It had been nearly a week since Voldemort's resurrection, and Harry still found himself struggling to process everything. Between his official statement to the DMLE, and the pending trial of Barty Crouch Jr., his days had been filled with meetings and carefully planned discussions. He had met with Madame Bones once more, showing her the memory of what had transpired in the graveyard.
When she emerged from the pensieve, her face was pale, and her hands were clenched into fists. After taking a moment to compose herself, she had told him, "You showed remarkable talent defending yourself, Lord Potter-Black. Most trained Aurors would have been dead within minutes. What you endured…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I am sorry this happened to you."
She hesitated before continuing.
"There have been… interesting developments regarding some of the Death Eaters who answered the Dark Lord's summons that night," she admitted, her voice measured. "Lord Lestrange, Heir Avery, and Walden Macnair have all been declared deceased by their respective houses. Officially, it's being classified as accidental."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's suspiciously convenient."
She gave him a wry smile. "Considering the timeline, I have no doubt they perished in that graveyard."
The news brought a mixture of emotions—vindication, frustration. He exhaled sharply. "What happens now?"
"For now, the Minister is trying to keep things quiet, but we're building a case. Barty Crouch Jr.'s trial is in two days, and we plan to present all the evidence then. You should know—Fudge is doing everything he can to discredit you and Dumbledore, but between your pensieve memory and your reputation, we believe we can push through his resistance. If you present yourself at the Wizengamot like you have been, we should have no trouble," she smirked at that last part.
Their plans set, Harry had left her office, his mind still buzzing with the implications of her news. As he walked through the streets of Diagon Alley, something clicked in his mind.
Lord Lestrange is dead. His only heirs are in Azkaban. That means… there is no Lord Lestrange.
Stopping in his tracks, he turned on his heel and changed direction, heading straight for Gringotts.
Harry strode into the bank, heading directly to Grimbok's office. He bypassed the normal goblin tellers, his determined expression ensuring that no one tried to stop him. When he finally entered Grimbok's office, the goblin looked up from his paperwork, immediately noting Harry's expression.
"This is either going to be something genius or something incredibly reckless," Grimbok said, setting his quill aside.
Harry didn't bother with pleasantries. "Lord Lestrange is dead. His heirs in Azkaban. There is no active Lord Lestrange right now."
Grimbok gave a slow nod, waiting for him to continue.
"That means the contract for the Ukrainian Ironbelly is in limbo, doesn't it?"
Grimbok exhaled through his nose. "It does. However, without a new Lord Lestrange to dissolve the contract, it remains open-ended, which means the dragon will remain where it is until the next head of the family claims the title and either reaffirms or nullifies it."
Harry clenched his fists. "But there is no next head of the family. That means this could go on indefinitely."
Grimbok watched him closely. "Yes."
A dangerous sort of excitement built in Harry's chest. "So there has to be another way to release the dragon."
Grimbok sighed and rubbed his temples. "There is one way… but I did not mention it before because, well, you are not a goblin."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "What way?"
"The clan that serves as the Lestrange account managers, the Bloodfang Clan, is one of the most violent and territorial within the Horde. The only way to contest a contract under their care, without the consent of the original wizarding client, is to challenge them to a Warrior's Trial."
Harry straightened in his seat. "Then I'll do it."
Grimbok stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "You cannot be serious."
Harry smirked. "You're right, that's my godfather."
The goblin groaned. "Lord Potter-Black, let me be clear—this is not some formal debate or simple legal battle. The Bloodfangs are warriors first, bankers second. A challenge to them is a challenge to their honour. If they accept, they will set the terms, and they will make it difficult."
Harry crossed his arms. "Let me worry about that. What do I have to do?"
Grimbok sighed heavily before leaning forward. "You must send them an official challenge, citing the disputed contract over the Ukrainian Ironbelly. They will then respond with the terms of the duel. Be warned: they will choose something that favours them, and they will not go easy on you."
Harry met his gaze with unwavering determination. "I'll fight them if I have to."
Grimbok shook his head. "You have no idea what you're getting into."
Harry considered this. "And if I win?"
Grimbok's sharp teeth glinted as he smirked. "Then the dragon is yours, and the Bloodfangs will be bound by goblin honour to release him."
Harry nodded. "And if I lose?"
Grimbok's expression darkened. "Then they will demand payment in return. A life debt, servitude, a cut of your vaults—whatever they see fit. And by goblin law, you will be required to pay it."
Harry's jaw tightened. "I'm still doing it. I promised him."
Grimbok sighed but gave a small smirk. "You truly are reckless, aren't you?"
Harry shrugged. "Reckless gets things done."
The goblin gave a low chuckle and grabbed a parchment. "Very well. I will send the challenge to the Bloodfang Clan. Expect a response within a few days."
~
The response to Harry's challenge arrived the very next day, delivered by a goblin courier at breakfast. The silver-sealed envelope bore the sigil of the Bloodfang Clan—a jagged, blood-red blade piercing through a dragon's eye. It was meant to be intimidating, but Harry only felt a rush of anticipation.
He broke the seal and read the message carefully.
Your challenge has been received and accepted. You will present yourself at Gringotts at 8 PM this evening, prepared for battle. The terms of your challenge will be announced upon your arrival.
Fail, and the debt will be decided by the victor.
Do not be late.
There was no signature—just the mark of the Bloodfang Clan. Harry exhaled, folding the parchment carefully and slipping it into his pocket.
It was the last day of Hogwarts, and for Harry, it was an exhausting game of cat and mouse. Dumbledore had been relentless in his attempts to get him alone ever since the final task, despite the Wizengamot's ruling that he was to keep his distance. It was infuriating, but Harry had been dodging him skilfully all week, using every trick in his book—disguising himself in the crowd, veiling his presence, and even using Peeves as a distraction once.
By the time he made it to the Chamber that afternoon, he was bone-tired but determined.
Neville groaned dramatically after hearing his plan to free the dragon, his forehead pressed against the table. "There are too many dragons."
Harry snorted. "That's offensive. My dragons are angels."
Neville lifted his head just enough to give him a flat look. "Angels? Harry, you have five now. Gringotts dragon makes six. What's next? A troll?"
Luna clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh! Maybe a chimera!"
Harry rolled his eyes as Blaise leaned back, smirking. "What weapons are you taking?" he asked. "The Sword of Gryffindor? Your basilisk fangs? That beautiful enchanted dagger set Petar gifted you?"
Each suggestion made Theo wince. "Each one sounds worse than the last."
Harry grinned. "I'll take my daggers."
Luna nodded sagely. "That's good. But remember, Harry, not all can be as honourable as you. Play dirty. They will."
Harry gave her a mock-serious look. "Are you telling me to cheat, Luna? And who says I'm honourable?"
"I'm telling you to win," she corrected, smiling.
The teasing atmosphere dimmed slightly as Harry's gaze shifted to Theo, who had been unusually quiet. The Slytherin's hands were folded in his lap, his expression unreadable.
"Theo…" Harry said quietly. "Are you sure about going home tomorrow?"
Theo sighed but sat up straighter. "I have to. After what happened at the graveyard, my father will be more watchful than ever. But as far as he knows, I'm only close to you because of Blaise."
Blaise nodded, looking grim. "That's what we planned."
Theo exhaled. "I'll play on that as much as I can. If it comes to it, I'll lie and say we fell out." He hesitated, his expression turning apologetic. "I hate it, but if it keeps me safe…"
Harry nodded slowly. "Then do it."
The others looked between them in shock. "Harry—" Neville started, but Harry held up a hand.
"If it keeps Theo safe, then I don't care," he said firmly. He turned back to Theo. "If you need to, you can tell your father things about me."
Theo's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening. "What?"
The others were equally stunned, but Harry continued. "You can tell him I grew up with Muggles. That I had no idea about magic until I was eleven. That Dumbledore manipulated my life. That Lucius screwed up during second year. Things like that."
Blaise was the first to recover. "You're actually telling him to spy on you?"
"If it keeps him safe," Harry said simply.
Theo swallowed thickly, his fingers gripping his robes. His normally sharp, sarcastic demeanour cracked slightly as he looked at Harry with something close to heartbreak. "You'd let me do that?"
Harry gave him a small smile. "I'd rather you pass along harmless information than have your father start questioning your loyalty. If it makes you look useful and keeps you from being punished, then do it."
Theo looked away, blinking rapidly. "You're a damn idiot," he muttered hoarsely.
Neville reached out and squeezed Theo's shoulder. "We'll be here, okay? No matter what."
Blaise smirked. "Obviously. We're going to be very dramatic and storm the manor if something happens."
Luna hummed. "And Harry's dragons can set it on fire. Or he will burn it to the ground himself."
That made Theo laugh softly, even as he wiped his sleeve over his eyes. "I've always hated that manor."
Harry grinned. "That's the spirit."
As the evening approached, Harry felt the familiar thrum of anticipation settle in his bones. The weight of his daggers rested comfortably against his thighs, the hilts warmed by his magic. His basilisk-hide armour lay folded neatly in his bag, but he would only put it on before he goes to Gringotts.
The Bloodfangs were going to be dangerous opponents, but Harry had trained too hard, fought too many battles, and survived too much to falter now. The life of his little hatchling was on the line.
Luna hugged him tightly before he left. "Show them why you are worthy of your gifts."
"I will."
Neville clapped his back. Blaise and Theo smirked but their eyes were serious, holding unspoken words.
~
Harry stepped into Grimbok's office at Gringotts, rolling his shoulders as the weight of anticipation settled deep in his chest. The goblin account manager had his arms crossed, sharp eyes scanning Harry from head to toe.
"Are you ready for this?" Grimbok asked, his voice low, almost gruff.
Harry smirked. "Of course."
Grimbok scoffed. "Overconfidence will get you killed." He stepped closer, his expression more serious than Harry had ever seen before. "Listen to me carefully. The Bloodfang Clan has no honour. They will fight dirty, and so should you. Expect anything."
Harry met his gaze with unwavering determination. "I always do."
The goblin huffed but nodded approvingly before turning toward a hidden passage in the office. "Come. We're going deeper than you've ever been before. It's been centuries since a wizard has been permitted to enter the Horde."
Harry followed, curiosity flaring at the weight of those words.
Grimbok led him through a tunnel that spiralled downward in a long, twisting descent. The air grew cooler, tinged with the scent of earth and something metallic.
And then the tunnel opened into an enormous underground cavern.
Harry sucked in a breath, his emerald eyes widening in awe.
The cavern stretched far beyond anything he could have imagined, a sprawling city carved into the mountain's heart. Hundreds of homes, buildings, and intricate archways were chiselled directly into the rock, glowing softly under the golden radiance of bioluminescent plants that clung to the ceiling like a forest of stars. Strange glowing birds—if they could be called birds—fluttered through the cavern, their wings trailing ribbons of light.
A massive waterfall cascaded down from the mountainside, its roaring waters feeding into a clear river that cut through the city like a lifeline. Bridges of stone and metal arched over the flowing currents, leading to various levels of goblin homes, markets, and blacksmith forges that glowed with the embers of molten metal.
If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought he had stumbled into a realm of myth and legend.
"This…" Harry whispered, taking in the grand sight. "This is incredible."
Grimbok smirked. "Welcome to the Horde."
They still had nearly an hour before the battle, and Grimbok turned toward Harry, his expression thoughtful. "Come. You are my guest. It is time I return the favour."
Harry arched a brow. "Favour?"
Grimbok simply beckoned him forward, leading him toward an impressive structure carved directly into the cavern wall. It was grand, with wide stone steps leading to a heavy metal door adorned with intricate runes that shimmered faintly.
When the doors opened, Harry was greeted by warmth—a stark contrast to the cavern's crisp air.
The interior of Grimbok's home was nothing short of stunning. The walls were carved smooth, decorated with metal inlays and banners of deep emerald and gold. A massive tree stood proudly in the centre of the main chamber, bathed in artificial sunlight that streamed from enchanted crystals embedded in the ceiling. The scent of rich earth and polished stone filled the air, grounding and soothing all at once.
Harry's gaze lingered on the tree. "A tree… underground?"
Grimbok's smirk softened into something almost reverent. "A gift from the earth itself. A sign of prosperity."
Before Harry could respond, a new voice chimed in.
"So, this is the wizard who gives my mate headaches."
Harry turned to find a female goblin standing in the doorway, arms crossed and amusement dancing in her sharp eyes. She was striking—sleek black hair pulled into intricate braids, adorned with delicate golden chains. She wore a finely crafted tunic of deep red and brown, and the way she held herself radiated confidence.
Grimbok let out a long-suffering sigh. "Tazgira, do not start."
Tazgira's smirk widened as she strode toward Harry, looking him up and down. "I should thank you, I suppose. Your chaos keeps my mate entertained."
Harry, taking the chance to be as dramatic as possible, bowed deeply and took her hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. "The honour is mine, my lady."
Tazgira blinked, her confident demeanour slipping as a rare flush crept up her cheeks.
Grimbok groaned. "Bloody hell, Potter. Do not flirt with my mate."
Harry grinned, standing straight. "I was being respectful, Grimbok."
Before the goblin could retort, two small figures came barrelling into the room, shouting in rapid Gobbledegook.
"Ghark! Ghark!"
Harry barely had time to turn before the goblin children skidded to a stop, their excited expressions shifting to hesitation when they noticed him. They were young—perhaps the goblin equivalent of six or seven—both with dark braided hair and small, sharp teeth peeking from their bottom lips. One held a small wooden sword, while the other had a round metal shield strapped to their arm.
Grimbok exhaled and rested his hands on his hips. "Vrak, Morg, you were supposed to be in bed."
The goblin children ignored him, their wide eyes locked onto Harry.
"He's tall," one of them whispered.
"And scary," the other added, though there was a clear note of excitement.
Harry, amused, knelt so that he was at their level. "You must be fierce warriors," he said, pointing at their weapons. "Those swords and shields look very well-made."
Morg, the one with the sword, puffed up proudly. "We made them ourselves!"
Vrak, the shield-bearer, squinted at Harry. "Are you the wizard? The one who gives Ghark—" he pointed at Grimbok "—headaches all the time?" Harry assumes, Ghark meant father.
Harry sent Grimbok a look of amusement. "Possibly."
Morg, eyes still filled with awe, leaned in. "Ghark says you have the luck of Lady Tyche."
Harry snorted. "I don't know about luck, but I did somehow end up with five dragons."
Both goblin children gasped.
"Five?"
Before Harry could confirm, Grimbok was already ushering them away. "Enough. You'll have him telling you ridiculous stories all night."
Not before he softly butted his forehead against both of theirs—a gesture Harry recognised as one of affection.
As the children scampered off, Harry turned back to Grimbok. "You have a beautiful home." He paused, then added with sincerity, "And an even more beautiful family."
Grimbok glanced at him, something softer in his expression. "It is because you assigned me as your account manager that this was possible."
Harry shook his head. "No. It's because you made it possible." He smirked. "And it's about damn time you start calling me Harry."
Tazgira reappeared, carrying a tray of carved stone cups filled with fragrant tea. She smirked at her mate. "I like him."
Grimbok groaned but accepted a cup. "Of course you do."
Harry chuckled as he took his own cup, the warmth seeping into his palms. He exhaled, savouring the moment.
Harry lifted the stone cup to his lips, inhaling the rich, earthy scent of the goblin tea. He took a sip and immediately had to fight every single instinct in his body not to grimace.
The flavour—Merlin's bloody beard—the flavour.
It was like drinking liquid mushrooms blended with something bitter, woody, and vaguely metallic. It coated his tongue, stubbornly refusing to let go, like it had declared squatters' rights inside his mouth.
Harry swallowed.
Barely.
Grimbok smirked knowingly. "Ah. Your first taste of proper goblin tea."
Tazgira watched Harry's struggle with a raised brow, clearly amused. "He managed to keep it down. Impressive."
Harry cleared his throat, forcing a smile. "It's…unique."
Grimbok chuckled. "Indeed. It's an acquired taste."
Tazgira leaned forward, her golden eyes twinkling. "Most humans spit it out the first time."
"I believe that," Harry muttered under his breath.
Grimbok huffed in amusement and took a leisurely sip of his own tea, entirely unaffected. "Drink up, Lord Potter-Black. A warrior should never insult the hospitality of his hosts."
Harry, not to be outdone, took another sip, schooling his face into perfect neutrality. He would not be defeated by a cup of tea.
Tazgira smirked, clearly impressed. "You know, Grimbok, I think I do like him."
Harry gave her a cheeky grin. "I'm very likable."
Grimbok groaned and muttered something in Gobbledegook that Harry was fairly sure translated to bloody cheeky wizard.
Settling into his seat, Harry watched as Tazgira and Grimbok exchanged a glance—one of those silent conversations that long-time couples have. Then, Grimbok exhaled and leaned back.
"Perhaps I should tell you a little about the Horde," he began, gesturing to their grand underground city. "The human world knows little of it, and even fewer wizards have ever set foot here. You are one of the rare exceptions."
Tazgira picked up where he left off. "This home—this cavern—has been our sanctuary for centuries. And yet, it was not always so grand."
Harry tilted his head, intrigued. "Oh?"
Grimbok nodded. "When I was younger, this Horde was much smaller. Less prosperous. We lived under the weight of the larger clans—those with more wealth and influence." His expression darkened slightly. "But when you named me your account manager, everything changed."
Harry blinked. "What?"
Tazgira smirked. "The interest alone from Grimbok's position—your transactions, your estate management, and the contracts you have established—was enough to bring our clan to new heights in a very short amount of time."
Grimbok nodded. "It allowed us to expand, to move our homes to a more defensible location, to strengthen our standing." He glanced at the tree in the middle of the chamber, his expression softening slightly. "And when we finished moving in…that tree sprig started growing."
Harry followed his gaze, staring at the strong, healthy tree basking under the artificial sunlight of the enchanted ceiling.
Tazgira's voice was reverent. "A sign of prosperity. Of fortune." She turned to Harry, her sharp eyes gleaming. "You were a turning point for our clan, whether you realise it or not."
Harry swallowed, feeling an unfamiliar warmth settle in his chest. He hadn't meant to change anything—he had just done what felt right. But hearing this…
He met Grimbok's gaze, his voice softer than before. "I'm glad."
Grimbok studied him for a moment before nodding.
The atmosphere was comfortable now, but it shifted again as Tazgira placed her cup down and leaned forward, her face more serious.
"Now, let's discuss your opponent."
Harry sat up straighter.
She exhaled, folding her arms. "The Bloodfang Clan is not like ours. They are a beastly clan, feared even among goblins."
Grimbok's expression darkened. "They are ruthless. Cunning. They will try to find a way to disadvantage you."
Harry nodded. "I assumed as much."
Tazgira's lips pressed into a thin line. "It is likely they will restrict you from carrying weapons."
Blaise's voice echoed in his mind— Sword of Gryffindor? Enchanted daggers? Basilisk fang?
"That's fine. I don't need weapons to be fierce."
Grimbok and Tazgira both studied him at that.
Then, as if something clicked, Grimbok's eyes widened slightly.
He exhaled sharply and muttered, "I had nearly forgotten about your gifts." He quickly shut his mouth, realising what he had said.
Harry, however, simply gave him an amused look. "I don't mind if you tell her."
Tazgira raised a brow, clearly interested. "Oh?"
Grimbok exhaled through his nose and turned to his mate. "This wizard…he is not like others."
Tazgira snorted. "That much is obvious."
Grimbok shot her a dry look before continuing. "He does not need a wand to cast magic."
Tazgira blinked. Then, slowly, her expression shifted from curiosity to understanding. "You mean…"
Harry raised a hand and, with a flick of his fingers, summoned a wisp of fire that curled elegantly in his palm.
Tazgira stared.
"Elemental magic," she whispered.
"And wandless magic."
Tazgira looked at Grimbok, incredulous. "And you didn't mention this sooner?"
Grimbok crossed his arms. "Client confidentiality."
Harry snickered.
Tazgira huffed but then turned back to Harry, her expression serious. "This…this is good. Very good. If they do not think to ban magic entirely, they will assume that restricting a wand will be enough."
Harry nodded. "Exactly. They will underestimate me."
Grimbok sighed but gave him an approving nod. "That may be the only advantage you have."
Tazgira studied Harry carefully. "And if they do ban magic entirely?"
"Then I'll just have to fight with my fists."
Tazgira chuckled, shaking her head. "You are insane."
Harry shrugged. "I like to think of it as adaptable."
Grimbok groaned. "Lady Tyche must love you. That is the only explanation."
Harry lifted his cup in a mock toast. "Then let's hope she's watching."
Tazgira rolled her eyes but smirked.
As the conversation drifted to other things, Harry sat back, letting himself absorb the warmth of this home.
~
The rhythmic pounding of hundreds of goblin feet against the stone floor echoed through the cavern, reverberating through Harry's chest like the distant roar of thunder. The sound wasn't just noise—it was anticipation, a battle cry without words, a declaration that blood would soon be spilled in the name of honour, strength, and dominance.
Harry stood at the entrance of the battle arena, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up, while Grimbok muttered beside him, "This is madness."
Harry glanced at him with a smirk. "You say that as if we didn't already know that."
Grimbok groaned but kept leading the way. The underground chamber was massive, the floor of the arena made of smoothed dirt and rock with carvings of battle scenes etched into its surface. The air smelled of earth, sweat, and something faintly metallic—blood.
Above them, ledges carved into the cavern walls were packed with goblins, their sharp eyes glinting in the dim, bioluminescent glow of the fungal lights dotting the ceiling. The goblins stomped their feet in unison, creating a beat that rattled through Harry's bones. It was exhilarating.
At the highest ledge, in a stone throne adorned with weapons from various eras, sat Chief Ragnok himself, his expression impassive but his gaze calculating as he surveyed the arena.
Grimbok leaned toward Harry and muttered, "Ragnok rarely attends these fights anymore. The fact that he's here means this has far more weight than just a personal duel."
Harry hummed in acknowledgment. "Guess I'd better not disappoint then."
Grimbok sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I liked it better when you were just dealing with estate management and not…this."
Before Harry could respond, a broad-shouldered, scarred goblin stepped into the arena opposite them. His armour was a deep, almost rust-coloured black, and his jagged, yellowed teeth gleamed in the torchlight as he sneered at Harry.
The goblin barked something in Gobbledegook, his voice dripping with contempt.
Harry narrowed his eyes, glancing at Grimbok, who crossed his arms and shot back something equally sharp in the goblin tongue.
A few goblins in the audience laughed.
The Bloodfang leader snarled and turned his gaze back to Harry. "You should not be here, wizardling."
Harry smirked. "And yet, here I stand."
The Bloodfang goblin grinned, showing too many teeth. "Not for long."
Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced at Grimbok. "Is he always this dramatic?"
Grimbok exhaled heavily. "Unfortunately."
"Enough," the Bloodfang leader snapped, stepping forward. "State your terms."
Harry took a confident step toward the centre of the pit. "If I win, the dragon guarding the Lestrange vault will be mine—safe, whole, and free. I will leave here with the dragon, and none of your clan or any other will interfere or retaliate. And the Bloodfang Clan will never subjugate another living being again."
The murmuring from the crowd grew louder, and the stomping slowed slightly, goblins clearly intrigued by the stakes.
The Bloodfang leader growled. "You come to our Horde, insult our ways, and demand one of our greatest treasures?"
Harry tilted his head. "Oh no, I insulted you specifically. Your ways have nothing to do with it."
There was a beat of silence—then uproarious laughter from the spectators. Even a few goblins on the Bloodfang side smirked.
The leader's face twisted in rage. "You are arrogant."
Harry shrugged. "Confidence and intelligence often get mistaken for arrogance. I'm sure you wouldn't understand."
More laughter.
Grimbok covered his face with a hand. "You really like making enemies."
The Bloodfang leader took a deep breath, visibly trying to control his temper. Then his smirk returned, cruel and sharp. "Very well. My terms."
Harry tensed slightly, waiting.
"You will fight five of my best warriors."
A murmur of intrigue spread through the crowd.
Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Five?"
The Bloodfang leader bared his teeth. "You have insulted my honour. If you wish to challenge my clan, you will face five of our strongest warriors. Either to the death or surrender. Should you lose then we will subjugateyou for the rest of your pitiful life." He sneered, making a many in the Horde to gasp or look on in disgust.
Rage filled Harry but he hummed, pretending to think. "No physical weapons on my end, I assume?"
The goblin grinned. "Agreed. No weapons for you. My warriors can take as many as they like."
Harry's smirk grew sharper. "Including my wand?"
There was a flicker of hesitation in the goblin's expression, but he quickly covered it with a sneer. "Yes, no wand."
Harry flicked his gaze to Grimbok, whose lips were pressed into a thin line. They shared a silent look before Harry turned back to the Bloodfang leader with an easy grin.
"Deal."
A victorious sneer spread across the goblin's face, and he turned to his warriors—who began stepping forward.
Harry's grin slipped a little as the absolute units of goblins entered the ring.
The crowd erupted into cheers, stomping in time with the warriors' steps.
These goblins were huge.
Thick muscle. Scars covering their arms. Each of them carried a weapon in one hand—until they reached the centre and slowly began placing them down, one by one, onto the ground.
Harry watched in slight horror as the pile of discarded weapons grew larger.
One of them—whose arms were roughly the size of Harry's torso—cracked his knuckles with a pop.
Harry turned his head slightly to Grimbok, voice tight. "Grimbok."
"Yes?"
"Do goblins get bigger as they fight?"
"No."
"…Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Harry watched as one of them cracked his neck, looking directly at Harry like he was going to snap him in half.
Harry cleared his throat. "Grimbok."
"Yes, Harry?"
"This is five goblins."
"Indeed."
"Did we…perhaps…miscalculate?"
Grimbok didn't even blink. "I told you to expect anything."
Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "Right."
He clapped his hands together and let his magic simmer under his skin.
~
A deep horn blast echoed through the cavern, shaking the ground and sending a thrill of anticipation through the watching goblins. The rhythmic stomping that had filled the air before now fell into a hush, the only sounds remaining were the faint trickle of water from the underground river and the clinking of armour and weapons.
Harry stood at the centre of the stone arena, surrounded by five hulking goblin warriors, each standing at least half a foot taller than their usual kin. Their armour gleamed under the glow of bioluminescent fungi dotting the cavern walls, jagged scars lining their skin, their eyes sharp with the kind of hunger that came from years of brutal combat.
Harry's mind worked quickly. He mapped out their positions—two in front, slightly crouched like wolves waiting to pounce; one circling from the left, slower, maybe testing for an opening; another shifting weight between his feet, gripping a wickedly curved dagger. But it was the last one that made Harry wary—the biggest of them all. He hadn't moved much, standing just behind the others with his arms crossed. His eyes weren't full of rage like the rest—he's watching, assessing me.
The bloodhorn blared a second time.
They moved.
A blur of speed.
Harry barely had a second to react before they lunged at him from all sides, their large bodies closing in like a pack of wild beasts ready to rip into their prey.
He sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his magic coil tightly in his core before he released it.
With a sharp outward thrust of his hands, a wave of air blasted from his palms in every direction.
The goblins were flung backward like ragdolls, their armoured bodies slamming into the dirt and skidding across the arena floor. A thick cloud of dust rose into the air from the force of the impact.
The crowd roared in excitement.
But over the noise, a furious snarl cut through.
"CHEATING!" The Bloodfang leader shot to his feet, pointing a clawed finger at Harry, his face red with rage. "You disgrace this duel, wizard! Using your cursed magic!"
Harry barely glanced at him, his heart thundering in his chest as he repositioned himself. "I'm not using any physical weapons," he shot back smoothly. "Wasn't that the rule?"
Grimbok barked out a sharp laugh from the stands, his wife beside him grinning with sharp teeth.
Before the Bloodfang leader could retort, one of the warriors groaned and started rising to his feet.
Harry didn't waste the opening.
Move.
He slammed his foot into the ground, sending a deep ripple through the stone floor. The closest warrior, still on his hands and knees, barely had time to look up before the earth cracked open beneath him.
The goblin gasped, arms flailing as the ground beneath him swallowed his body, leaving only his head above the surface, firmly encased in stone.
Harry exhaled through his nose, already shifting his attention back to the others.
One down. Four to go.
The next attacker came from his right, swinging a thick, armoured fist at his ribs. Harry twisted, ducking under the swing with ease, and shifted his weight onto one leg. He kicked outward, but instead of aiming for the goblin's chest, he slammed his heel into the ground.
The earth responded instantly. A jagged stone spike shot up right behind the goblin's foot, catching his ankle mid-step and sending him sprawling onto his back with a thud.
Harry didn't give him a chance to recover. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a powerful gust of air toward the fallen warrior, sending him tumbling across the ground like a loose piece of parchment in a storm.
The goblin groaned as he hit the wall of the arena and slumped forward, unmoving.
Three left.
The third warrior was already on him, his curved dagger gleaming under the cavern lights. He feinted left, then slashed at Harry's slightly exposed neck.
Harry barely managed to twist away in time, and he thought he dodged.
A sharp sting bloomed along his cheek as the blade nicked through the air, drawing a thin line of blood.
Harry clenched his teeth, ignoring the pain. Focus. It must be enchanted somehow.
The goblin lunged again, faster this time, trying to press his advantage.
Harry planted his back foot and bent low, his training with Petar kicking in. Instead of dodging outright, he used the goblin's momentum against him.
As the warrior came in for another strike, Harry caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting sharply while pivoting his body. With a sharp yank, he redirected the goblin's force—sending him crashing face-first into the ground with a heavy grunt.
Without missing a beat, Harry slammed his palm into the earth, sending a quick pulse of magic into the stone beneath him.
Slabs of rock and dirt erupted from the ground, curling around the downed goblin's limbs and pinning him in place.
Two left.
But the biggest one still hadn't moved.
Harry's chest rose and fell rapidly as he turned to the last two warriors, sweat dripping down his temple. The second-to-last goblin was hesitating now, watching him warily.
Good. That means he knows he's already lost.
But the last one—the largest goblin—was still standing, arms crossed, completely unbothered.
Harry narrowed his eyes.
The goblin grinned, voice deep and amused. "You've fought well, wizard," he called out. "But let's see how you do… against me."
Then, he moved. And Merlin, was he fast.
Harry barely had time to register the blur of movement before a massive fist connected with his stomach.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through Harry's ribs as he was sent flying backward, his body slamming into the ground and rolling several feet before he skidded to a stop.
He coughed, wincing as pain flared along his torso.
Damn. He hit hard.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Grimbok's voice boomed from the stands, "GET UP, LAD!"
Harry groaned, rolling onto his knees. His hands dug into the dirt as he pushed himself back up, his breath coming in heavy pants.
The massive goblin cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. "That all you've got, Lordling?" he taunted.
Harry wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
Then he grinned.
"Not even close."
The Bloodfang warrior cracked his knuckles, his lips pulling back into a sharp, jagged grin. His voice was thick with arrogance, filled with the weight of generations of brutality.
"When I break you, wizard, your vaults will belong to my clan. Your lands, your gold, and your body—" His grin widened as he let the implications settle. "You will learn to serve us, to kneel as your betters take their due. We will make you beg before the end."
Harry's heart pounded. He could hear the gasps from the crowd, the growl of outrage from Grimbok, the sharp hiss of his mate. But their reactions didn't matter.
What mattered was the way those words snapped something inside him.
A cold rage unlike anything he had ever felt before settled over him, wrapping around his spine like molten steel. His magic pulsed beneath his skin, demanding retribution. The Bloodfang thought he was prey? That he would kneel?
His lips curled into a humourless smile, voice smooth like glass and sharper than a blade.
"You know," Harry mused, stepping forward, his emerald eyes burning with something ancient and terrible. "My dragons call me Mother."
The Bloodfang warrior flinched at the sheer certainty in his voice.
"But I have another name," Harry continued, his voice dropping into something almost reverent, the weight of truth behind every syllable. His breath curled like smoke, his fingers twitching at his sides, eager, hungry. "Fire Mother."
And then the world burned.
With a single exhale, flames erupted from his body, twisting and curling around him in hungry waves. Fire coiled at his feet like living serpents, licking at the air, casting shadows of monstrous wings onto the cavern walls.
The crowd gasped.
Even the seasoned goblins of the Horde recoiled, some scrambling backward from the sudden heat that flooded the battle arena.
Harry had held back before. Now?
Now, he was done.
The Bloodfang warrior's grin faltered for the first time, but he gritted his teeth and charged. His axe swung toward Harry's side, fast and brutal.
Harry didn't move.
The goblin barely had a moment to register his weapon burning into the flesh of his hand before twin whips of fire lashed out, coiling around his wrists like shackles.
He screamed.
The enchanted metal of his gauntlets heated instantly, the sound of sizzling flesh filling the cavern air as the fire burned straight through them. The warrior fell to his knees, his once confident smirk replaced by a grimace of agony.
The stench of burnt flesh filled the arena.
"Surrender."
Harry's voice was not a request. It was a command, thick with the weight of elemental fury, the voice of someone who had survived horrors and had no patience for monsters like him.
The goblin panted heavily, sweat pouring down his face, his wrists still encased in Harry's living fire, but still, he sneered through the pain.
"You think this makes you untouchable, wizard?" he spat, his body shaking but his pride not yet broken. "I will take my due from you. I will make sure you know a life of torment—"
Harry's expression went blank.
The cavern fell silent.
For the first time since the duel began, the spectators shivered.
Harry inhaled deeply. Then he whispered, voice barely audible over the crackling flames.
"I already have."
Then he moved.
With a sharp slashing motion, his arms crossed in front of him and then uncrossed, and the fire followed.
The whips of flame tightened.
Then severed.
The goblin's wrists were gone.
The fire cauterized the wounds immediately, sealing off the stumps in a gruesome, blistering instant. No blood spilled. No gushing wound. Only a deep, agonized howl as the pain caught up with him.
The warrior collapsed onto his knees, trembling, his arms shaking as he realised what had been taken from him.
Gasps exploded from the crowd, and a few of the younger goblins cheered. Some of the older, battle-worn warriors nodded in approval, recognising Harry's act not as cruelty, but as justice. The goblin King, leaning forward in interest.
The Bloodfang leader looked like he had swallowed acid, his rage barely contained as he stood in stunned silence.
Harry's emerald eyes glowed like fire-forged gemstones as he took one last step forward towards the last warrior, who thought he was forgotten about.
"Submit."
The goblin trembled, eyes darting to his leader as if searching for permission. But there was nothing but silence.
Slowly, his head lowered.
Then, he bent forward and pressed his forehead to the ground.
The arena erupted with the sound of drumming feet, cheers, and shouts of victory.
Harry let out a slow breath, feeling the fire retreat back beneath his skin.
He turned his gaze to the Bloodfang chief.
"The dragon," he said, his voice calm but unyielding. "He is mine. The contract is null. This is my victory."
The Bloodfang chief bared his teeth in a snarl. But the laws of the Horde were absolute.
"...So it is," he ground out, his fury barely contained.
Harry didn't smile. He didn't gloat.
He merely turned and walked out of the arena, the flames at his feet parting the stone as he left.
His hatchling was free.
~
Harry stumbled slightly as he followed Grimbok into his home, his hand pressed tightly against his face where the goblin's blade had sliced through his robes. Blood seeped between his fingers, sticky and warm, but the pain was manageable. He had suffered worse.
Tazgira, was waiting for them with sharp, intelligent eyes, and the moment she saw the way Harry was holding himself, her mouth tightened into a thin line.
"Sit."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Harry blinked but obeyed, dropping heavily onto a stone bench as Tazgira bustled around the room, grabbing various supplies from a cabinet filled with small stone vials and dried herbs.
Grimbok was still pacing, his boots stomping against the smooth stone floor, muttering in Gobbledegook.
"To threaten such vile methods in battle!" he snarled. "To attempt such disgraceful claims over another warrior! And in the Horde no less! The Bloodfangs have no honour, and today, the world has seen it for themselves!"
Harry huffed a weak chuckle, watching Tazgira pour a cool green liquid onto a clean cloth. "The most important thing is that I won," he said tiredly.
Tazgira clicked her tongue in irritation, kneeling in front of him and slapping his hand away from his injury before pressing the cloth firmly against his face. Harry hissed at the sting but didn't pull away.
"Stubborn little wizard," she muttered.
Grimbok snorted but didn't deny it.
Tazgira ran her glowing hand over his body, magic thrumming through her fingertips as she examined him. Her brow furrowed deeper with each pass of her hand.
"When was the last time you saw a proper healer?" she asked sharply.
Harry hesitated. "...Does Madam Pomfrey count?"
Tazgira's head snapped up so fast Harry was afraid she'd get whiplash.
"That school nurse?" she asked, outraged. "The one who only heals visible injuries? The one who lets children walk around with damaged magical cores and half-sealed wounds?"
Harry winced. "...She gave me Skele-Gro once?"
Tazgira made a sound so offended that even Grimbok flinched.
She stormed over to her cabinet, pulling out a small crystal vial with dark amber liquid inside. Returning to Harry, she thrust a roll of parchment into his hands.
"Diagnosis potion. Three drops of blood. Shake it. Then pour it onto the parchment."
Harry glanced at Grimbok, who gave him a serious look and nodded.
With a sigh, Harry uncorked the vial, tilting it just enough to let three deep crimson drops of blood fall into the liquid. The potion swirled, turning an eerie silver-blue, and he gave it a small shake before carefully pouring it onto the parchment.
Black ink began spreading across the page like cracks in glass.
One by one, a list of injuries and magical ailments etched themselves into the parchment, revealing years of accumulated damage.
Tazgira sniffed in disapproval but continued reading.
Then she kept reading on.
Forced Blood Adoption (Magically binding, to Tom Marvolo Riddle.)
Residual Ritualistic Magic Infusion (Blood-based, tethered between host and foreign magical presence)
Soul Fragment Contamination
Basilisk Venom Exposure (neutralized by Phoenix Tears, minor lingering effects on magical pathways)
Compulsion magic damage (Minor, affecting decision-making and emotional regulation)
Malnutrition
Early childhood fractures (poorly healed)
Repeated concussions
Soul fragment attached to core
Harry could hear the way Grimbok sucked in a breath beside him. Could feel Tazgira go still.
Harry's hand trembled as he held the parchment.
A long silence stretched between them.
Tazgira's nails dug into the wooden table, her face twisted into something dark and furious.
Grimbok's eyes were locked on the words Soul Fragment Contamination. His lips peeled back into a silent snarl, his fangs flashing beneath the candlelight.
Harry swallowed thickly. "...That bad, huh?"
Tazgira slammed her hands on the table, making everything shake.
"Bad?!" she snapped, her voice full of rage. "BAD?! Child, this—" She snatched the parchment from him and shoved it toward his face, "—this is not bad! This is a fucking disaster!"
Harry blinked. "...Language."
Tazgira smacked him lightly on the arm, growling. "You listen to me, young one! You have been walking around with a foreign soul fragment in your core since you were a baby?! Compulsion magic?! RITUAL MAGIC?! You— you've been bled for a ritual? Forced Blood Adoption?!"
Her voice cracked slightly at the end.
She turned to Grimbok, incensed. "This—this is unacceptable Grimbok!"
Grimbok had not moved. His eyes were locked on the parchment, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.
Then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose.
He turned to Harry, his expression serious, unreadable.
"This is beyond negligence," he said quietly. "This sounds like it could be a Horcrux, a diagnostic scan should have picked this up."
Harry's fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.
"A Horcrux is a soul fragment then…it can only be Voldemort's."
It made his stomach churn.
"...Can it be fixed?" he asked finally, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.
Tazgira took a deep breath. "Some of it, yes," she admitted. "The malnutrition damage has mostly stabilised now that you're eating properly. The fractures have healed as best they can, though I can mend a few problem areas. The compulsion has long faded, the basilisk venom neutralised."
She hesitated. "...The soul fragment, though…"
Grimbok's eyes narrowed.
Tazgira looked directly into Harry's eyes.
"I don't know how a horcrux is created," she confessed. "But it doesn't belong to you. And until we find out how to remove it, it will remain a ticking bomb in your core."
Harry exhaled.
And smiled humourlessly.
"Well," he murmured. "Isn't that just bloody fantastic?"
Grimbok's fingers drummed against the stone table, his eyes scanning the parchment one more time, his brow furrowed in thought.
"We have never encountered a human Horcrux container before," he admitted, his voice heavy. "In all the records of our people, through all our dealings with wizards and their forbidden magics, this… this is unheard of."
Harry exhaled, rubbing at his temple. "So you're saying I'm breaking new ground in magical disasters," he muttered. "Great."
Tazgira huffed at him but didn't argue. Instead, she moved closer, lifting her hand, her palm glowing softly, her magic thrumming against his skin like a low-pitched hum.
Harry stiffened as she let her magic settle over his forehead, just above his scar.
Tazgira inhaled sharply.
"What?" Harry asked, suddenly tense.
Her fingers twitched, hovering just above the lightning bolt scar. "It's like…" she hesitated, struggling for words. "...There are two fragments, slowly pulling together. Merging."
He sat up suddenly, heart hammering. His mind was racing, thoughts whirling back to second year, to the Chamber of Secrets, to the diary.
The way Tom's spectral form had screamed, how his body had exploded into light, the way it had dispersed into nothing the moment the basilisk fang pierced the book.
"...Was that his soul?" Harry whispered, voice barely audible. He turned to Grimbok and Tazgira, explaining what happened that day. "Could that… somehow have connected to the one inside me?"
"It is… possible," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "Soul magic is not stable, not once it has been severed from its original source. It is drawn to anchors, to familiar pieces of itself. If what you say is true—if this diary truly contained another fragment of Riddle's soul—then when it was destroyed, the lingering magic of it could have sought the only other known part of itself to cling to."
Harry felt like he might be sick.
"So you're saying," he said, swallowing thickly, "that I had one piece of Voldemort's soul inside me… and now I have two?"
Tazgira hesitated.
Grimbok's eyes darkened, his fingers tightening into a fist against the table.
"Not exactly," Tazgira finally said, her voice careful. "It's not that you absorbed another full soul piece—more like… the residual energy that had nowhere else to go strengthened the fragment already inside you. It could have fed it. Made it… more stable. Like I said, slowly merging."
Harry shuddered.
"Fantastic," he muttered, pressing his palms into his face. "So instead of getting rid of Voldemort's soul, I made it more comfortable."
Grimbok exhaled heavily and leaned back. "There is something we need to confirm," he said, staring at Harry with serious intensity. "How many Horcruxes do you believe he has made?"
Harry frowned. "...I thought it was just the diary. But obviously, there's at least one more." He hesitated. "How many can you make?"
Grimbok's expression darkened further.
"According to the darkest of magical texts, splitting the soul is possible—but the process is incredibly unstable. Most records suggest that only one Horcrux can be created before the soul becomes too weak to sustain itself."
"Then why am I sitting here with part of Riddle's soul hitchhiking in my head?" Harry asked bitterly.
Grimbok rubbed his temples.
"Because Tom Riddle is not like other wizards," he muttered. "The last known recorded case of a wizard attempting more than one Horcrux was from ancient Egypt—Neferkare the Mad. He tried to create two Horcruxes, but the process fractured his mind, and he was consumed by his own magic before he could finish the second one."
"Herpo the Foul," He added grimly, "is credited with creating the first known Horcrux. But there are no records of him making more than one. His experiments were too dangerous, even for him."
Harry swallowed, his pulse quickening. Remembering what Salazar said about Herpo the Foul trying to escape his prophecy.
"So you're saying if Voldemort made more than two—"
"—Then he has achieved something completely unnatural," Grimbok confirmed darkly.
Harry clenched his fists. "...How can we tell how many there are?"
Tazgira took a deep breath.
"That is the question," she murmured.
She closed her eyes and lifted her hands once more, focusing her magic back onto Harry's forehead. He held still, feeling her energy push deeper, reaching for something unseen.
Tazgira gasped, her hands snapping back as if burned.
Harry flinched.
Grimbok's eyes sharpened.
Tazgira's face was pale, her breathing quick and shallow.
"...There's more than four," she whispered.
Harry's stomach lurched.
Grimbok swore in Gobbledegook, a vicious, snarling sound.
Harry forced himself to breathe. "Are you sure?"
Tazgira nodded stiffly.
"It's… not exact," she admitted, looking troubled. "But when I reached for the fragment, it didn't feel like a single severed piece. It felt like…" She swallowed. "...Like one piece of a shattered mirror. A fragment that belongs to a much bigger whole."
Harry's hands clenched around his robes.
"How many?" he asked, his voice quiet.
Tazgira hesitated.
"...At least six, maybe more," she finally said.
The room was deathly silent.
Grimbok's expression had turned to stone. "Six," he repeated. "Six Horcruxes?"
Tazgira exhaled, looking to the parchment still sitting on the table. "...That's what it feels like," she admitted. "But without direct knowledge of the rituals he used, we can't be certain."
Harry stared at them both, his throat dry.
"...How do we get rid of it?" he finally asked.
Grimbok took a long, slow breath.
"That," he said gravely, "is what we must find out."
He turned, his golden eyes sharp and calculating.
"I will call on the Curse Breakers," he stated. "The best of them—ones who are not in the Ministry's pocket. If there is a way to remove a Horcrux from a living soul, we will find it."
Tazgira nodded firmly, her determination returning.
"And in the meantime," she said, turning back to Harry, "we monitor you. If the fragment grows stronger, if there are any changes to your mind, your magic, your dreams—we contain it before it becomes a problem."
Harry exhaled slowly, his thoughts a storm in his head.
"...Right," he muttered. "Monitor it. Find a way to get rid of it."
He lifted his gaze.
"And now?"
Grimbok's fangs glinted.
"Now," he said darkly, "we disown Tom Riddle. We don't want him to try and lay claim to your vaults because you share blood now." Passing Harry some paperwork and a quill.
Harry blinked slowly, absorbing Grimbok's words. His voice was flat as he spoke.
"So what you're telling me," he said, rubbing a hand down his face, "is that thanks to some twisted ritual, Voldemort is technically my son?"
Grimbok let out a snort, looking mildly amused. "A disturbing thought, isn't it?"
"Disturbing doesn't even cover it," Harry muttered. "This is beyond disturbing. This is nightmare fuel. He tried to kill me as a baby and now—" He shuddered. "I am not putting that in any family tree."
"And now he has no legal ties to you either," Grimbok finished. "As of this moment, Tom Riddle has been magically severed from any claim to your houses. The goblins will make sure of that."
Harry exhaled, shaking his head. "Right. Well, let's move on from that horror. We have something far more important to do."
Grimbok tilted his head, awaiting his next words. Harry lifted his chin and smiled, something warm replacing his previous unease.
"It's time," he said, "to get my real hatchling out of those horrible caves."
Tazgira smirked. "A much better focus," she agreed before standing and approaching Harry, her hands folded before her. "You are always welcome in our home, Harry, and if you ever need healing again, you know where to find me."
Harry nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Tazgira. For everything. I never knew Grimbok was hiding such an extraordinary mate." He turned to Grimbok with an exaggeratedly scandalised expression. "You've been keeping secrets."
Grimbok grumbled under his breath while Tazgira chuckled, patting his arm before seeing them off.
Leaving the grand underground city of the Horde was not a quiet affair. Many goblins along the path either nodded in respect or openly called out in approval.
"I told you the human was trouble for the Bloodfangs!"
"Should have bet more gold on him, blasted fool fought like a warg!"
"If we had a pit like that every week, I'd never get bored."
Harry waved at a few, shaking his head in amusement while Grimbok muttered about the goblins' love of spectacle. The walk back through the tunnels was long, but their goal was worth every step.
Soon, they reached the vault where Harry's true concern lay.
The moment Harry stepped into the cavernous space housing the Lestrange Vault, he felt a shudder of excitement and relief run through him. His magic reached outward, seeking, calling.
A soft, warm hiss greeted him in response.
Then, from the darkness of the cave, the half-blind dragon emerged.
The familiar milky-white scales shimmered faintly under the enchanted light, no longer clinging to his bones as they once had. Months of being snuck food had done wonders for his health, and though he was still lean, he no longer looked like he was on the brink of collapse. The dragon moved tentatively, his large head lifting as he sniffed the air, his cloudy eyes turning toward Harry as though he could sense him even if he could not fully see.
"Mother?" he crooned softly in Parseltongue, voice hesitant, hopeful.
Harry's chest ached at the sound.
"Yes, little one," Harry whispered, stepping forward. "It's me. And I've come to take you home."
The dragon let out a small whimpering sound, shuffling closer, his great wings folded tightly against his sides.
"No more chains," Harry murmured, reaching out, pressing a warm hand to the dragon's scaled snout. Harry sent his magic into the chains, intent and brute force making them clatter to the ground. The moment their magic touched, a shudder went through the creature's body, and he let out a relieved purr, nuzzling into Harry's hand.
Grimbok, who had been standing silently, observing, finally cleared his throat. "And this is the one you risked life and limb for?"
The dragon flinched at the unfamiliar voice, instinctively shifting behind Harry.
Harry soothed him with a few soft words in Parseltongue before turning to Grimbok, his green eyes firm.
"Yes," he said simply. "And I'd do it again."
Grimbok huffed, arms crossed, before stepping forward slowly. "I suppose you should introduce me then. It wouldn't do for your new hatchling to fear the goblin who helped win his freedom."
Harry smiled, then turned back to his dragon. "Little one, this is Grimbok. He is an honourable goblin, and he helped me fight for you. You have no reason to fear him."
The dragon tilted his great head, sniffing in Grimbok's direction before lowering his head slightly in greeting.
"...He does not smell like a threat," he admitted slowly.
Harry grinned, stroking the dragon's snout before stepping back. "Now, I think it's time for you to have a name." He hummed, tilting his head in thought before glancing up at the ceiling of the cavern, where scattered specks of luminescent stones glittered like a mock night sky.
He smiled.
"How about Altair?" he suggested. "It's a star, part of the Eagle constellation. One of the brightest in the sky. A leader among its cluster. Strong and resilient, just like you."
The dragon—Altair—blinked slowly, then crooned, a soft pleased hum vibrating through his chest.
"I am… Altair?" he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue.
"If you like it," Harry said, rubbing circles against the smooth white scales.
Altair purred, pressing his snout against Harry's chest in clear acceptance.
Harry grinned, heart swelling. "Alright then," he murmured. "Let's get you out of here."
Harry turned to Grimbok with a sheepish expression, rubbing the back of his neck. "So… how exactly do we get out of here?"
Grimbok gave him a flat look, then pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. "I was hoping you had a plan, Potter. You usually do when you're about to do something insane."
Harry huffed, looking over at Altair, who was watching them with wide, unseeing eyes, his large white head tilting slightly as if he could sense their uncertainty. The dragon had never left this cavernous prison, never flown under the open sky. The idea of asking Tilly to POP with him was impossible—he was far too large, and Harry's sanctuary trunk hasn't had the enlargement applied to the entrance yet.
"The only way is up," Grimbok grumbled, crossing his arms. "We could break through the floors above us and then the ceiling, but that would be costly. We're talking about multiple layers of reinforced stone, goblin-forged protections, and Merlin knows what else. The bank will demand compensation for damages."
Harry sighed. "How costly?"
Grimbok's sharp teeth flashed. "A heavy galleon. And by that, I mean at least five thousand Galleons."
Harry winced slightly but then turned to Altair, whose long, elegant body was shifting with barely restrained excitement at the idea of leaving.
"He's worth it," he said firmly.
Grimbok threw his hands up. "Of course he is," he muttered. "Lucky for you, you're rich."
With a small smirk, Harry turned back to Altair. The dragon had lowered his head slightly, listening to them carefully.
"You'll finally feel air beneath your wings," Harry told him softly, stepping forward and pressing a hand to his warm snout. "The sky, the stars, the wind—everything will be yours."
Altair let out a low, hum, but after a moment, his wings shifted hesitantly. "What if my wings aren't strong enough?"
Harry gave him a warm smile. "Then I'll help," he promised. "I'll keep the air steady with my magic until you're ready. You won't fall."
Altair considered this, then nodded slowly.
Grimbok cleared his throat. "I'll head up and get the tellers' permission before we start destroying Gringotts, shall I?" He cast Harry a pointed look before striding toward the exit.
As they waited, Harry ran his hands over Altair's smooth scales, murmuring soft reassurances. "Once we get back to the cove, you'll have your own place, and you'll meet Nox. She's… protective, so don't take it personally if she tries to be all scary at first. She did the same thing to Lyra."
"She sounds fierce," Altair murmured.
"She tries to be," Harry chuckled, "but she's just a softie at heart."
Altair's tail flicked slightly. "Like you?"
Harry blinked at the unexpected statement before laughing. "Cheeky. You'll also meet Lyra and her hatchlings."
After some time, Grimbok returned, looking somewhat disgruntled. "The tellers have summoned the architecture goblins to open the floor and ceiling. Once they get here, it'll take a bit of time, but at least you'll be free without having to deal with collapsing rock." He rubbed his temples. "It's going to cost a small fortune."
"Like I said, he's worth it," Harry said easily, patting Altair's side.
Grimbok groaned but shook his head with a reluctant smirk. "Just keep an eye out for my message. I'll continue looking for answers about the soul issue."
Harry nodded, feeling his chest tighten at the reminder of what they had learned earlier. "Thank you, Grimbok," he said sincerely.
The goblin gave him a long look before nodding. "Take care of yourself, and don't do anything reckless until at least next week."
Harry smirked. "No promises."
Grimbok just groaned louder.
As the architecture goblins arrived and began their work, Harry turned to Altair. "Ready to fly?"
The dragon gave a soft croon of anticipation, stretching his wings for the first time in his life, his excitement barely contained.
Harry grinned. "Let's get you home."