Spellforged sat at the dinner table, staring at his father, who continued to eat as if he had said nothing.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.
Ragnok looked at his son. "I said that you still need to schedule an apprentice trial, Harry."
Once a young goblin reached a certain level of education, it was customary for that goblin to become an apprentice to one of the more experienced goblins of Gringott's. A trial would be held, where the prospective apprentice would spend a day working in the chosen job, to see if it was a good fit. After all, a goblin who worked in a job they hated was likely to grow bitter, and bitter goblins were more likely to make mistakes.
It went unsaid that bitter goblins were more likely to accept bribes or bend rules - crimes that could impact treaties, if severe enough.
"I was not planning on a formal apprenticeship, father," Spellforged replied, carefully.
Ragnok gave him a toothy grin. "Oh, I know that. But it is a milestone that every young goblin must follow nonetheless. A rite of passage, if you will."
"That's true," Spellforged allowed. "So, what happened to our conversation after I got off the train?"
Ragnok's smile faded a little. "I don't know what you are talking about."
Now Spellforged grinned. "I seem to recall being told that you were worried that I had grown up too fast, that I was not spending an adequate amount of time being a young wizard."
Ragnok took a bite of his dinner, saying nothing.
"So, as part of your plan to get me to relax and be a kid for the summer, you're having me put in a day's worth of unpaid labor?"
The Director sat up straight at that, anger in his features. "Who said anything about unpaid labor?"
"What?" was the response form Spellforged.
"Our children are one of our most precious resources, my son," Ragnok intoned, as if quoting from a speech. "We pay them their due, always."
Then, the old goblin leaned toward Spellforged, the toothy grin having returned to his features. "But you'll have to earn every knut."
Spellforged shivered at the chill that ran down his spine.
oOoOoOoOo
6:00 am
/Welcome, Mister Spellforged,/ began Foecleaver, as his apprentice sat down at the desk. The floor of the bank was almost entirely empty of customers, leaving most of the tellers and managers to catch up on parchment work as they prepared for the day.
/You're enjoying this, aren't you?/ grumbled Spellforged, even as a hint of a smile played across his features.
/Let it be said that I've been looking forward to your trial day since I became one of your teachers, young sir./
Spellforged rolled his eyes. /I'm sure you have,/ he said.
/Just so,/ agreed Foecleaver. He slid a stack of leatherbound books toward Spellforged's end of the desk. /Today, we begin with statements./
"Of course we do," muttered Spellforged, as he began to lay out his parchment and enchanted quill.
oOoOoOoOo
7:30 am
A young teller came up to them just as Spellforged was finishing with the day's statements.
/Honored Manager,/ he began. /A customer requires your assistance./
Spellforged and Foecleaver both looked in the direction indicated, and saw an elderly witch waiting impatiently. Foecleaver seemed to deflate a little when he recognized who exactly it was.
/Go retrieve the Robinson ledger, Harry,/ instructed Foecleaver. /Lord Robinson has been indiscreet again./
As Foecleaver walked over to the counter, Spellforged moved toward the back offices, eager to avoid what would clearly be an uncomfortable conversation.
oOoOoOoOo
8:15 am
Lady Robinson had been livid that galleons from her family's estate had been used to pay for "those women," despite all assurances from her Lord husband that he had stopped seeing his mistresses altogether.
Foecleaver had hoped that sending Spellforged off to gather records would spare him the brunt of the discussion, but every time he returned Lady Robinson decided that she had to repeat every complaint she had made, whether they involved the bank or not.
Eventually, she was convinced - more by the guards than by Foecleaver - that her complaints were best reserved for her husband. Before she left, however, she did make a point of telling Spellforged that he was a nice boy, and a good listener.
/You did well, Harry,/ said Foecleaver.
/Did she realize that I'm almost thirteen?/ Spellforged replied. Part of him wondered if anything would top this level of awkwardness.
His discomfort had bled through the link enough to get Chaser's attention. His response, when Spellforged explained the incident, was a resounding Ewww.
Before Foecleaver could reply, a witch approached their desk. The witch was the same height as Spellforged, with curly black hair and dark skin. As Spellforged looked up at her, he caught a glance from her brown eyes, and got an impression of sadness and determination mixed together. Her robes were a dark fabric with light purple accents, and there was something about that shade of purple that seemed familiar to Spellforged, though he could not place it.
Once she was standing before them, she waited to be addressed. In terms of Goblin culture, it was a polite gesture, for it allowed the goblin to satisfy himself that she was not an overt threat. After that first glance, she ignored Spellforged to focus on the more senior member of the bank's staff, facing herself toward Foecleaver.
"May I be of assistance, Madam?" Foecleaver asked.
"My husband is missing," she said, with a weariness that described how very many times she had spoken that phrase. "I need the aid of Gringott's to find him."
"Indeed?" said Foecleaver, one eyebrow raised. "Such matters are usually the province of the DMLE, or so I am told."
"The Ministry refuses to do anything," she replied, bitterly. "His employer told me merely that he decided to take an extended sabbatical, and that he would be in touch."
"I see. And has he responded to your letters?"
"Owls sent to him go to his employer, who returns them." She shook her head. "No one will tell me anything, and I have no other options, sir." She sighed heavily. "I need help."
Foecleaver considered her for a moment, as if debating her request. Presently, he gestured toward Spellforged. "Mister Spellforged will take you to a meeting room, where someone will come to discuss the matter with you. I cannot promise anything, but they will at least listen."
The witch seemed to sag in relief - and Spellforged again got the impression that she had run up against more than one dead end in her search. "Thank you, Master Goblin."
The goblin shook his head. "Nonsense. How can we know how to answer you if we do not know the question?" At that, he nodded to Spellforged, who stood.
"This way, Madam," he said, indicating a door against the far wall. The woman nodded to him, and they began to cross the bank floor.
"You're awful young to work for the bank, aren't you?" she asked, clearly uncomfortable with the silence between them.
Spellforged allowed himself a smile and a nod. "My situation is somewhat unique, actually."
"Oh? How so?" As she spoke, Spellforged detected a slight German accent blended with her impeccable English one.
"My name is Harry Spellforged, Madam," he said, with some amusement that he had not been recognized. That was new.
"Harry Potter," she replied, quietly. "I see." He glanced back at her, but saw that she seemed content to drop the topic, and so he dropped the matter.
When the arrived at a meeting room, Spellforged opened the door and led the witch in. It was a smaller version of an account manager's office, set up for clients without assigned managers, or for other matters. This, he thought, would be one of those other matters.
"Please, wait here, and a manager will be with you shortly." Spellforged said, politely.
"Of course," was the quiet reply.
Spellforged stopped himself before leaving, and turned back to the room. "Please pardon me, Madam, but I'm afraid I did not catch the name of you or your husband." Off her surprise, he continued. "It might make things easier if we can start pulling records while you wait."
"I see," she said. The witch turned to him, and he saw that her eyes were watering. "My husband's name is Quirinus. Quirinus Quirrell."
Spellforged fought hard to keep the look of shock from his face. He had not known that the Professor had been married. "And your name, Madam?"
"My name is Alexandria Quirrell, lad. Alexandria Quirrell nee Ketterhagen."
oOoOoOoOo
9:00 am
Chaser, as was typical, cut through the confusion.
So, let me get this straight, he began. Professor Knight in my world is a tall, pale woman with short, white hair, whose husband was killed in South America during the seventies. There, she is a short, black woman who isn't even a professor, but she happens to be married to Quirrell?
That's about it, replied Spellforged. Do you know your professor's maiden name?
No, admitted Chaser. Not a real great way to ask that, you see.
Understandable, said Spellforged.
What does she do? Asked Chaser.
When she's not searching for her husband? She writes history books for the German Ministry.
Merlin, sighed Chaser. What a mess.
Yeah, agreed Spellforged. How do I tell her that I'm probably the last person to see her husband alive, other than Headmaster Dumbledore?
And notice that your Headmaster has been avoiding her letters, said Chaser. Do you know what happened after you captured Quirrellmort?
Other than the fact that Father was angry that I was involved at all? No idea. Spellforged paused, thinking back over that day. You know, I thought the Headmaster would have handled it, but now I wonder.
Your Father… Chaser's voice trailed off. Oh, did Quirrell rob the bank there as well?
He did, replied Spellforged. And that's another complication, despite the fact that he didn't actually steal anything.
Merlin, Chaser said again. So what do you do?
Me? Absolutely nothing, Spellforged said, with no small measure of relief. We're going to let a foreign accounts manager speak with her, while we summon the Headmaster. If he gives us the same runaround as her, then I'll have Father casually mention that she was talking to me earlier.
If he's anything like the Headmistress, that will get him here quicker than anything, I would think, said Chaser.
One can only hope, Spellforged agreed. Rolling up the statement he had just completed, he set it to the side, before preparing the next ledger.
oOoOoOoOo
10:00 am
Foecleaver was speaking with an annoyed member of the Wizengamot when John Davidson walked into Gringott's with his daughter. They looked around in awe at the cavernous space of the bank floor, By this point in the morning, the lines were beginning to grow, and the atmosphere could only be called chaotic.
Spellforged had seen wide eyes like those of the little girl before - on some of the more nervous first years at Hogwarts. The father's suit was entirely muggle, and suggested a businessman taking the morning off to purchase supplies for his daughter. The letter clutched in the girl's hand confirmed it - this was a muggleborn, taking her first steps into their world, alongside her father who would do anything for her, however nervous it made him.
Seeing that it would be a while before either a teller or Foecleaver were available, Spellforged walked over. "Good morning, can I be of assistance?"
The man looked over, and seemed to be surprised at the question. "The professor said that we needed to speak with the goblins," he stated, nervously.
"Then you've come to the right place. This is Gringott's, the Wizarding Bank." He gestured at the room, as if indicating the whole establishment. "Welcome to the London branch."
"Thank you," the man said, still looking around. "And we have to get your approval to buy supplies, then?"
Spellforged smiled. "Not exactly. Come, have a seat, I'll explain everything."
As they walked over to the desk, Spellforged learned that the man was named John Davidson, and that his daughter was named Jasmine. John worked in logistics, and owned a small trucking company that delivered goods in the west country. He had been as surprised as his wife when an owl delivered a letter for Jasmine - and even more surprised when he learned what that letter said.
Jasmine said little, but the look of wonder in her eyes was infectious.
After a few minutes of small talk, Spellforged explained how the money system worked in wizarding world, as compared to non-magical society. "Think of Wizarding Britain as if it were a foreign country," he said. "You're going to have different customs and traditions, just as any other country would. And," he continued, holding up a galleon. "You'll also have different currency."
"So there's an exchange rate against the pound?" asked John.
"Yes, but it's stable within about three percent, in either direction," Spellforged replied. "Much less volatile than the international markets, we've found."
"I see," John replied, though he still seemed unsure. "So, do we exchange pounds with one of the tellers over there?" He indicated the lengthening lines in front of the counters.
"Usually, yes, but I can go ahead and take care of you here, if you'd prefer," replied Spellforged. He took out a small wooden tray and set it on top of a strip of parchment. "Go ahead and place any bills you'd like to exchange in the tray, please."
"How much do I need?" John asked, as he reached for his billfold.
"This year will be a bit more expensive, since it's Jasmine's first. But, many of the items you buy today will be useful for all seven years, like her wand for example. Gringott's usually suggests budgeting around one hundred galleons, as that will leave some extra if Jasmine needs anything at school." As Spellforged spoke, he took a quill and wrote a figure in goblin numerals on the parchment. With a soft glow, numbers appeared next to his writing, showing the equivalent amount in pounds.
"Wow," said Jasmine.
"Magic," agreed Spellforged.
John, meanwhile, seemed to relax a bit at seeing such a simple bit of magic. As he counted out bills, he glanced at the parchment. "Does the magical bank always use parchment to calculate transactions like this?"
"No, actually," said Spellforged. "I just thought it might be simpler than rattling off the number from the top of my head." Jasmine's giggle drew a smile from both wizard and muggle alike.
By the time John had placed the currency in the tray, a runner had arrived with a small sack of galleons, sickles, and knuts. Spellforged explained the differences, and that there were so many sickles to a galleon, and so many knuts to a sickle. When the inevitable question came, he shrugged and said that it had been decided centuries ago to do it that way, and no one wanted to change it.
"It seems silly," commented Jasmine.
"I think you'll find, Miss Davidson, that many things about the Wizarding World are fairly silly. But you get used to it after a while."
Mister Davidson had several more questions after that. No, he did not need to set up an account with the bank, but Jasmine might want to do so as she got older. Yes, he could give the bank one of his business cards, even though most of the bank's transportation needs were handled magically. No, the bank did not close, though some services were only available during the daytime.
It was the last question that amused Spellforged. "No, Gringott's does not offer a purchasing card or a credit card like non-magical banks might," he said. "Those are usually linked by computers, and we don't have any - so there would be no way to link such a card with an account. There are magical alternatives that work for large purchases, but not in the non-magical world."
John shrugged. "No problem, figured it was worth asking."
Spellforged waved off the concern. "You'd be amazed how often we get that question, actually. Don't worry about it."
Jasmine's patience seemed to have run out at that point, and her father could tell. Rising, the older man thanked Spellforged for his time. "You seem young to be working at a bank," remarked John.
Spellforged had wondered how long it would take before that came up. Before he could speak, he heard the voice of Foecleaver behind him.
"Mister Spellforged had the good fortune to be adopted by two employees of this establishment, and has chosen to work toward an apprenticeship among our ranks." The senior manager nodded toward the Davidsons. "I trust he has performed his duties adequately?"
"He was very nice," agreed Jasmine. John raised an eyebrow at the comment, as did Spellforged.
Foecleaver let out a bark of laughter. "High praise, indeed, Miss Davidson. I shall make a note of it." He turned to Spellforged. "I trust you will make yourself available to Miss Davidson once you return to Hogwarts, should she have need, Mister Spellforged?"
He grinned. "Of course, Senior Accounts Manager." He gave Foecleaver an exaggerated bow, earning another giggle from Jasmine.
oOoOoOoOo
11:15 am
"Please take this wizard to Steelclaw's office, Apprentice."
Looking up from his parchments, Spellforged saw a tall wizard standing before him. His robes were rumpled and well-worn, but serviceable. His scarred face seemed tired and weary, for reasons Spellforged could not identify.
He glanced over at Foecleaver, who seemed to have a slight grin, as if he were laughing at a private joke. When the goblin saw Spellforged's look, he waved a hand toward the back offices. "Off you go, time is money!"
"Of course," answered Spellforged, standing. "Please follow me, sir."
The wizard seemed content to follow Spellforged quietly, not making conversation as they walked. He seemed distracted, and Spellforged wondered if he had made the appointment for himself, or been summoned.
Come to think of it, why was this particular wizard meeting with Steelclaw? There were only a few surviving members of the Black family, and this wizard was not among them.
Arriving at the Black Accounts Manager's office, Spellforged knocked three times.
/Come!/ was the response. Spellforged opened the door, and found Steelclaw sitting at his desk - across from Sirius Black.
The goblin shared a glance with Sirius, before grinning at Spellforged. /Thank you, Junior Apprentice Spellforged./ Steelclaw's voice was filled with amusement.
Before Spellforged could answer him, he heard a gasp from the doorway.
"Padfoot?" the wizard said, in a shaking voice.
Sirius was standing, now. "Hello, Moony," answered Sirius.
Spellforged stepped out of the way, as the tall wizard almost stumbled toward Sirius. The two men hugged, and it almost sounded like Moony was on the edge of tears.
"Padfoot," he said quietly.
"It's me." was the reply.
Chaser, Spellforged asked across the link.
It was Seeker who responded first, however. If you catch him while he's flying again, Spellforged, he's going to be annoyed.
I can walk and eat a sugar quill at the same time, thank you very much, Chaser answered.
As can we all, replied Spellforged. Listen, you talk sometimes about one of your father's friends, an Uncle Moony?
Yes, he and Padfoot and dad were friends during school. Spellforged noticed the omission of the fourth member of their group, the betrayer Pettigrew. Why?
He just came to meet with Steelclaw and Sirius, said Spellforged. What is his name?
Chaser's voice was worried, even over the link. Remus Lupin. Here, he runs a distillery for the Potter family. He paused, considering the question. Sirius has been out for a year now, more than that. Why is he just now coming back?
Maybe he was overseas? As usual, none of them had known Rose was listening in.
I'll ask. If he was friends with our parents… Spellforged's voice trailed off.
Yeah, agreed Seeker. We should ask Sirius what happened.
Wizarding Britain isn't a great place for a werewolf to find work these days. He could have gone anywhere.
Chaser's nonchalant mention of Lupin's status as a werewolf gave everyone pause, before Rose broke the silence.
Way to bury the lead, Chaser.
Oi, he sputtered.
Spellforged focused himself on the conversation in front of him, and picked up a quiet question from Sirius.
"Have you spoken with Dumbledore?"
Lupin shook his head. "I got the notice from Gringott's in Zurich, and came straight here."
Sirius shook his head, still smiling. "Ten years, Moony, so much has changed. Have you even seen the Prophet?"
"Of course not, they know how worthless that rag is on the continent."
Sirius glanced at Spellforged, and winked. Oh, no, Spellforged thought. Glancing over at Steelclaw, he saw that the goblin was already prepared for the prank.
"Then, you have no idea what happened to Harry?" Sirius asked, calmly.
Lupin's eyes grew wide. "What happened to Harry?" He seemed to tense up like a coiled spring, ready to rush out of the office and start searching.
Sirius chuckled to himself. "Why don't you ask him?"
The comment took a moment to sink in, but when it did Lupin's eyes narrowed. Then, he slowly turned toward the door, where Spellforged remained standing.
"Good morning, Mister Lupin," Spellforged said. "I'm Harry, pleased to meet you."
Lupin was completely stunned. "You, but…"
"His adoptive parents raised him right, I think. They've turned him into a proper Goblin, they have." Sirius was fighting his laughter, now.
Turning his head from Spellforged to Sirius, and back, Lupin didn't know what to say. He managed a stuttering "P-Parents?" before looking to Spellforged.
With a grin, Spellforged nodded. "My adoptive father is Director Ragnok of the Clan Ragnok, Mister Lupin."
Lupin turned back to Sirius. "The Goblin King?" he asked, weakly.
Now, Sirius burst into laughter. "Got to admit, it's a hell of a prank, right Moony?"
oOoOoOoOo
12:45 pm
Spellforged enjoyed lunch in Steelclaw's office, as it was a chance to catch up with his newfound Uncle Moony. Apparently, he had left Britain in 1982, when the Wizengamot made noises about rounding up the werewolves. While the effort amounted to nothing, it did make people like Remus quite wary about returning.
With the assurance of the Headmaster that Harry was safe, and knowing that his only other living friend was a convicted murderer, Lupin had little reason to stay.
As he walked back to the bank floor, Spellforged listened to the discussion across the link. It was lively.
Seeker wished that Lupin had sought him out at some point, as did Marigold. The unspoken reasoning was that it would have gotten them away from the Dursleys that much quicker. Rose, for her part, noted that there was no world in which the Ministry would have allowed a werewolf to adopt any child, let alone the child-who-lived. Certainly not under Minister Bagnold, she remarked.
It was a fair point, made stronger by the fact that none of the other four could really speak intelligently about the Bagnold administration. When Seeker pointed that out, the others could almost sense her smirk over the link.
It's remarkable what one overhears in the snake's den, the Slytherin remarked.
Spellforged was shaken from his thoughts when a goblin ran into him in the corridor, shoving him into the wall as they passed. It was more than a bump - the goblin had shoved him in the small of the back.
/Out of the way, wand waver!/ the goblin shouted over his shoulder. Spellforged had not gotten a good look at the goblin, other than to note the runner's outfit he wore, but the voice was good enough. It had been Slantedge, the nephew of Knifeclaw, accounts manager for the Malfoys.
Clearly, Slantedge had not earned his way to a spot as a teller, if he was still a runner. By this point, most goblins their age had either moved on to the teller counters, or had become apprentices to one of the managers, healers, or artisans in the caverns below. That he still held a junior position told Spellforged that Slantedge still had an anger problem.
It could also have something to do with the duel they had fought, two years ago. Slantedge had loudly taunted Spellforged when his Hogwarts letter came, eventually demanding combat. Spellforged had proceeded to defeat him easily, something that the goblin had never forgiven.
By long custom, no one would expect Ragnok to retaliate - the honor duel had satisfied any claims there might be. But nothing stopped the managers from taking Slantedge's actions into account when reviewing his readiness for advancement.
Spellforged shook his head, smiling to himself. Slantedge and Draco Malfoy were more alike than either would want to admit.
oOoOoOoOo
1:15 pm
"Ah, Harry my boy, I trust you are enjoying your summer?"
Spellforged looked up to see Headmaster Dumbledore standing at his desk, smiling down on him. With a glance to Foecleaver, who nodded, Spellforged stood up.
"So far, Headmaster. And how are you today?"
Dumbledore's smile faded. "I was having a fascinating discussion about the latest Cannons match with Professor Sinestra, when I received a summons to Gringott's."
"Yes, I imagine that came as a surprise," said Spellforged. "Please, follow me, Headmaster."
When the two wizards entered the back corridors, Spellforged explained the reasoning for the summons. Dumbledore paled when he learned that Professor Quirrell's wife was at the bank.
"She says that owls sent to her husband go to the school, Headmaster," Spellforged continued. "I know it's not my place to ask, but…"
"I understand, Mister Spellforged," said Dumbledore, all trace of his good humor having vanished. "Professor Quirrell remains in custody, pending the removal of the parasite." He looked over at Spellforged as they walked. "It was a good suggestion, Harry."
Don't put this on me, Headmaster, Spellforged thought. I didn't bait the Dark Lord in a school, after all.
But that thought brought another, much more unwelcome one, and Spellforged had to ask the question.
"Headmaster, could it be that his wife knew about Voldemort?"
Dumbledore paused, as if in thought, before giving Spellforged a grave look. "Madam Quirrell has a remarkably low tolerance for dark magic, Harry. I very much doubt she would have approved of anything like what we found when Quirrell was apprehended."
Spellforged nodded at that. Something in what the Headmaster had said, however, reminded him of something Chaser had mentioned earlier. Figuring that he would have no better shot at asking such a question, Spellforged took his chance.
"Did you know her parents, then, sir? You speak as if you did."
"I did indeed, Harry. Her father was a wizard named Rickard Ketterhagen, and he taught History at Durmstrang in the 1930's. When Grindelwald began recruiting in that part of Europe, Rickard very publicly rejected him - forcing him to flee. He moved to Germany, but then the muggle war forced him to leave that country as well. He found himself in North Africa, working with the Allies as a healer. He met his wife there, and moved back to Germany with her after both wars had ended." Dumbledore's eyes got a faraway look, as the memories came to him. "Rickard was many things, Harry, but tolerant of the Dark Arts he was not. I daresay his daughter would feel much the same."
"I see," said Harry. In the Headmaster's description, he could hear the elements of Professor Knight in the tale of the man who had to be her father. Perhaps, in Chaser's world, the man had stayed in Europe, and found a very different bride?
Before Spellforged could say anything further, they arrived at the meeting room. "Do you want me to attend this meeting as well, Headmaster?" The unspoken request was obvious - Do you want me to admit to being one of the last people to see Quirinus Quirrell?
To Spellforged's relief, Dumbledore shook his head. "That will not be necessary, Mister Spellforged. Thank you."
Spellforged nodded in acknowledgement, as was proper for an apprentice. Then, he knocked on the door, and watched as Dumbledore entered.
It was a very quiet Harry Spellforged who returned to the bank floor.
oOoOoOoOo
3:30 pm
Foecleaver had had a brief meeting at 3pm with a wizard who expected to upgrade the security on their vault. Unfortunately for them, the business feeding galleons into the vault had come under DMLE scrutiny, and its assets had been frozen pending an investigation.
The meeting had been brief because the wizard decided that drawing his wand was the best way to resolve the conflict. Spellforged had been returning from an errand, and watched the wizard reach into his robes, pulling out his wand and aiming it at Foecleaver.
Spellforged was carrying his knife, as every goblin must, but it was under his robes. He was not carrying his wand, for he could not use magic outside of school. Not officially, at any rate - and even in the Alley and on the bank floor, the Boy-Who-Lived using his wand in Gringott's would certainly cause talk. He might not get a letter from the Ministry, but it was a sure bet that he would get a visit from the DMLE - and that said nothing about the talking to he'd receive from the Director after everything was said and done.
What Spellforged was carrying, however, was plenty. The small sack of galleons in his hand was only about a third full, with maybe fifty galleons - if that. It will do, he thought, as he stepped to the side to get a clearer shot.
As the wizard angrily shouted at Foecleaver, a sack of galleons struck him in the side of the head. Shocked, he dropped his wand, his hands going to his face as he screeched in pain. That was all the time the guards needed to reach the desk, polearms in hand and ready. One brought the flat of his axe against the backs of the wizard's knees, dropping him easily. The other brought his wrists together at the small of the wizard's back, before affixing steel cuffs to the prisoner.
The whole fight took about fifteen seconds. To Spellforged's surprise, several witches and wizards still in line clapped at the spectacle.
Foecleaver sighed, shaking his head. "Mister Jugson, your wisdom is outstripped only by your wealth, more's the pity." The guards shared a look of amusement at the insult, knowing as they did that the man acted as he had because he was broke. With a nod, the guards dragged the wizard away.
With a sigh, Foecleaver closed the now unneeded ledger, handing it to Spellforged. /Why don't you take this back to my office, Harry, and then take a break. You've certainly earned one./
/Of course, thank you,/ replied Spellforged.
/No, Mister Spellforged, thank you./
The trouble started in the back hallways. The quickest path to Foecleaver's office was blocked by two arguing goblins, both runners. Rolling his eyes, Spellforged took another route, only this time he was blocked by one of the bulky carts used to retrieve larger artifacts or trunks from vaults.
One is an accident, Spellforged thought to himself. Twice is a coincidence. He turned another corner, and stopped. Three times is enemy action.
Standing before him was Slantedge and two other goblins, all with blades in hand. Spellforged could not name the two hangers-on, though he recognized them from the goblin lessons of his youth. The resemblance to Crabbe and Goyle came to mind, and Spellforged could not help but smirk.
/Do we amuse you, wand waver?/ spat Slantedge. /Is there something funny about the simple little creatures you find yourself stealing from?/
/Your words are stale, Slantedge,/ replied Spellforged. /These are old arguments, and you know it. The Director accepts me, the Clans accept me, and our shieldmates accepted me./ He tilted his head, wondering what brought this on. /Every goblin our age came to deal with me as one warrior to another years ago. All except you, Slantedge of Clan Knifeclaw./
Slantedge pointed his knife at Spellforged, who had yet to draw his own weapon. /You have no place here! How dare you think you can be one of us? You disgrace yourself in our own tongue, even though the words do not fit in your mouth!/
Spellforged took a half step back, shifting his stance and letting his robes fall open, allowing him access to the knife on his belt. Slantedge saw the move, and nearly lost his mind.
/Draw your stick, coward - the first spell you cast will be the end of you, as it should have been long ago!/ Slantedge was almost shrieking now, and Spellforged wondered why no one had noticed the confrontation. Of course, it was likely that this location had been chosen for a reason.
/I need no wand to deal with you, Slantedge,/ said Spellforged, his voice calmer than he felt. His hand went to the knife, only to find that it was stuck in its sheath.
The grin on Slantedge's face was savage. /You don't deserve a Goblin weapon, boy./ So, something had been done to his knife. Spellforged's eyes grew wider as he remembered their encounter that afternoon, when Slantedge had shoved him.
"Shit," Spellforged remarked. With a bark of laughter, Slantedge waved his bookends forward.
Sliding into a fighting stance, Spellforged looked around the corridor for anything that might be useful. All he had was the ledger, and maybe a galleon or three in pocket change. Against that, he faced three blades.
The goblin on the left stepped forward, his knife arm extended. Bad form, thought Spellforged, as he stepped toward the goblin. In a fight, goblin techniques relied on movement to close the distance to your opponent - but by extending his knife arm, this one allowed Spellforged to close that distance before he was ready.
Spellforged grasped the goblin's left wrist in one hand and struck the elbow with the other. With a yelp, the goblin let go of the knife. Another strike to the elbow, and the goblin fell down, cradling his injured arm.
"One," he said, simply, as he turned to the other bookend. With a shout, the goblin stepped forward, swinging his knife in front of him.
The quickest thing Spellforged could do would be to withdraw, but then who would teach Slantedge another lesson? Inverting the stolen knife, Spellforged sent it flying toward the attacker.
This goblin had the good sense to duck, even though the knife would not have hit him. When he straightened up, Spellforged was already on him, giving him the same treatment as his mate. Two elbow strikes and a kick to the knee, and down he went.
As he rotated out of his kick, Spellforged felt a pain in his thigh. Slantedge had apparently decided to throw his knife at his opponent. The knife had struck only a glancing blow, but it hurt.
More importantly, it surprised Spellforged - though it should not have. When he focused on Slantedge, he saw that the goblin was fleeing down the corridor.
Checking his leg again, his hand came away bloodied. Spellforged sighed, looking at the two whimpering goblins at his feet.
/Groznak,/ he muttered.
oOoOoOoOo
4:00 pm
Healing Spellforged's wound was the work of moments. The healer spent much longer checking the area for any cuts he might have missed in the confusion of battle.
Spellforged suspected that they just wanted to keep him in the healer's wing long enough for his father to arrive. When he heard the door open, however, it was not Director Ragnok who told the healers to leave him to rest.
Spellforged sat up straighter in the bed, giving as deep a nod as he could to the newcomer, for it was only proper to show respect to the Elders of the Goblin Nation.
"Lady Eridani," he began. "My apologies, I would stand, but…"
The Elder smiled at him, and shook her head. "Nonsense, Mister Spellforged, you know I prefer to be informal. Besides, you are still recovering."
Spellforged did not roll his eyes at that, but it was a narrow thing. "I was told that the wound was easily healed."
"True, but you have to gather your strength even so, Harry," she said with a smile. "Your father was arguing with Knifeclaw when I came down here."
"Good," replied Spellforged. "The little bugger ambushed me."
"So he did," she agreed. "And you managed to escape with but a scratch."
"I still expect Father to schedule additional training, before I return to school." Spellforged did not relish the idea of Ragnok learning exactly where he had been cut.
His eyes grew wide as he realized who else would know what had happened. The others would definitely have felt something when the knife struck, just as they had years before. Can't wait to explain that, he thought.
"Perhaps that is for the best," Eridani remarked, amusement in her features.
Desperate for a change of subject, Spellforged nodded toward the roll of parchment she had been carrying. "What project has captured your interest today, Madam Elder?"
"Translations, as always, Mister Spellforged," she said with a smile at his cheek. "Why do you think I'm speaking in English with you?"
Spellforged managed to shrug. "Practice?"
"Just so," she agreed, happily. She unrolled the sheet of parchment and placed it in his lap. "These are phrases from a prophecy, but we've never been able to translate them. We have a copy of the seer's words in an old runic language, but there is no way to correlate the two. All we know is that several words are titles, and that they all begin with the same rune."
Spellforged looked at the sheet, and then up at Eridani. "I beg your pardon, Elder, but I did not lose that much blood."
Eridani's face fell. "What are you implying, exactly?"
Spellforged laid the sheet down, and ran his finger down the page. "Wands, Seven, Seventh, Blade, Sevenfold, Death, Bastion, Visit, Bowman, and so on. Simple." He looked up at her. "What language did you think this was, Madam Elder?"
The look of shock on Eridani's face was replaced with a grin. "Look again, Harry."
He looked down at the parchment, and gasped. He had not even noticed the magic washing over him, but now that he examined the words closely, he could see it. The script was unmistakable, once you knew what it was. He had seen it before, months ago, etched in stone deep beneath Hogwarts, after all. Rose had seen it etched into the famed Blade of Slytherin.
And, from the looks of it, the Goblin Nation had a prophecy in it.
/It's parselscript. Slytherin's gift./ Spellforged's voice was barely a whisper, as his eyes met Eridani's. /This prophecy is in the language of serpents./
A/N: This was not originally slated to be the next chapter, but once the idea came to me I had little choice. As with much that has come before, the characters sometimes write themselves. I also have a guest reviewer who took issue with the intolerable lack of Remus Lupin in the fic to date - a problem I am all too eager to correct.
Rarely do we see the famous "Potter Luck" extend to Harry's summer job, but here we are. Spellforged has grown up among both the Goblin Nation (who grow up a little faster than humans, as evidenced by Harry's peers settling into careers) and the Sullivans (consummate professionals at the top of their respective fields), not to mention the Director himself. So, as we've noted before, Spellforged seems a bit more mature than the others in his year. He's aware of it, but he's by nature a workaholic - getting him to relax will be a bit of a task.
I'm going to have to write an omake of Knifeclaw and Lucius Malfoy complaining about their sons, aren't I?
Thank you again to all who read and review - especially the guests who discover this story and come at it with fresh eyes and an enthusiasm I can't help but love.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
