The Old Goblin

Flitwick's expression turned uneasy.

He raised his hand, hesitated, then gritted his teeth and said, "Crouch down!"

Harry obediently crouched, and Flitwick continued, patting his shoulder. "The Dark Lord's name carries magic—very powerful magic."

"Whoever utters it becomes known to him. He can locate them instantly and come to kill the one who dared speak his name."

"But he's dead now," Harry said with a shrug. "Or at least we can consider him dead."

Flitwick shook his head. "If it were only that simple."

"In reality, his name is also a curse."

"Only those who truly do not fear him are unaffected and can say his name freely."

"But those who fear him will only fear him more, and this fear will give him strength, making him even more powerful."

Harry nodded, understanding. "So, the curse hasn't been lifted yet?"

"It hasn't," Flitwick replied with a troubled look. "For a long time, I doubted he was truly gone. Recently, Dumbledore confirmed my fears—he's not dead."

No wonder even Muggle-born wizards followed suit, calling him "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Fear breeds fear.

"Enough unpleasant topics," Flitwick said, clearing his throat. "It's time for us to leave."

"Apparition?" Harry asked, his tone filled with anticipation.

Flitwick shook his head. "No, you're still too young. We'll use a safer method."

He raised his wand.

Harry looked up, sensing an unusual energy gathering in the distance. The magic felt lively, coalescing in the air.

With a deafening BANG, a blinding light flared, and a garish triple-decker purple bus screeched to a halt before them.

In gold script, the windshield read The Knight Bus.

A man in a purple uniform leapt out, reciting theatrically, "Welcome to the Knight Bus, providing emergency transportation for witches and wizards in need. Just raise your wand, and we'll take you wherever you want to go."

"We're going to Godric's Hollow," Flitwick said, flicking his wand to produce two Galleons, which flew into the man's hand. "Two tickets, just beds will do."

"How about some chocolate? Only three Sickles more," the conductor offered enthusiastically. "And for just one Sickle extra, you can get a hot water bottle and a toothbrush."

"No, thank you," Flitwick declined.

The conductor sighed, handed back twelve Sickles in change, and ushered them aboard.

The bus's interior was much larger than it appeared from the outside, with six or seven beds scattered about. Apart from them, only one other passenger was present.

"New passengers!" the conductor announced proudly to the driver. "Flitwick, the Hogwarts professor, and his little wizard!"

Harry had a bad feeling about this.

They took seats on two adjacent beds.

"Let's go!" the conductor shouted cheerfully.

BANG!

The Knight Bus rocketed forward like a rabbit, bouncing and hurtling at breakneck speed. Harry barely managed to keep his balance, while Flitwick rolled across his bed twice.

"This bus is ridiculously fast," Harry muttered, his face pale.

His enhanced Witcher senses caught every sight and sound, but the overwhelming input was useless, bombarding his brain like a torrent. The constant jerking of the bus only made it worse.

Flitwick, however, seemed to enjoy the ride, rolling with the movements of the bed. "Relax, Harry! There's no need to be so tense. The Knight Bus always rides like this."

Half an hour later, the conductor shook the other passenger awake. "Elgin!"

The passenger stumbled toward the exit but collapsed onto his trunk. The conductor unceremoniously tossed him off the bus.

Another half hour passed.

The conductor turned to Harry and Flitwick with a smile. "Godric's Hollow!"

Harry exhaled deeply as he stood.

The conductor gave him a curious look. "Incredible. You're the first young wizard I've seen remain so calm after a ride on the Knight Bus."

"Ever considered joining us after graduation?"

"We're official employees of the Ministry, you know."

Harry shook his head. "No thanks, but I do have a question."

"Of course."

"You claim the Knight Bus can go anywhere, correct?"

"Absolutely," the conductor said with pride. "Anywhere on land."

"Really?" Harry asked, his tone deadpan. "Then I'll pay you a Galleon—heck, even ten—to take me to the vaults at Gringotts. Preferably the richest one."

The conductor froze.

The driver turned, muttering, "No can do. We're not allowed to break the law."

"Then change your slogan, gentlemen," Harry said, levitating his luggage with a flick of his wand. With Flitwick present, he could cast spells freely.

The conductor nodded awkwardly. "You're right—that's probably a good idea."

After stepping off the bus, Flitwick suggested, "How about a quick break? There's a wizard pub nearby."

Harry nodded. "I'd appreciate that."

The Knight Bus had left him rattled. He'd rather endure ten Witcher portals than another ride on that thing.

Flitwick led him to a bar's back door, tapped it with his wand, and pushed it open.

The scene was familiar: much like the Leaky Cauldron, it was grubby but filled with wizards.

"Some wizards enjoy mingling with Muggles, but most prefer staying in our own world," Flitwick explained. "Care for a drink? Butterbeer?"

"A whiskey, please," Harry replied.

Flitwick shouted to the bartender, "Two whiskeys!"

"What's next on your agenda?" he asked.

"Dumbledore suggested you visit your home—you know where I mean," Flitwick continued. "Or perhaps explore Godric's Hollow. It's the most famous mixed community of wizards and Muggles."

"Or should we go straight to the blacksmith?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Let's go to the blacksmith first. I'll visit home once everything else is done."

After two drinks, Flitwick regained his composure.

They left the bar, passed through a long alley, and entered an underground passage.

Deep within, they reached a cave-like door. Flitwick knocked, and an old goblin opened it.

When the goblin saw Flitwick, its sharp eyes glinted. "Flitwick, the greatest human dueling champion! What a rare guest. I thought you'd never step into such…"

"...dirty, stinking undergrounds again."

Flitwick retorted, "Ragnok, I'm here because of the letter. My best student needs a blacksmith, and that brought me to you."

"Harry Potter," the goblin said, looking up with greedy eyes. "I hear you're the heir of Gryffindor. Do you have the sword he stole from us?"

"I haven't inherited anything yet," Harry replied coolly.

The goblin rubbed its hands together. "If you return the sword, I'll craft whatever you desire."

Flitwick bristled, nearly leaping. "That sword belongs to Gryffindor! When was it ever yours?"

"My ancestor forged it," Ragnok declared. "What goblins create belongs to goblins! Gryffindor kept it after death—that thieving, despicable human—"

Harry raised his wand, pointing it at the goblin's head. "Perhaps a few spells will clear your mind and make you more cooperative."

Ragnok stiffened.

"I want a skilled blacksmith," Harry said softly. "But don't try to use this as leverage. I've just had a miserable ride on a lunatic bus, so I'm in no mood for games."

Ragnok spat, grumbling, "Wizards are always so ruthless."

"Fine, fine."

"What kind of armor do you want?"

Harry flicked his wand, opening his luggage. A bundle containing troll hide floated out, landing before Ragnok. "Troll leather—for a set of armor."

"Terrible material," Ragnok muttered. "Why not use dragon hide? That's premium quality."

"I'm still growing," Harry said flatly. "You know how expensive dragon hide is. I don't need something I'll outgrow in a year or two."

"Fine, troll leather will do," the goblin relented. "Now let's talk price."

He hesitated before adding, "You'll need to provide a forge."

Harry raised a brow. "You're a blacksmith without a forge?"

"What a ridiculous question," Ragnok said, clicking his tongue. "Everything belongs to you wizards. We goblins are lucky to have a hole to live in."

Flitwick offered, "I could enchant—"

"No, I need a real forge," Ragnok insisted firmly. "That's my condition. I'll even lower my fee if you provide it."

Flitwick frowned, as did Harry.

Ragnok turned to Harry.

"You'll grow, young wizard. The Sword of Gryffindor is barely a meter long. You'll need a longer sword someday, won't you?"

"Providing a forge benefits both of us."

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Powerstones?

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