"This is highly irregular, Mr. Potter," the goblin clerk at Gringotts complained, his tone making it clear how much having to deal with customers (or tolerate their existence) annoyed him. "We received official notification of Mrs. Lestrange's banishment only a few seconds ago!"
Daphne and Harry were standing in front of his office desk, holding hands. Less than two minutes of dealing with goblins, and both of them were already feeling headaches coming on. Daphne shared a look with Harry before her fiancé turned to the goblin and said, "I know. I just personally handed it to you... literally seconds ago, as you've said," he reminded the clerk impatiently, nodding at the opened letter with the official House Black seal held in the goblin's claws.
"And it's Lord Potter to you," Daphne hissed at the goblin out of habit, despite knowing it was pointless. Their mongrelized race never subscribed to human customs. Even addressing Harry as Mr. Potter was something required of them by the treaty. Without it, they would simply address everyone as human. Goblins had always claimed all humans looked the same to them. They also had no respect for personal identities, judging human existence meaningless given that, unlike theirs, it wasn't eternal.
"You're aware Bellatrix Lestrange is entitled to challenge your decision for the next thirty days, yes?" the clerk told him with a sneer before declaring smugly, "Until then, nothing can be taken out of the maiden vault!"
Daphne's hand tightened around Harry's, both to calm and encourage him. He briefly glanced at her and smiled in reassurance before turning back to the clerk. "Pursuant to Article 234, Section 312(a) of the Treaty, the maiden's family is entitled to perform an inspection of the confiscated maiden vault," Harry recited, taking a deep breath before adding, "Furthermore, according to the procedural guidelines outlined in Annex XVII, Paragraph 402, Subparagraph 18, such inspection may proceed at any time after the official notices are delivered. So, as you can see, House Black is entitled to an immediate inspection and accounting of the maiden vault in question," he concluded.
This time, Daphne couldn't resist openly smiling. So far, things were progressing exactly as they had anticipated. In the end, dealing with goblins, while annoying to the extreme, wasn't that complicated. One just had to keep a very simple rule in mind – goblins were never helpful. The only times they ever assisted wizards and witches with anything were either when they were paid to do so or when the lengthy goblin treaty magically compelled them. Because of that, she and Harry had intensively trained for what he was supposed to say and do during this visit. So far, Harry was following his training flawlessly, and Daphne made a mental note to passionately reward him for it later. After all, such behavior not only pleased her greatly but boded well for their future together…
After Harry's speech, the clerk deflated visibly. All goblins working with humans were required to know the entire treaty by heart, so he knew Harry was right. Finally, he wisely decided the current situation was beyond his station. "Wait here," he growled in frustration. "I will consult with my supervisor." He then turned around and walked away without waiting for their reply. At that point, the clerk's assistant, who had so far been busy with some letters and had not involved himself in their conversation, took over. "This might take a while... why don't you sit down?" he suggested very politely while pointing to some chairs lined up along one of the walls.
Daphne's eyes flicked between the chairs and the surprisingly helpful assistant. "How much?" she asked suspiciously.
"Five knuts... per person," the goblin answered with a grin.
"We'll stand," Harry growled in outrage before she could stop him.
"Standing is one knut per person," the goblin shot back immediately.
"I'll give you five knuts for the chairs... for both of us," Daphne offered, placing her hand on Harry's shoulder. Her fiancé frowned but didn't comment. The goblin seemed to consider her offer for a moment before nodding and glancing at the coin box on his office desk. Daphne took out five copper coins from her pocket and inserted them into the slot. Then, they finally got to sit down. Daphne immediately placed her head against Harry's shoulder while he enveloped his strong arm around her back. They didn't say much after that, mindful of the goblin assistant still in the room.
In the end, paying for the seats proved to be the correct decision, as it took nearly ten minutes for the clerk to return with his supervisor in tow. After that, they shouted at each other angrily in their incomprehensible language while occasionally glancing or pointing at Harry and her, probably arguing about their request. At least that's what Daphne assumed was happening, having no knowledge of gobbledegook. Like many of her pureblood peers, she was fluent in elvish, but few humans bothered to learn the goblin language unless they really wanted or needed it for their jobs. Their speech sounded unpleasant to human ears, seemingly filled with hatred and bitterness, just like the people who spoke it.
Finally, the shouting match between the two goblins ended as they seemingly reached some sort of agreement. The supervisor stepped forward. "According to the Treaty, you are entitled to an inspection, of course," the goblin informed them through gritted teeth while Harry and Daphne stood up. "However, as you have been informed, no items may be removed from the maiden vault," he added with a sneer.
Harry pretended to hesitate for a second before lowering his eyes. "Understood," he said with feigned disappointment, causing the goblin's sneer to deepen and Daphne to mentally laugh. After all, removing an item from the maiden vault wasn't why they were here.
"Your inspection of the maiden vault will be strictly monitored to ensure you adhere to this rule. Three goblin workers will accompany you, and a standard flat rate of one hundred galleons will apply per worker and hour," the supervisor added greedily.
Daphne scoffed internally, knowing this was basically robbery. The goblins were taking advantage of the fact there was no pre-determined fee for this service stated in the treaty, and were charging them the largest fee they could for non-standard service. Hours of negotiations would no doubt lower the fee considerably. But they didn't have hours. At the same time, a quick agreement might make them suspicious. Having anticipated this problem, Harry and Daphne already had a solution in mind…
"Fine, whatever," Harry quickly agreed dismissively, only to receive a sharp slap on his chest from Daphne. "Harry!" she cried out with feigned dismay, while out of the corner of her eye, she observed the goblins grinning mirthfully, thinking they had tricked them.
"Perfect. It's agreed, then," the goblin supervisor immediately declared. Harry then pretended to look sheepish while Daphne made it look like she was throwing daggers at him with her eyes, even as she wrote a note on a piece of paper authorizing the payment. She then handed it to the supervisor who studied it for a while before nodding and gesturing at the clerk, who then told them to follow him.
The cart ride to the vaults stirred nostalgic memories for Harry, as it had been one of his earliest experiences in the magical world. He vividly remembered being utterly amazed by it, while Hagrid sat beside him, struggling to keep from vomiting. Now that Harry was older, he could somewhat understand where Hagrid had been coming from – the cart ride was nauseating. The most frustrating part was that Harry knew it didn't have to be this way, given the existence of spells to suppress inertia and prevent motion sickness. He even knew some of them. So why was he suffering when he didn't need to? Why was the bank using this uncomfortable method to deliver customers to their vaults? It almost felt as though they were deliberately trying to make people sick.
He had shared his thoughts with Daphne once, and the answer had turned out to be simple – yes, the goblins were doing it on purpose. According to the treaty, they couldn't kill, injure, or otherwise harm humans… but there was nothing in it about not making them uncomfortable. And since the treaty gave them a monopoly on banking, there was no incentive for them to be nice to their customers. In fact, the spiteful creatures went out of their way to make the customer experience as unpleasant as possible, especially for those who came unprepared. Fortunately, Harry was smarter this time – or, more precisely, he had a very smart pureblood girl sitting next to him. On Daphne's suggestion, they had both taken mild potions against motion sickness before coming to Gringotts, a standard preventative measure virtually all purebloods took when visiting the bank.
"Vault 671," the goblin clerk announced clinically once the cart carrying Harry and Daphne, accompanied by two other goblin workers, had arrived at their destination. "Lamp, please," the clerk requested, and Harry silently handed him the lamp. The goblins could easily use magic to light their way, but they greatly enjoyed making humans perform these small tasks for them, like carrying the lamp. After they reached the entrance to the vault, the clerk returned the lamp to Harry, who put it down on the floor. He then watched with genuine fascination as the goblin traced his hand along the door in a very specific and intricate pattern, causing it to open. Harry had read the motion had to be absolutely precise for the door to open, and that the exact pattern was unique for each of the high-security vaults.
Then Harry caught his first glimpse of the vault's interior, and his curiosity about how the doors operated vanished entirely. Seeing the massive amounts of gold and other valuables, his first thought was that House Black must have been exorbitantly generous to its daughters in the past. Then he remembered that the Lestranges had moved the entire contents of their family vault here as well, to prevent the Ministry from confiscating it after their heinous attack on the Longbottoms. Given the clandestine nature of their plan, they likely hadn't documented the move either, which meant that in thirty days, everything in the vault would legally belong to House Black – to him.
The thought brought a smile to Harry's face – not for his own benefit, as between Daphne's and his family's wealth, they hardly needed any more money – but because justice was finally being served. After the war, he fully intended to hand the Lestrange properties over to Neville, as they should have been years ago. While it wouldn't heal Neville's parents, it would bring a long-overdue legal closure to the matter. Daphne wholeheartedly supported him in this decision, being appalled and disgusted by what had been done to Neville's pureblood parents.
With the vault now open, Harry, Daphne, and the goblin clerk stepped inside. Meanwhile, the two goblins who had accompanied them on the cart ride, and who hadn't uttered a word the entire time, stayed outside by the entrance. Harry suspected they had stationed themselves there to ensure neither he nor Daphne removed anything from the vault. If that was their intention, the joke would be on them – they had no plans to take anything.
"You may begin your inspection, Mr. Potter," the clerk told him, adding with a knowing smirk, "Take your time." He knew he was being handsomely paid by the hour.
"Careful, Harry," Daphne suddenly whispered, her voice tense with urgency. "I-I think everything here is cursed with Geminio. It'll multiply if we touch it," she explained, her wary gaze fixed on the shiny heaps of gold surrounding them. Harry focused his magical sight, and sure enough, he could see the sickly afterglow enveloping the items, making his magical instincts scream in warning as well. He nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before they both set about the task of inspecting the vault's contents – or at least making it appear that way, while in reality, they were searching for the cup.
In the end, it didn't take them long to locate it. Had Bellatrix been clever, she would have had tossed the cup on the floor, burying it beneath a mountain of gold to keep it hidden. But, of course, the obsessed woman would never treat Voldemort's priceless treasure with such disrespect. Instead, the cup had been placed on one of the upper shelves, a position no doubt meant to signify its importance. In hindsight, this was a mistake – although Harry had to admit it was still relatively inconspicuous amidst the surrounding wealth. If he hadn't known what to look for, he would have easily overlooked it.
As it stood, both he and Daphne could clearly make out the badger emblem embossed on the cup. More importantly, they could feel the suffocating aura of darkness radiating from it, far more intense than anything else in the vault. And that was saying something, considering they had already detected extraordinarily deadly curses on several other objects. Harry discreetly glanced at the goblin clerk, noting his bored, distracted expression. It was clear the real vigilance lay with the goblin guards stationed outside, likely tasked with ensuring nothing was taken from the vault. No doubt, once their so-called inspection was complete, the goblins would conduct a thorough search of both him and Daphne.
'His mistake,' Harry thought as he shared a look with Daphne, and they silently communicated their intentions to each other. Moments later, the blonde sauntered gracefully to the other side of the vault, her movements deliberate as she feigned fascination with a large golden statue positioned there. She acted mesmerized, pretending to assess its craftsmanship and value, while Harry casually lingered near the cup, his movements deliberately unremarkable. Finally, Daphne leaned over the statue's pedestal, which was pressed tightly against the wall of the vault. Her voice rang out with exaggerated indignation.
"There's mold in here!" she exclaimed, her tone brimming with outrage. She spun to face the goblin clerk, her eyes blazing with accusation.
"Impossible!" the goblin sputtered in protest, mumbling something about ridiculous humans under his breath. Nevertheless, he moved toward the statue to verify Daphne's allegations. The moment his back was turned, Harry quietly drew a goblin dagger from his cloak. Ironically, it was the same one Hermione had used during her escape attempt – an event that had almost caused a disaster. The same dagger... though recently upgraded, courtesy of Severus Snape. Without hesitation, Harry reached up to the upper shelf and swiftly stabbed Helga Hufflepuff's cup with the poisoned blade.
Harry had held a faint hope his action might go unnoticed – no one was looking, and he had taken care to move silently. Unfortunately, based on his personal experience with the locket and Snape's report on the diadem, he knew Horcruxes rarely perished without a fight. True to form, the moment the dagger scraped the surface of the cup, a deathly wail pierced the stale air of the vault. The sound was bone-chilling – a harrowing cry carrying the anguish of a soul torn apart. It twisted and reverberated through the chamber like shards of ice scraping against stone. Each note seemed to burrow deep into the marrow, freezing thoughts midstream and slowing the blood to a sluggish, reluctant crawl. It was as though winter itself had found a voice – raw, haunting, and utterly merciless. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the wail ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. For a moment, Harry found himself questioning whether it had even happened at all.
Any doubt Harry had was swiftly erased as the goblin clerk now glared at him with a furious expression, while the two goblin guards stationed outside burst into the vault in panic. Without missing a beat, Harry promptly dropped the dagger to the ground and offered a sheepish smile.
"Oops. Sorry about that."
"So, for the record, Mr. Potter, your claim is that you suffered a muscle cramp, which caused you to accidentally stab the golden cup with your dagger?" the director of Gringotts asked, his glare sharp and unyielding as he sat behind his imposing desk. Harry and Daphne, seated across from him after being unceremoniously marched into the office, exchanged a fleeting smile despite the tension in the room. The satisfaction of having destroyed another Horcrux was still very fresh and far outweighed the goblin's scrutiny. Now only Nagini was left, and then Voldemort would be as mortal as everyone else!
"Yes... it was an unfortunate accident," Harry Potter replied smoothly, his tone effortlessly convincing. Daphne couldn't help but smile inwardly at his composure, even as she inconspicuously brushed her hand against his back in quiet support.
"I see," Ragnok hissed, his tone dripping with skepticism, his narrowed eyes clearly conveying his disbelief. Nevertheless, he scribbled Harry's response into the record before fixing them both with another piercing glare. "And may I ask," he continued icily, "why you were holding the dagger in your hand in the first place?"
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "There was something stuck in my teeth. I was going to use the dagger to get it out," he replied with a completely straight face, his tone utterly serious. Daphne struggled to maintain her composure, thoroughly impressed by his seamless delivery. It seemed all her efforts to sharpen her fiancé's poker face and encourage him to embrace the Slytherin side of his personality were finally paying off. Watching Harry lie so convincingly was, admittedly, an incredible turn-on for her – probably more than it should have been. She wouldn't want Harry to lie to her or their friends, of course, but seeing him lie to their enemies – and doing it exceptionally well – was something she knew she'd never tire of.
"A royal goblin dagger... dipped in the venom of the great serpent! You were going to pick your teeth with it!" the head goblin bellowed, his voice quaking with outrage. Daphne couldn't quite determine which aspect of the scenario Ragnok found most objectionable – the sheer absurdity of someone doing something so recklessly foolish, or the sacrilege of using a goblin king's dagger for such a mundane and insulting purpose. Either way, his indignation was palpable.
"Yes. I heard basilisk venom was good for the gums," Harry answered nonchalantly, improvising at this point but still doing well. Daphne had to suppress laughter at his comment.
Ragnok regarded Harry with a peculiar expression before leaning back in his seat. "It is not good for your gums, Mr. Potter," he said with grim finality. "In fact, it will cause them to bleed heavily at the slightest nick," he continued, his tone turning sharper. "And shortly thereafter, the venom will proceed to liquefy your brain and liver, causing them to leak out through your bleeding gums."
Harry feigned surprise. "I had no idea! Thank you for the warning, Director," he said earnestly.
Daphne immediately tensed at his words, her fingers gripping the armrest of her chair. Thanking goblins? That was never a good idea. While it might be a polite gesture among humans, goblins instead interpreted thank you as verbal acknowledgment of services rendered – services they would then expect to be paid for. She shot Harry a quick, warning glance, but the words were already out. Daphne sighed inwardly, making a mental note to address this later. She had focused her earlier lessons on wizarding etiquette, teaching Harry how he should interact with others of their kind, from superior purebloods like herself to inferior mudbloods. Harry was an excellent student, embracing her lessons with eagerness and diligence. It was entirely her fault for neglecting to emphasize the nuances of goblin protocol.
Sure enough, Ragnok seized on Harry's words. "You're welcome, Mr. Potter," he said with a sly grin. "Advising its customers is Gringotts' top priority," he added, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he looked at them expectantly. Harry blinked, clearly confused by the goblin's demeanor. Daphne sighed, exasperation she felt at the goblin's behavior flickering across her face even as she nudged Harry's side discreetly, gesturing toward the collection box prominently displayed on Ragnok's desk. It looked far more luxurious than the one the clerk's assistant had, a reflection of Ragnok's status.
"Oh, right!" Harry said, and after she suggested the minimal acceptable amount, he pulled a single Galleon out of his pocket, inserting the gold coin into the slot in the collection box. The head goblin stared at the coin with barely disguised greed, looking positively ecstatic at the sound it made as it fell into the box.
Once that was settled, Ragnok pressed on. "Now... while you claim this to be an accident, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid Gringotts will have to charge you for the damages caused," he informed them with a tone of grim authority. "Our experts have assessed the current market value of the cup you destroyed to be twelve thousand Galleons. Coupled with the standard manipulation fee of ten percent, that brings the total to thirteen thousand two hundred Galleons." He paused, giving them a pointed look, clearly expecting no arguments.
He would get none from Daphne, as the price sounded about right in her estimate. Nevertheless, she spoke for the first time, asking an important question. "Just to clarify, that money would be deposited into Bellatrix's maiden vault?" she asked, her eyebrow arching in question.
"Aside from the manipulation fee… yes," the goblin director confirmed.
Harry and Daphne exchanged an amused glance, fully aware they'd be reclaiming the money in a month anyway. When all was said and done, the destruction of Voldemort's Horcrux had cost them only 1,200 Galleons – a small price to pay, and a bargain as far as both of them were concerned.
"Do you agree to this resolution, in which you pay for the damages you have incurred, Mr. Potter?" the head goblin asked, his tone sharp with impatience as he tapped his claws on the desk.
"Yes, I agree," Harry replied without hesitation. Daphne nodded as well, her impatience evident. She was eager to put this tedious matter behind them – they had far more important things to do and places to be. Both of them, already mentally preparing to leave, were caught off guard when a nasty grin spread across Ragnok's face upon hearing their agreement.
"Excellent," the goblin declared with a disturbingly cheerful tone. "In that case, we must also determine the price of the soul fragment that was embedded in the cup... and which you have also destroyed."
Both of them froze at his words, realizing they had been tricked. Back at Greengrass Manor, Harry and Daphne had thoroughly discussed this visit, carefully considering countless ways it might unfold and preparing for a variety of potential problems. This, however, wasn't one of them. They hadn't anticipated the goblins would know or care about the destruction of the Horcrux – let alone decide to assign a price to it.
"How – how do you determine the price of a soul fragment?" Daphne mumbled, sharing a helpless look with Harry. Her voice wavered slightly, betraying her unease. In response to her question, the door opened, and three additional goblins entered the room. Two were heavily armed, their imposing presence unmistakably marking them as guards. The tension in the room instantly skyrocketed, the atmosphere almost suffocating. Harry and Daphne resisted the urge to draw their wands, though their hands instinctively twitched toward them. The only thing keeping them steady was the reassurance from earlier – both had felt their future selves return to Greengrass Manor safe and sound. That had to mean this meeting would end well… right?
"Priest!" Ragnok barked, addressing the third goblin, finally identifying the strangely dressed and unusually solemn goblin for Harry and Daphne. "Bring it here!"
"Yes, Director," the goblin replied, shuffling forward with deliberate care. He carefully placed a thick piece of parchment onto the desk. Daphne's eyes widened as she focused her magic sight – the parchment radiated an aura unlike anything she had seen before, with layers of ancient magic shimmering faintly but powerfully across its surface. Beside her, Harry was doing the same, staring at it in quiet wonder.
"Unlike your mongrelized race, we goblins are the magic's chosen, Mr. Potter, Miss Greengrass," Ragnok declared with arrogant confidence, his voice brimming with self-assurance. "As such, our connection to the Powers is far stronger than yours. We don't haggle over the price of a soul fragment... we simply ask magic," he stated, finally answering Daphne's earlier question. Then, with a grin that sent a chill through the room, he added, "I must warn you, though... the price of souls is infinite in the grand scheme of things."
Daphne swallowed nervously at his words, her grip on Harry's hand tightening. Both of them shared the same unspoken thought – if a soul was infinitely valuable, then so, too, were its fragments.
The next moment, they both watched with bated breath as the director raised his right hand above the desk and, without hesitation, slashed his wrist with his own claws. Dark goblin blood dripped onto the enchanted parchment, the magic within it seeming to stir instantly. "Reveal to us the value of the soul fragment Mr. Potter destroyed in the maiden vault of Bellatrix Lestrange!" Ragnok simply declared, his voice commanding and resolute, just as the first drops of his blood splattered onto the parchment. The room seemed to hold its breath, the atmosphere thick with ancient power. Despite the overwhelming tension, Daphne and Harry couldn't help but stare in awe at the chaotic magic swirling around the parchment following Ragnok's words. It was unlike anything they had ever witnessed. The raw, unbridled energy seemed almost alive and pulsing. Daphne suspected they might be among the very few humans ever to have seen this particular form of goblin magic in action. While undeniably fascinating, the thought did little to ease her growing unease. It could only mean one thing – the goblins were confident that neither she nor Harry would be in a position to share what they had seen. Her mind raced as the situation spiraled further and further outside the bounds of any rules established by the goblin treaty – a dangerous path to tread when dealing with goblins, as Daphne well knew.
At first, the parchment seemed as though it might explode under the relentless surge of chaotic magic. The swirling energy crackled ominously, but after several tense moments, it began to stabilize, settling into a more organized pattern. Slowly, writing emerged on its surface. Harry and Daphne's eyes were drawn to the enormous number that appeared – far larger than anything they had imagined. Their hands drifted instinctively toward their wands, their minds already preparing for the fight of their lives. Daphne was a heartbeat away from drawing her wand to deal with the guards behind them, while Harry was ready to take on the priest and the director himself. But then she paused, her instincts screaming for her to stop. One small yet critical detail caught her attention – Ragnok's expression. He wasn't gloating, nor did he wear the smug satisfaction she had expected. Instead, his face twisted in fury, more so than at any other point during their meeting. It was clear that whatever he was seeing on the parchment wasn't what he had hoped for at all.
"PRIEST!" the director barked, his voice echoing with alarm and fury. "What is this shit?!" he demanded, his trembling claws stabbing the air as he pointed at the parchment. Daphne's gaze followed his claws to the exact spot he was indicating, and her eyes widened in realization. The number on the parchment was indeed absolutely enormous – far beyond what even Harry's and her combined fortunes could afford to pay. But then, she noticed the detail that had enraged Ragnok – a minus sign in front of the figure.
"W-well, I-" the priest stammered, clearly caught off guard by the director's fury. After a moment of fumbling, he finally managed to choke out, "T-the Powers. They might have p-posted a reward for the soul fragment's d-destruction." Daphne's eyes widened as the last pieces fell into place. It all made sense now. Instead of Harry and herself owing the goblins an astronomical sum, the situation was flipped on its head. Somehow, magic had decided that Gringotts – or perhaps the entire goblin nation – owed them.
"WHAT?" Ragnok bellowed in outrage, spinning toward the priest, who looked as though he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and vanish. His trembling form shrank under the director's glare, barely able to meet his furious eyes. Harry, meanwhile, still seemed to be processing the full ramifications of the situation, his brow furrowed in confusion. Daphne, however, was already a step ahead. Her mind was racing, quickly piecing together the consequences of what had just unfolded. She tightened her grip on Harry's hand, subtly signaling him to stay calm as she prepared to seize the advantage this sudden twist of fate had offered them.
"We accept the deal," Daphne declared loudly, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. As the words left her lips, an intangible wave of energy swept through the room, a ripple of magic sealing the agreement. Daphne's grin widened as she sensed the contract taking effect, the ancient magic binding it irrevocably. She knew without a doubt the goblins had felt it too. After all, their perception of the world was far more attuned to magic than to mundane senses.
"Are you insane?!" Ragnok snapped, practically leaping out of his chair. "I'm not going to honor this nonsense! I-" He never finished his sentence. In the next instant, his body was consumed by flames. The fire erupted so suddenly that no one had time to react. His screams, though terrible, were mercifully brief, and within seconds, his body was reduced to nothing but blackened ashes.
The room fell into a deathly silence, the only sound the faint rustle of ash settling onto the chair where Ragnok, the director of Gringotts, had once sat. No one spoke. Harry and Daphne sat frozen, their mouths slightly agape as they stared in shock at the pile of ashes. The priest and the two goblin guards mirrored their reaction, wide-eyed and motionless, as though their minds were still struggling to process what had just occurred.
The first sound to finally break the heavy silence was the creak of the doors opening as another goblin entered the room. The newcomer surveyed the scene briefly before barking an order. "Guards!" Within moments, three more goblins appeared behind him. Harry and Daphne tensed again, their hands gripping their wands tightly, prepared for a confrontation. But instead of addressing them, the newcomer pointed sharply at the pile of ashes. "Send someone to clean this mess!" he commanded. The guards immediately turned and rushed to carry out the order, leaving Harry and Daphne momentarily stunned by the casual dismissal of Ragnok's remains.
And it didn't end there. The new goblin strode into the room with an air of calm authority. He approached Ragnok's former desk, pausing at the chair and sniffing at it with disgust. Without any ceremony, he leaned it over, knocking the ashes to the floor. Then he sat down, his movements deliberate as he even took a moment to wipe the remaining ash from the desk's surface with an almost bored efficiency.
"And who are you?" Harry finally asked, his voice breaking the tense silence as he struggled to contain his confusion. Daphne, equally bewildered, was only a second behind him, her gaze fixed on the new goblin as she awaited his response.
The goblin paused mid-motion, looking at Harry with mild surprise, as if the answer to his question should have been self-evident. "My name is Graxley, Mr. Potter. I'm the director of Gringotts," he stated matter-of-factly before calmly resuming the task of sweeping away the ashes of his predecessor down on the floor. In that moment,
Harry and Daphne exchanged a glance, a mutual understanding dawning on them – it would seem that goblins had exceptionally short grieving periods and matters of succession were handled most swiftly.
After a minute of dusting the desk, Graxley finally picked up the parchment. His expression darkened as he read the contents.
"Would you mind explaining this, Mr. Potter?" Graxley addressed Harry, who was still too stunned by the sequence of events to respond. He glanced to Daphne, who immediately took over.
"Your predecessor refused to abide by the magical contract he had formed with us," Daphne stated coolly, her tone sharp and authoritative. Without hesitation, she began recounting the events of their meeting, detailing every step that had led to Ragnok's fiery demise. By the time she finished, Graxley looked apoplectic, his face twisted with both anger and shock. Yet, unlike his predecessor, he seemed far more cautious, his every move and word measured. Clearly, he had taken Ragnok's fate as a cautionary tale.
"You prepared this ritual, priest?" Graxley asked sharply, his expression murderous as his piercing gaze bore into the trembling goblin.
"T-the director. He ordered me-" the priest stammered, trying to explain, but Graxley cut him off with a brutal wave of his hand.
"Kill him," the new director ordered coldly. The guards sprang into action, seizing the struggling priest. Graxley watched them drag the goblin out of the room, his face unflinching, before adding with icy finality, "Make it slow."
Once the room was silent again, Graxley turned his full attention to Daphne and Harry, his expression a calculated mix of sternness and restraint. For a moment, the tension hung thick in the air. It was clear the new director was sizing them up with great care.
"Naturally, Gringotts will honor any contracts made," Graxley said reluctantly, his tone clipped and strained. "However, I'm sure both of you understand the number on this parchment is several orders of magnitude greater than the total amount of Galleons in existence." He leaned forward, his sharp features darkening as his voice dropped into a growl. "Let me be absolutely clear... I would rather see myself and every last goblin die like Ragnok than be eternally indebted to humans." The threat hung heavily in the air, but then his tone softened, and a glint of trepidation flickered in his eyes. "So, with that said... what is it that the two of you want? What is your price for agreeing to dissolve this contract?"
Harry and Daphne shared a long, meaningful look. Their silent communication at this point was almost second nature to them. As long as their eyes met, they could speak volumes to each other, figuratively and, thanks to their magical connection, also literally. Eventually, Harry gave a small, knowing smile, and Daphne's icy blue eyes sparkled with agreement. She turned her attention to the newly minted director of Gringotts, her expression poised and calculating, and began to speak.
"We've been far too lenient on them," Harry said once they were back in Daphne's office at Greengrass Manor. He was certain that, had the situation been reversed, the goblins would never have extended the same mercy.
"I know… but we need them, and they know it," Daphne replied with a weary sigh. "I believe we've pushed them as far as we could without them deciding they'd rather die instead."
Harry reluctantly nodded, acknowledging she was probably right. Considering how deeply spiteful the goblins could be toward humans, it wasn't hard to imagine them opting for mass suicide purely out of defiance. If the goblins were truly essential to the stability of magic in their world, Harry knew they had to tread carefully to avoid provoking such a catastrophic response.
After removing their cloaks, the two of them stepped out onto the balcony, which at the moment (its view shifting unpredictably from time to time) overlooked the grounds in front of the manor, including the grand fountain where Harry had first met Daphne. The scene below was bustling with activity as the Mamertines and other mercenary groups they had hired conducted their final preparations for the battle ahead. A few of the mercenaries glanced up and noticed them on the balcony, but offered no reaction. Harry briefly considered addressing them but quickly dismissed the thought. These people didn't need a rousing speech. They were paid to fight, and that was all the motivation they needed or wanted. Instead, Daphne and he stood together in silence, arms draped around each other's backs as they watched the organized chaos below. The moment felt oddly still in contrast to the energy below, the two of them drawing strength from each other's presence. They stayed like that until a voice from behind broke the silence.
"Knock-knock."
Harry recognized the familiar voice of his friend and turned, just in time to see Ron stepping onto the balcony to join them. He was already dressed for travel, a broom in hand, his expression a mix of determination and nervous anticipation. In just a few minutes, Ron would be departing to speak with his family. Given the Greengrass manor's location in Devon, it would take him less than half an hour to reach the Burrow – especially with the high-quality broom he was gripping tightly.
His Firebolt was something Harry had thought permanently lost to him, after it fell from Hagrid's motorbike during their flight from Privet Drive. However, it turned out the Death Eaters had recovered the broom, with one of them claiming it as a trophy. Daphne's grandfather had known the man who took it and recently persuaded him to part with his prize before returning it to his future grandson-in-law. At the time, Harry had thought it a kind gesture... but he could still recall Daphne's words afterward.
"He's up to something, Harry," his beautiful fiancée said, her tone laced with suspicion.
"I thought it was nice of him. Why would you say that?" Harry protested, frowning slightly.
"Because he's always up to something," Daphne insisted firmly. "Even if it's just wanting to be nice to you and for you to like him – that's just how he thinks!" She crossed her arms, her icy blue eyes narrowing as if daring him to disagree.
In the end, his beloved Firebolt had been stripped down for inspection yet again, this time under Daphne's watchful eye as she ensured everything was in perfect working order. Honestly, what was it with the women in his life and their obsession with dismantling his racing broom? At least he hadn't given Daphne as much grief over it as he had Hermione – one sharp look from his pureblood fiancée had been enough to silence any protests before they even began.
"Are you ready?" Harry asked his only remaining best friend, watching Ron give a firm nod. According to Umbridge, the Weasleys' family residence was under surveillance, so the plan was for Ron to fly as close as possible on his broom before proceeding on foot. He would use the information from Umbridge to avoid the Ministry patrols along the way. Once he reached Mr. Weasley, Ron would deliver the message, and then the two of them would head to Amos Diggory's house, where they would use the fireplace to contact everyone else. Marietta Edgecombe's mother, who was the head of the Ministry's Transportation Department, had already ensured no alarms would be raised.
Harry stepped toward Ron, no words exchanged as everything meaningful had already been said. Instead, he pulled him into a firm, manly hug, wishing him good luck. A large part of him still blamed Astoria for what she had done, but Ron insisted he was fine with the situation and Harry couldn't deny that he was grateful to have him by his side now, with his memories fully intact. Perhaps it was selfish, but he had already lost Hermione and couldn't imagine losing Ron too.
"Same to you. Good luck… and stay safe, both of you," Ron replied, pulling back and then turning to give Daphne a brief hug as well. After saying their goodbyes, he mounted the Firebolt and kicked off the ground, quickly ascending into the sky. Daphne and Harry stood together, arms lightly brushing, as they watched him soar away, his figure growing smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared over the horizon, leaving only the endless sky.
"Now... we wait," Harry said quietly. Daphne nodded in response, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace as they stood together on the balcony, the weight of the moment settling heavily over them.
At one point, Harry felt a sharp, freezing pain shoot through his scar and spine. With practiced efficiency, he quickly threw the Invisibility Cloak over his back, blocking the incoming vision. Even in that brief moment, he had already caught the first few thoughts from Voldemort – seething with intensity and laced with pure, unbridled rage. "He knows," Harry said grimly, meeting Daphne's concerned gaze. "He's just been told about Bellatrix."
Without wasting another moment, the two of them stepped back into Daphne's office, the tension between them palpable. They barely had time to gather their thoughts before the fireplace flared to life, and Adrian Selwyn's face appeared in the green flames. "The Dark Lord is summoning everyone for an emergency meeting at Malfoy Manor," Daphne's grandfather informed them tersely, his unease evident in his expression, but he also gave them an encouraging smile as he added. "Well done. All goes according to plan…" Having delivered the message, he disappeared from the flames just as quickly as he had appeared.
Upon hearing the message, Harry and Daphne walked over to the couch where two piles of dark clothing lay carefully prepared for just such an occasion – along with the dreaded masks. Harry picked up his set and began preparing to put it on, but paused when he noticed Daphne's hesitation. She stood still, staring at the dark clothes in his hands.
"What's wrong, love?" he asked gently, his voice laced with concern as he turned to face her.
Her eyes remained fixed on the clothes as she spoke, her voice wavering slightly. "T-those were my father's," she explained, gesturing toward the garments Harry was holding.
Understanding the weight of her words, Harry immediately set the clothes back down on the couch. Without hesitation, he crossed the short distance between them and pulled her into a comforting hug, holding her tightly as she leaned into him.
"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't feel-" Daphne began, but Harry interrupted her gently.
"Of course you should. He was your father," he said firmly.
"He was a blood traitor," Daphne protested, her voice trembling, her icy blue eyes misting.
"He was your father," Harry repeated, his tone unwavering. He watched as the words slowly sank in, and, after a moment, Daphne reluctantly nodded. With a deep breath, she reached down and picked up her own set of clothes, her resolve returning, if only slightly.
"And these… these were supposed to be mine," Daphne said in a shaky voice as she picked up her own pile of clothes, her fingers brushing over the fabric. "Father had them made a year ago." She hesitated, staring at the death eater uniform as if it was a cruel reminder of a past self she no longer recognized. "I remember really looking forward to getting to wear them one day. I was such a pathetic fool…" she whispered, shaking her head sadly.
Harry hesitated for only a second before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Daphne from behind. "Look at me, love," he ordered softly, and the blonde obeyed, turning around in his embrace, her icy blue eyes meeting his. Gently, Harry reached up and wiped away the few small tears from her cheeks, his touch tender. "I can see this bothers you a lot," he said, glancing briefly at the clothes before taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, pressing a loving kiss to her fingers. "So let me make a promise," he continued, his voice completely serious and filled with resolve. "The moment… the very second we get back… I'm going to tear those ugly clothes off of you."
Daphne stared at him in absolute shock for a couple of seconds before doubling over with laughter. She laughed so hard she nearly fell over, clutching her stomach as the tension that had weighed her down melted away in an instant. When she finally managed to calm herself enough to speak, she pulled Harry into a firm hug, her laughter still lingering in her voice. Harry, ever cheeky, took the opportunity to grab her butt, eliciting a mischievous smirk from her.
"The same goes for you, my pretty half-blood," Daphne whispered huskily into his ear, her voice low and teasing as she nipped at his earlobe. Unable to resist the moment, they kissed passionately, their emotions spilling over as they made out for a solid minute before reluctantly pulling apart, both slightly breathless but far lighter in spirit.
"I love you, Harry," she said softly, her voice steady but filled with emotion.
"I love you, Daphne," he whispered back, his green eyes locked on hers.
Daphne took a deep breath, her determination returning as she straightened up. "Now… let's finish this war," she suggested, her tone resolute. With that, the two young adults turned to the couch, silently donning their dark clothes and skeletal masks.