Disclaimers, et al., can be found at the beginning of Part One

HARRY POTTER AND THE EXILED SLAYER

PART EIGHT

"Are you ready to go, Faith?" Harry called through the closed door, glancing at the clock behind him in the hall. "New York is three time zones ahead of us, even in the Wizarding World. We need to get moving if—" The door opened, and Harry's jaw dropped for a moment before he recovered and finished more or less smoothly: "—we're going to get all of our shopping in."

Faith had given Connor the address and keys to her apartment—after he had warned her that Voldemort might be using detection magic to track her in the area where she had been spotted—and asked him to retrieve a few items. He recognized one of them as the black dress that Faith was wearing, and it took considerable discipline for him to keep his eyes focused on Faith's visibly amused face as he commented, "You know—we're going to be wearing robes for most of the time we're out."

Faith shrugged. "What the hell—might as well look good for the times I'm not. It's not like you're in a T-shirt and shorts, C." She nodded at the suit and tie that Connor was wearing, then added, "I'm ready—let's motor."

Harry nodded and led her to the fireplace, where he carefully handed an urn to Faith and had her take out a pinch of Floo powder after he had done so. He turned to her and commented, "Mind your pronunciation—saying the wrong place can end up causing you some knotty problems." He replaced the urn, threw the powder in the fireplace, and shouted: "New York Central Floo!" The fire flared green, and he jumped in and vanished. After taking a deep breath, Faith tossed her own powder and repeated the location without hesitation before jumping in herself.

Faith rolled out of the fireplace and immediately bounced to her feet. She noted the fireplace soot on her arms and was about to express annoyance at the indignity when a wand flicked in her direction and she heard the word "Scourgify." The soot vanished, and Faith relaxed as she saw Connor showing his signet ring to what looked like a Wizarding official. The other wizard inclined his head at Faith, and Connor said quietly, "She's under my protection. Article Seven, Paragraph Three of the International Diplomatic Code."

The older wizard seemed to sneer slightly, but he nodded and opened a door that appeared to be some distance from the main entrance to the room—which was rather large and starting to fill up with people who had popped through the Floo after Faith's arrival. Connor nodded and gestured to Faith, who followed him through the door.

They entered a lengthy, dimly lit corridor that looked more or less modern to Faith, and they walked for about three minutes before reaching an ordinary looking door at the end of the corridor. Connor paused and flicked his wand twice, causing robes to appear over their outer clothing. Faith blinked in surprise, and Connor nodded in satisfaction: "Switching spells are very useful—I'll show them to you when we're done and you have your wand."

Faith nodded absently, then watched as Connor reached out and touched the door in three different places—none of them near the doorknob. There was a click, and the door silently swung open, revealing an alley. Connor stepped through and briskly walked down the alley, with Faith behind him. The Slayer looked around and commented, "Looks kind of new, considering the old stuff that you guys like—"

Faith's jaw dropped as she walked out onto the sidewalk and saw. . .a street scene that could have come from any Hollywood movie set in New York City. Crowds of people in ordinary clothing walking by, talking—and occasionally shouting—to each other, and apparently paying absolutely no attention to the two robed people standing at the entrance to the alley. The buildings looked familiar to her, and her eyes fell on a street sign a dozen yards away: it was the corner of East 79th St. and Lexington Avenue. She turned back to Connor and had to force herself to whisper: "Wizard Central Station is right in the middle of the Upper East Side?"

Connor smiled and replied, "You don't need to whisper. This whole area is covered with muggle-affecting charms that cause them to ignore anything a wizard or witch is saying and to see them wearing whatever is on under their robes—unless they do something drastic to attract attention or wear something odd or nothing at all under their robes, we can discuss anything we want and not be noticed." Faith nodded, though she still looked dubious, and Connor continued, "The Central Floo here has been at that location for over a hundred years—the charms on it are strong enough that no one comes looking to buy out the owners or otherwise cause problems, just as no Muggle real estate moguls have been trying to buy the building that the British Ministry of Magic is in."

"Sounds like a good deal," Faith said, shaking her head at how the people around them were ignoring them. She turned back to Connor and asked, "OK, where to now? Is the Wizard Mall in one of these fancy buildings?"

Connor shook his head and led her down East 79th Street, heading west. They crossed Lexington, and a few moments later they reached Park Avenue, and Faith could not resist the temptation to stare a little. Never thought I'd see this in person She looked further to the west and saw a large expanse of green. She turned back to Connor: "Central Park, right?"

Connor nodded, and they continued on, crossing Park Avenue, then Madison Avenue soon after. As they reached 5th Avenue and the edge of the park, Faith could see the Metropolitan Museum of Art looming off to the north along the eastern edge of the park, and noticed that Connor was leading them in that direction as they stepped off of the crosswalk. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "It's not in the museum, is it?"

Connor chuckled, then led her into the park and down a walkway before stopping in front of a small group of trees, which was near several groups out for a picnic on what was a very nice day in late fall. He inclined his head at the trees and asked, "Notice anything odd about that area?"

Faith looked over at the trees for a moment, and didn't see anything amiss at first. She was about to question Connor when she saw a couple of kids playing Frisbee nearby. One of the kids tossed the Frisbee over the other kid's head and it headed straight for the trees, only to stop dead and fall to the ground for no apparent reason. The kid who had missed the catch ran over and picked up the Frisbee and returned to the game—apparently not having noticed that anything odd had just taken place. Faith turned to Connor and asked, "More anti-Muggle magic?"

"Yes—there's a barrier around those trees that keeps Muggles or other mundane objects out of that area: they can see the trees, but if they get too close they'll be stopped by the barrier and turn around and never think about why they're doing so. The only way for a Muggle to get in there is if a wizard or witch leads them in—your level of intrinsic power would probably let you through the barrier alone, but you'd need a wand for the final entrance." Connor led Faith into the grove of trees and into a small inner clearing where a single oak tree stood. He pulled out his wand and tapped a large knot on the trunk three times as he whispered, "Let those who would do business with honorable intentions be admitted to this place."

The knot glowed, and Connor turned to Faith. "Take my hand."

Faith would have ordinarily cracked a joke at such an earnest request, but she saw the look of protectiveness in his eyes, and she felt a tingle of warmth down her spine. This guy has a streak of momma bear in him that would make Buffy's mom jealous She reached out without hesitation and clasped hands with Connor—who moved their hands into contact with the knot. Faith felt a tugging sensation behind her navel, then was overwhelmed by a brief sense of rapid motion, which ended as she and Connor dropped onto a soft surface that was cushioned enough to avoid the usual discomfort involved in landing on one's posterior. Faith's inborn reflexes kicked in, and she instantly sprang to her feet and looked around for threats for a moment before she relaxed enough to take in the sights of their new location. She turned to Connor—who had also managed to get to his feet—and commented, "I've read up on some of the other major places you wizards have built in big cities all over the world—this one isn't like any of those."

They were standing on a small grassy area, looking out onto what looked like a small town from a movie or television show filmed in the 1950's. There were a substantial number of men and women walking around—some wore traditional robes, but others were wearing normal Muggle clothing, and neither group seemed to find the dress of the other odd. There were no buildings taller than three stories, and there were no visible vehicles of any kind on the streets. Connor took Faith's arm and led her out onto the nearby sidewalk, just as two robed wizards popped into appearance where they had just been standing, then turned to her and said, "Let's go—we have a number of stops to make."

Faith nodded, and they walked down the street, with Connor nodding occasionally to acknowledge the people passing them. Faith looked up and saw that the overhead view looked like an overcast day, with no blue sky or sun visible. She frowned and commented, "There wasn't a cloud in the sky when we were in New York City—how far did we travel just now?"

"About two thousand feet—straight down." Connor's answer made Faith blink, and the wizard hastened to explain: "The first wizards to arrive on the North American continent from Europe looked for a place to stay separate from the Muggles and located a large cave beneath Manhattan. By Apparating and using other spells to change the environment there, they created a place where wizards and witches could conduct commerce without attracting unwanted attention. Muggle technology has improved enough where some new spells have been needed to keep this place hidden, but it has remained a safe place for the most part."

Faith looked around and replied, "Yeah—this place is nice, though it seems a little small for all of the people who must come here to shop."

Connor smiled and stopped at a shop door, opening it so that Faith could look inside. She saw a huge sales area inside that would strain the confines of a Wal-Mart, and she stepped back and looked to confirm that the outside looked like a shop that would easily fit onto the floor of the Sunnydale High Library before it was blown to bits. She looked back at Connor, who let the door close and gestured for her to follow as he explained, "Room expanding spells—saves a lot of walking time and lets them use the space provided by the cave far more efficiently."

"I could have used one of those spells for the crappy motel room I had in Sunnydale," Faith commented as she followed Connor. Connor frowned in concern at the reference, but Faith dropped the matter and asked, "So—what's our first stop?"

Connor pointed at a two-story building at the corner of the street they were on and replied, "Gringotts, New York branch. We need to set you up with a bank account so that you can buy things you need without attracting attention by using Muggle currency. I'll transfer from funds to my personal accounts to get you started." Faith opened her mouth to protest, but the wizard cut her off before she could speak. "Faith, I know you've got money in your apartment—you asked me to check on it and I cast some spells to keep people from messing with it while you're gone, remember? It's just a loan."

Faith frowned, then nodded, mollified at the response. Connor smiled and pulled out his wand and pointed it at himself, muttering a phrase under his breath that caused the wand to shimmer briefly before he put it away. The Slayer raised an eyebrow and asked, "What's with the hocus-pocus?"

"The goblins are honest, but they're ruthless businesspeople and will take any advantage they can when dealing with their customers—that spell gives me the ability to do lightning fast calculations in my head, so I can make sure that we're getting a fair deal based on the information we're hearing." Connor's tone was matter-of-fact, and Faith frowned again briefly before Connor blinked and added, "Now, remember—goblins are not demons and should not be considered as a threat—unless you try to steal from them, in which case you'd have been better off making demons angry with you. Just be polite to them and you'll be fine."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah—I did do that reading you wanted me to, you know. I promise not to Slay any goblins." She looked at the wizard for a moment and gave him an appraising look before adding, "Besides. . .I'm not sure you're up to handling me after Slayage."

Connor flushed slightly before smirking and replying, "I'll keep that in mind. Come on, then—we can finish this part of the business relatively quickly." He walked up the steps and opened the door for Faith, then followed her in.

Faith looked up and saw a towering domed ceiling that topped out at least fifty feet over her head, and a huge room ringed with counters manned by goblins who were busily transacting business with wizards and witches. Connor stepped to her side and pointed to a sign at the far end of the room reading "New Accounts." The Slayer nodded and they walked towards an imposing desk with a goblin sitting behind it.

As they walked across the center of the room—crossing an elaborate symbol on the floor that Faith recognized as the Gringotts crest from the front of the bank—a loud bell clanged five times, in a rhythm that struck both Faith and Connor as sounding rather martial. As one, every goblin in the room stopped what he was doing and looked directly at the two people who had paused atop the Gringotts crest. Faith turned to Connor and asked pointedly, "So were we not supposed to walk on that thing? Kind of stupid to put it on the floor if we weren't."

Connor shook his head. "I've walked over that crest many times and nothing happened." A door opened, and a goblin stepped out and headed for them with noticeable haste. "Let me handle this." Faith nodded, and Connor turned to the goblin who had just reached them and greeted him: "Supervisor Racksack, it is good to see you again—what is all of the commotion about?"

The goblin inclined his head to Connor in a way that Faith would have taken as borderline rude if a human had done it, then replied, "The branch manager would like to have a word with the young lady, Special Operative Galleon. You may accompany her if she wishes it."

"Kind of a lot of fuss for someone coming in to open an account, isn't it?" Faith suspected something was up, but she decided to play dumb for a bit longer. "I don't see why a busy goblin like your branch manager would need to see me."

Racksack looked at Faith for a moment, then spoke quietly: "In every generation, there is a Chosen One—or, in this case, two Chosen Ones. The branch manager has some pressing business to discuss with you, Miss Lehane—and I assure you that he is not one to waste his time. Will you follow me, please?"

Faith was rocked back onto her heels by the casual reply, but she was silent as she followed the goblin towards the door after jerking her head at Connor to indicate he should come with her. After a moment of annoyance that the goblins apparently knew more about Faith than he did, Connor complied.


Racksack led them into a small but opulently furnished office and left them to wait in sinfully overstuffed visitor chairs. A house elf appeared and inquired if they needed any refreshments, and a few moments later Connor was sipping a pumpkin juice, while Faith had ordered a Screwdriver which she found to be excellent. Connor had given her an annoyed look when she ordered, but she had simply grinned wickedly at him and the wizard had decided not to press the issue. After a minute or so, Faith turned to Connor and commented, "That goblin was kind of rude to you."

Connor snorted. "Actually, that was a very polite greeting by goblin standards—but his reply to you was as if a human being had walked up to you and given you a big friendly hug. I don't know what's going on, but you're getting the VIP treatment."

"Indeed she is, Special Operative Galleon—and with good reason." The back entrance to the office had opened, and a very old goblin walked out. His face was heavily wrinkled and the few tufts of hair on his head were snow white, but he stood erect and his eyes gleamed with obvious intelligence. Behind his Connor mask, Harry was immediately reminded of Dumbledore, and he stood immediately and inclined his head respectfully—he was pleased when Faith did likewise, though she simply nodded to the goblin. The new arrival gestured for his visitors to sit, and after they had done so he settled into the massive armchair behind the oak desk and said, "I am Chairman Thrice-Gilded—manager of the New York branch of Gringotts. I am Chairman of Gringotts' North American Operations and Overseer of Currency Control for Gringotts' operations in the Western Hemisphere."

Faith saw Connor blink in surprise, and she decided to relieve a bit of tension in the room. "So—you're the goblin equivalent of Donald Trump and Alan Greenspan rolled up into one guy?"

Connor turned to Faith and was about to admonish her when he saw Thrice-Gilded start to shake, and the sound coming from him—though odd by human standards—was clearly laughter. After a moment, the ancient goblin inclined his head to Faith and replied, "Actually, given the power I wield Bill Gates would be a better analogy than Mr. Trump, but you are essentially correct. It's nice to know that young people—even ones with less than ideal educational backgrounds—take the time to know their world."

Faith shrugged. "I've had a lot of down time the last few months, and not had to worry about where my next meal or room was coming from. I used it." Thrice-Gilded nodded, and Faith asked, "OK—I'm sure that most people who come here to open accounts don't get this treatment: what's this all about? It's nice to meet you and all that, but I'd really like to know what's the what."

Thrice-Gilded smiled—a less than attractive expression on the ruined features—and replied, "I have a story to tell you, Miss Lehane—" He saw the scowl on Faith's face and interpreted it correctly before continuing, "—all right, Faith, then. It began just over three hundred and fifty years ago, in London, where Gringotts was still in the relatively early days of its existence. The wars between the goblins and the wizards were over, but the Wizarding community was still not completely comfortable with us, and there were still dark wizards who openly attacked us in defiance of the treaties. The Ministry of Magic did what it could to stop the attacks, but they could only be so many places at once and most wizards and witches who came upon a dark wizard attacking goblins would simply walk the other way. We fought back, but there were many deaths among our people—some whispered that we should break the treaties and go back to war with the Wizarding World. . .commerce with a community that hated us would lead to no good."

Thrice-Gilded paused and saw that both of his listeners were at the edge of their seats. Faith frowned and urged: "Well? Don't stop there."

The goblin nodded and continued, "One night, a large caravan of my people was traveling along an isolated section of Diagon Alley when they were attacked by a large force of dark wizards—who hoped to slay them and gain custody of a great treasure. The situation was grim—none of the bystanders would step in, and the goblins were outnumbered. If things had gone on without interference, it undoubtedly would have led to renewed war between my people and the Wizarding Community, one that might have ended with the complete extermination of goblins and grievous losses for the wizards. But just as the battle was reaching a fever pitch, someone stepped in to intervene."

"The Slayer." Faith didn't need supernaturally enhanced intuition to figure that out.

"Indeed it was." Faith could hear the smile in the goblin's voice as he continued, "She came from the shadows like a whirlwind, both hands wielding cold steel that she used to dire effect against the demons that the dark wizards had summoned. After a moment, the dark wizards recovered enough to attack back, but she used their numbers against them by moving in close and dodging attacks while cleaving their wands into useless kindling. In the meantime, a crossbowman on a nearby roof started dispatching demons and wizards with grim efficiency, and my people—heartened by the completely unexpected support—started fighting back more ferociously. The tide had turned. . .but the Slayer was still surrounded by enemies and was in great danger of dying, with none of her allies being in a position to rescue her. Suddenly, a new development that was crucial to the future of goblin/wizard relations occurred."

Connor blinked again—none of this sounded familiar to him. Maybe I should have stayed awake in History of Magic after all He looked at Thrice-Gilded and asked quietly, "What happened, Chairman?"

"A young witch broke free from the crowd and turned on the others, and her words and tone were scornful: 'You cowards! Are you just going to stand there and let her die?' She pulled out her wand and charged at the enemy, curses flying from her lips and her wand. None there could say what it was that finally broke the stillness of that crowd, but after a few more seconds a hundred wands were directed at the dark wizards and their allies, and the hail of spells that came from them lit up Diagon Alley as if the sun had risen. The survivors fled, and the Slayer was left swaying on her feet as a middle-aged man who turned out to be her Watcher ran to her side. Fortunately, she was well enough to go home to rest, but as the authorities arrived and took the survivors off to be healed, the leader of the goblins approached the Watcher and addressed him: "When you two are well enough to travel, come to Gringotts. We have a debt to discuss."

"Wow—she stopped a war and inspired those people to get involved. Not a bad night's work for a Slayer." Faith shook her head in amazement at the story, then asked, "So—did they end up coming to Gringotts?"

"They did, two days later." Thrice-Gilded's tone softened, as if the subject was of personal importance to him. "They were both received with great honors, and led to the audience hall of the leader—we had not yet formalized our title system—where they were asked to sit and speak with the leader, who told them: "You have helped us more than any of your people have before—and inspired those who feared and hated us to fight to save us, even if they might not have chosen to do so otherwise. We are in your debt—what can the Goblins do for you?"

"The Slayer and the Watcher looked at each other, and the Slayer replied first, 'We would simply ask that you remain at peace with the Wizarding World and the rest of humanity, sir—we would not seek to impose on you otherwise. The wizards I attacked were necromancers and demon summoners, who I would have attacked even if your lives were not at stake.'"

"Our leader was surprised at the humility of the reply and responded, 'We wished for peace in any event, and would have sought it if possible even without your request. Surely there is something we could do to repay you personally—or perhaps we could provide something of value to your Council to—'"

"At this moment the Watcher interrupted: 'Forgive me, sir, but I am afraid that contacting our Council would not be a helpful exercise.' The goblin leader motioned for him to elaborate, and the Watcher continued, 'I am a rarity among the Watchers in that I am a trained wizard—the vast majority of the Council is made up of muggles who view magic with profound suspicion, though they by necessity must learn of it in the course of their education and their duties. It is for that reason that Miss Douglas and myself were in Diagon Alley at the crucial moment, where a more mundane Watcher and his charge would never have set foot there. The Council would be most displeased if they were to learn that I allowed the Slayer to risk her life in such a situation, and any contact from your community would undoubtedly be very. . .distasteful to them. I apologize if I have given offense by telling you this.'"

Faith scowled, and Connor shook his head sadly. Thrice-Gilded noted the reactions, then continued: "The goblin leader assured the Watcher that he was not offended, then added, 'You are an enlightened man, sir, and you are obviously teaching your charge to be so as well—perhaps there is something we can do to help with those efforts, to allow you and those who think like you to continue to influence Slayers to behave in a friendly manner towards non-hostile beings?' The Watcher considered the question, and as he did a young goblin stood up and stepped to the leader's side, whispering in his ear. After a moment, the leader nodded and addressed the Watcher again for several minutes. The Watcher considered the proposal, then nodded in agreement, and in two days the arrangements had been completed.'"

Thrice-Gilded paused again and took a long draft from the mug sitting on his desk—then began again without waiting to be prodded. "The young goblin's proposal was a simple one: Gringotts would open an account in the name of the Slayer, into which would be deposited five hundred Galleons from the personal wealth of the Watcher—which would be matched by five hundred Galleons from the goblins. The money would sit in the account—exempt from all account fees and collecting three percent quarterly compounded interest—until such time as the current Slayer—whoever she might be—came to claim part or all of it. The Watcher would not tell the Council of this, and would prepare a charmed letter that would inform the Watcher of the next Slayer of the arrangement, with the charm preventing him or her from revealing the secret to anyone but his Slayer. Thus, a source of useful funds would be maintained that would allow a Slayer to function independently from the Council—whether inside or outside the Wizarding World—and a reason for continued friendly contact between the Slayers and the goblin community would be established. The goblin leader also told the Watcher that the Slayer and her companions would always be able to receive sanctuary from the goblin community, so long as all involved would remain non-hostile to the goblins. All in all, a very mutually beneficial arrangement to both parties."

Faith considered what she had just heard, and grinned as she commented, "So—this is a whole long-running tradition between Slayers and goblins? That's kind of cool—and I don't even need to borrow money from Connor to start—" Thrice-Gilded shook his head, looking solemn, and Faith blinked as she asked: "What'd I miss—did some other Slayer blow all of the money on powdered wigs and silk undies?"

"Sadly, it was nothing so harmless, Faith. The account was funded and started—as it happens—precisely three hundred and fifty years ago today. Miss Douglas and her Watcher arrived, made the deposit and signed the paperwork, and departed to the cheers of my people. It was a proud day—and it was followed by months of mourning." Faith felt a stab of pain in the pit of her stomach, and the old goblin's next words came as no surprise: "That very night, Miss Douglas was mortally wounded in the course of Slaying a major demon, and her Watcher also died of his wounds. He never had the opportunity to pen the charmed letter, and the Council never learned of the arrangement with Gringotts: even if we had wanted to tell the Council, our agreement with Miss Douglas and her Watcher forbade it. Thus it was that the account has stayed continuously active at Gringotts for three hundred and fifty years, accumulating three percent quarterly compounded interest, and would have continued to do so had you not happened to come to this place, or another branch of Gringotts. As you are a Slayer, the funds are at your disposal to do with as you please, and we will be more than honored to assist you with that, as part of a debt now three hundred and fifty years old."

Faith blinked. "So, I'm not really up on Wizarding money, but a thousand galleons sounds like a lot, and you say it's been drawing interest, so there should be a little more there now—maybe this shopping trip won't break me after all. Do you know how much money is in that account now?"

Thrice-Gilded grinned wickedly and began to speak, but was interrupted by Connor—who spoke quickly and mechanically, though his eyes looked a bit dazed: "Thirty-four million, nine hundred and twenty thousand, two hundred and one Galleons, four Sickles, and twenty six Knuts."

Thrice-Gilded listened to the recital, and snickered before replying, "Special Operative Galleon—we are eternally grateful to the Slayers and will treat Faith—or Miss Buffy Summers should she visit us—with great honor. However, we are trying to run a business here—and as such we round down to the nearest Knut. Twenty five Knuts."

"My apologies, Mr. Chairman." Connor replied, noticing that Faith seemed to be in mild shock. He decided to ask an obvious question that Faith was probably about to broach herself: "Chairman, what's the current Galleons to dollars exchange rate?"

"The account—as per its terms—is exempt from our conversion fees, so the current rate is precisely thirteen dollars to the Galleon." Thrice-Gilded was amused at the young Slayer's reaction, and decided to use his own natural computational skills to lay out the situation for her. "Ignoring the small change, that would make the current dollar value of the account precisely four hundred and fifty three million, nine hundred and sixty two thousand, six hundred and thirteen dollars. You have complete discretion over that money—you can leave it where it lies to continue to collect interest, or transfer it all in the form of galleons, dollars, or any other currency you can name to a personal account, though any further money changing activity in that account will be subject to normal Gringotts fees, though I suspect you will deposit enough to receive our preferred rates. . .what do you wish to do, Faith?"

Faith closed her eyes for a moment, and Connor wondered if Faith was going to faint on them for a moment before her eyes snapped open and she asked a question: "Chairman—do you have owls on call here to send messages?" Thrice-Gilded nodded, and Faith turned to Connor and said quietly, "C—could you give us a few minutes? I have some business to discuss with the really powerful dude here."

Connor saw the goblin chuckle at Faith's irreverence, but also noted his pointed glance at the wizard, and he immediately inclined his head to Thrice-Gilded and departed the room. He paced restlessly for several minutes—causing nearby goblins to withdraw to some distance away—until the office door opened and Faith came out with a wicked grin on her face. She called out, "I've got a lot of papers to sign—the big guy wanted to talk to you while I do that."

Connor nodded—still somewhat taken aback by the revelations of the past hour—and Faith breezed by him towards a spot where two goblins were already waiting with uncharacteristically polite expressions on their faces. The wizard shook his head and turned back to where Thrice-Gilded was waiting with a patient expression. "You wanted to speak to me, Chairman?"

"I simply wanted to reassure you that you won't be hearing complaints about diplomatic gaffes related to this meeting, Special Operative—I know that your Ministry is particularly concerned about appearances. A remarkable young woman, and with surprisingly good instincts on how to deal with sudden good fortune and responsibility." The ancient goblin studied the young wizard and commented, "You seemed to find that story quite interesting—am I to understand that you hadn't heard it before?"

The Special Operative managed a shrug, but Harry was squirming inside as he replied, "I have to admit that I wasn't a top student in History of Magic, Chairman—but I'm fairly sure that the incident in question wasn't covered in depth in class, or I would have run into it while revising for my OWLs."

Thrice-Gilded snorted. "I'm not surprised—your people have many strengths, and we do good business together, but heaven forbid that they should properly document such an important historical event when—with one notable exception—their own role in it was as belated followers."

Connor winced slightly, but had to admit to himself that the criticism was a fair one. A thought occurred to him, and he asked quietly, "Do you happen to know the name of that witch who shamed the crowd into intervening?"

The goblin's dark eyes seemed to twinkle for a moment before he replied, "Indeed I do—she was a recent Hogwarts graduate who had just married into one of the most ancient and noble Wizarding families in England. Gail Potter went on to live a full and rewarding life, and died at a very old age surrounded by a loving family." Thrice-Gilded saw the wizard's eyes widen, and he smiled and nodded as he added, "I thought that would get your attention—you are a long way from where the Wizarding media says you should be, young man."

Harry took a step back in shock, and whispered: "How--?"

"We Goblins know better than most creatures on this Earth the importance of being able to see beneath surface appearances—it would be bad for business if we didn't." Thrice-Gilded straightened up and stared directly into Harry's eyes as he added, "Still—your disguise is quite good: I would guess that only three or four other goblins in the world could see through it and recognize you for who you are. . .and since all of them seek the permanent downfall of that maniac Voldemort and—as you have just learned—know of the debt that we owe your family, I believe you can rest easy if you are concerned by this. Also, my assistant will give you my personal contact cipher in case you wish to reach me by owl post. When the time comes, you may need our help."

"Thank you, Chairman." Somehow, the simple reply seemed the best. As they walked out to join Faith, Harry had one last thought: "Chairman—what happened to that young goblin who proposed the plan?"

Thrice-Gilded chuckled. "Though the plan seemed to be foiled at its inception, there was general agreement among the leadership that it had been of great merit and showed that the young goblin had potential. He rose quickly in the ranks in England before travelling to America to help found this place, and—after many years and bold moves that created three of the greatest fortunes ever to be credited to a goblin—he finds himself as an old, old creature, who has finally been privileged to see one of his early dreams come to realization." Harry remembered belatedly just how long goblins could live, and smiled as the ancient goblin concluded, "Not quite the most remarkable day out of the one hundred and fifty thousand I have seen, but it is certainly close." Thrice-Gilded inclined his head at Harry and pointed to the main hall: "Now, let us put aside these matters and help the young lady settle her financial situation."

Still somewhat bemused, Harry decided that the Chairman had an excellent plan, and he followed in silence.

Author's Note: I spent a little time researching the geography of that section of New York City—I trust that my readers will tell me if I have committed any significant errors in that area. Also, Harry's recital of the balance of the bank account to (almost) the last Knut was a tribute to the great scene from the Classic Trek episode "The Trouble With Tribbles," where Kirk was buried by an avalanche of tribbles and Spock—after hearing horrified estimates from the others as to how many tribbles were in the now-empty grain vault—instantly replied, "One million, seven hundred seventy one thousand, five hundred sixty one."

. . .to be continued

As always, comments are welcomed and desired.