War Is Over: Chapter 14/17 - The Shadow of Jupiter
When he woke up, he was far away from the Ministry, far away from the tunnels and streets - and from London itself, by the looks of it. He was in a forest - the trees around him were high, the sky above almost hidden by their canopies, the ground below him cold and covered with snow.
He tried to get up before realising he was bound. He was someone's prisoner.
He tried to stretch his hand, find his wand, but couldn't. He tried to wriggle in this direction and that, to figure out whether his wand was nearby and out of reach, or whether it was gone, taken away from him. But when he tried to move to the side, he rolled with slightly too much force, and ended up flat on his face in the snow. He tried to push himself up again, but couldn't. For some reason, his muscles refused to cooperate.
"Hey!" he shouted, realising there was no way to get out of this mess by himself - and wanting to see his captures. How did he get there, anyway? And who got him? A thought came to his mind, but he refused to consider it. These were not Death Eaters. They couldn't be.
"Hey!" he shouted again, trying to catch his unknown captors' attention. "Hey!"
And then he heard it - voices, speaking quietly, but not in any language he understood. They were speaking in Gobbledegook.
Goblins.
That's what he gets for thinking he was so clever, for thinking he could follow goblins undetected. Too late, Harry realised the goblins heard him when he followed them, of course they did, and had planned their moves accordingly. Too late, he realised he had followed them without telling anyone where he was going, without telling anyone what he was doing; that he had followed them without anyone knowing about his whereabouts, with the entire society thinking he was missing anyway. He had no back up and no way to communicate to anyone in the wizarding world that he was in trouble.
He could die here, today, at the hands of the goblins, and no one would know.
There was only one hope. They hadn't killed him so far. It wasn't much of a hope, he had to admit, but it must have meant something. For a split second, he dared feel hope - he was Harry Potter, the goblins have suffered at the hands of Voldemort as well; perhaps his name meant something to them, too.
"Um, anyone can help me, please?" he called again. The goblins ignored him. His name probably didn't mean that much, after all.
He tried wriggling back on his back. He couldn't. His mouth and nose were slowly getting frozen, shoved into the snow, his neck stiff from trying to keep them above the ground. The rest of his was also getting frozen, his clothes already completely wet. Without realising it, he started shivering. If only he could get rid of some of the rope, then perhaps - but no. He was tied all too well. No manoeuvring space, no ability to push himself upwards, or sideways, or in any useful direction.
It seemed he was doomed to stay there, slowly freezing to death.
And then he could feel a pair of strong hands, lifting him up. For a moment, he was flooded with relief and gratitude. Someone had listened to his pleading. But the relief disappeared as soon as it had arrived. He was sure it was Gobbledegook he heard just a moment ago, but these hands did not belong to a goblin: they were too long, too strong, too human.
After several seconds that seemed more like hours, he was turned around and put on his back. Now, he could see his unknown benefactor, and could only stare in confusion. He stared at the four legs, covered in brown hair and ending with hooves. He looked up, to where the hair ended and turned into a human torso, a chest, and two strong hands. And slightly above, the face that was almost human in its features, but looked at him as no human had ever looked at him, as if he were some curious specimen.
Harry swallowed and looked around. It was not just this centaur. All around him, between the trees, he could see them - goblins and centaurs, sitting together, whispering together, laughing together. By a fire, far from him, he could see the goblins sitting to get warm, while the centaurs stood above them, crowding the fire to enjoy the flames. The edges of this makeshift camp had sentries in them, goblins and centaurs together, looking outside.
"Oh," said his centaur, and didn't sound friendly at all. "He's awake."
"Well, I have been shouting for quite some time," Harry said, more out of a need to say anything than because he thought it will contribute to the conversation.
"You will have to excuse us," said a new voice, that sounded even less friendly than the first. "I know wizards are used to have all their needs met immediately, but we were kind of busy, you see."
This one was a goblin. He was glaring at Harry, an ugly look on his small, black eyes, hatred on his face.
This one is dangerous, Harry knew. He could see it in his eyes. This one would kill him if he had the chance.
"Have we met?" he asked as pleasantly as he could.
"No. You wouldn't know me," the goblin answered. "I make it a point not to spend my time with robbers and thieves."
"I didn't rob anything!" Harry answered angrily.
"Silence! I care not for wizard lies! You are a robber and a thief, just like the rest of your kind!"
"I didn't rob - "
"Silence!" a short sword was now aimed at Harry's throat. The goblin's eyes narrowed, and despite his anger, there was a small smile on his face. "We are planning to trade you for the sword," the said quietly, "but we could just also tell the wizards you're alive and kill you all the same. Just give me a reason, wizard."
"Gleyok!" the centaur said warningly. "We need Potter alive."
The goblin didn't lower his sword. Harry swallowed, looking from Gleyok to the centaur. The centaur trotted closer to them.
"You see, Harry Potter, that Gleyok isn't listening to me. His kind have had enough of the lies of wizard. It is a well known fact by now that you and your friends have broken into Gringotts Bank not even a year ago, and stole something entrusted to the goblins. And now, you further offend him by trying to trick him and pretend it did not happen. That, I must say, is not the wisest of actions. The goblins were in much turmoil that someone had managed to break into Gringotts, an event they had not yet recovered from. You shouldn't add to it by insulting them."
"I didn't do it to steal anything from anyone," Harry said quietly, his eyes on the goblin, "it was the only way to destroy Voldemort."
In response, there was a sharp pain in his throat. The goblin had pushed the sword just another millimetre into it. Harry could feel something wet - blood, he thought desperately - on his throat, near the cold blade.
"Wrong answer," Gleyok said and smiled an evil smile. "We do not care why you did it. The wars of wizards are none of our concern. Only that you did. And here you are, thinking it can be justified."
The sword pushed further into his throat. Despite previously telling the goblin off, the centaur did nothing to stop him. Harry started panicking in earnest.
"I'm sorry!" he said, even though it was painful to talk. "It was the only way! We never meant to - to humiliate you - or anything! Just to destroy him, that's all! And we gave Griphook the sword, we didn't - "
He wasn't quite sure what happened next. When he was next aware of what was going on, it was because of his throat - it felt as if he was on fire. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask what had happened, but all that came out was a weird gurgle. He tried touching his throat - it felt like it was wide open - but he couldn't move his hands. He was still bound. Someone slapped something to his throat. It was cool and wet, but it felt better, took some of the pain away.
Harry opened his eyes. A new goblin was applying bandages to his throat. The centaur was still standing there, looking at him with amusement.
"Don't try to speak just yet," he said when Harry opened his mouth. "It'll take a couple of hours before the wound heals. And it might do you good, Potter. You have a gift of saying just the wrong thing at the wrong time."
Harry wanted to ask what had he said that was so wrong, but couldn't, of course. The centaur didn't seem to volunteer any more information, too, just kept on standing there, looking at Harry. The pain was now returning to his throat, the temporary soothing effect of the bandages dissipating. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, so the pain would disappear and he'd be able to think properly.
It was maddening! Tied up here, without his wand, without any knowledge of where he was and why, without even the ability to speak. He couldn't just stay there, wait for them to do whatever it is they wanted to do with him - what did the goblin say? Trade him for something. But it didn't look like they cared too much if they ended up killing him, either.
Of course they wouldn't. The history books he had read at Andromeda's house were still fresh in his mind. That had been a favourite technique of the wizards while dealing with the goblins. Making deals they never had any intention to keep. Promising the goblins treasure, or special rights, or wands - and always phrasing their promise in such a way that was not binding, or gave them a way out. Harry felt a small pang of guilt - wasn't that exactly what he had tried to do to Griphook, less than a year ago? Wasn't that why they were angry with him?
He knew this was far from accurate. Griphook had never given him the chance to double-cross him, to break his word. He made sure to do it, first. They couldn't know he was going to do the same. They just never gave him the chance to prove they were right, after all.
He was so deep in thought that he didn't realise he had dozed off. Everything around him was quiet when he closed his eyes, but now he could hear voices somewhere nearby, make up coherent words and sentences.
"The wizards may demand seeing him before turning in the sword," said a pleasant voice. His centaur. They were discussing his fate. Harry tried to breathe normally, to pretend to be asleep, not to alert any of his captors to the fact he was awake now, awake and listening.
"The wizards are in no position to make demands," growled a harsher voice - a goblin. Harry suspected it was Gleyok. But it was the next voice that almost gave him away, almost made him jump.
"The wizards, of course, won't see it that way," said a second goblin, and Harry immediately knew it was Griphook. So he was there too - he was one of them. Despite helping Harry break into Gringotts, he was now a part of the plot - and Harry now remembered the curious meeting of goblins in a faraway house, several months ago. Were they planning it then? How long have they been working together with the centaurs?
Gleyok said something in Gobbledegook, and the centaur said, irritated, "Not all of us speak your tongue, goblin."
Harry had to stop himself from smiling at the irony. Goblins and centaurs, plotting together against wizards in English, because they did not speak each other's language.
"I said," started the malevolent voice of Gleyok, "that I don't care how the wizards see it."
"That is foolish. They are a formidable enemy, even if they are often lazy and arrogant. If we - "
"This is irrelevant!" Gleyok cut across him. "There are no more ifs. When the wizards see the head of their war hero cut from his head by the sword his ancestors stole from us, there will be war - and this time, with the sword in our hands, they will lose! If you are not committed - "
"Of course I am," Griphook said. "But Potter has proved himself to be - a different wizard."
"They are all the same," the centaur interrupted. "Potter, too. We have had dealings with him, in our forest near their School. He, too, showed the arrogance of his kind."
"He saved my life," Griphook said quietly. "Our previous plan was good. Killing their leaders makes sense! Those are the ones who deny us our rights!"
"Infiltrating their ministry is dangerous," the centaur said. "It made sense when we didn't have Potter. Now, seeing as he delivered himself so willingly into our hands, we can make the same point, with less danger to ourselves."
"I just wish it hadn't been Potter."
"It can't be anyone but Potter."
"Very well," Griphook said, and Harry wanted to shout at him. I saved your life! He tried to control his breathing, to appear to still be asleep. If the goblins and centaurs had any hint that he heard them, he imagined they would prefer to kill him now and be done with it. He had to find some way out of this mess.
He didn't get much chance to feign sleep, though. A strong leg - with hooves, he thought angrily, feeling the end of the non-human leg - kicked him.
"Argh," he noted, and opened his eyes.
"I am sorry," said the centaur, without sounding sorry at all. "But you need to drink this. It will make you feel better." A shorter hand - a goblin's - forced some liquid down his throat.
It didn't make Harry feel better - it made him feel a lot worse. The liquid burned down his throat. The goblin didn't wait to see Harry swallow - or choking on the liquid, for that matter - but forced more and more of it down, despite Harry's spluttering and coughs. And to add insult to injury, it was also downright disgusting.
"What was that?" Harry asked, his words sounding more like a rattle than his own speech.
"Just something to make you feel better. After all, we need you healthy if we intend to make a deal with the Ministry of Magic." The centaur's voice was still pleasant when he told the lie, as if he had nothing but Harry's best interest in mind. But Harry now knew better.
"The Ministry will come after you, you realise that," he tried poking holes in the centaur's scenario. Anything to keep him talking. Anything to find his way out before it's too late.
"Oh, I'm afraid the Ministry may find it somewhat hard to find us. After all, they've been looking for us since we have left the forest at Hogwarts."
"They weren't looking for you! Not really. They had more important things on their minds. But now, if you demand ransom for me, they would. And they will find you."
The centaur chuckled. "I'm afraid you will find, Harry Potter, that we centaurs have some secrets of our own that are unknown to the Ministry."
Something to talk about. Something to keep him busy. Anything. "Where's my wand?" he asked.
"Why, right here," the centaur gestured to a point behind Harry. He was right - Harry's wand was lying there, unnoticed and unwanted, behind a group of rocks. Just out of reach. "We thought we'd keep it safe for you, as long as you are our guest," the centaur chuckled, and Harry tried calculating the distance. If he could only get to it - but there was no hope of that, not as long as he watched by this centaur.
"Why do you want the Sword of Gryffindor?" Harry asked, in the most casual voice he could muster - which was quite a feat, as mustering any voice at all required more work than usual.
"Well, they believe it belongs to them," the centaur gestured at a group of goblins.
"They wouldn't risk a war in order to get it, though."
"Wouldn't they?" the centaur raised an eyebrow, but looked clearly amused.
"And the centaurs? What are you getting out of this?"
"You should go back to sleep, Harry Potter," the centaur said.
"I'm just trying to understand - "
"Sleep!" the centaur bellowed. Harry found his eyes closing on their own accord.
He woke up from the cold. It had started snowing while he was asleep. There was a small layer of white flakes on his clothes, and no doubt on his head, too. He could barely see it, only the movement of the white flakes from his shivering made it obvious there was something there. And he was shivering - shivering hard. He could see at the distance the fires, the goblins and centaurs crowded around them, laughing and eating. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been hours since he last ate. But no one seemed to notice - even the centaur that had stayed around him until then was gone, undoubtedly gone to enjoy the food and warmth near the fire. He was stuck there, alone, stiff from being tied up all these hours, starving, and freezing. And of course his captors didn't mind - they were going to kill him anyway, what difference did it make to them if he was uncomfortable until then.
He tried calling out to them, but his throat was so dry and painful that nothing came out except for a small gurgling sound. He could never catch anyone's attention that way. He knew he won't be able to get up, but he had to do something to get his blood running again, to try and get warm. He couldn't stay sitting there, waiting for the snow to cover him.
Jump, roll, shove. He almost fell on his face again, but managed to avert that catastrophe in the last second. Push. There was a rock, somewhere nearby. If he could lean on it and push just right, he might be able to get up. And then what? a small voice in his head insisted. Get lost in these woods? Hop all the way to the fire? That idea had some ring to it, he had to admit. Hopping all the way to the fire, demanding to get some of whatever it was they were eating and drinking. Remind them they hadn't killed him yet.
It might just be the thing that would goad them into killing him, though.
He was getting closer to that rock. Three feet. Two and three-quarters. Two and a half. Just another push. Just another shove. He had a chance to get there. Two feet.
"You really should go back to sleep," said an amused voice above him, and Harry jumped in surprise. It was the centaur. When did he get back here? Harry wondered. He must have concentrated so much on moving towards the rock that he hadn't noticed.
He tried to answer, but he could only utter a few disjointed words. "Can't. Cold."
The centaur's amused expression was maddening. He was freezing here, and all the centaur could do was chuckle? "Yes," the centaur said. "You humans are very sensitive to low temperatures, aren't you?"
He didn't offer Harry any help, no help in getting up, nor something to warm him up. Harry started shaking out of anger as well as the cold. Well, if the centaur wasn't going to help him up, he will do so himself. He was going on now out of anger and spite as much as the need to get up.
"I wouldn't continue in that direction if I were you," the centaur said, his tone as pleasant and amused as always. Harry ignored him and kept on pushing himself towards the rock. "No, really. It is rather unwise of you to proceed in this direction."
Harry kept on ignoring. One foot. Push. Just a little more and - splash. He did not see the hole in the ground, so close to the rock. It was full of mud and half-frozen water. Harry fell with his face straight in, and couldn't get up. He started struggling uselessly, his entire body numb, trying to push his neck upwards, get his head up to breathe. But only freezing water and mud came through. He was going to suffocate, he was going to choke, he was going to freeze, he couldn't feel anything, his face, his hands, all wet, all freezing -
Someone pulled him out. He coughed the mud out of his mouth, trying to shake his head to get it out of his eyes. He was gasping for breath, unable to think, unable to move, shaking violently.
"I did warn you," he could hear the centaur saying. Anger took over him. He was freezing there half to death, and the centaur found it funny. He tried to pull himself upwards, to see where he was - he was on the other side of the hole. He was next to the rock. Out of sheer spite, he managed to push himself over that remaining distance to the rock, crashing into it in full force. He felt dizzy for a moment - his head had hit the rock, most likely - but didn't let this stop him. Using the rock as leverage, he pulled himself up, despite the shivering, despite the freezing cold, despite the pain... He cut his leg now on the rock, but he didn't mind. One... more... push.
He got on his feet. Slightly wobbling, he was afraid he'd fall, as he had no way of supporting himself. But he managed to remain straight up, and look at the centaur right in the eye.
"Very impressive," said the centaur with a cold sneer. The pleasantness was gone from his voice, as was the amusement.
Harry took a deep breath. It hurt. It felt almost as if he was breathing in ice water, or a bunch of small, ice-cold needles. But he didn't care. He was going to have his say. And he was going to find a way out of this mess. And he was going to survive. And he was going to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Get... me... something... warm!" he said amidst chattering teeth.
The centaur remained stood there, impassive. "Get it yourself, wizard," the centaur said coldly. "That's what you wizards are good at, isn't it."
"Why... are... you... doing... this?" Harry forced the words out of his mouth.
The centaur kicked Harry with a well-aimed hoof. Harry fell to the ground. The centaur kicked him again. Harry could taste the blood on his lips, in his mouth. The centaur lowered himself so that his face was now in front of Harry's, his arms grabbing him. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to strangle him, but the centaur simply put him back on the snowy ground, away from the stone and its leverage.
"The time of the wizards is up," he whispered coarsely. "We have waited, we have watched. We wanted to see if now that your war is over you will be willing to correct all of your mistakes. But once again, wizards are only concerned with other wizards. You have seen this, too. We are tired of waiting, Harry Potter. Now sleep."
Harry struggled with the darkness that was summoned by the command, but it won and overtook him.
Someone was nudging it. He didn't want to wake up. He was comfortable here, in bed, under the warm blanket. Someone nudged him again. He wanted to tell whoever it was to stop it, but no words came out of his mouth. He couldn't quite move his jaw. That was weird - why wouldn't his jaw move? He wanted to send a hand to check it, but the hand wouldn't move, either. Was he locked in the body-bind curse?
The nudging started again. He could barely feel it. Whoever it was touched his hand, but it felt like a memory of a touch, not a touch itself. Was that a ghost? No, he thought rationally. A ghost couldn't nudge him, they'd go straight through him.
He was so tired.
"Get up, Potter!" someone was whispering urgently behind him. He knew that voice. He knew the owner of that voice. It was... it was... it was the goblin, Griphook.
Harry's eyes flicked open, and the dream of a comfortable bad was over. He was no longer on the freezing ground - even his captors must have realised that letting him freeze to death would not serve their aims. Instead, he was wrapped in a smelly blanket. He was still outside, still in the cold - he could see a layer of snow on the blanket. And he could barely move his body or hands - but he could move them. Griphook had undone the ropes that had bound him.
He sat up and started removing the remaining of the rope. Griphook stood next to him, a knife in his hand. "You need to get out of here, Potter," he whispered. Harry didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded.
Griphook shoved something to his hand. "Your cloak," he said shortly. Harry fixed his glasses, which were covered in mud and snow, and looked around. He trusted Griphook that this was his cloak, but there was something else he needed. And there it was - right where it had been all the time, completely untouched. He jumped and grabbed his wand.
Griphook looked at the wand almost in longing. It was as if he regretted not taking the wand when he had the chance. Harry pocketed it inside his clothes, before Griphook had a change of mind.
"Now leave," Griphook said.
But Harry had something else he had to know. "Why?" he croaked at the goblin.
"You have saved my life," the goblin whispered. "And you have shown kindness afterwards, to the house-elf as well as myself. The war between my people and yours cannot be averted, not anymore. Nor should it be," he looked at Harry, as if challenging him to disagree. "But there are other ways to achieve that end. Ways that do not require your murder. "
Harry nodded. He wasn't quite sure whether he was grateful or not, so he settled for nodding.
"This is the second time I betray my kind for you, Harry Potter. Don't disappoint me."
Harry nodded again, and turned on the spot, leaving the goblin and the forest behind him.
The clever thing to do would be to Apparate at the Ministry, he knew. Or directly to Kingsley's house. He had to warn everyone else that another war was breaking, that the goblins and centaurs were working together - that the Ministry was in danger. Wasn't that what Griphook meant? Their original plan, before they caught Harry, was to attack the Ministry. Now that Harry had escaped, they were bound to go back to that plan.
But doubt overcame him. What if no one believes him? What if this would serve as the proof for Kingsley that he's finally lost it, and he will turn him in instead of doing something? Or worse - what if Kingsley believed him, but won't be able to do anything, because of the council? He had to find another solution.
He didn't mean to Apparate back to Hogwarts. If he thought about it rationally, there was nothing there that could help him. Especially in the middle of the night. But he was too cold and worried to think rationally. And so he found himself going back to the one place that had held answers for him in the past.
It was a long, freezing walk from the gates to the school, made longer by his uncooperative legs. In his mind, he imagined the warm fireplace of Gryffindor tower, the comfortable armchairs, perhaps even food from the kitchen. That thought was the only thing that sustained him as he climbed all the way up the familiar stairs until he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Let me in," he urged the painting.
"Password?" she asked.
He didn't know it. Of course he didn't. "Let me in, please," he tried.
"I can't let you in without the password," she told him sternly. "If you want to visit your friends, you should do it while they're awake, anyway. I don't see why I need to stay awake just because you fancied a nighttime visit."
"Open up!" he almost shouted in frustration, but that didn't leave any impression on the painting.
"Being rude isn't going to help you," she said, and he wanted to scream. He couldn't want until morning.
"Please," he said again, but the Fat Lady just shook her head.
"Not without the password."
Not without the password... but there was one tower that didn't require a password, wasn't there?
He rushed down the stairs and towards the other end of the castle, where Luna was fast asleep in the Ravenclaw tower.
Of course, before reaching Luna, he would have to answer the riddle. The bronze, raven-shaped knocker at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower looked at him unimpressed.
"What is true?" it challenged him.
Harry stared at the knocker in disbelief. This was the question he was asked? The knocker might as well tell him it had no intention of letting him in and be done with it!
"I don't know!" he blurted angrily.
The knocker chuckled. "While not the best phrased answer, this is the general idea," it said, and the door opened. Harry didn't hesitate and darted into the room. It was empty and dark, of course. Everyone was sleeping. He climbed up the stairs, looking for the seventh year girls' dormitories. When he found it, he jumped up the stairs so fast, that they didn't even have the time to turn into a slide - not until he had reached the top. Then, he started swaying, unbalanced.
His leg threatened to buckle under him. It had suffered enough abuse for one day, and jumping three stairs at once seemed to tip it over the edge. But he refused to give up, not now. He caught himself, and went through the door, and there, he paused. Was he really going to go through each one of the four-poster beds, only to find Luna? He could think of various words to describe that action, all negative.
But he didn't come all this way only to start worrying about that. He started sneaking around the beds. Not Luna. Not Luna. Not - wait. Dirty blonde hair, a weird set of earrings on the bed stand - that was definitely Luna.
"Luna," he whispered.
She turned her back at him, still deep asleep.
"Luna," he nudged her a bit with her hand. "Luna, wake up."
She stirred now, slowly blinking, then looking at him. "Harry," she said - not half as surprised as he expected her to be. "This is a weird time for you to show up. Have you taken up sleepwalking?"
"Luna, I need help." He ignored the bit about sleepwalking.
"Why didn't you go to the Gryffindor tower? I'm sure Hermione and Ginny are there."
Was she admonishing him for waking her up in the middle of the night? Probably, but that was not the time for worrying about that.
"I don't have the password. Listen, Luna, I need your advice."
She nodded, if still somewhat displeased. "Let's go downstairs," she said. "I don't want to wake everyone up."
He nodded, grateful. The slid down what used to be the stairs - "oh, no, I won't be able to get back here again for another three hours," Luna said when she saw that - and then continued to sit in front of the fire.
"You're all wet," she commented, now that the light from the fireplace showed the full sorry state of his clothes and face. "And you're bleeding."
"Yeah, I know," he said shortly.
"What happened to you?"
"I was captured by the goblins and centaurs. They're planning a war. They wanted to use me to get the Sword of Gryffindor from the Ministry."
"Do they want it because of the Jupiter effect?" asked Luna, not looking even slightly fazed over the fact Harry had been kidnapped by unfriendly and borderline murderous non-human inhabitants of the magical world.
"The - what?"
"It's a bit of a silly name, I think, but some people like it. Because it sort of makes the Sword of Gryffindor the king of swords, see?"
"What are you talking about, Luna?" he asked, trying to force himself into patience.
"Well, they say that the four artefacts created by the four founders of the school were forged together and given their magic together. So they're linked."
"Wait, I remember that," he said slowly. "Arthur mentioned this. When Voldemort turned each artefact into a Horcrux, they lost their powers, and the powers went into the one artefact that was still whole."
"Yes, that's true. Like I said, calling it Jupiter is a bit ridiculous. They should have found an absorbing creature, like the Abzorbaloff of Papua-New Guinea, and name it after it, but I suppose they like the name Jupiter better."
"How do you know these things?" He wondered, but couldn't follow her long explanation that seemed to include the Quibbler and something about the Weird Sister's singer. Instead, he thought of Gleyok's words - with the sword in the hands of the goblins, the wizards were bound to lose. "That must be what they meant."
"What who meant?" Luna asked, but Harry didn't answer.
"Luna, they plan to attack the Ministry. We have to stop them."
"Why don't you go to the Ministry and warn them?" she suggested reasonably, but Harry dismissed the suggestion. He had no time - or energy - to go through everything with her, all his fears and worries and the possibility that they just wouldn't believe him.
"Well, if you don't want to go to the Ministry, I've always found that help from you guys was all I need. You know, getting help from friends."
"That's why I came here," he said. But what help could he get here? Luna didn't know what to do, and Hermione and Ginny would probably be the same - not to mention they were sleeping now, locked behind the unknown password of Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Neville were in Auror training, and he couldn't even risk getting there. While Kingsley might listen to him before calling the Healers, he had no doubt that Savage would not even wait for that, and simply catch him. The Weasleys were under surveillance from the Ministry, as was Andromeda Tonks.
He had to turn to someone who would rather help him than call the Ministry; someone resourceful, who could think fast on his feet; and someone that the Ministry did not already think he would turn to. Someone who wasn't his friend. Someone like -
"Luna," he said, excited, "I need to get to Diagon Alley!"