"Gold to my pocket, to hell with the environment—goblin motto."
I made that up.
But that's the gist of it. Goblins aren't even ashamed of it; they're downright proud.
"So you get what I mean, Harry," Copperring said with a shrug. "Your way of doing things really doesn't work with goblins. If we followed your rules, we'd probably end up fighting you before we ever clashed with wizards. No goblin could stomach those restrictions, honestly."
"I know, I know all too well," Harry sighed deeply. "So, for you goblins… damn it, I hate saying this, but you really could look at the elements from a different angle."
Harry made a decision that would've made his ancestors roll in their graves.
If Granny Magatha ever found out he was spreading the heretical goblin shamanism, his fierce teacher would probably bash his head in with a dead cow's hoof.
No joke—Magatha Grimtotem was that kind of tauren. For a long time, Grimtotem tribe members were known to turn the corpses of enemy tauren—legs, hooves, you name it—into weapons. Among all tauren tribes, they were the most extreme.
As the disciple of such a hardcore traditionalist shaman, Harry preaching the borderline blasphemous ideas of goblin shamanism was a one-way ticket to being disowned.
But what choice did he have?
Goblins, as a race, only responded to this kind of logic.
"A different angle?" Copperring tilted his head, confused.
"…Yes. You don't have to change anything about yourselves. Just look at the problem from another perspective," Harry said stiffly, the words coming out with difficulty. "You can think of the elements as business partners—you understand that term, right?"
And that was the crux of what made goblin shamans so unique.
Let's be clear: what Harry was about to say didn't come from the heart, nor was it his intention. It just… came out, muddled and messy.
"Of course! Like you, Harry—you're my business partner," Copperring said, glancing at Sirius. "The Black family, too. Some of your properties are still managed by Gringotts."
His eyes flicked over Lupin, but Copperring pretended the shabby werewolf wasn't there.
"Exactly," Harry said flatly, spitting the words out as fast as he could, as if they'd taint him if they lingered. "You can see the elements as special business partners—only those with talent can do business with them."
"You can negotiate and trade for their power. Offer mineral sacrifices to get a fire elemental's help, for example, to get them to do what you need… or find a way to persuade them with terms."
"You can do that?!" Copperring snapped awake, his whole body jolting upright. His eyes widened. "Become a shaman without following your rules? Make deals with elements?!"
"…Yes," Harry nodded, the words heavy.
Some goblin shamans in the Earthen Ring even complained that earth elementals were too stubborn, that haggling with them wasted time and rarely got results.
"So, if we become these… deal-making shamans, how do we stack up against someone like you?" Copperring stammered. "I mean, in terms of power. Can we still divine? What about combat?"
"I don't know," Harry said honestly. "That's up to you to negotiate. You get what you bargain for. As for power, you can at least summon your ancestors' spirits—dead old goblins, that sort. Ask for their investment advice."
"Or collect their debts!" Copperring was trembling with excitement now. "Damn it! They can't take their gold to the grave anymore! This is going to be huge! No goblin could resist this!"
Harry: "…"
What?
Torturing ancestral spirits for profit?
Harry wasn't the only one stunned. Sirius and Lupin exchanged a glance, both rattled by Copperring's bizarre logic. They made a mental note to be extra cautious when dealing with these money-obsessed goblins—ten thousand times more cautious.
"…Something like that. It's your business, though. Normally, we'd only seek wisdom from our ancestors," Harry said, already seasoned by goblin nonsense. He sighed helplessly.
"That's brilliant!" Copperring's eyes gleamed, unbothered by outsider opinions. "Brilliant—this is going to be a goldmine."
"Enough to get you a seat at Gringotts' year-end meeting?" Harry asked with a wry smile.
"More than that! I might even get to discuss where to make a fortune!" Copperring burst into laughter. After a while, he sobered up and looked at Harry seriously. "So, as my business partner, what do you need from me?"
Goblins knew better than anyone that there's no such thing as a free lunch.
"Simple. You have to promise not to let this power fall into the hands of goblins who hold grudges against humans," Harry said firmly. "Only those who won't disrupt the world, who'll take on commissions to maintain elemental balance—you get what I mean."
"No grudges against humans…" Copperring's expression turned odd. "You know, there's not a single goblin who doesn't have some beef with humans. But… deal."
Copperring extended his hand, and Harry shook it.
Would goblins rebel?
Harry figured they probably would, someday, for more profit, for their race's interests. It was unavoidable. When the time came, they'd deal with it.
Another fight, another sorting of who's on top, then peace again. Harry was pragmatic about it.
He was already trying to avoid the worst outcomes.
Say what you will about wizards looking down on other intelligent races, but when Harry started dealing with goblins, the Ministry of Magic reacted faster than it had in decades. At a recent meeting, Fudge pushed through the creation of a new department, bluntly named the Shaman Oversight Department. It wasn't a big department yet, just a subdivision under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, tasked with handling the potential resurgence of elemental forces and managing shamans in the wizarding world.
Even counting the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest and the merpeople in the Black Lake, the entire British wizarding world had fewer than thirty shamans. Still, the Ministry set up this department for a profession that was clearly poised to grow.
At the latest International Confederation of Wizards meeting, several African Ministries reported wizards tapping into new powers—powers that called themselves elements. This not only validated Harry's earlier claims but also backed Dumbledore's repeated warnings, as chairman of the ICW, about the impact of an elemental resurgence.
The international wizarding community's focus had shifted. They no longer wanted Harry Potter to prove himself; they wanted him to share his expertise on how wizards should handle these intelligent, newly recognized elemental beings and ensure they didn't violate the Statute of Secrecy.
It was a messy situation. The fact that Muggles could become shamans if chosen by the elements wasn't exactly a secret. Ministers of Magic worldwide were nursing headaches over it.
Dumbledore hadn't spent much time at Hogwarts lately, constantly traveling to deal with these issues.
The Shaman Oversight Department was the British Ministry's hasty response. And who was its head? None other than Harry—since he was the one who'd introduced all the elemental theories and shamanism in the first place.
After Fudge made a personal trip to Hogwarts, Harry agreed to take the role.
Say what you will about Cornelius Fudge, but he was a textbook noble—straight out of Stormwind, the kind of human noble who'd squabble over power while orcs stormed the gates, then do nothing useful after the kingdom was rebuilt.
In front of Harry, Fudge dropped all pretense of superiority, showering him with flattery to convince him to take the job. Hagrid said it reminded him of how Fudge, as a new Minister, used to run to Dumbledore for everything.
Whatever Fudge was like behind closed doors, Harry was now an official Ministry employee. His department was small, but everyone knew it wouldn't stay that way. It might even rival the Auror Office someday.
Most assumed Fudge kept the department under Magical Law Enforcement because Harry was still young. Once he came of age, it'd likely become independent—especially since every shaman in wizarding Britain was Harry's apprentice.
As the foremost expert on elements, only he could build the department's framework, its rules, and eventually its laws.
When the Daily Prophet reported on the new department, the wizarding public didn't bat an eye at Harry becoming a Ministry official so young. Wizards, unlike Muggles, had a high tolerance for prodigies. Those with ability were expected to shoulder more responsibility.
As for Harry, the newly minted Ministry official? He hadn't set foot in his office.
Fudge had cleared out a spacious office for him on the Ministry's seventh floor, but the Shaman Oversight Department was still a skeleton crew with no staff. None of Harry's apprentices had graduated yet, let alone been sent out on assignments.
The world wasn't yet teeming with visible elements, and the Statute of Secrecy still held. The department had some breathing room.
For now, Christmas had arrived.
"Let's celebrate first."
"Another chocolate," Ron said, tossing a box of sweets next to Harry without looking up. "From Demi Rowan, fourth year. Bet there's Amortentia in it. Wanna wager, Neville?"
"No way," Neville said firmly. "What's there to bet on? Everyone knows most of these candies are laced with Amortentia."
"Fine," Ron said, disappointed. "It's kind of nice, though—hey, don't look at me like that! I'm just saying how it feels after eating Amortentia! Like the whole world's sweeter, pink and sugary."
He was the only one in the room with that particular experience.
"Ugh, that's disgusting, Ron," Hermione said, revolted. "Amortentia twists your will. It's love forced by magic—fake! A disgrace to real love!"
"I know!" Ron's face reddened. "I didn't say it was right! I'm just describing the feeling!"
"Amortentia—ha! You've got to watch out for those witches, Harry. They're banshees who'll eat you alive," Sirius said, laughing as he plopped onto the sofa. He ignored Hermione's glare and suddenly sat up straight. "Wait, Harry, what's that in your hand?"
"Your old masterpiece," Harry said, waving a piece of parchment with a grin. "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs… proudly present the Marauder's Map."
"That's it!" Sirius grabbed the parchment excitedly. "I remember we argued forever about what to write on it… though I'm not thrilled seeing that name on there."
"What is it, Sirius?" Ron cut in. "Let me see!"
"The Marauder's Map," Sirius said, laying the parchment on the table without hesitation.
"This is—Hogwarts?!" Hermione's eyes widened as she leaned in. "A map of Hogwarts?"
"Exactly! Our perfect weapon for pulling pranks without getting caught!" Sirius said, grinning proudly.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze