Harry Potter and the Forests of Valbonë
Chapter Forty Four
"Are you ready, Harry?"
"I guess I'd better be. They'll be here in two minutes."
"Remember you're pay-rolling this with your money. Assert yourself as soon as possible, or they'll all be clamouring to be top dog."
"May I suggest politeness as a tactic?"
"No you may not, Albus. Kindly shut up."
Harry couldn't help but giggle at Sternley's forthrightness, but Dumbledore didn't look the slightest surprised or offended, instead he gave Harry a tiny wink.
The three of them were sitting, or in Sternley's case resting, on one side of the large, round table in Harry's rooms at the Krujë. On the opposite side were six well spaced chairs. Each of the seats were grand and formal, but none of them as grand and formal as Harry's, which was more like a throne than anything else.
The grandeur of it was uncomfortable to Harry, but both Dumbledore and Sternley had insisted, for appearance's sake. Likewise, they had also advised him to wear his Oik fur cape, though Harry didn't mind this, for he felt he'd earned it.
To Harry's left was an empty seat, that Dumbledore hadn't explained and but the headmaster had just smiled when Harry raised its existence.
"I'm serious," continued the hat. "This isn't some frilly-robe wearing, knitted yogurt, ICW convention. These are a pack of trained killers for hire. You can't be seen as weak."
"May I enquire, by chance," replied Dumbledore, humour evident in his tone. "What, precisely, is a knitted yogurt?"
Harry couldn't help it; he dissolved into tears of laughter that the Headmaster and Sorting Hat both seemed to find perplexing. They both turned curious expressions upon him, but that made Harry laugh harder. Eventually he managed to pull himself together, just in time for the knock that came at the outer doors of the chamber.
"Enter," ordered Harry, with as much calm as he could manage.
Again, it had been Dumbledore and Sternley's advice that he act imperious. Harry understood the logic behind it, even if it made him feel every bit the tosser that Draco Malfoy was.
The door opened and a rather meek looking man appeared in the doorway. A patched cloak topped his shabby suit and grey flecked his light brown hair. But it was his face that caught Harry's attention, for it was oddly familiar.
"Ah, Remus," said Dumbledore, standing and smiling at the newcomer. "Do come in. Harry, this is—"
"I know you," said Harry, his brow folded into a frown. "I know you from somewhere, but I don't know where."
Everyone in the room was silent for a moment. The newcomer's face shifted momentarily to surprise, then he broke into a smile that Dumbledore emulated.
"May I suggest, Harry," said the Headmaster. "That you recognise Remus from your photograph album. He was once a good friend of your father."
This surprised Harry somewhat, but he realised that it was precisely where he'd seen the man before. Though he looked far more ragged and ill-kempt now than he had in the photographs of his parent's wedding.
"Remus," continued Dumbledore. "Will be joining Hogwarts in the autumn as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He answered the advert after our unfortunate accident with regards to his predecessor."
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed and Harry gave him a sheepish grin.
"I trust him implicitly and, considering our other, livelier guests, believed we might require the services of another friendly wand," concluded the Headmaster.
After a long pause, Harry realised that Lupin was waiting for him to give him permission to sit down. This made his face flush and he indicated the seat beside him.
"Please, professor," he said. "Take a seat."
Lupin smiled politely and came to sit on Harry's left.
"It's good to see you again, Harry," he said. "The last time I did, you were just a baby."
This made Harry's face flush again, though he didn't know why, but he gave Lupin a welcoming grin nonetheless. He opened his mouth to say something, but a robust knock at the door interrupted him.
"Enter," commanded Harry, remembering his place a little sooner this time.
The doors were flung open and a man entered the room, flanked on either side by two Albanian aurors. There was nothing of Remus Lupin's timid entrance here, the wizard all but swaggered in. He gave Harry's side of the table a courteous, but dramatic tip of his Stetson and sat.
"Presenting," said one of the aurors. "Alexander Boothe, of Blackthorne Industries."
"Howdy," said Boothe, in the strongest Texan accent Harry had ever heard.
"Afternoon," replied Harry, taking the man in.
He'd attired himself, to all intents and purposes, like a cowboy. His clothing wouldn't have been inappropriate on the Western plains of America; with his tan waistcoat, white shirt and denim jeans tucked into heeled, dragon leather boots.
Harry suspected that on another man, his Stetson, pulled low over dark blue eyes, would have been dramatic and mysterious. But on a face as youthful as Boothe's it seemed overblown and ridiculous.
"I'm the first here?" he asked, glancing around the empty room. "I was hoping to be fashionably late."
"I think you may have to settle for being fashionably early," replied Lupin, looking amused.
The Texan regarded him through narrowed eyelids.
"We haven't been introduced. These two, I can guess," he said, indicating Dumbledore and Harry. "But you, on the otherhand—"
"Will remain a mystery," interjected Harry.
Boothe's eyebrows peaked but he shrugged and made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.
"You're the boss," he said. Which was what Harry wanted to hear.
They all sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, then there was another knock at the door. The auror opened it once more.
"Presenting Gjergj of Albania."
Gjergj came into the room, gave the Texan a fleeting glance and then fixed his eyes on Harry.
"Harry," he said, smiling. "My friend."
"Gjergj," replied Harry, grinning. "It is good to see you. How is Anna? Take a seat."
The General did as commanded. The sensation of ordering about a friend was an uncomfortable experience for Harry. But he maintained the smile.
"She is well. I do believe she has intended to marry you some day, you're all she's spoken of in the last few days."
Harry's face flushed and Boothe gave a deep laugh. Gjergj glanced in his direction and the Texan wilted under the Albanian's stern glare.
Harry wished there was more time for him to catch up with his friend, but a moment later there was another knock at the door. It was opened this time, not by an auror, but by an enormous, bare-chested man.
"By jove," exclaimed Alex and Harry could see why.
The newcomer was taller than Dumbledore and as wide as Gjergj, which made him a formidable looking man. What made him look even more intimidating were the dozens of scars that criss-crossed his torso. His face was a grim mask, all hard lines and solid, chiselled features.
Straight, dark hair cascaded from his head and to his shoulders, where it met a cape of similar material to Harry's own. On his lower half he wore a pair of hide leggings that, rather unfortunately, didn't leave quite enough to the imagination.
"Presenting," said the auror, following the man into the room. "The Walker in Chaos."
The man didn't speak, but instead glowered at Harry, who, after holding his gaze a moment, indicated the seats before him. The Walker in Chaos gave a single, slow nod and then took the proffered seat.
"So what, exactly, are you?" asked Alex, examining the enormous man with a cautious air. "A half-giant?"
The Walker in Chaos examined Boothe as though he were something unpleasant on the bottom of his bare feet.
"Zauberer," he said.
"Bless you," replied the Texan.
"He's a German warlock," supplied Sternley, each of the newcomers, except Gjergj who had become accustomed to it by now, looked to the hat with an element of surprise. "Who leads a particularly ferocious warband."
The Walker in Chaos considered this for a moment, decided it was a compliment and the inclined his head in Sternley's direction.
"The hat talks sense," he said.
There came a fourth knock at the door.
"Finally, presenting Fangstone and Urglun of the Fifth Legion," said the auror, looking and sounding disgusted at having to introduce the pair of goblins that sauntered in after him.
A moment later, the room descended into chaos.
Gjergj leapt to his feet, hands balled into fists, murder evident in his eyes. The Walker in Chaos, taken aback by this abrupt motion, produced his wand and levelled it at the Albanian. The Texan, for his part, drew a pair of pistols with blinding speed and aimed each of them between the eyes of a goblin.
The Goblins, Fangstone and Urglurn, seemed unconcerned by proceedings, ignored the others, and instead walked over and bowed low to Harry.
"Fangstone and Urglurn, at your service, m'lord," said one.
"A great pleasure, we're sure," said the other.
"Be seated," commanded Harry, his tone as firm as he could make it. "All of you. We're friends here."
"I don't imagine Tweedledee and Tweedledum know the meaning of the word," said Alex, his voice cold, but Harry noticed he'd holstered his pistols.
"Oh look," said one of the goblins, excitedly.
"It's the Marlboro man," exclaimed the other, happily.
"I thought we'd left you dead at the walls of Tripoli," said the first.
"You tried," spat Boothe. "And failed."
"Gjergj," said Harry. His friend was the only one still standing, staring at the pair of Goblins. "They're allies, I promise."
Fangstone and Urglurn looked at the Albanian, appeared to understand the man's concern and both gave him a deep bow.
"We cordially assure you," said one, straightening up. "That we hate the Brotherhood of Goblins as much as anyone."
"In fact," continued the other. "If we weren't so hard on cash, we'd be all for fighting this war entirely gratis."
The Texan snorted.
"Likely story," he said. "You're as likely to stick to the same side as it is to snow in Dallas in August."
"You must get a lot of skiing done then," replied one of the goblins. Harry still couldn't be sure which.
"As it happens, the Brotherhood of Goblins neither wants, nor can afford our services. Especially not since Fangstone boffed Bodrod's mother."
"Whatever," snapped Boothe, fingers inching towards his pistols. "I can't and won't work with them."
"Then leave," replied Harry, his voice like thunder. Everyone turned and looked at him in surprise, colour rose to his face and he fought it away. "But be warned that the next person who draws a weapon in this room loses the hand they used to draw it."
He slammed his stump down on the table, emphasising his point. All of the people on the other side of the table looked at him with a somewhat increased measure of respect and, more importantly in Harry's eyes, fell silent.
"Now," he began, accentuating the word. "We all know why we are here, perhaps we do not all know each other. I will introduce each of you in turn and describe your importance to the mission. After this, you will have an opportunity to leave; this will be your only chance. Am I understood?"
He gazed around at each of them in turn, hoping that none of them noticed how rehearsed the speech was and how awkward he'd given it. It appeared that if any of them did, they decided not to mention it.
"Good," he said. "Now, let's begin. Gjergj here is the General in charge of the muggle forces on the ground. They're currently holding our front-lines, and doing it well—"
He went through each of them in turn, his practiced spiel coming easier the more he spoke. He knew each of their companies and roles, their strengths and numbers, off by heart. Boothe's Blackthorne Industries, they called themselves purveyors of magical weaponry. But Sternley had explained that they were, to all purposes, just gun runners. Though they'd been known to do their own share of the fighting.
Then there was Fangstone and Urglurn's Fifth Legion, the largest group of goblin sell-swords that hadn't already pledged their allegiance to The Brotherhood of Goblins. Like Boothe, Harry wasn't convinced that they could be trusted. But Sternley had made the point that any infiltration would have to be performed by goblins from one source or another.
Harry didn't quite know what to make of enigmatic The Walker in Chaos, whose warband was two-hundred strong. Not the largest force, by any stretch of the imagination, but each of them were veterans and trained killers. And Sternley knew that he had a particular grudge against the Brotherhood, something that was always useful when dealing with mercenaries.
Lastly there was the empty seat that separated the two Goblins from the others. That seat Harry had intended to go to Jayne Cosca, of the Free Companies, but no word or envoy had arrived. Harry couldn't pretend this wasn't a bitter blow, The Free Companies were nearly a thousand strong. But then again, five out of six was better than they'd hoped for.
In the end, not one of them left. Nor did Harry have to cut anyone's hand off. Instead, there was a productive exchange of information and ideas; Gjergj had an accurate and tactically valuable account of the current situation. Boothe offered to supply his troops with weapons, equipment and food. The Walker in Chaos took one of his flanks and The Fifth Company took the other.
All in all, once they'd left, Harry felt as though something of great merit had been achieved.
As the door closed behind The Walker, the last to leave, Harry turned to Dumbledore and Sternley.
"So how do you think that went?" he asked.
"Personally, I think it all went rather well," came an unfamiliar voice from behind them.
