Title: Shadow-People Singing Ancient Songs
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing these characters for fun and not profit.
Content Notes: Massive AU (Harry Potter raised by goblins), light angst, present tense, minor character deaths, violence.
Pairing: Background pairings, otherwise gen
Rated: PG-13
Wordcount: This part 4200
Summary: The second part of goblin-raised Harry's sixth year and the first part of his seventh year, wherein Harry deals with teaching Goblin Dueling, working on showing more humans the real way of things, fighting the Ministry, fighting Voldemort, locating Horcruxes, and listening to the mysterious songs sung by the shadowy people in the Realm of Song.
Author's Notes: This is one of my Samhain to the Solstice fics for this year, a series of fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. It's the sequel to previous fics in the "Realm of Song" series: "Music Beneath the Mountains," "In Their Own Secret Tongues He Spoke," "The Dragon-Headed Door," "More Marvellous-Cunning Than Mortal Man's Pondering," "Harmonies Unconquerable," and "Light To Us Who Wander Here," and you should read those first. This story will make zero sense without them. The title and quote at the beginning come from J. R. R. Tolkien's poem "A Song of Aryador," and section titles are called after some of Tolkien's other work as well.
Shadow-People Singing Ancient Songs
"Then were voices on the fells
And the sound of ghostly bells
And a march of shadow-people o'er the height.
In the mountains by the shore
In forgotten Aryador
There was dancing and was ringing;
There were shadow-people singing
Ancient songs of olden gods in Aryador."
-J. R. R. Tolkien, "A Song of Aryador."
The Sound of Ghostly Bells
Harry hears them for the first time when he's on the way back from another visit to the stone that used to be part of the Horcrux ring. Its holes from the basilisk-fang blade have closed completely, and that concerns Harry.
On the other hand, maybe it's a sign that the stone isn't a Horcrux at all, or associated with them, if it can't be damaged by basilisk venom.
Harry has his mind on that, and not on the stones around him, who are singing the same old grumbling complaints as always, when the high, sweet sound of bells reaches his ears. Harry turns around and frowns curiously at the shadowy figures drifting towards him.
They're true shadowy figures, not simply illusions, and they scatter over the stones and come to a halt for a moment, whirling around Harry. Harry can see bells in their hands. They change shape and size constantly, so he can't be sure whether they resemble goblins, humans, centaurs, or someone else entirely.
Harry waits a moment, and then bows to them. "Greetings, visitors," he says. "Have you spoken yet with the clan to receive shelter and welcome?"
One of the shadowy figures peels off from the rest and flies towards him, flickering between the floor and the walls as it comes. Harry watches it curiously, but it doesn't attempt to communicate with him. Instead, it swings the bell it's holding, also a shadow, as hard as it can, apparently attempting to hit Harry's shadow in the teeth.
It succeeds. Harry feels nothing.
The figure immediately halts just beyond Harry's shadow, and wavers back and forth as if a candle casting is being shielded and then revealed. Harry turns to it. "Why did you attack me?" he asks.
Two more figures come at him, one from each side. Harry could draw his daggers easily, but he doesn't know he would hurt them, and anyway, he doesn't want to hurt them if it's possible they might be allies. It's worth taking a few wounds to learn what their capabilities are.
Their shadow-bells slam against the sides of his shadow-head. Again, nothing happens. Harry doesn't feel so much as the faintest twinge of a headache.
All three figures whirl angrily around him now, using their bells, but also the shadows of their fists and boots, to hit him. Harry can make out now that they do have boots, and billowing sleeves, but are apparently bare-legged. They also seem to have large, pointed ears, or they do most of the time when they aren't constantly altering as they move.
He still doesn't know who they are. None of the goblins have reported anything like this, which just makes the phenomenon more fascinating.
They come to a stop, and although of course they have no facial features that Harry can see, he gets the impression that they're glaring at him.
Harry sighs. "You probably can't hurt me because we're in the Realm of Song and this is my home," he tells them. "Do you want me to arrange a place where we could try to duel more productively? Perhaps you'd be able to manifest there."
They immediately fling themselves up the rocks and walls and away, joined by the ones waiting behind them. It takes only one of Harry's blinks before they've secreted themselves away into the cracks of the ceiling.
Harry blinks. "Huh."
He goes to alert the clan leaders what happened. Then he'll need to ask Blackeye if it's possible to be allergic to certain words. Perhaps it's "manifest," but maybe it's something else. Harry has the feeling that he'll have to try several different words around the shadows before he knows for sure.
Of course, that's assuming that the more seasoned warriors don't get all the fun of fighting the shadows and never let Harry near them. Harry's gloomily certain that's what will happen. Probably most of the senior warriors would say that he already has had more than his fair share of duels.
Downward All the Night
"Harry Potter."
Michael's voice is thin and shrill. Harry looks up from where he's sprawled in the center of his bed in the Ravenclaw sixth-year boys' bedroom. "Yes?" he asks, marking his place in his Charms textbook with one finger.
Michael sets his feet apart and folds his arms and stares at Harry. Harry glances at their other roommates, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, but they're just blinking at Michael in a way that suggests they don't know any more about this than Harry does.
An awful suspicion occurs to Harry, and he turns back to Michael. "The answer is no," he says gently.
Michael has been drawing his breath in, but he releases it now in a huge blast, and blurts, "What?"
"The answer is no," Harry carefully explains. "I really don't want to go to Hogsmeade with you, not after the way you treated Luna."
"Merlin, Potter, I am not trying to date you!"
"Oh, good. What are you doing, then?"
"I challenge you," Michael says, lowering his voice as if he thinks that will make his obvious fear sound less obvious, "to a duel."
Harry perks up. Here's something that will make the evening a little less boring. Harry's reached the point where he's thought of new things for his Goblin Dueling class to learn for the rest of the year, really, and he hasn't heard any new rumors of a Horcrux to hunt yet. Too much predictability for him.
"All right. Terms?"
"What do you mean? It's a duel."
Harry sighs. "Are we dueling to first blood? Disarming? Death? Major wound that forces one of us to go to the hospital wing? That's what I want to know."
Michael has turned so pale that Harry is afraid he might already be bleeding out somewhere, which will certainly make the duel less exciting. Terry and Anthony have buried their faces in their pillows and appear to be weeping with laughter. Harry supposes that he ought to be amused, too, at the thought of Michael offering to duel a seasoned goblin warrior, but he doesn't want to be. He wants to think this will be some challenge.
"Disarming!" Michael finally barks. "Until I take your wand away."
"Okay," Harry agrees easily. "And until I take yours?"
"Yes!"
Harry nods, gets up, and draws his daggers. Terry and Anthony hastily cast Barrier Charms along the foots of their beds to keep from being hit by stray spells. Harry approves. That's a spell that they learned in Defense last year, but from what he remembers, neither Terry nor Anthony were very good at it last year. They've improved thanks to the Goblin Dueling class.
"Your wand, Potter, your wand!"
"Yes?" Harry shows Michael the holster where he has it. "It's right here!"
Michael's face has gone from pale to a bright and burning red. At least it means Harry doesn't have to worry about him having a wound that he hasn't taken care of. "What are you—you're supposed to fight with it!"
"I prefer my daggers," Harry says mildly.
"But if you're not fighting with it, how can I disarm you?"
"You said we would duel until you take my wand away. You can still take it. You just can't hit it out of my hand with Expelliarmus the way I assume you were planning on." Harry sighs when he sees Michael's jaw sag a little. "Come on, Michael, please. Dueling requires some creativity."
Terry is going to strangle himself with his pillow if he keeps this up. Harry has to admit that he doesn't see what's so funny about this. It's sad, really, that Michael has the ambitions of a warrior, but not the skill to back it up.
"Fine," Michael snaps at last, and he spins towards Harry and casts a wordless stream of bright green at him.
Maybe Snape's NEWT Defense class is good for something, Harry admits, and catches the spell on the flats of his daggers. They glow and absorb the energy. Harry twirls towards Michael, who luckily doesn't spend too much time gaping or gasping that his spell failed. He's already casting a Shield Charm in front of himself and readying something else.
Harry feints with the basilisk-fang dagger, and whatever spell Michael was preparing fails. Then Harry plunges Stargazer into the center of Michael's Shield Charm and asks, Break it, please?
Stargazer sears the room with silvery light for a moment, making the shadows on the wall flare like the strange people who accosted Harry, and then the shield is gone. Harry leaps towards Michael, who scrambles under his bed.
Good tactic, Harry approves, and asks the bed's sheets to wind around Michael's ankles. The sheets don't like Harry much, though, and are still considering the request when Michael scoots out from under the other side of the bed and rises to his feet. He looks frazzled, his hair drifting around his head.
"You are going to get it, Potter," he announces.
"I hope so," Harry answers courteously, to a chorus of snorts from Terry and Anthony. Harry thinks more than ever that they don't know what they're laughing at, that they're laughing just to laugh. It's fine by him, but it can't be doing much for Michael's self-confidence.
Michael lets out a huge scream and charges Harry. Harry decides that it might be a bit unfair for him to use all his weapons when he's a seasoned warrior and Michael isn't—even though Michael challenged him to duel first, which means that some of the usual worries about fairness are suspended for the duration of the challenge—and slides the basilisk-fang blade back into his belt, leaving himself only armed with Stargazer.
Michael's eyes widen with triumph, and he crashes into Harry, knocking him to the floor, while Harry twists and they grapple. Michael is trying to cast some curse at him, but they're so close that Harry can't make out his individual wand movements to tell what it is.
Well, no matter. Harry sees his chance to win, and for all that he wants to be honorable about it, he's also hardly going to lose. He has his reputation as a warrior to think of.
He entwines his legs with Michael's, so it's hard for him to move, and then rolls to the side and kicks as hard as he can. Michael lets go of a huge huff of displaced air, mostly caused by the way his own legs have crashed into his chest. At the same time, his grip on his wand weakens.
Harry snatches it from him and leaps lightly to his feet. "I win."
There's a long silence for a moment. Harry wonders if Michael isn't about to concede, or if Terry and Anthony are thinking of questions to ask. They are Ravenclaws, after all.
And then Michael, despite lying defeated and mostly breathless on the floor, starts to laugh.
Harry blinks. "Did you challenge me because you were under the influence of a Cheering Charm or something?" he asks. That spell occasionally has strange side-effects, like making someone cheerful with anger and thinking they can win a duel that's obviously out of their league.
Michael chokes off his laugh with an angry gasp, and squints his eyes at Harry as he sits up. "Of course not! I'm just seeing how hopeless it is to rival you at anything. You're a better fighter, and smarter than I am, and a better goblin, and you're the one Luna wants to date."
"No," Harry explains patiently. "She and I don't want to date each other. I'll only date a goblin, and Luna will make her own choices."
"But why didn't she go with me to Hogsmeade last year if she doesn't want to date you?" Michael demands. He reaches out, and Harry drops his wand into his hand. Now he's a little worried that Michael's been hit by a Confundus Charm instead.
"She said that you asked her a bunch of questions about the shops and the Three Broomsticks, but you didn't ask her on a date," Harry points out. "You need to do that, Michael."
"You said I should ask her what she liked!"
"And then ask her on a date. Not ask me for permission, and not ask Ginny, and not ask a bunch of questions that never lead up to the main point."
Michael storms out of the room. Harry rolls his eyes and glances at Terry and Anthony, who have lowered the barriers that were protecting them. "I know that I'm a goblin and don't always understand humans. But that was strange, right?"
Anthony shrugs as he lies back down and reaches for his Charms textbook. "I might feel nervous about asking a girl to go on a date, but I would ask her. Not hint."
"And he ought to know that Lovegood is the kind who would need a direct request." Terry shrugs, too. "Don't worry about it, Harry. Maybe Michael will get over his nerves eventually and ask her."
"Maybe." Harry decides not to share Luna's theory about the nargles influencing Michael's mind, and that she doesn't want to date someone like that. That's Luna's to share, and humans get very defensive at the mention of nargles, anyway. Probably because most of them can't see them and won't admit they exist.
Harry himself has better things to worry about, like how to find out where Bartemius Crouch is hiding. He reaches for his book about post-owls, which include some ways to track the letters.
Kindling Tiny Gleams
"Toothsplitter." Harry is beyond astonished that his master has come to Hogwarts, although mostly because he didn't think any goblin except him and Blackeye would want to set foot there. But she sent a very agitated message by the tunnels, and so they're meeting outside by the lake, around which slushy piles of snow still linger. "What's the matter?"
Toothsplitter wrings her hands together, taking huge, shallow breaths. Harry has never seen her so angry. For a moment, he stands there in dread, wondering if Gravensword, Harry's fellow apprentice, turned on and betrayed her. It's the only thing he could think of that would affect her like this.
"There is a Horcrux in the bank."
Harry feels something inside him freeze and shatter. That Voldemort should have put something so foul on goblin territory and that they shouldn't have found it so far—
That a human should have cooperated to store it in their vaults—
It goes beyond even the treachery that goblins expect of humans on a regular basis. It goes beyond the staining of ancient artifacts and humans that Voldemort has done so far. Harry was sad that he had to destroy Ravenclaw's diadem, he was disturbed by what the locket did to Sirius and the ring did to Dumbledore, but those were still human casualties in a human conflict.
This is goblins.
And their objects. Harry shudders at the thought, but he has to ask. "Did it corrupt the other artifacts and the coins it was in the vault with?" He feels sorriest for those innocent objects, sitting there with the Horcrux, probably prevented by some magic from speaking to the goblins and letting them know what happened.
Toothsplitter closes her eyes.
"Toothsplitter?" When she still doesn't respond, Harry reaches out and touches her hand. "It's all right. No matter how bad the news is, I can stand it. I'm still a goblin of our clan."
Toothsplitter takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. "There is a Horcrux somewhere in the bank. We haven't found it yet, Harry."
Harry shudders with the implications that immediately leap home for him. The Horcrux has corrupted the objects in its vault to the point that they're conspiring to hide it from the searchers. Or—and this is another possibility—it's corrupted a goblin who keeps the vaults and will now need to be executed or purged to release the taint.
He casts around for something to say that will be less horrible than what Toothsplitter has had to tell him, and ends up with, "Do you think the Horcrux is responsible for the shadow-people I saw?"
"I hope not." Toothsplitter clenches her teeth strongly enough that Harry can almost feel the vibration in his bones. "Otherwise, since it's apparently been there a long time and we never saw the shadow-people before, we would have to assume it was getting stronger."
Harry can only nod, and wonder which of their people has been corrupted and managed to hide it.
"Thank you for coming, Madam Marchbanks."
Harry smiles as Hermione leads Madam Marchbanks into the Room of Requirement, which right now has a much friendlier form than the one it takes for their Goblin Dueling classes. Harry decided that there was no point in scaring Marchbanks if she was going to react like a typical human, even though he does think she's a little smarter than that.
"I was impressed and surprised by the invitation." Madam Marchbanks settles herself in the pale armchair that faces the other two, smoothing her robes down. "It's been a long time since a new class was instituted at Hogwarts."
Harry nods politely, even though technically they instituted the Creature Culture classes just last year. He supposes she means one that was introduced by the students.
He will give Hermione credit. She did all the research necessary to find out what they'd need to make Goblin Dueling a recognized class at the NEWT level, and the first step was making their case to someone in the Wizarding Examinations Authority. Harry was the one who told her to write to Marchbanks, though. Anyone who would give the Weasley twins an Outstanding on their Charms NEWT for their portable swamp is someone who can see reality.
"First, satisfy a curiosity of mine. Why did you decide to start a Goblin Dueling class instead of simply taking NEWT-level Defense?"
Her eyes are on Harry, so he's the one who answers the question. "The professor who's teaching that class now, Severus Snape, has been a bully to many children and a personal enemy of mine. He's not now, but I wasn't about to learn dueling and curses from someone with no honor."
"And we should make the class you teach a NEWT class because you have a grudge against the Defense professor? When you have no recognized educational credentials?"
Harry perks up. "I've wanted to ask someone this question for a long time. What credentials does someone have to have to teach Defense in Britain?"
Madam Marchbanks blinks. "Well, they of course have to have an Outstanding on the NEWT in the subject. They also have to have a record of duels won…" Her voice trails off.
Hermione looks triumphant, but she has the good sense to keep her mouth shut. Harry is glad. She's smart, she really is, but they don't want to split Madam Marchbanks's focus or make her think that Harry can't hold his own.
"I have an Outstanding on the OWL, and I only haven't taken the NEWT yet because of my age. And I have an outstanding record of duels won, too. I dueled Voldemort last year and survived. And I'm a goblin warrior." Harry touches the scar on his cheek. "You know that my people wouldn't mark someone they thought was an inferior duelist with this."
"You might have imitated the scar without earning it—"
Harry draws his daggers at the insult to his honor. Madam Marchbanks's eyes widen a little, but she leans forwards as if reaching for her wand, which Harry already knows is down in a holster by her side.
"Oh, stop it!" Hermione says suddenly. "Harry, she's baiting you! She's trying to get you to react this way!"
Harry glances at her, but keeps himself in his chair instead of charging Madam Marchbanks like he wanted. "How do you know?"
Hermione clucks her tongue at him. "Because she's an adult witch who's had more than enough time to learn goblin customs and know exactly how it dishonors you to have someone imply you're lying?"
It's more intuitive than Harry would normally go on, but he turns back in time to see Madam Marchbanks sigh and nod. "Miss Granger is right, Mr. Potter. I'm sorry."
"But why?"
"There's a lot of pressure in the Ministry for me not to grant your petition," Madam Marchbanks says, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione as if to make sure they're both paying attention. "A lot of people who don't want a Goblin Dueling class available. They were already unhappy about the Creature Culture classes, but their embarrassment over the Umbridge situation kept them from pushing back on those. This one, though…" She shakes her head. "People who don't want their children to learn the customs of the goblins are objecting to it."
"How can you not want to know?" Hermione cries. "They just—"
"No," Harry says quietly. "I think I understand, Hermione."
"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Potter."
"The Ministry has an even worse case of widespread cowardice than I realized," Harry says gravely. He's a little dizzy at the thought of it, how much it plagues wizards and witches in Britain. "They don't want to duel people, they don't want to accept blood feuds, they don't want to give goblins our own voice in our own concerns, they don't want to elect a Minister who would tell the truth…" He sighs, feeling much older than he is. "If the cowardice is that widespread, it's no wonder Madam Marchbanks has to deny our petition to make the Dueling class a NEWT."
"I am not a coward, Mr. Potter."
"Yes, you are." Harry waves his hand when Madam Marchbanks looks as if she'll draw her wand on her own account. "I'm not saying that you're a bad person, Madam. Any more than you meant to imply it about me, I'm sure, when you questioned my honor."
Madam Marchbanks's hands turn white-knuckled on the arms of her chair, but she waits a moment before she replies. Harry appreciates that, at least. "I am still not a coward."
"Yes, you are," Harry says gently. He tries to think of the way that Blackeye tells her patients about the diagnoses she makes. "You know what's right. You're letting the practicalities of the situation dictate what you should do instead of the principles."
"If I don't listen to the practicalities, I won't have a job."
"And right now, your job involves indoctrinating people with a false sense of their own skills and keeping goblins trapped in a system that disadvantages us."
Harry thinks he's been as gentle as he can with a coward, but Madam Marchbanks turns as white as her knuckles. "Look for no help from me," she whispers harshly, and gest up and leaves the room.
Hermione stares after her, and then at Harry. She looks near tears, which makes Harry reach over to pat her shoulder soothingly.
Hermione flinches back, though. "You cost us an ally!"
"You heard her. She had no intention of granting our petition in any case."
"But if you hadn't called her a coward, she might—"
"Isn't she? I want to hear what you really think, Hermione, not what you're about to snap at me."
Hermione breathes out slowly, and then says, "She was under so much pressure that she saw the Goblin Dueling class as a lost cause. And when she said that she was glad you understood, she thought you were agreeing that it was a lost cause."
Harry smiles at her. She really is intelligent, just abrupt and too quick to snap sometimes. "Right. I don't want to push on that front. She won't help us. So, we'll just have to find a way to get the Goblin Dueling class recognized for the NEWT level, and goblin proctors recognized as qualified to administer it, by picking someone else and pushing them."
"What way, though? We do have to go through the WEA. Everything I found says that's the only way." Hermione gestures to the parchment in front of her.
Harry grins. "I think I know someone."
And that afternoon, he goes and writes a very special, particular letter to Bartemius Crouch.