So, in my first posting of this chapter, I mentioned that I want to be more specific with colors. (If I chose to use a specific shade as named on the website simplicable, I put the shade name between asterisks - for instance, *forest green*) The second time I posted the chapter, I accidentally deleted my author's note. So, yay me!
Originally posted: 21 Aug 2021? (I don't remember)
Previous updates: 14 Oct 2021, 5 Dec 2021, 2 Feb 2022, 17 Mar 2022
Most recent update: 17 Apr 2022
Heather woke up the next morning in a bedroom she'd never seen before. She wriggled out of someone's loose but secure hold and sighed in relief when she sat up and saw she was still in her *crimson* competition robes. She crinkled her nose in disgust for the same reason – they were ripped due to the hedges in the maze; they were rank and stiff from her exertion, both in the Third Task and in the graveyard; and they were absolutely saturated with assorted gunk and blood, courtesy, mostly, of the Acromantula she and Cedric had Stunned, and running through hedges. She wouldn't be surprised if she looked, and smelled, worse than she had after the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, and that had involved sliding down ancient bathroom pipes that were held together by the slime inside them and being covered in snake guts.
"Morning," a voice rasped behind her. She spun defensively, falling off the bed, relaxing only when she recognized Tony. He glanced at the clock – it was 5:45AM, she noticed as her eyes copied his. He turned off the alarm before it could go off and studied her for a moment in the pre-dawn light. "I've got some old workout clothes," he offered, running a hand through his hair and making his bed head worse, "if you wanna join me in the gym. It's cardio day, bike and treadmill. Jenny and Emily, Rhodey's sister and her partner, have probably left some clothes that'll fit you better than any of my stuff, though you're welcome to search through my closet, too, if you want. I do have better taste, but the whole different gender thing… Anyway, you can wear whatever you find that you're comfortable in until we can get you your own stuff. As long as you shower first," he added, glancing distastefully at her current garments. "White healed up a bunch of little cuts, so you're probably covered in dried blood."
She didn't explain why. "I think I need a long, hot shower more than I need a workout," she smirked. "After I'm ready for the day, I can make breakfast, if you like?"
He stretched and rolled to the far side of the bed. "Put that outfit on the bed once you've gotten dressed, kitten. We're gonna burn those… rags, and the sheets, and my pajamas. There's no salvaging any of it. Don't worry about it," he reassured her when he saw the guilty glint in her eyes. "I have plenty more. I kinda already figured this would be the case. These are my grubbiest night clothes. These sheets have been in the assorted Stark houses since before I was born, always in one of the guest rooms; and if they were always that scratchy, I can see why no one ever wanted to stay over. I promise, you're not costing me a penny. Now, go take your shower. I'll meet you in the kitchen when I'm done."
A little more than an hour later, Tony, freshly showered after his workout and dressed in a well-worn pair of jeans and a *dark olive green* tee, walked into the kitchen, still toweling his hair dry. "Smells good," he hummed, twisting her long, damp tresses away from her face to press a chaste kiss to her cheek.
"Cooking is one of the few things they make me do that I actually enjoy," she told him, smiling. "But I don't know how good I am; they always complain."
She never looked up from the ham, pepper, and cheese omelette she was cooking, and so she missed the fury that flashed across his face. Somehow, he kept his voice even when he asked, "Don't you eat, too?"
Her cynical laugh filled the room. "And waste good food on the freak? Ha! I get any scraps they've left, if I'm allowed to eat that day. Got to the point when I was seven that I started intentionally burning part of the meals so I could get a little bit of dosh in me." With that, she plated up the omelette and pulled a different frying pan from the oven. "Breakfast potatoes?" she offered. When he nodded mutely, she added the contents of the pan to his plate. Humming mindlessly, she turned back to the stove to make herself some scrambled eggs.
"Why are you referring to 'them' in the present tense?" he asked stiffly as he poured each of them a cup of coffee from the pot she'd brewed. "What little you've told me, and the bit more I've figured out – you don't actually think I'll let you go back there, do you?"
She stayed silent as she finished making her meal, long enough that he thought she was going to ignore his comment. "You're not the first person to say that," she finally whispered despondently. "Not even the tenth. None of the others followed through. Why should I think you'll be any different? Going back hurts less when I don't get my hopes up."
"None of the others have been me," he replied simply. For once, coming from him, the comment was a statement of fact, not a boast. He sat down next to her and took a bite of the omelette. "Oh, my god," he mumbled around the mouthful of food, "this is delicious! Worst case scenario, I'll get you out of there by hiring you as my personal chef. Send you to culinary school in France, if you like, but I'm pretty sure all they'd be able to do for you is refine your technique." She smiled brightly at the compliment. When they had finished eating, he cleared his throat. "So, considering everything that happened yesterday, how are you feeling? Uh, let me specify, physically. The mental side of things can't be patched up that easily, even in the magical world, can it?"
"Not without excessive use of the Memory Charm," she muttered, shuddering, then took stock. "Fairly well," she confessed with surprise as they both drank their coffee. "Little aches and pains that I was ignoring are gone, but I'm still shaky. Well, that's the Cruciatus for you. And my head feels… I don't know, lighter, maybe? Like I was wearing a weighted headband and it's suddenly been removed. I can't explain it better."
"Makes sense to me," he shrugged. "White did a lot. She and the other one should be here in about an hour to discuss further treatment."
"Auror or curse breaker?"
"Curse breaker," Tony scoffed. "I can remember 'Philips'. Wouldn't be surprised if he tags along, too – I think he wants your testimony about what happened to Cedric."
"Well then," she said with determination, "I guess that means we've got an hour to at least start reading through the contract our ancestors saddled us with. Stars above, I hope it's not a traditional contract."
He put the dishes in the sink to wash later and grabbed his coffee. "Why's that? What's in a traditional contract?"
Heather, holding her own mug, grabbed the roll of parchment from beside the TV and settled into her soulmate's embrace on the couch. "The woman has no rights, no personal belongings. Everything belongs to the man. Anything she has, including clothes, is at her husband's discretion. Some wives end up no better than slaves." He choked in revulsion. Without waiting for a response, she unfurled the document. "Fair warning, there's gonna be a lot of pauses as I try to decipher this. 'Be it so known that on this day, the 23rd of February, in the year of our Lord 1712, and in this ninth year of the combined reign of Anne, Queen of Great Britain (formerly of England and Scotland), France, and Ireland–' Blimey!" She rolled her eyes. "They certainly never learned the art of brevity, innit? '–we, the undersigned, do freely consent to the following terms and conditions as listed in this magical contract of marriage between the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and the Ancient and Noble House of Stark.'"
"Well, aside from the overlong, oblique, verbose tedium that is the introduction," he drawled snarkily, "it sounds pretty straightforward so far."
She snorted, nearly spilling her coffee. "It may sound straightforward, but reading it is not. You're not the one trying to decipher all the wonky spellings."
"If we relied on me to read it," he reminded her cheekily, "we wouldn't make it past 'Be' before you turned 18."
"They misspelled 'queen', for God's sake," she laughed, obligingly pointing out the word 'Quene' as proof. "Just because I can read quill-script, that doesn't mean I can read this. There's a reason I gave fair warning. Anyway…" She read silently for a few moments. "That's all self-explanatory. … Ah. 'This contract shall only become valid when both parties are of-age, and enforced if neither party is betrothed, or equivalent, or better, when the younger party comes of-age–'"
He blinked. "What… you mind saying that in plain English? That spun me around a few dozen times."
With a sigh, she rubbed her temple and turned to face him. "Background information for you: inheritable contracts like this one can only be read, at first, by the parties to whom it first refers. As of right now, until we finish going through it, only you and I are permitted by magic to read it. So, 'betrothed, equivalent, or better' refers to a betrothal (you know, the old-school agreement to marry), an engagement (betrothal without the paperwork, the modern equivalent), or already being married."
"So whoever wrote this took into account cultural changes that hadn't even been dreamt up yet?" Tony's eyes went wide. "Damn, and I thought I had a vision for the future."
Heather chuckled humorlessly. "Hmm. But the part that's gonna give you trouble is the 'of-age' bit."
"Yeah? Why's that?" His attempt to keep his tone light and casual was doomed from the start; she felt him tense.
"'Of-age' means 'legally an adult'," she qualified, to which he nodded in agreement. "That means 18 in the non-magical world, right? That's the age when one no longer requires the consent of one's guardian to do anything allowed by law, yeah? I mean, murder's not gonna fly, no matter one's age, but getting one's driving permit or a tattoo or pierced ears…"
"Only exception I can think of, here in America, is buying or drinking alcohol," he amended. "That's at 21, and you gotta show your ID to prove your age. But yeah, pretty much worldwide, everything else is at 18."
"In magical society, one comes of-age at 17," she informed him. "I'm sure I'd have learned why if my parents had lived, but from the little I do understand, it's got something to do with our magical cores being mature enough to withstand the strain of the family magic. But the contract, it's already here with us. Which means it's already validated and being enforced."
"Ridiculous," he scoffed. "You said yesterday, you're 14. So I'll get a trophy wife or something until you're 18, and then, well, we're soulmates, so–"
"Tony!" Heather nearly shouted. "Stop. Just – stop. Please, just… let me explain." Heaving a sigh, she rubbed her temples. "When Auror Philips showed up at your office yesterday, he said something about a tournament."
Three separate times, he had to swallow his sardonic response. He finally confined himself to a curious, "I remember…"
Her body jerked as she gulped, closing her eyes like she was fending off a headache. "It's called the Triwizard Tournament. Three European magical schools send their respective champions – one each – to compete in three tasks to determine bragging rights." She leaned into him, holding on tightly. "They changed the by-laws of the Tournament when they reinstated it this year, after months of Sundays – it would only be for of-age students, meaning those who were at least 17 when submitting their names for selection. Being selected constitutes a binding magical contract between the person and… well, the 'impartial judge' that made the selection, which was a semi-sentient magical artifact called the Goblet of Fire. The chosen contestants would have to compete, or they'd lose their magic, or life. That's the implied penalty for breaking any magical contract unless otherwise stated." Tony made a mental note of that, since they were discussing their own magical contract. She shivered, hugging him even more ferociously as she whispered, "I was selected as the 4th contestant, even though I didn't enter myself, and all the officials forced me to take part, even though I'm three years younger than all the legitimate champions. The only thing I'm not sure of is when, exactly, I came of-age."
Tony's hand moved up and down her borrowed, *Spanish orange* sundress of its own accord. His efforts, while clearly appreciated, were ineffective at soothing her. Somehow, he kept a lid on his anger, knowing that, eventually, an appropriate target would reveal itself. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know if just being selected made it so," she mumbled into his chest. "If yes, then I came of-age on my least favorite date, Halloween. If not, then it was on the 24th of November, the date of the First Task."
They stayed like that for about twenty minutes, neither feeling the need to break the comfortable silence. Tony's vicious plans for retribution became ever more cruel as he planned for more victims, not that he would ever let the girl in his arms know about his ruthlessness on her behalf. Heather concentrated more on simply calming down from her agitation, and enjoying the feeling of being safe, wanted – dare she even think, loved.
A random thought crossed his mind, and he needed clarification. "Last night, you said that Fold-More guy killed your parents."
The ploy to get her out of her head worked, if not for the reason he expected. She pushed back far enough to meet his eyes incredulously. "Did you say 'Fold-More'?" she choked on her laughter. "Fold-More! Oh, stars above, that's hysterical! I knew laundry was evil but–" Her chuckles overwhelmed her. "The Dark Lord of Laundry Day – he'd kill me before I could finish the phrase, but at least that way, I would honestly be laughing in the face of death!"
Okay, so he got the name wrong – so sue him. He grinned in bemusement, already thinking of ways to coax this joyful sound from her again. "You think he's a disgruntled former laundromat employee?" Another peal of laughter rang through the air, almost drowning out the knock on the door. He stood, a genuine smile still on his face, unsurprised when the still-laughing Heather followed his example.
Heindoffer and White, both dressed in casual robes, greeted them with raised eyebrows when Tony opened the door. "Uh, hello again. What brought this on?" White asked in concern.
"Last night, someone mentioned Voldemort," Heather chuckled, stressing the proper pronunciation.
The two adult magicals shared an uneasy look. "Yeah," Heindoffer drawled slowly, "last night's reaction to the name was far more normal. The flinching, the screams of terror, that sort of thing. He's not exactly Mickey Mouse, ya know."
"Believe you me, I know, better than you, exactly how terrifying he is," she sobered slightly, "whether going by his birth name or his chosen one. But Tony misremembered his name in the best way ever, and now, I will forever think of him–" She moved her hands as though seeing the words on a marquee. "–as Fold-More, the Dark Lord of the Laundromat."
White suddenly started coughing. Heindoffer snorted in amusement. "Yeah," he agreed, "that's a good reason for the giggle fest."
"Not that you two aren't welcome, this time, but where's Philips?" Tony asked. "I expected him to tag along, to hear what the kitten has to say."
"He's back at Gringotts," Heindoffer replied. "When either a Horcrux or a soul leech is discovered, one of the acquirers must stay with it until it's destroyed. Actually, considering how you got it, I was wondering – after we link all the fragments together, you wanna do the honors?"
"Billy," White admonished angrily, "we're here to discuss–"
"Sure!" the girl chirped. "When? How long? And while we're out, can we get me some clothes? I feel really weird wearing the clothes of someone I've never met."
"We actually have all your belongings," Heindoffer informed her. "Some crazy house elf named Dobby packed up everything he knew belonged to the 'great Heather Potter miss' and delivered it to the bank without us needing to try to manage the feat under the radar. If he's not yours already, you need to work out a deal with the family that owns him immediately. And we removed all spells that shouldn't be on the items in your trunk without opening it – gotta love Gringotts' security."
"Oh good," Tony groused, "more Spanish Inquisition robes."
"I didn't expect the horrible outfits any more than the monks, either," the teen whispered to him with a smirk.
"We can go now," Heindoffer went on, ignoring them. "The sooner this bastard's done and dusted, the better."
"How are we getting there?" the engineer asked, casting a suspicious look around. "I don't see the invisible car, Batman. Oooh, there's an idea for the future – invisibility!"
"Very cool, but not as useful as you might think," Heather mused. "Only if you can work in soundproofing and voluntary intangibility would it really be practical." When the adults blinked at her, Tony smirking in anticipation, she shrugged sheepishly. "I may have an heirloom invisibility cloak. I may have used it once or twice… a week… to sneak around after curfew. I may have bumped into a suit of armor or five and been heard when I screamed. So how are we getting to Gringotts?"
"Well, I knew you'd appreciate the pun," Heindoffer smirked at Tony, "but after hearing about 'Fold-More', even more so." From the right pocket of his *Inca gold* robes, he pulled a stuffed pig.
"And what's Porky gonna do for us?" Tony eyed the toy dubiously until he heard Heather hit the wall behind them. "Gemstone?"
"It's called a Portkey," she whispered, her body rigid with terror. "Are you sure there's no other way? Floo? Knight Bus? Apparating? Walking a thousand miles can't be that bad…"
"Unfortunately, there's not," White shook her head. "Mr Stark doesn't have a Floo set-up. I don't know what a Knight Bus is. And Apparating – now that you've been in extended physical contact with one another, until you consummate your soul bond–" Tony choked. "–experiencing someone else's magic without your partner in arm's reach will be unpleasant in the extreme. Do yourselves a favor and learn from my mistakes."
The teen, pale as a ghost, looked beseechingly at her soulmate, but he didn't have enough information to understand her request. "May as well let them in, Tony," she said with a whimper. "We can leave from the living room." She paused. "No one's gonna come looking for you, are they?"
He ran through his mental list of people who had a habit of turning up unannounced. "Let me make a couple calls," he hedged, taking his phone from his pocket. "Obie! … I'm going dark for – yes, for a couple days. I had a bunch of ideas last night. … No, I don't know what'll work the best. … If I remember, I'll call you then. … Yes, I'll do the paperwork on Monday. …" His eyes flashed in irritation, and he held a finger to his lips, begging them for silence. "No, Dummy, that's not – Obie, gotta go!" He ended the call as fast as he could. "I love the man, I do – he's my godfather. But sometimes, I just wanna stick him in a box and mail him to the South Pole."
"My sister makes me crazy, too," Heindoffer commiserated. "I'll go halves with you on the shipping."
"Don't tempt me," Tony grumbled as he dialed another number. "Hey, Cindy. … I feel a design binge coming on. … Black-out. … Yeah, I'll be in on Monday. … Schedule yourself in, doll, first thing, if you really think you need to. I gotta go, all right?" Grinning, he disconnected. "Can't believe she thinks she needs an appointment to talk to me," he quipped. "Woman runs my life; I think I can squeeze her in." He set the phone on the table and raised an eyebrow at Heather. "Expecting trouble, little gem?"
She glanced at the ruby-hilted sword that she didn't remember reaching for, let alone grasping. "If I'm gonna kill off a piece of Voldemort's soul, I'm gonna use the weapon I know can do the job. Besides," she went on before the adults could do more than blink, "I'm sure the Goblins would like this sword back." She looked at them with deadened eyes. "Ready as I can be."
"Not quite," White said. "Mr Stark, do you have a spare belt?" Apparently, Tony reflected, there was a shade of pale past 'ghost-like'; in her increasing terror, Heather had just reached it. Obliviously, the woman went on, "I can transfigure a scabbard, but a belt would be a helpful starting point." Tony nodded, watching the teen closely, and went to get the requested item. On his return, he stood next to her, offering silent support, as they observed the witch's spell. Heather cautiously strapped the now-sheathed sword around her waist (well, hips, really, and he was actually amazed it stayed in place), and White appraised her work. "Much better. Now, we're ready. All you need to do, Mr Stark, is touch the Portkey." Heindoffer wrapped his hand around one of the pig's arms; she daintily laid a finger on its ear. Heather, shaking worse than a leaf in an earthquake, reached out to touch one of the toy's legs, breathing erratically as her hand hovered an inch over the pink fuzz.
"Hey, Gemstone, I'm right here," he murmured in her ear, trying to break her free of the demons that had taken root in her mind. "Nothing's gonna happen to you if I have any say in the matter." She nodded mutely, but made no move to touch the stuffed animal. He bumped her shoulder, teasing, "You… do remember how to touch things, right?"
"The cup was a Portkey," she whimpered, fear devolving instantly into hysteria. "Took us to the graveyard – oh, stars!" She ran outside just in time, losing her breakfast into the bush.
Tony held her ebony hair back as she emptied her stomach and cradled her to him when the dry heaves ended. "Shhh, baby, I've got you."
"I killed him!" she sobbed into his chest. "I told him to take the cup with me! Cedric would still be alive if I hadn't decided to be a bloody Hufflepuff! I got him killed! 'Kill the spare,' he said. 'Spare,' like he wasn't the one who was actually chosen for that accursed gladiatorial wet dream!"
Tony would be lying if he said he ever expected to hear the phrase 'gladiatorial wet dream' out of anyone's mouth, let alone a distraught teenager. It left him with far more questions than answers, and the only one who could explain was crying uncontrollably in his arms. Heindoffer and White, mercifully, remained silent as they watched from the doorway. When her tears finally dried up, he ran his fingers through her thick mane. "Back with us?" She nodded, but kept her face pressed into him. "You know that us being soulmates means that I will destroy anything that even thinks of hurting you, right?" Sniffling, she nodded again, more hesitantly. "You know we gotta get this over with, right?" Her half-hearted glare reassured him. "You know you can ask me for anything, like for me to hold you while we do this, right?"
Her eyes full of emotion, she pulled back to look at him. "No one's ever offered before," she whispered. "They want me to save everyone–"
"But that means," he continued for her, "there's no one left to save you." She met his eyes, surprised to find empathy in them. "Yeah, I've been there, done that. Got the t-shirt just so I could burn it. Granted, I only had to save my team's project, but…" He held her gaze for another long moment. "You save me, and I save you. That's how this is gonna work, buttercup. No matter what that contract says, this is an equal partnership. Capisce?" She nodded once, this time with the barest hint of an appreciative smile. "You just gotta ask, kitten. For anything you want, anything you need. If it's possible or available, it's yours. If it's not, I'll figure out how to make it so."
"Will you…" she whispered hopefully, "will you hold me while we do this?"
"Of course," he replied just as quietly. "If I had my way, kitten, I'd never let go of you." Tucking some loose strands behind her ear, he joked, "It'd make driving interesting, but I'm sure I could manage with only minor collateral damage – a fire hydrant, maybe a telephone pole or two…"
A chuckle burst from her unexpectedly, and she squeezed him tightly while she regathered her bearings. "Thanks. I'm just gonna freshen up." Five minutes later, after Tony had changed his shirt too, she returned to the lounge without the tear tracks down her face, declaring in a falsely cheerful tone, "Let's get this shit show on the road!" She grabbed one of Porky's legs before she could lose her nerve. Tony covered her right hand with his, just his thumb touching the stuffed animal itself; he wrapped his left arm around her waist, holding her close as he rested his chin on her head, and her left hand wrapped around his first two fingers.
Heindoffer and White quickly took up their positions, the former activating their mode of travel. When they arrived at the bank, Tony and Heather lost their balance; Tony twisted them as they fell so that she landed on him. "How do you not know how to land from a Portkey?" Heindoffer asked the girl, exasperated.
"That was exactly my fourth time using one," she wheezed testily, "and no one's ever told me how to land gracefully from any form of magical travel, let alone being spit out of a magic tornado."
"Cyclone," Tony coughed, and she rolled off him. "You can call it a 'magi-clone.' 'Magi-nado' just sounds like a D sci-fi movie gone wrong."
Heindoffer and White rolled their eyes while Heather smirked and offered him a hand up. "Follow me," the curse breaker sighed. "John and the leech are this way." The engineer marveled at the walls around him, desperate to discern how this place, wherever it was, was constructed without pillars. One particular design, carved into the wall, caught his eye, and he stared at it in wonder, tracing the intricate details.
After a few minutes, Heather squeezed the hand she hadn't released. "Tony?" she called to him, utterly bewildered. "They kept going. And the Goblins design their territory to be labyrinths…" Her free fingers fidgeted with the hem of his *swan white* shirt.
He blinked himself out of his Zone, surprised by the sensation of a large, unseen canine pressing against his hip opposite the teen, then winked at her. "I bet I can catch us up to them. Ready for our first adventure together?"
"If you get us killed," she threatened, "I will hex you. Mum created a castration curse. Siri – someone taught me in time for the Yule Ball when he finally realized I'm not a baby anymore."
"Duly noted," he acknowledged, his voice an octave higher than normal. Clearing his throat and squeezing her hand, he grinned. "Let's go explore."
Miraculously, in Heather's opinion, he kept them on what turned out to be the right path for five minutes (she couldn't believe he convinced her to sing, "*We're off to see the wizard*") before Heindoffer came running back for them. "Thank Merlin you're both all right!" he exclaimed in relief. "Where did you disappear to?"
"Hey, you left us, not the other way around," Tony accused. Winking again at the teen, he asked her, "It still counts if he came back for us, right?" Despite the hysterical edge, the sound that escaped her was clearly laughter, so he chalked it up as a win.
Heindoffer led them to what he called his 'office away from the office,' a chamber that could contain any backlash that would come from destroying the leech. "If everything goes right," he informed them, "it should take about 10 minutes for us to link all the other soul pieces to this one. For your safety, you'll be watching from the side room. When I'm done, you come in and destroy the rock. When you hear it scream, channel your magic and cast the spell, Victori spolia."
"Uh, rocks don't scream," Tony protested. "And that spell translates loosely to 'spoils to the victor.' You're talking, what, spoils of war, here? This isn't a war. I don't know what it is–"
"Rocks don't scream, but souls do," the teen explained wearily. "And there was a war – a magical civil war in Britain. Long story made impossibly short, I am recognized as the one who ended the war, meaning I'm the victor. And while I should have done this then, I was fifteen months old and probably couldn't say the words properly, if I could even talk."
Heindoffer studied her for a moment. "Earlier, you implied that you've destroyed one of these abominations. Why do you think so?"
"Diaries don't possess people," she answered darkly, "nor do corporeal memories stop draining a victim's life force when said diary is stabbed with a giant fang full of venom." She grinned humorlessly. "I killed the damn snake with this sword, puncturing the venom sac, and I recently recognized the blade as being Goblin-crafted, and thus learned about its… lethal quirk."
"If you recognize the lethal enchantments we craft into our weapons," a new voice growled at their backs, "why do you delay in returning it?"
The gruff, hostile voice came from a being about a foot shorter than Heather, and it was objectively hideous by human standards. She dodged Tony's instinctive attempt to push her behind him. "Two reasons," she answered, bowing respectfully to the green-skinned being whose hand lingered near a blade. "First, I killed the snake two years ago – I was twelve. I barely recognized it then as the sword once owned and used by Godric Gryffindor, and only because someone pointed out that his name is etched into the blade. I'd been to Diagon Alley a grand total of twice at that point. I've had Binns for History of Magic, and I'm pretty sure an actual rubbish bin would be more effective as a teacher. I still don't know how to appropriately, or if I even should, contact Gringotts without simply turning up at the bank. I was raised in a Muggle household where the word 'magic', let alone the use of it, was as unforgivable as a far-too-familiar green curse. I did the only logical thing I could think of at the time – I handed a Founder's Relic to the Headmaster. I've since learned not to trust Albus bloody Dumbledore with anything more important than brushing out his beard."
Tony snorted so hard, he was glad he hadn't just taken a drink.
"It is a magnificent beard," the Goblin agreed.
Heindoffer joined the engineer in laughing.
Heather, too, coughed in amusement, then went on, still smirking, "Second, the first time I saw a blade that was confirmed as crafted by your kin was during the Second Task. I took note of the similarities in workmanship and did some research, though, when I realized the truth, I didn't know how to rectify the situation. I still haven't figured out how, and I honestly don't care at the moment, but it made its way to my hand again yesterday and I brought it back at my first opportunity. Though I hope you don't mind if I wield it today to destroy an evil entity."
The Goblin inspected her closely, but she didn't flinch. "You may use the blade commissioned by your ancestor for the task you take upon yourself, but after it is done, it shall be returned immediately to the Nation's keeping."
She blinked twice, then let her Slytherin side out to play. "As long as you provide written documentation and photographic evidence that I did, in fact, turn it over, witnessed by two Goblins of your choosing, and two humans who have no greater tie to either the bank and its subsidiaries or to the Goblins, individually, in part, or as a whole, than being customers – patrons – account holders – vault lessees – however humans are officially referred to by the Nation." She paused. "And maybe tell me who, in general, I should get in touch with, and how, if only to avoid wasting Gringotts' time in the future, though that doesn't strictly need to be included in our signed agreement."
He, too, blinked. "A considerate human – will wonders never cease…"
The four entered the chamber, and the Goblin ushered Tony, Heather, and the ungreeted Philips into the side room. "You'll know when it's safe to step out," he said semi-helpfully as he sealed them in. Together with White, they watched as a squadron of Goblins filed in from hidden passageways.
Heindoffer heaved a deep breath and stepped onto the platform in the center of the room. He and the goblins glared at the inanimate hunk of earth that lay on the white granite pedestal. He began the ritual by painting runes on the floor around the stand, then rose to his feet and started speaking in a guttural language that Philips quietly identified as the Goblins' native tongue. For just over ten minutes, magic swirled around the 21 bodies in the chamber. With each repetition of Heindoffer's chant, six connections grew more solid, revealing ghastly, smoky images of four inanimate objects (a chalice, a tiara, a ring, and a locket), a boa constrictor, and a revolting snake-human hybrid body, each of which housed a fragment of Voldemort's soul. Finally, in an instant, the images sank into the rock, the magic dispersed, and most of the Goblins collapsed, as did Heindoffer. Their escort had chosen to lean against the wall, so he alone remained upright until he opened the door. "Finish it, witchling," he muttered as he, too, passed out.
With a determination Tony knew well, Heather stalked to the pedestal on which sat the ensouled rock. She carefully unsheathed the sword. Tony followed, staying well out of reach. With an almighty roar, she heaved the blade over her head and cleaved the stone in two. Almost simultaneously, to the engineer's shock, a black vapor seeped from the rock, screaming. She raised the sword again, pointed it at the vapor, and yelled, "Victori spolia!" A white light erupted from the blade's point, much like the sparks had done the night before, and it eradicated the vapor that was the last remnant of Voldemort's spirit.
When he managed to blink away the spots, Tony noticed Heather swaying dangerously, even with the sword to lean on. "Gemstone? You okay?"
Several long seconds later, she managed to focus on him. Almost. "Said ash fur any fin, yeah?" she slurred.
Translating her garbled speech into actual English was simpler than it should have been; he was suddenly grateful for all his drunken exploits. Moving closer, he pulled the weapon from her and dropped it, taking her arms to compensate. "You know it, dove."
"Cash me?"
He found it easier to reposition her when he went to the ground with her. He sat with his back against the pedestal and pulled her onto his lap protectively. A moment later, three more Goblins – their outfits looked eerily similar to White's magical scrubs, so he assumed they were the medical team – came into the room and started checking on their fellows. White approached him. "Considering her reaction earlier," she suggested, choosing her words carefully, "I think it might be best if we make the return trip while she's unconscious."
"No arguments here."
"I'm staying until we talk about my scans," the healer warned. "Billy, too, when he wakes up. John'll bring him by and probably stay to hear everything as well, like you expected."
"So long as you all back off if it gets to be too much for her," he responded in kind. "I will kill for her."
"Done and noted," she agreed.
"Excuse me," he said to one of the Goblin healers. "Please tell your compatriot over there that we brought the sword home with us, since signing documents is difficult when the parties are unconscious. Health permitting, we should be back next weekend with other business, and we will happily turn the blade over then, with the same stipulations both of them have already agreed to." The Goblin healer nodded once before returning to his previous actions.
From inside her *cherry blossom pink* robes, the human healer pulled out a very familiar pig. Tony awkwardly but carefully resheathed the blade, then stood, holding his precious cargo tight. "When the spinning slows," White muttered, "bend your knees. Should help you stick the landing."
"Who do I look like," he scoffed, "Scott Hamilton?"