Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe, characters, situations, et cetera aren't mine. Neither are the things you might recognise from other fics; everything else is mine, precioussss. I'm not getting any money out of this fan fiction either, I have other means to sustain self. This is just for fun, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A/N: This one was almost two years in coming, but now I have my muse back and safely tucked under my pillow, I hope I'll finish this fic this year. I'm already working on the sequel (yes, I am that bonkers), so that's an added incentive to finish Time sooner. Thanks for sticking around so long, and I hope you like this chapter as much as I do. Because I love this one, for some reason.

Chapter 21

According to Plan

Rasmus licked his lips in anticipation; everything was going smoothly. He had managed to set up quite the little operation, in spite of the short notice.

Mere moments ago, he had been bored stiff – but all of that had changed, miraculously, with Snape's last message, which had finally yielded some decent information.

The McAlpin boys, all but vanished from the face of the earth for a handful of days, were, apparently, making a foray into the outer world. It did truly surprise him; after having scoured half the British Isles for them, there had been not a sign of them – and yet, Snape's message had been clear: the boys and some of the Order to watch them would be going to Gringotts, to settle something about Old McAlpin's will.

It could not have been more convenient for a bored soul like Rasmus'.

He watched the Death Eaters start mingling with the apprehensive crowd that had ventured out on this day, driven to do their shopping by need, no doubt – few dared to visit magical centres such as Diagon Alley openly of late. Nowhere was safe, and the greater portion of the country's wizarding population was cowed by the force of old memories alone.

Cowards.

His focus was not on the average magical populace hurrying along, however. They were minding their business, and it was as far removed from his own as he could think of. Instead, he followed the Death Eaters' progress across the Alley, as they reached their hastily decided positions, awaiting his signal to attack.

Finally, they were starting to understand what it truly meant to follow orders.

Snape's message was further confirmed by what Rasmus had seen for himself since he arrived; the gradual appearance of the Order, or at least, of some witches and wizards he remembered encountering in battle before, whom he had been endeavouring to observe, and whose presence here, he was sure, was not unwarranted.

Still, he had to wait a full hour for something remotely interesting to happen.

Shortly before noon, he watched them arrive, flanked by the werewolf and a dumpy, red-haired witch whom he recognised as Weasley's wife – her brothers had been excellent fighters, yes, but would she rise to the challenge?

He would find out soon enough.

"They're headed for Gringotts," he murmured, addressing Bellatrix without bothering to turn to look at her. "We shall cut them off upon leaving. Tell the rest to remain unseen." There was no need to face her to see her hungry grimace of a smirk, as she too, hungrily followed the boys' progress along the street, touching her Mark to convey the new instructions to the rest.

Instantly, the dark figures dotting the way to the bank retreated to the more secluded corners of the Alley, like so many shadows lurking unseen and unnoticed by even Moody's watchful eye. They had been extremely careful, after all, even though the plan had been made on the fly.

Improvisation was something Rasmus excelled at – and he had to admit that, when spurred on by fear of their Lord, the Death Eaters could indeed turn out to be above-average help. There were no trademark silver masks this time, and everyone had taken Polyjuice Potion to further prevent recognition. Not to mention, Snape's information had proven extremely accurate: the positions of every last Order member were precise to a tee.

Ah, if every day could be like this one...

His attention shifted to the McAlpin boys, his present targets, who were striding ahead amidst the growing circle of their protectors. They did not seem to be too reliant on the Order, who were dogging their every step; any other child would have been less wary, as Rasmus knew from experience. These two, however, were as alert as though they were there on their own and under attack already.

Rasmus allotted them two awareness points each.

They had changed quite remarkably since their last encounter, and Rasmus did not miss the pallor of their faces, or the keen alertness of their eyes as they passed right past the apothecary, which Rasmus was using as an outpost. They did not seem half as apprehensive as the crowd milling about either, and it made Rasmus smile. Confidence and fearlessness, he valued both traits in an adversary, and these two could just be what he had been waiting for – he'd never much cared for taking age into account when battling anyone; prodigies were hard to come by, and so much fun to battle against.

He saw them alternately look left and right, in that maddeningly familiar way he could not for the life of him place, no matter how hard he racked his brains; every motion, every feature was engraved in his mind, and for some reason, made him itch to hex them unawares... Made him nervous, of all things. As though he – or part of him at least – knew he did not stand a chance should he try for an open attack. Then again, he was certain he had never seen either of the boys before in his life. It was maddening, and he basked in this so very alien feeling of uncertainty.

He did, however, remember to duck out of the way as the boys' roving eyes went upwards as one, scanning the rooftops of the shops for any kind of danger and sweeping past his watch post without spotting him. Those two were waiting for his attack, it seemed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which, Rasmus mused, was probably true.

Old McAlpin had done a wicked job at training them, hadn't he?

And Rasmus, for so long forced to do jobs well beneath his skill, had a sudden epiphany. Not that it showed, of course; any watchful observer would merely have seen a spark brightening his eyes for a split second, nothing more. Deep within him, though, hope flared up: with luck, these two would not disappoint.

"Let them enter the bank," he murmured to Bellatrix. "Send the foremost team in after them to take Gringotts, we can take them while they are in the vaults – have the rest take out everyone else who remains outdoors as soon as they get into the carts. I don't want any sort of annoying interference." If all went according to plan, there would be no warning at all, no help, nowhere to run – and in an hour's time at the most, Voldemort would have his new body... and Rasmus would have his toy.

Ah, but isn't life exciting?

The Death Eaters started moving again as soon as the group had entered the bank, as they had been instructed.

Seconds later, they could be seen sweeping the Alley, shadows of darkness engulfing the – severely outnumbered – Order, while a group hurried into the bank to ensure nobody would get inside after the boys had entered.

Rasmus left his lofty post, sporting a rare smile on his face, even as panicked screaming, urgent shouting, and the beams of spells began to rip the tense air filling Diagon Alley apart.

Spells whizzing past on either side of him, he stretched leisurely, surveying the damage quickly spreading throughout the length of the winding street below.

It was time.

He'd never been a big fan of Floo travel, but it wasn't to be avoided – with Charlie all but refusing to listen, what else could he possibly do? He hadn't a clue as to how to Apparate yet, though he figured it might be handier than spinning round and round until his stomach was churning, breathing in ashes and dust, only able to get blurry glimpses of fireplaces every time he cracked an eye open.

He couldn't remember Floo travel ever to last so long, particularly as Grimmauld Place was in Islington, and thus not all that far away from the Leaky Cauldron...

Had he screwed it up again?

There was no time to lose, gah!

The very instant the mad spinning came to a halt, Harry toppled out of the grate, landing smack on the worn rug of what he recognised with relief was the Leaky Cauldron. He staggered to his feet, which he only now noticed were bare, adjusting his smudged glasses on his face – but it only brought the parlour of the inn into view for a moment. The next instant, there was a bang, and Charlie was suddenly blocking the way, red in the face and furious.

Harry made to push him aside, but as he tried to stumble past, his arm was held in a vice of a grip.

"Keep your head down," Charlie hissed, slapping Harry's dressing gown hood over his head and looking at him in outrage. "Of all the stupid things you could have done— you're in your pyjamas, dammit!"

"Death Eaters," Harry hissed back, freeing himself from Charlie's hold and glaring back as fiercely as the red-headed wizard was. Dress codes were not amongst his present priorities. "Out there, can't you bloody hear? Just listen!"

And sure enough, barely-muffled screams and blasts could be heard from outside – this was also probably the cause for the panicked crowd of people trying to squeeze their way out through the courtyard, steamrollering each other in their frantic bid to get back into the Cauldron and out of danger.

It was evident that Charlie hadn't noticed them until now, and to judge by the way all colour drained from his face, he had only just become aware of the matter at hand.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, sounding frighteningly like Ron to Harry's ears. Harry didn't need to hear the words to make out Charlie's thoughts – they were entirely too similar to his own; where were the others? Could they even hold out hope that they were alright?

"Told you," he muttered grimly, striding towards the door to the courtyard and wondering why he hadn't taken a minute to at least put on some shoes. And how in the seven circles of hell could they make it to Diagon Alley through here, when everyone who'd been out there, it seemed, was pushing the opposite way at the same time.

Everyone, that was, except the very people Harry was worrying about the most. Not one familiar face could be seen in the throng of wizards and witches shoving frantically this way and that, piling into the Cauldron in a panic.

"We have to—" he started urgently, but Charlie cut him off, swearing at the crowd at mid-voice. Clearly, he had forgotten all about minding Harry and dragging him back to Headquarters unseen, and was finally on the same page as him.

"Mum's going to kill me."

Before Harry could wonder what that meant, much less hope for Mrs. Weasley to be alright enough to kill anyone later, Charlie packed him by the arm again. There was a very strange sensation, like he was being siphoned through a very small tube, which proved almost as unpleasant as Floo had been not moments before – and they were suddenly outdoors, looking in on a scene that was frighteningly similar to Harry's nightmares of late.

"Don't you worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley reassured Connor yet again, patting his arm in a way that would have been comforting had he been used to it; the McAlpin family had never really been one for mollycoddling, or for offering comfort when there was none to be had. Things had always been set down as they were, cold, hard facts given to them in the most straightforward fashion since they were little, and Connor preferred it that way. Looking at Chris, he could see the other thought the same, though how he could be amused by it of all things, Connor could not really understand.

He was worried and tense, an obvious reaction to being led down the cavernous, roughly-hewn tunnels that led to the vaults. He'd been to Gringotts only thrice in his life, every time with their Grams, and though those visits had been fun, today's visit only brought back memories of a time when things had been so much better.

Now, unfamiliar territory of any kind, particularly the sort that came with an absolute lack of control or knowledge as to where they were going, was about as welcome to Connor as red mange.

"Try and enjoy yourselves, dears," Mrs. Weasley encouraged them both, as they climbed into the cart after the goblin, a tiny greenish one who wore a bit of an overlarge suit and went by the name of Grapple, and who seemed to be rather younger than most others they'd seen so far.

Chris snorted his answer for the both of them, as Connor handed the goblin the lamp and lowered himself rather stiffly onto the front seat. Somehow, they'd both expected to see the Diagon Alley they remembered from a couple of years ago, not this sort of atmosphere, where fear and dread hung in the air as thickly as cobwebs, giving a distant, surreal feel to the entire street, which once again brought the fact down full force that things had changed.

Connor wasn't a stranger to change; sometimes, things simply did. Other times, they got turned all topsy-turvy, like this go round. This was the sort of change he dreaded, and yet, it was staring right back at him everywhere he looked.

And it was an unpleasant reminder of just how much they'd lost – if his Gramps or Auntie Jeanie, or even Rob were here, it would be worlds different.

Then again, what they'd come here for couldn't ever be termed as remotely enjoyable; they'd been identified as Gramps' and the entire McAlpin family's last living heirs, and now had to go ogle the gold and assets they had, before they went back to their father's old house to slowly lose their minds again.

The goblins had gone through the paperwork without the slightest shred of condolence or even interest, which made things all the harder; they had had to sit through a session with a floppy-eared fellow who listed the names, ages, causes and dates of death of their entire family and struck the names through with a red crayon with the enthusiasm of someone forced to watch the grass grow.

Neither of them had felt the sheer finality of their every loved one's deaths as strongly as now, and it was numbing, raw emotions clashing with the constant, draining need for alertness – how could they possibly even begin to enjoy anything like this trip?

They waited for Mrs. Weasley and Remus to clamber into the cart as well before it set into motion with a jerk and no warning, rattling loudly in the cavernous depths of the underground network of rails in its mad race. Chris and Connor silently agreed upon the fact that this was the first mildly enjoyable thing that had happened in a while, as they zoomed and rattled and clunked their way ever deeper into a black chasm at breakneck speed, icy air hitting their faces, bringing up a musty smell here and there. For all her encouraging words, Mrs. Weasley seemed pretty lousy at following her own advice. She didn't look remotely amused, and was clutching her side of the cart for all she was worth while holding her purple bonnet with her free hand. Nexto to her, even Remus looked dizzy.

Behind them, a handful of minutes later, another cart was set into motion, to follow them to whichever vault they were going, and in it, four individuals and one goblin also travelled, though theirs was a far more excited group. One of them at least, was as close to boiling over with excitement as he ever got.

"They won't stand a chance," Rasmus stated ferally, wand held against the terrified goblin's head as he tried to pierce the darkness to catch a glimpse of the cart they were following. He could not see it, but he could hear it rattling its way up ahead. Victory was at his fingertips – and he was having more fun than he'd had all week. Perhaps he ought to devise twisted schemes like this one more often?

Diagon Alley was chaotic mess as far as he could see; beams of spells rent the air, which was thick with smoke and panicked screams. Wherever they looked, chaos and destruction leered back, bodies, or parts of bodies littered the cobbled streets that looked nothing like what Harry remembered. Shops were on fire, witches and wizards of all ages ran for their lives, stumbling and tripping over the debris in a frenzied panic.

"Bloody." Charlie breathed, eyes wide and pushing Harry behind what was left of a shop, trying, just as Harry was, to make out something useful amidst the chaos.

"No kidding." There was no time to waste, and though he could see Moody battling two black-robed Death Eaters over there next to Fortescue's, and Hestia propelling another one through the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, there was no sign of the twins, of Mrs. Weasley, or – Harry swallowed, squinting to make something out – Remus. Charlie, he knew, was scanning what he could see of the street too, with the same results.

Or maybe not.

Where are you? He thought frantically, wiping his glasses clean the better to see. Only, he couldn't see much of anything even when they were clean.

Unbidden, images flared up, familiar and completely alien all at once-- A goblin, tracing a large red crayon over a list of names, crossing each out in turn, the distinct sensation of nostalgia and loss... Movement towards the carts that took you to the vaults.

Then it hit him.

"The bank," Harry said suddenly, but the certainty of his tone took him by surprise. Not that he dwelled on it – time was something they didn't have to spare. "They're at Gringotts." The words just spilled out of him like anything. And yet, they were true, he just knew it.

Charlie blinked.

"And you know that how?" he asked, as Harry tried to duck into the street, prevented from doing so by a large boulder flying straight into the wall a few inches from his face and shattering to pieces.

"They're at Gringotts," Harry told the flabbergasted wizard next to him again, shaking rubble out of his face and hurriedly wiping his glasses once again. "I just know it, alright? We have to get there before the Death Eaters do."

"Aye, Capt'n Obvious," Charlie shot back. "We're in the middle of a battle. How do you intend to do it?"

"Fly, you fool!" Sirius shouted in reponse to Charlie's question, not giving a right care that the only ones capable of hearing him were James and the rest. He was excited, battles had always had that effect on him, and death had changed it not a whit. A few yards away, James' laugh was the only answer he received; Harry was being dragged aside by Charlie Weasley, which might have been alright by him any other time, but now was just an added encumbrance.

"Come on, Weasley you moron, there's no time!" Sirius gesticulated in the air; as if that could suffice to get them going. In the past, when he had still been alive, he hadn't had kids – or hadn't known about them, rather – so Harry would have been his only concern, and he'd have been congratulating the Weasley in question for looking after him so well.

Now though... Now things were very different. Sirius' priorities had a different order, he was the – almost indecently – proud father of the most brilliant boys ever to step on the earth, who incidentally happened to share a burden as terrible as Harry's, and who were presently in deep trouble. Or as deep as...

"Thanatovich got on a second cart," a blonde witch with dark green eyes informed breathlessly the second she appeared next to him out of thin air, making Sirius divert his attention from the battle and to her. For over a decade they had been apart, and for that time, Sirius had been a mess. Now though, they were together again; upon dying, he had remembered everything he'd forgotten – or rather, had been made to forget – and he was whole at an entirely different level. Now, he understood... And he was no longer alone. Both things were very good to have right now.

"That bastard," Sirius replied. Nina wasn't really listening.

"He'll surely catch up," she said, peering through a wall at Charlie and Harry. "What's taking them so long?"

"Harry's having a spot of bother convincing his minder, honey," Sirius informed, receiving a disbelieving look for an answer and shrugging in response. "Or himself, I'm not too sure. They're sort of stuck, see?"

He was worried, of course. How could he not be, seeing the humongous mess this living lot had landed themselves in? Those were his kids being hunted without so much as a warning, after all, his and nobody else's.

Well... So alright.

So they were Nina's too, to be fair, but then, she'd watched over them all their lives, just like James and Lily had done. To Sirius, his offspring was still the newest, shiniest, most interesting and wicked thing ever. And they were ultimately his, like it or not – and he was very well aware that the said offspring wasn't too happy about him being their dad.

But still, that was how the biscuit crumbled. Sirius had had to go do what he did, just as James and Lily and Nina went and did their part in the whole stupid prophecy scheme. He wasn't going to ask his kids to take any of that in stride, of course, much less to understand his point of view out of the blue, much less when he had -- as yet -- no way to communicate with them at all.

And what could he tell them to make them understand? They wouldn't so easily, not if they were anything like him; he had, after all, needed twelve years under the worst-possible conditions to so much as want to ponder the matter of him having to live when everyone else got to die, and everything that came with the package. And maybe Sirius didn't know his boys as Nina or even James or Lily did, but he did know that much: they would take a hell of a lot of convincing to so much as want to listen to reason, if and when they managed to get in touch with them.

It was a bit sad if he thought about it; none of the others had missed a thing about his lads' lives; not their first words ("Yabba," according to James, which Lily and Nina still argued was not even a word, and which Sirius secretly agreed with, but which James in turn argued was merely the product of jealousy, as neither of the girls had been around when it happened); not their first steps, or their first flight on a broomstick, or even the first time they'd charmed Angus' hair off – they knew the boys, while Sirius had missed everything.

He had missed it all because he had had to play his part in the game, had been forced to choose leaving them behind for the sodding greater good, and having heard all about most of it did not in any way make things easier on him. The only thing he could do, the only thing he was doing, was not miss on anything at all from here on out.

He owed his boys, and, though he wouldn't ever openly admit it, he owed himself as well - he'd given up so much in exchange for less than nothing, and he'd do the impossible to get it back. All of it; being dead didn't change things one jot.

"Come on already, snap out of it and get a broom out, dammit!" He yelled at Harry and Charlie, but received no response, as per usual. Next to him, Nina was shouting at Harry as much as he was, and no less vehement about it – though she was worlds away from excitement, herself. Nina, Sirius noted, was frantic with worry.

"They're almost at the vault!" she was snapping at them, as though they could hear her. "Hurry up already!"

This made Sirius think that maybe it would be a bit more than the narrow shave he had bet James it would be. Suddenly, he felt a twinge of worry twist at his guts.

"You heard the lady, now get to it!"

Theirs were not the only voices that went unheard by the living – the entire Alley was crawling with the dead (both new and old): Sirius could see James a little further ahead, hollering news about the new developments at the crossing of Knockturn Alley; Fabian and Gideon were on a rooftop, playing information service to everyone who was on the ground – where visibility was greatly impaired due to the bits of buildings – and body parts – flying about – Ben Fenwick and Marlene were shouting at the top of their lungs somewhere behind him, Angus had gone on ahead to Gringotts, and even Uncle Alfie had come along. He was observing more than he was yelling, pulling faces at the living to see if anyone could see him at all.

All of this was a part of Sirius' plan to start communicating with the living - maybe there was a True Seer around, and they certainly could use his or her help...

Not that anything they were doing was helping anyone much.

With growing frustration, Sirius watched Charlie and Harry try for a ground-based approach, which only translated into both having to roll and duck and dodge a whole lot.

It looked flashy, yes, but did not help them get much closer to the wizarding bank than they had gone so far.

"Use-the-brooms!" Sirius bellowed at them, completely unruffled by the Severing Charm that went right through him and bounced off a wall not inches away from Charlie's face. Harry was shouting something that sounded suspiciously like a bout of highly creative swearing, as he dragged the older Weasley aside a split second before a Reductor Curse hit him in the head.

"Sirius Black! I hope you didn't teach him that one!" trailed to him from overhead.

"No Lily, I reckon he learned that one all by himself," Sirius replied with a laugh, peering through a wall to see what was around the corner. Harry's foul language was the least of his present worries. "Now, if your kid could get a move on to go rescue mine..."

"He's not even properly dressed!" Lily exclaimed, as Harry hopped furiously from one foot to the other, to get them away from the flying debris.

"Nope," Sirius told her, hopping from one foot to the other as well, in sympathy or worry, Lily couldn't tell. "I like it. Very Arthur Dent. You should read that book, Lils, it's a good read -- NOW COULD YOU GET THOSE BROOMS OUT AND GET A MOVE ON?" he bellowed at Harry and Charlie.

They just responded by putting up shields, and dodging a few more curses.

Harry dragged Charlie away from yet another Reductor Curse, right hand buried deep in his pocket, rummaging in the bag the Twins had sent him, out of reflex rather than purpose.

His mind was racing, trying to think of ways to get to Gringott's as soon as possible and in one piece, but it was turning frenzied circles more than it was helping him. He could feel it running around inside his skull.

"Bugger, what now?" Charlie was snarling, sending spells at the Death Eaters at random. Sweat was trickling down his face, over-bright eyes scanning their surroundings for familiar faces, or an opening through which they could perhaps shift closer, something, anything—

"Er." Harry muttered. He was at a loss; and, as nothing his mind could provide was useful, he decided to rely on touch for ideas, rummaging inside the Twins' case some more. And they weren't long in coming.

Fingers closed around one handle, then found the other, inside his pocket.

Inspiration struck.

Of course! He could have kicked himself.

He pulled both broomsticks out together, pressing Sirius' Firebolt into a very baffled Charlie's hands.

"How'd you—"

"There's still a chance! I'll explain later – C'mon!"

They mounted as one, taking off amidst a hail of spells and flying towards the wizarding bank so fast they were little more than blurs in the smoke.

"Finally!" yelled a chorus of voices, but they were unheard by the living. Still, the dead were quite pleased with the change of pace they were getting to witness.

"That's my boy!" shouted James gleefully, at the same time as Sirius went, every bit as proudly, "That's my godson!"

"Go get them, Harry!" they chorused as one, laughing as they followed him and Charlie in their mad race to get to the Gringotts vaults.

"Ah, bloody," Harry spat, coughing in the smoke as he reached the double doors.

They were on fire.

"What now?" Charlie shouted at Harry over the din, even if he was less than a foot away. Death Eaters were milling around the once stunningly impressive entrance of the ancient bank, and spells and debris did not stop flying.

"They're... they're inside!" Harry shouted back. "In the vaults!"

"How can we—"

"Over there!" Harry interrupted, pointing at what Charlie knew was the entrance to the vaults. "They're in a second cart, following. They'll kill them, they don't know they're coming! Come on!"

"Harry, nobody's ever flown in there, you're talking crazy—Oy! Wait up!"

Cursing, Charlie followed Harry as he swooped down and inside the wizarding bank. Inside, the chaos continued, Death Eaters spotted them and shot spells at them in quick succession, which both of them dodged and rolled their way out of.

"This way!" Harry shouted, turning a sharp right and narrowly clearing the entrance to the vaults.

A blast of cold wind and utter darkness greeted them.

"Stop! Stop!" Harry bellowed, now having to dodge Charlie, who had followed his exact path. He grabbed the handle of the broomstick, making him come to a sudden halt.

"Any more grand ideas?" Charlie asked, panting. "I can't see for bugger all."

"Hold on," snapped Harry, pulling out his wand and tapping Charlie's head with it, before following up and tapping his own. Suddenly the darkness became visible, and looking at Harry, Charlie could see his eyes had acquired a silvery hue.

"Night-vision charm," Harry said for an explanation, catching his breath. "They've gone down in a second cart," he added, pointing at the rails up ahead. "The twins' vault is vault number one, so I'm perhaps right in guessing it's very deep down... We have to catch up, those Death Eaters won't leave anyone alive."

"How do you know? Was it another of your visions?"

"Yes! No! It's— I just know, alright?" Harry said angrily. What he said next, though, came out in a dead grave tone. "You'll just have to trust me. There is still time, Charlie. We can still do this. We'll follow them down to the vault. But you have to trust me."

"You're out of your mind, Harry," Charlie said. "Right round the bend."

But he was grinning.

Harry let out a relieved chuckle.

"Do you reckon you can keep up?" he asked instead, not waiting for Charlie's nod before he took off as fast as the Firebolt would allow. "It's this way!"

Charlie chuckled again in complete disbelief, but he too, took off into the depths of the tunnel after Harry. How Harry was capable of picking his way through the dark tunnels at that speed, moreover, how Harry knew where to go with such certainty, was lost on Charlie. However, he followed him closely, teeth gnashing together as they wove their way in and out of stalagmites and other cart railways, going ever deeper, ever faster—

Next to them, gliding idly along at an impossible speed and completely unbothered by the many stalactites and stalagmites they were going through, Sirius and James were placing bets on whether or not Charlie would manage to keep up with Harry.

"He was Seeker for Gryffindor in his school days," Sirius argued.

"Yeah, but that was like, a hundred years ago. Reflexes that aren't honed simply die," James argued back. Sirius wouldn't have anything of it.

"Bet you three hundred and fifty-two Galleons that he makes it there in one piece," he said. "It's like saying you lost your skill because you left school."

"No, I lost my skill because I died," James said flippantly. "But have it your way. Three hundred and fifty-two G's, mate, and this time, I'm so cashing in!"

"Just you wait, Potter. Never underestimate the one Weasley worth knowing. Aside from the Twins of course. And Bill, maybe. And..."

It was, perhaps, a good thing the living couldn't hear them. They'd have been very distracting.

"Sharp left!" Harry shouted. Already he could see the beams of spells up ahead, and past the rushing in his ears, he could hear the rattling noises of the carts they were trying to catch up with. It was madness. He had no clue what was guiding him, it was more instinct than logic – but he was thankful that this time, this once, instinct or whatever it was had not failed him. This time, he hadn't been wrong, although it was still a potentially deadly situation...

"They're nearly at the vault!" Harry shouted, wand already aiming at the Death Eaters in the cart up ahead. "Get them off that cart!"

Behind him, Charlie was already firing spells at the Death Eaters. One of them turned around, and Harry recognised the madman from weeks before. Fear clashed with adrenalin, anger, outright rage. Without a thought, Harry sped up further, rolling and dodging several protruding rocks. However jolty the race, Harry's wand was steady, aimed right at Thanatovich's head. The spell that left him, without further thought, reflected just how much he had changed over the holidays.

"Sectumsempra!"

TBC.

Next up: The conclusion of the Battle of Gringotts. R&R and all that jazz.