TWENTY-ONE: The Heist

Remus poked his head around the corner, facing the open door to Sirius's old rooms. Draco Malfoy was inside, holding some old trousers: Sirius's, back from his all-black phase.

"Serviceable," said the young man, turning to a guilty-looking Hermione, "but nothing like the style to which I'd grown accustomed."

"Did you try the attic?" she wondered. Was she worried about having been the one to suggest this course of action? She ought to be. It was a mad idea,and selfish, besides. Remus should recognize that tendency to display one's genius before one's good sense. James and Sirius had only ever been sorry afterwards as well.

"I hunted through the attic. Nothing but mounds of out-of-date lace monstrosities and some of Cedrella Black and Septimus Weasley's letters under a concealment charm that's worn thin around the edges," Malfoy replied.

"Can't we just Charm what you're wearing now?" Hermione said, gazing at Draco's clothing with a critical eye.

"No," Remus countered, stepping through the doorway and joining the two. "You'd feel the difference. Charms are for other people."

"Charms are for other people?" Draco echoed. He didn't seem surprised to see Remus standing in the door.

"When you do a charm on your clothing," Remus lectured, feeling as though he were back at the front of a classroom once more, "you do it to appear more put-together to others… but you still feel the cloth against your skin, just as it is. You might find that off-putting. Only a Transfiguration will do." Remus drew his wand.

Remus cast his mind back to the Draco Malfoy of third year. He wore dark clothing when not in his school robes, he seemed to recall. Not with the adult understanding of one's best colours – anyone with such pale skin, eyes and hair as Malfoy would look ghostlike in black – but with the adolescent belief that dark colours made one appear dangerous and grown-up. The black ought to be a little overdone in that case, he thought, and spun Malfoy a dark jacket of a slightly different darkness, so they wouldn't all blend together. A summer wool. Dark trousers with a black buckle. Handkerchief in top pocket, folded – dark grey.

"Are you dressing me for subterfuge, or a Victorian horror novel?" Draco inquired, peering down.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, it's perfect, just… a bit of a peer through everyone else's lens, I suppose. Uncomfortable." He squinted into Sirus's old full-length mirror, and Remus was struck with another unwelcome bolt of memory. Sirius, insisting Remus be allowed to visit him here in his family home – his mother's barely-veiled disapproval – Sirius, home from Azkaban, peering just so into the mirror after a wash and a haircut.

Well, it's a bit of a shock and no lie, Moony, he'd said, leaning in close. I'm older than I remember, but then, so are you.

"Oh, d'you remember your hair back in fourth year?" Hermione exclaimed. "It was all slicked-back and… solid. It looked like it doubled as a Keeper's helmet."

"Thanks for that," Draco said.

"Let me see what I can find," the girl said, and slipped past Remus and out the door. Remus said nothing, watching Draco: waiting for him to show some sign of the boy he remembered from three years ago, that petty, sullen, vengeful child. Minerva had told him that there was almost always one psychopath per year, and Draco Malfoy filled the quota. He'd thought it unforgivably harsh; wondered if Sirius had been his year's, at least according to the Deputy Headmistress. But the more he'd learned of Malfoy, the surer he'd been that she was right.

One could not change who – or what – one was. Remus should know better than anyone else.

"There's something very defensive about wearing all black," Draco said, breaking the silence. "I don't think I noticed it, before. A desire to step back and let the shadows hide you."

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but then Hermione returned holding a small bowl of cloudy gel. "It's just some flaxseed boiled up, but Snape says it'll do," she replied, and began to sculpt.

"Whoa," Ron said when Draco emerged downstairs. "Flash back to 1994."

"Well, and that's the idea, isn't it?" Hermione said. "Does it pass muster?"

Remus leaned against the kitchen wall, half in shadow. Severus was still preparing the Wolfsbane with an ease that was kind of obnoxious, considering that only a handful of Potioneers in all of Europe could manage, or maybe cared to try.

"It passes enough muster to make it kind of creepy," Ron opined, lip curling.

"Thanks," Malfoy said.

Severus looked up with a face so blank that Remus read true shock behind the lack of expression. "Yes, he looks…" he said, to no one. "Correct," he said, turning back to the potion.

"Look, if we're really going to try breaking into Gringotts, we need to talk to Bill," Ron said. "He's not just one of the better curse-breakers out there; he works at Gringotts. We're gonna need a man on the inside." He paused. "Sorry, I've just always wanted to say that."

"There are too many involved already," Remus said. "Even if no one means to give us away, something they say, something they do may work against us despite the best of intentions." He held his tongue on the subject of Percy Weasley – there was still no telling whether the boy had been captured, or killed, or Imperio'd, or a traitor – but to his surprise, Snape sighed, and said,

"Well. I suppose we do at that, Mister Weasley. And considering how much of the Weasley clan is in the know already, I suppose it does little additional harm. Come, let us invite your mother here as well! I'm sure she'd be pleased to see that I'm continuing to make Wolfsbane for Remus, as she was always sure I'd manage to forget."

"Oh – well, speaking of other people," Ron went on blithely, "I can tell you right now that Fleur isn't going to let her husband go and talk to us without her. Right protective she is, since the accident."

Remus would have thought that this would set Snape off like a Catherine wheel, but instead, it yielded a put-upon sigh, and a 'needs must', muttered under his breath.

Sometimes he felt he didn't understand Severus Snape at all.

Ron muttered to Harry and Hermione – didn't seem to object when Draco listened in as well – and then departed. Five minutes later, there were scuffing noises up the stairs as Ron arrived again, trailing Fleur and two Weasley brothers.

Harry stood. "Er…"

Ron shrugged. "Bill says there's dragons," he said, nodding at Charlie.

Hermione gaped. "Dragons!"

"Dragons," Bill confirmed. "Well. Dragon, singular. A poor old thing that they've kept chained in the dark."

Charlie's face was a thundercloud. "Come along, Ronald, I'm going to tell you some things about dragons," he said, pulling his younger brother aside.

Meanwhile, Bill sat at the table, Fleur beside him, clutching at his arm. "I understand you've got to have a go at this," he said, "or I wouldn't suggest you ever even consider it."

Severus Snape continued to brew, but Remus could practically feel him listening.

"There are several challenges you'll face. One of the hardest to get by is the Thief's Downfall. Installed it myself," he said proudly. "It counters all hexes and charms. But it won't activate unless the goblins believe someone is trying to steal something, so hopefully you won't face it at all."

"All hexes and charms?" Remus countered. "That'd be next to impossible."

"Up to and including the Imperius, and I'd know," Bill replied. "Took some doing, but it's based on the twelve basic charm structures – unravels 'em all, fast as thought. Even the more complicated stuff unravels in a moment or two, once the base of the charm falls away. Polyjuice, too. Just that, though; people take medicinal potions, you know. Wouldn't do to have some poor bloke run through it accidentally and have a death on our hands."

"Would it unravel the charm on an Invisibility Cloak?" Hermione wanted to know.

Bill shook his head. "The Thief's Downfall won't undo even basic Transfigurations, and Transfiguration is part of how Invisibility Cloaks work. I was still working on all that when they fired me. Let's just say that there are big changes being made everywhere, and my job was one of those changes," said Bill, voice tight.

Fleur stroked the inside of Bill's arm. " Eet is a shame," she said, "a 'orrible shame. Zey weel regret it." Her eyes were fierce.

Remus felt a flare of jealousy and had to look away. When he looked up, Snape's gaze met his; forever the spy, forever noticing everything.

"You mean there are no defenses against an Invisibility Cloak?" Hermione pressed.

"None I know of," said Bill.

Hermione grumbled under her breath something that had the word idiots and fools and won't catch me putting my hard earned-gold…

"Those old vaults will also lock behind you if you aren't careful," Bill said, clearing his throat.

Draco nodded. "I remember visiting my own vaults as a child. They closed behind me; my father had to let me out."

Charlie approached the table, Ron trailing him, looking pale. "I've taught Ronnie a few things," he said, "but the main thing you all have to remember is don't use the Clankers."

"Clankers?" said Hermione.

"Goblins train dragons with fear and with fire," Charlie replied. "They have a sack of iron shackles they clank together whenever they hurt the dragon as a youngling, until the creature associates the sound with pain and helplessness."

Hermione looked stricken. "But that's horrible!"

"And dangerously ineffective," Charlie said. "Frightened creatures are unpredictable, as likely to attempt to destroy you in defense of themselves as to cower."

"Here," Bill said, standing, "I sketched a quick picture of the insides of the bank, but it's rough I'm afraid. There are a few known passages out of the deepest caverns besides the cart-and-rail system, but no one really knows all her secrets." He dropped a piece of parchment onto the scrubbed wood table and leaned forward. "Here is the entry. There is a series of caverns here and here, though no one knows where they let out." He helped his wife to her feet. "I would come myself, but I have cause to think they'd suspect foul play right off, considering what I said when I was sacked. As a matter of fact, I reckon they'll change some of the defenses soon," he added with bared teeth. He bowed. "Best of luck to you," he said, and he and Fleur climbed the stairs together.

Charlie dithered for a moment, giving Ron some last-minute advice, it appeared, but once he was done, he turned to Severus.

Snape did not look up, but the slight stiffening of the other man's shoulders told Remus that he knew he was being watched.

"I never did believe it, you know," Charlie said. He cleared his throat. "Thanks for George, anyhow. He's right excited. And for… you know. Everything," he said, and left before Snape could reply.

"George?" Ron said.

Snape shrugged. "A harmless gesture," he said, "considering the likelihood of any of us making it out alive."

Silence fell in the kitchen.

"Well. Are we ready? Not much use in sitting around," Draco said. "Let's get on with it."

Draco examined the Cloak, as though staring at it could make this whole inadvisable venture seem more tangible, more real.

Three teenagers could fit under it, at most; that was Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Remus could enter of his own free will on the pretext of examining his own vault; Snape could accompany Draco.

And that was all of them: all six.

Draco said nothing, but his face was white and his hands trembled.

"You'll do all right," Hermione told him.

"And we'll be there," Ron said, "if it all goes pear-shaped."

"Which it, you know, very well might," Harry added.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well, but listen," Harry said, eyes flickering over Draco's features, "the Professor says he'll leave a tail of Mind Magic a mile long, and anyone with the slightest bit of Occlumency talent – even me – can yank it free in a pinch."

"Wow, yes, that does make it sound awfully easy," Draco agreed, but his voice shook beneath the bravado.

Harry drew the other boy in and clasped him to his chest; Draco clung.

"We're going to be right there with you," he said.

Ron clasped Draco to him, next. "We're going to be watching," he said. "We won't let you do anything too barmy."

Hermione was next. She took in Draco from head to toe, her eyes skimming over him. "Ah, bloody hell," she said, and pressed her lips to the side of his mouth: more than a peck and less than a snog, outright.

"Er. Well," said Draco.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"For luck!" she said. "Just – you know. Don't get killed, all right?"

"Do I get that kind of luck?" Ron wondered.

"Well," she said, and kissed him in just the same way, before turning to Harry.

"Whoa," Harry said, raising both of his hands in the air. "Notreallynecessary."

Hermione leaned forward to kiss him delicately on the cheek. "Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I do feel loads better!"

"Then let's go steal a Horcrux," Draco said, adjusting his collar.

Draco irritably tugged at his clothing. He wasn't sure why he was wearing such offal; the weave was clearly sub-par, and the black-on-black was off-putting. He felt as though he were dressed for someone's funeral. His hair felt funny, too: softer than usual, a bit more mobile than he liked. A Malfoy must always be a Malfoy, without a hair out of place.

Funeral… now, why did that sound familiar? Perhaps one of his father's old acquaintances had passed, and he was expected to make an appearance? Odd, that; he couldn't seem to remember.

Meaningless. Here he was, on an important mission for the Dark Lord, and he was focussed on trivialities. No; he must turn his mind to this singular task, and this task alone. His aunt Bella, newly released from Azkaban, still understandably feared stepping out in public. He was to check her vaults for her and bring back an item of surpassing importance and great history.

He could barely contain his excitement!

Too bad he had to be accompanied by Professor Snape, though: it was the one damper on being given a mission vital to the cause. Truly, the days his father had promised were at hand: the days when Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers would step aside, and Purebloods take their rightful place as leaders of men. But men like Snape… Draco looked up at the sallow-faced man out of the corner of his eye. Well, Snape was a halfblood, and blood would out, he thought, curling his lip as they walked down Diagon. A sadder sample of wizardkind would be hard to find, he thought. The poor, bedraggled thing looked even more common than usual today: older, thinner, sadder than before.

Sadder? The thought didn't quite seem like it belonged.

Sorrier, more like. His robes were a disgrace; Draco was ashamed to think that people might think that he and Snape were cut of a similar cloth. Perhaps when Draco became a leader of men, he would keep Snape at his side. Loyalty ought to be rewarded, and Snape had been nothing if not loyal. But surely once the Dark Lord had risen to his rightful place as the head of all the British Isles (the world? Draco was unsure how far his ambitions reached) then halfbloods like Snape would also be set back into their own rightful place.

Draco beheld a rosy vision in which purebloods such as himself sat in the thrones of the world, halfbloods below them, Mugglelovers and Blood Traitors doing the most menial of tasks – all they were fit for, really – and Mudbloods… well. He wouldn't mind having a Mudblood servant, certainly. Granger'd do, for a start. He'd like to see her slap him then!

Draco couldn't help but notice how empty the streets were, how people cleared a path for him and for Snape. Well. How odd… not that it didn't seem right; it was just as things should be. But it did seem… unusual. When Draco commented on the emptiness of the streets, Snape replied,

"There are rumours of a coming storm."

Hmm. Well, that certainly explained the way everyone was dashing to and fro, although not why they seemed to be dashing away from Draco and Severus. That was, until Draco spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

"Why look, sir," Draco said – it didn't hurt to be polite to the man who was in partial charge of his grades until he graduated. "It's one of your students."

Snape looked up furtively. "Come, Mister Malfoy; we don't have time to chat with one of your little friends. We have more important matters to attend to…"

Draco huffed. "Well, if you insist, only I do believe he's spotted us."

Professor Snape went quiet at his side.

"Come now, Professor, it's only Longbottom," Draco said, and then the young man was upon them, wand drawn.

"Don't do anything foolish, Mister Longbottom," Severus said.

"Sweet Merlin, you idiot, have you drawn your wand on a teacher?" Draco gawped. "You'll be expelled!"

"Expelled?" Neville exclaimed. "Expelled?"

Professor Snape went quieter and stiller than Draco had ever known, and suddenly Draco knew that he wanted Professor Snape on his side in that new world; very much by his side and on his side, oh, yes.

"Neville!" Augusta Longbottom Apparated directly from the doorway of Flourish and Blott's to Neville's side. "Professor Snape," she said, slowly. "Mister Malfoy. Do… forgive my grandson. He's not himself," she said, drawing herself upright, dignity in her every gesture, "in all the unpleasantness."

"He did it!" Neville shouted. "He killed him! And I won't be quiet about it, either!"

"Hush, you foolish child, or you shall get us both killed!" she hissed.

That seemed to bring Neville up short. His wand hand wavered, drooped.

"I will thank you not to hurl unfounded accusations at my feet in the streets of Magical London, Mister Longbottom," Snape said in a quiet, controlled voice. "Your imprecision in my class seems to have spilled out into your everyday existence. What proof do you even have of such a claim, that you shout it aloud in broad daylight?"

"Everyone knows," Longbottom whispered.

Professor Snape looked truly infuriated, now. "Everyone knows? Is that so? Well. Far be it for me to deny such an overwhelmingly logical argument, with your reasoning laid out so clear. I am still your Defense Professor, Mister Longbottom. Fifty points from Gryffindor for egregiously foolish conduct, including drawing your wand on a professor." He leaned towards Mrs Longbottom. "Keep a closer watch on your grandson, should you wish to keep him!" he hissed.

Then he strode away, pulling Draco along behind him.

"What on earth was that, sir?" Draco exclaimed. "What's happening? Is Dumbledore dead?"

"Yes, indeed," Snape said, "although I am sorry you had to discover it that way."

"Sorry?" Draco whispered. "Sorry? Why should you be? And Defense? Are you our Defense Professor, now, sir? Because that would be extraordinary."

Snape sighed. "I do believe I am; felt the points go. Funny, that. She mustn't have changed it."

Draco snuck a look up at Snape's face. Something was definitely off about the other man. "Longbottom certainly grew a lot over the summer," he said. "A few centimeters, at the very least."

"People do grow up," Snape said. "Focus on your objective, Draco. We are here."

'Here' was Gringotts Bank: white marble steps, bronze doors, and a façade that towered over the other buildings at Diagon Alley. Two goblins stood guard at the gates. Draco strode up to them and they opened the doors, looking nervous: good.

He'd only been to Gringotts a handful of times at his father's side, and Lucius did not believe gawking befit a Malfoy. Therefore, Draco took a good look around as they walked inside the small anteroom before the bank proper.

There were two, huge silver doors that stood between them and said bank. Inscribed on a plaque were the words:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take, but do not earn

Must pay most dearly in their turn

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

For some reason, this gave him a bit of a case of the shivers. Lucky for him, he wasn't there to steal, just to fetch something from his aunt's vault.

The silver doors opened to reveal a vast, marble hall. Along one end was a long counter, also marble, manned by at least twenty different goblins on high stools.

Waiting was so… pedestrian. Draco walked right up to one of the older goblins. Not that there was a very long line. Like every other spot in Diagon, it seemed oddly empty.

"Greetings, Mister Malfoy," it said.

"Yes, greetings, all that," Draco replied. "I'm here to check on something of my aunt's."

"Your aunt's? Mrs Bellatrix Lestrange?" the goblin said, with a respectful degree of fear in its voice.

"The very same," Draco said. "Here, I have her wand as a gesture of her good faith." He laid the wand on the counter; the goblin picked it up and examined it.

"Mrs Lestrange has reported the wand stolen," the goblin said, eyeing him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Stolen? The silly bint. She was in Azkaban for years, you know, it might've scrambled something up inside her brain. Well, there's no 'might have', is there? She gave it to me herself, for this very purpose. Merlin, how long ago did she report it stolen?"

The goblin looked a bit put off by Draco's patter. "Weeks ago, sir."

"Well then, she must've found it again," Draco said, already feeling bored. "Listen, do you really and truly wish me to go back to my mother's house and all our guests and tell them that you – and who are you, by the way?"

"Griphook, sir," said the goblin.

"That you, Griphook, refused to let me, Draco Malfoy, have a look in my own aunt's vaults, in order to bring her something at her own request?"

"All your mother's… guests, sir?"

"Yes, my aunt, amongst others," Draco replied. God, goblins were slow on the uptake.

Griphook conferred with another goblin a moment. "Are you sure?" it asked the other.

"Are we sure what?" Draco snapped. "I don't have all day. Is there a supervisor I could speak to?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Griphook said, quickly. "Not at all. You see, Mrs Lestrange had very specific instructions about that particular vault…"

"Which were?" Draco sighed.

"Well. Which were that only yourself or Mrs Malfoy should have access to them. And that, otherwise… er… even she ought not to be allowed within."

Draco tapped his foot.

"They're just very odd instructions, sir."

"Obviously she was worried about Polyjuice, you idiot," Draco snapped. "It would take quite an intuitive leap for someone to decide that they ought to dress themselves up in my or my mother's skin to get at her things, wouldn't it?"

"Well… yes, sir."

"So perhaps she's not quite as mad as I had thought," Draco conceded.

"And this is…?" Griphook said, eyeing the man beside Draco with suspicion.

"And this is Professor Snape," Draco bit out, curt. "He will be accompanying me. In case this item is cumbersome. Or dangerous."

"A bodyman. I see, I see," said Griphook. "Well, I suppose it can be allowed, considering the… nature. Of the vault."

If Draco thought that Snape would object to being called a glorified footman, he was rapidly disabused. Clearly, Snape saw the tendency of goblins to be obstreporous, and thought to hold his tongue.

Useful man.

But then, the rest of the goblin's dialogue caught up with him. "N-nature of the vault?" Draco said. "It isn't… hazardous down there, is it?"

"Well. No more than necessary to protect your aunt's things, Mister Malfoy," Griphook assured him. "Just the dragon. But it's easy enough to take care of that." He turned to the goblin who had whispered in his ear, before. "Bring the Clankers!"

"Oh, we won't be needing those," Draco heard himself say, and wondered why, when what he wanted to say was, JUST a dragon?

But that's horrible! said a distant memory. A girl's voice.

Hermione Granger's?

Clearly, he was losing his mind.

"Oh, no, sir, they're absolutely necessary for all of our safety," the goblin assured him.

"You aren't coming along, are you?" Draco said. "I should like to have privacy."

"Not possible, sir. At least, not until we arrive at the vault. You shall need me to let you into and out of the vault –"

"That's why I've brought Professor Snape," Draco insisted. "He can let me out."

"But not in," the goblin insisted. "That requires a handprint. A goblin handprint."

"Oh, very well," Draco said. "Needs must, I suppose." Still, eurgh. He could smell the goblin-stench from where he stood. True, the creature looked scrubbed and smartly dressed, but Draco knew all about goblins and their slimy, sneaking ways from his father.

A cart appeared at the very end of the long room.

"Am I meant to travel inside of that?" Draco said, horrified. "It looks as though it hasn't been cleaned since the bank opened. I'm sure there've been rats."

"Scourgify," Snape said.

"Say, isn't that the werewolf?" Draco said, pointing rudely and not really caring.

"Severus Snape, what a surprise," said Remus Lupin, rather flatly. "Are you headed down? I'm here to inspect my own vault. Suppose we share a cart?"

Draco expected Snape to scoff and wonder aloud that such a ragamuffin creature had a vault, but oddly, Snape nodded. "I don't see why not."

I do! Draco thought, but it was too late to protest; perhaps Lupin was on their side. It seemed a bit cooincidental, now, all of them meeting here together this way. Draco's suspicions were confirmed when the goblin eyed Lupin suspiciously as they clambered inside. "Sir, your vault is all the way –"

"So, you're here to help us," Draco broke in.

The goblin rolled its eyes and subsided with a grumble, beginning to fiddle with some levers and knobs at the front of the cart.

Lupin turned to Snape. "Did you…?" he said.

"No," Snape replied.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Draco inquired. "All of us being here at once, your cordial attitude. Finally found the right side out for yourself, have you?"

The goblin ignored them and set the cart in motion: with a screech of metal-on-metal, it pitched forward through two low doors, which snapped shut behind it.

"Er. Yes," Lupin said, which seemed awfully straightforward.

"What made you change your mind?" Draco asked. Although he couldn't care less, it was amusing to think about; took one's mind off hurtling faster and faster down through the dark. "Better dental?"

"I got sick of all my friends dying one at a time. Always trusting the wrong people," Lupin replied. "I figured this way, at least I would know not to trust anyone."

"Well, that's gone and ruined my day," Draco said. "Keep it to yourself, next time."

Lupin shrugged; Draco could feel it where they were unfortunately pressed together. He'd always hated being touched. "You asked," Lupin said.

"Couldn't you shove over?" Draco said. "It's not like there's anyone back there."

"Not while the cart is moving," Lupin said, patient.

Draco had hated that voice when Lupin was his teacher: that measured, you'll-come-to-the-answer-eventually voice. He'd used it with Draco a lot.

"Is that truly the reason you defected?" Snape inquired. "Fascinating."

"It's the reason I'm here with you lot," Lupin replied. "I wouldn't cast any stones, Severus. Seen your imaginary friend, lately? Still giving you advice?"

Draco didn't know what the conversation was about, but he knew he didn't like grown-ups speaking over his head. "Boring," he announced. "When are we meant to…"

But then Draco caught sight of something extraordinary: the Dragon.

"Stupefy," Snape said; "Lumos."

"Hey!" Draco exclaimed when he caught sight of the goblin slumped over in the cart. "What's that all about? I thought you were Stupefying him," he added, jerking his head over towards Lupin.

"Don't be any more foolish than you can help," Snape snapped. "Lupin is One of Us; the goblin, however, is not. This object of Bellatrix's is for Death Eater eyes only."

"Oh," Draco said. "Well." He adjusted his cloak and tunic, then frowned. "What about getting into the vault? And past the dragon?"

Snape held up a withered goblin's paw and waved it about.

"Ugh! Gross," said Draco.

"Please tell me you did not get that off of a living specimen," Lupin added. For once, he and Draco appeared to be in complete agreement.

Snape scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I got it in Knockturn."

"Which doesn't answer the question," Lupin growled.

"As for the dragon…"

Draco looked up again to spy the gigantic creature. It was a bit disappointing, really: sad, flopping wings with light tears in the membrane; scales the colour of spoilt milk, white and red and blue with lack of light and exercise; an iron shackle around each of its enormous hindquarters, chained to giant pegs struck into the ground. Vicious slashes stood scar-pink against its snout and ears. Giant eyes, rheumy and half-blind, half-regarded them. It blinked, and emited a querulous, frightened sound.

Draco swallowed. Too far away to hurt him, the creature was frightening, fascinating… and perhaps the saddest thing he'd ever seen. Like Snape, he thought, and then swept the thought away. How was Snape like this thing chained in the dark, exactly? This dragon was chained in place and dying of it, dying of lack of light and air and life, sworn to protect something solely until someone else arrived to carry it away…

"Do they have to keep it chained up down here all the time?" he asked. "I mean – l-look at its feet. They're bloody."

"What do you care?" Snape said.

At first, Draco thought the comment was meant in the usual sense; he had his lips parted to snarl back. But then he realized it was a genuine question: what did Draco Malfoy care about dragons chained up in the dark?

"Nothing," he said, sticking both hands deep into his pockets. "What business is it of mine?"

"Just so," said Snape, although Lupin turned to stare.

"Only, you know. If they wanted to have the dragon for a long while, they might as well have looked after it," Draco groused, the old dragon's great eye still fixed on his own. "It only makes sense, monetarily. They'll have to purchase a new one at this rate, this one's all used up."

Snape shrugged. "Dragons can survive almost interminably with little to no care."

"And so can you, I'm sure," Draco snapped, and then turned away, aghast. This is a simple fetch-it mission, you idiot, he told himself, all his self-congratulation melting into doubt. Can't you manage that much?

"What are we waiting for, anyway?" he snapped.

"Shh," said Lupin. "Listen."

There was gentle music coming from everywhere and nowhere, and approaching the dragon. The dragon stayed curled in place in silent watchfulness, eyes narrowed with distrust, fire waiting to be unleashed. But once the singing – it was singing, Draco was almost sure – once it stopped, it was replaced with low, quiet murmurs in a soft, soothing male voice. Shh, said the voice, there, old man, there, now, the voice said over and over again.

What IS it? Draco thought, but dared not even whisper, for fear of breaking the spell.

For a moment, he thought that the Dragon Tamer's spell – or whatever it was – was going to fail. The dragon took in a full breath, looking like it was going to fry the entire hallway to a crisp. But then, it curled back on itself with a horrible screech as though someone had stabbed it. The noise shot through Draco's chest like a blade, and he shuddered. He knew, without having to ask, that the great beast had given in not because it believed the voice's promise of comfort and love, but because it had given up on freedom from pain. He knew as if the dragon had told him.

"Keep close, you young fool!" Snape whispered, chivvying him along until they reached a stone depression; Snape fumbled the goblin's paw, pressed it to the cave edifice, and Bellatrix Lestrange's vaults opened up before them.

Draco didn't allow himself to gape around Severus Snape, but he wished he could, he really did. There was treasure everywhere, floor-to-ceiling treasure: goblets, golden coin, a suit of armour woven from silverscale that he recognized by description: it had belonged to Boudicca, at least according to his dear auntie. She was mad, of course, but looking at the thing, sparkling like some glorious star, even in the half-light of Snape's Lumos, he could almost believe it. Then, he caught sight of the dragonskins. They'd have to be from hatchlings, he supposed, in order to fit in the vault. Yuck.

"Impeccable taste," Snape said with a fastidious curl to his lip, and for once, he and Draco were in perfect agreement.

"You've left Lupin out to guard?" Draco said. "Suppose he locks us inside."

"That would not be in his best interest," Snape said, just as the entryway to the vault closed behind them with a final slam of stone-on-stone. "…that's Charmed," Snape said, but in a far less certain tone than before. However, Snape's uncharacteristic expression of anxiety melted in the face of several shelves of potions and potion ingredients in gorgeous crystalline bottles studded with gemstones. "Fools," he said aloud, "half of these are priceless, half useless, and all under a shoddy preservation spell that's rendering them all sludge…" Then he jerked his head in Draco's direction. "Perhaps needless to say, Mister Malfoy, but touch nothing, even if you believe you have found what we are looking for."

Draco, as enchanted with possibly-Boudicca's suit of armour as he was, was not inclined to touch any of his aunt's things. His ability to sense ambient magic was novice at best, and the evil that seemed pressed into every object in the entire room yet gave him pause. He was aware of sweat beading along the back of his spine, the desire, fiercer by the moment, to depart. He tried to tell himself that it was the darkness, the dragon barely leashed outside, but couldn't quite convince himself. There was something here – multiple things, maybe – that were very powerful, and very Dark.

"I… yes," he responded in a faint voice. "I won't. Sir."

"Swear, Mister Malfoy."

Draco regained some of his fire in the face of this blatant disrespect. "I'm no fool, no matter what you seem to believe. Sir."

"Hrm," Snape said. Then, "no, I don't believe so."

"Who are you – was that for me?" Draco said, scanning the shelves for – for what? Immediately an image popped to mind: a cup. A cup, golden, handles, bearing a badger.

Odd how it was nearly fever-bright in his mind's eye. Bellatrix must have implanted it as a memory.

But he didn't remember her doing so.

"Hmm? Was what for you?" Snape inquired, still searching.

"Nothing," Draco said. Great. Now his only anchor in this difficult situation was behaving in a manner distinctly out of character. "Are you sure it's here, sir?" he asked.

"It ought to… ah," Snape said. "Look up."

Draco moved his gaze up, up, and higher up until he could see that the tallest shelf at the back of the entire trove held what they were looking for. "Ah!" he exclaimed, and started forward.

"Freeze," Snape barked in the voice that anyone who'd done a Potions lab with him would recognize, and immediately respond to.

Draco did just as ordered, and more automatically than he liked. "What. What?"

"You're about to touch the golden plate at your wrist. Withdraw," Snape ordered.

Draco, gulping, transferred his gaze down to find that his sleeve was brushing against a stack of plates gilded in gold leaf. He leaned back until he was surrounded by a careful foot of empty space all around.

"Can't you feel it? There's a curse on the entire vault," Snape said.

Draco nodded. "Yes. On everything, and on – the object." He darted a glance Snape's way.

Professor Snape withdrew dragonhide gloves from his pocket and put them on. "Accio Cup," he said.

Nothing happened.

He shrugged. "Worth a go," he said, but over his shoulder.

"Professor Snape," said Draco, "there's no one there."

"What?"

"I'm – I'm the only one here, why…?" Draco began. Snape turned a fearsome, quelling gaze on him, but Draco's anxiety was spiking. The Cup wasn't just powerful, it was Evil, anyone had to be able to tell just from being in the same room as the ghastly thing. Surely, Snape didn't intend to hand it over to his mad auntie, who… would hand it over to the Dark Lord. Unless Snape had totally lost his mind, but that now appeared a distinct possibility.

"What does the Cup do?" Draco said as casually as he could manage, while Snape stared at the thing, clearly planning on how to get it down without touching anything else.

"Do?" Snape echoed. "Do? It does nothing, Mister Malfoy, save hold wine."

"It's highly protected," Draco offered. "I mean, we needed Aunt Bella's wand and a goblin paw, and there's a dragon, and now everything in this room curses you if you touch it," he said. "Not to mention the fact that we've been sent here to fetch it, and it alone."

"The fewer questions you ask, the better it will be for the both of us," Snape said, and for once he sounded perfectly sincere.

"It makes me nauseaus. I don't like to look at it," Draco blurted.

"Nauseated? Really," Snape said, turning to face him. "Yes, it is odd," he added, to no one at all. Tilting his head once more at the Cup, he Levitated up to grab it in his dragonhide gloves.

Immediately, the Cup turned a fiery colour in Professor Snape's hands; it didn't seem to bother him through the gloves, but Draco could see the Cup beginning to glow with it. A split second later Snape dropped it so that it clattered to the floor.

Only Snape hadn't dropped the Cup, Draco realized; he was still holding it, only it kept spitting up copies of itself until the floor began to crowd with them.

"Run!" Snape shouted, and Draco whirled in place.

Too excitedly: a sword clattered to the floor at his feet and immediately began glowing and splitting, too. Draco leapt over the sword(s!) and ran for the mouth of the cave, banging on the exit.

Lupin yanked him out by the shirt collar, Snape following with the Cup clenched in both fists, still molten. But at least it was no longer dropping copies of itself on the ground; that spell appeared to be limited to the vault itself. Draco could hear the shift of metal-on-metal behind him, and wondered when the duplicating gold would burst through the stone facade.

"Are you all right?" Lupin gasped. "I heard…"

"Fine," Snape said. "Careful, don't touch the thing; it's still hot."

Lupin looked at it. "Doesn't exactly look like a powerful weapon, does it?"

"I knew it!" Draco crowed.

"Yes, yes, you're very perspicacious," Snape said tiredly. "Come along, let us pile back inside and wake our friend."

But the Goblin was gone.

A/N: On the subject of reviews.

I must particularly thank microcontinent, who gave me one of the most warming, lovely reviews I've ever received. I must also continue to beg for the same, as reviews are part of the reason I post stories publicly. If you enjoyed the chapter, I hope you'll let me know what worked for you; if not, I hope you'll let me know what didn't.

I'd love to hear what you think of Draco's transformation and the dragon, especially. I also genuinely enjoy (and sometimes employ) suggestions as to what is to happen, next.

Some notes on the chapter itself.

There are so many holes in the very idea of the Thief's Downfall that it's hard to write around them. There's a WATERFALL that cures IMPERIUS? Why isn't everyone who works at the Ministry forced to walk through it every day before they begin work? It doesn't destroy the Cloak? Why not? It's all very odd and very arbitrary. Bill isn't entirely correct regarding how the curse works, here; but that's because others continued his work after he was gone, in my version. Lucky for me, it never says that Hermione's work on Ron's face is a Transfiguration. For all we know, it's a glamourie, a charm. That'd certainly be easier to accomplish (one would presume) assuming no one wants to touch Ron's face. Although in canon Ron feels his face to determine whether the thing has worked… um. Let's assume that's just instinct that he does so.

The two wizards at the gate of the bank: this would be before they were replaced by two goblins, and those spell-detecting devices. Canon mentions both as a new development.

Recs.

I've actually read a great deal of stunning HP fic recently. Part of that is in hunting down 'best fic of 2013' recs; part of that is luck. So, for your reading pleasure, here's a lovely, plotty rec:

All Life is Yours to Miss, by Saras_Girl on ao3.

A lovely story in which Harry and Draco are professors at Hogwarts after the war. Remnants of their adolescent rivalry have disastrous, unforeseen consequences, causing Draco to acquire Harry's responsibilities at the school and changing his life in a dramatic manner. This, like most of Saras_Girl's fic, is a gorgeous slow-burn romance story that revolves around questions of personal identity, and the conviction that living a half-life is no life at all. Saras-Girl paints all of her side-characters with a warm, affectionate brush, and Ron and Hermione stand out in a way they often don't in H/D romances.

Go and enjoy!

Keep reading, keep writing, everyone!

-K