Chapter Four

Gringotts Bank

"Your blood work is completed. Sign here, here, and here," the bank's co-owner ordered impatiently. "Use this pen to sign your name, Mister Harris" he said as he handed Alexander an ink pen."

The human's eyes lit up in surprise. "A real ink pen," he mused. It was magical, of course, but that wasn't the point. "I thought you'd prefer a quill."

Now, the goblin smiled a toothy grin, pleased that he surprised the human. "We keep up with the times," he explained. "These English wizards like quills so we accommodate them. The pen has already extracted a small amount of your blood without the irritation the quill usually causes of course."

"I expected nothing less from such a notable bank." A few moments he had finished signing and couldn't help but sigh with relief.

"Is there anything else?" the goblin asked in his most bored tone. The fact of the matter was, he was far from bored.

"Actually, there is," Alexander said. Carefully he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a tiny book. The goblin was curious as to what it was as Xander waved his hands gently at the book and it expanded into a huge volume covering most of the desk. The book had a very thick intricate cover, being brown in color inlaid with gold. The edges of the pages were gold plated. The goblin's eyebrows reached into its forehead as he looked at the book in front of him with undisguised greed and curiosity. The title was written in an unknown language; however, it was a definitely goblin-based dialect.

"What is this?" The goblin asked somewhat suspiciously. He had to forcibly move his hand away from the book which seem to draw him closer to it, making him want to touch it.

"This is the fulfillment of a promise passed from generation to generation until this book reached the proper owners. That day is today. This book represents the history of the Ulek people who lived and died many tens of thousands of years ago. Olyasama, the author of this book, was the last of his people of his clan, of that tribe. Your species is a direct descendent to that tribe."

"You're aware of some of the other goblin species, I see," he old goblin hissed. He paused for a few moments as he tried to remember something of the tribe that the human had mentioned. Finally, he gave up. "I've never heard of the Ulek tribe," the goblin snarled, but not in hostility. "We have no history of such a tribe."

"No doubt. This was before your time, in fact it was long before your goblin species settled the lands you now occupy, and you've been here for at least two thousand years. This book is almost eight thousand years old, before the great fall. My ancestors made a promise to Olyasama that this book would be protected and given to the true goblin ancestors when they were found, so that the promise could be fulfilled."

"Eight thousand years? Impossible," the old goblin grinned, amused by such a prospect.

Alexander stared at the goblin intently. "I can give you a short history of those people who lived long ago. Interested?"

"Of course I am, human. Proceed."

Without hesitation, Alexander proceeded to tell his story. "There was great war against a goblin queen who is the Dark Lord of that time. So brutal and vicious was her reign and lust for power that humans, the elves of that kind, and the goblins came together to battle against her forces. So many died fighting her and her forces that there was no counting of the dead. During that time all three races came together, shared their food, shared their weapons, shared the knowledge and in doing that, they were able to defeat the goblin queen. But there was a price for victory."

Despite himself, the goblin couldn't help but be intrigued by the short story that the human spoke of. "There's always a price, so what was the price here?"

"Less than five percent of the elves survived. The humans were decimated, everyone's lands ruined by the ravages of war. The few goblins of that clan to survive were free from her terrible tyranny; however, before her head was removed, she cursed the goblins that fought against her. The Ulek tribe, the most numerous and powerful of the time suffered a terrible plague that all but wiped them out. One of the last survivors that hadn't fled across the Unforgiving Sea–Atlantic, gave his life to chronicle this book. It is the Book of Olyasama. It is the details of his life and history of his people including the goblin wars fought between three the species, of the glorious victories and terrible defeats. It details the curse that was placed upon them. He passed this historical book to a human, an ancestor to be protected and when the right time came it was to be passed on to one of his distant surviving descendants who might have survived the plague that visited them all."

The goblin was surprised but he was also suspicious. "Why would one of my people possibly trust the human was such a valuable treasure? Humans have never respected us. We've had wars with them because of their filth and arrogance! The wizards and witches here have kept us bounded, nearly enslaved. We may have lost the war, but we still remember! So, I ask again. Why would one of my people lower himself to entrust you, a human and your ancestors such a treasure?"

"Because back then, humans, goblins and other races worked together for the good of them all. They didn't have the same prejudice that exists in this day. Yes, they fought one another, but they also work together. As you would expect not all goblin species worked together and they were much hated by your people and probably everybody else. But that's ancient history for us. I'm fulfilling my promise now to pass this book on to you… Free of charge, of course."

"Ah, you will be free of a blood oath," the goblin said. "Ah. This I understand."

"There was no blood oath, just a promise to be fulfilled," Alexander responded surprising the goblin. "Here, it is yours now." Alexander opened his palms inviting the goblin to take the book.

Greedily, yet cautiously he took the book and opened the first page. The words were in the language that he had seen only in a few obscure notes. There was no known full text anywhere in the goblin world.

Naturally, Alexander had anticipated this. "The book is written in a language that you not familiar with. There are two things that you need to know. First it is a magical book and as such it will defend itself if placed in the wrong hands. The fact that you can open and look at the pages means that the book has accepted you are of the Ulek clan. In order to read it, first…" Here, Alexander again waved his hands and said ancient words in a goblin language that sounded strange yet very familiar. Then he pulled out a knife, a small knife and cut his finger and allowed three drops of blood to hit the book. The book glowed brightly and then the glow faded. "That is the completion of my part of the promise. Now you must do the same."

The goblin took the offered knife and cut his finger with his own knife. It wouldn't do to be foolishly poisoned using a strange blade offered by a human. The humiliation to his family would be too great. Three drops of blood touched the cover of the book and were instantly absorbed. The book glowed even brighter and there was a twinkling sound which filled the room,

"The book has accepted the fact that you are one of the ancestors. It is now yours. You cannot magically translate it. but note, if you look at the first few pages there is an alphabet and a dictionary. I personally believe that Olyasama wanted his people to learn the language the old-fashioned way. It's a way for you and your people to not just read but learn of the old ways and a history of a people long gone."

"You give this to us freely?" Goblin asked, stunned at such a gift.

"Yes," the American responded somewhat exasperated. "But I have also come to you with a warning. The so-called dark Lord that everybody's afraid of, isn't the only problem that faces your world. The goblin nation is threatened by hidden forces intent on destroying you simply because you exist. Voldemort isn't the only one with an agenda of purification. There is an organization that believes only their kind of magic should exist. They are intolerant of any other kind. This means you cannot exist in their vision of the world they intend to create. Soon I believe you're going to war."

"You do not fear He-Who-Must-No-Be-Named."

"Why should I" Alexander simply asked the goblin.

The goblin snarled at this man's impertinence and his information. It frightened him because he knew that this was an extreme possibility and the human was most likely telling the truth. Furthermore, the human didn't flincj at the use of the Dark Lord's name. but his words…

His people barely tolerated wizards in the first place so he could easily see an expansion of a war that they already fought once before and lost. "Tell me," he growled.

"It is a well-funded and very secretive organization with operational sites all over the magical world. They're beginning to make their moves. Because they are, their organization is beginning to be exposed. That's why I'm here. My organization has been assigned to fight against these people so that we could avert an even greater tragedy. I'm hoping that my people can come together with you and yours to deal with this threat. These wizards have no clue about what's going to happen. They are as threatened as everyone else. This organization wants magical domination. They plan on absolute rule and your people are not part of the equation." Alexander's two eyes fairly glowed with arcane power. Staring at the goblin and then glancing at the book, he continued. "The book is a gift and the fulfillment of a promise, but I hope that it can be a bridge gate for us working together."

"Goblins don't trust humans but tell me more."

"I will, Alexander promised. "But now is not the time. There's too much to tell and you need to talk to your people and let them know what I've told you. And then you must test the veracity of my words." Alexander smiled at him. "Never trust a human."

"True," the goblin smiled, and it was a genuine one this time. "Know that the Goblin nation appreciates this gift in which you have given us. It will not be forgotten. We will contact you soon."

Alexander smiled. "We'll contact each other." Getting up he handed the goblin a card. On it was his address in London England.

Diagon Alley England Year 1992 Twenty-Four days later

Ten minutes before Ollivanders was normally set to close, Garrick flipped the 'open' sign in the window to 'closed'. The day had been busy, but not as much as earlier in the week. Several people had come in with cracked or broken wands. As his specialty was in repair as well as wand making, he did a brisk business, enough to pay the bills and make a small profit. Lately, some of the younger wizards were coming ion for repairs, mostly cracks and in a few cases, broken wands. Unlike their parents and older siblings, the younger ones didn't take care of their wands as well as they should especially when the excitement of having one began to fade. It was something to be expected. Everyone was excited about receiving their first wands and many of the young ones even slept with them, or unintentionally slammed their wands onto tables or slammed them into walls or stepped on them accidently. You name it, he had seen it. those were incidents that always occurred among the young ones–and drunks. He wished they took care of such a precious gift, but accidents did happen and unlike the reparo spells used to repair other items broken or smashed, it was impossible to use that spell on wands. Wands were too finely a crafted instrument, one bonded to its user. Simple repair using reparo didn't work. Even he couldn't use it to repair wands.

It required a human touch.

Naturally, he used variations of the spell all the time in his store. Many of the children receiving new wands caused significant damage, but never so much that he couldn't fix the damage. Pureblood children, the rich ones were especially destructive. Sadly, there were a number of children who broke their wands in their first year. Fortunately, their parents were rich enough to buy their little gits new ones and Ollivander was glad to be of service. But when a core was misaligned, damaged or destroyed, it was his wisdom, expertise, knowledge, and hands that were needed to save the day or replace the wand. Rarely could a damaged core be used again. And a purposely snapped wand?

Forget it.

Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that his first love was wand creation, as it was for his father, his father, and his father before him. The men and women of the Ollivander clan dating back generations were masters of their craft. He loved his work and never so much as now. He had labored and created his first quad-cord wand. The oak and ash wand was somewhat thicker than most of his more traditional designs. It reminded him more of a weapon than a simple wand. Here, he shook his head. There was nothing normal about this wand.

It took him days to select the right woods. The inner Ashwood sheath contained the quad core. That was the second challenge. He spent hours preparing to properly encase the core into the Ash. Using secrets developed by his descendants, he gently placed the quad core on top of the wood. The prepared Ashwood slowly absorbed the core into itself. The process took several hours and when it was done, he performed several diagnostics. The Ashwood glowed brightly confirming to the master maker that not only was the core magical but also very powerful. In fact, only a phoenix core came close to showing such latent power.

Next, he spent several days selecting and preparing the oak outer sheath. After the fifteenth day, he placed the Ashwood core on top the Oak casing. Within seconds, the integration process began as the Ash core was absorbed into the Oak sheath. That process took five days to complete. He was intrigued by the entire process. He could feel the magic of all three parts combining and integrating with one another. Occasionally, he saw sparks form and dissipate as the proto-wand, for a lack of a better word, gestated. In and of itself the energy discharges were unusual as wands rarely showed their power while they formed. One could naturally feel it, but not see it as he saw it then. The fact that it did so intrigued and frightened him. He could feel the savageness and determination boiling inside the wand. But he also felt its protectiveness and its desire to defend not just its owner but others as well, so much so that he found himself talking to it.

Normally he muttered to himself as he worked, but never did he actually speak to the wand itself. Shockingly, he could almost feel it trying to answer some of his unasked questions, telling him not to be afraid because it was a defender, a protector, a warrior's instrument

On the twenty-second day, he gingerly took the wand and polished it. He spent hours waxing and removing any perceived imperfections, making it perfect for its owner. The wand seemed to preen as he worked on it. The specially prepared wand case reflected the same love and care that that he had made the wand with. It was one of his greatest works if not the greatest. The twin Phoenix wands were perhaps his best work, but he wouldn't want to live on the difference trying to determent which ones were the best.

Precisely at seven fifteen P.M. Alexander Harris gently knocked at the window door, Quickly the older man eased around his counter and opened the door.

"Mister Harris, it is good to see you," he said warmly shaking the younger man's hand.

"I got your call and came over as soon as I could. I've been working on the store doing final preparations," Alexander responded. "An owl, just to deliver a message two blocks away?" he questioned.

"We use them too much, I confess," he answered. "But they're convenient and fast. It's the most common form of sending messages. And it's cheap."

"True. A phone call would have been better though."

"I confess that I've never actually used one although I've seen them once or twice. But muggle devices such as the telefones don't work here." He stopped and stared at the American with wry eyes. "Perhaps though, I might be mistaken?"

"Perhaps." Harris answered. "When I officially open, I'll show you some no-mag ways that if nothing else, will save wear and tear for you owl."

"I look forward to visiting your store. Now, I must show you one of my, if not the greatest, the most interesting works." He turned with Alexander following him close behind. Alexander stood in front of the counter as Garrick pulled out his wand and brightened the room. Candles lit up and the room was a bright as day. Garrick pulled out an engraved Oak box. Carefully, he opened it revealing the beautiful, deep brown-colored wand. "Take it and give it a swish. You'll know immediately if it accepts you."

Harris took it and held it in his and as for a moment. "Girls, let's see if you like it." His barest movement caused the wand to glow and filled him with warmth. "Very nice," he said. "The craftsmen ship is excellent. I'm a carpenter and I know quality wood workmanship when I see it," he said as he carefully inspected the work of art. Giving it a swish, the entire room filled with color. Impossibly, the room brightened and darkened at the same time.

Garrick looked at the spectacle in awe.

"It's alive!" Alex smirked. "Now, for one final thing."

Placing his new wand on the counter, his hands swept around it and glowed softly. The wand shown with the same glow. Unidentified energies swirled from the American's hands as the elder wand maker looked on in awe at the display of unknown magical energy. The energies slowly floated above and towards the wand and letter formed. At least Garrick thought they were letters, but the language was nothing he'd ever seen before. The lettering floated down towards the wand and moments later, the wand maker could see the golden glowing lettering settle and infuse itself onto the wand. The wand glowed for a moment and the lettering disappeared. Alexander picked up the wand once more and the lettering immediately appeared once more.

"You used wandless magic to seal those runes on the wand," Garrick muttered looking at said wand carefully. "Impressive, but very unusual for someone to be able to do that to a finished wand." As intrigued as he was, he was slightly miffed at the changes being done to one of his masterpieces. Such changes could easily destroy or alter the characteristics. It could even alter the effectiveness of the wand.

Alexander watched the old shopkeeper and understood exactly what he was thing and was concerned about. He wanted to alleviate the man's fears. "It's possible to make changes if you understand the magic and theory behind it," Alexander told him. Those comments made the wand-maker look at him again in another light. There were secrets of wand making that his family had never revealed to outsiders and one of those secrets was the trademark spell that ensured his family's wands were tamperproof. However, this Alexander circumvented that spell with ease. "Those are not runes," Harris told him. "They're words of intent written in an Elvish language unknown to this world." The man cocked his head as he decided to share a secret. "I could have used English, but it looks so much cooler in Nandorin Elvish."

Ollivander frowned as he reexamined the wand."I didn't know the elves had such a written language, if any," he said thoughtfully. "I've never seen any evidence of a written language."

"No," corrected Alexander. "It's not a local elf language or written style from those poor creatures, but Elvish, a totally different species of people. What it says is:

The one wand

Protector of the innocent

Defender of the weak

Slayer of evil

The look on Alexander's face made the elder man worry about the thing he had created. Alex noticed this and sought to allay his fears. "Mister Ollivander, I know you're curious. And I know that if you're like me, you hate not knowing. Where I come from, there were powerful women, each gifted with the destiny. Elizabeth was possibly the greatest of the line called Slayers. She died a couple of times but apparently, she didn't like it and it didn't take… long story. I'll tell you about one day. She is one of my best friends and I loved her. The second slayer sometimes called the Dark Slayer by vampires and forces of darkness everywhere, which doesn't mean Dark Lord as you know the term, was Faith. The line of Slayers passed through her and she is my friend as well. The third was my best friend Willow. She's a witch, both light and dark. But. Like the others, she is a protector of the world. The last is a primal and she is my friend and protector. All of them are Alphas and they are all protectors. This wand will protect this world from the forces of darkness and evil. That's all I will say right now, other than this..."

His left hand stretched out towards the wand which levitated to chest height. "I name you Jessie!... Yes, yes, I know it's a boy's name, but it can be a girl's name as well, so give me a break, please."

Mr. Ollivander felt a chill go down his spine. He wasn't sure who this man was speaking to. There was something about him that he couldn't place which in itself was unusual, as he was very perceptive. At this point, he couldn't quite 'lock' onto this Alexander. He felt this man wasn't a threat, but he couldn't quite determine what he was…

Immediately, the wand glowed brighter than before and the shop shook slightly before everything returning to normal.

Garrick was no fool, nor was he inexperienced. He felt the magical power in both the wand and the man standing next to him. What he didn't recognize was the magical signature surrounding the American. It was different and unlike any wizard's he'd seen before. "Your wandless magic felt different, almost ancient," noted a very interested Ollivander. "Who are you really" he asked.

"I am the One Who Sees. I am called the Protector of Man. I am a Master of the Arts. I am a man with a lot of pompous titles," he said smiling at the curious shopkeeper.

Jokes aside, Ollivander could sense the truth emanating from him. "What kind of arts exactly, may I ask?"

"The good kind, I promise," smiled the cryptic American. "I'll tell you one day when we know each other better. I have a few more projects that you may be interested in after I get established. Opening a store in Diagon Alley is a pain. You've got more regulations than a store on Fifth Avenue. Now, I believe I owe you the remainder of your payment?"

Alexander Harris closed the door to his not-quite-ready store and pulled down the window shade. The protective wards activated, and he conjured up a comfortable chair, placed the packages on the table and pulled out its contents. These days, he ate healthier but every once in a while, pizza called to him and most of these people here have never even heard of the delicacy. It was a good thing that this New York and Chicago had identical foods that he was used to from home. It was also good that the pocket dimension that he stored his personal stock of food items was available with a gesture of his fingers.

Sighing, he placed his pan style pizza into the stove and turned the setting on 'pizza'. The stove was one of the super expensive kind that had so many knobs and control settings that he still wasn't sure what everything did. The convection oven started up and his quickie meal was cooking.

It was amazing to him that after being here for five months, he could find few people in this magical community that even know what a gas stove was, much less how it worked. Of course, for his use, electric power and gas was magically connected to his home outside of London because there were no such connections here. These people still used candles, magical ones, but still they were candles! It was a fascinating world, with fascinating people rushing headlong into extinction.

Glory, nicknamed 'the Moron', really screwed things up. Her 'there's no place like home' obsession was the cause so much destruction, some of which he and others were still discovering years even decades later after the aftermath of that battle. The collateral damage they she brought was still being felt across several worlds.

In opening the door trying to get out, the dumb cluck allowed things to get into places where they shouldn't have. Well, somebody was watching and given permission to do something about it. So, here he was one of several solutions to the problem.

The sausage pepperoni pizza was excellent he thought as he cleaned off the table. He cleaned his dishes at the sink as he refused to use magic to perform such a mundane task. He respected its power and refuse to take it for granted.

After everything was cleaned up, he focused on adding the finishing touches on his new wand. Gently, he opened the box and levitated the wand to chest level. There were two more incantations that were required before he considered it complete. He pulled out a small knife and carefully pierced his finger which hovered over the newly-made instrument. A few drops of his blood dripped onto the wand and was quickly absorbed.

It's always about the blood he thought.

Those drops bonded the wand even more completely to him and his will. No one could ever use it unless he 'allowed' them to. This spell was something that he didn't want to share with the wandmaker who didn't need to know about that little trick until later. Wands were personal possessions and couldn't be properly used by others with the exception of some close relatives who shared similar characteristics and magical commonalities.

This wand however had the option if he chose to allow someone else use it.

The second spell was more intricate. It took a half hour and when he was finished, the was protected and nigh unbreakable. It was a weapon as well as an instrument. When people found out what he was, no doubt someone would get the bright idea of trying to snap it. That thought made him laugh. This wand was for their benefit, not his. Some would think it was cursed, others would fear it, but there would be a few that would see it for what it was.

He decided to get some rest. The store was opening in three days and he had a lot to do tomorrow. Stretching lazily, he created a porter and stepped through to his home in London.