Thanks for your comments/reviews since my last update, and also, a shout-out to those who have added the story to your alert list, c2, or favourite list, it's almost as good as a review, 'ya know!
Posted January 23, 2014.
SUMMARY: Harry and Mazhe have an encounter with an Elder Scroll; Harry celebrates his fourteenth birthday; a visit to Riften has Harry picking up a few more instructors; and the outing to the World Cup of Quidditch ends in a most unpleasant manner.
8: DAEDRA AND DEATH EATERS
July and August, 2004
By the end of June (Mid-Year), Harry was once again settled in at the College of Winterhold. Along with his own studies, and catching up with the numerous faces he'd missed while at Hogwarts, he was also asked to teach a class twice a week. He would be teaching new students, as he had in the past, once again covering destructive magic, his area of expertise.
Sirius had joined them this time, as had Remus, within a few days of the end of term. Harry was furious when he found out Remus had resigned from teaching—not with Remus, of course, but with the school. Apparently, word had leaked out about his 'furry little problem'. Rather than cause further grief for the school, he resigned. Harry made a silent vow to determine who had 'let it slip' about the man's condition, and reward them in kind. Equally, he sent off a letter to Professor Snape, asking if he was willing to continue brewing the Wolfsbane potion—Harry was most certainly willing to pay for it if necessary.
With the extra people now joining Harry at the College, modifications were required. At first it was suggested Sirius and Remus rent rooms at the Frozen Hearth in Winterhold, but Justin was a little more practical, suggesting they expand the room to suit. The Arch-mage was consulted first, and he readily agreed, although he wished to observe the expansion himself. He knew magic from Harry's world was significantly different from that of Tamriel, but to just expand a room with a spell? That had to be impressive.
He was not disappointed, as the three adult wizards easily doubled the size of Harry's room, and added an additional room that would serve as a washroom—Justin's idea. It would be fitted out later, once he had an opportunity to send a letter back to the Commonwealth. Although both Harry had gotten used to the lack of modern conveniences, Sirius and Remus were not. So, the washroom was a bit of a priority.
The room now featured five small compartments with curtains for privacy, the washroom, and a central common area. The common area consisted of several comfortable chairs, and a moderate-sized table at its centre, for eating and working. The fireplace had also been moved into this area, granting more privacy and security, considering the room was sealed off when Harry and his friends weren't at the College.
3 Sun's Height
Harry looked up from his nearly finished breakfast to see Mazhe step into the room.
"Harry... good, you're up. This came for you." He had an envelope in his hand.
"Balls, knew I forgot something," said Harry, as Mazhe took a seat at the table. "Need to see about getting another post box for the room."
"Why not just get one and keep it on your person?"
"Hedwig wouldn't like it," Harry answered, shaking his head.
He glanced at the envelope. It had the Gringotts seal on it. He opened it, and pulled out the yellow parchment from inside.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We regret to inform you that, by order of the Ministry of Magic, the contents of your vaults have been frozen. Enquiries regarding this matter must be directed to the Ministry.
We regret any inconvenience this may have caused.
Ragnok,
Manager,
Gringotts, London
Harry felt fiery rage lick his insides.
"You meddling..." Harry unleashed a stream of colourful language that would have resulted in Alice washing his mouth out with soap, had she been around.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Justin called from his compartment.
"Meddling old farts, is what!" Harry snarled, "The term was bloody over! He still orders my vaults frozen! How dare he!"
Sirius was already casting silencing charms at the door, so they didn't wake the rest of the building.
"Let the Ministry work on it," said Justin, as he at last joined them at the table.
Harry slid the letter across the table.
"Send that along, so they have it. Really starting to dislike Dumbledore. It's like he's obsessed with me or something."
"He does seem to have an unhealthy interest in you," Mazhe agreed.
Harry sucked in a breath then blew it out.
"Y'know, if it weren't for my worry about the Commonwealth and the friends I now have there, I would stay here and never return. Dumbledore can go to hell for all I care."
"You know about the prophecy," said Justin.
"I know. Doesn't mean I have to cozy up to the meddling old man though. I'll need to pen a letter to Ron and Hermione. They'll be disappointed that I won't be returning in September, but really. I'll keep up on my studies from here."
"If that's what you want to do, kiddo."
"Pretty much."
"We'll just set things up as they had been before you started at Hogwarts," said Justin, summoning a notebook from his compartment. "I'll be able to teach math and science, though you know I've been hired by the Ministry of Science & Technology, right?"
"Yeah. Glad to see your hard work paying off."
"Just about done my research paper. It's just a matter of getting the university to approve it. Thing is though, I'll put that on hold to help you out."
"No. Don't put your life on hold because of me," Harry answered, "And just to be clear, I'm not abandoning my destiny. I'm just doing it my way. I'll deal with Riddle, when the time comes. Meanwhile, I think we can do something much more constructive today all considering..."
The month flew by and in the blink of an eye, it was Harry's fourteenth birthday. This year, rather than Harry travelling back to the Commonwealth, it was a reversal, and they held a party at the College. Harry invited Hermione, Neville, and most of the Weasleys, including Molly and Arthur. They wouldn't allow their children to visit without them coming along. Alice and Will also attended.
Just before 11 am, the guests started arriving.
"Harry, good to see you again."
Harry was not surprised to find Guardian Elaine joining Alice and Will as they arrived through the floo.
"I hope you don't mind me, err, crashing your party."
"Of course not, my lady," Harry grinned, giving a low bow.
"Always the charmer, this one is."
"Happy birthday, Harry," said Will.
"Thanks. Oh... put that with the rest," said Harry, seeing the wrapped package. He pointed to a moderate-sized pile of presents at the centre of the table which took up the middle of the room. Guardian Elaine seemed to appraise the pile, and frowned, seeing a steel sword amongst the items.
"Um... I think that was from the Jarl of Windhelm," said Harry, following her gaze.
"Ulfric Stormcloak likes Harry for some reason. Of course he gets along with the Jarl of Whiterun pretty well these days as well," said Mazhe, with a bit of a smirk, "Takes quite something to impress either of them."
"Indeed, Harry has been making a bit of a name for himself." The gathering found the Arch-Mage framing the doorway. "Happy birthday, Harry."
"Thank you, sir."
"Good to see you again, Savos," said Guardian Elaine.
"Likewise. Forgive me if I cannot stay. I'm expecting the Thalmor ambassador shortly and I must be at the gate to greet her."
"She's finally been able to convince you to meet face to face, I see," said Mazhe, looking rather sour.
"Unfortunately." Arch-mage Aren clearly wasn't up to meeting the person.
"I take it you dislike the Thalmor," said Guardian Elaine.
"The bastards murdered my mother, father, and little sister when I was very young," Mazhe answered, his face clouding with anger. "For that, I was sent to the orphanage in Riften, a really cheery place to live... someone else I'll pay back in kind." The last bit was muttered mostly to himself.
"Right. Enough of that rubbish," said Harry, "No more dark business, it's my birthday after all."
"And I do have to meet Elenwen, so have a wonderful day," said Arch-mage Aren, and with that, he left the hall.
The fireplace roared to life again, this time expelling Neville and his imposing grandmother.
"Madam Longbottom. Good to see you again," Harry greeted.
"And likewise, Mr. Potter. Happy birthday, young man."
"Thank you. And a happy belated birthday, Neville."
"Thanks! Though I did get your card. I'll use the gift certificate when I visit Diagon Alley for my school things later in the month. Maybe... if you'd like—"
"Even if I was returning to Hogwarts, I swore up and down I would never shop in Diagon Alley ever again," answered Harry, ruefully. "I felt like a circus animal being put on parade."
"It is most unfortunate you have had to experience such treatment," said Madam Longbottom, "Our society should know better than to bite the hand that feeds them. I am aware of your present difficulties regarding your inheritance and your trust vault. There were a number of us who did not agree with the chief warlock's new policies."
"Good to know that not all of Wizarding Britain are behaving like sheep," said Will.
Harry blew out a breath.
"I'm still pissed about things. But I guess it just means I have to work a little harder at things. Not that I wouldn't even with a vault full of gold and so on—doing that would've proved my rotten relatives right. Now as it stands—"
The floo fired again, this time expelling the twins. Immediately after, it fired again, and Mr. And Mrs. Weasley stepped out. They were then followed by Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. From there, the party got under way, with an early lunch put out by Dobby and several other house elves. Harry did have to wonder where he had recruited them from.
Then, throughout the afternoon, it was a mix of entertainment, as Harry celebrated his fourteenth birthday. The numerous members of the college also visited when they could, and in several instances, resulted in rather comical encounters. Harry had mentioned there were other races in Tamriel, but this was the first time people from his own world experienced it for real.
J'zargo got the most interest, given he was he most radically different of the species present. Both Hermione and Ginny found him to be 'adorable', and Harry had to smirk, knowing the sort of trouble the khajiit got into. Would they find him so adorable if they knew?
Enthir was another matter. It didn't take long for the twins to hook up with him, and Harry internally shuddered at the mischief the three of them might cause. It was quite well known, after all, that Enthir was a rather resourceful bosmer, able to track down just about anything, whether it be legal or not. J'zargo was tame compared to Enthir.
Later in the afternoon, Urag gro-Shub made an appearance, at last pulling himself away from the Arcaneum. When Hermione found out what he did at the College, the orismer found himself inundated with questions about the College's extensive library. Harry again had to smirk; the two of them had a thirst for knowledge.
"Just remember, Hermione, you have to be back in London come the first of Hearthfire."
"Oh, very funny, Harry."
"I do try my best." Harry became serious. "Y'know, I'm sure we could probably work something out so you could spend a little time in the Arcaneum. If you wouldn't mind, Urag."
"She would be welcome, seeing she is a friend of yours," Urag answered, gruffly.
"Really?" Hermione was clearly excited at the prospect.
"You guys start learning things here, it'll be a daunting challenge to get everyone back to Hogwarts in Hearthfire," Harry smirked.
All in all, the day had been a wonderful time for all, perhaps the best birthday celebration yet, as he was surrounded by all his friends. The previous school year hadn't been quite as crazy as the two before, and even better, he gained two strong allies from it. Remus and Sirius had been friends of his parents, and in Sirius' case, he had been named Harry's godfather. Some birthday gifts weren't in tangible form, after all.
6 Last Seed
"Harry?! Where are you?" came Mazhe's excited voice.
Harry was still half asleep, taking advantage of a rare down day. Sirius and Remus had returned to the Commonwealth for a series of meetings and other business dealings. Harry knew those meetings concerned him, but really, he knew they had his best interests at heart, and trusted them implicitly.
"Tempus," he muttered, and '10:40 am' wafted from the end of his extended finger.
"Harry?" Mazhe called again, this time stepping into their common room.
"What is it?" Harry answered, at last sitting up and parting the curtains.
"Something wrong?" came Justin's voice from the bathroom.
"No, no, nothing's wrong," Mazhe answered, "Just... I need some help. You guys remember when we visited that Dwemer Occulary a few years ago?"
"Yeah, of course. Whatever it was, it didn't work," said Harry, as he at last cleared the fog out of his head, and threw on a tee shirt.
"I know why."
Mazhe sat down at the round table, and dug into his side pouch, pulling out some sort of cube with tiny etchings all over it.
"I've uncovered some information about the place."
"Which is?"
"The machine, as I found out, actually does something. I stumbled on a hideout of sorts north of here. Septimus Signus, a former member of the College, was holed up there. He's utterly mad, but... he believes the Occulary contains an Elder Scroll. Septimus says this cube—" Mazhe gestured at the cube now resting on the table, "—can be used to decode the scroll, and the machine in the Occulary can do it."
"Gods... that information would be wicked to see," said Harry, "Urag would probably love to have a look at it."
"Once Septimus is finished with it. He's got some sort of Dwemer contraption he's trying to open. He believes the information in the Elder Scroll will help him do so. But I agree, after Septimus is done with it, we can turn it over to Urag."
"And the Elder Scroll itself?"
"If you want it, you're welcome to it. There aren't many people it will do any good for. Though I might like to have a quick look at it."
"Won't it make you go blind?"
"Continuous exposure to it, yes."
"Well. Justin, up to a little expedition back to Tower Mzark?"
"If you're going..."
Hours later, the three of them were silently cursing themselves. It had taken until the late afternoon to get there on foot, and immediately on entering the rather large Dwemer chamber, they found it was already occupied.
"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend," came a rough voice. An instant later, an arrow whizzed by Harry's head, missing by a fraction of an inch.
KAWHACK!
Harry did not miss. The frigid projectile lodged in the bandit's chest, and he collapsed in a heap, trying to breathe through shattered lungs. Harry nailed him again, this time putting a projectile through his throat, and ending his misery. Mazhe, meanwhile, focused on the archer, who was trying to hide behind the curvature of the machine which took up most of the space in the room. He alternated between a shock spell and a fire spell, both of them leaving burn marks on the wall as he pushed the bandits back.
"Shor's balls... should've expected something would make itself at home in here," Harry muttered.
"All of us are at fault, Harry. First part of getting around unseen. We dropped in here like a herd of mammoths," Mazhe answered.
"Guys!" Justin shouted, as an arrow narrowly missed Mazhe's head by inches.
"REDUCTO!" The red blast of magic took the bandit's arm off.
"Thanks, mate," said Harry, as the bandit fell off the ledge, and crumpled in a heap in front of them. It was Mazhe this time who cast the lethal blow. All of them had learned the hard way. Bandits could not be allowed to live.
It took a few minutes before the three of them were sure the bandits had been taken care of. They had encountered six of them all told, and discovered a chest filled with a few useful items.
"Gods... if Delvin ever got wind of this debacle, I'd never hear the end of it," said Mazhe, shaking his head. They had climbed the ramp up to the upper level of the chamber, where the machine's controls lay.
"We're all at fault, Mazhe. It's been a while since we've done any of this sort of thing, after all," said Harry. "Now. Let's see if our trip here is worth it."
"Yes, indeed." Mazhe again produced the cube. "Look here." He pointed to a pedestal to the right of the complicated set of controls. "It's an edged receptacle, exactly as Septimus described."
Mazhe set the cube into the receptacle, and was not surprised, as it instantly began to glow. Immediately following that, a large button was uncovered on a pedestal immediately to the left of it.
"Now we're getting somewhere."
"Look." Harry pointed to a set of what looked like mirrors, swinging down from the ceiling.
"Right. Looks like we have to arrange the mirrors into a certain pattern for this to work."
Mazhe pushed the illuminated button, and sure enough, another set of mirrors began to swing around. He held it down until a button immediately left of it became uncovered and lit up. And so he repeated the process, until a final button was revealed. Pressing this one caused a capsule-like contraption to swing down from the ceiling, and the cube he had brought with him to bloom with colour. The contraption sprung open, and even Harry could see the large scroll being suspended at its centre.
"Harry. You mind? I'll collect the cube."
Up close, Harry could feel the immense power radiating from the legendary artefact. He knew enough about Tamriellic lore to know how immensely powerful an Elder Scroll was. The scrolls were one part historic document, one part prophecy. Even to lay eyes on one, was truly something special. He reached out and grasped the powerful item, gently prying it from the brackets holding it in place. He tugged at the edge of it, and unrolled it.
"Harry, no!"
It was too late. Harry's vision filled with what seemed like a million runic symbols in a white haze, and he felt a white-hot stabbing pain in his scar.
Riddle Manor
Little Hangleton
At long last, things were finally getting back on track. That useless rat, being caught had damned everything to hell. It was only pure luck that Barty Crouch, Jr. Had located the manor, and more importantly, the shade that was the Dark Lord. With careful instruction, Barty had been able to create a temporary body that would give Voldemort form, at least until a more proper ritual could be conducted the following spring. At least that was the plan. And, considering a certain tournament was to be held at Hogwarts that coming school year, the timing couldn't be any more perfect.
There was still the factor of getting into the school, but Barty had that covered as well: Polyjuice. It would, of course, have to wait until the bumbling old fool announced who would take the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and then he would take care of matters.
As to the Dark Lord himself, Barty would place the old caretaker of the property under the Imperius curse, and have him see to Voldemort's needs during Barty's absence. Perhaps something could also be done about Pettigrew, to somehow get him released from Azkaban... or perhaps arrange an escape. How hard could it be? After all, two had managed to pull it off, Barty himself included.
Their daily musings were abruptly interrupted, as the Dark Lord literally screamed, feeling his mind being bombarded with a painful blast of white magic, the likes of which he'd never experienced.
"Harry? You okay?" Harry found two faces filling his immediate vision—two very concerned friends.
"Uh... yeah... think so. What... what happened?"
"You weren't supposed to open it, Harry. Can you see all right?" Mazhe was clearly still worried.
"No worse than before. H-help me up."
Harry still felt a little scattered from the experience, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. They were still in the Occulary, with the strange contraption directly overhead.
"Really stupid, Harry," said Justin, shaking his head.
"Thanks for the ringing endorsement. C'mon, let's get out of here," Harry scowled. He picked up the scroll, and tucked it away in his rucksack.
"Actually we might want to rest a bit first. We'll camp here for the next few hours," Mazhe decided.
"Sure. Head's still a little fuzzy as it is," Harry agreed.
Sometime later, the three of them again set out, exiting the Occulary through the Dwemer elevator. As they discovered, they had been inside all night, as the sun's rays were just starting to make themselves felt across the frigid land. It may have been Last Seed, but that far north, it really didn't matter too much. Snow still covered much of the ground anyway. The northern holds were the coldest parts of the province, locked in a nearly eternal winter.
It was well after lunch before they arrived back at Septimus' hideout. In addition to a lengthy walk across the frozen land, they had to use a boat to get out to the isolated island, northwest of Winterhold. Mazhe collected the Elder Scroll from Harry, then asked them to wait while he went inside and spoke to Septimus.
It took somewhat longer than he expected, and Mazhe was somewhat unnerved by the encounter.
"What happened?" Harry could read his friend pretty well by this point.
"Gods... really regret getting tangled in that mess. You... remember the stories about the Daedric princes?"
"Of course. Why?"
"I just met one of them."
"No way."
"For real. Hermaeus Mora, the keeper of forbidden knowledge."
"What did he want?" asked Harry.
"I don't know, but it's something to do with the Dwemer contraption Septimus is trying to open."
"Mazhe, please be careful. I've read enough to know they're truly evil forces."
"Harry, I know. I don't plan on coming back here anytime soon. Here." Mazhe pulled out the scroll from his satchel and passed it over. Harry slid it into his own satchel.
"We should get back to the College. There are people probably wondering where we are."
"Back to the college, then," Harry agreed, "Justin, you mind making us a port key?"
Only a few days later, Harry, Mazhe, and Justin found themselves in the southeastern settlement of Riften, a place that in Harry's opinion, had seen better days.
"It's not that bad, trust me," said Mazhe, already able to read what Harry was thinking. "I did grow up here, remember?"
"The orphanage, you mean."
"Didn't mean I wasn't able to go out and about. Old Grelod couldn't always keep track of me."
"What you told me of her, reminds me too much of my aunt. And... she still runs the orphanage here?"
"As far as I know. Though, someday, I'll make sure that's no longer the case."
"You mean kill her?" Justin guessed.
"Possibly. This woman I describe is exactly like Harry's aunt—no, I take that back. She's worse, because, she's responsible for dozens of orphaned children for starters. Your aunt never actually beat you, right?"
Harry shook his head.
"Well Grelod most certainly does. And I'm not talking about a love tap. The woman's cruel."
"Does the Jarl know about it?" Justin asked. They were then approaching the wide open main gates of the city proper, a guard standing on either side of it.
"Oh, I'm sure of it," answered Mazhe, sadly, "Though she really doesn't have a whole lot of pull in that sort of matter. Maven Black-Briar's the true power in Riften."
Harry could only nod, as they stepped through the gate into the city proper. He knew his friend would likely deal with that painful part of his childhood sometime in the future. The Breton certainly wasn't above a bit of petty revenge. Or in this case, some honestly-earned payback.
"C'mon, I wish to introduce you to a few people, Harry," said Mazhe, as his mood seemed to lighten, "They should be in the market."
The city proper looked much like the buildings outside the walls, made of wood, and in less-than-ideal condition. There was a canal running through the middle of the city, seeming to open into the lake, and a good portion of the city was built on high wooden supports. Perhaps at one point this was a busy centre of commerce. But... the fire. Right. Harry remembered reading about that. The city had been nearly burned to the ground during a rebellion against the tyrannical Jarl nearly seventy years ago, and clearly, the recovery was ongoing, and slow at best.(1)
As the group made their way along the edge of the canal, Harry could easily feel eyes watching them pass. It was clear the group were strangers, even though Mazhe was known. They were attracting attention, and in many ways, it was making Harry uncomfortable. After all, unwanted attention was one of the reasons for him not wanting to return to Hogwarts.
They crossed the canal, and entered the bustling market. There seemed like dozens of stalls, selling just about everything imaginable. There was a dark elf with a stall set up selling fresh meat and vegetables; another was set up selling weapons and armour. And still another was selling—wait. Harry had to force himself not to do a double-take.
"Mazhe... err... what... well... uh, what is he, exactly?" Harry discreetly pointed out the source of his question: a lizard-like humanoid behind a stall, selling what he thought were gems and jewelry.
"Madesi. He's an Argonian. I'll introduce you," Mazhe answered, and led the group over to the stall.
"Greetings, Mazhe. How go your travels?" asked the Argonian.
"All is well, Madesi. I'd like to introduce you to my best friend, Harry. Harry, this is Madesi."
"Ah, well, the pleasure is all mine," answered Madesi, as he offered a hand. Harry grinned, and accepted it. "Mazhe has spoken much about you and... your friend—"
"Justin," Justin introduced himself, offering a hand, which Madesi readily accepted.
"It is your first time in Riften?"
"It is," Harry answered.
"I'm introducing Harry to Balimund. A good warrior needs to know how to produce and maintain his own weapons."
"Ah, this is true."
"And I could use a bite to eat," Harry threw in, "It's nearly time for lunch."
"So it is," Mazhe agreed, "Let's meet with Balimund first—I see him by his forge."
He discreetly pointed in the direction of a man working the smithy just outside of the market area, hammering on a half-formed sword.
"I have a bit of business with him as it stands."
"Safe travels, land-striders," said Madesi, as the three of them left his stall.
"Balimund," Mazhe said, simply.
"Mazhe, good to see you again," said the old smith, setting his tools down. He had a rough face, somewhat hidden by a bushy moustache, and rather messy dirty blond hair that was greying in some places.
"You wanted some fire salts for your forge?"
"How many were you able to find?"
The man's voice was as rough as his face, but the feeling Harry got from him was nothing but gentle. The man was a teddy bear.
"Eight while in my travels, and three more through a contact at the College," answered Mazhe, as he reached into his satchel, and drew out a small sack. It was literally glowing an orange shade. Harry did his best not to laugh; he knew all too well exactly who Mazhe's contact at the College was. Fire salts were definitely some of the lighter and far more legal things requested from him.
"Mazhe, you are truly amazing," Balimund praised, "You've saved my business and warmed an old smith's heart. For that, I thank you."(2)
"Anything for a friend," answered Mazhe, with a slight incline of the head.
"If there's anything I can do to repay you—"
"Actually. Balimund, this is Harry and Justin. Would it be possible for you to teach him to handle the forge?" Mazhe gestured to Harry.
"You wish to do what I do?" Balimund looked at Harry sharply.
"Yes sir."
"Have you ever handled a forge before?"
"No sir. But I'm willing to give it my best. And... it doesn't need to start today if you don't have time."
"Harry has other lessons he needs to attend," Justin explained.
"I will take him on as a student," Balimund agreed, "I won't charge you any fee, since Mazhe has more than saved my business."
It was then the door into the shop itself opened, and a boy about Mazhe's age stepped out, bringing a plate filled with food.
"I grew tired of waiting," the boy spoke, sounding slightly impatient. He had practically no hair, save for a dusting of fuzz on his scalp, and hazel eyes.
"Patience, Asbjorn. We are only finishing up a bit of business. This is Harry, and he will be joining you for lessons on Morndas(3)."
Balimund turned back to the group.
"This is my apprentice, Asbjorn Fire-Tamer."
"Asbjorn and I share a bit of history," said Mazhe, darkly.
"Still plotting the old crow's demise, are you?" Asbjorn smirked, to which Mazhe smirked right back.
"You were both in the orphanage," Justin guessed, to which both nodded sourly.
"I'll plan to be back here for 9 in the morning, then, next Morndas," said Harry, "lunch, meanwhile, sounds like an excellent idea."
"We will see you next Morndas," Balimund agreed, and the group stepped away.
"Where can we get something to eat here?" Justin asked.
"The Bee and Barb. Though... Keerava's not all that happy with me these days." Mazhe did his best to keep a straight face.
"If you're looking for something a little more exotic, you might speak with Talen-Jai," said another stall vendor, with a smirk.
"If you don't mind forgetting your name and your whereabouts for the next week," Mazhe laughed.
"Is that so?" A mischievous smirk covered Harry's face.
"Speaking from experience, are we, lad?"
The four of them turned around to face the new speaker. He was a little shorter than Mazhe—although he was equally muscular, with shoulder-length, stringy auburn hair, and dark, dull-green eyes. Mazhe smirked again, then softened.
"Brynjolf. My friends Harry and Justin," said Mazhe, indicating each. "Guys, this is Brynjolf, an old friend of mine."
"A pleasure," said the Nord, and another round of handshakes followed. "Mazhe has mentioned each of you on a few occasions."
"Has he now?" Harry grinned. His stomach chose that moment to voice its opinion on matters. "Eh... lunch..."
"Yes, right. Brynjolf, care to join us?"
"...so the pompous fool yanks the cover off the cage, to reveal Cornish pixies, of all things. Most annoying little buggers, but really," Harry was explaining, "They're little blue things that flit about causing mischief. And mischief they caused. Lockhart fled the classroom and locked himself in his office, leaving the lot of us to 'just nip the rest of them back in their cage'... bloody moron."
"I keep telling Harry, I should offer to teach their Dark Arts Defence class. Perhaps they might actually learn something without Harry doing the teaching."
Lunch was long over, but the four of them still remained clustered around a table, with a privacy ward around them so as not to let others listen in on the conversation.
"This school you've been attending sounds a bit out of sorts," said Brynjolf.
"Out of sorts is putting it mildly. Sure, there are a few things I like, but after all the events of the past three years... Shor's balls, I've had enough. I'd love to see Arch-mage Aren have a go at the great Albus Dumbledore, see who comes out on top. I'd bet my last Septim, Savos would curse the old man to Oblivion and back."
"Unless Dumbledore lowered himself to using the unforgivables," said Justin, darkly, "Desperate men do desperate things."
"This is true," they all agreed.
Brynjolf seemed to think on this, then asked, "What is an unforgivable?"
"Magic that is so dark, it is truly unforgivable. There are three curses in our world that are so dark, they literally take a part of the caster's soul. Being caught casting one earns the caster a one-way ticket to Azkaban, the Wizarding prison," Justin explained.
"My parents were murdered with an unforgivable curse... the killing curse."
"But surely—" Brynjolf began.
"This curse kills if it hits. It doesn't have to be a significant hit... it just has to make contact, and—" Justin snapped his fingers. "—that's it, it's all over. A green bolt of magic, and you're gone."
"We have nothing quite like that here. Magic can be lethal, but..." Mazhe looked like he was about to be ill. "To instantly take someone's life by one curse... that is truly disturbing."
"That's why it's an unforgivable. Even in the Commonwealth. It's a power no one should ever have."
"Thing is, even without it, there are other ways which are equally efficient in achieving the same objective." A frosty glow appeared in Harry's hand. "One of these through someone's eye socket and they're not getting up."
"This is true," Mazhe agreed.
"And have his friend exact revenge a second later," said Brynjolf, "The smarter tactic is to not allow your enemy to know you're there at all."
"Which brings me to the other reason we're back in Riften. Is Delvin about these days?"
"No. He's running a bit of business for us in Markarth. We don't expect him back until the beginning of Hearthfire," Brynjolf answered.
"Disappointing."
"Delvin?" Harry asked.
"Delvin Mallory. If there's anyone in the province that knows a thing or two about stealth, it's him," Mazhe explained.
"But my cloak—" Harry began to protest.
"Great for hiding you visually, but there are other things that can tip someone off to your presence. Sight is but one of our senses, is it not?" Mazhe said.
"All right. I surrender. If... if I'm here on Morndas as it is, maybe we could set it up so I meet with Delvin in the afternoons or something."
"It will depend on what he has to do when he returns."
"Fair enough. All I know, I'm willing to learn whatever is offered, magical or otherwise. I have a destiny I have to face one day, and the better prepared I am, the better the chance of a positive outcome."
"What sort of destiny, lad?"
"The dark wizard who killed my parents, he killed many more. There is a prophecy which says I am the one with the power to defeat him for good. I don't know what that power might be, but I know I need a lot more skills and training than I have now."
"What sort of combat skills have you been learning?"
"Up to now, mostly daggers and swords, or other one-handed weapons."
"And nothing to do with archery?"
"No. I didn't really think about it since I didn't know anyone with that sort of skill," Harry answered.
"Well, lad, I happen to know someone. Mazhe, why don't you bring our friends here down to the Flagon, and I'll see about introducing them to Niruin."
That wasted the afternoon. The Ragged Flagon was at first sight a dive. That was the first thing Harry thought when he set eyes on it. Dierge, the bouncer, was a gruff individual who watched them like a hawk from the moment they stepped into the place until the moment they left. Vekel, the barman, seemed to keep to himself behind the bar, unsure of what to think (after all, it was beyond rare for a group of strangers to be openly invited into the place). Lastly, there was a woman with white-blond hair exactly like Malfoy's, seated at one of the tables. Harry learned she simply went by the name of Vex, and Justin's prod of why was met with a threat of bodily harm.
Niruin, as Harry found out, was a Bosmer, and someone more than eager to teach his skill. They agreed that Morndas would be a suitable day, from 1 to 4 in the afternoon. At this point, Harry realized he would end up spending the entire day in Riften. Between what Vekel and Brynjolf were saying, it was more than likely Delvin wouldn't mind teaching for a couple of hours either just before or just after dinner.
Given it was an all-day carriage ride from Winterhold, that would waste two days travelling. Harry wasn't happy about the idea. Last thing he wanted to do was be stuck on a carriage... not when he could be learning.
Justin solved the problem that evening, after the group left the Ragged Flagon.
"I can make a port key to bring us back and forth between the pub and the College."
"That makes it really simple, then. Wasting time travelling, that's not productive," said Harry, somewhat relieved.
August 22, 2004/22 Last Seed, 4E199
Ministry of Defence, Department of Information
Trevelyan
Like any large country, the Commonwealth certainly had its own intelligence service. They kept tabs on events and people which could pose a threat to the nation, the magical world, or the world at large. A few discreet nudges now and then staved off disaster more than once.
Their information network was extensive, with hooks into the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, MI-6, INTERPOL, and numerous other law-enforcement agencies around the globe. Being magical in nature, they could quite easily disguise contact, and the organization on the other end was none-the-wiser. Naturally, it was for the greater good.
This particular morning found Commander Brandon McAllister in the operations centre, in a conference with the imposing lady in charge, Doris Trent—most people called her "Mrs. T." She was by no means a tall woman, but she certainly made up for it with her no-nonsense attitude.
"What can I do for you, commander?"
"I need a bit of help on a small project," said the recently-promoted Special Operations Unit member.
"You are aware Mr. Potter's training schedule is accelerating?"
"Somewhat. I understand he is doing very well in... Skyrim, is it?"
"Correct. The issue is that there's a hole in his training... or more specifically, an area that's not being addressed."
He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a small tablet device.
"If I could have access to one of your computers."
"Have a seat." Mrs. Trent indicated a vacant workstation.
Brandon took a seat at the offered station, pulled out his credentials, and held it in front of the small scanner beside the screen. The screen's contents instantly changed to reflect the user. Brandon, meanwhile, pulled out a small cable and used it to connect the tablet to the computer through the USB port. Moments later, a lengthy list filled the screen.
"My own research with my credentials... what we're looking for, is an individual with both military and martial arts training."
"And someone outside the Commonwealth," Mrs. Trent finished.
"Exactly. Sure, we could have one of our guys do it, but I don't think it would be as effective. What we need is—"
"Someone with nothing to lose."
"Exactly."
Mrs. Trent took a seat beside the Commander, and took control of the terminal. She began typing, and a similar list began to fill in.
"Most of these people have family, so we'll cross them out..." More typing.
"If they have family, but they're estranged, maybe," Brandon threw in. Mrs. Trent made more changes, and the list seemed to shrink even further.
"If you're looking for martial arts training, is it absolutely necessary for them to be military?"
"I guess not. I was thinking in terms of discipline."
"Someone who has extensive martial arts training would have discipline as well, Commander. Allow me to try something."
She dragged the new list up to the top corner of the screen, and opened up a new search query.
"An individual who is estranged from or has no family... active or retired from mixed-martial-arts. Military background a bonus... and, how is this?" The computer had returned a lengthy list.
"Someone similar to Mr. Fraser, maybe a little older. Say, no older than thirty-five. But no younger than twenty-five," said Brandon.
The list shrunk to half its size, and he looked impressed.
"Can you run backgrounds on them? Circumstances, other dragon shit?"
"It's what we do, commander. Stevens! Cole! Come here a second!" Mrs. Trent barked out.
By late afternoon, Brandon and Mrs. Trent were again clustered around the workstation, while Agent Cole sat in front of it.
"Out of the eight hundred or so names, this guy's the best bet. Name's Brendan Conlon, a high school Physics teacher in Philadelphia. He used to run the circuit until a few years ago. Second best would be Bill Senter, a guy in Vancouver, still active in the circuit."
"What did you find about Conlon?"
"Difficult. Estranged from his father—"
"And married. No good," said Brandon, dismissively, reading over the agent's shoulder, "I said no family."
"Sorry, sir. Senter, then—"
"Hold on," said Brandon, glancing across at the original list, "I thought I saw a Conlon on my first list."
"Here we are," said Cole, as an additional screen came up, including an official photo of a handsome-looking man in Marine dress-blues. "Thomas Conlon, twenty-eight, active with the U.S. Marine corps, rank of Staff Sergeant... Shit. This is messy. A friendly fire incident a year or so ago... Bombing run gone wrong, Conlon was the only survivor. Records indicate he's AWOL."
"Estranged from family?"
"Yes sir."
"No family of his own?"
"No sir."
"Find out where he is and let me know."
"We'll get back to you, sir."
Late evening, August 24, 2004 / 24 Last Seed, 4E199
Harry, Justin, and Mazhe found themselves back in Trevelyan, having spent the night in a hotel. When Will had mentioned the Quidditch World Cup, Harry was more than enthusiastic about attending. He did feel a little bad that he couldn't fork out for it from his own vaults, but both Will and Alice were more than happy to make arrangements.
"Come on, gentlemen, we have a port key to catch," said Will, "It goes whether we're there or not."
"Great," Harry muttered.
"It's downright useful, if you ask me," said Mazhe, "Better than... the other method."
"You mean Apparating," said Justin. "Apparating is good for one or two people, but for the four of us, a Portkey is more efficient."
"Once you're older, Harry, we'll teach you how to make them. Just like Apparition, you really have to know what you're doing," Will explained.
They had travelled to the offices of the ministry of Culture and Heritage, the government department responsible for sports and games. Like most government offices in the Commonwealth, it appeared to be non-magical in nature, made of concrete and steel.
"Mr. Jarvis, good morning!" came a cheery voice, as they stepped into the lobby of the moderate-sized building.
"And good morning to you, Mr. Brown. Harry, Justin, Mazhe. This is Oren Brown, the minister for Culture and Heritage. Mr. Brown, this is Justin, Mazhe, and of course, I'm sure you know Harry Potter."
"Oh yes, of course." Oren let out a laugh. "Not many people don't know you, of course, Harry. Now. We'd best be ready..."
Oren reached into his pocket, and pulled out what looked like a miniaturized cast-iron frying pan. A tap of his wand restored it to its proper size.
"Gather around now, and get a finger on it. You all know the rules of travelling by Portkey?"
"Yes sir," Harry answered. The others simply nodded.
"Good, good. Then get ready." Oren held the Portkey out so everyone could get a grip on it, and glanced at his watch. "In three... two... one..."
Harry felt his feet leave the ground along with the tell-tale feeling of a hook about the navel, and he was pulled irresistibly forward. Mazhe was on his left, while Justin was on his right, all of them being banged around by the crazy method of travel.
Then, as quickly as it began, the ground was coming up to meet them. Harry let go of the Portkey, and this time barely managed to keep on his feet as he hit the ground a little roughly. Mazhe landed in a heap, as was the custom. Justin and Oren landed a whole lot more gracefully, touching down as though stepping off a flight of stairs.
"Five past five from Trevelyan," said a voice.
They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as non-magicals, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.(4) Harry resisted the urge to laugh, they looked absolutely ridiculous.
"Good morning gentlemen," said Oren, as he passed the frying pan to the kilted wizard. It was tossed into a bin with another lot of objects—Harry could spot a rolled-up newspaper, a deflated football, an empty Coke can, and a hand basket to name a few. Harry already knew a few things about port keys. Once used the objects had to be decontaminated to ensure the magic is removed from them, lest they end up in the hands of non-magicals again.
The man in galoshes, meanwhile, frowned at the group, seeing Mazhe's appearance—by all accounts, he looked non-magical.
"Wait. You're a... how..." He stuffed the watch back into his pocket and drew his wand. "OBLIV-"
Harry instantly produced his magical shield, and the spell bounced harmlessly off of it.
"Excuse me!" Oren growled, "How dare you."
"Muggles aren't allowed!" the wizard shouted, "How dare you for bringing-"
There was a blur only feet away, and a jumble of limbs appeared on the ground, while three others arrived much more gracefully.
"Now look what you've done..." the wizard muttered, retrieving his watch, "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."
"Attack a member of our party again and you'll be sorry," Oren vowed.
Harry, meanwhile, had forgotten all about what had just happened. The party who had just arrived included Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley. Two others had joined the group, including a rather handsome boy of about sixteen or seventeen.
"Harry!" Hermione beamed, as they embraced.
"Wow! Guys, this is wicked!" Harry grinned, as more handshakes ensued.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Will said, cracking a smile. "Mr. Weasley, good to see you again."
"Likewise, Mr. Jarvis. 'Morning, Basil." Mr. Weasley handed him the spent port key (a mouldy old boot), and it was added to the growing pile.
"Hello there, Arthur. Not on duty, eh? We've been here all night... you'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find—"
"It's quite all right," said Oren, with a frown, "They're with us."
"Is that right?" The wizard named Basil again scowled at Mazhe. He then glanced at the pair of strangers, and consulted his list. "Diggory... second field you come to, site manager's called Mr. Payne."
"Right. Knew I was forgetting something," said Mr. Weasley, "Harry, this is Amos Diggory, and his son, Cedric."
"Merlin's beard! Harry Potter?" Amos exclaimed.
"That would be me," said Harry, uncomfortably. He did offer a hand, and Amos shook it vigorously.
"Cedric's mentioned you a few times of course..."
"Dad." Cedric looked embarrassed.
"All right, let's get moving. We've got quarters set up in the third field," said Oren, "The staff's already been on site putting things together for us."
"This is brilliant," Harry grinned, forgetting about his discomfort at the reaction from Mr. Diggory.
"One more birthday gift from the Commonwealth, Harry," said Justin, "Will's been working on it since the spring."
"Thank you."
Cedric and his father left them at the second field, while the rest of the group walked to the third. The site was off to the side, and at first, Harry truly had to wonder how they all expected to share such a small space. There was a sign in front of the site which read: VALICADIA.
"We're all going to fit in there?" Harry clearly had his doubts.
"Climb inside, and you'll see," Oren said, simply. Still doubting the logic, Harry did so.
Inside, he stopped in his tracks. Rather than a cramped six-person tent, he found what was a rather expansive executive suite that could have been ripped from a hotel in Trevelyan.
"I love magic," Harry grinned.
"Gods!" Mazhe exclaimed, also astounded at the space.
"I know, it's brilliant. We need one of these for running about the countryside."
"They are quite expensive," said Oren, as he joined them, "This one is set up for government officials . A complete, functional bathroom there..." He pointed to a door leading off the main room. "There are beds for all of you, although I hope you don't mind sharing."
"No, it's brilliant, Mr. Brown," Mr. Weasley reassured. Everyone else had filed in by this point. Fred and George had parked themselves at the rather large table at the back of the tent.
"How are we for food and such?" Harry asked.
"More than covered," answered Oren, "And I do need to remind everyone, that outside the tent, we can't be seen doing magic."
"But in here is fine," said Justin.
"Right. Dobby?" Harry called.
Pop. "Harry call for Dobby?"
"You mind sticking around and giving us a hand?"
"Harry Potter sir is camping!"
"That's the idea. Guys, what do we need?"
"Water's the big thing at the moment. But sending Dobby out to get it might not be a good idea," said Will, with a laugh.
"No, no, definitely not."
"Dobby can get it from Hogwarts," said the elf.
"Then that solves that. D'you mind?" asked Harry. Dobby simply popped away.
"But where's the fun in that? Camping's supposed to be challenging, Harry," said Will.
"I've done challenging already," Harry muttered, "Try sleeping in a tent that's not closed in on all sides, with the wind and snow blowing in."
The others simply gaped at Harry. It was sometimes easy to forget the boy had grown up in a rather inhospitable environment. Given that, if he wanted to make things easier, then so be it.
The morning and afternoon was spent exploring the massive campsite. It was a truly spectacular thing, seeing that many magical people all congregated in the same area. Most of the tents looked completely non-magical, as they were supposed to. On the other hand, there were a number of them which were quite obvious, sprouting chimneys, weather vanes, or other odd implements. It was no wonder the non-magical site managers were getting suspicious.
Harry also encountered a few of his (former) classmates during his wanderings. Seamus Finnigan was there with his mother, as well as his best friend, Dean Thomas; their tent was covered in live shamrocks. Harry had to grin, knowing what the Ministry likely thought of that. Neville was also there, along with his grandmother. Their tent was strictly non-magical, and given Madam Longbottom's rather strict demeanour, that was no surprise.
Getting back to the tent, they found three others had joined the group—the older Weasley children: Percy, Charlie, and William (or Bill, for short). Percy had only recently earned his Apparition license, and like his older brothers, had chosen to Apparate to the campsite. Charlie worked for a dragon preserve in Romania, while Bill worked for Gringotts, and at present worked in Egypt.
The afternoon was spent close to the tent, and Mr. Weasley was more than happy to point out a number of Ministry officials as they made their rounds. Ludo Bagman, in charge of the department of Magical Games and Sports, made an appearance late in the afternoon. He was wearing his old Quidditch robes—Mazhe was confused at the attire, but Ron was only happy to explain. The twins ended up placing a bet on the game: Ireland for the win, but Krum would catch the snitch. Tough odds, Bagman had remarked.
The stadium was enormous. A hundred thousand people, Mr. Weasley had remarked, as they queued up for the gate. The Ministry had worked for months in the planning and construction. It seemed to take forever to get there, climbing what seemed like hundreds of stairs.
They at last arrived at the entrance to the box, and Harry was somewhat surprised to find two black-clad soldiers standing at the doorway.
"Mr. Potter?" asked one of them.
"Er… yes, sir," answered Harry, pushing the hair out of his face to show his infamous scar. "What… why are you guys here?"
"You don't believe you're the only Quidditch fan, now, do you?" said the other.
"Oh. Uh, right," Harry grinned.
"One small detail I forgot to leave out," said Will, as he pulled out both his ticket and his government credentials, "Queen Susan's joining us."
"The Queen of Valicadia?" Hermione looked shocked.
"She does enjoy a good Quidditch match now and then, miss…" said the first soldier.
"Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger."
"This is Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill, and their father, Arthur. Lastly, my best friend, Mazhe," Harry introduced.
"Good to see Mr. Potter has made some wonderful friends. Go on in," said the second soldier, as the first pushed the door open.
The box was quite large, with two rows of seats. Behind, there was a little bit of room to stand and mingle, which was what the Commonwealth's monarch was doing at present. There were several other officials present, and for a moment, none of them noticed as Harry and his group entered the box.
"Your majesty. Harry Potter and his party." One of the soldiers had followed them into the box.
"Mr. Potter. About time I meet you, young man." The Queen was a middle-aged petite woman with a thin face, dark hair and hazel eyes. She quickly crossed the box to meet him.
"Your majesty," said Harry, with a bow of the head.
"A rather belated happy birthday. I trust you enjoy your final gift this year?"
"I am. Thank you."
"Everything is well, then?" the soldier at the door asked.
"I think I'll be safe with this lot, Commander," answered the Queen. The soldier bowed slightly, then stepped back out of the box.
"Your majesty, my friends." Harry once again found himself doing an introduction of a large group of people. Hermione gave a curtsey, while the others simply gave a slight bow as they were introduced.
"Merlin, I now feel under-dressed!" Hermione exclaimed.
"We had to keep this quiet," Justin explained, "The Commonwealth does have a few enemies who wouldn't think twice about trying something."
"Indeed the case, Mr. Fraser," said the Queen, "My protection detail is certainly capable, but the fewer people who know of my presence, the better."
"Well… err… it's nearly time. We might want to take our seats." Mr. Weasley turned to Fred and George. "No pranks or other nonsense."
"That includes you too, Harry."
Harry whirled to find Sirius had stepped into the box.
"Sirius!"
"Of course I was going to be here. I just needed to stop by the Minister's box which is just above ours, and have a chat."
"Mr. Black. We meet at last."
"Your majesty," said Sirius, with an incline of the head. The others were already moving to take their seats.
"What are these?" Ron had picked up what looked like a pair of binoculars, except for the fact they were covered in all sorts of knobs and dials.
"Omnioculars," answered Oren, "They're a virtual requirement for an event like this. In addition to being able to zoom right in, you can freeze the action, slow it down, or replay it. It'll even give you a play-by-play if you want."
"They must've been expensive."
"Spared no expense," said Sirius, with a grin, "I have to spoil my godson somehow. There is a pair for each of you."
"Thank you, Mr. Black." The Queen gave the dark-haired man a nod, and took her seat.
"You will need those. I don't think the young ones here have been to an international Quidditch match yet, am I correct?" Oren asked. His answer was a shake of heads from the younger people in the box.
"Well then! You are all in for a treat!" said the Queen, with a broad smile.
She had no sooner spoken, than the voice of Ludo Bagman echoed across the stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen. . . welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
The scoreboard directly across from them was cleared of its advertising, and now read: BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0
The Queen was right. It was a match for the ages. The game grew in intensity as it progressed, as did the dirty play. Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, pulled off something called a Wronski Feint (according to the Omnioculars). The Irish seeker, Aiden Lynch, was unable to keep up, and ended up ploughing a ditch in the middle of the pitch. Krum didn't escape the match unscathed, taking a bludger to the face. His nose was busted, his face bloody. He had the last laugh, however, catching the snitch. The game ended exactly as Fred and George had predicted; Krum caught the snitch, but Ireland won the game, 170 – 160.
All too soon, the group was making a return to the campsite. The Queen herself had taken a Portkey directly back to Trevelyan, along with her protection detail and the other officials who came with her. Oren, on the other hand, felt it was only proper they spend the night to get the full experience. Harry couldn't agree more. He might have grown up for the most part in Skyrim, but he was still every bit the wizard, and appreciative of Wizarding culture.
The grounds continued to be noisy throughout the evening. Harry and his friends visited Seamus for a few hours while they celebrated the Irish victory, and it was well after midnight before they got back to the campsite.
"Well. This has been one hell of a time, gentlemen," said Mazhe, a little unsteady on his feet, a glass half-filled with firewhiskey in his hand.
"Glad you came. I had fun too today. Good to unwind for a bit, I think," said Harry. He was nursing a mug of butterbeer, seated in one of the somewhat comfortable couches.
"Better sit down, mate, 'fore you make a faceplant," Ron smirked.
"Like this?" He half fell onto the couch beside Harry.
"Prat."
"Know you are, but what am I?"
"Real mature, Mazhe."
Mazhe retaliated by reaching over and tickled Harry's ribs, making him nearly spill his drink.
"Hey!"
"Well?"
"Oh you're funny." Harry stuck his tongue out at him.
"Such maturity, Harry."
"Shut up, Padfoot. Rictumsempra!"
Sirius collapsed in a heap, as he was assaulted by the jinx.
Harry was awakened sometime later by shouts outside. He'd fell asleep on the couch, with Mazhe crushed up against him.
"Harry? Wake up! This is urgent!" It was Mr. Weasley.
"What… what's going on?"
He gave his head a shake, and gently prodded Mazhe.
The sounds from outside had changed. People were no longer singing, but screams and shouts could be heard. He could hear people running outside. "Mazhe?"
"Something's wrong."
"All of you. Come on. Just grab a jacket—"
"Mr. Weasley," said Justin, "Get the girls. We'll be taking a port key back to the Commonwealth."
"No arguments!" said Sirius, also realizing the danger. "When we get back to Trevelyan, we're immediately taking the floo back to the College of Winterhold. We don't know what this is."
"Yes, right." Mr. Weasley stepped outside, and returned less than a minute later with Ginny and Hermione. In that time, Justin and Oren had awakened everyone else, and they had gathered in the common area.
"Dad, what's going on?" asked Charlie.
"I don't know son."
"Whatever it is, it's not good. Everyone gather around." Oren had produced a two-litre soda bottle. "This is programmed to take us to Trevelyan."
"As long as the lot of us can use a floo when we get there," said Mr. Weasley.
"It's quite all right, we'll sort it out when we get there. Get a finger on it."
Everyone did so.
"Activate," came Oren's command, and the group was whisked away in a blur of limbs and bodies, leaving the impending chaos behind.
They landed roughly in the lobby of the Ministry building back in Trevelyan.
"Mr. Brown, Mr. Fraser. They're about to lock down the floo." This from a security guard at the doors.
"Bullocks! All of you, this way!" Oren barked, leading the still disoriented group to a bank of fireplaces.
"Sorry guys, I don't have a chance to change the floo for all of you," said Harry.
"Ron, Ginny, and the twins are still on your access list, are they not?" asked Mr. Weasley.
"Yeah, of course. And of course they can join us."
"Better safe than sorry. I'll let Molly know what's happened."
"And we'll send word once we know exactly what's going on," Oren promised, "Now you all better go."
Harry watched as the older Weasleys all vanished through the floo. Then it was their turn. In quick succession, the remainder of the group save for Oren used the floo to return to Skyrim.
"What… what exactly happened?" Mazhe finally dared ask, as he sat heavily in one of the chairs.
"I don't know…" answered Sirius, "But… it could have been Death Eaters. They would have done this sort of thing years ago, back when Voldemort was still at the height of his power."
"It sounds likely," Justin agreed. The adrenaline was still racing in all of them.
"But… we could've helped," George protested.
"NO! Are you out of your mind?!" Sirius snapped back, "We don't know for sure exactly what was going on, but all of you have to know, you could have been killed!"
"Exactly," Justin agreed, "Right now, best thing we could have done is flee the scene."
"Sirius is right, guys. Your mum would never forgive any of us, should something happen to you," said Harry.
He sucked in a breath and blew it out.
"Well that tears it. Whatever it was, I think I'll take my chances here in Skyrim."
"It's not gonna be the same at Hogwarts without you," said Ron.
"I know, guys, but really. Dumbledore wants me under his thumb. Everywhere I go, it results in some sort of chaos unfolding—tonight being an example of that."
"Chaos still finds you here though, Harry," said Justin. He thought for a moment. "D'you mind giving Dobby a call? We could use a few stomach-calming draughts, and perhaps a few anti-hangover draughts."
"Sure. Dobby?"
It took a few seconds, but the excitable elf appeared, also looking out of sorts.
"Harry Potter! Dobby was worried! Dobby is glad to see Harry Potter sir is being safe!"
"Everyone's fine, Dobby. Who was it attacking the camp site?"
"Bad witches and wizards! Dobby's former master is being there too, they is doing terrible things to Muggles!"
Harry cursed, remembering the kind Muggles who pointed out the camp site. Now he all but knew who was responsible. Sirius had been right.
"Dobby. We need a few potions. Some anti-hangover draughts, as well as a couple of stomach-calming draughts. Do you mind?"
"Right away, Harry Potter, sir!" He popped away.
"Harry... everything all right?" Tolfdir was standing in the doorway to the common room, looking concerned.
"Most unsettling events have just unfolded back in our world," Sirius explained, gravely.
"Is there anything we can do to help?"
"No. The floo's been sealed off for the time being, and all we can do is wait," Justin explained, "The Government takes this sort of thing very seriously."
"What kind of incident are you dealing with?"
"At present, we aren't absolutely certain, but we believe it may have been the work of Death Eaters," said Sirius.
"Part of the future Harry faces," Tolfdir remembered.
"Yes. Quite likely."
"But Harry is nowhere near prepared to face them." Sirius looked directly at Harry. "You know that, do you not? It isn't a matter of us sheltering you."
"I know, Sirius. But you and I both know, there will come a time when running and hiding from them won't be an option. We'll need to fight them."
"And when that time comes, you'll be more than ready. You keep telling me I'm the brightest witch of my year, Harry, but you're the most powerful wizard, hands down," said Hermione, "You put our Dark Arts Defence teachers to shame two out of three years."
Dobby returned at last, bringing with him the required potions. Everyone was appreciative, given they had been a little unsteady on their feet and slightly disoriented, being startled awake only minutes prior. After that, there was not a whole lot anyone could do, but wait. Of the group, only Justin made it to his bed.
UP NEXT: The Commonwealth speaks to the ICW concerning Dumbledore's unhealthy interest in Harry's affairs; a visit to a mage in Morthal provides a way for Harry to destroy the Horcrux embedded in Tom Riddle's Journal; and an outing on Halloween brings excitement for the wrong reasons.
AUTHOR NOTES: Another reminder, the events of "Warrior" have been adjusted to suit. We'll be seeing Tommy in the near future, and yes, I have very good reason for his presence. Harry, on the other hand, will not be pleased with the process behind their meeting... and neither will her majesty.
(1) I refer people to the in-game text "Of Crossed Daggers: The History of Riften". This gives a rough idea of what actually happened to the city. Also, I should point out, I envision the cities and towns within Skyrim to be somewhat larger than they are portrayed within the game-world. A city with roughly forty to fifty people in it? Doesn't sound right to me.
(2) Directly quoted dialogue from the game.
(3) Morndas – Monday in the Gregorian calendar. I again direct people to the Skyrim Wiki with regards to the Tamriellic calendar. The month/week/day structure is virtually identical, save for different names. Harry uses the Tamriellic and Gregorian calendar interchangeably, sometimes forgetting that others might not understand—or perhaps knowing very well it might be confusing... particularly in the example of Dumbledore. The more he can keep the headmaster guessing, the better, right?
(4) Quoted from the book. I don't dare tamper with JKR's description here, I couldn't do better than that.