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Chapter 1
Harry was fed up with everything and everyone. His relatives were a nightmare, and the wizarding world wasn't much better. Sure, the Minister for Magic himself had pardoned his bout of underage magic, and Harry was grateful for it … but no one had cared why he'd had that outburst in the first place, had they? Well, they cared enough now to allow him to stay in Diagon Alley, which was telling all in itself. And Harry was through taking the scraps of common decency these people decided to drop for him. He'd make the most of this opportunity and start by taking charge of his money. But first, he allowed himself to be bustled to the Leaky Cauldron and into the owner's care. Having his own room, where no one was allowed to harass him, and even a hearty meal to quench his hunger pains was already more than he could have expected from the day. Hedwig greeted him with a quiet bark and ruffled her feathers. "We had a soft landing, girl," Harry murmured. "But I don't believe that it'll stay that way. What do you think?" She churred, her yellow eyes intense in the semi-darkness. "I'm not gonna say anything, just …" Harry shrugged. "You know. Be prepared." Hedwig did know; she always knew, and Harry relaxed. "Anyway, I'd better not go out again tonight. Will you be fine with the meat from my shepherd's pie, or do you want to go out and hunt?" Hedwig stayed for dinner and only left on whisper-silent wings when Harry had gone to bed after a couple of hours of furious writing in one of Dudley's banged-up notebooks. oOo The following morning, Harry had a quick breakfast downstairs in the pub before the usual masses descended on it and then sneakily entered Diagon Alley. Most of the shopkeepers were only just setting up for the day as he trotted along, so no one spared him too much attention. The same wasn't true for Gringotts, of course. The bank boasted of being open at all hours, and the guards appeared as alert as they had been at any other time of the day. Still, he was the first to enter the enormous hall and took a moment to take in the quiet yet busy atmosphere. The marble floor appeared freshly shined; Harry, more than ever, felt like a filthy street urchin as he sheepishly made his way across in his torn-up trainers. A teller near the back noticed his cautious approach, eyed him sharply for a second, and then beckoned him forward with clawed fingers. "Good morning," Harry said quietly. "Uhm, I'd like to visit my vault, please." "Key, please," the goblin replied, holding out his hand. "Er, I don't have it," Harry admitted. "The summer before last, Hagrid used it, and the last time Mrs Weasley had it. On Professor Dumbledore's orders, maybe?" "Someone who is not you was, and probably still is, in possession of your key?" the goblin asked, eyebrow ridges raised incredulously. "Well, I never had it to begin with," Harry defended himself. "Professor Dumbledore left me with my Muggle relatives, you see, and maybe he thought they would steal it, or something." "Hmmm." The goblin frowned first at Harry and then at a document on his desk. "Vault number, please." "687, sir," Harry replied promptly. "Vault number 687 … you are the vault owner?" "Yes, sir." "Hmmm. We impressed upon your magical guardian that he was to hand over your key upon your first visit to Gringotts," the goblin said. His teeth looked very sharp, and his voice had gotten a little growly. "You say it hasn't been done?" "No, sir." The goblin nodded, snapped his fingers, and fished a new document out of thin air. His dark, beady eyes flew over its contents, and then he shoved it toward Harry. "Sign this. Full name, as you know it." Harry read the short declaration, accepted the black quill the goblin handed him, and scribbled Harry Potter on the bottom. "Ouch," he said, surprised at seeing his name appear in blood red on the back of his right hand. A second later, the skin was perfectly whole again. "What was that?" "Official Gringotts documents are signed with a blood quill," the goblin explained courtly. "Your blood is unique; therefore, it can't be copied or forged." "Oh! Awesome!" Harry handed the quill back. "I bet they'd be great against cheating in school, too." "Those quills are strictly banned outside Gringotts," the goblin growled. "Never use one. If someone tries to make you, report them." The scary flash of teeth was back. "Or better yet, remove their foul presence forever. They'd spend the rest of their years in Azkaban anyway, and rightly so. Not only are such signatures always binding, no matter the circumstance, but a blood quill can also be used to torture or kill. If used for a prolonged time, the words won't heal, you see. In extreme cases, you could bleed out." Harry gulped. "Oh. Okay. Thanks for the warning." "You are woefully uneducated, Mr Potter." The goblin placed a Closed! sign onto his desk and snapped his fingers. "Follow me. We will have to retool your key and blood-bind it to you. We can't have the wizards ignore our laws, or their own, with impunity now, can we?" "No, sir!" Harry agreed with a little grin. They left through an ornate door in the back. To Harry's disappointment, he wasn't treated to a cart ride. Instead, the goblin gestured for him to enter some sort of cabinet and closed the door behind them. A flash of light later, he re-opened the door and walked out into a dark corridor whose walls were glittering and sparkling in the light of the numerous sconces. Harry noticed at once that it was a little warmer here, wherever here was. "How far did we go down, sir?" he called after his guide. "Quite far," the goblin called. "Hurry, Mr Potter, they are already waiting on you." "What is going to happen?" The goblin ushered him through a bright red door - and right into a room that looked like Gringotts' entrance hall, only that instead of tellers, goldsmiths were working here, each at their own small forge. "Stand here," the goblin said, prodding Harry into a specific spot by the closest forge. "Hold out your hand. This will hurt for a moment. Do not flinch." Harry complied without real thought, only to nearly yell when the goldsmith immediately poured a goodly-sized amount of molten gold right into his palm. "Close the hand to a fist," the goldsmith growled. "Push your magic into the gold. Now!" Without any other option available, Harry obeyed. Screwing his eyes shut, he forced as much of his magic - and his anger - into the hot metal as he was able. It felt remarkably like casting a spell. "Very good," the goldsmith said after a moment. "Open your hand now. The key is ready." Harry needed a moment to unclench his cramped muscles and register that his nerves weren't shrieking in pain any longer. His fingers were still trembling as he uncurled them, though. A perfect little golden key rested in his palm, Harry's vault number neatly stamped on it. And his hand was pink and whole, just as before the gold had touched it. "How … ?" he wondered, flabbergasted. "Magic," both goblins retorted a little flatly. Harry's guide bowed to the goldsmith and thanked him for his service. Without having to be prompted, Harry also offered a bow and his gratitude, and then they were off again. Their next stop was the office of an elderly goblin whose name tag at the door identified him as Sharptooth. "This is Sharptooth, your family's account manager," the goblin told Harry. "I will leave you with him. Speak to him of all your concerns, and do it efficiently. If you have a list, by all means, produce it promptly. Good day." "Er, good day, sir. And thank you!" His guide nodded once and swiftly vanished, leaving Harry at the ajar office door. "Come in, Mr Potter," the goblin within the office called. "Time is money - for the both of us." And so Harry tugged a little on his shirt collar to ease the sudden feeling of constriction and entered the cavernous room. It was richly decorated with dark, heavy wooden furniture and carpets in vibrant colours. The walls were adorned with epic paintings of battles and scenes in a court that nearly seemed to come alive in the light of the sconces. "Good morning, sir," he greeted. "Mr Sharptooth." "Just Sharptooth, Mr Potter. Please, take a seat. Would you like refreshments while we talk? It is rather early, and you look like you could do with a strong cup of tea. A visit to our keysmiths will do that to a wizard." Harry flushed a little. "Er, if it's no trouble, sir, I'd like that." He settled down while Sharptooth arranged for tea and took another look around the office. The shelves full of binders and books were impressive, and there, in a corner, stood a gleaming display of armour and a whole rack filled with polished weapons. Before he could ask about them, a cup of tea was pushed before him, and the goblin politely demanded his attention. "Now, Mr Potter, you have been issued a new vault key and need it blond-bonded, yes?" "Yes, sir. And I, uh, need some advice. Of the financial sort." "You've come to the right place, then, but first things first. The blood bond is easy enough to accomplish and won't hurt nearly as much as the forging of the key." "Oh, thank god." Sharptooth smiled toothily. "Please place the key on the table. I will hand you a small knife now; cut your palm with it and place the key atop the wound. Then say, with my blood, I bind you and push magic into the key. The magic will take the blood into the gold and bind them together. From then on, only you, as the carrier of that specific … taste of magic, for lack of a better word in your tongue, can use that key." Harry followed the instructions and flinched only a little when a small flash of light signified the little ritual's success. "Well done, Mr Potter! Now, would you like a gold chain for your key? Most of our customers prefer carrying their keys around their necks. A Gringotts key chain will disillusion the key and act as a theft preventer. As soon as the clasp gets broken, the chain will portkey your key to Gringotts, where you can pick it up at your convenience." "Neat! Has it ever been circumvented?" Harry asked. "Not to my knowledge, young sir," Sharptooth answered. "But then, we pride ourselves on our superior service." "How much is that service, sir?" Harry asked, at least knowing that the goblins never offered services for free. "And, hm, what will happen to a thief? Hypothetically?" Sharptooth's right eyebrow went up, but he answered readily enough. "A year's theft protection costs twenty galleons. That's not cheap; however, as the heir to a large fortune, it would be money well invested, considering the possible alternatives." Harry agreed wholeheartedly. "Can I get such a key chain today, sir?" "Yes, of course. The goldsmith has already crafted it. Blood bonding is not strictly necessary and rarely done, but I would encourage it after the … irregularity with your old key. As to your other question, our key chains harvest the magical signature of the chain breaker. Should they have an account with us, we will penalise their vault with two hundred galleons and inform the wizarding authorities. After collecting the fine, their vault will be closed, naturally, and their names made known to all other Gringotts branches. Gringotts does not deal with common thieves as a rule." "Wicked," Harry breathed. Under Sharptooth's watchful eyes, he repeated the blood bonding with the key chain, threaded his key on it and then slipped it around his neck. "What else may Gringotts help you with today, Mr Potter?" the goblin asked. "Uhm, can I know how much I have in my vault? Last year, Mrs Weasley only let me take some money for school shopping, but I should probably know how much I have, right? In case I need to save for later." Something ugly flitted over Sharptooth's face before his expression cleared again. He tapped his desk with a claw, and a slim, leatherbound notebook appeared before him. "Of course. This is a copy of your account ledger. Every transaction that goes through Gringotts directly will be listed in it. Should you discover something questionable, let me know at once." He handed the book to Harry and watched as he opened it to peruse the entries. "Uhm, sir, I don't understand," Harry said quietly. "What is this? Child support for the Dursley family?" Sharptooth frowned. "What is says in the description. Your relatives receive money every month for your care." "But …" Harry stared at the goblin. "They don't really take care of me. At least not for that much, I don't think." "How do you mean, Mr Potter?" Harry suddenly flushed from his neck up to the roots of his hair. "I … forget it." "Oh, no, Mr Potter. You are Gringotts' customer, and you addressed a concern. I'm contract-bound to see that your concern gets cleared up, one way or the other." Harry bit his lip and blinked against the sudden wetness in his eyes. "I told Professor Dumbledore." At Sharptooth's patient yet unrelenting look, he whispered, "I told him that I don't want to go back there." "Why, Mr Potter? If it helps, much like a doctor, as your account manager, I'm bound to customer confidentiality. It doesn't cover criminal acts, of course, but everything else will remain between you and me." "Really?" Harry swallowed. "Really, Mr Potter. Please proceed. I'd hate to see you pay needlessly for my time." "Alright." Swallowing again, Harry balled his hands to fists. "My, uhm, relatives … I lived in the cupboard under the stairs before my Hogwarts letter came. And … and I didn't have anything. New, I mean. For school, or, or anything else. Ever. It's always my cousin's cast-offs. I don't remember ever eating my fill. And never sweets. And my cousin and his friends hunted me all over the neighbourhood - they still do that now - and whenever they went on holiday, they made me stay with Mrs Figg and her cats. And my uncle, he sometimes hits me. My aunt, too. And Dudley, of course, if he and his friends catch me. I don't want to live like that anymore, but Professor Dumbledore won't let me leave." He gulped in a deep breath of air, surprised at how all that had just spilled out of him. "That does sound concerning," Sharptooth told him after a pause. He made a note on a piece of parchment. "I will look into your claim. What is your current situation, seeing how you're here and not with your relatives?" Harry quickly explained how he had blown up his hateful aunt after a week of constant abuse and told of his subsequent flight to London, where Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic had caught up with him. "And now I apparently live at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer," Harry concluded, "Death Eaters be damned, I suppose." He shrugged. "That's still loads better than the Dursleys. At least I'll have had something of a holiday before I bite the dust, right?" Snorting, Sharptooth made another note. "Dumbledore certainly showed his hand here, Mr Potter. I agree that you should make the most of your circumstances, and not necessarily in the way you might think." "I hadn't thought past getting some money on me in case I have to do a runner," Harry confessed. Sharptooth grinned. "That's always a solid foundation for any exit strategy. The trick will be to stay gone, of course." "Er, won't you try and tell me how I can't do that?" Harry questioned. "Like, isn't it your job to look after minors and ensure they stay out of trouble?" "Goblin minors, certainly," Sharptooth agreed, "but here's the thing: You are a wizard minor and last of your line to boot. It doesn't matter whether your family is ancient or noble. You see, there are certain … allowances anchored within your laws to ensure that you, as the last of your family, will make it to adulthood." Harry's breath caught. "Yeah?" "Oh, yes. The first and most important is your right to commerce, meaning you may improve your financial situation via trade. Should you have something to sell, be that an item or a skill, you may do so without your magical guardian's oversight. After all, they are only concerned with preserving your family's fortune as it was at the time of your family's death. Whatever comes after is the heir's prerogative and responsibility." Sharptooth stared at Harry. "Do you have something to sell, Mr Potter?" Harry wondered what the goblin could mean after just having been told that he possessed nearly nothing. "No, sir. Just my school things. And I guess the stuff my relatives give me so I won't run around naked. As to skills … I'm afraid I'm not a great student." Sharptooth's lip curled a little. "I was hinting at things you might have acquired at Hogwarts. Did you get any gifts from your fans, perhaps?" "Er, no, no gifts." Harry mirrored Sharptooth's expression of distaste. "Unless you count the basilisk Voldemort set on me a few weeks ago. Which I don't; that thing was a horror and smelled like a whole parade of trash lorries." "A what?" Sharptooth asked, incredulous. "A basilisk. Oh, right, you wouldn't know about that." "I assure you that no one knows about that," Sharptooth growled. "Explain, Mr Potter. Please. In as much detail as you recall. Do you mind if I set up a dicta quill?" "Er, no? Uhm, where do I start?" "At the beginning, as you know it," Sharptooth replied. "Take your time. I will call for lunch shortly, my treat. Begin." Faced with such intense scrutiny, Harry haltingly began the tale of Lucius Malfoy starting a fight with Arthur Weasley a year ago, with the sole intention of slipping Ginny Weasley a book. It took a while to get everything out in order as there were always more details Harry managed to recount after Sharptooth asked a question. Almost two hours later, however, he had finished his tale and was now really looking forward to the promised food. "It is worrying that Dumbledore managed to keep most of that secret, to say the least," Sharptooth said and steepled his fingers together like a movie villain. The claws made quiet clicking sounds as they rhythmically touched each other. "So you really believe me?" Harry asked. "How could I not? You showed me the scar, Mr Potter, and I know of battle scars. A visit to Gringotts' healing halls will corroborate your tale or not. Speaking of which, that Dumbledore did not have your injuries sufficiently healed is also very worrying. You should have gone to St. Mungo's at the very least, if not gotten treated by specialists." Harry felt another bit of respect for his headmaster wither away and die. "Can the scar be healed now?" "Yes, of course, it has only been a few weeks since your ordeal. Even better, the carcass of the basilisk is still fresh. Since it was so very old, it will remain fresh for many years longer. This is important for potential buyers." "Ew, okay." Harry suddenly stilled. "Sir, when you say buyers ... does that mean the basilisk is mine?" Sharptooth showed all of his needle-pointed teeth as he grinned. "Oh yes, Mr Potter, it is all yours. Your Ministry's laws make it so. I will collate the relevant information for your files and have it notarised. It wouldn't do for the Ministry to become overly involved in your affairs, hm?" "Does the Ministry often become overly involved in people's affairs?" Harry wondered, half-expecting the answer already. He wasn't disappointed. "Far too often," Sharptooth said. "As long as no one opposes them, they will take what they can get, legality be hanged." He paused. "Quite literally, in some cases." "Figures. That Fudge fellow did seem a bit dodgy; now I can guess why." Sharptooth laughed out loud at Harry's expression of disgust. "Hold onto that feeling, young Potter; you will often be confronted with this part of the British wizarding world. You see, the way the government is formed, new laws can be introduced very quickly. Many of them are … unpalatable for certain parts of the population." "You mean muggle-borns?" "Muggle-borns, squibs, people with magical creature heritage, and of course muggle relatives of magical people … essentially everyone not of pure blood." Sharptooth tapped his notes with a claw. "I've noted your want of general education about magical Britain, Mr Potter, and I will see that you receive the necessary materials. Right now, we need to return to the matter at hand. Selling a basilisk is never a small matter, and one as old as yours would be akin to throwing a very large fox bomb into a very small hen house." An involuntary snicker escaped Harry's lips at the image that bloomed in his mind. "I'm sorry, sir." "Don't be; it really will be that explosive. The world market will be in an uproar for years to come. Now, there are a few steps I need to take to verify your claim … and your offer?" Harry caught himself and quickly said, "Yes, of course, I'd love to sell that thing. And I trust you to do right by me." "Excellent. As I said, there are steps we need to take before we can proceed." "I don't want to insult you, sir, but can you really do it without Professor Dumbledore knowing about it? The basilisk is at Hogwarts, after all. Somehow, he always knows what's going on there." "Yes, and he'll never learn of it from Gringotts," Sharptooth assured him. He snapped his fingers, which had an overflowing lunch tray appear before Harry. "Please help yourself while I go and get everything set up."
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He left, and Harry did his very best to eat everything on that tray. The salad was good, even though he didn't have much experience with it, but the roast chicken really blew his taste buds away. It was juicy under the crispy skin, the vegetable sides were buttery and not too mushy, and he adored the little roasted pillowy potato things in tomato sauce that had been liberally topped with basil and some sort of white cheese. Dessert was a bowl of chopped strawberries and almost unnaturally blue blueberries with a massive helping of whipped cream and sparkling sprinkles. Harry, who had enjoyed two years of Hogwarts food, was confident he'd never eaten so well in his life. Once he was done, the tray popped away, and Harry was left with nothing to do. Well, not nothing. After commenting on the withdrawals to the Dursleys, he had dropped his account ledger, but there was more in there to discover. Harry flipped to the newest page and sought the balance … which nearly had him take a spit-take. There were over fifty thousand galleons in his vault! Even after all that money had gone to the Dursleys, he was still … Rich. Harry vividly remembered when his vault door opened, and he first beheld the mountains of gold, silver, and bronze inside. It had seemed like such a treasure, almost like something out of a pirate novel, but knowing the exact worth of all those coins was something else. Somehow, it made it real. And something he really needed to take care of. Uncle Vernon was many things, but a bad financial manager wasn't one of them. At home, he often gave an unappreciative Dudley advice, and Harry had occasionally heard him discuss money with Aunt Petunia. Mostly when it came to the holidays or school expenses, but it still counted. Having recovered a bit, Harry then paged back until 1981 and found the entries for October. It hurt a little to see how few withdrawals had been made until that Halloween. Only two for the whole year; Harry presumed for the bare necessities. And after his parents' death … nothing. Except for sixty galleons per month to the Dursleys. For his care. Harry scowled and flipped the pages. Each line with that hated withdrawal soured his mood further. When Sharptooth finally returned, Harry had worked himself into a quiet strop that, after simmering for a while, had cooled to an ice-cold conviction that nothing would persuade him to ever return to that house. "Are you ready for the healing halls, Mr Potter?" Sharptooth asked. "It shouldn't take too long." "Yes, sir." As they walked along the ominous corridors, Sharptooth commented, "You are agitated, Mr Potter. Is the issue with the Dursleys bothering you that much?" Seeing no reason to lie, Harry admitted it. "I understand," Sharptooth growled. "Theft is one of the worst crimes in my nation. It upsets a goblin's equilibrium like nothing else. Rest assured that I will get to the bottom of it. As of now, all payments have been halted and will only resume if they are found to be lawful." Harry exhaled. "Thank you, sir. I'll try to let it go for now." "Very good." They arrived at a sizeable double-winged portal, which opened noiselessly for them. Behind the gold-adorned wood, several dozen goblins were busy with patients. Most didn't appear to be in much distress, and Sharptooth confirmed that this was only the first level of five for the injured. "Level one is for walk-ins. If you can get yourself here, the rule of thumb is that this is where you'll be treated. Level two deals with broken bones and larger flesh wounds. Level three is for the critically wounded. Level four deals with problematic potions and poisons, and level five takes care of curses and other magical damage. Of course, it's not always clear-cut, but the system serves us well." "Where will I go?" Harry asked. "The poison level?" "Yes, exactly, that's our first stop. Should the healer find unrelated issues, you will change levels as needed." Harry rubbed his arm, suddenly uneasy. "Do you think I will?" "Mr Potter, I mean no offence when I say that you should have seen a proper healer long before now. You will not leave here without a full physical. Our ethics forbid it." Sharptooth led Harry into the hall and toward a row of red doors. The trip to level four took only a few seconds, and as soon as they stepped out of the elevator cabin thing, a goblin healer in an ivory robe snatched them up and led them to their little cubicle. "Master Manager Sharptooth, Mr Potter, good day," they greeted. "I am Poison Master Longear, female, at your service." Harry bowed clumsily. "Hello! You're the first lady goblin I meet, and you have such a wicked profession!" "It is pretty wicked," she allowed and shooed him onto the bed at the far side. "Please reveal the arm where the alleged basilisk bit you. Yes, just so." Harry idly kicked his legs as the healer first dripped a potion onto the bite scar and then waved her clawed, spindly fingers over it. "Manager Sharptooth," Longear finally growled, "I sincerely hope that this ruddy basilisk is actually dead because the venom in Mr Potter's blood is potent enough to kill ten men in minutes." "It is very dead," Harry promised. "I put a sword through its mouth." "You were lucky a phoenix deigned to cry into your wound, young man," she said a little snippily. "Fawkes, I presume?" "Yeah. He was a huge help. I couldn't have done it without him. He gouged out the snake's eyes! Like this!" And he animatedly demonstrated Fawkes' death-defying flight and savage hacking. Sharptooth chuckled at his antics, his rough voice making it sound like gravel being dragged over a tin roof. "Ah, boys will be boys, Master Longear. I will certainly lobby for being a part of the retrieval team!" "Hah, you and me both, Manager Sharptooth!" She finished her examination and followed it up with a general health scan. Next to her, a dicta quill was recording her findings, and Harry found out how it felt to be both relieved and a little annoyed at her use of her own language instead of English. "Don't mind her; you will receive the report in due time," Sharptooth consoled him. "For our files, the report has to be filed in our native language to avoid misunderstandings during treatment." A few minutes later, Master Longear finished her examination and addressed Harry directly. "There are a few issues that need to be resolved soonest, though none as urgently as that bit of dark magic in your head." Involuntarily, Harry touched the scar on his forehead. "Yes, that exactly," Master Longear huffed. "I don't know why your people haven't asked us to deal with it before; it's not like Gringotts doesn't employ some of the best curse breakers in the world. Tch. Wizards." "I didn't think anyone could do something about that," Harry said faintly. "When I asked Madam Pomphrey at Hogwarts, she said that such curse damage just can't be healed." "Bah, nonsense. She's just a mediwitch, not even a certified healer. What does she know?" Master Longear scribbled something on a piece of parchment. "Report to level five; they will deal with the problem. Once that's done, we'll know what actually needs repair and what was just suppressed by the dark magic. Your eyes, for one, might be such a case." "My eyes? But my dad wore glasses," Harry stammered. "I just thought I got that from him." "Maybe you did; you will find out. Off you go, now, my work here is done. Manager Sharptooth, my report will be along shortly." Sharptooth bowed briefly and led Harry back to the elevator cabinet. From there, it was but a blink and they arrived at the curse damage level. The hall looked very different from level four; there was no hall at all, in fact, just a small, marbled foyer with a gold-edged welcome desk. Two nondescript doors on either side of the desk indicated that this was where the curse-breaking magic happened. "Mr Harry Potter to see the head of the department," Sharptooth intoned. The goblin at the desk nodded, made a note in a ledger, and then pointed his quill at the door to his right. "Last door. Leave your shoes outside." A little bewildered, Harry followed Sharptooth through the seemingly endless corridor. However, he wasn't sad to hide his beaten-up trainers in the shadowy hallway outside the curse breaker's office once they had finally reached it. What followed was an impressive study in efficiency, both professionally and regarding a goblin's temper. "This is the unlucky bugger?" the master of the curse-breaking hall asked hotly as he studied Harry. "By Ulquard, those wizards did the lad so wrong, it jiggles the magic in their beloved Merlin's balls." Harry choked on a breath and forgot to protest when the goblin poked a very sharp, metal-tipped claw against the scar on his forehead. "Hmm, yes, definitely a soul leech. I haven't seen one of those personally in over forty years. Lucky me." Sharptooth grunted. "I bet you never even saw one in a living being, Master Throatrip." "Of course not; those old Egyptians and Greeks weren't fools, after all," Throatrip countered. He bared his equally metal-tipped teeth in a terrifying grin. "This dark lord Voldemort must be an epic fool if he managed to get a piece of his soul stuck in a child of all creatures." "Uhm, why?" Harry asked, going cross-eyed in his attempt to follow the movement of the claw. "Because children are temperamental," Throatrip replied gleefully. "The slightest thing sets them off. Woe betide the fool that tries to invade such a mind! And you, Mr Potter, you aren't a weak child, now are you? You have the power to bolster your emotions … I bet the Dark Moron felt that." He rose from his slight crouch, the Cheshire cat grin falling away. "But no longer. It would be unconscionable to let you walk around with a piece of your mortal enemy inside your head." "You mean, you'll cure me … right now?" Harry stared first at the curse breaker and then at Sharptooth. "What about all the other stuff?" "Curse breaking trumps account managing, Mr Potter," Sharptooth informed him. "While you prepare for the extraction, I'll haggle the price for the procedure. Remain here. I will be back." "But, but …" Lost, Harry slumped his shoulders. "I bet it's hideously expensive." Throatrip snorted. "Of course it is. However, Gringotts doesn't bill the victims of such perversities. Where would be the justice in that? No, we will bill the perpetrator, and should we ever find out his real identity, we will bill his family vault if he has one." Harry perked right up at that. "Oh! I can help with that!" "You can? Why, you've just catapulted yourself to the top of my very short list of favourite humans." "Er, thanks?" Throatrip laughed loudly at Harry's confusion. "Now, out with it! Tell me the moron's name so we can begin to destroy the rest of him!" Wishing he could do that admittedly cool flame-writing thing, Harry settled for stating, "Voldemort's real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. He said his mum named him after his father." "Riddle? That's not the name of a prominent wizarding family, but then I'm not an account manager. They will know more, I'm sure." Throatrip hunted for a piece of parchment and a gnawed-on pencil and wrote down the name. "But lad … when did the Dark Sucker tell you this? In a dream? Or a vision?" "No, it was when the basilisk attacked me," Harry answered. "He tried to come out of a diary, using a girl's life force or something." "What?" "He almost managed it, too," Harry said sourly, trying to move the story along. "He's a parselmouth and set the basilisk on me he had used all year to terrorise Hogwarts. I tried to tell it to stop, but it wouldn't listen-" "Wait, you tried to tell it to stop?" "Of course, sir. It wasn't really my idea to fight it, you know? But it wouldn't listen, and Riddle was slowly killing Ginny, and that snake was furious." Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Dumbledore's phoenix pecked out its eyes, and the Sorting Hat gave me Gryffindor's sword to kill it. Which I did, somehow." Throatrip stared at Harry. "But the snake bit me, which is why I was on level four before coming here. I told Sharptooth all about it." "The phoenix saved you; your file does mention that you have phoenix tears in your blood." Harry nodded. "Fawkes was like Superman; he saved us all and brought me the Sorting Hat, which gave me the sword. Ginny and I owe him our lives." Throatrip shook himself, making his gold earrings jingle in the silence. "What happened to the diary?" "I couldn't allow Voldemort to get reborn, so I stabbed it with the basilisk tooth that hurt me." Harry shrugged again. "I thought I was dying; the least I could do was take him with me. I'm glad it worked." "So am I, lad, so am I." Throatrip patted Harry's shoulder. "On my word, we'll get that thing out of you, pronto, and set you up for a nice, long holiday." Harry sighed wistfully. "That would be great, but I bet Professor Dumbledore won't let me go. He never lets me go anywhere." Throatrip scoffed, looking like a scornful teenager despite his richly adorned robes and numerous arcane-looking ear and nose piercings. "We'll see about that. Right now, you're our patient. Everything else will have to wait. Now, just one thing before the ritual circle is ready for us: What is your stance on narcotics? Do you want to sleep through the whole thing, or do you want to stay awake and not feel a thing, or would you rather take the warrior's approach and walk through it without any aid?" Harry scrunched up his face. "Are you being serious? I've just turned thirteen; I'll take a nap and be done with it." "Eh, fair enough," Throatrip conceded. He leaned closer and grinned conspiratorially. "But could I interest you in a magical tattoo? It's not every day a barely thirteen-year-old manages to defeat an ancient basilisk. Gringotts' human employees often celebrate their victories in this manner, and I was told that the ladies are fond of a wizard with impressive tattoos." Eyeing the goblin suspiciously, Harry asked, "Is there a bet riding on this?" Throatrip roared with laughter. "Of course there is! Tell you what, Snake Slayer, I'll spring for it if you dare. It's not like I won't still make a tidy profit, and let's be honest, watching Dumbledore foam at the mouth would be its own reward. It's not like he can rip it off you after the fact, now can he? A magical tattoo would rather bite him than be separated from its owner." Now, that piqued Harry's interest. "Just how magical can such a tattoo be?" Throatrip's terrifying grin was a sight to behold as he put his muscular arm around Harry's scrawny shoulders and slowly led him towards a suddenly appearing door at the far side of the office. "Well, why don't you find out?" oOo Harry woke and slowly blinked when the warm beams of the morning sun tickled his lashes. Huh, he thought. The goblins kept their word. I went to sleep and didn't feel a thing. Feeling a little more alert after this realisation, he touched his forehead. Instead of the gnarled lines of the scar, all he could feel was smooth skin. "Wow," he gasped and bolted upright. "It's gone!" Scrambling madly, he freed himself of the bedding, took only a second to orient himself in the strange bedroom, and made a beeline to the small ensuite bathroom. There, the next shock awaited him. Instead of his banged-up self, the mirror above the sink showed his completely healed face and strangely broad-looking shoulders. Finally, the fact that he could easily look down at himself in the mirror when he'd always had to go on his toes to do so before caught up with him and he nearly lost his footing. "What in the hell happened?" he shouted at his image. Frantic, he raked his hair back and stared at his unblemished forehead. Out of naked eyes. Feeling suddenly faint, Harry stumbled back and plopped down on the closed toilet seat. "Everything alright in there?" a voice shouted through the door. Thinking rapidly, Harry recognised the voice as belonging to Master Healer Longear. "Not really," he croaked, biting down on his wobbly lip. The goblin marched into the bathroom and looked him over. "I told Master Throatrip that you wouldn't like this surprise, but do these old adventure seekers ever listen to me? No, they decided to treat you to the five-star treatment instead. They did a complete curse breaking, which was a shite-show and a half since someone forgot to take away your childhood limiters, and followed that up with the complete healing rites afterwards. Whatever defects remained naturally were corrected as well … the more to charge to Tom Riddle's vault. He did have quite a fortune stashed away; who would've thought?" "I guess that's alright, then," Harry mumbled and hiccoughed. A few tears dripped down his cheeks. "Sorry, sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me." "Oh, youngling, right now, everything is wrong with you! Your height is all wrong, your centre of mass is wrong, and even your hormones are all wrong. You will feel off for a good while, and for that, I'm sorry. Usually, we try to do the healing gradually so the body and soul have time to get used to the changes." Harry rubbed his watery eyes. "I really don't want to appear ungrateful. I feel amazing! All the …" He choked up a little. "All the scars are gone. From … before." "I might be grouchy about how we went about it, but it was the least we could do," the healer told him and, when Harry shook his head in disbelief, insisted. "Honestly, it was. The wizards didn't lift a finger to help you; it is always Gringotts' pleasure to make them pay for their crimes. Now, how about you carefully take a shower and dress in the clothes we have provided?" "Will I have time for breakfast?" Harry asked and held his gurgling stomach. "You bet there will be breakfast, young Snake Slayer," Healer Longear said sternly. "Not eating is not an option; you need the energy to make the healing effective. Someone will get you for your talk with Manager Sharptooth in an hour." She left, and Harry did his best to get his still slightly elevated breathing under control and ready himself for the day. Breakfast was a vast spread of waffles with chocolate sprinkles baked inside, Greek yoghurt, all sorts of berries in a light, sweetly tart sauce, fried eggs, sausages, and even a bowl of baked beans. Harry had no idea who had decided on this eclectic mishmash and why, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He actually managed to eat every single bite and didn't even feel especially full when the expected knock at his door sounded. Even more reassuring, his balance appeared to settle already since he didn't feel so awfully off anymore. An unknown goblin guide brought him to Manager Sharptooth's office. There, a tea tray was waiting … and a whole slew of guests. "Mr Potter, right on time. Please, take a seat and help yourself to refreshments." As Harry sat and gingerly picked up a scone with clotted cream and fat strawberries, Sharptooth pointed at the assembled goblins. "You already know Masters Longear and Throatrip, and there we have Chieftain Ragnok, The Third. He is the current leader of the British goblin nation. Beside him is his personal assistant, Rotgut." Harry nearly dropped his scone in horror. "Uh, I'm so sorry, sir!" He scrambled to his feet and bowed. Ragnok chuckled gutturally. "Please sit, Mr Potter. We surprised you; hence, standing on ceremony is unnecessary. I am here to ask for a favour." Harry glanced at Sharptooth, who nodded once. "Uhm, okay, sir." "It came to my attention that you recently killed a basilisk, Mr Potter," Ragnok began. "And that you are willing to sell it to Gringotts." "Er, yes, sir." Ragnok nodded. "Depending on how large the beast is, a lot of gold will come your way." "Well, to be honest, I sure hope so," Harry said cautiously. "I need it to do a runner." This caused raucous laughter among the goblins. Ragnok's assistant even wiped a tear from his eyes. "What's so funny?" Harry wondered. "We adore it when wizarding Britain shafts itself," Sharptooth explained, still chortling. "And they did an outstanding job with you, Mr Potter." "Now, to finalise the transaction, we first need to know what we are dealing with," Ragnok continued. "The easiest way to accomplish that will be a memory extraction. Our experts will be able to evaluate the basilisk remotely and then divine the most efficient strategy to obtain it." Healer Longear produced a large stone bowl in which a crystal vial rested. "The extraction is not difficult once you know the process. May I teach you, Mr Potter?" "Viewing the memory for evaluation is one thing," Sharptooth interjected. "Viewing rights for entertainment must be purchased separately … that is if Mr Potter agrees?" "Er, are we talking entertainment like with popcorn and soda?" Harry asked. "Well, goblin grog and fried bitter gourd chips for us, but essentially, yes," Throatrip replied. "I, for my part, would pay good money to see it, and honestly, you should profit off that whole ordeal since the trauma came free." Healer Longear sniffed. "He is right. You definitely need mind-healing, Mr Potter, and that never comes cheap if it's done right. The Dark Moron owes you that much." "Can I decide afterwards?" Harry asked. "I mean, it could be boring for you." "My first offer is ten thousand galleons," Ragnok intoned. "I will amend my offer once we have viewed the memory. Are these terms acceptable?" Another glance at Sharptooth told Harry that the offer was a very good one. Sharptooth got the whole thing in writing, and then it was a matter of focus for Harry to internalise the memory extraction process. It wasn't hard, per se, but the remembrance was kicking his butt. "We will get through it, young sir," Healer Longear consoled him. "We have some time." "I don't want it to take more time," Harry huffed. "I want to get this over with. Once you have the memory, I won't have to discuss it again." "Ha!" Healer Longear snorted. Throatrip snapped his fingers. "I have an idea. With your permission, Chieftain?" Ragnok waved a negligent hand, and Throatrip bellowed, "Fawkes! A moment of your time, please!" Incredibly, Dumbledore's phoenix flamed right into the office and eyed its inhabitants curiously. Harry's mouth went dry. "Oh, wow. Hi, Fawkes. We were just talking about that thing we did before school let out." Trilling a little, the phoenix sailed around the office once before landing on Sharptooth's desk. "Master Fawkes, young Mr Potter finds it difficult to extract his memory of your fight against the basilisk," Throatrip explained. "I wondered whether you would be willing to assist him?" Fawkes cocked his head. "Uhm, they're offering ten thousand galleons for viewing rights," Harry told him. "We will share." At this, Fawkes made a scoffing sound. Hopping forward, he picked a plump strawberry from Harry's tea tray and gulped it down. "Well, I can buy you lots of strawberries," Harry offered, "or whatever else you want to eat. I guess you'll never have to hunt for food again." Fawkes snaffled another strawberry and finally decided to hop right onto Harry's lap. After a moment of silent staring, he started crooning a soft melody. "Alright, again," Harry sighed. He put the tip of his wand against his temple, squeezed his eyes shut, and let the memory play out. Even with Fawkes' help, it took much longer than Harry liked. Healer Longear had warned him; because the event was still so fresh in his mind, the rough and painful edges hadn't yet worn off, and many details would compete for his attention. At last, it was done, however, and Harry handed over the vial with trembling fingers. "Let's not do that again," he muttered. Fawkes stretched his neck, picked up a strawberry, and dropped it in Harry's hand. "Thank you." Harry hungrily ate it. The sugar in the fruit did help to calm him a little. "We will watch the memory right away. Please eat your food, Mr Potter, and calm yourself," Ragnok ordered. Beside him, Healer Longear poured the memory into the stone bowl with the strange markings. "When we get back, we will be able to discuss the settlement of the deals." As one, the five goblins stuck a clawed finger into the silvery mist and went slack. "Looks a bit freaky," Harry confided. "I wonder if it was like that when I wrote into Riddle's diary. Fawkes' little hoot conveyed his agreement well enough, and Harry grimaced.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The goblins were gone for nearly fifteen minutes, which was long enough for Harry to drink his tea and finally enjoy his scone. Fawkes wasn't shy about picking food from the tray, and he even chirped happily when Harry poured him a cup of tea with a drop of lemon juice. "I didn't know you liked people's food," Harry said and grinned at the dainty way the bird drank his tea. "I didn't know what you eat at all." Fawkes warbled a little in reply. Just then the goblins woke from their memory-induced stupor and sucked in huge gulps of air. "By Ulquard's ugly nose, he's alive!" Healer Longear cried. She stood and ran her magically glowing fingers all over Harry's bewildered form. "How can you be alive, youngling?" "This calls for grog, I say!" Ragnok boomed. Promptly, five tankards and two butterbeers appeared on Sharptooth's desk, ready for consumption. The goblins all took long drafts of the beverage, making their eyes glow and their long, pointed ears flush green. Meanwhile, Harry stared at them, at a complete loss. "Er," he said into the tense silence, "I don't understand. I was alive this whole time … why are you surprised?" "Because that beast is massive!" Throatrip shouted. "And you are a puny little wizard!" "Not any longer," Healer Longear growled and slammed her empty tankard on the table. She pointed at Harry. "You listen to me, Mr Potter: I'll take it as a personal insult if you died before your twelfth decade! Surviving this entitles you to a long and productive life." "Seriously, how did you even lift that sword?" Throatrip demanded. "Your arms are like little twigs!" He turned to Sharptooth. "Manager, your client needs lessons immediately." "Why? There won't be another basilisk at Hogwarts." Harry frowned. "At least, I hope so." "Probably not," Ragnok said, "but the shade of the Dark Moron told you that he wasn't gone yet, which means that he will probably return, again." He smiled a terrifying smile, showing off rows and rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. "Lopping off an enemy's head is a time-honoured way of ending a feud, you know." "And using a goblin blade that has absorbed a basilisk's poison will make that task much more manageable," Throatrip added. He turned to Longear. "Do you want to tell him, or may I?" "Tell me what?" Harry asked, breaking up the staring contest between the two goblins. Healer Longear motioned for Throatrip to answer, though she did roll her beady eyes. "During your ritual healing, magic deigned to keep with you the properties of both the basilisk venom and the phoenix tears," Throatrip told Harry, his ears vibrating a little with excitement. "Meaning that no venom in the world will be able to kill you now, seeing how you conquered the king of snakes in battle. Likewise, any wounds will always heal faster and better than any other normal magical human's because Fawkes entrusted you with some of his healing powers." Harry blinked at the smug bird in his lap. "Really? Wow, thank you, Fawkes!" A stirring in his breast prompted him to say strangely formally, "I owe you immense debts of both honour and gratitude. Should you ever find yourself in need, House Potter will come to your aid." Fawkes sang a sweet melody, and something warm and comforting settled in Harry's insides. Ragnok's assistant squeaked funnily, but a glare from the others shut him up promptly. "Now, let's return to the matter at hand," Ragnok said. "After viewing your memory personally and finding it a bit shaky but informative enough, Manager Sharptooth and I have reached a tentative agreement regarding the basilisk's sale. However, both Healer Longear and Master Curse Breaker Throatrip impressed upon me your dire need for independence, which is why Gringotts begs your indulgence for just one day. We need the time to arrange for an alternate offer, one that might solve all your worries in one fell stroke." "That sounds a bit ominous, sir," Harry said cautiously. "So it does," Ragnok allowed, "and I apologise for that. Gringotts would like to present both offers at once, so we beg for this small extension." "I guess I'm safe enough at the Leaky Cauldron," Harry muttered. "But what about …" He pointed at himself. "People will notice." "Yes, they will, but there are ways around that. Gringotts is well versed in the creation of glamours; many customers had a need for them after ridding themselves of some problem or other," Sharptooth explained. He smirked. "We might not be allowed to interfere overtly in the affairs of wizards, but we are certainly allowed to offer all sorts of wares and services to help their cases." "May I have such a glamour, then, please?" "It has already been crafted. Here, Mr Potter." Sharptooth tapped his claw against he palm of his other hand, and a golden ring appeared. "Wear it constantly, even in the bathroom and in bed. Goblin magic is different than your kind's. The usual detecting magics won't discover the glamour, and as you have done little out of the ordinary, no one should think of goblin involvement." "And the cost?" Harry asked with slightly elevated brows. If there ever was one thing he had learned from the people at Hogwarts, it was that nothing at Gringotts came for free. Ever. This caused the goblins to titter. "Just one galleon tallied against the sale of the basilisk," Sharptooth replied once the laughter had died down. "Since it is just a short-term solution and not a permanent artefact, the cost is negligible. We will talk about all that tomorrow when we've got our nifflers all in a row." "Is the ring sold to me or rented?" Harry pressed even as he accepted it and slipped it onto his left middle finger. Sharptooth tilted his head and considered Harry for a moment. "Sold, Mr Potter. You provided us with excellent entertainment, and getting one up over the wizards will amuse us further still." This made Harry grin. "I accept the bargain in the spirit it has been offered." Fascinated, he watched the ring resize and settle snugly around the meat of his finger. The problem with his now ill-fitting spectacles was quickly solved by replacing the old glasses with glasses made of mere window glass. "I'm guessing that people won't see this, once I'm back at Diagon Alley?" "No, our notice-me-not charms are robust," Throatrip supplied. "It is remarkable what Healer Longear's ritual healing managed to do for you, Mr Potter. You must have grown three inches at least, and that scar … I had already forgotten that you had it. Seeing it now is jarring." Harry shrugged. "I'm glad it's gone. The gawking was getting a bit much." He glanced at the clock over Sharptooth's fireplace mantle. "Uhm, is there anything else to discuss?" "Not right now, Mr Potter, except the commission for the use of your memory," Ragnok said. "Everything else hinges on your decision tomorrow. Does that suit you?" "Yes, of course. It's just … it's still pretty early. Am I just going back to the Leaky Cauldron? Should I hide for the day?" "Oh, no, I'm convinced that certain people will expect to see you out and about. You got money to spend, so spend it," Sharptooth encouraged Harry. "Maybe at Flourish & Blotts; I hear they've just gotten their latest orders in. And there's always Fortescues' ice cream parlour." "Not to mention all the other stores in the alley," Throatrip added. "My chieftain, what will you offer for the memory?" Every eye turned to Ragnok, and the chieftain made a show of scribbling something on a piece of parchment. His assistant then offered the slip to Sharptooth, who grandly declared, "The Chieftain Ragnok offers fifteen-thousand galleons for the use of Mr Potter's memory of the fight against the basilisk in perpetuity, limited for use inside of Gringotts in Magical Great Britain." Harry gaped at the goblins. "That, uhm, sounds very generous." "It is generous," Sharptooth agreed with a nod. "Shall we accept?" "Shall we?" Harry asked Fawkes. The phoenix trilled happily, and so it was decided. The agreement was signed only a few minutes later, and Harry's ledger updated itself to reflect the balance of his newest independent account. "As Manager Sharptooth said, you have enough money to go a little wild," Throatrip said smugly. "Every young heir should learn how to handle their finances, after all." He smiled sharply. "You already have a big sword, but it never hurts to add a knife or two to the collection … in case you were looking for recommendations on how to invest your fortune." Harry smiled uncertainly. "I'll take that under advisement, sir." In his lap, Fawkes chirped and ruffled his feathers. "He says it's time for us to leave … can he take me with him? He offered to flame away with me." Ragnok huffed. "I wouldn't dream of depriving you of the experience, Mr Potter. Just be mindful that you won't be allowed to flame into Gringotts except for the direst of reasons." "Yes, sir. I understand." Harry beamed at the assembled goblins. "Thank you very much for the productive morning. I will see you tomorrow. Say ten o'clock?" "Make it eight, Mr Potter, if it suits," Sharptooth countered. "We will be ready for you then." "Oh, yes, that's fine. Thanks again; I appreciate all your help so far." Harry helped Fawkes climb onto his shoulder and whopped a little when flames burst into existence around them. Before he lost sight of the office, he yelled, "Have a great daaaay!" oOo As the goblins had recommended, Harry spent the remainder of the day in Diagon Alley, very visibly visiting the many shops and conversing with some owners about their specialties. He got along so well with a magical gardening store clerk that he eventually left that business with a couple of practical books about raising food plants and a small chest full of utensils. In a conveniently appearing knife shop right by the turn into Knockturn Alley, Harry purchased several knives. One was even meant for purely magical cuttings, its blade having never been used on something tangible. It was beautiful, and the owner was only slightly odd, so Harry invested the sixteen galleons with just a little clench of guilt. Later, Florean Fortescue satisfied all of Harry's lunch needs by feeding him fat sandwiches and cold lemonade before shooing him off for some more adventuring. Of course, he welcomed Harry back late in the afternoon for a much-needed bowl of ice cream, which the boy shared with Fawkes - and a guest. In the meantime, Harry raided Flourish & Blotts for more books on small-scale farming and defence against the dark arts. The books for the coming school year weren't in yet, which somehow freed him from the compulsion to only look for those and leave the rest. As he looked around, he discovered a niche crammed full of texts about the magical government, etiquette and even the most prominent families in the country. Not finding his family in there deterred Harry only for a moment; he selected several books from those shelves and then literally crawled through the bargain bin, going in with a measly six books in his basket and fighting his way back out with twenty more. "My word, Mr Potter, you have found a lot of books!" Mr Flourish exclaimed as he rang up Harry's purchases. "I hope you'll not spend your whole summer reading?" "Oh, no, they just looked interesting," Harry replied, blinking innocently at the man. "I've got electives next year, and I wanted to see what they're all about." "Ah, yes, the electives. I remember that we weren't much informed about them in my day … a right shame if you ask me!" He smiled fondly at a slightly battered copy of Runes for Beginners. "Ah, you also picked the beginner's book for Arithmancy. Those two go hand in hand; I suggest you study them both if you do change your electives. May I ask what you have picked?" "Er, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination," Harry confessed. "I think magical creatures are cool, but … someone said Divination was an easy pass. After the year I've had … well." Harry shrugged sheepishly. "But I've never even looked into a tea cup, and I don't think I'll like looking at cards any better." "Hmm, if you're not feeling drawn to such practices, it is pretty probable that you don't have an affinity for it," Mr Flourish said. "I haven't been a student for a long time, and I know how exhausting school work can be, but let me tell you that it'll be much harder studying for Runes and Arithmancy after Hogwarts. Good tutors are expensive, and most grown wizards and witches can never quite entrench their magic the way a teenager can." "What do you mean by entrench?" Harry asked. Mr Flourish put the last book on the stack and leaned slightly over the counter. "It means that your magic is getting used to the special workings of runic magic. It's very different from wanded magic, you see, and to really use it well, a wizard or witch has to get a feeling for it. That's far easier as a child when we still have fewer prejudices about how things are supposed to be. Everybody's magic works differently, and it is your job at school to find out how to make it work best for you." "Oh. No one's ever told us about it like that." Harry eyed the stack of books. "I should probably buy more books." Mr Flourish laughed heartily. "I won't dissuade you, but maybe you should read those first. Believe me, the larger the mound of books gets, the more intimidated you will be." "It'll probably take all summer, reading these," Harry admitted. "I mean, I want to read them, but I don't want to stare at a book all day." He perked up. "Isn't there a read-aloud spell? Then I could listen while I do other things. Or maybe in bed for an hour or something." "There is indeed," Mr Flourish said. "And I'll gladly teach it to you." He winked. "All in the name of future business, of course." "You're the best, Mr Flourish!" Harry invited the man out for ice cream, a plan immediately supported by Mr Blotts, who told them both that he was well able to manage the store by himself for an hour. "You didn't have to bribe me," Mr Flourish gently chided Harry, although he was smiling as he smelled the aroma of his tiny cup of coffee. "But I'm glad you did. Thank you for the invitation. It's a beautiful day, and I haven't been by in weeks." "A shame, good sir," Mr Fortescue said as he placed their sundaes on the table. "Though I know your wife has been after you to watch your weight." A flutter heralded Fawkes' arrival, causing Mr Flourish to sputter in surprise. Mr Fortescue was far less surprised; he just told them he would bring a bowl of fruit for the phoenix and left his customers to their treats. "How … why?" Mr Fortescue asked after having cleaned up his spilled coffee. "Isn't he Dumbledore's?" "I think Fawkes goes where he wants," Harry said with a shrug. "We became friends before school let out." To the bird, he said, "Do you want my sprinkles? I got loads." Mr Flourish was still staring when his fresh cup of coffee and the bowl of strawberries arrived, but soon enough he collected himself and successfully taught Harry the read-aloud charm for books and parchments. "You are a quick study!" Mr Flourish praised. It had only taken Harry three attempts to master the charm. "I don't want to pry, but you're out on the alley alone … is everything alright? Did someone abandon you here?" Harry flushed. "Er, no, sir, everything is alright. I'm just … spending the day. I didn't get to last year, and I really wanted to see all the shops." "Oh." Mr Flourish looked a little stunned. "I suppose we've never seen you out and about before, but … were you not raised in a magical household?" "No, sir. I grew up with muggles. I first learned about magic from Hagrid." Harry carefully stroked Fawkes' neck feathers so he didn't have to look at Mr Flourish's kind but aghast face. "Good lord," the man muttered. "I suspected, but this explains a lot." "Explains what?" Harry asked anxiously. "Did I do something wrong?" Mr Flourish patted his arm. "Many little somethings, I imagine, considering your lack of knowledge, although I don't understand how your guardian could leave you floundering like that. It's good that you bought the primer on etiquette; it will help you along. Please send an owl once you're done with that. I will pick out the next volume for a more in-depth study." "Do I really need it?" Harry wanted to know. "My family wasn't noble, and no one ever said anything to me." "They wouldn't even if they knew that you grew up with muggles, I'm afraid," Mr Flourish said. "Part of it may well have been snobbiness, but your friends …" He blew out a breath. "They might be afraid of giving offence and costing their families an alliance. It's not something to be taken lightly, especially since things in our society are still somewhat tense." "Oh, I see." Harry flushed, horrified at the thought of unwittingly having insulted his friends. Neville was the very first to come to mind because try as he might, Harry had never managed to form a bond with the boy. "Thanks for pointing it out." "You're welcome … and I'm very sorry that your magical guardian allowed you to remain ignorant. Whoever it is, they didn't do you any favours. Magical society can be savage, even among the lower classes." Mr Flourish consulted his watch. "I have to get back now, but rest assured that Flourish & Blotts will help you with any book needs you might have. And if you stumble across something you don't want to ask your friends or the teachers, please don't hesitate to write. I will do my best to help." "Thank you, Mr Flourish," Harry said quietly around a lump in his throat. He balled his shaky fingers into fists. "I probably will." The man smiled. "Good. Now, stay safe, and enjoy your summer!" He left, and Harry felt the sudden and utterly embarrassing urge to be alone for a good pity party. Fawkes on the chair next to him trilled softly. Rubbing his eye, Harry straightened his shoulders. "You're right; feeling bad about it won't change anything right now. I think I'll head back to the Leaky Cauldron. Do you want to come?" Fawkes sang a friendly denial and, after giving Harry a gentle peck with his beak, fluttered off. A second later, Hedwig landed in the same place and churred inquisitively. "Ah, change of the watch," Harry joked, scratching her neck. "Alright then. Let's pay Mr Fortescue and see what all the fuss about proper manners is about." oOo Having spent half the night reading and practising his bows and greetings with his owl, Harry was a bleary-eyed mess when he entered Gringotts ten minutes to eight. The goblin already waiting for him appeared appreciative of the much more formal greeting, however, so Harry didn't feel too bad about not keeping to his bedtime. Sharptooth's office door opened at eight on the dot. Harry was ushered in and promptly needed to show off his new skills when confronted with a very smug-looking goblin chieftain and an older, sun-burned gentleman who strangely seemed to be wearing the quintessential beige safari outfit. Fawkes flamed into existence, hovering right beside Harry. "Good morning, Mr Potter, well met, Master Fawkes," Ragnok said. "Please be introduced to Willaby Livingstone, renowned magizoologist, mostly retired, and premier potion ingredients supplier for the whole planet. He hails from the great Down Under, though we do not hold that against him." Instead of taking offence, Livingstone laughed gaily and offered Harry his rough hand for a shake. "It's great to meet you, Mr Potter. The good chieftain is just jealous that my sort generally has more occasion to battle against nature's dangerous creatures than he does. Although he told me the most wondrous tale … a thousand-year-old basilisk, here in little old Britain! I must say that even your glory can't take the shine off that fact, good Fawkes!" The phoenix warbled a mellow melody, apparently not offended. "Well, yes. It's dead, though," Harry replied as they all sat down. Fawkes easily landed in Harry's lap, where he had the best view. "And not much to look at, now." "It must have been magnificent alive," Livingstone allowed, "and I certainly hope to see your memory of it at some point. The lure of its statistics was enough to bring me here and make an offer." Harry and Fawkes perked up at this, something his account manager rewarded with a toothy smile. Taking back the reins of the conversation, Ragnok placed two scrolls of parchment onto the low conference table between their chairs. "As promised, Mr Potter, I have two offers for the dead basilisk here. One is Gringotts' monetary compensation. The other from Mr Livingstone is payment in kind … of a sort." "I'm already hooked, sir," Harry confessed. This caused the goblins and Livingstone to chuckle. "My offer is pretty simple, all things considered," the magizoologist said. "I'm offering an island in exchange for the basilisk." Harry couldn't believe his ears. "An island!" "A whole island," Livingstone confirmed with a nod. "It's situated in the Mediterranean Sea about fifty miles south of Nice … or Monaco, whatever floats your boat. However, it's not very big, only 207 square kilometres, and without any overly dangerous beasts to contend with. Think Elba, just without the overly Italian touch. But the climate is just as warm, the air is fresh and clean, and there's lots of sunshine year round. Oh, and of course there's a modest house to live in." "You're really offering me an island," Harry repeated, "with a house on it?" Livingstone smiled at his disbelief. "Essentially, yes." "Gringotts' preliminary offer for the basilisk, sight unseen, is three million galleons," Ragnok said into the following silence. "We would adjust the offer according to the actual value of the beast, be that upwards or downwards. The island's value won't be subject to correction, of course. What you see is what you get; that goes for both parties." "That's fair enough, I guess," Harry said and Fawkes churred agreeably. He stared at Sharptooth. "May I ask why you brought someone to offer an island instead of money? Won't you lose money?" "Because Healer Longear and Curse Breaker Throatrip were very clear that you should not remain in Great Britain, if at all possible," Ragnok said baldly. "Not when you have been brought up by ignorant and abusive muggles and neglected by the highest authority the magical humans have in Great Britain. As to your second question: of course not. We will get our revenue, one way or another, never fear." "You yourself mentioned more than once that you wish to do a runner," Sharptooth reminded Harry. "Here is your chance, and it is a very good one. Owning an island outside of Britain would make you eligible for several citizenships, France and Monaco being the foremost." Livingstone cleared his throat. "In all my years as that island's owner, I have never regretted adopting French citizenship. Their government is well-run and efficient and the taxes are reasonable. Moreover, the healthcare system is completely tax-supported and very good even without Gringotts' services on offer." "That sounds great, but can I do that? Get another country's citizenship without anyone here knowing about it?" Harry asked. "Could I drop the British citizenship?" "Not until you're of age," Sharptooth informed him, "because that's the moment you will be old enough to decide what to do with your inheritance. However, nothing keeps you from accepting a second citizenship, being last of your line." "As long as obtaining it supports your right to commerce," Ragnok added. "And that's where the island would be of help in another way," Livingstone said. He smiled, which made his bristly, sand-coloured moustache twitch up. "It's not really an adventure island, but it does grow good produce, both mundane and magical, and lots of it if pursued professionally. You can sell the harvest and build a nice egg nest with a steady income." "The right to commerce is awesome," Harry whispered. "So it is," Sharptooth agreed and nodded. "Of course, Gringotts is always willing and ready to help with any prospective sales. Our cousins in Nice are a good sort and work well with the human authorities." "The best part of the deal might actually be the wards," Livingstone said. "The island is both unplottable and secured against unauthorised portkey travel and apparition. Mundanes can't even see it, not even with their modern technology, and uninvited magicals are robustly repelled and redirected when they come too close. If push came to shove, you could run there and hide until you are of age and ready to handle your affairs." "That sounds too good to be true," Harry muttered. "Are there any drawbacks?" "There are drawbacks to any deal," Sharptooth said. "The question is whether you are willing to accept them." "There might be a few magical pests on the island," Livingstone admitted, "but not something that would endanger your life, Mr Potter. No lethifolds or boggarts, or even pixies. Of that, you have my word." Fawkes squawked, rustled his feathers, and jumped into the air. For a second, he hovered in front of Mr Livingstone and engaged in a mental conversation. Then he flamed away and returned a minute later in yet another impressive fireball. "All good?" Harry asked him. Fawkes sang, loud and energising. For Harry, that was endorsement enough. He turned to Ragnok and dipped a quick bow. "I appreciate Gringotts' offer very much, Chieftain Ragnok, but I will accept Mr Livingstone's trade offer." To Livingstone, he said, "I could hug you, sir. Thank you!" Livingstone opened his arms. "Well, why not, laddie? Come here; life is too short not to get that hug you want! And let me tell you, my grandkids say mine are very good. They also do well enough to seal a deal, eh?" Harry flew into the man's sun-bronzed, wiry arms and squeezed the stuffing out of him. Livingstone smelled like sunshine, dirt, and some sort of animal, and his hug was indeed amazing. For the first time in ages, Harry felt secure, almost sheltered, despite barely knowing the man from Adam. A huge flash of magic burst up between them, causing Harry to sneeze and Livingstone to bust out laughing. "You pack a good punch, young sir," Livingstone exclaimed as he sat Harry back on his feet. He reached out to Fawkes. "Come, Sir Phoenix, it appears that the deal is as much for you as it is for your boy. Let's shake on it as well." Fawkes easily hovered closer, holding out his foot for a short shake. "Well then, the deal has been struck," Sharptooth declared. "Congratulations to both of you. The contract will be ready for signing shortly. Let's deal with the practicals in the meantime."
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“Yes, it would be too kind if you could tell us how to obtain the carcass,” Livingstone said jovially. “The fabled Chamber of Secrets wasn’t considered a myth without reason. The fact that it actually exists is a sensation in itself.” “Well, I could show you myself, but going to Hogwarts probably wouldn’t be a good idea,” Harry replied apologetically. At Fawkes’ little squawk, he nodded. “But Fawkes can bring you there. Though the snake is too heavy for even him to carry.” “You may safely leave that to us,” Sharptooth said. “Mr Livingstone, as the new owner, will heavily publicise the find and its history once you are safely out of Dumbledore’s reach, and of course you won’t be inconvenienced by requests for pictures or interviews. However, a faithful recounting of events could be lucrative, so my advice is not to dismiss the idea out of hand. Any photos or testimonies can be held back for as long as you deem necessary.” “Alright, sir,” Harry agreed, immensely relieved by everyone’s consideration. He smiled wryly at Mr Livingstone. “How will I get to the island, sir? Now that I have it, I honestly can’t wait to leave.” “First, we’ll have to finalise the formalities,” Mr Livingstone said. “And then we will have to transfer ownership of the wards via blood binding. Nothing else will do, or else the wards won’t hold. Are you familiar with the practice?” “I did it for my vault key and chain, but that was it,” Harry admitted. “If it was successful, you don’t need to worry. Capital!” Mr Livingstone clapped his hands. “Sharptooth, my good fellow, let’s get things done, shall we? Far be it for me to keep a young and enterprising man waiting.” He winked at Harry. “Yes, let’s,” Ragnok growled and smiled sharply. “I can’t wait to legally set foot into Dumbledore’s domain; seeing him sputter and flail will be delicious.” In short order, the short and concise contract was spread out between them. As discussed, Harry would be signing over all rights to the basilisk, including derivatives like books and comics, though he wasn’t barred from getting creative - or autobiographical - on his own since it was his adventure, not Livingstone’s. As long as the man’s stories were clearly marked and respectful, it was well worth it, in Harry’s opinion. Nothing could beat a sanctuary in his mind. Not fortune and certainly not glory. In return, Livingstone signed over Livingstone Island, soon to be renamed, with all rights and responsibilities. Placing the signatures was exciting enough, but having Sharptooth, Ragnok, and Fawkes witness the document made everything real in a way Harry couldn’t have anticipated. He gasped as a huge surge of something welled up in him and poured out of his skin into the office. Next to him, Livingstone began to glow, gasping out loud. “On my word, your basilisk must have been immensely magical,” he croaked. “Yours, now,” Harry croaked back. “Was that your island?” “Yours, now,” Livingstone teased back. He cleared his throat and offered Harry his hand. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Potter.” Harry smiled shyly. “Likewise, sir.” “There are just a couple of things now,” Sharptooth said. “Mr Potter will have to claim the island’s wards, and he will have to pack his things.” He gave Livingstone a meaningful look. “And Gringotts would feel better if you weren’t living there completely by yourself, Mr Potter. I propose the acquisition of a house elf. That way, you won’t starve or die from neglect.” Remembering the one house elf he had met so far, Harry cringed a little. “Do I have to? I didn’t have a good experience with their brand of care.” “Don’t worry, we will find the best elf for you,” Livingstone consoled. “Believe me, you will need their help, especially in the beginning. You are still a young boy; allow yourself to be cared for.” “Available house elves to me,” Sharptooth commanded, and a whole flock of perhaps two dozen elves popped into the room. “Mr Potter here needs a dedicated elf to care for his personal needs, as well as his security. Who of you feels up to bonding with him? If you aren’t so inclined, you may go.” Two dozen pairs of bulbous eyes turned on Harry, and for a long moment, the house elves silently stared at him with quivering ears. Seven popped away at once while eleven more regarded him searchingly before, one by one, they touched his hand with careful fingers. They eventually decided that he wasn’t for them and also left. The last six, however, stared with open appreciation. “Oh, it seems like you will have to do interviews, Mr Potter,” Livingstone remarked and sat back with a head shake. “Unless you can afford the fee for all of them?” “Er, I don’t even know what the fee is,” Harry confessed. “Can you say, sir?” Sharptooth said, “Unfortunately, your trust vault currently only allows for one elf. This will likely change as you begin to sell wares.” Another pop, this one like thunder, broke the awkward silence and brought up Chieftain Ragnok’s guard. “Dobby?” Harry asked, stunned. He turned pleading eyes on the goblins. “He doesn’t mean any harm … probably.” “Harry Potter Sir not be needing elf! Harry Potter Sir saved Dobby, so Dobby be taking care of Harry Potter now!” Harry blushed fiercely at the incredulous looks he received. “Er, thanks, Dobby, but I thought you wanted to be free?” “Dobby be wanting freedom from bad master. But Harry Potter be a great wizard! Dobby be wanting place as Harry Potter Sir’s elf! Dobby be working very hard, day and night, to make things bestest for Harry Potter Sir.” A small elf from the Gringotts group scowled fiercely at Dobby. “Cari be here first! Cari not be letting Harry Potter Sir leave without bond!” “Dobby be helping Harry Potter Sir for a year !” Dobby shouted. “Cari elf not be calling dibs because Dobby be calling dibs!” This didn’t please any of the Gringotts elves, and as one, they pounced on Dobby for a good thrashing. Harry couldn’t believe his eyes, and neither could Sharptooth, Livingstone, and Ragnok’s whole retinue. Ragnok, however, was laughing out loud, the sound harsh and grating. “Oh, this is precious!” he ground out between heaving bellows of laughter. “Even better, that free elf is winning!” Dobby was, in fact, winning. One by one, he flung the beat-up elves at Harry’s feet, keeping Cari for last. The little female put up a grandiose fight, biting, scratching, kicking, and cursing like a miniature sailor, but in the end, Dobby had her in a headlock and knocked her out. “Dobby wins!” he declared with a huff as he dropped her. “Dobby be asking for the privilege to bond with Harry Potter Sir! Dobby be a good elf, forever and ever!” The defeated elves gasped in worship, and Harry’s hot flush intensified. “I … okay, Dobby. You can be my elf - under one condition!” “Dobby not be trying to save your life?” Dobby asked apprehensively, clearly thinking of his conversation with Harry after the debacle with the basilisk and Lucius Malfoy was over. “Not in a way that will kill me!” Harry exclaimed. “Otherwise, please feel free.” Dobby squeaked out a surprised laugh and clapped his bloody hands over his bruised mouth. Behind him, the other elves followed the negotiations with bated breath. “But my real condition is that you won’t work yourself too hard,” Harry added. “If you can’t do something because you’re tired or sick, or just don’t know how, that’s fine. We’ll figure things out together. Because we’re partners. Deal?” “Deal!” Dobby cried and latched onto Harry’s outstretched hand, hard. If kind of bonding with his new island was a trip, bonding with Dobby was a whole tour through the galaxy … at warp speed. Stars burst behind Harry’s eyes and flames seemed to race through his whole body. When he came back to himself, the Gringotts elves had lined up neatly and were staring at him with worshipping eyes. Groaning, Harry said, “You guys know I can’t take you all.” “Actually, you will find that you can after all,” Sharptooth said dryly. “Those fellows are spoiled now. They have imprinted on you and will have a very hard time finding a more attractive match. It doesn’t help that Dobby Potter Elf has already established a hierarchy among them.” “A what?” Harry asked, bewildered. “A hierarchy. Usually, that only happens when new elves have viewed their master’s holdings. But they did it now and so they are essentially lost to Gringotts,” Ragnok explained. He still appeared immensely entertained by all the drama. “Tell you what, Mr Potter. You will pay for one elf now, and for the rest as funds become available. Would that suit you?” “Do I have a choice?” Harry asked wryly. The worried look on the little guys’ faces broke his heart. “Not really,” Livingstone said gently. “House elves are amazing beings, but their heart wants what it wants, and most of their powers become invested in that desire. For them, that’s you now, Mr Potter. It’s a great gift but also a great responsibility.” Harry took a deep breath. “Right. Well, it’s not like I don’t have the room, huh?” The six Gringotts elves cheered loudly, Dobby smugly puffing out his chest. The contract was the work of only a few moments, and then Harry negotiated his bonds with Cari and the others. While all of them swore to ‘be good elves forever and ever’, they still had specific wants that Harry took to heart. Cari was fierce in the defence of her territory and loved to cook, while Benny, Totty, and Jasper most liked working out of doors. They felt robust in a way that set them apart from the others and looked forward to having a whole island to work with. Elli and Gunda both adored housework and dealing with kitchen gardens and chickens, so that was where they would go. Dobby had offered no such preferences; Harry assumed that he saw himself as the boss of the rest, which would make things infinitely easier for him. Each bond took a lot out of Harry, but finally it was all done, and his small family of helpful elves stood before him, bodies aquiver with excitement. Livingstone politely cleared his throat, drawing Harry’s attention to himself. “I propose that you send one of your new friends to pack your things. The others can go scout out the island. I don’t know whether they can take you there in one jump because any portkeys I made for the island won’t work any longer. You should see about getting one crafted as a mode of escape, if nothing else.” “Why does it have to be one jump?” Harry wondered. “Because touching down somewhere leaves a magical residue that can be followed,” Ragnok explained. “Even if your elves are good at wiping their trail, something always remains. Therefore, it’s better to go in one jump.” He mimed an explosion. “Pouf and you’re gone.” “Potter elves be busy with discovering Harry Potter Sir’s affairs. Dobby be popping Harry Potter Sir home,” Dobby proposed. “Alternately, you can wait for Fawkes to return from our snake pick-up mission,” Livingstone said. “That might be best, you could shop around in the meantime and find things you want to take.” Fawkes promptly chirped his agreement. “Both sounds pretty good to me, if Dobby can take us all the way.” Harry smiled at Dobby’s excited nod. “How about you let me know who’s going to pick me up? I guess I’ll be safe enough on the alley until then. Plus, I could do with a bit of people-watching. Who knows when I’ll be able to go out again?” “Don’t worry about that, Mr Potter. I will get to work on your preferred citizenship right away. Once that’s accomplished, we can devise appropriate security measures so you can visit wherever you like and buy what you need.” “Oh, right.” Harry brightened. “I forgot about that for a moment. Thank you. Uh, which would you recommend? Mr Livingstone said he took the French citizenship, but there were others?” “Well, the French are traditionally obstructionist when it comes to Britain,” Sharptooth said, much to the amusement of the other adults. “Which is a great boon in your bid for freedom. Monaco is a rich if tiny country, so except for bragging rights there’s not a lot they can do for you. Italy obviously has a lot to offer, but it also harbours the permanent seat of the ICW, the International Confederation of Wizards. Dumbledore visits regularly and has many contacts in the government; he would learn of your defection as soon as it happened.” “French citizenship it is, then,” Harry said with a crooked smile, and Sharptooth nodded approvingly. “So now we do the wards?” “Yes, let’s do that.” Livingstone undid his shirt’s topmost button and pulled out a pendant. It was a polished piece of bluish-grey rock that someone had made into jewellery. “This is your key. See all the runes on the surface of the stone? They need to be fed with your blood and bound to your magic. It’s not a portkey, and portkeys won’t work if they’re not keyed to you and your connection to the island key. That way, no one will be able to break in.” “What if someone stole my blood?” Harry asked, worried. Livingstone grinned. “A very good question! See here? This rune cluster stands for ‘voluntary’ or ‘freely given’. The whole array falls apart if someone tries to change it, so no worries here. Plus, you can always denounce blood that has left your body. You should do that regularly; there are far too many possibilities for shenanigans as we have to give blood for all sorts of things.” A bit calmer now, Harry nodded and followed Livingstone’s instructions on denouncing his blood closely. Next, Haary blood-bonded the key to the island to himself. It worked just as it had with his Gringotts key and was over in a golden flash of light. “Very good, Mr Potter! Now you can really enjoy your day, maybe treat yourself in celebration,” Mr Livingstone said, getting up. “I certainly will! Hogwarts, here we come!” Sharptooth’s office door burst open, and a small troupe of armoured and armed goblins stomped in. “What?” Harry gasped. “Goblins only be ready for adventure,” Dobby explained, his little moue cleary conveying what he thought of such silliness. “Will be getting evil snake now, and be taking lots and lots of photos.” “Get in formation!” Ragnok shouted. The goblins crowded around him, his assistant, and Livingstone. At the same time, Fawkes pushed himself off of Harry’s lap, dangling his long, beautiful tail feathers in reach of the goblins’ hands. “Move it, Manager!” Ragnok bellowed next, making Sharptooth scramble to get a hand on a feather. “First wave makes history! Go!” With a joyous, warbling cry, Fawkes flamed away, taking everyone but Harry and his elves with him. “Er, okay.” Harry scratched his head. “Looks like we’re on our own.” He thought for a moment. “Why don’t you six go and find our island, see what we might need? Write a list, if you can?” “Gunda be knowing how to write,” Gunda offered and curtsied. “Gunda be making list for Master Harry!” She and the other five elves went to the table where the signed contracts remained. They each touched the slightly glowing parchment, their ears standing up straight like antennas. A second later, they were all gone. “Alright, now it’s only us. I guess we’re finished here. How about joining me in the alley?” Harry asked Dobby and grinned. “We could have ice cream for lunch!” “Harry Potter Sir be having lunch for lunch,” Dobby countered, “but ice cream for dessert. Deal?” Laughing, Harry shook the elf’s hand. “Deal.” oOo They spent a couple of hours just wandering around - Dobby remained invisible so no one would know of Harry’s changed circumstances - and during a short nap in the afternoon, the other elves returned from their trip straight to his rented room at the Leaky Cauldron and presented Harry with their list. “Mr Livingstone must have stocked up,” Harry realised when there were barely any supplies for the house on the piece of paper. However, there were a ton of items noted down for the kitchen gardens and the farm the outdoor elves were obviously planning on improving. He frowned sadly. “I don’t know if we can afford all this right now.” “We be checking with Manager Sharptooth when he be back from adventure,” Elli offered shyly. “Okay, we’ll do that,” Harry agreed. He smiled at the still-vibrating bunch of house elves. “I want you to be happy, you know. Do you think you will be?” “Master Harry not be silly,” Cari said. “Potter Haven Island be a dream, just a little … uncultured. Potter elves be having things well in hand soonest.” Dobby nodded so hard his ears flapped. “Soonest, Harry Potter Sir. But Dobby be asking that Potter elves may wear … sturdy uniform.” He exchanged a shifty look with his underlings. “For work.” “For work,” the others echoed, all seven shifty-looking faces turned to Harry. Harry knew that they were up to something, but he didn’t care. “How sturdy are we talking?” “Sturdiest be best,” Cari said promptly. “I be needing armour for fighting. I be security elf! And Totty, Jasper, and Benny be brawling elves, they be needing sturdy uniforms, too.” “In case of trouble,” Dobby added. Harry noticed yet another shifty look. “What did you do, Dobby?” “Well …” Dobby twisted the hem of his shabby pillow case in his hands. “Harry Potter Sir traded the basilisk for Potter Haven Island, but Mr Beastmaster Livingstone not be trading for old snakey skins, so they be finders keepers. Dobby be popping to where Fawkes be and snatching largest snakey skin for Harry Potter Sir. It be good enough for sturdiest uniforms for all Potter elves!” “Elli and Gunda be making uniforms,” Gunda told him. “It be enough evil snakey skin even for Master Harry. Wonderful Master Harry must be safe!” “We be making wizard boots and under armour and trousers for Master Harry,” Gunda continued. “No evil being be harming a hair on Master Harry’s head.” “Oh, that’s … that’s amazing,” Harry managed to say. He blinked against unexpected tears. “Thank you.” He took in their pleased little faces and laughed wetly. “And hey, you know what? We will all match! Isn’t that awesome?” “It be totally awesome,” Jasper offered and grinned at Harry’s laugh. “We be bestest elves for Master Harry!” “And I will be the bestest wizard for you,” Harry promised completely unironically, filled with fierce gratitude for so much faith and support. His elves’ eyes glowed briefly, and then everyone but Dobby popped away again, leaving only the list behind. Harry reviewed it again and decided another visit to Flourish & Blotts was necessary. Three of his little helpers were very fond of farm work; he should probably find out how all of that worked so he wouldn’t be in their way too much. Even more important, he wanted to help , and it probably wouldn’t hurt to know how to grow his own food if he ever lost everything and had to start over again. Working as a farm hand wouldn’t even be the worst job he could imagine for himself; the Dursleys had inadvertently prepared him well for menial work. “You’ll help me pick out books, right?” Harry asked Dobby as they got ready to leave. “Anything that could be useful. I like looking in the bargain bin because they have funny titles in there.” “We be picking cheap and good books,” Dobby confirmed. “Also teaching books for Harry Potter Sir.” He stared at Harry. “It not be good idea to return to Hogwarts, but this time Dobby be telling why.” “Crap, is there another plot against my life?” Harry asked, shocked and dismayed. Dobby gave a peculiar little shrug. “Dobby not be completely certain, but Sirius Black be breaking out of Azkaban, and people in the streets be saying that he be wanting to kill Harry Potter Sir.” “What? Who is Sirius Black?” Harry demanded. “A death eater or something?” “People be saying that, but Dobby be former Malfoy elf, and old bad Master Lucius be married to Sirius Black’s cousin Miss Narcissa. Dobby never, ever be hearing talk about Sirius Black when working for evil old Master but they be talking often about mad sister Bella and other bad death eaters.” “Hm, that’s strange, right?” Harry bit his lip. “But what does it mean? That he isn’t a death eater?” “Dobby not be knowing for certain,” the elf admitted, “but Dobby be having a hunch .” “You’re saying it like it means something. What does it mean?” Harry sat down on his bed and patted the space beside him. “Come and explain, please. I know nothing about you guys, you’ll have to help me along.” “Dobby do,” Dobby said and hopped onto the bed. “Harry Potter Sir be knowing that good elves be finding Master’s things anywhere, yes? Little Gringotts goblin keys, money, family things. Or just magic family. Sirius Black be escaped prisoner, but he also be feeling like he be belonging to Harry Potter Sir. It be … hunchy.” “That’s a pretty weird hunch,” Harry murmured and patted Dobby’s narrow shoulders. “Could you find out more? I mean, if you feel like you want to protect me, then we’d better know why, right? And how.” “Dobby be doing that while Harry Potter Sir be shopping,” Dobby decided. “But Dobby be coming to the bookstore because that be most important.” “You’re the best,” Harry said. “I’m relieved that we can talk about stuff now.” “Dobby be relieved, too,” the elf squeaked mournfully. “Binding magic be really strong. Dobby could only be helping because evil old master almost gave Dobby clothes the year before. It be enough severing magic for Dobby to be able to warn Harry Potter Sir.” His ears drooped a little. “But not enough to make much sense. Dobby be sorry.” “It all worked out in the end,” Harry soothed him. “And I’m glad you tried; it’s not like the headmaster really tried all that hard to protect us. I mean, they could have closed the school. I’d have had to return to the Dursleys, but at least no one else would have been petrified.” “It be done at least,” Dobby said decisively, shaking off his dejection. “And Harry Potter Sir’s fortune be changed. Things be different now.” “Different and better.” Harry fell silent for a moment. “Dobby … can I really do it? Just not return to Hogwarts, I mean? People will be worried. What about Ron and Hermione?” “Harry Potter Sir can be writing letters once he be safe,” Dobby replied. “That be easy. But it be hard not to tell anything about Potter Haven Island. Dobby be understanding that Harry Potter Sir be lonely, but Dobby be knowing that Harry Potter Sir must keep the secret.” “Another hunch?” Harry questioned. Dobby scowled. “No. But Dobby be listening to Old Whiskers Dumbledore talk about Harry Potter Sir. It not be good talks; Old Whiskers Dumbledore be wanting to take moneys out of Harry Potter Sir’s vault but not able to because of fierce Gringotts goblins. So Old Whiskers be wanting big evil snake for sales. It be good that Harry Potter Sir be selling it himself because Old Whiskers not be wanting to share.” “Wow, I … I don’t understand. Why would Dumbledore do that?” “Dobby not be knowing, but Dobby not be liking it. Dobby be liking that Harry Potter Sir be far, far away, living as a French obstructionist citizen. It be serving Old Whiskers right!” “Yeah, I guess so.” Harry’s head was spinning a little at this revelation. “Holy crap. We’ll definitely be leaving tonight. Can you really, truly take me if Fawkes won’t make it until then? We won’t, I don’t know, fly apart over Austria or something?” “Dobby can,” Dobby said proudly. “His Harry Potter Sir be very strong wizard, it be easy peasy eating Harry Potter Sir’s excess magic. It be enough to pop to Africa .” Bewildered, Harry stared at a giggly Dobby and wondered whether the elf really was all there, after all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Out again in Diagon Alley, Harry went to Fortescue’s ice cream parlour first and placed a big order to be delivered to his room at the Leaky Cauldron. Only then did he take his list in hand and visited the trunk shop for a bottomless knapsack, the Wary Traveller’s for a used wizarding tent that was big and comfortable enough to sleep four - or one boy and seven house elves, in case the house wasn’t safe, and last but not least the other half of the books in Flourish & Blotts’ bargain bin. The rest would be quietly purchased by his new elves.
“Back so soon, Mr Potter?” Mr Blotts asked jovially as he rang up Harry’s purchase. “And with such eclectic choices, too!” He laughed at the banged-up copy of
Training House Elves And Other Gentlemanly Pursuits For Young Wizards Of Good Breeding
. “I haven’t seen that one for at least thirty years! Merlin help me, I’m getting old.”
“It sounded like fun,” Harry offered and grinned. “I never really have time to read about the wizarding world at school. It’s mostly just stuff for class.”
“Say no more,” Mr Blotts chuckled. “I certainly won’t judge. Plus, it’s good to see a young magical taking an interest in exercise.” He tapped the slightly less frayed copy of a martial arts manual Harry had picked on a whim. “Most wizards are pretty lazy. Just look around you; a lot of magical folks are overweight. They could simply drink a potion occasionally, but they’re too lazy even for that.” He lowered his voice. “Mr Flourish is one of them, you know.”
“Craziness,” Harry told him and shook his head, which caused Mr Blotts to laugh again. “How much is it, Sir?”
Mr Blotts glanced at the cash register and winced a little. “119 galleons, 6 sickles and two knuts. Are you sure you want to spend that much?”
Harry was already counting out the coins. “Oh, yes, I have enough in my trust vault.” His heart began to pound at Mr Blotts’ keen gaze. “Plus, my friend Hermione will probably read them, too, and I can always sell them again. Right?”
“Of course you can,” Mr Blotts hastened to assure him. “It’s just that a child’s parents normally oversee their spending and yours … well.”
“Yeah.” Harry swallowed. “Thanks for looking out for me, but it’s fine, honest. Gringotts is helping me with that.”
“That’s good.” Mr Blotts took the money and dumped it into the register, where the coins sorted themselves. “Oh, before I forget, Mr Flourish asked me to give you this if you came in while he was out.” He momentarily rummaged under the counter and heaved a large folio onto the surface. “I’m not sure what he’s on about, but he liked how interested you were in gardening and magical animals. This here is a self-updating compendium, so if new species are discovered and added by the authors, they will appear in the book. Take it, it’s a gift.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “That looks incredibly expensive, Sir!”
“Yes, it is, but Flourish couldn’t interest any of his grandchildren in it, city-dwellers that they are, and none of our customers wanted to buy it, either.” Mr Blotts pushed the folio towards Harry. “Please take it with our most sincere compliments. It’s a joy to see young people read, and knowing you’ll love it like Flourish does will make him very happy.”
“You are too kind, Sir.” Harry reverently ran a hand over the leather-bound, finely embossed cover. Depicted was a landscape within an oval, with animals and plants everywhere. The more Harry looked, the more details he discovered, and suddenly, some of the beasts came to life and moved a little. He stared up at the man. “It’s huge. How do people even get it home?”
“It is pretty heavily enchanted, which makes it so expensive,” Mr Blotts admitted, “but see here, right at the low end of the spine? That’s a runic cluster for shrinking. The one at the top is for enlarging. And if you touch the runic cluster in the knot of roots of this whomping willow on the cover, a featherlight enchantment activates. The same cluster will end the enchantment. Come, try it out!”
Harry tried out all the features, awed at all the possibilities those runes presented. At last, Mr Blotts shrunk the book again and dropped it into the knapsack where Harry had stuffed his book haul.
“Sir!” Harry groaned.
“It’s a gift,” Mr Blotts reminded him. “But if you want to do something nice for us in return … how about signing a couple dozen of our bookmarks? We could sell those as collectables.”
“As what?” Harry frowned. “Why would people want those? They all thought I was dark when they learned I could talk to snakes. They sure treated me differently afterwards.”
“Were you bullied?” Mr Blotts asked carefully.
“Not really, but I’m sure the students told their families and everyone else they know what a freak I am,” Harry replied, still slightly bitter about that.
“Oddly, they did not,” Mr Blotts informed him. “Believe me, it would have made headlines and probably have gotten you in trouble with the law.”
“The law? But I didn’t do anything!”
“Sometimes just existing can be an offence to certain people.” Mr Blotts lowered his voice and glanced about before adding, “In Britain, it might be best to keep that little fact about your unusual language skills quiet. You might have noticed that we’re not the brightest or most inclusive bunch, generally speaking. It’s regrettable, and something Flourish and I are trying to change, but it’s slow-going. Now, enough of the depressing talk. Are you up to a little signing?”
“If you’re sure you want me to,” Harry replied with a little shrug.
“I’m very sure, Mr Potter.” Mr Blotts directed him to a small table, set down an ink pot and a beautiful peacock feather with a golden nib, and presented three dozen sturdy bookmarks, four of each kind. The pictures showed kneazles and winged horses and other pretty things.
“Now, the quill is a special book-signing quill,” Mr Blotts explained and pointed out yet another runic cluster on the nib. “It’s enchanted to render your signature inert so it can’t be harvested and used to create forgeries. You should definitely learn the spell to enchant your writing utensils to the same effect since predators are always around, waiting for a hapless victim to stroll into their clutches. Muggle-borns and muggle-raised magicals are especially endangered.”
“Even for letters to my friends?” Harry asked, dismayed yet again.
Mr Blotts sighed. “Especially for letters to your friends, and even your school work. Such things can get lost very easily, and while I’d never directly accuse a child of such things, things do get stolen in the dorm rooms of boarding schools … and I’m not talking about chocolate frogs or even galleons. And didn’t
both
of your Defence teachers turn out to be an unsavoury sort?”
Harry snorted loudly. “That’s one word for it.” He looked at the quill nib again and shuddered in quiet dread. “Maybe I should buy a couple of those.”
“Derwish and Banges sells them, as far as I know,” Mr Blotts said. He leaned forward and wrote something on a piece of parchment. “This is the spell incantation and the wand movement. If cast correctly, your quill or pencil will glow silver for a moment. When the spell falters, it will glow red. It’s not hard to learn, but having the nibs will be optimal for homework assignments and letters. The runes will recharge with your ambient magic whenever you’re holding the quill, so there’s no need to worry about the enchantment failing.”
“Thank you so much, Mr Blotts,” Harry said with heartfelt gratitude. “You and Mr Flourish have taught me so much. The professors at Hogwarts never even mentioned this.”
“They’re understaffed and overworked and probably think that students know all of this after a visit to Gringotts if they didn’t learn it at home. That’s nonsense, of course, and very irresponsible. I will send Minerva McGonagall a letter and maybe Professor Flitwick as well.” He looked sternly at Harry. “A Hogwarts education is expensive; you’re entitled to get your money’s worth. Even after only talking with you for half an hour, I’m more convinced than ever that the students are not, in fact, receiving their money’s worth.”
Harry was glad he had decided against returning to Hogwarts, even if he still felt ambivalent about it. On the other hand, the thought of numerous letters and homework assignments with his magically valid signature on them made him queasy.
“Uhm, just one last question … is there a way to denounce my signature? Like I can do with blood?”
Mr Blotts smiled approvingly. “Very good, Mr Potter! It’s a logical leap to make, and yes, there is. It’d be better to have Gringotts advise you, though, as they regularly deal with contracts. A contract not signed with a blood quill could very well be rendered null and void, which can have catastrophic consequences.”
“So you’re saying that I should let my account manager check what contracts are there before I go and denounce all of my non-blood quill signatures at once?” A sudden lightness made Harry almost float up from his seat. “Wicked!”
“For any potential criminals, certainly,” Mr Blotts laughed. “Personally, I do that check every month during my regular Gringotts business. All my contracts are worked out by the goblins so any other magical signatures are unnecessary or fraudulent by default.”
“Why is being magical so exhausting when magic can be so cool?” Harry complained.
“The same way life could be so amazing if it weren’t for a great many living beings raining on your parade,” Mr Blotts joked. He patted Harry’s shoulder. “I'm sure you will learn the rules and find your way. It might just take a little time.”
A customer demanded Mr Blotts’ attention, and Harry got to work signing the bookmarks. Three dozen weren’t too hard on his hand, even as he took his time to make the signature somewhat legible.
Once he was done, an invisible hand tugged on his trouser leg.
“Dobby be sorry, but Manager Sharptooth be back from evil snake adventure. It be good time learning bitch-slappy denunciation magic.”
“Awesome,” Harry murmured. He placed the quill neatly on the table, stoppered the ink pot, and grabbed his knapsack. “Let’s go.”
He waved at Mr Blotts as he headed out, and soon enough, he and the still invisible house elf found themselves back at Gringotts, where a helpful teller sent them on directly.
Harry had to stifle a laugh at Sharptooth’s slightly grimy - and thoroughly shocked - appearance. There was dirt on the goblin’s formerly immaculate pinstripe suit, and his left ear bore a new nick.
“Hello, Sir,” he greeted. “How was Hogwarts?”
Sharptooth glared at Harry. “That snake is a menace, Mr Potter! When we first arrived, the chieftain’s assistant squealed in fright and bumped me against a guard. His sword cut my ear, but, well. I quickly showed that maggot how to behave appropriately in potentially lethal situations.”
“How was it?” Harry asked curiously, even as Dobby cringed a little. “Was Mr Livingstone disappointed?”
“Oh, no, not in the least,” Sharptooth assured him. “To the contrary, he was happy enough to gift Gringotts with some of the shed skins we found, and even now, he and his assistants are busy cataloguing it all. They will be busy for several days just drawing and photographing it all before they can even think about transporting the snake.”
“Sounds like a whole lot of work,” Harry said, smiling sheepishly. “Better him than me.”
Sharptooth laughed loudly. “Livingstone couldn’t be any happier if he tried! Retired, my arse. Now, how may I help you, Mr Potter?”
Harry quickly related his conversation with Mr Blotts regarding his involuntarily magical signatures, which resulted in a low growl and a quickly written note.
Only a moment later, a whole
stack
of parchments appeared on the goblin’s desk, to all of their dismay.
“You owe Mr Blotts a debt of gratitude,” Sharptooth told Harry bluntly. With a wave of his hand, the stack separated into three smaller piles. “We have here contracts for books and merchandise involving your name and likeness, marriage offers that bear your signature
for consideration
, and a lot of appeals for money from your estate which you have
apparently
countersigned with your magical guardian.”
“Who is Dumbledore,” Harry ground out. “Just great. Can I void those?”
“I’d be mortally insulted if you did not,” Sharptooth replied. “You need not worry about the contracts you already signed in this office. They are legal and binding and will remain so. The rest, not so much. But beware, the sheer number of signatures on my desk may lead to a rather intense reaction.”
“My Mr Harry Potter Sir better be getting his money,” Dobby squeaked menacingly. “Nobody be profiting off my Harry Potter Sir without consent!”
“Any fraudulently earned money will, of course, be added to Mr Potter’s new account,” Sharptooth promised. He almost seemed giddy at the prospect.
“And evil marriage contracts be dissolved completely?” Dobby demanded.
“To many a family’s disappointment, yes. I can already hear their wails … it will be glorious.”
“Do I want to know who tried to marry me?” Harry asked.
“Probably not, but it’s your right to know.” Sharptooth picked up the marriage stack and handed it over. “Some names will be known to you.”
Harry nearly gagged when he found a contract for Ginny Weasley - the girl who, albeit involuntarily - had tried to raise Voldemort from the dead. That contract was the worst, though the rest wasn’t much better. He was stunned at the parade of names he knew from school, some even boys. Even worse were the terms of the contracts; they sounded like transactions on a meat market. Harry wondered whether those kids knew what their parents had done.
“They’re all a hard no,” he said once he’d looked at all the papers and almost threw the stack back on the desk. “If all wizards and witches have marriages like that, I’ll never marry!”
“It’s for you to do as you please,” Sharptooth replied, unruffled. “Your family is neither noble nor ancient; providing an heir to continue the line is not an intrinsic part of your family magic. Though you will probably wish for companionship at some point. Whether that’s a muggle or a magical, well, that’s for you to decide.”
“We’ll make sure that remains so, right?” Harry asked. “We can check every month and destroy any that Dumbledore still manages to write up?”
Sharptooth made a small note. “Yes, of course. Contracts are nothing to be trifled with; we goblins abhor fraudulence, although we do love making things right … it gets the blood going and strengthens the constitution. Now, the ritual for denouncing your signatures is as follows …”
Harry and Dobby intently followed the explanation and breathed a sigh of relief that they wouldn’t have to buy an expensive ritual quill from Gringotts to do the ritual at home. Snapping any ritually prepared quill would do, although using the rune-enchanted mithril quill sure prevented a lot of waste.
“
By my will, may my stolen letters lose their magic
!” Harry chanted in Latin. “
By my will, may my stolen letters lose their promise! So mote it be
!”
He pushed magic into the mithril quill until the runes glowed, and then he tugged the two ends apart, ritually snapping the connection between him and his signatures.
Simultaneously, a loud bang and flash went off, blinding them all.
It took a good, long while for Harry to regain his sight, and by the looks of it, Dobby and Sharptooth didn’t fare much better.
“I warned you,” Sharptooth croaked and coughed. His already grimy suit had gained a few more soot stains, and his nose looked suspiciously black. In contrast, the desk still looked pristine, the contracts untouched except for big, fat, red letters spelling out
FRAUD!
stamped on them.
“You did. Er, Sharptooth … will people know what just happened?”
The goblin stilled. “They probably will. A contract with you might well hold pride of place, or at least a place of caution, with many of them.”
A memo shot out of the tube system and smacked onto Sharptooth’s desk.
“Ah. That’s the first inquiry.” Sharptooth looked grimly at Harry. “You might wish to leave.
Now
.”
Without a word, Dobby grabbed Harry’s arm and
jerked
.
For Harry, everything went dark for a second. Then, he screamingly careened through a purple vortex where something huge and otherwordly sucked him along, only to be spat out in perfect posture somewhere else.
Somewhere warm. And sunny!
Harry’s mouth dropped open.
“Welcome to Potter Haven Island!” six little voices squeaked eagerly. Behind his elves, a large, two-storied country house made of white stone rose against the blue, blue summer sky. Palm trees, flowers, ferns, and other greenery charmingly adorned the visible property and offered lots of dappled shade.
“Is this … my house?” Harry asked weakly.
“It be Master Harry’s new dwelling,” Cari said proudly. “All the rooms be ready, food be cooked, and kitchen garden already be freshly planted. Master Harry be very happy here, Potter elves be certain!”
Dropping to his knees, Harry buried his face in his hands and sobbed once. “I can’t believe it. I left Britain and my friends!”
Dobby crowded close, which encouraged the other elves to come up for a much-needed hug.
“Everything be well, Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby promised from within the balmy elf warmth. “Harry Potter Sir be having Potter elves and great big island for running around and playing. With caution, no trouble be finding Harry Potter Sir here.”
“First things first,” Cari announced sternly. “Master Happy be communing with ward stone. Then food, then bath time, then nap. Tomorrow be early enough for exploring.”
Harry was knackered by the day’s events despite it only being late afternoon. A little overwhelmed still, he let the elves herd him into the ward room and through a first communion with the shimmering ward stone. Afterwards, they all rewarded themselves with Fortescue’s ice cream that Dobby had thought to pick up from Harry’s room at the Leaky Cauldron, and a slow ramble through the mansion’s garden and along the square swimming pool.
Nap time turned into a full night’s rest, and the following day, Harry was gently woken up by the soft rushing of waves and the first cries of a rooster.
oOo
It was very early still, the sun just peaking over the horizon and painting the whole sky pink and orange. Several dozen feet below Harry’s garden, and maybe three-quarters of a mile out, waves were quietly rushing against a white sandy beach, and all around them, hundreds of birds were chirping their greetings.
“It’s amazing here,” Harry said to Dobby, who insisted on keeping Harry company. “I can’t believe that we’re living by the sea! And that we have a beach right there!”
“We can be going there,” Dobby replied. “Dobby be watching out for Harry Potter Sir. Former mistress and little master Draco liked bathing in the sea.”
“Swimming is a kind of exercise, right?” Harry asked. “Healer Longear from Gringotts said that I need to exercise, now that I’m all healed up. Which reminds me …” Harry plucked the glamour ring from his finger and added it to his Gringotts key chain. “I won’t be needing that now, do I?”
“Harry Potter Sir be looking very well,” Dobby whispered, awed. “Dobby be doing everything to keep it that way. Shall Dobby be going to Gringotts for potions?”
“Healer Longear said that I should take nutrients for a while yet,” Harry admitted, “but nothing special. She said we can buy them from Gringotts in Nice, and she’ll forward my patient file to them.”
“That be good,” Dobby said with a nod. “It be less dangerous for Harry Potter Sir if no one be noticing Dobby in Britain. Dobby be going soon.”
They began making their way out of the garden, along a wooden walkway that meandered through a park-like wooded area down to the beach. There were flowers everywhere, and many trees were actually bearing edible fruit.
“This be a food forest,” Dobby explained, snapping his fingers to clean the darkly red strawberries Harry had discovered. “There be growing lots of berries, apples, pears, and cherries. There also be peach trees, and apricots, and plums.”
Harry stuffed a handful of berries into his mouth and offered Dobby the other handful. “That’s amazing … and these are so good! Will Cari make all our food from this?”
“We be completely self-sufficient,” Dobby confirmed. “Mr Beast Watcher Livingstone be having chickens, goats, and pigs for eating; it all be Harry Potter Sir’s, now. Elli and Gunda be knowing how to raise and slaughter. Totty, Benny, and Jasper be knowing how to walk and feed the cows.”
“I wanna see the animals,” Harry declared, “and the whole farm, and then the rest of the island! Mr Livingstone said we have 207 square kilometres … is that very big?”
“For one wizard farm, yes,” Dobby answered readily. “Soil be volcanic and very mineral rich. Jasper be saying we be having good harvests year round. By next year, farm elves be expecting to have lots and lots for selling.”
“I can’t wait,” Harry said. Before them, the walkway ended, and the beach began. “Wohoo, look at that! Come, Dobby! Let’s get into the water!”
He tossed away his shoes and ran through the sand, towards the lazily rolling waves. Out of the trees and this close to the sea, the air was cooler and the slight breeze a little moist. Still, Harry ploughed on and ran straight into a coming wave, shrieking when the water turned out to be far more frigid than expected.
“Cold!” he spluttered, much to Dobby’s amusement. A fresh wave bowled him over and dragged him under. Sputtering, he popped back up, eyes wide and drenched hair slick against his head. “Oh my god!”
“Harry Potter Sir better be learning how to swim!” Dobby called cheekily before popping himself into the water. His squeal was cut off when yet another wave caught him just as unawares as Harry.
Laughing and shrieking, Harry and Dobby splashed each other. Without noticing, Harry got his first swimming lesson as well. After about half an hour, Dobby popped Harry back onto the beach, dried their clothes, and showed him the shallow pools and the many sea shells that could be found.
“They’re pretty,” Harry said, dropping a handful of white and pink shells in various sizes and forms into the makeshift bag he’d made from his wet shirt. “Maybe we can stick them somewhere in the house?”
“Dobby be thinking the window frames. Or maybe the doorways to the house?”
“We’ll find out.” Harry’s stomach gurgled, making him flush. “Seems like I worked up an appetite. What about you?”
Since Dobby was hungry as well, they climbed back up to the house, where Cari had already served breakfast. Harry excitedly thanked her for her work and exclaimed happily over the scrambled eggs, sausages, and fried vegetables in some sort of tomato sauce. She’d also put out more strawberries, creamy yoghurt, and a cut-up banana.
There was only one place setting, however, and Harry promptly balked. “Er, what about you guys?”
Cari, visibly scandalised, said, “Good house elves not be eating with family! There be much work to do!”
“But … when will I see you guys?” Harry asked, taken aback. “I thought we were doing this together?”
“We be doing it together,” Cari replied, “but we elfses be doing it especially
for
Master Harry.”
“Oh.” Sadly, Harry looked at the feast. Suddenly, it lost quite a bit of its appeal.
“Dobby be eating with Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby said and threw Cari a dirty look. Promptly, a second place setting in elf size appeared on the table. “And Dobby be telling the Potter elves that Harry Potter Sir be wanting their company because they be
family
now.”
Cari flushed blue to the tips of her long, pointy ears. “If Master Harry be insisting … ?”
Harry sighed. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But you guys were so happy when we bonded, and now you wanna leave me all alone. I thought we could talk about our day and stuff. Do family things, at least sometimes.”
“Potter elves be family,” Dobby repeated firmly. “And Harry Potter Sir be needing a family. Tomorrow, we be starting breakfast tradition since Harry Potter be wanting to learn everything about Potter Haven Island.”
Chastised and wringing her slender hands in her apron, Cari nodded. “We be doing that, Master Harry. Cari be sorry. Cari be used to not being seen by busy master.”
“Well, I grew up not being seen, and it’s not fun,” Harry told her, smiling crookedly. “So we won’t be doing that, alright? I want to know about your day, and how you’re doing. It’s the least I can do since you’ll be doing all of the hard work.”
Cari was clearly uncomfortable with his attitude, but she nodded shyly and popped away, leaving Harry and Dobby to their breakfast.
“Master Harry please be understanding house elfses,” Dobby said. “Most families be good to elfses, but they be busy with their lives. They not be having much time for family things with elfses.”
“Maybe it’ll be the same for me one day,” Harry said quietly. “When I have half a dozen kids and lots of stuff going on. But I hope not. What’s the point of being a family if most family members are never there? I don’t wanna live like that.”
“Harry Potter Sir be the bestest wizard,” Dobby whispered, his huge eyes a little shiny. “Tomorrow, we all be here and talking about all the things.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
After breakfast, Dobby showed Harry around the house and introduced him to the large den that doubled as the library. One whole wall shelf was already filled with the books he had bought from Flourish & Blotts.
“You sorted them by topic, neat!” Harry stared up at the shelves in awe. “We even have a rolling ladder!”
“Harry Potter Sir’s giant book of beings and plants be here on a stand,” Dobby said, pointing to a slightly tilted reading stand by the window. “It be best way to read it since it be so large.”
“Yes, it can stay here,” Harry agreed. He touched the page and grinned when the illustrated red cap tried to grab his finger. “I’ll probably study in here. When the terrace doors are open, it’ll almost be like sitting outside.”
“Or Harry Potter Sir be studying on the terrasse, or in the garden, or at the beach,” Dobby continued. “Dobby be no teacher, but Dobby be knowing that sunshine be healthy for all young wizards.”
“I’ll probably need a teacher at some point,” Harry sighed. “And I should have asked Sharptooth whether I’ll have to pay the Hogwarts tuition if I’m no longer going.”
“Dobby be asking,” the elf answered. “But Manager Sharptooth be having things well in hand. He probably just be waiting for French obstructionists to give Harry Potter Sir citizenship. That way, fishy British Ministry not be able to demand Harry Potter Sir’s return.”
“It’s good that we still have a few weeks until September.” Harry rubbed a suddenly shaky hand over his face. “It feels so weird, Dobby!”
“Freedom be scary,” Dobby agreed softly and so very understandingly. “Dobby be needing some time to figure out what Dobby be really wanting.” He looked wetly at Harry. “Harry Potter Sir be figuring it out, too.”
Deciding they had been emotional enough for the morning, they left the house, found a serviceable broom in a well-kept shed, and circled slowly over the house and gardens.
From above, Harry could clearly make out the home farm. It sprawled further than expected and included a large area for the chickens, pigs, and goats. He and Dobby waved at Elli and Gunda when they were noticed and then soared off to see more of the island.
The first thing Harry truly noticed was how
green
it was. Not like something out of the Caribbean, but still greener than he had previously learned about the south of France and the north of Italy. His house and farm were located on the northern side and a little to the west, which promised good light all day since the volcano mountain and its ridges weren’t high enough to cast forbidding shadows. The area was still sheltered from strong winds - by the natural formation of the island as well as powerful weather wards that were powered by ley lines and Harry himself, Dobby explained - and provided a semi-natural oasis for steady work, fun, and relaxation.
The same couldn’t be said about the south of the island. Mr Livingstone apparently had left it as wild as he had found it, with thick, seemingly untouched forests giving way to grassy and bush-overgrown, dramatic cliffs, long, white beaches, and more palm trees than Harry knew what to do with.
“What are those bushes, Dobby?” Harry asked and lowered the broom enough to see the dark pink and white-striped fruit nestled within the tough, light green foliage.
To his surprise, Dobby hurled himself from the broom like a mad thing and dove into the bush like he were Dagobert Duck taking a bath in his hoard of gold coins.
“Dobby!” Harry shouted anxiously. “What are you doing!”
“Dobby be finding elf berries!” Dobby shouted back, his cheeks bulging with the fruit he greedily stuffed into his mouth. Juice dribbled everywhere and stained his face, towel toga, and hands pink. “They be bestest berries in the whole world!”
Unfortunately, Dobby’s bliss wasn’t to last. A loud, eerie shriek cut through the rough crashing of the waves, and then they were on him: a whole swarm of small, greenish beings broke out of the greenery, their teeth bared and hands balled to fists. In just a second, they were on Dobby and fought him viciously.
Utterly stunned, Harry stared at the commotion. Dobby was a good fighter, great even, but he was abysmally outnumbered against a force of at least fifty creatures that all seemed hell-bent on hurting him.
When the first blood splattered the grass, Harry shook off his astonishment, drew his wand, and roared, “
Immobilus
!”
His spell went wide, just as he had intended, and froze at least two dozens of the hissing and spitting creatures. Surprise was on his side, so he repeated the spell, caught the rest of the little beasts, and dove down sharply to snatch Dobby out of the tangle of scratched-up and bruised limbs.
To his dismay, Dobby’s petrified fist had closed around an enemy's wrist; the green little devil was coming with them, whether Harry liked it or not. Thankfully, he knew the featherlight and sticking charms; bespelled in that manner, it wasn’t hard to book it with the dead weight of two house elf-sized beings slung over his shoulder.
On the old broom, it took almost twenty adrenaline-fuelled minutes to return to the house, and Harry only felt safe again when the rest of the Potter elves crowded him and his unconscious cargo.
“This be a
wildling
!” Cari shrieked, holding up the green arm painted with dirty white spirals and forms of animals. “There not be wildlings when we be checking out Potter Haven Island!”
“They be tippy-top at hiding,” Totty supplied apologetically. “Very quiet. Very strong.” He, too, poked at their involuntary guest.
“Cari be donning battle toga and watching perimeter!” She left with a pop like thunder, which left the poor petrified wildling twitching.
“What are they, exactly? They honestly look a lot like you guys, just with war paint. And naked, yikes,” Harry said, hastily averting his eyes. Ella quickly threw her apron over the creature. “Thanks, love. Honestly, this makes me feel so bad; I practically abducted the poor guy. His family must be going spare.”
“They probably still be frozen,” Jasper offered. “Master Harry be mean-strong.”
Finally, the adrenaline began to leave Harry’s system and he gracelessly dropped on his bum. “What do we do?”
“I be healing Dobby,” Elli offered. She popped away with the battered elf, leaving Harry and her fellow elves with their little guest.
“I guess we’ll have to bring him back home.” Harry groaned after a moment of silence. “His friends will be so angry.” He beseechingly looked at the elves. “Do they maybe speak a language we can understand? I should apologise and explain.”
“Bonding magic be making elves speak with humans,” Gunda said, looking intently at the wildling. “This one’s never been bonded to wizards or witchies, and our clans be bonded long enough not to know wildling speech any longer.”
“Crap,” Harry said succinctly. “Okay, new plan. We pack a large fruit basket, heal him, and then we will return the little guy to his family. I’d be grateful if some of you could come with me … just in case they hold a grudge.”
“It be done, Master Harry!” Gunda popped away and returned seconds later with a huge wicker basket filled to overflowing with everything the farm and food forest had on offer. “This be enough?”
“Probably, yes,” Harry said faintly. On the floor, the stunned elf’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the sight of the bounty. “Er, how’s Dobby doing? Can Elli do her magic on our wildling friend once he’s healed?”
“Elli can,” Benny told him confidently. He towered over the wildling whose wide eyes were betraying its warring emotions. “Cari be very busy, defending Master Harry from wildling incursions. Dobby be making foodsies for Master Harry from now on.”
“She just be keeping watch for now,” Totty elaborated at Harry’s pale, shocked face. “But she be killing nasty little wildlings if they be deciding to hurt Master Harry.”
Harry paled even further. “Okay, please let’s stop with the scary talk. Look at him; he’s already terrified. Heck,
I
am terrified.” He carefully tugged the not-really-a-house-elf into a more comfortable position and quickly removed his hands to show that he didn’t mean any harm. “Also, Dobby ate his weight in elf berries …
their
berries. In their eyes, he is a thief, and I’m a big bully who stunned all of them and left them out in the open. God, I hope there aren’t any predators around!”
“Benny go check,” Benny said and popped away.
“Okay. Great.” Harry blew out a sharp breath. “First day here, and I’m already terrorising the locals. I’m the worst.”
Sorrowfully, he observed the many bleeding scratches on the little thing. Wishing he had learned at least the most rudimentary first aid spells, he settled for a personal hygiene charm and a gentle bath with a wet cloth. The wildling lost his paint, but by the end of it, he was already looking better and didn’t appear so frightened anymore.
“Elli will be back soon, I hope, and then you’ll be as good as new,” Harry told him. “I’m really sorry for the brouhaha; we didn’t want to make trouble.”
The wildling grunted quietly.
“And I promise that my friends won’t steal any more of your food,” Harry continued. “We have enough; Dobby was just excited. He probably didn’t get many of those berries at home.”
Elli and Dobby appeared, Dobby looking sheepishly at the wildling. To Harry’s surprise, he said something to the wildling in a weird, squeaky language. While it didn’t really appear to understand, its curiosity was definitely piqued.
“What did you say, Dobby?” Harry asked.
“I be offering my most sincere apology,” Dobby replied. Suddenly, his little face crumbled and he began to cry. “Dobby not be a
thief
! Dobby be begging Harry Potter Sir not to send Dobby away!”
“Hey, no one’s gonna be sent away - except him, of course, he gotta go home soon - so please stop crying. It was an honest mistake, right?” Harry pointed at the fruit basket. “We’ll pay for the berries you ate, see? Crisis hopefully averted.”
While Harry reassured Dobby, Elli finished Harry’s cleaning job and dressed the wildling’s wounds with gentle, capable hands.
The wildling flushed and gibbered at her but didn’t appear stressed out otherwise.
A few minutes later, Elli declared her job done. She even popped away and returned with a small pot of white paint, gesturing at the wildling’s strangely naked-looking skin.
Harry carefully tucked the gift into the basket. “Do you guys know where we need to go? Great; I think popping there and leaving quickly would be best. No need to frighten them further. Jasper, can you bring the basket? And Totty our guest? Thanks.”
He held his hand out to Dobby and smiled encouragingly at the elf. “We’ll make it right, Dobby. Let’s go.”
The second elf pop of his life still was a harrowing experience, although Harry loved the speed and the pleasant swooping in his tummy.
Only seconds later, they reappeared by the cliffs where Benny stood guard over the still petrified if at least now closely placed together tribe of wildlings. A few birds of prey were circling far above, but nothing else appeared to threaten them at the moment.
“Okay, here we go,” Harry murmured. He carefully placed his captured wildling twenty feet away from his kin. Next came the basket. And finally, Harry motioned for Dobby to join him. “Tell and show them what happened,” he said quietly. “They don’t understand me, but they might try with you.”
Taking a step back, Harry opened the stage for the funniest, yet most adorable thing he’d ever witnessed. With everyone’s help, Dobby reenacted the whole thing with exaggerated movements and often repeated elf gibberish. He even called upon Harry to play his part as his saviour and kind master who was trying to avoid a feud.
“Now, please be releasing wildling,” Dobby said, and Harry gladly ended the immobilus spell.
Holding his breath, he observed Dobby placing the basket into the still-sluggish wildling’s arms with a little snap of his fingers, followed by an apologetic bow so low he scraped his pointed nose over the grass.
On the other side of the grassy area, the wildlings’ eyes widened comically when they got it.
While the little thing was still staggering under the basket’s weight, Harry called out, “Finite incantatem!” to release the rest of the tribe.
Not a moment later, he and all his elves were back home. Tired beyond belief, Harry decided to head straight back to bed. Clearly, getting up and being adventurous had been a mistake.
oOo
The next few days were thankfully calm - and made much better by Hedwig’s arrival, though Harry refused to venture out from the home farm. There was enough to discover in any case; there were several small springs hiding in the food forest, some even with natural pools big enough for a quick dip, and the sea was ever washing more shells onto the beach for him to collect.
Not feeling like studying just yet, Harry also walked all over Elli and Gunda’s little kingdom and learned much about plant care. It wasn’t like Herbology at all; the elves were simply concerned with getting the best from the material they worked with. Their innate understanding of the balance between the needs of the soil and the plant was a huge eye-opener and something Harry earnestly asked the elf ladies to teach him. Now that there was a whole pack of wildlings to consider, he was anxious not to take too much from the island.
Things turned interesting a few days later when the expected incursion happened.
Although
incursion
was too dramatic an expression in Harry’s opinion. While half a dozen wildings were sneaking around the borders of the home farm, they didn’t appear malicious in their approach. Instead, they seemed to be testing the wards and looked curiously at everything the Potter elves were doing.
“It just be scouts,” Cari growled, waving her huge cleaver at the cheeky white face in the bushes just beyond the border. “They be back later with
troops
!”
“Do you really think they want to pillage the farm?” Harry wondered. He stood with his arms crossed to appear less threatening and was glad the little things didn’t run screaming at his presence, even if they eyed him warily.
Hedwig barked from a tree and glided around the small area once, just to put the wildlings on notice.
“Benny be telling that they be liking Master Harry’s gift,” Cari snarled. “Maybe they be liking it too much.”
“It wasn’t a gift; it was payment,” Harry corrected and grinned at her sniff. “According to Dobby, those berries are really good.”
Her scowl darkened. “Cari be jealous. Cari be wanting elf berries, too! They be excellent magic food! Dobby be glowing with it. It not be fair.”
“Maybe one day we’ll find some for you all,” Harry consoled her. It was turning dark now; he waved at the wildlings in farewell. “Keep up the shift schedule, love. I’d never tell Dobby, but your poached eggs are the best. I’d be sad not to have them for breakfast.”
Cari flushed a bright blue and bit her lip. “Master Harry be too kind. Cari be there for breakfast.”
“Forever and ever,” Harry reminded her of their promise to each other, to which she wiggled happily and agreed. Affectionately, he stroked her ear, which deepened her pleased flush, and wandered off to bed. Behind his back, he could hear the curious gibbering chatter of the wildlings and Cari’s answering pouty reprimands. For not being able to really understand each other, they sure had a lot to say!
oOo
A couple of days later, Harry found a lone wildling lying just outside the farm wards. It was banged up and whimpered piteously when he approached. Dobby and Cari by Harry’s side bristled at the wildling’s accusingly pointing finger.
“I take it the little guy is being dramatic?” Harry asked, more amused than angry at the wildling’s little ploy. Dobby and Cari both nodded empathically and bared their teeth at their feral cousin. “Well, he sure is being inventive, huh? Cari was right, they liked our food.”
Despite his elves’ protest, Harry stepped outside the wards and knelt by the wildling.
“Nice try, buddy, but my friends are the bestest elves in the world. They wouldn’t hurt you or your friends behind my back, at least not without an excellent reason.” Carefully drawing his wand, Harry continued, “I learned some first aid charms. Hold still, I’ll deal with your scrapes.”
Keeping up the chatter, Harry easily cleaned and closed the little scratches. When he was done, the wildling grudgingly sat up and pouted.
“Don’t start with me, you silly little bugger,” Harry chuckled and patted its painted shoulder. “You guys are alright. Just come by and knock if you want to hang out. I don’t mind the company, but no fighting, please. Cari, do you have a strawberry on hand?”
Cari did, though she only reluctantly handed it over.
“Here,” Harry offered it to the wildling. “With our compliments.”
The little creature accepted the gift, its huge, almost glowing eyes fixed on Harry’s face. After a moment of intense staring, it popped away, making Cari huff and Dobby tilt his head.
oOo
The next day, the wildling was back, three elf berries in his hand.
Apparently, they were open to trade negotiations, now that they had acquired a taste for Harry’s produce.
It was at that point that Harry decided to chronicle this development; he was pretty confident that it would amuse someone at some point, even if he had to wait for his own children to arrive just so he could tell the tale as a bedtime story.
oOo
A few days later, August 31 had arrived, and Harry restlessly wandered through the house and gardens. Faithful as always, Dobby kept pace with him throughout the day and provided some much-needed company. The wildlings’ increased presence was a good distraction, but their antics couldn’t replace Harry’s desire for his friends’ companionship.
“I should be packing my stuff now,” Harry said when they stopped on the calm beach. The air was warm and the sun just beginning to dip behind the horizon. “And Ron and Hermione are probably going spare. There also hasn’t been word from Sharptooth yet; what if all this is a huge mistake, after all?”
Dobby reached up to grab Harry’s slightly sweaty hand. Energy thrummed between them, the bond steady and solid despite Harry’s agitation. “It not be mistake. Harry Potter Sir be worried enough about Old Whiskers Dumbledore and evil Dursleys to run. It be
right
to feel safe. Potter elves be keeping Harry Potter Sir safe, Dobby promise. Dobby be telling Harry Potter Sir as often as necessary.”
Wiping his moist eyes, Harry managed a smile. “Thanks. I’m probably driving you batty with my mood swings.”
“Harry Potter Sir be growing wizard, of course he be having aches and mood swings,” Dobby replied easily. He perked up. “Harry Potter Sir could be having broom tour around island, like trip to classroom! It be taking an hour or two, and then good study be starting.”
“That’s … actually an awesome idea,” Harry whispered. “Let’s pack a picnic. And the camera you found in the attic! Maybe the wildlings are willing to pose for a few pictures!”
“Dobby be packing cake for bribes,” Dobby said by way of agreeing, and so it was decided.
Instead of going to Hogwarts by Hogwarts Express, Harry would symbolically celebrate the begin of the new school year by completing a Potter Haven Roundtrip.
But first, he wanted to prepare his study table and make a timetable for himself. Dobby, sneaky elf that he was, had smuggled a study guide for third year into Harry’s book purchase. Together, they pondered all the subjects and how to space them out over the week. Dobby recommended one hard subject per day, just so he would have some time to digest, and of course Elli and Gunda would be helping with his Herbology work.
“Farm elves be willing to help Harry Potter Sir with Defense,” Dobby added. “They be hardy and good at shielding. Dobby be also going to Nice Gringotts for training dummy because Harry Potter Sir be mean-strong and be needing a challenge.”
“You guys are all the best,” Harry told him with a small smile. “But I’m wondering who’s gonna tell me how I’m doing? And I should probably practice new spells a bit away from home, but where? I don’t wanna destroy anything or hurt another being. I still feel bad about the wildlings.”
“Dobby be taking care of it,” Dobby said. “Harry Potter Sir be starting school tomorrow, and everything else be following. Goblins be promising help with school, and they always be keeping their word. They be even helping Missy Hedwig lose nasty tracking charms before letting her come here.”
“That was great, I should have thought of it. I guess we’ll have to check everything and everyone we’re bringing here, in case people are getting creative.” Harry suddenly remembered the task he’d given Dobby a couple of weeks ago. “Speaking of checking people, did you ever learn more about that Sirius Black fellow? Is he still at large?”
“Yes. Dobby be learning from goblins that he be Harry Potter Sir’s dogfather. Magic be saying so! Goblins not be convinced Sirius Black be guilty and so they not be helping Ministry to catch him.”
“He’s my
dogfather
?” Harry asked, perplexed. “What does that mean?”
“Sirius Black be Harry Potter Sir’s legal parent,” Dobby explained. “Paperwork in goblin offices be saying so. Magic not be kind to murdery parents, so goblins be believing Sirius Black not be guilty of selling Harry Potter Sir’s parents to terrible, no good, almost dead dark lord.”
“Wait, people believe he sent Voldemort to kill me? And they didn’t tell me
any
of this?” Disturbed, Harry recounted just how often he’d gotten a little lost during his rambles through Diagon Alley. Surely, Dumbledore and Minister Fudge didn’t believe that every shopkeeper there was a fluffy marshmallow that meant him no harm?
“Wizards and witchies often be a little insane,” Dobby whispered, like it was any sort of secret to Harry.
“But … but … if Black is probably innocent, and sort of my family, then why …” Harry cut himself off and stared helplessly at Dobby.
“Old Whiskers maybe not be wanting Harry Potter Sir to have family,” Dobby answered. His ears drooped a little. “Dobby not be knowing why, but Old Whiskers be powerful in Wizengamotty Place, and he be acting as Harry Potter Sir’s magical guardian. He be
compelled
to know what family Harry Potter Sir still has. It not be possible he not be knowing. Magic be making it so.”
Getting a little light-headed at this, Harry slumped into his desk chair. “He obviously wants to keep me under his thumb. It’s easier at the Dursleys, where no one can reach me and no one will tell me anything. Just … why? He knows I’m miserable there. Is he a closet sadist or something?”
“Dobby not be knowing but goblins be discovering Old Whiskers mail ward on Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby said. “It be half-good thing since Harry Potter Sir be receiving lots and lots and lots of mail. Some be nice and good. Some be very bad and could be hurting or killing. Old Whiskers be keeping all to himself, which be illegal. Goblins be altering it and now Harry Potter Sir’s mail all be going to Gringotts. Goblins be destroying bad magics and be hunting evil people. If Harry Potter Sir be receiving nice mail, they be calling for Dobby to pick it up.”
“So far no mail, huh?” Harry asked a little weakly. He wasn’t overly surprised; the Heir of Slytherin business had been bad.
Dobby shook his head earnestly. “Oh no, Harry Potter Sir. There be many letters! But nothing be pressing, and lots and lots be tainted with evil tracking and portkey magics. Especially letters from Wheezies and Missy Grangy. Goblins be cleaning everything up most diligently and taking pleasure in fining evil letter senders. So far, Old Whiskers be paying hundreds of galleons. Goblins be financing security service for Harry Potter this way. Old Whiskers be also in trouble with law enforcement. Goblins be happy so no worries.”
“Uh, okay.” Harry swallowed thickly. The astonishing news just kept coming, it seemed. “Er, will I get my letters eventually?”
“Yes, of course. Detaining or stealing post be most illegal. Once Hoggywarty school year be starting, goblins be sending mail along regularly. That way, Harry Potter Sir be having a holiday, too!” Dobby hopped up a little. “Dobby be liking Nice goblins. They be most helpful and sometimes they be having elf berry for Dobby when Dobby be picking up potions.”
This, at last, coaxed a little laugh out of Harry. “You won’t leave me over elf berries, will you?”
Taking it as the joke it was meant to be, Dobby grinned and bounced again. “Dobby not be needing to, now that wildlings be trading.”
“Hey, Dobby, do we have a lot of magical animals on the island?” Harry asked.
“Oh, yes, lots and lots. Mr Beast Master Livingstone be encouraging little beasties to live here.”
“Cool, then I can still do some Care of Magical Creatures, just not all of the stuff in the textbook.”
“Harry Potter Sir be needing large notebook, then,” Dobby declared. “Mr Book Man Flourish’s book be good start, though.”
They put their heads together and quickly decided that, for the most part, the outdoor stuff should be done in the mornings, when the temperatures were a little lower, and shuffle things around as the seasons progressed. As long as Harry managed his self-imposed hours every day, he would be happy.
The only thing he really, truly worried about was Potions. Snape was a shit teacher, and the textbook could only help so much after a certain point. Dobby, quite reasonably, pointed out that Harry could start at the beginning again, but this time with as many supplemental texts as he liked to help him along. He also volunteered to teach Harry all the cutting techniques required for effective potion brewing, since Snape had only assigned minimal time to that effort.
“It’ll be good to also grow our own ingredients,” Harry added, quite enamoured with the idea of showing up Snape in every way possible. He
had
been looking forward to Potions before the man had ruined the subject for him. “And maybe we can even find some more ingredients on the island. Once I’m good enough at brewing, we won’t need to rely so much on others.”
“Dobby be telling Gunda and Elli what plants we be needing,” Dobby said. “Harry Potter Sir please be making list.”
“Yeah, of course.” Harry reached for a pencil and a piece of paper, only to be floated away from the desk. “Hey!”
“Tomorrow bye early enough for school things,” Dobby said and floated Harry out of the den. “Tonight Harry Potter Sir be relaxing so he be rested for Potter Haven Tour and school things tomorrow.”
Harry, deciding that Dobby was right, swallowed his protest. “And what will we do tonight if we’re not writing our list? It’s not that late yet.”
“Cari be making fire in large bowl on the terrace,” Dobby told him slyly. “There be talk of fire-bread and marshmallows and chocolate. All elfses and Missy Hedwig be coming.”
That sold Harry, and he managed to push away the guilty thoughts about Hogwarts and his friends until it was time for bed.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
There was no reason to wait until eleven in the morning to begin their tour. Harry liked getting up early and taking a dip in the sea when it wasn’t too rough, but even then, he usually was cleaned up and fed by nine and ready to take on whatever the day brought. “Nine be a good time,” Dobby said. He had a shrunken picnic basket under his basilisk vest and looked fresh and alert. “Which direction Harry Potter Sir be wanting to take?” Mounting his broom and waiting until Dobby had gotten comfortable behind him, Harry said, “We haven’t even seen the eastern side of the island yet. Let’s fly along the coast and see what’s there.” He smirked over his shoulder. “And this time, maybe without antagonising the wildlife, yeah?” “Dobby never be living it down,” the elf groaned. Around them, the other Potter elves laughed at him. “You be having good, safe tour, Master Harry,” Cari said. “We be waiting here and cheer when you be starting school.” “That’s sweet, you guys,” Harry replied, touched. “Have a great day, and if you want to join our picnic after all, you just pop in.” The elves waved enthusiastically as Harry pushed off the ground and rapidly gained height. Within moments, they were far enough above ground to easily see the coastline and turned eastward at a good clip. They hadn’t flown for two minutes when a fiery ball of flame exploded a bit above them and spat out Fawkes’ impressive form. “Fawkes!” Harry cried. “You’re right on time for our island tour. Do you want to come?” The phoenix sang his acceptance loudly and easily settled into a smooth glide close to Harry’s broom. In the morning light, his plumage gleamed like molten gold and lava. The first quarter of the circle went by without much issue. Every few miles or so, seagulls and other birds followed them curiously for a bit before breaking away again. Harry didn’t pay them too much mind; he was busier checking out the land and what it was harbouring. So far, he’d seen a swarm of small, yellow birds and several trees that looked suspiciously like whomping willows. Further toward the volcanic mountain in the middle of the island, Harry spied a waterfall that fed a large lake … and a whole herd of four-legged creatures taking a leisurely drink. “We have ponies ?” he asked Dobby in amazement. “ Winged ponies?! Are they tame?” “They not be real ponies,” the elf cautioned. “They be mix of kelpies and pegasi. Lake-dwelling beasties that be able to fly in rain. They be eating fishses and birdies, but only because there not be humans stupid enough to try and ride them.” “Why, what happens then?” Harry asked. The ponies mainly were stormy grey, some with stark white markings on their faces, and all with nearly black legs, manes, tails, and wing tips. “Their coat be mean-sticky, not be letting rider leave. Pegakelpies then be dragging stupid humans into waters for drowning and eating.” “Yikes, alright. No riding the pegakelpies.” Harry grimaced. “Didn’t Mr Livingstone tell us that there aren’t any dangerous creatures on the island? Those are pretty dangerous, aren’t they?” “They not be here always, and they not be hunting-hunters,” Dobby said. “Dobby be asking Mr Beast Master Livingstone about predators after discovering the wildlings. Mr Beast Master Livingstone not be knowing about wildlings, but he be explaining that pegakelpies be seducing-hunter and that they be travelling lots when it be raining. They not be living on Potter Haven Island year-round.” “Okay, but seriously, what did he think would happen if a kid discovered them?” Harry asked incredulously. “My very first thought was ‘I wish I could ride one’!” He shook his head. “Man, he’d probably get along great with Hagrid.” They detoured, getting close enough to the herd to snap a picture. The ponies looked curiously up at them and whickered in invitation, but thankfully, there wasn’t a rain cloud in sight enabling them to come closer. “I should stay away from here,” Harry groaned. “I want to pet them so badly!” “It be luring magic,” Dobby said, worriedly holding more firmly onto Harry’s shirt. “Harry Potter Sir must resist.” “I know.” Harry sighed. “Why must they have wings, though?” Fawkes’ soothing melody soon lifted Harry’s pouty spirits, and they flew on, reaching the easternmost point of Potter Haven Island just before ten o’clock. For some reason, flowers and larger flowering plants seemed to thrive here, even right by the sea. There were also hundreds and thousands of insects of all kinds busy among the blossoms, and there! A small, blue-green snake was slowly meandering along the beach. “Let’s go down and say hello,” Harry told his companions. “I haven’t seen even one snake so far; I thought the island didn’t have any.” He landed a couple of yards away from the snake and crouched down. “Hello!” The snake stopped and turned in his direction. “Hello? Was it you that spoke, two-legs?” “It was! ” Harry grinned. “Nice to meet you. You are the first snake I see here. Are there others? ” Swaying a little, the little markings along the snake’s body began to glow prettily. “Why do you desire to know, two-legs? ” A weird impulse to babble came over Harry. It didn’t seem harmful, so he allowed himself to go with it. “No reason, really. I just don’t have many friends to talk with, you see.” “Just talking? ” the snake inquired. “Yes. I’m the only two-legs around. I have some elf friends, a phoenix, and an owl for company, but it’s still a bit lonely.” “What would we talk about? ” the little snake wondered. “I’m a snake, and you are a two-legs.” Harry wasn’t deterred at all. “You could tell me about your home, what you like to eat, and whether you like to swim as much as I do.” “I do swim!” the snake exclaimed. “I dive for delicious blue sea snails … you don’t like snails, do you? ” Harry nearly laughed at the tiny thing’s suspicious tone. “No, I haven’t eaten a snail in my life and probably never will.” “And you don’t want to steal me and my kin? ” “No, of course not. Do you mean harm to me and mine? ” “You all are too big for me to eat,” the snake stated, “and I don’t suppose you’re laying very small eggs? ” “No, only Fawkes, the phoenix, might have an egg-laying mate one day, and I believe he knows how to keep his children safe.” Fawkes trilled his agreement to that. Carefully, Harry offered his fingers, knowing that snakes gleaned most information by smell and taste. “Friends? ” The snake once flicked its tongue against Harry’s skin - and recoiled into a cower. “Forgive me, I did not know you vanquished my kind’s king.” Its little voice wavered as it added, “ My poison won’t stop you, but please, please don’t hurt me for using truth-speak on you .” “I’m not going to do that,” Harry hissed as soothingly as he knew how. “I’m looking for friends, that’s all. I promise.” “The King Slayer wants to be friends,” the snake marvelled. More than ever, its blue markings glowed against the bright sunlight. Cautiously, it came closer and, in what must have been an enormous labour of trust, put its head on Harry’s warm fingers. The skin felt delicate and almost surreally soft. “I’d like that .” “Sorry for scaring you like that,” Harry murmured, smiling crookedly at Dobby’s little coo. “It’s a good day when I’m not remembering the basilisk. Do you have a name?” “My kin call me Bluesong,” the snake replied, creeping completely onto Harry’s hand and curling up in his palm. “What is your two-legs name? ” Harry introduced himself and his companions properly, both in the snake language and human speech, before asking for a photograph, which Bluesong granted readily enough. She even preened a little in Harry’s palm and showed off her pretty lights. Finally, Harry asked what time of day would be best for a visit. “Come after sunset, when the sky begins to darken,” Bluesong decided after some consideration. “You see colours; you can admire our lights then. Also, we will be fed and mellow and looking for stories to dream about.” “That sounds great,” Harry said. “Thanks for giving us a chance.” “Come see us soon,” the snake hissed. “My kin will never believe me otherwise.” They said their goodbyes and flew about a mile before Harry slowed to a hover, pulled out a notebook from his knapsack and jotted down a few notes about Bluesong. He also drew a crude map of the island and marked the spot with a little snake. “There are so many things to see; I might have to make a real map and mark who’s living where,” he said to Dobby after also marking down the wildlings and the ponies. “Sorry for excluding you from the conversation, by the way. It was pretty rude. I wish I could somehow let you understand.” “Some things not be meant to be understood by others,” Dobby replied philosophically. “If Harry Potter Sir be wanting to tell Dobby, he will.” “Yeah, of course. Still, it’s not great; I’ll try not to get so distracted again.” He looked at Fawkes. “Will you help, please? Just peck me when I’m being rude … and we all know it’s gotta be you because Dobby and the others won’t do it. They’re too nice to me.” “Dobby be former Malfoy elf,” Dobby cried, affronted. “Dobby not be nice!” Fawkes hooted with something like laughter and did a sparkling barrel roll. “You’re all a riot,” Harry told them. He packed away his things and cast a quick tempus. “Let’s move on; I want to reach the wildling cliff before noon.” The flowery meadows gently gave way to coarser growth this close to the sea. The changes were fascinating to Harry; he had learned a thing or two about geography and biology in elementary school. The term microcosmos obviously wasn’t an exaggeration on this little island, and he wondered how much could be accredited to magic’s influence. Even more fascinating were the many living things crawling, jumping, and flying about. He almost felt like a bird of prey with his healed eyes, so clear was his vision. For this stretch of their journey, nothing really stood out or demanded immediate attention. Harry did indulge in a few passes over a modest stretch of glistening dunes while Dobby did his best to capture the sights with the camera. He seemed happy with the job and even asked Harry to go this way or that for the best angle. At last, they made it to the elf berry cliff, where dozens of small, painted faces were already watching out for their arrival. Waving arms motioned for Harry to head to a clearing a bit further out. A patchwork of colourful throws made of natural fibres welcomed the visitors. “That’s amazing,” Harry breathed as he carefully touched down. He promptly removed his shoes and let the soles of his naked feet feel the material. “This one feels like fleece, but that one definitely is some sort of plant.” “This be good craftsmanship,” Dobby praised and repeated his words in elf gibberish. Apparently, the compliment was understood well enough because several of the wildlings flushed eagerly under their body paint. A wizened wildling shuffled forward and motioned for Harry and Dobby to sit down. As they got comfortable, more and more wildlings joined them, many staring and pointing. Fawkes, obviously, drew the most looks and not a few exclamations of elf gibberish. There were even a few youngsters daring enough to come close enough to touch his long tail feathers. The phoenix bore the attention with jovial patience and even warbled a song for his audience. “Thank you all for having us,” Harry said once the commotion had slowed down a bit. “We appreciate your hospitality.” Dobby translated for him and, after Harry’s little nod, produced the picnic basket from his vest and enlarged it. An expectant hush fell over the crowd, dozens of ears pricking up. “We brought a meal to share,” Harry continued, “and we hope you will like it.” Slowly, he held up every dish that Dobby produced and explained what it was. Hearing Dobby repeat his words in elfish caused some murmurs; apparently, the wildlings were learning to understand certain expressions … and they seemed pretty keen on anything containing root vegetables and berries. “We hopefully packed enough for everyone, but if not, we can always call for seconds.” The wildlings eagerly took the food out of Dobby’s hands and settled around the visitors. Some were so close that Harry could have touched them with his outstretched arm. Once the food was gone, Harry lifted out a humongous cake - a fluffy biscuit with tons of berries, cherries, and cream on top - and personally handed out pieces to the stuffed wildlings. Contrary to their first frenzy, however, the little beings didn’t eat their cake immediately. Instead, they silently made a little room for the elder who had greeted Harry and his friends. The wildling solemnly said something in a creaky voice and gestured meaningfully at the sit-in. They then pulled a single, dark pink berry from a colourful satchel. The group gasped quietly. “Wildling elder be saying something like Harry Potter Sir be honoured guest. Harry Potter Sir please be accepting hospitality gift from wildlings,” Dobby murmured. “How do you know?” Harry asked just as softly. Dobby lifted solemn eyes to him and answered, “Elf berries not be for wizards, usually. But wildlings be trusting Harry Potter Sir now, so he be getting elf welcome. This be true for all elfses, no matter if wild or bonded.” Harry’s breath caught. “I feel … really honoured. Thank you. Thank you so much.” He waited for the elder to place the berry into his cupped palms and for Dobby to convey his gratitude. “Now Harry Potter Sir be eating it,” Dobby gently prompted. “It’s really pretty,” Harry confessed. “It be tasting even better,” Dobby coaxed, amused now. Harry smiled at the waiting wildlings and slowly put the berry in his mouth. It already tasted like summer and abundance, and when he cautiously bit into it, a whole cornucopia of impressions assaulted his taste buds. “Oh my god,” he groaned, “this is so good!” The wildlings cheered at his reaction and began to dance in celebration. Filled up with so much good cheer and energy that it was impossible to stay still, Harry joined them for a bit and whirled not only Dobby around by the hands but also several wildlings. All over the grassland, a peculiar mist of pink and lilac stardust began billowing in the sunlight. Finally, the party settled down and hungry mouths made short work of the cake. Harry felt sated and lazy afterwards and certainly too mellow to shoo away a bunch of cheeky wildling kids who had decided he’d make a good climbing post. It was Fawkes who reminded him that they had a ways to go, yet. Patiently but firmly, the phoenix plucked one kid after the other off Harry and even routed out the one hidden in his knapsack. Dobby was less careful; he hurled the little things like garden gnomes, visibly delighted by their mad shrieks and giggles. “We’ll be back!” Harry promised as he rose on his broom. Behind him, Dobby snapped one last picture of the waving wildlings. The west coast of the island held a not-so-small surprise for Harry. Fawkes guided him down, down, down, almost to the crashing waves, and further into a tall cave. His innate fire lighted the way well enough, although they soon reached a hidden beach illuminated by sunlight streaming in through a cave-in. The real surprise was the ancient-looking wooden ship; to Harry’s uninformed eye, it looked exactly like a pirate vessel, maybe something out of Spain or Portugal. “What in the world is this doing here?” Harry asked, gobsmacked. They touched down on the deck, Fawkes deciding on the bannister for his perch. “Is this real ?” “It be real,” Dobby confirmed after a moment’s evaluation. He popped off, presumably to scout everything out. “Mr Livingstone is the best,” Harry enthused, already having taken out his wand and swishing it about like a sabre. Streams of sparks went flying, making Fawkes caw with amusement. “Do you think he left something for us to discover?” Fawkes’ singing stopped him mid-swish. “What do you mean, he didn’t know about the ship?” Harry cried. His eyes felt like they’d pop out of his skull at a moment’s notice. “He’s an explorer! That’s what he does!” Fawkes made a good approximation of a shrug and warbled again. “We went through wards that humans can’t detect?” Harry’s eyes would never regain their proper size at all these revelations. “Oh, you mean treasure hunters. That’s why you could bring me here.” Smugly, Fawkes rustled his feathers. “Can I go look at things?” Harry asked. “Dobby already be taking many, many pictures,” Dobby declared, making Harry jump and stream more sparks from his wand. “Now Harry Potter Sir be needing to be in photos, too!” “We’ll all go,” Harry said. He held out his arm for Fawkes. “Man, we’ll have the best family album!” Dobby beamed and ran ahead to the bow of the ship, where the mostly intact figurehead in the shape of a buxom mermaid made Harry exclaim again. Quickly, he mounted his broom and grinned like a maniac when Dobby, held up by Fawkes, took his picture. Then it was Fawkes’ and Dobby’s turn, and afterwards, they thundered through the wreck like a stampede of wildebeest to discover every little nook and cranny. Rolls and rolls of film were used up, and Harry belatedly insisted on calling the rest of the Potter elves so they could join in on the fun. According to Dobby, the best would be coming last, although Harry didn’t know how anything could top the heavy cannons and weapons they had found below deck. “This be the captain’s cabin,” Dobby said ominously. He knocked thrice and pushed open the heavy, blackened door. “Beware, Harry Potter Sir, because the captain be still here.” Harry and the others braced themselves - and still yelled out in horror when they saw the skeleton in full pirate captain regalia, including a large hat with an even larger feather tucked into the red hat band, sitting at the table … with the captain’s ghost sitting across his own bones in a macabre tableau. He had apparently died later in life, his weathered features telling tales of a rough existence at sea. Several scars marred his face and even ghostly silver, he still sported something of a tan. The ghost asked something in a demanding voice, but Harry didn’t understand a lick of it. Petrified in fear, he watched the spirit float closer and stroll around him. “You not be harming Master Harry!” Cari told the ghost. She raised her cleaver in warning. “Master?” the ghost asked, the word heavily accented but perfectly understandable. He pointed at Harry. “Maestro? Tu?” “Yes,” Harry said a little faintly. “Er, tu Spanish?” “Español, sí!” The man’s forbidding face lightened a little. “Tu eres inglés?” “Inglés? Ah, English, sí,” Harry replied clumsily. He gestured at the elves and Fawkes. “My friends. Uh, amigos?” The pirate captain cocked his head, seeming as nonplussed as Harry felt. “Qué tipo de criaturas son?” Harry winced. “What?” Pointing at the elves, the pirate repeated the question. “Oh, you mean creatures. Well, they’re magical beings … house elves. Those are my house elves.” “‘Ouz’ elves?” the man tried. “Son criaturas mágicas? Ah, los duendes?” “Maybe?” Harry quickly moved on to avoid a lengthy go-around. “And this is Fawkes, a phoenix.” “Un fénix!” The pirate muttered something disbelievingly and shook his head in wonder. “Puede eso ser cierto?” Harry wanted to ask so many questions, but it was clear to all that their communication was severely hampered by the language barrier; the pirate only spoke what Harry assumed to be 17th-century Spanish, and Harry’s knowledge of modern Spanish consisted of a few advertisements and songs he had heard in the radio. Fawkes cawed, reminding Harry that they were on a schedule. “Listen, Captain, this is all terribly exciting, but we can’t stay all day,” Harry said regretfully. He pointed upward and mimed walking. “But we could come back? For a visit?” The ghost got it, but instead of accepting the offer, he suddenly began to howl, rushing through Harry and the elves with ice-cold wrath, only leaving out Fawkes because the bird let out an unearthly screech that raised every single hair on Harry’s body. His spread wings also turned into roaring flames. The pirate stopped his tantrum immediately, staring in fright at the phoenix and crossing himself several times. “Santa Madre!” “Let’s go,” Harry urged his friends. “If he can’t behave, we won’t have anything to do with him. I’ve had enough of that with my relatives.” Cari snarled at the pirate. “You be dead! What reason you be having for terrorising my Master Harry! Cari be salting and burning your bones if you be evil-mean again!” Still pale and still, the pirate watched the elves pop away and didn’t even try to follow Harry and Dobby. Fawkes remained behind regardless, keeping watch out of dark, knowing eyes. oOo As interesting as a real live pirate ship was, the ghost that came with it was a real downer. Harry tried not to be too disappointed about not getting to see or even hold an ancient gold doubloon, but it wasn’t easy. Not even Dobby had managed to peek into the chests the captain had stowed in his cabin to take a picture. The last bit of their trip passed far too quickly; only half an hour later, Harry and Fawkes touched down on the house's terrace. “You should’ve come with us, Hedwig,” Harry told his owl. “We saw lots of cool things … and a grumpy old ghost in a pirate ship.” Hedwig stared first at him and then at Fawkes as if inquiring what her boy had gotten up to now. Fawkes sang in response and preened his feathers, giving nothing away. “I’ll show you all the pictures later,” Harry said. Holding out his arm for Hedwig, he allowed Elli to put away his broom. “Now it’s time to write a list of potion ingredients I’ll need this year. Do you wanna come and keep us company? We can have a snack in a little while.” Hedwig fluttered onto his arm, clearly getting comfortable for an hour or two of chatter between Harry and Dobby. After washing up and perusing the study guide for third-year Potions, it quickly became apparent that Harry had been a bit too optimistic about his little project. Not only would he need everything he had used up until now, but there now were variants to consider besides the newly introduced ingredients for his third year. His list grew alarmingly quickly, and he prayed that he would be able to find or grow most of the plants and animal parts on the island because the whole of what he needed as a student was distinct, to say the least. A complete order might set Dumbledore or some of his cronies faster on Harry’s trail than Dobby could pop, and that was intolerable. “Lots of this be growing on Potter Haven Island,” Dobby stated, unwittingly soothing Harry’s fears. “We be collecting plant parts easily, and with rarer things, wildlings be maybe able to help. There also be lots of birdies and fishies and froggies for parts.” “That sounds ugly,” Harry said and gulped. “I’m glad we can mostly harvest our stuff. I don’t know whether I could kill a sentient living being. You know, without being attacked first.” “Dobby be trying to find dead animals,” the elf promised, “but it not always be working that way.” “I know,” Harry sighed. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, yeah?” They finished their work and enjoyed a snack tray of fresh fruit and tiny tea sandwiches, with Hedwig indulging in a couple of owl treats before Harry started the first class of his third year. He had chosen Charms because he liked it and was eager to write a catalogue of charms he could already do. Dobby had recommended regularly picking random entries from the list to keep the knowledge fresh, a practice Harry planned to eventually incorporate in all his wanded classes. “It’s good that I found the spell to sort my entries alphabetically,” Harry said when he was finished. “There are so many charms out there; I’d probably write stuff down twice if I couldn’t easily check my list.” “Dobby not be young elf anymore, but Dobby be still wondering why witchies and wizards be needing so many words to do magic,” Dobby said. “Elfses just be snapping fingers to spark big magic and things be done easy peasy.” “I wish I could do that,” Harry admitted, “and I think older people actually can, somewhat. Though I’ve never seen someone snap their fingers. Mostly, they’re waving around their hands or wiggling their fingers.” “Well, no one be stopping Harry Potter Sir from trying,” Dobby replied with a little bounce. “Harry Potter Sir be eating elf berry; maybe elf welcome be making it possible?” “It’d sure be fun doing magic like you,” Harry grinned. “Will you teach me? Maybe on Sundays, when I’ve got nothing else to do?” “Dobby will,” Dobby said, returning the grin with one of his own. “Dobby also be wanting to ask if Harry Potter Sir be wanting to learn the bubblehead charm. It be perfect for breathing underwater.” “If we could breathe underwater, we could go see the corals! And collect bigger sea shells!” Harry concluded. “Yes, let’s learn it!” “It still be time for some more school,” Dobby said slyly. “Shall Dobby be getting the book?” Eagerly, Harry pushed away his curriculum and dove into the description of the bubblehead charm. It was easy enough to cast, though the caster would need to pay some attention to keep the spell fuelled. Otherwise, it might sputter out at the least opportune moment. A bit later, Harry and Dobby practised the spell by the pool. While Dobby struggled a little with the conversion of the charm's properties into elf magic, Harry struggled with getting the bubble to hold for longer than a few seconds at a time. “I’m too easily distracted,” Harry complained. “I can feel it when my magic stops flowing, but I have no idea how to keep it going. It’s like my magic water tap just shuts off by itself.” “Maybe it be protection against magical exhaustion?” Dobby guessed. “Harry Potter Sir be mean-strong, so Harry Potter Sir just be practicing every day to dribble-drop tiny bits of mean-strong magic into spell, and no exhaustion be happening.” “That could work,” Harry conceded. He huffed. “Too bad Mr Livingstone didn’t leave a snorkel; I could have learned diving with that first.” Dobby scoffed. “We be alone on island now. It be better to learn magic first and rely on elfses or equipment second. So Harry Potter Sir be having a backup if one or two be failing.” Since this was sound advice, especially with so many magical beings around, Harry nodded his assent and gave the spell another try. This time, the bubble around the dummy’s head made it over the ten-second mark, causing them to cheer.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Starting school in earnest the following morning was very strange for Harry. He got up early for his swim in the sea, got showered and dressed, had breakfast, and then sat his butt down in the den with the French terrace doors open so he could enjoy some sunshine and fresh air. Transfiguration was first and mainly consisted of a review of the last two years and Harry’s set goal for the month. He had picked ten transfigurations from the third-year syllabus and decided to try each of them to see where he could start. Time was flying, and soon, the bell for a break chimed. “It be good start!” Dobby praised as he carefully put away Harry’s Transfiguration journal and textbooks to make room for his Defense things. “Dobby, Elli, and Gunda be looking into portable wards for practice since Harry Potter Sir not be having real school room. Or be Harry Potter Sir wanting to move desk to empty room?” Harry didn’t even hesitate. “No, I like it here a lot. If you can actually prepare a corner for me to throw spells around in, I’d appreciate it.” “Dobby be going to Nice goblins soonest, then,” the elf said with a satisfied nod. “Dobby be asking Harry Potter Sir not to cast new battle magics inside the house until then. On beach, it be fine.” “Great, let’s go there in a bit,” Harry said. He never minded an opportunity to go to the beach. “Speaking of which, the first spell is the riddikulus, to chase away boggarts, but how will I know it works? Mr Livingstone said we don’t have boggarts on the island.” Dobby tilted his head in thought. “Dobby be knowing of simulator, but they be very expensive. Shall Dobby be asking Nice goblins?” “In this case, the British goblins might be better,” Harry answered. “They understand why I need one, what with Voldemoron still around somewhere.” “Voldemoron,” Dobby giggled and flushed. “Dobby be popping over during Harry Potter Sir’s lunch break.” “Thanks.” Harry flipped the page and found another new spell, a shield charm. “This looks doable, at least. You can throw pillows to check whether it works.” Cackling, Dobby said, “Dobby be loving pillow fights!” oOo In the afternoon, Harry had an hour of Animal Care and Runes each. Both consisted of a lot of book reading and, for Runes, painstakingly writing lines while repeating to himself the meaning of the runes. He and Dobby had also decided to have one daily joker class during which Harry could study whatever he fancied. He could do more work for this day’s classes, or he could begin a personal project. Harry picked the project and chose the map for Potter Haven Island. “We’ll need it sooner or later,” Harry reasoned, “and if I can somehow make it interactive, we’ll always know what’s happening. Wouldn’t that be neat?” Dobby huffed. “Fawkes Firebird Sir should not be shouldering the security features of the wards alone. Dobby not be happy about that at all!” “You know he did it to let me adapt,” Harry said soothingly. “And you know he’ll teach me how to work with the wards in the new year.” “Fawkes Firebird Sir still should have let Potter elves know about dangerous beasties and cranky-mean pirate ship, at least!” “Well, with our map, we’ll always know what’s going on,” Harry replied easily. He frowned. “Though I have no idea where to start other than a piece of parchment and some ink. I’m not that great at drawing, either.” “Harry Potter Sir could be asking Mr Book Lover Flourish for help,” Dobby offered. “Dobby be taking letter directly.” “Sure, why not,” Harry agreed and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. “It’s worth a shot.” He wrote the letter, which Dobby snatched away as soon as it was sealed, and then tried to busy himself by carefully trying to draw the outline of the island on a large piece of paper. More often than not, he had to erase the pencil lines and try again, but when he was done, he was pretty satisfied with the result. With a light hand, he then sketched in the volcano mountain crater and all the ridges and hills, as well as the lakes, streams, and springs the existing map on the den’s far wall showed. He also marked the pirate cave with a ship with the universal skull and crossed bones on the sail. The wildlings, snakes, and pegakelpies - or pepies, as Harry called them for short - came last and were the most fun by far. Smiling at the little image of Bluesong, Harry touched it with his wand and whispered, “Anima.” Slowly, as if just waking up, the tiny snake writhed a little and yawned. Harry grinned and did it twice more for the other creatures. For several minutes, he just sat there and stared at his map and the little creatures roaming it. Sure, it was a little empty, but he would fill it in more soon enough. oOo Dobby only returned after dinner but made up for the long absence with several books on magical map making … and a large box full of letters. “Goblins be saying to go slowly,” Dobby warned. “Many letters be stripped of nasty magics, but words might still be mean. Goblins be sorting mail into business, good, and nasty. Which Harry Potter Sir be wanting first?” “Let’s start with something easy. Give me Ron and Hermione’s letters, please.” Dobby’s face fell. “Harry Potter Sir’s Thieving Wheezy only be writing twice. Second letter be in bad magics pile.” Ron had barely written his own parents during the school year, so Harry wasn’t really surprised. It didn’t even surprise him that someone, likely Dumbledore, had used Ron’s letter to try and track him down. “And Hermione’s letters?” Harry asked, dreading the answer. “It be better, although Harry Potter Sir’s Grangy’s parents be reporting Old Whiskers for mail tampering. The goblins be telling story about Miss Grangy’s tantrum in Diagon Alley when Miss Grangy be noticing Fawkes Firebird Sir snatching letter and giving it to spying Old Whiskers. There be lots of witnesses. The goblins be fining Old Whisker’s vault and paying damages to Miss Grangy. Miss Grangy be spending all of it on booksies.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry couldn’t help but laugh at Fawkes’ meddling and Hermione’s ruthlessness. It was a brilliant prank and showed that Dumbledore apparently didn’t suspect a thing about Fawkes’ recent activities. Dobby went on, “Of course, goblins be fining evil magics casters if they be known. It not always be Old Whiskers. It also be Old Whisker friends and lots of evil death eaters. Dobby be smiling when he be imagining the crying and carrying on.” He grinned, showing most of his teeth. “Law enforcement witchies and wizards also be involved now. Dobby be needing to go back to Ministry to listen to the screaming. Madam Law Enforcer Bones be having best-worst time of her life.” “Don’t be seen,” Harry said, even as he laughed. “But, uh, if you find a way to help her along … have at it. Especially against the Malfoys.” Dobby bounced happily on his toes. “Evil former master be sending four cursed letters. Dobby be finding lots and lots of things to bring Madam Law Enforcer Bones.” “Do I want to read Malfoy’s letters?” Harry asked, sobering a little. Shrugging, Dobby placed the four missives onto the dining table. “Dobby not be thinking that there be many writings. Curses not be needing it.” Harry opened the letters anyway and grinned broadly when they all read, Potter, you stole my servant! Die! “I guess he’s still bitter about that,” Harry said, showing Dobby the missives. “Do we need to keep the letters as evidence or can we toss them in the fire? I mean, the goblins did go through all the trouble to note the magic on them and who sent them.” “Harry Potter Sir be needing to keep evidence, Dobby be thinking, because Ministry be losing evidence more often than not. But Harry Potter Sir be needing very large shelf to keep all the evidence because there be coming more,” Dobby pondered. “Dobby best be asking Sharptooth for booksies about magic storage. Harry Potter Sir’s house be big, but not big enough for countless evil-mean, dumb letters.” “Yeah, I’m not about to clog up our attic with hate mail,” Harry agreed. He tossed Malfoy’s letters to the side. “Hermione’s now, please, I need a palate cleanser after that crap.” True to form, Hermione had sent half a dozen long letters describing her holiday in France, her worry for him, the chaotic meeting with the Weasleys on August 31, and her purchase of a huge, ugly cat. “She writes that Crookshanks can’t stand Ron’s rat, Scabbers,” Harry told Dobby at the end of it. “I hope he won’t eat him; Ron would be devastated.” “Rats not be on the list of approved pets,” Dobby sniffed. “Wheezies not be having any business taking rat to Hoggywarty.” “Come on, the Weasleys don’t have much money; they can’t afford a new pet for everyone. I guess they’re glad that Scabbers is still alive. One headache less for them to worry about.” Harry placed Hermione’s letters on the other side of the table, in the spot for correspondence he intended to answer. Whether that was a good idea remained to be seen, but he wasn’t ready to freeze his friend out, not even for his safety. About Ron, he wasn’t so certain. His first letter had not been tampered with much, besides a tracking charm by Molly Weasley who had probably just been worried about Harry. The second letter, however, had been a sullen mess. Dripping with Dumbledore’s tracking and portkey charms, it was also filled with Ron’s recriminations. And Harry also hadn’t missed Dobby’s title for the boy: Mr Harry Potter Sir’s Thieving Wheezy. He wondered what that meant and whether he should be worried … or angry. “Ron’s mad at me for making his mum shout all the time,” Harry concluded, shoving his thoughts aside for the moment. He frowned. “She’s apparently also gone batshit about some cancelled contract and how ungrateful I am for worrying them all so. It ruined their holiday in Egypt.” “Harry Potter Sir not be worrying about Howler Wheezy’s disappointed ambitions,” Dobby said sternly. “She not be having any business trying to betroth dark-besmirched spawn to Harry Potter Sir. She not be Harry Potter Sir’s mother, or anything else.” “It wasn’t Ginny’s fault,” Harry replied automatically. “But yeah. I’d never marry her … especially when her mum is being a nutjob.” “Worse, Girl Wheezy still be a fan .” Sniffing, Dobby slid a Gringotts letter onto the table. “Those not be making good spouses.” “No, they absolutely don’t. Can you imagine having a wife who can’t look you in the eye or talk to you without stuttering?” Harry shuddered slightly. “Now, what’s this? Is it the citizenship stuff?” “Not yet,” Dobby said apologetically. “Sharptooth be telling Dobby that Gringotts-wide audit of Harry Potter Sir’s affairs brought some interesting things to light. There be some hidden inheritances from well-meaning witchies and wizards, mostly moneys and some other small bequests. Old Whiskers be stalling disbursement so Harry Potter Sir not be having more ready money.” “Honestly, what’s wrong with Dumbledore?” Harry exclaimed. “Is he doing that crap to others, or am I the only one?” “Dobby not be knowing but Dobby can be getting anything from catalogue Harry Potter Sir be wanting. Catalogue be almost all the pages.” “Oh.” A little stunned, Harry carefully opened the thick letter. Just as the seal broke entirely, a little burst of magic signified its reception. “Sharptooth sent a tally sheet, thank god. People left me over twenty-five thousand galleons; I guess we can heavily invest in the farming business now.” Dobby wriggled happily and stared expectantly at Harry. “There’s also quite a bit of furniture, portraits, kitchen stuff, and books.” Harry sighed. “Not cleansed of harmful magic, unfortunately. We’ll have to ask Sharptooth how much that will be.” “Harry Potter Sir could be checking what he be needing and sell the rest,” Dobby suggested. “This be less headache and more moneys. Let new owners deal with taints.” “Good idea, let’s do that. But for now, we can look at the catalogue and find out what to keep at first glance.” They settled on the comfy couch and perused page after page of parchment. Gringotts’ pictures were very well done and made it easy for Harry to see details. He could even touch them and twist the articles around to view the backsides and even the undersides. “This is awesome,” Harry enthused, playing around with the photo of an expensive-looking mahogany wardrobe. He placed a checkmark next to it, already envisioning it in his bedroom. “Now the portraits. Not that I know any of these people, but maybe I could say thank you for their gift someday.” “Harry Potter Sir be needing to be careful. Some portraits with counterparts can leave frame and be circumventing even the bestest wards. Harry Potter Sir either be needing to check island wards to make sure or lock portraits down before bringing them here.” Dobby twitched. “Portraits be very mixed blessing, Harry Potter Sir. They be great mentors or great spies. At former evil master’s house, all portraits be spelled with loyalty charms and confined within wards. Some even be confined to their frames.” Harry put an arm around Dobby’s narrow shoulders. “I have no issue with that at all. As I said, we don’t know these people, and they’re dead anyway. We wouldn’t really be hurting their feelings. If they can teach something useful, I’d like to know, though.” “There not be lots of information,” Dobby said regretfully. “Harry Potter Sir be talking to Manager Sharptooth and portraits themselves. But Harry Potter must be knowing that portraits not always be telling the truth. Harry Potter Sir not be wanting to learn false things. That be mean-bad.” “Yes, that would be really bad.” Harry took hold of his writing pad and jotted down Dobby’s recommendations. The elf truly was a font of knowledge and good advice. “I’ll write Sharptooth tomorrow and haggle the price for curse-breaking and portrait interviews.” He brightened. “Hey, do you think we could maybe borrow one of Mr Livingstone’s family portraits for Care Of Magical Creatures? I read a bit about him; his whole family is nuts about nature and preserving magical animal populations.” “It be good idea! Dobby be popping to Hogwarts tomorrow. Mr Beast Lover Livingstone still not be done cataloguing everything about mean snake’s Hoggywarty habitat. He be having old muggle video cameras in creepy Chamber of Secrets just so he can be taking visitors on tour.” “He’ll probably make money hand over fist with that alone,” Harry laughed. “Good for him!” He wrote that note down as well. “Okay, that’s stuff and portraits done with. Now there’s only this left …” He solemnly raised the deed to a cottage in the French Provence. “A Mrs Eloise Bellamy left it to me. She even wrote a letter. Do you wanna hear?” “It probably be sad letter, Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby hedged. “Probably,” Harry agreed. “But it’s an amazing thing to give to someone. Come, let’s do this.” They sat back on the couch, and Harry held the letter with shaky hands. “Dear Mr Potter, dear Harry,
“I’m certain you’re quite surprised to receive a house from a stranger. It probably isn’t the grandest gift you have received from grateful witches and wizards, but it comes from the heart.
“You see, I grew up in Grindelwald-era Britain and met my husband, a French auror, during the height of the conflict. He made me his bride, and because of my family’s inheritance rules, we settled down in Britain and had a lovely family together.
“Then Voldemort happened, as you know. During his rise to power, we lost a son and nearly our only daughter as well. My husband was retired by then; the British Ministry was useless … we fled to the continent and settled in the cottage to which you now hold the deed.
“Our loss was profound - the death of a beloved child changes you, and the wound never heals - but we still spent a few happy years in our little home. It was the perfect getaway and place to rest and enjoy our family. My husband went first, and it will soon be time for me to follow him. By the time you read this letter, it will be your retreat if you need it. A little haven in a complex and sometimes hostile world.
“I do not presume to know your life, but let me tell you this: my husband and I do not believe that Voldemort is truly dead. There were death eaters in French custody, and while their marks faded, they never vanished wholly as they would have if their master were truly gone.
“Therefore, should you be well cared for and your security assured, please feel free to handle the bequest as you see fit.
“However, if you require a tightly warded, unplottable place to run to, here it is. Just a word of advice from someone who has been living with a decorated auror for years: commission the Gringotts goblins to cast a Fidelius that is tied to yourself, and do not bring any portraits inside. A family portrait was what got my son killed; even if the depicted person is kin, in times of strife, they cannot be trusted.
“But that’s quite enough of the alarmist talk; this letter has gone on long enough already. I really just wanted to express my family’s gratitude to you and yours. Your family’s sacrifice will never be forgotten among my folks.
Thank you. Be well, Harry.
All my best,
Eloise Bellamy ” Swallowing thickly, Harry gently put the letter on his lap. “I told you. One hell of a gift.” Dobby nodded dumbly. “Can you and the others go over there and check it out? See what it needs? We could go there for holidays if you think it’s safe.” “Dobby be doing that.” “We have an auror cottage,” Harry suddenly stated. “Do you think Mr Bellamy left any good books? And maybe even weapons?” “If Mr Auror Bellamy be doing, Harry Potter Sir be learning French most diligently,” Dobby replied. “Translation charms be pretty good, but they not always be catching nuances.” “Aunt Petunia was always after Dudley to learn a second language before everyone else. She says it’s making people more intelligent and more successful. Uncle Vernon knows some Russian, and he’s doing alright at Grunnings.” “Dobby not be wanting to admit it, but it be good advice.” The house elf scowled. “Dobby not be liking this. Dobby be wanting to pay evil Dursley family back for mistreating Harry Potter Sir. Dobby not be forgetting locks on Harry Potter Sir’s bedroom door, or the bars before the window!” “You can’t go there,” Harry said. “Dumbledore will be watching them. He might catch and hurt you.” He grasped Dobby’s small hand. “It’s not important anymore. I won’t go back, and revenge served when I’m old enough to be rid of Dumbledore will still be satisfying.” “Dobby not be going, but Dobby not be forgetting,” Dobby huffed. Harry smiled wryly. “I’m sort of counting on it.” After that little emotional bomb, they decided to leave the rest of the mail for the weekend, when it wouldn’t disturb Harry’s equilibrium so much and distract him from his studies. “There’s probably only more guilt trips hidden in there,” Harry said with a little shrug. “It’s funny how few people really mean anything to me.” “Gunda be able to read and write,” Dobby said. “If Harry Potter Sir be wanting someone to sort mail for him?” “Only if she wants to,” Harry returned. “She shouldn’t have to read garbage that’s meant for me.” “Gunda be looking all nice and sweet, but she be vicious.” Dobby mimed a throw. “She be throwing garden pests the farthest. Once, she be throwing wildling over the forest to the beach. Dobby not be thinking she be knowing wildling be sweet on her.” This was news to Harry. “Gunda has an admirer? How’s that working out for them?” “She and Elli both,” Dobby explained. “Elli be courted by First Wildling. He be liking her care. Other wildling be liking Gunda’s strong arm, but she not be noticing. All male Potter elves be knowing immediately.” He rolled his huge eyes. “You’re all crazy,” Harry snickered. “But seriously, I’d miss them if they went to live with the wildlings.” Dobby shook his head until his ears flopped. “Elf females usually not be leaving homes. It be boys joining female’s clan. If wildlings be wanting mating bond, they be needing to join Harry Potter Sir’s family. Dobby not be sure they be wanting that. Wildlings not be knowing how to work for wizards and witches, and they be liking being free.” “They don’t really have to work, though, do they?” Harry asked. “You and the other Potter elves are plenty capable to deal with all our stuff. The boys could just hang out.” “Yes, but elfses with mating bond not be tolerating divided loyalty or laziness,” Dobby explained. “If wildling males be joining Harry Potter Sir’s family, they be pledging loyalty and magics or mating not be working.” “Oh, okay. That makes sense … and is a little sad, don’t you think? That’s a lot of pressure on the little guys.” Dobby tilted his head. “Bonds with wizards and witchies be what they are. House elves be living that way for a long, long time. It be comfortable. Strength be found in unified purpose. Gunda and Elli not be happy without wizard magic to anchor them.” “Well, you said they’re only sort of courting,” Harry said. “It might not work out. And if it does, we’ll find a solution.” He huffed. “I never thought I’d have to think about stuff like this! Isn’t that a bit crazy?” “Dobby be surprised also,” the elf confessed. “Dobby never be meeting wildling before. It be very strange and foreign. Magics be sort of the same, but also very different. It be sort of primitive. And it be disconcerting not to understand elf speech. But magics also be attracting wildlings to Harry Potter Sir’s family. It be confusing.” “I bet it’s even worse for the poor wildlings.” Harry stood and stretched. “Anyway, it’s getting late, I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, Dobby! Tell the others to sleep well, yeah?”