Part 7: The Goblin King

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter (that’s JK Rowling’s) or Labyrinth (that’s Jim Henson.) I do however own the plot bunny (but even that’s shared with DukeBrymin.

Thanks to my wonderful betas—RosieKatriona, and DukeBrymin—without whom this would make a lot less sense.

 For Parts 1-5 click here.  For part six, go to DukeBrymin's page on fanfiction.net, or sassyfrass on tthfanfic.com

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The young woman ran upstairs, tears in her eyes. She knew she wouldn't see her husband again, and that thought caused more pain than anything ever had, but she knew that there was nothing she could do.  No, now her concern was for the child in her arms. She frantically tried to disapparate, but he had put wards up to block it. She hurried into the nursery and shut the door behind her. There was shouting from downstairs. She heard a loud crash, then the thud of a body falling to the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps came up the stairs. She whimpered, knowing her husband was dead. If he were the one coming up, he'd be running, but the menacing slowness of the tread led to only one conclusion. She hugged her baby tightly for a moment, kissed his forehead gently, then placed him carefully into his crib. "I love you, Harry, always." She closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath, steadying herself. When she opened her eyes, they burned with a green fire. “I wish the Goblin King would come and take you away!” Then she turned to face the door. As it opened, she drew her wand, and squared her shoulders.

Far away, in the castle at the center of the Goblin Labyrinth, Jareth, King of the Goblins, felt magic shift. Some of his lesser goblins disappeared to investigate. Someone had wished away a child, and the magic of his kingdom had surrounded the babe. Nothing would hurt his new subject, until he had been fully claimed by the Goblin King.
 
XXXXX

The next day, strange men in red robes bustled about the building, an owl watching from his perch in a nearby tree. None of the men noticed the white bird, and even if they had, they wouldn’t have thought much of it. After all, these were wizards, part of a small subsection of the human race who used wands to perform magic and owls to carry post. The other thing they didn't see were the small, lesser, goblins--what some called gremlins--who watched from the shadows, giggling and chattering softly. The barn owl watched too as the men murmured to each other about the findings of their investigation.

“There are definitely traces of three Unforgivables cast. But there is some sort of foreign magic, too. I can’t quite categorize it, although, it is similar to the magic in Gringotts.”

The barn owl ruffled his feathers, then resettled himself on his branch.

“Probably has to do with whatever it is the boy did to defeat You-Know-Who. After all, if we could figure out how to block a Killing Curse. . .” The man trailed off and his colleagues nodded in agreement.

“What happened to the kid anyway?” one of the rookies asked.

“I heard that Dumbledore’s hidden him away. After all, some of the Deatheaters are still out there.”

“Likely he has a ton of wards up around the boy, too. Won’t anybody get near the kid without someone knowing.”

The men were silent again, and the owl sidled along the branch. Finally he stretched his wings out and took to the air. None of the men paid any attention. It was, after all, just an owl.

Xxxxx

Almost ten years later, a barn owl circled the towers of a castle in Scotland. If anyone had looked closely, they would have remarked on the oddness of the owl's eyes, as one was green, and the other blue. Alas, no one did, as wizards and witches tended to ignore the minor things of their world.

Inside the castle, an older woman, gray hair wrapped in a tight bun, sat at her desk signing a series of letters. It was her job every year to send out the letters inviting the children to attend the next school year. Her favorite letters to sign were those of the incoming first years. It was nice to see which of her former students had children.

"Bones, Susan," the woman read a name on the list, "Nice family, pity about her parents though." She signed it with a flourish, and waved it off to the side, where it was magically stuffed into an envelope, and addressed by a blue quill. It then floated to the next owl in line. The owl took wing, and flew out her window, heading south. The owls lining the walls shuffled, as they waited patiently for their own letter. The Professor didn't pay any notice when the owl with the mismatched eyes flew in through the window, and took a perch.

"Malfoy, Draco," the woman made a moue of distaste, and sighed. "Maybe he won't be as bad as his parents.

"Potter, Harry," her eyes grew misty as she thought of the poor babe she'd last seen on the doorstep of his aunt's house, "finally, he can be back where he belongs, away from those Muggles!" She didn't notice the foreign barn owl's agitated twitch, nor did she see him jump his place in line to grab the Potter letter. The other owls muttered and hooted at the impertinence of this unknown owl, but didn't let it distract them from their task.

As the owl flew toward Surrey, he missed the Professor reaching the end of her list, "Weasley, Ron! Another one, poor Molly. But maybe he won't be as bad as the twins." She paused, then knocked on her wooden desk.

XXXX

The months leading up to his eleventh birthday were decidedly weird for Mr. Harry James Potter of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. It all started the last week of school. As he was walking home, keeping an eye out for Dudley and his friends, he thought he saw a small shape hide behind a tree. At first he shook it off as a figment of his imagination, or a dirt spot on his glasses. But then it happened again the next day, and the next. And during that whole week, Dudley never managed to find him alone.

When school finally let out for the summer, Harry was sent to work outside much more often than during the school year. Out in the garden, he sometimes felt as though someone were watching him, he kept seeing small shapes in the corners of his eyes, and there were a couple of times he could have sworn he heard someone giggle. It was a strange little giggle, sort of goblinish, like one of the fantasy movies Dudley watched once, before Aunt Petunia forbid him to "watch that sort of trash". 

One particular day, about a week before his birthday, Harry was weeding the rose bed when a soft sound made him look up. It was the quiet hoot of an owl, a white and pale brown barn owl. Harry had seen pictures in a book of different owl species that he’d looked through at the school library. Weird that it’s out in the day, Harry thought. Owls are usually nocturnal. He examined what he could see of the owl quite carefully. It had something attached to its leg. At first Harry thought that maybe the bird had gotten caught in something, and that was why it was in the yard during the day. But when he moved closer, he saw that there was an envelope hanging from the bird’s foot, and it seemed to have a name written on it. Squinting, Harry realized that the part of the address he could read said something very familiar: Mr. Harry J. Po. . .It was possible this letter, so strangely delivered, was addressed to him! He reached up slowly to the owl, not wanting to startle it. The owl seemed to eye him curiously, but before he could grasp the envelope, it hopped back, flapping away and landing on a branch of a nearby tree. Harry followed. This continued all the way to the park.

Finally, inside the small copse in the park, the owl landed on the picnic table placed there. Harry had long wondered why there was a picnic table there. He'd never seen anyone use it, aside from him that is. Maybe no one knew it was there, as the trees had grown quite a few branches. It was almost impossible to see the table from outside the copse. But that was a blessing as far as Harry was concerned. Dudley didn't know it was there, which meant that not only did he not vandalize the table, but that Harry could hide there and not get beaten up by Dudley's gang. Now he just thought it was interesting that the owl had landed on the table, and not in one of the tall trees surrounding him.

"Hello, girl," Harry said softly. The owl hooted at him, sounding indignant. "Not a girl?" Harry asked, a little surprised--Did the owl understand him? "Sorry, boy," he amended. The owl settled its--his--feathers, and turned his head to the side. Harry looked, and saw another small shape hide behind a tree. One of those quiet giggles drifted through the air. The owl made an impatient sound, and Harry returned his attention to the odd bird. The owl lifted the leg that the letter was attached to, gesturing for Harry to come and take it. Harry walked closer, a little slowly, hesitant about the oddities of the barn owl. When he was finally near enough to the owl, Harry carefully untied the envelope and turned it over in his hands. He read the address:

Mr. Harry J. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Number 4, Privet Drive,

Little Whinging, Surrey

Suprised at the detail of the address, Harry glanced back at the owl, but he was uninterested, busy preening the feathers on one wing. Harry examined the envelope carefully. It was a rich, thick paper, far different than any he'd ever seen, not even in the craft cupboard at school. On the back, it was sealed with thick wax that had a strange picture stamped into it. Harry very gently peeled the seal up, unwilling to break such an odd and beautiful thing.

Harry read the heading of the letter, but it didn't make much sense to him. The rest of the letter didn't help. A magic school? Harry thought, incredulously, but I never even applied to a school, much less a magic one! A strange sound made him look up. And there, perched elegantly on the picnic table where the owl had been, was the most bizarre looking man Harry had ever seen. And that included Halloween.

His hair was white blond, and even wilder than Harry's. His eyes were mismatched, one was blue, and the other green. His clothes were crazier than any costume Harry could imagine--full of sparkles, and shimmering jewels, and feathers, and spandex! Harry gaped at the man, absolutely astonished.

After a while, the strange man evidently tired of Harry staring. With a sound reminiscent of the owl, he spoke.

"Well, Harry, aren't you going to answer the letter?"

"Wha-I-h-how do you know my name?" Harry ignored the man's question in favor of his own.

"I've known you since you were a baby," the man shrugged. "I guess you could say I knew your parents."

"You knew my mum and dad!"

"Your mum, more precisely. In fact, she. . .entrusted you to my care when she died." Here Harry interrupted, in spite of the feeling he had that this wasn't someone you interrupted with impunity.

''Then why have I been with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon? Why didn't you get me? I know Aunt Petunia would jump at the chance to get rid of me! And what's your name?" Harry abruptly stopped talking. He wasn't out of questions, but, judging by the look on the man's face, he was done listening to questions.

"My name is Jareth. You may call me. . ." Jareth tapped his lip thoughtfully, "sir. As for why I didn't come get you earlier, well, someone interfered. In fact, the headmaster of that school," here Jareth gestured contempuously to the forgotten letter in Harry's hand, "ran off with you before I managed to reach you. He hid you behind wards that I haven't been able to breach until just recently. After all, an owl had to be able to deliver your letter." He preened at his cleverness.

Harry stared at Jareth in amazement, then shook the parchment at him. "You mean that this is true?! Sir?" he added. "There really is a school for magic? And I'm really invited?" Jareth nodded. "But that means--that means that I'm--" Harry broke off here, unable to voice such an incredible, wonderful idea.

"Yes, you're a wizard, Harry."

Title: The Grim

Penname: SassyFrass

Characters, Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Sirius

Word Count: 2088

Rating: G

Genre: Romance

Song Lyrics:

If you look at her, she looks at me

She’s got me thinking about her constantly

But she don’t know how I feel

She carries on without a doubt

I wonder if she’ll figure out

 I’m crazy for this girl.

    "Crazy For This Girl" - Evan and Jaron

Summary: After fifth year, Harry receives a special present, and Ginny gets one too.

A/N: Thanks to dukebrymin and rosiekatriona for their mad beta skills. And yes, this is partially inspired by my 100 word drabble “The Grim,” found here.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. Rights to these characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties.

All recognizable characters, song lyrics, settings, and ideas not associated with the world of Harry Potter remain the property of their respective owners and all original characters, situations, places and ideas are the sole property of their creators. Original content viewed here may not be used without their permission.

XXX

The first time Harry had the dream was two weeks after Sirius died. It was an odd dream, different than the nightmares he was used to. He’d walked through a mist, hearing voices whisper, just as he had when he stood close to the veil. Then he’d heard barking that started far off, but came closer and closer. Harry only had a brief glimpse of the large black dog before he’d been bowled to the ground and his face covered with slobber from an enthusiastic tongue.

“Padfoot!” Harry sputtered, “that’s gross. Get off.”

Padfoot leaned back, panting in Harry’s face, a distinctly mischievous doggie-grin on his face. Harry huffed a breath, then shoved the large Grim off his chest. Propping himself up, Harry glared at the dog, who promptly pounced again.

Play with me! He seemed to say. Come on! Padfoot scrambled back, his tail high and wagging, as he lowered his front half in a playful doggie bow.

Harry grinned, and in that way that only happens in dreams, bounced forward as a black puppy and tackled the large black dog.

When the pounding on his door woke Harry from sleep, he sighed and stretched. Eyes widening, he realized that he hadn’t had any nightmares about Sirius falling, or Cedric dying. Getting out of bed, he smiled, bittersweet feelings coursing through him as he remembered his dream. Playing with Padfoot was one of his favorite memories from Christmas, the dog had been carefree in a way Sirius couldn’t be after Azkaban. The idea of Harry as a puppy pouncing on the older man was something Harry had longed for. He’d been planning on asking Sirius to start teaching him the Animagus transformation this summer, safe behind the wards at Grimmauld place. Now, he just didn’t have the heart to ask anyone else.

It wasn’t ‘til after his aunt complained about hair in the hallway that Harry noticed the silky black hairs scattered about his bed.

The same thing happened the next day, and the next. Every morning Harry was forced to hoover the upper hallway, and he carefully cleaned his room as well. The last thing he needed was for the Dursleys to blame him for the hair. Although, they would’ve been right for once. By the time his birthday rolled around, Harry was convinced that there was more to his dreams of dogfighting than just his subconscious mind dealing with the loss of Sirius.

When Harry woke up the day of his birthday, there was a parliament of owls gathered in his room. They perched on the desk and the windowsill, except for Pig, of course. He was still flying in rapid circles near the ceiling, hooting excitedly. The other owls, much like Hedwig always did, regally ignored him.

Harry put his glasses on, and not bothering to change clothes, began relieving the owls of their packages and letters. Wrapped up was the usual assortment of treats and books he’d come to expect from his friends, although there was a very nice framed picture of Harry and Hedwig flying around the Quidditch pitch from Ginny. He was a little surprised to get an individual gift from her, as she was usually included on the card that accompanied the package of sweets from Mrs. Weasley. But, for some reason, the idea that Ginny had thought of him, and cared enough to send a personal present sent a warm feeling through him.

The last present he opened was preceded by a letter from Remus. He turned the letter over curiously, as he’d already opened a present from Remus, a very interesting DADA book.

Dear Harry, the letter read,

I knew that Sirius had planned your present months ago. I don’t, however, know what it is, he was keeping it a secret. Possibly because I’d disapprove, or more likely, because he wanted to bug me.

Harry smiled. That seemed like something he’d do.

I do know that whatever it is he decided to give you, likely some prank spells that he’d love for you to cast on some unsuspecting Deatheaters, or Snape, he was really looking forward to working with you on it.
I know you miss him, Harry. I do too. But remember that he loves you, and that he doesn’t have to stay locked up anymore. Padfoot is probably romping wildly at the moment, hopefully causing all sorts of trouble with Prongs.

Happy Birthday, Harry.

Remus.

 
Harry carefully folded the letter back up, and set it aside. He unwrapped the package slowly, his eyes a little bright with emotion. It was a book. But there was something odd about it. It looked like an old journal, but it was blank. Inside the front cover was a simple message scrawled in Sirius’s hand.

 
What’s the magic word, Pup?

 
Harry snorted. Wouldn’t Remus have figured this out? “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.” The words shimmered and changed.

 
Mssr. Padfoot would like to ensure that this really is Pup, and not some nosy git like Mssr. Moony. He asks that you please whisper the phrase that caused him to threaten you with dire results if you ever uttered it again.

 
Harry laughed hysterically. That’s what stopped Remus! “Padfoot prances prettily.” The words changed again.

 
Mssr. Padfoot thanks Pup, and reminds him that if he ever tells anyone else that phrase, the consequences will be such that he’ll wish the Weasley Twins or Snape had gotten hold of him.

 
“Not anymore, Padfoot.” Harry sighed. “You’re gone.”

 
Mssr. Padfoot assures Pup that there is nowhere he’d be safe and that Mssr. Padfoot would find a way from beyond death if necessary.

 
“Padfoot?!”

 
Mssr. Padfoot begs that Pup not sound so astonished as Mssr. Padfoot is, of course, a magnificent wizard, and did Pup really think those were just dreams? But Mssr. Padfoot would like to return to the point as it is Pup’s birthday present, and nothing is more important than presents.

 
The cover went blank for a moment, and new writing appeared on the title page.

 
Mssr. Padfoot is proud to present:
Padfoot’s personal guide to becoming an Animagus.

 
Beneath that was a smaller note.

 
Practice, Pup, you don’t need a wand for it, and Padfoot’s lonely.

 
XXX

 
By the time the Weasleys picked him up from no. 4, three days later, Harry could change his hands into paws, and had managed to cover his entire body with fur a few times. He only practiced at night, because of what he’d discovered the first time he’d changed an arm and hadn’t been able to change back. If he went to sleep, he’d revert naturally in his sleep. . . after his dreamtime romping with Sirius of course.

He’d spent a lot of time thinking about his friends as well. He’d seriously considered talking to Ron and Hermione about his animagus form, but decided not to. Hermione would lecture him about doing it unsupervised, and Ron would likely be annoyed he hadn’t waited so Ron could try as well. But the main reason he didn’t want to tell his friends was that he wanted a secret that was just between him and Padfoot.  He’d tell them later. Ginny, on the other hand, he’d thought about more than Ron and Hermione combined. He remembered how bravely she’d fought, and how she comforted him. How she’d kicked him out of his bad moods, and supported him against Umbridge. And eventually Harry realized that he’d been thinking about her more and more, and with deeper feelings.

At The Burrow, Harry was soundly hugged by Mrs. Weasley, and then Ginny gave him a light hug, too. He pulled back, his face flushing, and stuttered through an inquiry about her injuries. Harry smiled in relief to find out everyone was healed fully, with no lingering problems. Hermione wrapped him in a bushy brown hug, and chattered some quiet remarks about Sirius, and was Harry okay? He nodded, muttered something in reply–he wasn’t sure what–and made Ron help carry his trunk up to his room.

That night at dinner, Harry felt as though the summer heat had latched onto him. Every time he looked at Ginny, he felt the temperature rise. It didn’t help that he caught Hermione looking at him knowingly a few times. Luckily, no one commented on the blush he could feel in his cheeks. Especially after the time she met his gaze and smiled.

The days passed, and Harry worked on his Animagus form, and Ginny’s birthday drew nearer. Hermione grew tired of watching him watch Ginny, and pulled him aside.

“She still likes you, you know.”

Harry sputtered in shock, and his face turned red again.

“What do you mean?”

“Harry, I’ve seen how you look at her. You like her, you’re crazy about her. Every time you two are in a room together you can’t take your eyes off of her.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied diffidently. “She’s dating Dean.” Hermione waved her hand in dismissal.

“She broke up with him right before you came. Something about ‘lack of common interests.’”

“Really?” Harry perked up.

“Yes, so ask her out already.”

“I can’t.”

Harry refused to discuss it anymore with Hermione. But he watched Ginny more than ever.

 
XXX

The day before Ginny’s birthday, Harry had finally managed a full transformation, but still couldn’t consciously control his reversion. But he decided not to worry about it anymore. He was more concerned with what to give Ginny for her birthday. All he had were some chocolate frogs, and there was no way he’d be able to go to Diagon Alley to buy her something better. Maybe he could write a nice letter, or teach her to be an animagus. That could be fun. But then he chickened out, and wrapped up the frogs.

That night, he dreamed about Padfoot again, but this time he woke up with a start, early in morning.

“Bark!” Harry jerked. What was that?

“Bark!” Padfoot? Harry stumbled to Ron’s window, and saw a shadow move out in the yard. A shape stepped out into the dawn light–it was a large Grim.

“Padfoot!?” Harry’s voice was strangled. The dog’s tail wagged. Harry hurried to the door, and edged out quietly. He carefully tiptoed down the staircase, avoiding the squeaky steps, and let himself outside.

It took him a few tries to concentrate enough to change, but soon there were two dogs wrestling in the early morning.

 
XXX

Ginny loved to be out in the garden early in the morning on her birthday. After the events of her first year, she liked to have quiet time to herself. And on her birthday, it was even more important to her. She liked to think about how she had changed and grown in the last year.

She looked up from her thoughts when she heard a soft whine. At the edge of the garden, out of sight of the house, stood a familiar-looking black dog. She shook her head, Sirius is dead, she reminded herself.

When he whined again, she couldn’t stop her whisper.

“Snuffles.”

 
His tail wagged, and she walked toward the dog who should be dead. He side-stepped away and nosed a shape hidden in the shadows. It was a smaller dog, with black fur that stood up every which way, and a white lightning bolt down his forehead.

 
“Harry?!”

 
His eyes were green.

 
“What happened, Harry?” Ginny looked around briefly, but the larger, grim-like dog had disappeared. “Did you get stuck?”

Harry whined again, pathetically and flopped onto his back. Ginny reached down and rubbed his stomach. He wriggled enthusiastically, and squirmed over, licking her wrist.

“You have to change back, Harry.”

Harry scrambled into a sitting position, and gave her a sheepish expression, and a doggie shrug. He licked her hand again, and looked up at her in entreaty.

“No, Harry. You have to turn back. I want my birthday wish, and can’t have it if you’re a dog.”

Harry whimpered a question.

“You’re a cute dog,” Ginny said in reply. “But I can’t kiss you if you’re not a boy.”

Harry froze in surprise, staring at her. She looked back at him steadily.

XXX