Chapter 61 You Get What You Negotiate

When Harry returned to his Manor, he didn't announce his return but simply strolled in the training room - one of them. At any given time, there were at least a dozen of the Legion in training, and he could only watch and smile with near paternalistic pride as Cho Chang single-handedly tag-teamed the Patil sisters and left them unconscious on the floor. Across the room, he noted absently a number of students just covering the basics of hand-to-hand combat against both wanded and unwanded opponents.

"Harry," said Griphook politely, without turning around "Sneaking up on your banker?"

"Still trying to," replied Harry with a snort, "They are doing well?"

The Goblin nodded, "They are indeed. But I wonder what you plan to do with so many... skilled individuals. You have more than warriors here Harry. Healers, crafters, artificers," the Goblin shook his head, "If the rest of your world was even half as dedicated as these child... young people," he corrected himself, "then Voldemort would probably never have gained the power he had during the First War."

Harry watched Firenze defend against four attackers, using nothing but the massive two-handed Great Sword that he had used on Umbridge and her cronies during the aborted Astronomy exam. The Centaur had adapted well enough, given that the expansive grounds of the manor did have their own forest, albeit a small one when compared to the depths of Hogwart's Forbidden Forest. "You once told me that the more you sweat in training; the less you bleed in battle."

"A muggle expression that cuts very close to the truth," he agreed, "But there is no way to test how truly ready any of them are – except for those that accompanied you to the Ministry," he added, "Battle is the only true test that matters."

"Like that other muggle saying you're fond of quoting, "Drills are bloodless combat, and combat's just a bloody drill." grunted Harry, "I'd like to see progress reports as soon as possible." He left the training room, "And gather the Core, we have a war to win and a campaign to plan."

Harry spent several hours reviewing the progress reports and was gratified to see that every member of the Legion would have no doubt scored "Outstanding" or "Exceeded Expectations" in the OWLs, and it was distinctly possible that the Legionnaires facing their NEWTS would do the same. If it was anything to go by, they could all sit and pass at least Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration. Others would no doubt pass other subjects including Potions, Runes, and even the nightmare of Arithmancy.

It was definitely something to consider for the future…. He scrawled a note on the piece of parchment by his right hand. All in all, every member of the Legion was as close to battle-ready as training could make them, and all they needed now, he thought darkly was their final examination. He was staring out the window behind his desk when there was a knock at his door. "Enter."

They took their regular seats around the table and waited for a long few moments. Dobby and Winky appeared, serving coffee, tea, iced pumpkin juice to whoever wanted it, as well as Scotch to both Griphook and Harry. Mad-Eye declined, opting to take a drink from his hip flask. Firenze was the only one to take plain water, "Is everyone up to speed on where we stand?" Silence answered him. Everyone knew. It was a stupid question perhaps, but there was no reason to leave anything to chance.

"The first thing we have to do is gather the Legion, in full strength, and get everyone," he stressed, "everyone on board with what we are doing."

"You're planning on making a statement, or on sending a message?" asked Luna.

"Can't we do both?" countered Neville.

"That would depend on whether we can get the information we need," replied Colin, "We get the info we need, we take out some Death Eaters, and we send a clear message to everyone."

"But what message are we sending?" asked Ginny, "That we will kill them all? We could send the wrong message if we're not careful."

"We send the only message that they could possibly understand," said Colin with a growl, "The only Death Eater we will leave behind, is a dead one." Suffice to say that the loss of his family had hardened him and in many ways made him a cold, unfeeling person, with Luna as the only point of softness in his life. Nearly losing her during the Department of Mysteries battle had made him realize just how important she was to him, and he had made a silent vow that it would never happen: That he would not wind up like Harry.

"What you are forgetting," interrupted Griphook, "Is that the Death Eaters have the advantage of numbers. What we have been able to piece together, from your collective memories of the battle of the Department of Mysteries, is based upon a single verbal clue, spoken by Lucius Malfoy. He referred to them as "Effingus."

"It literally means "copy" or "duplicate." But given the context," began Fred.

"We think it has got something to do with muggle science, something called "cloning," that allows them to create a copy of any living thing," explained George.

"You mean they are copying or... what was the word, cloning? Themselves or each other?" asked Ginny.

"Your allies within the Ministry have provided us with copies of everything that they have on file, and it all, unfortunately, points in that direction," said Marinashka quietly. "And I've seen the four Lucius Malfoy's in custody, not to mention the innumerable number of Carrow twins, and the six Percy Weasleys." The only reason she had been granted access was that she was Harry's lawyer.

"We're a small community," growled Moody, "especially when you compare the size of our wizarding population to that of America or Australia. Azkaban is running out of room, and even the few Dementors left," he shrugged, "Let's just say the Azkaban Guards are having a hell of a time maintaining order."

"So our first priority will be to find these effingus and neutralize them. Take away their advantage of numbers, and we can fight a more even battle," said Harry quietly, "Any other business to attend to?"

"There is the matter of the Prophet," began Griphook, "With the new staff in place, the wizarding public is getting the truth for the first time in over a decade. Coupled with the Quibbler, we have powerful tools at our disposal."

"Control the media control the mind," said Luna, "That's basically what the Ministry has done for years."

"No," said Harry firmly, "We stick to the truth, and nothing else. Our war may be with Voldemort and his Death Eaters," he hesitated, "and quite possibly the Ministry too. We need the public to support us because they choose to. Not because they have been brainwashed into doing it."

"You have to consider…" began Griphook.

"I have!" he snapped. He blinked, "Sorry, I have. If we do what the ministry does, if we fall to the level of our enemies, then we're no better than them. I have thought about this, and I don't see another way." He shrugged, ""Loyalty and Honor, before profit" after all…" The table fell silent as everyone present mulled over his words. "I will not have us resorting to their tactics," he echoed, "At least, not yet," he finally conceded. If everything did go to hell in a handbasket, then high-minded ethics would not matter anymore. Winning would be all that mattered. If they didn't win, then it wouldn't matter either. "Does anyone else have any old business? Any new business?"

Silence reigned, "Then there is something that we need to address: Horcruxes." He spent half an hour explaining exactly what they were and how many existed, how many had been destroyed, and how. Griphook raised an eyebrow at the revelation that one of the items was in the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange.

But Harry left out one crucial piece of information: That he had been a Horcrux. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that every individual seated at the table had his absolute trust and confidence, but there were some things that you just did not share with anyone, ever. His dubious honor as a former Horcrux was the first, in what he hoped would be a very short list of such secrets.

"Harry," said Griphook slowly, "The cup is most likely still in her vault – given the seizure and forfeiture when you cut the legs out from under the Daily Prophet – I cannot grant you access to the vault, and it is unlikely that you can gain legal access to the vault."

Harry and the Goblin stared at each other for a long moment as the wheels in Harry's mind spun and finally found traction. "I presume that the vault is one of the older vaults, perhaps a double-digit vault, much like the Potter Family Vault?"

He nodded cautiously, but Marinashka intervened, "We cannot give out any information, even if it is information that pertains to the vault and accounts of a… former customer."

Harry smiled, "You misunderstand me. I merely wish to know what exactly the security precautions upon the Potter Family Vault are, in detail. After all, it stands to reasons that there would be few vaults as well protected like that." The Goblin couple looked at each other for a long moment and finally, Marinashka nodded and excused herself from the room to use the bathroom.

When the door clicked shut behind her, Griphook gave Harry a critical stare, one that teenage wizard could read well enough, "Of course, the first line of defense is the vault itself: The doors will only open with the blood of the owner, or with a Goblin's blood. Of course, vaults such as those of families of your standing are protected by all manner of enchantments."

"Such as?" prompted Harry

"The Thieves' Downfall," said Griphook, "It will strip away all forms of concealment including charms, or enchanted objects - before the cart automatically derails. After that, there is the dragon that guards the only pathway to the vaults themselves."

"They don't do things by half," thought Neville darkly as he fingered his drink.

"We also have regular patrols, with Kerashaws..." said Griphook quietly.

"What?" asked Ginny, "What's a Kerashaw?"

"It's a bit like a dog crossed with an armadillo, with the teeth and claws of a dragon," supplied Luna, "Sharp eyes, sharper teeth and claws, even sharper sense of smell."

"Terrific," muttered Colin as he took another swig of his butterbeer.

"Anything within the vaults themselves?" asked Fred.

The goblin smiled, "Yes. We use a number of curses: Gemino and Flagrante are standard. The curses are built into the very stone used to build the vault, as well as anti-portkey and apparition wards. The blood of their owner can deactivate the wards upon the door, allowing access to the vault. But the rest of the wards around a vault do not deactivate, limiting exposure, even while the door is open."

"Meaning?" prompted Harry and George.

"Goblins of Gringotts may only add items to a vault. Never remove them. This is why we always take our customers to their vaults to make a withdrawal unless alternative arrangements have been made." He smiled darkly, "Do not ask how inter-vault transfers are made. You do not want to know."

"Griphook, did you bring a copy of my godfather's will?" Harry asked suddenly, changing the topic with all the subtlety of a Cruciatus curse to the head.

The Goblin shook his head, "It will take about two hours to locate it," he said and stood, "By your leave…" Harry nodded and Griphook rose to his feet, "I will return with Marinashka, and with the will."

The door clicked shut and Griphook found himself face to face with his second wife. She met his gaze and wordless fell in step beside him as they made their way to the travel room, "What is he planning husband?" she asked quietly.

"I believe that he is planning the obvious," replied Griphook, "We will have to make certain arrangements."

"To assist him?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, "Our knowledge of the Prophecies, of our own Farseer, and that of the witch Sybill Trelawney makes clear that events are in motion. Harry, will do what he must, as must we if there is to be a future left to inherit."

"You believe then, that the end time is fast approaching?"

"The muggles have an invention that they call the Doomsday Clock. It is said amongst their kind that when the clock strikes Midnight, the end time will be upon their kind. Given the state of their world, they have set this clock to read "11:46" in the evening."

"They think they have so much time before the ends times are upon them?" she said with a somewhat bemused expression. "His confidence in his friends, borders upon the astonishing. He shares details of his life, and vault with them, without a seconds' thought to the consequences."

"It is heartening that he has friends he can trust and rely on to such an extreme," agreed Griphook, "But Harry does nothing without having considered all possible outcomes of his actions. He is very well prepared for nearly every eventuality – even betrayal most foul."

He reached for a handful of Floo powder, "Gringotts!" he barked and vanished in the cloud of green flame. Moments later, there was a second burst of green flames as Marinashka followed. Alnwick had watched, and once he was certain that the Floo was clear, the flames doused themselves and the fireplace sealed itself up as the door to the room closed and locked itself.

Satisfied that the Travel Room was secure, Alnwick scanned the wards, grounds, and house once more and then reported directly to Harry that they were alone in the Potter Manor. Harry had gotten the idea for Alnwick from Hogwarts herself, and Alnwick was the equivalent of Rowena in many ways except that Alnwick is slaved to Harry's will, and perhaps would one day also serve others within Harry's inner circle. Harry acknowledged the report and turned to his friends, "Right then, I'm pretty sure you all know what's coming. Those who don't want anything to do with this, leave the room now."

They knew exactly what was about to be discussed. It was Colin who spoke, quietly, but firmly, "After all this, do you actually have to ask?" he shrugged, "I stand ready."

Holding her boyfriend's hand, Luna echoed her boyfriends' words, "I stand ready." It went around the table and ended with the Weasely Twins.

"We stand ready," they chorused. Harry nodded, "But Harry, like Colin, said: Do you have to ask?"

"We'll follow you. Now and always. If we have doubts, we'll say something, otherwise…." began George.

"We're with you till the end," continued Fred.

"Any bloody end," confirmed George.

They discussed, planned, schemed, and strategized for over an hour, and came up with what they hoped would be a survivable plan – especially since what they were planning had only been attempted once – successfully – in the history of Gringotts. "Just remember," said Harry, "We are going in blind. No maps, no guides, nothing. We're on our own from the moment it begins to the moment it's done, and if you're captured…"

"We know the risks," said Neville, ending all discussion on the matter, his quiet voice somehow lending weight to his conviction, "And they will not take me alive if it comes to it. The only question is when we do this."

"As soon as possible," replied Harry. He flinched, and nodded, "So what are the chances of the Tornado's winning the League this year?" There was a firm knock at the door, and the door swung open to admit Harry's Goblin banker and lawyer, with the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black.

There was a moment of silence, as Griphook sat down, and as was the manner of any goblin, got straight to the point, "The formal reading of the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the House of Black, has been scheduled for two in the afternoon, this coming Saturday. I trust that you will be in attendance." Harry nodded firmly, "In my capacity as Senior Accounts Manager, I give you this copy," he placed a vial upon the table, and slid it smoothly towards Harry, "For you to peruse at a time that suits your convenience."

The teenager pocketed the small glass vial, filled with the silvery, fluid-like substance without a word as Marinashka addressed them all, "Unless there are any other matters to discuss, we have a private matter to discuss with Mr. Potter." A nod from Harry cleared the room, leaving him alone with the two individuals he trusted the most.

"Yes?"

"Harry, as your lawyer, and as your friend, I have to ask: What are you planning?"

Harry sighed, "I take it that there is no way the Goblin High Council will even consider giving me access to the Lestrange vault to recover the Horcrux?" They both confirmed that it would never happen unless Harry could do something that would get the entire Council to not only sit up but to take notice and acknowledge it. "You once said to me, that in business, you don't get what you deserve, you get what you negotiate."

"This is true," agreed Griphook.

"Then it is safe to say that negotiations have failed. I'm planning the obvious." The conversation meandered on to several unimportant and unrelated topics, and it was just before dinner time when the Goblins finally left, and Harry was left alone with his thoughts yet again. He found himself absent-mindedly turning the Legion ring upon his finger and finally sent a message to the others.

They gathered together in the training room and within seconds, the enchantment schemes were activated. They found themselves standing in Diagon Alley, only it was a Diagon Alley where a battle had clearly been raging for some time: Shops were damaged, several were burnt out husks. The bodies of men women and children were scattered. It was in a few words, terrifying. It was not just the sights, but the sounds and incredibly the smells. Ash, blood, burnt and burning. The metallic taste of copper, the greasy taste of death, the tingle in the air when an incredible number of spells have been unleashed in a short space of time.

"You can smell it, taste it, hear it, feel it," said Harry quietly, "Welcome to the first of twenty different combat scenarios under "Armageddon." He scanned their faces, "These are the ultimate, worst-case scenarios, and your opponents will be trying to incapacitate you, and if they can, kill you. Most of the Legion is not yet ready. Some of them are. Let's see how far we get." He flexed his wrist and the wand sprang into his hand, "Defensive positions!"

The training dummies were no longer blocks of wood, but looked like Death Eaters, in hoods, with robes and masks, and they advanced down the street towards the seven witches and wizards. There was no hesitation as the Legionnaires took aim and unleashed their first spells of the engagement.

The spellfire was fast and furious, and Harry had not lied when he said that the training dummies were out for blood, perhaps even determined to kill. Every single one of them was injured by the end of it. Bloodied, bruised, sporting cuts, gashes, and abrasions. Only Colin and Ginny had avoided being knocked unconscious, and that was more by luck than by skill. Luna had been enervated twice, Harry himself had needed to heal fractures to his left leg and arm when a bludgeoning curse had almost permanently removed him from the fight.

Exhausted for the night, Harry knew none of them would have any difficulty falling asleep, not even him, as he slid into bed. He stared up at the ceiling and was not even aware when a crushing wave of tired darkness slammed down upon him, his aching muscles and an assortment of injuries saw him fall asleep within seconds, for the first time in several long weeks.

He opened his eyes, and stared up into the eyes he could never forget, "I'm dreaming again, aren't I?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, "You probably are."

Wherever they were looked strangely familiar. He could not quite put his finger on it but shrugged. It didn't matter, "Why are you here?" he asked quietly.

She laughed, "Because you can't go forwards," she replied seriously, "You're stuck, in neutral."

He disagreed, "We're going after the Horcruxes, and perhaps we'll find a way to even the numbers so we can take the Death Eaters on toe-to-toe. We're moving ahead."

"We are," she agreed, "You're not." he recognized that particular tone: The one that brooked no-nonsense and required a discussion.

"I'm not," he said, "But then, seeing you like this, makes it a lot harder to go forward... makes being stuck in neutral a nice place to be. In that bloody castle, I see you out of the corner of my eye, every other minute and every five steps I take. No one can replace you. And it's not fair to ask that of any woman: To have to play second fiddle to you. None should have to deal with that."

"Fleur could," she said quietly, pressing forward even as he shook his head, ever so slightly from side to side. It was the classic Harry Potter headshake, the one that meant "discuss that topic at your own risk." he clamped down on his emotions. Hard. That was something he had yet to deal with, at all. "She loved you, because of who you are. You fought and bled and killed for her. All of you did..."

"And her life was bought with our daughter's life," he said bitterly, "She walked away from me. She can't look at me without hating me... I can't say that I blame her you know? There's nothing I can do for her and nothing I can do for me!" He turned away from Hermione, "I know you love me, and I know you come back to be with me, for me. But this has to stop. I can't go forward if you keep coming back and keep me stuck in neutral."

"I can't believe it," she said, "Using logic and reason against me, and winning?" she teased. He raised an eyebrow in her direction and she laughed, holding up her hands to indicate surrender, "But are you sure you want me to go... on? If I go, I can't come back."

"I'll wait for you," he replied, "If you'll do the same."

"In that case, I'll be waiting for you," she said with a sigh, "Do you want me to tell anyone anything?" she was already facing away from him, staring off into the distance. He knows what she sees, even though he can't see it himself: Some light, a doorway perhaps, beyond wherever they are.

"Tell Sirius that he had better be pranking everyone he meets, and tell my parents that I love them." Already looking away from her, he took a single step forward, "And never forget how much I love you, Hermione." He strode away, slowly, determined not to look back over his shoulder.

She heard him walking away, the slow steady stride of one determined not to look back. She understands. She really does. She mirrors him after all, walking towards the light, and what lies beyond.

In his manor, Harry Potter rolled over and wakes up, and through blurry eyes, stares out through the open window. It's too early for him to be awake, yet too late for him to go back to sleep. Struggling out of bed, and the blanket that had somehow coiled itself around him, he changed his clothes, opting for light track pants and a t-shirt before heading out onto the grounds of the manor, to begin grinding through another day.

She had watched him fade away this time, his consciousness returning to his body. She didn't know where she was - at least not really. She felt the presence next to her, "He is strong." It was a typical entry for a person or thing that had introduced herself as Destiny, "But you are doing what is best for him, by letting him go on."

"That doesn't make it... any easier," she replied turning to face the woman standing next to her.

"It doesn't," she agreed. "But, at least you know what is coming, he will have someone there for him if you do your part right..." Destiny sighed, "It should have been you. Not her. It should be you, standing alongside him, ready to take on the world together."

Hermione seemed, amused, "The Angel of Destiny, unable to foresee the future?"

"I see the future, I see its peaks and valleys, the Golden Ages and the Dark Ages. The road between them is often murky. I had not seen foreseen the consequences of Wormtail's escape, nor the role of Barty Crouch Junior impersonating Alister Moody." She shrugged, "I have the sight, but it is not perfect - I am or rather still am mostly human after all."

"Who would have thought," mused Hermione, "that I would be believing in divination?" she turned to her erstwhile companion, "But it must be difficult, trying to untangle all those threads to find the right one."

"It can be," agreed Destiny. There was a flash of flame and Fawkes appeared, seating himself carefully upon her shoulder, "I believe our time here, is at an end."

"For now," replied Hermione as she started to walk towards the light in the distance, "But we will see each other again, won't we?"

"If events unfold as I have foreseen, yes. Otherwise, who knows?" Destiny called after the retreating figure of Hermione. The phoenix trilled softly, "Yes, I agree with you. It should not be this way. Come, Fawkes, I must return to Hogwarts."