The world shook, earth cracking as the large beast made its attack on them. Harry yelped as he was pushed on his side, now given a view of the sickly yellow sky, which was often breached by balls of fire, which by the crashing noises, Harry could assume to be pelting the small guarded town/fortress. He would need to see if there was a proper term for Helgen later. He winced, as one of the meteors slammed by his position as he tried to stand, his bound hands not being of great help. How does a fucking dragon summon meteors from the sky anyway? Harry wanted to exclaim bullshit, but settled for blaming his luck instead.

"Boy! come on get up, the gods won't give us another chance!" Ralof's voice cut through the screams of people and the roars of the dragon. Turning his head, he spotted the golden haired Stormcloak gesturing towards the battered Tower that he could see some of the other prisoners huddling in. Grunting, Harry tried to push himself up, managing to get his knees beneath himself, so that he could push himself up, running across the courtyard as he leaped into the tower behind Ralof.

"Dear Merlin, that was...ugh... " Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that they were now inside and safe from harm for a little bit. He sat down, tumbling a bit from his momentum as he let himself catch his breath for a moment. He frowned, releasing a meteor could interrupt that. He looked down at his bond, wishing to whatever being existed that they would disappear.

"My Jarl, what is that, that thing? Could the legends be true?" Harry snorted. Even with undeniable proof of a giant fucking dragon, even if smaller than some of the ones in his world, some people would doubt. He looked up, noticing the 'Jarl' was now ungagged, and a deep, rumbling growl came from his throat.

"Legends, don't burn down Villages."

Harry very much doubted that Helgen's size counted as a village, but he could be wrong. Maybe for the people here it was a village. Harry pushed himself against the smooth stone slabs that built the tower and used it to put himself back onto his feet, as a heavy hand gripped his shoulder, the face of Ralof peering at him.

"We need to move up the tower" Harry nodded, while it was probably a bad idea as it blocked off a few escape routes and it was a bit more dangerous up there, it was their only option, as going back out the front door wouldn't be a good idea. He decided to follow the man, as he hadn't really steered him wrong so far. Harry considered asking him to untie his hands, everyone else seemed to have untied themselves, but he supposed they had managed to do that on the environment, and that they didn't have any way to cut his own bonds yet.

Harry began to walk up hurriedly, thinking of and memorizing the dragon and the people he had met so far, as he came up to the second floor. As his foot pressed against the last step, he winced as he was blasted back, the wall of the tower caving in, red eyes peering at some of the people on the second floor. He stared in shock, as the beast opened its jagged maw, like two pieces of stone being cracked in half.

"Yol toor shul." The words were alien to Harry's ears. Strange and yet each word had such a depth to them that he just could not understand. What shocked Harry was two things. One, the fact the dragon had spoken. Two, the stream of fire flowing at one of the men, who screamed and fell from the opening, a sick wet crack following it, all originating from the maw of the beast. This was an odd experience, resembling the first time he had spoken to a snake in the pet shop in Diagon alley, and when he had heard the basilisk, but this was definitely not parseltongue. Harry hated his odd pentient to pick up weird skills, sometimes. And sometimes he loved it. He wasn't sure where this experience fell.

Harry flinched back, making his body smaller as unbearable heat wrapped his body up, as if trying to coax him forward to his death. He stayed back, hoping to be out of the dragon's sight, as the beast turned back, head retreating from the large hole, and flew off. He felt someone's hand on his back pushing him forward

"Come on, we must hurry if we wish to leave." The gruff voice of Ulfric Stormcloak urging him up. Harry turned to see both him and Ralof, as all three moved to the opening.

It was horrible. Buildings were aflame, wood and thatch being a terrible weapon against such a threat. The sky was a cloudy yellow disgusting picture, a stark contrast to the pale blue that it was before. Soldiers were firing at the air, civilians were rushing, herded by soldiers to escape, it was a bleak and horrible picture that met his eyes, and all Harry could feel was pity for the people that had lived here.

"Jump. See that inn beneath us? Jump there boy, we will meet up with you on the other side." Harry turned to Ralof with a look of shock. Was the man insane? The drop was way too big, he'd break his legs or kill himself. He made sure to voice that opinion

"Ralof, that drop will kill me! I'd break through the floor!" Ralof nodded and turned back to Harry, his face grim and determined.

"You are not safe on this tower, and you need to get out as soon as possible. Just before you hit the floor of the inn, roll, it will allow you to land more safely. If you fall through the floor, you may manage to break your fall. It's risky, but the circumstances aren't any better, now jump" his tone didn't set any room for an argument, as the Jarl was shouting at his men to find any arms they could, preferably shields so they could block any flying debris.

Looking down at the burning hut, Harry pulled in a breath, and stepped back, before launching himself off the edge. He'd done much more dangerous things before and survived, so he hoped to god that this wouldn't be the thing that did him in. As his feet hit the floor, he threw his front forward, performing a not very adequate role. Halfway through said role, the floor creaked and gave way, sending Harry to the bottom floor groaning. He looked about and pulled himself up, hissing as he felt pain in his face and hands, seeing a few splinters embedded in them. When he got his wand back an episkey would probably be able to set that right.

Standing himself up, Harry moved through the open door, pausing as he spotted the man that had been checking names off his board before, the Imperial, with another of his fellow soldiers. Harry winced, knowing that if the Stormcloak prisoners tried to come this way they could get caught. However, with the ins' top floor broken, he supposed they would need another way down. Harry looked ahead of them, seeing a young boy Harry recognised from earlier, standing over his father, whose blood was seeping into what was a cobble path.

"Come back here child, come on, that's it behind us now." The man, probably a lieutenant, coaxed the kid back towards them as the beating of wings drew close. Ahead of where the boy would have been, the dragon landed, jagged tail swinging. Once more Harry heard the voice.

"Yol toor shul." Flames eclipsed the dead man's body, and Harry winced as the child's cry of "Father!" echoed out. It would have been so much easier if he had his wand, Harry lamented. The dragon stopped its heated assault, and launched itself into the air once again. The lieutenant turned and a small smile broke out on his face.

"Still alive, are you Harry? Good. That's good. It would be a horror for you to have died, no child should have to be here for this." Harry frowned. It was just a few minutes ago he had tried to execute him. Though Harry supposed that, the general had wanted it stopped before he was killed, which was good. Harry nodded at the man, and walked over. The lieutenant turned to the other soldier.

"Gunnar, take the boy to the keep, or get him away from here safely. I will join the General to help in his defence of the line."

"Gods guide you," the soldier nodded his response.

The man turned to Harry, nodded ,and gestured for the boy to follow him up the street. They walked forwards, a slow jog, which made Harry nervous due to his bound hands, and walked past a few houses, heading over a bridge next to a stone wall.

"Against the wall Harry!" The man's voice shouted out, Harry made sure to listen, flattening himself against the burning hot bricks, as the wall shook from the wyvern landing on top of it. The beast looked down towards a soldier and fire shot from his maw, this time, Harry couldn't hear any words over the sounds of screaming and the flames. The dragon raised its wings, and launched itself up, sending Harry tumbling. He grunted, landing on his ass, beforehand was held to his face, the lieutenant offering him help.

"Come on Harry, let's get out of here"

Nodding, Harry reached up, bound hands grasping the adults allowing himself to be pulled up. They moved forward, turning right, past the burnt corpse of an imperial soldier, cradling the body of a burnt child. Harry winced, knowing it could have been him, blood seeping into the ground, and not even in his home dimension. Harry missed Luna, Dumbledore and his family.

They moved through the charred carcass of a house, and came out to the entrance of the town, the one Harry had been wheeled through earlier. He looked about, a number of imperials were firing arrows up into the air, trying to snipe the agile monster. Being cradled and looked after by another soldier, a blond man in studded leather winced, holding a bloody gash that seemed to have cut through his midriff, his voice was that of the one calling for their deaths earlier.

"Tell my family… that I fought bravely."

"General Tullius! I've come to help!"

The General turned, a burn on his cheek and a gash on his arm. He was bloodied, and seemed to be in a terrible mood, if that wasn't obvious by the events that were surrounding him.

"To the Keep Hadvar, we are retreating! We can't hold this position, we must abandon Helgen." Hadvar, Harry would save that name, nodded and turned.

"Follow me Harry!" The soldier pelted it down the road, coming up to the bridge where two soldiers had positioned themselves. They never stood a chance. Ebony wings whipped through the air as the dragon landed ahead of the two, before it lashed out its neck towards one of the guards, the snapping of bones and squelching of flesh barely shadowed by the man's dying screams. The other man raised his bow, a scream of rage passing his lips as he fired an arrow, only to be cut in half with a flick of his tail, the shoddy wooden and steel arrow snapping in contact with the dragon's scales.

Hadvar had already seen the danger approaching, and so grabbed Harry, pulling him behind the stone wall of the bridge that separated them from the dragon. There was the sound of huffing, and sniffing as the dragon seemed to be trying to sense its prey by smell

"Kolos los hi joor. Zu'u fen kipraan nau hin sil. Wah nikriin los wah dir faaz"

The voice was dark, deep, and Harry felt tidings of death and malice riding the undercurrent of the beast's base growl. In this moment, Harry felt even more fear than the time he and Charlie had battled the basilisk and Tom Riddle in Slytherins' chamber of secrets. At Least the basilisk was relatively still a beast and they had a Fawkes. Here… well it was just him. He was not counting Hadvar.

"Fire!"

General Tullius' voice accompanied the sound of arrows being fired from above, along with them impacting against the beast's hide, though Harry doubted they would have as much effect.

"Sahlo muz. Hi fen pah aus"

Once more the dragon's wings brought it up into the air, to attack the imperial soldiers, raining fire at the mortal soldiers. Hadvar took this as their chance, gesturing to Harry to follow them towards the keep. They both moved into the open area, rubble strewn about the field, dead corpses gazing lifelessly at them. Harry winced. They had been people, and now they were simple things spread and squashed among the battlefield. A slight rustle caught Harry's attention.

He looked up, and surprise flashed onto his face, as a set of golden blond hair and blue armour jogged from the rubble. Hadvar had seen him too.

"Ralof, you damn traitor. out of my way. I should slaughter you where you stand!" It seemed to Harry that these two had some history, which was surprising as Harry couldn't remember any signs of them having such history from when Hadvar had been checking their names off. Ralof's eyes flickered to his, before moving back onto Hadvar's form prepared for an attack.

"We're escaping Hadvar. There is no stopping us this time!" Ralof's statement was met by the roars of the dragon from above, and Harry was finding it hard to listen.

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde, come on Harry" Hadvar strode past the Stormcloak, towards the door, and waited beside it for Harry. Ralof, walked towards the entrance to Harry's right and nodded to him.

"You are welcome to follow me Harry, but if you want to follow Hadvar, be my guest, I can not stop you." Ralof stood, eyes glancing up in worry as the dragon swooped over the town.

Harry was a bit stumped. He wasn't entirely sure on who to follow. He could go after Hadvar, who had been rather nice to him, or he could follow Ralof. In his mind, either side sounded perfectly reasonable. The imperials, and Hadvar by extension had tried to kill him, although the general had tried to rectify that before the dragon attacked. Harry was also in imperial territory, at least he supposed he was if Helgen was in imperial control and probably fairly deep into it if the empire had felt it safe to execute the rebellion leader here. On the other hand, Ralof was also a smart decision. He seemed to be the less forceful in opinion of the two, he would have some sway with the Stormcloaks which Harry could possibly find safety in one of their towns. It was also arguable that the Stormcloaks seemed nicer than the Imperials, even if Harry had only a little experience with the two.

Harry made his choice, however as he made his way over, a crash sounded from behind him, heavy breaths sounding out. Turning his head, he came face to face with the destroyer of Helgen. Burning red eyes reminding him of a certain dark lord. The beast's mouth opened up and jolted forward, just as Harry moved back, however the beast managed to graze Harry's chest, sending him tumbling through the open doorway, which shut just as he entered. the Dragons enraged roars being drowned out by the door closing as he tumbled inside.

Harry gave a cry as he tumbled, hard rock slamming against his back as he came to a stop. He looked around groggily, trying to get his bearings. It was a wide, circular stone room, with openings to another floor above him. On the left and the right were two gates, one, a wooden gate, another, a metal one with a metal bar door in the middle of it. He coughed and looked down at his torn front, a large gash down it from where the dragon had nicked him. It wasn't a pretty sight, however he guessed a simple episkey would probably be able to heal it up.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde brother" Harry turned his head forward to see Ralof staring down at the body of another blue clad soldier, dead, bleeding out from a gash in his back, too large to have been healed effectively, even by magic standards, and likely caused by the dragon. There was a sad resigned look on the living soldier's face, and Harry could sympathise, knowing what he would have felt like if one of his friends or family died.. He supposed the man had seen the dragon and had run inside, and closed the door after Harry had tumbled in. He would need to thank the man for everything after this was done.

Ralof turned and observed Harry wincing at the gash on his front. The boy should have been quicker, and ran instead of turning to look at the danger behind him, and that had caused him a bit of damage. Not that Ralof was going to judge too harshly, after all the boy was not a soldier. Ralof also noted that none of his fellow soldiers or his leader was with them. It was possible that they had moved another way.

"That thing was a dragon… Shor's bones. I believed them to be only child's tales… the bringers of the end times...damn it. Are you ok kid? Come here I'll help you get your bindings off, sorry I don't have any potions for your wounds." Harry wondered how close the magical and mundane worlds were if someone clearly without magic was speaking about potions. Or maybe that's what they called their chemistry here? His mother often spoke about the similarities of muggle chemistry and potion making of the wizarding world; they were somewhat close, although potions seemed to have a much more magical effect.

Harry got up, wincing from the pain flaring in his chest, as he walked over to his new acquaintance/dimensional buddy. He held out his hands and Ralof got to work, taking out a dagger. He began to rub the sharp edge against the twisting rope, cutting fibres away until the rope split in half, and fell off. Harry sighed in relief, the binds had stressed him out continuously and now that they were gone, he felt increasingly better. Quickly, Harry flicked out his wand, smiling.

It was a 13 inch wand, its body a blood red due to it being a wood of a coastal redwood tree, specifically, the redwood tree named the Hyperion. The core was...odd. a one of a kind that Harry hoped would be replicated later on. It contained two phoenix feathers, one from his previous wand and one newly gifted feather from Fawkes, twisted and twirled together into a singular long line. The feather line was dipped into the venom of a basilisk collected from the fang Harry had been impaled with. Part of said fang was then crushed, and sprinkled onto the feather string. Said feather string was then placed into the wood to act as the core. Finally, for the handle, Harry had done something even more obscure. He had taken skin from the slain basilisk and soaked it in his blood for 7 days, and used it for the handle to strengthen his connection to the wand. During the entire process, Harry had borrowed Fawkes, and had asked him to sing as the collector and crafted the wand. It was an odd and complicated wand and Harry had been met with incredulous looks from many wand makers, however Ollivander had been patient saying that 'I too, had an experimental phase. Once I had even crafted a wand which had multiple ends for spell fire. Unfortunately the wand was a bit… sensitive and would end up blowing up its users face. He survived of course, but he never truly forgave me for that, or his wand, though even for me this is a stretch Mr Potter.'

However when Harry finished the wand, and held it in his hand for the first time, he felt wonderful. Around him, air swirled and the song of a phoenix and the hissing of a basilisk could be heard as he felt pure magic flood his veins. Harry doubted that even Ollivander could have gotten such a close connection, and even the wand maker looked impressed, and awed.

The ever present tingle of Ollivander's shop excited Harry. He had been working on his creation for a good couple of months after he had scored a chance to learn from the old wand maker, thanks to Albus Dumbledore. The wand maker had been working Harry to the bone to be able to learn wand making, and so far Harry had done well. He wasn't too good on some of the symbolism of trees, and his practical skills in crafting the wand body and inlaying the core was in need of practice. He could do it, but his hands were wobbly, and he sometimes rushed the process, getting a bit upset if he couldn't do it properly.

He looked down at the wand in his grip. It was a replacement wand, after his had been splintered and snapped by Tom Riddle in the chamber of secrets, and now the boy was using the replacement, a 7 inch, oak and dragon heartstring wand. It didn't work very well for him, but it was the closest one that did, and it sometimes led to faulty magic. He smiled thinking of why he was here however.

Harry desperately needed a wand that fitted him and so he had asked Ollivander if he could male himself, a custom wand as a test of his understanding and actions. The old man had been intrigued and nodded, as long as Harry did most of the world and did not endanger himself. First thing Harry did was go to Fawkes. Harry explained his plight, and his idea to the phoenix, and Harry managed to get him to tag along. First he collected the fang he had been stabbed with. He made sure to bring a box to keep it safe. He then took off some of the skin of the great basilisk (using the sword of Gryffindor that he had asked Fawkes to nab for a bit.) And all the while he had asked Fawkes to sing a tune, which filled him with happiness. Then, he politely asked for a feather from Fawkes, which was graciously given to him. It took a while until he could go to California, which allowed him to get wood from a coast redwood, and he brought Fawkes with him when he did, having him sing once again. Finally he had taken Fawkes back to Dumbledore's office, and had placed a box, full of his blood, with the skin soaking inside. Fawkes remained by its side for 7 days, singing for 7 minutes every 24 hours.

Harry's entire thinking process was symbolism, which was what wands were heavily influenced by. Before Ollivander, most wizards would bring in wand cores to be made into wands, custom and not pre made and then matched. While this could sometimes lead to close connections, the cores would be weak magically and not make too good a wand. However, Harry was using very powerful wand cores. He also had a very close connection to all the instruments in his wand, and had picked a wood that he felt related well to his person, and the most proficient of that tree. Each of the elements of the wans were also bound to each other, specifically via Fawkes singing. The timing was also important, and he tried to make sure he did things in sets of seven, the most magically powerful of numbers.

Of Course the requirements for this was that Mr Ollivander would be the one to craft the wand, taking Fawkes into the back of the store. Harry agreed of course and would have asked him to anyway, as Harry didn't want to mess any part of the actual creation. Worried, he sat and waited, tapping his feet, nervous as thoughts and doubts went through his mind. What if the wand rejected him? What if he was wrong, and his wand didn't work? What if it blew up in his face? What if the magic it produced was dangerous magic?

The door at the back opened, and Harry stood up and walked over to the counter, as Garrick Ollivander trotted out of the wand making room, a black box with silver Trimmings in his hand. Harry was giddy, he would, hopefully, be finally getting his wand back. The man was staring down at the box, not at Harry, a guarded expression on his face. Pensive. Unsure. Harry could relate to those feelings. The box was set gently onto the counter, hands withdrawing, and even Fawkes remained silent, not wishing to impede.

"13 inches. Coastal Redwood, specifically the largest one known. Blood soaked basilisk skin handle. Two tail feathers of the same phoenix, dipped in basilisk blood, with crushed fang sprinkled onto it, of a 1,000 year old basilisk, killed by you and your brother, using the sword of Gryffindor. Sung over by the very phoenix who gave the feathers and helped the defeat of the king of serpents… how extraordinary Mr Potter. If it works...it will provide great power in both light and dark magics, healing and combative magic are both very good for this wand. Harder to do the simpler spells, like intricate transfigurations, and other very precise magical fields, however its power may yet be unmatched… stiff, durable. Try it."

Grey ancient orbs stare the boy down, interested in the results of such a wand. Harry reached out, before stopping. Doubts in his mind, and for a solid two minutes he contemplated, before clearing his mind and deciding. He would not doubt himself after all his effort and research. His hand moved forward and took the wand and held it, the blood red wand gazing at him as though daring him to fail its test.

A few seconds passed, before suddenly, a roaring filled his ears, which he soon distinguished as the hissing of the basilisk, and the singing of a phoenix, conjoined, harmonious, matched. It was rather poetic, if Harry would say so himself, symbolic. And that meant everything to him.

From Ollivander's perspective, the world was filled with green red and gold as he felt a severe rush of positive emotion. However, he could tell the difference between this and one of Fawkes' songs, as there was a fierce lethality below the undercurrent, biding its time to be used. He had never seen a reaction quite like the one before him, but he would endeavour to recreate it somehow, for someone. Or at least come as close as he could.

"That will be 18 Galleons and 10 sickles Mr Potter. Be careful however Mr Potter. That wand is suited towards battle… pray that it does not lead you to thirst and crave for its suited use. Remember, great but terrible Mr Potter. Great but terrible."

Harry once more felt secure now that he had his wand back. Aiming for the weeping gash drawn on his chest, Harry spoke.

"Episkey"

He watched the flesh knit together, healing himself as the flesh knitted itself and melted back together under the influence of his magic. He felt the pain fade, as there was no longer any gash to harm him.

"Interesting piece of magic. Not seen whatever that stick is. Like a staff I assume, though I'm not one for magic… not the warrior way. The name...it was Harry wasn't it? I heard Hadvar mention it a few times. I am Ralof, and it is a pleasure to meet you. You have good clothes but I would recommend perhaps seeing if you can fit into some Gunjar's armour. He...won't be needing it anymore."

Harry turned looking down at the dead man, and winced. He shook his head.

"Sorry Ralof, but I'd prefer to use this for now. I have my magic to protect me anyway."

Ralof stared the boy down for about a minute before nodding. He turned his head to look at Gunjar, before his eyes scoured the table, widening in surprise.

"Fine. But take Gunjar's axe, and that book on the table, open it and read it."

Harry, knowing it would at least be good to have an emergency weapon, nodded and picked up the axe. He winced at how heavy it was, despite being only for one hand. Harry would need to definitely train in hand to hand combat at least a little bit.

Wizards were usually rather physically weak nowadays, not often using their body to punch or hit things, they had wands to do damage for them. What they had instead, was speed and endurance. Wizards were fast, able to often dodge curses that were often like flashes of light. And they had a rather good durability, surviving things even some muggles would not.

Then he turned to the book, reading the title. Spell book: flames. He began to flick through. It was an interesting read. Apparently this spell was a part of a school of magic this world considered to be "destruction" which Harry related to his own elemental and defence against the dark arts magics. It was interesting. After a few seconds, Harry began to focus, attempting to draw upon the magic of this world, from his own source. He was silent for a few minutes before he felt something. A pulling from the inside, as if draining a vial of potion, and pulling it through a tube leading towards an exit in his hand. It almost felt… separate from his magic. Here they call it magicka. Harry would remember to describe them as such, as to not confuse the two. Looking down he stared. Flames, burning hot, were at his fingertips, coming from his palm. He gaped in shock, at such magic. It was… an interesting difference he would need to explore closely later. He pushed his palm out, and felt a tug on his magicka, burning the wall. It seemed that magicka here easily burned through magical reserves. He could live with that.

Ralof nodded to himself and turned towards the metal gate he tried to hammer against it for a good few minutes, before sighing.

"It looks like we will need a key."

"Let me have a go." Harry smiled as he moved forward a bit, looking down at the metal gate. Raising his wand he whispered, while he brought his wand in a circle, before slashing down.

"Alohomora" click. Harry pushed his hand against the bars, smiling as it pushed open. He loved magic. Now that he had time to look at both his magic and magicka, they were obviously different. His own magic felt more natural, while the magicka felt like he was...borrowing it. It was a weird experience. His own magic seemed to flow easier through his body as well. Maybe he could teach magicka to those that he was meant to set up a beacon for? Then again…

His mind went back to the giant golden claw. What if the magicka was the gift it had spoken about? If so, Harry actually felt grateful. New magic to explore? New leaps to make and possibly go farther into the research than anyone else? That was practically his life's goal, to learn all he could about magic.

The gate behind them opened. The clanking of boots Harry hadn't heard beforehand, too lost in his thoughts, reached him. Turning, he caught Ralof, battle ready hiding behind the door. He was gazing at the boy with a bit of frustration. Harry winced. Ralof had probably been trying to get him to hide like he had done, however now it was too late as the imperial gaze landed on him.

"You. Trying to escape Stormcloak scum?"

It was the captain from before. Covering her head, a thick steel helmet rested, braces covered her forearms and she had metal shin guards. Overall, she looked pretty intimidating with the chest piece that matched it. The wooden gate was pulled up, likely a switch on the other side, and another soldier moved out from the side, more nervous than anything else, of his shivering gave anything away he paused as he noticed the blood on the blade of the captain, which was already drawn and ready. He blanched, hoping he was not next on that list.

The captain strode through the gate, a malicious and sadistic gleam in her eye. She never noticed Ralof. Unfortunately for the blond, the nervous soldier did and thrust his sword at the Stormcloak soldier, who had swung his sword in an under arching swing, hoping to catch the captain in the leg, and disable her for him to finish. The short sword thrust however, was aimed to be more dangerous.

Harry's wand arm shot up, and Ralof floated up, the sword glancing and cutting through the top layer of Ralof's gambeson armour. Harry loved the levitation spell, after the troll incident Charlie and his friends had gotten into, Harry had endeavoured to learn it silently, because if it could defeat a troll it could have many uses. He applied the spell to Ralof's armour, as it couldn't be applied to humans.

"Accio Ralof's armour!"

The armour came towards him, Ralof inside. A grunt sounded from the blond, as he stood back up axe ready. Ahead of them both the captain and her soldier held their weapons ready. Thinking quickly, Harry shot a stunner at them.

"Stupefy" a red beam of light flinging itself at the commander, as Ralof gave a roar and charged, this time hoping to use the back of his axe, hoping to use the more pointed edge to hammer at her helmet. The sharp part of an axe wouldn't do as well against the armour that she had on, the point however, would be better.

The spell missed the captain, however the strike from Ralof hit home, causing her to cry out as the spike smacked against her armour with a thud, her own jaw taking damage and letting out a small crack. She was too busy reeling in pain to provide a counter attack, however her eyes focused on Ralof as she called out to her partner.

"Fo'as n tha mage!" The man nodded, rushing past the two of them to focus on Harry, who, deciding to test out his magicka, raised his hand and fired. Flames engulfed the man, who screamed as he moved back, patting himself off. The front of his face was burnt, pink flesh glistening. He launched himself at the boy in fury who, on instinct, reached down.

There was a tumble, a wet squelch, and then silence.

Ralof didn't take his eyes off his enemy; she was in much heavier armour than he was, and much stronger. Grunting he pulled out his dagger, hoping to get a chance to slip it between some soft, exposed flesh. The captain's blade was hard to block. She wasn't slashing, as it wouldn't so as well against his chainmail underneath his cloth armour, so she stuck to thrusts, which were relatively harder to block with his axe.

Their battle mainly consisted of him ducking and weaving and hoping the captain would bleed out from her jaw wound, however her eyes told him that this would be unlikely. He started to come up with a plan, when he spotted Harry being tackled, and a squelch filled the air. Ralof narrowed his eyes, he'd need to finish the captain, so he could check on harry or finish off the other soldier. Thinking he put himself in a bit of danger. He got close, allowing her to push in, faring her blade towards his chest. Predicting this, his axe was already on route, hooking the blade and dragging it to his right, securely fashioned around the cross guard, giving him a chance to slip his knife under the helmet of the captain, sinking it into her neck. She has a gurgle, like a baby trying to speak, before collapsing on her front, driving the knife deeper.

Ralof grunted and looked down at the slash across his bicep, red trickling down on his peach skin. He winced, turned and rushed to Harry. The bodies were moving so he moved cautious, hoping the soldier was not alive. The sniffling was what drove him to remove the dead soldier, to look at the tear full face of the black haired child.

The sounds of battle between Ralof and the captain did not register in Harry's mind. He looked up at the soldier, an axe buried deep into his face, splitting his skull due to the soldier's own recklessness. He had killed someone. That someone's blood was dripping down onto his face and into his mouth. Harry coughed, trying to spit it out, but the soldier was too heavy, forcing him to stay, pinned and helpless as his wand was held flush against his body, Unable to aim it at the man, the corpse Harry, you killed it, it's a corpse, and lift the corpse up.

He was forced into this position for a while in his mind. Staring into the lifeless, burnt, bloodshot eyes of the man he had murdered. He had murdered a man. Harry expected to feel guilty, as he had, after all, just taken a man's life. But it had been in self defence right? He wasn't sure if that was a factor. Harry expected to feel more… sad? Guilty? But he just felt afraid. He wanted out from under the body that was staring at him. Judging. Just, dead.

There was a grunt, a clattering of metal, a gurgle. Then, after a few seconds, and some struggling on his part (what if the captain killed Ralof?") Before the body was pulled off to reveal the man ahead of him.

Gulping, Harry sniffled and wiped away some of the tears that had formed from what had happened and stood up, dizzy and looking around.

"Th.. thank you….for everything Ralof."

The man stared down at the boy, before giving a nod.

"Shall we head off? We have some ground to cover before we can escape the dragon. I can still hear it outside."

The young wizard nodded before turning to look at the dead captain. Looking down at it, Harry hummed and picked it up, wincing at the blood, before passing it to Ralof.

"Better to protect yourself. It's...it's good armour right? Be….best to use it."

Ralof hummed, an uneasy look on his face before nodding. He took the helmet, and placed it on his head, also looting the bracers of the captain. While it would be better protection, Ralof didn't take the chest plate, as it could confuse any Stormcloaks they met.

"Let's get going Harry. Through the gate. We need to be on guard, imperials will likely attack us as we move through.

Nodding, Harry walked over to the gate, looking to his left to see a large, curved corridor heading down.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what everyone back in his home dimension was thinking.

Harry couldn't wait to get back home.