After finishing their drinks, Flitwick led Harry toward Ragnok's blacksmith shop.
They walked out of the village to an abandoned house near the graveyard.
A wooden sign stood beside the house.
"Danger: Do Not Enter," it read, accompanied by a drawing of a hunting dog.
Flitwick took out his wand and tapped the dog's head lightly. "Filius Flitwick and Mr. Harry Potter wish to visit Ragnok's workshop."
The dog wagged its tail.
With a faint ripple of magic, a door materialized behind the sign.
Flitwick pushed it open and led Harry inside.
"Ragnok, you need to explain this expense!" a goblin barked, holding an accounting ledger and radiating authority.
"Eleven Sickles! It's just eleven Sickles!" Ragnok retorted, hands on his hips, glaring at the goblin in front of him. "Hey, don't forget—you're a goblin too!"
The goblin straightened his back with pride. "Hey, I'm not just any goblin."
"I'm now a Ministry of Magic official, a liaison for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Goblin Liaison Office, and Goblin Rebellion Handling Office, specifically assigned to supervise Ragnok. I earn a monthly salary of eleven Galleons from the Ministry!"
Ragnok's expression turned venomous. "You shameless traitor! How dare you utter those words!"
"Goblin Rebellion Handling Office?" The goblin tilted his head, confused.
Harry clarified, "He means the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
The goblin nodded indifferently.
Ragnok turned his fierce gaze to Harry. "It's he, not it!"
"How much would it cost to have Ragnok craft a weapon?" Harry ignored the correction and turned to the official goblin.
The official's ears twitched. "Depends on the weapon you want."
"A Gryffindor sword replica, like the one Harry Potter uses. Each costs twenty Galleons."
"If you want it enchanted with a Dust-Repelling Charm, it's five Galleons more. Adding gemstones would be an extra ten Galleons…"
What kind of bizarre business was this?
Ragnok looked miserable.
Harry was momentarily stunned before waving his hand to cut the goblin off. "I am Harry Potter."
The goblin raised his head, his eyes burning with interest. "You're the Harry Potter? Do you have the Gryffindor sword? Might I have the honor—"
"I'll provide the main materials: a set of leather armor and a bone sword," Harry interrupted again. "How much will that cost?"
The official replied efficiently, "If it's apprentice-level craftsmanship, the processing fee is one Galleon."
"Expert-level costs five Galleons."
"Master-level is ten Galleons."
Harry nodded. "I want the best."
The official added, "Of course, any additional materials required during the crafting process will be your responsibility."
"But don't worry!"
"As Ragnok's Ministry-appointed supervisor, I'll ensure there's no misappropriation, theft, or corruption involved."
Ragnok let out a disdainful snort, turning his head away. "Hey, human wizard, I remember you had me make leather armor last year. Even if it was just troll leather, my craftsmanship is excellent—it shouldn't wear out in just a year…"
Harry waved his wand.
His robe slipped off, revealing the leather armor underneath.
It was scarred and battered, showing signs of corrosion, burning, and heavy impact.
"Hogwarts' practical training has been intense," Harry said with a nod. "This year's second-year final exam involved killing a basilisk."
"A basilisk?!" Ragnok's voice rose in disbelief. "That's a Class 5X dangerous creature! How could second-year wizards…"
Flitwick raised a hand and nudged Harry's leg. "Don't tease him. Ragnok's not too sharp—he might believe you."
"Flitwick!" Ragnok growled through gritted teeth. Huffing, he added, "I've long known that even the best goblins couldn't kill a basilisk before adulthood, let alone a human wizard!"
"Forget it. If you don't want to explain, I won't press you."
"What materials will you use for this armor? Troll leather again?"
Harry interrupted, "Basilisk hide."
Ragnok waved dismissively. "Don't lie to me, young wizard. That won't work…"
Harry waved his wand again.
A suitcase flew over and landed in front of Ragnok, opening with a pop. Inside was a neatly folded basilisk hide, a meter-long basilisk spine, and a fang shimmering with a cold, ghostly light.
"A… basilisk?" Ragnok stammered, his voice trembling. "Judging by the hide's size and the fang's length, it must be at least five hundred years old. Where did you get this?"
"I killed it," Harry said simply.
Ragnok glanced at Flitwick, who nodded. Fear flickered in the goblin's eyes. "Flitwick, you can't fool me. You humans are too cunning…"
"But you can't hide the truth from the great Ragnok."
Harry closed the suitcase with a snap of his wand. "How much material will it take?"
"Five meters—no, eight meters! I'll need eight meters of basilisk hide," Ragnok said, wringing his hands in excitement. "One spine won't be enough; I'll need another."
"What about the basilisk's eyes?"
"Those are the most critical materials…"
"Mr. Potter," the official goblin, Hawk, interjected, "what kind of armor are you commissioning?"
"A breastplate, leg guards, gloves, and boots," Harry described. "The sword should be in a two-handed style."
Hawk nodded and snapped his fingers. Parchment and a quill flew over, recording everything automatically. "For the armor, three meters of basilisk hide will be more than enough."
His cold, factual statement shattered Ragnok's hopeful illusions.
"Hawk!" The elder goblin ground his teeth and clenched his fists.
Hawk puffed out his chest with pride. "I'm responsible for ensuring fairness. We goblins must protect our reputation—we only conduct honest business."
"For a two-handed sword, that one spine is more than sufficient, with leftovers to spare."
"I'll make sure the surplus basilisk bone is ground into powder and sent to you."
Then he paused. "Pardon my curiosity, Mr. Potter, but where are you currently staying?"
"With me," Flitwick answered.
Hawk frowned in mild disdain. "Oh, Mr. Potter, staying with a half-goblin like you? Well, I suppose you're still a competent professor by wizarding standards."
"I'll catalog the additional materials needed, prepare a detailed list, and send it to you for approval."
Ragnok, now silent, picked up a hammer and angrily pounded a chunk of iron.
As they left the blacksmith shop, Harry looked back. "This is unbelievable."
Flitwick nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Goblins like Hawk aren't rare—they're like free-roaming house-elves without masters."
"I meant the Gryffindor sword replicas," Harry said, shaking his head in bewilderment. "Judging by what he said, most people come here just to buy those."
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Powerstones?
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