A/N: Excellent, you've stayed with me so far! FYI, these are my plans for the story:
The rest of the Hobbit arc is written, and I'll be posting it in these rather shortish, snappish chapters in the coming weeks, often with just a few days in between, if real life allows.
This first part, which I've dubbed "The Whirlwind" to mark Harry's rather turbulent and all-around confusing entrance, is only just the beginning. There'll be two more arcs. I have both planned out but I'm only now starting to write them. It'll be quite the journey - not an epoch, because I like to keep the plot tight and always moving to a conclusion - but certainly an adventure.
I'm looking forward to sharing it with you!
The Whirlwind 5: Harry
"Expecto Patronum."
The reaction was instantaneous, and rather violent at that.
The moment the first wisps of light touched the boy's skin, he surged up and bucked, writhing out of Fíli's grip. His flailing arm struck Harry across the chest, knocking her back on her bottom. The boat rocked violently with the movement, a wave of cold water spilt over its side, splashing Harry's shoulders and leaking down her neck inside her shirt.
She watched helplessly as Kíli twitched and jerked on the deck, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep her wand by his temple with all this thrashing. She looked pleadingly at Fíli across his brother, ready to explain that this was probably good, that it was making a difference.
The Dwarf wasn't looking at her. Instead, he shared a glance and a nod with Oin. Next, Oin was pulling the tiller sharply to the left. The boat was still gliding under the push of Harry's last spell, and obediently turned towards the shore. A few seconds later, they reached the line of strong roots growing out of the water surface, and the boat came to a stop with a sudden jerk. Harry winced as the bow wedged itself in between the wooden shoots and the tip of the mass got tangled in the canopy above them.
The boat stopped rocking, though. With it now secured, the two Dwarves leapt onto the body of their kin, holding his limbs down with their weight.
"Again," Fíli commanded.
Harry gladly obeyed.
Risking the weakest of weak Impediment jinxes, she made the Dwarf's frantic thrashing lose some of its ferocity, before she once again put the tip of her hidden wand to his temple. Her other hand grabbed him by the nape of his neck, securing him further.
She didn't bother putting up any shows for her audience this time, no one on the boat was in a mood for it, least of all her.
She once again recalled her go-to memory, and as she felt the Charm sprung up to her call, she let it out from her wand straight into the Dwarf's body.
He screamed.
A blood-curdling cry of pain escaped from his throat, carried above the water and echoed back at them off the opposite shore. And below the Dwarf's howls of suffering, she heard a wail of a different kind, not at all human, chilling her down to the very bones. She redoubled her efforts.
Harry wasn't aiming for a corporeal Patronus, that wouldn't help anyone right now. Instead, she pushed the full might of her Stag into the lad's body, starting at his temple and pushing it all the way to the ends of his limbs, scorching everything sinister in her path.
The Patronus Charm was hardly intended to be used in such a way, but she'd long stopped caring what other wizards' and witches' intentions for their spells were.
Her magic swept through the Dwarf's body with such ferocity that she failed to observe what exactly it purged from him. The dark strains lingering around the lad had raked on her senses, until at one point, they no longer did.
Well, she'd review the memory later, and hopefully- Oh. There was that minor detail of her Pensieve now being shattered into thousands pieces. Oh, bugger.
She had more leads than that, though. Balin had called the arrow Morgul-made. That name sounded vaguely familiar—had she read it in the books pilfered from Dale? She'd have a proper look.
She let go off the magic when Kíli's screams weakened into exhausted gasps and his body became laden in their hold.
She sat back on her heels, feeling rather breathless herself, as if the sleepless night and rushed day on the water suddenly caught up with her.
"Kíli?"
Across the prone body, Fíli was gently brushing the hair away from his brother's eyes. "Are you with us?"
Kíli let out a few shallow gasps before his breathing slowed down enough to speak. "Aye, Fee," he whispered, barely audible. "I'm not going anywhere."
"That was a mighty thing you've done for us, lad."
Kíli had fallen into exhausted sleep soon after Harry had worked her magic. He stayed out even through Oin's not so gentle dressing of his now cleanly looking wound.
Harry fared on the opposite side of the spectrum. After the initial wave of fatigue had faded, she found herself suddenly filled with nervous energy and grim anticipation. With one problem dealt with, she realised how late it had gotten during their mad dash to get to the Elves. The light of the day was almost gone, and far in the distance, she could see the lamps of Lake-town already lit; many more of them than on any other night. Torches tottered along the bridge to the shore and she could hear fade shouting, although it didn't sound like fighting yet.
Oin and Fíli were shooting her curious glances, even if their suspicion was now buried under heaps of relief and gratitude. She knew it would resurface, though. She could already hear it in Oin's voice—the undertones of wonder and inquiry.
It was time to leave.
"I'll be leaving you here. Take the boat. I know where the trackers hide theirs on this shore; I'll make my own way to Lake-town."
"We can very well take you there," Fíli argued with a frown of confusion.
She quickly shook her head. "You should give the town a wide berth—they wouldn't look favourably at any strangers tonight. Go, catch up to your friends."
She knew how much they wanted to do just that, she relied on it actually, and indeed, they didn't argue further. She made to jump over the side of the boat, but Fíli's arm halted her.
"We won't forget what you've done tonight. The House of Durin is in your debt."
Harry made to brush his pledge away, as she always had in the past; she'd never taken a reward for aid she'd freely offered. But this time, she hesitated. She was new in this world, with precious few allies. And the favour of the royals of Erebor was not a thing to scoff at.
She clasped his forearm as he clutched hers. "Kíli seems like a good lad to me. I'm glad it worked."
She really was, and not only because Kíli now appeared to be on his way to recovery. Her Patronus reacted to the dark magic of this world. The Patronus Charm belonged to the limited and seemingly illogical selection of charms that she was able to cast, and it had an effect upon the dark magic of this world.
This wasn't the time to ponder the possible significance of this, though. She'd have plenty of opportunities to experiment later, when her friends' lives weren't in danger.
As if summoned by her thoughts, a scream of pain cut through the stillness of the evening lake. Harry's eyes traced the sound back to Lake-town, just as more shouts carried to their ears.
Nothing else was said. She jumped onto the root the boat was still resting on, and pushed the bow. It didn't move by much. She was a thought away from banishing it with her magic, but Fíli was suddenly next to her, and easily heaved the boat off the tree.
He quickly jumped back in, grasping the oar next to Oin's, whilst she pushed them further into the open water. They exchanged one last look of farewell and a nod, before she spun on her heel to search for a way to the shore.
She was very much tempted to transform here and now and immediately take her flight to aid her friends. But Oin's and Fíli's eyes were turned to her in their backwards rowing, and she read much about the ability of Dwarves to see in the dark. She had to get out of their sight first.
She padded along the narrow root as close to the shore as it allowed, but it disappeared under the surface still a few metres short, with no other branches to bridge the gap in reach. Knowing she wouldn't make that jump easily nor elegantly, she hastily unfastened the clanky sword from her side and swung it to the shore with a bit of help from her banisher. It soared through the gap and disappeared in the bushes.
She quickly followed, her jump also buoyed by magic, a weak Acceleration Charm. Unfortunately, Cushioning Charm seemed to be an impossibility in this world. Knowing this, she tried to gentle her landing into a roll, but the thick bushes and dead branches prevented her from falling softly. She felt something hard rip her trousers and probably the skin underneath, but she paid it no mind.
She grabbed the sword, fastened its belt around her hips and turned into her animagus form, already mid-jump. A beat later, the dwarves saw a peregrine falcon shot from the trees and head for Lake-town as quickly as her wings could carry her.
It seemed she'd still missed the fight.
Still a mile away, she could see Orcs on wargs fleeing across the bridge into the woods, chased by a pair of- Elves? Yes, a blond Elf and a ginger Elleth, clothed in the armor of the Woodland guards. Well, she'd have to get that story later.
She quickly swept her gaze along the bridge, her falcon eyes easily picking out details even through the distance and lack of light. She scanned the fallen figures, and found six guards among the Orcs. Four of them were still breathing. Briefly, she considered landing to aid them but she could already see a group of townsmen rushing for the bridge with stretchers carried in between them.
She flew over their heads and finally reached the town proper. Staying high enough to scan the entirety of the town, she could easily trace the path the fighting had taken—from the bridge towards the northern edge of the town, with scattered Orc corpses along the pathways.
Her hunter's eyes didn't pick up on any frantic movements in the maze of streets. There was barely any activity at all—it seemed most people were wisely staying inside their homes. A squad of guards stood unmoving in front of the Master's house. A group of men were striding back to the centre of town. Bard was one of them, looking unharmed. She let out a sigh of relief, mangled into a strange tweet by her beak.
Either the orcs had swept through the town extremely quickly, or the fighting had started earlier than the first scream had reached them. Either way, it seemed to be over now and Lake-town was left standing.
Feeling her panic ebbing down, she dove into the streets. Slowing down her flight, she glided above the water, glancing through the windows she passed. Old Jorn's widow, safely in her bed, probably snoring her way through all the commotion. Eryka and her four babes, covering underneath their dining table. Inge and Jarl standing ready with knives by their window. Sigrid, Tilda and Bain pacing frantically in their kitchen.
The furious beating in her chest slowed down a fraction with every friend she saw alive and unharmed.
She landed in the shadows of Bard's house and changed back to being human, knowing Bard was just a street away and quickly approaching.
She met him by the stairs to his front door.
He only just avoided crushing into her, breaking his stride on the last moment, as she stepped out of the shadows.
He shook off his surprise and grabbed her shoulders, firmly. "Harry! Where have you been?"
She took her chance and stepped into his arms fully, embracing him quickly and not that tightly, aware that her bindings were not a foolproof disguise by far, and certainly not so from a close inspection. She could feel him freeze, but to hell with it, she was relieved to see him alive, to see all her friends alive, even as she mourned the two dead guards lying on the bridge. She was a foreigner in these parts; she could be forgiven for overstepping boundaries.
"There were complications," she said and took pity on him, stepping back. "But all is fine now."
He grimaced and she immediately grew concerned again. "What happened?"
"The Orcs tracked the Dwarves down by their smell. To your house."
Oh. She had seen the path of fighting from up above, traced it to the northern side of town; she should have figured out they'd targeted her house.
"I'm sorry, Harry. It was me who took the Dwarves there."
"Was anyone hurt? Kallan and little Jorry?" she asked of her closest neighbours, steadily turning more nervous by Bard's troubled expression.
"Everyone's alright. There was a lot of fighting, though. Not much of your home survived intact."
"Oh."
Bard had not been exaggerating. They'd picked up his three children, and upon Bard's urging, also a wicker basket and a crate, and made their way to her house to scope the damage.
The back wall was missing, offering a rather beautiful view of the open lake. Her hideous tapestries that she'd painstakingly gathered to stove away the ever-present draft, were all in taters. Her notes, the remains of the wizarding tent, the shards of her Pensieve—all scattered along the floor, chased around by the wind from the open lake.
"Well-" she started, ready to offer quick platitudes to wave away Bard's concern, only to choke on them as she realised she actually felt rather bitter about losing the few comforts she'd managed to build for herself in this harsh world. Not to mention the mementos of her real life. Not for the first time, she wondered whether they'd also ceased to exist back in England.
There was no use crying over spilled milk, though, or pondering questions she would only get answered once this adventure was completely over. In the meantime, if she was feeling particularly homesick, she could always fly back to the site of her landing, and swim in the pile of her other broken and shattered possessions.
The attempt at levity didn't quite chase away the familiar unease, though. Her right hand moved as on its own accord, squeezing the left wrist where her elder wand would normally rest.
"You can stay with us as long as you need to," Bard offered, his voice bringing her back to the present.
She sent him a grateful smile.
Feeling forlorn still, she couldn't quite stop herself from voicing her sour thoughts. "As long as the dragon doesn't burn it, too."
Of course it was at that moment the floor beneath their feet shook as a thunder of a rumbling seemed to travel through the water of the lake.
Harry allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment, knowing the night just got that much longer.
"There are Orcs out there!" Alfrid shouted. "You would have us walking into their arms?"
"There will be a dragon in here!" Bard shouted back from across the wall of guards. "I'd rather try my luck against a pack of wounded Orcs!"
As per their plan, the five of them raised the alarm once again today, and tried to usher the people out of the very noticeable, very flammable target. It hadn't taken long for the Master to intercept them on the market square.
Harry used the moment Bard was occupied and slipped away into a narrow alley. She was only too happy to leave Bard to this particular part of the plan. She could hear his shouts carrying through the streets below her as she transformed mid-jump and frantically flapped her wings to gain height.
"Run for the cover of the forest. Or sail your boats to the other side of the lake. But leave this wooden trap!"
The Lonely Mountain loomed on the dark horizon in front of her. From the outside, it looked deceptively inconspicuous, even as the booms and cracks of collapsing stone travelled all the way to the lake and created ripples on its surface.
Harry climbed high enough in the air to find a good current, beating her wings in a steady rhythm towards the Mountain gates, all the while cursing the impatience of Dwarves. They couldn't have waited one more day for their friends to join them, and give everyone and themselves a night of rest?
It had taken the Dwarves the best part of a day to travel to the Mountain by boat and on foot. By air, Harry crossed that same distance in a matter of minutes.
It wasn't as instantaneous as Apparation, but given the flatout failure she was experiencing with all the means of magical transportation in this world, she was incredibly grateful for an animagus form with wings.
It'd taken her only about five minutes to fly over but another five minutes later, she was still outside, fluttering frantically up and down along the gates, looking for the way in the Dwarves had taken. Her peregrine eyes were very keen, much keener than human's, but they were made for spotting prey, moving prey. She must have been missing some detail, an opening in the shadows, or- or something. Her brain was overwhelmed by the constant stream of suggestions her trained mind was providing, a useless stream of spells for the occasion, none of which she could cast in this world. Revealing Charm, Warmth-tracing Charm, Wind-colouring Charm-
And all this while, sounds of fighting carried from behind the barred gates; shouting, collapsing stones, booms of explosions and through it all, a sinister voice that ruffled her feathers, and very much not in a good way. Stupid, secretive, suspicious Dwarves! I'm here ready to help you, but go ahead and die inside all alone for your suspicions and secrets!
She paused after the last thought crossed her mind.
The next moment, she was landing on the lowest rampart, changing back into a witch, and throwing a Bombarda at the barricade in front of her.
Her first curse didn't do much else than dent the stone. She frowned at it in confusion; she knew for a fact that her Bombarda usually rained much more damage than that. Intrigued, she stepped closer, laying her palm on the stone. She let out a breath of surprise, her eyes widening in fascination. There it was- the telltale tinkling of magic, springing up in response to her intrusion. Not a layer over the gates, but strangely woven straight into the stone.
Once again, she was rather forcefully reminded of how little she knew about the world she found herself in.
She had read mentions of Dwarven magic in her books, but she had taken them for exegarations, poetic embellishments of their craft. But here she stood, with a crude ward of a sort chiming against her fingers, thrumming not only through the ancient gates but also through the upheaved stones of the crude barricade, put together by a dragon of all creatures, which meant the magic surpassed the physical anchors the Dwarves must have woven, somehow, into the stones, but rather laid over the whole gates as a ward built on intent-
Not the time.
She took a step back and let her wand slip from its holster into her palm. She clutched it firmly, and narrowed her eyes at the stone in front of her. I'm here to help your own.
The next spell blasted from her wand with a bright beam and did much more than just dent. Chunks of stone and debris burst out all around her, the magic of the spell stirring them safely away from the caster, but raining on everything else around her. And yet, she didn't get through—there was still more stone at the end of the shallow tunnel she'd just hollowed out.
She shook her head to get rid of the echoes of the boom, deaf for a moment in the sudden silence. She didn't know what had truly made the difference, whether it'd been just the strength behind the second spell or whether the protections were sentient enough to understand her intent. She raised her hand for the third attempt, and then paused.
There was something wrong with the silence. Her ears had popped, and yet, the quiet prevailed, stretching wider than before.
She realised only a beat later what was different. The fighting inside the mountain had stopped. Had they heard her knocking?
And then the deep and utterly wrong voice boomed across the halls and through the stone again. Her eyes widened when she realised the sound was rapidly getting louder.
No more thoughts were spared as she jumped onto the balustrade, and then off it, with a powerful Acceleration Charm to propel her higher. She changed mid-air, shooting up towards the sky with her wings tucked close.
The next moment, the stones underneath her burst out. Something big surged past her and she got caught up in the whirlwind it left behind.
She lost sense of the skies and the ground, fluttering uselessly against the strong, erratic winds that were battering at her feathers from all sides. And then something hot and bright was raining down on her, spraying her feathers and- burning through! She managed to control her flight into a sharp spin, and then whipped her wings to full spread, shaking of the- molten gold? Was the dragon really raining gold? Oh, bloody hell.
She finally found her bearings then, righting her flight still a safe few metres away from crashing into the ground. Her relief was short lived, though, quickly replaced by her senses shouting at her that something was terribly wrong.
It took her a moment to discern it was her animagus form powering her instincts, unfamiliar as the feeling was. A peregrine falcon was a hunter, the fastest and usually the highest flying one in the skies. It did not take well to be upped by a bigger predator.
She looked up. An imposing silhouette, black against the starry sky, the dragon, was speeding towards Lake-town on its great powerful wings. Within few seconds, he was well in front of her.
She first felt a shock of frustration, because she was once again left behind and rushing to catch up to a fight; for the third time today, no less. Next, a wall of terror hit her, for the Dwarves in the Mountain behind her—had the dragon killed them all?—and then for her friends on the lake, about to be visited by a fiery beast. A beast that did not look as much worse for wear as she'd hoped the fight with the Dwarves would have rendered it.
And then, the dragon spoke again, his words carried by the wind and likely by magic, too, for they couldn't have reached her otherwise. For the first time, they weren't distorted by the echo of the cavernous Dwarven halls, and she could understand.
"...I am fire. I am death."
Nevermind frustration or fear, a stronger emotion boiled up through both; righteous anger filled her veins and strengthened her wings, incensed by the sheer needlessness of such evil.
'Death'? We shall see about that.
A/N:
I've always enjoyed stories where Harry's being a great character even without the "Boy-who-lived" moniker building up his reputation, or the Prophecy paving some of his path for him. It lets his courage and selflessness shine even more, as he carries on just as he always did - doing what is right.
Lots of these plots usually happen with Harry travelling off to different AU settings (like I'm attempting here), but there's one rather old story that just portrayed Harry's life as it could have gone had there been no Prophecy to start with. Harry's an ordinary soldier there, apart from the fact that there's very little ordinary about him. An action-packed, very enjoyable and yet truly poignant read:
Simple and Clean by DigiFruit
.
(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)
