Chapter 4: Griphook

"How do we get to him?" Emily asked as soon as they were outside.

"Well, he's in Unterlondon, so I think walking is out of the picture," Ron said. "Don't think he's on the Floo, and I don't trust us apparating somewhere we've never been."

"Knight Bus then?"

"Knight Bus."

Ron held out his wand and cast the summoning charm for the Bus. As they were in Diagon, they didn't have to wait long at all for it to come steaming down, banging and booming through the air as it did. The blue triple-decker they hailed was just one of many in an armada of public transportation. It was one of the few ways Muggles and Squibs could get around in the chaotic, ever-shifting nature of magical London; they had to go to the bus stops though, whereas witches and wizards just needed the charm. Like all buses, it flew in from up high, and skidded to a stop right in front of them. The front door opened.

A young lad, not much older than them stepped out. He was clad in the purple robes of the bus company. The Ministry did love their colour-coded uniforms. He took out a piece of paper, black lettering appearing in a half-second. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, Witch or Wizard," he said, his voice a low dull hum. "My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be conductor for-"

"Yeah, yeah, we get," Ron said. They both walked up to him and handed him several sickles.

"You wan' give a li'l extra for some 'ot choc?" Stan asked.

"Do we look thirteen?" Emily asked. "C'mon Ron."

They sidestepped their conductor and entered the bus. It had three people inside: the driver, a Muggle or Squib, and a tiny House elf, draped in a tattered pillowcase, looking out the window. Emily took a seat on the nearest bed, casting a sticking charm so that it wouldn't roll around as they traveled. Ron did the same to his, opposite of Emily. Stan entered shortly after. Emily glanced at Ron, with a raised eyebrow.

"Right," Ron said. "Warlock's Bosom, Unterlondon."

"Hear that Ernie?" Stan asked. "Want to go to Unterlondon, they's do."

The driver looked back them, and it was only then Emily realized he had no eyes. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, and whipped out a glass eye, which moved as if by itself, looking at them. Magic, Emily thought. Even after 19 years, it still weirded her out. Ron seemed unfazed-the benefits of growing up in an all-magical family, no doubt. Ernie stuck his glass eye into a fish hook dangling from the ceiling.

"Hands inside, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!" Ernie said.

And with a bang, they were off.

The Knight Bus immediately shot up into the sky, skirting past moving staircases, floating buildings, and shortening itself to fit between two levitating drows. Three witches flew parallel to them, before taking a turn away from the Bus. Having ridden the bus before, Emily held firm to the sides of the bed as they flipped twice in the air. They crested just above Gringotts and then-the sky and sun above shone brightly.

"Need to stop in Greater London firs'," Stan said. "After that, a quick pittie in Whitehall, then we go to your place," he said with a nod to Ron.

Emily looked behind her to see the cityscape beneath them. It stretched out for endless miles: a million buildings, all densely packed together. The sky was no different: clogged with magical travel such as busses, brooms, owls, and ships. As an international city, one of the most important, it received millions of visitors each day from the Continent and beyond. Behind Ron, she saw the sloped Alleys of Knockturn and Diagon. While big from the ground level, it was even larger looking down from above. From here, she could see the start of the spiny tunnels of Unterlondon.

They made a sharp right turn, 90 degrees, putting them in direct sight of the Ministry of Magic. It stood in Whitehall, over the corpses of the former Muggle ministries and Westminster Abbey. Larger than Hogwarts, the Ministry pyramid stretched over several miles, surrounded by columns of powerful, immense statues. Some carried stone scrolls, which blasted Ministry and Master propaganda. Opposite the Thames was the massive main square-an empty, paved land where they held marches, executions, and pronouncements.

It was there she'd gotten her degree from Hogwarts, handed by the Minister himself to her. The day was as clear as ice to her: another thick, red overcast day. Draco looked so pleased with himself; doubtless basking in his father's position and his own power derived from that. The three Hogwarts Houses were well-represented that day, in a bevy of gold, blue, and green. The only unique colour-red-present was Ron's hair.

Once upon a time, there had been four Houses, she knew. But like so many things, it had been vanquished after the War. Even its name had been stricken from the histories. All she knew was that Albus Dumbledore had been one, way back when.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Ron asked.

"Just thinking back to two years ago. Graduation," she said, adding.

"Mmm. Remember when you couldn't find your knickers?"

"I remember we swore never again to speak of it."

"Like a chicken with her head cut off," Ron said, evoking a nasal impersonation of George.

Emily threw a stinging hex at him-wandless and wordless, so he wouldn't see it coming.

"Oy!" Ron put his thumb in his mouth, trying to lick the sting away. "Pretty brilliant piece of magic if you asked me." His voice was low, the thumb in his mouth making speech difficult.

"Making my knickers invisible to sight and touch nearly made me miss graduation."

"They were already on you!"

"I-" Emily stopped mid-sentence. "You're right. It was good magic."

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head. "To be fair, you did get back at me good."

She smiled. "Even after seven years, you never learned that a prank war was unwinnable."

The bus swooped down all of a sudden, in a ninety-degree angle. If Emily didn't like flying, she'd be very, very unwell right now. With a twirl, the Bus landed on a circular street. The doors opened and out went the Muggle or Squib. That just left the Elf. Why it didn't just apparate to Whitehall, she would probably never know. With a bang, the bus was off once more.

Stan walked past them, casting several cleaning charms where the person had been. The Elf meanwhile just stared out the window, deeper and deeper in thought. As they zoomed through the air, occasionally crashing back down on the ground to run through the streets, Emily and Ron reminisced about graduation. Apparently, Ron kissed a fellow graduate during the afterparty, the Greengrass girl. She felt sorry for Ron. Having to room with the ethereal, ever-buzzed fellow Slytherin for seven years, she could only imagine the dullness of their conversation.

Of course, she left out how she had made out with Neville Longbottom. That would be her secret, and no one ever needed to know about Neville's many talents. Alas, it wasn't meant to be; without booze, all Neville wanted to talk about was sword duelling and plants. Emily loved a good wizarding duel, but the sword type? It bored her as much as plant-talk did.

They arrived at Whitehall a few minutes later, the Ministry bearing over them. Having worked here for nearly a year, she knew it was even larger from the inside. Minister Malfoy and Auror Black stood as twin statues, standing guard at one of the four entrances. Malfoy had a scroll, which we waved around to London below. It had the mantra 'Might Makes Right' etched into it. Black, meanwhile, twirled her wand in a stony hand.

"Creeps me out, she does," Stan said then, staring up at the Auror.

Emily and Ron said nothing, sharing only a stare. It didn't need to be said they agreed with the conductor. They only hoped no one else important heard. Bellatrix was a master at the torture curse, after all.

The elf left the Bus then, rubbing its shoulders as it went. Must've been a Ministry elf, then. Odd that it was unaccompanied by any witch or wizard. "To Unterlondon!" Ernie shouted.

And then, another bang, and they twisted back 180 degrees, and flew off and up into Unterlondon. They were really picking up speed now, the land below zooming past them. It wasn't long before they were screeching down towards the Earth again, flying above Diagon, and Knockturn, and then finally: into Unterlondon itself.

The entrance spilled out into a massive subterranean cave that sprawled out as big as Greater London above, with an equal amount of buildings and structures within. The tunnel of course continued, into a second layer of cave: Lower Unterlondon. And, beneath that, the London Mines, where thousands of Muggle slaves lived and scraped out the gemstones near the bedrock in unbearable heat. Large, stone pillars held the London above up. Here, the sky was as clogged as the outside, only with more creatures than people. The air was cold and stale, unmoving. The only part that ever saw the natural sun was the entrance tunnel. The rest was illuminated by the pillars, each which housed an over-powerful lighthouse. There were ten in total.

Where the Ministry would've been on the ground, here it was as well, as an upside-down pyramid just as large, attached to the ceiling. Unlike the top pyramid, it glowed a dull red, shining near-half of the underworld in its glimmering shade. She'd never been in the lower parts of the Ministry, even when working there. There was no entrance to it, far as she could tell. But she knew, from rumours, that this was where the Ministry housed the Department of Mysteries, with its Unspeakables. Which reminded her-she needed to get tea with Luna sometime.

"Em," Ron said, breaking their conversation. Emily looked at him, and he pointed at the twisted metal structure. "Warlock's Bosom. Griphook is in inside."

As if on cue, the Bus dropped and stopped suddenly. Now on the ground, they left the Bus behind, and it shot up with yet another bang. Emily and Ron shared a look before making their way inside.

The Warlock's Bosom, as the name suggested, was a whorehouse. If it wasn't the name that gave it away, it'd have to be the scantily-clad, or sometimes not even clad at all Muggle women, walking around. The sounds also gave it away: moans of pleasure, of pain, and screams of joy. It had it all. There weren't just Muggle women either. There were men too, Goblins, and at least one shapeshifter. The patrons were all of an older variety: Ministry officials just off their shift, judging by their robes.

Emily knew the type from her short stint in the pyramid. These were all marriage-dissatisfied men, or men looking to take advantage of the gracious allowance for birthing a Magical child. It was enough gold that had she the tools to do it, or the wherewithal to make them, she could see herself doing it. Not that it didn't disgust her; the Muggle women often had no choice. And if they ever had sex with a Muggle and birthed a Magical child? Both the male and the child would've been executed, while she would've been regaled to the birthing pens. It was a dangerous game these women played, and she envied them nothing their position.

"Where is he?" Emily asked, trying to find a snobby Goblin that looked like he owned the place.

"Dunno, just said to be here at a certain time," Ron said.

"Great. Well, c'mon, let's go a-hunting."

Their search first took them to the second floor. There, they found a hallway with a series of doors. Through the first one, a standard fair of romp going on. They continued, looking through each one. One, they saw a dementor standing over a high-ranking Auror as he ploughed through a Muggle girl. Another, they saw a Veela dancing, in a room with a fish jar, the little goldfish staring aptly. Neither Emily nor Ron could help themselves, drawn closer and ever closer to the Veela. A sharp crack sounded, and a faceless man appeared in front of them.

"Um, hi," Emily said, the Veela's allure broken.

The man simply gestured, and pointed them to follow. They did so, until he reached the end of the hall. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large set of bronze keys, inserting one into the keyhole. The keyhole grew fangs and swallowed the key whole. The door swung unlocked, but Emily saw nothing but darkness. Emily and Ron both stepped forward, and saw nothing but a pit of dark in the entirety of the room. There was something at the bottom though: it looked like a bit of light.

She felt a shove, and all of a sudden, she was falling and screaming. It all happened too fast for them to cast any spells. The light rushed towards them-now a room, now a floor, now the only thing she could see-and she stopped, hovering a nose-length above the ground. And then-smack! They both crashed into the floor.

Emily rubbed her arm where she had fallen, while Ron did the same to his leg. She took a careful look around as she did. The pit above was now solid metal. In front of them was a throne of skulls and bones, a Goblin sitting there, picking at one of the skulls with his thick, dagger-like claws. There were others in the room, too. Four Muggle women, bearing the brand of Goblin-slave on their wrists. A large, bald African man stood behind them, his muscles as big as all four of them combined. Half-giant then. He wielded an axe as big as Ron. Another humanoid stood guard to the Goblin's immediate left. His face was like that of a human-squid hybrid, full of tentacles slithering about.

The Goblin gestured with a finger, his beady black eyes scanning them carefully. The human-squid stepped forward, brandishing a wizard's wand. A bevy of cursory examination spells slammed through them. Emily got up, helped by Ron. With a flick of a wrist, her wand was out, firm in her hand. Neither the squid nor other guard took notice.

"If you're looking for weapons, you're not doing a very good job," Emily said.

"They're clean," the squid said, the words slithering out of his slippery mouth, putting away his wand. Emily did the same, but kept it a shorter distance than before.

"You can never be too careful," the Goblin said. "Glamours and the like are getting better each year. You never know who could be wearing your face, Miss Potter."

"And you must be Griphook."

There was a misconception that if you greeted Goblins a certain way, you'd make them more amenable to further dealings. First, you needed to speak their name-preferably in their Gobbledegook. Name them correctly, and you could send them into a tizzy. From there, and this was crucial: you needed to give them some sort of cultural affirmation, akin to, "May your enemies explode in a fiery fireball of death and may their gold enter your ass shiny side up," or some other similar tango. Alas, Goblins hated humankind regardless of what you did or didn't do.

One rather idiotic wizard tried to even be inducted into a Goblin clan. He went around, calling himself a Goblin, until finally, he went into Gringotts one day and never came out. The Ministry launched an inquiry, but ultimately, their conclusion was that as Goblins maintained their own laws, clearly that Goblin had violated one of them. No, there was easy way out in talking to Goblins.

"That is what you humans call me, yes," Griphook said, his mouth snarling as he did. He looked at Ron. "Oh yes. I know who you are, boy. Not everyday someone takes out an automaton without dying. You've got my attention." His lips snarled into a smile.

"You know what we're capable of," Ron said. "We're good at we do. Solving problems, that is." It was clear to Emily and likely Griphook himself that Ron was a tad nervous. It was fine-Emily was near shitting bricks herself.

"Yes, problems," Griphook said. "I have no lack, of problems. Look." The wall behind him disintegrated, and Lower Unterlondon was replaced in its stead. "I own all that which you see. Everything!" He flicked his nails. The faceless man apparated before them, carrying a bundle of charred bones in a transparent bag. He tossed them in front Emily and Ron, turning his head to the side like a dog.

"Friend of yours?" Emily asked.

"One of your broods," Griphook said, leaning forward. "Wizard enforcer of mine. Decent wandwork skill. Talented with levitation-very useful spell."

"Should've practiced his shield work more, seems like," Ron said.

The attempt at humour did not affect the Goblin. "To strike at one of mine, is to strike me myself," Griphook said. "The insult is…" Griphook took a deep breath. "It must be punished."

"Who's the mark?" Emily asked.

"As it so happens, you weren't my first call. This poor sap, had tried first. You see, you live in my kingdom, you pay my taxes, simple, no? Sometimes people get that. Sometimes they don't, and then they need to be taught a lesson." Griphook stopped for a moment to summon a cigar from one of his slaves. He puffed once, letting loose a pillar of smoke. "There's this hag. Sells decent potions, better than decent ones, in fact. Lives in a hole in the lower parts. Parts I own. Parts which I bled over.

"Taxes needed to be paid, and she wasn't listening to my warnings. So I sent him," Griphook said, pointing with the smoking cigar, "to take care of the problem. He came back, looking like that."

"You want us to kill this hag?" Ron asked. It was a fair question-hags weren't easy to kill. As magical creatures went, they could throw nasty curses on par with that of an advanced wizard. Their capacity for destruction was not to be underrated either.

"No. Like I said, she brews a good potion. I want her paying her dues, and brewing for me."

"And if she doesn't pay up?" Emily asked.

"Torture her, burn her, make her squeal-I don't care, long as she lives and I get paid."

Ron looked at Emily, then back at the ever-smoking Griphook. "All right," he said. "What do we get?"

Griphook snarled even more at that question. "My loving gratitude."

Neither of them said anything, waiting for the greedy Goblin to add more to that offer.

"Do this right, and you pass your auditions. You'll work for me, and there's a lot more work that needs doing."

They again said nothing, waiting for the gold clink of galleons instead.

Griphook barked something, and the squid man stepped forward, this time conjuring a box, opening it to reveal a handful of galleons. "This first job, ten galleons each. After that, you're on payroll, with opportunities for advancement and raises."

It was more than Emily had been promised at the Ministry. Still, they held their tongues. For a Goblin to be desperate enough to talk to folks as young as them… well, he had to be pretty desperate.

"Fine! Ragnok damn you both! I'll get you a Gringotts account, 1 year, no paid fees."

"Five years," Ron said, finally speaking up for them both.

"Three. And don't you dare counter four!" Griphook snarled, this time looking at Emily.

"Three and a half," she said.

He responded by putting one of the skulls in a vice-like grip. She could've sworn she heard a crack. "Three and a half years, no fees," he said. "Any questions? Good. Out!"

Before Ron and Emily could say anything, they were shot past the Goblin and his throne, tossed into the disintegrated wall showing Lower Unterlondon. They whooshed past several buildings. Behind them, the lair had already vanished amongst the sea of structures. Not wanting to trust that they'd stop before getting squished, both Ron and herself cast Arresto Momentum, skidding to a halt where the rush had been carrying them.

They arrived at a mud hut. The faint stench of Hag clung to the air: of brewing potions and arcane spells. Graffitied on the wall was the Hag symbol: a white hand with black fingers.

This was it.

"So, wands blazing or diplomatic?" Ron asked.

Emily rolled her eyes at him. "Let's try avoid duelling an accursed hag if we can. Diplomacy first, and then we blast her if that doesn't work."

With their strategy set, they stepped inside.