Chapter XV

Harry's reply to Darya Petrova's letter was short. He dipped the quill into the inkwell and wrote without flourish.

---

"Ms. Petrova,

I accept your invitation to discuss the matter further. Discretion is essential. Please propose a time and place in London at your earliest convenience.

Harry Potter-Black"

---

He read it twice, then folded the parchment, and sealed it with plain wax rather than the Black crest in order to avoid drawing attention, and summoned Kreacher. The elf appeared with his customary bow and a mutter of acknowledgement. Harry handed over the letter. Kreacher vanished with a crack, leaving Harry alone with the ticking of the grandfather clock and the weight of another choice made in the dark.

He would have discussed this with Hermione, but she was still asleep, exhausted and recovering from her collapse in the shower. Harry had checked on her several times. He was getting used to watching her sleep by now, the quiet sound of her breathing, and the shadow of doubt that hovered over her in his mind seemed more real than anything the world had thrown at him lately.

Harry spent the previous night weighing every possible consequence. He sat at the scarred oak desk in the library of Grimmauld Place. The house felt quieter than usual, almost watchful, as if the old walls themselves were listening to his decision.

He had no doubt that the transfer was essential, but to transfer off-shore, was another story. He couldn't find much on this so-called "Most Ancient and Noble House of Stieglitz Banking Consortium" in the library. Yet his choices were not abundant. According to the few encyclopedic lines that he managed to find about the Slavic Wizarding Vaults, it was a subsidiary organization that served under the banking Consortium, and was located in Moscow. This meant that Harry would probably have to frequent Russia, if he wanted to withdraw or deposit any gold or valuables. He wasn't entirely opposed to this, specially since he had considered moving his vault abroad. Yet he had hoped to find somewhat closer, maybe Ireland or Wales. He knew that the Welsh had their own banking clans, but he felt like they were too small and conservative to cross the goblins.

He paced the corridors of Grimmauld Place, wandering unlit hallways and stairways, flanked by the shadows that engulfed the walls, and accompanied by no more than the creaking of the floor boards. His mind churned with thoughts that felt foreign, and intrusive. A fierce anger burned within him, one he could not recognize or name, nor fully claim as his own. It glowed inside him, like a steady torch that refused to burn down to oblivion, and fuelled itself by the unholy hatred that now pulsed through his veins.

It wasn't just anger at Ron, it was everything. The relentless trials of recent years, the burdens of the present, and the uncertainties looming ahead. It was like a beacon of hatred that could only attract the worst, and somehow he knew that the worst was yet to come.

He stopped at the third-floor window, the sole window in Grimmauld Place that offered a view of the muggle street outside. Down below, ordinary people hurried through the chill, collars turned up against the wind, hands buried in pockets, heads bowed as they pressed on with their mundane lives. Harry watched them and wondered what it might feel like to be one of them, just a weary clerk trudging home, untouched by the shadows of his world.

He lifted a hand to clear the fogged glass, wiping away dust and the condensation from his breath. In the faint flicker of a half-burned candle, light briefly caught the pale scars on the back of his hand: I must not tell lies. The words gleamed for an instant before fading.

I hate everything, he admitted to himself. The scar spoke truth. No more lies, not even to himself. He despised the world he inhabited, the endless injustice, the twisted sadists who shattered peace for power or pleasure, the compliant masses who shuffled through life like obedient drones, clocking out only to drown in Firewhisky and repeat the cycle until death claimed them. He hated those who clung to blind hope and endless second chances, the very fools who enabled history's cruel repetitions.

He resented the school that had failed to prepare him, the teachers who drilled obedience over morality, who taught blind adherence to orders rather than the courage to uphold what was right, what made them human, at least in name.

He blinked and saw bodies, mangled and broken and forgotten. Children covered in blood at a school that couldn't protect them. He blinked again and saw a world which couldn't offer enough good people to shield the young, but presented the foul vermin that claimed their lives in abundance. He closed his eyes, and saw death, and only death and he knew it was his fault. He had taken the war to them, and he was too weak to end it swiftly.

Never again! Never again would he be weak to the cost of others.

He felt trapped. Darkness closed in on him and chained him like a slave in confusion, bound in shackles that held him rigid, and the ever looming silhouette of Sheraldov, watchful, as though his silver eyes were prying behind the very fogged glass, zoomed in and out of his thoughts. The shadows claimed him, and the only light that tethered him to life, was fading downstairs.

All because of him.

He shoved the thought aside, but it lingered, unyielding.

---

Hermione stirred in her sleep. Her mind haunted by a restless tide of images that had been dredged from the depths of her own subconscious, mangled with the visions of the ritual, and horrors that she buried deep within.

She swayed between dream and the living world, nightmares seeped into reality like molten tar, forming a cocoon of terror that isolated her from the rest of the world, and those few drops of reality that managed to break through her cage of torment, fed the nightmares with relentless force.

She saw Ron, tortured by his guilt, alone in an empty room that hummed with silence, as though the very walls were singing a lament or a hymn of taunts. Grief was etched into the lines of his face, contorting his otherwise benign features.

From the shadows, a pair of blinding silver eyes stared at him, their expression was that of glee, as though relishing in his anguish.

She saw Ginny, crying under her covers. The curtains of her four poster bed shut tightly.

Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley having hushed arguments in the kitchen...

Harry stared into the black tapestry hung on the far wall. It pulsed like an open wound that had been stitched with his own nightmares. The lines that connected family members-once in gold-now branched like veins in wet crimson red. She reached out behind him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, he turned and the tapestry was mirrored in his face, in scars. She shrieked and ran off, finding herself in her parents living room.

Her parents, happy and careless, living away from the chaos of the magical world. Living without the burden of a daughter they barely knew since she turned eleven, since the accursed day that a barn owl flew into their living room. "Mom?" She called, but a hollow-eyed mannequin turned its head instead, "We never wanted you..." She backed away, away and away until the house, was no more, and she felt herself cradled by wisps of darkness.

She saw herself walking alongside the shadows that lingered around her, moving in sync with a darkness that clung to her every step. The shadows seemed to whisper of betrayal: "Your lover leaves you at your deathbed; your friend mourns you before getting the chance to love you." A voice, low and echoing from an unseen place, laughed-a laugh that was not cruel but simply cruel in its indifference.

A quill scratched furiously across parchment.

From the darkness, a figure loomed. It was Harry himself, or perhaps a reflection of him, his outline as indistinct as smoke. His fists closed around her neck as he shouted at her with a tone that rang like a bell struck too hard: "You ruined everything!"

The nightmare shattered and she jolted upright with a gasp. She was panting frantically, her heart beat against her chest and eardrums. She felt around her neck and throat. It was just a nightmare, she told herself. Just a nightmare.

She threw the covers away, only to realized she wasn't naked. She was clad in what looked like towel turned into a dress. 'Harry's doing' She thought. She looked around, the clinking of cup against wood told her that Harry was in the kitchen. She wiped the paste off her chest. It had the texture of a swamp, and she nearly threw up in her throat. She couldn't imagine applying it was any less disgusting for Harry, let alone awkward.

She put a trembling foot down, and tried to stand. Her knees felt stronger than before. She straightened herself and caught a glimpse of her reflection on the glass door of the grandfather clock. She looked less pale, yet her steps wavered as she entered the kitchen. Harry, absorbed in the Daily Prophet, rose at once to steady her.

"Hermione, you should have called for me."

"I am fine, Harry. I feel stronger," she said, though she leaned on his arm as he guided her to a chair.

"I ordered a chest of invigoration draught. They should arrive soon and get you back on your feet properly."

"Oh, Harry, you should not have. That must cost a fortune..."

"I do not care about the cost, Hermione. You are all that matters." He gestured toward Kreacher, who hurried forward with tea and biscuits, bowing deeply as he announced that lunch would be ready shortly. Harry dismissed him with a wave. Hermione frowned at the exchange but said nothing. She thanked Kreacher before he vanished with a loud crack.

"A letter arrived last night, just after I carried you to bed." Said Harry as he passed the tea cup towards her.

"A letter? From whom?"

"Here. Read it yourself." Harry slid Darya's letter across the table. Hermione's eyes traced the lines carefully, then reread it from top to bottom.

"And my response." He passed her the copy of the letter he had sent only hours earlier. He watched her expression shift as she read.

"It is good, Harry... Do we know anything about this Most Ancient and Noble House of Stieglitz Banking Consortium?"

"Not as much as I would like. There is very little written about them," he admitted.

"And you have already requested a meeting?" Her tone held no accusation, only surprise.

"You think I rushed it?"

"I would have preferred to learn more before proceeding, but..." She paused to sip her tea. "It is your vaults, Harry."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this is no small matter. If you feel it needs swift action, then it does." She spoke formally, and Harry sensed the effort she made to respect his domain, even if it stung her to be sidelined.

"I would have consulted you, but with only one real option, there was little to discuss. We will meet this Darya and hear what she offers."

"I am not upset, Harry."

"You seem upset."

"No. I am upset that I collapsed and left you alone in this house with nothing but your thoughts. I do not care about some letter. I care that I was not here when you had to decide." She paused then continued in a lower tone. I'm upset that I've become a burden..."

Before Harry could reply, Kreacher reappeared with a vial of teal liquid in hand. With a snap of his free fingers, roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and drinks materialized on the table.

"Lunch is served, Master. Kreacher also procured a vial of the finest invigoration draught for Mistress Hermione." He bowed low as he presented it. "Kreacher thought Master would wish his friend strengthened sooner, before the chest arrives this afternoon."

"Well done, Kreacher. How was it paid for?"

"Kreacher traded an heirloom he had salvaged during the recent cleaning."

"Oh, Kreacher..." Hermione murmured.

"Kreacher believed Master would not mind a mere cup compared to his friend's well-being," the elf said, still bowed.

"You were right," Harry assured him. "Inform me at once if any letters arrive. I am expecting one."

"Yes, Master." Kreacher began to withdraw, bowing repeatedly. Under his breath, he muttered, "Kreacher senses something in Master Harry that he hasn't felt in decades... Kreacher fears it and wishes very much to remain on his good side, oh yes, very much..."

Kreacher vanished with another crack. Harry stared at the spot where the elf had stood, his words echoing faintly in his mind. Something not felt in decades. Fear. Good side.

Hermione set down her teacup with a soft clink, her gaze fixed on Harry. She had heard it too, and a quiet recognition passed over her face, tempered by caution.

"He is right," she said after a moment, her voice low. "Kreacher senses the change, and if I had to guess I'd say the house does too."

Harry's fork stilled. He looked up, unease tightening his features. "What change?"

She hesitated, choosing her words with care, as if treading near memories still raw. "The ritual shifted something. When everything broke... I don't know how much of it you remember... And I'm not sure when I say this..." she hesitated, studying his face.

"Well?" Harry urged her.

"I don't know Harry, I cannot be sure... I can guess, and I could flatter myself by calling it an educated guess, but I just cannot be certain without taking my time to study this..."

"Your educated guess is more than often closer to reality than else, so go ahead." Harry encouraged her with a smile.

She inhaled deeply, pulling herself up and fixing Harry with a gaze that was so Hermione-esque that drew a faint smile on Harry's face. "I think that you are changed-not because the old Black bloodline is coming through stronger now-which is not entirely off the table, but still-I think you are changed because you are tuning into that part of yourself that you've buried deep for nearly two decades..."

"I didn't know that I had depths." He joked and Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him, though a small smile betrayed her seriousness.

"The part that is all but pain. If I had to guess, I'd say that you feel intense hatred and anger, and it hurts, but now-after the ritual-it gives you focus, strengthens your resolve and makes you stronger..."

Harry watched, as her words washed over him. Her brilliant mind yet again hard at work and it told him that she was indeed healing. He couldn't help being reminded of how Dumbledore pieced together facts and presumptions that mostly turned out to be true.

"and dangerous." She added.

He pushed his plate away, the low hum in his chest flaring briefly. "I feel worst than I did before the ritual."

A shadow passed Hermione's face as she surveyed him quietly. She knew this would happen, the guardian had told her. Yet she had decided to break him, and in doing so break the shackles that bound him to his miserable and silent lament. She could vividly see how he was changing before her eyes, even if she had been passed out during some of it, it was undeniable. The house felt different, he, felt different. The shadows that haunted the corners of Grimmauld place, the remnants of a dark family's past, now wavered restlessly, as though gleeful that they were being claimed, even if it was happening gradually.

Harry carried himself differently. She noticed the moment he got up to help her sit. He was no longer burdened by loss and grief, he was being empowered by them. She could practically feel his hatred. It radiated from him like a heatwave. Kreacher was right to be afraid, he felt the shift in magic, and if she was entirely honest with herself, she feared it too.

She knew that Harry would never hurt her, but the echoes in her head told her that very few others would be safe. "He would need to hurt where he was hurt".

"I know..." She said after a long pause, during which Harry watched her silently. "Your anger is what holds you together now..."

"I'm not as angry as I would've like to be... I feel like I hate everything... And there is nothing to do about it without becoming a world class criminal..."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Hermione joked. "The Ministry might still have some of your pamphlets.

Harry allowed himself a dry smile. "Is it taking over?"

"No." Her answer came firm, though gentle. "It is just awake. Part of you, like always. But louder after what happened." She reached over and put her hand on her arm. "I'm here with you, and I'm not letting you change... Not too much at least..." She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"I know," he said, returning her smile.

"Take your potion. I need you sharp for when we meet this woman." He rose slowly, his movements deliberate, as if the weight of their conversation still pressed on him. Pausing beside her, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You're not a burden, Hermione. And even if you were, I'd be honoured to carry you."

Hermione remained still, her breath catching as tears stung her eyes. The warmth of his words washed over her like a soothing balm, easing the ache she'd carried for so long. She wished she had the strength to tell him how much it meant, how it anchored her in the storm of her doubts, but the words tangled in her throat. Instead, she suppressed a quiet sob and whispered, "Thank you, Harry."

--- An owl flew in through the chimney before afternoon, baring a large parcel its own size. It sat on the sofa near the fire and perched up. Harry removed the package from its leg and told Kreacher to feed it before it leaves. The package contained 10 vials of invigoration draughts in a slim leather satchel that unfurled into a flat bandoleer of vials. Harry had expected an actual chest, though this was easier to keep he admitted to himself.

Darya's response came soon after. Kreacher brought a thick envelope sealed with an ornate crest of an eagle clutching a key. Inside was a brief note from Darya Igorevna Petrova, written in elegant, slanted handwriting. She proposed a meeting that very afternoon at a private property owned by the bank in a quiet corner of wizarding London, not far from Diagon Alley yet shielded from casual eyes. A temporary portkey, which was a simple muggle coin, and the phrase to activate it was included for secure arrival, along with assurances that the location, somewhere around the outskirts of London, was heavily warded and free from any surveillance.

Harry read the note aloud to Hermione, watching her expression shift from cautious interest to quiet worry.

"I don't like this Harry."

"Because of the portkey?" He asked.

"It could be a trap, it could be cursed... Its just odd for a bank..."

"Well if it was cursed, I'd be dead, weren't I?" Said Harry as he turned the coin in his fingers.

"You should be careful Harry, remember what happened to Katie?"

"Yea, well I didn't think about it, and it wasn't cursed..."

"I don't know about this, we could have apparated close enough... Why do we have to a take portkey? Also its probably illegal."

"Hermione we are quite beyond that point..."

"Yeah... I suppose so," She paused, thinking. "Lets not take the portkey from here, lets apparate somewhere and then use it, in case it has a trace on it."

"But they already know I live here, the house is no longer under fidelius."

"You're right, but if it is tampered with, they may be able to use it in reverse, to get here."

"Good thinking."

"You want me to come?"

"Of course, I wouldn't imagine going there without you," She smiled, Harry continued. "Did you take your potion?"

"Yea, I feel so much better, like I'm back to normal, I still feel weak in my hands and knees, but I never want to feel or smell that swamp paste." She wrinkled her nose, recalling the stench of the herbs.

"Swamp paste?" Harry laughed. "I though you'd like how it smelled, it was minty..."

"Yeah minty sewage, ugh, don't make me think about it please." She held her mouth as though ready to throw up.

"Alright." Harry laughed.

They prepared with care, choosing simple and formal dark robes that would not draw too much attention, they packed some gold, draughts for Hermione and some muggle money into Hermione's beaded bag. Harry tucked his wand into his sleeve and added a few protective charms he had prepared the night before.

"How do I look?" Asked Harry with his arms out stretched.

"Like a proper wizard."

"Hey I'm a proper wizard."

"Lord too," She said, reaching to fix his collar.

"Oh not you too."

"Who else has addressed your lordship?"

"Phineas..."

"I should have a talk with dear Phineas."

Something about how she said 'dear Phineas' made Harry feel sorry for the poor portrait.

"Well how do I look?" Asked Hermione, mirroring his earlier pose.

"Brilliant of course." Said Harry sincerely.

"Like a well dressed inferius or like a normal person?" She frowned playfully.

Harry closed the distance between them. "Like the strongest, and the brightest witch of all time." Harry said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she smiled but shied away gently.

---

By early afternoon they stood together in the hallway, hands clasped, and apparated to Barnsbury, which was still in the Borough of Islington. With a 20 minute walking distance from Grimmauld place, they'd have ditched any magical trace.

The elegant garden squares and Georgian architecture greeted them sooner than the cool afternoon breathe, before they spoke the portkey phrase in unison. The familiar tug behind their navels pulled them away, and deposited them gently in a narrow, ivy-covered courtyard behind an unassuming town house.

The door opened before they could knock, revealing a tall woman in crimson robes embroidered with subtle silver threads. Her dark hair was pinned neatly, and her sharp features softened into a professional smile as she greeted them.

"Lord Potter-Black. Miss Granger. Welcome. I am Darya Igorevna Petrova." Her voice carried a refined Eastern European accent, smooth and confident. "Please come inside. We have much to discuss and complete privacy in which to do it."

"You know my name?" Asked Hermione as she followed her next to Harry.

"Of course." She responded with a backwards glance as she opened the door to a brightly lit hallway. "We study our clients, that's why we are the best. This means we know exactly what our clients need, and we'll know exactly how to deliver."

She led them through a modest foyer into a comfortable sitting room furnished with heavy oak furniture and thick rugs that muffled their footsteps. A silver tea service waited on a low table flanked by deep armchairs. The air held faint traces of spices and old parchment, and Harry felt the subtle hum of powerful wards pressing gently against his magical senses.

Darya gestured for them to sit and poured tea with graceful efficiency before settling into the chair opposite. "His excellency has taken a great interest in your case Mr. Potter, is it OK if I address you as Mr. Potter, or should it be Potter-Black, or do you prefer lord?"

"Potter is fine." Harry replied.

Darya nodded. "His excellency has requested that I personally secure you as our client. I work directly and only for his excellency, in fact, I've never done this," She made a back and forth gesture between herself and them, "So you see, we are very keen on meeting your expectations, and to surpass them." She ended with a smile.

"I appreciate it, I wasn't aware that my situation was that public." Said Harry.

"Of course it isn't." Said Darya as she leaned back and connected the tips of her polished fingers. "But Baron insists on staying informed, and he has the skills to detect prosperous partnerships."

"May I ask who exactly is the Baron, we couldn't find much about him in our books." Said Hermione.

"The Baron is the chairman of the most ancient and noble house of Stieglitz Banking Consortium." She responded formally.

"That much I could tell from the letter." Said Hermione, finding it hard to hide her bitterness.

Darya smiled again. "Indeed. His excellency is the heir to the Stieglitz line and the rightful chairman of the consortium. He belongs to the long line of bankers of the Stieglitz family, and he is trusted by all our investors, clients and partners world wide."

"I see." Said Hermione with a nod and a forced smile.

"I have been tasked by the Baron himself, to meet Mr. Potter and to facilitate and assist in his situation to the best of my abilities. Yet I would be personally delighted to have a contract for you as well Miss Granger. We know that you have a considerable amount of capital in a commoner bank, and we are very well equipped and connected to convert or to move your finances to our vaults, whether that is in a joint contract with Mr. Potter or not, will be your choice."

"Commoner?" Asked Hermione.

"I apologize, I believe the English term is muggle. In Russian we call them commoner or простолюдин."

"So you see muggles as peasants?" Said Hermione rather angrily. Harry gave her a sideways look, but knew better than to cut her off.

"Not at all Miss Granger, I my self am a child of muggles, yet I possess magic."

"Oh," Said Hermione. "For a second I thought you were rather dismissive of muggles."

"Not at all, we are constantly trading and investing in the commoner, excuse me, muggle world. My mother is nurse and my father who passed away recently was a carpenter."

"I am sorry for your loss." Said Hermione sincerely.

"So am I." Added Harry.

"Thank you. Shall we begin?"

"By all means." Said Harry.

"Excellent. I must confess that I appreciate your swift response, I personally thought it would be some time before we get your letter." she began, her gaze steady and assessing yet not unfriendly. "Our institution has followed your situation with interest. The difficulties with Gringotts are unfortunate but not unprecedented. Many old families have faced similar obstructions when political winds shift. The Slavic Wizarding Vaults specialize in such cases, offering secure international management far removed from local entanglements."

Harry accepted the cup she offered and took a careful sip before replying. "Your letter mentioned competitive terms and full confidentiality. I need to understand exactly what that means in practice. The Black vaults contain more than gold. There are heirlooms and items of significant personal value. I will not risk them lightly."

Darya nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "Of course. Allow me to explain our process in detail. We would act as your agent in negotiating the transfer from Gringotts. Our diplomats have long-standing relationships with goblin councils, and we employ binding international agreements that Gringotts cannot easily ignore. Once the assets are released, they would be transported under heavy guard to our main vault in Prague, with subsidiary access points across Europe. You would retain full ownership and control, with immediate withdrawal rights at any branch. Fees are calculated as a small percentage of the total value, waived entirely for the first year as a gesture of goodwill toward clients in your position."

Hermione leaned forward slightly, her expression thoughtful. "And confidentiality? The British Ministry has been increasingly intrusive. We need assurance that no records will be shared."

"Absolute," Darya replied firmly. "Our charter forbids disclosure to any government without client consent. Even under veritaserum or legilimency probes, our staff are protected by blood oaths. We have sheltered assets for wizarding nobility fleeing regimes far more oppressive than your current administration, and have never once yielded. The Ministry would need to declare open war on the entire Eastern consortium to attempt seizure and even then our wards would translocate the contents before breach."

They spoke for nearly two hours, covering every aspect of the arrangement. Darya produced sample contracts written in both English and Old Slavonic, explaining each clause with patience and clarity. Harry asked pointed questions about security measures and contingency plans, while Hermione probed the legal precedents and potential goblin countermeasures. Darya answered each query without hesitation, providing references to past successful transfers that mirrored their situation. By the time the tea had cooled and the fire burned low, Harry felt a cautious confidence settling over him.

Harry leaned in and asked the question that had been weighing on him since reading her letter. "Tell me plainly how you force Gringotts to release the vaults when they have already ignored every formal request I have made through British channels. What leverage do you truly hold that the Ministry solicitors do not?"

Darya met his gaze without flinching and replied in an even tone. "The difference lies in jurisdiction and precedent. British wizards must operate within the 1692 Goblin Liaison Accords which grant Gringotts near absolute autonomy on British soil. Our bank however invokes the broader International Magical Banking Treaty of 1789 signed in Vienna after the goblin rebellions spread across Europe. That treaty binds all signatory institutions including Gringotts to honour cross-border inheritance claims verified by blood and magical signature. We file the claim through the International Confederation of Wizards and attach a lien ward that freezes the vault contents until adjudication. Gringotts has lost every challenge brought under this treaty in the past century because refusal invites trade sanctions from every European goblin clan that trades with us."

Hermione nodded slowly yet her brow remained furrowed. "And what prevents Gringotts from simply stalling the adjudication for years as they have done with other contested vaults? I have read cases where proceedings dragged on until the claimant died or gave up."

Darya turned to her with a small appreciative smile as if welcoming the sharpness of the question. "An excellent point Miss Granger. The treaty includes an expedited clause for living heirs of ancient houses. We invoke Article Seventeen which mandates resolution within ninety days or the lien becomes permanent and the assets transfer by default to the claiming institution for safekeeping. Gringotts despises losing control more than they despise paying out and they always settle rather than risk precedent. In your specific case Lord Potter-Black we estimate full transfer within six weeks once the lien is placed."

"Six weeks is acceptable but what about physical retrieval? The Black family vault contains items of goblin make and they will claim those remain theirs by right of craftsmanship." Harry said after an exchanged glance with Hermione.

"We separate the contents during negotiation." Darya slid a parchment forward showing a list of previous transfers. "Pure monetary assets and wizard-made heirlooms transfer immediately. Items of contested goblin origin enter arbitration where we almost always secure possession through compensation offers far exceeding market value. Gringotts prefers gold to pride in such matters and we advance the compensation from our own reserves recovering it later as part of our fee. You lose nothing and gain immediate access to everything undisputed which in the Black and Potter vaults constitutes the vast majority."

"Your fee structure mentions a percentage of total vault value." Said Hermione as she traced a finger along the list. "How exactly is that calculated and what safeguards prevent inflation of the estimate to increase your take?"

"Transparency is our foundation. Valuation occurs jointly with an impartial assessor from the Confederation who uses standard detection charms on a vault manifest provided by Gringotts. Our fee is one half of one percent assessed only on transferred monetary assets and waived entirely on heirlooms. For a client of your stature we further reduce it to one quarter percent and defer payment until the first withdrawal so you incur no upfront cost."

Harry considered this and shifted to security concerns. "Once transferred where exactly do the assets reside and how accessible are they to me? I cannot afford to travel to Prague every time I need funds."

"Primary storage is in our central vault beneath Prague Castle warded by blood runes older than Gringotts itself. Subsidiary access vaults exist in Paris Vienna Budapest and Constantinople. You may open a personal portal key linked to any branch for instant withdrawal of reasonable sums and larger transfers require only a signed request delivered by our bonded couriers. Portals are one-way outbound for security and monitored by house-elf wards that alert us to any tampering."

"Very well," Said Harry. "When your envoy visits Gringotts what prevents violence? The goblins grow bolder and I have no wish to spark another rebellion on my account."

Darya folded her hands and answered calmly. "Our envoys travel under the white banner of parley recognized by every goblin clan since the 1400s. Violation invites immediate boycott by all European trade partners. Gringotts profits too greatly from international commerce to risk it. In two centuries we have never lost an envoy to violence."

Hermione asked one final clarifying question. "Should complications arise and the transfer fail what becomes of any advanced fees or partial assets?"

Darya smiled reassuringly. "There are no advanced fees as I mentioned and partial assets remain under joint ward until full resolution. If the claim ultimately fails which has never occurred under the 1789 treaty we return everything to Gringotts custody and absorb all legal costs. You risk nothing but time."

Silence settled briefly as Harry and Hermione absorbed the answers. The fire crackled softly and outside the warded windows London's afternoon light began to fade. Harry felt the cautious optimism that had started during the meeting solidify into decision.

"And what if the goblins initiate violence?"

"Then our envoy has every right to defend himself, and our clients, in this case you. Although I doubt that either of you need protection, after all, you have defeated a dark lord." She ended with a smile.

"One final question." Said Harry.

"Anything." Said Darya politely.

"The Goblins expect payment due to my previous complications with them, mainly that a certain vault, belonging to a known death eater held an item that was imperative in defeating Voldemort." He paused, then with a glance towards Hermione who nodded appraisingly, continued. "I may have taken that item by force, and may have escaped Gringotts on the back of a dragon that damaged the building significantly and probably killed some Goblins in the process."

"Charming." Darya smiled. "We may have followed that occasion with some interest, so we are not in the dark here. The Goblins are proud beasts but value gold above all. If they demand compensation, we can find the right legal approach to counting them as complicit in your Dark Lord's endeavours. However I'd personally suggest to just pay for the damage to the building, but not for the Goblins. If any Goblin was foolish enough to get in the way of a dragon, then they deserved death, and since you, Lord Potter-Black, are not a dragon, you could hardly be held accountable. After all, you were lucky to leave with your life yourself." She winked somewhat uncharacteristically, and both Harry and Hermione smiled in satisfaction.

"I believe this is the best path forward," he said finally, setting his empty cup aside. "I agree to your terms."

Darya allowed herself a small, satisfied smile as she summoned fresh parchment and quill. "Excellent. We can finalize the preliminary agreement today. A blood seal will bind it magically, and my colleagues will begin preparations immediately."

"One more thing if you will Miss Petrova." Said Harry.

"Anything."

"I require a secondary residence in London. Somewhere within apparition distance but far enough to be safe from prying eyes."

"We don't usually provide such a service, but for you, it will be taken care of."

"Thank you, I expect the money will be taken from my vaults once the transfer is over?"

"Naturally. Do you have any specific requirements?"

"No, just a liveable and all together ordinary house." Harry said, feeling Hermione's eyes on him. "Muggle neighbourhood will do fine." He paused as Darya took note. "A garden would be nice too."

"Room for two?" Asked Darya, eyeing Harry and Hermione.

"I'm a couch sleeper." Joked Harry.

"You'd make a good husband to a Russian girl lord Potter." Darya joked back which made Hermione get slightly red in the face.

They signed the documents under the warm glow of the fire, Harry's blood mingling with ink in a brief flash of light that sealed the pact. Darya assured them that a representative would accompany Harry to Gringotts within days to initiate the formal transfer process. As they rose to leave, she extended her hand once more.

"You have made a wise choice, Lord Potter-Black. Your legacy will be safe with us."

Harry shook her hand, feeling the first real glimmer of relief in weeks. "Thank you, Ms. Petrova. I hope so."

"How about your contract Miss Granger?" Asked Darya.

"Umm, I'll get back to you on that one, if you don't mind..."

"Of course, it'll be my pleasure, anytime..." She replied.

They all stood.

"Our facilitators will take over the negotiations with Gringotts. You will receive a magical contract by owl that binds and connects you to our envoy. He or she will be our agent and your legal representative until the conflict is resolved and your assets rest safely within our walls." She explained.

"When shall we expect it?" Asked Harry.

"Shortly. I expect that the baron would like to put our best advocates on the job. Rest assure that all of our employees are unrivalled in such matters."

"Does this mean that we will no longer be in contact with you?" Asked Hermione.

"You can always write to me, but as far as the transfer goes, I will no longer be involved."

"It was a pleasure meeting you." Said Harry as he extended his hand.

"The pleasure was all mine." She replied, shaking his hand. "You are a legend Mr. Potter. As are you," She turned to Hermione with a smile and shook her hand too. "born of commoners, yet fierce and sharp, and brave to stand in the face of darkness with your friends."

"You flatter me Miss Petrova." She said with a faint blush that spread across her cheeks.

"I am Russian, we do not flatter." She smiled.

"You yourself are proof that blood status is irrelevant as well. I wouldn't imagine reaching such a high position within a high standing organization is easy to achieve."

Harry watched the exchange. It was always amusing to watch how women can go from bitter and snide remarks to kind and careful flattery and acknowledgement of one another.

"I'd offer a toast to our similarities and to a prosperous partnership, alas this safe house has only cheap vodka for weary lips."

"Next time then." Said Harry.

"Yes, next time, and in celebration of yet another successful parley with Gringotts."

They all nodded and smiled. Darya offered a portkey, that could take them to mid town London, but Harry refused and told her that they had another place to be. He didn't want her to think that they sit at home like perched birds waiting for summons.

Darya walked them outside and bid them farewell. The cold wind of January slammed against their face like a whiplash as they found themselves in the outskirts of London.

"Do you feel like walking a bit?" Harry asked.

"Yeah we've been inside far too long."

"Aren't you cold?"

"I had two invigoration draughts. I don't feel like the effects have worn off yet." She said with a smile. "I have one on me though, if you'd want one."

"I don't need an invigoration draught Hermione, I feel warm enough."

"Why? Is that below your lordship?" She said playfully.

"No, its because I am with you." He smiled.

Hermione smacked his arm playfully.

"Ouch what was that for?"

"Its because you can be really sweet sometimes." She said and held unto his arm as they walked.

"Only sometimes?"

"When you're not brooding."

"Hey, I don't brood."

"Yeah you do, when you pretend to be absorbed in the daily prophet, while you are really just staring at the letters, worrying about me..."

"Oh..." Said Harry. "Nothing escapes you, does it?" He added with an amused smirk.

"Not when its about you."

"That's annoying..." Harry joked.

"Harry I never properly thanked you..."

"What for?"

"For taking care of me..."

"And you never have to. I wish I had done a better job. I wish I had thought of getting some invigoration draught sooner. Mr. Weasley told me to try and find one, I forgot. My mind was blocked. It was like I couldn't even think with the terror of what would happen if that Zsuzsanna's remedy didn't work. You wouldn't have collapsed in the bath if I had got you the draught sooner..." Harry finished, upset and self-blame etched in his voice.

"It was Christmas Harry, even if you had remembered, you probably couldn't get one. Besides nothing bad happened, the remedy worked, and I wasn't hurt when I collapsed. At least not physically. I'm still embarrassed about it..."

"I didn't see anything Hermione, if that's what you mean..."

"How?"

"I cast a quick blurring charm before I got in. I could make out your form, but that was it."

"Oh Harry..."

"Well I thought it would be below my lordship to pry upon the naked form of a woman in trouble..."

"A woman in trouble?" Hermione repeated, in disbelief.

"Yeah well you're a woman and you were in trouble, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, you're just silly..." She laughed.

"Yeah well that's me, silly Harry Potter..."

"And sweet and considerate and a gentleman." She added. "And I appreciate it, though I wouldn't be as embarrassed about being naked, as I am about having let you see me so weak..."

"You're not weak Hermione. It is I who was weak. Weak and confused and indecisive. But I promise you, that I will never be weak again, not when its about you."

"You can't blame yourself. You couldn't have done anything to stop what happened. And it was perfectly natural to be upset, angry, confused and afraid when it happened. Still you saved me, you nursed me back to life and I'll never forget it."

"Even the bits about the smelly paste?"

"That, that I'd like to forget."

They walked slowly. Pacing frozen outskirts of London as the sun, gently set behind them. The cool air that caressed their skin was nothing next to the warmth they felt from each other. They had taken a path called Dury road which seemed to lead to some form of civilization.

The draught had worked far better than the gypsy remedy. Although the paste had its own effect in bringing her back, it just took longer, much longer than Harry was willing to recall. The stretched out second between dozes of potion, and the application of the swamp paste, the voiced that told him it was all in vain in his head, and that he'd lose her, they could all stay in the past now. Watching her broken and weakened, swaying between life and death for a week had its toll on him. A week that passed like a year, or a lifetime. He felt like light and warmth had found their way into his life again. That whatever poena he had to pay for causing so much pain was finally paid. He could finally breathe. As though the pressure of the past few weeks were pressing against his chest.

His mind was clearer now that he could see a sensible path forward. First the vaults, then they'd take a trip. He had promised to take her away, and he was going to keep that promise.

He watched her as she walked beside him, holding his arm elegantly. She was taller than Ginny, and paced herself differently next to him. It was like she was allowing him to lead, falling behind by a centimetre before he'd feel a light tug on his arm followed by her aligning herself with him again, but never giving up her autonomy. She walked with serenity, moving with poise and composure.

They took a left into Hadley Green, where the road sloped downwards.

"You said we have somewhere to be, do we really?"

"I had somewhere to be..." Harry replied vaguely.

"Where?"

"With you of course." He said with a smile, looking at her.

"I though where is a locative clause, needing a locative antecedent, not a person..." A smile and a pale blush painted her face.

"Well I failed English at muggle school, so I have no idea what that means, but to me, you are home. Where you are, is where I want to be."

"Stop it..." She protested in a tone that could mean anything, except for wanting him to stop.

"Too corny?"

"No," She paused, weighing her thoughts.

They had reached a small town called Monken Hadley. For a while there was only the howling of the wind against the surrounding buildings, and the crisp crunch of frozen snow below their steps. The houses were short and gabled with brick chimneys that send columns of smoke into the blackening sky.

Hermione was far too aware that their walk, was miles away from what friends were allowed to. Specially since one of them was supposedly in a relationship. She felt horrible about it, and at the same time couldn't help but enjoy Harry's company, his kind words and assuring presence. It was like she was trapped between two swords, one pointing at her throat and the other at her back, and she couldn't move an inch. She knew how she felt about Harry, and she wasn't convinced that it was the ritual that changed something. Not to that extent at least.

"A pact amongst brothers and another amongst sisters..." She believed that. The guardian was right, if not entirely, partially. That since she met him, Ginny was in love with him and although not true in their first year, it applied to every other year. She couldn't completely fool herself to believe that she had feelings for him since she was eleven, because it just wasn't true no matter how she twisted things, but she couldn't deny that she could have developed feelings for him if she wasn't trapped between Ron and Ginny. Thinking about it made her head spin, and just the thought of bringing it up with Harry made her heart sink.

She knew that she loved him, ritual or not, since childhood or not. Why did it even matter? People fell in love and broke up all the time. Where did it say that they should have known since the first time they met? Which law of man or morals dictated such boundaries? And at the same time, what about Ginny? She loved Ginny, truly like a sister, and she wouldn't want to lose her. But how? How could she manoeuvre this maze of thorns? How could she arrange things, or manipulate them so that she'd stop caring about Harry, without hurting him, and without hating her?

"Well?" Harry urged after a long pause.

"Has Ginny wrote?"

"Oh... Yeah, she asked how you were, and said that she'd ditch school to come and see you, if McGonagall wasn't on her case, I don't know why she left the burrow so early, but I was sure that she'd have come anyway."

"Would you have liked her to?" Hermione asked after a pause.

"No, not when I'm so..." Harry trailed off, he wasn't entirely sure why he didn't want to meet Ginny amidst all the mess. "Conflicted..." He added finally.

Hermione threw caution to the wind. "Harry we need to talk about this. We both know what is happening."

"No Hermione. Not right now."

"When then?"

"When there is enough distance between us and the ritual that we can see clearly."

"Then you cannot do this." She let go of his arm. "You cannot say all these sweet things and then push me away the moment I reach for you." She stopped walking, her eyes blazing as an inexplainable anger seared in her core. "You cannot keep me at arm's length until it suits you to show how you feel. What about then?"

"How can you accuse me like that?" He said in a hurt tone.

"Because that is what it feels like." Her tone matched his now, low and wounded. "You are not leaving me any other way to read it."

"Hermione you were unconscious for over a week. Give me time. Give yourself time. Let me figure out what I am doing."

"Then we walk as friends." She turned and started away. "As we should have from the moment we left that Russian snake."

"Hermione wait." He caught up.

"What?" She snapped without slowing.

"Can you stay angry and still walk at the same pace as before?"

"Fine!" She slowed but kicked at the snow with each step as though the frost owed her something.

They kept walking quietly. Harry knew this would happen. He knew they were going to eventually have the talk, but he had counted on Hermione's restraint and conservatism, not this brusque and direct approach.

The silence shimmered between them like a whisper in a dream. Every second of every moment nuanced by the squelching of trodden snow below, and the howling of the wind. They walked wordlessly, as though any word would be a great risk. They had reached the town market, walking passed closed and shuttered shops, their robes drew a few curious glances.

"Seats for the weary ale for the thirsty travellers?" A hunched old man with a pipe dangling between his two remaining teeth leaned in the doorway of a dim pub. "Haven't closed yet. Come on treat the nice lady to supper."

Harry glanced at Hermione. She was growing more and more aware of the returning fatigue that spread through her body. She gave a small shrug that said she did not care either way. He nodded to the man and followed him inside.

The place was small and dark but clean enough. White tablecloths covered scarred tables. The cutlery looked scratched but spotless. A single candle burned on each of the four tables. A leather-bound menu stood propped against wilted flowers in a tiny vase. The wallpaper had probably once been fashionable, yet now it only reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia's aprons. A weak fire crackled in the blackened hearth beneath a rooster clock. Harry chose the table nearest the hearth and pulled out Hermione's chair. She sat with a quiet thank you. He took the seat opposite.

"Are you still upset?" He slid the menu toward her.

"Yes." She opened it without looking up.

"Is it any use asking you not to be?"

"Am I not worth the effort?"

"Of course you are." When she kept her eyes on the menu he added softly "Please don't be upset. Can you let it go?"

"No." She closed the menu gently. "I am allowed to be upset. I am a person." Her voice stayed calm, but it belied the bitterness underneath.

"Hermione I only just got you back. Don't do this. I do not know what you want from me."

"Maybe you would have been better off if I had stayed gone." She narrowed her eyes, the amber beyond the slits of her eyes burning with a visceral fire that knew no mercy. She let the words hang, like poison gas between them. "Fewer decisions for you to make."

Harry's jaw tightened. "How can you be so cruel?" Harry said firmly, but not loud enough to reach the kitchen.

"Will you stop acting like I'm some fucking problem you've got to fix!"

"When have I done that?" He said indignantly.

"Just stop deciding what I am and sort out your own thoughts!"

"Stop using the ritual against me! You think you know me better than I do!"

"You're still doing it! Stop trying to figure me out! I'm right here, I have a tongue! And I can speak for myself, and unlike you, I'm not hiding anything!" She spat angrily.

"I'm not hiding anything!"

"You know maybe Ron was right, you are buying too much into this lord bullshit!"

"You too? He was being his usual git self when he said that! What's your excuse?"

She glared at him furiously and opened her mouth to retort but the old man limping over interrupted her. "Ready to order madam and sir?"

"No!" They said at once, making the old man jolt in his step. Harry added quickly. "Finest ale you have. Finest meal too." He waved the man off. The owner bowed and retreated.

"There was only pie and pan steak on the menu anyway." Hermione said in a off-hand sort of way.

"I supposed he'll give us steak then. Is that all right with you?

"Sure, its fine. But do not change the subject. Because you cannot just order food to dodge things."

"Hermione is this how you treated Ron?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Because I am starting to feel like him."

"Maybe you are more like him that you realize!" She said as tears filled her eyes instantly. She looked at him with raw pain then turned her face away as they spilled over.

"I am sorry." Harry said quickly. "I should not have said that."

"Don't you dare..." She began, her voice trembling. "Don't you ever..." She wiped her eyes and cheeks with her sleeves.

The old man returned with two tankards of ale. Hermione looked the other way to hide her face. The old man read the air and muttered "Something stronger me thinks."

"What do you have?" Harry asked quietly.

"Scotch. Gin."

"Scotch then. Leave the ale too."

"As you wish sire." The man set the drinks down and muttered. "I'll make haste." as he backed away.

Harry waited until the kitchen door swung shut. "Hermione don't you think this is all difficult enough? Don't you think that I've suffered, that I've been hurt too?

"This isn't a competition..." She said quietly.

"Well you're awfully good at making it feel like one..." He said, looking away.

"I could say the same thing about you." She retorted.

Harry decided to let it go.

"I will ask you one thing. Then I do not want to talk for a while. All right?"

"Whatever you want." He said, his voice tired.

"Do you love her?" She asked bluntly.

"Can I even lie?" He asked after a pause in turn.

"I am not stopping you."

"No." He said placidly.

"Liar." Hermione's tone was a whisper.

"Then let me ask the same." He paused. When she did not protest he continued. "Do you still love him?"

"Can I lie?" She mimicked him.

"Yes. Unlike you I respect your right to privacy."

"No. I resent him. I never want to see him again."

"You are lying." Harry said flatly.

"Only that I love the memories, and hate that I do..."

"Then we are both haunted..."

She looked away toward the weak fire. The silence expanded between them, as though a spectre hovered above them, a quiet reminder of the path before, and the pain ahead. The old man brought the scotch and two glasses without a word. He poured left the bottle and vanished again. Neither of them touched the drinks right away. Harry took the first shot. It burned his throat, and he resisted a cough. Hermione took hers and shuddered, then stared at spot above his left shoulder.

"I do love her." Harry said at last, breaking the crushing silence.

"Of course you do." Said Hermione softly, her tone almost a whisper, as her eyes found him again.

"But I can't stop thinking about you..."

"I'm right in front of you..."

"That doesn't stop the voices..."

"Voices? What voices?"

"The ones that tell me I'm going to lose you, one way or the other..."

"And why would you believe that?" She asked quietly, and when Harry remained silent, she continued. "Do you remember the oath?'

"What oath?"

"...to bind thyself to me, and me to thee, in body and in mind, in soul and in heart, until our wounds are sealed, and our fates, in the shadows of the world, entwined."

"I remember..."

"Then you know that we can never truly be done with each other, even if it came to that..."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that no matter what, I will not leave you, and you will not leave me, even if we try, even if we force it, we will cross paths again, and again until we remember that our fates are entwined."

"So we don't even have a choice?"

"There is always a choice..."

"What are our options then?"

"I have made my decision, I decided to stay, no matter what. Oath or not, ritual or not, I made my choice long before all of this."

"You told me that you'd leave Ron..."

"I will never ask you to leave Ginny." She said flatly.

The old man limped over with a large wooden tray of two large pan steaks, with sides of beans and baked potatoes. He laid the meal on the table. "Anything else sire? Madam?"

They both muttered 'nos' and 'thank-yous' before the man left for the front door, lighting his pipe anew and leaning against the doorway.

They ate without a word. The only sound that was heard from their corner was the clinking of fork and knife against the plate. They both avoided each other's eyes, manoeuvring the tableware with surgical precision, avoiding each other's touch or even the smallest friction. Hermione took another shot of scotch and washed it down with a large gulp of her third draught. Harry could see her pale against the weakening fire. She looked tired and spent, her hand barely strong enough to cut the meat, her nails white from the pressure of her grasp on the fork that tried to-and failed to-keep the meat in place.

Harry would've offered to cut it for her, but he knew that she'd reject his offer, and that would probably launch them into another row. Instead he watched her play with her potatoes, shifting food around and looking at anything, and anywhere except for him. The raw hatred that had been building inside since the ritual's aftermath, now gave its place to a cold and penetrating gloom that crippled him.

"Is it alright?" He asked in an attempt to spark the conversation again.

"As can be." She said with a shrug.

"We could have gone to a better place..."

"Yet we haven't..."

"We'll go somewhere nice next time, somewhere expensive..."

"Harry," She raised her eyes and looked at him. "I don't care about money," She said softly, but her tone could barely hide her impatience. "I'm not the type of girl to be impressed with such things, you should know that..." She didn't accuse, but it was clearer than the glass shots before them that she expected better of him.

"Of course not," Harry said gently. "I wasn't trying to impress you with gold, you should know that I'm not that type of a person either..."

"I do, that's why it felt wrong when you said it..."

"Still you didn't object to a next time, so I'll take that as a small victory..." He grinned half-confidently.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a faint smile.

"Am I so horrible that you've lowered your standards to such depths?" She said with a raised eyebrow.

"Not horrible, just as I said, you are making it a lot more difficult that I expected." He kept his tone even, trying to avoid a new fight.

"Well I don't know what you expected, I could ask you, but you never asked me about what I expected..."

"I did ask, I told you that I don't know what you want from me..."

"That is hardly a question..."

"Alright," He drew a deep breath, trying to keep his temper under control. "What do you want Hermione?" He asked softly.

"Don't treat me like a patient, I'm not a broken bird that need patching up... I am not a woman in trouble."

"Hermione that was a joke, you even laughed at it then..." Harry pleaded.

"Well now I see that it wasn't a joke, but it was how you see me. I am getting better, and I am still thankful for your care, but don't treat me like a problem that you need to fix so that its off your conscience Harry."

"Hermione I swear I didn't... I would never..."

"You say that, but every time you look at me like I'm about to break again, it feels the same. Like I'm still the girl who collapsed in the shower. Like you are waiting for the next time I fall apart so you can play," She paused, carefully avoiding the word that she really wanted to use, which was 'hero', but she knew that would hurt too deep, and she didn't feel like she could gut it then. "part." She finished.

"No Hermione I don't ever want to see you in that condition again, or anything like it, I don't need you to be weak so that you'd want me..."

"I didn't say that, don't put that on me."

He shrugged and poured himself another shot.

"Just tell me why does every offer to help feel like pity? Why does 'next time we'll go somewhere nice' sound like you're trying to fix the mood instead of just... Being with me?"

"We could have just gone home after the meeting..." Said Harry, thinking that they better had. "I asked you to walk with me so that we can be together."

"I know Harry, I'm just trying to tell you... That I don't want to be this," She paused, looking around as though expecting the proper word to jump out of a corner and present itself. "this noise in your life."

"Am I so horrible that I made you feel like that?"

"You're not horrible, I only need you to know these things... Now that the curtains are down... The oath binds us, it doesn't obligate or fix us, the bind will stay in place even if we hate each other or move to different continents. We'd just cross paths every decade or so, and I swear on my life that if you make me feel unwanted, I'll look the other way and vanish until the next decade." She spoke as articulately as the two shots of scotch and half a tankard of ale allowed her.

"A decade?"

"I'm just saying..."

"I'm not trying to fix you... I'm trying to get you back to normal, so that I can be with you..."

"No you're stalling for time, because you don't know if you want to be with me..." Her voice dragged, showing the effects of alcohol.

"I don't think rushing it is the right thing to do..."

"Because you think its less real since things aren't 'normal'?"

"That's right." He admitted.

"Don't expect me to wait around forever."

"I won't take forever..."

The old man glanced back as Hermione swayed away, muttering under his breath "whiskey fixes more than it breaks."

Harry stayed seated, hands clasped on the table, staring at the half-empty plates and the low fire dying in the grate. The day had gone about as well as it could, all things considered. Phineas had warned him she would not be easy. Nothing about any of this was easy. And if he was entirely honest with himself, she was not even being difficult. She needed the truth laid bare, needed to feel the ground solid under her feet again.

He had pictured them easing into something more. Slow walks, quiet talks, letting things unfold without force. Travel somewhere far from Grimmauld Place, let the days stack up until the shape of it became clear on its own. But she read that slowness as a game, as stalling, as another way to keep her at arm's length while he figured out what he really wanted.

He remembered Ron. How Ron had waited too long, hesitated too many times, until Hermione finally moved first just to stop the limbo. Harry was not going to repeat that mistake. Not with her. Not after everything the ritual had already torn open between them.

No more stalling. No more games. The oath would drag them back to each other anyway. Every decade or every year or every minute, he didn't care. The oath had no pull on him. He remembered how he loved listening to her voice during the ritual, how her thoughts brushed easily against his, how her eyes burned and glowed in the dark of the drawing room, and how she pulled him out and through the ruin of his own thoughts. He chose right then and there that she was the most valuable thing in his life. He could still feel the raw anger and horror that tore through him as she saw her raised in the air, arms stretched and screaming silently as Ron tried to drain her soul. How he nearly cursed him to oblivion to save her, and how he could see himself tearing the world asunder just to have another second with her.

She returned from the restroom, walking steadier than before and took her seat.

"I've never had so much alcohol in my life." She smiled.

"Yea I've never had scotch either, its a lot sharper than Firewhisky."

"Effective though, I'm positively tipsy."

"I have made my choice too Hermione," Harry said abruptly. "I decided to stay, and see you, hear you, and know you like I haven't before... But how? I don't know..."

"You had an epiphany in the thirty seconds I was away?" She joked.

"Umm, not entirely, the wording of it maybe..."

"I don't know how its going to be either, but that, we can find out together." She said with another smile.

---

Away at the burrow, Ron kicked a garden gnome moodily. His beard had grown an inch over the days, his eyes framed by the dark shadow of sleepless nights and no sunlight. He looked up at the crescent moon. It shone brightly over the land. His bag was packed and his decision final. He took one final look at the burrow, and muttered "See you." as though his sleeping parents would hear him. He closed his eyes and pictured the tight branches, the tall trees, and the pain he had left behind there, and apparated.