Chapter 22: Weasley Denounces Granger
Harry had asked what justified the price; Ragnok wagged his head:
"My ancestor was the goblin king who forged Gryffindor's Sword. My smithing surpasses ordinary goblins; only the oldest royal clans know it.
"And this blade has three wonders—even the Gryffindor Sword can't match them!"
"What three?" Harry asked.
"First, it's extremely sharp—stone or iron yields to a light stroke.
"Second, it absorbs part of magical attacks. Do you know how rare that is? Even for an ancient goblin royal like me, I can't guarantee every weapon does it.
"As for the third…" Ragnok cackled. "It won't take on a speck of blood when it kills."
Harry drew the blade again. "I don't believe your ghost stories. I'll test them."
Ragnok sniffed. "Please do, Mr. Potter. If it hasn't what I said, I'll give it away—or, no, I'll give you a discount."
Harry cast about, found an iron cauldron, set the edge vertical, and drew it down. The cauldron split in two with a smooth cut.
Ragnok stood proud. "Well?"
"Hmph! I'll try the second."
He had Flitwick cast a fierce spell. Flitwick flicked a Shattering Charm; the knife only trembled, unmarked.
"Ah, Harry," Flitwick said, surprised, "it truly is a rare magic weapon.
"Still not worth ten thousand!"
"Ha! Flitwick, weapons aren't in vogue now; the rarer the dearer!"
"Hold," Harry said. "The third test—chop a man with it and show me."
Ragnok's face twitched. "This is peace-time; we don't just kill people. I can fetch a bird from the woods—"
"You said 'killing people,' not 'killing birds.'"
Ragnok seethed. "I said there's no one to kill!"
"If you don't believe me, why not try your great dueling master here?" He eyed Flitwick.
Harry spun the blade; cold light dazzled Ragnok into squinting.
"My teacher's my benefactor. How could I cross weapons? Better to chop a goblin to test your third wonder."
Seeing murderous glint spilling out of the boy's bones, Ragnok's hairs stood up. This devil had sliced ears at eleven; he couldn't bet the threat was empty.
Under the eaves one must bow. "Mr. Potter, no need. I'll cut four thousand off—let's call it friendship, shall we?"
"Not enough! You said if it failed the three wonders you'd give me half price."
Ragnok stared, fury flooding his head.
Disgusting! Vile! Low human!
When did I ever say half? I said "a discount"!
Grinding his teeth: "Of course, Mr. Potter. Just… three thousand Galleons."
Harry grinned. "I already saw you were a good goblin. Today it's proved."
"I didn't bring that much. I'll write a magical note—you can withdraw it at Gringotts."
Ragnok swallowed his rage and smiled. "Of course."
Harry wrote the note; after Flitwick sealed it, they left.
Outside, Flitwick was still muttering about goblin greed when Harry produced a heavy pouch. "I'm thrice blessed to have such a teacher. A small token—please accept."
The purse was bigger than the one in Charms class, stuffed to the brim. Flitwick blanched. "Harry, put that away—I'm no greedy wizard."
"An honest household still needs coin."
"Harry…"
Harry dropped to one knee. "If you won't take it, I won't rise!"
Flitwick had never faced such a scene. Unable to refuse, he accepted. It was over two hundred Galleons, heavy as duty. He sighed, looking at Harry's gold-and-red scarf.
If only those eaglets had shouted like the lions at Sorting!
Back at school, Harry rushed to an empty court to drill. Soon he was drenched.
The blade was fine, but he could only draw out a third of its power; he'd need iron bones and steel sinews.
From then on he trained blade more than studies—saved only by Hermione's tutoring.
In Charms, Flitwick taught Levitation. Everyone chanted "Wingardium Leviosa" to no effect.
He strolled, warning, "Don't be like Baruffio—he said 's' for 'f' and ended with a buffalo on his chest—oh! Look, Miss Granger has done it.
"Gryffindor, one point!"
Hermione beamed.
Seeing Harry and Ron still muttering with motionless feathers, she sighed. "Did you read With Trolls I Have Trod? The author uses Levitation to fell a troll—he explains it well.
"Anyway, ask me if you don't understand. I think the second and third to succeed should earn points, too."
Ron, failing repeatedly, was already sour. Hearing "points" again, he burst:
"Enough, Granger! If you're so clever, think why no one wants to talk to you!
"Seamus was right—if all you care about is points, you should be in Hufflepuff!
"Not standing far off yelling 'stop fighting' while Harry's surrounded by Slytherins!"
Two months of resentment poured out. Hermione froze.
Before Harry could smooth it, she fled in tears.
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