There's Something Wretched About This
“I told you he would hear it.” One of the beings directed at another before turning to Harry. “Greetings, Bard.”
“What…” Harry began, trailing off, looking around him at the sea of mutilated music, the surging tide of faeries who had been mutilated, changed, and transformed into something other. Looked at the faint traces left of their former glory, the drooping ears, the nature-wild eyes, listened to the skittering of knife against stone, all that remained of their bladed, spike-filled smiles, the towels made togas that they wore, the slender fingers working knives of iron, slender fingers burnt by the metal they so abhorred but were forced to use, the slender fingers that ought to have been caressing a mortal’s jawbone as they tempted them into a deal, or into giving their name and their self.
“What happened?” Harry repeated, his tone filled with desperation as he listened closer, hearing the flutes he had become familiar with under the Huntsman’s tutelage.
“Something that not even we truly understand, good bard.” The same being responded, voice heavy with its weariness. “For it happened long in our past, and all those that could have passed the information on were taken.”
“Would…” Harry trailed off, sitting down on the floor, floundering to find familiar grounds, comforted by the weight of Artorius’ head in his lap. ”Would, you care for a barter? Information for information? Questions for questions?”
“Oh Mr. Potter, that might have worked before, but not now.”
“Wait, how do you- I never gave you my name, how do you know my name? How is it still my name?”
“You didn’t think your age was the only thing affected by your journey’s in Annwn, did you?” The being asked. “Your being would be rather hard to steal now, seeing as you’re a step or two to the left of fully human.”
“That… that should be disturbing.” Harry commented. “Not comforting.”
The small being before him shrugged their shoulders.
“I suppose it functions as security?” Harry pondered. “A preventative method of protecting my metaphysical personhood? Perhaps an adaptation I unconsciously developed? What do you think Artorius?”
Getting a huff in response, Harry shook his head to clear it of his thoughts.
“A problem for another time.” Harry muttered to himself. “By what may I address you, and by what may I address your people?”
“The magicians call us House Elves, and you may use Miriam to refer to me.”
“Elves are not a household being.” Harry asked more than he stated. “An elf of the house is an inherent contradiction. Do your people have a term used amongst yourself that I might use?”
“Elf would suffice.” Miriam responded.
“Good Elf, what… what happened to your people?”
“As was said, we know not what led us to our current form, Mr. Potter. Those that might have been present when it happened were taken from us.”
“You remarked that I would ‘hear ‘it.’ Hear what?”
“We know what a bard hears, good sir.”
“Okay…” Harry began. “You understand the nature of my talents, the lengths to which I can hear.”
Closing his eyes, Harry took the time to listen closer to the songs coming from the elves around him, listening to the humming of their being, the flutes of a tynged, and something… other. A regular chime, with no degree of elegance or musicality present in its structured beats.
“A binding… and at least a singular tynged.” Harry commented, as much to himself as the elves. “The same rhythm… a shared binding and tynghedau.”
Opening his eyes, Harry looked at Miriam.
“The binding. Is it to the magicians?”
“In a manner.” Miriam replied. ”The binding is twofold a spell. A bind to the self that then necessitates being bound to a magician, or an institute.”
“Are there any restrictions to what your people find themselves capable of? Without understanding what anchors the binding, the tynged, or tynghedau, seems more prescient a concern.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, but surely, Harry managed to piece together the tynghedau that the elves labored under. For it was, in fact, more than a singular tynged. It seemed as though there were six of them. One to prevent the elves from performing magic, or crafting charms, unless ordered, another prohibiting them from having children unless permitted. One to guarantee compliance with an order, one to guarantee the twofold aspect of the binding, forcing them under a magician or institute. Another, to seek a new bondholder if dismissed, and one to pass the tynghedau onto their children.
“This is slavery! This is chattel slavery!” Harry yelled, outraged at what he had learned.
“And it is the manner in which we have been condemned to live.” Miriam responded, her voice heavy with resignation.
“No.” Harry said. “No, I refuse to accept that this farce has to persist. One way or another, I will unmake the tynghedau, and I will dispel that binding.”
“A noble endeavor, but you must know of the permanence of a tynged, having studied the art yourself, good bard.”
“I. Do. Not. Care. I don’t care that there has been no mention of a tynged being undone, I will force the magic to exist if needs be. And I already have my first route of investigation.”
“Which would be?”
“You called it a tynged, good elf. I’ll simply access Annwn one way, or another.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Naturally, the forest surrounding Hogwarts was Harry’s first point of investigation, given his experience with entering Annwn through various woodland methods. The first issue of many? The damned groundskeeper.
“Oi, what’re ya doing there?” The towering figure called out as Harry began walking into the forest.
“Entering the forest, Good Keeper.” Harry responded. “I’ve business to conduct within its woodland realm.”
“The forest’s off-limits to the students, Professor Dumbledore said so at the Welcomin’ Feast.” The figure called out as he approached Harry.
Sighing to himself, Harry turned to face the groundskeeper, beating a light tune against the ground with his foot, summoning a slight wind to play about his hair.
“Harry!” The groundskeeper called out. “Why, you were a wee little one when las’ I saw you.”
His initial response was a sharp inhale, causing the wind he had called up to abruptly still before it restarted as he exhaled.
“Good Keeper, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet. Might I have your name?” Harry asked.
“I’m Rubeus Hagrid!” The man responded jovially, before looking dazed a few seconds later.
“Needs must, sometimes.” Harry muttered to himself, setting back into the forest, clenching his hand into a fist as he did, calling out to the groundskeeper as he did, lacing a thread of song into his voice. “You won’t tell anyone, in any manner, you saw me here.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
As Harry wandered the woods, looking through his seeing stone, now restrung into a necklace, he thought about the groundskeeper. It had been on a whim, really, attempting what he had, based on Miriam’s comment about him. He could have simply used two tynghedau, instead of the one he had used, but… well, one could find loopholes around all sorts of tynghedau if they had to. No, what he had done was far better, more permanent. He wouldn’t risk someone preventing him from accomplishing his task.
Turning his attention fully back to the current step in his task, he spied another entrance to an Otherworld, much like the others he had found. He had made sure to steer clear of them. Their song and the sight he saw through the stone were… aggressive and gave the distinct impression of yelling “LEAVE!.” Nothing at all like Annwn. Understandable, seeing as Scotland was home to Elphame, instead of Annwn. Regardless, Harry wouldn’t rest until he had found a means of access.
His distraction with reorienting himself away from the entrance to Elphame was the ultimate reason he was accosted, finding himself held at spearpoint, the polearm being accompanied by two drawn bows.
“Greetings, Good Centaurs.”