Harry was interrupted at his desk the following week by a memo, which zoomed into the Auror Office through the letterbox and fluttered annoyingly over his head. Harry plucked it out of midair and unfolded it to view the message within:

Harry,

I will be at the designated meeting place in five minutes. This better be worth my time.

-R.S.

Harry quickly stood to go, quietly grabbing his coat and slinking towards the exit. "Taking an early lunch, Harry?" asked Ron loudly, and Harry froze. He'd hoped to slip out undetected…

"Oh. Uh, yeah," Harry lied.

"Cool, I'll go with you," said Ron, standing to join him. "Stretching my legs would do me some good right now." Harry couldn't very well protest with half the Aurors lazily watching the exchange, so he begrudgingly agreed and led the way out of the office.

"So where d'you wanna go?" asked Ron as they stepped into the lift. "I'm rather fancying fish and chips myself…"

"I'm not going to lunch, Ron," said Harry, punching the button to send the lift downward. "I'm meeting someone."

"What? Who?" asked Ron.

"You'll see," said Harry cryptically, eyeing the other inhabitants of the lift car warily. The lift took them deeper and deeper into the recesses of the Ministry, with each stop depositing more riders until it was just Harry and Ron left. "Level Nine, Department of Mysteries," announced the cool voice over the speakers, and Harry led the way off the lift and down the cold dark hallway.

"Where are we going?" Ron hissed.

"One second," said Harry, looking over his shoulder to ensure they weren't seen before turning the corner into a quieter hallway. Ron followed, looking perplexed.

"What are we—?"

"Shh." Harry peered into the darkness, as though looking for something. Then, he whispered: "Rita?"

A woman materialized in front of them, startling Ron. Rita Skeeter had appeared, transforming herself back from a beetle into a human. "So this is the welcome I get?" Rita asked, looking disgruntled. "Sneaking around back passageways like a common mistress?"

"Sorry Rita, I didn't want anyone to know you and I were talking," said Harry. Ron looked thoroughly befuddled now.

"What's she doing here?" he demanded.

"I invited her," Harry said simply. "I've got some information for her, and I wanted to make it discreet."

"This had better be good," Rita muttered. "The risks I'm taking, sneaking into the Ministry illicitly, when I could have checked in like a civilized person—"

"You asked me for the inside scoop, and I'm giving it to you," said Harry. "The Auror Office is investigating John Dawlish."

Both Rita and Ron looked stunned by this revelation. "Oh, now that is a juicy scoop," Rita grinned. "The Auror Office eating itself from within? That will certainly get people talking…"

"Harry, are you mad?!" said Ron. "Why would you make that known to everyone?"

"Because our investigation is going nowhere," said Harry. "Because maybe if more people knew he was a suspect, we could track him down faster."

"But really? Her?" Ron demanded, throwing a contemptuous look at Rita. "After what she did to you?"

"After what I did for him, you mean," Rita corrected, throwing Ron's look right back at him. "It seems Mr. Potter has finally realized the beneficial nature of our relationship."

"Something like that," said Harry. "Feel free to speculate away about him. His background, his motives, his current whereabouts—"

"But Harry," said Ron, looking increasingly alarmed, "we don't know that he's a real threat! What if you're printing damaging information and he's innocent?"

"Then he's more than welcome to step forward and correct the record," Harry huffed. "That would solve multiple problems for us, wouldn't it?"

"And I don't suppose Robards or Shacklebolt would be open to a quote, would they?" asked Rita.

"Doubt it," said Harry. "Like you care; the Ministry stamp of approval would just make your readers more suspicious anyway. And off the record, they don't approve of the investigation."

"I thought not," said Rita. "Dawlish was a respected man who has stood beside the last three Ministers. His character assassination will be big news. Can I ask what the investigation is for?"

Harry considered how much information to give her. "Crimes committed during the war," he said simply. "Loyalties to the wrong people. That's all people need to know."

"That is a hot-button issue at the moment," Rita acknowledged. "Who's the blame for Voldemort's rise and who isn't? Who's complicit in his regime and who was just following orders? I can make a meal out of that morsel, thank you Potter."

"Naturally," said Harry. "I'd better get going. I have a meeting with Garunk the Great this afternoon. But hold off on printing that; I've got some negotiating to do." And Harry turned to leave, with Ron hurrying to follow.

"Harry, have you gone completely mental?!" Ron demanded. "Robards is gonna be furious when he finds out you talked to the Prophet about Dawlish!"

"He won't," said Harry. "Rita could have learned that from anyone. We've been asking around about him; anyone could have gone to the press."

"But that's beside the point," Ron muttered. "You're giving that foul woman ammunition to use against us? She's going to tear the Aurors to shreds!"

"Like I said, she could get us one step closer to finding him," Harry shrugged. "Besides, like Hermione said, we need to keep Rita on our good side for now. This is an easy way to accomplish that."

"Hermione looked her up in the registry the other day; she told me," Ron said glumly. "Get this: it says she registered way back in '83! Hermione reckons she took advantage of the Ministry's poor record-keeping last year to slip her name in undetected. Completely evil, that one is."

"She's not evil, she's just opportunistic," said Harry as they got back onto the lift. "She can be a powerful ally if we keep her close."

"I still think it's a mistake talking to her," said Ron. "No matter what she threatens to write about you, or about the—"

"Enough, Ron," Harry snapped as the lift doors closed. He could have sworn he saw a tiny insect scurry onto the lift at their feet before it carried them upwards towards the surface…

Harry had enough time to join Ron for a quick bite to eat in the Atrium before it was time for his meeting with the goblin Garunk. He bade Ron farewell and took the lift up to Level Four, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He walked past multiple doors down the corridor, some of which were emitting some very alien-sounding noises, before locating the Goblin Liaison Office. He knocked and entered the space.

"Ah, Harry Potter!" said a young wizard, approaching Harry with an outstretched hand. "Welcome to the Goblin Liaison Office."

"Thanks," said Harry. "Is Steven Marchbanks here?"

"That would be me!" beamed the young wizard. "I'm the director of the department." Harry was surprised at this; Steven looked no more than two or three years older than Harry.

"And how long have you been running the Goblin Liaison Office?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Oh, since Shacklebolt took office in May," Steven beamed. "An honor, a great honor indeed."

Harry looked around at the near-empty office space around them. "How many people work in this office, exactly?" he asked warily.

"Just myself for now," said Steven. "The office was dissolved under Thicknesse, and I got appointed to oversee things in the transition. Pretty easy job, actually; today is the most action I've seen since I started."

"I see," Harry muttered. "And may I ask, Steven: are you related to Griselda Marchbanks by chance, from the Department of Education?"

"Yes, she's my gran!" said Steven with a glow of pride. "She put in a good word for me with the Minister; she and Shacklebolt go way back, you see."

"Splendid," Harry groaned, already feeling uncomfortable with the way the department was being handled. "Well, when is Garunk due to arrive?"

"Oh, he got here an hour ago!" said Steven. "He's waiting in my office, just through there."

"What?!" Harry yelped. "Why didn't you send for me?"

"Oh, I knew you'd be along soon enough," Steven shrugged. "I didn't want to interrupt your Auror business. I'm sure what you do down there is way more valuable than the chaff we deal with here!" He seemed to expect Harry to laugh at this, as though they both thought the Goblin Liaison Office was just some big joke. Harry did not laugh. Instead, he marched across the room and entered Steven's office without asking.

Garunk was sitting cross-legged on the ground, clearly uninterested in the plump armchairs sitting against the wall. Nevertheless, Steven took his own seat behind the desk and beckoned for Harry to take one of the armchairs.

"Didn't keep you waiting too long, did we, Garunk?" Steven said patronizingly to the goblin. Garunk just glared up at him. "This is Harry Potter. You've been wanting to meet with him for a while, haven't you?"

"We have wanted him prosecuted for his crimes," said Garunk. "There is a difference." An awkward silence followed, which Harry decided to break at once.

"Nice to meet you, sir," said Harry, extending a hand down to the goblin. Still looking sour, Garunk shook Harry's hand briefly before returning to his seated position in the corner.

"Now, I now you and your friends at the Confederation have had your differences with Mr. Potter," said Steven, still speaking in the same slow, patronizing voice Harry wouldn't even use with a toddler. "But I can assure you that the Ministry would never take action against him. He's a war hero, you see."

"And I suppose being a war hero means you can behave any way you like without consequence," said Garunk. "We goblins have war heroes, too, and they are expected to follow the same laws and code of ethics as everyone else."

"I'm sure what Harry and his friends did has a very simple explanation," said Steven. "This is just a big misunderstanding. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"There's more to it than that," Harry corrected. "That's what I've come to talk to you about, Garunk. To clear up what happened and find a solution."

"Unless your solution involves a full and fair trial by goblins for the crimes you committed," Garunk growled, "we have nothing to speak of."

"Now Garunk, that's no way to talk to Harry Potter," Steven said warningly.

"I will not have it!" Garunk exclaimed. "Trespass after trespass against goblinkind! An Imperius Curse was used on one of my employees! An Unforgivable! This will not stand!"

"No wizard has been tried by a goblin court in centuries, Garunk, you and I both know that," said Steven. "I don't think you have a leg to stand on in this matter."

"Forgive me, Steven," interrupted Harry, looking at Marchbanks, "but can we have the room for a moment?" Marchbanks looked surprised, glancing nervously between Harry and Garunk for a moment, before nodding and slipping out the door, closing it behind him. Harry pointed his wand after him and whispered, "Muffliato," ensuring that they would not be overheard.

"What games are these, Potter?" snarled Garunk. "Do you intend to threaten me?"

"Far from it," said Harry. "You've been dealing with Steven Marchbanks all these months? And no one else at the Ministry?"

"He's the only one that will answer my calls," Garunk grunted. "As it has been for years; before Marchbanks it was that dolt Dirk Cresswell running this dead-end of an office. I've requested the Minister of Magic many times, but he has never made the time for me."

Harry could see quite clearly now why the Confederation of Goblins was so angry with him. They'd been forced to channel their frustrations through a young kid with no experience at dealing with goblins, one who seemed to believe they were mere annoyances to be shoved aside. And it sounded like his predecessor in the office didn't believe much differently.

"I didn't know communications were so limited," said Harry. "I'll speak to Shacklebolt and make sure your messages will be heard more often."

Garunk gave Harry an odd look, clearly not believing him. "Is that what you muffled the door to say to me?" he asked.

"No. I have a question for you," said Harry. He slid off the front of the seat and sat cross-legged on the floor so that he and Garunk could speak face-to-face. "When we broke into the Lestrange vault, you told the Ministry that we stole the Sword of Gryffindor. Why did you not tell them it was a fake?"

Garunk flinched; he clearly had not expected this. "How did you know—?" he sputtered.

"You also did not mention the cup that we stole," Harry continued. "That was the true object we were after; surely you figured that out yourself. But why did you want the Ministry to believe we had taken the Sword?"

Garunk pondered this, as though unsure whether to tell the truth. "We feared for the safety of our kind," he muttered. "We did not want to incur the wrath of the Dark Lord—"

"See, I've put some thought into it," said Harry, "and I've asked around about the Lestrange vault. Since she died in the Battle of Hogwarts, you have taken inventory of her possessions so that the Ministry can assess her will and distribute them properly."

"That is the process for all deceased witches and wizards," Garunk said simply, not yet following.

"But if you claimed that the Sword was stolen," continued Harry, "you could compel the Ministry to return it to the vault so that it could be processed along with her other belongings. Not that it matters to you lot, since it'll just go right back into the hands of another witch or wizard via her will. Unless…"

A flash of realization hit Garunk's face, but he suppressed it. "You dare to accuse us…?" he said.

"You and I both know the fake Sword is still in that vault," said Harry coolly. "I think once you got your hands on the real Sword, you intended to swap them and hand over the fake, only to keep the real one for yourselves."

"That is a serious accusation that will be impossible to prove," Garunk snarled.

"I am aware," said Harry. "And I don't intend to try. I have a different proposition for you."

"Which is?"

"I can just give you the Sword of Gryffindor directly."

If Garunk's eyes could have narrowed any further, they would have. "Why should I believe…?" he began.

"The Sword is currently sitting in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts," said Harry. "It is not being used at the moment, nor do I think it will need to be for a long time. I see no reason why it should have to remain there."

"But the Sword is not yours to give," said Garunk. "How am I to believe you can authorize its release?"

"It is not the Headmaster's either," Harry shrugged. "The Sword is loyal to Godric Gryffindor and his House. Only a true Gryffindor can summon it in a time of need. That is how it came into the possession of Neville Longbottom last May, after Griphook tried to steal it."

"Then you must think me stupid to accept your offer!" Garunk sneered. "You would give it to me to hold, only to summon it away after?"

"As I said," Harry repeated calmly, "only a true Gryffindor can summon it in a time of need. Neville needed it to kill the Dark Lord's snake, Nagini. I needed it five years ago to kill the basilisk. And someday in the future, a future Gryffindor student may find themselves in need and summon it for themselves."

"What difference does it make why the sword is summoned?" Garunk asked. "If it can be taken at any time—"

"The past two times it was summoned," said Harry, "it was returned to its case in the Headmaster's office. I just saw it in there, not three days ago. I see no reason why its resting place can't be moved. You can have the Sword, and if it is summoned in the future, arrangements can be made to return it to you once its services are no longer needed."

Garunk considered this. Harry could see that he was actually intrigued by this idea. "You are aware," the goblin mused, tapping his long fingers together in contemplation, "what goblin customs are in regards to weaponry? The maker of an item is considered to be its true owner. When its buyer dies, the item is returned to the goblin who forged it."

"The Sword of Gryffindor was forged by Ragnuk the First," said Harry, "who died centuries ago. I don't think that custom applies anymore."

Garunk straightened himself proudly. "But I am one of the last descendants of Ragnuk the First," he said with dignity. "My name is derived from his, you see. I can claim ownership of the Sword if I wish."

"I am a descendant of Godric Gryffindor," Harry shrugged. "Plus, it was left to me in Albus Dumbledore's will. I can also make legal claim to the Sword. What I propose is a compromise: you can keep the Sword and use it for your own purposes. But if it is needed at Hogwarts, it will be allowed to return and aid the Gryffindor faithful. The Sword will still belong to you."

Garunk sat silently, tapping his long fingers together, considering this proposal. "And why do I get the sense that you're about to ask something of me?" he wondered aloud.

"Just one thing," said Harry. "I'm looking for records on a scepter that may have been goblin-forged. A scepter that was stolen from Hogwarts. Do you know of such a scepter?"

"I work at Gringotts; I am not a forger," Garunk snarled.

"But someone at the Confederation ought to know," said Harry. "Goblins take extensive inventory of their creations, do they not? You can track down the records if you needed to, I'm sure."

Garunk continued to tap his fingers together, looking at Harry with mingled curiosity and distrust. Finally he stood and offered his hand. "I shall consider your offer and confer with my people," he announced. "We will speak again soon."

"You know where to find me," said Harry, shaking the goblin's hand. "Oh, and one other thing: the Sword of Gryffindor has been impregnated with basilisk venom. Just in case that alters your decision."

"Oho!" Garunk chuckled to himself. "How very interesting...but that would be quite useful for disposing of Dark objects...we could gain a great deal of value from that...well, I must be going. Farewell, Potter." Garunk leapt down from his chair and hastened to the door, brushing past Steven Marchbanks without a word.

"How'd it go?" Steven asked hopefully.

"Went well, I think," said Harry. "We'll find out soon one way or another."

"Good," sighed Steven. "This whole ordeal has been quite taxing, to tell you the truth. I'll be glad to see it resolved."

"Yes, I'm sure this job has done a real number on you," Harry said dryly. "Farewell, Steven. Do me a favor and answer Garunk right away the next time he comes calling, won't you?" And without waiting for a response, Harry left the office.

Harry marched straight into the lift and headed straight to Level One, walking across the courtyard and up to the Minister's Office. He knocked once and entered without waiting for a response. Kingsley looked up from his desk, looking alarmed.

"Harry," he said. "I didn't realize we had a meeting scheduled—"

"What the hell's going on in the Goblin Liaison Office?" Harry demanded hotly. "And who is this Marchbanks kid that's running it into the ground?"

"Mr. Marchbanks comes highly recommended by my Ministry colleagues," Kingsley said coolly. "He's well-spoken and has a good relationship with the Prophet—"

"That's all the job is to you then? A PR stunt?" Harry asked. "He's a moron! I just watched him insult Garunk for an hour and a half and stoke the flames with the goblins further!"

"Harry, the Goblin Liaison Office doesn't have any real power over goblin-wizard relations," said Kingsley. "Those matters are handled by the Wizengamot High Council, and those laws were codified long ago—"

"They need to be reevaluated, then," said Harry. "Or there will be a crisis on your hands, Minister."

"I've been assured that the Confederacy of Goblins is no threat to your well-being, if that's your concern," said Kingsley. "You need not worry."

"What d'you think happened to Ludo Bagman, Minister?" Harry demanded. "You think he went on holiday? He knew better than you how dangerous the goblins can be when you get on their bad side."

"If it makes you feel any better," Kingsley said slowly, "I can authorize an Auror to accompany you at all times for protection—"

"I'm not worried about self-defense!" said Harry. "I'd rather deal with the Confederation directly than sweep it under the rug like you've been doing."

"Who says I have been sweeping it under the rug?" Kingsley protested. "We know more about the goblins' activities than we let on, Harry. If they were planning on trying something, we would already know. They are simply biding their time."

"Why not talk to them directly instead of just spying on them?" Harry demanded. "Dumbledore was smart enough to keep a strong relationship with the Confederation."

"Dumbledore was a friend to many creatures," Kingsley agreed. "I wish I possessed half of his talents of persuasion."

"That doesn't mean you can't at least make an effort!" said Harry. "Garunk says he's been asking for you. Can't take an hour out of your day to meet with him?"

"I am the Minister of Magic, Harry," said Kingsley patiently. "I have delegates to handle these lesser matters for me. It's a tradition as old as time—"

"I don't think now is the time to be upholding tradition, Kingsley!" Harry shouted. "You may say you got rid of all this 'Magic is Might' rubbish, but from the goblins' perspective, things are no better now than they were under Thicknesse!"

"Do not," Kingsley growled, rising from his seat, "compare me to Pious Thicknesse."

"Then quit acting like him!" Harry bellowed, not backing down from the challenge. "You want to preach reform? Do it, you coward!"

Kingsley drew his wand faster than Harry could react. For a moment Harry was sure Kingsley was about to hex him; the next instant, the chair he was sitting in had buffeted him sideways and roughly carried him into the hall. It deposited him unceremoniously on the ground before zooming back in through the door, which slammed forcefully in Harry's face.

Harry, still fuming, picked himself up and dusted himself off. He didn't care about the curious eyes that followed him back across the courtyard and towards the lift. He punched the button for the Atrium, not interested in returning to his desk for the remainder of the afternoon. He'd had enough of dealing with bureaucratic incompetence for one day.