Spellforged read through his notebook, as he waited for the others in his dorm to get ready for bed. He had questions. Turning to a blank page, he took his quill and wrote his list.

Why did Dumbledore create a gauntlet to test us?

Why did Dumbledore use the real Philosopher's Stone as bait?

Why did Dumbledore let VM into the school? (Did Dumbledore know it was VM?)

He paused a moment, thinking about Seeker's trip to the mirror, and his encounter with Quirrellmort. And the dagger he had somehow received. A dagger that, from Seeker's description, could be none other than his own. Even the handle, with his father's in-joke about being in either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, was unique.

How did the Mirror know enough to duplicate my dagger?

Did the Mirror access our link?

Another pause, while his thoughts went to the link - and to Marigold, Seeker, and Rose. Soon they would know if they had to go back to the Dursleys, and if so, for how long. And why? Another question for the book, he thought, writing it down.

The reality was that they had been taken to Surrey long before other options were closed to them. The Longbottoms were not attacked until the fifth of November. Madam Bones was never attacked, nor were the Greengrasses. And Sirius was not arrested until the third.

Why were we placed with the Dursleys?

Why would we have to go back if alternatives exist?

"Working late again, Harry?" Spellforged looked up to see Anthony Goldstein, one of his dorm mates, getting ready for bed.

"Just trying to sort out my thoughts." He said, closing the notebook. It was entirely in the Goblin tongue, but he took no chances. "Some facts came out after Sirius' trial, and I've been trying to get my head around them. It's no big deal."

Anthony chuckled as he closed his trunk. "If I had half the year you've had, I don't know how I would have managed to keep up with my grades." The boy sat on his bed. "Look at it this way, though - maybe next year will be calmer for you."

Now it was Spellforged's turn to chuckle. "Maybe, maybe not. My cousin is coming for his first year next year, and I have 10 galleons on him being sorted into Ravenclaw. So I'll have to keep an eye on him, plus handle my own classes."

Anthony nodded. "I didn't know there were any other Potters out there."

"Oh, there aren't. Erik is my adoptive mother's nephew. He's from Clan Sullivan, in the south of Ireland. But they live near London with my mother." He smiled. "If he has his way, he'll try to start a house football team."

Another grin from Anthony. "We have enough half-bloods and muggleborn around here, it might work. I'd play." He sat back on his bed, lifting a hand to his curtain. "Well, we will have to see what happens, then. G'night, Harry."

"Good night, Anthony." With that, the boy closed his curtains. Spellforged sat, thinking, for a moment, before pulling out his notebook once more.

Can Seeker's bridge building work here as well? (Erik/Footy)

He looked up when the mirror on his nightstand vibrated. Reaching over, he closed his curtains - activating the silencing charm. /Director/.

Ragnok appeared in the mirror. "Hello, son. How was your day?"

Spellforged smiled at his father. "Classes went well, as usual. Everyone is preparing for exams, especially in Ravenclaw."

"I assume, from your tone, that you are already prepared, then?"

"Of course. I've even tried to help Hermione study more efficiently, though I don't think she believes me when I tell her how little time I spend in full study mode."

Ragnok chuckled. "We'll have to find a way to get you to spend time with her this summer. She sounds like a good friend."

"She is," he replied, thinking about his own Hermione, as well as the others. Hermione Granger was one of the few constants between worlds, having even befriended Rose - no mean feat, given that she was in Slytherin. But that's what building bridges is about, he thought.

"I have other news, Harry." Ragnok's tone became more serious, and Spellforged sat up a little straighter. "You were correct about the break-in in July. When we looked at the magical signature involved, it was indeed Quirinus Quirrell."

"Good. I had worried he had an accomplice, but if it was actually him, then it's a good bet he was working alone." Of course, that meant there were no death eaters whose vaults they could seize, but it was what it was. "Do you plan to make that public?"

"No." his father replied. "Honestly, nothing was taken and we'd just as soon let it be. But if he does get free, we'll quietly take him into a back room." Ragnok broke out in one of his toothy grins - the unnerving kind. "And that, my son, will be the tale of him."

Spellforged nodded. No arguing with that. "Good."

They chatted about other matters for a few minutes longer, before Spellforged mentioned Anthony's comment about next year. "Part of me wonders, why does so much happen in my life?"

Ragnok looked thoughtful. "Perhaps because Lady Fate knows you are up to the task? You are quite capable, Harry."

"Says the Leader of the Goblin Nation in the United Kingdom." snarked Harry, earning a laugh from his father.

"Alright, I deserved that. But think of it this way - you've done so much, in just this year. Things that no one else has ever done, you did first." The pride on Ragnok's face was obvious. "Don't sell yourself short."

"I won't, father." Harry yawned. "It's getting late."

"It is. We'll talk tomorrow, yes?"

"Of course. Good night, Director."

Ragnok grinned. "Mister Spellforged." He dipped his head in a mock bow, before the mirror deactivated. Smiling, Harry laid down. He was asleep before five minutes had passed.

oOoOoOoOo

Ragnok was still smiling a few minutes later, when Grognutt knocked on his office door. "Come," he said.

Grognutt had worked for Clan Ragnok ever since the days of Ragnok's grandfather. He and Ragnok had grown up together, their families had been friendly for decades. So when the old goblin entered the office, Ragnok could already see that his old friend was troubled.

"What is wrong, my friend?" Ragnok asked.

Grognutt looked at his Director, took a deep breath, and steadied himself. "The Lady Eridani wishes to speak with you, Director."

Ragnok's face fell. Prophecies were rarely good for business, and if this one was bad enough to convince the Nation's chief seer to visit the Director? Nothing good could come of it. And the late hour, even for the goblins, meant something troubling indeed. Ragnok stood. "Best that we go see the Lady, then, Grognutt. Let us go."

oOoOoOoOo

The next morning, Foecleaver was surprised when he did not find his Director in his office, as expected. Nor had Ragnok stayed in his residence, nor was he visiting with other clan leaders or elders.

More surprising was the fear he saw in the Director's office. Whatever had happened, Ragnok was not pleased. Eventually, one young courier mentioned an early morning visit to the training pits. Foecleaver, puzzled, thanked the boy and went down to find his Director.

As the door to the training pit opened, Foecleaver saw nothing but carnage. Training dummies were strewn about the sand, in all manner of condition. One dummy remained, but even now an old goblin was charging with a deadly looking axe.

Director Ragnok, of the Clan Ragnok, swiftly dismembered the last training dummy. A quick strike took the dummy's legs, cleanly, such was the power of this axe in those hands. Ragnok rolled to his left and brought the axe up, catching the drone in the armpit - cleaving the thing's wand arm off.

The runes, detecting that the dummy had sustained non-survivable injuries, turned it off. Ragnok, in his anger, had no off switch. Taking to his feet, the axe swung again, catching the dummy underneath the chin. Had it been a human opponent, the man's face would have been removed entirely.

The dummy toppled backward, landing with a thump in the sand of the pit. Ragnok let out a growl of rage, before hacking down with the axe. He hacked into the chest of the dummy, the most durable part of the device, for the chest held the runes and power stones that made active training possible.

Ragnok cared not a bit. Again he struck, and again. Sparks of magic flew out of the dummy, as if it had circuits and batteries. Finally, with a guttural cry, Ragnok split the poor dummy in two, his axe burying itself in the sand.

The Director stood there, breathing heavily, coming back to himself. Then he let out another cry - and in that primal shout, Foecleaver heard rage and sorrow in equal measure. He watched as Ragnok collapsed to his knees.

Rising, Foecleaver approached. He kept his hands in the open, holding a bottle of water in his sword hand to show that his intentions were peaceful.

"My Lord Director," he began formally, before gesturing at the wreckage. "I believe you got'em." He offered the water bottle to his old friend, and waited.

Ragnok took a moment, before looking up. He sighed heavily, wearily, before nodding. "So it would seem, my friend." He accepted the water bottle, half draining it before taking another ragged breath.

Foecleaver, setting all decorum aside, plopped himself down in the sand, beside his Director and his friend. "What troubles you, My Lord?"

"None of that, boy, or I'll take you next!" Ragnok snarled angrily, but the humor in his eyes told Foecleaver that the move had been successful - for if he was cranky about protocol, he was not angry about whatever had happened.

"As you wish." Foecleaver replied. They sat like that, letting Ragnok's body settle itself down, and letting his emotions cool off. Presently, he took another drink of water and sighed.

"It's Harry."

Foecleaver looked at Ragnok. "I trust you have not gotten my Head of House damaged?" This he said with a grin, eliciting an eye roll from Ragnok.

"Not yet, at any rate. But that might not last." Raising his hand, he summoned a small satchel from the bench against the wall. From the satchel he took two parchments.

"Lady Eridani summoned me last night. She had learned of my inquiries into the Headmaster and his interest in my son. So she looked into our archives." He handed the first parchment to Foecleaver. "And there she found a prophecy from just before his birth."

Foecleaver's eyes grew wide, then wider still as he read the parchment. It was in English.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…" Foecleaver looked up from the parchment. "This is nonsense, of course."

Ragnok nodded. "Of course it is. Neither can live while the other survives? Either you live or you do not. And what does vanquish mean? I could pick this so-called prophecy apart for hours." Then he sighed. "Except that Lady Eridani believes that Dumbledore knows of the prophecy, and believes it applies to Harry."

Foecleaver shook his head. "He was born in the sixth month, not the seventh. And his parents went into hiding, they defied no one."

"Ah, but this is the English version. And in their calendar, he was indeed born at the end of their seventh month. But in our telling, it was during the sixth month, that year." Ragnok reached into the satchel and retrieved the other parchment. "Here is our version."

Foecleaver read the prophecy out loud. Here, he could see the cadence of the Goblin tongue.

"They come, whose power will have conquered the Dark Lord, born at the dawn of the sixth month, born of people who have rejected him thrice, the Dark Lord will mark him as equal to him, but he will have a strength unknown to the Dark Lord, And while another survives, They can neither live nor die… They come, whose power will conquer the Dark Lord."

"You see the changes, I trust?" Ragnok ran a hand down the shaft of his axe, as if he were examining the craftsmanship. "It identifies the subject as one who has conquered, which means Harry explicitly. When he was born, his birthday fell on the third day of our sixth month - or at the dawn of the month. His parents rejected the Dark Lord's advances three times, the last from the floor of the Wizengamot, just before they fled. He was marked by the Dark Lord. The rest speaks to the future, but look at the end."

"They come," Foecleaver read in a quiet voice. "Whose power will conquer the Dark Lord."

"Will conquer." Ragnok repeated, with a hollow tone. "Will conquer." He repeated, louder. "GAAAAAAAHHHH" With a growl, he threw the axe, and Foecleaver watched as it lodged itself into the wall.

Foecleaver fought the impulse to run. Ragnok was not only infuriated, but his magic was beginning to pulse - quite a feat for a Goblin, whose magic is trained to be subtle and unseen.

"Harry has dealt with so much." Ragnok said, barely above a whisper. "He was orphaned, then abused for years, then he survived an explosion by producing a shield at three years old. Accidental magic, nothing - all magic is intent. He intended to protect himself."

"His path has been a difficult one," agreed Foecleaver.

Ragnok nodded. "And there is such power in him, the flavor of the magic in the boy… He could be the best of us, Goblin, Wizard, it doesn't matter. He is so kind, so intelligent, but brutally efficient when he has to be. If that boy went to war, Foecleaver, there would not be one unnecessary death caused by his side, do you realize that? He would exert exactly as much force as he had to, and not one whit more." Ragnok was beginning to weep, now.

"He has so much ahead of him. And then I learn this." He waves a hand at the second prophecy, the accurate one by any Goblin measure. "And I learn that he will conquer the Dark Lord. Which means that he hasn't yet. Which means that he'll have to fight Voldemort once more."

"He's not dead." said Foecleaver, the implications settling into place. "Gods, he's not dead."

"No, my friend, he is not." Ragnok stood, trying to regain his composure. "But someday, my son will have to make it so."

Foecleaver stood as well. "What do we do, Director?"

Ragnok cracked his neck, then rolled his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he looked his old friend in the eyes. There was no consideration of the politics within the clans, nor of the treaties with the Ministry or the Throne. Neither of them blinked when Ragnok committed the Goblin Nation to the aid of one wizard. For with three simple words, Director Ragnok was speaking as a father, in that moment - nothing more, nothing less.

"We help him."

The pair began to walk over to the exit. As they walked, another question came to Foecleaver. "Harry will be home in six weeks. What do we tell him?"

Ragnok closed his eyes. "Lady Eridani is continuing her research. I believe she will wish to speak with him. Until we know more, I think we say nothing. For now."

"And if he learns of the prophecy before then?"

Ragnok looked at the ceiling. "I will not lie to him. But there are questions we have to ask, questions that need answers."

Foecleaver nodded at that. "Should we tell Madam Sullivan?"

Ragnok almost choked on his water. "No! Absolutely not." he shook his head at the idea. "Gods, are you insane? She would tear the bank down around our ears before we let her son go to war."


A/N: This Ragnok piece has been knocking around my head for a while, now. Because when we strip away everything else, in his mind, his most important job is Father. So he learns of the prophecy, and has a very gaudy breakdown, as any sane parent would, I imagine. Note also that not all seers are witches - in this context, the Goblin seers sense the same vibrations in the threads of fate that Trelawney and others detect. Picture seers as if they were seismographs - the vibrations they detect are not exclusive to one or the other. You just have to know how to listen. Normally, prophecies would be filed away, unless they pertain to a goblin - as this one does.

Here's the key difference between Ragnok withholding the Prophecy and Dumbledore doing the same thing. Here, Ragnok is coming to it fresh - not only does he need time to process it, but he needs more information as well - information he's searching for, through his people. Dumbledore, on the other hand, has known since Day One. If asked point blank, Dumbledore would likely dodge the question, where Ragnok would answer honestly - with an explanation as to why he didn't tell Harry immediately. Spellforged is well-trained enough to understand how big questions like this have to be handled. (Doesn't mean he'll like it, but still.)

Feedback, as always, is welcome.