Harry Potter: Beyond the Parselveil

Months had passed since the ritual, and the Hawthorne family had been carrying out their daily lives during this time. They would visit Nightshade Castle frequently, spending peaceful evenings there after their daily duties, nourished by the castle's ancient magic through the night.

Aaric had been visiting the goblins of the island and mingling with them for some time now. He was keen to learn smithing from them and was currently crafting a wand holster and a sword, working with the head goblin by his side.

The goblins of the island were the ideal goblins anyone could imagine. Unlike British goblins—who were greedy hoarders that didn't even share knowledge among their own kind, leading to stagnation—these goblins were the opposite. They shared their knowledge freely and had advanced their craft over the past hundreds of years.

Before Aaric burned a silver flame—metallic in color, as if made of real liquid silver—molding the metal in front of him. He would soften the metal so the goblin could draw runes on it, after which the metal would be submerged in a golden liquid. The process would repeat again and again. This silver flame was the same flame Aaric had acquired via the ritual, now mutated by his magic, showing its current form.

(Image of the flame)

"Splendid, my lord. You have great talent, and the flame is exceptional. Even in hundreds of years, we have not been able to create a technique that molds this metal as precisely as your flame has," praised the goblin.

Aaric smiled shyly at the compliment. After two more hours of work, the task was complete. A wand holster and a sword lay in front of them—months of labor brought to fruition.

(Sword image)

This was what he had been discussing with Thimrill that day, and now, with his hard work, it was complete. The holster was made of dragon hide leather but featured metallic parts crafted from a black metal, etched with runes. The sword was forged from a dark metal, glowing with golden runes.

"The metal we used was created by my ancestor three hundred years ago, using dragon bones refined with magic over decades and goblin steel," the goblin explained. He began teaching Aaric, restating old knowledge like a seasoned instructor, and Aaric listened diligently.

"Don't try to look," Aaric said to his blindfolded father as he led the man by the hand to the great hall of Hawthorne Mansion. Simon sighed helplessly while Edwina chuckled beside them. As soon as they reached the hall, Edwina gasped and hugged Aaric, praising him, "Your father will love it," she said, causing Simon's curiosity to rise.

"Okay now, Dad, remove the cloth," Aaric said as he stepped aside. Simon removed the cloth and looked ahead—he didn't need even a second to adjust to the light. He was surprised to see the two objects before him: a beautiful sword and a wand holster. He caressed the objects with his fingertips, marveling at the craftsmanship. There wasn't a goblin in Britain who could create such quality, no matter how much money was offered.

Simon smiled broadly and picked up Aaric in his arms. "Did my little prince make this?" he asked. Aaric nodded and hugged him.

"Well, it was mostly the chief goblin from the village," he clarified.

Simon ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead, mist forming in his eyes as Edwina joined in the family hug, praising their son.

Simon wore the holster, which fit comfortably. "Press this part and your wand will appear in your hand. It can also summon your wand from a short distance," Aaric explained. Simon was surprised but listened quietly as Aaric described both objects in detail. Aaric sat in Edwina's lap as she playfully pinched his cheeks and molded them into different shapes.

Later that night...

"You know," Edwina said softly, watching Simon admire the blade from different angles in the hall mirror, "they're going to talk.""Let them," Simon replied calmly, adjusting the holster on his hip. "They always do.""Yes, but this time they'll whisper about you. That sword… it's not just craftsmanship. It's a statement.""Then let the statement be clear," he said, brushing a finger over the golden runes. "We forge our own path. We bow to no one."

Most wizards don't carry swords on their hip—not because they don't want to, but because few swords are worthy of a pure-blood lineage. Even goblin-forged blades, the most respected among them, are governed by contracts that demand they be returned if not renewed every three generations. To most pure-blood families, the idea of paying goblins across generations is a distasteful notion to the purebloods.

So when Simon Hawthorne arrived at the Nott gathering with a sword on his hip—its scabbard adorned in blackened runes, the hilt subtly gleaming with inlaid gold—the entire party noticed.

Noticed, and envied.

Thaddeus Carrow leaned subtly toward Lucius Malfoy, who stood stiffly near the wine table, his eyes locked on Simon across the room.

"You see that sword?" Carrow muttered. "That is not something bought over a shop counter."

Lucius didn't glance away. "No. That's forged. And old magic touches it."

"Think it's goblin work?"

"It has the weight of it, yes. But I haven't seen craftsmanship like that in decades."

The gold runes etched into the blade caught the chandelier's light as Simon passed by, causing an involuntary silence in his wake. There was no need to flash the weapon—it made its own impression simply by existing.

Across the room, Ignatius Greengrass approached with a drink in hand and a glimmer of genuine curiosity in his eye. He was someone Simon considered a true friend to simon was a little more open.

"Simon," he greeted, his tone even and friendly. "That's quite the blade. May I ask where you acquired it?"

"You may," Simon said mildly, "but I'll give you only a modest answer—it was a long process."

"A process involving goblins?"

Simon tilted his head thoughtfully. "Their ancestors, perhaps. The metal itself is centuries old, refined by techniques lost in Britain long ago. The finishing work was done somewhere less... territorial."

Ignatius chuckled knowingly. "So, not through Gringotts, then. That explains the absence of a chain of debt."

Simon smiled faintly at that. They both knew how goblin-forged artifacts were bound by law and legacy. Avoiding entanglement was a feat in itself.

"I'd offer to commission something similar, but I doubt I'd know where to begin," Ignatius said, sipping his drink. "Still—beautiful work."

"Thank you," Simon said. "It's more than a symbol, but symbols matter too."

Their conversation shifted to trade. Ignatius lowered his voice slightly, glancing around.

""I heard you have been importing some high quality pioneering ingredients and some great potioner's are trading with you exclusively?" Simon nodded "We also have been growing and cultivating magical pants lately along with the food we produced. Would you be willing to add them to your trade network? I guarantee premium quality, reasonable prices and ample supply." Said Ignatius without any pretences.

"Possibly," Simon said with quiet interest. "Send me samples"

The subtle nod between the two men sealed far more than a business opportunity—it marked a growing alliance between their families.

Meanwhile, Lucius hadn't moved. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze lingered on Simon's sword. He shifted uncomfortably as if weighed down by thoughts best left unspoken.

"He walks into the room with nothing to prove and somehow still overshadows us all," Lucius thought bitterly. "That sword isn't just a weapon—it's a message."

Across the floor, others had begun to take notice too. Whispers rose and fell as noble lords exchanged speculations.

"It must have cost a fortune."

"More than that—it likely cost favors."

"Do you think he'll forge more?"

Simon offered no answers. He merely stood tall, the quiet power around him more effective than any boast. Since the ritual, there was something new about him—an aura, faint but undeniable. Magic responded to him now as if it recognized its own master.

Lucius, on the other hand, had other thoughts: I've fattened my pawn in the Ministry all this time. At the very least, I deserve to get an exquisite goblin-made sword for all those connections.

That night, many corrupt Ministry officials used their positions to try and find goblins who could forge a sword for them.

A/n: phew, a monster chapter today, as a thank you for the stones and comments from yesterday. I added some conversations to make it more interesting. 

Stones and suggestions please. Love you