It was a time for the spreading of news. Over Easter, Dobby and Winky had smuggled fifty thousand re-information leaflets home with Hogwarts students, divided between a hundred thick hard-cover books. By early May, the Order could see the effects across the nation, with new sympathiser groups grating against the Death Eaters' regime in every major city.
This was reason to hope—but it was also a more volatile state of affairs. Nearly every day they received reports of those brutalised or murdered for their resistance, and to worsen matters, the Daily Prophet had reported that Pius Thicknesse had taken a leave of absence due to a nervous complaint. There was no question among the Order as to what this meant for Thicknesse himself.
The Order and their allies began to brace for Voldemort's return, and for the stand they would need to make when he stepped, at last, into the spotlight.
News was spreading within headquarters, too, though of a very different sort. They had to clutch to lightness wherever they could find it to make the days bearable. Soon every member of the Order knew about the undefined something between Ron and Pansy, which caused a storm of Weasley-twin teasing that Draco didn't envy. It was also now common knowledge that Draco and Hermione were boyfriend and girlfriend.
Draco allowed himself to revel in it, this one bright thing in a sea of danger. It was almost stupid how smug it made him feel, the simple act of sliding into a seat beside Hermione, brushing her hand with his, and seeing the pleased smile upon her face. Every time she looked at him he felt like a cat basking in sunlight.
"You two are revolting," Ginny had commented one afternoon, looking almost impressed.
Of course, the breaking of the news had other implications. It was a week into May before Draco mustered the resolve to feed his parents the cover story they'd designed.
"I won't be there," Hermione reminded him. "Whatever they say, it can't hurt me."
"I know."
"Just recite the twelve uses of dragon's blood in your mind if you want to block it out."
Draco's mouth twitched in a smile. "We learned those in first year, Granger. Give me more of a challenge than that."
They'd joked about distractions a while longer, but nothing eased Draco's nerves. It was with trepidation that he returned to his parents' tent that night, and his pulse tapped apace as they sat reading throughout the evening.
Finally, when it became clear that no opening into the subject would arise, Draco closed his book and spoke.
"I forgot to mention. There's something you two should know." He hoped he sounded casual, but his throat felt thin, as though he were forcing the words through the hollow in a reed.
"Oh?" said his mother without looking up from The Practical Potioneer's Guide to Ingredient Harvesting.
"I'm pretending to be involved with that Granger girl. They'll never expect that I'd do something like that to get information."
His parents' heads lifted as one. Draco braced himself for revulsion, for outraged panic.
He received ringing silence instead. His father's mouth was ajar.
Draco sighed, feigning impatience. "I know, I know. But I'm telling you, it's a good plan. What better way is there to get in with the Order's inner circle?"
Lucius reanimated with a slow nod. "True … yes, there would be few more certain paths to gain their trust." He swirled his Firewhisky, looking disturbed. "I will admit that even the idea of … but no matter. The circumstances are extraordinary."
They both looked to Narcissa, whose eyes were wide.
Draco's grip tightened on his book as he awaited his mother's verdict. He supposed that any moment now the vitriol would come through. He supposed, with a sour feeling coiling in his stomach, that she would revile the idea of her precious pure-blood son besmirched by the touch of a Muggle-born.
But then Narcissa said, in a tense, unfamiliar voice, "This is significant." She snapped The Practical Potioneer's Guide shut and rose to her feet. "This shows that the Order really believes you to be one of them, Draco. I have been waiting for a sign like this for some time."
"You—you have?"
"Yes." She strode to the bookshelf, then back to the mantel. "And I have begun to feel that you and I should begin to make these same inroads, Lucius. If something slips in our plans with Bellatrix …"
"Slips?" His father's look of disturbance transformed into alarm. He rose to his feet, too. "Narcissa, what are you saying? Nothing will go awry. Draco has gone into the Order's ranks to reveal the Potter boy. We will succeed, we must succeed."
"Yet there have been plans to do away with Harry Potter before!" The retort came like a whip-crack, Narcissa's composure slipping for an instant. Then she stroked a strand of her ice-blonde hair back into place and continued more levelly. "Plans laid by Barty Crouch, a prodigious wizard, and by the Dark Lord himself … and still, here Potter stands. I will not discount the idea that Dumbledore's favourite has imparted some power onto the boy, even if Potter doesn't know it himself."
Lucius's eyes were keen. "Then you are suggesting …"
"I suggest that we take our example from our son." Narcissa touched a delicate opal bracelet upon her wrist, a Black family heirloom. "Draco has assimilated. He may not feel truly loyal to the Order, but for all intents and purposes, he has joined them. He has given them a certain amount of information; we have information we might give, too, to ingratiate ourselves. … At present, no matter what happens, Draco can claim he was working for the winning side, Lucius. He will survive. If our family is to survive, I do not think we should turn down safety, wherever we find it."
Silence filled the tent. Draco rose, too, feeling incredulous. The fact that his mother hadn't said a word against Hermione was enough of a shock—but the idea of his parents becoming Order informants? After months of trying to break the Order from within, his mother was finally having doubts?
Draco glanced to his father. Lucius was turning the Malfoy golden signet ring on his little finger, a match to Draco's silver ring of the same design. His face was filled with reluctance verging on distaste, as though he were being forced to take a bite of a dish he knew would revolt him.
I've seen that before, Draco realised with a small jolt. It was the same way that he himself had joined Hermione, Harry, and Ron. He had reassured himself that by helping the Gryffindors he was only trying to keep himself safe, no matter his disdain for them. It was the first step he had taken down this path: one of apparent necessity.
"I think she has a good point, Father," Draco dared to say.
But the words shook Lucius from his trance. "Enough. It's a decision for your mother and me to make, Draco. To bed, now."
In the weeks that followed, Draco kept careful watch on the both of them. The plan to steal Hufflepuff's cup was progressing steadily—Bill had set a date for several goblins to visit headquarters, and throughout May, Professor McGonagall taught Dobby and Winky to open a Floo passage into the deserted Ollivander's—but part of Draco's mind was always on his parents. He often felt as if he had just missed a conversation when he walked into the tent, and as the weather grew fairer, Lucius and Narcissa began to spend most of their time on the back patio of headquarters. Draco sometimes caught them watching the Order through the window, but not eavesdropping, anymore. His parents simply watched the Order stir inside, lips occasionally moving in conversation.
As the end of May approached, he and Hermione decided to tell Harry and Ron about his mother's suggestion. The boys looked as though they'd been struck in the gut with Bludgers.
"But we can't let them join the Order," Ron protested, fanning himself with a stray leaflet. The bedroom was stiflingly hot.
"You've already allowed one Malfoy in," said Draco.
"Yeah, because unlike your mum and dad, you're trying to stop Bellatrix killing us all."
Draco looked up to heaven. "It won't matter what they're trying to do, Weasley. After we get the Horcrux, I'm going to destroy that mirror anyway, make it look like an accident. They won't have a way to contact the Death Eaters anymore. They might think they're collecting Order information, but they won't have a way to pass it along."
"Yes, but …" Hermione's voice was guarded. "Do you really think it could change anything? Or would it just be a needless risk?"
Draco swallowed, feeling a fresh pulse of want. Maybe, the more his parents grew accustomed to his "pretend" relationship with Hermione, the more the sight would appear normal to them. The idea was so tantalising as to be painful.
"I don't think they would ever have considered something like this before," Draco said finally. "Even last summer, when we were at your house, Weasley. Taking advantage of the Order, maybe. But giving up information? Never."
Harry chewed the information a while before saying, "If they decide they want to do it, we can talk it over with the rest of the Order."
Ron grimaced. "Come on, Harry. The things Lucius Malfoy's done. If they get hold of a wand, or if they leave headquarters …"
"Yes," Hermione broke in, "but look how things have turned out after Draco joined us. Who's to say his parents couldn't be the same kind of help? Look at everything we've managed to do together."
They surveyed their spread of plans, the Sword of Gryffindor beside them, the two destroyed Horcruxes on the desk, the sounds of a fortified Order ringing through headquarters.
Ron broke into a reluctant grin. "Yeah, I suppose we've done all right, haven't we?"
"We have." Harry wasn't smiling, but his eyes were bright with determination. "And we're going to get the cup. We're going to finish this."
"Let's go over the plan again," said Hermione.
So they did, again and again, in the days leading up to their bid on Gringotts. While tightened by weeks' preparation, the plan still left more up to chance than Draco really liked. It was true that he had the Elder Wand, but if Bellatrix brought her husband with her to make the withdrawal, it would worsen their odds in an outright duel. They decided that they would take Gryffindor's sword to Diagon Alley, in case they had only limited time with the cup.
The last night before Bill's goblin friends were due to arrive at the Potter Cottage, they stayed up late, sitting in the front room with Pansy, Ginny, and Luna. They had talked through the plan all afternoon and couldn't see how it could be improved, but none could make themselves sleep just yet.
"So," Pansy said, her dark eyes moving among them. "Are you planning on telling us why we're supposed to stay out of the cottage tomorrow afternoon?"
"Nope," said Ron.
"See?" said Pansy to Ginny and Luna. "I told you they're plotting something."
Ron grinned. "Like you've never plotted anything before."
Ginny sighed, nudging Harry. "You could tell us, you know."
"Sorry, Gin," said Harry. "We—aah!"
He buckled forward, his hand flying to his scar. They all jerked forward in their seats.
"Harry?" Ginny said sharply. "What is it, what's happened?"
"Nothing." Harry forced his shaking hand down from his head, although his eyes were still squeezed shut with pain. "Never mind. … I'm fine."
But the instant Pansy, Ginny, and Luna had gone to bed, Draco said, "What was that, Potter?"
"Has someone died?" said Ron.
"No. … Not yet." Harry swallowed. "Voldemort's figured out it was Grindelwald who stole the Elder Wand. He's on his way to Nurmengard."
#
Three goblins arrived at headquarters the next day in mid-afternoon, stepping out of the Floo with three emerald flashes. They were named Gornuk, Griphook, and Bogrod, and they exchanged brief handshakes with Bill and Harry before nodding to Draco, Hermione, and Ron.
"What is it that you want read, exactly?" said Griphook, looking suspicious.
"Here," said Hermione, shuffling out pieces of parchment onto which she'd copied their written scripts. "Gornuk, you can read part A, Griphook, you can take part B, and Bogrod, part C."
The goblins frowned down at the pieces of parchment. "This suggests," said Bogrod, sounding frosty, "that Gringotts would work to hand over a piece of treasure to one not its rightful owner."
"We know it's against your code," said Harry. "That's why we're asking you to do this instead."
"The result is the same," said Gornuk with an accusatory note. "You mean to flush this cup out of the safety of Gringotts, to take it for yourselves."
"No, no," Hermione said quickly. "It's not about us at all. We couldn't care less about the cup normally, but … it's necessary for the war."
Harry nodded. "We aren't trying to enrich ourselves, or steal something to keep for our own. We're trying to fight Voldemort. And this could be one of the most important steps to stopping what he's doing around the country."
The goblins, still looking wary, read the scripts over a while longer.
Eventually Griphook exchanged a few short sentences with the other goblins in Gobbledygook. Gornuk still looked doubtful, but eventually nodded.
"The reign of You-Know-Who must fall," Griphook said grimly. "And we believe that you work toward this end, Harry Potter. … Come."
Everyone but Draco filed into the dining room. Hermione, the last to enter, gave Draco a brief smile before shutting the door.
Draco looked down the silent hall into the vacant front room. The rest of the Order had honoured Harry's request; those who were not at the safehouses were in their respective tents. The Potter Cottage was quiet and empty as it had not been since December, when only he, Hermione, and Harry had trodden these old floorboards.
Draco let himself stand, a moment, in the calm before the storm.
Then he moved swiftly through the cottage. Once outside, he pelted down the garden and burst into his parents' tent.
"We need to talk to Bellatrix," he panted. "Now."
His parents leapt to their feet. "Why?" said Lucius.
"Potter's having a meeting inside. He's invited goblins here, and everyone else has gone somewhere. I think it's got to do with that weapon, the artifact Bella wanted to know about"—Draco made an impatient motion—"but the point is, they've forgotten to perform the Muffliato charm on the door. We can listen in, if we hurry."
His father was moving at once, snatching the mirror from the mantel and saying, "Bellatrix Lestrange."
Soon Draco was creeping back inside as though wary they might be heard, leading his parents into the kitchen. The mirror was clasped in his mother's hand, Bellatrix hunched so close that her face filled the glass.
As Draco eased the back door shut, he slipped his hand into his pocket and grasped the Elder Wand. Flagrate, he thought. Nothing seemed to happen around them, but he knew that beyond the closed door of the dining room, a fiery X would appear in the air, signalling the start to the script.
He held his finger to his lips and led his parents down the hall. Voices became audible, echoing distinctly beneath the dining room door. They stopped and listened.
"What you ask of us is highly unusual," Bogrod was saying. "It may even be unprecedented in our history. We do not often seek to ally ourselves with wand-carriers."
"We're not asking for an alliance," said Harry's voice. "It's just a favour. We only need one thing."
"We cannot break the code of Gringotts lightly," said Griphook.
"But it's important," said Ron with convincing impatience.
Narcissa was holding Bellatrix's mirror very close to the keyhole now. Draco sneaked a look at his aunt. She had gone the colour of ash, her eyes bulging.
"No other goblin would help you in this matter," said Gornuk—a line Hermione had added in hopes that Bellatrix might not hurt the Gringotts goblins.
"Does that mean you'll do it?" said Hermione eagerly. "You'll help us?"
Bogrod sighed. "Very well. We will help you retrieve the item tomorrow."
"But the vault in question is very old," said Griphook. "One of the oldest. You know its fortifications. We will have to think carefully about how to procure this … you said it was a small golden cup, yes?"
If they had really been eavesdropping, Bellatrix would have revealed them. She drew in an audible gasp. Narcissa blanched and clutched the mirror close.
"Go, go," Bellatrix hissed. "Go!"
They dashed back down the hall, through the kitchen, and down the garden. They did not stop to speak until they had returned to his parents' tent. "What is it, Bellatrix?" Lucius demanded. "What does it mean?"
"We are in more danger than you can possibly know," she whispered. Her darting eyes were wide, and fury was starting to seep into her expression. "I must go immediately. This must not … I cannot … I must go!"
And she was gone. The mirror reflected them only, Draco and his fearful-looking parents.
"A cup?" said Draco, trying to sound blank. "Why is that so important?"
"I don't know," Lucius murmured. "Perhaps … it could be the Cup of the Covenant. The Dark Lord would not look kindly on its loss, and yet—that kind of reaction from Bella …"
Draco seized the opening. "I'll go back and keep listening. You two shouldn't be inside." He knew that even now, Hermione, Harry, and Ron would be piling through the Floo, exiting into Ollivander's dusty shop. Bellatrix would be Apparating into the Leaky Cauldron checkpoint, probably storming past the line to have her paperwork verified. Time was precious.
He hadn't taken three steps toward the tent flap, however, when his mother seized him by the wrist. "No."
"It's fine, Mother. They trust me, remember?" He tried to tug away, but her grip tightened.
"No! You mustn't be involved in this, Draco. There is a reason Bellatrix didn't tell us more."
"Listen to your mother," said Lucius sharply. "If Bella says the situation is dangerous, we must believe her. Your aunt doesn't speak of risk lightly." He returned the mirror to the mantel. "We wait for her to contact us again."
Draco's heart contracted. He needed to Transfigure himself and get through the Floo. There wasn't a minute to waste.
He was sorting through excuses when Lucius said, "On the same note, Draco, I have been carefully considering your mother's suggestion to keep us all safe. This idea of seeming to join hands with the Order. … I agree that it's best."
Draco's thoughts of the Horcrux jarred. His head twitched toward his father.
"You'll do it?" Draco said. "Both of you, you'll do what I'm doing?"
His parents both nodded.
Draco knew he must leave the tent and get to Ollivanders. And yet his feet were fixed in place. He imagined his father sitting stiffly beside the Weasleys in a meeting, worn down over time, beginning to grow exhausted by the effort it took to scorn everyone around him. His father, who so prized intelligence, would have no choice but to see Hermione's brilliance, however reluctant he was to acknowledge it at first. Draco imagined his mother exchanging clipped words with Tonks, perhaps seeing a glimmer of Andromeda there.
Draco squeezed the Elder Wand in his pocket, a mad feeling racing of possibility through him. When he returned, he would break the mirror; he would plead his parents' case to the Order. They only needed to execute the plan.
"All right," he said, trying to sound casual. "I suppose we'll have to figure out the details later. The others are expecting me in there. I'll just wait in the front room, where they left me, all right?"
His mother, still gripping his arm, searched his expression.
Draco sighed. "I won't do any more eavesdropping. I promise."
Her grip finally slackened. He reclaimed his wrist, rubbing it ruefully for a second, as if he had all the time in the world. "I'll see you later, then. And I want to know what Aunt Bella says if she contacts us again."
The second he was out of the tent, he broke into a run.
#
"He was surprised," Lucius remarked once Draco had gone.
"Yes, I thought he would be." Narcissa approached her husband and laid her head into the crook of his neck. "I'm sure he doesn't want his situation disrupted. It is delicate, that's true. … But he'll see we can do more together."
"Yes." Lucius kissed her forehead. "I suppose we should retire these, if we're to join the rabble."
When Narcissa drew back, she saw that he was holding one of the Extendable Ears. She raised her brows at her husband; she had heard an unfinished sentence there.
He gave a thin smile and went on. "… but perhaps we should use them one last time. I don't want Draco involved, but he was right that there will certainly be more to learn from the goblins' conversation. I wouldn't mind knowing why Bella reacted the way she did."
Narcissa hesitated. "Once more, then," she murmured, taking the other flesh-coloured thread from the cup on the mantel.
They crept out into the garden, then around the side of the cottage. They stayed low, the tops of their heads beneath the windowsills, moving as quickly as they could. But when they reached the dining room window, they saw that the table was empty.
Lucius swore quietly. "They must have left in a hurry."
Narcissa narrowed her eyes at the open door. "Or did they suspect an eavesdropper and move rooms? Here, this way."
The sunshine beat down upon their robes as they slunk to the front of the cottage.
Narcissa came to an abrupt halt as she looked through the front window. For an instant she didn't understand what she was seeing. Then she realised that the dark-haired man before them was Draco, casting spells upon himself, Transfiguring himself into someone moustached and older-looking.
As he swept a jar of Floo Powder from the mantel and took a pinch, Narcissa drew a sharp breath. "Lucius—!"
Lucius sprang to her side. Draco was already declaring, muffled but still audible, "Ollivanders!"
He stepped into the blaze of green flame and vanished. Lucius and Narcissa bolted for the door and burst over the threshold.
"What has he done?" Narcissa gasped. She couldn't catch her breath. Spots were bursting in her eyes. There could be no more dangerous place for any of them than Diagon Alley.
"Ollivanders," Lucius said with realisation, striding toward the grate. "This connection must be how the Order plans to break into Gringotts. Draco must have seen them leave and given chase." He whirled back to Narcissa, face full of dread. "That's where they've gone. All of them. Draco must be trying to capture Potter for Bellatrix as we speak."
Narcissa touched her hand to her racing heart. She had thought Draco would be pleased at their caution. She had thought that he would continue to put safety before zealotry, the way Lucius had finally agreed to do. But it seemed her son had learned the Dark Lord's messages too well.
As she tried desperately to catch her breath, it occurred to her with a burst of agonising clarity that they should not have been such diligent teachers. All along, they should have known better than to press any of this upon their son.
"We have no time to lose," Narcissa said in a harsh whisper. She swept the jar from the mantel.
#
"What took you?" Hermione asked as Draco slipped out the window of Ollivanders into the side alley.
"My parents," Draco murmured as she lifted her wand to double-check his Transfiguration. "I'll explain later."
Hermione and Ron had both undergone their Transfigurations, too. Hermione had pin-straight, red-blonde hair, and Ron appeared as a blond man with a bushy beard. They would have preferred Polyjuice, but they hadn't been able to procure the necessary ingredients to brew a new cauldron since February.
"Potter under the Cloak?" Draco said.
"Here," came Harry's voice from beside Draco. "Let's go."
They hurried up the side street, then emerged into a Diagon Alley full of blazing sunlight. Draco glanced back at Ollivanders's boarded-up storefront. It looked as abandoned as before.
The rest of Diagon Alley, on the other hand, was much changed. Storefronts that Draco remembered as vacant had been resold. The Muggle-born-owned Eeylops Owl Emporium, which his parents had always refused to enter, had now been replaced by Selwyn's High-Bred Birds. Draco also noted a new outpost of Borgin and Burke's nearby, from whose window an array of cursed objects glittered out at mesmerised passers-by.
Draco began to sweat as they strode up the street toward the white marble façade of Gringotts. Here upon the cusp of summer, the sunlight was as heavy as water. It seemed impossible that the dozens of people bustling and chatting around them could not simply look at the four of them—well, the three of them—and see the wanted criminals whose faces were plastered upon every shopfront.
"Here," said Hermione quietly as they neared Gringotts. Dobby, who had investigated Diagon Alley for them under cover of night, had told them about an alcove in an intersection just opposite the bank, occupied by a disused drinking fountain. As they sidled past it, Hermione performed a quick Illusion Charm to make the alcove look like a solid brick wall. Then, one by one, unnoticed by the harried-looking patrons of Diagon Alley, they slipped through the illusory barrier to wait.
Huddled on the other side, they could still see the Gringotts steps and entrance quite clearly through the Illusion Charm. "I hope we haven't missed Bellatrix," Hermione whispered, peering through the tan shadow that hovered in mid-air. "We'll want to be certain that she's gone inside …"
"We haven't missed her."
The dread in Ron's voice made Draco follow his gaze down the street.
His insides plummeted. Bellatrix Lestrange was striding up Diagon Alley, drawn out just as they'd planned. But she wasn't alone, and it wasn't her husband she'd brought along.
Striding at Bellatrix's back was a contingent of some sixty witches and wizards. Four, at the front, Draco recognised as Death Eaters. The rest wore Ministry robes. It looked like an entire department, but as for what they were doing there, Draco had no idea.
His head spun. How could this be happening? All four of them had been convinced, more than anything, that Bellatrix would want to draw as little attention to the Horcrux as possible. If Voldemort ever found out that the Order had come close to stealing it, she would be punished brutally. She must know this. What could her motivation possibly be for making a spectacle of its withdrawal?
They gazed, horror-struck, as Bellatrix and her entourage approached the sweeping Gringotts steps. Two wizards at the bank's entrance, who were holding long, thin Probity Probes, let the metal wands quaver as the force strode up the steps.
Ron took in a sudden gasp. "Wait a minute. I know those robes. That's the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
"What?" Hermione and Harry said at the same time—but Ron was right, Draco realised. Hadn't he always seen Walden Macnair in robes lined and cut that same way?
"But why—" Hermione began.
"Out of my way," Bellatrix snarled with a slash of her wand. The security wizards dived for safety, and as Bellatrix's spell struck the door of Gringotts, a low, mournful tone emitted from the marble, which swelled like a voice.
The doors swung open. From where they stood, Draco could see that three or four goblins stood in the antechamber. The goblin at the front said, "Madam Lestrange. What is the meaning of this?"
"You know perfectly well what my meaning is, you horrid little beast," Bellatrix hissed. "Your kind are no longer to be trusted. We never should have allowed you such free rein, with your leniency to Mudbloods and blood traitors!" She raised her voice so that it rang down the street. Shoppers and shopkeepers alike stared up at the figure atop the steps as she declared, "By order of the Ministry of Magic, we claim this establishment and its contents for wizard-kind!"
Bellatrix wheeled around and slashed her wand downward toward the goblins. They moved more quickly than Draco could have imagined. They darted back into the bank, out of sight, and the mob of Ministry wizards ran up the steps with a roar, flooding into the fine marble hall.
"No!" Hermione cried out. She made to move toward the steps.
Draco seized her by the upper arm. "Wait."
"But the goblins—"
Hermione broke off as Draco pointed. Shouts and flashes of light were flying out from the magnificent doors, and dozens of goblins were now visible fighting in the entryway. Most were holding long, beautifully made daggers that glowed in the summer sun; others wore finely crafted helms or armour. Though they had no wands, they dived and leapt with such speed that the wizards were placed on the defensive, using deflecting spells to keep away from those deadly blades.
"If we come near them," Draco said, "they'll assume we're breaking in, too."
"We might have to break in," Ron said, sounding sick. "This might be our only chance to get the cup, while they're occupied. We can't rely on the plan now, can we?"
"Maybe we can," said Harry. He slipped the Invisibility Cloak off to reveal his Transfigured self, blue-eyed and baby-faced. "Bellatrix still thinks we know how to get the cup from her vault. I think she'll want it out of there, no matter what."
Ron rounded on Draco. "Malfoy, how long do you reckon it'll take Lestrange to get to that vault and back up again?"
"It'll be deep. Near my family's vault. It takes fifteen minutes to get that far down, another twenty to get back up."
"And we're just supposed to wait around while the goblins are attacked?" Hermione said, voice shaking in outrage.
"Maybe we can get close enough to—" Harry let out an agonised sound and clutched at his forehead, staggering, nearly falling. Draco bolstered him with the others; there was barely any room in the alcove.
"What's happening?" said Ron.
"Vol—he's there," Harry gasped out, blinking sweat out of his eyes. "He's broken through Nurmengard's protections. … He's in Grindelwald's cell, torturing him for answers about the Elder Wand."
"Then he's going to find out it passed to Dumbledore," Hermione whispered. "He'll come back to Britain."
The four of them stood stock-still, sweating more profusely than ever. The sounds of yells and crashes from within Gringotts rang down Diagon Alley.
Draco knew they were all thinking the same thing. If Voldemort returned to the country while Death Eaters and Ministry alike were gathered here, there was no guarantee that he would not join his servants. It would fall perfectly in line with Rita Skeeter's writings: Voldemort, a supposed fighter for wizards' society, "liberating" Gringotts from the possession of the goblins.
Hermione broke the silence with a stifled scream, clapping her hand over her mouth. Draco's gaze flew to the top of the steps.
One of the Ministry wizards had run out of the bank's doors, a chest levitated in front of him. But hardly had he taken a step over the threshold when a goblin appeared, clasping a wound on his own arm, and slashed his dagger somewhere behind the wizard's legs. The thief howled, and the chest plummeted, cracked open on the Gringotts steps, and spilled its contents down like a golden waterfall.
"They're looting," Draco said, staring at the spread of Galleons. "They're not just here to get control of Gringotts. They're emptying the vaults that belong to Muggle-borns."
"Of course," said Harry through gritted teeth. "I'll bet that's how Bellatrix got them all to risk their necks. Take whatever you can steal."
Ron looked stunned. "We can't let them!"
"Let them?" Draco said. "We can't stop them, Weasley! There are only four of us, and if we run in there and start fighting, we might not see Bellatrix leaving. Think of the Horcrux."
Ron's face reddened, but eventually he let out a frustrated sound and turned back around to watch. Draco's jaw clenched. He was no happier about the situation than the others; he couldn't believe the scale of the miscalculation. All this after Hermione had fretted for weeks about how individual goblins might be affected.
The fight raged on within the bank. After a quarter of an hour, dozens more goblins pelted up the street, all wearing finely crafted armour, to reinforce the Gringotts numbers. They cut bonds, energised unconscious goblins with glittering potions, and started a new array of battles. But still the wizards were carting hoards of treasures up into the Gringotts hall, stacking chests and crates of stolen gold higher and higher.
"I can't believe we did this," Hermione whispered, her face bloodless. "I can't believe I didn't think of it. Wizards have tried to force Gringotts out of goblin control three different times; Professor Binns gave us a four-day lecture on the Goblin Rebellion of 1734 …"
"I can't believe none of these people are doing anything to help," Harry ground out, gesturing at the scores of Diagon Alley shoppers who had collected around the Gringotts steps, staring open-mouthed into the fray. "They don't have a Horcrux to find."
"Let's get out in the open," Ron urged. "We want to be nearer, anyway, don't we? Maybe we can find a way to help."
They all exchanged looks, then slipped out of the concealed alcove.
It wasn't a moment too soon. They were halfway through the crowd when they heard shouts compounding from within. The furious cries of goblins. "It's her! The witch! Lestrange!"
"Out of my way!" they heard Bellatrix shriek. "Away, you brutes! Bombarda!"
A dozen onlookers screamed. The hex had struck the tower of treasure in the hall. So forceful was Bellatrix's spell that the crates, chests, and sacks of money were propelled forward. The treasure scattered Death Eaters and goblins alike, then toppled through the open doors of Gringotts with a deafening crash. The cacophony didn't stop, wooden bindings exploding open and loosing their contents. On and on it went, the clinking, clanking, and pouring of tens of thousands of Galleons, innumerable Sickles and Knuts, slip-sliding down the long marble steps onto the cobbles of Diagon Alley.
The fight spilled out afterward. Goblins and wizards came slipping and sliding over the glittering tidal wave of coin, slashing and snarling down the steps. Spells issued up into the clear sky. The clang of goblin-forged metal echoed off Diagon shopfronts. A blasting spell struck a nearby building, and screams came from the apartments within; the beams of the building creaked and groaned.
As screaming onlookers began to run for cover, Draco struggled to band together with Hermione, Harry, and Ron. They forged against the current, moving toward the steps.
Then they saw her. Bellatrix had emerged into the open, fending off a dozen goblins at once. Hung over her shoulder was a leather pouch, bulging with an object the size of a fist.
"That's it," Draco breathed, gooseflesh rippling up his arms in the sweltering heat. "The cup."
"Now!" Harry yelled. The four of them sprinted through the last of the crowd and into the melee.
They had imagined a scenario like a kidnapping, Draco using the Elder Wand at a key moment of stealth to overcome Bellatrix. They had imagined silence and subtlety, and the ability to sneak back into Ollivanders without being noticed.
All that was now abandoned. They clawed their way up the steps through the landslide of Galleons, struggling toward Bellatrix, who paid them no notice, still battling a dozen goblins. And it wasn't just the Ministry and goblins upon the steps now. While many witches and wizards had fled, scores of others had been drawn to the spill, shoving gold and silver into their pockets. Goblins were darting over the piles of money, inhumanly light and agile, crying out at those who were pocketing coins. All was a confused mass of limbs and knives, the hot smell of metal baking in the sun. Voices bellowed spells as Draco staggered up the steps.
It was through all this, piercing through the mix, that he heard his mother's voice.
"Draco! DRACO!"
He froze, then flung himself to the marble side rail and grabbed on, scanning the crowd. Had he misheard? How could she be here?
Then he saw them. His parents, trying to scramble into the foray at the bottom of the steps. They held wands that he could only assume they'd scraped from the shelves at Ollivanders, and they had Transfigured themselves. They would have been recognisable to few but him.
"Draco!" his father shouted. "Is he here?"
Draco didn't know who his father meant, but he threw a wild look back at Bellatrix—had she heard his name?
His heart plunged. Bellatrix had freed herself from the goblins. She was gazing down the steps at his parents, seeming to draw understanding from his father's words that Draco hadn't.
Bellatrix swept her wand out. "Finite Incantatem!" she screamed.
Draco, watching, barely had time to think Protego! and lift the Elder Wand in defence. The spell glanced off, leaving his disguise intact—but at the bottom of the steps, his parents' Transfigurations dissolved immediately.
Elsewhere on the steps, Hermione, Harry, and Ron reappeared as themselves.
Cries of shock ricocheted through the crowd. The goblins who saw Harry slowed in recognition, their daggers faltering, and little by little, limb by limb, a great stillness fell over the scene.
Heads craned out of windows all down the street. The crowd of shoppers and shopkeepers were creeping closer once more. Now, without the cacophony, Draco could hear some of the voices.
"Harry Potter—"
"Lucius Malfoy—"
"Just there, it's Granger …"
Bellatrix had eyes for nobody except Harry. "Potter," she breathed, moving to the brink of the steps. Several of the Ministry made motions as if to curse Harry, but Bellatrix said, "No! He is mine to deliver to the Dark Lord!"
She pushed up her sleeve, exposing her Dark Mark.
In that instant of distraction, Draco took aim with the Elder Wand and thought, Diffindo!
The base of Bellatrix's leather pouch split as if scythed open by one of those sharp daggers. Out of it slipped a small golden cup, glowing like the sun itself.
Bellatrix let out a panicked cry and grabbed for it, but the cup had already struck the lip of the step and was now bouncing down the pour of coin. "Accio," Draco yelled, aiming his wand. He heard Hermione, Harry, and Ron doing the same—"Accio!" But the Horcrux must have been charmed to resist, because it flew farther and faster, catapulting base over handles down the steps.
Draco threw himself bodily for the cup. In his periphery he saw the others doing the same. Ron was closest; he dove headlong for the Horcrux, while Harry seized the mokeskin pouch from around his neck. He pulled from it—to cries from the onlookers—the sword of Godric Gryffindor.
The cup was feet from Ron's hand. Draco swept out the Elder Wand and yelled, "Abriarus!"
There was a high, metallic ping as the cup bounced off the invisible barrier. Ron let out a triumphant shout as it rebounded directly into his waiting palm. Draco reached his side and prepared for them to bolt through the crowd.
Bellatrix's voice stopped them all cold. "Very good. And now, you will return that to me."
Ice flooded through Draco as he realised that only Harry and Ron were flanking him.
All three revolved on the spot. Bellatrix stood at the top of the steps, holding her wand to Hermione's throat.
"No," Draco croaked. Harry and Ron had spoken, too, but he couldn't hear. The entire world had narrowed to the spot where Bellatrix's wand touched Hermione's skin. She was frozen, her hair spilling over Bellatrix's shoulder, coppery as the spill of Knuts around them.
Draco's eyes locked onto Hermione's. He could see the thoughts racing through her mind, desperate calculations for escape. His mind whirled with plans, too. Could they frighten Bellatrix by threatening the cup? What other leverage did they have, what other chance? They had made emergency escape plans with Dobby and Winky, but something else must have gone wrong, because the elves were not here …
No one moved. Draco stood with the Elder Wand in hand, Harry with Gryffindor's sword, Ron with the Horcrux. All the power in the world, useless.
"Well done, Cissy, Lucius," said Bellatrix, voice silky. She cast her imperious gaze upon the rest of the gathered wizards. "Seize them."
Harry moved before any of the Ministry wizards, grabbing the Horcrux from Ron's grip and holding it against the edge of the sword. "I don't think so," he yelled. "Let her go, or we destroy this. I don't think your boss would be too happy about that, would he? I've noticed you don't seem too interested in calling him here anymore!"
The Ministry wizards had halted, looking to Bellatrix for instruction. But Draco could hear the edge of desperation in Potter's voice. If they really did destroy the cup, Bellatrix would kill Hermione in cold blood. Draco knew it was an empty threat.
Bellatrix knew it, too. She let out a high, delighted laugh. "Oh, let us not play games, Potter … I know you value your friends. I know you do not wish to see this one killed." Her smile turned to a leer. "You wish to make a bargain? Here is my bargain. Give me that cup, and every minute you disobey, I will make a new decoration on the Mudblood, like so …"
Hermione began to scream. The sound made something tear open in Draco's stomach. A cut was forming beneath Bellatrix's wandtip, blood trickling down Hermione's neck.
Diagon Alley seemed to warp around him. And in the moment of terror, an idea burst into his mind.
"God, just give it up, would you, Potter?" he said, moving the Elder Wand over himself so that his Transfiguration melted away.
He stood exposed under the brilliant sun: alive.
Hermione's scream broke. Surprise had interrupted Bellatrix's curse.
"Draco," said his aunt. More whispers from the crowd. The sound of the words Malfoy, Draco Malfoy floated on the breeze.
Draco forced himself not to look at Hermione, not to make sure she was all right, although every instinct in his body screamed for him to do so. He could show no reaction to her pain.
"I told you." Draco worked a smirk onto his face and stepped upward through the spill of coins. "I said I'd get Potter for you, Aunt Bella—and here he is."
He cast a scathing look back at Harry and Ron. "Surprise," he sneered. "You really thought I was on your side? That's the problem with you Order people, isn't it? You can't imagine anyone doing anything for themselves."
Harry and Ron just stared, wordless. He could practically hear their voices in his mind: What do you think you're doing?
He dared to raise his brows slightly in their direction: Trust me.
Draco knew that even if he hexed Bellatrix and freed Hermione, they would be immediately beset by dozens of Ministry wizards. But if he could convince Bellatrix to bring the others back to the Lestrange House for interrogation before summoning Voldemort, maybe there was a chance. All he needed was one moment alone with them, one moment to free them. Once they were out of imminent danger, they could deal with the cup.
He looked back at Bellatrix as if hoping for her approval.
"Yes," said his aunt slowly. "Yes, you've done well, Draco."
"I know. And we weren't expecting to be able to do it for months. I told Mother and Father that meeting was important. I knew it."
"Lucky indeed that you overheard those rats at work." Bellatrix smiled, but she was still watching him too carefully for his liking. Draco's mouth was bone-dry as he sauntered up toward her, occasionally giving careless glances to the goblins and Ministry workers on either side. He couldn't seem defensive, couldn't let the façade falter.
Sweat slithered down Draco's back. Half a dozen steps away from Bellatrix, he remembered the last time he had stood face-to-face with her. The words she had hissed before lashing out at him with her wand. Clear your mind!
He realised what she was going to do an instant too late.
"Legilimens!" she cried.
Draco, having forced himself to hold the Elder Wand casually at his side, did not lift it in time. But as the spell struck him, his mind went slack instinctively.
He dropped to his knees on the steps. Diagon Alley was too bright. He felt Bellatrix scrabbling for purchase on the hard, slick surface of his thoughts. He could not allow himself to think a spell, even to raise his wand, or she would dig in. He let his gaze slide into soft focus. The blue blur of the sky. White marble and white cloud. Everything bright, beautiful, blank, impenetrable.
Then he allowed certain thoughts to flurry across the surface, perfectly controlled. He was sitting with his parents in the tent, speaking with them about how to get to Potter. He was storming through Hogsmeade last summer, every move with the Order one of resentment and reluctance.
A natural, Bellatrix had called Draco. And he had been, once. No fissure memories for him, no cracks of uncertainty or dependency—nothing he'd cared so deeply about that he would make himself vulnerable.
He was not looking at Hermione. He was not thinking of Hermione.
He could feel Bellatrix's assault withdrawing. The beating sun and the swimming sky were stilling around him, the effects of the spell lifting …
Then Bellatrix wrapped her arm around Hermione's throat. Hermione let out a choked cry, and Draco's eyes flew to her—he couldn't stop himself—and the sight of her, the smear of blood across her neck, her warm brown eyes, the lips he could picture laughing—the sudden terror for her life burst across his mind, not so much a fissure as a chasm.
Bellatrix dug in and wrenched his mind open.
Draco collapsed, screaming, on the steps of Gringotts. In his mind's eye he was reliving the events of the past year, but his watering eyes could still see Bellatrix's vindictive pleasure, her rage and hatred, as her outstretched wand held the connection.
Somewhere in his consciousness, he heard his parents screaming. "Bellatrix! BELLA! NO!"
An instant of distraction lessened the spell's force, and in that moment, some counter-hex left Draco's mouth, the kind of instinctive magic that comes out of Legilimency. A bolt of light rocketed from the Elder Wand and struck Bellatrix in the shoulder, breaking her hold on him.
The force of his own hex threw Draco back. He was slipping, falling, sliding backward down the Galleon-slick steps, Ministry workers and goblins leaping out of the way as though to touch him was to invite death.
Two pairs of solid hands stopped him in his tracks. Harry and Ron helped him scramble upright, and as Draco turned, gasping, aching all over, he nursed the tiny hope that the spell might have dislodged Bellatrix's grip on Hermione—that she might have burst free.
The hope died. The two women stood as before, although an angry weal had appeared on Bellatrix's collarbone.
"So!" Panting, Bellatrix placed her wand upon Hermione's neck again. Her mouth was drawn wide, baring her teeth. "So this was the truth all along, Draco. You, the scion of the Malfoy name—you abandon your own family to side with the Muggles and half-breeds. You debase yourself with this Mudblood!"
Draco held his fury inside, aftershocks of pain running over his skin. He knew Bellatrix's tactics. She wanted to bait him into some noble speech, then humble him by torturing Hermione. But Draco would give her nothing. He had shown the truth already. He had nothing more to prove.
Instead he held Hermione's eyes. He tried to think of some exit strategy, but there was nothing left. Their last chance was gone. They were surrounded, impossibly outnumbered. He saw that hollow terror in her eyes, too: the absence of hope.
"Look at your parents, Draco," Bellatrix spat. She always hated to be ignored. "Look! You will see what your filthy blood traitor loyalties have done to one of the oldest Wizarding families in the world. And then you will give me the Cup of the Covenant." She dug her wand deeper into Hermione's throat. "Do it, unless you want me to spill all of her filthy blood!"
Draco forced himself to turn. He saw, near the bottom of the steps, his parents' shocked expressions.
"Is it true?" said his mother faintly. The words barely reached him.
He lowered his head in a single nod.
Narcissa just swayed, as if the breeze might knock her aside.
But Lucius came to life. He forged forward. "No," he called out, using the rail to haul himself up the steps through the shifting gold. "No, Bellatrix, he is confused! The Order have warped his mind. He doesn't know what he's saying!"
"I know exactly what I'm saying, Father." Draco's voice was hard and clear.
"Stop this. You must see reason, Draco." Lucius reached him and seized him by the shoulders. In the glow of the late afternoon sun, the lines upon his face had disappeared. He looked almost young, more like Draco than he had in years. "Don't you see?" he breathed, agitated. "You've done it! Potter is here. You've helped bring him here. All this"—he swept out an arm, gesturing to the mountain of gold—"will be the least of our spoils! When we give Potter to the Dark Lord, we will be elevated beyond all you can ima—"
Draco raised his voice. "I said no."
Lucius let go of Draco, incomprehension written across his expression.
Father and son looked into each other's faces, and Draco saw Lucius grasping, in that instant, for a shred of comprehension.
Then Bellatrix's voice rang down from the top of the steps. "Pathetic," she said coldly. "The Dark Lord was always right about you, Lucius. You are weak. Of course your son could never have been anything but weak. Your line deserves to end in disgrace."
Lucius's face contracted. The hesitancy disappeared, his eyes burning harder into Draco's. "You don't see what's best," he murmured. "Of course, you're only a boy. How could I expect you to make these judgments?" His voice rose into a fanatical snarl. "I will tell the Dark Lord what you did to aid us. Everything will be the way it was, yes, you'll see, and you will thank me!"
Before Draco could answer, his father lunged for Harry. With one hand, Lucius raised his wand; with the other, he reached toward Hufflepuff's cup.
In that instant, two deafening CRACK sounds broke through the scene. A pair of small figures appeared. Dobby, with a stricken look up the steps at Hermione, seized Harry's and Ron's hands. Winky seized Draco's.
It all seemed to happen in slow-motion. Dobby yanked Harry backward with disproportionate strength. Lucius's hand stretched out, groping, seeking, and clamped not upon Hufflepuff's cup but upon the haft of Gryffindor's sword.
The sword tore free of Harry's grip, and Lucius let out a howl of frustration. But he had dived too far. He staggered upon the spill of Galleons, arms backwatering, mouth wide open, trying to regain his balance.
Lucius fell backward. The sword in his hand seesawed, glittering, beautiful beneath the sunlight. And as he struck the spread of gold, the pristine sword-tip, imbued with all the deadly venom of the Basilisk, traced a bright red gash onto his neck.
Draco's mouth was wide open, but no sound came free. He felt a great pressure upon his wrist as Winky used the same elf-spell as Dobby, the escape that they had planned; he understood now that the elves had waited to implement it until the last second, hoping that Hermione might escape Bellatrix's clutches. But they could wait no longer. Draco and Harry and Ron flew backward through the air, away from the scene, faster than the gathered wizards could raise or aim their wands, the Horcrux gleaming in Ron's hand.
In that final instant, Draco could do nothing but watch. He watched his mother let out an unending scream, sinking to her knees at the bottom of the steps. He watched Hermione struggle in Bellatrix's grip, her face upturned toward them and shrinking as they left her behind. He watched his father go still for the last time upon a sea of Gringotts gold, sprawled upon the final monument to all he had accrued.
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that's capitalism baby!
home stretch, here we come!
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-sw