CW: mention of rape, descriptions of torture.

Harry felt horribly exposed sneaking up on the convoy. He'd picked nighttime despite the Cloak. There was absolutely no cover on the approach to the carriage and the guards surrounding it. The road was straight as a laser and flat as a pancake, exactly the same as the flat plains surrounding it. Harry could do nothing but walk straight at them. There were no bushes, no tall grass, no trees, and no contoured terrain to conceal him. Without the Cloak, he'd have had no hope of sneaking up on them. Maybe the disillusionment charm, but Harry got the sense Durza would see right through it.

He could only hope nobody would notice the indents his feet left in the grass. If Durza could hear a heartbeat while riding on horseback with a dozen guards, he clearly had superhuman senses. And Harry didn't know how far that went.

Even though his boots silenced every step, Harry tiptoed out of force of habit, crouched beneath his invisibility cloak. There were four sentries awake and watching, and a small fire near the carriage where the rest of the men slept. Harry didn't see Durza among the upright figures.

Harry crept closer, staring down at his feet. In the darkness, he could hardly see the depressions of his own footprints. He reassured himself that Durza was not likely to catch them when he barely could, and he was standing right on top of them. But the nagging feeling would not go away.

"I'll be glad when we're in Uru'baen," one guard murmured to another, the two facing the northern portion of the road.

"Aye," the other hummed. "I'm no great fan of travel. I thought it was an honor. This is rougher living than I'm used to."

"Hmm," the first hummed. Their voices carried on the breeze blowing gently towards Harry. It brought the smell of woodsmoke and sweat. "The only reason?"

Harry saw the other one shift uneasily. He shook his head.

Harry was close enough now to make out the features of the men. He cast the bubblehead charm over himself to silence his breathing.

"I just want to make it to the capital and be done. I don't need the trouble of elves and Shades and dragons. I'm fine with an average life. At least I'll get to live."

The first snorted. "If you don't get conscripted. The Varden is getting bolder. Galbatorix might decide to do something to send those rats scurrying back to whatever hole they hide in."

The second one swallowed. "I would rather be killed by a human with a sword than whatever unholy retribution the elf will take if she gets free. After what's been done to her…" he trailed off. "I couldn't do what Durza wanted. She's beautiful, but I have a woman. I-"

"I understand. Maybe you've got your head on straighter than the rest of us. If somebody did that to me, I wouldn't rest until I made them suffer an agonizing death."

Harry felt growing rage at the implications of what the soldiers were saying. He picked up the pace, walking the last few yards to the road. The guards on watch were sitting on their packs, gazing into the night. None of them were paying much attention to the sides of the roads and the Great Plains that flanked them. They seemed sure any attack would come from further up or back behind them on the road.

He picked through the campsite, careful not to tread on anybody sleeping. He still hadn't found Durza. The Shade wasn't among the resting soldiers.

He approached the carriage, listening for any sign of the Shade.

Instead, he heard muffled gasps of pain coming from inside the carriage. Harry strained his ears. The carriage had slits on either side of the walls to look in through, though the box only had one door which was fastened by a deadbolt.

Harry readied the critical parts of his plan. He had his broomstick slung over his back, his wand in one hand and a vial of Wiggenweld in the other. He peered through the slit on the side of the iron carriage opposite the door.

Durza was sitting inside opposite the elf, whose hands were chained behind her back and anchored to the wall behind her. The inside of the cell was such that she couldn't stand fully upright, but there was no seat for her to sit upon, so she was forced to crouch awkwardly while her shackles kept her from sitting down without twisting her shoulders too far backwards.

The Shade was toying with her sadistically. He had a metal prong with a wooden handle in one hand, a knife in the other. He chased the elf around the compartment with the prong while herding her back with the knife, forcing her to squirm to evade the fork without leaning into the knife.

"The children in Gil'ead sometimes play a game called Tag," Durza murmured with a wide, terrible smile. "I'm enjoying our variation on such a timeless classic, little elf." He cupped his knife to the left side of her neck, leaning forward and almost hugging her as he brought the fork tauntingly close.

Harry saw the animalistic fear in the elf's eyes as Durza wiggled the prongs ever closer, savoring the terror, chasing the elf around in his twisted sort of hug. She leaned as far back as she could, but eventually she ran out of room to run. The Shade breathed in deep through his nose, holding the fork a hairsbreadth from the rags on the elf's chest.

Abruptly, Durza plunged the spikes down into her chest. Harry heard a crackle of electricity and a moment later, the smell of burnt flesh as the elf's face twisted in agony, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

Harry leveled his wand, aiming it at Durza through the slit. He had one free shot. Harry ran through his options in his head. The killing curse sounded a lot more tempting now. He tamped down his white hot rage and forced himself to think clearly.

The cruciatus curse did not always incapacitate immediately. The imperius curse could be thrown off. He wasn't sure what the reductor curse did to a human – or whatever thing Durza was – but he didn't want to blow bloody chunks all over the elf. Would sectumsempra put Durza out of the fight fast enough to escape with the elf? Bombarda would hurt the elf, and he wasn't sure stupefy would daze the Shade long enough to get away.

As long as apparition was his ace-in-the-hole, Harry did not intend to use it in front of witnesses until he had no other option.

Durza cocked his head. "Do you feel that, little elf? Somebody is watching us, blocking the airflow through the windows." Harry froze, petrified.

The Shade raised his voice. "Rembin, is that you?"

Harry held his breath and took aim. Durza gave the elf a gleeful smile. "I know you remember Rembin. Humans have such funny rules about sex. Surely you haven't forgotten the name of your favorite lover?" He spoke loudly again. "Rembin, our little elf could use a break. Why don't you come in here and give her some pleasure for all the pain."

Harry saw such loathing in the elf's eyes it took him aback. Sectumsempra! He thought viciously, twitching the Elder Wand in a short cutting motion, aimed right at Durza's neck.

A curved ribbon of glass-like distortion leapt forth, following the exact motion of his wand. It carved a shrieking slice in the metal wall and raced towards Durza. The curse warped the metal so that Harry could no longer see through the slit, but the last thing he saw through it before the metal twisted was Durza's dark form twisting in his seat, inhumanly quick with nearly instantaneous reaction time.

"Garjzla!" Durza barked, stalking from the carriage. A harsh white light appeared in the sky, beaming down on the sleeping convoy. The four guards on watch leapt to their feet and drew their swords. Harry squinted against the sudden brilliance. It was as if a helicopter appeared overhead, shining its spotlight directly in his face.

"Find the intruder," Durza commanded as the rest of the sleeping guards began to stir. The Shade's voice was raspy. Harry used the cutting charm to shear off the rest of the back wall of the carriage.

An instant later, Durza rounded the corner of the metal box, cape billowing and sword drawn. His sword was long and pale, a deep, curved scratch gouged into the spine of the blade. He narrowed his eyes at the open carriage. "Invisible foes," he said coldly. "I suspect my little elf will have some new company for the ride to Uru'baen. With hidden minds, too. Somebody's been reading from the Book of Tosk."

The Shade thrust his sword in a wide arc next to the hole in the carriage. Harry dove backwards to evade it. He was inhumanly fast too. Durza's sword hummed as it moved, cutting through the air.

Stupefy, Harry flung over his shoulder, already running from the spot he'd cast from. The jet of red light raced towards Durza, who contorted effortlessly out of its way. The return strike was swift, a cutting stroke that slashed right through the spot where Harry had just been, the spot where to Durza, a flash of red light had emerged from nothing. The Shade's neck was bleeding sluggishly, a deep cut scored his shoulder. It had to be where Harry's sectumsempra struck.

"You can cast magic without fear of retaliation and this is what you produce?" Durza sneered contemptuously. "Why Galbatorix fears your race is beyond me. I never thought the elves would send their novices to rescue my little elf. Istalri."

A ring of fire burst to life around Durza's feet. The Shade gestured and the fire began crawling outwards, slowly clearing the area around him. Durza barked orders to his men. "Encircle the western side of the road. Kick up dirt and strike at the air."

Sixteen men moved to cut Harry off from the Great Plains, kicking up dirt and shadowboxing with spears and swords, making it terribly dangerous to head that way. The flames around Durza began encroaching on Harry. He thought of jumping on top of the carriage before discarding the idea. Durza would see it bob when he landed on the roof. Harry cast the flame-freezing charm on himself and let the ring of fire pass beneath him, the fire warm and ticklish.

The fire sputtered beneath his feet, licking at the cloak. Durza honed in on him, lunging with his sword. Harry flicked the Elder Wand. Protego.

Durza's sword jarred off the translucent barrier. The Shade was unbothered. He immediately set to hacking at the shield with brutal overhand strikes. Harry could guess at what Durza was doing. Against Eragon, he'd be able to just batter the shield until Eragon was exhausted of energy and kill him at his leisure. Harry was not restricted by energy, and could hold the shield up as long as he wanted.

A twang and a whistling noise came from behind. A white hot pain struck Harry like a punch, cutting into his back. He gasped in agony.

"Whoever fired that shot will be rich beyond their wildest dreams," Durza promised. "Exhausted your wards?" the Shade mocked.

Harry timed his next spell with Durza's strike, waiting until the Shade had committed to the downstroke to shoot. He flicked his wand. Expelliarmus.

The jet of light came when it was too late for Durza to get his sword out of the way. The spell bolt hit the blade and wrenched it from Durza's hands. Harry dropped the Wiggenweld in his left hand and caught the spinning hilt. He switched his sword and wand in his hands. Durza's eyes narrowed. Unfazed, he drew the knife and prong he'd been using to torture the elf and continued to hack and slash at Harry. The Shade was no longer guessing at Harry's location. He seemed to know exactly where Harry was.

Desperately, Harry fended off the strikes with Durza's sword. The blade was unfamiliar to him, not balanced like the wooden swords he'd practiced with Brom and Eragon. The Shade was quick, too quick. His strikes jarred Harry's limbs, too strong to block, only to deflect and dodge. Harry heard another arrow whizz by, flinching violently. The arrow in his back hurt him every time he shifted. He counterattacked. Durza didn't seem able to see the sword coming, but managed to evade it despite that. He was probably hearing it whistle in the air. Harry cast a silencing charm on the sword and redoubled his attacks. Durza grew much more cautious.

Harry needed to finish the fight immediately, before Durza touched him with the fork. He needed an ally. His wand felt awkward in his left hand, but he'd learned this spell eight years ago and didn't even need a wand to cast it. Wingardium Leviosa.

The little green vial rose off the ground at his feet. Harry kept it low and out of Durza's line of sight, floating it an inch off the ground towards the hole he'd cut in the carriage. He deposited it on the floor of the cell and sent a silent charm chasing after it. Alohomora.

The circle of soldiers had closed in on him, approaching closer and closer with spears pointed towards him. Harry slashed his wand behind him. Incendio!

The heat and smoke did not bother him, the flame-freezing charm and the bubblehead protected him from the fire. The soldiers were not similarly immune, and stopped pushing towards him.

Durza managed to score a cut on Harry while his attention was lapsed, a furrow on his cheek that dripped blood into his mouth. Harry struck back with a stunning spell Durza jumped back from. The Shade whispered a sentence in the Ancient Language under his breath. Between his unfamiliarity with the language and the quiet volume, Harry caught little. Protect, light, and block, among other words.

Harry fired another stunner. Durza got out of its way, but let the spell pass within an inch of himself anyways, watching curiously. The spell was half deflected by an invisible barrier around the Shade. Triumphantly, Durza resumed his attack.

He cast a shield, Harry realized. He knew some spells went through the shield charm. Dolohov's purple flame spell, the Unforgivables- Sectumsempra!

Durza growled as the distortion in the air cut through his cloak and gouged his breastplate. He started muttering again. Harry was rapidly running out of options.

He put everything he had into his next spell. VENTUS!

A blast of hundred-mile-an-hour wind struck Durza like wind filling a kite. The Shade staggered backwards. The wind fed the fire on the ground, making it roar to life. From the carriage cell, the elf lady sprinted out and circled around the side towards the soldiers. She was blindingly fast, as quick as Durza despite her long captivity.

The elf took the moment Durza was dazed to vault over the wall of fire separating Harry from the soldiers. She landed on the shoulders of a musclebound man with thick facial hair. Harry heard the gruesome squelching cracks over the wind as the elf twisted his head backwards on his neck. She seized the soldier's sword from his grasp and landed on her feet even as the man collapsed dead underneath her.

Harry refocused on Durza, recovered and glaring murderously at the elf and Harry. How the hell was he able to see him?

Durza approached leaning into the wind, staggering against the gale. Harry peered at the evil creature. A thought occurred to him, a desperate idea that might just work.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted, abandoning his silence. A silvery animal burst from the Elder Wand, but not the one he was expecting. Neither a stag nor a koala, it was a winged insect that zipped out and attacked Durza. A dragonfly.

Durza shrieked as the dragonfly divebombed him, flying into his chest and pushing him back like a physical kick. The Shade pointed at the brilliant white spirit animal and chewed out a word. "Garjzla!"

The flash of red light did nothing to the patronus. Durza dodged the dragonfly's follow up strikes, herded back by the guardian spell.

In that brief time, the elf had killed the rest of the guards. Harry quenched the flames Durza had started, staggering up to the road to get ahold of the guards' horses. He seized the reins of two lightly-burdened beasts, throwing himself up into the saddle of a spotted white and black mare. He had nowhere to put Durza's sword so he pocketed his wand instead and grabbed the reins of the chestnut one behind him.

How different could they be from hippogriffs? Harry dug his heels into the horse's flanks. It leapt forward, nearly jerking Harry's arm off as he kept hold of the chestnut's reins. The horses shied away from the fire so he led them around the ring. The elf had just dispatched the last guard when he reached her. "Get on!" Harry urged.

The elf swung herself into the chestnut's saddle and took the reins from him. Harry wondered how that looked, the reins being held by an invisible hand in the air.

"Ganga!" the elf commanded. Her horse took off like a rocket. Harry followed after her. She circled wide around the ruins of the convoy and crossed the road, headed east. Behind them, Durza's voice howled with rage, carrying over the barren plains and empty road. Harry glanced over his shoulder. Flashes of silver and crimson light battled over the smoke and flames.


The elf kept her horse at a gallop until it was too tired to continue and on the verge of collapse. Harry did all he could to keep up. Every time the horse stepped, it bobbed up and down beneath him, jostling the arrow wound in his back. Harry never got used to the repeated spikes of agony of each gallop. He risked releasing his horse's reins long enough to draw his wand and heal the slash on his cheek. Durza's sword felt like lead in his arm. He had to keep it lofted in the air to the side to avoid it cutting him or the horse.

They galloped over the endless grasslands, hoofs falling again and again on tough grass lit by the moonlight from a thin white crescent in the sky. Harry felt the evening air on his face as they galloped, smelled the grass and wind, and watched the flat horizon ahead.

They rode and rode until Harry was sure the horses had to give out, then they ran a bit further. Even when the horses began to really pant, The elf pressed on and Harry followed behind her. When Harry grew exhausted from holding onto the saddle and reins, holding himself upright and shifting with the rise and fall of the horse's gait, still they ran.

Grass flew beneath them. The road was long out of sight past the horizon, the land so featureless and flat it hardly felt like they were going anywhere as they ran.

When their horses both gave out, Harry's arm was about to give out, too. The elf got off her horse and let it collapse to its folded knees, panting and foaming at the muzzle. They were in the middle of nowhere, hours of galloping from any recognizable landmark. The elf looked awful, wearing torn and slashed rags that barely preserved her modesty. The gaps in her clothing gave glimpses at wounds underneath, too many to count, rarely a spot of unmarked skin. Her eyes were sunken in deep dark circles and filth caked her skin, like she hadn't been able to bathe since before she was captured.

"Who are you?" the elf demanded guardedly. "Make yourself visible." She held her stolen and bloodied sword loosely in her hand. The sickle moon overhead illuminated the edges of her snarled and matted hair and the border of her silhouette silver.

To be honest, Harry was afraid of her.

Harry tugged down the cowl of the Cloak. "Harry Evans," he said weakly. "And you?"

The elf hesitated, looking at his disembodied head. "Swear to me you are no servant of the King. Swear you are no ally of his, and that you do not follow his will."

Harry repeated her obediently. "I swear-"

"No," she interrupted. "In the Ancient Language."

Harry swallowed. She asked for a lot. In many ways, she demanded something even more binding than an Unbreakable Vow. At least with those, he could break it, if he was willing to pay with his life. The Ancient Language bound his behavior, enslaved him permanently to his word. At least she was only asking for the truth, rather than a promise.

Harry stumbled through a cobbled together sentence in the Ancient Language that amounted to the elf's demand.

"Arya," she said finally. "Do you have supplies? We need to keep moving."

Harry nodded. He got off his horse. Think we're far enough for now?"

"For now," Arya said dully. "Not longer than fifteen minutes. Durza may be in pursuit. You did not slay the rest of the horses in the convoy. He will have mounts to give chase."

Harry was taken aback by the cold assessment that he should have slaughtered all the horses, just to deny Durza tools to come after them. He supposed it wasn't like he could slash their tires or steal their broomsticks. And the way Arya had killed all those men without hesitation–

He swallowed. Maybe just because Arya had been captured by somebody evil, didn't mean she was necessarily nice.

"I have more of those healing potions," Harry offered. He set down Durza's sword in the grass and pulled out his medkit. Arya was surprised when he unfolded it and showed off the expanded space inside. "Five vials," Harry said. "I didn't know how many you'd need."

"Do you have Tunivor's Nectar?" Arya asked hopefully.

Harry frowned. "I don't know what that is. Why?"

Arya shook her head. "Where are we? Gil'ead?"

"Maybe fifty miles south," Harry said.

Arya muttered under her breath. "Then our best chance is in Du Weldenvarden." She turned to Harry. "Durza poisoned me. Another way to keep me from escaping. The poison is called Skilna Bragh, and it can only be cured by Tunivor's Nectar. There are three places in Alagaesia that have it. The Empire, the dwarves in the Beors, and the elves in Du Weldenvarden. I will die before we reach the Beors. Thus, we must go to Du Weldenvarden."

Harry sobered. "The only cure?"

Arya nodded. "Tunivor's Nectar is derived from a mushroom that only grows in very specific conditions."

Harry offered her another vial of Wiggenweld. Arya hesitated, then threw the green liquid back down her throat. She gave a moan of relief. Harry could see little cuts and scars on her face and arms heal a bit, standing out on her skin less lividly. Arya was taken aback by the efficacy of the potion. "That won't do it?"

Arya paused. She closed her eyes and waited.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I prefer not to toy with my life. What is this?"

"Hmm," Harry muttered. "The poison, Skilna Bragh, what is it derived from? Does it use dragon blood?"

Arya's brows knit. "Of course not. It is derived from the Fricai Andlat, ironically the same rare mushroom that the cure is made from."

Harry nodded to himself. "Then a bezoar should cure it."

The elf snorted indelicately. "That's a tale for superstitious farmers. An accumulation of undigested plant matter will not cure the deadliest slow-acting poison the Empire knows."

"I think you'll be surprised," Harry promised. "Now where should we go to find goats on the way to Du Weldenvarden?"

Arya regarded the horizon they had run from, where Durza was sure to be regrouping to give chase. She turned on ahead towards the northeast, then glanced back towards Gil'ead. "I hope you are right in your hunches. This is a gamble. If you are wrong, I will have to enter a coma to slow the poison as much as possible, and you will have no more than a week or so to reach the forest. If I do not deteriorate before then. From Gil'ead, you'd hardly be able to sleep if you hoped to make it in time. My life is in your hands."

Harry swallowed. "I won't let you die, no matter what," he swore. He promised himself that if it was necessary, he would reveal apparition to get Arya to Du Weldenvarden safely.

The elf gauged his expression. The horse beneath her seemed to sense his rider's intense emotions, capering uneasily. Arya calmed him with a gentle gesture.

"Then we may go," she said finally. "Do you need time to heal your wound? The longer we linger, the more Durza may catch up with us."

Harry reached around behind him and touched the arrow shaft. He hissed, a sharp stab of pain shooting through his side. "Can you help? Just get the arrow out, I can do the rest."

Arya nodded and stepped up behind him. "Can you end the invisibility spell on your body? I cannot see what I am doing."

Harry shook his head. "It's on an enchanted cloak the guy shot through. Just yank it out."

"If it is barbed, it will rip a much bigger hole," Arya warned.

Harry rummaged through the medkit for a numbing potion. He ripped the cork out with his teeth. "Doesn't matter," he said around the cork. He took a swig of the matte pink liquid. All the pain in his body instantly deadened. "Unless it hit organs, I can just heal it anyways."

Arya shrugged. Harry felt her feel around the arrow, touching his back and gauging where the arrow actually was on his body. "Likely not," she told him. "Perhaps it nicked your entrails, but those are simple enough to heal. Can you?"

Harry nodded. "Just pull it out."

Arya planted her palm on his back around the arrow. He felt her fingers touch the shaft. The pain potion removed the agony but left sensation. It was incredibly disconcerting to feel the barbed arrowhead wiggling around inside his body.

She yanked it out all at once. Harry felt something hot, wet, and slimy fall down the back of his cloak. As soon as Arya removed the arrow, Harry cast off the Cloak.

Arya winced. "Quickly," she urged.

Harry craned his head to see a chunk of his back missing, blood flowing freely from the wound. He stretched and touched his wand to it. "Vulnera sanentur," he incanted. The hole sealed up. Arya watched him, seemingly waiting for him to collapse from exhaustion. Harry was exhausted, just not magically so. He picked up the Cloak. The bloody chunk Arya had ripped from his back had left a trail of blood on the inside. Harry scourgified it clean, then did the same with his clothes and repaired the tear the arrow left in his shirt. The Cloak was left completely undamaged, not even scratched where the arrow had struck. Deathly Hallows were made of sterner stuff, it seemed.

Four precious vials of Wiggenweld remained. Harry was tempted to take one to soothe the remnants of his injuries, but comfort was not a pressing enough need to waste one of the four remaining doses. If Arya began deteriorating, Wiggenweld might be able to buy her a bit more time.

Before he packed up his medkit, he offered Arya a dose of the pink potion. "It deadens pain," Harry told her. He didn't know what wounds remained after she'd taken two doses of Wiggenweld, but he knew she'd been tortured for months. He poured a dose into a little cup and offered it to her.

The elf accepted the drink without comment. If she had showed relief before from drinking the Wiggenweld, she practically collapsed into her saddle from the sudden absence of pain. It further piqued Harry's concern. If she was still in agony after taking the Wiggenweld, she still had wounds that needed to be healed.

Harry gave the horses drinks from his canteen. Arya watched him pour water from his canteen with narrowed eyes, as if estimating (correctly) that the amount of water he poured for the horses was more than could fit in the confines of the metal container. They did as much as they could for their mounts. Harry unslung his broomstick and left it floating in the air. "You take both horses," he offered. "I can fly. If you switch off, they might not get tired so quickly. Can you handle riding?"

"You will exhaust yourself if Durza returns," Arya warned. Harry waved it off.

"Not this. My magic doesn't tire me."

"Impossible," the elf said flatly. "It is the cardinal law of magic."

Harry shrugged. "I'm just going to fly my broomstick, and eventually you'll have to admit I'm telling the truth when we've gone way longer and further than any human could ever lift somebody for."

"I would still not believe you," Arya insisted. "I would simply believe you had gems full of energy hidden away somewhere, or some other source of energy other than your body. I can ride."

But still her eyes followed Harry as he mounted his broomstick, a bit disbelieving, as if he was being absurdly wasteful with energy by doing so.

Arya tied her stolen sword to the saddlebags of her horse. Harry mimicked her for his now riderless mount. "What are you going to fight with if we are attacked?" Arya asked.

"Magic."

The elf sighed, too tired to fight with him over all the things he was doing 'wrong' to survive in Alagaesia. Harry supposed he should be used to it by now after all his time traveling with Brom. Eventually Arya was going to learn that he did things differently.


Harry cast the obliteration charm behind them to clear their trails. Well, Arya's trail. Harry was going to have to sit down and make a dozen brooms all at once, just so he'd have extras on hand when the need arose.

The obliteration charm didn't seem to do anything, but Harry would never bet against magic. Durza had inhuman senses, and could probably track a scent or pick out the bent grass footsteps they made better than any bloodhound or human hunter. It cost him nothing to do it, even if it did do nothing, so Harry kept at it.

Hopefully Durza would come across the point where they had paused, the point where the trail ended, and simply keep following their trajectory towards the northwest corner of the Hadarac without ever knowing that they had doubled back to the very last place any sane pursuer would expect them to go: straight back to Gil'ead.

He flew low enough to nearly skim the tough grass with his feet, gliding level with Arya so they could talk.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. Arya looked stoically ahead.

"If O.K. means alright, then no."

Harry gave her a sympathetic nod. "I meant physically. Did the Wiggenweld heal everything but the poison, or do you still have cuts, burns, bruises, etc.?"

Arya shook her head.

Harry broached the idea as sensitively as possible. "...contraceptives?"

The elf's gaze darkened. She gave him a complicated look.

"No," she said finally. "It is too late either way."

Harry drifted ahead far enough to look her in the eyes. They were green, but a darker shade that seemed almost black in the night, merging with her pupils. "I know a few 'morning-after' charms that work. One kills the egg directly, the other prevents it from sticking to the uterine lining. It'll get flushed out with your next menstrual cycle."

The elf went silent again. Harry reminded himself that most people in this time period weren't educated at all, and even the ones who did get a decent education could only benefit from what the experts of the time had discovered yet. Harry was fuzzy on the details, but he knew the discovery of the ova or female egg had not been a medieval advancement. It had come fairly recently in the history of human civilization.

"Swear to do only that," Arya said with a burrowing gaze. Harry cobbled together a sentence that meant something close enough to fulfill Arya's demand. The elf allowed him to flick his wand at her. Her belly glowed faintly blue for a brief moment before fading away.

"You weren't pregnant anyways," Harry informed her. Arya slackened a bit in relief. "I can heal the rest of your wounds whenever we stop next."

Arya said nothing, though Harry got a sense that the absence of an answer meant yes rather than no.

They cantered on.

Arya set the pace for their travel. Harry drifted along as she squeezed every yard of distance from the two horses they'd stolen. She seemed to know exactly how much, how hard, and when to push the mounts, when to switch saddles, all to maximize speed and distance.

Harry felt a pang of guilt at being the one on the ostensibly easier mount. Having flown brooms and a hippogriff, Harry would take the nonliving tool any day over a living creature. The recent torture victim should have gotten the broomstick, but Arya did not know how to fly, and Harry hadn't the tiniest fraction of the elf's expertise at riding horses.

They pressed on until the grey predawn sky, making up ground headed back towards Gil'ead while Durza was hopefully following their false trajectory towards a dead end. Even more hopefully, Durza might not have had time to get a message to Gil'ead to put them on alert or spur them to send out hunting parties.

Even when the sky began to lighten into sunrise, shot through with pink and orange pastels, Arya drove their horses onwards.

Harry had not expected to be the first to give out among them. Even the horses seemed capable of a few more miles before they gave out when Harry was forced to call for them to stop. The sun was fully clear of the horizon then, and the second daylight had infused Harry with a tainted sort of exhausted second wind he knew from experience would leave him utterly dead the moment the adrenaline in his system flagged.

He had been awake since yesterday morning, a full twenty-four hours ago. In that time he had flown at least a hundred miles on broomstick, waited by the side of the road for an hour, flown another couple dozen miles, fought for his life, been shot, and then traveled yet another fifty miles on their mad dash to escape.

He rode out the second wind setting up the new tent and casting not just Hermione's wards, but all the other ones Morgan had mentioned when he was warding the castle. All except the fidelius. Arya tied the horses to one of the tent's stakes, eyeing the rippling soap-bubble effects of the wards.

Harry pushed inside the tent with a muttered "follow me" thrown over his shoulder.

He was too exhausted to savor the awe on Arya's face at the expanded and furnished interior of the tent. Harry was proud of it, he was just too dead on his feet to enjoy her reaction.

"Do you want to get clean?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. Arya stunk of blood and sweat and urine, the stench of torment and despair. There was something else too, a sickly sweet smell that made Harry furious if he thought about it too long.

"Please," Arya said gratefully. "I would not waste water, but if you have extra…"

"Unlimited," Harry mumbled. "Shower's over there." he pointed limply through the master bedroom door at the bathroom. "Turn the big tap for water pressure, little one for heat. Red hot, blue cold. Obviously. You can have the big bed when you're done."

Arya disappeared into the bathroom. Harry hurried to clean himself in the ensuite attached to the guest room before she was done to return and conjure her clothes – a bra and knickers with sweatpants and a t-shirt – and then fold them up next to the crack in the door. He slumped into the armchair while he waited for her, drifting in and out of consciousness.


The bathroom door opening jolted him into wakefulness. Warm, soapy steam wafted from the bathroom. A damp, pale arm littered with wounds snuck from inside to pick up the folded pile of clothes. A moment later Arya emerged.

Her damp black hair was wet and messy, piled around her shoulders. She still had a gaunt face and sunken eyes, but her skin and hair was clean and unmatted, and she certainly smelled better than she had moments ago.

Harry fought his leaden limbs and heavy eyelids to push himself awake. "Hungry? Thirsty?" he yawned.

Arya nodded. Harry padded over to the drawer of stasis meals and peeled off the lid to a full family-size dish of lasagna. Harry served himself a plate and indicated the rest was for Arya.

The elf finished the whole thing.

Harry passed her his canteen and watched as she drank and drank probably half a gallon right away.

A few minutes later, she threw up.

Tiredly, Harry vanished the vomit and got her another dish, this time vegetarian enchiladas. Bashfully, Arya ate much slower, and drank water in moderation. She poked at the canteen like a curious cat. Her eyes went to the spot where he had vanished her sick.

"You are creating and destroying matter," Arya noted. "How? The 'shower' must have done it too, unless you are magically filtering and recycling the water. And you aren't using the Ancient Language to cast magic.

Harry yawned. He was too tired to explain it all. "Magic. Different kind. Finish up so I can heal you and go to bed."

"I can't eat so quickly," Arya glanced meaningfully at the spot where she'd thrown up moments ago. Harry yawned.

"Can you wait to eat until after I heal you?"

Arya gave the food a parting look of longing before nodding.

Harry directed her to the couch and had her take off her shirt. Arya hesitated to do so right away. He'd thought it was an issue with modesty, but Arya seemed more nervous to reveal an interesting tattoo on her shoulder than her breasts. It was impossible not to notice how beautiful she was, but Harry forced himself to remain professional, and reminded himself that the absolute last thing a rape victim probably wanted was unwanted sexual attention. It helped that she was absolutely littered with horrific torture wounds.

He gave her a numbing potion to start and got to work.

Harry got a lot of mileage out of Snape's healing spell. It really was the most remarkably effective healing charm he knew. Episkey helped more with broken bones, but nothing was as good as vulnera sanentur at healing skin, muscle, and tendons.

Whip marks, brandings, cuts, stabs, electricity burns, bruises, Arya's body bore the evidence of a grim captivity. Her wrists were chafed raw to the bone from struggling against shackles, and her shoulders were sprained from positional torture. Harry fixed them up too.

Slowly, little by little, Harry managed to erase the marks of Durza's torture. When her back was done, Harry healed her shoulders and arms and wrists. When that was done, he moved on to her belly, chest, and breasts. He had Arya roll up her pants and worked on her ankles, skins, and knees. No part of her body was left unmarked by some kind of torture and when Harry had passed over it, no part of her body was marked at all.

Even as bone deep weariness set in, Harry refused to give up or take a break. As long as he could focus well enough to safely cast healing spells, he would see the job through.

When all of Arya's visible skin was free of marks, Harry sat back.

"If you're not comfortable with me healing whatever's been done to your more private areas, or if you want to heal them yourself, I can give you potions that do similar things that you can put on yourself-"

Arya wordlessly took off her pants and let Harry heal the cruel wounds inflicted beneath. Harry strove to be perfectly professional and finished up as quickly as he could. He could not help but notice that either somebody had been shaving Arya in captivity, or elves did not grow hair below their necks. He hoped it was the latter. The former had disgusting and cruel implications Harry didn't even want to consider.

When she got dressed, Harry fell back into the armchair. "Is there anything left that can't wait until morning? I've been up for twenty-four hours and crossed probably half a thousand miles in that time. And I can't imagine you got a lot of sleep, either."

Arya shook her head wordlessly. Harry pointed out the master bedroom. "Take the big bed tonight. I'll get the guest room ready tomorrow."

Harry was half asleep before he even touched the mattress. He clambered over the boxes of books and fell into bed. He barely managed to kick his shoes off before he was in deep slumber. The dream he witnessed held an earthquaking piece of information. Just a single name, and it instantly recontextualized everything he'd seen in Morpheus's embrace.


AN: This was a dark chapter, but I think it had to be. I will also mention that I updated the last chapter with a couple of important changes while Harry was flying. I suggest rereading it, but you won't be lost if you don't.

The next chapter is shaping up to be 100% Harry POV, and probably the one after that, too. It'll be a bit before we get back to Eragon.

I want to thank malinkody in particular for their comments recently, they've motivated me to write a lot more, but I enjoy reading all your comments. They make me smile and write more.