"Morning," Hannah mumbles as she sits down next to Tobias at the breakfast table.
Ginny eyes her over her toast. She's looking more drawn and tense the nearer they approach their exams.
Tobias reaches out, touching her back. "You okay?"
Hannah gives him a smile that doesn't make her look any less wan. "Of course."
It's clearly a lie.
Ginny suspects she isn't sleeping, making a mental note to catch a moment alone with her at some point. Maybe get a sleeping draught from Pomfrey.
Reiko strides up to the table then, heaving a stack of magazines out of her bag and dropping them in front of Ginny with a thump. They slide and scatter everywhere, nearly overturning a jug of pumpkin juice.
"Here you go, Ginny," she announces cheerfully.
Tobias tugs his plate closer with distaste, righting his cup. "Since when are you into magazines?" he asks. After all, she rarely shows interest in his.
Ginny flips the closest one over so he can see that they are all Quidditch Weeklies and various sporting journals. IS MONTROSE THE GREATEST DEFENSIVE SIDE TO EVER HIT THE PITCH? the issue asks.
"Oh," he says, pulling a face.
"Just a little research," Ginny says, sorting through the stack for one saying anything about recruitment. The first one she finds is about Seekers. She puts it to one side.
"Like you don't have enough to do with NEWT revisions?" Tobias asks.
"Why are you even bothering?" Demelza asks, having come over to see what the fuss is about. "Already as good as got your spot, don't you?"
Reiko snorts. "Yeah, because Ginny's not really the sort to have backup plans. Likes to do things on a whim."
Vaisey crowds over the pile in interest. He's shown some interest in trying to go professional as well. "Not too many teams desperate for new starting Chasers this year, are there?"
"No, not particularly," Ginny confirms.
Holyhead has to deal with the extra pressure of only hiring women, which cuts their pool by half. More than half, really, there still being slightly more men in Quidditch than women. So Holyhead has more need than most. As for the other sides, considering how long it takes to train and synchronize a team, they don't tend to switch out starting players all that often. And when they do, they usually pull up from their own reserves.
Ginny keeps shifting through the pile, selecting a couple to look at more closely later. "There are a few at least looking to bolster their reserve squads."
Rosier sits down on the other side of the table, looking mildly interested. "Scouting reports?"
Vaisey nods. "What about you? Are you thinking of throwing in?"
Rosier shakes his head, and Ginny isn't surprised. As a Beater, he's competent, but far from inspired. "No. I've been…"
"You've been what?" Reiko presses, not one to leave a sentence hanging.
He looks down at his breakfast. "I'm considering applying for the Auror Academy."
There's a moment of stunned silence at the table.
"I know it sounds barmy," he says, rather violently stirring his porridge.
"It doesn't," Ginny says. "At least not to me."
Rosier looks over at her, his shoulders seeming to relax, like her approval means anything at all.
"Ah," Reiko says, snatching up an issue. "Here we are. League Chaser report." She flips it open, skimming through an article, and Ginny has to resist the urge to snatch it out of her hands. "It looks like Caerphilly, Kenmare, Ballycastle, Chudley," –"Of course!" someone interjects snidely— "Appleby, and Falmouth are all possibly in the market for reserve Chasers."
"Really?" Ginny says, reaching for the magazine.
"Something catch your attention there?" Reiko asks, passing it over.
"Just keeping all my options open," she says, even as her heart is pounding away in her chest.
She hadn't thought there would even be a chance, but suddenly she's thirteen years old again, watching the World Cup in complete awe, Harry whooping by her side.
Her stomach is a terrible clash of hope and fear.
"Well, if you don't mind," Tobias says, flicking his fingers dismissively at the unruly pile, "some of us are trying to eat."
Reiko rolls her eyes, but starts gathering back up the magazines.
"Mind if I hold on to these?" Ginny asks, snatching up two other issues that have relevant topics on the cover.
"Go ahead," Reiko says, cramming the rest into her bag.
They've all barely tucked back into their breakfasts when a fleet of owls sweep into the room, the usual flock crowding about Tobias.
"Hypocrite," Reiko mutters darkly.
Tobias just gives her a cheerful smile, and offers an owl a bit of toast. They settle back into normal morning chatter then, Ginny trying to draw Hannah out into a conversation even as her mind is quietly spinning. She can't wait to get alone to read through the reports. Part of her considers skiving off Potions, but knows she needs all the revision she can get as the NEWTs barrel down on them.
Tobias contributes to the conversation as well, going so far as to draw a smile from Hannah, even as he idly flips through this morning's Prophet. Stopping on a page, he does an almost comical double take before falling face forward into it, cackling maniacally as his fist pounds on the table.
Ginny grabs for her cup as it jumps under his enthusiasm.
"Tobias?" Hannah asks, looking alarmed.
"Oh, Merlin," he says between gasps for air. "It's too good. Too easy. Too pure."
"What is he on about?" Reiko asks.
"Who knows?" Ginny says, even though she has a pretty good idea. Tobias usually saves this particular level of mirth for stories dealing with one person in particular.
Sure enough, when he triumphantly holds up the paper for everyone to see, it has a picture of Harry on it. Unlike the coverage of the memorial the last few days—somber and heroic—this one shows Harry standing very close to Hermione, Ron slightly out of focus in the background.
"Does that say—" Reiko asks, eyes wide as she takes in the ridiculous headline.
Tobias nods with glee. "Oh, yes, it does."
"Merlin," Ginny says dismissively. "You'd think they'd have more important things to write stories about."
"Clearly not," Tobias says, returning the paper to the table, leaning over it as if attempting to memorize it. "I would have thought it was more of an all three of them thing." He gestures with his hands in a way that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"That's why it's better for all when you don't think," Ginny says.
"Well," he drawls, "they always do spend an inordinate amount of time together."
Ginny rolls her eyes. "So did we, if you recall."
He peers at her as if hoping to find anything under her bland indifference. "You going to defend your brother's honor?"
She snorts. "That's assuming my brother had any honor to defend in the first place," she says, and goes back to eating her breakfast.
She isn't angry or even shocked by the blatant lies and innuendos involving her inconveniently famous boyfriend and his best mates. She imagines all the fake pity she would have to deal with today if people knew. She's just relieved, far too aware that it could just as easily have been her face plastered across the papers.
Tobias practically chortles his way through breakfast, reading out his favorite bits to anyone who will listen, grabbing random students as they pass.
No, Ginny thinks. Keeping their relationship a secret is the smartest thing they've ever done.
Golden Trio Love Triangle! the copy of The Daily Prophet declares.
The photo is from the memorial reception in the Great Hall. There were certainly enough photographers there for it to be possible, but Harry was too distracted at the time to pay it much mind. The photo seems to capture the exact worst moment, twisting a completely innocent interaction into something else entirely.
In the photo, Hermione's hand is on Harry's arm, his fingers reaching out to cover hers. She's looking at him with concern, and from the strange angle of the photograph, it looks like their faces are very close together. Behind Hermione, Ron holds her other hand while he's talking to someone else, looking completely oblivious to the interaction.
Hermione is furious. Ron laughs it off, and if he does it a little too heartily to be believable, Harry pretends not to notice.
Hermione rustles the pages, muttering angrily under her breath.
"It's not like anyone believes it," Harry says, trying to diffuse some of the tension.
Ron frowns. "What do you mean?"
Harry looks at him in surprise. "I just meant—"
"Are you saying you can't imagine two blokes fighting over Hermione?"
Harry warily meets Ron's eyes across the table, but the moment he sees his mate's face, his shoulders relax. He knows in that moment that any worry about how Ron will take this is completely misguided. That day in the Forest of Dean was a long time ago.
"No offense, mate," Harry says, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his head, "but you're probably the only bloke in the world brave enough to date her."
"You take that back," Ron says, pushing to his feet with a ridiculous, overly dramatic gesture. "My girlfriend is the most snoggable witch in the world!"
Harry also scrambles up out of his chair, screwing up his face. "I will not!"
Ron summons a wooden spoon, brandishing it like a sword. "How dare you!" He pokes it at Harry, missing by an age.
Harry yelps and runs out of the kitchen.
Ron takes chase, threatening to pummel him. "Admit it, she's the most beautiful, smartest, bravest, sexiest witch ever! Of course you secretly want her!"
Harry runs from him, laughing so hard he almost trips over the furniture, resolutely making sounds of disgust. "Never!"
Hermione stands with her hands on her hips watching their progress as they circle back to the kitchen. She throws the paper down in the bin. "For Merlin's sake. Anyone wanting to date either of you must be completely mental."
Ron grabs her around the waist on his next pass through, spinning her around in an energetic little jig. "Luckily for you, love, mental looks good on you."
"Ronald," Hermione complains, even as she holds on tight, her eyes sparkling.
"What in the world is going on in here?" Molly demands, stepping inside, a half-empty basket perched on one hip.
Harry looks at her with a wide grin on his face. "Oh, we're just fighting over Hermione, and I'm pretty sure Ron just won."
"Damn straight," Ron says, continuing to very inexpertly maneuver Hermione through the crowded space in some sort of stumbling dance.
"Ron," Hermione sighs, looking up at him with something only an idiot wouldn't recognize as an almost indecent amount of affection. "You're impossible."
Ron grins. "Just the way you like me."
Molly clucks her tongue and makes noise about causing a ruckus in her house, but Harry can see that she's pleased all the same.
"We really need to get back to revising," Hermione says.
"In a minute," Ron says, pulling her closer.
Despite her protest, Hermione doesn't seem to mind all that much, lowering her head to his chest.
They do eventually make it back to their books, Hermione and Ron sitting very close together on the sofa and sharing increasingly less subtle looks.
It's only as Harry turns his attention to his hopeless Transfiguration notes in an attempt to ignore his mates that it occurs to him to wonder if Ginny saw this morning's paper.
More than likely, if that gossip-obsessed git Burke has anything to do with it. Cursing under his breath, Harry shuffles through his stacks of notes for his parchment, double-checking that Ron and Hermione are still too wrapped up in each other to be paying him any mind. He pulls out the worn parchment only to see that Ginny's already written.
For the record, her message says, I have no interest in sharing you with my brother. Only one Weasley at a time, Potter. Don't be greedy.
Harry lets out a startled laugh.
Ron and Hermione look over at him, and he just shakes his head, mumbling an apology.
It's not that he thought Ginny might really believe it or anything, he tells himself. But it's nice to know she seems more amused than hurt.
Fishing his quill out of the mess of notes around him, he writes, I thought I was meant to be having an affair with Hermione?
Her response is quick, and he wonders if she is similarly tucked up somewhere slogging through revisions. Word at Hogwarts is that it's more of a threesome.
Harry blinks at her words incomprehensibly for a moment before he feels a horrific rush of comprehension.
He glances up at Ron and Hermione, who are once again paying more attention to each other than their notes. No one could possibly think—
Please tell me you're joking.
Merlin, I wish I could see your face right now!
He sighs, an unexpected wave of melancholy rising in his chest. I wish you could too.
Why? Are you glaring at me?
No, he writes, frustration bubbling, ink bleeding a bit as he presses too hard. That's not what I meant. I mean that I, I wish I could see your face and if you could see mine then—
He stops writing, really hating this instant transmission charm more than anything at the moment. Why does he always have to sound so bloody stupid?
He draws a thick line through his words, even knowing that won't keep her from seeing them. Can we just pretend this entire conversation never happened? he scribbles below.
Harry.
He forces himself to take a breath.What?
I miss your face too.
His frustration seems to evaporate, his shoulders relaxing. Of course she somehow understands.
And the rest of you too, for the record, Ginny continues.I'd quite like all of you to be here right now. But I'd settle for seeing your face.
All you have to do is look at the bloody Prophet, he reminds her.
True. Tobias may have pinned this latest picture up on the common room wall. Rather nice engorgement charm.
He sighs. Lovely.
I'd offer to do something ridiculous to get my face in the Prophet so you could see it, but I quite like being left out of it, if it's all the same to you.
He doesn't blame her one bit.
Later that afternoon, Harry is in the sitting room surrounded by stacks of books and notes and practice tests when the front door to the Burrow bangs open.
"Hey, Mum!" a voice Harry recognizes as Bill's calls out. "Just need to grab something from my room, yeah?"
Harry can't make out Molly's response over the thundering footsteps as Bill runs up the stairs. He isn't up there long.
"Oh, Harry, hi," he says as passes by the sitting room on his way back out. He stuffs something in his pocket. "Didn't realize you were here."
Harry gestures morosely at the laden table. "Revision."
Bill pulls a face. "NEWTs. Ghastly business."
Harry certainly doesn't disagree.
"How many have you set yourself up for?" Bill asks, leaning against the jamb.
"Five. DADA, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Potions."
"The full Auror spread," Bill says.
"Yeah." The same as Ron. Though Hermione is doing those five plus History and Runes.
"Ron and Hermione are here too?" he asks, looking around.
"Yeah. They ran upstairs to get a book." As Harry says it, the excuse only sounds even feebler.
Bill, other than looking amused, doesn't mention what they are probably really doing. "He isn't being a prat about the thing in the paper, is he?"
Oh, great, Harry thinks with a wince. Nice to know everyone's seen it. "No."
"Good." He pauses, giving Harry a speculative look. "You know, I've got a bit of a special job to take care of today. Want to tag along?"
Harry sits up, some of his revision-born lethargy dropping away. "What?"
He jerks a thumb up towards the ceiling. "You think they'll be back down anytime soon?"
"Probably not," Harry admits.
"Well then. You're the one who keeps pestering me with questions about my work." Bill shakes a finger at him. "Don't think I haven't noticed. Come see it in action. Think of it as practical revision. Even Hermione would approve surely."
Harry isn't at all sure what can be 'in action' about a desk job at Gringotts, but gets up to follow him all the same. Anything is better than NEWTs revisions, he tells himself. Or sitting here trying to pretend not to notice Ron and Hermione's extended absence.
Besides, he's honestly a little curious.
"Mum!" Bill shouts again. "I'm taking Harry with me!"
"Okay, dear! Bring him back in one piece!"
Bill leans into Harry. "No promises," he says with a wink.
With that fairly alarming proclamation, Bill leads him down the front path, out past the wards.
"I'd better take your arm, if you don't mind."
Harry frowns. "We aren't going to Gringotts?"
"No," Bill says, looking indecently excited about something. "Bit of a field trip."
Harry hesitantly places his hand on Bill's arm. With a soft pop and a highly unpleasant squeeze, they reappear on top of a grassy hill. No matter how long it's been since he first side-along Apparated, that sensation does not get any less awful.
Sucking in a few breaths to clear the dizziness, Harry takes in the valley stretching out in front of them. A large house sits nestled at the bottom.
"Where are we?" he asks.
Bill kindly ignores Harry's less than steady state and gestures towards the house. "That is the home of Chaucer Mountley. Rich old codger. He has refused to use Gringotts to secure his goods, loudly disparaging the bank's ability to keep anyone's assets safe. Did I mention he's paranoid as well?"
"So why are we here?"
Bill gives him a reckless smile. "To convince him to use the services of Gringotts, of course."
Harry has the horrible feeling he's about to be dragged into another uncomfortable interview. "Using me to butter him up?" he asks.
Bill laughs. "We aren't going to talk to him, Harry."
"We aren't?"
Bill shakes his head. "We're going to break into his house and steal something."
Harry stares at him in shock. "What?"
Bill rubs his hands together almost as if in anticipation. "Best part the job, really. Testing people's security systems. Almost like being back in Egypt."
With that, he heads down the hill, Harry scrambling to follow after him. There is a voice at the back of his head annoyingly like Hermione's pointing out that this doesn't sound like a good idea.
Harry ignores it. It feels far too nice to be out and doing something—something mildly dangerous, no less—to spend time worrying about pesky details like legality.
Bill comes to a stop a few hundred yards away from the house. "Can you feel them?"
Harry pauses, not immediately sure what he's talking about. Focusing on his surroundings, he can feel the tiniest static on his skin. He shuffles a few steps closer, Bill flinching as if to reach out to grab him. Harry stops right on the edge.
"Here," Harry says. He turns to Bill. "Right?"
"Yeah," Bill says, looking mildly impressed. "Warded to hell and back."
Harry can't help but notice that he doesn't sound particularly concerned by that.
Bill pulls a bag out of his pocket. "Put out your hands."
If this were a different Weasley brother, Harry probably would have refused, not being keen to open himself up for a no doubt embarrassing prank. But since it's Bill, he cups his hands together, and Bill pours the contents out into them. It looks like a pile of glistening black rocks, cold against his palms.
"Picked these up in Egypt," Bill says. "Dead useful."
Leaning down over Harry's hands, he breathes out a word in some other language and the rocks start to move. Harry just manages to hold back a yelp as they sprout little legs and start skittering about, keeping his hands steady despite how much he wants to drop them.
He should have known better than to trust a bloody Weasley.
Bill grins at him. "You can put them down."
Harry squats down, letting the scarab-like beetles scuttle down his fingers and into the grass. He suppresses a shiver at the rather unpleasant sensation, rubbing his palms against his legs once they are all off.
Bill stands to one side with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the progress of the bug things. "They'll find us any weak spots," he explains. "Most wards are semi-porous. Unless you're really vigilant about re-casting them, they degrade over time. Usually from small, harmless attempts to enter, each one weakening the field. So if you look carefully enough, you can sometimes find a way through without wasting the time and energy of dismantling from the outside through outright assault."
Harry frowns. "That's…fairly alarming."
Bill shrugs. "No ward is fail proof. Fortunately most people are too impatient or just not skilled enough to find a way through even with the gaps. Besides, there's a reason we maintain our wards so well at the Burrow and Shell Cottage."
Harry makes a mental note to check his wards at Grimmauld Place as soon as he gets home.
In the grass fifty yards to their left, a small patch of red light glows softly. "Ah, found one."
Bill strides over to the spot, squatting down and pulling his wand as the other beetles scuttle through the gap in the ward. "Just need to widen this a bit." He draws shapes in the air, with a casual ease that belies their complexity. When he finishes, a series of runes flash brightly before burning away. He turns to Harry, jutting his head towards the ward. "Want to go through first?"
Not particularly, but that doesn't stop him from moving forward. He crouches down, ducking through since he isn't quite sure how big the gap is. He straightens, moving a bit further in until he feels the buzz of another ward nearby, the beetles scrabbling about for another opening.
Harry turns back to Bill, who is watching him with an amused smile.
"What?"
"Nothing," Bill says, and then walks through the ward without even ducking his head.
Harry sighs.
The beetles have been hard at work meanwhile, a few spots of red glowing at the base of what looks like nearly half a dozen wards nestled within each other.
The weak points aren't lined up directly or anything, but they are all rather near each other. Almost looking like a path.
"That seems a bit convenient," Harry notes.
Bill laughs. "Well spotted. Clearly a trap. One I don't plan on falling into."
They make their way slowly through five more wards before Bill collects up all the beetles, tucking them away in his pocket. "We'll have to do this last one the old fashioned way."
Ignoring the temptation of the gap right in front of them, they start circumnavigating the house, Bill clearly looking for something in particular. Crossing into a lightly forested area, they are on the other side of the house completely by the time Bill comes to a stop. They are near what looks like a highly elaborate ornamental garden at the back of the building.
As they leave the trees, Harry glances at the giant windows staring out at them, fingers itching for his cloak. "Shouldn't we worry about being seen?"
Bill squats down in front of the last ward, not even giving the house a glance. "The Wizengamot is sitting today, including our chap Mountley. He lives alone. Doesn't even have House Elves. Not trusting them apparently. I told you. Paranoid."
"And if there were Elves?" Harry wonders.
"Well, that would require an entirely different approach. They can be nasty when roused."
For all that Bill seems like he is treating this like a casual Sunday pick-up game of Quidditch, Harry can see that this is actually all carefully planned out.
Bill lets out a low laugh. "I know whose work this is. Wardle, you arsehole."
"A friend of yours?"
"Oh, we had our run-ins in Egypt," Bill confirms. "Quite talented. But dead lazy when it comes to thoroughness."
Pushing back up to his feet, he scans their surroundings. "Yes, perfect," he says, setting off once again.
Harry follows him to a path leading down the center of the rigidly symmetrical ornamental garden. At the head of the path stand two tall pointy cypress trees one on either side just up against a tall wall with rather wicked-looking metal spikes on them.
Bill considers it all for a long moment before stepping up against the wall, peering into the tree. "Didn't bother to take it all the way across. Git. I hope Mountley didn't pay him too generously."
With that, Bill disappears into the tree, squeezing between the trunk and the tall wall.
A moment later, he reappears on the path on the other side of the last ward.
"Mind you," Bill says, "it isn't always this easy."
Harry slides through the small space, the branches catching at his glasses. He wonders a bit at Bill's definition of easy. They've already spent nearly an hour just working through the wards. Not that it's felt that long really.
"So," Harry asks, looking up at the house. "What's next?"
Bill grins at his eagerness, leading him up the path. "Now comes the hard part. Remember those detection spells I taught you last summer?"
Harry nods, pulling his wand.
They work their way slowly closer and closer to the house, Bill having to stop and dismantle more than a few protective barriers and defensive traps. He inspects and rejects four different entry points to the house itself, finally settling on the main door visible in the façade.
"Won't that be the most heavily protected?" Harry asks.
"You'd be surprised how quickly safety measures get lax when it comes to daily convenience."
Sure enough, the front door creaks open with very little effort on their part.
"Come on, the vault is this way," Bill says, pulling a piece of parchment with what looks like a floor plan of the house on it.
"Where did you get that?"
Bill shrugs. "Every house had an architect at some point. Just a matter of digging it up. Though I certainly had some help."
With that, he unerringly leads them through a series of rooms, both of them still scanning for any active magic. Most of the magic glows some range of blue or red, indicating concealment and defense or active counter-measures. Fortunately there is no sign of the sickly green they discovered far too often last summer at Hogwarts.
The vault is at the bottom of a steep set of stone steps.
Bill pulls a key out of his pocket. Only it doesn't look like any particularly normal key.
"Goblin," is Bill's only explanation.
The door opens with a loud groan that seems more intentional than just the result of long neglect.
The vault is large. Not nearly as big as either of Harry's vaults at Gringotts, but filled with chests of gold and trunks and artworks all the same. And dust. Layers and layers of dust.
"Clearly never met a cleaning charm he liked," Bill mutters, peeking under a dust cloth and nearly disappearing in a thick cloud.
Harry casts a charm on his face to keep him from inhaling all the dust. "What are you going to take?"
"Choices, choices," Bill says. "It needs to be something rare enough that he'll recognize it as his own and not try to deny I made it inside."
There isn't much out on display, so it's hard to say what might be recognizable. "One of the paintings?" Harry suggests.
Bill nods, considering one of them. "Hard to transport, but unique enough."
Harry crosses over to a curio cabinet that seems full of thimbles, weirdly enough. As he passes by a life-size portrait of a figure mostly covered with a drop cloth, he comes to a stop. The pair of legs draped in tights and pantaloons isn't particularly interesting, but there's that itching sensation at the back of Harry's neck he's long since learned never to ignore.
Slowly, he reaches out, pressing a hand to the wall.
"What is it?" Bill asks.
"I'm not sure," he admits. Pulling his wand, he casts the magical detection spell. Sure enough, the entire portrait—the exact size of a doorway—glows a soft blue.
"Christ. Good catch," Bill says. He consults the map. "It isn't even on here. Maybe another vault?"
"Why have a vault inside your vault?" Harry muses, looking around for any sign of a lever or latch to open it.
"Not for any upstanding reason certainly," Bill says, running his hand along the edge of the portrait.
Unsurprisingly, it seems magic will be the order of the day on the hidden door there not even being a keyhole to finagle.
Bill draws a rune, watching it carefully as it fades. Pulling a small notebook out of his pocket, he jots down a few notes before casting another version of the same rune.
Harry sits back and watches, not wanting to break Bill's concentration. This is clearly the most challenging barrier they've come across to judge from the serious expression on Bill's face and the sudden lack of explanation of what he's doing. Harry bites back any questions, instead concentrating on not missing a single wand movement.
It's nearly half an hour before the portrait disappears, drop cloth and all, leaving an ornate door in its place. With a soft click, it swings open.
Instead of gloating, Bill cautiously gets to his feet. "Best be on our toes for this part."
Harry raises his wand, cautiously easing inside after Bill.
Sure enough, it's another vault, this one smaller and sparser than the one they just left, just a half dozen widely spaced display cases flooded in pools of light like some kind of a museum. But pristinely kept, not a speck of dust or dirt to be seen. It also somehow seems more…quiet. The kind of quiet that almost seems solid. And threatening.
But it's possible Harry letting his imagination get away from him.
A necklace of large sparkling gems sits on the nearest pedestal, glimmering like a dare. Harry knows better than to touch, remembering all too well what happened to Katie Bell.
He's drawn to another pedestal, this one not housing expensive jewelry, but what looks like a small brass lantern. The medal sides are dull in the light, the simple walls irregularly scratched and pitted with dark stains. Harry leans closer, and through the wavy, milky glass he can just make out what looks like a small lightning storm swirling inside—dark black clouds and sharp blue flashes.
For a moment, Harry is almost convinced there's a sound coming from it. A voice?
"Bugger," Bill says. "Just once I wanted to be a model employee."
Harry turns, and at the other end of the room Bill has pulled back heavy curtains to reveal a set of deep black robes with a bone-white mask hung above it as if on display. Harry takes a careful step back away from the lantern, feeling his gut churn.
Death Eaters.
"Didn't you say this Mountley bloke sits on the Wizengamot?" Harry asks.
Bill doesn't answer, instead rubbing a hand across his face. "Okay. Okay. We need to find the nexus of the wards."
"But—" Harry starts to argue.
"This is not the time, Harry," Bill says, all earlier ease and amusement gone in a flash.
Lifting his wand, he sends off a Patronus to someone, what looks like an enormous Irish wolfhound galloping into the nearest wall.
Leaving the vaults, they move through the house, casting magic revealing spells and sidestepping a few traps and additional wards. Upstairs, they eventually find a small chamber off what looks like Mountley's bedroom. A wooden grid hangs on the wall, a softly glowing ward nexus in each nook.
"I'd be impressed by his organization if I weren't so pissed off right now," Bill mutters, already snuffing the balls of light one by one. "I'll get these down. I need you to go back down and trip that Caterwauling Charm we found."
"What?" Harry asks.
"The charm, Harry," he says, voice brisk and commanding. "Now."
Harry doesn't bother arguing further, despite the resentment burning in his throat. Heading back out into a sitting room, he deliberately moves across the thin line of magic lining the windows. A god-awful wail rips through the entire house.
Harry presses his hands to his ears.
Bill must have taken down the anti-Apparition wards because not two minutes later, Harry sees two figures appear in the gardens outside. Harry quickly ducks out of sight as he recognizes the uniforms worn by the wizards. Aurors.
Great. This day just keeps getting better and better.
It's hard to think with the high-pitched wailing, but Harry knows his window to act is quickly closing. He considers Apparating away now that the wards are down, but isn't exactly keen on abandoning Bill, even if this is all his fault to begin with. Incapacitating two aurors is also not high on his list.
But neither is ending up in Azkaban. Even if that means he probably wouldn't have to take his NEWTs anymore.
Harry will just have to hope the Aurors take Bill at his word when he says they are here at the request of the client. The Death Eater.
Ugh, he hates it when that Hermione-voice in his head is right.
The two Aurors walk into the main hall, one if them impatiently flicking his wand, the Caterwauling Charm falling blissfully silent.
Bill saunters down the stairs, apparently not surprised to see them. "Hey, guys. Nice of you to join us."
"Us?" one of them asks, looking around.
Bill looks to Harry, gesturing for him to come out.
Harry gives him a look questioning if he's lost his mind, and Bill just makes another impatient gesture.
Harry cautiously steps into the hall, wand still loosely held at his side.
"Blimey," the younger of the Aurors says upon catching sight of him. "You're Harry Potter."
"Thanks. Sometimes I forget," Harry says, feeling more and more nettled by the moment.
The other Auror rolls his eyes. "Well spotted, idiot." He turns to Bill. "Dragging him into your life of questionable decisions, eh, Weasley?"
Bill just shrugs. "You've spoken with Shacklebolt."
The recipient of the Patronus, Harry realizes.
"Yes," the Auror says, as if particularly annoyed by that fact. "Where's the vault?"
"This way." Bill leads them back into the vault and then into the hidden one, Harry trailing quietly behind.
"Christ," the young one says as they come to a stop in front of the robes.
The older Auror drags a hand over his face, cursing softly. "Alright. Put it in the notes. Two unknown suspects fled capture upon our arrival at the crime scene. No description available." He looks to Bill. "Now kindly bugger the fuck off."
Bill gives him a little salute. "Will do." He puts a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Off we get."
"That's it?" Harry asks, glancing back over his shoulder at the Aurors as Bill ushers him out. "We're just leaving?"
"Rather out of our hands now," Bill says, guiding him out the front door. "Are you thirsty? I'm thirsty."
Before Harry can respond, Bill grabs his arm and twists on the spot.
"Ugh," Harry complains when they arrive in a small village he can only assume is a wizarding one since they've Apparated in the middle of a public square. "Please stop doing that."
Bill just laughs and heads towards an old, rundown looking pub.
Harry cautiously follows him inside, not pleased to see that it's fairly crowded inside. He presses down on his fringe, looking warily around the room.
"Why don't you get that back booth," Bill says, pointing to a dark corner. "I'll grab us drinks."
Harry shuffles back there, keeping his face lowered. No one seems to pay him much attention fortunately.
Bill brings over two pints, sliding one in front of Harry. "A reward for a good day's work. Cheers." He clanks his glass against Harry's.
Harry takes a sip, finding himself far thirstier than he realized. The ale is slightly bitter and malty on his tongue. They drink in silence for a while, Harry still just trying to wrap his brain around what happened.
If the break-in was at Mountley's request as a test to his systems, was he really so arrogant that he thought they wouldn't find his secret vault? It seems a stupid risk just to prove a point. Harry looks up, considering Bill.
"Did you really go there just on Gringott's business?" he asks.
"Of course," Bill says, eyes on his drink.
Harry considers him a long moment. "I don't believe you."
Bill looks up at him in surprise. "No?"
While Bill clearly wasn't happy to find those things, he wasn't exactly surprised either.
"You suspected those things would be there," Harry says.
Bill shrugs as if indifferent, but Harry doesn't miss the subtle charms he casts around the booth to ensure their conversation won't be overheard. "It's some rich old codger's house. There's always an outside chance."
"That he'd be a Death Eater?"
"We don't know what."
Harry opens his mouth to protest.
Bill lifts his hand to cut him off. "All we know is that he had some…less than legal objects in his ownership."
That seems like ridiculous splitting of hairs. People who set up bloody shrines to Death Eater robes are pretty much Death Eaters in Harry's book. Idolizing them is no different than being one. "So what happens now?"
"The Aurors will empty the vault of anything dangerous and bring Mountley in for questioning."
"And he'll be brought up on charges?"
"Probably not. Not exactly by the book, them wandering in on a reported burglary." He takes a long draw of his ale. "His barrister will doubtlessly get him off if he's even halfway competent. It's an ancestral home. He can claim he didn't even know that secondary vault was there."
"So all that was for nothing?"
Bill leans his arm on the table and gives Harry a look of exasperation. "Not nothing. He'll probably lose his seat on the Wizengamot if there's any justice at all. And all his stuff will be confiscated. I'm comfortable with there being a lot less of that dark shite floating around." He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. "You have no idea how much money those things would go for on the black market." He sounds almost wistful. "Instead it will all disappear down into the depths of the Department of Mysteries."
"And then what will happen to it?"
Bill flaps his hand. "Who bloody knows? Study it? Lock it away? Not exactly talkative, that bunch."
"Really?"
"Well, you've seen how secretive they can be, Unspeakables. Sometimes I swear no one has any idea what is really going on down there."
Harry frowns. That doesn't seem particularly wise.
Bill lifts his glass in salute. "At least I probably won't get fired. So there's that. Especially since that means Fleur won't kill me. Or worse, make me sleep on the couch."
Harry doesn't comment on Bill's rather skewed priorities. "You really think Mountley will become a client?"
"He'd be out of his mind not to start using Gringotts now. His mates too, when they hear of it."
Because he never would have lost his stuff in the first place if he'd kept it there instead is the implication. Just like Bellatrix. Just like the cup.
"And that doesn't bother you? Knowing people are hiding things like that at Gringotts?"
Bill's eyes narrow. "And if it did? What exactly could I do about it?"
"You could tell someone. Like you did today." Bill is either far more reckless than Harry ever imagined, or clearly knew they wouldn't get in trouble with the Aurors. He must have some sort of understanding with Kingsley and Robards.
Bill shakes his head. "Even if that wouldn't get me fired, which it definitely would, the Aurors have no jurisdiction there. The Goblins function like an independent country. Don't want another Goblin war on our hands do we? No. All I can do is keep an eye on what's under my nose. And that's more than would happen if I wasn't there."
"Surely the Aurors—" Harry starts to press.
"That's not the way it works, Harry. The Aurors are the arm of the law. They don't decide what the law is, the Ministry does. A Ministry run more often than not by gits like Mountley." He shakes his head. "Aurors are tasked with enforcing the letter of the law. They can't just run around doing whatever they like."
Harry's hand tightens around his glass. "What about the Order then?"
Bill gives him a sad smile. "The Order is done. All tasks completed. You're still here. You-Know-Who isn't. That's what we were fighting for."
Harry finds himself less than satisfied with what sounds to him like a non-answer. He picks up his ale, moodily taking a long pull. Getting pissed sounds more and more appealing at the moment.
Bill sighs. "Look. During the war we were renegades. Revolutionaries. Heroes. Do you know what those kind of people are called during times of peace?"
Harry shakes his head.
"Vigilantes."
There's just enough bitterness leant to the word for Harry to realize that Bill likes the way things are far less than he's letting on.
"It was a hard-won peace, Harry. You know that better than anyone. Now we have to learn how to live within the constraints of it. Even if it drives us barmy sometimes."
That just isn't good enough, Harry thinks.
Bill drains the last of his drink, pushing to his feet. "Come on. Let's get you back. Ron and Hermione have likely come up for air by now."
Unfortunately, one pint is nowhere enough to take the edge off, but luckily that means Harry can Apparate himself back to the Burrow.
Sure enough, Ron and Hermione are back in the sitting room when they get there.
"Harry," Hermione says. "There you are!"
"I just took him on a bit of a field trip. Very educational, I promise," Bill says.
Hermione's nose wrinkles as Harry sits down. "Is that why you smell like a pub?"
Bill laughs. "A little positive reinforcement never hurts."
"Christ," Ron says with a long-suffering sigh. "I could really use a pint."
"Oh," Bill says, mussing the top of Ron's head. "I have a feeling you've already had your fair share of positive reinforcement this afternoon."
Both Ron and Hermione go scarlet.
Bill only laughs. "So, Hermione, have you decided which wizard to settle on? Or are you all going to try for a more communal arrangement?"
It takes Harry a moment to even remember the article. It seems like a million years ago.
"Sod off," Ron says.
Hermione doesn't even bother to scold him for his language, her burning face turned down to her book.
Apparently content with having given the two of them enough shite, Bill relents. "Okay, okay. I'm off. Thanks for your help, Harry."
"Sure," he says.
Bill claps a hand on his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic smile. After shouting a farewell to Molly, he disappears out the front door.
"Where did you go?" Ron asks the moment his brother is gone.
Harry doesn't hesitate to fill them in. Bill hadn't asked for secrecy, and even if he had, Harry probably would've told them anyway. Keeping things from them isn't second nature for him, no matter how much things have changed the last few months.
He can tell Hermione is only half-listening, far too intent on her studies. She only lifts her head once to scold him for being so reckless, and he suspects she's mostly upset he wasted time that could have been spent revising. He decides not to point out that she could have used the time to revise as well instead of doubtlessly having her face attached to Ron's.
Ron, for his part, is a good audience as always, but seems less concerned than Harry would like.
"Well, the Aurors are on it now, right?" he asks.
"I suppose," Harry says. But when has that ever really meant anything?
"Besides, it'll all be safe in the Department of Mysteries," Ron decides. "After all, no one in their right mind would go down there if they didn't have to."
Harry doesn't miss the way his hand is rubbing absently at his forearm.
"Right," he says.
Harry lets the topic drop, not feeling particularly satisfied, but not feeling up to arguing about it either. They return to their studies.
Harry's focus isn't quite there, finding himself reading the same page over and over again and retaining none of it. He glances up, watching Hermione creating a chart of runes and their meanings.
One of them catches his eye, looking familiar. "What's that?" he asks, pointing to it.
Hermione brushes her hair back out of her face. "This one? That is a variant of the vestigium family." Her finger slides along the chart. "Meaning footprint or track. But this has an extra component here, which adds breaking or tugging."
That is definitely one of the ones Harry saw Bill use back at the vault. "Like, if you wanted to identify the components of a ward or charm you didn't know?"
Hermione looks at him in surprise. "Yes, I suppose it could be used that way. To help characterize any unknown magical phenomena. I should add that." She scribbles down a note, muttering quietly to herself.
Ron just laughs. "What do you care, Harry? You aren't taking a NEWT in bloody Runes."
Harry shakes his head. "Just curious."
When Hermione moves on to another subject, Harry pulls her text towards him, skimming through the pages. After a moment, he flips back to the beginning and starts to read.