Arlan nickered happily as he moved the soft-bristled brush along that one spot that the large stallion loved to have brushed. Sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if he were doomed to be surrounded by animals that loved to be fussed and pampered.

He had spent the better part of the afternoon seeing to his large companion, making sure to brush Arlan down himself, see to his hooves, and condition his coat. The stables of Blackwall were certainly large enough to house the proud horse, and gave Harry plenty of room to work in, but sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if Arlan got lonely.

It had been four days since his return from Hogwarts, and two days since the last Wizengamot meeting – he had spent a little bit of time each day with Arlan, brushing him down, and, likely to his own detriment, fussing over him. It had been something that he had missed during his time at Hogwarts; that quiet, unspoken conversation between the two of them – between horse and rider.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the tumultuous year that had made him finally notice, but as he'd entered the large stables, he'd noticed for the first time just how empty it all was. No doubt, there was a time when it would have been full to capacity, with stallions and mares of all sorts of colours and patterns poking their heads out and making noise.

Now, it was just he and Arlan, a boy and his horse.

He had taken him out for a quick ride earlier in the day, and he'd loved the feeling of being in the saddle once again, of feeling the reins in his hands, and the muscles of the horse beneath him as they galloped along the trails of the grounds.

They had ridden for only an hour, making it down to a small stream in a little wooded area on the far side of Remus's bunker – it had everything for Arlan; a large, open area that he could get up to full speed, and then a winding path that meandered through the trees once they were beyond the treeline. Harry had laughed and hollered throughout the entire gallop, urging Arlan ever faster. Afterwards, when they had stopped, he had patted the side of his steed's neck as Arlan drank deeply from the shallow stream and nibbled at clumps of moss and clover.

In the grand scheme of things, it hadn't been a lot of exercise for the horse, but it had allowed him to work up a sweat and stretch his legs. Arlan had been so covered in dirt afterwards, that he'd almost looked like another horse. The weather had been dry, thankfully, and so at the very least it wasn't mud.

Arlan, however, had taken every opportunity to cover Harry in as much of the dust and grime that coated him as possible, shoving up against him playfully, but always mindful not to put all of his weight behind it. Harry would grin and pat the horse, and gently shove him back, and so the routine would continue.

He wiped at his forehead with the back of his wrist, watching the creature before him warily – it wouldn't have been the first time in the day when the horse would get playful when he was distracted. The first had resulted in Harry tripping over a stool and landing in a pile of dried hay.

Harry approached Arlan's head, cupping it gently with his hands as he scratched him under the chin affectionately, whispering soft words of encouragement as he stared into the large, black eyes. Arlan bobbed his head up and down, his thick, leathery lips trailing over his tunic while his large nostrils blew air at him. He laughed, and placed a soft kiss to his forehead, wrinkling his nose as the short, coarse hair tickled his nose.

A noise behind him made him turn, and Arlan's nose breathed on his neck playfully. Standing there, in the wide entrance to the stable, was Susan – her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she was clothed in a casual summer dress; it was Egyptian blue and ended just below the knees, a pair of dark, open toed sandals were on her feet. He eyed them dubiously.

"You might want something more than those if you're coming in here." He said, pointing to her feet. "There's all sorts in here – straw, dirt, little pebbles. Wouldn't want you ruining them."

"Oh, sorry – I just came to see what you were doing." Susan replied quietly, fiddling with her fingers absently. "I can come back when you're not busy…"

"No, no, it's alright." He said as she began turning away. "Let me just get him in his stall and – woah!" He cried, jumping forward a bit as Arlan nipped at his loose hair. He patted the nape of his neck, running a hand through his tangled hair as he glared at the horse.

"Everything alright?" She asked, edging into the stables carefully.

"Oh, just fine – he just tried taking a mouthful of my hair, was all." Harry muttered, grasping the rope he'd tied around a nearby hook and leading the stallion to his spacious stall, all freshly cleaned out with a full trough of cool water and an oat feeder for him to nibble at until tomorrow.

Arlan trotted into the stall without a care in the world, and happily let him remove the rope and the halter, shaking his head quickly before nudging Harry's shoulder playfully. "Alright, alright, I'm leaving." He muttered, quickly making his way out of the stall, and bolting it locked.

He placed the halter over a nearby hook, near Arlan's dark saddle and the other assorted tack, before grabbing a nearby brush and quickly sweeping the worst of the detritus on the floor to the sides. The whole thing took only a few moments, but when there was a sufficiently clear space, he waved Susan in. "Sorry about that," He said as she stepped into the building properly. "But at least you won't have to worry about the worst of it now."

"I'm fairly used to it." She said, slowly. He watched as her brown eyes flickered around the interior of the squat building – her hands ran along the smooth wood that made up the empty stalls, and she breathed in deeply. "I've missed stables."

"Spent a lot of time in them?" He asked, continuing to sweep the floor around them. He could have used his wand, or his magic, but there was something supremely gratifying about going about the manual labour; the way his lower back would ache slightly, and the light beads of sweat he could feel trickling down the back of his neck to between his shoulders.

"With the Thestrals." She answered him, quickly picking up the metal bucket with the brushes in and moving it off to the side where he kept the others. "We have a small herd of them at The Ossuary."

"They're what pull the carriages at Hogwarts, right?"

"You can see them?" She gasped, blinking at him. "I'm sorry," She blushed, suddenly. "It was rude to ask."

"No, it's fine." He sighed, straightening, and leaning against the large brush. "I've always been able to see the ones at Hogwarts." He shrugged, picking at the leather grip on the handle absently.

"It's good to know that someone else can see them, at least." Susan said, after a pregnant pause. "They used to give me nightmares, but they're gentle once you get to know them – I like the young ones the best. They're so curious." She grinned.

"Aye, they're not pretty, I suppose. I thought I was going mad in first year." He scoffed, leaning on the tall beam behind him as he ran his fingers through his hair. It had been a warm July day, with barely a breeze to speak of, and the air felt hot and heavy; it was little wonder he was drenched in sweat.

"Not mad." Susan smiled cautiously. "Not yet; at least."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Not yet." He was quiet for a moment as his eyes flickered about Susan – he had seen her about the house a few times following their return from Hogwarts, and each time she had been polite, if a little shy and withdrawn – in fact, it was entirely possible that their current conversation was their longest one ever.

Being a Hufflepuff, Harry had never had much interaction with her outside of class, of course – they sat at different tables, knew different people, and the only real, substantial time he had spent with her previously had been the last summer when she had quietly joined him, Daphne, and Neville after the few Wizengamot sessions he had attended.

He knew truly little about her – in their first year, she had seemed just as in awe of him as the rest of their year had been and it hadn't sat well with him. He hated to say it, but she had disappeared into the crowd of faces, and he remembered almost nothing, not even from classes.

She had appeared here and there during the last year, though she'd remained with her own friends – Hannah Abbott, Earnest Macmillan, Michael Corner, and Lisa Turpin. With everything that had happened…

"I wanted to apologise." She said, biting on her bottom lip nervously. He cocked a brow and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "For everything this year, I mean. It wasn't very nice, and, well, you saved us all."

"You believed everything that was said." He sighed, scratching his jaw.

"I did." She nodded, licking her lips. "And I shouldn't have."

He was quiet for a moment as he chewed on his cheek absently. She shifted from foot to foot nervously under his gaze, until finally, he asked, "Are you apologising because you want to, or because of your chat with Amelia?"

"I want to." She said, immediately – her eyes didn't flicker, and nothing about her face changed. He peered at her curiously and reached out with his magic, brushing it politely against her own. She gasped as he did and blinked quickly for a moment before brushing against his own in return. She was like nothing he had ever felt before – she was warm, welcoming, and comforting, not unlike the feeling of a favourite warm blanket on a cold winter night. "I – I had no idea." She murmured, drawing his attention away from her magic. "Everyone at Hogwarts knows how strong you are, but to feel it…"

She stumbled and placed a steadying hand to the wall behind her as her fingertips came to her forehead – he flicked his fingers, and a stool darted across the room to rest just before her; she collapsed in it quickly, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Easy – you look a little lightheaded." He said from where he remained on the far side of the aisle. "Pretty sure everyone's reacted like you at some point or another."

"Even your friends?" She asked, a little colour returning to her cheeks as she took a shaky breath.

"Especially my friends – Tracey nearly spat her drink out of her nose when I first did it in first year." He grinned, remembering the moment fondly.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why-"

"Why did I reach out to you?" He asked, finishing her question for her. He shrugged. "I like to think our magic is a representation of us in our most basic form – it's all emotion; our needs and wants. You remember the lesson with Professor Reyne, right?" She nodded. "I'd have been a lot less accepting of your apology if I felt something I didn't like from your magic."

She blinked up at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times. "You accept my apology?"

He shrugged. "You're family, as far as I'm concerned – I'd always have forgiven you one way or another."

"I haven't had much family before. It's always just been me and Auntie Amelia – not many Bones' left." She murmured, wrapping her skirt around her knees as she stared at the floor.

"Even less Potters." He answered with a snort. "But Padfoot, Moony, Amelia, the Tonks' – even the Elves, they make a pretty good family."

"Sirius makes me laugh." She grinned, shyly. "I think that's why Auntie Amelia likes him so much."

"He's been good to me – I couldn't have asked for anyone better to have raised me." He said, smiling slightly. "They all have."

"I was sorry about Arcturus, you know." She said after a moment, as she looked at him. "I didn't know him very well, but…"

"I appreciate it." He sniffed, clearing his throat of the uncomfortable tightness that appeared suddenly. "It's still weird – him not being here."

"I got used to the quiet at home – it's a lot more lively here, and he was quite the man." Susan sighed, rubbing her palms on her legs for a moment. "If you, uh – if you'd ever like to talk about anything…"

"I appreciate the offer." He said quickly before he pushed himself off of the beam. He leaned the brush up against the wall before offering the girl his hand. "I'm sorry – I'm a bit filthy, but we should head back inside." He muttered, his eyes darting to the darkening sky; he'd lost track of the time. "It's a full moon tonight."

"Oh – of course." She said quickly, smiling kindly at him as she got to her feet – she leaned in a little closer as they meandered their way from the building. "You don't smell that bad – Hannah's dorm can smell worse if she's sprayed too much perfume."

He chuckled at that, recalling the foul smells of the boy's rooms he was connected to – there was a reason he always tried to go to the bathroom first thing in a morning. "I'll raise you a Seamus Finnegan and Ron Weasley."

She scrunched her nose out of the corner of his eye at that. "Ron's appetite is legendary even in Hufflepuff – how do you put up with it?"

"Quick hands." He shrugged. "Grab what you want quickly or sit nowhere near him. Either works, honestly."

"I don't know what I'd have done if he were in Hufflepuff, or, Gods forbid, I ended up in Gryffindor!" She cried as they reached the back door – he laughed as he opened it for her and allowed her through first.

"Nothing wrong with us Lions." He grinned.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and tapped her chin with a finger, her eyes twinkling as they made their way through the house. "Oh, I don't know – Longbottom is quite nice." She grinned wolfishly. Her voice lowered to a whisper, before she added. "Don't tell anyone, but Hannah thinks he's quite handsome."

Harry snorted as he paused at the bottom of the stairs – his room and a nice, warm shower called to him, as well as a fresh change of clothes. "I won't tell a soul." He swore. "Hannah's nice, from everything I've heard – it'd be a good match."

Susan shrugged non-committedly. "I don't know anything about a match, but Hogsmeade is coming up this year – I think she's more concerned about that. What about you – you're always surrounded by girls; anything Sirius should be worried about?" She asked, playfully, and Harry had to fight off the intense blush that he felt burning in his cheeks. "Aha! I knew it!"

"There's nothing to know." He stuttered, puffing his chest out indignantly. "Davis, Greengrass, and Hermione are my friends."

"Hermione?"

"Oh, piss off." He muttered, turning, and hurrying up the stairs, to Susan's giggles. When he reached the last step, he glanced over his shoulder and called, "If Sirius hears a word…"

With a smirk on her face, and her dark eyes looking up at him mischievously from the bottom of the staircase, Susan made a quick cross over her heart and rolled her eyes playfully.

He rolled his own in return and hurried the rest of the way to his bedroom, his mind already abuzz with the memories of his brown-eyed, bookish friend. They had spent so much time talking and catching up on all sorts of things after she had been revived that it was impossible not to think about her.

As he entered his room and palmed a set of clean clothes and a towel, Harry's fingers drifted over the place on his cheek where she had kissed him – it had been soft, quick, no more than a peck, really. Perhaps he had read far too much into it than was meant, but it had thrown him off kilter ever since.

It was as if she had electrified his entire body – his stomach would twist and tie itself in knots when she smiled at him, and he'd find himself seeking reasons to hold her hand or position himself so she could rest against him. She had always made him want to be better, but now, he found himself wanting to prove how much better he was – the trouble was, it was a little hard to top defeating a Basilisk.

As he stripped out of his filthy clothes, with more than a handful of pieces of straw coming loose in the process, and finally under the water, he couldn't help but recall the dozen or more times he'd tried to say something to her, only for his words to catch in his throat as she looked at him.

She would smile, and there were little things he hadn't noticed before that were suddenly glaringly obvious. Like how her tongue would push up against the back of her teeth when she grinned at him, or the way her shoulders would rise as her nose crinkled when she smiled.

It had left him scrambling – he'd thought of mentioning it to Neville, or Daphne, or Merlin forgive him, Tracey. He hadn't spoken to anyone; some small, private, part of him revelled in everything he was discovering about Hermione – it was like opening his favourite book, and finding a chapter he'd missed, or forgotten about.

He scrubbed at his scalp with the tips of his fingers, and nearly moaned aloud as he could feel the aches of the day melt away. Hermione had also been acting a little differently, in truth. She looked in his direction more, and, when they were alone, she would brush her magic against his own – she was like nothing he had ever felt before.

They had felt each other's magic before – they'd done so in class in first year; it had been one of the many exercises they completed in Introduction to Magic, but there was something about hers that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

She felt sturdy, solid, even – like a mountain standing against the most vicious gale. He'd told her as much, and he'd not been able to hide his amusement as he watched her try to work it out in her head – she'd thrown no less than four pillows at him.

He smiled as he rinsed the suds from his hair, pushing it off of his face as he gave it one last scrub under the warm, relaxing water. That had been their last night in the castle, before returning to London.

Already, the absence of not just Hermione, but the rest of his friends had left him stumbling – he was still so used to going down to the Great Hall, eating with them and hearing what each of them had to say. Blackwall was his home, but he found himself yearning for September to hurry up.

A knock on his door had him switching the shower off and summoning the towel to his outstretched hand. "Yes?"

"Harry – dinner is almost ready." Amelia called through the door.

"I'll be right there." He hollered back, rubbing his hair with the towel as he padded across the room – his filthy clothes were already gone, no doubt the work of Lispy, who had taken it upon herself to see to his every need like he was little again. It made his heart feel twice its normal size, having her look for any reason to fuss over him. He was the luckiest wizard alive.

He dressed quickly, throwing his clothes on – his wand lay in the holster that he'd peeled from his arm; it cleaned itself, which was something he was unimaginably delighted about – he'd have hated to have had that shower for nothing. A flick of his wrist, and a handful of simple charms later, and his hair was dry and neat.

He hurried from the room, making sure to place his used towel in the hamper outside his bathroom, and jogged down the stairs to the dining room. Sirius, Amelia, and Susan were already seated at the table, waiting for him, and Harry smiled sadly at the absence of Moony, no doubt locked securely in his bunker with enough meat to keep him satisfied during the night.

Harry slid into his usual chair and smiled at everyone – he sat opposite Susan, with Amelia opposite Sirius, who was on Harry's right. Within moments, plates of large, smoked salmon steaks with flakes of red chilli and half a dozen herbs sat on the table before him, with a generous helping of vegetables and a nice, creamy white sauce.

It smelled wonderful, and he could barely remember to mind his manners as he quickly loaded up a forkful and moaned as the flavours danced on his tongue – it was, frankly, divine. He looked around at the three pairs of eyes looking at him and felt himself blush. "Sorry." He muttered, swallowing his mouthful. "I was really hungry."

"Worked up an appetite with Arlan?" Sirius chuckled, nudging him with his elbow playfully. "Where did you go today?"

"You know the stream about twenty minutes behind Remus's bunker? Just there and back – I had to give him a full wash-down, though."

"I don't think I've ever seen a more handsome horse." Susan offered with a smile. "I went out to see Harry and caught him just as he was finishing up." She added, glancing between Sirius and Amelia, both adults with curious looks on their faces. "We talked."

"That's wonderful." Amelia smiled as she took a sip of her drink. "Talk about anything in particular?"

"Family." Harry answered, smiling as Sirius clapped him on the back proudly. Amelia beamed at him from across the table, and Susan smiled at him.

The four of them ate in silence after that, and not a word was spoken until the last clatter of cutlery on the plates rang out in the room, all of them leaning back in their chairs with content smiles on their faces. Despite everything, Harry felt his eyes grow heavy, despite the early hour, and stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand.

"I'm going to be ruined if I eat more meals as good as that." Sirius groaned, stretching, and running his hands through his hair, which, for a change, was loose. Harry chuckled quietly.

"What's better – here or Hogwarts?" He asked, looking up at the Marauder with a smirk.

"Oh, here – it's not even a competition." Sirius scoffed, resting his arms on the varnished table, and gently interlocking his fingers with Amelia's. "Couldn't ask for better food or company. Shame Moony's out tonight."

"He'll be back tomorrow." Amelia smiled sympathetically, just before a long, mournful howl could be heard from outside – it was barely audible, thanks to the closed windows and doors of the house, but it could be heard, nonetheless.

"Right – onto far more cheerful topics, I believe the two of you have some work to do tomorrow." Sirius said, waving a finger between himself and Susan. The two of them glanced at each other, confused.

"We do?" Susan asked, tipping her head to the side.

"Yep." Sirius said, popping the end of the word. "Harry, you've got a summons from Gringotts and the Dwarves – both are interested in that Basilisk of yours."

"But-" He tried, blinking.

"And you," Sirius said, interrupting his godson and looking pointedly at Susan. "Have a birthday to plan."


The underground carpark in the middle of Nottingham City Centre was a strange and new experience to Harry. He had been underground a number of times in his life, most notably in the last five years for various reasons – be they visiting the tombs and statues of his parents, surviving deadly obstacles by the skin of his teeth, or, in his latest experience, defeating a creature that had lived for a thousand years beneath his beloved school.

The air was frigid, and damp against his nose. The busy sounds of the streets outside, and the dull pitter patter of the rain the only accompaniment to the clicking of his and Sirius's heels along the concrete floor.

On the far side of the carpark, a car roared to life, its throaty engine impossibly loud within the darkened confines of the structure. The squealing of tyres made him wince, and he had to physically keep himself from clutching his ears at the sudden noise.

He glanced up at the low ceiling – it was one of the lowest ceilings he'd ever seen; so low was it, that Sirius could raise his arm above his head and not even stretch it fully to put his palm flat on the concrete. Everything was a dull grey colour, with bold, bright colours designating specific areas, and neat, white lines indicating bays for large, boxy cars.

The cars came in a variety of colours, from the boldest blue, to the richest reds – he even spotted one garishly yellow vehicle that made the backs of his eyes hurt with its brightness. All were empty and lifeless, content to sit there until their owners returned from whatever task they needed to accomplish in the busy Monday afternoon.

He remained glued to Sirius's side, striding along to their designated meeting place with his shoulders squared, and his chin held high – he'd never had official dealings with either species, of course – after all, he was still a minor, and hadn't come into his lands and titles yet.

The Goblins were the premiere bankers in their world – regardless of whatever happened at the end of this meeting, he would no doubt have dealings with them until the day he died. From his many lessons over the years, he knew the Goblins appreciated straightforwardness, honesty, and a sharp mind.

The Dwarves, in comparison, were far less intimidating – they kept to themselves, mostly; content to remain in their mountains, and underground cities and mines, creating wonderful items for trade with wizards and witches. Indeed, there were many Dwarven items within the Potter Vaults, at Rosestone, and at Arpton. Dwarves were a blunt people and bound by honour – there was a quote that often came to mind whenever he met a Dwarf; Be they friend or foe, none could cry woe when the Children of the Stone gave their word.

He'd been nervous all morning about the meeting – more-so on account of accidentally offending the Goblins, than the Dwarves. Goblins, while terrifying bankers, were notoriously easy to offend. That was the last thing he wanted.

Now, however, walking under the hanging lights that would flicker and die as they passed beneath them, Harry felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. He hesitated to make the comparison, but it wasn't lost on him that it was the same, morbid peace that had washed over him just before the fight with Ruhxu began.

"Relax." Sirius chuckled as they passed beneath another light, hiding them from everyone else in the carpark – it wasn't intentional, of course; magic simply didn't react well with Muggle electronics. "You look like you're walking to your death." He chuckled, as if reading his morbid, fatalist thoughts.

"It feels like I am – I'd rather not get beheaded for saying the wrong thing." He sniffed, adjusting the sleeve of his doublet beneath his dark cloak. Sirius was similarly dressed, as was befitting an official meeting with both the Goblins and Dwarves.

"They won't do a thing." Sirius continued chuckling, clapping him on the back gently. "You hold all of the cards in this meeting – they want what you have. If it helps, they know they won't get anywhere by killing you, no matter how much they want that snake."

"Oh, well, now I feel wonderful – thanks Padfoot." Harry sighed, rolling his eyes as they moved toward a darkened corner that seemed to swallow all the nearby light, the faintest hint of something glinted in the darkness as he stared at it.

A few steps later, and they stepped through a wall of shimmering magic – there was a brief moment of resistance, almost like walking through a large vat of jelly, and then there was nothing. They were in an abandoned corner of the carpark, with no cars parked anywhere near, and illuminated entirely by small, floating balls of white light.

He glanced at the beings that had been waiting for their arrival – there was a well-dressed Goblin, garbed in a fine three-piece black suit and tie; his black eyes stared at him unblinkingly. Its nose was large and hooked, with pointed ears that rose above its head, and its face was set into a vicious looking grin – there were a lot of sharp pointed teeth for a creature that was so small.

Small or not, the two beings stood at attention behind each shoulder made him swallow nervously. He'd only read the stories of the Goblin Rebellions, and even then, the only texts available were from wizards that had written the accounts long-after the fact, but he recognised the Goblin Warriors clear as day.

Their armour was a golden bronze and covered in all sorts of intricate runes that he didn't recognise. They had blue sashes around their waists, and the plate-armour, which hid every last inch of them, including full-face helmets that even hid their dark eyes from him – clanked with every slight movement they made. In their hands were vicious-looking halberds, with sharpened spikes that glinted in the light.

By comparison, the Dwarves were similarly dressed, though their armour was much more muted in colour. All three Dwarves wore large, thick plate armour completed by helms that covered their faces, the nearest of the three dwarves remained unhelmmed. He had thick, geometric patterns tattooed in dark ink running along the contours of his face, and his thick, bushy black beard hung down in neat braids to just below his breastplate – there was no hair on the top of his head, just more geometric tattoos.

The Dwarf, unlike the Goblin he was next to, grinned happily at the sight of him, and spread his arms wide, his dark steel armour almost blending in with the shadows. "Would you look at this, lads – the utholi that slew the Basilisk!"

"Master Dwarf." Harry said, bowing politely to him, causing the Dwarf to chuckle merrily. "An honour."

"An' he knows his manners – I like this human." The Dwarf grinned. "My name is Jagar Almote, son of Thaukel – with me are Gegan Rulney, son of Seweka, and Mertigen Galmas, son of Dourkin." He said, hooking a thumb at first the guard on the left, and the one on the right – both nodded silently at him, to which he nodded back.

"And I am Duird, Executive Broker of Gringotts, acting on behalf of the Wizarding Bank of Gringotts. With me are warriors Odel and Roirx." Duird announced, though he only inclined his head the slightest fraction.

"I'm honoured to meet you all – I'm Harry, son of James and Lily of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. With me is my Guardian and Regent, Sirius, son of Orion and Walburga, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black." The two of them bowed politely and clasped their hands before them at the waist.

"Now, both parties understand that the sale of this Basilisk is entirely dependent on Heir Potter's decision, and that there are to be no drawn weapons while the negotiations are underway?" Sirius asked, looking specifically at the guards that had accompanied the representatives. Harry fought the urge to grin as the guards glanced at one another before slowly nodding their agreement.

"Excellent – now, I've not had the remains valued, but I understand this is the largest in recorded history, at over twice the recorded length of the last Basilisk sold, some two-hundred-years ago. As such, I've been informed on the market value of that sale, with the adjustment for the modern market, I believe we have a price that would be agreeable to all." Harry said, falling into the lessons that Arcturus had drilled into him – to be sure of himself, to speak with absolute conviction, and not allow the slightest hint of weakness to show.

He pulled a piece of parchment out of a small pouch from his belt and unfolded it quickly, handing it to first Jagar, who glanced over it quickly, nodding to himself, before passing it onto Duird.

"This is acceptable." Duird nodded curtly, handing the parchment back to him quickly. "While we would wish to value it ourselves, I feel this is a reasonable bracket to work within."

"Very well – now, both of your peoples have expressed interest in the carcass. Why should I agree to sell to one of you over the other?" Harry asked, tucking the parchment back into his belt as he looked between the two representatives.

"House Potter is an old and valued client of Gringotts – I'm sure there are many things we could offer; lower interest on loans, a reduced percentage for goods and services – perhaps even some Goblin-forged items of your choosing." Duird grinned, clasping his long, thin fingers at the small of his back, his wickedly sharp teeth glinting in the pale light.

"We can offer property within any of our cities – better rates on trade between your House and my people; discount on Mithril stock. I've also been informed that regardless of your choice today, your name shall be etched into The Stone for your achievements." Jagar nodded, standing a little taller. "Every Dwarf shall know your name when they learn of the history of the world."

Harry blinked, taken aback as he felt the air rush from his lungs. He felt Sirius's hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he swayed slightly. "I'm sorry?"

Jagar laughed – it was a deep sound, like the grinding of boulders against one another, and the quiet chuckles of the two that had accompanied him joined in quickly. "You're an utholi, Lord – a child. You slew the largest Basilisk ever recorded – you have our respect."

"I don't know what to say." Harry murmured, bowing his head, and placing his hand over his heart. "You honour me."

Jagar smiled kindly through his beard, the thick, dark lines on his cheeks crinkling. Duird cleared his throat politely, and Harry's eyes darted back to the Goblin. "It should be mentioned that Gringotts, and by extension, my people, are also similarly impressed, however, this is business – I think it prudent if we return to the matter at hand?"

"Of course." Harry nodded. "Excuse me."

"There is nothing to forgive – however, you have heard our offers; I suspect you have conditions, regardless of which offer you choose to accept?"

"I do." Harry nodded, glancing at Sirius, who silently withdrew a small piece of parchment and handed it to him – he didn't miss the proud glint in his eye, either. Harry fought the urge to grin. "House Potter requires ten litres of the venom for its own personal use, and twenty metres of its hide, again, for its own personal use."

"These are acceptable terms." Jagar nodded.

"Actually, House Black has a condition of its own as well." Sirius announced, and Harry looked at him sharply – he didn't like the mischievous look on Sirius's face. "House Black requires the skull – jaw, fangs, and teeth included."

"That's outrageous!" Druid snapped, angrily.

"It will not be sold, and you have my word that it will never find its way onto the market while myself, or Heir Potter live." Sirius continued, his voice even. "It will be mounted in House Potter's ancestral home, as a trophy."

Harry blinked, his mouth opening and closing. "Sirius…" He whispered, stunned. "That's too much."

"It is your right – you killed the creature." Sirius nodded; his lips pressed together into a tight smile. "Let me do this." Harry could only nod numbly.

"My people have no issue." Jagar nodded.

"House Black are not in a position to bargain over a creature they did not defeat." Duird scowled; his black eyes growing, somehow, even darker. "Gringotts does not recognise this demand."

"Then it is one of mine." Harry snapped, scowling at the Goblin across from him. "I gave it no thought, because I have no interest in trophies – however, I trust my Regent to suggest what he thinks is in my best interests."

Duird glared at him, and Harry could see his chest heave beneath his smart suit, and how his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Very well." He said, eventually. "Gringotts recognises the additional demand of House Potter."

"Wonderful – now, have either of you anything final to say before I make my decision? I understand the sooner the carcass is rendered, the more money we can all make." Harry said, glancing between the two negotiators; both shook their heads silently. "In that case, I believe it in my best interest to move forward with Gringotts, though I expect to have the skull, teeth, and jaw visiting the Dwarven city of Vemfaldur, beneath Snowden."

"This is acceptable to my people, Heir Potter." Jagar bowed, his beard dangling away from his armour for a moment until he straightened once again. "I assume you'll want it treated with the appropriate runes and reinforced?"

"Aye." He nodded.

"Then we'll see it done – it'll be an honour to the craftsmen. If you'll excuse me, I'll leave to see to the arrangements. An honour, once again, utholi." Jagar nodded, thumping a fist against his breast before he disappeared with a resounding crack. Harry's eyes trailed to the remaining Goblins.

"You have made a most wise decision, Heir Potter." Duird grinned smugly, waving a hand just as a piece of parchment materialised between his fingers. "Please visit Gringotts in London at your earliest convenience to sign the papers – I shall leave now to make sure the appropriate," Duird paused, narrowing his eyes at Sirius. "adjustments are made to the contracts."

A moment later, once Harry had palmed the offered parchment, Duird too, was gone, with only a crack to signal his departure, the balls of white light faded, and Harry felt the barrier between themselves and the rest of the carpark fall. While during their meeting, the rest of the underground structure had been muffled and distant, now, it was back to its regular volume.

He glanced at Sirius, and gave him a withering glare, his fingers trailing over the crisp parchment in his fingers. "You could have really put us in trouble there."

Sirius scoffed, waving a hand absently. "Not likely. Either of us could finance the rendering of the carcass without so much as a dent in our daily profits as it is. They wanted the carcass – you'll not make as much as you would have if you did it yourself, but this way, you have less to worry about and manage."

"Why did you want me to have the skull? I can't imagine it was just to mount at Rosestone."

"Who said anything about Rosestone?" Sirius asked, eyeing him curiously. "It'll be mounted at Arpton in the Trophy Room – as a reminder of your power and prestige."

He frowned as Sirius held out his arm, which Harry grasped without thinking. There was a familiar sensation of weightlessness, and a sudden bout of vertigo, but it passed quickly, and they found themselves standing in Diagon Alley, where wizards and witches passed them without a thought. "I don't need to remind people of that – besides, it's bad enough I had to face her coming at me the first time; how am I supposed to eat with her skull watching me?" He grunted, shaking his head slightly as the lingering effects of the side-along disappeared.

"You'll get used to it." Sirius chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's always good to remind your enemies and your allies what you can do. That way, nobody gets any stupid ideas."

"People get stupid ideas regardless – just look at how I ended up down there in the first place." He muttered, setting off toward Gringotts – the white building clearly visible with its large pillars and grand front entrance; a pair of Goblin guards were at attention on either side of the large doors, though neither of them wore the intimidating armour of those he'd just met.

The two of them meandered down the street at a sedate pace, peering into shop windows and enjoying the much better weather of London. All around them, the voices of hundreds of men and women reached his ears, and children sprinted past him, brushing against his arms.

It felt strange, walking through Diagon without his armour – he had no spare pieces, and he wouldn't be able to get it replaced until he next visited Arpton. In a way, he felt naked, vulnerable in only a dark doublet and his cloak. He paused at a side street – it was just as bust as Diagon, but it was the name that gave him pause.

Canlams Plaza.

A memory from earlier in the year wormed its way to the front of his mind, of a time before he'd battled the Basilisk, and he'd been content visiting a friend in the hospital, while he traded pleasant conversation with a man across the bed. Sirius looked at him strangely.

"Harry?"

"You said I need less responsibility, right?" He asked, looking at the man before peering into the street itself. "I'd still have to handle the exchange of money from Gringotts?"

"Aye, you're the one they're buying it from – why?"

"I've got an idea." He muttered, marching into the street. Canlams Plaza was a short street that opened into a large square with a small green area, about the size of a Quidditch Pitch, in the middle – there were large, ancient looking trees that stretched up into the sky, almost taller than the buildings that surrounded them, and a great fountain in the middle. There were benches, small paths, and flower beds dotted throughout it, but it was what surrounded it that interested him.

Canlams Plaza was most notably known for its many restaurants and cafés, many of them offering outdoor seating for customers to enjoy the weather. There were other premises, vendors of varying products and services, but it was one in particular he was looking for.

His eyes scanned the signs as he pursed his lips, running his tongue along the back of his teeth. The plaza was busy, with dozens upon dozens of families meandering about in the comfortable sunshine – he finally caught sight of the small, subtle sign between a pair of chatting parents. He hurried over to the glossy, dark blue door, Sirius hot on his heels, and knocked loudly.

There was the muffled sound of footsteps on a hardwood floor, the click of the door, and he was greeted with the sight of a young wizard – perhaps only two or three years out of school, in a light grey three-piece suit. His hard was dark, and styled short and neat, with just the barest hint of stubble along his chin. "Williams and Mattingly – how can we help you today?" He said, pleasantly, though Harry noted how he was looking to Sirius, rather than himself.

"Is Wesley Williams available?" He asked, squaring his shoulders as he looked up at the young man.

"Possibly – he could be in a meeting right now, but I'll check. If you'll follow me, Messrs…" The young man trailed off, leading them into the building. Harry went first, shrugging his cloak from his shoulders easily, while Sirius shut the door behind him.

"Potter." Harry answered, watching as the young man's eyes widened almost comically. "And Black."

"Of course, My Lords, I-I'll get him right a-away." He stammered, hurrying down the corridor. Harry smirked over his shoulder at Sirius, who barely hid his own chuckle. It had been a little petty of him, but Gods it had felt good after being dismissed out of hand.

The two of them made their way down to a comfortable waiting area, where the receptionist, whose large, blue eyes, stared at them in shock as they took their seats. Harry chuckled quietly and leaned back in his chair – the Wireless played softly in the background, and the scratching of the receptionist's quill against the parchment stopped and started erratically. Beyond the white door on the far side of the room, there were muffled voices of men and women, and some hurried banging every few seconds.

The door was thrown open after almost a minute, and Wesley appeared – his cheeks were tinged red, but his smile was wide and genuine. His blue eyes were dark, almost smouldering in their intensity as he looked at the two of them. Harry glanced at Sirius and nodded.

"Harry! Good to see you – what brings you here? Not any more trouble with Hope?" Wesley asked, striding over to them, and offering the two of them his hand.

He shook it confidently and waited for Sirius to do the same. "I'd like to hire your services, or anyone you trust to do the job, for a few days."

"Oh, this is a work visit? Gods, you gave me a scare." Wesley breathed, chuckling as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"He has a habit of doing that." Sirius grinned. "We didn't pull you out of a meeting, I hope?"

"Oh no, that finished early. Come on, we'll talk in my office." Wesley smiled, gesturing for the two of them to follow him. He led the way through the door, and immediately Harry was greeted with a dozen pairs of eyes staring at him.

Men and women peered at him from behind stacks of parchment, their eyes trailing him silently as they moved past them all. There were stacks almost as tall as himself, but there was an organisation to the chaos that fascinated him. He offered polite smiles to those he passed.

The three of them entered a small office – there was a bookcase that lined one wall, full to bursting with volume after volume, a modest desk, and a pair of plush chairs. "Please, sit." Wesley smiled, sinking into his own leather one on the far side. There was a soft bark, and a Beagle darted out from behind the desk and sniffed at Harry's fingertips as he lowered himself. "Don't mind Mattingly – he just likes the attention."

Harry grinned as he rubbed the panting canine behind the ears, leaning forward to rub his belly as he flopped on his back. "It's no problem. He's beautiful."

"You've done it now – he'll be smug about it all week. So, what can I do for you?"

"I've made a sale – a big one – and I thought it best to hire a third-party to check everything over in the contract at Gringotts before I sign."

Wesley blinked and looked back and forth between himself and Sirius. "Of course – that wouldn't be a problem at all. Can I ask how big the transaction is? I only ask because it'd limit who I can put on it."

"Basilisk sized." Sirius chuckled, crossing his legs, and reclining in his own chair. Harry rolled his eyes at his smug smile. Wesley blinked for a few seconds.

"You sold it?" He asked, eventually.

"In the process of it, but yeah." Harry shrugged, scratching Mattingly under his chin – the Beagle's tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. "Aren't you a good boy?" He whispered, patting his belly.

Wesley fell back in his chair, the leather creaking quietly as he looked between the two of them. "I… I'll do it myself." He said after a moment, clearing his throat. "It's the least I can do, after everything – and it feels right."

"I was hoping you'd say that – how do you feel about joining us at Gringotts?"

"What, now?"

"We were on our way there when we were passing Canlams." Harry grinned. "I remembered you telling me your company was here a few months ago."

"Sure, let me just get my briefcase!" Wesley nodded, standing quickly, and placing a square, black briefcase with bronze-gold clasps on the table between them. Harry watched in silence as Wesley flicked through a handful of sheets, selecting those that must have been relevant in some fashion, and then quickly placed them in – the briefcase closed with a snick-ing sound, and he smiled at the man across from him when he looked back up from the desk.

"Ready?" Sirius asked, pleasantly. Harry got to his feet a second after Sirius and followed him to the door; there was a quiet noise of protest from Mattingly that caused him to glance over his shoulder at the pitiful-looking Beagle.

"No, you stay here – I'll be back soon." Wesley admonished with a roll of his eyes. "I'll bring you something back if you behave."

The door clicked shut behind them, and they quickly marched through the open office, past reception, and back out the door – he and Sirius quickly shrugged their cloaks back on, while Wesley threw on his grey suit jacket. "So, anything I should know?" Wesley asked as they began their short walk to Gringotts.

"Nothing much – it was all rather straightforward and dull, to be honest." Sirius sighed. "There are a few parts that House Potter will keep hold of, but everything else should be handled by Gringotts."

"In my first year," Harry began, his eyes darting between the two wizards. "I got a Christmas gift from the Headmaster – a cloak that had belonged to my father. He said the contract had been written up by the Law Goblins; I'd rather not get tripped up over anything."

"Smart." Wesley nodded, and when Harry glanced at Sirius, he saw that same proud glint in his eye that made his chest puff out that little bit more. "They're true to their word but expect them to try and pull something – it's all rather fun, when you get down into the nitty-gritty of contract negotiation."

"I'll take your word for it." Harry grinned. "How's Hope?" He asked, stepping around a pair of wizards that were in the middle of a conversation in the middle of the street.

"Oh, she's fine – a little shaken up about the whole thing, but she's tougher than she looks. I think she's more put-out that she couldn't teach for so long."

"Not changed since school, then." Sirius chuckled.

"No, but I wouldn't have her any other way – I hear you and Amelia finally made things official? Good for you." Wesley smiled as they reached the bottom steps of the bank. "About time someone made something respectable out of one of you Marauders."

"Still sore about the wall prank?" Sirius grinned, causing Harry to roll his eyes at the two men. "Besides – James had Lily, remember?"

"Oh, I remember – lost ten Galleons on that." Wesley sighed, pushing the door open. "Thought she'd get wise." He turned to look back at Harry, winking down at him. "Good job she didn't, or we might not have Harry here."

Despite everything, Harry found himself smiling at the back and forth between the two adults – he knew, from Wesley's own stories, that he'd been caught in the shenanigans of the Marauders once or twice. Thankfully, Wesley was the kind to forgive and forget.

The three of them entered the foyer of the bank – it was much like any other time he had visited in the past, with large queues before the various tellers, and the constant scratching of quills on parchment and the clinking of coins. Without waiting a beat, Sirius took off to the far end, where the Shift Manager was always stationed behind his tall, podium-like desk.

Thankfully, there were no other witches or wizards waiting to speak to him, and the Goblin looked at the three of them curiously, raising one gnarled, bumpy eyebrow as he peered over his glasses. "Yes?" He demanded, rather than asked – his voice was low and scratchy, in a way, Harry suspected, that spoke of more experience of bellowing words and demands, than speaking at a regular volume.

"House Potter and affiliates to oversee the signing of a contract of sale." Sirius announced officially, and while his voice was clear and commanding, it wasn't loud enough to carry very far in the large room, especially over the hubbub of the various tellers.

"Indeed – very well, if you'll proceed through the doors behind me, you'll be escorted to a nearby meeting room." The Goblin nodded, quickly refocusing on the parchment on his desk. Harry glanced at the two adults, who nodded to one another and quickly made their way to the doors, Harry close behind.

Harry had never had dealings with Gringotts beyond simply withdrawing money from his Trust Vault before – Gringotts was a larger place than many realised, with the majority of the bank underground; he'd always been curious about it, but now that he was about to finalise the deal made earlier, he felt that earlier nervousness bubble its way to the surface again.

The three of them passed through the large, gilded doors, which swung on silent hinges at their approach, and a smartly dressed Goblin was already standing there, seemingly waiting for them. The Goblin gestured for them to follow, and quickly set off down the corridor.

There were large tapestries and paintings lining the walls, some almost as tall as the walls they were mounted on – each portrait depicted smartly dressed, angry-looking Goblins standing imperiously before something or another, be it a mound of gold, a pale dragon, or even the bank itself.

Their heels clicked on the marble floor, and as he glanced at both Sirius and Wesley, he noticed that their faces had lost all traces of joviality – both had adopted neutral façades, their shoulders were squared, and their backs were straight.

The Goblin that had been leading them finally came to a stop at a door that looked no different from any of the others they had passed – it was white, with golden filigree and a golden handle inlaid with intricate, spiral patterns. The Goblin entered first, and Harry followed, as was the custom, with Sirius and Wesley following behind him.

Inside the room was a contradiction to everything he had seen in the time between leaving the foyer and arriving here. Everything in the corridor they had walked down had been white, with layers upon layers of ostentatious golden trimmings – this room, by comparison, was all warm, rich mahogany wood and a coffee-coloured carpet.

There was a large table in the middle of the room with large, high-backed dark leather chairs of fine quality. Crystal tumblers, and a richly decorated crystal decanter, half full with a shimmering golden liquid sat in pride of place in the middle of the table, atop a shiny silver tray.

Light poured in through a series of tall windows along the far wall, and the colours that emerged from the crystal tumblers and decanter were breath-taking. There were all sorts; blues, greens, reds, yellows, oranges, purples – it was all he could do not to gasp. He made his way around the table slowly, his fingertips ghosting over the smooth, varnished surface.

"This is gorgeous." He said, looking over at Sirius and Wesley once the door clicked shut behind them, their Goblin guide leaving quickly. "And it smells fantastic." He added, breathing in the rich aroma of the room.

"They do like to impress." Sirius agreed with a nod, shrugging his cloak off, and draping it over a nearby chair. Harry copied him quickly, feeling far more comfortable in the warm room. "Harry, you sit here, in the middle." Sirius said, gesturing to a chair with its back to the windows. "I'll sit on your right, and Wesley can take the seat to the left."

"Please, call me Wes." Wesley – Wes – smiled, hurrying over to his designated chair, and opening his briefcase. Harry settled into his chair next to him, and Sirius sank into the leather of his own with a contented sigh. "So – what were those things you'll be wanting to keep hold of?"

"The skull, jaw, teeth, and fangs. Ten litres of venom, and twenty metres of hide." Harry answered him, folding his hands in his lap, resisting the urge to swing his legs, which were dangling just off of the floor.

"The skull I can understand – your lot like their trophies, from what I've read. What could you want with the venom and the hide? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"The skull was Sirius's idea, actually. Dropped that one on me just after I'd mentioned the other things." He muttered, narrowing his eyes at an unapologetic Sirius. "The venom – you never know when it could come in handy, and the hide… I don't know, I thought I'd have something made out of it eventually. Maybe a new gambeson when I've stopped growing."

"Makes sense – it's almost as tough as Dragon-hide. I'll make sure you get what you want." Wes smiled, organising the sheets before him just as the door opened once again. Harry got to his feet immediately, Sirius and Wes joining him without hesitation.

"My Lords." Duird greeted them, his familiar face set into a satisfied grin. "I don't believe we've met, Mister…"

"Williams – Wesley Williams, of Williams and Mattingly." Wes smiled, politely, inclining his head. "Lords Potter and Black here just wanted me to look over the contract and make sure everything was to their liking."

The two other Goblins that had followed Duird into the room murmured quietly to one another, and finally silenced themselves when Duird held up a hand – Harry noticed the guards weren't with them. It was a shame; their armour had been gorgeous, and so different.

"You would question our honour?" Duird growled, narrowing his eyes at Sirius and himself.

"I'd never presume to do so – I simply have a poor history with contracts that have made me wary." Harry answered, quickly speaking before Sirius could say anything. He glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye and saw him huff quietly to himself.

The Goblins were quiet for a moment, and Harry found himself chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously as the three pairs of onyx eyes stared at him across the table. Finally, Duird nodded, and moved to sit down.

"Very well – here is the contract, detailing everything agreed upon earlier today." Duird said, waving a hand and sending the contract across the table – Wes picked it up first, his eyes darting back and forth as he read the small, elegant script.

His mouth moved silently, and his brow occasionally furrowed at certain points. Harry pursed his lips as he reclined in the seat, his fingers tapping on his chin absently as he waited. It took longer than he would have thought; he simply assumed Wes had read it more than once, before it was handed back to the Goblins across from them.

"You have stipulated that if anyone other than Lord Potter takes possession of the skull and associated jaw, bones, fangs, and teeth, that the contract is void and you no longer have to pay a Knut to my client – this is curious, as I wonder why something like this would be included in a contract in the first place, if you didn't already know my client would be planning on doing exactly that."

The Goblins across from him all scowled at Wes, and Harry found his fists clenching as they gripped the arms of the chair. "They're to go to the Dwarves, to have them laced with runes and reinforcements to help preserve them – Duird heard me say as much."

"Our deal is with House Potter – not with the Dwarves. They will be profiteering off of Gringotts goods."

"Ruhxu is not Gringotts goods!" Harry snapped, standing, and placing his hands on the table – his magic flared beneath the surface for a moment. "She was a creature whose mind was broken through torturous means – her remains are to be treated with the respect they deserve, is that understood?"

The Goblins eyes briefly darted to the decanter in the middle of the table that trembled slightly in the wake of his outburst. "You shall rectify the contract to my satisfaction now." Harry added, jabbing a finger into the wood.

He watched as Duird glanced at his two companions before he gave a single, sharp nod. One of the Goblins, the older of the two, by Harry's estimation, quickly withdrew a quill from his jacket and made the necessary change before the contract returned to Wesley's hand. Harry sat back in his chair slowly, his face still stormy as he nodded at Duird across from him.

"Everything seems to be in order here. I'm happy to have my client sign it." Wes breathed, his voice calm as he slid the parchment over to him, a quill and small pot of ink following shortly from the recesses of his briefcase moments later.

Harry dipped the quill and tapped it twice on the side before signing his name on the parchment – it was such a quick thing, for something so momentous as the sale of Ruhxu's corpse. He'd seen the articles in the papers and magazines while he'd been at Hogwarts, and in the days since his return to Blackwall; he'd been hailed as a conquering hero, defeating the evil Basilisk of Salazar Slytherin himself, the largest Basilisk in history.

As Harry passed the parchment and quill to Sirius to sign as witness, Harry couldn't help but feel a little sad over the whole thing. During the year, he'd wanted to destroy Ruhxu – especially after Hermione had been petrified. His magic had pushed him with that need, with the desire to avenge her; now, he just felt sad about the whole thing.

It had become clear, in those moments before her mind snapped, that she had not acted of her own volition – she had refused Tom's commands, and he'd watched, albeit with his eyes closed, as Tom had done something to the ancient Basilisk. As the weeks had passed, he had concluded that whatever Tom had done, had been what had made her less and less coherent over the course of the year. To have gone from the haunting whispers he'd heard on that first night, to the blood-curdling screams that had threatened to split his head…

He fought back the urge to shiver.

He blinked as the contract made its way back to the Goblins on the other side of the room and was snatched up roughly. "A pleasure doing business, Lord Potter. Lord Black, Mister Williams." Duird nodded before hurrying from the room.

"That could have gone better." Sirius sighed as he got to his feet.

"That was a petty move they tried to pull – and far less sneaky than they usually are." Wes muttered, packing his briefcase quickly. "I usually have to pour over the contracts for a few days, but there was remarkably little in that one."

"That was probably my fault." Sirius grimaced. "I dropped the whole skull thing on them after Harry set his conditions."

"That'll do it." Wes scoffed with a roll of his eyes, and Harry felt the corners of his lips twitch as he shrugged his cloak on, the familiar warmth a comfort. "Well, I suppose I'd better hurry back to the office and get Matt a treat."

Harry smiled at the man as he shook his hand. "Thanks for everything, Wes. Just let me know the bill and I'll see to it that it's all squared away."

Wes waved a hand absently as he smiled. "Don't worry about it – it was the least I could do after everything."

"You're sure? But-"

"Honestly, don't worry about it. Just think about us when you've next got some accounting work that needs doing." He said with a wink, and Harry found himself nodding quickly. "Sirius – a pleasure as always."

"Wes." Sirius nodded, clasping the man's hand, and shaking it. The two of them watched the accountant leave first, his long strides carrying him around the table and out of the door in only a few seconds. Once the door clicked shut, Sirius turned to look at him. "That was smart – bringing him in on it."

"It was my own paranoia more than anything." Harry shrugged as he made his way out of the room, Sirius at his side. The two of them travelled back the way they came in silence, though Sirius kept a reassuring hand on his shoulder the entire time, occasionally giving it a little squeeze that would make him smile.

"Anything else left to do?" Harry asked, glancing at the man beside him as they made their way into the foyer of the bank – it was slightly quieter now, and not as many men and women were waiting in the queues.

"Nothing I can think of – want some ice cream?" Sirius asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Hermione always goes on about mint-chocolate-chip, so I wouldn't mind giving it a go."

"Hermione, eh? Should I be worried?" Sirius teased as they walked past the tellers. "My, you've gone an adorable shade of red, haven't you?" He chuckled.

"Ah, Seigneur Black!" A new voice called – both Harry and Sirius came to an immediate halt, spinning on their heels to look at the source. It was an old man, possibly as old as Dumbledore himself – he wore grey robes, trimmed with black and gold, and carried a large staff with a large sapphire-like foci at its top. Unlike the staves Harry was used to seeing, there was no blade on the bottom third.

Harry looked at the man, beyond the clothes, and unique weapon. His skin was tanned, and bore the look of someone that had spent a great deal of his life outdoors, though his regal bearing and the way he peered down his nose at the two of them made Harry think that none of it had been manual labour.

He had a long, white beard that reached the middle of his chest, and was braided neatly – his thin lips were pressed into a tight line, and the corners of his eyes were tight. "Lord Chastain." Sirius answered neutrally, though Harry felt the way that Sirius's hand tensed on his shoulder.

"What a delightful pleasure it is to see you amongst the rabble – the, uh, how do you say… le banal?"

Harry's fists clenched at his sides as his lips pursed. He'd taken two years of Magical Languages – he knew enough French to recognise an insult to those of a lower station than themselves.

"I find our every-day wizards and witches more and more remarkable each time I see them. Something those in your own country are quite familiar with?" Sirius answered, though Harry could see the tensing of his jaw.

The Lord Chastain chuckled – it was a rich sound, and he appeared to be entirely genuine in his amusement. Harry fought the urge to grimace as his sapphire eyes focused on him. "Indeed, it appears you are in the company of the most remarkable of all. Seigneur Potter, is it not?"

"It is." Harry answered tightly.

"An honour to make your connaissance, Lord Potter. Permettez-moi de me presenter, I am Raoul Chastain, French Ambassadeur to the Ministry of Magic." Chastain said, bowing his head slightly. "You'll forgive an old man not being able to bow, I hope – old bones, after all."

"Think nothing of it, Lord Chastain." Harry nodded, his eyes darting to Sirius at his side. "Sorry to cut this short, my lord, but we have some other business to attend to in Diagon – perhaps another time."

"Oui – it would be my pleasure." Chastain said slowly, and Harry saw the faintest hint of a smile in the corners of the ancient wizard's mouth. Harry and Sirius left quickly after that, and Harry could feel the eyes of the old man on his back the entire way out of the bank.

The two of them hurried down the steps and quickly melted into the still significant crowd. "What was all of that about?" Harry asked, looking to Sirius when he deemed them far enough away to comfortably talk.

"Raoul Chastain – French Ambassador, as you know. He's an…" Sirius trailed off, and Harry knew he was searching for the right word. "Opinionated individual."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, ducking out of the crowd between two tall buildings.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder at the white-washed bank and grimaced. "He fought for Grindelwald." He answered after a moment.

"He what?" Harry snapped, his magic already dancing along his fingertips. "You're telling me I was just introduced to a man that wanted to subjugate Muggles?"

"More or less." Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Obviously, I don't like him – half of the Ministry doesn't like him, and the other half is in his pocket. He's a dangerous and influential man – France loves him."

"Wonderful." He muttered, leaning against the wall of the building. "Can we not just, I don't know, turn him over to Amelia?"

Sirius scoffed and chuckled to himself as he patted him on the back. "Not quite – he has diplomatic immunity. Nothing we can do." Sirius shrugged, turning as a sound further into the small space between the buildings caught their attention. Harry grimaced, wondering just what could happen now – it had been a long day, and he just wanted to crawl into bed, regardless of how much Clara would bother him.

They peered into the shadows, and watched as a House Elf, dressed in a grubby pillowcase trotted out of a side door with a bag of rubbish, humming to itself. Only when it turned its head in their direction did Harry recognise those big, bright green eyes and large, bat-like ears.

"Dobby?" He called, stunned. "Dobby, what are you doing here?" He asked, watching as the Elf's head snapped in his direction. Dobby dropped the bag and ran to him, tears of happiness rolling down his cheeks as he threw his arms around Harry's waist.

"The Great Harry Potter, visits with Dobby! Oh, what an honour this be!"

Harry knelt before the Elf while Sirius chuckled behind him. Dobby's skin looked far greyer than it had when he'd last seen him at Hogwarts, and the pillowcase was the same. There were other things as well; Dobby's eyes weren't as bright, and his skin was clinging to the bone with nothing between them. He looked ill – desperately so.

"What are you doing here?" He asked again, holding the Elf's tiny shoulders – he tried not to grimace at the oily-feeling of his skin, or of the grime he was covered in.

"Dobby be a Free Elf – Dobby be finding work where he can." He said, beaming proudly.

"You've not found anyone to bond with?"

Dobby shook his head, slowly and chewed on his bottom lip. "Wizards and witches bes offering, but Dobby not be wanting to go back a bad family."

"You don't want to serve anyone like the Malfoys."

"No, sir."

"You know you'll die, though."

"Anything bes better than the nasty old masters." Dobby sighed. "Dobby hasn't had to iron his hands for a month." Dobby wiggled his bandage-less hands before Harry's eyes, and he couldn't help but laugh with the little creature.

"You've no idea how happy that makes me, Dobby – if it were up to me, you'd never be punished again." He grinned, pulling the Elf in for a hug; Dobby was surprised for a moment, but eagerly wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and gave him a squeeze. "Is that why you're out here? Carrying the rubbish? Are you trying to save your magic?"

Dobby leaned back from him and nodded his head guiltily, staring at his toes. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, who gave him a pointed look. "Harry…" He began, his voice firm but exasperated.

"He saved my life – it's the least I can do."

"You can't bond him; not until you come into your title."

"Not to the Family, I can't – but I can to me." He huffed, looking back to the Elf before him, who was looking at him with wide eyes. "Would you like to bond with me, Dobby? To become my personal Elf?"

"Harry Potter would… bond with Dobby?" Dobby murmured, worrying the thin flesh of the bottom of his ears with his fingers.

"Harry- I mean, yes, I would." Harry grinned, standing slowly, and flicking his wand into his hand. Dobby dropped to his knees, and he couldn't help the wince he made at the sound of it.

"Dobby would be honoured to bond and serve the great Harry Potter." The Elf whispered, and somehow, it was louder than any of the noise of the shopping district behind them. Harry nodded and shifted his grip on the handle of the wand. He glanced over his shoulders and watched as Sirius threw his arms in the air and rolled his eyes with a sigh.

Looking back at the Elf on his knees before him, Harry levelled his wand at Dobby's forehead, so that the tip was just lightly pressed against his small forehead – distantly, he could feel Dobby's magic; it was excited, wild, but oh-so-weak. Dobby was weaker than he appeared, and a part of his heart broke at the revelation.

"I, Harry, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter do so lay claim to this Elf – you will guard my secrets, and do as commanded, from this day, until the end of my days."

There was a rush of magic throughout his arm as his magic rushed to claim Dobby's own – he felt it swirl around the two of them as the tip of his wand lit up for a moment in a brilliant flash of crimson light. Dobby's skin became healthier before his eyes, less oily, and fuller-looking. The dirt and grime remained, but that could all be seen to later.

The most important thing, for Harry, was that Dobby's eyes became brighter than ever before – almost glowing in the shadows of the buildings on either side of them. As Dobby shakily got to his feet, Harry dropped to a knee before him, crushing him against him in a firm hug. "Welcome to the family, Dobby!"