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The room is dark but for the circle of candles, which give off both more smoke and light then they ought to, and it curls around her knees like a caress.
Outside, he can hear the usual unintelligible rumble that comes after the end of a stealth mission, as the suspects are gathered together, tied, made ready for transport and people poke around to see if there are any clues left. They’ll come to this room, soon. After all – this is the room everyone was found in. Someone will contact a Summoning Expert. Until then, he can hear two of his aurors by the door, not quite following him in but not quite leaving him.
After all, he’s the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. The boy who won the war. And still, after all this time; that bites at his throat because it feels so wrong.
He focuses on her. He isn’t sure why she didn’t disappear when the spell was interrupted or one of the candles knocked over – the flame doused as soon as it hit the ground (and wasn’t that odd, in this dry old building? This grey, featureless room?). But she stands there, calmly. Looking for all the world like a human – save her eyes. Her eyebrows are high and pointed, whether by makeup or nature he can’t tell from here in the dim light. But her eyes - they are brilliant green – a different shade from his – and they glint and glitter like polished glass. And they follow him, as he enters the room, as he steps towards her and clears his throat, a little of the awkward school boy itching beneath his skin.
Most creatures, he remembers, are harmless to talk to, if you watch your words, but his eyes flicker to the snuffed candle, which still lays on its side. When he looks back up, she is smiling. A soft, warm smile, that dances over her lips.
“They got the summoning wrong.” She says, before he can speak. “Wrong, really, from the start. There is a much simpler way to call for – us,” she laughs, quiet in the already quiet room, “but perhaps they liked the flair. Still, they could of made sure they were calling for the right one. Even if the spell is in Goblin tongue, the words they mixed up are not similar.”
He decides it’s probably safe enough to talk to her and see what information he can gather. “I wasn’t aware there were any Goblin summoning spells.” He starts, and wonders if that sounds rude.
But her smile remains, and those odd eyes continue to glitter, “I daresay there are many things you wizards do not know about the Goblins.” She tilts her head at him. “Would you like to know what they wanted?”
He nods, watching her.
“They wanted me – or rather,” and her smile is conspiratorial, like she is sharing an amusing secret with him, “my husband, to come take you away. Far away. Of course, it wouldn’t have worked.” She says, noting his faintly alarmed expression, though it is more perplexed then anything. “They have no claim to you, and you are, after all, too old.”
At that, his eyes turn sharp – his protective streak rising inside him.
The woman raises a delicate hand, long fingers waving out across the space gently. “It’s alright,” she soothes, “we are not monsters from a story book. We take the wished away, and keep them safe. If the wisher desires them back, they can be won. We do not hurt the children.”
“Who are you?” He asks; tone still sharp – unsure.
With ease she steps from the broken circle, the smoke releasing her canvas-clad legs. She offers him her hand, still smiling, and he stares at it. With a laugh, she bows instead. Not deeply, but it causes her dark hair to tumble forward over her shoulders all the same. “I,” she says, tone light but just slightly serious, “am the Queen of Goblins.” A playful smile again, and she restates, “or rather, the Goblin Queen. And it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Harry Potter. Should you ever wish to go somewhere far away, might I suggest you wish yourself to us.” Her eyes glitter, “We will keep you safe.”
A warm wind blows across the room, and in his distraction she disappears, leaving behind a shower of glitter and a single, fluttering piece of parchment.
Harry Potter catches it before it hits the ground, and reads the phrase written on it silently. He pauses, aware of the aurors outside the door, his back to them – they cannot see the parchment, he thinks.
So he quietly tucks it in a pocket.
I wish the goblins would come take me away, right now.