Thosar strolled slowly through the building, observing the workings taking place around him. Goblins: Age old creatures, famous for their forging of metal.

So many together at one time, and serving wizards... it was curious indeed.

Some measured precious stones, as others dutifully scribbled foreign figures down.

A wizard was arguing quite loudly and vehemently with the goblin at the front desk.

"-look, I don't give a damn what you say, dwarf, but I need to extract money from this account, and I don't need your fucking permission-"

The goblin, despite the man's obvious hostility, was quite unruffled.

"Mister Winslow" he said, somewhat snidely, "we are unable to do what you ask without the key, and if you are not one who is to be given access to the vault through either blood or relations, we cannot allow you to open the vault."

"Like hell you won't," the man snarled. He moved as if to grab the goblin by the throat, but a hand caught his wrist before it could reach him.

Pissed off, he turned to yell at the beast who had the audacity to grab him, to be stopped by a pair of livid emerald eyes.

"If you have any sense," Thosar said softly, dangerously,"you will leave."

Mister Winslow yanked himself free of his gasp and let out a final curse before stomping out.

The goblin watched this exchange with amusement. When the door finally slammed shut, he said, "I would like to thank you for your interceding. Things would have taken a turn for the worst had you not appeared."

He gave a slight bow. "I apologize for our costumer's behavior. When it comes to money, wizards can turn quite... violent."

He gave a crooked grin, showing a row of sharp, dagger-like teeth.

Thosar bowed in return.

Formalities finished, the goblin straightened up, eying him sharply. "What course of business have you come for, Mr...?"

"If you are willing, perhaps somewhere more private?" He said smoothly.

"Of course."The goblin led him to an enclosed room.

"I assure you, this room is heavily warded with spells preventing eavesdroppers. Not only that, we have a privacy policy that prevents me from speaking of this meeting to anyone else. No-one, save us, shall hear of our conversation without your permission."

Thosar settled down into a chair. "It is clear you take this very seriously."

"Oh yes. We are the best at our work, and shall remain that way."

"Just so. Now that formalities are out of the way, I would like to introduce myself. I am Thosar, better known to the wizarding world as Harry Potter."

The goblin's eyebrows shot up. "Harry Potter? You were presumed dead years ago. While we usually do not busy ourselves with the workings of wizards, your absence from Hogwarts created quite the riot. And now, four years later, you appear, indistinguishable, and half-faerie at that. However," he said, waving a hand, "I presume you do not wish to dwell on such matters. For what reason have you come here, Mister Potter? Am I to assume that you wish to extract money from the Potter vault?"

"That would be correct," Thosar said, feeling somewhat unnerved by the goblin's assessment.

"As it is, we require a drop of blood, to certify that you are the heir, unless, by chance, you might happen to have the key?"

"A drop of blood will do fine," Thosar said, waving his hand, "and yet, you have yet to tell me your name, goblin kin."

Something flickered across the goblin's face. "Gringott, named after my father's father."

That sunk in. "Your grandfather is Gringott, the founder of this very bank."

The goblin raised an eyebrow. "As I'm certain you well know, faerie, we goblins can live for any decades before eventually dying."

Thosar processed this. "I see. The blood?"

Gringott snapped his stubby fingers. As if by magic, a goblin appeared, waiting at his command.

"Griphook, a piece of reveal paper and a sterile needle, if you please."

Griphook disappeared, before coming back with the items requested.

"Thank you," Thosar said to the goblin. Looking wary, Griphook backed away.

"A single drop shall suffice, Mister Potter." Thosar relaxed his muscles, than stuck the needle into his left index finger. A small drop of blood oozed out of the wound.

He watched it drop, slowly, as if suspended in mid-air, onto the paper.

The moment it touched the sheet, words in a fancy script appeared.

Harold James Potter by unofficial adoption.

Understanding filled the goblin's eyes. "That, Mister Potter, answers the question of your faerie blood."

Thosar closed his eyes. He, unwisely, had not previously thought about his heritage, but now it hit him full force.

Whom had sired him? Who had placed him in the care of the Potters?

Yet another mystery, another burden, added onto him as he was shoved unwillingly into the wizarding world.

In the Eternal City, his parentage had always been a question attached to his name, but it had never been viewed as something mandatory to seek out. There, he had been a faerie, pure and untainted. Now, with part of the truth unleashed upon his mind, it could only wonder desperately how it was that a wizard and a faerie could come to be so close as to have made him. When he considered it, it would make a good torture method, should he ever need one.

"Griphook," he heard Gringott say, "take Mister Potter to his vault." His eyes opened.

Automatically, he held out his hand to Gringott. "Thank you for your help."

He could see just the slightest glint of something in the goblin's eyes.

"No, Mister Potter. Thank you."

Mystified, Thosar watched him leave. Odd...

"This way, Mister Potter."

The cart moved frightfully fast. Thosar gripped the railing tightly.

The cart stopped suddenly. He staggered forward, Griphook looking on bemusedly. Taking out a golden key, the goblin unlocked the heavy door in front of them, swinging it open.

"Your vault, Mister Potter."

Gold. Piles and piles of gleaming gold, silver and bronze.

Thosar realized only know that he had forgotten to inquire over the money value in this world. He did so.

Golden galleons, silver sickles, bronze knuts. Twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, seventeen sickles to a galleon. Simple enough.

He swept a large amount of galleons and sickles into a leather pouch that Griphook had handed him silently

"If you are finished, Mister Potter, we shall be leaving," the goblin informed him.

Ten minutes later, he had returned to Ollivander's.

"Let us get to work on finding the wand for you, then, Mister Potter," the man said as he walked through the shelves. "Extend your wand arm."

Thosar lifted his right arm. A tape measure, seemingly of its own accord, flew up and starting measuring him, in just about every way possible.

"Your wand shall be particularly hard to uncover, seeing as the faerie magic in your blood should disrupt your wizard abilities to some extent." Ollivander spoke as he searched.

He pulled out a box near the front. "Try this. Holly, 11 inches, nice and supple."

Thosar picked up the wand eagerly.

Nothing happened.

Ollivander frowned in perplexity.

"Hm. That was...unexpected. Let's see if this one..."

A half hour and a large pile of discarded wands later, Thosar was beginning to feel frustrated. Ollivander, on the contrary, looked all the more positive.

"Tricky costumer, eh," he called out from near the back. "Don't worry, we'll get you situated soon enough."

He stepped forward, blowing dust off a leather case.

Taking out the wand, Ollivander stared off for a moment before snapping back to reality.

"Here." He said, handing it to Thosar. Thosar grasped the wand tightly.

Unlike all others he had tried, which had broken something or other, the wood of this one seemed to warm beneath his touch. A bright golden light surrounded him.

Ollivander was dumbfounded, judging from his expression as the gold faded away.

"Redwood, 10 inches, slightly bendy." His words were barely audible. "A single wing feather from a pegasi."

Oh yeah, I am that awesome. Now, I have a question for you readers:

What is the name of the pet shop the Trio go to to get Ron's rat tonic? If you need more clues, Hermione bought Crookshanks PoA book disappeared. :(

Thanks if you do answer!

Review if you value your life. Literally. Oh, and another random question:

If you're dressing up for Halloween, what are you going to be?

Doctor Pepper