Hermione clears her throat before popping her head in the sitting room. "Narcissa, do you have a minute? I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions—about sleep patterns and teething, and that kind of thing. Usually I'd read everything I could get my hands on, of course, but given the circumstances…"

"Yes, of course, dear." Narcissa is on her feet in an instant, easily slipping away from the chatter with Dean and Fleur she'd been lost in.

As soon as they're in the hallway, the older woman cocks a curious eyebrow. "What is it you truly want to discuss?"

"I just told you, I—"

Narcissa snorts. "Please. Darling, I know we haven't gotten to spend much time together, but I'm not quite that incapable of deciphering a person; intuition for reading people is a necessary prerequisite to legilimency, the reason why there are so few of us—as you well know."

Hermione blushes at the correct assumption that she'd used a ruse.

"I don't doubt for a second you would've done whatever it took to be prepared for Lyra's arrival. Information makes you feel more in control and equipped to handle the situation at hand, makes the overwhelming comprehensible—I am the same way. And so I know you must have managed to get books months ago; and besides that my niece just had a baby not long before you, and while she's not the literary type, that husband of hers surely bought out Flourish and Blotts' entire stock of maternity and infancy resources, panicky wizard that he is. On that same vein, if you did have a question about stages of development, I have no doubt you would turn to Nymphadora rather than myself, as she's experienced it all nearly two decades more recently." She gives Hermione a knowing smirk, but it softens as she continues. "It's fine if it's something you don't want the others knowing about—I understand the need for a pretense more than most. I just need to know what it's about so I can be of any help to you."

"I…yes, you're right, but—not here. Come with me, please." Hermione leads her down the hall, into the only unused guest room.

Remus is already there, looking equally confused and concerned as he and Narcissa both watch Hermione lock and ward the door, casting a muffliato and shield charm to prevent ears of the natural or extendable variety.

She takes a deep breath as she turns to the both of them, resisting the urge to pace at the front of the room while she speaks. "I'm sorry for dragging you both here without any explanation. But it's important—really, truly critical. I don't want to get the others' hopes up until I'm sure…and besides that, it's incredibly sensitive information."

"Okay," Remus says slowly, nodding in understanding. "I believe you, and I trust you of course. But why isn't Sirius here as well?"

Hermione bites her lip, knowing this is the part he's not going to like. "Well, it's—it has to do with knowledge of magic; dark magic especially, the underlying principles and some specific details, and—"

"It has to do with Harry." Narcissa purses her lips as the realization sets in. "So you think Sirius won't be able to think about it all rationally."

"He acts first most of the time," Hermione says apologetically, anxiously tugging at the end of her braid. "I love him, and I think he's a wonderful father, but when it comes to strategy and logic…well, he can be blindsided by his emotions. This is something we have to be entirely clearheaded about."

Remus sighs, looking very much his age as he braces his arms on the back of the chair in front of him. "You're absolutely right. He and I have been having that very conversation since the day after we were Sorted. Point taken. Carry on."

She swallows nervously, hoping she's understood everything correctly, hoping there's even the slightest chance her theory might be right.

(hoping she hasn't created hope where there is none.)

"Pheonix tears," she begins. "I know their power lies in healing. But how, exactly, does that work?"

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asks, brows drawn together.

"Do the tears serve as a panacea—are they a blanket cure all that washes over the entire body and rewrites and eliminates everything that's wrong? Or do they act more like an antidote, specifically counteracting whatever is wrong?"

Remus rubs at his jaw, looking as serious as she's ever seen him. "I don't know for sure, to be quite honest with you, Hermione. I don't think it's a distinction many people have devoted time to."

Her soul mate's mother frowns. "Just to clarify, you're saying one would erase the harm, while the other would reverse it?" She makes a face when Hermione nods. "I agree with Remus—I don't know that it would be possible to know such a thing for sure. And furthermore, I would assume it does both."

Hermione's heart only races faster as they avoid giving her a concrete answer. "But if you had to give your best guess?"

"If I had to give my best guess…" Remus exhales heavily. "Phoenix tears cannot cure curses or cursed scares. They cannot cure dragon pox, or vampirism...and they cannot cure lycanthropy." He doesn't hesitate as he lists his own condition, though it's clear this is the one that cements whatever hypothesis he's building up to. "Given that all of those are injuries or conditions that are transmitted in their entirety at infection, if I had to guess, I would infer that phoenix tears can only cure open or active wounds."

"Which would explain why a substance being powerful enough to bring people back from the brink of death can't cure that which would logically be a quick fix in comparison," Narcissa murmurs. "And we know phoenix tears cannot bring back the dead, which is likewise a condition with a sense of finality."

"So you're saying of the two categories I mentioned…" Hermione hedges with wide eyes.

Remus gives her a tired look.

Her gaze is pleading. "Please," she asks quietly. "I need to make sure you're saying what I think you are. I swear I wouldn't push it so far if it weren't important."

"Of the two categories you mentioned, I would assume it primarily acts as a means of counteracting whatever injury or other source of harm is present."

Hermione's shoulders relax—and then she's falling to her knees, a sob of relief escaping her.

Both of the older adults are on the carpet beside her instantly, Remus's look of concern so familiar it's comforting.

"Thank god," she manages to gasp out, chest heaving as the emotions overwhelm her. "Oh, thank god."

They wait until she pulls it together; not badgering or demanding answers, just sitting with her, head pressed against Remus's shoulder while Narcissa gently rubs circles on her back.

After a few minutes, she manages to calm herself down, blowing out a deep breath as she sits up straight, meeting both of their expectant gazes.

"I could be leaping to conclusions," she prefaces. "I've only been doing research on the subject for a few months, I'm by no means an expert—"

"You're spiraling," Remus says gently, the way he and Harry have plenty of times before. "Start at the beginning of your research. How did you get to this conclusion? What started you looking down this path in the first place."

"I—we've been using the fangs to destroy the horcruxes for a while now," Hermione says.

"And Harry—just in passing one day, thinking nothing of it—he made a joke one day about how he couldn't blame them for fighting back, because he remembered how badly it hurt to be stabbed by one too. It wasn't anything else, just the usual kind of quip he makes, of course, but something about it felt…off, somehow. I couldn't figure out why, but it consumed me, replaying that moment over and over, and trying to figure out why it was bothering me so much."

She looks back and forth between them, but they don't see it either.

(And in hindsight it seems so incredibly obvious, so insane that they hadn't seen it sooner, but it's such a small thing in passing—feels wrong enough to notice but not figure out why, like realizing halfway out the door your shoes are on the wrong feet.)

"Harry's been bitten by a basilisk."

Her voice is clear as she says it.

"Basilisk venom destroys horcruxes."

She's in her element now, presenting the facts that bring them to a revelation—this has been her life since she was eleven

"So how is there one still tethered to him?"

Narcissa's eyes bulge with shock as she processes the information, not having been aware of the fragment of Voldemort's soul housed inside the boy who lived.

Meanwhile, Remus has a sharp intake of breath, and then his eyes lights up with insight. "The tears would have to have counteracted the venom—so both he and the horcrux were left unharmed afterward."

"You see it too!" She can't stop the desperate hope building in her chest. "And so I started researching antivenoms for snakes in general—which I should've done ages ago, really, if I had paid more attention when Arthur was injured or when we found out about Nagini this could've been—"

"Focus," Remus reminds her. "You were talking about researching antivenom."

"Right! Sorry." She takes another deep breath before continuing. "So, in order to create antivenom for snake bites, muggle doctors induce immunity in a host animal of some sort—a goat or what have you—and then they administer the hyperimmunized serum to the patient. That's what made me start looking into it in earnest; because phoenixes could just be serving as the host animal, right? And obviously we don't induce them to have immunity to the basilisk, but because of their healing powers they do—and so I wondered if phoenix tears were then just the magical equivalent of hyperimmunized basilisk serum."

Remus is rapt with attention, the cogs in his own mind whirring.

Narcissa is likewise assimilating the new scientific information to her preexisting magical schema, but a large part of her is just taking it all in—she's never seen Hermione in action, before, never been able to witness the action behind the mind that's managed to keep both her son and Harry Potter alive all these years. Observing it now…it's awe inspiring.

(There's a part of her thrilled with every moment that passes, anticipating having the witch before her as a part of the family; wondering about what Lyra will be like, with such excessive intellect in her genes—the likelihood that she'll give both her parents a run for their money.)

(But there's also a part of Narcissa that's sad as she watches; as she wonders what Hermione might have accomplished, who she might've been able to come if all of her brilliance and dedication didn't have to be channeled towards war.)

Hermione carries on, oblivious to her future mother in law's internal conflict. "Which made me turn to the mechanics behind it all, because if there's a parallel outcome and a parallel origin of conception, whether or not they act in the same way is the key to figuring out whether or not we can use antivenom as a basis of understanding, and for prediction. Functionally speaking, antivenoms work by neutralizing the venom they're intended to oppose. They prevent things from getting worse once administered, but they can't reverse damage that's already been done."

Remus crosses his arms as he takes in the information. "I see what you're saying—and this is incredible, Hermione, not just for you but for all of the magical world. But if we're assuming phoenix tears are a parallel to antivenom, how would Harry have been healed so completely, when antivenoms can't reverse damage already done?"

"I think—and I know it sounds like speculation, but hear me out—I think it all comes back to the idea of complete damage versus damage in progress. Because there are a lot of things that in the muggle world are or would be complete damage that in the wizarding world aren't; magical healing is on a different level of capability. Let's say in the wizarding world we consider cursed wounds or lycanthropy to be maladies completed upon transmission, and thus their impact to be complete damage, and injuries like cuts, abrasions, and venom to be damage in progress, because they're active, open wounds, or because they haven't completed the full extent of their spread.

"But for muggles, without things like blood replenishing potions and healing spells and the like, it comes down to a cellular level—muggle maladies like skin cancer come from UV exposure killing skin cells repeatedly, and so on. So when we think about antivenom in muggle science—with no magic involved, it's working on a cellular level, rather than along a person's magical current. And I think what it is, is that each cell that has already been destroyed by the venom is considered complete or finalized damage; so it stops the venom where it is and prevents spread, but can't undo the destroyed cells, the way phoenix tears can't undo curses. But for the phoenix tears, since they are working within the magical realm rather than on a cellular level, those destroyed cells aren't yet considered final damage."

"I—" Remus rubs at his eyes, expression befuddled and stress lining his torso. "Honestly I was always horrid at science in primary school, so I only understood about half of what you just said. But I trust that the conclusion you've come to is sound.

"I'm very impressed, Narcissa adds with a small smile, "but where exactly are you going with this? How does it all tie back to Harry?"

"Right, yes—I do have a point!" Hermione promises.

She knows she does this often—tends to get so worked up and worried no one will believe her, so determined to prove she knows what she's talking about and demonstrate every piece of evidence so they'll be forced to see that she's right, that she overloads with evidence instead of getting to why it matters.

"Whenever Harry had nightmares, before we learned Occlumency—when he would see into Riddle's mind. He always woke with his scar hurting. And any time he's felt strong emotions, or proximity…"

"The first summer after Padfoot escaped," Remus murmurs, "when he came to live with us. His scar hurt constantly—up through the tournament. Until he learned to Occlude; and even then, he doesn't have his shields up all the time."

"Exactly. And obviously it's the wound from the attempted killing curse, but if I'm a fractured piece of soul looking for a place to land on the only living soul around, what better place than an open wound? It would explain why his connection to Riddle seems to be almost through the scar. The dreams, of Riddle's memories and Nagini, they were how we figured out Harry was a horcrux in the first place. And if his ability to see into the mind of Nagini, another confirmed horcrux, came with pain in his scar, on top of everything else…"

"This whole time," Narcissa whispers, shaking her head sorrowfully. "It's been a marker of the night he lost his family, of such an awful tragedy, the reason he's been singled out and in danger so much over the years…and all the while it's where he's been tethered to the monster responsible for it all. That poor boy."

"I hate it too," Hermione confesses. "But also…I think it might be our saving grace."

Remus realizes what she's planning before she says it—a choking sound escapes him. "You—you want to stab your brother in the forehead with a basilisk fang."

(She resists the urge to say better than the sword, isn't it?)

"Only enough to break the skin, and with Fawkes on standby." She grimaces. "I don't love it either, but the logic is sound; for a horcrux, contact with the venom is destruction. For a human, it's only lethal if it spreads entirely. We get the venom into the scar, and thus the horcrux; as soon as it's destroyed we dose him with phoenix tears. Horcrux destroyed, Harry alive."

It kills her to be the one to suggest it—to know that if anything goes wrong, her brother's blood will be on her hands.

(But she loves him far too much not to do everything possible to save him.)

Closing his eyes, Remus groans, agonizing as he contemplates the situation.

"You know I would never ever suggest it if I didn't think it was his best shot," Hermione whispers.

"I do," Remus replies, reaching for her hand gently. "And I think you're right. It's our only option. But—that's my kid. I know I'm not as vocal as Sirius, but Harry's my son all the same. I watched him take his first steps, taught him how to drive a muggle car and how to cast a patronus…and now I have to do something that may very well kill him and just hope that it works."

There's a banging on the wards, just then, and Hermione moves to deal with whoever it is.

(She tries not to listen as Narcissa soothes him, tries to respect their privacy, but she can't help but overhear snatches of her soul mate's mother's commentary; her own struggle of wanting to protect her child, even as putting his life in danger was the only way to ensure he could one day really live.)

Once she's undone the wards, Hermione cracks the door—and pauses when she comes face to face with Harry.

"Why do you look suspicious?" he asks, voice teasing but eyes narrowed in concern.

"Been doing a little bit of plotting," she admits. "It's about time you heard it all anyway, though—come inside."

He nods and takes a step forward; but then, as though he can just feel that she needs it, pulls her into a tight hug.

"It's going to be okay, Mia," he promises fiercely.

"I hope you're right," she whispers back, clutching at his sweater like it makes up for the hurt she's about to ask him to go through—like it can prove how much she loves him, how she'd take this burden and bear it for him in a heartbeat if she could.

"Just this once, I will be. I love you."

"I love you too." She pulls back and tries to force a smile, but all that she musters is a tense grimace. "Come in so I can tell you about my new plan to poison you."

/

Harry takes it very well, all things considering; he looks impressed by her deduction, although very irritated he'd never considered the question of his own venom experience previously.

"I like it," he announces when she's finished explaining. "Definitely better than my become master of the hallows and hope for the best when Riddle avadas me plan."

"Your—are you trying to take fifty years off my life?" Remus demands.

Harry shrugs sheepishly. "We hadn't come up with anything better. But this…this sounds like it could actually work. And what's the worst case scenario—I die with the horcrux? If we don't do this that happens anyway. At least this gives me a chance at surviving; and not just that, but surviving as myself."

"Are you sure?" Hermione bites her lip. "Harry, I—I don't want you to feel like you have to say it's a good idea because I came up with it. And if you don't feel comfortable…well, we can try to come up with something better."

"I'm saying it's a good idea because it is one. Mia, you've spent the last two years trying to come up with something better," Harry says gently. "I seriously doubt you'll be able to find another option before all of this comes to a head. And besides that…if this is the end, I don't want to spend it all desperately waiting for a miracle. We spent too many years that way already. If you think this will work, then I do too—and even if it doesn't, I'm okay with that. We've done everything we could."

She wants to argue, wants to scream that she's not okay with it, not at all, there is no scenario in which she loses her brother that will ever be okay.

But—this is war. They've all known it was a possibility all along.

(She's done everything she can to keep him alive this long, to give him a chance—she'll just have to hope it's enough.)

"And—I know neither of you are going to like this," Harry says, looking between her and Remus, "But I want to do it soon. If there's a chance I can go into the final battle wholly myself, without any part of him attached to me…I want that. I want it so badly I can't even put it into words."

Remus's eyes are sad—so, so incredibly sad.

(Because that's what becomes of hope, after all, when life comes along and shatters it—it turns to sorrow as surely as fire burns and ice melts.)

(Remus had so much hope, once; the sadness it becomes consumes him.)

"If that's what you want, we will make sure it happens," Remus promises.

Harry's the one who bounds to hug him—but it's Remus who holds on for minutes, desperately wishing he didn't have to let go.

/

Everyone's tense as they get ready for the Gringotts break in.

It's only the trio and Sirius that will actually be going; while Bill had been more than willing, they knew the more of them present the less likely it would be a successful mission.

And Hermione knows they're all nervous, but—it's a good plan. Narcissa's suggestions helped shape as close to perfect of a strategy as they could ever hope to create; it's just up to them to successfully carry it out, at this point.

"You know—as soon as it's done, he'll realize what you were after," Draco cautions them, one hand softly rubbing Hermione's back. "He'll know you know about the horcruxes, go to check on them all, and when he finds them all gone and destroyed…"

"The final battle starts," Ron says grimly.

"Zat is why ze rest of us will spend ze day preparing," Fleur declares, steeling herself for what's to come. "We'll get ze word out to other Order members—carefully, nothing specific, but let zem know zat odds are it starts tonight. Make sure zat those who can't fight are taken to safety before it all starts."

"We're heading straight to Aberforth after, to get through to the castle," Hermione informs the others. "Since he assumes that's the safest location, it'll be the last horcrux he'll check—and even if it weren't, I think it's where he'd stage the battle anyway. That's where all of this started—magic, horcruxes, choosing sides…all of it started there. For him, and for us."

"We'll have to coordinate carefully." Remus rubs at his jaw thoughtfully, mind a million miles away. "To make sure we're able to get all members of the Order in through the pub, and at the same timeget all the students who are too young to fight out."

"Wouldn't they be safer staying there? Or even in the tunnel?" Harry questions.

His father shakes his head. "Maybe, but we don't know enough about how the room's magic works. If, merlin forbid, Hogwarts is destroyed, and thus the space the exterior of the room occupies, what happens to the people inside? Does it spit them out somewhere else—in the middle of the chaos? Are they trapped? Are they eviscerated along with the castle? We don't know enough to take the risk."

"What about the chamber?" Sirius suggests. "If it's been there since Slytherin was alive, it's survived nearly a thousand years, it's impenetrable. If we could get them there instead they would be safe until it all ends."

"But then if something happens to me, you have no way to tell them it's safe to come out—Aliyah will be down there, so there's no way of opening it," Harry argues.

"While that is not an outcome I am seriously considering," Remus scowls at him, "there are other parsletongues in the world; if the need arose someone could reach out for help. And I think that's a much better problem to have than any alternative if they're still in the RoR. Good idea, Pads."

Draco checks the clock with a frown. "It's almost time."

The others murmur their goodbyes to one another, wishing good luck with the day to come.

Hermione holds back a reluctant whimper as she stares down at her daughter; she knows she needs to let go, but this is the only time she'll see her before it's all over. If something happens, if this is the last time they're ever together…

She can't bear it. But—leaving Lyra is the only way to protect her; the only way to make sure the world she grows up in is a safe one. The only way to break this awful cycle, and make sure she doesn't have to fight the same fight and face the same enemy.

(And that—that matters more than anything.)

"I love you, little one," she whispers against Lyra's wisps of blonde curls.

It kills her to do it, but she lets Draco take the small weight from her arms.

His eyes meet hers, and she swallows heavily. "Draco, I—"

"I'll see you at Hogwarts," he promises. "We can—say anything else we need to then. But right now you need to be as focused as possible. We can't fall apart yet."

The words are grounding—exactly what she needed to hear, and she nods as she pulls it together. "I'll see you at Hogwarts," she repeats back. His free hand reaches for her own, fingers intertwining with her own for the briefest of moments.

(This—this is why she fights.)

/

Harry's under the cloak, Ron tucked in beside him, and Hermione is at Sirius's side, costumed to look unrecognizable.

She'd been a little worried about Harry and Ron's ability to move in sync, but her fears were unnecessary—both boys had adjusted to the awkward circumstance almost instantly, seven years of sharing space and playing Quidditch coming in handy, as they effortlessly predicted each others' movements.

Sirius confidently strides through the bank's front doors, throwing them wide open seemingly with dramatic flourish—but truly to make sure their invisible companions make it inside.

The goblins they pass seem stunned at his presence, but no one tries to stop them. They make it all the way to the front desk, where Sirius raises his chin. "Sirius Black, here to enter and make a withdrawal from my vault." His tone is bored and expectant—every bit the pureblood prince his mother had raised him to be.

It feels wrong—surely, this is too easy of a solution?

But just as Narcissa pointed out—there's no reason why Sirius Black wouldn't decide to visit his vault; no reason why he couldn't. Even with things as dangerous as the current climate—well, everyone's always known he's a risky fellow, haven't they?

No Polyjuice, no assumed identities—just strolling right through the front door, because there's no reason why he wouldn't. No reason why he wouldn't be allowed to access his own vault.

"O-Of course, Lord Black," the bank manager replies hastily. "Your wand, for identification, please?"

Sirius lazily proffers the wand. They take a moment to confirm it is, indeed, his, before returning it to him.

"And your companion, sir? I just need her name for the visitor registration log."

"Carina Couteaux," Sirius says easily. "Apparently another family member had a dalliance with a muggle abroad and thought none would be the wiser; you can imagine my surprise when a witch just out of Beauxbatons approached and told me we were related, but with a constellation name and features like that," he gestures to Hermione's black hair and grey eyes, "It wasn't much of a question. We're just stopping by to get her a few things from the vault today, but sometime soon when we have more time we'll return to formally create her account and ensure the proper inheritance is transferred, as we've done for my own children."

The goblin nods as he jots down the name, before stepping away to fetch them an escort.

Hermione smiles shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her should. "I am—très grateful, Uncle."

She blinks once, and then again; never having worn contacts before, they're currently irritating her eyes beyond belief, and she has to resist the urge to scratch her scalp, trying desperately to ignore the itch of the wig.

It had been a stroke of genius on Ted's part, overhearing Andy and Narcissa's discussion of the thief's downfall. It would detect any form of enchantment or concealment; but just like so many times before, wizards overlooked anything nonmagical—and so they didn't plan for muggle means of concealment.

Thus Hermione's current state, in an entirely unfamiliar wardrobe, a realistic black bob of a wig, and aggravating grey contacts behind a set of false glasses. They'd added a few other small details here and there to make her look different—a little extra in the bust, a bit of muggle spray tan, and a decent layer of makeup. No magic necessary, but she still looks entirely unlike herself.

The manager returns, another goblin at his side. The new face points toward the door to the inner workings of the bank. "Follow me, please."

They follow behind him, carefully boarding the rickety cart. Hermione moves slowly, leaving one foot on the floor until Sirius nods—the signal that Harry and Ron have tapped his shoulder to let him know they're safely seated—and then she, too, climbs fully inside.

It moves rapidly, and it's a rough enough ride that Hermione clamps a hand to her mouth, worried that she'll otherwise be sick.

The Black vault is, just as Narcissa had pointed out, one of the greatest and most ancient, and thus in the deepest, most secure part of the bank; the ride is long, and they encounter multiple layers of security.

Sure enough, they pass through the thief's downfall, and a shiver runs through her—but there's nothing to uncover, and so they keep moving unhindered.

They begin to slow, nearing the deepest and most ancient vaults, and then the cart pulls to a stop a moment later. They all hop out, and Hermione can almost feel her blood pressure rise as the part she's been dreading most comes.

The dragon comes into view, standing at the center of a circle of vault entrances, the most high-security vaults in all of Gringotts.

They each take a set of clankers, sending the dragon in the opposite direction to allow them safe passage along one side of the room.

Only then does Harry cast the imperius curse.

(It had been the source of another argument, Sirius insisting he be the one to cast it, unwilling for any of the trio to take on that kind of weight.)

("We've already done worse, Dad," Harry had whispered brokenly, and before things could get too emotional Hermione pointed out that if it were Sirius they wouldn't be able to get into the vault at all.)

"Take us to the Lestrange vault," Harry's voice says, and the goblin obliges, continuing in the same direction but then passing further than where Sirius knows his own vault to be.

It's just a few doors further, but there are yards between them; a sense of foreboding fills the group as the halt before their desired entrance.

Ron throws the cloak off of Harry and himself and handing it to Hermione, who hastily sticks it in the beaded bag that's started to feel like an extension of herself.

"Open the vault," Harry commands, and their escort does just that, pressing a palm to the entrance until they're allowed through.

"Our timer starts now," Sirius says grimly. "Bill said we have ten minutes max to get it and find a way out."

"Remember, touch nothing," Hermione reminds them all. "Griphook said the geminio and flagrante setup has killed thieves before."

The boys nod seriously, and they all carefully spread out, in search of whatever object the horcrux might be.

"Hey Harry, Mione—you said one of the memories you looked at had Hufflepuff's cup, right?" Ron calls out. "I could be completely off base, but—is this it?"

Both of their gazes snap to where he points, and sure enough it's there—casually placed with various other valuables, sitting innocuously on a shelf high out of reach.

"We'll have to levitate you, Sirius," Harry warns him."

"It's my karma for what I did to Snivellus, I suppose," his father mutters under his breath; he sighs, and then morphs into his animagus form.

"Wingardium leviosa."

They all watch with baited breath as the Labrador is lifted higher and higher, till he's level with the shelf, and then carefully—so carefully—clamps his jaw around the stem of Hufflepuff's cup.

A beat later, when he hasn't howled and no replicas have exploded into existence, Hermione lets out a laugh of relief. "It worked! I can't believe it worked."

It had been Ginny that gave her the idea—her comment about animagi being able to come and go from Hogwarts ground because most magical wards and protections wouldn't apply.

Somehow, her guess that anti-thieving spells would work the same way had been correct—for who would have predicted a dog being in Gringotts at all, let alone stealing from a top security vault?

"You're a genius, Hermione," Harry praises, excitement clear in his voice even as his concentration is focused on lowering his godfather's canine self safely back to the floor.

Hermione holds open the beaded bag, allowing Padfoot to drop the cup within, and then he's changing back to his human form.

"Two minutes," Ron warns, glancing at the stopwatch on his wrist. "We have to go."

"Right—Harry, you go send off the goblin that escorted us with the warning. The rest of us will work on the dragon."

They hurry out of the vault, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius sprinting toward the Ironbelly.

"Accio devil's snare sprigs!" Ron casts within her purse, catching the package that emerges.

"We're sure this will work?" Hermione asks as she and Sirius begin blasting the various chains and manacles keeping the dragon in place.

"Charlie said it's one of the few things common across species," Ron confirms, having to yell over the volume.

Meanwhile, Harry's attention is on the goblin, as he uses all of his strength to imbue the imperius with urgency. "Go back to the lobby as quickly as possible Warn everyone to run—you know who is coming. Gringotts isn't safe."

The goblin leaps into the cart as soon as Harry's finished casting, speeding back towards the entrance as Harry races to where the rest of his companions are.

"Last one!" Sirius calls out, directing his wand at the final manacle. "Everyone climb on."

As soon as they're all seated, Sirius releases the last bit of metal, and Ron opens the package in his hands, tossing the sprigs to the floor beneath the dragon's snout.

The dragon leans forward, consuming the bundle of devil's snare sprigs—and true to Charlie's word, within thirty seconds they're flying upward.

They smash through wood and glass and marble alike, all four of them casting to make the dragon's flight easier and ensure that none of the rubble and debris causes them any energy.

And then at last they break through the final layer, ceiling shattering around them as they zoom into the open air.

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A/N: chapter title from church by aly and aj

So…double update because I MEANT for this to be a Gringotts-arriving at Hogwarts chapter; as per usual my brain had other plans, but I really wanted to have that part of the story up and actually managed to get it all done.

Thank you. I seriously can't thank you all enough for your love and support for this story. It means the world. The fact that we've made it this far, that so many of you have taken the time to read this, is just? I have no words.

Take care of yourselves. all my love