Chapter 13

Harry kept his head down as he strode quickly through the echoing halls of Gringotts. There were other patrons about, and he wasn't sure what he would do if someone shouted his name, invaded his space, and pressed their sweaty hand into his just now. There was a likely looking goblin ahead, and Harry wasted no time on pleasantries. "Varnuk?"

The goblin barely glanced up from the armload of parchment it was perusing. "Head offices, top floor. Third door on the left."

Harry nodded in thanks—a gesture which was deftly ignored—and squinted after the little man as they passed each other. There was that strange, faintly luminous shape lurking over the goblin, just like the others. It seemed to echo the goblin's movements, but it was indistinct and flickered in and out of view.

Harry pressed the heel of his palm to his left eye and gave his head a good shake. "And now I'm hallucinating," he muttered to himself, hurrying onward.

The wide, grand stairs were a sight, to be sure, but after the sixth flight Harry was too busy wishing the Goblins had installed rail-carts for the upper floors to be impressed.

By the eighth flight Harry was seriously considering just turning around and forgetting about whatever it was Sirius had left him—surely it wasn't worth this trouble.

At the top of the ninth flight, Harry was feeling mildly impressed with himself for not being a wheezing wreck. He was fairly certain the goblins had designed the bank this way on purpose. The urgency of a fiscal complaint surely depended on how difficult it was to reach the head offices, and magic made life a bit too convenient for the average witch or wizard to be a paragon of fitness.

Not this wizard, Harry thought to himself. As he'd been chased around by everyone and their dog lately, he got quite enough exercise.

The top step passed under a towering stone archway, supported by pillars of black obsidian. The room beyond was huge—a wide expanse of black stone with gold flecks that mirrored the soaring height of the dome above. Harry thought he recognized it from the outside, one of several such structures that capped the snowy summit of the bank. It was painted a deep indigo blue, with delicate symbols and archaic diagrams detailed in gold.

Massive doors ringed the circumference of the room, each set back into the curvature of the wall and fronted by a pair of obsidian columns.

In the room's very center, there was an odd structure that was comprised of two massive stone pillars standing next to each other, with another set atop to bridge the two. Harry couldn't picture goblins being modern art enthusiasts, and so the purpose of the arch was a mystery. Groups of goblins were scattered across the chamber, looking very important and uncompromisingly busy. They all looked up from their discussions when he entered.

Momentarily flummoxed, Harry simply raised a hand and then pointed to his left by way of explanation. None of them moved to stop him, so he hesitantly continued walking until he reached the third door.

There was a metal plate there, set at eye-level for a goblin, but its inscription was written in what Harry assumed to be Gobbledegook. Sighing to himself, he knocked, wondering if the goblin would even be able to hear him through the thick wood. Why did they even need such massive doors? As far as Harry was aware, Giants didn't open accounts here.

Faintly, he heard a grumbled, "Enter!"

The door was just as heavy as it looked, and the office beyond as well furnished as the meeting room he had just escaped from.

"What can I help you with?" the goblin asked from behind his absurdly large desk. He looked seriously put out at being interrupted from whatever he had been doing.

Harry hated dealing with goblins. They always left him feeling as if every word he said—his very presence even—was an insult to be tolerated. It felt rather like summer with the Dursleys, in fact. As a consequence, his question came out rather clipped. "Are you Varnuk?"

"Yes."

Harry stepped further into the room, and the goblin's scowl deepened. Harry willed himself patience. "I was told to see you about my godfather's will."

"Ah," the goblin said, and paused. "Am I meant to divine a name, or would you care to perhaps enlighten me?"

Harry fought down a twitch of annoyance—true, he may have been a bit presumptuous, but there was no way the goblin didn't know who he was that he should expect him today, and…. Harry squinted. There was that flicker of something—a hulking, spectral monster coming in and out of focus above the goblin. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck began to stand up, and his eye throbbed. He pressed a hand to it, and realized the goblin was speaking. "I'm sorry… what?"

"Are you just accidentally wasting my time, or is it on purpose? I have very little patience for either," the goblin snapped.

"Sirius Black," Harry growled. Since it didn't appear that the goblin would offer, he went ahead and took a seat in front of the desk.

Varnuk didn't bat an eye, which perversely annoyed Harry. "Ah," said the goblin. "And that would make you…?"

"Harry Potter," Harry ground out.

"At the lead of the pack, I take it?" Varnuk commented, donning a pair of spectacles and examining some papers.

"Right," Harry said, becoming progressively more annoyed and hoping the goblin would shut up and get on with it.

"Oh! Well," the goblin said, and seemed pleasantly surprised. He'd pulled out an envelope from one of his many drawers. "He didn't leave you much at all, did he?"

Harry was wishing Sirius hadn't left him anything at the moment. "Right then. Can I just take it and go?"

"I'd be grumpy if all I'd received was a trifle as well, from a man that wealthy," the goblin chuckled. He slapped a bit of parchment and a quill down. "Sign here."

Harry's signature nearly tore the parchment, and he swiped the envelope from the desktop. It was slightly heavy in one corner, but flat. A coin, perhaps. He folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket. "Thank you," he said shortly.

Just before he turned to leave, he abruptly realized what the shape hovering around the goblin reminded him of. Those glowing, branching lines, like blood vessels, growing clearer every second…. Unbidden, the question escaped him. "What is that?"

The goblin blinked once, expression flat. "What is what?"

Harry gestured vaguely at the shape. "That… that…" Did the goblin even know what he was talking about?

He became aware that the little man had gone stiff, eyes narrowing. The goblin's manner suddenly reminded him of a venomous snake—perfectly still, ready to strike. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

Harry advanced on the desk, hands suspended somewhere between strangulation and supplication. "Tell me—just tell me what it is." He didn't care what the goblin did—here were answers. Here was the truth. He would thrash the information out of the little creature if he had to. He gripped the varnished wood, and smoke whispered up between his fingers. "Please."

The goblin leaned back slightly. "Yes, well… I will see what I can do." He edged around the desk, as if worried Harry would snap and attack at any moment. "I must, ah, secure the proper permissions, so if you'll just wait here, Mr. Potter, I'll just go and…" And then Varnuk sped from the room.

Harry knew immediately he had made a mistake. He shouldn't have let the goblin leave. And now… now it was probably best to get the hell out of here before Varnuk came back with some compatriots to take care of things.

Either the goblin really hadn't a clue as to what Harry was talking about, and had gone for help to handle the 'disturbed wizard' in his office, or… he knew exactly what Harry was talking about, and for some reason had decided that it was dangerous information.

In which case he would be going to get help to handle the disturbed wizard in his office.

Harry cursed, raking a hand through his hair. He shouldn't have let his mouth get ahead of his brain, but it seemed to be a character flaw that just wouldn't quit. It probably hadn't helped that Harry was already irritated enough to throttle the little berk.

The real question was: how many goblins could one unarmed school-aged wizard handle? And was information—which was by no means a sure thing—worth it?

Harry ground his teeth. One way or another, he was going to get some answers.

To that end, he began summoning the sharp little crystals that made up the modest—by goblin standards—chandelier that hung overhead. They weren't nails, but they would do in a pinch. Hopefully he was just being paranoid, and wouldn't really need them.

He waited, staring hard at the door, and wished he could go alert any of the handful of witches and wizards downstairs to his predicament. Stupid, really, sending him out and about without a wand. But for all he knew, Varnuk could have alerted every goblin in the building, and if Harry had to pick a place to fight them, he'd rather have them bottlenecked at the doorway.

Maybe they wouldn't attack him after all. It was probably better to wait and see what they had to say than to jump to conclusions. It would be a horrible thing if Varnuk had actually gone to put a packet of information together for him, only to have Harry impale him with dozens of pieces of fine crystal the moment he walked through the door.

He was just thinking he was likely overreacting—still harboring demons from his experience aboard the Galloping Galleon and jumping at shadows—when the door burst open.

He instinctively jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding a hissing jet of light. "Wait—I just want to know—" He cursed and ducked again. This is what optimism does for you, he thought, banishing his heavy chair toward his attackers. Next time I'll maim first and ask questions later.

There was a screech, and then the chair burst apart in a shower of splinters—which turned in midair to dart in a swarm straight at him.

Harry yelped and banished a handful of flashing crystal back at them, before leaping to slide bodily across the desk. Just before he dropped out of sight, his shoulder blossomed with pain. He landed hard and scooted up with his back to the desk drawers. A quick investigative prodding found a spray of massive splinters sticking out of his shoulder like porcupine quills, and a patch of red was spreading quickly across his shirt.

A spell crashed into the front of the desk, shoving Harry forward. He glimpsed motion out of the corner of his eye—one of the goblins was trying to angle around the furniture for a better shot. Quickly, he summoned a heavy looking candelabrum to his hand, swung back, and intercepted the goblin's face with a satisfying thwak.

Another curse shot by overhead, missing his hair by inches, but something heavy—a globe or an inkwell—skittered across the desk in its wake, clubbing Harry over the head.

Harry lost his temper.

"Enough!" he shouted, turning and banishing the mammoth desk with the force of a thunderclap. It shot away in a whirl of air and loose papers, clearing furniture and goblins alike, before smashing across the open doorway with a resounding bang.

A chorus of howls let him know he'd managed to pin a few of the creatures, but there were still a handful picking themselves up from the wreckage of the office. Harry's gaze darted around in search of resources. The inkwell! It lay shattered, its dark contents spreading over the stone floor.

Harry lunged toward it, ducking beneath a flying curse, and slid sideways across the divide. Rushing light, sound, and sensation buffeted his senses, flipping him about like a finch in a storm. He tumbled, and landed gasping for air—upon the slick stone tiles of Gringotts.

Harry lay frozen in bafflement. Had he failed to cross over properly?

No—it was a different Gringotts from the one he knew, but it was the same building nonetheless.

Harry had no time to ponder it further or celebrate his success—he turned and nearly choked on his tongue. The hulking shapes he'd seen only faintly before were now nearly solid, and where the smaller shapes of the goblins had been composed before of flesh and blood, they were now made up of branching, glowing lines.

After recovering from the initial shock, Harry realized that the goblins—or whatever they were—couldn't see him. They were rushing from the office, out toward the center of the atrium.

Harry followed them. He needed to find his way to safety, of course, but he also wanted to know what they were doing. They were hurrying, but with purpose. He looked up at the lines and symbols that decorated the interior of the dome—and instead of gold paint, they were lit up in blue and white like the night sky. And the crude arch in the center of the chamber seemed to be siphoning that light toward itself, pulling it inward and down where it pulsed and shimmered like a sheet of water.

A chill went up his spine, and he decided that he really didn't need to know what they were doing after all. No matter what he might learn at this point—he wouldn't be able to use the knowledge if he was dead.

A flash of brilliant light blinded him, and it was accompanied by a roaring wind. He raised his hand in an effort to shield his eyes, only remembering a moment later that his hand was glowing as well.

What had happened—? Another flash lit up the dark chambers.

And another. And another.

Harry could see shapes racing toward him through the light. He stumbled, turned, and ran.

Careening through halls that were familiar, across rooms that shouldn't have been there, and jumping down the spaces between spaces, Harry ran. There were branching corridors that had never been in the Gringotts he knew, and where the halls should have led him to freedom, they instead took him other places. He could still see the outlines of wards and the twisting lines of the tunnels far below, layer upon layer of unfathomably deep places, and it made him dizzy.

He could hear his pursuers behind him, but there finally was the outer ward, just beyond what he knew to be the front hall. It sprang up from the stone, so thick as to be nearly opaque, with countless bright motes and sparks rushing upward in a constant torrent. On the other side, Harry thought he could see the crowd of bobbing lights that were the reporters. They were acting strangely—scattering in apparent panic before crossing over the ward—and then Harry could see why.

Crowded up on the other side of the spitfire brightness was a legion of writhing, creeping, crawling black shapes. They howled and railed against the ward, hissing at its touch, moving back and forth before it ceaselessly.

Harry skidded to a stop a hairsbreadth before the barrier, and the dark creatures swelled up like a tide before him.

"Do not go that way, Harry Potter," growled a voice behind him.

Harry spun. He looked up—and up and up—and his jaw dropped. The figures that had pursued him were of monstrous proportions. Nearing two and a half meters in height, they loomed over him in the dark. Powerfully built, with long limbs and wickedly clawed hands, Harry might have taken them for emaciated trolls. But their faces—pointed and clever—looked just like….

"Varnuk?" Harry sputtered, and pointed at them. "Goblins?"

The towering beings leered closer, and Harry stepped back. The tide of dark creatures held behind the barrier surged at his proximity.

"You would not last long out there with them, Mr. Potter," Varnuk spoke again. His clever eyes glittered. "It is your choice, of course—we would be well satisfied with your death if you will not cooperate."

Harry grimaced. Certain death under a wriggling, sucking, clawing mass of darkness, or possible death at the hands of these 'goblins?' No, there had to be a third option. Then it hit him—

"Now you always have water," Karakash had told him.

The horn! There it was, clinging to his glowing form, looking just as it had in the real world. He snatched it up, staring into its hollow center. How could he make it work?

"I'm afraid your little rock will not avail you," Varnuk sneered. "You are in our realm now, Harry Potter."

Harry, who didn't plan on throwing the horn at them, ignored the goblin. Fill up, he silently pled, turning the horn this way and that. Spill out! As he turned it on its side, a thin stream of neon blue water trickled out. Yes!

"What—" one of the goblins began, stepping forward.

At Harry's mental request, the trickle turned into a torrent that nearly propelled the horn from his grasp. It flooded the ground, driving the goblins back, and sending Harry slipping toward the barrier. Not good—

He let himself drop through the water, immediately enveloped by flashing light, buffeting forces that pulled and wrenched, and then the pressure that squeezed him down to nothing, before he popped out the other side.

As usual, gravity seemed confused for a moment, spitting him out and then dropping him unceremoniously upon the stone.

No one noticed one boy appearing out of nowhere: the front of Gringotts was embroiled in utter pandemonium. There was a line on the ground—on one side was the bank, along with throngs of panicked reporters and shoppers. On the other side of the line, everything was covered in a thick layer of hoarfrost, people had collapsed to the ground while others sobbed on their knees, and there was hail flying through the air. The dark flurries amidst it all were trying to take on a distinct shape that Harry knew all too well.

"Help me!" he shouted at the petrified onlookers, before summoning his Patronus and wading out into the chaos. Ice crystals bit at his face, and frost grew on his knuckles as he directed the shimmering stag from one huddled figure to another. He knew on the other side he would be pushing through a forest of bodies—scaly, slimy, ravenous creatures—and could feel their grasping appendages go right through him.

He slipped on the ice, and nearly fell upon the nearest victim. "Are you all right?" he asked, pulling the older man to his feet.

Soon, there were other Patronuses flitting through the storm, and they worked to pull those caught inside it to safety. Slowly but surely the hail and winds dissipated.

After it was over, more than one person came up to Harry to pat him on the back, or ask, "How did you know which spell to use?"

"Lucky guess," he told them. Inwardly, the guilt was eating him alive. Somehow, he'd brought those creatures here. He had to figure out how to stop it from happening again. But first he just had to get the hell out of here.

"Harry!" Tonks said, sitting upright when he burst into the conference chamber. "That was quick—"

"Was it?" he asked distractedly. "They've got really excellent service I guess—can we go?"

"Uh, yeah," she said as he hustled her up. She'd been talking with Remus, who blinked at Harry's demeanor. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall also looked up from where they were conversing on the other side of the room.

"Sorry—sorry everyone," Harry said, and briefly met Dumbledore's gaze. The old man frowned slightly, but Harry was already pulling Tonks out the door.

"Hey, Harry, did you hear about what happened out front? Apparently there was some kind of flash-frost or hail storm—the whole street is covered in ice!"

"Uhuh," Harry said, walking fast. He wanted out of this place before the goblins figured out where he'd gone. He blinked hard as his vision swam.

Tonks actually had to trot to keep up with him. "Yeah, they were saying that those reporters got caught in the middle of it—they all started feeling chilled, and then—Harry, what's that all over your—are you bleeding?"

She tugged him to a stop, and pulled him around. Harry followed her gaze and mentally groaned. His shoulder and arm was slick with blood. "What happened?" she asked, pulling out her wand and carefully pushing his sleeve up.

Harry hissed. "It's a long story—here, I got it…" He held the material out of the way so she could see the weeping punctures. He'd tried to get all the splinters out when he'd appeared back in the real world, but he could see that he'd missed some.

"Christ, Harry," she muttered, weaving a spell that settled over the wound like a dollop of translucent putty. When she pulled it away, all the bits of wood came with it.

"That was weird looking," Harry commented.

"Yeah, it's pretty thorough," she agreed distractedly.

Harry pressed on his aching left eye, wondering if she was seeing the same thing he was.

Tonks shook her head in exasperation, casting quick healing and cleaning spells—Harry hadn't realized he'd been running around covered in ink as well. "Should be good now, but you'll still want to get it checked out by the nurse when you get back to Hogwarts."

He nodded dutifully.

"Seriously, Harry, what happened?"

"I think," he began slowly, "I may have found out something about the goblins that they didn't want found out."

She groaned softly. "Oh Harry, what did you do? Getting on the goblins' bad side is really, really not a good idea."

"I know." Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm not sure what it means yet."

"Well, tell me what you think you found out."

Harry eyed her. "What if I told you that when I look at a goblin, I also see… something else. Like another version of that goblin, bigger, but hazy."

To his surprise, she didn't gawk at him, but instead took on a pensive expression. "Can you see anything else unusual?"

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Just bits and pieces here and there. A part of a spell other people can't see."

"And when did this start? Could you always see these things?"

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. "No, it just started this summer."

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "I have a crazy idea, but you're awfully young… Have you ever heard of Mage sight?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, look it up when you get back to the castle. I'll do some digging, too, but I'm afraid there's not much published on the subject. But I know that's one thing they sometimes talk about: seeing a certain duality about some creatures." She gave an exaggerated shiver. "Always used to think it was existential bullshit."

"D'you think… Dumbledore?"

"Surprisingly, no," she said, sounding weary. "That would make it easier, wouldn't it? The only wizard I know of who has it—but you would never get an audience with him—is Nicholas Flamel. He's a famous—oh, you know of him?"

Harry grinned wryly.

"What don't you know about?" Tonks teased him, sounding pleased. Then she sobered. "I'm sure there must be more of them in the world, but he's the only one anybody talks about."

"Thank you, Tonks," he said earnestly. He knew he was asking a lot, considering how much she'd already helped him, but… "There's something else I need your help with."

It didn't take them long to Floo in to the Auror's headquarters—but it did take some convincing before Tonks would agree to go along with Harry's plans.

"Look," he said desperately. Tonks was sitting in her cluttered cubicle with her arms crossed, and Harry was perched on the corner of her desk. "Bahari might not be our guy, but he knows something."

"You say that like you're not planning on smashing his face in the next time you see him," Tonks said skeptically.

Harry couldn't deny it. The man's voice was ringing in his head even now, taunting, laughing. "His signature was on the invitations—he's the secret keeper. He's the one who let me on to the ship. He knows what happened to me, he knows why, and he knows about Mr. Weasley and the Dursleys."

Tonks chewed her lip. Her hair was standing on end and bright blonde, reflecting her agitated mood. "I don't like it."

"I just want to ask some questions."

Tonks leaned forward, her expression serious. "The only reason you're even allowed in here is that you're about to start training in a few weeks. I can't let you go around questioning people—"

"I'm going to find him with or without your help, Tonks," Harry cut in, feeling like a cad, but unwilling to back down. "I don't need Auror clearance to ask questions."

Tonks stared at him a moment longer, before smacking the surface of her desk in frustration. "I'm going to get in so much trouble for this." She stood. "Come on; I know who we can talk to."

They wound through the warren of desks and cubicles in the lofty Arena, as Tonks called it, trying to avoid the curious gaze of more than one on-duty Auror. They passed through the double doors that took them out into the Ministry proper (Harry furiously patted his hair down over his scar), took an immediate right, and went through a doorway that read 'Department of Magical Surveillance and Census.'

"Paper pushers," Tonks clarified in a murmur. Harry snorted.

They descended several flights of stairs—each level seemed home to flocks of witches and wizards at work doing unintelligible things with gigantic sparkling orbs, vast walls covered in glowing runes, or stacks and stacks of monstrous rolls of parchments. There was even a floor that seemed wholly dedicated to a vast and shallow pool of water, around which crowded dozens of witches and wizards who seemed to be hotly debating whatever it was they saw.

To Harry's disappointment, they kept going down several more levels until they reached a rather underwhelming room which—though it was difficult to tell being that it was so dark and dusty—seemed to be full of towering rows of horizontally rolled up parchments. Some were old and yellowing, some were rather crisp, but they all shared a trend toward being ridiculously massive—each roll was at least seven feet long and a foot in diameter.

"Oh, hello N—Tonks!" spoke up a rather timid voice.

Harry gave a start—he hadn't seen the small man at first, but it wasn't all that much of a surprise, since the man's desk was drowning under scrolls and loose bits of parchment, and illuminated just as poorly as the rest of the cavernous room.

"Hi there, Warner," Tonks replied as they approached the desk.

Harry squinted at the man. He had rather mousy brown hair and unremarkable features, and his nametag clearly read 'Warren.' The man didn't seem to mind the mistake, though—his face had lit up in Tonks' presence, and he practically begged, "Can I help you with anything?"

Harry found himself scowling, and carefully schooled his features. It wasn't Warner's—Warren's—fault he was smitten.

Tonks seemed to capitalize on the man's obvious infatuation, and reclined casually on the edge of his desk. Warner—Warren!—hurriedly cleared some papers out of the way for her.

"Actually, yes," she said, smiling. "We were hoping you could help us find something. Someone."

Warren's eyes flicked only briefly toward Harry. "Not that I'm not flattered—because I am!—but don't you think you'd have more luck with—"

"Well that's the thing," she interrupted. "We kind of want to keep it quiet. And I knew you were good at keeping things quiet."

Warren swallowed. Harry regarded Tonks with no small measure of surprise. Her gaze darted to meet his and he thought she might have winked.

"Um, well—well yes, I could probably…. Who is it that you're looking for?"

Harry didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the spell Tonks seemed to have over the little man, and was happy to let her do all the talking. "Bahari."

Warren pushed away from his desk and rolled his chair around the corner of the nearest row of scrolls. "Living or deceased?"

"Alive," Tonks said, as she and Harry followed the rolling man. "Male."

"Huh," Warren said, pushing himself along in front of the rows with his wand raised. Harry couldn't fathom what he was doing exactly, but he thought he could see faintly glowing lines of runes floating at the wand's tip. "Nationality?"

"We don't know, exactly," Tonks said, looking to Harry for confirmation.

"Probably Indian," Harry supplied.

"Current country of residence?"

Tonks shrugged. "That's what we need you for."

"Yes, I'd imagined. Never hurts to check, though…" Warren trailed off, zipping away around the end of the row. Tonks and Harry exchanged a look and followed him.

"Well," Warren was saying, as if he hadn't noticed they weren't right next to him. "There are thousands of Baharis—and several hundred of them are magical or have magical relations." He looked up at them.

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. Was it possible the man they were looking for wasn't even a wizard? Inspiration struck. "Do you have access to ship registries?"

Warren tapped his wand against his hand pensively. "Yes."

It was clear he was beginning to question the search, and Harry wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

Tonks came to the rescue. "Can you look for a Bahari currently working on a magical vessel?"

Under Tonks' gaze, Warren suddenly became pliant again. "Of course!" He rolled back to the front of the rows, following his wand, and moved down two more. "Here we go—it looks like there are a handful, but most of them are deckhands on fishing vessels… there's another working on a research crew… and an Amir Bahari who is the first mate—ah…"

Tonks and Harry both perked up at the last one. Tonks spoke. "What? What's the problem?"

"Look," Warren said, leaning back uncomfortably. "I really don't want to get into this whole mess, okay?"

"What whole mess?" she prodded.

"This… this, you know… there are way too many people with fingers in that pot, and I don't want—"

"You don't have to do anything," Harry broke in. "Just tell us where we can find him. That's it."

Warren stared at him for a moment, as if finally seeing him for the first time. Then he looked down and shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

Harry looked at the little man, and thought of all the ways he could make him talk. This… person was the only thing standing between him and finding the man who was responsible for taking Arthur and the Dursleys, and holding Harry himself captive. And this person was refusing to talk because he didn't want to get 'involved?' Harry's hands twitched with a desire to thrash the little man. "You can help me, and you will," Harry heard himself say.

Warren looked up quickly—whatever he saw in Harry's eyes made him swallow.

Harry just raised his eyebrows, waiting. Either the man would tell him now, or he would tell him after Harry flung him around a bit. Harry's patience for the day had run out.

"Yeah," Warren said, licking his lips nervously. "Yeah, okay." He continued to nod to himself as he finally got up out of his chair and moved down the row.

"Huh," Tonks said, giving Harry a sideways glance. Harry just shrugged.

Warren finally picked the roll of parchment he wanted, and tapped it with his wand. It began unrolling at a furious pace, pooling on the floor as rows and rows of script flew by. Then, just as quickly, it came to a halt, and a long line of writing lit up. "There you go," Warren said, looking sullen. "Have fun." He grabbed the back of his rolling chair and walked back toward his desk.

Tonks watched him go, before moving to read over Harry's shoulder. "Well, there went my brownie points for the month," she muttered.

"Sorry," Harry said quietly. "He was annoying."

"You were just jealous," she joked, poking him in the shoulder.

"Was not."

"What have we got?"

"I'm pretty sure this is the guy we're looking for," Harry murmured, reading. "Looks like he has two residences here in Britain and two more in India and Pakistan…. The Galloping Galleon—that's been docked until the investigation wraps up, I guess—and then this place." He pointed to an address halfway down the line.

"I know that area," Tonks said, wrinkling her nose. "Pleasant. Let's go."

A short time later found the two of them crouching in a narrow alleyway across the lane from a rather austere and forbidding old building. Even at the height of summer it had the feeling of winter about it. There were no trees or shrubs around, and the sun had passed behind clouds. There was nobody else about, and Harry was working hard to ignore the ripe stench of garbage that pervaded the area. It didn't help that the docks were only blocks away.

"Is this how you Aurors normally do things?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Normally we wait for nightfall," Tonks murmured back. "And normally all of us are actually Aurors, and we have an assignment to be here, and a warrant to seize or interrogate someone—and a more complete profile than just a name and an address."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "Well, this is something that you guys should already be looking in to—"

"Please don't remind me," Tonks replied, brow furrowed as she watched the building through a pair of what looked to be aviator goggles. She twiddled a dial and muttered, "Looks like a muggle building..."

Floo hookups in at least three of the rooms, Harry thought, squinting at the faintly glowing fireplaces.

"There are three places here with floo access… If I remember correctly, I think the one we want is the one on the fifth floor." She paused, pulling the goggles up to rest on her hair, and frowned.

Harry raised his eyebrows, hand frozen on his chin. "How can you tell?"

She tapped a lens on the goggles. "Tracers—that's what they're for."

"Really?" Harry asked, riveted. "How do they work?"

"Hell if I know. I just use the equipment—we have nerds for when we want some inventing done. You thinking they have something to do with your...?" She wagged a finger at his eyes.

Harry's mind was racing. Maybe if he could figure out how these Tracers were made, they could provide him some clues. "Maybe. Can I try them?"

Tonks grinned and shook her head. "Rookie," she murmured, handing them over. "Come on."

She disillusioned them both, and Harry could just barely make out her form darting across the street to follow her. He pulled the Tracers on when they paused beneath the fire escape, out of sight from the street behind a big trash bin. He noticed a difference immediately—magic was brighter, wards were clearer, and he could see residue from spellwork that was likely quite old. It was like taking all the glowy bits from the other side, and superimposing them on the real world. "Wicked," he breathed.

"Different?" she asked, while quickly dispelling the charms.

"Stronger. Clearer. Who invented these?"

"Hm. That probably means something. I think…" She trailed off as she inspected the band, tugging Harry's head closer. She barked a laugh. "They're made in China."

Harry blew out a raspberry that turned into a sigh. "That figures."

"I'll ask my nerd guys at the department; I'm sure they know more. Okay, I'm going to teach you a really handy bit of magic, but you have to promise not to abuse this, all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry readily agreed.

Tonks eyed him with a rather kooky expression that made her look eerily like Moody. Harry had to stifle a snicker and he could see she was having a hard time controlling her face as well. She pulled the goggles away from his face and let them snap back playfully. "Focus, whelp. This is called the gecko charm. The incantation is Setae Reproba, and the wand movement is like this." She drew a small circle in the air over her knee. "The gesture limits size of the sticky area—if you were to encompass your whole body, well… you would stick like a limpet, I'd expect. Give it a go."

Harry, very aware of the fact that he still didn't have a wand, raised a hand to give it a try anyway.

"Oh, right!" Tonks said, and handed him her wand.

"Thanks," he said, grinning sheepishly.

"Oh, also—don't cast it on your hands. Lots of trainees have broken fingers that way, trying to pry their hands free. You have to have the right kind of leverage."

Harry grimaced. "Good to know."

In short order, Harry was following Tonks up the side of the brick building, shimmying along on his elbows and knees. It took some getting used to, but after several repetitions, the suction and release movements became effortless. "This is so cool," he enthused softly.

"One of my favorite spells," Tonks admitted from above. Harry was trying not to enjoy the view too much. "Can you tell how close we are?" she asked.

Harry reluctantly peered around. This close to the rooms, it was harder to tell, but if they were on the fifth floor, then that greenish glow must be it. "Looks like a few windows to the right," he said quietly.

Tonks moved off, creeping sideways and occasionally getting a handhold on windowsills or bits of plaster molding. Harry followed, his heart in his throat when his left elbow pulled some rotten brickwork loose and sent it clattering into the alley far below.

"Careful," Tonks whispered. They were very close to the window, now.

Harry looked up, having regained his equilibrium. "Yeah…" Through the wall, he suddenly saw a bloom of spell-fire. "Tonks!—Protego!" Harry cast desperately, stretching out a hand.

The spell bounced off his shield in a shower of sparks, just over Tonks' head. "Shit," she cried, ducking. Then, pulling an arm free, she cast a concussive curse through the open window, before pushing off the wall with her feet and flipping up into the building.

"Holy…" Harry breathed, before scrambling up behind her. An abortive shout from above suggested Tonks had kicked the man in the face.

Harry hung below the window briefly while a stray spell crackled by overhead, and then hauled himself up and into the room. Tonks had just cast a stunner at her opponent—a rather heavyset, dark featured man—who responded with a vicious slashing hex. Tonks blocked it with a levitated ottoman, before banishing the battered piece of furniture across the room.

Harry jumped in to the fray with relish, lifting and banishing a heavy looking couch at the same time.

Faced with two flying projectiles, the man squeaked and raised a thick shield.

The ottoman bounced off, and the sofa cracked itself in half over the flashing barrier. Harry summoned the carpet out from under the man, sending him arse over kettle with a clatter.

Tonks pounced, lashing the man with an uncomfortable looking binding hex, and growling, "Silencio," for good measure.

As the dust settled, they both moved over to survey their catch. Tonks, slightly winded, patted him on the shoulder. "I don't know how the hell you did that, but we're definitely going to talk about it later."

"Sure," he said, trying not to feel too anxious. Unnecessarily, he added, "You were amazing. I wish I could flip through a window and kick somebody in the gob."

"Takes practice," she said with a wink. At unspoken agreement, they both leaned down and lifted the man by his shoulders to deposit him roughly on one half of the ruined couch. Tonks leveled her wand at him. "You try anything beyond answering our questions, we start breaking fingers. Understand?"

The man nodded, eyes watering.

Harry frowned at him.

Tonks removed the silencing charm, and asked, "What is your name?"

"Amir Bahari—look, you've got the wrong guy, I can tell you—"

"Do you work as the first mate on the Galloping Galleon?"

"Yes!" Bahari cried, looking profoundly relieved. "You know me, then? You see, I am an honest man—"

"Are you the one who writes the invitations for the Galleon's annual cruise?"

Bahari stared, as if he was cottoning on for the first time. "No—no…"

"Don't lie to us, Bahari," Harry said, restraining his temper. "We know it's your signature on those invitations. You're the secret keeper, aren't you?"

"No, no," the man repeated, looking frantic. "I'm not the secret keeper—I just put my name on them, I swear to you!"

Harry knew a little bit about manipulating people. He'd seen many of the most adept at work from a young age. Uncle Vernon, and even Dudley to an extent, had used their physical presence to intimidate. Professor Dumbledore used a sympathetic ear, a veneer of harmlessness, and carefully measured approval or disapproval. Lucius Malfoy had employed money as his clout, along with a finely honed edge of aristocratic disdain. Severus Snape had perfected the fathomless stare, the aura of menace, and the cutting tongue. Yes, Harry had seen his share of manipulations.

Now he shared a quick look with Tonks, before affecting a weary glance skyward. Slowly, slowly he paced around the side of the sofa, to where Bahari couldn't see him anymore, and spoke in a quietly disappointed voice. "I thought I told you not to lie to us."

Bahari, straining to see what Harry would do, almost fell over his own words. "I'm not lying—I'm not lying! I just sign them—they come in the post, and I sign them, that's all! It's just misdirection…"

Harry grabbed the man by the back of his neck, startling him badly. "Who sends them to you?"

"I…" the man stuttered. Harry dug his fingers in, and despite the iron clamp on his temper, the man's skin began to heat. Bahari panted in fear. "I—I don't—I can't tell you!"

"Yes you can!" Harry snarled.

"I can't! I swear to you—the knowledge is protected!"

Harry was silent for a moment. "Are you saying that there is a secret keeper for the secret keeper?"

"Yes!" the man sobbed.

Harry nearly went blind with frustration. He shoved the man's head forward roughly, turned, and kicked over a chair with a strangled howl.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bahari babbled. "Please don't hurt me—"

"Silencio," Tonks muttered, before angling her head at Harry. Fuming, he followed her to a far corner of the room where the man couldn't see or hear them.

"I think he's telling the truth," Harry muttered. "At least as far as it not being him—I'd recognize the man who held me captive. I'd recognize his voice."

"Okay," Tonks said, looking pensive. "Well this isn't necessarily a dead end."

"How do you figure?"

"I think he'll tell us where the secret keeper for the secret keeper is if we apply a little of the right kind of pressure," she said, cocking an eyebrow. "As far as informants go, he's the softest I've seen in a long time. Which tells me he's afraid of getting hurt—but it also tells me he has a lot of faith in this other secret keeper. He'll talk."

Harry nodded, eyes settled on Bahari.

"Harry," Tonks added, getting his attention. "Tone it down a little, and I think you'll scare him more."

Harry smiled grimly. "Bad cop?"

Tonks winked at the muggle reference, pressing her finger to her lips, and they moved back over to the trussed up man. Tonks moved around front to address the man, while Harry stayed silent behind him.

"Here's the thing," Tonks began, crouching down in front of Bahari in a sympathetic manner. "My partner is still a little bit green when it comes to interrogating people—but what I really mean by that is that sometimes he gets a little bit out of control, and I can't always stop him before he does lasting damage, okay?" She scooted a little bit closer, and Harry could tell the man was hanging on her every word. "Now I'm going to do you a favor and tell you that he doesn't lose his temper like other people. The calmer he seems, the closer he is to snapping your neck. So just… don't do anything to piss him off—like lying—because I might not be able to stop him. I'd really rather not have to explain why we knocked off another bloke this week."

Harry leaned down right next to Bahari's ear. "But I wouldn't mind at all."

Bahari sang.

"I have to say, Harry, you were quite impressive today," Tonks told him later. They were back at the Dragon's Perch, sitting at the bar this time, nursing a couple of drinks. Harry had a butterbeer, while Tonks was imbibing something a bit stronger. "I mean, you can be a little intimidating when you want to."

Harry ducked his head, feeling uncomfortable. "I've always been pretty good at acting." Soon, though, the warm feeling of accomplishing something important buoyed his spirits. "Today was…"

"Right?" Tonks enthused. She sighed into her drink. "Felt like the old days. No tip-toeing around, just going out and taking injustice by the jugular."

"You are old," Harry agreed seriously.

"Piss off, you," Tonks laughed, shoving him in the shoulder.

They joked around for a bit longer, but soon the conversation turned serious.

"So what happened back there, with the shield spell, and then you summoning the carpet? Has anything like that happened before, or was it accidental?" Tonks asked.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Not… exactly. There's something weird going on with my magic. You saw, at the Weasleys—how it just flew out of control."

"Yes," she agreed. "But this is different. Wandless magic, Harry. That's big, that's… kind of spooky. And all of it together…"

Harry let his chin rest on his bottle of butterbeer. "I've been getting a lot better at it. At first, I could summon my wand. I don't even remember the first time I did that. But ever since I lost my wand, I've been trying things, practicing." He darted a glance at her, before looking back at the bar. "Something's… happening to me."

He didn't know what he expected from her. A suggestion to talk to Dumbledore, maybe. But the hand that reached to grip his was as warm as her voice. "I'll do whatever I can to help you, Harry."

They talked for a while longer about inconsequential things, but night had long ago fallen, and eventually Tonks had to take Harry back to the castle.

"So I'll find out everything I can about this guy Altair Mengal," Tonks was saying as they crunched up the long road to the castle.

"I still think it's weird that the captain of the ship is the secret keeper's secret keeper," Harry said.

"We'll just have to be ready for anything," Tonks advised. "Bahari gave up his guy too easily, in my opinion. He's not going to be a pushover. We'll have to do our homework. Make sure you look over that introductory coursework I gave you, yeah? And I didn't say this, but try to do something about getting a wand."

Harry nodded. They parted at the castle steps—Tonks giving him a sharp jab on the shoulder. Harry watched her go, feeling full to the brim and strangely empty at the same time.

He stopped at the kitchens on his way up through the castle for a few sandwiches. His owl and two notes were waiting for him when he reached his room.

"Lo, girl," He greeted her, tossing a bit of roast beef her way. She snapped it up appreciatively, twittered a hello, and swooped out into the night.

The first note was obviously from Hagrid.

Harry,

Was wondering if you might help me with a bit of a problem—for some reason my pumpkin patch has gone and flooded, and I could use a hand draining it. If you're busy today, it's no problem. Just let me know.

-Hagrid

Harry was immediately suspicious that this flooded pumpkin patch was more than it seemed. He fervently hoped Hagrid hadn't already taken care of it—what would that do to a fledgling pond spirit?

The next missive was from the goblins, although there was no marking on the parchment to positively identify it.

Mr. Harry Potter,

As we are sure you are aware, there are several very pressing matters which we would desperately like to discuss with you. It is with our deepest apologies that we extend this invitation, and sincerest hopes that you will find it within your great heart to forgive the Goblin Nation our severe trespass against your person.

We request your presence at your earliest convenience, and have selected a neutral setting for this meeting to take place, and a portkey with which to transport you there. To activate it, simply state your full name. If you have any questions or concerns, please send an owl. We await your confirmation.

Out of the folds of the letter tumbled a tarnished silver sickle. Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh outright—as if he would willingly walk into a meeting with the goblins, eyes closed! He set the portkey aside, feeling disturbed.

Harry leaned back and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. There was a goblet of water on his bedside table—Pistol had probably put it there, being thoughtful as usual—and Harry absently tossed the liquid out the open window.

"Bad day," he muttered.