Sympathetic Properties

by Mr Norrell

Having been treated as a servant his entire life, Harry is more sympathetic when Dobby arrives, avoiding Vernon's wrath and gaining a bit of freedom. That freedom changes his summer, his life, and the world forever. A very long character-driven story that likes to play with canon.

15. Differences

AN: It's been said I border on crack sometimes with my humor. So with that in mind, I wrote this first small section.

.o0O0o.

Barchoke tugged at his tight collar and wiped beads of sweat from his clammy brow as he pored over, and mentally revised, his latest lengthy read. The last several books had certainly proved invigorating to the normally stolid banker and while Lester might think they could hold clues to Dumbledore's plans there was no reason he couldn't recast the characters into something a bit more appropriate.

[Overseer Barchoke's] eyes blazed like [newly minted galleons]. His gaze seemed to reach into the very heart of [Secretary Trixie's money pouch], [claiming it], claiming her. His strong arms circled around her in a [possessive] embrace.

"Oh [Overseer], you're so [rich]!" [Secretary Trixie] exclaimed. Her [leather armor] was ripped and torn from the [dragon's] heinous claws, her bosom heaving as she seemed to breathe for the first time since he left to [plunder] the fearsome beast['s hoard].

"I thought you'd surely be [squashed]!" she cried, crushing herself against the strong masculine form of her [new master].

"Never, while [there are spoils to claim]," [Overseer Barchoke] said as he [smirked triumphantly]. Oh, how he [smirked a smirk] that seemed to fill the entirety of the [dragon pits] with [gold].

"Not even [Gringotts most] fearsome beast could keep me from [my due]," [Barchoke chuckled]. "And with [help from the smiths of old], I've slain the beast, and no one will ever need to fear from it [as we feast on its corpse]."

The [Secretary] looked down to the [money sack] on [Barchoke's belt]; [it] seemed to [bulge] with the [weight] of [Barchoke's desire] for her until [it threatened to pound her senseless].

"Oh [Overseer Barchoke]."

"Overseer Barchoke?" the secretary asked again, pulling the Overseer out of his read and sending him scrambling to hide the book in his lap and cover it in files as he hunched over to protect himself.

"What? What is it?" he asked the female goblin quickly.

"You wanted to know when Mr. Malfoy left," his secretary reminded him.

"Oh, yes. And?" he said uncertainly.

"Mr. Malfoy's left," she said with a shrug, her scratchy voice cracking a bit as she pointed out the obvious. She sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard; it made the skin on his back crawl in a way any green-blooded goblin male would find irresistible.

"Right," the Overseer said. "And Litigator Lichfield?"

"He's gone to find Mr. Potter," her voice cracked again, making his shoulders writhe and fingers twitch. "You want me to take care of that?" she asked, pointing to the files in his lap.

"No, no! I'll take them with me," he said quickly, trying to get his mind back on business where it belonged.

"Are you alright there, Boss?" his secretary asked suddenly, eyeing him shrewdly from the doorway as she scratched her head at the base of one of her two puffy pigtails. "You've been kind of odd lately."

"I'm fine. Thank you, Secretary Trixie, that will be all," Barchoke said dismissing her.

As the door to his office closed Barchoke gathered up his files from his lap and placed the book in a drawer containing several others of the same kind. Odd, she said. He'd been acting odd for so long others now thought him odd when he wasn't acting odd any more. If he'd been a normal banker he would have gotten involved with his secretary years ago and had a brood of little goblins trying to kill each other by now.

Bank fraud. Embezzlement. Conspiracy. Coercion. Torture. Profit. Death. Rebellion. World Domination!

His mind back on business, Overseer Barchoke left his office.

.o0O0o.

"The Puckle," Hermione said to Harry as they walked towards the gleaming white bank.

"–Also called the Dreaded Doctor Puckle," her father interrupted, giving Harry his spooky-eyes and wiggly-finger combo to suitably exaggerate his point that the whole thing was nonsense.

"–Stands for Dr. Monica J. Puckle," she continued as if nothing had happened. "She's a rather accomplished oral and maxillofacial surgeon."

Harry looked at her quizzically.

"She also happens to be my mother," she admitted finally.

"Oh," he said uncomfortably, probably remembering what she'd said about the strained relationship there. "I thought you said both your parents were dentists."

"You still using that old line?" her father asked cheerily behind her.

"Technically they are," she said. "It's just easier to imply they're both the same than to explain my dad caps teeth while my mother rearranges jaws after they've been shattered in collisions."

"So when he said she was the doctor in the family–?"

"He meant a proper doctor," Hermione explained. "Dentists aren't called doctor, didn't you know that?"

"The Dursleys didn't care about my teeth enough for me to know," he confided in her.

"Well then," her father said happily, "we should make you an appointment."

"Dad, they have magic," Hermione said quickly before the mad old dentist could start digging through Harry's mouth in the middle of the street. "If he really needs cavities filled, Madam Pomfrey could probably fix them in a heartbeat."

"But why would he want it done quickly and painlessly when it can be done with drills?" he asked with an odd look on his face. "Next you'll be saying you don't want big bulky braces to take care of your teeth."

Hermione felt guilty and kept quiet rather than admit the truth. The silence stretched for a moment before he gave her a scratch on the top of her head like she were some kind of humanoid cat.

"Don't tell your mother," he said.

She couldn't help but shake her head. She should've expected that; he always did the opposite of what people expect. Suddenly she was more committed than ever to keep him away from Ron. Her dad would only confirm everything he'd ever thought about muggles and it'd be impossible to convince him her father was a fluke.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "Where's Malfoy going?" he asked, looking off to one side.

Hermione turned to see Draco and his father disappear down a certain side street she had no intention of going down again.

"That's nowhere you want to be," the grizzled elderly man she assumed was Lichfield said, giving Harry a poke to the side of the head as if to keep him from running off to investigate.

"Oh!" Harry said suddenly. "Hermione, this is Lichfield. Lichfield, this is Hermione – and her dad. Sorry," he said to her father, "I didn't catch your name."

"Yes, Hermione seems to have forgotten it; everyone calls me Dan," he said, shaking Lichfield's hand. "He's right though," he said to Harry as they started moving again. "That's not a place I'd like to go again."

Lichfield looked at him curiously. "What were you doing in Nockturn Alley?"

"We got turned around on our last trip and ended up there," her father explained. "One look at those skulls and we knew we weren't in Kansas anymore. For a minute there I thought we were going to get mugged."

"A muggle like you was lucky not to get killed," the grizzled old lawyer said.

"Yes, it did look particularly dodgy," her father smiled, safe and warm in the bright sunshine of Diagon Alley. "We prefer the term 'non-magical' though; 'muggle' sounds way too diminutive to be respectful."

"Huh," the man named Lichfield grunted appraisingly as they walked through the bank's front doors. "Never thought about what non-magical people would want to be called. I'll try to remember that."

Her father smiled and gave her his thumbs-up gesture as if to say 'score one for positive social change.' Somehow she doubted Slytherin house would become civil just from a few people adopting the phrase 'non-magical people,' but she supposed it'd isolate the bigots from everyone else, assuming there was an everyone else in Slytherin house.

"Well, Sweetie, I suppose we should pick a teller and wait in line so we can get some Fun Bricks," her father said to her as if this was all some amusement park scheme to get you to exchange real money for fake money and they weren't standing in the middle of one of the four most powerful wizarding institutions in the country.

"Actually, sir," Harry said politely. "I was wondering if Hermione could come with us. I promised her she could meet a friend of mine and it'd keep me from having to tell her everything later."

"Not sure how long it'll be," the gruff-looking Lichfield said, "but we might be able to get you a deal, one of the head fun brick makers is just up ahead. How often do you get to see one of them?"

Hermione shook her head; she was starting to believe she was the only person who ever took things seriously. They were talking about the goblins running the bank like they were some kind of Oompa Loompa. Feeling more than a little soiled by the idea of singing and dancing goblins in silly costumes and make up Hermione followed along, hoping they'd be able to sit down and talk about things logically without her father jostling things about just because he could. It probably wouldn't be so bad if just once someone did it to him instead.

The goblin in question was standing next to a bronze door on the side of the room looking through some files and wearing a suit her father would've poured something on just for the excuse to take it off and wear something else.

"Ah, there you are," he said absently as he glanced at Harry. "We're on sub-level one today. This way."

"The girl's coming with us," Lichfield interjected.

"Hm?" the bald goblin asked, looking up at them for the first time.

In an instant a stony look appeared in the goblin's eye and he smiled without any sort of warmth.

"My apologies, I was unaware we'd have visitors. I am Overseer Barchoke in charge of Hereditary Accounts here at Gringotts," he said professionally, extending his hand to her.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she replied taking his hand, glad to finally meet someone as serious as she was. "And this is my father," she gestured over to him.

A curious look crossed the goblin's face as he looked up at her dad.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you in here again," the goblin said finally.

Hermione thought she saw a crack appear in her father's normally cartoonish exterior as everyone's eyes focused on him.

"You have a remarkably good memory," her father told the goblin before turning to her with a smile. "See, Honey? It must be the teller from last time. He remembered us."

"It can't be," she told him. "That goblin had hair."

"Hermione," her father scolded, "you can't just blurt out the ma– Oh, I'm sorry," he turned back to the goblin. "I almost called you a 'man.' It's an interchangeable word for us meaning a male person. It just occurred to me it might be offensive to you. Do you have a word you'd prefer me to use?"

"'Goblin' will do fine," the goblin looked at him quizzically.

"You can't just blurt out the goblin's gone bald, it's rude," her father said as if nothing had happened.

Lichfield coughed into his hand and if Harry's face was anything to go by both of them were struggling not to laugh.

"I must apologize for my daughter," her dad told the goblin. "This is only our second trip and we are strangers to your ways. I fear she's a bit too much like her mother at times."

Hermione shot him her most fierce glare. That was uncalled for; she was simply stating a fact.

"I haven't been a teller in quite some time," the suited goblin said. "Are you sure we haven't met before? Your face is very familiar."

"Okay, this is getting kind of scary," her father said with his hands up in front of himself and looking rather unnerved. "I know I have one of those faces everyone thinks looks like someone else but this is the third time it's happened since we got here, and it's only been like an hour or so."

Hermione had never given it a second thought but people had been making that mistake a lot lately. Even professor McGonagall had thought he'd looked like someone she knew, and that was impossible. She supposed her father might have some sort of doppelganger out there except one of him was bad enough, she couldn't imagine there being two of him.

'It'd be Fred and George squared,' she thought to herself.

"My mistake," the goblin said. "I just recalled the wizard I'm thinking about was reported dead twenty years ago. The resemblance is uncanny."

Flipping open a file and scribbling something down, the goblin turned back to her.

"For the record, is it simply Hermione Granger or is there a middle name as well?" he asked.

"Jane" she answered him at the same time her father said "Jean."

The goblin looked back and forth between them but it was Harry who spoke.

"You have two middle names?" he asked.

"I have one middle name," she replied stuffily. "It's Jane."

"Jean," her father interrupted again and she shot him a look.

"My mother says it's Jane, he says it's Jean," she explained.

"Jane sounds so boring," her father complained.

"Yes, and naming me Hermione wasn't enough to make me stand out," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "And since my middle name is supposed to be the same as hers–"

"So what's her middle name?" the goblin asked with an expression suggesting they were being intentionally difficult.

"Je–" her father started to say before she rolled over him.

"She doesn't know," she said firmly. "She was adopted and the paperwork she has only has the middle initial J. It could be Jane, or Jean, or even the remains of her birth surname, so it could be Jones, Johnson, or–"

"–Jørgensen," her father cheerily added. "What? You think Norwegian's crossing the line?"

Hermione rolled her eyes again.

"Right. Hermione J. Granger," the goblin said, adding a note to his file.

"Johnson?" Harry asked with a smile. "So you could be related to Angelina?"

"Probably not, unless the connection goes back several hundred years," she answered with a smile of her own. "I suppose we could share a philandering grandfather, but I highly doubt that's the case."

"If you're interested in researching any connections you may have to the wizarding world," the Overseer said to her. "I also oversee the Office of Latent Legacy Lineages, a small department that searches for possible inheritors for inactive accounts. Nothing is guaranteed, of course, and even if a connection is found you may not stand to inherit anything, but with records going back almost a thousand years it could give you something to go on."

Hermione had never thought of doing a wizarding genealogy. She'd always thought doing magic could be a next step in evolution, a quirk of brain structure, or a fluke of genetics – much like her hair – though the idea of a magical gene is rather preposterous, she supposed, but to actually have a real historical connection to the wizarding world would be tremendous.

"Yes, and if you ask nicely," her father said, "he could sell you London Bridge, the Crown Jewels, and the ripped up parole papers of Jean Valjean."

Instantly the goblin's eyes pinned her father with its beady stare.

"Did you have any other business to conduct here today, sir?" he asked as he showed a pointed-toothed smile.

"He needed to convert some non-magical money into galleons," Lichfield said quickly.

Without even waiting for her father to concur the goblin's head whipped to the side and he pointed at another goblin. "Griphook!"

"Yes, Overseer?" the other goblin said, setting down an armload of clanking metallic objects on a nearby bench and scurrying over.

"Convert his muggle money," the Overseer commanded.

"Er– Sir? I–I'm not a teller," the other goblin said uncertainly.

"Are you turning down an opportunity to make amends for an incomplete report and possibly earn a promotion?" the Overseer asked quickly.

"Oh! No sir!" the new goblin exclaimed.

"Then attend to this muggle–"

"Actually, they prefer the term 'non-magical person,'" Lichfield chose to levelly add to this tense moment.

"Do they?" the suited goblin asked with a glance at the grizzled old lawyer before turning back to the newest goblin. "Attend to this muggle, SRP1."

"I really think I should go along with my daughter," her father said uncertainly.

With a snap of the Overseer's fingers two surly-looking goblins in scarlet and gold moved to flank him.

"Muggles are not permitted off this level," the head goblin told her father tersely. "You are welcome to wait in the sitting area over there–," he jabbed to a scattered clump of chairs by the front doors, "–when your business is concluded, but if you take one step closer to any other door you will be forced to leave. Take her below if she's going; I'll meet you there momentarily," he finished to Lichfield before walking off in a different direction.

In the tense stillness that followed Hermione didn't know what to do. She didn't want to leave her dad alone with a bunch of angry goblins, wanted to know what was going on with Harry, didn't want this day to end horribly, and didn't want to have to pick sides.

"I'll look after her," Lichfield said with a soothing gesture to her father.

Her father finally seemed to grasp that maybe he'd gone a little too far this time; finally meeting someone who liked pranks even less than she did and had the ability to bite back. He eventually nodded and motioned for her to go.

"I'll just be – sitting out here," he told her as he took the bag holding her new school books. "Let me know if she gets into trouble or runs off and gets married, will you?" he asked Lichfield.

Did her father have to be embarrassing even when contrite?

"If she finds a nice goblin between now and then I'll let you know," the lawyer replied, "but Barchoke's always had other things on his mind to be interested."

With that bit of a roadblock behind them, she followed Harry and Lichfield through the bronze door and hoped it would be the end of those awkward situations.

.o0O0o.

"What's SRP1?" Harry asked as they descended the slowly winding stairs of unfinished stone, hoping to get things back on an even keel. He didn't know what Hermione thought after the exchange with her father and certainly didn't want to see this trip ruined, so he thought it best to bury it with more talk. "Is it a title or something?"

"It stands for Standard Rate Plus One," Lichfield said with a bit of a chagrined look as he led them down. "I'd been hoping to get them a better conversion rate since the girl's a friend of yours but now that he's insulted Gringotts he'll be paying out the nose for a while."

Harry chanced a look at his – er – female friend to gauge her reaction to this bit of news, what he saw was a torn expression.

"My–my father sometimes lacks the filter which tells you now is not an appropriate time to joke," she said finally.

"Standing in the lobby of Gringotts and chatting with an Overseer in full view of two dozen or more goblins is certainly not the time to call them all crooks," Lichfield said dryly.

"Well, if it gets him to understand that some people don't like constant jokes at their expense then I guess paying an extra pound per galleon isn't too bad," Hermione conceded.

"That's not what 'plus one' means, unfortunately," he admitted.

"Then what does it mean?" Harry asked.

"That he's been bumped up an entire Trading Tier," Lichfield said as they approached an old iron door. "He's being treated the same as some big foreign investor from Germany, Italy, or France," he explained. "He'll end up paying close to fifteen per galleon today."

"Fifteen!" Hermione asked shocked. "Last time he paid five."

"He's paying five for the galleon, five for the insult, and five to continue doing his banking with us, because there's no other business that'll change out money," the old man replied.

"Isn't that rather unfair?" Harry asked, trying to smooth things over.

"Well," the grizzled old bailiff said as he led them through the door to a roughly cut hallway, its torches casting fluttering shadows across the uneven surface. "If he hadn't done something Barchoke would've been out of a job in an hour or so, which would have left us in a lot of hot water."

"He did that to save his job?" Hermione asked revolted.

Lichfield turned to look at her.

"He saved his job, your boyfriend's court case, and your father's head," he said as roughly as his gruff voice allowed before going on normally. "It was his misfortune today an Overseer was there – most of the time you never even see them unless there's a problem – but he was lucky it was Barchoke. Our Overseer of Security would've killed him and threw his body in the street as a warning to others."

"That's totally barbaric!" Hermione said with a horrid expression on her face.

"So is telling a room full of goblins everything they, their families, and their entire kind has done is disreputable and they're nothing more than common thieves," Lichfield said looking particularly menacing in the flickering torchlight from the wall bracket.

"And the Ministry just lets them get away with this?" she asked the question that'd popped into Harry's mind too.

"They hold Gringotts and all its adjoining territories to be the sovereign domain of the Goblin Nation," the old bailiff informed her. "The goblins might discard the very idea as offensive when they want to but they'll just as soon latch onto it if it lets them do what they want, and that's what your father did – he marched right into the heart of the Goblin Nation and called them all slimy panhandlers."

Hermione had one of those looks he'd last seen on Ron, where the person was looking inward and trying hard to see things from another person's point of view.

"Different creatures have different ways of looking at things, and the goblins are more bristly than most," Lichfield continued. "You can't go around treating everyone like they're human and have your sensibilities or your stay in the wizarding world will either be rough or short."

"The centaurs were the same way," Harry said, suddenly reminded of something from last year.

"What were you doing with centaurs?" Lichfield asked, his bemused grin doing odd things to his face in the flickering light.

"I had a detention and got separated from everyone else," Harry said embarrassed. "A centaur found me and brought me back," he continued. "The other centaur, Bane, didn't like it too well since I was riding on Firenze's back; he called him a 'common mule.'"

"I've read about them but haven't had any dealings with centaurs," Lichfield admitted as he led them to an iron door a little ways down the hall. "They don't use money. But they're an odd people from what I've heard; more prideful but less prone to violence unless pressed. It's their pride that keeps them as Beasts."

"Beasts? How can something capable of intelligent thought be a beast?" Hermione asked as Harry sensed her outrage level rising again.

"Because they demanded to be beasts," Lichfield replied. "Merpeople – merfolk? – are the same way. They refused the Ministry classification of Being because they found it offensive to be classified the same as vampires and hags – or humans," he finished with a look as he waved them inside a small stone room.

"But why would anyone not want to be equals?" a confused Hermione asked.

"Because they're different," Lichfield explained as he changed the room's roughhewn furniture into something more comfortable with a wave of his wand. "And the difference defines them; no amount of wishing them to be the same will make them so, or want to be so. You have to accept them on their own terms or things will be even more difficult than they already are."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Take your friends, the centaurs," Lichfield said as he picked a chair around the plain wooden table and settled into it with a groan. "They're migratory; their herd roams around, splits up, and scatters to wherever the wind takes them before they gather back up again," the old bailiff said, painting a verbal picture for him.

"This brings them into close contact with muggl–non-magical people," Lichfield corrected himself as they found their own chairs. "That creates a problem for the Ministry, who then tries to solve the problem by restricting where the centaurs can roam – but the centaurs don't want anything to do with us; they see themselves as a separate people – and better than us, from what I've been told – so they disregard the Ministry and do whatever they want, which only causes more problems."

"So how does treating them as different solve the problem?" Hermione asked. "Shouldn't they be expected to obey the same laws as everyone else?"

"Why should they when they have no input on the laws?" Lichfield countered. "Remember, they're Beasts, which – by definition – lack the intellect to understand or shape the laws which govern them, and they're Beasts by choice. They reject the Ministry so what's the Ministry supposed to do? What would you do?" he asked, putting her on the spot.

"I'd put them in all relevant legislative bodies and give them the same rights, privileges, and obligations as everyone else," Hermione said determinedly. "It'd have them buy into the wider society and make them feel like a welcome and accepted addition."

"Youthful idealism," Lichfield said with a grin that said everything she wanted was never going to happen. "Goblins have wanted that for almost a thousand years, even fighting to get those rights you so casually give away. It still hasn't happened," he said dryly.

"But just for the sake of argument," he continued as a way to head off her incoming objection, "even if you got the Ministry to offer all that: wand use, access to Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, representation in the Wizengamot and the Committee for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, even a shot at being Minister of Magic – the centaurs still don't want it; they want to be left alone. What then?"

"That sounds like an outright rejection of the basic social contract," Hermione said.

"I don't know what you mean," he replied, "but it sounds about right. So what do you do?"

Harry glanced over at Hermione; she really seemed at a loss.

"What would you do?" she asked, turning it around on him.

"Me? I'd put the needs of the centaurs above the willy-nilly wants of the mug–non-magical population," Lichfield replied. "They have the vast majority of the country just given over to their use, which squeezes us into an ever-more tiny area. I'd negotiate with the centaurs to come up with a set territory that could be their sovereign domain and then rig it up with charms to repel non-magical people, provided they stay in those areas. It recognizes the separation they want and deals with the Ministry having to constantly cover up for them."

Like all solutions too good to be true, Harry knew where this was going.

"So tell us why this won't work either," he said to the bailiff.

"Because they're Beasts, not Beings," Lichfield said with a grin. "And you can only negotiate with Beings. Even with a solution giving them everything they want, who knows if you could ever get them to take it, because taking it means getting them to agree they're on the same level as vampires, hags, and humans."

"So you're saying there's no solution," Hermione said.

"I'm saying the solution is to recognize the differences and to accept people on their own terms," Lichfield reiterated. "If we can recognize their right to be left alone and have nothing to do with us then they should be willing to accept us and our terms, even if they fundamentally reject what it implies about how we see them, because their classification with us ultimately makes no difference to their day-to-day life if all we're going to be doing afterwards is ignoring each other. Merlin knows if you can ever get them to see it though."

As Hermione looked to be trying to incorporate this crash course in wizarding world diplomacy the door opened and Barchoke strode in, carrying even more files than he had before. Lichfield made to say something but it was Hermione that spoke first.

"Would someone really have killed my dad for what he said?" she asked stiffly.

"Yes," Barchoke replied tersely. "I considered it as well, but then I'd have these two pissed off at me–," he gestured to Harry and Lichfield as he made his way to the last seat at the table. "And I didn't want to be dragged into a fracas with the Ministry for doing what's been done before."

"How many times did you walk up and down the back hallway before you calmed down?" Lichfield asked.

"Who said I'm calm?" the Overseer replied, drawing a nervous look from Hermione.

"No salsa dancers today?" Harry asked, hoping to lessen the tension.

"No need; this room's warded," Barchoke replied, pointing up to a line of strange symbols and odd squiggles running the around entire room just below the ceiling. "Everything above ground is considered each individual's personal responsibility."

"It's one of the benefits of meeting in an old torture chamber," Lichfield said, drawing an even more pronounced look from Hermione. "They only torture each other now," he said placatingly.

"Are those the same symbols used in enchanting?" Harry asked, trying to deflect things away from the grizzly subject matter.

"No," Lichfield said appraisingly. "Those look like an older goblin rune form, don't know what they do, but I could guess."

"Keep sound in," Barchoke said as he pointed to the far side of the decorative line. "Deter intruders, prevent death by blood loss, enhance pain – or truth," he added with a nebulous wiggle of his hand. "That one's kind of fuzzy; truth hurts. Just the basics over and over again really."

Barchoke took a moment to arrange his stack of files on the table just so.

"So, how far have you gotten?" he asked.

"Nowhere," Lichfield replied, "We were talking about centaurs until you came in."

Barchoke looked at him like he had lost his mind.

"I told you," the old bailiff said, raising his hands in surrender. "It's the boy's fault. Charlus did the same thing; it was amazing we ever got anything done."

"Do you have Dobby?" Harry asked, wanting to get this issue out there first before they get drowned by everything else.

"He's downstairs asleep," Barchoke said as he picked out a file and looked through it. "Passed out almost as soon as the papers were signed. He looked like his family has been overworking him."

"That's horrible," Hermione said.

"That's actually a good thing," Lichfield said, drawing a confused look from Hermione. "They probably did it to squeeze every drop of work they could from the little guy before he left, and that's horrible–"

"–So is what he's wearing," Barchoke interjected.

"But the extra work should keep him feeling well through the transition to his new family," Lichfield continued. "With you being at the Weasleys," he said to Harry, "you won't have to worry about giving him something to do, so I'd just let him rest until he feels up to it."

"Wait, I don't understand," Hermione interrupted. "How can you say overworking a child is a good thing? It's abuse."

Lichfield's eyebrows shot towards the ceiling and he gave Harry a curious look.

"You didn't tell your little cuddle-bunny about Dobby?" he asked, causing Harry's face to feel like it was on fire.

"I didn't want Dobby to get into trouble," Harry finally managed to croak, determinedly not looking anywhere near Hermione. "Just knowing his name and what his family was like was enough for you to find him, so I kept as much secret as I could in case our letters were intercepted again."

"That's actually a very good idea," Lichfield said as he gave Barchoke an odd look; the Overseer had crammed his fingers in his ears and was beginning to hum. "Oh," he said with a shake of his head as he turned back to Harry. "You said 'intercepted again' which implied they were intercepted before, which in turn implied Dobby was the one who intercepted them."

"But Dobby was the one who intercepted them," Harry said confused.

"Which is why he's humming," Lichfield gestured to Barchoke.

"Oh, right," Harry said, finally catching on.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"He's required to report anything illegal," Harry said, finally looking at her again as if Lichfield hadn't said anything awkward before, though the thought of cuddling up with her was now firmly planted in his head – well, once she stopped looking so stern that is. "Dobby stopping my letters and coming to warn me were both illegal, not to mention everything he did to help my escape. Doing this means he doesn't have to hear it and report anything."

"I suppose it's better than killing you and throwing your body into the street," she said with a disapproving look at the goblin. "But it still doesn't answer the question."

"Dobby's not a child," Harry said with a shrug as Lichfield gave Barchoke a poke. "He's a house-elf."

"What's a house-elf?" she asked, still with her stern look. "And why does that make a difference with how he's treated?"

Lichfield raised his eyebrow and gave her a look as if to say, 'What did we just talk about?' Hermione caught the look and revised her tone.

"Could you tell me more about house-elves? I've never heard of them before," she said neutrally.

"They're – er–," he started, rather at a loss on how to explain what he's learned so far. "They're a kind of magical little person that works for a wizarding family," Harry said finally. "Kind of like Santa Claus with his elves – only without the sleigh."

"Are they paid?" Hermione asked still seeming to struggle with keeping the edge out of her voice. "Do they have sick-leave, vacations, time off, or health and dental? Or are they Beasts as well?" she finished with a glance at Lichfield.

"I happen to have one," Lichfield replied, "and I certainly wouldn't call her a Beast. I call her Mipsy, because that's her name."

"And do you pay her?" Hermione repeated.

"The better question would be, 'Does she want to be paid?'" Lichfield countered. "After all, you didn't know her entire race existed five minutes ago and haven't met one yet, so how could you know what they want? Or are you making the mistake of treating them like humans again?"

As Hermione's brow furrowed and lips pursed as she endeavored to come up with another line of attack, Barchoke already knew exactly what to say.

"I know I always get on to you two about going off like this," the goblin said in an aside to Harry. "But this is actually rather entertaining. If it didn't take him away from Gringotts I'd say he should be teaching an introduction to the magical world course at Hogwarts."

"I'd just be happy if they had the course at all," Harry replied.

"What do they teach you up there?" the goblin asked with an odd look.

"Did you ever do chores at home?" Lichfield asked Hermione. "Feeding the chickens, mopping the floor, that sort of thing?"

"I've done the dishes and vacuumed before, why?" she replied, the curious and guarded look on her face wondering where he was going with this; Harry thought he knew.

"And were you paid?" the old bailiff asked.

"I was given an allowance," she said.

"So your parents allowed you to have money every once in a while," Lichfield clarified. "But you still had to follow their rules and do the work they told you to, even though you weren't technically paid for it," he pressed.

"That's different," Hermione insisted, "we're talking about employees."

Lichfield turned and pointed at Harry; somehow he'd known he'd be dragged back into this.

"Those elves that made your shoes," Lichfield said. "What did that shopkeeper call them?"

"He called them family," Harry mumbled, running a hand through his hair to flatten it unnecessarily.

"And do you plan on treating Dobby like he's family?" Lichfield unexpectedly pressed him.

"Wha–? Of course!" Harry defended himself. "He's the whole reason I'm here. If it weren't for him I'd still be at the Dursleys, Dumbledore'd be stealing from me, and–," he chanced a look over at Hermione. "If he hadn't given me those letters, I never would've known what you had said at all."

Harry knew at once he'd made the point Lichfield wanted him to but seeing the dispirited look on Hermione's face made him wish he hadn't. After their brief conversation in the pet shop today he doubted she's say a thing against his desire for more family.

"But," she said, though it didn't sound like her heart was in it. "Isn't that making the mistake of treating them like they're human?"

"It's treating them like they want to be treated," Lichfield said, though not unkindly. "They want to be a family, they want to be taken in and made to feel welcome, it's what they deserve," he said in a way that had Harry wondering if Lichfield was settling into another one of his funks. His concern was short-lived though as the old bailiff glanced up at Hermione with a bit of a grin and he began wondering what sort of prank the old man was planning to pull.

"But if you think about it," Lichfield said as he studied the girl in front of him. "They are paid, in a way, even if it's not with money. They get a place to stay, a roof over their head, something to eat, and ideally made to feel like a welcome part of the family," he explained. "For this free room, board, and company they return the generosity by doing whatever work they can for the family."

"But they shouldn't have to work like that if they don't want to," Hermione said.

"And you shouldn't have to breathe," Lichfield countered. "But that won't stop you from passing out if you tried to quit. You take away a house-elf's work and family and they'll be dead before you know it."

"How could that possibly be true?" Hermione asked, the very idea seemed strange to Harry as well. "How many elves have you seen die that way?"

"Four," Lichfield said without missing a beat. "It would've been five but one of them managed to pull through, and that took a lot of work. As strange as it seems, house-elves need to work as much as they need a family – no one knows why–"

Barchoke looked down and fiddled with his files again.

"–But it's likely the reason they swear themselves and their family to serve a wizarding one for as long as they'll have them," Lichfield continued.

"But that's slavery!"

"That's the closest term we have for it, sure," the old bailiff agreed. "But look at what they get in return. By swearing to serve not just one person but an entire group of people – that's a lot of need to go around. That makes it a perfect environment for raising a little house-elf family, doesn't it? And if the human family grows and the kids go off to form their own families, then it's a perfect route for the house-elf family to do so too while still sticking to that family."

"Th–that," Hermione sputtered, "that makes it sound like they're some sort of magical parasite that sucks up work instead of blood."

"Maybe they are," he replied with an amused look on his face and a shrug. "But letting them do our laundry seems like a small thing to sacrifice when we're talking about letting their entire race continue on for another generation."

"Now that's not to say there isn't abuse," he continued. "Dobby's proof it can happen, even if most people treat house-elves like the children they seem to be. If you want a righteous cause, if you want to go off and change the world for the better, use that, fight that, and you might even get house-elves to support the measure. But if you try to force them all to be free and find paying jobs like an adult human then you're going to have a fight on your hands because it's the worst thing that could ever happen to them."

"So what's going to happen to Dobby's old family?" Hermione asked, her fiery passion for justice reignited again. "Are they going to be punished for how they treated him?"

"No," Lichfield said neutrally. "What they did was horrible, but that doesn't mean it's illegal. What's going to happen is they get paid for their loss and Harry's gain."

"You're buying Dobby?" Hermione asked Harry with a scandalized look on her face. "That is slavery."

"Then what should I do, give him back to the Malfoys?" Harry retorted. "You were the one who said getting him away is the right thing to do. Why does it change if this is how I have to do it?"

"His family was the Malfoys?" Hermione asked and Harry knew he had scored a point on the issue.

"It's a good thing there wasn't a non-disclosure agreement in this," Barchoke said flipping through his file.

"You can look at it as paying for Dobby if you want," Lichfield said. "They certainly see it that way. I prefer to see it is as an acknowledgement, in rough and admittedly arbitrary human terms, that having a house-elf adds value to a family. Everything they do, each meal they prepare, each sock they wash, is a service they render to the family. All Harry's money is doing is reimbursing the Malfoys for losing those services for the rest of Dobby's life while he, in turn, gains them. Where the house-elf resides then becomes a moot issue."

Harry had to admit, as horrible as paying the Malfoys was, thinking of it that way didn't seem so bad.

He was drawn from his thoughts by quick repeated thuds on the iron door and a goblin sticking their head inside. It certainly looked different than any other goblin he'd seen, the facial features were less pronounced, the nose and ears smaller, but it could've been the two puffy pigtails that screamed the goblin was female.

"Secretary Trixie?" Barchoke asked with a bit of a shocked look on his face as Lichfield glanced up at the decorative line of runes along the ceiling. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Overseer Barchoke," the new arrival said lieu of a greeting. "But it's awake and bouncing around the entire office," Harry silently cringed as her voice cracked, sending shivers down his spine in the most uncomfortable way. "We really want to get him outta there."

"Yes, yes," Barchoke said with a wave, "send him in."

The goblin secretary left as quickly as her feet could carry her, leaving the door ajar.

"You sure those are charged?" Lichfield asked, pointing up to the line of runes.

"Should be," the Overseer replied, glancing up at them. "It does say 'deter intruders' and not 'prohibit' so maybe the elf's causing enough problems it let her enter."

For a moment Harry was worried Hermione would question why there weren't any female goblins working where people could see them but his concern was quickly quashed when he saw a fleshy blur fly past the door and have to double back. Dobby ran into the room with the biggest grin Harry had ever seen.

"Harry Potter!" the delighted elf cried excitedly, still in his grubby old pillowcase. "Harry Potter said Dobby would see him again and now Dobby has!"

"How are you, Dobby, are you feeling alright?" he asked, concerned for the little elf's health. Now that he was closer Harry noticed the house-elf had large circles under his eyes.

"Dobby is very tired, sir," Dobby nodded. "Dobby's been given ever so much work."

"Once he finishes with this form," Lichfield said as he slid the appropriate form closer to Harry and Barchoke produced a Blood Quill, quill, and ink from a suit pocket. "Harry can let you get some rest."

"But Harry Potter will have work for Dobby!" the elf said as Harry made his scratch with the Blood Quill, his slight wince drawing a concerned look from Hermione. "Wash his clothes, make his lunch, clean his room–"

"And how do you feel about doing all this work, Dobby?" Hermione asked as Secretary Trixie huffed up to the room and with a look shut the door on them as if to lock the house-elf inside.

"Dobby, this is Hermione," Harry said by way of introduction. "She's my – er – friend."

"Harry Potter is a great wizard, miss," Dobby said to her, blinking oddly from lack of sleep. "Such an honor it is to be his elf."

"And you're not concerned you'll be his slave?" she pressed as Harry signed his name.

"Oh, no, miss, no!" Dobby's bat-like ears whipped back and forth as he shook his head, though he had to grab hold of the table to steady himself afterwards. "Dobby's always been that, miss, but now Dobby gets to serve Harry Potter's family, so Dobby can see him whenever he wants!"

"But wouldn't you rather be free?"

Dobby hugged himself and seemed to cringe at the very thought.

"Dobby would rather be free–," the little elf said as Harry stopped short of pulling his wand to finish the form. "Better free than go back to his family, miss. They – they are bad evil dark wizards!"

The house-elf's eyes popped and his hands flew to his mouth as if to stuff the words back inside. The next instant he cried, "Bad Dobby!" and darted to the table. Harry had been watching for something like this and managed to get his hand between Dobby's head and the table.

"Not 'bad Dobby,'" Harry said as he scooted the elf's head further away. "The Malfoys are 'bad evil dark wizards.' It's not bad to say so, and you shouldn't punish yourself either way," he told the elf.

He glanced over at Hermione before continuing.

"If you want to be free, I'll free you. You don't have to go back to the Malfoys."

Once again the groggy elf shook his head.

"Oh, no sir!" Dobby said. "Better free than there, but better to serve Harry Potter than to be free!" the elf said with a grin.

Harry really didn't know how to respond to that. What do you say to someone who'd rather be your slave than be free, thank you? He looked over to Hermione, wondering what she thought of this. She seemed lost in thought so he poked her knee, drawing her attention. His question must've been written on his face because after a moment she shrugged with a troubled look on her face. For once she didn't seem to know what the right answer was either. Given everything that'd happened, it was probably the best he could hope for.

Not knowing anything else he could do, Harry put his wand to the form and felt the pulse of magic sealing Dobby's fate. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

"Congratulations," Lichfield said as he swirled the Blood Quill in a glass of water Harry hadn't seen him conjure. "You now have the most expensive house-elf in the history of Gringotts."

Harry looked down at the form he just signed, back to where the total amount to be transferred was, it didn't seem that much.

"That's ten times more than my shoes cost," he said disbelievingly. It seemed like such a small amount to pay for a person. He didn't know if the Malfoys didn't really value Dobby at all or if they were price gouging him. Dobby, on the other hand, took this in a completely different way.

"Dobby's worth more than shoes?" the little elf said, his bulbous eyes growing to the size of saucers.

"Dobby's worth more than ten pairs of shoes," Harry agreed as Barchoke stamped the form and it disappeared in a puff of smoke.

He wondered vaguely where it went and whether it was now that secretary's job to deal with. Harry turned back to see Dobby's smile had returned and he figured that he might as well go all the way.

"And I'm glad for every knut I paid because to me you're worth twice that much," he said with a smile.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle as Dobby's jaw dropped and threatened to go through the floor as the little elf stood in awe of what he said.

"Master Harry is so good to Dobby!" the elf cried as he ran up to hug his leg.

Harry glanced over to Hermione to see what she thought because there really couldn't be any doubt that Dobby truly looked happy with what'd happened. She sat studying the elf with her brow furrowed, no doubt wondering how anyone could genuinely want to be enslaved.

While his first thought on getting Dobby had been to find out more about this plot by the Malfoys, with those big circles under his eyes Harry knew his first responsibility was to look after his elf; there'd be time to question Dobby later.

"Alright Dobby," Harry said as he peeled the little elf off his leg. "I've got something very important for you to do for me."

"Anything, Master Harry," the tired elf smiled.

"First, you're family now," Harry said. "That means no calling me 'master.' You called me Harry before so you can call me Harry now. Think you can do that?"

"Oh!" Dobby squeaked, his hands flying to his mouth. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will call Harry Potter Harry Potter now, Harry Potter, sir."

"Good," Harry smiled. "Now second, no punishing yourself. If you think you've done something wrong, just apologize; it'll be fine."

"No punishing Dobby," Dobby said with a nod, as if unsure he'd be able to carry through with that one, something Harry had doubts on himself.

"And third, can you find the Burrow from here?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh, yes sir," Dobby said. "Dobby can find it if Ma-ister Harry Potter needs him to."

"Good," Harry smiled. "I've got a room there; you should be able to find Hedwig there too. You can use my pillowcase to replace that one if you want, just don't put that one on the pillow. We can burn it together later."

Dobby looked ecstatic.

"I also need you to get a lot of sleep, so you can use my bed until I get back," Harry said firmly.

If Harry had thought Dobby's eyes had gotten big before, this time they grew to the size of dinner plates.

"Mister Harry Potter wants Dobby to sleep in Harry Potter's bed?" Dobby asked, probably never believing in a million years he'd have the opportunity to sleep in a real bed, much less his.

"Harry Potter does want Dobby to sleep in Harry Potter's bed," Harry said with his best Hermione-like stern look on his face. "Can you do that for him?" he asked before deciding that he really needed to stop talking in the third person before he got stuck that way.

"Dobby can do it, sir," Dobby said eagerly. "Does Harry Potter want Dobby to go now?"

"Yes, Dobby, you can go now," he replied.

Practically vibrating with energy, Dobby disappeared with a pop!

"Well, there's that issue taken care of," Barchoke said as the others sat in silence and he moved what had to be Dobby's file off to one side.

Harry poked Hermione's knee to get her to look at him again. She still seemed uncertain, but she gave him a grin, so he guessed he was still okay on that front.

"You know," Lichfield said to Barchoke, "this might a good thing to present to the Wizengamot when it comes to pursuing Harry's independence."

"The fact he has a house-elf to do everything for him?" the Overseer asked.

"The fact that by obtaining a house-elf of his own he's choosing to embrace a traditional side of wizarding life," the old litigator painted the mental picture for Barchoke.

"It plays in well with his decision to put people back on the land instead of selling it," the goblin agreed.

"H–how is this good for Harry?" Hermione asked, as if trying to find some grounds on which to accept all this.

"The Wizengamot has always been a bastion of 'traditional values,'" Lichfield explained. "One of the political wings – the only political wing nowadays, really – is even called the Traditionalists. They don't like to rock the boat unless it's to row us all backwards," he said with a wave.

He went on when he saw Hermione's puzzled look. "They seem to think the best laws are the oldest laws and the best solutions are the oldest solutions."

"That's great if you happen to be a stodgy old human wizard," Barchoke said with a disgruntled look on his face, "but not so great if you're anything else. The past they glorify wasn't so wonderful for a lot of us."

"It's your bad luck to have been born during two generations of Traditionalist dominance, but before that it wasn't so bad," Lichfield explained. "We had a lot of things roughly level for the most part, provided you're human," he stipulated. "But we were working on that," he finished with a glance at Barchoke.

"You were on the liberal side?" Hermione questioned.

"What do you mean 'were'?" Lichfield said with a look. "You're talking to probably the only person in the country whose best friend is a goblin."

"I think she only meant you don't look like a politician," Harry cut in quickly to defend his – er – friend.

The old man didn't say anything to that, though he did look at him with a slight upturn to his lips. Harry knew Lichfield knew what he was trying to do, but at least the old man wasn't calling Hermione his cuddle-bunny any more, for the moment anyway.

"That was your grandfather's area," Lichfield said with a wave as he sat back in his chair. "I never went for political clout like he did, but even he got this weird strain of Traditionalism I never quite understood."

"Exactly how Traditionalist?" Harry asked, concerned the growing picture he had of his family was about to be painted over in a Malfoy family portrait.

"There're no magically binding marriage contracts for you if that's what you're worried about," Lichfield said dryly. "They actually would've approved of–," he started, his eyes flickering to Hermione.

Harry shot him a look at said he's been poked quite enough on that already.

"–mug-non-magical people-borns taking over just about everything," Lichfield quickly shifted away as best he could. "No, that phrase doesn't sound right at all," he said critically. "If they're non-magical people, what do we call you?" Lichfield asked Hermione.

"A witch?" Hermione suggested with a deadpan voice that was probably as close as she could get to sarcasm even at the best of times.

"Good point," he said apologetically. "Looks like I'm still clinging to those old terms too. I hope I'm not going Traditionalist," Lichfield said like he'd rather eat his own sock.

"Are we going to spend another hour down here before you get to the point?" Barchoke asked with a look at his watch.

"It helps Harry," Lichfield said, trying to get back on track, "by giving the Traditionalists something to point to as evidence he hasn't been 'corrupted' by his non-magical relatives and is fit to run his own life."

"The Dursleys you can call muggles," Harry interjected. "They don't deserve any respect."

The old bailiff nodded to Harry.

"They'd really decide the case against him just because he was raised by muggles?" Hermione asked; her storehouse of ire seemingly endless.

"Some might," Lichfield nodded. "Others would agree to ditch Dumbledore but would want him placed in a 'proper wizarding home' – like the Malfoys – until he fully came of age at seventeen."

"I'd be worse off there than I was at the Dursleys," Harry said revolted.

"And you'd probably find your inheritance deposited into their vault to repay their kindness, if you didn't just 'disappear' first," Lichfield said dryly.

Hermione's look at that prospect mirrored his own.

"Showing he willingly and naturally embraces some aspects of wizarding culture," Lichfield continued, "gives them the ideological wiggle room they need to invalidate Dumbledore's claim of guardianship and maybe even let Harry go off on his own without getting too antsy, since he seems to be doing what they'd want him to do anyway."

"This segues nicely into the issue of inheritance," Barchoke said, pulling forward a bunch of files.

"I'd prefer to stick to damages at the moment," Lichfield said with a look. "There's plenty of time to deal with inheritance after the case is over. I don't want the kid to get a big head in case he's called into court."

"Taking a look at the damages alone will probably be enough to make his head explode," Barchoke said defensively.

"Then perhaps we should address the case itself before we get to damages," Hermione said in a business-like manner. "Damages won't matter much if we lose and there are several areas I have questions about."

Harry smiled as Barchoke's eyes got as big as Dobby's did.

"If it'll keep him from yammering on until midnight, then please, go right ahead," the Overseer said with a glance to Lichfield as if to ask if she was for real.

That look didn't change too much for the next several minutes as his girl – a term that gave him a pleasantly warm feeling – systematically outlined everything she thought concerning what he'd told her so far. Harry didn't even know a 'magical guardian' was even a thing, let alone what kind of power they had in a muggleborn's life, but he could see why she was concerned. By the end of it Barchoke's head was cocked over to one side and he looked in severe danger of getting it stuck that way. It was nice to see the Hermione he knew back in action again.

"Just how old are you?" Lichfield asked with a disbelieving look on his face.

"Thirteen in September," she replied, still in her no-nonsense voice.

"Can I interest you in an exciting career in the Gringotts legal department?" Barchoke asked, his head still cocked over to one side.

"Looking to replace me already?" Lichfield asked his friend, which finally got his head back the way it should be.

"With someone who won't yammer on or make fun of me? Yes, always," the goblin answered.

Hermione didn't look enthused about their response to her concerns.

"The magical guardian thing shouldn't be an issue," Lichfield said to Hermione with a placating gesture, probably sensing an outburst in the offing. "Those are only used for–," Lichfield paused for a moment, "'magicals with non-magical parents'? Yeah, that works – It didn't make sense when Dumbledore said it in the memories we have of his visit to the Burrow. Good job on that, by the way," he said to Harry. "You really handed him his hat. I just thought he was trying to confuse the issue, I never thought it'd be his legal strategy."

The old bailiff nodded when he was done, as if agreeing with himself on something.

"I should check it out nonetheless," he continued. "He'll have to convince the Wizengamot up is sideways and left is blue if he tries to use it in court, but it doesn't mean he won't confuse them enough they'll just agree with him because he must know what he's talking about. I've been holding off on interviewing the Dursleys," he said to Hermione, "because the boy doesn't want them involved. Sorry, kid," he turned to Harry, "You just got overruled."

Harry couldn't help but make a face at that. He didn't want the Dursleys anywhere near anything to do with him.

"Don't feel too bad," Lichfield said to him, "I've already interviewed just about everyone you've ever come in contact with, including your Head of House, that horrid old teacher of yours, and the squib you visited in Little Whinging."

Harry could only stare disbelievingly at the old man who so casually wandered through his entire life.

"Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked, "What does she have to do with this?"

"She was there the night Dumbledore abandoned him," Lichfield said. "Though in her defense, she thought everything was legal, if not ideal."

Harry looked at her a little chagrined; he must've forgotten to tell her that part.

"What's a squib?" Hermione asked.

"A non-magical person of magical parentage," Lichfield said quickly. "I'm getting the hang of this," he smiled.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "The only person the Dursleys even let me be around was Mrs. Figg, and they forced me to go. Wait – Mrs. Figg is a squib?"

"Who's Mrs. Figg?" Hermione asked, trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

"She's the crazy old lady who lives on Wisteria Walk," Harry explained.

"That's the one," Lichfield agreed. "Dumbledore put her there to keep an eye on you; even set up an animal breeding business for her using your funds."

"Did she breed cats?" Hermione asked curiously.

"As a matter of fact, she did," Lichfield said with an odd look. "Why do you ask?"

"One of the shopkeepers said the breeder of the cat I liked was arrested for something," she explained.

"She wasn't arrested, but yeah, that was her. Huh," Lichfield grunted, "one of the baby aurors must've talked."

"Aurors?" Harry asked.

"Dark wizard catchers," Barchoke explained.

"A couple of trainees showed up when I paid her a house-call," Lichfield explained. "She didn't want to go and tried to do a runner."

"You kidnapped Mrs. Figg?" Harry cried disbelievingly.

"That's awful!" Hermione cried.

"That's brilliant!" Harry countered. "Sorry, Hermione," he said when she looked at him much like the ginger cat did, "but she really was horrible. Listening to her go on about her cats for hours was torture."

"That might be the case," Lichfield said, "but without her you'd be in much worse shape than you are now."

"What do you mean?" he asked confused.

"She grew concerned after she told Dumbledore how bad things were at the Dursleys and he didn't do anything," the old bailiff explained. "That's why she volunteered to take you whenever they wanted a day without you. She had to make sure you didn't like going there–," he said quickly, "but at least it gave her the chance to slip you health potions disguised as rancid tasting tea."

Suddenly Harry didn't know whether she deserved to be kidnapped anymore.

"So you mean I'm naturally supposed to be this scrawny?" he asked, getting a round of machine gun chuckles from Barchoke.

"When it comes to recouping your losses," the Overseer said when his laughter died down. "We have a couple of options regarding Mrs. Figg."

"What do you mean?"

"Because Dumbledore set it up as a business, with you as the backer," Barchoke explained. "You can exercise your rights and seize the entire operation and then sell off what's there."

"And because she's a cat breeder–," Harry said, taking the logical step.

"It means you'd own a bunch of cats," the goblin finished for him.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh; Harry looked at her and couldn't help but grin.

"So how many cats would Mr. 'I don't like pets' have?" she asked with a big grin.

"About a hundred," the goblin replied, causing her to chuckle again.

Harry had to admit, it was rather ridiculous.

"Lester and I would recommend you not take this option," he continued.

"It recognizes the investment as a legitimate one and could be used as an argument to underscore his right to manage your financial affairs," Lichfield explained.

"So what would you suggest?" Harry asked the Overseer.

"That we make some cat food," the goblin said with a grin showing his pointed teeth.

"What?"

"The other option would be to wait until the case is over and have Gringotts do all that when they inherit the debt from the phony investment," Lichfield explained.

"So who'd look after the cats?" Hermione asked.

"She would," Lichfield said as if it were obvious. "She's not under arrest. We just detained her until she could be questioned."

"And where do you get the legal authority to detain anyone?" she pressed.

"From him," Lichfield pointed at Harry. "The business was listed under the Potter Estate, and I'm the last recorded bailiff for it. Since it's our assertion Dumbledore never had right to interfere with it, it also means they didn't have the right to fire me, which means I'm still on the job. I'm not going to press for back pay though unless you try ordering me around," he said to Harry with a look.

"So where does the cat food come in?" he asked, still puzzled.

"There's a lot of money to be made using the Goblin Regency's Internal Marketplace," Barchoke said.

"There's that much of a desire for pets?" Harry asked.

"Who said anything about pets?" the goblin asked.

Harry was obviously still a step behind but Hermione was a step ahead.

"You eat cats!" she cried horrified.

"What's wrong with eating cats?" the goblin asked. "You know how hard it is to get a decent bit of meat when you live below ground? There's only so many fish to go around, we can only keep so many dragons, and they don't die that often. Plus, dragon meat is really tough to chew through. What did you think we ate, rocks?"

Harry was saved from having to decide where he stood on the great cat food debate when Hermione got help from an unexpected source.

"I think I'll have to agree with her on this one," Lichfield said, making his goblin friend look at him like he'd lost his mind again. "Those cats are bred with kneazles, meaning they're incredibly intelligent," the bailiff explained. "Those cats will know they're just waiting for you to eat them. If they were normal cats though–"

"They shouldn't eat normal cats either," Hermione pressed.

"The French eat snails," Lichfield said with a look. "Should we go to war with them just to make them stop? It's not like we're talking about eating centaurs and merfolk. You know," Lester said to Barchoke, "a much more reliable source of meat and revenue would come from selling off those as the last chance to get kneazle-cats as pets and then restocking the place with normal cats. Gringotts gets the livestock since it's the owner and gets the money from selling them on the internal market; you could even have old Mrs. Figg run the place since she knows what she's doing."

"A farm for cats too dumb to know they're not pets?" the goblin asked rhetorically. "There'd still a lot of legal issues to work through, but we'll take it under advisement," the Overseer said, going back to making notes on his files.

Lichfield gave her a wink that said Barchoke just didn't want to agree yet, which he counted as a win. The fact the win came at the cost of condemning generations of 'dumb cats' to be goblin food, Harry didn't want to think about.

"Speaking of recouping lost funds," the sullen Overseer said as he pulled a small bag from his pocket and tossing it to Harry. "I suppose I can return this now."

Inside the bag was a single silver sickle.

"What's this for?" he asked.

"It's the sickle our owl took when he delivered my letter last week," Barchoke said as if it was obvious. "Every coin we mint has a memory of every person who handles it from the time it leaves our doors. We used it to verify you were who you said you were."

"Oh," Harry said, "I thought it was postage."

"You'd pay for postage?" the Overseer asked with a gleam in his eye.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"That's how the non-magical postal system works," Hermione agreed. "People buy stamps to use to send letters and those funds maintain the entire system."

"If we could determine the price point needed to maintain our flock of owls–," the Overseer muttered to himself as he quickly jotted down some numbers.

"Of course you'll have to factor in the cost of royalties of no less than five knuts per Gringotts post just for using the idea–," Lichfield said quickly.

"The idea didn't come from him," Barchoke countered, "it came from the muggle world."

"The idea for Gringotts to do the same was all him though," Lichfield batted back.

"You really think he should be entitled to–," the goblin's eyes darted back and forth and his fingers twitched as he did some furiously quick calculations, "–roughly fifty four galleons and change per month just from hereditary account statements alone?" the Overseer asked.

"Absolutely," Hermione interjected. "The idea alone is probably worth much more than that. In the non-magical world an idea like this could be worth billions."

"When did this become a business negotiation?" the Overseer cried, holding up his hands to stop any conversation of Gringotts having to pay anything. "One more word out of you," Barchoke pointed to Hermione, "and you're going to our legal department, even if I have to knock you out and drag you there myself."

Harry certainly didn't want the goblins to kidnap his – er – female friend – but Lichfield got a laugh out of it.

"Believe it or not," the old litigator said to Hermione with a grin, "that's actually a compliment. It was said to me more than once." To Barchoke he said, "You know if Gringotts tries to implement that, my divided loyalties will make me take you to court."

"I don't like it when you're on someone else's side," the goblin groused.

"Speaking of business negotiations," Hermione said, corralling the adults to keep things on track. "What about any businesses trying to take advantage of Harry?"

"If you're talking about the shoe shop," Lichfield gestured to Harry, "the kid pretty much gave him permission to do what he wanted, I just made sure the old pair was displayed for everyone to see. It should start dispelling the myth of your globetrotting childhood," he said to Harry with a look. "You get your next pair for free though."

"It was another myth I actually had in mind. 'The Boy-Who-Lived' book series," Hermione said seriously.

"That was actually one of the issues I was trying to find a way to bring up," Lichfield admitted.

"Oh, that's easy," Barchoke said. "'Hey kid, you know those over-sexualized stories about you set some time in the future? Well I've been reading them!' I'm sure that'd go over great."

Harry's face felt on fire again.

"You haven't been reading the one I sent you, have you?" he asked her somewhat fearfully.

Hermione smiled. "I never got the chance to," she admitted. "I showed my dad and he immediately confiscated it. He came back later and forbid me to read them until ten years after he was dead, so I know they must be really bad."

Harry felt a bit better again.

"I don't think I'm old enough to read them yet," the Overseer told Hermione, making him feel worse again. The old bailiff had an amused look on his face.

They were that bad but Ginny had been reading the last several years? It was a good thing Harry got Mrs. Weasley to keep her away from him then, and glad he missed her birthday yesterday. It was frankly astounding she hadn't attacked him in his sleep already.

"Due to the compartmentalized nature of Gringotts, we've been having trouble tracking down anything related to the publisher, Bumblebee Press," Barchoke informed them. "It looks like the whole operation disappeared a few years ago after the last book came out. Wherever they went a lot of money went with them."

"You were a big hit with Quidditch-loving middle-age witches," Lichfield said dryly.

"Was Dumbledore involved?" Hermione asked seriously, not letting humor get in the way.

"You think we could pry those files out of Corporate Accounts?" the old bailiff asked Barchoke.

"No," the goblin said with a quick shake of his head. "People are starting to talk. They haven't said anything to my face yet, but you can see it when you look at them. I tell them I want something and I can tell they're going to run off to their Overseer as soon as my back is turned. If I can't give them something concrete to show it's a legitimate suspicion it'll be hard to justify why I want those files. Sooner or later they're going to want to know what's going on. Why do you think Dumbledore's involved?" he asked Hermione curiously.

"In the non-magical world, any story depicting a real person would have to have authorization from the person himself," Hermione said. "Or in this case it'd have to come from his guardian, otherwise they'd face legal action against them. That leads me to believe the writer or publisher must've known Dumbledore personally in order to get permission."

Barchoke looked over to Lichfield; the old bailiff looked thoughtful.

"I've never gotten into the laws around publishing," he said finally. "Don't know anyone who has, actually. We've been keeping our investigation close to our chest," he told Harry, "because we want everything neat and tidy before we go public. I'm actually astounded I haven't been flooded with owls carrying legal motions yet. I don't think the old man's taking me seriously, which I'm thankful for – and a little insulted by, actually. You got anything else, Little Miss Litigator?" he asked Hermione.

"The name itself, Bumblebee Press," she said. "Taken by itself it means nothing, but with the author's name, Ida Beeman, you can start to see a pattern. Someone's being cute and playing with words. If you take the name apart, Ida Beeman becomes 'I the bee man' and Dumbledore is actually an archaic word for a humming insect – a bee. He's the bee man of Bumblebee Press."

Lichfield blinked at her before turning to Barchoke, who had his finger to his lips in thought.

"You think that's enough?" he asked.

"Not unless–," the goblin said before flying through his files.

Harry was flummoxed. "How'd you figure all that out?" he asked Hermione.

"I – I used to study etymologies for spelling bees," she admitted embarrassed.

"You sure that wasn't entomology?" Harry smiled.

"What's a spelling bee?" Lichfield asked.

As it happened, explaining the difference between entomology and etymology took no time at all, it was why anyone would face off over spelling prowess that proved more difficult to understand. True to form though Lichfield soon found something to joke about.

"A spelling bee nets Dumbledore as Ida Beeman," he said with a grin. "That'll make a great article for the Daily Prophet, and it might help me with something else I wanted to investigate."

"Gah!" Barchoke exploded. "I need more files!"

"What're you going on about?" Lichfield asked.

"It's brilliant," the goblin said with a mad gleam in his eye.

"That's great," Lichfield deadpanned. "Care to share with the whole class?"

"Huh?" the goblin said, looking up as if rediscovering that he wasn't alone. "Oh, those funny muggle investments – the ones that don't exist because we can't make them," he said to Harry to refresh his memory. "What if Gropegold wasn't just using them to make money disappear into his own pockets, what if he was using them to hide funding the entirety of Bumblebee Press?"

"Is it enough to get the files you want?" Harry asked.

"Just try to stop me!" the goblin said with a mad grin.

"So did you catch any of what we were talking about?" Lichfield asked.

"A bunch of useless twaddle," Barchoke said with a wave. "The suspicion's good enough to let me dig through the corporate files, but I don't think Dumbledore is Ida Beeman."

"Why not?" Harry asked, somewhat amused at the idea of grey-bearded old Dumbledore being a romance novelist.

"Ida Beeman's always been described as a reclusive old woman, and the books don't read like a man wrote them, even one like Dumbledore," Barchoke said curiously.

"You mean you've actually read them?" Lichfield asked with a grin.

"You said they could hold clues – Oh, you little–," the goblin said shaking a clinched fist at the old human.

"My other suspect would be Bathilda Bagshot," Hermione said, silencing all other discussion.

"Bagshot?" Barchoke asked. "The old history hack? She wouldn't know what real history was if it happened right in front of her."

"She has far too high an opinion of Dumbledore not to be friends with him," Hermione pressed.

"A lot of people have a very high opinion of the man," Lichfield countered. "That's half the problem we're going to have with the case."

"She is a reclusive old woman though," Barchoke pointed out. "And she has experience in both writing and publishing."

"And since all she does is retell the same old myths and Ministry lies and calls them all truth," Lichfield said, now nodding along. "It'd be a small step to take to invent your own story."

Barchoke, though, started shaking his head.

"There's no way I could get my hands on her file though, even if I found female blood or a magical signature that wasn't Dumbledore's in Bumblebee's files. Her account isn't hereditary and I've already invaded enough Personal Accounts to warrant suspicion against me. I'd have to have something with her by name and Dumbledore hasn't been that stupid."

"If it's her," Lichfield said with a smile, "I think I've got a way to get her to admit it herself. We leak that Dumbledore is Beeman to a certain member of the press and watch as the world goes crazy," he said conspiratorially. "Everyone's beloved academic is exposed as a lust-peddler, whose books are then trashed in the press, and if Bagshot is the real Beeman her pride will get her to come forward to claim credit and defend what she wrote – then you'll have all the proof you need to go after her."

"That's deliciously devious," Barchoke said approvingly. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"Won't that just increase sales and attract all sorts of unwanted attention to Harry?" Hermione asked concerned.

Harry hadn't thought of that. Even without Dobby's warning this was already shaping up to be a horrible year at Hogwarts.

"He's going to be getting all kinds of unwanted attention once the case goes public anyway," Lichfield said with an apologetic look. "I'll try to limit it by getting the courtroom sealed, but that won't stop leaks – the Ministry's always leaked like a sieve," he said with a look. "I'll throw a 'cease and desist' at every bookshop we've got though. I should send several more out too," Lichfield said nebulously.

He seemed to disregard it with a wave as a thought for later.

"It'll probably scare them enough not to restock their shelves," he continued. "But if Bumblebee Press is still set up somewhere with an owl order then new copies might still make their way out to the public, and that's discounting all the old copies that're still out there. You might want to buy a beater's bat just to keep the girls away," he said to Harry. Harry didn't know whether he really meant it or not.

"I think that leaves only one other issue to talk about," the grizzled old bailiff said.

"One?" the shocked goblin asked, gesturing to the large stack of files still beside him. "There's Damages, Estate Planning, Inheritance, Investment Opportunities–"

"All of which can wait until the case is over," Lichfield said. "The girl's right. Damages won't matter unless we win, and if Bumblebee Press pans out then the damages will only increase. Besides, we're already pushing our luck with the rental agreement with the Weasleys as it is. You go running off playing Account Manager like you've always wanted to and the Ministry's not going to see him wanting to stand on his own, they're going to see the entire case orchestrated by you, and that's not what we want."

Harry thought Barchoke looked particularly dispirited. The goblin must've really been wanting to follow in his father's footsteps.

"I'd love to hear your advice as soon as we win though," Harry said to him. "I've really come to value what you think."

That put a genuine smile on the goblin's face.

"What were you wanting to talk about?" he asked Lichfield.

The old bailiff looked to Barchoke for support.

"Don't look at me," the goblin said, throwing his hands up in front of him. "I've already stepped in it once on that subject. You do it if you want to."

With his eyes flickering back and forth between him and the goblin, Lichfield seemed to have a change of heart.

"On second thought," Lichfield said, "now's not the best time. I should investigate further before I bother you with it."

Harry looked at him oddly. With everything he's been sharing about the investigation, Lichfield's been strangely tight-lipped about some things. Still, Harry reckoned, he always did tell him much more about what he didn't tell him before a lot quicker than Dumbledore ever did. Even facing Voldemort a second time wasn't enough to get the old headmaster to tell him why the dark wizard was after him in the first place. Lichfield would've told him that at least.

"So, I think that's us done," Lichfield said cheerfully.

"That didn't take so long after all," Barchoke said standing, before looking at his watch and making a disgusted face. It must've taken a lot longer than he'd thought.

"I'll see you at the Hopefuls thing tomorrow, won't I?" Harry asked Lichfield as he and Hermione got to their feet as well.

"McGonagall promised a meal," the bailiff said as if that had decided the issue.

"You're meeting the Hopefuls?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Harry said embarrassed. "McGonagall thinks I deserve the credit for the program more than Dumbledore does, and I must admit, it feels good to take something from him for a change."

"Pity this is only a day-trip for me," she said with a smile as they headed for the door. "I'd love to be there for you when something good happens. It'd make a nice change."

As they made their way back towards the wandering way up Lichfield spoke again. "So I take it you'll be asking Dobby about this warning of his once he gets some sleep?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I didn't want to keep him up longer than I had to."

"I don't see how things could possibly be any more dangerous than they were last year," Hermione said judiciously.

"What happened last year?" Barchoke asked behind them.

"Nothing much–," Harry said, looking to Hermione with a grin.

"–Just You-Know-Who possessing our Defense professor and trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone from Hogwarts," Hermione finished for him.

"The what stone?" Barchoke cried, causing them to look back at the Overseer.

"Possessed by You-Know-Who?" Lichfield asked.

"Quiet!" the Overseer commanded before pointing to them with a fierce look in his eye. "The what stone?"

"The S-sorcerer's Stone," Hermione said uncertainly. "The one made by Nicholas Flamel."

Barchoke took off toward the door as fast as his legs could carry him.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "Doesn't everyone know about this? Dumbledore said it was all over the school."

"I think I should visit you from now on," Lichfield said to Harry. "Every time you're here you end up wrecking the place."

"BREACH!" Overseer Barchoke's shout drifted back to them from the wandering hallway they'd been about to enter. "BREACH!"

"Hands up," Lichfield said stoically as he raised his towards the ceiling.

Faster than Harry thought possible a flood of goblins carrying weapons filled the hallway as Harry and Hermione's hands quickly sprang up to join Lichfield's.

"Now, Hermione," Harry said, starting to panic a little. "I think you need a lawyer."

.o0O0o.

AN: I'm horrible, I know, but I love doing that and cliffhangers were a staple of Rowling's work, so you have no one to blame but her.

Probably the hardest thing in writing this so far has been getting big, important chapters down in a timely manner. It seems as though the more important the chapter is the longer it takes and there was some pretty heavy topics in this one.

Anyway, as always, thanks for reading.