The urgency that had made Harry part from the Order was forced to the backburner. As much as he wanted to storm Gringotts and invade Bellatrix's vault, they had a problem.
Namely, she was dead.
They needed someone with greater expertise. They had turned to the goblin he'd saved, Griphook, looking for answers. They needed to know Gringotts traps and defenses. They needed to know if there was some other way to sneak in – a trade route, a hidden weakness.
But the goblin was hesitating. Harry laid out his request and stepped back. He couldn't afford to chase off their only lead.
So now they waited.
He sat outside the cottage. Ron and Allen sparred – if it could be called that – while Lavi and Hermione bent over books and argued. Kanda sat furthest away, meditating. Everyone was resting; particularly Griphook and Ollivander, who had been kind enough to confirm that Voldemort had indeed been seeking the Elder Wand.
Much to Hermione's disbelief. But the most shocking member of their group sat on a rock by the path, huddled in a blanket.
Draco Malfoy.
After his vision, Harry had shocked everyone by a sudden apparation. Allen, having seen his vision, had reacted quick enough to grab Harry's shoulder. They had dragged Draco to safety – and Draco had dragged his mother's dead body. Wounded and bleeding, he'd refused to let go.
They'd brought them back to the cottage. Draco was wrapped in bandages and slathered in potions. During the process, nobody had been more surprised than Harry when Timcampy had flown from the Malfoy's shirt.
If he'd known it could piece itself back together, he wouldn't have wasted the grief and left it behind. Allen waved his apology aside, but it didn't stop him from feeling guilty.
And Draco had yet to say a word. The closest he'd come was the odd, strangled sound he'd made when Harry offered to bury Narcissa. He couldn't tell if it had been pure grief or if he'd taken offense at the suggestion. In the end, he'd left the choice to Draco and backed off.
"But there's no proof!" Hermione cried, raising her voice and throwing her hands in the air. "It's ridiculous!"
"That's what you said about the Elder Wand," Lavi said, tapping his book for emphasis. "And I'm pretty sure you would have said the same thing about Innocence if you hadn't seen it for yourself. What makes you think Snorkacks aren't real just because you've never seen one?"
"Because they're silly!" Hermione flushed and glared. "That's no way to operate! You don't set out to prove something doesn't exist, you set out to prove it does!"
"Not always." Lavi wagged a finger in the air. "Listen, 'Mione', I may be a Muggle, but the concept of Snorkacks sound just as silly to me as Thestrals, but one of those exists and you take it for granted because you've seen one."
"I don't know if anyone takes seeing Thestrals for granted," Harry muttered. Lavi waved him into silence.
"Point being, the most recent publication of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is on its fifty-second edition, and new creatures are occasionally discovered."
Hermione flapped her lips at him and Harry hid a smile. She huffed, crossed her arms, and glared. "You actually believe in Snorkacks?"
"Not at all." Lavi grinned. "I just like to argue."
She gave a cry and smacked his arm while Harry laughed, but Ron glanced over, distracted by the sounds, and received a blow to the solar plexus. Allen was – severely – pulling his punches but Ron's attempts to learn was marred by impatience and distraction.
From the side, so quietly he almost missed it, he heard a snort from Draco. He supposed if anything could get him out of his shell, it would be seeing Ron getting hit.
But it was a good thing Ron didn't hear. He was already flushing from embarrassment, struggling to get back into whatever rhythm he'd found, but it was too late. His ungainly attempts to spar ended as many of Harry's did – spinning through the air, landing on his back, and having the breath knocked out of him.
Hermione sniffed. "What did you expect, Ronald?"
When Ron got his breath back, voice still wheezy, he said, "Harry's been doing it."
"For much longer than you," she said. "And I really see no need for you to learn. I thought you said it wasn't how wizards did things?"
"Yeah? Well it would've come in handy with his sodding aunt." Ron jerked his head at Malfoy, face tight and mouth pinched. "And she had no problems with not using a wand."
They went quiet. Harry thought of her silver knife and wondered, for the first time since coming to Shell Cottage, if Ron had gain scars in other places. He'd thought it had only been crucio – but had it?
"To be fair," Lavi said, breaking the silence. "Harry trained with Kanda, and I wouldn't wish that on you."
Inch by inch, Ron relaxed. He glanced at the swordsman, who didn't seem to notice, and muttered, "Couldn't have been too bad."
One of Kanda's eyes opened. His eyebrow went up. "Is that a challenge?"
His eyes, usually dark, had a bit of amber today. Harry quickly stood and put a hand to Ron's shoulder. "Yeah, not a great idea, Ron. He hits a lot harder than Allen does."
Ron looked at Allen who, pulling his punches or not, hit like a charging bull. Warily, he shook his head and muttered a pass, but followed it with, "You go, then."
"Me?" Harry said.
"Yeah." Ron jerked a thumb at Kanda. "Like in the forest, only this time I won't say the name, alright?"
Harry frowned. "But I'm still sore from-" Kanda stood. Mugen was left leaning against the tree. "Bloody hell. Do I have to?"
Ron clapped his back as he passed and Allen gave him a smile, but he could only wince. If Kanda wanted to spar – wanted to spar him – it wasn't for a challenge, it was to let off steam. He just wanted someone to beat up, and those sessions were always the worst.
Kanda took his place and gave him a narrow eyed stare. "Well?"
Harry hung his head. Pleading and looking for sympathy wouldn't work with Kanda. Telling him that Harry was uncomfortable trying to spar in front of this many people would only earn a blank stare. At HQ, he hadn't minded as much because he felt very much like a student. The other Exorcists all had wisdom to share, and had all been where he was.
But Ron and Hermione? Malfoy? What if Luna or Dean appeared?
He took his time going through warm up stretches but he was done far too fast. Before he knew it, Allen gave a sharp command and Kanda was in his face.
He fell into automatic responses, where his thoughts stopped and the feeling of stares faded. In order to keep up with Kanda, he didn't have time to wallow about how foolish he might look. While his first few dodges and blocks were shaky, he quickly firmed his form and pushed his concerns aside.
He snapped the back of his fist at Kanda's fast and was brushed aside, but he was moving forward with the blow, spinning and trying to get behind his opponent. Kanda put his feet between Harry's, tripping him up, almost making him go to the ground, but Harry caught himself and aimed for the eyes.
Back and forth, they exchanged blows. It was like Quidditch, like flying up high and letting himself fall, feeling the wind scratching against his face and the ground rising up to meet him. There was an exhilaration there, of reacting as fast as he could and knowing one wrong move would end it.
His knuckles caught Kanda's shoulder, but Kanda grabbed his wrist and put pressure against his elbow – it would have broken if he'd been serious – and Harry let his own weight drop him and twist against Kanda's thumb, breaking the grip.
This time, the spar ended with Harry in a hold, Kanda's arm a bar across his throat and his feet not touching the ground. He tried to gasp, to kick out, and ultimately had to surrender.
He was lower and released. Kanda took a step back, the smell of soap disappearing, and Harry leaning forward on his knees as he sucked in deep breaths.
"Wicked," Ron whispered.
"It was… impressive," Hermione said, looking as if she'd sucked on a lemon.
"Look at him go." Lavi pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "He's growing up. Careful, Harry. You're starting to look a little too much like an Exorcist."
Although it seemed said in complete jest, Harry couldn't resist looking over sharply. Did Lavi know? The serious look in his eye that was at odds with his smile said he did. Harry rolled his shoulders and pretended nothing was amiss; he saw Allen give Lavi a dark look and Hermione frowning, but it didn't matter. The war was what mattered.
He'd deal with the Black Order afterwards. If he had to.
Clapping cut the air. Luna emerged from the path with a dreamy smile. "Well done, Harry!"
He blushed and muttered a thanks. "Something you need, Luna?"
"Me? Not at all," she said. "Although, Fleur wanted me to tell you Mr. Griphook wants to see you. He's in the smallest bedroom; must be private."
He thanked her again. He went to his previous seat to grab his cloak, breath clouding in the air.
"You should wear earmuffs," she said as he passed. "The Wrackspurts love this time of year, and they're difficult to get rid of once they get into your ears."
She tapped her own earmuffs and Lavi immediately covered his own. Hermione gave him a look and he blinked, seemingly realizing this was one of 'those things' that Luna talked about. While Luna drifted to Malfoy – who sneered but didn't so much as tell her to mind her own business – Harry headed back to the cottage. Ron, Hermione, and the Exorcists trailed after.
Griphook was exactly where Luna had said he'd be. The smallest of the cottage's three bedrooms was the one Hermione and Luna shared at night. The window curtains were drawn, throwing the room into a dark and gloomy air that might have been meant to be intimidating.
"I have reached my decision, Harry Potter," Griphook said. He drummed his spindly fingers against his armchair. "Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you."
Harry breathed out a sigh of relief until Griphook added, "But only in return… for payment."
His eyes narrowed. What could a goblin want? "What kind of payment?
"I want the sword," Griphook said, black eyes glittering. "The sword of Godric Gryffindor."
"I can't give you that, I'm sorry," was Harry's immediate answer. He didn't think he'd ever learn to use it properly, but he couldn't afford to let it go. It was their only weapon against the Horcrux. Finding the rest would be useless without a way to destroy them.
"Then, we have a problem."
"Isn't there anything else you want?" Ron said. "The sword's real important."
"You have no idea," Griphook spat. "What else would you have that would make my betrayal worth it? Nothing, that's what."
"Gold-" Harry started.
"I will do it for the sword. Nothing else."
They needed Griphook's help. They didn't even know if Gringotts could tell Bellatrix was dead. For all they knew, there was an automatic process. Or it could be there wasn't.
They didn't know.
"Listen," he said. "I'm not carrying this sword because it's pretty or just because I don't want him to get his slimy hands on it. We need this sword. I cannot give it to you."
There was definite anger shining in Griphook's face, a certain fury to the way his claws pressed into his armrest.
"All I can promise is to give it to you when we're done," he said. "Once we've defeated Vol- him, I'll do my best to get it back to you."
He didn't mention he might be a little too dead to do that.
"And when would that be?" Griphook demanded.
"How can I know?" Harry shrugged. "It might be in a week. It might be in a year. This sword is vital to our efforts, but the sooner we get what we're looking for, the sooner we'll be done."
"If it takes that long, I cannot trust a wizard's word," the goblin said. "There's nothing stopping you from refusing your word after all is said and done – if, indeed, anything is finished in your favor at all."
Harry touched the hilt of the sword. It was unbound right now, jewels glittering, and Griphook's eyes trailed after Harry's hand in blatant greed. "I need your help, Griphook," Harry said. "But I need this sword more. If you don't help us, I have no reason to part with it. Did you know Dumbledore left it to me in his will?"
"It wasn't his to give away!" Griphook hissed.
"That's what the Ministry said." Harry shrugged again. "But here it is. Help me and I promise to do my best to give it to you. Don't help me, and you'll never lay your hands on it again."
He felt particularly… Slytherin.
He didn't think he liked it.
But Griphook eyed the sword and Harry let him see the way the line shone off it, how the sheath fit handsomely along the blade. He willed the goblin to give in; they needed him, and they needed the sword, and he didn't need to mention he might not be alive to fulfill his end of the deal. If he could… he would grudgingly hand it over.
"And I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?" Griphook said.
"As soon as I've defeated Vold –" he stopped, sighed in a very put-upon way, and corrected himself, "-the Dark Lord. Yes."
"Then shake." The goblin held out his hand. It was bigger than Harry's. He tried to read the other's face for deception, but he wasn't the best at reading a person's face let alone a goblin.
"So, let's begin."
#
The planning was slow. Gringotts had many traps; there was a reason there was only one other known robbery, and that had been Voldemort himself attempting to steal the Philosopher's Stone. The only way they could guarantee an escape was if their infiltration went flawlessly, and that was going to be a problem with six people and a goblin.
They argued. They fought. They brainstormed and backtracked and second guessed everything. Days stretched into weeks. The only solace Harry had was that attacking immediately wouldn't have mattered; Gringotts knew Bellatrix was dead. Even if they'd had some way to impersonate her, it wouldn't have mattered. Either it had been passed to someone, if she'd had a will, or it had gone to one of her brothers.
The Exorcists stopped coming very often. They didn't have much to add. Kanda had no interest at all and Allen spent an odd amount of time with Malfoy. Lavi was the one who offered his two cents the most, but he was lost in a lot of the magic.
And then, one day after a spar with Lavi, a voice came from behind him and made him jump.
"Potter."
He turned to find none other than Malfoy, his face carefully blank and indifferent. As if he hadn't spent all this time something near a mute and his speaking was an everyday occurrence.
Well, if he wanted to pretend that was normal, Harry could do that. He turned back to face the clearing. "Yes, Malfoy?"
"You're planning something. What is it?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why, because I'm me?"
"Partly," Harry said. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Bill and Fleur aren't exactly invited either."
Malfoy came around and sat on one of the other rocks. His indifference had fled; he scowled as he regarded the trees around them. It was quiet. Lavi had already left, leaving Harry behind to watch the sunset.
"Walker has been telling me about akuma," Malfoy said, surprising him. "Things he never thought to mention. I hate them. And I hate… him."
"It only took your entire life," Harry said. "It's about time."
Malfoy clenched his hands, burying them in his pants. "I don't need a lecture from you, Potter. It's always been easy for you. You're the Chosen One. You already knew what you needed to do."
"Is that what you think?" Harry laughed incredulously. "I wish that were true! You really think it's been easy for me?"
Malfoy's silence could have been agreement, or it could have been shame. For all that they'd shared so many years of their lives in the same place, they didn't really know each other.
"…I don't care, Potter," Malfoy eventually said. "I want to strike a truce."
Harry swallowed his first reaction. He didn't think laughing again would be productive. "A truce, Malfoy? And why should I trust that you mean any of it, or that you won't change your mind later?"
"You're a prat and I don't like you. I'd almost rather the Mudblood was the Chosen One instead of you. But he killed my parents – I'm the last Malfoy left to get revenge. You destroy him; I'll help you."
What did Malfoy have to lose? His family name was sullied. His home destroyed and under duress, his parents dead, the leader they'd destroyed themselves for mad. Did Harry think Draco was so desperate for Voldemort's approval that he would try to manipulate Harry this way? To get Harry's trust and go back to the man who tried to murder him?
No, he didn't think he did, and he knew what it was like to want revenge for your parents.
"First rule," Harry said. "Never use 'Mudblood' again."
Malfoy's neck grew taunt. It looked almost physically painful for him to nod.
"Second rule. If I think for one second you'll betray us…"
"I said I don't like you," Malfoy said. "But he tried to kill me, Potter. At least when you did it, it was on accident."
Harry blushed and looked away. It wasn't one of his proudest moments.
"I know what people think of me," Malfoy added, tilting his chin in the air just like his mother had. "It doesn't matter. Killing him is what matters."
Harry nodded to himself. Didn't this sound rather familiar? It had only been his mantra for months now. Hearing it from someone else was… mildly disturbing.
"Now that that's settled: I know you're trying to get into my aunt's vault."
He looked up, too taken by surprise to hide it. "Have you been eavesdropping?!"
"Take a second to think, Potter. You warded the room. How would I have done that?" Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Bellatrix was mad when she thought you'd been in there, and now you're hiding away and plotting with that goblin. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out."
Harry smoothed his expression. "I can't tell you about it."
"Don't be an idiot. I'm your best chance of getting to it." When Harry did nothing more than raise an eyebrow, Malfoy gave a heavy sigh. "Security gets tighter the further down you go. Whose vaults do you think is down there?"
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Harry said. Malfoy had the gall to look completely startled. "What? I read."
"My aunt's vault is not far from mine. Come with me, and I can take you there under perfectly legitimate business."
It was promising. With the death of Lucius and Narcissa, he couldn't imagine Draco would have any problems accessing his vault. If Bellatrix's wasn't far… It could be a perfect lead.
Reluctantly, he said, "You'll come with me to the next meeting, but watch what you say."
"You make sure to tell your friends that first, Potter."
Malfoy stood, dusting himself off. The edges of his bandages peeked over the top of his neatly buttoned shirt. He looked to be in better health now; he was always pale, but at least now Harry couldn't see his veins.
"Say, Malfoy," he said before they parted. "Your mother… what did you do?"
He didn't think the other boy was stupid enough to do something like bring her back as an akuma, but he wanted to make sure. Malfoy's back stiffened and he didn't turn around when he answered.
"She can't be buried on the Malfoy plot," he said. "So I gave her a Black funeral. I burned her and spread her ashes to the stars."
Harry blinked. Slowly, he looked up at the darkening sky.
"Oh." He looked down, away from the little lights he could see starting to appear. "I wish I could have done that for Sirius."