Death Child [ON HIATUS]

Goblins and Death's Child - Part 2

:Parseltongue:

:Language of the Dead:

:Thoughts/letters/the usual really:

:Gobblygook:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry woke up to a strange language and a soft feeling surrounding his small body. It was strange to him, but still welcomed it for it was soothing. And Mr' Death told him he was safe so he wouldn't panic.

The boy dared open his eyes slowly but quickly shut them, the light was blinding. Where the light came from he did not know. So, with his eyes clenched, he dared to speak to whoever was giving him that soothing feeling.

"Where am I?" He whispered, his voice rash from the screaming and lack of use. His eyes opened suddenly as he felt a cup being brought to his mouth. It looked like water so he drank slowly, getting accustomed to the feeling of the water inside his mouth, down his throat. He sighed with relief after drinking everything. "Thank you."

Harry had yet to look at his caretaker, too busy looking at the marble ceiling filled with strange drawings, was it a pattern? Pretty. The room itself was big, it looked like an infirmary, it had several beds, mostly small, like they were meant for children. Maybe they are? The walls also had the strange patterns, but unlike the ceiling which looked it had small stars throughout it's entirety, the walls were clear, the only thing destabilizing the clear marble was the strange drawings.

The boy finally decided to look at his caretaker, his eyes widening slightly at the sight in front of him. The person, no, creature in front of him was small, perhaps the size of a ten year old, the fingers and feet were very long and the face was of a dark complexion, features sharp with wrinkles all over it yet a bit feminine, maybe it's a lady? he wondered.

"Hello, umm... ma'am?" He said, maybe asked? He did not want to offend his caretaker.

The goblin raised an eyebrow, slight amusement in a quirk of the mouth, though most would think it a frown. Harry however felt the creature had been pleased. How? He did not know. Just a feeling.

"Hello young wizard." The goblin spoke, her voice was a bit rash, like most of it's species. But still slightly feminine, definitely a ma'am Harry thought. Wait? Wizard? Does she mean me?

"I'm sorry, wizard? Hmm... so that's what I am... I know magic is real, the small fairies in the garden told me so, though uncle Vernon doesn't like it. Says it's evil, it isn't normal." The boy rambled. "Can I ask what  you are ma'am? If I'm not being rude of course." Curiosity filled his words.

Goblin, young Necro. The voice, now inside his head once more.

"Goblin... thank you Mr Death, does that mean you live where the gold is? At least that's what the stories in the telly say on the programs Dudley watches. Of course I'm not allowed to watch them, but sometimes I can hear it when I'm tending the garden."

You are rambling young Necro, pay attention.

"Sorry..." he answered sheepishly, to both Death and the goblin, which had an exasperation look in her eyes.

"I am healer Galen. I have been tending to your wounds since you've gotten here. You should be able to walk around now." Galen explained. "You had very extensive injuries and we found a few magical traces on your person that we took it upon ourselves to remove. Once you look at a mirror you will note few differences to your physical features. You however, still have a few blocks in need of removal, but seeing as your body is still weak from your injuries, it is unwise to perform the ritual yet."