13

Chapter 12

Harry grunted in irritation. He'd finished his physiotherapy for the day, and was now going over the most recent correspondence before beginning his lessons.

"Alex," he called.

Alex stuck his head in, toffee hair slightly tousled from sparring with Sergei. He combed his fingers through it, lightly tucking it back into its usual smooth waves.

"Yes Sir?"

Harry waved a letter at him. "Gutshank says Dumbledore has been getting more pushy about gaining access to the Potter vaults. I'm going to have to get in there as soon as I can walk without fainting, even if I'm not one hundred percent. Arrange something for three days from now, but see if you can get a private access portkey or something so I don't have to walk through the bank. Perhaps even after hours if the two of you think that would be best; I don't care how much it will cost. I also need to see Mr South. Arrange it for the day after, if he's available." He held out a slip of paper. "And get this for him. Get as many as you can find, actually, but I need at least one for him. Stockpile any others you find."

Alex glanced at the paper and his eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. "Anything else?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully, shuffling through a couple of his papers. "For the moment, no, but I'll have more work for you once I'm back up to par. You and Sergei did well while I was out of it, not that I expected otherwise, so I'll be adding a bonus to your next pay cheques. I'll try to keep your duties light for the next week or so unless something comes up, so enjoy yourself while you can. Just stay contactable."

Grinning, Alex nodded again. "Thank you, Sir. I'll let Sergei know. Should I tell Daniel and Connor to meet you in the dining room for your lesson?"

Harry nodded absently, more focused on the report in his hand. "Please. I'll be there in ten. Oh, before I forget, let Marcel know that we're getting pizza for dinner. I'm in the mood for a movie night."

Alex chuckled. "How does pizza fit into your obsessively organised meal plan?"

"Well, I need to gain weight, don't I?" Harry gifted him an innocent look before breaking into a mischievous smirk. "If he gets fussy, tell him he can pick my topping. Bossy peacock that he is." He muttered the last under his breath, causing Alex to snigger slightly.

"Alright. Though I might leave off that last part."

Harry smiled, and placed his report into the pile to file later. "Appreciated."

Alex departed, and Harry leaned back with a sigh. He was exhausted, not that he'd let his men know.

The healing had depleted the meagre stores his body had built up over the previous weeks under Marcel's care, and he was now almost scarily emaciated. The healer had put him onto a strict diet, feeding him five full meals a day, plus snacks. He was gaining weight slowly, especially when combined with the nutrient potions and muscle building serum he had to choke down twice a day, but it was hard going, and the constant cold from lack of normal insulation was wearing. His men had thoughtfully added heating charms to all his clothing, and kept the house heated to a temperature that was probably a little uncomfortable for the rest of the residents, but nobody complained. And he was still cold.

Tottering into the dining room, he saw Mama Andrews and the boys waiting for him. Even Greg had decided to join the lesson, though he lacked any magic himself.

Dropping into his seat at the head of the table, Harry smiled faintly at the plate of chocolate chip cookies and giant glass of milk that was promptly deposited in front of him.

"I thought today I'd give you a choice; history or society?" Mama Andrews looked around enquiringly, though she focused on Harry.

Chewing a cookie thoughtfully, the young crime lord eyed his ward. "Connor? Have you covered much of society yet?"

The five year old shook his head. "No, not yet. I was wondering about goblins though?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in question, taking a sip of milk. "What did you want to know?"

"Well, the other day Mama Andrews said that lots of pure bloods don't like non humans, sometimes they hate them even more than they hate halfbloods and muggleborns and squibs. But don't the goblins run the banks? If the purebloods don't like or trust them, why do they let them take control of their money? What if the goblins got mad one day and turned on them, like they did in the Goblin Rebellions that Mama Andrews was talking about yesterday?" The boy flushed, fiddling with his own plate of cookies.

"That's an excellent question, Connor. You've clearly been thinking a lot about this. I'm impressed." Harry smiled warmly at the younger boy.

Connor lit up, eyes sparkling at the praise. "I've got lots more questions!" He opened his mouth to blurt them out, but snapped it shut again when Harry held up a hand.

"I'm glad. Questions mean you're thinking about things, not just taking everything at face value. I think this would be an excellent topic for today's lesson, don't you? At the end of the lesson, you can ask your next question, but then I want you to go away and think about it, and try to find or work out the answer on your own. At the start of the next lesson, you tell us what answer you came up with, and if you're close or your answer is logical enough to be plausible, we'll go to the park afterwards."

Connor practically vibrated with excitement, beaming up at the boy he adored. "That would be wicked!"

Harry smiled again. "Good. Now, Mama Andrews? Can you answer Connor's question? He raises an excellent point."

Tammy settled back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. The sunlight streaming through the large window facing the back garden picked out the natural honey gold tints in her thick brown tresses, highlighting them almost playfully, waves of light rioting through her loose curls.

"Certainly. We should probably start with more information on the goblins themselves, before moving onto their role in society though. Daniel? You've been reading about goblins lately, haven't you? What have you discovered?"

Daniel paused mid chew, looking faintly hunted. "Um…" He swallowed and took a sip of milk.

Connor grinned. "He wasn't reading about goblins, Mama Andrews, he had a comic book inside the text book. I read the book though. Well, some of it. I didn't understand it all, it used lots of big words I didn't know yet." His smug look faded into a slight pout.

Harry and Greg grinned, while Mama Andrews turned a light glare on her youngest son. "Is that so?"

Daniel avoided her eye, shifting in his seat and eyeing the door. "Um…"

"Well then, Connor, why don't you tell us what you understood from the book, and then we can fill in the blanks?" Harry asked quietly, a proud warmth filling his chest at the thought of how hard his ward was working. He'd never felt a real connection to anyone since Sally and Dave, though he supposed he was growing fond of his men and the Andrews. They were different though. His men were employees, and the Andrews were… well, he didn't know what they were, but they weren't in the same category as Connor. Connor was his, and the fierce possessiveness Harry felt towards him was burning in its intensity.

Connor sat up straight and beamed, eager to show off to his Mister Harry. "Well, the goblins used to be warriors, and everyone was scared of them because they were so tough. There was lots of wars, and the goblins won a lot, but eventually they started losing because there were more wizards than goblins. The wizards were scared of another goblin war, so they neg-o-tiated with them. That's when you sit down and try to work it out without yelling, isn't it? I didn't know that word."

Harry nodded with a faint smile, and Connor continued. "The goblins liked gold and treasure, almost as much as they liked fighting, so the wizards made a deal with them. If the goblins didn't go to war against the wizards again, they could set up banks and look after all the money. The goblins agreed, but the wizards tricked them, making the contract not mean what the goblins thought it meant. The goblins were now listed as creatures, and not people, and they have hardly any rights if they leave the banks.

"The goblins were really mad about this, but because the wizards didn't try to take over the banks, the goblins are magically bound to not start another war. If the Ministry of Magic keeps their end of the deal and treats the banks as… um, I don't know what this means, but the book said 'sovereign soil', then the goblins can't do anything."

Mama Andrews smiled. "Sovereign soil means that they are like their own little country within a country, and they can rule themselves."

Connor nodded, understanding. "Oh ok. But the goblins like to make things hard for the wizards who treat them badly, and are really good at finding ways to twist contracts and stuff so that they get more than the wizards wanted to give them. They learned to do it after their own contract hurt them so much. The book said that a goblin written contract is 'ironclad', and that you should always be really careful if you have to sign one." He paused, sipping his milk. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Oh, so that's why! The wizards aren't afraid because the goblins can't do anything, as long as we don't do anything to them first!" He frowned. "Still seems wrong to treat them badly though. They might be nicer if we were nicer to them first."

Harry chuckled. "Well, why don't you come with me one time when I have to see the goblins, and we can put your idea to the test? I'm sure if you are very polite and respectful, the goblin we see might be willing to answer one or two questions for you. But you mustn't be upset if they don't, alright?"

Connor nodded seriously. "Harry? Do you know any goblin names? The book said that their names tell a lot about a goblin, because they get one when they come of age that talks about what they became known for during their trials."

"I know one or two. What do you know about their trials?"

"Well, a goblin doesn't come of age when they get old enough like a wizard does. They have to go visit other goblin tribes and do something to prove themselves, no matter how long it takes. They have to 'make a name for themselves'. What names do you know?"

Harry considered for a moment, before deciding that the secrecy oaths the Andrews had sworn before arrival would cover this too. "I've met one called Gutshank, and I have heard about another called Riftweld."

Connor's eyes went round, and he gaped. "Riftweld? I read about her! She ended a goblin civil war by knocking out the two leaders, tying them up, and making them talk to each other. One of them was her dad. She agreed to seal the treaty by marrying the other leaders son, which made their clans into one. As a reward, she was allowed to look after one of the biggest accounts at the bank! She's so cool!"

Grinning, Harry decided not to inform the little boy that he would likely meet the object of his fascination at some point. It would make a nice surprise.

Connor frowned thoughtfully. "What does Gutshank mean though?"

Harry was sitting next to Elise. She'd been moved to a private room so that she wouldn't panic when she woke up and saw all her friends still sleeping. Her dark brown hair had been neatly combed, and she'd been put into a clean set of pyjamas; pink ones with a yellow flower on the front. She was tucked into the single bed, a purple stuffed unicorn tucked in next to her.

Harry hummed softly, repeating the song he'd sung for her during the purge. Gently stroking her hair back from her forehead, he examined her face intently, eyes roving thoughtfully.

At four years old, she was surprisingly beautiful. Her high cheekbones and pert little nose were complimented by full lips and almond shaped eyes so dark they were nearly black. There was a faint Asian cast to her features, but nothing within the last generation or two. Probably a grandparent or great grandparent, he mused. It wasn't hard to see why the girl had been snatched, as she grew older she would be truly stunning.

The file Sergei and Captain had put together on her family had been distressing. The poor child had been abducted straight from the hospital after the car accident that claimed both her parents' lives. Like Connor, she had no one else. Unfortunately for her, there had been no alternative guardians listed. The nurse who'd facilitated the abduction had already been collected, and was being held in a rather uncomfortable location for the time being. Whether he was added to Vahan's growing tally or handed over to the police depended entirely on what Elise chose to do when she woke.

Alex had already located a family that would be suitable to take her if she chose to leave The Nest, though Harry intended to offer her the opportunity to stay as a ward of Mr Smith. He'd prepared the legal files for either eventuality.

Dark eyes flicked open slowly, and Harry withdrew his hand, but kept humming softly. He watched her examine him closely, letting her look her fill.

"Hello," she said quietly, sitting up.

"Hello," Harry returned, waiting patiently.

"You helped me when I was sick, before I went back to sleep."

Harry nodded silently.

"I liked the song you were singing. It's pretty."

"Thank you. I like it too. Someone sang it for me once when I was hurt, and it made me feel better. I thought it might make you feel better too."

She smiled shyly. "I'm Elise. Who are you?"

"You can call me Harry, for now. Are you hungry, Elise?"

Nodding, she watched him warily.

"It's alright," he soothed, lifting the lid from the plate on her bedside table. "There's no cost for this. Just eat, and we'll talk, alright?"

Relieved but still cautious, she edged forward and picked up the spoon, taking a small bite of porridge.

"You won't be hurt here. This is a safe place, and you'll never have to do what those men did to you ever again. Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer as best you can, ok?." Seeing her nod, he offered an encouraging smile. "Do you know if there is anyone your parents would want you to stay with now that they can't look after you anymore?"

Elise bit her lip, looking down and thinking hard. Gradually, she shook her head, and clutched her unicorn close.

"That's alright, I just wanted to check. Now, I know it's a lot to take in, but we have a choice to make. You don't have to decide right now, but I want you to think very carefully about it, ok?" He watched her take another few bites of porridge, and nudged her glass of orange juice closer to encourage her to drink. "There's a family that will take you if you want them to. If you go and live with them, the doctor will give you a special medicine that will make it so you can't remember being here at all. My work sometimes means I have to do things that the police don't like, so it's very important that you can't remember anything that might get me in trouble. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her dark, almost black eyes guarded.

"Your other choice is to stay here with me. This will always be a safe place, but if you choose to stay, you may see things you don't like or that scare you. You'll never be made to do anything you don't want to do though, and you'll never be hurt here." He paused, watching her carefully. He could see she had already made up her mind, but he would encourage her to take some time to think about it anyway. "Now, finish eating your breakfast, and then you can ask me any questions you have, ok?"

Elise smiled shyly, and quickly polished off the rest of her meal.

The next morning found Harry outside for the first time since his healing. He watched indulgently as Connor, Elise, and Daniel played in the backyard, snowballs flying as they engaged in a battle for the ages. Their giggles and squeals of laughter were surprisingly pleasant to listen to, and he smiled slightly as he sipped his hot chocolate.

Marcel and Mama Andrews had bundled his skeletal frame into a ridiculous amount of clothes, and layered multiple warming charms over him so he could rest comfortably on the back patio. And then they'd added the blankets. In all honesty, he was slightly too warm, but after nearly a week of constant cold, and then sitting outside and watching the children playing in the snow, it was a welcome change.

"How are you feeling?" Captain settled into the chair next to him, his own mug of chocolaty goodness steaming.

"Better. The potions and never ending food are helping a lot. Marcel says I should be back to a healthy weight by the end of next week, barring complications." Harry shifted, readjusting the blanket over his knees. "I'm sorry I haven't had much time to talk to you lately, I know we need to sit down and discuss your employment request."

Nathan smiled gently. "I understand. Alex and Sergei have been keeping me occupied. You'll get to me when you do."

Harry nodded, taking a sip. "I'd rather do it in the office where we will have some privacy, but I have a few ideas I wouldn't mind running past you, if you have the time."

"Whenever you need me. You're the boss!" He grinned when Harry rolled his eyes. "When are you going to see the goblins?"

"In about an hour. I'd rather wait longer, but needs must."

Captain hummed as he sipped his own drink. He gestured to the children with the mug. "What do you think she'll choose?"

Harry's lip twitched slightly. "She's already chosen, though she hasn't said anything yet. She'll stay here. Better the devil you know, and all that rubbish."

"She's a sweet little thing. Afraid of men of course, but that's hardly unexpected. She latched on quickly to Tammy though."

"Mm. I'm not surprised. She'll be useful at making the other children feel comfortable when we bring them here, once she's seen that we're as good as our word. I doubt it will take her long to settle in. Even with everything that happened, she's still very young. She'll adjust more quickly than an older child would."

"True. Any change with Bradshaw?"

"No, still in a coma, though Marcel is hopeful he'll wake up soon. Apparently he's showing increased brain activity. Connor has been sitting with him for a while every day, from what I understand."

"He has. It's a bit heartbreaking to see, honestly. I hope for his sake that Bradshaw is still himself when he wakes up."

They sat in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and watching the children. Eventually, Harry stirred, and fought his way free of his blanket cocoon. Standing, he walked as best he could into the house, trusting the Captain to keep an eye on the kids.

Marcel met him as he passed through the play room.

"Ah, there you are. Now, I've given Alex and Sergei instructions for while you're out, but I'll repeat them to you as well. If you feel yourself getting too tired, you mustn't push yourself. In forty minutes you're due for your next potion, which you have to take with a meal. I don't care if you're in a meeting, if you skip either it will disrupt your recovery. When you get back I'll be giving you a check up to make sure you haven't overdone it."

Harry nodded dutifully, thanking the Healer before the man swept off to do his next lot of rounds. He took a step forward, only for Sergei to materialise before him.

"So, Boss, I've been thinking." The gruff Russian had a mischievous glint in his eye that made Harry wary.

"Oh?"

"It's about time we looked at getting you a wand. I know we'd planned on it before, but then it got put off. What do you say to picking one out today?"

Harry thought about it, chewing his lip. "Tempting, but I think I'll wait until I'm a bit better and we can make a day of it. My magic is still a bit unsettled anyway. It would be better to wait until it isn't so busy repairing my body." He saw the faintly disappointed look on his companions face before it was masked. "You bet on what it would be, didn't you."

Sergei smirked unrepentantly. "Might have. Just a little gentlemen's wager, you understand."

Rolling his eyes, Harry resumed his shuffle towards his bedroom. "I need to change before the meeting. Make yourself useful and find Alex, would you? I'll need both of you to wrestle my hair into submission."

Laughing, Sergei strode off to do as he was bid.

"Ah, Mr Potter, a pleasure to see you again." Gutshank bared his teeth in greeting when the portkey dropped them into his office directly.

Harry staggered and would have fallen, but Sergei caught him and held him steady until the vertigo passed.

"Likewise, Gutshank. How's business?" Harry returned, shaking the goblin's gnarled hand, miraculously avoiding the claws.

Gutshank eyed the boy critically. "Better than your health, it seems." He quickly returned to his desk, pulling out a thick file.

"Hm, yes. It was an assassination attempt; poison. I'm recovering, though I should probably mention that I'll be required to take a potion and eat a meal in approximately twenty minutes. I apologise for any interruption it may cause to our meeting today."

The goblin waved a hand dismissively. "I'll join you. Nothing wrong with a business lunch." He leaned towards a carved stone on his desk, resting a claw on it and barking out an order in gobbledegook. Leaning back and opening the file, he pulled out a few pages of parchment. "Let's get these signed before the food arrives. We can discuss anything else while we eat."

Harry smiled and nodded, taking the forms and reading over them carefully.

"Sign them as John Smith. He will be listed as Regent for your Lordship until you reach your majority. If you want to have someone attend a Wizengamot meeting for you but Mr Smith can't attend personally, he can assign a proxy, though I wouldn't recommend doing that often. Do you have someone to play him for public appearances?"

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. "No. I've had someone fill in on a one time basis, but unfortunately the man I had on the lookout for a suitable stand in was injured and is currently in a coma. I have no idea if he had someone in mind or not, we couldn't find anything in his notes, but that doesn't mean much."

"May I make a suggestion? You could create a golem. If you give it some of your blood it could even sign things for you. You'd need to imbue it with your own magic too, of course. The only complication would be if the two of you were in the same room with someone who can sense magical signatures. Not many can, but those with creature blood like Veela or Goblins, or someone extremely powerful like Dumbledore would be able to tell. If you had some people you trusted, though, they could add their magic to it as well, which would confuse their senses enough to pass muster."

Tilting his head in interest, Harry pursed his lips. "How would that affect the magical signature for blood though? If it signed things on my behalf, it's signature would need to match what is already on record."

Gutshank chuckled, inordinately pleased. "Very good, Mr Potter! The trick is to add their magic, but only your blood. It's a delicate bit of work, not to mention very illegal, but something tells me that legality is only a passing concern to someone like yourself."

Harry smirked faintly. "Legality is very important to me. It's important to know where the line is so you can wave to it as it goes rushing past."

Alex frowned and shifted. "I wasn't aware you could create a golem with multiple magics and only one blood. I thought you required equal contribution of both from all donors?"

Gutshank bared his teeth. "Wizards have to, yes. But Goblin magic allows for things that wizards could never even dream of."

Harry looked interested. "Really? Can you give me another example?"

"Well, we can link the golem's mind to yours, so what you know, it does, and what it does, you do. You can even look through its eyes if you wish, thought you can't control it from a distance. It will continue to follow the actions it was programed with."

"Fascinating. Definitely something I'd like to explore further. Would you make a note that I'd like to discuss that at our next meeting?"

Gutshank handed the boy a blood quill. "Certainly. Once you've signed, you will have full access to your accounts. You're fortunate, you know. The Potter account manager isn't likely to raise any alarms when she finds out you are your own guardian. My wife will think it a grand joke, and she will be pleased to do anything to keep that old man's fingers out of your gold. He's been causing her quite a few headaches, I must say."

Harry blinked. "You're married to Riftweld? You're the other clan's heir?"

Gutshank raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you know that."

Harry worked his way through the pile of parchment, supressing a wince as the blood quill cut into the back of his hand with each signature. "My ward has been learning about your culture and history as best he can from the books we've been able to obtain. Our knowledge is sketchy at best, but Connor seems to be quite enamoured with the story of your wife's naming. I admit to finding your culture and history fascinating as well, and considering you hold the wizarding economy in your claws, I believe that learning as much as I can is prudent. It would be foolish to cause avoidable offence to such valuable allies."

"In other words, we have you by the balls and so you want to play nice so we don't squeeze too tightly."

Harry laughed. "Something like that. Though I do find your culture interesting. Connor has the real passion though. I believe he wants to learn Gobbledegook, and I wouldn't be surprised if his life's ambition is to meet your wife."

Their conversation was interrupted by four beautifully prepared meals appearing on the table in front of them. Harry quickly swallowed his potion and picked up his cutlery.

"So, Gutshank, I was wondering about Potter Manor…"

Standing in front of Mr South, Harry fought to keep the amusement off his face. The man made a habit of meeting his preferred clients personally, but he had sent a minion this time to show them to his room. Clearly, he was feeling miffed about the delay.

The man glared down at Harry, though his gaze softened marginally when

Alex dispelled the glamour and he took in how ill the boy looked. He finally gestured to a seat, allowing Harry to rest.

"A glamour?"

"Of course. I have no desire to deal with endless pissing matches just because someone saw me having an off day."

Despite himself, Mr South chuckled. "This is just an off day? You look like hell."

Harry lowered his head modestly, peering up mischievously through his lashes. "What can I say? I've been practicing the Art of Understatement. I'm considering trying for a Mastery."

Alex snorted quietly, and Sergei disguised something that was suspiciously giggle-like with a cough.

"I'd imagine you would like to return home as quickly as you can manage, so shall we get to it?" Mr South crossed his legs and rested an arm along the back of his couch, reclining elegantly.

"Certainly, though first I would like to give you something." Harry nodded to Alex, who pulled out a beautiful polished rosewood box and presented it to the stoic weapons dealer.

With a raised eyebrow, the man took the box, opening it cautiously. His eyes widened minutely, and the faintest gasp left his lips. He cleared his throat, and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet suddenly dry lips. "Henri IV Dudognon Heritage Cognac Grande Champagne. I'm impressed."

Harry offered a faintly cheeky grin. "So am I forgiven for making you stew in your curiosity for weeks?"

Mr South levelled a faint glare at the boy, fighting a smile. "Maybe. I'll let you know."

Harry laughed lightly. "Whatever you say, old man."

Mr South huffed in mock indignation while Vahan's men stepped outside to guard the door and give them some privacy.

"So, you have questions, I have answers. I propose an exchange." Harry grinned at his friend, relaxing fully.

Eying the boy carefully, Mr South put the box aside and stood, pulling a warm blanket from a cabinet and offering it to the obviously chilled child.

Taking it with a wry smile and a thank you, Harry wrapped it around himself, sighing in pleasure at the warmth and soft texture.

Resuming his seat with a glass of scotch, Mr South pondered where to begin. "Let's start with the simple questions, shall we? What is your real name?"

Harry looked down, picking an imaginary piece of lint off the blanket. "Harry Potter." He couldn't contain his laughter when the older man promptly sprayed his mouthful and started choking. He tilted his head and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you look so undignified. Not even when your lackey dropped a case of grenades on your foot." He grinned suddenly. "I feel like I've won a prize!"

Mr South gave the boy a flat look. "I can still kill you, you know."

Harry waved airily. "Oh I know that. But you won't, because I'm too much fun to have around."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mr South began to wonder at the wisdom of the deal they had made, if it had made the boy relax around him to this degree.

"I'll just start from the beginning, I think. You see, originally I lived with my Aunt and Uncle…"

Two hours later, Mr South had given up on refreshing his drink and had migrated to drinking straight from the bottle. A true crime against such a high quality spirit, but the circumstances definitely warranted such an action. Harry was sipping his own glass of scotch appreciatively, watching his friend try to come to grips with everything he had been told. It was taking longer than he'd anticipated, much to his amusement.

Mr South had long since loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt, the jacket discarded over the back of a chair. "I can't decide if you're brilliant or insane."

Harry shrugged. "Both, probably."

"What are your plans for your relatives?"

Harry shrugged and took another sip, humming in pleasure. "Dudley is on Wizard Watch, but once they've been approached, Petunia and Vernon are going to find themselves in all sorts of legal and financial trouble. I'm thinking to start small. Unpaid parking tickets and the like, then work up to bankruptcy after I buy out Grunnings and expose Vernon's fat filching fingers. I know that he's been skimming the accounts, and he goes through secretaries at an alarming rate because he keeps harassing them. After that, I'll get the police involved and will have my lawyer press charges for child abuse and trafficking. That will probably land one or both in prison. Beyond that I'll just keep an eye on them, and send some people to mess with them if they start getting too uppity."

"What about your cousin?"

"I'll make sure one of mine gets custody. I'm unwilling to let him go to Aunt Marge - the woman is almost as bad as her brother. He'll be working for me. Waste not, want not, or whatever. He may be thick as pig shit, but dumb muscle can be useful if managed properly."

Mr South sat back with a sigh, his brain buzzing. The silence stretched, broken only be the popping of a log on the fire. Finally, the man seemed to reach a conclusion and sighed heavily.

"I don't think I'm drunk enough for this."

Harry smiled, and took a sip, verdant eyes gleaming merrily.

Life at The Nest quickly settled into a new routine. Elise and the two boys with dubious home lives - Mark and Louis - had chosen to stay with Harry, and the others had their memories altered and were returned to their very grateful parents. Mornings were filled with muggle lessons for the children while Harry worked through his physiotherapy and paperwork, lunches were raucous as the children told their tiny saviour all the interesting things they'd learned, and afternoons were physical training lessons and play time.

Harry spent as much free time as he could with his wards and friend, listening to them talk or playing simple games. The younger children were quickly coming to idolize Harry as much as Connor did, and it was obvious that there was nothing they wouldn't do for him. Harry was already planning a few jobs they could assist with, for training.

Within two weeks, Harry was back to a healthy weight and full health, though Marcel was still puzzling through the scar and its strange response to the healing. So far he'd had little success, but he claimed he was edging closer to a theory, so they left him to it.

Elise, Mark, and Louis were still exceptionally wary of the men in the house, but had come to adore Mama Andrews, eagerly hanging on her every word. The maternal woman had taken advantage of this, counselling the children as best she could, and helping them work through their fear enough to begin to trust the Hounds and the resident Healer, if nobody else.

Harry finally decided it was time to pay a visit to Knockturn Alley.

Gathering up Sergei, Alex, and Marcel - who wanted to acquire some less than reputable texts that he believed might hold the answers to the scar - Harry left the Captain behind to handle security for Mama Andrews and the Nestlings.

A quick visit to Gringotts under the most powerful glamours his men could manage, paired with his usual obscuration charm, and they slipped into the murky darkness that permeated the Alley.

"Where to first?" Harry muttered, glancing around carefully.

"Rafe Gregorovitch Custom Wands. He's Mykew Gregorovitch's half-brother, and just as skilled, though not as well known. He's the black sheep of the family, and isn't associated with the main Gregorovitch stores. Apparently his father disapproved of his willingness to provide wands for anyone with magic, regardless of species." Sergei intoned softly, giving a hard stare at a hag who was eyeing Harry a little too intently for his liking.

"Alright, lead the way. Aside from the bookshops, is there anywhere else in here you think I should visit?"

Alex shifted slightly to provide more cover for Harry's smaller frame. "There are a few curio shops you might like to browse, though I'd be careful about keeping those sort of things in The Nest. We should also make a few stops in Diagon."

"Peachy. Let's get going then. I promised the Nestlings we'd bring home ice cream for after dinner." Harry heard Marcel grumble about proper nutrition behind him, but he didn't bother to object directly. The Healer knew that Harry would do whatever he pleased anyway.

They walked for several minutes, dodging a few disreputable types and eyeballing a few others into submission, before reaching their destination.

The shop itself was an unassuming little hole in the wall, better maintained than many of the other storefronts, but still in keeping with the shabby and run down feel of the Alley. Inside, however, the store was warm and welcoming, if somewhat dimly lit.

"How may I help you gentlemen today?" Rafe Gregorovitch was an older man, his hair worn shoulder length and loose, more silver than its former russet. His accent was heavy, his English excellent, but so ponderous that it was almost painful to hear him talk.

Sergei quickly rattled of a string of Russian, gesturing to the disguised Harry before leaning a hip against the counter and folding his arms casually.

"Ah, I see. Very well, if you would please step into the workshop and remove your disguise, we can begin." Gregorovitch held the curtain aside, allowing Alex to step through and clear the room before Harry followed him in. Dispelling the concealments so they wouldn't interfere with the process, Alex stepped to the side, settling himself out of the way, but watching closely.

"We will begin with the wood. Touch each sample and pull out the one that calls to you." The man placed a series of small wooden blocks on the bench, and stepped back.

Harry eyed them, then stepped forward, holding his hand out. Closing his eyes, he allowed his fingers to drift over each of the samples, listening closely to his magic. It took several minutes, but eventually he'd selected three blocks. Opening his eyes and standing back, he looked at the wand maker expectantly.

The older man looked at him curiously for a moment, before smiling, revealing startlingly white teeth. "Interesting. Do you know the meaning of the woods you have chosen?"

Harry shook his head, not even aware of what types he'd chosen.

"Yew," he held up a pale coloured block, "is considered to be imbued with the power of life and death. It is particularly compatible for duelling and curses, and will never bond with someone who is mediocre or timid. Many people claim that those who bond with yew are particularly drawn to Dark Arts, but this is not true. What is true is that those who bond with this wood are often very protective, and will do absolutely anything in their power to safeguard those they care about. This is not a material for someone who will let another dictate what is or is not acceptable when pursuing their chosen course of action."

Putting down the yew, Gregorovitch picked up the next block, a handsome medium brown colour with a grainy look to it. "Walnut is particularly compatible with a wizard or witch who is extremely intelligent and inventive. It can be notoriously difficult to dominate, but once you have, this wood will do absolutely anything for its master. It is versatile and adaptable, and will not fight you like some woods will if you ask them to complete a task against their nature. In the right - or wrong - hands, a wand of this wood can be absolutely lethal, if it's wielder is brilliant and creative enough."

Picking up the last sample, Gregorovitch smiled faintly at the black square. "Ebony's perfect match is someone who does not conform, and is happy to be considered an outsider. A person with this wood will hold tightly to their beliefs no matter the pressure to change, and will be almost impossible to sway from their task. It is excellent for combative magic, and transfiguration. I think it is safe to say that you, young man, will be an extremely unique individual. I look forward to seeing what will become of you. I have no doubt it will be spectacular."

Harry shrugged. "I'm hardly ordinary. Superlative results are practically a given."

Throwing his head back, Gregorovitch laughed heartily. "Oh yes, I will be following you closely, lad. Now, a core. We do that one a little differently. You will drink a potion and go into a trance, then you will be pulled to the best core for you. The potion will dissipate from your system naturally once it is done. Are you ready?"

Harry frowned slightly, and held up a hand. "Wait a moment. Marcel?" He called out, unwilling to stick his unglamoured head through the curtain.

"What's up?" Marcel peered in, leaning through the door but not stepping inside.

"I have to take a potion to find the wand core. It won't interact with my other ones?"

Marcel's brows crinkled slightly as he thought, his teeth chewing gently on his full lower lip. "Shouldn't. I'll check you over afterwards though, to be certain."

Harry nodded in agreement, then turned back to the wand maker. "Alright. Dose me up, Scotty."

Gregorovitch looked confused, but handed over a tiny vial of opalescent liquid. Harry tossed it back quickly, surprised to discover it didn't really taste like anything, though it had a pleasant minty aftertaste that he quite liked. He could feel himself slipping into a gentle state, his mind fogging slightly. It reminded him of the first time he'd had pot when Mike and Dave had found him, though this left him slightly more disconnected from his body.

The men watched as Harry's face went slack, a placid look stealing across his features. He drifted forwards, a hand reaching out to the multitude of tiny drawers covering one wall. His fingers skimmed along one of the rows, before pulling open a drawer three quarters of the way along and dipping inside. He pulled free several stiff ashen coloured hairs, his eyes dropping half closed in pleasure. He brushed the bristles against his cheek, and both men were startled when he made an odd little purring noise.

Alex made a mental note to place a bet with Sergei about the boss becoming an animagus and what it would be.

Placing the hairs on the work bench, Harry returned to the drawers, pulling free a small vial of thin amber toned fluid. Adding that to the pile of hairs, he then snatched up a knife and dashed it across his palm, the cut welling with crimson fluid. Gregorovitch hastily conjured a vial, and caught the slow trickle of blood before it could be wasted on the floorboards. Once he had sufficient, he cast a quick healing spell at the boy's palm, sealing the wound without a scar. Expecting the potion to dissipate, he was startled when Harry once more glided to the draws, this time pulling free a vial of clear fluid, placing it on the work bench, but separate from the other pile. Only then did the haze clear.

Harry staggered slightly, and Marcel stepped in, steadying him and casting a quick diagnostic.

"You might develop a slight headache, but that's it. No other side effects or interactions." Marcel smiled at his tiny boss, then stepped back out to wait with Sergei; though torment might be a more accurate description.

Harry looked expectantly at the craftsman.

Gregorovitch raised his eyebrows and blew out a surprised breath. "Well, this wand will certainly be one of the most unique I have ever crafted! I have never even heard of a combination like this!"

Harry raised his eyebrows in interest. "Oh?"

"Tebo hair, basilisk venom, and your own blood for the core, and phoenix tears to soak the completed wand in."

"I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with tebo, and my knowledge of basilisks is extremely sketchy." Harry frowned, annoyed at not knowing.

"Tebo are a beast found in Africa, primarily Congo and Zaire and the like. It's similar to a muggle warthog, but it can turn itself invisible. They are extremely territorial, aggressive, and dangerous, and so tough that their hide is often used in protective clothing. A tebo is not a creature you want to mess with.

"Basilisk venom is one of the most toxic substances we know of. It is so deadly that only phoenix tears can heal it, and even then, only if the tears are applied in a timely fashion, since it will kill you in a matter of minutes. It can also eat through various materials like metal and stone.

"Your blood being added to the core means that even if you are disarmed or defeated, this wand will never change its allegiance to you. It will also never work for anyone that you do not approve of handling it. In fact, I would go so far as to say it would actively fight against any unapproved user; which would be very bad for them, considering the components it is made from. This wand will essentially be less of a tool - like it would be for any other wizard - and more of an extension of yourself. You may even be able to do some clever little tricks, like calling it to you, no matter where you or it may be."

Harry smiled, pleased. "And the phoenix tear soak?"

"Provides balance. Most wands do not require a soak, since they are naturally balanced, but in the case of a wand such as yours, where there is such aggression and violence coupled with woods that will amplify these traits, the soak will artificially provide the balance and stop the wand from trying to kill everything in sight. Or exploding; that is also a possibility."

"I see. What happens now?"

"Now, you go away and come back in an hour."

Harry blinked, then shrugged, turning so Alex could reapply his glamours.

Borgin and Burkes was an interesting place to spend an hour browsing, especially when the proprietors were good friends with your body guards. Marcel had disappeared off to Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary, but had claimed he would meet them back at Gregorovitch's when the hour was up.

Harry peered around as his men chatted with Mr Borgin. The Hand of Glory caught his eye, and he examined it curiously. It was very worn, obviously heavily used, but in good condition as far as he could tell. He'd read about them in muggle books, long before he had learned of the wizarding world. The idea of a hand that could provide light to only it's bearer, and unlock any door, or immobilize a person had great appeal to a boy thief, though at the time he'd thought them just a very cool myth.

Turning back to his men, he followed them through to the back room, and down a steep set of stairs into a hidden room.

"Oh, so this is where you keep all the interesting stuff?" Harry grinned at Mr Borgin.

"Depends on your definition, I suppose," Mr Borgin grinned back. If Sergei Petrikov and Alexander Charleston both vouched for the kid, then he had no problem showing his more questionable inventory. This kid must be something special to have impressed the hardest mercenaries he'd ever had the dubious pleasure to meet.

Harry wandered around, careful not to brush against anything, even by accident. He paused by a large tub of green ointment, glancing at Mr Borgin for permission before touching it.

"Is this what I think it is?" He asked, gently unscrewing the lid and taking a hesitant sniff.

"Possibly. What do you think it is?" Mr Borgin smiled, showing off his yellowed and crooked teeth.

"Well, a green ointment that smells of hemlock, deadly nightshade, wolfsbane, and henbane, distilled in a fatty base. I'm going to say flying ointment." Harry smirked faintly at the look of surprise on the grimy man's face. "I can see why you would keep it down here. I can't imagine the Ministry looking kindly on you stocking something made from the fat of an unbaptised baby, especially in this quantity. Though I honestly can't imagine why a modern witch or wizard would need it, since flying broomsticks are quite common nowadays."

Alex and Sergei stifled their sniggers at the dumbfounded expression on Mr Borgin's face. They'd become so used to Harry's unique mind that they often forgot how unusual he truly was.

"Impressive. Not many people would be able to identify it at all, let alone simply by sight and smell. You're right, of course. I picked it up at an estate sale a few years ago. I bought a few pieces of furniture, and this was hidden in a secret cache in of the cabinets. I have no idea why they would bother to make it either, but those Blacks were a mad bunch, even the cadet branches."

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully, staring absently at the container in his hands. Snapping back too attention, he gestured Sergei closer, pulling the man down so he could whisper in his ear.

"You're good with creative stuff. The Hand of Glory upstairs looked functional, but it was getting low on fat. What do you think would happen if I stuck the Hand in this tub?"

Sergei looked thoughtful. "You would probably end up with a flying Hand of Glory. They are semi aware anyway, so if you could win it's loyalty it would probably just fly behind you on jobs, which would leave your hands free I suppose, if you'll excuse the pun."

Harry smirked. "Could be useful. What do you think? Worth it?"

Chuckling, Sergei nodded. "Worth experimenting with at least."

"I'll take both of them then. Can you make the arrangements? I want to keep browsing." Harry was already thrusting the tub into the older man's hands and turning away to examine some books.

When the hour was up, Harry left the store several Galleons lighter, but the new owner of a Hand of Glory, a tub of flying ointment, a dozen books on various obscure and forbidden topics, and an antique ebony desk that was riddled with secret compartments that he was positively itching to put to use.

Returning to Gregorovitch's store, Harry once again stepped into the back room and had Alex remove the glamours.

"So how did you go?"

Gregorovitch grunted, standing from his workbench and stretching, his back popping loudly enough to make Harry wince.

"Very well. This wand may be the finest I have ever crafted. It is certainly the most complicated." He grumbled slightly, but his pride was undeniable.

He handed over a polished wooden box, the mahogany wood glowing warmly in the dim light.

Harry opened the lid gingerly, and gasped, his eyes wide. Lifting the wand from the padded velvet it rested on, he closed his eyes and moaned at the feeling that swept through him as the wand connected with his magical core. It was simultaneously a comforting warmth and a bone chilling cold, and despite the complete contradiction, it just felt right.

The wand itself was a work of art. The yew and ebony had been sealed together, leaving the wand white on one side and black on the other. The walnut, however, had been inlayed into the main shaft, coiling around to form a pattern of thorny vines that wrapped its way from handle to tip. The whole thing had been buffed and oiled rather than polished, leaving it smooth and silky to the touch.

"Wow," he breathed, eyes never leaving the beauty in his hands.

Gregorovitch smiled thinly, obviously pleased with Harry's response. "Thirteen and half inches, and one of the most powerful wands I have ever created. Seven is a very powerful number, magically speaking, and to have such powerful materials bonded from seven into one…" He shuddered, though whether it was pleasure or fear was open to interpretation. "The only thing stronger would be the legendary Deathstick, or a full sized staff, and since nobody knows where the former is or if it even truly exists, and nobody has the raw power to use the latter, I would say you have little to worry about in that regard.

"Now, you should be aware that performing underage magic is illegal outside of Hogwarts or other approved teaching institutions and as such, all wands purchased by students are required to have a Ministry Trace charm applied."

Harry's face darkened.

"However," Gregorovitch kept talking, completely ignoring the imminent harm to his person. "Since you are not currently eligible for any school - you would need to be eleven or older - I have not applied the charm." He flashed a roguish grin that had the boy barking a short laugh.

Harry smiled and tucked the wand back into the box, regretfully allowing Alex to slip it into an expanded pocket in the bodyguard's robes.

"How much do I owe you, Mr Gregorovitch?"

The wand maker frowned, calculating quickly in his head. "Thirteen Galleons."

Harry raised an eyebrow, since he knew most wands went for seven, and a custom would usually only cost nine at most, but he supposed that the sheer number of materials and their rarity was the cause. He handed over the gold coins without comment, and smiled his thanks to the man.

"You must be very special to have a wand like that, and even rarer still to have earned the genuine loyalty of these two men. If you ever require any more done, or I can assist in any way, please do not hesitate to let me know."

Harry smiled, pleased. "Appreciated, Mr Gregorovitch."

Placing a hand over his heart, the craftsman bowed slightly. "I would be honoured if you would call me Rafe."

Harry returned the gesture, his eyes never leaving those of the older man. "And I am Harry. Though if I ever send anyone to you, they will use another name." He turned on his heel, striding towards the door.

Rafe called after him. "And that would be?"

Harry paused with one hand on the doorknob, and looked over his shoulder with a smirk. "Vahan." With that, he and his men disappeared out the door and down the street, gone before Gregorovitch could even draw breath.

"Vahan," He murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Without his glamours, the boy had looked vaguely familiar. That black hair and startling green eyes, not to mention that scar… He started violently as his brain finally connected the dots.

"Yob tyovu mat, that was Harry Potter!"

He sat heavily on the chair behind the counter, pulled out a hidden bottle of vodka, and began to laugh.