Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter or Eragon universes.
Edit 11-03-25: This Chapter was edited by TheDarkRanger1160. Any mistakes that remain are my own.
"How did the king find me?" Brom demanded with unexpected anger. At the moment, Harry was caught off guard by the sudden rage of the seemingly gentle and kind old man he had first met, and had never anticipated such an outburst. The sword pointed directly at Harry's neck conveyed anything but a friendly gesture.
Harry suppressed a snort, as he thought back to the training from Mad-Eye Moody. The git would hex Harry until he could no longer move if he knew that Harry was being surprised by an old muggle.
'There aren't any kind people in this world, Potter. Give them a hand, and they'll rip your arm off… greedy bunch of bastards. Remember this, Potter!'
With the sword pressed against his neck, Harry winced and took a step back, acutely aware of the blade digging into his skin. The slightest error on his part, the smallest misstep, and Harry would be left in a similar state as Gryffindor's resident ghost, Nearly Headless Nick.
'Shit,' he thought to himself as his pulse quickened before he snapped his fingers, which caused the sound to reverberate through the air.
As the summer wind tousled his hair, he called upon his magic. Although wandless magic was challenging, it was not impossible, particularly for someone like him.
Brom scowled at Harry and demanded, "What have you done?" Suddenly, he leaped backward as the ground began to tremble. The blades of grass swayed in the wind and rapidly grew until a wall sprung up between the two men.
As Harry stood up, he sensed an assault on his mind, which shouldn't have been possible.
In order to attack one's mind, eye contact was needed, else the attacker could not concentrate on their victim's thoughts. The connection between Harry and Voldemort was unique, but the rules applied for everyone else.
Harry wasn't arrogant enough to believe that he knew everything about the mind arts, as he had only been able to develop his mental shields to a limited extent.
The assault was relentless and powerful, causing the grass wall in front of them to crumble as Harry was forced to redirect all his attention to defending his mind.
Finally, Harry could see Brom clearly. He stood before him, holding a red sword that glinted in the sun. Harry observed him utter a word, but he could not make it out. It sounded like a foreign language. As another attack from Brom struck him, Harry staggered backward. His foot slipped on a loose stone, causing him to lose his concentration for just a moment. Brom's eyes glimmered with triumph, and he quickly seized the opportunity to penetrate Harry's weakened defences.
Brom found himself standing at the summit of a cliff, surveying his surroundings. Thunder roared and lightning crackled in front of him, while black storm clouds blanketed the sky. Suddenly, he ducked away as a bolt of lightning shot out from the murky mass and hurtled toward him like a serpent attacking its prey.
"What is this?" Brom whispered, eyeing a small, one-inch-wide black bubble floating above him. He had never encountered anything quite like it before. Driven by curiosity, he cautiously extended his hand to touch it but was assaulted with memories.
A young woman, with striking red hair stood over him. Brom quickly realized he saw everything from the point of an infant. Her eyes were glistening with tears, but she was determined.
'Harry… You are so loved… So loved…'
The scene changed. He saw a man standing above the woman. He wore a black robe and pointed a piece of wood towards the woman.
'Step aside, silly girl. Just hand me over the boy, and I will not kill you…Just give me the boy!'
But the woman stood protectively in front of him.
'Not Harry! Please no…please not Harry! Not Harry, please no- take me, kill me instead!' A green bolt of light erupted out of the wood, and everything turned black.
He was surrounded by trees, with men and women clouded in dark robes standing opposite of him. In front of him, Brom saw a man, with red eyes and pale face.
'Harry Potter,' whispered the man. 'The Boy who lived has come to die.'
Brom fell on cold, hard stone. Thunder reigned in the sky. He lifted his head from the ground and saw the black bubble hovering just above him.
Whispers and echoes filled the air, coming from all directions.
'Boy! Wake up, now! I want food on the table!'
'The Dark Lord will rise again…far greater and more terrible…'
"I think this is enough," a voice pierced the air beside him, and he felt a hand grab his shoulder, and he was thrown backwards.
The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin, and hearing the buzzing of flies flying by the nearby stream.
Brom observed the boy before him struggle to stand on his shaky legs. Exhausted as he was, he also gasped for air.
Harry felt drained. He was not recovered enough to fight a prolonged battle within his mind.
"What do you want?" Harry snarled towards Brom. "Is it common for you to attack someone with Legilimency?!"
"Legilimency?" The strange word escaped Brom's lips. He looked puzzled, while one of his hands had simultaneously gripped his sword's hilt.
"Reading the minds of others! I am not an idiot, Brom! Don't tell me you seriously think I wouldn't feel that!" Harry shouted with a tone filled with anger.
"I wonder what the dark king did to you," Brom commented, his tone now more curious than hostile. "Your magic feels different than mine. I have never met someone like you."
"Dark… king? What kind of nonsense is that?!" Harry snapped.
The curiosity disappeared from Brom's face, and he stepped forward with a speed that belied his age and punched Harry in the stomach powerfully which caused Harry to lean forward and hold his stomach.
"How is he that quick?" Harry gasped, totally unprepared.
"Do you really think I do not recognize any of Galbatorix's servants, lad?!" Brom yelled in a raging voice.
"Apparently not, since I'm not, you old fool!" Harry shouted back at him, as he finally managed to get his wand in his hand.
Brom just sent him a questioning look, as Harry pointed his wand at him.
"A piece of wood?" Brom asked, amused. What man would draw a piece of wood as a weapon? The boy was obviously not right in the head.
"Exactly. A simple piece of wood," Harry replied, grinning widely after he recovered from Brom's punch. "Sleep tight," Harry smirked, and he waved his phoenix wand towards Brom.
"Stupefy!".
Brom's eyes widened at the sight of the beam of red light and just barely managed to dodge it at the last moment.
Harry used the time to his advantage and with a quick wave of his wand, thick ropes appeared and tied Brom's arms and legs together, which caused him to fall to the ground with a thud.
Harry bent over and took deep breaths to catch his breath. The fight took a lot more energy than he would have thought. He leaned over, panting heavily, and wiped the sweat from his face.
Looking down at the bound Brom, who was glaring at him, Harry asked, "So, Brom, the storyteller from Carvahall, are you finally ready to listen to me?"
"You mean to say that you're not from Alagaёsia?" Brom raised an eyebrow and asked, "That you come from somewhere else?"
Harry nodded slowly, trying not to show any discomfort as a wave of pain coursed through his body as he settled into the chair. Brom watched him with concern but was relieved as Harry's muscles gradually relaxed over time.
"Sorry about the punch," Brom apologized. "I really thought you were one of the king's servants."
Harry simply shrugged his shoulders. "It's not the first time that people didn't listen to me."
Brom wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He'd seen quite a bit in his life as a dragon rider, but he'd never even seen the slightest bit of magic like the boy had used.
Moreover, he had used magic without saying the words of the ancient language! It was a very dangerous proposition even for the most experienced magicians.
"And you don't have to use the Ancient Language for your spells?" Brom asked carefully.
Harry shook his head while he enjoyed his tea.
"I've already told you several times, I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry repeated, sending Brom a frown. "Please don't make me repeat myself again."
Brom responded with a nonchalant shrug. "I just want to be sure, that's all. There's a lot at stake here that you have no idea about."
Harry slowly nodded his head. That was something that he could understand.
Brom pondered what it might mean for the future of Alagaёsia that someone could master a magic Galbatorix knew nothing of.
While Brom was unsure of Harry's intentions, he didn't think he would join someone like the oath breaker.
Brom felt a sense of relief wash over him as he looked at the young wizard. Despite the strange and powerful magic that Harry possessed, Brom could tell that he was not evil. He realized that perhaps Harry could be the key to overthrowing Galbatorix and bringing peace to Alagaёsia. But first, he needed to understand more about this new kind of magic.
Brom leaned forward, considering the importance of explaining some things about Alagaёsia to Harry. Whether or not Harry would join the Varden, it was crucial that he never fall into the hands of Galbatorix or his followers. With a sense of urgency, Brom began to tell Harry about the land and its history.
Harry got up the next morning with tired eyes. He and Brom had stayed up late into the night discussing Alagaёsia, and although Harry didn't reveal much about himself, he gave Brom a general idea of the wizarding world.
Harry himself knew nothing about Alagaёsia. What he did know came from the books of Brom and bits of pieces of information he gathered, when he spent his time with Gertrude.
He had always been interested in history, as long it wasn't about the goblin wars. The ghostly form of Professor Binns permanently ruined any interest in learning about history.
Brom later confessed that he only gave Gertrude books that Galbatorix had not declared illegal to own because he still suspected Harry was a servant of the king at the time.
Therefore, Brom decided to slowly tell Harry about the war between the Varden and Galbatorix, and how the fate of the entire world was at stake. Harry listened intently, fascinated by the existence of real elves, similar to the ones he had read about in fairy tales during his school years when he had to hide from Dudley and his friends.
He was curious if he would ever meet a dwarf or an elf, because according to Brom, no one had found even a trace of a dwarf or an elf for about 100 years.
Harry listened attentively as Brom recounted the history of the Dragon Riders, how they were once the protectors of Alagaёsia but were betrayed and wiped out by one of their own. A man named Galbatorix, who later became the self-proclaimed king.
He felt uncomfortable when Brom told him about the Battle of Urû'baen, or as the elves say, as Harry later learned of Brom, Ilirea.
The Battle of Urû'baen, also known as Ilirea among the elves, claimed the lives of countless dragons, elves, dwarves, and humans, all because of one person's insatiable greed for power. It was just Voldemort all over again.
As Brom continued to talk about the fall, Harry couldn't help but notice the striking similarities between Galbatorix and Voldemort.
Both were clearly obsessed with acquiring knowledge and power, no matter the cost. From what little Harry understood of Galbatorix, he was certain that the king cared just as much about his followers, the Forsworn, as Voldemort cared about his beloved Death Eaters.
Harry hadn't decided to join the Varden just yet, despite Brom's urging, who revealed himself earlier as a Varden mage.
However, he also knew that he couldn't hide from Galbatorix forever. And with the luck he's had in his life so far, it would happen before he could even shout "Quidditch."
Harry felt torn between two conflicting desires. On one hand, he was curious to explore the country and learn more about Alagaёsia firsthand. On the other hand, he knew that he couldn't ignore the threat of Galbatorix and his minions forever.
While he respected Brom and appreciated the information he had shared, he couldn't simply take the man's word for everything without exploring the situation himself. He had already done that far too much in his life, and it came back to bite him.
Harry was determined not to make the same mistake he did with Dumbledore, blindly following one person's opinion without question. He knew he needed to gather more information and form his own opinions before deciding to join the Varden or take any other actions.
But those were all decisions for the future, because first, Harry would have to take care of his new life.
Harry let out a groan as he rose to his feet and stretched his limbs. Despite the soreness in his muscles, he was grateful for the stretching exercises he had learned from Wood in Quidditch.
As the sweat glistened on his body in the morning sun, Harry made his way to the nearby stream to wash his face with the cool water. While there, he took the opportunity to survey the area more closely, since he hadn't had the chance to explore much when Brom had initially shown him to the hut. At that time, they had been preoccupied with their conversation and the tensions between them.
The hut was at least half an hour's walk away from the village. Due to the large hill, it was not possible for the villagers to see Harry's new home without having to walk a fair distance.
The same was true for Harry, if anything happened in the village, he would only find out about it very late.
Being isolated from the village had its advantages, as Harry could use his magic to repair the broken walls of his new home without the risk of being seen by any curious villagers.
Harry took a few steps and jumped over the little stream. He took a deep breath and walked into the adjoining forest for a few minutes and looked around for a thick tree trunk.
Harry searched for a suitable tree, and once he found one, he drew his wand from his sleeve.
The birds chirped in excitement as Harry cut down the tree with the severing charm, Diffindo. He sliced the log into equal pieces with a swift motion of his wand, and soon a pile of wide boards lay on the ground in front of him.
"That'll have to do for now," Harry mumbled, grabbing a few pieces of wood under his arm.
On his way back, his eyes caught something interesting.
He bent down and grasped the plant by its roots and pulled it out of the earth with a strong pull.
"Is that Dittany?" Harry raised an eyebrow at the plant and wondered. He recognized the plant from the book One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
He carefully placed the plant in his jacket pocket. With any luck, he might make some money from it.
The midday sun burned the back of his neck as he worked to continue to repair his new home.
He had spent all morning transfiguring the planks of wood to the right size. With a quick tap of his wand, myriad little stones formed into screws.
To his surprise, a young girl soon visited him.
The girl looked a few years younger than Harry and had copper coloured hair that shone in the sun.
"Hello, my name is Katrina. I'm the daughter of Sloan, the butcher from Carvahall. Gertrude sent me to bring you some things," she explained with a bright smile, holding up the large basket in front of her.
"That's kind of her. My name is Harry. Come in, and you can put the basket down," Harry said, showing her where to put the basket.
In the basket were some clothes, a large blanket, some tools, and two mugs, with plates and cutlery, as well as some fruits and a few slices of meat.
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the meat. Though he'd only spent a few days in Carvahall, he quickly realized that meat was an expensive and important commodity for the villagers.
Katrina must have noticed Harry's reaction and added hastily, "I heard Gertrude asking around the village if anyone wanted to contribute something for you. Since my father is a butcher, I added a few slices of meat to the basket."
Harry was shaking his head. The villagers were far too kind to him, especially to a stranger.
"That wouldn't have been necessary but thank you," Harry said, beginning to clear out the basket.
He threw the blanket with the clothes on the bed and, with the help of Katrina, put the rest of the items in the only closet the cabin had.
"Thanks for your help, Katrina," Harry smiled at her as she tucked the last of the leftovers into the closet.
"Don't worry about it. I'm not allowed to help father with work anyway and dinner won't be for a few hours," Katrina shrugged her shoulders in response. "You can keep the basket," Katrina explained when Harry was about to hand it back to her. "It is a present from Gertrude."
"I really owe her a debt for her help," Harry said with a frown.
"No, you do not, Harry." Katrina shook her head, causing her curly hair to fall in front of her face. "Everyone in the village will support each other as much as they can. Even my father would help you," She explained, and added in a hushed tone. "At least I believe so."
The way Katrina talked about her father; Harry didn't have a good feeling about meeting him.
"Before I leave, Horst wanted me to tell you that there will be a meeting in two days."
"A meeting? Do you often have them?" He asked her.
Katrina's face hardened. "No, it's only my second one. The first one I was allowed to attend, my father asked that no one from the village be allowed to move near the spine."
"The spine?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Yes," Katrina responded before pausing briefly to sweep a lock of hair away from her face.
"When I was younger, my mother died in the spine... Ever since then, my father has loathed it."
"I apologize for that," Harry uttered after a moment of silence. Comforting others was not one of Harry's strengths. Perhaps it was due to his upbringing with the Dursleys, or maybe he was simply hopeless at dealing with girls.
"It's alright. It's been a long time," Katrina said and walked out to the door.
Harry followed her outside, and before he could stop himself, he burst out, "My parents are dead, too," Harry said, and Katrina's eyes widened.
He turned to the sun and enjoyed the warmth on his face.
"They died when I was little. I barely remember them," Harry muttered.
For a moment, all you could hear was the water in the stream and the wind rustling through the blades of grass, when Harry suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.
Harry turned and saw Katrina slowly take a step forward. He was sure that she was expecting to hug him. He winced at first, but eventually Harry hugged her back.
Harry has had very little physical affection in his life. He didn't get any from the Dursleys, and after he met Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, and they embraced him, it was so tight that Harry had to catch his breath afterward, which always left him feeling uneasy.
The hug from Katrina, a young girl Harry didn't know at all, felt surprisingly comfortable and warm. As he held Katrina tightly, it came as no surprise to him that a tear slowly trickled down his cheek.
"You really do give bad hugs," Katrina said with a smile.
Harry was sitting next to Katrina and Gertrude in the Seven Sheaves tavern.
"It's always the number seven," Harry muttered to himself, while he sipped slowly at his mug of mead.
"What did you say, Harry?" Gertrude whispered from the side.
Harry was shaking his head. "It's nothing important.."
Katrina looked over at the two of them in amusement, but soon focused back on what was happening before her eyes.
Horst had invited all the villagers to the meeting. Harry got to know many new faces as a result. Morn and his wife Tara, who owned the tavern and were always up for a good story.
Then there was Quimby, the brew master of Carvahall, and his wife Birgit, whose features reminded Harry strongly of Professor McGonagall.
He met many other villagers, many of whom were interested in Harry's story.
They had probably heard all the rumours about his appearance, but they all wanted to hear it from his mouth. Harry couldn't blame them, as there was probably rarely an incident like his.
After all, how often has someone appeared injured and without supplies, alone, unconscious on the edge of the village on the arse end of nowhere? It certainly sounded strange to him, and he was the one who lived it.
Despite Harry's weariness of recounting his story repeatedly, he and Brom had agreed beforehand to stick to the narrative that his parents were travellers who were ambushed by Urgals, and that he was the sole survivor.
Harry had told Katrina the same story, but he could see in her eyes as he told his story over and over that she believed him less and less.
She had dropped by again the previous day to check in on Harry, and the two have talked with each other for many hours.
Harry couldn't explain it, but despite the age difference, he and Katrina hit it off immediately. Come to think of it, it was similar to how he became friends with Ron and Hermione.
Harry's mind drifted from his previous life to the other two people that he knew, which were present in the room. One of them was Brom, who maintained his guise as a storyteller and sat by the fireplace with a few individuals and children, doing what he did best: recounting tales.
His eyes averted from Brom, who was excitedly telling a story about a fierce battle between a wild dragon and a Nïdhwal, a gigantic sea monster, which from what Harry gathered from listening, was much, much, larger than the Durmstrang ship from his fourth year.
He couldn't imagine exactly what that was supposed to be, but it didn't really matter to him at the moment, because Harry's field of vision saw another person who he had only recently met.
Shortly before
On the way to Morn's Tavern, Katrina showed Harry around the village. Harry found it fascinating how the villagers went about their lives. The older ones gossiped while the younger ones worked, and the children played their games and reenacted soldier fights against the Varden.
And then Katrina stopped in front of a little man in a cotton shirt. His face was pale and pockmarked.
"This is Harry. He is the new person I was telling you about." Katrina introduced him and turned to Harry with a slight smile. "Harry, this is my father, Sloan."
Sloan narrowed his eyes at him and spat on the floor beside Harry in greeting.
"Stay away from him, Katrina!" He demanded from her and glared at him. "If he's living in Albert's shack now, that doesn't bode well for us! He was crazy for a reason, livin' near the spine like that!" He stormed off, bumping his shoulder into someone as he left.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Katrina slump her shoulders.
'You wanted to be different, didn't you? Console her!'
Harry took her free hand in his and squeezed it gently so that Katrina looked up questioningly.
"Come on, I think I just saw Gertrude walk in," Harry said, and dragged Katrina with him, who protested loudly.
Harry was snapped out of his thoughts when Horst got up from his chair and walked to the centre of the room where he was plainly visible to everyone.
Horst banged a wooden goblet on the table a few times until it became completely silent, and he had the residents' focused attention.
"Thank you for all coming here today!" Horst thundered.
"Will you finally tell us why we had to come here when we have better things to do?" Thane called out from the crowd.
"If you would shut up, Horst could tell us why," Garrow barked, a farmer who lived near the village.
Horst nodded his thanks to Garrow and cleared his throat before he began to speak again.
"I've called you all here to talk about an important situation our village is in! A few days ago, Brom found a young man unconscious and injured away from the village. Many of you already have met him but those who didn't, his name is Harry."
As soon as Horst announced his name, murmurs broke out among the villagers. Harry noticed that some of them were pointing their fingers while looking at him in a disapproving manner.
"Silence!" Horst's voice boomed once more, causing the room to fall into complete silence.
'Even Snape would shit his pants in respect to Horst,' Harry thought in amusement. He continued to listen to what Horst had to say.
"Gertrude took care of Harry, and he now lives in Albert's hut," Horst explained.
"All well and good, but what has that got to do with us?" Fisk questioned Horst, a carpenter from Carvahall.
"I'll come to that," Horst said. "He was attacked by Urgals."
This time, instead of murmurs, there were loud shouts and cries erupting from the crowd. Although Harry had not yet encountered an Urgal, Brom had imparted enough knowledge about these beings for Harry to comprehend the reason behind the villagers' reactions. Horst needed several attempts before he could calm things down again.
"Urgals have appeared before our village. I don't have to remind anyone what happened to the last Urgal who dared to go as far as our village," Horst shouted, pointing to the horns of the only Urgal hanging in the entrance to the inn.
"We cannot rely on the king's soldiers. Those fools are no smarter than our swine!" Laughter filled the room. "So, I suggest that we set up a guard to patrol the village for the time being," Horst called. "At least for the next few weeks, to make sure that no Urgals are left lurking around our village."
Many people nodded in agreement, and Horst got a lot of praise from the villagers. Horst tried, with help from others, to persuade the people who were against his proposal to change their minds. As time went by, he got more and more support, and eventually everyone was in favour.
Except for Sloan, the bloody git. He shot all the villagers one final poisonous glare before disappearing from the tavern.
"Let's see what comes of it," Gertrude said, when she, like many others, got up from her seat and stretched her stiff limbs.
At Harry's glance, she replied, "What? I'm not so young any more. My tired bones have to be stretched."
"You're right about that," Harry admitted. "Gertrude, I just wanted to thank you again for everything you've done for me-"
"I hope you didn't mean to say that you owe me, Harry," Gertrude said, her face stern.
Katrina just laughed at Harry's face.
"You should see your face, Harry," Katrina managed between laughs.
"But there has to be something I can do for you!" Harry tried again, but Gertrude just shook her head.
"If you want to do something for me, Harry, then live. I've seen a lot in my life, and I have everything I need. A lot has happened to you, but you are still young. The whole world is open to you."
Harry's shoulders slumped in dejection, but Gertrude offered him a reassuring smile as she bid farewell to him and Katrina, gently patting him on the shoulder. He turned to Katrina, but she too shook her head.
"I told you, Harry. But you wouldn't listen. Gertrude is a very helpful person, like many in the village. She would never ask anything of you, Harry."
Harry slumped further, his back against the chair he was sitting on.
"Maybe, but I still don't like it. She's done so much for me, I find it difficult not to do anything for her," Harry said, running a hand over his face.
"You'll have to live with it then, Harry. Because that's how we people are in Carvahall. There is a saying my mother has told me many times," She gave him a glance filled with warmth, as she remembered her mother's words and said quietly, "The only gift better than good advice is a good deed without fuss." She smiled at him once more before leaving to return home.
Harry remained lost in thought for a few more minutes, reflecting on Katrina's words, until Horst called him over. "A very good speech, Horst. I'm sure everyone will support you," Harry informed him.
Horst gave him a tired grin.
"I hope you're right, Harry," said Horst, gesturing towards two men. "This is Garrow, he lives a little way from the village, and you've already met Brom, of course."
"Nice to meet you again, Harry," Garrow greeted him, and Harry shook his hand. He had only met Garrow shortly before the meeting, and he struck Harry as kind-hearted.
Brom just gave him a wink and continued smoking his pipe.
"We just have a small problem. Although many agreed, nobody has volunteered to keep watch", Horst explained with a deep sigh.
It didn't take long for Harry to reply. If he couldn't help Gertrude, at least he would help the village out. Especially when it's all based on a story that he made up with Brom.
"I could do that."
Horst raised an eyebrow and leaned forward.
"Are you well again, Harry? You were pretty hurt when you got here," Horst said in a worried voice.
"I'm sure, Horst. Gertrude also told you that my injuries have healed."
"That's true," Horst murmured.
"Let the boy do something, Horst. I don't think Urgals will dare to come here," Garrow said.
"I'm going to join the boy, Horst," Brom said, looking Harry straight in the face. "Then there are at least two of us."
"There you go, Horst! Don't always worry so much or your hair will turn grey faster just like mine," Garrow laughed.
"You're right," Horst admitted, and took a generous sip from his mug.
"Well, if that's settled, I'll say goodbye. I must go back home. My two boys, Roran and Eragon, are waiting for me, and I hope they didn't hurt themselves… or break anything while I was away," Garrow explained and said goodbye to everyone.
When Garrow mentioned the name Eragon, Harry could swear Brom's eyes lit up briefly, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.
Or maybe Harry was just tired and imagined everything.
The next evening, Harry was sitting with Brom on a small hill just outside the village. Brom was about to start a fire while Harry had taken a book out of the Moke-Skin bag, that Hagrid had gifted him, and was reading it intently.
"Everybody believed our little story, didn't they?" Brom snorted in amusement.
"Was it really necessary?" Harry asked after a moment of silence.
"Of course, it was," Brom argued, still trying unsuccessfully to start a fire.
"Imagine if we didn't mention the Urgals. Then rumours about you would spread quicker than onions sprouting from the ground in spring."
"Maybe you're right, but I still feel guilty of it," Harry murmured.
Minutes later, annoyed by Brom's attempts at fire, Harry drew his wand and pointed at the fireplace with a purposeful movement.
"Incendio."
Hot red flames ignited the wood and Harry savoured in the warmth the fire gave to his body.
Brom leaned back, his eyes widened, and he chuckled to himself.
Harry wanted to ask what he found so funny but refrained. For, he had quickly learned that Brom didn't reveal much about himself and Harry didn't feel like arguing further with the old storyteller.
Many minutes passed before Brom sighed, stood up and moved down to a group of trees.
Harry watched him go, but a moment later his eyes returned to his book on advanced Transfiguration. Though he had found a place where he could live in peace, he would not neglect his studies in magic. At least he would try to fulfil his dream of becoming an Animagus just like Sirius and his father did. He had enough ingredients hidden inside his pouch to make the potion.
Harry heard a branch snap and glanced up, relieved to only see Brom.
With a long tree branch in each hand.
"Don't worry, it's just me. Ever fought with a sword?" Brom asked, and tossed a branch at Harry, who caught it with the ease of a Seeker.
Harry stood up when he saw Brom coming slowly around the fire. Brom's stick whizzed through the air and Harry managed to parry his attack at the last moment.
"Very good," Brom shouted, jumping forward, and Harry had to jump back to avoid it. Harry kicked his hind leg into the ground for support and aimed his next swing at Brom's hip, but Brom easily parried the blow and darted forward with lightning speed.
Harry groaned in pain and dropped the branch he was holding, as he grabbed his stomach where Brom had managed to hit him.
"We still have a long way to go," Brom murmured in realization, and picked up the branch that Harry was holding in his hand earlier and threw it towards his feet.
"Come on, get up. I know you've got more skills, or was that everything?" Brom taunted him.
Harry took a deep breath, drawing upon the resilience he had developed through his many trials and tribulations. He reminded himself that he had been transported to a different world and had faced countless challenges and dangers. He wasn't about to falter against an old man now. Harry bent down and picked up the branch that lay at his feet and steeled himself.
"I am ready," he gritted out between his teeth.
Brom smiled, "Good, and now defend yourself."
Be lunged at Harry again and this time Harry managed to parry the attack.
"You have good reflexes, but your posture is terrible. Bend your knees! Not too far," Brom shouted at him.
Brom showed him several positions and finally showed Harry in detail how to perform a very specific movement.
It took Harry a few tries, but after a heated exchange he finally managed to hit Brom for the first time.
He had no idea how he did it, even Brom was too surprised to comment.
That didn't stop Brom from getting Harry to repeat it, though.
Which, unfortunately, did not happen.
"Was that really necessary?" Harry asked with a groan as he tried to rub Diptam into every single spot that was already stained blue and green.
"Of course, you will not always be able to use magic. And in general, magic should be your last resort in a battle," Brom advised him, lighting his pipe with a single word of the ancient language.
"We will meet every evening from now on to improve your swordsmanship. Rest now, I will hold the first watch."
Harry didn't need to be told that twice and quickly sat down.
"By Merlin's Baggy Underpants," Harry groaned, and finally managed to get himself into a position where he didn't feel any pain. He already knew that he would not be happy when he got up tomorrow.
Brom only watched in amusement as Harry struggled to lie down. But his eyes became firmer as he thought about the future.
The boy did have very good reactions for someone who had never fought with a sword, which will surely help him in future battles, but he still lacked some creativity and experience...
But there was still time. The dark king was for the first time at a disadvantage, having no knowledge of Harry and his foreign magic.
Brom smiled grimly at the ease with which Harry could start a fire.
He would have to sit down with him a few more times to learn the extent and limitations of his magic.
Brom looked up and saw the sun rising and the first rays of the sun appearing over the spine.
He tilted his head to one side and turned his gaze over to Harry, who was still sound asleep.
But there was still time for all that...