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Your first breaths were of air, stinging; cold; forgiving.
My first breaths were of air, stagnant; warm; treacherous.
You stepped on soils soft, hard, green, lush.
I stepped on caverns sharp, brittle, shadowed, hostile.
Sun, Moon, Stars; you reached out to them, yearning, drawing shapes in the sky.
Stone, Gem, Metal; I held them in my hands, wondering, and listened to their song.
Rebuked, for your hubris, you made a story for reaching too high.
Humbled, in foolish naiveté, I made a story for delving too deep.
Upon paper, easily burned, easily changed, you wrote your rules.
Upon adamant, tempered in the Flame Within, I set forth my Code.
We are not the same.
You know this.
I know this.
You preach 'brotherhood', spread arms to embrace friend and foe.
But you never sheathe your daggers.
I will never respect such dishonor.
I will never call you brother.
You lie.
You betray.
You seek to dominate, without understanding.
You take gladly, but are loath to repay.
No, we will never be brothers.
But, under Stone, under Sky, I can call you cousin.
Should you agree, then our blades, I will order sheathed.
Should you do the same, peace will reign, for a time.
And on that day, I bid thee welcome, cousin, to the Deep.
But be warned… we are not the same.
I am not prey.
I am not your slave.
Enter, cousin, and remember you can bleed.
Enter, cousin, but take heed,
Of what awaits the sin of greed.
For those who seek, but do not earn
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floor
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief! You have been warned, beware:
You'll find far more than treasure here.
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[..|..]
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Goblinkind
Goblins. Them Below. The Inhabitants of the Deep.
Many and myriad are the names of Humanity's counterparts below our feet; yet, for all this variety, very little is known about them. The layman will easily be able to recite that they are:
Bankers
Rude
Short
Dangerous
Shrewd
and skilled with metallurgy
But this is a gross oversimplification of a species that evolved very differently compared to just about everything else in our world. What little is known of their people, their civilization, their native environment, and their culture, each meager scrap of information has been acquired through painstaking and patient dialogue with Goblinkind over the millennia, by countless nameless scribes, warriors, and laypeople.
Dating the exact founding of the Goblin civilization is impossible, but it is known that the Goblins we know are only one of three subtypes: Goblin, Hobgoblin, and Kobold. According to their own oral histories, Kobolds – the most outgoing of the three species, and the most untrustworthy – joined the Goblins and Hobgoblins after a "short" battle between the former's small holdings and the alliance of the latter. It should also be noted that most Goblins, when this event is mentioned, sneer and state that the engagement was anything but short, lasting 'nearly 200 years of the current calendar' by their reckoning.
Each race evolved in vast caverns within the tectonic plates; these ancestral caverns have never been seen or described in detail, but they are rumored to have been environments unique to themselves. Flora and fauna were present, yet the realms were anything but stable; earthquakes, lava floods, and cave-ins were common, in the early days.
Over time, the races of Goblin and Hobgoblin, as they built and mined and dug their tunnels, ran into each other; they briefly fought each other – both Goblin and Hobgoblin state their enmity didn't last more than a week, at most – before agreeing to join forces and explore the lands beneath. Eventually, they came across the Kobolds, who some scholars believe are related in some fashion to Brownies and House Elves(*) due to their magical abilities. After an unsuccessful attempt to wipe the Kobolds out, a full alliance was made, and the coalition of Goblinkind was created.
Since their appearance on the surface of Earth, Goblins and their slightly-larger brothers, Hobgoblins, are the most commonly-seen members of Goblinkind, the former being the face of Gringotts Bank, while the latter provide armed security for that establishment, as well as various archeological dig sites.
Now, we come to a point that must be made: compared to Humanity, Goblinkind has a transcendent understanding of matter, and how to shape it.
Indeed, during the Renaissance, the great artist Michelangelo made the infamous quote:
"You say I am a master, yet I say: nay. I am but an ignorant child smashing clay in my fists, compared to the greatest of Goblin sculptors."
While he was chastised by his peers and patrons at the time, he is correct: in just about every art form there is, Goblinkind has surpassed Humanity, from painting, to fresco, to mosaic, to sculpture, and well on into architecture.
And nowhere does Goblin artistry shine through more than their martial implements; their weapons and armor. Even a simple blade, lacking of pomp yet forged by a Goblin, can be worth more than a whole lordly estate, and their armor can be relied on to turn aside blade, spell, and even dragonfire.
As for the reason for their callous regard of humanity, it is quite simple: every faction of Goblinkind values one thing even higher than gold, and that is honesty.
Small wonder they have held a long and intense dislike of most nobility for this very reason, and have only forged friendships with Humanity on an individual basis, and even then very grudgingly…
-excerpt from
"Allies, Enemies, and Cousins: The Intelligent Races of Earth"
by Francois-Marie "Voltaire" Arouet (Squib)
1745
(*) Voltaire makes a distinction between Brownies and House Elves, despite them being the same thing
It should also be noted that Voltaire was not a scholar of Magical Creatures or Beings, but rather collected an astounding amount of accurate, firsthand accounts on the subject over the course of his life. The reason he did this has not been proven, beyond trite conjecture. –Library Curator Al-Saif, 1968 CE
BOOK BANNED IN ALL COUNTRIES BY ICW ARTICLE 17, CLAUSE 3
GENEVA CONVENTION OF 1956
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[..|..]
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"Wandmakers aren't weird. If anything, I find them quite fascinating; they know much that is nigh-impossible to know even
with Divination, but that knowledge only comes when it's relevant, and in spite of long and vigorous study I
still have no idea how the heck that works."
-Persephone, the Last High Dragon
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Chapter 2:
Many Shades of Gold
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Sir Vileclaw had been very clear with James and Vera:
"Give them courtesy, give them honesty, and give them respect; but never bow. They are beholden to you, however they might act. Never bow."
On approaching the Bank of Gringotts, no longer Unseen, both boy and kitsune could see why the warning was given before they left.
"They sure build to impress, huh James?" Vera quipped from next to him, her right foreleg now sporting a silver bangle as they passed the bookstore. People kept giving the pair double-takes and were whispering in their wake, but James didn't much care; they'd learn, sooner or later, that he wasn't going anywhere.
Though, his face was still hidden under his hat; anything to keep people from staring at his scar, honestly.
Staff tapping the stones of Diagon Alley, James hummed while examining the bank's entrance, "I'd say it was pride, but I think it's more a thief deterrent."
Vera scoffed, "Well
I'm not about to steal from
Goblins. I'd rather fight Kyuubi!"
James had to agree; the marble-clad building looked more like a strong-walled fort than any bank he'd seen in the Mundane world. The windows were narrow and covered in iron bars, while the glass was that kind of heavy leaded variety common of old churches and mansions. The tops of the outer walls even looked more like battlements than any building James had ever seen, the Manor excluded of course… but the
Sense of the building was that of a powerful bulwark, stubbornly refuting any scrutiny of its contents.
'Makes sense, for a bank to do that,' James thought to Vera as they walked up the stairs, their eyes drawn to the pair of Hobgoblins – a taller, beefier kind of Goblin – clad in full plate and bearing halberds on either side of the massive bronze door; a door with a poem written on it, another warning against thieves.
'The poem's kind-of overdoing it, though,' Vera thought back, glancing at the guards as they passed and entered the bank proper; it was a little more accommodating to what James expected when walking into a Mundane bank, if more opulent; all richly-decorated black and white marble with gold trimmings, wooden teller counters lining both sides of the long hall, and high ceilings with buttresses-
James froze. So did Vera, both of them glaring at the inhabitants of those decorative buttresses.
Faeries.
Six of them, all wearing a symbol Lisanna had shown him once; these were members of the Winter Court, the Horde of Thorns to be precise. Wicked sharp and pale in their countenance, they were all clad in stone-accented wood armor and armed with cruel-looking weapons of glittering metal, but that's not what made James' stomach roil in disgust and Vera bear her teeth.
They were eating a fox. Bad enough – though it was a mundane fox, the implication wasn't lost on either James or Vera – the Faeries were also leering at the pair.
Tearing his eyes away, James kept his Sense firmly on that clique while marching up to the nearest bank teller with a purpose.
'Sooner we're out of here, the better.'
'Why would the Goblins hire them
as security?' Vera hissed in a corner of his mind, hot fury bleeding into their connection, their Bond.
'Dunno, but,' James schooled his expression, remembering the etiquette lessons drilled into him by Melfina and Shaman Khepri,
'if we play our cards right, we might be able to find out.' Broadcasting back begrudging acceptance and irritation, Vera nonetheless put her Shaman between her and the Unseelie clique; better safe than an 'unfortunate accident'.
"Goblin," James greeted the bank teller, pointedly
not nodding in greeting; he then waited as, with glacial slowness, the small, pointy-eared being raised his eyes to meet James' stare. Only then did James state his purpose for being in Gringotts, withdrawing a small letter from his robes, "I am here to engage in business with Master Accountant Terrorclaw. While I do not have an appointment, this is a letter of introduction, composed and written by a former Gringotts banker of Terrorclaw's clan."
With swiftness not previously displayed, the Goblin – his nametag read Slatechewer – snatched the letter out of James' hand with his left claws, opened a hidden panel in the counter with his right hand, and set the letter on the exposed section. Standing on his tiptoes, James spotted that the interior of the panel was made of some kind of blue gemstone, but all he caught was a glimpse before the panel was shut with a violent
clack and the letter was brandished in his face again.
Slatechewer spoke, his voice like a gravel road trying to make words, "It is legitimate. Understand,
Human, that the area you will be allowed into is restricted. You will enter, conduct your business with the Master Accountant, conclude any resulting business that concerns Gringotts, and
leave. Under no circumstances are you or your kitsune to deviate from the path or leave the escort of guards provided for you." The Goblin glared pointedly over James' shoulders, "I see no adult guardian…"
"We are perfectly capable of handling ourselves," Vera stated with uncharacteristic coldness; clearly, she was still uncomfortable with the Unseelie in the room. Landlady and the others were one thing; those that openly reveled in the Winter Court was another.
Grunting, Slatechewer picked up a small, copper bell and rang it. Immediately after, almost too fast to see, a fully armored Hobgoblin that looked – and Felt – exactly like the door guards appeared behind the teller, who grunted, "Visitors, to see Master Accountant Terrorclaw. They have an introductory letter."
"Names?" came a high, cold voice from somewhere in the pile of gleaming plate-mail. A female Hob, then, from what James and Vera had been taught by Vileclaw.
Nonetheless, James made sure no one else could hear them – both Goblin and Hob flinched – before calmly stating, "Harry Potter and Vera Stream-Strider. Naturally, we're hoping to keep the fact we're here as discreet as possible." He slid two sets of five Galleons across the counter for emphasis.
The coins vanished to parts unknown, and the Hob snapped her fingers; part of the counter's façade opened like a door, and she beckoned, hissing, "Remove your spell and come."
James abided, and then both he and Vera had to chase after the deceptively fast Hobgoblin.
'I guess her plate mail doesn't slow her down, huh Vera?'
'It's obviously enchanted with Goblin spells, James,' Vera replied with relief as they passed through a door and into a marble hallway that curved with the building; once the doors shut behind them – and the other four armored Hobs that'd been waiting beyond the doors fell into formation around them – Vera asked aloud, "So, what's up with the Winter Fae in the rafters?"
One of the new Hobs hissed, but it was the first one, the girl Hob, who answered, tone filled with irritation, "There is an artifact beneath our floors; its owner, who is keeping said artifact here only temporarily, has specific requirements for its safekeeping. The
Faeries were one of those requirements."
Vera clucked her tongue, "Well, at least I'm not the only one who doesn't like them." Then she shut up, because there was a being in front of them that wasn't Goblin or Hobgoblin.
Dressed in cobalt blue robes that seemed more like woven metal than any ordinary fabric, and with unknown tools hanging from… his belt, the Kobold's eyes were frightfully intelligent and searching as Vera and James came closer to him. Behind him, to the left and right of a large wooden door, were two towering iron golems, bands of runed silver glowing at their joints, their faceless heads unnerving to the young Shaman.
There was no
Feel to them, like there was in Yavanna; that meant they weren't alive, like she was. They were just puppets.
The Kobold spoke as they approached, "Your staff will need to be shouldered, or stored in the guardhouse here," he nodded his spiked, blue-scaled head at a nearby door. "Storing it will require a small… fee…"
The Kobold trailed off as James shrank his staff down and slid it into the holster up his sleeve. Vera just grinned at the rapidly-blinking sentient lizard.
Clicking his tongue, the blue-scaled being's eyes lit up with an inner fire, and he looked both James and Vera over before nodding sharply and stepping out of the way, saying to the Hob leader, "They're clean. Take them down."
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[..|..]
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James examined the next room as they walked into the middle of it; the stone here was of darker marble, with a circular mosaic in cream and green stones covering the floor. Oddly, there were four doors in the perfectly square room, but even odder was that James couldn't Sense anything beyond the doors, especially once the Hob captain closed the door behind them.
"What is this?" James asked her as Vera wrapped her tails around his legs, her blue eyes watching the Hobs watching them, ready for an attack.
"Muggles have elevators," the captain said unhelpfully, walking over to a door while pulling out a large ring of keys.
"Might wanna exhale," one of the other Hobs grunted under his breath. James and Vera blinked, exchanging a glance; what did that mean?
Inserting a key, the Hob captain said, "Gringotts has
this." She turned the key.
Suddenly, James felt the sensation of both moving
very fast, and going absolutely
nowhere. Everything was weightless, his connection to Gaia suddenly
severed-
And, just as suddenly, it stopped with a jolt; the connection reformed as though it hadn't been severed at all. Not that it mattered much, as both James and Vera lost their lunch all over the mosaics; from the sound of the Hobs groaning – even their captain shuddered – the only reason they didn't blow chunks was them being used to it.
"That…" James coughed, wiped his mouth with a hankie, and glared at the captain, "That was
supremely unpleasant." Even Apparation wasn't
that bad!
Audibly gulping, the captain replied in a nauseated voice as another of the Hob guards snapped his fingers, vanishing the vomit on the floor, "You'll find no argument from me, Wizard, or my cohort. Now, if your stomach is less rebellious, let us continue on." And she opened the door.
What lay beyond was utter chaos.
It was a large hall, at least three times the size of the room the Great Walnut sat in back at the Manor. Pillars of obsidian held the dizzyingly-high roof up, and the walls were covered in splendid mosaics of precious and semiprecious stone, depicting all forms of commerce throughout the ages, all with rivers of gold accenting the vistas. The floor couldn't be seen, however, as it was covered in a seething mass of Goblinkind.
Goblins, Hobgoblins, and Kobolds, all in varying styles of dress and coloration, too many to count; they moved between massive four-sided towers of wood, on which numbers and letters James didn't understand were flowing. Notes were taken and rushed to smaller desks- or, rather, piles of parchment and paper that were floating in the air, suggesting that tables were
supposedly holding the masses up. The din of the masses' voices was deafening, and that didn't count the four swordfights, three wrestling matches, and what looked like a
magical duel taking place in cleared parts of the floor.
"There he is!" the Hob captain shouted, her voice barely perceptible over the chaos. James just did his best to follow the captain toward the nearest swordfight, Vera leaping onto his shoulders to avoid the waist-deep mass of Goblinkind their escort was attempting to clear a path through. Both Spirit and Shaman closed most of their Sense off as soon as they entered the room; the noise and sights were bad enough – a gout of purple blood and a gurgling scream came from one of the other swordfights, along with cheers and boos – having to Sense all of this would've surely done them in.
Arriving at the swordfight, which was between two Goblins, James watched in horror as the fight ended, one of the Goblins slashing the knee of his opponent with a knife before descending on his screaming victim with a yell, stabbing away at the other Goblin's side until they stopped moving. Around James and Vera, more cheers and boos erupted, gold and official-looking documents changing hands while the victorious Goblin rose, calmly cleaning off his dagger as a pair of black-robed Kobolds rushed in and dragged the cooling corpse away.
It was to the victor that the Hob captain led Ja- no. He needed to be
Harry here. Harry was the Wizard. James was the Shaman.
"Master Accountant! Congratulations on your victory!" the victorious Goblin only grunted in recognition of the captain's shouted words, his beady yellow eyes staring unerringly at Harry and Vera, who stared back. "You have a visitor, who brings a letter of introduction from one of your relatives outside Gringotts!"
Realization dawned on the now-revealed Terrorclaw's face, and he sheathed his dagger while waving in a direction, "To my office!" Then he turned to the crowds and hollered loud enough to wake the dead, so loud Harry and Vera stopped their ears with Wind magic, "
RIPJAW! YOUR TEAM WILL ABSORB THE ACCOUNT THAT PIECE OF DRAGON DUNG ABANDONED IN HIS EAGERNESS TO DIE ON MY KNIVES!" A distinctly affirmative sound came through the din, and Harry went back to chasing the captain, who seemed to be hurrying to keep up with Terrorclaw despite him being nearly half her size.
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[..|..]
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Once inside Terrorclaw's office – a journey that led them up a flight of stairs, down a corridor covered in amazing frescoes of life on the surface and underground, and through a magnificent courtyard populated by gem-studded golden plants and lit by lamps of glowing crystal – Harry had enough time to look around at the Spartan furnishings and decorations before he noticed his host snapping his fingers.
"The letter, Human," Terrorclaw gritted out, glaring at him.
Ignoring the rudeness – because that was a Goblin's default personality – Harry pulled out the letter and handed Vileclaw's letter over.
Snatching it away, Terrorclaw stomped over toward his desk while waving at a nearby cupboard, "Fix yourself something to drink while I read."
Humming, Vera hopped off Harry's shoulders as he approached, using her tails to open the cabinet…
Revealing dozens of liquor bottles; gulping, and remembering the horrid sight of Terrorclaw eviscerating one of his own kind, Harry reached for a bottle that was clearly labeled
Water, and – after a furious whispered debate among the more well-travelled Shamans – selected a green liqueur labeled
Chartreuse.
Pouring a small amount of the green drink into a water glass, Harry turned from Vera – who was siphoning up all the alcohol into her tails – and asked their host, "Anything for you, Master Accountant?"
Terrorclaw grunted, "Two fingers of Remy Martin Black Pearl. Straight, no junk in it."
It took Harry a moment to find the bottle in question – an artisan-carved decanter of dark crystal, with dark brandy within – and, through long-suffering practice of pouring his Uncle's drinks on certain occasions, doled out the perfect amount for the Goblin banker…
Who Vera was glaring subtly at,
'I don't like him, James. He's rude.'
'He's a Goblin,' Harry reminded her, giving her half his drink in a vodka shooter before closing the cabinet and bringing Terrorclaw his drink. It was then he noticed there was nowhere to sit, other than the banker's chair, so Harry resigned himself to standing and waiting for his host to finish reading.
Terrorclaw grunted after a moment, grabbed the glass of expensive brandy, and downed it in one go before snapping, "Kitsune, I'll give you a Sickle to bring me the whole bottle." He flipped the coin at Vera, who made it vanish into one of her tails; she then used her Water magics to levitate the Black Pearl over to him.
Harry sipped his drink while Terrorclaw's eyes reached the bottom of the letter; even without the alcohol,
Chartreuse didn't taste half bad. He'd have to see if Remus would get a bottle for Landlady; if not… well, Harry was pretty resourceful. Where there was a will, there was a way.
Or, if that failed, a rich person whose home security probably didn't account for Faerie magic.
Terrorclaw grunted again, crumpled up the letter, and tossed it into the fireplace behind his desk. The Goblin then met Harry's eyes, "You know my grandfather, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded, "We take tea at his home sometimes, and he taught me to fight with a knife." Just because Rivendell was peaceful didn't mean the
world was; being Shaman only supported that fact in Harry's mind.
"Hmph," Terrorclaw grumped, absentmindedly pouring himself another tot of drink. "As your neck is clearly still in one piece, I'll assume you're not a fool and cut right to the chase: my grandfather has called in the only favor I owe him, on
your behalf. While I am vexed as to why he would help a Human," the word was uttered like a curse, but Harry and Vera didn't flinch; Vileclaw had told them to expect this, "I am not an honorless dog, and I love my grandfather. So, Mr. Potter, until you leave this establishment's walls and walk beneath the sky once more, I am at your service. What can I do for you?"
Nodding, as things were progressing just as Melfina and Vileclaw assumed they would, Harry replied while swirling his drink, "I'll answer your question with one of my own, as even your grandfather didn't know the answer: as Master Accountant, are you privy to the details of the Potter Account?"
"I am." Terrorclaw replied, leaning back in his chair and inhaling the cognac fumes.
Harry tilted his head to one side, eyes going sharp, "
Just you, or…?"
Terrorclaw's eyes flicked up to meet Harry's stare, "Mr. Potter, I am the Master Accountant of Great Britain's accounts. Every bank account, from the Weasley Family's meager holdings to that of the Crown, I am privy to. Each account as a team of Us Below assigned to it…
"The exception being
yours. Currently, I am the only one monitoring that account."
Harry chewed on that for a moment and, saving the question of the Goblins managing the Mundane Crown's account for later, asked, "And why is there not a team on my family's account?"
"Because, Mr. Potter," Terrorclaw explained slowly, "you are the only surviving member of your house, and thus are underage; additionally, you have not fulfilled a number of duties that would recognize you as the official Heir of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter.
"To make things very simple, Gringotts Bank and Vault is bound by treaty to only directly manage and cultivate active accounts, those being accounts that have holders who are of the age of majority
and have been recognized by their local Magical Governing Body as Heir, Lord, or Head of House. In your case, accessing your family's primary Vault – that is, Vault #20, a high-security Ancestral Vault containing most of your family's real currency – will require you to retake the Potter seat on the Wizengamot, and attain the age of 17 human years, or attain at least 6 OWLs of Exceeds Expectations grade or higher, whichever comes first."
Harry figured that'd be the case, and as there was no mention of it…
'You may as well ask,' Vera pointed out while lapping contentedly at her share of the drink,
'The only stupid question is the one unasked.'
"There's no special rule for last surviving members?" Harry asked.
Terrorclaw shook his head, lip curling with some emotion, "I regret, genuinely, to inform you that
no, being the last of your line does not give you special permissions in regards to viewing the contents of the Vault, or direct withdrawals."
"I figured, but asking is better than remaining ignorant," Harry took another sip while his host nodded thoughtfully, before asking, "What other vaults are in my family's possession?"
Terrorclaw's face screwed up briefly in concentration, before answering calmly, "They are as follows: the Lilly Potter Foundation Vault, which is Vault #1122. This Vault provides currency to Muggleborn students arriving at Diagon Alley for the first time, and covers their first term's supplies, as well as the fee and initial deposit on a Personal Vault. Funds for this Vault are taken from the Ancestral Vault; not to worry," the Goblin waved with a toothy grin when Harry opened his mouth, "The Potter family may have been, ah, a tad spendthrift over the past century, but their investments ensure you will not be destitute, should you inherit. Indeed, a thousand new Muggleborns could attend Hogwarts in the next year, and it wouldn't put a noticeable dent in the Ancestral Vault's coffers.
"Moving on, there is Lilly Potter's Personal Vault, #247. This Vault has, historically, been used by the Mistress of House Potter, and thus has a considerable amount of physical currency – robes, personal effects and furniture, for example – in its inventory. By her command, the late Lady Potter ordered the Vault sealed upon her death; apologies, but it will not open until your twelfth birthday, Mr. Potter."
'Less than a year,' Harry thought with a thrill through his being. "I can wait. Anything else?"
"Yes, and here is better news for your financial independence: a Trust Vault, #687, in your name. It is to be used by either you, or your legal guardian, for expenses relating to your care, feeding, and schooling, as well as any other expenses that ensure your well-being. Regrettably," the Goblin's smile didn't
look like he was regretting anything, to Harry and Vera's eyes, "the key to that Vault is in the possession of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore, who is your legal guardian in the Magical World. As such, you will need to contact him to access your Trust Vault. Given the stupendous amount of duties he has, that could very well take
days."
As answer, Harry dug in his pocket and removed a small key with the number
687 stamped on the ring. "You mean this key?"
That wiped the smile off Terrorclaw's face, "Where… how…"
"A friend of the family, Remus Lupin, has been watching over me for the past few years; he sends regular reports to Sorcerer Dumbledore. Remus requested it from the Chief Warlock this past Spring in advance, and it was sent by owl post," he tossed it to Terrorclaw with a smirk, "You may check its authenticity, as it'd irritate me greatly to come all this way only to discover it's a fake; your grandfather stated if it
is a fake, it's a very good one, but I should still ask you. His eyesight's going, you see."
"I concur with my grandfather: if this
is a fake, it's perfectly executed," Terrorclaw growled while examining the key with a loupe; seemingly satisfied, the Goblin tossed it back to Harry, who pocketed it. "I take it you'll want to make a withdrawal?"
"Before that," Harry held up a hand and, keeping his smirk in place, asked, "Forgive me, but is the Expenditure Act of 1946 still in effect?"
Vileclaw had told him and Vera about it. It was intended to stimulate the Magical Economy after WW2 by allowing Heirs Apparent – that is, Heirs to Houses that weren't of majority or recognized by the Wizengamot – to make one-time purchases, with the spirit that such purchases would be for public works and income-creating attractions. Naturally, only half of such cases worked out that way in practice; most preteens of Noble or Ancient Houses didn't much care about other people at the time, and spent their allotment on themselves or their own estates. That and, well, at least some were part of a young Voldemort's inner circle.
Nonetheless, Terrorclaw's grimace was answer enough, even without the gritted, "To my dismay, it is still allowed."
Nodding, Harry fished out another piece of paper; reading it over one last time – and letting Vera check it, to ensure the Triplets hadn't changed something as a prank – Harry held the slip out for Terrorclaw with a serious expression, "I trust you have people who'll be discreet."
Snatching it away with a sneer, Terrorclaw read the purchase over; the sneer quickly vanished into a frown of more-or-less interest, "Simple on the surface, but a challenge to keep your name out of the papers. Some will know, no matter what precautions you take," he added, glaring at Harry. "Few enough people have this kind of money in Magical Britain, and many run in the same circles; at the least they have cool relations with each other. The truth will out, sooner or later."
'Damn. He's got a point,' Harry thought to Vera, turning to meet her eyes; her own vulpine expression was pinched in thought. He could Sense her thoughts whirling in patterns so odd, he might've had trouble keeping up, if it weren't for his own thoughts also furiously churning to find an answer.
Then Vera blinked, and
grinned at Harry,
'I've got it. How about we…'
When she finished, Harry grinned right back at her,
'You're a bloody genius.' While his foxy sister preened and sipped her drink in superiority, Harry turned back to Terrorclaw and explained the new plan…
Which made the Goblin grin, a rather terrifying sight by any measure; even worse was the delighted chuckle that left the being's lips, "Oh,
yes, that will surely make certain… ah,
troublesome clients of Gringotts rather, ha,
irritated. Yes, Mr. Potter, I do believe that will, ah,
jam up their gears, as it were, for quite some time." He then picked up a silver bell and made the motion of ringing it, though it produced no sound.
'Vera?'
'Nothing.'
A hidden door opened to Harry's right, revealing a pink-scaled Kobold wearing a pair of reading glasses, "You rang, sir?"
Terrorclaw replied while writing on the slip of paper Harry had given him, "I need you to put together a small team; make sure they're all tight-lipped and proven. Three accountants, two asset acquisition experts – at least one must be Human or near-as – a delivery squad, and a platoon of guards," his eyes cut up to Harry, "This will cost you."
"How much?"
"Estimated at five hundred and thirty-two Galleons, not counting the purchase."
Harry arched an eyebrow, "Can the account afford that kind of hit?" Terrorclaw scoffed, which Harry knew was the Goblin way of saying '
of course' in this context, so he waved a hand, "Very well, but I expect a receipt."
"Naturally," the Goblin replied smoothly, holding the slip out for the Kobold, who scurried over to take it; as she read it quickly, her tail starting to wag in excitement, Terrorclaw asked, "D'you foresee any issues?"
"None, sir. We'll have this completed before the start of next Hogwarts term," she nodded to Terrorclaw, then Harry, then Vera, before backing out of the room, "Excuse me, there's much to do."
"Away with you," Terrorclaw grumped, before leaning back in his chair and regarding Harry for a long moment. "I will see to it that you're escorted to your Trust Vault before leaving the Bank by one of our better porters, Mr. Potter. Additionally, in case you're not already aware, there is a 250 Galleon per year withdrawal limit for Trust Vaults."
"Thank you for the information, Master Accountant Terrorclaw," Harry replied, raising the last of his drink to the Goblin, as Vera did the same. "To your fortunes."
Terrorclaw snorted and stood with his own glass in hand, "To future business," to Harry's surprised expression, the Goblin chuckled again, much to the boy's distress, "You are unlike most Wizards I've met in my life, Mr. Potter, in that you came prepared to do
business, instead of
make demands." He downed the last of the expensive brandy, before gesturing at the cabinet, "You may take the bottle of
Chartreuse, to commemorate the occasion.
CAPTAIN BLOODMAW!"
While Harry's ears rang at the shout and Vera shakily retrieved the bottle they'd drunk from, the door to the office opened, revealing the Hobgoblin captain who'd escorted them, "Yes, Master Accountant?"
"Please escort our guests to the Vault Access- ah, and make sure they're escorted to the requested Vault by Senior Porter Griphook, would you? There's a good lass," he grinned at the Hob's grumbling nod before jerking his chin at Harry, "Until we meet again, Human, Spirit."
"Goblin," James replied with the shallowest of nods in return, before following the Hob captain and her squad back to the stairs; as they descended back to the Accounting Hall and its ceaseless din, Vera spoke up.
"Do we
have to take that awful lift again?"
Captain Bloodmaw visibly sighed and growled, "
Unfortunately, yes, we do. Suck it up."
James, Vera and the Hob squad all quietly groaned, as the 'lift' would likely have them do the
opposite of
sucking it up.
.
[..|..]
.
"If we never go in that place again, it'll be too soon," Vera, once again in James' pack, snarled out loud, though she stayed quiet enough that only James heard her. "They didn't even introduce themselves!"
Giving one last wave to the person running
Flourish and Blotts, James muttered under his breath, "So you've been saying, ever since we left Gringotts. It's just how
normal Goblins act, Vera. You know Mr. Vileclaw left them for a reason."
Vera huffed and checked over their newly-purchased cauldron box set – fifteen cauldrons, shrunken, each one a different stone or metal – arranging it next to the books while quipping, "After what I just saw, it's no wonder. I mean,
really; there's such a thing as
too much gold, y'know!"
James laughed, drawing the attention of a snowy owl who'd been snoozing on a perch; giving it a wave, he turned his steps toward
Ollivander's while saying to his foxy sister, "I know, right? I get that they're the be-all, end-all when it comes to banking, but it's like they've never even
heard of the word gaudy. Even the Faeries aren't that ostentatious, and that's saying something!"
"That's everything though, right?" Vera covered herself in an Unseen cloak and poked her head out to give her green-eyed Shaman a hopeful look, "We bought all the stuff, so we can go home now, right?"
"Just got this one last thing, Vera," he jerked his chin at the wandmaker's, "then we can go."
Her face scrunched up, "You've already got a wand, though."
He shrugged, "Remus said I should have one with the Trace on it. That, and he said my wand feels weird," as he pushed on the door, James rolled his eyes, "whatever
that means. I haven't had any trouble with it."
"Well, I guess it's just more Wizard… rules…" Vera trailed off, as did James' train of thought, as the door to
Ollivander's closed behind them, and their Sense started giving them strange vibes.
The interior of the shop seemed to have a sheen of dust in the air, but it didn't seem to drift, as natural dust usually did; instead, it all just
hung there, moving sluggishly in the air James let in on entering. What's more, his Sense was giving off a feel of… a place encased in amber; old, yet unchanged, yet new, yet… faded.
Shelves, taller even than Lisanna's library's, formed deep rows behind the counter; they went back, back, impossibly deep, to the point where James couldn't see the back.
Flowing out of his bag and snatching it off his shoulder with a whip of water, Vera frolicked over to a chair and sat in it, his bag next to the furniture as she rose up ramrod straight and glared at everything. "Hurry up. This place gives me the creeps."
"Understandable," a voice came from the shelves, making Harry whirl; he hadn't Sensed anyone!
Out of the shelves came a kindly-faced man, old with wispy white hair, yet sharply dressed as all Magicals were; clasping his knobby-jointed hands, he smiled at James and Vera and gave them a slow blink of his large eyes.
"Spirits rarely enjoy a the feel of a wandmaker's workshop," the man explained, plucking a roll of tape measure from behind the counter and setting it gently on top, never taking his eyes off the pair. "They find it too… orderly, straight-lined; oh, many of them are orderly and neat, yes, but the amount of order needed to make this many wands," he chuckled while gesturing at the shelves, "well, it unnerves them, as it's so far from their nature as to be alien. I'll try not to take too much of your time, Harry Potter."
Ja-… Harry blinked back at the man, saying neutrally, "You know my name, but I don't know yours."
"Ah, where are my manners? Garrick Ollivander, Master Wandsmith, at your service," the now-named Ollivander gave a small bow and explained, "As to how I know your name, well," he winked, "there must be
some professional secrets, yes?"
Harry just quirked his lip and replied dryly, "Or it's that you've delved deep into wandlore, and in doing so, have a better grasp of passive Divination than most people these days."
"Ah, and already a sharp student of magic! Wonderful, wonderful," Ollivander sighed, his gaze going sad, "Your parents would surely be proud."
Harry flinched; that wound was… scarred, but healing.
"I remember when they came through that door, each a week apart from the other. Your father found his partner first: 11 inches, mahogany and unicorn hair, pliable. An excellent wand for Transfiguration; truly, one of the best matches I've ever witnessed," Ollivander let out a small chuckle, a fond smile alighting on his face, "And then your mother: 10 and a quarter inches, willow and dragon's heartstring, swishy; a powerful, trustworthy partner to a brilliant witch.
"And then…" the smile faded, becoming pinched with displeasure, Ollivander's finger pointing at Harry's fringe, which hid his white and faded scar. "Thirteen and a half inches, yew and phoenix feather, pliable. I'm sad to say I sold the wand that did such great and terrible deeds, and most of all, the one you carry."
Taking a breath to steady himself, Harry smiled up at the old wandmaker, "They prevailed."
"That they did," Mr. Ollivander's smile came back, slowly, before the elderly man clapped his hands. "Now! Onto your wand-fitting." He snapped his fingers and walked back into the stacks…
While Harry tried not to get
too annoyed at the tape measure zipping all over him, measuring all sorts of things, which were apparently written down on a piece of notepaper on the countertop; Vera, naturally, found it all incredibly funny, and chuckled quietly the whole time. During that time, Ollivander talked about basic wandlore, the wand choosing the wizard; things Harry had already found out, while preparing to make his own wand.
After a brief check of the notepaper and another trip into the shelves, Ollivander returned with at least twenty boxes of wands, though he first gave Harry a piercing
look, saying, "This is a wild guess on my part, but do you already have a wand?"
Chuckling, Harry replied, "You caught me," and pulled out his wand. Mr. Ollivander made a sound of curiosity as Harry explained with a smile, delighting at the
eager feeling of the wood beneath his fingers, "9 and seven-eighths inches, cedar and Occamy feather, inflexible. My teacher said it's a good first attempt, but I haven't had any problems with it."
"Indeed. Cedar and Occamy feather, you say? An unusual choice," Ollivander mused, examining the wand with his eyes alone.
"Well, I happen to know the Occamy, and as he once lived in Babylon, I figured there was enough of a sympathetic relation to fuse the core properly," Harry reported, twirling his wand between his fingers, little happy sparks flitting out of the end to twirl designs in the dust of the shop; he could practically
feel Vera preening behind him.
Ollivander was impressed, clapping with a boyish look on his face, "Marvelous! You may have the makings of becoming the youngest wandmaker in history, Mr. Potter."
"Eh," Harry shrugged, "I mostly did it because I'm fascinated by magic, especially the art of creating Magical Foci. I don't really want to make it my
job, no offense."
"None taken at all. It's a rather demanding profession, that's true; but you're young yet. Don't discount anything now, before your journey's even properly begun."
'If only he knew, James,' Vera thought at him smugly.
"May I?" Ollivander asked, holding out his hands toward the wand. "It's rare I come across the work of others, let alone such a lovely first proof."
Shrugging, figuring it couldn't hurt, Harry held it out handle first, "Just be careful. She's kinda iffy about others touching her."
"Her?"
"Just a feeling I get when handling her," Harry shrugged again.
Shrugging back, Ollivander took the wand gently- and immediately giggled, "Ah! I see what you mean. My, what a strong elemental attunement! Hmm…" he held up the wand to his ear, frowning in thought, "I… I hear something… but I am unsure what. It's almost like a song I… feel like I should've heard before, but…"
"But you can't remember where?" Harry asked with a smile.
"Why, yes!" handing the wand back, Ollivander hummed while gazing at Harry, "How curious… very curious… do you know where that property comes from? I've never heard such a thing in a wand."
"Nothing definitive, but I have a theory," Harry replied while pocketing his wand, looking at – and Sensing – the pile of wand boxes in front of him with a critical eye. "I think it might be because the Occamy, Gregory, has tended a Sapling for the past eighty years or so."
"…I'm sorry, a sapling?" Ollivander frowned. "I take it you mean it's no ordinary tree?"
Harry shook his head, and met Ollivander's eyes, letting the memory of the Gardens, and what lay in it, come to the front of his mind. "Indeed, the Sapling is far from ordinary, as it grew from a seedling of the Silver Tree."
Ollivander gasped, licked his lips, and seemed about to ask a question-
"And
no, the Sapling hasn't matured enough to lose a branch naturally, or to donate lengths," Harry told the older man, voice a little clipped. "And even if it was, I doubt there's many cores that'd work with that kind of wood."
"No one knows," Ollivander said softly, "The Arborists don't allow any branches to leave the Tower. In all their thousands of years tending to the Tree, not one implement of any kind has been made from its wood, as far as anyone knows. Alexander tried to force the issue, when he first arrived in the city; obviously," a humored chuckle left the old wandmaker's lips, "that didn't go so well for him."
"What did they do to him?"
"They soured all the wine that touched his lips for the next week," smiling softly as boy and kitsune giggled at the mental image, of Alexander the Great, a famous lush, bemoaning his sobriety, Ollivander nonetheless got back to business, "Now, let's see if we can find a suitable partner for Goldenrod there."
"Goldenrod?" Harry asked incredulously.
A twinkle appeared in Ollivander's eye, "Wands made from Lebanon Cedars are incredibly rare, Mr. Potter, and nearly all of them break or become inert with their bearer's death. And, over history, just about every single wand made from that wood goes by the name Goldenrod. I am delighted beyond belief, truly, to have lived to witness its return, and I thank you for letting me handle her, if briefly.
"Now, let's try this one first: elm and unicorn hair, ten inches, nice and firm."
For the first time in Ollivander's tenure, the first wand worked on the first try, Harry laughing as the magic of the length twirled up his arm and through his soul, the newly-matched pair expressing their joy in a burst of cherry-colored sparks. Within him, the magic of his cedar wand recognized the other and blended with it; the feeling, a heady,
full sort of sensation, made Harry feel like it'd take a few days to settle.
So, after paying and collecting his bag – and Vera, who lunged into said bag to get started on the latest edition of
Hogwarts, A History – James and Vera bid Mr. Ollivander farewell and, becoming Unseen once more, prepared to leave the Alleys and return to the Manor.
"Ah, and Mr. Potter?" Mr. Ollivander said to the air, just as the door opened, "If you're having issues with transport, raise your wand while standing at the curb outside the Leaky Cauldron. The Knight Bus will take you wherever you wish to go."
Taking that in for a moment, James became Seen again and asked, "Is riding it unpleasant?"
"Incredibly so, but you'll get to wherever you want to go in twenty minutes or less."
Sighing, because it looked like they were going to be sick again, James thanked the wandmaker again and departed.
In the silence of the shop, Garrick Ollivander hummed to himself, "
They Prevailed…" he chuckled softly, "I suppose it
wasn't a grave defiler after all, ho ho. Good show, lad…"
.
[..|..]
.
Leaving the
Diagon Apothecary with several jars of ingredients, Hermione waved to Professor McGonagall – who was escorting the other Muggleborns today, and waved back with a smile! – before turning her steps toward the Leaky Cauldron again.
As she did, Hedwig swooped down and landed on her shoulder, "Alright, Hedwig?"
Hoot.
Hermione stopped and gave her Familiar a raised eyebrow, "A fox that was water, snow and fox all at once?" Hedwig blinked slow, nodding, and Hermione huffed while giving the dwindling population of the Alley a good once-over, "Well, I don't see them. Did you see who they were with?"
Hoot!
"A boy with a wide-brimmed hat and a bag, with brown-gold robes, huh?" Hermione quirked her lip and turned back around, heading instead to the ice cream parlor, "Good eye, Hedwig. Want to share a vanilla cone?" Her friend nibbled her ear in happy affection, and Hermione scurried for her destination with a toothy grin.
Sure, she'd missed someone interesting during her shopping, but if they were going to Hogwarts, then maybe-
She absently rubbed the stone pendant hanging from her neck.
-with a little luck, she'd meet them, and discover how a fox so odd could exist. There was nothing like that in the books, after all!
.
.
.
[.\|/.]
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.
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Next Time: Last Days of Summer
