Chapter Twenty-Three: A Darkness for Children
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Harry had come by early in the morning. Too early for a proper visit. She'd known from the first flare of the Floo that the news would be bad.
"Can I drop by?" His voice had sounded weary as his pale face peeked out of the fire, too weary even for early morning. It carried the sort of tiredness Hermione associated with nights too dark for sleep. She'd been in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and a thousand questions that seemed to have no answers at all. It was not yet seven in the morning.
"Of course." Her response had been instantaneous, a sharper fear flaring to life in her chest. Had something else happened? Was Ella all right? What else could possibly merit such an early visit from Harry, who was prone to not stumbling into the Auror office until ten some days despite his senior position. By all accounts, hardly better than Ron. Still, she had never expected the words that actually came out of his mouth.
He talked for a long time. Long enough for the clouds outside to break apart and the kitchen to fill properly with light, and for Hermione to realize she was horribly late to work, and that it was entirely unimportant.
"Oh, Harry," she'd whispered when he was done, her voice breaking as her mind swirled. Beside her, Ron sat dumbfounded, his face growing so pale she worried about dragging him straight back to St. Mungo's.
"What do you mean?" Ron had managed. "How can he not be entirely, totally dead, and maybe, possibly alive? What the hell do you mean, you might have to let him kill you. What the bloody hell, Harry? This isn't funny."
"It's no joke, Ron," Harry had all but whispered. "Snape said as much—"
"Snape." Ron's face drew into a twisted scowl.
"And Ella confirmed it. It's in their books. It all happened before."
"This is mental. Bloody mental."
"But, Harry, how can this be possible?" Hermione whispered weakly. "Dumbledore talked about this. About the shift in the timeline and the separation between that world and ours. The trajectory is different. Things cannot be happening the same way they happened there."
"But they aren't." Harry rubbed at his weary eyes, and when he spoke his voice was painfully, hopelessly flat. "Don't you see? The timeline is different. It's changed. But this is happening. Dumbledore's dead. It was that ring that killed him, not Rookwood. Snape confirmed that much. And Voldermort's body is gone. I saw that with my own eyes. And my scar, Hermione. It's… hurting again."
And there had been no denying it after that.
She remembered crying, though she had tried not to. She couldn't help it. As much as she had spent her entire life relying on logic to have the answers she needed, emotion had always come first. Especially with things like this. And, really, it was just horrible. It was bad enough already what had happened at the Department of Mysteries and spiraled utterly out of control. Bad enough that Harry and Ella were dealing with cancer instead of the baby they had lost. And now these… horcruxes. She hadn't ever even heard of them. And with them, the possible return of Voldemort. And worse, Harry.
Her heart nearly broke in half when she thought about Harry. Harry dying… No, there had to be another way. She refused to believe that it all came down to this, after everything. She would do whatever it took. If the answer existed, she would find it. The world had never before failed to give her an answer when she'd looked hard enough.
For the first time she could remember, she thought about owling off work. If there was ever a time the world would be better served by not wasting away the hours at her desk below ground, it was surely now. Ron had only just gotten out of St. Mungo's, after all. Kingsley would understand. But Harry had shaken his head at her proposal to devote the day to research.
"Rob's putting together paperwork to get into the Lestrange family vault. He'll need your help to get it through. Mysteries doesn't have that kind of reach with Gringotts."
And now, three painful hours of self doubt later, Robert sat across from her in one of the many small conference rooms on the first floor, fiddling with his quill, while she read through the Request for Vault Access he had put together for the bank. The last time Robert had found her in this way, she had discovered that Brycetown was Little Hangleton. Her only consolation now was that the discovering portion of the day was already done. Though that didn't particularly make any of it better.
"It's good." She let go of the parchments, and they settled on the table, curling slightly at the edges. She stared at them, her eyes stinging slightly, until the neat words began to blur together in that telltale way that promised a downpour of tears. She bit her lip.
"Are you all right?" Robert asked.
"No." She sighed, dropping her face into her hands. "I just can't believe this is happening. Honestly, I can't wrap my mind around it. And Harry…"
"I know." He glanced carefully around the room, but the glass walls were as thick as ever. Still, he lowered his voice. "This is mad. You know, back then when we read about this happening, it was already horrifying. And even then, we thought we'd gotten off easy; with the Union, I mean. It was horrible, but so many deaths avoided compared to what could have happened. We had a whole discussion on it, you know? Ella was even hoping Harry would end up with Ginny."
Hermione let out an amused breath, and the tightness in her chest loosened by degrees. "There was a moment where Ron and I considered the same."
Robert's mouth curled into a shadow of a smile. "And then we came back… and everything was all right. All perfectly magical. No Voldemort. No… horcruxes." He glanced around at the glass walls again, and Hermione felt her stomach clench. "I don't know," he added in a whisper. "God, Hermione, I wish it weren't true. I wish I could shove it out of sight and forget about it. But that… that isn't a place where you can stay. You try, but the world keeps turning, and even if you shut it out, it doesn't change what's happened."
Robert's voice broke and faded into silence, and she reached out to gently squeeze his arm. "I'm sorry."
"No." He shook his head. "We've always been the realists, Hermione. The logical ones. This is how things are. And we can't sit and brood. We need to find a solution. It makes you feel better too, doesn't it? Problem solving."
"I mean, yes, of course. And I won't stop looking," she promised, her voice shaking slightly. "But, Rob, what if there's no solution? I just keep thinking about Harry sacrificing himself, and it's horrible." Her voice shook, and the horror of it all squeezed around her again. Constricting her lungs until she could barely draw breath. "And I'll look. We'll all look. Even Snape is looking. But what if it isn't enough?"
She felt the tears sting her eyes again and squeezed them shut, wiping them away with angry fingers. Robert was silent beside her. "What if we can't save Harry?"
She wished she hadn't spoken the words, because now she could barely hold back the tears that threatened to flood down her cheeks. She needed to get past this. To shove her heart away and focus on the problem at hand. Facts. Logic. Research. She would start there, with the books that had always held the answers.
"Even in that world, Harry survived," Robert said gently. "Do you think that now, with all these years and all this knowledge, we won't find the answer?"
"I don't know," she whispered honestly. "But I know I won't stop trying. For Harry."
"Good." Robert managed the smallest of smiles. "We're doing what we can. And we can start with this. We have to get to that horcrux. Before someone else does."
"Right." She felt a cold chill steal down her arms, and she reached over and picked up the parchments once again. "I'll stamp this and send it off to Gringotts. We should hear back by tomorrow. I just hope Kingsley doesn't get wind of this. I don't know how I'd explain it."
"A request for access from the Department of Mysteries? Don't you have the jurisdiction to approve something like this?"
"Yes," she hedged, "but everything related to Mysteries these days is under the microscope."
"I see. Well then, let's hope he doesn't find out." Robert stood, straightening his robes. "I better get out of here then, before your team starts asking questions."
"Wait." She grabbed hold of his sleeve. He paused, glancing back at her. "I'd like to read them."
"The books." It wasn't a question.
She nodded. "You have the only set, don't you? Besides Ella."
His eyes held hers for a moment, studying her. "Are you sure?" he asked finally. "You might not like what you find."
That gave her pause, but only for a moment. It was a well of research she couldn't afford to ignore, no matter what secrets it held in its pages. If there was something… something about her? Something she would find disappointing? But no, it didn't matter. Not compared to helping Harry. "Yes. I need to know what we're up against."
He nodded. "I'll bring them by tonight." And he was gone.
She read all night. At first, she tried to skim. To focus on the parts Robert referenced as key. She read through Harry's exchange with the memory of Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, and made detailed notes about basilisk venom through teary eyes; because Voldemort was so fucking cruel, and poor, poor Ginny. And poor Harry had been only twelve, and already so brave, so willing to sacrifice. And Merlin, it just wasn't fair. Was this how the Harry she knew, their Harry, had felt back then? It near broke her heart. She opened Half-Blood Prince, and skimmed through pages and pages of Harry and Dumbledore conversing and looking at memories. Discussing horcruxes and Tom Riddle. But there were things that didn't make sense. That didn't line up with the reality she knew. And when she opened Deathly Hallows, it was all even more profoundly unclear. Finally she put it aside, picked up Philosopher's Stone and started again. From the beginning. By the time the sun rose to stab at her exhausted, puffy eyes, she was two chapters from the end. She finished them slowly, squinting as the sun flared across the pages, making them painfully, blindingly bright. And then she carefully shut the book, lowered her face into her hands, and wept.
That was how Ron found her, when he ambled into the kitchen some half hour later, walking gingerly with his arm pressed tight against his side.
"Hermione?" he asked softly, and she shook her head, not able to find any words that were near good enough as she wiped firmly at her eyes. As she tried to force herself back together, though she wasn't sure if the pieces would ever really fit again. Ron stepped away, and she heard his shuffling footsteps. The hum of the grinder. A trace of the fresh scent of coffee. Then he settled into the chair beside her, sliding a steaming cup carefully her way across the book-strewn table.
"Thanks," she whispered, her voice barely holding itself together. She drew in a shaking breath, and he leaned over, placing a kiss against her temple.
"Are they so horrible?" he asked quietly.
"No," she admitted. "Not yet. Harry's just gone home for the summer. He's excited about tormenting the Dursleys with the idea of magic. Even though he's not allowed."
"Ah," Ron said fondly. "I remember that."
She picked up the cup and took a grateful sip. "I remember the Dursleys locked him away that summer, and you, Fred, and George had to rescue him."
"Yeah." Ron looked thoughtful. "They were horrible Muggles."
"Horrible people," she corrected, though her heart wasn't really in it. She thought about how Vernon Dursley had locked a ten-year old child away in a cupboard as punishment, and her heart burned with fury. These were things Harry had never really spoken about. Not in any sort of detail. And now she felt simultaneously angry and heartbroken, and like she was doing something horribly improper. Spying on his private life in an entirely unprecedented way. It shouldn't have been possible. She couldn't comprehend how these books could exist, with all their wealth of details. And for children, no less. Sprinkled with comic relief and pretty magic, as if the feelings that wove their pages weren't heartbreaking and dark and so very hard. How much of the heart of them was real? What a cruel joke of the universe. No wonder Harry had never dared to read them.
"Did you come to bed at all?" Ron asked, his voice gentle.
She shook her head. "I have to read all these, as soon as possible. They don't make sense if I just skim the important bits. I have to analyze it whole."
He didn't object. "Is there anything I can do?"
She smiled at that. At Ron being helpful. Trying. "Not with this."
"And what if I want to read them, too?" he pressed. "Wouldn't it help if we all knew what we were up against?"
"Don't," she said, shaking her head. The motion made her forehead ache, and she rubbed wearily at her puffy eyes. "I think you're better off not knowing."
"Why?" He frowned, uncomprehending. "I reckon the more eyes we have on this, the better. Besides, I always wanted to read these. Bit wild, isn't it?"
"Just trust me." She rose wearily to her feet. "Wild isn't good."
"All right." He contemplated her. "Are you going to work? You haven't even slept."
"I'm expecting to hear back from Gringotts today. We need to get into that vault."
"But, Hermione—"
"I'll be fine, Ron." She picked up years two and three and slipped them into her bag along with her notebook. She contemplated taking the rest, but the sheer size of them seemed daunting. She wouldn't get that far today. No use carrying them around. "I'll pick up an Invigoration Draught at the Atrium Shop."
"Hermione, that's not really a substitute for sleep…"
"Like you haven't used it every time you have a late night." She downed the rest of her coffee and headed to the bedroom to change. Ron followed her.
"And that's why I know exactly—"
"Ron, I'm taking the potion," she snapped, her exhaustion turning to irritation and lashing out like a whip. "I don't have time to sleep, all right? We need to find and destroy the horcruxes before something else horrible happens."
"All right," Ron said in a measured voice, raising his hands in surrender. "Just be careful."
Her heart softened. "I will. And you rest, so you can get back to work. Harry and Dan need you."
"I know." Ron's face tightened. "I love you, Hermione."
"I love you, too." She watched him for a bit, guilt snaking through her as she thought of how sharp she had been. As she wondered if, perhaps, there were things she was to blame for as well. But she didn't have time to examine them now, with everything else looming quite so large. Instead she turned away and stepped into the bathroom.
Something dark was coming. And she had to be ready to meet it when it did.
The owl came in at three in the afternoon. By the time it arrived, she was stressed to the nines. She had considered owling Gringotts three separate follow-up letters, and had only resisted because the sliver of logic she hadn't quite managed to drown out insisted that if she did so, Gringotts would suspect. She wasn't sure what they would suspect, exactly. But it was best that no one had cause to suspect anything. And that meant following protocol. Waiting for Gringotts to respond in whatever time they deemed fit.
She could hardly focus on her work, though. Not when her mind was swirling with thoughts of Rookwood and Voldemort and Harry dying. After several fruitless attempts, she collected the wand reports that their office had been analyzing in collaboration with the Auror office, informed Kingsley that she was going down to help with the investigation, and vanished to the enclosed rooftop garden, which was blissfully free of occupants. There, she settled at one of the empty tables, set down the box, pulled out Chamber of Secrets, and began to read. And that was where the owl had found her.
Thank you, the note read, Sr. Advisor Granger, for your inquiry. While we, of course, graciously offer our assistance and our vaults to the Ministry of Magic upon request, I do not believe I have ever had the pleasure of fielding such a petition from the esteemed Department of Mysteries. Although the vault in question and its assets have been requisitioned by the Ministry and are free for access with your seal of approval, I must admit, I am most curious as to what in Madam Lestrange's vault could possibly be of interest to Unspeakable Murphie. But, of course, we at Gringotts would never think to impede or question a Ministry investigation. Especially considering the delicate state of affairs at the D.O.M. Even if such a request should, by all manner of propriety, be handled by the Auror Office. However, please rest assured that I will grant your request for access. Kindly present the enclosed paperwork upon your arrival to the bank, and one of our colleagues will bring you down to the vault.
Hermione rolled her eyes, collected her things, and tore off to Two in search of Harry.
She found him in the corridor when she burst out of the stairwell, much too full of nervous energy to wait for the slow moving lift. He was walking toward the Auror office with Ernie and turned at the sound of her voice and hurried footsteps.
"What happened?" she gasped, her eyes sliding across the cut on his cheek. He self-consciously brushed a hand against it.
"Nothing. There was an incident in Barnton. We got word that it was Rookwood—"
"You've got him?"
"No," Ernie said, his voice dripping with disappointment. "Just a disgruntled Dishwasher at the Potted Kettle. We got him." He shrugged. "Fat lot of good that'll do us…"
He trailed off into an angry mutter, and Hermione took in their disheveled appearances. Harry had another cut on his ear, and Ernie's robes were torn above the elbows. "Are you both all right?" she asked.
"Fine," Harry said dully. He was barely making eye contact with her, the vivid green of his eyes pale beneath the bland lights. Something hot and prickly seeped through her chest and she swallowed.
"What did you need?" Harry asked.
"I've got it," she said, shooting him a significant glance. Harry didn't ask for clarification.
"Tell Robards I've got to take care of something?" he asked, turning to Ernie.
Ernie hesitated, glancing between them. "Can I help?"
"No, it's… it's personal," Harry said, his eyes falling into shadow. And Ernie nodded and voiced no more protests.
"I'll let him know." He hurried away, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
"Gringotts approved the request?" he asked her quietly.
She nodded. "I sent Rob a message to meet us there. I didn't think you'd want to wait."
"You're right." He hurried back down the corridor, and she turned to follow him.
"Dan?" she asked.
"Still at the Kettle. Did you want to bring him?"
She shook her head. "No. Gringotts will probably make a fuss if we all show up. Better keep it small. We'll regroup once we've got the… it." She shot Harry a quick glance. His mouth was set into a thin line, his expression hard and unreadable enough to break her heart to pieces. He said nothing, his silence carrying them down to the Floo until it was indiscernible beneath the hiss of the flames.
Robert was waiting outside Gringotts when they arrived, and joined them as they hurried up the marble stairs. A uniformed goblin bowed them through the burnished bronze doors and they found themselves in the small and empty entrance hall. They paused, Harry drawing in a barely audible breath, and Hermione withdrew the papers from her bag and shuffled through them before wordlessly passing them to Robert. Her eyes swept across the words carved into the silver doors ahead.
Enter, stranger, but take heed.
"Are you ready for this?" Robert asked them quietly.
She nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be." Harry said nothing.
"It sure beats breaking in, I suppose," Robert said with a small smile, and then he pushed open the doors and they stepped through into the hall.
It was beautiful. She glanced up unwittingly, as she did every time she stepped inside the bank, her eyes drawn to the perfect marble columns and open ceiling. Much like Hogwarts' Great Hall, Gringotts's main floor never failed to impress her. She had little time to appreciate its architecture at present, however. Robert was already confidently striding toward the counter at the far wall and Harry and Hermione hurried to keep pace. Robert stopped before a free goblin, who looked up politely.
"May I help you?"
"Please," Robert said, sliding the papers across the counter. "We're here from the Ministry. I have an approved Request for Access to enter the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange."
The goblin glanced over the documents, a small frown working across his features, before looking back up. "Very well. You have identification?"
Robert withdrew his wand and laid it carefully on the polished wood of the counter. Hermione watched the goblin pick it up and run it through the wand scanner. He glanced at the paper it spit out before offering the wand back to Robert.
"Unspeakable Murphie," he said with a nod. "I am Ricbert. I will take you down to the vault. And your companions…?"
"Senior Advisor Hermione Granger and Senior Auror Harry Potter."
Ricbert eyed them all with some consideration before rising to his feet. He reached beneath the counter and withdrew a leather bag that jangled with every motion. Hermione fumed at the sight of it, biting down on her lip so hard she nearly tasted blood.
"Very well," Ricbert said. "If you'll follow me."
He led them through one of the many doors that led off the hall and into the narrow passageway where flaming torches lined the walls and a set of tracks led down into the shadows beneath the earth. Ricbert commandeered a cart and it took off at breakneck speed, pulling them deep down into the bowels of Gringotts.
It was the longest she had ever spent in a Gringotts cart. Nearly ten minutes at her count. By the time it drew to a shuddering halt and they stumbled out to face the dragon, she was nearly too queasy to feel the proper amount of indignation at its horrid conditions of enslavement. Though she recovered as Ricbert reached into the leather bag and pulled out an assortment of small metal instruments. They made a horrible ringing clatter as he forced a pair into her hands.
"Shake them," Ricbert instructed, raising his own to demonstrate as the pale dragon focused on them, its nose sniffing hopefully at the dank air, and strained against the heavy cuffs that chained it to the wall. It let out a horrible roar, and she felt it deep in her chest. It echoed through the cavern, the rocky walls shaking slightly around them.
She watched in frustration as Harry and Robert both raised their own Clankers, until the sound echoed off the walls like a hundred hammers striking iron. The dragon let out another roar — fire busting from its nostrils to blaze against the wall, its heat washing over them — but where the first one had been angry, this was a piteous sound. She could feel the pain of it resonating in her own chest. And the dragon drew back, trembling. In the flickering torchlight of the cavern, she could see the scars that marred its pale skin. Criss-crossing across translucent scales that had paled from lack of sunlight. God, that poor dragon. When had it last seen the sun? Tasted the crisp freshness of the air? Her vision flashed red with fury.
"Stop," she gasped, her hands shaking. Her Clankers fell to the floor, the sound lost to the cacophony around them. "Stop, you're hurting it!"
"Don't be a fool!" Ricbert cried, advancing on the dragon, which backed away further. Several doors were just visible on the far wall behind it. "Do you want to die, Senior Advisor? Pick up your Clankers!"
She shook her head, though no one was looking to see, and her eyes filled with angry tears. The dragon backed further away, until its wings brushed the rock wall and a shower of loose stones broke off to crash at their feet. Harry jumped back to avoid it, and the dragon let out another soft roar and curled in on itself, turning away from them until they could see nothing but its vast wings. They were enormous. Far too big to expand fully in the cavern. She stood frozen, sick to her stomach.
Ricbert lowered his Clankers and pressed his palm to the wooden door at the far end of the cavern. It melted away, revealing a cave-like opening. Beyond it, she could see the sparkle of jewels and precious metals.
"Hurry!" Ricbert said urgently, but she stood still. Her eyes trained on the dragon, which was still trying to bury itself into the rock wall.
"Hermione!" Harry hissed, stepping back to grab her arm. "C'mon!"
She shook her head, the tears brimming over and trailing down her cheeks. "It's horrible," she managed.
"I know." Robert had appeared at her other side. "But we have to do this."
"You can fight it later." Harry raised his Clankers again as the dragon shifted away from the wall with another horrible roar, and pulled her forward. She found her feet, stumbling after him, and they piled inside the vault. Ricbert hurried in after them, and the door sealed shut again with a dull clunk, plunging them into darkness. Silently, Harry and Robert lit their wands. Ricbert turned to them, lowering his Clankers.
"Have you lost your mind?" he panted. "I told you, if you don't force it back, the dragon will kill you. It will set you on fire, roast you, and have you for lunch, Madam."
"You can't keep this dragon here like this!" Hermione spat, regaining her composure. "It's animal abuse! How would you like it if someone chained you up in an underground dungeon and stabbed you with burning swords?!"
Ricbert took a calming breath, put his Clankers carefully away, and then met her eyes. His expression was unreadable, though she could see the way his pupils glittered in the wandlight. "You overstep yourself, Senior Advisor. You forget where you are. The Ministry has no authority over internal affairs at Gringotts."
"Just you wait," Hermione said coolly. "Once the Creature Protection Act passes the Wizengamot, you'll have to let the dragon go. It'll be taken to a sanctuary."
Ricbert was unimpressed, and when he spoke, his voice was nearly as cool as her own. "You would do well not to threaten me. Just because we have chosen to approve your request to search this vault, does not mean we can't withdraw it. It is, after all, terribly odd that an Unspeakable is here at all. And accompanied by a Senior Auror and a Senior Advisor to the Minister, all part of the Famous Six." His lip curled. "How peculiar. Tell me, Madam Granger, is this little trip sanctioned by the Ministry at all, or is this some self-indulgent side project?"
A cold flash of anxiety shot through her anger, cooling it considerably. She only just managed to keep the concern off her face. "Of course it's sanctioned. Are you really suggesting I'd put my seal on something so unofficial? Go ahead and check with the Minister. I'm sure he won't be bothered at all by the interruption to his day."
Ricbert scowled at her, and she matched his expression. The silence stretched, growing tenser by the second, before he turned away with a scoff. He raised a hand, and the vault began to glow, shimmering with a golden aura that seemed to have no discernible source. "Just take what you need and get out."
"Don't worry, we will." She stalked away from the furious goblin to find Harry and Robert staring at her.
"Merlin, Hermione," Harry said weakly, lowering his wand. "Can't you—"
"No," she said shortly. "I'm sorry, I can't. It isn't right, keeping that dragon chained up like that."
"I don't disagree with you," Robert said quietly. "But we can't afford to get sidetracked. We need to find the cup…"
"I know." She drew in a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Harry said. He stepped further into the vault, trailing his wandlight against piles of galleons and stacks of jewels, though the glowing golden hue that lit up everything made it little more than a formality. "Do you know where it is?"
"Check the high shelves," Robert said, following Harry further into the maze of precious metals. Hermione stepped carefully behind them, squeezing between a mound of coins and a shelf stacked with jeweled crowns and golden plates. Her eyes trailed up to follow Robert's wandlight, but save for several trophies, golden bowls, and dazzling bracelets, the top shelves held nothing remotely like the cup of Helga Hufflepuff that Robert had described.
"It's not there," she said quietly, turning to Robert, who was squinting up at the shelves in silence. "Are you sure?"
Robert frowned. "Let's spread out. You know how it looks. Check everything."
It took them nearly two hours to search the entire vault and all its nooks and crannies. To sort through every shelf, and dig through every mound of riches. With every square foot she covered, Hermione felt cold dread settle heavier in her stomach, until even drawing a breath set her on edge. Every glance at Harry and Robert only reflected the dread back at her. She could see it in the shadows of their faces. In the dullness of their eyes. By the time they finished searching the last cabinet, they were forced to concede the truth. Helga's cup was not in the vault.
"He's taken it," Harry managed, staring at the last possible place the small golden cup could have been. His jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes dull with pain. The green of them lost to black shadows.
"He can't have done," Hermione whispered, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, though she didn't think she'd managed to offer him a sliver of reassurance. "This vault is under Ministry authority. If it was breached, we'd know."
"Can he have gotten in here without the goblins being aware?" Robert asked quietly.
"I don't see how it's possible." Hermione glanced around the vault, its contents sparkling in the golden light. She couldn't make out Ricbert sitting by the door from where they stood, but still she lowered her voice. "When Quirrell broke in to try and steal the Stone, they knew there had been a break-in right away. Even though they didn't catch him. I just don't see how anyone could walk in here, slip past that horribly-abused dragon, steal something, and leave entirely undetected. This is the most secure place in this part of the world."
"Except Hogwarts," Harry said quietly, in a painfully flat voice.
"Is there any way," Robert interjected, "that it could have been moved? Taken out by someone? Requisitioned by the Ministry?"
They glanced at each other, and Hermione felt the dread settle deep into her limbs. "It's not impossible."
"Let me handle it," Robert said firmly, and he stepped past them, making his way back toward the entrance of the vault. Ricbert glanced up from where he had been lounging by the door and turned to meet them.
"Finally finished, are you?" he asked in tones of vast annoyance. "Any longer, and I would have had to leave you down here for dragon fodder." Hermione scowled. "What have you taken? I'll need to note it down in the records."
"Nothing, I'm afraid," Robert said. "What we're searching for isn't here."
"So you have wasted two hours of my time." He shook his head. "Humans. Typical. Your lack of organization never fails to astound me." He turned toward the door, reaching for his Clankers, which began to echo painfully in the enclosed space. "Well, let us get on with it then, shall we? And to be sure, I will be lodging a complaint with the Ministry over this horribly disorganized venture."
"Just a second," Robert said calmly, and the goblin glanced back at him with a scowl. "We did not make a mistake, Ricbert. The item we are searching for is supposed to be in this vault."
The goblin stared them down for a long time before he spoke. "Just what, exactly, are you implying, sir?"
"Implying?" Robert held his gaze for a long moment. "Has anyone been in this vault in the last several weeks? The last several months, perhaps? Years?"
"Certainly," Ricbert said coolly. "This vault is under Ministry supervision, Unspeakable. And before that, it belonged to Madam Lestrange. Many humans have been through here in recent years for various reasons that do not concern you."
"I'm afraid they do." Robert stepped closer to the goblin, his voice still pleasantly cool and calm. We will need a listing of the full inventory of this vault dating back to…" he paused, contemplating it, "1965. As well as the access logs and records of items removed for the same time period."
Ricbert seized him up, scowling. "That," he said slowly, "will take weeks. And is not covered by your Request for Access."
Robert smiled pleasantly. "Not to worry. We'll put in a new one."
Ricbert looked furious. He turned away, his Clankers banging against each other in an echoing din as he stretched his palm out to touch the door. Hermione drew in a sharp breath, resigning herself to another encounter with the dragon. But her heart wasn't in it. And her mind swirled, anxiety stretching out to wrap its fingers firmly around her chest. Was it possible that Rookwood had somehow stepped inside this vault? Somehow taken the cup, and used it to bring Voldemort back to life? Or was it that the well of knowledge Robert was pulling from was faulty. No longer relevant. And if that was the case, how on earth were they going to find and destroy the rest of the horcruxes… and stop Voldemort from coming back to ravage the world they'd built?
How were they going to save Harry?
And that thought left her much colder than Ricbert's quiet anger or the plight of the dragon. That thought chilled her all the way down to the marrow of her bones, and left her shivering until long after they had regained the weak sunlight of the street above. For all the brightness of the sun, the way ahead was paved with darkness.