The warm summer breeze curled up around the mighty castle, languidly swirling around pennants and rusting massive banners like sails. It carried with it the scent of the warm sea and heather coated hills and the gentle noise of the lake slapping and rasping against the rocky cliff base.
There were enough people in the castle and city that it no longer felt abandoned and the occasional voice drifted from the main thoroughfares. The great hall, kept cool by the many layers of thick walls that surrounded it, where people congregated when the main courtyard became to hot. The barracks, where many went to practice duelling or to watch the guardians practicing their sword and spear drills, or to watch the weekly mounted melee. One of the parks had been cleared by the werewolves, allowing those with time off to lounge in the shade of unfathomably ancient trees or paddle in the fountain if they didn't feel like making their way down the winding cliff side staircase to the boathouse, or trekking down to the far end of the island to the beach.
The main courtyard was always busy, of course. People flooed to and from their workplaces, goblins streamed between the door that marked the entrance to their warren, the floo and their work stations in the city. The portal flared occasionally as well, admitting Anneken, Berg or one of those living with the Order of the Phoenix.
But there were always going to be areas in a castle that size that were just as lovely where one could get some time alone. Hermione flew with Katana every morning, performing wild loops and dives in the sky over the city or soaring along the surface of the lake. When she could, Hermione joined the guardians and Mordred in their melees or went for long walks along the curtain walls, basking in the sunshine.
Sometimes, it hardly felt like they were at war. Others…
'Giants?' Hermione repeated sceptically, hesitating on a long spiral staircase to look incredulously at Lady Longbottom. She'd made the decision to climb up to her study without using any of the portal doors; a decision that had made it far more difficult for her to be found by the Gryffindor Lady and the rest of her friends.
'Giants.' Lady Longbottom agreed, leading her off the staircase and through the closest portal door, shortcutting to her office.
'Giants.' Hermione echoed again, disbelieving. Everyone was already assembled in the room, lounging in conjured chairs. There was an old Gorlois map spread out across the table, large enough to droop off the sides and a figurine had been placed over a small mountain range in Latvia.
'The Dark Lord is also seeking alliances with the giants. I imagine his philosophy would agree with them more than Dumbledore's, although two half giants might have more success in actually gaining an audience. Macnair has already departed.' Lord Nott spoke up from a grand oak dining chair near the head of the table. He looked worn and the heavy bags beneath his eyes suggested yet another late night summons.
'Should I also be seeking alliances with giants?' Hermione asked, still struggling to take the concept seriously. Giants were savage creatures with barely a brain cell between a tribe, one would be better off going after dragons.
'No.' Lord Nott scoffed.
'Albus hopes for nothing more than the agreement that they'll stay out of the conflict.' Lady Longbottom explained. Resigned to the impromptu meeting interrupting her morning, Hermione crossed to sit on the wide window sill.
'Unlikely.' Sirius huffed, 'giants love a fight and they only respond to fear of a stronger warrior.'
'But we do want them to stay out of the fight?' Hermione asked. She suspected the conversation had already been going on before she'd arrived.
'Definitely.' Berg agreed.
'But you said it yourself, the death eaters will offer them a fight and freedom and they'll take it.' Harry's resigned tone reinforced Hermione's theory of a long circular argument.
'Okay.' Hermione acknowledged. 'Mordred?' The dark wizard leaned up against the door, an ominous figure shrouded in his dark chainmail.
'Black is right; they respond to fear. The Gorlois legacy might be enough to scare them out of the war; Lot massacred the tribe that encroached on Dunpelder and none of them ever dared touch our land or people again.' Mordred tapped the hilt of the sword at his waist.
'Giants have notoriously short memories.' Lord Nott balanced both elbows on the the table and leaned forwards towards Mordred.
'In which case I will remind them. I have fought giants for both my father and Arthur, allow me to do so again on your behalf, High Priestess.' Mordred's dark eyes gleamed and Hermione considered him.
'I'll go with him.' Harry offered.
'If the pup's going, I'm going.' Sirius announced firmly.
She left the window, leaning over the map and tracing a line between their location in Wales and the figurine, then upwards to a small black dot. Ice seemed to spread in her chest, making the air in her lungs burn and her heart thunder. She firmly told herself that the location was almost certainly unrecognisable; the tents and trenches would have vanished decades ago. She wouldn't even need to see the castle to get to the portal.
'Morevna Castle is barely an hour's ride north, even over land. I'll accompany you and we can repair the portal for the return trip. With Katana and the brooms, it shouldn't be much more than eight hours flight.' It made sense, she told herself. That way they could check up on the giants easily, to make sure they were staying true to any agreements.
'We can leave within the hour.' Harry assured, glancing around the room. Sirius groaned - he clearly hadn't had such haste in mind, but he nodded none the less.
'Okay.' Hermione took a deep breath. A hush fell, as though everyone had held their breath in anticipation of her inevitable decision. 'We'll leave in an hour.'
They left in less than an hour, in the end. Anneken had overseen the gathering of their supplies and Berg had saddled Katana whilst the travelling trio had changed into battle robes. Lord Nott assisted Harry with slinging his cargo hammock beneath his broom whilst Hermione fastened hers and Mordred's swords to her own saddle whilst Katana danced beneath her, excited for the upcoming flight.
It was almost a struggle to keep Katana grounded for long enough that his ascent wouldn't unseat the two boys. In the end she took off first, wheeling several times over the sun soaked curtain walls and trying to convince herself that the long flight would be almost as liberating as the walk she'd planned in her previously free afternoon.
There was no avoiding the brutal length of the flight. Katana's draconic, leathery wings were excellent for catching currents and gliding, or for bursts of rapid speed and agility, but they were not particularly efficient over long distances. Eight hours was pushing the distance that he could fly and she never would have attempted it if Katana weren't at the pinnacle of Longma age and fitness. They'd loaded the two brooms with everything except the two swords in an effort to preserve the beast, much to Harry's disgruntlement. Apparently, such a long flight would wear on the broomstick's cutting edge enchantments as well. Hermione had to remind him that it was so far ahead of his peer's brooms anyway that it was hardly fair.
The daylight had little effect on the temperature of the flight. Despite Katana's pearly pale underbelly, they had to fly at high altitude to avoid being spotted by muggles on the ground, and they had to be very careful of muggle aircraft. Hermione could bury her fingers into Katana's mane and lean low against his warm scales to reduce air resistance and shield her face from the icy wind beneath her thick flying cloak, trusting the beast to fly them in a straight line. Harry and Sirius had to watch where they were going, constantly wiping crusted ice off their goggles and recasting warming charms on their gloves.
Every now and again, one of them would risk the perilous vortexing air of Katana's wing beats to pass Hermione the water bottle or the flask of soup the elves had prepared.
They didn't quite manage the flight inside the eight hours, spotting the pyre-like campfires of the giant tribe just as the sun began to set. They set down behind the ridge line, out of sight of the giants and crawled up to peer down into the valley.
'Do we just fly down there?' Harry asked dubiously. There were a lot of campfires and probably three giants surrounding each.
'No. We'll ride.' Hermione was the only one that didn't jump at Mordred's appearance, having felt him drawing on her magic. 'They might not remember the name of Lot or Gorlois, but I promise they remember stories of Morvarc'h and the Sons of Lot.'
Glancing back at him, Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Morvarc'h had appeared, in that unsettling manner of the unseelie horse, when his name was mentioned. The warhorse was armoured in bright steel chainmail, incongruously bright against dark hair. Likewise, Mordred wore the livery that Hermione now recognised as that of King Arthur; silver chainmail and a rich red cloak, over a red tunic and soft brown boots. It was odd, when she was so used to seeing Mordred in the dark armour and cloaks that he'd favoured when not in Arthur's service. Harry's battle robes were only slightly darker, Sirius didn't own battle robes, but his travel cloak was Gryffindor red and he wore an old Gryffindor quidditch team uniform beneath it for warmth. With their dark hair, matching red robes and the swords at Harry and Mordred's waists, they could have passed for brothers.
'So we just stroll in and ask to speak to the Gurg?' Sirius asked sceptically.
'No. We'll stop at the edge and demand to speak with the Gurg.' Mordred raised an expectant eyebrow at Hermione. She understood him perfectly; Gorlois' lessons as a child had included every siege, battle and political encounter her ancestors had ever engaged in. By demanding to speak with the Gurg, they were placing themselves in a position of power from the start.
They left everything they could behind the ledge, then Mordred and Hermione mounted up, Harry and Sirius at their stirrups with brooms slung over their shoulders. It was tricky, picking their way down the rugged mountainside. Morvarc'h managed it surprisingly well despite his size and the weight of the armour he wore. Katana struggled more; his tail and folded wings kept getting in the way, hitting the ground behind him, and every time the loose shingle started slipping beneath him he'd flap his wings, hitting yet more stones and sending them flying, making the whole situation worse. All in all, it was a good thing that the basin was wider than it appeared from the top; they certainly didn't portray power and strength in their descent.
The last half mile of their descent was far smoother, but also far more exposed. The large boulders that had disguised their descent and made life so difficult had been gathered for use as seats by the giants. Even mounted upon Katana, who towered over all but the Sleipnir, Hermione still barely came up above their knees.
Just in case they weren't already noticeable enough, Mordred picked up a horn from his belt and blew through it. Runes engraved into the silver mouthpiece glowed and the deep note was amplified far beyond what the small horn should have produced. Silence fell, giants rising up to see what was happening.
Then, there came the first stirring of fear. Low grunts, a shuffling back of huge bodies.
'Where is your Gurg?' Mordred demanded as they reined in just before the closest fire. 'I am Sir Mordred of Camelot, Son of Lot and High Priest of Gorlois. On behalf of Lady Hermione, High Priestess of Gorlois, I would speak with the Gurg.'
The giants continued to retreat, until, from the centre of the group, a massive giant emerged. He was flanked by a pair of equally large giants and the ground shook as they stomped closer. The largest giant towed a tree trunk behind him, shattered stumps of branches still spiking the length. Another had skin of massive stones slung across his chest and he hefted another in his fist. The third carried a club as well, but it was older and smoother, stained with suspicious dark patches.
'I am Gurg.' The giant informed them, his growl rolling up the valley almost as loudly as the horn. 'I do not think Sons of Lot are alive. I think you play wizard tricks.'
At his words, the giants that had retreated paused and seemed to consider the Gurg and Hermione's party.
'Then we shall remind you.' Mordred snarled, drawing his blade. It hissed from the scabbard, gleaming. The black fire of Mordred's magic hissed up the blade, licking from it's edges and dripping to the grass where it fizzled, the corruption of dark magic withering the plants. Morvarc'h pawed the ground and snorted a stream of smoke, rolling glowing crimson eyes.
'Mordred!' Hermione urged nervously, beneath her breath. The other giants were closing in, grunting eagerly. The Gurg suddenly looked less confident.
'Stay back.' Mordred instructed, eyes narrowed up at the Gurg. The giant's grunting had turned to a low, guttural chant.
Then, with a furious bellow, the Gurg launched himself towards them. Morvarc'h flew forwards barely a second later, massive hooves thundering a rapid tempo to the earth shaking charge of the giant. The Gurg lifted his club, heaving it up and over his shoulder in a deadly arc. Morvarc'h skidded, front hooves locked and clods of dirt thrown up. The club crashed down infront of him, and without a pause the horse picked up again, crossing his legs to carry his rider around the club and over to the left side. The Gurg tried to reach across his body to swipe at the horse, but the club was too unwieldy and the unseelie horse too fast. Mordred leaned sideways in his saddle, flaming blade scoring a deep cut into the thigh of the giant. The Gurg roared and Morvarc'h pivoted again, lining up for another charge. The giant didn't make the same mistake twice; he swept his club across the ground in front of him, an attempt to knock Morvarc'h's legs from under him.
Mordred reined in the beast, just beyond the reach of the club. Hermione didn't hear the command, but suddenly the beast breathed in, chest expanding like a set of bellows. His nostrils flared, head came up, front legs lifted from the ground, but instead of an equine scream, fire flowed on his breath. Fiendfyre, unlike any she had heard of before. Five flaming horses, charged forwards, trails of fire in their wake and running out in front of their reaching stride. Morvarc'h bounded forwards, following in their wake as two of the flaming horses collided with the club.
It exploded in the Gurg's hand, flaming splinters spearing his hand, arm and chest like hundreds of tiny daggers. Then Mordred was upon him, flaming blade slashing through the tendons and muscles of his right thigh. The unseelie horse wheeled again, tracing Mordred's blade across the back of the Gurg's legs and then galloping clear as the giant collapsed.
The giants roared in fear, fury, glee. A terrible sound. The two bodyguards surged forwards but the three remaining fiendfyre horses whipped around, drawing a wall of fire that snapped at their toes and held back all the other giants as Mordred rode Morvarc'h right up to the fallen giant. With a sneer and casual ease, the dark knight spun his blade and then drove it down, through the giant's eye, leaning in his saddle to put enough weight behind the blade to drive it through bone and into the brain behind. The Gurg twitched, spasmed, and went still.
Mordred yanked his blade from the body and held it, dripping dark giant blood, at his side.
'Do you still deny our claim?' Mordred bellowed, over the roar of flame. He rode forwards, towards the rest of the giants and the two bodyguards. They stumbled backwards, away from him.
'Son of Lot.' Echoed, grunted, across the valley. 'Son of Lot is back.'
'I am Mordred, Son of Lot. On behalf of the High Priestess, I deliver you this warning; there will be no mercy for those who ally themselves with Lord Voldemort. You shall remain in these mountains, or face the blades of Lot.'
'Son of Lot.' The giants mumbled.
'Merlin's bloody ball sack, of course they remember him.' Sirius swore softly, eyes wide. At her other side, Harry looked in awe.
'Do you hear me?' Mordred bellowed. Glancing nervously at each other, giants across the field began to fall to their knees, exposing the backs of their necks. Mordred, a silhouette against dancing flames, nodded sharply. Morvarc'h sucked in a breath, larger and louder than it should be. The three remaining fiendfyre horses dissolved into flames, which were sucked back through dark, flared nostrils. Mordred rode back through the mortal flames towards them, pausing to wipe his blade clean on the filthy loincloth of the slain Gurg.
'It is done, My Lady.' Mordred said, reining in just before Hermione and bowing over his saddle, hand fisted over his heart.
'Thank you, Mordred.' Hermione acknowledged, still stunned.
But even stunned, she was the High Priestess. She occluded, turning Katana's head and riding confidently away from the giants. Mordred fell in beside her, Harry skittering sideways to make room for the black beast.
The ascent was quicker and easier. Katana used his clawed wings like grappling hooks to help him climb and Morvarc'h trod heavily behind him. Beneath them, the giants had begun to creep towards their fallen Gurg, stamping down the fires. One or two were already arguing, ramming shoulders and posturing to take his place.
They found two spectators among their belongings on the other side of the ridge. Hagrid and Madam Maxime, dirty and travel worn.
'Yeh shouldn'a done tha'.' Hagrid informed them, looking warily at Mordred. 'It ain't righ'.'
'It was effective.' Mordred corrected coldly, every inch a king being challenged by a peasant.
'Mordred's right.' Harry chimed in quickly, stepping around the unseelie beast and into view. Hagrid looked surprised by his presence, which quickly changed to resignation. 'The giants wouldn't dare join Voldemort now.'
'There was no other way.' Hermione agreed, glancing between her allies and then back to the groundskeeper. 'Voldemort was going to offer them freedom, a fight and as many muggles to prey on as they liked. The only way they would turn that down is if they were too afraid of something else.'
'Zey are right, 'agrid.' Madame Maxime laid a hand on Hagrid's arm. 'Ze mission iz compete, even if not in ze way Dumblee-dore planned. Ze giants will not fight.'
Hagrid sagged, but seemed to rally himself a little.
'Yer righ' of course.'
'We are being watched.' Mordred interrupted, eyes fixed on a nearby peak. 'We believe we have a short cut home through a portal to the north, perhaps two hours on foot.'
'We shall come with you.' Madame Maxime agreed, following Mordred's gaze. There was a quick flicker of movement and a glint; moonlight on metal. Quickly, they loaded up their few supplies behind Mordred's saddle and started their descent, away from the giants and their watcher.
Mordred was right, of course. It was almost exactly two hours on foot, descending from the mountains and into foothills. Morevna Castle became visible early on; a hulking ruin, scarred by time, the Russian Revolution and the subsequent muggle wars. The land surrounding it was still barren, tainted by the Pestilences that had run amok and cursed by the ancient magical blood that had been so treasonously spilled. Even the sight of the building made Hermione's heart pound in her throat and her hands grew clammy around Katana's reins.
There was a town in the distance now, a mix of magical and muggle. She imagined the castle was now some kind of historical magical monument; a tourist attraction. It made her feel sick.
She was glad when they finally rode into the treeline, obscuring the castle and the plains from view and forcing her to concentrate on helping Katana pick his way down yet another steep hillside, squeezing between trees and ducking low hanging branches.
The portal had been destroyed. The three stones that made up the archway had been ripped apart, the delicate carvings hacked beyond recognition and overgrown by brambles and fallen trees.
Hermione smirked - if this was how Alice had destroyed the portal system, she would have it restored as soon as she graduated.
