"Ragnuk, I think I've heard that name before." Harry looked down at the goblin.
"Maybe one of your classmates is called that?" the old goblin sneered.
Harry shook his head. "No. Your great-great-grandfather had that name too—Ragnuk the First, the Goblin King."
The old goblin's expression changed. "Ah, so young wizards still have time to study the dull subject of History of Magic?"
"Even many goblins have forgotten about it, haven't they, Flitwick?"
Flitwick raised his wand. "Do you see this thing in my hand?"
"One and a half months." Harry looked at him. "The furnace's magic can last until I start school."
"Impossible!" the old goblin immediately refused. "You have to give me a real furnace..."
"So you can forge weapons, armor, and equipment for your subjects, then take revenge on human wizards?" Harry sneered, cutting him off.
The old goblin's expression changed dramatically. He looked a little frightened.
Harry held his wand and jabbed it hard into the goblin's forehead several times. "Listen, we can do business fairly, but you can't make such an outrageous demand."
"Maybe I should report you to the Ministry of Magic, you self-proclaimed Goblin King. I'm sure I could find another blacksmith willing to work with me."
"Do you understand what I mean?"
The old goblin cursed under his breath. "You despicable, filthy little wizard!"
"I'm not self-proclaimed!"
"Royal blood flows through my veins..."
"One and a half months might be enough for you to make a few pitchforks." Harry applied a little pressure, making several wrinkles appear on the goblin's forehead. "That's my bottom line."
The old goblin gritted his teeth and nodded. "Fine. One and a half months, then."
"It has to be at Professor Flitwick's house," Harry added.
The old goblin's eyes widened.
"I already know what you're planning. Is there any point in hiding it?" Harry tapped the goblin on the head. "I'll feel better if I can keep an eye on you."
The old goblin gritted his teeth. "You sly brat. You should've been in Slytherin. A treacherous snake would suit you much better."
"Then I should kidnap you and use the Imperius Curse to control you." Harry withdrew his wand and sneered. "Have you been underground so long that your brain's started to rot too?"
The old goblin spat, picked up the Troll hide from the ground, and examined it. "That's excellent skinning work, and the hide's been treated well, too."
"A hide like this must be worth quite a few Galleons."
Harry said, "I'm starting to doubt your eyesight. If you'd noticed the sword wounds, you'd know I hunted this myself."
"You're insulting me, a first-year wizard..." the old goblin raged.
Flitwick interrupted, sounding pleased. "He defeated a Troll all by himself. His Transfiguration Charm and swordsmanship were outstanding. Minerva's been boasting about it to us for ages. Harry's practically Godric Gryffindor reborn."
"Professor McGonagall gave me a month of detention," Harry said expressionlessly. "She didn't praise me like that."
Flitwick chuckled. "Minerva's always like that. She's very strict around her students, but she is a Gryffindor, after all."
"What other materials do you need?" Harry asked.
The old goblin gently stroked the hide. "What do you want?"
"Just make use of the Troll's resistance to magic," Harry said. His request was simple.
The old goblin muttered, "Then you should've gone to an apprentice for this job, not me."
"As you wish." Harry nodded and snatched the hide away.
The old goblin froze, looking a little panicked. "No, you can't do that! An apprentice's work can't compare to mine. Even for the simplest leather armor, there's a world of difference between an apprentice's skill and a master's!"
"Then be straightforward." Harry tossed the hide back. "I don't like people—or goblins—who beat around the bush."
The old goblin clutched the hide tightly. "I'll also need some magical dust, ten pounds of silver and iron, and preferably some Unicorn Hair."
Harry pressed his wand to the old goblin's forehead again. "Do you think I'm a Troll?"
"Do you think the hide on your hands came from my own skin?"
"Ten pounds! Are you making me a suit of armor? Be reasonable!"
The old goblin hunched his shoulders. "Five pounds..."
Harry's gaze turned dangerous.
"All right, all right, two pounds. I only need two pounds." The old goblin hurriedly changed his tune.
"Half a pound." Harry pulled back his wand. "I'll grind the iron and silver together into powder and give it to you."
The old goblin clenched his fists. "Damn it, how did you know that's how it's used?"
"Sorry I didn't let you fool me into acting like an idiot," Harry sneered.
The old goblin spat the words through gritted teeth. "If you won't provide the materials, then I want a hundred Galleons for labor!"
"I've already provided you with a furnace," Harry refused outright.
The old goblin shook his head. "No, no. It'll only last a month and a half."
"That's enough, isn't it?" Harry looked at him. "If I remember right... the last goblin rebellion was in the previous century. You probably haven't been near a forge in a hundred years."
"Greedy, stingy, sly!" the old goblin cursed. "How can you be a Gryffindor?"
"Damn little wizard!"
"You give me nothing, then fob me off with a furnace that only lasts a month and a half!"
Harry ignored him and turned to Professor Flitwick. "Professor, I'm afraid I'll be imposing on you from here on."
"It's no trouble." Flitwick shook his head. "My home should suit a goblin just fine."
They left the underground chamber.
The old goblin stopped at the entrance and raised a hand to shield his eyes. He staggered, then steadied himself.
"The air above ground is much better than it is underground," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "And it's too cramped down there. If I were any taller, I'd have to stoop."
The old goblin snorted.
Flitwick's house stood in the southeast corner of Godric's Hollow. It was a little larger than the neighboring houses.
"Looks like my garden will have to put up with a little inconvenience for a while." Flitwick waved his wand, casting a few concealment spells before clearing away the flowers and trees. "Ragnuk, what kind of furnace do you want?"
The old goblin really was a masterful blacksmith.
He directed Flitwick, and before long they had built the furnace he wanted.
"It'll do." The old goblin inspected it critically. "It's nowhere near as good as the one I used to have, but it'll be more than enough to handle an apprentice's..."
He paused. "To handle a simple piece of leather armor."
Flitwick grumbled as he went over to Harry. "I'd love to hit him with a spell. He's so irritating. I never knew he could be this noisy."
"It's been decades since he's seen the sun." Harry shook his head. "I really appreciate you doing this for me."
Flitwick waved a hand. "No, it's no trouble."
"I've known Ragnuk for decades, too. He's the most stubborn goblin I've ever met. The goblins at Gringotts are all traitors who sided with wizards, according to him."
"Letting him see how things have changed over the past few decades will be good for him."
"What should we do now?"
"Would you like to look around Godric's Hollow or go to your house?"
Harry took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his wand. "Let's go back to my house."
His feelings were complicated.
Home...
Such an unfamiliar word.
Kaer Morhen was home, of course. Vesemir, and even Geralt, were men he'd gladly called father—but not Lambert. Lambert was even more reckless than he was, so he was an uncle.
Eskel could perhaps have filled the role of a mother. He was ugly, but gentle.
But...
No matter how good they were to him, they still weren't bound to him by blood.
Flitwick fell silent and led Harry along the road out of the village. Before long, they saw a dilapidated house, overgrown with weeds and looking abandoned.
Most of the house was still intact.
"This is your home." Flitwick's voice softened. "It looks a little run-down from the outside, but inside, Dumbledore has arranged for a House-elf to clean it every year."
Harry nodded, walked over, and grabbed the door.
A faint trace of magic rose up.
Harry instinctively stepped back and drew his kitchen knife and wand.
It wasn't a trap.
A wooden plaque rose out of the overgrown grass, growing taller until it stood in front of him. Golden letters on it commemorated the dead.
James, Lily, and Harry...
"Dumbledore put that there," Flitwick said softly. "Lily and James deserve to be remembered."
Harry sighed. "His brain really is turning into a Troll's."
"They don't need to be remembered this way."
But he left the plaque alone, opened the door, and went inside.
Flitwick followed him.
The furniture inside was as good as new, spotless and immaculate. There was no sign of life, and Harry couldn't even sense the presence of any tiny living creatures.
It had been well protected.
He walked a few steps farther in.
"James?" a voice suddenly called beside him. "Is that you, James?"
Harry turned and looked.
It was a portrait. The man in it looked a lot like Harry might have when he was in his thirties, though his features were more rugged. He wore wizarding robes, and on the table beside him stood a bottle of sparkling potion.
"No, you're not James. You're... Harry?" The portrait's voice trembled a little.
"That's me." Harry nodded.
The portrait beckoned. "Come closer. Let me get a good look at you. You look so much like James, and your eyes are amber too..."
"Oh, what's happened to your eyes? Why do they look so much like a lion's?"
"Didn't Dumbledore tell you? He thought my eyes had changed because of the Potter Family," Harry replied. "And who are you?"
The portrait introduced himself. "I'm your grandfather, Fleamont Potter."
"Hello." Harry hesitated, unsure how to greet him.
Fleamont frowned in the portrait. "Dumbledore never told me about your eyes. They look terribly strange."
"I've never known a Potter to have eyes like that."
"You can look in the family library."
"Something did happen that day, but fortunately, it wasn't damaged."
"Only Potters can enter. Dumbledore asked me many times, but I never agreed."
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