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𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME

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I wasn't born

to be

soft and quiet

I was born

to make the world

shatter

and shake

at my fingertips

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 made, their preparations complete; in the smallest bedroom a single long, silky black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantelpiece.

"And you'll both be using their actual wands," said Harry, nodding toward the wands resting on the mattress, "so I reckon you'll be pretty convincing."

Elara glared at her mother's wand.

"I hate this thing," she said in a low voice. "I really fucking hate it."

"It'll probably help you get in character, though," said Ron. "Think what that wand's done!"

"But that's my point!" said Elara. "This is the wand that tortured Neville's mum and dad, and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius! If I had half a mind to snap it in half right now — "

"I miss my wand," Hermione said miserably. "Narcissa's isn't terrible, but I wish Mr. Ollivander could have made me another one too."

Mr. Ollivander had sent Luna a new wand that morning. She was out on the back lawn at that moment, testing its capabilities in the late afternoon sun. Dean, who had lost his wand to the Snatchers, was watching rather gloomily.

The door of the bedroom opened and Griphook entered. Elara reached instinctively for the hilt of the sword and drew it close to her, but regretted her action at once: she could tell that the goblin had noticed.

Seeking to gloss over the sticky moment, she said, "We've just been checking the last-minute stuff, Griphook. We've told Bill and Fleur we're leaving tomorrow, and we've told them not to get up to see us off."

They had been firm on this point, because Elara would morph into Bellatrix and Hermione would need to transform into Bellatrix before they left, and the less that Bill and Fleur knew or suspected about what they were about to do, the better. They had also explained that they would not be returning.

As they had lost Perkins's old tent on the night that the Snatchers caught them, Bill had lent them another one. It was now packed inside the beaded bag, which, Elara was impressed to learn, Hermione had protected from the Snatchers by the simple expedient of stuffing it down her sock.

Though Elara would miss Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean, not to mention the home comforts they had enjoyed over the last few weeks, she was looking forward to escaping the confinement of Shell Cottage. She was tired of trying to make sure that they were not overheard, tired of being shut in the tiny, dark bedroom. Most of all, she longed to be rid of Griphook. However, precisely how and when they were to part from the goblin without handing over Gryffindor's sword remained a question to which Elara had no answer.

It had been impossible to decide how they were going to do it, because the goblin rarely left Elara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone together for more than five minutes at a time:

"He could give my mother lessons," growled Ron, as the goblin's long fingers kept appearing around the edges of doors.

Hermione disapproved so heartily of the planned double-cross that Elara and Harry had given up attempting to pick her brains on how best to do it; Ron, on the rare occasions that they had been able to snatch a few Griphook-free moments, had come up with nothing better than "We'll just have to wing it, mate."

Elara slept badly that night. Lying awake in the early hours, she thought back to the way she had felt the night before they had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and remembered a determination, almost an excitement. Now she was experiencing jolts of anxiety, nagging doubts: She could not shake off the fear that it was all going to go wrong. She kept telling herself that their plan was good, that Griphook knew what they were facing, that they were well-prepared for all the difficulties they were likely to encounter, yet still she felt uneasy.

Once or twice she heard Hermione stir and was sure that she too was awake, but they were sharing the bedroom with Jane and Luna, so Elara did not speak.

It was a relief when six o'clock arrived and they could slip out of their sleeping bags, dress in the semidarkness, then creep out into the garden, where they were to meet Harry, Ron, and Griphook. The dawn was chilly, but there was little wind now that it was May. Elara looked up at the stars still glimmering palely in the dark sky and listened to the sea washing backward and forward against the cliff: She was going to miss the sound.

Hermione gagged as she downed the potion, transforming painfully into Aunt Cissa. Elara closed her eyes tightly and thought of her dreaded biological mother. Both girls gasped as they took in the other's appearances.

Then the sound of a door opening made them look around. Harry and Ron were striding across the lawn toward them, accompanied by Griphook. The three seemed to repress shivers of disgust as they took in the girls' appearances. Elara was cloaked in old robes from Grimmauld place, straggly black hair rippling down her back. Hermione was dressed more elegantly, her hair tied back as Aunt Cissa usually had it.

"Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you. . . ."

"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long —"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome —"

"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time."

Hermione sighed and set to work, muttering under her breath as she transformed various aspects of Ron's appearance. He was to be given a completely fake identity, and they were trusting to the malevolent aura cast by Bellatrix to protect him. Meanwhile Harry and Griphook were to be concealed under the Invisibility Cloak.

"There," said Hermione, "how does he look?"

It was just possible to discern Ron under his disguise, but only, Elara thought, because he knew him so well. Ron's hair was now long and wavy; he had a thick brown beard and mustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose, and heavy eyebrows.

"Well, he's not my type, but he'll do," said Harry. "Shall we go, then?"

All four of them glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point, just beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Charm stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate. Once past the gate, Griphook spoke.

"I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?"

Harry bent down and the goblin clambered onto his back, his hands linked in front of Harry's throat. Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of the beaded bag and threw it over them both.

"Perfect," she said, bending down to check Harry's feet. "I can't see a thing. Let's go."

Elara turned on the spot, concentrating with all her might on the Leaky Cauldron, the inn that was the entrance to Diagon Alley. Seconds later Harry's feet found pavement and she opened her eyes on Charing Cross Road. Muggles bustled past wearing the hangdog expressions of early morning, quite unconscious of the little inn's existence.

The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Elara and drew back into the shadows.

"Madam Lestrange," murmured Tom, and as Elara passed he inclined his head subserviently.

Elara almost let a 'Good Morning' slip, but she caught herself in time only for a noise she could only hope resembled disgust escape her lips. She drew out Bellatrix's wand and tapped a brick in the nondescript wall in front of them.

At once the bricks began to whirl and spin: A hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley.

It was quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly any shoppers abroad. The crooked, cobbled street was much altered now from the bustling place Elara had grew up with. More shops than ever were boarded up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since her last visit.

Elara's own face glared down at her from posters plastered over many windows, always captioned with the words UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE.

A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. She heard them moaning to the few passersby, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One man had a bloody bandage over his eye.

As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Elara. They seemed to melt away before her, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. She looked after them curiously, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across her path.

"My children!" he bellowed, pointing at her. His voice was cracked, high-pitched; he sounded distraught. "Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, you know!"

Elara scrambled to think of a response.

"I don't know who or where your worthless children are," sneered Elara. "I suggest you back down before you end up with them."

The man lunged at her, reaching for her throat: Elara raised Bellatrix's wand and with a bang and a burst of red light he was thrown backward onto the ground, unconscious. Faces appeared at the windows on either side of the street, while a little knot of prosperous-looking passersby gathered their robes about them and broke into gentle trots, keen to vacate the scene.

"Come along, Cissy — "

Before they could move, they heard a cry from behind them.

"Why, Madam Lestrange!"

Elara whirled around: A tall, thin wizard with a crown of bushy gray hair and a long, sharp nose was striding toward them. She had seen him during her stay at Malfoy Manor.

"Travers," mused Elara cooly. "And how are on this day?"

"Well, I confess I am surprised to see you and Madam Narcissa out and about, Bellatrix."

"Really? Why?" asked Hermione.

"Well," Travers coughed, "I heard that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the . . . ah . . . escape."

"The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past," said Elara in a magnificent imitation of Bellatrix's most contemptuous manner. "Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers."

Though the Death Eater looked offended, he also seemed less suspicious. He glanced down at the man Elara had just Stunned.

"How did it offend you?"

"It does not matter, it will not do so again," said Elara coolly.

"Some of these wandless can be troublesome," said Travers. "While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case at the Ministry last week.

'I'm a witch, sir, I'm a witch, let me prove it to you!'" he said in a squeaky impersonation. "As if I was going to give her my wand — but whose wand," said Travers curiously, "are you using at the moment? I heard that both of yours were —"

"We have our wands here," responded Hermione graciously, holding up Narcissa's wand. "I don't know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem. . . . misinformed."

Travers seemed a little taken aback at that, and he turned instead to Ron.

"Who is your friend? I do not recognize him."

"This is Dragomir Despard," said Elara; they had decided that a fictional foreigner was the safest cover for Ron to assume. "He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord's aims. He has traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime."

"Indeed? How do you do, Dragomir?"

"'Ow you?" said Ron, holding out his hand.

Travers extended two fingers and shook Ron's hand as though frightened of dirtying himself.

"So what brings you and your — ah — sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?" asked Travers.

"Bella needed to visit Gringotts," said Hermione.

"Alas, I also," said Travers. "Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends. Shall we?"

Both Elara and Hermione had no choice but to fall into step beside him and head along the crooked, cobbled street toward the place where the snowy-white Gringotts stood towering over the other little shops. Ron sloped along beside them.

A watchful Death Eater was the very last thing they needed. All too soon they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors. As Griphook had already warned them, the liveried goblins who usually flanked the entrance had been replaced by two wizards, both of whom were clutching long thin golden rods.

"Ah, Probity Probes," sighed Travers theatrically, "so crude — but effective!"

And he set off up the steps, nodding left and right to the wizards, who raised the golden rods and passed them up and down his body. The Probes, Elara knew, detected spells of concealment and hidden magical objects. Unnoticed by Travers, who was looking through the bronze doors at the inner hall, each of the guards gave a little start as Harry's spells hit them.

Elara's long black hair rippled behind her as she climbed the steps.

"One moment, madams," said the guard, raising his Probe.

"But you've just done that!" said Elara in Bellatrix's commanding, arrogant voice.

Travers looked around, eyebrows raised. The guard was confused. He stared down at the thin golden Probe and then at his companion, who said in a slightly dazed voice,

"Yeah, you've just checked them, Marius."

Elara swept forward, Hermione and Ron by her side.

"Useless guards," grumbled Elara to Hermione.

The long counter was manned by goblins sitting on high stools, serving the first customers of the day. Elara, Hermione, Ron, and Travers headed toward an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass. Elara allowed Travers to step ahead of her on the pretext of Narcissa explaining features of the hall to Ron.

The goblin tossed the coin he was holding aside, said to nobody in particular, "Leprechaun," and then greeted Travers, who passed over a tiny golden key, which was examined and given back to him.

Hermione stepped forward.

"Madam Lestrange!" said the goblin, evidently startled. "Dear me! How — how may I help you today?"

"I'd like to enter my vault," said Elara.

The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. Not only was Travers hanging back, watching, but several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at her.

"You have . . . identification?" asked the goblin.

"Identification?" shouted Elara, feigning to be nonplussed. "I have never been asked for identification here before!"

"Your wand will do, madam," said the goblin.

He held out a slightly trembling hand, and in a dreadful blast of realization Elara knew that the goblins of Gringotts were aware that Bellatrix's wand had been stolen. Praying Harry was a fast thinker, she extended her wand.

The goblin took Bellatrix's wand, examined it closely, and then said, "Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange!"

"I — Yes, I have," announced Elara. "I dare say it better suits me more than the last."

"A new wand?" said Travers, approaching the counter again; still the goblins all around were watching. "But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?"

Elara stared at Travers.

"Oh yes, I see," said Travers, looking down at Bellatrix's wand, "yes, very handsome. And is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don't you?"

"I would agree," mused Elara, "however, this was has already served me well."

The old goblin behind the counter clapped his hands and a younger goblin approached.

"I shall need the Clankers," he told the goblin, who dashed away and returned a moment later with a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal, which he handed to his senior. "Good, good! So, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange and Madam Narcissa," said the old goblin, hopping down off his stool and vanishing from sight, "I shall take you to your vault."

He appeared around the end of the counter, jogging happily toward them, the contents of the leather bag still jingling. Travers was now standing quite still with his mouth hanging wide open. Ron was drawing attention to this odd phenomenon by regarding Travers with confusion.

"Wait — Bogrod!"

Another goblin came scurrying around the counter.

"We have instructions," he said with a bow to Hermione. "Forgive me, Madam, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange."

He whispered urgently in Bogrod's ear, but the Imperiused goblin shook him off.

"I am aware of the instructions. Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault . . . Very old family . . . old clients . . . This way, please . . ."

And, still clanking, he hurried toward one of the many doors leading off the hall. Elara looked back at Travers, who was still rooted to the spot looking abnormally vacant. He began walking meekly in their wake as they reached the door and passed into the rough stone passageway beyond, which was lit with flaming torches.

"We're in trouble; they suspect," said Harry as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.

Griphook jumped down from his shoulders; neither Travers nor Bogrod showed the slightest surprise at the sudden appearance of Harry Potter in their midst.

"Fucking hell," breathed Elara, rubbing her temple, "That was a lot more difficult than I thought. Harry, did you — "

"Yeah, they're Imperiused. I don't think I did it strongly enough, I don't know. . . ."

"What matters is that you're a genius."

"What do we do?" asked Ron. "Shall we get out now, while we can?"

"If we can," said Hermione, looking back toward the door into the main hall, beyond which who knew what was happening.

"We've got this far, I say we go on," said Harry.

"Good!" said Griphook. "So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority. But there will not be room for the wizard."

Harry pointed his wand at Travers.

"Imperio!"

The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace.

"What are you making him do?"