Chapter 13

Snape made his way to the Apparation point. The air was bright but his heart was heavy. He had peered in on Hermione and Potter – he couldn't help himself – and witnessed Potter stirring in his sleep and throwing his arm around her in a half-embrace. The casualness of this act seemed to him like the most flagrant kind of possession. He couldn't bear it.

Many years later, when the events about to be recorded here had long blurred in the Magical public's memory to become a mere cautionary tale, Snape would on occasion, suddenly and without warning, be transported back to those moments in which his life – all life – hung in the balance. His near failure would seem indistinguishable from failure itself, and he would berate himself for pretending toward any sort of happiness. At such moments, what had propelled him that day seemed the most tenuous string of coincidence. Some might consider it a miracle, a sign of Providence. For Snape, it merely threw back the curtain to reveal our constant proximity to the abyss.

At the time, however, each of Snape's many moves seemed the perfect marriage of logic and instinct; he felt astonishingly calm.

It all began with a drunk Muggle.

"Señor!" Perhaps the Muggle had been calling for a while. Snape was too lost in brooding thought to notice. "You are not to go that way! Forbidden to tourists today! Mudslides on the trail today!"

Snape did not answer with his wand, for reasons that many years later continued to evade him. "I am returning from the mountain top, as any fool can see. Do not detain me."

"Mudslides! Mudslides!" The Muggle was as tall as Snape and twice his heft. He stumbled toward Snape and grabbed him by the arm, his fingers closing perfectly round the sleeve that concealed the Dark Mark.

Then Snape's wand was in his hand, but hampered enough by the Muggle's grip that the Muggle saw it and had time to react. The reaction was unexpected: he immediately dropped to his knees at the sight of what most Muggles would perceive as a slender stick. "No! No! I do as I promise! Please! I know not you are a wizard? You look different from the others."

The others?

Lying was an old old friend and Snape sank into its embrace. "Did they not explain it to you? Or are you truly the fool you look?"

"They – I – they say nothing to me. They explain nothing. Only to keep away tourists, they said. Keep them away, and I will get my reward."

"They did not tell you I would be coming with your payment?"

"Payment? There was no talk of payment."

"Then they have erred in that as well. What exactly did they offer you?"

"They – they –"

Snape grabbed the Muggle, thrust him into mud, pointed his wand at the Muggle's gut. "What did they offer? Before I transform your intestines to razor wire."

The Muggle stared back up at him, befuddled, glazed. Then he said, "Peru."

"Obliviate."

Snape rushed back whence he'd come. The mudslides were a lie, but the trailhead was, nonetheless, damp and slippery. Snape's concentration was so focused on his footing that he almost ran headlong into Harry Potter.

pp

The boy was thicker than he'd ever imagined. Snape resented the breath he was wasting on Potter, who was trailing after him up the mountain. "Goblins don't interfere with Muggle politics, Potter. They offer bribes, pure and simple."

"So they lied," Harry panted. "And the Muggle was stupid enough to believe they'd give him Peru."

"Goblins never lie about payment – even to a Muggle. It is not their way. It's bad business. Besides, this Muggle has seen magic – not of the goblin parlor trick variety. He cowered when I pulled my wand. There are more parties at play here than goblins. Half-breeds, perhaps. Bought wizards."

"Bill?"

Snape glared back at him. "I could just as easily suspect you." Snape refused to waste any more energy on Potter's inanity. He could follow, or not.

pp

Hermione would later remember the slow, synchronized movements of the goblins as they closed in on the stairway – a ballet through-the-looking-glass. How long did she watch, hypnotized, before she took action? "Bill?" she shouted, leaping from the wall toward him. He seemed in a daze, recuperating from his curse-breaking efforts. "Bill! We must stop them!"

Bill looked up at her, squinting as if through a haze.

"This is wrong! This is not about gold – this –" Then she felt the first wave of power emanating from the stairway and fell back.

"Merlin's beard!" Bill exclaimed, and closed his eyes, gripping his wand against the current that threatened to bowl him down. "What is that? What –"

A column of light suddenly poured into the sky; halfway around the world, Albus Dumbledore woke from a deep sleep. Goblins began to descend the staircase.

"Bill! Can we seal the mountain again? Can you?"

"I don't know. It would take me an hour to recast the curses, maybe longer, and the stone is in pieces –" Another wave of magic silenced him. He grabbed Hermione's hand and they rode it out together.

"What have we done?"

Considering the state of her heart, Hermione's voice sounded surprisingly level. "Started the Fourth Goblin War. They're getting their powers back."

pp

In general, the History of Magic was a class that Hogwarts students emerged from with quill ink on their faces, or desk prints on their foreheads. Luckier ones perhaps retained memories of whispered flirtations, or pleasant daydreams. Or – in the case of one Hogwarts student anyway – scrolls and scrolls of scrupulously neat notes that could have fetched the contents of the entire Hogwarts Express sweets cart come exam time.

Hermione thus knew that the Third Goblin War – the longest and most bloody – ended with the Treaty of Avalon, in which the goblins agreed to a magical divestment of their powers. Only the most banal of tricks – things learned in the first months by Hogwarts First Years – remained to them.

It also occurred to her that the end of the Third Goblin War coincided perfectly with the last days of the Inca. The information in her brain even impressed her sometimes.

Did it fall upon the last of the Inca magicians to seal the magic away, deep within the mountain? Was Machu Picchu, lost to everyone, Muggle and Magical, besides the local people until a hundred years ago, a fortress to guard it? Did the Spaniards who destroyed similar talismans all over the Andes know something? Were they looking not just for gold, but power as well?

These questions all raced through Hermione's mind in a single moment just as a figure stepped onto the mountain top, hair blown back in the wind, wand out and eyes bright with the awareness of danger and magic.

"Harry!" cried Hermione.

Harry rushed to her side. "I felt the magic coming at me all the way up the mountain. I thought – it was just gold they were after – I –"

"There's no time for that now. I need you to help me reassemble the stone. Bill can seal it."

"Even if there's time, that may not be enough," Snape said, striding over a low wall to join them, wand in hand. "Inca curses may be but a trifle when the goblins get their power back."

"What else can we do?" Harry said.

"We can go in."

With a great flash of light, Bill and Snape's bodies flew backward into the stone wall and fell limp.

"I think not," said the shriveled half-breed perched behind them on the wall, his wand now pointed at Snape. Behind him, a near-giant pointed his wand at Hermione. "Harry Potter, well met."

Harry stood completely still, his wand limp at his side, his face averted.

"Harry?" Hermione said, staring at her friend.

A very long moment passed before Harry looked at her, his face like the stone surrounding them. "I'm sorry, 'Mione."

"You – you knew! You've known all along. You set me up, you – bastard!"

"Now, now," the half-breed said. "I would not insult Mr. Potter. Not if you value any power you might have in the new regime. And there is power to be had, my dear, as we all can feel. Now, if you would, Daggar?" Daggar seized Hermione's wand and took Snape's and Bill's as well.

Snape groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering. Unthinkingly, Hermione rushed to him.

Daggar raised his wand, but suddenly Harry said, in his most imperious, pay-homage-to-The-Boy-That-Lived voice, "I demand we re-discuss the terms of our agreement. You lied to me."

The half-giant turned toward him, giggling. It was not a pretty sound. "He is not so dimwitted after all."

"Clearly, my services were worth far more than what you offered, considering what is at stake."

The half-goblin spat, "You've negotiated your terms already, boy. You've got no leverage here. You'll be lucky if we let you live."

Potter raised his wand slightly. "You did not disarm me."

"No matter," said the half-goblin, closing his eyes as another wave of power emanated from the hole in the mountain. "All will soon be irrelevant. Besides, you have contracted not to raise a wand against us, just as we have you."

Harry's wavered some.

"You should congratulate yourself," the half-goblin continued. "Few have the opportunity to change the course of history twice."

"I feel very fortunate."

"I sense some remorse. Perhaps you wish you could perform the killing curse right now. Pity the contract forbids it. Or will you break it and face the consequences? Oh, I think not." From her position next to Snape, Hermione studied the tiny, withered wizard. He was gloating. The power spilling from the mountain was making him – and his cohort – careless. She fingered the Augmenting Potion in her pocket. Harry's pleas seemed to be occupying what little attention they possessed for matters beyond the mountain's core.

She slowly brought the potion to her lips, as she heard Harry say, "Perhaps I will go ahead and duel both of you at once. See if you are willing to break contract yourselves. Or would you like to give me what is mine? I have sacrificed everything to help you!"

Snape's injuries were surprisingly slight. Even in her trance, it occurred to her that these two villains, as sinister as they might seem, were no great wizards; surprise and betrayal were more their source of power than any spell. She positioned herself so that Snape's face was obscured from her enemies. Moments later, when his eyes fluttered open, she put her hand on his mouth. "Don't move. We're not alone."

The halfbreed continued. "What would satisfy you, Harry Potter?"

"I want an island."

"There are enough of those to go around," said the half-goblin.

"Someplace beautiful – peaceful. I deserve at least that."

"Done."

"And I want you to spare the lives of my friends."

"Easy enough – it's not a very long list at this point, is it?"

Harry seemed unfazed. His voice was tight and full of power and a kind of pain. "Spare Hermione," he commanded. "And Bill."

"And the other one?"

Harry laughed bitterly. "Snape?" He walked toward Hermione and Snape's body, still motionless against the wall – close enough that he might have seen Snape's eyes snap shut once more. "Should I spare Professor Snape?" Then he shouted, desperately and commandingly, "Snape!" An object whirled itself toward Snape as Harry called out, "Catch!" and ran toward the stairway leading into the mountain.

Both half-breeds looked helplessly for a moment at Potter, then in quick agreement pointed their wands at Hermione. "Stop, Harry Potter!" called the half-goblin. "Stop, or your friends will die."

"Just go!" Hermione cried.

The half-goblin lifted his wand. A loud thud issued behind him, as of a tree being felled. Just as the half-goblin turned to see his partner lying, eyes open, unmoving, he fell himself; Harry disappeared down the stairway.

Snape stood up, his face grim. His hand remembered well the curve and heft of Potter's wand – it was as if he were back again in Tom Riddle's cottage. Indeed, the situation was surprisingly like, down to the deafening magical noise. The very ground vibrated with it.

He looked at Hermione, and for one moment, it was all he could do to keep his wartime mask in place. But emotion had no place here. "Heal him," he said, with a quick gesture toward Bill. "Seal the mountain – no matter what happens. Accio wand!" His wand sailed from Daggar's body into his grip. "Goodbye, Hermione." Before Hermione could respond, Snape had followed Harry into the mountain.

pp

There was a certain symmetry to it, wasn't there? Snape mused, as he sped down the stairway after Potter, nearly blinded by the light issuing from the depths. Surely he and Potter would meet their demise in the mountain, side by side, as they no doubt should have in Tom Riddle's cottage. Perhaps the Fates would even orchestrate their deaths so that they would be holding hands, just to complete their farcical resemblance to star-crossed lovers. Snape's only consolation was that his tie to Potter would at last be severed.

What did the boy think he would do, anyway, wandless against a fleet of goblins? Would he even be able to navigate the stairway? Perhaps he'd already slipped and tumbled down it, landing at the feet of the goblin horde, his neck broken. Snape had nearly stumbled himself several times, even having cast a quick spell to shade his eyes from the light. The stairway was uneven, the cliff wall it ran along grooved and jagged. Just in time, Snape saw a large gap in the stairway and leapt over it, just hitting the other side. The stair he landed on crumbled under his weight as he pushed up to the next, grabbing a knob of rock on the wall. The debris of the shattered step rattled as it fell down, down into the chasm. Several steps later, he heard the scattered echo of its hitting bottom. Well, that gap must have slowed the goblins. Any little bit helped.

All at once, the stairway opened into a broad cavern, illuminated by a powerful glow that seemed to emanate from the walls. The goblins – there were maybe thirty of them – were only steps ahead of him, and had begun to encircle a stone monolith that looked like a smaller replica of the Intihuatana Stone. They seemed lit from within, as if the light in the cavern had spilled into them.

But where was the boy? There was no place to hide in this chamber of light.

pp

Miserly and weak, gnarled and pitiful – so his people had been for all his long life. Gold was but a proxy for power, but most – slaving away in the bowels of Gringott's – had forgotten this.

A few had not. A few held on to the lore of the past. A few had bid their time. History and gold and time, those were the only weapons left to his people. Time saw wizards and witches turning on each other – and forgetting the past. Gold bought Muggles and Ministries. History led them here.

It was a slow progress down into the mountain. His people were not known for their agility. Silvermidge did not lead the way. He was no fool. The steps might be treacherous, worn or crumbling. Let those made foolish by their greed plummet to their doom. He had waited long enough for this day; a few seconds would not change what was inevitable.

For inevitable it was. There were rumors in the goblin world. Goblins listened through the walls in the chambers of Gringott's; goblins read precious documents. There were goblins who knew more about the wizarding world than wizards themselves. When word had reached him of the Girl, of her ability to untangle multiple curses, a plan had been set in motion. It had been just a matter of time before the stone would be unlocked. The Boy – Harry Potter – had been easy enough to play, he was so desperate for a return of his freedom. If pity were a goblin emotion, Silvermidge might even feel it for the Boy right now. What he must be thinking on the mountaintop now, with Daggar and Stringet! The Boy had been a failure in the cottage of the Voldemort wizard, and now, a failure again.

Yes, he would feel sorry for the Boy if he didn't already naturally despise him.

At the very moment that thought reached him, two strong hands clamped around his neck and pulled him into a narrow crevice in the rock.

"You!" Silvermidge spat.

"This is it, Silvermidge," the Boy said. "The end of the road."

Silvermidge would not succumb to panic. The Boy could be played. "For me, perhaps. Hurl me into the depths, if you dare. But there are many more of us than you. Every second, they get closer to being what we once were. Will you be able to stop us all? I think not."

"How do I stop it? How do I stop them? Tell me, or you will not live."

"Have you forgotten your contract with us? I doubt you are willing to suffer the consequences of breaking it. Do you want to become like us? Believe me, you do not want your powers stripped away. And even if you were willing to risk it, what then? Will you strangle me with your bare hands? Will you detain us all with your mere body? You truly are a fool. You think you are destined to play the role of the hero? All you've ever been, Harry Potter, is bait. A decoy. A child acting while the grown-ups did the real work." If the Boy only loosed his grip slightly, Silvermidge could Blink out of his reach.

"You're right," the Boy said flatly, but continued to hold him fast.

"Time works against you. My people are closer to their goal. This is what in business we call 'an impasse.'"

It was clear the Boy was frozen with indecision. Then, he turned his head for a quick moment toward a noise outside the crevice – the sound of debris falling down, down into the chasm and the scattered echo of its hitting bottom. It was enough. Silvermidge Blinked out of his grasp back to the stairway. He rushed downward into the mountain.

Too soon, Potter was on him again, hands clamping down on his small form even more tightly than before. This was getting ridiculous. He would not come this far only to be stopped by this pitiful fool.

"How do I stop them?" the Boy demanded again. "Or I will hurl you off the ledge."

"Your threat is empty, Boy, and we both know it."

The Boy looked up ahead, suddenly intent, as if something caught his interest. "I'll carry you to them. You will tell them to stop."

"It's all been set in motion, boy. There is no stopping it."

The Boy didn't seem to heed his warning. He lifted him up and began to carry him forward, but after only a small length of the stairway, he put him down.

"No." He said. "I've a better idea."

What now?

"Do you really want to share the power with all those goblins? Aren't they beneath you?" Was the boy really trying to cut a deal with him? "Wouldn't you rather…"

Silvermidge Blinked out of his grip again, further down the stairs – except there were no stairs there at all.

Too late, he reached for a knob of rock just out of his grasp. "You –"

"Goodbye," the Boy said.

It was the last word Silvermidge ever heard.

pp

Clearly the boy had fallen to his death. Typical. It was all up to Snape once more.

Light continued to pour from the Intihuatana-stone-in-miniature, infusing the goblins. Their eyes were closed, their withered bodies swayed in unison, a grotesque chorus.

Snape operated on instinct. "Confringo!" he called, wand pointed at the stone, but the shattering spell scattered like a mist.

The goblins turned toward him. Their eyes were pools of light. Snape raised his arm to shield his face from the glare, but could see just enough to note that they all carried wands now and the wands were raised.

His mind raced. What could they do to him? They had never been trained, never done more than a handful of parlor tricks. It might be like battling a classroom full of first years. He smirked in spite of himself.

"Crucio!" said the goblins in unison.

Not a classroom of first years, then.

Snape was no stranger to Crucio. No, no one who had served Voldemort was. This Crucio was different. Not as intense, certainly, but there was a sickening gentleness to it, a slow-moving, paralyzing ache that began in his chest and radiated out to his feet and hands. Whereas the Cruciatus Curse pushed all thought but pain away, Snape found himself quite aware of his environment – of the brightness of the cave, of the goblins facing him, their eyes aglow.

Of, suddenly, Harry Potter on the platform above the stone, bathed in light, shouting in his bright, boyish voice, "Stop!"

Like that, the pain was gone. The goblins faced the stone once more, their wands pointed at Harry. The goblin named Trowel spoke. "Don't! It is the Boy! The contract forbids us to touch him – and he us. He is irrelev –"

"Avada Kedavra!" In a flash of green light, Trowel fell. Then the goblin at his left. Snape would kill as many as he could. He saw no other course of action.

The goblins turned toward him again. Snape dashed behind a cave formation, leaving a wake of missed goblin curses behind him. Two down, some fifty newly empowered goblins to go. He knew it in his heart: this would not go well. He hoped above the surface Hermione and Bill fared better.

Harry long ago forgotten, the goblins slowly crept toward him. At that pace, he could kill maybe six or seven before they reached him. Then – but no matter. It was an ignominious end, but he'd never expected better.

He stepped out from behind his shelter, shouting the killing curse once, and then twice more, just as the goblins raised their wands.

Many things happened at once. Three goblins fell; raspy goblin voices called out all matter of curses; and, in a blur of motion, Harry Potter leapt in front of Snape and took the curses, every one. He fell at Snape's feet.

Even Snape could not help being touched by such a gesture, useless though it had been. He looked up from Potter's body, hoping the distraction would allow him to kill at least a few more of the creatures before he was done for – but, rather than a host of the enemy with wands poised to kill him, he saw on every one a look of sheer horror as they stared at Potter's limp body. A second later, each goblin dropped his wand as if it had become white hot in his hands.

Then Snape understood: they had broken the contract. Centuries after their people's powers had first been divested, they had lost their magic a second time.

There was little time to dwell on this; he could feel the magic pouring back out of them, swirling about the room. What would happen now? He didn't care to find out. He picked up Potter's body, slung it over his shoulder, and made his way up the stairway as fast as he could.

pp

"Reparo," Hermione said again, fusing another several pieces of the stone in place.

"I'll need the stone in the opening soon," Bill called out, breathless, between curses. "I'm nearly done. You?"

"Nearly," Hermione shouted. It was torture, re-assembling the stone, a tedious task so at odds with the mountain humming with magic, and with her heart pounding with concern for those who had gone within.

She restored the last few pieces. "There!"

Bill and Hermione looked at each other.

"It must be done," Bill said. "We have to seal them inside. We have no choice."

For once, logic left her. "Wait! Can't we just wait?"

"Hermione! You know it's what we have to do!"

"Give him another few minutes!"

"I know how you feel about Harry, but –"

Snape emerged from the mountain. There were no Daily Prophet photographers to record his exit, the Boy Who Lived slung over his shoulder, both Potter's and his wands held together in his other hand, his body seeming to glow with the light that still poured from the mountain.

He looked at the reassembled stone and pointed his wand at it. "Mobilicautes!" The monolith uprooted itself, sailed through the air, and landed with a mighty crack over the opening in the mountain. Light still escaped from the seams between it and the opening – the stone seemed to glow like a giant ember. "Seal it!" he said to Bill. "Now!" Breathing heavily, he placed Harry's body unceremoniously on the ground, where it lay motionless.

"Harry!" Hermione ran to his side.

Bill stepped up to the stone. A few moments later, the magical noise ceased, the light from the mountain was snuffed out, and all plunged into stillness. Bill rubbed his eyes, as if he'd woken up from a long nap. He looked at Snape, then at Hermione cradling Harry's limp form. "Dead?" he said.

Snape shook his head. With his luck, he could only assume Harry would soon be very much alive, intimately healed by Hermione once again, and, this time, legitimately the hero of the wizarding world.

No matter. Snape walked over to Bill and put his hand on his shoulder for a moment. Though his face was expressionless, there was no mistaking the warmth behind the gesture. He caught Hermione's eye and nodded briefly, staying long enough to watch her turn her attentions to the boy. He began his trek down the path.

The stillness of centuries filled the heart of the mountain.

pp

Author's notes:

1. I'd like to dedicate this last chapter to Barbara for both her encouragement in this project and her generosity during a dark time.

2. Stay tuned for the next and final chapter – I will post it tomorrow. That's right. I'm done (minus an edit here or there).