Chapter - 14 : Scars Part - 3

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While he was an adult now, he couldn't help peer cautiously around corners and stifle his footfalls lest he be stopped by one of the professors. It would be for different reasons than when he was a child, but they would probably stop him nonetheless.

He missed his trusty cloak and map. The Disillusionment Charm was a poor substitute, but it was what he had.

Fortunately it proved to be enough. Without coming across anyone, hostile or otherwise he made his way to the grounds and from there to the gates. He had a moment of worry that they might be closed, but apparently from the inside one could open them with a simple first-year charm. He'd worry about getting back in later.

Gripping his wand tightly he turned on his heel and disappeared with a crack. The tight squeezing sensation was familiar and even welcomed. The flashback to that torturous moment of dimensional travel was not. When he reappeared in Diagon Alley near the Leaky Cauldron he was shivering and had to take several deep breaths to calm himself.

Merlin, he was a mess. But now was not the time to fall apart so he forced himself upright and focussed on putting one foot in front of the other.

The alley had that recognisable taint of fear that he had so enjoyed watching disappear after the war had ended. People scurried rather than walked. Their faces were drawn and many people appeared to have their hands on their wands.

Then again, so did he.

Harry felt somewhat naked without his familiar holly and phoenix feather wand, especially since the stick he had now was woefully inadequate should he be attacked. Which with his luck was not just possible, but likely.

As such, he steeled himself and joined the throng of hurrying people. Without looking too closely at anyone or anything else he made his way to Gringotts.

During his stealthy trek through Hogwarts he'd had time to think on where to present his valuable goods and come to the conclusion that he had very few options. Some pieces might be recognisable as long lost, some might be enchanted and some might even be cursed. To dispose of them without questions being asked Knockturn Alley was the safest bet, but he would not fund any of the shops there if he could help it. That left him with nowhere to turn but the race that cared more about gold and silver than their origins.

Gringotts' goblins were in fine form this morning: crabbily directing equally grouchy wizards and witches to and fro. Harry thought his request might be unusual, so instead of joining one of the lines for people wanting to visit their vaults he sought out a goblin who looked to be weighing emeralds the size of marbles.

"Excuse me," he ventured, but the being didn't even look up. Harry fidgeted somewhat awkwardly while he waited to be acknowledged. Ever since the break-in he had become very aware of how dangerous dealing with the goblins could be and being surrounded like this made him nervous.

Finally, after several minutes, the goblin let out a long and dramatic sigh before meeting his eyes with a hostile look. "What do you want?"

Harry chose his words with care. "I have come across a collection of jewellery that I may be interested in selling."

The goblin stared at him before making an impatient gesture. "Well, let's see it then."

Nervously, Harry put one of the money pouches on the counter but stopped the goblin before he could reach in, getting a growl for his troubles. "I do not know if any of these might be enchanted or cursed. I would recommend caution. I dared not touch them myself."

Without any notion if he was grateful or offended by the warning the goblin upended the pouch on his little desk, depositing a small mound of shrunken jewellery. He narrowed his eyes and gave Harry a flat stare. "Some of these are shrunk."

Harry nodded hastily. "Yes. It was convenient."

A sharp fingernail tapped the desk. "Unshrink them."

Harry took out his wand and made to do just that before something occurred to him. "Aren't there repercussions for casting spells on goblin soil?

Something flashed in the goblin's eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Harry to make any sense of it. "I hereby give you permission."

Harry shrugged. Well, that ought to be enough. A few flicks later the pile had grown substantially and the goblin began inspecting the pieces, not making a sound until he got to a particularly finely wrought amulet. His eyes narrowed.

"This is goblin made. Stolen by wizards." His voice carried an undertone of danger. "It belongs to goblins."

Had he not been in public and in arguably hostile territory Harry would have face-palmed. Not ten minutes after meeting the goblins of this world he was already risking goblin-wizard relations. Only his bipolar luck could land him in such straits so quickly. Then again, of all the things a goblin could get upset about this was the one topic he actually had some intimate knowledge of.

"Ownership of goblin-made artefacts is a long disputed argument between goblins and wizards," he said carefully. "One I frankly don't have an opinion on."

He eyed the goblin warily, wondering how to go about this. Gifting the amulet to the goblins might put him in their good graces but it could also mark him as a pushover they could take advantage of.

"You are offended by my trying to sell it to you," he said, trying to feel out the situation. "I did not know of its origins."

The goblin said something derisive in his own language but otherwise remained silent. It was clearly Harry's move.

He swallowed and nervously eyed all the sharp implements in the goblin's reach. If only he wasn't so out of his depth. Give him a good fight and he would hold his own but a situation such as this, where a wrong word might collapse all he was trying to achieve was something he had never excelled at. Well, except when he was under the Calming Draught yesterday.

"If selling it offends you then it would clearly be in my best interest not to do so." The goblin bared his teeth in a vicious victorious grin before it disappeared with Harry's next words. "Perhaps it would be in my best interest to return it to where I found it and never look for it again."

"It belongs to goblins," the teller repeated fiercely.

"A long held point of contention between goblins and wizards. By returning this piece to its former home I'm honouring both sides of the argument and maintaining the status quo, so to speak."

The goblin scowled like it had swallowed something particularly nasty. "Gringotts can offer you a finder's fee," he spat out.

"Excellent," Harry said cheerfully, deciding to go for broke. "What kind of finder's fee?"

And then they haggled.

The goblin was well versed in the art but Harry thought he wasn't taken advantage of too badly. He was particularly proud of his decision to abandon the teller completely when he tried to scuttle the price after learning Harry wasn't a regular customer and didn't have a vault. Instead, he headed for a different teller and asked what it would cost to open such a vault. It proved to be cheaper to do that first, and include that price in the haggling.

By the time he exited the bank more than an hour had passed and Harry now rented a small vault which contained a measly pile of galleons while he carried the remainder in his purse. It wasn't a windfall by any means but he had enough for a few necessary items.

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If you're eager to delve deeper into the story, consider joining my Patreon for exclusive content and early access to new chapters

30+Advanced Chapters there.

(P).(A).(T).(R).(E).(O).(N)

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