Chapter Five – Departure

As Saphira landed, Eragon felt his knees buckle and tried not to fall off of his high seat. His legs felt like they were made from rubber, and he was weak from the ravenous hunger that was making his stomach rumble furiously. Carefully, he dismounted and slid to the ground, falling onto his side as he did so. Saphira grumbled, feeling his pain.

'Are you alright?' she queried.

'I'm fine,' he replied snappily, standing up in irritation. He was in no mood for talking. All that mattered was finding out if Garrow was okay. Saphira would have flown to their farm directly, but as it was, some of the townspeople were searching the scorched ruins of his beloved home, so they had been forced to stop on the edge of the woods, about two hundred metres from the farm. The sight brought a tear to his eye. However, there was one bit of good news counteracting all of the bad: if the townspeople were there, then they must have found Garrow by now.

Eragon thought carefully.

Yes; by the time it would take someone to find the farm destroyed and send for help, he must have been found… unless there was nothing left to find. Pushing that morbid thought from his mind, he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that Harry was alive and well, aiding in the search.

'Harry! Over here!' Eragon called with his mind. Harry froze and looked around urgently, trying to discern the location the thought had originated from.

What was that expression he taught me? Oh, yeah: 'six o'clock!'

Harry spun around, now looking directly at Eragon, who was carefully waving him over from behind the bushes nearby. Harry looked at Horst.

'I'm going to check the woods, just to make sure those disgusting creatures are gone.'

Horst grunted, keeping his eyes trained on the collapsed wooden beam he was attempting to shift. 'Be careful; that forest is dangerous. Holler if you see anything.'

Harry quickly hurried to Eragon's position across the scorched grass, hoping no unwelcome eyes would follow him. None did. He stepped into the forest a few metres, noting that Saphira was barely concealed behind the trees. If anyone wandered over there, they would surely discover her.

'Eragon!' Harry exclaimed in a whisper. 'Where in the hell have you been?' They clasped arms in greeting.

'When I heard about those two strangers looking for the egg, I knew they would try something like this if they found out I had it, so I hurried home. Unfortunately…' he hesitated, thinking of something to say that would not offend Saphira.

'Unfortunately, I realised the need of protecting the little fool, and flew him halfway across The Spine,' Saphira growled, proclaiming her thoughts deliberately in a sarcastic manner that told Eragon to be careful with what he said.

'Well, it wasn't really halfway; more like a quarter-'

'Okay, I don't care about the distance!' Harry interrupted urgently. By force of habit, he straightened his glasses, even though it wasn't really necessary. 'Look, you need to disappear, both of you. They're searching for Eragon all around Palancar Valley, and now Horst is thinking of sending Albriech to Therinsford to alert Roran! If we keep up this charade, they're going to discover the truth, without any doubt.'

'What do you suggest, then?' Eragon queried.

Harry bit the inside of his lip, thinking about the map he looked at a few months ago. His memory of it was vague, but he was sure there were no safe havens within walking distance. But within flying distance…

'If I cast a charm to make myself feather-light, could you fly us away from here?' Harry asked Saphira.

She didn't get a chance to answer, however. 'No!' Eragon exclaimed urgently. 'Not again! The insides of my thighs are already raw like bloody meat! I can barely walk, let alone fly again!'

'Bloody hell,' Harry muttered, scratching the stubble on his face and chin.

'Why do I even have to go anywhere?' Eragon asked. 'I have to make sure Garrow's alright, and then help rebuild the farm.'

Harry shook his head. 'Garrow is hurt, but he should be okay. I'm afraid that's not an option anymore.'

'Why not?' Eragon asked, feeling nervous with Harry saying Garrow "should be okay".

Harry looked his friend directly in the eye. 'They attacked me, Eragon. The strangers. I had to fight them off with magic. Any money says they're already returning to their boss to tell him about both of us. They'll be back,' Harry warned.

'What do you mean: "any money"?'

'Oh, nothing,' Harry dismissed. The cultural differences between the two of them could be frustrating at times. Even with his protests, Eragon knew that Harry was right; they would definitely return, and soon. The egg was invaluable to people like the king, who was probably the original owner. And if that was the case, staying in Carvahall was completely out of the question. Even if Harry had not intervened, they would still be back with great haste.

'You managed to fight them off?'

'Well, sort of… I mean, they obviously felt threatened by my magic, but they're stronger than any human. They managed to shrug off the effects of anything I could throw at them very quickly.'

'They're not human?' Eragon asked, completely astounded. He had suspected there was something definitely strange about them, but he hadn't thought they weren't human.

'Not a hope in hell.'

'That's very peculiar,' Eragon pondered, 'and deeply unsettling, I may add.'

'You may,' Harry said. 'It was very disturbing when they started talking – it felt like their voices were dead.'

'Yes, I heard them when Sloan was telling them about the egg. That's when I tried to run home.'

'Sloan told them?!' Harry felt anger rush into his body like a raging current of electricity. 'That two-faced bastard!' he swore furiously. 'Horst warned me he might talk, but I thought he was man enough not to!'

Eragon winced slightly. 'You should be careful not to repeat that around Sloan – he'll probably start a blood feud.'

'I don't care if he tries to emasculate me with that big bloody butcher's knife he owns! I'll curse him until he can't remember his own name or where he lives! Then we'll see if he decides to tell tales about anyone ever again!'

'Calm yourself,' Eragon chided, raising his hands consolingly. 'I need you to be composed, so we can figure out what to do.'

Harry fumed for another minute or so, then caught his breath slowly, allowing his anger to subside. 'Okay, I'm calm again.'

'Good. Now… options?'

'You could tell them the truth.'

'That is not amusing,' Eragon stated blankly. 'Who knows how they would react? And if those… things…'

'Ra'zac,' Harry said simply.

'…Ra'zac return, they'll interrogate the entire village. No. The way I see it: the less they know the better off they will be.'

'You're probably right about that. You can't just walk out there and let them know that you've returned, either… they'll start questioning you.'

'I can hardly walk, anyway.' That was obvious enough: he was leaning against a tree for support, Harry realised.

Harry folded his arms and began to pace back and forth – a habit that he had picked up in the past couple of weeks. After a few minutes of silence, he stopped once more.

'Okay… first thing's first: do you trust me?' Harry asked.

'Yes…'

'Good, because you're going to have to let me take care of this,' he said, removing his wand. Eragon eyed it carefully.

'What are you planning?' he asked cautiously.

'I don't know how to heal wounds – we need to get you to Gertrude in a manner that won't arouse suspicion. Unfortunately, that doesn't involve you just walking out and announcing your presence.'

'So what, then?'

Harry shrugged. 'Simple. I'm going to stun you. I can tell everyone I found you lying unconscious in the forest.'

Eragon tried to disregard the thought that it would hurt an awful lot. 'And what do I tell them when they ask why I was lying unconscious?'

'I don't know yet,' Harry said honestly. 'But don't worry: I'm going to think of something.' He raised his wand to chest-height.

Eragon flinched slightly, looking to put-off the moment for as long as possible. 'How long will I be out for?'

'Normally a few minutes. But I'm going to hit you extra-hard, so it'll most likely be several hours. Don't worry; when you wake up, you'll be safe in Gertrude's.'

'Does it hurt?'

Harry attempted to recall whether or not it had hurt when the D.A had been practising. Then he remembered. He could have lied, to put Eragon's mind at ease, but it was better to be truthful.

'Yes. Stupefy!' A jet of red light emanated from the tip of Harry's wand and smote Eragon directly where his heart should be. Harry aimed for that particular area on purpose; the shock the heart would receive was enough to send someone's blood-pumping measures into overdrive and subdue them for an extended period of time. For all intents and purposes, it was like a very, very minor heart attack, albeit a non-lethal one, of course. If Harry had thought it was remotely dangerous, he wouldn't have tried it.

Saphira growled as the sensation of pain overcame her. It wasn't enough to knock her out as well, which Harry was grateful for. Having a pissed-off dragon wake up in your presence couldn't be a good thing for anyone. He looked up at her.

'Fly, Saphira. Fly away.'

When Harry stepped out of the forest carrying the unconscious Eragon, there was understandably much confusion. He waved away their questions until they promised to help bring the young farmer to Gertrude. Horst had decided to go himself, leaving the rest of their party to dig up what remained of the house. Carefully, they set Eragon down in the back of the wagon they had brought for clearing wreckage. Not that it mattered to someone that was out cold, but they threw down a couple of blankets to keep him comfortable. Horst drove the wagon whilst Harry sat at his side, bracing himself for the sure-to-follow questions. It wasn't long before his suspicions were confirmed.

'So…' Horst began comfortably, 'you say you found him lying on the edge of the forest?'

Harry decided to keep his answers as simple as possible. 'Yes.'

'Hmm… is it possible he was running away from the fire?' There was a note of accusation in Horst's voice – it took Harry a moment to figure out why. He was suggesting it had been Eragon that had caused the damage.

'No – definitely not,' Harry said quickly.

Horst scoffed. 'How can you possibly know that?'

'I'm sorry, but I was under the impression that you actually thought I knew the answer, otherwise you wouldn't have asked,' Harry said coldly. 'If you think that I don't know, why bother inquiring?'

'No, no, you misunderstand. I apologise if my temper is a mite short, but these are troubled times. We must get to the bottom of this mystery as soon as possible. What I meant is: how can you tell?'

'It's simple, really,' Harry shrugged. 'In my… land, they can tell how someone was moving from the position they were lying in and the area around them. I know parts of the method myself.'

'It sounds intriguing,' Horst admitted. 'Of all the tales you've told us of your land, that is perhaps the most unusual, including the tell-phone.'

'Telephone,' Harry corrected, the ghost of a grin forming. He had told several stories in Horst's house of the "wonders" of his world, although he had kept it as discreet as possible, making sure to never mention the Wizarding World. The townsfolk's inability to understand Harry reminded him vividly of explaining muggle lore to Mr. Weasley, or what it would be like if he had ever tried to explain about wizarding mythology to the Dursleys.

'Yes, that,' Horst nodded. 'As remarkable as it seems, however… I don't think any of the townspeople ever really believed in your fairy tales, except for the children.'

Harry raised his eyebrows, generally surprised. Did they think he was telling a bunch of tall tales? Now that he thought about it, it did make sense that they would believe that. After all, these people were primitive in comparison to Earth technology and medicine, with "wonders" like telephones and even muskets out of their reach by decades, probably even centuries. He let the matter drop.

'Anyway, as I was saying: I found him lying in a position that suggests he was running towards the farm. He most likely could smell the smoke, and wanted to find out what was happening.'

'I see,' Horst pondered. 'How did he pass out?'

'I think he tripped over a branch or a rock, and the impact just knocked him out cold. It's not unheard of.'

Horst was silent for a minute. Harry wondered if the blacksmith believed his story. As he had said, Harry was full of "fairy tales" – hopefully he didn't think this was another one.

'You know… you never did explain how your mouth got so badly swollen properly.'

Harry shrugged again, this time as though it was an obvious answer. 'I found their house on fire, remember. When I got there, Garrow had been tortured and they had just finished igniting the place. What was I supposed to do?'

'Since they're very dangerous, I wouldn't have said fight them, if you had asked. Of course, I know you couldn't have asked, but… oh, you get the point,' Horst muttered, fumbling slightly. Harry chuckled.

'I figured that out physically. Luckily I know some pretty good fighting techniques from my own land, and was able to beat them off. One of them punched me in the jaw. It hurt like a bi- it hurt a lot.' Harry purposefully left out the details of what had happened in Carvahall. It would have been easy enough to explain his way out of the situation without admitting he could use magic, but it was unnecessary. This way was much simpler. The only problem was his guilt over the lies.

'As you should feel, little one,' Saphira chided.

'Saphira? Nice of you to drop by.'

'I apologise for not asking your permission beforehand, but your defences were lowered, and I had to show you what could happen if I had been an enemy.'

'And what's that?'

'That it is very simple to gain access to your mind. If I had wanted to, I could have destroyed you. You should take better care of your mind.'

'I know, I know,' Harry sighed. 'I'm just a little distracted.'

Saphira snorted. 'I can understand why. All the lies you humans plant must be exhausting when they sprout.'

'You enjoy speaking in riddles, don't you?'

'It calms me. Besides, such is the way of a daughter of the sky.'

'Or a son.'

'You get my meaning.'

As soon as Eragon was lying comfortably in Gertrude's healing hut, Harry raced home and packed up everything he would possibly need for what could potentially be quite a long journey, including extra clothes, money, various pieces of cutlery, herbs and spices, as well as the sporadic healing materials he owned, such as bandages and the townspeople's version of morphine – a type of medicine that tasted rather disgusting, yet which proved to be quite effective. It wasn't nearly as strong as morphine, however. It much more closely resembled paracetamol.

After loading everything into the pack he had purchased in town, he sat down and wrote a letter, addressed to Roran. It read:

Roran,

If you are reading this, then Garrow has passed on, and both Eragon and I have disappeared. Firstly, allow me to offer my sincere condolences – I know what it's like to lose both friends and family. It's never easy. I'm sorry that this had to happen to you of all people. You're a good person, and no one deserves anything like this, especially not a good person. Although I'm a little confused on the details myself at the moment, I do know that you need to be careful. No doubt you will hear of two mysterious strangers in Carvahall recently. The truth is they are the ones that destroyed your livelihood and tore your family apart. I'm very sorry that I wasn't able to save your farm, but I was more intent on saving Garrow's life. Needless to say, my attempt ultimately failed, and the strangers WILL return, searching for whatever they've been ordered to find. It's best if you don't know all the details of that matter for your own safety, but suffice it to say you need to be on your guard. Don't trust anyone but close friends and family, and be careful even there; anyone could be deceptive.

Eragon and I have left Carvahall, possibly forever. It's safer for everyone if we do so, as the Ra'zac (that's what the strangers are called) will hopefully pursue us, rather than focusing on the townspeople. If they do not do that… then they're smarter than I gave them credit for, and chances are you'll have to defend yourselves. If that comes to pass, then do NOT underestimate them. They're not human, and are stronger than most people. Also, I fear they may be working for Galbatorix, and despite knowing little about your land, I know that wouldn't be a good thing. If the king is as powerful as people say he is, then he may come for you personally. If it ever seems like that is about to happen, I suggest you run far away and hide yourself.

I'm sorry you don't have anymore options (I would offer you the chance to come with us, but I doubt you would do so, and you are not here, in any case), but that's just the way things have turned out. With any fortune, the Ra'zac will never again venture near Carvahall, but I doubt that will be the case. No matter what happens, I wish you the best of luck. Once more, I am sorry for your loss.

P.S – since I no longer have any need for it, you have my permission to use my home as your own if you return. You may consider it yours.

Harry

Harry sat the letter down and read over it. It seemed sufficient for what he wished to achieve. He had no desire to have Roran come to blows with Sloan; not when Roran needed to lie low, although he had hinted at it ("anyone could be deceptive"). Besides, Harry intended to sort that problem out before he left. He knew he had no choice not to mention Saphira to Roran, as it would be incredibly dangerous if the letter fell into the wrong hands, not to mention that it wasn't Harry's secret to give away, but Eragon's. Carefully, he stowed the letter inside his shirt and pushed his chair back from the table.

Leaving Roran the house wasn't risky – Harry had built the room for Saphira so that no muggle eyes could see the magic embedded in its foundations. If Roran ventured in there, it would appear to be naught but an ordinary den, albeit with some strange objects – such as the mattress lying in the centre of the floor. He hoped Roran would think it was simply a room for lying back and staring at the night-sky. Eragon had told him many people in Carvahall found the stars fascinating.

With one last sweeping look at his new home, Harry ventured outside, shutting the door behind him. Sadly, he wondered how many more homes he would have to abandon prematurely before his time was finished.

Brom sat on a rocking chair outside his small home, smoking a pipe whilst considering recent events. That mark on Eragon's hand had been the gedwëy ignasia, he was sure of it. But if that was the case, then Arya or one of the other couriers must have been ambushed and in a last-bid attempt to save the egg, had attempted to transport it to Brom. Of course, the attempt had clearly not succeeded, which was not surprising. Transporting anything via magic was a risky business, given that it both required an awful lot of energy and was an imprecise method of transportation. Anything could have gone wrong.

But still, for Eragon to have found the egg… Eragon. Out of all people, how could that have been possible? And for it to have hatched for him… Brom shook his head, annoyed at his own lack of vision. He should have made the connection sooner than this. He knew the Ra'zac or some other servant of the foul king would come looking for the egg, so why hadn't he warned the boy? Truthfully, it was because he was too overcome with emotion – he had forgotten that they would be looking for it in the rush of his euphoria. After three months, that feeling still hadn't gone away. For his own son to take up the mantle of the Riders… it was too much to think about.

He extinguished the pipe and stood up suddenly. The other mysterious boy – the one with the strange glass rings in front of his eyes – had just entered the town, carrying a full-looking pack of what Brom supposed were supplies. He knew immediately what the boy was planning, and would be damned if he would let them go alone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Brom approaching from a distance. Carefully, he went to remove his wand, but then thought better of it. The old storyteller was certainly odd, but Harry doubted he was a threat. Instead, he concealed it up the sleeve of his shirt.

In any case, he might only be coming over here to exchange pleasantries.

Fat chance.

He came right up to Harry and leaned in beside him, murmuring in a very low voice: 'I hope you have enough meat there for Eragon's dragon.'

Alarm bells rang in Harry's head and instinctively, he pointed his wand at the old man's abdomen, still keeping it concealed in his shirt. Brom merely chuckled at the action.

'If you're going to point a stick at someone, why not make it a real stick?' Harry was firmly reminded of Aunt Marge.

In a sudden whirlwind of motion, Brom withdrew a dagger that had gone unnoticed by the young wizard, and brought it up to his throat. Harry gulped. This was just getting out of hand, now. Harry shifted his eyes in their sockets. The street was empty, save for the two of them.

Instead of showing fear, Harry decided to remain composed. It wasn't the first time he had come face to face with possible death. One might even say he was used to it by now.

'Real stick?' he asked sarcastically. 'Old man, you know nothing of which you speak.' Harry inwardly cringed at his own dialect – three months in Carvahall, and the way the townspeople spoke was beginning to rub-off on him.

'Correction: I know a great deal more than you ever could, boy. For starters, I know that you are a magician.'

Harry opened his mouth to deny that accusation, but knew that it would be a feeble and pointless attempt. Brom obviously knew the truth somehow. No one could make a random guess that was so accurate. Instead, he rearranged the words into something more defiant: 'where I come from, we call them "wizards".'

'Wizards, magicians, spell casters, magic weavers… they're all the same thing,' Brom dismissed calmly. He didn't seem the least bit threatened by Harry's demeanour. Despite the circumstances, Harry felt his old respect for Brom returning swiftly.

'And how could you possibly know who or what I am, anyway?'

'I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but magicians have the ability to look into the minds' of others. I detected your presence some time ago.'

Harry felt like kicking himself. 'How did you know it was me?'

'No two minds are alike, just like no two voices are similar to each other. I've been here long enough to know the mind of every villager off-by-heart.'

'You have some skill, old man.'

'Drop the tough act, boy,' Brom ordered, lowering his dagger. 'I'm not here to harm you, or your friend. On the contrary, I wish to help. Greatly.'

Suspiciously, Harry lowered his wand, but didn't put it away. 'Why?' he asked determinably.

'Let's just say that I despise both the king and his tyrannical empire, and as far as I see it, Eragon is the best chance of ending both of those things once and for all.'

'Because he's a Rider?'

'Precisely,' Brom nodded. 'I daresay you would make a valuable contribution, as well. Your magical prowess is one of the strongest I've encountered in a long time, judging by the scope of your mind.'

'Why should I accept your help? You could be a spy, for all I know.'

'And the same to you,' Brom nodded. 'I'm glad you're using common sense. You'll have a better chance if you are wary of strangers. In the end, however, it all comes down to trust. Despite your impressive magical strength, your opened mind is very young, and I can teach you how to develop it, as I will teach Eragon if you allow me to accompany the two of you.'

'Are you trying to bribe me?' Harry asked humorously. Despite his uncertainties, he trusted Brom as it was. He could always tell when it was safe to trust someone or not, and this was a case of the former. Brom couldn't be a spy – of that he was certain. The story he had told was far too real and filled with emotion to be untrue, or an act. Still, Harry wanted to solidify that trust beforehand. He reached for Brom's mind, slowly. To his surprise, the old man did nothing to prevent the action; rather, he let Harry feel his emotions without attempting to defend himself. Harry detected nothing but a genuine desire to help. There was no trickery involved.

Finally, he stowed away his wand. 'Very well. If you help me get Eragon out of Carvahall safely, you may accompany us. I should say, however, that he may feel differently.'

'He won't,' Brom said simply. Silently, he gestured for Harry to follow him down the street. Harry obliged.

'How can you be sure?'

'Because if I can prove to his dragon-'

'Saphira,' Harry interrupted. He needed to make sure that interrupting people didn't become an ugly habit in the future.

'Saphira,' Brom wondered. 'It's a good name.'

'Aye, it is,' Harry agreed.

Brom shook his head in order to clear his mind. 'If I can get Saphira to trust me, Eragon will follow in her footsteps.'

'I would help you with that matter, but I feel it would be more prudent if you did so by yourself. The last thing you want is for anyone – especially Saphira – to suspect deception.'

'Leave it to me. Now, what did you have in mind?' Brom queried.

Harry shrugged. 'It's simple: run like the Dickens.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Oh, I'm sorry; it's an expression from my homeland. I meant: run like hell. Do you people believe in a hell?'

Garrow was dead.

It had been two days since Harry had found Eragon, and he was growing worried. Eragon was not responding to Harry's attempts to contact him, and despite Gertrude casually telling him that Eragon had a high fever and was asleep most of the time, Harry was convinced Eragon was ignoring him. Garrow's death had quite clearly hit him. Hard. And he was unwilling to accept help from any other source. Harry hoped that Saphira was having better luck getting through to him.

As it was, there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he worked on formulating a plan with Brom's valuable help. The old man seemed to know the entire land like the back of his hand. He never needed to consult a map when brainstorming ideas, although Harry did. It took him a day, but he eventually got the gist of the layout of Alagaësia, and was soon able to name the main cities, namely: Gil'ead, Feinster, Belatona, Dras-Leona and Aberon, which was Surda's capital. As well as those five, he also learned the location of Galbatorix's fortress: Urû'baen. It didn't take long, as he only needed his memory to be refreshed from three months earlier.

'He's probably distressed,' Brom shrugged one evening, when Harry voiced his concerns.

'I know... alas, I fear for him. Who knows what he may do now?'

'We can only hope that his judgement is good, unlike yours.'

'What does that mean?'

Brom scoffed with sarcasm. 'You were practically running into Carvahall with a full pack of travelling supplies. If someone else had seen you, they would have grown very suspicious. Just what where you thinking?'

'That I was going to prepare for leaving as soon as possible. I wanted to hide the supplies somewhere, so we could leave without having to go back for them.'

'Hmm… still, it was a risky move.'

'Better to ask forgiveness than permission.'

'An expression that I feel is worthy of the Gods,' Brom noted admirably. Harry suddenly felt a buzzing noise in his mind, and recognised Saphira's touch. He lowered the new, improved defences Brom had swiftly taught him how to form.

'I trust you have good news?' Harry greeted.

'Yes – I have informed Eragon of your plan. He understands that Brom will collect him under the guise of Roran making a surprise "visit", and is willing to pursue the Ra'zac with Brom's help. However, he is still consumed by grief and refuses to open his mind fully.'

'I understand that perfectly.' There was a slight pause. 'How are you feeling?' Harry asked her.

'I am… better than he is. I did not know Garrow personally, but Eragon's emotions are attempting to overwhelm me. I feel sadness.'

'As do I,' Harry admitted truthfully. 'Fear not, we will soon be gone.'

Harry awoke with a start. His pleasant dreams were rudely interrupted, as Brom almost broke the door to his spare room down, panic etched across his face.

'We have to go, now!' he commanded urgently. Furiously, he rushed out of the room and gathered his own personal supplies.

Harry bolted upright and threw his glasses on. He had no need to get dressed as he was already fully clothed, in case of an emergency. As it turned out, this was definitely an emergency.

'What's the matter?' Harry shouted quickly, grabbing his backpack. 'What time is it?'

'Twilight. We must go. Come on!'

Finally, Harry was ready. He rushed to the small kitchen, where Eragon was standing. Harry was surprised.

'I thought Brom was going to get you later tonight?'

Eragon shook his head. 'There has been a troublesome development.' Eragon really didn't look good – there were bags under his eyes from sleep deprivation, his hair was almost as messy as Harry's and he was wearing a very haunted expression. Harry compared him inwardly to Dumbledore on the tower, just before Snape killed him.

'What?'

'They're searching for you.'

'Who, me?' Harry half-shouted urgently. 'Why?'

'They think you helped the strangers plot setting fire to the farm. If they catch you… it won't be good.'

'How can they think that? I've lived amongst them for three months!'

'And that's the problem – they think you're a servant of the king, with all of your oddities and ability to avoid their questions.'

'Oh, crap,' Harry said silently. 'How bad are we talking?'

Eragon hesitated. 'In Carvahall, the mishandling of fire is a hanging offence.'

'What!'

'That won't happen,' Brom said gruffly. Irritably, he shoved Harry out of the way and threw the door open. He pushed Eragon outside and motioned for Harry to move quickly.

Lowly, they crept to the edge of town, trying not to gain any attention. They weren't spotted, but as it transpired, they didn't need to be. There was a wagon blocking their route out of town, as well as twenty or so townspeople. They were also armed, carrying pitchforks and shovels.

'Bastards,' Brom said angrily. He hadn't been expecting this.

'Why do they have to be so violent?' Harry muttered, slumping against the wall of the house they were hiding behind.

'They're very strict about their laws, and think you're working for the empire. That's two different reasons,' Brom informed him.

'Thanks for your flippancy, old man.'

'Shh!' Eragon whispered furiously.

Luckily, no one had heard them.

Harry sighed. What would Sirius have done? Both of them had been Gryffindors, and bravery set Gryffindors apart. This was exactly the same situation as when he had dove into the lake for the sword, only it may involve violence. It was time to act.

'Leave this to me,' Harry said confidently, although he didn't feel confident. Ignoring both of their protests, he stood up and walked into the centre of the street, where the townspeople could see him clearly.

I hope they're afraid of magic, Harry realised.

'Halt!' One of them shouted. Harry recognised him as Gedric, the man who owned the tanning vats Brom had stolen the leather from yesterday.

Harry grinned, even though they couldn't see him do so. It helped to calm him down.

'All I want is to leave!' he shouted back. 'Let me pass, and there won't be any trouble between us!'

'You made trouble when you came to Carvahall!' Quimby replied angrily. 'You will face trial for your actions! We won't move!'

'So be it,' Harry whispered. He whipped out his wand in an instant, conjuring up a memory of the last time he had seen Ginny.

'Expecto Patronum!'

The silver stag erupted from the end of his wand like a burst of dazzling white light. Rearing its head, it charged at the group, running through the air like a silent spectre. Having no knowledge of magic, the townspeople had no idea it couldn't harm them, and scattered into town, screaming like men possessed by demons.

Harry allowed the stag to dissipate in mid-air. 'Come on!' he shouted. Brom and Eragon were there in an instant. Eragon looked awed at the recent spectacle, and Brom slightly impressed.

'Not bad, boy. Not bad at all.'