Dear reader,
This is not an update. It is merely what little of the ninth chapter I wrote way back in 2016 and a very long author's note to explain my abandonment of this story. Feel free to ignore it - I understand that many of you couldn't care less about it anymore.
My interest in this story - or perhaps in actually writing this story - waned away. Sometime during the lockdown, I wanted to start writing it again but the words didn't seem to fit right so I decided it was finally time to let it go. To this day, I love the idea behind it and wish I had the incentive to finish it. It will always be close to my heart, both because of what writing it meant to me and how much love and support I received for it (the depth of which still astounds me), but the younger version of me had no idea what she had set out to do, what kind of dedication it would take. From the beginning, the story was too widely set and the prospect of finishing everything I had planned seems daunting now, from lack of both energy and time. I grew up a lot in the past years and that is in part the reason I don't see myself finishing this story as it was supposed to be. Perhaps, in due time, I will find my connection to it again and come back, though I do think that would only result in writing particular one-shots or a bullet-point type of story. If any of you feel inspired to continue it yourself, please feel free to do so, as long as you credit the original idea back to me. It would be a shame to let such a story die just because of my detachment from it.
As they often do, another story completely took over my mind and I have been seldom active on archiveofourown for the past year, as well as on tumblr, writing under the name saudadeonly (shameless self-plug here, I know, sorry). I think I'll do better there. I only ask that you don't seek me out there if your intention is to berate me for abandoning Phoenix from the Dragon Fire. Otherwise, your words are most welcome and greatly appreciated.
Lastly, I want to actually apologise for not updating the story and for dropping off of the face of the Earth. I would also like to thank everyone who supported me from the beginning and those who joined later, as well as everyone who has reached out to me over the years. Your love for my writing never failed to touch me and I want you to know that I never would have made it as far as I have if it weren't for your support.
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my words. I hope you are all well in these times and will continue to be so.
Love always,
EA4E
Eragon fell in step with the trio right before they reached the main doors, just in time to hear Hermione finish her sentence, ". . . you'll see."
"See what?"
They jumped as if he had caught them plotting against the Ministry of Magic, eyes wide.
Hermione was the first one to recover, answering in a shaky voice, "N-nothing."
Eragon felt his lips pull up at corners – Nothing for sure. – but he nodded. "Okay." He rolled his shoulders and stretched out his arms. "So what are you three up to this day?"
Harry shrugged as they strolled through the doors and into the sunny but windy day outside. "We'll just visit some stores, maybe go to the Three Broomsticks."
Saphira snorted inside Eragon's head. He is a much better liar than Hermione.
Hush.
Eragon nodded. "Seems like a good plan."
Hermione gave him a sideways glance. "What are you planning on doing?" she asked carefully. Even after all these weeks she was still slightly hesitant around him.
He shrugged. "I did think I could use you as my guides, but now that I see that you have plans of your own, I'll just make my way around." He curled his mouth in a wry smile. "Perhaps I'll visit my friend."
Ron arched an eyebrow. "You've been to Hogsmeade before?" he asked, poorly-masked surprise in his voice. "And you already have a friend?"
Saphira chuckled and spoke into all their minds this time. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are.
To their credit, the trio did not burst out laughing – but they did chuckle.
Eragon sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. "Why do you make it your life's mission to mock me?" he said.
It is my greatest joy and pleasure.
You're insufferable.
You love me.
Only out of necessity.
Her mental image of stuck-out tongue was the only answer he received.
He rolled his eyes again and faced the three again. "To answer your question, Ron," he said, "yes, I've been to Hogsmeade before and I did meet some new people, which believe it or not, is possible!" He said the last few words rather loudly and they were focused toward the Forest in the distance, earning him a few startled and bemused glances from by-passers.
He turned back with a sort of sheepish expression. "Well, I'd best let you do your business," he said, drawing the hood of his jacket up. "I'll see you around. if you need anything, just give a shout. I'll be close enough to hear," he told them and then added, "Probably."
Hermione beamed at him and Harry and Ron gave nods and smiles of acknowledgement.
"May the stars watch over you."
"Goodbye, Eragon," said Hermione deliberately. "You should learn to say it, truly."
He gave her a lopsided smile. "Where's the fun in that, fricai iet?"
He just caught her amused and exasperated shake of head before he disappeared in the crowd.
"So," Ron asked, blowing a short breath in his chilled hands, "where are we going?" His eyes glittered. "The Three Broomsticks?"
"Oh no," Hermione replied, her eyes flitting over the main street's shops – Zonko's, the Post office, Honeydukes. "That is way too obvious. We're going to another pub. Hog's Head—you know the one that's not on the main road. A bit dodgy to say the least but I think it's safe. We probably won't be overheard."
"Probably," echoed Harry. "Reassuring."
Hermione turned up a side street, the boys following fast behind, and came to a stop in front of a small inn at the top of the street. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture upon it of a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. All three of them hesitated outside the door.
Hermione sounded slightly nervous as she said, "Well, come on."
Harry was the first one to step through the door.
The difference between The Three Broomsticks and the Hog's Head was . . . uncomfortably large. While The Three Broomsticks was clean and warm and—well, welcoming—the Hog's Head was anything but that. The room they were in was small, dingy and very dirty and smelled vaguely of goats. The bay windows that might've provided some light once long ago were now encrusted with grime. Stubs of candles placed on rough wooden tables lit up the room instead. Harry found the floor to be made of stone but it was hardly visible with all the dirt covering it.
Harry suddenly remembered Hagrid telling him about this inn a few years back and thought that maybe it wasn't weird at all that Hadgrid had won a dragon egg from a covered stranger. It did seem to be a kind of a fashion trend in the Hog's Head. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth. Two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; Harry might have thought them dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents; in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.
Harry wasn't sure about the safety of meeting here and he said as much to Hermione. After she reassured him of their no breaking any rules and that the veiled witch at the counter was not Umbridge they walked up to the bar.
The barman, a tall and thin grumpy-looking old man with an abundance of long grey hair and beard, came to serve them. He seemed vaguely familiar to Harry.
"What?" He didn't sound too happy to even have to say the word.
"Three butterbeers, please," Hermione said.
He grunted in acknowledgement and reached under the counter. He pulled out three dirty bottles of butterbeer and all-but slammed them on the bar.
"Six sickles."
Harry reached in his pocket and pulled out the silver coins just as the door behind them opened.
A tall man, leanly built, with his hood drawn up over half of his face entered. Harry took a subconscious step back and felt Ron and Hermione do the same.
The barman only glanced up at him and grunted. "Take your damn hood off," he told him. "You can't pull off the cloak-and-dagger look."
The man shook his hood off and ran a hand through the mess of his blonde curls, making a face at the barman. "Ouch." There was something strangely familiar about his features—maybe the angle of his cheekbones or the kind curl of his lips. "You really should work on your welcoming lines," he said breezily and took a seat at the bar, gracefully catching a bottle of butterbeer the disgruntled barman threw his way. Grinning, he fished two sickles out of his pocket and tossed them back.
Just as easily, the barman caught them, examining them in his open palm. "It's three for you," he said, then deposited the coins in an old wooden till with an automatic drawer without another word.
The man ignored him in favour of pulling out a thick book with a title in a foreign language and started reading it.
Before Harry could think more about that peculiar interaction, the door opened again and in streamed a right crowd of people, including—but by no means limited to—the whole Weasley family currently still attending Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. They were followed by a number of Harry's classmates and students he recognised as both older and younger than him. His heart jumped funnily when Cho stepped through the door.
Harry turned to Hermione. "A few people, 'Mione?" he asked, voice fainter than he liked.
"Well," she answered, giving him a sheepish smile, "I guess the word must have spread."
The blond man looked up from his book, eyes twinkling. "Well that's more people in here than you must have seen in the last decade combined, eh, Ab?" he asked, giving a small, lopsided smile to the barman, who closed his mouth and chucked his dishrag at him.
After they all filtered in and got their butterbeers they settled around a few tables, everyone looking at Harry so expectantly it made him flush. He didn't know why so many of them were here but he could guess well enough.
