Chap. 40: Dumbledore's meeting, the Wizengamot, and Gringotts.

Harry had received the message delivered by Fawkes, so he immediately contacted Minister Scrimgeour and Gareth Greengrass. They decided to meet with Albus in the minister's conference room at noon during the Wizengamot meeting, which led Harry to be sitting with the three men, now.

"Albus," Scrimgeour said, "I take it that you've found the last one?"

"With some help from the Grey Lady, Rufus," Albus explained, "who, by the way, happens to be Helena Ravenclaw. One would be surprised at what we miss by not speaking to the ghosts, portraits, or the elves in that ancient castle.

"She admitted the whole sordid tale about how Tom had seduced her, after he found out who she was," Albus stated with a sigh, "and had coaxed her into telling him her story about how she stole the diadem from her mother, where she then took it to what became Albania. That was where she hid it, in a forest, and it was also where the Bloody Baron murdered her in a fit of passionate rage, and then killed himself.

"Next, after Tom had murdered Hepzibah Smith, and set up her house-elf, Hokey, to take the blame, he fled to Albania in search of it. He obtained the cup and locket from Mrs. Smith. I also found out that he had studied dark magic while there and in a few of the surrounding nations that still had many supporters of Gellert lingering about. Ex-Nazis and their sort."

Here, Harry raised his right eyebrow at the old headmaster's words, as he thought about Albus being from the opposite side of the same coin, but didn't say anything, though he did catch himself before he snorted.

"I see," Rufus said. "However, we cannot destroy it, yet, and I'm sure that Gareth or Harry can explain why."

"We are afraid, Headmaster," Gareth said, "that he will be able to feel the destruction of his last anchor, and we wish to use that to lure him to a place of our choosing to, let's say, liquidate the problem."

"Liquidate?" Albus inquired.

"Shhhhnick," Harry made a sound and drew his finger across his throat.

"How crude, young Harry," Albus said as he shook his head with a grimace.

"Well," Harry dryly remarked, "it's better than just coming out and saying that I fully intend on killing the wretched man, isn't it?"

"But why, you?" Albus asked.

"Because, Headmaster," Harry explained, "and I'm not tooting my own horn here, but I am the only one that stands a chance in facing him in a fight. Magical power-wise, you see."

"So," Albus asked, "you still hold the Elder Wand, then?"

Here, Harry finally snorted.

"No, Headmaster, I hold another wand, and it's a good bit more powerful than that. The Elder Wand is well hidden, and there are only two people that know of its true location."

"Did you lock it up at Gringotts, Harry? He will murder the Goblins to obtain it!" Dumbledore exclaimed.

"Of course not! It's not there," Harry said, "nor is it at the thirteen other places that I laid a false trail to. He is, most likely, in search of it now, but he'll never find it. If he breaks into Gringotts, the goblins know to let him open the vault while they flee."

"Barbados, then," Albus said with a self-satisfied smile as he sat back.

"One can never tell, Headmaster," Harry replied with a smirk. Let the old fool think he's in the know; it couldn't hurt.

"What is your other wand, if I may ask?" Albus inquired.

With a small twitch of Harry's hand, a fourteen-inch Mayhaw wand shot into his palm, which he held up for Albus to see.

"May I?" Albus asked, and Harry handed the wand to him.

Albus gave the wand a slight flick intending on conjuring some flowers, but nothing happened. It seemed to rebel against his magic, which caused him to scowl, and Harry, to smirk.

Albus then paid close attention to the wood, which had now turned a darker brown, and to the skull carved at the butt of the grip. The wood, he noticed, seemed to have had thorns on it at one time, which had been neatly shaved away. Could it be Hawthorn, he wondered, which was, supposedly, according to Garrick: "Particularly suited to healing magic, but its wands are also adept at curses, and it has been generally observed that the Hawthorn wand seems most at home with a conflicted nature, or with a witch or wizard passing through a period of turmoil."

Harry seemed to know what the aged headmaster was thinking, but Albus didn't know what Gregorovitch had also said: "It makes a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death." Harry was death's scythe, just as his family had been for centuries when the worst wizards had shown up and needed to be dispatched. He'd bet that almost any wand of Hawthorn would sing to him, unless it had a Unicorn hair core.

"Curious," Albus muttered as he studied the wand, again, where the skull at the butt made him pause, and then he looked at the tip to try to determine the core. "This is not a European wood," the old headmaster muttered, "and I have no idea what the core is, either."

"Cores, Headmaster," Harry said as he held out his hand to take it back, "and the wood is Swamp Mayhaw, a type of Hawthorn found in the swamps and bayous of Louisiana. An old friend of the family crafted it to perfectly match me."

"Cores"?

"Yes, two," Harry replied, but said no more. "I was told that its allegiance would not be easily won and that one must be in tune with all three parts for it to work well."

Here, Harry gave the wand a slight flick, and every piece of furniture, including the chairs they were sitting in, started to raise up off the floor before he allowed them to gently settle back into place. Of course, Rufus grumbled through this, which made Harry smirk.

"It works very well for me," Harry proudly stated, "and it takes hardly any effort." Next, he slid the wand back up his right cuff into its holster.

"He killed the giant's gurg with it not long back, with one spell, removing its head from its neck," Rufus commented. "They're not so spell-resistant with him, thus, the remaining eight gave up."

Albus was closely studying Harry, now, since he not only felt the pull on his magic, but from the ambient magic about the room as well, when his old student just cast a strong levitation charm that most adult wizards couldn't do, and he did it without any exertion or bother.

"I see," Albus muttered. "Anyhow, when do you expect to call Tom out?"

"After Christmas," Harry stated, "when everyone is safely back in school. I will not endanger my wife, as, Merlin bless her, she would want to be beside me when I did it, and probably my sister-in-law, too. Some of the students would as well, and they do not need to see what will occur.

"No," Harry continued, "I'm thinking of somewhere else with a magical significance, and maybe out on the Salisbury Plain away from the public? However, the Cotswolds also come to mind with the Rollright Stones, the King Stone, and the Whispering Knights; all right together. It's not far from your birthplace at Mould-on-the-Wold from what I hear, which is a little over seven miles north as the owl flies. That would certainly draw Tom in, especially if he thought that some sort of ritual would be used to cleanse the diadem in an area tied to you."

"Yes," Gareth commented, "as there are no muggles close by the stones, either. It's all flat and green farmland."

"When did you become this calculating, young Harry?" Albus questioned. "Plus, how did you obtain the idea to set Tom upon this unending search that he's now on, which will never show him any progress?"

"I used some of the oldest magic in the book, Headmaster," Harry said as the Mayhaw Wand shot back into his hand, again. Here, he held the tip into the air, and an illusion of fireworks began exploding over their heads, causing everyone to look up. Finally, Harry suddenly ended the spell.

"Now, Headmaster," Harry said, "look down."

When Dumbledore tore his eyes away from the ceiling and blinked, he found a dagger floating in front of him, and it was aimed at his heart. At his shocked expression, Harry casually summoned it back to him and hid it in his robes.

"That was how," Harry said. "The oldest magic in the book, and the same magic that the muggles learned to use; trickery, deception, obfuscation, illusion, and distraction. While Tom has been watching my right hand work and was entranced by the colorful show it produced, he wasn't noticing what my left hand had been doing all along. That will be his downfall, Headmaster, just as it was for all of his followers."

"Where did you learn such tactics, if I may ask?" Dumbledore inquired, who was sure the Greengrass family, being Slytherins, had taught him the art of deceit.

"Why, you can thank my grandfather, Ernest Evans, and my Aunt Petunia, Headmaster. My grandfather was in the SOE during WWII and was dropped behind enemy lines in France to help the rebels. I have his old SOE training manual, and I've also read The Art of War by Sun Tzu and Carl Von Clausewitz On War. It's amazing what one can learn with just a little reading, which is all taught in any war college."

The thought of that left a bad taste in the old headmaster's mouth, since he, too, had read the last two of those books when young. He, however, while caught up in the "revolution," as Marx and his comrades had put it, blinded him to the real meaning that revolution and war were a last resort, and if one must fight, it was fight to win, but on valid grounds, which their revolutions were not. Both he and Gellert, blinded by their hateful and jealous utopian ideologies, had lost almost everything dear to them. Albus, though, after many years, had seen the error of his ways, somewhat, in that the Statute of Secrecy was, indeed, needed, and that the muggles would win, where they would use some of them for their benefit at the end. That was the few remaining that weren't snuffed out. He had learned of much of this while at the ICW, and that organization was all about stopping war, and fanatically so, to the point of wanting to take over themselves. They were not above using these very ideas, especially lies and deceit, to obtain what they wanted, either.

"After Christmas," Dumbledore muttered as he looked at his blackened hand. He didn't have much time left, it seemed, as Severus would have to do the deed, or die, himself. What a mess the both of them had created for themselves.


New business had been called, and Harry was waiting for the last of the bills to introduce his own. When the Chief Warlock had asked for any new business, again, he quickly lighted his wand.

"Lord Potter, you have the floor," Dumbledore said and took his seat.

"Chief Warlock, I propose a bill to start repealing some import restrictions to help our beleaguered economy.

"Many know that several Americans have visited us on vacation recently to see the nation of their ancestor's birth, and I have been speaking with them on occasion to pick their brains about how their economy works stateside.

"While speaking to one such wizard, I was informed of a very limited product that we sell, which, he stated, we should try to sell more of as in differing brands. He mentioned how they sold brands not only from their fifty states, but also that they imported brands from around the world, muggle as well, which gave them a wider choice, and it set up competition that keeps their prices down and stifles monopoly.

"I do not think that I need to inform the Wizengamot that monopolies, Chief Warlock, such as has been the norm, here, have hurt our economy to a huge extent, and that it has deprived the consumer of things that might be more to their liking, which will increase tax revenues to this ministry with increased sales.

"Thus, I offer this bill, which will remove the import restrictions on alcohol, which includes distilled spirits, wines, and beers or ales. This will give our consumers a greater choice, and it will increase sales if one can purchase what they like."

Here, Harry heard some grumbling from a few, but he ploughed on.

"I also do not deny that subsidies might be needed, or tariffs that will even out the price so as not to harm our own manufacturing. This bill includes measures for both, but they are to be used in a fair manner to stop monopolies.

"Thus, I ask for a second on debate, Chief Warlock, and I will pass out the legislation."

The Chief Warlock stood and looked around at everyone assembled. Many looked very interested, he noticed, but Ogden and McAllister looked as if they may fall to apoplexy at any time.

"Do I hear a second on debate for this legislation?"

Here, Gareth quickly raised his wand, just beating Cyrus to the punch.

"Gareth Greengrass for the House of Black, you have the floor."

Gareth stood and smirked at those now looking at him. "I second the debate, Chief Warlock."

Thus, Albus started the debate, and it was heads being butted together right and left. A few were against alcohol, but they were clearly the minority, and then there were the families that supplied it against Harry and the Greengrasses.

Albus could guess what the Greengrasses were after, and Harry as well, which was the import market. As importers, they stood the chance of making a lot of coin after taxes, which they would also collect for the ministry, as they would seal the bottles, etc. There were also the import duties that the ministry would collect, and, he noticed, that Rufus' faction was all for that.

When Ogden and McAllister tried to argue that it would damage their businesses, Harry merely replied that they must be scared of competition and that they would be protected by subsidies if needed, and a tariff to level up the prices to a fair amount. The tariff, of course, would also feed the coffers of the ministry.

In the end, neither Ogden nor McAllister had enough backing to stall this bill, which had taken them by surprise, so a vote was called, and it was passed by a 65% majority vote. That was when Albus looked at his many-dialed pocket watch and saw that it was five till seven, so he turned the gamot back over to Rufus, who closed this session with a bang of his gavel.


Harry stepped off the last step from the member's gallery on the right with a huge grin upon his face just as Cyrus walked up close to him, patted his shoulder, and said, "Well done!"

When Gareth made his way across the chamber, and before Harry could say it, Gareth spoke up.

"I would say that a celebratory supper is in order for the night, wouldn't you little brother, and Harry? I'm paying this time!"

"I would say that you're quite right, big brother," Cyrus jovially replied, "and since Harry has paid for the last three suppers, it's only fair that we cover this one."

"Hear, hear," Harry said with a huge smile of white teeth. "I think we should ask Rufus if he and his wife would like to join us, say, at The Wolseley?"

Thus, the three talked Rufus into a late supper, where he would ask his wife, Alice, to join the Greengrass and Potter family for supper. Rufus was, he had to admit, very happy with the new legislation, as his favorite cognac could now be sold in wizarding Britain. It would save him from having to step out into muggle London to purchase a bottle, and it just happened the be the same brand that Harry always kept on hand, which was Courvoisier XO, and it was expensive. It was a French blended "Extra Old Cognac," and it contained spirits between 11 and 25 years of age. The Greengrasses could now import that, and he was sure that he might be able to purchase it at just above their cost from them.

Ah, the perks of being friends with the correct families, Rufus thought, and Slughorn had told him a few years back that Potter would be at the top spot one day. He wasn't wrong, and he thought about inviting Harry, Cyrus, and Gareth for a bit of Nogtail hunting with he and Bertie. That's how one made long-lasting friends in their world, and the gentlemanly sport of hunting, and eating the game that was hard won from their hunt, was one of the greatest ways of doing so.


Voldemort had apparated to a narrow service alley off Diagon Alley, and he quickly changed into a black mist. From there, he rose into the air, and slowly made his way to Gringotts, which had closed at five, and it was nine, now.

There were no guards stationed outside, so, as a mist, he slithered under the two large bronze doors and into the main teller's hall and lobby. Here, he noticed that no guards were present, including the usual wizarding guards that watched over the bank for the ministry. They must be on a break, Voldemort thought, as he flew through the air toward the entrance to the tunnels under the bank.

Once beside the tracks, he knew his way rather well, as Potter had been foolish enough to ask for vault number 713, which he had opened before. So, while still a black mist, he dove down into the cavern to the correct level and reappeared as a wizard just in front of the secure vault's door.

Using the German's wand, which suited him better than Bellatrix's, he began checking for any added wards but didn't find any. He did find the goblin's ward, which would notify them of a break-in, but he knew how to circumvent that, as he started casting several concealment spells to do it.

Finally, when satisfied, he cast an unlocking spell on several pieces of the intricate lockwork, and in the correct order, where he stood back and waited for it to open. Open, it did, and inside, after lighting his wand, he noticed a single wand box sitting on the shelf inside the shallow vault.

With great glee on his disfigured face, he quickly strolled forward and picked up the wooden box, which he opened. When he did, a loud caterwauling charm went off, but he dismissed that as he peered into the box.

The more Voldemort inspected his prize, the more upset he become, as inside, and laying on the green velvet, was a dried-up dog turd, and a note.

With a huge scowl and a shaky hand, he removed the note and tossed the box upon the stone floor. Next, he unfolded it, and began to read:

.

.

Tom,

Surely, you didn't think me stupid enough to hide the wand here? If you're reading this, then you are that naive and have the brains of a greedy but ignorant niffler.

Enjoy your hard-won prize, as the turd and you have much in common. Keep up the search, as the wand does lay somewhere hidden.

Sincerely,

Lord Potter and Black

.

.

"GAHHHHHHHHH!" Voldemort screamed as the note caught fire in his hand, and he could feel other wards now being erected around him. "You dirty little insolent shite, Potter! I will not allow you to make a fool out of me like this, and when I do find the Elder Wand, a quick death is what you should pray for!"

Here, Voldemort sent his most powerful Bombarda at the vault's door, which warped it with a loud gong-like sound, before he turned back into the black mist, rose into the air, and fled back toward the bank's lobby.

However, when he reached the ground floor, and the hall that led from the tunnel entrance to the lobby, he was hit by a ward, in his mist form, that felt like the Cruciatus curse. As a mist, he contorted and screamed, as it was slow as molasses to make his way to the other side, where his form was now radically bouncing about, before he slipped under the door, and changed back to himself, falling to the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley.

As he lay there, panting, he heard several pops of apparation, which he noticed were Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Unspeakables, and they had their wands aimed at him. With a sneer, he quickly apparated away, where he fell to the floor of Malfoy Manor in a heap upon his arrival. Shakily, he stood and began looking for a nerve-soothing potion, which was used for Cruciatus exposure. No matter where he looked, he couldn't find one, so he limped to Lucius' old office, and called Dolohov to him to summon Severus. He was one of the few in his inner circle left.

He was going to murder Potter, he thought, but he needed to wait for the werewolves to come from Europe, first.

-==HP==-

A/N: So, the saga continues, and Tom fails even more. Thanks for all the great reviews; they're much appreciated!