Disclaimer: You're once… twice… three times a lady.

A/N: Here we are - sooner than promised and all shiny and waiting to be read. Story took a bit of a turn from what I imagined at the beginning - but still on course. This is the make or break chapter, I reckon. Let me know what you think!

Ha, and thanks to all who have reviewed, especially Contender - made me laugh, dude, we're all lazy bastards at heart.

joe

*~*~*~*

Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time

Chapter 4 - War, Or Something Like It

Fear… is forward. No one is afraid of yesterday.

--Adler

Not much could be said for goblins - save perhaps that their nation, spread across every continent in the world, had more gold hoarded and more gold in circulation than the next ten biggest nations, magical or not, combined. And that wasn't counting the sheer amount of stockpiled gold guarded in the three dozen or so Gringotts branches scattered across the globe.

No, that gold did not belong to the goblins - it was wizarding gold - yet the goblins turned a healthy profit from running the magical banking system, and who is to say that, at any point, they wouldn't just turn their impressive security systems against the humans who often treated them with disdain, with open cruelty, and bankrupt the wizarding world in one perfectly vicious move? What was in place to stop them ravaging a worldwide economy?

Nothing.

In fact I'd seen it happen more than once, as the war reached its boiling point and it became fairly clear that the wizarding world, that magical folk, had doomed themselves and the rest of humanity to a very dark future indeed. The goblin nation would turn, as it always did, to rebellion and their own self interest.

And who could blame them, really? With the world falling apart around you, your society tearing itself apart and breaking away into cruel warring factions, wouldn't you cling to what you knew best?

And for the goblins that is gold.

I would be depriving them of my fair amount all too soon, and before the Order, specifically old meddlesome Dumbledore, Merlin damn his good intentions, caught up with me. Tonks, bless her gorgeous heart, would have already been obliged to inform the Order that I had absconded into the invisible night, as it were.

I entered Gringotts over the rubble of my whole Erumpent-bladder-to-the-face plan, Fleur Delacour's arm linked through my own, and the pressure of her lips still buzzing on my cheek. We came to the next set of silver doors and were bowed through by a pair of goblins wearing the scarlet and gold uniform of the bank, and entered the vast marble hall beyond.

It was still early in the morning, barely half-ten, yet the business of the day was well underway as about a hundred more goblins seated behind their high counters on either side of the hall served their wizarding customers, weighing out gold and precious stones on brass scales, and leading them back and forth through the dozens of various doors around the hall.

“I must return to work, 'Arry,” Fleur said, attempting to disengage her arm from mine. “My break waz over five minutes ago.”

“Stay a moment, won't you,” I replied, wondering how best to go about what I needed to do. I had vague memories of being here before, sometimes - most times, actually - without Fleur. I was a lot more brazen this Time around in regards to my female companions. Perhaps I'd finally learnt to anticipate just how little time I had, all things considered.

And I'd definitely learnt the hard way, more than once, that all work and no play made Harry a merciless bastard. Was that a bad thing, sometimes, in my world? Maybe yes, maybe no - most likely somewhere in between, in the details, alongside the Devil and his dancing demon entourage.

What time was it? 10:21 and fifteen seconds. There was something about to happen, I thought, but for the life of me-

“Fleur,” a familiar voice said from nearby. “And Harry...”

“'lo, Bill,” I said to Bill Weasley, who had appeared through a pair of the many doors leading away from the main hall. Was Fleur's arm tightening through mine? Her stance next to me became guarded, her expression unreadable.

“William,” Fleur said coolly, raising her chin. I half-expected to see frost spread across Bill's dark robes.

There was an uncomfortable silence in which Bill glared openly at Fleur's arm through mine before he caught himself, shaking his head. “It's good to see you.”

“Yes,” Fleur replied, as I nodded along.

“Who are you here with, Harry?” Bill asked, glancing around the bank. “Is mum or dad around? Ron and Hermione?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Order guardians?”

“Actually I cut the cord there, Bill,” I said. “I wasn't here with anyone until I bumped into Fleur outside.”

“Really? I'd heard there was some commotion, some curse damage, the goblins sent me up to have a look-”

“I waz attacked,” Fleur said. “Eet waz nothing 'Arry could not handle.”

“Attacked! What happened?”

“Death Eater, set him on fire, felt good, Aurors took over…” I ticked off the points of the last ten minutes with my free hand. “And oh yeah,” I said, raising my thumb lucky last to make five, “no one stabbed me through the heart. Good day so far.”

Bill was stroking his chin, looking from me to Fleur and then back to me. “Don't know if you, of all people, should be out on your own, Harry. Does Dumbledore know?”

“By now,” I replied with a shrug. “Yeah, he probably does. No doubt the fuss and bother is just warming up over at H.Q.”

“And he iz not alone,” Fleur said, again with a frosty regard for Bill Weasley. “'Arry iz with me.”

Bill frowned, and an ugly sneer passed over his face. “Shouldn't you be at work now, Fleur?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“After the events of zis morning I think my time at Gringotts may be done with, William,” she replied, and I could tell Fleur was serious, even if she did look as though the idea had just popped into her head right then. “My English iz fine now, no? There iz no reason for me to stay in England and push paper around.”

Bill's face reddened and he shrugged. “No reason at all,” he replied, biting off each word and spitting it in her face.

Another of those heavy silences fell and I stood there tapping my foot against the marble, reaching for a smile. “Well… this is awkward. Perhaps I'll just go and see a gob-”

“I will accompany you,” Fleur said, pulling my arm and turning me away. “Goodbye, William.”

I looked back over my shoulder as Fleur pulled me away towards the high marble counters with their goblin tellers and caught Bill red-faced and scowling at the pair of us, before he stormed away toward the damaged doors at the front of the bank.

“I am done wiz Bill Weasley,” Fleur said, swiping her hand down through the air. A high blush, cool spots of anger, had settled in her cheeks and she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “I am sorry, 'Arry, that would 'ave been… uncomfortable for you.”

I shrugged. “You and Bill…?”

“We had something once, and then he wanted more than I waz willing to give at ze time. That was some weeks ago now, months, and I will not look back again.”

“Oh.” Had I known that Bill was going to show up when he did? Maybe yes, maybe no. What time was it? 10:28 and sixteen seconds. I made a note of that, couldn't say why, just felt that I should. Time's time, and all the rest is those brief seconds between one moment and the next where the magic happens. “So, you're finished with Gringotts?”

“I believe so, yes,” Fleur said, looking grateful for the smooth change of subject I'd just delivered. “After today, and ze attack! Merde, this war is real, no.”

“Very, very real,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Bad guys and everything…”

Fleur blushed again, yet it was warmer and her eyes softer than they had been with Bill. “But of course, I don't need to tell you about ze war…”

I laughed. Fleur, my dear, the real war has yet to begin… and I'm already half a dozen steps behind Voldemort - but I'm playing catch up now. More often than not I reckon only other people can bring out the best in us human folk, and Fleur was doing that for me now. What I had to do, what I was about to do was all the brighter for having her with me.

“What will you do instead of working here?” I asked, knowing already.

“Back to France and back home, 'Arry. It is where ze heart is, no?”

“Oh forever and always,” I agreed, squeezing her hand and meeting her eyes as we approached one of the goblin tellers. “Tell me, Fleur, if I could get you out of here today, without having to work a month's notice, would you want that?”

Fleur's brow furrowed, a cute line forming between her eyes as we reached the counter. “Oui,” she said. “Yes.”

I gave her a smile and then turned to the curious goblin, who had undoubtedly recognised my infamous scar. There was no smile on my face at this point - I had my game face firmly in place.

“May I help you, Mr. Pot-” the goblin began, his long face drawn down in a sneer.

“I'm here to see the manager,” I said, quite cheerfully, interrupting the teller. “About matters most important and profitable.”

The goblin shifted in his scarlet uniform. “I'm sorry, but Manager Forst is unavailable at this time. Perhaps if you were to make an appointment he could accommodate you-” His grin widened revealing two rows of yellow fangs. “-later in the year.”

I tried to look crestfallen, to look like the fifteen year old teenager I was. “Ah, are you sure?”

The goblin nodded sharply, all but ready to dismiss me. “If there is any other enquiry I can be of serv-”

I cut the wee little thing short again, my hard eyes blazing and my voice strong and sure. “I invoke the right of Palaver with Chief Forst the Overseer, Director-Manager of the London Branch of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Under the laws of your nation, of your father's father, goblin, I, Harry James Potter, invoke the Treaty of Atlantis and all rights owed Wizard-kind therein. I claim the Claw of Ragnarok unbroken!”

I was shouting by the end of that, and every goblin within hearing distance of me stopped what they were doing. Several of the tellers dropped the galleons and gems they were sorting and gaped at me, hissing low in their throats. The goblin I was dealing with had eyes as wide as saucers, and his mouth worked soundlessly even as his clawed fingers dug furrows into the very marble before him.

I couldn't blame them. I could only pity them.

I had just uttered words of goblin law kept secret by the sneaky little bastards for over three thousand years. I couldn't have shocked them more if I'd gone and declared war against them - and in a way I had.

Merlin damn it all, in a way I had….

*~*~*~*

Through my eyes the world was burning - I wonder how many people see it, see just how fragile this whole mess of a society is… Hell, a good gust of wind could knock the legs out from under it - and Voldemort was a fucking cyclone, an oncoming storm.

I was too - and my fury was greater.

Do you think the window burns to light the way back home? A light that warms no matter where we go? What if we were to fall by someone's wicked way…? Still that window burns, time so slowly turns…

Damn it all, I was reminiscing again.

I was beginning to feel as if it would never be over, not for me - I was beginning to feel as if that was par for the course when Fate blocked all the exits, and long lost legends began to claw their way out of a shallow, watery grave.

Being Harry Potter meant being awake in the dead of night, ready and willing to silence the shadows creeping over the threshold of civilisation.

And would it never be over?

Maybe yes, maybe no - probably somewhere in between.

Déjà vu, right?

*~*~*~*

I stood before a large golden-framed window on the top most floor of Gringotts, gazing out at Diagon Alley below and the milling crowds of shoppers working their way up and down the street, more or less oblivious to the slow shadow settling over the entire world. Fleur stood next to me, uncertain and wanting to ask me questions I couldn't answer, not yet.

I was in the finely furnished office of the Director of Gringotts, Goblin Forst Overseer. The goblin clerk who had tried to dismiss me only ten minutes ago had led both Fleur and myself up through the many levels of the bank, and through the use of a private staircase to this office. There was a long mahogany desk and many shelves of parchment, loose document cabinets and a dark leather couch. Twin globes of light, of a soft blue, shone from the ceiling.

The highway's jammed with broken heroes, I thought, for no particular reason. I had a lot of memories tumbling through my head, both old and new, and even through all of that Fleur's faint scent of strawberries and fresh rainfall was distracting me - in a good way, the best way.

The doors to the office were thrown open and a tall goblin, about half my height, stormed into the room dressed in a long black suit with silver trim and large galleon-sized cufflinks. He wore on his head a powdered wig reminiscent of a Muggle courtroom, and a thin staff of dark metal thumped on the hardwood floors every other step.

Forst Overseer was glaring pure and unguarded hate at me.

An entourage of five further goblins followed - four of them were armed with drawn swords that were as shiny and gem-encrusted as the blade belonging to Godric Gryffindor. The fifth and final goblin carried a velvet cushion in both of his hands, and upon it was a clear glass sphere ringed with a loop of gold about the size of a Quaffle.

I heard Fleur gasp beside me and she took a step back towards the window, positioning herself behind me.

“Harry Potter.” Forst snarled, his thin fingers clenching the staff he carried as if attempting to break it in two. “The Boy Who Lived himself. As of this moment, in accordance with Goblin Law, of which you know more than you should, more than can be allowed, and in view of five or more high-witnesses, I place you under the Bane of Discordia.”

Ah, they went straight for the big guns this time, I thought, smiling politely at the bank manager. “Sounds ominous,” I said into the silence following Forst's proclamation. “But before I'm hung, drawn and quartered, I would like to discuss a business proposition with you, Mr Overseer - one the goblin nation cannot afford to ignore.”

“'Arry,” Fleur whispered, her hand tightening around my upper arm. “What are you doing here?”

“No Man or Goblin has been sentenced to the pain under Discordia in over four centuries, Mr. Potter,” Forst replied. “You do not understand the seriousness of your situation.”

His armoured goblin buddies, their swords held confidently before them, were ready to strike if I so much as took a step forward, or made a move for the wand in my back pocket. What use would I have for the stick of wood anyway? True magic, magic beyond words of old Latin, magic that could transcend time itself, was firmly in my grasp.

“With all due respect, goblin, it is you and your kind that fail to grasp the seriousness of my situation,” I replied, and the room around me seemed to dim. The twin globes of blue light shone just as brightly, but their light was pale, useless. Even the sunlight streaming in through the large window was swallowed, devoured, in the pall of darkness that turned my eyes to sharp points of emerald and gave me an air of tremendous strength.

Was it illusion? Intimidation? Maybe yes and maybe no. There are many types of power, and they could all corrupt.

“'Arry…” Fleur whispered again.

“Now that I have your attention, Forst,” I continued, as light flooded back into the room and an all too agreeable smile spread across my face, “I would like to remind you that I am here claiming the protection of Atlantis and the unbroken Claw of Ragnarok. You've so far set much standard by the traditions of your nation, as this death squad clearly demonstrates, yet here you violate the oldest precepts of your kind?”

Forst's eyes widened with every word, and at the mention of Atlantis and Ragnarok he flinched as if I'd struck him. His stature seemed diminished by the time I was done, and his staff sunk in his grasp, almost hitting the polished floor. The other goblins exchanged anxious and hesitant glances with each other.

“What is it you want, wizard?” Forst asked after a heavy moment. “How do you know of our hidden lore?”

“What I want isn't as important as what I can give you - return to you, Forst.” I turned and smiled at Fleur, and led us both over to the smooth leather couch underneath the window. Taking a seat, I lounged in the sofa under an air of disregard for the death sentence just levelled on my head.

“Speak, Potter!” Forst hissed. “You knew enough to know we could not let you leave today… unless, unless…” Goblins were ugly not stupid, and I had a feeling Forst was beginning to understand just what I could offer.

“As I've said, I have a proposition for you, if you'd care to listen.” As an afterthought, I added: “And go down in history as the goblin that restored the lost riches of Atlantis to your already considerable treasure hoard.”

A little flattery went a long way sometimes - catch more goblins with honey, and so on…

“More than one fool wizard has assumed the quest for mythical Atlantis over the long centuries, Mr Potter,” Forst said, taking a seat at his own large desk. He began to tap his long fingernails against the wood, irritating me in a way that made me want to twitch. “None have ever found it - what makes you think it even exists?”

An innocent enough question, you would think. I didn't. The scowl that washed the fake smile from my face was so fast and so sure that the goblin bank manager leaned back in his seat, unnerved.

“No,” I said.

“No?”

“I am here, in your house, under the pain of death even though the truce of Ragnarok's Claw has protected all such wizarding ambassadors for over three thousand years against such a sentence. Granted, I am the first to claim such protection in three millennia, yet you have forgotten those that sired you, Forst Overseer.”

I was not a teenager at this point, not even an adult - I was something more, something different. I was the Time Warrior, neither young nor old, a title bestowed upon me by angry and vengeful gods that were laughing behind my back as they gave me the power to wrap Time around my little finger. And damn it all, goblins pissed me off to no end…

Again, Forst's demeanour seemed diminished by the time I was through. He had stormed into his office all swords and death sentences and I'd set him firmly in his place. My knowledge of archaic goblin law was as hazy as most of my future memories, yet I had set foot on Atlantis - on the Lost Isle, where gods and demons had battled at the end of the ancient world - and doomed utopia to depths unknown.

I was the power in this room.

I didn't even know it was possible for the blood to drain from the face of a cold-blooded creature, yet the Director-Manager of Gringotts, London, was looking mighty pale at the moment.

“You have no idea what you have done today, do you, Mr Potter?”

I had a very good idea - baby, I've been here before - but I let the goblin have his say.

“Laws unspoken since the Great Cataclysm… Goblin honour and lore denied, all called into question. You know what it would mean for the goblin nation should your knowledge become public? It would mean war, war and rebellion and all manner of profitless destruction - and all for one wizard, one boy, who has come across information better left lost to the winds of time…”

“You even brought the Shackles of Lar,” I said, gesturing to the goblin supporting the glass sphere on the velvet pillow. It was really a glorified pair of handcuffs - only a lot more biting. Goblin blood activated the sphere, made it malleable, which could then be settled over a pair of bound hands before it hardened and began to eat away at the flesh. Cruelty knows no restraint, when it comes to torture.

“I am not surprised you know of Lar's Doom, also.”

I inclined my head, taking that as a compliment. “Do you extend the protection of Ragnarok unbroken, Mr Overseer? To myself and Miss Fleur Delacour?”

Not that it really mattered, but this was a grand moment in the history of Wizard-Goblin relations. Not once in the last three thousands years had the words spoken here today, in the heart of London, been uttered. And even when they were common knowledge, such drastic invocations were rarely used…

As a representative and Overseer of his nation, Forst could grant the protection - he could not deny it or else forfeit his house to me, hand over the keys to Gringotts and all spoils therein - and I could commit bloody murder under his roof and escape all punishment. Diplomatic immunity at its most extreme, part of a deal made between goblins and humanity at a time when no one could imagine either nation falling apart at the seams. Only they had, all at the same time - Atlantis had been the bolt that held the world together, and when it was lost…

“Granted,” Forst said, snarling at the word as if it were a noose for his neck. “The Claw of Ragnarok passes unbroken to Harry James Potter for this day only, and within the House of Gringotts, London. The Bane of Discordia is revoked under the Claw. You may leave,” he said, speaking to the armed guard that still looked ready to give me a really short haircut.

The five goblins filed out of the room silently, never taking their eyes from me, and the double doors closed with a click behind them. I turned back to Forst, rubbing my hands together and eager to be underway.

“Unless you are hiding the Crown of Gringott himself in that bag of yours, Mr Potter, as well as the Five Rubies of Arcadia and the Golden Sceptre of Amun-Ra, then I think what I've just done may mean the headsman for me and all in my direct line.”

“Fear not,” I said. He was right, of course, the other goblins were going to kill him for honouring the lost lore of Atlantis, a nation and utopian city they had spent millennia convincing mankind did not truly exist. Forst was doomed if I was bluffing about all the lost treasure. Luckily for him, I was as good as my word. “Shall we dispense with the formalities and get down to business?”

“Indeed - with the Claw granted I have the right to request that you explain your presence in my house, wizard, do I not?”

I nodded. “Yes, of course. I am here because I'm planning an expedition to recover the treasure of the lost city of Atlantis - I swear by blood and by magic, on my father's name, that is why I have come.”

“And you seek goblin aid, why?” Forst's eyes narrowed. “You require gold for this expedition. You want Gringotts to fund you, a boy-”

“Nope - I've enough gold in my vault here to see it through. With the inclusion of the late Sirius Black's accounts, I believe my personal fortune to be sitting comfortably at around four hundred and fifty thousand galleons. A nice sum, not overly bloated, but plenty to be getting on with.”

Forst eyed me speculatively for a moment. He had discarded his pompous staff, yet the powdered wig remained firmly in place on top of his spotted head. “Then why are you here? Do you seek goblin aid at all?”

“Indeed I do - and I believe it only fair that if my expedition proves successful, then the goblins should reclaim what was lost to them all those long years ago.” I could bullshit with the best of them - I'd screw over the ugly little critters first chance I got. Right now though, right now they could help me. “There was more gold, and more ancient relics, lost when Atlantis disappeared than in all the Gringotts vaults the world over.”

“And what makes you think you can recover this mythical treasure, Mr Potter?” Forst asked, yet I had certainly grasped his interest.

“I have certain information, certain… sources. Is it not enough that I know of the Treaty of Atlantis, of Ragnarok's Claw? Does that not satisfy you?”

“Information is power - and what you know places a dagger at the throat of every goblin in the world. I cannot guarantee your safety outside of these walls. Indeed, I believe letting you leave will mean my death and a bounty on your head large enough to make you a target throughout the known world.”

I tapped the tips of my fingers together, glancing at Fleur. She was watching my exchange with the goblin bank manager incredulously, as if unable to believe just what she was hearing. I gave her a smile, a genuine one, which she struggled to return. Her hands were shaking in her lap - and her blouse was still torn where she'd fallen in the street outside. Soon enough I'd be able to do magic to fix that.

“Unless I'm telling the truth about Atlantis, which is something that you can't ignore considering the knowledge I have, is it, Forst? No I think you and your superiors are going to give me a month or two to actually make good on my promise before calling a hunt for my head.”

“Don't be so sure…” Forst shook his head. “What do you want, Harry Potter? For all the riches of the ancient world, what are you asking for in return?”

“Four things, actually - and weighed against more wealth than you can honestly imagine, they are quite reasonable. I want just one simple trinket, one simple transaction, one simple favour, and one simple Portkey.”

“How reasonable.” Forst blinked. “Well, we'll see… the trinket?”

“I've been led to believe that here at this very bank, stored in your personal vaults no less, Mr Overseer, is a Ring of Concealment - a gold band capable of masking a wizard's magical signature. A rare trinket and of a coincidental make, wouldn't you say? And useless to goblin-kind, yet of great use to me in evading the Trace set upon me by the Ministry of Magic.”

Forst again seemed taken aback - for the same reason as before, because I was displaying knowledge about goblins, and about Gringotts, that I simply should not have had. That no human, magical or not, should even be aware of.

It was coming up for 11:00 - this negotiation always sapped the better part of my first day back. At least I had it down to what appeared to be a fine art, working as I was off hazy memories and feeling my way along paths of conversation and intimidation that just felt right. I was unclear for the most part just what the hell I had in my head - turns out its some pretty heavy stuff.

“Trinket, indeed,” the goblin scoffed, grimacing - no, that was a goblin smiling, which anyone can tell you is never a good thing. “Powers of the ancient world not withstanding, Mr Potter, to provide you with such concealment would breach maybe seven or eight clauses of modern day underage sorcery law. The times, they are precarious enough, hmm, without bringing the weight of the Ministry down upon us.”

I could work with that. “Of course, the ring would only be a loan until say, my seventeenth birthday just over a year from now - and recompense for its use to the sum of say, fifty thousand galleons, and payable today? Do we understand one another, Mr Overseer?”

Forst's eyes gleamed as I offered him fifty thousand pieces of gold for a ring that had been gathering dust in the goblin vaults for centuries on end. It was bait far too tempting to pass up, and being so generous also led weight to my claims on the expedition, as well as built up a trust that had kind of collapsed when the little goblins had sentenced me to death ten minutes ago.

“You know, don't you? That the Ring of Concealment is of Atlantean make… of course you know.”

I nodded, no sense in denying that. “I know a great many things - it impresses my friends, confuses my enemies, and delights small house-elves. The hallmark on the ring, the eternity symbol - magic old and wise shaped the ring some thirty-five hundred years ago. My how time flies…”

I couldn't let the creature see how important the ring was to my plans - I didn't really know how important, but I got the feeling that without the ring, I was going to Wake Up again at Privet Drive all too soon. It did more than just conceal one's magical signature.

The ring is a Key to the Past, I thought, and hid a grimace as a sharp bolt of raw pain pinched the back of my eyes. It hurt like all hell, and I stopped thinking along those lines.

“In this, at least, I believe we understand one another, Mr Potter. I shall have the ring retrieved from storage - please be aware it may take some time, a half-hour, for it to arrive.”

I smiled. “Ah, more than enough time to discuss other matters of importance.”

Forst removed a black-feathered quill from the stand on his desk and scratched a hasty note on a fine piece of parchment before him. Satisfied when it had dried, he placed the note in a small tray on his desk where it promptly folded itself into a tiny paper bird with small flapping wings, and took off through a small hole above the goblins door.

“Now how else can the goblins of Gringotts assist you on your treasure hunt, Mr Potter?”

“Just a few small matters, a few things - I have the trinket, now onto the transaction. Fairly standard, this request, you do it most days for those venturing into the Muggle world. I require documents - a passport, Muggle bank accounts, international driver's licence, certificate of birth and such in a name other than Harry Potter.”

“False identification? A simple matter - there is more?”

“Currency conversation. I would like one hundred thousand galleons converted into Muggle cash of various denominations. Twenty-five thousand galleons each of British, French, Italian, and American Muggle money - and put it in one of those fancy suitcases I've seen your fellows walking around with.”

“'Arry, are you mad?” Fleur whispered furiously in my ear. “I cannot believe what I am hearing today…”

“A Ring of Concealment, currency and documents of safe passage through the Muggle world… Forgive me, Mr Potter, but it appears as though you wish to disappear.”

“What better way to find something that's lost, than to become lost yourself, Mr Overseer? Oh, and chuck in a bag of about three hundred galleons - just in case.”

Forst nodded. “What you are requesting is a function normally processed by Gringotts regardless - I assume you want this done as soon as possible?”

“If my shiny new documents could arrive with the Atlantean ring, well that would be splendid.”

“Indeed…” Forst began to scribble on another piece of parchment, and soon enough a second little bird was fluttering out of the gap above his door. “The gold, including the loan fees for the ring, will be removed from your vault immediately. That is two of your four requests, Mr Potter - the third was a favour, the fourth a Portkey.”

“A favour, yes,” I said, glancing at Fleur. “Miss Delacour is currently an employee of your bank, Mr Overseer. Due to the neutral, more profitable stance you goblins have taken in the wizarding war against Lord Voldemort, the task of auditing Death Eater accounts fell to her-”

“'Arry…?”

“-and just this morning an attempt on her life was made because of your cowardice-” Forst snarled. “Oh forgive me, your profitable neutrality. The favour, goblin,” I all but growled, “is that you terminate her employment effective immediately, no strings attached, and she walks out of here with me today no longer an employee of your proud, neutral establishment.”

Forst blinked. “Is that what you wish, Miss Delacour?” he asked Fleur. “Your work has always been of a high standard, and there are many opportunities within Gringotts for one such as yourself, both here and overseas-”

“Eet iz what I wish, Mr Overseer,” Fleur said, giving me a look of pure amazement as all the pieces of that morning's plan fell into place.

I suppose I was doing pretty good so far this morning, all things considered. My throat was a little dry from all the bullshitting, but I was nearly done now.

“Very well then. And the Portkey, Mr Potter?”

“Sydney, Australia. The hunt for Atlantis begins there…”

*~*~*~*

If nothing else is left, one must scream.

And Time wounds all heels… brings all things to pass. How could I kill Time without wounding eternity?

I find it kind of funny, and I find it kind of sad, that the world needs kids to save it. There's something terribly wrong with the universe, with fate, and if there were no tomorrow I reckon that would sit well with a lot of folks.

My name is Harry Potter, and I can bring Time to its knees.

And I'm Harry, just Harry.

And lions are just lions, heroes are just heroes… Gods are just Gods.

*~*~*~*

It was 11:47 and thirty-three seconds when Fleur and I finally left Gringotts and began to walk up the street toward the Leaky Cauldron, working our way through the crowds - the alley was a lot busier this late in the morning. Thankfully no one was paying particular attention to me or my scar. I scanned every face that we past, however, not taking any chances with a demon that seemed as competent at time manipulation as I was.

At least I was out of that damned bank.

Merlin, it had taken over a bloody hour to persuade the little bastards to part with their treasure. Still, mission accomplished - I turned the dull golden ring on my left index finger with my thumb, and felt the magic pulsing through my body from that hand, disrupting my magical signature and making the Ministry's Trace spell all but useless.

The Ring of Concealment, a relic of long, lost Atlantis - or so the goblins believed. It was a familiar weight on my finger, and fit as if it had been sized for me all those years ago…

In my other hand I carried a fancy black briefcase with silver trim, and within it were all the documents I'd need to make my way through the Muggle world, as well as close to one million pounds in various world currencies - British, American, French, and Italian - and strapped to my jeans around the waist was a small sack of galleons. Both the briefcase and the sack were bigger on the inside than out, and charmed feather-light.

“Well that waz unexpected, 'Arry,” Fleur said, finding her voice.

“Je suis plein des surprises, amoureux,” I replied, in perfect, fluent French. I am full of surprises, sweetheart.

Fleur stopped in her tracks, staring at me as if I'd grown a second head, or revealed a secret greater than the location of Atlantis. “Vous parlez Français?” You speak French?

“Oui, Fleur.”

“Surprises, en effet!” Surprises, indeed!

I took her hand and pulled her to a stop just outside of the Magical Menagerie. “J'ai quelque chose vous demander, Fleur.” I have something to ask you, Fleur.

“Oui…?”

I switched back to English - speaking French felt like riding a bike for the first time in years. You never forgot how, but there was always the chance you were going to go flying over the handlebars. That said, I'd never owned a push bike. No matter. “What do you say to an afternoon of shopping back home where the heart is? Paris? Or even Provence?

Fleur seemed taken aback. She took a moment to playback what I'd said, making sure she understood. “'Arry, today? Now? But I thought ze Portkey was for Sydney-”

“Ah yes, that.” There was a cage of toads in buckets hopping about out the front of the menagerie, and I removed the Portkey - a simple eagle-feather quill - that the goblins had programmed for Australia, and charged me seventy-five galleons for, and dropped it through the bars. “Bit of a red herring, really - the goblins will be tracking me, in fact they are already awaiting my arrival in Australia.”

One of the toads hopped onto the quill.

“Portus Activus,” I whispered, and the little toad squeezed out of existence, already halfway across the face of the earth and heading for the warm and sunny climate of the southern hemisphere. Second thoughts, it would be rainy down there at the moment. “Have to stay one step ahead, and if that means lunch and shopping with a beautiful women on a gorgeous French afternoon… well?”

Fleur smiled. “Etonner et charmer, Harry Potter.” she said. Surprising and charming.

“I can Apparate internationally or even create a Portkey if you prefer, Fleur. I'm sure today has raised a lot of questions you'd like answered - and I'm enjoying your company. Last time I saw you would have been…”

“After ze Tournament,” she said quietly.

“Yeah… what do you say? Two old Champions catching up - I'd love to see France.”

I found it odd that I didn't remember the Tri-Wizard Tournament straight off the top of my head - there were a lot more memories than usual trying to sort themselves into some sort of workable timeline in my mind. Things were different, that much was certain, and I had no idea what it meant for me, and this whole time-travelling business.

“What you said about Atlantis, 'Arry, the goblins believed you… was it all true?” Fleur asked.

True? The truth is a terrible weapon - remember that - people can lie and kill for the truth. Ah, I felt older than I was. There was adventure on the high wind, and I could see the sun setting on a distant future that never was, and that could be. He who dares wins, right? He who dares… will know the truth.

“Peut-etre oui, peut-etre aucun…” I said, with a near-silent sigh. Maybe yes, maybe no…

And with that Fleur came to a decision - was it the right one? It had been before, for the most part, time would only tell if it would be again. “Well, if that iz the case, then I would like to 'ear more about it,” she said, bless her heart.

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A/N: So how was it? I get the feeling I'm rushing the story, so I'm going to take a step back and update - for really this time - in at least a week, give it time to simmer. Thanks for the awesome response so far, folks, let me know what you think in a review!

Captain Joe