Chapter 21

Dear Remus, Albus wrote, the sound of his quill scratching across the parchment making a wonderful accompaniment to Fawkes' and the Wand's soft songs.

Firstly, I want you to know that I do not blame you for leaving in the slightest. I can't imagine the effect Aberforth's tale had on you.

I deny not a word of it. Gellert and I had a history. I know that this has changed your view of me. I'm sure you look at the years in which I did not go after Gellert with a different attitude now.

I'm sure you believe I had different intentions with my release of him than I expressed.

Let me assure you, I freed him for the reasons I told you and nothing more.

My history with him gives me a unique understanding of his mind. I know that he is not manipulating me in any way.

Difficult as it may seem to believe, Gellert achieved true remorse in Nurmengard. Imagine that, Remus. Fifty years with nothing but memories of your crimes and the burgeoning sorrow of realization, a guilt weightier than any of us can imagine dawning.

I knew this ten years ago, through my communications with him.

It was corroborated by responses he sent to his former followers, responses that neither they nor he knew I had seen.

It was corroborated by the guards of Nurmengard, their whispers of Grindelwald weeping in the night and self-flagellating, begging forgiveness from ghosts who haunted naught but his mind.

I'm sure you believe that I cannot see clearly. It is always possible that you are right.

Love, that most powerful magic of all, makes fools of us all.

You experienced this yourself two years ago. Though your love for Sirius was never anything but platonic, you neglected to inform me that he was an Animagus. When you discovered that he was on Hogwarts' premises, you did not immediately inform me, because you wanted to believe (and were in fact correct to do so) that he was innocent.

I understand why you left, Remus, and as I said, I do not blame you. Regardless of your response to this letter, there will be no reprisals against you.

With all that said, I would like you to return.

I have avenged you, to some degree.

Fenrir Greyback is dead. The pack he drew to him has been scattered. Some will return to Voldemort, but the vast majority, I believe, will stand aside during the fight or will stand by my side.

I am sure that you have been following the news quite closely even from your haven in Iceland. I have no doubt that you've seen reports of the upcoming vote.

It will not take place, Remus. Instead, I will take control of the Ministry.

You may doubt me, and may wish to wait until you have received confirmation of this. By all means, with my blessing, please do so. It will be public knowledge in several days.

I have grand dreams for the integration of werewolves into Wizarding society, and would dearly like to see them actualised. You know that I have fought for this over the years.

However, I am no werewolf. While I may understand as well as possible the struggles that integration poses, I only understand from the outside. I need the guidance and advice of one who has learned through experience, who has lived both as an unfortunate, typical werewolf, as well as one who has been trying to fit into society.

I know of none else who fits those requirements.

I need you, Remus. Your fellows need you. I do not exaggerate when I say that the type of future werewolves have in England may rest, in part, in your hands.

It is not only I and your country who needs you.

Sirius is in desperate need of you, a friend who can help him and perhaps lift his spirits through his struggles.

Nymphadora needs you. You cannot know the effect the loss of her parents has had on her. She is not the same woman she was. But with your help, she may be able to regain her ability to laugh and love once more.

We need you, Remus. It is entirely your choice, and entirely up to you as to what you will do, but the change you can bring in England may be immeasurable.

I know your perception of me has changed, but I am still the same man who did everything he could to allow you to attend Hogwarts. I am still the same man who gave you a teaching position, and who fought Umbridge and her laws with everything in my power.

Attached are letters from Sirius and Nymphadora.

They ask as I do:

Please come home.

Albus.

Albus signed the letter with a flourish, tapping his wand to it and adding some subtle charms—subtle enough that Remus, clever as he was, would not discover them.

A minor Compulsion Charm, one that would make the ideas presented in the letter seem as appealing as possible to Remus. A small enchantment to ensure that none but Remus would be able to read the letter. And most importantly, a Tongue-Tying Curse, to make sure that Remus would never be able to tell anyone a word of the letter's contents.

None would hear Aberforth's tale from Remus.

"Are you certain you're up for this so soon after your rebirth, my friend?" Albus asked.

Fawkes ruffled his feathers and trilled angrily.

"No, it's not that I doubt you," Albus said, "merely that we have so much large-scale work ahead of us. But of course, I trust your word. Please, take this to Remus and return as soon as you can. You know what lies ahead."

Fawkes gripped the feather in his talons and vanished in a burst of golden flame and song.

Nymphadora wore Bellatrix so perfectly it was a tad eerie.

She twisted into apparition with a feral screech, appearing several feet behind Gellert, a curse exploding from her wand.

Gellert swatted it aside with a sneer and swept his wand at her. A harsh, hot wind blew, sweeping up dust and small stones and storming toward her.

"Come on, girl," Gellert cried, "do something!"

Nymphadora had all but vanished from view in the torrent that threatened to engulf her.

Albus peered closely, his gaze piercing the haze, allowing him to see her. Her form had not changed in the least, no ripples or anything of the sort that could give away that she was not the true Bellatrix.

Sweat ran down her face in thick rivulets, undoubtedly pricking at her eyes and harming her vision, yet she was still performing exceptionally well. Her breaths were more like gasps at this point, and she was bleeding quite profusely from a large gash in her side.

They'd been at it for several hours now, testing Nymphadora well beyond what Albus thought was a reasonable point to ascertain

First, Albus had pitted himself against her while Gellert judged. He'd gone easy on her, easier than Gellert, at least.

Then they'd had her traverse an obstacle course, one which Gellert had taken obscene pleasure in creating.

A maze—which immediately drew Albus' mind to that terrible evening when Voldemort had returned—it had featured traps galore, areas enchanted heavily to force Nymphadora to run and perform acrobatic feats, spells that would test her physical and psychological strength, even golems of various forms enchanted to surprise her and test her reactions.

It had taken a heavy toll on Nymphadora, to Albus' consternation, particularly the area which had been made to look like her family's home.

Yet still her impersonation of Bellatrix had not flagged.

Even so, Albus would have wanted to put a stop to it. She had proven above and beyond that she was more than capable of maintaining her transformation under all sorts of pressure.

But she was Gellert's student, and she seemed to be enjoying it, truly releasing all the pent up emotions within.

She seemed to have gone a step beyond merely imitating Bellatrix; over the course of the day, Nymphadora had started becoming her.

The wildness in her eyes, the chaotic nature of her movements and spells, the insane laughter she spouted; it was beyond eerie, in fact. It was quite distressing.

She swore loudly in Bellatrix's shrill voice and cast a spell, her wand spinning intricately as she incanted.

The tornado around her burst into flame and gained speed, spinning faster and faster, pulling up debris and growing larger. With another shout, she hurled it at Gellert, following up with several hexes and curses.

Cackling wildly, Gellert swung his wand like a golf club. The flaming vortex hurled upward and began to swirl around his head, gaining speed immensely and taking on a blueish-black hue. The curses and hexes she'd flung at him vanished, seeming to have been drawn into the maelstrom's gaping maw.

Screeching, Nymphadora continued sending curse after curse at Gellert, her incantations lost in rage.

Gellert merely stood there, the grass withering and dying at his feet as each spell was sucked into the malevolent vacuum above him.

Then he made his move.

The wind stopped suddenly and changed course toward Nymphadora as Gellert attacked with shocking ferocity, all the trees bending as if a giant was leaning on them. Some of them broke, limbs and leaves shooting into the distance.

With a whip-crack wave of his wand, he shot the whirling flames toward her.

They changed shape as they flew. Where there had been one formless mass there were now dozens—hundreds of flaming spears, flying toward Nymphadora as if a small army had hidden in the clouds.

Tonks crouched, an oval semitransparent turquoise shield rose around her, making her appear to Albus like nothing so much as Atlas hoisting the sky.

The spears shattered against her shield, but it wouldn't be strong enough to last. It was already shimmering where each spear struck it, losing its hazy colour at a tremendous rate.

Tonks fell to both knees, her wand shaking, her face knotted in concentration. Still the spears came, an endless deluge raining from the heavens

Her shield would break soon. And what was more, she knew it.

With a scream, she jabbed her wand upward, and in the moment her shield vanished, the lake erupted. A giant watery hand exploded out and caught the spears, dissolving them in its grasp.

Nymphadora yelled in triumph and Gellert's Stunner caught her just between the ribs.

She dropped to the earth, falling still in the clods of mud, dirt, and rocks that had formed around her.

Even unconscious, she still bore Bellatrix's form.

"Even when Stunned," Albus whistled. "You must agree that she is completely ready. Far beyond our expectations."

"She is brilliant," Gellert whispered. "One more test, I think."

Gellert was staring at her with a distant look, fingering a small rock. With a start, Albus recognized it as the Resurrection Stone and understood what the test would be.

"No! Gellert, I forbid you!"

"She must be—"

"Gellert! You will not call her parents and make her face them like this." Albus' wand dropped into his hand. "I will not allow it."

"It is to her ultimate benefit," Gellert said softly. "And that of us all. She will grow stronger from it."

"No, Gellert. You begged me, begged me to tell you when you are drawing near to crossing lines. You are doing so now. You will not do this."

"And if she agrees?" Gellert asked, the wind spinning dust around his feet.

The idea was inane, utterly laughable.

"If she agrees? Even then, you will not use the Stone. It is as much mine as it is yours. You will not use it, not in this manner."

"Very well," Gellert nodded, "let us see what she has to say about the matter."

He waved his wand carelessly, and Nymphadora awoke.

She leapt straight to her feet, wand in hand once more, and blinked a few times before understanding what had happened.

"You got me while I was distracted, didn't you?" She asked, her half-smile extremely odd on Bellatrix's face. "Well? I did pretty well, didn't I?"

"I did," Gellert said, "and you performed magnificently. Girl, there were those who studied under and fought with me for years who could not have achieved what you did today. You are truly a queen of Metamorphmagi. I will have a crown made for you, one day."

"You were excellent," Albus added. "Far beyond my or Gellert's expectations—I am exceedingly proud of you, Tonks. You are more than ready."

"Almost, I would say." Gellert said. "I think there is still one more test for you, but Albus would prefer—"

"Let's do it," Tonks said immediately, stretching her arms and standing a bit straighter.

"I believe it's barbaric, cruel, and entirely unnecessary," Albus said. "Nymphadora—Tonks, you have no idea—"

"Which is part of the point, isn't it?" Tonks asked. "He wants to surprise me with something horrific, right? Something I'm not prepared for. That's what today's all been about, seeing if I can still stay like this—" she gestured to her body and face, "when I'm being overwhelmed by other shit. Okay. Bring it. I'm ready."

"I don't think—"

"You heard the girl, Albus," Gellert interrupted. "She's ready."

Albus could have—should have—stopped him, even with Nymphadora's assent.

He did not.

The earth fountained upward at Gellert's call, flowers and dust vanishing, layers of transfiguration and illusory magic taking their place.

It took but moments, and Ted and Andromeda Tonks were standing before their disguised daughter.

Nymphadora went stock-still, Bellatrix's face that of a statue, every limb and muscle taunt.

"Oh, you bastard," she muttered, barely audible, her lips not moving. "You utter fucking bastard."

"It's Bellatrix!" The false Ted cried. "Run, Andromeda!"

"Leave us alone," golem Andromeda shrieked, "Bellatrix, leave us be!"

The voices and mannerisms were perfect, plucked, no doubt, from Nymphadora's mind during one of Gellert's Occlumency training sessions.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Nymphadora roared, her shaking wand rising toward Gellert. "HOW DARE YOU?"

A heaving darkness began to cluster at the tip of her wand, the air itself sucking toward it.

"Is that what Bellatrix would do in this situation?" Gellert asked, his voice hard. "You said you were ready for whatever horrors I could bring to bear. What would Bellatrix do?"

"Monster," Nymphadora said, tears streaming down her face. "I thought—"

Ted suddenly lurched toward her. As much out of surprise as willingness to prove herself, Nymphadora reacted.

Her spell took the crafted mockery of her father in its chest, shattering it and dismantling the illusion in one swift blow, leaving behind nothing but a soft rain of dirt and grass.

"No!"

"TED!" Andromeda shrieked, stumbling forward. "NO! YOU BITCH, I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Fucking bastard," Nymphadora sobbed, falling to her knees once more. "Stop it."

"End it, Gellert," Albus demanded. "Now."

Gellert, of course, ignored him.

"Only you can end it," he called to Nymphadora. "What would Bellatrix do?"

For the briefest fraction of an instant, so quick that Albus wasn't sure if he had even truly seen it, Nymphadora's grief-stricken face peeked through Bellatrix's wild locks of hair.

Than she rose, appearing entirely as Bellatrix, her tears gone, her sorrow and pain replaced with an expression Bellatrix wore all too often; that of pure hatred and fury.

Purple flames exploded from her wand; for a moment, the golem of her mother was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Then it too was gone, leaving not even ash behind.

A dark, unsettling silence fell as a cloud passed over the sun, even the birds in the trees unwilling to break it.

Tossing her wand aside, Nymphadora fell to her knees once more and clasped her hands to her face—still Bellatrix's face—and began to weep, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs.

"I hate you," she wept. "Gellert—you—why? Why?!"

"A final test," Gellert said softly. He looked….strange. Pleased, and yet deeply disappointed, as if he was suffering greatly.

Albus hoped he was. Albus' heart was pounding with righteous fury, the Wand calling to him, bile rising in his throat.

He'd stood there and done nothing.

He'd stood there and done nothing but watch as this abomination had taken place.

Gellert's eyes shot toward him, narrowing, his muscles tightening.

Albus glanced down. The flowers at his feet had begun to wither, their petals falling away and their stems darkening as they crumbled.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced the Wand's song from his mind.

Later, he promised himself, I will discuss this with Gellert. This should never have happened, but he must fix what he has broken.

"How many t-tests do I need? What else do I need to do to fucking prove myself to you?"

"No more," Gellert said, walking toward her. "None more. You have more than proven yourself, my dear. I just wanted to be as certain as possible. We are beyond tests, now."

He knelt beside her, gently clasping the sides of her head and kissed her forehead.

She shivered, whether with revulsion or from her tears, Albus could not be sure.

"You have proven yourself in every way that you could. You have learned more from me than any other ever has. You will be renowned, and soon you will achieve your vengeance. Your heart will heal, previous one. Sometimes I think it tragic, but it is the way of the world. Our deepest pains scar over and we learn to live with them. But I felt it was necessary to test you now, while it was yet raw. And you may hate me for it, but know that I too hate myself for it. I would not have done it if I hadn't thought it necessary. I swear to you. I do not want to see you suffer."

"That's rich," Nymphadora sniffled. "Fucking rich. Fine. You say I'm done with the tests. I say I'm not. You want to be absolutely sure that no matter what, I can keep my form?"

A terrible suspicion arose in Albus' mind. Surely she wouldn't—would she?

"Tonks," he said urgently, "you have proven that, over and above what was necessary. I do not think the last test was even called for in any way. You have my absolute faith."

She ignored him as he thought she might, just continued staring at Gellert.

"Yes," Gellert whispered. "That's what today has been entirely about."

"And you—" she aimed at Dumbledore, "you said this is all vital to defeating Voldemort. Didn't you?"

"I did, but—"

"Then there's one more test you can do. One way to see if I can keep it even under torture."

"No," Albus said. "Nymphadora, no. There is no need—"

"There was no need for the last one, you said," she interrupted, colour blooming in her cheeks. "And I thought that would be what I'm asking for now. I want this. Do it. Let's fucking do it. Do it already. I need to see what it's like. DO IT!"

As she shouted, Gellert cast the Cruciatus.

She dropped entirely to the ground and began to writhe, shaking as if having a seizure and vomiting.

Her screams shredded what remained of Albus' heart.

"Enough!"

By the time Albus had begun speaking, Gellert had lifted the curse.

Slowly, Nymphadora's writhings ended. Shaking, she got to her feet and looked down at herself.

She still bore Bellatrix's form.

Her body rippled and her own image returned as she raised her arms above her head in a Y and screamed her inarticulate triumph to the uncaring sky.

"—utterly despicable, and completely irresponsible! Gellert, how could you put her through that? How? You leapt right across all the lines, that was nothing short of psychological warfare you waged on her! How could you, Gellert?"

"I did what I felt I needed to do," Gellert said. "and it was not easy for me."

It didn't look like it had been, now. Gellert looked haggard, more than exhausted, his age truly showing.

"I—we needed to be sure that she can face anything," Gellert said. "and I did what I had to."

"So it was for the greater good?" Albus asked, as scornfully as he could manage.

Gellert flinched.

"Yes," he said, a moment later. "It was. Her part in our story will not end when she leaves Gringott's, Albus. Think about it. Her abilities—"

"Goddamnit, Gellert!" Albus slammed his fist onto the kitchen table. "She is more than just her abilities! Can you not see that? Can you not recognize the damage you are causing to the person behind them? I am allowing you to train her, allowing you to make her into a dark witch, but what you have done threatens to destroy her!"

"I know," Gellert said, wretchedly. "But it had to be done. Albus, I know she is more than her abilities. I know of her dreams, her ambitions. Right now, she wants nothing more than vengeance. I wish she wanted more than that. But Albus—She could do more than simply fetch the Cup. We have discussed some possibilities, but there are so many others, especially in the long term."

The Wand was screaming to him, begging to be used.

How dare this man, who he had rescued, defy him?

How dare he destroy Nymphadora while Albus watched?

Albus thrust the Wand's voice from his mind.

"Stop thinking about the long term," Albus snapped, "and focus on now. Did it occur to you that I might have considered the possibilities she offers in the long term? That I may have thought about her in conjunction with Sobhuze's plan? Of course I have! But she needs more than just vengeance to reach that point!"

"I know!" Gellert jumped to his feet, abandoning his spot of misery in the corner and shouted, gesticulating wildly. "I am no fool, Albus! But it still needed to be done! She needs to be able to face anything! I have seen spells that would make her imagine just the scene I made her play out today, I have crafted some akin to them! She needs to be able to face anything, and it is my job to ensure that she is, no matter how distasteful or disgusting I find that job. And that is what I have done today. So yes, it was for the greater good, Albus, because it will keep her alive and in best shape to fight on come what may."

Gellert seemed to have used all his anger in his speech. The defiance left his face and he slumped, suddenly more miserable than anytime Albus had seen him since Nurmengard.

"Judge me as you wish, Albus," Gellert said. "It cannot be harsher than my judgment of myself."

"And the Cruciatus? Why did you agree with it?"

"She asked—"

"And you could have denied. Why, Gellert?"

Gellert sat again, looking pensive.

"You've never had it cast on you, have you?"

"No."

"No," Gellert echoed. "Who could have managed such a feat, after all? Well, I have experienced it. I wanted to know what it was like. I had one of my most trusted lieutenants cast it on me, and many safeguards in place to ensure that it was only held for the amount of time I wanted. Words do not describe its exquisite agony. I can well relate to wanting to know what it is like."

He met Albus' eyes, Fawkes' flames reflecting in them. The entire room dwindled away in that fiery gaze.

"Knowledge is not the whole reason she wanted it," Gellert said, "nor to test herself. She knows—or thinks she does, and it makes no difference—that her mother was tortured before death. She burns with guilt over her parents' deaths, her mother's most of all. She wanted, in her own way, to make it up to her. She is obsessed over their deaths, Albus."

"They were her parents," Albus said. "She loved them dearly, and they, her. I know the concept is foreign to you, but she was extremely close with them."

"Her obsession is unhealthy. My method of having her deal with it—having her kill the past—may not have been healthy either, but it needed to be done. That was the other reason I did it all, beyond simply testing her. Hell may await me for it, but I did what needed to be done. And that, Albus, is the end of it."

"No," Albus said. "You're not getting out of this so easily. What you did was monstrous, but I can understand why you thought it necessary, even if I disagree. But you need to make up for it."

"And how the fuck do you propose I do that?"

Albus rubbed his forehead, trying to simply wish away his oncoming migraine.

"You've told me before," he said, taking a seat, "of how you always found Dark Magic paradoxical."

"That was for me personally," Gellert said. "Others, like your Voldemort, do not seem to feel the same."

"Regardless, you said that for you, you were best able to use Dark Magic effectively due to your appreciation for life and all the beauty it holds. Your appreciation for love, and kindness, and all good things. You must show her that as well."

"And how," Gellert repeated, "do you propose I do that?"

"I don't know," Albus said. "But I'm sure you can think of something. Your training with her is now stepping into a different stage, and you need to incorporate this. You must!"

"I will."

"Hopefully, Remus will return. I fear their love is lost, but they may remain friends. I will impress upon Sirius the importance of being her friend at this time. And you will impress upon her the importance of her friendships and love."

"I will."

"Yes. You will. And only time will tell if it will be enough."

"But you are going ahead with the plan, tomorrow?"

"Yes. And so I'm going to bed. I'd advise you to do the same, at some point."

The great entry hall of Gringotts was emptier than usual, the only sign of the burgeoning chaos outside its fortress-like walls.

The goblins at the entryway had bowed and greeted Albus as usual, the gleaming marble floors and towering pillars still shone as always.

There were fewer tellers on duty than usual, and many of those that were present did not have clients before them. Most of those were engrossed in ledgers, numbers and figures dancing beneath their long fingers.

The wizards and witches who were there looked as if they simply wanted to have their business done as quickly as possible and to return to the imagined safety of their homes. Albus caught snatches of their hurried questions, while the goblins responded in their usual manner, uncaring of human concerns.

His timing was impeccable. Albus spotted her immediately upon his entry, just as she, with a goblin by her side, was about to enter the tunnels and descend to her vault.

Perfect.

"LESTRANGE," He bellowed, his voice roaring across the hall with his power. It swept the room like a hurricane, whirling the papers from all the goblins' desks, even knocking over an extremely elderly and frail witch.

Nymphadora spun around, her wand rising, but Albus' was already aimed.

"STOP!"

A goblin had run right into line of fire and skidded to a halt, his arms outstretched. He was taller than the norm, his clothes finer, and he was bedecked with enough rings and gold necklaces to pay a king's ransom.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded, looking at both Albus and Nymphadora in turn. "Have you forgotten the Peace of Gringotts? Take your squabbles elsewhere, your wizarding rivalries are taboo here."

Other goblins were emerging now, most of them armed with all sorts of bladed instruments. Gellert would have been salivating.

"She is a wanted criminal," Albus said, not lowering his wand. "A Death Eater and a plague upon the earth."

Nymphadora played her part perfectly. She began to yell at Albus, shrieking obscenities and threats, her own wand still raised.

"I believe you are wanted by the Ministry as well," the goblin said. "And yet you, like her, are permitted entry. The internal affairs of wizardkind end at our doorways. Such is and has always been the case. You will cease this nonsense or you will both be ejected."

Albus made it seem as if he was weighing the decision.

Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath, the tension thick and palpable.

"I have no doubt you could turn this into a charnel house," the goblin whispered. "But would you? That is what you will be forced to do if you do not stop this idiocy. I expected better of you, Albus."

"And I you, Ragnok."

Albus lowered his wand to a great collective exhale. Across the room, Nymphadora did the same, her face and body language still full of hate and readiness for a fight.

"May we still speak?"

"In my office," Ragnok said. "Come."

Nymphadora disappeared into the labyrinthine tunnels beneath Gringotts, and Albus followed Ragnok, just keeping his smile at bay.

Ragnok's office lied with its simplicity. It looked no different than the rest of Gringotts' aboveground complex; the same marble floors and pillars, the same windows looking out at Diagon Alley, the same doors, even, as those that led to any other office.

His desk was slightly more ornate, true, and he had a quill holder carved from a large diamond, but there was no indication to be found that he was the most powerful goblin in Gringotts.

Even the various plaques on the walls, written in Gobbledygook, did not show that fact. They were simply various degrees bestowed upon him, proclaiming his mastery in smithing and the like.

"So, Albus Dumbledore," he said. "What has brought you here today? Bear in mind that you are lucky I have not canceled our meeting in light of your disgusting and offensive display."

"I apologize for that," Albus replied in perfect Gobbledygook, "I allowed my emotions to overrule my thought. You shall not see the like again within your hallowed halls."

Ragnok sighed and templed his fingers. It was quite odd for Albus to be on the receiving end of that.

"Why must you persist in speaking our tongue to me as if it will gain you esteem?"

"I always speak with someone in their mother tongue when I am able," Albus said. "It is not a matter of gaining esteem, but of showing respect. I have much respect for you and the rest of your people, as you know."

"What do you want, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore kept his sigh internal. He'd known from the get-go that his partnership with Gellert would make things more difficult here, but his relationship with Ragnok had previously been much warmer.

"While I know that you cannot speak on behalf of the entire goblin people and would need to meet with the council, what I would like is goblin support in the new world I will create."

Ragnok arched an eyebrow and drummed his fingers on the table but said nothing.

Outside, Albus could see the shoppers in Diagon Alley on their daily routine. There too, there was fewer than usual, all of them hurried and rushing around.

Soon he would grant them peace. They would not need to live in such fear.

"Neither the Ministry or Voldemort have ever treated you and yours with anything even remotely resembling respect. Under the Ministry, the status quo will continue, and you will gain nothing. Under Voldemort, Gringotts will be controlled in all but name by wizards. But with me—with me, goblin rights could be advanced beyond any of our dreams."

"It is a bold move," Ragnok said, "To bargain with empty hands. You wish us to lend support to you? How? We have no political power, as your kind have long seen to. We have not the military might of yore, as, again, your kind have seen to."

"But you have gold. You also have our gold, kept where it is safest—in your hands. The support I would ask would be for you to confiscate the contents of Death Eater's and their allies' vaults."

Ragnok let out a hiss, his hands going straight on the desk as he leaned back, looking as if he had been slapped.

"You would have us betray our deepest principles? You, who claims to understand us?"

Albus leaned forward, idly wondering how Nymphadora was faring. Had they entered the Lestrange vault yet?

Would he be required to rescue her? For that was his true purpose here, much as he wished for his plan with the goblins to proceed.

"A transaction," Albus said, "for something or greater value. Goblin representation in the Ministry. True representation, not the pathetic token they currently permit you. The inheritance tax on Goblin forged items being raised, and that money being paid to the crafter or his descendants."

"You do not have the right to grant us any of that," Ragnok said. With sudden swiftness, he pulled a dagger from his desk and began cleaning his nails. "And you still leave out the most important right of all."

"Wands and a magical education will be off the table until such time as you share your secrets with us. You have your own magic, and if we are to trust you with ours, it is only fair that you trust us with yours."

"Do you know what I absolutely loathe?" Ragnok said. "It's when a wizard talks to me of fairness. But I will allow it to pass from you, Albus, as you have shown well over the years that you have had interest in mending the rifts between our communities."

"I quite understand, and I appreciate it." Albus said, noting the change in address. He was Albus once more, no longer merely Dumbledore.

"You still ignore the fact that as matters stand, you cannot grant us these rights."

"Perhaps matters will change," Albus said lightly. "Perhaps in a few days the world will be an entirely different place."

Ragnok eyed Albus carefully, searching deeply.

"What you ask is impossible," he finally said. "It would be an utter betrayal of who we are. The closest possibility would be to bar the current owners from accessing their vaults. We are not thieves, Albus, no matter what we have been accused of in the past. We will not take what is not rightfully ours. But barring specific individuals from Gringotts—individuals who we feel may be a threat to our security—and keeping their vaults in state until such time as they can be inherited…that could, perhaps, be doable."

Albus wondered if Nymphadora had found the cup already. Ideally, she would already have found it and left before he concluded his meeting with Ragnok.

"That would be acceptable," Albus said.

"We still return to the fact that you are unable to grant us any of what you promise," Ragnok said.

"Assume that I will be," Albus replied. "Very soon."

"Then you should assume that no true negotiations can take place until such a time, Albus. Regardless, I will bring your proposition before the council."

"Thank you, my friend."

Ragnok sighed and walked over to the great plate glass window behind him where he stood, hands clasped behind his back.

"Join me, Albus."

Albus did. Diagon Alley was bustling more so than earlier, but still a far cry from its usual fare. He could barely see anyone stopping to chat with one another, or indeed, doing more than sharing a simple nod of acknowledgement as they passed.

"Look at them," Ragnok said. "So many of them loathe and fear us, because we are different. Yet they still entrust us with what is most precious to them. Do you think giving us the rights we have been so long denied will end that hatred? Or will we be seen as uppity beasts?"

"You will still face prejudice," Albus said. It was best to be frank and true with Ragnok, he had long since learned. "But with time, that will fade. The next generation will be born into a different reality, and eventually, the hatred will become a thing of the past. Change has to begin somewhere. I propose it begins now."

Ragnok hummed non-committedly, still gazing out the window.

"Are we so different?" He said softly. "Look at them. All they want is safety and prosperity, to be left to love their families and raise their children as best they can. Do they truly believe we are any different?"

"If you prick us, do we not bleed?" Albus quoted, matching Ragnok's quiet tone.

Ragnok smiled and turned to face Albus.

"Indeed. I will bring your proposal to the council, Dumbledore—"

Back to Dumbledore, Albus noted.

"—and it will be rejected. Even if you threw in wand rights without a corresponding demand, it would be rejected. Even if you had the power to make it all happen, it would be rejected."

"Because?" Albus asked, though he knew the answer.

"Your quote," Ragnok said, his smile revealing gleaming incisors. "Continue it, why don't you? 'If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?' We have long memories of the atrocities wizards have committed against us, but long memories are not required when it comes to your ally, the man you willingly freed from his prison. Our populations on the continent still have not reached their numbers prior to his war, and it was only four years ago that our final branch reopened. Grindelwald—" the goblin spat, "—his continued existence is a crime against us. And the fact that you are happily working with him is a slap in the face to our people. You have thrown away the decades of our work together, Dumbledore."

"Our partnership—"

"Do not try to defend yourself," Ragnok snarled. "Our history together is the only reason that you are even permitted into Gringotts, and that the Peace still protects you. A kill on sight order could have been issued—"

"And all the goblins of Gringotts would not have been able to achieve that feat, as you know."

"Yes," Ragnok said, "I do know. Our unwillingness to lose more of our people to your friend is why you and he have not been subject to such orders, but the Peace will not protect him if he steps foot here, no matter how many we lose. And you, Dumbledore—our past is in the past now, where it belongs. You will not make any agreements with Gringotts or the council, even if you were to bring Grindelwald to us in chains for immediate justice. You have shown us that you can push aside our greatest tragedy when it suits you. If you do seize control of the godforsaken land, we will deal with you as we do with any Minister. And that is all."

Albus heaved a great sigh. It was disappointing, to be sure, but not entirely unexpected.

He debated prolonging the conversation, but by now Nymphadora had undoubtedly left the building with Cup in tow. There'd been no alarms to indicate a theft; if there had been any sign that Nymphadora was not Bellatrix, Ragnok would have been informed immediately, regardless of who he was meeting with.

"I understand," Albus said, reverting to English. "I am sorry we could not reach an accord, but I understand. One day, there will be peace between our people. I hope on that day, we can enjoy a drink together once more. Until then, old friend."

"Just leave, Dumbledore," Ragnok said, turning back to face the window, his deep voice shaking and rougher than usual. "And in the future, it would save us all much heartache if you would conduct your Gringotts business through the post."

"Today, Tonks, you became the first person—that we know of, at least—to steal from Gringotts without the goblins realizing. How does it feel to accomplish the impossible?"

Tonks, still looking subdued, managed a smile.

Her hair was purple once more, her eyes jet black. Her face had returned to a gaunter version of its norm, cheekbones jutting as if to cut through the skin.

They were outside the cottage, beyond the protective boundaries. The grass and flowers rustled in the gentle breeze, the sunlight strong above them.

It was a picturesque scene, marred only by Albus' knowledge that the cup sitting on the lovely stone table Gellert had created was a crime against nature and magic.

They were gathered around the table, the Sword of Gryffindor hefted on Albus' shoulder.

"Pretty good," Tonks said, "but damn, Albus, you really scared me in there."

"I think both of our acting was quite superb," Albus said. "It's a pity you missed it, Gellert."

"I still say I could have snuck in under a Disillusionment," Gellert grumbled and kicked at a stone. "Those gold hoarding little cretins—"

"Might have discovered you," Albus said, "and who knows what might have happened? But come, let us turn to the matter at hand."

He faced the Cup, feeling its aura of terrible malevolence. It hated him, hated the sunlight, hated the presence of others.

And it drew him at the same time, made him want to fill it and take his sup. It was extremely subtle, but he could almost hear its whispers, promises of eternal glory and victory, even eternal life, if he would just drink from it.

Tonks was staring at it, transfixed.

"You hear it?" Gellert asked. "Do you feel it?"

"I—" she reached out a hand, stopping with her fingertips inches away from the Cup.

"Yes," she said. "It's horrible. And beautiful. What would happen if I drank from it? I feel—I feel like I would be able to do anything. It's telling me I could even raise the dead, if I wanted to."

"You would die in terrible agony," Gellert said, "And it would not be quick. Forgive my harshness, but raising the dead truly, beyond Inferi and the like, is impossible. There are some limits to magic."

Tonks nodded as if she'd been expecting that answer, but did not remove her gaze from the Cup. Still not touching it, she traced the outline of the badger embossed on it.

"What is it?"

"That, my dear, is a Horcrux." Gellert said.

"What's a Horcrux?"

The wind blew faster, all their cloaks flying back momentarily.

"I'll tell you shortly," Gellert said. "This will require a long lesson, I think."

Finally she tore her eyes from the cup, fixing Gellert with a withering glare.

"Aren't we done with lessons?" She asked sharply.

"Not in the slightest," Gellert said. "Unless you wish to learn no more. I will do nothing to cause you any pain, of that I swear."

For a long moment, she did nothing but glare. Then she nodded.

"Nymphadora," Albus said, passing her the Sword, "here. You deserve to destroy this one."

"This was Helga Hufflepuff's, wasn't it? I don't know how I feel about destroying something of hers. I am—I was a Hufflepuff, for whatever it's worth."

Albus clasped his hand around hers, for a moment both of them gripping the sword.

"Helga would want this monstrosity destroyed," he said, "I am absolutely certain of that."

She stared into his eyes as if searching for the truth.

"Fine," she said. "I guess—I brought this thing out of her vault. Maybe it should be me."

She swung the sword, slicing vertically through the cup as if it were formed of nothing more substantial than mist.

It screamed as it died, an explosion of black fog erupting from the halves of the cups. For a moment, the fog hung in the air, dozens of horrific images flittering across its surface one after the other in a mad medley of misery.

Then it dissipated, collapsing into smaller and smaller tendrils until there was nothing left.

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck was that?"

"Let's talk about souls," Gellert said, conjuring up seats for the two of them. "And the absolute beauty of them. That is where we must start. To understand what it was you just destroyed, you must first appreciate the utter incredible beauty of the part of each of us that is eternal, that continues on beyond even the veil of death."

Albus left them to it.

"The swearing-in ceremony is called for eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning," Albus said. "I think it unlikely they will attempt a last minute time change, but it is possible."

"Your friend will keep you updated though, won't he?"

"Indeed," Albus said. "Wizengamot members are expected to be present no later than a quarter after seven. We have a short window of opportunity, and must ensure that we carry out the mission precisely as planned."

They were in the cottage, the calm night air wafting through the windows, finalizing their preparations.

Albus was at the kitchen table, stroking Fawkes and staring intently at blueprints he had long since memorized. He could see them, all the various defenses that would be leveled against him, the hundred wizards and witches and dozens of security trolls.

In his mind, he was fighting battles. He walked down dozens of pathways, imagining the different actions he could take, the possible reactions those would incur, the counters he would be forced to deal out.

Thousands, tens of thousands of possibilities lay before him. The opening salvo would decide much, but certainly not all.

By this time tomorrow, Albus knew, his hands would be drenched with innocent blood.

Gellert had occupied himself with his Runes. He sat on the lounge floor with them around him in a circle while he moulded little clay figures into shapes at which Albus tried very hard not to look too closely. He too was deep in thought, his forehead creased.

"An extremely fine line," Albus said. "I must reach there after the swearing-in ceremony but before the vote begins. That's a window of no less than fifteen minutes. Half-eight is the absolute latest."

"We've been through this," Gellert said, "you will make it. We may have to wade through blood, but you will make it."

"And yet we cannot arrive too early," Albus mused, "or it will give them license to push it off. We cannot lose this opportunity."

"We won't. Stop talking yourself into concern. We follow the plan, arrive at a quarter to eight, and destroy everything in our path. The Wizengamot will be sequestered by then, and will not be leaving, and Scrimgeour will push to have it done immediately. It will be fine."

Albus sighed and leaned back, prompting Fawkes to squawk indignantly at the cessation of his stroking.

"Everything will change," Albus said. "I can't tell if I'm more exhilarated by that prospect or appalled at what we will have to do to bring the change."

Gellert chuckled and began to place the Runes extremely gently into the velvet sack.

"You're a complex man, Albus. You can feel more than one thing at a time."

"True, true." Albus shook his head, dislodging the battles in his mind.

"Tomorrow, the Ministry," he said. "And then, I think, Voldemort will wage war in earnest. Only two Horcruxes left to go, and then he too will be dust."

"And after that," Gellert said, "the world."

"I am beginning to think so," Albus admitted. "But first—the Ministry. Tomorrow it falls."