Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

In the last chapter...

Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned. On his first trip away from the manor, he'd managed to run into to Voldemort and get captured by the ministry. Only Harry Potter had enough abysmal luck to pull that off.

Chapter 24

"Didn't the house elves warn you off?" Arthur asked, running in from the next room over while stuffing a large book with a crumbling binding into his bag.

"Vol- I mean You-Know-Who -" Harry glanced carefully at Neville's grandmother. She gave him a prim nod. Harry rushed on. "He's trying to get himself installed as minister. He made a big speech in front of Gringotts. We thought it best to hurry." Harry pointed to his forehead where his scar would normally took pride of place as explanation of how he knew.

Both Madame Malkin and Arthur did a double take. Before either of them could reply to that outlandish statement, Augusta intervened. "Mopsie, Minnie, where are you?" She raised her voice.

No house elf responded to her call.

Arthur's mouth drew down in an unhappy frown. "They called me in from the greenhouse to deal with the portraits, and that's when I found your fantastic collection of arithmancy books. I never knew-" Arthur took a deep breath and visibly took a hold of himself. "When the aurors first announced themselves, I sent both house-elves to you with all they'd packed. That was nearly ten minutes ago. I grabbed these books for research and development before escaping."

While Arthur had been speaking, Harry drifted near the windows of the receiving room. He peeked out the curtains. Gesticulating house-elves came into view. They appeared to be giving a small group of aurors a thorough dressing down, Augusta Longbottom style. Harry wished he could hear what they said. Judging by Dawlish's red face, it was infuriating.

Harry smiled.

"Look here!" He gestured the others toward the window. "They're outside stalling the aurors, as near as I can tell."

As Gawain Robards moved to tap his throat with a wand, presumably to cast the sonorus charm to speak to them again, one of the house-elves moved forward and began shaking her small finger under his nose. The head auror turned to one of the men surrounding him and growled something. Every auror pulled out his wand and aimed at the two elves with bags hanging off each limb and criss-crossing their chest. They looked more like covered coat racks than elves. Instead of cowering, though, both house-elves pivoted on their feet and winked away.

Pop! Pop!

Both house-elves appeared next to their mistress, smug smiles plastering their faces.

"What-" Arthur began to thunder, his face growing an uncharacteristic red. A wave of Augusta's hand quickly cut him off.

"I see you were stalling to allow Arthur to get away. Excellent. Unfortunately, we're trapped here now. Can you wink us out?"

The two elves hung their heads. "No," one whispered disconsolately.

"Not through wizard wards. Winking is like wizard travel, but for elves." The other said, drooping under her suddenly heavy burden of bags.

Augusta nodded and turned to the others. "I encourage independence in my elves. They did their best. I won't blame them."

"Of course not," Arthur agreed, distracted as he rummaged through his pockets.

Augusta turned to Madame Malkin. "I'm terribly sorry we've landed you in an unsavory situation. I'll explain that you had nothing to do with harboring Harry Potter."

Harry scrunched his shoulders up, moving the collar of his shirt up nearly to his ears. Only criminals were harbored.

"Nonsense," Arthur said, still turning out his pockets. Bits of lint and paper fell through his fingers. "What's it called when you can't find something when you need it? Maxby's Law?"

Harry looked around their haphazard circle. Blank faces stared back at Arthur with incomprehension.

Now was not the time to have a group discussion about muggle laws declaring that anything that can possibly go wrong, will go wrong. Why are we standing around here, waiting to be captured?" Harry wondered. A glance over his shoulder showed that aurors had begun advancing toward the house. "I vote we fight," he said abruptly. "Some of us ought to get away out the back."

"I don't see a broom about your person-" Augusta Longbottom began, but her scathing critique of Harry's suggestion was interrupted by Arthur's shout of triumph.

A sharp, golden dragon fang lay on Arthur's pale palm. Dumbledore's portkey to Bill. Arthur must have made plans with Molly to pick Bill up later today.

A loud explosion rang through the air as the front, back and side doors of the Longbottom house simultaneously flew off their hinges, sharp splinters of wood flying through the hallway and past the open door where the fugitives stood.

"Portkey!" Harry shouted, his tongue almost twisting the syllables in his haste to inform Neville, Augusta, and Madame Malkin what the fang was. He reached out and touched a sliver of the portkey, the curved metal cool to his touch.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway as the other three followed suit, Augusta Longbottom grabbing a thin arm from each house elf with one hand while placing one fingertip on the portkey.

"Ragnok!" Arthur shouted.

The receiving room with the granite fireplace and chintz chairs whirled out of sight in a rainbow colored swirl that had never been so welcome to Harry.

Claxton Proudfoot blasted apart the servant's entryway, ran down the hallway and slid to a halt outside the door to the receiving room, shoes squeaking on the polished wood. The targets in front of him huddled in a tight circle, as if afraid of the aurors. As well they should be.

He aimed his wand as Arthur Weasley shouted a goblin's name. No one will help you here. He smiled grimly, "Stupe-" He broke off in shock as the group disappeared in a blaze of color visible only to the magical eye.

He was never going to get his paycheck now. He groaned out loud as boots thundered to a halt beside him.

"Auror, why are you standing still?" Gawain Robard's blue eyes pierced the younger man.

For a moment, Claxton was tempted to say nothing of the portkey. Let the other aurors come up empty handed, and they might all take the blame. But just for a moment. He'd be no better than any other lying criminal, then. If his paycheck got docked because of this, perhaps he could find food in the muggle world somehow. There had to be bunches of muggles with stashes of food yet.

He took a deep breath, squared his narrow shoulders, and explained to his boss about Arthur Weasley's portkey.

Gawain Robards gnashed his teeth as he listened, fists clenched at his side. A vein throbbed in his neck. He turned away from Claxton to shout orders to the other aurors in the house. "I want that portkey traced, even if we have to invent a spell to do it! Check the ministry logs for all portkeys given to the Longbottoms or Weasleys."

Robards turned back to Claxton and jabbed a stubby finger at him. "I should have had you flying around on a broom, not Kingsley! You will not leave my sight, do you hear! You will inform the minister why we didn't capture Harry Potter in excruciating detail." His boss paused, gasping in a deep breath. "Now, tell me everything you saw and heard."

Claxton swallowed around the hard lump burning in his throat and nodded.

Harry landed with a thud on his stomach, the cool tile underneath him a counterpoint to the warm bodies slamming into his back. "Geroff!" he groaned, his face squished into the floor. Of course I managed to land on the bottom of the heap! I'm cursed!

He heard the house-elves squeaking "We's so sorry! So sorry!" The pile on Harry lightened minutely, but he winced instead as he heard the retching sounds of house-elves throwing up. That was the last thing his unsettled stomach needed. He just hoped the elves had made it off the pile before losing their lunch.

They hadn't.

Harry cringed as vomit dripped down his neck and around his ears, the rank smell filling his nostrils. That sent a dry heave rolling through him, and Harry used all his strength to wriggle out from under the pile, desperate to vanish the vomit as soon as possible.

"Watch out!" Neville complained, rubbing a knee as he stood up.

As the rest sorted themselves out, Harry cleaned himself up and looked around. Weapons decorated the walls of the small corner office they'd landed in. Miniature sets of chain mail were surrounded by gleaming battle axes, unstrung compound bows, and wickedly sharp knives. A large desk dominated the room. Small holes marred the sides of the desk, and Harry peered closer as he noticed a flash of light in one of them. Upon leaning closer, long needles exploded out of the side of the desk, making it look like a bristling porcupine that had gone bald on top.

Harry breathed in sharply as he jumped back. Those needles had nearly blinded him!

"Please do continue your inspection of my office, young wizard. I'm anxious to see what else you discover." The goblin behind the desk grinned viciously.

Harry didn't grin back.

"Kind of you to come pick me up after I lost my job." Bill stood near the desk in the center of the room. "Excellent timing, if I do say so myself. The crowd's a bit large out front." He folded his arms across his chest. A grim gaze met Harry's. Mottled red scars creased his cheek from his brush with Fenrir Greyback less than two weeks prior.

Arthur, dusting himself off, nodded. "Is Fleur here?"

"She's packing her desk." Anger glinted in Bill's eyes.

The goblin, silent during this exchange, explained. "These are uncertain times, We can't trust wizards." He bared sharp teeth in a grimace.

Augusta Longbottom's regal tones directed conversation back to more pertinent topics. "If we could use your floo, then we'll remove our subversive human presence immediately." She sniffed and lifted her chin in the air

Before the goblin could reply, a second goblin entered the room. He slid around the edge of the room before stopping next to the desk by Harry. The goblin sneered at the humans before addressing his superior. "Nagurk, the wizard-aurors have surrounded Gringotts and shut down the outgoing floo network. They're searching for a rogue band of humans with Harry Potter. They apparently had the wits to use goblin name as their portkey password." Sarcasm dripped from his words like venom from a rattlesnake's fangs.

Nagurk barked a guttural chuckle. "Turn these humans over to the ministry. Their problems are their own." He leaned back in his chair and twitched long, pointed ears, a smug smile playing about his lips.

Harry had no intention of allowing anyone to hand him over to the ministry like a lamb to the slaughter. Him or his friends. No matter what Hagrid had said about the security of Gringotts, it was looking like their only option would be to fight their way out. Right into Voldemort's hands.

One battle at a time.

Harry eyed the needles in the desk. Dark brown stains covered the tips. Whether that was dried blood or poison, he didn't want to find out, but he suspected poison. He let his hand drift toward the wand inside his robes. Bill and Arthur did the same. Harry couldn't see behind him, but he had no doubt Augusta and Neville would be readying themselves for battle. Perhaps Madame Malkin was preparing some sharp sewing needles to counteract the desk. Harry smiled at the image of needle fighting needle in a epic sword fight,

Before his fingers touched the smooth wood of his wand, the goblin bearing the bad news clamped his hand Harry's wrist, pulling and twisting at the same time so that Harry ended up face to face with him.

Certain the goblin was about to drag him off, Harry struggled to break his surprisingly strong grip.

"So, Mister Potter, we meet again." The goblin's gravelly voice had an amused tone to it.

"How-" Harry bit off the incriminating word and blood rushed to his face. If the goblin had been guessing who he was, all doubt was gone now.

"Two and two make four, even for a goblin." Angry sarcasm twisted the goblin's deprecating words. "You are the only unknown teenage boy in a group that supposedly includes the Boy-Who-Lived, and you were last seen with Arthur Weasley."

Harry looked closer, wondering who this second goblin was. His voice sounded familiar. He'd only met Griphook and Scrabbleknife before, and he wasn't certain he could tell the difference between the two. The deep scowl lines marking every goblin's face made them difficult to tell apart.

"Scrabbleknife?" He guessed, thinking quickly. Perhaps he could offer the goblins a deal in exchange for their safe passage. Goblins couldn't live in the bank after all, and they'd never depend on the Ministry of Magic for their transportation.

Harry hoped so, anyway.

To Be Continued...