The Owl's Tale 2: Travels With Trolls
In nearby Hordgrund, the goblins
are disappearing, one by one.
Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer. Icelandic chapter headers from Cleasby-Vigfusson. Colossal Cave Adventure created 1976 by Will Crowther. Hogwarts Forever is set to John Williams' theme of the same name (HP CD1, track 9, 0:00-0:31).
1. Trolla-saga
"Let us all stand together now and sing the School Song."
The boys stand. Some of them look at each other a bit
uncertainly. A piano starts boldly, but no one knows
the words or the tune. An awful flat cacophany results.
- Tompkinson's Schooldays
"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore,
"and off we go!" And the school bellowed.
- Philosopher's Stone
We have previously related the adventures of Hedwig, the trio and the Sorting Hat on a trip to the time of Salazar Slytherin, in September of Fourth Year. If you must know the full story of this fivesome as a team, we should also relate certain events in the neighbourhood of Hogwarts in December of that same year.
By this time, Ron had apologised to Harry for his attitude about the Goblet of Fire incident, and Christmas was fast approaching. We find the trio early one Saturday morning, walking toward the Headmaster's office.
"You sure you won't get us in trouble for this, Hermione?" asked Ron.
"Not at all," she replied. "I asked Dumbledore for permission in advance, since he was going to be away until Christmas morning."
"Enlighten me. Why do you need to talk to that old hat?"
"Because it can help me define the S.P.E.W. manifesto. Ron, it knows more about the house-elves over time than anyone else! It should — the hat's been around since before they even defined magical beings."
"It's not going to sing to us, is it?"
"You know how the hat is, Ron. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
She paused in front of the statue of the phoenix and said, "Sugarplum."
The holiday password worked, and the intrepid Gryffindor trio proceeded into the passage to the Headmaster's office. The nattering went on.
"Hermione — didn't Binns say a being is any creature that can speak Human?"
"Not exactly; Ron; that was the old definition. What's your point?"
"Because then, the hat is a being, too, and why do we call it 'it'?"
"I don't know; they used to say 'him' when it was created. If you think it's a being, why don't you ask your father about it?"
"Ask my father... Oh, c'mon, Hermione, I know there aren't boy sorting-hats and girl sorting-hats and little baby sorting-hats!"
Hermione snickered. "That's not what I meant, Ron. Your father would tell you the hat is a charmed Muggle artifact! Sure, it thinks and speaks and remembers, and so on, but it's no more a being than the paintings here, or the talking mirror in the girls' dorm."
"Okay, fine," conceded Ron. "Why do you only want to help beings? Why not, say, pixies? Or trolls?"
"Beasts aren't being misused every day like house-elves, who have reasoning, speech, feelings and even magical abilities. Why aren't elves free and equal, like goblins?"
"Ummmm...because elves want to be servants, and aren't devilishly trickly little blighters like the goblins, who want to run wizard banks?"
"I don't think we've ever given elves a chance to run a bank...or much else."
"They run the Hogwarts kitchen pretty well," insisted Ron.
"That's hardly a bank. Why isn't there even one elf on the Hogwarts teaching staff?"
"Maybe because Cleaning and Cooking aren't in the exams. Uh... who's that humming?"
"Ahem.. That would be me," said a familiar imperious voice from a high shelf. "I'd throw my hat into the ring here, but so far you haven't asked me anything."
"Okay. Why are you humming?" asked Ron.
The Sorting Hat paused. "Why, that's my Hogwarts school song!"
"Oh, spare me. You're to blame for that song with the knobby knees and all?"
"That detestable thing? No! I wrote my own school song. It hasn't caught on yet. Give it time, I say."
"Why? When did you write it?"
"1672."
Ron pondered that a second, then nodded, "Yeah. You've gotta give it more time."
"It's called Hogwarts Forever. Alas, I think the students would rather sing that tuneless knobby-knees travesty. Care to hear mine?"
"Sure, sure," sighed Harry, looking toward the ceiling. If his bickering friends were not enough noise, he had endured wearing the insistant, talkative hat for several days on their September adventure. "We're going to hear it anyway, aren't we?"
"Glad you asked, Potter!" And so the hat sang:
"Happy we hail you,
O hallowed haven, Hogwarts,
Beacon of light
Through the ages of dark,
Herald of magic
For students brave and stalwart!
Hat having spoken,
Houses betokened,
Hogwarts, forever
Convey the spark!"
Ron sneered. "I see you put yourself in the song."
"May I finish, Weasley?"
"You mean there's more?"
"May I finish?"
"Please... and soon!"
"Warp us and waft us,
O wizard-weaver, Hogwarts,
Wrought from the spindles
Of wise ones of yore.
Wizards and witches
Of prestidigious riches,
Willing and worthy,
Watchful and sturdy.
Hogwarts forever,
Forevermore!"
The hat got its usual mixed reception. Hermione applauded. Harry did a few very slow claps, just to be polite. Ron hoped the concert was over; his cough sounded remarkably like "Crrraaap." He cleared his throat and said, "Well, I can't see why you don't sing that one to Dumbledore every morning when he arrives."
Having had enough already, the boys waved good-bye to Hermione and headed toward the door.
"That's Professor Dumbledore," corrected the hat. "Actually, I have auditioned it for every headmaster since 1672, but not every one appreciated it."
"How many did?" asked Harry.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will be honoured to be the first — if I can change his mind about it before he retires."
"Don't quit your day job," muttered Harry, leaving Hermione to her task.
"Beg pardon?" asked the hat.
After the middday meal, the boys went about their separate diversions (including occasional sightings of Fleur and Cho), but Hermione had decided to brave the cold and sleet.
"Harry, I'm off to Hogsmeade," said Hermione. "I've got to pick up shampoo at Mugglestuff, and I'm introducing Ginny to high tea, and we'll probably chat with Mrs. Noonan in the book shop. Can I get you anything?"
"I suppose I'll need a black polish for my dress shoes — unless you know a shoe-shining charm. Do they stock polish?"
"I'll look. If not, I'm sure we'll find a quick and permanent potion in the library. Anything for Ron?"
"Only if they rent dates for the Yule Ball."
"No, Harry. You two will actually have to approach girls, smile, be nice, and invite them."
"Sounds simple enough — but."
She smiled. "You and Ron are quite hopeless, did you know? I'll bring you sugar quills. Ron desperately needs a little sweetening. See you later."
"Later."
Hermione seemed distracted when she returned at the midday meal. A friend of Ginny's had given her a sample of a magazine called the Quibbler. She pointed out the first story, and they read:
Castle Troll Discounted In
Disappearance of Goblins
by Orton Hall
Is a troll enslaving goblins? That's the suspicion of several
residents of Hordgrund, a goblin town in mountainous Kent
County of Scotland, but the Ministry finds no reason to agree.
The quiet little town, shielded from curious Scots by charms,
is built on an early Celtic settlement north of Hogsmeade, and
later housed elves working in local copper mines until the veins
played out in 1820. It surrounds the stark Hordgrund "castle",
a Celtic monastery left in ruins until restored in the 1860s by a
wizard, Elbert Crowther, for his home. It was abandoned when
he died in 1919, as his Muggle heirs couldn't locate it. Icelandic
goblins repopulated the village; the castle itself was taken over by
a family of forest trolls. An uneasy arrangement kept these two
disparate families safely apart. The trolls crossed town at roof-
top level, on a causeway, to reach their mutual hunting ground,
while the goblins keep to the streets. Their tacit agreement has
withstood 74 long years. Nowadays, only one troll survives on
the castle grounds — aging, injured, and hardly hunting anymore.
The problem of late concerns the disappearance of goblins with
increasing frequency. At the beginning, townsfolk thought the
vanished — a spinster teacher, an old chimney sweep and three
young goblins — had merely gone missing on their own accord.
As the number has increased, they now surmise the remaining
old troll might have enslaved them as labourers in his castle, or
forced them into hunting for him — or, even traded them to
other trolls for goods. Rumours are rampant in Hordgrund.
The Ministry's Goblin Relations Office, pressed for comment,
replied they have found no reason to suspect foul play, and are
inclined to agree the goblins might have left town for personal
reasons. At least one did; a teenage goblin left a note that she
was off to Paris, to pursue a career as a haute-couture model.
Ron found that last mental picture hilarious; Hermione did not.
"What's so funny, Ron?"
"A glamourous goblin model? Tell me they're joking!"
"Ron, you have no tolerance at all."
"Okay, she's gorgeous. Maybe next month she'll be the centerfold in Party Wizard."
"And what would you know about centerfolds in that trashy, male chauvinist rag?"
Ron got very reticent. "Well... not that I ... I mean, this Sixth Year left one lying around in our dorm wing, and I couldn't help... well, just checking it out, and..."
Hermione let him off the hook. "Okay, Ron, spare me the rest. I'm curious, though, about several things in this Quibbler story — speaking of trashy rags. I knew there had been elfin miners in Britain, but not near Hogwarts. And then, disappearing goblins! Perhaps the troll has them working as slaves in the mines — assuming a Quibbler story is actually true."
Ron, of course, jumped in feet-first. "No. It can't be. Tell me you're not concerned about goblin welfare, now!"
"And why not?"
Harry just rolled his eyes. "Hermione, what do you suggest we do about it?"
"I should pay a visit to Hordgrund tomorrow, before the weather goes bad again."
"How are you going to get there?"
"By broom, of course. They say it's only a few miles north of here."
"Hermione, you don't fly. You hate it."
"It's all in the interests of science and social consciousness. I shall overcome my fears long enough to fly there and back, to talk to the goblins."
"Alone?"
"Of course not."
"We're conscripted, I take it?"
"Whether you wanted to or not."
"I thought so."
"Thanks," smiled Hermione. "First, let's visit my consultant again."