For those who came in late:
In a bit of well-intentioned fun, the Hogwarts Five from Magic, as Opposed to Magic followed Harry home for Saturalia, the Tamrielic Christmas. After a brief trip through the Temple District of the Imperial City and a fairly long horse ride to Faregyl, they arrived yesterday in time for dinner.
There's some bleedover from the main story as well, but not much. One more chapter should do it.
In the morning...
"Wake up!"
"Gerroff."
"C'mon Ron!" Harry was undeterred. "Mum's got her famous potato bread for breakfast fresh out of the oven! If you don't get up soon it'll be cold!"
"Gerrugh?" Within Ronald Weasley's mind, appetite warred with sloth, and after a battle of the ages, finally won out. Two unfocussed eyes emerged from the blankets and took stock of their surroundings.
The bed might not have been a Gryffindor four-poster, but it had proven surprisingly comfortable, and better still seemed to have drained away the aches and pains from all that horse riding yesterday. The walls and floor were clean, if rustic, and notably non-magical paintings of various landscapes hung on the walls. Above the door of the room he was sharing with Neville and Draco, a framed bit of Aldmeris, which Harry claimed said 'To dream the impossible dream – go to bed'.
"At least someone got some sleep," Draco grunted. Another advantage of Hogwarts four-posters were the built-in silencing charms. They'd had to roust Hermione out of bed since, naturally, she'd read ahead and knew how to cast muffliato effectively. Also Neville wasn't sure that, if he tried wandlessly, he wouldn't blow Ron up instead. Yesterday had been rather full on.
The three boys finally tromped down to the inn's common room, where Ron's nose immediately homed in on the promised loaves, so fresh they were still steaming next to a pot full of what looked like baked beans with bacon, mainly because it was.
"Break your fast, Hermione," Ra'jirra pushed the copy of The Wasteland Survival Guide to one side and slid her plate in front of her. Hermione's head turned to follow the book, then lifted as he plucked it out of her hand. "I'm not finished..." she began to protest.
"I noticed that," the old Khajiit responded heartlessly, "but unless you can live off words alone, eat. Knowledge is no good if you're starving to death and besides we're not going to Black Plateau anyway, let alone Earth-1. Also, you're insulting my wife's cooking."
It was hard to tell if Ron's enthusiastic scoffing was compliment or insult.
After breakfast:
"I thought I'd show you around the neighbourhood," Harry explained, "We can pack a lunch and, um, well I'll show you where Nenyond Twyll is, and we can see Bravil and Sheogorath's Door from down by Lorikh Village."
"How about a quick Quidditch game?" Ron asked, "Two on two, and Hermione can referee – sorry, but..." he trailed off as he looked at her, not certain how to explain that her skills on a broom were too weak.
"That's all right," the girl smiled wanly, "I hate flying anyway."
"Pity," Harry said thoughtfully, "It just occurred to me we could travel around on brooms. It's quicker than walking, and safer too. In fact," his eyes lit up, "we could play Quidditch over the Niben River! If we fall off –" he made a splashing noise and threw his hands up in imitation.
"It's just uncomfortable," Hermione groused, "and I don't feel safe with just a broom handle stopping me from falling."
"But all brooms have sticking charms..." Draco began.
"Why didn't anyone say so?" Hermione asked – emphatically. She did not screech.
"Oh, right," and Draco did himself credit by not rolling his eyes at the ignorance of Muggleborns.
"Besides, I don't have a broom."
Harry leaned back thoughtfully, rubbing his left hand over his right. "Service," he called into the empty air.
Ten seconds later there was a pop, and one of the Potter house elves appeared, panting slightly from the exertion. "Lord Harryjames called?" it asked, eyeing the table disdainfully, "Some breakfast, sir?"
"No, we've just eaten. Can you bring us... got a broom Nev?"
Neville just shook his head. "Gran won't let me have one yet."
"Three brooms and a quaffle please," Harry informed the little creature, "take as long as you need."
"At once, Lord Harryjames Potter sir," the house elf immediately popped away. About a minute later, two different elves appeared with the requested items. "Nobby sends his apologies Lord HarryJames sir," one explained, "but you is being so far away and so close too, he was exhausted when he returned to the manor."
"Well, make sure he gets all the rest he needs," Harry responded, "And give him my thanks."
The sight of two house elves overflowing with emotion at the kindness of their master wasn't something you saw at Faregyl Inn every day. It made the children actually rather self-conscious.
After Ron and Draco had extracted their brooms from their trunks, the five trooped outside. "Right," Harry declared, mounting his broom, "let's –"
"You playing horsie?" The voice was scornful and so was the speaker, a boy gangling his way into youth. Harry just scowled at him. Aldir had been a mean sod all the time he'd known him and he was a mean sod now.
"Fly," he finished, kicking off and soaring into the air; his friends followed suit. Aldir just stood there, gaping, until someone tried to feed him one of yesterday's dog turds. You have to make your own fun in the sticks.
Harry had never seen Faregyl from this angle before. The settlement had grown since the Oblivion Crisis, hugging the Green Road from Faregyl Inn itself to the Inn of Ill Omen, with Zenithar's wayshrine resting on the southwest edge. Over the trees, he could see the towers of Bravil to the southeast; squint westward, and you could almost see those of Skingrad. For a moment he considered making a run to that city in general (and Salmo's in particular), but something closer got his attention.
"Quidditch?" Ron asked, eyeing the bag Harry was carrying a loaf, some cheese and the quaffle in.
"Got a better idea," Harry said. He pointed west to where a sliver of white was visible in the trees. "Follow me – you'll love this!"
At Nenyond Twyll:
"What's the branch for?" Ron watched Harry haul what was really a small log back up the knob to where they stood. Beside them, a shard of white marble tower rose into the air, where tree branches batted at it.
"You'll find out – phew!" Harry dropped the branch for a moment and mopped his brow. "Once we're inside."
"Inside this ruin?" Hermione had seen the spiralling stairs that terminated in a pair of stone doors.
"Yeah."
"This one with the sign that reads... um... 'Do not enter – undead.'"
"Yeah."
"Harry! There are undead in there!"
"Nah." Harry had got his wind back and was bumping the log down the stairs. "Adventurers – been in here – after Dad – slain 'em all – near the entry."
"Harry James Potter! What would your father say?" Hermione did not scream.
Their host's head reappeared above the stone. "I won't tell him if you won't."
Hermione was still spluttering when she heard the sound of stone on stone as the doors opened.
Not having any further excuse, the children followed Harry and his log inside, and down a short corridor that opened into a large, squarish chamber. The whole thing seemed to be made of marble, pitted and worn with age, lit only by the light of strange crystals held in oddly delicate yet spiky cages. It made Hermione think of Art Deco buildings she had seen for some reason.
"This is an Ayleid ruin," Harry explained in a hushed voice. "Dad came here because some corpse-hu – ah, necromancers were holding someone hostage. There was a huge fight, and Dad killed them all. Now what I'm going to do is... shh!"
Harry had frozen and was listening intently; so did the others. A faint slapping sound and an soggy growl could be heard from the entrance on the opposite side of the room. Ron automatically went to move closer, but Harry gripped his arm. "Stop!"
"What?" Ron gaped at him, then took another step forward. "Why? What is it?"
"I think it's a zombie." Harry's face was grim.
"W-w-what's a zombie?" Neville asked, gulping audibly.
"Walking corpse," Harry scowled. "I know fire spells though, and so do you. They go up easy."
"Walking corpse?" Draco blinked. "You mean an inferius?"
"Whatever!" Harry's attention was fixed on the opposite entrance.
"Hey, I think I can see it!" Ron could see something moving in the dim light, and absently took another step forward, onto the single massive flag that made up the middle of the room. He barely had time to feel the stone sink slightly under his weight before someone grabbed his robes and pulled him backwards.
The floor rocketed upwards with frightening speed, meeting the ceiling with a terrible crashing sound. Then it slowly sank again, revealing that above it was a recess studded with unnecessarily evil-looking spikes.
"Blimey," Ron breathed.
"I told you to stop for a reason," Harry growled, echoed by a closer, wetter growl. Then it appeared.
Animated corpses are never pleasant to look at; in the bluish half-light of a few Ayleid crystals, they're far worse. It stopped, looking around with its half-empty eye sockets, not so much growling as bubbling air through what was left of its lungs. Ooze seeped from orifices and half-crusted tears in the leathery skin. It was a sight only a necromancer could love.
"Let's get out of here," Draco whispered.
Neville was already backing towards the exit, so naturally he stumbled on one of the more uneven bits of floor and fell with a startled yelp. The zombie's sight may have been poor, but its hearing was acute enough. It began stalking towards the frightened children, advancing across the trapped floor.
"Why isn't it setting it off?" Hermione screamed.
Harry didn't answer. He was grabbing the branch. "Give me room!" he called, attempting to swing the heavy wood around in a circle.
"I think it's too light!" Draco yelled, "come on!"
With a grunt, Harry half-flung, half-rolled the branch towards the oncoming abomination. It thumped on the floor, but not hard enough to set the trap off. Harry swore, and threw a Flare at the creature. Its progress halted as it flailed spastically, trying to put out the flames.
Another Flare came from Neville, who'd finally had his memory jogged. Later, he would realise that unlike the arduous effort he'd put into casting at Hogwarts, here it was almost too easy, the magic seemingly falling over itself to do his bidding. Ten seconds later, two cries of "Incendio!" came from Draco and Hermione's throats, setting the horror ablaze with a screech like a kettle made of meat.
Disoriented and seemingly in pain, the zombie tripped over the branch, landing with a snap of breaking bones. Now the impact was enough to trip whatever activated the trap, and with a mighty smash, the monster's unlife was replaced with eternal rest in pieces.
The children didn't stop to watch. They were all racing for the surface in case anything else was curious about the rumpus.
"If anybody asks," Harry puffed once Magnus looked on them again, "we went halfway to Skingrad."
In the afternoon, Faregyl:
All eyes were on the skies, and the four figures that were zooming around at speed while passing a ball back and forth. Ron had transfigured two bits of firewood into goalposts – even Ra'jirra was impressed – and with Hermione as referee the two-on-two game of classical Quidditch began.
"A bit of fun," was Ron's urging, "after all this sightseeing." After the near-death experience in Nenyond Twyll, the children had stayed above ground and the trees, cruising in Harry's wake as he pointed out various points of interest, including the remains of Lorikh Village. "It's safe enough in the day," he admitted, "but watch out at night!" Then he'd shown them where Sheogorath's Door was floating in Niben Bay. "Dad and me got a boat out here, and some water breathing potions. It's actually a big rock floating there. But that's the Prince of Madness for you."
They'd finally landed on the bank of the river and eaten the bread and cheese Harry had brought, Draco dealing to several hungry mudcrabs with one flipendo. Instead of attacking the children, the crabs turned on their vulnerable (and apparently delicious) upended comrade. By this time Ron was starting to look as bored as Hermione felt, so Harry caved in and they flew back to Faregyl for the game.
Stripped of snitch and bludgers, Quidditch is actually quite intense, since a key part of the game involves thwarting passes and intercepting same. Ron's experience and confidence balanced Neville's clumsiness and uncertainty, while Draco had Harry on his side. There was also a fair bit of slinging one's weight around to facilitate tight turns.
If they noticed the gathering crowd below, they didn't show it, being more concerned with scoring against each other. It wasn't until a fireball barely missed them that anyone noticed that the sun was low and that Ra'jirra was calling.
"Hoy!" he yelled again. "Get back down here! It's nearly time for the feast!"
The mention of food had Ron's stomach, closely followed by Ron, heading downwards at speed; the rest quickly followed, Harry barely remembering to collect the quaffle.
"When you've finished mesmerising the populace," Harry's father said, "You can wash up and get your glad rags on. The Saturalia feast is in an hour."
"An hour?" Ron blinked. "We can get another –"
"No Ron," Harry and Hermione said simultaneously.
"But –"
"We've been playing all afternoon," Harry observed.
"And the sun's almost set," Hermione added.
"But it's an hour away!"
"Well, I've had enough broom riding for today," Neville said firmly.
"And we should look our best," Draco added, "make sure we get a place at the table."
"Oh." In his head, Ron's stomach conquered his quidditch addiction with a knockout blow. "Well... what was the score?"
"Harry and Draco won," Hermione informed him, "Two hundred and thirty to a hundred and eighty. Now come on, the sooner we get cleaned up the better."
All five walked a little stiffly into the inn. Spending hours on a broom does that to you.
A/N: Lorikh Village is from the mod of the same name. You do not want to hang around at night.