'…and do you swear that neither you, Myrddin Emrys, King Arthur Pendragon nor any representatives will attempt to enter these lands with the intention of subjugating the people here to his rule and whims?'
'I swear it.'
Myrddin still felt the ribbon of magic wrapped around his hand, connecting his vow to that of the Crow who had conceived the idea of the Unbreakable vow.
Most who understood what such magic could cause would think him a fool for agreeing partake in the dangerous agreement, but Myrddin was not truly losing out on anything save for a section of land whose inhabitants would ever accept a muggle king as their ruler.
In process, he'd gained the most invaluable of allies to help fight against the Danes, so Myrddin was happy for the trade.
It cost him only a little pride and a promise that the lands overseen by the Peverells would remain so.
Still, it was a distinctly unsettling feeling having such ramifications hanging over him, and Myrddin would not deny that the use of an unbreakable vow and an agreement in blood had taken him by surprise.
Before he'd arrived in Godric's Hollow, it had been Ignotus and Owain Peverell he'd been concerned about, but there was something unnerving about the younger man who'd' accompanied the latter.
Harry 'The Crow' was an anomaly, an intelligent enough man, but it was his magic that was most troubling.
There was something distinctly familiar about it, but also different in a way that Myrddin was wary of.
For one so young, he was wise, and Myrddin knew that he must watch him carefully throughout the duration of the Peverell men's stay in Camelot.
Perhaps reaching out to them had been foolish, but Myrddin would have agreed to nothing if he wasn't certain that he was in control of any potential outcome.
Knowing this allowed him to relax and breathe a sigh of relief.
The Crow had been thorough, but not thorough enough.
"How many more do you think will come?"
It was a concerned Arthur who pulled Myrddin from his thoughts, and the older man squeezed the king's shoulder comfortingly.
"They will continue to arrive, my king. They know they cannot hope to defeat the Danes alone."
"But we will still be at a significant disadvantage, won't we?"
"In numbers, yes, but not in skill and talent. That is why we will use what we have in the best way possible. Fear not, my king, this is still very much only the beginning of your journey."
Arthur nodded, though he was undeniably nervous.
Myrddin wasn't.
With the men they would have come morning, and adopting the correct strategy, it would be more than enough to defeat the marauding Danes, but there would undoubtedly be casualties to endure.
Nonetheless, he remained confident that victory would come, and that if he was truly fortunate those casualties we'd consist of men he could do without interfering in his plans.
Would it have been easier to simply attempt to slay Peverell and the Crow?
Perhaps, but there were so many unknowns about the two men, and Myrddin got the impression that whatever magic was lurking in Godric's Hollow would've been most displeased if he attempted it.
"What are the men like you went to meet with?"
Myrddin turned to find Arthur speaking with Tristan and Leofric.
Both men had been rather pale since their time in the village, and uncharacteristically quiet.
"I fought with them both against the Irish," Leofric reminded Arthur. "They and their men are perhaps the most capable I have ever seen, but there is something quite terrifying about them and their home."
Tristan nodded his agreement.
"Harry was the one who got me and Iseult to safety as the battle started, but I agree with Leofric, there is something deeply unsettling about both."
Bors snorted.
"I smash both their bastard skulls, then we'll see who's unsettling."
Leofric shook his head.
"I wouldn't be so keen to try if I were you. They can do things you won't believe, even when you see it."
Bors scoffed and drew his blade.
"I'll cut their bloody pricks off for fun," he declared.
"Oh, shut up you damned braggart," Gawain interjected. "It is foolish to threaten men you do not know. Myrddin, what do you think of them?"
"I think that they are our allies, for now, and that they should be given our respect and hospitality."
"They've been given the shithole they call home. That's Arthur's lands by right!"
"The land belongs to no king or no god," Tristan murmured.
"But there is a church there," Bors pointed out.
"One that god has abandoned," Tristan replied. "There is no god in that place, only a coldness you wouldn't understand unless you felt it."
Bors laughed and Myrddin shot him a pointed glare.
The man firmly believed that all problems in life could be solved with the swing of a sword, but the likes of Peverell and the Crow were not such.
Both were accomplished wizards and more dangerous than the large brute could comprehend. That, however, would change soon enough. Myrddin was left in no doubt that Bors would feel the presence of both men, as would everyone else.
"Ah, I believe others have arrived," he declared, changing the subject to one at hand.
Arthur continued to frown thoughtfully, seemingly pondering what Myrddin had told him of the men, though his eyes widened as the next large part of men arrived in the great hall of Camelot.
Tristan's father was apoplectic, and he stormed towards his bastard son.
"Where is she?" he seethed. "You were to bring her to me, boy!"
For a moment, Tristan was taken aback by the rage of his father, but his many months at Camelot had not been wasted.
He'd been rather reserved when he'd first arrive after pledging himself to Arthur's service but having spent much time with the likes of Lancelot, Bors, and Gawain, his confidence had grown, so much so that he'd defied his father without hesitation when he'd decided he wanted Iseult for himself.
"You won't see her," Tristan replied. "She is in a place you won't find her."
Mark stepped forward angrily, only to balk as Bors stepped in front of him.
"You're no king anymore," he growled.
Mark hesitated, evidently deciding if picking a fight with the much larger man was worth it, and wisely chose not to.
"You're dead to me!" he spat angrily at Tristan. "You will never be welcome in my house again!"
Tristan merely narrowed his eyes at his father, and a chuckle from the doorway drew the attention of everyone in the room.
"If this is what we have to fight with, we may as well return home and call it a day," Owain Peverell grumbled. "They can't even get on well enough here. How can you expect them to do so in a fight?"
"He stole my wife!"
Owain quirked an eyebrow at Mark before approaching, and Myrddin immediately felt the unsettling presence of the man.
"He stole your wife?" Peverell asked amusedly.
"My prospective wife."
Owain nodded.
"Well, by the looks of it, she made the better choice," he commented. "I expect you're old enough to be her father. Now, be a good man and shut up. I'm not interested in who is getting their end away. Aren't we supposed to be preparing for a fight?"
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Bors snarled irritably, brandishing his still-unsheathed sword.
Owain did not even flinch at the gesture, and Bors yelped in pain as the pommel of a dagger struck his wrist, releasing his grip on his blade.
"Thank you," Harry," Owain said gratefully.
"I missed," the Crow muttered as he summoned his crow-pommelled dagger back into his hand before sheathing it, a smirk of amusement tugging at his lips.
He hadn't missed.
Myrddin was certain the man's blade would've landed the other way if he intended it to, but was grateful it hadn't.
"Perhaps introductions are in order," he interjected before the situation could truly become unpleasant. "Now, Owain and Harry already know Tristan and Leofric well enough. The large man is Bors, the one next to him is Gawain, and Gaheris is next to him. Lancelot Du Lac is the man standing by the king, and beside him is Arthur Pendragon, King of Briton."
"Everyone, this is Owain Peverell and… it feels rude to call you the Crow…"
"Harry Potter."
Myrddin acknowledged it with a nod.
"And Harry Potter," he finished. "The men I introduced are Arthur's Knights of the Roundtable. Owain and Harry are from the west."
"The land with no king or gods?" Arthur asked.
Owain nodded.
"And it will remain that way. Neither of us will bow to you or kiss your damned ring, but we will make sure the Danes don't take these lands, so long as you leave ours alone."
"Myrddin gave his word," Arthur reminded the man.
"And he'd better stick to it," Owain warned. "Only Death awaits anyone who comes without an invitation. Just ask your friends here."
Arthur evidently felt Owain's presence, and he looked towards Myrddin questioningly before nodding.
"I have no intention of breaking the agreement. If you help us, as per your promise, neither me nor mine will enter your lands under any circumstances."
"Good," Owain declared gruffly. "Now, what is your plan in dealing with the Danes? It's been clear to see since we arrived that you do not have a numbers advantage."
"We do not," Arthur agreed. "What do you suggest?"
"Many things," Owain answered dismissively, "but we must use what we have wisely. Engaging them in a frontal assault would be foolish. I have already sent my own scouts to see what we are facing, and then I will decide how my men can be best utilised."
"How many do you have?"
"A little over two hundred, but they are the best fighters you will ever meet. You can be assured of that."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Bors mumbled.
"You'll see it sooner than you like," Owain warned.
Bors muttered under his breath, but said nothing else as Arthur shot him a glare.
"Well, your assistance is most appreciated," the king broke in. "I have quarters…"
"That won't be necessary," Owain cut in. "We are content with the camp we have set up away from the castle. I will report the findings of my scouts when they return."
With that, Owain and Harry left, and the coldness they brought with them.
"I'll settle his hash for him," Bors muttered. "Arrogant bastard."
"You'll do no such thing," Leofric chuckled. "He would kick your balls into your throat before you can blink. If I were you, I wouldn't test him. There is a reason that he comes from a land with no god or king. His family is the closest thing to royalty you will find in his neck of the woods. You would be wise not to discover why for yourself."
Myrddin nodded his agreement, and Artur wore a look mixed with curiosity and caution.
"How did he do that thing with his dagger?" he questioned. "It went back to his hand as though it were alive."
"Because they believe in something else other than god," Lancelot murmured. "I have met a few men like them throughout my life, seen things they can do. I am clueless to where they come from, but it is best to have them on your side than face them on the battlefield."
They fell silent for several moments as they pondered what the man had said, and Myrddin got the impression that Arthur and his men were beginning to truly understand that there were different forces in the world beyond men and gods.
"Have they never had a king?" Arthur asked.
"Never," Myrddin confirmed. "The Peverell name is the only one that matters, and that is why I sought him out. Tristan and Leofric have seen it for themselves."
"As have my men," Leofric said gravely. "From what we saw, those two hundred men will be worth more than two thousand when it matters."
Once more, Myrddin nodded his agreement.
In an ideal world, Owain Peverell would have accepted Arthur as his king, but the next best outcome was that the man wanted no involvement in the affairs of other men.
His force was not one many would wish to meet on the battlefield, something Strenger had discovered for himself.
The Crow.
Harry Potter had held his own against Strenger and his men even before Owain Peverell had entered the fray, and that in itself was quite the endorsement.
(Break)
"He's with Myrddin," Morgana whispered.
There were few people in the world she'd met that she truly despised, but Myrddin Emrys had quickly become one of them. He'd had the gall to ignorantly lecture her on the magic she'd used and did so in such a derogatory, chastising fashion that came with his smugness and self-certainty.
He'd outright declared her to be an evil witch and urged Salazar and the others to expel Morgana from the castle.
They hadn't listened, but when he used to visit more regularly, Myrddin never missed an opportunity to speak out against her presence here.
It was one of the reasons Morgana had chosen to live in the forest.
She'd always been an outcast in life, and even here, where she'd first felt she belonged, she'd become one once more because of Myrddin and his influence.
"That's quite the troubling expression."
Morgana nodded as Salazar entered the clearing in front of her home.
"I think I might have to finally move again," she snorted.
"Why haven't you?"
Morgana shrugged.
"I'm happy here, for the most part."
"You mean when Harry is with you."
Morgana shot Salazar a glare and he merely chuckled in response.
"There is no shame in love. I was in love once, and it was the best thing to ever happen to me."
"I'm not ashamed of that," Morgana denied. "It terrifies me, and I worry for Harry, but I am not ashamed of what I feel for him."
"Then why do you feel shame?"
Morgana swallowed deeply at the question.
Salazar had a way of picking up on people's emotions and often reading them like an open book.
"Because I was weak before I came here," she murmured. "You remember as well as I do."
Salazar shook his head.
"You were not weak. You were lost and afraid. You'd never felt as though you belonged and the world treated you terribly."
"Because I allowed it."
"Because you knew no better," Salazar corrected. "It is not where our path begins that defines us, but the journey we undertake and the destination we reach. You are no longer a child, and you are no longer at the whims of the world."
Morgana nodded.
"I know, but it isn't to let go of everything."
"Have you not told Harry of your life before you came here?"
"Some things," Morgana answered.
Salazar released a deep breath.
"If there is anyone who will understand, it is him. I have said this before. You know of his life. Do you think him to be a weak man?"
"Of course not!"
"Then why do you persist in believing that you were once weak? You were a child, as was he when he endured much of what he did."
"I know," Morgana whispered sadly.
It had taken a long time for Harry to open up to her about his life after he'd witnessed the murder of his mother, growing up with his muggle relatives and how he'd been treated as nothing but a burden.
Even when he'd managed to escape them, his life had scarcely gotten any better, and then he'd ended up here through an odd twist of fate.
Not that Morgana was saddened by that.
Harry's arrival had been the best thing to ever happen to her, and she couldn't imagine being without him now.
"He's with Myrddin," she said worriedly. "He's going to help Arthur fight against the Danes who have invaded Wales."
Salazar nodded grimly.
"We have heard much the same. It appears that the war is truly beginning now."
"Aren't you worried?"
"I am," Salazar admitted, "but not about Harry. He is a born warrior, girl. I worry for the world when men find it necessary to clash in such a way. There are no winners in war, only survivors, but perhaps we should focus on something more positive. Do you still wish to marry him?"
Morgana nodded.
"Good, because I have been making the arrangements on your behalf. I need only inform Godric and the others, and the final preparations can be put into place."
"Thank you," Morgana said appreciatively. "Would you still like to give me away?"
"I would be most offended if any other did so," Salazar chuckled as he stood. "It will be one of the highest honours of my life."
He offered Morgana a rare, warm smile before taking his leave of the woods, and though her own worries continued to plague her, somehow, she felt better.
Harry would be well enough.
Salazar was right; he was a born warrior. Morgana just wished she wasn't merely waiting around, waiting for news of what was to come.
She shook her head as another wave of sickness washed over her, and she glared at the fairies as they darted out of her hair.
She was growing so used to the foreign magic mingling with her own that she barely acknowledged the nausea now, but it was there, still prominent enough to remind her that the work of the fairies was not yet complete.
(Break)
'I need you only to locate them, get an idea of the true numbers we are facing, and establish if there are going to be an unpleasant surprises. Do not do anything risky."
Hook nodded his understanding.
"I will take no risks," he assured Owain. "I will find you when I am done."
"Good," Owain murmured. "I do not trust this Myrddin nor his damned king. Even with the vow he gave to Harry, I don't like it."
"Nor do I," Hook agreed. "You can rely on me, Owain."
"I know."
Unsurprisingly, it hadn't taken long to locate the Danish host, and from what Hook saw, it was just as large, perhaps larger than had been reported.
They had already taken the abandoned Caer Aricon for themselves, and seemed to be settling in, though that wouldn't last. The Danes were a raucous group and would not be content for the duration without spilling blood.
Still, it was not easy to get an accurate accounting of them in the dark, but what he did see was most disconcerting.
For the most part, the men and women amongst them appeared to be typical Danes in the way they dressed and what they wore, but he saw more than a few robed figures in the group.
Magicals.
How many or how accomplished they were, Hook couldn't be certain, but this changed things.
"Shite," he muttered, easing his way to nearer to get a better look.
It would not do to return with only half of the information he needed, but as he got closer to the group, he paused suddenly as he felt a wave of magic wash over him.
"INTRUDER!"
The enormous camp was suddenly in uproar as the Danes hurried to retrieve their weapons, and Hook quickly made his retreat, ensuring his disillusionment charm was still in place.
Not that it ensured his safety.
The magicals, even in the darkness, might just be able to spot the slight shimmer of the spell, and Hook had promised Owain he would take no risks.
Besides, he needed to report what few findings he had discovered so that the men could be prepared to face what was coming.
"What the bloody hell…?"
Hook paused as a large screeching filled the air, and as he looked up to where it came from, he felt a sudden fear fill him.
A dragon.
The Danes had a dragon at their disposal, and though he couldn't tell what breed it was as it flew overhead, it didn't matter.
All dragons were dangerous, and that was why the Wizard's Council had gone to great effort to protect the population from them.
Still, that was not what Hook was pondering.
No, his only thought was to get as far away from the creature as he could before it inevitably sniffed him out and gave his position away.
(Break)
"What do you think?" Owain asked curiously as the two of them began setting up their tents.
"Well, Arthur certainly believes the vow is legitimate and he is willing to abide by it, but that doesn't mean Myrddin hasn't got a trick or two up his sleeve."
"Do you think he might?"
"I have no doubt he does," Harry sighed. "Vows and even blood magic are not infallible. If there is a loophole in either, Myrddin will find and exploit it to suit him. We just need to be prepared for every eventuality and get back to the village as soon as the Danes are dealt with."
Owain nodded his agreement.
"Do you have history with Myrddin?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you seem to be exceptionally suspicious of him."
"No history," Harry replied, "well, not me. He's been very unpleasant to my wife in the past and I wouldn't hesitate in slitting his throat in his sleep."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because men like Myrddin Emrys do not sleep peacefully enough for that to work."
Owain chuckled amusedly.
"Well, when this agreement is over, he's yours to do with whatever you wish."
"I wouldn't sound so pleased about hat," Harry urged. "I have no doubt that this won't be the last time me and him encounter one another."
"What makes you so sure?"
"You'll learn of it when the time is right."
Owain nodded thoughtfully.
"My father knows, doesn't he?"
"Mostly."
"And it explains how we are related."
"It does."
Owain frowned as his gaze drifted over Harry.
"Are you my brother?"
"No," Harry snorted. "It is much more complicated than that."
Owain folded his arms.
"You can keep your secrets and truths, Harry. As you have seen for yourself, my family is a small one now. By blood, it is only myself, my father, and Aeron, well, and you if what you say is true. Can you tell me how it is we are related?"
Harry looked at Owain speculatively for a moment before nodding.
He saw no reason to keep all of the truth from the man who had only ever been welcoming to him.
"I am a several times great grandson of yours."
Silence met the revelation, and Owain appeared to be simply dumbfounded for a moment before scoffing in disbelief.
"Are you saying you came from the future? I have heard of instances of time travel, but only by a few days or so."
"Try almost one thousand years."
Owain could only shake his head.
"Is that true?" he asked.
"Does it seem to be a lie?"
"No," Owain answered. "Not a lie has passed your lips, but I will be interested to hear your story, Harry Potter, when the time is right."
"You will," Harry assured him.
They said nothing else on the matter as they continued their work, and it wasn't until both heard a disturbance in the camp that they turned from their tents to face the approaching Hook.
The man was in a state of panic, and it took some time for him to find a coherent tongue.
"Dragon!" he exclaimed. "The Danes have magicals and a bloody dragon!"
"Are you sure?" Owain asked gravely.
"It's not as though I'd mistake it for anything else, is it?"
"Come Death, come," Owain murmured darkly. "This changes things. How the bloody hell do we fight a dragon? It will kill us all."
It was a deeply sombre mood that fell across the camp, and Harry was lost in the memories of the dragon he'd faced not so long before he came here. He still bore the scars from that encounter, and he'd not even had to kill the horntail.
Still, it wasn't as though he didn't have an idea on how to kill one.
By now, he'd learned more than the conjunctivitis curse Krum had used against his, though, no matter what approach he took, it would undoubtedly be risky.
"Any ideas, Harry?" Owain asked.
Harry nodded slowly as he pondered his plan of attack.
"Leave the dragon to me," he sighed. "I will handle it."
Both Hook and Owain looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, but Harry believed he knew what he was doing.
He just hoped that for once, all would go to plan, and even if it did, that Morgana would not kill him for doing something so monumentally stupid.
"Are you certain you can handle?" Owain asked.
Harry nodded.
"I'll manage. I always bloody do, somehow."
Owain quirked an eyebrow at him before frowning.
"I still do not like the idea of facing so many at once," he murmured, "especially alongside men we either don't know or don't trust. Come, I think we should pay a discreet visit to our Danish counterparts."
"Why?" Hook questioned. "You're not thinking about double-crossing Myrddin, are you?"
"Of course, not," Owain assured him, "but I think it would be most useful to thin their numbers, even just a little. Are you in?"
Hook nodded reluctantly.
"As long as that dragon doesn't come near me," he grumbled.
"Good man," Owain praised, clapping him on the shoulder. "Harry?"
"Well, how can I say no to such a tempting offer?"
(Break)
Salazar couldn't remember the last time there had been any good news to share in the castle.
With the murder of Rowena's daughter having overshadowed any happy tidings over the years, it was long overdue that they had something to celebrate.
He was so proud of both Morgana and Harry, not because they had found one another when they'd been so lost, but because of what both had become.
He would not deny he'd been worried about the girl.
Had things even been slightly different for her, she may have gone onto to do things there was no coming back from with magic none had business delving into.
Salazar firmly believed that meeting Harry had changed her fate, and perhaps it had done so for him too.
He idolised her.
Salazar had seen the way the two of them looked at one another over the years and it had only been a matter of time before they realised what had grown between them.
Love was a mysterious thing, but there was power in such a strong connection, and he intended to see Harry and Morgana's built as strongly as possible.
"You seem oddly cheery," Helga commented as he entered the Great Hall for their weekly meeting.
"Do I?"
"You do," Godric agreed with a frown.
"I may have occasion to be happy," Salazar replied.
"Well, don't leave us in the dark," Godric urged.
Salazar chuckled amusedly.
"Harry and Morgana have decided to get married. I have already been making the arrangements, but there is still much more to do," he added, seeing that Helga and Rowena were scowling at him. "There is still more than enough for the rest of you."
"Well, that is wonderful news," Godric declared fondly.
"It is," Rowena said with a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
They never did now, not since Helena had been killed.
"What else needs to be done?" Helga asked.
"I was hoping you would choose some suitable flowers."
"I'm not sure I have anything poisonous or particularly dangerous to hand," Helga snorted. "That would suit them, would it not?"
Salazar chuckled.
"I think a service without risk would be best for the two of them. Morgana has already asked if I would be the one to give her away, and she thought that perhaps Godric and Rowena would be kind enough to conduct the ceremony."
"What about me?" Helga asked.
"You will be there for Harry. He wouldn't want it to be anyone else."
"So, we have much work to do. When is the ceremony to be held?"
"The next time Harry returns home."
"Does anyone have any idea when that might be?"
"No, but he's never gone too long without sneaking in to see her," Godric pointed out. "I expect he'll be back soon enough, so, we should get to work. I need to visit an old acquaintance."
"For what purpose?" Salazar enquired.
"You'll see," Godric said with a grin.
(Break)
"Well, look what we have here," Owain whispered, nodding towards the large encampment below.
"I told you," Hook replied. "There's too many of the bastards to count."
Owain nodded.
"I'm not seeing a dragon. Are you sure you didn't just shit yourself?"
"I know what I saw."
Owain chuckled as he held up a placating hand.
"I believe you, Hook," he assured the other man. "What do you think, Harry?"
"I think Arthur would be buggered if he didn't have us."
"I agree," Hook murmured. "I'm just wondering what other nasty surprises they might have for us."
"I wouldn't get too excited," Owain urged. "A dragon is bad enough. Are you sure you can handle it, Harry?"
"No, and my plan is risky, but it is the best I have. They seem to work well enough."
Owain shook his head.
"You know, you might just be the maddest bastard I've ever met."
"Must be something in the blood," Harry said with a smirk.
Owain chortled as he nodded.
"You might be right," he sighed. "So, whilst we are here, what shall we do?"
Hook shrugged, and Harry continued to survey the area.
There was indeed no sign of the dragon, and he wasn't even certain where they would keep it. He'd seen for himself that they weren't so difficult to subdue so long as they were constantly supervised by a large group of wizards, but that meant little not knowing where it was.
"What about that row of tents," he replied, pointing to the temporary constructions. "I'd bet that's where they're keeping their supplies."
Owain hummed and nodded before a smile crested his lips.
"I might just have an idea, but it would be better if we had a distraction to lure them away again."
"Why are you looking at me?" Hook groaned.
"I don't know why you're complaining. You only have to run away, again. Me and Harry will do the rest."
"Great, I get to go for a run whilst being chased by thousands of angry Danes. What more could I possibly want in life?"
"You could always come with us and risk running into that dragon again."
Hook shook his head.
"No, I'll stick to running. You know, I might just become quite good ai it with so many men wanting to kill me on my heels."
Owain chuckled amusedly and clapped hook on the shoulder.
"Give us a bit of a start before you set off the protections again, we will do the rest and meet you back at Camelot."
"It will be my pleasure," Hook grumbled, offering them both a rude gesture as they vanished courtesy of the disillusionment charm.
They remained as silent as possible as they circled around the camp to where the tents had been set up at the rear. Reaching it, barely a moment passed before the inhabitants were in uproar, drawing their swords as they charged towards the position Harry and Owain had recently vacated.
"Oh, they are sore," Owain chuckled. "Come on, let's get this over with."
Once more, Harry followed the man and paused as he reached one of the tents.
"Something isn't right here," Owain murmured gravely. "Can you feel that?"
"I can," Harry whispered.
What is was, he couldn't be certain, but there was an eerie feeling about the place that was quite unsettling.
With a frown, he carefully pulled a section of the tent aside, and the feeling of unease only grew.
"Where did they find all of these creatures?" Owain asked.
Within the tent was dozens of stacked crates, each containing a magical creature of sorts, many of which Harry was not familiar with.
A few he did recognise, but one more than any other.
"Fawkes!"
Harry rushed towards the odd, glass bubble containing the bird, only to realise that it wasn't glass at all but was constructed from an odd form of protective magic, reversed to act as a prison.
The phoenix looked at him curiously, tilting its head before looking away.
Fawkes didn't recognise him, but Harry knew it was the same phoenix that had saved his life.
Once more, he looked at Harry again with his beady black eyes, and trilled, almost pleading for his help.
"You know this phoenix?" Owain asked.
Harry nodded.
"I do, but…"
The rest of his sentence was cut off by the sound of a nearby guttural roar, and Harry felt his heart sink into his chest.
"Dragon!" Owain choked. "We have to get out of here."
Harry nodded his agreement, and making a quick decision, he took hold of the crate containing Fawkes before following the sprinting Owain from the tent, only to curse under his breath.
Sprinting back to the campsite was most of the Danes, but it was what was clamouring towards him from behind that urged Harry to run towards the marauding men.
Drawing his wand, he managed to defend himself from the gout of fire from the Welsh Green lumbering after him, and he ducked out of the path of the next, but only ended up deeper in the campsite and within the erected protections.
From here, he could not apparate, so all that was left to do was run as though his life depended on it.
Still, he refused to leave Fawkes behind, and though the phoenix was frantic within his bubble, Harry hurriedly continued on his way whilst being pursued by the Danes and the dragon who would quickly catch him if he didn't do something.
"Bloody hell, think you idiot," Harry muttered irritably.
Running his wand over the outside of the bubble, he did his utmost to learn exactly what the magic was, all the while, his pursuers continued to gain ground on him.
Realising that it had been designed in a way to feed off of Fawkes' magic, keeping him weak enough not to be able to transport away, Harry nodded to himself before shrinking and pocketing it.
It would take too long to free Fawkes as he ran for all he was worth, and he only had but a moment or so to spare, something he was reminded of as a spell flew past his left ear, only narrowly missing him.
Returning the favour, Harry fired two spells behind him; one that would temporarily blind his attackers, and another that would give him a precious few seconds to make his escape, though doing so did not come without consequence.
As he cast the first spell, a searing pain lanced up his left leg, and the smell of burning flesh quickly filled the air.
Fortunately for Harry, the fire was quickly extinguished, though as he unleashed an enormous wave of fog and shifted into his crow form, the pain remained with him.
Still, he frantically beat his wings, and whilst the Danes and the dragon hunted for him below, he took the opportunity to shift back as a human and apparate away.
A moment later, he landed with a groan in the middle of his own camp, and before he could sit up to survey the damage to his leg, he was met by a frantic Owain who was smeared in blood.
"It's not mine," he assured Harry. "I got a few of the bastards before I left. What the hell happened to you? I turned around and you were gone."
"Dragon," Harry chuckled humourlessly, nodding to his leg. "Is it bad?"
"Bad enough," Owain murmured, grimacing at the sight of the burnt skin. "We'd best get you some help with that."
"Soon," Harry said dismissively.
The leg was indeed troubling him, but he did not wish to leave an undoubtedly unsettled Fawkes where he was any longer, and as he removed the shrunken orb from within his tunic, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
Although dishevelled and rather unhappy, Fawkes seemed to be doing well.
It took considerable effort to concentrate long enough to begin undoing the protections around the phoenix, but Harry persevered, and when he was free, Fawkes trilled a melodic tune, immediately lifting Harry's mood.
"You won't know it, but I think we are even now," he chuckled amusedly.
Fawkes quirked his head once more before shifting his attention to the smoking flesh on Harry's leg.
Relief.
The pain he was experiencing quickly evaporated and Harry realised what Fawkes had done.
"I guess not," he snorted amusedly, stroking the plumage of the magnificent bird the same way he'd seen Dumbledore do it.
With another trill, Fawkes took to the air before vanishing in a plume of fire and Owain shook his head.
"Well, it seems your leg is fixed."
"It is."
"So, how is it that you know that phoenix?" he asked curiously.
"Now that is a long story," Harry said fondly, smiling as he could still feel the phoenix not so far away from him.