“To Teddy Remus Lupin,” said Lupin, “a great wizard in the making!”
“’Oo does ’e look like?” Fleur inquired.
“I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it’s turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks’s hair started changing color the day that she was born.” He drained his goblet. “Oh, go on then, just one more,” he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.
The wind buffeted the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled, and Bill was soon opening another bottle of wine. Lupin’s news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for a while from their state of siege: Tidings of new life were exhilarating. Only the goblin seemed untouched by the suddenly festive atmosphere, and after a while he slunk back to the bedroom he now occupied alone. Harry thought he was the only one who had noticed this, until he saw Bill’s eyes following the goblin up the stairs.
“No . . . no . . . I really must get back,” said Lupin at last, declining yet another goblet of wine. He got to his feet and pulled his traveling cloak back around himself.
“Good-bye, good-bye — I’ll try and bring some pictures in a few days’ time — they’ll all be so glad to know that I’ve seen you —”
He fastened his cloak and made his farewells, hugging the women and grasping hands with the men, then, still beaming, returned into the wild night.
“Godfather, Harry!” said Bill as they walked into the kitchen together, helping clear the table. “A real honor! Congratulations!”
As Harry set down the empty goblets he was carrying, Bill pulled the door behind him closed, shutting out the still-voluble voices of the others, who were continuing to celebrate even in Lupin’s absence.
“I wanted a private word, actually, Harry. It hasn’t been easy to get an opportunity with the cottage this full of people.”
Bill hesitated.
“Harry, you’re planning something with Griphook.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Harry did not bother to deny it. He merely looked at Bill, waiting.
“I know goblins,” said Bill. “I’ve worked for Gringotts ever since I left Hogwarts. As far as there can be friendship between wizards and goblins, I have goblin friends — or, at least, goblins I know well, and like.” Again, Bill hesitated.
“Harry, what do you want from Griphook, and what have you promised him in return?”
“I can’t tell you that,” said Harry. “Sorry, Bill.”
The kitchen door opened behind them; Fleur was trying to bring through more empty goblets.
“Wait,” Bill told her. “Just a moment.”
She backed out and he closed the door again.
“Then I have to say this,” Bill went on. “If you have struck any kind of bargain with Griphook, and most particularly if that bargain involves treasure, you must be exceptionally careful. Goblin notions of ownership, payment, and repayment are not the same as human ones.”
Harry felt a slight squirm of discomfort, as though a small snake had stirred inside him.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“We are talking about a different breed of being,” said Bill. “Dealings between wizards and goblins have been fraught for centuries — but you’ll know all that from History of Magic. There has been fault on both sides, I would never claim that wizards have been innocent. However, there is a belief among some goblins, and those at Gringotts are perhaps most prone to it, that wizards cannot be trusted in matters of gold and treasure, that they have no respect for goblin ownership.”
“I respect —” Harry began, but Bill shook his head.
“You don’t understand, Harry, nobody could understand unless they have lived with goblins. To a goblin, the rightful and true master of any object is the maker, not the purchaser. All goblin-made objects are, in goblin eyes, rightfully theirs.”
“But if it was bought —”
“— then they would consider it rented by the one who had paid the money. They have, however, great difficulty with the idea of goblin-made objects passing from wizard to wizard. You saw Griphook’s face when the tiara passed under his eyes. He disapproves. I believe he thinks, as do the fiercest of his kind, that it ought to have been returned to the goblins once the original purchaser died. They consider our habit of keeping goblin-made objects, passing them from wizard to wizard without further payment, little more than theft.”
Harry had an ominous feeling now; he wondered whether Bill guessed more than he was letting on.
“All I am saying,” said Bill, setting his hand on the door back into the sitting room, “is to be very careful what you promise goblins, Harry. It would be less dangerous to break into Gringotts than to renege on a promise to a goblin.”
“Right,” said Harry as Bill opened the door, “yeah. Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.”
As he followed Bill back to the others a wry thought came to him, born no doubt of the wine he had drunk. He seemed set on course to become just as reckless a godfather to Teddy Lupin as Sirius Black had been to him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
GRINGOTTS
Their plans were made, their preparations complete; in the smallest bedroom a single long, coarse black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantelpiece.
“And you’ll be using her actual wand,” said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, “so I reckon you’ll be pretty convincing.”
Hermione looked frightened that the wand might sting or bite her as she picked it up.