A/N: Flitwick's backstory here is decidedly non-canon, though it makes sense to me.

Chapter Twelve: Development

After all the excitements of the few days around Halloween, life for the Four settled down into a new pattern. Although they made a point of eating every meal in the Great Hall, including answering the seemingly-endless questions of the other students, the Four now spent almost all of their time up in their part of the Gryffindor tower. There they studied and trained, and increasingly began to carry out original research. Somewhat to their surprise, they started to accumulate a circle of scholars around them. Everyone except the Four had regular classes to go to, of course, but it became normal to have at least a few other students around at any time during the day. Robert finally found a few like-minded Ravenclaws, oddly almost all among the first- and second-years, and a slightly greater number of Slytherins (likewise mostly quite young) became regulars also. Percy Weasley initially objected to all these non-Gryffindors traipsing through Gryffindor tower, but after supervising for a few hours he became a regular himself - he and the Twins thus became the only Gryffindors there other than the Four themselves. Perhaps surprisingly, Hufflepuff remained entirely unrepresented except for a lone third-year named Cedric Diggory.

Various professors visited from time to time, most often Professor Flitwick, and they answered questions and observed progress. On one such visit Flitwick turned a number of walls into giant blackboards, and left behind a great deal of chalk and dusters - from then on the student-scholars constantly scrawled ideas and questions all over the place. This in turn allowed an extraordinary degree of collaboration, and the circle of scholars drew further and further ahead of their classmates. Some began serious projects, most notably Potions research led by the Twins. The Twins had already accumulated a significant knowledge of cheaper substitutes for expensive ingredients, but now they devoted themselves to studying exactly what was and was not necessary for a potion to work. They rapidly absorbed core Potions theory (but not specific recipes) to OWL and then NEWT level, and then set about researching beyond that. They weren't creating anything new, and for the most part they weren't even brewing potions far beyond their supposed level, but they were learning how to improve potion-making: their recipes were cheaper and easier to brew, and often even produced better results than the standard methods. Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey tested these results very thoroughly, and then the Circle (led in this by the Twins) took responsibility for brewing all the potions that Madam Pomfrey needed in the infirmary. None of them quite dared to ask Professor Snape what he thought of this development, but the Twins did make one attempt to tell him about their discoveries. The attempt fared poorly.

Harry, meanwhile, hadn't forgotten about his broomstick idea. He and Ron were still seeing Madam Hooch once a week to test-fly prototypes for Nimbus, and on one such occasion Harry asked her if they could take an old broomstick in order to take it apart and learn how it worked. She turned him down, saying that she had no spares - had she had spares, she said, she would have thrown out several of the current brooms quite some time ago. Remembering the incident with Parvati in their first flying lesson, Harry suddenly realised the danger of those unreliable brooms in the hands of complete beginners.

"Madam Hooch," he said, "what's the best beginner's broom on the market right now? Cheap, reliable, and not a complete cow to fly."

She considered for a moment. "Probably the Comet 440 - two Galleons is hardly pocket change, but for a broom that's very reasonable. It's a good broom, too, no question about that - it may not have the acceleration or speed of a Nimbus, but it's actually quite nice to fly. Why do you ask?"

Harry grinned. "Order 30 of them for the school - I'll pay."

Madam Hooch goggled at him for a moment, reminding herself just how rich this boy really was, and how kind. Then she swept him up in a giant hug.

"Generations of students will learn a joy in flight that might otherwise have been denied to them. Thank you, Harry. I have been so thoroughly frustrated with these brooms, but 60 Galleons is a lot of money."

And so it was that the Four found themselves the proud owners of 20 broken-down old broomsticks and one brand-new Comet 440 (leaving 9 spares for Madam Hooch along with her class set of 20). With help at times from other members of the Circle, the Four devoted day after day to studying these magical devices. Theory was all well and good, but these things were designed and built by professionals - it was extremely useful to see what design choices those professionals had actually made, and especially to see how those choices interacted with one another. The old brooms were a mixture of models, too, which was helpful. The Four felt free to destroy these brooms in stripping them down, and after a few weeks they had a great deal of knowledge and only one broom - the Comet 440, which they hadn't touched.

They studied the 440 without changing it at first, learning all they could that way. Then they took it apart, very carefully, and studied all they could without damaging it. They then put it back together - to their slight surprise, it worked as well as ever.

Professor Flitwick was there when the Four finished rebuilding the 440 - for a wonder he was the only other person there - and he shared their excitement. He should have known he'd be peppered with questions, though.

"Professor," said Harry, "why are broomsticks always made of wood? Do they have to be?"

Flitwick paused for thought.

"I can say that I have never known any broomstick to differ notably from this basic design: the wooden shaft and twigs are completely standard, at least in my experience. Hmm..."

He paused again, and the Four waited eagerly.

"Strictly speaking, the only requirement is that the shaft be able to conduct magic. It won't work without that. Given that constraint, wood really is the obvious choice - what did you have in mind?"

"Metal," said Harry firmly. "That would be perfect for runes - is there any metal that conducts magic?"

Flitwick suddenly looked quite uncomfortable, and fell silent. When he did speak, his voice was barely audible over the sudden faint ringing in their ears.

"There is one metal which conducts magic, and one metal only. Goblin steel."

Harry stared intently at Flitwick, remembering rumours (often mean-spirited rumours) about the professor's heritage. From their History of Magic study he knew that wizards and goblins did not get along well, and it occurred to him that goblins might not be entirely willing to hand over such a precious substance. He also suddenly realised that Professor Flitwick had never once made any reference to his heritage. Harry became aware that this was a delicate moment - he turned to warn the others off, but saw that Neville already had one hand on Ron's shoulder and the other on Hermione's.

Harry considered carefully, then chose not to comment on the tension of the moment.

"Professor," he said cautiously, "do you think the goblins would be willing to sell me some of their steel?"

Flitwick looked thoughtful, well aware that this young man was thinking and speaking very carefully.

"Your entire fortune, large as it is, would not suffice to buy goblin steel as a wizard. To my knowledge, no wizard or witch has ever bought steel from a goblin. Some have stolen goblin steel, though I suspect that most of those soon regretted their folly. Far fewer have come by it honestly, as gifts - I believe the most recent to have been Godric Gryffindor, and I should warn you that the goblins believe that that sword should have been returned to them upon his death. That is a goblin-crafted weapon, however - I must admit I cannot be certain how they would view the steel itself in unworked form."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Would it be insulting if I asked them?"

"No, not if you were careful to be as polite as you know how. Do not be too disappointed if the answer is no, however. I believe that I can obtain for you an audience with Ragnok himself, whose decision this must be, but his answer is beyond my control and even beyond my predicting."

Hermione shook off Neville's hand.

"Professor, if you don't mind my asking, what is your relationship to the Goblin Nation?"

Suddenly the door was closed and locked; it had made no sound, and Professor Flitwick hadn't shifted his gaze away from Hermione's face. The Four all felt a set of privacy wards go up. When Flitwick spoke, his voice was deadly serious.

"You all understand, I trust, the general state of animosity which exists between wizarding humans and the Goblin Nation. Before I speak further, I must have your word that you will reveal none of this to anyone else. This excludes Garrick Ollivander - he knows my stories - but you must promise not to tell another soul. Not Dumbledore, not McGonagall, not anyone. Do you understand?"

The Four all nodded, sobered, and made their promises as requested. Sinking gently into an absently-conjured armchair, Flitwick began to speak.

"You know, of course, that goblins and wizards have fought bitterly and almost constantly for a very long time. The story as told in History of Magic here at Hogwarts is of course fantastic propaganda, but I should note that in reality the goblins also are far from blameless. As with most wars, there is precious little good to be found on either side of those so-called "goblin rebellions". That being the case, and given how warily the two races regard one another even in times of supposed peace such as these, my very existence must pose quite the puzzle to any students who think to question it. Exceeding few are those who have dared ask me, and fewer still those whom I have chosen to answer. Understand, therefore, how deadly secret this must remain."

The Four all nodded seriously, but said nothing. The tiny professor continued.

"In August of 1883, the Wizarding world had been at peace with the Goblin Nation for some decades. Banking operations were carried on as normal at Gringotts, and in general things were about as peaceful as they ever seem to be. You can understand, however, that it was still a tremendous scandal in both societies when a young witch beginning her seventh year at Hogwarts fell in love with an equally young trainee at Gringotts. They were both unutterably brilliant, you know - so superbly intellectual that they scarcely even noticed the differences between them, beyond those having to do with ideas and understanding. Their families objected strenuously, of course, and in the end their only chance was to elope. They found peace in the Muggle world, where no one paid them much attention - my father used a simple charm to take the appearance of a rather nondescript man whenever he went out in public, and my mother did much the same to ensure that she wouldn't be recognised. She was beautiful, I believe, although perhaps not quite so beautiful as my father would have had me believe. In any case, her true face might well have been recognised if she had dared show it in the Muggle world. They kept mostly to themselves anyway, studying and experimenting behind some rather powerful wards.

"This came to an end when I was born - my parents both realised that they could not raise a child in such circumstances, and they certainly could not have kept me from giving away secrets in the unconsidered babble of a small child. Less than a month after I was born, they returned with me to Gringotts - the city under the bank is Gringotts also, though I believe my mother was the only human ever to see it properly. We lived there for several years - there I learned to speak the language that wizards call Gobbledegook, and which I strongly advise you never to call by that name. When I was four, however, a goblin fist - approximately what among humans would be a gang - well, they murdered my mother. Right out in the open, for all to see, they just cut her down. She never was a fighter, and no more was my father - they were scholars first and foremost, you understand. They had no defence against the thugs. My father was badly beaten, and my mother was hacked to pieces."

Flitwick stopped talking and conjured himself a glass of water. He drank it without pause, then Vanished the glass as he hunched his shoulders slightly.

"It nearly broke my father. Sometimes I think it really did break him. The murderers were caught, of course, and tried and executed - you must understand that my mother's murder was in no way authorised or condoned by the leaders of the Goblin Nation - but after that my father could never feel safe or happy there. Almost as soon as he had seen his wife cremated and her murderers executed, he took me and moved to the Wizarding world.

"I can scarcely begin to imagine the courage it took for my father to do that, to live and to raise a child as a lone goblin among wizards and witches. He managed well enough, to be sure, and he worked tirelessly to give me every opportunity he could, but I don't believe I ever saw him truly relax in all those years we lived together among wizards.

"He did an extraordinary job of raising me, and I owe him more than I could ever truly express in words, but he was a broken man throughout. When I graduated from Hogwarts, he presented me with almost everything of value that he owned: the cottage, the gold, and almost everything else. Then he wished me strength and good fortune, and he left.

"I have heard nothing of him since that day, and nothing from him. I suspect he found the goblin Flitwick too painful a person to be, and instead imagined a new life to live. At least, I hope he did."

Flitwick suddenly raised his head, and his eyes were as sharp as ever.

"I do not tell you this to evoke your sympathy, my young friends - I have no need of that, after all this time. I tell you this in order that you may begin to understand the fundamental wrongness of that sick hatred which seeks to taint everything good in this world. You must make your own decisions, of course, but I hope that you will consider turning your overwhelming talents to this problem in due course.

"As for my own relationship with the Goblin Nation, I am known to them. To them I am a tragic figure, my origins a cautionary tale. I will not pretend to like this, but neither will I refuse the licence which it affords me. I cannot compel Director Ragnok to give you goblin steel, but I can promise that he will not refuse you an audience if I ask it of him. Consider carefully, and tell me when you believe yourselves ready to face Ragnok. He will not see you physically hurt, but never forget that he wields more power than any wizard. Do not take him lightly."