Chapter Seventeen – Dream Stare
The hooded and cloaked figure silently walked along the paved road before it, carefully ensuring each deliberate step was silent and ghost-like. It couldn't afford to be seen. Not tonight. This was too important and if caught, death would be no less a certainty than the rise of the Sun each morning.
The young woman under this guise frowned as she observed the setting before her. It was a typical, rowdy establishment, full of boisterous drinking and less than reputable characters.
Or so any pursuer would think.
Quickly, she spared a second to glance around her; confident of not being followed, the illusive persona strode confidently into the inn. Conversation didn't cease, but a few heads turned in her direction, and she threw the hood back so that they could see her face clearly. Confident that this was one of their own, the men and women went back to their drinking.
Cautiously, she approached the bar, where the innkeeper was polishing a large glass with a slightly dirty cloth. He was an old man, with mismatched grey hair and blemished skin.
"Is everything in place?" she asked lowly.
"You're late," came the gruff reply.
She felt her anger flare slightly at that. "I had to lose a tail. Four of them were following me from the first relay point. They're getting smarter, but they weren't quick enough this time either."
The barman grinned. "Am I to assume four men are lying unconscious in an alleyway, their bollocks beaten and bruised?"
"Two of them were women, but I left the four in a more conspicuous place," she replied, trying to ignore her friend's typically rough sense of humour.
"Oh? Where might that be?"
She leaned forward on the bar counter, hands clasped tightly. "Let's just say they'll be in for a shock tomorrow morning when some mutual friends of ours wake them up."
The barman scoffed, but then decided to take a more serious tact. "If you were to stay here with us, this wouldn't happen at all."
"Don't get condescending with me, Dawlish," she snapped. "I trust you about as far as I can throw you, even if you don't work for the Ministry anymore. Let's not forget you tried to have Dumbledore arrested on Umbridge's orders a couple of years ago."
Dawlish shrugged and resumed his menial task. He hated being under such a lowly glamour charm. "Up to you, I guess. But you should know I regret those days. We all do things we aren't proud of, and the Imperius Curse can be a powerful motivator."
She scoffed at that. "Kingsley seems willing enough to bring you in on this, so I'll take his word for it. Now, is the floo connected?"
Dawlish nodded. "Good for one trip back and forth. The others are already waiting. I can tell you now, though, Kingsley is not a happy man."
"What happened?" she asked lowly, the voices masking her own. As a pre-determined part of their hideout rules, this bar was only one of thee places that could reach the hideout location. Each man and woman inside was working on their side, but all eleven of the current occupants weren't informed of meeting points or times. Nor were they trusted with the finer points and details. Kingsley no longer trusted anybody he wasn't on personal terms with, and she couldn't say she blamed him, either.
Dawlish leaned a little closer. "It seems that arse Weasley is throwing a fit about calling off the search, even though the Ministry no longer has a choice. It's been four months, and all bets are off by now."
"He's my friend, so don't talk about him like that," Hermione said angrily. She wouldn't stand for anyone saying something so low-down about Harry. He had saved them all, so implying so casually that he may be dead was truly repulsive. "Both of them are, in fact, so don't call Ron an arse either. I'm the only one who gets to do that."
Dawlish scoffed. "I'm only saying it as I see it. No need to act so insulted. Anyway, the Minister is very pissed off because he's refusing to attend to his duties until the search is resumed, which has left us even more short-handed than usual. Not that I'm complaining. The boy couldn't tell his arsehole from his elbow, let alone out-duel former Death Eaters. Bringing him in was a complete waste of resources. You'd be a much better Auror."
Hermione shook her head, deciding it was pointless to argue against his slights towards Ron. She really couldn't blame him, in any case. "I can't. You know I'm needed elsewhere, especially now with her trying to assume control," she said in a disgusted tone.
"To each their own," he replied with clear disappointment. "You'd better get going, before he has my head on a plate for keeping you too long."
Hermione nodded and quietly approached the door at the rear of the pub. It was a very clever piece of magic that she herself had created. The room itself was placed under fidelius, as opposed to the entire bar. As a result, only the people trusted enough with attending meetings were told the secret, so even the patrons nearby were unaware of how to find it. They saw her vanish after a split second, seemingly into thin air. All knew what had happened, and accepted it as necessary.
Once inside what was essentially a discarded storage room with nothing but a dusty fireplace, she grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the flickering flames. She shouted the destination clearly, and shut her eyes as that uncomfortable sensation which was floo travel engulfed her.
Hermione opened her eyes once more as the dizziness began to recede, and graciously accepted the proffered hand from the man before her. Flitwick was a very short man, but had great strength nevertheless. He helped Hermione to her feet, smiling warmly.
"Good to see you're still in one piece, Miss Granger."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, returning his smile.
Flitwick lead her down a small, darkened corridor which held nothing but two separated doors. One was an active storage room, and the other the meeting place. He knocked three times, slowly, before pausing and knocking twice more. After a second, he knocked twice again, once up high and once low down.
The door opened immediately and Hermione blinked as a blinding light instantly overcame her. She was ushered inside by Flitwick, who quietly followed her, and felt a mysterious tingling sensation as she crossed the threshold.
"Tracers are clear," the Auror with the lit wand declared. "She's clean." He lowered said wand, and thankfully extinguished it, allowing her to see clearly once more.
The tracers were a special group of identification spells acquired from Goblin Director Ragnok for a hefty fee. They were very similar to the Thief's Downfall hidden deep within Gringotts in that they showed all manipulating charms, glamours and polyjuice potion as being active. In other words, nobody could enter this room wearing any type of disguise.
Hermione observed the scene before her. Sitting at a large, rectangular square table were Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Weasley clan, the Longbottoms, Andromeda and Ted Tonks, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Slughorn and now Flitwick, as well as many others she recognised from her own school year and some surprise faces, including Viktor Krum.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"I asked him to come and provide intel on Durmstrang," Kingsley announced in his deep voice. "Please, be seated."
Hermione took his advice and quietly lowered herself into a chair next to Fleur and Ginny, who clearly still hadn't gotten any sleep. She looked like hell itself. Only Molly Weasley could smile at her, and it was the briefest movement. Everybody else was too sombre for such an action at this point. She could see that Dawlish's warning was in good taste; the Minister was deeply troubled, judging by the creases on his forehead and his whole body language in general.
"Now, we have some serious business to attend to tonight," Kinglsey began, catching the ubiquitous attention of the people present. "One of our DMLE contacts has provided us with information that Umbridge is officially trying to pass The Prison Reformation Bill, which will see the Dementors make a return to Azkaban."
There was much muttering and shivering at this realisation. Immediately following Voldemort's death, the Ministry had banished all Dementors through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Anybody else would have been instantly executed, but the Dementors were not human, and instead wound up in a place between this world and the next, ready to appear again when called. This was only known because escapes were quite frequent, and the Obliviators were being given a hell of a time trying to repair the damage caused.
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with that woman?" she half-muttered.
"She's bloody crackers," Ron replied from somewhere nearby. Hermione ignored him.
Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "Quite. But we all know how this plays directly into Malfoy's hands. He escaped our clutches, and now he's wreaking havoc from the sidelines. Manipulating Umbridge is just the beginning. She's already outlawed the use of pensieve memories in court, so nobody can accurately testify against her. In essentials, she's walked free from every crime she's been accused of towards Muggleborns while Voldemort was in control."
"It's worse than that," Percy supplied sullenly. "She sacked me this morning, claiming that I've breached proper conduct on multiple occasions. It's clearly just a deliberate affront towards our whole family. I think we can assume she's now targeting people who aren't loyal."
Arthur bristled with anger at his words. "She hasn't tried the same thing with me just yet, but I know Bill is working ridiculously long shifts, which is why he isn't here tonight. It's only a matter of time."
"I don't get what she expects to gain from all of this," Neville said with confusion, shaking his head. "The public wouldn't stand for her replacing Kingsley, which is obviously what she wants, even if she does have the Wizengamot in her back pocket."
"She wants to reinstate Malfoy," McGonagall said with disgust. "If she manages to do that, he can rally all remaining Death Eaters to their cause. Without Voldemort to preside over everyone, the more clever and ambitious among them will surely think of new ways to terrorise the public. The Dementors are a play to that effect. They've been caged by the Ministry, and will be quite easy to sway."
"In short, she must be stopped!" Kingsley said loudly, his voice echoing around the room in a powerful fashion. "I have no power to have her sacked due to that bloody loophole requiring all senior personnel to be publicly tried that she passed a few months ago. She doesn't dare try to accost me, but it is becoming a true pain in my ass."
"Why don't we just get rid of her?" Neville suggested simply, albeit bluntly.
All heads turned to face him.
"You mean kill her?" Hermione exclaimed.
"Do you have a better idea?" he asked her pointedly. "She has that personal shield which can deflect most minor curses, so removing her memory isn't an option. She's too well protected outside of the Ministry to confront, so that idea is gone as well. That leaves us with two choices: we bend over and let her take control, or we eliminate the problem. She can't stop the killing curse."
"You've changed, Neville," Ron said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Somebody has to step up to the plate," he replied with venom, aiming the accusation directly at Ron's ineffectiveness as an Auror trainee. "As far as I'm concerned, she deserves no mercy for what she did during the war, and how about before that?! Torturing students inside Hogwarts? Have you forgotten about that?"
"No, but that doesn't mean we should kill her!" Ron shouted. "We're better than the Death Eaters!"
"You don't win a war by being nice," Neville said sharply. "Last year Ginny, Luna and I had to save dozens of children from the Carrows and the Slytherins. While I would never do it to a child, I thought for hours about how we could have killed those two bastards!"
"Okay, enough!" Kingsley interjected loudly, before Ron could retort. He fell silent, but the two young men continued to glare daggers at each other. "Killing her isn't an option. We can't track her outside of the Ministry, and inside she's followed everywhere by bodyguards. Her food isn't made publicly, so we can't poison her either. We need to think of something else."
"She'll drag this country back to the Dark Ages," McGonagall said miserably, wiping her eyes slowly. "Voldemort was terrible, but she has something he did not: patience. She can fight us with economics, politics and logistics at the same time, while still commanding hundreds of pureblood supremacists, not to mention the coffers of Lucius Malfoy," she spat.
"Let's look at the situation bit-by-bit," Arthur said gently, trying to calm everything down. He picked up one of the many pieces of parchment that adorned the table before him. "She has a majority control of the Wizengamot, due to Death Eaters fleeing and taking up the positions once more after their Dark Marks faded. Since we can't directly accuse her of any wrongdoing and hope for a sentencing, she's immune in a political sense.
"For different reasons we can't have her killed – she's too well-protected, and many of us would be uncomfortable with the idea. Instead, let's talk money," he said, glancing down at the parchment. "If we can catch her committing a criminal offence her loophole will be forfeit and she'll be forced to resign on the spot, or be sent to Azkaban for contempt."
"We've been over this," Kingsley said wearily. "She doesn't need to commit any offence to obtain money – she has Malfoy behind her. And since Malfoy Manor was vaporised after Harry disappeared, we have no evidence that he can be sentenced by using, either. In short, both are currently untouchable."
"Ah," Arthur said with a smile on his face, his eyes twinkling. "Let's not forget how fickle goblins can be. With the right leverage they may be willing to help us achieve our goals. I understand they now loath pureblood fanatics after Voldemort and that separate attack by several of his followers four months ago."
"What are you suggesting?" Kingsley asked carefully. "That we bribe them to falsely incriminate her? They may hate her kind, but they'll just as likely throw us to the Wizengamot for even suggesting something so dishonourable, and that would give her precisely the opening she requires."
"No, of course not," Arthur said, shaking his head, his smile returning. "I'm suggesting that we attack her on multiple fronts. With enough gold we can start buying portions of Diagon Alley, the Ministry itself, valuable properties, and so on. If we acquire enough we can bribe Ministry officials who are still fence-sitting into conspiring against her. We might even get the goblins on our side honourably if we provide them with an incentive."
Kingsley, starting to put the pieces of Arthur's plan together, smiled for the first time that day. "And I take it you have such an incentive in mind?"
Arthur hesitated. "Well… normally I would never do so, but… I think we can all agree Harry is gone," he said quietly. There was a deathly silence. "We all want him back, but for now we have to try and move forwards without him. This parchment is a complete list of gold and goblin artefacts in the Potter family vault that I had Andromeda here acquire a short time ago. If we provide them with enough goblin-made items…" he trailed off, and people understood. Goblins prized nothing higher than their own artefacts, with the general belief that the maker was the true owner.
"How was that even possible?" Hermione asked with confusion, directing the question at accessing the vault itself.
"Remus and Tonks named Harry Teddy's godfather, but Harry placed him under the care of Ted and Andy whilst he had that mission to Japan shortly before disappearing. With him gone, they are his rightful guardians. Since he was informally adopted into the house of Potter, they are given partial access to his family vault."
"Partial?" Kingsley queried.
"They can't remove any family heirlooms, but can retrieve gold and artefacts, provided there is no written document stating otherwise. In this case, they asked for a record of the money stored within," Arthur said hesitantly. He quickly added: "you have to remember this is a vault Harry couldn't access until he came of age and he never had the chance, so technically it's been untouched for years at this point."
"How much?" Kingsley asked simply.
"Twenty six billion, give or take."
There were collective gasps and pure looks of shock around the room that almost made Hermione wish she had brought a camera were the atmosphere not so tense. Finally, after much mutterings of disbelief, Ron chose to crudely break the silence. To her disgust, Hermione detected a clear note of jealousy in his voice.
"Where the bloody hell did he get so much money?!"
"The Potter line stretches back for centuries," Arthur told his youngest son patiently. "Through prosperous marriages and business ventures, it has accumulated to this total, with a yearly rate of interest from the goblins, of course. There was a great reason Voldemort targeted the Potters in the first place. Their money put Lucius' trust fund to shame."
"And then some," Ron muttered to himself, although Hermione shot him a nasty look.
"Dumbledore wanted Harry to escape from the life of a celebrity," McGonagall admitted. "It's no wonder he never told him about this. That's a truly absurd amount of money."
"It's more than enough for us to achieve our goals," Arthur stated. "If we take certain amounts – leaving good portions for when he returns, of course – they can go a long way towards helping us remove Umbridge from office. It's what Harry would ask us to do. When she's gone, the corrupt officials will have nobody protecting them anymore, and that gives the Aurors leeway to move in and arrest at will."
"We'll need to move quietly," Kingsley said thoughtfully. "If she suspects anything then the game is up. Everybody in this room is already under observation. That's why we've increased security so dramatically. It's only a matter of time before she gets enough power to start removing anybody in her way. And when Malfoy bursts back onto the scene, we'll know things are really getting bad."
"I recommend we reinforce Hogwarts," Flitwick added in his high-pitched voice. "She's not Voldemort, but she certainly wants to be. And plenty of Death Eaters are still at large, looking revenge. I imagine they'd only be too happy to attack once again."
"You should include Azkaban on that reinforcement list," Hermione told Kingsley directly, causing him to study her intently. "If Umbridge attempts to have this law passed then the prisoners will be freed after she turns the Dementors. I would almost recommend pulling every guard out now, because it is only a matter of time."
Kingsley nodded. "I'll consider it. But we don't need a media storm over cruel and unusual punishment at this stage. Umbridge directly controls the Daily Prophet, and Rita Skeeter is out for blood. If she writes something incriminating it could turn a lot of uncertain heads in the wrong direction. We also need to think of a way to destroy the veil in the Department of Mysteries, or at the very least, how to kill Dementors."
One of the only people there Hermione didn't personally know, a pale, raven-haired woman known as Chara, spoke up. "We are trying, Minister, but she's trying to reroute the work of all Unspeakables permanently. Hell, I'm being made to figure out how to immunise them from the Patronus Charm."
"You're not, are you?" Kingsley asked, alarmed.
"Of course not," she said smugly. "It's not possible by magical law, but she doesn't have to know that."
"Good," Kingsley said in a smug voice. "In any case, I think that's us finished tonight. I'll contact you all via the usual method in a few days' time. Arthur, see what you can dig up on goblin law regarding this plan of yours. Kids, professors, keep an eye on the Slytherins. There are still Death Eater sympathisers among their ranks," he addressed the seventh years in particular with these last two sentences. Only people of age were permitted to come to these meetings, but some were still at Hogwarts, including Ginny and Luna.
"I still want that word with you, Minister," Ron declared as people began to stand up in a rush of voices.
"Fine. Follow me to my office. This is something that should be done in an official capacity. Krum, you come as well. I want that intel now," Kingsley declared, heading for the floo nearby. It was outgoing, only, as a means of protection.
"Ginny, can I have a word with you?" Hermione asked her friend quietly, ignoring everybody else.
The young redhead nodded, probably aware this was coming. Once the room was empty apart from the two of them, she began to speak.
"Ginny, you look terrible. When was the last time you slept?" Hermione demanded.
Ginny blinked as tears began to form rapidly at the corners of her eyes. "I-I can't sleep, Hermione. I just dream about him when I do."
Hermione studied her gently for a moment, before pulling her into a warm embrace. That did it for Ginny, who began to let her tears fall freely as she pined for the young man she loved. Hermione looked up at the ceiling, as if to see something there. She had to blink back tears herself as she thought of her missing best friend, who was more than likely dead.
"Where are you, Harry?" she whispered, choking up.
Harry gasped as he released the spell he had been holding. He watched the image flicker for a second before disappearing entirely, and hastily sat down, although it was more of a fall than anything. Thinking hard, he took a long draught of water to try and refill his energy levels, finding it circumstantial at best. He was too engrossed in the images to worry much about magical reserves at that moment.
"Well, that was certainly illuminating," he thought wearily across his mental bond. The dragon turned its eyes towards him, studying him intently. It sat, strangely, on the saddle of Godric. The horse didn't seem to be afraid of it, possibly because of how small he still was. Harry felt a questioning thought emanate from the hatchling.
"It seems things have gone from bad to worse since I left," he told him quietly. "Voldemort is gone, but others clearly want to take over his position of power. The Ministry is in a state of disarray, so Umbridge is pressing her advantage home. If she manages to take over completely it'll result in a third war."
"Is… it… bad?" came the uncertain reply.
Harry was amazed at how quickly Aru's speech was coming along. He was only three days old, but Harry's tactic of thinking directly across their mental link appeared to be granting some headway into the matter. He was able to absorb and eventually understand the words much quicker than Saphira had been capable of doing, which proved Harry's theory that communicating through thought was much more efficient than simply speaking aloud.
He had decided to name the dragon Arucane, which meant 'Everlasting Fire' in the Ancient Language. It seemed fitting for any dragon, and the name was accepted with great satisfaction from the emerald youngling. Harry also noticed his 'voice' was very deep, despite his youthful age. It would only get more prominent with time, he assumed.
Harry had found the bond difficult to manage at first, but now things were becoming much easier as he got used to the sensation. Surprisingly, he found himself able to talk with Aru even whilst asleep, which was peculiar in itself. It was similar to any regular dream in that it appeared to occur in real-time, but at such a quickened pace it was over in the blink of an eye.
"It's very bad," Harry responded ominously, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow to still the onslaught of a headache, courtesy of using so much energy. "Umbridge is a royal bitch who delights in torturing children and purging Muggleborns. If Kingsley isn't careful he'll have a full-scale civil war on his hands.
"I also don't get how Malfoy escaped. Before I came here, I was talking to Kingsley in person. He said Malfoy Manor was the base of operations for Voldemort for almost a whole year. Surely he found some incriminating evidence hidden there."
Aru sent him a flash of the conversation, and Harry heard Kingsley's voice as though it was actually him speaking.
"…since Malfoy Manor was vaporised after Harry disappeared…"
Harry sighed at that. "I guess you're right. Having me find that Portkey obviously wasn't the whole plan. Blowing up the entire estate would clear his tracks and put the blame on my shoulders, so he could get off scot-free."
Harry and Aru were learning about each other every passing moment of each day, and Aru had quickly caught on to how guiltily Harry could act. Even being a child in Harry's eyes, he tried to help soothe him by sending forth the most beautiful images he uncovered in Harry's mind. In this case, he chose to bring up a picture of Harry as a baby and his parents, who were laughing joyfully for the camera.
Harry stopped in his self-damning musings mid-thought. He had been thinking about how it was technically his fault that Malfoy had gotten away from justice, but Aru had interrupted him by dragging up one of the happiest memories he had.
Harry smiled, despite himself. He knew what Aru was doing, and it did feel wonderful to have somebody who could help him in such a way. He finally understood why Eragon and Saphira couldn't bear to be parted.
"Thank you… little one," he smirked. In reply he received an unusual image of a small green dragon rolling its eyes, which caused him to burst out laughing.
From behind him, Brom shouted: "would you kindly hurry the hell up? This soup isn't going to eat itself, but Nyos might if you don't come and bloody take it already!"
Harry snickered and rose to his feet with a slight groan. His bones really did ache after using that spell for such a prolonged period of time, but the smell of freshly-cooked stew thankfully quashed his misgivings and instead set his stomach rumbling. He hastily made his way back to camp, rubbing his hands together to still the night's uncommon cold. The desert was scorching hot during the day, but at night the Sun was as far away as it possibly could be, and so the temperature was well below zero. He wrapped the worn travelling cloak more tightly around his shoulders, noting it barely had any effect at stilling his shivering.
"Did you see much?" Brom asked as soon as he sat down beside the gracefully roaring fire. He noted the very young Rider had sores in his joints, which meant he must have been holding the magic for quite a long time.
Harry nodded as he quietly thanked Murtagh for passing him a bowl of stew and a slice of slightly hardened bread. "I saw quite a lot. It seems there are substantial difficulties back home within the government. Some corrupt groups are trying to seize power, and the people I know are trying to stop them. It didn't look good at all. I think civil war may be on the agenda at this rate."
Eragon noted his worried expression. He knew Harry better than any other person around this fire, and could tell he was blaming himself. "There's nothing you could have done," he said firmly. "You didn't choose to come here, and you didn't choose to become stranded either."
"True," Harry replied in-between mouthfuls. "It doesn't stop me from worrying."
"It never does," Brom told him tactfully. "Eragon also managed to successfully scry Roran a while ago."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What news?" he asked his friend.
Eragon grimaced, thinking back to the images he had seen. Roran was back in Carvahall, probably to try and help clear the rubble from their old farm. He appeared well enough, but looked more scraggly and haunted than Eragon had ever seen him. It must have been the culmination of his uncle dying and his two friends vanishing into thin air. He told Harry this, who became equally worried.
"I hope he's alright," Harry said quietly, gazing into the fire. It cracked in his ears constantly. "I don't want him to blame himself for what happened."
"He's smarter than that," Brom said shortly, noting how ironic Harry's words were. He didn't choose to point them out, however. Harry was more confident and decisive than ever before now, but his tendency to blame himself for things that were not his fault needed to be flattened as soon as possible. "I admit I didn't know him very well, but I do know he's intelligent enough to be aware that something important was happening. Our letters probably helped him to understand things a little better as well."
"Maybe when you get this 'teleporting' ability of yours back you can zip in there and help him," Nyos suggested after a brief silence.
"If I ever get it back again," Harry muttered, annoyed. "I've cast dozens of detection charms and spells which are supposed to cancel out curses since I got here, but nothing has worked. I don't know what happened to my apparition ability; it just seemed to stop functioning by itself."
Murtagh appeared troubled. He had thought of something then. "What if that part of Voldemort's soul was blocking the ability? Didn't you say he wanted you to remain here so he could feed off your negativity?"
"He said he never would have existed properly if I had lived a normal life," Harry frowned. "But when I first came to Alagaёsia I was in a bad state, so he starting growing in strength. That all came to a head when we had to flee Carvahall, but if he was blocking the ability, why is it still not working? He's dead, remember? Unless…"
Harry trailed off, and they all saw his eyes widen in shock upon realising something. Aru felt the emotions in his body run haywire and quickly sent over more calming images, which Harry ignored for once.
"Durza," he breathed furiously, almost growling at the thought of that vindictive bastard. "When I was fighting him in Teirm I caught a glimpse of his eyes flashing red. That was something which happened to Voldemort! He must have done something to the Horcrux before it died and then he absorbed the ability! That explains how he can get around the land so quickly!"
"You mean he can apparate?" Murtagh questioned, raising his eyebrows. "That would explain a lot."
"That sneaky little son of a bitch," Harry half-whispered, shaking his head furiously. "It's no wonder he showed up so quickly after the spies tipped him off. They must have used magic to inform him and then he just apparated instantly."
"Well, there is one bit of good news in all this," Eragon smiled grimly. "If you kill him you should get the ability back again."
"But how do we kill him?" Harry asked quietly, staring at the ground. "He had me at his mercy but chose to monologue a little, which cost him. He won't make that mistake again. And if he absorbed the Horcrux's energy somehow, then it's no wonder he's so powerful. That thing had much of Voldemort's strength before Murtagh stabbed it."
"I wish I had killed him as soon as I set eyes on him now," Nyos said quietly, appearing haunted. "It might have brought you back this ability and it wouldn't have cost you an eye."
"We've been over this," Harry said gently, remembering a conversation they had had two nights ago. He had been shocked at Nyos' revelation, but Aru had helped him piece together anything puzzling, and he knew nobody was to blame. "You couldn't have known who… what it was. I don't blame you."
"In any case, it doesn't matter how strong he's become," Brom said, a glint in his eyes. "Just stick a sword though the bastard's heart and he's finished. Of course, you have to be good enough to beat him first, so…" he made a motion with both hands which plainly said: 'get up.'
Somewhat stiffly, Harry rose to his feet, followed slowly by Eragon and Murtagh. He knew practice was essential, regardless of how much his body screamed in protest. In response, Nyos lay back and shut his eyes beside the fire, plainly allowing them to see the satisfied smirk etched on his face.
"I'd hate to have to stand up for the rest of the night," he declared, mock-sighing. He chose to wait until they were challenging, or else his confidence would inadvertently make the experienced soldier think all opponents were no threat, something he couldn't afford to let happen. It didn't stop him from having his fun, however.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Make sure you don't accidentally roll into the fire…"
"Alright, shut up," Brom declared. "We're mixing things up a little tonight. All four of us will be sparring, but I'll randomly call for you to switch partner. In a real battle you could be attacked by multiple enemies at once. Learning how to counter numerous fighting styles is an absolute must. Eragon, you start with me."
Harry stood a few feet apart from Murtagh, eyeing him warily. They had sparred the previous night, so Harry knew his tactics were more brutally offensive than his own. It required great concentration to best, along with a sustained and comfortable posture. Harry was suitably impressed by the young man's abilities, and even Brom had been quick to point out he had some serious skill.
Harry allowed the sounds of Brom and Eragon clashing steel together to wash over him. The grating of one edge along another could make the hairs on his neck stand upright, but he had to get used to the feeling. Slowly, he began to move to one side, holding the blade pointed upwards in his right hand. Harry liked to fight defensively whenever possible; trying to catch an opponent off-guard was more efficient than charging in headfirst, in his opinion.
A speck of dust tried to assault his good eye, and forced him to blink. Murtagh chose that opening to strike. Harry barely raised his sword to deflect the sweeping blow, and the force of impact knocked it backwards by a few inches. Murtagh attacked him again, this time from a higher position. Harry countered by swinging to his right and deflecting the attack, but also followed through with a complete spin, at the end of which he lightly whipped the point of Aiedail across Murtagh's chest.
Murtagh let out a small breath as he felt the dulled point nick his torso, and reflexively began to rub at the sore spot, which proved to be a mistake. Harry took advantage of his brief lapse of concentration by raining down a combination of powerful, two-handed blows that almost knocked him off-balance. Murtagh hastened to block the volley, and felt his palms sting from the impact of each strike.
At one point Harry thought he might break through his opponent's guard completely, but it was never going to be that easy. He saw Murtagh stumble and hastened to lunge towards his stomach, something that would have been a killing blow were the blades not protected. However, before the thrust landed its mark, Murtagh whipped his sword around with alarming speed and knocked it to one side. Harry looked immediately to Murtagh's face, where he saw a smug grin planted.
He was feinting!
The realisation came too late, however, as Murtagh spun around and caught Harry in the stomach with an outstretched kick. Harry felt his breath leave him at the impact and couldn't stop himself from falling to his knees. He immediately felt the edge of Murtagh's sword lightly brush the back of his neck and sighed, throwing his weapon down.
Murtagh chuckled and extended a hand, which Harry graciously accepted. He picked the sword up again and was pulled to his feet with a slight wheeze, his lungs struggling to refill again. Murtagh clapped him on the back in a good-natured manner.
"You'll be alright, just walk it off," he advised.
Harry nodded his thanks and turned to watch Brom and Eragon, who were still fighting. Eragon and Harry had both progressed remarkably in the art of sword-fighting, but hadn't practiced with Brom himself for several days now, and Eragon forgot the old storyteller would fight dirty when given the chance. Eragon took a step forward with the aim of swinging overhead, but Brom took that as an opportunity to kick up a cloud of dust from the cold sand beneath his feet.
Harry grimaced in sympathy as Eragon caught a face-full of the dirt and began to splutter indignantly, as well as shut his eyes in pain. Brom smirked and lurched forward. He stuck a leg behind those of Eragon and, with great force, clattered him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Murtagh winced at the impact.
"I think he'll need a bit longer," he chuckled morbidly.
Eragon groaned as he rose to his feet. "I forgot you fight like that," he admitted.
"Like what?" Brom asked rhetorically, examining his fingernails nonchalantly.
"Full of cheap tricks."
"Those 'cheap tricks' just won me the fight," Brom smirked, sounding chiding. "In a real skirmish they can save your life, so you'll do well to use them." He turned to face the other pair. "Harry wins."
Murtagh's eyes widened in indignation. "What! I knocked him down with one blow!"
"Yes, but he caught you in the chest long before that. If the sword wasn't dulled the point would have completely skewered you. That sword is damn sharp, remember. It isn't a Rider's blade, but the next best thing."
Murtagh shook his head in admonishment.
"Oh, don't worry," Brom chided in amusement. "You'll get your chance. We've only just started. But for now, switch partner!" he shouted happily. "Harry, it's your lucky day!"
Harry groaned as he faced off against the former Dragon Rider.
"What's wrong with you?" Eragon demanded grumpily, eyeing Saphira, whose pointed teeth kept appearing and disappearing in a peculiar fashion. The elf rested comfortably below her, next to the fire.
"Nothing. It's just funny to see the old one knock you down so easily."
Eragon blushed as he realised she was laughing.
Brom turned a knowing expression towards Harry, who tried not to grimace. He knew rightly he was in for the same rough treatment, if he couldn't win.
"I guess it'll be another long night," he thought bitterly, getting an amused sensation from Aru in response.
Through their current progress, Harry calculated it would be on the fourth day since Aru hatched that they may finally come within sight of the Beor Mountains. Brom had praised Harry's magic highly, for, with the exception of Saphira, the featherlight charms he had cast meant they reached their current location in a fraction of the time it would have otherwise taken.
Travelling through the desert was arduous, as the Sun had a tendency to beat down upon them relentlessly. Brom ensured everybody was well-hydrated, and Eragon took it upon himself to ensure Arya was also in good health. Of her ailment Brom could do nothing, so they rode on at a ferocious pace, traversing dozens of leagues each day. Eragon had suggested they try and contact her mentally, but Brom had ruled against the idea, saying it was too risky.
"She's been poisoned badly, remember. This situation where she is unconscious is possibly of her own doing to lessen the effects, so any direct contact may undo that hard work. Just make sure she doesn't have a fever and keep her cooled down as much as possible. Saphira will provide shade from the Sun during the day."
They rode all day, and sparred by night. After their initial rustiness vanished, Eragon and Harry soon returned to peak physical condition, and then began to surpass their previous abilities. Brom mentioned that it was partially the effect of being Riders – both of them would be attributed much increased speed and strength overtime, both physically and magically. The more they practiced the more noticeable and effective their abilities would be. It was also thanks to their genuine, hard work, he added honestly.
For the present, however, the four of them were reasonably well matched with the blade. Nyos, upon seeing that they did know what they were doing and would in fact be a challenge, decided to join in, and the five of them proceeded to batter each other senseless every night. It was always a lucky guess if somebody predicted who would win any ensuing match-up. Brom and Nyos had the value of experience, whereas the other three held youth and energy on their side.
Occasionally the two older men, who decided to take a split leadership in their blade training, decided a free-for-all was the way to go, with switching and teaming up frequent. It was deliberately unfair, designed so as to teach them about the true ways of the battlefield, and it soon sharpened their reflexes exponentially. Harry still sported a massive purple bruise on his upper left forearm from when both Brom and Nyos attacked him at once, odds none of the three had yet managed to overcome.
Being a former captain and part-time general under the king, Nyos also took time to teach them some of Galbatorix's military tactics, including how companies of soldiers tended to move, their weak spots and strong spots, among many other features. Brom was also interested in these discussions, and took part as well, to his credit.
Among all this, Eragon and Harry continued their own magical training. Murtagh listened-in with rapt interest during these times, although he did occasionally choose to go hunting instead. Harry promised himself he would one day ask to go as well, since he still hadn't learned anything about fighting with the bow and arrow. He was pleased with how far along his Ancient Language knowledge was coming, however. He now knew dozens of different incantations, although only a handful would really be useful in a fight. Brom had told them other certain phrases would be required when they trained under the elves, a prospect which excited them immensely.
Harry also found that his magical strength had been elevated to much greater heights since Aru hatched, and also discovered that, to his shock, every spell he now cast was a rich emerald colour, even his Latin abilities. Eragon's magic was likewise blue and Harry understood it as being natural for any Rider, but he didn't realise his wand magic would change since both types weren't necessarily connected. It surprised him greatly when his usual ruby disarming spell instead erupted with a flash of dark green, thankfully a much less ominous shade than that of the killing curse.
As part of his self-imposed training, Harry also took some time every night to work on improving his accuracy with the wand, having one brave volunteer stand a good distance away and be hit with a random assortment of jinxes and hexes. Before long he could use his mental abilities to feel minds with the utmost of ease as Nyos could, and was able to cast blindfolded with unprecedented accuracy. This also partially annulled his fears of being less effective in combat with one eye, a loss he nevertheless still lamented every night as he gazed up at the stars on his bedroll.
For his own part, Eragon chose to use his spare time by connecting more deeply with Saphira, a process he greatly enjoyed. They shared their deepest loves and fears, culminating in the two almost merging into one consciousness. Brom told them to stop when things went so far as for Eragon to actually threaten to tear a bird apart with his teeth one morning, after it chose his saddle to do some very unfortunate business on.
"If you go any farther with this you won't be able to exist at all separately from each other," Brom warned sternly as they rode side-by-side. "I know it's cruel to make you two stop, but we need you to be able to function individually as well as together. The bond between dragon and Rider runs deeper than anything, even true love between a man and a woman. If you let it go too far you may end up killing anyone who suggests the two of you go to separate places for a little while."
"It just seems wrong to not deepen the connection," Eragon admitted. "Saphira is essentially one half of my whole being so I feel incomplete when we aren't together."
"That's as it should be," Brom told him patiently. "But you should still be able to operate apart whenever necessary. As time goes on the bond will naturally strengthen, so before long it won't really matter what we want or need to happen. Many dragons often fell in love with each other if their Riders did, or vice versa."
Harry choked on the water he unfortunately elected to sip at that very moment. He seemed to be making a bad habit of that recently. "Please tell me that can be avoided. Err… no offence, Eragon, but I'm just not down for that."
"And you think I am?" Eragon asked incredulously. "I fancy women as well."
"Oh, I know. We've all seen Arya," Harry quipped.
Now it was Eragon's turn to splutter and blush a deep red as Brom threw back his head and laughed. Eragon did suffer from quite a bit of teasing, being the youngest in the group. They all took their turns, of course, but if Harry saw a chance to move himself out of the spotlight he would damn sure take it. Nyos in particular could be brutally sarcastic and humorously condescending when he wanted to be.
Through his tears of laughter, Brom managed to croak out a few words. "Don't worry, it can be avoided."
"Good," Harry and Eragon said in unison, causing him to redouble his laughter.
After a few moments, he seemed to calm down. Harry couldn't help that notice Brom was constantly in an unusually good mood these days, and could only ascertain it was due to his euphoria at the other eggs being rescued, and one subsequently hatching.
"I should probably advise you to be careful with Arya," he told Eragon, still grinning. "She's an elven princess and may think it's her duty to not court a Dragon Rider when the king is still in power, if she likes you at all. There is quite a substantial age difference."
"How much of a difference?" Eragon frowned.
"Oh, about a hundred years or so," Brom said casually.
Eragon bristled with alarm. "But she looks so young! I would have thought she was no older than eighteen or nineteen if I didn't know she was an elf!"
"And that's precisely the problem," Brom replied patiently. "She's an elf. Elves are like Riders in that they live for… well, many have died in combat but some may say they're immortal. The difference will be less accentuated when you're a few decades older, but for now she may think of you as a child. Don't take it personally if she does. Elves still in their teens are barely human toddlers in stature."
Harry overruled Eragon's next question, letting his voice drop a few decibels in worry. "Did you say 'immortal'?" he inquired quietly.
Brom gave him a look of understanding and nodded. "I'm sorry, Harry. We haven't had a real chance to discuss this yet and I didn't want to bring it up while we're on the run. I would have waited until we reached the Varden."
"But I've finally come to realise the truth, and it's downright disturbing, so maybe we should just discuss it now," Harry said tentatively.
Brom sighed and, as per usual, brought out his pipe. "It's always difficult for new Riders to adapt to this situation," he said, voice slightly muffled as he held the pipe between his teeth and attempted to light it. "One of the reasons they bond so strongly with their dragons is that both will outlive most people by centuries. If two Riders ever fell in love and started a family together it was considered a joyous occasion, and the Rider Order tended to bless the couple for their good fortune.
"But for the most part Riders may not find anyone to be with. Many found the idea of marrying new men or women over and over again depraving, especially if they had children with one or more of their partners. The first ever Riders foresaw this problem, and worked the idea of an irrevocable bond into the magic of the Gёdway Ignasia. Dragons and Riders have each other forever because they may never find love among their own race. That's usually why one may die of grief if the other passes."
"That's interesting, but it doesn't really help me," Harry admitted quietly. "Knowing your friends will die and you'll live on… don't get me wrong: I'm delighted that Aru chose me. I'm honoured, in fact. But living forever, watching the world burn around you… it seems like too much."
"Ah, but that's why the Riders are there," Brom motioned confidently. "Eternity is a long time, and you may find yourself undertaking hundreds of new hobbies if you survive. But the work of a Rider is never complete to begin with. We don't let the world burn… we extinguish the fires."
Throughout the day Harry tried not to let the memory of what he had seen affect him, but it was a difficult thing to accomplish. Seeing Ginny and Hermione crying particularly tore at him, but there were also other things to be considered. He was a billionaire! That shocked him to no end, but he tried to ignore it as much as possible. He would never get to see that money, so he severely hoped that Arthur used every knut in his plans. It was far too much when some families like the Weasleys were inherently less well-off. Then: why had Kingsley wanted information on Durmstrang? That was unusual. And why had Hermione been so pissed off at Ron? He thought they would be together, but apparently something had happened. Neville certainly seemed like a different person, but that genuinely didn't surprise him. He himself now understood war, and how killing may be necessary, after all.
This day was the fourth since Aru had come into the world, and as Harry had earlier guessed, it was then they first saw the incredible, towering Beors. They had been riding for much of the afternoon, when he suddenly began to notice how irregular the horizon appeared. From his perception a vast horizontal expanse in the distance appeared to be as white as cloud, yet it was a clear afternoon with no precipitation in sight. Suddenly, a chill arched its way down Harry's back, and he forced himself to look upwards.
What he saw caused his eyes to become as wide as saucers, even though only one still functioned. His mouth dropped open, and he let out a few ragged breaths. What he was witnessing was no irregular colouring in the sky's almost indigo hue, but a continuous row of vast mountains so large they dwarfed the gigantic, encompassing forest that stretched along their bases. Harry almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. It wasn't precipitation, it was snow near the top of their peaks! Any one of these mountains could have put Everest to shame, yet there were dozens of the blasted things!
He suddenly recalled the map he had studied briefly the previous night, and remembered how the mountain range itself was cut off partway through. Now, a part of him realised that was most likely because the range continued so far it was impossible to map accurately. In other words, there must have been hundreds of these monstrous peaks hidden behind those which were visible.
He felt like a little child in size, and immediately shared the realisation with Aru. The young dragon raised its head from the saddle in front of him and looked at the points he indicated, letting out an intimidated growl or squeak when it made heads or tails of what he was seeing. Apparently Harry wasn't the only person to notice the enormous hills.
"Gods above!" Eragon exclaimed, letting out a long breath. "Those things are huge! They must be at least two or three times higher than the largest peak in the Spine!"
"I feel like a hatchling again," Saphira admitted to him privately. "This would be a truly wondrous place to fly together." Eragon definitely shared her enthusiasm.
"Try five times bigger," Harry whispered, unable to turn his gaze away. He had watched a nature programme years ago which stated bigger predators tended to live where there was more protection from being discovered. The biggest sharks tended to inhabit the deepest vestiges of the Pacific Ocean, for example. If that rule was universal…
"This could be dangerous," he intoned.
"It is dangerous," Nyos announced, as the five of them sat on the horses in a mismatched line, transfixed by the incredible sight before them. "My father told me stories about these mountains. Some of the creatures here are so large they could even threaten Saphira."
"How does something even manage to form such a height?" Murtagh asked, mesmerised.
"Plates under the ground," Harry replied, still not looking away. His mouth felt dry from the lack of moisture, so long had it been slightly open. He licked his lips to prevent them from cracking in the heat. "I don't know much about them, but they collide and somehow force the earth upwards."
"Plates?" Murtagh asked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely not-"
"Obviously not cutlery," Harry rolled his eyes. "It's a scientific term in my homeland."
Brom was smiling. "In any case, we've almost reached our destination. Gentlemen, I give you the home of the Varden. Let's get another few leagues in before nightfall."
Harry followed his lead by gently prodding Godric forwards. The horses would need a rest eventually, and they would soon get a lengthy one. As he continued to wonder how anybody could properly survive in such a dangerous habitat, the mountains continued to impose themselves upon the company. The desert had been left behind, but it looked as though things may be just as dangerous in this new, uncharted wilderness.
A:N - If you had planned to review, please drop a line or two telling me what you thought of the opening scene. It was interesting to write, so I hope it was equally interesting to read. It's not random; I think we all knew Harry would eventually use the 'draumr kopa' spell to check on the Wizarding World. It also acts as the first indication towards the story's sequel, more of which will be revealed later.
Arucane is not a word/name I invented. It's an actual word in the Ancient Language, meaning 'endless fire', and I thought it incredibly fitting. Hope you all agree.