Chapter 62 The Heist

Seven teenagers sat and stared at Gringotts. It was just before dusk, the street was crowded with shoppers, all of whom were lost in their own little worlds and routines, seemingly indifferent to the coming storm. They pretended well, but at the back of every mind was the fear of Voldemort, of his Death Eaters, and of what was to come.

They were protected by seven different charms to ensure that they would be unobserved and unnoticed by everyone, and with an intricate glamour charm, it made the interior of the small coffee shop appear empty. Such was their confidence in their charms and spell work, that they did not bother hiding that they had... less than legal intentions.

They were identically dressed in black, over which they wore basilisk hide armor. Their street clothes were lying in neat piles close at hand. They went over the plan one final time, donned their street clothes, and exited the shop. They walked up the stairs, talking and laughing as if everything was right with the world and through the double doors, into Gringotts.

Given the lateness of the hour, there were fewer tellers on duty, but the number of guards - at least visible guards - remained the same. Harry calmly walked up to the nearest teller and presented the key for his vault, "Blaghrast-diedom," said Harry, "I wish to access my vault."

The Goblin behind the counter blinked twice, and immediately summoned another Goblin to facilitate access to his vault. They followed the Goblin down, until they reached what looked like, and was an underground train station, with carts waiting for use, and tracks leading out in almost every direction imaginable. They looked around, and wordlessly, they spread out, as Harry gathered his magic and unleashed it from his left hand, "Imperio!"

The goblin stutter-stepped, before freezing in mid-stride. Satisfied that he had sufficient control over the Goblin, Harry nodded and the six teens began placing small charges on all of the carts they could find, as well as several different sets of tracks.

The Imperius Curse, along with the Cruciatus and Avada Kedevra, were classed as unforgivable in 1777, and had been used extensively by the Death Eaters for all manner of unpleasant activities that ranged from the simple suicidal assassination mission to forcing people to torture, rape, and kill their close friends and family, leaving the survivors to pick up the metaphorical - and oftentimes literal - pieces. Of course, the Imperius Curse could be and had been used for all manner of other purposes before, just as Harry was doing now: Maintaining control over his... target, forcing him to do nothing.

But it was a battle of wills, one that Harry knew he was losing. Time was against them all. They piled into the cart and Harry grit his teeth as he forced the Goblin to take them to the former vault of one Bellatrix "The Mad Bitch" Lestrange. The Goblins had not hesitated to claim the contents for themselves under Harry's generous proposal that had won him the shares necessary to buy out the Daily Prophet, but the tables were now turned: The Horcrux was in the vault, and this was the only way that they could get it. Not only had diplomacy failed, but there had never even been any form of negotiation. After all, in any business one only gets what they negotiate, not what one requires.

The cart trundled along its track; they passed through a number of active dig sites where the Goblins were busy harvesting the raw treasures from the depths of the earth. Their speed was simply incredible as they dropped deeper into the planet. Harry gritted his teeth, tightening his hold upon the Goblin's thoughts, to ensure that he kept them on course. Finally, after several long minutes, they could see the waterfall that cascaded over a number of different tracks. The Thieves Downfall, they realized. This was the proverbial it moment.

They plunged headlong through the curtain of water, felt it splash and soak their clothes, almost down to the bone. It felt wet but at the same time strangely different, almost as if it was a mixture of oil and water or something that made the water seem hot and cold all at once. It made Ginny's skin crawl, Neville felt as if he was on the receiving end of a dozen mild stinging hexes. Everyone felt something different. For Harry, it felt like a sensation of peace and calm, the likes of which he had never known.

Suddenly, they had passed through, and the cart's direction shifted rapidly, going down at what seemed like an impossibly steep angle. Were it not for the charms built into the cart to prevent it, they would have probably been thrown clear by the sudden change in direction and the rapidity of their descent. Several long minutes passed, and then the cart slowed and they began to level out and finally came to a halt.

"I can't keep him under," grunted Harry, "He's strong…"

"Plan B?" suggested Fred.

"Not yet," said Harry, "I can keep him for a… couple of more minutes…. Just keep a stunner at the ready!"

With a nod from Fred, they began casting a suite of charms over themselves and everyone else in the group: Chameleon charms caused them to fade from sight, blending in almost perfectly with the rough rock walls of the cavern. Silencing charms ensured their footfalls and themselves made no noise. "Hop test!" said Fred.

No doubt they were all grateful that they were invisible to each other. Otherwise, the sight of seven teenagers hopping on the spot, in the middle of Gringotts, with a Goblin under the Imperius would have seemed a lot more humorous. However ridiculous it might have looked, it served a genuine purpose. The hopping revealed – as it always did – that something on somebody was not silenced: The metallic clink came from somebody at the back of their formation, while the swish of fabric had come from Luna. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to cast a charm while maintaining an Imperious, was not something he was looking forward to even attempting.

"Wands ready, watch your spacing," said Harry, "Let's get this done."

They moved, following the, unfortunately, Goblin who led the way – not that they really needed his guidance at that moment: The smell of burning, of char and sooty ash-filled their nostrils: The dragon was ahead of them.

The dragon was a massive Welsh Green, but its eyes were milky white orbs instead of the massive eyes they should have been. It was blind, but that had not diminished its sense of smell or hearing, nor its ability to detect magical presences: It was staring right at them.

"Mass stunners…" Harry dived. The bolt of flame scorched the stone where he had been standing seconds before. "Cover!" he roared, dropping his chameleon charm as he rolled behind the closest pillar. He looked around and breathed a sigh of relief: Everyone seemed to have made it, "Call off!"

Six voices answered him, and he took stock of their positions. They were spread out in a rough arc in front of the Welsh Green. Harry blinked, "Where's the Goblin?"

"I got him!" replied Colin, as he checked over the diminutive figure slumped next to him, "Had to stun him though."

"No plan survives contact with reality," remarked Fred to his twin brother.

"Quite right," agreed George, "Orders?" he shouted across the chamber.

"Phoenix Guard: Stunner storm in three!" Harry spent a second gathering his magic to him and rolled right in front of the dragon, which turned to face him, tracking him by both smell and magic. He met its baleful sightless glare, accompanied by a tank engine-like growl, and replied with a two-word growl of his own: "Perspicuus Lancea!"

A single beam of bright white light shot from his wand and gouged a three-meter scar in the rock, throwing knife-like stone shards up and in the dragon's face. It reared back with a roar, rising on its hind legs, its wings unfurled, now more than a little pissed off as it prepared to unleash another bolt of flame, but critically exposing its chest. The Phoenix Guard opened up at once: Fourteen bolts of fiery red-streaked towards the target, and while several peppered its stomach and one found a wing, eight of them slammed into its exposed chest.

The force of the spells rocked it backward on its heels, and it slumped over, its last bolt of flame turning the ceiling black before it struck the ground, throwing a cloud of dust, shaking Gringotts to its very foundations as they regrouped, Colin with Neville's help was dragging the unfortunate Goblin behind them, "Somebody's gotta have heard that noise," remarked Colin.

They enervated their unfortunate captive, and once again, Harry cast the Imperius curse and forced the Goblin to lead them, at last to the Lestrange vault. "Open it!" he ordered. The Goblin fought for all he was worth and finally lost, his eyes adopting the vacant blank stare common to those in the thrall of the curse. He stood before the great stone door and ran his finger down the middle. There was a sharp "click!" and the door slid open, and they were left staring at the kind of wealth most of them had heard about, dreamed about, but never actually seen before.

"There's enough gold in here to buy a country!" whispered Colin as he shed his invisibility.

"Or perhaps enough gold to buy a few governments," chided Harry as he followed suit, "Leave the wealth. You know what we're here for. Fan out and find it. Just remember the curses are still in effect."

Nobody needed reminding of both Gemino and Flagrante as they moved to the center of the vault, scanning for the elusive cup. "Located!" called Ginny. She was pointing to a small shelf, under which lay a haphazard mountain of gold.

"Oh shit!" The low tower of Galleons was only ten pieces high, but when they struck the stone floor, they began to multiply. It was not long before ten coins had become three dozen, and continued to multiply. "Wingardium Leviosa!" the fallen coins hovered in mid-air, and fortunately stopped multiplying. "Hurry you guys! I can't hold this forever."

Leaving Fred and George to keep the cursed Galleons airborne, the rest gathered around Ginny, "You sure you up to this?" asked Harry. She nodded, once. He nodded back. She said she was ready, that was good enough for him. Quickly, she rose from the ground, guided by four levitation charms. They kept her well above the mountain of gold. The cup was within reach, but they moved her in close still and she finally wrapped her hands around the handle, and let go with a sharp yelp, jerking her hand back in pain.

"Just burned through my dragonhide gloves!" her voice radiated with pain, "I can't pick it up!"

"I knew the curse was a powerful one, but I didn't know it was that powerful," said Luna quietly.

"Never mind that," replied Harry, now leveling an evil glare at the cup, "How do we get it out of here?"

"Basilisk venom will work right?" asked Neville.

"Don't tell me you carry that stuff around?"

"Nope, but," he hesitated, "If we can't get it out of here, maybe we can destroy it, in here?"

"What do you mean?" said Ginny, eyeing her boyfriend critically for a moment. Her eyes widened a fraction, "You don't mean… torch the vault? That's insane!"

"Unless somebody else has a better idea," said Neville gently, "I don't see us as having any other option."

Harry didn't hesitate, "Prep for Fyndfire," he ordered. They looked at him, aghast, so shocked that the twins actually let the hovering charm slip for a moment – but only a moment. Two galleons struck the floor and quadrupled before they were back off the floor of the vault, "Prep for Fyndfire," he repeated, looking at Neville, "I don't have any other ideas, and I daresay we are running out of time."

It was true. They had planned to be in and out based in less than six minutes. They had barely a minute left on that window. Any longer and they would be unlikely to be able to reroute to Harry's Family Vault to keep up the pretense, running a greater risk of capture. "Could the Goblin deactivate the ward scheme?"

"No telling how long that could take," replied Harry quietly, "Legion, exit," he ordered. They returned Ginny to ground level and exited as Harry flicked the wand into his hand. The incantation was simple enough, but in Sirius's own words on the subject, "Any idiot can summon it, most idiots can't control it." Harry knew he could do both, and ideally, he wanted to incinerate the cup, not the entire vault. He channeled his magic, focusing upon the image he wanted the living flame to take, "Exuro is pessum!"

The flame built and coalesced at the tip of his wand and seemed to hang there for just the barest fraction of a second before it exploded outward, the wave of Fyndfire rapidly took on the shape and form of an otter – a ridiculously large one, but an otter none the less. "Burn the cup!"

The flame swam through the air, graceful and elegant, and enveloped the cup of Hufflepuff. It smoldered and within moments, began to melt. Something screamed, a loud pained sound, the cross of nails on a chalkboard, an out-of-tune violin together with something all the more, foreboding that Harry could not place. No matter. The task was done.

"Did you... feel that?" whispered Colin, "It was like... pure evil and darkness." None could disagree with the young man's assessment.

"Considering Voldemort cut his soul in sev... six pieces," said Harry, "and everything he has done or had done in his name, the fact that he's evil incarnate, should be a given."

They stared at the spot where the cup once stood, now a dripping puddle of molten metal that began to drip down onto the mountain of Galleons like blood. It was, he realized, something of a fitting image, "Blood money" he thought, "everything in this damn vault is to bribe and buy death." The acid scorn of Harry's thoughts would etch platinum, "Burn it all!"

The flame spread and began its destructive work upon the gold and other artifacts contained with the former vault of mad bitch Lestrange. Harry turned and exited the vault, closing the door behind him. He looked at his friends, and though they said nothing, he could feel their feelings, the mix between approval, disbelief, shock, and surprise. He could also read through their impassive expressions. They were slightly concerned that he was going off the deep end. He didn't blame them.

"Anyone care to visit the Potter Family Vault?" he asked casually as they levitated the most unfortunate of Gringotts Goblins past the still unconscious Welsh Green.

Ginny suppressed a snigger, "Is that dragon drooling on himself?" They all stopped to stare for a moment. None of them were able to suppress their sniggering and it helped lighten the mood, given the enormity of what they had just done, and what they had yet to get away with. They remounted the cart, enervated and imperiused their driver, and had him take them to the Potter family vault.

It was there that the trickiest of the spell work took place, and Harry would trust no other but himself to do the job: They stunned the Goblin again and it did not take long for Harry to break into his mind, find all of his memories of the last fifteen minutes and obliviate them, leaving only the fact that they boarded the cart in good order, and had arrived and departed Harry's vault with ease. A series of compulsion charms ensured that the Goblin would never recall anything out of the ordinary.

Satisfied with his spell work, Harry retrieved a respectable amount of gold from his vault along with a number of books and other things just to keep up appearances. And they rode back to the metro station beneath the bank itself. Without a word, the twins muttered incantations under their breath. The small charges they had planted detonated, without a flash or a sound as they disintegrated upon themselves, become nothing but dust that the passage of carts and wind would disperse in short order. The small crystals were actually Detonator Crystals, smuggled out of the Ministry's "War Armory" by two of its Aurors. They packed enough raw explosive power to kill within anything standing within three feet of the blast.

The devices had been part of an alternate "Plan C," to be used when the situation went completely to pieces. Barring the fact that the Lestrange Vault was probably still a blazing furnace, things had gone rather well. Together the group of quiet, solemn teenagers exited the bank and with sighs of relief made their way to their respective homes, eager to put as much distance between Gringotts and themselves, for the foreseeable future at least.

Unbeknownst to the group, Griphook had watched their progress with interest. The moment they had walked in he had been notified and had shadowed them from a distance. As one of the numerous Senior Accounts Managers, his magical signature was keyed into the Thieves Downfall, which had allowed him to follow without being discovered.

He was not sure what to make of Harry's actions, especially where the Imperius Curse had been employed. He could not help but wonder when or how Harry had learned to use that particular curse and to manipulate it in such a fashion. The thought of the Chosen One going dark flitted through his mind, but he discarded the possibility, 'The young man had no other alternative and he did it himself, instead of having one of his friends do it. The repercussions fall squarely on Harry's shoulders if it ever emerges. His friends….' Though sanctionable under Goblin law if they were captured, they had not been captured, partly due to his own covert manipulations that had misrouted the clockwork-like patrols as well as the invisible guards. Deactivating the various different charms, ward schemes and curses in place was the only true link to him and what had taken place.

He sighed, and shook his head, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk where a bottle of Sun blonded Vint Firewhiskey was hidden, along with a number of glasses. He waited, and it was not long before his wife Marinashka and a third Goblin joined them in the room. She waited as he sealed the room against any means of listening in and entry, magical or otherwise. They waited, and watched as Griphook emptied the contents of the bottle in three glasses. Each glass held more than a generous measure of whiskey, and he stared into the depths of amber liquid, watching the gold flecks dance in the light.

The office was much the same as it always was, except that the stacks of paper and parchment seemed taller. With the return of Voldemort, increasing security always meant an increase in the accompanying paperwork and bureaucracy, but it served the interests of Gringotts to ensure that the vaults of their customers – no matter how unsavory – remained secure. He took a sip from the glass and turned to Ragnar, "It is done?"

"I was not expecting the stunning spells," replied the third Goblin, "The Imperius was unsettling but otherwise, I believe all went as well as can be expected." Ragnar smiled, "How long?"

"Within the hour," replied Griphook steadily. He said nothing more as his friend of the past forty-seven years met his gaze one final, "You know what is required?"

"I do," he replied, taking a sip of his own whiskey. He grimaced, "I cannot fathom why you enjoy the consumption of this particular wizarding beverage so much." He placed his glass back on the desk.

"Ragnar, stop changing the subject," said Griphook quietly, "I was surprised when you acquiesced so easily to such a request, given its enormous repercussions."

"Given what has come to pass between us," Ragnar shrugged, "You only ask for that which is yours to ask for," he held up his hand, revealing the heavy, thick scar that ran diagonally down the palm of his right hand. Griphook stared at it for a long moment, knowing that he had a matching one on his hand, "I honor the bond and the debt between us and you cannot take this, as it is freely given."

"Then forgive me, old friend," said Griphook, as he toyed with his glass, "I do what I must to ensure the survival of our way, our kind, and our world at large."

"No forgiveness necessary," replied Ragnar. He looked across at Marinashka, "Proceed."

She chanted, softly in the language of the Goblins, giving the harsh guttural syllables a soft, almost musical whimsy. Magic built up in her hands, and sparks began arching between her fingers until finally, she seemed to have a bolt of lightning in each hand. She continued to chant, as she placed her hands on either side of his head. Ragnar looked across at Griphook with an almost tired smile, one that mixed thanks, weary happiness, and perhaps even a measure of sadness.

The Senior Accounts Manager of Gringotts held his friend's gaze, and underneath his table, gripped the armrests of his chair, his nails biting through the leather. 'Goodbye, my friend,' he thought as the blue glow arched between his wife's outstretched fingers. The current of magic leaped between her hands and flared. The light was blinding for several moments, and Griphook felt his eyes begin to ache, but he watched until it was done: The light faded, and Marinashka lowered her hands. The last stray wisps of magic dissipated into the air, "It is done," she whispered. The Rite of Concealment was as draining as the wizarding Fidilius Charm, only that it secured the knowledge within the mind of its recipient, and could never be revealed without the correct code phrase, which was in this case, only known to Marinashka.

She turned to her husband, "I am ready."

He shaped and focused the magic, "Brogast!" It was the Goblin equivalent of a memory charm, though more permanent, as it erased her knowledge of the code phrase, rendering all that had transpired that morning known to only one Goblin, the "Ministry Seven" and a still unconscious Welsh Green drooling on itself beneath Diagon Alley.