I Am Your Grandfather (Seeking Reads and Votes)

"Ragnuk, I feel like I've heard that name before." Harry looked down at the goblin.

"Perhaps one of your classmates shares the name?" the old goblin sneered.

Harry shook his head: "No, your great-great-grandfather also bore that name—Ragnuk the First, the Goblin King."

The old goblin's expression shifted: "Aha, so young wizards still have the mind to study such tedious History of Magic?"

"Even many goblins have forgotten it, haven't they, Flitwick?"

Flitwick raised his wand: "Do you see what I have in my hand?"

"A month and a half." Harry looked at him, "The magic for the furnace can last until I start school."

"Impossible!" the old goblin immediately refused, "You must provide me with a real furnace..."

"So you can forge weapons, armor, and equip your subjects, then take revenge on human wizards?" Harry sneered, cutting him off.

The old goblin's face changed drastically, showing a hint of panic.

Harry held his wand and poked the goblin's forehead hard several times: "Listen, we can do business, but you cannot be so greedy."

"Perhaps I should report you to the Ministry of Magic as a self-proclaimed Goblin King; I'm sure I could find another blacksmith willing to cooperate with me."

"Do you understand what I mean?"

The old goblin cursed: "You despicable, filthy little wizard!"

"I am not self-proclaimed!"

"The blood of the royal family flows through my veins..."

"A month and a half, perhaps enough for you to hammer out a few pitchforks." Harry applied slight pressure, pushing the goblin's forehead until it wrinkled: "That is my bottom line."

The old goblin gritted his teeth and nodded: "Fine, a month and a half it is."

"And it must be at Professor Flitwick's house," Harry added.

The old goblin's eyes widened.

"I already know what you're planning, is there any need to hide it?" Harry tapped his head, "Keeping you under my nose is the only way I'll feel at ease."

The old goblin gnashed his teeth: "Cunning brat, you should have been in Slytherin; a devious snake would suit you much better."

"If that were the case, I would have kidnapped you and controlled you with the Imperius Curse." Harry retracted his wand with a cold laugh, "Has your brain degenerated from staying underground for too long?"

The old goblin spat, picked up the Troll skin from the ground, and began to inspect it: "The skinning technique is excellent, and the subsequent treatment is also very good."

"A hide like this must have cost quite a few Galleons."

Harry said: "I'm starting to doubt your eyesight. If you had noticed the sword wounds on it, you would know that I hunted this myself."

"You are insulting me! A first-year little wizard..." The old goblin flew into a rage.

Flitwick interrupted him, his tone cheerful: "He defeated a Troll all by himself. With his outstanding Transfiguration and swordsmanship, Minerva has been bragging about us for a long time. Harry is practically Gryffindor reborn."

"Professor McGonagall kept me in detention for a month," Harry said expressionlessly, "She never praised me like that."

Flitwick chuckled: "Minerva is always like that. She is very stern in front of students, but she is a Gryffindor at heart, after all."

"What other materials do you need?" Harry asked.

The old goblin stroked the hide gently: "What kind are you looking for?"

"As long as it can utilize the Troll's magic resistance, that's enough." Harry's request was simple.

The old goblin muttered: "Then you should be looking for an apprentice, not me."

"As you wish." Harry nodded and snatched the Troll skin back.

The old goblin froze, looking flustered: "No, you can't do that! How can an apprentice's craft compare to mine? Even for the simplest leather armor, the difference between an apprentice and a master is like heaven and earth!"

"Then speak plainly." Harry tossed the skin back, "I don't like people—or goblins—who beat around the bush."

The old goblin clutched the Troll skin tightly: "I need some magic dust, ten pounds of silver, iron, and it would be best if I could have some Unicorn hair."

Harry pressed his wand against the old goblin's forehead once more: "Do you take me for a Troll?"

"Do you think what you have in your hands is my shed skin?"

"Ten pounds! Are you trying to build me a suit of iron armor? Be honest!"

The old goblin shrank his neck: "Five pounds..."

Harry's gaze turned dangerous.

"Alright, alright, two pounds. I only need two pounds, that's enough." The old goblin quickly changed his tune.

"Half a pound." Harry pulled his wand back, "I will grind the iron and silver into powder myself before handing it to you."

The old goblin clenched his fists: "Damn it, how did you know it had to be used that way?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you didn't manage to fool me into being an idiot." Harry sneered.

The old goblin spat out through gritted teeth: "Since you aren't willing to provide the materials, I want one hundred Galleons as a service fee!"

"I've already provided the furnace." Harry refused decisively.

The old goblin shook his head: "No, no, that only lasts for a month and a half."

"That is enough, isn't it?" Harry looked at him: "I recall... the last goblin rebellion was just last century? I fear you haven't touched a forge in a hundred years."

"Greedy, stingy, cunning!" The old goblin cursed: "How could you possibly be a Gryffindor!"

"Damned little wizard!"

"Giving me nothing, fobbing me off with a furnace that can only be used for a month and a half!"

Harry ignored him and looked at Professor Flitwick: "Professor, I'm afraid I'll have to trouble you with the rest."

"It is no trouble at all." Flitwick shook his head: "My home will be quite suitable for a goblin to live in."

They walked out of the cavern.

The old goblin stopped at the entrance, raising a hand to shield his eyes; he swayed for a moment before regaining his footing.

"The air above ground is much better than down below." Harry took a deep breath: "And it's too cramped; if I were any taller, I'd have to hunch over."

The old goblin snorted.

Flitwick's house was in the southeast corner of Godric's Hollow, the building a size larger than those of his neighbors.

"It seems my garden will have to suffer for a while." Flitwick waved his wand, casting several concealment charms and clearing away the weeds and trees: "Ragnuk, what kind of furnace do you require?"

This old goblin was indeed a master blacksmith.

He directed Flitwick, and before long, the furnace he desired was constructed.

"It will suffice." The old goblin inspected it critically: "Far worse than what I used to use, but for handling such an apprentice..."

He paused: "For handling such a simple piece of leather armor, it is more than enough."

Flitwick muttered as he walked to Harry's side: "I truly want to hit him with a spell; he is so noisy. I never knew he could be this loud."

"He hasn't seen the sun in decades, after all." Harry shook his head: "I really am troubling you with this."

Flitwick waved his hand: "No, it is no trouble."

"I have known Ragnuk for decades; he is the most stubborn of goblins—the lot at Gringotts are all traitors who turned to the wizards in his eyes."

"Letting him come out to witness the changes of these past decades is a good thing for him."

"What shall we do next?"

"Are we going to tour Godric's Hollow, or head to your home?"

Harry took a deep breath and gripped his wand: "Let's go back and see my home."

His mood was somewhat complicated.

Home...

Such a foreign word.

Kaer Morhen was certainly home, and Vesemir—even Geralt—were people he was willing to call father—Lambert wouldn't do, he was more reckless than himself, he was an uncle.

Eskel could perhaps fill the role of a mother; he was ugly, but he was gentle.

But...

No matter how good they were, there was always a lack of blood relation.

Flitwick fell silent, leading Harry toward the road out of the village. Before long, they saw a dilapidated house, overgrown with weeds, desolate and ruined.

Most of the house was still intact.

"This is your home." Flitwick softened his tone: "Although it looks desolate and ruined on the outside, inside, every year, Dumbledore arranges for house-elves to come and clean."

Harry nodded, walked over, and grabbed the door.

A faint trace of magical aura surged.

Harry instinctively stepped back, drawing his kitchen knife and wand.

It was not a trap.

A wooden plaque rose from the tangled grass, growing taller to reveal itself before him, inscribed with golden letters bearing words of remembrance.

James, Lily, and Harry...

"This was Dumbledore's doing." Flitwick said softly: "Lily and James deserve to be remembered."

Harry sighed: "His brain, as expected, is becoming more and more like a Troll's."

"To be remembered, one does not need to use this method."

But he did not disturb the plaque; he pulled the door open and walked inside.

Flitwick followed in his footsteps.

The furniture and decorations inside were like new, clean and spotless, yet there was no aura of living beings; Harry couldn't even sense the presence of those tiny, microscopic lives.

It had been well protected.

He walked a few steps inside.

"James?" A voice suddenly sounded beside his ear: "Is that you, James?"

Harry turned his head to look.

It was a portrait, and the person in it looked very similar to himself in his thirties, though the features were a bit more rugged. He was wearing wizard robes, and on the table beside him sat a bottle of shimmering potion.

"No, you aren't James. Are you... Harry?" The voice from the portrait trembled slightly.

"It is me." Harry nodded.

The portrait beckoned, "Come closer, let me see. You look so much like James, and your eyes, they are also amber..."

"Oh, what is going on with those eyes? Why do they look so much like a lion's?"

"Didn't Dumbledore tell you? He assumed my eyes changed because of the Potter family line," Harry replied. "And who might you be?"

The portrait introduced himself, "I am your grandfather, Fleamont Potter."

"Hello." Harry hesitated, unsure of how he should address him.

Fleamont frowned within the frame, "Dumbledore never mentioned anything to me about your eyes. This seems far too strange."

"I know, no Potter has ever been like this."

"You can go take a look in the family library."

"Although there was a bit of an accident that day, fortunately, that area remained undamaged."

"It is a place only we Potters can enter. Dumbledore has requested access many times, but I never agreed to it."

Thanks to Natsuhi for the tip!

Wuwu, the new book ranking dropped to second in the category again, QAQ. Please keep reading, please give me monthly tickets and recommendations, and help me get back to first place in the category!

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