Gringotts, Diagon Alley, London
So here's where Harry was now. Arrested just three days after practically saving the world from an immortal villain.
"So, what's the exact reason for us being here?" he asked Greyore, as the cart sped onwards, twisting and turning on the rickety mine track.
"You'll see, soon enough," cackled Greyore in another fit of demonic laughter. Harry heard Ron mutter something and saw Hermoine give him a punch on the arm, but Harry, again, decided to remain inside himself. His resentment in being placed in such a predicament hadn't shown. He'd been holding a lot of things inside him, lately, though – his fears of Voldemort somehow returning again; his constant worrying over Ginny (who continued to tell Harry that she was fine); and the painful thought of all the people who had died at Hogwarts…practically all because of him.
His first impressions at the arrest were "What gives you the right"s, "What the fuck"s, "Are you out of your mind"s, and "You and what army"s. However, with Ron and Hermoine's hands already bound with the Arm-Cuff jinx, along with their wands taken away (they had reached for these first when approached in Australia), and with the presence of four Minisrty workers, one being the Minister himself, Harry decided against the impulse to fight against the order. He came quietly, in the sense that he didn't go kicking or screaming, but he wasn't silent. He dropped some 'fucks' and 'bastards' and 'son of a bitches', earning gasps from the women, chuckles from Ron, and evil glares from the men.
"YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE NO CLUE THE DANGER YOU'VE PUT US IN, POTTER!" bellowed Kingsley, blowing up in Harry's face. The Boy Who Lived shut up after that.
"Well then, what did we do?" asked Harry. Kingsley sighed, rubbing his slack face with the heels of his palms. The man seemed overworked, stressed, and quick to lash out.
"In the current conditions-" he spared the Burrow a look of suspicion, as though the walls were silently listening to their words, "-you can see why we can't tell you."
"We have spells that go against bugging, and they're up all the time," offered Hermoine, but Kingsley had claimed that this was too risky.
"Kings, this place is too guarded-" Mr. Weasley began, but Kingsley cut him off.
"No, no…it's not a matter of security. I know you and Molly have this place well under wraps. It's a matter…well, of discression. Due to the new job, I'm to be constantly followed by my bodyguards, who have been expressly forbidden to know. Because they can't leave my side, I'm afraid that-"
"Who passed along those orders, Kingsley?" asked Harry, bemused. It seemed comical that the Minister of Magic, the most powerful man in the Wizarding community, would have to take orders from someone else (most likely a lower-standing employee).
"The Gringotts director, Lance Bottlegreen." Muttered Kingsley, developing a red blush under is dark cheeks.
"Gringotts?" asked Ron, but it only took him a second for him to realize why Gringotts would have trouble with him, Harry and Hermoine. "Oh, no…"
That was what Ron had assumed. He thought, as did the rest of the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermoine, that this summons would deal with the illegality of what they had done – break-in, endangerment of employees, assault and battery, not to mention the use of the Imperious Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses. Due to the nature of why he had used it, Kingsley had pardoned Harry from the crimes of using such spells like Imperio and Crucio. Did Bottlegreen not know this?
Gringotts Inner-Most Vaults, Diagon Alley, London
The mine cart continued to twist and turn. Harry was starting to shiver from the cold wind blowing past him, and the braziers that illuminated the walls of the cave seemed more weathered and older than the next.
"How much farther is this-" Harry started, but stopped.
As the mine cart took another wide turn, a large building appeared from behind a stalagmite that the track curved around. It looked like a large sunflower made of red clay. Its base and roof were connected to the ceiling and floor, and along the body of the tower were hundreds and hundreds of holes, with the wood-and-metal tracks coming out of them like spindly little spider legs.
Greyore's face, which had looked maniacal the entire ride, seemed to sober up.
"Welcome to Kracis," he said in a quiet voice. "Home of the goblins."
