Chapter Three – A New Home

As the Sun crept over the tall trees of the Spine in the wee hours of morning, many inhabitants of the village known as Carvahall were awake and preparing themselves for the day's work to come. Merchants tended to their wares, making sure nothing had disappeared, farmers tended to their livestock and their crops, whilst others simply fetched water from the town well, or began to wash an assortment of clothes. Harry Potter was no different in being used to starting his day early. Resigned to the fact that he was, for the time being, stuck in this land, he decided he might as well be as comfortable as possible and so began to build his own house after two days of staying in Garrow's moderate home.

True, he was offered more time if necessary, but Harry decided not to intrude any longer. They were already cramped for space, and he had no intentions of making things worse. So, as he searched for a way home, he began to lay the foundations (literally), for what seemed like a possible long stay in Alagaësia. As well as that, he told Eragon, Roran and Garrow exactly how he had come to be there, albeit in a roundabout way. He told them:

"'Magic of an evil sort transported me here; an object created by the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time – Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately, I have no idea where I am in relation to Earth, so I can't figure out how the "Portkey" – that's what the object is called – works. As far as I can see, I'm stuck here until I can figure something out.'"

He purposefully left out any mention of the Wizarding World; if worst came to worst, and he was stranded there forever, he might tell them more about it. For now, he began to make his own way, although he didn't refuse any help the farmer had to offer him, including a set of tools. So, after much planning out Harry began to cut down trees and shape them into wooden planks. All seemed to be going well, until he remembered what Hermione had said about "increasing the quantity" of an object. Harry had no idea how to spawn anything besides water, but he did have an idea of replicating objects. Realising that cutting down half a dozen trees was unnecessary, he began to manipulate the core of one tree-trunk instead, convincing it to expand and multiply. It took a day to master, but eventually he was able to successfully create new tree-trunks of wood from existing ones. Creating new trees in place of those he had cut down was far more problematic, possibly because they were living beings. The spell he used was "Multiplicare", which, of course, multiplies an object. He could have used "Gemino", but it wasn't permanent, lasting only for several hours at a time.

The house he made simple, with the foundations measuring thirty by thirty metres, and the walls being just over three metres high. It only contained four rooms, and no first floor – a bedroom, a kitchen, a cold cellar and a living room, although he doubted that particular room was normal in Carvahall. It wouldn't have any of those comfortable chairs like the Gryffindor common room, but he did add in a couple of wooden seats. Besides that, it was completely bare at present. He intended to use it for tools, washing clothes, or whatever else it may be needed for. He fully anticipated… maybe not a rough lifestyle, but most certainly a tougher one than he was accustomed to. Still, living in a tent for the better part of a year meant that he knew what to expect, and he would be able to handle it well, whenever the time arrived.

In terms of furniture, there was a very simple wooden table in the kitchen, the chairs aforementioned, some shelves, doors and a bed. The mattress and pillow had been difficult to sew, but he had just about managed it using some old sheets Garrow had given him. In return for saving his life, Harry had offered Eragon his services in helping out on their farm, which is what Eragon had previously hoped for. It meant that he could take Horst's offer after all, and Garrow would not be deprived of an extra set of hands in the springtime.

The next day, after building the house (Harry managed the task in one day, thanks to magic), Eragon guided him around Carvahall, helping him pick out various things he would need, such as cutlery, firewood and fresh sheets, as well as showing him around the "unessential" shops, like Morn's tavern and Sloan's butcher's shop.

'How is meat non-essential?' Harry had asked.

'I didn't say "meat" was unessential; I said Sloan's shop is unessential, because, like us, you don't have any money, so I'll have to teach you how to hunt. In fact, I don't even know why I'm showing you around when you can't buy anything,' Eragon replied sheepishly.

Harry grinned solemnly, hoping that he could trust Eragon; which, he believed he could. 'That's where you're wrong. Do you have any coins with you?'

'Just a crown; why?'

'Can I see it, please?' Harry asked, holding his hand out.

Eragon hesitated for a half-second, then obliged. Harry found an alleyway which appeared to be deserted, and drew his wand.

'What are you going to do?' Eragon asked curiously.

Harry pointed his wand at the coin in his hand, and whispered: 'Multiplicare!'

Just like with the dead tree-trunks earlier, the coin slowly began to replicate into a dozen others, and would have continued until Harry passed out from exhaustion, but he stopped the flow of magic after a dozen others had been created.

Eragon's eyes widened in sheer wonder. 'That… is incredible.'

'Ah, it's nothing, really. But, it does mean that anytime you need money, all you have to do is ask. It's the least I can do to repay everything you and your family have done for me,' Harry said. He genuinely meant it, as well. He quickly flicked the crown back to Eragon and brandished the other dozen.

'You know what?' Harry asked, weighing the coins in his hand. 'I think I'm going to have a little aiming practice. You want to watch?'

'Sure… but, how do the coins come into it?'

'You'll see.'

Harry's new house was located half a mile from Garrow's farm in the direction of Carvahall. After walking there, they headed onto the field, concealed behind the house. He handed eleven of the twelve coins to Eragon.

'Hold those, please…' Then, with lightning-fast reflexes, he turned on the spot and threw the other coin far and high. Without slowing down, he grabbed his wand and shouted: 'Expulso!' With a very loud bang, the coin exploded into a thousand pieces, sending miniscule fragments flying through the air in every direction.

Hell of a shot, Harry thought happily. Sirius would've been proud.

Eragon was likewise impressed. 'Nice aim; wish I could do that with an arrow.'

'To be honest, that was an absolute fluke,' Harry admitted.

Eragon shrugged. 'Still, it was impressive.'

'Thanks.'

Harry lowered his wand slowly, thinking. 'Do you know anyone else that can use magic around here?'

Eragon shook his head morbidly. 'I'm afraid not; it's a very rare gift – Magicians either join the Varden or the Empire.'

'Who are the Varden?'

'A group of rebels that fight King Galbatorix's rule over the land,' Eragon explained. 'They believe he is evil, and are probably right about that…'

'Great... another evil person in the world. That's exactly what I need to hear.'

'Hmm… Well, he leaves us alone, for the most part. His tax collectors are relentless, however, and the Empire has never helped Carvahall in times of great need.'

'Maybe the Varden are right, then. But… how did someone like that get chosen to be king?' Harry asked confusedly.

'He wasn't chosen – he declared himself king, and, because of his powers as a Dragon Rider, no one opposed him.'

'He's a Rider?'

'Yes. You should really wait until the traders come to town, though. When they do, old Brom always tells the tale of the Riders.'

'That's the second time you've mentioned this "Brom" when talking about Dragon Riders. I think I need to meet him.'

Eragon noticed how Harry said "need to meet", rather than "I'd like to meet". He understood why; Harry was probably hoping that Brom could help him get back home.

'You will… soon. If the traders don't show up in the next week or so, I'll bring you to see him personally.'

'How do know when they're due?'

'Because they're already late.'

The next few days passed by without any sign of the traders, but Harry was too distracted to notice. He was too busy adding the finishing touches to his new home, such as the fire and chimney, which proved tricky to make. Eventually, however, he finished his task and stood back to admire his handiwork.

If only we could have done this when we were on the run, Harry observed one night. He was lying in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. Just about everything was made out of wood…

He felt an overwhelming rush of emotion as an image of Ginny appeared in his mind, and he found himself unable to clear it. She was smiling warmly, looking prettier than ever before. But, instead of feeling comforted by her presence in his mind, he felt a single tear slide down his cheek and fall onto the floor. He missed her so much it hurt him; physically hurt him.

As much as it did, he had to put her out of his mind. He wouldn't permanently remove the memory as he had seen Snape do, but he would try to put it to the back of his mind – for now, at least. The more he thought about it, the more he realised the haunting truth: he was stuck here, with no way home, for the foreseeable future. And in Harry's mind the "foreseeable future" stretched many years ahead of the present. So, he would try to forget about the Wizarding World for now, for it would be nought but an unseemly distraction. Also, if he ever made it back, the rush of euphoria would be even greater than it would under normal circumstances.

He confirmed in his mind that none of his teleportation techniques would ever have the desired effect – the Portkey was gone, as he had discovered two days ago when Eragon escorted him to the point where Harry had appeared He had no Floo Powder (which wouldn't work anyway, as no fireplace would be connected to the Floo Network), he had no idea how to make another Portkey, and his apparition was blocked, somehow. That was Harry's best bet – apparition. If he could find some way to break the hold Voldemort's curse had over him, he could disapparate. Unfortunately, he had had no success as of yet, and didn't expect to ever have any.

What if it's not a curse? he asked himself. What if it's my own powers preventing me from trying it, because they know I'll die from the attempt? If I'm on another planet, I will die trying, after all…

A couple of days later, nine days since Harry appeared in Alagaësia, he got a surprise visit from Eragon's cousin, Roran. Slightly taller than Harry and being quite muscular, Harry found him rather intimidating, although his very pleasant personality begged to differ.

He nodded at Harry. 'Evening, Harry; I was sent on ahead to let you know that the traders have finally made it to Carvahall. Eragon's just getting that strange blue stone of his, and then we're travelling into town. Care to join us?'

'Sure,' Harry replied eagerly, 'I'll be there in a second.' He quickly gathered up everything he would need, including the money he had formed the previous night. Rather than his old robes, he now wore far less conspicuous clothes, consisting of a shirt, trousers, and a pair of boots, all similar to that which the men of Carvahall wore. Afterwards, he rejoined Roran on the porch of his new home.

'They said to wait here, if that's alright?'

'No problem. So… I hear you're involved with a lovely young lady called Katrina?' Harry asked, grinning. Eragon had told Harry how he was envious of his cousin's good luck.

Roran chuckled. 'Yes. In fact, I'm hoping to marry her soon.'

'At eighteen? Bit young, don't you think?'

'No, why would I?' Roran asked confusedly.

'Well, it's just… oh wait, sorry, my mistake. I'm thinking of home again.' Harry shook his head, chuckling humourlessly. 'I forgot things are different here,' he explained.

'Nah, that doesn't matter,' Roran waved away, 'I understand there are probably a lot of cultural differences between us. You just need some time to adjust, if you haven't found a way home, of course.'

'Yeah… I think I'll probably have that time, after all.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

Harry was about to agree with him, when Garrow's wagon came down the road and after a few minutes, stopped beside them. The two of them got on the back beside Eragon, and Garrow set off towards the town.

The three teenagers sitting in the back of the wagon kept a continuous conversation going as they journeyed on, talking about the first thing that popped into their minds, whether it be a random thought, or what the traders may have at their show this year. During that time, Harry tended to listen, rather than talk.

They reached Carvahall just as noon arrived. As they entered, they saw that the traders had set up their camp in an empty field, on the outskirts of the town. Their tents, wagons and fires were spread randomly throughout the field, being the only spots of colour against the snow covering the ground. Harry didn't mind the snow at all; in fact, he welcomed it, as it gave this place a profound sense of realism. Aside from those few things, the first thing he noticed was the smell of roasted hazelnuts, filling the air with a rich aroma.

Garrow withdrew some money and handed it to Roran, who quickly departed. Harry was about to do the same, but Eragon shook his head.

'You should come with us, if you want to. This could be important.'

Harry shrugged and followed them. They were looking for a merchant known as "Merlock", as Eragon told him. They soon found him, displaying brooches and other pieces of jewellery to a group of women. As they waited for the group to depart, Harry inquired as to Merlock's persona.

'He's a merchant in jewellery,' Eragon explained, whilst Garrow spoke to Merlock. 'I think he's friendly enough. But, you should watch out for some of the other traders. They're pleasant enough for the most part, but if you question their views, or accuse them of wrongdoing, you'll be in a lot of trouble. We've had more than one duel in the past.'

'Nice. I assume someone is killed in these duels?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, joy.'

Garrow soon beckoned for them to join him, which they did. Merlock led the way to his tent, where he examined the stone. They then spoke of value, and the possibility of selling the stone. To Garrow's disappointment, Merlock ascertained that the stone would be incredibly difficult to sell. Eragon wasn't too concerned; now that Harry had offered him never-ending money, he didn't see any reason to sell the stone, not that he would ever become pretentious enough to consider relying on Harry for the rest of his days.

'Why did you insist on talking to me in private?' Merlock asked curiously.

Eragon put the stone away before answering. 'Because I found this in the Spine, and folks around here don't like that – they're weary of the mountains.'

'Afraid,' Harry contributed. Merlock looked at him with interest.

'I don't recall ever seeing you before. Are you new to these parts?'

Eragon had told Harry how to reply in the event of such a question. 'Yes, I'm from Narda. I moved here only a few months ago to be closer to my relatives,' he nodded towards Eragon and Garrow, 'after my mother died of a fever.'

Merlock nodded sympathetically. 'I'm sorry to hear that. I regret to say that she is not the only loss of life in these troubled times.'

'Oh?' Garrow asked, raising his eyebrows.

'Yes... I'm afraid that the reason we were so late this year is that we have suffered grave misfortune. With the intensity of the Varden's attacks, Galbatorix has been forced to send more soldiers to the borders, leaving other areas vulnerable to attack, or rather, slaughter, at the hands of the Urgals. The Urgals themselves have been migrating southeast, towards the Hadarac Desert, although no one knows why. Even worse are reports of a Shade, although it is unconfirmed if it exists.'

Harry listened as they exchanged words, Eragon first demanding to know why they weren't told sooner, with Merlock responding, and so on. Eventually, they left the merchant's tent and headed back to the wagon. 'I'm going to see what I can trade,' Garrow said. 'Eragon, put that stone back in the wagon, then do what you want. I'll meet you both for dinner at Horst's.' He inclined his head towards Harry, and then departed.

'So, what are we doing?' Harry asked.

Eragon shrugged in response. 'Whatever there is, which is a lot.'

They walked around for a bit, examining the wares on sale, before buying several sticks of malt candy. Harry thought they tasted similar to something he had once bought in Hogsmeade, although he couldn't remember the exact name.

'Uh oh,' Eragon said suddenly.

'What's wrong?'

'Sloan,' Eragon pointed to a rather fat, bald man.

'Oh, he's the butcher you were telling me about, isn't he?'

Eragon nodded in response. 'Come on; I don't want any trouble here.'

'You don't have to be afraid of him,' Harry pointed out.

'I'm not! It's just… complicated.'

'Complicated is fine by me. I want to check out the tavern anyway.'

They entered Morn's tavern, which was very warm and filled with greasy smoke, emanating from tallow candles. The Urgal horns Garrow had mentioned were mounted above the door; Harry noticed that the bar was completely full, probably being used as a refuge from the bitter cold outside. Two of the traders were talking to a large group of people, in what seemed like a heated discussion.

'I wonder what they're saying…' Harry muttered. He strode over to the group, followed by Eragon.

'It is only with the king's unceasing efforts on your behalf that you are able to argue with us in safety. If he, in all his wisdom, were to withdraw that support, woe unto you!' one of the traders said loudly.

Someone shouted: 'Right, why don't you also tell us the Riders have returned and you've each killed a hundred elves? Do you think we're children to believe in your tales? We can take care of ourselves!'

What followed that outburst was one of the fieriest arguments Harry had ever heard; even Eragon took part at one stage. Still being a stranger, and not wishing to cause trouble, Harry absented himself from the discussion. They left the bar ten minutes later; Eragon was seething with anger.

Harry grabbed his arm to stop him.

'What, in the name of Merlin, was that all about?'

'I'll explain later,' he vowed. 'Right now, we need to go to Horst's.'

Two hours later, Harry was once again outside, this time in anticipation of something important. Dinner at Horst's had been hearty, as he had been treated like a member of the town.

Which, in a sense, I suppose I am, now…

After a few minutes of waiting, the troubadours came tumbling out of their tents, dressed in tasselled clothing, followed by older and statelier minstrels. The minstrels provided music and narration, as their younger counterparts acted out the stories. The first plays were pure entertainment: bawdy and full of jokes, pratfalls and ridiculous characters. Later, however, when the candles sputtered in their sockets and everyone was drawn together in a tight circle, the old storyteller, Brom, stepped forward. A knotted grey beard rippled over his chest, and a long black cape was wrapped around his bent shoulders, obscuring his body.

Almost as soon as he began to speak, Harry found himself completely mesmerised; he listened intently as Brom told his incredible, and heartbreaking, tale of the Riders. He spoke of elves, dwarves, and, most of all, the betrayal of a young Rider, Galbatorix. His tale was one of courage, sorrow, lies, deceit, and bonding between man and dragon. He talked of the Forsworn, an evil group of thirteen Riders who pledged themselves to Galbatorix. Lastly, he spoke of Vrael, leader of the Riders, and his failed attempt to defeat Galbatorix.

When he had finished, Harry was close to tears. He wasn't alone, either; others were crying silently, and even Brom had a single tear sliding down his cheek. Any questions Harry may have had were soon temporarily forgotten. As he prepared to leave for home, he overheard Garrow speak to Eragon and Roran.

'Consider yourselves fortunate; I have only heard this particular version twice in my entire life. If the Empire knew that Brom had recited it, he would not live to see a new month.'

Harry shook his head disbelievingly as he fastened the new cloak he had bought from the traders. If he was to stay in Alagaësia, it looked as though he would have another tyrant to deal with...