Harry amidst the Vaults of Stone
Chapter 2
The white marble façade of the Gringotts Bank building was a constant that had weathered centuries, but the vaults themselves were far from static.
At the bank's founding - an unlikely cooperative venture with the Welsh dwarfs - it had a single basement level with a modest dozen vaults. These were simply large safes, protected by dwarf-bolts and goblin guards, and muggles and wizards alike lodged their possessions and money with the bank. Everything was accounted for in great enchanted ledgers.
Over time, more space was added, the bank expanding to house more than fifty vaults. Eventually, the goblins needed to add an entire new level below the existing chambers, and numbered the new vaults from 200.
Over the eight and a half centuries since the time of Gringott himself, more and more vaults had been added, connected by labyrinthine paths, the occasional underwater passageway, and mining rails. The latest addition was the eighth level, numbered from 800. It housed two dozen vaults and had been put in place almost a century ago.
Richer customers requested the newer, deeper vaults, which had higher prices to reflect the additional layers of security that had to be passed to reach them. Each was protected by the defences of higher levels, as well as their own unique countermeasures.
Of course, the simplest Gringotts deposit box was the closest thing there could be to thief-proof, but by the time anybody even reached the six-hundreds level they would have passed through at least a dozen distinct forms of security.
The old Noble families who held vaults on the seventh level sometimes caught glimpses of recumbent sphinxes or blind, chained Ukrainian Ironbellies, as the carts rocketed past. The doors were covered with imp locks and dwarf bolts, and encrusted with trust wards. The chasms and cavernous plateaus of the seven-hundreds were patrolled by strange deathly guardians recovered from the tombs of Egypt, whose animalian heads turned full circles to watch the carts as they stalked back and forth.
Those select few witches and wizards who held vaults on the eighth level didn't know exactly what extra protections were in place, but they were always escorted down by four goblins, rather than just one. Two of the goblins carried distinct keys, strange things of platinum and crystal. The other two carried short wooden staves and occasionally stroked or whispered to empty patches of air. The vaults were made of wrought goblin's silver, and hidden behind cavern walls, accessible only through doors of tempered blue unobtainium.
Below the eighth level was a great gate, wide enough for war trolls to march through four abreast, wide enough for the egress of huge goblin-crafted ships on log rollers. Such things had been seen, but not in living memory.
No human had ever passed through that gate, until recently.
On the other side of the carved stone barrier, the massive tunnel curved gently downwards, splintering at some points as lesser passageways split off from it. Deep, deep below the deepest basements of London lay Underfoot, the fortress-city of the Brotherhood of Goblins.
Badluk had been directed to take some time off and spend it researching the prisoner Black, to be certain that the human could have no valid claim to the Potter child.
Bogripple's intuition about the wizarding world said that there had been some special reason for the attempt to hide the boy amongst muggles. That meant they might have a few years of secrecy before his disappearance from the human realms was even noticed. If that were the case, the forces of social inertia would be on their side, possibly avoiding a confrontation entirely.
If not, he would see that schemes were schemed, and measures measured.
There was a single knock, and the dwelling door opened. Badluk looked up from his kitchen table at the flat-footed approach of Ziggiz. His fellow manager had been spending some extra time amongst his stacks of lawbooks, preparing the groundwork for a case in wizarding law, should that become necessary.
It seemed unlikely; any custody battle now that Harry Potter was actually in Underfoot would drag on for many years. Special legislation would not reach him here, either. It would be quicker to send an army.
"Where's Sibilig?" the wrinkled older goblin asked, seating himself comfortably in Badluk's kitchen and plucking a cave pear from the bowl in front of him.
"Arranging a suitable nurse. She shall be back shortly."
Ziggiz, one of nature's bachelors, made a face. "The legal affairs are in order," he said. "I thought it best that you not file Ministry adoption papers. Your guardianship is already governed by Brotherhood common law for as long as the child's home is here, and the Ministry recognises our law within our domain. A convenient loophole. It is a discrete method, also."
Badluk expressed his gratitude with a nod, then sat back from his own stack of books and parchments, cracking his knuckles. He took up a large tobacco pipe, ornately carved from the horn of some great beast. His fingers flickered in deft movements as he filled it, tamped it, lit it, and brought it to his mouth.
"For my part," he paused and puffed ferociously for a moment, "I have found that anyone given a life sentence in Azkaban – without recourse to appeal, mind – becomes legally dead. It was difficult, but I have ascertained that Black does indeed fall into this category. His imprisonment without trial is very unusual, and muddies the appellate waters considerably."
"Despicable," the legal scholar muttered.
"Yes. Therefore, I drew his will, which he had filed with us half a year ago. It made for interesting reading."
"Oh?"
"The Potters stand to inherit almost everything of his personal fortune, with sums and certain objects put aside for Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew."
Ziggiz blinked, trying to place the names, and then caught on. "Ah. I see. Those four families are closely linked, then. Pettigrew is dead; have you yet reviewed his will, to see if the same names appear?"
"He did not file a will with Gringotts. It will be dealt with by the Ministry."
"Incompetents."
"Idiots."
"Is there anything else 'interesting' in Black's estate?"
"I should say so. He is the Black family heir, for one. Passed unto him by his brother."
"Politics." Ziggiz shook his head mournfully.
At that point Sibilig returned, cradling Harry, and her mate Badluk recapped the conversation for her.
"Politics," she said once he was done, and she shook her head, too.
"It gets worse."
"How so?"
"Being legally dead, the criminal's ridiculous wizard title of Lord Black – and the minute legal powers of the head of family – are passed on to the scion."
"Who inherits?"
"Harry Potter."
The three of them looked at the sleeping child held gently in Sibilig's thin, pale arms.
"He is already the Potter heir, waiting to become the next Lord Potter," Ziggiz stated with no particular inflection. "A notional title, of course."
"He shall have two seats on the Wizengamot," Badluk said, smiling craftily. "And it seems he will have an opportunity to become a Hogwarts governor by rights of his position as head of House Potter."
There were more speculative looks at the child, and Badluk continued. "The head of House Black holds several extremely archaic and largely inconsequential positions, also."
"Such as?"
"The Protector of the King's Seal, Marshall-at-arms of Aurors, Arcane Master of Noble Ceremonies, Lord Chancellor of the Scots Duchies... the list goes on."
"Do these sinecures have money attached?"
"It would appear so. However, most also have strings attached. Many involve the stabling of horses. I have yet to explore the conditions fully, but a first glance says that House Black may have been right to ignore them for centuries."
"Are there... marriage contracts?" Ziggiz asked with a feeling of dread. These were pureblood wizards they were dealing with, after all. No inane or insane meddling was beyond them. And the child before them was the heir to two so-called 'Noble Houses'.
"Fortunately not."
There was a short silence, as tobacco smoke drifted up to wreathe the luminescent fungi which grew in pots dangling from the ceiling.
"There will be a regent until he is of age?" Sibilig asked, staring down in fascination at the sleeping child's face. She was hoping he would waken and open his eyes again; they were a sparkling emerald green which was considered lucky amongst the generally yellow-irised goblins.
"Andromeda Black was named regent at the proceedings that imprisoned the former Lord Black, but she was absent from those proceedings. I do not think she will play an active role."
"And for the Potters?"
Badluk smirked, blowing a smoke ring. "Three guesses."
The two other goblin Managers glanced at each other.
"Andromeda Black again?"
"No."
"There is that connection in the wills... the Lupin man?" Ziggiz asked thoughtfully.
"No."
Sibilig and Ziggiz glanced at each other. There was only one obvious answer.
"Dumbledore," they chorused along with Badluk.
"There are provisions to protect the family vaults from the regents, correct? I know nothing of this Andromeda witch," Sibilig said. "Nor do I trust Albus Dumbledore completely."
Ziggiz nodded confirmation. "There is likely no actual gold in the vaults. But one-thirtieth of an estate's estimated current value may be drawn per annum in the interests of managing said estate. Sixteen years at diminishing returns of twenty-nine in thirty means... at most forty-two percent total loss before Harry Potter reaches his majority."
Badluk leaned forward to stare carefully at the scholar of law. "Sixteen? You realise we are far from the world of wizarding rule here?"
Ziggiz slowly blinked, and finished the last of the pear before speaking. "You think that reaching his goblin majority will be enough for the boy to receive his foolish titles?"
"And us to secure our position? I shall be interested to see," said Badluk, leaning back and grinning wolfishly.
"Yes."
"Yes."
Business came first in the goblin world, but eventually conversation moved on to more personal things.
Ziggiz spoke of a nice piece of amethyst his nephew had mined, describing it in great detail, and promised to pass on their suggestions as to how the stone should be cut.
Sibilig said she was considering approaching the Council to acquire more space for gardening; she was an avid grower of fungi and certain cave flowers, and contended that she could use the resources as well as anyone.
Badluk, who kept glancing at Harry, mentioned they were going to have to bring in some trained rock worms to gnaw away at the five-foot ceilings of their dwelling. Ziggiz and Sibilig exchanged amused glances and suggested the boy was unlikely to grow that tall within the fortnight or so required for the worms to do their job.
Ziggiz congratulated the goblin pair on the recent acquisition of their new names, an element of amusement in his voice.
Goblins all received a glaumernom, or secret name, at some point in their life. The true glaumernom was to be spoken only in goblin circles.
The names came from the oldest form of Gobbledegook, and were generally based on great deeds or distinguishing features. Translations of such names, which were actually poetic descriptions, tended to be woefully inadequate. Goblins in history books were given clumsy English monikers such as Sugrak the Implacable and Milbwire the Ragged-Eared.
Badluk himself had been mildly amused to learn that, by a near-magical consensus within Underfoot, he was now Badluk the Careful, and his mate had become Sibilig the Caring. Apparently the deliberated introduction of Harry Potter into their home had become, within three days, the name-defining life event for each of them.
It wasn't bad news, really. Some goblins never got a glaumernom until after they died.
Harry was a special case, of course, and there had been some arguing in the enclave as to what should be done about his future secret name. But custom clearly held that the glaumernom was never bestowed before a goblin reached his Brotherhood majority, at the very earliest. And with a boy of such strange legacy, many felt that he would have to do something truly amazing before he was allowed his name at all.
Only a goblin could receive a glaumernom, of course, but that was not a point of contention. It was obvious that the boy would be brought up as much a goblin as any other in the Brotherhood.
Harry's first few years saw him quite sought-after in Underfoot, at least as a curiosity. His new parents never lacked for minders or helpers. Goblin society was communal, and this extended to a concept of family which gave Harry thousands of new relatives, drawn from the friends and cousins of his foster parents.
This was also partly to do with the Brotherhood's ideas on property. In goblin society, nobody at all could own the land or the resources within it, and the division of such resources was done equally according to who had the most need, and who could create the most profitable business or craft the most masterful work from them.
The maker of an object was its true owner for the duration of his or her lifetime, and could sell it or give it away, but upon the maker's death, it returned to the pool of common resources for all of the world's people. Thus there was no formal concept of inheritance, no enduring sale or purchase. Any object was only rented at best, for a period no longer than the lifespan of the original craftsman. After that it would become like any other resource, available to he who could use it best. In most cases, those to whom it held the greatest sentimental value – the families of the dead craftsman – were declared to have the right to it.
This was perhaps the most fundamental source of conflict with the wizarding world, and the reason why Gringotts was so carefully defined as neutral ground. The rift between beings had worsened throughout history, with wand bans, tacit bigotry, ancient debts still owed, and the violent suppression of rebellions.
Because of this, goblins valued cleverness; benignly outwitting somebody was regarded as a good thing and outwitting witches and wizards in particular was a cause for celebration.
It also meant that goblins everywhere in the country stuck together. They had their disagreements, of course, but conflict was subsumed by the bond of Brotherhood. The Council of Counters, who spoke for all goblins, had decided Harry Potter was a goblin. There could be no disagreement.
Thus Harry was watched by many eyes, some friendly and some calculating. He was cared for as an orphan, as a goblin in his own right, as the son of two respected managers, and as a curiosity – a human, rumoured to be a vassal of prophecy.
It was shortly after his third birthday that Harry brought the hatchling rock worm in.
Rock worms were pale, snake-like creatures with dragonish faces. They were harmless unless provoked, but grew slowly to immense sizes over their many centuries of life. Once upon a time, true wyrms had stalked the lands, the original great scaly beasts of legend. But these had died out after giving rise to many different strains of dragonish creature.
Most notable amongst these strains were the wyverns, sea serpents and true dragons, of course. The rock worms were much less well-known. They lived strictly underground, burrowing through stone and earth, feeding on nutrients and minerals by osmosis. Their legs were small, and their two sets of wings had adapted into scoop-like natural shovels, for burrowing. Only the younger ones could fly. The creatures could spit acid and see in the dark, and were intelligent enough to be trained.
Harry was holding a young rock worm, barely two feet long, in both hands as he stumbled into his parents' dwelling. Now he held it up to Badluk and beamed.
"I've a wum, da!"
The rock worm looked at the older goblin through slit eyes.
"Be careful," Harry's guardian cautioned, putting his pipe down ready to intervene if needed. "Animals are never toys."
"Wum already said, to not grip so tight. Wum is hungry. Wum can stay?"
Badluk gave the child a funny look. "The rock worm spoke to you?"
"Wum spoke to me! Wum say, I am the speaker! It's me!"
The rock worm raised its sleek head and hissed briefly.
"Wum say name is-" Harry concentrated - "Sssthsnnss. It means, pretty root. We can keep Prettyroot, da?"
After consultation with his mate, Badluk let the boy keep the animal. Then he researched what he had assumed was a most peculiar case of accidental magic. Snakes weren't sentient, of course. Somebody would have noticed. Therefore, talking to them couldn't simply be a case of magic crossing a language barrier. To talk to a snake, you would have to first magically make it intelligent.
The majority of goblins only had low level magic, the equivalent of what wizards called 'squibs'. Of course, with proper training and perseverance, they could become as powerful as a weak wizard, just as a human squib might, if they were allowed to try. And many goblin-charms were designed to work around a lack of power.
But still, there was quite a rift between the typical working goblin and the true sorcerer amongst their kind. Goblin magic-users were trained from an early age to use their powers properly. Their abilities generally developed more slowly and quietly than those of wizards and witches, and there were differences in their magic that Badluk found difficult to fathom, not being terribly powerful himself.
He was troubled to learn, after a long day busied amongst the books of the central Underfoot Library, that the boy was what was known as a Parselmouth.
The Parseltongue magic was part of the legacy of the four 'Hogwarts Founders'. Some of that ancient magic was used to make certain animals intelligent when they came into contact with magical beings. Hence the post owls and other animal messengers, now so vital to the mail system. Hence also other, more terrifying creatures, such as the acromantulas.
And hence Parselmouths. Regular snakes were uniformly deaf, and had no capacity to speak or understand. It was only the magic of Slytherin, passed down through generations, that let Parselmouths unconsciously raise the intelligence of snakes to the level of post owls or beyond, and converse with them. This much was not so much stated as implied in the various old goblin and wizard texts.
Goblins, unlike the vast majority of wizards, knew about statistics and thought about motives. Badluk reviewed the facts.
Fact: every recorded Parselmouth had been a dark wizard. Fact: the ability was passed down in the line of Slytherin. Fact: many would be uncomfortable with such an ability, and it was perfectly possible that some benign Parselmouths might keep their secret to themselves.
But considering the boy's legacy, his scar and the previous Dark Lord's capacity for speaking Parseltongue, this was something of a major coincidence.
Badluk shared his concerns quietly with his mate, as Harry played on his bed with the newly-named Prettyroot.
"We will bring in the curse breakers tomorrow, yes?" Sibilig said.
"Yes."
Harry had only been above ground level a few times in the last two years. He had only been out in the sunlight once, exploring a small amount of Diagon Alley under a glamour and in the company of Boris Scintillion, while two security goblins tailed them discretely. The nutrient potions the healers made him take stopped him getting sick from lack of sunlight, but the only tint to his skin came from the magical phosphorescences of the various fungi in the caverns.
He was old enough now to get excited about being in Gringotts, running in circles around the dark oak furniture and marble statuary of the room, watched by his amused rock worm friend and his concerned foster parents.
The default, cautious assumption which anyone should arrive at was that Harry had somehow inherited a part of the Dark Lord's power, when the pair clashed several years ago. That would mean that at least some, and potentially a lot, of Voldemort was in him. And that meant the goblins needed to get his scar examined immediately.
The crackly voice of Shindig, Manager of the bank's International Department, rang outside the room. "This is a Gringotts secret, you understand. You are bound by goblin-oath not to reveal anything you see or hear within this room. If you have a wish to not be bound by your oath today, step away now."
There were murmured voices, and then the door opened.
Harry had stopped running, and stood waiting at the sound of voices. Now he bowed politely, goblin-fashion, as Shindig entered the room ahead of two ancient-looking goblins, with a witch and wizard behind them. At the back of the group were two goblin guards, hands resting on sword hilts, who closed and locked the doors before turning back to scan the room.
The wizard stared in puzzlement at Harry, as the witch's eye sprang to the scar visible under the child's short here. "Good lord," she said faintly. "Harry Potter." The wizard started in surprise.
The two elderly goblins were the bank's chief curse breakers. They each carried a short staff capped with a brilliantly glowing gem, and their torsos were slung about with leather pouches and interesting tools.
There were many things goblins could not do efficiently – or at all – without wands. Because of this, they employed several witches and wizards in various capacities. A lot of Gringotts' business was tied up in curse-breaking and warding. Human curse-breakers were most suited to breaking human curses, and wand-based wizard wards complemented sign-based goblin wards nicely. Wizards also made good intermediaries in areas where species prejudice would otherwise be an issue. Perhaps most importantly of all, goblins couldn't Apparate, and couldn't easily travel through muggle areas, so wizards were vitally useful for fast transportation.
Two of the most senior humans in Gringotts' employ – both of them curse-breakers – were standing and staring at the Boy Who Lived.
Their goblin superiors ignored them. One went to speak to Badluk and Sibilig, while the other introduced himself to Harry and explained that they were here to make sure his scar wasn't causing any problems. The boy nodded solemnly.
The adult humans managed to contain their excitement for a few minutes before they were waved over, and Harry's guardians explained matters as they began to work.
Neither Ms Tollens nor Mr Brown were particularly happy that Harry Potter, who had vanished from the face of the earth after the fall of the Dark Lord, was living amongst goblins. Both knew better than to say anything, however.
Harry, for his part, didn't squirm, but sat and stroked Prettyroot, and watched the tall non-goblins with wide eyes. He knew that he himself was human, that his parents had died and the goblins raising him were foster parents, but he had seen precious few of his own kind before, except in pictures and that one terrifying time in the sunlight. Some of the stories told about humans were fearsome and terrible, others thrilling and exciting.
Ms Tollens and Mr Brown seemed nice, though. He split his conversation between them, the unfamiliar goblins, his parents, and his pet.
Several hours later, when they stopped to eat, the almost-four-year-old asked to see the witch's wand, which had danced elaborately in front of his face and made all sorts of pretty glowing shapes appear in the air over the last few hours.
She looked to Harry's parents for confirmation.
"If you are willing, Ms Tollens," Sibilig said, ill at ease.
"It is not a toy, Harry," Badluk murmured to him in Gobbledegook. "It is something akin to a grisherur, a work of great craft and personal importance. Be careful."
The witch passed it over, smiling, and Harry took it carefully. As his little fingers awkwardly grasped the wood, a fat blue spark leapt from the end, dancing across the oaken table for a few seconds before vanishing. His hand shook a little, but he did not drop the wand.
Harry looked up at his parents. He had followed their cues and spoken English so far, but now asked in Gobbledegook, "I can do wand magic?"
Ms Tollens was looking at her wand in bemusement. Mr Brown's eyebrows raised very slightly when he heard the Potter boy rasping in the tongue of goblins.
One of the older curse breakers snorted. "You cannot tell me you did not expect that," the goblin said to Sibilig. "The boy has power. I assume you are planning to allow him to attend Hogwarts, for which you would need to see about a wand sooner or later."
Tollens and Brown gave each other embarrassed looks. Wands were always a sore topic for goblins, who had been banned from their use since 1631. The human Gringotts employees had learned never to even mention them if possible.
Sibilig exchanged a look with Badluk, then retrieve Ms Tollens' wand and handed it back to her with distaste. "We will consider it further."
The experts packed up and left later that afternoon. They had done all they could, determining that there was indeed a knot of power and memory lurking in the child's curse scar. They were fairly certain it belonged to the Dark Lord, and similarly sure that it was not sentient. There was something else there, though – something bright and sharp and metallic, a hint of blood magic that dissolved into ribbons of something else whenever the curse breakers tried to examine it closely.
There was no way they could even attempt to remove the enchantments before Harry's magic had settled in adolescence, unless they wanted to risk his life.
For now, the instructions were to keep an eye out for other manifestations of strange powers, and to call the curse breakers back if he was ever in any pain from it, or had visions or headaches. If he did have problems, it would be best to involve the professional human healers.
Harry had already spent a lot of time scampering about the underground parks and grottos of Underfoot with the goblin children, but now his parents decided he would need to meet humans. When he was older, he would spend time with the youngest human Gringotts employees under goblin-oath. It would make the boy a little more worldly.
"How goes it?" Badluk asked.
"Annoyingly." Sibilig waved towards Harry, who was reading avidly. "He is in another of his 'why' phases."
Badluk groaned. The child was precocious, but this latest oddity was unnerving. Young goblins went through how phases: how do I work around the knot in this wood, how do I keep a right angle on this corner stone, how do I hunt and kill a hodag, how do I balance these books, how do I know when my iron is properly tempered, and so on. 'Why' questions seldom cropped up at all.
And this latest phase had apparently come in conjunction with the blossoming of the boy's accidental magic. Having seen that he could call things to his hand, he wanted to know the whys of magic.
Badluk explained what he could to the child, which wasn't a lot. Then he had asked Old Mother Blagwed down the street for help, and she had passed him on to her cousin Blaglung, and so on until Harry stood before the Head Warder with an expression of undisguised interest.
The Head Warder leaned on her staff and explained to the boy that at her great age of a hundred and seven, the most important thing she had learned about magic, the concept with the greatest power of explanation, was that there was an exception to every rule. She explained that lots of things that seemed to make sense in magic actually didn't, and a few things which didn't seem to make sense actually did. She told him that you could never know whether the apparent rules you discerned were truly fundamental, or whether they were just emergent phenomena of rules that underlay them in turn.
The young boy considered this solemnly, brow furrowed.
"...Why?"
"Harry Potter, the weave of this is barely adequate, the metal is poorly-tempered, and the shape deviates from a circle by nine degrees."
Harry didn't let the goblin's sour face and biting words trouble him. That was just the manner of Bidpruk the jewellery instructor.
"Yes, Bidpruk. Shall I start over?"
The goblin squinted down at the copper ring, then sighed.
"No. You will, however, have produced two rings of superior quality, in your own time, by the end of the week. If you cannot learn to work copper," he sneered, "you will never be allowed use of silver. Why waste precious metal on you when others can handle it with care and competence? Back to your dwelling, now."
Along with his peers, Harry had been mentored and tutored from the age of five in the various arts and skills which all goblin children learned.
He was currently apprenticed in ring-founding, ironmongery, accountancy, and the subtle magic of goblin-charms, each of which took up one of his days every week.
The last two weekdays – goblins took only one off per week – he would spend with many of the other children in the great hushed libraries of Underfoot, exercising his reading muscles through study of the history of runes, the breeding of dragons, or whatever else caught his fancy.
In his spare time he learned to whittle, played goblin games with his friends, spent time in his foster parents' garden, and explored the outer tunnels with Prettyroot and some of the larger rock worms.
It was a rather demanding childhood, for a human, but perfectly normal for a goblin. His parents allowed themselves a measure of pride. They were pleased that the boy's wits were developing. They had feared that his human blood might have caused him to lag badly behind the other children, but it seemed that cleverness could indeed be taught.
Harry grew up in two traditions. All goblins learned English as well as Gobbledegook. Some of his tutors spoke of wizarding things, and challenged him with many alternative points of view. He was given goblin texts and wizard books to read.
After he turned seven, he was sometimes given trips to the outside world as treats. The humans employed at Gringotts escorted him around Diagon Alley in magical disguise, letting him wander through the amazing bookshops, fascinating apothecaries and cluttered antique stores, identifying with satisfaction the goblin-made goods and piping up with questions about anything he did not recognise.
Harry was tutored in history, in the eight goblin rebellions and the dealings of the Brotherhood, first with the Wizards' Council and then with the Ministry of Magic. He learned of goblins in other countries, and of the blood distinctions and strange customs of the wizarding world.
He also learned to fight. The rough-and-tumble of children playing was channelled, at a certain age, into practise striking and wrestling. Then came morning fighting drills, a wooden blade in one hand and a cloak wrapped loosely around the other. By the time he had spent nearly seven years amongst the goblins, Harry could defend himself with one of their long knives, and was beginning to learn how to handle a blade in each hand without hurting himself.
Then, as Midsummer approached, and the seasonal warmth began to creep even as far down as the stalagmite city of Underfoot, miles and miles below the ground, Harry and those of a similar age were taken aside by an elder.
Buzkut sat on the stone steps, rested his chin on his gnarled walking stick. Preparing to speak, he cast an eye over the children assembled in a circle in front of him. His eye lingered briefly on the human boy in their midst, who was a good head taller than any of his yearmates.
Buzkut sat as straight as his back would allow, and spoke.
"As you know, you cannot become a true goblin without abiding by the laws and customs of the Brotherhood. To come into your own you must have observed all three rites of gadammeruk, you must have gzzaspiched your fnaurei, and you must have demonstrated your wit by holding sespuchteriggin over an adult goblin. Many of you have achieved at least the latter, in your years below the ground.
"But these formalities rest on a certain understanding of the world, a concept of what everything around you means, and what everything which arose from the land beneath your feet is worth. These things are familiar to you, but may never have been discussed outright.
"You have learned, and learned well, that what you craft as children is all but worthless. You have given gifts to your fellows and families. Such things must be seen as they are; well-meant trifles.
"Anything which takes a skilled craftsman less than three minutes to make, or which can be grown in a handful of dirt, or which could be crafted by a child, is a trifle. These are the terms we use. Trifles may be truly given, truly owned, but the theft of such is barely a crime. They are without true worth. Their crafters may be respected, but the objects themselves may not.
"We define you, as children, by what you make. At the moment, you are all but worthless. This is what the test is for, what the threefold gadammeruk does. Passing this test tells the Brotherhood that you are familiar with the disposition of resources and the art of creation, that you truly understand the concept of worth – and as such, you have worth yourselves."
Buzkut punctuated each word in this last phrase with a thump of his walking stick against the cut stone.
"Each of you are here because you are old enough now to attempt the gadammeruk, if your parents allow it. There is danger to the ritual, but there is no penalty for failure, only a gain of experience."
He paused, scowling as a few of the children whispered their excitement to one another.
"Should you pass the threefold test, you shall reach your Brotherhood majority. We use the wizarding majority of seventeen years for some things – of which you will no doubt be told by your parents when you are a little older – but this is the one that matters. It allows you to own things, for as long as you live. It allows your work to be respected. It allows you to take your Goblin Vows. It allows you to earn worth, and speak for the Brotherhood."
At the end of July, on the morning of Harry's eighth birthday, he hugged his foster parents firmly, and gave Prettyroot one last stomach rub.
He strapped on the high quality knife he had been loaned and the poor excuse for a knife he had forged himself, shrugged on a cloak over his clothes of rock worm leather, checked his wooden staff in the sling on his back, and set off for the lowest caverns.
He was ready to learn.
The gadammeruk awaited, and with it the possibility of goblinhood, the probability of pain, the certainty of loss.
Author's notes:
→ I suppose 'Brotherhood of Goblins' is a sexist phrase, but it's canon, so what can you do? At least I have female goblins, which as far as I can tell is a departure from the books.
→ Thanks for the kind words. Keep it up, and leave a review if there's anything you want to see happen!