A:N - I, personally, am a fan of Oromis. However, that does not mean I don't see how proud he and Glaedr were. Of course, they're also very intelligent and would never form a vendetta over something as silly as a title, even with Glaedr's naturally recipient dragon pride. Mere shock is not me attempting to bash a character, but merely letting them stick to their principles. Believe it or not, the character I've bashed most with this story is one who doesn't even make an appearance - that would be Dumbledore.

Chapter Thirty – Forget

Eragon stifled a sigh as he looked out across the reaches of Du Weldenvarden, cloak bristling dramatically in the wind at his rear. It was the dark of night, but he didn't care for rest, even as his bones protested within him. He had, for over a decade, wondered at the identity of his father. Often he had fancied the idea of a noble lord or wealthy merchant in one of the Empire's larger cities, but never had the thought that Brom the old storyteller was his sire even crossed his mind.

He understood Harry's reasons for dropping the news like a hot potato and respected them. That didn't mean he was willing to be happy about the situation; as far as he was concerned, Brom had lied to him from the very beginning. And yes, of course the old man's story was heartbreaking and filled with pain, but for some reason it couldn't sway his anger. Maybe it was the build-up of pressure on his shoulders, the worry of losing everyone he cared about finally coming full circle. Or maybe it was something as simple as the quickening of manhood. Harry had once, embarrassingly, described the changes as emotional and physical, commenting on how frustrating it could seem at times. But the process of becoming a Dragon Rider may have accelerated the effects.

He blinked sadly, creases at the corner of his eyes. It really didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore; he was, first and foremost, a Rider. And that meant he had responsibilities in the ongoing war, not to mention a social status perceived by many as 'exulted'.

He scoffed.

By what right could he call himself noble or worthy of lordship? The revolutionary principles he had acquired over the past several months quashed the desire for such petty titles, but that was a singular effect. The people of the Varden still looked to the Rider duo, now a trio, for support and leadership. Whilst the emergence of Oromis and Murtagh might give him some leeway to recuperate from the stress of those duties, it still didn't extinguish them entirely. He was either doomed or blessed to bear this burden for the rest of his life, a life that might never end.

Dimly, he felt Saphira's head nudge his arm and gave a tiny smile. He was overjoyed to be with her again. Their reunion in Ellesméra had been rushed due to the occasion, but now they felt more comfortable in one another's presence, and allowed their minds to merge as they should. It was a rush of positivity, a swathe of happy feelings and a longing desire for comfort fulfilled. He felt whole again. Complete.

And with that thought, Eragon swore a vow that he would never allow anyone to part the two of them again in such a manner, no matter the cost. Her life was worth more than the Sun, for she held a half of his soul in the cusp of her heart, and he could not be without it. It was no idle thought, either. Not a current to flow in one direction, nor a tree to sprout towards the sky alone.

Saphira was just as happy as he was, a notion that made him sag with requited joy. They were as one, the connection growing evermore powerful. And they loved each other, always saying it together. Eragon had always been a sensitive soul, but he had never been taught much by way of love, even between families. Garrow had loved him, of course. But Garrow, like Brom, wasn't one for sentiment or the sharing of feelings, so the bond he shared with his uncle and Roran was never a verbal one. It remained unspoken until his death.

As Saphira continued to pour her being into his mind, Eragon let his thoughts drift asunder; he had come to realise that the world was dark and filled with horrors. If it were not the whistling steel of a sword meant for his flesh, it would be the sight of evil in every place he looked. He thought back to Yazuac. Harry had been deeply affected by that spectacle, and at the time Eragon had thought the child had merely crushed him. It had certainly been that way for Eragon himself.

But now he knew better; it wasn't just the emotional turmoil of seeing those mangled corpses, those innocent people hewn by savage monsters. It was the knowing that, no matter how hard he tried, evil would never die. Evil was a part of man, and Harry had struggled against it since he was a young boy, if not younger. And he had thought of Carvahall as a means to escape, but was proven wrong by the destruction wrought upon Alagaësia. His friend had suffered such a horrific amount of pain, yet he still possessed the raw strength and courage to keep going forward.

How did he put a cap on such bravery? How could he ever measure up to such strength of character? Was this expected of him and now of Murtagh too? The idea was truly terrifying.

"Little one, always remember... as dark as the future may seem, you have your friends. Your family," said Saphira.

Eragon finally let go of that sigh as he shut his eyes against the darkness, the chirping of crickets fresh in his ears. The night air was cool against his skin, and the earth was soft underfoot. He stood upon a rocky and grassy plateau, able to see for miles in all directions. Ellesméra was not visible.

"What can I do, my friend?" he murmured softly. "Even now, when I find out I have more family than ever before, I only feel more alone."

Saphira enveloped him with her wings, startling him for a second, until he accepted it as a soothing presence. He snuggled against her torso, sitting on the grass, as the makeshift tent closed around him. He instantly felt more relaxed.

"You are not alone," she whispered. "If all else fails, and hope deserts you, I will still be at your side. Forever and ever. If this war claims the lives of everyone we hold dear, even Harry and Murtagh, we will have each other. And if you grow tired of people afterwards, we can fly far away and remain hidden until the Earth claims us as dust and bone."

He shivered. Her words were harrowing, but he did accept the comfort they brought. The idea that he had an out, no matter how bad things might get, was a prospect that pleased him to no end. And yet...

"I fear we have this backwards," he said. "I want to have a true family, maybe even children of my own. I've wanted that all my life, since I was told my parents might be dead, and now it's a desire only grown stronger. I... I don't want to lose anybody."

Saphira was quiet for a moment, but when she spoke, her words were not what he expected to hear.

"Eragon, this is a worthy dream, but nothing more. Until the king is dead, he will never stop hunting us. And you must be prepared... I fear, no matter how strong we are, somebody will die. It may be tomorrow, it may be in a year... this is war. If we all live to see the sky again it will be nothing but a miracle."

Harry had made him think of Angela's prophecy, and Saphira's soothing tone brought it rushing back again.

He relayed parts of her words, though his shared connection with Saphira didn't make it necessary. He simply had to hear them spoken aloud once again.

"'Treat freedom as a gift, for not many have such power'," he said.

"They are wise words, and simple to understand."

"'It can be retracted, but at great personal cost'," he continued, sad at the prospect. Those words were aimed at what Angela called his choice to 'leave Alagaësia forever', and his having one foot out the door already. What if Saphira's words were the reason, and he experienced so much hardship, witnessed so many loved ones die, that he ended up taking her advice and flying far away for the rest of time? It wasn't a pleasant thought and he shuddered visibly, prompting her to fill his head with happier images of clear blue skies, and the wondrous joy of soaring through the air.

He smiled. "Thank you, partner of my heart... 'an epic romance in your future, one which will outlast kings and topple empires, or possibly forge new ones'."

Saphira shifted, knowing where he was going. Gently, "Eragon..."

"'And yet this love may end in tragedy... and it is up to you and you alone to help protect her... you can save her, but it will cost a life you hold most dear'," he finished, leaving a pained silence.

"It doesn't do to dwell on such unhappy tidings," Saphira soothed quietly. "We have no way of knowing if the fortune teller speaks a truth or a falsehood, no matter. If it comes to pass... then you will be prepared. If it does not, there is no cause for sorrow."

"And she spoke of Arya," Eragon said quietly, thinking of the beautiful elven princess. She was of royal birth, and stirred something deep inside of him. There was more of Angela's prophecy that was important, but he was especially drawn to this segment. It represented what he wanted more than anything – a family. And his fears of losing everyone were overcome instantly, leading to one, inevitable, conclusion-

"I love her," he whispered, choking on unshed tears.

Saphira did not doubt him, for she felt his heart in her own. And she did not attempt to chide him, for that was beneath her. Instead she began to hum gently, and with a calming demeanour, she nursed her broken Rider back to health.

Murtagh was still under the effects of whatever spell Sirius had cast on him last night – a cheerful charm, or something of the like. Needless to say, he was in a terrific mood when he awoke. It felt great to be accepted by those you truly cared for, and he was in their eternal debt for not forcing him away following his slip yesterday.

He still didn't know what happened; all of a sudden, a spike of blinding rage had overwhelmed him, leading to an explosion of magical energy that he couldn't control. Before they had dropped him off for the night, the two wizards shared a quick glance and commented that it was probably nothing to be concerned about, but maybe worth looking into at a later time.

He got the feeling they knew more than they were letting on, but was too beaten to argue and instead dropped to sleep immediately. When he opened his eyes next, it was early morning. Thorn lay at the end of his bed and beams of sunlight were starting to flicker through the narrow windows of his tree-home. Someone had dressed him in a plain white nightshirt and matching bottoms, but his regular clothes, freshly cleaned, sat next to the ruby dragon in a neat pile.

To his surprise, Thorn was watching him carefully, one eye shut.

Their connection was a strange thing, not quite as well developed as that of Eragon and Saphira, but still something special. To Murtagh, it felt relieving to have a constant presence who would care for him, who he could share his innermost thoughts with without fear of admonishment or worse, anger. Thorn was a proud creature, but he was gentle and caring nevertheless.

"Good morrow," Murtagh said, through a yawn.

Thorn replied with a trickle of happy images across their connection; he still had much to learn by way of speaking, being only a hatchling even compared to Arucane. It was still comforting, a feeling Murtagh was coming to attribute more and more with the idea of being a Rider each passing day. It was a strange life, one that he never would have expected before meeting Harry and Eragon, but it was his lot now. He was only too glad to accept the responsibility. Someone had to lead the people to a new, golden age: why not the three of them? With Brom and now Oromis helping, it could only be positive. But first...

"First we have to kill Galbatorix and Shruikan," Murtagh said, pounding a fist into his palm with determination.

Thorn gave him a look, either of surprise or approval. This was their goal and training would be essential, so he was even more thankful for the timely intervention of his friends the previous night. He couldn't do this alone – he needed guidance. At some point, every man and woman needed guidance. From the lowliest slum-born child to the king himself, all had supporters and leaders, regardless of whether they were councillors or simply parents.

He rose from the bed and dressed hastily when a dull roar signalled the arrival of Glaedr. He had been expecting this. Thorn couldn't yet fly him, so either Harry would take him to the crags or Oromis would. It seemed to be the latter for today. They could walk, of course, but that would take too much time due to the complex route through the forest. Through the small window he saw the elf jump gracefully from the dragon's back and land on the series of wooden steps that formed a walkway between his home and the next. Glaedr was too big to land, so he continued to circle.

"Ah, a very good morning to you," said Oromis pleasantly, entering after knocking.

Murtagh finished dressing and responded with the respectful elven salute. "Good morning, sir. Err, teacher. I apologise if I seem tardy."

Oromis nodded at the honorific, apparently satisfied. That was certainly a good start. "Either of those will be fine, young one. I admit to having overreacted yesterday, and I feel I must apologise to the three of you. As will Glaedr," he added, as the giant dragon grumbled his disapproval from above.

Murtagh nodded. "I cannot apologise for Harry, but I am sorry if I seemed rude or discourteous."

"Nay," Oromis said, shaking his head. "It is quite understandable. But let us not tarry; I am here to escort you to the Crags of Tel'naeír. As Thorn cannot yet fly, I trust this is a suitable arrangement for the time being?"

Murtagh nodded. "Of course."

"Good. It will be different when the three of you have a need to make for the training ground first, but today does not begin that cycle. I have something different planned for you, which I hope might be less taxing after a long journey and, dare I say, somewhat enjoyable."

"I'm listening," Murtagh said, interested.

Oromis smiled. "Not quite yet. Come, we must wait for the others. The dragons are helping them to awaken as we speak."

"Ah, so that's how they knew to appear just now?"

Thorn sent him an image of amusement.

Harry awoke with an ear-splitting headache. His temples were pounding, and he was sure someone had clubbed him over the head.

With a battleaxe.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed, before finding the concentration required to use magic to soothe his pain. Sighing in relief, he reached for his wand, only to remember it was gone. Dejected, he pushed those thoughts from his mind and yawned, trying to remember what had occurred the previous night.

He vaguely remembered drinking some form of elvish wine with Sirius in his treehouse home, swapping stories of the past couple of years. He was shocked at Sirius's admission that his godfather had scryed him more than once after being taught the process by Oromis, before finally deciding to let him be after Voldemort had been vanquished. Sirius had been ashamed at that, annoyed with himself for not knowing Harry was in Alagaësia, but the younger man had consoled him by saying he wouldn't have been able to tell anyway.

"The backgrounds would have been blank," he had said. "Besides, what would you have done? Do you think Oromis would have let you leave the city, and how would you have found me if he had?"

"You don't give him enough credit," Sirius chided. "He's a great man, not a manipulative old goat like Dumbledore was. You just... shocked him, is all. I'm sure he'll accept your idea of calling him 'sir' quickly enough."

Harry had groaned at hearing that. "I can't believe how quickly that got out of hand. Oromis said he was in a rush to train us, and I royally pissed him off instead. I hope he doesn't hold a grudge..."

"He doesn't," Sirius had grinned. "I should know, I pranked him enough the whole time I've been here. Glaedr, on the other hand..."

Harry let his thoughts end there, collecting himself by splashing some water around his face. He remembered now. An elf had led him back here, to his new quarters, and promptly departed. Inside the trunk of a tree, the room was as anybody might imagine; the simple furniture was all wooden, save for the mirror provided for shaving. Still, magic provided many wonders, and he soon discovered a hidden alcove beneath the floor clearly meant for bathing. He quickly took advantage of that, allowing the heated water to soothe the aches of endless travelling. He didn't bother with the razor, instead deciding to keep the beard. It grew fuller with each passing day and he was rather proud of that, still being only eighteen.

He leaned his head back, eyes shut. Really, Harry was content to sit there all afternoon and into the night, but he knew Brom would have his head. They were already so far behind schedule it was untrue; he needed to get a move on.

"Aru, where are you?" he asked, drying himself off and dressing.

"On the crags with Murtagh and Thorn," replied a deep voice, somewhat annoyed.

Harry blinked. "Eh... how the hell did he get up there? And what's wrong with you?"

"Glaedr flew him up and, for your information, I feel like someone is bashing my skull repeatedly with a crystal ball. We will be talking about this later."

With that, the connection was cut short. Harry snorted. He wasn't looking forward to that conversation. Maybe he had gotten a little carried away last night, but who could blame him? His godfather, the only man he ever saw as a living father and who had been believed dead for over two years, had suddenly reappeared in his life. And the Marauder had a knack for getting into trouble, especially now that Harry was an adult. It was a one-off, in any case; from this moment on, training would begin. That meant no drinking, an increase in exercise, and whatever gruelling tasks Brom and Oromis would set without complaint.

But first.

"Kreacher."

Kreacher appeared with his customary crack.

"Yes, master?"

"Two things. One, I want you to lay off your feud with Sirius. I'm sick of it and it ends today."

Kreacher looked like he might complain, but wisely followed the order and nodded. The elf still belonged to him, since, in the eyes of the Wizarding World, Sirius was technically dead. His will was in effect until it could be proved otherwise, which was obviously never going to happen. Not that Kreacher seemed to mind.

"Yes, master. Kreacher will forget the mangy mutt."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't antagonise him, either. Now, secondly, where are Trianna and Jörmundur?"

"Mistress Trianna says they are still on the move, master. Mistress says strange elves are trouble to deal with," Kreacher said.

Harry frowned. He would have to talk to either Oromis or Brom about that. "Okay, thank you. Go back to... err, what are you doing when not helping me?"

"Mistress has ordered me to help with cleaning the sick," Kreacher said, looking pained.

Harry smirked, before blinking in sudden realisation. "Wait, how is that possible? She gave you an order?"

Kreacher nodded, confused. "Mistress thought it was worth a try."

"And you have to follow it? Why?" Harry asked, equally confused. This was like an intense staring match.

"Master and mistress own Kreacher," Kreacher said, as though it were obvious. "Kreacher must do whatever they say-"

"I own you," Harry said. "Trianna doesn't, although I'm glad you listen to her. Keep it that way, please."

"Kreacher does not understand," Kreacher said, shaking his head frantically. "Kreacher feels the bond with Mistress Trianna-"

Harry felt as if he might choke. In his mind, somebody was suddenly ringing a metallic triangle and a pair of cymbals in coyness. "Oh, shit."

"Hah, it serves you right," Arucane said, laughing at him.

Harry swallowed. "Ehm, Kreacher? Could you... do you know why you feel the bond with Trianna?"

Kreacher looked at Harry as though he were a particularly interesting specimen he had just discovered in cleaning out the bathroom.

"Master Harry bonded with Mistress Trianna and sealed their magic. They now own Kreacher together."

"Bonded?" Harry yelped. "Y-you can't mean..."

"According to old wizards and witches, master and mistress have married in magic," Kreacher said, and Harry thought he had heard incorrectly.

"Please tell me Sirius has put you up to this."

"Kreacher... is Kreacher being ordered-"

"No! Eh, no. I meant, is this a joke?"

"No, master."

"Well... bollocks."

Harry's frantic mind was interrupted by the little house-elf speaking again.

"Mistress is calling for Kreacher, shall he go?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry nodded slowly. "Only, for the love of Merlin, don't tell her about this. Got it?"

Kreacher nodded and departed, leaving a shell-shocked Harry alone with his thoughts. So he and Trianna had had sex. More than once. A lot more than once. How on earth did that result in them being married? Despite his amusement Aru had no answers. Either it was the mother of all coincidences that Sirius was there to tell him, or he probably wouldn't have a clue either.

"Maybe... maybe it wasn't the sex," Harry said, folding his arms. "It was... a declaration of true love that we sealed. Would that do it? We're both magicians, after all..."

"Oh, just get your ass up here," Brom cut-in.

Harry sighed and disapparated.

"It is good to see you all rested and healthy," Oromis said cordially, after Eragon arrived from parts unknown, looking equal parts happy and determined. He was unwashed, but Oromis chose not to mention this as Murtagh was the same. "Today we begin our training as Riders, a path which I can assure you is fraught with equal amounts peril and reward. Brom."

Brom nodded and stepped over. He stood on one side with Oromis and Sirius, whilst the three younger men mirrored their teachers. "We've decided the best way to do this is to divide up your training regime. One of you would have allowed the luxury of slow-going, but obviously that's not the case anymore. We have a lot to teach you and no time to teach it in, so we will be moving quickly. From here, there's no going back."

"Rest assured we will not be putting you in any undue danger," Oromis intoned. "However, we feel this is necessary if you are to gain sufficient knowledge so as to defeat the king."

"Question," Harry said, raising a hand. Oromis inclined his head. "If I may... why can't you choose to impart your knowledge on us mentally? That would save a huge amount of time."

"That's what we will be doing," Brom grumbled. "Try not to ask questions until after it's been explained."

Harry conceded that sheepishly and lowered his arm.

"Indeed," Oromis said, as though the question were a part of his explanation. Harry truly had to admire his ability to speak with such precision and delicacy. "We will grant you this boon, but it comes at a cost. Once something is taught in this manner, it is knowledge gained but not earned. Think of it as reading the start and end of a book; you will know the means and the end, but you will not be able to justify it."

Harry hadn't really thought about that. They needed to know as much as possible, but if he didn't know how something worked it would confuse him. In the human mind, that usually meant the something would inevitably be forgotten, even if they were Riders. The alternative...

"We have found a middle ground," Oromis continued, "which will allow you to make the best of both worlds, so to speak. Brom and I shall be training you in this manner, but only one small crumb of information at a time. Afterwards, you will spend some time learning the very basics of how to form the spell you have learned, or how to use the knowledge obtained. Whatever the case may be, this is a crude method that I would not ordinarily approve of. But alas, time is against us and it will be faster than what I had originally planned."

"The good news is, there are two of us," Brom said. "So that'll help with speed. And Sirius here will be helping you practice as well as learn to duel with magic. Before you came along," he nodded at Harry, "I only knew of one type of magic. But now we have two; if either Eragon or Murtagh can be trained, it's an opportunity we can't afford to pass up."

Harry sucked in his breath. "Don't get your hopes up, Brom – that's all I'll say. It might come to nothing."

"Which is why we're going to get through it quickly at the beginning," Sirius said cheerfully, drawing his wand. "You two, follow me over here. Harry... well, I think Oromis would like a word with you."

Harry watched as the three walked to the opposite side of the cliff, but his attention was soon drawn by Oromis' presence. The elf looked at him sombrely.

"I have reached an impasse," Oromis said, wasting no time. "I feel that I have the making of both Eragon and Murtagh, but you are a different matter entirely, Harry Potter. Your heart remains pure after years of conflict yet you suffer from trauma the likes of which I have never seen, despite knowing war intimately. What is it you hope to gain in this journey?"

"Are you asking me this because of Sirius?" Harry asked quietly.

Oromis hesitated. "I have come to know Sirius quite well, and he spoke of you at great length. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when you appeared in this world out of nowhere, much the same way your godfather did. And then became a Rider, no less. I must ask, do you wish to return?"

Ah. That was it.

"No," Harry said. "While I shoulder the abilities and burdens of a Rider here, there I was subjected to other sorts of menial tasks and glory I didn't deserve. 'The Boy Who Lived.' 'The Chosen One.' 'The Master of Death.' I'm sick of those titles. I'm sure I'll bear the name of Rider for the rest of my life, but at least it something that won't bother me."

"But you did not ask for it."

"True," Harry nodded, "and in that it's similar to all those I had before. But only there. I'm privileged to be one with Arucane. I was not blessed with the deaths of my parents or hidden prophecies made without my knowledge. Besides, I had a choice."

"Oh?" Oromis asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Angela told me I would have a decision to make, and I did," Harry said, speaking of the fortune-teller a little and his trek to rescue the eggs. Oromis seemed amused.

"I believe she may have spent time among our people, though I do not know what to think of her. But nonetheless, if you are content... that is all I ask."

"I am content, sir."

Oromis nodded happily. "Good."

"Speaking of the dragons..." Harry said, frowning as he looked around.

"They left with Glaedr immediately after Arucane contacted you this morning," Oromis said. "There is much work for them to accomplish, as is there for us. So, if it is acceptable to you..." he proffered a hand in the direction of a small table, the same as before, where the other four now sat, apparently having completed their test and now waiting.

"Certainly... Fírnen."

Oromis' eyes widened, and he looked around, truly shocked for the first time since they had met. Harry smirked at him.

"I'm smarter than you might give me credit for. But I am curious: why the alias?"

Oromis looked at the ground, then up again. His gaze softened. "I could not risk you revealing my name to Eragon or anyone else under means of interrogation, not with the dangers that chasing the Ra'zac entailed. Our best hope was for the two of us - three, if you count Sirius - to remain hidden from the enemy until we could train the Riders. It was for the best. I hope you can understand."

"I do," Harry said honestly. "And the name itself?"

"Fírnen was a friend of Arya's and... something of a student to me. Not as a Rider, but an artist of sorts. He had a gentle and noble heart," Oromis said, smiling fondly as he remembered. And yet, there was a sadness tinged upon his cheeks. Harry did not need to ask what had happened to Fírnen.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, giving a quick bow. "You may have saved my life more than once, and without you we wouldn't-"

"It is of no concern," Oromis said, interrupting gently and motioning for Harry to rise again. He did. "I did what any in my position would have, yourself included. Consider it not a debt, but a gift to you, our best hopes of ever regaining peace and freedom."

Harry, Eragon and Murtagh found themselves grilled for the next couple of hours on just about every aspect of swordplay, magic and survival skills they could think of. They were asked to recite phrases and sentences in the Ancient Language, which Murtagh struggled most with. They demonstrated their fitness levels, flexibility and stamina, something which years of Seeker reflexes allowed Harry to excel at. And they discussed the politics of the land, something which was more known to Eragon and Murtagh than to Harry, again for obvious reasons.

The questions were mix-and-match, coming from both Oromis and Brom. At some point, they were instructed to meld their minds with those of the dragons, allowing both lessons to be absorbed simultaneously. Given the link some of those present already held, this allowed an all-encompassing cycle of thoughts to be relayed through multiple people simultaneously. Needless to say, it was confusing as hell until the sensation became more familiar, but once it did Oromis was pleasantly surprised by the depth of closeness between Harry, Eragon and their respective dragons. Murtagh was not so used to the feeling, but that was to be expected.

Harry was a little dumbfounded to hear questions on woodwork, metallurgy and masonry included, but accepted with good grace, even if he couldn't answer many at all. Finally, however, his patience betrayed him.

"How about your test?" he asked his friends, when Oromis stopped for breath.

"Nothing," Murtagh said, a little glum. "We both came up short."

"It appears you'll be maintaining your advantage next time we spar," Eragon grinned.

"Hey! As if I need an advantage to beat a little farmer like you," Harry retorted.

Oromis smiled as he saw the three descend into what could very well be a timeless retelling of barbs and mock-insults. He allowed them to have their break, choosing to converse in hushed whispers with Sirius and Brom, the former of who was still unsure of his role in this. Whilst Oromis assured him that he had an important part to play, he was less certain. Sirius knew a little about the Ancient Language, but not as much as he would have hoped. He would also be learning in the months to come.

"So, let us get back to the task at hand," Oromis finally said, drawing their attention at once. "We had hoped to start by teaching you the Rimgar, an elven dance, but I feel that is best left for another time, perhaps tonight if we are able. Instead, we have a task for the three of you. Murtagh, go with Brom. Harry, you will go with Sirius and Eragon, follow me, if you would."

Confused about being separated, the three did as they were bidden to, following their appointed guide as they were lead along separate trails into the forest. Sirius didn't speak, not even when Harry attempted to make conversation, which surprised him.

"Sorry, pup," he said, grimacing as they came to stop in a clearing some time later. "Oromis said your mind has to be clear from thought, which I understand. Well, here we are."

'Here' consisted of a single tree stump, polished white, with a flat base. Sirius had him sit and cross his legs, before speaking gently.

"I'm not good at this meditation thing," Sirius said. "But Oromis has taught me a couple of things... back when I had trouble with... well, it doesn't matter. Relax, Harry. Be still and open your mind."

Harry did so, taking a deep breath and allowing the warmth of the forest to overcome him.

"See and hear the world around you. Let nothing distract you, for you're a part of this forest. When you have seen and heard all that you can, come and tell us what you've learned."

Harry was dimly aware of Sirius leaving. This was something that he had been looking forward to reclaiming; an affinity for nature, an understanding of the fauna and flora of the land beneath him. His breathing was slow, relaxed.

With a feeling of peace, he opened his mind and extended a mental probe outwards, desperate to stake a claim on the forest of Du Weldenvarden. The avalanche of information shocked him; there was so much to see, so much to hear and so much to feel. It was overwhelming, a flood of images and thoughts. He was the thrush in the tree nearby, the mice in their den... the ants in their colonies. He was everything and nothing, for the forest was the embodiment of Mother Nature herself. All for one, and one for all.

He gave himself willingly to the wildlife, even his mind. Rather than snatching at the information granted, he allowed it to fill his every thought. And so it washed into his mind, passing into the recesses of his memory under direct observation, never overwhelming again, but a textbook to be studied with a flourish. But with that image of books, he thought of Hogwarts, the exercise unveiling his emotions to a massive degree.

"Control your emotions! Discipline your mind!" Snape's voice rang out, a memory from a distant time.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."

"Just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon..."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"Harry Potter... The Boy Who Lived... come to die."

His memories turned here to Alagaësia, to after those people he knew were either dead or left behind. And he thought of what Oromis had asked, and whether or not he was merely running from the horrors that he had endured previously. Was he a coward, or a brave man to seek out a new life? To embrace that life, despite knowing the pain he would suffer yet again? Who would he be leaving behind?

Even as the forest continued to ply him with knowledge, Harry sat there, thinking on his own destiny. The past and the future, old faces and new. Dimly, he whispered a spell.

"Draumr kópa."

An image of Hermione and Ron appeared in his mind, for his eyes were still closed; they appeared to be arguing furiously, while Ginny stood with her back to the pair, weeping gently. Harry frowned and allowed his magic to imbue the spell with the power to hear.

"What do you want me to say?!" Ron demanded. "He was my best mate!"

Harry gave a sigh as he realised what, who, they were speaking of.

"He didn't abandon us!" Hermione shrieked, looking quite deranged. Harry felt his heart go out to her, but he couldn't tear away his gaze.

"He left without saying a word!" Ron growled. "It's not the first time he's ignored us and if he ever comes back, it won't be the last... mark my words..."

"Ronald Weasley, I would rather die than trust you!" Hermione screamed. "You ran out on him when he needed you most! Twice!"

"I had good reason!"

SMACK! Hermione slapped him with all her strength, causing Ginny to peer around. Harry gasped as he saw how frail she looked. That wasn't his Ginny. She was stronger than that.

No, he told himself. Even if she were strong... she's not your Ginny anymore. Do you even feel anything for her? You have something, someone, to love and cherish.

Harry forced himself to realise now that it was a teenage crush he had had. Maybe it would have developed into more with time, but could he really bring himself to be with someone who had originally only saw Harry the celebrity, rather than Harry the person? After meeting Trianna, he knew the answer to that question. He felt true love now, but not for any person he had left behind. And they were bonded in magic, married in the eyes of all concerned, not that anybody yet knew about it. He would never leave her, for anybody. So long as she wanted him, he was hers. Even Ginny had never said she loved him. Trianna had, and that was what he needed – love, not a fantasy.

"Your reasons were jealousy and greed!" Hermione spat. "If he left, is it any wonder? I would have gotten sick of it in first year!"

"And now look!" Ron shouted. "Umbridge rallying Death Eaters! The Ministry is destroyed, all because Harry left! Even when he's not here it's all about him!"

"How can you say that?" came a quiet voice. Ginny glared at her brother, eyes as red as her tresses. "For all we know he's..."

"Dead," Ron said quietly, suddenly ashamed. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Save it," Hermione choked. "I'm done with you, Ron Weasley. Knowing you has been the biggest mistake of my life."

Harry panicked at that. He couldn't let this happen. His friends were all set to abandon one another, and it was because of him!

"No, I won't... I can't!" he growled as he tried to work the magic. "Damn it, Aru! Help me! I... Sirius! Oromis, Brom... Merlin... everyone! Help me!" he shouted, voice echoing. His eyes remained shut, voice moving of its own accord. "...help me... Lailoken."

With an almighty rush of air, Harry was yanked forwards. It bore a similar feeling to that of a pensieve, but he knew he still sat on that stump. That didn't end his shock when his feet slammed into the floor of Grimmauld Place, however, nor when his three oldest friends whirled around with abject disbelief.

"HARRY!" screamed Hermione and Ginny together. Instantly, they both tried to rush and hug him, but found that his body was like vapour, similar to the ghosts of Hogwarts.

"I... what is this?" Ginny whispered, waving a hand through his absent-mindedly, eyes wide. "How are you doing this?"

"I'm not here," Harry said at last. They were shocked to hear his voice; he sounded old, and he looked like a rugged mess. His beard was one such reason, as were the shadows in his eyes, let alone beneath them.

"Where are you?" Hermione asked, tears falling from her eyes. "Oh, Harry... we thought you were... we..." she turned away, crying gently.

"I don't have long," Harry said, feeling the forest beginning to pull him back already. "But there's something I have to tell you, all three of you."

Their eyes bore into him now, concerned. Frightened.

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked, worried.

Ginny gasped, knowing. "No... you can't..."

"I'm not coming back. I'm gone forever."

Those words would have silenced even Voldemort. As it stood, he had three chalky, terrified faces staring back at him as they moved closer together. Hermione threw her arms around Ginny, to give and receive comfort. Ron looked unsure, but wisely kept his distance.

"You have to forget about me," Harry said, his voice starting to waver. It cracked, and his eyes were wet. "Please... you have to. I was never wanted anyway and... and now I'm lost. Even if I could return, I wouldn't... the world will never be safe with the Master of Death there. But now the Elder Wand will never be powerful again."

And then he was crying freely, for the first time in what felt an eternity, despite his reunion with Sirius.

"Oh, that's right! Padfoot is here with me!" he said, sniffing and wiping his eyes. "We're not dead... the Veil leads somewhere else, somewhere Voldemort discovered. But I don't want you risking your life by trying to come through it," he added firmly, as Hermione opened her mouth to speak.

"Harry, how did this happen?" Ginny asked, her voice cracking. He nearly began to sob again at the sound.

"I... Voldemort tricked me, right after the last time I met Hermione. He... he jinxed a portkey and left it for me to find, and now I'm here, but I can't find my way back. It's... it's too far."

Hermione seemed to understand, but again she was interrupted.

"I'm losing control," Harry said, as his body began to visibly flicker. "I don't think I can do this again. I just want you all to know... I love all of you. You're the only family I have left there, and... and that's why you have to live for yourselves. I'm... safe now," he lied, giving the falsest smile of his life. He felt awful for doing it, but if they lived happily while he suffered, that was good enough. He would give them one last sacrifice... he would lie to keep them safe.

"Just forget me," he begged. "Please. And Ron?"

"I'm sorry," Ron said, joining his friends in crying. "For everything, mate. All the times I let you down... please, come back again... we need you."

Harry shook his head. "You don't, that's what I wanted to say. Kill that bitch Umbridge for me if you can... but don't rely on me. I won't be there anymore. Use every knut in that vault if you can. Keep the rest. Hermione?"

"What is it?" she asked softly, eyes as red as Ginny's.

"You're the smartest witch I've ever met. You have such a great future ahead of you... fight to keep it safe. And don't come after me – the place on the other side is very dangerous. You would die. Promise me."

"I promise," she said, so low he could almost not hear.

He nodded shakily. "G-Ginny?"

The redhead looked at him, only unlike with Dumbledore's funeral, there was no sad smile. Only the pain of loss.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "You deserve better, and you should find that person. Ginevra... I've never called you that before... until now. Ginevra... be safe and find someone to... to love."

"Harry... please," she pleaded.

Harry would hate himself for this, but he had no choice. He... he had to. There wasn't another way! He had to do this! It was on him to end it all, and his time was running out. Through his tears, through his pain, he reached for her mind. The power of suggestion was a wondrous being, but the Ancient Language made it ever so much greater. She flinched at the contact, but did not seem to understand. He hoped it remained that way... he couldn't stand to see her look at him with hatred, though her pain was crippling him by itself.

Finally, he found it. A reservoir of memories, all of him. So many he nearly collapsed. The first time she had seen him. The stories of Harry Potter as a little girl, told by her parents. The times they had dated. And the time she had fallen love with him... Harry buckled, tears now blinding him, knowing that he was wrong. She did love him.

And that was the problem. She had to forget.

Forget.

"Forget..." he whispered.

"Forget."

"Manin... waíse neat."

Memory, be not.

Forget.

Never forgive.

"Goodbye..." he said, voice echoing into eternity. When Ginny Weasley came to, her broken friends holding her for comfort, Harry Potter had vanished. She remembered the Boy Who Lived, and all of the times she had spent as his friend. But her pain was suddenly gone, and indeed, she did not remember its existence.

After all...

How could you be hurt for someone you no longer loved?