Harry's POV
Ragnuk looked at the man-child, wondering how to approach this diplomatically. There were many things that could go wrong. The Boy-Who-Lived had great pull in the Wizarding World. Especially, after the first task of the games they had going on at Hogwarts. Everyone had seen his great feats of magic. He had taken down three people, two very important ones, and exposed a Death Eater, who he heard had died from his… injuries, the backlash, well the man was dead. The boy in front of him had done all that with a few waves of his hands. Plus, if Snarlfist was correct, he had also found a way into the vaults. Which was bad, even if nothing was stolen. It was his duty to make sure this hole in the defenses were plugged.
There was also the fact that the teen was suffering from memory loss. It could explain his lack of fear of goblins. The History of Magic classes taught at the school made sure that everyone leaving there had a healthy respect of the viciousness of the goblin nation. The many wars fought between goblins and wizards were bloody and costly. This boy didn't know that though, and judging from the short conversation they just had, he was also very hotheaded. Being the ruler of the nation, it was Ragnuk's responsibility to make sure that his people didn't suffer unless completely necessary, this was not one of those situations. Though, it could become one very fast, if not handled correctly. So, for now diplomacy will have to do, even if it meant being nice to a wizard. However, if the child's attitude didn't change then he was more then ready to gut the boy. A dead threat isn't a threat after all.
Keeping his face calm, the king said, "I apologize for the treatment you have suffered so far. It was not our intention to have you threatened. The bank merely wishes to protect its customers. If you would just promise that you will never rob Gringotts, that will be more than enough to satisfy this institute." He looked at the teen and hoped that would be enough to start. He then quickly added. "We will be more than happy to wave the fee for Mr. Black's change his identity. It is nothing more then a small ritual and a few papers signed."
Sirius looked to Harry, keeping his hand on the boy's robe. "That's not too much to ask," he said, hoping the boy wouldn't make a big issue of it.
"I'm not sure, I mean that bastard over there pointed a knife at me. That is not okay, at all," Harry stated, waving his hand at Snarlfist, who merely growled in return. "What's to say that the next time the king can't stop him. He might corner me in a dark alley or something for making him look bad." He didn't think that would happen, but he was mad at the goblin. "Besides, this is the second time I've come here and been treated like shite. That's not good business."
"Harry, you're just looking to fight," Sirius said, leaning over and whispering in his godson's ear and cutting a glance at the king, who was just watching calmly. "Be reasonable," he all but pleaded. "These guys can start a war. Do you really want that? Think of how many people could die. It's not something we can afford right now, not with You-Know-Who still lurking about."
Harry took a minute to debate that with his crew. Worf was all for battling their way out of the bank, but Data and Spock were trying to be logical. Picard wanted a peaceful solution, for future relations. They all talked for a quick second, then Harry started think about what was said among them. He knew he could get out of here, he knew that he could hold his own, but could the rest of the magical community. Did he care? Something from his past-self leaked through. That stupid 'saving people thing' Hermione had told him about. He snarled internally, pushing the overwhelming desire to just bend over and let these guys walk all over him. He glared at the king and said, "What else you got? I don't want to come back here and be treated this way again."
"I can offer you employment. That would give you enough prestige to not be unfairly treated. You would be then considered a valuable member for Gringotts," the king said, rubbing his chin in thought. It was actually a good idea. If this boy could do even the smallest bit of what was rumored, he would be a great asset to the bank. The wards would be stronger than they had ever been, and he would surpass everyone in curse-breaking. The profits would be enormous.
"Doing what?" the amnesiac asked, settling down at that thought. He didn't need for money, but an income would make his fortune swell. The memory of his first week on the streets will always propel him into keeping money in his pocket. He would never forget digging through trash bins for food, and something from his wisp of memories was telling him that that wasn't the first time he had been hungry. He can remember being in a dark place and a man yelling that he wouldn't get food for a week. He remember the gnawing feeling of his stomach trying to eat itself. They were vague and hard to grasp, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember that. Whatever it was, it drove him to want to earn a steady income.
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