Daphne baulked at the sight of her 'room'. Cramped was the understatement of the century. It was a repurposed storage room, which still contained sealed crates and boxes piled up all the way to the ceiling. A small vent in the ceiling was blowing cold air into the room; Daphne thought herself quite comfortable in cold weather, but that was a bit too much. She shivered uncomfortably as she spotted the bed off to the side; the blanket looked quite thin, and the bed itself seemed only half as large as the four-poster beds that they each had in Hogwarts. It also didn't help that the mattress seemed to just be a thick, solid slab of dull black rubber. For some reason the bed itself seemed to be constructed out of rods of steel welded together, each as thick as her arm.

"Well, I guess this is our room. Sorry if it seems a little cramped," sighed Aveline apologetically. Their trunks were in the corner, stacked on top of each other. A small crate sat in front of them, forming a makeshift desk and chair. "It isn't much, but it's the best we can do right now,"

Daphne nodded mutely, trying to picture in her mind how she would have to squeeze through the narrow gap between boxes and crates just to get to and from their bed. It was quite distressing to the heiress – or rather, the current Lady Greengrass – who, just a week ago, had lived quite comfortably in the lap of luxury. She had no less than a king-sized four-poster bed at home, with a mattress stuffed with Puffskein fur and lined with luxuriously soft Acromantula silk. Aveline's home, while far humbler than what she was used to, was at least properly furnished and relatively comfortable.

It was true that simple wool, linen and duck down didn't hold a candle to the wondrous comfort that magical materials had, but at least it was suitable enough. Daphne nearly cringed as she touched the cold, hard mattress and the threadbare blanket. It barely yielded to her fingers, being almost as stiff as a wooden board. The blanket – if she could even call it that – seemed entirely inadequate to even ward off the cold breeze that continually poured through the vent in the ceiling.

"I suppose a warming charm would make the blanket somewhat acceptable, and this mattress should be adequate with a good softening charm," sighed the blonde. She took out her wand and cast the appropriate charms on each item. "I don't know if I am capable of making it last all night. I shall see, I suppose,"

Taking another look around the room, she realised that despite the huge amount of crates still inside, there was only one bed. "Where would you sleep, Aveline?"

"Oh. That's right, there's only one bed, isn't there? Well, let's see-"

"No, Aveline, don't!" Daphne quickly said, seeing Aveline push two crates together and sit down on it. No sooner had she done so than the crate collapsed beneath her weight, causing the silly red-haired girl tumbling to the floor among bits of crumpled plastic. "I was about to say, don't sit on them. Are you uninjured?"

"I'm fine, but geez. That metal floor is really cold," groaned Aveline. She dusted herself off and looked at the remains of the crate, along with the crumpled bags of assorted things that she had accidentally squashed. "I guess there's no more rules about when and where we can and can't use magic any more, right? Reparo,"

The crushed crate quickly wove itself back together again, along with its contents. "Right. I guess that's a bad idea. Hmm...I wonder if making it Unbreakable would work?"

"Unless you can gather enough magical energy to hold it until you wake up again, you would simply crush another crate. Or several," said Daphne.

"Oh. That's true. I guess I could just...I don't know, I could clear a space on the floor and sleep there? I mean, it's not like I haven't slept on the ground before,"

Daphne gasped in horror. "Sleeping? On the ground? No, that will not do. You will not sleep on the ground,"

"So what should I do then? I don't think we have any spare beds anywhere, and I don't think any of us are good enough with Transfiguration to make a permanent bed out of anything here,"

Looking over the bed again, Daphne pursed her lips in thought. "Well, this bed appears to be very sturdy. It seems to be large enough for both of us to sleep here-"

"You're suggesting that we sleep together, on the same bed?!"

"If you have another option, I would like to hear it," Daphne shot back, rolling her eyes. "Besides, I seem to distinctly remember you creeping into my bed three days ago. You had no problems sleeping in the same bed then,"

"Hey, that's not fair! I had nightmares and couldn't sleep at all," Aveline cried out in protest. The vivid blush on her normally pale cheeks betrayed her embarrassment. "You didn't complain either when I did,"

"Indeed. I did not. I was too...comfortable...in that bed,"

Daphne felt her own cheeks heating up a little as those words slipped from her lips. Her mother and father had always raised her as a proper pureblood heiress. Aloof and elegant, refined and above the uncouth masses that were the muggleborns and the half-bloods. She was expected to maintain decorum and not besmirch the Greengrass name; maintain her purity until an appropriate suitor could be found for her, at which point she was expected to act faithfully in his name; and of course, present no loose ends that enemies of the family could abuse.

That, naturally, meant that she had few that she could truly call friends. Tracey aside, as officially the Davises were subordinate to her own family. Her own mother and father never gave displays of affection, whether openly or in private. It was considered inappropriate; weakening her resolve and ability to stand on her own. The little comforting pats, the friendly hugs that the affectionate girl gave her throughout her years in Hogwarts – they filled her heart with a warmth that had never been kindled by either of her parents.

A hand waving in front of her eyes brought her back to reality.

"Daphne? Daphne? Are you alright?" Aveline asked, concerned. "Wow. You blanked out for a moment there. Should I get mum to check if you're okay?"

"No, that should not be necessary. So...um...would you like to...get in the bed first? I would not mind sharing,"

"Okay, Daphne. Say, could you switch off the lights while you're there?"

A soft click of a switch later, and the room was now shrouded in pitch darkness. Daphne carefully walked back to the bed, feeling her way with both hands so as to not stumble on any of the numerous crates that were in the room. When her fingers finally touched the cold rubber of the mattress, the blonde girl carefully slid on. She dearly hoped that their combined weight would not collapse it; which, much to her relief, it did not once she had squeezed awkwardly into the remaining space on the bed.

It didn't take long before the cold wind blowing from the vent became slightly too much for Daphne. The blanket, despite a warming charm that had been placed on it, was not enough to cover both of them; just having half was not enough for her. The mattress, though softened, remained uncomfortably sticky if she remained still for too long, and felt as though she was going to freeze her skin off if she moved onto a fresh patch that did not feel as sticky. She tossed and turned in what little space she had, dearly wishing that she had read ahead and learned a space expansion charm before that night.

"Daphne?" murmured a sleepy Aveline. "Is something wrong?"

"It is too cold if I move, and I feel as though my skin would stick to the mattress if I stayed in one place," she sighed irritably. "Is there a better blanket or a bed somewhere else?"

Aveline let out a soft hum for a moment. "Well, no, not really. I don't know if mum had time to bring anything else down here," she answered glumly. "But, I think I know a way to fix this,"

Daphne yelped as she felt a strong arm slipping under her knees and lifting her up slightly. The blankets shifted all towards her side, wrapping under her and all around her, much like a comfortable cocoon. Remembering that the blanket was barely enough to cover both of them as it was, she realised that Aveline must have given her the whole blanket.

"No. You cannot give me all of the blanket, Aveline. That would be hardly fair for you. You would freeze overnight," protested Daphne, trying to push back the other girl to no avail.

"Oh, you shouldn't worry about me, Daphne. Usually, when mum takes us – I mean, me, Ori and Zoe – to field training during winter, we just sleep on the ground. A rubber mattress is better than just a bedroll on snowy rocks and packed ice, even if there is a tent above us," Aveline giggled.

A bedroll on cold rocks. That sounded like a truly, truly terrible prospect. Daphne gave an involuntary shudder as she thought about sleeping on something so hard and uncomfortable. "Now come on," continued the gentle copper-haired girl, "You're more comfortable now, aren't you?"

"It is better than before, yes. Thank you, Aveline,"

"No problems! That's what friends are for, right?"

Friend. It was...oddly comforting to hear that spoken of her. Did she truly do anything that deserved such a title? She remembered upsetting Zoe on the first Potions lesson they had, by calling a perfectly-brewed potion merely adequate. She had managed to irritate Aveline before by refusing to apologise to Hermione for insulting her about her blood status; an insult that she should have realised would have offended almost all of her closest acquaintances. Had a pureblood of high status been insulted so grievously, she was certain that whoever had issued the insult would be lying in a shallow grave.

Yet here was someone that offered Daphne support. That included her in their activities, despite not being obliged to do so. Who forgave her for her indiscretions and unwitting insults. She wondered exactly how much she owed her.

"You don't owe me a thing, Daphne. You're my friend,"

The Lady of House Greengrass' brain screeched to a halt. "I—I—I'm-I'm sorry?!" she choked out after a moment, utterly mortified. Blushing furiously, she was glad that at least the room was completely dark. She would never live her embarrassment down if she was seen with what must be a deep scarlet face by now. "Oh, Merlin. I said all that out loud, didn't I?" lamented Daphne.

Aveline pulled her into an embrace and patted her back, giggling as she did so. "Oh, you're so silly sometimes, Daphne. The things you did in first year? Zoe's called it even after she slipped that pepper powder in your drinks for a week. Hermione's forgiven you for...well, ages. And I really don't care if someone calls me a mudblood or a muggleborn,"

"You...you don't?"

"Nope. They're just names,"

"Why? Why do you—never mind; a better question would be how do you not get offended?" demanded Daphne. "Your family, your blood – it is something to be proud of, is it not?"

"Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't," Aveline replied simply. "My mum – Lucille, I mean, not Amanda. She's always told us that life's too short to hate people. Why waste time caring about what others that don't matter think? I mean, I'd rather be looking after people that do matter to me. Like you,"

"Like...like me?!"

"Of course, Daphne! Like you, Tracey, Zoe, Ori and Hermione. Or both of my mums, of course," murmured Aveline lightly. "Now, how about we sleep? Mum's probably got some more things to talk to us about tomorrow,"

It didn't take long before Aveline fell asleep, with Daphne still nestled in her embrace. The shorter blonde girl felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest; the gentle ebb and flow of her breath tickling her own ear. Wrapped up in a warm blanket which both took away the sticky discomfort of the rubber mattress and the coldness of the air in the room, she felt...oddly safe. There was a warmth in her heart that she had never felt before, one that she wished would never fade away. Not even in the most luxurious of Acromantula silk furnishings she felt as comfortable as she was now, in the arms of another who actually cared for her.

Who actually liked her for who she was. Not for her wealth, as some of her suitors from lesser Houses did. Not for her family's prestige, as some of the other lords and ladies of greater Houses did. Not for the looks, as the lust-addled boys in the Slytherin dorms did. And definitely not simply as a means to further a bloodline, as her parents did.

Several days passed. Or was it weeks? Daphne found it all too difficult to keep accurate track of time, with no sunlight ever getting into the vault. One thing for certain, however, was that boredom was definitely setting in among them all. There was only so many ways one could play with one's magic; after all, tossing balls of light to each other tended to get a little old after the umpteenth time around.

There was an exercise room in the lower vault, where several self-rotating horizontal torture racks that Muggles called 'treadmills' sat alongside various lead weights and other bizarre Muggle devices for physical fitness. Orianna had made sure that they were all in reasonable physical shape by forcing them all to run five miles a day, and engage in a few bouts of 'boxing' against a sand-filled leather bag. While the no-nonsense triplet had made sure that none of Hermione, Daphne, Tracey or Astoria were strangers to exercise, thanks to their daily before-dawn sessions at school, the same could not be said for the boys that they had roped along. Huffing, puffing, panting - and one time, even collapsing in a dead faint - the boys provided a source of entertainment to the girls, who finally saw the benefits of their training in their much improved endurance.

"It is not my fault that you two do not engage in proper exercise regularly," Orianna waved them off dismissively after they complained about being forced to run so far.

"I did Quidditch exercises in Hogwarts," Harry said sullenly.

"Oh, Harry, you're so silly. Didn't you know that playing with your broomstick is not vigorous exercise?" Zoe chanted in a sing-song voice.

All the other girls and both boys choked a little and blushed a bright scarlet. Doubly so when Zoe flashed them all a cheeky grin and winked, making a rather suggestive gesture with her hands. "Riding it all morning must be oh-so-exhausting. But I don't see you going all night long too,"

"Zoe. Enough," Orianna sighed, her cheeks still slightly pink. "Mother mentioned that we will be required to come along with her for an excursion today. Briefing will be after breakfast. Go have a shower and eat your meal. It sounded quite urgent,"

"Wait, what about us? I thought Miss Laurent wanted to check up on us after...what was that...Rad-something treatment?"

"Radiation treatment. And yes, you and Harry are excused from this excursion as any further untreated exposure might render you both sterile. However, I doubt that mother would stop you from coming to the meeting anyway,"

Daphne winced internally at the blunt way that Orianna had delivered the news to Harry and Neville. It was certainly true that their family jewels had been somewhat damaged by simply being above ground at the time of the nuclear bombs' detonations, but surely she could have chosen a more...diplomatic way of saying it. It didn't slip her notice that both boys' hands immediately cupped their groins, as if worried that she might inflict further damage on them.

"Regardless of that, mother has a few more instructions. Aveline, mother-Lucille wants you to remain behind to make sure that the boys are taking their medicine. You are also staying behind, Astoria,"

"But why?" asked the younger Greengrass, pouting in a way that was likely supposed to be cute. Not that it would work on Daphne, of course; she had seen it far too often to have any effect whatsoever. "I want to go! I'm bored of staying in this vault. I miss the green fields, the sun, the wind-"

"Astoria. Behave," Daphne warned her sister. Astoria gave an indignant 'harrumph!' and crossed her arms, but otherwise said no more. "Well, if we are going, then perhaps we should wash ourselves first. Let us go,"

Once they had all washed up and eaten breakfast, the kids slowly filtered into the Overseer's Office. Both Mr. and Mrs. Davis were already inside, as was Persephone. The lights in the room were out, and the light-and-image machine - a projector - was already displaying something on the whitewashed wall of the room.

A map of London. One that seemed to have been taken from the sky, somehow. How the Muggles had managed it, Daphne could not understand; while it was neither animated nor produced sound, the detail that Muggle photographs had was invariably far better than the best magical methods could produce. Though in this case, she couldn't tell why gigantic red circles had been drawn over the map.

"Ah, good. You are all here. Please, have a seat," Amanda spoke curtly, motioning towards the unoccupied metal seats at the back.

"As you are all well aware, a disaster has struck London three weeks ago. One that bathed the entire city in nuclear fire, and drove us underground to survive. I have been working day and night to restore communications as well as gather more information about the state of the world above ground. And what I have discovered...is not good,"

She pointed towards the map. "This is a map of London, as it was in January, 2077. Each red circle indicates the area destroyed by a single nuclear bomb, where survival rates are expected to be near zero for unprotected victims,"

Daphne frowned grimly as she traced each circle with her eyes. So many of them. And most intersected with one another.

"Surely our war wards would have held?" Persephone said with a shrug. "The Ministry of Magic likely still stands. It must stand. Just as it has withstood the worst of what the Muggles could throw at us for the last five hundred years,"

Amanda eyed her critically. "If you mean the buildings, then yes, they still stand. Despite the fact that a nuclear bomb had somehow detonated within twenty metres of its front door in front of the British Ministry of Magic in Whitehall Road, the building still stands wholly intact,"

Persephone puffed up proudly, believing that her belief in the supremacy of magic over technology was vindicated. Yet given the scientist's unwavering glare, it seemed that not everything was at all in order.

"But if you meant the Ministry of Magic, as the assembly of wizards and witches that govern all of magical Britain? I am sorry to say, but I have little doubt that neither the non-magical government nor the magical government of Britain have survived the nuclear exchange. I hacked into a security camera that was present at a checkpoint in London and sent it to record images and conditions above ground. I must warn you all; what I saw in Kings' Cross was rather...gruesome. If any of you wish to leave the room while I go through these, you may do so,"

Not a single person moved. All of them were intrigued by what exactly the scientist had found above ground that was so horrifying.

"This...is Kings' Cross. Immediately before the bombs fell," she murmured quietly. Not a single person breathed as they witnessed the security feed. One moment, there were hundreds - if not thousands - of people, going about their business as they went in and out of the train station. Men, women and children, wandering about without thinking anything was happening. The next, the images trembled and shook uncontrollably as the first of the shockwaves hit London. Every person on the sidewalks tumbled to the ground; cars skidded and slammed into each other as concrete and asphalt rippled and cracked; and slabs of concrete and glass began to crumble off the sides of buildings.

The girls all gasped in horror as they saw what came next. In a flash of cataclysmic heat that turned the black-and-white video just barely visible, flesh and skin vaporised into ash in an instant. Clothes were set ablaze mere seconds before they, too, disintegrated to nothingness; the colourful paint on cars, buses and motorcycles all burned away in clouds of black cinders. That was, immediately before they exploded in gouts of flame and shards of metal.

By the end of the recording, only skeletons lay on the scorched roads, their bones bleached white by the incredible heat of the bombs.

"Stop," choked out Astoria. Spinning around, she noticed that her younger sister was sobbing profusely into Aveline's shoulder, while her friend was doing her best to comfort her in whatever way she could. "Why are you showing us these...these pictures?"

"To give you all a vision of what has happened above ground," Amanda spoke solemnly. "Life as we know it has ended. The world above has burned to ash, leaving little behind. That is the truth of what has happened above in London, and likely over all Britain,"

"But that's the end of it, isn't it?" Persephone said dismissively. "A Muggle weapon that incinerates a large swath of land and buildings? Ending the world? Piffle. Plants have always grown back from scorching flames. Ash is nothing but fertiliser for what is to come,"

"What is to come?" asked the scientist, raising an eyebrow curiously. There was an odd gleam in the woman's eyes.

"Why, with the Muggles virtually exterminated, we could rebuild society as it was meant to be. With magicals at the very top," she chuckled darkly.

"You sound a lot like Malfoy," commented Harry, who had a wand firmly in his grip. Neville was also glaring at the former Lady Greengrass with barely veiled mistrust and suspicion. "He was always saying things about blood supremacy in Hogwarts,"

"I had thought the rumours about the Potters being blood traitors were just that. Rumours. But to hear it with my own ears?" laughed Persephone coldly. "It shames me to think that they were true. Your father marrying a mudblood was bad enough-"

A distinct click came from Amanda. She held an oddly blocky silver pistol in her hands, looking at it wistfully as she checked it over. The barrel of the weapon held an ominous green glow; the same as the Killing Curse, and that of the Sentry Bots patrolling the hallway. "You will mind your manners while inside my house, Lady Greengrass. At least your daughter has proven that she is capable of that courtesy," she said icily. "Especially as guests of mine, as your daughter has iterated during your first day, if you must be reminded,"

"Threatening a guest is hardly how a host should act," she sneered, her eyes never leaving the weapon.

"Threatening? Do you see me pointing this pistol in your direction?" deadpanned Amanda. "No, not at all. I am merely reminding you of your obligations while under my roof. Should you find these too onerous, you are free to leave the vault. Though I daresay that what I will show you next will make you change your opinion,"

She tapped the projector again. The scene switched to another location; judging by Persephone's wide eyes, she realised exactly where it was.

And so did Daphne. And Neville. Any pureblood heir or heiress raised properly would recognise that red telephone booth that has always stood on Whitehall Road.

"That is correct, Persephone. This particular camera was set up directly opposite my official workplace. The British Ministry of Defence. And do not think for a moment that I do not know where that red telephone booth leads. Dialling '62442', or 'Magic', would take me to your Ministry of Magic. Fifteen metres below ground at that location, to be exact,"

All colour drained from Persephone's face after Amanda's declaration. "How...how did you know?" she asked weakly.

"Let us simply say that your so-called Statute of Secrecy has many loopholes in it, and that I have my own sources of information. Not that it matters any more, given what you are about to see next. You see, like many other magical buildings, it appears to have survived the initial blast wave and the immense radiation pulse that a nuclear detonation causes. However, you older magic-wielders appear so arrogant as to assume that nothing non-magical could ever harm you,"

Nothing seemed to happen for a couple of minutes as everything sped past on 'fast-forward'. Which, to Daphne's eyes, was simply a way of speeding up time in the video. Then, after the third and final wave of flashes and earthquakes, Amanda slowed it down.

Ministry of Magic employees began to emerge from the telephone booth. At first, they stood about in stunned shock at the immense destruction all around them. Then, as they stepped out of the booth, something strange happened. At first, it was only a wizard that stumbled about as though he was drunk. A witch followed suit, clinging weakly to the remnants of a lamppost in an effort to remain standing, while clutching her head and apparently screaming in agony. Both soon collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably. Their three companions, who were likewise struggling to stand, soon succumbed to the very same issues. One of them appeared to be vomiting before he also tumbled to the ground in a heap.

The very same event happened with the various employees that emerged after them. Until by the time people stopped coming out of the booth, there was quite a huge pile of dead or dying wizards and witches strewn about the single red booth.

It was safe to say that everyone in the room with the exception of Lucille and Amanda were utterly horrified. Astoria was so distraught that Aveline had to escort her out of the room, while Zoe had to do the same with Hermione.

"Zese are telltale symptoms of acute radiation poisoning," Lucille said sorrowfully. "Ze brain is rendered incapable of proper function. Tremors, seizures, lethargy. Vomiting is also a certainty, if one is not immediately incapacitated,"

"You know what is causing these? And you aren't saving them?" demanded an outraged Persephone.

"Zat is because zey are beyond saving, madame. We...we 'ave performed extensive tests on subjects of radiation poisoning of zis magnitude. Usually on workers of nuclear power plants who have been exposed to ze fuel rods wizout protective equipment. It is...invariably fatal. Even if prompt medical care is administered, death will follow in twenty-four hours at most as ze body begins to decompose itself. Mon amour, what is ze current radiation level outside, if you are able to retrieve zat?"

"Let me see," Amanda murmured, typing away on her computer terminal. "The sensors outside the Ministry of Defence are reading one hundred grays per second, or about ten thousand rads per second. And that is only because the Geiger counter cannot register any higher values,"

Daphne had little idea about what that meant; but given how Lucille had bowed her head and uttered a prayer under her breath spoke volumes about how dire the situation was outside.

"Mon dieu. At zat level of radiation, no protection zat we 'ave would offer any effect. What about ozzer locations?"

"The Westminster underground platform is reading only five micrograys per second. As is Lancaster underground,"

"So it appears to be somewhat safe underground. Zough if zat remains true for long remains to be seen,"

"Then you must let the employees at the Ministry of Magic know that it is certain death to step outside!"

However, Amanda simply regarded Persephone with disapproval. "No. I will not," she replied simply.

That had definitely set off her mother. Daphne flinched as Persephone stood up from her seat, wand clenched in her fist. She tried to tower over the copper-haired scientist in an attempt to intimidate her. A rather futile attempt, given that Amanda was most certainly taller than she was by a good three inches, and the attempt to stand on the very tips of her long-toed boots simply made her ridiculous.

"And if you think that intimidation will work on myself, you are gravely mistaken, Lady Greengrass. I have spent the better part of my life under men that are infinitely more imposing than you are," she spoke coldly. Both women were exchanging furious glares at each other. "Now, as you appear to be wanting reasons why I cannot do so, you only need to look in the corner, behind the plastic potted plant,"

There was a tiny fireplace in the corner, barely large enough to fit a head. There was no flue, no wood, no flame in it; not even the tiniest scrap of ash. It was as though it had never been used to heat the room - or even been intended to do so. Yet, perched above its minuscule mantelpiece, was a jar containing an all too familiar glittering green powder.

"A Floo jar and a fireplace? In a Muggle location?" spoke Persephone dumbly. "Is this a joke?"

"Not at all. That is...or was...indeed a fireplace with a fully functional Floo connection. Though I will admit that greasing the palms of your officials to have this installed anonymously was quite expensive,"

In a flash, Daphne's mother had dashed to the fireplace and taken a fistful of the Floo powder. Far more than anyone would ever need to perform a normal Floo call. "Gringotts!" she called out, while dropping the powder onto the fireplace.

Silence.

Nothing had happened.

"Gringotts!" she shouted again, after dropping yet another pinch of powder.

"If you have forgotten, Lady Greengrass, the main foyer of Gringotts has been completely destroyed by an nuclear warhead's concussive blast. As have most other fireplaces in Britain, I would wager. You have to be very specific in order to get anywhere," Amanda tutted condescendingly. She took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it in. "Gringotts London, Sublevel Foyer!"

The tiny fireplace immediately burst to life with the vivid viridian flames of a Floo call. They could hear various voices on the other side; some angry, some wailing, and others simply despondent. Eventually, a goblin's head appeared in the flames. He wore his hair in thick black dreadlocks, into which golden rings were woven. His brows were furrowed in a deep frown. "Yes?" he spoke gruffly. "Gringotts is currently closed-oh. You're Dr. Flynn, aren't you? The one that spoke with Ragnok?"

"Indeed I am, mister goblin. May your enemies fall before you as wheat to a scythe, and your gold ever flow,"

"A Muggle that knows our customs better than most witches! King Ragnok was right, you are an interesting one," he snorted in surprise. "And may your enemies' heads decorate your walls, and your vaults fill with their gold, Dr. Flynn. I am Teller Sharpclaw. I fear that Gringotts is not in a state where it is able to render its services at the moment,"

The next expression that the goblin wore earned looks of shock from all of the magicals in the room. Never did Daphne think that a goblin would plead and beg, let alone to a Muggle! Yet what the goblin said next was exactly that. "If I could ask-no, if I could beg of you a favour. My children have been struck down by some sort of fever, and our supplies of medicine are running low. The vials of medicine that you've sent to us are the only things that have worked so far, but even those are nearly empty,"

"And that is what King Ragnok VII has asked of me last night. I have prepared supplies to take to Gringotts, but I will need some time to get there. The fireplace that I have been able to...ah... acquire from the wizards has proven quite inadequate. If I could fit through here, I would be glad to render assistance immediately. Alas, I believe that it would be at least a four hour walk through the sewers,"

The goblin bowed his head in sorrow. "I don't think my son has four hours. Please, Dr. Flynn. Surely there is something small that you can give now?"

"I'll take over from here, mon amour," said Lucille softly. She crouched down beside Amanda, looking into the goblin's eyes. "I am Dr. Laurent, monsieur. Please, describe your son's symptoms in detail. A fever, per'aps? Vomiting? Liquid excrement?"

The goblin nodded. "Merde," cursed Lucille, "'Ave you sent someone above ground?"

"Yes! My son was part of the scouting team that we sent up into the main foyer to examine the damage. Every one of them that has managed to return have fallen ill!"

"Do not let anyone else go outside!" Amanda barked out. "That is an order! Seal the doors, and make sure that it is airtight! Pile as much gold, lead or steel against it if you can, and stay there! Lucille, are the medicinal supplies prepared?"

The vault's resident healer nodded fervently. "Oui. Fifty doses of radiation purging chemicals, an equal number of radioisotope binders, and one hundred Blood-Replenishing Potions. I always carry one on myself at all times, in case of an accident. 'Ere, administer zis to your son, Teller Sharpclaw. Insert the needle into the vein on his wrist, and the pouch will do ze rest,"

"That will simply hold off the worst of the illness temporarily. Teller Sharpclaw, would it be fair to assume that Gringotts has a subterranean entrance? A connection to the London sewers, perhaps?"

"I do not know, but I will ask. If it will help save our sick, I am certain someone knows!" he declared. Moments later, he returned with a map on a sheet of yellowing parchment. "The map is old, but one of the elder scouts said that this should still be accurate. There is a connection to a main sewer under Charing Cross. Please hurry,"

"I will, Teller Sharpclaw. Have someone unseal the grate, but make sure it is still well-guarded. I have little information about what may lurk down there,"

"Deep Ones watch your steps, goblin-friend,"

The Floo connection dropped as the last of the Floo powder burned itself out. Taking a deep breath, Amanda straightened up. Only to raise an eyebrow as she took in the awestruck looks that Neville and Daphne were giving her.

"What? Do I have ash in my hair or on my face?" she snapped irritably. "I do not care! If you are coming with us, put on the radiation hazard suits from the armoury! Orianna, get the suit of power armour-"

"WHAT?! We have POWER ARMOUR and you didn't tell us?!" yelled Zoe, looking aghast.

"Yes, two suits of old Centurion Mark IIIs. Nothing as good as the Mark VIIs that the soldiers in the Middle East were issued before the bombs dropped. And unless you want to be scrubbing the latrines for a week - yes, even if it is already gleaming thanks to Dipsy - you will do as I order. Do I make myself clear, Zoe?"

"Yes, mother-in-chief,"

"That is COLONEL FLYNN to you while we are on this excursion! What are you all standing around for? Double time, move it to the armoury! Go, go, go!"

A/N:

The world above has ceased to exist, magical and mundane alike, and yet pure-blood supremacy beliefs are still rampant. The goblins, saved by their subterranean living preferences, can no longer rely on shipments of required supplies from above ground. Alliances will be forged, and a new order should emerge! Stay tuned for more.

Vampirelord101:

I have answered this in a PM, but in case anybody else asks the same question, I will answer this again here. Harry is certainly in this story, AS A SIDE CHARACTER. What good is a fanfiction that creates a whole new world, if we simply reiterate the same storyline as canon? What is even the point of rehashing a fully established character's personality, dialogue and plot problems? There is none. To use Harry as a main character presents a double problem: not altering his personality makes him both onerous to write, and a hazard for when he is written incorrectly (OMG YOU HEATHEN AUTHOR, Y U NO WRITE HARRY LIKE ORIGINAL HARRY?!1oneone). Making him radically different essentially transforms him into an OC wearing the name of a major character, at which point I question the need to use his name at all.

No. It is best to stick to side characters with plenty of character development potential over those that are already established, or create new ones. Less hassle either way.

Also, if you are fed up with people writing Harry Potter stories without Harry Potter in it, you only need to set your filters correctly. This story, as you may have noticed, does not even have Harry Potter as a listed main character. Which means that I neither aim to, nor have an obligation to, write Harry in as a main character. If it bothers you so much, then I suggest that you write your own story with Harry in it.