Some day, this will be a "Last.fm/NetFlix/Amazon for web fiction" (both original and fanfiction) where you can search across many different hosting sites or rate what you've read and get recommendations. However, life keeps throwing more urgent projects my way, so I don't know when it'll be ready.
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/10491415/28/"I noticed the poem on the main doors," Harry said, since they had some time to kill and he wasn't wasting the goblin's time, but Hagrid's. "Do a lot of magics use rhymes?"
"Humans have lost the touch of it," Griphook replied, "but we goblins never have. Poetry is the soul of our magic and makes our wards well neigh unbreakable!"
"I always thought it was just a way to charm yourself into a girl's knickers," Harry admitted.
"Find the right rhyme and it's good for that too," Griphook agreed with a toothy grin.
Harry thought about it for a second and then tried his hand at a quick bit of verse partially based on his encyclopedic knowledge of dirty limericks, not noticing the shocked look on Griphook's face as he finished with: "-it may fold against steel, but your maidenhead will yield, as it's certainly the key to that lock!"
Hagrid stepped out of the vault and wiped the sweat from his forehead, relieved to have successfully retrieved the small leather pouch he had in his pocket, not even noticing the goblin urgently scribbling down something on a piece of parchment. "Glad that's done. I could really use a pint now."
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