Chapter 41. The Spoils
"Dibs on the basilisk," we said, pointing at the basilisk that, over the course of recent events, had died from brain hypothermia.
"A basilisk, is it?" the Professor muttered thoughtfully and, stroking his beard, looked at the dead monster.
"…Very well," after a few moments of hesitation the old man finally replied, before adding, "But I hope you'll lend me a little of the venom and one fang. For our common cause."
"That's not a problem," we nodded.
"BLERGH." While we were talking, Harry finally couldn't take it anymore and threw up his dinner. The sight of a living person literally being torn to pieces had proved too much for him.
"Uh, are you okay, Harry?" we asked sympathetically, turning to the doubled-over boy and soothingly patting his back through Andromeda. For some reason, that bloody sight hadn't affected us nearly as much. Was this that notorious Black madness? Unlikely, of course. But what if?
In response, he retched even harder. He staggered so badly that we had to support him.
"He's endured the Cruciatus; that won't pass without consequence, so we need to get him to the hospital wing," Dumbledore said before returning to our topic.
"As for the basilisk, I advise you to consult Professor Snape. His personality may not be the most agreeable, but as a potioneer he's a master of his craft and will be able to help you with the butchering—for an appropriate fee, naturally."
"Speak of the devil," we snorted, hearing someone hurrying toward us. And indeed, the next moment we saw the Potions Professor literally fly into the doorway with his wand at the ready. Only he did not at all see what he expected. His gaze in the very first seconds fell on the dead serpent, then slid to the blood-soaked circle in the middle of the chamber, and then to us, standing together beside a very much satisfied-with-the-outcome Headmaster.
"It seems my presence was unnecessary," Snape said impassively, lowering his wand. "So, lacking the desire to watch the contents of Mr. Potter's stomach, allow me to take my leave."
"Wait, Severus, the young Black twins may have an interesting proposal for you," the Headmaster stopped him, all but telling us outright that if we were going to ask, we should do it now.
"…" The man's gloomy gaze turned to us. It was clear he expected nothing good, and just as clear that somewhere deep in his eyes his barely restrained anger was blazing.
"Well then, as you can see, it so happened that we killed a thousand-year-old basilisk personally bred by Salazar Slytherin. Considering its rarity, as well as a certain historical significance, any part of it will be worth a fortune. And if you, Professor Snape, help us with the butchering, you'll receive one percent of the carcass—naturally, without overreaching by, say, taking all the venom or all the fangs. Of the venom, no more than five percent; of the fangs, no more than one. Eyes are off-limits."
The more we talked, the more the potioneer's face stretched, and his gaze at the dead serpent changed completely, his mind already starting to run the numbers.
"I want five percent for the work," Snape said suddenly.
"Not a chance. Even one percent of this carcass is a fortune that would let you stop worrying about money for a long time. One and a half percent," we nonetheless raised the fee.
"Perhaps you did kill it. But basilisk hide is extremely tough and requires hand processing, since magic will hardly work on it. It's a very laborious process. Four percent."
"Magic may not work on the hide directly, but it will work just fine on the tools. Nothing stops us from using levitation charms on them and cutting the hide that way," we disagreed.
"Some parts of a basilisk are only useful as ingredients, and without proper processing you'll be throwing money to the wind. Three percent, and not a bit less."
"…" Harry, who had finally come to himself, stared at us and then at Snape in bewilderment, as the two of us were now haggling with a hint of a smile on his face.
"Hm… Two percent, and you get to take up to ten percent of the total volume of venom," we finally put forward.
"Deal," the potioneer extended his hand, which we shook through Regulus.
"Have I gone mad?" Harry asked, looking at this scene.
"Fortunately, my boy, you have not. Come, I'm sure your friends are already beside themselves with worry," Dumbledore answered, placing a hand on his shoulder. And meanwhile, we continued discussing the details. Mostly, of course, what tools would be needed to process such a hide, and what part of the Professor's share those tools would come out of, since we would have to put up the money to buy them, and we needed to act quickly so the carcass wouldn't start decomposing.
Thus, having ultimately succumbed to greed, we threw ourselves fully into the basilisk matter, and Dumbledore did not distract us.
Together with Snape, who now treated us as business partners, we hurried back and forth to Diagon Alley, using our house-elf for faster travel. Then, together with the Professor, we carefully tallied everything we obtained and divided it, arguing along the way about which ingredients were more important and why they should be valued higher as a percentage rather than by actual volume, and also why we couldn't take the creature's entire brain, only part of it. In the end, we spent almost a full day on it, but parted completely satisfied with one another.
After deducting Snape's share and passing on what we'd promised Dumbledore, in the end we had: seven liters of venom, fifty square meters of hide, seven and a half tons of meat, two fangs, a complete skeleton that the Professor wasn't interested in, the eyes, the heart, and half the liver.
With all that—and putting aside only six pieces of hide, two square meters each—we went to Gringotts, for only there can you find a people so greedy that, as long as it's profitable for them, they'll do anything.
"What do you desire, Mr. Black?" asked the goblin who recognized us, the same one we had approached on our first day in this bank.
"We need a private room, and also someone who can discuss a very large transaction with us."
"How large?" the goblin asked in a businesslike tone.
"It concerns one of the founders of Hogwarts," we didn't go into details.
"Hm. A potential rarity? Wait a moment," the goblin said, then jumped down from his seat and rushed into the depths of the bank. He was gone for about ten minutes before returning with a goblin dressed in noticeably more expensive clothing and with a monocle on his right eye.
"Follow me," the newcomer addressed us in a creaky voice and, without waiting for an answer, set off in the direction he needed.
Without asking anything, we followed him until we soon found ourselves in a richly decorated room with a small table, a soft couch on one side and an armchair on the other.
When everyone had taken their seats, the goblin spoke:
"I am Rustgrip, an appraiser of Gringotts. Show me the goods."
"Showing everything at once is a bit problematic, there isn't enough room here, but to start with, please look over the list we've prepared," Andromeda handed the goblin a sheet of parchment.
At that, the goblin raised an eyebrow with obvious skepticism, then looked down at the sheet. And from the very first words he read, we saw genuine astonishment appear on his ugly face.
"Is what's written here true?" the goblin fixed his gaze on us.
"Yes, we want to sell the bones, hide, fangs, meat, and venom of a thousand-year-old basilisk personally bred by Salazar Slytherin. And obviously, we understand that such materials are extremely unique both in terms of the rarity of thousand-year-old basilisks and from a historical standpoint, as something connected with one of the founders of Hogwarts."
"I need to appraise it to confirm the authenticity as well as the quality of the materials," the goblin's hands began to tremble slightly.
"Of course," Regulus pulled a small pouch with an Undetectable Extension Charm from his pocket and placed it on the table. "However, allow me to remind you: be careful, the basilisk fangs are still venomous. And I doubt you have a phoenix on hand that's ready to save your life."
"…" At our words, the goblin's hand, which had reached for the pouch, jerked back. "You're right, caution is needed here. One moment."
He jumped up, looked out the door, and shouted:
"Griphook, get in here!"
And at his call, the goblin we already knew responded.
"Take the fangs out of this pouch, I need to appraise them."
"…" Griphook frowned, clearly unhappy he had been summoned for this, but still did what was required: he stuck his hand into the pouch and soon pulled out fangs carefully wrapped in cloth.
"Good, you may go now," the appraiser waved him off and then, unwrapping the cloth, began to examine the fangs closely from all sides, doing something with his monocle as he did so.
"Hmmm… Hmmmm? Indeed… not bad… not bad at all," the goblin muttered, then, carefully laying the fangs on the table, reached into the pouch again, this time pulling out in turn: first a bone, then a piece of hide, and finally a vial of venom. He examined the venom the most cautiously, but also the most enthusiastically. It was clear he was starting to view this day as quite possibly the best of his life.
"Having conducted a preliminary analysis, I have concluded that these are indeed materials taken from a thousand-year-old basilisk, though I have doubts that it is specifically the one bred by Slytherin. But don't worry. Even so, our bank is ready to buy everything at a very favorable price. To the tune of half a million Galleons for the lot."
"Don't assume that just because we're young, we're completely stupid," we frowned, realizing where he was leading, and immediately removed the pouch from the table.
"This basilisk was killed by us personally when the Heir of Slytherin released it this year. And Professor Dumbledore can confirm that this basilisk belonged to Slytherin. However, if you insist on not taking that into account, then, while we don't dispute that some of this can only be valued as ingredients, we would prefer to look for another buyer."
"Oh, wait, young heroes. I told you that was only a preliminary inspection. Please wait here a few minutes, I need to make some inquiries to verify everything."
"Of course," we didn't stop him, but as soon as the goblin left the room, we immediately called Kreacher.
"Do the Masters desire something?" the elf appeared at once with a pop and bowed low.
"Hurry to Hogwarts and tell Dumbledore that we may, in the next few minutes, need his protection, otherwise things might end badly for us," Regulus ordered.
"Then perhaps I should fetch you?" the house-elf suggested.
"No, we need this deal," we replied.
"As you command," and with another pop, we were alone again, feeling a tension inside no less than when we were preparing to face Quirrell.
The seconds dragged on catastrophically slowly, stretching our nerves as if they were about to snap. At last, we heard the sound of footsteps outside the door—no fewer than a dozen pairs of feet.
We readied our wands so that, if necessary, we could at least buy ourselves some time, and then, in a flash of flame, we felt a familiar presence appear beside us.
"You should not have come here alone."
"But you're with us now, aren't you, Professor?" we answered with a smile full of relief. The footsteps outside abruptly stopped.
"So I am. And it seems I'm just in time," the old man chuckled. For at that moment the door opened, and instead of the squad of goblins we'd been expecting, only the frightened appraiser entered, who addressed the Headmaster with a fawning smile:
"We did not expect your presence, Mr. Dumbledore."
"And yet here I am, to support my students. Or do you object?"
"No, no, not at all. We're pleased to see you. And I was just about to inform Mr. and Miss Black that their statements have been confirmed, and that there can be only one basilisk this ancient in all of Britain, so we have reconsidered the prices. Please, have a look." The goblin hastily wrote the figures on a sheet and was about to hand it to Dumbledore, but the Headmaster merely shook his head.
"These children earned this trophy by overcoming their fear and defeating a monster. I lay no claim to it."
"My apologies," the goblin immediately passed the sheet to Regulus, and we began to look it over.
Basilisk venom — 110,000 Galleons per liter.
Hide — 20,000 Galleons per square meter.
Meat — 100 Galleons per kilogram.
Fangs — 50,000 Galleons apiece.
Bones — 50,000 Galleons for the lot.
Total: 2,470,000.
"Now this looks more like the truth," we nodded before letting the Headmaster glance at it. "What do you say, Professor?"
"That is for you to decide," he shook his head, not intending to interfere.
"Hm. I see," we thought for a moment, then decided to voice what we'd been thinking about ever since we learned how to tame Fiendfyre.
"Mr. Rustgrip, this price suits us, but we have a counteroffer that could potentially be very profitable for Gringotts. Are you willing to hear it?"
"Of course, of course. However, let us all sit and discuss everything properly over a cup of tea; such matters should not be settled on our feet."
"Of course," we agreed. The goblin sharply opened the door, behind which, judging by the sound, those who had come with him were still standing, and barked:
"Quickly, bring tea and refreshments for our guests!"