Diagon Alley was far less busy at the start of the holidays, before the Hogwarts letters arrived and every wixen family descended on the shops to supply their children for the school term. Unfortunately, that meant that Hermione and Harry couldn't just blend into the crowd. Both famous for different reasons, and only made more so by the media attention over the past year, they drew a fair bit of attention as they made their way down from Gringotts to Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch Supplies and eventually the ice cream parlour.
It was as if people thought they were both deaf; the way they muttered as Hermione and Harry passed, barely bothering to lower their voices.
'I heard they're both bonkers.' One woman remarked to her friends, sitting at the table across from them at Fortesque's.
'Mad? No, they're just children.' Another cooed. 'Mixed up in some rather nasty stuff, I agree. It's quite terrible really that the Ministry haven't tried to step in.'
'Should have stepped in as soon as it came out that Grindelwald had his claws in her.' The third tutted.
'It's Fudge's government. Edwin says the Minister's too afraid to stick up to any of those old blood types…'
'Can't imagine anyone's brave enough to stick up to Grindelwald… except maybe Dumbledore, but he didn't do much either.' The first shuddered lightly.
'I thought they looked rather sweet in the photos… before that ball?'
'I dare say he looked sweet when he talked all those poor young witches and wizards into fighting for him. Dark Wizards can't be trusted, especially not with children!' It was the third witch again.
'Although… I read that she says she's actually his fiancé, brought forwards in time by accidental marriage.' The first witch had lowered her voice and the whole group looked furtively in Hermione and Harry's direction. Hermione focused intently on her ice cream, pretending that she couldn't hear every word.
'Mad… Mad if you believe it too.'
'I do.' The one who'd criticised Fudge earlier spoke up. 'We all saw that castle. Edwin says the Goblins think she's some kind of long lost queen, and are refusing to meet with anyone else. And there's that man who duelled against Malfoy for her - I saw them together again at the World Cup. They say he ruled the muggles centuries ago, and he's come back from the dead to serve her.'
'Gives me the heebies.' Several of the witches pulled faces.
'Dark magic.' One said sagely.
'Old magic.' Another corrected.
The group fell silent as their ice creams arrived, and once the server was gone they resumed conversation, this time about the Parkinson summer ball. No longer interested, Hermione finished her now-melted ice cream and got to her feet. Harry followed, glancing back at the gossiping table once more.
'Come on, Harry.' Hermione hissed, pulling him away as subtly as she could.
He came, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes like a true surly teen.
'They're disrespecting the family.' He complained. Hermione looked pointedly at his arm and Harry huffed, quickly pulling one hand from his pocket and offering it to her instead. She smiled at him. 'That's hardly the same as insulting you almost to your face.'
'No, its not.' Hermione acknowledged, 'but I hardly consider the gossip of a group of house witches to be insulting.'
Harry huffed again, briefly glaring back at the witches. They were sampling each other's ice cream choices, the topic of the Gorlois children obviously forgotten.
'Let's go to the Barrows.' Hermione suggested, as keen as Harry to escape the scrutiny. Clearly in agreement, Harry changed course, leading her in the direction of Gringotts where they could use the bank's subterranean portal.
They were almost at the famous white facade when she noticed it; subtle, almost lost within the pulsating mess of magic that was Diagon Alley. She would have missed it entirely if it hadn't been for the way it seemed to move at their presence, like a perfectly camouflaged bird that had suddenly hopped away from her approach, revealing itself in the process.
It took a fraction of a second for her to realise that the magic had not responded to anyone else. It took her a moment longer to draw up her magic and palm her wand. Magic responding only to a certain individuals in a public place was very rarely a good thing.
Harry felt her sudden rally and responded just as quickly, whipping out his own wand and turning slightly to guard her back.
'Where is everyone?' He commented as they spun slowly in the middle of the street, wands out.
'There's a repelling charm.' Hermione answered tersely. That must have been the enchantment that she felt; people were still hurrying down to the cauldron shop, as though they were advertising Boxing Day sales in summer. A shopper in the menagerie next to them went to leave, then seemed to suddenly remember something that they'd forgotten and turned back to continue browsing.
'Should I send a patronus to Theo?' Harry asked. Theodore was manning her desk in their absence and was easily the best placed to coordinate sending reinforcements.
Hermione didn't get the chance to respond. The animals at the menagerie suddenly went wild, screeching, squawking, howling and roaring. They threw themselves against their restraining chains or charged the bars of their cages, creating a clanking, crashing cacophony that drew the attention of the repelled shoppers, even if they didn't feel inclined to approach.
Behind her, Harry went tense as he readied himself.
The attack came from above, barrelling down from the sky faster than it's aura of cold could touch the air. Harry, every sensitive to the creatures, pulled Hermione clear of the creature just in time. They hit the cobbled street hard, smashing knees, shins and elbows against the stones with bruising force. The dementor pulled out of it's dive, tattered cloak sweeping the cobbles. Four… five more surged down around them, like bolts of dark smoke, until the Gorlois duo was completely surrounded.
Screams and shouts echoed faintly up the street from distant shoppers, melding with the screams of dying wixen and past battles that echoed in Hermione's mind. Her body moved without her mind, rolling back up as Mordred had taught her. Distantly, she recognised Harry doing the same.
The dementors advanced, scaly hands reaching, rattling breaths rustling their hoods. Two revealed skeletal heads, gruesomely skinned over eye sockets in mummified, blackened skin. Mouths gaped - toothless, dark maws.
But neither dementor touched their prey. Harry's patronus surged from his wand, hooves barely touching cobble before it lowered gleaming antlers and charged down the closest dementor. Hermione's followed barely a moment later, cracking it's human spine and galloping at the next.
A moment later, the two that had been standing guard at the doors of the bank charged down the steps, wielding ornate sticks with thickly bound brush at the tip which seemed to ward off the dementors when swiped at them. More goblins poured out of the bank, armour rattling as they encircled the High Priestess and her ward, protecting them whilst their patroni drove the dementors further and further from the bank, until the ghoulish figures took to the sky and fled
'Come! Priestess!' The goblins urged, harrying her and Harry up towards the bank. She did not argue - the attack had been deliberately laid out, if oddly ineffective. Gringotts was protected by wards that she had helped renovate and renew for the nation, as per her contract. It was almost as safe as Avalon, and certainly friendly territory at the moment, surrounded by a legion of goblins.
A small handful of wizards were huddled near the massive doors to the vaults, held behind a cordon of goblin guards whilst Hermione and Harry were escorted past the carts and into chamber beyond.
Hermione's mind only settled when she felt the familiar warmth of her own wards settling against her magic, safe and strong, unassailable. There could be no ill intent within the warren; even the surface level, where Hermione often made use of the portal.
'What was that?' Harry asked, the hard line of his shoulders softening as he too felt friendly wards surround him.
'It can't have been a genuine attempt on our lives.' Hermione agreed, thoughts racing. It had been far too easy to fend off the attack for it have been an assassination attempt. Dumbledore, the Minister and Umbridge, who presumably reported to Voldemort, had all seen her cast a patronus messenger at the end of the tournament. Which meant it must have been an attack meant to achieve something else.
'To scare us?' Harry suggested.
'There are better ways to do that.' She pointed out. Perhaps she could consider who was capable of sending Dementors after her; the ministry, although the attack hadn't been without spectators and it placed them in equally as nasty position trying to explain an attack on two students. So someone who stood to gain by discrediting both Hermione and the ministry. That left Voldemort and Dumbledore as the two remaining potential culprits; Voldemort, if he had already won back the loyalty of the dark creatures, Dumbledore with his influence as chief warlock.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the clamour of the arrival of another group of armed goblins, three of the six kings at the heart of the guard. The two groups merged, bringing Hermione face to face with the kings. An aide whispered frantically to the kings in gobbledegook and Hermione caught enough words to understand that the brief conflict outside the bank was being described to the kings.
She curtsied to the kings to show her gratitude for their assistance and the kings bowed back, far deeper than befitted their stations. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously; the goblins may be her allies, but they were frighteningly intelligent with complex and rigid politics. The sudden change was unexplained and therefore concerning, if it meant they also expected more from her in return.
'Thank you, for the assistance of your nations.' She was not as comfortable with the etiquette for unsolicited aid as she would like to be, particularly when dealing with goblins.
'The nations will always come to the aid of an ally and business partner in good standing. Our only regret is that you should be in need of assistance so close to our borders.'
Hermione desperately scraped her memory for the details of her lessons in goblin etiquette, taught at age eleven and touched upon little since. She remembered that there was meant to be a feast, at least, and presumably a script that she had already veered off significantly; at least the two goblin kings did not seem too offended.
'As a sign of my gratitude, please accept an invitation to feast at my table tomorrow night where your people and mine may share tales of the battle and their prowess.' She managed something formal sounding, that seemed reasonably close to the words she had been coached in as a young witchling.
'Your offer is appreciated. The Nations accept.'
At least the timing allowed her to quickly go to The Barrows and ask for more guidance from Gorlois.
In the meantime… perhaps the far reaching Order of the Triskelion may be able to pin down who had sent the dementors. If they had someone inside Nurmengard, surely they had someone inside Azkaban who might be able to tell her who had approached the dementors recently?