Steel and Gold

by iSaint

Goblins are scary, so scary that no one wants to deal with them, so they get their banks and underground and their sharp blades, and the wizarding world only deals with them if they have to, but now, now Harry Potter has been raised by Goblins, and the words "culture shock" are just not nearly dire enough. See Full Summary inside. Try to get past the first chapter. It gets better.

2. Chapter 2

A/N:

Do people prefer Author Notes at the beginning or the end?

A person reviewed the first chapter, saying, "It doesn't make sense!" I do hope that it all will at some point, and I will do my best to try and give you clues. If you want to ask specific questions feel free to do so, whether in a review or in a PM (PM would probably be easiest though). Be warned, I will probably answer your question, and that might very well spoil things for you. I also might not, who the fuck knows? Not me.

Kuro Marfoir is a bit of a ridiculous name but I do have a reason, if that helps at all.

Again, if you see anything and you say to yourself, "That doesn't make sense at all!" Please do message me somehow. I will answer, and if you are correct I will probably change the story to fit your observation. I like things to make sense, to be internally consistent.

AN #2

Bigger and better, and by that I mean shorter and less information. I got rid of the whole Kuro Marfoir thing, because I think it sucked. It is still technically his name, but only Goblins are going to use it. Honestly, I think it just fucked shit up mostly. I've also changed other things. So have fun reading this all again, ahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahaha

hnnnnnnnggghhh,

ian

Chapter 2:

Harry vibrated with energy, his black hair seemingly charged with the same excitement as it stood nearly on end, belying its short cut with its heartfelt attempt to extend in all directions. He was dressed in a suit, the deep black of it matching his hair perfectly. The suit was elaborate and lush in its design, silver strands worked their way through the sleeves and down the sides, all interconnecting and growing more elaborate as they made their way down, although at the top they all seemed to come from a single point near the nape of his neck. The shirt and pants were also black, but while the shirt was unadorned yet clearly of high quality, it was the pants that drew attention. They continued the pattern from the suit's coat, and by the time the eye wandered down to the end of the pants that silver was overwhelming. The black only peeking out in complicated designs until reaching the cuff of the pants that were completely silver. The whole outfit went together splendidly, rich and designed to draw the eye down. Unfortunately, despite its splendor it was all askew and wrinkled, having been subjected to the twitching and atheltic movements of one Harry. His tie was loosened, his jacket crumpled, and his shirt untucked, with buttons haphazardly joined, creating a kind of zig-zag that matched the frentic energy of his hair. However, none of that stopped the pattern of the pants which if allowed drew the eye to be pulled in such a direction they would find shoes that seemed curiously practical. They might also find that their eyes, drawn by the design on the pants would be pulled away from the slight bulge that spoke clearly of a sword, somehow sequestered under the suit.

And yet if you did notice that sword, a person might say, "Well, I've find his sword. Naughty boy." And while they might be right, they might also forget to think that there might be more secrets hidden, seeing as how they had already found one.

Harry twitched, staying mostly still in complete disregard with what his body seemed to want. He had been waiting for hours for it all to begin, and he was very excited. Maybe excited wasn't the right word for it thought, maybe greedy? Harry mulled it over in his mind a bit more and finally settled on the two combined, nothing like a good alloy to fix a problem. He tried to settle back on his heels and continue his waiting game, but just at that moment, the screech of a train whistle blew through the station where Harry stood. The station that had captured his attention the moment he arrived.

The station, the station, the station was marvelous. A beautiful construction of metal and steel, put together in a pleasing way that also gave room and comfort to those who inhabited it. There was no natural light though, which was perfectly fine for Harry, seeing as how he was pretty used to being underground, but still, he knew that an artfully placed sky-light or two could have really made everything click together.

It would have also helped illuminate his mad dash to the train itself, passing in between large groups of wizards and witches and their children, many of whom whispered and pointed at his fine suit that was being blown backwards by the gush of air that the train produced, its great whistle proclaiming its need for passengers.

The train was far too large to carry, so it couldn't be anyone's, and that meant that if he could just get his hands on some of it he might be able to… well, maybe. There had to be some great steel in there, maybe even tungsten, or titanium, although he wasn't sure if the wizards had gotten their heads out of their collective asses enough to realize the great perks of titanium, and maybe, just maybe if he was lucky there would be some spellworked metals. They probably would have been by Goblins anyway, so it would be all the better to "return" some of it.

Harry skipped and skittered around even more groups of magical folk, once again impressed with the station, its floors providing wonderful traction, only helped along by his custom boots and their, rather unorthodox, treads and while it was big it was also interesting enough that covering the meters upon meters to get to his destination wasn't boring. His eyes had been roaming along a particularly strong and straight pillar when suddenly the billowing of white and gold cloaks caught his attention, seeing as how they were directly in his way, Harry pivoted, crouched, and then exploded off the ball of his foot. His nearly 90 degree angle shift left the two men, who were wearing gold of all things, a bit flat footed, and as Harry put several wizarding families between himself and the gold cloaks, quickly ducking his way toward the center of the platform where the train was braking itself to a stop, the screech and tension of metal and gears and magic thick in the air. He was eager, eager, eager indeed.

Harry breathed it all in, and paused, a mistake, as a writhing lump of ropes appeared above him and descended upon his frame. He was able to stay standing, but the ropes were like metal, not giving an inch. Harry smiled at that. Here was something useful to learn. Magical ropes, conjured, almost certainly from a wand, a fair amount of strength to them, but chains would have been better, as it would be all too easy to cut or even burn through these. And they seemed uselessly ornate, matching the white and gold cloaks he had seen briefly before, possibly linked? Probably linked, gathering from where those watching him being ensorcelled were all looking, back towards where he had turned away from those guardy cloaks.

So Harry waited patiently for the humans to arrive. They moved slowly, their shuffling gaits, making little use of the wonderful platform and its loving, loving, loving traction. Harry looked down once again, winking at the floor itself, knowing he might have use of it quite soon. The slow gait of the two men, in their gold, was making him impatient. His hands were tied down to his sides, but he could still move slightly, and so, with a flick of a wrist, he was suddenly holding a knife and began to work through the ropes that bound him. While impressive in sudden occurence they weren't as he had guessed before based on their resistance to his simple and underdeveloped musculature, very strong, but it was hardly a surprise that the magical bonds of a wizard were not keyed to be able to deal with something as mundane as a knife. Although Harry knew intimately that what he was holding was not mundane at all. Still, he stopped his merry sawing through the bonds with the Goblin steel right before he would be freed from their constraint, letting a finger caress the blade before making it disappear into his sleeve once again. The men were finally in front of him.

Aurors Ribald and Chestshire had worked, minimally, with Goblins before, but they weren't quite sure what to do with this young man. Not only had they been charged to use the utmost caution in making sure he got on the train and found his compartment, but they hadn't been told of his identity, why he was so dangerous, or why someone so dangerous was being taken to a school filled with the best and brightest of England.

And this was something that certainly rankled the two. One did not struggle and fight his way to the elite, be given your auror robes, and still have to operate in the dark. They were supposed to be at a high enough level that they were told things, but through their struggle to get where they were they had also learned a lot about their Chief, the indomitable Bones, who wouldn't have sent them questing in the dark without a damn good reason. So it had been with a bitter taste that they had accepted their orders and own ignorance and made their way to Platform 9 and 3/4ths.

Their introduction to their target had been a bit more exciting than they had expected. His rapid dash away had been, quite unexpected, and they had both braced themselves for a serious fight. But then Chestshire had casted a fairly simple spell, and the young man, dressed to the nines, had stopped, smiled, and then just kept on smiling. Although for an instant, Ribald had sworn a burst of anger had gotten past the smile, as the kid's eyes had darted to his auror robes.

But still, the kid just stood there, seemingly happy about his confinement by the ropes that Chestshire had conjured, not to actually stop the kid, but just to make him pause, and yet...

Regardless, they had their orders and now was time to follow through on it.

"Sir..." The kid ignored the prompt to give his own name. "We are Aurors (the kid snickered at this), Aurors Ribald and Chestshire, and we are here to escort you, for your safety and others, to your compartment on the train." He pointed in the general direction.

The boy cocked his head a bit too far to the side to be comfortable, "So I just need to get to that compartment?"

The aurors looked at each other, nodded, and before they had even turned back to the kid, there was a flash of something bright, the ropes were on the floor, and both aurors were on the ground. Launching himself from the floor Chestshire tried to put eyes on the kid, but saw nothing, only to try and take a step forward and fall again, noticing the ropes that he had conjured for the kid now tangling up his own feet, as well as the feet of his partner. As Chestshire's eyes rose, they also widened in surprise, the kid had somehow managed to cut out some of the gold embroidery of his partner's auror's robe, and as he turned his own eyes upon himself, he noticed the same thing had been done to him.

With a growl, both Ribald and Chestshire dismissed the conjured ropes and leapt to the fight, not hurt but their pride black and blue, not at all like the proud white and gold-ish robes they had donned this morning. "Ah," Chestshire thought, "Why do I only get poetic when I am getting my ass kicked." While Ribald simply thought, "I hate being in the dark." And with that they were stalking their way through the train station, while a certain young lad was already on the train, letting the pieces of auror robe he had cut and snatched burn away in his fingertips.

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After some time, Harry was able to finally find the compartment the two aurors had talked about. He could still barely believe they had been wearing gold, weren't they supposed to be law enforcement? And not just the foot soldiers, but some sort of elites? Regardless, they had been fairly easy to get rid of (surprise certainly was the great equalizer), and now he was on this marvelous train looking for a place to sit.

All around him young witches and wizards pressed upon him, but none of them tried to grab him or his stuff, so he let them move pass unhindered. He did manage to fletch a few things, but he quickly grew bored, as not a single person so far had even seemed to notice, and he just did not need anymore watches, rings, or keys. One or two provided some amusement by being enchanted, but he was able to coax such protections to leave. None of them were even lethal protections! This world was indeed strange. But it was only a glancing thought of such before his attention was once again diverted. He was stepping over to another carriage, when he caught a glimpse of the way the compartments were connected. There was some fine steel down there, and Harry lowered himself down to a crouch, getting his face as close as possible to the interlocking gears and bits of metal. Some of it was moving a bit unnaturally, so there was, indeed, some spellworked metal here. It didn't seem like there was a lot, instead it appeared that there might only be a bit of a thread of metal, connecting the compartments together, but even such a small thread would almost certainly be enough to make the escape of a compartment from the rest of the vehicle downright impossible.

Harry reached a hand down and lightly caressed the steel and iron that bucked and jumped under his hand as it sped away on the rails. It was warm to the touch, and a bit of electricity jumped to his hand, creating a numb but pleasant sensation. This was quite the train, Harry chuckled to himself, this was already making up for the unpleasantness with the aurors.

Continuing onward though, Harry made his way through the compartments, trying to find what the aurors had told him of. It wasn't until he had made it to the very last compartment, the last few completely empty, that he found the place the aurors had talked about.

He was, at first, stunned and shocked. In front of him was the door to a new compartment, the last one, and enscribed directly into the door, in a flowing script that looked like it had been burned into it were the words: "Harry James Potter's Compartment". Harry could not believe it, and he quickly found his blood reacting to the decisive insult that had been paid. How could they separate this into parts, to take the whole and split it? What kind of madman would build something up to be so beautiful, and then let another or, even worse, the same man tear it down again. It would be lonely, closed off, isolated from its lineage, the ones that held it together, who held its hand, and gave it purpose, sense, and direction.

Harry immediately did his best to restore the door, but such a fix was superficial at best, and he did so mostly as an outlet for some of his anger. He would need concentration and stilness to correct this travesty. And to think this was all supposed to be for him; he had some small measure of fault in this, and that, more than anything, made it all the worse. If he had known such desecration would be committed by his arrival into the wizarding world, he would have disavowed all knowledge of it and torn the choice of it from his own progeny. It would have been a lesser crime than what had been committed. And if only it had nothing to do with it, then he could have written it off as the foolishness and cruelty of wizards, who know so much of nothing and yet do not understand it. But he was complicit, and this stained him as well, harsh taint that seeped in and separated and cut and isolated. And so he would have to try his best to undo the error of these humans and their arrogance.

He was lucky that the trip was not instantaneous; this would take a lot of preparation and time. And so Harry sat down in the hallway outside the door that some foolish wizard had attributed to him and began to cut himself with a knife.

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Fred and George Weasley were unparalleled in only one thing. It was not wit, nor skill, nor magical power, or even their attunement to each other. It was, instead, a most powerful facet of their beings that had lead them to be unbelievably frustrating to authority, the best comrades you could ask for, and quite possibly, the worst siblings that could be gifted to a family. They were keen observers and not much missed their sight or smell or touch or taste or hear.

So when it became apparent that there was, for some reason, no one occupying the last two compartments of the normally full and bustling Hogwarts Train, the twins seemed to be the only ones who noticed. And so, seeing as how they were done making sure that most of their friends and then some would be having a fun and interesting ride to school, they set off to find exactly what it was that was going on.

As they made their way to the second of the last compartments, eyes focused on the door rapidly approaching them, they both, at the same time, decided that their good friend Lee Jordan probably could use some company, turned around, and started walking the way they came from. Surprisingly enough, it was rare that the two of them acted in perfect unison. That isn't to say that they didn't often come to the same conclusions, communicated only with looks, do things nearly at the same time, and generally mimic each other so well that their own mother had given up truly telling them apart, but they had, never to their knowledge moved perfectly together with the same thought. And so, while the idea of giving some comfort to Lee Jordan through the spontaneity of a great prank still appealed to them, they did both observe the fact that they had just thought of this at exactly the same time and had moved at exactly the same time. So they stopped.

Turning to each other, the twins both adopted looks of reflection, and then, at almost the same moment shook their heads, "No." Neither had remembered a time that they had moved with such eerie precision, even when trying to. And so, something was afoot.

It begs to be noticed that in the wizarding world, the gut is something that is almost implicitly trusted, when people can be memory wiped, however rare, and the constant flow and flux of magic beguiles people constantly with its power, then sometimes the benefit of rational thought bleeds away a bit. So, while the twins may have very well fully accepted their thought of helping Lee Jordan intellectually, that thought, combined with the simultaneous movement, was doing some weird things to their guts. George was feeling a bit peaky, maybe a bit nauseous. And Fred was feeling some butterflies, if unusually energetic ones. And that was much more the usual, similar feelings, under a similar condition, with near perfect mirrored movements of them both turning back around to take another look of the door they had abandoned for poor, bored Lee Jordan.

It should also be noted that the main drawback of a gut feeling, is that your gut may well know that something is wrong, but it surely has no idea if further investigation will be good or bad for you. Something that Fred and George had learned before and were about to learn again.

Striding back again, the twins were once again imbued with a thought, this time that their brother, Ron, was probably doing something stupid, and they should be there to take pictures. Whatever type of spell this was, it was amazingly good. The twins were almost certain that Ron was doing something stupid, and that, even though the thought was fake, they would like to take pictures. But, the twins turned around again, and this time, they very slowly stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, moving an inch at a time. And, when they were two feet from the door, another thought struck begging them to turn around.

They went back again and again, testing new ways, sticking out their hands, sticking out a stick that their hands were touching, throwing dust bombs and then walking, all manner of weird and surprisingly informational things. By the time they were done, they were reasonably sure that there was a line magically burned into the wood that went in a full 360 degrees, so walking across the ceiling would not be helpful. They also realized that such a spell, so artfully done, so convincing, and so painstakingly placed, meant that whatever was on the other side of that door would probably be super-mega cool (or horrendously dangerous).

So, Fred and George, once again, managed to break a high level spell, guarding something incredibly dangerous and/or cool with their own particular brand of genius. They took a bunch of Knuts from their pockets and, quite easily, transfigured it all into thin lines, roughly half an inch longer than the line that had been magically imbued into the wood that separated them from whatever was behind that door.

At first they also transfigured the lines of metal to have legs and have the little metal creatures crawl their way to where the line, based on their tests, must lay. But the creatures also seemed to fall to the folly of the line, their magic and what little sentience they had confused, so that they started lining up a good foot away from where Fred and George wanted them to be.

After a frustrating amount of trial and thought later, they were both struck by a thought that contained the two pieces to the puzzle. They were thinking far too much like wizards. So, George started putting some regular old glue on the metal pieces while Fred, using a plain old stick he had conjured, slid them to where the magical line was. The metal, no longer magical, with the stick, not magical at all, and the glue, similarly not magical, managed to do it, and Fred and George thanked their insane father and his muggle obsession.

And as they walked through the door, into the second to last compartment, they promptly cursed their father, having just suddenly wished they hadn't been raised by a man who did not always think as a wizard.

Harry sat in the second to last compartment, bleeding quite profusely from his wrist as well as his left calf, where there seemed to be a hole. Arrayed in front of him carefully were two pieces of metal, and all around that were bits of pieces of dirt, clay, and other bits of metal of unknown origin. It didn't actually look for much, except that the blood dripping from Harry's wrist was wrapping itself around the various bits and pieces, shining with a dark, bluish glow.

It had taken him a while to gather the necessary ingredients, more time to ensure no uninvited guests, and even longer still to prepare himself for the ritual that would, hopefully, bind the isolated parts together again. The vapour coming from his blood, that had now pooled across all of the materials was looking good. The blood had created a full circle, extending from where it dripped from Harry's wrist to in front of him, with the bits of pieces of metal and dirt all caught in its small river. A hissing sound came from Harry's wrist, bits of bloody steam gasped out, and quickly Harry ripped threads from his the inside of his jacket, deftly using a needle, tha the plucked from his hair, and stitched his wound shut in a single burst of furious motion. The last bit of blood dripped down, and with its addition, the blood then started to draw into itself, carrying the materials that had been laid out for it. Harry watched it intently, another knife, this one longer and much more savage looking, appearing in his hand.

The blood was drawing itself up, the bits and pieces that was caught in it being sent to the top of the lump that was slowly forming on the compartment floor. It rose slowly, the blood thick and shiny in the bright light that illuminated the space. Slowly and with surprising grace, it positioned the scraps that had been given to it into a mask, thought it was not quite a face, and it stared back at Harry. It rose quicker now, creating a semblance of a being that was far larger and seemingly far more powerful than the components that had made it. Harry stayed sitting, his knife still out, his eyes watching the figure build itself up, becoming larger and larger but staying just as graceful. It warped and warbled, a few tendrils of it being pulled down from the effect of gravity upon it, but it kept its shape for the most part, those pieces being pulled down slowly getting reabsorbed back into the main body, as further up more parts were pulled down, creating an oddly hypnotic wave of blood that swooped down and then disappeared, only to reappear once again. It seemed to dance in the stillness, its many arms, if you could call them that, caressing all around it, the bits of mask that might be eyes looking at the lights and rail, the wood and doors, the metal and earth that made up the compartment.

Harry, suddenly, was on his knees, knife still clutched in his hand, eyes following the eccentric circles and shapes made by the form of blood and scraps. Then, he suddenly seemed to relax, the entity born of his blood stepping backwards, its mask of a face turning in on itself to peer out, what had just been, the back of its head. It moved steadily forward, the hypnotic dance of its many limbs and tendrils never stilling as it took up even more of the space, somehow growing even larger though it absorbed no more blood or items, that Harry could see at least. And just as Harry had let his eyes begin to drop, in respect and relief, just as the nebulous being touched the door to the very last compartment, Fred and George Weasley, bright of hair, bright of countenance, and bright with their recent accomplishment, threw open the door from behind Harry and stepped into the second to last compartment.

Harry was a blur of motion instantly getting to his feet as he drove his knife towards his left thigh, thinly slicing his pants to reveal his skin beneath, but he did not stop there, the knife continued to plunge, cutting his own skin and parting it to reveal a piece of metal that was just under his epidermal, seemingly placed there. With one swift motion that drew a hurt breath from his lungs, he ripped the metal piece from his leg and threw it at the figure of blood that was now vibrating harshly, its many tendrils and limbs arcing wildly as its mask of a face withdrew in itself and back out again to look upon the intruders. As the metal flew through the air though, Harry was already turning, knees bent as steam escaped from his shoes and mouth, a mad hiss that seemed painful, facing the twins who were still halfway through their shock at seeing a being of blood roil in anger. Their heads had only begun to look at Harry before he was before them, once more taking his knife and cutting two thin slashes on the twins' arms. The blood was in the air and then, somehow, caught by Harry before the two young men could even defend themselves, and as Harry turned away from them the twins crouched back, beginning to draw their wands.

Harry was a bit busy though, adding a drop of his own blood to the sphere of the twins' blood that he held in his hand, he quickly threw the concoction at the bloody figure, that had, much to Harry's relief, been distracted by the piece of metal that he had ripped from himself and had lodged itself, oddly, in the wood paneling that was just to the right of the door to the last compartment. Luckily it had been nearly at proto-eye view of the liquid creature, and so it was still looking at the item as the mixture of his blood and the twins' blood hit it. The blood was instantly absorbed, and the quailing of its limbs quieted, as it reached out and plucked the piece of metal, which had been nearly buried completely into the wooden wall, like a regular man pulling off a post-it note. It then passed through the door, dropping down into the belly of the train, caressing its surroundings as it did, before finally disappearing from view with a sound of deep and brittle purring.

Harry let out a deep breath of relief, his eyes lingering on the door to the last compartment before he whirled on the two intruders who had nearly broken the ritual. They jumped a bit, but stared back at him, blood from his slash still bleeding slightly from their arms, wands raised against him. Harry simply stared back before uttering a single word, "Twins?"

At this, Fred and George each shifted slightly, lessening the bending of their knees as it seemed this young man seemed to want to talk, not fight, despite his earlier attack. They had seen how his and their blood had seemed to calm whatever horror had been unleashed upon the compartment, and with it gone they definitely felt safer. So, after taking a moment to recollect themselves, they nodded nearly as one, and then heard, "Well-fallen, then."

And as they looked at each other, each trying to puzzle the curious phrase, Harry was suddenly upon them, their wands twisted out of their grasps and plunged into their robes' pockets, as their legs were kicked out from beneath them, and then they were bodily thrown from the compartment, landing in a heap in the third to last compartment's floor. Dazed, they brought their heads up, just in time to see the crazed, young man spit out, "Puffs and clouds of bodies and brains, your arrogance serves no purpose here, wizards" before slamming the door shut.

The twins slowly got up, still bleeding from their arms, which they each healed for the other. They turned then, both facing, full on, the other and began to whisper and talk and mull and mumble. They discussed a great many things, standing in that compartment, one away, presumably, from whoever that crazed and bloody, in both senses, man was. They talked about beings of blood, how fast people could or could not move, knives, and metal, but what they mostly talked about was about whether or not this newcomer would actually be at Hogwarts, and, if so, would it be worth it to try and prank him.

They had not yet reached an answer by the time the Hogwarts train pulled to a stop, even though they had not moved, and they had been talking the entire time.

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And in the empty hallway that was now splattered, more than a bit, with Harry's blood, Harry's left leg collapsed, and he hissed a bit, but once again retrieved his thread and needle and stitched up his wounds muttering to himself about stupid, stupid, stupid wizards and curious, curious, curious deaths.