Boy and the Begining

Harry had decided to follow a river this time, instead of aimlessly soaring in whatever direction that caught his whim (or hasty escape of the occasional plane). The current river he was following soon joined with other rivers, and the scent on the air became more brackish, with a hint of brine. It wasn't until he consulted his map, after spying the sign of an approaching town dubbed Wick, that he realized he was rather close to the English Channel.

Wick was a small town, with a population of only about 7000-8000 people or so. It was even smaller then the stuffy neighborhood of his rearing. The town crouched the length of two burghs within the county of Caithness, of which Wick was the county town. The entire area was perched along the similarly named River Wick, and extended along both sides of the equally imaginatively named Wick Bay. (1)

The place had an air of age about it, the buildings an old, damp colored stone, and bore the imprint of times before automobiles and such could still be remembered in the old walls and streets of the place, despite being on a main hwy.

There was a railway line and an airport as well, and Harry amused himself with hiding in a tree outside the airfield and watching the planes, very glad that he could fly. Depending on machines to escape the hold of gravity and not one's own will seemed highly impractical to Harry now after flying for so long.

After that little amusement, Harry pulled out a plastic peanut butter jar from his backpack and shook the contents inside considerately. Inside it was half full of tiny, thumb sized clothing items.

It had been a month since Harry had started Sizing. It took care of a lot of problems and opened up a lot of room in his pack.

Harry had wandered into the occasional toy store a time or two, lifting doll cloths and other little knickknacks. The sizing of these into larger, more usable items left Harry with a wider range of sources amongst the Normals' communities for those times he ventured into towns.

His selected cloths sized into something that would fit him after a quick wash with a hose in a back lawn that was not being noticed, and he was off to the Wick Carnegie Library to scavenge some more books to size and add to his growing collection of thumbnail sized books stored in a small bamboo box with a copper clasp that he had taken a liking to one day and taken.

Harry spent a few days around Wick, visiting a heritage museum, where he viewed something of an 'Aladdin's Cave' of exhibits featuring old things from the days of yore that would not be lost in the everyday atmosphere of Wick, lingering on the roofs of local bars, and generally enjoying himself. (1b)

As he broadened his knowledge base and acquired supplies; Harry's favorite place by far was looking out over the stunning blue water of the sea, perched atop the remains of the Castle of Old Wick, or as the locals refer to it, the Old Man of Wick.

(Though Harry was disappointed that the stones were in fact ordinary, without an old man ghost or old men in the stones anywhere).

Harry found the wide expanse of water to be breathtaking, and he wondered how long it would take him to cross it to the next land mass which, according to his map, was either France or Belgium, depending on his whims.

He considered the long stretch of churning water before him. He figured that if a Normal could swim and birds could fly the English Channel, then he too could surely cross this hugely wide expanse without rest while in the air, even if the idea was a bit nerve wracking; he had never crossed such a large distance without some sort of handy landing spot before.

He floated down to the ground and walked back to the library, figuring that it would be open once he arrived there, and decided to see if he could find a map of both countries to see what caught his fancy the most.

Ooo ooo ooo

Harry had not expected the storm to move in so quickly. Perhaps it was close range to the sea, or perhaps an unexpected wind change, who knew? But Harry knew he was in trouble when he was nearly blown into the churning waters nearly 3 quarters of the way to the shores of his first ever out of country visit.

He was getting battered by the gale force winds and he had long been soaked to the bone in chilly rain. Harry would later be grateful that he had taken the precaution in covering his backpack in the water proof tarp he had snitched from a boater at Wick.

Through the downpour, the flying boy struggled to grimly maintain his focus; he needed to get to land.

A tree, a bush, hell, even a rock would be welcome at this point.

Harry sobbed in relief when a dark expanse of cliffs reared out of the gloom before his tired eyes.

Harry was tired and cold; he was sinking in fits and starts, for the first time since he had mastered flying, having a hard time maintaining his focus.

A glimmer of…well, he didn't know what it was really that caught his attention, but to his storm slashed mind it was like a beacon of safety for the tired child. He gathered the last of his strength and shot towards the glimmer in the rock face.

This source was a tiny cave opening with a barely there jutting outcropping, that would have otherwise gone unnoticed but for whatever quality about it drew the boy's attention.

He shot into the opening and tumbled to the firm, stony ground with a tired sigh, slightly winded, but relieved beyond measure that he had actually made it.

Harry was jarred out of his relief, however, when a voice declared in the gloom.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day, boys shooting into ones vacation homes like they had a cannon in their arse pockets."

Harry achingly scrambled to his feet, and crouched defensibly as a small squat figure became clearer, previously unnoticed lanterns suddenly sprung to life, filling the cave with warm light.

Harry stared, he couldn't help it.

The stranger was small, smaller than him even, though not a child. He was rather grizzled, and looked rather old and sour. It was the olive green skin and the large, sharply pointed ears with tufts of grey, wiry hair between them that arrested his stunned amazement.

The stranger was also dressed in a night shirt, holding another lantern in gnarly clawed hands.

"What's the matter boy? You look as though you have never seen a Goblin before."

Harry got over his shock quickly enough and considered the goblin.

He knew that some things in the fantasies he read could be applied to him because he was an Abnormal. It never occurred to him, he admitted, that the creatures actually mentioned in the tales could be potentially nonfictional. Still, it seemed somewhat logical to admit that perhaps more than the happenings in the fictions, and possibly some of the characters themselves might have some basis in truth.

That meant that this goblin, though looking slightly different then some of the illustrations in some of the books he read, was a goblin, and therefore an Abnormal to.

Frankly, he knew it would be impossible for him to be the only Abnormal in the entire world, he had just never meant any before, and being a solitary sort of boy, never thought to seek any out, since he had been doing quite well for himself since discovery of his status.

There was also another conclusion to be drawn from this goblin. If the goblin was an Abnormal, and Harry, who though was definitely different then the goblin, still an Abnormal, did that mean he wasnt human either? 

So what was he then? Certainly not a Goblin, at least he didn't think so, they looked to different. He figured he wasn't any garden variety human at least.

Harry finally mentally shook himself from the conundrum. Whatever his origins or species, it made little difference really, he would still be living as he did now, and he would still be the same Harry that had idiotically flown through a damn storm, nearly offing himself in the process.

He made a silent vow to get himself to pay attention to weather reports from from wherever he could find them from now on.

The only problem now lay in whether this face to face with other Abnormals would lead to complications. After all, many of the figures and species alluded to in the tales he had read so far were very powerful and/or dangerous.

Said danger that he was not keen in being directed towards him.

Then another practical thought.

What if Abnormals were organized enough to not be too keen on their children wandering the planet without parental guidance?

He knew, despite his own experiences, that Normals in general were very particular about the safety of children in general, with some Dursley-esque exceptions, and he had no evidence that the rules that applied to children of Normals wouldn't apply to Abnormals.

So there was potential headaches not just from the dangerous Abnormals, but also the potentially helpful ones as well.

The Goblin was eying him suspiciously now, his face growing sourer if possible.

Harry quickly scrambled for a viable lie.

"I am sorry for disturbing you sir, I was outside on my way to my grandmother's house that isn't to far from here, and was caught by the storm. My vision is not the best you see," Harry pointed to his glasses, "and I stumbled and fell off a cliff and landed on a ledge into some bushes," Harrys bedraggled appearance would hopefully back this up, "then I was blown by a gust of wind into your fine cave, I am sorry for intruding sir, I could try to climb out and return to-" (2).

"No, I'm not about to send some scrawny runt out into the storm to get blown into the sea next. Consider yourself lucky that the wind blew you into a cave with a goblin with a decent disposition and not the wretched waves," the goblin interrupted, "now follow me and I will show you a place you can stay until the storm passes then I will see you as far as your grandmother's property."

Harry was led down a winding tunnel that grew steadily shorter, though more ornate, with carvings of what looked like goblin battles.

Harry though, was rather more fascinated by the lanterns.

The goblin would either light or extinguish a torch with a wave of his hand, and some occasional muttering under his breath that he assumed was the being's own mother tongue.

A few of the stories he read talked of enchanted fires, but it didn't really register until the moment that he saw it in action.

Now that would be handy, but was it something that was akin to the torches and lanterns, much like other magical objects he had read about in stories, or was it flame created by the goblin used on the torches and lanterns? and was it something unique only to goblins?

Harry, somewhat tired, cold and weary of being in the stranger's presence, decided to figure it out later, at the moment he turned his attention back to his host.

He was led to a small stone room with a round wooden door embedded in the opening, painted a dull greyish colour.

The door was opened to reveal a small, rather lush sitting room done in rich shades of blues, golds, and silvers. It reminded him vaguely of a Victorian siting room that he had seen in a magazine once, though the furniture was smaller, obviously goblin size, and had an abundance of sharp projections made of precious metals and more bone then his paranoia was comfortable with.

Harry took a seat on one of the chairs and accepted the grudging tea that was offered. The goblin only stated a stern "sit and remain quiet" before picking up a book from a small pile by his chair and returning to what he was reading with a grunt and a sip of some amber coloured liquid that smoked vaguely.

Harry took in the room, and had to say, it was strangely cozy, despite the owner being less than warm. But then again, he had, quite literally, dropped in on him uninvited; not that it was the young boy's fault of course.

Harry eyed the books with interest. Having an actual book that belonged to an abnormal, potentially written by another abnormal, without the question marks of abnormal-ness being interpreted from the views of Normal writers, would be quite useful.

But then again, Harry had read fairy tales about characters that steal from powerful people and creatures and it not always ending well. Would stealing from a goblin have a similar consequence? After all, he was too young to be thinking about giving up his first born or being cursed as a consequence.

Harry continued to eye the books thoughtfully, mulling over the possibilities.

The goblin, at some point while Harry was deep in thought, looked at his guest over the top of his book.

He mentally snorted. The boy was obviously not going to grandma's house and back. He had the well-worn look of one who had been on the road for a while. His cloths and muggle backpack were worn and the colors were faded. The human was to lean for his age and had an alertness to him that spoke of one who must have been out doors for quite some time. His hair was a shaggy wild mop of dark hair that was tangled and gave him a rather untamed look, already past his shoulders. No mother or father with scissors in hand had touched that boy's head in a while.

"I am Ragnarok," the goblin finally introduced himself reluctantly.

The boy turned his gaze from the pile of books by the goblin's feet and gave a shy smile and said "my names Harry, sir," then cocked his head, "Ragnarok? like the name of the mythological Norse end of the world?"

Harry had added the last bit as he figured this was the type to have respectful connotations. Harry had always had excellent instincts in how to be around adults and avoid the least way to anger them.

Ragnarok gave a snort of amusement, so this Harrry appears to be educated at least, and replied.

"Yes, my father was rather fond of human stories of ultimate destruction," he gave a toothsome smile as he mentally added to himself, ' and many a wizard has known the true definition of my name when I have been crossed.'

Ragnarok noted the boy's eyes shifting to his book stack again with a certain grudging amusement, faint though it was. At least he displayed some sense. His guest had been completely oblivious to the various treasures he had strewn around the place like so much knick-knack (which it was to him at least, being a rather opulent sort) and there was no lust for gold or silver or jewel in him it appears.

A goblin, especially one so esteemed as him, should be able to sense a lover of treasure; after all, goblins were lovers of treasure, among other things like blood, fine drink, battle and trickery. Goblins could smell greed from a person within minutes of meeting them, and this boy didn't have the traditional desires found in a lot of humans, and he was to young yet to know if, and/or what, desires of the flesh would wrought upon puberty.

He could smell something else about the boy though, something that Goblins as experienced and wily as himself developed that made them keen business beings, and that was recognizing a heavy air of potential.

No mere human should have been able to brake though those goblin wards, whether purposefully or by accident (the latter of which he believed to be the case) and so young at that!

The goblin considered Harry and his obvious thirst for knowledge.

"You are interested in the books I take it," the goblin grunted finally, his own book back in front of his face.

Harry started and straightened. So the old goblin had noticed? Well, now that the subject was brought up, Harry considered, his brain quickly weaving a potential plan.

"Yes sir, I rather enjoy stories, though will read anything that crosses my fancy, particularly if it is useful or gives me ideas that ends up helping me in the future. Since you are…different from the other authors that I normally read; I am curious about what sort of books goblins would write about."

The goblin huffed and then after a moment of silence and page turning, the goblin stated suddenly.

"I'll give you one of my books, in return though, you have to promise me something."

Harry was immediately wary. He remembered stories of characters being tricked, or accepting stupidly, a deal with another character that usually ended up with the receiver of said deal regretting it at some point.

"What something would this be?" he asked cautiously.

The goblin gave another grudging point in the boy's favor. At least he wasn't foolish to agree right away, as most children and some adults would be inclined to do when it came to something they desired.

"Nothing that will cost you your freedom, your morals, your body or anything from it; It will merely be a favor, a simple favor of anything that I require, though you are free to refuse if it infringes on any of the above stated exceptions. This favor will be paid at any time within your lifetime at my leisure."

Harry considered the offer carefully. It seemed reasonable, though he wondered what exactly he could offer a goblin. The goblin clearly had magic all on his own, and Harry was just a boy, with no obvious money (he certainly didn't look rich).

"What can I offer you? I don't really have anything…"

"You will," the goblin interrupted briskly, "now, grab a book from the pile before I change my mind, or don't accept at all, either way it is no skin of my arse."

With that, he turned back to his book.

Harry bit his lip, but then, eventually, decided that whatever this something the goblin thought he would have was something that was far off, and there was no guarantee in that in the first place. Chances were he would probably never see the goblin ever again. The deal was reasonable, there was less risk on Harry's part in this then on the goblin, and he would be gaining a book from the deal that belonged to the first other abnormal that he had ever met.

"You have a deal."

Ragnarok smirked with satisfaction behind his book, unseen.

Ooo ooo ooo

The book Harry had chosen was much to Harry's horror, in a language that was not recognizable. It was filled with harsh jagged lines and squiggles. Harry had not had much choice in what he had chosen. The goblin had merely growled for him to be quick about his choice, and Harry had complied nervously, and had grabbed the first book on the top of the pile, a dusty, slightly thick tome of faded dark leather with golden gilt page edges which, despite the age, still shone warmly in the candle light.

Harry had snuck out of the cave after the storm had past and while the goblin had been snoozing in his chair, feeling somewhat cheated but that he had learned something very valuable from the encounter.

This taught him to be extra cautious, particularly with other Abnormals, and he vowed to approach any others with a better head to potential craftiness in the near or far future.

Ooo ooo ooo

A/n: (1) Wick is an actual location in the UK. I got the info from Wikipedia. (1b) I found a website that showed some imagery of a Museum in Wick that refereed to its self as being a "somewhat rambling building... something of an 'Aladdin's Cave'." The Wick Society Webpage. (2) Harry takes inspiration for his unbelieved lie from the fairy tale, "Little Red Ridinghood."