Nineteen-year-old Hermione Granger smiled as she entered her office in the Ministry of Magic. Her boyfriend, Percy Weasley, kissed her cheek and left, having been assigned to deal with another international trade disagreement. She sat down at her desk and looked through the file that was placed before her.
It was October 2008, and she was just fresh out of Hogwarts. Due to her high grades, she had been almost immediately hired by the Department of International Magical Cooperation when she had applied for a job. In fact, Hermione had, at the time, many other options to choose from, in regard to her career. In the end, however, she decided that working here would be most beneficial in the future. She wanted to help the magical world grow, and that could not be restricted to Britain alone.
"Miss Granger," said a voice suddenly. "Would you please come to my office? I need to talk to you."
The mirror that was placed on her desk deactivated before she could reply. Hermione was surprised. Why would the head of the department want to talk to her?
Emily Jones, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, smiled as Hermione entered her office.
"Madam Jones," Hermione said tentatively. "What can I do for you?"
"Take a seat, Miss Granger," said Madam Jones. "How are you adjusting to life at the Ministry?"
Hermione paused. "Just fine, ma'am."
The older witch chuckled. "Relax, Miss Granger, this is not an interview," she said in amusement. "I make it a point to interact with all my employees, so there is no need to be nervous. From personal experience, I know that Muggle-borns find it difficult to adjust to the magical world. That's why I'm asking."
"You're a Muggle-born too?" asked Hermione in surprise.
Madam Jones nodded. "You're lucky to have joined the Ministry during such a golden period," she mused. "There is a lot you can learn, and for the first time, being a Muggle-born will not hinder you. But more of that later. I have a new assignment for you. I know that you are new here, but I'm hoping that you will be able to handle diplomatic meetings from now on."
Hermione flushed in pleasure at being given an important assignment. "I promise you that I'll do my best, Madam Jones," she said swiftly.
"Good. We need to go to Bulgaria and convince their Ministry to lower its trade sanctions on us. Things haven't been smooth between Minister Black and Supreme Mugwump Ivan Krum, and he's taking his frustrations out on us through the Bulgarian Ministry."
Hermione perked up at that. This was a make-or-break deal. She was being sent to talk to the delegates in the Bulgarian Ministry? Or perhaps the Supreme Mugwump himself? Maybe she could meet Viktor once more. The two had been pen pals for a couple of years before they lost contact.
This was a chance to reconnect with a friend.
"Of course, I'll be coming with you, as will a few of the senior members of the department," elaborated Madam Jones. "You will merely be an observer, but this is a unique opportunity to learn, Miss Granger. Don't waste it."
"I promise, ma'am, I won't," said Hermione fervently. She paused for a moment and seemed uncertain about something. Her boss picked up on it immediately.
"What is it, Miss Granger?"
"Madam Jones, you mentioned that this was a golden period for Muggle-borns," said Hermione slowly. "And yet, I've never witnessed anything that could be characterized as such. Why would you say that?"
Madam Jones raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's not just my opinion. That's what many of us feel. I've been in the magical world for forty years, and have worked at the Ministry since I was twenty-two. Trust me, the previous administrations were much worse when it came to how Muggle-borns were treated. It wasn't anything direct, but subtle. The very fact that those Muggle-born orphans were rescued shows the Ministry's dedication to helping us, Miss Granger."
Hermione paused. She felt conflicted. On one hand, Harry and Daphne Potter, two people she loathed beyond reason, had actually shown their human side for once in their lives. All those poor children who were suffering had been rescued and were placed at the magical orphanage. Many had been adopted by families and were living happily, from what she had read in the Magical Daily.
If Potter was a pureblood bigot, why would he help Muggle-borns? It didn't make sense! Was the Ministry truly interested in the betterment of Muggle-borns like her?
She could not be certain.
On the other hand, there was another large scandal that had escaped her notice until very recently.
"Madam Jones, I do have some questions," said Hermione slowly. "I read today's paper and it reported that Minister Black and the Prime Minister of the U.K. were having disagreements. Well, I was wondering ... isn't the Minister of Magic accountable to the Prime Minister?"
The older witch burst out laughing. "What in Merlin's name gave you that idea?" she exclaimed incredulously.
"Well, he's the Prime Minister, isn't he? I always thought the Minister of Magic acted as a cabinet minister. Why else would –"
"Hold on, Miss Granger. First of all, your entire approach to understanding the magical government is incorrect. I'm surprised at you. I thought it was fairly obvious why the Minister of Magic isn't accountable to the Muggle government."
"And why is that?"
"It's because this is Magical Britain, Miss Granger," explained Madam Jones patiently. "As a Muggle-born myself, I can understand your confusion, but I learnt this very early on. You're a smart girl; you shouldn't have taken this long to figure it out. Just because both worlds share the same geographical area, doesn't mean they are the same. Magical Britain encompasses all of the British Isles, while the Muggle government is mainly divided into the U.K. and the Republic of Ireland, am I correct?"
Hermione nodded.
"Why should the Minister of Magic, the leader of Magical Britain, answer to the Prime Minister, the leader of another country? Don't club the two, Miss Granger. Okay, I'll give you a better example. The U.K. and France are both European countries. In that sense, is the British Prime Minister accountable to the French President and vice-versa?"
"No!" exclaimed Hermione. "Why should they be? They're –"
"– two different countries, exactly. The same rule applies here. The Minister of Magic informs the Muggle Prime Minister of the existence of the magical world only for the better implementation of the Statute of Secrecy. In fact, it is only the European countries that bother with it. The rest of the Muggle leaders of different countries have no idea of the existence of the magical world because none of their magical counterparts interacts with them – at all."
Hermione remembered Harry Potter telling her the very same thing in her fourth year of Hogwarts. She hadn't put much stock into what he had said, but now ...
"Okay, but what about money?" asked Hermione heatedly. "Who fixes the exchange rate of Galleons and pounds? It is fifty pounds to a Galleon! Fifty! My wand cost me twenty-one Galleons, Madam Jones. That's over one thousand pounds, excluding other items that school children are required to buy. Everything is overpriced by fifty to one for us Muggle-borns! Isn't that wrong? Hogwarts education is so expensive because of it!"
Madam Jones sighed. "Miss Granger," she said in a low voice. "I understand that your life has not been easy in the magical world, but let me assure you that in this particular instance, there is no conspiracy. I never went to Hogwarts. I attended one of the smaller schools of Magical Britain. While the exchange rate wasn't as high before, it still was very expensive for me. Didn't you receive aid from the Hogwarts Scholarship Fund?"
Hermione flushed. "They decided that my parents were quite well to do," she admitted quietly. "I didn't receive the scholarship."
"There are many Muggle-born, half-blood and pureblood families that are poor," shrugged Madam Jones. "They deserve it too. But back to money, tell me, what is this?"
She placed a coin on the desk.
"It's a Galleon," stated Hermione.
"It's also, what Muggles call it, 24-carat gold," Madam Jones said softly. "One Galleon is worth far more than fifty pounds, Miss Granger. Do you know that every time Muggle-borns exchange pounds for Galleons, the Ministry pays an equal amount of Galleons to Gringotts?"
"What?" exclaimed Hermione. "Why?"
"It's because the Muggle currency is worthless. What would the goblins or the Ministry do with it? No one trades with Muggles, Miss Granger, not when the magical world needs the money circulating in its economy. There are huge sanctions on those investing in the Muggle world. Tax rates on such income are astronomical! And there is a reason for that. Why should money that is earned in Galleons be converted into a Muggle currency, thus weakening the international magical economy in the process? It is the goblins who convert Galleons into pounds and vice versa. Such gold that goes into the pockets of goblins does not come back, as they're the ones who handle currency as mandated by an international treaty."
"While a fifty-pound note is valuable in the Muggle world, in the magical word, it is worth less than the paper it is printed on. The goblins wouldn't buy it unless they received compensation in gold. For every pound that was exchanged by you and your parents, the Ministry paid the same amount in Galleons to Gringotts. That is taxpayers' money, Miss Granger. It was collected from purebloods, half-bloods and Muggle-borns alike. This system has existed for a long time. The Ministry essentially paid for everything. Why do you think You-Know-Who's ideology catered to so many followers? Even though bigotry and discrimination have always existed, the Ministry never outright ignored the plight of Muggle-borns. One of the promises You-Know-Who made to his followers was that he would stop such payments and use that gold for the development of all purebloods. Thanks to Harry Potter, that monster is now dead, but it was still a concern for us when he was seizing power. Again, there is no conspiracy, Miss Granger."
Hermione was slack-jawed. Recovering quickly, she thanked her boss and quietly made her way back to her office. She was lost in thought.
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
It was two in the morning. Her stomach churned again. Grimacing, Daphne Potter quickly got out of bed and rushed towards the bathroom. A bowl descended towards her as she sat down on the floor, emptying the contents of her stomach once more. She felt her husband brush her long dark-blonde hair away from her face as he helped her relax, rubbing her back soothingly.
"Water," croaked Daphne, wandlessly casting a mouth-freshening charm.
Harry waved his hand and conjured a glass. With a flick of his finger, he filled it with fresh water and gave it to her. She drank it slowly and collapsed against the wall. They stayed silent for a minute until Daphne felt the urge to throw up again. Ten minutes later, they returned to their bedroom.
"Ahem, Harry?"
"Yes?"
"I'm hungry."
Harry smiled. "Again?" he teased.
Daphne stared at him, face devoid of expression before she hit him with a pillow. Harry laughed. "Sorry, but I couldn't resist. What would you like?"
"Anything," she sighed. "Just no meat, please. I can't stand it right now."
Harry nodded before he walked out of the bedroom. Yawning and scratching his balls sleepily, he activated the glass screen that displayed the available food options. The Food Dispenser glowed a white light as his order appeared in the cavity in the wall. Cleaning his hands magically while levitating the plate containing a simple white sauce pasta, Harry walked back to their room and sat down on the bed next to his wife. Swatting her hand away, he slowly fed it to her while eating some between bites himself. They ate in silence for several minutes. Once they were finished, the used plate automatically vanished. Now that her tummy was full, Harry decided to broach the topic.
"This was the fifth time that you vomited today," he said in concern. "Daph, I really think we should go back home so that your mother can ensure that everything is fine."
Daphne exhaled in frustration. "Harry, this is normal," she said quietly. "Pregnancy has been known to cause nausea and vomiting. Well, I just found out that I puke bloody five times a day instead of just in the morning."
Harry sighed. "It's been nearly three months; these symptoms should have decreased by now. Can't we at least consult your mother?"
"There are plenty of Healers in Inbu-Hedj."
"Daphne ..." Harry growled, his left eye twitching in annoyance due to her stubborn behaviour. Seeing that he was irritated, Daphne nodded reluctantly. She knew that he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Why don't you want to go home?" he asked in exasperation.
Daphne's cheeks tinted pink. "I'm in the process of creating another prototype of the Asthron," she muttered. "I didn't want to waste time since we'll be leaving the city soon. We've already received invitations for soirees from the heads of all the African governments. Such diplomatic functions stretch on for days."
He rolled his eyes. "We can spend the remainder of the week back home and come back to Inbu-Hedj on Monday. Will that appease you, my Lady?"
Daphne cracked a smile and nudged his stomach playfully. "It is said that you should never annoy a pregnant woman," she teased.
Harry smiled as he took her hand, kissing her fingers gently. "I do my best to take care of you, but there are times when I prefer to run away instead."
"I'm not that bad!"
"You destroyed the bedroom! Be glad that the hotel authorities don't know about it!"
"What's new about that? I always destroy things when I'm angry! Besides, I apologised and repaired the damage!"
"I woke up to you licking my balls – as a tigress! Did you expect me to be silent after that ridiculous stunt? I was totally freaked out!"
Daphne blushed. "I just wanted to tease you," she murmured. "How was I to know that you would hit the roof?"
"Daph, have you seen how sharp your teeth are when you are a tigress? And the damn animal has a rough tongue too! I didn't want my genitals bitten off, thank you very much! I've had them for as long as I can remember! My hand and penis discovered pleasure together when I was thirteen! Without my genitals, I can't make love to you and I can't reproduce!"
"It's a good thing that I'm already pregnant, right?"
"And what are you going to do for the rest of your life?! Use a sex toy instead of my penis? Don't you dare say that you can use healing magic to repair the damage!"
"Spoilsport!"
"Teasing wench!"
Daphne giggled. "Maybe I should transform into a tigress when you're fucking me, just to see your reaction," she teased.
Harry's eyes widened marginally. "You wouldn't dare!" he blurted out.
Kissing his cheek, she whispered, "It's your fault for helping me become an Animagus. I told you my form is way better than yours."
"It can't fly, can it?" challenged Harry.
"I don't need wings to fly," shot back Daphne. "I can do so without the help of a broom anyway!"
"Big deal! So can I, and so can several others around the world! What can your form do besides scaring people?"
"I can sever your neck from your body," growled Daphne as she pounced on her husband, pinning him to the mattress. Smiling coyly, she gently caressed his balls, making him shudder in anticipation as she added, "Want to play a teacher and his student?"
Harry grinning, enjoying the fact that Daphne was even more sexually active during pregnancy. "We've already done that," he said. "How about a hot-shot Healer and his patient?"
"And who is going to be the hot-shot Healer? You?"
"Of course!" declared Harry. "I'm the one with the devilishly handsome looks!"
She simply stared at him, eyebrows raised. "Someone's in a good mood," she observed.
"Why wouldn't I be?" chuckled Harry. "I get to make love to my beautiful wife. How about a kinky Auror and a troublesome convict?"
"Hmm ... I like it!" smirked Daphne. "And I'm going to be the tough, sexy Auror. Tell me, dear husband, have you ever been spanked before?"
"You are not going to spank me! Uh-uh! No way!"
"Oh, come on, Harry! Get into the spirit of things. I'll be gentle, I promise!"
"Gentle, my arse!"
"Yes, your arse is the topic of conversation," giggled Daphne. "Now get that cute butt over here!"
"I'll have you know, my arse is not cute!" grumbled Harry.
"Fine, you have a sexy arse! Is that better?"
"Much," laughed Harry. He looked at her shrewdly. "You're not really expecting me to go through with this, are you?"
Daphne shrugged. "I'm not sleepy," she stated.
"Fine," he sighed. "But only if you promise to let me be a Healer the next time. I assure you that I'll get my revenge!"
She rolled her eyes in amusement. "I don't understand why you always say that," she muttered. "Even if I act like a tough Auror, you know as well as I do that you'll ravish me at the first given opportunity."
"Ah, but it's the principle of the thing," smirked Harry. He reluctantly got in position and felt his wife running her fingers delicately across his bare posterior.
SMACK!
"Fuck," cringed Harry.
"Give me names, scum!" shouted Daphne. "Or trust me, I'll make this more painful!"
"Never!" spat Harry. "I'll never reveal those names, bitch! I have the best self-control in the world and I will never succumb to you! No amount of pain or pleasure can break me!"
Daphne smirked evilly. "We'll see about that, prisoner," she purred as she stroked his erect cock teasingly. "Here's a tip. Never piss off an angry Auror!"
Those two kids in her stomach better appreciate everything he was doing for them by keeping their mother happy during pregnancy because Daphne was getting quite dangerous these days. Keeping her sexually satisfied was hard work!
Not that Harry was complaining.
SMACK!
Yes ... Slytherins were most definitely evil. He should have gotten married to a nice, quiet Ravenclaw instead. Oh, life can be cruel.
But as he held his sleeping wife next to him two hours later, moving her hair away from her eyes, Harry reflected that there was no one he could ever imagine sharing his life with apart from Daphne. Gently kissing her forehead, he nuzzled her face. He placed his hand on her stomach protectively and drifted off to sleep.
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
Harry had barely stepped out of the Floo at Black Manor when he felt someone bodily slam into him. He chuckled as he embraced his brother, allowing a bright smile to form on his face.
"I missed you," whispered Dylan.
"I missed you too," said Harry softly. "How long are you here for?"
"They gave us a week off," shrugged Dylan. "Apparently, there is a traditional holiday during this time of year that is celebrated by Siberian witches and wizards. I arrived last night."
"Enjoyed your alone time with Astoria? Did you even emerge from your bedroom?"
Dylan blushed. "Yeah, we did," he said dreamily. "As for the second question, what do you think? I really missed her over the past few months, but I'm very glad that I chose to attend the academy. I'm learning a lot!"
Harry nodded in approval. The brothers were talking quietly as they moved towards the drawing room when a blur with blue hair attacked them.
"Rainbow!" exclaimed Dylan, wincing in pain as he grabbed his crotch. "How many times have I told you not to slam into me like that?"
Rigel didn't care. He was beaming with happiness as he leapt into his oldest brother's arms. "Harry, you're home again!" he cried. "I have loads to tell you! Mum and Dad got me a new broom. And it flies higher and faster than my old one!"
Harry smiled slightly. "A big boy broom, huh?" he teased.
"Uh-huh. I'm a big boy now!" he declared. "So can I please ride your Firebolt?"
Dylan burst out laughing. "Sorry, Rainbow, but you're going to have to grow up a little more before we allow you on a racing broom."
The little Metamorphmagus huffed. "I am older!" he shouted. "You just don't know it because you were away!"
"Okay, I'll let you ride a Firebolt," assured Harry. "Why don't you show me your broom first?"
"Yay!" cheered Rigel.
Harry and Dylan blinked in surprise when the toy broomstick zoomed out of the store cupboard upstairs and rapidly approached their position. Dylan grabbed it before it hurt the child.
"Impressive!" he said proudly, ruffling the boy's blue hair. "That was a summoning charm. Good job, kiddo!"
Rigel beamed back at him. Harry discreetly waved his hand at the broom. It changed designs and colours until it looked like a miniature version of his Firebolt. Rigel was happy beyond words.
"I have a Firebolt! I have a Firebolt!" he danced around in happiness. Suddenly, he paused. "Can you make one for Jacen too?" asked Rigel hopefully.
Dylan's eyes softened. Summoning another toy broom, he charmed it just like how Harry had done to Rigel's broom. "Here you go," he said, giving it to the boy.
"Thanks, Harry, Dylan. I'm going to Greengrass Manor so that Jacen and I can play Quidditch!" said Rigel excitedly before running towards the Floo.
"I forgot that he can be quite a handful," muttered Harry, wandlessly sending a Patronus message to his wife to inform her of Rigel's arrival. Dylan nodded, still looking at the boy's retreating form, a smile on his lips. They proceeded to the drawing room.
"Harry!" exclaimed Sirius as he got up to hug his son. "I wasn't expecting you for a few more hours!"
"How have you been?" asked Amelia in concern. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, Mum, everything is fine," chuckled Harry. "Master Nicolas is quite knowledgeable and is a wonderful mentor. Daphne is off in her own world when she's into research, but she seems happy."
"Not that! I meant Daphne's pregnancy!"
"Oh, that. I'm handling it fine, I guess," he shrugged. "I won't lie and say that I'm not worried, but I still have time to come to terms with it. Daphne ensures that I talk to her regularly about it. It turns out that planning on getting pregnant is vastly different from actually having not one, but two children."
"If you need to talk, I'm always here," said Amelia softly, placing her hand on his cheek. Harry smiled and nodded.
"Mum, Dad, I heard some disturbing news," Dylan frowned. "What is this about the International Confederation coming here to talk to you?"
Amelia sighed. "We have an Obscurial in Magical Britain that's wreaking havoc in the Muggle world," she confessed. "It's getting increasingly hard to maintain the Statute of Secrecy, and you know the I.C.W. will get personally involved when the Statute is threatened."
"They were supposed to be here several days ago, but they postponed their arrival by a week," said Sirius. "I was hoping that would be enough time to get things under control, but we have had no success so far."
Harry's eyes narrowed. He had read the paper last week too, but he hadn't known that the Ministry was nowhere close to finding the child. He was deep in thought when Dylan spoke up.
"Why are they coming here?" spat Dylan. "Are they going to bully you into submission? I won't let them do that to you, Dad!"
"Relax, Dylan," Sirius said softly, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately. "The Confederation is coming to Britain only to pressure the Ministry to take action. It's their job."
"Their job? It's not their job to threaten various magical governments during a time of crisis! You can manage the situation better without their interference!"
"Don't blame the I.C.W. for this," said Sirius sharply. "The Obscurial is right now causing a lot of problems in London, Dylan. The Ministry is currently on red alert. Everyone is scrambling to ensure that the Statute of Secrecy is not broken. It's the job of the Confederation to keep the existence of the magical world a secret from the Muggles. Forget about me for a minute. What would have happened had Fudge still been the Minister? Don't you think the I.C.W. would need to rein him in and force him to take care of the mess?"
Dylan paused, unsure of what to say.
"I'm not sure how the Muggle world operates, but in the magical world, our international body is quite powerful," explained Sirius. "It was formed nearly fifteen hundred years ago, when the last of the magical royal families came to an end, and has steadily grown over the centuries. When the common people demanded to be heard in the governing body, it was the Confederation who introduced the concept of elected representatives. That's why you see such a mixed form of governance in each and every country in the world. All magical governments are accountable to the I.C.W. That's how they maintain international peace. While the magical world has had several internal power struggles, there has never been an international conflict between any two countries. That can be credited to the I.C.W. When the lives of innumerable witches and wizards were threatened by Muggles, they took a bold decision and decided to implement the Statute of Secrecy. Trust me, it was not popular back then. Many opposed it, especially in Europe, but it still held firm. The influence of the Confederation only grew since the Statute was enacted. When Grindelwald rose to power, they ordered the Aurors of different magical governments to fight him. Essentially, they created an army of their own! Do you think without such a strong international body, the magical world would have survived?"
"I guess not," exhaled Dylan. "But they're still targeting you, aren't they?"
"That's politics, caused by corruption," shrugged Amelia. "It happens everywhere, Dylan, and the I.C.W. is no exception to it. The Supreme Mugwump is the leader of the Confederation, and if Krum wants to send a delegation, that's how it's going to be for now. Trust me, Krum is hardly the worst politician we have faced. We have friends among the members too. We can handle it."
Harry quietly excused himself.
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
The Lion's Den.
The tall young man raised an eyebrow at the sign that was now visible to him. Hazel eyes sparkled with concentration as he tried to sense the various enchantments that surrounded the building. He cursed under his breath but was not surprised to find that it contained complex goblin concealment wards as well.
It would take time.
Taking a deep breath, after ensuring that his glamour was in place, the young man used the key that had been given to him by his friend that allowed him access to the highly-restricted pub. The door melted at the touch and he walked through a barrier. A faint smirk formed on his lips when his glamour did not budge.
The inside of the pub was definitely very luxurious. Rich carpets and exquisite furniture decorated the length and breadth of the establishment. It was a stark contrast to some of the lower-end pubs that were rumoured to be run by the same person, like the famed Blind Pig in the cheaper sections of Knockturn Alley. This place, however, was meant for the elite – elite smugglers and gangsters, forming the underworld of the international black market.
The wizard's lips curved into an amused smirk. Even in the dim light of this classy pub, the white-blonde hair of the other man stood out.
"You really should consider changing your hair colour," he said wryly, sitting down at the table. He saw a wand being drawn.
"Who are you?" growled Draco Malfoy. Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes.
"The one who is unfortunate enough to be related to you, however distant it may seem …"
"Harry?" asked Draco hesitantly.
"Who else were you expecting?" snorted Blaise. Grinning at his friend, he continued, "Nice disguise. I remember watching the memories you gave me of the Dark Lord's death. I vividly remember that you didn't look quite as attractive as you do now."
"Sorry, Blaise, but I'm happily married," Harry chuckled. "While I've heard rumours about you being quite popular among some of the boys at Hogwarts, I'm afraid I don't swing that way."
Blaise laughed. "I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate it either, so we're even."
"Can we get on with it?" Draco huffed irritably. "If you want to socialise, there is a perfectly nice restaurant down in Diagon Alley. This is not the place for it."
"Oh, come on, Draco, cheer up," smirked the Italian boy. "There are high-class prostitutes here, you know. You might want to take advantage of the situation and do something about that non-existent sex-life of yours."
"What do you mean non-existent? I'll have you know that I'm actually seeing Mandy Brocklehurst and –"
"I would hate to break the banter between you both, but as my dear cousin said, can we get on with it?" asked Harry. He observed the two young men sitting opposite to him. Blaise looked just the same as ever. Dark, flawless completion with aristocratic features that showed little emotion, with his brown eyes filled with amusement. He was dressed in expensive clothes that ensured that no one doubted his pedigree. The Zabinis were one the most powerful families in Magical Europe and were traditionally allied with the Blacks. While the House of Black prided themselves on their political capital and information network, the Zabinis were known – albeit secretly – for their dealings in the underworld. Even though the current generation preferred to focus on politics, a shadow of their connections built over the years still remained.
The Malfoys, on the other hand, did not have such a legacy. However, for centuries, they had remained slippery friends as they buttered their way up to glory. Lucius Malfoy had been particularly talented at this and had developed quite a few contacts with such people. Harry, having spotted this as an opportunity, had ordered Draco to step into his father's shoes after Lucius' death. Draco had not refused. He couldn't, as he had sworn fealty to Harry.
While the blond had been quite upset by it in the beginning, he had slowly realised that keeping his life and enjoying the benefits of home was a better alternative to the dark atmosphere of Azkaban, which had still not lost its gloomy presence even after all the Dementors on the island had been destroyed with the judicious use of Fiendfyre. The young Malfoy scion had matured over the past couple of years. The distinct air of dottiness was gone, and even Dylan grudgingly admitted that Draco was more likeable now.
"What do you have for me?" asked Harry.
Blaise was the one who spoke first. "The sudden appearance of children turning into Obscurials is not something that was done by those in the lower levels, Harry," he said carefully. "All my contacts told me that should I seek information on what was going on, I should consult their ringleader. I have been working on this for a week, and was finally given access to this person after a lot of effort."
"I had a similar experience too," explained Draco. "It turns out that this ringleader they spoke of is the same person. A goblin, that goes by the name of Gnarlak."
Harry showed no outward sign of surprise, but his eyes seemed to darken in interest. "Go on," he said softly.
"I'm not sure how Gnarlak rose to become the overlord of the underworld," muttered Blaise. "About seventy years ago, from what my mother told me, he was a regular gangster in America, running a shady pub called The Blind Pig. There is a branch of the same here in Knockturn Alley. MACUSA, even back then, had declared him a wanted criminal. He rose steadily in the shadows, blackmailing, killing and robbing his enemies until he came out on top about five years ago."
"He's essentially running an empire here," whispered Draco. "Illegal dealings, smuggling of dangerous potions, supplying unicorn blood, assassinations, you name it, he has his hands dirty. Some say he is the reason the current goblin king sits on the throne."
Harry hummed, but the corners of his lips twitched. "And what does he know about the Obscurial? Did he agree to talk to me?"
"Not you," said Blaise. "That's why I told you to come in disguise. You're Amelia Black's oldest son, Harry. No one in their right mind would deal with you when they're running a black market such as this!"
"Did you bring what he demanded?" asked Draco sharply. "He won't accept gold. You know that he wouldn't ever reveal what he knows without compensation, right?"
"I have it," answered Harry. The two men nodded as they stood up, moving towards a private room at the back of the establishment. Harry poured himself a generous measure of Firewhisky and emptied the glass in one gulp. He keenly observed the various witches and wizards in the pub. It was a busy day. Slightly penetrating their silencing charms was enough for him to know that Gnarlak's top brass gangsters were all here.
A minute later, Gnarlak himself arrived. Dressed in an expensive dragon-hide suit, a dagger magically concealed in a scabbard with a cigar in hand, he cut an impression as if he were the boss of the place – which, Harry noted, he was.
"Gnarlak, this is Evan Wilson, an independent assassin," introduced Blaise. "He is the one who currently seeks information about the attacks by the Obscurial on the Muggle world."
The goblin grinned, showing several pointed teeth. "And why would you want to know of that, Mr Wilson?"
"My client wishes me to get rid of them," shrugged Harry. "Such attacks all over the world are a threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and he does not wish for the magical world to be exposed. Do you have the information?"
"Do you have the venom?" demanded Gnarlak. His eyes widened in surprise when the assassin silently removed a thick phial containing a dark liquid from inside his robes.
"Undiluted basilisk venom, as requested," said Harry, wandlessly levitating the phial to the goblin. He saw dispassionately as the gangster verified if the venom was indeed genuine. Finally, the goblin seemed satisfied.
"Not bad, Mr Wilson, not bad at all," Gnarlak smirked. "I wasn't expecting you to get your hands on something so rare. Basilisk venom is practically impossible to acquire these days. Where did you find it?"
It was not a question of curiosity, it was an order.
"I heard rumours that a trader in Bābili had it," answered Harry, without elaborating much.
Bābili, or Babylon as it was called by some people, was the largest city in Mesopotamia and served as the capital of the Mesopotamian Ministry of Magic. It was a province that was to the east of Europe and north of Africa, known as the middle-east. It shared its borders with Magical Bulgaria in the west, Magical Northern Africa in the south, Magical Russia to the north and north-east of the Black Sea, and Magical India to the east, ending at the Hindu-Kush mountains. Like most of the magical governments, they too were far too removed from the workings of the Muggle world in the region.
"The information, if you please."
Gnarlak thought for a minute. "I've heard from reliable sources that there is a wizard who is operating in a run-down warehouse in the London Docklands. The building has been uninhabited by Muggles due to age. There were plans of demolishing it, but this man apparently bought it from the previous owner. There is a secret laboratory inside, filled with Muggles and this one wizard."
"And what is the nature of this laboratory?" asked Harry, his eyes turning a shade of blackish-green.
The goblin gave a nonchalant shrug. "Research, I heard."
"I see," said Harry slowly, his face perfectly expressionless. "And who is this wizard?"
"No idea," Gnarlak grinned. "Of course, more information can be acquired – for a certain price."
"We had a deal," Harry said stiffly. Blaise and Draco moved back, not wanting to get tangled in the argument.
"I had a deal with Zabini and Malfoy, not you, Wilson," shot back Gnarlak. "If you want more information, I suggest you bring your so-called client here to speak to me. I'm not some common house-elf that you can summon whenever you wish."
Harry remained quiet. His irritation was building.
Gnarlak grinned. "Why do you want to chase damaged little wizards, anyway, Wilson?" he asked. "Don't take me for a fool. I personally know every top assassin in the magical world and those who employ them. You have no client. You are doing this for your own personal amusement or for revenge. Why bother? Such good looks and a fit body should not be wasted. There are several powerful witches, wizards and goblins in the room. Service us for a day or two and I'll help you make a lot of money."
Harry's eye twitched. His friends shifted uncomfortably behind him. From the way the group containing witches, wizards and goblins were leering at him, he knew that they were all privy to their conversation. His eyes turned jet black. If they thought he was going to offer his body to them, they were sadly mistaken, for he was no prostitute.
BOOM!
The house-elf at the entrance of the pub was the first to recover. "Ministry Aurors coming!" he announced.
Gnarlak did not miss the smirk that had formed on the young assassin's face. "YOU LED THEM HERE!" he howled. His dark eyes were filled with rage and malice. "I'll show you why it is not a good idea to mess with me, Wilson, mark my words!"
Harry didn't even bother to get up. He stamped his foot on the ground. The floor beneath his feet cracked due to the heat as a wave of magic flooded the building. The emergency Portkey that was charmed to pass through significant magical barriers literally exploded in the goblin's hands. No one in the establishment could leave, for the Aurors had cast their charms well.
Before the Ministry could note the goblin's presence, Harry bodily summoned Gnarlak and slapped him a custom-made Portkey. The shock on Gnarlak's face was still visible as he disappeared in a flash of blue light.
There were multiple cracks of Apparition as Aurors dressed in magically-enhanced protective leather robes entered the pub, rounding up the various inhabitants in a matter of seconds. A battle ensued, but the gangsters were already surrounded.
"Never did I think I would be this glad that we're friends. Remind me never to piss you off, Harry," muttered Blaise. Draco nodded fervently, shivering slightly.
The Boy-Who-Lived chuckled before picking up the phial containing the basilisk venom. Putting it back inside his robes, he turned to his friends.
"Thanks for your help, you two," he said sincerely. "I know that you spent a lot of money over the past week. Just tell me how much it cost to get in touch with Gnarlak and I will transfer the amount to your accounts, okay?"
Blaise and Draco nodded and quickly left, not wanting to be anywhere close to the crime scene. Harry observed his surroundings, his greenish-black eyes glinting in satisfaction. He walked outside and at an intersection of two roads in Knockturn Alley, with just a whisper, he Disapparated.
He opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of a magnificent looking castle. A happy smile formed on Harry's lips as he saw the familiar sight of Potter Castle before him. He had missed his home terribly over the past three months. Entering through the front doors, he made his way downstairs, towards the dungeons, where the prison cells were located.
Dylan Lestrange was casually leaning against the wall, observing the irate goblin who was cursing up a storm. The silencing charms around the cell ensured that they couldn't hear what Gnarlak was shouting about. He raised his eyebrows when his brother entered the room.
"Did he reveal anything to you?" he asked curiously.
"Not really," replied Harry. "I don't have names, but I do have the location of a place here in Britain. Thanks for keeping him company."
"De nada," shrugged Dylan. "I wasn't about to sit idle when someone bloody enters my home without warning. I'm sort of paranoid after Greyback's attack. Why is he here, anyway? I thought the Aurors would handle it?"
"The Aurors did handle it," said Harry softly. "But I realised that Gnarlak might just be the answer we are looking for."
"Regarding what?"
"Regarding an alliance with the Goblin Nation, should their imperial council choose to elect a new king. I'm sure Ragnok will be most pleased when we deliver Gnarlak to him. From what Ragnok told me, he has enough support to make it happen, and this scum was the only one powerful enough to hinder him. With the present King Ragnuk taken care of and his grand-nephew, Ragnok, as the king –"
"– the goblins will be more cooperative and will be willing to shift Gringotts to Camelot!" finished Dylan excitedly.
Harry nodded. "Among other things," he muttered. "But now, we have more pressing matters to attend to."
"The Obscurial?"
"Yes. Come on, Dylan. You, Daphne and I are taking a little trip to the Muggle world."