- CHAPTER NINETEEN -
No one seemed to care that England's national team had lost the charity match - it didn't feel much like a loss at all. The match had fulfilled its purpose. Hogsmeade had not seen this many wizards, witches, house elves or warlocks in many years. It had been a long time since any professional Quidditch had been played. The excitement of an international opponent and the assemblage of England's all-star team had many fans in a tizz. Even after the loss, they continued to swap action figures, buying toy brooms for their children and purchasing autographed photos with the players flexing and grinning out of the glossy prints.
The Three Broomsticks after-party roared into action soon after the game, with the lead singer of the Ministry of Madness performing live. A swarm of Golden Snitches had been bewitched to flutter around the stage, wings whizzing with the whirl of the music.
Isabella and Alice were dizzy with this development, finding it hard to remain professional when all they wanted to do was join the others on the dance floor. Tables had been cleared, with only the booths and barstools available. The players, sponsors and VIP guests filled the remaining space, dancing freely to the music and sipping on bubbly champagne, whilst the most daring of patrons were merrily supping on a recently discovered bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.
There was a loose run-sheet for the evening. Toby was busy preparing finger food, the aroma of the pumpkin pasties, meat pies and chicken skewers drifting out from behind the doors. After lunch was served, the Captain of Puddlemere United would say a few words, followed by Hermione as the Minister for Magic. Then the slices of treacle tart were to be ladled out to the guests – Alice had already prepared them the night before, and they were currently stacked in a tantalising sweet pile in the kitchen.
Lorcan, Zabini and Alice ducked into the kitchen to begin helping Toby serve up the finger food, wands in hand. Isabella and James continued to weave throughout the celebrating crowd, collecting or refilling empty champagne glasses as required. Isabella compulsively checked her watch every passing minute. The run-sheet was loose, but still they were running behind. She judged her own growling stomach as an indication that it was time for food and speeches.
She handed James the champagne bottle as she passed him.
"Keep refilling glasses. Speeches soon."
He nodded, taking off into the crowd again before she could say anything else. She hadn't had the chance to speak to him after he had left early the previous night, although the others had shared the news. Scorpius, Rose and Albus were alive. They were putting some kind of plan into action. This had added to her giddiness. To know that the three of them were safe had made it feel as if she had sculled a few glasses of champagne herself.
Alice poked her head out of the kitchen door and tapped her watch, somewhat aggressively. Isabella held up her own wrist in response, giving it a jangle. She knew they were behind. She motioned for Alice to start bringing out the food. A few seconds later, Zabini, Lorcan and Alice were weaving through the crowd with levitated trays of finger food. It took all her self control not to pinch a passing pastie.
Isabella caught the eye of the band and held up her hand, fingers stretched, to indicate five more minutes left of their set. When she got a wink from the singer, she headed towards the Captain of the National English Quidditch team (who was already eating a chicken skewer) to confirm that she was ready to take to the stage for speeches.
"We're running forty minutes behind," she heard Alice say behind her.
Isabella turned, her ponytail whipping the back of her neck.
"If we keep speeches short, we can make up some time."
"Have you noticed Granger hasn't arrived yet?"
"What?"
Isabella began to scan the crowd, her heart now racing. Not having the Minister speak at the after-party of the charity match she had arranged seemed like a big faux pas. There were reporters in the room, expecting quotes.
"Harry isn't here either. Something's going on. Ask James, maybe?"
"What do we do about her speech?"
Alice shrugged. "If she doesn't turn up, not much we can do. For now, I'll tell the press it'll be a closing address and to expect her at the end of the event."
"Good idea. Thank you."
She clutched Alice's arm with desperate gratitude, almost upending the tray of steak and kidney pie.
"Oi, watch it. I better get back to work."
With the last song drawing to a close, the swarm of Snitches came to a trembling standstill mid-air. The room drew to a hush as the Puddlemere United Captain took to the small, raised platform and began her speech. Isabella weaved over to James, who had finished refilling everyone's glasses and was now leaning inconspicuously against the bar. She hadn't seen him dressed in all black before. He looked taller and leaner than usual.
"You wouldn't happen to know where your aunt is?" Isabella asked in a low voice.
"She had to take a floo meeting with the Norwegian Ministry of Magic. Sorry, I was supposed to tell you."
James chewed on the inside of his lip, his eyes unfocused on the stage and the formalities. Isabella didn't press for more information, even though she was wondering why on earth Hermione Granger would have scheduled a meeting with the Norwegian Ministry of Magic the day of the Quidditch match. Was she not going to make the after-party at all? It took her a few more beats to make the connection back to the news of Scorpius, Rose and Albus in the Goblin Kingdom.
"Good news about Scorpius, Rose and Albus," she said quietly.
James glanced at her. His hazel eyes slid back into focus. If she didn't know better, she might have thought he was drunk. "You mean, that they're not dead yet? They must be insane."
"They captured Romnuk, didn't they? Surely they have a plan."
James didn't look reassured. In fact, he was only growing more restless. He ran his fingers through his hair, then checked his wrist. He blinked blankly for a moment then dropped his arm - he wasn't wearing a watch.
"If you want to go be with your parents, honestly it's fine."
"No, no, better I stay. They wouldn't let me in the room. At least work is keeping me busy," he looked at Isabella for the first time properly, his mind returning to his body. He smiled, breaking a bit of his tension. "Thanks again for this gig. You guys have started something special."
She didn't have time to say anything. The room was breaking into applause. The Snitches danced in the air again, bobbing to the sound of the crowd's appreciation. Cameras clicked and bulbs flashed. People drained their glasses. The music started up again. Isabella returned to the bar now that the last of the champagne had been served. Already a line was forming for cocktails. James began to collect the empty glasses. Isabella found herself wishing she had said something else, and had attempted to be a bit more empathetic to how he was feeling. She wished she had been raised to notice those kinds of things more often, so that it wasn't such hard work, that it could have come to her like second nature.
Alice came around the bar to help, now relieved of her food trays.
"Any news on the Minister?" she said.
"She's in a meeting," Isabella supplied. "Hopefully she'll still make it."
The meeting had already concluded, but Hermione was in no position to return to the Quidditch match reveries. In fact, she had only caught the first fifteen minutes, appearing for the sake of the reporters and the crowd, before she had left for more pressing matters.
By the time Harry and Ginny had joined her, she had ended the floo conference with the Norwegian Minister for Magic. She didn't ask who had won the match. It didn't matter. When Harry entered, closely followed by Viktor Krum, she couldn't muster the energy to greet them or explain. She was beginning to crumble.
"Rough game?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows.
Harry and Viktor were smeared in dirt, their knees blackened and faces splattered with mud. It took them a closer look to see a Snitch crushed into Krum's fist.
"It was vine," Viktor said, nodding towards Ron. "Vat vas your meeting?"
"I haven't had a chance to fill Viktor in much," Harry said. "But he seems quite insistent on being brought up to speed."
Hermione raked her hands through her bushy hair, trying to think where to begin. She gave a very paired down version of the meeting. She did her best to soften the Norwegian Minister's fury. Muggles had sighted three teenagers and a strange, decrepit looking man who looked to be the stature of a child, who both Ministers knew was a Muggle's poor description of a goblin. Two muggles who worked along the docklands, and staff from a hotel who had been unable to unlock a vacant room and had subsequently checked security tapes of the property. By the time the reports had reached Norway's Wizarding intelligence, there were at least a dozen people who needed to be Obliviated and footage that had to be erased.
The Minister had indicated that Rose, Albus and Scorpius would be charged with unlawful entry into Norway and breaking the international Statute of Secrecy if they were to be recovered from the Goblin Kingdom.
"We have had our own trading tensions with the goblins, Ms Granger, for we share land and resources. Yet never has our Ministry seen any such chaos that has befallen your Government in recent years. It is inexplicable."
What the Minister could not understand was that this was not merely political. It went back so much further. Two brothers, feeding an ancient grudge forged first in goblin furnaces before either had been born. A grudge that still glistened red as a ruby, red as blood.
"They're not letting us go in to get the kids. Not yet, anyway. They think we're going to drag their government into a war."
"A var?" Viktor released the Snitch in surprise, his fist falling slack. It fluttered half-heartedly, like a crushed hummingbird, its wings bent at awkward angles from the force of its containment.
"It looks like it will turn into one. I can't see how we're going to get the kids out without having to fight the King's guard."
"Then we assemble as many of us as we can. Anyone willing to fight," Ginny said firmly.
The Snitch began to increase its pace with a mechanical whine, hovering over their heads like a plane with a faulty engine.
"Vell, count me in. I vill get the others."
"The others?"
"Do not fink that you have no allies."
"Viktor, please. This is a war against Wizarding Britain, not Bulgaria."
"The Romanians, Bulgarians and the Hungarians all have had their issues with dragon poaching–I don't think they'd need much of an excuse to join us," Ron argued.
"So this is when you decide to side with Viktor," Hermione blustered.
"He's got a bloody point this time, that's why!"
"Wait." No one heard Harry say this. He had spoken too quietly. The Golden Snitch whizzed by his head, picking up speed, its crushed wings frantic as it bounced from wall to window.
"If Norway won't give in, it may help to have some allies," Ginny agreed.
"Why, to bully them into giving us access to their territory?"
Harry reached out and snatched the Snitch out of the air. The abrupt departure of its horrible hum brought silence back to the room. Everyone looked to Harry. Despite his streaked greying beard and lined face, he had the same flint in his green eyes that had once been there at fifteen.
"We have no idea where the kids are or how they're being held. If we charge in, we might get them killed as a consequence."
"Mate, this isn't the Hogsmeade Siege all over again. We can't do nothing."
"I agree," Harry nodded. He shoved the Snitch into his pocket, where it finally gave up its struggle. "We need to plant someone inside the Goblin Kingdom. We need surveillance."
Following the procession, once the streets had been cleared, they had been escorted back to their cell. Nothing had gone wrong, no dangers had befallen them. They were safe. They hadn't even needed their wands.
"I think I should take them," Rose decided, opening the beaded bag. "The only reason we haven't been searched again is that the guard wants to see us take down the King. If they switch our guards or we do meet the King, they may find our wands on us."
The boys were reluctant to part with their wands. Even though they were inaccessible tucked inside their trousers, it felt like an added layer of security to have them on their persons. Acknowledging Rose's logic, they handed them over and she hid them inside the small beaded bag, which she tucked back under her jumper, lodging it inside of her bra.
They debated about the Sword and the Stone, but both were needed for their ploy to work with the King. They could not conceal them. They could only hope that, should they get searched, the King would be present when both the prized possession and weapon were revealed.
They were not alone for very long. The same guard came to collect them, accompanying Rose, Scorpius and Albus to the glittering chamber they had met Grigarex in to request their meeting with the King. Once they arrived, their new ally was no longer their solitary guard. Other guards lined the room at every entrance. They didn't risk further conversation with him and he did not so much as spare them a glance.
The guard hadn't given them much, but to Albus, his short conversation with them on the labyrinthine canals had been enough.
He knew Rose and Scorpius would think him naive, but Albus had believed that some of the goblins could be trusted, that some common humanity could bridge the divide of their cultural difference. Orlick's betrayal had changed that, curdling his trust. Romnuk's repeated attempts to kill them only cemented it further. A fear had been hardening inside of him like speleothems. He didn't know the name of this guard but he needed to believe they shared a common moral compass, one that defied the differences of their species, that could point them to common ground. He could not let go of that hope. Without it, he did not see a way out of this. Unlike Rose, he didn't think heads rolling was the answer.
The throne room was as dazzling as their first visit. The gold mosaics glittered across the floors and walls, telling the glorious stories of former Kings. They waited beside the dramatic stalagmite that protruded from the centre of the room, where it rippled up from the floor like a fountain of stone. He felt the weight of the Sword of Gryffindor tucked inside his robes. After everything the guard had shared with them, he knew what its weight really carried. He was suddenly glad that Romnuk had not gotten his hands on the Sword. It seemed reckless to let him kill the King - to let him legitimise the fall of the Crown. That wasn't what the Sword was designed to do.
Scorpius had the poisoned stone, tucked into his trousers. Another tactic that made Albus squirm, but the poison of the Stone was not as frightening as the Sword. The Sword was an act of violence, a brother against brother. The stone seemed like the King's own doing, his own hubris hailing his end. He suddenly knew which method he preferred, even if it would complicate their way out of here. He knew which method would be right. As right as anything could be in circumstances like this.
"I think I should do the talking," he decided, glancing at Rose and Scorpius.
It seemed logical. Scorpius could not talk, and even if he wanted to, he lacked the emotional finesse to get through this conversation without unnecessary insult. He remembered how cold and disdainful Scorpius could be, his emotional range at times shallower than that of a teaspoon. On the other hand, Rose was likely to fly off the handle. She was hot headed and easily roused. He would never say this aloud, but when it came to acting the diplomat, Rose reminded him somewhat of a Hippogriff in a china shop. They were not the kind of people he would want on his debating team. He knew this from experience. Even now, Albus' suggestion was causing outrage to flush Rose's face. As she opened her mouth to argue, he added, "you may not want to hear this, but they're not going to want to listen to a woman speak. Think about why Morgana was denied the Crown in the first place."
Rose clamped her mouth shut again, indignant but knowing he was right. Privately, Albus marvelled at his own diplomacy. The reason he had given Rose was a secondary excuse, albeit a reasonable one, so that he would not insult her.
Why did this feel so much like they were waiting in the Headmaster's office for Professor Drummond to scold them? He hated the waiting. He hated how young he felt beside his cousin and friend. He hated the weight of the Sword tucked on his hip. He hated that his only way out of this was his words, knowing they would not be enough.
He heard an announcement somewhere beyond the chamber. The guards all stood at attention. The three humans did too, straightening their spines so they ran parallel with the rock centrepiece behind them. The doors opened, but it was not the King. The three teenagers deflated. Maybe it had been stupid to expect him.
Instead, Grigarex entered. He still wore his festive robes over his armour. He smiled his cruel smile, stood before the three of them and tilted his head.
"Did you enjoy your time in the Kingdom?"
"Very much," Albus replied, knowing this was the only answer they could give. "It's a truly beautiful place."
"A place of order, of unity, of prosperity," Grigarex said, tilting his head again. It was as if he was saying, 'we are everything your world is not'. He could feel Rose and Scorpius tensed on either side of him. Albus remained genial, relaxed. He even smiled. He was good at this. He was born for this. The middle child. The peacemaker. The diplomat.
"I couldn't agree more."
"The King was interested to hear you have come all this way to request an audience," Grigarex said, pacing before them. His purple robes dragged across the gold mosaics. "He was interested to hear you have procured a Philosopher's Stone."
"We knew we would need to offer him something of value."
"Grateful too," Grigarex went on seamlessly, "that you have returned his brother to him."
Albus sensed that this second comment was loaded. He said nothing. As Scorpius had indicated, Romnuk must have sold them out. Still, it was Romnuk's word against theirs. They could retreat, if needed. They had the Stone, after all.
When it became clear that Albus was not going to respond, Grigarex bowed his head again. His beetle black eyes danced across their faces.
"The King will be joining you shortly for an audience," he said, a suppressed smile peeking from the corners of his mouth. "When he enters, you must prostrate before him like so. Only refer to him as Your Grace. I will translate for you, but only address your comments to him directly, and only when spoken to."
Albus watched the way Grigarex bowed, the way he touched his boots when he stooped. He noted the instructions. This was the moment they had been waiting for.
The trumpets sounded once more, their echoes bouncing off the tiled walls. The guards stood at attention, then bowed low. The King entered, his robes sweeping the floor behind him. The crown sparkled on the dome of his head, the filigree wrapping around opals and jewels that dazzled in the light. Albus bowed low. Rose and Scorpius followed. It felt like he was offering up his neck for execution.
The King took his seat. Only when the soldiers relaxed their stance in perfect uniformity did the three teenagers come out of their low bows. The Sword moved conspicuously against his leg, under the robes. No one seemed to notice it, but it felt like an iron hot from the fire was welded against his hip.
The King spoke in Gobbledegook, giving them the chance to look at him directly. Albus noticed the rings that crowded his thick fingers, the jewellery around his neck, the gold plated armour beneath his robes. It was an extravagance he had not yet seen in the Goblin Kingdom, even in the beauty of the royal quarters.
"The King welcomes you to his Kingdom, but notes that you have come without invitation," Grigarex relayed.
Albus bowed his head slightly.
"We needed to come urgently. We hope that we might establish peace between wizards and goblins again."
The King grunted something guttural and hushed to his advisor, who smiled coyly in response. Albus only watched Grigarex from his peripheral vision. He did not once look away from the King as he awaited the reply.
"We have a source that conflicts with what you are telling the King."
They said nothing. When baited like this, it was safest not to speak. Grigarex clicked towards the guards. Two left the room in perfect synchronicity. With no further explanation provided, Albus settled on an innocently puzzled expression. The Sword continued to burn against his leg. He clasped his hands together, willing himself not to grab the hilt.
The guards returned, dragging another goblin between them. He was so broken down and beaten that Albus did not recognise him at first, not until Rose let out a low growl beside him. Only then did he notice the missing hand, the tattoos on his skull. They came to a halt in the centre of the room. The guards grabbed the back of Romnuk's neck and raised his head. His beetle black eyes found the three of them in puffy, bruised sockets. His face split into a grin.
"They've come to kill you!" Romnuk snarled, his pointed teeth bared in a grim impression of a smile.
"That has been what he's telling us," Grigarex acknowledged.
The King spoke again, harshly, and his brother replied in his native tongue. There was a bit of this back and forth, none of which was interpreted by Grigarex. Still, Albus bit his tongue. He was not supposed to speak unless spoken to. He would not break any of the rules they were given. Not yet, at least.
"You see," Grigarex said, switching seamlessly back to English, "you come with the King's brother in tow, a terrorist in your world and a traitor in ours, and he tells us that you are working with him. You have tasked him to kill the King so that you can make some kind of deal. Is that so?"
The King was looking at Albus hungrily now.
"We do have a request—a deal, if you want to put it so crudely," Albus said plainly. "But Romnuk is lying. We told him what he wanted to hear so he would bring us here."
Romnuk howled in response, straining against the guards. "They are the liars!"
"What is the nature of this deal?" Grigarex interpreted. The King was leaning forward now, his eyes fixed on Albus.
"We want to make a treaty, bound in blood, that there will never be violence between our two kinds again."
As this was relayed back, the King laughed arrogantly, turning up his long, hooked nose. Even Grigarex was bemused by this suggestion.
"You want us to believe the wizards sent three children to make this request?"
"Don't underestimate us," Rose muttered, but Albus raised his hand to cut her off.
"We are all adults, and we all belong to the generation that will be impacted most by what the Goblins have put us through. We want to make peace."
"Our two kinds will never know peace," Grigarex said, speaking for himself without translation.
He touched his neck, as if to remind Albus of the scar running across his throat. Albus glanced at Scorpius. From where he stood, he could only see the scarred portion of his friend's profile. It made it harder to read his already stoic expression.
"This may be our only chance to put things right. Could it really be a coincidence that we're here on such an important festival?" Albus prompted.
The goblins were not suspicious folk and this suggestion made little impact on Grigarex, who did not bother to translate. However, Romnuk howled once more at the implications of their words and the reference to their greatest King.
"They have the Sword of Ragnuk the First! They brought it here to kill you!"
Albus held his breath but none of them flinched. All the guards shifted simultaneously in their direction, a wave of armoured metal suddenly bouncing back their reflections from breastplates.
"Romnuk is losing his mind," Albus replied smoothly. "We were searched. We even surrendered our wands. I can assure you that we do not have the Sword of Ragnuk."
"Likely due to the curses you have kept him under," Grigarex intervened.
"Maybe," Albus shrugged. "Whatever you choose to do with Romnuk isn't our business," at this Rose inhaled sharply but Albus ploughed ahead, "we would really like His Grace to consider, seeing as we have brought something valuable in exchange for this deal." This last part he said slightly more forcefully.
Griagrex translated this, speaking quickly and rapidly to the King. In response, the King raised one bejewelled hand and gestured towards the three young humans. Albus nodded to Scorpius, who withdrew the Stone from inside his robes. In the light of the chamber, it glittered ruby-red like a lifeless heart in the palm of his white hand.
The King and Grigarex both leaned forward, mesmerised by the innate power the small stone held. Even Romnuk's eyes seemed to pop from his head. Albus realised that to them, this was more than the temptation of eternal life and wealth; for to the King, it was an idol that heralded the dawn of a new age.
"If we make this deal with you, and ensure you drink the Elixir of Life, then we will know that our two kinds will have peace forevermore. The King will live for centuries if he wishes, and our treaty will forever be upheld," Albus said.
"You want to keep this tyrant on his throne!"
Flying into a rage, Romnuk broke free of the guards and charged towards them, teeth bared, as if he were to bite and tear at their flesh without any other weapon in hand. Without hesitation, Albus pulled the Sword of Gryfindor from beneath his robes and struck out so that Romnuk was forced to a halt, only millimetres from its tip. The guards rushed forward but Albus did not strike. He continued the clean swing of the Sword, moving with it in an arc, and planted it, almost to the hilt, into the stone centrepiece behind him.
The sound rang through the chamber with a metal clang, its echoes rippling out of the room. The pause only lasted a moment. The guards seized Romnuk, and then seized the three humans.
The King barked out an order and the stone was wrenched from Albus' free hand, but he did not struggle. There was no need. The King's eyes were fixed on them now with renewed fear and zeal. The stone glittered as red as the rubies in Gryffindor's Sword.
"You lied about the Sword." Grigarex was not surprised, just cold.
"I said I did not have the Sword of Ragnuk. How was that a lie?" Albus replied, even smirking a little. "The Sword belongs to Gryffindor."
A translation did not seem to be required. The Goblin King barked out further orders. His face flushed at the mention of the Wizard at the root of the centuries old feud. The guards withdrew their own weapons. The one who had confiscated the Stone marched to the King, bowing steeply before presenting the malevolent ruby. The King grasped it in his gnarled hand. He slowly raised his eyes back up to the three humans. This time, Albus spoke out of turn.
"If you don't believe me, try to dislodge the Sword yourselves. The Sword will only present itself to a Gryffindor in a time of need."
"Your arrogance will cost you your lives," Grigarex scowled.
"That would be a big mistake," Albus replied, almost amicably, as if they were discussing the day's festivities. "We are the only ones who know how to make the Stone, and we are the only ones who can brew the Elixir of Life from it. In your hands, it will be useless. Try to retrieve the Sword or make the potion. If you fail at both, we'll be no use to you dead."
There was a tense silence as Grigarex related this back to the Goblin Kingdom.
"Our deal still stands," Albus added. "We're not here to cause trouble."
Grigarex spoke to the guards. They advanced, but not for the Sword. Instead, they grabbed the three humans and patted them down once more, searching for weapons. The only thing they had left to conceal was their small beaded bag, their wands tucked inside, and Rose's intuition had saved them from losing their last remaining weapons. They had manacles fastened to their wrists, but no chain connecting them. They were snapped on like jewellery, the silver bands stamped with a rune, a sharp V on either wrist. Without the chance to study the adornments further, the goblins seized their arms and marched them to the carts. Romnuk watched them with wild shock, and Albus guessed this may be the last time they ever saw him. The King watched on too, the false Philosopher's Stone tucked into his fist, his eyes betraying a crack of vulnerability that they would exploit.
Albus had taken charge of the situation, for he was the most diplomatic, but diplomacy was a form of manipulation. He recognised that for the first time as they marched him from the glittering throne room, towards the tracks, to be taken where they needed to go next. Scorpius and Rose had underestimated him, or maybe they had rubbed off on him. They walked behind him, Albus leading the way, and they said nothing.
"We really need to talk."
Victoire's stomach churned as if she had swallowed doxy eggs. She felt ill in a way she had never felt ill before. Teddy stopped, letting the throng of people pass him in the street outside of the Three Broomsticks. His eyes were foggy, his mind elsewhere.
"I heard the pre-match interview," he said. He was peering into the front window of Three Broomsticks as he spoke. "Well done."
His distractedness irked her but also panicked her. The two emotions played tug-of-war with each other. Was he being scatterbrained as always? Dismissive? Or was there something to be worried about? A real and present danger?
"I said we need to talk," she repeated, sternly.
Teddy's eyes snapped back to her, clear now. He brushed her hair back from her face.
"What is it, love?"
He was worried, not about her. The worry was there in his brown eyes and it came from whatever was waiting for him beyond the afterparty inside the tavern.
"What's happened?"
"Nothing. I'm not sure," he said, looking over her head again through the Three Broomsticks. Victoire turned to analyse the scene framed behind the glass. Hermione was standing on the stage, speaking over the heads of guests and journalists. She spoke with a small and forced smile, her bushy hair pulled back from her face. Teddy turned his attention back to Victoire and held out his hand.
"Let's walk. I don't think she'll be finished for a while."
They walked. Victoire wondered why Teddy had been summoned. He was always being summoned, reluctantly so. Despite her festering anger, she held his hand while they walked. She desperately needed the reassurance of his presence.
"If you're really against the orphanage, we can put it on hold," he said.
He said it without resentment but she wished there was some kind of fight in him. She hated to hear him relent.
"No," she scoffed. "No, it's not even about that."
"So what is this about? You want me to get a nine to five job?"
Now he was defensive. She had left him guessing and second-guessing what had set off this whole argument for too long. Victoire hadn't been sure how to process it herself.
"I need some stability when I think about a future with you. You told me you don't want kids out of nowhere."
"That's not what I said," he replied, his tone sharpening now. He let go of her hand to face her. "I said I don't feel ready to be a parent. I mean, do you?"
She hated him turning the argument back on her. "How can we ever feel ready to be parents?"
"Fair enough, we might not, but does this really seem like a grand time to start trying? What's the rush?"
She shook her head. The sick feeling was getting worse. She closed her eyes tight, willing it away.
Teddy gripped her face again, lowering his gaze to hers, speaking with urgency to her.
"What is it, Vic? Honestly, you know you'd be the best mum. I'd be so proud to have a family with you. Why the rush?"
"It's nothing," she said, opening her eyes again. "You're right. There's no rush."
He searched her intently, his cold hands pressed against her flushed cheeks.
"I don't like fighting with you," he said.
"I know."
They stood there for a while. Victoire reached up and pressed his hand against her face, holding it there. She felt its cool temperature thaw.
"Why does Hermione want you?"
"Not Hermione," he said, looking over her head again. "Harry. He said he wanted me for Order business."
After being shuttled back into a train, they were led through the tunnels of the mountains at a rapid pace, like a jinx fired from a wand of an expert dueler. Grigarex and the Goblin King had no idea that this was what they had desired from the beginning. To end up with the prisoners. To be cast in with the remaining rebels. To find their leader, Morgana.
They had arrived in a mountain quite unlike the King's quarters. They were brought to an impressively reinforced adit that led to a vertical tunnel, the other end of which disappeared into deep darkness. Although Albus, unlike his Slytherin friends, did not have any kind of penchant for dark tunnels, he was the first to enter.
They instantly understood why the underground prison was called the Pit. The adit led to a deep subterranean cavern carved out of the rock. Suspended from ropes or clinging to ladders, goblins mined the rock face. They did not look well equipped for the work. Many were sickly thin, some skeletal. Their clothes hung in rags like the garments on a field of hollow scarecrows. Like their newest prisoners, they wore the manacles on their wrists.
Once they were deposited on the ridge, the guard unloaded equipment. A series of ropes that did not look well reinforced. Several chisels. A prybar and crack hammer. A couple of sacks. While he did this, the three teenagers had turned to study their prison.
At the centre of the Pit was a craterous plunge, a plunge that disappeared steeply into darkness. The ridge around the circumference of the cavern was their only solid ground, although at times it seemed to disappear into the rockface altogether.
The three humans were beginning to realise that they had made a scene. Goblins had stopped to stare. Several had turned, their chisels slack in their grip. Those suspended on ropes swung slightly as they watched on. Many of them had never seen a human before. There had certainly never been a human in the Pit, let alone three.
One of the goblins yelled something out and the guard turned. The three humans turned too. The goblin was right across the other side of the ridge, holding the ladder for another prisoner. A third goblin, who dangled like a fish on a line over the lip of the ridge, called out as well. The guard snarled back. Rose felt the sweat dribble down her neck. Whatever the first goblin had said, it had caused everyone to turn their eyes on them. Some with curiosity. Others with suspicion. The goblin hanging from the rope called something out again, taking hold of the rope and beginning to climb. The guard advanced across the ridge. With one swift swipe of his axe, he cut the rope free. The goblin shrieked as he streaked into the unending abyss of darkness of the Pit below. It took several long and agonising seconds before his scream was answered with a cold splash.
Rose's heart hammered. None of the goblins said a word. The guard barked something out at the prisoners, jabbing a finger back towards the steep rock face. He marched back towards the humans and pointed at the tools he had dispensed at their feet.
"Get to work."
He didn't give them any further explanation before departing. The pulley system kicked into gear and began to pull up the shaft cage they had been lowered in, taking the guard away. The shaft looked to be the only way in or out of the Pit. Other than the Pit itself, the deep plunge into the icy waters of the dark abyss below. Rose heard a few more quiet splashes echo up the walls. She wondered if the goblin would be able to survive the fall, and if he did, how long could he tread water before he was exhausted enough to drown?
She carefully felt for the small beaded bag tucked inside her sweater. It was still there. Would it take her long to extract their wands? The closest goblins could cross to them in about five quick strides. The chisels would form decent weapons, easy enough to clip a skull with if the blow packed enough force. She waited for some kind of indication that the goblins would turn on them.
Yet, the goblins turned away. Some did so as if nothing ordinary had interrupted their routine. Others were furtive, still shooting glances over their bony shoulders. None reacted to the sudden death of their comrade. If anything, they seemed to be performing their role as prisoners with even greater diligence than before.
Rose exhaled deeply. She turned to her cousin, grinning despite herself. "You were incredible," she said, throwing her arms around him. "Incredible."
She was about to burst from pride and relief. Her body was coursing with emotions and adrenalin, rattled by the confrontation with the King and the sudden death of the goblin prisoner. Scorpius' eyes were also swimming with emotion, although he could not otherwise express it. Albus let out a shaky laugh. He had improvised with the Sword, but he knew it would be impossible to dislodge it. Only a worthy Gryffindor could use the Sword in times of trouble. Its powerful charms would keep it firmly lodged in the rock, firmly making their point: the Sword belonged to Gryffindor, and his heirs. None other could dislodge it. Albus wondered, since the fame of Gryffindor's sword was so great even Muggles praised it in their contorted tales, how long would it take for the Goblin King to realised how desperately he needed them.
"You best be working before the guards come back," a guttural voice said behind them.
They turned. The goblin who stood behind them had spoken in good English. He was skeletal, the bones standing out sharply in his gaunt dome-like skull. His eyes glittered in the low light. In his right hand, he held a sack that weighed heavy in his grip. He spoke to them harshly, with disinterest.
Yet other goblins were peeking over their shoulders, their eyes sparkling with interest even in the dull light. Others were hoisting themselves up the ropes. Scorpius bristled beside her, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It bothered her as well. Her hand clenched, as if she were holding an invisible wand. Despite the discomfort of feeling so vulnerable, her instincts told her that they should remain unarmed.
"The guards only come twice a day," another goblin said, much kinder. She looked female, with straggly long hair weaved into a braid. "They will not be back until much later."
"Your English is pretty good," Rose couldn't help herself. She was still shaking a little, the shock of the other goblin's fall racing through her body. She hoped the remark wouldn't offend.
The first goblin sneered. His mouth was like a gash over his thin face.
"You are speaking with resistance fighters. Of course we speak English. Norwegian. Some even speak French."
Rose tried to imagine these goblins in banks, or bars, or offices, or taverns, or bands, or anywhere else in the Wizarding world. Some may have once been dignitaries, in the same kind of regalia she had seen amongst the King's inner circle. It was hard to picture. She had never seen goblins that looked so thin, so sickly and weak. She wondered what it had cost them to be Morgana sympathisers, to have rebelled against the King. She knew that many of these goblins, those with status, had been given the choice of banishment rather than imprisonment. Now seeing the mine and the state of this subterranean prison, she could not understand those who had stayed. Surely, it would be better to be an outcast amongst wizards, living above ground. Why would anyone want to die in this place?
"What are you mining?"
"Valuable stones," the female goblin replied. "The King believes we will find the immortal stone down here, although this is a fantasy. He believes it is possible to find the stone without making it from Alchemy."
Rose grinned. To think that they had given him what he had been chasing all this time. Soon, the temptation would be enough to kill the King before he even tasted the poison. He would come back to them, begging them to turn it into an elixir. It was only time.
"Why are you here?" the first goblin demanded.
"We're here to get you out," Rose replied.
Most of the goblins were watching now, holding still, even holding their breath.
"What makes you think we need your help?"
"Well, you haven't been able to get out until now," Rose snapped.
Albus immediately cut in, his voice like honey. "We're not here to rescue you. We want to give you the tools to fight back – to have a fair chance."
"You are foolish then," the goblin replied. Even the female goblin looked crestfallen, her face draining of the little energy she had. "No one leaves this place."
As he said this, Scorpius raised his hand to silence them. His grey eyes were wide, glassy in the reflective light. The look of panic on his face was difficult to source. It was an expression someone might wear if they forgot to turn off their stove or water their geraniums. Even the goblins became uneasy with his sudden alarm. Before Rose or Albus could ask, he began to walk towards the lip of the ledge, where the stone slipped away steeply into the centre of the pit. He peered over the edge.
Rose tried to imagine what might have arrested his attention so abruptly.
"Did that other goblin who fell – might he have survived?" Rose offered. This was what had been on her mind.
But the goblin they spoke to shook his head. Scorpius slowly turned back to them, yet his feet remained planted on the crumbling edge of the pit. The goblin's sneer turned to a defeated grimace.
"No one leaves this place and no one survives that drop."
A/N: Life has been exquisite of late, keeping me busy in the best ways, but that has left me little time for fanfiction. This chapter is dedicated to hellenistichistorian, who kindly edited it and gave me some much needed motivation with the direction of coming chapters. Thank you, you're my Beta hero!