Penumbra I: Falls the Shadow

by Skaldic Oresteia

Post-HBP. As Harry disappears on the Horcrux hunt, Ginny is left behind to find her own path in the war against Voldemort. On separate paths, Harry finds an unexpected ally, while Ginny faces repercussions for helping him leave. Meanwhile, the Wizarding World faces an increasingly bleak future as Voldemort unleashes a darker and deadlier power than anyone could have ever imagined.

14. 12: Alea Iacta Est

Content warning: This chapter contains some intense violence, and content some readers might find disturbing.

Also: this chapter is entirely from the Harry narrative; there wasn't room anywhere for the Ginny narrative. She will be back in the next chapter.

---

Chapter Twelve
Alea Iacta Est

"What really arouses indignation against suffering is not suffering as such but the senselessness of suffering."
—Friedrich Nietzsche, "A Genealogy of Morals"

---

The thunderstorm from the previous night had let up a bit, but a light mist still filled London, quiet except for the ambience of traffic. Diagon Alley was closed, and thus completely deserted, save for the MLE enforcers out on their patrols, and the Aurors still investigating the wreckage from the attack the day before. As he watched them work from his office window, Cerdik Gadlak mused that Diagon Alley likely would remain closed for weeks. Such had been the case twenty-seven years earlier, after the Death Eaters attacked the largest magical commercial centre in Britain, but at least that summer had felt like a normal, hot summer, and not this cold, bleak, miserable weather that seemed all too fitting for the growing crisis hidden to most of the inhabitants of Britain, who proceeded about their day entirely–but not blissfully–ignorant of the danger.

A knock on his door drew his attention, and he turned from the window and called for his visitor to enter. Benedict Grobschmied walked in, they exchanged greetings, and Gadlak poured him some brandy.

"Savinat," Grobschmied said in grateful acceptance of his drink. "Thank you for authorising me to use the Gateway. Beaconing in like your employees would have made an aggravating morning and delayed my arrival."

"You're welcome," Gadlak said, pouring himself a glass. "It certainly would have been unpleasant, but for now such measures are necessary. Diagon Alley is closed, and I felt it was safest if, like the rest of the businesses here, Gringotts operated only through Owl Order for the time being. But we still need employees working here and they must be vetted." He shrugged. "But I suppose they were being vetted before."

Grobschmied grimaced as he took a sip from the brandy, although it wasn't clear if it was the brandy that was to his distaste or the situation. "For a place that is only allowing employees entry, it did seem rather chaotic downstairs."

"Word has reached the public," Gadlak said lightly. "The Owl Orders are already pouring in."

"I imagine they also have to be thoroughly vetted," Grobschmied said.

Gadlak shook his head, already feeling exhausted. "Naturally. We can't have cursed objects being brought in, or fraudulent orders. Most of the equipment used for such measures are in the records office. They're already going mad, as you can imagine. I've placed orders for more equipment, and I'll have the records managers train more employees on their use; it should take the load off the records staff. In the meantime, things are going to be quite slow, but I suppose for the customers it might be better than standing in line for hours."

"Maybe, but I don't imagine the anxiety of waiting for their money is going to be much better, even if they can wait from home now," said Grobschmied. "Given all this, I'm amazed Menger managed to run his test this quickly, since he was so adamant about doing it without anyone else around. I suppose he told you about that?"

"You mean the anonymous note, possibly a Death Eater, that was left behind in place of the Horcrux he stole?" Gadlak took a seat at his desk and sipped his own brandy. "Yes, Menger mentioned that. I suppose he stayed very late after hours to get it done, and he knows the machinery in the records office quite well." He leaned back in his chair. "I suppose that's why you're here? Not that I don't welcome your visit, of course."

Grobschmied nodded, and went to the window. "He sent me a note early this morning, telling me to be here at the normal opening hours, but I suppose he himself is caught up in the chaos downstairs."

"Well, he is the general manager," Cerdik said calmly. "I'd probably be down there helping out myself, except there's a possibility of Trawlak deciding to come by today with an answer. I don't want to draw attention to his presence, so I hope to receive him directly. I've sent the administrative staff downstairs to lend an extra hand, so hopefully no one but myself and perhaps Menger will be here if he appears."

"I see." Grobschmied was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "There are some that aren't too happy about Trawlak's potential involvement in all of this."

Knowing exactly who he referred to, Gadlak nodded thoughtfully. "I can understand that. He's not wrong to be nervous. To be perfectly honest, I'm rather nervous about this myself. I'd better be right about Trawlak."

Grobschmied nodded, and then, in an attempt at levity, he said, "Could be worse. It could have been Councillor Ansalvik—or worse—who discovered us."

Gadlak snorted. "Ansalvik's an idiot. He couldn't have worked this out if you drew him a diagram. But you are right, of course. There are worse people who could have figured this out. Still, with Trawlak, it's hard to say where this will go."

There was a sharp knock at the door, and without waiting for his father's response, Menger Gadlak walked in, carrying the same lockbox in which he'd sealed away R.A.B.'s note. He hurriedly closed the door quietly, and smiled in some relief at seeing Grobschmied.

"I can't be long," he said, as he set the lockbox down on his father's desk and opened it. "Keeping order down there is worse than herding Kneazles."

"You've been able to run your tests, then?" Grobschmied asked. "What have you found out?"

Menger held up the note. "It's a bit surprising, actually. The paper was manufactured twenty years ago, but the ink was manufactured sixteen years ago and dried within a few months of its manufacture, strongly suggesting that this note was written in the autumn of 1981."

"1981?" The significance of this date struck Grobschmied, and he could tell from Gadlak's expression that it was not lost on him either.

"Indeed." Menger glanced at his father, who took the note from him to read for himself. "Judging from the wording, the Dark Lord was still active at the time, so I would estimate that our anonymous thief wrote this and stole the locket some time in the month prior to his downfall."

"R.A.B…" Gadlak mused, his brow furrowing. "And the Dark Lord's downfall?" At Menger's nod, he looked back towards the window, staring into space. "Why does all this sound so familiar?"

Nobody answered. His son and Grobschmied both stared at him, wearing identical expressions of surprise and curiosity. It was an odd moment, and it felt like a significant one, in which Grobschmied considered his friend, and all the information resources he had at his disposal, and what Gadlak's unexpected moment of déjà vu could mean.

Before anyone could comment or inquire, however, a sharp tap of something hard striking glass met their ears. All three goblins quickly looked at the window, and saw a raven on the sill, tapping the glass with its beak. They could just see the glint of a metal cylinder tied to its leg. The Gadlaks and Grobschmied all looked at each other warily, and then the elder Gadlak stood, strode to the window, and hesitantly pushed it open. The raven hopped in and fluffed up its feathers, quivering slightly. It then tugged at a tie with its beak and the cylinder came loose and fell to the floor with a light clatter. The black bird then turned around and took off again, disappearing into the mist.

Gadlak stared at the cylinder, and glanced at his son. "Check it."

Menger nodded and bent over the cylinder, withdrawing a small, hand-held Secrecy Sensor from his pocket. Gadlak and Grobschmied watched warily as Menger scanned the raven's small delivery, then, stowing the probe away, bent even closer, running his fingers over the cylinder without touching it, a slight magical pulse just audible from his own probing. Then he picked it up and held it out for his father. "I can't detect any harmful spells."

In spite of this, Gadlak couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had arisen the second the raven appeared on his window sill. He didn't know anyone who would send him messages through ravens, except Grobschmied and the Grimrooks, all of whom typically would simply drop by if they wanted a word; Danduaith didn't typically use ravens to communicate with him, having other, more efficient and secure ways. After a second's hesitation, however, Gadlak took the cylinder and twisted its lid open, shaking out a small slip of paper that had been rolled up inside it. When he unrolled it, he inhaled sharply. There were no words scribbled on the paper, but a single insignia stamped in red ink, the emblem of a fox's head on top of a crossed axe and spear, a symbol he—and all Tywlthteg goblins—knew only too well.

"Father?" Menger asked uneasily.

He handed over the paper, and saw Grobschmied bend over Menger's shoulder to look. Both goblins' faces lost all colour the second they saw it.

"Morach take it," Menger cursed.

"Indeed."

Grobschmied's shock turned to disgust. "What in Laelit's name do they want with you?"

"I can think of many possibilities," Gadlak said coldly.

Menger handed back the offensive insignia, anger likewise suffusing his face, but then he froze, his shock and outrage turning to disquiet. "You don't think they know?"

Gadlak started to shake his head, but then, at that moment, a horrifying thought crossed his mind, as horrifying thoughts all too often do in moments of tense uncertainty. Without a word, Gadlak returned to his desk and yanked open the side drawer, revealing the instrument that controlled the range and intensity of the Silencing wards surrounding his office. Sure enough, the slide was all the way down. The wards were not active.

---

The night's rain had let up, though a thick veil of grey clouds still hid the sun and sky from view, and the unrelenting cold that had gripped Britain for the past few months seemed to have become impossibly colder. It was so frigid that most in the vicinity of Aelyn Dionn had started putting on their winter gear, though it was not yet even September. This was true in the village and it was true in the Grimrook house, where Ron had just finished helping Harry get dressed, anticipating another day of light work for the latter's continued recovery. Hermione and Cecilia were downstairs somewhere, perhaps preparing breakfast. At Hermione's suggestion, Harry had started the prescribed light work by tidying up his bedroom, not that there was much to tidy up; apart from clothes, and the Pensieve lying in its open case, he hadn't removed much from his magically-expanded rucksack. Still weak physically, Harry was especially warmly dressed, but he still shivered a little, and in spite of this activity, felt a little more restive than usual. Perhaps, as Hermione suggested, it was due to his impatience to finally move on, but something else seemed to be nagging at him, and he couldn't think what. Whatever it was, it was causing him to pace around the room, looking out the window every time he passed it, clenching and unclenching his hands.

After a few minutes of this, Ron irritably muttered, "You know, you might as well relax a bit. Not like there's anything to be nervous about, since Grobschmied says we can trust the Lord Chairman."

Harry knew that Ron's jibe was partly directed at him, but he chose not to reply. His talk with Grobschmied had set his mind somewhat at ease concerning Dagnar Trawlak—or rather, as at ease as the situation allowed—but he hadn't grown up with a cultural suspicion of goblins, as Ron had. However, he and Ron had both learned to distrust politicians, and Trawlak was both goblin and politician. Words alone could not assure Ron that he could be trusted. Though he hadn't openly expressed his views since Cerdik Gadlak's visit, Ron had been more sarcastic—though thankfully not caustic—than usual, and only partially hid his impatience that Harry and Hermione seemed more accepting of the situation. All in all, the atmosphere in the Grimrook house had been uneasy all morning, but at least it was quiet, nobody wanting to say anything, intentionally or unintentionally, to increase the tension.

As he finished folding his newly-clean shirts, a sharp flash of burning pain shot through Harry's scar, causing him to sit on the bed and rub his forehead, hissing in pain.

"Harry?" asked Ron in surprise. "Are you all right?"

Harry waited to answer. The burning stopped almost as soon as it started, leaving a dull irritation. The pains in his scar, though they didn't occur as frequently as they had in the months following Voldemort's return, were no longer entirely unexpected, but somehow this occasion felt odd, like something he truly ought to pay attention to.

"Something's up," Harry finally said. It now occurred to him that perhaps the restiveness he'd been feeling all morning wasn't entirely his own.

"I think that's a given," Ron said darkly. "Your scar pains always mean something's up."

Harry shook his head. "No, this isn't the same. Something's… off."

Ron frowned. "In what way?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Just the pain… and a feeling."

Ron made no reply, but he glanced out the window nervously. Harry looked back at his folded clothes, trying to focus on what he was supposed to be doing, and not on the gnawing feeling growing in his gut, the stirring he was now sure was coming from Voldemort, and not from himself. But it was still remote enough, still shielded enough, that he couldn't identify anything further. Still, the strength and relentlessness of the feeling left Harry feeling a sudden dread. This wasn't like his scar prickling before the Diagon Alley attack the day before. Something felt different.

"Ron," he said slowly, "I think… no." He frowned, thinking hard. Then he said, "I think we ought to consider leaving today."

Ron stared at him. "Are you mental? We don't have any place to go yet."

"I'll rent out a hotel room," Harry retorted. "I just think we might have stayed here too long."

"Where did this come from all of a sudden?" Ron demanded. "I know we've been talking about moving on soon, but what's the hurry?"

"I don't know," Harry said, rubbing his scar again. "I guess… it's just a feeling. I'm starting to have a really bad feeling about today."

Ron swallowed. "Your scar just hurt. Maybe you're just unnerved. It doesn't mean we have to leave right this second. Besides, you've been ill. You're still ill."

Harry bit his lip but didn't respond. He knew that he was starting to sound as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody, who undoubtedly would have insisted on them vacating the house immediately, no matter the suddenness or Harry's weakened condition. His scar prickled again, but this time it wasn't as sharp. Perhaps Ron was right, he told himself. If Voldemort was no longer able to keep the connection completely closed, he'd be feeling it a lot more frequently these days, at least until he learned to block it himself. Perhaps, he thought, as the pain dulled to numbness, whatever had caused this had passed. Regardless, this line of rational thought was not strong enough for him to dismiss the gut feeling that he was right, no matter how paranoid it seemed, and they ought to leave as soon as possible.

Whoever was right, Harry was still uneasy enough that when he heard a loud rap on the doorframe, he almost leapt out of his skin and spun around, only just stopping himself from drawing his wand on Rok Grimrook, who blinked and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Ron stared at Harry. "Bloody hell, you arejumpy today, aren't you?"

Harry felt his face redden, and he mumbled an apology.

Grimrook shrugged. "Bad night?"

"Something like that." He wished his heart, still weakened, would slow down a bit. It was making him light-headed.

"Why aren't you at work?" asked Ron.

"Came to check on things," Grimrook said. Looking at Harry, he added, "I ran into Feidlenid on my way here. She asked me to give this to you."

It was then that Harry realised that Grimrook was holding out a ceramic container, and at once he understood. He took the little urn, unable to find his voice, and only nodded.

"She also said that it's unbreakable, and the lid's magically sealed," Grimrook explained. "In other words, you can carry it around with you, if you wish, and there's no danger of it breaking or spilling."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, turning the urn over in his hands.

His errand completed, and sensing that Harry wasn't really in a humour for company, Grimrook took his leave, pausing only to promise to inform them when he found a selection of potential properties to buy, or if they heard anything concerning Trawlak and his possible exchange of favours. Once the accountant was gone, Harry sat on the bed again to examine the urn. Probably uncertain of his tastes, or what might otherwise be appropriate, Feidlenid had chosen a simple white ceramic urn with a gold rim, but the pattern and coloration wasn't really of much concern to Harry. No, what felt strange was that for so long his parents' remains were only an abstraction to him, decaying to dust in a grave that for sixteen years he'd never visited, and now he'd be carrying what was left of them around with him. Perhaps the thought wouldn't bother him as much once they found somewhere more permanent to work from, and he had someplace to keep it, but at the moment, having it in his rucksack felt somewhat ghoulish. Still, the goblin priestess had gone through all that work to give his parents' bodies a second funeral in the only respectful way she knew, and grateful to Feidlenid for her efforts, Harry opened his rucksack, stowed the urn safely inside, and zipped it shut.

There was no warning.

His scar exploded. Pain, so much pain, of such intensity that he could only see a haze of red and black, so hot that soon his whole head and even his shoulders seemed to burn. Pain. Breathing. Throbbing. Darkness. Fire. Heat.

Burning was all he knew, all that existed.

And yet, an image seemed to form before him, the darkness ordering itself into shapes, and new images, foreign ideas seared into his mind, etching into his thoughts like acid.

"We will know soon enough if what you say is true."

A smaller, cowering figure, head bowed down, hands on the back of his head in submission, and half in shadow, knelt on the stone floor, knelt on the stone floor. Several masked Death Eaters surrounded him, and behind them stood over a dozen of the pale-faced, dead-eyed sorcerers in black, leather robes with steel adornments, observing with little obvious interest. The underground chamber was full of Death Eaters, deferent in the presence of their master, but fearfully silent in the presence of his dark allies.

"To my knowledge," a weak voice responded, "it is true."

"And tell me, goblin, why do you bring me this information?" The voice was calm, but inwardly, there was a burning feeling, impatience, anticipation. "What do you want in return?"

The goblin was silent, his face still obscured in shadow, but his head moved, and the glint of his eyes was barely visible.

"What the Ministry of Magic won't give, and what the High Council is too cowardly to fight for," he said boldly, audaciously. "Your promise of the complete and permanent separation of Tylwthteg from human wizardry."

Voldemort's laughter was quiet, but in the utter silence it seemed to echo through the chamber. It was not an unexpected condition, but the goblin's brazenness amused him. He moved closer.

"We too would prefer a pure society," he declared. "If what you say is true, and we do find him in this village, I may agree to make some concessions to Tylwthteg Hran, once the Ministry of Magic is in our grasp. Lord Voldemort rewards those who aid him."

Though the goblin's expression wasn't visible, his aura was one of grim satisfaction. Voldemort smiled coldly. Very well, let the goblin think himself successful. Over-confidence had always been a weakness of his kind. Voldemort's head turned in the direction of Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the three with wands trained on their guest, and gave a firm nod.

"Crucio!" she shrieked.

The goblin screamed, a strange, strangled screech that suited his kind. It was merely a brief taste of Voldemort's wrath should the goblin's information lead them to nothing, and he only allowed Bellatrix the enjoyment of inflicting pain for a moment before he signalled for her to stop, and like the obedient minion she was, she complied, lifting the curse. As the goblins lumped to the granite floor, violently quivering, Bellatrix kicked him in the gut for good measure, causing him to double over, wheezing pathetically.

"Your words are about to be tested," Voldemort told the goblin, "and you had better hope that I find them to be true."

He watched the goblin for only a few seconds before he gestured for Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters to follow him. In a moment, all Death Eaters would feel the call of the Dark Mark. If the goblin spoke truly, he was determined to not fail this time. Before quitting the chamber, Voldemort looked at the silent cultists who hadn't moved or spoken throughout the exchange. "Keep him subdued," he instructed. "Depending on what we find, I shall decide what to do with him. But if he moves, feel free to kill him, or sacrifice him to Voes if you prefer. It matters not to me."

The Death Eaters were already leaving the chamber, but the Sha'etemmins slowly surrounded the informant, and the foremost of them raised a hand. A rippling energy seemed to emanate from him, a spell cast with no wand that caused the goblin to crumple to the floor and curl into a foetal position, frozen in terror. Voldemort watched for another moment, briefly allowing himself to indulge in his envy of their power, and imagining with excited anticipation the day he learned the secret to the ancient, forgotten magic they wielded. But for now, he must focus on the teenager who had eluded him for sixteen years, who had even escaped the trap laid in Godric's Hollow.

This time, the boy's luck would finally run out.

By the time the vision finally ended, and Harry became aware of his surroundings again, he was drenched in cold sweat, his scar still burning painfully, and a strange ringing seemed to fill his ears. He could see that Ron was crouching over him, calling out his name, and Harry sat him, shaking his head to clear it. Doing so made his forehead and temples throb, and his scar seemed to burn even worse, but he tried hard to ignore it. Things were now clear. They likely only had minutes.

Without answering Ron's panicked questions, Harry got to his feet abruptly, causing his heart to beat hard and painfully, and his head spun, forcing him to pause a minute to avoid passing out. He then snatched up his rucksack and opened it, stuffing his newly-folded clothes inside, before going to the black chest holding the Pensieve and slamming it shut.

"Harry!" Ron finally shouted. "What happened? What's going on?"

Harry took a few seconds to answer as he regained his breath, trying to clear his head of the lingering dizziness. "Pack your things," he finally said urgently, as he drew his wand and began to levitate the Pensieve's case to the bed and began moving things aside in the rucksack, trying to make room for it. "We're leaving."

Ron stared at him in alarm, but before he could say anything, either in agreement or protest, the door burst open and Cecilia and Hermione rushed in, staring at him with wild, consternated expressions, evidently having heard the commotion.

"Harry?" Hermione began. "What"—

"He knows where I am," Harry cut her off. "He's coming. We have to get out."

---

The fighting had started so suddenly that Rok Grimrook had no idea what prompted it, or where it had even begun. The morning had started out normal enough—or rather, as normal as he could possibly consider it, given that he had just delivered to Harry Potter the ashes of his sixteen-year-dead parents, whose bodies they had nonetheless cremated only the night before; but for the other goblins of Aelyn Dionn, the day of August 26th had started as per their usual routine. After he had delivered Feidlenid's gift, Grimrook had made the short walk back to the village, intending to drop by the bakery for a quick breakfast before heading to Gringotts.

But he hadn't taken even a few steps down the street before he heard screaming near the town square, and the sound of spell-fire and shouted incantations, and shortly after that, he saw villagers, mostly goblinesses and their children, running down the street away from the source of the mayhem. Instinctively, Grimrook reached into his pocket and gripped the handle of his hidden revolver. It did not take him long to find the cause of the tumult, for he had not gone far before he saw them, three, then four, then five masked humans in black robes chasing villagers, firing curses after them. The nearest threw a spell that knocked a young gobliness off her feet, stunning her, but not killing her. Seconds later the Death Eater seized her by her foot and started dragging her back towards the town square. Grimrook quickly drew his gun and took careful aim. It only took one shot, and the Death Eater's head snapped back in a spray of red, before he crumpled to the ground and released the gobliness.

The other Death Eaters leapt into action, but Grimrook was well-trained, and quicker. Mustering his magical strength, he flung out his free left hand and landed a burst of green energy upon the humans, catching two of them and lifting them from the ground, before he swiped his hand to the right, and by so doing magically flung them into the brick wall of a nearby shop with a sickening crunch. One of the two that remained standing brandished his wand, but he hadn't even got the incantation out of his mouth before Grimrook took aim and fired again. The Death Eater shrieked in pain as the bullet shredded his right shoulder, causing him to drop his wand. With only a split second to act, Grimrook then fired a shot at the last standing Death Eater, but his haste offset his aim, and instead of going through the Death Eater's head, as he'd intended, the bullet went through his chest, causing the Death Eater to fall back, clutching at the wound, desperately trying to stem the tide of blood while gasping for breath; but Grimrook's concern was now for the gobliness who had started to crawl away backwards.

"Go," he hissed at her in Sindrian. "Get out of the village. Stay out of sight until they leave."

As he spoke, he saw movement in the corner of his eye, and saw more Death Eaters in the distance, coming up the street. He glanced back at the gobliness, who was now back on her feet, but shaking her head frantically. "I can't. My brothers—"

Then, without another word, she ran, not towards the road or the woods, but towards a residential street, leaving Grimrook with no course of action but to try to hold off the Death Eaters and hope that she'd successfully find her family and escape. A groan met his ears, and he looked down at the Death Eaters he'd just shot. The one who took a bullet to the chest had already lost consciousness, but the one with a wound in his shoulder was gasping and trying to move, inching his uninjured left arm towards his dropped wand, which had rolled a few feet out of his reach. Grimrook quickly stepped forward, and snatched up the Death Eater's wand. He then pointed his revolver at his face.

"Wait!" the Death Eater gasped.

Grimrook stared at him for a few seconds, then he stowed the man's wand in his pocket and crouched down, seizing him by the collar.

"Why did you come here?" he snarled. "What does your master want with this place?"

But the Death Eater, succumbing to blood loss, only slumped down and said nothing more. Grimrook cursed under his breath and shoved the human away. Then he heard more shouting and looked up. He counted another tree Death Eaters approaching, and knew from the increase in volume of yells and incantations that there were more—perhaps dozens more—in the town square, too many for him to hold off only with magic, and he was sure he only had one or two rounds left in his revolver. Swearing under his breath, Grimrook ran to the side, spotting a horse-cart to duck behind. Once out of the Death Eaters' line of sight, he rummaged in his pocket for more rounds, and only found four. Moving quickly, hearing the sound of spell-fire and incantations growing louder, he opened the cylinder and loaded each round into the chambers, one by one, wishing he could load them more quickly.

Then he heard more voices, combative voices shouting in Sindrian, and he chanced a glance around the edge of the cart as the Death Eaters' incantations became louder and more hurried, and the loud bursts of spell-fire more frequent. Not thirty feet away from where he hid, four goblins, two of them in the uniform of the village constabulary, had joined the fray, sending pulses of magical energy at the three humans, one of whom appeared to have thrown up a protective shield. Grimrook ducked back behind the cart, and began quickly to weigh his options. On the one hand, his instincts and his anger were screaming at him to stay in the village and fight; but the Death Eaters bringing such a massive assault upon Aelyn Dionn, an obscure goblin village that hardly had any dealings with humans, could only mean one thing.

Therefore, against his instincts, Grimrook ran back up the street, headed back for his house, towards the only thing—or rather, the only person—in Aelyn Dionn that could possibly interest Lord Voldemort.

---

To her credit, Cecilia was the first to snap into action, ordering Ron and Hermione to pack as much of their things as they could and be out of the house in two minutes. Harry, having already packed his remaining possessions, grabbed his rucksack and was already moving down the staircase, trying to ignore his persistent light-headedness. Cecilia followed him down the stairs, perhaps keeping an eye on him. He glanced at her as he reached the landing, noting her hard, determined expression. Harry saw her retreat into the kitchen, and from his viewpoint he saw her grab a sack and start stuffing food parcels into it. He then moved into the living room, where, to his relief, he saw Hedwig perched on a shelf. Harry held his arm out, and Hedwig, clearly aware that something serious was happening, fluttered to his arm.

Satisfied that he had everything necessary, Harry drew his wand and headed for the door, just as he heard somebody coming back down the stairs, but he didn't turn to see who it was, instead opening the door and stepping outside. His head began spinning again, and he leaned against the doorpost, willing the dizziness to stop. During that time, Ron joined him, and seconds later, Hermione and Cecilia did too. He was aware of the three of them looking at him in concern, but presently the light-headedness faded, and he looked up at them. Then he became acutely aware of Hedwig's talons digging into his arm painfully, and he looked at her and saw that she had tensed, her feathers ruffled.

It was then that he heard the distant screams, and he looked in the direction Hedwig was staring, and saw a column of smoke rising in the distance. They were already in the village. Behind him, he heard Cecilia snarl some kind of goblin curse under her breath.

"Oh my God," Hermione whispered.

Ron swallowed. "We don't have much time. Where should we go?"

The three of them looked at their hostess. Cecilia was quiet for a moment, listening to the noise coming from the village. After Ron repeated his question, however, she turned away, and finally said, "Uncle Grobschmied's house. It's in another village on the other side of the forest, fairly distant from here, so hopefully it's safe enough." As she spoke, she stretched her hands out, and knowing what she intended, Harry grasped her arm. Ron and Hermione grasped her other, and Harry felt Hedwig flutter to his shoulder and grip it tightly. Cecilia closed her eyes and pivoted.

For a second, Harry felt the squeezing sensation of Disapparation begin, but then suddenly it tightened sharply, harder and harder until he couldn't breathe at all, and then abruptly released, causing his ears to pop and his dizziness to return in full force. He collapsed to his knees, feeling as though someone had driven a spike through his temple. Hedwig released his shoulder and screeched angrily, while Harry became dimly aware of Ron, Hermione, and Cecilia all swaying on the spot, clutching their heads.

They hadn't moved an inch.

"What the hell," gasped Ron, "was that?"

Cecilia made no reply, instead crouching down and rummaging in her bag for a few seconds, before withdrawing one of her instruments. She fiddled with a dial, and then read a little roll of paper on the side, where Harry could just see tiny characters starting to appear. Then Cecilia lowered the instrument with a grim look.

"There's some kind of anti-Disapparation ward," she told them. "But there's no sign of any Death Eaters anywhere near the property, so it must be around the whole area."

Ron and Hermione both stared. "They put up wards?" Hermione said in disbelief. "Unnoticed? In only a few minutes?"

Cecilia said nothing, but there was no denying what had just occurred.

Ron looked at Hermione. "What about Portkeys?"

Hermione nodded, and looked around for a few seconds, before stooping down by one of the front windows and picking up a stone. She closed her eyes and pointed her wand at it, muttering, "Portus."

There was no blue glow. Nothing happened. Hermione stared, and then tried again, but there was still nothing. She then looked up at the others in panic. "It's not working!"

"They must be blocking that too," Cecilia said. "They're likely blocking all magical transportation."

Ron cursed. But Harry, recovering from the failed Disapparation, slowly clambered to his feet, and looked back toward the village. The screams and spell-fire sounded fairly distant, but Harry knew the village was still too close. If the Death Eaters decided to come up the road, it wouldn't take them long to find the house.

Seemingly also thinking along these lines, Cecilia said, "Let's at least get out of sight. Follow me."

She then turned abruptly and moved at a fast pace into the woods, up the same path they'd taken the day before to build his parents' pyre. As they passed into the trees and the house disappeared from sight, Hedwig took flight, moving to low-hanging branches ahead to keep up. Cecilia, holding her instrument as she moved, kept a brisk pace. At first she seemed to lead them back towards the clearing where they'd built the pyre, but then she abruptly turned down a smaller dirt path of even more uneven terrain. Harry soon began to struggle, stumbling as his foot sank into a depression in the path, and he barely kept balance. His heart was pounding, and soon his breathing became uneven. He hadn't had to move this fast since their escape from Hogsmeade, but back then he was in perfect physical condition. Apparently moving even at a fast walk for more than a minute was a threshold his body hadn't quite healed enough to cross. Still, he kept going, trying desperately to keep up with Cecilia, Ron, and Hermione, but soon a hard wave of dizziness swept over him, forcing him to stop and lean on a tree, wheezing. As he struggled to catch his breath, he glanced up to see that the others had already moved far ahead, seemingly unaware of his predicament.

That is, until Hedwig, fluttering to a branch above him, screeched after the others, prompting Hermione to pause and look back.

"Stop! Stop!" she called to the others.

Cecilia and Ron turned, and backtracked as soon as they saw what had caused the holdup.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Ron asked, alarmed.

"I will be if you just…." Harry's whole body seemed to hurt as he struggled to get his breathing under control. "...if you just give me a…." Another wave of dizziness hit, and he groaned, staggering forward a little. Hermione and Ron both grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him. Harry said nothing more, furious at himself. All that progress he thought he'd made, and it was gone in a minute, and at the worst time possible. If the Death Eaters found them because he was too bloody weak to move….

"Cecilia, we can't go at that pace," Hermione admonished the gobliness.

"Right." Cecilia glanced over her shoulder as she spoke. "But we have to find the boundary of that jinx. They don't seem to know where precisely to look for us, so they must have set the wards around the whole village and nearby country to keep us effectively sealed in."

"How the hell did they get it over this wide a range?" demanded Ron.

"He's right. Anti-Disapparation jinxes are normally used for single rooms or a small building," Hermione said. "It would take days for even the Ministry to put them around such a large area. The Death Eaters shouldn't have been able to do this so quickly."

Having no answer, Cecilia shook her head. Then she looked at Harry guiltily. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I was so concerned with getting us out of here that I forgot."

Harry couldn't offer any response except to nod in understanding. His breathing seemed to be getting under control again.

"Are you ready to move on?" Cecilia asked. "We'll take it slower, especially now that we're at least out of sight of the village and of the house."

As she spoke, her words started to sound oddly distorted, and the edges of Harry's vision blackened. Cecilia seemed to stare at him, suddenly looking wary, as he felt the blood suddenly drain from his face, and a new dizziness took over. Then, without warning, his scar erupted in pain again, causing him to inhale sharply and clutch his forehead. For a split second, Harry's vision shifted, and suddenly he wasn't looking at the trees and brush, but instead he caught a glimpse of a cobblestone street, old-fashioned houses and shops all around, some on fire, others reduced to rubble, the air filled with smoke and the sounds of screaming and spells and shouted incantations filled his ears.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Harry blinked, and realised that he had fallen against the tree, his hand still grasping at his scar, which continued to burn fiercely, causing his eyes to water. Ron and Hermione and Cecilia all bending over him, looking terrified.

"Harry? What is it?" Ron asked urgently. "What's happening?"

Harry tried to get to his feet, but his legs shook violently, forcing him to sit back down, but he couldn't get any words out before the connection burst open again, and he was again lost in vision.

Voldemort was not pleased.

He had intended for the operation to be quick and quiet, so as to not give Potter any warning, and he also had no desire to anger the goblins of Britain before his forces were ready to deal with them. His instructions were clear: gain entry, find Potter, and quickly bring the boy to him before there could be any resistance or interference. But it appeared that Jugsen and Thorkelson had utterly bungled the operation, instead turning the entire village into a chaotic mess of shouting and spell-fire as a brutal street battle raged, bodies of goblins and Death Eaters alike already strewn all over the cobblestone roads. If Potter was truly in the care of the village healers, as his informant believed, the violence taking place outside the temple walls alone would have given him more than enough warning, to say nothing of Bellatrix and Rodolphus's fruitless attempts to break through the temple doors as Dolohov and his underlings held off goblin fighters. The Sha'etemmins' wards, cast over the whole village and beyond, would block any attempt at using a Portkey or Disapparating—assuming Potter had the strength—but he had been granted far too much time to find some other way out, and Voldemort would not give him a minute more.

To Voldemort's annoyance, but not his surprise, the temple doors remained stubbornly closed, in spite of the Lestranges throwing everything they could at them. It seemed the goblins protected their sites of religious nonsense as closely as they did Gringotts. In that case, more drastic measures needed to be taken. With a cold smile, Voldemort grasped the small, marble-sized obsidian sphere tightly in his fist, trying to communicate these thoughts to those he knew would accordingly respond. Sure enough, theycame in answer to his call. It was time for his followers and enemies alike to witness the true might of the Cult of Voes.

From the outskirts of the village, where they had conjured the wards sealing Potter in so quickly, the three Sha'etemmins, distinct in their black leather robes and their steel adornments marked with the name and sign of their dark god, strode through the chaos without the smallest hint of concern. It wasn't long before goblin defenders spotted them, of course, but as Voldemort watched, one goblin impulsively lunged at them with a knife drawn. In the blink of an eye there was a flash as a bluish-black energy ripped out, and the goblin was flung aside, landing nearby in a crumpled, unmoving heap, swatted aside as easily as an irritating insect. Seeing this, or sensing a greater danger, three more goblins likewise charged at the necromancers, but they got no closer than five feet when magical energy ripped out again, three times, in such quick succession that Voldemort would have missed it if he'd so much as blinked. Just like that, all three goblins lay dead, and the Sha'etemmins moved on like nothing had happened. They hadn't so much as raised a hand.

Other goblins threw spells at them, only to cry out in fear and disbelief as the Sha'etemmins simply absorbed the spells like a cloth absorbing water, without so much as a single flinch, but just kept going, entirely unstoppable and untouchable, like the goblins were nothing to them. This caused both villagers and Death Eaters to scatter out of their way as they walked to the temple as calmly as they might as casual visitors. Dolohov and his men hastily stepped aside at the temple steps, allowing them entry, and the Sha'etemmins ascended the stairs and stopped, looking upwards. Then two of them began to raise large obsidian orbs to chest height, while the third and foremost stretched out his hands behind him, as if to touch both orbs, which now hovered above the round, suspended in the air and spinning rapidly, radiating the same dark bluish energy, which the third Sha'etemmin seemed to draw into himself through his hands, channeling so much magic from the orbs that he actually lifted from the ground by a few inches. The edges of Voldemort's vision briefly darkened, and then dozens of shocked cries echoed throughout the town square as the goblins all abruptly stopped, falling to their knees, clutching their heads or curling into infantile positions as the Sha'etemmins collectively struck them down with a magical wave of terror, effectively ending all further resistance in a single fell act of eldritch power.

The same dark energy radiated yet more forcefully from the orbs, as the lead Sha'etemmin drew in more and more, until Voldemort could see his fingers and arms begin to burn from the sheer amount of magical power he absorbed, until finally he let out a shriek and fell back to the ground as a shock of energy blasted outward, radiating through the crowd and bursting through the temple doors and windows, breaking through every magical and physical barrier as easily as a knife cuts through butter. Then, there was a finally rippling of magical energy, and the Sha'etemmins lowered their hands and put away the orbs, their jobs done.

It took a moment for the Death Eaters to recover from the shock of this display of power, but then the Lestranges let out triumphant shouts and led the way through the temple's destroyed doors, wands drawn and shouting for everyone inside to surrender. The goblins in the town square, no longer inflicted with the Sha'etemmins' curse of terror, began to clamber to their feet, only to find themselves surrounded with Death Eaters aiming wands at them. A bell within the temple began to toll, and the goblin defenders, shaken by the Sha'etemmins attack and seeing that the doors had been breached, dropped their weapons and raised their hands to their heads in surrender.

It was over in minutes. Though the sound of fighting was still distantly audible elsewhere in the village, for the most part the goblins had backed down, seemingly realising that further resistance was futile. The Death Eaters quickly rounded up the goblin fighters, who were now in a line in the middle of the square, on their knees with their hands and their hands on the back of their heads. The Sha'etemmins stood before the square on the temple steps, impassively watching as more Death Eaters appeared from adjacent streets, pushing villagers into the plaza, most of them goblinesses and their spawn. Bellatrix and Dolohov, meanwhile, were overseeing the Death Eaters clearing the temple, herding priests and priestesses out into the square. Voldemort waited patiently until finally a newer Death Eater appeared at the entrance, roughly pushing out a number of goblins not in the habits of the clergy, but who were all old, sickly, or otherwise injured or afflicted. Among them was an old, decrepit gobliness who struggled to descend the temple steps. Impatient with her slowness, a Death Eater seized her by the neck and flung her down the stairs, prompting other Death Eaters to jeer at her mockingly. One of the priestesses let out a cry of dismay, and tried to rush to the old gobliness, who lay crumpled and unmoving on the ground, but she didn't get two steps before another Death Eater hit her with a trip jinx, causing her to smash her forehead against one of the temple steps.

Voldemort, meanwhile, turned to watch as the other infirmary patients were moved out of the temple, waiting for his followers to bring out one in particular. But then the line of goblins stopped, and two more Death Eaters came out, both glancing at Voldemort nervously as they spoke to Dolohov and Bellatrix in hushed tones. As Voldemort watched impatiently, Dolohov finally turned and approached him, Bellatrix close behind. Voldemort looked back to the group of patients and goblin clergy, all forced to their knees like the rest of the villagers.

"This is all of them?" he quietly asked.

"Yes, my lord," Dolohov answered. "He was not in the infirmary."

Voldemort looked back at the temple dispassionately, then at Bellatrix. "Continue to search the temple. Leave no room, no corner unchecked."

She bowed her head obsequiously, and returned to the stone edifice, gesturing for the other two Death Eaters to follow her. Voldemort then looked at Dolohov. "Begin a sweep. He cannot escape by magical means, but if he got out he most likely would have run for the woods."

"Yes, my lord."

Dolohov then shouted for other Death Eaters to follow him, and left. Voldemort, paying no further heed to them, moved toward the temple clergy, and his eyes fell upon one in particular, who was dressed in a more elaborate habit than the others, and otherwise wore a number of chains, medallions, and other adornments not found on the other priests and priestesses. Voldemort looked at the nearest Death Eater, and gestured for him to bring this goblin forward. The Death Eater understood the unspoken command instantly, and seized the goblin under the arm and forced him to his feet, shoving him forward until he fell at Voldemort's feet, causing villagers to yell in outrage.

As the priest looked up and met his eyes, Voldemort asked quietly, "Are you in charge of this temple?"

In perfect English, the goblin responded, "I am the prelate, yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

"I do."

"And do you know why I have paid you this visit?" Voldemort continued.

For a moment the prelate only looked at him, and Voldemort was mildly surprised to find that he betrayed little emotion except scorn. If he was afraid, he was remarkably adept at hiding it.

"We have no part in your war," the prelate told him derisively. "We have few dealings with human-kind, and our lifestyle can be of no interest to you. Yet you found it necessary to murder one of our most devout priestesses, terrorise this town, kill its inhabitants, and desecrate this temple."

The Death Eater seized the prelate by his hair and pressed his wand into his neck, causing him to briefly wince in pain, but the goblin then ignored it and finished, "No, I cannot imagine what led you to this action."

Voldemort raised a hand and struck him. A few goblinesses in the square audibly gasped. "I ask again, do you know why we are here?" he demanded.

"As I have said," the prelate responded, "I do not."

At that moment, one of Bellatrix's squad appeared at his side. "I'm sorry, my lord. We've used every spell, checked every room. There's no sign of him."

Voldemort seized the prelate by the throat. "Harry Potter," he said in a dangerous, quiet voice. "Where is he?"

The priest blinked. For the first time, he looked taken aback.

"Harry Potter?" he repeated.

"I have been informed that he is here."

"Not to my knowledge," the prelate retorted.

Voldemort forced him to look directly into his eyes, and he searched, forcing his way into the goblin's mind and looking for any trace of fear or deceit. Yet no matter where he looked, no matter what line of thought he followed, Voldemort could detect no lie in the prelate's mind, only a combination of disgust and bewilderment. His answer was clear. Potter had never set foot in the temple, had never been brought to their infirmary. Furious, Voldemort threw him aside, and looked at the crowd, who were all watching fearfully.

"Today, we received information from one of your own," he addressed them. "Information that a boy we hunt is hiding here, in this village. Whether he is located will determine your own fate." He watched for a moment, the only sound being the mutters of interpreters translating his words into their language. "So I will put this question to you all: Where is Harry Potter?"

The goblins stared at him, and then at each other. No one said a word, but as he looked over them, looked at their individual faces, he only saw fear, surprise, confusion, but nothing else.

"I repeat," Voldemort continued, "whoever comes forward will save this community and its inhabitants. Give him to me, and we will inflict no further damage upon you."

He waited, but there was no sound except the hushed words of the interpreters. No one came forward. Voldemort hissed in anger, and looked back at the temple doors, where Bellatrix stood."

"Have some men search the houses," he ordered her. He then turned to the other Death Eaters in the square. "Move them back into the temple."

The Death Eaters immediately snapped into action, shouting for their captives to get to their feet and move into their holy place as ordered. Goblinesses cried out, and their children wailed, while the few remaining goblin men shouted invectives at the Death Eaters, but with the constables and most of their other fighters dead, and from the wary glances some of the cast at the Sha'etemmins, it was clear they understood that any further attempt at resistance was pointless. Now their fate entirely rested on whether Dolohov or Bellatrix located the boy.

---

Ron and Hermione watched helplessly, waiting for Harry's convulsions to stop, but the seconds passed, and then minutes, and the attack only seemed to worsen. After a while, Ron looked back down the path, and realising that they were still too exposed, he knelt by Harry and pulled his right arm around his shoulders. He then looked at Hermione, who proceeded to do the same. Cecilia, seeing what they were doing, started to head down the path again, and together, Ron and Hermione lifted Harry and began to follow her.

The next few minutes seemed agonisingly slow. Harry showed no sign of breaking from the connection with Voldemort, insensible to his surroundings and unmoving except for his occasional convulsions, all of which made it difficult for them to move him at the pace they needed to go. Cecilia kept a close eye on her instrument, monitoring the strength of the anti-Disapparation ward trapping them, but judging from her increasingly tense expression they still were nowhere near its boundaries. Finally, accepting that they couldn't continue like this, they opted to hide rather than run, and in the end they managed to drag Harry under the low-hanging branches of a pine tree, keeping him well-hidden from view. Hopefully they could remain undetected until Harry recovered enough to continue, but every minute increased their chances of discovery, and meanwhile, he seemed locked in his vision, unable to block whatever images and feelings inflicted him. Cecilia bent over Harry and pressed her fingers against his neck. After a moment, she seemed to relax.

"His heart rate isn't where I'd like it to be," she told them, "but he's not in any danger yet." She straightened. "I'm going to keep watch. Check his pulse regularly, and let me know immediately if there are any drastic changes."

She then moved to the gap in the branches, and Ron watched his best friend, feeling utterly powerless. Harry seemed to have calmed slightly; at least he wasn't convulsing as violently as he had been a moment ago, but Ron could hear his shaking, uneven breath, and could see his sweat forming a visible sheen, even in the darkness beneath the pine branches. Hedwig fluttered to an exposed root next to Harry, hooting woefully.

"It's bad this time," Hermione said miserably.

Ron looked at her fearfully. "Did Dumbledore ever find any way to stop"—

"Not that I know of," she interrupted. "Even if there was a way to force him out of the vision, I'm afraid of damaging his mind."

Ron swallowed, but could do nothing more than watch as Hermione pressed her fingers to Harry's neck, and he held his breath, waiting; Harry's growing stillness, yet continued insensibility, was worrying him. But Hermione straightened a moment later, and without another word, she sat between roots by Harry, leaning against the tree trunk with an apprehensive but unchanged expression, and Ron exhaled. At least physically, he still seemed to be in no danger.

They waited. Ron had no idea how long they sat there, hidden from view either from the path or the canopy. The minutes passed, but they heard nothing outside their hiding place, except the distant noise from the village; nothing indicating that the Death Eaters were close yet. Still, the sudden stillness after their panicked flight from the house made time seem to creep along very, very slowly. But he and Hermione sat by Harry and waited for some kind of change, anything.

After what seemed like an age, Cecilia came back in through the gap in the branches.

"Seen anything out there?" Ron asked in an undertone.

"No," she answered. "But listen."

Ron and Hermione listened. Perhaps the gobliness could hear something they couldn't, but the only audible sound was Harry's quivering breath.

"I can't hear anything," Hermione said.

"Exactly," said Cecilia. "The village. The fighting. It's stopped."

She was right, of course. Ron and Hermione, only concerned with getting Harry out of sight and helping him pull out of his vision, hadn't noticed the silence, but now that Cecilia had mentioned it, he could no longer hear the screams and explosions, nothing but an eerie wind rustling through the trees.

"Maybe we're too deep in the woods to hear anything," Hermione suggested.

Cecilia shook her head. "No. I could hear it from the path earlier. It was distant, but I could hear it. There's nothing now. Something's changed."

"Maybe the Death Eaters have left," Ron said hopefully.

Cecilia glanced at Harry, still trapped in vision. "Perhaps. Or maybe the people surrendered."

"Do you think they would?" asked Ron. "Surely it's not that easy."

Cecilia shook her head. "Since they didn't come to the house directly, they probably thought Harry was in the temple infirmary. And if they've breached the temple doors, or captured or killed the constables and anyone else fighting, and there's no one left to defend the temple, then yes, it is likely that the rest of the village surrendered."

"How do you figure they think Harry's in the temple?" asked Ron.

"Because they probably knew or guessed that he was injured in that ambush in Godric's Hollow," Cecilia explained impatiently. "Either that or whoever tipped them off told them as much, and that's exactly the point. Someone told them he was hiding or recovering here in Aelyn Dionn, a goblin village. As far as the rest of the world knows, the only reason Harry would find or seek shelter here is if he somehow fell under the care of Laelitian priestesses, who will never refuse treatment to any sick or injured in their charge. Where else would he be receiving treatment from Laelitian healers? No one except us knew that Feidlenid was treating Harry in secret, away from the temple, which is therefore the most obvious place to start looking." She looked downcast. "And it's the heart of Aelyn Dionn. It's where the sick and injured are. It's where the priestesses are. It's where the village histories are recorded and kept. It's the oldest building in the town, and like all Laelitian and Oreanchian temples, it's central to Tylwthteg culture and religion. In a way, the temples represent all it means to be children of Laelit and Oreanchar, all that it means to be a goblin." In a soft, sad voice, she finished, "It's the most logical target, and the most demoralising. If the village can no longer defend it, then most of them would surrender if it meant Voldemort sparing it."

Her voice trailed away, but she didn't need to say any more. Ron was left stunned. He had always presumed that goblins would defend their homes and settlements to the death, which was why the Ministry usually left them to their own devices (so long as they didn't draw Muggle attention), but apparently there were things even goblins weren't willing to sacrifice.

"Isn't anyone coming to help?" asked Hermione, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. "The Aurors? Goblin authorities?"

Cecilia winced, and her shoulders slumped. "Most goblin communities only have a direct line of communication with Danduaith Castle," she said. "But we have no true equivalent of the Auror force. It has not been permitted since our last rebellion. Even if we did, Danduaith is forbidden by the Ministry from intervening if a dispute or conflict involves wizards. That is for the Ministry to handle, not Tylwthteg."

Hermione gaped at Cecilia. "That's…ridiculous. Are you telling me that goblins aren't even allowed to defend themselves?"

"Only if the aggressors are other goblins," Cecilia answered. "If the aggressors are humans, then the usual protocol is for goblin authorities to alert Danduaith, which will then alert the Ministry of Magic."

"Right," Hermione said, her expression shifting from devastation to fury. "Well, by the sound of it, it's already too late for that."

Cecilia was silent for a moment, her head bowed slightly. Then, pointing at the branches above, she said, "I'm going up there. Maybe I can see what's going on."

Then, without another word, she grabbed the lowest branch, and, hoisting herself up, began climbing, and in minutes she disappeared from sight, though Ron could hear the rustling of the branches overhead.

Hermione knelt beside Harry to check his pulse, muttering darkly about the Ministry's laws against other magical sapients. As she pressed her fingers to Harry's jugular again, to Ron's consternation, she shot him a filthy look. He swallowed and looked away, knowing exactly why she was looking at him like that. She expected him to defend the law against goblins having their own defence force, to protest that it was entirely to stop another goblin rebellion from ever happening, but Ron kept silent because he had to admit that this was exactly what children growing up in the Wizarding World were told. Goblins are different. They dislike humans and would go to war with us if they could… they are clever and powerful, and are not to be trusted. They do not share the interests and concerns of the magical community and to allow them to go about their business and traditions unsupervised and unregulated would almost certainly risk exposure to the Muggles. They cannot be allowed to operate as an independent nation, or the slaughter will start again. The things he'd been taught throughout his childhood, either by his family or by society or by other purebloods, echoed in his head. Those things were still true, weren't they? The goblins of Tylwthteg did have their own nation, subjugated to the laws of the Wizarding World, yes, but a nation nonetheless, and Ron had never met any goblin who showed anything more than indifference to those laws, if not outright contempt. They had rebelled against Ministry regulations many times in the past. In fact, it was generally believed that Gringotts and its near monopoly over magical Britain's economy was the one concession that kept Tylwthteg from starting another uprising. Wasn't all of that true?

He heard Harry gasp in pain, and he winced and looked at him in worry, but Hermione, whose fingers were still pressed against his neck, hadn't changed her position or her expression, and soon Harry quieted and fell back into his stupor; and as Ron listened to the growing, eerie silence, he began to feel sick as its meaning truly sank in, and suddenly he found all those restrictions against Tylwthteg increasingly difficult to justify.

They sat in silence for quite some time, listening carefully for any sign of intruders, when finally, after what seemed like hours, Harry shifted his position a little, turning his head slightly and exhaling a long, almost relieved sigh. They watched him apprehensively, hoping that this was a sign that he was breaking out of his vision. Then, at long last, Harry opened his eyes and lifted his head with a groan. Ron immediately bent down and helped pull him into a sitting position against the tree, but rather than speak, Harry merely blinked, looking at their surroundings with confusion.

"All right, mate?" he asked in a low voice.

Harry leaned his head back, shivering. He was quiet for a moment, then finally, he asked in a soft voice, "How long was I…?"

"I'm not sure. Fifteen, twenty minutes?" Hermione's voice was shaking with relief. "We decided to hide here until you're able to continue."

Harry gave no answer, instead closing his eyes and slumping more heavily against the tree. Ron glanced at Hermione in worry, but they could hear that his breathing, though slightly laboured, had slowed to a normal rhythm.

"Mate?" asked Ron uncertainly.

Harry opened his eyes again and looked at him with a haunted expression. "We should have left this place as soon as I was well enough to stand up. It was never safe for us to be there."

At this, Ron became angry. "Look, you were"—

"Ill, I know," Harry interrupted. "I'm not talking about our safety."

Ron opened his mouth, but then closed it when he realised he didn't know what to say. Exasperated as he was with Harry's determination to blame himself every time someone suffered because of Voldemort, he couldn't pretend that Aelyn Dionn, a small, obscure goblin town of little consequence to the Wizarding World, would be under attack right now if someone hadn't told Voldemort that Harry was in the area. Unable to find any words to give Harry any reassurance or strength, Ron looked at Hermione, but was disheartened to see that she looked as helpless as he felt.

But if either of them could find the right words, they didn't get the chance to speak them, distracted by the sound of soft footsteps on the damp pine branches above their heads as Cecilia descended from the canopy, where she'd been keeping watch, and presently she leapt from the lowest branch and landed with a soft thud on the needle-strewn ground.

When she saw that Harry was sitting up, she asked in a low voice, "The vision's passed?" No one answered, but she hardly required them to. Glancing upward nervously, she said, "I think they've realised you're not in the village. They're flying broomsticks over the forest. None have approached our location yet, but they looked like they were being very methodical." She then looked back at Harry. "I'm sorry, but we can't stay. If they're scouring the countryside for us, they'll also have people following the forest paths on foot. I don't want to risk them finding us that way. We have to get past their wards so we can Disapparate."

"How do you know they're coming up the paths on foot?" asked Ron.

"It's what I'd do."

"But if they're searching the woods…." Hermione began in a fearful voice. "Harry's barely in any state to walk, let alone run or fight. Don't you think we could wait it out until the Aurors arrive? We're quite deep in the forest, and we're not on the path. We're fairly well hidden here."

Cecilia shook her head. "Don't wizards have a spell to reveal if there's a hidden human presence?"

"Yes, but I have also have spells that can counter it."

"If all it takes to hide from the Dark Lord is a few concealment spells, he wouldn't have such a high kill count," Cecilia pointed out. "Think about it. In only a few minutes they somehow put a boundary that blocks magical travel around the entire Aelyn Dionn region, and Gairath knows how far beyond. You yourself said that even the Ministry can't manage it this quickly. Gods, the last time you encountered them they raised two people from the dead. Who knows what else they've done. We cannot stay here."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Ron began to grow angry again. Like Hermione, he didn't want Harry to push himself any more than he already head, increasingly worried that they had drastically set back his recovery. But he also knew that Cecilia was right. To stay and hope the Death Eaters wouldn't find them was a huge gamble.

Hermione looked at Cecilia. "There isn't any goblin spell you could use? What about those goblin Portkeys your brother used to get us to your house?"

"Beacons, not Portkeys, and they don't work like that," Cecilia said. "They can only take you to a place already enchanted for Beacon use, and even then the Beacons must be keyed to that enchantment to work. But there's no such enchantment on my uncle's house."

"Then what good are they?" snarled Ron.

"Besides being almost impossible to block or even detect once they are set up?" Cecilia shot back. "Every magical innovation has its limitations, human."

Ron opened his mouth wanting to retort, but before he could think of any kind of rebuttal, he saw movement, and realised that Harry was struggling to get to his feet. His face was still very pale, and Ron, fearing that he wasn't yet ready to get moving, tried to nudge him back into a resting position, but Harry shrugged him off.

"Stop. I'll be fine," he said in a stronger voice. Seeing the others about to protest, he interrupted, "Cecilia's right. We're not getting anywhere sitting here and arguing about it, and the longer we stay here, the more likely they are to find us."

"Harry, you can barely move," Hermione objected feebly.

Harry shook his head emphatically, and Ron saw a dark look cross his face. "Hermione," he said weakly, "they are here too."

Ron stared at him, momentarily nonplussed, but he saw a sudden fear appear on Hermione's face, and then he himself felt terror lance through his heart as he realised what Harry meant.

"More like the sorcerer in Godric's Hollow," Harry clarified. "I saw them. They are the reason the village surrendered. I think they conjured the barrier that's keeping us from Disapparating. They broke through every ward protecting the temple like they were nothing. For all I know, there might be more searching the woods too. Even if we can hide from the Death Eaters, I don't know if we can hide from them."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then the former looked back at Harry. "Then what do you want to do?" he asked.

"We can't get out magically, so we'll go on foot; and since I can't seem to run, we'll just have to go slowly. We're deep in the forest, and that will make it harder for any Death Eaters flying over the woods to see us. We'll keep off the paths and navigate our way through, and deal with Death Eaters when and if they see us. We'll take it step by step until Cecilia determines we've passed the edge of their wards, and then we'll Disapparate out of here. Sound good?"

Harry glared at them. Cecilia glanced at Ron and Hermione, and asked, "And if we encounter those necromancers?"

"Then we try to fight our way out," Harry said. "We escaped them once, and this time we won't be caught off guard. Maybe we can escape them again."

His resolute expression made it clear to the others that he would brook no further argument. Ron looked at Hermione and Cecilia, and saw their concerned expressions, but after a few seconds' hesitation, he nodded, and so did they. Harry took a few deep breaths, and then he stumbled towards the gap in the branches and looked outside, as did Cecilia. For a moment they simply listened, but they could hear nothing. Harry then glanced at Hedwig, who fluttered form the ground to his outstretched arm, and he looked at her for a moment, and Ron noticed that she seemed significantly more relaxed than before. Seemingly trusting the owl's superior sight and hearing, Harry then stepped out from their hiding place and looked around warily, but nothing happened. They heard and saw nothing, no sign of Death Eaters near enough to detect them, nor, thankfully, any of the so-called necromancers.

Satisfied, Harry looked at Cecilia expectantly, and she said, "If we're not going to use the paths, I'll need to know north."

Hermione drew her wand and laid it on the palm of her hand. "Point me," she whispered.

The wand spun and pointed to their left. Cecilia nodded. "Good. Follow me."

Their movement through the woods was slow. Without a path to follow, they had to make their way through seemingly endless brush, hidden tree roots, and small holes or animal burrows that would make it difficult to move at a decent pace, even if Harry was recovered enough to do so. Though he said nothing and didn't seem to be struggling as hard as before, however, it was clear that between his already weakened condition, the shock of his earlier vision, and the difficulty of the route he had chosen, this was hard on him. Ron saw him stumble several times, causing Hedwig to flap her wings wildly to keep balance on Harry's arm, seemingly unwilling to stray too far from him. The fifth time this happened, Harry fell to one knee, leaning heavily forward and forcing Hedwig to finally let go of his arm, fluttering to the ground and hooting dolefully. But Ron grabbed Harry by his forearm and pulled him to his feet, and again put Harry's arm over his own shoulders to give him extra support. Hermione leaned down to Hedwig and offered her own arm, and the owl blinked at her for a moment, before hesitantly accepting her new perch.

Occasionally Cecilia had to pause and ask them to find north again, but generally she seemed to know where they were going. Sometimes Ron could see clearings in the distance, but they avoided these, not wanting to risk Death Eaters flying overhead and catching them in the open. All the while, Harry's weight started to wear Ron down, but he pushed onward, determined to get him to safety, no matter how exhausted he was when they got there. It couldn't be much further. Then, after he and Harry cautiously stepped over some thin brush, avoiding a batch of stinging nettle as they did, Ron noticed the trees thinning, and the light streaming through the leaves seemed to be getting brighter. Then Cecilia paused.

"I think… wait." She squinted through the trees. "Yes. If I led us right, then there should be a dirt road just ahead. It's about a twenty- or thirty-minute walk to Baarenbrach once we cross it, which hopefully means we'll get past the wards soon." She glanced at Harry apprehensively. "But the road is clear of trees for about forty or fifty feet on either side, so we'll be out in the open. I'll check for Death Eaters, but once we start crossing, we need to be fast." To Harry, she added, "Take a few minutes to catch your breath. Let me know when you're ready."

Harry straightened a bit, raising his arm off Ron's shoulders, and leaned against a tree, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

"How are you doing, mate?" asked Ron, concerned.

Harry looked at him. "I can still hear his voice," he said quietly. "A bit of the Death Eaters too. He's starting to think he's been misled."

"I guess that's a good sign," Ron said, feeling a bit more hopeful. "It means they've found no sign of us. They aren't on to us."

"Maybe." But Harry's face resumed its haunted expression. He didn't look even remotely cheered. "They haven't left the village yet. And they're up to something. Bellatrix sounded excited about it."

Ron's moment of optimism vanished as soon as it appeared. He did not like the sound of that, and nor, it seemed, did Harry. All in all, he hoped that the village constables had managed to alert Danduaith quickly. It's been at least forty minutes. Maybe the Aurors have been alerted by now. Maybe they'll intervene soon.

A minute later, Harry straightened and looked at Cecilia. She nodded, and gestured for them to follow, moving forward at a slow pace. Ron looked at Harry questioningly, but he started forward without his help. The terrain seemed to get more even, and there seemed to be fewer roots and less brush, making the way easier for Harry in particular. Soon Ron could see the clearing ahead, and as they approached, Cecilia looked at them and pressed her fingers against her lips, then beckoned for them to stay low. Then they moved to the edges of the clearing. Cecilia paused for a moment, and then, gesturing for them to stay where they were, she slowly moved out into the open, looking upward, then to the sides, both left and right, seemingly alert to any motion or any unexpected sound. Ron looked out from the trees, examining the gap between sections of forest. He could see the dirt road, and it was surrounded by grass and some brush, but there was no other cover. Cecilia was right; they'd have to move quickly. Then Cecilia suddenly ran through the grass and across the road, before ducking down behind a bush some fifty feet from them. Ron watched apprehensively as Cecilia glanced upwards again, before she looked their way and gestured for them to follow, and the three of them moved out. Ron let Harry take the lead, not wanting to accidentally get too far ahead of him, as they had before. Otherwise he also looked upward at the grey sky, on either side, just as Cecilia had done. Hedwig flew ahead of them, settling on Cecilia's shoulder and looking back at them. They were now thirty feet from the bushes on the other side… twenty… they were at the road…

And Harry screamed.

Ron stopped abruptly, as did Hermione, but Harry collapsed, his hands clutching his forehead, rolling on the dirt road, convulsing violently and screaming as though he were under the Cruciatus Curse once again. Ron seized him under the arms and tried to drag him off the road, and Hermione drew her wand and jabbed it at Harry.

"Silencio!" she cried.

Harry's eyes were tightly shut, and he was arching his back, no longer giving voice to his pain, but his mouth remained wide open in a silent scream. Together Ron and Hermione tried to hoist Harry up and carry him the rest of the way, but then they heard Hedwig screech in alarm.

"Death Eater!" Cecilia cried.

Ron and Hermione looked up, and to their utter horror, they could clearly see someone on a broomstick flying towards them, fast. Ron and Hermione set Harry down and both drew wands. Cecilia stood and raised her hands threateningly, magical energy starting to pulse from her fingers, but as the Death Eater came into clearer view he suddenly slowed, and then abruptly turned the broom and flew away. Their spells missed.

"Shit!" Ron snarled, knowing the Death Eater would soon be out of range, and with the obvious intent of alerting others.

Then an ear-splitting pop echoed in the clearing, making them jump. Then another pop, and a third, and the Death Eater jerked and cried out. To Ron's amazement, he leaned to the side and slid off his broom, which sailed off at a trajectory into the forest. The Death Eater, however, fell a good fifty feet, landing near the road with a horrible crunch. Ron and Hermione stared, and then looked further down the road where the unexpected sounds came from. A minute later, they saw someone run around a bend in the road.

"It's Grimrook!" Ron said, relieved.

Cecilia ran out from the bush. But rather than go to meet her brother, she went to Harry, who continued to silently scream and flail on the road. Cecilia pressed her fingers to Harry's neck, and her eyes widened.

"Hermione, your bag!" she cried. "Now!"

Hermione lowered her bag beside Cecilia, who immediately opened it and began rummaging through it. As she did, Grimrook ran forward to meet hem, stowing away his revolver, and his eyes also widened in horror as he saw Harry. "What in Laelit's name… what's wrong with him?" he asked anxiously.

Ron opened his mouth, but said nothing, uncertain where to start. Cecilia, meanwhile, pulled a potion bottle from the bag and read the label, before she tossed it aside and plunged back into the bag. A moment later she let out a triumphant cry and pulled out another potion bottle, and before anyone could ask what she was doing, she tipped Harry's head back and poured some of the contents of the bottle into his open mouth. Ron saw Harry gag, coughing, but Cecilia clamped her hand over his mouth and muttered a goblin incantation, and he saw Harry swallow. Then, quite suddenly, Harry slumped down, his face still screwed up in agony, but at least he no longer appeared to be screaming.

"What did you do?" Hermione said, astonished.

Cecilia gave no answer for a moment, instead keeping her fingers on his neck, frowning in concentration. Then she exhaled, and stood up, looking rather shaken. Grimrook stepped forward with a questioning expression, and then she pulled him into a tight embrace.

"You went to the village," she said. "I thought"—

Grimrook nodded. "I was there," he said quietly. "Got away. I found the house empty, and when I realised they were blocking Disapparation, I figured you'd head this way." He then pulled away from his sister and looked back towards the fallen Death Eater, who they could see lying crumpled beside the road.

"That was an incredible shot," Cecilia remarked, amazed.

Grimrook shook his head. "I have good aim, but that was pure luck." He squinted at the unmoving Death Eater, and added, "I doubt he survived that, but there might be more. We need to go. Now."

He helped Ron hoist Harry upwards, and together they half dragged him the rest of the way across the clearing and into the other section of woods, Hermione and Cecilia behind them, keeping an eye out for more Death Eaters. Harry continued to convulse, but they kept a firm hold of him, and after a few minutes they arrived at a small brook, and Grimrook stopped. Ron looked back. They were again safely hidden in the forest, the road no longer visible. Hedwig fluttered next to Harry, watching him closely.

"So what happened?" asked Grimrook quickly. "Is it the… connection… he told us about?"

Ron nodded, and whispered helplessly, "I've never seen it this bad." Looking at Cecilia, he asked, "How did you stop it? What was that potion?"

Cecilia shook her head. "I didn't stop it," she said. "I gave him a draught to slow his heart. It was accelerating fast. Another minute and he would have gone into cardiac arrest again."

They were quiet for a minute, digesting that. Ron started to feel very faint.

"Unfortunately," Cecilia continued, "it means he's likely completely trapped in his vision. The draught's keeping his adrenaline from rising too much, but that means it will be harder for him to pull out. Whatever he's seeing, he can't stop."

Ron looked at Hermione. She had tears streaming down her face.

"Are we still within the anti-Disapparation boundary?" Grimrook asked Cecilia.

She checked her instrument, and nodded grimly.

"It can't be much farther," her brother said. "Or they'll have encompassed several magical settlements. Not the best way to avoid drawing the Aurors' attention."

"Assuming that was their intention," sighed Cecilia. "But that wouldn't make any sense unless they thought they wouldn't take long."

"Still, I don't see why they would have extended it as far as Baarenbrach, if their object was simply to keep Harry from Disapparating," Grimrook argued. "From here it's still, what, thirty minutes to Baarenbrach? It can't be far."

He looked at Harry helplessly as he spoke, but he remained catatonic. His scar had turned blood-red, and the skin around it looked red and inflamed. Ron dipped his hand into the stream and gently splashed some cool water onto Harry's face, particularly on his scar, hoping it would give him at least a little relief. Meanwhile, Hedwig gently nipped at his hair and shoulder. Harry moved his head from side to side, his face contorting with great pain, but he did not awaken. Ron looked back at Hermione. "It's really bad, whatever they're doing."

Hermione said nothing, seemingly lost for words. Then she looked at Grimrook and Cecilia. "You're sure we're going the right way? I don't know how much more of this he can take."

"We're definitely going the right way," Cecilia said. "This brook"—she pointed—"should merge with a larger stream, which runs right through Baarenbrach. All we really need to do is follow it, although I can scout ahead until I find the edge of their wards. Rok's right, it's probably not much further."

"And then?" Grimrook asked. "We don't want anyone there to see us. How are we going to get them into Uncle Grobschmied's house unseen?" At his sister's silence, he sighed and said, "Well, I suppose we'll have to gauge how many people are out when we get there. It looks like it's about to start raining, so hopefully there won't be many out anyway. And if there are… well, we'll just have to think of something."

"And I suppose we'll have to try to get in touch with Gadlak as soon as possible," Cecilia said.

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"Uncle Grobschmied's house isn't very suitable as a hideout, even a temporary one," Cecilia said. "It's not remote from the rest of the village, like our house was. And like all magical homes it's protected from people simply Apparating inside, so just getting you in there unseen might be tricky. Apart from Rok's flat, which I assume is burning with the rest of Aelyn Dionn, neither we nor my uncle own any other properties, and we need to get you to a better location as soon as possible. I know my uncle is wary of using Gadlak's properties when he has so many people watching his movements, but I think, at least for now, he's got the best resources for your relocation."

"Contacting Gadlak might not be that simple," Grimrook interrupted. "The moment news of this attack gets out, the whole of Tylwthteg will be in uproar. Trawlak's going to assemble the entire Council for an emergency meeting, deciding how to respond. Even if Gadlak's not stuck in Danduaith with the rest of the Council, he tends to act as a go-between for the Council and the Ministry, so they'll be vying for his attention too. We may have to camp out at Uncle Grobschmied's for a while, help Harry recover from this… attack. If we can get everyone there unseen, it should be relatively safe, as long as you three"—he looked at Ron, Hermione, and the prone, motionless Harry—"remain indoors, and don't do anything to draw outside attention."

Cecilia nodded. "Once can only hope it's enough"—

Behind them, a twig snapped. Ron's head snapped in its direction so hard he felt his neck pop. Then he saw something fast and dark move in the trees, and he ducked.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Ron saw a flash of green light and felt something rush past him, but a loud crack and a shower of wood splinters told him the curse had missed. He drew his wand and brandished it forward wildly, but then—

"Expelliarmus!"

Ron saw a wand fly out of sight, while its wielder was lifted from the ground and hurled into a tree, before sliding to the ground, unmoving. Surprised, Ron looked back towards the brook, and to his amazement, Harry was slowly getting to his feet, his wand aimed at the unconscious Death Eater. He looked very pale and clammy, however, and Ron could see his wand shaking violently in his hand. He swayed, looking very sick, but Cecilia stepped forward and steadied him. Hermione, meanwhile, ran forward to Ron, her eyes wide and her face white with fear.

"Are you all right?" she cried.

"Yeah," Ron said faintly, looking from the Death Eater to the blackened tree his curse had struck. Its trajectory crossed exactly where Ron had been standing only seconds ago. "Bloody hell. That was close."

"If you hadn't ducked right then…." breathed Grimrook.

Ron said nothing, still in shock, and Hermione let out a small sob, before she flung her arms around him, gripping him tightly. For what seemed like ages, they stood like that, Hermione desperately embracing Ron, as he processed just how close to death he had come, before Harry made a small noise of protest that drew both their attention.

"Stop," he said, and Ron looked around to see Cecilia trying to coax him into a sitting position. "Please. I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Cecilia said firmly. "You're a lot of things, and fine is not one of them."

"There might be more," Harry said feebly.

"We'll deal with them," said Grimrook.

"No," Harry said again. "Please." Ron, still shaken, was nonetheless startled at the desperation in his voice. Hermione, hearing it too, stepped away from him, looking at Harry in consternation. "I have to help," he said. "I have to be useful. I have to… to do… something."

Then he curled into a foetal position and buried his face into his hands, his whole frame shaking with quiet, anguished sobs. The others looked at each other, disquieted.

"The villagers?" Cecilia finally asked fearfully. Hermione's hands flew to her mouth in horror.

"They're dead," Harry whispered, so faintly that they could barely hear him. "They're all dead. The men, the ones who tried to defend the village, they lined them up and executed them in the street. Then they… oh God."

Harry swallowed, crying quietly, while the others waited in fearful anticipation. Grimrook stepped closer and stooped until he was eye-level with him.

"Then they what?" he asked in a hard voice. "What did they do?"

"Does it matter?" asked Harry. "It's the same either way. They're all dead."

"No, I must know," Grimrook insisted. "I grew up in that village. I knew nearly everyone there. I lost my parents there. It's a part of me. What did Voldemort do to them?"

For a moment, it looked as though Harry would refuse to say anything further. His face was strained, his mouth firmly shut, and he seemed to positively shudder at Grimrook's demand. But then, in a rush, the words came spilling out.

"Lestrange and the others forced the rest of the village, the women and children, into the temple and locked them inside, and then they set the temple on fire," Harry said bitterly as Cecilia and Hermione gasped. "They killed anyone who tried to escape through a window and kept throwing fire spells until the whole building was burning, with hundreds trapped inside. They made sure they allburned. But the worst of it…." He swallowed, leaving the others with an impossible sense of greater foreboding, unable to imagine worse. "...the worst of it, those horrible sorcerers, those necromancers, were doing something else to the villagers as they died. They'd cast some sort of ward around the temple, and as it burned they were drawing… something… from it, siphoning it into those orbs they carry. Some kind of… and the whole time, it was screaming." He shivered, and looked at Ron and Hermione with a haunted expression. "They took… they… God, I think they took their souls."

He then stopped, seemingly unable to say more, leaving a dead silence except the rustling of the wind, the rushing of the brook, and the gentle pitter-patter of rain meeting the leaves overhead.

"I need to help," Harry finally managed. "I need to do something, anything. I can't think about it right now."

Ron felt nauseous, stunned at what Harry had just told them. If he'd been afraid of the alleged necromancers before, it was nothing next to the sickening fear he felt now. Until now, he couldn't possibly have imagined worse than the Death Eaters' murderous campaign or Voldemort's selfish pursuit of immortality. To him, such callous, wanton cruelty was impossible to fathom. Yet here it was, stark in Harry's words.

Beside him, Hermione started to cry too, overcome with horror and grief, perhaps feeling, as Ron did, that this called into question everything they thought they knew about the magical world. Cecilia looked completely lost for words, and only stared at Harry in mute shock. But Grimrook's face contorted with sudden fury, and without warning he stormed over to the unconscious Death Eater. Ron hesitated, and then followed him, reaching them just as Grimrook ripped the Death Eater's mask off, revealing a pale face with a large nose and a square jaw, and a mess of dark blonde hair.

"I don't recognise him," Ron said.

"No matter." Grimrook felt the Death Eater's neck. "He's still alive. Just knocked out." He then stood, and drew his gun.

"You're going to kill him?" Ron asked, alarmed.

"Any reason I shouldn't?" asked Grimrook coldly.

Ron had gotten used to Grimrook's unusually imposing size and build, which put him on par with the average human; but until now he had never truly appreciated how intimidating the normally poise and polite goblin truly could be. The rage in Grimrook's face was terrifying, leaving no doubt that in that moment he was absolutely capable of murdering the unconscious Death Eater then and there. Ron swallowed, but had nothing to say. Not after what Harry had just told them. For a few tense moments, Grimrook pointed the revolver directly between the Death Eater's eyes, and then he let out an angry curse in the goblin language, and put the weapon away. "He's damn lucky I don't think he's worth my last round," he snarled. Then he looked at the others. "Tie him up, and put an anti-Disapparation jinx on him. We'll take him with us. See if we can't figure out what spawn of Morach told Voldemort Harry Potter was in Aelyn Dionn. And make sure he can't possibly touch that Mark on his arm." Almost as an afterthought he added, "And keep him unconscious, if you can. Even—no, especially—if it means kicking him in the head if he starts to wake up."

Ron nodded and cautiously rolled the Death Eater to the side so one of his hands fell neatly behind his back, then rolled him back and laid his left hand across his chest, making sure his hands couldn't come in direct contact with each other. Then he pointed his wand at the Death Eater and muttered, "Incarcerous." At once ropes spun around the Death Eater, binding him tightly. Hermione joined them and also began placing spells on their new captive, whispering incantation Ron didn't recognise but assumed were the anti-Disapparation jinxes Grimrook had ordered them to cast. Ron then looked back at Harry, who had gotten to his feet again, watching them numbly, still looking very pale.

Hermione then stepped back, her job done, and for a moment, they simply stared at the Death Eater. Then Ron heard a strange, distant rumble, and suddenly a mild tremor rolled through the ground, causing him to stumble. "What the"—

But just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

"Did that come from the village?" asked Hermione in consternation?

"No," Grimrook said. "It was more widespread."

Then they heard a distant crack. Then another, and another, pops not unlike the sound Grimrook's revolver made. Then Ron realised that they were hearing the sound of Disapparation. The Death Eaters were leaving. Cecilia's eyes lit up, and she raised her instrument again, taking readings. Then she sighed and relaxed, smiling in relief. The wards confining them to the Aelyn Dionn region were down at last.

---

Author's note:

This is a chapter that I had to go through several different drafts of before I was satisfied. In some ways, I was hesitant to post it as it is; but in the end I decided to go with this draft because of the difference in tone and pace that Penumbra is supposed to be from Harry Potter. When I began the original outline for Penumbra, way back in 2006 when I was too impatient to wait for Book 7, it became fairly clear to me that this was going to be a series of stories, not a single novel, and I felt that the best way to handle that was to raise the stakes… a lot. On a scale from 1 to 10, the stakes in Harry Potter are at about an 8 or a 9. In Penumbra, I'm cranking those stakes up to 100, and this chapter is meant to bring across why the stakes are now so much higher than they were at the end of Half-Blood Prince. This alternate ending I've been working on since I was in high school, Penumbra, is a war story, and I fully intend to make it a war story, including the atrocities of war.

In the earliest drafts I had intended for the whole chapter, minus the opening with Gadlak and Grobschmied, to be from Harry's point of view; but the third vision he has, the one with the massacre of Aelyn Dionn, in the end, was a little too much to describe in a POV shot, even for me. It's a horrific scene that I was more comfortable having Harry recount to the others, rather than actually show. So I decided to have the second half of the chapter be from Ron's perspective.