The Goblin's Revenge
Friday, January 31st, 1997
When Draco opened his eyes again the first thing he registered was the numbness he had felt… however long ago had faded, but in its place instead emerged endless pain in his stomach and both of his arms. After a moment he grew accustomed to the burning in his mark, far used to it at this point, but that only came when he turned over his head and, blinking his blurry eyes, could make out Hermione and Ron’s faces hovering over him.
Releasing a long groan, he struggled to sit up, but immediately got pushed back down by Hermione, which really did nothing for the ache in his head.
“Slow down, Draco!” She cried but practically ordered, really. “You’re not helping anyone trying to spring out of bed just to pass out again.”
He tilted his head at her, clearly glimpsing the figure moving behind his friends.
“Really? Because I think you might need to tell Harry that…” They turned around and ran forwards, grabbing Harry on either side and yanking him back down onto his bed so that Draco couldn’t contain laughing heartily, which he was relieved to know didn’t hurt his insides as much as he thought it might.
“Harry!” Ron and Hermione scolded him in unison, but he shook his head, pointing at the tent flap.
“We have to move. Keep going… Get… Horcruxes…”
In spite of themselves, the other three laughed and he was quick to glare at them in response.
“Okay but seriously if you aren’t going to let us move, could you at least tell us what happened?” Draco said after half a minute of laughter, wiping a tear from his eye.
A few minutes later Ron and Hermione had explained that Voldemort one hundred percent showed up when Harry said he would, but as the four of them were all crammed into a Muggle car and halfway out of the Hollow by then, there was no hope for the Dark Lord that he’d ever find them. Still, Ron had kept ‘driving,’ but from Hermione’s wide eyed expression at this part Draco could tell she was getting some unhappy flashbacks and Harry had to suppress chuckles as he remembered Ron’s ‘driving’ in Second Year.
They’d driven straight into a forest, it seemed, on the outskirts of Okehampton, and pitched the tent and dragged Harry and Draco onto their beds inside, nursing their wounds with dittany. Harry had earned a couple of nasty bites and Draco, along with the deep wound straight through his right arm, had gotten several cuts along his stomach from the window Ron had shoved him through. Thankfully the ginger looked guilty at that part.
By the end of the tale Harry and Draco were both able to sit up without getting scolded, the former having probably zoned out of the story at some point as he was currently turning over the Snitch from Dumbledore in his hands.
In truth, he was thinking of all the ways his friends could’ve died in Godric’s Hollow, and wondering why in Merlin’s name they had thought to go there. He knew why, of course, only deep down; he’d thought, foolishly, that it was possible the Hollow held answers. All four of them had convinced themselves of this months ago when they didn’t know what Horcruxes were and had hardly anything to go off of, but still the promise was made to each other to visit Godric’s Hollow and now Draco had teeth marks that went straight through his skin, and deep down Harry knew it was because he had just wanted to see his parents graves.
Leaning back on his bed once more, he held the Snitch above his face. If only to distract himself from the Hollow, and Ron and Hermione who were sitting on Draco’s bed now trying to reason that the choice to go to the Hollow was a logical one at the time, Harry wondered why the Snitch hadn’t reacted to his touch.
Snitches have flesh memories. That’s what Hermione had written to him, but as he thought long and hard about it, he recalled his first game. He didn’t catch the Snitch, he nearly swallowed it, a fact Slytherin’s like the one sitting across from him had tried to make get him disqualified. But a win was a win and that truly was the first contact he’d made with this golden ball, wasn’t it?
Not really knowing what he was doing, Harry pressed the Snitch against his lips in a sort of kiss. When he pulled it back, for a moment he thought nothing happened, and felt rightly disappointed, but then he squinted, and saw words had formed, scrawled across the gold surface of the ball. Hurriedly he read them, thinking wildly they’d hold answers Godric’s Hollow could never provide.
But they didn’t, because of course not, so instead Draco asked, jokingly, why he was staring at the Snitch as if it had offended him, and in response he practically chucked it at his friend.
“‘I open at the close,’” Hermione read aloud. “I open at the close… What does that mean?” Harry shrugged his shoulders, turning over onto his side to face the tent fabric as his friend’s voices droned on like unpleasant buzzing in his ears, going over all the possible things Dumbledore would have meant by those words.
He didn’t care to think about it, however. It was just as ridiculous as ‘The last enemy to be destroyed is death’ and all that nonsense. A complete waste of time when what they needed was Horcruxes. At least they knew of places to look, but how one Earth were they going to get into Gringotts? And even then they didn’t know which Death Eater Voldemort would entrust a Horcrux to, if anyone other than Lucius Malfoy…
His train of thought stopped deader than the Hogwarts Express yanked back by a dragon, because there was movement outside. He could see it, this close to the tent, shadows moving around a glowing fire. Listening hard, he could even hear their voices.
“Shut up,” he whispered, turning over in his bed and hopping to his feet, lunging for the rucksack and digging through it for the extendable ears he was certain he packed, but with Hermione’s extension charm on it he was grabbing at all manner of objects. “Shut up!” he shouted at his friends who hadn’t noticed the first silencing, and now look around at her, confused.
“Sorry, mate, we were only -” Ron started but Harry cut him off quickly.
“I can hear voices,” he stated and they all fell deathly silent, and, gradually, he knew from the looks on their faces, his friends could hear the voices too.
“Hermione did you remember -”
“I did everything,” she whispered, glancing worriedly over at Harry’s Sneakoscope lying on the table before the couch, but it was still, unmoving. “Muffliato, Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms, all of it. They shouldn’t be able to hear or see us, whoever they are.”
Nodding to each other, the four of them drew their wands, Hermione bending down to the rucksack and pointing Draco’s into its depths. A second later, the extendable ears flew into her hand. She passed one to each of them and then, together, they approached the flap of the tent, the voices growing all the louder, now identifiable as not just men, but at least one woman as well.
Inserting the end of the flesh-colored strings into their ears, the Quartet threw the other ends out of the tent entrance, and listened.
“Good haul today boys,” came a cheery female voice that they all recognized in a minute; Tess Whitlock. “It’ll be nice to have some meat for once.” Ron licked his lips greedily.
A strange noise filled their ears, and Harry pressed the Extendable Ear deeper into his own to try and understand it, but couldn’t. It seemed to be a language the likes of which he’d never heard in English. Rough, and unmelodious, there seemed to be two speakers.
The smell of roasting meat filled their nostrils and made them all nearly drool, but they each managed to, impressively, withhold the temptation of bursting out of the tent and asking for a bite, not yet knowing if anyone other than Tess here was friendly.
“Here, Griphook, Gornuk.” came a man’s weary voice, and Hermione mouthed, “Goblins!” explaining the strange language.
“Thank you,” said the goblins together gruffly in English.
“So, how long have you three been at it?” asked a new voice, cheerful and polite, and the group grinned. Fudge, he was alive!
“Two weeks, going on three,” said the tired man. “Met up with Griphook about a week ago and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company.” There was pause filled with the scraping of knives and something that Harry was certain sounded like a baby cooing. “I can’t fathom how you can do it though, Tess.”
“Well I couldn’t leave them alone, could I?” came Tess’ voice, and the Quartet’s eyes widened as they realized that it was a baby cooing. Tess, with her husband imperiused and the Ministry after her, had brought her triplet infants along with her. “No… I’ve heard what the Ministry’s been doing to the ‘brats of Mudbloods’” She imitated Umbridge’s voice to a tee and Ron had to press a fist to his mouth to stop from laughing.
“What about you, Ted?” Fudge asked, using the good natured voice Harry had heard him have to the train conductor of the Hogwarts Express last June.
“Knew they were coming for me,” replied a mellow voice, and the group recalled where they’d met this man before; it was Tonk’s father, Ted Tonks. Draco’s uncle. “Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I’d better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggle-born on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I’d have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she’s pure-blood. Ran into Tess along the way, her and the triplets, and found out about Percy being imperiused and how she refused to register as a Muggle-born too. And then we meant Dean where, what, a few days ago, son?”
“Yeah,” their excitement was almost overwhelming now; it was the voice of Dean Thomas, a Gryffindor and Dumbledore’s Army member and good friend of theirs.
“Muggle-born, eh?” asked the weary voiced man.
“Not sure,” Dean confessed the tale Harry recalled from when he’d met him on the first day of classes all those years ago. “My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.”
Another pause for the sounds of scraping cutlery and chewing, and distinct baby babble paired with Tess giggling.
“I’ve got to say, Dirk,” Ted said, “I’m surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was you’d been caught.”
“I was,” said the weary voiced man, Dirk. “I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it. Stunned Dawlish, and nicked his broom. It was easier than you’d think; I don’t think he’s quite all there at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I’d like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life.”
“Pardon my asking, Minister -”
“Oh please, Tess, I’m not the Minister anymore, you don’t have to use that ridiculous title any longer.”
“Do you mean that, even if this war ends well for us, you won’t go back to the Ministry?” Dirk asked, sounding astounded.
“Well I might return to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, I always liked feeling like I was making a difference in this world, but I’m through with being Minister. Too much stress. In all honesty, Dumbledore felt like the only man pushing me through it all these years…”
“That’s a shame,” Dirk said, and for a moment, his voice seemed tinted with amusement. “Just when it seemed like you were getting good at this, too.”
“This is him better?” Another voice no one in the Quartet recognized, and they all looked to Hermione who was tallying up the people on her fingers, mouthing, “Eight!” Eleven, including the triplets. Regardless, the new man got most of the others laughing.
“Anyway,” Tess continued with her original question. “Pardon my asking, Fudge, but why’s the Ministry after you? They can’t have found a crime worthy of Azkaban on your record, could they?”
“Oh yes they could,” Fudge said, voice suddenly wearier than Dirk’s, as if he had suddenly gained ten years. “Or, more specifically, Umbridge could. Madame Toad found out about my relationship with Julian and used it as leverage to get me out of the job as Minister, claiming it was a breach in the Statute of Secrecy, which it’s not, but regardless she and that imperiused Thicknesse tried to get me killed. I escaped and stayed with Julian for a while, until they went after him too.” he sighed heavily. “Now we’re both on the run.”
“And where do you two fit in?” Ted asked. “I, er, had the impression the goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole.”
“You had a false impression,” said one of the goblins. “We take no sides. This is a wizards’ war.”
“And yet here I am,” said the man’s voice the Quartet didn’t recognize. “I’m no wizard.”
“Then why are you here?” said the goblin, in a skeptical voice, and his question was met with a still moment of silence before the non-wizard (Muggle?) man found a way to answer.
“I owe it to a very good friend.”
The Quartet deduced this was probably the ‘Julian’ Fudge had mentioned earlier. No protest came to Julian’s response, so Ted plowed on in questioning the goblins. “How come you’re in hiding, then?”
“I deemed it prudent,” said the other goblin, distinguishable by his deeper voice. “Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy.”
“What did they ask you to do?” asked Ted.
“Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race. I am not a House-elf.” The boys nearly laughed at the look of pride on Hermione’s face as she nodded her head stiffly.
“What about you, Griphook?”
“Similar reasons,” said Griphook. “Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognize no Wizarding master.” He added something under his breath in that strange language, probably Gobbledegook, and Gornuk laughed.
“What’s the joke?” asked Dean.
“He said that ‘there are things wizards don’t recognize, either.’” Dirk explained.
“I don’t get it,” said Dean.
“I had my small revenge before I left,” Griphook explained.
“Good man - goblin, I should say,” amended Ted hastily. “Didn’t manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?”
“If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out,” replied Griphook. Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry chuckle.
“The sword?” Harry could picture the look in Fudge’s eyes now, when he was given a crumb on a secret he wasn’t privy to but wanted desperately to uncover. “You don’t mean -”
“Slow down!” Tess exclaimed.
“We’re still missing something here,” added Ted.
“So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it,” said Griphook, as the two goblins now roared with laughter, the Quartet locking eyes, realization dawning with every second, though it was a realization they could hardly believe to be true.
“Did you hear about that, Ted?” asked Dirk. “About the kid who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?”
Yes. That had been the sword Griphook was talking about. It felt as if every nerve in Harry’s body was charged with lightning as he wondered what that meant. He pressed the Extendable Ear ever deeper into his own.
“Never heard a word,” said Ted. “Not in the Prophet, was it?”
“Hardly,” Dirk laughed. “Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill’s younger sister.”
The Quartet glanced at each other, wide eyed.
“She and a couple of friends got into Snape’s office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase.”
“Ah, God bless ’em,” said Ted. “What did they think, that they’d be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?”
“No…” Fudge whispered, and for a moment the Quartet felt a rush of fear, worrying he’d reveal the contents of Dumbedore’s will, and what that might mean, but then he said, “Never mind,” and they all sighed.
“Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Snape decided the sword wasn’t safe where it was,” Dirk continued. “Couple of days later, once he’d got the say-so from You-Know-Who, I imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead.”
And the goblins were laughing once more.
“I’m still not seeing the joke,” said Ted.
“It’s a fake,” rasped Griphook.
“You’re kidding!” Fudge exclaimed at the same time Ted said, “The Sword of Gryffindor!”
“Oh yes. It is a copy - an excellent copy, that is true - but it was Wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armor possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts bank.”
“I see,” said Ted. “And I take it you didn’t bother telling the Death Eaters this?”
“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” said Griphook smugly, and now Ted, Dean, and Tess joined in Gornuk and Dirk’s laughter.
After the laughter had died out, Dean asked, “What happened to Ginny and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?”
“Oh, they were punished, and cruelly,” said Griphook.
“They’re okay, though?” asked Ted. “I mean, the Weasley’s don’t need any more of their kids injured, do they?”
“They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware.” It couldn’t be clearer that he didn’t care if they suffered any serious injuries either.
“Lucky for them,” said Ted. “With the connections Ginny Weasley has? She and her friends should be lucky Snape didn’t use this as an opportunity, with his track record.”
“So it’s true then?” Came Fudge’s voice. “He killed Mad-Eye Moody?”
All four in the Quartet felt chills race down their spines.
“Yes, I saw it with my own eyes, right before Harry, Ron, and that Malfoy boy disappeared.”
“I know Harry Potter,” said Dean. “And I reckon he’s the real thing - The Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot would like to believe he’s that, son,” said Dirk, “But he ran, didn’t he? That’s what Ted here just said. You’d think if he knew anything we don’t, or had anything special going for him, he’d be out there now fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the Prophet has made a pretty good case against him -”
“The Prophet?” scoffed Ted as Fudge and Tess both burst into laughter. “You deserved to be lied to if you’re still reading that muck, Dirk. You want the facts, try Potterwatch.”
“What’s that?” Gornuk grunted.
“A radio broadcast,” Fudge explained. “Run by an old Hogwarts student, still a bit young. He tells the truth every week, but you need to spin the dial to a secret password; something the Light Side would like, like ‘Dumbledore’ or ‘The Chosen One.’”
“Then the kid, River - not his real name, mind you, they use code names - comes on and gives an update on the people killed as of late.”
“And not just magic folk,” Julian added. “But Muggles too.”
“And every broadcast he’ll bring in someone from the Order of the Phoenix or the Hogwarts Order of Defense,” said Tess. “And they’re - we’re - always preaching how Harry’s alive, and fighting, and you all should be too.”
“Hard to fight with a boy who’s vanished off the face of the earth,” said Dirk.
“Listen, the fact that they haven’t caught him yet’s one hell of an achievement,” said Ted. “I’d take tip from him gladly; It’s what we’re trying to do, stay free, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got a point there,” Dirk sighed tiredly. “With the whole of the Ministry and all their informers looking for him I’d have expected him to be caught by now. Mind, who’s to say they haven’t already caught and killed him without publicizing it?”
“Ah, don’t say that, Dirk,” murmured Ted.
There was a long pause, and when the group of runaways spoke once more it was to discuss where to go to sleep for the night, but Harry wasn’t listening. He knew they were slipping away, and a part of his brain, deep, deep inside him, was telling him to make them stop to ask… He turned and saw the paper Hermione had made weeks ago and pinned to the tent wall, listing a timeline of events in Riddle’s life, alongside possible places the Horcruxes may lie. His eyes found ‘Gringotts’ and his mind was made up.
Before his friends could hold him back Harry stood and yanked back the tent flap, charging forwards and emerging from the protective bubble just as the group of eight plus three babies turned to leave.
“Wait!” They stopped, and turned. Tess was the first to gasp, clasping a hand to her mouth, then Fudge grinned and chuckled maddeningly, and then Dean was beaming at him with something like pride.
He could feel his friends come to halt just behind the barrier of the bubble, and knew Draco was holding them back, always understanding what Harry would’ve wanted.
“Harry, is that you?” Tess asked, squinting in the darkness but also, surely, out of disbelief.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
She shoved the baby in her arms into Ted’s, who was already carrying Hans, and raced forwards, throwing herself onto him and hugging him tight. He grinned, burying his face into her dark curls, cherishing the fact that he was holding at least one friend from the past he hadn’t seen in far too long. He locked eyes with Dean, and felt the same comfort in his eyes.
“How - How are you?” She asked and, gripping his arms, all skin and bone she gasped. “Oh, you must be starving!”
“A little…”
“Here,” she turned and waved her wand, a piece of deer meat floating out of Ted’s rucksack, landing on a plate with a fork. It floated towards Harry and he took it, nodding to her gratefully.
“Thank you,” he said and she beamed at him.
“I assume you’re here for something else though,” Fudge commented, stepping forward but pulling the man whose hand he was holding with him. Harry blinked in confusion at their interlocked hands for a moment, thinking back to the conversation he’d just heard and how he, Julian, was almost certainly a Muggle. He shrugged it off as something to add to the list of things bizarre about Fudge, though, and listened to him finish his thought. “It’s never ‘nothing’ with Harry Potter. What is it?”
Harry clenched his jaw and Tess stepped away from him, sensing business, as he pushed forwards through the group of eight, briefly patting Dean’s shoulder when he passed, before reaching the goblin’s at the front, staring up at him curiously. For a moment he thought about kneeling, and whether they’d find that demeaning, but settled on a polite sit, gesturing for the two to do the same.
With a glance at each other, Griphook and Gornuk sat down on stones across from him, and, up close, Harry confirmed that the former was indeed the goblin he thought he had heard his voice from.
“You probably don’t remember -” He began, but was quickly cut off.
“- that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?” Griphook raised his head, grinning slightly. “I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous.”
He and Griphook bore into each other with hard stares, and Harry thought of how exactly to broach this topic. Admittedly (and Hermione would shun him to the ends of the Earth for this once she got the chance) he hadn’t thought this through.
“Griphook,” he nodded once to him then once to the other goblin. “Gornuk, I need to ask you for help.”
Both of their eyes widened and Griphook frowned at him like he was a puzzle he couldn’t crack. Gornuk sneered, however, and in his gruff voice asked, “Why would a wizard ask a goblin for any help?”
“Because I think prejudices are stupid,” he stated rather bluntly, because it was the truth. “And, admittedly, you two are the only ones who can help me with this sort of thing.” he sucked in a deep breath. “I need to break into a Gringotts vault.”
Again, the pair’s eyes widened, and now Griphook spoke through his astonishment with the teen wizard. “Break into a Gringotts vault? It is impossible.”
“No, no, it’s possible, and I know you know that, Griphook, because the first day I met you someone broke in.”
“The vault in question was empty at the time,” he snapped back. “Its protection was minimal.”
“Well, the vault I need to get into isn’t empty, and I’m guessing its protection will be pretty powerful,” Harry sucked in a deep breath and, recalling all the discussions they’d had with Draco about who was the closest to Voldemort during the first war, when the Horcrux would’ve been gifted to him, he said, “It belongs to the Lestranges.”
The pair of goblins laughed as they had had by the campfire minutes before; heartily, but cruelly. “You have no chance,” said Griphook flatly. “No chance at all. If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours -”
“Thief, you have been warned, beware - yeah, I know, I remember,” said Harry, then he tilted his head, smirking a little, hoping this next bit would impress the goblin’s he could tell were already very confused by him. “But I’m not trying to get myself any treasure, I’m not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?”
“No,” Gornuk said bluntly, though Harry did take notice of Griphook squinting at him curiously. “I don’t believe in any wizard not out here for personal gain.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, close enough Harry could feel the heat of his breath on his face. “I’m sure you were listening to us back there. Do you know why the sword of Gryffindor ended up in Severus Snape’s office in the first place?”
Harry chose to remain silent.
“Because it was stolen, years ago, from us goblins, it’s rightful owners. Stolen by wizards who thought they had any claim to it, could understand it, and now have sense lorded over as and thought to be superior.”
Harry sat back, tilting his head up to the sky, watching the stars. It was a risky game to play, but he was certain it might work out in his favor if he offered the sword. After all, it probably did belong to the goblins if he learned anything about wizarding prejudice in the last couple years of his life, and he certainly wouldn’t be needing it after the Horcruxes are destroyed.
“Tell you what,” he leaned forwards once more. “You want to know why those kids were after the sword at Hogwarts? It was because Dumbledore entrusted it to me, in his will.”
“The sword is not Dumbledore’s -”
“Yeah, I know, but I also know that that’s not what the Ministry thinks. As far as the law goes, it’s mine. But, if you help me break into that vault, I’ll give it to you.”
“You think we’re meant to trust a wand-carrier to hold up his end of such a deal?” Gornuk asked.
“Wand-carriers,” repeated Harry, thinking of the Elder Wand and Dumbledore’s wand, sitting in Draco’s pocket at this very moment, and Voldemort’s obsession with obtaining it.
“The right to carry a wand,” said Griphook quietly, “has long been contested between wizards and goblins.”
“Well guess what? This war isn’t about wizards versus goblins -”
Again, the two laughed together. “But it is!” Griphook exclaimed. “It is precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?”
“I do.” Harry said softly, and Griphook froze, Gornuk now watching him curiously as well. “And so does my boyfriend, and my best friends, and almost all of my friends back at school, that Hogwarts Order of Defense Tess mentioned. Some of us are Muggle-born, persecuted as much as you are, and some of us are so called ‘Pureblood’, trying to get rid of the stigma and forge a new path. My parents were both. We fight for house-elve rights every day, I even helped free one, the first one I met. When this war ends, if we win, all of us will go on to try our best every day to establish equality among all the races in this magical world, I promise you that.”
There was a very long pause after that speech, and Harry felt proud of it, hoping, against all hope, he’d convinced the two, as they glanced at each other, conversing just by their eyes, then back at him, eyeing him like an insect beneath a microscope.
“What do you seek within the Lestranges’ vault?” Griphook demanded. “The sword that lies inside it is a fake, left there by Severus Snape after that failed theft by your ‘friends.’”
“But the fake sword isn’t the only thing in that vault, is it?” asked Harry, practically on the edge of his seat (or, rather, rock) in excitement as he imagined the ring, locket, cup, or something of ravenclaw’s sitting amongst piles of gold. “Perhaps you’ve seen something else in there?”
“It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers.” he paused, eyeing him up and down, sizing him up.
“Will you help me?” Harry breathed. “Help me if you can have the real sword in return, and a chance at equality when I have a chance at living? I haven’t got a hope of breaking without either of you helping. You two are my only chance.”
The two glanced at each other, and Gornuk raised a finger. Harry nodded and turned away as the goblin’s turned to each other to converse in Gobbledegook, folding his arms and examining the stars once more, idly spotting Draco’s namesake and smiling a little as he admired it.
“Let us,” he spun back around, eyes wide upon the two. “Mull it over. You’ll have our answer by midday tomorrow.” Griphook said and Harry nodded, grinning and standing. That was more than enough for him.
“Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly to him, and Gornuk shook his head in astonishment at this further show of respect.
“You are surprising us with each passing moment, Harry Potter,” said Griphook, but he only smiled back.
“Yeah, I’m good at that.”
He passed by the rest of the party without another word, only stopping to kiss each of the triplet’s on the forehead, then passing through the bubble back into the campsite, out of sight from the group of eight.
He was immediately greeted by three very different faces; Hermione looked very stunned and upset with him, which was no surprise, Ron was nodding appreciatively, probably at his negotiating skills, and Draco was staring stunned and open-mouthed.
“Harry, you did not just offer the Sword of Gryffindor to them, did you?” Hermione asked and he nodded.
“Of course I did, Hermione. C’mon, you heard what they said, it was probably stolen from them, it’s probably rightfully theirs. Besides, I’m positive there’s a Horcrux at Hogwarts so we’ll probably be going back where we can get Basilisk fangs anyway. Besides, didn’t you say Fiendfyre can kill Horcruxes, Hermione?”
“Only right before I said it would be foolish to use it.” Hermione snapped back but Ron spread his hands between them negotiably.
“But if we used it in a contained area…”
“What if it’s not in there?” Draco piped up, and all eyes turned to him. “The Horcrux, I mean. Do we still give them the sword?”
“We have to keep our word,” Ron said, face scrunched up. “Bill always told me goblin’s are really tricky about deal’s.”
“That’s assuming they even agree to this,” Hermione said grumpily.
“Then we’ll just have to wait and see,” Harry retorted and headed back into the tent jollily.
He had awoken from their horrible trip to Godric’s Hollow thinking of how lost they all truly were without Dumbledore’s guidance, but now they had a real chance at getting into Gringotts which, the more he thought on it, the more it felt like a perfect place for Voldemort to hide a Horcrux. All grand with stone and ornate doors… exactly the kind of Wizarding World he fell in love with.
Magical World, Harry corrected, because he firmly intended to hold up his equality end of the bargain too, and besides, it certainly felt much more inclusive with so many different races in this world.