Harry Potter and the Antiquity Link

Chapter 20

The Gringotts Massacre

The images and feelings ceased, and Harry suddenly realized that he was on the dirt road, head in his hands, fighting back his own tears. A few escaped; he wiped them away, and tried to collect himself. He stood, and started walking.

I'm surprised Luna lied to her father, he thought. She knew how important not lying was to him. But I guess she figured he was going to die soon anyway, and she wanted him to go out happy. From what I saw, he probably would have been happy just to spend his last hours with her. But maybe she wasn't sure, and I definitely wouldn't blame her for what she did. I would have forgiven him if I'd known what he'd been through before.

It's like what Aberforth said: don't judge people, because there are always things that would make you judge them differently if you knew them. I'm just getting to see them, but most people don't. Is that what this is? What the trials are? I get to see my own mistakes, the things I would have done differently if I'd known better? Been more tolerant of Molly, trying to cope with Fred's death by grabbing control wherever she could... talked to Ginny more, told her how I felt, or made more of an effort to tell her why I couldn't, not knowing how painful it was for her all those years... forgiven Xenophilius, if I'd known...

But I didn't know, and we can't be expected to know that kind of thing. Certainly not the Xenophilius thing, anyway. The Molly thing, maybe someone could guess, but I'm terrible at psychology. The Ginny thing, maybe, but understanding other people--like I said to Luna, in that letter--isn't exactly my strong point. Maybe it needs to be stronger. His life was so hard... he's right, mine's been too, but I've never lost a wife or a child. Looking at what happened to him, I pray I never do.

I was thinking before, when he asked me to forgive him, that if I'd been in his position, I'd have helped me, taken the chance. But I didn't know his history. If I'd been through what he had, could I really do it? I don't know, even though I saw, and kind of felt, what happened to him. I guess we can never really know, but just have compassion for people, because we don't know everything about them.

The black wall appeared, and a man stood in front of it, holding a wand. He was in his fifties, with mostly gray hair, but looked strong and vigorous. What now, wondered Harry. He extended a hand. "Hi. I'm Harry Potter."

"My name is not important, nor are social pleasantries," the man said.

Fine, be that way, thought Harry, withdrawing his hand. Down to business. "Let me guess... dueling?"

The man nodded. "I was considered one of the best duelists of my time."

Harry thought he saw a resemblance to a Chocolate Frog card. "You're not Merlin, are you?"

The man scoffed. "Hardly. I was his contemporary, though. He was an average duelist at best. His specialty was political intrigue, and taking credit for the work of others. He spent his last thirty years writing stories about himself, so that he would go down in history as the greatest wizard of all time. The only way in which he was truly legendary was as a self-promoter."

Wonder if that's really true, thought Harry, or if this is someone who was a rival, and holds a grudge.

"It is true, I assure you," said the man with mild indignation, "though of course you cannot confirm it by reading history books."

Now, Harry was surprised. "You can read my mind?"

The wizard nodded. "This was a natural magical skill I possessed when I lived in the physical world. I did not care for it much--thoughts of others often intruded uninvited--but I learned to deal with it. This is how I know Merlin was a self-promoter: I saw it in his mind on more than one occasion. I once made a subtle reference to it--I was somewhat younger than him--and he became so incensed that he nearly ordered my death. I learned to become more circumspect about how I used my ability."

Harry chuckled. "I'll bet. So... I have to beat you to get by?"

"Three out of five," the man confirmed. "I will also be using what your Japanese friend referred to as the Gift."

"You had the Gift and could read minds? Wow!"

Impatiently, the wizard shook his head. "I said I would be using the Gift, not that I had it. I have it now, courtesy of the intelligence behind this environment. You will have to beat me in two ways: with both of us using the Gift, and with neither of us using it. I will be reading your mind all the while."

"So, you'll always know what I'm going to do, every time," said Harry incredulously.

"That's right."

"So how am I supposed to beat you?"

The wizard appeared very annoyed, as if Harry was wasting his time. "That is the point, isn't it. Trials are supposed to be difficult. Would you like something else instead? Perhaps a pack of Nundu charging you?"

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Uh, no, no thanks. This is good."

"Or at least, it seems better. So tell me, what would you do in that situation?"

"Run very fast?"

The man chuckled. "For someone of your reputation, you are surprisingly without pretense or self-importance. A refreshing trait, for someone with my ability. I know better than most that for most men who appear modest, 'appear' is the key word.

"Unlike the chess master, I will be giving you a few pointers as we go. But we will not have infinite time. We will have one hundred hours with the Gift, and one hundred hours without it. If you cannot defeat me by then..."

Harry nodded; he would have to focus very hard. One hundred hours was not a lot of time to learn a complex skill, even one he had some knowledge of. "I understand."

"Then, we begin."

* * * * *

Again walking down the road, Harry noticed that as had been the case after he'd spend thousands of hours playing chess, the few hundred hours he'd spent dueling had faded to the back of his mind, as if a slightly distant memory. He wondered if he could have done it without the training he'd received from Aurors in the other not-reality, and the practice he'd had with Takenaka; practicing with someone else who had the Gift was quite different from normal practice. The hardest part of what he'd just done was overcoming the advantage the man had of being able to read his mind. Harry had eventually learned that it was a little like the Muggle sport of tennis: if your shot is good enough, your opponent won't be able to return it even if he knows it's coming.

He chuckled as he recalled the man's annoyance when Merlin had been mentioned. Could the most legendary wizard in British history really just have been an influential wizard who knew how to make himself look good? A more clever and conniving version of Gilderoy Lockhart? If so, what motivated someone to spend all that time and effort to make himself look good for his descendants, even though he would be dead? Harry couldn't fathom it. But, I suppose, everyone's different...

Funny how it seems like I've been on this road forever, but I'm still not hungry, haven't even had to go to the bathroom. Even if we don't count the dueling and the chess, how many hours has it been? Or is time even passing at all, even if I'm not doing those things? Weird. Of course, if I've learned one thing, it's that magic can be weird sometimes.

"Goblins, rise! Get to your feet, and make it quick!"

Harry saw a large cage, with sixty or seventy goblins crammed into a space that could comfortably hold perhaps half that number. He could see the magical field that surrounded the cage, preventing the goblins from doing their native magic. The goblins all stood.

"Who is your leader?" demanded the human who was approaching the cage. He was a young man with blond hair, wearing crimson robes, the same color that Aurors now wore. Could he be an Auror? Harry wondered. He hoped not. He somehow knew the scene had occurred a hundred years ago.

"I am the leader," said a goblin, a slightly older one. Harry found it very difficult to tell one goblin from another; they tended to look the same to him.

"What is your name?"

"My name would be quite unpronounceable to humans," replied the goblin, with dignity. "We do not take names humans can understand. My name is--" The goblin let loose a series of sounds that sounded to Harry like, well, gobbledygook.

The human stared at him coldly. "Exit the confinement area. Only you."

The door swung open, the goblin exited, and it closed again. As soon as the goblin stepped out of the magic suppression field, the human swung his wand as he would a sword... and the goblin's neck was suddenly, neatly severed from his head. The goblins screeched in outrage and protest.

"Tomorrow," the man shouted, repeating himself as the din slowly quieted. "Tomorrow, by this time, you will have selected a new leader. And... I strongly suggest that he have a name that humans can say easily, and far less pride than his predecessor had." The man walked away.

Harry heard some of the conversations that took place later in the cage, which was in a field a few hundred meters away from a large mansion. From their conversations, Harry understood the situation: goblins had coexisted with humans for a hundred years peacefully, but that had been broken by the actions of a rich and powerful Minister of Magic, William Dennekin. Legend had grown of a goblin who had the uncanny ability to predict the future; he had made large amounts of money for Gringotts by successfully trading in foreign investments. Though already rich, Dennekin resented that a goblin should have such ability. He quietly requested a meeting with the goblin, and when the goblin came, had him abducted. No other goblins knew where he had gone, so they had no idea he had been kidnapped, and the Ministry pleaded ignorance.

After a year in captivity, the goblin managed to get a message to his fellows through a sympathetic servant of Dennekin's. The goblins were outraged; for a hundred years, humans had respected goblin law and possessions, but now their leader had crudely violated their agreement, and the person of one of their most prominent citizens. Against the advice of some who called for negotiations, the goblin leadership decided to mount a targeted raid against the Minister's home.

Unfortunately for them, it turned out that the Minister had discovered the treachery of his servant, who was promptly sent to Azkaban. Anticipating a rescue attempt, he greatly increased security around his home. Two days later, a hundred goblins attacked, walking right into a trap. Dozens were killed, and the rest were captured.

Learning of the capture, one of the goblin leaders--one who had counseled against the attack--emerged from Gringotts, accompanied by his grandson, who had only recently reached the age of adulthood. His grandson insisted on accompanying him, for security's sake. "I will not need security," his grandfather told him. "This is not that kind of situation. If he kills me, then he kills me."

"An envoy of peace? They would do such a thing?"

"I hope not, but my point is that security will not be necessary." Nevertheless, he allowed his grandson to come along.

Humans having surrounded Gringotts, the two goblins were apprehended as soon as they left the building. Held in the Ministry, they were interrogated as to the whereabouts of the nearly goblin village residents, who had cleared out of their homes as soon as the raid failed. The older goblin said that he didn't know. He was given Veritaserum, which the humans knew had for goblins a side effect involving intense sensitivity to noise and most other stimuli; after using it, even a whisper sounded like a shout. A standard interrogation was similar enough to torture that the difference wasn't important. His grandson was spared, as through his pain he insisted that the younger one could not and did not know where the others were.

They were brought to the captives, but were not allowed to talk to them; the captives were asked if they agreed to consider this goblin their leader. The captives agreed, and the two goblins were then escorted to the Minister's residence, under heavy guard. The place could hardly have been more opulent; everything looked to be handcrafted and of the highest quality, including some items that were clearly goblin-made. They were told that they should bow deeply when first meeting the minister, 'to show your repentance for the attack.' The older one saw by looking at his grandson that he would prefer to die than do so, but had promised his grandfather that he would do as he was told.

Kept waiting for over an hour, they finally met the Minister, and bowed as they had been instructed. Dennekin was a tall, heavyset man with a long face punctuated by a large chin, along with black hair, a hooked nose, and large green eyes. He sat in a large, comfortable leather chair, while offering the goblins no seats. "So, tell me why I should free these criminals, whose objective was to kill me and my family, and tell me why all of goblin society should not be punished for their actions."

"I apologize deeply for their actions, Minister," said the older one. "They were operating under the belief that one of our famous citizens was being held here. Their intention was simply to rescue one of their brethren.

"As for your second question, we are a peaceful people in general. Such a thing has not happened for a very long time; this was a regrettable, one-time aberration. I would implore you, in your wisdom, to help me see to it that the situation does not escalate."

"Do not presume to tell me what my wisdom is," said Dennekin dangerously, his tone suggesting a man with a short fuse. "You do not want the situation to escalate, because you would find yourselves on the wrong end of the scythe. As for me, I would double my popularity by issuing a three-word proclamation, 'kill all goblins.' This, to me, is wisdom."

Harry could feel what both goblins felt: the older one was desperate, feeling it was his first priority to save as many goblin lives as possible, whatever it took. They younger one burned with righteous fury, angry both at their general predicament, and the arrogance of this decadent human.

"I understand your people's anger, but the fact remains that a conflict would benefit neither of our peoples, as history suggests."

Dennekin's eyebrows rose slowly. "Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not, Minister. I was simply stating what I believe to be a historical fact. Clearly, my people would suffer much more than yours in such a situation."

Mollified, Dennekin nodded. "You'd do well to keep that in the front of your tiny little brains, at all times. Now, let's talk about what you can do for me, so I have some alternative to writing a new chapter in history."

"Yes, Minister, but first, to help me calm down my people, I would like to ask if you have any information as to the whereabouts of our missing goblin."

"Are you saying you believe that I personally abducted one of your people?"

The goblin knew that if he answered in the affirmative, all bets were off. "No, Minister. It is simply that we received a note, written fluently in our language, indisputably written by him. It may be that someone impersonating you has done this, and he believed something that was not correct. In any case, I would be grateful if you would make inquiries among your population, and perhaps institute a search."

"And if I do not?"

"This is not a threat, Minister," said the goblin calmly. "I am... simply asking for help."

"Most of our people are disinclined to 'help' goblins right now. I will see what I can do."

"Thank you, Minister."

The negotiations went on for twenty minutes, after which a break was called. The two went outside; they would be allowed to talk to their captive comrades.

"Grandfather, how can you accept such demeaning treatment?" demanded the younger one. "Everything he said was a lie--"

"Silence!" Breathing heavily, the young goblin managed to comply. "I would remind you that I did not ask for you to come; you insisted. You will not say another unauthorized word for the duration of these negotiations. Do you understand?" After a pause, the young one nodded.

As they walked, the older one explained. "Of course, he was lying. That will happen in all such negotiations. And yes, his treatment is demeaning. I have dealt with many good, noble humans; this is clearly one of the worst of their kind. But it is he whom we must deal with, and so I do what I must to prevent further bloodshed. This is about practicality. I know you will say that I lose my dignity by accepting such treatment. But I say that I gain dignity, true dignity, by putting the interests of my people above my personal desires, above my ego. I will do the best I can for my people, but one does not have much leverage when one is at the point of a knife. If I have to put up with his arrogance and crudeness, then I will. That will provide the best result, in the long run."

They approached the cage, and spoke to the senior goblin inside, who indignantly told him what had happened to their previous leader. "These humans are barbarians! We must fight them!"

The goblin could see the agreement on his grandson's face. "No! I counseled against this attack. This should have been handled through negotiations!"

"They kidnapped one of our own, and they have been torturing him! We can hear his screams, even from this distance!"

"I am doing what I can, but fighting is suicide--"

"It is preferable to being trodden on, used for our skills but then violated any time they please--"

The older goblin finally lost his temper. "Fine! If your wish is to die, they will oblige you! Just tell their guard!" The caged goblin stared daggers at the free one, saying nothing. "You have already chosen to fight, and lost," the older goblin continued. "Of course they are behaving contemptibly, but that is not the point. I am doing my best to preserve the lives of our people, for the good of all. I hope to reach a settlement that allows our people to go back to their homes, as well as achieves your release. But if you do not wish to benefit from my actions, then please let me know, and I will strike from my negotiation points the issue of your release."

Again, there was no response. "I thought as much. Well, I thank you for your support," the older goblin said with heavy sarcasm, "and I will do my best to see to it that you are with your families again soon." He walked away, trailed by his grandson, to whom he spoke. "It is easy to be ruled by your pride, and to forget that your pride may be paid for by others, in blood."

The next meeting was held the following day. An agreement was reached in which the goblins would pay the Ministry three hundred thousand Galleons over three years as punishment for the attack, in return for which the captives would be released on the condition that they never mix with humans again, and the goblins could return to their village; the Minister would announce that the crisis had been resolved, and that attacks on any goblin village would be prosecuted.

As they wrapped up their business, Dennekin left the room, then came back after a few minutes. "I have some news," he said brusquely. "The goblin you seek, the missing one, has turned up. He was found dead, not far from one of your villages. He must have been trying to return, and one of our people angry at the attack was trying for revenge."

Not just a lie, thought Harry, but one deliberately calculated to be offensive in the extreme. Dennekin's tone was one of 'serves him right,' while at the same time not making an effort to pretend he was telling the truth.

The older goblin seemed to marshal his willpower. "I... understand. This is most unfortunate. But it will not affect our agreement."

"Glad to hear it," said Dennekin sarcastically. "Some of my advisers say I'm being too generous. You agree, don't you?"

Keeping a poker face, the goblin blinked a few times. "I cannot argue with you."

Dennekin chuckled, seeming to find the comment genuinely humorous. "Truer words were never spoken. Now, there is one more piece of business. You are now the leader of the goblin community?"

The goblin nodded. "The others, out there, have confirmed it."

"Good." Dennekin's eyes became hard. "This agreement takes some measures toward compensating our society for what was done, but it does not erase the personal offense to me. My home was assaulted, the lives of my family and myself put in danger. There is something I must have, or there will be no agreement, and you and the young one will not walk out of here alive." He took out a small vial of liquid; recognizing it, the goblin couldn't help but recoil slightly.

"You will swear, under Veritaserum, that as long as you are the leader of the goblins, there will be no more attacks against humans. Then, to symbolize the goblin community's apology to me personally..." He crossed his legs in such a way that the sole of his right shoe was more or less facing the goblins. "You will lick the bottom of my shoe."

Unable to bear any more, the young goblin exploded in fury. "You cannot possibly--"

"Crucio!" shouted an Auror who was part of the Minister's security team. The young goblin screamed; the older one pleaded with the Auror to stop. After ten seconds, Dennekin signaled the Auror to stop. The goblin lay gasping on the floor.

Harry felt the older goblin's thoughts and feelings. Before his grandson's outburst, he had been wondering how he could possibly subject himself to the human's disgusting demands. But the attack on his grandson reminded him that others were depending on him; their lives were in his hands. With all of his willpower, bracing himself for what was to come, he opened the vial and drank the Veritaserum. To his grandson's horror, he then did as the human had demanded. Harry winced, feeling deep sympathy and respect for the goblin.

Two days later, the goblins were all released, Gringotts was open for business again, and goblins were starting to return to their villages. The older goblin, recovering from his last bout with Veritaserum, read in the Prophet the account of the story that would be recorded by human history: that the goblins, acting on shaky intelligence, had attacked the home of the Minister in a quest for revenge. Some had been unavoidably killed, but after two days of negotiations with the goblins, the Minister had generously agreed to forgive the goblins this offense, in return for modest reparations. A Prophet editorial, noting the anger and even bloodlust among the human population, praised the Minister's moderation and evenhandedness.

Harry then saw the younger goblin reading the same issue of the Prophet, struggling to tame the fury he still felt at seeing his grandfather abused and disgraced by the humans. I will never forget, the goblin thought. I will never forget.

Harry had trouble telling one goblin from another, but he had no trouble figuring out that the young goblin he had seen would, when he grew older, become recognizable as the one who had interrogated him after he had been kidnapped. He saw brief scenes from the goblin's life as he grew older, becoming a powerful man in the goblin community, finally becoming its leader. The goblin leader did not have absolute power, but he had very substantial influence; it took a concerted effort by those below him to override his decisions.

His life went along normal lines; many years passed, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. He dealt with many humans, most of whom were polite and reasonable, but he never forgot what he had seen. He was sure that this was the humans' true nature, and any politeness and civility was an artifice.

After the goblin had been the leader for ten years, Voldemort took over the Ministry. One day, the goblin was sitting in his office at Gringotts, perched above the main floor, where he could get a good view of everything that happened. He saw Bellatrix Lestrange walk in, accompanied by two Death Eaters.

One of the Gringotts managers approached her. "Madam Lestrange, what can Gringotts do for you today?"

She handed him a piece of paper. "You will transfer to me all of the gold from these individuals' vaults."

He looked around hesitantly. "Surely Madam Lestrange knows that--"

"You cannot do such a thing," she finished. "The government authorizes you to do this. These individuals are enemies of the government; we require their gold in compensation for the damage they have done to us." Harry saw that his name was on the list, as was Kingsley's.

"I am very sorry, Madam Lestrange, but we cannot--"

She sent a Stunning spell at him; he was blasted back against the nearest desk, and he crumpled to the floor. "Would anyone else like to tell me what I can and cannot do?"

Having left his office soon after Lestrange came in, the goblins' leader approached her, alone. It infuriated him to temporarily overlook what had been done to the Gringotts employee, but he had to handle the situation. "Madam Lestrange, I am the highest-ranking Gringotts officer. I will tell you, as will anyone here, that what you request cannot be done."

"Do you know what company I keep?" she asked in a low, threatening tone.

"Indeed I do, Madam," replied the goblin evenly. "But you must surely understand that were we to agree to your request, citizens would not keep their gold here, fearing that it could fall into other hands. Gringotts' entire raison d'etre would collapse, and we would be a bank no more. I regret that I cannot comply with your wishes."

"You will regret it even more later," she hissed. "What makes you think I will not kill you where you stand?"

"I cannot stop you," he responded. "But if one Gringotts worker dies at human hands on these premises, automatic defenses go into effect. Barriers impervious to magic come down, and everyone is trapped. No one will be able to enter, or withdraw money, for quite a long time. Such a situation does not benefit the government, or humans in general."

She turned on her heel and left; the goblin immediately called a meeting with other goblin leaders. "When Voldemort's assistants took over the Ministry, we discussed certain enhancements for Gringotts' defenses. I believe it is now time to act on those plans." The humans, he vowed to himself, would never be allowed to take Gringotts by force.

Fortunately, Lestrange did not return, and no one else attempted to make such demands. The goblin wondered whether what Lestrange had done had been a deliberate bluff, just to see what the goblins would do, if they could be intimidated into turning over their enemies' money to them. Coming up empty, Voldemort obviously decided he preferred a functioning Gringotts to one that he controlled, but didn't function well.

For the next several months, life at Gringotts was as normal, except that the goblins had to put up with rudeness and arrogance not only whenever Death Eaters were their customers, but even from some Ministry workers who had never acted in such ways before. The natural human tendency coming out, thought the goblin leader.

Then came the day that would change his life forever. He was in his office when he heard the alarm indicating that someone had tried to infiltrate Gringotts by magical deception. He hurried to meet the bank officers; security personnel were already on their way down to intercept the intruders. They had almost reached the vault in question when they saw three young humans climb onto the dragon and fly away. One of them looked very familiar...

He met with the other leaders; the Dark Lord would have to be told what had happened. The Gringotts manager volunteered to go; he knew that the Dark Lord would be displeased, but all that had been stolen was a small golden cup. Having been quickly interrogated under goblin truth serum, the goblin who accompanied the humans stated that the cup was the humans' objective, but did not know why. No gold was taken, pointed out the manager. It will be all right.

The manager did not report back, but Gringotts was not told of his fate until the next day, when word was spreading with lightning speed around the wizarding world that Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord. A man from the Ministry, clearly in a good mood, visited Gringotts to tell them of the dead goblin who had been found in the place where the manager had gone. He related the news with unconcern, as if a dog had been found dead in the street. No, the goblin leader thought; humans show more emotion over a dead dog.

As he left, a special edition of the Prophet arrived, with the first accounts of Potter's victory. The goblin leader had never met Potter personally, or even seen a picture. He looked at the face on the front page... and saw not only the one who had ridden off on a Gringotts dragon yesterday, but also the face of Dennekin, the man who had treated goblins brutally and sadistically so many years ago. Green eyes, black hair. The very image.

As he saw the goblin's eyes burn with the fury never forgotten a century ago, Harry was stunned that the goblin thought that he was virtually Dennekin's twin. I look nothing like him, he thought. Just the hair and the eyes, and the rest is massively different. I look more like Ron than I do this guy. But then it occurred to him that to him, most goblins looked alike, and it might be the same for them with humans. Hair and eye color might be the only thing they look at to differentiate us. Bizarre, that he thinks I look like that Minister. But it explained a great deal.

He saw events from the succeeding days: the goblin's anger at being told of Kreacher's arrival and withdrawal only after it had happened, his order to tell the Prophet of Kreacher's visit, against the advice of other leaders, and the increasingly hard line he took, with not so much support from those beneath him, but enough not to be overruled. A goblin had died, and Potter was to blame.

An old friend who was not part of the leadership approached him one morning. "Are you sure that taking such a hard line is a good idea? This man is a hero to the humans. Going after him may be like attacking a protective bear's cub."

"He is a criminal."

"Not to them."

"I do not care what it is to them! He is a criminal! This is indisputable!"

"I know that, of course. This is about practicality."

The goblin leader's eyes flared. "My grandfather said that once, in dealing with humans. Less than a day later their leader, a man whose face is indistinguishable from this Potter, humiliated and tortured him in ways I would not have been able to imagine. This is not about practicality! This is about pride! We will not accept the death of one of our own lying down, as we did then. We will not humble ourselves before the humans, as we did then. We will insist on what is due us; no more, no less. Some of the young ones say the humans are not our masters, that they can be our friends. They have not seen what I have seen. If the humans wish to be our friends, now is the time they can prove it."

His old friend looked at him carefully. "Are you doing what is best for our society?"

"That depends on your definition of 'best.' If you believe it is best for us to be as slaves, to bow to humans in all things so that we can continue to live the comfortable life of a slave, then no. But if you believe that it is better to insist on equality, to take the humans who insist we are equal at their word, then yes. My way is best."

A younger employee rushed into his office. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Potter and Weasley are outside now, talking to those waiting. I asked them to come inside, but they made sport of my request, and refused."

A wave of anger washed over the leader; Potter was deliberately mocking him, a criminal standing outside at the scene of the crime. He quickly folded a piece of paper and made it a Portkey. "Send this to him."

The young goblin looked surprised, but did as he was told, and left. The older one's friend looked at him carefully, with concern, but said nothing. Five minutes later, the young goblin reported that the Portkey had snared only the human Kassant.

"Have him interrogated," instructed the goblin leader. "Use truth serum."

"But we have no Veritaserum--"

"We will use our own," said the goblin, ignoring the surprised expressions of both his friend and his subordinate. "No, never mind, I will do it myself. I have some questions for him."

Questioning the human yielded no useful information. The goblin leader was frustrated to have had Potter so close to his grasp, only to be saved by his friend. He started thinking about ways to get Potter, and came up with one. There wasn't a high probability of success, and he would have to hire as mercenaries some of the very humans that had treated goblins badly recently. Well, one human is no better than another, he thought, and as long as we are paying them, we are their masters.

On the morning of the operation, some of the ruling circle met with him, hoping to persuade him to cancel the operation, warning him that once Potter was kidnapped, the humans would go berserk, and declare war on the goblins. They implored him to at least wait, and see what negotiation yielded. He refused, saying that the humans had already shown their disdain for negotiation. Only a unanimous vote of the ruling circle could stop the operation, but one of them--a close friend of the one who had been killed--supported the leader's actions. The operation would go forward.

The operation was successful; they had Potter. As expected, the humans reacted with outrage; Gringotts was closed down, for the protection of its employees. Interesting, thought the leader. A hundred years ago, they abduct one of us, for purposes of greed, and expect us to do nothing. But now, we abduct one of theirs, for perfectly valid and justifiable reasons, and they become filled with bloodlust. Do they not see the parallel? Of course not; their history does not record what happened accurately. Well, we are through accepting this double standard. We will do to him what we did to the one of our own who helped him: he will answer questions under truth serum, and stand trial for his actions. The humans would do no less if one of ours broke into the Ministry, stole something, and caused great damage and property loss.

Meeting the captive for the first time, he felt great satisfaction to be on the other end of things this time; he again marveled at the resemblance to the hated Dennekin. But to the goblin leader's surprise, Potter not only refused to answer, but also held out against great pain until he somehow passed out. After several repetitions, the doctor who examined Potter could find no reason for the occurrence, but warned him that Potter could die if it continued. The leader was tempted to continue anyway, but reluctantly agreed; Potter had to stand trial, not die. An example had to be set.

As he questioned Potter, he found himself frequently surprised. Potter had nothing against goblins, and indeed thought of them as equals to humans and, of all things, house-elves. He had meant no offense to the goblin community by his actions; he had simply felt he had no choice. At the same time, the human was stunningly ignorant of goblins, and the humans' shameful history in dealing with them. And he was ignorant of the offense he had caused; to his limited way of thinking, his goal justified all he had done, including murder.

As the goblin expected, Potter refused to accept the goblins' rightful jurisdiction, even though he accepted all arguments that logically led to the conclusion that he should. No surprise; both humans and goblins were capable of stunning leaps of illogic in the name of self-preservation. Well, sleep deprivation would eventually cause him to accept what they told him to accept. It wouldn't be quick, but at least it wouldn't kill him.

After Potter's rescue, the goblin felt fury at the Aurors: justice had been wrested from his grasp by the same crimson-robed villains who had once subjected him to torture. He called an emergency meeting of the ruling circle.

"Will the subterranean habitat be ready in time?" he asked.

"It will have to be," said one. "Obviously, the more time we have, the better. We are working as hard as we can. As for the important aspects--the greenhouses and animal breeding farms--yes, they will be ready by the time the Aurors break through Gringotts' defenses."

The leader nodded. "Good. Send a message to the humans. Warn them that they are not to attempt to occupy Gringotts. That if they do, they will encounter many magical traps, and they will not succeed."

"You are trying to provoke them," observed one.

"Must we do this?" asked another. "The situation may still be manageable. Now that they have rescued Potter, the humans may calm down. A negotiated settlement may still be possible--"

"And after all that has happened," snapped the leader, "what conditions do you suppose they will try to impose on us? What humiliations will we be forced to accept, for the offense of attempting to exact justice when they have not?"

"We should at least try--"

"Do you want to be the one to leave Gringotts, to see if the ordinary human citizens will tear you limb from limb before you even have a chance to meet anyone from the Ministry?"

The goblin stared angrily at the leader, but said nothing. The leader nodded. "I thought not. In any case, the point of no return has been passed; humans would never bank at Gringotts again. No, we are committed to the path."

Harry now saw the underground complex the goblins had referred to; it was astonishing. Several hundred feet underneath the surface of the English countryside, it was at least a square mile in size, with a spell cast on the fifty-foot-high ceiling to simulate a sun and sky. There were roads, shops and homes, farms and greenhouses, all of what one would expect to see in a city. He somehow knew that this had been at first an emergency habitat, existing for generations as a place of escape from human depredations, and had been expanded slowly over the years. The current leader, upon taking office, had escalated and upgraded construction to the point where it was nearly a fully operating city. Space would be tight at first, but further expansion and construction would continue. Raw materials were acquired by a Muggle company which was a front for goblins, paid for with gold saved from many years of Gringotts profits. If that ran out--and it would not for a long time--more gold could be acquired from the rental of goblin-made metalworks, production of which would of course continue. Goblins could finally live a comfortable and free life, no longer at the mercy of human whims.

Weeks went by. The leader was informed that the humans had finally come close to breaking through Gringotts' defenses; once through, no one would be able to leave. Evacuation was almost complete.

The leader informed the ruling circle that he would be staying behind. They implored him not to, but he would not be dissuaded. "I must confront the humans. I put us on this path, and I knew the consequences. I must see this through, and make certain all goes as it should."

"It will, even without your presence," argued one. "It is not necessary."

"I must be sure. Nothing is foolproof."

"You will not survive."

"I would not have long anyway," the leader pointed out. "No, this is what I must do. You would not understand. My memories, which have haunted me for all my life, must be put to rest. You must lead our new, free society."

A day later, from the control room in the deepest reaches of Gringotts, the leader watched as the last of his countrymen departed; he was the last one left. He watched the magical viewscreen. Three hours later, he saw Aurors finally break the defenses, and slowly, carefully, using frequent Reveal Magic spells, make their way into Gringotts, deeper and deeper...

* * * * *

The road stretched out in front of Harry as the images ceased. Why, Harry wondered, had the images stopped? Have we reached the present, is that's what's happening right now? Is that goblin going to let himself be captured, let his treatment be the proof of human cruelty? Or is he going to try to kill himself, somehow take a few Aurors with him? Harry knew that being very careful and using Reveal spells constantly, the Aurors were in no great danger. The lead Aurors, he had seen, were ensconced in goblin-made armor; even an undetected projectile trap such as had killed Kreacher would do no good. No, he must be hoping for a public trial in the Wizengamot, where he would present his memories of what Dennekin had done.

After the previous set of images and memories, the ones about Luna's father, Harry had wondered whether the purpose of what he was seeing was to recognize his own mistakes. But now, he was sure he knew. It was partly that. The main point, however, was that he was seeing the history of people whose behavior he had questioned, who had done things he found strange (Ginny), annoying (Molly), unethical (Xenophilius), or bizarre and destructive (the goblin). It was about understanding why people did the things they did, how their history formed their character and pushed them to act in ways he found incomprehensible. But why have there been no real trials? Except for the hail at the beginning, nothing had been truly dangerous. The Japanese guy who wrote the account said--

He heard a loud roar behind him; he turned to see a group of perhaps ten Nundu; he had once seen a picture of one in a book. They were a hundred meters behind him, closing fast. Startled, he dashed ahead, knowing he could never outrun them. Thinking about what to do, knowing there was really nothing, he turned again... and there was nothing but an empty road behind him.

He sighed. "Okay, I get it," he shouted to no one in particular. "I'm happy it hasn't been any more dangerous than it is. I promise not to wonder about it any more." As expected, he got no response.

He thought again about the goblin who had abducted him. He didn't exactly feel sympathetic toward him, but perhaps less hostile. His actions had been extremely unproductive, but maybe, not for him. His pride, in who he was, in his grandfather, was taken away at a very early age. What if I had grown up with my family, and seen my father subjected to that kind of degradation, that humiliation? Would I go off the deep end, hold a grudge all my life, decide that no peace was ever possible? Like with Xenophilius, I have no idea. Is that the point? That I can't know what it's like for them? Does it make what they did right? Or, at least, understandable? I don't know.

One thing it does tell me, he thought, is that history is seriously lacking. Not just that I didn't know that information--I didn't even know the official account, not that that would have done me any good--but even if I had, if I had access to the basic facts, I wouldn't have learned a tenth of what I just did. How many leaders have done what Dennekin did, treated someone terribly just because they could? How many goblin rebellions were caused by the accumulation of a hundred slights, insults, and other cases of bad treatment? Had a goblin done something bad to Dennekin a long time ago, or was he just an awful person? Is this why wars happen again and again, because people can't forget or forgive what others did to them or someone they cared about?

A tall, fit black man in his early fifties climbed up the mountain, with a six-year-old boy at his side. "Grandpa, can we rest?" asked the boy, breathing heavily. "I'm tired."

"Not yet, Kingsley," the man said. "Soon. But for now, we keep moving forward. Keep moving forward."

The mountain wasn't a difficult one for climbers; it required no special equipment. The older man occasionally had to help his grandson up a slightly steep part, but offered no more help than was necessary.

"You..." The boy took a breath. "...always say that."

"Well, because it's true," responded his grandfather. "My father taught me that, and his father taught him. And your father would have taught you." Harry somehow knew that Kingsley's father had been an Auror, and had died in the line of duty at a young age. Kingsley had been two when he died.

"It's part of life, young man," he continued. "You've always got to keep moving forward. Because if you don't move forward, you're standing still."

"But why are we climbing the mountain?"

"You liked the idea when I told you."

"I didn't know it would be so hard," said the boy grumpily.

They came upon a large, flat rock, and the older man decided it was time for a rest. He looked into his grandson's eyes. "The things that are most worth doing, are the hard things," he said earnestly. "You find out what you can do, by doing hard things. The more hard things you can do, the more of everything you can do. And when you have a hard thing to do, and it's not easy, what do you do?"

Kingsley looked up at his grandfather. "Keep moving forward."

The man smiled, and patted his grandson gently on the back.

A few months later, his grandfather stopped his usual monthly visits to the Shacklebolt home. His mother uncomfortably explained that his grandfather had to move to a faraway place to do important work, and might not be able to visit for a long time. It wasn't for four years, when Kingsley was about to go to Hogwarts, that she told him the truth--that his grandfather had been arrested for something he hadn't done, convicted of assault and resisting arrest, and sent to Azkaban. He was angry at his mother for lying to him, and angry at society for locking up a good man in what everyone knew was a terrible hellhole.

As he grew up, he learned from his mother that according to the Ministry, his grandfather's sentence had been extended for alleged bad behavior and additional crimes committed in Azkaban. His mother did what she could, but was blocked by bureaucracy. Kingsley had a more or less normal experience at Hogwarts, making friends and learning well, but the shadow of his grandfather's incarceration always hovered over him. He felt guilty for living his life as usual, even though he knew his mother would have done something if it were possible to do anything.

Always a hard worker, Kingsley decided at age 14 to become an Auror, and focused all his energy toward that goal. He was accepted into the training program after Hogwarts, and after the three years it took to finish that, became a full-fledged Auror. He knew that he shouldn't ask for special favors so soon after being accepted, but he made his situation known around the Aurors, and talked to the Head of the Auror Office, who promised to look into it. A surprise inspection of Azkaban by Aurors revealed the bureaucrat's deception; he was fired. Kingsley's grandfather was released and given a settlement of ten thousand Galleons in compensation.

Kingsley wasn't able to visit for a week, and when he did, was shocked by what he saw. The man preferred to stay in dark rooms, reacting with panic and alarm when a light was turned on. He muttered to himself frequently, and was often unresponsive to attempts at communication. The psychologist the family had hired to help him told Kingsley that the situation was unlikely to change anytime soon. Perhaps slowly, through time.

"Is this common for people who've been in Azkaban?" he asked.

She shook her head sadly. "Yes, it is. It's a barbaric practice, if you ask me. Unless someone's committed the most hideous crime imaginable, they don't deserve what they get in there. Even worse when, in your grandfather's case, they shouldn't have been there in the first place. I'm very sorry, and I'll keep working with him, but it's just going to take time."

For the next month, Kingsley resisted the urge to find the bureaucrat's personal information, visit his home, and... every day, there was a different daydream, a different revenge fantasy. But he didn't; he knew right from wrong, and had had to pass well-crafted character tests to join the Aurors. Even if he could get away with it--which he might well be able to--it would be like failing one of the tests. Also, it wouldn't change what had happened. Still, he couldn't help feeling the urge.

As the years passed, Kingsley continued to visit his grandfather, whose condition changed very slowly, if at all. It was as if demons had taken up residence in his head, and wouldn't go away. For brief periods he was lucid, but they were never very long. Finally, a week before Kingsley's thirtieth birthday, his grandfather died. It was in the middle of the first struggle against Voldemort, so he couldn't take time off; he focused even harder on his job, which he knew would make his grandfather proud. Keep moving forward, he thought.

Harry saw scenes from many years later, the year that Voldemort controlled the Ministry, and the Aurors. Kingsley got news sometimes from Hestia and the other Aurors who had left to fight. Current Aurors kept in touch secretly with their old colleagues, and gossip flew. Some Aurors were being corrupted, and among the Aurors, it was well known who they were. Kingsley was glad he hadn't stayed.

After Potter, amazingly, defeated the Dark Lord, Kingsley was selected by the Council of Elders to be Minister, at least temporarily. In addition to his urgent task of rebuilding the government and getting rid of Dark influence in the Aurors and the Ministry, Kingsley had to think about how to handle Harry Potter. Potter was the hero of the moment, and could do a great deal to help rebuild wizarding society. He could speak publicly, let himself be celebrated and admired for his actions. He could tell the story of the past year; the story would be an inspiration to the citizenry, spurring them as well to do what they could to help society. He could talk to Ministry workers, persuade them to alter normal bureaucratic procedure to get society back on its feet faster. Most importantly, he could be a symbol of what was good in society, what society could be proud of.

But after the conversation at breakfast, Kingsley knew Potter would do none of those things; he had never had high hopes. He didn't know the details, but he knew that Potter must have had a hard year, culminating with--gossip at Hogwarts on the day of Voldemort's defeat had it--him deciding to give up his own life to save wizarding society. Potter was uncommunicative and somewhat withdrawn, clearly unhappy to have anything asked of him, no matter how benign. Kingsley couldn't blame him--it wasn't as though he hadn't done more than enough already--but still mourned the loss to society. An older, more mature man would probably put aside his discomfort and accept his fate, do what society needed him to do. But Potter was still only seventeen, and not very self-aware or self-reflective. He needed time, and Kingsley would give him that time.

In his first week as Minister, Kingsley slept an average of three hours per night. He plunged into the hard work, knowing that he was performing a valuable, indispensable service to society, one he might not get the chance to perform for long. When you have a chance to do this much good, he thought, you have to make the most of it.

But when the dementors attacked, he felt as though he'd been given another Auror character test. If he didn't allow the dementors to return to Azkaban, they would continue to terrorize the population; people wouldn't be able to move around outside at all, and they wouldn't stand for that for long. He would be signing the death warrant of his Ministership. But if he allowed them to return, he would be complicit in the slow terrorizing of countless people in the future, some innocent like his father, and like Sirius Black. It was a moral test, and he had to take a moral stand. He had to do what was right, even if it doomed his Ministership. He decided to confide in Potter and ask for his help, and Potter came through better than Kingsley had hoped, rousing the population to fight rather than complain. At least, for a while.

The Auror problem, however, was worse than he had thought. Fully a dozen Aurors, almost a third of their complement, were known to have been corrupted, and over a dozen others were suspected. He interviewed many, and many Aurors pointed fingers at each other, made accusations. A few, including Spencer, confessed what they had done and asked forgiveness, both professional and personal. The crisis was serious, partly because more than two dozen Dark wizards slipped through their fingers because corrupted Aurors allowed them to do so. The situation simply couldn't be allowed to continue, but there was nothing he could do: he couldn't fire Aurors, nor could Hestia. No one but an Auror Leader could.

He searched his mind for Auror Leader candidates, and kept coming back to one name. The problem was that the person who despite his age had the best chance of passing--he had, in essence, passed one of the tests already by walking into the forest--strongly desired nothing more than to be left alone. Here was another test: give Potter what he deserved, to the detriment of society, perhaps even the loss of lives? Or ask him to take the test, knowing full well that Potter couldn't know the emotional ramifications of what he would be walking into? Every Auror Leader in history had taken the test willingly, actively desiring to do so. Kingsley was genuinely torn. He told Hestia to give Potter the background on the Auror problem, to plant the seed for the future, in case Kingsley decided to ask. He hoped he wouldn't feel he had to.

At first the goblin problem was simply annoying, something to be put on the back burner while more important matters were dealt with. But Kingsley and his advisers were stunned when the goblins pressed the point so hard that it couldn't be ignored, but also so hard that they risked ruining their relationship with humans, a relationship that had had no major problems for the past hundred years. Finally, they kidnapped Harry, and in a way, that solved Kingsley's problem: they could no longer be dealt with. Gringotts would be seized, citizens' money recovered, and if the goblins were lucky none of them would be punished for their part in the kidnapping. He gave the command for the Aurors to start work on the complex magic webs that would seal off Gringotts from the outside, access denied to all but Aurors. He made sure Kreacher was provided with the drink that could save Harry if he called Kreacher.

A week later they rescued Harry, Kingsley leading the mission. As soon as Kreacher died, an airborne sedative was first sent through the magical portal, to knock out any goblins who might be in the room. Then Kingsley and the other trusted Aurors came through, encountered no resistance, and got Harry back to the Park. With difficulty, they Enervated him, and got him to provide memories of his incarceration. Kingsley quickly scanned them... and realized that he had been presented with perhaps the most difficult decision of his life, and not much time in which to make it.

The test for Auror Leader required that the subject be disoriented, outside his normal consciousness; this was necessary for the memory modifications to be done. And here was the very person who Kingsley needed to take this test, in the very condition in which he needed him. All he needed to do was put Harry in the magical field, and the ancient device would do the rest. It was all too easy; it was as if fate was saying, here, go ahead and do it. The good point was that he didn't have to risk Potter saying no to the test, as it seemed likely he would. The bad point was that whether Potter failed or succeeded, he would likely be furious at being given such a test without being consulted. Kingsley was sure he would be, in the same situation. But having corrupted Aurors operating damaged society in profound ways; it made it seem worth the risk. He tentatively decided to do it, but his conscience stung. He had seen in the memories that Harry had behaved courageously and honorably in captivity, fighting harder than almost anyone would fight, on principle. Then I take advantage of his weakened condition to put him through an awful trial? He went back and forth, and finally decided: the needs of society had to come first. "I'm sorry, Harry," he muttered as he transferred Harry from the medical bay bed to the energy field that created the artificial reality Harry would be plunged into.

It was a day later; Kingsley was still in the room. He occasionally saw images, flashes, of what was happening. One such image showed Harry walking through a dark area, holding a flashlight. Soon after that, he saw Harry closing the lid on the vat. A few seconds later, a small orange ball fell out of the energy field; it looked like it was several even smaller ones stuck together. Kingsley made a fist and pumped it in triumph, but he didn't smile. He picked up the ball, put it into a small plastic bag, and into his pocket.

Harry watched the conversation he had with Kingsley when he came out of the device, but this time, from Kingsley's point of view, feeling what Kingsley felt. Kingsley tried to explain as much as possible before telling Harry that he had done this to him, because he knew that Harry would probably stop listening beyond that point. He hoped fervently that Harry wouldn't be as angry as he expected, but when Harry was, Kingsley wasn't surprised. He knew that he had to be braced for, and not interfere with, anything Harry might do in his anger, even if it was to go to the Prophet and torpedo his Ministership. This is the chance I took, he thought.

His conscience still plagued him, even though he knew he had done it for reasons that were good, right, and unselfish. He had risked his Ministership on this, which meant risking his great emotional cause--the dementors--as well: the next Minister would waste no time making the previous deal with the dementors, so he wanted to hang on as Minister if only so that didn't happen. But, hard as it was, he put the integrity of the Aurors and the good of society over his pet cause. But his conscience took another beating when Dumbledore and Hermione pointed out that Harry's terrible family life made losing his real parents that much worse; Kingsley hadn't thought of that, and kicked himself for not having done so. Would it have changed what I did? I don't know, he thought. Of course, Harry's right that I should have asked him. He deserved that much. But sometimes, it isn't about what's right, but what leads to the best result. Or what, in a desperate situation, could lead to the best result. Anyway, what's done is done. I need to stop thinking about it. But, easier said than done.

Harry watched Kingsley tell the Weasleys, and his heart warmed at Ron's furious reaction. He knew Ron and Hermione would always do whatever it took to protect him. He saw Dudley ask about Harry's abilities, and so knew it was definitely true that he could know when someone was lying. He hadn't had the sense much in Japan; they tended to be evasive and indirect rather than lie.

Almost a month later, the next crisis happened: it was discovered that one of the Aurors who was putting up the magical web around Gringotts had been sabotaging the effort all along, and a month's effort went to waste: they had to start over. Kingsley had been constantly asked by the media for progress reports, and now had to decide how to explain the delay. Going public, unfortunately, was not an option; the only thing worse than having compromised Aurors was everyone knowing that there were compromised Aurors, which would undermine people's confidence in them, and cause even greater damage to society. So, lying became a regrettable necessity. Speculation abounded anyway, as many wizards and witches knew the spells involved, and knew how long they should take. Either incompetence or sabotage was suspected, and neither boded well for the Aurors' public image.

Kingsley considered how to prevent a recurrence. He was tempted to question all of the Aurors involved under Veritaserum, but the problem was that he'd have to give them Memory Charms--which were not 100% reliable--afterwards. There was a very small chance that his illegal actions could be discovered. Worse, if he did discover a saboteur, he couldn't even fire the person; sidelining them would be the most he could do. He thought darkly of arranging an 'accident,' but he knew he could never do it. He knew that the fact that he even had the thought was an indication of his stress and frustration. He wished Harry would come back; he could give Veritaserum and fire people. But he resisted the temptation to try to call Harry back. He knew that if Harry was ever to be Auror Leader, even with another Minister, he had to be left alone now.

Kingsley decided to go about the Gringotts problem indirectly. He told the Aurors that because of what had happened, those who wanted to help put up the spells around Gringotts first had to answer questions under Veritaserum; the questions were given in advance, and any Auror who didn't want to answer the questions didn't have to. Only one of the Aurors who had worked on Gringotts refused to take the test, claiming that it was on principle. Some other Aurors protested that Kingsley was exceeding his authority as Minister, and threatened to take their protests public. Kingsley called their bluff, saying that as a matter of security it had to be done. It helped him that public surveys taken by his political people told him that his stance would be supported by the population. The recalcitrant Aurors backed off, but battle lines had been drawn.

Another month went by, during which time he started to come under increasing public pressure regarding the dementors; the protection Harry had given him before being kidnapped was evidently starting to wear off. Kingsley's supporters formed a group that called themselves No Surrender to Dementors, and tried to raise awareness of the effects of dementors, frequently invoking Harry's speech at the Merlin ceremony and his letter to the editor of the Prophet. Even so, many argued that wizards couldn't live under dementor threat indefinitely; something had to be done. Free from worry about a public rebuke from Harry, undersecretaries began to speak out against Kingsley.

When Kingsley first became Minister, he had wanted to stay as long as possible because he thought he could do a good job, but after the dementors started attacking, remaining as Minister took on a special importance to him: as long as he stayed Minister, the dementors stayed out of Azkaban, and that cause was as dear to him as any he could remember. He always saw his grandfather's face, knew how Azkaban has crushed his once indomitable will. It couldn't be allowed to happen to anyone else. He had to stay as Minister, if only for that reason.

Finally, the Gringotts work was completed; Gringotts was sealed off, even beneath the surface, to anyone but who the Aurors decided to let in. Kingsley and Hestia decided to use all Aurors, even those suspected of disloyalty; they went in pairs, suspect Aurors paired with trusted ones. Hestia remained at the Gringotts entrance, staying in magical communication with all the Aurors. All were inside; none reported any magical traps other than the standard ones which were already known. Some Aurors were as deep as was possible; others were closer to the surface. All reported to Hestia that all was clear.

* * * * *

Harry now saw the goblin leader, in the deepest part of Gringotts, as he had seen him at the end of the previous vision. He closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them. "For you, grandfather," he said aloud, then pushed a button on a machine in front of him. He was incinerated in a flash of the brightest light Harry had ever seen.

* * * * *

The ground shook under Hestia's feet. Alarmed, she spoke into her communications device. "Kingsley, there's been an earthquake!"

In his office, Kingsley did a double-take. "What? Hestia, there are no earthquakes--"

"In England, I know," she responded. "But I felt it. It was pretty strong. I'm stepping inside the Gringotts lobby, and there's damage. The floor seems to have sunk in somewhat--"

Dread filled Kingsley as knowledge acquired from the Muggle world made him sickeningly sure that he knew what had happened. "Hestia, Disapparate out of there, right now."

"But Kingsley, we have to get teams in here, start digging--"

"I said, NOW!" he shouted. "I'll explain later, but right now, you're in great danger. Get out now. Do you understand?"

She sounded mystified and mildly annoyed. "Okay, okay. I can't Disapparate from here, but I'm heading for the entrance."

"Good. Disapparate as soon as you possibly can, and come to my office. You'll be in charge of evacuating the area near Gringotts; no one is to be within a hundred meters of Gringotts until further notice. I'm setting up an emergency meeting with the Muggle Liaison Office."

"What? Why?"

"I'll explain later. Just do what I said."

"Okay. Disapparating now."

Harry saw Kingsley meeting with the Muggles who had been called in, guided through Diagon Alley, and would be given Memory Charms when this was all over. They confirmed his suspicion: a Muggle nuclear weapon had somehow been acquired by the goblins, and set off far underground when the Aurors were inside. Except for Hestia, the Aurors were all dead.

Kingsley had been sure he was right, but having it confirmed was the worst punch to the gut he'd ever had, and he'd had a few. Forty-one Aurors dead, on his watch... As if on automatic pilot, Kingsley went about his normal duties, but a part of him felt dead. He knew he wouldn't be Minister for long, after this, but he didn't care.

The wizarding public was outraged; many demanded retribution, even though no one knew where the goblins were. The next day's Prophet was almost entirely about the 'Gringotts Massacre,' as the paper called it, but on the editorial page, the plaintive title of one editorial was, 'Harry Potter, Where Are You?' Reading it, Kingsley shook his head. They'd make him Minister now, he thought, if Harry would do it. They need someone to look to, someone to save them. What if I hadn't done it? What if Harry was still here, hiding out in Grimmauld Place? What would he do now? Probably even he wouldn't know. It would be crushing for him, the expectations and hopes that would be placed on him. Maybe it's better that he's out of the country. The next day, Sato met with him, but Kingsley still refused to call Harry back, or make him feel as though he should come back.

The Council of Elders summoned Kingsley two days later to tell him that the remainder of his Ministership was to be measured in days, not weeks. They acknowledged that no Minister could have foreseen the Gringotts disaster, but that combined with the dementor situation had given people the feeling that Kingsley couldn't protect the population. The new Minister hadn't been decided yet, but it would be someone in whom the public had confidence, and probably someone who would be aggressive, or at least sound aggressive. In other words, thought Kingsley, a standard politician whose words bear little or no relationship to reality.

He spent the next day taking care of many things that needed to be done, including magical measures to get rid of residual radiation, and forming a group of Ministry workers, to be headed by Percy Weasley, whose part-time job was to be law enforcement, to combat the impression that with the Aurors gone, nothing and no one was safe. Anyone with an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Defense Against the Dark Arts was eligible to join the group.

Kingsley, at the end of the day, leaned back in his comfortable chair in his office. How did this go so wrong so fast, he wondered. It's like the goblins just went bananas. Vigilante mobs are out looking for goblins, and I don't know whether to stop them or help them. Dementors will be back in Azkaban... He knew he hadn't been a bad Minister; he had just been very unlucky. Though he knew it was stupid, he wondered whether his fate was a karmic payback for what he had done to Harry. I had the best intentions, he thought. But maybe sometimes doing the right thing is best, even if it doesn't seem like it. Who knows. Soon I'll be an Auror again, doing what I know best. Actually, I won't really be being an Auror; Hestia and I will have to try to rebuild the Aurors. But will potential Aurors have any confidence in me, even as an Auror, given that I presided over this massacre? Would they be right not to? Kingsley had told himself the day before not to blame himself for the disaster--after all, no wizard would have considered the possibility of a nuclear weapon--but he found that it was easier said than done. Forty-one Aurors had died on his watch; that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Keep moving forward, his grandfather's voice told him. But the man couldn't, after Azkaban. Kingsley wondered if he could, now. Some things were very hard to get past.

* * * * *

Images and thoughts faded, and the road was once again the only thing that Harry's senses registered. All the Aurors dead, he thought disbelievingly. Well, almost all. Good Lord. What if I had become Auror Leader when I passed the test? Would this have somehow happened differently? Seems unlikely; I don't see how. Would I have insisted on going in there first, and died? Or stayed outside Gringotts, calling the shots, and feeling responsible, like Kingsley does now? Definitely better that I left the country. Strange how fate works.

As he walked, the situation began to sink in for him. Considering that the Aurors had been decimated, it seemed almost unavoidable that he would have to come back and be Auror Leader. He was amazed that Kingsley had declined even to have Sato tell him. An overreaction to his previous mistake? Or just Kingsley throwing in the towel, figuring he'd let the next guy deal with it? Even though I saw and felt what he was going through, I'm not sure which it is. But now, not coming back would seem like a huge act of cowardice. But do I even want to, as opposed to feeling obliged to? I didn't ask to be Auror Leader, after all. So why should I feel obliged, when it was never something I asked for or wanted?

As with the others whose stories he'd now seen in great detail, he found his feelings toward Kingsley changing. He'd always felt that Kingsley's mistake had been not asking him, and he still felt that way. But his anger at Kingsley was fading. Partly because of what Kingsley was now going through, and partly because he now knew how difficult it had been for Kingsley to give him the test, and the forces that motivated him. Especially in that doing so had risked his Ministership, and with that, the chance of keeping the dementors out of Azkaban.

I guess this is consistent with the other things they showed me, he thought. Everyone had done things I thought they shouldn't do, or acted in ways I didn't understand, but now I understand. Not only them, but the big picture. None of us knows anyone else's story; even family or close friends, we can't know. What they do that's natural for them may seem strange to us, and vice versa. Did people think I was acting strangely when I didn't want to do anything? Of course, I thought I was acting strangely too, so it's not the same thing. But nobody could know how I was feeling. I had died, after all, or at least it was as if I had... emotionally, probably the same thing, really...

A few memories flashed through his mind: Aberforth saying that walking to one's death would do something to a person, that there was more than what meets the eye... Gleason, saying that he was affected in ways that maybe even he didn't realize... I couldn't look at my future, couldn't face it...

Suddenly, he had an epiphany; he knew why he'd felt the way he had, from the morning he'd woken up after defeating Voldemort. I died, he thought. Not really, but in my mind, it was as if I had. In order for me to walk into that forest, I had to let go of all my hopes, dreams, and expectations of the future. I had to accept that I had no future, because I was going to die. I couldn't walk into the forest without doing that. I'd broken up with Ginny, this time for good, by dying. I felt like after I survived I should have been able to just pick up where I left off with her, but I couldn't. I had said goodbye to the world, and then when I came back, beyond beating Voldemort, I didn't know what to do. I'd separated myself from everything. I felt as though no one should expect anything of me, because I didn't expect anything of myself anymore. I had written it all off.

I just... needed time, to change my frame of mind from dead to living, and I wasn't even aware of it. Strange how I couldn't understand the others' behavior because I didn't know their history, but I also couldn't understand my own, even though I do know my own history. I suppose we don't look at ourselves the same way we look at others, the way I was able to look at Ginny, Xenophilius, and so on.

"Well done," a voice said.

Harry looked up and saw, right in front of him, the same blue, white, and translucent energy field he'd been in the center of when he'd just taken the Auror Leader test. But this time, there was a man sitting in the center of it. He had sandy blond hair and a few freckles, and an ordinary-looking face. He seemed like a kind, gentle person, both from his eyes and his face.

"Uh, thank you," said Harry. "Who are you?"

The man shrugged. "That depends on how you look at it. In one sense, I'm a human named Jeffrey Anders. I was the thirteenth Auror Leader, and I died about two hundred years ago.

"But in a different sense, I'm the intelligence behind what you think of as these energy fields. I speak through this man partly because it's more natural for you to speak to a human, and partly for symbolic reasons. In any case, congratulations. You've passed the trial; you're finished."

"The trial?" asked Harry, surprised. "Only one?"

Anders nodded. "I had a hard time with you. You noticed that this wasn't very hard for you, and that's true. But here was my problem: you were the first person ever to seek me out in the way most people do, for information, while having already seen me before, and having undergone trials that time--while not knowing that you already had."

"You... and the one the Aurors have... are the same thing?"

"Yes, and no. The same thing, and part of the same thing. Normally, people don't get two shots at this, but it wasn't fair to not allow you, since you didn't know that you'd seen me before. And, as you said to the Japanese Culture Minister, your heart was pure; what you seek is not something for your own benefit. So, I let you in. But, what trials could I give you? You'd already passed the hardest trials a human can do, not only in the Auror Leader test, but in real life as well. There was no question of your worthiness. So, I made up one trial: to get what you came for, you had to understand the reason that you felt the way you did after beating Voldemort. I was going to give you one more series of visions: of yourself, selected to give you hints. But you figured it out, so that wasn't necessary.

"The other things weren't really trials so much as education. I think it helped you to see what you saw, and the dueling and the chess were a lot like training. If they were trials at all, it was in the sense of requiring patience, which has never been your strong point. But you make up for it with stubbornness, so you did well."

"The dueling," said Harry, "I understand, because that's useful for an Auror, and maybe Auror Leader especially. But why chess? It doesn't seem that important."

The man sounded disappointed. "Harry, you should be able to guess. Take some time, think about it. Let's see if you can't come up with the answer."

Mildly annoyed at being given another riddle after being told he'd finished, he sat on the road and thought. After several minutes, he said, "Is it because strategy is important, both in chess and real life?"

"Not exactly, but you're on the right track. Have another go."

A few more minutes later, Harry was sufficiently convinced he had it that he stood. "In chess, you need to look at the whole board, and see three, four, five moves ahead. Being Auror Leader, trying to fight bad guys, you also have to look ahead farther than they do."

"Very good, that's it," agreed Anders. "It's a way of thinking, a habit that should serve you well."

"So, why were you chosen for this? I assume not everyone who comes this way sees you at the end, that it's just for me because I pass--I mean, because I'm Auror Leader."

With a small grin, Anders said, "You were going to say, because you passed, deliberately hedging on committing that you were Auror Leader. That was an unconscious habit, a reluctance to commit to that. But anyway, yes, I was chosen specifically for you."

"So, were you, like, the greatest Auror Leader?" guessed Harry.

Anders chuckled, but it seemed more ironic than humorous. "No, Harry. It's because I was the worst one. I said before that I was the thirteenth one, but history doesn't even record me, because most people didn't know about me."

Harry frowned. "I don't understand."

"As well you wouldn't. By way of background, I'll explain that there are twelve of these, what you call energy fields, each with a kind of consciousness, though not an ego as you think of it. As I suggested before, it's like they're separate but together at the same time. Spread out all over the Earth, they're points at which magic is strongest nearby, and they're also a sort of dimensional link, places where multiple dimensions overlap. That's why you're able to see and experience a dimension similar to yours, but in which your parents were alive. It's a potential reality, actualized for a short time by the energy here.

"The one in England has been used for the purpose of finding an Auror Leader for a very long time; the intelligence allows itself to be used in such a way because it finds the reason worthy. Anyone who tries to use it for selfish reasons will find himself rejected. Some people try to take the test for Auror Leader, for example, and I--the intelligence--reject them summarily, don't even give them a chance to try, because I know what their reasons are, and they're not good.

"Which is where I--Jeffrey Anders--come in. You see, once you're chosen as Auror Leader, you have control over the field to a certain extent. You can ask it to employ a certain scenario, and it will. A few Auror Leaders have used it in such a way, for training purposes. Others have used it for less noble, but still reasonable, purposes. One discovered that by using it to view past events, he could exert considerable sway over the Council of Elders; though only portraits, they don't want their reputations damaged, and they all have things in their past that they don't want known.

"I passed the Auror Leader test, and what Auror history records is that five days later, I was found dead. Suicide."

"Why?" asked Harry, amazed.

"My earlier life had been tragic in several ways; a little like yours, but even more so. Passing the test took even more out of me than it did you; at first I was furious, feeling it a barbaric test. But I discovered I had the power to set this field for various scenarios, and... what do you suppose I did?"

Harry suddenly understood. "Lived the life you wanted to have, rather than the one you did have."

"Very good; you understood that better than most would have. Yes, that, and then some." Solemnly, he said, "I lived five lifetimes in this, each a different, but good one. After what to me was three hundred-plus years of living, I decided I'd had enough, and the real life was bound to be bad compared to the ones I'd already had. So, I decided to just end it. I had taken a privilege I'd earned, but earning it damaged me psychologically, and I ended up abusing it. I'd never been announced to the country as Auror Leader, and the Aurors weren't about to do it posthumously. I'm now only in Auror history, the secret scrolls only to be read by other Auror Leaders. I'm a warning of what not to do."

"And you appeared to me," said Harry, "because you think I might be tempted to do the same thing."

"You wouldn't be human if you weren't," said Anders kindly. "But yes, my presence does emphasize the point."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I get it. It is tempting, to have that life, the one I had before I had to give it up. But, no, I won't be doing that. I'll just have to settle for the real one."

"So, you seem to have accepted that you'll be Auror Leader. I'm curious as to why. Even though you now understand why you didn't want to commit to anything, it doesn't necessarily follow that you'll be Auror Leader."

"Yeah, that's true," Harry admitted. "And there's still a part of me that doesn't want to do it, the part that wants to hide in Grimmauld Place all day. But I need to stop doing that, I need to get out there and live my life. I would've had to do that anyway, at some point. As for Auror Leader..." He thought for a minute.

"I'm not sure. I think that combined with all the stuff I learned in here, being in Japan had some influence. I wouldn't want to live in their society, but it has some good points, and one of them is that everyone thinks about what's good for society in general. That shouldn't come before what one person wants, but we should probably think about it more. I had wanted to be an Auror anyway, and... Kingsley knew this, and he was right: there's a lot of good I can do. I wanted that quiet life where I could do something I wanted every day, be left alone, just be nice and relaxed. But now, I would feel guilty if I did that. That's just not in the cards for me. I've kind of accepted that."

Anders nodded. "It's very good of you, as the Japanese would say. It's better than I did. Of course, I didn't have the benefit of seeing the kinds of things you saw, and my early life was worse. So, even though by Auror Leader standards I failed most miserably, I hope you'll remember me with compassion."

"I will."

"Thank you. Now, one more thing: you were told that I ask something of everyone who makes it this far. In your case, what I want is... your story. I want some who quest to be able to come away with the story of what happened to you, from when you were a baby until now."

Harry frowned. "But you could do that anyway."

"True, but we usually get the permission from the one of whom the story is told. Those who earn the right to see it will know your actions, your thoughts, your feelings, at key points in your life; even your King's Cross meeting with Dumbledore. We ask because it is something of an invasion of privacy. The things you saw in here were rare exceptions, mainly because as Auror Leader, you have access to this kind of thing. Also, my request is somewhat symbolic, since you have strongly resisted telling your story."

"Okay, you have my permission. But why is my story so important?"

"Stories can inspire, Harry," explained Anders. "They can show the way to do the right thing, or in the cases you saw, show how to avoid the wrong thing, or give insight into others. Your story is, as Aberforth said, the granddaddy of them all. It would inspire many who knew it, as it does your countrymen even though they don't know all of it.

"Now, I can save you some time and difficulty getting back; I can send you to the part of myself that the Auror compound is built around. You can Apparate anywhere you want from there."

"That's good; I'd rather not sit on another plane for twelve hours." As he spoke, his surroundings instantly changed, and while it appeared that the energy field hadn't moved at all relative to his position, he was in the room in which he'd woken from his Auror Leader test. "But wait a minute, Kingsley said you couldn't Apparate from this room."

Anders was gone, but his voice came from the energy field. "You will find that you can Apparate anywhere in England, even where others cannot; it is one of the enhancements of being Auror Leader. Good luck."

"Thanks. Oh, wait a minute! What about what I came here for?"

"You already have it; it is now in your mind."

Harry searched his memory, and indeed, something was there that hadn't been there before. Ingenious, he thought admiringly. "This spell... almost seems Japanese. Was it?"

"I'm not going to tell you everything," said the energy field, still speaking in Anders' voice. "You have to find out some things for yourself. I'm not an oracle, after all."

Harry chuckled. "Just seems like it. Okay, thanks." He looked around the room, and again saw the glowing doorway, the one he knew now was for him and him alone. It would have to wait, however. There were things to do.

* * * * *

Next: Chapter 21, The Auror Leader: Back in England after three months away, Harry finds that Kingsley's tenure as Minister has almost come to an end, meaning that the dementors will soon be back in Azkaban.

From Chapter 21: "It might be better to delay this while more time can be taken to come up with a less risky plan," countered McGonagall.

Harry shook his head. "This event has already been set in motion; I can't change it, and another one wouldn't work the same way. It has to be now."

"You are asking people to unknowingly risk their lives!"

"I don't see where that's your business, Professor," he said levelly.