, questioningly. “Bastante! They are a wonderful couple and she loves him, that‟s all there is to it.” She whispered in his ear. He looked at her in amazement. How had she known what he was thinking? He turned to face Raimundo, more attentive now. “Well, we have access to all the vaults. The last goblin to leave removed the touch charms to the lower levels so all of them can be opened. Dennis‟ team has performed remarkably well in providing security, but there simply isn‟t enough of them.” Raimundo nodded over to Dennis. The Hit Team Leader leaned forward in his chair. His muscular frame seemed to dwarf the table, as if leaning on it would cause it to tip over. Dennis looked exhausted, but managed a helpful smile. “Mr. Baretto is right, Dean. I only forty wizards and witches and we still have our commitments to the Ministry. We‟re operating at a skeleton staff as it is. We need help.” Dean nodded and looked at the others. “Well, we always knew we‟d have to hire a permanent security staff.” He looked around. “Maybe we should call William Manchester. There‟s hundreds of veterans of the war around who could be taught basic security protocols. That would solve our manpower problem.” There were nods around the table and then Isabella spoke up. “That‟s a good idea, mi amor, but we‟d have to hire a security director to lead them.” She looked around the table. “Any ideas?” Several names were suggested and then Dean sat up and smiled. He looked at Isabella. “What about Seamus?” “Finnegan?” Dennis blurted out. “Why not? He was a constable in Dublin and I don‟t think he‟s gone back since the war‟s been over.” He leaned over and whispered to Isabella. “Not with Padma living here in London.” “I don‟t see why not. At the very least, Seamus is trustworthy and the man is interesting to have around.” Bill chuckled, recalling the exploits of the diminutive Irishman. “Then it‟s settled. What else, Raimundo?” Dean brought the meeting back on track. “Well, as I said before, we have access to the vault levels, but not to any of the others, like the security levels. We have no idea what‟s been left behind in the way of traps and guard creatures, and I‟m hesitant to send anyone down there to find out.” Baretto shrugged his shoulders apologetically and then continued. “Fleur and Bill have been rebuilding the charms and spells within the vaults themselves with their team. It‟s tedious because there are certain things we simply can‟t duplicate. We‟re basically starting from scratch. When we get a

security director in place, we can also begin supplying the vault levels with guard creatures like wolves and sphinxes, but until then, Dennis‟ team has had to work foot patrol and the caverns are too vast for complete coverage.” “You mentioned that the goblins hadn‟t shut down the levels between the accessible levels, Raimundo. Are you saying that they might have left surprises for us?” Isabella was beginning to understand the magnitude of their task. “I can‟t say. The foremost experts on goblins are in this room and we simply don‟t know why they left and what they might have been up to.” Raimundo sat back and sipped on a glass of water. “One thing about the goblins, they were meticulous record keepers.” Bill spoke up. “We have very accurate inventory scrolls from the vaults. We started an inventory of our own to cross check their accuracy. We should have something within the hour.” Isabella whistled at the statement. There were thousands of vaults in a score of tiers which made the task monumental. “How are doing that?” “Well, a full inventory would take months, so we‟re doing samples from each tier and comparing it to the notes.” Isabella nodded and sat back. Just then, a young, thin witch who seemed to just out of Hogwarts entered the room and handed a stack of parchment to Fleur. After a few minutes of scanning the papers, she handed them to her husband who also reviewed them. Bill‟s brow furled into an inscrutable knot. “What is it?” Dean looked at Bill‟s expression and knew the news couldn‟t be good. “These are the results of the preliminary inventory. See for yourself.” Bill passed the papers over to Dean and Isabella, who scanned them. “Is this right?” Isabella sighed in concern. Bill‟s head nodded as he grasped his wife‟s hand. “Dios mio! We‟d better tell Harry and the Minister.” She rose quickly with Dean. Dean looked over to Raimundo, who had not seen the findings. “Raimundo, you‟d better find a way to start getting everyone out of here and then shut down. We need to get the Aurors here as soon as possible. We have a serious problem.” *** Ron disapparated in the middle of a quaint central square of the village of Tinworth. He looked around and saw one his team members standing in front of a small cottage off the square. He adjusted the collar of his robes and began walking towards the front of the house. “Hello Bryan.” Ron greeted the tall Auror standing at the front gate of the residence. Bryan Gardner was a recent training graduate, one of the three, including Silas and Mortimer. He had been a Slytherin at Hogwarts and Ron had almost disqualified him then and there based on that until Harry reminded Ron that Silas had been a Slytherin. That pretty much closed the argument. Gardner was tall, well over six and a half feet and lanky. He had brown hair that hugged his head in tight, small curls. He had a hook nose and a runner‟s physique and a perpetual smile.

“How are you, boss? Everybody‟s inside. I pulled security on this one.” Ron nodded and tugged on the strap of his satchel. “Who got here first?” Ron looked around the outside of the cottage, looking for obvious signs of disturbance. “Mortimer took the call. The lady who lives here is named Leslie Bosco. She‟s owns a jewelry shop over on Vendira Avenue. Her employees set off the Auror alert when she didn‟t come into work. One of them came here and found the house in disarray.” Ron nodded at Bryan and then patted him on the shoulder. He opened the gate of the white picket fence and walked up the path to the arched wooden front door. One of the problems with dealing with crime in the wizarding world was the relative slow methods of communicating with the Ministry to call for help. Dudley Dursley had made a suggestion to Harry, based on the Aurors‟ use of jinxes on the Unforgiveable Curses. The universal emergency telephone number to summon police or firefighters in England was 9-9-9. So, Dudley thought, why not jinx 999? Whenever a wizard or witch in trouble cried out “9,9,9” in sequence, the jinx would trip alerts in the Office of Aurors, including the location of who cried out. In that manner, response times in emergencies would be shortened. There had been issues, like the unfortunate couple who lived at 999 Market Place in Godric‟s Hollow who were constantly being visited by Aurors as they told people their address. It had been especially embarrassing for the man of the house, who, on the last time the Aurors visited had been giving a special lady friend the address because his wife was out of town. For the most part, the system worked exceptionally well. Ron walked through the door and was immediately struck by the disarray throughout the house. Tables and chairs were upended, dishes were broken, and large holes were in the floor where the cherry floorboards had been ripped up. Ron looked around and took in the scene. “Mortimer?” Ron called out to the young Auror whose voice Ron to one of the back rooms. When Ron entered the room, Mortimer, Silas and Betsy Cain, another one of Ron‟s Aurors were huddled around a gaping hole in the mortar wall at the far end of the room. Mortimer and Silas were clad in their black Auror robes with their new shields of office firmly in place. Because of their role in the recent war, Harry had decided to forego the remainder of their training and make them full fledged Aurors. This was because of their efforts in the war, to be sure, but also because, Harry had found himself having to fill holes left by the loss of eight of his thirty two Aurors in the fighting. Still, Ron thought to himself, Silas and Mortimer had earned their shields and he was glad to have them on his team. “What‟ve you got, besides what Bryan told me?” Ron looked around and stared at the hole the team was inspecting. “Well, sir,” Mortimer, as the first on the scene took the lead. “Ms. Bosco lived alone and from what we can tell, she was taken. There‟s no blood or other obvious signs of injury in the house. It looks like someone was looking for something. There are holes like this throughout the house and it seems that Ms. Bosco had safes in these holes. You can tell by the bolt heads that have been sheared off. Someone simply ripped them from their mountings and made off with them.” Ron nodded. “She owned a jewelry store in Vendira Avenue, right?” Ron watched as the three nodded. “We might want to check with her employees to see if she kept any of her inventory at her home. Anything else?”

Mortimer checked his notebook. “Well, none of the neighbors heard anything which is not surprising. She kept to herself and rarely had guests. We‟ve really got nothing to go on until we find out what‟s missing. That‟ll tell us why she was targeted.” Ron agreed with assessment and gave the matter some further thought. “We have to see if she was the target as well, cover that avenue of investigation. Find out if she had any family, see if there was something in her past that would give us a clue as to why anyone would want to take her.” “Yes, sir.” Mortimer‟s mouth turned up in a wry grin. Ron shuddered, but couldn‟t help but finding out why. “All right, what is it, Mortimer?” “Um, sir. Are you sure she was a jewelry store owner?” Mortimer managed to keep his face in check while Silas turned to face the wall, his shoulders obviously shaking from his controlled laughter. Betsy, new to the team and still in awe of her famous team leader, looked incredulously at the two men. “Yes, Mortimer, why?” “Well sir. Silas was thinking, well, we have to cover all avenues, right?” Ron nodded. “Are you sure she wasn‟t your driver‟s license examiner?” Ron rolled his eyes. “And, why, pray tell, would you say that?” Mortimer tried valiantly to keep his straight face. “Because sir, it looks like you tried to parallel park inside her house.” Ron‟s face turned beat red while Mortimer and Silas broke into side twisting laughter. Chapter 160 – Candlesticks and Picture Frames Ginny Potter lolled away gently in the antique wooden rocking chair set up in the sitting room of their new home. The chair was made of fine redwood and was a gift to the Potter‟s from Stanley Greenberg when Lily Luna was born. Said baby was nestled tightly in the crook of her mother‟s arm. Ginny looked down and smiled at her daughter. Tiny, thin wisps of dark red hair covered her otherwise bald head and her lids covered a pair of brilliant emerald eyes. Ginny leaned back and continued her rhythmic swaying and smiled. Only a few weeks old, little Lily was the apple of her father‟s eye. Ginny smirked at how easily Harry became enraptured at every gurgle and every breath the baby made. “You‟re going to give your father fits, I think, young lady.” Ginny chuckled, her mind‟s eye imagining the worry her daughter would cause Harry, and relishing the thought. Ginny‟s eyes wandered about the room. It was large and airy, which pretty much summed up the house itself. They had made the difficult decision to buy a new home once their ever burgeoning family added its newest member. The home sat on a large plot, surrounded by an ivy covered wrought iron fence. The house itself was Georgian style, a symmetrically perfect rectangle covered in aged red brick. It had white borders around the two stories of windows and high, peaked dormers poking up from the shingled roof. Off to the side of the house was a large, barn-like garage and it had a solid, oak front door painted a flat matte black. Ginny absolutely loved the house. The Burrow, where she‟d grown up, was the picture of chaos, with overhanging levels and precarious looking construction, but this house was solid, established. It fit her sense of order in the world and she loved decorating it.

As she looked around the sitting room, she paused at the great, stone fireplace on the far wall. There seemed to something amiss with the mantle. Gently, she rose from her chair and carefully placed Lily in the bassinet resting beneath the ornate picture window. Lily was a sound sleeper and barely moved. Ginny walked closer to the fire place and the called out in a whisper. “Kreacher?” The ubiquitous Potter house-elf walked into the room. Usually, he would apparate in place in order to meet his mistress‟ call more rapidly, but he refrained from adding the loud noise of movement to the room when the baby was sleeping. “Yes, mistress?” Kreacher stole a quick glance at Lily, checking on the child‟s well being. Satisfied, he returned his gaze to Ginny. It hadn‟t taken much cajoling to convince Kreacher to move with them. Over the years, he‟d slowly transferred his dedication from the house on Grimmauld Place to Harry, then to Ginny and finally to the three Potter children. Kreacher made it a point that where the children were, he would follow and so he found himself a member of the Potter family and now standing with Ginny. “Did you happen to see where my mother‟s candlestick got to?” Molly Weasley had given them a pair of antique silver candlesticks as a housewarming present. One stood valiantly on the mantle, while the other was no where to be seen. “No, Mistress Ginny. Kreacher has not seen the gifts from Mistress‟ parents since yesterday. Kreacher has allowed a valuable artifact to disappear! Bad Kreacher! Bad Kreacher!” The house-elf, mindful of the baby sleeping in the room began to pinch his hand frightfully while yelling in a wheezy whisper. “Kreacher! Stop that!” Ginny was visibly annoyed. “It must have been misplaced.” Kreacher had stopped his self-flaggelation and looked around the room. A small, child-sized broom sat in the corner. “Perhaps Master James was flying again and thought it was a quaffle?” Ginny thought for a minute. “Any other day, I‟d agree with you, but James is with George and Verity at the shop. I don‟t think he‟s had an opportunity to cause any mischief.” “He is with the George Weasley wizard, mistress.” Kreacher said disapprovingly. “Well, I mean, he hasn‟t had any opportunity to cause mischief here. I can‟t speak for where his.” She smiled, but then a cross expression came to her face as she began to search around the room for the missing candlestick. *** “Dudley?” Beatrice Dursley called from where she sat on a comfortable chair, her feet resting in a matching ottoman. Her return from the war with both herself and her husband injury free had been a partial cause of her current condition. Beatrice was only six months pregnant, yet her protruding belly seemed to be that of a woman about ready to give birth. Petunia, her mother-in-law, had insisted on her going to a muggle doctor and the resultant ultrasound had shown that Beatrice and Dudley Dursley were well on their way to being the proud parents of twins. The doctor had recommended that Beatrice stay off of her feet as much as possible and so she‟d taken a sabbatical from her job at Flourish and Blott‟s and between Dudley and Petunia, was being waited upon hand and foot.

Dudley had adjusted his work hours to be home early afternoons and so he walked into the living room. “Bea, I‟m sorry. We are not going to call one of them Aloysius. I like strong names and I don‟t know why we can‟t name at least the boy after someone we know.” “I know, dear, but naming the boy George Lee Dursley is simply tempting fate. At least we‟re together on the girl‟s name.” They had settled on Molly Petunia for the girl‟s name. “That‟s not why I called for you, though.” “Oh, what is it? Everything all right? Do you have enough pillows?” Beatrice smiled at his concern. She often wondered about the stories from his child hood that she‟d heard when Dudley and Harry spoke. It was hard to believe that a child so ill-tempered could become one of the sweetest men she knew. Her mind drifted to her parents. They still didn‟t speak to her or her husband. Surprisingly, her sister Domina had started corresponding with the both of them on a consistent basis, but for the most part, the Hopkins family had practically written off the pure-blood woman who had married a muggle. If there was anyone that needed to tempered by a Dementer, it was her parents. “I‟m fine, but I was wondering if you‟d seen that nice brass picture frame my sister sent us? I wanted to put it out for the babies‟ picture. I thought it was in that side table drawer, but it‟s not there.” Dudley looked puzzled and like a man, walked up to the drawer and inspected its contents for the frame, despite just having been told by his wife that she‟d already checked there. Beatrice laughed, despite herself. “I haven‟t seen it.” Dudley looked around the room a bit more. “Maybe, it‟s upstairs?” Beatrice seemed perplexed and shrugged her shoulders. “I‟ll go check upstairs and see if I can find it.” Dudley made for the door to the living room. “Dudley?” He stopped and let out an inaudible groan. He knew what was coming. “When you go by the kitchen, could you perhaps bring me some chocolate pudding?” “Is that all, chocolate pudding?” Dudley felt a slight bit of hope, maybe, just maybe, she would have a sane request this time. “Well, if it‟s not too much trouble, maybe you could top it with mayonnaise, cherries and cinnamon.” She looked at him sheepishly, batting her pale blue eyes at him. He turned around to hide his own rolling eyes and then walked towards the kitchen, wondering how he‟d keep his stomach from turning inside out from the request. *** Harry walked into the conference room and circled around the large table to its head. Seated to his right, he saw Raimundo Baretto, Isabella, Dean and surprisingly, Seamus Finnegan. Bill and Fleur sat at the end of the table. On his left, Lachlan McCrary, Cavendish and Dennis Creevey politely waited until he was seated before taking their own seats. “All right, Isabella, what seems to be the problem?‟ Isabella passed over two separate sheets of parchment and placed them carefully in front of Harry. “We have been conducting a random inventory of the items in the vaults and matching them with the inventory sheets left behind by the goblins.” Harry studied the sheets as she walked them through her findings.

She continued, “On the right, you‟ll see the original inventory for the random vaults we sampled and on the left, you‟ll see the results of our inventories.” Harry scrutinized the sheets, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Slowly, he began to notice slight discrepancies in the lists. They weren‟t glaring, the items seemed trivial and random. “Vault 544, 6 Gold napkin holders” from the original list. “Vault 544, 5 Gold napkin holders” from the updated inventory. “Vault 771, 1 Steel cavalry saber with jewel encrusted scabbard” Original “Vault 771, 1 Steel cavalry saber” Updated The pattern went on and on. Three forks missing from a set of twenty or one hand missing from a large, grandfather clock. Harry looked up at the bankers in front of him and held up the sheets. “What does this mean? Is there a pattern I‟m missing?” Harry looked back at the sheets, trying to piece together the mystery. Dean cleared his throat. “Look closely at the original inventory. Pick out one of the missing items and look closely at the original entry for that item.” Harry centered his focus on one of the higher vault numbers which corresponded to a deeper location within the bank. Traditionally, these vaults had higher levels of security, belonging to more affluent customers. “Vault 947, Silver Chamber Pot”. On the surface, Harry hadn‟t seen anything out of the ordinary. Then he noticed some smaller writing next to the entry. “10-13-1547 HK” “What‟s this small writing next to the listing?” Harry looked down towards Bill. “If the item was forged by a goblin, that metal worker puts the date and his initials on the item.” Bill offered. Harry nodded and checked other items on the list. “Vault 645, Steel Spurs, 5-29-1621 CK” “Vault 112, Gold Tie Pin, 11-08-1932 FK” “They all end with the initial „K‟, does that mean something?” Harry looked around the table, then he had an inspiration. “Does this mean that these items were stolen by goblins?” “We don‟t know that, but it‟s a distinct possibility.” Raimundo spoke up. “Goblin names do not necessarily denote a family name. The last name in a goblin name usually reflects a clan‟s metal style. Forge, Anvil or Gold are common ones. „K‟ is a very unusual one, because its metal style is very rare. „K‟ stands for Kiln. Articles made by Kiln goblins are very hard to find. “But why the randomness of the items stolen? One fork here or one spoon there, it doesn‟t make any sense, why not take the entire set?” Harry‟s mind tried to wrestle with the implications of what he was hearing.

Bill spoke up again. “When goblins makes something, they don‟t make sets. The metal will tell them what it will be. They may make a fork and then set it aside for decades until the metal they forge let‟s them make a match and it may take centuries for a set to be created.” “So every item in a set is unique?” Harry watched as they all nodded. “So we think that the goblins have taken these things. How did they get in? I thought we‟d changed all the security protocols.” “We have, Harry, but first off, we‟re strapped for manpower.” Dennis smiled apologetically. “Seamus here has been brought on by Raimundo to take over the permanent security detail. Secondly, we simply don‟t know what back doors the goblins left in place. There are whole levels we don‟t have access to.” Harry nodded again and then turned to Lachlan who was deep in thought. “Harry, there‟s been a rash of robberies that we‟ve been looking into that fit this pattern. I would assume it‟s the goblins, but no one has seen any of them since the war. Ron has picked up the disappearance of a witch in Tinworth who sold antique jewelry. I can‟t help but think that it‟s all related. Ron‟s team is following up with her history, but maybe he should concentrate on whether she had any ties to the goblins?” “Makes sense.” Harry turned to Raimundo. “Has this gotten out to the public?” The thin banker shook his head. “When it does, there‟ll be a panic. If we‟re wrong about the goblins, if and when they ever show up again, it could get ugly. I want to keep this under wraps as much as possible, clear?” There were head nods around the table. “I‟ll need to brief the Minister. Lachlan, I want your team to head to Gringott‟s. We need to find out what‟s on those restricted levels. Cavendish? Your team has the prize. Find the goblins. We need to see what they are up to. Leave Williamson on the external robberies and keep Ron on the missing witch.” He rose and the other Aurors rose with him. Isabella studied Harry carefully and then spoke up. “What is it, Harry? What are you thinking?” Harry smiled and a small part of him felt a little sorry for Dean. The woman was perceptive. “I don‟t know. It seems too obvious. I can‟t help but think that the goblins are the obvious straw man for these robberies, and for good reason. Still, I can‟t help but think that we‟re missing something, and I want to find out what it is, right away.” Chapter 161 – The Investigators Williamson daubed the sweat off his brow as the hot, midday sun beat down on his head. He turned and signaled for Leonora and Sean to make their way over to where he was resting. Sarah Jordan was in the middle of a long interview with another crime victim down the lane and the rest of his team was following up with several eyewitness accounts. He was standing underneath an old elm tree that had long, thick branches that overhung a small country lane in the town of Upper Flagley. Unlike other wizarding communities, Upper Flagley had less the feel of an old English village and more of a contemporary suburban layout. The lane was flanked on either side by rows of modern town homes cut from brick and mortar. In each front yard, a large, older leaf-bearing tree had been planted, giving name to the thoroughfare, „Forest Drive‟. Williamson consulted his notebook as his two senior most Aurors walked up.

“More of the same, boss.” Sean read from his own notepad. “Smaller items are missing, mostly items that were goblin-made and stolen right from under their noses.” “What about the time stamps?” Williamson read the list of innocuous items that were taken. Leonora took up from her partner. “Same thing, here. You have a date and initials, with all the initials ending in the letter „K‟. All the items belong to the Kiln Clan.” The tall Auror blew a strand of hair from her face and smiled apologetically. Williamson grunted and then saw Sarah calling for his attention. He motioned for Sean and Leonora to follow and the three Aurors walked over to the tree where Sarah was interviewing a small boy. The boy couldn‟t have been more than six or seven years of age. He was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a tee-shirt emblazoned with the Puddlemere United logo. He was slowly slurping on a Popsicle and smiling from the attention of the pretty lady from the Ministry. He had a full head of straight auburn hair and freckles dotting the entire extent of his face. When he smiled, a prominent gap where his front teeth should have been caused Williamson to chuckle. Soon, he was next to Sarah. “What‟ve you got, Sarah?” Sarah stopped writing in her notebook and gestured to the boy. “This is Harold Null, boss, and he has an interesting story to tell.” Williamson reached down and shook hands with the boy. “All right, Harold, is it? My name is Williamson. I work with Mrs. Jordan here. Did you see something?” Williamson squatted down to bring his face eye level with the boy‟s. Delighted by the extra attention, Harold took another swipe at his frozen treat and then looked at the Auror with a serious expression. “I was playin‟ in my yard over there and I heard a noise over by Mrs. Compton‟s house. I snuck up to the hedge and looked an‟ there were two goblins fightin‟ over a roll of paper towels.” He looked at Willliamson and mistook the senior Auror‟s grimace for disbelief. “Really, I saw them.” “I believe you, Harold. I‟d like you to tell me again, but slowly and I‟m going to ask some questions, okay?” The boy nodded and started over. “Like I said, I was playin‟ in my yard and I heard a noise by Mrs. Compton‟s house.” “What kind of noise?” “It was a crash, like a big explosion, and then some people arguing.” “Okay, what happened next?” “I walked over and hid behind the hedge and looked over the fence to Mrs. Compton‟s yard.” “What did you see?” “There were two goblins in the middle of the yard, and they were pulling on a roll of paper towels and yellin‟ at each other.” Williamson scratched his head and gave his team a lost look. Leonora spoke up. “The roll of paper towels, was it on something?” She looked at the boy with a gentle smile.

“Yeah, it had a metal rod in the middle of it. Come to think of it, they weren‟t really pulling on the paper towels, they were tuggin‟ on the rod.” Leonora looked back at Williamson, who flipped through his list of missing items. There was a paper towel holder on the list. Williamson turned to Harold and smiled. “Harold, did you happen to hear anything they were saying?” “Not much, but I heard a couple of words. One kept sayin‟ „Stop this, you‟ll ruin everythin‟‟ and the other kept sayin‟ „I‟m bound, I‟m bound‟. I don‟t know what else they said, „cause they must have heard me. The one tellin‟ the other to stop disappeared and the other followed right behind.” Williamson stood up and shook the boy‟s hand, ignoring the sticky mess on his fingers. “You‟ve done a great job, Harold. Thanks a lot.” Harold laughed and ran off to his own home. The four Aurors huddled together. Williamson looked at the others. “Well, what do you think?” Sarah, as was becoming customary in Williamson‟s strategy sessions, spoke up first. “Well, we‟ve confirmed some sort of goblin involvement, but not in the way we thought.” Williamson nodded and turned to Sean. “I don‟t know boss. I‟m with Harry on this one, something don‟t feel right. Why would a goblin try to stop another goblin from getting its property back? And what‟s being ruined by taking the stuff in the first place?” Manchester‟s eyes followed Williamson‟s as they looked over to Leonora. After a moment, she closed her notebook. “I‟m stuck on what the one goblin stealing the items said. „I‟m bound, I‟m bound‟. What does that mean? Bound to what?” Sarah piped up. “Better yet, bound to whom?” Williamson took in what his senior team members said and shook his head. “Well, I guess we better get to figuring out what‟s going on with the goblins and with Gringott‟s. I‟m thinking either one will have answers for us.” The others nodded and began to close down their crime scene. *** “You always take us to the best places, Ron.” Mortimer followed directly behind his team leader down the narrow confines of Parliament Street in Exeter. Proclaimed the narrowest street in the world, Parliament Street was barely three feet wide at its smallest point. “Quit your complaining, Mortimer. You could be with Cavendish, traipsing around the foothills of the highlands trying to find goblins.” Ron kept up a steady pace, confident that his team was following close behind. “There is that. Hey Ron, when we get to the Avenue, you want me and Silas to poke around the area, see what we can find out?” “No, Mortimer, you have a better eye for detail. I want you to handle the questioning of Bosco‟s employees. Take Betsy with you.” Ron stopped at a small light post that stuck out from the red brick wall that defined the confines of the “street”. “What about the others?” Mortimer stopped behind Ron.

“Well, if Silas can manage to squeeze his body through here, I was going to pair the rest of them up and have them canvas the Avenue.” Mortimer snorted. “I heard that!” Silas, who was bringing up the rear, called out to his leader. “I‟m just big boned! Whoever heard of a street that had a dress size, anyway?” “Please, Silas, I thought you‟d given up wearing dresses.” Ron laughed at his own joke and then tapped on a brick beneath the lamp post. One by one, they were transported into Vendira Avenue. Vendira Avenue was very much like the wizarding world‟s equivalent of a flea market. Like Diagon Alley, it was completely dedicated to commerce. Its one noticeable difference was that its shops and vending carts mostly carried second or third hand merchandise. On this summer day, it was packed with throngs of bargain hunters, seeking to buy, sell or trade used goods for the best price. Ron allowed a small shudder as he led his team down the center of the main promenade. It was here, so long ago, that he and his team had been introduced to the evil of the Circle and the war that ensued upon their defeat. Like Diagon Alley, commerce seemed to trump adversity and Vendira Avenue seemed to wash away its terrible memories of the past for good old clean bartering. “How far?” Ron asked Mortimer, who pointed to a small storefront near the central plaza of the Avenue. Ron nodded and walked over to the entrance. He turned to his team. “Silas, you and Bryan cover the far end of the Avenue. Nydia, take Randall and cover the area near the entrance. Mortimer and Betsy will take care of the interview and I‟ll be with them. Remember, we‟re looking for background on Leslie Bosco. Try not to give too much away on the goblin angle. Understood?” His question was met by nods and he sent his team on its task. He turned to Mortimer and motioned him towards Bosco‟s store. The front of the store was run down. Vendira Alley consisted of a long row of brick buildings with stores built into their fronts. Each store had a canvas awning and trim painted to match the color of the awning. Ron stared at the “Bosco‟s Fine Jewelry” sign which reflected the rest of the store front. The paint was faded and chipped and the awning had several tears. If the “Open” sign wasn‟t hanging from the door, Ron would have assumed the place was out of business. He nodded to Mortimer, who made for the door, which was in similar disrepair as the rest of the front. The three Aurors walked into the darkened shop. Only a few gas lamps were lit and Ron had to squint to get a good look at the two people standing behind the glass display cases. The wares in the shop matched the look outside. The jewelry in the cases and the polyglot of items on shelves seemed to be well past their useful lives. This wasn‟t an antique shop, it was a junk shop. “Can I help you?” A cracked, older voice belonging to one of the people behind the counter spoke up. He was an older man, stooped by time. His scalp was plainly visible underneath a wispy cap of fine white hair. “Yes, we‟re from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We‟d like to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Leslie Bosco.” Ron allowed Mortimer to take the lead, instead listening and observing the subjects. “Yes sir. I‟m Devon Ratman and this is my wife, Lucy.” He pointed to the other figure behind the counter, a frail, meek looking older woman. “We‟d be more than happy to help you find Ms. Bosco.”

“Thank you Devon. This won‟t take long, we just need to know more about Ms. Bosco, okay?” Ratman nodded shakily. “Good. How long have you and Mrs. Ratman worked for Ms. Bosco?” “Oh, I‟d say almost fifteen years. I used to work for the Ministry of Magic cataloging confiscated items in the Department of Mysteries. You know, flying carpets, time turners and such. When I retired, I came to work for Ms. Bosco and brought Lucy with me.” Mortimer scribbled furiously on his pad. “What was Ms. Bosco like?” “She was pleasant, kind. She seemed more interested in the history of our items, than actually selling anything. She loved to collect things.” He held his arms open, pointing to the eclectic mix useless item strewn about. “From the looks of things, business doesn‟t seem to be doing so well.” Mortimer‟s statement came out as a question. “No, not really. Not until recently, anyway.” Devon looked around the store. “What do you mean?” Mortimer stopped writing and took in the couple in front of him. Devon looked back at his wife and then sighed. “The way it worked was that Ms. Bosco would make the acquisitions and we would sell them. I always thought it was because she just liked shopping. A couple of months ago, she started getting her hands on better items. Some jewelry, some other things, but mostly real quality goblin-made items. They started selling really well. We were making some money, finally.” “Did she ever say where she was getting the items?” Mortimer‟s question reflected Ron‟s own thoughts. “I asked, but she only said that she‟d tapped into a run of good luck. We believed her. Merlin knows, we‟d been on one big run of bad luck.” Devon placed his arm around his wife. “I see. Well, thanks for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Ratman. You‟ve been an immense help.” Mortimer turned to leave, Betsy following his lead. Ron hadn‟t moved and finally walked up to the old man. “I‟m sorry, Mr. Ratman, did Mrs. Bosco have any relatives or friends that we might be able to talk to?” Ron remembered the house. It was the house of someone who lived alone. “Oh no, sir. Ms. Bosco had an uncle, but he died about a year ago. I was always surprised that he did not take care of her. He was a big somebody at the Ministry, but he never did.” Devon spoke with a little harshness. Ron nodded and then turned to follow Mortimer. Before he left, he asked a final question. “Who was her uncle? Maybe I knew him.” “Everyone knew her uncle, he was quite the important person. Her uncle was Cornelius Fudge.” Ron nodded, his lips pursed tightly and led his team from the shop. *** Chapter 162 – The Power of Deductive Reasoning

On a normal summer‟s day, the crowd on the Tube was exceedingly packed with tourists and guests of Great Britain. As the train came into the station, Harry noticed that quite a few were interested in getting off at his destination. He allowed the throng of sandaled visitors to carry him off the train and onto the main platform and then followed the flow up the escalator to the street above. It was late morning and the sun was already high in the bright blue sky. As he left the Underground, he spotted a sign which was obviously placed to help the tourists find their destinations. Harry looked to his left and spotted the entrance to Regent‟s Park and saw a long line of people waiting to enter Madame Tussaud‟s Wax Museum. He chuckled and turned right down Marlybone Road and then turned another right, down the first street he came to. The charming Victorian brownstones were marred by the myriad of storefronts that marked their first floors. All down the road, major manufacturers hawked their wares to city‟s visitors and their signs seemed anachronistic to the architecture of the street itself. Harry shook his head and plodded down the street. He wore a comfortable pair of jeans and a plain blue tee shirt with a well worn pair of soft leather shoes. He carried his familiar beaten leather satchel over his shoulder and he had an easy stride down the street. He was still feeling the effects of his ordeal with Leclerc and he seemed to favor one leg over the other as he made his way up the street. Still, the years had been kind to Harry Potter. His usual mop of black hair was in constant disarray, lending the image to casual passer-by that he was a university student. His trademark scar had faded quite a bit, making it almost barely distinguishable from a distance and his frameless, rectangular glasses allowed his viridian eyes to shine out in an almost jarring fashion, mesmerizing someone in their grip if they were happening to look. Despite the myriad of aches and pains, Harry walked erect, his shoulders thrown back, his chest thrust out, less in an arrogant pose and more in a confident manner, despite his limp. With calm self-assurance, he crossed the street and made his way towards a building at the corner Baker Street and Park Road. He paused a moment and looked up at his destination. Like Madame Tussaud‟s, there was a line of visitors stretching down the street and Harry carefully consulted the small slip of paper Dawlish had given him. The address was correct, 221B Baker Street, but then, Harry turned the paper over to its other side and read the instructions written on it. He turned around and went back down Baker Street and turned right onto the first small side street he came to, Melcombe Street. He followed it to an alley which ran behind the row of buildings lining Baker Street and turned back up the alley until he came to a door on the backside of his destination. The sign on the door read, “Sherlock Holmes Museum, Deliveries”. Harry walked up to the door and then saw a small set of stairs, leading down to another door, seemingly to a basement entrance. There was a small rope suspended from a bell mounted on a stanchion outside the battered wooden door. Harry pulled on the rope, ringing the bell three times. After a second‟s pause, the door opened inward, allowing Harry to enter and then shut behind him quietly. He found himself in a quaint foyer, decorated in a late nineteenth century Victorian trappings. Harry snickered and studied the rich mahogany trim and intricately carved moldings. The silence of the room was suddenly broken by a shrieking, painful noise that made Harry wince. The sound could only be described as that which would be drawn from a cat if one were to squeeze it too hard, except it never died down. Harry followed the noise to a door off the foyer, which he slid open. The room was a study, with high ceilings and walls lined with bookshelves covered with volumes upon volumes of finely bound books. There was a fire place in the corner of the room and in one corner there was a wooden music stand with a man standing behind it. The source of the atrocious noise appeared to come from the violin the man held to his cheek. The man‟s eyes were closed, and he was apparently unaware that dogs in a three mile radius were howling from the assault he was perpetrating on the poor instrument.

The strangeness of the “music” the man was playing was more than matched by the appearance of the man himself. He was short and plump, almost round. He wore a red velvet smoker‟s jacket with hound‟s tooth pants and battered leather brogans on his feet. He had full head of long white hair and a long beard, with its end tucked into the belt of his jacket. His teeth were clamped around the end of an absurdly large meerschaum pipe and smoke billowed from the end of the pipe, forming perfect circles around his head. As if noticing that he wasn‟t alone, he opened his eyes and stopped his attack on the violin strings. Seeing Harry, the man smiled. “Harry!” His voice had a refined, aristocratic tenor. “Hello, Miles. It‟s been a long time. How‟s retirement treating you?” Harry barely kept from laughing as the irrepressible Miles Jackson-Smythe struck the prim pose of the landed gentry. Jackson-Smythe was an older man with an affectation for the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Specifically, he was an aficionado of Doyle‟s hero, Sherlock Holmes. For many years, Miles had been an accomplished Auror who‟d applied the deductive reasoning technique in his work. He‟d run afoul of Voldemort and had served a term in Azkeban under the Thicknesse regime. He‟d been recalled to duty by Kingsley Shacklebolt as a special investigator and had been instrumental in helping Harry and the Aurors solve some baffling cases. He was an accomplished wizard, his battle skills belying his appearance and had been part of the Auror spear that had gone to Cape Wrath and rescued Ginny Potter and the rest of Harry‟s friends from the clutches of Lucius Malfoy. The battle had taken its toll. Jackson-Smythe had been hit by a spell by one of the hold out Death Eaters and had been forced into retirement once more. Once the Ministry had changed hands, he‟d pretty much fallen out of sight to everyone, except Harry. Miles carefully placed the instrument in a case that was resting atop a four legged chair nearby. “I‟ve gotten much better, don‟t you think?” Harry thought that if better was defined as no longer sounding like long fingernails on a chalkboard, then yes, Miles had improved. Harry nodded his head. “What brings you to my world, Mr. Potter? I hear you‟re the Head of the Office of Aurors, good show!” Miles gestured toward two high backed chairs bathed in rich, brightly colored fabric. The chairs sat in front of the fireplace, facing each other. “Thanks, Miles. It‟s been a busy few years. I‟ve got a mystery for you. With all of our focus having been on fighting and war, I seem to have gotten a little rusty on working the details on these things.” Harry smiled as Miles leaned back and puffed on his pipe. The older man gave Harry a “give it to me” gesture with his hand and Harry proceeded to lay out the problem with the robberies. Miles was patient throughout, asking clarifying questions here and there, but generally not commenting on the overall scope of the case. Finally, Harry offered up the details of Ron‟s visit to Vendira Avenue and completed his summary. “That‟s about the size of it, Miles. What do you think?” Harry reclined back in the chair. Despite the heat of the summer day outside, he seemed to luxuriate in the roaring fire and the soft fabric of the chair. “Well, Harry, let‟s look at the facts, shall we? We have goblin artifacts being stolen across the country, including at Gringott‟s. The items come from the same clan. You have a missing witch, who very recently, had been profiting on the sale of goblin items and she was the niece for Cornelius Fudge. Also, you other goblins fighting the thieves, right?” Harry nodded, the summation fit.

“Well, in my mind, there are several things we can deduce. First, I do not believe that this relates entirely to our relationship to the goblins. It may provide and opportunity, but it is not the core reason.” Miles inhaled deeply on his pipe. “That‟s what I thought, there had to be something more to this.” Harry reflected back on his instinctive response. “Good. Now, we have a witch, a relative of Fudge‟s, who has disappeared only after she started acquiring goblin items, and, might I add, after Fudge had died. Is that correct?” He watched as Harry nodded. “Then, it‟s elementary, my dear Harry. The key is the Bosco woman. You must find out what happened to her.” “But why, Miles? And what does her being related have to do with Fudge?” Harry‟s mind twisted and turned at where Miles was going with this. “Let me answer your last question first. When Fudge began to become paranoid about power, I was a senior Auror in the Office. One of the things he wanted to do was to have the Ministry take over the running of Gringott‟s. Do you remember?” This was during the height of the denial period, where the Ministry ran both Harry and Dumbledore through the muck to deny the return of the Dark Lord. Harry remembered reading about the Minister‟s attempt to take over the wizarding bank. Miles continued. “I asked Fudge how he intended to complete that task, given how different goblin magic is from human magic. You know what he said?” Harry shook his head. “He said, „I‟ve got that covered.‟ That was it. At the time, I felt he had some sort of leverage over the goblins. It can only be inferred that when he died, that leverage passed on to Ms. Bosco.” “Right, so Miles, what is that leverage?” Harry‟s brain spun around with the possibilities. Miles shook his head. “Let‟s table that for a minute. You asked me what else could be done. Well, I mentioned Ms. Bosco, but without knowing the full extent of what‟s happening, I think you need to look at Gringott‟s. Even though you‟ve had a lot of robberies out in the country, the majority of robberies have occurred at Gringott‟s, so I would look there.” “We‟re trying to access the restricted levels, but it‟s been slow going Miles. We need to have something a little faster than that.” Harry‟s voice was a little exasperated, but Miles simply shook his head, as if Harry was a slow, wayward child. “Harry, Harry, Harry, it would be excellent to get into the hidden levels, but that‟s not what I‟m talking about.” The blank look on Harry‟s face told Miles that he‟d need to spell it out. “We just finished concluding that this had something to do with Leslie Bosco and, perhaps, Cornelius Fudge. Don‟t you think, being prominent and owning a business would be reason enough to have your own vault at Gringott‟s?” Harry smacked his hand on his head and Miles chuckled. “I was suggesting you check out both their vaults at the bank.” Harry laughed with Miles. “Maybe that will expose what type of leverage Fudge had. I hope so, because I don‟t know how else to find out.” “I do.” Miles gave Harry a serious look which sent a pit to Harry‟s stomach. “No, Miles. I won‟t do it. I‟ve washed my hands of her.” “Harry, she was as close to Fudge as anyone.” Miles stood and placed a hand on Harry‟s shoulder. “She won‟t cooperate and besides, how do we know if Fudge even confided in her?”

“She was the only one he confided in, Harry. I‟ll help you with this, but like it or not, you‟re going to have to speak to Delores Umbridge.” Harry‟s eyes sank as he knew Miles was right. Chapter 163 – Exploring Gringott‟s Harry led Miles into the front entrance of Gringott‟s. Out and about, Miles had opted to wear his double-brimmed deerstalker cap and a long, hounds tooth overcoat which matched his threadbare pants. The two walked into the main lobby of the bank and were met by Fleur, Bill and Isabella. Bill was carrying a heavy brass ring with several sets of ancient keys hanging from it. Off to the side, Harry‟s team leaders: Williamson, Lachlan, Ron and Cavendish, congregated, awaiting their leader‟s orders. Harry led Miles up to the group and made his introductions. Then, leaving Miles to speak with the banking officials, Harry walked over to the team leaders. “Well, any sign of them?” His query was pointed at Elizabeth Cavendish, whose amber eyes glowered with disappointment. She shook her head ruefully, her frustration palpable. “No, Harry. Every haunting ground, every known haunt is empty. It‟s as if every goblin in Britain has simply disappeared.” Cavendish looked a little worse for wear, based on the fact that she and her team had been traipsing across the countryside investigating every known or rumored goblin warren. So far, their hunt had been fruitless. Harry nodded and looked at the rest. “Well, we‟ve got to find out what the reason for these burglaries is and what Fudge‟s role in all this was, but I‟m not entirely comfortable with our entire staff looking into this. We can‟t rule out that this may be an elaborate charade to divert our attention from something else.” Harry glanced around at the group, and then centered his gaze on Lachlan. “I want you, Cavendish and Williamson to take your teams back to the Ministry. I‟ll draw on you if I need you. Right now, though, I‟ll use Ron‟s team to keep up the investigation.” “You sure, Harry?” Lachlan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We could apply maximum manpower.” “For now, that‟s what I want. You work the rotation, but I want to keep the Office in full operation. Right now, we‟re going to check out Bosco and Fudge‟s vaults and see what we can see. Fair enough?” Lachlan nodded his head, and then led Williamson and Cavendish away, heading for the doors. Ron stood still, his mind lost in concentration. “You all right, Ron?” Snapped out of his concentration, Ron looked over at his friend. “Sure, I was just trying to figure out why you wanted my team on this. Mine has the least experience of the entire Office.” “That‟s partly why, Ron. I wanted a fresher perspective and you‟re team thinks outside the box. Who knows what we‟ll find in those vaults? I‟d like to have you and Mortimer there to see what you think.” Harry patted his friend on the back. “Besides, there might even be spiders.” Ron shuddered as Harry walked away chuckling to himself. *** “Here we are, Level 5.” The passageway out side the lift was roughly hewn out of rock while the floors consisted of large flagstones. Harry led the party away from the lift car and down the torch lit passageway. He paused and allowed Bill to pass him by, and then fell in behind

as Bill led them towards Vault 515. They passed in front of the various vault doors until Bill paused in front of the one with the right number on it. “Wait.” Harry nodded to Ron, who motioned Mortimer and Silas over to stand next to Bill. Once in position, Bill waved his finger over a pad located near the keyhole on the door. Then, he fumbled about on his key chain and found the right level key that would open the door. Slowly, with a rumbling creak, the door swung inward. Mortimer pulled back on Bill‟s shoulder and then raised his lit wand before him and walked into the darkness of the vault. “Security‟s not very tight on this level.” Ron commented quietly as he followed Mortimer and Silas into the vault. “The deeper you go, the tighter it is. Apparently Leslie Bosco hadn‟t merited a better vault. Wait until you see what we have to go through with Fudge‟s vault.” Bill tried to advance, but Harry, held him back, allowing Betsy and Bryan to precede them. Mortimer walked inside and found himself in a small alcove, preceding the main chamber. With a glance at Silas, he walked in the large space. The walls were lined with racks of metal shelves, much like the storage areas in the Department of Mysteries. Silas let out a low whistle as they saw each shelf was stacked to the brim with scores of goblin-made artifacts. “I‟d say we‟ve found a good number of the missing items.” Mortimer spoke over his shoulder. “Don‟t touch anything. We don‟t know what‟s charmed and what‟s not. Finish your sweep and then we‟ll have my brother, the curse breaker, in to have a go.” Ron walked inside and peered closely at the items on the shelves. “Nothing matches. They are all individual pieces of sets. Blimey, the craftsmanship isn‟t even the best goblin work I‟ve ever seen.” Harry nodded. Indeed, as he looked closely at a small, simple candlestick, he saw the imperfections in the metal. A small piece of the silver looked like it had not been sanded smooth after being cast, like wax globules on a half burned candle. He kept looking around and then turned to Bill. “I thought the goblins prided themselves on their craftsmanship. These are nice, but not the best metal work.” Harry studied a paperweight fashioned in the Black Family crest. “Well, we know where some of the stuff disappeared to and at least we know that we‟re on the right track with Bosco.” “Excellent deduction, my boy!” Miles had shuffled his sizeable girth into the vault. “Incendio!” He‟d turned his wand to the torches mounted on the walls and lit them, allowing the rest of the room to be seen. Harry glanced around and then spoke up to Mortimer, who‟d reached the back wall of the vault. “Any files, or ledgers? Anything written in that might tell us what she was up to?” Mortimer took a careful look around, but there was nothing but the shelves and the stolen merchandise. “No, Harry. Nothing.” Silas found a seam where two banks of shelves met. As he looked closely at the wall behind the shelf, one of the bookcases began to open, slowly, as if on an oiled hinge. Silas drew his wand and snapped his fingers to the rest of his team. Harry pushed Bill back and stood near where the wall was opening. When it was fully open, a full half of the vault was blocked, with Ron, Silas and Mortimer hidden behind the opening. Harry, Bryan and Betsy stood still. A low mumbling could be heard over the shuffling of feet.

“We are bound, we are bound…Must return the Kiln Clan…imperfect at best…we serve, but we are bound…” Slowly, a figure came through the opening. It was small, with pale gray skin and long fingers. Across its back, it carried a burlap sack which had items inside which clinked together, indicating their metallic content. The goblin entered the vault and stopped in its tracks as it spied Harry and the two Aurors with their wands trained on him. “I‟d stop right there, if I were you.” Harry gestured his wand at the creature, who immediately dropped its burden on the floor. The resulting clatter drew their eyes for a split second and they did not see the goblin‟s off hand, which held an iron wand. Instantly, a charm flew from the wand, knocking the three Aurors back into one of the far shelves, sending plateware and utensils flying all about. Then, the goblin fled back into the dark tunnel, screaming. Ron and his two partners forced their bodies around the open door and ran to where Harry, Betsy and Bryan lay amid the fallen debris of the shelving. Ron reached Harry and pulled his friend up by the arm. “You all right?” Harry brushed off some dust from his robe and dusted himself off. Once seeing that everyone was no worse for wear, Ron nodded over to Mortimer, who led Silas down the dark tunnel, after the goblin. “If you don‟t mind, Harry, I‟m going to take my team down and see what we can see.” “I‟ll go with you.” Bill sounded off. “If that leads into the forbidden levels, you‟re going to need a curse breaker.” Bill looked over at Harry. “Fleur can let you into Fudge‟s vault.” Ron motioned to his brother and his four remaining Aurors. “Let‟s go!” Then, he led the way after Mortimer and Silas. *** Harry tried to shake the cobwebs from his head. The crash into the shelves had re-aggravated the pain his leg and back and he winced as tested out his range of motion with his arm. He stared down the dark tunnel as his Aurors‟ wands disappeared down the expanse of the dark space. “Are you sure you are all right, Harry?” Fleur‟s voice brought him back to reality and he nodded carefully. “What vault did you say that Fudge had?” Harry tried to mask his discomfort, and spoke softly. “His is Number 1313, on the lowest level which is the most secure, even without the dragon you let escape.” Harry rolled his eyes at Fleur‟s dig. Even without the goblins, apparently Gringott‟s would never forget his role in setting the guard dragon free. “Perhaps we‟d better get going, then. Ron‟s team is tracking down the passage way and we are no where nearer to solving this mystery.” Fleur nodded and then walked back into the main passageway. Once there, she pulled on some levers located on the wall near the lift. “What are you doing?” Harry watched as she tapped her wand on a piece of metal piping near the levers. “I‟m asking Seamus to send someone down to meet us. No single person can access the lower levels by themselves. It‟s one of the security protocols we established.” Harry nodded and the waited with Fleur, Miles and Isabella for the lift that would take them down to the most watched level of the bank.

*** “See anything, yet?” Ron‟s low voice drifted up to Mortimer and Silas, who were following the goblin‟s trail through the tunnel. Mortimer came to a halt and held the light from his wand up. They were at an intersection, where the tunnel bisected into two branches, one sloping downward and the other ramping up. One was crisscrossed with intricate spider webs that held dozens of black spiders. The webs were high enough that the shorter goblin could pass underneath without displaying a path underneath. Mortimer glanced at Silas, who snickered. “There‟s an intersection, one going down and one going up. Silas and I can take the upward path. Bryan can come with us. You guys want to take the downward path?” Mortimer placed a finger on his lips, urging Silas to stifle his chuckles. Ron‟s voice sounded nearer. “Sounds good to me. I‟ll take the rest of the team down. Be careful and don‟t engage if you find them.” “Will do, Ron. Good luck!” Mortimer led Silas and Bryan up the right hand, clearer path, just as Ron reached the intersection. Ron watched as his Aurors headed up the path and then turned to the left, and almost walked into the spider webs. His skin jumped from the sight and he threw a curse back up at Mortimer under his breath. “Is there something wrong, Ron?” Betsy asked quietly, unaware of Ron‟s powerful phobia of spiders. “No.” Ron reached the tip of his wand out and knocked the web and its denizens down from the wall, clearing the path. With one more muttered curse about both Silas‟ and Mortimer‟s parentage, he led the remainder of his team down the path. *** When Harry, Isabella and Fleur reached the lift area around the thirteenth level, both Dennis and Seamus were there to greet them. “We got your message, Fleur. What‟s up?” Seamus was wearing a set of black combat fatigues, with a black watch cap and ankle length combat boots. Fleur quickly told him what they found in Bosco‟s vault and Seamus glanced over at one of his security wizards who nodded and head up to the surface in the vacated lift. “We‟ll start cataloguing and inventorying everything and see if we can at least match it to the lists we have.” Harry nodded. “Which way, Fleur?” The flaxen haired witch smiled and led them down the large corridor. On this level, the walls were hewn from smooth white marble and light glowed from rich golden gemstones embedded in the walls. After a few steps, Fleur stopped and beckoned the rest of the party to stand still. Coming down the hall was a figure on four legs, with the body of a lion and the head of a man. “We deployed some sphinxes to replace the dragon. I‟ve got to validate our entry.” Fleur reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out a small, silver medallion that was crudely made, but etched with the Gringott‟s logo. “Since we couldn‟t trust anything goblin-made, we had some of our own people craft these. We got the idea from Dennis when he described how you used the sphinxes at Azkeban.”

The approaching sphinx had fiery blue eyes which were focused solely on them. It didn‟t leap to attack, but stalked towards them, its legs flexed as if it could strike at any time. Fleur held up the medallion next to her face and the magical creature approached her, its eyes taking in the medallion and Fleur‟s face all at once. It stopped and let out a low hiss. “Vault 1313, by directive of the Ministry.” Harry imagined that the creature was querying their destination. It hovered for a minute and then bowed its head slightly, allowing them to pass. They followed with slow, measured footsteps, careful not to alarm the beast and proceeded on their way. “That was scarier than a blind dragon. Good job!” Harry let out the breath he‟d been holding and followed Fleur to the entrance of Vault 1313. The door was made of two panels of matching black granite with no noticeable handles or hinges. On the right side of the jamb was a rectangular plate made of transparent diamond with a red light shining from beneath. Fleur carefully placed her hand on the plate and the light danced about it madly then an ethereal voice struck their ears. “This is the vault for Cornelius Fudge. The vault owner or a registered bank representative must confirm the request for entry.” Fleur looked over at Isabella, who was standing near by. Isabella reached her hand up and placed it on the plate. A seam in the doors opened as the granite slabs slid aside into the jamb. The voice echoed out again. “Entry is granted for authorized bank business only. All items are cursed and will not allowed to be removed from the premises without a signed authorization from the vault holder, his family or a signed waiver from the current Minister of Magic, in triplicate. You may proceed.” Fleur began to enter, but Harry touched her shoulder and proceeded inside, followed by Seamus and Dennis. The entryway opened into a large marble foyer which in turn looked into a massive cavern, lit inside, like the hallway outside. The room looked like the Room of Requirement, a place where items that the owner wished to hide was thrown inside in a haphazard fashion. There were jewels and golden trinkets from all over the world and stacks and stacks of galleons by the thousands. One corner of the room had been set up like an office, complete with stacks of books in bookcases, an ancient teak desk and matching swivel chair and a mahogany fire place and mantle. “It looks like this was a hideaway for Fudge.” Seamus whistled and then spied something near the office setup. “Harry, there are file cabinets up against the wall there. Maybe Fudge wrote down what he had on the goblins.” Harry nodded and walked towards the desk arrangement. “Fudge was Minister for years. Who knows what he has hidden in here.” “What I don‟t get is that Fudge has been dead for almost a year. This is some kind of fortune, why didn‟t his family claim it?” Isabella leafed through a stack of papers on the top of the desk, most adorned with the symbol of the Circle. “Until yesterday, we didn‟t know he had any family. His wife died just after he was sacked as Minister and his sister was killed during Voldemort‟s first rise. Bosco was his sister‟s child, and we don‟t know if she‟d accessed this vault.” Harry looked around some more and pulled open one of the drawers of one of the wooden file cabinets. “But wouldn‟t the bank have some record of who had visited the vault?” Isabella persisted, her mind reverting to the analytical, accountant that resided within.

“Normally, we would, but the access records were something that did not survive the transition from goblin management.” Dennis looked around after sharing this tidbit. They fanned out and began to work their way through the mounds of paper that existed. Most were mundane affairs of state and Harry felt a momentary sense of remorse as he found a copy of a letter from Dumbledore recommending the reinstatement of the Triwizard Tournament. “Harry! Look at this!” Dennis had crawled over a mound of treasure into another corner of the vault. Harry gingerly made his way over to where Dennis was standing. There was a waist high box constructed of thick slabs of limestone. Dennis had managed to pry the top off the box and with great effort, the muscles in his forearms pulsating from the exertion, had tossed the slab over to the side. “It‟s a Pensieve!” Harry cast a wary glance at Miles who puffed on his pipe in thought. Was this perhaps their way of delving into the mind of Cornelius Fudge? *** Mortimer, Silas and Bryan followed their tunnel upward. It was getting warmer in the tunnel and more natural light seemed to be coming from ahead. At certain parts, the tunnel would narrow and the ceiling would shorten, and they were forced to squeeze through, sometimes on their hands and knees. Eventually, the tunnel ended at a room and the three clambered down from the tunnel entrance and jumped the roughly three feet to the room‟s floor. The room was a perfect cube, dimensionally. Mortimer made a mental estimate and judged the walls to be about twelve feet long, and twelve feet high. Along the top edge, there were red gemstones that were lit up like fire, casting an eerie red glow all around. On the wall opposite the tunnel entrance, there was an arched opening which was sealed with a thick oak door. Mortimer looked at Silas who nodded. The larger man walked up to the door and pulled on it with all of his strength. The door gave and opened outward, into the room. Inside there was a stone hearth, with a floo, the green fire blazing away and another, smaller door. Silas pulled on the door and found himself standing at the end of Knockturn Alley. “Well, if he came this way, he‟s gone now. This room must be shielded from the bank‟s anti-floo charms. I doubt he went into Knockturn Alley.” Mortimer said to the others. “Why‟s that?” Bryan, who‟d been mostly silent during their walk, spoke up. “You think someone in Knockturn Alley would have turned him in?” “Merlin‟s beard, no!” Silas chuckled. “The goblins have been gone for so long, someone would have noticed and the people who like Knockturn Alley consider goblins and excellent source of protein.” Bryan couldn‟t tell if the large man was kidding, but then again, why take the chance? *** Ron led Betsy and the other two Aurors further down their path. He‟d managed to quell his anxiety, even though the way was marked by more spiders and they seemed to be getting larger and larger as they descended further. At one point, they reached a small door and Ron pushed it open. Outside, he could see a hallway of one of the bank‟s levels. Ron turned to the two Aurors, Brady and Hoyte. “You two follow that passage, see which level it‟s on and then report this tunnel entrance to Harry or one of the security wizards. Betsy and I will keep following the tunnel.” The two men nodded went through the opening and began to try to figure out where they were. Some

of the vault levels were enormous and finding the lift area could take some time. Ron watched them leave and left the entrance ajar. Beckoning Betsy to follow, he continued down the path they‟d been tracking. They walked for almost an hour, squeezing through as the walls narrowed and crawling when the space grew to low for them to stand. Eventually, they reached a small room where the tunnel ended. This room was circular, perfectly round, with no other discernable doors or passageways, save for the one they‟d just exited. It was lit by green gemstones and Ron wondered who or what had charmed them to remain lit. There was a sudden loud bang and a the tunnel entrance they‟d just exited was sealed by a large, steel trap door. Then, the bands of lit gemstones began to revolve around the perimeter of the room, as the whole space itself began to rotate, faster and faster. Ron and Betsy were thrown to the floor and then flung against the walls as the room spun faster and faster. Suddenly, the floor dropped from beneath their feet and they were stuck to the walls as the room continued to spiral around. Then, as fast as it started, the room stopped, the inertia flinging them against a far wall and then dropping into the hole created when the floor dropped. Ron felt disoriented as he fell down the dark abyss. He saw a floor rapidly coming bigger as they fell further and further down. Just before they impacted, a loud whooshing sound sucked them into large hole in the wall and they tumbled inside. The lining of the round tunnel was smooth and fell at a steep angle, like a slide and there was no way for them to arrest their momentum. Ron fell head first and saw a rapidly approaching light at the end of the tunnel. When they reached the end of the slide, they fell into an open space and landed hard on a dirt floor, in the center of another, large room. The space had high, gray walls with seats all around, much like Courtroom Number Ten at the Ministry. Instead of the dozens of wizards of the Wizengamot, the seats were filled with dozens of goblins, all shouting. Sitting atop a large chair, an older goblin pointed an ornate gold and platinum wand at the pair and smiled. “My name is Argot, the Free. Why have you violated the sanctity of our home?” The goblin‟s words were met by a tumultuous furor as the other goblins raised their own wands and pointed them at the hapless pair of Aurors. Chapter 164 – The Sins of Cornelius Fudge “Well, what now?” Silas took a look out towards Knockturn Alley, its denizens dutifully ignoring the open stone door on the side of the separating wall. “I really don‟t think he went out this way.” Bryan looked at the two friends as the worked out the problem. “Shouldn‟t we go back and report what we‟ve found?” Mortimer thought for a moment. “Report what? We can let them know about the security breach later. It‟s more important for us to find where this goblin went. Now stay still for a moment, I‟m thinking.” Bryan looked over at Silas who gave him an understanding smile. Since they had been children, Mortimer had been the brains of the partnership. He had a keen intellect and worked through problems from various angles. Silas watched as his boyhood friend reached into his satchel and withdrew a tattered book. Mortimer flipped through the pages and then smacked his hand on his forehead. “Of course!” Mortimer replaced the book and looked at the other two men. “I think Silas is right, regardless of what‟s going on over there, a goblin would have caused a stir, so if he went anywhere, he used the floo.”

“Then he‟s gone, we can‟t very well follow the floo.” Silas groaned in disappointment, but Mortimer gave him a knowing smile. “But we can. I just checked it and we can go to the last destination uttered into the floo. If the goblin was the last one to go through, we can follow him.” Mortimer stood and approached the small hearth. “I don‟t know, Mortimer. We could be walking into a trap. What if we go through and are surrounded by dozens of goblins?” Bryan looked at the hearth carefully, calculating the odds. “Then we‟d know where the goblins are.” Mortimer turned towards Silas. “Hand me Grover.” The big Auror reached a meaty hand into his own satchel and withdrew a carrier pigeon. Long thought extinct, they‟d merely gone over to messaging duties in the wizarding world. They had less range than owls, and quite frankly, were dumber than post owls, but were smaller and much easier to transport. Grover was Silas‟ carrier pigeon and he handed him over to Mortimer. “We‟ll let Ron know what‟s happened and where this place is.” Silas nodded and watched as Mortimer cast the pigeon out of the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Mortimer pulled out some floo powder and cast it into the fire. Immediately, a bright green flame burst into being. “Now, I just wave my wand and call out „Prior Transveho‟. We jump in and we go the last transport place.” Bryan cinched up his robe and walked up to where Silas and Mortimer stood. “I still think this is a bad idea. Running into a nest full of goblins is not my idea of fun.” Mortimer chuckled and then turned towards the fire. “Relax, Bryan. I doubt they have direct floo access to where they‟re hiding. Besides, we‟re Aurors, Who‟d be dumb enough to land right in the middle of scores of goblins anyway?” *** “That is a lot of goblins and we are right in the middle of them. There must be scores of them.” Betsy whispered over to Ron, who nodded. Slowly, Ron rose to his feet and offered his hand to his team mate, helping her up. “Um, Hello. Nice to meet you, Argot. There must have been some sort of misunderstanding. I think we took a wrong turn up there.” Ron stared at the older goblin, sitting atop the high throne. The goblins in the gallery groaned and yelled underneath the harsh green glow of the lit gemstones. “You are not welcomed here, human. We have removed ourselves from your world, why do you violate ours.” In a blink, Argot apparated to where they stood and walked slowly towards the pair, his wand held out in front of him. “Removed yourselves?” Ron momentarily forgot being frightened and stared down the leader of the goblins. “Your kind have been stealing into homes and into vaults and stealing your items back. You‟ve even kidnapped a human. I‟d say you‟re not as removed as you claim to be.” “We do not „steal‟, human. Goblin-made items belong to the maker of the items. If anyone is a thief, it is you.” Argot‟s voice was low, rumbly and full of spite. “Then you admit it, then. You‟ve been sneaking into people‟s houses. Where is Leslie Bosco?” Ron towered over the smaller goblin and placed his hands on his hips.

“We have not kidnapped anyone and we have made no attempt to recover our stolen items.” Argot‟s voice was menacing. “Liar! We ended up here because we were following one of your kind who we caught red-handed in a Gringott‟s vault.” Ron watched as the goblin‟s eyes widened in anger. “You dare call me a liar! You presume that we would violate our oath to Gringott‟s memory?” Argot raised his wand and Ron felt a hidden hand grab his body and fling him against a far wall, holding him suspended in the air. Ron‟s bag fell from his shoulders and crashed to the floor, its contents falling out. Argot‟s blinked as several of his goblins grabbed hold of Betsy. On the floor, next to Ron‟s bag, there was a tiny, pewter figure of a man riding a broom. Ron had picked it up from Bosco‟s vault while investigating. One of the goblins picked up the statue and then let out a loud hiss. Argot dropped his wand hand, causing Ron to fall the rest of the way to the floor. “Bring that to me, Rufus.” The goblin brought the figure to his leader who went over it with a fine, practiced eye. Ron rubbed his shoulder. “We found that in the bag your goblin was carrying. He took it from another vault. Your kind is trying to retrieve its „stolen‟ goods.” Argot rolled the figure over in his hands and shook his head. “This can not be, but it is. The Kiln Clan has the slag from what it has forged.” Ron looked perplexed and stood up. Argot waved his wand and the goblins disappeared from the arena, leaving Ron and Betsy with Argot. “What do you mean about the Kiln Clan?” Ron stared at the object in Argot‟s hands. “What does that have to do with kidnapping and breaking and entering?” Argot shook his head. “I had not expected this. What is your name, human?” “Ron Weasley, Auror, from the Ministry of Magic.” Ron stood tall, well over twice the height of the small goblin. “You are part of the clan of Arthur Weasley?” The elf eyed the tall, red headed Auror. “Yes, he‟s my father.” Ron wondered where this line of questioning was going. Argot nodded soberly and waved Ron and Betsy to a stone bench that suddenly appeared along the gallery wall. “Arthur Weasley is an honorable man.” The diminutive goblin held up his wand. “He allowed us wands, even when he was not assured we would help.” “You didn‟t help us! You left us in the middle of the battle!” Ron‟s voice was a bit louder, his anger at the memory of the pain and loss hanging with him. Argot‟s eyes grew narrow and he stared at Ron angrily. “We did help you. We gave you the best armor we could make. We made sure the armor was well fitted. That armor saved many human lives. We are not warriors, we are craftsmen and do not confuse giving us what was our right with buying our loyalty. You did not.” Ron sat for a moment, contemplating the goblin‟s words. “What about the Kiln Clan? What is this about?”

Argot stared at the figurine in his hand. “The Kiln Clan were poor metal workers, the worst among our people. To goblins, this is the greatest shame to endure. Many years ago, the leader of the clan, Hammer Kiln, was a dreadful creature. He had no honor, he had no pride. He met a human named Midas who granted him a powerful wish. Midas made the works of the Kiln Clan far superior to any made by goblin kind.” Ron watched with fascination as the goblin related his tale of woe. “What did this Midas ask for in return?” When goblins snicker, it comes out like a slightly rude sound. “He granted Midas the most dreadful cost imaginable. He granted Midas our wands.” “How is that possible? I thought the Kiln Clan only represented themselves. How could one goblin speak for all of you?” Betsy‟s question demonstrated an insight to Ron he hadn‟t seen before. It was a good question. “In the goblin world, leadership is determined by the quality of your work. It didn‟t happen all at once, but when the Kiln Clan began to make the finest work ever seen, Hammer Kiln took over our leadership and divested our people of our wands.” Argot stopped his tale, again staring at the figure with all its imperfections. “So what has changed? Why is the Kiln Clan taking back their creations? Why now?” Ron looked around the room. It was empty, bereft of any goblins save Argot. “Midas built in a safety valve. He had Hammer Kiln craft a talisman of his own blood that would give the human the capability of binding the clan to his wishes. If the talisman is used, then the artistry of the work provided by Midas would dissipate, reverting the creations back to their original states. The Kiln Clan would be forced to retrieve all their creations and bring them back to the human who wields the talisman. Only then would the objects be returned to the former glory.” Argot looked at Ron intently. “Why would a human do that? What benefit would there be to wielding the talisman and devaluing all those items?” Ron looked over at Betsy who shrugged her shoulders. “If the human who the Kiln Clan was bound to were able to make them retrieve all of the items and set them right, the human would be granted an immense gift. That human would be made the king of all the goblins, they would be called the Father Forge. That person would be, in goblin eyes, the maker of all of our objects.” Argot looked at Ron, who was confused, but Betsy‟s eyes lit up. “That would mean that the person would own everything ever made by goblins.” Her voice was a whisper and Argot nodded slightly. Ron choked his response. “That would mean every galleon ever minted.” Argot, again, nodded. “What is this talisman? What does it look like?” “I do not know. No goblin knows, not even members of the Kiln Clan. All we know is that it‟s been passed down through the generations to the heirs of Midas. You must act quickly, though. If what you say is true and they are taking individual items from sets, then they are close to the end of their collection. Once that occurs, there will be no turning back. We will be slaves to the family of Midas once more.” Argot stared at the two Aurors. “You must find the talisman and destroy it.” ***

“Well, it is a Pensieve. I guess we‟re going to have to dive in.” Dennis stared at the glowing stone cistern and then looked back at Harry. Harry looked around the room. Miles stood off to the side, taking everything in. Isabella stood next to Fleur, her eyes wide at the revelations. Dennis and Seamus stood next to the Pensieve in anticipation. “Who has looked into a Pensieve?” Harry glanced around, only Dennis, Fleur and Miles had. “I would recommend that we four do it. The experience can be jarring the first time around, and I don‟t think the memories of Cornelius Fudge is the place to start. Seamus, keep watch on us and stay with Isabella, would you?” That settled, Harry gathered around the Pensieve with the other three and then took a deep breath. Once settled, he nodded at the others and then stared deeply into the swirling clouds of memories. In one fell swoop, the dove into the mind of Cornelius Fudge. *** Harry stared around, meeting the gazes of Dennis, Fleur and Miles. They were standing in an office, specifically the office of the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge sat at his desk, reading through his papers. “Minister?” The voice at the door was familiar and when the tall, older man walked in, Harry felt a momentary sensation of loss. Gawain Robards had died in action a few years ago, but the man who had sponsored his acceptance to Auror training, especially without the benefit of finishing Hogwarts held a dear place in Harry‟s heart. “Ah, Gawain, come on in.” Fudge rose and shook hands with his senior Auror. “It‟s true then?” “I‟m afraid so, Minister, in every way. James and Lily Potter were slain by the Dark Lord, but apparently, when he tried to kill their son, he was struck down by his own curse.” Gawain held his hat in his hand, his head down. “Then it‟s over. The Dark Lord is finished?” Fudge sat back in his chair. “Yes, Minister, but there is one thing. On the matter of Sirius Black, I think we‟ve made a grave error.” “How so, Gawain?” Fudge leaned forward at his desk. “Sir, we had indications that one of the Potters‟ acquaintances in the Order of the Phoenix was a traitor. I do not believe Black was the one. He was with Scrimgour when attack happened. He‟s understandably grief stricken, but he only got that way once he found out the Ministry could have warned the Potters before their deaths. I do not believe he was responsible for the deaths of those people. It‟s quite apparent that whoever the real traitor was blew up that house to conceal their tracks. Maybe we should release Black from Azkeban.” Robards watched as Fudge wiped his brow. “Release Black, you say?” Robards nodded. “Yes sir. I can assign Dawlish and Shacklebolt to track down this traitor. I‟m sure I can convince Black and perhaps Lupin to help us.” Beads of sweat poured down the Minister‟s brow.

“I don‟t think that‟s a good idea, Gawain. You don‟t know for certain that Black wasn‟t the traitor, do you?” Robards shook his head. “If we release him, the scandal would be monstrous. Think of it, the Ministry allowed the Dark Lord to murder two of our greatest heroes and all on the suspicion that we MIGHT have been wrong. Is that it?” “Well, put that way, yes sir.” Robards‟ face showed puzzlement at the Minister‟s attitude. “No, I think not, Gawain. The Dark Lord is dead. The people have their hero in Harry Potter. I will not allow this Ministry to be dragged down the mud hole on suppositions. Sirius Black will remain at Azkeban. He was found at the scene of the crime and no more will be made of this. Do I make myself clear, Gawain?” “But sir, this could be a grave miscarriage of justice.” Robards stood from his seat and stared at Fudge. “No, Gawain. What would be a grave miscarriage of justice would be for you to spend the remainder of your days in Azkeban.” Fudge‟s voice was chilling. Robards nodded his head in acquiescence. “Good. Now to make this official, you will take an Unbreakable Vow to never speak of this again. Wait one moment, while I summon my assistant.” Fudge reached behind him and pulled a small rubber tube hanging from the wall. He placed his lips on the brass opening at the end of the tube. “Ms. Umbridge, would you mind joining us in here. I need you to witness something for me.” The scene faded and Harry felt a twinge in his stomach. He looked over at Fleur, who had tears streaming from her eyes. Dennis‟ face was full of shock and hatred for the man whose memories they were witnessing. Miles simply nodded, his face a mask of pain. Soon, the feeling of falling down a tunnel overcame them and the next memory came to life. *** “Why don‟t you simply let us care for the boy, Albus? Why hide him? Surely you don‟t think the threat still exists?” They were in the Headmaster‟s office at Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore was pacing the floor while Fudge kept up his ministrations. “Cornelius, you know very well that Tom Riddle was a very accomplished wizard. When it came to the Dark Arts, I have to believe he accounted for this possibility. I do think he‟s still alive somewhere. Harry Potter is safe and shall remain so. I promised his parents when they joined the Order that we‟d help watch over them.” Dumbledore plucked a licorice treat from a nearby bowl and tossed it in his mouth. “The Order? You mean that paramilitary army you created in direct defiance of Ministry edict? This is some power play, isn‟t it Albus? You want to keep the boy to yourself and use him to take over the Ministry.” Fudge‟s voice seethed with emotion and boiled even more as Dumbledore burst into hysterical laughter. “That‟s the most absurd thing I‟ve ever heard, Cornelius.” Dumbledore‟s voice dropped an octave and he became serious. “If I wanted your job, I‟d have it already. You want the boy for your own devices and I won‟t let him become a political pawn.” Fudge‟s face turned beet red. “Understand this, Professor Dumbledore. The Dark Lord is dead! He will not return! If I hear any nonsense being promoted by you that the Dark Lord lives or if you attempt to reform this Order army of yours, I will make it my personal mission to see you removed from this post. Am I clear, Headmaster?”

“Crystal, Minister.” Dumbledore smiled at the Minister of Magic and then waved to the candy bowl. “Are you sure I can‟t interest you in a ginger snap?” Harry smiled warmly as he watched Dumbledore escort Fudge out of his office. The cloudy mire of memory swirled around once more, transporting them away from the scene. *** This time they were in an empty Courtroom Number Ten. Fudge sat at the lectern, a dutiful Delores Umbridge at his side. “Dumbledore! He saved that boy again! We almost had Potter expelled and separated from that old fool‟s influence. Why didn‟t you know they had a squib watching over him?” Fudge looked over at Umbridge. “Hem hem.” She cleared her throat and placed a glove encased hand over the broach on her lapel. “Minister, if I had known, I would have made sure the DEMENTORS that we sent would have taken care of her. Still, all is not lost. We have managed to batter the boy‟s reputation where enough doubt exists to keep Dumbledore from rallying anyone to his cause.” Fudge sighed. “You‟re right, of course, Delores, but the boy! The boy is the key. He is the symbol that Dumbledore can use to promote his cause. We must find a way to neutralize the boy.” Umbridge moved closer to Fudge and placed her hands on his shoulders. He started and then smiled kindly at her. “Minister. Cornelius. There are ways to keep things in check.” He looked at her carefully and silently prodded her to continue. “First, you control the Prophet. Rita Skeeter simply adores you and the leverage over her illegal animagus form is enough to keep her on our side.” Fudge nodded and sat up in his chair. “Secondly, we control the finances. If there were some way to take control of Gringott‟s, there would be no way for Dumbledore to finance his activities.” Fudge nodded and smiled. “There is a way at that.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a square wooden box. He opened it, but unfortunately for Harry and the other observers, only Umbridge could see what was in the box. Umbridge stared at Fudge in curiosity. “It‟s a talisman passed down through my family. It is a means of leverage over the goblins. Still, I‟m not quite ready for that step just yet. Others would be impacted, including the Malfoys and I need him to help push Dumbledore out.” He quickly slammed the box shut and pushed it back in his pocket. “My niece will take care of this for me until I need it. You were saying?” Umbridge snapped back to reality. “Yes, well, there is a third thing we can do. Send me to Hogwarts. I will keep an eye on both Potter and Dumbledore. Both are impetuous and will fail to abide by your edicts. I will ensure that both are gone by the end of the term.” “Splendid idea, Delores! How does „High Inquistor‟ sound?” Fudge smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Not all at once, but mark my word, you‟ll be Headmistress by spring.” ***

Harry found himself back on the floor of Fudge‟s vault. He stood up and looked at the other three who‟d witnessed what he‟d seen. “Did anyone see what it was? The object?” They all shook their heads. Harry groaned in frustration. Dennis looked around the room. “Even if we find the box, if it‟s empty, we won‟t know what‟s in it.” “Someone knows what‟s in that box.” Miles‟ voice carried over to Harry. For a moment Harry looked as if he were going to argue. Then, his shoulders dropped and he nodded in agreement. There was a trip to Azkeban in his immediate future. As the weight of the task hit him, a loud noise came from the front of the vault. “Harry!” Ron ran in, Betsy in tow. “We‟ve got to find the talisman! It‟s the key to everything!” Chapter 165 – Aurors in Wonderland Mortimer felt the tug of the transport and the mild disorientation that came with instant change of venue and found himself in a darkened room. He stepped away from the hearth, and heard the telltale “poof” of the arrival of his two compatriots. His wand was in his hand before he‟d fully arrived and glanced around the room, looking for hidden enemies awaiting his arrival. Fortunately, a quick scan determined that the room was bereft of immediate threats. The room looked like the back storeroom of a shop, replete with painted cinderblock walls and metal-framed shelves with corrugated boxes stacked neatly on them. A metal, swinging door was mounted on the far wall from the small fireplace he‟d exited and he walked silently over to the door and peered through the window. “What do you see?” Mortimer turned around and saw Bryan and Silas casually brushing off the remnants of soot from their clothes. “I don‟t know what to make of it. Take a look for yourselves.” Silas and Bryan crowded together and peered out the window. The shop outside was warm and friendly, with a wood counter mounted along the side of one wall, and tables and booths dotting the other side. There were patrons lined up to the counter and seated at most of the tables. Silas stepped back from the window and shook his head. He tapped his wand on the side of one of the boxes, pointing out a round logo with a woman in the center. “Why would „Starbuck‟s‟ need a floo?” Silas‟ question hung in the air and then the tall Auror turned to Mortimer. “Should we take a look around?” Mortimer nodded and began to take off his robes. “I think we should try to stay as inconspicuous as possible.” His compatriots began to remove their own robes, stowing them in their bags. “Besides, I could use a good Frappacino right about now.” With that, the three pushed through the swinging door and walked out into the front of the store. *** Harry leaned on the rail of the Discooperire as the ketch plied its way across the rough surface of the North Sea. He heard the distinct footsteps of Captain Baretto as she approached. He turned and offered the radiant mistress of the ship a smile. “Thanks for doing this on such short notice, Adelina.” The captain returned his smile and pointed up to Muireall Innes, who was directing the ship through its paces.

“Think nothing of it, Signor Harry. The ship, she needed the exercise, so did her crew.” Behind them, Lockley was working some new crew members through the finer points of life of a tall sailing ship at sea. “Still, Signor Harry, I am not jealous of your task. This Umbridge is muy perigosa! This will not be a pleasant journey.” “Tell me about it. Still, there is no other choice.” Harry stood straight and drew in a breath of the cold, sea air. “Is Carlo excited about going to Hogwarts?” (A/N: We are roughly a month behind the events in the Teddy Lupin story, but we‟re catching up quickly.) “Oh, si. It‟s all he can talk about. Raimundo is very excited as well, but I am worried about my little filho, he has not been away from home before.” Unconsciously, Baretto rested her hand on the hilt of her rapier, and Harry laughed inwardly. For all her bravado, the elegantly fierce woman was still a worried mother at heart. “I understand, but at least he‟ll have Graciela there to watch over him.” Harry saw a dark look pass over the Captain‟s face and the grip on her sword tightened ever so slightly. “That girl! I don‟t know what to do about her. She is very caturra, very stubborn, that one. She has gotten on the wrong side of some older boys and she won‟t tell me what happened. I don‟t know if she will be a good role model for my sweet Carlo or for Teddy. I have no idea where she got to be so spirited.” Baretto‟s eyes narrowed as a chuckle escaped Harry‟s lips. Harry held up his hands in mock surrender. “I have no idea where she gets it either. Teddy is no angel either. He‟s spent way too much of his childhood locked in mortal combat with George. I can only imagine the amount of trouble he‟s going to get in. If it makes you feel any better, they‟ve asked me to be a guest lecturer, so I can look in on Carlo, if you like.” “I would appreciate that very much, Signor Harry. I can not help myself, sometimes, I get a little anxious about my little Carlito.” Harry nodded and then looked down the rail. The other passenger on this voyage was leaning over the side of the ship, revisiting the sumptuous luncheon the wardroom of the Dicooperire had provided. Shaking his head slightly, Harry walked over to the man. “Everything all right, Percy?” Percy Weasley stood straight, his skin a distinct shade of green. He smiled wanly and shook his head. “Sorry, Harry. I simply don‟t travel well on boats.” Harry laughed and clapped the tall, red headed man on his back. “I guess I‟m just used to ship travel. Congratulations, by the way, and thanks for doing this.” Percy smile became a little stronger. He‟d been promoted to Deputy Minister, the second ranking official in the Ministry. Like all the warriors who‟d fought, Percy seemed a bit less pompous and substantially more sober in his dealings with people. Life in the Ministry was something he‟d always strove for and now he was one step away from the top. “Thanks, Harry, and this is no bother. I want you to get to the bottom of all this as much as anyone. The threat to our currency alone would merit this.” Harry nodded and then turned to face Muireall Innes as the voluptuous red-headed first mate walked up to him. “We‟re approachin‟ Azkeban, Harry. We‟ll be there in about five minutes.” She turned and walked back towards the quarterdeck, her hips swaying in time to the rolling of the ship on the sea. Harry watched as Percy took notice and then bolted for the rail, to commune with nature yet again.

Harry turned and faced the bow of the ship. Spray from its encounters with the crashing surf barreled over the end and landed on the deck. A heavy mist seemed to part, revealing the dark, foreboding tower that was Azkeban prison. Harry‟s chest filled with dread, both from the formidable presence of the fortress-like place and from the impending conversation he was about to have. Lockley‟s voice rang out through the ship. “Grab hold of something, we‟re goin‟ up!” Harry prodded Percy and the pair grabbed on to lengths of rope that were secured to the masts. Lockley looked up at Innes, who nodded to Baretto. “Levitas!” All at once, the wind caught in the sails and the ship rose from the surface of the water and gently glided towards a platform that was suspended from the high, vertical walls of the tower. Baretto guided the floating ship alongside the platform. On the bow and the stern, sailors maneuvered ropes around cleats that were attached to the walls of the prison. Soon, the Discooperire came still and a plank was run out to the platform. They‟d arrived at Azkeban and Harry walked gingerly towards the entrance, for his interview with Umbridge. *** “Hey, what are you doing back there?” The loud voice startled Mortimer as he and the others walked from the rear of the shop. A short, skinny teenager with severe acne and a dark green apron was scolding them from behind the counter. Mortimer shrugged and smiled politely. “Sorry about that, we were looking for the restroom.” Silas dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a thin billfold. He flipped it open and a version of the Auror shield, formatted to look like a policeman‟s badge shone in the boy‟s face. “Did you see anyone come through here in the last hour or so? Someone, er, odd looking?” Silas stared the boy down, his face a stone mask of impassivity. The boy seemed less sure of himself, the badge and Silas‟ intimidating stare causing him to back down a bit. “Well, now that you mention it, an ugly little kid came running out of there. I tried to stop him, but just kept going and went out into the mall.” Mortimer looked out the front of the shop and saw that it was actually located in a large shopping mall. “Which way?” The barista pointed to the right and Mortimer gave him a nod and led the group out of the coffee shop and into the mall. “What exactly are we looking for?” Bryan followed behind. “With all these muggles, I‟m surprised no one said anything.” Silas was keeping his head constantly moving. “Muggles like to ignore the magical. Remember what that kid said? He thought it was an ugly child. Imagine if the goblin were covered, like with a cape or a robe. No one here would think differently.” Bryan nodded and looked into the shop windows as they walked by. Mortimer stopped abruptly, and peered into a storefront that had bright neon lights and rather loud music playing within. “Come on.” The sign above the door said, “Spencer‟s” and it was filled with patrons gaping at the assortment of plastic figures and boxed goodies. Mortimer ignored them and walked to a revolving rack that had several dozen metal figurines on display. “Look at these.” On the rack, several finely detailed figures of wizards in the middle of casting lined the shelves of the rack. The overall workmanship was poor, droplets of metal, a misplaced hand, but the figures were recognizable.

“That‟s Harry!” Bryan gasped. “And General Manchester!” He was right, the figures were discernable as famous wizards from their world. Mortimer lifted one up and looked on the bottom of the base. “It has „K‟ initials. These were made by our goblins.” He looked around and spotted another door in the back of the store. “Come on, follow me.” Mortimer led the three to the door and took a quick look around, then slid into the back storeroom. The room was lined with more shelving and boxes of stocked items. Further back, there was a small meeting area with a round table and chairs. Mortimer looked around the room and saw a small symbol, much like that found at the entrance to Gringott‟s. “Look at this.” Mortimer saw a small seam in the wall and pushed on the wall, which opened up, revealing a panel and a hole that sloped downward. “Great, more tunnels.” Silas sighed and then looked at Mortimer who bowed and held his arms out to Silas. “Oh no, it‟s Bryan‟s turn to go first.” The two turned and looked at Bryan, whose shoulders fell and he let out a sigh. After a moment, he nodded and dropped down the hole, followed by the other two. *** Harry and Percy walked steadily down the main reception corridor at Azkeban. A masked Auror waited at the processing desk at a large intersection of the hallway. He bowed to both men and then looked at Percy, who produced a small roll of parchment. The silent Auror glanced at the document and then looked over at Harry. “The prisoner is in the holding room, Mr. Potter. Just call when you are done.” Harry nodded his thanks and then walked to a nearby door and opened it slowly. He entered the room and stared at the small woman sitting at the long table. Delores Umbridge was a broken woman. She was dressed in a drab, gray prison jumper. Her familiar plump girth tugged at its edges and her feet swung freely from the bench behind the table, too short to reach the floor. Her hair was a wild tangle while her eyes seemed glazed over, showing no recognition that Harry had entered the room. During her first incarceration, she‟d come close to breaking point, but her release by Morgana had given her a reprieve. Her subsequent capture and imprisonment had been much harsher, because she was devoid of all hope. Harry had read the reports on Umbridge. She was unaware of her surroundings, often speaking as if she were still in a position of power within the Ministry. “Hello, Ms. Umbridge. It‟s Harry Potter, do you remember me?” She flinched at the sound of his name, but spoke in a light sing-song. “Cornelius wants me to make sure Harry Potter doesn‟t become an issue. That boy is spouting all those lies, causing such turmoil. It‟s Dumbledore‟s doing, I tell you, he wants to be Minister, when Cornelius is the greatest Minister of our age.” Harry felt a sense of frustration. He wondered how he‟d get through her mask of delusion. He decided to play along with the delusion. “You‟re right, Minister Fudge is a great man.” “Yes, he is. So many people seem to miss that about him.” “It‟s good he has someone like you to watch out for him.”

Umbridge smiled to herself, and allowed a small giggle to escape her lips. “Hem hem, of course, of course. I have done the job. I‟ll do whatever it takes to protect him from that fool Dumbledore and that infernal Potter boy and all his lies.” Harry‟s eyes narrowed. “I‟m sure, you‟re good at keeping his enemies away. Dumbledore, Potter and the goblins, too, right?” Umbridge paused, as if catching her words in her throat. “The goblins are evil creatures. Cornelius tried to explain how important it was for him to control the bank, but they wouldn‟t listen, but he had something on them.” Harry held his breath. “He did? I don‟t believe it. No one has leverage on the goblins, not even Cornelius.” “He did. I saw it. The talisman he kept in his pocket had power over those beasts.” Umbridge‟s voice grew taut, as she defended the former Minister. “What kind of talisman, Delores? I don‟t believe Cornelius would tell you, he was too smart to tell just anyone.” Umbridge grew angry. “I was his closest advisor and friend. He told me everything!” “Prove it. I know what the talisman was because I was a true friend to Cornelius. Only a true friend would know what it was.” Harry drew silent watching as Umbridge froze in place. “I saw the whistle, the silver whistle. He gave it to his niece, Leslie, to hold for him. He would have given it to me, but I was going to Hogwarts. His niece had hiding places at her home and she would keep it in an extra secure place until Cornelius needed it.” Harry exhaled and then a new question came to his head. “Delores, did you ever talk about the whistle, ever?” “One time, when Cornelius came to visit me in my Headmistress office, I asked about it, but no one was around. I‟m sure of it.” Harry nodded, but knew that Delores had been wrong about that. In the Headmaster‟s office, the walls have ears and he‟d have to find out what they‟d heard. “Thank you Delores, you‟ve been very helpful.” Harry rose and turned to leave. Her small voice pierced his head. “I told you, Mr. Potter. We mustn‟t tell lies. You are such an evil, evil boy. I‟ll take care of you for certain.” A momentary streak of panic gripped Harry, had she been tricking him this entire time? When he looked back, the same blank look was still on her face and she seemed to be having a conversation with the wall. “We mustn‟t tell lies, Mr. Potter. We mustn‟t tell lies. I will make sure the lesson sinks in, we mustn‟t tell lies…” Harry breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door. He took one last look at the pitiful woman in the room and then nodded to Percy. The two men walked down the corridor to head for the Discooperire and home. Chapter 166 – Hi ho, hi ho, It‟s Off to Work We Go!

Silas could scarcely believe that something like this was possible. Here they were, careening down a wildly shifting slide of smoothly cut rock and marble into the dark depths of a subterranean warren, and he was bored. Granted, they‟d been up for almost a full day, and they‟d seen themselves chasing after the elusive goblin from Bosco‟s vault, but this had to be their third or fourth time through a gravity drop and quite frankly, he was getting bored. If he wasn‟t being jostled in another direction every three or four seconds, Silas was sure he‟d have been asleep by now. The others probably felt the same way, judging by the lack of screaming or grunting. In fact, Bryan had probably managed to fall asleep, given the inert way they were falling. After what seemed like an eternity, they spotted a red light approaching, bringing the possibility of the ride coming to an end. Silas braced himself and watched as the light grew larger and Bryan and Mortimer suddenly disappeared into it. He fell feet first after them and came into a large, brightly lit cavern. The slide exit was almost ten feet in the air and Silas‟ bulk was softened by his landing directly on top of his two team mates in a pile. “Geroff me!” Bryan‟s muffled shout was followed by the sensation of the smaller man‟s arms pressing against Silas‟ back. With a groan, Silas rolled off the others and pulled himself to his feet. “Sorry about that.” He smiled sheepishly and then watched as Mortimer and Bryan dusted themselves off. Once they‟d collected their wits, they took a look around the room. The first thing to hit them was the extreme heat in the place. The light in the room wavered from the blast of heat that permeated the space. All around, huge lakes of molten metal flowed around to be interrupted by large metal buckets that dipped into them at certain times. Hundreds of goblins were positioned at different stations, working the metal into molds or hammering at forges to shape the objects at a terrific pace. None of the laboring metal workers seemed to notice their presence. In fact, many walked close by the three men and studiously ignored them. “What in Merlin‟s name is this place?” Bryan daubed a handkerchief on his brow to wipe away the streams of perspiration that flowed off his head. Mortimer glanced around. “It looks like a workshop of some sort.” He started walking down a grated metal path that overhung a large pool of flowing liquid metal. As he walked along, he marveled at the different types of metal, each pool getting smaller based on the value of the metal being processed. A tiny pool looked like it was made of solid gold while another could only be platinum. The thin Auror could only imagine what a cupful of the melted liquid would be worth. Off in the distance, there were several pools that were drawn together by small canals in order to create perfect alloys. The heat raged in the room, and rose to where they were crossing, making them sweat even more. The crossed their particular gantry and walked between two rows of workbenches that were manned by goblins by the score. The large vats were magically propelled to huge presses, their contents poured into spouts at the top, with nary a drop spilled in the process. On either side of the presses, teams of goblins would turn wheels until the giant maws of the mold would meet and the metal forced inside. A goblin team leader would flip over a small hourglass and after a few minutes, when the sands had run out, the wheel teams would unscrew their wheels. On some occasions the molds would remain shut and smaller goblins, armed with large sledges would carefully knock the molds from their shapes causing products to rattle and fall to a conveyer belt below. Still other teams of goblins, sitting astride immobile bicycle frames would start pedaling, causing the belts to move their cargo to the next station.

At that next station, still more goblins would wave wands across the figurines, lopping off excess metal and attempting to add polish to the finished product. Once complete, the figurines would be placed in a collections bin at the end of the conveyer belt, for transport elsewhere. This process was repeated throughout the room. Some of the finished products were smaller, with smaller presses while others were massive, casting full figured statues and taking a lot more metal to fill the molds. All around, they were ignored as they walked through and in many cases, the goblins simply shied away, as if any type of contact would produce an unfortunate penalty. Emboldened by their relative immunity, Mortimer reached into one of the bins with the finished product. It was a small statuette, made of polished pewter. The workmanship was terrible, with globs of metal remaining and the eyes of the figure very off center. The image was one of a rodent, a mouse, maybe wearing red pants and white gloves with a pair of large round ears mounted on either side of its head. The mouse was smiling madly and had its arms open wide. A name was emblazoned on the base of the figure. “Mickey Mouse? You‟ve got to be kidding me. What is going on here?” Mortimer looked as Silas pulled another figurine from a different bin. “Donald Duck.” Silas grunted and tossed the figure back into its bin. Bryan‟s voice echoed out from another bin. “It says, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Collector‟s Edition.” Bryan walked back to where they were standing, holding the small action figure. For the most part, it looked like Harry, with his robes and glasses and arm stretched out with its wand. But this figure had very short hair and Harry‟s trademark lightning scar was more of a straight line. “This is very odd.” Silas spoke out once he‟d recovered from seeing Harry‟s likeness in silver. Mortimer nodded at his boyhood friend and glanced around at the cheap items being made. Silas looked out over the massive cavern. “So, where do we find answers?” “How about over there?” Bryan was pointing to the far side of the cavern where the entire wall was carved to look like a gigantic Grecian temple, complete with columns and statues and a high rising flight of marble steps to the entrance. Mortimer looked around and nodded. “If anything, it looks a lot cooler over there.” He led them through the throng of busy goblins towards the base of the long steps. The workstations near the stairs held the most interesting creations they‟d seen yet. The bins here held thousands and thousands of galleons, sickles and gnuts. Mortimer stopped and dipped his hand into one of the bins of freshly minted coins and pulled one out. He flipped the bright golden galleon between his fingers and looked closely at the face on the front. It was the profile of a man. Mortimer had seen the face before, but he thought that it was decidedly less noble than its portrayal on the wizard currency. Still, he couldn‟t quite place the man and he passed the coin on to his friends, who were similarly baffled. “I know we‟ve seen him before, but I just don‟t remember.” Silas rubbed the coin gently and then placed it in his pocket. “Let‟s keep going.” They reached the stairs and began the long climb upward, each step seemingly bringing a degree of relief from the oppressive heat of the workshop floor. As they reached the top, they were greeted by a massive marble statue of the same man on the coins, except his hair was distinctly shorter and he wore an olive crown and a flowing toga. It was a caricature of Roman craftsmanship, lacking the smooth curves and real life quality of the real thing. Also, even though Mortimer couldn‟t place the man‟s name or face, he was positive that the man

was neither as tall nor as svelte as depicted on the statue. They walked around the statue and into the heart of the massive arched doorway between the columns. Once inside, they felt a light, cool breeze filter through the corridor. There was a din of noise from a room up ahead. Silently, they walked to the door on the right. It wasn‟t a door, per se, but a set of swinging half doors, like those found on the saloons of old western movies. Peering inside, they saw a large bar and rows and rows of tables with gambling games set up on top of them. Roulette wheels, card games, craps tables were all around the room manned by goblins wearing nothing but fluorescent yellow bow ties. Around the tables were the most unsavory characters that the men had ever seen. Some were wizards, to be sure, but Mortimer was convinced that muggles with questionable histories were enjoying the games as well. Mortimer shared a quick glance with Silas who nodded. He‟d recognized some of the wizards from their wanted posters in the Office of Aurors. It was a casino for the wizarding world‟s more criminal elements. Mortimer pointed to another arched doorway at the end of the hall. There was a bright yellow light emanating from the door. He nudged his compatriots and the three silently walked towards the door, wands drawn. Their footsteps echoed on the smooth marble floor and Mortimer winced from how loud the sound carried in the darkened hallway. Soon, the echo of voices could be heard from the door and they stood to either side to listen in. “No, no, no, no! That won‟t work! The word is in, not by!” The raspy voice seemed irritated and Mortimer snuck a peek inside the room. It was a throne room, by the looks of it, complete with raised silver throne and columns along the wall. Its attempt at regal splendor stopped there. The walls were decorated with velvet tapestries depicting scenes of dogs gambling, Elvis and Marilyn Monroe. There was a bar behind the throne with a grotesque fat man wiping down beer mugs after spitting inside them. The man on the throne was the picture of absurdity. His face was identical to that on the galleons and the statue outside, but any resemblance to nobility ended there. He had dirty ginger hair and bulging, bloodshot eyes. He wore an array of loud lime green and orange sherbet robes and a gaudy crown atop his head that seemed to weigh him down. He was short, his stubby legs sticking out from the overlarge throne, making him look like a petulant child sitting in his father‟s favorite chair. As raged at the goblins on the floor in front of him, he puffed on an ugly pipe which emitted green smoke that smelled like dirty socks. The lead goblin bowed in front of the man. “But master, we have done what you told us to do!” The goblin pointed to another who stood mutely nearby. “This is Tye. He is holding his wand. We labeled all of his creations just like you told us. Made by Tye‟s Wand.” The one they called master slapped his open palm onto his forehead. “No. I said put the label „Made IN Taiwan‟ you idiot.” A stream of colorful metaphors and direct allusions to the goblin‟s parentage followed. “We can‟t sell any of this to the muggles if you tell them Tye‟s Wand made them.” The mention of selling anything made the goblin blanch with shock. To goblins, the creations were the property of the goblin that made them, not to the person who bought them. Unfortunately, the man on the throne wore the talisman around his neck. The goblin‟s eyes were drawn to the small, silver whistle dangling from a simple leather halyard around the man‟s neck. The goblin muttered something under his breath, but his master was too far into his tirade to hear. “Hammer Kiln, you will do what I tell you and get ten thousand Mickey units ready to ship WITH the Made in Taiwan imprint, or I will hold you personally responsible for fouling up the retrieval of the Kiln Clan‟s artifacts.” The man‟s bloodshot eye bore into the goblin who bowed his head in shame.

“Master, the Aurors were there, the Bosco vault. There was nothing we could do.” Hammer Kiln bowed reverently while the man stewed. “I need a beer. Gus, pour me a beer, would you?” The obese bartender grunted and belched and then drew a mug of beer into one of his freshly “cleaned” mugs. A goblin standing next to the bar reached up and carried the mug to the man on the throne. He took a long pull with a smack of his lips and a burp and then turned back to the goblin. “Listen you little bug. I told you to get the stuff from the Bosco vault first, but you insisted on retrieving the items in the order they were created. Now, I‟ll have to do this the hard way and wait until I own all the galleons.” He belched once more. “But master, we need you to finish the bond. Our products are not very good, right now. They won‟t be until you blow the talisman and command us to take leadership. Only then will our artifacts have the quality they deserve.” “You‟d like that, you little weasel, wouldn‟t you? I blow this whistle, and command you to take over. Your stuff becomes great, you become leader of the goblins, and then what. You stop making these things, don‟t you.” The man snorted in contempt. “No master, you hold the talisman. We must obey you. Anything you touch will be quality and thus we will owe you are allegiance. That is the way of the Midas Touch.” The goblin seemed to be begging, as if physically hurt by the shoddy work his people were producing. Mortimer‟s eyes widened and he leaned over and whispered to Silas. “I know who that is. I‟ll be! It‟s…” “Well hello there ladies.” The Aurors turned around and found six of the characters who‟d been gambling in the other room standing behind them, wands aimed at their vitals. The man who was speaking was a hulking brute with red eyes and acne scars across his face. He smiled revealing yellowish brown teeth and foul breath. “I don‟ think the big man has you on the invitation list. Why don‟ we go an ask him?” *** Harry politely knocked on the front of 12 Grimmauld Place. Still technically belonging to him, when they‟d moved out to Godric‟s Hollow, Harry had left the Black family residence to Kreacher. The house elf had been beside himself. Despite being free, he could not fathom owning the hereditary dwelling of his masters. Harry had struck a compromise, keeping title to the place, but insisting that Kreacher use it as his own and for other free house elves. So, when he visited, Harry took to knocking. The door opened and a wary eye looked out from behind the door. “Who goes there?” “It‟s Harry Potter. I was wondering if I could speak to Kreacher, please?” The eyes near the door widened and the door swung open. “Oh, Master Potter is most welcome in his own house. Of course, of course. Ruedie is a bad house elf, bad Ruedie!” The house elf, obviously named Ruedie began to slam his head against the door jamb, wailing in misery. “Stop that! Oh for Merlin‟s sake would you stop that? Ruedie, stop that at once.” Ruedie stopped the banging and broke into a fit of sobbing. “Master Potter is too kind, too kind to Ruedie. Ruedie has been a bad elf, yet the master will let him still serve. I‟m not worthy, I‟m not worthy!” As this display continued, Harry saw

Kreacher walking up. The old house elf shrugged his shoulders apologetically and stared at the wailing form of Ruedie. “Ruedie! Stop embarrassing Kreacher in front of Master Harry. Now go and finish polishing the brass on the paintings on the second floor.” Ruedie stared pitifully at Harry and then walked off. Kreacher looked at Harry. “Kreacher is sorry, Master, Ruedie is a new free elf and still does not know what to do. Kreacher let him stay here until he can figure it out for himself.” “That‟s nice of you Kreacher. I hope it works out.” Kreacher bowed slightly and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry chuckled. “I need to talk to Phineas, if possible. Can you summon him here?” Kreacher thought for a moment and then led Harry to a canvas painting hanging in the hallway. There was a small cupboard below the painting and Kreacher reached inside and pulled out an ancient bottle of wine and a dusty wine glass. With a wave of his hand, the glass was clean and then the house elf tapped the top of the bottle, causing the cork to fly into the air. Kreacher placed the glass deftly on top of the cupboard and started pouring the wine from the bottle into the glass. Kreacher looked over at him, and Harry could swear that there was a gleam of mischief in the house elf‟s eye. “This is Master Phineas‟ favorite vintage. Kreacher has seen Dumbledore use that to his advantage.” Then Kreacher placed the bottle down on the cupboard and walked into the kitchen. Soon, the image of Phineas Nigellus Black walked into view within the portrait and sniffed about with his nose in the air. “Who dares drink from my private stock?” The figure in the portrait looked around the room and saw Harry. “Oh, it‟s you, Potter. I thought you‟d removed your intrusion from my family home.” Harry smiled, knowing that Phineas would never acknowledge that his last living heir, Sirius, had willed the property to Harry upon his own death. “I‟ve moved the family out to the country, Phineas.” “Good for you. Now that miscreant son of yours won‟t be flying his broom around and leaving soot and dust on my portrait.” Black kept eyeing the full glass of wine on the cupboard. Harry could see the painting‟s tongue touch his lips, aching over the long remembered taste of the wine. “No, no more miscreant son. Phineas, I need some help.” Harry walked over the cupboard and gently picked up the glass of wine. “Of course, you may ask for help Potter, but I only assist the sitting Headmaster of Hogwarts.” Black had never taken his eyes off the glass in Harry‟s hand. “You could help me, if you wanted to. I just want to know about a conversation you may have overheard. It won‟t take long.” For a moment, Black looked at Harry and gave him his most indignant face. “I won‟t divulge anything about Professor Slughorn. That would be unseemly for me to betray another Slytherin, much less the sitting Headmaster.” Harry swirled the dark liquid in the glass, drawing Black‟s attention. “This isn‟t about Professor Slughorn, Phineas, I actually want to talk about Umbridge and a talk she had with Cornelius Fudge. Do you remember that?” Harry drew the glass up to his face and sniffed the wine.

“Maybe I do, what of it?” Black was positively beside himself as he watched Harry play with the glass of wine. “I‟d like to know which members of the Order were here when you briefed Professor Dumbledore about it.” Harry took a sip of the wine. It was all he could do to stop from gagging. It was rancid. He saw that Black was distraught with envy so Harry tipped the glass slightly and allowed a drop of wine to hit the floor. “Oops.” “Be careful with that you dolt. That wine is more precious than gold. A lot of people were here when I talked to Dumbledore.” He watched as Harry playfully juggled the wine about. “Who, Phineas? Who was here?” Harry feigned tipping the glass again. He hesitated from letting another drop fall, less from wanting to appease Black, and more from a fear that the vile liquid would burn through the floor. “That night, we had Snape, my infernal great-great grandson, the werewolf and that girl who dandied about over him, and Albus, of course.” Harry seemed disappointed. Everyone he mentioned was dead, but Black continued. “Oh, yes, I remember. Moody was there. I recall because he was yelling at the thief about something.” “The thief?” Harry jumped up, almost spilling the wine for real this time. “Yes, that ghastly man who kept pilfering our family heirlooms. What was his name?” “Fletcher, Mundungus Fletcher.” Harry placed the glass on the cupboard and ran for the door. “Wait, Potter! Aren‟t you going to drink that?” Black seemed to be pressing on the canvas as if he could will himself to grab the glass. “Oh no, Phineas. I‟m much too low born for wine like that. Maybe next time!” Harry ran out the door and onto the street, leaving the portrait of Phineas Black with his wine. *** Chapter 167 – The Genius of Mundungus Fletcher Every town has a seedy side, the bigger the town, the bigger the place that mother‟s warn their children to stay away from. The converse usually worked as well, the smaller the town, the smaller the concentration of the worst elements of society. For Hogsmeade, the other side of the tracks was confined to the four walls of the Hog‟s Head Tavern. Renowned throughout the country as the place where the shadowy congregate and questions were few and far between, a happy silence was strictly enforced by the pub‟s owner and bartender, Aberforth Dumbledore. Harry strode into the Hog‟s Head, trailed by Ron and the remainder of his team and Williamson‟s team. The Aurors stood out, like missionaries in a brothel. Harry caught sight of Aberforth, who was shaking his head in disbelief. With a wave of his hand, his Aurors took seats in the large booth located in the back of the bar. They studiously ignored the loathsome and fearful looks they were getting from the patrons, some of whom began to not so inconspicuously make their way out the front door. Harry walked up to the bar and dropped a sack of galleons on the top. “For my people, Aberforth.” The tall man nodded over to one his wait staff, who balanced a tray of steins on her dainty hand.

“Yer bad for business, Harry.” Dumbledore glanced over as another pair of dark robed figures made a rapid exit. “You stayin‟ long?” “That depends, Aberforth.” Harry accepted a stein of beer and pressed it to his lips. “Depends on what?” The tall bartender wiped a spot on the beaten, weatherworn bar. Harry smiled and put his mug down. “It depends on how much help you are to me.” A suspicious glare came over Albus Dumbledore‟s brother. Harry felt a twinge of regret as the disappointment in Aberforth‟s face mirrored his brother so well. The large man let out a sigh of disdain. “You know better „n anyone, Harry. I ain‟t no stoolie. The war‟s over, and I have a business to run.” Harry nodded and took another pull on his drink. With a quick movement of his hand, he drew back his robe, flashing the bright Auror‟s badge on his chest. “I understand, Aberforth, but maybe I‟m doing you a favor. I want Mundungus Fletcher, Aberforth. I‟m not here to negotiate it out. Where‟s Dung?” A dark expression crossed over Aberforth‟s face, and Harry couldn‟t tell whether it was a result of his distaste for Fletcher or from Harry‟s intrusion into the sanctity of his establishment. So, Harry took another pull on his beverage and watched as the bar‟s owner made some mental calculations. “I don‟ like this one bit, Harry. If I tell you, it‟ll make me look less trustworthy and that‟s bad for business.” Aberforth put hands on the counter and leaned into stare at Harry. There was a small glint of something in his eyes and Harry gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Harry responded, almost louder than needed, to ensure that eavesdroppers could hear him. “That‟s unfortunate, Aberforth.” Harry rose and motioned to the rest of the Aurors. “I‟d thought that you‟d be reasonable about this, but I was mistaken. You reap what you sow, Aberforth. I hope you won‟t need us, because we won‟t be there.” Harry turned and followed his teams out the door. When he was outside, Ron turned and looked at Harry with a puzzled look. “Well, that didn‟t help us at all. That man is positively mad. Why won‟t he help us?” Harry barely heard what Ron was saying. Instead he looked up and told the Aurors to go on ahead without him. When Ron tarried to argue his point, Harry shot him an exasperated look. “Just go on, Ron, I‟ll be along shortly.” Ron was angry, Harry could see that, but still listened and followed his team mates up the path towards the main street. Harry walked down a different alley and before long found himself near the Shrieking Shack. Crossing the open plateau between the path and the dilapidated home, Harry walked soundlessly to the front door and into the dwelling. He made his way up the rickety staircase and into one of the main rooms, facing Hogwarts. After a few minutes, the telltale sounds of someone entering the shack could be heard and Harry silently waited until Aberforth Dumbledore walked into the room. “I don‟ like your methods, Harry Potter. Yer just like Albus, sometimes, jus‟ walkin‟ in and thinking people should bend to your whims.” Dumbledore found a clear space near a chest of drawers and leaned up against it. “I‟m truly sorry about that, Aberforth.” Inside, Harry felt the warmth he felt every time Professor Dumbledore‟s brother found similarities between his old mentor and himself. “This is important. I need to find Mundungus Fletcher, and I need to find him quickly.”

“Tell me why. The Dark Lord was one thing, Harry. I had not thoughts about workin‟ with you and Albus against the likes of him, but Dung is something entirely different. He may not be a prince of a man, but he‟s a kindred soul. Deep down, he‟s not a bad man, just goes his own way.” Harry began to feel anger swell inside him. His thoughts on Mundungus Fletcher ran the gamut, but based on what he‟d seen so far, Fletcher was the cause of a lot of trouble and needed to be reigned in. Aberforth‟s defense of the man caused a well of resentment. “This „kindred soul‟ is responsible for the gravest financial crisis we‟ve ever encountered. He‟s probably responsible for the theft of thousands of galleons of items from Gringott‟s and may have something to do with the disappearance of three of my Aurors. His lack of integrity caused Alastor Moody‟s death and he hasn‟t earned a whit of consideration from me.” Harry stalked the room, opening and closing his fists. Dumbledore stared at him in incredulity. “I don‟t believe you, Potter. Dung isn‟t that smart.” “It doesn‟t take brains, Aberforth, when you have power. He has power.” Harry outlined the details of the events of the past few days, causing the older man‟s eyes to widen. “Have you noticed any of your goblin-made items missing?” Aberforth nodded slowly. “I thought they‟d been pinched, or I‟d misplaced them. I hadn‟t heard of this going on in such numbers.” Harry‟s gaze softened. “Where‟s Dung, Aberforth?” “I don‟t know what he‟s up to, but there‟s been a rumor around of an underground casino operation. A bunch of Dung‟s friends came in a week ago and told us about it. They say there‟s lots of cash and a good amount of action. I haven‟t been, but I know where you can go to play.” Aberforth told Harry, whose eyebrows raised wide. Only Mundungus Fletcher could come up with such a place to hide his casino. It had to be the place. *** “Well, well, well. We have visitors!” Fletcher rose from his throne with great difficulty, having to scoot forward and becoming entangled in the folds of his bright florescent robes. “Come in, come in!” Once free of his robes, Fletcher walked up to the three Aurors and bowed in an exaggerated manner. Mortimer rolled his eyes and shared a brief glance with Silas. Figuring that fortune favored the bold, Mortimer stood tall and addressed the career criminal. “Mundungus Fletcher, you are under arrest for theft and kidnapping. You‟ll do well to come along quietly now.” For a moment, Fletcher paused and looked about the room, half expecting a Ministry Hit Team to barrel through his door. When the event didn‟t occur, he smiled, his gapped tooth visage emitting a horrible odor. “Nice try, Mr. Auror. I don‟t think you‟ll be taking me away any time soon. As you can see, my friends quite enjoy my hospitality and I‟m too close to seeing my goals complete to allow three squids like yourselves get in the way.” “And what, precisely, is your goal, Mr. Fletcher?” Mortimer ignored the surly men behind him and the subdued goblins all around the room. He even ignored the fact that his and his partners‟ wands were currently in the pocket of the dense ogre behind them. “Money, sir, money!” Fletcher clapped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation. He walked up to Mortimer and placed his arm around his shoulders. “What is your name?”

Mortimer shrugged. “I‟m Mortimer Gafney. Those two gentlemen are my associates, Silas Hornsby and Bryan Gardner.” “Mortimer, is it? Well, Mortimer, money is the engine which drives society. I intend to rake in as much as I can. Let‟s just say it‟s been my life‟s pursuit. In all my years, I‟ve realized that the wizarding community has an economy that is nothing compared to what can be acquired in the muggle world. Do you know what makes the muggle economy work, Mortimer?” Fletcher leaned in conspiratorially. Mortimer shook his head, no. “Merchandising! Muggles pay through the nose for merchandising! Look around you!” Fletcher reached into a nearby bin and extracted one of the crudely made Harry Potter figurines. “Some muggle writes Potter‟s life story and they make movies about it. That‟s all well and good, but the real money is in the merchandising. If Harry only knew how much this little trinket would bring in, he‟d be a rich man!” Silas stared at the little man in shock. “You mean to say you did all this,” he held his arms up to encompass the tidy little lair, “because you wanted a percentage of the gross?” Fletcher nodded his head enthusiastically. “Precisely, my boy. Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, even our own Harry Potter, they‟re all just brands. I‟m having my goblins make new stock and we‟re going to corner the market.” Bryan looked at Fletcher as if the man‟s head had suddenly separated from his shoulders. Meekly, the Auror raised his hand, like a student in class. “Excuse me, Mr. Fletcher, but I thought the money came from media sales. You know, DVD‟s and Internet items.” Fletcher let fly a loud guffaw. Fortunately for Mortimer, the petty thief‟s face was turned elsewhere, or he‟d have received a full face of flying spittle. “Boy, you have a lot to learn about muggles. DVD‟s will never take off and once you sell a book, that‟s it. It‟s not like it‟s going to have any reprints, and the Internet? That‟s nothing but a fad. Fan sites and fan fiction, that‟s all pure hogwash. The Internet is a fad with no staying power. No, no, no, it‟s pewter, I tell you. The real mass appeal are these figurines and these,” Fletcher reached into another bin. He pulled out a thin metal box with an attached lid. On the top and back were scenes from Hogwarts and the battle with the Dark Lord. “Harry Potter lunch boxes! We‟ll sell a ton of these by the time school starts.” Before he could stop himself, Mortimer‟s hand smacked the top of his forehead. Was Fletcher this dumb? Here he was, potentially in control of all the goblins and all he was concerned with was his ability to corner the memorabilia market. “What about Leslie Bosco? Did you have to kill her to make your vision a reality?” “I‟m a businessman, boy, not some common murderer. You worried about Ms. Bosco?” Fletcher turned around and motioned to his henchmen. “I‟ve wasted enough time on you three.” He turned to the hulking brute who‟d captured the three Aurors. “Take these men to visit our guest.” With one last sneer at the lurking goblins, he whirled around, his ridiculous ensemble trailing behind him and walked towards the factory floor. “Come on, you three.” The leader of the ruffians grumbled and pushed the three Aurors down an adjacent passage towards a lower tier. They followed a cave-like tunnel until they came to a large, steel door. The big man pulled a ring with multiple keys and inserted one into the lock of the door and pushed it open. With a shove, he sent the three Aurors into the room and locked the door behind them. The room was relatively large, and square. There were rows of cots along one wall and a portly, middle-aged woman sitting on one of the cots. She stood upon their entrance into the

room and had a look of terror in her eyes. She didn‟t seem the worse for wear, but the forced incarceration and the nature of the men holding them made her response understandable. “Ms. Bosco?” She looked at Mortimer warily. “Ms. Bosco, my name is Mortimer Gafney. We‟re Aurors, ma‟am. We‟ve been looking for you.” “Lot of good that did us.” Silas mumbled under his breath, which drew a sharp stare from Mortimer. Mortimer turned and faced Leslie Bosco once more. “Are you all right, Ms. Bosco? Are you injured?” She shook her head slowly and let out a slow sigh of relief. “Thank goodness you‟ve come. They‟re madmen! They came into my house and tore the place up looking for Uncle Cornelius‟ whistle.” Mortimer nodded. “Ms. Bosco, one thing has been puzzling me. You‟re employees said that you‟ve been coming into some very good fortune lately? Did you use the whistle to secure the goblin items?” She gave him a blank look. “No. When Uncle Cornelius died, this package came. It had the box with the whistle. From that day on, these items kept appearing at my door. I didn‟t ask questions, because they were quite good.” Bryan chewed on his lip in thought. “It looks like the goblins were engaged in a little bit of sucking up.” Mortimer nodded. “Well, that‟s one mystery solved. Now, all we have to do is figure out one more piece to the puzzle.” “What‟s that?” Bryan thought they pretty much had everything down, by now. “How to get the hell out of here.” Silas grumbled and began to inspect the room. *** Located outside Birmingham, Drayton Manor Theme Park was in full tilt with a summer rush. Trying to look innocuous and blend in, the four Aurors in Ron‟s team and the seven Aurors in Williamson‟s team, plus Harry, had opted for more leisurely dress. As Harry surveyed his Auror‟s attire, for the most part, they‟d been successful in dressing appropriately, but Harry made a careful note to pull Williamson aside and advise him to work with Sean Manchester, whose garish Bermuda shorts, painfully loud Hawaiian print shirt and black socks covered by open-toed sandals left a lot to be desired. Nonetheless, the teams worked their way through the turnstiles and walked through the crowds of families and people who were enjoying another day at the amusement park. “What about that one?” Ron was pointing to a water flume ride, as the heat of the mid day sun seared his forehead. Harry sighed. “Ron, we‟re looking for the Shockwave. It‟s a roller coaster. Come on.” He led the teams, following the signs that led to the massive construct that signified the only stand-up roller coaster in Europe. “Here it is.” Harry led them down a service entrance to a door marked “Closed”. He tapped his wand on the door and it opened to allow them access. They wound their way through the corridors and exited onto the loading platform that accessed the roller coaster at the rear. The door behind them was labeled “Guests with

Special Needs”. A little child‟s voice drifted to them from the queue holding the general public. “Mummy, how come they get to board before us?” Harry looked over saw a boy, no more than ten years old pointing at them. The child‟s mother leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Don‟t point, pumpkin. They must be mentally handicapped. Isn‟t it nice that they help those poor people and let them go ahead?” Harry blushed at the mother‟s characterizations. The boy was persistent. “They don‟t look stupid, except for that tall redheaded one.” Harry put his arm on Ron‟s shoulder, keeping him in place. Instead, he turned to his teams and motioned them onto the coaster. “Remember, put the galleons in your right hands!” Aberforth had explained that the first loop on the ride contained a portkey, where the admission to the casino cost two galleons. Each rider gripped their fares in their hands and waited for the coaster to take off. “Um, Harry?” Harry turned his head and caught sight of Manchester behind him. “I just want you to know, that I‟m a little squeamish on these things.” “So?” Harry let a little frustration escape from his voice. “Well, the last time I rode one, I sort of lost my lunch.” Ron, who was positioned next to Harry and directly in front of Manchester, let out a low groan. “Brilliant.” Chapter 168 – May the Schwartz Be With You! “You can‟t be serious, it‟ll never work.” Mortimer sat on one of the cots as his fellow Aurors collected the blankets and linen from the rest of the beds. “That bar will never provide enough support to pull the door off its hinges.” Silas grunted as he busily started tying the ends of the blankets and sheets together. He and Bryan had removed one of the ceiling tiles that lined the overhead of their cell, revealing a series of pipes for the fire extinguishing system. Their plan was to loop their jury-rigged rope around the bar and use it as a fulcrum the lift the cell door off its hinges. “Come on, Mortimer. Those pipes are solid steel. All we need is the right amount of leverage.” Silas tossed and end over the top of one of the pipes and passed it over to Bryan, who busily attached the end to the bars of the door. Mortimer shook his head in amazement. “Silas, have you seen some of the metal work being done here? You‟ll be lucky not to break your neck doing this.” His friend only grunted and took firm hold of the line, motioning for Bryan to grab on. The men pulled with all their strength and the rope pulled taut. The bars on the door began to creak and Silas pulled harder, encouraged by the progress. Mortimer‟s eyes were on the pipes, which he saw were starting to flex downward from the strain. Carefully, he grabbed a light hold on Leslie Bosco‟s arm and pulled the woman to the back of the room, hopefully away from the danger zone. Silas and Bryan‟s forearms flexed from the strain and the door began to buckle in spots as it resisted their efforts. Silas could swear that he was seeing some incremental movement from the door and urged Bryan to pull harder.

Their efforts were rewarded by a tremendous crash as the pipe finally gave way, shattering into pieces. Suddenly, a torrent of water began to cascade down on them, covering them from head to toe. Their efforts had drawn attention from their captors. The door suddenly swung open and their guard walked in with wand at the ready. The two Aurors were drenched. “What the blazes are you doing?” The guard walked in and placed his wand on Silas‟ cheek. A loud clang resounded through the room and the guard fell down in heap in front of them. Silas looked over to where the guard had been standing and saw Mortimer holding a length of the pipe that come loose during their attempt. “Well, what do you know? You‟re plan worked.” Mortimer snickered and led them out of the cell. At the guard‟s desk, they found their wands and bags. “We‟ve got to find a way out of here and warn Harry and the others. “Sounds good to me.” Bryan and Silas passed their wands over their bodies, effectively drying themselves off, but they couldn‟t shirk the musty, well water smell, like that of rotten eggs. Apparently, Fletcher had decided that well water was good enough for fire prevention. “Come on.” Bosco in tow, the three Aurors made their way back towards the main corridor. *** “Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!” Unfortunately for Harry‟s team, the entrance to Fletcher‟s retreat lies towards the end of the ride. The anticipatory climb was followed by a precipitous fall at a steep angle as the ride gained speed. For his part, the ride was stark terror for Manchester, who to this point, had managed to hold in his lunch. Harry turned his head as far as the restraints and the g-forces would allow him. “We‟re almost to the vertical loop! Get ready!” The coaster took an abrupt turn and then careened down another drop rapidly approaching the large, circular loop. Most of the confines were covered by a long tunnel, so the loop was done in the dark. As they approached the bottom, the car pulled upwards, following the track. When they entered the tunnel, Fletcher‟s portkey recognized their galleons and they were immediately transported out of the ride and into a small receiving area, complete with a desk and receptionist. The woman was about five years past her prime, but didn‟t know it. She had her graying brown hair in a bun with large circular spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. She wore a tight red sweater vest over a white collared shirt that had the first four buttons undone at the top. She‟d applied far too much bright red lipstick and seemed to think that blue eye shadow was the key to beauty. When the Aurors gained their senses after transport, the first thing to hit them was the smell of her perfume, even thought they were a good fifty feet away. Her greeting to them was clipped and broken as the well worn piece of gum she was chewing got a work out. “Welcome to Dung‟s House of Wagering. Place your galleons in this tray and move on please.” She had a nasally voice and a bright, handwritten placard on the top of the counter gave her name out as „Roxanne‟. Harry gave a nod over to Ron, who gamely placed his galleons in the proffered tray. The rest of the Aurors followed and Harry brought up the rear. After depositing the cover charge, Harry glanced down at the receptionist. “So, where do we find Dung?” She gave him a snide look and then tipped her nose upward. “Mr. Fletcher is referred to as the CEO or His Royal Dung-i-ness. Only his close friends call him „Dung‟ and you are not on the list, Mr. Porter.”

“That‟s Potter.” Harry smiled in spite of himself. “Where might I find the CEO?” “He‟s in a business meeting right now. He‟ll be along to greet his guests in the casino shortly. Why don‟t you and your friends head up there, Mr. Patton?” She turned and picked up a nail file and began working on her loud, purple fingernails. Harry shrugged his shoulders and led his team up a nearby staircase with a hand painted sign that said, “Caseeno”. “It looks like he let‟s the goblins do all his spelling.” Sean muttered as he followed the rest up the stairs. Harry laughed and led the team to the top of the landing. A set of swinging doors led into a large room, made to look like an old Western saloon. There were rows and rows of gambling tables manned by goblins with yellow bowties and a set of swinging half-doors on the opposite side of the room. “Hey!” The bartender who‟d been keeping watch with Fletcher in the throne room was behind the long, wooden bar along the back wall of the casino. “You need to change your galleons for Dung money to gamble or buy booze. There‟s a ten galleon minimum.” Harry nodded to his team, and despite a large amount of grumbling, they each went and exchanged their Ministry galleons for the shiny new Dung currency. Once done, Harry gathered them together and told them to spread out and see what they could hear. The teams dispersed throughout the room and Harry ordered a glass of firewhiskey and found a table near the stage where an atrocious band was banging out music. All they needed to do was wait for Fletcher to show up. *** Mortimer led the escapees up the single staircase that led from the dungeon. When he reached the top, he glanced down each direction of the hallway they‟d seen from the throne room. Down the hall was the entrance to the casino and the broad staircase that led to the factory floor. The other direction took them to the open throne room. Mortimer turned back to his partners. “So, which way?” They put their heads together. Bryan whispered forcefully. “We came from the factory and I didn‟t see a way out there, not unless we can get through all those goblins and then fly up to the chute entrance. I say we go through the throne room and take our chances.” “Those gamblers have to have a way in here. I bet there‟s an exit through the casino.” Silas mumbled. Leslie Bosco was so terrified, she simply stared at the three men who were consulting like a caddy and his golfer. Mortimer shrugged his shoulders. “I guess we‟ll try the throne room first, but Bryan, you watch our backs. I don‟t want anymore surprises.” The three men and their charge hugged the wall and crept up towards the throne room. Mortimer peeked inside and saw that it was empty. With a wave of his hand, he led them inside, where they kept to the wall. On the opposite side of the throne room, there was another long staircase that led to a set of double doors at the top. Mortimer nodded his head and led them past Fletcher‟s personal bar towards the stairs. In the hall behind them, a loud clanging of bells started sounding. “It looks like they‟ve noticed that we‟re missing.” Mortimer looked up at the stairs wondering if they could make it up before any pursuit got to the room. Suddenly, the doors at the top opened and Mundungus Fletcher, this time dressed in aqua robes festooned with sequins and

rhinestones came bolting down the stairs trailed by five large and evil looking henchmen. Thinking quickly, Mortimer pulled Leslie Bosco behind the long bar, followed closely by Silas and Bryan. Mortimer put his finger to his lips, urging Leslie to keep quiet and listened. The sound of footsteps from the hall could be heard and Fletcher‟s irritated voice squeaked up above the clamor of the alarm. “What the blazes is going on?” Another voice, the one owned by the large ruffian who‟d captured them in the first place. “Those coppers and the Bosco woman have escaped.” “Escaped? To where? The only way out is through the casino and we‟ve got plenty of security there.” Silas looked at Bryan with an plain “I told you so” look. Bryan shrugged his shoulders and hug the bar. “You men check the factory floor. I don‟t trust those goblins. You men, come with me. We‟ll check the casino.” Mortimer hazarded a peek around the end of the bar and watched as the self-styled impresario waddled off, his men in tow. He ducked back down and saw Bryan and Silas looking at him. “Now what?” Mortimer was at a loss as to the answer to that question. *** Harry heard the clanging of the alarm and affected a puzzle look to mirror the other patrons. Four men, who‟d been loitering suspiciously against the wall, suddenly dropped any pretense and became the security guards that they were. They pulled out wands and dashed for the exit into the hall and ran down the corridor. During the confusion, Ron and Williamson had made their way to Harry‟s table, sitting down while the portly bartender called for calm. “There‟s no reason to be worried. Sounds like someone hit a jackpot!” His words came across weak, as if he didn‟t believe what he was spouting. Ron leaned in and spoke so only the other two could hear him. “I don‟t know about you, but that sounds like an alarm to me and did you see how those brutes ran out of here?” Harry nodded and smiled. “I agree. It definitely sounds like our boys are stirring up some trouble.” “Well, then. I say it‟s time for us to act. Besides, I‟m not liking the way Sean is eyeing the roulette wheel.” Williamson nodded over to Manchester who was slowly rolling the galleons in his hand as he contemplated placing a bet. “By all means. Well, let‟s go ahead and secure this room. Then we‟ll see what we can see.” Williamson and Ron nodded and walked off towards their teams. Once in position, Harry slowly drew his wand and whirled around on another large man leaning against the wall near the stage. “Petrificus Totalus!” The man fell like a tree and hit the floor with a thud. He heard an explosion of spells as the Aurors made short work of the both the employees and the patrons in the room. Within seconds, the only people standing were the Aurors.

“Well done. Robe up and secure the exits.” Harry reached into the small fanny pack attached to his waist and pulled out his black Aurors‟ robe. Quickly, he donned the robe and fastened it tight. Within seconds, his team was ready for action. A commotion at the door by the hallway signaled the arrival of more guards, led, remarkably, by Mundungus Fletcher, in all his color-blind splendor. It took Fletcher a few seconds to register the scene in the casino. Instead of the mayhem he associated with the lowlifes who would be playing his games, there was nothing but silence and prone and frozen bodies across the floor. His goblins stood silently behind the gaming tables and stared at him. “What the devil is going on here?” Fletcher was finally able to squeak out a response. The voice that responded was positively the last voice Mundungus Fletcher, CEO of Dung Enterprise Marketing, expected. “Hello, Dung. You‟ve been a busy boy.” Fletcher turned towards the stage and found the smiling figure of Harry Potter standing in front of him. “H-harry! My friend! How are you?” Sweat began to pour down Fletcher‟s brow and he fuddled with the sequins on the hem of his robe. “Who‟s dis guy, Dung?” The hulking henchman on his flank grunted out. “He looks like a copper. Get him boys!” The man lunged forward with his wand and sent a charm towards Harry who easily parried it with a shield charm. In the confusion, Fletcher ducked down and scurried across the floor as his men and the Aurors exchanged spells. Fletcher scooted across the floor and out the doors and then fled down the hall towards his throne room. The battle was relatively short. The Aurors were honed to a fine edge by years of experience and battle-tested by the recent war. They made short work of the bullies who were used to using their bulk to intimidate their opponents. The fight was quickly over. Ron smiled and looked around. “If that was the best he‟s got, this should be pretty short.” Ron turned over a frozen security guard. “Let‟s not get too cocky, Ron. Remember, there‟s probably a few hundred goblins around here.” Harry motioned to the teams. “Come on!” The ran out into the hall and looked down either way. “Eric, take your team and check out down there. Ron, you and your team, follow me.” Williamson led his team towards the factory entrance while Harry and the others tore off down towards the throne room. *** Fletcher ran into the throne room and cast a panicked glance around. His eyes looked up at the stairs to his living quarters and he realized he‟d not built in an escape route there. Then his eyes settled on his massive throne and he smiled. There was a chute built into the seat that raised up, like a toilet seat. He reached the throne and lifted the seat. All he needed to do was press the little metal latch and he‟d be able to flush himself away. “This is really too ironic, Mr. Fletcher.” Mortimer, Bryan and Silas came from behind the bar, their wands pointed at him. The sweat on Fletcher‟s brow was pouring down and his eyes darted from side to side, looking for a place to hide.

Fletcher reached up to the front of his robe and began to wipe the perspiration from his hands, which caught on the chain around his neck. As if suddenly realizing that he still had the talisman, he gripped it tightly and yelled. “Hammer Kiln!” Suddenly, fifty goblins appeared in the throne room, wands at their sides. Their leader paused and bowed in front of Fletcher. “You called, master?” “Help me, Hammer Kiln. Take care of these people for me.” The goblin glanced over at the Aurors and nodded to his goblins, who raised their wands at Mortimer and his friends. Nothing happened. Fletcher‟s face grew red, his blood shot eyes wide with fury. “What are you waiting for? Take them out!” “Master, you must use the talisman for us to harm someone. That is the law. You must become our true master and use the Midas Touch on our creations.” The goblin bowed low, waiting patiently. Fletcher‟s mouth quivered in anger. He raised the whistle towards his lips, in preparation to blow into it. “Accio Talisman!” The chain around his neck snapped and the whistle sprung from Fletcher‟s hand, made slick from his sweating, and flew across the room into Harry‟s hand. “No! It‟s not fair!” Fletcher screamed and fell to his knees. “You‟ll ruin everything, Harry.” Harry ignored Fletcher as the stared down the room of goblins with wands drawn, some pointed at Mortimer and his companions and some pointed at Harry and Ron. The diminutive goblin named Hammer Kiln walked up to Harry. “You are our new master. Use the talisman and provide us the touch.” The goblin bowed expectantly. Ron looked over at Harry, who rolled his eyes. “Oh, knock it off.” Harry tossed the whistle to the floor. “Redacto!” The spell flew true and shattered the whistle and the floor beneath it into shards. Harry turned to the goblin, whose face had the absolute expression of shock. “You‟re just going to have to face your own kind.” “Argot can‟t wait to see you again.” Ron snickered and the gray face of the goblin seemed to turn pale at the mention of the leader of the rival clan. As if on cue, dozens of goblins began to appear, led by Argot. Harry looked at the new arrival. “Mr. Potter,” Argot nodded his head. “The talisman blocked our sight and our access to these usurpers. “Obviously, you have destroyed it. We will rectify what the Kiln Clan has done and we will take care of their punishment among our people.” Harry looked at the goblin curiously. “Does this mean the goblins will return to Gringott‟s?” “No, Mr. Potter. The Great Arthur Weasley has granted us a great gift. We want to be truly free. We may return and we may not, but for now, we want nothing to do with humans.” The goblin turned and waved his wand. His people grasped their Kiln Clan counterparts, and in a flash, they were gone. Harry looked at where the goblins had been blankly. Down the hall, Williamson led his team in and Harry gave them an inquisitive look. Williamson shrugged. “We took care of the security thugs in the factory, but the goblins are gone. They came in, blinked a couple of times and everything is clean and gone. Just like that.”

Harry nodded. Ron had walked over and greeted his wayward Aurors. Harry heard some high pitched whining and turned to find Mundungus Fletcher being led by the back of his collar by Leonora Sigismund. “You‟re not mad, are you Harry?” Fletcher smiled sheepishly and held out his hands plaintively, the movement causing some of the cheap sequins to fall on the floor. “Oh no, Dung. All the trouble you‟ve caused, I can‟t imagine why you‟d think that I‟d be mad. The Ministry is going to be very cross with you, Dung.” Harry looked at Leonora. “Take him away and somebody get Dennis‟ team down here. We‟ve got a lot of trash to take out.” “Hey Harry! Can I keep this?” Ron walked over, holding a copy of the pewter Harry Potter figurine. “There‟s plenty around here. I could make a killing through merchandising.” Mortimer and Silas snickered as Harry rolled his eyes as he stared at the tiny malformed statue in his friend‟s hand. Chapter 169 – A Day Off A/N: Before I start the story, I wanted to kind of set up where we are. The story is almost to 170 chapters and every so often, I have to reset the timelines and ages, plus get a feel for where the characters are vis a vis the canon. We are in the Fall of 2007 into the Spring of 2008. Teddy is 11 going on 12 and in his first year at Hogwarts. The Potters: Harry is the Head of the Office of Aurors and Ginny is the Senior Quidditch Correspondent for the Daily Prophet. James is 5, Albus is 3 and Lily is almost 6 months old. The Ron Weasleys: Ron is an Auror Team leader (Notable members of his team: Mortimer, Silas, Bryan and Betsy) and Hermione is the Director of Legislative Affairs for the Ministry of Magic. Rose is a precocious 3 and Hugo is 3 months old. George/Verity (canon is Angelina Johnson): George is partners with Lee and Dudley in their ever burgeoning business. Verity is also there, adding some stability to the enterprise. Fred is newborn and Roxanne isn’t a gleam in her parents’ eye yet. Bill and Fleur: Bill and Fleur have taken senior positions at Gringott’s based on the departure of the goblins. Victoire is 8 and Dominique is due any minute now while little Louis is in the future. Dudley and Beatrice: Happily married and beaming at the arrival of their son, Harry Dursley, age 1 and look for a daughter in the near future named Domina. Lee and Sarah Jordan are doing well. Lee is helping in George’s shop and Sarah is an Auror in Williamson’s team. They have a son, George, age 2 and another son to arrive in the near future, another Fred. Dean and Isabella Thomas. (Isabella Ramirez-Thomas) finally got married over the summer, right after the war ended (They eloped to San Juan and had a wonderfully decadent honeymoon in Lajas near La Paguera.). While they have not had any children yet, look for poor Dean to be overwhelmed by two lovely daughters, Alicia and Franchesca, in the near future.

So, there we are, ready to get back at it. Hope this helps. Kreacher kept a careful watch as the Potter children rambled around the large back yard of their home just outside Godric‟s Hollow. James, now five, had a pronounced affinity for heights. His parents had locked up his small training broom because of his propensity to fly out of his second story bedroom window and playing chicken with oncoming traffic on the nearby road. This minor setback hadn‟t stopped the elder Potter child. He‟d taken to climbing any one of the numerous trees that dotted the property, leaping from bough to bough and giving the poor house elf no small amount of grief. Albus, though quiet, was absolutely devoted to his heroic bigger brother. Not as athletically gifted at age three, he nonetheless made a game attempt to keep up with James. The result was that many times Albus would become stranded on tree branches, unable to keep up with James. Still, Albus never seemed to be upset with his brother for getting him into precarious situations. In fact, as soon as Kreacher or one of his parents got him out of trouble, Albus would barrel off to chase after James on the spot. Lily Potter was the apple of her father‟s eye and Kreacher harrumphed to himself as he watched Harry rock the small portable cradle which had been placed out on the back porch so that Lily could enjoy the cloudless September day with the rest of the family. Kreacher deftly raised his hand and made a cinderblock displace itself just before Albus tripped over it in his valiant attempt to mimic his brother‟s climb over a crumbling wall. As he kept careful watch over the children, Kreacher noticed the dust of an approaching car coming up the long, winding lane that led up to the Potter home. Kreacher let out a brief snort and glanced over to Harry. “Master Harry. The Weasleys are approaching!” Harry looked over and nodded at the house elf. Kreacher ambled over and took Harry‟s place at rocking Lily while Harry rose and walked in the front door. The Potter home was new in construction but old in design. It was a large, roomy two story structure much in the Georgian style, built of red brick and festooned with the niceties of a country manor. Ginny had very much wanted the children‟s rooms to be separate from the master suite and to that end, the kids‟ rooms were upstairs while her and Harry‟s room was downstairs. Harry bypassed the broad staircase and turned down the hall to his room. As he entered the doorway, he looked to his right and into door to the master bath. He walked up silently and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms and smiling. Ginny Weasley Potter was standing in front of her sink, toying with her hair with a certain amount of frustration. The sun of the bright early fall day cascaded through a nearby window creating a halo effect around her head. She was wearing a faded pair of comfortable jeans and a loose fitting white cotton blouse. Finally tiring of trying to make any sense of her bramble of wild hair, she pulled it together in a ponytail and huffed, staring in the mirror, turning from side to side, a mildly annoyed look on her face. “You look wonderful.” Ginny turned and caught sight of her husband in the doorway. Harry was wearing jeans himself and had on a dark tee shirt that stretched across his broad chest. He still seemed to favor his leg, the last visible remnants of the fight against Leclerc, but overall he seemed to get better looking with age. She gave him a shy smile and then turned back to the mirror. “I‟m out of shape. Your daughter took a lot out of me.” Harry moved up behind her and nuzzled the side of her neck. “You‟re being silly. You‟re more beautiful right now than the day we were married, and that‟s a fact.” He kissed her cheek and she blushed.

“Of course I am.” She smiled and winked at him. “I guess you‟re here to tell me that Hermione‟s here.” He nodded and she kissed him tenderly. “Then I guess I‟d better get going.” She ducked under his arm and headed out the door. “What? That‟s all the thanks I get for reminding you how beautiful you are?” He called after her. She turned her head and whirled her ponytail to the side. “You were just trying to delay me from going off on my spa day with Hermione.” “I am not, maybe it‟s because I‟m missing you already and not because I‟m you‟re leaving me with five kids and, well, Ron.” Harry followed after her, his voice more pleasant than hurt. “Please Harry, Kreacher will be here. You‟re job is to make sure my brother doesn‟t undo all that very intense parenting we‟ve been doing.” He laughed and walked out the back door, right behind her. The Weasleys had already exited their car, both kids in tow. Three year old Rose had walked over to where Albus had been playing and sat down beside him, much to his delight. James was obviously too old to play with the little kids, and had shinnied up a nearby tree where Harry had built a small platform, a small tree house of a sort. Hermione produced a pack-and-play, mobile crib which Ron was going through the motions of assembling. Unfortunately, the collapsible canvas bed was getting the better of Mr. Weasley, and only the timely intervention of Kreacher prevented Ron from experiencing serious injury. After the bed was set, the newest addition to the Weasley clan, Hugo was carefully placed in the crib, sleeping peacefully, not far from his slumbering cousin, Lily. “All set?” Ginny popped down and greeted her brother with a wink and hugged Hermione. “Ready to go. Are you sure the kids will be okay with them?” Hermione pointed over to Ron and Harry who both offered grieved looks. “It‟ll be fine. Harry is pretty well trained and Kreacher will be about, which is all I need.” Hermione gave a small nod and walked over to Ron. “Now Ron, even though there‟s help, you keep an eye on them. Don‟t you try to fall asleep and whatever you do, don‟t let me hear a peep of your brother coming over here and having Rose point to the racing page.” Rose Weasley had astounded her parents with her uncanny ability to sense certain events. While definitely not precise, it was enough to convince Ron‟s brother George, that she had the sight, and every once in a while, Uncle George would try to get the young girl to pick out winning horses from a betting form, much to the chagrin of her mother. “Come on, Hermione, I won‟t let anything happen, now you run along and have some fun, okay?” Ron leaned down and kissed his wife and led her down the rocky path to their car. He walked around to the driver‟s side and opened the door for her. She climbed in and he shut the door, while Ginny got into the passenger‟s side. Hermione smiled and turned the key in the ignition. “We‟ll be back this evening!” She smiled warmly and then gave the car its lead and drove off down the lane, with Ron waving as they left. Once they were gone, Ron turned and let out a sigh. “You‟d think she didn‟t trust me.” Ron walked up to the porch where Harry was sitting on the porch swing, swaying idly.

“Well, you did try to put Rose in the washing machine, Ron.” Harry poured a glass of lemonade from a nearby pitcher and handed it to Ron. “It said „wash‟ and „rinse‟. Believe me, if you saw what had been in her shorts, she definitely needed both and it wasn‟t like I was ever going to use „spin‟.” Ron accepted the lemonade and sat on a chair near Harry, keeping an eye on Rose and Albus as James fought imaginary pirates from the mast of his imaginary ship. “Anyway, we should be find. The babies are down for the naps, the three year olds are playing peacefully and, well, James is doing what he usually does, I guess.” At that time, James was suspended by his legs, hanging upside down from a thick branch, swaying back and forth. Kreacher moved up underneath James and waved his hands, and instantly, James‟ branch moved back over where the platform was, saving him from any real harm. Harry chuckled and kept up the quiet swaying as he listened to the fall breeze blow through. BANG! A loud explosion of smoke and light emanated from the path near the steps to the porch. “What the devil was that?” Ron had stood up and kept a wary eye on Hugo to see if the noise had wakened the slumbering infant. Harry rose and looked down at the path. A small, shriveled house-elf stood quivering. “Hello, there. I‟m Harry Potter, what‟s your name?” The house elf stared at Harry in awe and then started prostrating itself in front of him. “Harry Potter talks to Drusilla, herself, a humble house elf. Thank you Harry Potter, thank you.” Harry smiled to himself and waited for the small elf to slacken in her enthusiasm. “Well Drusilla, is there something I can help you with?” Harry sat down on the stairs to the porch and got to eyelevel with the diminutive elf. “Drusilla is here to see Kreacher. Drusilla must speak to Kreacher.” Harry nodded and rose and walked out onto the lawn where Kreacher was keeping watch over the two three year olds and James. “Kreacher?” Harry called out. “Yes, Master Harry.” “There is an elf named Drusilla here to see you. You go on ahead, I‟ll watch the kids.” Kreacher eyed Harry for an extra half of a second and then seemed to deem him worthy, because he nodded and walked to where Drusilla waited. Rose and Albus were sitting inside a small sand box, shoveling sand into small buckets and then dumping it out again, and then repeating the process. James was eyeing seagulls through a spyglass mounted on the rail of his tree house. Harry watched as Kreacher and Drusilla talked, which at times became very animated. Finally, Kreacher held up his hands and walked over to Harry, his head down. Harry gave the small house-elf a querulous look. “Is everything all right, Kreacher?” “No, Master Harry. I‟m afraid not. It seems that the young elf I let stay at my Master‟s old house has done a very foolish thing.” Kreacher lowered his head to his hands and smacked his forehead. “You mean Ruedie? What did he do?” “It seems that Ruedie believes that Master Harry left the old house because he was dissatisfied with its secrecy and its size. So, he‟s lifted the veil hiding 12 Grimmauld Place and has begun to renovate the home so that Master Harry and his family will return.”

“That‟s absurd!” Harry shook his head. “We moved out here for the kids to grow up in the country.” “I know that Master Harry, but now I must repair the damage he‟s caused. There‟s still time.” “By all means, Kreacher. Do you need me to send a obvialating squad to help you?” Harry referred to the team in Bureau of Magical Accidents who erase muggle‟s memories when they encounter magic. “No, Master Harry. I shouldn‟t be long. I‟ll return as soon as I am done.” Kreacher nodded to Drusilla who was busily rubbing the tears from her eyes. “No worries, Kreacher. We should be fine until you get back, right Ron?” There was no response as Kreacher apparated away. Harry turned around and spied his friend laying back on his chair, his head tilted to the side, asleep. “Ron!” His friend sat straight up and looked around. “What did I miss?” Harry turned around and explained the situation to him. Ron rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “But that means we‟re alone! We‟re doomed.” “Snap out of it Ron. I‟ll check on the older kids, you keep the young ones happy, okay?” Ron nodded and Harry walked off the porch towards where Rose and Albus were sitting. He was just in time to see James hurl an acorn from his tree at the two smaller children, who were seemingly unsuspecting. Before Harry could shout a warning, Rose reached up a small hand and pulled Albus gently towards her, just as the flying projectile sailed past where Albus‟ head had just been. “James Sirius Potter!” Harry‟s voice rang through the air and his oldest son froze, caught in the act. “You get down here right now and explain to me what you think you‟re doing.” “Yes dad!” A resigned James shinnied down the ladder and began the walk of the condemned towards his father. Over from the porch, Ron‟s pitiful voice rang out through the air. “Harry! They‟re both awake, and they both smell real bad. Where‟s your washing machine?” Harry slapped his forehead and shook his head. It was going to be a very long day, indeed. *** It was well after ten that evening when Hermione‟s car pulled up to the house. Only a few lights were on, indicating to the women that the house‟s denizens were asleep. Quietly, they made there way inside, bodies content from massages, manicures, seaweed wraps, pedicures, exfoliation, dermal regeneration and all body soaks. They tiptoed into the house and found Harry seated at the kitchen table, sipping on a cup of hot tea and reading the latest edition of the Quibbler. “Where is everyone?” Ginny whispered as she set her bag down on the table. Harry shrugged. “Hugo is in the nursery with Lily. Rose is bunked down in Albus‟ room and James is asleep in his own room.” “How‟d everything go?” Hermione questioned, looking around the room for her husband.

“Well we ran into a bit of a snag.” He told them about Kreacher‟s emergency and how that left he and Ron alone with the kids. Both women let out audible gasps and Harry held up both hands. “Relax, as soon as I dealt with the worst child, everything went smoothly and Kreacher returned fairly soon after.” “Which child gave you the worst time?” Ginny seemed to know the answer to the question, but smiled as Harry rose and led them towards the laundry room. He opened the door, and hanging inside a laundry bag, fast asleep, was Ron. “Once I put him down for the night, everything else was easy. It‟s amazing how fast he falls asleep when I run the dryer, although the buzzer does seem to bother him from time to time.” The women looked at Harry incredulously and the Head of the Office Aurors shrugged his shoulders once more and began walking back to his tea and his newspaper. Hermione and Ginny stared at the sleeping figure of Ron and then Ginny turned to Hermione. “Fancy a cup of tea before you go?” Hermione looked over at her husband and then smiled. “Maybe one.” The women pulled the laundry room door closed behind them, leaving Ron fast asleep in his cocoon. Chapter 170 – Hurricane Ginny (Part I) “I‟ll kill her!” Harry reclined lazily on a lounger set up on the broad porch of his house facing his back yard. Albus and James were playing together under the watchful eye of Kreacher, the house elf, as Ginny Weasley Potter, Harry‟s wife, came storming out screen door from the Potter home. Ginny was in a tear and the door banged shut with such force that it roused the slumbering infant in the bassinet set up next to Harry. Baby Lily let out a plaintive wail and Ginny bit her lip in consternation at having disturbed her youngest child‟s slumber. J “What are you talking about?” Harry had risen and was lightly stroking Lily‟s back, settling the small girl back into her nap. “Didn‟t you see it?” Harry gave his wife a blank look and Ginny held out a crumpled piece of newsprint. Harry took it into his hands and smoothed out the edges. “Who Were the Marauders? By Rita Skeeter” Harry felt a pit form at the base of his stomach, pulling him into a bout of despair. It was as if he could never really put that woman behind him and now she seemed to be aiming at his father and his father‟s friends. Not really wanting to read on, Harry forced himself to read the article as Ginny paced back and forth on the porch. Harry cycled through the article at a rapid pace. Even so, he was painfully aware of every detail, every innuendo. Skeeter had written an exceptional hit piece. It used just enough facts to shade the conclusion that James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew had been a modern-day crime family who‟d passed on their legacy to their children, Harry and Teddy. That was the most damaging part of the piece. Harry had been used to being misrepresented in the press, but Teddy was an innocent victim. Skeeter portrayed Teddy as some sort of freak with violent tendencies doomed to repeat the evils of his werewolf father. Harry felt his cheeks burning from the pain the woman had inflicted in this article. He understood Ginny‟s reaction. “I‟ve got to go to Hogwarts. I‟ve got to talk to Teddy. He must be going crazy.” Harry paced near his wife who grasped a hold of his wrist.

“I‟m going to make her pay, Harry. She implied that you‟re some sadistic emperor in waiting and made Teddy out to be some sort of megalomaniac. She‟s gone too far. All she wants to do is make money by trashing the people I care about.” Ginny‟s cheeks were flush and Harry could swear he saw steam pouring from her ears. “Ginny, I want to get back at her too, but let‟s be rational. It‟ll hurt us more to do something overt than it would hurt her. Look, let me go talk to Teddy and then we‟ll come up with a plan.” Ginny looked unconvinced and Harry stared into her eyes. “Ginny, promise me you won‟t do anything rash while I‟m gone.” Her shoulders slumped and she let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, Harry. I won‟t do anything rash.” Harry nodded and stepped off to the side. After a second‟s thought, he apparated away. Ginny stared at the spot he‟d just occupied and smiled, speaking to herself. “I never do anything rash.” She chuckled and walked into the house. *** “Thanks for seeing me, Kingsley.” Harry sipped on a cup of tea in Defense Against the Dark Arts professor‟s office. “I can‟t imagine what the reaction to Skeeter‟s article has been.” Kingsley smiled broadly. “Let‟s just say it‟s been interesting. You‟re here about young Mr. Lupin, aren‟t you?” Harry nodded and looked around the room. “I just wanted him to understand that everything that woman wrote was a lie. There was nothing wrong with the Marauders.” “It makes sense, Harry, but is it wise for you to be here?” Kingsley crossed his hands in front of him and reclined easily in his chair. “What do you mean, Kingsley? Who else should talk to him about all this?” Kingsley held up his hands in mock surrender. “It‟s not that, Harry. It makes perfect sense for you to want to be here, but is it in Teddy‟s best interest? The article has made the rounds and he‟s been handling it well, but if you show up and try to make everything better, how will that be for him? You‟re in pretty much the same boat as he is, Harry. You‟d be defending something that you don‟t have to defend, and all of his friends would know that. They‟d see something that isn‟t there.” Harry stopped his argument short and sat back. “What do you think we should do?” Kingsley rose and stood next to Harry. “I knew the real Remus Lupin, Harry. He was my friend, as was Tonks. Let me talk to Teddy and see where his head is.” Kingsley opened a drawer in his desk and pulled a dusty, beaten leather journal from a secret compartment inside. “What‟s that?” “A few weeks back, when I was exploring this office, I found this journal about the Marauders. It looks like it was something that Remus kept, all the way from his school days. I think I‟ll put this in the library where one of Teddy‟s friends can find it and get a different perspective on the Marauders. Then, I‟ll talk to Teddy. If he seems a little lost, I‟ll call for you. Fair enough?” Harry nodded and rose to leave. “Thanks, Kingsley.” The kind former Minister of Magic smiled and watched Harry go.

(***Please see Teddy Lupin and the Legacy of the Marauders to see how Kingsley handled his talk with Teddy and which of Teddy‟s friends found the Marauders‟ journal.) *** “I don‟t think murder would be good for your resume, Ginny, no matter how much she deserved it.” George paced around the conference room they‟d had built out of one of the back rooms of Weasley‟s Wheezes. Dudley and Lee sat with Ginny, their fingers fumbling about the copies of the ruinous article the infamous tabloid journalist had written. “I don‟t want to kill her, George. I want her to pay for what she‟s done. I want her to have a permanent lesson that will shy her away from interfering with my family, ever again.” Ginny sat down in one of the chairs in a huff. “Ginny, I‟m not taking her side or anything, but wasn‟t the whole acne punishment permanent and that didn‟t stop her from writing this rubbish.” Dudley‟s voice remained low, even as he attempted to discuss his point with Harry‟s obviously upset wife. “Barring some sort of permanent injury, what else can we do to her?” “It‟s no surprise her animagus form is a cockroach…” Ginny stewed about what she could do to Skeeter. “I think it‟s a beetle.” Lee spoke up before he could catch himself. “Whatever.” Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “The point is that she is resilient. We‟ve damaged her reputation and her looks and she still found something to drive. She still had the means to publish this filth and now she‟s making money hand over fist. There has to be something we can do that is more damaging.” George, Lee and Dudley eyed each other as they tried to work the problem. As a brain trust, they were usually very good and defining what the real issue was and attacking it with great ingenuity and vigor. Suddenly, Dudley stood up. “How has she been able to come back? Every time we knock her out, she‟s managed to come back, how?” There were blank looks around the room and Dudley carefully laid out the crumpled bit of her newspaper on the table. “When she runs into a spot of trouble, she buys her way out. She made a lot of money with her books about Harry and Dumbledore and that‟s what‟s been driving her lately.” Dudley began to warm up to his subject. “Ginny, you came real close last time because you attacked her reputation, she got branded a liar.” Ginny nodded. “Right, so she had to dip into her own finances to launch this whole „Truth and Consequences‟ nonsense.” George snapped his fingers. “Right! Now this story is making her money, and keeping the newspaper afloat.” “You know what? This will be unlike anything we‟ve tried. It won‟t matter if we find her to be a liar, because her reputation isn‟t her chief asset. In this case, truth won‟t be the final arbiter. We have to find a better version of the truth that makes her look far worse than she‟s let on.” Lee strolled around the room. “We need more information on her. We need an edge that we can exploit. Not for blackmail, she already knows how to get around that. No, we need an edge that will allow us to get ahead.”

Ginny nodded and smiled wickedly. “All right everyone. We have the makings of a plan, now let‟s get out there and dig up some dirt.” They rose from the table and shook hands. The war against Rita Skeeter had begun. *** Seamus Finnegan leaned against the security desk situated in the front entrance to Gringott‟s Bank. Now the bank‟s Director of Security, Seamus was dressed in a clean, gray suit made of soft wool with a muted red tie. His eyes scanned the crowd of wizards and other beings that were slowly bringing a buzz back to the bank, a flurry of activity that had disappeared when the goblins had decided to remove themselves from human interaction. Now, the bank had been rebuilt and reborn, both by its remaining human employees and by the efforts of the Ministry itself. The curses had been changed, the access tightened up and one Seamus Finnegan put in charge to oversee the entire security operation. His eyes drifted to a sway of motion that came from the pair of heavy brass doors that defined the front of the lobby. The woman walked with an exaggerated movement of her hips, her nose turned upward to the ceiling and her eyes darting diffidently from side to side as she tried to ignore the underlings that seemed to want to get in her way. She eyed the modest lines of people near the tellers and let out a tremendous sigh of contempt and then sauntered over to the security desk, her arm trailing a black and white feather boa. Wrapped carefully around her forehead was a bright, pink bandanna that covered the skin of her head and the top portion of her scalp. She clasped a long, black cigarette holder between her teeth and looked down her nose at Seamus. “Are you in charge here?” Rita Skeeter thought the diminutive Irishman looked familiar, but couldn‟t quite place him. “I‟m the Director of Security for the bank, Ms. Skeeter. How may I be of service to you?” Seamus eyed the haughty woman carefully and did a good job of not reacting to her visibly. “Well, darling. I‟m Rita Skeeter, as you know…” “I‟m sorry, who are you?” Seamus really tried to control himself. His tone wasn‟t necessarily sarcastic or rude, but sometimes he couldn‟t help himself. “Rita Skeeter.” She spoke slower, as if speaking to a three year old child. “You apparently are very new to the bank to not recognize one of your most important patrons.” “My apologies, Ms. Skeeter. I am new with the bank. What can I do for one our most important customers?” Seamus bent at the waist and wasn‟t quite sure whether she would recognize the blatant contempt he felt for her. She apparently did not notice and felt somewhat mollified. “Very well. I don‟t think I should have to wait in line with the commoners. I have a lower vault and would like someone to take me down there straight away.” She stared at him through her cats eye glasses and tapped her tow impatiently. “Of course, Ms. Skeeter.” Seamus raised an arm and beckoned for a well dressed, tanned skin woman to walk over from the bank of desks housing the bank staff. He turned and faced the woman, who offered a timid smile to Skeeter. “Ah, Miss Ramirez. Would you please escort Ms. Skeeter down to her vault? She is one of our most important patrons.” “Yes, it would be my pleasure, Senor Finnegan. If you will please follow me, Senorita Skeeter?” Isabella‟s voice was sickly sweet and it was all Seamus could do to keep from laughing out loud. First, he knew exactly what kind of woman his friend Dean had married

and the timid, sweet innocent type was not her. Secondly, from what Seamus could remember, the lower and sweeter Isabella‟s voice, the madder she was and he sincerely hoped that she wasn‟t mad at him for making her speak to a woman like Skeeter in such a sweet manner. Seamus was glad he was staying on the surface for precisely that reason. Skeeter followed behind Isabella Ramirez to the bank of rail cars that would take them down to the vaults below. Isabella waited until the woman was seated and then pulled on the lever, sending the car down the tracks like a bullet out of a gun. After a long, jerky ride, they came to a stop on the lowest level, number thirteen. Isabella rose out of the car and waited patiently as Rita stood and paced her way to the line of vaults. After a restrictive query from the door, the vault swung open and revealed the large room that was Rita Skeeter‟s vault. Isabella followed the woman hesitantly into the room. The vault was large, although not as large as the one Fudge had in his name further down the hall. Three of its four walls consisted of shelves, lined with rows and rows of galleons. There were some awards and pieces of artwork as well as an older printing press. “What do you do for the bank, Ms. Ramirez?” Isabella smiled shyly. “I am an accountant, Senorita. I recommend investments and balance the books.” Rita nodded sagely, and for a moment, she looked as if she really cared what Isabella did for a living. Skeeter scraped several rolls of galleons into her purse and looked around once more. “You dropped this ma‟am.” Isabella had a small sickle in her hand. It was too small an amount for Rita to actually take it with her, but still too much for her actually tip Isabella. “Just put it on the shelf there.” Rita pointed absently to a nearby shelf and walked from the vault. Isabella smiled wickedly and placed the sickle on a stack of coins nearby. Once done, she followed Skeeter out the door and made everything secure. They rode silently back to the surface and Skeeter walked haughtily away, not even acknowledging Isabella‟s presence or the people around her. The reporter cinched up her bag and walked out the front door, errand done. “Well?” Seamus took a sip from a tea cup and smiled over Isabella, who was seething. “Ginny should have just let me break her arms. It wouldn‟t take me long and I guarantee she‟d learn her lesson.” Seamus snorted out loud. “I don‟t know, Isabella. She‟s not very bright. All you might end up doing is knock some sense into her. We don‟t want her to get smarter.” Seamus watched the door and shook her head. “Besides, Ginny seems to have a plan, and I wouldn‟t want to be anywhere near Rita Skeeter when the ball drops.” Isabella Ramirez-Thomas smiled wickedly. “I see you‟re point, Seamus, but before God, if this woman gets away from Ginny, I will see to her myself and it will not be pretty.” Seamus giggled nervously and looked at Isabella, hoping that she was kidding. He looked closer and swallowed. Apparently, she wasn‟t kidding at all and for the fifth time today, felt glad he hadn‟t done anything to irritate Isabella today. *** Rita walked out onto Diagon Alley and strolled purposefully towards the Leaky Cauldron entrance. She ignored the tide of humanity that walked before her and stepped through the crowd with little regard for others. As she walked through the alley, she failed to notice the slight figure of the toned woman trailing her. The woman wore jeans and a tee shirt and her

wild red hair was pulled tightly into a pony tail and covered with a ball cap with the Chudley Cannon‟s logo affixed to the top. Skeeter quickly bypassed a small boy who smiled at her and knocked him over in her haste to leave. She marched towards the Leaky Cauldron, while Ginny Weasley Potter trailed her prey down the Alley as her plan began to go into motion. Chapter 171 – Hurricane Ginny (Part II) Harry walked into the front door of his house and looked around. The home had that familiar empty feeling that accompanied the fact that the occupants weren‟t there. Slightly puzzled, Harry walked through the impressive front foyer and out through the kitchen to the back yard. Kreacher stood with his hands on his hips, watching the older boys play and holding a wide awake Lily. “Where‟s Ginny, Kreacher?” Harry touched the tip of Lily‟s nose, bringing out a gurgling noise from the delighted infant. “She said she had errands to run, Master. She‟s been out and about all day.” Harry nodded absently and stared out at his boys. James seemed to be trying to talk Albus into something involving a rope and the deep well the boys were standing next to. James took a quick look up at the house and his eyes met Kreacher‟s. Almost as soon as the thought entered his head, James dropped the rope and moved on to another plan. Harry was lost in thought. He turned to Kreacher. “I‟ve got to go, Kreacher. You can take the children over to the Weasleys if you have to run off to Grimmauld Place.” “Thank you, but no Master Harry. It‟s been a long time since Kreacher has been free to watch the Potter children, I think I will just stay here.” Harry smiled and nodded. With another quick look at the boys and small peck on the cheek for Lily, Harry disappeared. *** Ginny rolled her eyes with disdain as Rita threw yet another pile of galleons down on another counter to buy some more useless stuff. Apparently, Rita was making up for the shopping lost in her previous battle with the Potters and was bent on spending to her heart‟s content, now that she had a winning article in the bank. She really ought to head back to her office, and start putting to bed the next series of articles that she was working on. The Marauders had been a nice subject to start with. There was a bit of nostalgia for their names and their heirs were popular among the masses, yet no one really, knew the true story of who they were, so her story was plausible from the point of view that there weren‟t many people to refute her version of the truth. What was the truth, after all? It really didn‟t matter to Rita, because she dealt with innuendo and conjecture that didn‟t have any truth to begin with and didn‟t need any truth to be relevant. In the end, it wasn‟t about what she could prove or disprove, but more about what people were willing to believe. The truth didn‟t matter and the story she‟d told was believable, because even the two people still alive in article, Harry Potter and Teddy Lupin, didn‟t know enough about what really happened to affect the outcome. The end result was that her new publication, “Truth and Consequences” was selling like wildfire and Rita Skeeter was, again, a very wealthy woman. Now, she thought to herself, it was time to add to her fortune and bring those damned Weasleys down once and for all. Skeeter rustled her purse momentarily and noticed that the twin stacks of galleons she‟d retrieved this morning was were starting to thin out. She still had some more shopping to do and decided to make one final stop at Gringott‟s before heading back to her office.

Skeeter strolled back into the main lobby walked directly for the guard desk in the center of the room. Seamus Finnegan was no longer there, but one of his guard wizards stared as Rita made her approach. “Ma‟am, you need to pick a number and get in the queue.” The guard‟s voice was bored and immediately, Rita became incensed at his apparent lack of acknowledgment of her status. “I don‟t know why I should have to wait. Why your own head of security, Mr. Finley, said that I shouldn‟t have to wait.” Skeeter made a mental note of the man‟s name tag. “Mr. „Finley‟ said that?” The man‟s eyes grew sharper, Skeeter‟s obvious butchering of Seamus‟ name raising a red flag in his eyes. Just before he reached the point of actually blasting her, Isabella Ramirez walked up. “Is there something wrong, Gordon?” Skeeter recognized the raven-haired latin woman from the morning and smiled. “Oh yes, Ms. Rafferty, this man has completely forgotten that I‟m one of the bank‟s most important members, and that I shouldn‟t have to wait in line.” Skeeter gave the man a “told you so” look and smiled unpleasantly at Isabella, in her most obvious attempt to curry favor. “That‟s all right, Senorita Skeeter. I will take you down, of course.” Skeeter waved her hand forward regally, allowing Isabella to precede her. The trip down was uneventful and Rita seemed to be in a hurry. Once the vault was open, she made a bee line for the closest pile of galleons and dumped it into her purse. Once the familiar heft of the gold was felt, she whirled around and walked out. Isabella let out a small sigh of relief, thankful that Skeeter was as inattentive to her own affairs as she was to the people around her. Had she take a few seconds to look around her vault, she would have noticed that for every galleon she took, another disappeared. Instead of being down one thousand galleons, she was down two thousand galleons. “Ms. Skeeter, if I may?” Rita turned and faced Isabella in obvious impatience. “What is it, I‟m in a very big hurry.” Rita tapped her feet as Isabella approached, pulling a small, rectangular piece of plastic from her pocket. “I can‟t imagine how much of an inconvenience it must be to have to keep coming down here.” Isabella smiled sympathetically. “For our best customers, we have this charge card. Merely present it to any merchant, muggle or wizard and it will automatically deduct the funds from your vault. There‟s no need to come back here all the time and deal with those tiresome guards and lines.” Rita smiled at the prospect and all she‟d heard was “best customer”. Of course she was special, and now the bank thought so too. She snatched up the “charge card” and grunted heavily. Isabella escorted her up to the lobby and Rita practically skipped out with her new found power. After a few minutes, Ginny walked in and stepped up to where Isabella stood. “Well?” “It‟s done. Still, Ginny, don‟t you think we‟re being too fancy? There‟s still much that can go wrong. Why not be more direct?” Isabella recognized a kindred soul in Ginny and saw the look of determination on her face. “I‟ve been direct with her, Isabella. I want to win once and for all.” Isabella nodded and then an odd question came over her.

“What about Harry? What does he say about all this?” Ginny‟s head snapped to Isabella, a look of confusion on her face. “I haven‟t told him about all this.” Isabella looked genuinely surprised. “Won‟t he want to know? How do you know if he approves of what you‟re doing?” Ginny stood still for a moment. “I don‟t know, but I‟m doing it for him, so how could he object? He hates her as much as I do, maybe more. Anyway, what he doesn‟t know won‟t hurt him. Thanks, Isabella.” Ginny started walking out of the bank while Isabella watched her leave. Thinking on her relationship with Dean, Isabella shook her head. While she could be forceful, she couldn‟t even fathom doing something like this and not even considering what Dean would think. Even though she knew Harry was very caring, Isabella couldn‟t help but wonder what kind of trouble was ahead for Ginny in this. *** “Learn about the REAL Rita Skeeter! Rita Skeeter Abandons her Baby!...” The newspaper stand owner hawked the evening‟s edition of the Daily Prophet, complete with its expose of Rita‟s character. Rita walked along the street and felt self-conscious about all the attention, although no one seemed to know who she was. She palmed a few sickles onto the counter of the stand and took a fresh copy of the newspaper. “Not Enough Time for Motherhood: The Real Rita Skeeter by Anonymous Rita Skeeter, the accomplished investigative journalist and former lead reporter for this newspaper may be the most notorious dead beat parent in wizarding Britain. A teen-aged boy with curly blonde hair has surfaced at the Recalcitrant Home for Boys bearing a remarkable resemblance to the dashing reporter and to this day, no one would confirm the parentage of the boy. Reliable sources indicate that Ms. Skeeter has left a generous donation of almost 3,000 galleons to the home for orphans and abandoned children. Could this have been a guilt payment for her own neglect of her own flesh and blood? Making matters worse, the boy, who we‟ll call Richard Skeever, has only recently displayed magical abilities and has not been afforded the opportunity to attend Hogwarts. It can only be inferred that Ms. Skeeter was under the mistaken impression that young Richard was a squib and left him at the orphanage accordingly. „Richard is a fine boy and we really can not discuss his parentage. Frankly, we don‟t know who his mother is. I can only hope that if it is someone like Ms. Skeeter, she would come and claim him as her own, said the director of the home, Josephine Waterford. All attempts to contact Ms. Skeeter have been politely rebuffed, but rest assured, this reporter will get to the bottom of these scandalous charges. At the very least, Ms. Skeeter owes an explanation to poor Richard. I will ask him what he feels about his possible mother when I meet with him tonight at the home…” Rita seethed with emotion. She never had a child, out of wedlock or otherwise. This was a bald faced lie. Of course she‟d left a donation to the Recalcitrant Home for Boys on the advice of her publisher after her slander incident with the Minister of Magic a few years back. It was that or have the Ministry take the money. Now this reporter, this anonymous, was twisting this into some macabre tale of abandonment. She had to nip this in the bud or else her reputation and her fledgling news magazine would be finished and she‟d have to spend an inordinate amount of money to bring it back. She read the part where the reporter was meeting the boy today and smiled. There was always two sides to a story.

*** The Recalcitrant Home for Boys was a small, nondescript affair with crumbling walls and despair hanging over the poor street where it was located. Rita sat in the shadows of an alley, directly across from the door to the home. She‟d been waiting a while, but one thing Rita was, was patient. She was willing to wait all evening, if necessary. Her efforts were soon rewarded as a shadowy figure walked up to the front door and knocked. The door opened slightly, admitting the stranger into the house. Rita smirked and changed her form to her beetle and scurried across the open street into the crack between the door and the jamb. The murmuring of voices drew her attention and she scampered along the dark, dank hallway to the door at the far end. The voices were hushed and Rita had difficulty making out what was said, nor could she get a good view of the person who was interviewing the boy seated in the room. Rita pushed forward. Just before she reached the room itself, she heard a loud bang and realized someone had trapped her in a glass jar. She‟d been found! “Look what I have!” The voice was very familiar, so many times had Rita listened in on his conversations. George Weasley had her firmly trapped in the jar. She looked up and stared into his large eye. “Now, Ms. Skeeter, if I put you down, will you turn into a proper woman, or do I use this?” He was holding a can of pesticide in his hand. George carefully placed jar down and lifted it off the beetle. Rita, seeing no choice, transformed into her human form and stood in a huff. “Ah, good, have a seat, please, Rita. We have a lot to talk about.” The voice was one she definitely recognized. Rita turned and saw that the “stranger” she‟d been tracking, was, in fact, Ginny Potter, in all her glory. “Potter! What is the meaning of this? What are all these lies you‟ve published?” Rita spat out the words, but sat down in a large side chair. “Lies? What lies, Rita? These are educated guesses based on the facts we have.” Ginny smirked and sat down in a matching seat, while George, Lee and Dudley paced the room. “Facts? What facts? Nothing more than damned liars, the lot of you.” Rita carefully placed her glasses on the tip of her nose. “Fact, you donated 3,000 galleons. Fact, a fifteen year old blonde haired boy was abandoned by his witch mother. Fact, you have never mentioned having a son. So, like you, I have all the facts I need to draw a conclusion and publish it.” Ginny crossed her arms and smiled. “I‟d say the fact that you‟re here tells me we‟re on the mark. „Truth and Consequences‟ is done before it even started.” “Hah! I‟ve been down before, Potter. You‟ve even got me fired, but I came right back and I‟ll do it again. Maybe, I‟ll take on your brats this time. A story about the Potter children will sell very well.” Ginny stood and drew her wand and placed the tip on Rita‟s cheek. The men in the room froze. Ginny‟s voice was cold, low and lethal. “You come anywhere near my children or the rest of my family, you won‟t live to spend a single gnut. I‟ll make sure of that.” They stood there for a second and George started moving towards the pair, hoping to keep his sister from hurting Skeeter, but Ginny sat back leaving a welt on Skeeter‟s face. The reporter chuckled. “Typical for you Potter. Always threatening, always trying to intimidate people. You‟re problem is that you don‟t like anyone who doesn‟t worship the great Harry Potter.” “No, Rita, my problem is that you like to like about my family and we‟re going to put a stop to it. This boy,” Ginny pointed to the rail thin, pathetic boy standing in the hallway, “will swear

that his evil mother, the famous Rita Skeeter abandoned him in order to further her own standing in society. His face will be plastered throughout the land and you‟re reputation will take a hit as a bad mother, which doesn‟t sell many newspapers, does it Rita.” Skeeter stared at Ginny carefully and smiled. “Unless I do what you want me to do, right?” This time Ginny grinned. “Oh no, Rita, this isn‟t a negotiation. We‟re going to do this. We‟re going to make this happen. You don‟t bear on the result.” “You can‟t do that!” Rita stood up and drew her wand, and then stopped short as Ginny‟s wand was out and pointed back at her. “Please, Rita. I‟m so wanting you to try something, please do.” Ginny spoke through her pursed lips and dared Skeeter to act. The two women were locked in a stalemate from which neither could escape. “What‟s going on here?” Harry stood in the doorway, his eyes locked on the tableau. “Put the wand down, Ginny. Rita, have a seat.” Harry walked in and looked over at George, Lee and Dudley, who looked like children caught in the sneaking into the cookie jar. “I understand what you guys are trying to do, but it‟s over. You can go and take that one with you.” Harry pointed at the youthful boy, who was a con artist of wide repute, named Lyle Corbitt. Ginny looked shocked at her husband who sat down and motioned for the two women to sit with him. “So, you sprung another elaborate trap to bring justice to the wickedness that is Rita Skeeter.” Harry almost smiled, but didn‟t and Ginny noticed the difference right away. Harry sighed heavily. “I asked you not to do anything rash, Ginny. What‟s this all about, anyway?” “Harry, I couldn‟t let her get away with it. I had to make her pay for hurting you and Teddy.” Ginny was worried. In their time together, Harry had been angry and hurt, he‟d been frustrated and mad, but he‟d never, ever been what his voice was telling her. He‟d never been disappointed. “Don‟t Ginny. Don‟t make this about me or Teddy, although I‟m pretty irritated about the article. No, this was about something else, and I don‟t know if I like it. We‟ll have to talk about that later, I won‟t hash this out in front of her.” Harry rose and walked over to Rita. “Which brings us to you, Ms. Skeeter.” Rita smiled smugly at Harry. “It was a simple mistake, Harry, dear friend. I‟m sure it can be rectified, but since I‟m absence of malice, I really didn‟t mean any harm.” Her voice was sugary sweet and turned Harry‟s stomach. “That‟s where you‟re wrong, Rita. You see, I‟m a member of the Ministry and a war veteran. Of course, you haven‟t paid any attention to the reforms our government has instituted, but one is the protection against slander.” Harry drew a folded piece of paper from his inside pocket and opened it. He cleared his throat and read the paper. “Be it known that Rita Skeeter has been found printing lies and slander, the following sentence is ordered. 1) That she spend a term of six months in Azkeban Prison for willful mischief. 2) That she pay a fine of no less than 10,000 galleons to be forfeit directly from her account in Gringott‟s Bank 3) That the following words are magically taboo for Rita Skeeter and any use of the words for any reason will result in automatic transport to Azkeban for a period of six months for every violation of the taboo. The words under taboo are: Weasley, Lupin, Teddy, Potter, Harry, Lily, James, Albus, Hermione, Granger, Ronald, George, Molly, Arthur, Percy, Bill, Fleur, Victoire, Charlie and Dumbledore.” “Wh-what does this mean?” The list had been staggering and Rita could scarcely believe it.

“It means that your days of lying, writing or even reporting about my family are over. You violate the taboo in any way which includes writing, speaking , or saying the words, and you go to Azkeban. Got it?” She nodded and Harry snapped his fingers as two Hit Team Wizards walked in the room and took the woman away, leaving Harry and Ginny alone. Harry sighed and started walking to the door. Ginny‟s voice stopped him short. “Harry.” “No, Ginny. Not right now. You had a mouthful to say to me back in Xanadu and I listened. You were right, I needed to grow up, but I‟m finding that maybe I wasn‟t the only one.” Harry stalked out of the room, leaving his wife alone. *** Isabella walked into St. Mungo‟s Hospital and found the lift to the main administration building. She approached the desk and placed a small, well worn sickle on the desk in front of the harried woman who seemed to piecing through the hospital‟s bills. The woman saw the sickle and smiled weakly. “Thank you, dearie, every little bit helps, I suppose.” The matronly woman giggled and Isabella laughed with her. “Tell you what. If you put that sickle in your safe. Close the safe and then open it up after three seconds, I promise your day will be better.” Isabella watched the disbelieving woman who shrugged her shoulders and fiddled with the small safe below her legs. She opened the heavy steel door and placed the lone sickle on the a shelf, next to a pitiful pile of galleons. She shut the door, spun the tumbler then reworked the lock. At first the door seemed jammed and woman yanked with all of her might. Suddenly the door flew open and a torrent of galleons burst forth out of the safe and onto the floor. The woman fell back amid the new found bounty and looked up at the woman who had been her benefactor, but Isabella had already turned to leave and was disappearing down the lift. The woman shook her head and smiled. St. Mungo‟s would make it through another year. Chapter 172 – The Seven Year Itch Marriage is a cycle of independent growth within construct of a single union. Each person in the relationship will continue to mature, sometimes at maddeningly disparate rates, and hopefully, they find a way to grow together, which complements the relationship as a whole. There is a point in any marriage where both partners reach a point where they evaluate their own growth and that of their loved ones and determine whether they have grown together or apart. The concept is called “The Seven Year Itch”, a phenomenon first identified in the 1955 movie of the same name starring Marilyn Monroe. The premise was that men in marriages would be tempted by infidelity seven years into a marriage. The point was borderline absurd, but the term extended itself to look at marriage as a whole. Both parts of the couple would ask themselves, has their partner changed? Is it good or bad? That‟s the quandary Harry found himself in, with regards to his feelings for Ginny. It wasn‟t that he didn‟t love her. His eye wasn‟t straying around, but it was a question that was running through the back of his mind about whether she had changed with the relationship. The issue with Rita Skeeter, detestable woman that she was, had demonstrated the impulsive side of his wife, with little or no regard for propriety and for his feelings whatsoever. Ginny had simply acted, driven by her own inability to control her emotions and with a casual disregard for the consequences. That was troubling to Harry, more so, because he‟d relied on her to act as a governor on his own emotions and impulses. Hadn‟t

she scolded him for always having to play the hero, for always having to be first unto the breach, now she was acting, and not thinking, and it caused him pain. It was late when he‟d arrived home. A cool evening mist blanketed the rolling pastures of their property while a bright half moon cast a bright cascade of light over the countryside. He walked wearily up the stairs to the porch, having apparated in the barn, so as to not disturb the slumber of his children, given the hour. He tread wearily up the wooden steps to the porch and paused outside the door. He hesitated and then turned and walked towards the swinging bench suspended from the rafters and stopped short. Sitting in the swing was his wife, Ginny. “I didn‟t know when you were coming home.” Her voice was quiet and strained, a quality that Harry very rarely heard. She sounded like she‟d been crying. “You just left Skeeter‟s with the hit team.” Harry sat down next to her and together, they developed a slow, rhythmic pace with the swing. “I had to make sure she was processed for delivery to Azkaban.” His excuse was pretty lame, and he knew it. The truth was he was avoiding this very conversation. She nodded and they swung in uncomfortable silence, neither really experienced in how to handle this situation. Through their time together, they‟d been through difficulties, however, all had been around external issues, nothing had tested their relationship and neither was really experienced in being introspective about themselves. It was a difficult feeling, where their stomachs tightened with anxiety while their chests burst with an empty feeling. Ginny, however, had always been the more forward of the pair, and eventually, she got the ball rolling. “I was only trying to stop her from hurting us, Harry. I was protecting you and our family.” Ginny‟s voice was a little defiant, the frustration over how they‟d gotten here getting the best of her. Harry nodded and sighed. “I don‟t doubt your intentions, Ginny, but your actions were wrong. You didn‟t even discuss this with me, you just went out and did what you wanted. You didn‟t even look at whether what you were doing was legal or even what I wanted.” “Sometimes, I just have to act, Harry. She was an evil woman and I acted. That‟s who I am.” Ginny‟s frustration caused her voice to rise a little as she tried to get her point across. “That‟s the problem, Ginny. You acted without thinking. Nearly everyone in your family is affiliated with the Ministry. Your father is the bleeding Minister of Magic, Ginny, what would have happened to him if you‟d extracted your „justice‟ from Rita and someone found out? Do you have any idea what would have happened if someone had found out about what you‟d done? I asked you not to do anything rash, but you went ahead and did what you wanted to do.” Harry‟s tone of voice was slowly escalating, as his own frustration was building. “I didn‟t want to burden you with it, Harry. You‟ve done so much, suffered so much, I just wanted to take care of this for you.” Ginny‟s voice had a hint of desperation as she started to sense the depth of his own feelings about this. Harry sighed heavily. “Stop trying to protect me, Ginny. I gave you my word that I‟d stop trying to be the martyr, but you‟ve got to stop trying to shield me from all the bad things in the world, too. I‟m very good at what I do and I can take care of myself. If I didn‟t want to be an Auror, I would have done something else.” Harry rose from the swing and walked to the railing and surveyed the darkness that had settled on his land. Ginny continued swinging back and forth, her brain working in overdrive.

Her husband turned around and leaned back on the porch railing and crossed his arms staring back at where she sit. Her eyebrows were furrowed tightly in an expression of anger. The conversation wasn‟t supposed to be going like this. Harry was supposed to understand that she was acting as she always had and would always protect his interests. The problem was that he knew precisely what she was talking about and part of him resented the fact that she had to act so impulsively to “protect” him. To Harry, what had happened in the past, had happened. He shouldn‟t have to be saved from dealing with problems, simply based on the fact that he had to deal with what he‟d dealt with at such a young age. He didn‟t want a babysitter, he wanted a life partner. He said as much. “I appreciate that you take everything so personally, Ginny. I really do. I love that about you, but both of us have to change and grow. Both of us have to realize that we are different people than who we were before with different circumstances. We have the children to think about. What you tried to do with Rita is almost no different from what she tried to do to us. There is a very fine line between what sent Skeeter to Azkaban and what would have sent you there.” Ginny‟s eyes grew wide. “But…, how can you say? I‟m nothing like Rita, how can you even think?” “You were wrong, Ginny. You can‟t make something right just because you were targeting someone as loathsome as Rita Skeeter. You were out of line. You were willing to break the law in order to fulfill some sort of sense of justice that you wanted to extract. You brought people we know and love into this, regardless of what they felt and what the consequences might have been. Do you realize how much trouble you may have gotten Isabella into?” Harry started pacing and watched as Ginny‟s face clouded over in thought. “What do you mean? What‟s happened to Isabella?” Ginny‟s mind reflected back over the events of the past few days. Harry let out a deep breath and sighed heavily. “Nothing is going to happen to Isabella. Fortunately for her, the amount of Skeeter‟s fine was equal to the amount of money was extracted from Skeeter‟s vault, but understand this, if that hadn‟t happened, Isabella would be facing dismissal from the Ministry and quite possibly a prison sentence for graft.” “What do you mean? Isabella was doing me a favor.” Ginny was incredulous, but a small tinge of doubt and regret began to filter into her thought process. “The sanctity of our banking system is paramount, Ginny. You saw that with the goblin crisis. Isabella works for the Department of Finance. She‟s entrusted with building up our banking system and you asked her to defraud a vault-owner‟s trust to gain revenge. Isabella‟s only saving graces was the fact that she is a muggle and everyone knew how persuasive you can be.” Harry stared at his wife and saw that this revelation was slowly starting to take hold of her. “I was doing what I thought was right, Harry. I had to act.” This time her argument seemed weaker, as the ramifications began to buzz through her head. “No, Ginny. You were doing what you wanted to do at the time. You felt it was right, because you think everything you do is right, because you‟re Ginny Weasley Potter, and frankly, that‟s the arrogance that can drive people to fighting us. That‟s the arrogance that Snape saw in me and what blinded me to what my father had done to him. It‟s the same arrogance that drives a Rita Skeeter to hate us, because we simply believe that because we have the last names of Potter or Weasley, we are always right.” Harry tried to couch it with words like „we‟ or to share in the blame, but Ginny could feel that a lot of his lecture was pointed at her, and what was more, he was right.

“Does this mean you don‟t want to be with me? Do you think I‟m too arrogant for my own good?” Ginny‟s question was the one he dreaded, not because it spoke of any truth, but because it was the crux of the argument. This was the decision point where what he said would either make everything right or define their relationship for the worst going forward. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to find the words. “Of course not, Ginny. Above everything, I love you, even more today than when we met. You‟re not arrogant. You‟re headstrong and firmly convinced in the certainty of your cause, but definitely not arrogant. All I‟m asking is that you think before you act. Our kids can‟t have both of their parents be impulsive, or they‟ll be orphans before they know it.” He reached out and placed his hand on hers. She marveled at how warm his skin felt on her hand, it was like heat energy radiating from his finger tips into hers, up her arm and into her chest. The pit in her stomach seemed to fill with that one touch. The gesture seemed to calm her nerves and eradicate the small tinge of doubt that hovered in the back of her head. Would Harry want to leave her? Had he grown tired of her? He had not. As if sensing her relief, Harry leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, sending lightning bolts of power through his lips to hers and driving them together in a flurry of passion and pain as the residual resentment between the both of them washed away and a renewed sense of togetherness washed over them. Harry drew back and luxuriated in the sense of love they shared. His mind reflected not only on the events of the past few days, but on how separated they‟d become, between their work, the war and the kids. There had been very precious little time for just the two of them. In fact, this moment together, was the first, real intimate moment they‟d shared in what seemed like years. Marriage is a wonderful thing, but sometimes it can grow complacent when the couple gets so tied up in their lives as a family that they forget about their lives as a couple and Harry was reminded of just how much he enjoyed being a couple. He sat down next to her and reached over and kissed her deeply, his arm sliding around her as her body melded into his, as if some sort of muscle memory deeply imbedded in her DNA suddenly remembered how easily they fit together. After this renewed bout of kissing, they drew back and Ginny began to giggle quietly. “What is it?” Harry asked as his wife broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughing. She recovered slowly and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “It‟s just that Ron always seems to have everything figured out.” “What do you mean?” Harry‟s eyebrow raised slightly. “Well, Ron always harps about the discussions he and Hermione have about everything. Hermione insists on „date nights‟ and „together‟ time, but Ron refers to them as „make-up sessions.‟” Ginny shook her head as she recalled her brother‟s wisdom. “Make-up sessions?” Harry stared at her wondering where this was going. Ginny nodded. “Yes. You know Ron and you know Hermione. Neither exactly sees eye to eye with each other‟s point of view, so these sharing times turn into arguments, which Ron says he looks forward to because of the „make-up session‟ afterward.” Understanding dawned in Harry‟s eyes and he smiled at Ginny. “So are you saying that we‟re about due for our own „make-up session‟?” Ginny rose and smiled at her husband. “I‟m sorry, Harry, truly. I promise I‟ll work on my more impulsive side and try to think things through. Fair enough?” Harry nodded and smiled at her. Ginny, for her part, smiled back. “By the way, I‟d say we‟re long overdue for a good „make-up session‟.”

Harry rose and let her guide him into the house, towards the portion of the house where their room was. As they entered the door, their steps grew faster, more impatient. The door slammed shut behind them and a bright shower of sparks accompanied click of the lock as a “Do Not Disturb” sign conjured itself on the front of the door, masking the muffled sounds from within. A small, stooped shadow moved down the hall from the kitchen and a pair of large, black eyes took in the sign. Kreacher muttered to himself, repeating the same words over and over again. “It‟s about time…It‟s about time…It‟s about time…” The house elf snapped his fingers and a bright pink diaper bag and a dark blue canvas carryall appeared, nestled near the front door. When the morning came, he‟d be ready to bring the children to the Weasleys, allowing Harry and Ginny more time together. After all, it was about time they were alone together.