Harry almost regretted telling Eragon. From that point on, the kid pestered him nonstop about magic. He was not averse to teaching him magic, but he had exactly one wand, and the Elder Wand did not Play Nice with others. After the first reaction, the wand obstinately refused to obey Eragon no matter how perfectly he spoke the incantations to the simplest spells. Even lumos wouldn't work for him.
"I don't understand," Eragon said. "What's the difference between me waving the stick and saying something and you doing the same thing?"
"Er, allegiance," Harry told him. "I won the wand's allegiance. Usually you can try a whole bunch of wands at a shop until one likes you. But I only have one, and it doesn't like you. Sorry."
Eragon eyed the Elder Wand. "They can think?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure how it all works. People much smarter than me about this have no clue. I waved a bunch of different wands in Ollivander's shop, until I found one that liked me."
"And that's the one?" Eragon nodded at the wand.
Harry shook his head. "Different one. Long, long story."
Eragon blew his bangs up through his lips. "Well then what now?"
Harry dragged his palm down his face. "It's possible to do magic without a wand. I'm not sure if what I've done counts, but I've lit my wand without touching it before. You have to be really connected to your magic to do it, though."
"I'll try anything," Eragon swore.
"Then try this; the first spell we learned in Charms. Wingardium Leviosa." Harry demonstrated. It was a dizzying feeling, remembering how challenging the spell had been then, and feeling how trivial it was now. He'd come a long way. The pen on his desk floated into the air. Eragon followed its progress with wide eyes. "There's a motion to it, swish and flick. You can always do it with your hand, I suppose."
Eragon mimicked him. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Harry tilted his head. "Close. But the pronunciation has to be perfect, at least when you're learning it." He repeated the incantation until Eragon could parrot it syllable-for-syllable, complete with a hint of a British accent. "Good."
Eragon tried it again. Harry felt sure if he had been holding a matched wand, the paperweight he was pointing at would have levitated. He tried a few more times before growing frustrated.
"Can you make more wands?"
Harry sighed. "Probably not. You said there was only one living dragon left."
"The King's," Eragon nodded. "Shruikan. They say he's a black dragon so big he turns day into night when he flies."
Harry rolled his eyes. They probably said the same about the Hungarian Horntail at some point too. "Well wands are made from wood with a magic bit in the core. I know Veela hair can be used, but the main three are dragon heartstring, unicorn tail hair, and phoenix feather. And I'm all out of all three, so unless you know where to find any of those four, we're out of luck."
Despite being unable to cast magic at the moment, Eragon was still eager to follow Harry around, asking a million and one questions for everything he did. He watched enraptured as Harry put up the courtyard and colonnade behind the Great Hall. It must have seemed surreal, to see pillars sprout from the ground, gargoyles hatch from thin air and perch atop the pillars, and grass and dirt be replaced by stone pavers.
He was especially interested in the Herbivicus charm, which Harry used to reap the day's dinner from the garden outside the Groundskeeper's hut.
"How big an area can you cast that spell on?" Eragon asked excitedly.
Harry bit the flesh off his strawberry and chucked the stem into the compost. He gestured at the open field. "I did all the grass at once," he said around the mouthful.
"Does that mean you could grow a field to harvest like that?"
Harry grinned. He didn't even have to suggest it. "We can probably work out a fair price for such a service."
By the evening, Eragon had seen more magic than he'd probably ever thought he'd witness in his life. Harry wasn't shy about, as Mrs. Weasley might put it, 'whipping his wand out for every little thing.' He used it to cook, to clean, to gather, to fix, to build, each time demonstrating the true breadth of the skill. Harry got the sense Eragon would be writing everything down if he could. He seemed determined to commit every incantation to memory. Which was fair enough, Harry wished he had done a bit more of that himself.
"Why?" Eragon asked, waving a stick around that he'd picked up off the pile of deadfall and brush. They were assessing the outside of the castle, deciding where the next building would go. If Eragon was going to be staying, Harry needed somewhere else to put guests. All the undergrowth Harry had cut out was in a gigantic pile, sorted by compost and wood. Harry had vague plans for landscaping some gardens around the edges of the castle, and was mulling over how best to turn the sticks and such into wood chips. The reductor spell would work, wouldn't it? It reduced things into smaller things.
"Why what?" Eragon swished and flicked the stick.
"Why wands?" Frustrated, he chucked the stuck back into the pile. "I've never heard of them in any stories or legends. Can you do magic without them?"
Harry sighed. "Yes, I said it was possible, just really bloody hard and weak."
Eragon looked at all the grand architecture around him. "Maybe that's why I've never heard of someone doing this; we just never figured out how to make wands."
Harry transfigured a rather plain awning into a carving of a hippogriff, charging out of the stone with wings outstretched over the door frame. "Maybe. I dunno."
"How can you not know?" Eragon asked frustratedly. "I mean, aren't you concerned your wand will break? You'd be helpless."
"Thank you, Eragon, for awakening a new and paralyzing fear in me," Harry said dryly. He had thought about it often on the run. Since his old wand broke, the struggle of lacking one never really left him. Draco's blackthorn wand had worked surprisingly well, but it had never replaced his. Even the Elder Wand was- well, it wasn't inferior, but Harry still thought he'd choose his own over it. It felt like holding the leash of a tiger. It was eager to serve for him, its spells came out with extra 'oomph,' but it wasn't the warm familiarity of the wand he'd learned magic with. The one that had saved him from Voldemort without him even knowing it. Wands were tools. The Elder Wand felt like a weapon.
"I suppose most people don't think about it." Harry flicked the Elder Wand again, adding a statue on a pedestal in a new alcove. It was of Ron with a brave face, sitting astride a black horse. The first iteration looked too much like he was riding an actual horse, so Harry tweaked it, stylizing the horse and setting it to proper black while changing Ron to be normal stone-colored.
"It'd be a pain in the arse, but you can just buy another wand back home," Harry said. "I think wands must do something to access your magic. You can say the words and do the motion with your hands and nothing will happen. But with a wand, that's usually all it takes. Only a few spells take anything more." He swished his wand, gazing at Ron and remembering that adventure. "Expecto Patronum."
A silvery koala burst forth, circling above him in search of enemies to vanquish. When none appeared, it floated down to drift in front of him. Harry reached out to touch it. His fingers passed right through, untouched save for perhaps a bit of warmth. Eragon breathed out.
"What is that?" The kid looked like he was debating whether or not to bow to it.
"A patronus," Harry murmured. "It's like a spirit guardian. They fight a very specific kind of evil. And they're supposed to be shaped as a reflection of the caster."
"So your spirit animal is that?" Eragon asked. "What is it?"
"Koala," Harry mumbled. "Mine used to be even more majestic. A great big silver stag. I wonder what changed with me that it's different?" He dismissed the patronus. "Never mind."
On the other side of the doorway, he put up a statue of Hermione. She had her wand raised in combat, stood in a heroic pose as she fought against tentacles of Devil's Snare.
"Who are they?" Eragon wondered. Harry sighed. "Sorry," he said immediately.
He waved him off. "You have as many questions as there are raindrops in the ocean. That's Ron and Hermione. My best friends."
"I'm sorry," Eragon said again quietly.
"They're not dead," Harry told him. "It's just, we'll all be different people when we meet again." They would be children again, and he would be whoever he became over the years. In a way, there was no going back, not in a way that mattered. For the clock to truly be turned back, Harry would need to lose his memories and become the kid he'd been before. And then things would go the same way they did the last time. There was no reclaiming innocence.
Harry threw in the towel on statuary for the day and headed back to the front of the Great Hall. He set out a paved cobblestone path down the side of the hill to the front gate, running parallel to the outflowing river. It linked with the bridge to the boathouse and looped back to head into the forest. Towards the hall, the path split to the bridge over the lake dam. Harry added lamp posts along the way, idly wishing he had Ron's deluminator. Or had paid more attention to all the times Flitwick mentioned Gubraithian fire. (At least 3 times by Hermione's reckoning.)
"What else does a castle need?" He asked Eragon. The kid would know what belonged in a medieval walled city better than him.
Eragon thought about it. "Everything, kind of," he said. "Mostly they're for sieges. All the people inside have to hole up until the attackers run out of food, so everything they might need has to be inside. Usually it comes down to food, at least that's what all the stories say. 'Blah blah blah, everybody waits around until someone's running out of food, then they usually launch a desperate attack which makes or breaks the siege.' So probably cellars are important."
That…was not at all how wizarding sieges worked. Eragon made them sound unbearably boring. The sieges Professor Binns described were full of espionage, sabotage, magic, and murder. That he managed to make them boring was remarkable, really. Only that ghost could make flying over a goblin stronghold on hippogriffs, chucking incendiary potions and blasting curses down sound boring.
Wizards, it seemed, excelled at asking 'why not,' for it seemed every other story had some crazy wizard or witch do something so dangerous, foolhardy, and downright unexpected that the defenders were caught flat-footed.
Harry would be lying if he said that he did not find the idea thrilling. Flying by the seat of his pants through some sort of adventure, great friends by his side. He felt a pang of regret for leaving his world. Harry ruthlessly crushed it. He had hardly been gone a month, he could not afford to get homesick already when he had at least sixty or seventy years left in Alagaesia.
"Cellars, huh?" Harry tapped his wand against his thigh. "And food. I can do that."
Eragon smiled. "I have plenty of ideas."
Harry got back to work. He started on building the cellars. He had no idea how support or foundations worked. He'd tried to transfigure the whole ground beneath the Great Hall into solid stone, and cutting into that ought to be safe enough if he added arches. But of course, he didn't know how much one could hold, how close he ought to cut it, and where to put them to be most effective. Instead, he just cast unbreakability charms on the arches and hoped that was good enough.
"What's with the words?" Eragon asked. "Sometimes you say something, sometimes you don't."
Harry conjured an ironbound door to shut the cellars. Omnifors was the most useful spell he'd ever learned. "I'm not sure. Incantations decide the spell you cast. I think. But you can say them in your head, you don't need to speak them aloud. That's what I'm doing when I cast magic you don't hear. I'm just shouting it in my mind. But maybe they're not always necessary? I've been thinking about a spell I've gotten rather good at. I hardly have to even think expelliarmus to-" he flicked his wand. A bolt of red light shot forth and splashed against the wall, leaving a starburst of soot. "-cast it. Maybe it's just about getting familiar with what the spells do, and the incantations help you focus."
Except, that didn't sound right, either. It was possible to cast a spell with just an incantation and no idea what it did. Harry obviously did not cast sectumsempra with the intent to make Draco Malfoy into mincemeat. Something about the incantation was intrinsically linked to the effect of the spell. Yet expelliarmus proved that magic could also be completely separate from its incantation.
If only he knew how new spells were made. He'd have loved to ask Hermione; she made up the point-me spell for the Triwizard Tournament. The answer to it all was probably somewhere in how spells were created.
Eragon rubbed his forehead. "It sounds really complicated."
Harry huffed. "It's a cinch to learn. Only took me six years and change."
Eragon turned out to be a better cook than him. Harry knew how to follow recipes to the letter, how to cook rashers from the supermarket, and how to make eggs, but that was the extent of his expertise. The Dursleys were not very adventurous, and when they did want something exotic, Petunia was the one to make it. Eragon knew how to make use of ingredients the Dursleys would never have considered eating like squash, potatoes, and so on.
They ate outside at the picnic table, which Harry brought up to the top of the hill. The Great Hall was too big and dreary to eat in by themselves. Until Harry found out how to make Gubraithian fire, he'd probably stick to brighter rooms.
"Needs eggs," Eragon decided, chewing his baked potato. "Not the potatoes I mean, the meal. I can talk to Uncle Garrow. We could spare some fertilized eggs, if you're up for managing them. It's pretty easy, you just have to give them feed every so often, change their water and hay, stuff like that."
Harry sighed. Another thing to add to the list. Maybe he could do some kind of hamster feeder arrangement? Have the feed drip into a feeder at the right rate, make a miniature flowing stream with aguamenti and evanesco. And scourgify the hay.
"D'you know how to turn wheat into bread?"
Eragon gave him an odd look. "Yes. You do not?"
Harry shook his head. "I always just bought the bread."
Eragon explained that wheat had to be threshed, usually by rubbing or beating the whole stalk to get the grain off the top. Then the grain had to be ground into flour, and sifted to get rid of the bran. Then the flour had to be mixed with water, salt, and yeast, kneaded, left to rise, and baked. And the yeast could stop working if you handled it wrong, and the bread could end up being too soft and falling apart or too tough to eat or just plain burning in the oven. There were a million ways to get such a simple food wrong. Harry had to stop himself from groaning with every extra step Eragon described.
"And then of course it gets stale within a week," Eragon finished. "So it's usually best to just have a baker who makes it all the time and is a master at it, so they never do it wrong."
"And you say magic is complicated," Harry grumbled. Eragon grinned.
For the rest of the week Eragon was around, they got a lot done. Harry made a smithy that was nearly identical to Horst's, then tore it all down and decided to make a better one. He made the whole outer bits from stone instead of wood, put in paved flooring, and put up proper pegboards, shelving, benches, tables, and a couple of anvils.
They put together a foundry for smelting ores. Eragon helped with that, too. Apparently foundries were usually only found in larger towns and thus cast iron goods were expensive, doubly so since they were incredibly heavy and hard to transport.
He described bakeries and their big brick ovens which led to Harry discovering how to make clay from stone with the reductor spell, and how to fire it with a stone kiln and a long, drawn out cast of incendio. Eragon suggested making a mill for wheat by the river so it could be turned by the flow of water. It took some head scratching to figure out how to make all the wheels and gears turn properly. They tested it by opening the first dam briefly to restore full river flow after each change. While the lake was filling, Harry had used aguamenti to fill a second reservoir so Carvahall got a low flow instead of no water at all.
Harry threw a carpenter's shop together near the smithy and a pier at the edge of the lake. By the time the water finished filling, it would be underwater, but Harry could make another one easily. Plus, having interesting things beneath the lake was a very wizardly thing to do. Before the center of the lake was too full to work in, Harry conjured stone buildings and petrified merpeople to live in them. Nothing as elaborate as what was beneath the Black Lake, but something for a diver to find while exploring.
Everything he added brought the whole place together, making the empty grounds feel more and more like a real castle.
By the time Eragon was getting ready to depart, Harry had begun to feel it all coming together. A real castle, waiting only for people to live in it. The guest dormitories were half finished, already livable for Eragon, who had been making do with his bedroll and a quiet corner near a hearth in the Great Hall. The first floor bathrooms were done, too. Harry had carved out a tunnel entrance in the middle already, shrouded between the central sinks. He did not know what he'd put in his Chamber of Secrets (probably not a basilisk) but the idea of it appealed to him. Technically it should be on the second floor, but that did not exist yet, and Harry didn't have so much he needed to cram into the castle proper yet that he needed to build one out. The roof of the first level was flat though, so the second floor needed only walls and a ceiling to be usable.
It occurred to Harry that it was overkill, that nobody but him and his guests lived in the castle, but that was okay. He did not need a reason to make a castle. The fact that he could was good enough. And if he managed to get his hands on dragon heartstrings, well, who's to say he couldn't start teaching there? There were wizards in Alagaesia; Eragon was living proof. There would be enough to fill classes, and he could share what he knew from back home. He'd enjoyed the DA, hadn't he? It made sense to teach. He liked doing it, and it was a way to pay what all his professors had given him forward.
Harry liked where he was at. Finally, his life was not under threat. He could relax and build a home and a life, set down roots and grow into someone not determined by Voldemort and the prophecy.
"Do you need meat to bring back to ward off their suspicion?" Harry wondered as Eragon hiked his backpack over his shoulder, preparing to depart.
The boy scratched the back of his neck. "Er, well-" he looked at his feet. "I was actually hoping you'd come back with me?"
Harry cocked his head. "You're sure they won't be mad at you for speaking with me? Especially if you think I should reveal my magic." Harry had come to the stance that he would not bother hiding his magic any longer. He had a home now, and knew how to survive without Carvahall. If they all chased him out with fire and pitchforks, he would get along fine without them. How Eragon would fare was more of a concern to him.
Eragon shrugged. "They're family. They can only be mad at me for so long. And I can always sneak back into the Spine, even if Garrow forbids me from coming to see you. I know you won't curse me. They'll just have to get over themselves."
Harry smiled. "Well then let's go."
Eragon strode through the final bits of fringe of the foothill forest. He glanced back. "We should be almost there. This comes out near the bend on the east side of the fall."
Harry pushed a branch out of his way. "This is way faster than the way I went last time. I had to jog along the west bank until the footbridge north of Carvahall.
Eragon nodded. "The west path is easier, but there's no good way across the river from the farm that doesn't backtrack all the way to the village. That one's built for people. This one's just a game trail, but it has its own advantages; good hunting."
They left the treeline. Eragon grinned. The farm was just a few minutes' walk ahead.
"Have you been here?" he asked Harry.
The wizard shook his head. "Just in passing, from across the river. The one time I came to see you, I had to levitate the sled of wood over the river and slog through. Without the dam keeping the flow low, I dunno if I'd have been able to cross there."
Eragon knew well how ferocious the stream could get during the spring melt. The rumble of Igualda falls could be heard all the way at the farm, roaring below hearing. It was a constant and comforting sound.
"Roran probably won't like you right away," he apologized. "He thinks magic is unnatural."
Harry snorted. "He can't be worse than my aunt and uncle. Don't worry; I've heard it all before."
"He's a good person," Eragon defended. "It's just-"
"I get it," Harry interrupted. "I promise I won't hold it against him, not until we get to know each other."
"Good." Eragon led Harry through the path between the fields. Roran was already outside, riding Birka slowly around the edges without the saddle, rubbing her neck.
"You're back," Roran called. "Who's that?"
"This is Harry Evans," Eragon introduced. Roran's expression turned guarded.
"The stranger? Is this why you were asking about magic? Is he a magician?" Roran slid off Birka. "Eragon, you brought him to our home? How could you-"
"Boys!" Garrow's voice cut across Roran, standing on the porch. His expression was not friendly. "You will all calm down and we will talk cordially in front of our guest. Understood?"
"Yes father," Roran said subdued, but with a venomous expression. Eragon led Harry to the porch with Garrow while Roran led Birka back to the barn.
"Sit," Garrow suggested to Eragon and Harry both, gesturing to the table and chairs on the porch. Eragon winced, hoping Harry did not take offense at not being invited inside the house. Frustrated, Eragon sat. Were they trying to make an enemy of the wizard? "You'll forgive me if I do not invite you inside," Garrow said levelly. "I do not mean to give offense, but I am wary. I have heard you introduced yourself at the village. Horst has said that you were well-behaved and made no trouble when you worked for him."
Harry inclined his head. "I appreciated his generosity. I don't intend to hurt anyone."
"Intend?" Garrow asked sharply.
Harry shrugged. "I obviously would defend myself if attacked." The tension in Garrow's stance eased at that..
"Of course. That is your right. You are a magician?"
"Wizard," Harry corrected. Eragon let out a breath, the knot in his chest easing as Garrow began to relax. "Yes."
Roran came back from the barn walking with a pitchfork like a walking stick. Harry slipped his wand into his hand. Eragon went rigid. Garrow sensed the change in stance and tensed again.
"Put the pitchfork away," Garrow commanded Roran tightly.
Roran leaned on it. "Why? I'm just using it as a walking stick." He eyed Harry with a mix of disgust, fear, and anger.
"We will make our guest feel welcome," Garrow ordered, leaving no room for disobedience. "Boy, you will listen to me. Put it away. Now. Go to the village, if you must. Brom might like to meet Harry. Him and Horst, Horst might like to talk with Harry again. Do you understand? Only they need to hear of our guest."
Roran reluctantly nodded, looking as if he'd rather do anything but. Stiffly, and with many glances cast back over his shoulder, Roran headed down the path to the village.
Eragon let out a huge sigh. "I'm sorry Harry. I didn't know he'd be like this."
Harry stuck his wand back into his pocket. "It's fine. Usually people threaten me with wands, that's all. I'm not used to sharp things in my face."
Eragon forced a little laugh through his throat. "No, most people aren't."
"Horst and Brom?" Harry asked.
Garrow sighed. "Horst is as close to a village leader as we have," Garrow explained. "He's levelheaded. Brom is just the expert on magic and legend. It'll give Roran something to do. I am sorry he behaved like that. It was unacceptable." Eragon got the feeling there was more to it than that. By Harry's expression, he caught it too, but let it slide.
"Why are you here?" Garrow asked Harry.
The wizard sat back in his chair. "I dunno. I don't know how to get back to where I came from, and I don't know of any other settlements but this village. I came here because Eragon asked me to meet you guys, see if my magic could help you."
"We do not need magic," Garrow said firmly. He cast Eragon a look that said they'd be discussing that later.
"Don't be so sure about that," Eragon grumbled, slouching in his seat.
"Can I ask why?" Harry frowned. "Is it superstition, religion, dislike of strangers?"
"Magic is more trouble than it's worth," Garrow said. "You seem like a perfectly nice man, but I cannot accept your help, and we have nothing to pay you with that you might want."
"You haven't even heard my offer," Harry pointed out.
"I don't need to." Garrow could out-stubborn anyone. Eragon knew Harry would be talking up against a brick wall if his uncle set his mind to it. He tried to step in.
"Harry can grow plants in a matter of seconds," he said. "We could reap a full harvest today."
Garrow shook his head. "Even so, we have nothing to pay him with."
"Not necessarily," Harry objected.
His uncle continued to shake his head. "Even the biggest fools know never to make deals with magicians. I thought you were smarter than this, Eragon." Disappointment weighed down every syllable, dragging Eragon's heart lower in his chest.
Harry was growing frustrated. "I don't want your eternal soul or any of that rot. I want chickens, breeding pairs of farm animals, and some bees if you have them, honey if you don't. Or is that too unnatural for you?"
Garrow paused. "That is all?"
Harry nodded. "It's not some sinister offer. I'm not trying to trick you, I promise. I'll grow, harvest, and replant your entire field once. You'll sell the produce and help me get what I asked for. If that's not fair, I can do it twice. Seem reasonable?"
Garrow looked out at the field. Eragon felt a kindling of triumph. Garrow was considering it. He would not be moved by greed, but the idea of security appealed to him, Eragon knew. Having food for the spring, good food they could eat right away instead of the leftovers from winter and whatever they could gather from the forest, that might sway him.
"Just this once," Garrow decided. "I'm sorry, but we cannot speak with you, Harry. You'll have to go back into the Spine, or perhaps Carvahall if the villagers will have you. We aren't looking for trouble. We don't have everything you ask for right now, but we'll get them for you when we can, and you may collect them from here when we have them ready. Is that acceptable?"
Harry looked to Eragon. There was a message in his glance. You're going to go along with this? Not seeing me?
Eragon subtly shook his head. Harry's lips did not move, but his eyes sparkled with understanding.
"Yeah okay. That's fair. Two harvests for breeding pairs of pigs, sheep, cows, and chickens, and if you find someone who keeps bees or has honey, you'll tell me. Deal?"
Harry offered his hand. Garrow hesitated, then shook. "Deal."
The wizard stood to do his work. Eragon wanted to follow him and watch, but Garrow made it clear he was to stay and provide answers. Eragon only caught Harry raising his wand and swirling it overhead and the field growing like time itself was sprinting ahead before Garrow pulled him inside.
"Why would you do something so foolish?" Garrow hissed, once the door shut behind them.
"What do you mean?" Eragon asked. "He's not evil, I was with him the whole of last week in the Spine. Why do you think he's so dangerous?"
Garrow let out an angry breath. "Did you hear nothing of what I told you before you left? Your mother was involved in something dangerous, something that probably got her killed, and could get you killed too. If you keep acting like this, your stupidity is going to catch up to you."
Eragon felt as if his chest was caught in a vice. Angry tears formed in the corner of his eyes. How could he say something like that so bluntly? "Harry is my friend," he forced out. "I met him several times, spent a week at his home, and he's teaching me magic."
Garrow blinked. He let out a long sigh and put his hand to his forehead. "You remind me of Selena," he said.
Eragon's lips twitched. Garrow caught it. "That's not a good thing, Eragon," he tacked on in exasperation. "She was single-minded. And headstrong. And in Alagaesia, that can be dangerous. Even if Harry is telling the truth and he really is a complete newcomer to Alagaesia, magicians draw attention by themselves. You must never, ever do magic where anyone can see you, or the Empire will not rest until you have been forcefully conscripted. If Harry is not careful, the same thing will happen to him. I'll have Horst and Brom explain this to him. It is not safe for magicians today in Alagaesia. And you are even more at risk because of your mother."
Gruffly, Garrow drew Eragon into a hug. "I know this is an exciting discovery, but for your safety Eragon, you must let this go. Or practice only in the utmost secrecy. Do not say a word of this to Horst or Brom, or anyone else. Not even Roran." Then, grumbling, "You know how he'll be." Garrow held him at arm's length. "We do not live a glamorous life, Eragon. But it is safe. We are safe. And that is all that matters. Have your adventures in the Spine, and keep your magic to yourself. I would not see you ran out of Carvahall and driven by the Empire to the Varden, or conscripted to disappear into the King's ravenous war machine."
Garrow patted him on the back. "Shall we see what this wizard has done to our fields?"
Eragon grinned weakly.
Even though Eragon was familiar with the scale of Harry's magic, he still had to pause at the mountain of harvest Harry had put together in big wooden crates in rows next to the barn. It was different to see that magic worked on his home. There were dozens of bushels of hay, crates of potatoes, boxes of vegetables, and bags of threshed grain.
Garrow gaped at the mountain of food, working his jaw up and down as Harry directed another big crate to drift through the air and stop in its place. Behind him, the farmland had been replanted in freshly tilled soil. It was even neater than it had been before. The rows of crops were in perfectly straight grid lines, already sprouting at about the same height as they'd been before. There wasn't a weed in sight.
Down the path to Carvahall, Roran was headed back with Horst and Brom in tow. Horst was open-faced and curious, but Brom's expression was one of grim readiness. He had a wrapped bundle slung diagonally across his back in about the right shape for a sword. Eragon stepped outside quickly, ready to defuse the situation.
"Hail," Garrow called to Brom, raising a hand.
Brom nodded to him, but wasn't really paying attention. His gaze was locked on Harry and the floating crates he was moving. Far from surprised by the blatant display of magic, Brom nearly looked like he was on the hunt. He rolled an amethyst-studded gem around his finger, clasping the stone into his palm.
"Harry Evans," Brom said shortly. "Roran mentioned you were a magician. You left that part out." Roran had picked the pitchfork back up and was leaning on it, tines into the dirt. It was apparently non threatening enough for Harry to ignore.
Harry glanced up and set down his box. "I wasn't sure how it'd be received. In Britain, it's illegal to reveal magic to muggles – people who aren't magicians. But Eragon said you guys already know about magic, so I figured it was fine. Should I regret my choice?"
Horst tried for a smile, but his stance betrayed him. Eragon could see that he was uncomfortable. "Perhaps not," he reassured. "If we keep the secret between us. Carvahall does not want trouble-"
"Yes, you said that," Harry interrupted. "What does that have to do with me being a wizard?"
Brom cut across Horst. "Because the King takes the view that all magicians belong to him personally. If he or his servants discover your existence, you will be dragged into his service or hunted out of Alagaesia."
Harry put his palm to his forehead. "For real? Not just troublemakers, literally all of them?"
"The ones he has not pressed into service are the secretive ones, or those beyond his long reach," Brom confirmed. He kept watching Harry closely, studying his face and eyes, waiting for a tell to betray him.
It was as if-
Eragon frowned. It was as if Brom was expecting Harry to know him.
"So if I'm outed as a wizard, the King will come here to get me?" Harry flicked his wand. The boxes stacked atop each other in a pyramid. Brom nearly spasmed with suddenly increased tension.
"Yes," Brom growled. "I have heard more stories than you can imagine. The King himself probably not, but he has many powerful servants. And they will come to Carvahall for you if you do not leave or keep your fool mouth shut."
Eragon resolved to keep his own talents utterly secret.
"Well the five of you already know," Harry reasoned. "Is there any reason why I cannot use it around you five? I don't exactly have life skills besides magic."
Brom pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you can do naught but magic, keep it subtle. There are no second chances with information. Once a story spreads, it becomes immortal."
Harry nodded. "I can do that. At least for Carvahall. If someone comes up to the top of Igualda Falls, nothing and no one is going to convince them I am not a wizard."
Horst sighed and patted Brom on the back, who looked like he was about to explode. "That will have to do, Harry Evans."
Eragon glanced back at Garrow. Where did that leave him?
AN: I don't have an upload schedule in mind. I'm comfortably two chapters ahead, but once this 'phase' of the story is over, I'll probably take a break to storyboard the next arc. You'll get the chapters probably about once a week, maybe two if my backlog is growing, and depending on how long my inspiration to write this quickly lasts.