Disclaimer: Not mine.
Another bloody trap, Harry thinks grimly as ropes spring around his body tying his hands behind his back and knocking his adventuring hat off his head. I really need to get better at spotting these traps. He shudders slightly and shakes himself to stay in the present as he sees two thugs drop down from a perch among the trees. He had just successfully raided a small library thought to contain a book about Cleopatra's Tomb. Harry chuckles weakly as he slowly reaches for his hat that had fallen off his head. He flexes his fingers subtly and it moves slightly closer to his hands. Really got work on that. I hate not having a wand. Damn Goblins. Damn Kingsley.
"Look what we've got here, bruv. The cockroach himself." Thug One says to Thug Two. Thug Two smiles viciously, barring all of his yellowing teeth.
"Yellow teeth," Harry says with a grin. "How cliche."
"You know what we do with cockroaches right, guv." Thug Two menaces while maliciously stomping on Harry's kidney. "We step on 'em."
He proceeds to kick Harry in the ribs a few more times with a mad gleam in his eyes. Harry spits blood at Thug Two and is promptly kicked in the face for his effort.
"Got a tip chu'd be here," Thug one says with a laugh while tossing a galleon in the air.
Harry snorts, the goblins couldn't actively try to kill him, the ministry had made sure of that much, but the goblins love their loopholes. Even while he is technically on a job for them he has to be wary of treachery. This isn't the first time a tip of his whereabouts ended up with some less than unsavory folk.
Thug Two asks, "How much do you reckon a wizard like this goes for? Bet we could get a bonus for 'im, broken ribs and all."
Thug One says "He's worth a pretty penny alive, but still a decent day's work dead. Options, options."
Thug Two worriedly looks at Harry and shudders, "They say he's unkillable, Boss, messing with wizards like him never ends well. You feel that chill? That's bad magic."
Thug One snaps back, "Bad magic or not, gold's gold, and I don't plan to leave without it."
Harry forced himself to steady his breath, each inhale sharp and shallow. The ropes burned against Harry's wrists, scraping over calloused skin that bore the marks of too many close calls. The earthy scent of damp leaves filled his nose, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood from a cut somewhere on his lip. Every second the thugs were distracted was a chance, slim though it might be. Third trap this month. He stifled a bitter laugh. I'm a terrible treasure hunter. I get my ass kicked more often than I find anything. But tonight was different. The book he'd snagged was worth every bruise, every moment of pain. It had to be. It felt like progress, like he was finally one step closer.
Harry blindly searches the ground around him with his fingers, grasping desperately for anything sharp he can find. He finds a rock and takes a deep breath. He uses the rock to cut his hand slightly, grimacing at what he was about to do. He flexes his fingers, blood dripping down his hand and he strains. For a moment nothing happens and he feels panicked. His heart pounds in his ears as the hat remains stubbornly still. Blood drips down his fingers, and panic creeps into his chest. Not now. Not like this. Harry tries a second time and the hat twitches but still doesn't come to him. Thug one turns to look at him briefly and Harry freezes. Don't notice my hands, don't notice my hands, Harry wills. When the thug turns back to his comrade Harry tries to summon his hat again, and this time it rockets to his hand.
He turns the hat in his hand, feeling for its secret compartment. He withdraws the throwing knives he has stored in his hat, and cuts the ropes fully off him. He sighs with relief. He hates being confined, and his panic lessens slightly now that he is free.
As Harry nears the two thugs he hears Thug Two say, "Boss, I'm telling you, he's cursed. Wizards like him don't die easy. You ever hear about the basilisk?"
Thug One retorts, "I don't care if he got the devil himself on speed-dial. Dead's dead, and we're getting paid either way."
"That's the thing about cockroaches," Harry whispers in the ear of Thug One as he stabs him in the side, before quickly throwing the other knife at Thug Two, the knife catching him in his wand wrist. As the knife flashes towards the second one Harry says, "We survive."
Harry searches the two thugs as they lay thrashing on the ground. He takes the small bag of galleons off Thug One, "You should've listened to your partner." He walks over to Thug Two and steals the boots off of him while muttering, "I'll take these. They are much better than mine to stomp with." He takes a few steps away from them in the direction of where he dropped his hat earlier.
"Don't take out the blade, you'll die if you do. You should be fine if you get medical attention in the next ten minutes or so." Harry warns while bending over to pick up his hat whispering, "Good job hat, you earned your keep tonight." He then pushes the bag of galleons into the secret compartment in the hat. He brushes the dirt off it before placing it on his head and tipping it to the two thugs. "Never let it be said, Harry Potter doesn't have style. It's been a pleasure doing business with ya." He then disapparates without a sound.
When Harry arrives in a dingy room, he places his hat on a small bedside table before clicking his still bloody fingers, a small golden light erupting in the candle, and kicking his newly acquired boots off. He flexes his hand again, summoning a slab of dragon's meat from a cooler he kept in his room and slaps it on his face. He winces slightly at the contact. The cool, slick surface stung at first, then spread a soothing numbness over his bruised cheek. Hagrid wasn't kidding—this stuff works miracles. He cracks the book he raided while settling into the rickety chair by the candle. The first few pages confirm his suspicions—this wasn't just a legend. A wicked smirk grows on Harry's face as he reads. Finally, progress.