"Do it yourself."
"How?" Harry demanded. "I never learned this, I've done it once while you held my hand, you haven't explained anything!"
"There is nothing to explain." Morgan crossed her arms. "You set the parameters. What will make you understand this? You can literally just write out the parameters of the spell in chalk and shoot it full of magic."
"That's not what you did," he pointed out. The concentric circles, exotic plants, and ritual sacrifice had certainly not been as simple as she described.
"Superstition and incremental improvements," Morgan dismissed. "In our line of work, superstition has real power. But simple instructions work perfectly fine."
Facetiously, Harry started out with the chalk on the ground in the Secret Chamber. He drew out the rules of the fidelius charm like a legal contract, glancing up and waiting for Morgan to stop him from his mocking task. But she did not. She simply watched him, suggesting alterations to wordings or changes she thought prudent. Harry soldiered on through vicious hand cramps and sore knees as he crawled back, leaving line after line of gummy blood chalk script on the stone floor.
"This had better work. That sucked."
"All the better," Morgan shrugged. "Effort is a key component to the strength of your magic. Generally speaking; put good in, get good out. The same principle applies to sacrifices, if you recall."
"Yes," Harry grumbled. It was a worrying thought. For his purposes, a pig he'd gotten attached to had served to empower the first set of wards on the castle. Somehow he knew, another pig wasn't going to cut it. After the first time, he'd begin to view livestock as disposable. Thus they would no longer be suitable, at least not to the same extent as before. He tried not to think about what that might mean. If a ritual ever called for him to kill a person, Harry swore to himself he would not do it.
Shame curdled his gut. He was already thinking like Morgan. Before, he would never have even come up with such a repulsive idea. There had to be a better way. If he had to, Harry would read a pig bedtime stories every night for a year before he ever even considered sacrificing a human. He would make his own connections to sacrifice if he had to.
But he could not help but understand the terrifying truth; his own morals were exactly the reason why human sacrifice was so potent. His intense aversion was itself proof that human life was precious beyond measure.
"I'll go get a sacrifice," he muttered, averting his eyes from Morgan's form. She hummed noncommittally.
He passed by Eragon wheeling Garrow around the castle on the way to the farmhouse. His uncle was not the only one marveling at the castle. Eragon acted like he was in a totally new building. Had Harry really built that much since he was last here?
With some startlement, Harry realized that he had. Time tended to drag on very slowly when there was nobody to speak to, but any amount of time felt short when looking back on it from the end. There were entire wings Eragon had never seen.
Before he'd started, Harry would have thought a project like the castle impossible for one person. Experience had taught him differently. Magic made construction so easy, he could turn his ideas into reality in minutes, then spend his time refining what he didn't like. Magic cut out so many steps to creation, all he needed was a vision.
He nodded to them as he walked by.
It had not been long ago that Harry had begun making changes to the castle that were not entirely in line with what Hogwarts had been. Hogwarts had been a fortress, converted afterwards into a castle. Harry knew practically every detail of the building from Hermione's incessant quoting of her favorite bedtime story: Hogwarts, A History. Much of the core structure had been there before the Founders, the seat of Helga Hufflepuff's family.
Under Harry's wand, the land within the walls had become a sort of ghost town, with him the only resident. The cobbled paths were no longer empty. Wheelbarrows and carts trundled along under their own power, carting food from the greenhouse to the cellars, the barn, and the zoo by the lakeshore. It helped stave off the loneliness to have even the facsimile of life moving about.
A rickety wagon rolled past, bound for the automated mill by the outflow of the river past the dam. Harry stepped out of its way and headed into the barn.
The animals lowed in greeting. Harry glanced in on the pigs, but passed them over quickly. It was too easy to avoid getting attached to the rather ugly creatures. The sheep were cuter, more innocent, but lacked much in the way of a spark in their eyes. Harry did not even consider the chickens.
It was a cow that Harry's eyes fell on. Her coat was dappled grey and white, tail flicking behind her. Harry hadn't named any of the animals, but he still knew them by their looks and personality. This one was placid and gentle. With a heavy heart, Harry led her out of the stall.
The cow followed obediently across the grounds. Once inside, Brom watched him negotiate the beast into the bathroom.
"Is the pasture not good enough for her?" he said acerbically.
Harry opened the secret passageway in lieu of an answer. It was not a vertical hole as Hogwarts's Chamber of Secrets had, but a long ramp that doubled back on itself nearly thirty times. Gubraithian fire torches lit the tunnel in intervals of two dozen feet, long enough for the tunnel to grow dimmer at the furthest points between.
"I've not seen this room."
Harry said nothing once more.
Brom gave up trying to draw Harry into conversation. Harry was glad. His task was hard enough as it was.
Harry would admit he took some satisfaction in seeing Brom's astonishment at the secret chamber. The scaled down model of the castle and its grounds, the shimmering ward bubble, and the starry sky overhead, they were all remarkable views. It was getting more and more difficult to impress the wily old man, and their exchanges had been strained since his boneheaded decision to airlift Garrow out of Carvahall.
Brom's attention was drawn to the script Harry had written on the ground in blood chalk. His eyes flicked over the lines. "Very literal," he noted. Harry shrugged. "And the cow?"
"For power," Harry answered.
"You're not teaching this to Eragon?" Brom wondered.
Harry tied the cow down to a ring in its designated circle. The whole ritual was set up around the model. That had felt right to Harry. If he understood Morgan right, that was all that mattered. He wore the Cloak around his shoulders. That too, felt right. It was an artifact of concealment, which meshed with his goal. He had not wanted to betray the Cloak's powers to Brom, so he did not close the hem around his body. The Cloak did not render him invisible, rather remaining a gauzy silver garment.
"I don't intend to have to do this again." Harry rubbed his forehead. "Can you go fetch him and Garrow?"
Brom shrugged and went back up the long tunnel.
He turned the Stone over thrice. "Will it work?" Morgan uttered only one word before fading away again.
"Yes."
"Garrow. Will you accept my trust and keep my secret?"
It was a sobering display of power. Eragon had seen Harry raise castles with nothing but his wand. Yet of all the feats he'd witnessed, this felt the greatest. Saphira watched the proceedings keenly through his eyes, drinking in the sight of it all. The glowing reddish chalk, the scratchy script scrolling around the model of the castle, blazing as white as the sun. His uncle, kneeling in his point of the trigram, Harry standing cloaked in silver, and the third circle, where a cow waited. Power was in the air, an intangible yet unmistakably present charge. It was welcoming, optimistic, righteous, and a bit weary. It felt a lot like Harry.
Garrow nodded. "I accept."
Harry crossed over to the cow. He knelt and slit its throat with a grey knife, one quick slash across the neck. She expired quickly.
The charge in the air grew a hundredfold. Eragon glanced to his side. Brom was watching wide-eyed. Harry moved to Garrow and handed him a piece of paper. He whispered a final incantation under his breath.
And then the world shifted.
Where was he? Eragon saw Brom and Harry standing near him. He could not describe his surroundings if he wanted to. Something was getting lost between his eyes and his brain, Eragon was sure of it. They had all been…somewhere. Hadn't they? Where were they?
Eragon clapped a hand to his forehead. A lance of pain came from behind his eyes as he tried to work out what he was seeing. Saphira growled in his mind, feeling similarly lost.
"The castle is in the Spine," Garrow's voice rang in his ears.
As if by magic, his memories came rushing back. He was in the Secret Room. There was the gummy chalk on the ground, dormant once more. The circle with the cow was empty. Harry got up and conjured himself a chair. Brom swore under his breath, eyes darting around the room.
"It worked, right?" Eragon looked to Harry.
"Yes," he said dryly. "It worked."
Freezing rain lashed against the windows. Garrow sat by the crackling fire, knitting a scarf and gazing out through the glass. Eragon enjoyed the warmth of the hearth on his damp skin and hair, fresh from a shower.
With the fidelius protecting the castle, the last bit of pressure let off. Since the Ra'zac attack, Eragon was finally able to sit and be. Harry had moved the groundskeeper's hut outside the walls. If anyone came by, they would see it empty and assume he had fled. Not only that, Harry had pointed out that the Empire did not even know that sort of magic was possible, so they would have no reason to look closer. Brom was less sanguine.
Spring was beginning to bloom. The temperature varied wildly between days, veering from frigid to warm enough to forgo a coat. The snow in the grounds had begun to melt, leaving only sparse piles of hard, melted and frozen snow ice. The grass had already begun to turn green again, drinking up the rain storm and bathing in the warm sunlight.
Saphira was flying outside, turning this way and that under the rain and wind. Her sapphire scales stood out especially well against the dim, stormy sky. Eragon could feel her determination. Flying in windy conditions was challenging. He felt her let her instincts guide her to use her wings like sails, carving and tacking through the intermittent gusts. The wind was manageable, and the downpour slipped right over her scales, flicking off her wingtips in arcs of droplets. Further out in the grounds, trees swayed back and forth, dancing in the wind.
It was odd. For as long as he could remember, spring rains meant getting outside and hoeing the loamy, damp earth while it was wet and easily tilled. It meant the start of the frenetic planting season, the sleepy winter village waking up again, and the busiest time of the year for a farmer. To be sitting in a luxurious castle, not working at all, it was an odd feeling.
"What do you think?" Eragon asked into the silence.
Garrow hummed. "I think you should do what your heart tells you."
"That's what Saphira said," Eragon grumbled, letting his eyes unfocus so that Saphira's flight seemed more like an exotic dance than a challenging flight.
"She is wise," Garrow said. The she-dragon's satisfaction was a bit smug. She liked Garrow.
Nobody seemed willing to take this decision off his shoulder. It was a daunting thing, staring into the future, choosing which path the rest of his life would take. Had Roran felt the same way, taking the job with Dempton? Suddenly, he had a lot more respect for his cousin's fortitude.
"About my idea specifically."
Garrow shrugged. "Is it your passion? Are you driven towards the idea of working ceaselessly to defeat the Empire? It seems like Brom has his own reasons to hate them. Do you?"
Eragon shrugged helplessly. "I just need to do something. Staying here forever will make Saphira miserable."
"You're describing a freelancer," Garrow told him. Eragon realized that the idea had some merit, and was an apt description.
"So I should go out into the world, search for evils, and stop them where I can?" Eragon wondered. That idea rang true in him.
"Be safe," Garrow advised. "And if you get stuck, it might help to have a larger goal. Something to do when nothing presents itself."
Eragon thought about that for a while, staring out into the rain. Thunder rumbled overhead. The difference a pane of glass made, that being inside was made more comfortable by the dreary conditions outside. There was nothing quite like a warm hearth and sturdy walls on a stormy day. Saphira banked and coasted back towards the castle. I will join you.
The answer came to him before long.
"I'm going to find out what happened to my mother."
That evening at dinner, Harry had prepared an envious spread. Potato, egg, and cheese casserole with buttered and toasted bread, fruit preserves, maple spicy baked beans, and a bowl of fresh, ripe fruit.
"This is extensive," Garrow remarked. "To what do we owe the honor of such a wonderful meal?"
Harry slid a tray of mugs onto the table. "I'm trying to prepare for a lot of camping." The mugs were steaming with a pleasant, unfamiliar aroma. "I've been stretching the limits of the orchideous charm. It's supposed to just make flowers, but I've managed to get it to make basically any nonmagical plant."
Eragon was quick to sample the different dishes. The potato dish was good, but the baked beans were a bit off. They felt tough, as if Harry had not cooked them long enough, and it was a bit too salty. Saphira was unbothered. She had a gigantic dish as wide as Eragon's arm span, portioned off with piles of the dishes and fruits. She struggled to eat the beans in such fluid form, and got some of it over her chin. Eragon helped her clean it off, hiding his amusement from her and sympathizing with her wounded dignity.
"Do you cook often?" Garrow asked politely. Eragon hid his twitching lips behind another spoonful. They did seem like beginner mistakes.
Harry shrugged. "Simple stuff. Bacon, eggs, toast, hashed browns. My aunt preferred to do the complicated dishes herself. And I had never dealt with turning plants into food before. You usually buy food from the supermarket ready to cook."
"It's an admirable first attempt," Garrow complimented. "Though it would take a wealthy person to eat food with this much salt every night."
Harry winced. "I dunno how to take it out once it's in. And if I wanted to dilute it, I'd have had to start over with new kidney beans."
Brom had his hands cupped around one of the mugs of rich brown drink, and was breathing the aroma deeply.
"I am surprised," he admitted. "Chocolate is rare and expensive. Surda produces some, and the Wandering Tribes in the Hadarac are known to trade cacao. It is hideously expensive in the Empire." He sipped it, scowling.
"And you've ruined it with sugar."
Harry shrugged. "Orchideous works with trees, too." He prodded the fruit bowl. "Bananas, apples, peaches, mangos, pears, they all come from the Arboreum wing of the greenhouses."
"How will this prepare for camping?" Brom wondered. He sipped his hot cocoa anyways. "Except by reminding us what we're missing, while eating on the road."
Harry produced a leather backpack Eragon recognized as having come from the traders. He opened the flap and reached his arm all the way in, far past what the size of the pack should have allowed. "Space expansion is one of the more useful abilities wizards discovered." He pulled out a ceramic tupperware container that was just small enough to fit through the opening.
"That, and stasis charms. I figure I can cook all the meals we'll need now, before we leave, and we'll never have to scavenge for food on the road." He withdrew four shiny metal canteens and offered one to Eragon. The metal was cool to the touch. He struggled with the cap.
"Unscrew it," Harry advised. "Righty tighty, lefty loosey."
Unscrewing the cap revealed a strange, malleable black threaded cap and neck. Eragon could feel water sloshing inside. The canteen was only half full. "Drink," Harry suggested. Eragon acquiesced.
Cool, pure fresh water slipped down his throat. It was very much unlike water that tasted like the leather interior of a waterskin. It tasted like fresh spring water. Yet even as he drank, the canteen grew no lighter in his hand.
"It's endless," Harry said. "I'm working on a way to do something bigger for Saphira. If worst comes to worst, you can just pour it into her mouth."
"You made four," Brom noted. Harry shrugged.
"Garrow's," he pushed the fourth one to Eragon's uncle. "I made these when I wasn't sure how many of us were going.
Garrow's rehabilitation was going well. He'd taken one more dose of Wiggenweld before refusing further vials, claiming he was healed enough to let time do the rest of the work. He could walk with crutches and bathe and clean his own wounds. It heartened Eragon to know that when he left, Garrow would be plenty capable of taking care of himself. However, he still wasn't ready for the road, and hadn't wanted to travel even when he was in good health. Some people, Garrow had told Eragon, were simply not built for adventure.
Harry revealed many more miraculous solutions to traveling. Boots enchanted to be springy and cushioned, with charms that healed sore feet and washed out odors. Coats impermeable to rain which were always the perfect temperature, gloves that similarly kept the wearer's hands comfortable, and enhanced grip besides. Four iron rings that each prevented mosquitoes, ticks, fleas, and other bugs from coming near.
"Were you planning this since you bought this all from the traders?" Eragon wondered.
"No, I just knew I wanted to experiment with enchanting. Last week, I had an idea of what would be helpful." Harry stretched his fingers in his gloves, demonstrating their grip by hanging his weight on a tiny lip of trim on the wall.
"You were very thorough," Brom grumbled. "This will hardly be roughing it. Were you royalty in Britain?"
Harry snorted. "Public enemy number one, remember? Nah, I'm just sick of roughing it. Struggling to get my hands on food, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, no bathrooms, no showers-" he shuddered. "No thank you. We have time to prepare, while we still have access to resources."
It all began to drive everything home for Eragon. He was going to leave Carvahall. Certainly for a long time, maybe even years. It all happened so quickly, Eragon had not had the time to digest the very drastic way his life was about to change. How long were they going to be on the road? Until winter? Longer? Years?
Eragon sipped his hot chocolate slowly, lost in thought. The drink was bittersweet, yet flavored unlike anything he'd ever had.
AN: It was suggested, and I rather agree, that Inheritance magic comes from the mind and body, and Harry Potter magic comes from the soul. It makes sense with the way magic takes its toll on magicians. But I thought I'd share a bit of irony with you: Inheritance magic, despite being almost entirely physical, is not hereditary, while HP magic, almost entirely ephemeral, is. At least, according to canon. *wink wink.*
Also: Bit of a short chapter here. I had written more, but I moved that to the next one since it didn't fit with the theme here. I've been busy with finals, but they're done now, and I have 3 weeks before my summer job starts, so I should get a lot of writing done.