Author's Notes: Lisa725 was recently named best beta in all the universe and the 2007 Omagic recipient for Most Congenial Deconstructor of Creative Non-Publishable Literature. One of the two previous statements is completely true; the other is just the way it should be.

A couple of you folk might be wondering how Harry's wand broke. In short it was caused by the trauma of shoving the wand so hard through Malfoy that it stuck into the brick wall behind him. Wood met stone and wood lost is all. The flames that followed were just the result of the phoenix feather igniting, which may or may not be a reasonable thing for it to do, but I'll play the artistic license card here.

As always, thanks for reading!

Chapter Nine - The Smell of Things

I remember wondering as I held that locket for the first time, knowing it held a piece of Voldemort's soul. Does he feel it when a piece of him dies? I know what it felt like when my entire soul was sucked out of my body. And I make no exaggeration when saying I wouldn't want to suffer even one-seventh of that anguish again. I'd rather a lifetime as Colin Creevey's boy toy than experience that again. But…I'd certainly wish it on my worst enemy.

With that thought in mind, I came to know how I was going to get rid of the Horcrux. Or perhaps it is better to say I realized there would be no other acceptable way to go about it.

It took some time to figure out; and as always, I've managed to find the most unreasonable manner to get things done. But if it means there's even the slightest possibility that the Dark Fuck gets to suffer, I'm willing to take on a few hardships to see to it.

Unless...

Have you got a pet Dementor I could borrow?

No?

I didn't think so.

No matter. Something tells me that after our last encounter I'm unlikely to find a Dementor up for a chitchat and cocoa in front of a slow-burning fire. Still, I can't imagine I burned too many bridges there. I mean, honestly, what upstanding demon would be seen cavorting with a regurgitated soul like me? I'm sloppy seconds, and with all the filthy souls out there these days, who knows what one could catch.

Nope! I've got a certain curtain in mind - the sort of magical equivalent of an industrial powered Hoover for the soul. And I'm more than a little tickled by the idea that my recently purgatoried godfather is going to have a complete set of the Essence of Riddle to help decorate his between-life surroundings.

xxx

“Smells like burnt toast with peanut butter,” Filmore calmly noted.

“Oh my god, Harry! What have you done?” Hermione gasped. “You…you murdered all those people…and Draco…”

“What the hell does Dobby think he's doing?” Ron interrupted.

The diminutive creature was snapping both fingers and tapping his feet to the cadence of it. With each snap, a portion of Malfoy's remains vanished from the premises. The ash that remained of his head and neck, the smear of blood that stained the wall, the gathering pool of the same that poured from the non-cauterized portions of the stump left atop his shoulders. “Cleaning of course, sir,” Dobby said simply.

“A good rat, that is,” Filmore quipped.

“They've all gone round, Hermione!” said Ron. “I told you, didn't I? Look at this, look at what he's done, at all of the nutters he's surrounded himself with.”

“I'd take exception to that, but the boy doesn't really know I'm here now, does he?” Slytherin said. “Yet interesting as this endless banter may be, I believe we should be going, Harry.”

Harry stared disbelieving at the charred remains of his wand on the floor. It might have been the only weapon he had against Voldemort that the Dark Lord's years of knowledge and greater power couldn't overcome. It was with that wand that he'd first conjured his father's animagus form and drawn his mother and father's ghosts out of Voldemort's wand. It was gone.

The drone of coordinated shouts heard growing louder just outside the bar pulled Harry from his thoughts. He looked at the wand one last time, then up to his friend's judgmental stares, and finally down at Draco's destroyed body.

He sneered and then pointed harshly at Hermione. “If they're people, then Dobby's a unicorn, Ron's a bulimic, you're the world's biggest Quiddich fan, and I'm up for the year's most congenial wizard!” he screamed in an escalating tone. “If you're so appalled at what I'm doing, fine, don't follow after me! No doubt you've got something else that needs crying about.”

Harry looked down to Dobby, who was shooting Hermione and Ron a particularly cold glare. “Dobby, let's go,” he barked.

“Home, sir?” Dobby asked obediently.

“No, I've got to go to the bathroom… at Hogwarts,” Harry replied.

Filmore's eyebrows rose. “Know not what it is you plan, but swear to you, wizard, help hold it for you I will not.”

Dobby snapped his fingers just as the Auror squad burst through the pub doors. They arrived just soon enough to see a house elf, a Muggle, and Harry Potter disappear from a position standing above the headless body of Draco Malfoy.

“Everybody drop their wands and lie down face first on the floor,” the lead Auror barked.

Filmore, had he been there, would have used the opportunity to point out that Malfoy didn't have a face. But the opportunity for that pun was wasted on the two Gryffindor students who were the only people in the bar still capable of speech or movement. Everyone else remained frozen under the strong force of a house elf's magic.

It didn't take long for the Aurors to put together that most noticeable predicament. “You two,” he barked at Hermione and Ron, “was that Harry Potter?”

“Yes, sir,” Ron answered meekly.

“Do you know where he was going?”

“He….”

“He didn't say, sir,” Hermione quickly interrupted.

The Auror eyed them with suspicion. “Is that correct boy?” he asked Ron.

The youngest male Weasley didn't need to look at his girlfriend's face to know the answer to the question. “Yes sir. He just sneered at us when he heard you at the door, and then they disappeared.”

xxx

The basilisk smelled bad - like a once-revived-from-the-dead dark lord's morning breath following an all-night bender, an homage to the porcelain god, and a shag from a cheap inferi whore with bad teeth - bad. The combination of the damp chamber air and the rotting snake flesh had elevated the noxious smell well past nauseating and into full chemical warfare. It simply hurt to breath.

Rat droppings littered the area around the carcass, and it wasn't lost on Harry the irony of the role reversal that had taken place. There was some measure of perspective to be gained from that bit of insight; unfortunately, his mind wasn't able to recognize it under the malodorous assault it faced.

Filmore had gone as far as the main entrance to the Chamber of Secrets when he refused to go any farther. He mentioned something to the effect of, “So retched is this smell it makes the skin on the scalp tingle and burn. Hair on this head is becoming an increasingly rare commodity, one that is too great in worth to be sacrificed for the wizard's play stick.” Dobby had been rendered useless shortly after he witnessed the serpent's remains. His compunction to clean the epic mess was so fierce that only a direct order from Harry had prevented it. Currently, he was beating a cleft into the chin of Salazar Slytherin's stone image with his head. Harry was too busy maintaining the tender balance of retrieving the fangs of the snake while simultaneously not puking to stop him.

“Your old digs could use an air freshener and some bleach,” Harry said.

“It was you who murdered my old friend. I consider her rotting redolence a fitting retort,” The words rolled from Slytherin with a vindictive tone.

Of course Harry had tried other solutions, his bubble-head charm lasted only a few seconds before it audibly fizzled away. Apparently, his magic was too offended to suffer the smell as well. Hell, as soon as the smell had hit his nose, he'd tried a summoning charm, but basilisk fangs were resistant to magic - of course.

Accepting that this task was only going to get done with him elbow deep in rotten basilisk flesh, Harry knelt at the beast's mouth despite the argument of all five of his senses and his magic.

“So, you made all this Slytherin?” he asked, looking for a distraction.

“Yes, for the most.”

“Is there a story behind why?”

“An interesting one actually, highlighted by the account of an epic journey to a far and interesting place, ending in the discovery of a remarkable and terrifying creature.” Salazar fell silent.

“And…”

“And considering the circumstances before me, it's not one I'm inclined to share with you.”

“Don't blame me for this,” Harry said frankly. “I'm not the one who sired a lineage hell bent on cleansing the wizarding race by using the pet snake their great, great, great grandfather flushed down the girls' toilet.”

“You make such a compelling argument, honestly, how could I possibly resist telling you now?” Slytherin drawled.

Harry grimaced as the fang tore within the rancid flesh of the basilisk's jowls. “Splendid. Well, I'm sure it was a riveting tale. Won the ladies over every time, I'll bet.” Harry did his best to imitate the voice of the man in his head, “Come, fair madam, be my escort as I reveal to you the secret chamber beneath the loo. There I shall serenade you in serpent tongue, and you may look upon my big fucking snake.”

There was no response.

“C'mon, Sal, admit it. You used the 'wanna see the snake in my chamber' pick up line back in the day.”

“I'll allow you this trespass only once. But think on this, how would you feel if it were I ripping the wing off the rotting carcass of your beloved Hedwig so that I might use it for something so rudimentary as a sodding wand core?”

The basilisk fang ripped free from the snake just as Slytherin finished speaking. Harry stared silently at the object, considering the founder's words. “Right, sorry about that then,” Harry said casually. “But still…”

“You were doing a serviceable job with only the apology, young Gryffindor,” Salazar warned.

“Well, honestly, it's not really the same now is it?” Harry replied.

“I'm certain it is.”

“Hedwig never went about trying to kill you did she? Well, that is, if you were alive when Hedwig was. I mean, if it were possible that you and she were alive at the same time.” Harry paused, trying to decide if he was going to battle through deciphering the proper semantics of what he was trying to argue. He gave up the effort by adding, “It's not like my owl went about the school petrifying pet cats and killing students.”

“And here I thought the children of my time were petulant.”

“Oh come off it, the poor girl that snake killed in Riddle's time haunts the bathroom above the chamber to this very day.”

“So that justifies you not only killing her but also desecrating the body so you may have a new toy?”

Harry shrugged in response. “I'm just saying, it's not the same as Hedwig.”

“The smell is clearly affecting your better judgment,” Slytherin responded.

“I'd be lucky if it stopped there,” Harry said. “Fate is giggling her twisted arse off right about now, I'll bet.”

“Even this is below the machinations of fate, Harry. This little tryst to plunder the remains of my old friend is wholly due to your compulsive behavior with young Malfoy.”

Harry smiled, even though it burned his throat and lips to open his mouth. “Yeah, but seeing his head light up like a fucking lantern was pretty cool.”

“Cool.” Slytherin let the phrase drip with impropriety from his incorporeal lips. “Yes, I'm sure it'll do wonders toward winning you the popular vote.”

“Maybe not, but I've already got a guilty conscience and years of repressed anger, so I might as well get to fuck it up for anyone who contributed.”

“And what of the friends and acquaintances you bring down along way?”

“I've intentionally left them out of this for that very reason.” Harry looked at a very wobbly Dobby who was still banging his head against the embossed stone image of Slytherin. “Besides, I don't think the house elf is going to survive his battle with your statue.”

“I think you're being intentionally naïve.”

“The double chin look suits you, Sal, far better than this fucking guilt trip you're trying to lay on me,” Harry replied harshly. “I'm sorry about your friend. If it makes you feel better, I'll honor her memory by killing as many Death Eating fucks as I can with what I've taken today.”

xxx

As promised, Filmore made to start on Harry's wand as soon as they got back. Harry gave him the basilisk fang, which elicited a whistle from the man. “Enough here for several wands,” he said. Harry only wanted two.

He followed Trynsington out of the main room in the basement of the house and into the workshop. It was a space he rarely went into due to the mess, and Dobby had to be outright forbidden from entering after Filmore tried to shoot the elf for cleaning it.

Filmore made his way to the corner of the room and uncovered a machine with two wheels atop of it; one was made of grindstone, and the other was a polishing material. Setting the fang down, he retrieved two, one-foot long, slim blocks of a dull, gray metal from a drawer next to the machine. “Your wand, wizard,” he said, showing the material to Harry. Then he rolled up the sleeves on both his arms.

“Holy shit!” Harry gasped under his breath.

Filmore raised a single eyebrow at Harry in reply.

Despite his best efforts, Harry couldn't look away. Filmore's forearms were so thick with hair it looked like he was wearing a wool jumper under his shirt. As if the man wasn't awkward enough already.

“If Trynsington could have an animagus form, it'd no doubt be an ape,” Harry said to Slytherin.

“I think the apes of this world would be insulted by that comment,” Slytherin replied.

It was obvious Filmore was trying to ignore Harry's stare as he turned his attention to the machine in front of him. He had that manic look about him and took to muttering to himself.

The grind of metal on stone had Harry gritting his teeth. Not long after Filmore got started, the smell of heated metal shavings singeing said arm hair began to permeate the room. With the lingering stench of the basilisk seemingly stained on him, the noxious combination had Harry contemplating replacing his nose with the wand material currently against the grindstone. It would solve both the discomfort that the grinding sound was having on his teeth and the nauseating effect the stink was having on his stomach. It's not like the nose wouldn't grow back, Harry reasoned.

“Into seven pieces this Voldemort separated his soul?” Trynsington shouted over the ruckus.

“That's what Dumbledore seemed to think,” Harry answered, trying not to look at the man.

“And he is likely to be correct, yes?”

“Aside from Riddle himself, I don't think there was a better person to make a guess.”

“A guess!” Filmore huffed. A shower of silver sprinkles sprayed into the air. “Not the sort of thing one wants to gamble about.”

“Better than a guess … an estimate based on what evidence was available,” Harry responded.

Filmore didn't look any more impressed. “Immortal so that the wizard may spend an eternity chasing his tail,” he scoffed. “Six fragments then remain for discovery?”

“That part is where it gets fuzzy. Slytherin and I have spoken about this and as best as we can tell, only two remain. We know for certain that two are destroyed, Riddle's diary and Gaunt's ring. We have the locket that belonged to my brain-buddy, so that's three down. Voldemort himself was killed the evening you saw him fight and kill my dad, so it's reasonable to believe one of his soul fragments was destroyed that night. Finally, he would have had to take a Horcrux back into him in order to return to life the night of his resurrection. Unless, everyone's favorite Dark Lord is currently walking around without a soul. By my count, that leaves two.” Harry paused. “Not counting the one still left in him of course.”

Filmore stopped the grindstone and stared intently at Harry. “Of seven soul fragments, only three the wizard still has?”

Harry nodded.

“Of course,” Filmore said condescendingly. He set down the partially ground piece of metal in his hand and then turned stiffly to face Harry. “The voice of Salazar Slytherin, you claim resides in your head?”

“Yea,” Harry answered slowly.

“Is a wizard's soul such a simple thing to be toyed with?” Filmore asked, assuming his point had been made.

“Having had mine removed, run through the extra cold cycle, and forcibly replaced, I'm going to say no. But as you pointed out, you're asking a guy with a voice in his head, so I may not be the best person to attest to that.”

“When only a single voice, a problem there is not. Several voices…” Filmore replied flatly.

Harry eyed the man judgingly. “Got some experience with that?”

“It's only troublesome when they argue.”

“Dobby is telling the voices that they should only be listening to Harry Potter sir,” the house elf contributed as he popped into the room. “They is agreeing and now there are arguments no more.”

Filmore looked as if he was actually considering the elf's words. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked to Harry, “So how to find the remaining soul fragments?”

“Haven't figured that part out yet. Dumbledore mentioned some items that he thought might hold a Horcrux, but even with that information I wouldn't know where to look.”

“More jewelry like the locket?” Filmore asked.

“A cup, owned by Helga Hufflepuff, and maybe a grimoire that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw.”

Filmore looked confused, so Harry added, “He had a thing for stuffing himself inside shit that used to belong to the founders of Hogwarts.” Harry motioned with his hands towards the locket, “Slytherin's locket.”

Filmore raised both his eyebrows in understanding. “Presume then these are items of value.” Harry nodded, and Filmore continued, “And with the wizard's recent transgressions not warmly will he be welcomed to search the fold of the public.” Filmore covered his mouth from Harry and spoke to Dobby, “Take note, when one halves a masked wizard in the middle of the street, it is in fact frowned upon and not easily dismissed.”

Harry followed along with the ruse and spoke behind his hand to Dobby. Although it turns out to be quite effective at calming a frantic crowd.”

Dobby's ears perked slightly as he listened to Filmore and Harry. “The house elves is always saying that when one has lost something, none is being better at finding things then the goblins.”

Harry had to do a double take. “The goblins?”

Dobby recoiled a little, as if he'd said something wrong. He spoke quickly, “When house elves is having to find items for their family and is not being able to, sometimes they is trading service with the goblins so that they will find it for them. The families are not knowing we do this, but when we is returning with what is requested. the families think better of their elves.”

Harry and Filmore looked blankly at each other.

“And once again the house elf saves Harry's ass,” Slytherin summed up.

“Goblins?” Filmore said quizzically. “Short, gnarly creatures,” he described, “with bad teeth?”

Harry nodded, paying little attention to the Muggle as he considered Dobby's information.

“Finders of items are these creatures? Of wizard items?” Filmore added for further clarification. “And this makes sense?”

“They operate the banks,” Harry said matter of factly.

Filmore stared blankly for longer than a moment at Harry. “Of course they do,” he drawled, “because, butlers are elves, and goblins are bankers…all perfectly normal. Suppose then fairies are who run law enforcement.”

“There's no such thing as fairies, Filmore - Pixies perhaps.”

Trynsington shook his head and then cranked the grindstone up again. “It is a doomed race, wizardkind.”

xxx

Dobby marched with a confident stride a couple paces behind Harry as they entered Gringotts early the next morning. All of Diagon Alley was near empty at this time, and even more so since the attack on Hogsmeade. Still, Dobby had been vigilant about watching his master's back, even if that back bore a leather jacket covering a sword and two wands. It wasn't smart to be unprepared just because nasty Death Eaters weren't morning wizards.

The bank was empty but for the few elderly wizards waiting in the single open line, where a particularly harsh goblin sat. Harry hadn't come to deposit a pension check and therefore wasn't going to wait. “Dobby, find whoever it is you would speak to about locating lost items.”

Dobby nodded confidently and then popped away. A moment later a small ruckus broke out in an office at the far end of the bank. Harry looked when the door of the office slammed open and two short, fat goblins stomped out and looked back toward Harry. Dobby walked casually past them and began leading them Harry's way.

When they arrived, the lead goblin extended a hand to try and shove Dobby, but the elf snapped his fingers before the goblin could make contact. There was a subtle flash between the elf's fingertips and instantly the offending goblin was sent hurtling backwards. Dobby harrumphed, pleased as he took his position behind Harry once again.

The remaining goblin stared fiercely between his fallen associate and Dobby before looking up at Harry. “Gringotts does not tolerate house elves sent as a summons on behalf of the wizard they serve,” he snarled.

“Dobby doesn't serve me,” Harry answered just as curtly.

This forced a pause, mostly because the goblin hadn't anticipated such a response; a pained look of confusion fell over his face. “Right, if you don't have an appointment, wait in line or get out,” he barked.

“I'm here to make arrangements with Gringotts for the finding of lost items,” Harry said. “It would be worth the Goblin's time to hear me out.”

“The one at the head of that line will make such a determination,” the goblin said, pointing to front of the bank.

Harry turned to Dobby. “Are the goblins I want to talk to in that office?”

Dobby nodded.

Harry briskly shoved past the goblin in front of him and stepped over the fallen one a few steps later. The ignored goblin immediately began growling in gobbledygook and kicked his fallen coworker as he chased after Harry.

Walk at a brisk enough pace and two things become apparent. The first is that goblins, with their short legs, can't keep up; the second is that goblins with their short legs waddle like ducks when they're trying to. Harry took time to appreciate both before he walked through the door to the office.

Inside sat three elder goblins, each in a very Muggle looking business suit. They sat around a large stone table covered in papers and littered with magical objects; in unison they looked up with severe, toothy snarls. Harry didn't waste time staring; he looked to Dobby and then pointed his gaze at the door. Dobby understood, snapping his fingers once more, sealing the door behind them.

Harry opened his mouth but was interrupted by the sounds of the two goblins outside pounding on the door. Harry sighed and shot another look back to Dobby. The elf flinched submissively and then silenced the room with another snap.

The ruckus outside the door stopped, but it was instantly replaced by the shouting of gobbledygook within. Harry yelled over them, “I am Harry Potter. I want to talk to whichever goblin is in charge of finding rare items.”

They continued jabbering.

“Compensation is not an issue.”

They stopped jabbering.

“Speaking your language now, am I?” Harry added derisively.

The middle and oldest looking of the goblins stood. “You are quite rude, Mr. Potter.”

“Manners never were my bag.”

The goblin straightened his suit and eyed Harry. “One would think a man with your recent notoriety would be more inclined to discretion, Harry Potter. A fair price could be fetched for your safe delivery to the ministry.”

Harry donned a jeering smile. “I'm quite certain any attempt at delivering me to the ministry would be anything but safe.”

“You would insult and underestimate us in the same breath wizard child!” the goblin on the left barked.

“I'm here on business; your associate is tossing threats. I'll reply in kind until it gets through your hard little heads!” Harry snapped.

The center wizard gnashed his teeth at the arguing goblin, effectively silencing him mid 'gook. “Speak your peace, wizard,”he said, turning back to Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry said with an overtone of insincerity. All three goblins replied with toothy snarls. “As you may know, I've a minor disagreement with the self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort.”

The two seated goblins hissed as Harry said the name. The elder goblin raised a hand, silencing them once again. “Disagreement?” he asked questioningly.

“Yes. He wants to kill me and take over the country. I've recently become inclined to reply in kind.”

The goblin raised his very hairy gray eyebrows. “Is that to say that you then are also trying to take over the country?”

Harry laughed. “Hardly, the country can get fucked for all I care.”

“How elegant of you. What then, is it you want with the Goblins of Gringotts?”

“My associate” - Harry motioned to Dobby - “tells me your kind has a knack for procuring hard-to-find objects.”

“Did it?” the goblin said, fixating a menacing stare at Dobby. The house elf didn't as much as blink at the look. “And what is it you wish found, Mr. Potter.”

“For starters, the Grimoire of Rowena Ravenclaw and a cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.”

“Those are both considerably rare and quite specific items you desire. Discovery of such objects would likely prove quite difficult.”

“But it is possible for you to find them?” Harry interrupted.

“Perhaps. My point, however, is if the Goblins of Gringotts are to enlist in such a venture, the compensation would have to be quite significant. What is it you offer in return?”

Harry took a seat at the table opposite the standing goblin, “What is your name, sir?”

The goblin sat. “I am Ringhurst. My associates are Sarenbock,” he said, motioning to his left, “and Flatlar. Your elf's name is Dobby, and you are Harry Potter.” A near snarl grew on his lips. “I don't believe that manners have suddenly become…your bag as you say. So don't waste time stalling, wizard!”

Harry let the cold force of his temper push out of him and watched as all three goblins shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “Well, Ringhurst,” Harry spat the name, “why don't you conjure up one of those convenient lists of my holdings, and we'll have a look at what I have to offer.”

The goblin smiled widely. “Very well, Mr. Potter.” Ringhurst waved his hand once towards the door and immediately the ruckus beyond it spilled into the room. The door slammed open and several armed goblins poured in. The elder goblin snapped in Gobbledygook and the Gringotts guards left just as quickly. He waved his hand once more and a parchment register of Harry's holdings and claims appeared in front of each person seated at the table. “The negotiations shall begin,” Ringhurst stated with formality.

“This is a poor approach,” Slytherin said. “You have given the Goblins all the leverage by sharing with them all that you have to offer, while simultaneously ensuring yourself no method for determining the value of their service.”

Harry considered the founder's words for a moment. “Maybe you're right, but it's not like I can miss what I didn't know I had”.

“And if they ask for something on that list that could prove helpful in your battle against Voldemort?”

“Then I don't give it to them. Wasn't it you who said knowing your purpose in life is such a great thing? Well, if killing Voldemort is my purpose, then what difference does it make how much gold or wealth I have to give up to do so? As far as I'm concerned, every last Galleon I have is a fair price for the opportunity to kill Riddle.”

“So there remains no limit to your fatalistic outlook? And with it you remain a fool!” Slytherin snapped.

Harry didn't bother with a reply. He looked through the papers before him and then looked up to Ringhurst, “How much will it cost?”

“How much, Mr. Potter? You are mistaken, sir. If compensation truly is no issue, then our services will not be garnered by something as common as gold.”

Harry's stomach lurched. Say nothing. He snarled in his head.

“What do you want then?” Harry said curtly.

“A quite fair offer in our estimation, and something you would likely never be able to make use of for yourself.”

“Something for nothing, is that what you would have me believe?” Harry retorted.

“No, not nothing wizard. I will not presume you a fool.”

Slytherin took to rolling laughter in Harry's head at the comment.

“What we would require for our services is not based in pecuniary worth.” Ringhurst straightened to his full height in the chair. “We require that the legal rights and standings bestowed to the families Black and Potter be transferred to the Goblins of Gringotts.”

Slytherin stopped laughing for a moment and then broke into even heavier fits of laughter. “I want a body, two handmaidens, and an aphrodisiactonic, but I don't see any spleen of Veela lying around. This must be what it's like watching a troll resolve an argument peacefully.”

Harry did his best to block the man out

“And what would you do with those titles if I agreed to these terms?” Harry said, shouting slightly despite the fact that no one else could hear Slytherin's fits beyond him.

Slytherin stopped laughing entirely.

“What Gringotts would do with the titles is not your concern, Mr. Potter. If recollection serves, it was you who said the country can get fucked.”

“Are you mad, Potter? Under no circumstances can you give the power of your family titles to the goblins.” Slytherin yelled. “Without even considering the political ramifications this would have, you would certainly be convicted of treason.”

Harry processed this information but did not reply to Slytherin, “You say you don't presume me a fool, Ringhurst. But you ask a price that would have me convicted of treason. Or is that the part you mentioned about me not being able to make use of the titles?”

“Convicted of treason against a country you obviously hold no allegiance to?” Ringhurst asked rhetorically. “Still, despite any transactions you might undertake this day, it is your latest transgressions in Hogsmeade that assure you will be denied the privileges of your titles.”

“But if I relinquish them to you, those privileges will somehow endure? That seems unlikely.”

“I also fail to see how that is your concern,” Ringhurst stated flatly.

“Harry, listen to me. You cannot do this; you have no idea the ramifications. Wars were fought over this, treaties signed. Are you so selfish that you would undo all that for revenge?”

Harry sat in silence for a moment, which the goblins respected. “Listen Salazar, maybe I don't see the ramifications, and yeah, maybe I'm being selfish by not trying to do so. But this society was in the shitter long before I came along, and nothing leads me to believe better days are on the way. Are you going to tell me that with everything it's gotten wrong, the terms agreed to with the goblins were the one thing they got completely right? Not likely.” Harry sighed. “Don't make me have to offer you the same insincere apology I gave those hypocrites at Hogwarts”.

Slytherin growled with frustration. “Fine, Harry, but if this is a negotiation, then I plead to you on my behalf don't give them both titles. With those votes, the land and business ownership rights, the ability to take on house elves as servants, and their already established control of the banks, their power would be too great. Surely it would force another war, that's if the current one is survived.

Harry listened and took in Slytherin's words. “Fine, I will give them the Black's title. I might as well sully an already rotten name.”

“Understand this, Harry, wizards in both this life and the afterlife will hate you for what you are about to do today.”

“Nothing - in either life - has shown me I should expect anything less.” Harry sat silently for several moments longer, considering all that Slytherin said to him. Finally, he looked back up to Ringhurst. “This is a good starting point Ringhurst.”

“Starting point, wizard?” Ringhurst said, veiling the disappointment in his tone.

“You said you didn't take me for a fool. Did you assume I would simply agree to your first offer?”

The three goblins began conversing in Gobbledygook. Harry interrupted, “If you continue to talk in front of me in that language I will ask that your associates leave.”

Ringhurst bared his teeth. “Who do you think you are, wizard?”

“Let's skip the bullshit, Goblin! You can't get what's up for offer here from any other wizard in the country, perhaps the world. Entire wars were fought for this sort of power; treaties were argued and signed over it. Now you're negotiating for a piece of that power from me - and for what, a mug and a notebook of naughty spells from a couple dead, old ladies? Understand that if this is what you wish to negotiate over, I will set the terms.”

Sarenbock began shouting in Gobbledygook, but Ringhurst silenced him immediately. “Very well, we will respect your wishes. What are your terms?”

“I really don't care what the Goblins want to do with a family title. But I'm not so thick I'll allow my actions to lead the country into another war. Wizarding Britain can indeed get fucked, but I'd rather the goblins wait their turn. I don't know her well, but I got the feeling she's not a two at a time kind of girl.”

“You're euphemisms remain in the highest taste,” Ringhurst said.

“It's a talent.” Harry smiled ruefully. His face then went rigid. “I will only offer you the rights to the Black family title.”

Flatlar slammed his fist on the stone table. “This is an outrage! He would presume to offer us not only half of what we ask, but the lesser half at that!”

Harry turned to Flatlar and spoke with a calm, but firm tone. “Flatlar, you and your associates assumed when you saw me you would be able to take advantage. You assumed I was a naïve child who would see the chance to get what I wanted without giving up so much as a Knut in return. Your assumptions cost you dearly.” Harry stood and walked to the corner of the room, inspecting the book titles and objects on the shelves there.

“You tipped your hands to your greatest desire now have nothing else to bargain up to, nor have you any knowledge of what else I might desire in return.” Harry looked back to Ringhurst. “If I'm wrong, then I should leave, or we should begin anew.”

Flatlar wrung his fists so tight you could see the white of his knuckles through his green skin. Ringhurst noticeably deflated. “Mr. Potter,” apparently they were now back on respectable terms, “you see things well, beyond what could be expected from a boy.”

“I've had some unique perspectives,” Harry replied.

Ringhurst nodded, “Still, if you believe yourself to have such command of negotiation, then surely you understand that in lessening your counter-offer Gringotts will offer a lesser service in return.”

“I wasn't done,” Harry snapped. “As I see it, the benefits the goblins will garner from the Black family title will continue long after you have found the items I desire. In that regard, I demand that the goblins be willing to search and locate up to seven items, should it be necessary.”

“Seven?” Salazar questioned.

“Who's to say Voldemort has been out there replenishing his supply?” Harry replied.

“That's unlikely.”

“And that matters because?”

“Apparently you do not understand,” Ringhurst said. “You offer less and ask for more.”

“We all know that the value of the Black family title is more than worth what I ask for. However, I have something else to offer and with it further terms.”

“You try our patience to the limits,” Sarenbock snapped.

Harry continued without acknowledging the comment. “I have come into possession of a very valuable journal that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. Within is information that not only offers a very different perspective on how this Hogwarts founder might be perceived, but also an advance in blood magic that has not been made since their time. Specifically,” Harry lowered his tone for effect, “an advance in blood magic for mixed blood witches and wizards.”

“Harry what in the hell are you doing?” Slytherin barked.

“Fulfilling my obligation to correct history's misplaced reputation for you.”

“Through the goblins!” Slytherin yelled incredulously.

Harry anticipated this and waited for Slytherin to stop cursing before he spoke. “They are singularly motivated by amassing wealth, they have no bias in the perception of wizard history as it relates to you, and well, it's a hell of a bargaining chip,” Harry argued.

“I'm quite certain Hogwarts would be a more appropriate location. More so, I am positive the goblins have a greater interest in withholding information that could lead to wizardkind advancing their powers.”

“First off, do you really think Hogwarts will admit it has been wrong about you for the past few centuries, all in the name of academic advances? They'll happily take the information but conveniently leave out you were the source. I may just be a petulant child, but even I know better. Second, I only mentioned a single journal. We give them the notes for something that would not affect the balance against them - Occlumency perhaps. This ensures that their desire for wealth outweighs any other concerns they might have.”

“It's risky, Harry. Too risky, perhaps.”

“It's not like I couldn't release the information myself at a later time if they tried to withhold it. Plus, I don't think they'd even accept the offer if they didn't plan on turning a hell of profit for it. It's useless to them locked away.”

“I found you more agreeable when you were a brooding, simple-minded, Thestral.” Salazar relented.

“Well if you promise to behave, maybe I'll fly us home.”

“How did you come to possess this journal, Mr. Potter?” asked Ringhurst.

“I have a good source.”

“Or perhaps, someone as disreputable as yourself killed the previous owner and now seeks to launder the value through Gringotts.”

Harry felt slighted at being called disreputable, but despite his efforts he couldn't find room to argue the point. Kill enough people, bargain for terms that'll earn you a treason sentence, light up a Malfoy like a jack-o-lantern, and these sorts of slights come into play.

“The worth of these journals is tremendous. Not only would this bring back a lost art form for magical development - at a price to be determined by Gringotts, of course - but if you know anything about blood magic and its history surrounding mixed and pure-blood wizards, you'll know that possession of such knowledge is quite a bargaining chip.”

The three goblins shared a look between them as easily read as a child's pop up book. Ringhurst was the first to gather himself, “If it's so valuable, why offer it in trade? Why not claim the profit for yourself?”

“It's like you said, Ringhurst, a wizard as disreputable as me is in no position to go touting pro-Salazar Slytherin propaganda and selling off blood magic information. This is my best opportunity to turn value on the information.”

The Goblins looked unconvinced. “Take it or leave it,” Harry replied. “If you honestly give a witch's tit how I got the information, I offer my…disreputable word I didn't kill or rob anyone for it. I discovered the journal. I checked that the potion works.”

“What magic is gained from this knowledge?” Ringhurst asked.

Harry paused to allow Slytherin a chance to answer. “Occlumency is best,” e said without conviction. “Occlumency,” Harry confirmed to the goblins.

“And your terms?” Ringhurst asked.

“I have few terms. I will relinquish the rights and privileges of the Black Family title to the Goblins of Gringotts, and I will provide you with a copy of Salazar Slytherin's journal. In return, I ask that you find the items I discussed, plus up to seven future items. Further, when Gringotts sees fit to make available the information within the journal, under no circumstance does the fact Salazar Slytherin authored the journal go undisclosed.”

“What matter is it to you if Slytherin's association is mentioned?” Ringhurst asked.

“I fail to see how that is your concern,” Harry replied.

The great thing about magical contracts is the ironclad bonds they create, and the challenge of finding loopholes around them at a future date. Despite his reluctance, Slytherin was a master wordsmith, and he basically told Harry what to demand and how it should be written in the contract. In the end, the Goblins would have sold the keys to the vault in return for what Harry was giving them, and both sides knew it. Because of that, he got damn near every little nuance he asked for.

The goblins agreed they would sell or use the information in Slytherin's journal in whatever fashion profited them best - but they would release the information, and they would specifically mention Slytherin's proper association. Also the Goblins relented to use whatever influence they garnered from the Black Family title against Voldemort. This made them an alley, even if a reluctant one. Of course, they would also find the objects requested and up to seven more should Harry desire.

The negotiations closed, and neither side was offering handshakes or toasts to 'long life and good health'. Harry didn't mind, “So do I get a free chess set or a personal pensieve for opening a negotiations account with Gringotts?”

The goblins responded with synchronized snarls.

“Oh come on fellas, not even a keychain?” Harry taunted.

As best as Harry could interpret, Flatlar's offering could only be interpreted as the goblin equivalent to the finger.

“I think I'm rubbing off on him.” Harry told Salazar as he left.