Chapter Nine
Under Stone
Bellatrix laughed as blasted another goblin civilian with the Killing Curse. Her forces had pressed through most of the outer guardians and were now securely inside the main Goblin residential area, no doubt a breeding ground for rebellion against her Lord. By this point most of the filthy traitors were trying to flee for their lives, but the orcs with Bellatrix were accustomed to fighting underground, in the dark, and were able to hunt down any stragglers with ease.
Whipping her wand one through the air, Bellatrix sent a small knot of warriors flying backward, slaying three before they even struck the stone cavern floor. This was starting to become far too boring for her, and she was hoping that something interesting would happen soon.
This was why she almost jumped for joy when an arrow struck the nearest orc, slaying the creature even as the Horns of Rohan started to sound through the chamber. Alatar and his armies had arrived.
Delighted at the prospects of facing off against the powerful wizard again, Bellatrix skipped toward the sound, idly slaughtering a few goblins as she went, waiting for the first sign of the blazing Istari to catch her eye.
"Elendil!" was shouted by a familiar voice, and Bellatrix frowned as her wayward nephew stormed around the corner, with a host of warriors at his back. The boy was not the one she wanted to fight. The massive sword in the boy's hand shone with red flames in the gloom, and he charged the first ranks of orcs head on like some warlord of old.
Bellatrix paused momentarily, watching the ensuing bloodbath. Young Draco had indeed become a fierce warrior due to the teaching of the Istari. Perhaps the boy wasn't as weak as she supposed, but it was no matter. Draco had thrown his lot in with the enemies of her Lord, and must pay the consequences along with the rest.
"Avada Kedavera!" she intoned, eager to watch the green bolt strike the boy, killing him for good this time.
Unexpectedly, even though she had positioned herself out of his field of vision, the boy managed to twist himself mid strike and bring the wretched blade between him and the spell, sending the deadly energy flying off in a different direction. Snarling in indignation, Bella waded into the fray herself, spells and curses flying from her lips, mowing a path through the melee toward her beloved nephew.
The boy would die by her hand, even if her magic couldn't pierce whatever enchantment that blade possessed. Silently withdrawing the large dagger she kept for such occasions, Bella smirked as she silently drew close.
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Draco was sore already from just the first few exchanges in the tunnels. Now that he and the forces of Rohan had broken into the goblin city proper, he was quick to rally the besieged goblins along with his people. Andúril sang in blood and battle, sending vile orcs to their destruction with every stroke of death.
Even still, Draco could sense a greater malevolence somewhere in the battle, growing nearer and more familiar. It didn't take too long to realize that his Aunt was present here, fighting to overthrow this city just as he came to buy time for the goblins to escape. He had come to the conclusion that Gringotts was lost fairly soon into their fight through the tunnels, there were simply too many orcs to repel them all.
Instantly the entire mission's paradigm was shifted, turning from liberation into a rescue operation, as they fought to rescue every goblin citizen they could. A whisper from his blade, and Draco intentionally over swung the weapon, drawing back further than he normally would, and he felt the blade impact something vile, jarring him to the very core. Knowing that he had just survived death once again, Draco brought the blade full force onto the body of the orc before him, splintering its armor and slaying the foul beast.
He whirled, dodging the incoming blade of another enemy, and parrying the barbed shield that attempted to follow up its sword. The spirit of Eldarion hardly had to council him on how to move or act any longer, as Draco had grown into wielding this weapon of his heritage. Within a cluster of fighters, he became a small tornado of steel and magic, his wandless power having started to slowly manifest itself the previous summer.
Felling another large orc, Draco felt the tell-tale sign of danger, and he whirled, moments ahead of when Bellatrix herself blasted a Rohirric warrior that was back to back with Draco.
"My dear nephew!" she cried, false joy in her face.
Draco held his ground, knowing that taking his eyes of his Aunt for even a second would spell death.
"How nice of you to come and see our Lord's work in action!" Bellatrix continued, sickeningly happy.
Draco refused to play along, knowing that this was all an act to try and distract him. Pouting at his refusal to play her game, Bellatrix suddenly lunged, a dagger flashing in her hand. Had he not been prepared, Draco would easily have found himself impaled by the cruel blade. Case though it was, he parried it with his much larger weapon, rearing back to slash at his Aunt with the Sword of Kings.
"I don't think so!" she cried sadistically, dodging back and parrying his weapon with the dagger, bringing her wand to bear as a follow up.
Draco was forced to roll away as the blasting curse flew from the wand, wincing as it struck a warrior behind him. From behind his Aunt, Draco could see more orcs pouring from various corners of the underground city. From what he could see, all the goblins around them were dead, and the warriors of Rohan were being slowly pressed back out of the subterranean cavern.
Banking on the hope that some goblin warriors still lived, and would help them escape from the oncoming flow of orcs, Draco pulled from his cloak the Horn of Gondor, blaring out a strong sharp note. The orcs staggered, caught off guard by the powerful blast from the Gondorian horn, and even Bellatrix seemed to be shaken by it.
Swinging Andúril high, Draco attacked his Aunt again, savagely beating her back, even as she continued to dodge and parry his strikes. Once he had pushed her back to the line of orcs however, Draco foolishly over swung, which allowed the mad witch to slam into him, sending the sword flying over his head.
"Now, dear Nephew," she gloated, holding her wand on him, "Why don't you say hello to cousin Sirius for me!"
Time seemed to slow down around Draco as he watched the end of Bellatrix's wand start to glow deathly green. Before the curse could discharge and strike him down, however, his Aunt reared back in anger as a volley of arrows sailed into the orcish ranks around them.
Draco felt himself dragged back toward his own forces. "Quickly Lord Telcontar," one of the goblins holding his arms said as the led him away from the renewed battle, "there is little that can be done to recover the bank, we must get you and the human forces away from here quickly."
Draco stumbled along, pausing only to recover Andúril as he rejoined the swiftly retreating Rohirric warriors as the goblins guided them back through the passages, Bellatrix and the orcs hot in pursuit, ranting and screaming for their blood.
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Bellatrix raged at the audacity of the accursed goblins, preventing her from dispatching her irritating nephew. Their surprise attack did little more than buy them time however, as her orcs could outrun the weary warriors that little Draco had brought with him, and the goblins were already all but crushed.
Pursuing the lot of them through the countless passages, Bellatrix allowed several of the more ruthless orcs to take the lead, and as they rounded a sharp corner in the passage, she skidded to a halt as those same orcs were cut down by a surprise barrage of sharpened bone arrows.
The insidious goblins had thrown up a barricade in the tunnel, blocking their path before a large iron door. Bellatrix could see the human warriors disappear into a swarm of goblins beyond it before the door slammed with a resounding clang. Screaming in anger, Bellatrix leveled her wand on the barricade, blasting it apart and scattering the few defenders that were outside the massive metal gate.
Turning to the orc leader, "no matter how long it takes, tear down that door and slaughter all those beyond it. There can't be many places left for them to hide." The massive beast with iron plating spliced into its lower jaw grinned toothily as Bellatrix turned away.
The Dark Lord needed to be informed of this development, and she no longer desired to remain in these darkened tunnels any longer.
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Draco sighed in relief as the solid iron door to the goblin citadel slammed shut, blocking out the orcs and his Aunt. From what he glimpsed as the ran through, the metal was etched with goblin runes, and therefore more than likely heavily enchanted to resist any form of force that the orcs could use to breech the defenses.
"Lord Telcontar," a goblin said respectfully as he approached, "Lord Ragnok wishes to speak with you."
Draco hadn't a clue as to who the goblin was referring to, but if it meant being able to get his warriors to safety, and reporting back to Faykan and Harry, then he'd take it.
"Take me to him," Draco replied, following the goblin as they waded through the milling humans and goblin refugees in the underground fortress.
As it turned out, they immediately went to what appeared to be the main part of the camp, and a massive stone structure built out of the wall of the cavern. Ragnok, as it turned out, was the leader of the goblin nation in Britain. The gold armored Lord was suffering from a large wound on his shoulder, but showed little weakness from it as he met with Draco.
"I will be frank and brief, Lord Telconar," he said as Draco entered his chamber, "I thank you for your timely appearance, but I am grieved by the loss of the bank and many of my citizens."
Draco looked away, knowing that if he had come sooner, or with greater forces, much of this could be avoided. If only Harry or Faykan had joined him…
"I do not blame you, Lord Telcontar," the goblin said, catching Draco's downcast expression. "Nor do I blame Lords Alatar or Calenrohtar. They have many tasks placed before them, and if they did not come here at this moment they have their reasons."
Draco wasn't so certain of that, but the goblin Lord continued, "However, in spite of your arrival, and defense of my people, Gringotts had invariably fallen to our enemies. I am giving the order for all noncombatants of my people to flee to Orthanc, and the Istari's protection, while I and my fighters hold what parts we can maintain, ever hoping to break through and retake our homeland."
Pointing at Draco with a sharp finger, Lord Ragnok became slightly more intense in his speaking, and Draco could tell that the strain from his wound was paining him, "I wish for you and your human warriors to escort my people to safety, and relay the message to Lord Alatar, he will know when and how best to help us free ourselves."
Draco was torn. While he knew that he needed to fulfill the goblin lord's wishes, he still felt that there ought to be something here and now that he could do. "I understand," he said, turning back toward the solid metal door that separated these now refugees within and the many orcish warriors just outside.
'There is something we can do, before departing, that may buy the goblins much extra time…' whispered the spirit of Eldarion. Placing a hand on the sword hilt, Draco's mind was filled with a complicated spell of protection.
Halfway to his warriors, Draco immediately shifted direction and went straight to the door. Drawing Andúril reverently, Draco carefully stepped to the opening motions of the ritual-like spell that Eldarion had implanted directly into his mind. Slowly swinging the enchanted blade in an archaic pattern, the words implanted in his mind simply fell from his own mouth, and Draco found himself speaking the ancient language of the Kings of Númenor.
"Târik 'n dâira, kan kâtha abâr 'n ugru êphalak. Agan yakalubîm azgarâuruk nakh nimirad!"
From the base of the metal gates, a symbol of a brilliant white tree exploded upward, fixing itself over the door and shining in the gloom of the cave. The feeling of uselessness departed from Draco, and at last he felt that he could depart from here with some measure of security for the remaining goblins accomplished.
Quickly rallying his warriors, Draco led them to a sheltered corner of the large cavern, and quickly sent a messenger back to Orthanc to report to whomever he could find and request evacuation aid for the goblin nation.
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Harry sighed as he draped a wet cloth over Faykan's forehead. The boy had remained unconscious and feverish since they returned from Mordor, only growing steadily worse over the last few hours. Draco and his warriors had not returned during that time, and Harry was growing concerned, he had expected for Draco to at least send back a messenger Patronus when they made contact with Voldemort forces.
He'd have gone to check on them himself, but he couldn't leave Faykan alone, as his own magic was currently employed in keeping his best friend from slipping further away while he nursed Faykan back to health.
While he attempted to keep the fever down with a cloth and water, he was simultaneously performing as much random bits of magic around the room as he could, stimulating the atmosphere and charging it in effort to get Faykan's own core to react. There was a small whirlwind, little more than a dust devil now, scrubbing the stones as piled of scrolls and tomes lifting into the air, rearranged themselves more orderly and set back down again.
Colored lights were bobbing and winking in the air, new ones appearing whenever one extinguished itself, but thus far nothing seemed to have any effect on Faykan whatsoever. "I don't understand…" Harry said to himself aloud, growing worried. "It's not as thought the Horcrux had power enough to use a curse of its own…"
He paused, staring into space as he revisited the events in the crack of doom, widening his eyes in the horror of his own blind stupidity, "Oh, but it did…" he retracted, glancing down at Faykan's pale face. Knowing what he had to do, and not liking it one bit, Harry removed the green gem of his still relatively new staff.
Propping Faykan in his free arm, Harry held the emerald over his best friend, and opened his magic core wide, allowing pure power to funnel through the conduit of the staff focus. Slipping into a trance, Harry heard his own voice speaking words of power, Quenya, Sindarin, even traces of languages he couldn't place names to. At times he thought he heard voices other than his own, and a great pressure, almost a shadow, seemed to pervade the room around the pair of Istari.
After what felt like an eternity, Harry roped his magic around the unseen shade, and with an almighty heaving of his magical strength, tore the darkness out of Faykan, watching in disgust as the shadow dripping into the emerald, floating like a suspended liquid inside the jewel.
A brilliant flash of light magic, and the shadow of Mordor was incinerated. Sighing deeply, Harry felt all the muscles of his own body relax, and he sagged somewhat with the effort he had put forth to exorcise the Horcrux's dark influence from Faykan. All would be well now, after they both rested.
Settling Faykan back onto the pillows, Harry turned to leave for his own room, when a silvery-white form burst through the nearby wall. He recognized it first as a Patronus, then secondly as a kirinki, which indicated instantly as to whose Patronus it was.
"Send help immediately," Draco's voice spoke out of the bird. "Gringotts is overrun, and the goblin nation seeks refuge. Come quickly!"
Weary from all the activity of the last few hours, Harry dutifully gathered his staff, and after reaffixing the gem atop it, he took in a portion of the Patronus' magic before the remainder faded, allowing him to scry the location of the caster.
Behind Harry's eyes, a vision of the depth of Gringotts opened, and he marveled at the amount of destruction that Voldemort had caused to the bank. Knowing what he must do, Harry started for the exit, pausing only to pull from his robes the phial of Galadriel.
Closing a hand around the warm crystal, he murmured to himself, "Enni Elbereth vellas..."
Before Harry could move another step, a brilliant flash of light illuminated the room. Whirling, Harry searched for the source, his eyes falling upon the Faykan's sapphire and silver staff of power. The jewel atop it was glowing, and without thinking Harry lifted a hand. Without a thought or command, the staff flew to him, and Harry felt an increase of power surge within him, as well as the familiarity that he had with Faykan when he was around.
"Thank you Faykan," Harry said to the slumbering form of his greatest ally and friend, and he turned to go to Draco's rescue. Even as he made his way down, both staffs clutched in his hands, Harry had to stop and smile again as he encountered both Ron and Hermione, fully clad in their armor and holding their weapons.
"My friends…" he said wistfully.
"Harry," Ron said, keeping his tone even as he spoke, "We discussed some things, and we've agreed that we need to go help Draco, regardless of the events that just happened. The Goblins need us."
Harry had no words; he simply smiled and nodded, walking past them and out of the tower. Having knowledge of exactly where Draco and the goblins were holding out, Harry tore open a portal to the dark depths, stepping through with Ron and Hermione on his heels.
Goblin civilians immediately started gathering around them, there large eyes looking toward the portal desperately. Understanding what was needed, Harry turned Faykan's staff on the portal, pouring magic through his best friend's weapon to keep it open, and then planting the staff into the stone so that it remained upright. "Go," he told the goblins, "you will be safe at Orthanc."
As the goblin noncombatants started to rush through the portal to safety, Harry turned his attention to locating Draco. Spotting the warriors of Rohan gathered near a large iron door, they found Draco with several goblin warriors, holding a line of warriors as massive bangs coming from beyond the door. "Harry," Draco said as he turned to them all, "You made it!"
"What's the situation?" Harry replied, getting straight to the point as he looked concernedly at the door, which was starting to form large dents in the metal, even as an enchantment seemed to be sparking and shrieks of pain sounded from the far side.
"There's a ward on the door," Draco hurriedly explained, "but the orcs and their Death Eater allies are bombarding it anyway. As powerful as it is, I don't think it will hold much longer."
Harry nodded, "We should focus most of our efforts in evacuating the goblins, if the door falls, then I will be here to meet our enemy."
Draco, Ron and Hermione all nodded, leading the warriors away to help monitor and guide the civilians through the portal. Harry returned his attention to the door, studying the weakening ward that was placed upon it. He smirked to himself as he recognized the symbol of the Tree of Gondor imprinted into the magic; Draco's own handiwork.
Harry was very impressed with the complexity of the ward Draco had cast, even if there were a few things that he knew of that would have refined it. Regardless, it had done its job well, and the foes on the other side were expending great amounts of energy trying to break it down.
As the others around him swept into a storm of activity, getting every able body goblin well away from the entrance and ushering them towards the portal, Harry prepared several powerful spells, set to trigger the moment the doors were broken open. Finally, as the metal of the doors started to groaning protest to the stress from without, Harry removed the Phial of Galadriel once more.
Harry had taken great care in learning all he could about this wondrous object, in part from the Lady of Lórien herself. The light of the great jewel, named Eärendil; the Silmaril of the ancient elf-lords that was set in the heavens, was housed in this enchanted container, and would burn any evil that it came across, proving to be the most powerful weapon Harry had in his possession.
With an almighty crash, the iron doors parted, allowing Harry to see beyond it into a sea of snarling, angry faces. Another powerful rush of magic and steel, and the doors were ripped from their hinges, sending the towering sheets of metal flying, and activating Harry's delayed magic. A torrent of wind erupted, catching the doors and sending them flying backward into the mass of orcs, while fire and lightning blasted into their midst, slaying many, but the horde charged into the breach, where Harry stood alone as solid as a mountain before a flood.
Raising his staff high, Harry aimed the Phial of the elves at the oncoming tide, allowing his magic to burn with the light of the great elf-star, and releasing a blast of power that illuminated every shadow on the cavern. "You cannot enter here!" he bellowed, his voice rising and falling like the sea, while more of his magic released itself in torrents, thunder cracked and lightning flashed all around, slaying dozens of orcs and other evil minions as they attempted to escape the wrath of Eärendil.
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Bellatrix had only just returned from reported their great success to the Dark Lord, just in time to see the giant flash of magical light and hear the shrieks of orcs as they were slain. A ripple of magic now permeated the air, and it was most familiar to the dark witch now.
Potter.
The boy Lord was here now, in this underground chambers. Another wonderful opportunity to slay him and become her Lord's most favored for all time. Peering around the finally corner to the bolt hole that the Goblins had hid themselves in, Bellatrix scowled at the devastation that the one wizard child could produce, bodies strewn everywhere, most burned beyond all recognition. The great iron doors were warped and imbedded in the cavern wall, thrown there with great force.
And still the boy stood there in the open, surrounded by the remaining orcs and few Death Eaters, but in an instant he was flying like a great predatory bird, darting from one foe to another, lashing with sword and jewel-tipped staff, causing far more damage than any of his opponents hoped to inflict upon him.
Bellatrix took several moments to watch, studying the boy as he fought. His magic was alive and flying from his form, unseen to those in whom magic did not run deeply. It flowed around Potter like the wings of a great bird, which did not harm the image he was cutting of a vengeful angel among his foes.
But if Potter represented an angel of light, then Bellatrix would clip his wings once and for all. Taking careful aim, she fired a Killing Curse into the melee, watching with glee as it pelted toward the wizard.
There was no way the boy ought to have dodged, or even seen her spell coming before it was too late, but still, miraculously, he turned at just the right moment, slamming his staff into the stones at his feet, and projecting a powerful shield that took the full impact of the Curse. It was magic beyond anything Bellatrix had faced, to be able to block the Curse of Death that was before inescapable. But it seemed that such power was free flowing in Potter and his little friends, as they had escaped certain death far too often to be mere chance.
Drawing her dagger, Bellatrix decided to take matters in hand far more directly. Cackling in delight she charged Potter, firing a barrage of curses as a distraction, she herded the boy to one side, allowing herself to reach deeply into her new set of magical talents. Summoning forth an illusion of horror, she flung the powerful spell at Potter, watching his eyes as he focused on the spell and whatever person fear it conjured for him.
The Boggart's apparition, a name she herself had coined for this powerful illusion, was swiftly becoming one of her favorites for dividing and conquering her enemies. Unlike the real creature, this illusion was not limited to taking upon one form to frighten, but would appear in the minds of every target as their worst nightmare.
Smirking as the boy occasionally, and possibly quite unconsciously, ducked and dodged attacks that were never there, she took the advantage and laid into the boy, unleashing her full repertoire of Dark Magic, slowly whittling down the Potter's defenses, drawing closer to the final downfall of the Dark Lord's most hated enemy.
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Harry knew that the image of Faykan, possessed and crazed, was an illusion, but it didn't help his mind as he tried to focus on fighting Bellatrix as the apparition shot powerful, and very real seeming spells at him.
Back and forth the three figures danced, but Harry knew Bellatrix only saw himself and she. He could have easily brought out the Phial once again and banished the specter, as well as heavily aided himself fighting the witch, but he had already used a massive amount of his personal magic in destroying the initial assault of orcs. Quickly looking back, he saw that almost all of the goblins were safely away, and Ron, Draco and Hermione were casting concerned glances back at him as he fought with Bellatrix.
It was just a few minutes longer, and he would no longer be alone in this fight. Bellatrix had started to alternate between wand and her long dagger, often getting dangerously close to inflicting deep wounds on Harry, but Hadhafang met the smaller blade every time, parrying it safely away and oft times returning a strike that pushed the mad witch back several steps.
The illusion of Faykan laughed darkly as he began channeling a spell, and Harry tried very hard to focus away from it, but he felt his eyes and mind drawn to the dark image. Pulled from his own memories of events only hours previous, the twisted form of his best friend danced around the pair of real combatants, and conjured a massive ball of flame and darkness, and Harry couldn't stop himself from leaping backwards to avoid the false attack. Bellatrix struck just then, slicing his sword arm deeply with her dagger, and Harry had to fight just to keep from dropping Hadhafang. Quickly stowing the weapon, he dodged back from her follow up attack, and slammed the jeweled head of his staff into her stomach, blasting her backward with the magical force behind the artifact.
"It'll take more than that to stop me, Potter!" Bellatrix sneered, jabbing her wand at him in retaliation, and sending jets of inky blackness at him. Harry erected a shield if light in retaliation, but he could feel his already greatly depleted reserves of strength fading.
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Draco had just escorted the last of the goblin refugees through the portal when he heard Hermione scream. Turning to look, he saw Harry battling with Bellatrix, and beyond them, a fresh horde of orcs and Death Eaters flooding the passage as they stampeded toward their position.
"Come on!" Ron yelled, drawing his spear and charging at Bellatrix, Hermione following behind with her bow strung and loaded. The men of Rohan looked hesitantly at Draco, waiting for a command. A fire exploded in Draco's stomach, and he raised Andúril, "Elendil! Elendil!" The men roared their battle cries, and as one, they hurtled after his friends, Draco at their head.
Bellatrix's head snapped up as they thundered towards her and Harry, and she grinned as she leveled her wand on them. "No!" Harry yelled, and a powerful blast from his staff knocked the witch flying. But the orcs were upon them already, and Draco, along with Hermione and Ron, had to fight their way to their friend, weapons quickly becoming drenched in black blood.
As they reached him, Draco spotted instantly that Harry was wounded, his sword arm seeping blood as he held it tightly to his chest. Quickly, they formed a ring around Harry, and the Rohirrim warriors built upon their formation instantly, slowly expanding outward as they widened the circle of death.
"Draco…" Harry said haggardly, pulling him back from the front line of the circle, "the sword, use Andúril's might!"
Draco widened his eyes, understanding what Harry asked of him, but afraid of unleashing the full power of the sword. Andúril had had many names and titles throughout the ages of men, Excalibur being one of the more famous, but there was another, with a massive legend all its own: the Ashbringer; a weapon sent from heaven to smite the forces of darkness with the fires of judgment.
Seeing that they were soon to be overwhelmed, and that Harry was in no more shape to safely use his massive power, Draco nodded solemnly. Drawing on his personal magic, and tapping into the font the sword possessed from the myriads of hands it had passed through to him, Draco raised the weapon high. Harry placed his hand on Draco's should, and he felt the black haired boy push even more magical strength into him, even as Draco felt a damn of fiery indignation explode in his chest.
These orcs were threatening the people of Middle Earth, subjects that were rightfully Draco's own, people and beings that he himself was chosen to lead and protect. The flames all along the blade roared as they swelled in size, turning from red-orange to blue and finally pure white. Turning upon the nearest foe, Draco saw the blackest form of evil, and swung his weapon.
The orc had no time to even cry out, it was incinerated in a moment. Time seemed to slow around Draco as he calmly moved from emend to enemy, bringing down the full measure of the Valar's wrath upon them with every stroke of the Flame of the West.
Soon the orcs were fleeing, and in their midst Bellatrix vanished without a trace. Draco, guided and sustained by the rage of Andúril, aimed the sword at the tunnel that connected their chamber to the rest of the bank. Flames leapt from the blade, blasting and searing the stones of the cavern, caving in the section of stone and blocking out the orcs from ever again coming upon them by that route.
Satisfied, the sword returned to its original state, leaving Draco feeling drained and somewhat at peace. The men of Rohan that survived cheered at the display of the sword of Kings, and at their victory.
The return to Orthanc was mostly a blur for Draco, as he tried to rationalize what he had experienced when the sword itself had unleashed its powerful magic. There seemed little end to the abilities that the blade possessed, and there was no doubt in his mind that the stories passed down from generation to generation, under whatever name the blade had been given, were all true.
As Ron, Hermione and Harry settled matters with the goblins and the warriors that returned with them, Draco turned for his own room. Feeling suddenly more tired than he had ever been in his life, he knew that he needed sleep immediately. Even as he collapsed on his bed fully clothed, he could still feel the pulse of magical power from the sword, just waiting for the next time its power was needed.
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Hermione knew that Harry was dead on his feet from the battle far under Gringotts just from looking at him, not that it stopped the boy from making absolutely certain that their new residents had everything that they would need.
As they finally made their way back to the tower however, she nudged Ron, who glanced at Harry, and understandingly supported him as they climbed the stairs to the great front doors. "No, really I'm fine," Harry protested as they entered.
"Like hells you are," said a new voice as they passed the archway into the main room with the Palantír.
"Faykan, you're awake!" Hermione said happily, turning to see the boy sitting in a chair by the far flights of stairs up to the tower rooms. They all embraced, Hermione noticing that Faykan cringed slightly as he was moved suddenly.
"Yes," he affirmed, "albeit a little worse for wear than I'd like, not that you lot have anything to complain about… what happened?"
They explained, taking time to make sure they covered all the important details of the plea from Gringotts and the subsequent battles in the deep caverns of the Goblin Nation. Faykan listened passively throughout their tale, seeming to be deep in thought over the events.
When they finished, the ancient Istari slammed a hand down on his chair arm in frustration, rising quickly. "This has gone on far too long." He said swiftly, beginning to pace angrily, "We have allowed ourselves to be pushed onto the defensive, fighting a war that is slowly losing us ground. We've nearly lost many of our friends, and so many warriors have laid down their lives to keep Voldemort at bay. No more!"
Faykan paused, his eyes burning with fury, "We must take the fight to Voldemort's strongholds, drive him from our lands and away from those we are trying to protect."
Hermione agreed in her heart, but the problems that line of actions created still worried her. "Where would we even begin?" Ron said, "It's not like we really know where any of his bases are…"
Faykan's eyes flashed dangerously as he smiled, "Oh, but we know one of them, and it's probably the central hub of his command… but getting in is the problem that only Draco can solve for us…"
And with those words, Faykan turned and slowly ascended the stairs.
Harry and Ron followed soon after, the red haired boy helping their friend get to his room to rest. Hermione tried to distract herself for a short while, but she couldn't get the constant questions out of her mind.
How exactly were they going to get the location of one of Voldemort's base from Draco? She guessed that Faykan had meant Malfoy Manor by the reference to Draco, but if he had been thrown out of the family by his father, wouldn't any defensive wards hold him out as well? The list grew longer and longer as she thought about it, and there seemed no immediate relief in the form of answers.
It would be so much easier if they had an inside man that could feed them information about where and when to strike… Hermione started, realizing the blindness in her fretting over the complexity of the problem. Of course they had an inside man, or at least the next best thing.
Sprinting up the stairs for her room, Hermione withdrew the portrait of Headmaster Black that they had claimed from Grimmauld Place. Professor Snape would be more than capable of helping them in this task.
Târik 'n dâira, kan kâtha abâr 'n ugru êphalak. Agan yakalubîm azgarâuruk nakh nimirad! - Pillar of earth, hold all strength of shadow far away. Death fall upon warring orcs who approach this protected place! (Númenórean)
enni Elbereth vellas : Elbereth give me strength…