Death Eater No More—Chapter Fifty-Four (Aren't Holidays Fun?)
Viktor's house bustled with activity. In the kitchen Mrs. Krum and her daughters were busily preparing the traditional Easter salad; lettuce was sliced into thin strips, cucumbers peeled, green onions and radishes slivered. For a garnish they would quarter some of the many, many boiled eggs omnipresent in the home.
Viktor's grandmother and aunts had already mixed the dough for the kozounak, the traditional braided bread decorated with skinned almonds and a red, hardboiled egg nestled in the center. It was on its third rise, nearly ready for the oven.
Children of various ages ran to and fro throughout the house, screaming and laughing, challenging each other to the game of egg-fighting wherein they bumped the points of boiled eggs together to see whose would crack first—and thereby lose the game. Occasionally one of the children or a tipsy uncle would crack one of the eggs on his forehead for the sport of it.
All in all it was an exciting day…if you were a member of the Krum clan and didn't feel like a complete outsider to the customs. Bayly felt lost amid the chaos and noise of a full house, for his own experience with Easter had always been a sedate affair at his uncle's home with his two older female cousins.
He slipped out the back door onto the porch and closed the door softly, not that anyone would have noticed if he'd banged it. The sudden radical diminishing of the racket was refreshing. Not far off to the left he spied what he recalled his friend saying was the tcheverme, a lamb on a spit over live coals. Two of Viktor's older cousins were drinking and talking as they kept casual watch over it.
Bayly walked to the right and hopped over the railing onto the ground, headed for the pond obscured by a patch of trees. Once there, he sat heavily on the end of the pier in silence listening to the faint roar from the house and the closer sound of birds in the trees. With his feet dangling over the edge, he took out his wand and started to make mini-whirlpools. He didn't know how long he'd been there when a clumsy gait on the wood of the pier alerted him to his friend's approach.
"Here you are. I've been looking all over." Viktor's eyes roamed over the forlorn, contemplative boy whose lackluster movements and slumped form bespoke more than shyness around the extended family.
"Sorry." Bayly slid his wand back into the wrist holster.
Viktor plopped down beside him, grinning. "No, I'm sorry. My family is enough to scare anyone away. Want to fish for a while?"
The other bobbed his head and shrugged noncommittally, so Viktor got up and retraced his steps to the shore where a small metal boat was tied. He lifted out two fishing rods and a small box with holes in the lid.
He wandered back and handed a pole to Bayly. "It's a good thing Tate (dad) was fishing yesterday, the crickets are still alive."
Side by side with a meter's space between them, they cast their lines into the water, neither looking at the other, both comfortable with the arrangement. The sun beat down hard on their unshaded bodies, and soon Viktor had stripped off his shirt and tossed it behind him.
"It's sweltering out here. Why don't you take your shirt off?" Viktor asked, noting a trickle of sweat running down Bayly's temple.
"No, that's okay," Bayly murmured.
"I've seen your pasty skin plenty of times; you could use some tan," teased Krum. When he got no reaction he said simply, "Is it the scars?" Bayly's head whipped over towards him with such a kneejerk fright instilled in the eyes that Viktor scarcely stopped himself from swearing aloud. "I saw them in the bathroom."
Bayly gripped his pole so tight his knuckles grew white. He looked away into the water. "Pretty gross, huh?"
His companion lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "It doesn't make any difference in how I see you."
Continuing to stare at the water, entranced by the gently swirling, lapping waves, Bayly said nothing. How he wished he could talk to mum or Gloria and have them hold him tight to chase away this oppressive emptiness and fear and perennial anguish that he kept trapped inside. But he couldn't do that, it wasn't fair to burden them with his ridiculous pain. He couldn't bear to see them hurt because he was too much of a baby to get over it already.
Dolovov had hurt him, so what? It was over, he should move on…and he tried, he really did, but when he got a glimpse of what a normal family acted like when they were together, it became harder and harder to push his own reality from his mind. He found that the more he bottled up his emotions and thoughts, the more it felt like a Muggle bomb set to explode, and him with it.
Keeping his eyes glued to a shimmering patch on the water, Bayly hesitantly uttered in a barely audible voice, "Your dad is so nice. All while I was growing up my mum told me about my dad, and I wanted so bad to know him." He halted abruptly; he shouldn't be talking like this, it was pointless and only served to make him look like he couldn't handle his own life.
Viktor didn't let it go. "It wasn't like you expected, though, was it?"
Bayly shook his head, feeling a lump in his throat. "He escaped Azkaban when I was fourteen, and I found out what he was really like: domineering, cruel, hateful. After he went back to prison I was so relieved I just wanted to forget him."
"Till he escaped again…" said the other quietly, the raw depth of emotion he felt from Bayly causing a tightening in his chest.
"Yeah. That's when the beatings turned more savage and he started using the Cruciatus." Bayly's fingers rubbed unconsciously along his side where a ridge of scar tissue was palpable.
For his part, Viktor cringed inside as he stole glances at the boy's profile. Despite his curiosity, he'd have never asked Bayly to talk about his ordeal; he knew the boy had suffered greatly over a period of about two years, much worse than the newspapers would or could reveal. But if Bayly needed to talk, as he evidently did, it was his duty and privilege as a friend to listen no matter how awful the subject matter became. "Did your mother know?"
Bayly shook his head again. "No, he threatened me with horrible things if I told." Experience had taught him that Dolohov's threats were not idle. A warning in his head told him to stop, he had no right to be blabbing these things, while a conflicting voice urged him on. Say it before you lose what little courage you've got!
"Your dad would love you if you didn't play Quidditch and weren't famous. He doesn't expect you to—to torture and kill so he can accept you." Young's jaw clenched and unclenched, his voice rose in pitch. "What's wrong with me that mine hated me so much?"
"There's nothing wrong with you! He was a psycho bastard!" Viktor growled.
A sadly out of place laugh escaped the younger man though he looked like he was about to break into tears. Barely above a whisper Bayly said, "Which means I shouldn't care what he thought, but I do. So what does that make me? Stupid and weak and pathetic, just like he always said I was!"
His shoulders heaved with a great sob as tears spilled down his cheeks. Feeling ashamed at looking like a sissy baby, he dropped his fishing rod on the pier, turned away, and brought his knees to his chest as sobs continued to come in wrenching bursts.
Unsure of how to handle this and raging inwardly at Dolohov, Viktor slammed a fist against the upright support of the pier; it shuddered ever so slightly. It tore at his heart to hear the agonizing cries of such a nice kid, one brutalized and traumatized for no reason whatsoever. Because there was nothing he could do, he waited a while in silence to let Bayly get out the worst of his grief, his own eyes searching the heavens.
When the boy seemed to be winding down, Krum said, "Dolohov was a sadistic piece of shit, and his opinion means less than that. You wanted him to love you because you're human, we all crave approval and love…that's all. He couldn't give it because he was sick, not anything about you, and you're none of the things he called you. You're smarter than me and you've got a lot of guts."
Bayly wiped his dripping eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, then dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. "I feel like an idiot. I'm sorry for falling apart like this."
"Don't be. Sometimes it's okay to cry, and God knows you've earned it." He paused. "Do you remember when you first made the Quidditch team, what they dared you to do?"
Lifting his head, allowing his mind to wander back to his third year, Bayly recalled how students new to the Quidditch team endured a rite of passage wherein the other boys dared them to perform pranks—usually on teachers. Bayly's challenge had come in the form of a tall, brooding dark-haired professor with a clipped beard and a handsome face the girls swooned over.
Bayly waited for the teacher of Medical and Defensive Magic to turn away from the class before pointing his wand under his desk and muttering a charm. Professor Tanassov turned back to the class with his face a brilliant purple, sending most of the pupils into roaring laughter. Unfortunately for Bayly, the girl beside him belonged to the I'm-Shamelessly-In-Lust-With-Tanassov club, and she wasted no time in shrilly ratting the boy out.
The professor reversed the charm, then held out his hand to demand Bayly's wand with a simple command of, "Dai!" (Give it to me!)
Caught up in the moment, Bayly couldn't resist. Dai sounded like the English die, so he gave them a show. He clutched at his heart, fell to the ground, and twitched a bit before lying still. Since English was taught from first year onward, the other students understood and appreciated the act, egging him on, which only served to annoy the professor more.
Mouth quirking into a rueful smile as he remembered, Bayly answered, "Yeah, that was fun all the way up to the part where he blistered my ass so bad I couldn't sit on my broom for a week."
"But the guys still talk about it," said Viktor, chuckling. "Nobody—not even seventh years—ever dared mess with Tanassov. You're sort of a hero-legend around the school, especially with the team. You don't become that by being stupid, weak, or pathetic."
"Thanks, Viktor," said Young quietly, truly meaning it.
Viktor leaned over and slapped him on the back so hard it nearly dislocated his shoulder blade and sent him skidding into the water simultaneously. "I kind of think of you like a little brother. It's nice being the big brother you come to."
Wincing from the violent show of friendship, Bayly rotated his arm socket while grinning shyly at him. "I like it, too."
"Good, then listen up. I mean this, I'm not just saying it: whenever you want to talk about anything at all, I'm here….well, maybe not here, but wherever I am." He gave his fishing pole a light tug. "You can come and I'll make time for you."
"You don't have to do that," protested Young.
Viktor ignored the interruption, smiling now. "Of course, it works the other way, too. If I need you, you'd better be there for me."
"Deal," nodded Bayly. He looked up in the direction of the house shrouded by trees. "I shouldn't be keeping you from your family. We ought to go back."
"No rush," replied Krum. "They'll be here well into the night. Bulgarians do love to party."
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It was always a bad sign when her parents weren't open and forthright; this time was no exception. The Abbotts had been invited over for dinner with Dr. Livingston and family, which was unusual enough since Gloria could count on one hand the number of times the families had socialized formally. But now her mother had presented her with a new floor length dress of soft ivory, modestly cut yet well-fitted, a beautiful gown.
Gloria laid the dress on her bed and faced her mother….and father, who had suddenly appeared beside her. "Mum, what's going on?"
Her father jumped in to answer. "Gloria, dear, your mother and I have discussed this at length, and we've decided it's time to find you a suitable husband."
The girl was so intent on gaping she failed to reply. Were her parents actually proposing to arrange a marriage for her? How archaic was that?
Mrs. Livingston chimed in, hugging her daughter's shoulders. "Naturally we don't expect you to wed right away, you can take a year for your engagement. It's just getting harder to find an acceptable man, so we're here to help you."
"Help me—a suitable—what are you talking about?" Gloria sputtered. "We don't live in the Dark Ages! I'm dating Bayly!"
"Yes," admitted the doctor slowly. "You've had your fun, now it's time to get serious."
"I am serious!" snapped the girl, pulling away from her mother. "Bayly is kind and generous and caring—and pureblood, if that matters!"
"You know very well blood isn't an issue as long as you marry a wizard. Certainly you think Bayly is a nice boy, but…his ancestry leaves something to be desired," said Dr. Livingston as delicately as he could.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Gloria," warned her mother. "A son emulates his father, that's the way it is. We don't want that influence on you."
"He's not evil!" screamed Gloria, stamping her foot in helpless frustration. "Bayly's father was in prison most of his life, and treated him horribly the rest of the time. Bayly hates him, he'd never emulate him!"
As if he hadn't heard a word she said, the doctor stated, "We've been talking to various families with eligible sons. Tonight we've invited the first of them; Samson isn't betrothed, and he's a fine fellow."
"I'm not marrying Sammy!"
"Unless you've already picked a viable alternative, young lady, I'd hesitate to make such claims," clipped her father. "Never fear, there will be several others to choose from. Nonetheless, Samson will be here soon and you will treat him properly, so get dressed."
He took the arm of his wife to lead her out; she shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Children nowadays!"
Gloria threw herself on the bed to sob uncontrollably. This couldn't be happening! She wouldn't give up Bayly, she wouldn't! They couldn't make her! But they could make life for Bayly and his mother difficult, they knew a lot of people…her father had delivered babies for many of the high class purebloods who wielded a lot of power. No, she wouldn't be coerced into this; if she had to she'd run away with Bayly and deal with the consequences later.
When at last she could cry no more, she got up to wash her face and get dressed. Her reflection in the mirror said she looked terrible with her puffy red eyes and glowing red nose and messed hair. Good. Sammy wouldn't want a wife who looked so awful, not that she'd bend to her parents' will anyway. All at once fury struck her again: Sammy had the gall to go along with this? She had half a mind to rip off an important body part if she was forced to be alone with him.
As she was coming down the stairs the Abbotts were coming in from the foyer being led by an elf to the dining room. Samson looked up at her and smiled. "Hi, Gloria." He squinted a bit at her. "Are you alright? You look like shite."
A light smack on the back of the head startled him and he turned to his father, a tall burly man who gave him a cautioning glare. "That is no way to speak to a lovely young lady, especially your future bride."
"My what?" The word echoed up and down the corridor. From the horrified expression on his face, it was obvious he'd not been informed of the purpose of this dinner.
The woman with them, his mother's sister, hurried over to the men. "Samson, let's not make a scene."
"Auntie, are you and dad trying to set me up with Gloria?"
"Yes, dear," answered the woman sweetly. "Now behave." She took his meaty hand in her tiny one to drag him down the hallway but he refused to budge. With her willowy frame she had no hope of moving him.
"Why are you trying to arrange a marriage for me? You let Hannah choose her own!"
"Hannah has her sights set on that Longbottom chap, and he's a fine catch," explained his aunt as if talking to a ten-year-old. "At our last gathering they got on splendidly, so I'm not worried about her. You, on the other hand, aren't even dating. Your father and I agreed to step in and push things along."
Sammy stared at his aunt like he'd never seen her before. "I'm only eighteen, I don't want—"
"Obstinacy is not an attractive quality," cooed the witch.
"Well how about this: I can't marry Gloria because she's my friend's girl," Sammy spat. He could not believe they were doing this. Hardly anyone insisted on arranging their children's marriages anymore—and those who did were purebloods! But then again, his family probably thought he'd get a good 'catch' in a doctor's daughter!
Mr. Abbott took up position beside his sister-in-law, looking like Atlas beside a wood nymph. He seemed distinctly displeased with the turn of the conversation and his son's bullheadedness. "Do as you're told, Samson. I won't have discourteous conduct. Now come along."
"No, sir." Sammy planted his feet. From the corner of his eye he noted the utterly miserable Gloria clad in her stunning gown, standing on the stairs breathlessly waiting to see the outcome of this argument. "I like Gloria, but she's being courted by another wizard. What kind of man places designs on his friend's woman?"
With that he gave a respectful nod to the dumbstruck adults, turned to give Gloria a quick wink, and strode out the door feeling far less confident than he appeared. If he knew his father, he'd be castigated royally when they got home.
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"How long will you be gone, Lucius?" asked Narcissa, standing in the foyer with the group prepared to leave.
"Not long, sweetheart…I hope," he answered.
He kissed her again and stepped back, took his wand from his robe, and waved it over Tonia and Mateo. The two formerly beautiful vampires now resembled wizened octogenarians. Mateo's bald pate held a scant fringe of white hair and numerous liver spots; Tonia sported a thin grey ponytail and a dowager's hump.
Mateo studied his wife briefly and leered, "Hermosa como siempre, mi amor." (Beautiful as always, my love.)
Tonia laughed, a sweet, melodious sound. "Desgraciadamente, no puedo decir lo mismo de ti, querido." (Sadly, I can't say the same for you, darling.)
Undaunted, Mateo yanked her to him for a passionate kiss while Draco rolled his eyes. To his left his parents were making goo-goo eyes at each other, and if his mother weren't already pregnant he'd be tempted to advise his father to take a cold shower—if he wanted a slap upside the head, that is. As it stood, this adventure at least got him out of the bloody house for a while! No sense in spoiling that.
"I wish I could go with you," said Narcissa wistfully. "I never get to have any fun."
"You're always with me, darling," Lucius assured her. He hooked a lock of her hair behind her ear as he bent in to whisper meaningfully, "Always."
"What do you—" Narcissa pulled away to gaze into his face, to study the sparks dancing in his eyes and that adorable smirk on his bodaciously kissable lips. "You don't mean the doll I gave you all those years ago."
Lucius smiled coyly and patted his breast pocket where the tiny, animated, lifelike figurine of Narcissa rested. "I told you I wanted you near my heart forever."
Her own heart melting in puddles on the marble floor, Narcissa leaped into his arms with tears in her eyes. "I love you so much. Please be careful."
"I will, I promise. And I'll take care of Draco."
"I can take care of myself," Draco piped up to anyone who was listening.
Lucius let it go. The kid was testing him, as usual. "It's time, son. We'll apparate Mateo and Tonia to Diagon Alley, they'll walk up from there. You and I will meet in front of Gringotts."
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Lucius appeared—or showed up, at any rate, for he was under a disillusion charm—only meters away from the goblin standing guard in front of the bronze doors of Gringotts. It was late, all the shops in Diagon Alley were closed and few people milled about…making witnesses far less likely.
He strained his eyes to find his son, but the lad's disillusion charm was too strong to see through. While it made him proud of Draco, it made him uneasy; he couldn't very well call out to the boy to ascertain his location.
Up the crooked street he spied the ancient couple toddling along, and he had to smile. They were such an unlikely-looking pair to be up to no good. And they did look sweet together. Together Mateo and Tonia laboriously climbed the gleaming white stairs to the goblin, whose grimace at their approach twisted his face into an uglier version of grotesque.
"Bank's closed. No one goes in," announced the goblin. One long-fingered hand rested on the hilt of a knife.
Mateo did not answer, he merely bent down closer to stare into the goblin's beady black eyes.
All at once the creature croaked in terror, "I know what you are! I can smell it!"
But it was too late. He'd allowed his gaze to join with the sangrista's for a second too long and momentarily his eyes glazed over, his body relaxed. Mateo spoke softly into his pointed ear, "You didn't see me or anyone else. The night was very quiet. Now open the door for us."
Tonia whispered to her husband, "Hay dos mas adentro. Tal vez tengamos que sujetar sus cabezas mientras los hipnotizamos." (There are two more inside. Maybe we'll have to restrain their heads while we hypnotize them.)
Mateo nodded in agreement. That seemed the prudent course to prevent the hideous little beasts from bolting or squirming, they couldn't break a vampire's powerful grip. If absolutely necessary he'd break their necks, but then Lucius would be put out and he'd have to hear incessant bitching about foiling their plan. Honestly, his nephew could go on…
The guard turned, unlocked the door as he chanted something in his guttural language, and stepped aside for the aged couple to pass. Lucius and Draco hurried to slip in with them, still under concealment. Next to the set of silver doors the two goblins snapped to attention in surprise; before their long knives had cleared their sheaths, Mateo and Tonia snatched them and forced them to look upon the eyes that would bind them in a enthralled haze.
The sangristas murmured instructions to the goblins, who obediently laid their hands on the silver doors and began to hum together in a high-pitched tune. The doors clicked and swung open. All of them—vampires, humans, and goblins—entered the marble room, at which time the Malfoys removed their concealment charms.
Addressing Tonia and the goblin she held in her hands, Mateo said, "Take that one and start the task. I'll go with Lucius to his vault, then this goblin will guide me to the rest."
As Tonia and 'her goblin' exited through one of the myriad of doors, Lucius, Draco, Mateo, and the other goblin left through another door and squeezed into a cart that immediately took off at breakneck speed, with Mateo whooping in delight. This was almost as fun as flying!
The dragon outside the Malfoy vault lifted his head, seeming quite displeased to be disturbed at this hour of the night. He snorted a blast of fire at the intruding cart.
"Xerxes, it's me," Lucius crooned as he clamored anxiously from the cart, to the dismay of his son. "I have a surprise for you."
The blue monster cocked its head and nuzzled up to Lucius, who petted and stroked the snout affectionately as it purred like an overgrown, mutant kitten. Draco observed the scene with arms crossed and brows knit. "Well, Father, now I've seen it all! You have a pet dragon, yet you won't even permit me a dog!"
"Dogs are noisy and smelly," replied Lucius, only half listening. "Mateo, you'd better get going, I'll take it from here. Draco, get out of the cart."
"And dragons burn you to a crisp," muttered the boy as he crawled out.
The cart shot away with the vampire and goblin, leaving Draco to stand warily behind his father. Lucius took his wand from his pocket and took aim at the bulky collar around the dragon's neck; a wordless spell later, the collar snapped open and fell to the earthen floor. A chain on Xerxes' leg dropped off seconds later.
"You're free, Xerxes," Lucius said softly, with a hint of sadness. This would be the last time he'd ever see the only animal that had been anything remotely resembling a pet in his emotions. "I won't forget you."
Xerxes simply gawped at him, not comprehending. He poked his muzzle against Lucius' chest, hoping for a rat treat. As if to comply with the silent request, Lucius stunned a squeaking creature in the shadows, then levitated the rat within reach of the dragon, who gobbled it in one chomp.
"Father, shouldn't we get started?" Draco offered tentatively. As touching as the moment was, they had business to attend to.
Lucius spun around as if he'd forgotten the boy was there. "Yes, of course." Taking a gold key from his trouser pocket, he unlocked the massive metal door and swung it open. "You know what to do."
Draco stepped into the vault, using his wand to illuminate the area. He pulled a short, sharp blade from his robes and slashed across the palm of his left hand, suppressing a cry of pain. Blood bubbled up through the slit and began to drip over onto the floor. He smeared his hand across the inside of the door in a bold swipe, then slowly walked round the vault, sidestepping columns of money and piles of goods as he flicked droplets of blood directly onto the walls, ceiling, and floor. Only when every surface was splattered until it looked like red polka dots of various sizes did he stop. The bigger drops rolled down the walls in red stripes.
When he'd finished he returned to the door and held out his scarlet, dripping hand to his father; Lucius chanted a healing incantation as he drew the wand over the wound, closing it neatly. "Good job, son. Now pay close attention, you may need to do this one day."
Facing the vault, Lucius aimed his wand, dipping and weaving it occasionally as he intoned a series of chants. Wave after wave of barriers arose, vibrating and pulsing, until at last with the final slash of his wand the wards coalesced into a single shining gold ward encircling the vault, even into the earth itself. Gradually the shimmering ring dissipated, leaving no trace.
Heaving a sigh, Lucius smiled at his son. "And that is how to establish the strongest of blood wards, taught by Voldemort himself. No one beyond the second level of relation to you can pass through it." First level of relation being the blood donor's parents, children, and their children to infinity, all those of consequence had access. The same automatically counted for Ladon, whose blood was deemed equal to Draco's. Second level included aunts, uncles, and first cousins, theoretically permitting Andromeda access—but not without the key.
Father and son spent a few minutes scourgifying the blood stains so that no goblin would see it and guess what had been done—not that it was illegal, but simply because Lucius preferred to keep his business his own. They left the vault, then closed and locked it. Xerxes , who'd danced with longing at the delicious smell of blood and stared in wonderment at the pretty colored curtains floating around, now nudged at his human in confusion.
"You're coming with us, Xerxes," Lucius assured him. "You'll find a very happy home."
Prior planning had convinced the wizard that even if it were possible to apparate from here, which it wasn't because of goblin spells, he wouldn't be able to do a side-along with such a massive creature. There was only one alternative, short of leading the dragon on foot, a task that could take hours: they were going to have to fly out of here.
"Draco, mount up." So saying, Lucius hoisted himself onto Xerxes' back. The dragon cooed a guttural tune in the back of his throat. The man extended a hand to his son to help him swing up behind.
"The Potter puke bragged in the Prophet that he and his retarded cronies rode a dragon out of here after breaking into Aunt Bella's vault and stealing a horcrux," Draco smirked. "Guess he's not the only one."
"The difference being that you can't tell anyone," remarked his father dryly. "It would defeat the purpose of all our secrecy and stealth, wouldn't it? And land us in Azkaban."
"I wasn't going to tell," Draco said.
Lucius leaned forward over Xerxes' neck. "Let's go, boy."
The dragon stamped around a bit, gurgling joyfully.
Lucius clipped the dragon in the sides with his heels; the beast made a purring/giggling sound. Alright, so he wasn't the sharpest knife in the box. Catching sight of a pair of shining eyes in the shadows, Lucius threw out a spell to ensnare it. He then levitated it a couple of meters in front of Xerxes.
The dragon made a lunge for it but Lucius jerked it out of reach to keep it dangling and squealing before the dragon's snout, prompting Xerxes to run and finally to fly in pursuit of the yummy morsel. By the time they reached the marble banking room, the dragon was salivating and snapping; he swallowed the rat without a single chew.
They burst through the door to the impressive sight of every Gringotts dragon in all their enormous, colorful splendor crammed into the room, pawing and huffing impatiently as Mateo and Tonia walked among them soothing them with quiet words and hypnotic glances.
"There you are!" scolded Mateo. "I was about to go looking for you!"
Lucius and Draco slid off Xerxes' back, only to have a nearby dragon growl and snap at them. In a heartbeat Lucius' wand was out, though unnecessary; Xerxes roared and snorted a stream of fire at the offending animal, making it back up and lower its head.
"That's my dragon," Lucius murmured. He put an arm round Xerxes' neck to pet him one last time. "Take care of yourself."
Looking at Mateo, he nodded. In an instant he and Draco were once more under disillusion charms. Tonia and Mateo herded the dragons past the spellbound goblins toward the doors, which were shattered off their hinges from the weight of the creatures shoving at them. The animals screamed in delight at the fresh air and took to flight.
"Son?"
"Yes, Father?"
"I enjoyed spending time with you tonight. Let's go home and tell your mother all about it."
Draco and Lucius each latched onto one of the vampires in preparation to apparate the moment they were outside the bank. The couple tottered outside and promptly disapparated with the wizards.
Meanwhile, the goblins who'd been so cooperative in this escapade were shaking off the last effects of hypnosis and becoming hysterical at the sight of their dragons flying away, the doors broken from their hinges, and no idea how any of it had come to pass.
