A/N: I have a confession. I left my outline for this story behind somewhere around chapter seven, and I've been writing by the seat of my pants ever since. But don't worry. I've now created a new outline for the remainder of this story. The last chapters of this tale are going to be pretty jam-packed, as this one is. I hope you all enjoy the ride!


Chapter Seventeen

By morning, they hadn't been attacked, so they assumed they would be safe staying in one place for a few days. Harry went fishing, and they set up a camp stove to cook. Harry had thought ahead about what might be available when foraging for food, and had reckoned on fish. They therefore had their choice of frying it in cornmeal or steaming it under a Bubble Charm with an option of herbs. They chose herbs, since it was simpler, and opened a can of mixed vegetables to go along with it.

Sitting on a fallen tree, with another large hunk of wood as their table, they talked.

"Malfoy had at least one. I think it's possible he could have had more than one."

"That's true, but wouldn't Riddle have rather spread them out more, to lessen the chances of their being discovered or damaged?"

They agreed on that, and set to figuring out who else might have been given guardianship of a Horcrux. They had decided to call Lord Voldemort by his given name, Tom Riddle. It was part of Harry's campaign to make him more human and less of a giant they couldn't overcome. After all, he would say, this entire business was about making him as human as possible so he could effectively be brought to justice.

"Who's his closest servant, though?" Harry said when Hermione began bringing up too many names. "I know he trusts Snape implicitly at this point, but he probably wouldn't have back then. He was too young."

"Who are you thinking?"

"I'm going back to the beginning. I think the Lestranges. Bellatrix has always been his most devoted servant, and she's a really skilled witch, as well. He would have trusted her with a Horcrux, if he was going to give it to anyone."

"You're right. Do you think it would be in their house?"

Harry shook his head. "What the Order has gathered is that they don't have a house anymore. The only property they have left after their stint in Azkaban is their Gringotts vault."

"Where do they live, then?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I think at the Malfoys. It's Death Eaters headquarters. I think Riddle stays there, as well."

Hermione shuddered. "Can you imagine sharing a house with him?"

Harry poked at his food, sickened by the thought of Voldemort living in a spare bedroom in Grimmauld Place. "No. But I bet that's part of the reason Draco finally shut up and grew up."

"Eat," Hermione chided him. "You're going to need it."

Harry obediently ate, despite being not at all hungry. "It's in their Gringotts vault."

"You think so?"

"Seems likely."

"Do you have a plan?"

"I have the beginnings of one. I don't even know how . . . this is going to be a lot of work. There are so many people, every step of the way, and I want to protect who I can. We're going to need help."

"Harry, what on earth are you thinking of?"

"Deception," he answered simply. "Layers and layers of it. With any luck, they won't even know it's gone until the war's over." He began shoveling food into his mouth without a lot of chewing. A dangerous proposition, since neither of them was particularly good at cleaning a fish and he was swallowing a lot of bones.

"I said eat, not choke," she scolded. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I brought a lot of ingredients, so we can brew what we need, but it's going to take forever to prepare."

"Why don't we just go back to the house to see if Draco has any?"

Harry frowned. "I don't want to go back there unless we have no other choice. Besides, we didn't have any when you and I left, so it'll take him just as long to prepare as it would me."

"Do you mind telling me what we're preparing?"
"Polyjuice Potion. And then . . . Well, we can use a mundane disguise at first. We just need to get in and out of the owl post office without being recognised, just long enough to send a letter to Ron."

"Ron Weasley? Harry, you'd better start explaining yourself."

At her stern look, Harry marshaled his thoughts into order and told her the plan. They first, prelimary stage of their plan, they were able to carry out while they waited for their Polyjuice to brew.

-o-o-o-

Dear Neville,

I am hoping, first of all, that you are well and that your duties are not causing you to rupture anything important. Head Boy, I shudder to think. Believe me, mate, you're the one doing all the hard work, and I don't envy you the responsibility you've accepted.

That said, I know why you're doing it, and I would never suggest you don't have the devotion necessary. I know better, just as I know better than to waste your time just to ask you how you're doing. Actually, the reason I'm writing is simply to ask you to deliver the attached letter to Ron Weasley. I have a request to make of him, and I thought it would be by far better for him not to attract attention by receiving unexplained post from strange owls. Believe me, this is as far as I mean for you to go: just deliver the letter to Ron, and don't ask questions. With any luck, neither of you will actually be put into any danger.

Thank you, Neville. Keep your chin up.

Harry

Neville found himself blinking back tears as he read the letter from Harry. Mostly, the tears were due to the sting of the salve Seamus was rubbing into his wounds. Those damn Carrow siblings were a terror, make no mistake. But Neville was satisfied with bearing the brunt of their cruelty. These marks on his body meant that a third-year Slytherin girl had gone back to her dormitory unharmed, after asking the wrong question. Her safety at his expense had gotten him into a shouting match with Veronica, about how she could protect her own house. He'd said it didn't matter, she said it did, he said he was going to protect any student who needed it, and she yelled back that he was wearing enough scars from trying to save his own bloody housemates. He'd been touched when he'd figured out that she was yelling at him because she was upset that he was hurt.

They were the only thing standing between the little kids and the atrocities of this new administration. They were taking that seriously. It was nice to know that Harry was taking it seriously, too.

"Who's that from?" Seamus asked in curiosity, kneading the salve into Neville's shoulder and making him gasp.

"No one," he answered softly.

Seamus had learned not to argue when Neville said something like that. They sat in silence in the near-empty Room of Requirement—the only safe place to treat something received as punishment. The students collectively refused to allow Madam Pomfrey to get herself into trouble. She wanted to treat them against strict instructions to let them suffer; those in the know would find their way here and those that weren't DL would make do in their dormitory with their frightened and clumsy roommates.

When Neville was feeling better, he went back to his own dorm room, to find that Ron had let Ginny in there again to do her studying. They'd gotten used to seeing her there, her books spread over Harry's empty bed, since the two Weasley siblings had ceased to let the other out of their sight unless they were in class. No one objected. They understood. If Neville had siblings, he'd want them nearby, as well.

However, he wasn't sure if Harry wanted Ginny to see this letter. So he waited until Ginny slipped out to use the lavatory to give Ron the parchment folded up inside his own letter. He hadn't read it. He knew he wasn't supposed to.

-o-o-o-

Dear Ron,

Sorry to spring a surprise on you, but I need your help. I have a plan in the works, something that will go a long way toward defeating this nasty character I keep hearing about. I know that your involvement is a risk, and I'm trying to protect everyone I need help from, as much as I can. So, really, what I'm saying is that you shouldn't ask questions about the plan. If you can help me with this one thing, you will have done your part.

I had considered leaving you out of things, but I need to get into your family's house. I thought you might have an easier time sneaking inside than I would. I cannot tell you what I am going to do with it, but I need to procure your father's hair. I'd ask him personally, but it's like I said: I want to protect everyone who has any part in my plan. I'd rather he not even know. Likewise, I want you to sneak into the house and get this without telling him so that he doesn't know of your involvement.

You have some time to figure out a way to sneak out of the school and procure the hair, while I work on another step in my plan. Then I will contact you again. It will not be through Neville, next time. I really hope that you will be willing to do this. But I will understand if you are not. This is a huge risk that I am asking you to take, and it is also a risk to your father. I wouldn't ask if I didn't already know how committed the Weasleys are to this fight. But as I said, I will understand if you can't do this. If you choose not to, simply ignore the next letter, and I will find a way to do it without you.

I don't mean to insult you or anything. I just mean to tell you that I am sorry for asking so much of your family. I'm afraid we won't be able to communicate properly, so just wait for my next letter. It may be a couple of weeks before I send it, and when I do, it will be spelled to be read only upon being touched with a wand and having a password spoken. The password is, for my own sentimental reasons, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Just hang on to the hair, once you get it.

I hope you're surviving school, Ron, and I hope Ginny is okay. I wish I was there to help.

Harry

Ron was indignant at the idea that he might choose not to do his part. Not help! Like some weakling or coward! A small, rational voice at the back of his mind told him that Harry's interest in his father's hair was not for any lark. There were few reasons a person would want such a thing, and Harry's plan was likely to put Dad, and therefore the rest of the family, in danger.

Ron looked at Ginny, sitting Indian-style on Harry's old bed, trying to do her "Muggle Studies" homework without throwing up. Despite how fiercely he was trying to protect her now, they'd all chosen this. They'd all chosen this danger, because they knew it was right. Ron wouldn't change his mind, and so this must be done. Whatever it was. Ron wanted to know more. He didn't care what Harry said about protecting people, Ron wasn't asking for protection.

He went to find Neville, and they went to the Room of Requirement. It was hours of applied concentration to the task before they finally managed to create a safe passage from the castle. And boy, but Aberforth Dumbledore was surprised to see the two of them stumble into his pub.

-o-o-o-

Dear Ernie,

I must apologise up front for sending you this letter, because I know it is likely to cause you some worry. But I would ask you to keep your worries to yourself. I am in the middle of executing a plan that will strike a major blow to You-Know-Who, but I need the silence of everyone whom I must ask to be involved. I know I can trust you, because Neville and Ron trust you.

Your part is very simple. All you need do is deliver the attached letter to Ron Weasley. I simply didn't want to have attention drawn to him by his receiving letters from unknown owls, since I need him for something else. Thanks for your assistance, Ernie. Keep fighting, as I know you have been. You are doing everything I wish I could be. The end is in sight.

Harry Potter

-o-o-o-

Dear Ron,

I know it's been almost three weeks, and I hope you're not panicking about the length of time. I had a few things I needed to prepare before I was ready to execute the next stage of the plan. Now I'm ready. If you haven't been able to get your father's hair, ignore this letter. If you received it from any hands but those of Ernie Macmillan, ignore it. I know I spelled it to open only the password, but my paranoia is reaching new heights. If it wasn't Ernie, throw it away and throw that hair away.

If you are ready, then we need to meet. I will have one other task for you, if you are willing. Please be at the edge of your home's ward boundaries, on the side nearest Ottery St. Catchpole, at eight o'clock this Tuesday evening. I am hoping that you will be able to have someone cover up your absence for an hour or two (assuming someone is keeping close tabs on you like that). As much as your first task might have seemed disagreeable, I imagine you'll like the second task I have for you even less. I'm just going to need your trust, until this is over.

I won't wait at the meeting place for long, on the chance that you didn't receive the letter or that someone intercepted it en route, somehow. (A very unlikely possibility, but I might have mentioned that I'm getting paranoid.) Make sure you're there at eight o'clock.

Thanks for doing this, Ron. Once it's safe to talk about, I'll make sure you get some serious accolades for this. For now, you'll have to live with my unending gratitude. I hope to see you soon.

Harry

-o-o-o-

They had tried to bake bread on top of their fire. It had risen all right, hardly even flat, but the bottom was burnt black. Hermione was slicing the bottom off the loaf and simultaneously studying the seventh level in the Standard Book of Spells series. She was not slicing into her hand—not yet.

"Hey," Harry said softly, and placed his hands over hers. "Let me do that. I want you to look over this letter to Ron before we eat."

She turned her head, face in a puzzled frown with having her concentration broken. "You're funny, you know. You're perfectly capable of composing a letter."

"I know I am. I just like you to know everything."

That got a smile from her. She handed over the knife and took up the letter. Harry glanced at the page she had her book open to, and got quite distracted by the text. He didn't cut himself, although he did jump when the spell they'd set on the pot of soup started chiming to indicate it was hot enough.

Hermione looked up from Harry's second letter to Ron, and said, "Okay, you can send this." She couldn't help but feel a slight pout forming. "Why don't you ever mention me?" she asked quietly. "That is . . . I'm not looking for praise. But I am a little bit hurt. I know you're not ashamed of me or anything, but you didn't say anything about me to them."

Harry was immediately at her side, his arm around her waist and his lips in her hair. The soup could boil over, for all he cared. "Don't start that, now," he scolded. "You are doing by far the most important part of this."

"Brewing the potion?"

"We did it together. We are doing all of this together. And that's why it's more important than anything they do. You're here with me. You love me, you hold me together. You let me love you." His arms around her were tight with strain and worry. "I didn't mention you because I want to protect you, too. If I can erase every sign that you were here at all, I'll do it. You're too precious to lose, Hermione. Don't you see that?"

"No," she said quietly. "But it's nice to know that someone can see it." Her hands stroked over his tense back. "I don't want to lose you, either. So save some of that protection for yourself, would you?"

"I keep telling you," he said with a cocky smile. "I'm not going to die in this fight. I'm going to win."

Hermione smiled and laid her cheek on his chest. "That's right. You are."

"We are," he corrected. "We'll mail this tomorrow. Let's eat."

They ate, and they rinsed their dishes in the stream that ran by their campsite, then settled down by the fire to study for several hours. The Polyjuice Potion was ready, it needed only the final ingredient, but that would have to wait until Tuesday. They didn't practice any of the spells they looked at, since they were trying to avoid using magic whenever possible.

Harry looked up from a book with his eyes feeling raw from the smoke of the fire he'd built. He honestly didn't mind this living rough—it was rather cosy. But it would be nice to not have to brush ash off everything they owned whenever they wanted to use it.

"Let's go to bed," he said with a yawn. "I want to get up early, post the letter to Ernie quick enough that it will come at breakfast."

So they did. After that first night, they'd seen no reason to change their sleeping arrangements, and now they were quite comfortable with sliding into their gigantic sleeping bag. No blushing, no awkwardness. It was the best sleep they'd ever gotten, laying there with their limbs entangled and not a trace of shame.

-o-o-o-

Harry and Hermione waited cautiously under the Invisibility Cloak until the figure was close enough to see clearly. He looked like Ron. He walked like Ron. Didn't necessarily mean it was Ron. But he was here at the appointed time, just outside the property boundary of the Weasley's family home. So they took the cloak off and stepped forward, fingers itchy for their wands.

"Harry, Hermione," Ron said in surprise. "Wow, it's really good to see you two! Everyone's been worried!"

Harry gave him a very sober look. "Tell me something. Tell me what I gave Sirius for Christmas the year your father was in the hospital."

Ron looked shocked, then he nodded in understanding. "Some of the twins' products, wasn't it? Skiving Snackboxes, I think." He crossed his arms. "And what did you give me that year?"

"It was a broom servicing kit, but you didn't deserve it, I'd already let you stay in my house."

Ron grinned, held out his hand. They grasped hands, and thumped one another on the back. Ron offered Hermione a more delicate handshake.

"No one's seen you since Minister Bones got elected over the summer. I wasn't sure if you two were together somewhere or not. Are you with Professor Black?"

"Not right now, no."

"Hermione and I are . . . we've separated ourselves from the others, to keep them safe. Anyway, we're glad to see you're doing all right. We haven't had a way to hear any news, lately, but I was worried about what things were going to be like at school this year."

Ron's smile fell. "There's a radio station you can listen to, a private one Lee Jordan's running that requires a passcode, but the news is all bad."

"Tell me, anyway," Harry asked.

Ron soberly related the situation. The attacks targeting Muggleborn homes were the least of it. With Minister Bones not able to appear in public, the Wizengamot was rapidly taking over, and there were either Death Eaters or people under the Imperius curse among them—or so it would seem, based on their legislation. And at Hogwarts . . .

"It's awful, right now. Purebloods only, and that means people are missing their friends and classrooms are missing some good input. Not that the classrooms are exactly a place to learn, anymore. The curriculum is all about blood purity, now. Muggle Studies has been made mandatory, and it's a joke. I mean, I always thought Muggles were funny, but I know they aren't cattle. Defense Against the Dark Arts is the worst, though. It's not Defense anymore, just Dark. People are required to use the Cruciatus Curse on the other students. We're supposed to practise it on people in detention. It's ruddy awful. And if you refuse . . ." Ron shook his head, his face drawn with strain.

"Has anyone been badly hurt?"
"Just Neville, so far," Ron said softly. "He steps in whenever being Head Boy allows him to, and sometimes even when it doesn't. Both he and Veronica do it, especially when it's one of the younger kids. And Madam Pomfrey isn't allowed to treat us, so we take care of each other. We're not exactly experts, you know? He's going to wind up looking like Mad-Eye Moody by the time this is all over. And Veronica refuses to let him be some kind of lone hero, and it's making her all noble and not-Slytherin. The two of them are at each other's throats, all the time, but they've been able to protect the little kids, so far. All of us prefects do what we can . . . When one of the teachers was torturing Ginny for sticking her nose in for a younger student, I almost got myself killed. Ernie and Terry were holding me back and telling me I couldn't help."

Hermione had pressed herself into Harry's side, her eyes full of tears. Harry put his arm around her and wished he could burrow into her and be comforted. Ron looked weary, and Harry knew it could only be worse for Neville. He thought of those little first-and-second years, watching in fear while the older students were tortured for their sakes, and he bit down on his tongue. He couldn't help. Not now. He had other work to do.

"Ron, I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "I'm working as fast as I can to bring Voldemort down, so we can end this. I promise."

Ron nodded. "Let's do this, then," he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a glass vial that would normally contain a potion. He continued to hold it, instead of handing it over. "What do you want with this, Harry? Why my dad?"

Harry shook his head. "It's better you don't know."

"And my dad? Shouldn't he know what you're going to do, acting as him?"

Harry frowned at that. It was something that had been troubling him. But having no truth to reveal, if dosed with Veritaserum, was the only way he could think of to protect them. He shook his head and pulled out a vial of his own, this one containing a potion.

"I need you to get inside tonight, and slip this into something your dad is eating or drinking."

Ron accepted the vial, opened it, and sniffed it cautiously. "Harry . . . this is poisonous."

"It's very mild," Harry explained. "It will make him sick, but only for a day or two."

"Why?"

"So that he's home from work. Just leave a note, somewhere he'll see it right away, that he's going to be seen at work tomorrow morning and then he'll go home sick."

Ron stared at the vial in his hand. "Harry, no."

Harry was dismayed, but not surprised. Ron had every right to refuse. He'd have to change his plans. Maybe he would be able to penetrate the defenses around this home, himself. Maybe there was someone else who worked for the Ministry he could use, even if there was no one else he trusted.

"I won't poison my father. Not until I know why."

"What?" Harry asked. He'd half-expected refusal, but not this.

"I will go along with what you want to do, but only if you tell me the plan. In fact, I want to help with the rest of it."

"No," Harry said adamantly. Beside him, Hermione opened her mouth, but shut it again when he said, "No way."

"Why not?"
"Because it's best if you aren't able to talk about it. If you don't know, you can't say, and you can't be harmed for your involvement."

Ron held one vial in each hand, and looked stubborn. "Did I tell you that I had Neville induct me into the Order of the Phoenix? He's part of it, you know."

"Yes, I knew he was. I didn't know you were."

"I'm of age. I can make my own decisions about my safety and just how far I want to go to save us. I'm already doing things that could get me hurt or killed. Our new professors would love to kill me just for what I'm doing as a prefect. So this isn't going to be the one thing that signs my death warrant. I want to help, Harry. Surely the two of you can't do everything on your own?"

Harry looked down at Hermione, who was looking up at him with a strangely calm attitude. She seemed to think it was a good idea. And Harry had to admit, there were a few stages of this plan when an extra pair of hands and eyes would be needed.

"It's going to take some time. What are you going to do about explaining your absence at school?"
"Easy," Ron shrugged. "Dean can't attend this year, so he's taking Polyjuice and pretending to be me for a couple of days, until I get back. He and Seamus have been spending a lot of time holed up in the Room of Requirement, treating the wounded and keeping each other company. Seamus wanted to do it, but he couldn't get my voice right."

"You already arranged this?"

Ron grinned.

"Stupid, stubborn prat," Harry muttered. "All right. I'll tell you the plan. But first go in there and slip this to your dad. Take my cloak."

-o-o-o-

Getting into the Ministry had been easier than any other part of the endeavour, so far. He was a little nervous, but that was all to the good, since he was supposed to be coming down sick. He allowed himself to be a little pale and clammy.

It was surreal, walking around inside someone else's body. He'd been in disguise, but never quite like this. He'd never actually walked around in someone else's skin. Arthur was taller than him, flabbier, and he had big feet. It felt awkward.

But Harry wasn't here to contemplate the oddities of the Polyjuice potion. He was here to get something. And since Ron had talked him around to including Arthur Weasley in his plans, it was going to be much easier. Harry had been armed with the name of a man in the Ministry whom he knew to be a Death Eater, since Snape and Sirius had discussed him once or twice. And Arthur was armed with information on how to get near him, when, and why. Yes, including Arthur made this much easier to pull off—not least of all because they didn't have to poison him, after all. But Harry still felt nagging guilt over it. The danger he was putting himself in was one thing. What he was doing to others was something else entirely.

But not now, because he needed to focus. He watched quietly in the foyer area of the Ministry building, the place where everyone arrived and departed, until he saw his target. He followed him to the caged lifts, and got on when he did. He pretended not to notice the other man until the carriage started moving. Then he pretended surprise, and he smiled.

"Ah, Markowicz, didn't see you there!" He gave the other man a jovial slap on the back. "I'm still waiting for that report from your department, you know."

Markowicz scowled at him. "Why do you think I pressed the button for your floor, Weasley? I'm on my way to deliver it to you." He shuffled in the leather satchel he carried. "Here."

"No, no, I'll just spill my cup on it," Harry protested, holding up the cup of tea he'd procured. "Just pop into my office with me, and I can check it before you go to make sure it has everything we need."

Markowicz was unhappy, but couldn't think of a good argument, so they exited the lift together. Harry glanced quickly around the office, and was pleased to see that Arthur was right, he did always get there earlier than anyone else. When Markowicz held out the report, Harry shot his spell.

"Imperio!"

The man's eyes glazed. Well, it was Harry's first attempt, he didn't have the finesse to make it look good.

"Who do you report to?" Harry demanded. "Which Death Eater do you report your information to?" You want to tell me, you would love to tell me . . .

"Rodolphus Lestrange," Markowicz said in a dull voice.

"Yes," Harry breathed. "When is your next scheduled meeting?"

"Tomorrow after work."

"Where?"

"Hogsmeade."

Harry was delighted. He released the spell, and Markowicz nearly fell over. "Obliviate," he said, removing the last few moments from the man's mind. He took the copy of the report from the man's hands. "Thank you, Markowicz, this ought to be quite helpful."

Markowicz was confused for a moment, casting around for something to say after the brief interruption in his brain. He settled on, "You look ghastly, Weasley."

"I'm a bit under the weather," Harry admitted.

"Well, I'll thank you not to spread it around the whole building!" Markowicz snapped. "Why don't you go home?"

Harry nodded gravely. "Might do, to be honest with you. Well, thanks for the report, in any case. I'll just tuck it here in the inbox so the rest of the staff can work on it. I'd better go back home, then. Good day."

Markowicz grunted, and stalked out. Harry very carefully departed as well, being sure to remark on how poorly he was feeling to a few of the people he ran into on his way out. None of them cared, they had enough troubles of their own. The aura of fear over this building was palpable and real, and made Harry feel genuinely sick. But safely in one sweaty palm, he clutched what he'd come for. The hair he'd plucked from Markowicz's stringy mane when he'd slapped his back. His ticket to see Rodolphus Lestrange.

He met up with Hermione and Ron when he exited the building. He grinned triumphantly as he slipped the hair into the vial Hermione held out to him.

"He reports directly to Lestrange," he announced. "That will eliminate a step."

The other two smiled back.

"What's the plan for right now?"

Harry was beginning to lose his resemblance to Arthur. He could feel his body sucking itself into a new shape, and his hair prickled as it grew back in. He felt a bit weak in the knees.

"Now we get me a drink," he declared. "We can't do anything until the meeting tomorrow night. You two will waylay him while I meet with Lestrange in Hogsmeade. Once you've got Markowicz safely tucked away for a couple of hours, you come to Hogsmeade to help me subdue Lestrange."

Hermione frowned. "What are we going to do if Lestrange doesn't know where the vault key is? What if Bellatrix is the only one who knows?"
Harry shrugged. "Then I'll take one more dose of Polyjuice and meet up with her."

Hermione shuddered. Ron gaped at him.

They agreed they could all use a drink or two. The plan for tonight was something Harry had yet to share.

-o-o-o-

"This part, I have to do alone," Harry said gravely. Ron and Hermione were working on making dinner, which was fish (again) and a sort of stew with wild mushrooms and herbs that they hoped would taste okay if soaked in enough butter.

"You haven't told us what you're doing," Ron said complacently.

Hermione didn't say anything, but her lips were pressed together in disapproval.

"I'm going to Malfoy Manor."

"But you— you're going— what?" Ron sputtered.

Hermione stood up.

"I have a way of getting there undetected," Harry said with assurance. "I know it's risky, but I have to do it. If I have to pretend to be Rodolphus, and meet up with Bellatrix, then I need to know how to behave around her. I'm going to observe them for a while and get an idea of how they talk, touch, and so on. When that bloke was pretending to be me, Hermione knew it wasn't me inside a minute."

"What bloke?" Ron asked.

Hermione grabbed Harry's elbow and yanked him into their tent.

"You are not doing this," she hissed.

Harry cast a Muffliato charm. "Are you denying it's necessary?"

"No, I'm not, but I won't let you do it. We'll come up with another plan, Harry, because there is no way that I am letting you go alone to Malfoy Manor, as an owl or otherwise!"

Harry smiled. "I knew you'd figure out what I was going to do."

Hermione glared at him.

"Hermione, this has to be done. We have to have that Horcrux. Simply breaking into their vault would be disaster at best, and suicide at worst. We have to be able to do this. In fact, it's better if I have her hair, too. That way we can go into Gringotts together. And if we're going to do this, I have to be able to walk right into her presence and give nothing away. I have to go spy on them. We don't have a choice."

"We do have a choice."

"It's the choice between succeeding and not succeeding. We don't have any allies in the bank, and I'm not about to risk breaking in. It has to be this way."
Hermione left the tent, and went back to help Ron put together the food. He hadn't been able to hear anything, but he still blushed so much that his ears turned red. The silence over the campsite was very, very awkward. Harry prepared to leave in silence, but as he walked far enough away from the campsite to Apparate, Hermione came rushing after him, and threw her arms around him.

"We can't part on bad terms," she said. "Not ever."

He gave her a very soft kiss. "I'll be back."

"I know you will."

He Apparated a nice, easy distance from Malfoy Manor, the location of which he'd wheedled from Draco ages ago in the event it was ever needed. Then he transformed into an owl, and soared over the tall hedges, and was on the property completely undetected within moments.

He was half-wild with nerves, but he forced himself to go slowly, and see everything. There were (of all the stupid, ostentatious ways to waste your money) albino peacocks wandering about the premises. He should be grateful for them. It was likely their presence that made his own possible—the Malfoy wards excluded birds. Harry tilted his wings and swooped towards the back gardens, thinking a rear entrance might be safer than trying to wing through the front door.

He looked at everything as he went. Knowing things about this house might save his life at some point. He looked in all the windows as he went by, noting what they contained. Say, windows would make things easy. Maybe they had left a window open for him . . .

As it turned out, he didn't need a window. The Lestranges were sitting on a marble bench, in a piece of garden near the house but separated from the kitchen garden by a decorative hedge. Harry, feeling reckless with his success in getting this far, perched himself silently on that hedge, and watched.

He counted himself grateful that Rodolphus Lestrange seemed to be a very level-headed individual. They were speaking of a plan to invade someone's home and kill them, two nights from now, and Rodolphus showed none of his wife's mad glee about it. Of course, he was still discussing the violent death of innocent people, but he seemed like a sociopath of the sort that simply didn't see anything wrong with murder. He didn't seem to have any real joy in it, nor in anything else. It was more to the point for him that it would please Voldemort, and Bellatrix. He was the kind of guy who pleased others to make his own life easier. If they were happy, his life went smoothly.

Yes, Harry was grateful for that. He would find it easier to act out the part of Rodolphus than a lot of the other Death Eaters. But he was entirely dismayed to find out that he and his wife were very attracted to one another. It was a little bit sickening to watch, but Harry forced himself to do so. He had to know, so he could pull this off.

She liked to play with his beard, Harry noted. And he liked to play with her breasts, which was a lot more disgusting to file away for his use. Apparently the way she licked her Dark Mark was supposed to be a turn on, since Rodolphus bent his head to kiss her.

Then, very abruptly, she was done playing. She jumped up from the bench, laughing in weirdly uncertain way that chilled him.

"Come on, we've work to do."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Rodolphus said sourly, getting up.

"Our lord has been generous enough to allow us this time. We will not try his patience," she said sharply.

"No," he agreed, getting up himself.

Bellatrix suddenly whipped her head around and drew her wand. She stared around into the dark wildly. Rodolphus followed suit, wand held at the ready and eyes straining against the darkness.

"What?" he asked.

Harry tucked his wings in as far as he could, and tried to be smaller than he was. Damn him for being such a large breed of owl! But a peacock stepped out from between two shrubs, and the Lestranges relaxed. Rodolphus put his wand away, although Bellatrix turned hers toward the white bird with a snarl on her lips. Rodolphus laid a hand on her arm, making her turn her head.

"Lucius would throw a fit," he said.

Bellatrix put her wand away with a scowl, and they walked up the path toward the huge house.

Then Rodolphus lunged at her and shoved her up against the wall of the manor with a growl of desire. "They can wait a few minutes," he grunted, fumbling with her skirt, making her scrape her bare skin against the house. She hissed in pain.

"Merlin, you're gorgeous when you're bleeding," he mumbled, sliding a hand over her bared, scraped thigh.

"Yes," she said simply.

Harry decided to get the hell out of there. They were too distracted to see him go, and he flew halfway back to the campsite before he remembered that he could transform back into a person and Apparate. He stumbled through the wards they'd placed with his gut feeling pinched and heavy.

Hermione and Ron were sitting at the fireplace. Hermione was taking the opportunity of having someone who was going through the curriculum to get some questions answered about NEWT studies. But they both jumped to their feet and turned his way when they saw him coming.

"Harry?"

"I need a shower," Harry said firmly. "I need soap. Lots of soap."

Soap they had, but not a shower, so Harry settled for washing his hands in their stream. The act of it, the calming motion of doing something so familiar, settled him. But his stomach was still twisted up in knots. He didn't know how he was going to pull off pretending to be Rodolphus, not when he had to be married to her.

-o-o-o-

Harry didn't know that the proprietor of the Hog's Head was the one who'd given Ron a means in and out of the school—Ron hadn't relayed the information, and Harry hadn't asked. They hadn't yet had time for such details. But Harry knew a little about Aberforth Dumbledore simply through knowing his brother, and he couldn't understand why the man would allow nasty types like Lestrange and Markowicz to hold meetings in his establishment.

Of course, denying them could mean more trouble than it was really worth, so . . . Harry supposed he had some sympathy for the man. In any case, his business tonight wasn't Aberforth, it was Rodolphus. Hermione and Ron were hiding Markowicz's unconscious form somewhere out of the way until this meeting was over with, so they should be waiting outside the Hog's Head in only a minute or two. For now, Harry was on his own.

He didn't like being Markowicz. The stringy feeling of the hair on his neck was awful, and his skin was dry and itchy. He had a better build than Arthur, but he didn't have Harry's lean form that was built for endurance. Harry would gladly take on Markowicz in a fight, any day. He'd wear himself out before Harry had broken a sweat.

When Rodolphus Lestrange walked into the dirty, dingy little pub and took a seat at the faded and scarred table, Harry felt that assurance evaporate. Here was a man who would be a dangerous opponent. He was handsome, in a swarthy and sneering sort of way, with a deep chest and big arms. Harry didn't want to bet on his chances of taking Lestrange alone, so he hoped Ron and Hermione were hurrying. He didn't have anything to report, so he wouldn't be able to stall for long.

"Markowicz," Lestrange said in a low, rumbling voice. "What do you have for me?"

Harry made a lazy gesture, and tried to look bored. "Ah, relax, why don't you? Have a drink. We're the only ones here, might as well take our time. Won't kill you, Lestrange." In demonstration, he took a long swallow of his own drink, thanking his lucky stars that they were the only patrons. Aberforth Dumbledore came stumping over with a scowl, smelling as sour as his pet goat and making Harry grimace. He thunked a tankard down in front of Lestrange and departed again without a word.

Lestrange frowned at both the drink and his presumed colleague, stroking his neatly-trimmed beard with thumb and forefinger. "Fine," he said at last. He grinned, in a sly way. "Bella always likes to taste the alcohol on my breath, anyway."

Harry could sense, in the delivery, that he was being goaded in some way. Did Markowicz not like Bellatrix? Harry had sympathy, if that were so. Or was it more that Markowicz had a thing for her and her husband liked rubbing it in? Gross. Whatever it was, Harry figured he was safe with scowling and mumbling and taking a big swig. Lestrange seemed to get a kick out of it, anyway. Hopefully it would keep him in a good enough mood that Harry wouldn't be forced to report immediately.

They drank in silence for a minute, until Harry was certain that his friend and his girlfriend were outside. He stirred, a bit. No need for any sort of violence unless it were necessary. He'd try to do it peacefully (and illegally, and Darkly) first.

"Well, Markowicz? Do you have a bloody report, or are you just here to look pretty?"

"Imperio," Harry whispered.

It didn't take. Lestrange's eyes bugged, then he leapt out of his seat, causing Harry to leap up, himself. "You dare! You little twerp! You—" He stopped in surprise when Harry, unused to the body he found himself in, nearly fell when getting up. "You're not Markowicz," he growled.

Before Lestrange could get his wand up, Harry was running. "Not in my pub!" Aberforth was shouting, and Lestrange was sending curses at him, but Harry was weaving past the tables as he ran, and he flung himself through the door with desperation, hoping with all his heart that his allies were on the other side because this body was not built for running.

"Stupefy!" two voices said simultaneously. Lestrange hit the dirt, Harry went to his knees and grabbed the man's arm, and all four of them Disapparated before Aberforth could peek out to see anything.

-o-o-o-

When Rodolphus Lestrange woke up, he was bound with ropes. He was laying on the floor of some empty building, all concrete and only two windows up near the ceiling. He was unable to move and diagnosed himself as being Petrified—and his wand was being twirled in the hands of a very recognizable person.

"Potter," he growled. "Harry bleeding Potter. You're the one who got to Markowicz? What are you playing at, boy?"

Potter gave him an indolent look, tucking his into the pocket of Muggle jeans. He was also wearing a filthy Muggle t-shirt. He sported a dueling holster on each forearm, both filled by a wand. Rodolphus allowed himself a brief moment to wonder what the devil Potter was doing with two wands, then reminded him that Potter currently had three and there were bigger problems to worry about.

"I need some information from you."

Rodolphus laughed, which due to his Petrification made his chest feel tight. He suddenly noticed that his chest was entirely bare. Where were his clothes? Was this supposed to be intimidating? "You need information, so you've ambushed me and taken me captive? Maybe we ought to be less focused on trying to kill you and more on recruiting you."

Oh, that had to smart. Potter's jaw was clenched down hard. But then he smiled.

"At least I'm not going to kill you, Lestrange."

That didn't make any sense. "Why the devil wouldn't you? Unless you and your cronies can't handle it. Who was it, anyway, that got me outside the pub?"

"No one you need to be concerned about," Potter said harshly. He used one of his wands to conjure up a chair, and he sat on it, leaving Rodolphus on the ground. "Let's talk."

"Better yet, why don't you fuck off, you upstart little git?"

Potter leaned back with a lazy grin. "Is that what's got you upset? Not that someone bested you, but that it was some youngster like me? Don't feel too bad, Lestrange. I'm actually quite skilled for my age. Most students don't get the opportunity to practice Binding spells."

Rodolphus wondered if he was supposed to feel privileged to have been captured by a child prodigy, but he thought now might be a good time to shut up and say not a word more until Potter got tired of playing his game. He was a child. It wouldn't be long.

Potter reached into his pocket and withdrew something. A vial. He couldn't see what was in it, but when Potter stood up and came to him, he realised he was meant to drink it. When Potter knelt down, he strained against his ropes and against the Petrifying spell over his body. Without his wand, it was sort of pointless, but struggling was the only delay against drinking the contents of that vial.

It lasted only until Potter grabbed his hair and yanked his head back so that he was forced to swallow or choke when the vial was tipped into his throat. He swallowed by reflex and tried to bite Potter's hand. A strange feeling spread over him. Things would be all right, wouldn't they? All he had to do was say the right thing, and everything would be fine.

"What is your name?"

He didn't know why Potter was asking, but that was an easy one. "Rodolphus Julian Lestrange."

"Are you married?"

"Yes." He shouldn't say anything more. He didn't want to. Why did he feel like he had to? That wasn't right.

"Whom to?"

"To Bellatrix Lestrange, neé Black, the daughter of—"

"Yes, that's quite enough," Potter interrupted.

Wait, how could he be interrupting when Rodolphus didn't want to say anything? The truth of the liquid he'd been forced to drink became clear. How dare he? How did he even get his hands on it? The little twit had fed him Veritaserum!

"I'm curious, Potter, where you procured a controlled substance."

"That's none of your concern, Lestrange. You're just going to answer my questions."

"No."

Potter just smiled, sitting back in his chair and seeming to enjoy himself.

"You have a vault at Gringotts."

It wasn't a question. He didn't have to answer it.

"Does your vault contain a cup given to you by Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Rodolphus bared his teeth and growled. But . . . "Yes," he grunted. He didn't want to say it. It just came out. Although he hadn't actually known that his master had that name. It was so common—but no. Nothing about his lord was common. Nothing.

"Describe the cup to me."

"It's shiny," he bit out.

Surprisingly, Potter just smiled. "Where is the key to your vault?"

No, no, no. He wouldn't. He wouldn— "Bellatrix keeps it on a chain around her neck."

Potter seemed to find that amusing. "Why?"

Rodolphus shook his head. He didn't have to speculate, did he?

"What is your wife's professed reason for doing so?"

Damn the little twit forever. "She says that she must keep it on her person because it represents a task given to her by the master. She calls it a talisman of power. Something our lord said to her that he did not share with me."

Potter seemed to mull over that for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Okay. Thanks. That's all."

Rodolphus was incredulous. Potter had gone to the trouble of impersonating Markowicz and then kidnapping him, just to find out where they kept an heirloom for their master? Harry Potter had broken the law, just to find out that no matter how badly he might want it, he was never getting access to their vault. And now Potter had him to deal with, and Potter had to know that Rodolphus was going to have his revenge.

It was too funny. Rodolphus began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Potter snapped.

Still under Veritaserum, and perfectly happy to tell the truth in this case, Rodolphus explained as much as he could through bursts of laughter. And at that, something happened that angered Rodolphus more than ever. Potter smiled, and got up off the chair, and went to the door of the concrete building. He was leaving. Like Rodolphus didn't even matter.

"I'll be right back in," he said conversationally. "But we won't be talking again. I'm simply going to keep an eye on you while my colleagues carry something out."

"Too afraid to join them, are you, Potter?"

Potter quirked his lips. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, you've got it exactly right, Lestrange."

The boy was playing with him, thinking he could have such disrespect for him as to cheek him that way . . .

"I'm going to kill you, Potter," he vowed. He made sure their eyes were locked while he spoke. It seemed to scare people more to see how much he meant what he said. "And when you are dead, I will cut off your head and stick it on a pole and carry it around as a walking stick so that I can show off your decomposing flesh like a trophy." He would, too. He wasn't saying it just to intimidate. It would be only too easy to do, and it gave him a little thrill to think of those dead eyes staring at him like they were confirming that he'd carried out his promise.

Potter abruptly strode out and slammed the door. Rodolphus felt smug. He might be the one tied up on the ground, but he'd won this round.

-o-o-o-

Harry looked at Ron with his mouth and eyes gone hard and cold.

"Sit on the other side of the room. Don't speak to him at all. Just renew the charms to keep him Petrified and tied up once in a while. Hopefully I won't be long."

Ron nodded. "I will." He moved toward the door of the abandoned warehouse they were using.

"Seriously, Ron. Don't say anything to him." As Harry spoke, he was pulling on the clothes they'd taken off Lestrange while he was unconscious. They were loose on him. "He is going to try to goad you. He is going to say horrible things, about you or your family . . . don't take the bait. If he does manage to escape us, I want him to think I was the one in there with him the whole time, not you. If you talk, he'll know it's not me. Okay?"

"Harry, I know," Ron said in concern. "Hermione and I can handle him."

Harry let out an exasperated breath. "Yeah, you can. Sorry."

Hermione laid her hand on his shoulder. "What did he say to you?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. Well, nothing important. But he's insane, and horrible, and . . . And now I have to go become him for a little while."

Hermione kissed his cheek. "You'll be back. And you'll be okay. I know you will."

Harry nodded. "Yeah." He pushed her away. "Stop being so good to me, I can't respond properly right now."

Hermione's hand on him was tight and unyielding. "We never part on bad terms, Harry."

"Then kiss me goodbye and let me go for a while," he said quietly.

She did. He and Ron looked at one another and drank their Polyjuice Potion, then watched as they made their transformation. Ron shrank a few inches, his hair darkened, a jagged scar sank into the flesh of his forearm and forehead. Harry didn't grow in height any significant amount, but his body deepened and became broad and sprouted more hair. He slowly filled out the robes he was wearing. He judged the body of Lestrange more pleasant to wear than that of Markowicz, but he couldn't say he was going to enjoy it.

He looked at the two gravely, then concentrated on making his eyes right. Lestrange had shown some anger, but even that was detached. The only time he'd been completely serious was when he'd vowed to make Harry's dessicated head part of his daily wardrobe. Harry looked at Hermione and Ron, made himself see useless sacks of meat, a blood traitor and a Mudblood who were not worth the air they were breathing. The two of them, who were watching him with concern as he continued to stand there silently, both began to pale and draw away from him.

He spun around to go. "Don't speak, Ron," he said brusquely. He Apparated to Malfoy Manor, held Lestrange's wand out to the gate, and walked right through the front door. He was so scared that there was a real danger of losing his bowels, but he refused to feel it. The fear was a distant thing. Lestrange didn't know fear of anything but his master. This was the house he lived in now, so he belonged here. He could stride through the hall if he wanted to.

He knew which part of the house people slept in, since he'd seen it last night on his scouting mission. He didn't know which room he was supposed to be in, so he just walked until he found Bellatrix. She was wearing a really ugly floor-length nightie of deep purple. It did nothing but make her face look even more ravaged and hollow than it already was.

She turned when she heard his movement.

"Dolph," she said with a frown. "What are you doing in here? Have you already finished reporting about your meeting with Markowicz?"

"Yes," he said simply. "He had nothing of note, nothing but the same trash he's been giving us for weeks." He tried to sneer appropriately, and he refused to feel his heart pounding. He crossed the room and dropped himself into a richly upholstered chair. His brief glance around the room told him that he did not sleep here. Bellatrix slept alone. Well, honestly, what was the point of being married then?

She seemed to accept his explanation, but she was still frowning at him. "What do you want?"

"Had to look at that rat Markowicz for an hour, thought I'd like to see something a little more aesthetically pleasing."

Okay, so there were women a lot more aesthetically pleasing than the bony woman with glittering, mad eyes. But he was married to this one, and she'd been rather beautiful when she was young.

She didn't seem like she was buying it. Obviously he was not supposed to enjoy just sitting in his wife's room and watch her get ready for bed. And, well, he would have to get up close to her sooner or later. Much as it churned his stomach, it had to be done. He stood back up, and walked toward her with a powerful stride, making her back up a step.

"I didn't finish what I started last night," he growled.

She didn't look happy, but he'd crowded her up against the wall and his broad shoulders prevented an escape unless she wanted to hex him. Which she very well might. He acted before she could try. He gripped her shoulders, bent his head, and ran his mouth along her neck. She went very still. Then he took her earlobe in his mouth and bit down until he tasted blood.

She shuddered. "Oh," she breathed out.

He went to work as fast as possible. One hand gripped the back of her neck painfully, holding her in place, while the other kneaded her breast through the horrible purple nightgown. And his clever fingers slipped the chain free of her neck and replaced it with a key that opened nothing but a glass cabinet in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. His mouth was at work licking at the blood on her ear, but he was perfectly positioned to see the hair that was stuck in the clasp on the chain. It was all exactly right.

She had her hands under his shirt and was raking her nails over his back, raising lines of fire. God, she probably had poison on those fingers, he would die of an infection or something.

He straightened up abruptly, releasing her. "I'm being called," he bit out. "Apparently my report is not finished."

Bellatrix was open-mouthed and looked angry, but then her eyes began to gleam. "Perhaps there is a raid tonight." She looked down at her own Mark in eagerness, but frowned petulantly. "I am not invited."

"I don't think it's a raid," he said. "He must have a question for me. Perhaps he wishes to plan an invasion of the Ministry."

Her eyes gleamed again at that. "Then hurry, Dolph. Don't keep him waiting."

He nodded curtly, raked his eyes over her dishevelment, the blood on her neck. "We'll finish this later."

He strode out. He went down the hall, saw a man who looked a great deal like him coming toward him. He recalled that he had a brother, Rabastan. He nodded to the other man, who was thinner and less hairy, but shared his jaw and nose.

"Got to go out for a bit," he muttered. "Master has another question for that rat Markowicz."

Rabastan looked unsurprised, and let him go. He walked out of the house, and Apparated back to the warehouse, and walked inside, walking right past where Hermione sat guard outside the door. He saw Ron, still looking like Harry Potter, sitting silently as instructed. Rodolphus Lestrange lay on the floor, also silent, his eyes glaring holes into his captor. When he saw the person coming toward him, they flew wide with shock.

"You . . . what have you done?" he shouted. "What is this?"

He went the corner of the room, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak. He shucked off the clothes, and used a charm to put them back on Lestrange (it was a spell that mothers used on their two-year-olds, which had amused him at one time but did not now), all the while listening to Lestrange holler the most gruesome death threats he never could have imagined. Then he grabbed Lestrange and Apparated back to the Manor.

He threw the Cloak over his head, disappeared. Then he pointed the Elder Wand at Lestrange and modified his memory. He took away everything that had happened in the first meeting with Markowicz and all of the warehouse. He replaced it as best he could with his own memory of being with Bellatrix and being called away. Lestrange's eyes were glassy and shocked. Finally, he let Lestrange's wand fall onto the ground at his feet.

He Disapparated. In his absence, the binding spells over Lestrange broke, and he was under his own power again. Lestrange felt extremely fuzzy for a moment, which he did not understand. Then he remembered that he'd been forced to go to Markowicz and get some more information from him. Lucky for him, Markowicz had still been at that pigsty of a tavern, enjoying a final drink before going home.

He must have had more to drink than he remembered, with his head feeling the way it did. How had he managed to drop his wand? Even if he was dead drunk, he never thought he'd do that. He wasn't going to drink any more, not if this was what happened. He went inside and went to his room. His brother and his wife shared this hall with him, but he didn't bother them. His head was clearing up now, but he felt exhausted, for some reason. He just needed to get some sleep.

-o-o-o-

They had made what they thought was a gigantic batch of Polyjuice Potion, meaning to have some left over in case they needed it again. They hadn't reckoned on how much they needed for this plan. They joked about the health risks of transforming into so many different people in such a short space of time, but when they faced one another with the last vials in their hands they couldn't find it funny anymore.

Ron, who had done nothing but dye his hair and undergo a very minor Shrinking spell to make him a few inches shorter, watched them. Harry and Hermione gave one another a long look, trying to share what strength they had.

"Bottoms up," Harry sighed.

They drank. Then they Apparated.

At Gringotts bank, a goblin took a key from the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange, and escorted the husband and wife to their vault, with their servant trailing behind them. A nondescript, runtish young man, not the sort the goblin would have expected to serve them. The pair went inside, gave the goblin a very pointed look, and the goblin retreated. He and the servant stood out on the rock ledge and waited. From inside his robe, Rodolphus produced a cup with the badge of Helga Hufflepuff on it. After a brief search of the vault (during which they discovered that the Lestranges had more money than they'd been given credit for), they located a cup that looked just like the one they'd brought with them.

Taking no chances, they used his walking stick to pick up the cup, and she set down the exact likeness in its place. He tucked the new one under his robes, and they gave one another a truly exultant smile. They'd done it.

-o-o-o-

Rodolphus woke up and decided to head downstairs to look for something to eat. It was going to be a long day, he thought. There would be a raid tonight on some Muggleborns, and they were supposed to take Greyback's wolves with them. It was going to be a particularly bloody slaughter. He didn't care about the blood, it was just blood. But he hated Greyback. Greyback was so visceral and uncouth. No manners at all.

His wife accosted him in the hall. "You never came back last night."

He thought back to the night before. He'd been with her for a while, hadn't he? "I had to go back to the tavern and speak to Markowicz again. I was tired."
"Speak to him about what?" she insisted. He hated that. She was an attractive woman, but she never left him alone. Nagging shrew is what she was.

"I don't know," he muttered, trying to walk away. "It was late, I'd had a few ales. I barely remember what I said to our master."

"You never drink, Dolph," she said in firm voice. "Why did you? You should be able to remember."
Horrible woman, but maybe she was right. Last night was a bit too fuzzy. Why was that?

"You don't think Markowicz slipped me something?" he asked with narrow eyes.

"Why would he?" she shot back. "No, there is something else, here, something I'm not seeing . . ." She kneaded her hand over the back of her neck, like she did when she was thinking. Then she froze, with her hand stuck there. "There's something wrong."

"What?"

"With my necklace." She fumbled with the clasp, and her brittle control began to fragment. He'd seen it before. The insanity was taking over. She began to giggle. "This is not my necklace," she said. "This is a fake!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he scowled.

She was abruptly right in front of him with her fingers gripping his arm painfully hard. "Where were you last night?" she hissed, her laughter gone.

He didn't know. He thought he did, but it seemed surreal.

"That wasn't you, in my room. It was someone else." She looked down at the chain in her hand. "Our vault!" she roared.

-o-o-o-

Just when Harry was beginning to breathe easy, Ron poked his face in. His eyes were wild with panic.

"We've got company!"

Harry's stomach lurched. He'd thought, he'd really thought, that they would get away with it.

"Death Eaters. The real Lestranges, and some friends." Ron was practically jibbering with panic.

Harry did the only thing he could think of to do. He swept his arms out and began throwing the pile of treasure around the vault. Now discovered as imposters, the wards on the vault went off. The coins, the heirlooms, it all began to multiply and become super-heated. In moments, they had to run from the vault to avoid being buried under a mountain of fake, searing treasure. Hermione was shrieking at him, but the confusion was necessary. They ducked out into the open space, and saw six Death Eaters, intent on murder, barreling toward them.

"Time to remember your lessons!" Harry shouted.

And spells began to fly. Jets of light bounced everywhere, and very few of them landed on people. The goblin ran for it, probably to get his colleagues to roust them all out. No time for him. Harry had the Elder Wand, and he began to gain the upper hand. He got one he didn't recognize with a Stunner. He was holding off Rabastan Lestrange, who was beginning to sweat. But the three of them against five Death Eaters, including Bellatrix, was too much. He threw himself flat on the ground, and pointed his wand far down the cavernous route deeper into the vault.

"Confringo!" he screamed.

An enormous roar echoed back at him. He'd hit the dragon.

He cast more spells, straining himself to make them go as far as possible. He heard the dragon squealing, roaring, and then he heard the most welcome noise possible. The rumble of falling stones. And the ground began to tremble.

The dragon came roaring up toward them. The Death Eaters were caught. They could not battle both the thieves and the dragon, and the dragon was currently breathing fire at them. Harry, just in time, got a shield up against Rabastan's panicked spell, and took him out when he was distracted by another roar from the dragon. He pulled two small sticks from his pocket. With a tap of his wand, they became broomsticks.

"Ron!" he shouted. He threw one broom. Ron caught it and stared at it with shock. "Let's go!" Ron nodded and jumped on. Harry grabbed Hermione and yanked her on behind him. "Disillusion us!" he demanded of her. She did. Invisible, the three of them wove through fire and falling stone and made their escape.