Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            It really would have been nice if something in my life could have gone my way…just once. One time would be more than enough for me. Honestly, with how my luck works, I should have known.

I should have known that my plan was going to go so very wrong, as they all do in the end. I should have known that the consequences from my failure would backfire so spectacularly that I ended up in a situation that should have been impossible. And I should have known that all of this could have been avoided if I had just listened to Hermione.

Hermione always said it was my Potter luck. But I doubt even someone with true sight could have foreseen how fully wrong my plan was going to go. Well, Professor Trelawny did keep insisting that I was doomed or such. Perhaps she did see it after all.

The heat left behind from the dragon fire still caressed my skin even as my lungs burned from the cold. I had closed my eyes tightly when the spells and flame converged upon us, praying silently to any god that would listen for them to show me some kind of mercy for once in my merciless life. When I opened them again, it was to a pure whiteness so bright that I had to blink away the burning spots in my eyes before I realized that the white was actually snow. The transition left me feeling off kilter and more than a little numb.

Moments ago, I was in that strange place that looked like Kings Cross but wasn’t. Just before that, I was in the tournament ring surrounded by stone and fire. Now I was kneeling in thick snow, the white stretching as far as I could see in every direction.

Maybe someone was listening after all.

The sight was stunning, beautiful in an empty and peaceful sort of way. I have never seen so much snow. It covered the ground like a massive blanket and blended into the horizon seamlessly. I could only sit there in shocked silence as my hands clenched into fists on my thighs. A puff of thick air, white as fog, left me and a sudden shiver pulled at my overtaxed muscles, leaving me breathless and aching in the cold.

The tip of my nose burned, and I sniffled as I wiped a tattered sleeve beneath it. It came away wet, but I didn’t bother to see if it was from snot or blood. Instead, I turned my attention to the way my body struggled to stand. I pushed off the ground with my hands and at first, I couldn’t feel anything as my fingers broke through the thick layer of snow, but seconds later it felt like fire was licking along my skin. I stood quickly, stumbling upon weak legs as I cradled my frozen fingers to my chest and fought with my exhausted muscles to maintain balance.

At least the cold took the sting out of the many cuts littering my skin.

Memories struggled to the surface as I glanced around in a daze. Snowflakes clung to my loose hair, turning dark where it melted with the ash still clinging to the strands that the wind pulled into my face. I tucked it behind one ear with an annoyance that I was far too used too. The hair tie Lavender had leant to me must have broken sometime between being in the arena and now.

I remembered the arena, anger still seething low in my gut at being forced into the competition I wanted nothing to do with. The plan I had concocted was so very clever, or at least I had thought it was. Hermione warned me that it could backfire…I wish I had listened to her. If I had a time-turner, I would go back to that exact moment and slap myself for my idiocy, paradox be damned.

“What in Merlin’s name happened?” I asked with a low mumble, pinching my lips together and then biting the lower one when I realized that they were going numb from the cold.

The question was asked without expecting a response as I was certain that I was alone, but to my surprise I received one. “You happened, Miss Potter,” said a familiar voice with a well-known drawl. I flinched and I nearly lost my balance in the shock.

“Snape!?” I turned so quickly I stumbled, my legs twitching dangerously as the left one started to buckle before I locked my knees to stay upright. My vision swam for a moment as my head felt light and fluffy from the sudden bout of dizziness.

Now was not the time for buzzing to start in my ears and for my muscles to give up on me, but it seemed that as the adrenaline faded, so did my resolve to stay standing. I fought off both with a pure stubborn resolve and thankfully my body decided to listen. The heavy pounding in my head receded into a dull throb, the buzzing in my ears lessened, and my body continued to do as I commanded, though under heavy protest. I bit the inside of my cheek viciously as the stitch on my side made itself painfully known, but I didn’t falter as I turned one way and then the other, looking for my least favorite professor.

I scanned the surrounding area, eyes darted around the barren land searching for him, but all I saw was white. Twisting in place, my heels knocked against something hard, and I tripped over it, my arms spinning widely as I tried and failed to catch my balance. Hitting the snow hurt more than I thought it would but landing partially on the stone hurt even more.

My damaged hands clung to the outside of the blackened rock, melted smooth with dragon fire into a bowl shape. Bloody fingers caressed the smoothed rim, slipping along its surface as I tried to get enough leverage to sit up, aching ribs painfully protesting the movement. The large grey oval stones inside caught my attention and I found myself staring at them dumbly as I fought to process what I was seeing. Those were…those were eggs! Not just any eggs, but Horntail eggs. And there, right in the center of the group, was the golden one.

I hadn’t really had the time to look at it before, but now that I was close enough to touch it, I saw that it was rather beautiful. The fake egg was just a little larger than the others, and there were pictures carved into the sides. It looked like a village of some sort, but not any that I had ever seen before, with lines crawling up the sides like leaves. What looked like an overturned flower decorated the top, six small petals around the tip, three just touching the egg but not molded to it, and another three carved deep into the surface, alternating between them.

I leaned closer to get a better look and realized that the top must twist somehow to unlock what was no doubt the clue to the next challenge. Shuffling closer still, I saw that at the center of the upside-down petals wasn’t a stem…it was the face of an owl. My fingers reached to touch it, to twist the face and see what lay inside, but my hair shifted in the faint wind, leaving a gap that I could just see through. A large dark form caught my attention from between the strands of my hair and I turned to see it. Something massive lay just behind the nest and I ducked back into the snow as I realized that the dragon was right on the other side.

My heart pounded in my chest, sounding as loud as drums as I pressed sweaty and bleeding palms to my mouth to quiet my dangerously noisy breathing. Any moment now the shadow of the Horntail would fall over me, that deep rumble in her chest would fill my ears, and fire would turn me to ashes. Any moment now…

I waited and waited. My heart gradually slowed in my chest, and I no longer needed to press my hands to my mouth to quiet my breathing. Still, I waited some more, but nothing happened.

Cautiously, I peaked my head over the lip of the nest and took in the massive form of the dragon. “Potter!” Snape called and I flinched back suddenly as if struck, ducking back down. I crouched so low that I could feel the bitter cold of the snow melting against my cheek as I tried to make myself as small of a target as possible. “Potter, where are you, you daft girl!”

“Shh,” I hissed the sound between clenched teeth and prayed that the Horntail didn’t see me.

“Don’t shush me, you impudent wretch,” he said with a low rumble, his voice quiet as he drawled the words. I clenched my eyes shut tightly, already knowing that a load of points were about to be taken away from Gryffindor. Snape only got quiet when he was truly furious.

“Snape, be quiet,” I whispered, trying to peak around the nest without catching the Horntail’s attention. I could hear him spluttering in outrage and continued before he could do any more damage. “The dragon, the dragon is still here.”

Silence met my words, and I could hear some shuffling coming from the nest. I was too scared to see if it was my teacher or the Horntail, and only lay there, pressed against the ground as my heart started to slow back down to a reasonable pace. There was no way we hadn’t drawn the brood mother’s attention…so why hadn’t she attacked, or roared, or done something? Maybe she was asleep?

Taking a few fortifying breaths, huffing each through my nose as if that somehow made a difference, I strapped my Gryffindor courage on like armor and peaked over the nest once more. My hands bled into the lip of the smooth stone, but I hardly noticed. I didn’t notice the cold, nor the wind, nor the colors of the sky as the sun began to set into the horizon. The only thing I noticed was the Horntail.

She was as if a small mountain had dropped from the sky, huge and motionless in the wind, her hide dark against the white landscape. I found myself staring at her in confusion as she lay there, so still and unmoving. And then I remembered what It had told me, in that other place, the one in between the tournament and here.

Dead, not dying.

So, It hadn’t lied. The dragon was dead after all.

“Snape?” I asked quietly, afraid that speaking would somehow bring the dead dragon to life and kill me. “Snape?” I asked again, a little louder and more confident when the dead dragon didn’t move, and nothing happened.

“It’s Professor Snape to you, Potter,” he replied just as I pushed myself back up until I was kneeling over the nest, my eyes darting around the barren wasteland. Large flakes of snow were slowly drifting down from the cloud covered sky and already I could see it begin to settle over the nest and the dead brood mother. Of my teacher, I saw nothing. “What of the dragon?”

“Dead, I think,” I said in reply as I glanced back at her. She still hadn’t moved, not that I expected her too…but somehow, I couldn’t seem to let go of my fear, even while staring at her gaping chest cavity and the empty space where her back half should have been. “Snape? I mean, Professor?” I corrected. I was beginning to think I was hallucinating my least favorite professor as I looked around and found nothing. “Where are you?” I asked, half convinced I was starting to lose my mind.

“Here!” He said with a harsh snap, his tone transporting me right back into the potion’s classroom. I found myself bristling in indignity just from habit. “Down here, you dundering idiot!”

I let my gaze fall down into the nest by my feet and only saw stone grey eggs around the larger golden one. Snow was beginning to collect upon them, dusting them in a soft speckling white. A foggy huff of irritation left me before I realized part of the white was moving. I leaned forward on my knees, my legs nearly buckling as my thighs burned from exertion. The muscles twitched from overuse even as they started to stiffen from the cold.

Once closer to the nest, I could see other colors than just white. There was a deep purple, shades of blue, and a lighter glacial teal moving in bit of white in the snow. It wasn’t until a pair of dark purple eyes that actually glowed – because what the fuck – blinked up at me that I finally put the pieces together. I was looking at a tiny dragon.

“Don’t just stare, you imbecile, assist me up!”

And the little reptile was speaking to me…with Professor Snape’s voice.

I rubbed at my eyes, cold fingers stinging the sensitive skin as I pressed in hard enough to see spots. When they cleared, the image hadn’t changed. A tiny dragon was still talking to me with my professor’s voice.

“Uh…” was the only reasonable reply my brain could begin to put together as I gazed at the impossible image before me.

“Eloquent, as always Miss Potter,” he said, voice drawled in irritation. “But if you could find time in your busy day to assist me up, I would gratefully appreciate it.” Snape bit out the words as if he were insulted that he was forced to speak them.

“Uh…” I replied again, but my hands fluttered forward before settling uncertainly back into my lap. “Sn-Professor,” I started cautiously. “It’s just…”

“What is it, Potter?” He said with a snap, his little head swaying side to side as his voice took on a hissing quality to it not unlike Parseltongue.

“It’s…you’re…well, you’re tiny.”

The purple eyes blinked up at me, a clear membrane sliding across each eye with the exaggerated slowness in the movement. Evidently, a dragon could display a proper amount of annoyance with only their face. The last dragon that was annoyed with me just tried to set me on fire. If Snape knew how to breathe fire, I think I would have already been a pile of ash and blackened bone.

“Look,” I said quickly before he could think of something else to say that would be along the lines of my questionable intelligence. “I’m not trying to have a lark here; I mean it literally. You’re quite small.” I scooped my hands underneath him and lifted before I lost my courage.

I stood, his small body incredibly warm in my hands, chasing away the lingering cold as I pulled him up to eye level. The dragon spluttered in indignation, dual thumbs on either wing digging into my exposed wrists as his tail thrashed behind him. He was perched awkwardly on my palms, swaying back and forth as if uncertain how to balance himself.

Though the size of a small cat with a tail three times again his length, he weighed only a few ounces at most. My arms didn’t strain at all to hold him, and yet I found myself pulling them in closer until he was only inches from my torso. The heat he put off was more than enough to chase away the chill that had settled in.

“What is this?!” He shouted in alarm, a duel toned shriek echoed behind it, leaving my ears ringing. “Potter! What have you done?”

That was the crux of it. I could feel his panic edging into my mind and suddenly I remembered everything. Oh Merlin, what had I done?

Chapter Text

The day of the First Task was like any other. It was a Tuesday, normal temperature for the beginning of Autumn, overcast with a slight chance of rain, and quite possibly the last normal day I would ever have. Hermione kept telling me I was being overly dramatic, and Ron…well, Ron still wasn’t speaking to me.

“Boys are all idiots,” Aunt Petunia would always remind me. It turns out she was right. I hated it when she was right.

Ginny told me he would get over it soon. People – idiots – like her brother needed time to realize how stupid they were being. I just had to weather out the storm of stupidity and hope our friendship would survive once the dust settled. Though she did promise to curse him with an unending bat-bogey hex if he didn’t pull his head out his arse soon.

I suppose I would never find out if he ever got over himself now.

The attack came from all directions. The wards snapped with a sudden and deafening boom that knocked everyone off their feet. Even the dragon was forced from her nest, and she fell between two large rocks, pinning her wing underneath. The stands directly behind the Horntail came down seconds after the wards, collapsing from the middle first. They tumbled apart like a deck of cards, crumpling atop each other as people screamed in horror and in pain.

The brood mother wailed and shrieked so loudly I could only just hear it over the loud ringing in my ears. Sound started to come back slowly, distorted noises filtering in, before it came rushing back all at once. My hands clapped over my ears to muffle the dragon’s agonized cries and my eyes were drawn to her even as I noticed another series of stands collapsing in my periphery.

She struggled, her one good wing thrashing nearly straight up in the air, tail bashing into the rocks hard enough to chip off large sections. I stumbled upright, pulling myself up onto the rock next to Hermione’s bookbag. I stood on the blackened and charred stone as the screams of students started to pour in over the Horntail. Lights were flashing from the stands, bright colored spells flying back and forth between the professors and darkly robed figures wearing white masks.

I stood there dumbfounded for several long moments, just watching as the chaos unfolded around me. A sickly yellow spell flashed past my face, hitting the rock behind me, and turning it into tiny pieces of stones that blew apart with such force I could feel the small projectiles cut through the thick enchanted fabric of the sleeves of my battle robes as I shielded my face. Only a smoking crater was left from the aftermath of the spell and my heart leapt into my throat when I realized that the curse had been meant for me.

My knees cracked on the stone and scraped the palms of my hands as I scrambled behind the rock. Fingers gripped the leather strap of Hermione’s bookbag as I dragged it after me. She would never forgive me if I just left her books there to be ruined. Hermione only let me borrow them because mine was still needed to be repaired after an argument broke out with Malfoy in the hallway yesterday, Lavender was determined she could get the color to return to brown and not Slytherin green and silver though I had my doubts. But the color was unimportant if the pockets kept trying to eat your fingers as far as I was concerned. Hermione had relented after I had begged her for hours…and I had sworn on my life that I wouldn’t let anything happen to either her bag or the contents within.

Thank Merlin I didn’t make a binding oath.

I brushed off smoldering coal from the front of the bag while clutching it to my chest, praying that that was the only damage. The embers were hot enough to burn tiny holes through the canvas, but I would have to hope that the damage hadn’t spread to anything inside the bag.

My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears I could barely make out the battle that was happening around me. Black hair fell into my vision, and I pushed it aside with shaking fingers before ducking even further behind the rock, pressing my back into it as another spell flew just inches over my head. Sweat dripped down my face as my lungs burned with the effort to keep up with my racing heart.

The movement above drew my attention, and I could see the professors’ box directly in front of me. Dumbledore stood in the forefront, casting massive spells with just a wave of his wand with McGonagall at his side buffering support. Her shielding spell was seamless, allowing pockets for children to retreat into and then closing them before an opposing spell could find its way in.

Sprout’s own shields were not nearly as large as McGonagall’s, who was able to cover the entire teacher’s box, but Sprout had multiple shields cast at once. She was protecting fleeing students while Flitwick stood beside her, assisting with decidedly more lethal spells. His curses and hexes flew from his wand in rapid succession, not silent like Dumbledore’s and not large like McGonagall’s, but they cut through the air with precision and their victims did not get up again. I had forgotten he was the undefeated dueling champion in Wizarding Britain for the last thirty years, but now I could see why.

If Dumbledore’s spells were art, Flitwick’s was poetry in motion.

My eyes were drawn to the other side of the stands where an equally impressive level of offensive and defensive spells were being cast nearly simultaneously. Snape stood alone like a dark silhouette on the bleachers outside McGonagall’s massive single-casted protego, but that didn’t seem to hinder him at all. His mouth moved with the spells he cast, but he would flick his wand mid-word to deflect an incoming curse with an effortlessness that was enviable before he finished casting. There wasn’t a stop or a pause in his spell-work, the constant need to deflect and shield didn’t even seem to hinder him at all.

I was drawn to his form, nearly captivated by his surgical precision, until his dark eyes caught mine and held. He seemed to sneer at me from his advantaged height, his wand slicing through the air to deflect another spell and continuing the movement until I was no longer staring into his heated gaze, but down the end of his wand.

A bright crimson spell flew from the tip and barreled towards me. I ducked instinctively but knew there was nowhere to go. I was stuck behind the rock or I risked exposing myself to the curses still chipping away at my hiding place. And even though my wand was in my hand, I didn’t think to bare it in defense. Instead, I covered my head with my arms and prayed to Merlin he would miss. After a few moments of feeling or hearing nothing but my own harsh panting, I lowered my arms and glanced up. A body lay next to mine, black cloaked, white masked, and smoldering. It didn’t move.

My green eyes darted back up into the teacher’s box and Snape’s own dark ones met mine. “Move!” he shouted, casting another spell that flew so close to me that I could feel the magic tingling along my skin. A scream rang out behind me.

I did as he bid. I ran out of my hiding place, keeping low and trusting that Snape would keep protecting me, though why he had in the first place still illuded me. He had told me on more than one occasion that I should do the world a favor and drink my failed potions of that day. And yet, even with all those years of hostility, detentions, and heated glares, his magic flew past me, casting aside hexes that would have struck me down and felling those bold enough to come close.

A large explosion before me had me slipping on the wet stone, trying to backpedal from my forward momentum as the ground burst into a hail of dust and stone. My hip ached from the fall, but I pushed past the pain and darted to the side to avoid another explosion. I noticed too late that the change in direction had put me in even more danger.

I skidded to a stop, the trapped Horntail only a meter away, her head thrashing as she wailed and spit fire into the air. I ducked the flame and crouched as low to the ground as I could get without actually crawling, but I had nowhere else to go. Behind me stood three darkly cloaked figures. One casting aside the spells raining down on them from the teachers, the other two advancing on my position. Snape’s spells collided heavily on their shields, cracking them, and causing the defender to stagger…but their defense held.

He wasn’t going to break through in time.

In that moment I made a decision…a plan. It was probably the stupidest thing I had done since jumping into the chamber in the girls unused third floor bathroom.

I turned back around and ran straight for the Horntail.

“Harielle!” I could hear Snape bellowing my name, the tone just like the one he used when berating me in class. He only broke out my first name when I did something monumentally stupid. Like the time with the troll, or that incident with the Whomping Willow. But this time, instead of raising my ire, it bolstered my resolve.

The Horntail’s maw opened in front of me, rows of dripping teeth sharper than any knife leading to the ignition tubes in the back. A flame was starting to build on either side, the gases catching fire, blue at first and then orange as they spewed from her mouth. I dropped beneath the jet of flames, sliding on the wet stone feet first, my momentum pushing forward until I was beneath her. Behind me I could hear the wizards screaming.

My momentum brought me to a jarring halt on her stuck wing and I took a moment to just breathe, safe for the first time since this tournament started, beneath the deadliest thing in this arena. The body above me thrashed in a fury only a dragon could achieve, and I felt the hard bone of the wing knock into my side as she tried to free herself.

A series of low thuds boomed around me, sounding hollow in the little space that I lay in. It took me a moment to realize that it was battle spells raining down on the dragon. She quailed and shrieked but could do nothing else as every thrash more firmly wedged her in place.

Another idea came to me, and I could hear Hermione’s voice in my head – the voice of reason – telling me that this plan was even more idiotic than the last. Surely this would be the plan that killed me, surely this was the one that was dumb enough to end my pitiful existence.

I decided to go through with it anyway. My only other option was to lay here and wait for death or rescue, and well…I’ve always been terrible at waiting.

Turning myself around in the confining space was difficult, and more than once I thought I was going to get myself stuck right along with the dragon, but after a long moment where my knees pressed painfully into my own ribcage, I was finally turned around and on my stomach. I crawled towards her thrashing wing, pushing some of the softer membrane aside and deftly avoiding her thumb claw as I crawled further beneath her, Hermione’s books digging harshly into my back.

It seemed to take forever before I reached her hind foot. I panted and gasped from the effort, the heat she gave off made the small space nearly suffocating. Her foot was twisted partially on the ground, her ankle caught between her own body and the rock she was wedged against.

There was enough space at her hip to prop myself into a sitting position, back against the other side of the small crevice. I couldn’t fully sit up, forced into a low slouch more than anything, but it was enough. I took a steady breath and then grabbed my wand.

My hands were shaking as I brought it to bare on the rock less than a person’s length from me. I knew, before I even cast the spell, I knew this was going to suck. I brought my free arm up to my face to shield it even as my wand slowly flicked through the movements.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

The spell slammed into the rock, the boom that followed deafening in the confining space. Small and sharp debris rained down on me, cutting into my hands and face even as I tried to shield my eyes. My ears rang from the impact, quieting the Horntail’s continued wailing. I coughed as dust was pulled into my lungs and I cracked my eyes open to see the damage. A large chunk almost in a perfect circle was punched into the stone, spider web cracks splintering out from the epicenter. But still the rock held.

I raised my wand, taking another steadying breath, and then cast again. I could feel blood dripping from my ears by the third attempt. By the fourth I was coughing nonstop from the dust. By the fifth, I could barely breathe, and my vision was starting to go black around the edges. I don’t know how many times I cast the spell, but I remember the darkness creeping in, and then suddenly I was blinded by a bright light.

A large form blocked the light momentarily, and when the Horntail shook herself upright and roared it sounded hollow in my ears, as if I was hearing from far away or under water. Her hind foot was inches from me, her body casting long shadows upon the arena, and then she took to the air, the broken chain dangling from her damaged collar. I could only sit there dazed as fresh air flooded my lungs and I could finally breathe. Sweat was pouring from my brow, and I could feel trails of it slicking down my back.

My head turned to where I came from, curious about the wizards that had been following me. At first, I didn’t know what I was seeing, it looked like darkly smoking rocks…and then I knew exactly what I was looking at. I turned away, dry heaving at the sight of the charred bodies. Rolling over onto my hands, bile forced its way from my throat as the smell came next.

The screaming around me seemed so very quiet compared to my own harsh breathing. Ash was raining from the sky, and I could feel the wind hit me, forceful jets of air pushed from the dragon’s flight. Fire bloomed from her maw, lighting up the darkening sky in bursts.

A hand wrapped around my wand arm, fingers digging tiny points of pain into my tired muscles as I was yanked upright. Professor Snape stood before me, one hand on his wand and the other around my bicep, his grip bruising. His hair was moving with the wind caused by the dragon’s wings, it looked greasier then normal. His face was twisted into a sneer, for once not aimed at me, and aside from the state of his hair, he looked completely normal. There was no dust on his robes, no dirt on his face…he looked just as he did every day in class.

My own state no doubt paled in comparison. I was sweaty, hair sticking to the back of my neck as I felt drops leave trail marks down my spine. My own battle robes were shredded and covered in ash, and I had no doubt that my face was just the same. For some reason, I was oddly embarrassed in that moment with how I must appear to one as composed as Snape…and then I was angry for being embarrassed. Who cared when I was running for my life?!

I was pulled from my thoughts as his cold dark eyes glared down at me before he shoved me away from him and towards the tallest point in the arena. I could hear him casting behind me, his sibilant voice somehow loud in the chaos despite the explosions around us. I focused on the calm way he spoke the spells, using his demeanor and lack of panic to calm my own racing heart as I scrambled up the embankment. He followed quickly behind, back towards me as we retreated to the far side of the arena.

My exhausted muscles protested each movement, and more than once Snape was forced to support me. His shield shimmered brightly as dozens of spells slammed into its wall, and yet still it held. Each impacting boom left me breathless with anticipation, but it endured through the onslaught. I don’t know how he did it, kept us moving, renewing the shield, and levitating rocks, unmoving bodies, and other obstacles into the paths of spells that the shield couldn’t block. And yet, somehow, he did.

I promised that if I ever made it out of this alive, I would never talk back to him in class ever again.

We were nearly out of ground to retreat too, just cresting the top of the incline when I stumbled to a stop, nearly losing my balance as my legs shook. I could see the grey wall that marked the edge of the arena and before us stood the massive stone nest, twelve grey eggs and one gold right in the center. “Keep moving, Potter!” Snape shouted between spells, nearly backing into me as I stumbled over another loose stone. His hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me back to my feet. “Get up, keep moving!”

“There’s no where else to go!” I shouted at him, scrambling to the top of the last rock and stopping at the base of the stone nest.

A shadow cast over us as air pushed past with each beat of the Horntail’s wings. My hair blew into my face as she landed, right on the other side of the nest. I looked up, taking in her towering form and angry demeanor as she stared right into me. She roared defiance, her great maw opening. I could see the blue in the back of her throat when several brightly colored lights flashed in my periphery.

One of the spells was green.

 “Snape!” I screamed, turning, and launching myself at him. But I was too late. Everything seemed to happen all at once. Spell fire came from one side, dragon fire from the other. I pressed my eyes tightly closed as my arms gripped his torso, the spells hit, the shield broke, fire rained down above us as we landed in the dragon nest, and a hook latched itself on my stomach.

When I opened my eyes, I was laying on the tiled ground of Kings Cross Station, with my mother standing before me…and she presented me with a choice.

Chapter Text

There was red fire, brightly lit spells, a green killing curse, and splintering blue from the shattered protego…then I blinked and all I saw was white. Ash had filled the air so thick I could barely breathe, but in this white place, it was so pure I thought the only explanation could be that I had died. In a way, I suppose I had.

I didn’t see the woman at first, too distracted by the death rattle from the Horntail. She lay on her side – what was left of it – her open chest cavity leaking frothy blood on the pristine white floor. Her back half and right wing were gone entirely like they had been torn from her…or splinched.

I took a few steps closer, still wary of the damage she could impose even with the mortal wounds inflicted upon her.

“Do not pity her,” a voice halted my faltering steps and I turned to it. A woman clad in a robe just as white as the pillars and floor stood there, under a brightly lit arch. Her hair was a light shade of red and her cheeks were dotted with a thousand tiny freckles, but her eyes were exactly like mine. Or, I suppose, mine were like hers.

“Mum?” I whispered the word in disbelief, so quietly I don’t know how she heard, but she did.

“Hi baby,” she replied, smiling so brightly at me that I almost started to cry. I didn’t think anyone has ever looked that happy to see me before.

“Mum!” I ran to her, tears falling as I collided with her still body. It was really real, I could feel her in my embrace, feel her arms wrapped around my back. She was really here. “How are you here?” I questioned, tightening my grip when she moved to separate.

She indulged me for a while longer, humming softly as she ran her fingers through my darker locks. “Where do you think you are?” She asked me after a long moment. I finally let her pull away far enough to look at my surroundings, though I kept my grip tight around her waist, fisting my fingers into her robe, afraid she would disappear if I let go.

My eyes were blurry from crying, and I used my torn sleeve to quickly wipe them before I took in my surroundings for the first time.

“Kings Cross?” I asked, confused as I took in the white pillars, benches, platforms, and bricks. It was so bright as to be nearly blinding. And while it looked like the train station I had come to know so well…it also very much didn’t. Everything was too clean, too white. The tiled floor was seamless, like one piece of marble that stretched on and on. The pillars rose up from the floor like spires that grew from the ground, the bricks so even and perfect that I knew this couldn’t be real.

“In a sense,” Mum replied, turning as she grabbed my hand and led me away from the dying Horntail. “Dead,” she said, smiling softly down at me. “Not dying, she’s already dead.” I frowned, turning to look at the dragon over my shoulder. One of her orange eyes caught mine as she took another rattling breath. The brood mother didn’t look to be dead yet, but I knew she soon would be. No amount of magic could fix a wound like hers.

Mum placed a hand around my shoulders and turned me away. The dragon’s death rattle faded behind us and an unease began to settle over me in the heavy silence. “Mum?” I asked hesitantly, slowing to a stop. When I darted a quick look back, the dragon was gone. “Where are we?” She continued on for a few paces before turning back to me with that soft smile that made my chest hurt.

“What do you remember happening last, before you awoke here?” She asked instead of answering my question.

I frowned, my brow scrunching in what Hermione called my ‘thinking face’. The memory surfaced slowly, coming to me as if through a thick fog, before it snapped into sharp focus, and I gasped. “Oh,” I breathed out, the air escaping me like I had been punched right in the gut. Everything was starting to finally make sense. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

My mother smiled at me again, brushing a lock of loose black hair behind my ear. The words I spoke stretched out between us in the silence, but they didn’t make me sad or despondent…they didn’t make me feel anything at all.

“Yes,” she said after a long moment of stillness, “and no.”

Confusion settled over me once more, but before I could form the question that was already building in my mind, a sound not unlike a baby crying drew my attention. I turned to look, and my mother moved with me.

My eyes flitted across the empty station before I was able to locate where the sound was coming from. I crouched down, my hands pressing into the smooth tile that was neither warm nor cold, it just was. My unbound hair spooled over my splayed fingers, tickling the back of my hands. The sensation distracted me for a moment…the longer I spent here, the more numb everything seemed to feel.

At first, I wasn’t certain what it was I was looking at. The thing beneath the bench was malformed and so twisted that all I could do was stare at it in stupefaction. Only once it moved, whimpering pitifully from beneath the bench did I recoil in disgust.

“What is that?” I scrambled to my feet, breathing a sigh of relief when the bench obscured it once more. It had looked like a baby at first, but its limbs were too long, its face not fully formed, and its skin seemed to have melted off. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a soul shard,” Mum replied softly, moving to stand next to me, her hand coming up to run through my loose strands. “Broken off from the main host, it has become twisted.”

Her simple explanation of the thing beneath the bench stunned me and it took a long while to voice the question that had suddenly gripped my heart in fear. “Is it…is it mine?”

Green eyes, so much like mine, gazed into me and I fought not to squirm under it. “No,” she blinked, and relief flooded into me, chasing away the unease that had settled into me when under her stare. “It broke off from the original host’s already fractured soul a long time ago and latched onto the only magical thing strong enough to sustain it.”

Her fingers brushed my hair back around an ear as her thumb trailed over my forehead, right where my scar was. Her fingers were like the floor, neither cold nor warm…they just were. Realization was slow to come, but once it did a feeling of nausea turned my stomach. “Voldemort,” I whispered, asking for confirmation even as I desperately wished to never know the answer. Her smile was enough to confirm my fears and I was suddenly fighting the urge to vomit.

“But why does it…why does he look like…” I gestured to the bench. Mum smiled at me again and waited patiently for me to continue. “I mean, if it’s a soul shard, why dies it look like a baby?”

“Oh sweetheart,” she stroked my cheek with gentle fingers, still smiling sweetly in that way that made her eyes light up and soften. “Nothing here is as it seems.” My brow wrinkled in confusion and her thumb came up to ease the tension. Her eyes followed her fingers as if she were trying to remember every part of my features. “The shard appears to be a malformed baby because you see it that way. We’re in Kings Cross because to you this is a place of transition. Everything here is how you see it.”

I stood there for a long while, absorbing her words and trying to understand her meaning. “And you?” I asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer. “Are you as I want to see you?”

She only continued to smile that soft smile at me, her fingers drawing away so she could clasp them in front of her and I knew my answer. “You’re not her, are you?”

“No,” the thing wearing my mother’s face answered and I felt warm tears spill down my cheeks. “And yes.”

I blinked at her in confusion, wiping my eyes quickly, embarrassed at the tears. “How can you be both my mum and not?” It was a cruel joke, whatever this was. To have finally met her, only for it to be a lie. “What are you?” I was angry at her, at it for wearing her face.

“I am the one who guides those to peace,” she replied, seemingly unfazed by my outburst. “I take on the visage of a past loved one to those who appear before me.”

“But why?!” I cried, covering my face with my hands, trying to stem the sobs building in my chest. “Why her?!”

“Because,” she replied just as gently as when she was pretending to be my mother. “This was who you needed to see. Lily Potter nee Evans and no other.” I choked on a sob at her answer.

“But you’re not her!” I shouted back, my anger draining from me. The fatigue and sadness that took the place of my anger left me feeling hollow. There wasn’t room for anything else but the heavy feeling of despair as I gazed at the thing that was pretending to be my mum.

“No,” it replied, just as softly. “But I could be. I am as she was. I care because she did. She, like your father and countless souls that have all passed through my halls, are all a part of me…as I am now a part of them. I am the first and the last. I am –”

“Death,” the word left my lips like a sigh and a prayer. It was whispered in both hope and fear. This was my moment, my last. What was my anger worth in these last few precious moments?

“Yes,” she smiled at me the same way Hermione does when I figured out something clever.

“So, I am dead.”

“Not quite,” Death hummed, reaching for my hand. Her grip was just the same as it had been since I first thought her my mum, solid and inviting. I thought it would be cold once I realized what she really was, but it hadn’t changed at all. I almost pulled away, still upset about the trick, but even as I wiped the last of my tears away, I couldn’t find it in myself to genuinely care.

I felt I should be worried. The longer I was here, in this ‘place of transition’ as Death called it, the less things seemed to matter. Even now, her grip that was strong and warm, felt like a memory, there but not.

“Do you remember what happened?” She asked again, tucking my hand into her elbow, the other coming up to clasp my fingers in place as she led me away from the soul shard still crying softly beneath the bench. When I turned to look back, nothing was there, just an endless track with endless arches and identical benches stretching behind us as far as I could see. Like the Horntail it was here and then gone. My gaze returned to the front, and I grunted in surprise, just now noticing that here too seemed to go on forever as well.

Where Death was leading us, I didn’t know, it all looked the same to me. And after a while it seemed as if we hadn’t moved at all. “I remember the arena,” I answered after what could have been a moment or an eternity. It was impossible to tell in a place like this.

She – it – hummed softly in approval and after a moment I continued. “We were attacked, Snape – Professor Snape –” I amended quickly. I was so used to others instantly correcting me every time I failed to include his proper title that it was nearly a second nature. “He saved me, and then…” I trailed off, remembering the shattered protego, the bright spells, the dragon fire, and then the sensation of a portkey.

“I died,” I told her, the thing still pretending to be my mother. I wanted to tell it to stop wearing her face, but I was afraid. I was afraid it would refuse, but mostly I was afraid it would do as I asked. It may not have been my mum, but this was the closest I had ever come to meeting her, and I didn’t want to give that up. An aspect of my mother was better than nothing at all.

“Not exactly,” she said after a long moment.

“But the curse!” I stopped walking and pulled my hand from the crook of her arm. I had no idea where she was leading me anyways, the station just seemed to go on endlessly and if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought we hadn’t moved at all. But then again, maybe we hadn’t. Everything here looked exactly the same. “The killing curse hit me; I saw it…I felt it.”

She smiled at me, that same gentle smile, the one Luna always uses when I failed to see the big picture or connect the dots. “Yes,” the visage of Death replied patiently. “But what does the Killing Curse do exactly?”

‘It kills’ I wanted to say, but I knew that that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. I could feel my brow scrunching again as I tried to recall Professor Moody’s lesson on the Unforgivables. Just thinking about it made me uncomfortable, especially since Neville had been in class too. But nevertheless, I endeavored to give her a proper answer.

“It kills by violently separating the soul from the body,” I replied after a moment, and she gazed at me in approval. The question was on the tip of my tongue, the one I had always wanted to ask Professor Moody but never got the courage. But I supposed if anyone knew the answer it would be Death.

“You want to know why Avada Kedavra kills where a Dementors Kiss does not,” she spoke softly as if we were discussing a great secret. I could only nod my head, still unable to bring voice to the question even at the disgruntled feeling settled low in my chest. I hated speaking about the Unforgivables, hated even thinking of them and I wondered if I was truly that easy to read.

She smiled at me, the corners of her mouth twitching in a way I recognized when I saw it in the mirror. She was amused. Her hand reached up to brush my unruly hair back once more and already the gesture felt familiar as if my mother had done it all my life. I swallowed around the lump in my throat and willed myself not to cry.

“That is because while a Dementor separates the soul from the body and consumes it, the soul still exists in the same plane as the host, while the curse completely renders the soul from existence all together…essentially killing it.” She replied after a long moment and then remained silent while I took in the information.

“Is that what happened to me?” I asked hesitantly, remembering the green light that struck me. Had my soul been rendered from my body?

“Yes, and no,” I grunted in frustration, sick of the mixed answers she loved to give me every time I asked a question.

“Can’t you just give me a straight answer!?” I shouted, frustrated, and confused. I could feel my eyes start to well up again, but I gritted my teeth and shook my head until they subsided. She just continued to smile at me, and my hands clenched into fists. “Please,” I begged, bowing my head. I was desperate for an answer, any actual answer, and wasn’t above prostrating myself to get it.

“You had two souls inhabiting your body,” her hand looped into my elbow, and she pulled me forward until we continued our journey to wherever it was that she was leading me. “The killing curse will render a soul from the plane of the living…a soul.” She enunciated and suddenly it made sense.

“So, I’m not dead,” I whispered. “Because I’ve got two souls?”

She smiled down at me, her head tilting to the side and hair spilling over her shoulder. “But you could be, if you want.” As she finished the words a train pulled silently into the station. It was just as white as everything else in this place, and utterly soundless. Death pulled us to a stop and turned us to face it as the doors opened. “This train will take you on, and that one,” she turned again, and I looked behind me to see another train had pulled into the other side of the terminal. “That one will take you back.”

It wasn’t really a decision. The moment I saw both trains I already knew which one I was going to board. I pulled my hand from hers and took a step towards the one behind us, the one that would take me back, but her words made me falter. “Be aware that if you choose to return to the land of the living, it won’t be as you think.”

I glanced at her over my shoulder. She was standing beneath the arch that separated one side of the platform from the other. “You mean as a ghost?”

“Not at all,” she laughed. “Your body is still intact; your soul will have no trouble finding it. It just won’t be as you think.”

I snorted, suddenly amused by her cryptic nonsense. It didn’t deter me, and I continued forward. I had one foot on the train when an odd gurgling noise drew my attention. A part of me was whispering to ignore it, board the train, return to the land of the living before I was stuck in limbo forever, but that just wasn’t my way. I turned and gasped in horror at the sight.

Chapter Text

I saw the nest first. A single egg lay inside, and I thought it odd as I knew there was a dozen the last time I had seen it. Even from here I could see the egg was damaged, probably from when we fell on it. So, it was dead too. The others must still live if they weren’t here.

The wet gasping noise drew my attention again and I turned fully around. Snape lay on the ground, dark eyes staring at nothing as he gurgled around the blood that was choking him. His belly was sliced open from navel to sternum and a pool of red stained the pristine tile around him. “Snape!” I gasped, horrified at the sight as I ran to him. My knees hit the ground in the quickly spreading pool, but his blood didn’t soak into the fabric of my trousers. I gripped his cold hand tightly between mine, and his eyes focused briefly on me before they returned to staring at nothing.

“Professor!” I tried again, but he didn’t seem to even notice me at all.

“He can’t hear you,” Death spoke from behind me.

I turned to her; his hand still held tightly between mine. It felt colder. “Do something!”

“I am,” she replied, and the tears spilled from my eyes.

“No!” I shouted. “Not that!” Death was doing something alright, just not what I wanted her too. “You have to save him.”

She tilted her head curiously, like she couldn’t understand what I was asking her. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” I snapped, turning back to Snape. I brought one hand up to tilt his face towards me, but his eyes continued to stare off into nothing. I wonder what he saw.

“His time is up; he gets no choice.”

“But why not?” I cried, trying to stop the blood flowing from his wound. It didn’t stain my skin…I couldn’t even feel it. “Why do I get a choice, but he doesn’t?!”

 “Because,” she answered after a long moment as Snape’s breathing became more and more shallow. “Your soul is intact as well as your body. His body is done, child.”

“Snape!” I sobbed, fisting my hands into his robes and shaking him. He didn’t respond. I sat there and cried over the one man I had spent most of my tutelage hating. But he had saved me in the end, more than once actually. He didn’t deserve to die like this. “What of his soul?” I asked, turning to her with a glare. An idea was forming in my mind, one that Hermione would have immediately hated. “Is his soul done?”

Death stared at me quizzically, and then she shook her head. “You cannot carry his soul, child.”

“But why not,” I angrily brushed the tears from my eyes, distracted by the lack of blood on my fingers for but a moment. If I could get his soul back, maybe Dumbledore could do something about his body. I wouldn’t like to share with him, but I had shared with Voldemort most of my life and I hadn’t even noticed. Perhaps this would be the same. “I carried two souls around for over a decade!”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head sadly. Her face morphed into one of pity and I turned away from her. I couldn’t bear the thought of it pitying me. “You carried but a shard, no more. If you took his soul, his would burn through yours and you will both parish.”

“But…” I glanced around the empty place desperately. My mind screamed at me to think of something, anything! And that was when I saw it.

Death’s eyes followed my gaze as I stared at the nest. “Aren’t you a smart one,” she commented softly, her lips quirking up at the corner.

Hope filled my chest at the words, her amusement solidifying my idea. “Could you do it?” She shook her head and I felt despair settle over me like a well-known blanket. I was used to this feeling, but I persisted. This was my last chance, my last option. “Why not?” Perhaps that body was damaged too.

“No, not damaged,” she replied.

“But then why is it dead?”

She crouched next to me; her green eyes fixed upon the egg. “The shell was damaged, and the harsh environment leaked in. Their souls were collected the moment the first crack appeared. It was kinder that way.”

My mind got hung up on the plural use as it was only one egg, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted. Even now, I could see the train I was meant to board starting to fade around the edges. The longer I spent in this place, the less likely I would be able to return. I had to think of something quickly if we were to leave.

“Then why won’t it work,” I argued, grabbing her hands, and drawing her attention back to me. “That body is intact; his soul is intact! Why won’t it work?”

She eased her hands out of my too tight grip and covered both of mine with gentle fingers. “Oh sweetling, I wish I could do this for you. But his soul is too much for one so small as they.”

I blinked away the tears, throwing my head back and willing them to stop as I sniffled. I didn’t want to wipe my face, didn’t want to relinquish her comforting grip. I was done, out of options. I would leave here on one train, and he would leave on the other.

“It’s not fair,” I whispered, bowing my head and letting my dark locks spill around my face.

“I know,” Death replied, standing slowly and drawing me up with her grip on my hands. Her hold was loose, I could have easily broken it, but I didn’t. I let her pull me up until my feet were beneath me once more, my shoes in his pool of blood and stainless. The crimson fluid only seemed to touch him or the tile.

This was such an odd place.

She released one of my hands and started to pull me towards the train I had chosen. When I looked at it, I could see that some of the cars had already completely faded. My time was nearly out. I followed her for a step, but Snape’s gurgling turned my feet to stone, and I just couldn’t move. I couldn’t leave him like this…I wouldn’t.

Death turned back to me; her smile still soft as she approached. Her free hand caressed my cheek and brushed a dark lock behind an ear. “Leave him, child. There is nothing you can do.”

Except…perhaps there was. “What do you mean his soul is too much? How much?” She looked at me quizzically, tilting her head and scrunching her brow. I wonder if that was how I looked when Hermione lectured me, hopping between subjects so quickly that I was barely able to follow. “How much is too much?”

She glanced back at the egg and then at the man dying at our feet. She chuckled, her smile turning up at the corner coyly. “Oh, you clever girl.”

“Will it work?”

Death turned to looked at me, really look. Her face went slack, and she seemed to be staring at me, into me. Perhaps she was. “You would do this?” She asked, her confusion coloring her words. “You would share a yourself with a part of him?”

I took a moment to think, to really think. This…this thing I was contemplating was crazy insane and even I could recognize that. There was a large chance, massive chance that Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to fix what I was about to do. But it was the only thing I could think of, the only plan I had left.

My decision was made. If the body was too small for the soul, then perhaps it could be shared. I had a soul fragment within me before and it didn’t affect any part of me as far as I was aware. What would another fragment change? “Will it work?” I asked again, slower.

“Yes,” she replied after a long moment. “But not how you think.”

“Nothing is how I think,” I replied quickly, remembering her earlier words.

She laughed loudly; her head thrown back as her joyous peels echoed around the dead space. “Very well,” Death giggled, her eyes glowing in a way that was distinctly the entity and not my mother at all. “You are not what I expected.”

“No,” I replied to her, watching as the humanity was stripped from her and it became a thing no longer representing my mum. It still wore her face, but now it looked like a death mask. “I never am.”

It bent down, its limbs suddenly longer and thinner than they were a moment ago. I could see the color leaching from it with each second until it was as pale as the rest of the station. A clawed hand reached around me and into Snape’s chest. I inhaled sharply at the ghastly sight of it, and almost begged it to stop as the man started screaming, but it ended almost as quickly as it had begun and in its clawed hand was a bright glowing light.

I was enthralled by it, mesmerized by the wispy strands that danced along its surface. The being reached for the egg and then it pressed the two together. I stared at the pale hands tipped with ebony claws as the bright light within its grasp became smaller and smaller. Finally, it separated the two. In one hand lay the egg, the cracks along the shell glowing with the same light the soul had. In the other was a much smaller wisp of light, tendrils still curling from the main piece like tiny solar flares.

Death approached me and I fought not to move, forced myself to be still with each step it took. I was a Gryffindor, and I would be brave. My head tilted up sharply to stare at its face. It didn’t look like her anymore, not really. Its hair was darker than mine, so black it seemed to suck in the light around it and it curled and shifted as if gravity had no effect on it. The eyes that looked back at me weren’t hers anymore either. They were purple and glowed with an inner light.

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” the voice that spoke still sounded like hers, but also more. I only jutted my chin out and gritted my teeth.

I’m a Gryffindor. I reminded myself, repeating it like a mantra.

“Very well,” it sighed. It sounded almost sad.

I thought to prepare myself, but there wasn’t any time to do so. Death moved so quickly, one moment standing before me with an egg in one clawed hand and a fragment of a soul in the other, and the next I was looking down at the arm that was plunged into my chest cavity.

I may have screamed, but I don’t remember. Perhaps I didn’t and I only thought to do so. It was over so quickly that the pain was a distant memory that I wasn’t sure if I even recalled it actually happening. I frowned, eyes pressed closed as I rubbed at my sternum where the arm had been just a moment ago, but I didn’t feel any different aside from an ache that had settled deep into my chest.

When I opened my eyes, Death still stood before me. It was pulling its long-fingered hand – the one it had plunged into my chest – from a white pocket on its robe that I hadn’t noticed, before those fingers reached up to touch my chest where it ached. Its skin was cold, I could feel it even through the layers I wore, but a moment later the pain was gone, and I sighed in relief.

My eyes scrunched close as I tried to internally search for the soul part…but I didn’t know what to look for or even how to look for it and gave up after a moment. Death looked amused despite the lack of muscles beneath the veneer that was my mum. It didn’t look a thing like her now, it just looked like something had peeled off her face and put it on a skeleton like a mask. There didn’t seem to be any muscles or fat beneath the flesh.

One hand reached out and presented the still glowing egg to me and I took it with hesitant fingers. “Take care, sweetling,” Death rasped out, my mother’s voice overlaid with a thousand others as its claws gently brushed my hair behind my ear once more.

I clutched the egg to my chest, my eyes welling up once more. I knew it wasn’t my mother, but still I launched myself at it. I think it was surprised by the hug since it stood there as I wrapped my arms around it, but after a moment the hug was returned. “Thank you,” I whispered into its white robes. A rumbling chuckle had me pulling away, and I didn’t even flinch when its pale fingers with black claws reached up to wipe my tears from my cheek.

“Don’t thank me yet, sweetling. It would have been a kinder fate if you would board the other train. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Yes, it is,” I replied, finally pulling fully away and moving to the doors.

“Ah,” Death replied as I boarded the train. “So it is,” and I turned to look back once more as the doors closed behind me, but all I saw was an empty station.

Chapter Text

Minerva stood at the edge of the darkened scorched mark. Large chunks of dragon flesh were scattered nearby, dotting the landscape like a spreading infection. A wing with part of the chest cavity fluttered in the wind. She knew that if she turned, she would be able to see the two back legs and tail at the edge of what used to be the nest, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scorch mark on the stone.

Most of the arena had already been dismantled, but not this part. It hadn’t been touched since…since…

“I knew I would find you out here,” Albus’ voice had her turning away and Minerva brushed a loose strand of greying hair behind her ear. Her bun had been made sloppily when she pulled herself from bed, but she hadn’t bothered to fix it. Hadn’t even bothered to do more than throw on a thick robe over her sleep wear.

Her eyes swept up and down Albus’ form and she realized that neither did he. His beard fluttered in the wind, unkempt and loose. His nightcap was crooked on his head, nearly falling off and covering one ear completely. Albus didn’t seem to notice.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked him, smiling wryly. It felt thin on her lips, fake.

“It appears that not many could,” he turned to look at the castle and she followed his gaze. It was nearing the time between late and early, only a few hours from dawn, and yet the castle was ablaze with light. She could see Gryffindor Tower from here, and nearly every window was lit.

“How many,” she asked, voice cracking as her eyes welled with tears.

Albus looked at her for a long moment, his spectacles at the end of his nose and gaze sad. “Several spectators, two from Beauxbatons, one from Durmstrang, four Hufflepuffs, seven Ravenclaws, two Slytherins, and…thirteen Gryffindors.”

Minerva sobbed and suddenly her oldest friend was there, holding her as she cried into his robe. Twenty-nine students…dead. She had seen the black body bags littering the courtyard, but she had been too afraid to look.

“Oh, Albus,” she gasped into his shoulder. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, rubbing his weathered hand up and down her back. “But I will.”

Minerva nodded her head slowly, stepping out of his hold and wiping her face of the evidence. She looked back at the charred stone, the pieces of the dragon still littering it. She had never seen a splinching done by portkey, but it looked horrific. Clasping her hands in front of her, she prayed to magic itself that the Horntail was the only thing that splinched.

“Have they found anything?” She asked after a long moment as Albus stood next to her. He was watching the stars as she stared at the partial corpse.

“Only some dead Death Eaters,” he answered after a long moment. “Nobody we know. Their bodies are still being identified by the Aurors.”

The wind picked up, catching some of her hair and yanking at her robes. Minerva shivered from the cold, but she didn’t bother with a heating charm. Instead, she tucked her hair back once more and caught Albus’ blue eyes with her own. “Is it him? Is he back?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s possible,” Albus sighed heavily, looking every bit his age in that moment. There was usually an air of joviality to him, a spiritedness that made him appear decades younger. But here, in this moment…he looked ancient.

“Oh, Albus,” Minerva sighed with him, reaching out with one hand to clasp his forearm. “Is there…” she paused, fighting to find the courage to ask the question. Even being a Gryffindor, it took her a long while. “Is there any word, of Potter and Severus?”

Minerva clutched her eyes tightly shut as Albus shook his head sadly and her grip tightened. She didn’t fight him as he flipped his arm around and caught her hand with his. Tomorrow, there would be no time for grief. Families had to be called, funerals arranged, interviews and interrogations conducted, and an international search for their missing savior would begin.

But tonight…tonight they stood in the broken arena, cast in night shadows as the stars twinkled brightly above. Together they waited as the sun rose, their hands clasped tightly and silently mourned.

Chapter Text

My hands were frozen. I couldn’t even feel my fingers anymore. The heat Snape’s tiny body put off was enough to chase away most of the deadly cold, but not quite all of it. I shifted onto my back, staring up at the slick ice above me. A fat wet drop was collecting at one of the inverted frozen ripples that had formed when I had melted the ice. I watched enraptured as more and more water collected into it before it became too heavy and fell. It plopped onto my stomach and rolled until it hit one of the many jagged cuts in the fabric.

There were many rips in the fabric, especially around the arms and torso area. The bottom of my trousers were nearly shredded and blackened from the dragon flame. I tried to use the repairing spell on them, the one Hermione taught me in first year…but it didn’t work. It wasn’t until Snape explained the purpose of battle robes to me that I understood. Anti-magic was the word he used. Meaning it repelled all sorts of spells, and since I wasn’t a master weaver, I wouldn’t be able to do any alterations to them. Not even to fix them.

Merlin, this was so messed up.

Another drop fell from the ceiling, and I sucked in a sharp breath when it hit my bare skin. It was as cold as everything else in this place, and I shifted around some more in the limited space to lay on my side. I could see Snape near the entrance of the tiny little cave I had dug for us in the snow. A well-placed bombarda followed by a round of incendio and one nifty banishment charm saw a diagonal hole dug deep enough to crawl into.

Once must of my body was inside, I used a few heating charms to melt a tiny little cave I could slide into once the water had been banished. It wasn’t perfect, barely even functional…but it was enough to hopefully get me through the night and into morning.

A shiver racked my frame and I curled tighter to contain more heat. I didn’t know what to do, I knew enough heating charms to keep me warm, but the more I used, the wetter my little cave became as it melted the surrounding ice. I was tired of banishing puddles that pooled underneath me.

“Cease your grumblings,” Snape’s voice was harsh in the quiet space, but I could tell he was as exhausted as I was. Probably even more so as he had to contend with magical exhaustion as well. I may not have been experienced in battle magic, but I knew some of those spells he had been slinging around a few hours earlier weren’t small by any sense of the word.

And then there was the whole dragon thing, which…yeah, that. He was bitter about it; I could tell with the way he turned away and refused to even look at me. But it saved his life so fuck him! What did I care?

Except for some reason I kind of did.

“Enough!” Snape hissed at me, and I recoiled into the ice wall behind me as he finally moved into the cave proper to glare at me.

“What?” I snapped, getting up on one elbow to glare down at him. I wish I could stand to argue with him, because I knew a row was coming on when I saw it, but there just wasn’t enough room to even sit. Already my hair was brushing the slick ice ceiling. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“You’re whinging,” he hissed again, his tiny head swaying back and forth like a serpent.

“No, I wasn’t,” I huffed at him, throwing myself onto my back in exasperation. The height advantage I had gained from him being so small did little to help make me feel like anything but a child. Even miniscule and adorably tiny he could still make me feel like I was five.

A low rumble came from his chest, and I turned my head towards it. He was glaring at me, his eyes a spectacular purple that was fascinating to see. In the dim cave they glowed.

“What are you staring at?” He snapped again, his little teeth clicking as his head swayed back and forth.

“Nothing,” I replied uncomfortable. “It’s just…your eyes.”

“What about them?” Snape’s tone was mildly hostile still, but he didn’t sound as angry as he did before.

“They’re glowing,” I commented softly, flushing when I realized how stupid it sounded.

Snape snorted, probably thinking the same thing as me. “So are yours,” he replied.

“What?!” I shifted up to sit and almost hit my head on the ceiling, only remembering at the last moment and quickly lying back down.

“I thought you knew,” he commented dryly, retreating to the spot he had made himself near the edge of the cave.

“Why would I know that?” I touched my face, right below my eye as if I could see how my eyes were different. “What do they look like?”

“Green,” he mumbled, lying his head on the ground, and closing his own eyes. “They glow green.”

Its eyes had glowed green too, near the end, when the thing that wasn’t my mother finally shed her persona. And then her eyes had glowed purple, like Snape’s. I didn’t say that I thought they were very pretty. Bright purple at the center framing his elongated pupil, only to have the iris fibers branching into a darker purple at the edges. I tried to imagine how my eyes looked, wondered if they glowed as brightly as his, but it was difficult to picture it without a mirror.

He huffed but said no more and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. It made sense his eyes would glow, he’s a dragon. But mine? I sighed again and wondered what it meant, shifting off of my aching hip.

“Cease doing that immediately!” Snape screeched from his end of the cave. It really was such a tiny space, I only had to reach out fully to touch the other side.

“I’m not doing anything!” I resisted the urge to yell. I didn’t want to deafen myself again. I had to cast scourgify three times to get all the blood off my skin and I was still finding it flaked around my ears.

He stood once more, back arched like an angry cat while his tail lashed behind him. “You’re sighing and shifting and generally being a pain. Stop it!”

“Oh, excuse me,” I grumbled. “I’m sorry my discomfort is bothering you. If it annoys you so much go dig your own cave!” I snapped, fed up with this. I was fed up with everything.

He snapped his little teeth at me and turned away, pulling himself into the tunnel on uncertain and wobbly limbs. Panic seized my chest as he moved further and further away. “Wait!” I reached out to him, snagging his tail with a gentle grip. He turned so quickly I barely had time to snatch my hand back before he bit me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my shaking hand clutched to my chest as I looked at the ground. “Please don’t leave.”

Silence stretched in the small cave for so long that I thought he had indeed left, but when I glanced up, he was still at the entrance of the tunnel. His dual-colored eyes stared into mine and his head cocked one way and then the other as the nictitating membrane slid slowly over his eyes. Finally, he moved back into the cave, and I sighed with relief. Just the thought of being alone here, after what had happened earlier, terrified me.

He took a long moment to get comfortable, turning in circles like a dog and then curling into a tight ball. Snape moved his wings uncertainly, like he was trying to figure out how to best position them as he laid down. It couldn’t have been very comfortable and looked a bit ridiculous, but I forced myself to remember that he didn’t choose this. This was something I had done to him, and suddenly I felt a little ashamed.

“I am, you know,” I whispered to him, afraid that if I spoke to loudly, I would break this sudden truce between us. “Sorry, I mean.” I laid back down, pulling the bookbag closer and laying my head upon it as I tentatively glanced at him. Snape was staring at me.

“Explain it again,” he replied as I rubbed my legs together to make heat through friction. I think I may be losing sensation in my toes. But I feared another heating charm would flood the cave – I had already cast several and it took nearly an hour before the ice stopped melting enough for me to banish the water and lay down.

“I already did,” I groaned back, letting my hair fall into my face so I wouldn’t have to look at him and see the accusatory stare. But I hadn’t, not really. I told him the main parts: the dying, and the station, the two trains, and my choice. What I hadn’t told him about were the souls…the thing beneath the bench and his own, split apart and placed into two bodies.

I would have to, I knew – this wasn’t something I could keep from him. I just – I just wasn’t ready yet to talk about it, or that the visage of Death that had been my mum for a brief time. That part felt too personal to share, especially with someone like him.

“Explain it…again!” Snape’s voice was sibilant, hissing the words at me in anger. He had every right to be angry, and even now I could feel the rage billowing low within me…deep inside in the spot that I knew wasn’t me. I shook my head to pull myself away from the feeling, afraid that if I latched onto it, I would just end up feeding the anger between us like a vicious cycle.

“Where do you want me to start?” I sighed, brushing my hair back and tilting my face so I could look at him. He really was adorably small, and I immediately banished the thought. The last thing I wanted Snape to find out was how besotted I was with new form. Merlin help me, he would probably set me on fire.

Snape shifted a bit more, trying to cross his forelimbs like he did when he was imparting a snide remark, but he must have forgotten about the wings as he turned his glare to his own body. He moved one limb away and then carefully folded the wing back, pressing the membrane tight to the arm before bringing the other one down over it.

Once he was settled, he looked back at me and immediately the small fins along his neck stood up in an aggressive display and I swiped a hand over my mouth to hide my smile. The rumble that he emitted was more cute than it was threatening, but I forced myself to behave and shot him a thoroughly chastised look and affected the air of apologetic. It seemed to work as the three rows of fins along his neck and back relaxed and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I needed to remember that though this tiny dragon in front of me was utterly adorable to look at, it contained the soul of my most hated professor and had the ability to breathe fire. Or at least I think it did, I didn’t know when dragons started to breathe fire, though Norberta had been quick to do so. Hagrid still spoke of her, especially since Ron’s older brother sent him monthly updates. Last I had heard, she had settled down with another Ridgeback and the Keepers were hopeful for a clutch of eggs soon.

“How about you start with what the hell you were thinking when you went into that arena,” Snape bit out, his words scathing. I couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or if he really was that upset about what had taken place during the tournament before we were all attacked, but I suppose it didn’t really matter. In the end the result was the same, I was still in a confined space with a furious dragon.

I sighed again, shifting around to buy some time to think. I knew nothing I said would appease him, and if I didn’t choose my words carefully, he would find a way to throw them back at me. “I was thinking I didn’t want to die.” I answered honestly after a long moment.

Silence met my words, and I glanced back at him, taking his posture. His head was thrown back, neck erect and fins fluttering. I hadn’t noticed before how the middle fin was taller than the two parallel to it, until I saw all three on display. If his body language didn’t give him away, that tiny feeling of bewilderment deep inside of me did. “Don’t look so surprised, professor. Despite what others may think I really don’t have a death wish.”

Snape’s head snapped to the side as if I had slapped him, before lowering and swaying side to side as he growled, his eyes narrowing, before he hissed again. “Then what do you call whatever idiotic thing it was that you were doing?”

“Reading,” I replied smartly, and flinched as he snapped his tiny teeth at me. He wasn’t close enough to land a bite, but the movement still startled me. His teeth looked incredibly sharp. “Look,” I sighed, shifting around some more. At this point not even I knew if it was to get more comfortable or to just get warm, but I couldn’t seem to stop my fidgeting. Perhaps there was still some adrenaline in my system. “The goblet’s binding effects mean I have to compete in the competition, nowhere did it say I had to participate.”

“So, you thought to just what…crack open a book in the arena and read until your time ran out, all the while hoping the Horntail would leave you alone?” Snape summed up my entire plan in one sentence and the way he said it made it sound incredibly stupid.

Is this what Hermione thought when I told her what I was going to do?

“Yeah, something like that.” I grumbled at him. My plan was a little more complicated than that, as I had to convince Hermione to be in on it with me – which took weeks of whittling down her resolve – and then ages of research into dragon behavior. When that gate lifted, I entered that arena with only my battle robes, wand, and a ridiculous plan.

I had moved immediately to high ground near the entrance, making certain to keep the Horntail in my sights but never looking directly at her. I made myself small and perched on a far rock. Those minutes in the arena, trying to watch the brood mother without making eye contact and not appear threatening were the worst. My heart pounded so loudly in my ears I thought it would deafen me…but after a long while the Horntail settled back over her nest. She kept her eyes on me, but she didn’t approach, and I didn’t either.

Once she was more relaxed, I pulled my wand from the holster on my wrist – a gift from Sirius on my last birthday – and made certain my body was shielding it. I knew that she had bad experiences with wizards, and she associated wands with pain, so I made certain she couldn’t see me cast.

“I spent ages learning that spell,” I confessed to Snape, rolling again onto my back so I wouldn’t have to watch him watching me. “I mean, I knew the basics of the summoning spell, but I had no way of slowing it down.” Hermione had done that for me. She spent days in the library, countless sleepless nights as she searched for a way to summon something slowly so it wouldn’t startle the dragon.

When I cast the spell, Hermione released her grip on her bag, and it floated gently from the stands into the arena. The movement caught more than the Horntail’s attention and I remembered the way that everyone whispered in confusion as the bag bobbed in the air before coming to a stop in front of me. I had grabbed it carefully, still watching the nesting mother from the corner of my eye, but she seemed more curious than hostile.

The crowd had been chatting excitedly, probably thinking that I was about to make my move for the golden egg, but in the end, I only pulled out a massive tome – because of course Hermione would have the densest books for light reading – and opened it to the first page.

Snape snorted next to me, and I couldn’t tell for certain, but I think he was amused. That or disgusted. “Did you ever think what would happen if the dragon just decided to attack you?”

I shrugged at him, not willing to admit that I really didn’t have a solid back up plan. Well, there was the idea of using my broom, but I knew if I admitted that to him, he would only start berating me again. “It worked, didn’t it,” and it had. The Horntail had nearly been asleep when the attack happened.

“You are an imbecile,” he bit out, but I could hear the exhaustion behind the words. There was something else under them, something I could feel tugging at me, and I frowned as I examined the feeling.

“Oh,” I whispered, a smile splitting my lips as I rolled over and propped myself on one elbow. “Were you worried about me?”

My words were teasing, but I felt a flutter of – I wouldn’t exactly call it affection, but it was definitely something as he spluttered, standing back up and arching his back as he hissed at me. “I most certainly was not!” He snapped, tail thrashing behind him. “You are the one who – and if I was worried that simply because of your idiotic tendencies to get in trouble – and if you had just thought! No, but you don’t think, you just –”

My laughter cut him off and I had to fight control over my amusement as he went back to sullenly glaring at me and growling. I could see him gearing up for more yelling as I wiped a tear of amusement out of the corner of my eye, but then I had to wipe another and another and suddenly I was sobbing into my hands.

They wracked my body, great heaving sobs that I could barely breathe through. I curled on my side, holding my stomach as I cried and sniffled. Something warm and dry touched my forehead and I glanced up through blurry tears to see Snape standing by my head. He must have poked me with his nose.

“Potter, stop crying,” he spoke not unkindly, but like the words didn’t seem to help and I just sobbed louder. “Potter,” Snape sighed, poking me again. He sounded awkward and uncertain. “Harielle,” he tried again.

I sniffled, reaching for him slowly, wanting so badly to be back in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione’s fingers playing in my hair to soothe me after a bad nightmare…but she wasn’t here. Instead, I reached for the tiny dragon that my professor’s soul inhabited, and he let me.

“I’m so sorry,” I was able to the get the words out between my sobbing and his warm nose touched my cheek. Hot air gusted over me as I pulled his small form to my chest and held him gently like a kitten and cried into his warm hide.

“I know,” he sighed. “Sleep, child. We’ll figure this out in the morning.” I cried long into the night, but eventually, I did fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Nothing had changed in the morning. When I exited the small cave, pulling myself out of the dark tunnel and into the morning light, everything was just as I had left it. I knelt on the snow, yanking the book-bag out after me and then staring at the dead Horntail. Her eyes were still open, the great orange orbs clouded over in death and looking right at me.

I shivered – not just from the cold – as I threw a heating charm over me and approached the nest. I took a minute to sweep the snow aside from the edge of the stone, thankful that it must have stopped sometime in the night so as not to completely bury it and checked the eggs. My heating rune had held throughout the night and the eggs were still warm to the touch and completely dry.

I checked each one individually, pulling them close to examine them for fractures or cold spots as Snape exited the tunnel and joined me. He huffed at me in annoyance, but I ignored him as I placed the grey egg back in the nest before grabbing another. I already knew his stance on the eggs, having received a very long lecture dusted with ‘moronic’ and ‘you idiot’ throughout the whole thing.

He wanted to leave the eggs to  the elements, let the hatchlings die in their shells. It was a cruel thing to do, and I was a little ashamed that I had seriously considered it for a long moment. I had nothing to ensure their survival. If we weren’t rescued soon and they hatched, I had nothing to feed them except the corpse of their dead mother which…I’m still not certain how I stand on that ethically. And then what do I do with them once they start to grow?

In the end, I had thrown down a heating rune and ignored Snape’s hollering insults as I set about digging a cave.

My eyes trailed to the lump of snow just to the side of the nest and I felt my throat clog up in the thought of it. I turned quickly, focusing instead on the small grave I had dug the previous day. I used a scrap of fabric with a sticking charm to mark it, but I didn’t need the bright red material to find it. Even with my eyes closed I would have known exactly where they were buried.

I almost hadn’t noticed them at first. They were just three white lumps in a nest covered in white snow. It wasn’t until Snape’s confused mumblings as he prodded one of them that I realized what they were.

There were three tiny white dragons, colored just as Snape was, lying there dead. I had touched one with a trembling finger and gasped at how cold it felt. The broken shell pieces were littered all around them and I suddenly understood why Death had referred to dragon body within the egg in plural form.

There had been four lives in that one egg, and I had only saved one. But had I really? I mean, the dragon’s soul had already passed on, Death had told me so. Had I really saved it if Death had shoved another soul into the body? What was the body without the soul?

I had buried them next to the nest, as far into the ground as I could get without wasting too much of my depleted magical reserves. It turns out dying and coming back to life took quite the toll, and not just on the body.

I replaced the last grey egg back into the nest, making certain it was positioned within the rune as my eyes trailed back to the dead Horntail. It really was a grotesque sight.

“Why do you even bother?” Snape’s voice drew my attention away from the corpse and I looked down at him, perched upon the edge of the stone nest.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, brushing my hair out of my eyes, and staring morosely at the eggs. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Watch your mouth,” he snapped at me, huffing slightly as he pulled himself onto the lip of the stone nest.

I shook my head, telling myself it was too early to start an argument and looked away from him, back to that red scrap of fabric. “Why four?” I asked suddenly and Snape turned to look at me.

“Why four what, Potter?” he huffed, his hot breaths creating bursts of fog in the cold air. “Try to use full sentences, I know it’s taxing on your feeble mind, but I must insist.”

I glared at him, biting my lip and clenching my hands into fists. The pain from the tiny cuts helped ground me, and a voice that sounded very much like Hermione’s was playing through my mind telling me to just breathe. “Why four dragons?” I spoke carefully, enunciating each word with as little inflection as possible.

“I count more than four,” Snape turned to the nest before glancing at the dead brood mother.

“No, I meant, ugh –” I cut myself off in frustration. He was trying to get a rise out of me. Aunt Petunia loved doing the same thing, little snide comments that she knew would get a reaction. She had once forced me into dance lessons after a teacher made a comment about my extracurricular activities when I was younger, and she had taken great joy out of critiquing every pas and pirouette until I had wanted to cry. I had enjoyed dancing, at first…until I didn’t. She loved that the most, forcing me to continue to go for years, even though I had begun to hate it.

I took a deep breath, exhaling sharply from my nose and forcing myself calm. “Why did four dragons come out of one egg?”

Snape turned to where the other three bodies were buried. The red scrap fluttered in the wind but stayed where I had stuck it to the ground. It had felt odd, burying them. They had looked exactly like Snape, just…just dead. Dead like – no, I couldn’t think of it. I felt the weight of the lump of snow behind me heavily, but I couldn’t look at it. I hoped the snow buried it so thoroughly I never had to think of it again.

“Do I look like a dragon expert to you?” Snape commented disparagingly.

“Well, out of the two of us, which one is a dragon?” His head snapped around to face me so quickly I didn’t even see him move. He was hissing again, the sibilant-like growl that was both adorable and threatening.

“And who’s fault is that?” He snapped, his teeth clicking with the force of it as he turned to crawl towards the eggs. Snape meant his words to hurt but it was hard to take him seriously as he stumbled into the stone nest on limbs that seemed to refuse to cooperate.

I sighed again, louder this time as I reached into the nest and helped him right himself. Once upright, I had to draw my hands back quickly or risk losing a finger as he snapped his teeth at me. He certainly was ungrateful…but I suppose that was fair. Snape had let me hold him all last night and cry on him even though this colossal fuckup was all my doing.

“Look, can we just…not?” I asked, staring at my hands clasped in my lap.

Snape grunted in annoyance, but he didn’t say anything else. I glanced back up, the dawning sunlight pouring over the white landscape like molten gold, sparkling thousands of tiny little stars over the snow, and then catching the surface of the golden egg, making it glow. My eyes stared at it in wonder as I watched the light play off its shell.

I reached out for it, my fingers nearly skimming the metal when there was a sharp pain on the side of my hand. “Did you just bite me?!” I shouted, cradling it to my chest as I turned it to see the small teeth marks on the side of my palm. “You did, you just bit me! You little shit!”

“Watch your mouth, you ungrateful brat,” Snape hissed, his head thrown back and neck frills displayed in hostility. Even his tail fins were fully erect.

“You. Bit. Me.” I enunciated each word like it was its own sentence, waiving my lightly bleeding hand in his face. I kept it far enough away that even if he lunged, he wouldn’t be able to get another bite in before I was able to retreat.

“You weren’t listening!” He snapped back, his head lowering again and swaying side to side in that way I was beginning to recognize as a threat display.

“Listening to what?” I shouted back at him, pulling my hand back and prodding the wound with careful fingers. He hadn’t really bitten me that hard now that I had a chance to look at it. In fact, he barely even broke the surface of the skin. Most of the damage was probably caused from me jerking it away.

“That egg was a portkey! We don’t know if it’s still active,” he hissed at me, and I could see his frills slowly start to relax as I glanced back up at him. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment as I realized I hadn’t really thought of that. What if it whisked me away again and this time I was alone, or worse…what if it splinched me like it did the Horntail?

“Oh,” I mumbled, dropping my hands back into my lap as Snape finally stopped his growling. “Was it supposed to be a portkey?” I hadn’t seen the other competitors once they had completed the task and I wondered if maybe mine had just malfunctioned. The withering glare Snape gave me had me guessing that no, the egg wasn’t supposed to be.

“It was an illegal portkey,” he stressed the word as if I was five and too dumb to understand.

That made sense, I suppose. Though how one went about getting an illegal portkey was beyond me. Maybe there was a shop down in Knockturn Alley you could order one from. Though, it was the champion egg, so the person who charmed it had to know what they were doing. But then, why did it splinch the Horntail? I’ve never heard of a portkey doing that before…so I asked.

“It wasn’t meant for the dragon, Potter,” Snape answered, still puffed up like an angry kitten. At my blank look he elaborated. “The portkey was probably made with the intention of transporting one girl…not in addition to twelve eggs, a full-grown man, and a dragon. I’m surprised more of us didn’t get ripped in half during transit.”

Neither of us commented about the lump beneath the snow, but we both glanced at it. I remembered how he looked, lying there at Kings Cross Station, bleeding out on the pristine tiles. I never thought that maybe the damage wasn’t done by a curse but by the portkey itself. Though I suppose he really wasn’t missing anything…just ripped open.

The thought made me nauseas, so I brought my attention back to the subject at hand. “Why bother attacking then, if there was a portkey to just whisk me away?”

His eyes slid to mine with a sharp glare, the kind he used in class when I was being especially dense. “You weren’t exactly making a play for the golden egg now, were you?” I flushed at the question, remembering my earlier explanation of how I planned not to participate. “The assailants probably had to adjust their plans when you just decided to sit there while your time ran out. And so, here we are.”

I glanced around, brushing my hair away from my face angrily. Of course, even the attack was somehow my fault. “Who the fuck set a portkey to bring us here, anyways?” I waved my hands around to emphasize the vast empty wasteland. Snape hissed at me again and I knew he wanted to yell at me about my language, but I was just done. “Oh, get over it! What are you going to do, take points?”

“First, this location is most likely do to a malfunction. And secondly, when we get back, you get explain to all your idiotic Gryffindor friends why their points are in the negative,” he growled at me, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, fuck you,” I snapped as I brought my hands down to push myself standing. I grimaced as the wound met the rough stone and suddenly Snape was right in front of me, looking at the smear of blood my hand had left.

“Episkey,” he said to me, and my brows scrunched in confusion.

“Gesundheit?”

“No, you idiot,” he snorted derisively, but I could feel a sliver of amusement deep down. “It’s a minor healing spell. Eh-pis-kee,” he enunciated slowly. “Use it!”

“Oh,” I flushed again in embarrassment, grabbing my wand and then waving it over the wound while I repeated the word.

“No, no, not like that, what in Merlin’s name…Potter?! Have you ever taken a single lesson in charms?” He snapped and hissed, his little wings waving as if he was trying to fly up to get a better view. There was a lot of low mumbling before he gave up and harrumphed loudly while making his way over to me. “Lift me up.”

“What?” I blinked in surprise as I stared down at him.

“You heard me,” Snape grumbled as his tail lashed behind him angrily. He looked like a startled cat and my amusement was chased away by the memory of his small teeth…his small, very sharp teeth.

I crouched back down hesitantly. “Is this a trick?”

“What? No!” he looked indignant at the words. “Do you want to know how to do the spell or not?”

I blinked at him, confused and a little off kilter. “You…want to teach me?”

“What kind of moronic question is that?” His words cut through me like they always did when he slung insults. “I’m a teacher, Potter! I teach!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I mumbled lowly, but I slid my wand back into the holster and bent down fully to lift him. Except once I was there, I didn’t quite know what to do with my hands. And it seemed neither did Snape. We both just stood there looking at my splayed hands as we tried to figure out how this would work.

“Do you want me to…” I made an up gesture, imitating the hand position as if lifting a toddler. He growled harshly and I took that as hard no. “Alright then, you figure it out.”

Snape glared at my hands for so long I thought they would catch fire just from his hostility. Finally, he moved, shuffling forward before one double clawed wing came up to grip the fabric of my sleeve as he pulled himself to stand on my palms. I stood back up, bringing him with me as he shuffled in my palms, trying to balance himself while being careful to avoid the many little cuts littering my hands.

Once I was fully upright, we both just stood there and stared as we tried to figure out how to go about positioning him so he could teach me the spell. “I think your shoulder would be best,” Snape grunted out after a moment as if the words hurt to speak. This whole thing was probably mortifying for someone like him.

“Whatever you want,” I mumbled back, rolling my eyes as I flicked my head to get my hair off my one shoulder and bringing my hands to it so he could position himself. It took a few minutes of maneuvering before Snape was satisfied with his perch while not impeding my movement. It felt not unlike when Hedwig and I would go on walks and she would rest on my shoulder, though I could tell he weighed even less.

“Okay…what now?” I asked, tilting my head to see him out of the corner of my eye. It really was a rather strange situation we found ourselves in.

“Your wand,” Snape commented drolly. I felt myself flush as I snapped my wrist and my wand slapped into the palm of my hand. “Episkey is a level one healing spell for minor wounds such as cuts, bruises, broken fingers, toes, and noses,” he began already in lecture mode as I stood there with the professor perched on my shoulder. And wasn’t that an odd thought. “Its origin is Greek from the word episkevi which means repair. It is restricted by its ability to handle anything more than a minor wound, so don’t bother trying it with anything serious. But any second year can cast it.”

The ‘so why can’t you’ wasn’t said but heavily implied.

“Now,” he continued, shifting about on my shoulder to lean more forward. His long tail wrapped around my bicep to stabilize his balance, but I hardly noticed. He really didn’t weigh anything at all. “Bring your wand up into patreen and flick – what now?” He hissed at my confused grunt and bewildered expression.

I turned my head to be able to fully see him, while still being very careful not to actually touch him. It was hard to focus my eyes when he was that close. “Um…patreen?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Snape’s voice was low and calm, like he couldn’t decide whether to be exasperated or infuriated so he settled himself on a simmer right between the two.

“Uh, no?” My cheeks were flushed again as bit my lip and turned away to look at anything else other than his patronizing glare, not that there was much to look at. My gaze settled on the little hole in the ground, and I wished to retreat back inside and forget I had ever agreed to this lesson. I was also a little startled at the casual drop of a swear, but I didn’t want to bring it up with him already so close to snapping at me.

His head swayed from side to side as he tried to catch my eye. “You’re really not…are you? Do you ever do your summer homework? First years were required to write an entire essay on the seven starting positions of wand work!”

“Well how the hell am I supposed to know that?!” I threw my hands up in exasperation and felt a little satisfaction at dislodging him. And then I immediately felt guilty and helped to resettle him in his previous position. He had just been trying to help me.

“It was assigned!” Snape reiterated as his tail was wrapped once more around my bicep and I could feel the dual thumbs of his wing curl into my collar so he couldn’t be knocked off balance so easily again.

“And tell me, how the hell am I supposed to do my summer schoolwork when Uncle Vernon always locks everything away?!” I yelled back, furious and embarrassed. Snape reared back and I bit my lip to fight off the sting of tears that I could feel welling up. “Just…just leave it okay? Assume I’m an idiot and explain it to me like I’m five!” I was completely mortified, and I turned my head so he couldn’t see the tears threatening to spill.

There was a long silence from him and if I hadn’t felt his slight weight on my shoulder, I would have thought myself alone. “I always thought the reason you refused to do the assigned summer theoretical potions work was to spite me.” Snape admitted after a while, his voice soft like it had been last night.

“Well, it wasn’t!” I scrubbed angrily at my face, trying to play the movement as exasperation and ridding myself of the spilled tears before I looked back at him, but my sniffle gave me away. Thankfully he didn’t say anything. In fact, I’m fairly certain he was just as uncomfortable as I was about the whole conversation.

“There’s only so much I can do on the train, and your assignments take too long. You already hate me, so I focused on the assignments I could get done in time.” I confessed, refusing to look at him. “This must have just been another one I couldn’t get to.”

“I don’t hate you, Potter,” Snape sighed the words heavily, like they were a physical weight he carried. “If you had explained your situation, something could have been worked out.”

“Explain to who?” I threw my head back to stare at the clouded sky, ignoring Snape’s automatic correction of ‘whom’. I didn’t feel like having a grammar lesson at the moment. “Who would’ve listened? You?” I asked incredulously, bowing my head once more and letting my hair shield my face from view.

“Did you try your head of house?” He asked, dancing around the fact that we both knew how he would have reacted if I had told him my situation back when second year started…after the disaster with the flying car and the Whomping Willow. No, he wouldn’t have listened at all. “Or the Headmaster?”

I laughed hollowly, the sound far from joyous. “I tried speaking with McGonagall, she told me to talk to Dumbledore. But he didn’t care.” I remembered sitting in his office, mortified as he fingered through the assignments I had been unable to complete. When I tried to explain what happened he just smiled at me over his spectacles and told me I needed to try harder. Dumbledore wouldn’t hear about anything to do with the Dursley’s.

“Didn’t –” Snape reared back, and even though I couldn’t see it, I knew from the feel of his weight quickly shifting on my shoulder. “What do you mean he didn’t care?”

“Did I stutter?” I replied sardonically.

There was an explosion of air from him, and I could feel him trying to reign in his temper. Instead of answering, he moved to a different question. “Did your uncle do that every summer?” Snape asked carefully. “Lock your stuff away?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I mumbled, sniffling again and hurriedly wiping my nose. I didn’t want him to know that it wasn’t just my stuff Uncle Vernon locked away. The memory of all those dead bolts and padlocks on my door made me shiver in fear. I still have nightmares of him locking me in my room and then forgetting about me. Starving behind that door as the summer months passed slowly and wasting away into nothing. Dying in that room with no one knowing.

Snape must have understood it was a touchy subject and for once he let it go instead of prying at it to get a response. “Hold loose, wrist facing in and slightly up,” he began again, patiently explaining the patreen position to me. “Wand tip diagonally up at the one o’clock position. Bring it back just a bit and then slash quickly straight to the six o’clock position, turning your wrist in just slightly.”

I followed his instructions carefully. Snape was surprisingly patient with me as he talked me through grip adjustments and wand placement. After a while he let me try on the smaller cuts along my lower legs and after a few tries I had the spell down. By noon all my wounds were sealed and even though I was tired from the magic use, I was grinning ear to ear in accomplishment.

Snape spent a solid hour going over the seven starting positions once all my scrapes and bruises were healed, the deep ache in my hip finally gone. He even taught me to cast with my left hand in order to heal the wounds on my dominant one. The backwards flick took some getting used to it, but once I had it figured out, I realized there wasn’t much difference in the casting at all. He only concluded the lesson once I was comfortable with each position with either hand.

When I lowered Snape back into the nest, he jumped halfway himself and flapped his wings to flutter onto the stone. It wasn’t graceful at all, and his landing was more of gentle crash, but it was a start. I could even sense a small sliver of smugness coming from Snape, but I didn’t bring it to attention. This was too good a feeling to ruin by starting another fight.

My stomach growled loudly, the cramps startling the smile from my lips as I glanced at it. Snape was staring at it too as if it was a beast that would try and attack him. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten anything. I was too nervous to keep down more than toast on the first day of the competition and I had already expelled it during the battle.

Snape turned his head to the dead Horntail, and I followed his gaze, groaning at the thought. “No,” I denied, shaking my head quickly. “Absolutely not.”

“We need to eat something,” he turned back to me, and I shook my head at him. “Unless you brought something other than books in that bag of yours.”

I groaned again because of course I didn’t. “Can we just wait a while longer?” I asked, throwing myself onto the snow-covered ground next to the nest. “They should be here soon.”

“Potter,” Snape’s tone was not quite chastising, but it was close. I shook my head again and crossed my arms on the lip of the stone and placed my head on them, letting my hair fall over my face to hide from him. “Harielle,” he tried again, softer.

“Just a while longer,” I begged, not lifting my head from the hollow of my arms. “Please, Snape…just a little while longer.”

He sighed but conceded, thankfully. I could hear him getting comfortable near the eggs, probably settling within the heating rune to keep warm. Not that he needed it with how dragon biology worked, but I also knew that they liked the heat as well. The hotter the better.

I flicked my wrist and let my wand fall into my hand, raising it up to point at the sky. I sent up red sparks without even lifting my head, hearing it whizz and pop above us like fireworks before I tucked my arm back under.

I knew he thought it was futile, but Snape didn’t say anything, instead he just laid himself down to take a nap. He also didn’t say what we both were thinking.

What if nobody came?

Chapter Text

They didn’t come. Not that second day, not the third…not even the forth. I gave into the hunger, but not mine…no, I gave into his. I kept forgetting that even though the soul was my dungeon bat of a potion’s professor, the body he inhabited was a newly hatched dragon. And babies apparently need to eat…a lot.

So, I approached the dead Horntail with hesitant feet and my wand raised. “It’s not going to do anything, Potter. It’s dead.” Snape commented from where he was lounging between the eggs inside the stone nest, soaking up the heating rune with contentment.

“Says you,” I commented lowly, but continued my advance. I stood near her neck and poked it with my wand. When nothing happened, I reached up with my hand and gave it a shove. Still nothing.

“Why did you release the dragon?” His voice startled me, and I jumped away from the dead dragon. My cheeks flushed red, but I was thankful that he couldn’t see my reaction as he was on the other side of the corpse.

“What?” I asked hurriedly, trying to sound calm.

“The dragon,” Snape iterated. “Why did you release it?”

“Oh, uh…” I could feel my blush coming back so I moved closer to the Horntail to make certain he couldn’t see. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I confessed, embarrassed not to have an actual reason behind doing so. Thinking back on it, it was a monumentally stupid decision and could have ended up a lot worse than it did. I was really really lucky it didn’t.

“So how does this work?” I asked quickly so he wouldn’t comment on my idiocy. I had to raise my voice so he could hear me. I couldn’t even see the nest around her massive head.

“How does what work?” Snape asked, thankfully not commenting on my confession. “Try using full sentences, they’ll do wonders to your vocabulary and might actually trick people into thinking you have an IQ.”

“Try using full sentences,” I mocked him softly, twisting my face into that sneer that Slytherins seemed to have perfected since birth.

“What was that?” Snape asked harshly and I jerked back. Being a dragon must have given him better hearing too…but then again, Snape did always know when someone was talking behind his back.

“I said, would a cutting hex work?”

He snorted, and I could feel his vague annoyance battle with amusement – oh, he knew exactly what I had said.

“No,” Snape answered after a moment, thankfully choosing to ignore my disrespectful comment. “Cutting hexes are too weak on dragon hide. Oh, and thirty points from Gryffindor.” So much for ignoring it.

“What?” I barked, scrambling back until I could see the nest. He was perched at the end, watching me like he knew exactly how I would react. “You can’t be serious? What for?”

“Five for being disrespectful and twenty-five for releasing a dragon in an arena full of people because it seemed like a good idea at the time.” His tone rose in pitch as he imitated my speech pattern.

“You can’t do that,” I argued, suddenly angry once more. I don’t think it was possible for us to go more than a few minutes without yelling at each other. “You’re being ridiculous…and petty!” I tacked on for good measure.

“Shall I add another five? Back talking a professor?” He was baiting me, Merlin damnit. I knew enough to recognize it, but I was apparently not mature enough to ignore it.

“How about we make it twenty?” I snarked at him, hands on my hips. “Or better yet, a hundred. Call it a fucking down payment.” Snape hissed at me, smoke streaming from his nostrils but I was too angry to care. “Oh, what…you don’t like my language? Get used to it. That’s why they call it an advance. You take the points first and I work my way up into losing them. I’ll even let you keep track.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Potter,” Snape snapped at me, jumping from the edge of the nest and fluttering to the ground. His landing was much more controlled than his first attempt.

“Get over yourself, Potter,” I mocked again, this time not bothering to be subtle about it.

“What are you…two?” He grumbled, walking towards me on limbs much more coordinated than they were a few days ago.

“No, but apparently you are,” I gestured to him. Another stream of smoke left his nose as he growled, but his advance didn’t stop. I had a moment of brief panic that he was going to attack me when one of his wings came up and the dual thumbs dug into my pants. “The fuck are you doing!?” I shrieked as he climbed up my leg and side like a squirrel in a tree. My arms flailed wildly, and I spun around to dislodge him.

“Stop moving!” Snape barked, maneuvering around to my back once he passed my waist. Only once he was settling onto my shoulder did I realize what his intention was all along.

“Seriously? I could have just lifted you.” My cheeks were flushed in embarrassment at my reaction.

“This seemed more efficient,” he replied, his tail wrapping around my bicep and only then did I realize my arms were still raised. I lowered them quickly and crossed them instead. “Look, Potter,” he sighed the words, and I could feel the deep sense of exhaustion that was consuming the anger I had felt just a moment ago. “We are both tired and hungry. We’ll do no good snapping at each other.”

He was right, damn him, but I wouldn’t admit it out loud…or apologize. “I’ve been hungrier,” I commented dryly, mostly to myself. His sharp look had my face flushing once more. Damn it, he really was right. My lack of food and sleep were damaging my self-control and my filter. “Okay, so if a cutting hex won’t work, what will?” I asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

Snape let my comment slide, turning his attention back to the corpse. “Well, as dragon hide is nearly impervious to anything but the strongest of battle spells, I would usually have suggested trying the severing charm diffindo, but that would take an entire team of fully trained wizards to get through the hide. I could then suggest something darker, with more power behind it but I don’t find that really necessary.”

“Why not?” I asked carefully, feeling like was being led into a trap.

“Because the Horntail has already been ripped in half. Perhaps it would behoove you to just go to the damaged end and bypass the hide all together.”

I blinked a few times in befuddlement, before I looked at the Horntail and realized what he was saying. Merlin, sometimes I could be dense. “Seriously,” I mumbled, once more embarrassed. I hated how easily he could make me feel like a child. “And who uses the word behoove anyways.”

“It’s called expanding your vocabulary. Try reading a dictionary,” Snape commented drolly, and I rolled my eyes at him even as I moved towards the back end of the Horntail.

I nearly gagged at the sight. While the cold kept her body preserved, the gruesome sight of the wound was nauseating to behold. Half of her pelvic bone was missing, as were both legs, a wing, and a good portion of her side. Intestines and what looked like an internal organ had spilled out onto the ground and I could see nearly all the way into her chest cavity.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh, is that the liver?” Snape asked, sounding almost excited. “Keep that, we might be able to use it.”

“Yep,” I stumbled back a step, my mouth salivating. “I’m going to be sick.”

And then I promptly was, all over the red colored snow. Snape was thrown from my shoulder as I fell to my knees and violently expelled everything that was in my stomach. As it had been four days since I had last eaten, all that was left was bile and it made me lightheaded with each heave.

Snape was hissing and spitting furiously as he tried to right himself, wiggling his tail and flailing his wings until he was able to flip himself over, but I couldn’t care less as another wave hit me and I gagged with the force of it. I didn’t hear him approach, but I could feel him as his claws hooked into the fabric at my hip and he pulled himself back up. He settled onto my back as I was still leaning over – and started to berate me once more – but I somehow found his presence and weight comforting rather than irritating.

“Professor,” I started, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and summoning water to wash out the foul taste. I followed it with a mouth freshening spell that left behind the aftertaste of mint.

“What is it, Potter?” His words weren’t kind, but his tone was soft. It was something at least.

“I wanna go home,” I whispered quietly like a confession as tears spilled down my cheeks. If I wasn’t so distraught, I would have been ashamed with how often I was crying in his presence.

“I know,” he replied gently, one of his clawed wings dug into the fabric across my back. The talons were sharp enough I could feel it through the thick material. The comforting gesture brought another wave of tears, but I fought them off. “We’ll be home soon, but you need to eat. We need to eat.”

He was right, damn him…of course he was. I sniffled again, wiping my nose and nodding my head. Snape retook his perch on my shoulder as I stood and faced the corpse once more. There was a comfort in his presence as I approached the dead dragon, his little body thrumming softly in something not quite a growl but not quite a hum.

My eyes shifted to him, his chest level with my gaze. Already I could see his ribs and I winced in sympathy. How long had he been suffering while I begged him to wait for just a little longer? I remembered how much Norberta had eaten when she had first hatched – back when we thought her a Norbert – minutes after she hatched. Snape had hatched days ago and hadn’t had a scrap of food.

The realization bolstered my resolve. I raised my chin, straightened my spine, and walked right up to the gaping wound. My wrist snapped back, and I felt my wand shoot into the palm of my hand. I raised it, ready to cast…but every spell escaped me at the moment. I didn’t know what the hell to cast. “Uh…”

“Try diffindo,” Snape offered softly. I did so, remembering my third-year lesson with Professor Lupin. I was careful to cast the charm precisely so Snape wouldn’t have anything to say about my form or position. I don’t think I did it quite right that first time, but he didn’t say anything other than, “Again.”

So, I cast it again…and again. In the end, I had to reach up into the dragon to pull out a large chunk of meat that the spell had sliced off. My mouth flooded with saliva again and I could feel my stomach rolling as it pulled away from the main host with wet plopping noise. “Close your mouth,” Snape spoke so closely I could feel his breath on the shell of my ear. “Breathe through your nose, steady breaths. Count them.”

It helped, a little bit at least. I didn’t vomit again, so there was that, but I still felt nauseous the rest of the day. Cooking the meat took a little finessing, but Snape taught me an easy spell that kept the chunk floating while also roasting it fully. He called it a household magic and I thought it was wonderful. I made a mental note to pick his brain for more when he was in an accommodating mood.

The meat wasn’t terrible. Unseasoned and bland, a little tough, but not terrible. It looked like Snape was right about this as well, as once I was finished eating, I began to feel a lot better. And less irritable. It was frustrating when he was right all the time.

“Does this make you a cannibal?” I asked as Snape ripped off another small chunk with his sharp teeth.

His eyes glowed in dimming light as he glared at me. I could tell it was getting darker again, the sky taking on a deep grey cast to it. It was hard to tell the sun’s position when it was either snowing or overcast all the time, but I was pretty certain it was nearing dusk. “That is an idiotic question.”

“You’re an idiotic question,” I snarked back at him, my cheeks immediately flushing with how immature it had sounded.

“Are you quite finished?” He asked, perched over what remained of the piece of meat he had been tearing apart. I didn’t know something so small could pack away that much food. Even from here I could see how his stomach distended.

“But seriously,” I started as he went for another bite. How could he still be eating? He looked like he was ready to pop. “The definition of cannibal is an animal that eats its own kind.”

Snape snorted at me, little puffs of fog or possibly smoke escaping his nose. “Do I look like an animal to you – don’t answer that,” he snapped at my eyebrow raising.

“The definition also covers humans, not just animals.”

His head cocked to the side as he took another bite. “Oh, so you have read the dictionary,” Snape commented nonchalantly.

“Ugh,” I grunted, in frustration. “Just forget it,” I got up from the ground, shuffling over to the eggs on my knees and recasting the heating rune when I felt that the warmth was beginning to fade. While I was at it, I also recast my own heating charm.

I’ve never had to cast it so many times before, the winters at Hogwarts seemingly mild compared to this place…wherever this was. I couldn’t seem to go more than a few hours without having to replace it.

I knew Snape was aggravating me on purpose. Baiting me into an argument so I would what…drop the subject probably. I winced at the realization. This couldn’t be easy for him, and cannibalism was a taboo, both morally and ethically. He probably didn’t want to think about it, and my questioning more than likely didn’t help.

I sighed in frustration but willed myself to be a little more understanding of his plight. Instead of reengaging him, and probably getting into another argument, I let the tip of my fingers touch each egg to make certain they were still warm.

I didn’t like leaving them out here, exposed to the elements and possible wildlife…not that I had actually seen any other living thing since we came here, but still. I was afraid something would happen to them every time I crawled into the dug out cave. I was afraid I would wake up in the morning and they would be cold, or worse…gone.

There had been several arguments between Snape and I regarding the eggs. I had wanted to bring them into the cave now that it was big enough to sit and shuffle around, but Snape absolutely would not allow it. Most of his arguments were bogus, but there was one that was solid. They needed a heating rune much stronger than what I could handle, and in a confined space it could cause heat stroke at worst or melt more of the ice and flood the cave at best.

I conceded this argument to him, but only this one. If Snape always got his way, the heating rune would have been removed altogether and the eggs would grow cold and die. That was one argument he would never win against me, and since I was the one with the wand and in a body that could actually cast, the decision was mine.

He would just have to get over it.

“We have to do something about that,” Snape commented idly, his nose pointing to the lump of snow I was still ignoring. He was lying on his side, finally finished eating. His rotund stomach made him look like he swallowed a balloon. It would have been comical if my mind wasn’t stuck on the what he was talking about.

“No, we don’t,” I bit out, grabbing Hermione’s bookbag and digging through it. I wasn’t really looking for anything, but it gave me something to do other than talk about what was under the snow.

“Yes, we do,” he hissed, but did nothing else. Normally he would already be up and fanning his fins out in a display of hostility…but it appeared eating so much made him too tired to do much more than verbally express his displeasure.

My fingers shoved the volumes aside and felt around near the bottom. A quill pricked my index, but I ignored it as I kept rummaging. I was making a valiant attempt to ignore him, but we both knew I wasn’t doing anything more that avoiding the subject. “Potter,” Snape sighed in frustration. “We can’t just keep ignoring it.”

“Yes, we can,” I replied cordially, trying to keep my tone light.

“Stop that,” he snarled, struggling to pull himself to his feet around his protruding stomach. He really was quite a sight. “Potter…Hari,” he tried again, using the same nickname all my friends did. It made my eyes well up, but I stopped rummaging in the bag and turned back to him. His gaze was soft, and I just couldn’t stand it.

“Severus,” I replied angrily. His head jerked back in surprise. I don’t think a student had ever called him by his given name…now that I think of it, I doubt many actually knew what it actually was. I only knew it because Dumbledore always called him by it. “Look,” I began again, interrupting before he could start berating me for being disrespectful – or worse, talking about…about…

My eyes fell back upon the lump of snow, and I couldn’t look away. I just stared at it. I warm puff of air hit the back of my hand before a dry nose poked me. My eyes darted down to the tiny dragon, Snape’s purple colored eyes staring back up at me. I didn’t want to cry, not again, so I shook my head sharply and brushed the hair from my face angrily.

“We have to do something about it, Hari,” Snape began again, and his tiny claws dug into the flesh at my wrist, forcing my gaze on him and not stray back to the lump. “Even if it’s just to bury it.”

I laughed at him, the sound coming out more bitter than I intended. “Bury it, Snape…it’s your body! How can you not care?”

He hissed at me, a low rumble traveling out of his throat as he dug his claws back in and levered himself up until he was hanging onto my arm. I automatically pressed my elbow into my side and kept my forearm straight out and away…just like I did with Hedwig. The motion was so ingrained I didn’t even realize what I had done until Snape perched himself there.

“You think I don’t care?” He asked, not unkindly. “It is as you said: my body. But there is nothing to be done for it.”

“You don’t know that!” I argued fighting the urge to fling my arms up in frustration. I didn’t want to dislodge him, but I was just so used to gesticulating when I was upset that I wasn’t fully successful and Snape’s wings fluttered as he regained his balance due to my partial flailing. I aborted the movement before he could be fully dislodged, but by his glare I knew he didn’t appreciate it at all. “Dumbledore might be able to –”

“Do nothing,” Snape cut in. “Dumbledore can do nothing. This kind of magic isn’t possible. What you have done is not possible!”

I lowered my head in shame, my hair falling around my face and I brushed an angry tear away. “I couldn’t leave you there,” I argued, but it felt hollow. There was a pressure on my upper arm, and I looked to see Snape clutching the fabric there with his dual thumbs. “You weren’t –” my whisper cut off, uncertain. “You didn’t see…I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“I know,” he replied, and perhaps he did. There was that time he had lectured me extensively on my need to put myself in harms way to save others back in my second year…and my third. Snape always did love to lecture me, especially when he could do so loudly. “And now we must deal with the consequences of such.”

Both of our gazes moved back to the lump beneath the snow. “Tomorrow?” I begged softly, too tired and strung out emotionally to deal with having to bury the body of my teacher.

“Tomorrow,” Snape agreed as he slid down my arm and started to crawl towards the tunnel.

I sent up another set of red sparks, grabbed the bookbag, and followed him.

Chapter Text

I pulled an old brown tome from the bag, marveling at Hermione’s minor expansion charm to fit them all and laid down on stomach to start reading. Snape curled himself near the entrance of the cave, blinking slowly at me as he settled down to sleep. He hadn’t lain with me since that first night, always choosing instead to sleep by himself near the entrance. I don’t know if he did it for an easy escape or for our protection, but I didn’t push him. I was just glad I wasn’t alone.

I usually read until I felt tired enough to sleep, sometimes I even read aloud to hear something other than the wind howling outside. Snape didn’t seem to mind…or at least he never told me to stop. I had been reading this book for days trying to find anything regarding the oddities of Snape’s dragon form. I was so grateful to Hermione that she had even bothered to put a book of dragons in her bag. Most were assigned school tomes, but a few were for her personal quest of learning everything…well, that and the one grey book that I had given to her as usual when I was finished with it.

I thought she had returned ‘Dangerous Dragons: A Directory for the Determined and Disciplined by Dalton Douglas’ to the library ages ago. And what was it with wizards and matching titles? But it appeared as if she had decided to hold onto it for just a little longer. Lucky for me, I guess.

I was just considering calling it a night when I finally found what I was looking for.

“I found it!” I exclaimed loudly, watching Snape jerk awake so suddenly that I winced a little. His eyes were wide, frills fully extended, and head whipping around as if searching for a threat. “Sorry,” I mumbled as I shuffled closer to him. I made a mental note to never startle him awake when he started to breathe fire. “Look, I found it,” I pushed the book towards him and waited as he calmed down once he realized that we were not under attack.

He glared at me, and I gave him an apologetic smile. “It says you’re a Snow Dragon,” I began pointing at the illustration. “They are apparently the smallest of dragon species, the largest type no bigger than a pony,” I glanced at him, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Looks like you won’t be burning villages to the ground or carrying off any princesses for ransom.”

“Pity,” Snape commented dryly. “Remind me to cancel my holiday plans when we get back.”

I snorted in amusement and returned my attention to the book. “Snow Dragons are also the only species to have dual pollex on either wing…huh?”

“It means your innermost digit, the thumb,” Snape added helpfully, and I fought the embarrassment as I returned to the book. Seriously, how did he just know these things?

“Right, so you got two thumbs on each wing – which we already knew – and look here, apparently once mature, your fire will burn hot enough to even kill adult dragons. It says it’s so hot, that when the die-diethyl ether,” I stumbled over the word, but he didn’t say anything as I continued to read, “catches fire in mouth, the flames are colorless for up to several feet before turning violet, indigo, and then blue. Why would flame be invisible?”

I turned to Snape as he deigned to answer my question. “Do you know the difference between red-hot and white-hot?” He asked and continued after I shook my head in negative. “The answer is about a thousand degrees,” I blinked in surprise, but he continued, stuck in his teaching mode. He did that a lot; I was beginning to notice. When I didn’t understand something, Snape would lecture me on the subject as if we were in the classroom.

I think the normalcy of it kept him from going insane. It certainly helped me keep my own sanity, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“The hotter the flame the further into the blue-violet end of the visible spectrum it is. Muggles can’t see as much of the visible spectrum as Wizards can, but even still, our eyes cannot perceive the entire scale. Blue flame is even hotter than white. It burns between fifteen-hundred and seventeen-hundred celsius. That is hot enough to melt steel as well as bone.”

“And how hot is…violet?” I asked, rereading the passage on fire.

Snape shrugged, or he at least tried to shrug in his dragon form. It came off as more of a bobbing motion. “I’m not entirely certain. I have had no need to ever use a violet flame, but my best estimate, hot enough to melt most of the basic elements.”

“I’m guessing that’s really hot,” his sidelong glance let me know how ridiculous of a comment that it was. “Right,” I turned back to the book…I’ve had quite enough with embarrassment for one day. “So, it says here that there are two types of Snow Dragons. There’s the Arctic Snowflake and the Himalayan Cloudjumper.”

Snape’s eyes roamed over the page, tilting his head this way and that. “And which one am I?” I gave him a toothy grin and he groaned loudly. “Let me guess, the Snowflake,” he spit the word as if it was something disgusting.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” I cooed at him, laying my chin down on my arms and batting my eyelashes at him. “I think it’s adorable.”

Snape hissed at me, rising up onto all fours and glaring heatedly as his tail lashed behind him furiously. He really did look like a disgruntled cat. “Cease this-this teasing.”

I blinked at the vehemence he put behind the word, taken aback by the hostility in it as just moments ago we had been getting on. His emotions flipped like a switch and left me reeling. I could feel his anger coursing deep through me, no not anger. It was fury…and shame. I raised my head slowly, glancing down at the book before flicking my eyes back to him. “I’m sorry,” I began slowly, feeling out the words carefully to make sure I didn’t stumble and make it worse. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

His glare flicked between the book and me before he was calm once more. Snape lowered himself back to the ground gradually, and he huffed loudly as he relaxed. “Just don’t do it again,” he rumbled. Deep within, I could feel tendrils of embarrassment and mollification.

I resettled myself carefully next to him, afraid to set him off again. I got the impression that he thought he had overreacted, but my mind was stuck on the reaction itself. What did he think was my intention behind the light-hearted teasing…and why would he react so negative to it?

The only possibility led me to think of Dudley, and I suddenly felt very sad. It appeared I wasn’t the only one that was used to being bullied. Any teasing from one like Dudley was meant to cause harm, either physically or emotionally. I didn’t like that Snape associated me in the same way as my cousin.

His eyes snapped back to mine, and I realized I had been staring at him. Flushing, I turned quickly back to the book and started to point out the different characteristics between the two types of dragons. I hoped that moving back to a safer topic would help ease this sudden strain between us.

“See here,” my finger trailed over the detailed illustration. “You’ve got coloring. Cloudjumpers are white with different shades of metallic greys and silvers mottled into the hide and wings.” My eyes played over the drawing, fascinated by how mercurial the design was. They were really beautiful.

“Males have darker shades…smokier. And the females are lightly mottled with bright silvers.” Snape’s eyes followed my fingers are pointed out the differences.

“And Snowflakes?” He asked hesitantly. His voice nearly stuttered over the word, but he didn’t speak it with any hostility this time at least.

I turned the page and showed him a different set of illustrations that were dotted with anatomical names and brief descriptions. The Arcticum Galanthus, which I knew from my Latin courses translated closer to snowdrop than it did snowflake, was smaller than its cousin species, the Himalayum Nubisaltus, but prettier. They were both from the Wyvernidae family, having two limbs and two wings like the Horntail and Ironbelly. Those from the Dracorexidae family had four limbs and two wings as the Common Welsh Green and the Swedish Shortsnout did.

I remember Charlie telling me that though they were all technically considered dragons, they were not actually the same at all. Any dragon species under the same family could interbreed, which I knew that reserves hated as they tried to keep them pure – just like wizards I realized. But any species from the Wyvernidae could not breed with a Dracorexidae, and in fact, they couldn’t even tolerate each other.

He had once said that while a Ridgeback would endure a Vipertooth in its hunting territory (but not its breeding territory – which were apparently a completely different thing) swathes of land had burned in disputes between the two types when a four limbed dragon and a six limbed dragon even encountered each other.

There were actually four families of dragons, I had learned when researching. The third was a very rare Asianic dragon that flew but had no wings at all, and the fourth were Sea Serpents which could breathe ice. Nobody knew much about the last two families, as Asia believed the non-winged dragons to be sacred and guarded the information with extreme prejudice. And as for the Sea Serpents…well, they were deep beneath the waves and rarely did a body wash up on shore. Those that went looking either found nothing or were never found.

My attention returned to the book, and I tried not to giggle at the scientific name of the species, Dracoraptus Minimum (subspecies Dracoraptus Minimum Nix) but it made them sound so petite. In fact, the Snow Dragon was the only breed of dragon that fell under ten feet long. Merlin, the Horntail was in the largest species list – the Dracorapts Capitaneum – fifty feet and more. How the smallest of dragons had hatched from one of the largest eggs was beyond me.

I studied the differences between the male and female illustrations. The male drawing was white with an amazing array of colors. I compared the image with Snape beside me, taking in his lighter dusting of colors. “You’re not mature yet,” I supplied as I lowered the book back to the floor.

Snape snorted at me, and I flushed again. Of course he wasn’t, he had only hatched a few days ago. I wondered if he would look like the illustration. Deep purples were set in the membrane of the wings closest to the arms and following the path of the finger bones. It faded quickly into a navy blue so dark the transition was nearly seamless. Lighter shades of blue and an icy glacial teal dotted the rest of the wings as if dabbed watercolor. It really was pretty to look at.

Each spike along the back and the tail fins were colored similarly. Most of the hide was a solid white, but there were splashes of color that only appeared when the book was tilted in the light. Iridescent like an opal. I read the passage of the book aloud as I tilted it again to see the glimmering colors.

“…hide of the female is a solid white, the male however…blah blah blah…a pseudo-chromatic optical effect resulting in flashes of colored light known as play-of-color found usually within minerals…and diffract light resulting in displays of purple, blue, teal, and sometimes green,” I stopped reading, turning my attention back to Snape who was also reading the passage.

“Is this how you read your assigned texts?” Snape asked snidely. “It’s no wonder you’re barely passing if you just skip most of the words.” I ignored his comments, choosing instead to move the light of my wand over to him, slowly waving it back and forth. “What are you doing?” He asked slowly and I flushed with embarrassment at being caught.

“Um…looking for the play-of-color?” It came out more of a question than a statement as I returned my wand back over the book to light up the pages.

Snape grunted in annoyance as he gave me a withering glare. “If you had read the full passage as I was just saying, you would have noticed that the affect only becomes noticeable when the dragon is ‘mature and of breeding age’ which, as you can see, I am not.”

“Breeding age?” I asked, my cheeks flaming as I realized what the words actually meant.

Snape gave me a sidelong look that told me I was being childish about it. “Yes, breeding age…which I’m certain from your reaction that you skipped over that section as well.”

I spluttered indignantly, pulling my arms under me to prop my torso up. I didn’t like talking about these kind of things, especially not with him. “Well, I might of. Why? Is it important?” I was trying to sound like the topic didn’t bother me, but I could tell from his huff that he found my reaction more amusing than anything. His amusement only embarrassed me further.

“It explains why there were four dragons with a single egg, and how a Snow Dragon hatched in a Horntail nest. And it wouldn’t be in a book if it wasn’t important,” he snarked haughtily.

“Says you. You’ve clearly not read the erolit floating between the Houses,” I added without thought.

Snape blinked slowly at me, his nictitating membrane exaggerating the movement. “The what?”

“Erolit,” I replied quickly, already feeling my face heat up. Oh god, I did not want to explain erotic literature to my professor, let alone Snape of all people. “It’s an uh…” I felt my brow scrunch up as I tried to recall the correct terminology. “It’s a palindrome, wait…no. That thing, you know…when you combine two words to make –”

“The word you’re looking for is portmanteau, Potter,” Snape interrupted, shaking his head and ruffling his fins in annoyance. “And what does that have to do with…whatever it was that you said?”

“Well,” I swallowed, shifting uneasily and trying not to show my discomfort. “The lit stands for literature.” I supplied, staring straight down at the book and refusing to look at him. I prayed silently that he would be able to put the pieces together and we could then move on from the topic…quickly.

“And what, is the euro for European? Why would European literature have to do with the importance of books?”

“N-no,” I stammered, absolutely mortified. “It doesn’t stand for European.” I couldn’t do it; I really couldn’t say anymore. Merlin, I’ve never been in a more awkward conversation. The talk with Madam Pomfrey about menstruating, urges, and safe sex hadn’t even been this uncomfortable.

His eyes narrowed at me; I could see the glow from the way his irises dim out of the corner of my eye. The silence was nearly oppressive. “Potter?”

I swallowed. “Yes, Professor?”

“What does it stand for?” His words were precise and pointed. Damn him, he already knew…he just wanted me to say it.

“You’re a smart cookie…I think you’ve figured it out,” I replied diplomatically. My eyes were still set on the tome before me, but I hadn’t read a single word.

Snape snorted loudly, startling me enough to look up. “Well,” he started, looking both embarrassed and smug. “I don’t know what you Gryffindors get up to, but I assure you, that kind of filth isn’t tolerated in Slytherin House. Why Minerva allows it in hers, I’ve not the slightest.”

Oh, I really shouldn’t…I mean he was moving on from the topic. Snape was willing to drop it, but… “You don’t know your Slytherins as well as you think you do, then.”

Damnit…me and my mouth.

His eyes glowed in the dim light, his glare harsh and the rumble in his chest threatening. I continued before this could turn into another argument. “Look,” I rummaged through Hermione’s bag, pulling out a much smaller book…the one I had given her. The cover was a solid grey leather that had been charmed to hide the contents. Nearly every girl in the entire school above second year (and some boys) had one at any given time. Hermione liked to think herself above it, constantly teasing me because I sometimes had three or four in my bag, but I knew she secretly loved to read them just as much as I.

I flipped it open to the backside of the first page. It was blank until I touched it with my wand. Names started to appear, written in different colors of ink and in as many different styles. Hermione’s name was at the very bottom, right beneath mine. “See this?” I turned to the book to show him. Snape squinted at the lettering, and I briefly wondered if his new eyes made it difficult to read. I imagine a dragon’s eyesight was designed more for movement-based hunting, not to stare at stationary symbols on paper.

“What of it?” He snapped, tilting his head quizzically.

“There are tons of these all over the school,” I started, pulling the book back to me, my fingers dancing over the blank cover. “There all charmed to look the same and when someone is done with it, they hand it off to someone else. Like a reading group, or book club, I guess…just without the actual discussion. In order to be able to read the book, you must sign your name. It binds you, so you can’t snitch on anyone else who has one. Even if I gave you this book, all you would see is a list of names and a bunch of blank pages.”

“Get to the point, Potter!” He hissed, but I could tell he was curious about the intricate spell work that went into the books.

“The point is this…the first name on the list is the original owner of the book,” I flipped the book open again, shoving the page towards him so he could read the first name.

Pansy Parkinson

Below her name was three more Slytherin’s in various years, and then a slew of Hufflepuff’s, a single Ravenclaw, and then me and Hermione. Snape’s stabilizing fins fluttered, and I could sense the bewilderment he felt. “To be honest, Professor…most of these books started with Slytherin before they ever came to Gryffindor. Your closeted House has the dirtiest literature available. Sometimes even I’m surprised with how raunchy they can get.”

He looked affronted, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a fish. I couldn’t help but chuckle. I tried to smother it, covering my mouth with my free hand, but it was hard. “My…my Slytherins! Reading this – this drivel? This…I will not have it!” He shrieked and I was forced to cover my ears as it echoed around the small space. “I will not have this filth in my House!”

I burst out laughing, no longer able to contain myself. Snape was growling at me, smoke streaming from his nose and I quickly pulled the book away before he could light it on fire. “It’s not filth,” I giggled again, trying to enunciate it as he did. “It’s an educational romance book.”

“That is no book! And it is not educational in the least–”

“Oh, I don’t know, have you even read it?” I asked drolly.

Snape continued as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “And that is not romance, it’s erotica,” he growled the word, and it sent me into another bout of laughter. “It’s trashy literature that should be burned!” He was eyeing the book as if he intended to do just that.

I hurriedly tucked it back into the bag and settled myself before the tome on dragons again, trying to contain my giggles. “Call it what you will, but nearly every girl over the age of thirteen has read at least one. And there’s nothing you can do about that.”

“Thirteen! Those books are for mature–”

“So, it is a book now?”

“Adults! They are not for children!” He lowered his head, swaying it side to side in that threat display of his, fins erect and tail swaying slowly behind him. “When we get back, I will find every single one and destroy them. Points will be heavily deducted to anyone that has one in the possession…starting with you.”

“Oh,” I smiled at him, more amused by the threat than annoyed. “And how are you going to do that. You’ve seen the inside of this bag several times and never saw it before.” He blinked at me in confusion, so I explained. “You only saw it because I showed it to you. Until you sign your name, you’re unable to read the contents within. And unless someone who has signed it gives it to you willingly, you’re unable to even perceive its existence. It will appear to be just any other book, easily forgotten.”

Snape finally stopped his angry swaying and instead directed an interested glance at the bag. I pulled it open to show him and I saw his eyes dart to each object inside – every single time his eyes slid right past the little grey book. He hissed in annoyance, and I bit my lip to fight off the chuckle I felt brewing in my chest. I knew it would only start another fight.

“Explain it,” he grumbled, finally turning away from the bag and choosing instead to glare at me.

“Hmm?” I hummed inquiringly. “I know it’s hard…but do try and use full sentences. I heard it does wonders for your vocabulary,” I threw his words back at him from this morning and he snapped his teeth at me in annoyance.

“Explain how the books are hidden,” Snape snarled.

“Oh, a bit of a repelling spell with a dash of oath-binding.” I replied dismissively, turning a page in the book on dragons. I held the next page up between two fingers, like I was about to flip it. The air of nonchalance I was going for seemed to work even on him as I saw him puff back up like a cat out of the corner of my eye. I felt my lips twitching and I forced myself not to grin.

“You don’t know, do you,” Snape changed tactics. He was trying to go for the high ground by questioning my intelligence, hoping to get me angry enough to slip up.

“I should hope I do,” I commented idly, flipping the page I held aloft even though I hadn’t read a word of the text. It was all for show anyway. “After all, I am the one that spelled the first book.” Let him chew on that one.

“You?!” He spluttered, his eyes darting back to the bag like he expected the secrecy spell to fail simply because I was the one who had cast it.

“Mm-hmm,” I hummed in confirmation.

He gave me another glance, this time more inquisitive than frustrated. “How are you able to cast something so complicated and yet utterly fail at the basic understanding of wand work?” I would have been offended by the words if he didn’t sound so completely bewildered. I shrugged dismissively which only made him hiss in annoyance again. It was my turn to be the smug one…for once. “Where did you even get one of those – those…” he couldn’t even say it.

I completely failed to hide my smile as I answered him. “It’s a book… and Aunt Petunia has a whole collection.” Was that my imagination or was his scales turning green? “Anyways,” I continued, changing the topic back to our original discussion. “You were about to explain to me why there were four dragons in an egg, yes?”

Snape glowered, as if I had personally affronted him, but he allowed the conversation to deviate. “You’re on the wrong page.”

He directed me to go back a few pages and I turned back to the book, my finger darting around the words and paragraphs before I finally got to the one that he must have been talking about. “…don’t have their own nests as they do not lay eggs. As the only species to give live birth – wait…live birth?”

“Yes, Potter,” Snape grunted his tail flicking in irritation. “Live birth, as in baring living children like most mammals do. I assume since you read that drivel you know what that means.”

I cast a side glare at him but let the comment slide. My eyes found the sentence I had left off from and I continued to read, silently this time.

What I read was fascinating. Snow Dragons didn’t lay eggs, instead a female would steal into another dragon’s nest and break open one of the eggs. She would then birth her young into the egg and reseal it with a mucus secreted in her saliva that in mere minutes would harden over the hole. The substance wasn’t quite as strong as the rest of the egg, but it was strong enough to contain the young within. The newborns, which were cognizant and aware as any newly hatched dragon, would consume the yolk of the undeveloped embryo within. Once they became too large to share the egg, they would break through the weakened section of the egg that their birth mother had made and…the rest made me sick.

The meat I had just consumed lay heavy in my stomach as I read on.

They would, as individuals, break into another egg within the dragon’s nest and seal themselves inside with the same saliva like secretion. By then the original hatchling would be mostly formed…and they would eat it. One pregnant Snow Dragon could destroy an entire nest. By the time the eggs were ready to hatch, only fully mature Snow Dragons would burst free.

“It seems cannibalism runs in the family.” Snape commented sardonically next to me and the only thing I could think of to do was close the book. I had read enough for one day.

Chapter Text

Sometimes – well many times if I’m being honest – I wonder how this is my life…how I got into this situation. How did I end up with the Dursleys? How was I a witch? Why did Voldemort keep coming after me? What was the purpose of it all?

It was the how’s, why’s, and the what’s that governed my existence. Like this moment, for example. I was staring at Snape’s body, cleared of snow and pale in death, while Snape also sat on the lip of the nest directing me with harsh words overlaying his soft tone.

How was this my life?

I spent most of the day digging the grave next to where I had buried the three dead hatchlings. The more time I spent blasting a hole in the ice, the longer I could put off dealing with the actual body. Snape had just watched me bombard the ground with explosive spells without comment. I did it partially for the emotional release of it…but also because the ice was thick, and my reserves were still not fully recovered.

I took my time with the hole, trying to get the grave feel to it and not just a crater blasted into the ground…but I knew I was stalling…and worse, so did Snape. I could tell by the glances he kept giving me as I argued with him over the appropriate depth and shape of a grave. But he let me take my time, his gaze soft as he said nothing. The longer I spent digging the grave the less I had to deal with the corpse.

“I think that’s deep enough,” Snape’s voice startled me out of my melancholy. I hadn’t realized I had just been standing at the edge of the hole staring down into it. I turned to look at him – the dead body him – as Snape fluttered out of the nest and trotted over to my side.

I didn’t even blink when he just started to climb up my side. I was beginning to get used to him doing that. Snape hated when he had to ask to be lifted, and he knew that I really didn’t mind him using me as a perch, so he just did as he pleased. If I told him to stop, I had no doubt he would, but I never did. His miniscule weight and physical presence were too much of a comfort in this desolate land to confront him about it. I was afraid that if I embarrassed him too much, he would cease.

To be honest though, I’m not entirely certain he did it more for himself or for me.

Merlin, I missed people. I missed Ron clapping me on the shoulder as we laughed, running down the hall. I missed Hermione’s long nails carding through my hair to braid it away from my face. I missed Ginny throwing herself into my lap so hard I bruised as she told me about her day. I missed Luna grabbing my hand and holding it as she chattered about another creature I’m pretty certain was made up. I even missed Draco shoving me from behind as his groupies laughed at his new insult.

I missed my dorm, and my bed, the food, the great hall, and the candles. I missed classes, detentions, and homework. I just…I just wanted to go home.

“Potter,” Snape’s attention drew me back and scrubbed a hand over my face. I knew that if I left the tears to dry, they would freeze. God, I missed the heat the most. “Potter,” he tried again, and I tilted my head to let him know I was listening. “I know this isn’t easy,” he started, but stopped when I started to laugh. It sounded brittle to my own ears…I wondered what it sounded like to his.

“Is that empathy I’m hearing from you, Professor? Why I never,” the words were mocking, but they sounded choked and stilted even to me. Snape only sighed at my tone but didn’t comment about it.

I was surprised, I had never failed to work him up before. Usually, I just had to breathe in his general direction. I couldn’t believe I was thinking it, but I also missed how Snape used to treat me. This gentleness was nice, but it wasn’t us. We were angry words and heated glares. We were vailed insults, harsh tones, and vague threats. This new us…I didn’t know what to think about this new us.

I wondered if we got home would we go back to being what we were, or would we be this new thing – him being concerned and gentle, me being teasing and curious. If we got back…

“Don’t be difficult,” he chided softly, shifting on my shoulder in the way that I knew meant he was uncomfortable. “This is your first body –”

“No, it isn’t,” I interrupted, my tone bland as I continued to just stare at it.

For something so small, he could certainly give off a heavy sigh…it escaped him like a heaving explosion, almost violent. I couldn’t tell if he was exasperated, pitying, or angry. I didn’t want to know. Part of me wished he would just yell or something, give me detention and tell me to get over myself.

‘The world doesn’t cater to anyone’s whims, Potter, yours least of all. But of course, you would forget that,’ his voice rang in my ears from a different time. When I still knew what we were and how to step around him, or in front of him if I needed to. I didn’t know this new dance we were waltzing too, where each step was carefully placed, and words gently spoken…it made me uncomfortable.

“Professor Quirrell?” Snape asked softly, but I only gave him a half shrug. It was enough to get my point across that I didn’t want to talk about it, but also minimal so as not to dislodge him. While Quirrell had been my first real body, I didn’t mention my mum. I suppose she was my first body, but I only remember her begging screams and that green light.

“Amanda Knox,” he commented after a long while of silence. It was starting to darken out once more and I knew I would soon have to do something or there would be no more daylight. I didn’t want to spend another night thinking about how I needed to bury him tomorrow. It was best I just get it done, but still, I couldn’t seem to move.

“Hmm?” I hummed in question, my eyes flicking back to him before settling once more on the body.

“She was a year above me,” he continued. “A Hufflepuff sixth year. She was bullied a lot, had a birthmark on her face that was shaped somewhat phallic in a certain light, if you squinted, I suppose. They called her Amanda Cocks. The other Hufflepuff’s tried to shield her, but not all. She killed herself. I found her at the base of the Astronomy Tower.”

Oh, he was sharing his first death with me. I blinked in surprise, turning back to look at him from the corner of my eye. Snape shifted, his tail tightening on my bicep as he shuffled down until he was settled on my forearm. It was easier to see him now, but it was also easier for him to see me. His head was lowered, fins drooping as his tail made tiny little flicks.

“I thought the Astronomy Tower had like, safety wards, or something,” I waved my free hand around as I remembered Professor Sinistra talking about it during one of the first classes I took back when I was eleven.

“They do now,” Snape replied, and I winced at the blasé tone. I wondered what a fall like that could do to a person, and then promptly turned green at the thought.

It astounded me that the safety wards were a fairly new feature. Hogwarts was over a thousand years old…surely a girl throwing herself from the tower only perhaps twenty years ago – I didn’t really know how old Snape was, but surely not that much older – wasn’t the first time it had happened. A sad thought, I was full of melancholy today, but surely, she couldn’t have been the first.

Perhaps she wasn’t. Perhaps Amanda Knox was not the first person to throw themselves from that tower. Perhaps Dumbledore was just the first Headmaster to care.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. It was the only thing I could think of to say, and yet it felt so inadequate.

Snape blinked at me, his lids moving with exaggerated slowness as his nictitating membrane peeled away. “So am I,” he replied softly. “For what you are doing, and what you must do yet.”

I tilted my head at him like he did me, in that quizzical fashion. I knew all of this made him uncomfortable, but I couldn’t figure out why he was the one apologizing to me. It’s not like any of this was his fault. No, this was entirely my fuck up.

“I need you to do something, before you bury my body,” he continued and a started to nod my head in understanding. It never occurred to me that he might have been religious, I wondered what words he wanted me to say. “There are things, things we may yet need…in the pockets.”

Wait…what?

My eyes widened as I realized what it was he was talking about. “No,” I exhaled the word like it was a force, like saying it could make what he wanted disappear.

“Potter,” I shook my head at him, and he sighed as he tried again. “Harielle, I know you don’t want to do this.”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are!” He snapped, baring his tiny little teeth at me. But I was still shaking my head at him, my eyes wide, and I had started to tremble. “Hari,” Snape softened his tone, but I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say, didn’t want to think about what he wanted me to do. We’d begun that careful waltz again and I didn’t know these steps! “We may yet need what’s on my body.”

“What could we possibly need?!” I didn’t quite wail the question. I couldn’t believe what he was asking me to do.

“There are potions,” because of course there are. Snape was the kind of person that would carry around an arsenal of potions. “And my wand may be useful…you also need to take my robe.”

Oh god, I was going to be sick. Not only did he want me to loot his body, but he wanted me to strip it as well. “No, absolutely not…I won’t…I can’t!”

“You have to,” his claws dug into my exposed wrist, and I could feel the pinpricks of pain. It helped to ground me. “It’s been five days. We may have longer yet to wait. We need what my corpse carries.”

“Please,” I whispered the word. It sounded soft and broken even to my own ears. I ducked my head so he couldn’t see my tears. “Please don’t make me do this.”

I felt my hair move and a soft touch on my face. My blurry eyes opened to see his head retreating from where he had bumped me. “I would do this if I could, if only so you wouldn’t have to,” he whispered the words and my eyes clenched shut again as hot tears poured down my cheeks. “But I can’t…and so you must.”

He was right, I knew that. We had been here too long already, and like he said we had longer yet to wait. What his body carried could be important, but by Merlin I didn’t want too. I sighed, exhaling as if I could rid myself of the sick feeling that had settled low in my stomach.

It took several long moments to finally start moving towards the body. The sky had darkened considerably before I stopped next to it and knelt. Snape shimmied down my arm and onto the snow next to the head of his corpse. I wondered briefly what it must be like for him to be in a new body and staring at his old one, but then I remembered what I was doing, and I no longer cared.

My hands were shaking as I lifted them, and I would have been embarrassed if I wasn’t still so nauseous. His body was so cold compared to the heat he put off in his dragon form. It felt like I was touching a doll made of ice. I set my hand on his side – away from the wound – for a long moment before I finally worked up the courage to peel back the robe and reach into the pockets.

There was a surprising number of things shoved into the tiny compartments. I found many vials, two of which Snape told me were extremely dangerous poisons…so I handled them with the utmost care. There was a letter from McGonagall that I read out loud only once Snape asked me too. My Head of House had given it to him at the start of the First Task and he had yet to read it.

It took my cold trembling fingers a long while to unfold it without damaging the paper. The shape of it was in the head of a lion and I wondered if McGonagall practiced origami or if she knew of a spell to do it. The eyes would blink ever few moments and the mouth would open in a yawn to show the teeth. Once I started to unfold it, the animation stopped, and I frowned as I briefly regretted destroying whatever charm had been placed on it.

It contained a wager on the Tri-Wizard champion and pointed threats on next year’s Quidditch Cup. I blinked in surprise as the words brought a smile to my face. I didn’t know my Head of House could be so…childish. I wondered if Snape was the same way with her.

I folded the letter in a simple square, unable to return it to the original lion’s head even though I had tried to pay careful attention to how it was shaped. The skill level was beyond me though, so I just settled for stuffing it into my pocket and hoping it didn’t crinkle. Maybe Snape would know the spell to fold and reanimate it?

There were various assortments of things in many of the pockets. A small money bag that clicked as I pocketed it – I didn’t open it to count, not even I was that dense – a quill and a red ink bottle no doubt in case Snape needed to give someone an emergency Troll, and a small stone Snape told me was a bezoar. That made me smile, remembering the question in my first potions class. I’d never seen one before though…it really did look oddly like a little round stone.

A glimmer of light caught my attention and I saw that a silver pocket watch was clipped to the vest of his teaching robes. Though Snape didn’t say anything as I pulled it out and undid the clasp, I could tell it was important to him. I tried to examine it without being too obvious, but it joined the letter before I could settle my curiosity. My fingers had finally stopped trembling by the time I had finished, but quivered just a little when I did another quick pat down before settling onto my heels and sighing in relief when I felt nothing else in the pockets.

“My wand,” Snape’s voice pulled me out of my reprieve, and I groaned in annoyance when I realized I hadn’t found it. “It’s on my–the wrist, in a holster. There’s a concealment spell, you’ll need to break it. It should be easy since I’m…well…”

“Dead,” I supplied, voice morose as I pulled the right sleeve back. It didn’t take much effort. The sleeves of the robe were in complete tatters, and it looked like Snape had tried to shield himself with his arms.

“Yes, well…I suppose,” he replied. He sounded confused and I felt sympathy for him. “I don’t know how it works since the body is dead but the soul lives.” Snape sounded almost more fascinated by the conundrum than glum. Of course he was.

“Would it still be there?” I asked curiously. He had been holding his wand at the time of his death after all and it was nowhere to be found around the body.

“It’s spelled to return to the holster once I release it,” he replied and tilted his head to take in the pale wrist. I couldn’t even feel an armguard there.

“What spell?” I asked him, my voice was dead tired. I just wanted to be done.

“Try finite incantatum.”

I could tell from his tone that he wasn’t entirely certain it would work, but after I had cast it – and then recast it with Snape instructing me the ‘proper’ way to do it – a black leather armguard appeared. It was quite beautiful, solid black with lines etched in a subtle dark blue. They looked runic, but honestly Hermione had always been better at runes than I. She could have told me what they meant…probably…after a night’s research and a lot of hairpulling.

The wand, just as black, was situated on the inside of the wrist and I realized I would have to move him in order to detach the holster. With careful fingers I lifted the cold arm. It was stiff – from death or being out in the elements I wasn’t certain – but it felt strange. The clasps came undone after several clumsy attempts and the holster with the wand dropped into my lap.

I set the arm back down and then turned to Snape, lost on what to do next. It was his wand and touching someone’s wand just felt…wrong. Even when Ollivander – the man who made my wand – had to handle mine for the weighing ceremony, it made my skin crawl.

“You can touch it,” Snape supplied after a long moment of simply staring at me. “Attach it to your off wrist, it will resize.” His voice sounded hesitant and strained…it made me uncomfortable, but I did as he said. As I got the holster situated, it automatically changed shape and size, buckling itself into place and then quite suddenly disappearing from my sight.

I waved my arm around, amazed by the charm work. I couldn’t even feel it. My hand snapped back, and the black wand slapped into my palm. The rush of power that swept through me made my fingers tingle and stole the breath from my lungs. Sparks lit from the end and my hair blew in the wind made from the magical connection. I dropped the wand in surprise, and it immediately returned to the holster.

Nifty spell crafting, that was.

“Well,” Snape’s tone was dry and curious. “At least your compatible.” Shame filled me as I flicked my wrist again to get used to the offhand summon. I examined it quickly, running my fingers over the black wood and carved handle. Like the holster they appeared to be runes of some sort, but I couldn’t identify them.

I gently eased it back into the armguard, not wanting to appear too curious about Snape’s wand with the man – well dragon – watching me. I handled it with more care than I did my own as I wondered if I would have been well-matched before I had a piece of his soul merged with mine. And he still didn’t know…

I knew I would have to tell him eventually, but not yet.

“Okay,” I whispered shakily, my body still humming with the magical buzz I had just gotten from the wand. For a moment, the almost familiar magic had made me feel like I was back home, in the common room at Hogwarts. I rubbed my chest with a closed fist, willing the sensation away. It wouldn’t do to dwell on such a thing at this moment. “What now?”

Snape was examining me curiously, and I could see his mind working behind the glowing eyes. Eventually he would put the pieces together, he seemed like a problem solver. I remembered the riddle from first year with the potion bottles. Definitely loved logic puzzles, and here I was presenting him with another one.

“Snape,” I asked again to get his attention away from the mystery he was thinking about. I needed to tell him…just not yet. “What now?”

He turned back to the body, tilting his head side to side. “The robe,” he replied after a moment.

“Can’t we just leave it?” I begged softly, desperately wishing to just bury the body, and be done with it. I didn’t want to have to strip it too.

“No,” Snape replied, looking back at me with his glowing purple eyes. “It has spells, enchantments. It will help protect you and keep you warm.”

That perked my interest. I hadn’t felt warm since we arrived here. Even with the heating charm it was always just a little too cold. And I was constantly having to replace it. I think I must have cast it nearly twenty times today already. “But the sleeves,” I argued, gesturing to the ruined sections. They would not be salvageable.

“You may remove them,” Snape supplied, bringing a clawed wing up to tug at the fabric with his thumbs. “If you separate them by the seams, the enchantments should remain undisturbed.”

I groaned loudly to let my displeasure be known, but I started to remove the robe as he said. I cast mobilicorpus, a spell I had seen before but never cast myself, to float the body. Pulling the robes off became a lot easier when it was at waist level. Once it was removed, I used another household spell – for tailoring this time – and separated the arms of the fabric from the torso.

I dropped the robe in a pile next to the discarded fabric of the arms and flicked my wand to lower the body in the hole, only releasing the spell once it was at the bottom. I stood there for several seconds, watching the body in the hole as if something was going to happen…but nothing did.

Snape crawled back up to my shoulder and peered at it with me. “Should I, uh…say something?” I asked hesitantly. He gave me a sidelong glance and snorted at me to let me know exactly what he thought of that. “Well, excuse me. This isn’t really something I’ve done before.”

He sighed, the heat from him warming the side of my face like the sun. “Just bury it.” Snape replied after a long moment of staring at what used to be him.

I nodded, raised my wand back up and flicked it quickly. We both watched as ice covered the body, encasing it like a coffin, before the snow I had dug out came rushing back in. It was over in seconds; the ground lay flat and bare before us as if there was nothing inside at all.

Snape fluttered down from my shoulder, making his way over to the robes as I just continued to stare at the grave. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that he was distracted with the fabric, pulling at it with his tiny claws. I drew out the other wand, his wand, and cast a quick protection ward followed by a stasis. I could feel the magic searching out for the body before it settled. It was easier with the black wand, as the body had once been its master and it instinctively knew what to look for.

It wasn’t much, but if Dumbledore found us, Snape may have wanted his body returned to England to be properly buried.

I quickly slapped the black wand back into the holster before ripping another piece of red fabric that was coming undone from my trousers and stuck it to the snow roughly where the head would be. Another quick stasis with a repelling spell would hopefully keep it visible until the body could be recovered.

After that I moved back over to the nest and did my nightly check before recasting the heating rune. I grabbed the robe, bundling Snape up into it as he had been on top of the fabric, and laughing lightly at his squawk of protest. The laughter felt hollow, but it was better than crying again.

Snape pried himself free, hissing and growling as he fluttered to the ground and glared up at me. I turned my attention to the sky, watching the flakes drift down slowly. There was a break in the clouds, and just for a moment I could see the stars starting to peak out as the sun finally set. I squinted up at them turning my head curiously at the sight before the grey clouds rolled back in to cover the hole that had been made.

“Potter!” Snape’s voice called to me, and I turned to see his purple–blue fin at the end of his tail disappear down the tunnel. I followed him, shoving the robes in first as I slid down into the cave on my stomach. I settled in for the night, grabbing another book as I pulled the robes on top of me like a blanket, but I couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something about the stars had seemed…off.

Chapter Text

I awoke to a hollow whistling noise. At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was I was hearing, the strange whooshing sound muted in our little cave. I shimmied over to the tunnel, gently nudging the sleeping Snape aside before I pulled myself up the incline. My fingers were numb by the time I made it to the other side, and I paused to cast a quick heating charm before I realized I had left the robes behind.

Snape had been correct when he said I would need them. The enchantments woven into the fabric were astounding and after he had shown me the spell to make them visible, I kept recasting it just to watch the colors light up. The threads seemed to glow with magic and if I looked closely enough, I could see the runes stitched in each layer. It was beautiful, but more importantly…it was warm.

He had insulted my childish wonder at the spell-weaving, but I could feel that he was more amused than annoyed – so I ignored his smug little face as I studied each layer of magic and tried to mentally pick it apart. Snape had even looked mildly surprised when I was able to locate the overlapping heating runes that ran through the entire length of fabric. Although, I suppose that was cheating really. I should be able to recognize a heating rune in my sleep now with how often I was forced to cast it upon the eggs.

I gasped as I pulled myself out of the tunnel and the sting of the wind hit my face, shattering my spell. The sudden cold shocked me and I quickly recast it even as I crawled out into the storm. It must have rolled in during the night.

All I could see was white. Kneeling upon the ground at the entrance of the cave, I could perceive nothing but the blinding snow that whipped around me with a fury. Even the dead horntail was obscured by the blizzard.

I stumbled to my feet and then immediately dropped back to my knees when the wind threatened to carry me off. It was strong enough that I wondered if it really was possible. I decided not to take the risk and crawled forward a few paces – towards where I knew the eggs and the horntail lay – when a voice stopped me.

“Potter!” Snape shouted and I turned around as best I could, shielding my face from the stinging snow. I could almost feel it cutting into my skin as the heating spell broke once more.

“Professor?” I called out, my numb fingers gripping the wand and I cast it again. I couldn’t see him; couldn’t see the hole I had just crawled out from even though I had only gone a few feet.

“What are you doing, you imbecile?” He screeched, but even still I could barely hear him over the wind. My hair was whipped around and yanked with each gust, obscuring my vision one moment and then being pulled away the next.

“The eggs…they’ll freeze!” I replied, already turning back in the direction I thought lay the nest. If I gave him the chance, he would stop me. Snape cared nothing for the eggs and wouldn’t dare risk himself nor would he let me risk myself to retrieve them.

“Get back here, Potter! It’s too dangerous,” but already his voice was starting to fade and all I could hear was my heartbeat and the wind. “Potter!”

The wind forced me into my stomach, and I battle crawled across the snow. Snape’s voice disappeared behind me, and I prayed he stayed in the cave. With his size and coloring, I wouldn’t be able to find him in the snow if he got lost.

My spell shattered again as a gust of wind managed to slide me across the ground. I gripped my fingers into the loose snow until my nails hit ice and I held on until it passed. It was a long few seconds before I was able to reach for my wand and cast the spell again.

The eggs, I just needed to make it to the eggs. They had a heating rune, much stronger than a simple charm and if I was lucky perhaps it hadn’t yet been broken, but I knew I had to hurry. I pulled myself forward, my arms straining with the effort as I fought against the wind. My fingers trembled with each heave, but I couldn’t even feel them anymore.

This was taking too long…had I somehow passed them? Or did the storm mess up my directional compass so badly I was going the wrong direction? Was the cave even still behind me? I couldn’t tell, that last gust had pulled me off track and I didn’t know which direction I was moving anymore. The only thing I knew for certain was that I had to keep going, so I did.

My hands hit something hard, and I stared at the dark grey mass in front of me before I realized I was looking directly at the nest. I nearly cried in relief but forced myself to wait. This was only the first half of the trip after all, I still had to make it back.

I used the lip of the stone to pull myself up, bracing against the wind as I looked inside. All the eggs were still there, but I couldn’t tell if the rune was still in place. The ice and wind made it too hard to see.

With trembling fingers, I reached forward and touched the egg nearest to me. I felt nothing, no heat came from it, and I cried out in disbelief. “No!” I shouted, desperate as tears froze on my cheeks as I pulled the egg towards me. I pressed my face to it, my lips moving in a sort of prayer though no words came out.

I was too late.

I cried against the grey shell, my nose scraped harshly against the rough texture, and I could finally feel my fingers again. They ached fiercely, the sudden warmth leaving behind the sensation of pins and needles as I gasped in pain. I nearly dropped the egg then, pulling it from me and staring at it in astonishment. Was it not cold just a moment ago?

But no, it hadn’t been cold…it had been me. My fingers must have been too numb to feel anything, but the egg had heated them. They were still alive. I gasped as I quickly put it back in the nest, afraid that by pulling it out of the rune and into the elements I might have somehow damaged it…but I knew nothing about hatching dragons and just hoped that I hadn’t done any permanent harm.

My fingers were already starting to go numb again and I quickly recast the heating spell as I pulled myself up and over the eggs. I used my body to shield them as I touched each one. They were all still warm, but I could tell they were growing colder by the second. I needed to get them inside, quickly.

I turned back the way I came, but I could see nothing. Before me I could barely make out the horntail even though I knew it was perhaps only a meter away at most. I needed to get the eggs to the cave…but now I was lost on to how I was supposed to accomplish this.

The bag had been left with the robe in the alcove I had been using to sleep in. There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to make it back to the cave to retrieve it, and then once more to the nest, only to return again to the cave. Aside from my fatigue which I could feel with every second that passed – and the sheer cold that kept undoing my heating charm – Snape would never let me leave the cave again until the storm blew over.

Which meant I had to bring all the eggs back with me in one go, or risk leaving them to die. And as I had no bag…well. I sat there for a long time, huddling over the eggs to protect them and soak up the little remaining heat from the rune as I went through my options. It seemed there was only one left to me.

Oh, Snape was going to be pissed when he saw me next. I would have to apologize to my House when we were rescued. The sheer number of points he would deduct would keep Gryffindor in the negatives until well after I graduated.

I pulled off my outer coat…and instantly regretted it. Even with the heating charm, I could feel the ice and snow raking my bare skin. Not even the tank top I was wearing could help me, and I desperately wished I had thought to wear a bra when I had gone to fight the dragon. To be fair, I had never really needed one before, with me being just bigger than a bug bite and all. But now I might as well have been naked.

I spread the coat open on the ground and quickly piled the eggs in the center before I cast a heating charm over them. The spell couldn’t stick to the cloth as it was a specialty made anti-magic fabric, but it could settle onto the eggs.

They appeared bigger, pressed together in my smaller coat as I tried to button it up around them…the eggs barely fit. Now I just had to worry about them falling out of the top and bottom openings. I tore the lowest part of my shirt off, before using the several holes made by smoldering rock shards and dragon fire to thread the fabric through and tie it shut. It wasn’t pretty, and I ended up using way more of my top than I was comfortable with, but it would hopefully hold long enough for me to make it to the cave.

I grabbed both of the torn sleeves and carefully pulled the makeshift egg carrier onto my back, tying it across my chest like a sash as I pressed myself facedown into the snow once more. The shock of the cold on my exposed stomach left me too stunned to even breathe for a long moment. I bit my lip savagely to distract from the pain as I flicked my wand out into numb fingers and cast another heating charm…but not even the charm could hold up to direct contact with the ice.

Every inch I dragged myself forward was agony, the ice cutting into my bare arms and stomach with each pull. I cast and recast the heating spell, but my movements were sluggish, and I didn’t think the last few spells actually took at all. After a while though, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t even feel the cold anymore, just the endless need to haul myself ever forward. But even that left me.

I was just so tired, the weight of the eggs pressing heavily on back and the exhaustion in every muscle was too much. So, I stopped. Perhaps if I just rested for a moment, then I would have enough energy to continue. I lay my head down, I think I set it on my arms, but I wasn’t quite sure…I suppose that didn’t matter either, not really.

I just needed to take a quick break.

A sharp, needle-like sensation in my upper forearm made me grunt in annoyance. Was someone pinching me? I ignored it, I just wanted to rest. Another sharp sensation, this time deeper, made me blink my eyes open. What was pinching me?

All I saw was white, everything was so white…except, no…there was red. What was red? My arm…why was my arm red?

The white moved, and I could see bright purple eyes suddenly filling my vision. Oh, a tiny face was speaking to me. I blinked again, just for a moment, but then the pinching was back, and I opened my eyes to glare at the tiny white face. Except now there was red on it too. How odd.

“–ening to me? Get up!” The face was speaking words, but I couldn’t understand them, it was difficult to hear over the rushing noise. “Get up, Potter!”

Why was a tiny face yelling at me? I blinked at it again before I turned my head to look at it properly. The face was attached to…oh, I knew this face. “Get up!” It shrieked and I wondered why. I was up, couldn’t it tell.

How did I know this face? Except it wasn’t just a face. This was…a dragon? There was something about dragons…no dragon eggs. I was doing something with the dragon eggs. What was I doing? “Look at me, Potter!” The face snapped, no, the dragon…that’s right, the dragon that was talking to me. Except, dragons don’t talk. Perhaps this was a special dragon…or maybe it wasn’t a dragon at all.

“Harielle!” The dragon screeched a name…my name. Although people really don’t call me that, people called me…but which people? “Hari, look at me,” I tried to focus on the dragon. I needed to, it used the name people call me, the ones I trusted. Not Potter, I don’t like it when people call me that, I like when they use my name. “Alright,” the dragon replied. “I’ll use your name if you can focus on me. Hari, just focus on me.”

Oh, could dragons read minds too?

“Stop that, just focus,” the dragon spoke, and I tried to do as it told. It had used my name after all. “I need you to follow me.”

But I was so tired, I didn’t want to go anywhere. “I know, but if you follow me, you can rest and get warm.”

That sounded nice. I wanted to be warm…it was so cold here. I pulled my arms beneath me, the white one and the red one, but the weight on my back forced me down again. The dragon tugged at the thing tied to me with his little teeth and I giggled at the sight. It was much too big for it to carry.

“Untie it, Hari. You need to leave it,” it spoke again, and I stopped giggling. That sounded…wrong somehow. My fingers followed the line of fabric across my chest to the knot. “Untie it!”

I tugged at the knot, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate…and it didn’t feel…it felt not right. “Is wrong,” I mumbled at the dragon. I needed the thing on my back, there was something…I needed it.

The dragon bit at the fabric again and I shoved it away with an arm that didn’t move quite how I expected. The dragon went flying back a few feet, pushed away much harder than I intended, and immediately righted itself before crawling back over. It waddled oddly, kind of like a bird. I giggled again as my arm flopped uselessly in the snow, a trail of red following it. It looked kind of pretty.

“No, focus!” The dragon snapped again. I eyed it warily, but it didn’t try to take the fabric away again. Good, it was mine anyways. The dragon couldn’t have it. Besides, it was much too small. “Fine, keep the blasted things!”

Hah, I giggled again. Didn’t the dragon know how to count. It was one thing, not things…one fabric thing. And it was mine, so I would keep it.

“Focus, Hari. You have to get inside.” That’s right, the dragon was going to take me inside. It promised that there would be a place to rest, and heat. Merlin, it was so cold. Why was it cold? “Come on,” it urged, waddling in front of me. I followed it with my eyes, watching the tail sway back and forth with each shake of its hips. “Get up, Hari. Come on!”

Oh, I suppose I needed to move too.

I pulled my arms beneath me and tried again…or was it the first time? I couldn’t remember. “That’s not important, just follow me.” I didn’t like it when the dragon read my mind. “I’m not, you’re speaking aloud.”

I blinked again, confused. Was I speaking? I couldn’t remember. “Were we…talking ‘bout somethin’? Havin’ convsation?” My words felt wrong, but I couldn’t figure out why.

“No,” the dragon replied. “You were just following me.”

Oh, that’s right. I’m following it. “Where…goin’?”

“Inside, where it’s warm and you can rest.”

That sounded nice. I was quite cold…why was it so cold?

“We’re almost there, just a little further,” the dragon urged, and I giggled at it. How odd, didn’t the dragon know we’d been moving forever. We’ve just got to keep going forward, always forward. It doesn’t end. “Yes, it does. It ends when we’re inside, where it’s nice and warm.”

Warm…that did sound quite nice. I was very cold.

“Just here, Hari,” the dragon pointed to a hole in the ground with its nose. But this was wrong…shouldn’t it have been a rabbit. But the rabbit was late. Are we late for something? “Just go down the tunnel, I’ll follow behind.”

I don’t remember being late to something. But perhaps I was. I pulled myself forward and down into the hole.

The dragon was right…it was much warmer in here. I crawled further into the cave, frowning at the lack of rabbits…but I suppose that was to be expected. The rabbit was late after all, there was no reason for him to wait here. “Over there,” the dragon appeared next to me, and I blinked at it slowly. I didn’t know dragons could teleport.

“I didn’t,” the dragon snapped at me. Who knew reading minds would make it so grumpy? Perhaps if it stopped reading my mind, it wouldn’t be so mean all the time. Was it my mind that was making I that way? Or was it all minds? Could dragons even read minds? “Focus, Hari. Look at me.”

I tried too, but there was two of them now…no, there was one. Was the other one outside still? It made a frustrated noise, probably because of all the mind reading, before it waddled over to a dark bundle. Like a duck…a duck waddle.

“Over here,” it sounded…not happy, as it nudged the dark thing. Was there something wrong with it? Dark things did have a tendency to make people not happy. “No, this is for you.”

Oh, it wanted me to take the dark thing and make me not happy. “That isn’t –” it shrieked. It really wasn’t happy at all. Maybe I should take the dark, not happy thing from it. “Yes,” it agreed. “Take the sling off and take this…not happy thing.” It stressed the words oddly as if it hurt it to say them.

My hand went to the knot on my chest, the red hand. Oh, that was pretty…why was it red? “Take the sling off,” it urged. But I wasn’t supposed too. I remember I needed it, I had to keep it close and take it…where was I taking it? “You were taking it here, where it is warm. Now you can take it off.”

I guess that was okay then. I mean, if I was taking it here, and here we were. Except the knot wouldn’t come undone. “You need to untie it.”

I blinked at him. “I am,” I replied, using my outside words. I was tired of it reading my inside words. They made it grumpy.

“All your words are outside words,” it snapped before sighing again. It looked like a cat now, like a big puffy, duck waddling cat. I giggled, but it didn’t find it funny at all. Perhaps because it was still standing next to the not happy thing. “You need to untie the knot, not just poke it.”

Its voice was odd…the kind when an adult was talking to a really slow child. But there were no children here. Who was it talking too? “Hari, I need you to untie the knot.” It was talking to me…but I wasn’t a child. Or, at least I don’t think I am. “Untie it, Hari.”

My fingers returned to the knot, and I pulled at it, concentrating really hard. After a while, I felt the heavy weight shift from my back and the little dragon made a purring noise, like a duck…no, that’s not right either. Ducks don’t purr, they bark.

“Focus, Hari,” it spoke again and I stared at it really hard. What were we focusing on? Was this a test? I hate tests. “No, this isn’t a test. I just need you to come over here.”

What was wrong with where I was? I’m tired and didn’t want to go anywhere else. “I know, but it’s warmer over here.” Oh, I suppose I really should then. I wanted to get warm. Why was I so cold? Maybe I should just crawl into a fire and pull the flames over me. That sounded nice. But I didn’t see any fire. Maybe I could make some, I know how to do that.

“Over here, Hari,” it admonished again, and I forced myself to crawl into the smaller alcove where the not happy thing was. Once I was close enough, it urged me to lay down, which I was more than happy to do. I suppose the not happy thing didn’t affect me like it did it. The dragon pulled the dark, not happy thing over me and then curled against my chest.

It was right, it was much warmer over here. “Go to sleep.” That sounded nice. I blinked, but my eyes didn’t open again.

Chapter Text

Severus paced the tiny cave from one end to the other as he tried to think of anything he could do that would help. He turned back to Harielle, hissing in annoyance as he tripped over his tail once more. It really was a terrible nuisance, always just in the way and seeming to move independently of his body. Learning to control it was like…well like learning to control a limb he had never had before. It was infuriating, and embarrassing.

Harielle Potter lay underneath his dark robe, curled tightly into a ball and shivering intermittently. She really was a tiny thing, his robe dwarfing her as she slept beneath it. He was furious with her, angry beyond even words. What had she been thinking?

But she hadn’t been thinking. Just like her father, she acted first without thought. And just like her mother, she always tried to do what was right, consequences be damned. Severus returned to his pacing, huffing in irritation. He never wanted to admit it, but the dark-haired child really was so much like his old friend.

He wondered what Lily would think of them now.

In truth, Severus was stuck. He didn’t know what to do, limited by his form in every action he took. If he was still human, he could have cast a diagnostic spell…but he wasn’t. Instead, all he could do was tuck her beneath a robe much too large while he paced in worry. And he was really beginning to worry.

Harielle had been sleeping for days. He wasn’t certain how many it had been, the storm had seemed to last for several at least…but the sun had risen and fallen and risen again after the storm had died. Three perhaps, maybe even four days had passed since he had found her lying nearly dead in the snow. And in that time, she had done nothing more than shiver beneath the robes that blanketed her.

Why wouldn’t she just wake up?

Severus needed help, they needed help…Harielle needed a medi-witch and possibly a hospital. Instead, she had her least favorite teacher who was stuck as a tiny worthless dragon that wasn’t even large enough to drag her to safety. He tried for days to distract himself from his worrying by making himself busy, but there was only so much he could do.

Severus had already set up the eggs in another room he had formed with his fire, dug a nest and a river, burned out a section of ice in the ground to make a collecting pool for all the runoff. He kept himself busy so he wouldn’t have to think about how close he had come to losing the daughter of his once best friend. He kept himself busy so he wouldn’t have to think about how they should have been rescued long before that storm had rolled in. He kept himself busy so he wouldn’t have to think about the possibility of a rescue never coming.

It still wasn’t enough.

Frustrated, he made his way to the pool and slipped beneath the water. It had gotten cold since the last time he had taken a swim and fire burst from his throat as he shoved himself off the bottom and surfaced once more. Nostrils opened and air burst forth as his nictitating membrane slid over his eyes as he dived once more. Moving through the water was much easier than waddling on the ground, and it distracted him from his thoughts.

There was no sound but his own heartbeat beneath the water. It was dark and quiet, and he let his worry slip from him with each second that passed. Fire slid from his maw, alighting even underneath the water, and heating it with each burst.

Twice more he dived and surfaced, and on the last one, the water was nearly boiling. Pulling himself from the pool, the water sluiced off of him and dried from the heat of his hide as he returned his attention to the sleeping girl.

She needed to awaken soon if she was to survive, and he had questions…many questions that he suspected only she held the answers too.

Severus had felt her panic, as he stood fuming at the cave entrance, and she was somewhere out there in the storm. The wind and snow had been so thick he couldn’t see anything but white in every direction, and yet still he knew the moment she was in trouble.

Her panic was visceral, shooting through him like an arrow through the chest, before it tapered off to nothing. Then the panic had been all his. Without thought, just like a Gryffindor, Severus had dug his claws into the icy ground and pulled himself into the storm. Minerva would have been so proud.

The wind had nearly carried him off, no matter how low he had shuffled, and several times his strength had nearly failed him as he dug his talons in and fought against the gusts. But he had made it, made it to her. And she was exactly where Severus knew she would be. That thing in his chest, the one that told him she was in trouble, the one that led him to her…he needed to know. He needed her to wake so he could ask her what it was.

Severus knew she had been holding back in the several times she recounted what had happened when they were in the place of transition as she called it. But he had thought it had been something personal. Now he was starting to suspect something entirely different. He was beginning to wonder if she had done something other than just move his soul from one body to another.

He hissed again in frustration as he waddled closer to her once more. Harielle’s face was tucked into the crook of her arm, and he poked her cheek softly with his nose to get a reaction like he had done every few hours for the last several days, except this time there was one. She shifted slightly, her brow scrunching as she tried to pull the robe up tighter to cocoon herself completely.

Finally, it seemed she was beginning to awaken.

His gaze flitted to the hole in the ice where the light was just starting to bleed in. He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew she would be hungry when she awoke, and so was he for that matter. He hadn’t left the cave since he had rescued her, not even to get food once the storm died down.

Severus scoffed at himself in derision. He was being sentimental, and it was disgusting.

He forced himself to leave the safety of their shelter, refusing to look back even as he heard her start to shuffle slightly in her sleep, and went to retrieve food to satiate their hunger. He refused to give into his urge to check on her once more as he slipped out into the dawn light, and he refused to think about how long they had been here already.

Rescue should have come by now. There was absolutely no case where a portkey couldn’t be tracked with the proper resources. Dumbledore should have arrived days ago, and Severus was beginning to think that something else was going on entirely. It was beginning to seriously worry him.

Severus didn’t want to think of it, but the thought just wouldn’t leave him….what if rescue never came?

Chapter Text

I was so incredibly thirsty. My lips parched and throat dry in a way that I hadn’t experienced since before I learned of Hogwarts, when Uncle Vernon would lock me in the cupboard for days and days. I was just so very thirsty. That was probably the first lucid thought I had had in quite a while. My muscles ached fiercely, and I groaned in pain even as I flicked my wand out to summon water, or at least I tried.

My hand was empty, and I stared at it in numb confusion as I flicked my wrist again. Still nothing. Pulling my arm from beneath the robe, I could see that the brown holster Sirius had gifted me was still attached, but it was empty. I frowned at it in consternation, flicking my wrist once more as if doing so would make my missing wand appear. Not so shockingly, it didn’t.

Where had my wand gone?

I took in the small cave, noticing the subtle differences. It looked perhaps a bit bigger, the ceiling now high enough for me to almost stand, and my sleeping alcove now concaved into the ice wall. There was another alcove, a separate cave dug into the side wall, with a small hole that led to the tiny room. I could only see what was inside because I was lying down.

The ice was blackened, most likely from fire, and a trench had been dug into the floor. Water was moving in it, like a small river, guiding the melting ice away from what lay inside. The water flowed to a pool that was steaming. I blinked at it, stunned as I watched mist rise from the surface in tantalizing curls. Oh, I really wanted a bath.

I almost started to crawl towards the pool, but the mystery of the tiny cave drew my attention once more. My muscles ached as I rolled over to look inside properly. The ice within had also been blackened, but I could see something bright red bundled up in the center of the hole.

I stared at it, blinking slowly as I tried to get my blurry eyes to focus. After a long while I realized what it was I was looking at. My red coat, the one given to me as a part of my uniform for the tournament. And on top of the coat lay the eggs.

They were on a mound, and I could see that the river started as a moat around the tiny island. A nest made of ice. Water escaped a small hole near the bottom like a fountain, filling the moat. The heat from the eggs must be constantly melting the ice. The hole underneath the nest and the trench leading to the pool must have been the runoff.

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips at the sight of the eggs. Snape was such a hypocrite. He tried to convince everyone that he didn’t care, convinced me he wanted nothing more than to let the eggs die. And yet he dug out a little cave, formed it to trap heat around the eggs, and from the scorch marks I could tell he had been keeping them warm with his own fire.

Snape had convinced me for four years that he hated me and was out to get me…and yet again he proved me wrong. He didn’t have to keep saving me, and yet he still did. He didn’t have to be empathetic or kind after what I had done to him, convincing Death to remove his soul from his torn body and shoved it into another…and yet he still was.

If he truly didn’t care, he would have let them die. Sometimes I wondered if I really understood him at all. I was beginning to suspect that Snape really was a lot softer than appearances let on, but I wasn’t going to let him know that. He would either deny it and torment me to get his point across or set me on fire.

My eyes were drawn to the entrance where I could see light pouring in. Snape was not laying in his usual spot. I frowned again, wondering where he had gone, but continued the search for my wand instead of dwelling on it. But like Snape, it too was nowhere to be found.

I grunted in annoyance, licking my parched lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper as I shifted onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. I was sore and hurt everywhere, but still I persisted. Freeing my other arm from the confines of the robe, I shivered in the sudden cold as I flicked my left wrist.

Snape’s wand slipped into the palm of my hand, and I waved it lazily as I summoned water. Nothing happened and I ground my teeth in annoyance as I tried yet again. Still nothing, even when I voiced the spell.

A snort of derision drew my attention, and I twisted my neck to see Snape standing at the entrance…well crouching I suppose. There was a long chunk of meat dangling from his mouth he was dragging behind him. He must have just cooked it. I could see the steam and smoke curling in the air and the smell made my stomach clench. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until just then.

The meat dropped from his mouth onto the ice as he slipped further into the cave. “You’re doing it wrong,” his voice was dry with disdain as he turned to pull the food towards me, but I could feel his relief. It swept through me, almost taking my breath away and I tried not to wince at his suspicious glance.

“What, exactly, am I doing wrong?” I asked, trying to distract his inquisitive mind. I’ve never met a more mistrustful person in my entire life. He was always suspecting me of being up to no good…well, to be fair, I usually was. But that was not the point.

Thankfully, Snape allowed the questions, letting his doubt slide away to explain instead. I was beginning to learn that he never let the opportunity to teach pass him by. “You’re copying the wand movements for a right-handed person when you should be mirroring for a left handed one. The motion always starts from your core, from the center, and moves away. You need to mirror the movement, start from the center and move away.”

I blinked at him, focusing my attention back onto Snape’s wand. My hand started to move tentatively again, and I fought off the strange urge to duck my face. It was odd, using his wand under his instruction. As I felt the magic start to pulse down my arm, I tried to ignore how his wand felt both foreign and yet familiar.

I flushed in embarrassment when I realized he was right. Although it was clumsy, the spell completed, and I drank hungrily from the water that was produced. So much so that I started choking and had to force myself to ignore Snape’s commentary on my questionable intelligence while I got my lungs to work properly again.

“Then again,” Snape continued after I had finished coughing the inhaled water, his voice entirely too smug. “You could have just switched the wand to your dominant hand.”

Oh, he was never going to let me live that one down. “Is that for me?” I asked instead, trying to distract him from my obviously dumb moment.

He hummed vaguely in assent as he dropped the meat near me and nudged it closer with his nose. “I’ve already eaten,” Snape replied, and now that I was looking at him, I could tell that he had. His stomach was ballooning, and I was surprised that he was even able to move around at all with how large it was. When he settled on his legs to watch me in turn, his stomach almost reached the ground.

I grabbed the meat and started to chew hurriedly as he began to speak once more. “Do you remember what happened?” His question sounded innocent, but I could feel an underlying anger that was simmering just below the surface.

The meat sat heavy in my stomach as I tried to think back on how I had ended up here. “I remember the storm…” I began hesitantly, continuing after his head twitched in that way I was beginning to recognize as him prompting me. “I…I went,” what had I been doing? I remembered leaving the cave and crawling out into the storm, but I couldn’t remember why. My eyes darted around our shelter before they alighted on the small hole where the eggs lay. “I went for the eggs.”

“Yes,” Snape bit out, hissing the word. “And then what?”

I frowned at him as I took another bite to buy more time to think. But even when I had finished that one and the one after it, I still had not been able to recall. I shrugged at him, unwilling to voice my ignorance.

“And then you...” I trailed off, uncertain. I vaguely remembered retrieving the eggs, crawling back towards the cave, and then Snape’s little dragon face peering down at me. I clenched my fist, trying to bring the memory back into focus, but the pain in my arm distracted me from it, pulling the memory further away. I glanced down at it, the brown holster stark against my pale forearm. Above it, near the elbow, were patch marks of purple that surrounded many tiny little red cuts. “You bit me?” I answered, though it came out more of a question. “Again!”

“Yes,” Snape drew the word out, hissing the last consonant like a snake. He sounded furious. I swallowed thickly, suddenly very worried about where he was leading this conversation. “I found you in the snow, unconscious,” he susurrated that word as well. How had he found me in the storm? I hadn’t been able to find my way back…I wasn’t even certain if I had been heading in the right direction.

Snape was silent after, and I knew he was waiting for me to say something, trying to prompt me, corner me. I knew, and yet I let him. “How did you find me?”

It was the question he had been waiting for, the one he had been guiding me too. “How?” Snape asked softly. His words were careful, but I could feel the fury simmering beneath them. “How?!” He screeched the word again. “You were lost in that snow; how did I find you? How did I know?”

I swallowed, my mouth dry as finally the moment was upon me. I didn’t want to tell him, I still wasn’t ready, but know I had no choice. “I didn’t,” I swallowed again, forcing my dry mouth to work. My hands were sweating, and my heart was racing in my chest. “I didn’t tell you everything.”

“So, tell me everything.” His voice was calm, the sort of calm that happened right before a storm. The kind you thought you could trust but you really, really couldn’t.

I spoke anyways.

The words started to pour from me. I told him about how Death had taken the visage of my mother, that at first, I had really thought it was her. I cried as I spoke of the moment I realized it had never been her, just an aspect, a shadow of what Death had kept when she had passed on. I told him of the thing that had cried under the bench, the baby that wasn’t a baby at all. I told him again of the two trains and finding him dying on the white tiles. This time, I left nothing out. I described his blood and how it poured from the wounds, that when I touched it, my hands came away clean and my clothes unstained.

It was more difficult to speak of what happened next, but I continued. My eyes were fixed on the icy ground…I was too afraid to look at him, and yet the words came rushing out of me. Once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“She…It told me no,” I explained as I got to the part about the single egg. “At first I wanted to take your soul with me,” he gasped, and through my eyelashes I could see him rearing back in shock. “I had already had a soul alongside mine, but it said that it was only a shard before. It said you would burn through me and kill us both.”

My eyes were drawn to him as he began to make tiny, distressed noises. Snape looked like he had started to choke on something. “Are you completely mad?” He shrieked, and I winced as my ears rang from the shrill words. “Soul magic? You dare try and use soul magic? And whose shard –” his words trailed off and he stared at me in horror. He knew…he knew exactly whose soul shard had resided within me. “What…happened to it?”

My eyes met his, purple and green and glowing. “I left it,” I replied, glancing back down. “It looked like a baby, sort of, but it was all twisted. Mum, I mean Death, told me to leave it there. That’s how I survived the killing curse. The second one, I mean.”

Snape reared back, hissing and growling low in his chest. For all his miniscule size, it was still a terrifying display. I could feel his horror and confusion, and I winced when he noticed I had noticed. “The spell hit me right after you went down, before we fell into the nest.”

Silence stretched between us, and my eyes drifted back onto the floor. It took a few moments to gather my courage to continue, but I did. “She said it wouldn’t work, with the egg. Said you were too much soul for one so small…” the words stuck in my throat, and I summoned more water to buy myself time. I didn’t want to say them, didn’t want to speak about what had happened next. But I continued to speak.

“She-It,” I corrected again, it was hard to think of the thing wearing my mum’s face as Death. “It had almost convinced me to leave you behind, but I asked it how much was too much, and…” I couldn’t finish, but after I looked up at him, I don’t think I had too.

“You,” he spluttered the word. I had never heard him fail to articulate himself before but after a few false starts, Snape stopped speaking all together and just stared at me in horror.

My eyes began to well up and I felt my chin start to tremble. “Please don’t hate me,” I whispered, biting my lip to keep away the urge to sob. “I had no choice.”

“You could have left me,” Snape spoke quietly, the words hiding the deeper feeling of fear and anger that simmered beneath. But I could still feel them, just on the edge of his calm façade.

“That wasn’t a choice,” I replied just as softly. I still had nightmares about what had transpired in that place of transition. Just the thought of leaving him behind and being here alone…it was unbearable to think about.

“So, you resulted to using soul magic?” He spit the words out as if they were something disgusting, something dark. Perhaps they were. I hadn’t learned much of soul magic in my time at Hogwarts, it was one of the forbidden arts. Perhaps there was something inherently wrong with what I did, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.

“It wasn’t exactly me that did it,” I argued, but even to my own ears it sounded weak.

“No,” he snapped back, his head slithering side to side in the threat display he only used when he was furious or uncomfortable…or both. “You got Death to do it for you.”

I winced at the words but didn’t reply. What could I say, he was right. “I didn’t know,” was the only thing I could come up with.

Snape hissed, a small stream of purple flames lapping at the sides of his maw, the anger and fury I could feel were beginning to simmer over. I flinched away, suddenly afraid of him. It wasn’t a sensation I was unused to, but after all we had been through since the tournament…I had thought I could trust him, trust that he would never spend so much time saving me and teaching me if he had ever meant me harm. But now I was not so certain.

Tears welled up once more and I fought them off, trying not to let him see my fear, or how his anger hurt me. But I knew I failed when I felt a flash of remorse that wasn’t mine. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered the words like they were fragile things, as if speaking too loudly would feed the flames that kept his anger simmering just below the surface. “Please, don’t be mad.”

The silence stretched for what seemed an eternity before he moved away, back towards the entrance. “Finish eating,” Snape said after a moment, his voice that level of calm once more…the calm before the storm. “And then bathe yourself. You’ll find your wand near the exit, where you dropped it.”

And then he was moving once more, leaving the cave and dragging himself to the tunnel. “Wait!” I shouted, desperate as I reached for him, but he was already too far away. “Please, Snape! I’m sorry,” I felt the tears drip down my cheeks and off my chin. “Please, don’t leave!”

He turned back to me, looking at me over his shoulder. His purple eyes alighted on mine and the breath froze in my chest as I was flooded with his emotions. Anger was the most prominent, but below that I could feel fear, anguish, and betrayal. It only made me cry harder.

Snape blinked slowly and then retreated out of the cave. “Snape!” I screamed, trying to crawl after him, but my body was exhausted, and the fever still made me weak. I didn’t make it even a few feet before I collapsed, my face pressed into the icy floor as I gasped through my tears in great having sobs. “Please, Snape!”

He didn’t answer, nor did he return. I must have laid on the ground crying for hours, but Snape didn’t come back. For the first time since we had been stranded in this strange and barren place, I felt truly and utterly alone.

For the first time, I was afraid.

Chapter Text

It took a long time to pull myself together and get my emotions back under control. My muscles were stiff and sore, a deep ache that came from being immobile for too long. They protested fiercely as I forced myself upright until I was sitting. Sweat beaded on my forehead and my arms shook from the effort.

Wiping the back of my hand across my running nose I glanced around the small cave as I tried to gather what dignity I had left. It wasn’t much, not after that display, but the few long moments I sat there and just breathed helped a great deal. The strip of meat, still steaming and making a small puddle in the ice floor, made my stomach clench harshly. I was both hungry and nauseas…and I knew from experience that eating now would just mean purging it later.

Another ache, lower, had me grimacing in pain and annoyance as I rubbed my abdomen in realization. That was one thing I had hoped we could have avoided, but it looked like I was out of time.

My eyes trailed longingly to the pool to my left, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t relax after what had just happened. Instead, I crawled forward through the tunnel. I had to know…had to know if he really did leave me here. My chest was tight and my throat thick as I pulled myself one inch at a time until I was near the exit.

Light was streaming in from the hole, so bright I could barely see and was forced to squint the closer I got. My fingers skittered over wood, and I breathed a sigh of relief as an electrical sensation crawled up my arm when I gripped my wand. It really was just where he said it would be.

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I bit my lip harshly to stop myself from crying. I had done quite enough of that already, and the pain helped keep me grounded as I wiggled my hips out of the hole.

The fresh air felt rejuvenating, the cold biting at my exposed cheeks as I fell backwards onto the snow, turning my head back until I was looking straight up into the blue sky. I think this was the first time I’ve seen the sky without a single cloud. It really was quite beautiful.

I snapped my wand back into the brown holster over my arm and leaned back. My weight pushed my hands into the snow, and I could feel them already start to go numb. I knew I should cast the heating charm, but the cold helped kept me focused. So I sat there for several long minutes just breathing in the cold air and letting the snow numb my hands and legs. It felt like soon I wouldn’t be able to feel them at all.

Only once I felt as close to calm as I was able, did I bring my gaze back down to the surrounding area. I squinted at the white snow, trying to find a trail of some sort. Leaning forward until I could rest my chin on my knees, I darted my eyes back and forth over the ground but found no tracks other than my own.

I supposed that made sense. Snape was a dragon after all, why walk when he could just fly. The sensation of something thick trying to crawl up from the bottom of my throat persisted, even as I took great breaths and swallowed to try to contain it. I felt as if letting it go would mean screaming uselessly into the white void until even my voice left me.

Heat bloomed down one cheek, followed by the icy cold and I hurriedly wiped away the stray tear. Movement in the white drew my attention before I could wipe the second. Just to the right of me, something in the snow moved. I turned to it, squinting to help see through the blinding white, and I realized suddenly what I was staring at…or more accurately who.

Snape was settled into a little divot in the snow, curled into a tight ball as he gazed listlessly out at the horizon. More tears threatened to fall when I realized he had never left.

I wanted to ask him why he stayed, wanted to thank him for not leaving, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was: “How far did you get?”

He hummed curiously at me, the frills nearest to his head fluttering with the sound.

“Before you turned back, I mean,” I continued because why not. In for a penny as they say.

“Do you really think so little of me?” Snape finally turned his piercing gaze to me and I froze under it. The purple and green, so bright and heavy, weighed upon me as if a physical thing, bringing my guilt bare and draping it over my shoulders like a cape.

“No,” I replied sullenly, turning my head to bury it in my arms. The silence persisted between us, but I could still feel his gaze upon me. “Yes,” I finally sighed in frustration, turning to look back at him, head still heavy in my folded arms. “I don’t know…I don’t really know you.”

My admission only made him blink slowly at me. The lids sliding over his eyes and opening again to reveal a white murky translucence that peeled away to the corner of his eyes. The nictitating membrane, just like an owl. Hedwig would do the same slow blink at me when she thought I was doing something particularly stupid. The slower slide of the membrane always left me cringing, just a little bit. It was just so different.

“You should know me well enough by now,” he bit out and I huffed in frustration.

“I really don’t,” I sighed, bringing one hand up to gesture angrily between us. “Aside from the four years of your utter bullshit,” I continued over his indignant growling, “and the almost week we’ve spent here, I would’ve barely called us more than acquaintances. I know nothing about you except for what you tell me, and what you tell me is very little!”

His gaze turned pinched, eyelids squinting as the frills along his neck stood up straight. “We’ve been here more than a week now,” the admission left me reeling. Had it really been that long? “And if that is what you think, then you haven’t been listening.” Snape’s words weren’t hissed, but they were pitched low and I knew, just like I knew the other day with the teasing, that I had hurt him.

“I know you care,” I whispered, tucking my chin on my arms and letting my eyes fall onto the landscape before us instead of on him. “I do,” I admitted, because it was true. If he didn’t care I would have been dead in that arena, or on the first night stuck in this place. If he didn’t care I would be sitting here alone, and he would have been a thousand leagues away by now.

“It’s just,” I started again, afraid to bring up the one topic that had started this mess after we seemed to be having a civil discussion. For a moment, I wished we were back inside so I could sit in front of the tunnel, and he would have no chance to fly off if he got mad at me again. But that wasn’t fair, to either of us. I wasn’t his jailor, even though I had forced him into a body not his own. “After what I did…I thought –”

“You thought wrong,” Snape cut me off and for the first time I was grateful he had done so. Already I could feel my eyes becoming wet and I wanted to stop crying, damnit!

I tucked my face into my arms, using my exposed wrist to discreetly wipe my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“So you keep saying,” he sighed, and I could feel his anger and frustration just below the surface. He was trying so very hard to keep himself from lashing out and that just made more tears start to well up. “No more,” Snape was suddenly near enough that I could feel his heat on my hip, and I turned to look at him underneath my arm and through the dark cascade of my hair.

He wasn’t looking at me, choosing instead to take in the empty void around us. “No more secrets. You tell me everything,” I nodded sullenly as my own gaze fell on the dead dragon. It looked like a small mountain of white now. The snow had completely buried it. “Is there anything else you have failed to tell me?”

I shook my head and sniffled, straightening to wipe at my cheeks once more, before I paused. Well, there was one thing… “I think I started my period.”

The look he gave me was almost worth it, and even though I was still choked up, I started to laugh. Damned hormones.

Figuring out the situation with my lady parts took longer than I thought, and without the wonderful products provided by Madam Pomfrey, well, we improvised. I learned the shit out of the scourgify spell and used it copiously.

There was one teeny tiny not so little problem of the trousers though. “What do you mean scourgify won’t work?!” I shouted, scrubbing at them from where I was submerged in the heated pool. I had to wait nearly an hour after Snape reheated it before he declared it was cooled enough for me to not melt.

“The trousers are a part of the battle robes,” Snape replied from the other end of the cave, where he lay curled up with his back to me. I had still blushed hotly when I tried to strip without showing anything, which defeated the purpose of getting naked to bathe, and finally threw the black robes over him and told him not to move until I was submerged. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Snape not to look, like he promised he wouldn’t, it was just…well, I only had ever been naked around my dorm mates. And they were all girls.

“What does that have to do with anything,” I grumbled the words, dunking my trousers again and scrubbing the fabric together to try to get the blood out.

“They are charmed, remember?” Snape replied just as annoyed.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” I hissed at him, throwing the soaked clothing onto the floor as near to him as I could get. It hit the ground with a flthop sound just a few feet shy of the small dragon. “You don’t get to be annoyed, or embarrassed! Do you know how mortifying this is for me?” My fight or flight reflex had been broken since I was born, it was always stuck on fight. Even if it was just an awkward situation, my switch seemed to flip into fight mode.

“We can both be equally mortified!” Snape shouted back, turning away hurriedly when he had looked up at the loud sound of wet cloth hitting the ground and seeing me in my naked glory, halfway out of the bath and reaching for my panties to clean them as well.

“Don’t look!” I screamed, choking on the water as I nearly drowned myself trying to get back into the pool.

“Don’t throw your clothing!” He screeched back. Snape tucked his head down low and with his eyes squeezed shut he started to move. “I’ll wait outside until you’re finished.”

“No!” I shouted before he could get to the entrance, suddenly afraid that if he left, he would disappear…like I had thought he had earlier. Snape turned to me in surprise, blinking his purple eyes widely as I almost reached for him. The lip of the pool came up to my collarbone, and I know that I wasn’t showing anything indecent, and yet still I flushed in embarrassment. “I mean…please don’t,” I couldn’t get the words out, but Snape seemed to understand.

Grunting in annoyance, he hopped onto the pile of robes and settled himself once more, so he was facing away. “Just don’t throw anything.”

I was relieved, but still too mortified to thank him, so I just went back to scourgify-ing my underwear. Once they were clean, I gave them a good soak and set them on the edge of the pool next to my once again whole tank top. Thank Merlin a simple repair spell on them had worked, seeing as I was at my wits end with clothing. Just how was I supposed to keep my trousers clean?

After a while of brainstorming while I floated in the nearly too hot water, I asked Snape that very question. His answer was just as unhelpful. Try not bleeding, because yeah…that would totally work.

“I need different trousers,” I finally admitted as I sat shivering on the cave floor, the robe piled around my lap as Snape tried to dry my red trousers without setting them on fire. Turns out, drying charms don’t work on magic repelling material either.

“And where are you going to get those?” Snape’s voice flourished, jumping high and low as if he was on stage. He definitely tried to put an extra umph in his mocking today…probably because of the topic at hand. I’ve never seen a teacher so flustered before, and certainly not the dungeon bat.

“Well,” I replied as shuffled closer to the alcove the eggs were in without exposing myself to my professor. I may not have been totally naked, but with a tank top and undies, I was pretty damn close. “I always wanted a pair of dragon leather breeches,” I laughed jokingly, reaching in to touch the eggs.

My fingers rested upon the hard shells for several seconds checking their temperature one at a time before recasting the heating rune. It wasn’t until I was finished and seated once more against the wall that I realized Snape was staring at me. “What?”

He blinked slowly and tilted his head to the side. “That could actually work.”

“Wait,” I brought my hand up and shook it side to side to stop him from talking. “Are you saying yes?”

“I said it could work,” Snape bit out, voice warbling as his fins fluttered along his back. “It entirely depends on your ability to master leatherworking on a magical resistant material.”

“Oh,” I replied with a sigh. “Another lesson?”

Turns out it was a lot more lessons. The first was to learn how to harvest the hide without damaging it. Snape had me start on the most ravaged end for practice. Only once I had completed the task to his standards – which were way too ridiculous – did we move onto curing it into leather. When he described it to me, I had imagined the hide strung up on a rack while I used a rock or something to scrape the flesh and fat from it and then somehow salting it…and I think soaking after?

Dudley often walked away from the television when he grew bored, and barely remembered to turn it off. I could get away with watching it if I was doing chores and occasionally one of those nature survival shows popped on. I couldn’t really remember how to make leather, but I remembered the basics of tanning a hide.

Dragon hide is nothing like that. Not even a little. There are the spells that are layered one on top of the other, then you soak it in fire. Then more spell work. And after all that, then comes the actual tailoring. In the end, the tailoring spells were almost easy in comparison. By the time I had finished one pair of dragonhide breeches, I only had scrap leather left.

I was frustrated with myself. I should have had enough leather for three breeches and several jackets, but the learning curve for actually making them was steep. I now understood why it was so damn expensive to purchase, as they were a bitch to make. At least they went nicely with my dragonhide boots.

“I’m actually impressed that you were able to get this far at all,” Snape admitted to me while I admired myself in the mirror I had conjured into the ice wall.

The cave had expanded in between my tailoring lessons. Snape said it was because my knowledge in basic household magic was remiss and that I should be honored that he was willing to correct this failing in my learning. Which I was, I really was…it’s just that, well…it was Snape. That man – or dragon – was the smuggest bastard I have ever met, and lately he had been smug a lot.

I didn’t have enough material to make the double layer trousers like I had intended, with a tight inner layer to keep me warm with a baggier outer layer to expel snow and water. I suppose I could have used the scraps to try and cobble the inner layer together, but for the moment, the baggy trousers would have to do. I just wasn’t in the mood to try and Frankenstein myself some leggings, and the trousers were warm enough without it…for now at least. I hadn’t really had the chance to fully test them, and I doubted Snape would ever let me back out into a snowstorm again, even if it was to test the temperature range the dragonhide could withstand.

The trousers were tight at my waist to keep them up without a belt, and tight again at the ankles so I could shove them into my boots, but the rest was loose and looked remarkably like some of the trousers Parvati and Padma wore on the weekends, except theirs was probably a silk and much more colorful. It wasn’t uncomfortable, nor unattractive, just different. They also hid how little meat was on posterior, which was a plus. Angelina kept telling me I would grow into my body, but I had been rail-thin for most of my life that I had no real hope for the future either.

I just really wished that I had gotten the hang of the spells sooner, or that there was more hide. I could really do with a proper shirt.

“It’s all gone,” Snape grumbled at me from within the stone basin. He was laying stretched out, stomach bloated from his meal. His tail curled around the inactive portkey, the white on gold a contrast to the dark stone. “You used it all,” he grunted in annoyance as I crouched down in front of the horntail.

It really was a gruesome sight, skinned down to the fat and muscle, chunks missing where I had carved out strips for food. The organs had been harvested and thank Merlin for magic because otherwise I would have had to crawl inside for some of them.

“I’m not looking for more hide,” I replied, moving around the head to get to the shoulder.

“Then what are you looking for?” He asked, trying to get the leverage to sit. Snape struggled over his protruding stomach, large and round from his last meal. That little guy could certainly pack away quite a bit of food.

“What do you think about the bones?”

“We’ve talked about this,” he replied, finally perched onto the lip of the basin. “Full sentences. Use them.”

“What,” I began with a long sigh, “do you think, about using the dragon bones?”

“What would you use them for?” He asked, fluttering his wings as he leapt down into the snow and started to make his way over to me.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Things, I guess. Maybe a sled.”

“Do you plan on going sledding?” Snape latched onto the dragonhide trousers, his talons unable to pierce through to get a leverage enough to climb. Instead, he gripped the lose leather beneath his double thumbs and fisted it until he could scramble up. It took a few attempts to learn. The first time he tried to do that he had ended up toppled into the snow. I thought he was going to set me on fire for how hard I had laughed. But now he climbed these just as easily as he had the others.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I straightened and moved my head aside while he settled himself upon my exposed shoulder. It was a clear day with little wind, so I had forgone the black robes and as the eggs were still using my jacket for the nest, I was just in my tank top and handy dandy heating charm. I winced as his clawed toes dug into my skin to keep his balance and tried not to move too quickly. “I meant for carrying things.”

“To carry what? And to where?” Snape asked as I did a slow circuit of the corpse.

“We can’t stay here,” I replied as I came to stop at the nose once more. “Soon we will be out of food.”

“There’s still plenty left,” Snape replied, and though he was correct, it wouldn’t be for long.

“And what about when the eggs hatch?” I asked, tilting my head to catch his gaze out of the periphery of mine. “It may seem like a lot now, but when the other eleven eggs hatch what then?”

“Hari,” he sighed, his little body expanding with the movement and then deflating…like a balloon.

“Severus,” I replied with a sharp tone. It was enough to derail whatever excuse he was about to come up with. “It’s been almost a month. They’re not coming.”

“They could be,” Snape cut in, tone sharp and high. “Something may have happened. When they do get here, it’s best if we stay put.”

He was right in that sense. Every teacher had always said if lost stay where you are and let rescue come to you…but rescue wasn’t coming. Not this time. “You don’t know that,” I replied, trying to be gentle with my voice even as I felt the anger start to crawl up my throat. How could he not see what I saw?

I gestured toward the nest, where the single golden egg still lay. “Look, you already said the portkey is dead –”

“Inactive,” he interrupted.

“Inactive,” I repeated. “And how can we fix it? We can’t because we don’t know how!” His silence answered me. “You don’t know. No one does,” I added quickly to avoid another fight. Snape rarely admitted to not knowing something and throwing that in his face was a guaranteed way to start an argument. “Severus,” I sighed again, voice going soft. “I don’t think we have that long.”

He grunted, turning away to take in the bleak scenery. I know he wanted to argue the case of exterminating the eggs, giving us more time – and more food – if we ended them now. But he knew me well enough to not even try. That was an argument long since dead. He would never win it, and he knew that.

“And where, exactly, would we go?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, allowing my gaze to follow his into the horizon. “Pick a direction.” I waved my arms out, spinning in place even as I felt his talons dig into my shoulder and his thumbs catch onto the locks of my hair to maintain balance.

“We can’t leave yet,” he grunted in annoyance as I finally stopped moving and let him retake his position. I was irritated with his answer but didn’t argue as he was conceding the fight to me. “You are not prepared, and how are we supposed to travel with the eggs?”

It frustrated me to no end that he had a point…a good point. “Fine, after they hatch. We use the bones and whatever hide is left to make a sled, carve up as much meat as it can hold, and then go in…” I twirled again, slower this time. “That direction,” pointing towards the sun that was just beginning to set.

“That would be west,” Snape replied, voice low and each word over enunciated. Truly, the king of snark.

“Fine then, west it is. Glad we agree.”

“I didn’t agree to anything!” Snape spluttered, one of his wings smacking the back of my head as he flapped them, descending from my shoulder to perch on the stone basin once more.

“Yes, you did,” I replied cheekily, sauntering back into the cave, the hole now big enough that I could slide down on my bum.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor!” Snape shouted. My pealing laugh echoed around the tunnel as I slid into the cave.

Two days later, the first egg started to move.

Chapter Text

She couldn’t seem to stop crying. Everything had changed since the first day of the competition. Hogwarts was quiet. Hermione had never known the school to be this quiet. There was no laughter, classes had been cancelled, and meals in the great hall were conducted in silence.

The empty bed in her dorm room was a constant reminder, a massive black hole that consumed all joy for those who gazed upon it. Lavender and Parvati had laughed at something that morning and then their gaze traveled to the empty bed – Hari’s bed where Hari would be sitting – and all their mirth just vanished. Hermione found herself doing that too, turning to say something or get Hari’s opinion, only to remember she was gone…it felt like she was being gutted every time she remembered – hated herself for forgetting, even for just a moment.

They had gotten lucky, she supposed. Hari wasn’t dead, at least nobody truly believed so…and she was the only fourth year Gryffindor they had lost. The upper years had lost five of their own, but the first years…the first years lost nearly half. No other House had lost a first year, but Slytherin’s one casualty had been a second year – Daphne’s little sister, Astoria.

Daphne was still in coma; they had been found pressed together underneath the stands. Her parents sitting vigil by her bedside. Hermione pitied the girl that she hardly knew. They had never been hostile to each other, not like Parkinson, but…to awake only to find out you lived while your sister did not…it was cruel and unfair.

Hermione glanced up as someone entered the common room. Ginny walked in slowly, her shoulders drooping and feet dragging. She had been spending her days in the infirmary as well as any of the other few students who were naturally talented at healing. Many of the injured were too critical to transport to Saint Mungo’s so the Medi-wixens had portkeyed in.

Even with the numerous healers, still they had been shorthanded. They pulled from the sixth and seventh years first. When they found only a small number naturally inclined to the rigorous and delicate art, they started asking even the younger years. Hermione wasn’t certain, but she had heard rumors that the infirmary had even second-years assisting.

The students were assigned with the menial tasks, fetching this, changing that, sterilizing those. Not once did Ginny ever complain about it, but Hermione knew how exhausted she was at the end of each shift. As each day passed, more and more of her light was just gone.

Nearly a hundred were injured, and Hermione could not even imagine how many of those were critical, did not want to think about how many more they were still to lose.

Ginny shuffled towards her, collapsing on the couch before she let herself lean sideways to lay in Hermione’s lap. The older girl started to soothe the younger, fingers running through the red hair. Tears welled in her eyes, wishing the hair was black. She would always do this for Hari when she had had a rough day.

“We lost Finch-Fletchly,” Ginny whispered, curling her knees up to her chest and turning her gaze into the fire. Her hand clutched Hermione’s leg and she could feel warm tears soaking into her skirt.

“How many is that now?” Hermione asked, nails scratching lightly at Ginny’s scalp.

“Thirty-one,” she replied and Hermione felt a lump in her throat. Ginny turned onto her back and Hermione adjusted her hand to cradle the younger girl’s cheek instead. “Is there any update?”

Hermione turned her face away, using her free hand to wipe away the tears that were threatening to spill. She bit her lip as she recalled her earlier meeting with Professor McGonagall. “No,” she replied after a moment. “They say it was a portkey,” she continued, speaking words that she had promised to say to no-one else. But with Ron still in critical condition, she needed to speak to somebody.

“Do they know who did it?” Ginny asked.

“Not yet,” she replied, her thumb wiping the side of Ginny’s face to brush away the tear tracks. “They haven’t even been able to figure out where the portkey sent them. Moody is questioning everyone. There's a rumor that the Ministry is sending more Aurors.”

Ginny nodded her head slowly, turning again to stare into the flames. “She’ll be okay,” the younger girl murmured, and she strained to hear her. “Hari always is.”

Hermione desperately wished for that to be true.

Chapter Text

I slept entirely through the first egg hatching, and the second as well. In truth, I didn’t awake until the third dragon was partly out of the shell. I probably would have slept through that as well if the chirping hadn’t awoken me.

It was an odd sound – musical almost – but not birdlike in the least. It sounded more like a cat chittering through an electrostatic loudspeaker, the kind my primary school would make announcements through every day.

At first, I couldn’t place what had woken me. I lay there, blinking the sleep from my eyes as I looked around our little cave. My gaze tracked to Snape first, as it had every morning since that day he left me crying alone on the icy ground. I knew now that he would never leave me, but I still couldn’t seem to stop that instinctual need to make certain he was still here.

He was right where he should be, curled in the small basin he’d dug for himself at the foot of my elevated bed slab carved into the icy wall.

There was the gentle drip-drip that was my constant background noise, a sound that I now had to concentrate on in order to hear. It had driven me nearly mad in the first weeks, the drip-drip-drip, until something in my mind seemed to adjust and then suddenly it was a white noise, barely there and easily forgotten.

My eyes drew to the first source, the water trickling up from the center of the pool to keep it from overflowing. Little droplets catching the blue and white lights that floated gently in the air, dimmer now than they would be during the day – a simple adjustment to lumos that Snape had taught me – and then the drops were pulled up into a small ball of water that hovered over the pool with a gentle plop.

I created it after the incident with the bathing pool. With the constant runoff from the cave containing the eggs, the pool had the tendency to overflow, a discovery made when I awoke lying in water an inch deep. That day I had tried to banish the extra water and instead I banished all the water by accident. I worked instead on carving a shelf out of the wall to sleep off the ground and ignored Snape’s dark chuckling at my embarrassment.

It was not a mistake I made again.

The inside of the floating orb glowed a yellow so pale it was nearly white, another spell – this one of my own creation – suspending some of Snape’s captured fire right in the middle. It burned hot enough to evaporate the water closest to the center to keep it from overfilling while also providing more light inside the otherwise dark cave. Snape had been flummoxed when he returned that night, staring at the water-sun in baffled amazement and then grumbling in annoyance when I explained how I had gone about combining spells to create it.

“That shouldn’t have worked,” he had hissed at me, tail swaying behind his growing but still small body. Earlier that day I had asked him to breathe flame for an experiment. He had humored me, but only because my request had amused him. “How did that work?”

I had laughed at him and shrugged in reply. He refused to talk to me for the rest of the night.

My eyes were drawn to the second source of the dripping, another suspended pool on the opposite side of the cave. This one was dripping down, collecting the water that still melted from the ceiling despite the multiple preservation and cooling runes I had carved into the ice. There was a smaller red flame inside, hot enough to keep the water near the center warm and pure, but not nearly so hot as to burn any of it off. I used it for drinking, pretending it was tea when I was feeling particularly homesick.

There was nothing unusual about either water orb, the constant drip nearly covered by the gentle trickling of the tiny river that cleanly divided the cave floor in half. The sounds had stopped waking me weeks ago.

I barely noticed the movement out of the corner of my eye. It came from the second smaller cave. I only saw it because I was lying down. The entryway had been expanded to allow me to crawl through so I could check the eggs before bed every night. But the cave itself was still quite small in order to contain as much heat as possible. It was just large enough for me to sit if I pressed my back to the wall, knees to the nest, and ducked my head into my chest.

Something small and brown was moving near the eggs.

At first, I thought it to be some sort of small mammal that had snuck in while we were sleeping, searching for food. Terrified for the safety of the unhatched dragons, I threw off the robes that I used as a blanket and rushed over to the nest. Ignoring the burning cold on my bare feet and Snape’s spluttering from beneath the cast aside fabric, I launched myself so quickly through the small hole that I slid nearly all the way inside and partially onto the nest.

I was just pulling my legs through, wand at the ready, before I realized there was no intruder, there was no threat at all. Instead, two pairs of bright yellow eyes gazed up at me, surrounded by broken eggshells and bits of red fabric that they had torn from my champion’s coat.

“Oh my god!” I shouted, unable to contain myself. I was suddenly both extremely excited and absolutely terrified. Before now, the eggs were a thing in the background, always on the verge of hatching. But now there were actual living creatures sitting before me and I had never been so scared.

Give me a life-threatening challenge any day, but being responsible for another’s well being and I was completely out of my depth.

“Snape,” I called, my eyes still fastened upon the yellow ones. “Snape!” My head tilted towards my shoulder so I could shout behind me without taking my eyes off of the newly hatched dragons. “Severus!”

“Silence, girl!” Snape shouted back at me, and I could hear his talons scraping across the ice floor. “Cease your yammering and tell me what is wrong.”

What was wrong? Everything…absolutely everything was wrong. Oh Merlin, there were going to eleven baby dragons soon. Eleven! How was I supposed to take care of eleven? I could barely take care of myself – couldn’t really, if Snape was the one being asked.

“They’re hatching!” I shouted back, transfixed as an egg started rocking back and forth before toppling over.

I felt a tugging sensation near my hip as Snape joined me in the nesting cave and crawled up my side. There wasn’t enough room for him to take his usual perch on my shoulder, so instead he clung to my side like a monkey...or a parasite.

They were larger than Snape, but still smaller than I remember Norbert – now Norberta – being. The one nearest to me was a light brown, like watered down tea, while the other, perhaps a little larger, was a smoky grey.

Snape had just fully settled to hanging off my right side when the third egg cracked and a clawed foot broke through the crumbling shell.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed again as a fourth egg started shifting in the nest. “Oh my god, they’re hatching!”

“So you have said,” Snape commented drolly. His clawed thumbs dug into the exposed flesh of my arm when I started to reach into the nest. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Uh…” I turned to look down at him, hand still extended, and brows pinched together. “Helping?”

His purple and green eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. “You cannot be serious,” Snape hissed as I just blinked at him. “Everyone knows you never assist in a hatching!”

I blinked again, confusion and embarrassment coloring my face as my hand slowly lowered back into my lap. “Why not?” I felt like an idiot just voicing the question. The look Snape gave me only reinforced that feeling.

“Out of all the classes you enjoy rambling on about during all hours of the day, I figured you would at least know this much. It is covered in the third year’s Care of Magical Creatures course,” Snape couldn’t have sounded more annoyed if he had tried.

After a long moment of my continued silence, he sighed and elaborated. “For any creature or being that lays eggs,” his voice took that tone he used when he was going into a lecture, “you will get two types. Viable: eggs with a living embryo that will grow and hatch; and nonviable: eggs that have a nonliving embryo that will never grow or hatch. These nonviable eggs serve the purpose of protecting the viable ones from other creatures that would prey on the nest. They also supply nutrients and food for the newly hatched young.”

I finally pulled my eyes away from the pale dragon that was now peaking out of the broken bits of shell to turn to my professor. His eyes were on the nest, but his gaze seemed far away as he began his lesson.

“But what does that have to do with helping them hatch?” I asked, fighting the urge to wither under his heated gaze as he glared at me for the interruption.

“Not all of the viable eggs will hatch either,” he continued after he was done glaring at me. “There might be some that have some sort of deformity, sickness, or a weakness of some kind. Perhaps the genetics just didn’t mix right. Whatever the reason, if the hatchling cannot emerge from the egg itself, it was never meant too.”

I frowned at him as another tiny clawed foot burst out of the third egg. “Then why shouldn’t I help. If I can give them the best chance possible –”

“But you wouldn’t be,” Snape interrupted me, voice harsh. “You would only be prolonging the inevitable. Instead of a quiet and peaceful death, you would be subjecting it nothing but a short life filled with struggle and pain.”

His tone turned soft, and I was reminded of what Death had told me, when it still wore my mother’s face. “Their souls were collected the moment the first cracks appeared. It was kinder that way.”

Kinder, it had said, and now I was starting to see why. Perhaps Death was right, perhaps Snape was too. But I still felt conflicted. Snape seemed to understand, his small thumb claws pinching the back of my arm to grab my attention. “They will be hungry,” he intoned gently, pinching again when my gaze returned to the nest. “Hari, they’re going to need food.”

I shifted uncertainly before nodding my head. Easing Snape down, I started to slide my legs back through to the main part of the cave before I stopped. “You’ll stay here?” I asked him, sounding more uncertain than I intended. “I mean, in case something happens?”

“I’ll stay,” Snape replied. I could tell he was humoring me, but somehow it still helped. I slid the rest of the way out and went to the kitchen area, a shelf carved into the ice just like my bed and started to pull down slabs of cooked meat. I flicked my wand to slice them into small chunks, another spell Snape had taught me that I somehow didn’t know.

I was beginning to think that the gaps in my education were intentional. There was no way that the holes in my learning could mean anything else. Second years had better understanding of spell work, according to Snape at least.

I knew he was starting to get suspicious, every time something came up that he thought I should already know. His face became pinched, head tilting side to side and eyes narrowing. He had yet to say anything about it, probably putting together the breadcrumbs that was my life and drawing his own conclusions. Snape would talk once he started to understand more of what was going on, or if he had questions.

It was very Slytherin of him.

There were three fully hatched dragons and a fourth on the way when I returned with the chunks of meat. The pale one, smaller than the first two, was staring at Snape, head swaying from side to side. The first two were grumbling at each other, snapping playfully and flicking their tails.

The moment I settled back into the nesting cave and they smelled the meat, all three pairs of eyes turned to me. Their gazes were sharp and focused, much more focused than I had expected of creatures so newly hatched. Carefully, I reached forward, palm splayed flat with a small piece of cooked meat resting on the center. I kept my fingers together and tilted down to keep them away from curious teeth as I held it out to them.

I was still hesitant about the idea of essentially feeding them their own mother, but I rationalized it away quickly. We simply had no other food, and I figured that since they never knew her, there would be no sentimental attachment to their dead brood mother.

Did dragons even do sentiment?

Snape watched me as I watched them. Yellow eyes were focused solely on the meat presented to them. The grey one moved first, snaking forward quickly and then falling back as the brown one snapped at it. They hissed at each other, before the grey one moved forward once more, this time much more hesitantly. The brown let it.

The tip of its nose, wet from the fluid inside the egg, tapped the side of my hand before darting away quickly even though I hadn’t moved. It tried again, poking my hand with its soft nose and then watching me for a reaction. When none came, it finally darted forward and snatched the piece of meat so quickly that if I had blinked, I would have missed it.

The grey one swallowed it quickly, refusing to share even though the brown had started to nuzzle against its cheek. I placed another chunk of cooked meat on my palm before they could start fighting.

I stayed with them all day and into most of the night as one egg and then another hatched, feeding them and removing the broken bits of shell from the red jacket that cushioned the nest. Snape retired before the last few eggs had hatched, grumbling something about idiot children…I wasn’t really listening.

The last egg rocked and cracked and rocked some more, but it didn’t break. After long hours of waiting, it stilled and didn’t move again.

I raised my hand, tentative and cautious, remembering what Snape had told me earlier, but he had been wrong about some of the eggs not being viable. Before the sun had started to dip below the horizon, all the dragon eggs had shown some sign of movement. Glancing over my shoulder, I peeked out of the nesting cave and took in the sight of my bed shelf.

The ruined scraps of dragon hide were roughly hemmed together to cushion me when I slept. Professor Snape’s teaching robe was bundled against the wall near the foot of the bed, but of Snape I could not see. He was more than likely sleeping. He did love his routine.

I took comfort that if I could not see him, then he could not see me. Reaching forward, I poked the egg with my finger, tapping my nail against it when I felt no reaction. There was a quiet squeak, and then silence once more.

I knew what Snape had meant, remembered what Death had said to me. It would be kinder. It would be…but it wasn’t fair.

I reached forward again, this time with both hands, and pulled the mostly intact egg to my chest. My fingers pressed where the cracks had started to form and though I was trying to be careful, I still felt the hard shell of the egg start to give. It would be so easy to just press a little too hard and make a hole large enough for the hatchling inside to at least work with.

I wouldn’t be helping the dragon hatch, just assisting it a little. Surely that would be alright.

I knew, even as glanced back to the bed once more, I knew what I was doing was going directly against what Snape had told me, and even still I couldn’t just not do anything. I bent my index finger, pressing my nail against the cracked edge that had given under the pressure of my fingers and pushed. It punctured through the egg easily, easier than I had expected, and I felt the liquid inside gush out onto my hand and into my lap. It was surprisingly warm.

Hooking my finger in the hole, I pressed my fingertip to the inside of the shell and pulled until a larger sharp piece broke away. The hole was nearly two inches in length…I hoped it was enough.

The egg started to shift once more and I placed it back into the nest, pushing one of the dragons aside that had lain in the small gap left behind when I had first removed it. The sleeping hatchling hissed at me but didn’t bother to open its eyes as it resettled and fell back asleep. I doubt it would have been able to do much even fully awake, its stomach ballooned to a size nearly larger than the dragon itself.

Time passed slowly as the last egg shifted, rocked, cracked, and shifted some more. It would go still after a while, and if it wasn’t for the nearly silent squeaking from inside, I would have thought the dragon had passed. Near dawn, the shell finally separated, and a bright red body tumbled out.

It was malformed and oddly shaped. I counted three wings and two heads. As it struggled to stand, I realized that perhaps Snape was right. Maybe it would have been kinder to let it die in the shell. Sniffling, I wiped my cheeks of the salty wetness that started to trail from my eyes. I would need to wake Snape…I was ashamed to realize that I didn’t know what to do.

The two heads pulled away from each other, and the chest moved oddly as a fourth wing appeared from underneath the misshapen hatchling. A foot caught one of the wings, curling and twitching as it pushed at the appendage. I reached down, intending to stop it from hurting itself and then recoiling when the pelvic area seemed to separate.

Horrified, I watched with wide eyes as the left and right sides began to fall away from each other and then I blinked in shock. I couldn’t believe what it was I was seeing. Each side had two wings, two legs, and one head.

Twins, I was staring at twins.

A barking laugh was pulled from my chest in disbelief, and I watched the two bright red dragons flinch at the sound. They were tiny, even smaller than Snape when he hatched. The two dragons were so small, in fact, that both of them could curl fully onto one of my palms without trouble.

I worried about their size, even as I got up to get them food. I had helped them from the egg, not fully…but enough to know that if Snape had seen, he would have heavily disapproved. Only time would tell which one of us was right, but I was fairly certain, as I sat there and fed the tiny reds the last of the food, that it was me.

Chapter Text

I changed my mind. Letting the dragons hatch was possibly the worst decision I had ever made. Even worse than entering a dragon pit with the plan to read until the timer ran out. I should have let them die.

Snape was right…it would have been so much easier to let the cold take them. I should have left them in the storm, should have let the snow bury them. I should have cracked them open and made myself some omelets.

“Go away!” I cried, shoving the small body off my face as I rolled over to try and get more sleep. Try was the operative word. Behind me, they started to shriek. “Merlin! Shut the fuck up!”

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape mumbled from his sleep basin at the foot of my bed.

“Why?” I begged the question, kicking my feet out to try and shove at him. My toes could just barely reach the basin to touch his tail. He shifted away, tucking his tail more securely around him. “Why do they not bother you?”

I felt a tug on my hair, clawed toes grabbing my ear and then a small dragon was settling itself on the side of my neck and a wing was whacking my face. I groaned in annoyance but let the dragon do as it pleased.

Already I knew their pattern by heart, the one that had emerged only after a few days of hatching. I would push the dragon off – more than likely the dark grey one that I found loved to be underfoot at all hours of the day – only to have it come crawling back a few minutes later. The more I pushed it away, the more aggressive it became when it returned. The others would soon join it, and I would be forced awake by their uncomfortable appendages and tiny claws, or their shrill shrieking.

Blasted creatures.

“Because they know I won’t tolerate that sort of behavior,” Snape replied as I pried the wing off my face so I could breathe properly. It was true, I had a softer heart than Snape. Less than a day after the eggs had hatched and Snape had snapped and snarled at the mostly larger dragons until they left him alone.

He may have been smaller, but he was older and more aggressive. The way his fins stood, and tail swayed while he bared his teeth was enough to give even me pause.

The smallest ones, the twins, were the absolute worst. They not only liked to get in the way, needy with attention as some of their larger siblings tried to bite them when they got close, but they also liked to cause mischief. Though the smallest, they were the only ones of the other ten hatchlings that still tormented Snape, tugging at his tail and trying to snatch his food.

Snape snapped back, growling and huffing as he puffed small jets of flame at them, but he never hurt them. His reluctance to do them harm was ultimately what allowed them to continue their torment. A loud snarl from the foot of my bed let me know that the torment continued even now.

“Worst decision…ever!” I hissed as I felt a small body collide with my foot where Snape had propelled it away. It continued up my bare leg beneath the robe to settle near my hip. Its tail tickled my stomach and I swatted at it.

“They’re eating your shoe,” Snape replied, and I groaned once more before throwing off the temporary blanket. Ignoring the loud screeching from the two dragons I displaced as I stood, I stumbled over to the four dragons that were playing tug-o-war with my boot. If it hadn’t been dragon hide, I was certain that it would have already been completely destroyed.

“Stop that,” I hissed, snatching away my boot and flicking the larger bronze one on the nose when it refused to release the shoelace. It hissed back at me, puffing small clouds of smoke in a threat. The snarl from Snape cowed the slightly larger bronze dragon and I gave him a grateful look as he fluttered to the ground and waddled closer.

I hadn’t slept properly since the hatching. It seemed that though the baby dragons did sleep quite a lot, they only did it for a few hours at a time. Every three or four hours, they would wake me with the shrieking, clambering over me to get my attention, and generally making a bloody nuisance.

“You should have let them die,” Snape grumbled as he climbed up my side, small talons digging little holes into my tank top that I would have to repair again for the hundredth time.

“They’re just hungry,” I replied, nails scratching along my neck as I pulled my hair into a low braid to keep it out of the way. I tied it with a bit of leather left over from the dragon hide scraps. Now that I was up, they didn’t seem so annoying, and only I was allowed to say that about them because I was joking…mostly. Severus actually meant it.

“They ate all the food,” Snape added dryly, and I spun to take in the remaining five dragons that were perched on the shelves, fighting over the last few bits of food.

“Dammit,” I mumbled, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Would you watch them while I go grab some more?” I asked him. Only a few days old, I was wary of letting them outside the cave. Even though I complained and threatened, I knew it was all exaggeration. In truth, I cared deeply about the little dragons – even the bronze one who was a foul tempered little shit – and I feared that if let out, they would fly off before they were old enough to take care of themselves.

“You expect me to be left alone with these…these…” Snape couldn’t seem to find the proper word to describe the hatchlings as he sneered. I could find a few, brats for starters.

“Severus, please,” I begged, tilting my head to look up at him. I felt his tail unwind from my arm as his wings fluttered and twitched. After over a month of being stuck here – days ticked in red ink at the back of the grey book as accurately as I could remember – I had learned that the use of his first name with a little pleading would usually go in my favor.

Snape knew what it was I was doing, but he let me do it anyway. He even commented on how Slytherin it was of me, and then spent nearly an hour in silence when I told him of the hat almost putting me into his House. He never spoke of it again, but I had caught him staring at me with narrowed eyes more than once, like I was some sort of puzzle with pieces missing.

The small talons of his toes dug into my bare skin as he launched himself from my shoulder to land on the ice counter. Hissing and snapping, he scattered the five other dragons and forced them away from the where the food was stored…or had been stored at least.

Quickly shoving my bare feet into my boots, I made my way over to the exit while the hatchlings were distracted with Snape’s display. I nearly tripped over my laces as I banished the ice I had used to seal the entryway and crawled through before covering it once more. Once outside, I crouched down to tie my boots and looked over at our food source.

The dead horntail looked grotesque, completely skinned, organs harvested, and muscles carved. The meat on her torso was nearly gone, picked clean to the bone, so I moved onto her neck. Banishing the snow that lay upon the corpse, I started slicing off long slivers of meat, dropping them into the stone nest where the golden egg still lay.

Once I had finished, I stood there in the cold, letting my heating charm slowly die as the wind brushed my skin. The land here was quite beautiful, in an isolated sort of way, and I just needed a few moments alone, away from the chaos that was the newly hatched dragons. Leaving Snape alone with them for longer than was absolutely necessary was not advisable and considered quite rude. But I just needed a few minutes.

I turned my gaze up to the sky, blue and clear and incredibly bright.

The horntail was nearly at the end of what it could supply us – the baby dragons going through our food stores faster than I had anticipated – and I had no idea how we were going to travel with twelve unruly hatchlings.

Pulling a slice out of the pile, I cooked it quickly before doing the same for the others. Usually, I would have cooked it inside, but I feared that the hatchlings, who were already gaining the ability to produce their own fire, would try to help and then we would find ourselves drowning as our cave melted around us. It was safer just to cook them outside – colder, yes – but safer.

Gathering the cooked meat into my arms, I carried it to the entrance of the cave where steps had been carved after I grew tired of sliding down the tunnel. The shrieking of baby dragons echoed as I sealed the tunnel behind me and entered the cave.

Snape was perched on the highest shelf, as far away from the hatchlings as he could get, hissing down at them as they attempted to climb up to where he sat. They couldn’t fly yet, but their claws were sharp enough to find traction in the cave wall to climb. One of the bright red twins – I couldn’t tell which one – pulled itself up next to Snape and latched its tiny teeth onto the meaty part of his tail.

The shriek that followed nearly deafened me, and I flinched as Snape shoved the little dragon off his perch and it tumbled onto the counter nearly four feet below. I rushed over, dropping the cooked dragon meat on the surface as I pushed the curious ones away from the fallen red. The bronze snapped his small teeth at me, and I shoved it off the counter in retaliation as I scooped the one up that Snape had pushed.

“Are you out of your mind?” I asked, cradling the bright red hatchling and cooing at it as it nuzzled my palms. It appeared uninjured, though a little shaken, and I soothed it softly as I pressed it to my chest. It latched onto my shirt and started to pull itself up along my torso.

The other twin made a chirping noise before it started to climb up my leg, head bobbing as it tilted back to look up at us. The one clutched to my chest replied with a warble.

Snape shrieked again, launching himself from his perch to land on my shoulder. He glared down at the red that was ascending my shirt, the rumble he emitted deep and full of dark threats. “Stop that,” I hissed at him as the bright red hatchling began trembling. I reached up to grab it as it tried to climb into my shirt. Snape’s tail wrapped around my arm, and I cradled thee shaking dragon as it fought to distance itself away from the white dragon. “What has gotten into you?”

I crouched to place the struggling hatchling on the ground – its twin descending a moment later to join it – before shoving the bronze one off the counter once more when it tried to go for the meat. The chirruping started to grow louder as the twelve small dragons gathered at my feet, heads upturned, and mouths opened.

“These things are pests,” Snape grumbled lowly, his tail flexing around my arm sporadically. “No wonder the Ministry has forbidden private breeding. They should all be put down.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” the words came out as a sigh. Wand snapping into my hand, I began slicing the cooked meat into tiny bite size pieces, tossing them onto the ground and toeing at the dragons that started squabbling, trying to separate them. “You’re not even injured.”

I could see the part of his tail that the small red had bitten where it wrapped around my forearm. There wasn’t even a mark. Snape grumbled some more, but he didn’t reply.

At my feet was a sea of color as they hissed and grumbled at each other, gorging themselves on the cooked meat. “Why are they different colors?” I asked as I chewed on my own piece of meat. “I mean, I thought horntails were usually brown and bronze.”

Now that I was looking for it, I was noticing a lot of dissimilarities. Only the two brown dragons, the bronze, and the dark red had the spiked tail that horntails were famous for. And of those four, not a single one had the beak.

“They’re hybrids,” Snape replied as I presented him with a small piece.

“Hybrids?” I asked, curious. “I didn’t read anything about hybrids when Hermione and I were researching.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Snape answered after he swallowed. “Reserves only want purebreds, they take steps to make certain that specific clutches are pure. The mixed clutches are usually harvested for potion supplies or used for research.”

“Is that why they used this specific horntail? Because her clutch wasn’t pure,” I was disgusted by the thought. What was with the wizarding world and blood purity.

“All of the brood mothers had mixed clutches.”

I looked back at the squabbling hatchlings, throwing more food down at them. “What sort of dragon would cause such a wide variety?”

“None,” Snape answered, snatching the piece I was about to eat myself and then promptly ignore my glare as he swallowed. “Dragons are like dogs or cats in that sense. They can lay a single clutch with every egg from another sire.”

“Oh,” I replied after a long moment. I supposed it made sense. I watched them devour the food and glanced back to what was left on the counter. Already we were down to less then half of what I had brought in. “We have a problem,” I whispered to him as I threw another handful to the ground and brought a single piece up for Snape. He snapped it out of my fingers, lips brushing my fingertips, but teeth safely tucked away. “The horntail is almost picked clean.”

His head tilted back as he swallowed and then accepted the next proffered chunk. “How much do we have left?”

My hands laid flat on the ice counter, and I leaned on them as I sighed. Braid hanging down my back, I flipped it over my shoulder and started to play with the dark ends as I tried to figure out how much longer we had. “Probably enough for a week, maybe a week and a half if we can stretch it. The babies are eating more than I’d anticipated.”

Snape hummed in thought, swallowing a fourth piece as I dropped more upon the floor. The twins were further back than the others, having been bullied out of the prime spots by the bigger dragons. One of the biggest, light grey in color, stood near them, hissing at the others that tried to get close enough to steal their food.

I really liked the light grey one.

“We need to leave,” Snape replied, fluttering down to the counter. He poked at a few pieces of meat before snatching one out of the pile.

I turned around, watching the small dragons become fat, round, and sleepy. Leaning against the counter, I could feel Snape’s heat as he shifted to press against my arm. “We need to leave,” I agreed.

The actual logistics of leaving was a lot more troublesome than I had first imagined. It took nearly a full day of blasting spells at the dragon corpse to break the bones apart enough to use. Snape was livid, having spent hours alone with the twelve terrors, and he made certain I knew how annoyed he was the moment I returned.

I tried not to laugh but knew from his sharply narrowed eyes that I had failed.

It took six attempts to build the sled. The first wasn’t stable enough, the second was too small to be of any use, the third and fourth fell apart when the hatchlings tried to climb the floating pieces as they were assembled, while the fifth wasn’t shaped properly to have me pull it if there was a reason I couldn’t do so with my magic.

I nearly had to build it a seventh time when the dragons were finally allowed outside again after they had been banished to the cave until I was finished, and they had tried to pull it apart in the first few minutes. I worried at first, about letting them outside, but none had wandered off and soon I was distracted by the packing while Snape kept an eye on them.

It really was astounding. Less than a week old and all the hatchlings were already displaying individual personalities.

My favorite was the light grey one who stood several inches taller than almost all but the darker smokey grey. I had been pouring over dragon breeds to try and identify their second half, and although Snape told me it was much too early and may never be able to tell, I was certain the two greys were part ironbelly. They were both even tempered and much larger than the others.

I was fond of the twins, both bright red and mischievous, though they were also both absolute menaces. The light brown was incredibly patient with the twins’ antics, and it could always be seen not far from the smokey grey.

The dark brown, pale gold, and dark red were also nearly inseparable, and could usually be seen quarrelling with the larger black that tried to bully the smaller dragons away from the food. The silvery white one was aloof, not really interacting with the others unless it was the dark blue. They got along splendidly and could usually be seen on the outskirts of the group. They didn’t bother the smaller dragons, but they didn’t go out of their way to help them either.

The bronze was my least favorite. That one was a nasty little shit, as foul tempered as its mother. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have sworn it was pure horntail. The only other dragon it tolerated was the black, and that was only on occasion. Already Snape and I had to break apart numerous fights that the bronze had started for one reason or another.

They all enjoyed playing, stretching their wings as they attempted and failed to fly. The sight of them crawling upon the corpse of their mother left my stomach reeling and my head light.

Snape’s dorsal fins stood erect as he watched the twins playing with the brown and smokey grey dragons upon the exposed spine of the dead dragon, his tail twitching sharply in small movements. Moments later, he was breaking apart the bronze little shit and dark blue dragon as they fought over a bit of dangling meat from behind the horntail’s jaw.

The scraps of hide I had sewn together with magic and dragon tendon were stretched tightly across the sled, full of cooked dragon meat, what was left of my battle robes, bits of bone, teeth, spikes, and scales from the horntail, and Hermione’s book bag. The golden egg lay alone in the stone nest, and it would stay there.

The golden egg, the clue to the Second Task, the portkey that sent us here…it was a long topic of debate between Snape and me. I wanted to bring it with us, leaving it behind felt wrong somehow, and even if it was of no use, it was still made out of real gold. I supposed I could sell it if we needed to. But Severus had to remind me several times that it wasn’t safe. The egg’s magic wasn’t gone, just dormant – dormant until what, I had no idea and neither did he – but Severus said it was much too dangerous to take with us, no matter selling it to some poor unknowing person.

Just imagining the portkey activating with some unsuspecting merchant made me wince. And the worst part was, was that Severus said neither of us could guarantee that if it did reactivate, it would take us back. It had malfunctioned so badly that it might never be able to take us home. And that if it did reactivate, we might find ourselves in an even worse location.

He didn’t say it – he didn’t have to – but I knew that Severus was scared that if we took it with us, and it reactivated, we would be separated. It was for this reason alone I finally gave in and chose to leave the golden egg behind. I didn’t even want to imagine being sent somewhere else without Snape…or worse, going home without him.

The portkey could not be trusted, so the portkey had to stay. It may be our only chance to get home, but at least we still knew where it was if we ever came up with a way to activate it to send us back. I though briefly about putting the egg inside the cave but decided to leave it where it was. Neither Snape nor I wanted to touch it, or least of all, using magic on it. I doubted anyone would be able to find it all the way out here to steal it anyways.

Flipping the loose half of hide over the items in the sled, I secured it at best I could and then stood there watching the hatchlings play. I was lost as to how to go about actually leaving.

“Do I…” I gestured to the frolicking hatchlings, miming putting them on top of the load in the sled. Snape tilted his head at me, perched upon the bronze horn at the base of the skull, but didn’t answer. “Alright then,” I mumbled. “Thanks for the help.”

I reached for the light grey one, the largest of the group and most even tempered. It allowed me to lift it up and place it on the sled. By the time I returned with the dark blue one, the light grey had hopped back onto the ground and out of reach. Grumbling in annoyance, I picked the grey one up again with a hand beneath the stomach like I had seen Hermione do to Crookshanks nearly a hundred times and set it with the blue one on top of the hide.

When I returned with the light brown and smokey grey, the first two were back on the ground. “This is impossible,” I nearly shouted as I tried to herd all four back onto the sled. It was like herding cats.

“Don’t give up,” Snape told me, crawling further up the near vertical horn to get a better look. “I think you almost had them this time.”

I only glared at him, hands on my knees and huffing from the exertion of chasing the excited dragons around. They probably thought it was a game.

“Do you have a better suggestion?” I finally asked, falling back onto the sled and reclining on it like a chair.

“Just leave,” he replied, sliding down the horn to lay upon the brow.

“I’m not leaving them behind,” I argued back, laying my head down to look up at the clouds.

A loud huff had me shifting up to look back at Snape. He was gazing at me with disapproval. I could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and the severe tilt of his head. “I wasn’t suggesting leaving them, I was suggesting we leave.”

At my blank look of confusion, he continued. “You and I are the only ones they know outside of each other. They are still quite young, and if their mother had lived, they would be high on a mountain edge, in a nest, with the brood dame caring for them. Since she is dead, you have been the one caring for them. You provide food, safety, and shelter. If you were to leave and take all the food…they will follow.”

It made sense, but I was still hesitant. “What if they don’t?” I asked quietly.

Snape’s head tilted in the other direction as he blinked at me. “Then we figure out something else, perhaps a leash?”

I snorted in amusement, imagining twelve little dragons harnessed to the sled. Snape offered the suggestion in jest. We both knew that they would be able to chew through anything we tied to them.

“Alright then,” I replied, mind made up. Even still, it took another few hours – when the sun was nearly at its zenith – before I finally acted. Flicking my wand at the sled, I spelled it to follow before I turned back to the hatchlings.

I wasn’t certain how much dragons actually understood human speech and intent – if they even did at all – but still I announced my intention. “Alright, listen up,” a few of the hatchlings turned to me, but most continued playing as they were. “We will be leaving now, so…lets go.” I gestured towards myself with my off hand, the wand still in my right, but no dragon except Snape actually did as I bid.

Snape flew down from the large dragon skull to perch on my shoulder, thumbs hooking onto the hood I had created from the extra fabric I had removed from the bottom of the robe. It had been much too large for me. Removing the extra two feet was simple, I only had to coax the weaving runes away from the section I intended to remove. Reattaching it near the top once I had formed it into the shape of a hood was another matter.

It took nearly a week of careful spellwork to get it to not only attach to the main robe, but to also have the woven runes attach to it as well. After it was done, I had been giddy with success and Snape had actually praised me. It had been an odd day indeed.

It took Snape’s presence and my steel resolve to turn away from the hatchlings and start towards sunset. He had argued for traveling south as opposed to west, but in the end, we both agreed it was easier to follow the track of the sun. It was unfortunate that point-me didn’t seem to work to find food. It was, however, able to locate the nearest body of water. Water usually meant animals, or at the very least fish. It was also fortunate that west happened to be in the direction of water.

My anxiety and unease settled as the light grey dragon started to trail after us. Nearly a dozen paces away and the brown one began following as well. And wherever the light brown one went, the smokey grey followed. The only one I really worried about was the bronze.

The bronze was a nasty little shit that tried to take my fingers off whenever I was within biting range, but I refused to leave it alone and helpless in this wasteland. We were nearly out of site of the cave and corpse – my pace slowing with every step as I kept glancing over my shoulder – when the bronze finally saw fit to join us.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Snape settled low across my shoulders to lay down, tail wrapped around my upper arm, and we continued our trek towards the sunset.

Not even an hour had passed before the twins became too tired to go any further. They climbed upon the floating sled, grabbing at a dangling piece of hide, and pulling themselves into a comfortable dip before falling asleep. The two browns, the silver white, the black, and the dark blue soon followed. The pale gold chose to crawl up my leg instead and settled on gripping the loose fabric of my pants near my hip, one foot on a hidden inside pocket of the robes.

Snape glared down at the pale gold, but only grumbled in discontent.

I wasn’t quite sure what it was that caused Snape to get tetchy anytime one of the hatchlings tried to perch on me as he did, and honestly, I wasn’t certain I even wanted to know. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel a dark streak of something full of negative emotions that could perhaps be considered jealousy if I tried. If I concentrated harder, the dark streak felt almost like possessiveness.

I didn’t concentrate on it at all…I didn’t dare.

The dark red one, a little bigger than the twins, and the light grey lasted nearly until nightfall before they joined the others. The stubborn bronze refused the sled all together, choosing instead to hobble after us on tiring limbs.

My thighs were burning before Snape finally told me to stop. I set the sled down on the hard snow, gently so as not to awaken the sleeping dragons. The light grey blinked up at me, eyes hooded but still fully awake. The bronze glared before digging itself a ditch in the snow and promptly falling asleep.

Snape breathed fire, blue flames licking his maw and turning a bright yellow less than a foot away. I captured the flames like Hermione had taught me, similar to when she caught the bluebell flames, but different enough that I still struggled with the spell.

The bright yellow fire hovered inches above the ground and threw off enough heat that I was already sweating as I stood nearby, shaping the snow into solid ice to create a curved wall and ceiling to sleep under. I was loathed to wake the hatchlings, but I knew that they needed to eat else they would awaken me in the middle of the night.

They were squeaking and chirruping as I pushed them off the hide and started to unwrap the meat. Casting several handfuls down upon the ground, I brought another over by the fire and set most of it before Snape. It was fully dark by the time everyone had been fed, and I noticed Snape’s gaze was fixed upon the stars. He didn’t seem to realize there was food in front of him, didn’t even notice when one of the bright red twins snatched a piece from his pile. I flicked the little dragon on the nose and shooed it away.

“Something wrong?” I asked as the smokey grey climbed into my lap, the light brown one following a moment after. They chirruped pitifully at me as I bit into the larger slice of meat in my grip. Their chirruping was for nothing, their stomachs bloated to the point of near bursting. I doubted they could have eaten one more bite even if I offered it to them.

“What books did you bring again?” Snape asked quietly as I stroked my fingers down the spine of the light brown one. It rumbled contently as it settled fully and closed its eyes.

“Well, there’s the dragon book, the history one about pre-founders era…there’s the transfiguration and charms books that are assigned, an advanced charms book that wasn’t assigned.” Because of course there was. Hermione didn’t understand the concept of light reading. “Umm, the ancient runes one that Hermione was reading. A few Witch Weekly Magazines, and the little grey book, of course.” Snape snorted in disgust at the book he was trying so hard to forget existed. “I’ve got a care of magical creatures,” that one was mine. Hermione had borrowed it for research purposes after Moody’s class on beasts that lived in the lake. “And a potions textbook. That’s it.”

Snape hummed in thought, but his gaze never dropped from the sky. Leaning back on my hands, I turned to look up as well, but what he saw I wasn’t sure. It was a clear night without a cloud in the sky. The stars bright and the moon a crescent, a hanging cheshire grin of white on black.

“Nothing on astronomy?” He asked after a long moment of silence.

“Hmm?” I hummed, tucking my chin to look at him from across the floating yellow fire. “No, why?”

“The stars,” he replied, the last word trailing off as he became lost in thought once more.

“What of them?” I turned my face back up towards the sky.

“They’re wrong.”

Chapter Text

We talked long into the night, barely catching a wink of sleep between us before the sun started to crawl over the horizon and then we were on the move again. I sent up the customary red sparks just before dawn, more out of habit than hope. I didn’t expect a response…I didn’t really know why I bothered to continue to do it at all. But still, every day I sent up the sparks and every day my eyes drifted across the horizon for a reply.

None ever came, and I was tired of being disappointed.

I asked questions, probably hundreds of them, but Snape’s understanding of astronomy was limited. What he did know came from his own courses back when he was a student, or the rare times that star alignments and moon phases affected ingredient collection for his potions.

Even with my bare minimum understanding of astronomy and his select knowledge, we still were able to come to one terrifying conclusion. Snape and I were very far from home and neither of us wanted to be the first to say it.

“What about the big dipper?” I asked, panting heavily as I tried to juggle the six dragons that had crawled over and under my clothes.

“Ursa Major,” Snape immediately corrected as we trudged through the snow. The hatchlings had become lethargic over the last few days even as exhaustion hung heavily over Snape and me. He grumbled at any of the hatchlings that used me as a perch, but as the days passed, he became less irate about the situation. None were allowed upon my shoulders though, or the hood. Snape had claimed those areas for himself and had nearly torn the wing from the dark red when it had tried to make a home in my hood.

I had chastised my once professor for a long while as I cradled the dark red, but Snape only continued to hiss in annoyance and refused to be dislodged from his perch around my neck. He had even dug his talons into my skin and hair when I tried to pull him away in frustration, so I had let him be as I examined the red for damage. It was startled and shaken, its wing stiff from where Snape had wrenched it, but it was uninjured.

After that incident, no other dared to go higher than my chest and Snape glared down at them from his high perch with a smug expression, dorsal fins extended like a bird preening. I didn’t have the energy to be more than mildly annoyed. We hadn’t been sleeping, choosing instead to spend our nights lying on our backs and trying to match the stars with constellations we knew.

No matter how long we looked, nothing looked familiar.

“Also known as…the big dipper,” I waved one hand in a vague motion that I immediately aborted as I struggled to catch the sleeping light brown dragon as it slid down my side. Its face scrunched, nostrils flaring, and a rumbling growl emerged from twitching lips as its singular thumb claws made grabby motions before it latched onto the inside of the robe and settled back into sleep.

“That is only the tail end of the constellation. The big dipper,” he hissed the words as if he were spitting out something foul, “is an asterism. A collection of stars forming a distinct pattern. Recognizable, but not a constellation.”

Snape huffed a smoke ring in my face at the end of his lecture and then he was fighting to keep his perch on my shoulder as I coughed exaggeratedly while waving my hand in front of my nose to disperse the pale smoke. “Why don’t you tell me what the tail end of Ursa Major looks like,” he grumbled, wing claws digging into my hair as he regained his balance.

I gave him a side eye glance, already knowing that I was about to walk into a trap but not able to foresee how. “Like a cooking pot?” I answered with a question, uncertain where this was going.

Snape bobbed his head as I continued shuffling through the snow. A quick spell on my boots made certain that they didn’t sink into the snow, and I was beyond grateful that Snape was not only very knowledgeable in a massive variety of different spells, but that he was willing to share that knowledge. He also did so with a surprisingly little derision.

“Correct,” he replied, tone soft but I could hear an undercurrent of sarcasm coloring the word. “Very easily distinguished, seen year-round in the northern hemisphere…one cannot possibly miss it.”

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” I groaned, hanging my head as I lifted the shivering twins under my tank top and tucked the bottom into the top of my pants to create a pouch. “I get it,” my hand waved around in exasperation.

“Any child can find it near instantly in the sky,” he continued much to my chagrin.

“Please stop.”

“It’s almost as if placed there intentionally to help one find Polaris. The north star found year-round in the northern hemisphere in the direction of north. Did you happen to see this northern pointing star in any of the last few nights?”

“Well, maybe we just missed it?” I reached, grabbing at any flimsy reason no matter how absurd it seemed. There was a bright star that seemed to be pointing north, but no constellation around it looked anything like ursa major…or the big dipper. I didn’t want to be the one to say what we were both thinking. I didn’t even want to think it.

“Yes, because it is such an easy star to lose,” Snape's head tilted as his tail flexed around my arm. “Maybe it was just misplaced. Or, I could be wrong, but maybe it’s not the star that’s lost.”

“Okay,” I snapped, aborting the automatic reaction to throw my hands in the air as I suddenly had half a dozen hatchlings shrieking at being woken so abruptly. “I get it. We’re lost,” I hissed quietly at him even as I started to coo at the dragons to get them to settle.

“Undeniably,” he agreed, his throat warbling as he thrummed, body slouching until he was lying across my shoulders. The heat that emitted from him started to ease the headache that had been building at the base of my skull since the beginning of this conversation.

“What about the southern cross? Maybe were in the far south…Antarctica or something,” I rationalized between breaths as I started to ascend a small hill.

“Ah, yes,” he hummed again and already I could feel my shoulders rising in defense of his tone. “Seen year-round in the southern hemisphere. Five stars in the shape of a cross…impossible to miss –”

“Yes!” I snapped, ignoring the cascade hissing and grumbling from the sleeping hatchlings. “Alright, enough. Merlin!”

“Also known as Crux,” Snape continued despite the interruption. “Though the smallest of constellations, it is the easiest to recognize.”

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” I glowered, stumbling as the ground evened out and I was able to pick up my pace.

“Hmm?” He hummed questioningly, twisting his torso to drape his back legs down the front of my chest and tightening his tail around my upper arm. “I thought you enjoyed when I…how did you put it? Ah yes, actually do my job and teach.”

“You know what, Snape?” I stopped walking, annoyed and tired and angry. “Blow me, okay? I’m done. Done with your condescending shit and your smug little attitude you’ve got going. So, take that patronizing…face,” I threw up my hands in frustration as words failed me, ignoring the shrieking of the woken dragons as they fell from their perches. Snape snapped his wings and pulled himself from my shoulders to settle upon the sled. He blinked up at me with his purple eyes as I turned to fully face him. “And you can go and shove it where the sun don’t shine, because you and I both know you’ve no idea where we are or what the fuck is going on.”

My hands were shaking as I stood there, the hatchlings in a loose ring around us as Snape’s dual thumbs clenched and released the dragon hide he was perched upon, his thrumming turning more into a warbling sound as he shifted his weight from side to side. The twins backed away from us, curling around each other as they huddled next to the big grey. I noticed their actions in an abstract way, aware that my outburst was causing their unease, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

It felt like there was fire in my veins. A knot was forming low in my chest and my heart was beating so quickly I could hear it like war drums in my ears. “This isn’t home!” I yelled at my once professor, stalking forward on heavy feet towards the sled until I was only a half a pace away. Snape flinched back, his neck rearing and tail flicking as I advanced, but it did little to quell my anger.

“Do you think I don’t know that, Snape?” I shouted again as the hatchlings started to pile closer together, chirruping and clicking low in their throats while the hunched into the snow. “Is your derisiveness and condescension making this easier for you? Because it isn’t for me. I am sick of it! Sick of yo-your…your…I’m sick of you!”

The words rang around us in the silence and I couldn’t tell who was more stunned at my words, me or him. The hatchlings were silent, and I could see them out of the corner of my eye, huddled together and quivering in the cold. Even the bronze was pressed between their siblings, hissing and snapping their teeth at the ones closest, but for once they didn’t stand apart.

“I-I…” I hadn’t meant it. I hadn’t meant most of what I said, but I was just so lost and frustrated. Snape had to know that, he had to know I didn’t mean it. “Snape, I–”

“Stop,” Snape rumbled lowly, eyes wide as they slid over my shoulder.

“Please,” I begged, he had to know I didn’t mean it.

“Silence,” he hissed, baring his teeth. The fire in my veins vanished, but that heavy feeling in my chest didn’t. He wouldn’t even look at me.

“Severus, I didn’t–”

“Don’t move,” his words were crisp and quiet, and I felt my fingertips go cold as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. It was then that I realized that it wasn’t that he couldn’t look at me, it was that he was looking at something behind me. My eyes slid to the side and my head started to turn before he stopped me. “Don’t look,” I froze in place, watching him watch whatever was in the distance. “Get your wand out and walk to the hatchlings, very slowly. Try and keep them calm. Get them onto the sled.”

“What is it?” I asked, the adrenaline from my rant surging in place of fear as I flicked my wrist and felt my wand snap into my hand.

“Do as I say,” Snape lowered himself close to the hide, shoulders hunched, and fins extended as he continued to stare beyond my shoulder. “Do it quickly.”

I felt myself moving before I had thought to do so. I may have been a hair trigger away from throwing the biggest tantrum at my professor, but despite my feelings on the matter, I trusted him. Between the arena, the cave, and the long winter trek, he had shown time and again that he wouldn’t leave, and he tried to give me the tools and knowledge to protect myself.

Finding out I had serious abandonment issues was interesting and more than a little embarrassing, and if I was clingy after my many outbursts, Snape was kind enough never to mention it. But I knew he had to know. I wondered why he put up with me…there was no denying that I was just a complete mess.

The hatchlings chirruped and warbled as they stared up at me, their bodies piled upon each other, moving from the top to bottom like an undulating rainbow. Their many eyes darted between me and Snape who was still perched upon the sled. He looked like a statue, nearly unnaturally still if it weren’t for the extended dorsal fin that rippled with every breath.

They didn’t notice the danger that we were in. They were uneasy because of my outburst. That lump in my chest moved into my throat and I felt shame even as I started to gently herd them towards the sled. They moved slowly, the twins separating from the group first to huddle beneath the shadow of bone and hide. The others hesitated, piling their bodies closer together as I crouched down to appear less threating to them.

“Stand back up, but don’t turn around,” Snape hissed, darting up the giant leg bone that served as one of the extended shafts. “Stand up now!”

I did as he said, my heart pounding in my ears as I felt sweat start to trail down my spine. “Snape,” I hissed, trying to scoot the dragons towards the sled and then trying to shake the bronze off from where they had latched onto the toe of my boot with their teeth. “What is it?!”

“Wolves,” Snape’s voice was low and deep as his head started to sway back and forth. “Get them to the sled, now!”

It was easier said than done, especially since I couldn’t bend over to lift them. I shook the bronze off and ignored their angry hissing as I tried to push the rest with my boot and vague shooing gestures with my hands. I cooed and tried to appear calm, but with every second that passed, I felt the fear climbing.

Snape was no longer still. His head snapped from one side to the other and I was confused at the quickness of the motion until I realized he was tracking multiple targets. We were being surrounded.

I had nearly all of the hatchlings herded to the sled when Snape shrieked, and I fought not to cover my ears at the piercing noise. “Get to the sled!” He yelled once his cry died out and I could hear over the ringing of my ears. I wanted to do as he said, I nearly almost did…but the bronze and the black were still yards away, unaware of the danger they were in. I darted towards them, casting a protego with one hand while the other scooped up the last two dragons.

I hit the ground hard, the snow finding its way beneath my coat and shirt to chill my bare skin as I scrabbled to tuck the protesting hatchlings against me. A dull thud resonating from behind and I knew that the shield had taken a heavy hit.

The hatchlings in my grip and those by the sled were all crying now, their shrieks of terror filling the air as two more thuds followed the first. Beneath the sound of their cries, I could hear Snape’s own high-pitched roar, it was followed by a loud snarling that came from something much bigger.

“Get up!” Snape cried out and I scrabbled in the snow to get purchase while I struggled to hold the panicking dragons. “Leave them! Get up and run! The shield is failing, run Hari!”

My head turned at the sound of another thud and a loud snarl and I scrambled back as I took in our assailants. The term wolves should have been used more lightly. The beasts clawing and snarling at my flickering and cracking shield were massive, the smallest the size of a bear. Their heads were as large as my torso and their teeth longer than my fingers.

“What the fuck?!” I shouted, crab walking backwards on one hand as I pressed the furious black and bronze dragons to my stomach. Their small talons were scraping shallow cuts in my soft belly, but I hardly even noticed over the pounding fear that had overtaken me. “What the fuck?! Severus? Severus?!”

The small black clawed up my side, crying loudly as it flung itself over my shoulder and towards the other terrified hatchlings. I let it go, urging the bronze to follow, but the little shit never listened to me before and today was no different.

The bronze dug its little talons into my gut and pushed away from me. I fought to keep my grip on its hide, but it wiggled away, hissing and spitting as it lunged towards the wolves. My grip on its tail stopped it just short of the flickering shield, and it stood on hind legs, extending its wings to appear bigger as it roared a tiny high-pitched roar at the half a dozen beasts that snarled and salivated with hungry yellow eyes.

It looked like a flightless chicken cawing defiance to a predator that decided it was going to make poultry its next meal.

The spell flickered and I could hear the shield starting to brake as I yanked the bronze back, gripping it around the chest and neck and pulling it away as the cracks started to spread across the transparent blue shield. “Hari, run!” Snape shrieked, but his cry was too late. I was too far from the sled; my shield was going to fail before I could even get to my feet.

The bronze continued to cry defiance as I turned away, pulling it beneath me as I covered it with my body. I knew that it was futile, but I hoped the wolves would be too busy with me to bother with something so small. Behind me, the shield broke with a loud crack and the growling intensified as I clenched my eyes closed and used my hand to press the bronze muzzle closed to quiet it.

I was expecting pain, tearing flesh, blood, and death. And they all came, just not all for me.

There was a searing pain in my arm, my wand dropping from suddenly limp fingers as the vice grip clenching so tight, I thought my bones were going to break, the teeth tearing so deep they must have bitten all the way through. There was a shriek so loud it deafened me, and the beast released its bite upon my forearm as I was suddenly surrounded by heat. It was so incredibly hot I could feel the sweat evaporate from my skin, my hair whipping into my face from the force of it as I felt as if I had entered an oven…but I did not burn.

The cold came rushing back a second later, nearly burning in the absence of the heat and I sat up. Snow was falling from the sky; large dark flakes stained the white ground a sooty grey. Four of the massive wolves had retreated a good distance away. A large, blackened spot stained the ground where they had once stood.

My eyes widened, breath increasing as my gaze darted around to find the missing two beasts that had been moments away from tearing me apart. The darkened flakes settled upon my skin, and only then did I realize that I was staring at ash.

Snape hovered in the air a few feet away, his white wings beating deep and slow to keep him in place, stirring the air and disturbing the ash that must have been the two missing wolves. The bronze struggled out of my grip, and I let it, too stunned to do anything other than stare. With each beat of his wings, the ash swirled in the air and Snape got closer and closer to the ground before he landed in the darkened circle.

“Snape?” I called to him hesitantly, watching his tiny body bob as he panted harshly. “Severus?”

“Get your wand,” he replied without looking back at me. His tone sounded strangled, and it was only then that I realized his limbs were shaking. In the distance, the four wolves that stood taller than even me started to fan out and slowly began to close the distance between us once more.

I scrambled to my feet, scooping the snarling bronze up and tossing it towards the sled with one hand while the black wand snapped into my other one. My wand was lost somewhere in the snow near my feet, but I dare not look for it. A glance at the sled confirmed that all the hatchlings were accounted for, standing alert on top of the piled meat and hide, their little heads swiveling to track the wolves that were circling ever closer.

Reaching down, I pulled an exhausted Snape up from the ground and propped him upon my shoulder. His tail wrapped loosely around my arm, and he stood upright though I could tell he struggled to remain so. “Can you do that again?” I asked, though I already knew that he couldn’t.

Snape was used to breathing fire, he did many times a day, but never before had he breathed a fire so hot it turned flesh and bone instantly into ash. It must have taken a lot out of him.

“I very much doubt it,” he replied softly, head drooping as he blinked slowly.

“Look,” I shrugged my shoulder to jostle him into awareness. “I don’t need you to breath fire or fly, but I do need you to remain awake. Tell me what to do.”

It was silent for a time as I shifted to keep myself between the wolves and the sled. Their circling started to become tighter as they loped one way and then another, getting ever close. I couldn’t always be between them and the hatchlings, but I certainly tried. Another wolf came out of the trees, a large beast grey and white with a splash of rusted brown along its withers. It joined the circling pack and my grip on Snape’s wand tightened.

“Why won’t they just leave?” I hissed the question as I turned to keep the majority within my sights, trusting Snape to warn me if any tried to sneak up from behind. “You killed two of their pack, shouldn’t they just leave?”

“Look at them,” Snape replied, voice slow and quiet as I saw his white scales in my periphery from where he leaned forward. I followed his gaze, watching as two of the wolves passed each other in opposite directions.

“What am I looking for?” I asked hesitantly. Now really wasn’t the time for a lesson but telling Snape that would have been useless. The once man believed any time was to be used as a moment of learning, whether it be hours before dawn when he's awoken me from sleep with an idea, or in the middle of a fight that could end up with all of us in something else’s belly.

“What do you see?”

I looked closer, knowing that answering with the words massive fucking wolves would only earn me derision when this was all over once we survived…if we survived. My earlier annoyance with Snape’s condescension seemed like a lifetime ago, and incredibly unimportant in the face of this new danger.

They were all varying shades of white and grey, larger than the average pony, the largest a light grey and probably the size of a horse. “They’re very big,” I told him, continuing at his hum. “Bigger than any wolf I’ve ever heard of.”

“What else?”

The new wolf was the only one with rusted brown in its fur, and though it wasn’t the largest, it still somehow appeared bigger than the others. “That one is different.”

“Different how?” Snape’s tone was interesting as his muzzle disappeared from my periphery, more than likely checking to make certain none had sneaked up behind us during our conversation.

“Bigger…but not,” I replied, trying to find words to describe what I was seeing.

Snape hissed and I turned quickly at his feeling of panic as a snarl came from the other side of the sled. I lashed out with a spell, the first one I could think of, and blinked in surprise as the expelliarmus blasted the dark grey wolf nearly two dozen feet away. It hit the ground hard, tumbling over itself and sliding even further away. It stayed down for a long moment before it pulled itself up and continued its circling. It was moving slower now, its back leg dragging oddly behind it, but still it circled.

“Bigger how?” Snape asked as I turned to keep the other wolves within my sight. They had closed the distance even more during the distraction, their yellow eyes gleaming as the sky began to darken.

The injured one was lapped by a pale cream with black markings around its eyes and they paused, standing together as the sun began to set. They touched noses and the cream lowered its head to sniff at the useless leg that dragged behind the dark grey. After a long moment, they continued their pacing, gazes back upon me and the hatchlings.

“Fat,” I replied, finally finding the word as I took in their hungry gazes. “The new one is fat. The others look…thin.”

“Starving,” Snape replied. “And she isn’t fat, she’s pregnant.”

My eyebrows rose and my eyes widened, finally realizing what was going on. They couldn’t give up the hunt, there was nothing else out here. We had been walking for over a week and hadn’t seen a single living thing. We were probably the only food the pack had seen for a long while.

“We’re so fucked,” I whispered. “Is there any way to scare them off?”

“Probably not,” Snape replied, his dual thumbs dug into my shoulders as he heaved himself more upright. “And even if we could, we can’t afford too.”

“What?” I asked, resisting the urge to take my eyes off the wolves to stare at him in astonishment. “Why?”

His muzzle came back into my line of sight, and I moved again to stand between the largest cluster and the sled. “Even if we scared them off right now, they would just come back. Probably while we’re sleeping. They’ll pick us off one by one until there’s nothing left. And there is no other food.”

“We could set up perimeters and shields,” I replied, hand shaking as I shot a blasting hex at the cream colored one that looked like it was interested in trying its luck. The spell missed, my aim with my off hand still clumsy, but the injury to my dominant arm prevented me from switching hands. The spell went very wide… but the wolf backed off as the snow next to it burst apart with a small boom. “You could teach me, I’m sure you know spells that would protect us…wards or something.”

“I know many,” Snape rumbled, his tone undulating as if on the verge of a growl. “But you misunderstand. There is no other food,” he repeated, and his tail lashed out once before wrapping around my injured arm once more. “And we are almost out of meat.”

I startled beneath him, and he hissed at me as my eyes quickly returned to tracking the wolves. “You can’t be serious! Snape…they’re starving!”

“And so will we,” he replied, tone low and harsh as he turned his gaze to the injured wolf. “Start with that one, stun it. Wait for the others to approach and body bind them.”

“Start with? No, absolutely not. I’ll kill the injured one because we need the food and it probably can’t survive with a broken leg, but that’s it!” I told him sternly, already turning to bring the black wand to bear, tracking the path of the limping wolf so I wouldn’t miss it again.

“If you leave one alive, they’ll just keep coming,” Snape hissed at me, claws digging into my shoulders.

“You said the fat one is pregnant!”

“And she will die anyway!” He shrieked. The high-pitched cry startled the wolves back, but not for long. “I’ve already killed two, we kill another, and she’s left with two pack members. There’s no food for miles, and their hunting strength is down to less than half. If they can’t kill us, they’ll starve. You need to choose. The hatchlings or the wolves?”

My lip curled and jaw tightened at his words, but my wand continued to track the injured wolf. I knew he was right, but it didn’t make what I was about to do any easier.

“It’s a mercy,” Snape added softly, and I grunted in frustration at the words.

“Just shut up,” I replied, sniffing lightly as I brought my hand up to wipe my nose. I only ended up smearing blood on my face and wincing at the pain in my arm, but my resolve tightened with the hurt. “Tell me what to do.”

I sent a stupefy at the injured wolf, watching as the red spell flew across the gap and slam into the wolf. It crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut and didn’t get back up. The cream darted close, and I tried not to wonder if perhaps they were siblings or maybe a mated pair. I didn’t want to think about it. It whined and pawed at the ground in front of the stunned wolf, its yellow eyes darting from us to the others in its pack.

“Again,” Snape rumbled low in my ear, and I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek.

“Stupify,” I flicked my wrist, and while the cream was looking directly at me, it took the spell directly to the chest and joined its maybe sibling/mate in a crumpled heap on the ground. The other wolves started to howl and whine, sneaking closer to their downed pack mates, heads low and ears flat.

“Why didn’t it dodge?” I asked, bringing my wand up but waiting until the other wolves came closer.

“They can’t see the spell,” Snape replied softly, his eyes tracking the one wolf still behind us. It too was making its way over to the two I had stunned, but it was moving much slower than the others, more cautious. “Most creatures can’t. Muggles can’t see spells either, only their effect.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, the realization somehow made me feel even more guilty, though I wasn’t quite certain as to why. Perhaps because it was even a less fair fight than I realized. “What now?”

“Now, we wait until the others are closer and bind them. You do know incarcerous, correct?”

“Yes, I know incarcerous,” I hissed at him in aggravation. “While I do realize that my learning has some serious gaps, could you try to not act like a total ass every time you ask if I know a spell?”

“Doubtful,” he replied, and I found myself smiling despite the situation. “If they get close enough together, they could all be bound with one spell cast.”

“What, really?” I asked in surprise. I hadn’t been taught that in defense class. “Do all spells work that way? Like proximity affect or something?”

“Not all, but a few can be changed from singular target to area target. The spell is you want to use is incarcerous maximus, add a downward slash and an upward flick to the outside at the end.”

“Huh,” I mumbled, glancing down at my wand curiously. I wondered which other spells could be changed. I wondered if any of them exploded.

“Focus,” Snape hissed, and I looked back up to see the last wolf finally join the rest of the pack. “Remember, incarcerous maximus, downward slash, upward flick. Do it, now.”

The first cast failed; my movements were too hesitant to produce any spell. But Snape eased my anxiety with a few gentle words and prompted me to try again. The second spell bound the remaining three wolves in ropes, but even at a distance I could see that they would soon be free.

“Quickly, cast again.” I did as he demanded and sighed in relief as the ropes tightened and the wolves ceased their struggling. My relief didn’t last as I remembered what came next.

I approached the bound and stunned wolves, wand hand shaking as I sent a stupefy to each bound wolf. They didn’t need to be awake for what came next. I stood there in silence, staring down at the five wolves before glancing back at hatchlings that were perched upon the sled. Their necks were extended high so they could see better, but they did not leave the safety of the sled.

“Severus…what do I do now?” My voice was quiet and soft, timid almost…and if this had been any other situation, I was certain he would have derided me for it. Instead, I felt heat bloom across my cheek where Snape rested his own against mine.

“Diffendo,” Snape replied gently. “Across the neck, quick and clean.”

I kneeled in the snow, bringing my hand up to rest it upon the fur of the injured wolf. My fingers left trails of blood in the grey fur and the injury to my arm was painful, but still I carded my fingers down the flank, up to the head, over the ears, and down a forelimb. Its paws were bigger than my hands and I was briefly fascinated by this fact. The wolf breathed deep and slow, heavy in sleep, and did not stir at my touch.

“Hari,” Snape’s voice broke me out of whatever peace I had been able to find in this awful situation.

“Just give me a moment,” I replied, voice tight and thick, but my eyes for once, were dry. I didn’t deserve to cry over what I was about to do.

“They won’t stay stunned forever,” Snape replied, and I jostled my shoulder to shut him up.

“Just give me a fucking minute,” the words were soft and devoid of emotion. I had nothing left to give, but Snape did give me this.

He remained, perched on my shoulder with his tail flexing around my upper arm, a low warble emitting from his throat, but he didn’t speak again. I sat there for a long time, stroking bloody fingers through thick fur, hand clenched around the black wand. I brought it up slowly, pressing the tip to the throat of the stunned wolf, and whispered the severing spell.

I moved on to the next wolf before the first had bled out, repeating the ritual, taking my time with each one. One after the other until I was before the heavily pregnant female. My hand paused on her rotund stomach. I could feel the life within her moving beneath her fur and skin and then the tears finally came.

“Hari?” Snape asked, breaking the silence.

“Not her, please Severus,” I turned to look at him, kneeling in the blood of the other dead wolves, my hand upon the life within the last one. “Please, can’t we just leave this one?”

“Hari,” Snape sighed my name, and I already knew what he was going to say. “It would be cruel. She would die a slow death, and if she lived long enough to give birth, her pups would suffer too, before death claimed them.”

He was right, I knew he was right. She wouldn’t be able to hunt by herself, and if she couldn’t eat, her young would starve.

“What if we left her one of the dead ones?” I asked instead, uneasy about the thought of cannibalism…but I got over the hatchlings devouring their mother, I could get over this.

“And how long would that last her?” Not long enough was the answer. Even if we left her most of the dead, it wouldn’t last her long enough to fully wean her young. She would probably have to eat her pups as well.

“Dammit,” I mumbled, twisting my fingers into her fur and ignoring the shooting pain it caused in my arm. “It’s not fair!”

“Nothing ever is,” Snape replied, and I unclenched my fingers from the coarse fur and brought my wand up to her throat.

I tried to utter the spell, I tried so hard my lips started to move and my hand trembled, but I couldn’t make the spell form. “I can’t,” I whispered, dropping the wand and burying both hands into her fur. “I can’t.”

“Hari,” Snape murmured, heat blooming down my jaw and neck as he nuzzled me. “You have too.”

“No,” I replied, bending my head low to rest my ear over her slowly beating heart. “No,” I repeated. “We’ll leave her two. And if they die, it won’t be by my hand. I won’t do this.”

Snape warbled and chittered, but he didn’t argue as I picked the wand back up and turned from the stunned female. “They’ll die,” Snape stated once more as I moved back to the first wolf I had killed.

“Maybe,” I replied, “but not because of me.”

It took me nearly until dawn to find my missing wand, calm the crying hatchlings, heal the wound to my arm – which despite my advancing spell work, left pale scars – and harvest all the parts from two of the wolves. I stunned the female twice more before we finally left, leaving her two of her packmates for food – sans fur, she had no use for their pelts – and obscuring our scent and tracks as we continued our march further west.

Snape moved my lessons to warding, and several nights later, my first one went up. A week later and it lasted throughout the entire night. The hatchlings were clingy in the following days, never straying as far from the sled as they had been. Except for the bronze, but that little shit never listened to any reason.

I couldn’t bring myself to be more than mildly annoyed with the bronze one though, not after their attempt to fight off the wolves no matter how futile. It was still a little shit, but less of an aggravating one. And now it spent most of its time perched as high as it could get on the sled with its gaze fixed to the horizon. The blue and the light grey would join the bronze on watch periodically throughout the day, and I found myself relaxing as they took turns looking for danger.

Their eyesight was much better than mine, a fact the Snape confirmed when he stated he could see nearly over a mile out if he tilted his head and focused through one eye. There wasn’t much to see, and though I wished for any sort of change of scenery, I would settle for no more predators.

A full moon had come and gone after the wolves when I finally admitted to Snape that I accepted that we were no longer on Earth, or at least the Earth we knew. The new moon was just starting to hang in the sky when Snape admitted that he no longer believed rescue was coming. How could they possibly find us on another planet? If we were even on another planet. We could have been in an entirely different reality for all we knew.

Another full moon came and went, our food supply nearly depleted, the hatchlings now of size of a small dog – Severus the size of a small adult cat – when we came upon the sea.

Chapter Text

“The she-bitch is back,” Snape’s dry comment drew my attention away from the seal hide I was curing. It was strung up between a rack of dragon bone and tied with strips of tendon I had turned into string and rope. I found that though it was easier to tan a hide with magic, it still took quite a lot of time and a bit of patience.

I hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t turn from my task as I finished the last layer of the spell. If I did it right, the hide would finish tanning by dawn…but only if I completed the spell properly.

Once I watched the lattice work of woven runes settle over the splayed hide, I tucked my wand away and turned to him. He was basking in the sun near the ice hole I used for fishing, idly gnawing on a rib bone of the massive seal. There was very little meat left on it, and though Severus’ jaws couldn’t open far enough to fully bite it, he seemed determined to continue to try. He was probably trying to crack it open to get to the bone marrow, something the other dragons had no issue with; their maws were large enough to swallow a cat whole while his could swallow a mouse…maybe, if he dislocated the lower mandible. He really was a tiny thing.

The twins shuffled closer to him, trying to get to the bone, but Snape’s low rumbling had them flinching back. I still couldn’t tell them apart, so had been calling them Castor and Pollux, the twin star constellation from the Greek myth Gemini. With their inquisitive nature and mischievous tendencies, they reminded me greatly of another pair of redheaded twins. And like the redheaded twins, which one was Castor, and which one was Pollux changed every day. I was seeing a lot of people I knew within the dragons’ personalities.

Except Loki, the evil bronze little shit.

“Honestly,” I grumbled, following the white dragon’s line of sight to the sparse cropping of large glaciers in the distance. A massive form loomed near the largest piece of protruding ice, and I wouldn’t have noticed her at all if Severus hadn’t pointed her out first. “Do you have to call her the ‘she-bitch’?”

“It is a term both correct in technicality and logistically,” he replied. “The wolf is both a she and a bitch.”

“It’s derogatory,” I grumbled, dipping my hands into the heated water bowl and rinsing the blood from my skin.

“It’s the accurate definition of the term.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled, turning my attention to the slumbering whelps. According to the dragon book, they were past the stage of hatchlings, now large enough to breathe their own fire and fly a short distance. “I’ll leave some of the castoffs a little ways from camp.”

A light rumble emanated from Snape’s chest as he tried to get his small teeth around the thick girth of the rib. “If you keep feeding her, she’ll keep coming back.”

I flicked water at him before I dried my hands, ignoring his annoyed hiss as I stood to face the wolf in the distance. I could just make out her silhouette near the massive structures of ice. She looked thinner than the last time I saw her. “She must have given birth,” I commented idly as I toed one of the twins away with my boot. The last thing I needed was to break up another fight. Severus may have been smaller, but he won every fight against the others he was involved in…even against the bronze.

“Stop feeding the strays,” Snape reprimanded, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it as he returned his attention back to the rib. It splintered open with a loud crack, and he warbled and chirruped in satisfaction as he slurped up the marrow.

“If I stopped feeding the strays, all of you would starve,” I replied as one of the twins – maybe Castor – feinted to Snape’s tail, drawing his attention long enough for the other to snatch one of the broken pieces he had been working on.

Severus shrieked in outrage as the twins retreated with their prize, but he didn’t pursue. Instead, he huddled over the larger piece he still had and started to work on it once more with his eyes fixed on the two red whelps. When Ophelia started to show interest as well, perking her black head up from the pile of sleeping dragons, Severus roared a threat and all interest from the others were lost.

In the distance, I saw the she-wolf fade back into the tundra, probably deterred by the angry shrieking. She would be back when it was dark out and she could safely get close enough to steal the meat I left out for her. I made a mental note to leave an organ – maybe the liver or the spleen – with the pile of castoff meat and fat I had no use for. If she whelped pups, she could do with the extra nutrition.

Romulus and Solar started to quarrel with each other, but I left them to it, knowing that they would never harm each other. Those two were near inseparable and reminded me greatly of my favorite defense professor, Remus, and my dog-father. Once reunited, those two had been inseparable too.

Solar, the smokey grey, was almost as mischievous as the twins, though his particular brand of mayhem usually took a sharp turn towards bullish behavior. If it weren’t for the light brown always at his side, I feared one of the other dragons would have tried to take a bite out of him.

It was no wonder those two reminded me of Remus and Sirius.

I always thought there was something deeper to their relationship than childhood friendship, but I never worked up the courage to ask. I wondered if I would ever have the chance now, but I banished the thought quickly. I didn’t want to think about the life I would probably never return too.

I stopped keeping track of the days. The number of tally marks in the back of the grey book stopped growing, the sparks were no longer sent up into the sky, and I stopped counting every full moon only to realize it meant another month had passed.

An inquisitive warbling noise drew my attention and I turned to see Romulus and Freya, the light brown and light grey, tilting their heads at each other. They were secretly my favorites. I tried not to play favorites, but it was hard when they had to contend with the asshole bronze, I had started calling Satan, the Anti-Christ, Demon Dragon, and Little Shit. In the end, I called him Loki and tried not to show favorites instead.

It was difficult, naming them. Severus kept saying it was a waste of time and energy. I knew that they would leave me once they were old enough to take care of themselves, but the dragon book said that that could be at least two years from now – I didn’t want to think of still being here in two years – and I couldn’t keep calling them by their color. Snape disagreed, but he disagreed with nearly everything, so I ignored him.

They had very distinct personalities, and many of the dragons reminded me of someone back home. I toyed with the thought of calling them the names of those the reminded me of, but just thinking the names of my friends and family and recalling their faces was too difficult to bear.

The naming was delayed further as I was unable to figure out their gender. I still wasn’t able to identify the sex of a dragon and it was only Severus who was able to tell. He could do it by just looking and I tried not to be annoyed. I had to try harder to hide my aggravation when he told me several of the dragons had a penchant for changing their genders.

I was learning a lot about dragons and the raising of said creatures in these last few months than I ever did in any classroom. It showed how much our school system, and possibly even the government, had gotten wrong. The dragon book had been absolutely no help at all when it came to the actual understanding of said creatures. Instead, it helped in narrowing down paternity and made for interesting reading when I was bored.

The red ink I had plundered from Snape’s body came in handy when I started to add notes and corrections in certain subjects. Severus had a near conniption fit when he saw what I had done, but stopped shrieking obscenities at me when he saw me writing in the book since he quickly learned I really didn’t care for his opinion. Now he just huffed in general disapproval and corrected my handwriting and spelling with snide comments.

Say what you would about the dungeon bat, but Snape had always had beautiful penmanship. I had admired it even back when he had written absolutely scathing remarks on my essays. Being under his tutelage and forced to improve my own penmanship…I would rather a hundred of his Saturday detentions then being stuck here, learning to write properly because there was literally nothing else to do.

I had scoured the care of magical creatures textbook since I had had no idea that any beast or creature could change their base sex at will, and the bit I found in the book was a small blurb in a footnote regarding mating practices of different species. Severus had even attempted to change his gender when we found out, though he tried to hide the fact.

When I confronted him about it, giggling between words as he failed to become female, he had snapped and snarled in embarrassment while declaring he was experimenting for the purpose of furthering his knowledge. After I got over my amusement, and running through names I would call him if he did become female – I had settled on Hecate but didn’t tell him that – we tested it further until we came to the conclusion that Snow Dragons were one of the exceptions.

The small reference in the footnote declared that Dracorexidae, the six limbed dragons, were also incapable of gender transmogrification – Aunt Petunia would have loved that word for her Friday night Scrabble with the other neighboring wives. It was unknown if the wingless Asian dragons or sea dragons were also able to change their gender. It appeared that having the ability to change gender at will was singular to the Wyvernidae family – excluding the Arctic Snowflake and Himalayan Cloudjumper, who were also the only two dragon sub-species that gave live birth.

It was curious that the two smallest dragons were also the most unique. Giving live – if a bit parasitic – birth, being able to breathe fire that could burn even other dragons, unable to change gender like the rest of their family, and being able to reach terminal velocities that could kill even the fastest of birds, they truly were one of a kind. Though they be small, they were mighty.

I seated myself next to Snape, the little Arcticum Galanthus, and ignored his grumblings of discontent at the dragon whelps that were still cowed by his earlier outburst. I reached out with sure fingers and drew them from his nose, between his horns, and down the ridge of his spine, flattening the erect fins. His grumble turned more into a warble as I repeated the motion, and his eye lids became heavy in relaxation.

His hide was warm beneath my fingertips, scales soft and pliable as I stroked down to his hips. He relaxed more with each pass of my fingers until Severus finally untucked from his aggressive posturing and let his hind legs flop to the side as he fully lay back into the snow. The rib, larger than he was long, was held tightly in his thumb claws as his teeth scraped along the bone.

My nails caught on the branched horns, and he shook his head in annoyance before I continued down his neck and along his back. Recently, the two largest horns along his skull split near the end and I had worried about it for days as he confessed to feeling a tenderness in the area.

When I first checked out ‘Dangerous Dragons: A Directory for the Determined and Disciplined by Dalton Douglas’ from the library, I had been intimidated by the thickness of the tome. Now I was annoyed that it hadn’t been thicker. The section on Snow Dragons didn’t even warrant a chapter and consisted of only two pages, half of which were illustrations.

I had nearly given up finding an answer within the tome before I realized it lay within the illustration itself. Of all the dragon species in the book, only the Arctic Snowflake displayed what appeared to be antler styled horns. When I showed the picture to Severus and said he must have antlers, he went into a very detailed lecture on the difference between antlers and horns. As he was born with them and doubted that they would molt off and regrow, he declared them pronged horns instead. And as a potions master, apparently there was a major difference.

They still looked like antlers to me, but I didn’t comment on it further. Severus could and would argue over almost anything. Worse, he seemed to actually enjoy arguing and would bait me into his disputes that I was not prepared for. Who knew I had such a passionate opinion about the thickness of parchment paper and length of feathers in hats? Not me, that was for certain.

Sometimes it was better to just let him think he won by saying nothing.

Once his grumbling fully stopped, I leaned over and pulled the fishing line out of the hole in the ice and sighed in disappointment when there was no fish at the end. We weren’t hurting for food; I had pulled two full grown seals – twice as large as myself – from the ice shelf with my magic just the other day, but I knew we needed to set up a steady food supply with how quickly the dragons were growing.

If I could get at least a dozen or so fish a day, and supplement with seals or something, we would be able to live comfortably.

“We’re going to have to go down to the waterline and try and set up a few lines down there or something,” I sighed in annoyance as I flopped backwards onto the ground. I didn’t want to dig anymore holes near camp and risk destabilizing the ice we were resting on, and the one hole was clearly not enough.

Now that I wasn’t actively casting magic, I was starting to get cold again and I waved my hand to cast a heating charm over myself. Once I had mastered a simple spell, casting with a wand was unnecessary. I saw Snape’s side eye look whenever I did so, but he hadn’t brought it up yet and I was hesitant to do so. Knowing him, it would be proceeded by an hour-long lecture if I was unlucky, something I was actively trying to avoid. And I thought his detentions were bad.

Huffing a sigh, I relaxed back into the snow and I tilted my head to the side to take in my tent. It was made out of fur and hide from the wolves, seals, and one small whale we caught nearly a moon ago. It took some extra lessons from Snape, but I had expansion, duplication, and extension charms down to an art form now. I had even been able to expand Hermione’s messenger bag enough that it could now store a near infinite number of things. My only main issue with it was that I had to remember what I put in it, or else I couldn’t summon it back out.

I’m quite certain I’ve put things in there that will be lost for eternity simply because I forgot about it.

“What’s wrong with your line right here?” He asked, before hissing in annoyance as I reached over and tugged his tail. “Cease that immediately.”

I chuckled softly, rolling onto my side and humming in contentment as a warm body of heat settled behind me. A flash of blue confirmed that Neve had decided to join me away from the group. They had been having difficulty with a few of the other dragons, Ophelia especially – who reminded me oddly of Draco with her standoffish behavior and upturned snout like she was constantly smelling something bad.

Neve, with their gentle nature and desire to stay out of conflict even if meant being pushed aside reminded me of Neville. They were also one of the few that was constantly swapping genders based upon who they were with and what action they were partaking in at any given moment. Severus got annoyed informing me of when Neve switched as they did it multiple times within a day, so he stopped doing so altogether.

A wing settled upon my hip and the moment I saw Severus start to rise, dorsal fins extending with a deep rumble in his chest, I reached out and pulled the struggling white dragon to my chest. He hissed and grumbled but settled down after a moment when I refused to release him. I still didn’t know what was up with him and the other dragons regarding my person, but I found it was easier to distract him then it was trying to reason with him.

“We should go tomorrow, it’ll take a half day at least to travel there and back,” I replied, settling him more firmly against me, tucking his smaller form beneath my chin and relaxing into the frozen ground with each second that passed.

The heat he gave off was glorious, and the gentle push pull of his breath nearly lulled me to sleep. With each inhale, his delicate ribs would expand against the palm of my hand, and I would curl my fingers to tickle his chest and belly. He would never admit it and would deny it entirely if I brought it up, but I knew he loved to be cuddled and petted.

The poor dungeon bat…he was probably more touch starved than I was. In the years that I had known him, I don’t think I had ever seen Snape engage in any physical contact with anyone aside from the times he would grab a student to forcefully guide them, and the few incidents where he had grabbed me in a fit of rage. He never hurt me, he never hurt anyone, but his physical interactions with others were always coming from a place of hostility. I wondered when the last time he had touched or been touched with any kind of affection.

I got the distinct impression from his comments and that tiny little spark in my chest whenever he was feeling something deeply – and he did, a surprising amount and quite frequently – that his childhood had possibly been worse than mine. And his Hogwarts years had probably not been much better. Despite what he thought, I could take a hint from the many snide comments he made about my father and his friends.

When we got home – if we got home – I was going to have some words with Sirius and Remus.

But the comfort went both ways. Like him, before I went to Hogwarts, I hadn’t had many good personal interactions. It took a long time to realize that Hermione’s physical attention on fixing my hair were a sign of fondness and affection, and not anything like Aunt Petunia’s attempt to tame my hair with harsh fingers and darkly laced words.

Hermione had been patient with me, tucking my hair behind my ears or braiding it up when it got in the way, and one day I forgot that fingers reaching for the loose strands could mean pain and instead I started to lean into it. She had hummed and smiled as she leaned over my shoulder to check my homework but didn’t comment. Just thinking about everything she did for me brought tears to my eyes.

Like my best friend, I displayed a level of patience I didn’t know I had. It started with small touches, tapping and tugging playfully to get Severus used to my presence. Then when he finally stopped resisting my attention, I started to linger with each touch. Now I could pull him to my chest, hug him close, or yank on his tail in good fun without him doing more than hissing in annoyance.

The accomplishment made something warm bloom in my chest and a smile tug at my lips.

In the end, we had a silent agreement. Snape would let me swaddle, cuddle, pet, and generally be a nuisance, but only if I never ever mentioned his feeble and barely existent attempts at resisting.

“Must I repeat myself?” Was his only reply.

“This line isn’t catching enough fish,” I answered, rolling back onto my back and taking him with me. Neve settled closer, resting their head on my shoulder, and then retreating to rest it on my leg instead when Snape bared his sharp little teeth at them.

The ice shelf we settled our camp upon was still two miles away from the water. The broken ice chunks and shifting glaciers far too dangerous to settle any closer. I missed the ice cave, being able to bury ourselves safely beneath the snow. The tent felt too exposed, too open, but even with nearly fifteen feet of ice between us and the water, I dare not dig into it. I had watched from the safety of the shelf as ice cracked in huge chunks and crashed against others with each push of the waves.

Apparently being buried alive and crushed were phobias of mine. The deep endless abyss was another.

I tried going for a swim when we first dug a hole in the ice for fishing. I cast a bubble head charm, weaved heating runes around myself, ignored Snape’s derisive and dubious remarks for my safety, and dived into the water. I was looking for kelp, or seaweed, or anything other than meat to eat. My diet had never been so protein based before and I knew my digestion would appreciate something else.

I had felt the cold even through the heating runes, and the darkness of the water seemed to stretch on forever. I panicked nearly immediately. Fear struck me quickly and almost lethally as I turned to swim back through the hole. The panic that followed as I hit ice again and again was nearly my undoing.

Severus was the one that saved me. He must have felt my terror as he dived into the water after me and led me to the hole. Once I was back on the surface, I took great gasping breaths, though I was never without air the whole time I was beneath.

I haven’t been back in the water since. I bathe in a shallow pool that goes no deeper than my knees a dozen yards or so from camp. Severus had to reheat the water every time we were going to use it as it would refreeze soon after it was left unattended. Many of the dragons would join me, begging for attention and scritches on their itchy hides that were shedding and molting from their growth. It was the one time that Snape couldn’t reprimand them for their affection as he was always absent the moment I started to disrobe.

It was comical almost. I had stopped caring about my modesty months ago, and I knew he had seen me in various stages of undress since we first came here. I also knew that if we ever returned to Hogwarts and Dumbledore somehow was able to fix this colossal fuckup, that I would never be able to look at my potions professor again without being completely mortified.

But that was a problem for a long distant future…a future that may never come.

The dragon whelps didn’t share my fear of the deep abyss that was lying beneath the ice. Selene, the pale silver that was middling in size to her siblings, loved the water, and could hold her breath for nearly an hour. I feared she would get lost and become trapped like I almost had, bashing at the ice and drowning in the cold dark abyss.

In the end I shrunk the hole to make the circumference too small for her to squeeze through in order to deter her from swimming. It worked for the camp, but whenever I went down to the waterline, there was no stopping her from diving into the waves.

She was a cheerful little thing. Selene always had an upbeat little chirp for me every morning and warbled a little tone when it was time for bed. She seemed to get along with all of her siblings, even the little shit Loki, and her blue speckled eyes and faraway gaze made me miss Luna every time she cuddled with me.

Not many of the dragons were physically affectionate with me. Those that were, did so cautiously as Severus seemed to have a possessive streak larger than his little body could contain. I tried not to think about it too hard, and tried harder not to reprimand him when his possessiveness became nearly hostile. Snape was always ashamed and humiliated afterwards, and he refused to talk to me for days when I had questioned him about it once.

“Food?” Neve asked as I dropped the line back into the water and sat up, cradling Severus’ small form like a baby so as not to drop him.

That was another thing the book on dragons didn’t cover. What exactly did one do when they discovered dragons could speak? Though, I suppose I was using the term lightly. They warbled and chirruped, chittered, rumbled, clicked, and made a variety of other noises in order to communicate. Snape said they were speaking, and if I listened hard enough – if they spoke slowly enough – I could pick out a few words here and there. It was almost like parseltongue, but not.

I knew that my ability to understand the dragons came from the soul shard that I held. Severus came to the same conclusion, but he refused to speak of it again after he made his first observations. Perhaps my ability to speak to snakes had come from Voldemort. I asked Snape about it once, but when he reacted with a threat display and hostile discomfort at the name, I never asked – or spoke his name – again.

The dragons didn’t speak as Snape did, but most of the time I was able to at least get the sense of what they were trying to convey.

“No,” I replied, tapping Neve gently on the nose as they lifted their head. “No food. You already ate. You’re getting too fat.”

Neve clicked a question I couldn’t understand, and Severus answered back, before Neve blinked and resettled themselves in my lap. I raised an eyebrow, but my once professor only rolled his eyes and pulled himself up to perch upon my shoulders.

“Food?” Roan asked, waddling closer. His belly was ballooned around his last meal, and it dragged on the ground with each step.

“No,” I grumbled, balling snow up in my fist and tossing it at him. It broke apart before it reached the pale gold dragon, but Roan snorted and flinched back as if struck. “Oh, stop being dramatic, you’re not hurt and you’re not hungry. Go back to sleep.”

“Sleep,” Guinevere replied. She followed the word with some grumblings and a hiss that I could only parse the basic understanding of general annoyance, but Roan listened to the dark red dragon and settled back down into the snow.

Ignoring Neve’s grumbling of irritation as I pushed their head from my lap, I stood and began to settle camp down for the night. I extinguished the fire, set up the wards to repel anything not already within, activated the perimeter alarm, set up a secondary repelling ward around the hanging skin to keep the whelps away from it while it cured, and began guiding the lethargic dragons to their beds.

After I herded the last dragon – excluding Loki who insisted on doing things in his own time and would probably wander into the tent in the early hours – I gathered the leftover scraps, a liver, and what was left of a spleen. I floated them out away from camp, passed the wards, and ignored Snape’s disapproving glare when I came back.

Everything needed to eat, and a lone mother wolf wouldn’t be able to hunt much. The dragons were too big and too dangerous to be prey now, and I hoped that if I kept the she-wolf fed, she would leave us be. I also didn’t like the thought of her starving and her pups dying either, but that was not the argument I presented to Snape whenever he questioned my reasoning. Having a heart was not a good excuse for anything, according to the dungeon bat of Hogwarts.

“Shut it,” I mumbled as I climbed into my cot and pulled the wolf fur up to my ears even though he hadn’t said anything. His expression said enough. Severus only huffed a smoke ring at me and settled on my pillow.

The dragon whelps were too large to sleep with me on my small bed, but a few still tried. The dark brown dragon, Hera, would sometimes score the prime position across my legs, the twins would try for my back and stomach, but Snape never allowed it for long. Every night I fell asleep with dragons in my bed, but I only woke with one.

The next morning was no different, though Guinevere did still have her head propped upon the bed. Her dark red scales were dotted with subtle fragments of pale gold, and I reached out a finger to trail along the patterning. They were nearly metallic and seemed to reflect the light with each breath she took. She blinked her bright orange eyes open and licked her muzzle as she chirruped her morning greeting.

I tried to return the sound, but my vocal cords weren’t able to quite replicate it. Her eyes squinted and a warbling click echoed from her throat. I got the distinct impression she was laughing at me.

Getting the group ready for travel was a bit like trying to get toddlers ready for school. First, I had to feed them, and then I had to separate them as Loki and Ophelia always tried to bully in for seconds by stealing someone else’s. Roan ate the fastest, going in for another bite before he even swallowed the first. The food would pouch into his cheeks and gave him the distinct resemblance of a squirrel. He also tried to go for seconds, but instead of bullying his siblings, he chose to beg extras from me.

I usually gave in, but only when Snape wasn’t looking. I knew he knew, but as long as he didn’t see, I had plausible deniability.

Hera, Guinevere, Selene, and Neve would usually eat together to deter their other siblings from theft. The twins, Castor and Pollux, would both try to discreetly steal from any of the inattentive – with a surprising amount of success – while Freya would stand guard and stop any she saw who would try to bully, steal, or beg. As she was the largest of her siblings, she was able to enforce this with quite a bit of success…but only if she saw it first. She was like a large grey gargoyle, standing sentinel over those still eating and keeping the peace through sheer will and fear.

Once fed, most wanted to have their daily scrub with the brush I had made out of the whale’s mouth bristles. It was firm enough to scrape the molting scales and hide off while it also had enough give to not be painful. Severus had once likened it to an amazing scratching sensation. He would arch his back and make a pulsating rumbling noise that sounded quite like a purr when I used the brush on him. Snape vehemently refused to believe he did any such thing and denied it at every opportunity.

Occasionally, even Loki found himself amiable to a quick scrub. Sometimes, he was even polite about it, and didn’t try to bite me at all.

Once the scrubbing was completed and all those that wished for a quick scratch down had received one, I had to pack. After I packed, and rechecked that I had everything I thought I packed, did we finally leave. The struggle was real, and looking after so many young dragons left me scatterbrained on the best of days. I was constantly forgetting things, and the last time I had headed down to the water line, I had forgotten the sled…it had made transporting the seals a more difficult task and I had to learn how to float two large and heavy objects at the same time.

Snape had been amused…I had not.

I would float the sled behind me, the dragon whelps now too large to ride unless done one at a time – something that they fought over constantly and delayed us further – and we would make the two-mile trek to the sea. The closer we got, the thinner the ice became. The thinner the ice, the more it started to shift and the slower I walked to ensure that I didn’t slip beneath to drown in the dark abyss below.

We arrived just after midday, having to stop twice to break up a fight between the dragons. The first was between Ophelia and the twins over the sled. The second between Loki and Roan. I didn’t see what the cause of the fight was, but Severus ended it with a fierce little shriek and a bloom of purple flame.

They hissed and grumbled for the rest of the trip, but they didn’t reengage, and the other dragons kept to themselves. Freya walked in the middle of the group, occasionally taking flight to join those in the air, and her presence deterred the others from causing mischief.

There was a large shape near the broken ice, and I stared at it quizzically as we got closer. Snape tilted his head this way and that, peering through one eye and then the other, before he hummed in surprise.

“What is it?” I asked as he shuffled across my shoulders to lay around the back of my neck.

“It looks like a whale,” he replied as Loki and Ophelia took flight and flew ahead. I rolled my eyes at them but didn’t try to call them back. It wasn’t like they would listen to me anyways.

“Are you sure? It looks quite large.”

“Whales are large,” Severus huffed, and I bit my lip to fight back my automatic reply to his snark. I wasn’t certain if it would be something rude, or something inappropriate. Probably a mix a both. It was better if I didn’t say anything at all.

We stopped before the ice started to crack and break from the moving water, and I set up a temporary camp. If it was a whale, harvesting it would take some time and we would probably have to spend the night out on the thin ice. I wasn’t comfortable doing so, but it was the practical thing to do, so I ground my teeth together and endured it.

The whale was larger than I even thought possible. What had washed up on the ice shelf was at least five times larger than the horntail had been…and what was left of it was probably only half. The entire lower part was missing…and it looked like whatever had killed it had done so with one clean bite.

“What could possibly have a bite radius that big?” I questioned softly as I made a full loop around the dead beast. “It has to be larger than the giant squid!”

“Much larger,” Severus replied, flapping his wings and pushing my hair into my open mouth as he launched himself from my shoulder to get an aerial view.

I sent him a side glare as I pulled my hair back and tied it into a low braid. “What could be that large? A shark?”

He landed upon the upturned fin and tilted his head. “Have you ever known a shark to be that large?”

“Have you ever known a wolf to be as large as the ones we killed?” I responded. This was something I was used to, the back and forth between Severus and I, and I was preparing my next witty remark when Snape spoke next.

“We shouldn’t linger,” he said instead of engaging in our usual pattern.

I frowned at him as he fluttered down to settle upon my shoulders. It would take us two days at least to harvest all that we could use, and I told him as much.

“Best get started,” he replied, tilting his head to watch as Loki ripped off a large chunk from the open wound, set it aflame, and devoured it. “This is a recent kill; I don’t want to be here if whatever killed it comes back.”

I set my hand against the thick skin of the whale, covering my nose at the heavy smell of fish. The scent of rot hadn’t settled over it yet, and the gaping open wound at the bottom half was still leaking blood sluggishly. He was right. The whale had died not that long ago. Decomposition was slower to come in the cold, but it always came. This corpse hadn’t started to decay at all. It was killed no more than a day ago, if not hours.

I worked well after sundown, using magic to peel the skin back as whole as I could keep it. I hadn’t even removed the remaining organs or separated the meat from bones before I finally had to call it a day.

The dragons settled around the tiny fire I had floating in the air, hot enough to give off heat but far away enough from the ground to not degrade the ice any further. I laid out some seal hide to sleep on, making room and begrudgingly accepted being crowded as the dragons joined me on the furred ground, before I pulled the wolf fur over myself. I had expanded the fur blanket, and only grumbled lowly when I felt drafts of cold air as the dragon whelps nosed their way underneath.

Once they had all settled down, I reached into the bag I had been using as a pillow and pulled out the little grey book. Severus hissed when he saw it, dorsal and tail fins fluttering.

“You can’t be serious,” he growled, purple and green eyes glowing in the dark.

“Would you rather I read ‘Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four’ or maybe ‘Ancient Runes Made Easy’ again…for the hundredth time?” I replied dryly as I propped myself up and opened it to the first page.

“What about ‘Magic Drafts and Potions’?” He requested, fins twitching, and I fought hard not to roll my eyes and sigh. Of course, I should have expected it. Snape always requested the potions book.

“Not again, we read that just the other night.”

“Anything is better than that,” he hissed, glaring at the book as if he could set it on fire if he stared at it hard enough.

“You haven’t even read it yet,” I countered, thumbing past the forward and index until I got to the first chapter. “It’s the only book I haven’t read recently, and we could all use something new.”

“All?” Severus questioned, head rearing back and nearly falling from the book bag that he had been climbing up. I slid my eyes over to him, fighting the smile that was pulling at my lips as I realized he had intended to read over my shoulder. Hypocrite. “You intend to read this aloud?!”

“Of course,” I failed to keep the amusement out of my voice as I shuffled further down on the furs and flipped my hair off my neck and over the bag. “Like I said, we could all do with something new.”

“They are children!” He huffed, puffing up his tiny chest and extending his fins to make him appear larger. He went from the size of a cat to the size of a slightly larger cat…which was to say he didn’t appear threatening at all. “Just because you cannot understand them doesn’t mean they can’t understand you.”

“Look, it’s story time, if you have a problem with what I am reading, then go somewhere else,” as I predicted, he didn’t move. Despite his words and hostility, he had been settling himself down to rest the entire time he had been arguing with me. I hummed in satisfaction as he glared at me, and I flicked a fairy light above my head so I could read.

I didn’t tell him so, but I planned to gently skim past the raunchier parts…they were indeed children present, after all.

“Chapter One: The Market. Jennifer was not the adventurous sort. She was content in her little life in the small hamlet of Westshire, helping her father on the farm and taking care of her siblings after their mother had passed suddenly during the winter. But that all changed one sunny day when she took the sheep to market…”

I slept well that night, tired from the use of magic and warm from the many dragons that slept with me…and the several that chose to sleep on me. Severus hadn’t woken happy – he rarely ever did – and he had sprung up with an angry hiss as he chased one twin and then the other away as they tried to curl up against my chest where he had been laying.

Freya broke up the fight, snarling at the twins, and then Severus himself when he refused to settle. The three rows of dorsal fins stood erect as he spun around and bared sharp teeth at her, but I stepped in and scooped him up before he could do something foolish like take on a dragon nearly three times his size. He grumbled and complained, insulted me and my parentage several times, but he let himself be carried away.

The dragons had gotten bored of the whale carcass well before high noon and instead they played upon the shifting chunks of ice, chasing Selene as she dived deep under the ocean waves and shrieking in outrage as she burst from below to surprise them. The whale was still leaking blood sluggishly back into the water as I severed off large sections of meat to add it to the sled. The handy expansion charm making it appear as if I only had a small load packed upon it.

“We’ll have to stay another night,” I sighed in annoyance as Severus turned his gaze from the frolicking dragons. “I barely got started on the bones.”

“Do we need the bones?” He asked from his perch upon the sled. “We already have an excess of dragon, seal, and wolf bones. What could we possibly use the whale bone for?”

“I don’t know,” I grumbled, reaching my arms up to stretch out my spine. “Maybe for something later in the future? They’re certainly large enough to frame a house. Do you think we should build a house? The tent isn’t going to last forever.”

“You’re becoming a hoarder,” he replied with a soft rumble, yawning widely and displaying his tiny but incredibly sharp teeth. He was trying to change the topic. We were both uncomfortable with the idea of settling down permanently. We knew that rescue wasn’t coming, and had accepted it long ago, but the thought of actually making a life here…that was something else entirely. It made it seem too real. “We can’t possibly use all this. Just leave it for the scavengers.”

“Ugh, fine. Let’s get back. If we leave now, we could pack up and make it back to camp before sundown. We might even have the time for a chapter or two before bed,” I finally consented, masking my smile by turning my head away at Snape’s snort of disgust. He could put up whatever front he wanted, Hera and Neve weren’t the only dragons who were disappointed when I stopped after chapter three. Oh, he tried to hide it, but I saw his false start of protest when I had closed the book last night.

I was still smiling and fighting the urge to laugh as I turned my focus to the dragons who were darting in and out of the waves. I raised my hands to cup them around my mouth and shouted at them. “Come on! We’re leaving!”

Neve responded first, their blue hide nearly invisible in the water until they took flight. They flew over with strong and sure strokes of their wings, Guinevere and Hera following close behind. It took nearly an hour to get the others together, Selene the last to be coaxed out of the water.

I spared a glance at what remained of the whale carcass, stripped of skin and meat, and stroking cold fingers down the neck of one of twins. I still couldn’t tell which one, but I believe this one might have been Pollux. The other was perched on the massive rib bones that stood taller than a two-story house.

“Let’s go!” I called out to him and smiled as he flapped his wings and glided down onto the ice near the massive skull.

I turned away, flicking my wand to get the sled to follow as I started on my way back to camp. We probably wouldn’t make it back before dark with all the delays that the dragons caused, but at least it shouldn’t be too late by the time we got there.

Severus shrieked and spread his wings high as Ophelia tried to bully him off the sled and I shooed the black dragon away from him before he decided to settle the conflict with fire, of which his burned drastically hotter than any other. A loud crack drew my attention before I could get her fully off the sled and I turned just in time to see the ice explode apart and something large burst from underneath, massive jaws closing around the trailing twin and dragging him beneath the waves.

Chapter Text

“Have I ever told you the story of Gemini?”

The ice churned and water gushed from the hole the beast had left behind. I was frozen in shock, my heart pounding so loud in my ears I almost couldn’t hear the shrieking of the dragons. I was stunned into stillness for only a moment, chest tight and sweat dripping down my spine, before I yanked the black robe off and ran for the hole.

Snape was yelling something from behind me, but I couldn’t hear him as I dived into the water. Only once I was beneath the ice did I remember the bubble head charm, but I dare not resurface to cast it.

“It’s one of my favorites.”

The cold shocked my system and forced what air I did have out of my lungs, but despite what my body was telling me, I swam deeper. The abyss stretched endlessly below me and I saw nothing but darkness. My chest burned with the lack of air as I wiggled my fingers and cast fairy lights down into the depths.

The bottom was closer than I thought, only a few dozen meters below, white sand that reflected the blue from the fairy lights. I swam towards it, looking for the thing that took the small red dragon. I saw nothing but white sand and black water. And then the sand moved.

“It’s sad story, but also a hopeful one. About brothers, twins Castor and Pollux who loved each other unconditionally. They were born of the same woman on the same day, but one was the son of her husband, the King of Sparta, and the other the son of Zeus.”

The sand shifted in a burst of movement, and it was only when I saw a massive row of teeth gleaming from the fairy lights, that I realize that this wasn’t the bottom at all. A great eye opened, and the mouth followed.

Pain bloomed along my back as I was yanked out of the water. I hit the ice hard, coughing up what felt like the whole damn ocean as Freya shrieked and cried, digging her talons into my shoulder blades as she tried to pull me further from the water. The ice cracked from beneath us when I finally got my feet under me to run.

“The twins grew up together. They were young, handsome, and adventurous. They went on many journeys. Castor, son of Tyndarus, was a great horseman, they say no one could ride a horse as he. And Pollux, son of Zeus, had strength that was unmatched.”

The ice shelf burst apart behind me and I lost my footing. A loud roar came from above as I clawed at the shifting ice, breaking my nails upon the unforgiving ground. I reached for the dragon bone knife in my boot to find purchase on the ice, but before I could get a grip on the hilt the ground broke apart, fire bloomed around me, and I slid back into the water. I choked as it rushed into my lungs, and I was forced deep into the below.

The fairy lights were still active, twinkling in the dark depths, and I could see the shape of the thing that was in the water. A massive snakelike body stretching so far into the darkness, it looked as if it went on forever.

Another body followed mine into the water and I could see Selene streaking towards the sea serpent as it submerged itself fully once more. She reared her silver head back to breath fire, but it died before it left her throat. Most dragons couldn’t breathe fire under the water.

“They were alike in many ways, but Castor was mortal…and Pollux was not.”

The sea serpent turned its focus to Selene. I screamed with what little air I had left, snapped my wand into my hand and cast the first spell I could think of. The red expelliarmus hit the serpent below the eye, but it did little more than blink. Selene took advantage of the distraction and snapped her wings to propel herself away. She avoided the gaping maw by mere inches.

I fought to cast another spell but was forced to the surface instead as my lungs seized and pulled in water. My head broke through and I coughed with each breath as I tried to grab a stable piece of ice to pull myself to safety. With every second that passed and I remained in the water, I felt my fear grow, aware that there was a predator somewhere behind me – beneath me – that I could not see.

“They fought in the war for Helen of Troy, who was their sister. They went on the quest for the Golden Fleece. They sailed to the ends of the world and fought terrible and fantastic beasts.”

 “Hari!” Severus screamed, streaking past me with purple-blue flames bursting from his throat. The water churned behind me and nearly dragged me back under as the serpent let out a deafening shriek.

Sharp teeth latched onto my left forearm and pulled me further from the water. Roan bit hard and deep, but Snape’s wrist guard held, and I only felt the pressure. Neve was on Roan’s other side, shrieking and screaming with his blue wings extended as I heard a loud boom resonate from where the serpent was.

The ice cracked more, and I shoved the two dragons back and away to safety, screaming at them to take flight, and I scrambled over the unstable ground as quickly as I could. I couldn’t stand and I couldn’t move fast enough to keep them safe.

A shadow loomed over me, and it was only Snape’s furious cry and the sudden terror I felt blooming from him that made me launch myself to the side. I barely avoided the beast’s head as it dove back under.

“A lifetime they spent together, and Castor being mortal, finally succumbed to a mortal death.”

I turned back to the churning water as I finally got to stable ground. Freya and Loki were circling high where the water was most active. Neve, Roan, and Hera were still on the ground, tails twitching, and noses pointed as they leaned down close to the ice, trying to track the beast beneath it.

Ophelia and Guinevere were cowering on top of the sled, the remaining twin hiding beneath. The ice lifted near the whale bones but didn’t fully break and I saw Romulus dive towards it, pulling up short when nothing burst through. Solar flew just behind, circling the bones and crying a confused warble that Romulus answered with an angry shriek.

I couldn’t see Selene, and feared she was still in the water with that thing, but I had no more time to think about it as the ice rose and fell again several times before it burst apart right where Freya hovered. The great mouth opened, and teeth closed around her back leg. It started to pull her down like it had the twin, but a high pitch whistle came from above as Severus dove like an arrow from the sky, purple flames licking his maw and a great explosion boomed from the side of the serpent’s head.

It reared back, thrashing its head to the side and retreated once more into the water. Freya fell, her body limp and unmoving, crashing into the water after the creature. I called for her, running across the unstable ice and summoning her out of the water even as I slipped with every step I took.

The spell fought me – dragons naturally immune to most magics – but I got her close enough to the surface to pull her out and back towards the sled. Her leg was missing, her tail gone, and she was gushing blood from both wounds.

The ice cracked in splintering lines as the serpent breached near the sled.

“Distraught, Pollux threw himself at his father’s feet and begged Zeus for help. He had never been without his brother and couldn’t imagine living the rest of his immortal life alone.”

“Ophelia!” I cried as the black dragon launched itself at the serpent’s face. Guinevere and the twin that might have been Pollux but could just as likely have been Castor, joined her charge and I hugged Freya close to my chest with one hand while I shot spells off with the other.

They did little more than distract the sea serpent as it snapped and snarled at the three dragons blasting fire at its face.

“Go for the eyes!” I screamed as the high pitch whistle returned and Severus streaked past me faster than even my firebolt had ever traveled. A ball of purple and blue flame burst from him and collided with the serpent’s neck with another great boom. The blowback from the explosion knocked me off my feet and I nearly slid back into the churning water before I could stop myself.

The serpent swung its head around, mouth large enough to swallow a whale whole and snapped it closed around the other twin and Ophelia. Guinevere cried in a panic and Loki dove for its eyes as another explosion knocked the serpent back, but not down.

I cast cutting hexes and severing charms, explosion jinxes, freezing and boiling spells, and anything else I could think of…but like the dragons, it seemed resistant to my magic.

Severus got in a good hit near the eye just as I cast a blinding light above its head and the serpent opened its mouth to shriek. Ophelia and the twin tumbled out. They hit the ground and didn’t get back up.

“Zeus looked upon his son and thought of what he could do. Castor was already dead, and if Pollux wanted to join him, they could spend eternity in the afterlife together. They would never be separated again.”

I struggled to pull Freya behind me to get to the two prone dragons. I refused to leave her, afraid that it would leave her open for attack again, and I slipped upon her blood and the ice with each step.

Severus snapped his wings open and ascended with powerful down strokes as quickly as he could, rolled his head back, flipped upside down and dove again and again and again. The whistling was in tandem with every dive, and an explosion followed soon after.

Snape’s dramatic flight pattern and explosive fire distracted the serpent enough to keep it away from the other dragons and keep its attention off of me and the vulnerable whelps on the ground.

Neve landed near the two prone dragons and stood over them, roaring in fury when the serpent came to close. I dragged Freya closer and set her down near her siblings as I brought my wand back up to bear.

“But Zeus didn’t want to sentence his son to death, and instead he reached for Castor and plucked him out of the River Styx.”

We weren’t going to win. Despite Severus’ best efforts and the continued attempts of the other dragons, the serpent remained mostly undamaged. The only thing we could do was cause enough aggravation that the sea serpent would decide to find food elsewhere.

“Diffindo!” I cast with a violent slash of my wand, aiming for the exposed throat. The spell hit, but the serpent didn’t even seem to notice the attack. In fact, its scales looked to be just as unharmed. “Bombarda!”

Nothing seemed to be working, and I grunted a token protest as the red twin regained consciousness and tried to rejoin the battle. I kept him grounded with a hand on his tail, but I didn’t think he had enough energy left to stand, let alone to fly.

I blinded the sea serpent with another light spell just when it looked about to get a hold of Romulus and the serpent shrieked, its call making my ears ring. The beast twisted its head, eyes blinking and mouth snapping before it retreated once more beneath the ice.

The dragons circled above, crying to each other as they watched the waters slowly start to settle. Loki swooped down close before darting away, as if tempting the beast to surface once more. His angry cries rang loud over the sudden silence.

Snape landed upon the sled, eyes narrowed, and fins erect. He was hissing lowly, head swaying side to side, but this threat display looked different from any other I had seen from him. This one looked real.

“Zeus cradled Castor, the twin of his son but not his child, and heard Pollux’s plea. Instead of killing his son, Zeus made Castor immortal.”

“Get them back to the sled!” Snape shouted and I struggled under Freya’s limp weight without putting my wand away. I dare not holster my only defense. “Quickly, before it comes back!”

I slipped on her blood and struggled to get her on the sled. My grip slid from the wetness on her scales, but I dug my fingers around any joint I could reach. My fingertips ached where my nails had broken off.

I tried to assist with magic and screamed in frustration when the feather light and levitation charms slithered off of her. My back strained and arms shook, but eventually I got her positioned fully on the sled.

Rushing back, I nearly fell on top of the twin when I lost my footing on the ice. His bright red scales were coated in dark red blood, and I noticed deep cuts down the side of his face and neck. One of his horns had been broken off at the base.

He was smaller than Freya by nearly half, but I had more difficulty getting him back to the sled. He was awake and struggling, trying to crawl towards the water and crying feebly. I pulled him to my chest and winced as he dug his talons into my exposed stomach and fought my grip.

My top was in tatters, nearly ripped clean off, covered in diluted blood, and sticking to my cold skin. Ice was starting to form in my hair, and I could feel my body shutting down from the cold. I fought it, waving my hand and casting a wandless heating charm. I was so cold I couldn’t even feel if it settled over me.

“Faster, Hari!” Snape called as I shoved the red next to Freya, trying not to see the gaping wound and missing limbs on the grey dragon. “It’s coming back!”

I turned and saw the ice crack and press up from beneath. The beast was moving just below the surface, and though it was still dozens of meters out, it was closing the distance so very quickly.

“Zeus took Castor and Pollux and cast them into the heavens, side by side in a constellation.”

I grabbed for Ophelia as the airborne dragons shrieked and dove for the breaking ice, trying to tempt the beast to surface before it reached us. My hands slipped on her wet hide, and I was forced to holster my wand to get a grip on her tail. I dragged her back to the sled, cursing the entire way.

We needed to get off the ice shelf as quickly as possible.

The beast didn’t take the bait. Neve had just launched themself into the sky when the ice separated and the serpent surged up. Its great mouth was opened wide as more of its body surfaced. Neve ascended, wings beating frantically as they tried to get above the creature.

“Neve!” I screamed, releasing Ophelia to grab once more for my wand, but it was too late. The mouth closed around Neve with a loud snap, and the serpent tossed its head to the side before it dove underneath.

“Go!” Severus screamed as he threw himself from the sled and ascended to get a better view.

“Neve!” I screamed again, rushing towards the broken ice where the beast had submerged itself.

“Get back to the sled!” Snape called as I prepared myself to dive back into the water though I know it was too little too late. “Don’t you dare! Hari! Don’t you fucking dare!”

His angry shrieking was drowned out by the water as I cast a bubble head charm and dove. The darkness was impossible to see through, and I was just about to cast the fairy light charm when I felt the water move from behind. I saw the teeth closing around me before I had the chance to bring my wand up.

“That constellation is named Gemini, and the stars Castor and Pollux are forever tied together, traveling the heavens for all eternity.”

Snape’s terror surged through me even as I felt the crushing weight of the beast’s throat as it tried to swallow. I pulled the dragon bone knife from my boot and stabbed it into the nearest bit of tissue I could reach. My aim was true, and it dug deep into the lower jaw, wedged in the gums between two of its back teeth.

The beast shrieked, opening its mouth wide and water flooded inside. I would have drowned if the bubble head charm failed. It held, and so did the blade.

I fought the rushing pull, praying I dug the blade deep enough to not get swallowed, and raised my wand. “Bombarda Maxima!” I screamed, aiming for the roof of its mouth. It shrieked again, shaking its head side to side.

I cast again and again, like I had back in the arena, ignoring the pain of my lower legs as the muscles of the beasts throat contracted, and the agony in my shoulder and hand as the pressure and force of the thrashing tried to throw me loose. At one point it must have resurfaced, because when it opened its mouth, I was nearly blinded by the bright sky.

“Bombarda Maxima! Expulso!” I cast and cast, pushing as much magic as I could into each spell, feeling the wand become hot and vibrate in my grip. I kept casting even after the beast gave a great shuddering thud and stopped moving. Only once I was certain it was dead did I finally let my grip on the knife go.

“It’s a good story, sad too. They get to spend the rest of eternity together…but the separation, realizing that Pollux might have to live the rest of his immortal life without his twin…they are two that became one. No more adventures for them, but they forever get to travel the sky together.”

I lay there for a long moment, trying to catch my breath but prompted to move by the crushing pressure of the beast’s throat and Snape’s dread that was pounding into me like an anvil with each second that passed. I tried to pry its mouth open with a levitation spell and then a featherlight when that didn’t work.

In the end, it was a combination of the spells that allowed me to wiggle between its massive teeth and I spilled out onto the ice. The bubble head charm broke, and I took great heaping breaths of fresh air while the other dragons began to land.

“Two that became one. That’s kinda beautiful too…don’t you think?”

“It is a beautiful story,” Severus replied, his nose warm on the small of my back. He was perched on my hips, over the blanket that was doing little to cover my nudity. I had gotten over the embarrassment of being naked around Snape a long time ago…but this was the first time he had gotten over his.

I was lying face down on the floor of the tent, naked except for the blanket over my bottom, holding my wand over my shoulder and pointing it at the wounds on my back. Snape was gently guiding the tip of my wand to each wound with his thumb claws while I cast the necessary healing spells. The bruises on my legs from the crushing pressure of the serpent’s throat were slowly fading, but Freya had done a number on my back with her talons when she had pulled me out of the water.

“I wish it was true,” I mumbled into the fur beneath my face as Severus crawled up my bare spine to move my hair away from upper back. My wand followed the gentle pressure of his guidance and I cast again, wincing at the sensation of my skin knitting back together. “Then they could be together forever.”

Severus paused, and I knew that he was looking at the remaining twin. The small red dragon was sleeping deeply, the fabric that used to be my tank top torn into strips – soaked in the healing salve I had looted from Snape’s dead body – covered most of the left side of his face and neck.

“They will be,” Severus replied, guiding my wand to a particularly deep wound near my shoulder blade. “One day.”

“Do you believe in the afterlife?” I asked, voice muffled as I shifted to hide my face in the crook of my elbow.

“How could I not,” he hummed softly, laying his small form over my healed but tender skin. The heat he put off helped to ease some of the ache. “After what you told me when you went to that…what did you call it?”

“The place of transition,” I replied, dropping the black wand into the furs near my head. My wand, the brown holly and phoenix feather…was broken. The wood splintered into shards, but the feather was left intact. It probably occurred when I had overpowered my last few spells. I didn’t know exactly when it happened, I only remembered later when Severus had to help dig the wood splinters out of my bleeding palm.

I had wrapped the shards and feather in a piece of dragon hide and tucked it away in the book bag for safe keeping. Severus didn’t know much about wand making, but he did say that if we could find a good replacement wood, we might be able to repair the damage.

“If Death offered you a choice, clearly there has to be something after you die,” he reasoned, scratching the side of his jaw down my spine and then settling his head near the base of my neck.

I could feel each exhale on my exposed skin, and though it raised goosebumps, I didn’t tell him to move. I needed the physical contact…and I think he did too.

After the sea serpent was slain, Severus had launched himself at my chest with enough force to wind me and for a moment I had thought I was still under attack. He dug his talons into what was left of my tank top, body trembling and spitting words of derision as he tried to crawl into me…or at least that was what it felt like.

“I suppose,” I replied softly, feeling my eyes get heavy. “Do you know which one survived?” I asked after a long moment of silence.

Severus shifted a little and I felt his tail drape across my lower back and tickle my side with each twitch. “No,” he sighed, a low rumble emanating from his chest. The tone was too deep for me to hear, but I could imagine the sound it would make with each pulsating rumble that vibrated along my skin. “Not even I could tell them apart.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” I sighed, rubbing my nose against the soft seal fur. “They were always a part of Gemini, the constellation. They still are, even if one is in the sky awaiting the other.”

I could feel Severus lift his head, probably to look at the twin once again, before it settled once more along my back. I felt his back legs kick out, his toe claws scratching lightly in my bare skin, as he settled fully. “I suppose Gemini is as good a name as any,” he finally replied, his words slow and heavy.

He must have been just as tired as I, if not more. When the wolves attacked, he was able to get one good blast of fire off before his energy had completely left him…he had gotten several dozen blasts off against the sea serpent. It surprised me that he was still conscious.

My own eyes blinked heavy and slow, getting heavier with each breath. They settled on the dark form of Ophelia. Her right wing was wrapped tight and twitching in pain with every breath she took. She would never fly again…half her wing bitten clean off. I wondered what a dragon was if it could no longer fly.

Tears started to form in my eyes once more, but they didn’t spill. I didn’t have enough energy to cry anymore.

It took us nearly until dawn to get back to our main camp. By the time the tent came into sight, the sun was starting to rise far off in the distance, and I knew we had been too slow. Freya was dead, from blood loss probably. She might have been dead when I first put her on the sled…she might have died the moment her body hit the water.

Three died, but we only buried one. Neve and the twin that might have been Castor if life followed myth, were deep in the dead serpent’s belly. I had tried ripping the stomach open, but no spell would penetrate its hide. I then attempted to go through the mouth, but after several long minutes of casting spells through heavy tears, Snape finally managed to pull me away.

I knew he was right; I knew that they were dead, but it was a hard thing to accept. Eventually, when my magic reserves were nearly depleted and Severus bid me to return to camp to treat the injured, did I finally scream in outrage and gave up hope.

Selene was still missing, and though I wanted to search for her, I couldn’t bring myself to go back into the water. Not after what had just happened. And Snape was right, the injured needed to be treated, and all of our healing potions were back at camp.

I was going to leave at first light tomorrow, once my magic had recovered enough to cast without feeling winded. I needed to find Selene, I needed to see the dead serpent to ease my troubled mind…I only had to find a way to convince Severus to stay behind with the dragon whelps. I dare not bring them with me, and I dare not leave them alone…especially after what had just happened.

Guinevere was twined tightly around Hera and Roan, her dark red scales contrasting beautifully with Roan’s pale gold and Hera’s brown with spotted green patterning. Romulus and Solar were occupying my cot, huddled underneath my light grey wolf pelt. I was tempted to oust them from my bed to get some sleep but didn’t feel like moving from my spot on the floor.

Instead, I twisted my legs and shuffled my toes until I was able to work the seal pelt further around my lower half. Snape was warm enough that I didn’t need to bother any further, and I felt myself start to relax for the first time since the attack.

Even Loki had decided to honor us with his presence. His bronze form had taken up residence right at the entrance of the tent. I had spelled the doorway closed and cast heavy warding around the camp, but his vigilance still eased some of my anxiety.

I fell asleep underneath Severus’ comforting weight and the heat of eight other dragons in close quarters. Eight, when there should have been twelve.

Chapter Text

Archmaester Eizrik,

I have done as you asked but have found very little on the one known as Harielle. While the Citadel has a vast collection of her works, unfortunately much of it is contained in scrolls that have yet to be bound into books.

I was able to find a small section on the caring and raising of dragons, from her personal experience, though I do not believe this is quite what you are looking for. I have included a copy in the missive you now hold and will continue my search.

A word of caution. Archmaester Marwyn has shown an interest in my studies, and I fear he may have an idea of what it is you are looking for. I tried to cast his suspicions aside, but I do not believe I was entirely successful.

Faithfully Yours,

Acolyte Pydrich

The following is an excerpt from a scroll found in collection awaiting to be scribed into book form by Harielle regarding her personal notes on the caring and raising of dragons. It appears only to contain the base description of the thirteen dragons she supposedly hatched North of the Wall.

Chapter Text

“It’s time,” Severus spoke gently, his voice carrying over the quiet lapping of the waves. The snow crunched softly beneath his feet as he waddled over the ice to settle next to me.

I could feel his little body nudging along the length of my thigh, and I reached down to run my fingers along his spine without looking. He rumbled softly as he lay down upon the ice, fluttering his dorsal fins and sweeping his tail across the ground to curl it around my leg.

The waves were crashing gently against the icy shore, shifting the large chunks with each push and pull. The sun was cresting the horizon behind me, alighting the sky in glorious colors, and my breath was fogging the air with each exhale. It was quiet out here; the only sounds were the waves and parts of the ice shelf breaking off and refreezing. It could almost be considered peaceful, if not for the reason why I was out here in the first place.

“We should get going,” Severus spoke again, lifting his head from the snow to rest it on my knee. He blinked slowly at me, twisting his head to look out upon the water. Neither of us looked at the dead sea serpent…or what was left of it.

I sighed in annoyance, leaning back on my hands to throw my head back and look up at the brightening sky. I could feel the cold of my palms pressed against ice and snow, and I knew I would need to lift them soon or cast a heating charm, but I ignored it for now. I was no longer in danger of freezing, not with the sea serpent hide I had harvested.

It took a long time to skin the available section of the serpent. Most of it was still far beneath the water, slowly getting picked apart by sharks, fish, and seals. But the upper section, the head and neck, those I tore through with a vengeance.

Severus had to teach me severing charms normally used in battle for disembowelment in order to slice the hide open. It took ages, and many days before we saw progress, but I got through. It was easier, once I was able to get a starting point. My magic had been stretched thin by the time I had peeled back all the available hide. Severus had disapproved – I could feel it through our bond – but hadn’t tried to stop me.

It was cathartic, and I think he knew I needed to work out my anger and grief in something productive.

Though we didn’t need the meat, the dragons had taken to hunting the creatures that fed off the dead serpent. Their success was more of a miss then hit, but it was definitely a learning experience for them, even though every time I saw them near the water, I got severe anxiety. In order to combat this, Severus taught me a proximity spell that would warn me if anything larger than a whale came within a kilometer of where I cast the spell.

I started to send red sparks the second something breached the proximity that might have been large enough to take on the dragon whelps. I worried at first that the dragons wouldn’t listen to my warning, and that I would have to bury more of them, but my worry was for nothing. The moment the red sparks exploded in the sky, all the dragons retreated from the water and returned to fly tightening anxious loops over me until I gave the all clear.

Shockingly, even Loki obeyed when the sparks burst in the sky.

We had been lucky so far. Nothing breached the ice to come after us, though there were a few scares when the ice shelf started to lift as if something was pushing it from underneath. Once, even the dead serpent moved as something massive tugged at it from beneath. Several days later, Severus entered the water and confirmed that some creature had taken a large chunk out of it, severing the beached section from the body and tail that were still underwater.

Neither of us would say it, but with the size of the bite he described, we were certain it was another sea serpent. We were much more careful after that, but whatever it was, didn’t bother to visit again.

We never did find out how large the serpent had been, though from the size of its head – larger than Aunt Petunia’s house on Privet Drive – it must have been a kilometer long at least. Severus did lament the loss of possible potion ingredients, as the section that had the organs had been part of that missing section. He also ignored my perfectly logical argument of having no reason to keep them as we didn’t have anything to craft with them nor potions to brew from them.

All the same, the section we did have access to left us with more than enough of the white opalescent hide to last for years. The very first thing I did was craft clothing.

My tank top was in ruins, the repair charm no longer as effective after it had been used already so many times…and wasn’t that something to learn. The more something is repaired with magic, the more degraded it became. My top had now become useful as bandages, and I moved onto serpent hide.

Tanning it had been just as an ordeal as dragon hide at been, and twice as frustrating. This time, I knew vaguely what I was doing, but sea serpents and dragons were very different creatures. I bathed it in layers of rune work and left it out in the cold for nearly a month before it was finally ready for crafting.

In the end, I now had several sets of skintight leotards and bodysuits – for lack of a better term – and I hadn’t felt the cold since. Like the dragon, the serpent hide kept me at exactly my own body temperature. And unlike Lavender, I didn’t have anything near what you could call fashion sense. Instead of trying to be creative, I crafted the hide into my exacting measurements, and cursed like a sailor every morning while I struggled to pull the surprisingly pliable but still skintight outfit on.

I kept wearing the dragon hide pants, despite the fact that I technically didn’t need them for warmth when I wore the full body suit. Although my understanding of fashion was severely lacking – according to all of my dormmates – I did know that I looked quite ridiculous in just a skintight suit. There was also the fact that Severus had been annoyed beyond belief when he no longer had anything to grip when he climbed up to perch on my shoulder. The pants at least got him halfway there.

I also loved that the skintight suit happened to make it look like I had something resembling breasts, so I was quite a fan.

Severus, on the other hand, wouldn’t look at me for days after I started wearing the leotard. He would only give me a withering glare and then asked why even bothered with clothes if I was going to dress in something that was so skintight, I might as well have been naked. To which I replied that I only bothered wearing clothes to protect his modesty.

He eventually got over it, but it took a long while and a lot of glaring and derisive remarks. It was worth the days of sullen silence and heated glares when he spluttered and stuttered after I asked if he was allowed to body-shame impressionable young women when he taught at Hogwarts.

A few days later, he attempted a sort of apology that he failed to get through due to my cackling. I was laughing so hard I thought I might have pulled a muscle. Snape was embarrassed and angry, but we both agreed to never mention the incident and pretend it never happened at all. In the end, he allowed me to dress as I pleased and made no comment, and I stopped teasing him about it.

All of my new outfits were long sleeved, coming to rest over the back of my hands and covering my fingers up to the second knuckle but keeping the majority of my fingers and palms free. The necklines were baggy and went up to where my hairline started and just under my chin. If I got too cold, I could pull the stretchy material over my mouth and nose.

Most of my new tops didn’t extend past my groin and hips, but some went as far down as my feet, with holes for my toes, keeping the balls of my feet and heels exposed for grip. Learning to go to the bathroom in the full suit was an interesting experience that I eventually was able to work around with overlapping sections that stuck together with a handy little spell and would stay stuck until released.

Severus had been equally amused and embarrassed while we tried to work around the problem, but we did eventually find a solution.

The new outfits were surprisingly cozy, breathable, kept me from sweating, and more importantly, they kept me warm. I hadn’t been so comfortable since we got sent here…but the price for that comfort was too high.

My eyes slid to where the massive serpent lay. It still contained a lot of its skin and most of the meat, and we could be harvesting from it for months to come…but neither of us wanted to stay in this place any longer.

Some of the dragons didn’t come down to the water line anymore. Guinevere would occasionally accompany me when I took my morning walk to the water and sat on the ice until the sun rose. The others would come down for hunting, when most of the whelps were going down as well – with the exception of Gemini who hadn’t left the camp since his brother was eaten, and Ophelia who was still recovering from having half of her wing severed – and the whelps made certain to stay close to each other when they did.

Romulus and Solar were the most successful in hunting as they always did it together, and I added quite a few seal pelts to my ever-growing collection. They always presented their food before digging into it, as if to show off – Solar would preen, dorsal fins fluttering and head high – and would let me skin their kills before they burned and ate it.

Guinevere, Hera, and Roan hunted both alone and as a group depending on what they were trying to catch. They had less success when going after larger prey like Romulus and Solar, but individually they were great at catching small fish and the occasional seal pup. They were also less inclined to share, but occasionally they would let me skin their kills.

Loki, on the other hand, wouldn’t let anyone get even a dozen meters from his kill, and always hunted alone. He could be found near the water even if the others decided not to go down to the edge. He didn’t seem at all put off by what had happened to his siblings, and I would have thought it hadn’t bothered him at all if he wasn’t the last one in the tent every night.

He slept in front of the tent door, and I had to step over him on my way outside every morning. The way he positioned himself made me believe he was guarding it. He would hiss and snap at me if I woke him, but I stopped fearing his bite a long time ago. The worst he could do through the dragon hide pants and serpent skin outfit was bruise me, and he dared not unless he was willing to face Severus’ wrath.

Though smaller by nearly a fourth of the size of the whelps, they all feared the tiny dragon. Severus refused to tell me why, but I believe it was a combination of his increasingly aggressive attitude and cutting tongue. I could hear him talking to them, when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Quiet warbles and clicks that the whelps would respond to.

He was the one that coaxed Gemini out of the tent a week after his twin died. He was also the one that got Ophelia up and wobbling around camp with hesitant steps. Despite how much he denied caring for the whelps – and how often he commented on leaving them behind to survive on their own – Severus was always there when they needed him most.

“Hari,” his voice drew me back and I returned my attention to the sea. “We need to go.”

I sighed again, pulling my hair over my shoulder to plait it into a sloppy braid. “She could still be out there,” I argued, though we both knew it was a weak attempt.

Selene still hadn’t been found. Two full moons had come and gone since the attack, but she never came home. Every morning I got up early and made my journey to the waterline. Severus argued at first, when he found out what I was doing. It took a surprising amount of time before he discovered where I spent my mornings.

Days into my ritual, he finally joined me. Sometimes he still would come with me or showed up later to sit by the icy edge and watch the waves or walk up and down the water line with me while I looked for a little white and blue dragon. Selene was never found, but the ritual stayed the same…at least until today.

“She’s gone,” he replied, shifting to climb up my arm and onto my shoulder. He had more difficulty now, when I wasn’t wearing the robe. The serpent hide had no give to dig his claws into, and it was too tight for him to pinch it between his thumbs without pinching me. I would have to give him a hand up, not that I minded, but I could feel Snape’s frustration every time I tilted my arm to give him a perch or placed my hand underneath to pull him up.

“She could still be out there,” I argued back, watching the waves push at the ice.

“She’s gone,” Severus intoned softly, his nose near my ear and thumbs gripping tightly at the loose hide near my neck. “Selene could be alive, improbable though that is, but she is gone.”

“If we leave, how would she find us?” I was pulling strings at old arguments…arguments that Severus and I had already had a dozen times.

“If we stay, how can we protect the others,” he replied back, words familiar and tone exasperated. “We are leaving, it’s time to go.”

I rose slowly, pulling myself up from the ice and snow, looking at the waves once more before I turned my back upon them. I returned back to camp, leaving the dead serpent and the hope of ever finding Selene again.

The tent had already been shrunk and packed away along with everything else at camp. The sled lay on the ground, fully packed, with my – Hermione’s – bookbag sitting next to it with Snape’s robe on top. The only proof that we were ever here was the indent from the fire, the fishing hole, and the steaming pool that was slowly freezing as each second passed.

I grabbed the robe, throwing it on and ignoring Severus’ angry hisses as he climbed out from underneath to settle in the hood, and then I picked up the bookbag. Turning, I saw the whelps, all eight of them, staring up at me from where they were lounging next to the sled.

Flicking my fingers, the sled started to float, and Ophelia pulled herself on top with no competition from the others. Even after two months, she was still moving slowly, her right wing torn apart near the joint after the thumb. It pained her to put weight on it for too long, and her attitude diminished when she could no longer walk.

Ophelia would snap at her siblings, hissing and spitting if they approached her when she was in a great deal of pain. The only exception was Severus and Loki. Not because she cared for them more than the others, but simply because she knew that neither of them would let her get away with that attitude turned on them.

She had also learned that if she was less of a brat to me, I would rub at her aches and sing or read to her until she could sleep.

I flicked my fingers again and the sled started to move. I didn’t announce our leaving like I had when we left the cave – back when it had been a happier time – instead I just started walking.

Most of the dragons immediately took flight. Now the size of large dogs, they could fly for a few hours without tiring. Gemini and Hera stayed grounded, Hera chirruping at Ophelia as the black dragon settled herself down for a nap. Gemini warbled and clicked at me, and I turned to look down at him, tilting my head as I tried to make out what he was asking.

“Up carry?” He repeated his call, and I was only able to discern part of his request. I only fully understood when he lifted a wing and grabbed at my pants with his thumb. I chuckled softly but bent down to pick him up all the same. He really was starting to get too big for this, but Gemini had been extra clingy since the death of his twin.

“You shouldn’t indulge him,” Severus hissed in my ear as I propped Gemini on my hip. Gemini tilted the bright red head back to keep it away from the smaller dragon as Snape snapped at him.

“Stop that,” I raised my free hand to flick the white dragon on the nose. “He’s lonely, Severus, and he wants to be held. Play nice.”

Severus hissed a low growl but settled once more. As a last act of defiance, he shifted from my hood to drape himself around the back of my neck so he could glare from his higher perch. Gemini shifted lower, settling his feet on my thigh so I had to adjust my grip to his back instead of below his tail. It wasn’t comfortable, and I knew he wouldn’t last long in that position, but no matter how I tried to lift him back up, he refused to budge.

“Really, Severus?” I hissed, lifting my leg to try and get the awkwardly perched dragon to settle back where he had been on my hip, where it was comfortable to hold him as I walked.

“I did nothing,” he replied, but his voice was smug, and he didn’t stop glaring down at the red whelp.

I grunted in disbelief but decided not to argue. Instead, we continued on and soon we were back on actual ground, keeping the ice shelf in sight as we headed further south. 

It only took a flick of the wand to set up camp at the end of every night, and as we settled in, piling on the tent floor, I would pull a book out and begin to read. I had already read all the books in Hermione’s bag, but that didn’t stop the dragons from huddling close as I opened one and began to read aloud.

Snape’s favorite was the potions book, because of course it was. And while the grey book had the best story line, I still liked the dragon book best. It also was adorable how fascinated the whelps were with the illustrations of their counterparts. Roan would tilt his pale gold head and chirrup curiously at each drawing, but he didn’t care for the fact that the pictures moved.

He would poke his nose at the page, as if he could coax the illustrated dragon off of the paper if he irritated it enough. I was constantly shoving his head aside to be able to read, and if I didn’t wave my wand to get the illustrations to be still, we wouldn’t be able to get through a single chapter in a night with his aggressive grumblings and angry hisses.

Ophelia and Loki were above such things, preferring to listen from a distance. Guinevere would hiss at Roan, Hera would headbutt them until they both quieted down, while Gemini would nudge and push until he could worm his way beneath my arm and curl up against my side.

He was scarred deeply from the wounds he sustained from the sea serpent. His left horn broken, left eye intact but milky, and long white scars stretching from the side of his face all the way down to his neck and the upper part of his chest. The broken horn had grown out some, originally severed off at the base, there was now an inch of growth before the break.

It would always be broken, but the older he got, the less noticeable it would be. It was his eye that I worried about. He could still track movement with it, but anything with detail seemed to be compromised. I hoped it would get better as it healed fully, but Severus believed Gemini would just have to learn to live with it. Without special care and potions, it was unlikely it would get any better.

Severus would remind me that we were lucky it wasn’t getting any worse, and that Gemini could see anything from that eye at all. I had to take our luck where we could get it, seeing as good fortune seemed to be a rare commodity in this wasteland.

We traveled for a long time, one full moon turned into two and then three. We would travel several days in a row, setting up camp at night and breaking it down before sunrise every morning. Every few nights we would set up camp and stay for several days to recuperate. Our food stores seemed almost never ending, between the whale, seals, and the sea serpent, the meat we harvested could last us for several more months even with how quickly the dragons were growing.

Preservation spells were a godsend. And once I learned how to pull the salt out of the sea water, I was able to season it at least a little.

We even had enough food that I could leave out a few chunks every night for the lone she-wolf and her pups that trailed us. She had given birth to three pups, all white with grey patterning, one much darker than the others. They too were growing fast.

Severus stopped complaining when he realized that I was going to keep feeding them despite his aggravation. I wasn’t stupid about it however, I knew that these were wild animals, just as likely to kill and eat us as they were to leave us alone. I still laid heavy wards and layered proximity spells over our camp every night, but so far, nothing came close enough to set them off.

As my warding and rune lessons expanded into a level I could almost consider advanced, Snape began to teach me occlumency. He said it was to help with my memory and maybe keep the nightmares at bay – of which I have had many since the attack – but I just thought he loved to torture me. What the hell did he even mean when he said, ‘clear your mind’? Clear your mind of what?

Occlumency was slow going.

My Latin lessons were more conversational now that I had a good grasp on the language, and the theoretical potions were an ongoing aggravation. I was always a more physical learner than anything else, and despite explaining this multiple times to Snape, he continued to drill me on ingredient reactions and stirring times.

We were just in the middle of an argument about ingredient collection – which I thought was a useless topic as we were nowhere near where any would be found – when we came upon a copse of trees. Actual fucking trees.

I think I might have cried a little.

They were short and had very little greenery on them, but they were trees. We set up camp and stayed for nearly a week before we moved on. A few days later, we found more trees, and I got so excited that I accidentally knocked Severus from his perch with my hand that I had thrown up to get his attention. He had gone face first into a snow drift and I laughingly helped to dig him out of it. He was not amused, but the rest of us certainly were.

We had been traveling through what I realized was a forest for several days before I realized that I could perhaps find something to eat other than meat. It took some more lessons, and a little bit of spell work, but I was able to find roots and nuts that were edible. Severus taught me several spells to identify if something was safe to consume, which then turned into a lesson on spells for detecting poisons, because of course it did.

I was learning Severus was a very paranoid sort.

We were packing up camp after a three day stay when I noticed that the meat I had left out the previous night had been left untouched. “She must have decided to find her own way,” I mumbled.

“It’s about time,” Snape grumbled, darting down to light a smaller piece on fire and gobbled it up, though he was still rotund from his breakfast. I scooped him back up before he could go in for seconds.

“Stop that,” I hissed at him as he struggled in my grip. “You’ll get fat.”

Snape growled and feinted a bite towards my fingers, but I knew better than to fall for such a bluff and stuffed him in my hood instead, flipping it over him so he would be trapped while I made my way back to camp. He struggled, hissing and spitting in anger as he finally clawed his way free just as I had started to pack up camp.

“Thirty points from Gryffindor!” Severus shrieked as he launched himself from my shoulder and onto the sled as the ties came up around the covering hide.

“What did I do this time?” I asked, trying to sound indignant but failing to hide my amusement.

“For implying a professor was gaining weight!” He hissed, head low and fins raised. “And for manhandling me!”

“You are gaining weight,” I replied, not even bothering to hide my laughter now. “You’re a growing dragon. And you will get fat if you keep eating like this. Honestly Snape, your stomach is ballooning, how can you even fit any more food in there. But I will consent to the manhandling. So, I will allow fifteen points.”

“This is not a negotiation!” Snape growled, his fins fluttering in his aggravation as the sled lifted and he was forced to the edge when Ophelia climbed aboard. She could walk most of the day without any difficulty at this point, but she was notoriously lazy. The only other dragon that fought her for a ride on the sled was Gemini, but he was too busy bothering Guinevere to notice he had lost his chance.

“You’re right, fifteen is too much. How about ten?”

“You are impossible,” He ground out, shaking his head.

“And your punishment system is useless” I replied.

He was still arguing when I stopped suddenly, flicking my fingers to halt the sled that Ophelia was sleeping on. White and red caught my eye and I turned to look as Severus continued to drone on with his useless argument and how once upon a time children were chained in the dungeon and tortured for disobedience. I felt like he and Filch would get along great. Perhaps they already did.

It was only when I started walking towards it did he finally stop speaking and took in what caught my attention. “What kind of tree is that?” I asked, approaching the massive white tree with red leaves. “Severus,” I hissed, flinging my hand up and whacking him unnecessarily on the chest. He snapped at my fingers and growled at me, but I ignored it. “Severus! It has a face!”

And indeed, it had. There was a face that looked as if it had been carved into the trunk ages ago, and from the eyes it cried what appeared to be red blood. I stepped forward hesitantly, distantly aware that the sled was back in the trees and all the whelps were out of sight. It had been a long while since it was just Severus and I, and it made me feel uncomfortable and a little anxious.

Once I was standing in front of the massive tree, I reached out and touched the dripping red liquid with slightly shaking fingers. It coated my fingertips, the texture thick and sticky. Wiggling my fingers, I brought them close to my face and sniffed. It smelled earthy.

Severus shifted down my arm and his dark blue tongue darted out and tasted it. “Sap,” he answered my unasked question. I held my hand up curiously to catch the sap in the light. It really did look like blood.

“Why’s it red?”

“Why is it red,” Severus corrected, and I groaned in annoyance. Aside from my Latin language lessons, he had also taken it upon himself to correct my English as well. 

“Okay, yes…but why?”

Snape bobbed his head in what I understood as a shrug. “Some trees just have red sap, like the eucalyptus tree, for example. There is a tree in Africa, commonly known as bloodwood that bleeds red sap when cut. It has something to do with the high amount of tannin. As to why this one is bleeding tears of red sap, I cannot say.”

He tilted his head as he looked at the face of the tree in curiosity before he launched himself from my shoulder to land on a high branch. Severus was nearly invisible amongst the bark, and I wouldn’t have known he was there if I hadn’t been looking for him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, tilting my head up and watching his small form crawl further out on the branches.

“Looking for a long, straight, and thin stick,” he replied, the leaves fluttering in the wind and obscuring him from view.

“Okay?” I pushed my hair aside and shifted around the trunk to catch sight of him again. He was nearly completely obscured by the leaves, far out on a large branch and making his way even further. “Why?”

I could hear his snort even as he ascended higher. “For your wand, you dunderhead. This tree clearly has magical properties. We might be able to use the wood to fill the gaps of your broken holly or replace it entirely.”

“Oh, right,” I replied, blushing in embarrassment. I had completely forgotten about my broken wand. Even though I had two wand holsters on my forearms, they were both invisible and easy to forget until it came time to change for the night. And even then, I would forget that only one holster actually contained a wand.

I returned to the face of the tree, blinking at the eyes that seemed to stare back at me. In fact, it actually felt like it was staring back at me. With my limited occlumency in place, I reached forward to set my hand against the face, to try and see if there really was something in there watching me.

My fingers were almost against the wood when I felt a blade press against my neck.

Chapter Text

There were people in front of me. Actual people, living breathing people. I don’t think I have ever been happier in my entire life to see anybody…even if they were holding me at spearpoint.

I was nearly vibrating with energy and trying to keep a smile off my face as a large man with furs started to speak to me in a harsh tone. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but it didn’t matter. Actual fucking people! I almost started to cry; I could actually feel my eyes get a little misty.

The man behind me tugged harshly on my arm, pulling me back against his larger frame while keeping the knife pressed against my throat. His grip was tight, and the pressure of the blade started to increase as the other one repeated what he had said, this time louder. I would have been worried about the blade slipping and slicing into my skin, but I knew that it wouldn’t be able to pierce the sea serpent hide even if he had been trying to slit my throat.

While uncomfortable, I was in no danger, and I tried to reassure Severus of that without giving his presence away to what I could only assume were my captors.

I could feel Severus’ worry and anger thrumming in my own chest, and though I hadn’t really experimented with our connection – too afraid of incurring his wrath as I had when first explained our bond – I knew I had succeeded in sharing my reassurance and caution back to him when I saw his form still in the white tree. With his similar coloring, he appeared to be just another part of the branches.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I spoke slowly, hands raised in surrender as the large man marched forward and pressed the spearpoint just beneath my collarbone. The one behind me gripped my arm harder and I winced. I just knew it was going to leave a bruise.

“Hveri ertru!” The man shouted again, pressing the spear tip in deeper. It was only once he was closer that I started to take in details of the group around me. I had been so distracted by the fact that there were people, that I hadn’t really looked at them.

The one holding the spear was probably the tallest man I had ever seen – aside from Hagrid – and he was built like a bear, though the furs did hide much. His head was shaved bare, and his pale face scarred heavily in a decorative fashion. The wounds must have been carved deep to cause the scar tissue to raise like that.

There were two other men behind him, one just as bald and scarred, and he was holding an axe nearly as large as I was. The other had his hair short, the top tied in a tight bun. He looked much younger than the others – probably only a few years older than me – and had no scars presented on his face. I wondered if the scars had some sort of meaning and perhaps the young man hadn’t earned them yet.

There was a single woman in the group. Like the youngest man, she wasn’t bald, but the sides of her head were shaved to the scalp, the hair that remained at the top was braided together in many plaits that hung low down her back. She had minimal scarring on her face, only a crescent moon on its back in the center of her forehead above the brow and a single line underneath that extended from below the moon to the bridge of her nose, then the line broke and then continued beneath her lip and down her chin. Her cheeks were bare, unlike the men, and I wondered if there was anything significant about it.

I was pulled out of my observation when the man behind me released my arm and wrapped his around my stomach and lifted me from the ground.

“What? What are you doing? Let go of me!” I shouted, kicking out as the man in front grabbed my forearms. He shoved my flailing legs aside and started to tie my wrists together with rope that I hadn’t noticed before. “Stop it! What are you doing?! Severus!” I screamed in a panic as the man holding me threw me over his shoulder.

A wave of reassurance washed over me, and I planted my elbows in the furred back to lift my head. I could just barely make out Severus’ form between the red leaves as I was carried away. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was staying hidden in order to observe the situation, I knew that once we were out of sight he was going to find the whelps and keep them safe, I knew that they would be following close behind, and I knew that he would intervene before anything would happen to me.

His plan pressed into my mind just as his anger washed over me but knowing did not ease my fear.

It was a good plan – the best in the situation with as little time as he had to come up with it – but as I was carried away and our gazes broke, I found myself deeply unsatisfied with it. The men were talking to each other, their language guttural and harsh to my ears. The woman walked behind, and occasionally she would lift her dark blue eyes up to meet mine. She would stare at me for a moment, and then go back to watching the passing scenery.

Her face was devoid of emotions, and I knew that I would find no help from her. She wasn’t cowed by her companions, but indifferent to the whole situation.

They marched on for several hours, the man holding me not seeming to tire in the least, before stopping to make camp. I was dropped on the ground like a bag of potatoes and grunted from the impact as I tried to push myself up from the snow. With my wrists still bound, I was forced to use my elbows in order to get enough leverage to roll over and sit up.

The group was already busy building a fire and two of the men left with spears and bows in their hands. Those that remained paid me not an ounce of attention as one began gathering wood and the woman started shoveling snow into a small pot. The fire was burning hotly in no time and the woman set the pot on top of it while the other man started stripping branches off a tree and tying them together.

The young man lacking facial scarring speared the branches he tied into the ground on either side of the fire, and I had just realized that I was looking at a spit for roasting food when my shoulder was grabbed roughly. The man that had thrown me over his shoulder crouched down in front of me, releasing my shoulder to run his hands down my legs. I immediately tried to jerk away, and he gripped my thigh so tightly that it brought tears to my eyes, and instead I tried to kick him instead.

I got one good hit to his stomach, and I heard him grunt before he jerked my leg towards him so quickly that I fell on my back. Severus’ name was on my lips, ready to call out to him to light this man on fire for trying to assault me – and I knew that he wasn’t far, I could feel him getting closer – when the man’s grip dropped to my boots, and he started to feel around my ankles.

It was as he pulled the dragon bone knife out of my boot that I realized he wasn’t assaulting me…he was searching me. I bit my lip to keep myself from shouting for the white dragon, and instead bore the frisk in silence and glares as his hands moved to the robe and searched the outside pockets.

He pulled the few odds and ends that I had shoved into them – a small clipping of some sort of evergreen from the first tree I had seen since arriving here - preserved with a housekeeping spell Severus had taught me - some leather scraps I had been trying to make into hair ties, and the scales I had taken from the dragons when they were shedding. He looked at the scales oddly, stroking his thumbs along them curiously before he shoved the random items back into my pockets. Clearly they held no threat to the group.

When he was done, he grabbed my biceps and pulled me back up into a sitting position. He didn’t search the inside pockets, and I didn’t draw attention to them.

I had another blade, smaller than the one in my boot, tucked away, along with some cooked meat. He also didn’t notice the wand holsters on my wrists though that wasn’t a surprise at all. I could feel that he wasn’t magical, so he could not see, feel, nor sense the holsters.

The wand and the knife made me feel a little better about my situation, but only just. The novelty of seeing people was wearing off quite quickly.

After the older man had searched me, I was ignored and left to sit in the snow while the others gathered around the fire. The younger one kept glancing at me, but he didn’t approach. The sun had begun to set, and I was trying to decide to spell the ropes off and make a run for it when the other two returned with several dead rabbits and what looked like a white pheasant of some sort.

The bird was tossed into the lap of the woman, and she started to pluck the feathers, setting the larger ones from the wings aside, and shoving the rest into a leather bag sitting next to her. The rabbits were skinned, skewered, and set to roast in quick order and the group started to relax around the fire while the woman began splitting the larger feathers down the quill and trimming them.

Sighing in annoyance, I decided to wait it out and see where this was going. They hadn’t hurt me yet – at least intentionally, I reminded myself as my arms and legs ached from where I had been grabbed, stomach throbbing from being carried – and with the language barrier, communication would be difficult. But perhaps I would be able to learn where I was if I stayed with them long enough…as long as they didn’t try anything.

I flopped back onto the snow, grunting at the impact as I let their unknown words wash over me. They were laughing at something the woman said and I rolled my eyes and prepared myself for a long and hungry night. Something heavy and soft fell on me from above and I opened my eyes to see the younger man standing above me. He had dropped his cloak in my lap. I fisted my hands in the coarse fur and glanced up at him in confusion.

“Ath vera halýtt,” he said, gesturing to the fur and then myself. The words I couldn’t understand, but the gesture was universal. He had given me the cloak to keep me warm. The thoughtful action was appreciated, but unneeded.

I hadn’t felt the cold in months since I crafted the bodysuits out of the sea serpent hide, but the man had no way of knowing that. Instead of declining the gift, I gave him a small smile and a nod before pulling what was probably bear hide up to my shoulders and rolling on my side to get some sleep.

The woman said something to the young man in a derisive and teasing tone, and the others broke out in laughter as he rejoined them by the fire. The young man replied back with an angry gesture and angrier words that had them laughing even harder.

The sounds of the others started to fade as they settled down for the night, and I waited until only one remained awake on watch to sneak my hand into one of the inner pockets in the robe. Pulling out a chunk of dried meat, I ate it as discreetly as possible, using the heavy fur cloak to hide my movements. It wasn’t much food, but I hoped it was enough to settle my stomach.

I was doubtful that I could get any rest, but before what seemed like any time had passed, a kick to my leg awoke me and I realized that it was morning already. I sat up blinking the sleep from my eyes and trying to brush my hair back when I was reminded of the rope binding my wrists together. Gritting my teeth, I flopped my hands uselessly in my lap and glared around the camp.

My captors were efficient people, that was for certain. The fire had been stomped out and covered with snow, the spit broken down, and their items packed away quickly. I was trying to figure out how to stand with my hands bound when the man who held me at spearpoint grabbed my bicep and yanked me onto my feet.

I shot him a glare, but he had already turned away and was helping the woman distribute their packs evenly amongst the others. Bending down to pick up the bear cloak, I tried to hand it back to the younger man as he passed by me, but he only shook his head and pushed it back towards me.

Shrugging, I pulled it awkwardly over my shoulders with my bound wrists to appease him. It was much too large on me, longer than I was tall, the end rested in the snow. I was trying to figure out how the odd bone clasp worked when I saw the other man, the one who had carried me, stomp over. He grabbed the pointed bone and shoved it through a loop I hadn’t noticed and twisted it to keep it in place.

“Thank you,” I mumbled in both annoyance at his gruff behavior and appreciation, though I knew he couldn’t understand the words. He tilted his bald head and then started to crouch and reached for me. I backpedaled quickly away from his grasp - nearly tripping over the large cloak - and a few steps more when he tried to approach me again. “No,” I stated firmly, holding my hand out to stop him. My stomach was still sore from his shoulder, and I wouldn’t be carried again. “I can walk.”

He glared at me, glancing back at the largest man, the one with the axe, before approaching me again. “No!” I gestured for him to stop again; my loud shout surprising him enough to give him pause. “I,” I started, gesturing slowly to myself so he understood that I was trying to communicate a point, and not run away. “I can walk,” I pointed my index and middle fingers to the ground, curling my other fingers while wiggling the two back and forth to mimic someone walking.

When he continued to stare at me, I repeated the words and the gestures, before pointing behind him and miming again. He glared at me, standing with his arms crossed and a severe expression on his face. I didn’t know if he understood what I was trying to say, but he didn’t try to stop me when I shuffled slowly around him and started to move towards the others. He turned to keep watching me, but he let me walk past.

Sighing in relief, I ignored the glare I could feel upon my back, and the amused shouting between the others as I started to follow after them. Walking near them really brought to attention their size. They were much taller than me, even the woman stood a head and half more than my measly five-foot-nothing.

The man who had carried me yesterday walked closely behind, and I was learning that even though I had been used to walking for long distances, keeping up with them was quite something else. It wasn’t just the heavy cloak that dragged in the snow behind me, or that my hands were bound – which affected my balance and caused me to stumble more than once – but also their long strides and fast pace.

The large man never assisted me when I stumbled, but he was more than happy to shove me forward when I started to lag behind. It was barely past midday when my legs decided that they had enough. My thighs were burning, and my feet felt as if weighed down by lead with each step I took, the air burning my lungs with each heaving breath.

After he pushed me from behind again, I stopped with a huff and turned to glare at him. He stood there and said something that was probably insulting and derisive based on his tone and the sneer of his lips, while he gestured to the rest of the group that was still moving onwards.

“I can’t,” I replied, thrusting my bound hands into his face and then gesturing to my legs. “I’m tired.”

“Haltuf áhfram,” he scowled at me, the grip he had on his spear tightening, before he used it to point at the group.

“Ugh,” I grunted, throwing my bound hands up and turning to walk a few steps before my burning thighs reminded me why that was a bad idea. I stopped and turned back so quickly he almost ran into me, and I brought my hands up to his chest to stop him. “Carry me,” my cheeks burned from the embarrassment of it, but there was nothing else to be done. I was too tired to continue and already I could hear the others shouting back at us.

“Haltuf áhfram!” He shouted at me, grabbing my shoulder to turn me back and shove me towards the group.

“No!” I shouted, digging my heels in and shoving uselessly at his chest. He didn’t even move from my push, and I tried not to feel annoyed by that. “I’m tired, if you want to continue, you’ll have to carry me,” I gestured to myself and then his shoulder, miming a lifting gesture. He only continued to glare at me, jabbing his spear angrily towards the group that had stopped a few dozen meters up the hill.

In retaliation I sat down.

“Hvath er vandámlith!” The man with the axe shouted down at us from up the hill. I was beginning to believe that he was the leader.

“Hún mýun ekki khoma!” He shouted back, gesturing angrily at me. I glanced back and forth between them but remained sitting. I really should have thought to ask Severus for a translation spell or something, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty. I couldn’t have possibly known I would need it so soon, but I did have the vague thought every now and then that if there was sentient life in this reality, they more than likely wouldn’t speak my language. I was just happy that sentient life here still appeared to be perfectly human…if not a little barbaric.

The other man said something I couldn’t hear and those around him started to laugh loudly. The woman shouted something at the man standing over me, and the man yelled something angrily, gesturing to her and then me with his spear. The sharp point was in my face as he continued to argue with the woman, and I brought my hands up to move the spear to the side.

He reached down quickly, grabbing my wrists where the rope was tied and yanking me onto my feet before shoving me towards the group. I glared angrily at him, throwing my bound fists against his chest and standing on my toes to shout up at him. “I’m done walking! Either carry me or leave me here!”

I was about to return to sitting on the ground, or perhaps ducking as his expression was twisted angrily enough that he looked to be considering violence, when the temperature seemed to drop and movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention.

The man had his free hand around my arm near my shoulder, gripping hard over the bruises that he had left there the day before, and shouting something down at me that was no doubt a threat, but I didn’t notice any of that. At first, I thought I saw Severus coming through the trees, but I knew he was at least a mile back, and it couldn’t have been the whelps as I trusted Severus to keep them close, but the thing moving between the trees was definitely white.

His grip tightened and he shook me as I could finally make out the shape of what appeared to be a person walking towards us, but there was something wrong with them. They moved oddly, skin bare and pale, and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. With every step closer they moved, the colder it seemed to become.

“Haltuf áhfram! Etha ég mýun berhja thig!” He shouted down at me, and I found myself slapping his chest to turn his attention to the thing approaching us.

“What is that,” I hissed, even as he shook me again. I slapped his chest harder with my bound hands and then pointed at the approaching figure.

He was still shouting at me, his spear pointing towards the group, but his head turned to where I was pointing, and his words trailed off and then died in his throat. I watched his face go from furious to panicked in seconds and suddenly he was shouting again, but this time not at me.

“Hvítm göngrind! Hvítm göngrind!” The others were rushing back down the hill, weapons ready as the man shoved me behind him and held his spear out in front of him.

The leader was shouting at the group as they joined us, getting into a loose formation facing the creature that looked like a man and yet didn’t. The youngest man threw himself to his knees on the ground next to me, hurriedly grabbing twigs and branches out of his pack and dropping them into a pile.

The creature appeared to be male and was so gaunt his ribs were on clear display underneath its blindingly white skin. It looked as if the skin had been mummified, dried and stretched, before being pulled over his bones. His eyes were blue from corner to corner, and glowed in the dim light that filtered through the trees. In his hand was a blade like none I had ever seen, thin and made out of what appeared to be ice. It reflected the light around it, and it was hard to see the edges.

“Tilbúnn!” The leader shouted, and the others replied with something else. The youngest was striking a flint stone and I realized he was trying to start a fire, though his shaking hands were making it difficult.

The approaching white creature stopped a few dozen paces away, lifted his clear sword, pointed it at us, and then let out a dry cracking shriek that made my ears ring.

Things came out of the forest behind it…dozens of dead people that held weapons, eyes bright blue, and a sickly dark magic seeped from them in waves that caused my stomach to roll. I thought of Severus, I thought of him so hard that I pressed my terror and urgency into him and felt his overwhelming fear ripple back.

He was coming, I could feel him closing the distance…but the dead things were much closer, and I knew that he wouldn’t make it.

The dead were running so fast, and I felt my magic surge up to protect me. The rope slipped from my bound wrists and Severus’ wand snapped into my hand with a flick. I cast the shielding spell without thought, making certain that it encompassed the whole group, and secretly thanked Severus for drilling combat magic into me.

My captors crouched low, bracing themselves to meet the oncoming dead head on, and then flinching back as the dead slammed into a barrier that was invisible to their eyes. They clawed at it, shrieking and slamming their weapons against the magical shield, and though the group looked at each other in confusion, the pale creature with the clear sword was looking right at me.

The group followed its gaze and as they turned to settle their eyes on me, I pointed my wand to the pile of sticks and lit it with a flick. The fire burst into life, far too high and too strong for what little fuel it had been provided and the young man fell backwards as the flames roared. The group shifted away from me, bodies turned to keep the dead and myself in sight…but my gaze didn’t leave the pale white creature with the glowing blue eyes.

The man who had carried me recovered first, thrusting his spear into the roaring flames and lighting the tip on fire. The others were quick to do the same, the woman lighting an arrow before she drew the bow back and let the arrow fly. It soared through my one-sided barrier and landed in the skull of a rotted corpse. It lit like kindling, before collapsing into a pile of smoke and flame.

Another arrow followed the first, and one of the men took up a bow as well. They had felled a third of the dead before my shield started to crack. Severus was still too far away to reach us before my barrier failed, and I knew that I would have to utilize more combat magic than I had ever had to before. I had never had to use the new spells he taught me outside of practice before now, and I already knew that most of them wouldn’t work. What use was a disembowelment spell to a dead thing that didn’t even have bowels?

Fire seemed to work, and I was certain a good blasting spell would be just as effective if I could blow the bodies apart enough that it would be useless. The other spells I would just have to test and see what worked…and I always did better when I was flying by the seat of my pants anyway.

I moved to stand next to my captors, wand at the ready and glare harsh as the pale creature shrieked again. The dead things were climbing atop their fallen brethren, their attack upon my shield increasing as they moved to fully surround us. The group may not have been able to see my magic, but they could hear the cracking as the shield started to splinter, and I watched them spread out in a loose circle and prepare.

Seconds later, the shield crumbled with a loud boom and the dead were suddenly upon us. I lashed out with a whip of fire that swung around to the outside of our group and incinerated the dead closest to us. The flames hadn’t even died away before they were fully upon us.

Flipendo was effective in downing the dead long enough for one of the others to dispatch them, and bombarda blasted them back far enough to give us some space. I cast as many spells as I could think, conjuring birds to fly at their faces to distract them, freezing their feet to the ground, transforming their weapons into feathers and other useless objects. All it did was slow them down, but nothing seemed to stop their assault.

I cast a blasting hex, covering my eyes as the dead thing before me burst apart in a shower of body parts, releasing another lashing of fire to get the closest to back off, when I noticed even more dead pouring from the trees. There had to be half a hundred of them in various states of decay.

“Severus!” I shouted, though I doubted he could hear me. I couldn’t focus enough to feel how close he was, but I knew if he didn’t get here soon, we would be overwhelmed.

There was a cry from behind me, and I turned just in time to see the youngest male go down underneath a pile of the corpses. By the time I blasted them off, he was dead, eyes staring up at nothing and front covered in blood.

I felt that gut wrenching pull of guilt and sadness, the young man’s bear cloak still around my shoulders, and I had never even learned his name.

The woman went down next, along with the man next to her, and I cast a heavy banishing charm upon the dead on top of them, but I was already engaging more of the dead and couldn’t see if either got back up. I felt the leader bump against me from behind as he used his heavy axe to cleave several of them in two with one swing.

The one who carried me stumbled against my other side and I realized we had all retreated as far as we could, with the dead surrounding us from all sides. There was nowhere else to retreat to.

I cast another whip of fire and lashed it around us to give us some breathing room, but the dead were so numerous that any gap I had created was closed seconds later. We were all going to die here.

A loud whistling noise came from above, and for a moment I didn’t know what it was…until I felt Severus’ presence surge through me. “Down!” I shouted, grabbing the two men closest to me and trying to yank them down. They didn’t budge under my forceful tugging, but they did copy me seconds later as the ground before us exploded into bright blue and purple flames, the blowback strong enough to knock me onto my back.

I could barely make out the small white dragon ascending before I lost sight of him in the smoke. I had to use my ears to locate him as he stooped, too fast for my eyes to see, and another group of dead were engulfed in blue and purple fire. A shriek drew my attention, and I could just make out Loki’s low gliding form as he soared over us and set another group of dead alight.

The whelps descended from the sky, and in seconds the battle turned in our favor. I turned to check on the others when I found myself scrambling suddenly away from the pale creature that had closed the distance between us. It bore down on me, slicing his nearly invisible sword at me and I ducked and weaved away from each swing.

I tripped over one of the dead - I couldn’t tell if it was theirs or ours - and I watched as the blade came down from above, heading straight for my head. I flinched back, trying to bring my wand up but knowing it was too late, when a spear came up to stop the blow…except it didn’t. The spear shattered into thousands of pieces of ice, and the sword continued its downward swing.

The delay the spear had caused gave me just enough time to roll out of the way and cast a blasting charm on the creature. The spell didn’t work as intended against it, barely causing him to stumble as opposed to throwing him back, but it gave me enough time to get to my feet and bring my wand up.

The man who helped me, the one who I had been arguing with before the attack, was now weaponless, and he struggled to find something usable that the dead had left behind when they had fallen. I stepped in front of the defenseless man and cast a severing hex at the white creature. Its skin split across the chest, but it didn’t bleed. It barely seemed to notice at all.

Behind it, I saw the ground explode again and I stumbled from the force of it. By the time I regained my balance, the creature was on me once more. A burning arrow flew into its chest, but the flame stuttered out and died before the tip had even been fully buried. The creature lifted a hand and yanked the arrow out, its approach not slowed in the least.

A jet of flame burst from my wand, but the cold killed that as well. Behind me, the fire died, and the air was so cold that it burned my lungs. In desperation I cast my patronus, blinking in surprise as a Hungarian Horntail burst forth, and not the doe that I was expecting. It charged at the creature, flaring its wings and head lowered, and though it distracted the thing, it didn’t do much more than that against it. On the other hand, the dead it ran through collapsed and broke apart, the pure light magic eating the foul dark magic easily.

What I really needed was a sword.

Even as I thought the words, I felt a heavy metal handle materialize into my hand. I didn’t look at it, I didn’t have too. Even though it had been several years, the pommel of the sword of Gryffindor felt at home in my hand just as it did when I wielded it against the basilisk. I dropped the wand, not even giving it a second thought as I felt it return to the holster, gripped the sword with both hands and brought it up to block the next swing.

The two blades met with a high-pitched ring, and though I flinched back, expecting the blade to break, it held steady. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or the creature.

It stared at the blade, the shimmering surface reflecting the creature’s pale face, and then its glowing blue eyes turned to me. I parried the next attack, ducked beneath a heavy swing, and ran it through with the sword in my hands. White lightning-like veins spread from the wound in its chest, and the creature had one last second to look shocked before it burst apart into tiny pieces like the spear had.

Around us, the dead collapsed and didn’t get back up. The foul magic that had been leaking from them was gone, and I was left standing in a field of corpses, breathing heavily and suddenly feeling exhausted once more.

Above me the dragons shrieked, and I felt the light weight of Severus landing upon my shoulder. His talons dug into the bear fur, one of his wings curling behind my neck and I felt his dual thumb-claws curl tightly into my loose hair. He was breathing heavily, his small chest heaved, and his hide twitched and shuddered with each breath. My hand raised without thought, and Severus’ head rubbed harshly against my palm, a low thrum emanating from him.

I turned to look back at the group, taking in the survivors. The leader stood with his axe still at the ready, behind him was the man who carried me. He was kneeling in the snow, a broken sword in one hand and gripping his side tightly with the other. I couldn’t see the woman.

I approached the two men slowly, stopping when they flinched back and brought their weapons up to bear. I blinked in surprise, only realizing that they were preparing to fight me when Severus whispered words of caution into my ears. Though the sword was heavy in my hand, I had forgotten I was holding it until just then. I stabbed it into the ground to hold my hands up in surrender. The action didn’t seem to placate them.

Around us, the few dragons that had landed started to take notice, turning their attention to our standoff. They took in the two men with interested eyes, and I could see the men become more nervous as Hera started to approach. I waved her off, encouraging her and the others to back away. She did, but only after a few long seconds where I thought she would disobey and possibly attack them. It was only Severus’ warning trill that made her obey.

“He needs healing,” I spoke softly though I knew they couldn’t understand me. Instead, I gestured to the injured man and shuffled closer.

The leader gripped his axe harder but let me pass when Severus shrieked a threat at him. The injured man flinched again when the rest of the whelps started to land around us. Gemini was nosing curiously at the dead bodies, and Guinevere was shrieking at Roan as he nipped at one. Roan cowered back, leaving the dead alone, and Gemini soon followed as Guinevere turned her severe gaze upon the smaller dragon.

Severus puffed up his chest and glared at the two men as I knelt before the injured one. He stared at me, the scars prominent on his pale face and fingers covered in blood from where he gripped his side. I reached forward slowly, and he allowed me to pull his hand away to look at his wound.

I had to rip the furs further to get a good view, ignoring his grunt as I prodded at the rather large slice that stretched from the bottom of his ribcage to his hip. “Would episky work?” I asked Severus, ignoring the injured man’s flinch as the wand snapped into my hand and I cleaned away the blood with a scourgify.

“It should,” Severus replied, tilting his head to peer at it. “It doesn’t look deep, just long. You may have to cast it more than once.”

By the time I was finished, the other man had gathered their dead and started to strip them of their supplies. I was saddened to see the woman had passed as well, her body laid between the younger man who had given me his cloak and the other man who had held me a spearpoint. I cast a quick repairing charm on the furs of the one before me, before I stood and walked over to the other.

I could see the still kneeling man poking at his healed wound and tugging at his repaired clothing, he was speaking to the other one, and the leader looked curiously over at him, but continued gathering what supplies they had left. The once injured man stood and began gathering wood, and though they both tried to hide it, I could tell they were watching both me and the dragons at all times.

Solar and Romulus were fighting over a thigh bone of one of the more decomposed corpses, and I felt my eyes rolling at their antics even as I went over to break them apart. I tugged the bone away, bopping them both on the nose when they protested with loud shrieks.

“Stop that,” I hissed at their cries of protest. Shooing Hera away as she approached another corpse in curiosity. “Not food,” I told them, ignoring Roan’s immediate and excited question of food. “Severus, make them stop. Merlin knows what kinds of diseases these bodies are carrying.”

“We should burn them,” he replied. “Gather the bodies up, I’ll light them.”

 I flicked my wand and floated the corpses into another pile, ignoring the blatant staring the men were doing, and then chasing Gemini away as he tried to pluck the moving body pieces from the air.

Severus shrieked at the whelps and Loki shrieked back in defiance, but they finally settled. Once the last body part settled into the pile, Severus climbed down my arm and glided to the snow-covered ground. I thought about saying something, knowing that it wasn’t the fault of the dead that their bodies had been reanimated with foul magic, but I couldn’t find anything to say.

Instead, I nodded to the small dragon that stood only a little higher than the height of my boot and Severus turned and lit the pile of dead bodies on fire. His flame burned so hot that the first few inches spouted from his maw were beyond the color spectrum my eyes could see, and the pile was reduced to ash in seconds.

I stood over them, hands clasped behind me, ignoring the blistering heat I could feel on my face, keeping vigil until the pile burned out. It only took a few minutes before the fire died, just as Severus intended, but it still felt like a lifetime had passed before I finally turned away. The two men were staring at the pile of ash and snow, their gazes flickering between me and the small dragon at my side. I raised a single eyebrow at them, trying to keep my expression neutral like I had seen Severus do a hundred times during potions class.

“Gehtur thú gertr hath?” The leader asked, gesturing to the pile of ash and then to the three dead behind him. “Gehtur thú gertr hath fryr thá?”

“I think they want you to burn their dead,” I told Snape, gesturing to the small dragon and then three dead just as the leader had done. The heavily scarred man nodded his head once, hands tight on his axe, but he didn’t bring it up to bear.

“That would be wise,” Severus replied. He climbed up the fur cloak to settle on my shoulder and I approached. The man moved aside quickly, keeping me in sight but not threateningly. He seemed more curious than anything now.

Moments later there was another pile of ash, and the other man - the one who had carried me - had been gathering wood grunted in annoyance and dropped his pile. The wood pieces were large, too large for a simple campfire, and I realized that he had been gathering it to build a pyre. Unnecessary now, as Severus had already taken care of it.

A noise in the forest had everyone back on high alert, and the men had their weapons at the ready in less than a moment. The sound was getting closer, and I moved quickly back to grab the sword of Gryffindor. Pulling it from the snow I brought it up to bear, but what came from between the trees wasn’t more dead or another pale creature, but a black dragon with the sled tied behind her.

“Ophelia!” I shouted, only just then realizing she had been missing from the group. Someone, likely Severus, had worked the leather strips into a sort of harness, and the loop around her neck was easy to shed if she needed too. Ophelia dragged the sled closer before she ducked her head to bite at the end of the straps, with a tug and twist she was free of the bindings and bullying her way through her siblings to harass Gemini and shriek threateningly at Roan.

It couldn’t have been easy, dragging the sled through the snow and rocky terrain. The levitation spell had probably died not soon after I was taken. But Ophelia had done it, and with little difficulty. She didn’t appear tired at all.

Once the other men realized that another threat wasn’t to come, they lowered their weapons and started to speak softly amongst themselves. The one that had been gathering wood started to build a fire and I realized that they intended to stay here for the night. It made sense, as the sky was already dimming, and we were all tired from the fight.

“Is that the sword of Gryffindor?” Severus asked, crawling down my arm to take a closer look. I held the weapon aloft and rotated it so he could see the ruby adorned hilt and Godric Gryffindor’s name engraved into the flat of the blade.

“So it would seem,” I replied with a sigh.

“How?” He asked, eyes wide and dorsal fins fluttering. “How did it get here?”

“I must have summoned it again.”

“Again?!” Severus hissed, rearing his head back and snapping his gaze to mine. He sounded thoroughly flummoxed. “What do you mean again?”

I shrugged, walking over to the sled and taking my bag – fuck it, at this point it was mine; if we made it back, I’d buy her a new one –from the sled and pulling out strips of dragon hide, dragon bone, and a long piece of sea serpent skin. “You know, the thing with the Chamber of Secrets in my second year. I summoned it from the sorting hat and used it to defeat the basilisk.”

“Basilisk?!” He shrieked again, crawling further up my arm and glaring again. “I heard nothing of this!”

“Really?” I asked curiously…I had thought everyone knew. “Everyone was talking about it at the end of the year feast.”

He climbed further up my arm to perch once more on my shoulder. “I thought it was just exaggerated stories; rumors started by children.”

“Oh,” I replied, nodding my head. That did make sense…a girl of twelve slaying a basilisk was quite the tall tale if nobody else had been there to witness it. “Well, it wasn’t.”

“What happened to the snake?” He asked, twining two of his thumb claws in my loose hair and digging the other two into the fur cloak.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, thrusting the sword back into the snow and bringing my wand out. I transfigured the dragon hide strips into a belt and the whale bone chunk into a decorative belt buckle that looked like a dragon’s mouth. “It’s probably still down in the chamber, rotting or whatever.”

The noise that emitted from Snape’s muzzle could only be described as a wail of despair. “Rotting?!” He screamed, drawing the attention of the two men who were in a quiet conversation a dozen meters away. “Rotting?! How could you leave it to rot?! Do you know how much basilisk parts are worth? The potion ingredients! Rotting!” He howled in anguish, and it took everything I had not to start laughing.

“Aw,” I cooed, reaching up and caressing his head and neck until his fins relaxed. “I’m sorry,” my tone was more amused than apologetic. “I was more worried about not dying. The lost opportunity to harvest it didn’t even occur to me.”

“Do not mock me!” Severus nipped at my fingers, and I flicked his nose in retaliation causing him to sneeze.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I laughed softly as I used the dragon bone and the white opalescent serpent hide to form a scabbard for the sword. It took a few adjustments, but the sword fit securely in the end, and I looped the scabbard through the belt and tied it around my waist. “As for the sword,” I began, struggling a moment with the decorative buckle before I figured it out. “Well, legend is that if you display true Gryffindor courage, the sword will come to you in a time of need. I’ve already summoned it once, maybe it has an affinity for me.”

“I’m not certain if that’s a good thing, having a magical artifact showing you favoritism.”

I snorted at his dry comment. “And I’m certain your cynicism has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it is an object from the House Gryffindor of which we speak,” I commented, my voice laced with obvious amusement. Snape did not deign to answer, instead choosing to growl lowly and ignore the conversation all together…as he was known to do whenever he lost an argument.

I let him drop the topic, choosing instead to pull back the hide covering the sled and start gathering meat to feed the dragons. “Are you alright?” I asked Severus, worried about the near two days of separation as the whelps started to gather around me, chirruping and warbling in excitement. Their heads came up to my hip now, and I realized that they were growing up quickly.

“I am fine,” he replied, shaking his head and bumping the side of his face against my cheek. “A little tired. And you, did they hurt you?”

“Food?” Roan chirped, smelling the meat as I started to separate them into piles. His head was tilted back, and his mouth opened as if I was going to just start tossing pieces directly into it.

“Food?” Gemini repeated.

“Yes, yes,” I sighed, making a vague shooing motion with my hand. “Just give me a bloody moment. I’m alright,” I answered Severus, feeling my muscles twitch in exhaustion. “A little sore, but fine. They never hit me, but they weren’t exactly kind. That one, the one with the spear, he’s very grabby.”

“Do I need to handle him?” Severus asked, turning to look behind him at the two men. “I could get rid of them,” he offered, and I didn’t know if I should have felt amused or horrified. He was contemplating murder, but he was doing so for my honor. I was almost flattered.

“I assure you, that will be quite unnecessary,” I replied, deciding to try for a neutral approach. “But we’ll keep an eye on them all the same.”

“Food?!” Roan chirped louder, interrupting our conversation and I bit back my automatic response of annoyance. Moments later, the dragon whelps were huddled in their little piles, gorging themselves on their meals. If I put a little extra in each pile…well, Severus didn’t say anything.

I grabbed some meat for myself and Severus before joining the two men by the fire. They shifted awkwardly, though they didn’t protest as I sat down. The meat was already cooked, but I still skewered some smaller pieces on a stick and shoved them into the flame. Severus liked his food burning and hot.

The men were watching me while trying to appear like they weren’t. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t exactly what everyone did back at Hogwarts when they found out I was the Girl-Who-Lived. It didn’t help that I probably left a bad impression with them as well, especially after my little tantrum when I decided I wasn’t going to walk anymore.

Well, no time like the present to start again, as Hermione would say.

“Harielle,” I spoke slowly, gesturing to myself. I repeated it a few more times, before I gestured to the white dragon who was full and plump in my lap. “Severus,” the little dragon looked up at me, blinking slowly before laying his head back down. He must have been more tired than I thought with all the flying and fire breathing he had done.

“Ólafur,” the leader gestured to himself. “Arnar,” he then gestured to the man who had carried me. I smiled, finally feeling like we were getting somewhere.

Then Gemini bullied his way into the group, startling Ólafur and Arnar, tried to climb into my lap which Severus was occupying – and did not appreciate – and I flopped backwards on the snow, sighing as Severus and Gemini shrieked angrily at each other. So much for leaving a good second-first impressions.

Chapter Text

“Elder Loboda!” A young boy shouted, running into the cabin and awakening the sleeping man. “Elder Loboda!”

The man awoke violently, swinging his fist and nearly punching the boy who darted back to avoid the hit. “What is it boy?” Loboda hissed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he grabbed his clothing and started to pull it on. It must have been urgent for a messenger child to run into his cabin, everyone was aware how little Loboda tolerated his privacy being invaded.

“The western scouting party,” the boy said between breaths, panting loudly and sweating heavily. He must have run quite the distance. “They’ve returned early.”

The western scouting party wasn’t due back for another half-moon’s turn, and Loboda knew this boded ill. He sent a brief prayer to the Old Gods for his son’s safety and dressed quickly, pulling his furs over his sleep clothes and stomping his feet into the large, furred boots.

“Have you awoken the others?” He questioned, grabbing his spear in afterthought as he left his hut.

“The other elders have already been told. Thule is getting the Magnar.”

“Good,” Loboda commented idly, walking to the edge of the village and halting beneath the gates where he could just make out several figures in the distance. “Go grab yourself some food,” he dismissed the boy, resting his weight on the spear and watching the slow progress of the distant figures.

He was standing alone for quite some time as the village awoke around him. A goat bleated angrily as their owner pulled them by their horns back to the pen they had escaped from. Children were just starting to leave their homes, rushing outside to the frustrated yells of their parents. The forge was bellowing, and people were chattering as they started their daily chores. These were familiar sounds, sounds Loboda had known all his life…and yet today they filled him with nothing but anxiety.

The group that was approaching was significantly smaller than the group that had left only a few days before.

“Worried, my old friend?” Einar joined his silent vigil at the edge of the village. Einar was ancient and withered. His skin wrinkled and leathery, marked by a lifetime of scars. He had been an elder long before even Loboda’s father was born, but his back did not stoop, and his grip on Loboda’s shoulder was still strong.

“They’ve returned too soon,” Loboda replied, fighting the urge to fidget as the dark eyes watched him. “And less in number.”

Einar turned his gaze to the forest below, the village elevated against the mountain wall to overlook the entire valley. “Worry will not change what is,” the old man offered some of his wisdom.

“And yet it is in our nature to worry still,” Loboda said in reply, gazing at the elder man fondly as Einar gave him a side long look, lips pressed together, though Loboda could see the corner of those lips twitching upwards.

Einar released his hold on Loboda’s shoulder, giving it a soft pat as he turned away. “The others have gathered in the hall. I think I shall join them.”

He did not ask Loboda to join him, knowing that the younger man would not. Instead, he turned and made his way back to the village, his steps unhurried and his posture relaxed. Loboda envied Einar in his peaceful mind.

The village was fully awake with its people well into their morning chores by the time the western scouting party was escorted through gates. He recognized Ólafur and Arnar, but the small girl that trailed them was entirely unknown. Of his own son, he did not see. The several warriors escorting them stopped at the gates, their hands fisted tightly around their weapons as the young girl passed them, the girl didn’t notice the tension, or if she did, she was very good at hiding it.

“Ólafur,” Loboda called out, approaching the group, watching the two men relinquish their weapons to the guards at the gate. They would be returned to them once the Magnar had heard what they had to say.

Arnar was gesturing vaguely to the girl, her head tilted curiously, hand upon the hilt of a finely made sword on her waist. A sword like that could have only been made south of the wall. Her hand rested on the pommel, not out of hostility, but out of what appeared to be convenience. She also appeared not to understand that Arnar was asking her to surrender her weapon as well.

Loboda was distracted by their interaction, even as Ólafur stepped up next to him. The larger man turned to stand next to the elder, taking in the scene of Arnar’s rising frustration as the small girl continued to blink up at him. Loboda wondered if she was simple, though the tense shoulders of the others belied something much darker than the girl being slow-witted. If Loboda didn’t know any better, he would think that it was fear.

Whatever it was that threaded all of their movements in a deep seeded caution – even with Arnar’s mounting frustration at the lack of understanding – he made no move to take the weapon away from the young girl.

“What happened?” Loboda asked after a long moment, turning his attention back to the warrior at his side. “Where is Halvar? Where is my son?”

Ólafur shook his head slowly. “He did not make it, Elder,” Ólafur replied after a long moment. “He died bravely in battle. Stigr and Gyda died with him. Their bodies were burned and we set out at dawn.”

Loboda blinked at him, eyes dark and shielded as he tried to understand what he was being told. Last winter he had lost Dagny, the love of his life and Halvar’s mother, and now he had lost his only child as well. He silently cursed the gods, trying to understand what he had done to offend them so…to have them take all he held dear.

“What happened?!” He hissed, turning fully to face Ólafur, ignoring the others that had joined the argument to get the child to surrender her blade.

“The dead happened,” Ólafur replied, voice wearier than Loboda had ever heard. The elder reared back, eyes wide and face suddenly pale. It had been a long time since Loboda had felt the cold, but now he felt it in his bones as Ólafur said those words.

“This close? In the valley?!”

Ólafur nodded his head slowly, turning to walk further into the village. The Magnar needed to be told immediately. Though Loboda wanted to ask desperately what had happened, he knew that the first accounting of the attack were not to be spoken only to him. All the elders and the Magnar would need to be told together, as was their way.

“Everyone is gathering in the long hall,” Loboda gestured towards the largest building in the village. “The Magnar needs to be informed.”

They had begun to move towards the hall when Arnar called out to them. “She won’t give up her weapon!” He sounded annoyed, his arms moving in small jerky motions as if he wished to reach and pluck the blade from the young girl.

Loboda was about to ask the guards to take it from her when Ólafur stepped up. “Let her keep it,” he sighed before turning back to him. “We can’t take it from her even if we tried.”

The elder blinked in confusion, a deep feeling of trepidation rooting in his chest, but he nodded his head once and the guards stepped aside. Loboda had known Ólafur for a long time, had trained him when he was but a boy in hunting and fighting, and had been present for the naming of his first two daughters. If Ólafur said to let the girl keep her blade, she would keep it…and if he said that it couldn’t be taken, then Loboda believed that as well.

The girl darted up to stand just next to Ólafur and him. She was much smaller than he thought, only coming up to his chest. But she was clean – cleaner than anyone he had ever seen that was not just out of the baths – and she appeared in good spirits. She wore a bearskin cloak, nearly twice as long as she, dragging in the snow behind her.

It took him a long moment to realize that it was his son’s cloak she wore, the claw carved into a clasp Dagny had made was prominent in the front. Loboda made an abortive move as if to take it off of her, but Ólafur’s grip on his arm stopped him.

“It was given,” Ólafur whispered to him, hand tight around his arm and tone urgent and pleading. “Not taken.”

The words helped…a little. Loboda shrugged out of the grip and approached the girl until he was towering over her. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her lack of scarring except for a little jagged lightning bolt on her forehead, pale silver and clearly old. Her hair was black, unshaven at the sides as the shield women wore it, unbraided and undecorated. She wore it like a child, loose and untamed in wild curls that cascaded down her back.

Her eyes were the most unusual color he had ever seen, a bright green that almost seemed to glow. It was eerie, being under her stare, but Loboda refused to let her see how uneasy she made him.

The cloak rested on her shoulders, and through the opening at the front he could see she was practically unclothed from the waist up. How she was not shivering from the cold, he didn’t know…and how she had come to be so bare worried him. Though now that he was closer, he could tell she was no child.

Her body – that of it he could see – was that of a woman’s…though she was smaller than any woman he had ever known. Newly a woman then. And though he took his time observing her, she didn’t seem to be put off by it at all. She seemed more curious than anything, her eyes still holding a form of childlike wonder as she darted her gaze from him to the buildings, to the villagers making their way to the hall, the animals in their pens, and the warriors still idling at the gates.

Barely a woman indeed. A girl her years would still be living with her family…how she came to be in the company of their scouting party Loboda was very interested in finding out.

Sighing softly, he cut a glare to Ólafur who was still hovering uncertainly near him and reached forward to pull the cloak more firmly closed to hide her from prying eyes. He jerked back suddenly as he was adjusting the clasp, a small white head darting out to snap at his fingers.

The cloak shifted and a small beast climbed from beneath to perch on her shoulders. It was as white as new fallen snow, wings and fins splashed with glorious colors as it shrieked at him.

“Is that…” Loboda trailed off, uncertain how to finish the thought let alone the questions. The girl was speaking to the beast, talking to it softly in a language he couldn’t recognize.

“A dragon?” Arnar grunted with a shrug. “Yes…one of many.”

“Many?”

“We need to speak with the Magnar,” Ólafur cut in before he could ask more questions, his pointed stare at the warriors still lingering enough to prompt Loboda into movement. He spun, marching towards the long hall in quick steps as the two men and young woman darted to keep up.

He needed answers, and he needed them now.

The long hall was only partly made out of wood. The double doors were large enough to comfortably fit a giant when they came to visit and trade. The entryway ended where the cave began, though the wooden floor continued all along the hall.

The long hall was carved into the mountain wall, massive enough to fit the entire village and all their livestock comfortably during the long winters. Two long and narrow hearths ran along the middle of the floor side by side with enough room between for six men to walk abreast. They divided the hall in half in broken stretches and went for twenty paces at the entrance, broke for foot traffic for several more paces, before two more began, creating a pathway to the back of the cave.

The second pair of hearths ended upon the Gods Statues that had been carved from ancient pillars long before his time. There were two more hearths on the other side of the Gods Statues - broken again for foot traffic - and another two that led to the raised dais at the end of the cave, where the Magnar and his family sat now.

With the raised dais and the gap between the statues, the Magnar and those seated with him, had a clear view of the entire hall, all the way to the entrance.

The tables were filled, food served, and music already playing when Loboda led the group into the main hall. Servants were coming and going through the tunnels that led further into the mountain, where the kitchens and various storage rooms lay. They were all unscarred, their hair cut short to distinguish them from those born Thenn and were all captured in various ways from other clans throughout the seasons.

One of the women, her hair slightly longer than the servants, sat at one of the tables and laughed uproariously with the man beside her. She must have been taken then…and promoted from being a servant to being his woman. While it wasn’t common, it did happen, and Loboda only blinked at them dismissively as he passed, making a note to congratulate them later.

The hall had quieted by the time they came within sight of the Magnar, only the sound of the fire crackling filling the silence that had descended quite suddenly. Everyone turned to look at the approaching group, taking in the two survivors and their strange companion. It took longer for the whispers to start up again as the small dragon made its presence known, twisting its head this way and that, hissing periodically, and fluttering the fins along its back as its tail swung lightly behind it.

“Elder Loboda!” The Magnar called down to him from his raised chair. It was large enough to fit him comfortably, covered in furs and decorated with various animal skulls. Loboda had known Keld before he had become Magnar, as all of the elders had, but the man that sat before him looked nothing like the carefree and gentle boy that he had once been. The man that looked down at him now was worn and his eyes and lips were tight. “Tell us, what has ailed the western scouts to have them return so soon and in fewer numbers?”

“Magnar,” Loboda began, tilting his head in respect before he gestured for Ólafur and Arnar to step beside him and begin their story.

“We were attacked by a Cold One,” Ólafur spoke carefully, voice projecting so the entire hall could hear. Whispers broke out once more, frantic and loud enough for the Magnar to gesture for silence. The line of his lips grew tighter. “The dead followed him, nearly a hundred!” He had to shout now to be heard.

The Magnar had to stand to quieten the hall. “And where did you see these dead? Where did you see this Cold One?!”

Silence stretched once more, eyes wide and locked on Ólafur as he answered. “In the valley, six days from here.”

The villagers were shouting now, gesturing angrily as they spoke, fear heavy in each word. “If they speak truth, we must abandon the valley!” Elder Inghard stated, slamming his cup down in order to silence those nearest.

“We will not abandon the valley!” The Magnar declared, speaking more to the elders than to the people. “Not while I am still Magnar!”

The people were still shouting when the Magnar returned his attention to them. “Silence!” He yelled over the hysteria, bringing the hall to a sullen quiet. “Do you expect me to believe your words?” He questioned angrily, gesturing for a nearby servant to bring him a drink. It was early still for fermented goats’ milk, but Loboda wished he could ask for one as well. Near a hundred dead was difficult to believe, and if it was true, that boded even more ill.

Perhaps it wasn’t Loboda that had offended the gods, but all the Thenns. Perhaps that was why he suffered so.

“If there had been a Cold One, how are you standing here now?” Elder Einar asked from the table just below the raised dais. All the eight of the elders sat there, appointed as a sign of respect, and Loboda noticed his spot at the bench had been left open for him.

“It was the girl,” Arnar replied as Ólafur struggled to find the words. Arnar gestured to the young woman, stepping aside so the Magnar and all the elders could look upon her. “We found her the day before, standing in front of a god tree.”

“We took her prisoner,” Ólafur continued after a moment. “And she did not fight, though it wasn’t from a lack of ability.” Loboda thought it odd that Ólafur made certain to emphasize that point. “She came willingly. And the next day the Cold One came. The dead would have overwhelmed us immediately had it not been for her.”

The Magnar was observing the girl curiously, eyes skeptical as the entire hall observed her as well. She bore the scrutiny well, her eyes straight ahead, staring right back at the Magnar, and refusing to acknowledge the others around them.

“This girl?” The Magnar questioned, tone amused and disparaging as if the thought was too outlandish to be anything but a joke. Chuckling and soft laughter broke out amongst the people. “Tell me girl, how did you help?” When no answer was forthcoming, the Magnar’s amusement faded. “Speak girl!”

“She doesn’t speak the Old Tongue,” Ólafur cut in before the Magnar’s anger could rise. “She doesn’t speak any language I recognize,” he added after a thought. Ólafur wasn’t skilled enough in languages to speak them, but he had heard enough to recognize the languages of the other Free Folk and the Common Tongue.

“The dead came for us, and she used some sort of magic to stop them,” Arnar stated firmly, and silence settled heavily over the hall once more. “She summoned fire, felled the dead before they were close enough to reach, froze them in place, and then when the Cold One attacked…a sword appeared in her hand that did not shatter when it met its blade.”

“She thrust her sword through the Cold One and when it fell apart like ice, the dead fell as well,” Ólafur continued where Arnar had trailed off. “And her dragons did the rest.”

“Dragons!?” Elder Inghard questioned, standing to see better with his failing eyes. “Did you say dragons?”

“Aye,” Ólafur replied with a small nod. “They came from the sky and burned the dead with their fire.”

“And where are these dragons?” The Magnar asked, flicking his fingers to get the nearby servant girl to refill his cup. “I only see one…and it’s so small I doubt it can win a battle with a fox.” He laughed, though it sounded tight. Many laughed along with him.

“They took off,” Ólafur confessed. “Once they saw the smoke from the village, the girl spoke to them in her strange language, and all but the little white one left.”

“And you didn’t stop them?” The Magnar asked, though from his tone Loboda knew that their leader doubted the existence of these other dragons.

“They were dragons,” Arnar replied. “Though no larger than a small pony, there were many, and breathed fire. We couldn’t stop them even if we wanted to.”

The Magnar was observing the girl once more, his eyes dark and hard as he watched her and her little dragon. He flicked a glance at the table that held the elders, took in the faces of all the people present, and then glared down at the group that stood before him.

“Did you think the timing odd?” He asked after a long moment of silent deliberation. 

“Magnar?” Loboda questioned hesitantly, suddenly feeling an entirely different sense of apprehension.

“You find this girl,” he gestured angrily at the young woman who was staring placidly back at him. “And then you are attacked by the dead. She kills a Cold One, and you bring her here?”

Loboda frowned at him, his gaze darting to the tight and anxious faces of the other elders. “You think she brought the Cold One?” He asked in disbelief.

The Magnar blinked at him, flicking his gaze away dismissively. “Who could know…but Ólafur and Arnar both attest to her strange magics. If she killed a Cold One, she could have just as likely summoned it. Burn her.”

“Magnar please!” Ólafur shouted to be heard over the chaos as the doors opened and some of the more zealous of the Thenns went to gather wood for a pyre. “You will dishonor us if you do this. She saved our lives!”

“Or perhaps she only made you believe you were seeing a Cold One, and she killed the others in your group herself. We can’t take that chance.”

“Magnar!” Loboda took several hurried steps forward, stopping at the bottom of the dais. “If they speak truth and the child saved their lives, it will anger the gods to kill her.”

“And if I speak truth?” The Magnar asked lightly. “What then, we let an enemy eat in our hall and sleep near our children?”

Loboda turned to look behind him as the little dragon started to screech threateningly. Warriors had approached while they had been conversing, surrounding the girl and the two surviving scouts. The girl looked apprehensive now, her hand on the sword the guards had failed to take from her, but she hadn’t drawn it yet.

“Take her to the Seer!” He shouted; the words left him as if pulled from his chest. All movement stopped and even the little dragon quieted. “Take her to the Seer.”

The Magnar’s face twisted, his expression tightening further as he gripped the dog skull on the arm of the chair tight enough that Loboda could hear it start to creak. The glare that the Magnar gave him was one of fury and hatred, but he hid it quickly. Not even the Magnar was above the Seer, who spoke directly with the gods, and now that Loboda had invoked her title, the Magnar knew he would have to oblige.

His lip curled, but he nodded his head once and his warriors backed off. “Take her to the Seer.”

Loboda turned back and approached the girl. Her hand was tight around the decorated hilt of her sword, and he could see a few inches of the blade that she had pulled from the sheath. He had never seen a metal that shined so clearly before. The light from the many fires rippled off of it in mesmerizing flickers, and Loboda had no doubt that if he were to look into the flat of the blade, his unbroken and flawless reflection would look back. He couldn’t help but wonder where she had gotten it...and where she must have come from for a blade to have been crafted with such skill.

The dragon was tense on her shoulder, breathing heavy and eyes narrowed as it tried to watch everyone at the same time. The girl’s own unique eyes were wide and though she looked scared, she did not falter when Loboda stepped up to her.

He set his fingers gently on the back of her wrist and applied pressure until she fully sheathed her sword and released the hilt. Nodding to her once, he gestured to the open doors at the side of the hall. All the elders stood and made their way to the tunnel, a young boy running in front with a torch to light the way. Ólafur and Arnar turned to follow as well, and after a moment’s hesitation, the girl trailed after them.

Loboda was the second to last to arrive, the Magnar no doubt just behind him. The room that the Seer claimed as her own was barely large enough to fit the party that now occupied the space, the eight elders already seated upon the floor, pressed against the walls that dried herbs hung from. Loboda moved to join them as Arnar was gesturing to the girl to sit in front of the small fire that burned freely in the center of the room.

The cave was thick with smoke so dark he could barely see through it, the burning herbs making his head feel heavy. Once the girl was settled, the little dragon crawled down to lay in her lap while Ólafur and Arnar took their leave. The girl watched them go, a question on her lips in a language he had never heard. It was lighter than the old tongue, almost musical. Arnar gestured for the girl to stay before he exited.

The warriors had no place here, where the Seer foretold and the elders listened.

The Magnar had just entered when the Seer left her sleeping rooms and sat opposite of the fire from the girl. She was old, older than Loboda even knew, and yet she also looked young as well. She seemed ageless and all knowing. Her milky white eyes were lined in coal that streaked down her weathered face like warpaint.

Skulls and bones of little animals were braided into her thick black hair, streaked grey and white from chalk…and red from blood. The worn furs she wore did not close in the front, and every time she moved, he could see her heavy and ancient breasts sway.

She smelled foul, like much of the room they sat in. Her appearance was difficult to look at, and when she spoke it scraped at his ears like metal.

“Who do you bring to see the Seer?” She cackled, smiling with her blackened teeth. Her eyes saw nothing of the realm they lived in, but she seemed to be looking directly at the girl…and the girl looked right back. She did not flinch under the milky white gaze, she didn’t cringe at the woman’s appearance, and her face didn’t twist from the smell.

“A girl,” The Magnar replied, sitting himself close to the fire. “A deceiver.”

“Or a savior,” Loboda cut in, refusing to back down though the Magnar cut him a scathing glare.

The Seer laughed, her withered jugs shaking and jiggling with the sound. “Perhaps the girl is both!”

“Tell me,” the Magnar returned his attention back to the ancient hag. “Tell me what you see when you see her.”

Still chuckling, the Seer leaned forward and spit something black into the fire. The flames jumped, changing to a pale blue for just a moment before returning to orange. On the opposite side, the girl shifted uncomfortably, her hands tangling around the small dragon as she spoke softly to it. The dragon climbed up to press his head to her cheek and the girl seemed to calm.

The young woman reached up to the clasp of his son’s cloak and pulled it from her shoulders, letting it pool around her and on top of the dragon. Her laughter was a soft twinkling thing as the dragon hissed at her, clawing his way from beneath to resettle on her lap. He could see Einar frown at the girl’s appearance.

The pants she wore were of a thick material similar to leather - though he couldn’t identify what animal it could have come from - with some sort of pelt wrapped around her hips. It was grey and white, and it appeared to be from a wolf. She was wearing a thin black material that covered her back like a cloak, though instead of a clasp, she had her arms through holes much like a coat that had no sleeves. It did little to cover what she wore beneath it, and what she wore beneath was very little.

It was a white hide of some sort, from a creature that Loboda couldn’t even begin to recognize. Compared to the dragon she held in her lap, the white hide she wore had perhaps just a hint of blue and was speckled with colors from blue to purple that he could only see when the light hit it just right.

The hide itself was beautiful, but it was so tight she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. It left very little to the imagination, and Loboda feared that others would take an interest in her due to the portrayal of her woman’s body. In Loboda’s eyes, she was a child still…but she wasn’t his child, so he only grimaced as some of the elders continued to stare and returned his attention back to the Seer.

She was hovering over the fire, arms wide while she pulled the smoke to her face and inhaled deeply. When she leaned back, she was chanting in a whispering voice, an odd wheeze on every word. Her furs parted further, baring her torso fully as she pulled a blade from within and cut her hand to throw her blood in the fire. The fire crackled with the liquid, and the young girl was enthralled by the Seer swaying back and forth in her chanting, though Loboda noticed she tried very hard to only watch the Seer’s face.

The hag fell forward suddenly, collapsing into herself as she continued her chanting. Her arm, blackened with swirls of ash and dirt, presented the knife to the girl. The young woman leaned forward to take it carefully, twisting the old blade this way and that before she looked around curiously.

It was only as their eyes met did Loboda realize she didn’t know what to do with it. He lifted his own hands, miming the action of slicing his palm open. The girl turned to look down at the dragon, whispering to it softly, and the dragon…the dragon answered her with a twitch of its head and a crooning noise.

The girl lifted the blade and slid it across her palm, only wincing a little as the blood began to run. Before she could do anything else, the Seer lunged forward to grab her wrist and bring the bleeding hand to her face. A long, blackened tongue snaked out of her black mouth and dug into the wound.

She tried to jerk her hand back, but the hag’s grip was too tight, and the Seer only released her once she consumed what she needed. The old woman swallowed most of the blood and then spit the rest out into the fire. The flames turned purple, and this time they stayed that color.

“Ask your questions,” the Seer spoke, her voice like scraping metal.

“Did she bring the Cold One into our valley?” The Magnar asked, leaning close to the foul-smelling woman.

“Yes,” the Seer replied, and Loboda winced at the Magnar’s triumphant look.

He looked ready to end it there and have her pulled outside to burn, but the contention on the faces of the elders stopped him. He would continue to ask until the fires returned to normal, as was their way. “Why did she bring them?”

“They follow her,” The Seer laughed as she pulled more smoke into her face. “They covet her. They could feel her, sense her…they wanted her for their own.”

The Magnar’s frown returned, and Loboda felt something in his chest ease a little. The girl had brought death into their valley, but it hadn’t been by choice. He didn’t know why he wanted to see her spared from the flame, as already there were two accounts of her being called a witch. But there was something about her, an innocence that had once been in his woman…an innocence that had once been in his son.

Halvar had given the girl his cloak, the cloak his mother had made him. They had so little left of Dagny after she passed…Halvar wouldn’t have given the girl something he held so dear unless he too saw something in her.

“If she stays,” the Magnar began, words thick and stilted like it pained him to speak them. “If she stays, will she put us in danger?”

“Yes,” the Seer cackled a hacking laugh that had spit dribbling from her black lips. “Death follows her like a parent, like a friend, like a lover. Always it watches her, waiting. Wherever she goes, Death will trail behind.”

“That settles it then,” the Magnar stood and dusted his hands off. He towered over the still laughing hag as he began to make his way out of the cave. “She burns…tonight.”

“Magnar,” Elder Asger stood as well, using a thick walking stick to pull himself upright. Loboda could hear his bones creaking with each step as he approached their leader. “The fires have not returned; you have questions unasked that need answering.”

The Magnar frowned at the old man, turning to look back at the girl who was still kneeling before the fire, gazing up at him curiously. “And what question could I possibly have left?”

Loboda frowned as well as he thought upon the answer…and then it came to him. “What happens if we kill her?” Loboda asked the Seer, ignoring the annoyed snarl of the Magnar. The Magnar was usually the only one who asked the questions, though the elders were allowed to seek her out as well. He was overstepping himself with the Magnar present, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. His only child was dead, and the Magnar wanted to burn another child that his son had favored.

“Death!” The Seer shrieked the words. “Death! Death comes for us, our bones will freeze, the snows will fall, and we shall rise. Eyes blue and cold and dead!” She looked up suddenly, milky white eyes staring straight at the Magnar. “In her death we will all perish. In her life,” she began, answering a question that hadn’t been asked as the flames darkened. “In her life she brings Death. Death to her enemies, death to her friends, death to her loved ones. And in their death, I see life.”

Silence descended as the fire crackled, and the Seer’s voice quieted to a whisper so faint that Loboda had to strain to hear it. “In her life I see your death, Magnar of the Thenns. In her death I see the end of all Thenns, I see the end of all Free Folk. Choose, Magnar…choose, and suffer the consequences of your actions for however long you have left.”

The Seer cackled as the fires returned to normal and the Magnar fled the cave, the haunting laughter chasing him with a distant echo.

Chapter Text

“What do you think it's supposed to be?” I questioned quietly, tilting my head to look up at the oddly shaped wood carving above the entryway to what I was calling the great hall. It was hunched like a gargoyle but had a body of what looked like a bear with a human face…or what I think was supposed to be a face. It appeared to be carved out of the same wood as that strange white tree.

“Their god perhaps,” Severus replied dryly. He was less than pleased with our situation and had made his opinion known at every opportunity he could find. “Who knows with these primitive people.”

“Sev,” I sighed, reaching up to run my hand through my hair. My fingers caught on the braids, and I grunted in annoyance. The man I was staying with, Ölduger Loboda, refused to let me leave his hut until my hair had been braided.

He seemed annoyed when I took them out every night to sleep, but he didn’t say anything about it the next morning when he placed me before him on the floor and re-braided it. He had put little bronze hoops in the smaller braids along the side of my head today, pulling them back until they met the larger braid down the center with the rest of my loose hair. Severus had taken to using them as grips for his thumb claws, and though they pulled uncomfortably tight when he did so, I didn’t tell him to stop.

We were both feeling a little insecure about our situation. Alone in the village with people I was struggling to communicate with and a leader who I was pretty certain wanted me dead, and some sort of oracle woman – who reminded me of a darker and possibly drunker version of Professor Trelawney – probably uttering prophecy about me that I couldn’t understand.

I missed the whelps, and I knew that Severus missed them as well, though he denied it at every turn. We could see them some days, hunting far off in the distance, and though I yearned for their presence, I didn’t summon them with the red sparks for fear of what the people would do to them. Occasionally, one of them would get bold and come closer, but I sent Severus to guide them away whenever they did.

Severus would fly them off and return as soon as he could. He liked leaving me alone even less then I liked being left alone.

We had been in the village for just over a week and after a few days under Ölduger Loboda’s roof, I was learning that he had been assigned to watch over me…and I was beginning to suspect it was as a form of punishment. The man who had sat on the highest chair – who seemed the one in charge of everyone, myself included now – had not approached me since that first day. I could see him every now and then from a distance, and he never looked pleased when he noticed me.

Ölduger Loboda would grab my arm and lead me away whenever he noticed the other man watching me. I don’t know if he did it to protect me or him, but either way I was grateful. I didn’t like the way the other man watched me.

 “They don’t have plumbing,” he commented idly, for the second time this morning. “They don’t bathe daily, they let their livestock inside their homes. And they live in huts!”

“Yes, yes,” I interrupted, still gazing up at the odd carving. “So, you have said, many times. And they look more like cabins then huts. You should be more thankful; they didn’t have to take us in.”

“I’m fairly certain that Magnar person had planned to kill us,” he replied as he shifted his weight to shuffle closer to my neck. His talons caught in the black robe, but the spellwork layered into the fabric kept him from causing any damage.

There were a lot of things I was learning about the culture of the people we found ourselves living with. Unfortunately, hairstyling was the least of my issues.

I consented to the near hour-long hair braiding every morning, but I refused to accept more than the fur cloak that the young man had given me. My host tried to argue the point with me – which didn’t do much more than sound like white noise for all I understood – but not even I could misconstrue the meaning of him shoving clothing into my arms.

I was more than comfortable with what I was wearing.

“What gave you that idea?” I asked sarcastically as I shifted to the side of the open doors to be out of the way. People were shuffling past me into and out of the great hall, looking at Severus and I curiously, but not overly so. “Was it the angry yelling or the guards that looked like they wanted to strike us down?”

“You seem nonchalant about these barbarians wanting your death,” Severus replied, bumping my chin with his head and back as he shifted to my other shoulder to get a better view of the ‘barbarians’ as he called them.

“Yes, well…if I got worked up every time someone wanted me dead, then I wouldn’t have time for anything else,” I replied, scratching my nails down his jaw and along his chest. A deep pulsating rumble left him that I could only just hear as he was tucked below my ear. “Are we in the right spot?”

“You tell me,” Severus rumbled, stretching his neck and bowing down so I would scratch along the joint of his shoulder.

“Ölduger Loboda said the langr salur,” I answered. “I’m pretty certain that this is the building he was talking about,” I gestured to the two massive doors that were opened. It was later in the day, but I could still see people eating at the tables. A hunting party had returned earlier, and they were occupying an entire corner nearest to the entryway.

Loboda had taken it upon himself to teach me the language and Arnar would occasionally stop by to participate. It was slow going, but I was beginning to recognize certain words like food, sleep, sit, eat, silence, and bathroom – though I believe it translated more to latrine. I was embarrassed to say it took me nearly a week to realize that the word Ölduger was not a part of Loboda’s name but was actually a title.

Severus was the one who had pointed it out to me, when I asked why so many people had the same first name. After the fifth person was introduced as Ölduger, I started to understand that it meant something maybe like a teacher or elderly man...or similar. Everyone who carried the title was an older person of the male gender. And every single one of them had the decorative scarring of an oval with pointed ends on the top of their head to below the crown of the skull.

The only ones without decorated scarring of any sort were the children, young adults, and the people with short hair that seemed to be part of the serving class. Severus used the word slave, but it didn’t seem to quite fit as I had seen more than one who clearly used to be a servant but now wasn't. If they were slaves, I didn’t understand how they could be…well, promoted was the only word that came to mind.

Though no longer a servant, their faces remained bare.

A young woman greeted me with a little wave as she exited the great hall. “Kvethjur,” I replied as was custom, raising my own hand. Most of the people seemed friendly enough, and I wished that my understanding of the language was better so I could have an actual conversation. Speaking only to Severus made me feel very isolated…though I think his situation was much worse.

It was a few days after the dead attacked when I realized that my two human companions couldn’t hear Severus speaking. I started to realize that dragon speech was much like parseltongue. To me it sounded like they were speaking, but to them it must have just sounded like regular animal noises. Loboda had given me more than one odd look when I held a sustained conversation with Severus in his presence.

I sighed again as the woman moved on after the greeting. “I wish the translation spell would allow me to speak to them.”

“That is not how the spell works,” Severus replied distractedly as he shook his head and straightened back up to watch the people passing us. Like a cat, he only wanted to be petted for so long…and like a cat he wasn’t shy about letting me know when enough was enough with his sharp little teeth.

I groaned again at the reminder. Severus had spoken to me at great length more than once on how the translation spell functioned. It was meant for the written language, not speech, and only translated what the spellcaster already understood. If one wanted a book translated from Latin to English, then the witch or wizard had to fully understand both languages or the translated text would be a conglomeration of both.

“I know,” I replied in annoyance. “That doesn’t stop me from wishing otherwise.”

“Well, if you were to practice more at your Occlumency, you would be much further in your language ability,” Severus replied with a dry tone.

“I do practice my Occlumency,” I groaned in annoyance. “Twice a day!”

“Practice better then,” he snorted derisively, and I had to fight the sudden urge to push him from my shoulder.

“Teach better then,” I snapped, and Loboda approached before Severus could get off his no-doubt witty reply. The man was holding a pile of clothing of which he gave me half and gestured for me to follow. We passed beneath the massive entryway – larger than even the doors to Hogwarts great hall – and I had to blink at the sudden change in light.

It was darker inside, but still brightly lit with the center fires that were always burning, though at this time they burned low. The columns along the sides had metalwork just above my head that held even more fire for both heat and light. Divots carved into the stone lined the walls with small flames, and freestanding torches that were decorated with various skulls and bone pieces set between the tables. Thousands of half melted candles decorated the tables themselves, but these were currently unlit.

Our host led us past the tables and down a side tunnel I almost missed as the thick hide that hung over it was nearly the same color as the cave wall. The moment I entered the tunnel, I gasped at the wet heat that permeated the air. The deeper Loboda led me, the hotter and more humid it became. By the time he led me into another cave room, pulling back a doubled hide stripped entirely of the fur, Severus was dozing with half lidded eyes on my shoulder.

I walked past our host, down a few steps, and stopped just as I realized where he had led me. The cave room was perhaps the most naturally formed that I had seen compared to the great hall and the kitchens. The walls were jutting and uneven but smoothed from the cascading water. Natural light lit the space from the various cracks in the ceiling that water fell from as well, filling the five pools at various levels in the floor.

I could see steam rising from the pools and I was hit with an absolute need for a bath. Three of the five pools were occupied. Various men and women were bathing within, and several children were running naked on the rocks to launch themselves into the water. Their pealing laughter bounced off the walls and filled the room with joy.

The floor was wet, but not overtly so. There were tiny puddles where the rock was worn down but no standing water. I could see that the ground was raised slightly just around the steaming pools, so the overflow would be forced to the walls of the cavern. I couldn’t make out in the dim light where the water went after that, but I had to assume there was a hole somewhere leading it away since the room hadn’t flooded.

Loboda dropped the hide that was trapping the steam and walked over to a dry area with shelves carved into the walls. Another hide kept the steam from entering the little cubby area and I could see various clothing articles lining the shelves and boots underneath. The older man gestured for me once more and I entered behind him. The space was tight, probably only meant for one at a time, but he didn’t seem bothered by it.

He set his pile of clothing upon an open shelf, and I followed his example, realizing that this was how he was going to try to get me to wear their clothing. I was more amused than annoyed by his stubbornness and chose to just follow along for now. The moment he started to pull his own clothes off though, startled me.

Loboda was not shy about his nudity – as I learned from living with him – but I had never been this close to him while he was undressing. I stood there, looking away with my face so hot I could feel it over the heat of the cavern, as he pulled off the last of his clothes and turned to fully face me. And then he started to speak.

“Oh Merlin,” I mumbled, setting my eyes to the ceiling as he gestured to the cubicles.

“Tahka thettja af,” he tugged at my robe and gestured once more to the shelves. It didn’t take a linguist to understand that he wanted me to strip as well.

“Yes, yes,” I replied, waving him away and trying to hide my embarrassment. The hot flush of my face spread further – I could feel it in my neck and chest now – as Loboda snorted in amusement and left with a soft laugh. The humidity hit me once more as the flap opened and closed behind him and I groaned.

“Now you are worried about your modesty?” Severus questioned in an amused and smug huff. “I don’t see why with what you're wearing already.”

“Shut it,” I snapped, shoving him off my shoulder and ignoring his indignant snarl as he fluttered in the air for a moment before settling high on one of the shelves. Mortified and trying to hide it, I yanked the robe off quickly and toed off the boots. I pulled off my dragonhide pants while Severus nosed around at the various clothing articles. But after that point I was stuck.

I stalled for more time as I folded my discarded clothes and set them on a shelf, but once that was done, I was left standing there shifting my weight from leg to leg as I tried to work up the courage to remove the sea serpent leotard. Tugging at the loose neck, I glanced behind me to make certain the curtain was still closed.

“Where is that Gryffindor courage you are always going on about?” Severus questioned as he climbed atop the folded black robe and curled upon his side.

“I said shut it, okay,” I hissed, trying not to be overheard as words of conversation filtered through and I was suddenly reminded just how many people were in the bathing pools.

“As I see it, you have three options,” he replied, scratching at his muzzle with his hind leg like a dog as he settled for what looked like a nap. “You can either stay in here until our host retrieves us and miss out on the opportunity for a proper bath, strip and get over your embarrassment, or you can go out with what you're wearing now and bathe in it.”

My nose crinkled at the listed options, but in the end, I decided to suck it up and deal with it. There was absolutely no way I would be letting the first opportunity for a proper bath since we left the cave – however many months ago – slip through my fingers. Grunting in annoyance, I pulled the neck open and struggled to quickly yank it off of me. It stuck around my waist as it rolled up, but with some quick work I was able to wiggle it down my hips and off.

I stood there naked for a few long moments, holding the white hide up as if to cover myself, before I forced my hands to fold it and set it next to the black robe. Severus had turned his back to me – as was his way when I was changing – and I shifted my weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, raising my arms to cross them at my chest before dropping them to twist my fingers together, as I tried to decide what to do next.

“Go and bathe,” Severus told me as he sensed my apprehension. “I will wait here.”

“No!” I hissed quickly, trying to keep my voice down and struggling not to cover myself as he lifted his head to look at me. “Please, Sev,” I begged, hands shaking. “Don’t leave me alone with them.”

He stared at me, purple eyes locked onto mine. They did not wander to my nudity, but I found myself not minding if they accidentally did. I knew Severus, I understood him. A part of him was inside me, and I found that despite our history I trusted him even with this. Before, when it had just been us and the whelps, I had found it humorous at him sticking stubbornly to his modesty as I bathed with the other dragons, but that was because I trusted he would never try to take a peek.

Now I found that I didn’t care.

“Very well,” he sighed, pulling himself upright as I turned to face the curtain. I was startled a little as he launched himself from the shelf to settle on my naked shoulder, but I lifted my hand to caress his head before he tried to retreat.

Severus was always very courteous and tried to never overstep himself in any situation that could be misconstrued…and being in the same room as a naked student could definitely be misconstrued, let alone in physical contact with said student. I was nervous about the situation and didn’t want him to think my anxiety was caused by his presence.

I reached for him again, grabbing his small body and pulling him from my shoulder to tuck him into my chest, just between my breasts. I knew that what I was doing was highly inappropriate, I knew that he wasn’t comfortable with it, but he didn’t argue as we exited the cubby area and stepped back into the bathing room.

Gripping him tighter, I hummed in appreciation as he lifted his arms to pinch my shoulders between his thumbs. He spread the membrane of his wings, fluttering them out so as not to touch me but still covering my breasts, and he dropped his tail to hover over my front where my legs met my torso. I was still exposed, each step I took towards the water making his tail sway and revealing me to prying eyes, but I gained more confidence as I realized that those still bathing only spared a glance and went back to what they had been doing.

They didn’t care about my nudity, and I tried not to care about it either as I climbed the few carved steps and stepped quickly into the hot pool that Loboda was occupying. I thought briefly of entering one of the few still unoccupied, but I didn’t want to be alone despite also not wanting to be in company while so undressed.

The pool our host had chosen was only occupied by two other women I didn’t recognize and one of the men I had seen from time to time patrolling the walls. Once fully submerged up to my collarbone, Severus released his pinching grip on my shoulders and let himself sink into the water. One of the women startled as he breached nearby and exhaled air violently from his nostrils like a whale, and then the group was laughing.

I found myself relaxing despite myself, giggling at his antics as Loboda handed me a soaked rag with some sort of soap bar. It had no scent but lathered very well and I found myself groaning in appreciation as I started to scrub myself vigorously. By the time I had finished rinsing myself off in the cold cascading water, I realized I was halfway exposed and had completely forgotten about my embarrassment to my nudity.

“Komdru hingath,” Loboda gestured towards himself, and I recognized the words as those of summoning. The closest translation I could work out was ‘come here’, and I submerged myself briefly to warm back up before swimming over to him. He grabbed my naked shoulder to turn me but released me quickly when Severus hissed at him threateningly.

I flicked water at the tiny dragon as he slithered through the water. Once close enough, I curled my hand around his stomach and pulled him back into my chest. He grumbled in annoyance and tried to make certain his limbs weren’t touching anything inappropriate, but he allowed me to cuddle him. I kissed the top of his head in appreciation and let Loboda tug me more back towards him as he started to undo my braids to clean my hair.

He was sitting on one of the few naturally formed shelves and I shuffled awkwardly between his spread legs. My cheeks were no doubt flaming red as I tried desperately not to think about the fact that I had a naked man sitting inches behind me. It became easier once I started to relax, the gentle motions of his fingers in my hair easing the tension in my muscles. Severus curled his head to hook it over my shoulder and glared at Loboda, no doubt making certain he didn’t do anything untoward.

The herbal soap Loboda lathered into my hair smelled faintly medicinal and left my scalp tingling in a decidedly delicious sort of way. I groaned in appreciation and let him guide my head back to dip it under the water and work the suds out. Once finished, he twisted it tightly to press the water out and started to re-braid it once more.

His hands were sure, and though his plaiting was tight, he never caused any pain. I wondered if he had a daughter or wife I hadn’t met yet – his cabin was certainly big enough for a family – but I hadn’t seen anyone else ever come or go except the occasional messenger. Perhaps they were part of one of the hunting or scouting groups.

My fingers were pruning by the time Loboda gestured for us to get out. Three men had just entered as I stood, water sloshing loudly behind me as I hopped out of the pool. The largest man stared at me. He was pale like all the people that lived here, and his eyes were a light blue. His head was shaved, and his facial scarring was the first I had seen that wasn’t symmetrical.

Most of his designs ended in sharp points, his forehead double layered with the lines wrapping around the back of his head to meet in a circle. There was a large scar on the left of his nose that connected with the scarring of his cheek, but it looked more natural then the others, less part of the design and more like someone had sliced his face with some sort of blade. Possibly in a fight.

His eyes trailed after me in a decidedly predatorial sort of way and I hurried after Loboda.

Severus fluttered back to my shoulder, and I tilted my head to bump him gently as Loboda ushered us back towards the shelves. I entered after him and accepted the large cloth fabric he handed me. I realized it was a towel as he used another to dry himself off and I hurried to copy him.

I tried not to stare as he wiped the water off of himself and started to dress, but although he was at least three times my senior, he was built. There was no ounce of fat on his body, the muscles bulging almost obscenely beneath his skin. The ritual scarring went down his torso in nearly elegant patterns, and I saw now that it was interlaced with tattoos of some sort.

The tattoos were all solid black and had symbols in them that I couldn’t even begin to decipher, though I have seen similar markings on their statues. The black lines were much smaller and used sparingly, following some of the scar lines. I’m certain it meant something, but I had the grace not to ask. It looked personal, and if Loboda wanted me to know, he would tell me about it.

It was only once he started to turn back towards me that I quickly looked away and continued to dry off.

“Merlin, spare me the hormones of teenage girls,” Severus mumbled as he reached up to latch his thumb claws on a shelf and pull himself onto it.

“Ugh,” I grunted, face already heating as Loboda sent me a questioning look while he began to pull on the clean clothes he brought. I shook my head to hide my embarrassment and reached for the serpent hide. He swatted at my hand and gestured instead to the pile he had given me.

“Notathu fötin seim ég khom medth,” Loboda’s tone was one of exasperation.

I rolled my eyes and pulled the white hide from the shelf. “This,” I gestured to it. “I wear this.”

He grunted in annoyance, his lip curling in distaste, but let me pull my own clothes on. The serpent and dragon hides did not get dirty like normal fabrics, and though I had been wearing the same thing for my entire stay, I wasn’t comfortable wearing anything else. With a quick and discreet flick of my wand to cleanse them, I began to dress.

 Once I stomped my feet into the boots, he gestured for me to follow and left. I gathered up the clothes he had brought for me and followed after him. Severus fluttered behind us, deciding to fly instead of hitching a ride, and I laughed at his attempts to glide and hover in order to keep pace with us.

It was difficult for one so fast to try and fly so slow.

Loboda led us into the great hall and seated us near one of the fires as he waved down a servant. Snape could say whatever he wanted about the primitiveness of the people we found ourselves with, but they did make some delicious food with what they had available. It wasn’t anything like what the Hogwarts elves could do, but it was better than what I had been eating since we were transported here.

We ate slowly. I was still trying to get used to the odd two-pronged fork and using my fingers for anything I couldn’t stab. Severus liked to sniff everything before I ate it, and sometimes he would snatch it off my plate for himself before I could protest. Dogs roamed the hall, large and mean looking as they darted from beneath one table to another looking for dropped food. They avoided our section, Severus’ presence more than enough to discourage them from getting any closer.

Loboda used the opportunity to expand my language skills, pointing and naming things while people came and went from the hall. By the time we had finished I had learned the word for meat – or perhaps the animal it came from – plate, bowl, cup, table, and fire. When he rose from the bench and led me out, I realized that with my back to the fire, my hair had completely dried.

I recognized many of the people who had seated themselves near the fires on the other side of the hall as those I had bathed with and realized that the set up was intentional. People could go straight from the wet baths to the warm hall and dry off fully before going back out into the elements. It was simple, but ingenious in design.

Once back out in the cold, he led me towards his cabin, pointing and naming things as we passed them. He stopped a few times to speak with anyone who approached him, but it was the commotion near one of the perimeter walls that drew our attention. A woman was shouting, and people had already gathered by the time we reached them.

Loboda had to physically move aside the last few people in order to get to the center. An older woman with light scarring along her cheeks was holding a panicked goat at the end of a leash and yelling at something hunched over in the other side of the yard.

“Oh Merlin,” I whispered, taking in the creature hissing back at the woman. “Is that Loki?”

The bronze dragon, twice the size of the goat the woman was yanking back, was hunched over what I realized was the goat’s kid. The baby animal was bleating pitifully from beneath the dragon, one thumb claw on the kid’s throat and the other scratching trenches in the ground as it shrieked at the surrounding people.

“Hari,” Severus whispered lowly at me as he landed upon my shoulder. “You need to stop him, if he kills their livestock, they’ll try to hurt him.”

“Loki!” I shouted to be heard, shoving passed the group and whistling sharply to get the dragon’s attention. His mouth was open, teeth gleaming with dripping saliva as he bent towards the goat’s neck. “Loki, stop!”

The whelp looked up as I burst through the last line of people and stumbled into the clearing. He hissed a threat at me, hunching further over the bleating kid, and I flinched back as I could see fire burning at the back of his throat. Severus shrieked his own threat in reply, and though Loki didn’t back down, the fire did retreat, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mine!” Loki roared as I took another step forward, his teeth bared and spiked tail swaying aggressively behind him.

“No, Loki. No,” I raised my hands and patted at the air as if I could ease his tension with the gesture. I took another step and then lowered myself to a crouch as he continued to growl. A flash of red had the crowd gasping behind me, and I fought not to turn as I kept staring down the bronze dragon. I knew that if I looked away, it would be a sign of submission and Loki would take this as a victory and kill the goat.

“Guinevere has landed on the roof of the adjacent hut,” Severus whispered into my ear.

“Cabin,” I corrected without thought, shuffling forward slowly on my knees and stopping the moment Loki became defensive again.

“Is now really the time?” Snape hissed as he fluttered his fins and perched himself into the launching position – legs bent, tail erect, one wing on my shoulder and the other on my upper arm – in case he had to take off suddenly. He was preparing himself to intervene if he had too, but I prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Loki was much larger than him now and Severus would have to use every ounce of aggression in his tiny body to force the bronze into submission. Neither would come out uninjured, and I was terrified of the thought of them hurting each other.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled, patting the air again and wishing desperately that the onlookers would just leave. Their presence was not making this situation any easier and I winced as Loki’s thumb claw tensed and I could see blood welling up from where it dug into the baby goat’s neck. “Loki,” I tried again, trying to keep my voice steady as his eyes darted to the people around us. “Loki, look at me.”

“Mine!” He shrieked again, eyes snapping to glare at me again. My heart was thudding so loudly in my chest I almost didn’t hear the sound of crunching snow behind me. It was only when Loki rose, and fire burned in his throat once more that I realized someone was approaching me from behind.

“Stop,” I hissed, flapping my hand behind me to get the person to back off. “Severus, help,” I whispered, still too unwary to take my eyes off the bronze dragon.

“Hvér ér meingin medth thess?” A booming voice asked in a commanding tone.

I felt Severus turn on my shoulder and shriek angrily at the person behind me, silencing them. “It’s Magnar,” he rumbled, his tail lashing whip-like against my chest as he roared another threat. “The idiot is going to get us all killed!”

There was another thump behind me, and a deeper roar joined Severus. Around me the people were shouting, and it took everything I had to not turn and look.

“Severus, what’s happening,” I whispered, eyes still locked on Loki’s orange ones.

“Romulus has landed in front of Magnar,” Severus replied, voice low and his tail stopped lashing and instead wrapped loosely around my neck. “Solar, Roan, and Hera have joined Guinevere on the hut. Gemini is flying overhead. I can’t see Ophelia.”

“Okay, okay,” I sighed, blinking slowly as I tried to map out everyone’s location in my head while also trying to figure a way out of this mess. “Severus, keep the others away. I’m going to try and get Loki to release the goat.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” He asked as he crawled down my arm and onto the ground.

“I don’t know,” I grumbled, shuffling forward a little more and stopping once again before Loki started to growl at me. “I’ll just have to explain the concept of property to him.”

“Good luck with that,” Snape snorted behind me.

“Loki,” I tried again, trusting Severus to handle everything else while I handled the most difficult of dragons. “Loki, you have to let the goat go.”

“Mine,” Loki roared, and I could see the crowd flinching back. “Mine, food mine!”

“Food?” Roan asked and I found myself suddenly trying not to laugh as Severus shrieked aggressively at the golden dragon.

“No, no,” I replied, smiling despite myself. “Not yours, not food.”

“Food, mine! Catch, mine!” Loki replied, the goat crying beneath him as his claws dug in further.

“Loki!” I snapped harshly and he flinched back at the sound of my voice, his claws retracting enough that they stopped digging into the poor baby goat. “Loki,” I tried again, less loud and stern. “Not yours, the goat belongs to these people. Their food, not yours.”

“Catch,” Loki shrieked in reply, and I struggled to find the words to explain why he couldn’t eat the goat.

“I know,” I replied. “But it doesn’t belong to you, it’s not yours. These people own it, not you.”

“Own?” Guinevere asked from behind me, and I could hear the sound of her talons scraping the wooden roof as she climbed closer.

“Yes, own. Like this,” I started slowly, tugging at the black robe I was wearing. “I own, this is mine.” Then I pointed to my boots. “These, I own. This is mine. That,” I pointed to the goat that Loki held captive. “That is theirs,” I gestured to the group around us that had been growing with every moment that passed.

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he tried to understand what I was trying to explain. “Theirs was,” he said after a long moment of thinking. “Mine now.”

“No, theirs now,” I argued.

“No,” Loki hissed. “Mine now, has! Mine now!”

“Loki, no,” I groaned, trying to run my hand through my hair but once again forgetting about the braids. “Severus, help me!”

“How?” He asked with a snort, crawling up my hip and back to return to my shoulder. “You were the one who wanted to explain the concept of possession and property to creatures that have very little understanding of either.”

“Well, what do you suggest then?” I grumbled as Loki’s narrow eyes tracked from Severus to me and back.

“Just take the goat from him,” Severus replied, and Loki bared his teeth once more at the suggestion.

“No, I am not going to force him to do anything,” I spoke loudly enough for Loki to hear my reassurance. I just hoped he believed me. “Look, Loki,” I sighed, trying to start again. “What is own?”

Loki blinked at me, his head rearing back and fins fluttering in confusion. “Harielle,” Severus’ voice rumbled in caution. “What are you doing?”

“Shut it,” I replied. “Loki, what is own?”

“Own?” Hera and Guinevere both parroted from their perch on the roof.

“Yes, what is own?” I asked in encouragement. I hoped that if I could get them to explain to me their understanding, I could find a way to explain to Loki why the goat didn’t belong to him.

“Mine?” Romulus asked curiously and I could hear Loki repeat the word.

“Yes, own is what is mine. Own is what is yours,” I answered carefully. “What is mine,” I tapped my chest to let them know I was speaking about me personally.

Loki tilted his head, and I could feel a puff of hot air on my neck as what I assumed was Romulus standing behind me. “What is mine?” I repeated when no answer came.

A nose poked my shoulder and a large thumb claw tugged at my clothes. “Yes,” I laughed as Romulus shuffled closer and pulled his wing from my robe. “Yes, this is mine. Severus, what is Severus own?” I tried again, excited that the whelps were starting to understand.

“Own?” Romulus asked, tugging at my arm.

“No,” I tugged his thumb claw from the white hide. “No, this is mine.”

“Own,” Romulus insisted, tugging at my black robe now. I fought the sigh of frustration and disappointment.

“No, this is mine,” I tried again, struggling to find a different way to explain when Loki chirruped, and the feeling of bewilderment nearly overwhelmed me.

“No!” Severus shrieked, shaking his head. “I don’t own Harielle!”

“Wait, what?” I asked, as Snape puffed up and the whelps started to chirp the word own over and over.

“They think I own you,” he spluttered the word and despite the awkwardness of the situation I found myself laughing. “This is not funny!”

“It is a little,” I replied, tugging him off my shoulder to cradle him to my chest, ignoring his hissed threats and snapping teeth. “Besides, that would explain your possessive behavior.”

“I do not have possessive behavior!” He shrieked in denial, only to shriek a moment later in outrage at Romulus who had been up until that moment trying to crawl into my lap.

“Uh-huh,” I giggled. “Try pulling the other one.” Romulus retreated from reach as Severus darted up my shoulder to growl threateningly at the brown and teal dragon. “Yes,” I told Loki, even as I fought the blush on my face and pulled Severus back to my chest. “Severus own.”

“I do not! Stop telling them such nonsense!”

“That,” I pointed at the baby goat that was now uttering quiet whines of distress as opposed to the bleating it had been doing. “That belongs to them,” I gestured to the group of people. “You take, like Gemini takes food, and they hurt you…like you hurt Gemini when he takes your food.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed as his eyes tracked my movements. “No own, not dragon,” he replied with such certainty that I was left stunned and confused.

Severus crawled into my lap and started to speak with Loki in soft rumbles, clicks, and chirrups. “He thinks only dragons can own things.”

“How does that explain me then?” I asked in frustration. Around us the crowd was becoming more anxious, and I could hear Loboda’s argument with that Magnar person growing louder. “How can I own things if only dragons can own?”

“He thinks you’re a dragon,” Severus replied, blinking up at me with his purple eyes.

“Oh,” I replied softly. My mind was racing, trying to decide if I should even bother with explaining that I wasn’t in fact a dragon, or making him understand that ownership wasn’t exclusive to a dragon…from the sound of the crowd, I doubted I had time to do both. “Like his mother?” I asked, even though I knew that wasn’t the thought I should be settling on.

“Hari!” Severus hissed. “Now is really not the time.”

“Yes, yes…I know. Sorry,” I apologized, trying to bring my mind back to the issue at hand. But I found the thought wouldn’t leave me. I honestly was conflicted about the whole thing. I had technically raised them, but it felt like a disservice to their actual mother who had fought and died for them for a stupid competition simply because her children weren’t pure.

“Focus,” Severus hissed, and I bit my lip and shook my head to bring myself back to the topic at hand…the urgent and declining topic at hand.

“Right, yes…” I struggled to find the words. “Humans,” I decided to start simple as I gestured to the people around us. “They own too. They own that,” I pointed at the building closest to us, a barn of some sort I guessed. “They own that,” an abandoned bucket on the ground with goat milk spilling out of it. “They own that,” I gestured to the goat Loki still held captive. 

“You take from them, and they react as dragons,” I pulled Severus from my lap and set him on the ground as I shuffled closer until I was within reach of Loki’s sharp teeth if he decided to bite. “They’ll hurt you, like you hurt Gemini when he takes from you,” I repeated and fought not to flinch at his sudden and deep growl.

“No hurt,” he rumbled lowly. “Dragon, humans no hurt!”

“Yes, Loki,” I replied, ignoring his low and continuous growl. “But humans are many, dragons are few,” I gestured once more to the many people around us. When I spared a glance, I realized nearly half the village had us surrounded. “You would hurt many, but they would still hurt you.”

His orange eyes turned their glare at the nervous humans, and I could see his claw tense on top of the baby goat. “Loki, look at me,” I waited until his eyes settled on me. “They would try and hurt you, but you are mine too. And I would try and protect you, like with the serpent. I would fight, and they would hurt me too. All of you are mine, I protect all of you. The humans protect each other. We fight and all of us hurt. Why, Loki? For a little goat?”

Loki reared his head back, nostrils flaring as his tail waved gently behind him. He looked down at the baby goat that still struggled weakly against his unrelenting grip. “This is easy prey, easy food,” I continued. “You are a very skilled hunter, the best,” I flattered him, playing now to his pride and Loki’s fins fluttered and his head raised under the compliment. “You don’t need easy food. This is livestock,” I said the word slowly and repeated it once more so all the whelps could hear it. “Livestock is food that belongs to humans. Livestock is easy food for lazy dragons.”

“Lazy?” Loki hissed the word with a confused warble.

“Yes, lazy dragons who cannot hunt. Livestock is for lazy dragons who cannot hunt.”

“Not lazy!” He shrieked, rearing his head back as if to snap at me, but when I didn’t flinch or back down, he only continued to rumble in anger. “Best hunter! Best! Not lazy!”

“Then why do you hunt livestock, easy prey?” I asked with a smile even as Loki snarled at me furiously.

His lips were pulled back, white teeth gleaming as he rocked his weight back and forth in indecision. “No hunt easy prey,” Loki insisted, and after another moment of his twitchy shifting, he finally lifted his weight off of the little goat and released it.

The baby goat laid there for a long moment before it realized that it was free. Stumbling to its legs, it wobbled shakily away before tottering up to the woman who still held its mother on a short leash. Loki watched the goats as the woman hurriedly led them away. “Livestock,” he rumbled to the word as he tilted his head.

“Yes, if prey lives with humans, it is livestock. Owned food, easy prey for dragons who cannot hunt. Not for you,” I insisted, standing slowly as Severus crawled back up to his perch. “Go hunt somewhere else.”

“Food?” Roan asked, fluttering down from the roof and landing nearly on top of Romulus who shrieked in protest.

“Go hunt somewhere else!” I shouted, shooing the dragons away as I approached Loboda and the still arguing Magnar. The large man was gesturing angrily at myself and the dragons, most of which were still perched on the buildings like gargoyles.

“Food?” Another voice asked and I could see people hurriedly parting around a dark tootling form. It was only once she got closer that I realize it was Ophelia who was forcing her way into the clearing, and her eyes were set on the two goats that the woman was still leading away.

“Ugh,” I grunted in annoyance, realizing I would have to once again explain it to the one dragon who hadn’t been present. “You know, my day had been going so splendidly. I even got a bath in.”

“Bath!” Romulus and Roan shrieked and separated from where they had still been wrestling. All of the whelps started to chirrup the word and I fought the urge to pull my hair out.

“Food!” Ophelia insisted as she waddled up next to Loki who turned to her and snapped his teeth near her neck. She reared back and stumbled away from the bronze.

“No food,” Loki growled, and I blinked in surprise as he chirruped and rumbled at her. “Little Sister speak, no food. Food for lazy dragon.”

“Severus,” I hissed, poking his puffed-up chest and not even flinching when he nipped at my fingertips. “Is he explaining property?”

“It would appear so,” Snape replied, the proud tone barely smothered by his irritation at my still poking finger.

“That’s amazing!” I was stunned by how much the dragons actually understood…and then felt ashamed when I remembered the first task of the tournament. It made the reality of using the dragons for the first task even more abhorrent. If they understood the concept of property and possession, just how much did the horntail understand was happening as she was chained in the arena and her nest used as a point of entertainment for her captors.

“We need to tell someone,” I began in a hurried and hushed whisper. “When we get back, we need to tell someone about this…” I trailed off as I began to listen to what I was actually saying. When we get back – it had been a long time since I had even thought of home.

“We will,” Severus replied just as quietly, no doubt he already figured out the reason for my distress. “When we get back, we will tell someone. Perhaps that Weasley boy, the one that works at the dragon reserve.”

“Right,” I mumbled near silently. When…not if. “Wait…did he just call me ‘Little Sister’?”

“Disappointed he didn’t call you mother?” Severus asked with a derisive snort.

“No,” I replied, secretly grateful that he hadn’t. I had spoken of the mother horntail on multiple occasions, insisting that the whelps needed to understand the sacrifice she had made for them to live. But really, little sister? “Why little? I’m much bigger than they are!” I complained as the gathering crowd started to disperse after a few terse words from Magnar.

“Not for much longer,” Severus reminded me, and I groaned at the realization.

“Bath!” Gemini shrieked as he landed before me and started to try and climb up my leg. He was much too big, and I found both hands occupied with trying to hold him up while Ophelia tugged at my pants.

“Bath!” They all began insisting and I turned my pleading eyes to Loboda who was watching us with cautious interest.

“At least you won't grow much bigger,” I mumbled to Severus as I took a few halting steps back towards the great hall and all the whelps started to trail after, Loki included. “Looks like we're taking another bath.”

“Look at the bright side,” Severus grumbled as he snapped at Gemini who was now trying to crawl onto my other shoulder. The red dragon ended up more half thrown over the shoulder as he was much too big for this sort of nonsense. “They might clear the bathhouse out and you could get some alone time without any people lingering about.”

“I suppose there is that,” I sighed, trying to shake Ophelia from my leg before she decided to climb up as well. Behind us, Loboda trailed after, keeping his distance from the energetic whelps.

“Food?” Roan asked as we entered the hall, taking in the few people that were still eating and I fought the urge to punt his rear end with the toe of my boot.

“No food!” I shouted, ignoring Severus’ amused little snort and led them down the hall to the baths.

Chapter Text

The low noise of the long hall drummed in my ears and with each second, I could feel death creeping closer. I had thought death would have been kinder, gentler almost, like the first time I had crossed over. With the pounding pain and absolute agony I was in, I knew that this time it would be a much different experience.

I wondered if I would see Death at the station again…would it take the visage of my mother or someone else this time? Maybe give me another choice between trains?

“Stop being melodramatic,” Severus rumbled as I folded my arms on the wooden table and dropped my head onto them.

“I’m dying,” I whined, rubbing at my pounding temples as the soft chatter around us nearly overwhelmed me. “I’ve been poisoned, Sev. I’m dying and you don’t care. Why don’t you care?” The high pitch my voice took at the end had even me wincing.

“You’re hungover,” Severus snorted, his tone wobbling between disappointment and amusement. “Deservingly hungover, might I add. You’re too young to be drinking and I saw more than one of those cups empty in your hands.”

I rolled my neck to peak an eye over my forearm, wincing at the brightness of the room. “I didn’t know it was alcohol,” I hissed.

“Yes, you did,” he countered, flicking his finned tail in my face.

“Yes, I did,” I confessed, dropping my head back into the dark fold of my arms. “Why did I drink that much…why did you let me drink that much!?”

“I’m hardly your parent,” I could feel his claws digging into my hair as he tugged at the strands in reprimand. “Some things need to be experienced to be learned.”

“Ugh,” I whined again, swatting halfheartedly at his torso to get him to stop. “Next time you see me doing anything like that again, set me on fire.” Severus snorted, but he released his grip on my hair and started to nose at the plate of food I was still too nauseous to eat.

I hadn’t been able to figure out exactly what it was the Thenns had been celebrating last night – something to do with the moon I think, or maybe the stars – but there had been a lot of food, music, dancing, and drinks. Loboda had frowned at Arnar when the man had put a horn of whitish liquid in my hand but didn’t argue. The taste had been milky, thick, and burned going down.

I finished it before I was pulled towards the massive bonfire by Ólafur’s two daughters. The eldest, Alfhild, was perhaps a few years older than me at most. Aslaug was not much younger than her sister, but she was taller and probably of age with me. The older had taken it upon herself to teach me how to use a spear and bow while Aslaug would take me out on horseback every other morning.

Riding horses was nothing like riding a broom, and after my thighs stopped aching, I discovered I absolutely loved it. Severus not so much.

The music had not been like anything I had ever heard before. The drumbeats were so deep and hard I could feel it in my chest. Instruments made of bones, hide, and other various animal parts creating a beautiful and haunting tune. And the singers…the range in their vocals and the passion in which they sang was enchanting.

Alfhild had shoved me into the center of moving bodies as Aslaug laughed loudly. I tried to sneak out of the dancing group, but gave up after being thoroughly hemmed in. Severus had watched me from his perch on one of the many overlooking god statues and had absolutely oozed amusement as I finally gave in and joined the dancers. They didn’t seem to be moving in any particular formation, but more in a sense of someone throwing themselves into the beat of the music.

It was unorganized, primitive, and absolutely the most fun I had ever had at any party…though that may have been the alcohol.

My memory seemed to fail sometime after my third cup and seventh dance. “Please tell me I didn’t do anything massively stupid,” I begged, finally lifting my head. I shoved my loose hair from my face and winced at the bright lights.

“Everything you do is overly idiotic,” Severus hummed in amusement, pulling a large piece of meat from my plate and ripping it into small bite size chunks with his incredibly sharp teeth. “But if you mean last night in particular…then the answer is yes. You did several things that would fall under the Stupid-Idiotic-and-Incredibly-Gryffindor category.”

“Oh, Merlin,” I mumbled, folding my hands and pressing my forehead to my thumbs as if in prayer. “What did I do?”

“You mean aside from getting drunk and dancing like a fool?” He cast me a side eye glance as I reached for the goblet of water and started to chug the chilled liquid. “Well, you made out with Aslaug after you were finished dancing.”

“No,” I whispered, horrified. “Please tell me I didn’t!”

His purple and green eyes glared into mine as he gave me a completely bland expression. “You did, and quite enthusiastically if the cheering was anything to go by. You also tried to climb onto the roof of the nearest hut with a spear, yelling something about quidditch, but Loboda stopped you.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” I pulled the plate back towards me and started to pick at the vegetables. Taking small bites to make certain my stomach wouldn’t revolt.

“You then asked him if he was born with the muscles of a bull, or did his gods gift him with them,” Severus added with bared teeth and a little head tilt. Despite the lack of muscles to properly display human-like emotions, he was successfully imitating his classic smirk. “And then implied he was hung like one, too.”

I groaned in mortification and tried to ignore the spiked feeling of smug amusement that he was exuding. “Please tell me that’s it,” I whined pitifully, stuffing some sort of baked root vegetable into my mouth.

“Aside from you asking me about dragon anatomy, yes…that was all. Oh, and the fact you ended up sleeping here, underneath one of the tables.”

Sleeping beneath the table I was already aware of, as I had woken up to a dog licking my face not even an hour ago. The dragon anatomy question though…

“What do you mean, dragon anatomy?” I asked, spearing another of the root vegetables and chewing it slowly. It was soft, but slightly spicy and I loved the taste.

He gave me a look through his narrowed eyes that made me wish I hadn’t asked. “I believe the way you phrased it was something along the lines of ‘do you still have a penis, maybe tucked away like a dog, or do you reproduce more like a bird?’” My mouth dropped open and I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “You then asked if it was like a dog,” he continued, and I groaned in horror. “Do I have a knot at the end?”

“Oh, Merlin! Severus I am so sorry!” I stumbled over my words of apology as my embarrassment rose. I couldn’t believe I had asked such a thing. “Please, forget everything I said while I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.”

My apologizing halted at the odd little warbling squeak that rumbled out of Severus’ small form. I blinked at him, worried he had started choking, before I realized he was laughing. I had never heard him laugh before, really laugh. I had heard him snort, chuckle, and the occasionally soft laughter, but this was a deep belly laugh that shook his entire body.

Before I could make a comment or question, Loboda had dropped himself on the other side of the table with a large plate and a full mug of water. He gave us a curious look as he started to eat before he frowned at me. “You going to wear your hair like child now?” He asked in the Old Tongue, pointing at me with his two-pronged fork.

I ran my hands through my loose hair and glared at him. “I will braid it later,” I replied in the same language. The language was coming easier to me now that Severus had started to teach me to organize my mind with Occlumency. It only took days of near yelling arguments for him to break down the process piece by annoying piece – now that I understood what one meant by clearing the mind – organizing it to enhance memory and make learning easier came like a second nature to me.

Severus said that once I had those two parts fully understood and successfully incorporated, he would start teaching me to shield my mind. I didn’t know what I needed to be shielding it against, but I was still excited to learn it.

“Loboda,” I started hesitantly after a long moment of silence between us. “I apologize for last night.” He furrowed his brows and gave me a curious look. “For what I said, I mean,” I elaborated and then continued when he kept staring at me in confusion. “For the bull and gods comment. It was rude and,” I struggled to find the word in his language and ended up instead just waving my utensil dismissively when one didn’t come to me.

“What are you speaking of?” He asked, and I turned my gaze to Severus instead.

The little white dragon was making that same warbling squeak and I flicked his muzzle to get him to stop. “Severus,” I hissed, switching back to English. “You said I asked him about his physique, comparing it to a bull!”

“You did,” he replied with a snort. “I didn’t say what language you asked it in.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, throwing my hand out to shove him off the table and fixing my eyes on my plate to hide my embarrassment.

“You really understand them?” Loboda asked, frowning at me.

“Yes,” I replied with another groan, trying to force the heat from my cheeks as I met his gaze. “I have already told you all of this.”

He grunted dismissively as Severus climbed back up onto the table, hissing at me when I moved to shove him off again. The little dragon bared his sharp little teeth at me, and I thought better of it.

“The other ones still hunting?” Loboda asked as Severus went back to snatching bits off my plate. I flicked his nose when he started to sniff at one of the vegetables and in retaliation, he sneezed on me.

“Ew, gross,” I grumbled, pushing my plate away so he could no longer reach it. “Yes, they are still hunting, they might stop by in a few days or so.”

The whelps spent most of their time hunting and playing in the valley. Once or twice a fortnight they would fly into the village to terrorize the citizens and take over the baths. Guinevere and Gemini were the worst culprits and most of the Thenns would become very watchful when either of the red dragons came near the village. They didn’t cause any physical harm or property damage, but they were menaces.

They liked to stalk the chickens and goats, steal eggs that were unattended, and drink up the goat’s milk that was left outside. The first full sentences I learned in the Old Tongue were those of apology.

Ophelia was the most often seen near the village, but the least likely to enter it. The guards who walked the perimeter walls saw her most often, but none dared approach. Some tried throwing her some meat out of curiosity, but she would only sniff at it suspiciously and move on.

Roan wasn’t shy from taking food when offered. He had also learned that if he chirruped, tilted his head in a cute way, and opened his mouth, sometimes the children would throw him bits of cooked meat. Severus was disgusted by the act of begging, but I was too amused and encouraged by the positive interaction between people and dragon to tell him to stop.

Roan was getting quite fat though, and soon I feared he would be grounded like Ophelia, simply because he was too heavy to fly.

Loki, on the other hand, was actively offended whenever someone tried to offer him food. The villagers – especially the children – soon learned to avoid him when he was near or inside the walls. He was foul tempered and not afraid to show it.

Severus and I were always very watchful when Loki was near the children. Adults were aware enough to avoid the bronze dragon, but the children not as much, especially since Hera and Romulus were always so gentle with them. Explaining to the dragon that the children weren’t challenging him was harder than introducing the concept of property. In the end, it was easier to caution the children away from him, than tell him to ignore his instincts when he thought he was being threatened.

“Are you going to the baths?” I asked as Loboda finished off his plate and a servant came to clean up our table.

“No,” Loboda very nearly rolled his eyes. “Only you bathe every day.”

“I like being clean,” I replied with very little heat. This was another argument that we have had before since my language skills advanced enough to hold a conversation. “And so should you,” I added.

Loboda grunted dismissively and waved down another servant to refill his cup. “Nobody needs to be that clean,” he replied after taking another drink. “Your skin will fall off from that much water. Is it a southern thing to bathe every day?”

“I’ve already told you a hundred times, we can from the north, not the south.”

“There’s no tribes further north,” Loboda replied, picking up his bowl to drink the rest of the broth.

“And I’ve also told you I’m from no tribe. We were stranded north and came south.”

He just hummed and went on to talk about the benefits of not bathing so often…which I didn’t bother listening to because it was all bullshit in my book and my eyes trailed to the open passageway behind the raised platform, like they had nearly every time when I was in the great hall.

The Magnar was absent from his bone decorated throne and I was grateful. The man had a penchant for staring at me in a decidedly uncomfortable way whenever we were in proximity from each other. He didn’t like me, I knew that much at least, but I didn’t know why. I had been careful not to cast magic around any of the Thenns that would be overly obvious, even around Loboda in the safety of his cabin. I tried to make certain I wasn’t underfoot, and even had started to learn about their culture, but nothing I did seemed enough for him.

The Magnar wanted me gone, or preferably dead, and nothing I did or didn’t do seemed to change his mind. Whatever that crazy old woman had seen after she drank my blood had set his mind.

“What did she say?” I asked after a moment, and Loboda followed my gaze to the shadowed tunnel that led to the woman that they called the Seer.

“You know we cannot discuss this,” he replied, setting his mug back onto the table and reaching out to wrap his hand around my wrist. That was another thing that had surprised me about their culture, the Thenns were very physical with each other, and now with me. I had to get used to them constantly touching me, especially after living on my own with the dragons for so long. “Only the Magnar and the Elders are allowed to speak with the Seer, and what she sees in the flames stays with her and those she speaks to.”

“But if I could just talk to her –” I argued, cutting myself off when he squeezed my wrist tightly enough to hurt.

“Only the Magnar and the Elders. You cannot speak to her, you must not,” he insisted, releasing me when Severus began a low rumbling growl. “He could have you killed for even thinking of it.” The he Loboda was speaking of was of course the Magnar. “Tell me you will not. Say it!” He barked the words.

“I will not,” I replied quickly as he glared at me from across the table. “I will not!” I insisted as he continued to glare.

After a moment, he nodded and then chugged the rest of his drink and stood. “Braid your hair before you leave the long hall.”

“I will,” I sighed in annoyance, scratching my nails along my scalp. “After I bathe, I promise.”

He gave me one more look that I interpreted as ‘don’t do anything stupid’ before he left. It looked surprisingly similar to Severus’ ‘I know you’re about to do something stupid but can’t stop you’ look that he was giving me right at this moment as well.

“Hari,” Severus said my name like a warning or a reprimand.

“What?” I asked innocently, switching back to English so as not to be overheard. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You think I'm a fool, you insufferable child. Your face is like an open book; you are thinking about doing something.”

“I’m thinking about taking a bath,” I replied heatedly, miffed about being called out so soon, before I had even really thought about what it was I was going to do. I had only gotten so far as to hoping that the hall had cleared out after I had bathed and then maybe sneaking down the tunnel to speak to the Seer.

I was really missing my invisibility cloak.

Snape eyed me dubiously but didn’t argue further as I stood and made my way towards the baths. He fluttered behind me and settled himself near one of the open pools as I went behind the curtain to undress.

Four of the pools were empty and I climbed up to the highest one where Severus had submerged himself. Six women were occupying the pool adjacent to mine, but they looked to be almost finished.

I bathed quickly, scrubbing my skin clean and then shampooing my hair. I was done in minutes but let myself relax in the heat as it eased my headache and I finally started to feel normal once more. Occupying the small shelf, I leaned back and let my legs and arms free float into the water, closing my eyes to listen to the cascading water and soft chatter.

I could hear Severus surfacing every few minutes, the water sloshing as the women left, and soft chatter of others entering. The heat had lulled me into a soft doze when the sound of someone approaching my pool woke me abruptly. Three men were lowering themselves into the water, one of which I recognized.

“Styr,” I greeted hesitantly as he raked his gaze up and down my form. Most of me was submerged, and even so I felt suddenly ill at ease and had to fight the urge to cover myself. I knew that showing that sort of weakness to him would be a mistake.

“Witch,” he replied with a tilt of his lips when he saw how uncomfortable he had made me.

I had decided I disliked Styr from the first moment I saw him, back when I was still learning their language and Loboda had taken me to the bathing pools for the first time. The way he looked at me was like a wolf eyeing a defenseless sheep and it made me feel dirty.

I had seen him many times since then, lurking around corners and watching me go about my day in a distinctly predatorial way. Once, he had even gotten me alone near the smoke building, where they dried their food for preservation, and pressed me up against the hut wall. The way he had twisted one of my loose braids between his thick fingers as he leaned in close – smelling of dirt, smoke, and pine – was impossible to misinterpret. He was interested in me, that much I knew, and he didn’t care that I had no interest in him.

The only thing that had stopped him from forcing himself on me that day was Severus dive bombing him from his perch on the roof. Before Styr could make a second attempt, my wand had appeared in my hand, pointed straight at him, and Severus’ angry shrieking drawing the attention of our host, Loboda. Styr had left reluctantly, a twisted smirk on his lips and a promise to see me again soon.

It looked like soon was now.

Styr waded through the water to settle next to me on the small shelf. I forced myself to remain still as he raised his arms along the back of the pool to settle on the dry stones, one arm behind me in a position that made me feel suddenly caged. The other two men that came with him were watching us curiously, but they didn’t approach.

“Your dog left you alone?” Styr asked, shifting closer so his bare leg touched mine and I finally gave into the urge to shift uncomfortably. I twisted my legs away and tried to slide off the shelf, but Styr’s hand was suddenly closing over my opposite shoulder and pulling me fully against his side.

I grimaced as I shifted my arm to keep it trapped between us, using it as a barrier so my chest wasn’t pressed against his. It left my hand uncomfortably close to his thigh, but I balled it into a fist and held it rigid so it wouldn’t touch him. Heat rose to my cheeks twin to the anger that rose in my chest, and I fought the urge to pull out my wand and hex him into an early grave.

The Magnar let me be as long as I remained docile and harmless. If I started attacking one of his most trusted and beloved men, I was as good as dead…even if Styr was the one who started it.

“Leaving so soon, little witch?” He asked slyly, stroking his hand down my arm, his thumb ghosting against the side of my breast.

I jerked away so quickly he lost his grip on my slick skin and started to pull myself out of the pool in a hurry. The water was sloshing loudly behind me, and I knew that Styr was going to make another attempt when Severus breached from beneath the water and shrieked, his cry echoing in the small space. It was enough for me to make a quick escape and I darted to the dressing area and didn’t bother with the towel. Instead, I flicked my wand to dry my skin and started to pull my clothes on, trying to ignore the loud laughter from the men.

Pulling the hide aside, I nearly tripped over Severus who was standing guard, puffed up and hissing at the men who were watching me from the pool. Styr was still laughing, and I shuddered internally as my eyes met his leering blue ones, before I scooped up the little dragon and nearly ran out of the baths.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little witch!” Styr called after me, just as he had the last time he had gotten me alone, and I shuddered at the threat that felt too much like a promise.

Once I was a good portion down the tunnel, I finally slowed and released my death grip on Severus. Sighing in relief when I realized I wasn’t being followed, I ran my fingers through my wet strands and started to wring the remaining water out of it.

Severus climbed up to my shoulder as I guided my wand towards my hair and felt my scalp tingle as braids began to form. Pulling the extra ties from my pockets, I used magic to tie them off and shook my hair as it all settled. It was much more simple than the braids Loboda did, but at least he couldn’t complain as it was braided.

“I don’t want you to ever be alone with him again,” Severus grumbled, his low growl still pulsating from his chest.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” I replied with more than a little bite in my tone. I raised my fingers and stroked them down his neck and wing in an apology. It wasn’t his fault I was cross.

“I also want you to start keeping that sword of yours attached to you,” he demanded with a hiss.

“Loboda told me to leave it in the cabin,” I replied, walking swiftly as if I was still being pursued but trying to hide it.

“And I am telling you to have it on your person at all times,” Severus commanded in a stern tone, and I found myself nodding in concession. The sword of Gryffindor would certainly make me feel a little safer, and if I killed Styr in combat as opposed to with magic, the Magnar may yet let me live.

The long hall was nearly empty when we returned, only a few servants cleaning and doing their chores, along with the occasional villager who was still nursing their hangover. The dais was still unoccupied, and nobody was paying attention to me. It looked like my hoping really had worked after all.

When I saw Hermione next, I would have to rub this in her face. See, who needed a plan when one had luck on their side?

I cast a quick notice-me-not, turned and made my way over to the dark tunnel, ignoring Severus’ hissed protestations. Looking behind myself one more time to make certain nobody was watching, I darted down the tunnel.

It was nearly too dark to see as all the torches along the walls were out, but I dare not light them, or cast any fairy lights for fear of being caught. Loboda’s words of caution played on repeat in the back of my head as I made my way slowly further down.

“This is a terrible idea,” Severus rumbled lowly, taking care to be quiet so his grumbling wouldn’t echo down the tunnel and give us away. “Hari, return to the long hall this instant.”

“Don’t you want to know what the woman said?” I asked, continuing down the tunnel and ignoring his further arguing. “Look, I’m going to talk to her. You can wait outside if you have a problem with it.”

“Gryffindor’s,” Severus hissed the word like it was something foul. “It’s this sort of thinking that kept getting you detentions.”

“Take points away, if it makes you feel any better,” I stopped in front of the heavy fur hide that covered the room of the Seer. “Are you coming or not?”

Severus grumbled below his breath but didn’t argue further. Taking that as a win, I pulled aside the hide and flinched back at the musky smoke that rushed into my face. Coughing, I stepped inside and cast a discreet bubble head charm to clear the air near my nose and mouth. Already I could feel that odd feeling settling over me like the last time. My head felt incredibly light like it was about to pop off and fly away, while my body seemed to have become a hundred pounds heavier and felt as if I stopped moving, it would just sink into the floor.

“Hello,” I called out in the Old Tongue, hesitantly and with more than a little trepidation. After a long moment of silence, I shuffled further into the room, my boots sliding cautiously against the stone ground. “Hello?”

“I was wondering when you would finally come and see me, girl,” a withered voice replied from behind me, and I turned so fast I stumbled over my own feet and fell next to the charred remains in the fire pit. The woman laughed at me, her blackened mouth opened as she howled in amusement, her bare breasts jiggling obscenely with each cackle.

Luckily, I had only squeaked in surprise and grunted from the impact, any more noise and I was afraid I was going to give us away. I had no idea how she had gotten behind me, as the curtain was closed and unmoving, but there she was. And it seemed I was expected.

“You were waiting for me?” I asked cautiously, beginning to stand but halting when she waved one hand with long cracked nails – fingers blackened to the second joint – at me. Instead, I pulled myself into a seated position and twisted to watch her as she moved around to the other side of the fire pit. My attention was pulled briefly to her bare feet, and I fought not to grimace in disgust when I realized her toenails were just as long and broken, toes black, and feet filthy.

“I am always waiting, girl, always. Waiting and watching…and then waiting some more. You are not the first I have waited for, nor will you be the last,” she huffed the words as if already bored by the conversation, twisting her knobby legs as she eased herself down onto the furs. Her bone necklace rattled uncomfortably in the near quiet. “Though, you are perhaps the most interesting.”

“But Loboda told me only the Elders and the Magnar are to speak to you,” I spoke cautiously, afraid that she would tell someone, and the Magnar would finally have the excuse he was looking for to execute me.

“And you hardly ever do as you're told,” she chuckled, the words almost sounding fond if they didn’t feel so threatening. She spoke as if she knew me. It made my skin crawl, and I felt a chill rush down my spine.

The loose and wrinkled skin on her bare stomach bunched up into saggy rolls as she folded herself forward, reaching with her long thin arm to grab something from a stone bowl, casting what looked like ashes into the fire. The fire caught and started to blaze as if there was still wood in the near empty fire pit, reaching nearly as high as I was seated, and the heat that hit me felt like I was standing beneath the desert sun.

Severus’ tiny claws dug into the hide of my shoulder, pinching the skin painfully as his tail twitched in unease. I didn’t tell him to stop, my own fingernails digging crescents into the palm of my hands as the Seer reached behind her with her spidery-like limbs and pulled the same ritualistic blade from its sheath. She sliced the blade across her palm, flicking her hand to cast the blood into the flames as she chanted.

Smoke was pulled into her lungs with each breath, and I fought the urge to flinch back as she presented me with the knife once more. “Go on,” she spoke, her voice crackling as if it was parchment that had caught fire, grinding and broken like cracking ice and shifting sands. “Take it…you want answers?”

I reached forward hesitantly, my fingers ghosting over the bone handle before finally curling around it. She watched me with her milky white eyes as I held it, doing nothing more than letting it rest in the palm of my hand. Her smile was black and twisted as she bared her teeth at me, waiting.

“Severus?” I asked softly, tilting my head to catch his eyes. My voice was cautious, uneasy.

“You were the one who wanted to come here?” He replied, his own tone tight as I felt his tail twitching against my back. “Get your answers or give her the blade and leave. Where has all your Gryffindor courage gone?” His question wasn’t layered with as much cynicism as I was expecting from him.

“Easy for you to say,” I mumbled in English as I took the blade and sliced a long line across the palm of my hand. “It isn’t your blood.”

The Seer reached over the fire and seized my wrist before she dug her blackened tongue into the wound. I fought the urge to pull away, trying very hard not to think about how unsanitary this was. The appendage wiggled inside my wound, wet, and feeling like a worm digging its way beneath the ground.

I would have to take another bath after this just to feel clean again.

She swallowed most of my blood, spitting the rest into the fire and releasing my wrist as the flames turned purple. “Ask your questions, girl…and live with the answers!” The Seer cackled. “You won’t like them,” she giggled lowly, her sagging breasts swaying as she rocked side to side. “Nobody ever does.”

I cradled my bleeding hand to my chest and swallowed past the tight sensation in my throat, suddenly feeling like this was a really terrible idea. It was only at Severus’ soft hissing did I finally blink out of my stupor. “The first day,” I started hesitantly, shifting to sit on my knees as unease settled deep in my stomach. “When the Elders and the Magnar brought me here, what did you tell them?”

“The truth,” the Seer laughed at me, milky white eyes boring into mine. “I only ever speak the truth.”

“But what did you say?” I hissed in frustration, but she only kept laughing. I would clearly have to phrase my questions differently if I wanted actual answers. “Why does the Magnar dislike me?”

The Seer chuckled, spit and blood dribbled down her chin and neck with each hacking noise of dark amusement. She sounded as if she were a wounded animal taking its last breath.

“He sees you for as you really are,” she answered as she waved her spindly arms to pull more smoke into her face. “He sees the trouble and chaos that you bring, he sees the change that you force, he sees the death that follows in your wake, the shadows you cast that drown those beneath you. He sees his end when he looks at you girl.”

I rocked backwards at her words, suddenly realizing that I was playing with truly dangerous magic. McGonagall didn’t really believe in prophecy, and I was of mind with her, but this - this felt different. This felt true, and more importantly...this felt binding.

My legs twitched as if to throw myself from the room and her words, wanting to leave so badly my heart seemed to be fluttering with the word flee as blood pounded in my ears. I didn’t want to ask any more questions – wished I hadn’t asked the first one – but before I could begin to stand, the Seer lurched forward, her arm thrust through the flames to grip unrelentingly around my wrist and forced me still. “The flames are still purple,” she hissed, baring her blackened teeth in a way that was for the first time not smothered in amusement. “I told you girl; you won’t like the answers. But the flames are purple, and you will continue. You must continue.”

I trembled in her grip but forced myself to remain seated as she released me. The skin on her arm was blackened where the flames had touched it, but it appeared unharmed otherwise. Severus rumbled in quiet discontent from upon my shoulder, his thumb claws digging into the looped braids of my hair, but he too urged me to stay.

“This has the same feel to it as a ritual,” he whispered in my air, his tongue flicking out in unease. “To leave could cause the magic to backlash.”

“Listen to your dragon, girl,” the hag smirked at me, the lips taking a sinister tilt.

“You can understand him?” I asked despite the dread of asking anything else. She didn’t answer, only continued to smirk at me in that threatening way of hers. “What trouble do I bring?” I asked after a long moment of silence, struggling to accept that I must continue and wishing desperately that I had never entered this place.

“The Cold Ones want you, girl,” she was smiling again, and I didn’t know which was worse…her amusement or her anger. “They want what you hold, the power that rests within you. They take you, make you one of Them, and this world is lost. They come here looking for you, girl.”

“They followed me into the valley,” I whispered, horrified. I was the reason Loboda’s son was dead. It was my fault that the scouting party was attacked.

“Yes,” the Seer replied, though I had not asked. “But They would come into the valley even if you weren’t here. They want everything!”

The words did little to ease my guilt or my conscience. “More will come, will they not?”

“Yes,” she cackled, laughing so loudly it echoed off the stone and I was suddenly terrified that the noise would draw unwanted attention. “They will come and come and come until all are as They are.”

“Then we need to leave!” I struggled to keep from shouting, leaning forward onto my hands and digging them into the cold stone to ground myself. “We cannot stay in the valley. Have you told the Magnar? Why are the Thenns still here?”

“He knows, girl,” the words were spoken both bitterly and full of amusement. “This Magnar knows, and this Magnar will never leave the valley.”

I frowned at her phrasing, tilting my head as my mind tried to understand why she had emphasized certain words in her sentence. The occlumency lessons and lectures on critical thinking that Severus had been giving me helped a great deal in parsing out the meaning behind someone’s words. It was a long way from just throwing myself into a situation and taking everything at face value…Hermione would be so proud.

My teeth worried at my lower lip as I forced myself to remain silent until I felt as if I understood what the Seer was telling me. The valley was in danger from the Cold Ones and the dead army that followed them. The Thenns followed the will of the Magnar. And the Magnar would never abandon the valley. But if there was perhaps a different Magnar…

“What is the process of electing a new Magnar?” I asked the Seer.

She laughed at me, the small bones in her hair clicking as she threw her head back. “The Gods,” she spoke the words as if they were being pulled from her. “The Gods will choose the next Magnar once the current Magnar has passed.”

I frowned again, my plan of a coup leaving as quickly as it had formed. If the position was one for life, then that clearly presented a problem. “How much longer will this Magnar remain?”

The Seer’s milky eyes latched onto mine, but it was as if she was looking through me. “That is entirely up to you,” she cackled darkly, licking her spit and blood speckled lips as she all but leered at me. “A day will come, girl, and soon. And on this day, a choice must be made. You can turn, turn away and watch as all those you have come to know fall to a winter without end. Turn away and witness the death of all those you now hold dear. Turn and walk away, leave the snow to cover our bones until They come to raise us once more.

“Or…” she whispered now, leaning so close I feared her hair would catch aflame. “Or...” she said again, trailing off.

“Or what?” I finally asked and her milky eyes were staring at me now, though how she could see I didn’t know.

“Or you can kill the Magnar of the Thenns and save us all,” the Seer cackled as she finished speaking. Her voice sounded like a thousand birds crying, dying frogs croaking their last, ice breaking into the sea.

I flinched back as if struck and stood so quickly I nearly lost my balance as a dizzying wave hit me. Stumbling towards the exit, I felt sick and fought the sudden and violent urge to vomit. My vision was blurred, and it wasn’t until I wiped my eyes that I realize I was crying, gasping in deep wet breaths as I sobbed in horror.

“Girl!” The Seer shouted and I stumbled to a stop, hands fisted on the thick hide that hung over the exit. I didn’t want to turn, and yet I found myself unable to resist. “The flames have yet to return, you still have one more question.”

“I have no more to ask!” I shouted in anger and fear, suddenly uncaring if I was caught. Anything had to be better than this.

“You do!” She laughed, deep and hacking like a cough. “One more question, girl. You know which one. You don’t want to ask, but you must. Ask!”

I shook my head in denial, but she was right. I did have one more question, one that had been on my mind for so long that it hovered in the background of every thought. But now I was afraid. Afraid to breathe the words into the world and give them life. Afraid that the Seer would say the answer that I had feared for so long.

The hide slipped through my fingers, and I returned to the fire. My body felt numb and separate, as if I was watching myself move from far away, watching my body lower itself to sit across from the old hag, watching myself open my mouth to ask the question I didn’t want to ask.

“Will we ever return home?” The words were pulled from me, scraping my throat like sandpaper and making my tongue bleed as it was bitten by a thousand tiny ants.

The hag was looking right at me, her face so still it reminded me of Death’s, a mask to be worn over bone. The skin was slack and wrinkled, stained with ash, dirt, spit, and blood. “Oh, you poor child,” she whispered, unsmiling and unemotional. She nearly sounded sympathetic, perhaps even pitying. And then her face broke – a crack in the surface of the Earth – her lips peeled back, and she laughed. “You may return…one day. But not until you have lost everything you hold dear. Not until you kill the one you love most. Let it go, forget that life. This is your home now, girl.”

Her laughter washed over me, heavy and smothering as I lowered my head and cried.

Chapter Text

Severus flew for nearly two hours before he found the whelps. They were huddled over a large corpse, screeching at each other as they tore it to pieces. It was only once he alighted on a massive antler that he realize it was an elk of some sort, though larger by far than any he had ever seen.

Perhaps all the animals here were bigger than what he was used to. He remembered the massive wolves, the whale corpse, and the sea serpent. Though maybe not everything…the horses were definitely smaller.

“This is an impressive kill,” he commented idly as Solar and Roan fought over a leg bone larger than they were. It was practically bare of meat, but the two were so caught up in their rivalry, they didn’t notice that the other dragons were taking the opportunity to pick the corpse clean.

Romulus pulled his head from the chest of the dead beast, his brown scales covered in red blood. He blinked at the smaller dragon, the nictitating membrane sliding across the eyes slowly. Severus would akin it to an eye roll from a teenager.

“Loki kill,” Romulus replied after a moment as if it should have been obvious before his dark green eyes turned to said dragon. Loki was further away from the other dragons, gnawing on a hind leg he had severed from the corpse. Ophelia lay next to him, black and silver belly swollen from overeating. “Ophelia eat first,” Romulus added after Severus gave a curious hum, before shoving his head back into the corpse and pulling out a lung.

He was only a little surprised that Loki had decided to share his meal, though his kill was much too big for a dragon his size to eat in one sitting. The bronze dragon wasn’t exactly keen on sharing, but he did whenever he overhunted. If he suddenly started to hunt more often and was forced to share…well, Loki would never admit that it was because he was deeply offended whenever one of his siblings accepted handouts from humans. Severus, of course, knew better, but he kept his silence.

It was astounding, learning about dragon behavior from dragons themselves, as opposed to a textbook. And the things Severus was learning were absolutely mind boggling. Dragons didn’t live in packs, but family members did settle into something that resembled it.

Ophelia was at the bottom of the pecking order because of her injury and Gemini because of his size. Solar, Roan, and Hera were middling in the pack structure, and although Guinevere was outspoken and more prone to throw her weight around, she still yielded to Romulus. The brown and teal dragon was perhaps the most levelheaded of the bunch. He was calm and patient, not prone to anger or outbursts, and didn’t let Loki bully him into submission.

Loki was at the top of the small pack of dragons, only beneath Severus and Harielle, but soon he thought even that would change. Though Loki not the largest of the group, he was still the most dangerous. His temper was fitting for his mother’s breed, and he was just as likely to use fire as he was teeth and his horned tail to bully his siblings into submission.

Yet still, the foul tempered beast had ensured that their grounded sister got her fair share of every meal…and he kept the others fed when they didn’t wish to hunt.

As if Loki could feel the eyes on him, his orange gaze was suddenly fixed on Severus and the once wizard tilted his head curiously at the growing beast. The bronze dragon glared at him, eyeing his perch on the antler and the other dragons that were still gorging themselves on the corpse, before he went back to his meal.

Severus knew that Loki would become a problem when he got too large to control, but for now he was comfortable with leaving him be.

“Where little sister?” Guinevere chirruped as she twirled in the snow, her own orange eyes alighting on the trees as if expecting Harielle to stride out now that her absence had been noted.

“Riding,” Severus replied disgustedly. The mother of the two girls Harielle had taken to spending time with had gifted her a horse…and he used that term very lightly. It looked like a pony. The beast was short, round, and shaggy. Like all the horses that the Thenns kept, it was made for traversing ice, snow, and the uneven ground of mountains.

Barely taller than Harielle herself, it was the smallest of the horses in the stable. It was also slow and lazy, more inclined to meander while grazing than being ridden. Putting a saddle and a person on it only meant more grazing areas to the dumb beast, but Harielle was absolutely smitten with the gelding.

She called him Chudley – after the Chudley Cannons out of all things. While its undercoat, mane, and tail were red, the longer fur was a flea-bitten white and the beast didn’t have an athletic bone in its body. Severus highly doubted that the horse ran for anything but more food.

Guinevere snorted, her muzzle crinkling as she repeated the word curiously. When she looked back at Severus, he realized she was asking for clarification.

“Chudley,” he spit the name, feeling the irritation bubbling in his chest. “The horse, she is riding the horse.”

“Chudley?” She asked softly. “Chudley livestock?”

Severus understood her confusion. Harielle had successfully explained the concept of livestock and human-kept animals to the dragons, but horses just confused them. They didn’t understand the purpose of them, and Roan had squawked and keened in confused anxiety the first time he had seen a human put a saddle on a horse and then mount it. Harielle had been laughing hysterically at the dragons as they wailed and squalled, trailing after the agitated horse and trying to tug at the saddle.

The girl had been useless in explaining the concept of mounts and beasts of burden, laughing too much to get a word in between the giggles, so Severus had tried his best to educate them. He had been annoyed and frustrated with their lack of understanding, and even more frustrated with himself and Harielle. The girl’s understanding of dragon speech was basic at best, and yet she had been able to successfully explain more than one difficult concept to the whelps.

“No,” Severus replied after a moment, as he tried to align his thinking to that of his once student. How would she have explained it to them. “Horse is different, not livestock,” he spoke slowly, twitching his tail in agitation as he tried to dumb his words down. Severus pretended he was speaking to children…really, really young and stupid children.

“Horse is like dog; they serve more purpose than food.” There, that sounded right. Simple and easy explanation.

Guinevere blinked at him, tilting her head one way and then the other as she thought over his words. “Dog livestock!” She chirruped brightly.

He closed his eyes, letting a slow breath out of his nostrils as his talons rhythmically clenched the antler, digging small gouges in the bone. “Yes,” Severus replied after a long moment, sighing the word. “Horses and dogs are livestock.”

“Oh,” she replied, blinking at him once more before she turned back to the dead elk and continued eating, shouldering the smaller but fatter Roan aside as he tried to shuffle into her space. It appeared as if the conversation was completely forgotten.

“Little sister riding?” Gemini asked excitedly, trying to bully his way up onto the antler next to Severus.

His weight displaced the corpse, and Severus squawked in surprise when he was forced to take flight as the head detached from the spine and rolled into the snow. Gemini shrieked as he rolled with it, puffing out his chest and glaring as the head finally settled and he was able to detangle himself from the antlers.

Severus landed on an exposed shoulder bone, turning his icy gaze to the bright red dragon. The whelp lowered his body into a crouch over the snow and tried to hide behind the severed head. After a few seconds – not nearly long enough in Severus’ opinion – the dragon perked back up and waddled closer to him, repeating his previous question as if nothing had happened and Severus wasn’t still upset with him. “Little sister riding?”

“Yes,” Severus hissed the words, glaring down at the rambunctious little whelp as he saw the red was about to try and climb up next to him again.

Properly chastised, Gemini sat back into the snow, deciding to forgo the climb and leaving the white dragon his space. “Where?” He asked, chirping the word, and then deciding to chirp it some more simply because he could.

“Upper valley, east of the village,” Severus replied after a long while, letting his glare ease. It wasn’t like it was working anyways. Direction was another concept Harielle had been able to successfully explain to the dragons, using the sun and the stars to help them understand the idea of compass directions.

Without a second thought, the little red launched himself into the sky with a happy chirrup and took off. “The other direction! Other direction, you idiot!” Severus hollered after him and humphed in annoyance as Gemini twisted lithely in the air and changed his trajectory. Well, it appeared that compass direction still needed a little more work, but at least the whelp understood east and west went towards or away from the sun.

Severus was going to let Harielle explain that one to them again. He had already done quite enough today.

Solar took flight a moment later, Romulus not far behind, following Gemini’s path. Solar didn’t like leaving one of them alone, and Romulus disliked leaving Solar, so it was no surprise that he followed. What did surprise Severus was Gemini’s absolute love of riding.

The little beast was a dragon, for Merlin’s sake. He could fly in the air, gallop awkwardly on the ground, and even knew how to swim…but he absolutely loved to perch on the back of whatever horse was running the fastest. It made absolutely no sense.

The only ones more upset by this were the horses themselves.

It took Harielle quite a long while to understand what it was Gemini was trying to do, but after that, she was more than willing to put up with his antics. The other horses not so much. When Gemini tried to land on them, they would buck. If he tried to climb up, they would kick and run off. Somehow, Harielle got Chudley to tolerate the red dragon, but that was probably because the horse was used to Severus’ presence, was dumber than a box of rocks, and had no self-preservation instincts to think of.

He was also beginning to realize what Harielle liked about the horse. Those descriptors could easily be applied to her red headed Weasley friend just as well.

The fat beast known as Chudley was used to the red dragon’s antics and bore it with good grace; though he could barely be coaxed to go fast at all, much to Gemini’s consternation. After a long moment, Severus finally grunted in annoyance and flew after them. He did hate to leave Harielle alone for too long.

In only a few moments he had overtaken Solar and Romulus. Though smaller than any of the other dragons, Severus was by far the fastest. Only Gemini could match him in speed, and only just. As the red had quite a head start, Severus wasn’t surprised at all when he didn’t overtake the once-twin. Gemini was quite fast when he had a goal in mind, and at the moment, that goal was to find Harielle.

Severus found her in an open field in the upper valley just as he had suspected, talking to someone. Chudley was grazing next to her, nosing aside the loose snow to get to the grass beneath. Harielle had looped the bridle around the horn of the saddle, and though she didn’t have a hold of the horse and was facing away from the beast, the small horse didn’t move more than a few steps away.

The beast was loyal, Severus would give him that.

The other horse, a larger brown mare, was nearby. Her reins were tied around a branch of a fallen tree, and her ears flicked in Chudley’s direction every now and then. She seemed agitated…no doubt due to the red dragon.

Perched on Chudley’s back, behind the saddle, lounged Gemini. His thumb claws were dug tightly into the blanket beneath the saddle, his legs thrown to either side, probably imitating Harielle when she rode, but the horse was much too fat for the dragon to properly straddle. His tail was twitching in excitement, head perked up and eyes set forward as if he believed if he waited patiently enough the horse would indulge him and start galloping across the field.

Severus snorted, flapping to slow his descent to land on the pommel of the saddle, shaking his head in amusement. The red dragon would be waiting for quite a while if that was the case. He doubted even a pack of starving wolves could get the lazy and fat horse to move faster than a canter.

Harielle’s sudden laughter drew him from his musing and Severus turned from the red dragon to face her and her companion.

He recognized the young man she was talking to, but only just. The older girl, Alfhild, had introduced him during the Hare Moon Celebration. But for the life of him, Severus couldn’t recall his name. Harielle had danced with him several times throughout the night, and he did recollect him being present when Harielle had chugged her fourth or fifth drink, tossed the horn on the ground, and clambered onto the bewildered and blushing Aslaug to plant a lingering, if not purely innocent kiss on the poor girl’s lips.

Severus had found himself more amused about the whole scene than he thought appropriate. The girls kissed like they had never done so before; eyes closed, lips tight and puckered, pressed together and unmoving, hands fluttering around awkwardly as if they didn’t know what to do with them. Everyone had been cheering them on – that boy included – before both girls broke apart, blushing hotly and shifting in embarrassment. A moment later, they both started to laugh brightly.

Harielle pulled herself from Aslaug’s lap, falling onto the log next to her. She was laughing again when another drink was pressed into her hand, and that young man yanked her up and back to the fire where everyone was still dancing.

Severus narrowed his purple eyes at the male, memorizing his face and flaring his nostrils to take in his scent, recoiling suddenly as the smell of arousal registered. Relearning his senses, and learning his new ones took many months and a lot of guesswork to figure out. He saw in more color than he ever had before, realizing when it was near dark out, he could see on the ultraviolet scale.

It took a lot to get used to, but he soon learned that he actually had a third set of eyelids. These ones were transparent and beneath the nictitating membrane that would slide aside when it became dark and turn his vision into greys with amazing colors he had no names for blooming into his vision. It gave him a headache when he used it too much during the daytime, but he had been able to track the flights patterns of the whelps based on the pheromones they left in the air, see heated footprints that people and animals left behind, and track someone’s mood based on the colors their body was throwing off.

At this moment, he was using it to look at the male that was now leaning in close to Harielle, his expression sly and coy as he whispered something that made her throw her head back and start laughing. His body was thrumming in pinks and reds, low in his core and radiating out.

Severus recognized this very same thing he had seen on Harielle on more than one occasion. She would sometimes wake up in that state and would be irritated or coquettish depending on the mood. It had taken Severus several incidents of this for him to realize what he was sensing from her.

Harielle had been aroused but unaware of her state.

Severus could have broken his neck with how quickly he snapped it back when he finally nailed down the scent and sight. It made sense; she was a young woman going through puberty still…but that didn’t mean that he wanted to know about it. And he knew that if he brought it up, she would have been absolutely mortified, probably even more so than that incident in the ice cave when she had started her period for the first time since their displacement.

Right at this moment, that young man was throwing off all the same pheromones. And worse, Harielle was responding. She had one hand on the boy’s crossed forearms, though it wasn’t to hold him back or push away, much to Severus’ displeasure. Instead, she seemed to be leaning in closer to him as he reached up and tucked a loose piece of hair that had escaped one of her many braids behind her ear.

She blushed and fluttered her eyes, her speech halting as she nibbled on her lower lip. The young man’s eyes tracked the movement, and Severus watched him with a glare as he shuffled closer and started to lean down…as if he was…he was!

Severus shrieked in outrage as he realized that this young man – this boy that was unshaved, unscarred, and unproven – was planning on kissing Harielle. The noise startled Gemini who finally turned to look, though Severus noted that the gelding barely twitched at the commotion. The mare reared back and neighed loudly but couldn’t get more than a few steps away with her reins tied.

Harielle turned to look at him and the young man with her gave him a curious expression, though Severus noted that Harielle did not release her grip on his arm. “Sev?” She asked, her voice light and airy, breathless in a way he had never heard before. “Something wrong?” She spoke to him in the Old Tongue, forgoing her mother language to include the boy in their conversation.

Severus shrieked again, suddenly blindingly furious. He bared his teeth as he lowered his head and swayed it side to side, eyeing up the boy as he coiled himself to lunge. Beside him, Gemini stood, warbling uncertainly as his golden-yellow eyes flicked between the three of them, confused at the sudden hostility.

“Sev?” Harielle tried again, her tone more cautious as she finally released her grip on the boy and took a few steps closer. Roars, high pitched and loud, echoed across the valley as Romulus and Solar dived into the clearing, flaring their wings out to land at the last moment. Though their shoulders were only as high as the girl’s hip, the ground seemed to shake from their heavy landing.

Solar flared his large grey wings, roaring once more and standing on his hind legs to make himself appear taller, while Romulus lowered himself into a position much like Severus’ own. Body close to the ground, his hind legs were coiled tight beneath him, ready at a moment’s notice to launch himself at an enemy. Gemini seemed to take it as a cue to do the same and gave out his own weak version of a roar, the fins on his neck fluttering, but he didn’t seem to be doing it at anyone in particular, just in the general direction his siblings were displaying their anger.

“Sev? What the hell?!” Harielle flushed, her voice dripping in annoyance and anger as she started to march towards him.

“Wait!” The boy called out in alarm, grabbing Harielle’s arm to stop her. He yanked her away, making Harielle whirl around and almost lose her balance as he tried to pull her away from the angry dragons.

This action only made Severus more infuriated, and he roared in retaliation, launching himself from the saddle. He latched himself onto the boy’s arm, digging his claws in the way he had never done to Harielle, feeling the blood well up around the wounds.

The boy screamed as Severus sunk his fangs deep into the inner wrist of the hand that held Harielle captive. The young man released his grip on Harielle to throw Severus off, and Severus let him, choosing instead to land on Harielle’s shoulder, gripping her robe and shrieking again.

“Oh, Merlin,” Harielle gasped, not even seeming to notice Severus’ presence on her shoulder, a small weight she was so very used to, as she rushed closer to the boy. “Canute! Oh gods, are you okay?”

“He bit me!” The boy, Canute, screamed. He had a hand wrapped tightly on his bleeding wrist and when he pulled it away, Severus could see a large chunk of skin missing.

“Severus! What the fuck!” Harielle shouted, grabbing Canute’s arm to see the damage. It really was bleeding heavily.

He hadn’t meant to cause that much damage, and while he did feel bad about it as Canute really was just a boy, he only felt a burning fury as Harielle continued to touch him. Instead of replying, he shrieked again. Three more voices joined his and he nearly lost his balance as Harielle turned quickly to snap a stay command to the other dragons.

“I mean it!” She shouted in English, waving a bloody finger at them. “Stay!”

“It won’t stop bleeding!” Canute cried out, and Severus could see tears in his eyes as he tried to stem the blood flow.

“Oh Merlin!” Harielle turned back to him, grabbing up his arm once more and then shoving Severus from her shoulder when he started to growl menacingly. “Severus! Enough! I swear to Merlin, if you try anything…”

She trailed off, glaring harshly down at him as continued to stare in hatred at the boy. She didn’t finish her sentence, the threat hanging meaningless between them. They both knew it was empty. Instead, she returned her attention back to the bleeding boy, ignoring the white dragon as he climbed up her leg, over her hip, and up her side to perch himself back on her shoulder.

“Hold still,” Harielle spoke softly to the older boy, her hands gentle as she tried to see the wound better. “I’m going to try and heal it.”

Flicking her hand, the black wand snapped into her palm and the boy flinched away from her. Canute had not seen her use magic before, many of the Thenns hadn’t. Harielle was always so careful to never perform magic when others were watching, and if they were, it was something very discreet. Nothing that could bring attention to her, nothing that the Magnar could prove.

She muttered an episkey under her breath, pointing the wand at the wound, and then cursing when nothing happened. Harielle tried the spell again, and then a third time before grunting in frustration. “Why isn’t it working?” She asked, still speaking in the Old Tongue. “Severus? Help me.”

Severus found himself only snarling in reply, his gaze still fixed on the boy who quelled under it. In all his years as a teacher, Severus didn’t think he had ever hated a child as much as he hated the one before him. It had been a blessing to be a small dragon, one that wouldn’t grow very much. It allowed him to be with Harielle no matter where she went. But in this instance, he wished to be larger…much larger.

He wanted to loom over the boy, he wanted to bare his teeth and threaten to swallow him whole. He wanted the boy to burn. 

Behind him, two of the dragons were still shrieking and roaring their threats. Gemini finally decided to choose a target to direct his attention to and joined his brothers to snarl menacingly at the boy. The mare had worked itself into a lather, terror showing the whites of her eyes as she finally got enough leverage to snap the reins and took off into the forest. The dragons hardly seemed to notice, still staring at the boy, angry and ready to attack, though none knew quite exactly why.

“Enough!” Harielle shouted again, finally releasing Canute’s arm to yank Severus from his perch, holding him in her hands like one would a toddler, hands beneath his wings with his feet and tail dangling. She held him at arm’s length, glaring at him as he continued to spit and hiss at the boy. “Severus! Stop it! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Turning her body to block his vision of the boy, Severus was instead forced to look at her. She looked angry, angrier than he had ever seen her. Her face red, lips tight, and eyes harsh. Even still her hands – bloodstained and trembling – were gentle as she pulled him closer.

“Severus, please. Just tell me what is wrong? Why did you bite Canute?” Her voice was shaking, cradling him close and pressing him to her chest. Her hands stroked him like one would an upset cat. “Sev, please.”

She sounded like she was about to start crying, and Severus felt his senses return to him like he had been dropped into a bucket of ice water. He stopped his struggling, going limp in her arms as he tried to make sense of what had just happened…of what he had done. He could still taste the boy’s blood in his mouth.

“Please, Sev. Please!” Harielle begged, her head lowered, lips touching the tips of his spiked horns as she whispered. “It won’t stop bleeding and I don’t know what to do.”

Severus swallowed his pride, forced his anger deep down, and buried his guilt until he was finally settled enough for rational thought. Later…he would think upon what had happened later. Right now, Harielle needed him.

“The wound is too deep for episkey,” he replied, bringing his dual thumbs up to grab at her robe, lifting his head to bump it against her chin. “You need to try vulnera sanentur. It’s a much stronger healing spell. You need to say it three times, in a chant. Once to stop the blood flow, once to clean the wound, and once again to close it.”

Harielle sniffled, tucking her cold and wet nose into his hide as she nodded her head, gripping him tightly before she finally pulled away. Wiping a hand across her eyes, she banished her tears away and Severus felt the guilt creep deeper.

“Okay,” she mumbled, turning back to the boy who was now kneeling. He had torn his tunic and was trying to use it to stem the blood flow. Beneath him, the snow was stained a bright red, reminding Severus of the elk corpse he had seen the whelps eating earlier. It really was a lot of blood…he must have severed the veins.

Harielle pushed him up until he retook his perch on her shoulder, and then kneeled in the bloody stained snow. Steam rose around them, the warm blood melting the cold snow as it spread further.

“What’s the wand movement?” She asked hesitantly in English, using her left hand to pull the wounded arm close and move the bloody fabric away. The wound was very deep. Even though his mouth was small, Severus’ teeth were very sharp, and had dug deep into the inside of the wrist…so deep he could see bone quite clearly.

“There isn’t one, just trace the wounds and chant the spell.”

Harielle nodded her head, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks again to get rid of the tears. Instead, she just smeared blood onto it. Raising the black wand that had once been his, she started to say the words and then paused, glancing at him in uncertainty. “Vulnera sanentur,” he repeated the words slowly, enunciating them carefully and listening to her echo them back before he nodded his head.

Swallowing thickly, Harielle resumed her position and started to trace the wounds with her wand, chanting the words in an almost musical lilt as the flesh started to knit back together. Once completed, she sighed in relief and released Canute who was staring at his healed and scarred wrist in awe.

“The scars will remain, I am afraid. Only essence of dittany can get rid of them,” he commented idly, sliding his eyes away as the guilt tried to surface. They had essence of dittany; he knew. It had been on his body during the tournament. Harielle had pulled the vial of his corpse herself and at this very moment it lay secure inside one of the inner pockets of her robe. But she hadn’t known what it was, and he didn’t tell her, because she would use it…would waste it on this useless boy.

“Severus,” she sighed, her voice finally losing the shakiness. “Thank you.”

He huffed, shaking his head and pulling himself upright before sliding off her shoulder and gliding back to perch on the saddle of the gelding. The horse had remained during the conflict, even after blood was spilt and dragon roars had rendered the air. In fact, Chudley had hardly moved at all, and had continued his grazing after everything had settled down.

Perhaps there was more to this horse than appearances first let on. Severus was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially as he realized that the boy would probably have to spend hours searching for his mare.

“Where do you think she went?” Harielle asked as she assisted Canute in standing. The boy looked pale and more than a little ill at ease.

“Probably up into the mountains,” Canute replied, tugging at his torn tunic. Harielle brought her wand back up and the boy blinked in surprise as the bloodstained and torn fabric darted up from the ground and reattached itself, knitting back together with the rest of his clothes. Another wave and the bloodstains were gone.

Aside from his pale complexion and startled appearance, Canute looked just as he had before the incident. “Thank you,” he murmured shyly, his eyes on the snowy ground still stained with his blood, the only evidence that anything had happened aside from the scars that he now bore.

“Don’t thank me,” Harielle argued, looking agitated. “Canute, I am so sorry. I don’t know what got into him,” her eyes slid over to him, and Severus knew that they would be having a talk about this later…whatever the hell this was.

Severus still didn’t understand what had prompted him to attack a boy no older than many of his students. The other dragons had finally settled once they realized that the threat was over. Gemini returned to straddling the hips of the fat horse, hoping again for a ride, while Romulus and Solar were nudging at each other.

They did that often, bumping and nuzzling, especially after a hunt or a fight with one of their siblings. It was as if they were checking for injuries, though it was more than a little unnecessary in this incident as they hadn’t actually done anything more than look threatening.

Severus snorted at their antics but left them to it.

“Darby is probably miles away by now,” Chanute groaned as he wandered over to the fallen tree his horse had been tied to. “It’s going to take me hours to find her.”

“I’ll help you,” Harielle replied, walking up next to him to place an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

Canute gave her a wide-eyed look before Severus’ bared teeth caught his attention. Severus hadn’t even realized he was growling again until his eyes met the startled brown ones of the boy. “Ah no,” he replied cautiously, his eyes still fixed on the dragons. “I can find her; you’ve done more than enough.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Canute,” Harielle huffed, smiling at him shyly. “You said it yourself; it could take hours.”

Canute’s own lips started to turn up in a small smile again before Severus' movement caught his attention. He had lifted himself into a position he could launch from once more, glare fierce and growling rumble near inaudible. The other three dragons also turned their attention back to the boy.

“No, no,” his smile turned tight and the skin around his eyes became pinched. “I’m sure you need to get them back,” he gestured to the dragons as he shifted and pulled away from the younger girl. “I could do with a walk anyway.”

Harielle frowned at him but let him go. “Are you sure?” She asked hesitantly, watching as he turned his back and started towards the forest. “Alright then, I will see you later.”

“Yes, later,” the boy mumbled before he started a quick jog. In seconds, he was out of sight within the trees.

Harielle continued to gaze off into the trees for several more minutes before she turned and made her way over to the unbothered horse. Gripping the pommel, she pulled herself up and situated herself into the saddle before looking down at Severus.

He looked back up at her, blinking innocently as she coaxed the rotund horse into a walk. “Severus,” she started cautiously, her lips tilting upwards at Gemini’s thrilled chirruping from behind her. “What the fuck was that?”

Severus' sigh was her only reply.

Chapter Text

The sound of a horn woke me from a rather pleasant dream of riding with Canute in a field of purple flowers. It left my lower stomach tingling, and I groaned in annoyance as the delightful haze was pulled harshly away with each passing moment of awakening. Rolling onto my side, I scrubbed my hand across my face and shivered from a chill breeze that caressed my arms. Pulling the blanket higher, I ignored Severus’ irritated grumblings as I displaced him, and he was forced to relocate from my stomach to my hip as we both tried to find the bliss of slumber once more.

He had been more difficult than usual, quieter and less prone to leave me alone. Even weeks later he was still hedging around the incident with Canute. The other boy was still more than willing to hang out, and he still rode with me when Aslaug couldn’t. It frustrated me to no end that the Magnar wouldn’t allow me to leave the village unattended, but I tried to make the best of it.

Canute always volunteered when Alfhild and Aslaug had declared themselves to be too busy and I had greatly enjoyed his company. But he was more cautious now…especially since Severus refused to leave me alone when I was away from the village.

Canute was still fun to be around, but it felt more like our interactions were being chaperoned with Severus hovering nearby. The once-man refused to speak of what had caused him to go nearly feral and take a chunk out of Canute’s wrist, but he no longer shrieked at the poor boy every time we were together. He still glared, but his grumblings were kept to a minimum.

It didn’t help that Canute always had one eye on the white dragon whenever we rode out the upper valley. Alfhild and Aslaug thought the whole recounting was one of the funniest things they had ever heard and had hounded Canute until he showed them the scar. Loboda was less than amused, because of course he was. The lecture that followed about me using my magic in front of others was scarily similar to Professor McGonagall’s about spell casting in the halls.

It left me both properly chastised and utterly homesick.

That night I had cried myself to sleep for the first time in a long while. Severus didn’t say anything, not even when I crushed him in my arms to sniffle quietly into his hide. The next morning, Loboda had been overly courteous, going out of his way to be kind and helpful. It wasn’t until much later that I realized he was under the impression that he had caused me to cry.

While I had come a long way in speaking and understanding their language, I didn’t have all the necessary words to explain what had caused my sorrow. I did try though, stuttering around sentences that were heavy with my English words, and though he still seemed vaguely confused, I think Loboda did understand that he wasn’t at fault. It didn’t stop him from hovering for the next few days though. Not that I minded…much.

I enjoyed Loboda’s company. The elder man was both incredibly wise and yet still very naïve. When it came to my magic, he was both wary and utterly fascinated. Like a child drawn to a flame. They knew that to touch the fire would burn, but they were still enthralled by the beauty and power of it.

Elder Einar was perhaps the only other I had shown my magic too willingly – the exception being Canute of course – and though he was the Keeper of Story, he still seemed very knowledgeable about the magics that ran deep in the lands they lived in. Elder Ake was technically the Keeper of Magic, but both Loboda and Einar cautioned me away from the man. After meeting him, I could see why.

He appeared both old and young. Like most of the Thenns, the harsh lands aged him beyond his years, but the cold preserved him just as well. His back was hunched just slightly to the left and he walked with an odd gait that spoke of old wounds. When he clasped my arm with his hand – as was their way of greeting because apparently handshakes were not a thing here – his grip was dry, cold, and lasted far too long. The way he looked at me reminded me of Rita Skeeter and Gilderoy Lockhart. It made my skin crawl, and I swore to both Loboda and Severus to never let Ake convince me to go anywhere alone with him or do anything he asked of me.

It was difficult, relearning how to let others make decisions for me. Before Hogwarts, there had been Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, dictating my life like one would a servant. Then there had been Headmaster Dumbledore and all of the Professors telling me to do this, don’t go there, finish these, don’t touch that, and on and on. After the tournament – well, the first task at least – there had been no one to tell me I had to do anything.

Severus did not count.

He had no real authority over me, not anymore. I found myself mostly obeying him simply because it was easier than arguing and usually, he was right…sometimes. But I didn’t have to obey him, I chose to. Like I chose to obey Loboda, which granted, was less of a choice I made and more of one that was thrusted upon me.

The point was that I had gotten used to my independence, and it stung when I had to bite my tongue and let these people tell me what I was allowed to do and where I was allowed to go. And where I was allowed to go consisted only of the village and the upper valley. At first, I hadn’t really noticed, too enthralled by the fact that I was around people. I didn’t understand how much I could miss just seeing actual people until I had been almost completely isolated.

By the time I had realized that I had been gently eased into a cage with promises of safety and companionship, it was too late. I tied my own hands and put a collar around my own throat. The restrictions chafed, but I forced myself to deal with it, to endure it. This was no different than the leash my family held every summer, no different than the mask I was forced to wear every school year.

I was just a kid, but the wizarding world saw me as some sort of savior. The Girl-Who-Lived…more like The Freak-Who-Wouldn’t-Die.

So, I smiled as camera flashes blinded me whenever I went to Diagon Alley, I fought the grimace every time someone asked me for an autograph, and I bit my tongue whenever a schoolmate – and occasional teacher who shall not be named – shoved my unwanted fame into my face.

This, living with the Thenns, learning their language and obeying their laws…this was just another mask I had been forced to wear. It almost made me miss our cave in the middle of nowhere…almost.

I shifted again, grabbing the grumbling Severus and pulling him from my hip to hug him to my chest as I tried to banish my melancholy thoughts. He tolerated the treatment as a cat would – one that was too tired and warm to put up too much of fuss – but still made a token attempt for appearance’s sake.

Ophelia pressed herself more tightly against my back and I was almost asleep once more when the horn sounded again. “Make it stop,” I mumbled, as I blinked my blurry eyes open and glanced around the cabin. The hearth was burning low…too low. Loboda never let the fire go out, he was very particular about it and had lectured me more than once on the dangers of freezing to death in my sleep.

Not that I actually could with my magic actively working to keep me warm. It turns out that when you cast a heating spell day in and day out, you tend to do it in your sleep as well.

Fingers curling around the thick pelt, I eased it down slowly, freeing one arm and tapping against Severus’ hide lightly until he awoke. “What is it?” He hissed in irritation, blinking his glowing eyes open and baring his tiny teeth at me.

“Somethings wrong,” I whispered, sitting up carefully and trying to be as quiet as possible. The cabin was dark, but that wasn’t unusual at this time of night. What was unusual was the silence. Loboda snored, loudly…and yet there was only silence when I strained my ears.

As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked around, I finally noticed why I was so cold. “Sev,” I whispered urgently as I reached behind me to awaken Ophelia. “Sev, the door is open!”

The front door was cracked open, a cold draft leaking through and if I strained my ears, I could hear some sort of commotion coming from outside. “Get dressed, quickly,” Severus’ fins were erect and twitching as I forced myself from the bed, cast a quick heating charm, and started to hurriedly pull on my clothes.

Ophelia was blinking at us curiously, her head swaying back and forth before she started to pull herself from the blankets. She didn’t like being in the village but liked it far less when her siblings went on their long hunting trips and left her alone. For the last three days, she had been sulking by the walls, only to turn up late into the night to crawl into my bed. She was much too big for it – they all were now – but somehow, she was able to wedge herself just so between myself and the wall, so she was comfortable, and I wasn’t falling out of the bed.

The smaller dragon’s unease started to transfer to her and soon Ophelia’s lips were peeled back in a silent snarl, sharp teeth gleaming in the darkness, as I struggled to pull my boots on without falling over.

“Grab the sword,” Severus added as I reached for the black robes and pulled them on. The loose fabric could impede my mobility, but the protection spells woven into the threads far outweighed any disadvantages it could cause during a fight. I felt his familiar and comforting weight settle onto my shoulder as I strapped the sword of Gryffindor to my waist. “And tie your hair back.”

My face twisted in annoyance, but with a flick of the black wand I did as he said. I knew he only told me to do so in order to keep it out of my way and from blocking my vision, but the Thenns cultural necessity to have it braided in public was downright annoying. And despite the fact that I always tried to be as minimalistic with the plaiting as possible, I also found myself irritated that instinctively my magic had braided it in the exact way Loboda preferred.

My scalp was left tingling from the tight small braids along the sides. I knew without looking that the upper braids were twisted together into a loose and wavy ponytail that cascaded down my back with the rest of my unplaited hair, while the lower ones hung free. My hair really was getting too long, and I tried not to think about how much time had had to pass for it to have grown so much, and instead I pulled the door open fully and stepped outside into what looked like a blizzard.

Snow was falling heavily from the sky and stung my exposed face as the wind blew hard enough to nearly tear Severus from my shoulder. He hunched closer, pressing his warm and thrumming body against the loose folds of white hide around my neck. I could feel his tail wrap around my bicep and Ophelia’s thumb claw gripping my trousers as she shuffled out behind us.

Her nose bumped my hand, and I found my fingers scratching lightly around her horns as we took in the frantic actions of the villagers around us.

People were rushing back and forth, shouting loudly and carrying torches that spluttered in the wind and looked moments away from extinguishing. A bonfire was burning in the village center and braziers were being fed more wood as the fire burned weakly within. An elderly woman, hair grey and long, twisted high into a single braid, was directing people to and from the bonfire. She looked frail, her nightclothes visible underneath the heavy coat she wore, but the voice she shouted with boomed across the open space with surety and confidence.

Without thought, my hand reached out and snagged the nearest body that rushed past. A young boy looked back at me, perhaps of the age to be a first-year student, and his eyes were wide with fear. “What is happening?” I asked in the Old Tongue, silently proud of how easy the pronunciation now came to me after moons of struggling with it.

“Dead!” He shouted to be heard over the howling wind. “Dead in the valley!”

Before I could ask more, he tore himself from my grip and carried his burning torch to the bonfire. I watched in stunned silence as he threw the torch on the pile and ran off to presumably grab another.

“The cold ones,” Severus hissed so lowly I wouldn’t have been able to hear him if his muzzle wasn’t pressed against my ear. “The Elders said they bring the storm.” We looked around, taking in the panicked villagers, the snow that fell heavily from the sky, the winds that whipped between the buildings, and the fires that died all around us. “The fires won’t last.”

He was right, of course. Even as we stood there, I could see several braziers splutter their last pitiful attempt to stay lit before dying, ice already creeping over the metal. Aslaug stood next to one, her hands trembling with flint rocks as she tried to relight it again. I rushed to her side, stumbling over Ophelia as she got in my way, and grabbed the girl’s hands between my own. They felt frozen.

“Harielle!” She cried in relief, pulling from my grip to throw her arms around me in a hug. Though Severus was knocked nearly off his perch, he did little more than grumble and curse lowly at the girl.

“Aslaug, where is your sister?” I asked cautiously, using my grip on her arms to push the taller girl away. I discreetly cast a warming charm on her, and she smiled briefly at me, aware of what I had done but one of the few in the village that wasn’t bothered by it. I believed that having used magic to save her father played a huge part in her acceptance of me being a witch.

“Alfhild is in the valley, with the rest of the warriors,” she replied. Alfhild had been officially promoted to shield maiden and her hair shaved along the sides as was their way. There had been a party that I had only briefly attended, leaving once they put Alfhild on her knees, two men holding her arms to either side as the Seer came out of her cave with her ritual knife – the blade red hot from the fire – and brought it to her face. I had wanted to stop them as I heard her muffled screams, but Severus convinced me to walk away.

It was their way, and to interrupt would not only be ill-advised, but also a huge hurdle in being accepted into their lives and culture. This was another part of their life that I couldn’t understand but had to learn to accept.

“Did you hear, Harielle? Dead, in the valley!”

“Yes, I heard,” nodding my head and ignoring once more the full use of my name. Thenns didn’t understand the concept of a nickname. Though I had tried to get Loboda and the others to call me Hari, they seemed confused by the suggestion as it wasn’t my name. If I wanted to be called Hari, then I should change my name to Hari.

I only shook my head and pretended not to be annoyed…or amused.

“The fires, we need to keep them burning, but this storm…” Aslaug trailed off, looking down and cautiously sliding her cold hands into my much warmer ones. Her fingertips were calloused, and they scraped against my softer skin.

I looked up at her curiously, cautiously. Ever since the Hare Moon Celebration, where I had drunkenly kissed her, she had been almost…I don’t know, coy in our interactions. I got the impression – more than once – that she was interested in pursuing something. She was a pretty girl, of age with me, tall, with freckled cheeks and dark brown hair. Perhaps, in a different life, if we had met at Hogwarts or in Diagon Alley? But here, here I wasn’t…I couldn’t.

The Seer’s words haunted me. She told me I would kill the one I loved most, and when I looked at Aslaug, I realized how easy it would be to love her. She was just so easy to love, and I knew – even as I tightened my grip in hers and gave her a soft smile – that I could never do that to her, or to myself.

“Could you help?” Aslaug asked, smiling back at me even as I pulled my hands away. She was always smiling at me, and it was nearly enough to break my heart every time she did. “With your magics? I’d do it myself, but I can’t get the fire to stay lit!”

I looked around once more, pulling myself away from the little pocket universe we were standing in – where we were both just young women with so much possibility between us – and forced myself into the current world where this could never happen.

The villagers were still rushing back and forth, trying desperately to keep the dying flames lit. It was the only way they knew to kill the dead, and it was their only defense should the warriors in the valley fall.

Even as I knew this, knew that without the fire they would all surely die, I hesitated. The villagers didn’t like my magic, the Magnar had threatened to have me burned if I ever used it inside of the village, or on one of the Thenns. Canute hadn’t ratted me out to any of the elders about what had happened in the upper valley, thank Merlin, but that didn’t mean I was still safe. I just couldn’t trust that the Magnar wouldn’t take this as a sign to have me killed, even if I was using it to help his people.

“You shouldn’t,” Severus whispered softly to me as I watched another brazier near us sputter out and die. “It isn’t safe.” I knew that, knew that the Magnar would only use this against me. And yet…I was done letting them tell me what I could and couldn’t do. “But you are going to anyway,” Severus sighed the words as if in defeat, shaking his small head as if to cast aside the thoughts that were no doubt running rampant in his mind. “Just like you always do.”

“Fuck it,” I mumbled back to him in English, snapping my wrist to call forth the black wand that had once been his. “When have I ever done what I was told?”

“That is not something to be proud of!” He hissed even as I flicked my wand and the inside of the brazier Aslaug had been trying to light burst into blue flames. The fire consumed nothing, and yet it burned large and bright, casting off enough heat I could see the snow around the base beginning to melt.

“Let’s go be big fucking heroes!” I replied still in English, my tongue surprisingly clumsy with the words. It had been a while since I had spoken anything but the Old Tongue. I endeavored to speak more English for fear of forgetting how to. With a small laugh I moved towards the bonfire, flicking my wand and lighting every brazier that we passed.

“Bloody Gryffindors!” Severus lamented as we reached the bonfire, Ophelia toddling after us like a lost duckling. She seemed more confused by the activity than startled.

The older woman watched our approach with narrowed eyes, snapping her fingers as if to summon a dog as we halted near the bonfire. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but approached her, nonetheless. If she told me to heel, however, I could not guarantee her safety.

“You, girl!” She shouted, her voice echoing across the gathering area though I was standing less than a few feet away at most. “You are witch, yes? Make this fire bigger!”

“Yes, ma’am,” I grumbled, turning away to look at the bonfire that was still struggling. “What do you think?” I asked Severus, fingering the black wand as I tried to think of a fire spell that would last despite the cold dead magic that tried to smother it, and could be used on arrows and other weapons to fight off the dead.

“Gubraithian Fire might work,” Severus had to speak loudly to be heard over the howling winds, the frantic shouting of the villagers, and the old woman who was still bellowing commands. “It is an everlasting fire spell, but casting it would take a far greater wizard than I. I’ve seen Albus cast it, but only the once.”

“Albus?” I blinked at him. “You call the Headmaster, Albus?”

“What else would I call him? That is his name,” Severus remarked dryly, snorting hot air against my cheek. “Focus, girl. Bluebell flames don’t need fuel, but the fire is much too weak to last against this weather. Incendio would keep the fire burning, but only if there is something to feed it. Once the wood is gone, the fire will die, and we cannot trust that this storm won’t smother it. We need something much stronger.”

“What then? Conflagration?”

“No, still too weak. Think bigger!” Severus rumbled, turning to me. He cocked his head to the side, and I watched as the nictitating membranes slid across his eyes before disappearing into the corners once more. Suddenly, I realized exactly what he was doing.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

“Is now really the time to make this into a lesson?!” I hissed as Ophelia settled on the ground with her tail flopping almost lazily over my boots.

“Yes, now is the perfect time! You seem to think best when there are actual stakes on the line. Well, think!” Severus flicked his own tail in irritation before wrapping it around my bicep.

“Ugh, fine,” I caved after only a moment of hesitation. It was much faster to just give and let him use this as a teaching moment than it would have been to argue about it. Besides, he might slip and actually teach me something fun. It didn’t happen often, but I treasured the times when it did. Like the time he accidentally taught me the incantation to bring statues to life.

I haven’t had the chance to cast it yet – especially since I doubted the Magnar would be a huge fan of me bringing their god statues to life – but it was definitely one I was going to keep up my sleeve if I ever needed to make a quick getaway. 

“What about incendio tria? Or maybe something like fiendfyre?” I ventured hesitantly, twirling the wand between my fingers in the way that I knew Snape absolutely hated.

“No, both are too uncontrolled for one. And how do you know about fiendfyre? That is a high-level dark curse! You shouldn’t even know about it,” he was hissing again, the fins along his back quivering with each word.

“I don’t know, in a book, I think. I remember reading something about it while researching dragons and how to counteract fire spells,” I replied with a soft huff.

His eyes narrowed as his fins became very still. “And what book would this have been in?” Severus asked the question as if he already knew the answer. He asked the question as if trying to lead me into a trap…but what sort of trap it was, I couldn’t see.

I shrugged lightly, just enough so he got my meaning, but not enough to dislodge him. “I don’t remember. Hermione and I went through a lot of books before the first task.”

Severus bobbed his head in a nod, his lips peeling back in the facsimile of that smirk I was used to seeing on his human face. The one he gave me right before he took points and slapped me with another detention. “Did any of those books happen to be from the restricted section?” He asked, almost casually with how calm and smooth his tone seemed to be.

My eyes widened and I fought the sudden urge to flinch or flush, or whatever the hell it was that my body wanted to do as I tried to school my features into something that resembled vague confusion and not hopelessly guilty. “N-no…no, of course not,” I could tell by his irritated snort that I hadn’t been as successful as I had hoped. “Shouldn’t we be doing something about this fire,” I deflected, trying to pull his attention back to the matter at hand.

In all honesty, I had completely forgotten that Hermione and I had used my father’s invisibility cloak to sneak into the restricted section after hours to see if there was something else that could help me with the first task. And I knew that if I told Snape that, I would be in a world of hurt when we got back…if we got back.

“Of course,” he capitulated. “But don’t think we will not be revisiting this discussion at a later date.”

Ugh, just what I needed. Another reason for us to argue. It wasn’t like we didn’t already have plenty of artillery to use against one another. I straightened, an awful, terrible, absolutely no good idea forming in the back of my mind. I really shouldn’t, it could possibly only build a rift between us…but I refused to be the only one held accountable for my actions. He had to be held accountable for his as well.

“Certainly, Sev,” I yielded with a cheerfulness that immediately put him on edge. “Just as soon as we talk about that thing that happened with Canute.”

He was glaring at me now, his tail releasing my bicep to snap and sway behind me in harsh flicks that were caused, no doubt, by his irritation. His nostrils were flaring, fins erect and quivering, and a low rumbling growl emanating from his chest, but after a moment he resettled and turned back to the fire.

“Well, we don’t have all day,” he snapped, and I had to fight the smirk that wanted to creep into my smile. Looks like this round went to me.

I returned my attention to the bonfire that the villagers were still feeding and thought about the problem. All of the fire spells I knew were too weak and after a moment I admitted that to him. “I’m working off of four years of schooling,” I grumbled at his smug appearance. “How about you contribute, Professor!”

“You could just capture my fire,” Severus rumbled with a small haughty chuckle, and I wanted to slap myself for forgetting about that option. I had become proficient in capturing dragon flames while out in the wilderness with nothing but Severus and the whelps, and I knew from my research that dragon fire was very difficult to smother.

“I’m an idiot,” I mumbled with a sigh as I readied my wand.

“Yes, you are. But we already knew that.”

“Severus,” I huffed, turning to look at him from the corner of my eye. “Shut the fuck up and breathe the damn flames.”

The small dragon’s body trembled as he squeaked with laughter and the grip I had on the wand tightened as I closed my eyes and told myself over and over again not to shove him off. It was a good thing he was never one for amusements, as after a moment he was back to being completely collected, if not his conceited and arrogant self.

“I am ready when you are,” he rumbled, his tone still colored in mirth. I ignored it and brought my wand up.

Severus turned his head up to the sky, took a deep breath, and then exhaled flames so hot that even I was fighting not to recoil from it. The first foot of flames was invisible to my eyes before the stream turned a brilliant shade of violet to blue. Once the end started to turn white, I cast my spell to capture it.

Being careful to aim my wand at the end of the streak of flame, I wove the spell carefully and arrested the bluish white fire into a ball as Severus ended his breath, his little chest huffing as he shook himself like a wet dog. Around us, people were gathering in interest – a few mumbling in fear – but I dared not look at them while I still held the flames. Dragon fire was dangerous, Severus’ even more so. I wasn’t skilled enough to capture the whole flame and I knew if I had tried while it was still at its hottest, knowing my luck, I could have caused it to explode.

“Careful, careful,” Severus whispered into my ear as I lowered the captured spell into the bonfire. The flames alighted upon the wood, keeping their color and heat as my containment spell held. “Now cast the stasis-holding spell and release.”

“Stop back seat driving my spell work,” I hissed in annoyance. This wasn’t the first time I had done this, and I was more than a little insulted that Severus felt the need to coach me through something I already knew how to do. I really shouldn’t have been surprised. The guy loved to micromanage everything.

“I have no idea what that means,” he replied with a sharp tone that indicated that though he was unaware of the term, he knew he was being insulted.

“It means, leave me alone and let me do this,” I grumbled back, gritting my teeth as the dragon fire fought against my control. With another flick of the wand and an extra boost of power, the containment spell snapped fully in place around the bonfire and the blue-white flames roared to life.

“There,” I swiped a hand across my sweating brow and turned back to the old woman who had finally gone quiet. Dozens of eyes were on us, and I felt my face flush not only from the sudden heat. “There you go,” I told the old woman, gesturing back to the bonfire. She continued to say nothing, and I had to stop and make certain I was speaking the correct language. I didn’t want to instruct her on the fire in English by accident.

“Dragon flames…just keep feeding it and it will keep burning. I have contained it to this area, but you can use it to light arrows or spears, or whatever,” I finished with a soft mumble as she just continued to stare at me. “Right…I will just,” I gestured vaguely behind me before beating a hasty retreat.

I left the open gathering area, not even blinking when people parted for me just like they did at Hogwarts after I did something truly amazing and reckless. This was not something I had missed. It got colder the further I walked from the fire, and I pulled the loose neck of the serpent hide up my neck as the cold stung my cheeks. Aslaug grabbed my arm before I got too far, startling me out of the mood I had fallen into.

“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling me into another hug that I was more than happy to return. She held me like I was something special, not a freak like everyone else seemed to think, and I felt tears building in my eyes.

“You are welcome,” I mumbled into her shoulder, trying to discreetly rub my eyes as she pulled away. “I hope this helps.”

“It will,” she replied, smiling at me. Her pale hand reached up and tucked one of the small braids behind my ear, her thumb stroking my cheek, and I felt my face flush once more at the action. Surprisingly, Severus gave no grumbling complaints at the motion, even though he had protested it violently when Canute had done the exact same thing just a few weeks ago.

A heavy weight collided with the back of my legs, and I stumbled into Aslaug, her hands grabbing my arms to keep me upright as she laughed brightly. Behind me, Ophelia shoved against me once more and chirruped a question I couldn’t make out. Straightening, I reluctantly pulled myself from the girl’s grip, reminding myself vehemently that nothing could happen between us, and turned to the black and silver dragon.

“What?” I asked her in my own language, the words seeming almost clumsy for how little I spoke it these days.

“She is asking about her siblings,” Severus replied and suddenly I was frowning. Where were the whelps?

“Do you know where they were hunting last?” I asked Severus, crouching down to scratch my nails around the base of Ophelia’s horns. She huffed, but I could hear the barely-there rumble of delight she was trying to smother.

Ophelia wasn’t much for petting, but her horns had been growing out lately and it left her with an itchy sensation that she couldn’t seem to quell. It was kind of cute, in an odd sort of way, but she somehow made it seem like she was doing me the favor when I was the one rubbing out her sore crippled wing or scratching her molting scales.

Severus had turned his head up to the sky, his eyes blinking, and head tilted. “Last I recall, I thought I saw their flight trail going towards the valley.”

“The upper valley?” I asked carefully…hopefully. The upper east valley was far away from where Aslaug said the dead had been reported.

“No, the lower valley.”

I felt my heart drop into my stomach and a sudden rush of nausea hit me. “Aslaug, where exactly were the dead seen?” I asked, switching back to the Old Tongue. My hands were shaking as I stood and faced her. The girl’s freckled face was frowning at me, her eyes pinched, and lips pressed as she reached for me.

I stepped out of her reach and fought the guilt and shame that crawled into my chest as I frowned further, eyes going soft and a little wet. “Please, where did you say they are? I need to know, the…” I couldn’t think of the word for whelp in her language, and instead gestured to Ophelia who was back to people watching as everyone started to gather weapons. “They could be in danger.”

“The lower valley,” she replied after a moment, the words sounding like they were being pulled from her reluctantly. “Near the God Tree by the Weeping Lake. But Harielle, you can’t, you mustn’t –”

“Thank you,” I replied, grabbing her flailing hands between mine in a tight grip. “Thank you, but I have to go.”

“You mustn’t,” she whispered back, tears in her eyes. “The Magnar has forbidden you to leave! You’re not allowed in the lower valley!”

“I know,” I replied, pulling my hands away from her suddenly tight and harsh grip. Her nails dug into my palms, and I fought not to wince as I finally extracted myself from her. “But I must.”

She nodded her head once, bowing it so I couldn’t see her tears as I turned and made my way to the stables. Chudley wasn’t exactly the fastest of horses…or a fast horse in general, but he would get me to the lower valley much quicker than if I were to go on foot.

“He’ll kill you for this,” her words stopped me, and I turned to look at her. She was crying, wringing her hands together and her pink lips trembling. “Even if you are trying to help, he’ll kill you for leaving.”

“He can try,” I replied, making an attempt to give her a reassuring smile that I’m certain came out more as a grimace. It didn’t comfort either of us.

When I turned back to the stables, I nearly stumbled over Ophelia once more. She really did love to be underfoot…and that could be dangerous, especially if I was going into battle like I suspected I would be.

Kneeling in the wet snow, I grabbed the black dragon’s chin and forced her to look at me. “Ophelia, I need you to stay here,” I told her firmly in English, watching her red eyes narrow as she worked through the words. She never did like being told what to do and liked it even less when she was left behind.

Now that I think about it, that sounded remarkably like me. Perhaps she could be just as easily distracted as well. It was worth a shot, in any case.

“See her?” I asked, shortening my sentences so she understood as I pointed to Aslaug who was still watching me with tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “Protect her. Protect village. Protect humans. You do this. I need you to do this.”

I repeated it several times, until her head finally cocked to the side, and she blinked at me slowly. “Protect,” she chirped, and I smiled at her.

“Yes, protect. I be back soon, find brothers and sisters.”

“You find, I protect!” Ophelia chirruped again, her chest puffing out and head held high. Kneeling on the ground as I was, her head reached higher than mine. They really were beginning to get big.

“Yes, burn dead,” I paused again, trying to think of how Severus described what he had sensed back when we were attacked after first meeting the Thenns. “Burn the cold smelling ones. I be back soon.”

“Burn cold ones! Protect!”

I laughed lightly as I gave her one more scratch behind the horns and rose. I didn’t look back at Aslaug as I made my way to the stables, too afraid that I would want to stay and protect her more than I wanted to find the hunting whelps. I was nearly at the doors when I realized we were being followed. Fighting against the sigh as I saw Ophelia out of the corner of my eye, I turned back to the dragon.

“Ophelia, where are you going?” I asked carefully, blocking her path to the stables where I could hear the horses snorting and whinnying in fear. No doubt they caught Ophelia’s scent.

“Protect!” She exclaimed and I flinched at the hot breath hitting my neck as Severus snorted loudly.

“I think she means to protect you,” he commented dryly, and I groaned in annoyance. Learning to communicate with dragons was not as easy as I was led to believe.

“No, Ophelia protect here,” I pointed to the ground and did my best to ignore Severus’ amusement. “Ophelia stay, protect here.”

“Protect!” She exclaimed again, toddling closer.

Groaning, I approached and bodily turned her around, shoving her muzzle away when she went to snap at my hands. “Look!” I clicked my fingers in front of her face and pointed back towards the bonfire where people were gathering. “Protect them!”

Her head swiveled back towards me, the silver speckles catching the light of the nearby brazier and sparkling in the near dark. “Protect?” She asked, her tone heavy with a confused warble.

“Yes, stay here. This…” I searched for a word that she would understand. “This is nest,” I settled finally, ignoring another snort from Severus that was almost right into my ear. I twitched and swatted at him but kept most of my attention on the black dragon. “Stay, protect nest. Burn cold ones.”

“Protect!” Ophelia chirruped before waddling off in her surprisingly fast but unsteady gait. I stood there a moment longer to make certain she was heading back towards the bonfire before I rushed into the stables.

The horses that were left were kicking at the stalls and throwing their heads back, no doubt sensing the danger that was about to come…or once again put off by the dragons – who could tell with horses – and I rushed to the back where Chudley was sleeping. Pulling the saddle down from the wall, I stumbled into Chudley’s stall and started to get him ready. I was nearly done with the saddle before Chudley finally woke up.

He blinked his big dark brown eyes at me lazily, chomping his lips and obliging me as I pulled the bridle over his head. The Thenns didn’t use bits like I had seen for most horses, the metal was too dangerous to have in their mouth when it was always so very cold outside. But that didn’t seem to affect their performance as far as I was aware…though I did have to tug quite a lot to keep Chudley from grazing while we were riding.

Tightening the saddle strap once more, I pulled myself up and pulled Severus from his perch to place him in my hood. He would be more comfortable there anyways. I knew how much he hated to ride.

I rode out of the stables and glanced up just in time to see Ophelia shoving the door to Loboda’s cabin open and going inside. “What the hell?” I mumbled, ignoring Severus' indignation as he shoved my hair aside so he could peak out of the hood and over my shoulder.

“You did tell her to protect the nest,” he replied with derision.

I sighed, shaking my head before urging Chudley forward. I didn’t have time to argue or explain the concept to Ophelia anymore, and if this was what it took to keep her in the village and out of the way, then so be it. I just hoped she didn’t burn down Loboda’s cabin while we were gone. Our stuff was still in there, including the sled we had dragged from the cave.

Despite Chudley’s slow demeanor, he did in fact know how to move at a fast clip when he needed to. And today, I needed him too. In moments the village was being swallowed behind the trees as I rode Chudley down the well-worn path towards the lower valley. I didn’t know exactly where this God Tree was, as Loboda had informed me that there was more than one, but Severus knew where the lake was and that was enough for me.

He had spoken of a river that flowed slowly, feeding a lake deep in the valley. The water ran around a massive oblong rock in a lazy mockery of two waterfalls, and in a certain light, he had said it looked like a person crying.

“Alright Severus, which way?”

Chapter Text

Chudley moved swiftly over the rough terrain, his fifth gait coming quite handy over the rocky ground.  While his galloping speed left something to be desired, Chudley’s tölt on the other hand was nothing short of perfection, and once he got enough flat and straight ground, his flying pace was faster and smoother than any other horse.  His hooves echoed upon the hardpacked snow as he devoured the miles between the village and the lake.

I had to slow Chudley down the closer we got as visibility diminished with each step; the further we traveled, the worse the storm became.  I was loathed to do so, knowing that time was already against us, but breaking one of Chudley’s legs on the uneven terrain was not going to get us there any faster either.  I took one hand off the reins to flick the wand into my hand and cast a quick bubble head charm on the little horse.  He was breathing so heavily, his sides heaving under my legs, and I knew that the cold air and heavy snow fall could not have made it any easier.

The snow stung my eyes and cheeks and I made a mental note to ask Severus later if there was a spell to shield my face…or make goggles, that would probably be easier.  Despite the low visibility and the sudden paranoia that we might be going the wrong way – and the thought wouldn’t leave me, we had been traveling for so long now and surely we should have been there already – I knew we were getting close when I heard the sound of screaming.

Chudley – a small and lazy horse to be sure but completely Gryffindor at heart – burst out of the trees and straight into the enemy.  He plowed through two corpses before I was able to spell them away, charging a third head-on by the time Snape started to shout something I couldn’t hear over the screaming and hollering from those around me.

The little horse stomped on the decaying body even as he whinnied in pain.  He didn’t stumble though, so I cast a basic healing spell on him and threw out a bombarda at a group of approaching dead.  It gave me just enough breathing room to take in our surroundings.

We had exited the forest at the northern most point of the lake, and though I had never seen it before, I realized that this couldn’t be mistaken as any other than the Weeping Lake.  There were two waterfalls next to me, though the storm had caused it to completely freeze over, and the rock that the water was forced around did indeed look like a face.  The two frozen waterfalls gave the image of tears streaming down the cheeks of a stone woman.

The blizzard that surrounded us made it difficult to see much further than perhaps a dozen or so paces away, but even though I couldn’t see to the other side of the lake, I could still hear the battle that waged across the frozen water.  Dead were pouring from the trees in droves and I pressed my heels into Chudley and turned him to the only group of living I could make out through the blinding wind and snow.  He pulled up short of plowing down one of the fighters and I cast a large protego around us just as the dead reached them.

One of the women flinched back as the dead slammed into the magical shield that her vision couldn’t perceive.  She looked up at me with wide eyes, wild and frightened as the corpses clawed at the barrier.  It was only when my eyes met hers did I realize that I knew her.

“Alfhild?” I shouted to be heard over the sound of the wind and shrieks of the dead, though she was so close I could have reached out and touched her.  “Alfhild! Are you all right?”

Blood was leaking from a cut on her forehead and she held her right arm tucked into her side awkwardly.  The blue and black shield she had been gifted as part of her graduation when she became a warrior was nowhere to be seen, her small axe held in her off hand, and she appeared to be almost feral as she looked at me as if she had no idea who I was.  “Alfhild?” I tried again, leaning low over Chudley’s back.  “Are you okay?”

“Harielle?” She asked cautiously, lowering the axe she held aloft before sagging into Chudley’s side with relief.  “What are you doing here? You should be at the village, it isn’t safe!”

I only shook my head in reply, patting Chudley’s neck soothingly when he snorted in unease as the other warriors huddled closer and began to crowd into him.  “I am here to help!” I shouted, pressing my legs into Chudley’s side to turn him in a slow circle as I took in the dead.  “Stay close!”

I brought my wand to bear in my off hand, the black one that used to be Severus’, and wished I had my holly as well.  Two wands would have been ideal for dual casting, even though I hadn’t mastered it yet.  Instead, I drew the sword at my hip, comforted by the warmth in the grip despite the cold around us.  Not even an ice storm could chill the magical blade.

My wand started to twirl slowly in my grip even as Chudley continued his slow spin in place, the other warriors moving with him as they held their weapons at the ready, facing the dead that were starting to pile around my barrier.  They were crushing each other, trying to claw through the shield and it was only a matter of moments before they had completely swarmed it.

“What are you thinking?” Severus asked lowly, his dry nose brushing the shell of my ear as he pressed close.

“I’m thinking fire,” I replied, hushing Chudley as the sound of cracking caused everyone to press close.  The shield wouldn’t hold for much longer, and though the others couldn’t see it they all gripped their weapons tighter as the spider webs of broken cracks started to splinter across the barrier like shards of glass.

“It will have to be quick, burn hot, and cover all of us,” he replied as the fractures continued to creep and connect across the shield.

“Incendio is directional,” I murmured in thought.  “And the fire whip is only good for a few seconds, I can’t hold it long enough to kill all of them.”

“My fire?” Severus asked, his tail coming up to wrap tightly around my chest where it would be out of the way and not impede either of my arms.

I hummed softly in agreement before leaning forward to speak to Alfhild.  “I need you all to stay close!” I shouted.  “Closer! As close as you can get!”

She looked up at me, her brown hair coming loose from the braids and framing her pale scarred face.  She looked scared but determined.  One of her hands reached out to grab the nearest warrior, a man who would have towered over me were I not mounted and started to speak hurriedly to him.  Chudley whinnied loudly, throwing his head back and snorting as the people around us pressed so close that he could no longer move without stepping on them.

“Ready?” I asked Severus, raising my wand, and preparing myself to catch his flame once more.  In response, he climbed to perch fully on my shoulder, his tail flicking to curl around my neck as he left the safety of my hood.

Shrieking defiantly, Severus rose up onto his back legs, waving his small wings to keep his balance, before a flame burst from his open maw.  It burned so hot that the others flinched away from the heat and I fought not to let my attention waiver as I set about capturing the flame. I just had to hope that the warriors had stayed close, because in a moment, the shield was going to fail, and I had to get a ring of fire between us and the dead before that happened.  I really didn’t want to accidentally kill one of the people I had come here to save.

Sweat was pouring from my brow as I finally seized control of the blooming purple flame, coaxing it with gentle magics to stay its destructive nature long enough for me to place it where it needed to be.  It fought me, at first…like it was something living.  But eventually it surrendered and the curling purple flames – licked blue and white at the ends – allowed me to push and pull it into the shape I needed.

A ring of fire formed around us, whipping and whirling larger and larger until I could finally release it to burn as it needed too, the only direction I left it with was to burn outwards.  The shield broke just as the fire was placed and the flames devoured everything in its path.  It burned so brightly that I had to cover my eyes or risk being blinded.  The next moment I had to drop my hands to gather the reins as I was in danger of being thrown.

Chudley reared in fright and I had to use more than just my strength to keep the horse from bolting right into the flames.  My magic was able to soothe him long enough for the fire to burn low and once he was calmer I took in our surroundings.  Thankfully, the fire hadn’t killed or even hurt the warriors that were surrounding us…but they were also now looking at me like I was something to be either in awe of or feared.

Perhaps a little of both.

Severus’ fire had burned so hot it charred the icy ground and ate anything in its path for over twenty meters out.  We stood in the eye of it, a small patch of white surrounded by blackened bones.  Despite the howling wind and the distant sounds of battle, it was quiet in our little field of dead.  The sound was only broken by Severus’ heavy breathing, hot little puffs of air curling around my ear and jaw.

Alfhild was looking up at me, her blue eyes wide and surrounded by white, lips parted and breaths coming short and sharp.  She looked at me like the others were, less like I was someone she knew and more as if I was something.

“Hari,” Severus whispered softly, nudging my cold cheek with his warm nose.  “Hari, we need to find the whelps.”

Alfhild was still staring up at me, her and the others shifting slowly away while still staying within the still white patch of snow.  My heart constricted tightly, as if someone had reached into my chest and wrapped their fist around it.  It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me like she was looking at me right at this moment.  The last time…it must have been with the Dursley’s…however long ago that was.

The passage of time scared me, especially since I didn’t know how much time had indeed passed since that day of the first task.  But the longer I spent away from the Dursley’s was also nothing short of a minor blessing.

“Hari,” Severus insisted, and I forced myself to look away from Alfhild and her terrified gaze.  “The dragons, we need to leave.”

Sword in one hand, wand and reins in the other, I dug my knees in and urged Chudley away from the group that I had just saved…the people that were now looking at me like I was something of a monster.  We only got a few paces away before I pulled Chudley to a stop and turned back.  I knew that I had scared them, that magic scared them…but still I hesitated, unwilling to leave them alone and undefended.

“Alfhild,” I called, twisting in my saddle to face her fully.  “Come with me, the others may need help,” I wasn’t begging, but the tone in my voice was remarkably close to it.  She looked hesitant, glancing back between the group she was with.  She was the youngest there, and yet, the others were looking at her as if the next choice lied solely with her.  As if she was now somehow their leader, their commander.

I could tell the sudden authority she found herself wielding left her off kilter and more than a little panicked.  The others in her group were looking to her, suddenly willing to follow her lead wherever that would lead them.  If she decided to stay, so would the others…and I knew that if that happened, they would more than likely join the army of the dead.

I couldn’t take that risk.

Severus’ voice was insistent in my ear, my name a tiny hissing sound set on repeat as he urged me to hurry.  He wanted me to choose, to leave the muggles to their fate and save the dragons that we have hatched and raised together.  I knew he was right…the dragons needed us, but I couldn’t just leave them.  I didn’t want to choose, and the only way to save them both was to take the decision away completely.

I shrugged my shoulder to silence him and turned my full attention back to the girl only a few years older than I.  “Alfhild!” I called again, pressing my knee into Chudley’s side to turn him back to the group.  Her pale blue eyes gazed up into mine, shrouded with fear and uncertainty.  “Keep close but stay behind me,” I ordered, trying to do my best to impersonate McGonagall’s stern tone with Snape’s firm glare – the one that brooked no argument and demanded absolute obedience.

I’m not certain I succeeded fully, but I must have done a good enough job at imitation because in the next moment, Alfhild’s face became tight, her jaw clenched and her chin high as determination stole over her features.  I spun Chudley back around to face the frozen lake and waited only a heartbeat before I pushed him forward.  I couldn’t look behind me, didn’t dare too really.  If they weren’t following me, there was nothing at this point that could force them too, and if they were…looking would only show them how scared and out of my depth I truly was, and they might choose to stop following me.

“Are they following?” I whispered in English to Severus instead, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

He snorted loudly in my ear and I could feel him shifting to look behind us, his thumb claws twisting into my braids to keep his balance and still be discrete.  “Yes,” he admitted with a put-upon sigh, as if them choosing to follow us into battle was just another bad decision made by one of his students.  “This is a terrible plan.”

“Severus,” I huffed his name in exasperation.  “You should know by now that I never really have a plan.”

We continued slowly through the blizzard, Alfhild and the other warriors pressing in close to Chudley despite their unease with my magic.  Severus’ head swiveled to-and-fro as he used his superior hearing to pinpoint the direction we needed to be heading.  Everything in me was pushing to just gallop as quickly as possible, to get to the whelps now, but my time here in this strange world had taught me better…Severus had taught me better.  We would be no good to the dragons if we were lost, or worse dead.

“Now if you two don’t mind, I’m going to bed before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed – or worse, expelled!”

Hermione’s voice rang loudly through my head and my lips pulled into a grimace.  My emotions didn’t know whether to twist my face into a smile at the memory or frown by the gaping hole her absence had left.  I missed the way she would say my name, as if one would use it in a curse, interchangeable with Merlin or God or whatever deity one would swear too when frustrated.

Chudley’s hooves pressed through the snow, creating trenches that the others followed in order to preserve their energy.  The distant echoes of battle sounded like it was coming from every direction, but Severus assured me that this was the direction we needed to be heading in.  The crunching of snow was replaced suddenly by a loud hollowed clopping sound as the ground changed to ice.

We had reached the lake.

Chudley didn’t even hesitate as he made his way out onto the ice and I stroked his neck in gratitude as his sure footing didn’t let him slip.  “Harielle!” Alfhild called out to me and I turned in my saddle to look at her.  She and the rest of the group were standing at the edge of the lake, only perhaps a dozen paces away, but already I could barely make out their forms.  I turned Chudley back, even as my heart pounded in my chest with every second we wasted.  The dragons didn’t have time for any of these delays.

“What is it?” I asked once I was close enough to make out their faces.

“The ice,” her voice wavered somewhere between speaking loudly and shouting to be heard over the wind.  “It can’t be thick enough; the lake wasn’t frozen yesterday!”

“We will not fall through,” I shouted back, bringing my wand to bear, and casting a discreet strengthening charm to the ice below us.  Though I was frustrated at the delay, I was silently grateful for Alfhild’s concern.  The thickness of the ice hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“But the ice! How can you know?”

I ticked my eyebrow up in the way that I had learned from Snape’s potions class, the one that said, ‘you dare question me you foolish child?’ and spun Chudley back around.  “I know because I have ensured it,” I called back to the group, trying to sound certain and commanding despite the unease that was twisting my stomach.  “Now, stay close!”

“We need to move quicker,” Severus hissed, and I silently agreed.  We were taking far too long.

“Can you hear the dragons?” I asked quietly even as I dug my heels in and urged Chudley into a quick trot.  Behind me, I could barely make out the sounds of the warriors breaking into a jog to keep up.

“No,” he confessed softly.  “But the sound of battle is getting stronger.”

Grimacing, I pulled the loose serpent hide neck up over my frozen lips and gripped my wand tighter.  Every few dozen paces, I recast the strengthening charm on the ice and sent a silent prayer to Merlin or Magic or Minerva – the goddess of wisdom and Hermione’s preferred divine being in times of trouble…and exams – or any deity that would listen to let us get there in time.

I coaxed Chudley faster and ignored the cursing behind me as Alfhild and the others had to start running in order to not be left behind.  I could just make out the other side of the lake when someone screamed from the back of the group.  Pulling Chudley to a stop and trying to turn at the same time on ice was not advisable and I started cursing as he slid, snorting and throwing his head as he tried to keep his balance as he spun on the ice.

One of the Thenns, a man I didn’t know, was shouting as a dead wolf tore into him.  The others were stabbing at the decomposed creature, but the beast didn’t seem to notice as it dug its teeth into the man’s soft belly.  Standing in the saddle, I cast a quick blasting hex at the dead canine before trying to help Chudley regain his balance.

His sides were heaving by the time he got his feet steady beneath him, and not a second too soon as within moments the wolf was back on its feet and charging over the ice.  “Bombarda maxima!” the spell blasted the beast into tiny pieces, and it didn’t get up again.

“Birger!” Alfhild cried, kneeling next to the dying man.  She gripped his bloodied hand between hers, her axe forgotten on the ground next to her.  “Birger, hold on.  Harielle!  Harielle, please!” But it was too late.  Even as I urged Chudley back to them, I could see the man known as Birger take his last gasping breath before going still.  “Harielle, quickly!  Please!”

“Move out of the way,” I told her, bringing the black wand up.  She looked up at me with tears in her eyes but didn’t move.

“You can heal him,” she insisted, still holding his pale hand.  “You have to heal him, please!”

“Alfhild, move out of the way.”  When she refused to move, I nodded my head to the two men who stood behind her and they stepped forward to pull her away from the corpse.  She struggled, but the fight in her was already waning.  I didn’t know what the funeral process was for the Thenns, not really.  The only time I had ever witnessed anything close was during another battle…but I did know that they wouldn’t want to be raised and forced to fight for the army of the dead.

“May your gods welcome you into their halls with honor and glory, where thine enemies have been vanquished and the brave shall live forever,” I intoned softly, pulling words from long forgotten texts that Hermione had forced me to read for one project or another, and trying my best to translate them into the Olde Tongue.  Alfhild was sniffling softly but didn’t argue as Severus set the body alight.

I gave them a moment to grieve, only a few seconds really, before I used Chudley’s rotund body to forcefully move them away from the corpse and back towards the battle that even now I could still just make out over the howling wind.  “There is only one thing we can do for him now,” I told Alfhild as we started walking once more, her axe hanging in her loose grip.

I cast a quick episky over the entire group, ignoring the soft exclamations as they shook out their limbs and poked at healed cuts.  Alfhild transferred her axe back to her dominant hand, her arm healed, and sent me what could loosely be construed as a small smile, if it wasn’t so twisted with anger and sadness.  “He is dead, what could we possibly do for him?” She asked, looking more tired than I had ever seen her.

“Avenge him,” I replied with a determination I didn’t really feel.  I was too caught up in the thoughts of the whelps.  My words must have worked though, as Alfhild’s grip on her axe tightened and she started to jog without complaint as I urged Chudley faster.

We crossed the ice quickly, the last six surviving warriors immediately falling into a column behind me as Chudley surged through the soft snow.  One moment we were trying to find the battle that we could only hear, and the next we were fully in it.  Visibility was terrible, and it was difficult to make out the living versus the dead, but slowly we started to wade through the battlefield, one meter at a time.

Severus launched himself from my shoulder, braving the harsh winds to get a better view, and I cast bright fairy lights after him.  They lit the ground before us, penetrating the thick white blizzard further and allowing us to make out the enemy with more clarity.  It also brought survivors as well.

I was tempted to dismount, wielding the Gryffindor sword awkwardly on one side and the wand on the other, but I also didn’t want to give away any advantages I had while mounted.  Chudley moved faster than I could, tramping down trails in the powder snow, and allowing me to get a better view, even if it was only by a few feet taller.  But I was also hesitant to take him fully into battle.  Despite his tenacity, bravery, and all-around ability to just not give a shit, he was not a war horse.

Chudley reared and lashed out with his front hooves at an approaching dead…thing.  I honestly couldn’t make out what sort of creature it was meant to be.  Perhaps a cat of some sort, or maybe a dog.  His hoof caved in the things head, but still it launched itself forward, straight for Chudley’s neck.  My sword met it before the claws could dig in, and the beast crumbled apart and stayed dead.

“Harielle!” A voice shouted and I turned to look even as I cast another blasting hex.  Loboda was standing next to Ólafur, back to back with Alfhild’s father.  He was wielding a double pointed spear, one side sharpened to a point and the other tipped with a black stone.  Ólafur was swinging his massive axe, downing the dead long enough for Loboda to thrust the black stone tip into them, stilling them completely.

Huh, that was curious.

“Loboda,” I called back, charging towards them and using the force of Chudley’s bulky chest to trample some of the dead that were trying to get between the two men and the other warriors that were still following me.

“What are you doing here?” He was breathing heavily, a cut above his brow bleeding heavy enough to obscure his vision on one side.  Next to him, Alfhild rushed to her father, gripping his forearm in their standard greeting, and quickly assessing each other for injuries before they turned back to the fight.

“Have you seen the dragons?” I had to shout to be heard, pulling the loose hide from my mouth and throwing a protego over the trailing warriors as they slowly backed towards us, taking down the swarming dead with each step.

“Further down, in the valley,” he replied, turning away from me as the fairy lights illuminated a massive wave of dead incoming.  “Shield wall!” He shouted, bending down to lift a partially broken shield that lay at his feet.  Ólafur dropped his axe to pick up another one as the warriors closed in around him to make a wall.  “Brace!”

They were seconds from impact, and even I could tell that the wall wouldn’t hold.  The dead would break through in less than a second and completely overtake them.  “Get down!” I shouted, bringing my wand up into position to cast.  Loboda, Ólafur, and the other warriors that came with them hesitated, but Alfhild and the ones that came with me didn’t.  The young woman pulled her father down as I cast, my wand moving with a surety that I didn’t even know I had as I spoke the words.

“Incendio vinculum!” The fiery whip burst from my wand and I swung it over my head once and then twice as I waited for Loboda and the others to get low enough that they wouldn’t be caught in the spell, before I released it.

The rope of fire launched forward, skimming over the heads of the living my mere inches before it wrapped around the inclosing dead.  They shrieked as they burned, though I doubted that they could feel any sort of pain.  Once the fire had cleared, the horde of dead had decreased enough to make it easy pickings for the warriors.

Alfhild was the first on her feet, ignoring her father’s cry of fear and surprise to charge the few dead that were struggling to stand.  The five warriors that had followed her across the ice were right behind her.

“Which way?” I turned my attention back to the elder that had been housing me, the man that had shielded me from the Magnar’s wrath and taught me everything I needed to know in order to live with the Thenns, the man that was staring at the burning corpses as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.  “Loboda! Which way were the dragons?”

He turned to me slowly, that look on his face that was on Alfhild’s not so long ago.  “Where are they?!” I commanded an answer, no longer having the time or patience.  Something inside me was urging me to hurry.

Loboda blinked up at me, raising his spear to point in the direction to the right and behind me, further away from the lake.  I nodded once, spinning Chudley around to take in those around us.  There were perhaps twenty or so warriors not including the ones that came with me.  I could leave them here safely, their numbers enough that if they stuck together, they might have a chance…but Aslaug’s pleading face came back to me as I started to turn Chudley in the direction of the dragons.

A chance wasn’t good enough.

“Alfhild!” The young woman turned to me, her axe falling to decapitate what looked like used to be a child.   I fought the burning sensation in the back of my throat that indicated my stomach was trying to rebel.  “We’re leaving, fall in!”

“Fall in?” She asked, brushing her loose hair away from her sweaty and soot smeared brow.

I groaned in annoyance at the language barrier and fought not to grimace.  “Yes, with me,” I gestured towards myself and sighed in relief when I didn’t have to explain any further.  She nodded once and made her way back towards Chudley and I, calling out to a few others and grabbing the arm of one woman who was enthusiastically hacking the limbs off of one of the crawling dead.  “Loboda, Ólafur, you too! Everyone!” I shouted, sheathing the sword, and standing in the stirrups to make myself just that little bit taller.  “We are leaving to find the others, follow me!”

I turned Chudley, but Loboda seized the reins just under the horse’s jaw to pull him to a stop.  “Harielle, enough,” Loboda’s tone was soft enough not to be heard by the others, but his posture led no doubt that this wasn’t a friendly conversation.  He stood like a father reprimanding their wayward child.  “Return to the village, before the Magnar finds out you left!”

My hands gripped tightly at the reins, the wand once more holstered and sword at my hip.  I knew I was just a girl, that without the goblin crafted blade and ability to wield magic I would have been a liability, but Loboda was not my father.  The only people who were allowed to use that tone with me was my Head of House, Dumbledore, and Severus…and Hermione, but she was always the exception to nearly every rule.  And maybe Mrs. Weasley because that woman was just fucking amazing.

The words were in my throat, though I didn’t quite know what I was going to say, but Severus alighted onto my shoulder before I could do more than make what could perhaps be described as maybe a humming noise.

“I found them,” Severus spoke hurriedly, chest heaving and hot breaths heating my cheek.  “Half a kilometer, southeast, near the tree line.  Gemini is grounded, and he isn’t moving.  Romulus and Hera are standing guard over him, the others are airborne, but they are having to fight the wind just as much as the dead.  The surviving Thenns are losing ground, soon they will be overrun.  We need to hurry!”

I nodded once, heart suddenly in my throat as I turned back to make sure everyone was ready.  Alfhild had gathered the warriors close – the ones near the edges leisurely killing the straggling dead – and was speaking hurriedly to her father.  Ólafur was holding his left arm oddly, but he didn’t let it slow him down.  Instead he hefted the massive axe over one shoulder and was shaking his head at something his daughter was telling him.

“Alfhild!” I called out to her, ignoring Loboda’s aggravated groan and his harsh grip as he grabbed my knee.  “Fall in, we leave now!”

She turned from her father, nodding at me once before calling to the people closest to the perimeter and bringing them back into the group.  “Harielle!” Loboda hissed, his grip tightening.  I turned to look down at him, my gaze icy cold as I sent a small stinging hex his way and I fought the sudden rush of guilt the welled up as he flinched back, releasing my knee and the reins.

“I said, we leave now,” I told him, voice brooking no argument as I urged Chudley into a trot.  Several of the warriors remounted the few surviving horses, one woman relinquishing her own bay colored mare to Alfhild, who quickly pulled herself into the saddle and trotted the borrowed horse up to mine.

“Alfhild?” Ólafur called after her, but the young woman only spared a glance back at her father.

“You heard her, fall in!” She replied as the others started to jog after us.

“We were ordered to hold this position!” Ólafur shouted after us, hefting his axe into a better position to run.  “The Magnar ordered us to stay!”

“The position seems held, my friend,” I replied, turning in the saddle to gesture at the burning dead and giving Chudley his head.  The horse could lead us far better than I could, at least he knew where he was supposed to be going.  “Severus has scouted ahead,” I spoke loudly enough that everyone around us could hear.  “He says that the fighters south of us are losing ground.  Stay if you must, and may the gods curse you for cowards!”

It was their gods, not mine, but I knew that it would grant me no favors if I kept mentioning my lack of belief in the gods.  Besides, in this world, who knew…perhaps their gods were real.  And while my words were harsh – again, not that I really believed in gods or their ability to curse anyone – it had the desired result.  The men and women around me seemed to shake off their trepidation and a steely determination fell over them, Loboda and Ólafur included.

We traveled the rest of the way in silence.

Chapter Text

My small party of warriors made quick work of the distance, not even pausing to kill any of the stray dead that we passed.  If they got to close, I would cast a quick incendio, but not once did we slow, not until I rode Chudley right into the middle of the next battle.

“Keep close!” I shouted while blasting the dead away with hurried flicks of my wand.  “We stop for nothing!”

Chudley plowed through a thick herd of dead warriors, making a hole large enough for my party to run right through before they could retaliate.  I cast several banishing charms behind me for the safety of the last of our group, but I didn’t stop or turn long enough to make certain that they landed.  No, my eyes were dead set on the red shape unmoving in the snow.

I urged Chudley into a gallop, Alfhild cursing loudly behind me as she and the other riders followed suit.  Dismounting before your horse has come to a complete stop is not something I would ever advise doing, but somehow I was able to keep my footing long enough to draw the Gryffindor sword and parry the dagger a dead man was wielding in my general direction.  Chudley continued his momentum forward enough to start stomping on one of the crawling deceased zombie corpses that had been dragging itself closer to Gemini’s position.

Parring another clumsy stab, I ran the corpse through and then kicked it off my blade with my boot before swinging and cutting another in half that Severus told me was closing in on my position…in between his admonishment of my swordplay.  Apparently, Severus held several titles for epee fencing in the muggle world – and wasn’t that something to learn – and two titles for combat swordsmanship in the wizarding world.

There really was nothing worse than a master of the art berating your stance in the middle of actual fucking combat!

“Turn, parry! Parry!” He shouted as I blocked a chipped and rusted blade with the flat of my sword.  “I said parry, not block! Push back, twist, parry! Do you know the difference! Stop dodging and parry.  Merlin, damn you!”

“You are not helping!” I shouted, twisting my wrist to crack the pommel down on the frail bone of the dead man’s arm, exclaiming a triumphant sound when the bone broke and the sword fell, hand still attached and all.  In the next moment, I blasted it apart with a hex and burned the remains as Alfhild and a few others continued to hold off the horde of dead and the rest of our party finally caught up.

“Set your feet correctly!” Severus shrieked as an undead…woman, I think…lunged at me with a sword almost as large as I was.  How could something that looked like a stiff wind could knock over wield a blade that heavy?

Magic, probably…

“Brace! Put your left foot back! Your other left!”

“Do you think now is really the fucking time!” I shouted as I decapitated the sword wielding dead woman and continuing my swing to cleave into the ribs of another corpse.  “We are in the middle of combat, if you hadn’t fucking noticed!”

“Watch your language,” Severus hissed, losing his balance, and nearly tumbling from my shoulder as I was forced to duck beneath the swing of an axe.  “Dodge, dodge, dodge now!”

“Why the hell didn’t I think of that?” I asked sarcastically as I continued to dodge the wild swings of the dead man.  I threw myself to the ground and tucking under its legs to pop up behind it.

“Don’t get smart with me.  Parry!”

“Fuck your parry!” I replied as I thrust instead and thankfully killed the reanimated dead man just before it took my own head off.

I let myself breathe for a moment, catching Alfhild’s gaze as she nodded to me and I was able to turn my attention away from the battle long enough to focus on the unmoving red shape that Hera was perched over.

“Gemini!” I called, rushing over to the downed dragon.  Hera hissed threateningly as we approached, but Severus replied with his own little shriek and she warbled an uncertain sound before shifting to stand beside Romulus’ larger form.

My hands skated over Gemini’s warm hide, sighing in relief when I could feel his side expand with each breath he took.  “He’s breathing,” I exclaimed as Severus climbed cautiously down my arm like a squirrel on a tree, tail wrapped tightly around my neck for balance, but not so tight that I couldn’t breathe.

“Is he injured?” he asked, and I started to run my hands down his limbs looking for wounds or bones that were out of place.

“I don’t think so,” my hands came away dry, no blood to be found, and everything else seemed to be in place.  “What happened?” I turned to Hera who was hopping around us, making that distressed little warble that twisted my insides and made me want to do something to fix it.

“Cold things,” Hera replied and out of the corner of my eye I could make out a plume of flames that was no doubt another whelp setting the dead on fire, but I couldn’t see through the storm well enough to tell which one.  “Cold things come, strong sky wind, pull little brother down.  Hit ground, not move.”

“Not like us,” Romulus chimed in, the lighter brown dragon pressing so close against Hera’s darker brown hide that I couldn’t tell which parts were hers and which were his in the blizzard.  “We no hit ground.  Only little red brother.”

Their words were fast and jumbled, their anxiety making each syllable sound like a hissed shriek, but I didn’t need Severus to translate.  I shifted forward, feeling around Gemini’s neck and head, worried that he might have injured his spine, but I couldn’t feel any swelling.

“Knocked unconscious then,” Severus concluded, and I nodded slowly.  It was the only thing that made sense, and his lack of vision in his left eye made depth perception difficult.  The sudden blizzard and strong wind must have knocked him off course and he hit the ground before he could correct himself, like the other dragons had done.  “We have to get him out of here.”

The only question was how…I couldn’t leave the other dragons, nor the people that even now were struggling to hold back the dead as I assessed Gemini’s damage.  But I also could not, under any circumstances, leave Gemini here.  Chudley whinnied loudly behind me, rearing and dancing away as some of the dead tried to swarm the poor horse, Ólafur’s trusty axe halting their attack on the frightened animal.

That was when the idea came to me.

Chudley was a liability now that he had gotten me safely to where I needed to be.  Maybe he could get Gemini safely out as well.  “Chudley!” I called, despite knowing that there was little chance that the panicked horse would even respond to me.  I struggled to stand; my legs tired from the hard ride to get to the lake as quickly as we had.  I had never ridden anything but a broom for that length of time, and a broom had nothing on a rotund potbellied horse.

Rushing towards the scared beast, I seized his reins and pulled him down, casting a banishing hex on the nearest dead who tried to take advantage of the gap Ólafur had left open when saving my horse.  I struggled with Chudley, trying to pull him towards the dragons while he tried to bolt away from the battle.  He fought me for a long moment before finally calming enough to be led.  His sides heaved, eyes rolling and nearly completely white as his nostrils flared, sweat foamed around his neck and sides.

Once I got him close enough, touching his cheek and sending gentle healing magic down my fingertips and into his tired muscles, I crouched back down and scooped the unconscious dragon up.  I struggled now to lift Gemini – the second smallest dragon was still as large as a pony, a third of the size of Chudley – locking my hands under his wings and around his chest as I dragged the limp whelp over to the scared but thankfully unmoving horse.

Hera attempted to assist, scooping up Gemini’s dragging tail with gentle teeth.  But once I was next to the horse, I couldn’t seem to find a way to get the damn dragon on him.  Any spell I would cast to aid in this endeavor would just slide right off of his magical resistant hide, and I didn’t have time to just stand there and cast until something took.

Romulus climbed up the saddle on Chudley’s opposite side, pulling the horse slightly off balance before he set his legs and adjusted for the added weight.  The brown and teal dragon craned his neck forward, getting his teeth around the single undamaged horn at the base of Gemini’s skull and pulling.

With great effort, I started to lift the dragon onto Chudley’s back, Romulus pulling from above and Hera trying to push from below.  I hoped that we didn’t exacerbate any injury he did have, but getting to safety took priority.  I also hoped that Romulus’ firm grip didn’t snap the one horn Gemini had left, poor dragon really couldn’t get a break.

The heavy weight of the red dragon suddenly lifted, and I sighed in relief as Loboda’s form loomed over mine.  His large hands found purchase along Gemini’s hips and he used his far superior physique to manhandle the dragon into place.  Romulus shuffled back onto Chudley’s neck to make room as we positioned Gemini back legs over Chudley’s rump, tail dangling down behind him, and chest partially into the saddle, wings splayed limply to either side of the shoulders.

The horse pinned his ears back in annoyance at the weight of the two dragons but didn’t fight it.

Conjuring rope, I tied the red dragon down quickly, shooing Romulus off of the horse when it looked like Chudley’s patience was finished and he was about to throw his head to dislodge the beast.  Seizing the reins, I pulled Chudley’s halter off so it couldn’t be grabbed and used against him and banished the contraption back to the stables.  I also secretly prayed that I didn’t accidentally magic it to another dimension, like that one instance with Hermione’s essay…which was a complete accident!

How was I to know that if I wasn’t picturing anything in particular while casting the banishing charm it would send it somewhere far off into the ether and completely irretrievable?  Well, lesson learned and all that.  I really didn’t think my hand could get any more sore after having to rewrite her essay, and then write mine, which I hadn’t yet started, because reasons…also quidditch.

Ron had been laughing about it for days, but both of us agreed to never do anything like that ever again when it came to Hermione and her homework.  I hadn’t ever seen her so angry, not even the times where our misadventures had almost gotten her killed.  Hermione livid and Hermione absolutely bloody furious were on completely different spectrums and for a moment there I actually feared for my life.  So yeah, suffice to say it never happened again, and anytime I did have to actually touch her paperwork, I did so as if I was handling fine glass or a fabergé egg.

Chudley snorted at me, his breath hitting my face in a hot gust as I grabbed his cheeks and pulled his nose down so I could look him in the eyes.  “Go home,” I told him, pressing my command with magic so the beast would understand.  “Take him home.”

Chudley threw his head back and turned north where the village lay.  “Severus?” I asked uncertainly as I saw the amount of dead between us and the upper valley.

“I’ll clear a path and then return,” he assured, touching his nose to my temple.  “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish before I get back,” the command was firm but hollow.  We both knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep that promise even if I tried.  And we both knew that I wouldn’t make a promise I couldn’t keep, so instead I kept my silence and Severus only grunted in reply.

“I expect you to be alive when I get back, Miss Potter, or Gryffindor will never recover from the amount of points I will be taking,” his words were a silken threat, so similar to the days in class where they would be followed by another detention, and I found myself laughing wetly.

“No promises, but I’ll do my best,” I replied, sniffling to try and hide how suddenly wet my eyes had become.  “And you know us Gryffindor’s, we’re very hard to get rid of, we are.”

“See to it that you are,” he replied, brushing his cheek once more against mine, but I couldn’t tell if he was trying to comfort me or himself before he launched into the air.  His small form fought against the wind, but despite the strength of the blizzard, he gained altitude.

Hera spread her wings, running a few paces before lunging and allowing the turbulent wind to pull her aloft.  She struggled once in the air, the blizzard pushing her one way and then throwing her in another before she was able to get her wings steady enough for actual flight.  Her heavier form having more difficulty than Severus’ did.  A flash of pale gold followed her as Roan nearly crashed into the dark brown dragon, thrown suddenly by the wind.

The two dragons squawked at each other, Hera rearing her head back to snap at Roan, but he was already too far away for it to be more than an empty threat.  Romulus shrieked up at them from his position on the ground as they both leveled off, but he didn’t take flight after them.  Instead he galloped forward with his awkward double gait, spread his wings, and launched himself into the air to burn the dead that were pushing the circle of survivors dangerously close together.

 Fire bloomed around the edge of warriors just as Severus began his stoop, an inferno bursting from his maw as he burned a path that Chudley took immediate advantage of.

The horse charged forward without hesitation – just as he had in battle – not even balking at the fire that hadn’t yet died down.  Chudley was moving faster than I had ever seen as the fire parted down the center just as he reached it, almost like a living thing, the sea parting for Moses.

I cast a quick protection spell after the horse, praying it settled before he got too far and then returned my attention back to the battle.  Two people had fallen in the time it took me to evacuate the unconscious dragon, another woman was kneeling nearby, the leg beneath her torn to shreds as she kept the dead away with a broken spear.  A man stood over her, trying to shield her as she slowly pulled herself away from the front lines.

A hand landing on my shoulder stopped me from going further as I tried to lend assistance and I glanced up at Loboda’s solemn expression.  I quirked an eyebrow at him curiously, even as I drew my sword once more and prepared for battle.

“You should have gone with your beasts,” he told me, expression grim as the circle around us became tighter.  Warriors were pushed together on all sides, their comrades hindering their own movements as the dead kept pressing.

“Then I would not be here to save you,” I replied with a wry smile, shrugging his hand off and rushing to the woman who had finally dragged herself far enough behind the wall of fighters that she was no longer in danger.

I grabbed her arm, kneeling close as she looked up at me with a scared but hopeful expression.  I didn’t have time nor the energy to cast the advanced healing spell I would need to fix her leg, but I could at least get her to safety.  Turning, I reached forward as if to grab something, using my magic to coax a riderless horse nearby to approach.

Thank you, Hagrid, and his Care of Magical Creatures class.  It looked like it wasn’t nearly as useless as Hermione kept insisting it was.

I noticed absently that it was the same bay mare that Alfhild had been riding.  Alfhild herself was standing a few feet away, next to her father on his injured side.  They had traded axes, her wielding the massive axe with two hands while Ólafur used her smaller axe with his one good arm.

Once the horse was close enough, I used magic to assist lifting the injured woman onto it, banishing the reins and halter as I had done with Chudley.  The mare neighed loudly – shifting sideways in unease as she shied away from running through the path of fire – and I slapped her rump to force her to take the only available path away from the battle.  She hesitated a moment longer before deciding that she really no longer wanted to be here and took off after my own horse.

The sound of hooves moved further away as I positioned myself to fill the hole that the woman had left behind.  The dead had completely surrounded us, but with the aid of my magic, I was able to incapacitate them long enough for someone else with a weapon tipped in the strange black stone to kill them permanently.

I shifted from one point to another, rotating around our circle to keep the dead from overwhelming us, casting basic healing spells when I could and evacuating those too injured to heal.  Soon we were out of horses, the fire Severus had set died into smoldering embers that were already being eaten by the snow, and those too wounded to fight were pulled into the center where they would be protected and out of the way.

Every few minutes I would send sparks up into the air.  It was a risky move, the chances of drawing even more dead to us increased with every colorful burst above our heads…but it also drew the survivors still fighting, strengthening our numbers.  And after a while, it also drew the remaining dragons.  They took turns landing within our protected circle to recuperate before taking flight once more.

Guinevere was on her second turn of rest, Romulus circling lower, preparing for his.  Loki flew with Solar, the bronze dragon the only one who hadn’t rested yet, choosing instead to stay airborne, fighting against the harsh winds and blinding conditions as he strafed the field with dragon fire.  But they were getting tired, and it was obvious with every sweep they took.  They started to ascend slower, the fire burning out quicker, the distance covered shrinking with each pass.

“Harielle!” Alfhild called and I shifted back, giving the warriors around me time to fill the hole before I crossed over to the young woman.  I stood next to her, casting a general low-level healing spell in her direction when I noticed a cut on her thigh even as my magic tugged uncomfortably at my core.  My reserves were starting to get low and soon I wouldn’t be able to cast at all.  Capturing such a large amount of Severus’ flame twice in one day on top of all the battle magic I had been throwing around was more than enough to wear me down.

“What are we going to do?” She asked, shouting the question at me even as she swung her father’s axe low to cut the leg off of an approaching corpse.  My sword followed a moment later to end its reanimation.

“We need to retreat,” I replied quickly, stumbling as a man was pushed into me from the side by another dead wolf, its slobbering teeth jammed around the man’s spear.  I blasted the undead beast off, and another person finished it before it could get up again.  The man stood slowly, tired or injured I couldn’t tell, and I was about to turn away when I recognized him.

“Canute?!” I called as he finally found his footing.  “What are you doing here?” I asked, sending a quick episky his way and wincing at the uncomfortable tug once more.

“What am I doing here?” He asked in disbelief.  “What are you?  You aren’t supposed to leave the village!”

“I am helping!” I argued back, turning away long enough to spear a mostly skeletal corpse that had tried to launch itself over the first line to get to the defenseless injured we were protecting at the center.

“So am I,” he shouted as he swung his black tipped spear into an undead…rabbit?  What the fuck?  Like seriously, what the actual fuck?

“You are not a warrior,” I bit out with gritted teeth as I used what little reserves I had left to light an actual fucking polar bear on fire and kill it before it could plow through the front line.  It fell and died only inches away from the warriors it was about to maul.  “You don’t even have any marks!” And it was true, his face was still bare.

Only a year or two younger than Alfhild, he was perhaps the next youngest person here, excluding myself of course.  But he wasn’t the only one that didn’t have any facial scarring.  I had seen several people I recognized from the village that hadn’t yet gone through their rite of passage – or fýrst útskryft as it was called – but the situation must have been dire enough that they had pulled anyone who had the ability to wield a spear to fight the dead.

“Neither do you!” He shouted before grabbing my robe to pull me closer.  My body collided with his front and I dropped my wand on reflex and brought my hand up to catch myself on his chest as he used his spear to kill a…oh Merlin, that was a child.  It had snuck up on me during our argument and I hadn’t even noticed.

She was perhaps five, maybe six years old, and her hair was once blonde.  Half of her face was gone, the rest sunken in from decay.  Her body collapsed as the black spear tip lodged itself deeply in her chest, and I couldn’t stop fucking staring.

“Harielle?” Canute questioned, his grip tightening on my robe as I pulled my attention away from the little girl and back to him.  His face was so close to mine that I could make out the tiny specs of brown in his hazel eyes.  I could see the tightness around them, and I realized that he was just as worried as I was.

“I’m okay,” I told him, fingers curling into his shirt as I swallowed thickly, but I didn’t release him, and he didn’t release me.  I found it comforting as my legs started to shake.  “I am okay,” I repeated trying to convince myself just as much as him.

“If you two are quite finished!” Alfhild shouted as she brought the massive axe down and cleaved another undead in half.  “We are in the middle of a fight! You two can fuck later!”

We broke apart quickly, limbs tangling as we stepped back, and I was surprised neither of us actually lost our balance.  My face was burning despite the cold and Canute had found something far more interesting to look at that wasn’t me.

“Th-that was not –”

“We-we-we weren’t –”

And now we were talking over each other and stuttering like two students that a professor had found sneaking away into one of the covered alcoves.  “Right,” Alfhild commented dryly, her expression so neutral that I would have found it utterly hilarious if I weren’t on the receiving end of it.  “Do you want to join us,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of where the dead were still pressing in hard on the front line of warriors.  “Or do you want to gaze meaningfully into each other’s eyes for a bit longer?”

“I would rather gaze meaningfully into yours if that is all the same,” I replied quickly, and then instantly cursing myself afterwards.  I always did get cheeky when cornered and uncomfortable.

“My sister’s, you mean,” she replied with a wink and just like that the tension was broken.

Smiling ruefully, I flicked my wrist to bring my wand back into my hand, gripped my sword tighter, and rejoined the fray.  Those at the very front began their methodical retreat while those just behind stepped up to take their place and give them a breather.  The next moment I found myself right at the front, Alfhild on one side and Canute at the other.  I tried really hard not to compare it to how I felt when we had entered that little room on the third-floor corridor.  Hermione on my left, Ron on my right, and a monstrous three-headed dog right in front.

The next second I wasn’t thinking about anything except keeping Severus’ promise as the next wave of dead collided right into us like a heard of furious hippogriffs.  There might have been a lot more to actual swordsmanship, but despite what Severus said, hacking and slashing was proving to be quite effective, if not a little therapeutic.  There was nothing like taking your embarrassment and aggression out on an enemy that didn’t actually feel anything.

“We cannot keep this up,” I gasped as Canute placed his hand on my shoulder and we stepped back to let the next group take the front.  Alfhild had her hands on her knees, her father’s axe laying on the ground as she fought to catch her breath.

“Here,” Canute said, thrusting his spear at her.  “Switch me.”

She looked up through her loosened hair, forehead plastered with sweat, dirt, and blood.  Her gaze on Canute felt like she was trying to measure him for something, but for what I didn’t know.  A moment later, she seemed to find it as she nodded slowly, taking the spear, and pressing the blunt end into the ground so she could lean on it.  Canute kneeled, grabbing the handle of the axe, and bringing it up to his chest.

He flipped it around, adjusting his grip and bouncing it as he got familiar with the weapon.  Alfhild’s hand on his arm stopped him.  “That belongs to my father,” she told him, her voice solemn.  “You will not lose it!”

He nodded once; his expression grim but determined.  I felt like I was missing something important, or maybe witnessing something private.  Perhaps the Thenns had a thing about their weapons, or maybe it had to do with his lack of markings…but who knew?  It was just one more thing I would need to ask Loboda about when it came to their culture.

“I will wield it with honor,” Canute replied, and it was Alfhild’s turn to nod.  She did so just once, before lifting her hand to slap it against his bicep and grip it tightly and just like that the moment was over.  Seriously, every time I thought I was beginning to understand these people…

“Harielle,” Alfhild turned to me, dropping her hand on Canute to lift the spear with both of hers.  “What’s the plan?”

I was completely baffled.  What the fuck was she asking me for?  I had no idea what the hell I was doing over half the time, and the other half I only pretended to know.  I wasn’t a leader, I wasn’t a tactician, and I sure as fuck wasn’t a battle commander.  Something of my thoughts must have showed on my face because she stepped forward quickly, placing one hand where my shoulder met my neck, gripping it so tightly it almost hurt.

“You saved me and my people,” she started, speaking low but quickly as the battle continued to rage around the little bubble we had made for ourselves.  “You took us across the ice, you saved my father and his warriors, you brought us here safely.  If it weren’t for you, I would be dead three times over.  You kept us alive, you gathered the other fighters here.  We’d all be dead by now if you hadn’t been here.”

My cheeks flushed at her words and something in my stomach squirmed as she spoke.  “It wasn’t like that,” I argued, wanting suddenly for her to be looking anywhere but directly at me.  Her blue eyes were laser focused, not letting me look away for a moment, and I found myself squirming under her intense gaze.

“It was,” Canute’s voice drew my attention and I found my eyes flicking to his, trying not to sigh when Alfhild’s gaze was drawn to him as well.  “She’s right, me and the group I was with were lost.  We were surrounded, the blizzard turned us around and we were lost.  We didn’t know which way to go, until we saw your sparks.  You led us here, you led all of us here,” he released one of his hands on the massive axe to gesture to the group of survivors that were still fighting.

Every few moments, one of the front warriors would fall back to rest as someone else not as tired stepped in to take their place.  The wounded and injured were pulled back and placed in the center where they could bind their wounds safely and not be underfoot of the living who were desperately still fighting.

“You brought us here…together,” Alfhild’s grip tightened briefly, pulling my eyes back to hers as she suddenly released my shoulder to curl her hand around the back of my neck instead.  Her hand was surprisingly warm and dry, for how much she had been sweating, and her grip firm as she flexed her fingers, pulling me forward.  My forehead met hers, in the way I had seen some warriors do to each other as a sign of comradery and respect.  “Now get us out,” she whispered, her face so close I could feel the puff of breath from each word.  “Get us home.”

Her words made something thick settle in my throat, and I had to swallow around it as tears prickled at the corner of my eyes.  Her faith in me, their faith in me…left me feeling wrung too tightly like a wet towel, and my hand shook as I brought it up to grip the back of her neck in return.  My wand was pressed against the base of her skull, but she didn’t seem to mind.  Instead, she bowed her head further and put weight behind the press of our foreheads, and I copied her.  I let the feel of her breath on my face, the tight grip on my neck, her sweat soaked skin against mine, ground me.

I took a steadying breath, and then another as she tightened her grip for just a moment before she was pulling away.  And just like that, I was no longer afraid.  Straightening my shoulders, I turned my gaze from her blue eyes, to Canute’s hazel, to the men and women who were still holding the line despite how tired and exhausted everyone was becoming, to the injured that were binding their own wounds and each other’s before some of the less wounded rejoined the fray.

“We need to leave the valley,” I told her quickly, a plan starting to form in my mind.  “We cannot stay here, they will just keep coming, picking us off until there is no one left.  We need to put a wall between us and them.  The village is defendable, we have more people, more supplies, and can retreat into the tunnels if we lose the outer walls.

“We’ll build barricades inside the village,” I continued, remembering the lesson from Severus about traps – which had more to do with mental ones for the pesky legilimens than it did actual combat, but his lessons could usually be applied to more than one area – and how he had strategically placed things just so to his advantage.  “Funnel them into chokeholds, get them into areas we can safely pick them off instead.”

She nodded her head solemnly as if she had already known what needed to be done but was just waiting for someone else to tell her what to do.  Raising her voice, she turned so she was facing towards the center.  “Retreat!” Alfhild’s voice carried far despite the wind and sounds of battle.  “Back to the village, retreat!”

“Stay together!” I bellowed, using what little magic I had left to amplify my voice enough to be heard fully without it seeming too unnatural.  “Retreat together, hold formation!”

Our group, now nearing fifty strong, started to move northward one step at a time.  Those nearest to the center assisting the injured and trading out periodically with those at the perimeter who were facing the worst of the onslaught.  Alfhild, Canute, and I would occasionally shout direction or orders if the group started to spread out too far, or bunch too close.  After a while, other voices joined ours and I could just make out Loboda and Ólafur on the opposite side keeping the warriors together in a steady retreat.

We had successfully moved nearly a full kilometer, back to the most northern part of the lake, where the waterfalls were frozen around the stone face when another voice joined ours.  “Hold your ground! Hold your ground, gods damn you!”

The Magnar was suddenly there, his group of men joining ours, forcing small gaps that the dead tried to take advantage of.  I was forced to wield my wand once more to stop them from reaching the injured, and each spell tugged more and more at my core until the last incendio left me gasping for breath.  Thankfully, Loboda was able to get the new people into our formation quickly and I dropped the wand to let it return back into its holster and instead used both hands to wield the sword of Gryffindor.

It was too tempting to use magic when my wand was in my hand, and I knew that if I didn’t stop, I would be unconscious within the next few spells.

“We need to keep retreating!” Alfhild shouted as the slow northern shift came to a complete stop.

“You will hold your ground, girl!” The Magnar sneered at her as if she were a child and not a fully initiated warrior.  It was degrading, and I felt my own hackles start to rise as Alfhild’s face turned pale and she looked as if she had just been slapped.  To be called girl, after she had endured the ritual of marking, after having bloodied her blade in both hunting and against the ultimate enemy, to survive for so long where countless others had already fallen…there was no worse insult he could have made.

“The valley will not be abandoned! Not while I am still Magnar!” He roared not only at Alfhild, but those who had been following her.

“Are you blind?!” I shouted, pushing Alfhild back to the frontline to fill the hole I left as I advanced on the Magnar.  His gaze turned onto me, eyes hateful, dark brown pools of contempt as they bore into mine, but I refused to be cowed.  “You will get everyone killed; we need to retreat!”

“Silence, witch!” He thundered, face turning red despite the freezing wind and snow.  He lunged forward to grab my robe, similar to how Canute had before, but not to save me.  Instead, he used his grip to pull me in close, his foul breath on my face and eyes narrowed.  “Your words are done poisoning the ears of my men.  How many did we lose because of your voice? Your magic? How many did you kill with your presence?! I should have burned you when you first set foot in my valley!”

“She saved us!” Canute was trying to press himself between me and his leader, holding the large axe off to the side so he didn’t accidentally injure someone with it.  His hand was shoving against us, trying to pry between the Magnar’s grip.  “We would have all been dead already if it wasn’t for her!”

“Enough, boy!” He roared, releasing his grip so suddenly I fell to my knees as he backhanded Canute.  The axe fell from his limp grip as the blow forced him nearly face first into the snow.  “I will not be questioned by an unmarked runt! Keep your silence, or I will keep your tongue!”

“Stop it!” I yelled, standing so quickly I made myself dizzy as my wand snapped back into my hand and I pointed it right at the Magnar.  “Look around you.  The valley has already been lost,” I gestured with my sword, but his gaze was fixated on the black stick I had pointed directly at his torso.  His eyes were narrowed, but the pupils were blown and lips tight.  He looked just as Dudley did…back when I accidentally blew up Aunt Marge.

It was then that I realized he was scared of me.  He didn’t know how much magic I had already used; didn’t know how little reserves I had left.  Just as the Dursley’s didn’t know I couldn’t use magic outside of school for most of that first summer back.  And me…well I was great at bluffing.  This, I could use to my advantage.

“You would fight, have your people fight and die, for what?  For some land?  What use is land to you when everyone else is dead?!” I was shouting so loudly that it was gathering the attention of those nearest to us.  “The valley is already lost, Magnar.  We need to retreat!”

The words seemed to shake whatever fear he had, and his eyes flicked up from my wand to my face.  The sneer that crossed his expression twisted it into something foul and I fought not to sneer back.  I was trying my hardest to be the bigger person here, and if Snape’s class had taught me one thing, it was that reacting less could wield the greater reward…if I could keep my head that long.

“We will not abandon the valley!” His voice thundered so loudly that I had no doubt every survivor could hear him.  “We are Thenn! This is our home! And no dead or white walker or witch will take if from us!” He raised his axe at the words, and some of the warriors cheered with him.

I could feel my grip on the survivors slipping with each exclamation, and I knew right then that my strategic retreat back to the village, to the defense that I had already started planning, was done.  There was no way that these people would listen to me, an outsider, a witch, when their Magnar said otherwise.

“We will put these dead fuckers back into the ground!” He continued, rallying even more to his side.  “Our Gods will sing tales of our victory in their halls!  And our names will be carved into the Stone of Heroes for centuries to come!” The cheering that met his declaration near drowned out the raging blizzard and I felt my heart drop as I lost what little hold I had left.

The Magnar was grinning as his people rallied behind him, those in the frontlines seeming to get a boost of energy and started to hack way at the dead with more enthusiasm, as if they hadn’t been fighting for near half a day already.  He sneered down out me with triumph, and I set my jaw to gaze up at him with every ounce of contempt I could portray.  I refused to let him cow me, to let his words and convictions bully me into submission.

The smirk on his lips was an ugly thing, and when he leaned back down to whisper in my ear, I couldn’t fight the shiver that raced up my spine.  “And you, little witch,” he hissed quietly, his breath tickling my cheek in a way that made me feel like I suddenly needed a bath.  “You will be dealt with when we return victorious.  As for the rest of you,” he turned to Alfhild and Canute, who still stood behind me despite his uplifting speech.  “You will hold your ground, or I will cut you down myself!”

The Magnar held his black two headed axe aloft as if to do such before he spun and buried it in deep into one of the dead.  The battle continued to rage around us, a man nearby falling to the onslaught, and then another.  Our steady organized retreat had ended, the fortitude and hope that we had given the group gone.  The Magnar was determined to make this his last stand…and he was set on dragging down everyone else with him.

I couldn’t let that happen.  I needed to make a plan, and quickly.  I also needed to stop thinking that if Severus were just here, I could ask the little white dragon to set the Magnar on fire and be done with it.  It would certainly fix the immediate problem at least…

“Hvítm göngrind!” Someone was shouting, the phrase vaguely familiar though I couldn’t remember Loboda teaching me those words.  “Hvítm göngrind!” The cry in the Old Tongue came again, and I turned to find it, stepping back, and trusting Alfhild to cover me.

A woman, taller than any I had ever seen, with blonde hair and dark eyes, was pointing with her spear to something near the trees, panic and terror twisting her scarred face.  My gaze followed her spear point, and I could just make out a shape exiting the forest.  It was white, with skin dry like bark, strange black armor that reflected the light oddly, and blue glowing eyes.

The creature’s eyes met mine, pale hard lips pulling into something that could mockingly be called a smirk.  It made its way across the battlefield as if it was strolling through a woodland park, wielding that same thin blade that looked to be made out of glass – or ice, I suppose would be more accurate – that the other one had tried to cut me down with many months ago.

Behind me, I could hear the line breaking as the warriors began to panic.  Someone ran past me, nearly bowling me over as he abandoned his position and started running in the opposite direction.  More followed him as the being moved closer.  Behind the pale creature, two more came out of the forest.  All had the same black armor, long white hair, and glowing blue eyes.

All three of them were looking directly at me.

Chapter Text

Only a few warriors moved to intercept the pale creatures that resembled human men in the most mocking sense of the word.  Most of them backpedaled to flee, to try and get away from the strange white things and the awful cold and dead magic that exuded from them like a disease.  Their clear blades shattered the weapons of the few that tried to fight, cutting down the warriors as easily as if they were fighting uncoordinated children.  The Magnar – stupid as he was fearless – charged the closest not-man.

Swinging the massive axe, it met the ice like blade and did not shatter.  The black stone axe caught the sword and the Magnar pressed his advantage while the creature blinked in what could be described as confusion, before it sneered at the large man.  Its too blue gaze finally left mine in order to turn its attention to the Magnar and I felt the air rush into my lungs – as if I had been pulled underwater since I first caught sight of it and was just now breaching the surface.

The oppressive foul magic was no longer smothering me, and I closed my eyes for a half second to send a small prayer for Severus to hurry the fuck up.  Sev, where are you?  I could really use his help right now.  He was getting closer, I could tell…I could feel it, but without concentrating I couldn’t tell how far away he still was.  And I couldn’t really focus on anything else but the dead unless I wanted to join them.

My reprieve ended when one of the pale creatures took a swing at me, and I found myself once more engaged in combat, Severus’ mediocre instructions on stance and when to parry versus block echoing in the back of my mind.  I could hear Alfhild and Canute engaging with the third, Ólafur’s battle cry so close that I let my attention focus fully on the creature in front of me.  I had to trust that the three of them could handle the single white creature, as the one I was engaged with required all of my attention.

Despite not wanting too – and knowing how dangerous it was with how little magic I had left – I flicked my left wrist and cast a blasting hex right into the creature’s chest to get some room between us.  My lungs were wheezing with each breath, and I didn’t know if that was a warning from overusing my magic, or from exhaustion from fighting for so damn long.  At this point it could be either…or both.

Come on!  Think, what would Hermione do…what would Severus do?  Well…not get put into this position to start with, but I was too fucking late to that party.  No, I needed to work smart, not hard, just like Hermione always said.

So, let’s work smart.  I was almost out of magic, but I had enough in me for a few low-level spells, so…what low level spells could I use to gain the upper hand?  Anything that I cast in order to directly affect the creature worked just about as well as it did on a dragon, which was to say not much at all.  What could I use then?

Think Hari!

“Your mind doesn’t need to be your fortress, or a castle.  An impenetrable barrier sometimes isn’t the best defense,” Severus voice rang in my head as if he were whispering in my ear.  A long-forgotten memory while he coached me in advanced occlumency brought to the surface.  “Sometimes, especially if you don’t want your enemy to know that you can defend your mind, it is better to let them in.  Set false trails to memories that are not real.  Traps and snares to ambush them, make them see what you want, use what you know to your advantage.  Nobody should know your mind better than yourself.”

“What purpose does that serve?” I had asked, naïve in the art of mind fuckery.  Severus set me straight soon after…the things people could do to other people’s minds made me sick and terrified of someone ever doing that to me.

“Once you have them where you want them, you can use your mind to give them a false lead, make them think they found what they were looking for and they will leave none the wiser,” he had replied.  “Or, you can use it to hurt them, to trap them in your mind and turn it into their nightmare.” Severus hadn’t spoken more about it when I questioned him.  Something in his tone told me to leave it alone, and I couldn’t help imagining in what situations he had to have been in in order to learn what he had.

When he did speak of it – which was rarely – there was this little slip of a feeling, skating just below the surface that I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been looking for it.  It was shame, fear, anger, pain, sadness, and the overwhelming need to protect the one thing I have left!  I dropped the little strand, let the emotions sink back into the depths of where we were connected, and said nothing.  But when he looked at me, I could swear he knew that I had prodded where I wasn’t wanted, but he just couldn’t prove it.  And to ask would only bring it into light for more questioning.

Severus never asked, and neither did I.

I had tried, for ages and ages I had tried to learn how to make false trails and secret tricks.  The fake memories came easily to me, and in no time, I had that part mastered.  But the deceptions, the tiny hidden traps to capture and ensnare…that didn’t come so easily.  Severus had spent months while we traveled explaining how he set up his own little mind village.  He even taught me rudimentary legilimens so I could see it for myself, and showed me where he placed his traps, little hidden runes and switches and snares, and then he showed me what they did.

To be honest, I didn’t know if I was more horrified by his creativity or the smile on his very human face as he explained it to me.  Turns out, Severus took on his old appearance – the human one – when in his own mind.  Not that I minded…much.  It was just, he was easier to talk to when he looked like a dragon, and not the professor that I had spent four years convinced wanted to chop me up for potions ingredients.

I had tried to do as he showed me, lay little hidden pressure points, tiny runes, and such, but they never really did much.  Severus’ once told me that my lightning rune meant to shock and incapacitate felt more like static electricity.  We figured out later that I really just didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I have never really seen anyone subjected to curses like the ones Severus had described.

And that, right there, is where Severus discovered my problem.  The one little tiny hurdle, that small bit of wall I just couldn’t seem to break through no matter how blue in the face he got when explaining it.

“You have a surprisingly large lack of imagination,” were his exact words if I remembered correctly.

Which, of course, he was wrong! I had a great imagination…just not when it came to actually hurting people – or things, I suppose – but I said it once and will say it once again.  Fuck him!  I’ll show him a lack of imagination!

If I couldn’t use magic against this thing, then I could use magic against the environment instead.  Why create a massive fortress when one or two little traps will do?

Ducking the thing’s next swing, I trapped its legs in conjured rope and scurried away, far out of reach of its terrible blade as I gasped in pain.  My chest was thrumming with my heartbeat, and beneath it, my magical core throbbed.  When it stumbled, looking down in surprise, I darted back in and went with what I knew best; I slapped a heating rune on the chest of its armor and cranked it up to eleven.

Heating runes were so second nature to me that I barely even felt a drain on my magic as it activated.  The creature paused in its next swing, bringing a hand up to start tearing at the black chest piece that was actually smoking it burned so hot, and I used the distraction to decapitate the son of a bitch.

There was a cheer around us as more of the dead fell with it, but I didn’t have time to think about it at all as Alfhild’s cry of pain drew my attention.  The other creature had her pinned to the ground, one hand on her throat as Canute lay unmoving next to her.  Ólafur charged the pale being, swinging Alfhild’s smaller axe.  When the thing blocked with its sword, the axe shattering into a million tiny pieces, and it used the momentum to skewer the older man.

“No, father!” Alfhild screamed, clawing at the hand still around her throat as Ólafur dropped to his knees, blood bubbling up from his mouth.

The creature turned its attention back to the struggling woman and it twisted the blade in its hand to point it straight down, towards her, and I launched myself at its back without thought.  We tumbled to the side, nearly landing on the still form of Canute and all I could think as I tried to bring my weapon up to bear, was that its skin was surprisingly cold.  It felt so cold it burned but had the same give to it as normal human skin, if a little more dry.

One of its hands clawed at my own wrist – burning cold despite the serpent hide that protecting me – as I brought my sword up and tried to press the tip into its chest.  It used the other to grab the blade, grasp strong as it forced the ruby encrusted sword further away.  I knelt over the thing, both hands on the grip, and put all of my meager weight trying to push it back down.  The thing bled, astonishingly, it’s blood a red so black I almost couldn’t tell the difference until it was smeared thinly over the last three letters of Gryffindor.

Even with gravity and all of my weight behind the blade, somehow the creature was still able to push the sword further and further up.  Soon I would be forced to stand or roll away.  Desperate, I tried lifting one hand and slamming it into the pommel, hoping it would jar the creature enough to lose its grip, but it didn’t do more than move perhaps an inch back down…an inch that I lost a moment later to the thing’s freakish strength.

Another set of hands joined mine and I almost started to sob in relief as I glanced up and saw Styr of all people standing above me.  His hands wrapped around mine as he tried to force the blade down and we started making progress right as the thing released my wrist to reach for something along its side.  The next moment I had to abandon the sword to keep the small ice dagger from plunging into my neck.

Somehow, with one hand on the blade of my sword and the other trying to drive a knife into my throat, it was still fucking winning.  The knife was inching closer despite even getting a knee against its arm to stop it, and the sword at his chest was creeping further up even though the much larger Styr was using all of his body weight and gravity to try and force it down.

A knee was driven into my bleeding side and I gasped in pain, almost releasing the hold I had on the thing’s wrist but keeping my grip at the last moment.  The clear blade was so close now, and I feared at any second I would feel its cold bite into my skin when suddenly Alfhild was right there, her hands wrapped tightly around the wrist of the thing and pulling the dagger away from my delicate throat.  She set her boot into the thing’s side to get leverage, wrapping one of her legs around its arm, hugging it to her chest with all of her strength, and closing her fingers over the creature’s fist to keep the blade from being turned on her.

“Go!”  She shouted.  “Go, I got this!”

I didn’t even hesitate as I released the hold I had on its wrist, trusting Alfhild to keep me from getting stabbed, and getting my hands around the cross guard of the sword of Gryffindor to help Styr.  The creature was twisting beneath me, trying to throw me off, but I pressed my knee into its stomach and bore all my weight down on the sword.  The creature snarled, thrashed its legs as it tried to hit me again, but the combined weight of a large male Thenn and a small determined witch drove the blade down.

It looked surprised, glowing blue eyes wide as the blade slid in.  It fell apart beneath me and the three of us crashed onto the ground.  Styr’s heavy weight fell onto my back and I gasped into the snow, trying to breathe despite the pressure on my ribs before he rolled off of me.  I turned to look at him and already he was pushing himself up to stand once again, though once he was there, he didn’t seem able to do much more than try and keep from falling back down.  The man was covered in small wounds, blood visible between the gaps of his torn furs, and his face was more pale than usual.

I rolled onto my side to see Alfhild laying next to me.  She was sprawled on her back, arms and legs splayed as if she were about to make a snow angel.  I wanted to tell her thank you, or smile, or something, but I didn’t have the energy to do anything else but just give her an exhausted expression of what might have been gratitude…which was lost on her because her eyes were closed and she looked seconds away from passing out.

I reached out with my left hand, wand having returned to the holster long ago, but not entirely certain when it was that I actually released it.  It closed over her shoulder and she lifted her head to look at me.  She blinked slowly, blood smearing down one side of her face and obscuring her vision.

Beside us, I saw Styr reach down to grab the axe he had abandoned in order to help me kill the creature.  I wondered why he didn’t use it to behead the thing while I had it thoroughly distracted when I realized it had a silver axe head, the normal color for regular metal.  From my very few interactions thus far, I had been able to conclude that my sword – goblin forged and basilisk venom infused – and the strange black stone they used for weapons, were the only two things capable of killing these blighted things.  Well, that and fire.

Styr glanced back down at us before giving me what could have been a smile, but was probably closer to a smirk, or perhaps a leer.  “You can thank me later, little witch,” he said with a small quirk on his lips and heat in his eyes.  “Personally.”

I shuddered at the way he rumbled the word, propping myself up onto my elbows so I could send him a withering glare that Severus had helped me perfect.  He only laughed in reply before hefting his axe back up and charging straight back into battle.

“Are you alright?” Alfhild asked me as I returned my attention to her and tried to shake the feeling of disgust that that horrid man left me with every time we ran into each other.  I really should have been the one asking her that question, as she appeared to be the one with a foot already halfway into the grave.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied with a twitch of my lips too tired to be a smile.  “You know me, having the time of my life here.”

She did smile at that and opened her mouth to say more when suddenly she rolled to the side, barely avoided the blade that was thrust into the ground right where her head had been.  I rushed to my feet even as Alfhild grabbed a broken spear with that strange black stone tip and skewered the reanimated corpse with it.

I reached for her, wincing as she reached back and grabbed me.  Her grip tightened around my forearm and she used me to steady herself as her legs shook.  Mine weren’t doing much better, but I let her lean on me as she gathered herself.  Her eyes wandered around us and she gasped softly as they alighted on the unmoving body of Ólafur.  Moments later she was kneeling back into the snow, tears freezing on her cheeks as she reached for her father.

My heart clenched tightly in my chest as she touched his face softly, tracing the ritual scars across his forehead, along his jaw, down his chin.  She made a wetly choked sound, placed both hands on his pale cheeks, and leaned forward to press her forehead to his.  She was crying quietly as she whispered soft words in the Old Tongue to Ólafur’s lifeless body.

I turned away from her, wiping at my own cheeks angrily as she wept for her father, trying to give her some privacy.  The sounds of her quiet sobs were loud despite the fighting still taking place around us on all sides.  I wanted to turn back, comfort her, hold her close and tell her it would be alright…but that would have been a lie.  Nothing was ever going to be alright ever again.

Instead, I stumbled on shaky legs over to Canute’s still form and sat heavily on the ground once I reached him.  He was laying on his side, face turned into the ground and he hadn’t moved once in all the time it had taken us to kill that awful creature.  My hands trembled as I reached for him.  “Please,” I begged softly to any gods who would listen.  “Please don’t let him be dead.”

My hand found his cheek, and I fought not to flinch at how cold it felt.  We were in the middle of a blizzard; it could mean nothing.  My fingers trailed down until they could press into the side of his throat.  The pounding noise from my heart was so loud that I had to take several calming breaths before I could accurately check for a pulse.

There!  He was alive!

I sighed a shaky breath as I gently reached over to roll him onto his back.  There was a dark bruise forming on the side of his head, and he was bleeding heavily from his stomach.  I ripped his already torn furs open further to get a look at the wound and I did not like what I saw.  It looked like he had been run through with a blade.

The wound was leaking sluggishly, the blood thick like it was clotting…or freezing.  The skin around the wound had developed blue like veins, and even as I was observing them, they pulsed and spread.  Oh, fuck…that couldn’t be good.

Flicking my wrist, the black wand snapped into my hand and I transferred it to my dominant one.  This was going to take some precise wand work, and I had to be incredibly careful not to overexert what remained of my magic.  The last thing I wanted was to pass out in the middle of a battle.

“Vulnera sanentur,” I chanted softly as I pointed my wand at the wound.  Even as I repeated the chant, I could feel that foul dead magic fighting me, and I was forced to put more and more power into the spell until finally the blue creeping veins began to recede.  After the ninth time I repeated the spell that should have only taken three chants, the blue disappeared, and the wound sealed.

I gasped in pain as the spell ended, my core feeling as if it had been pulled and yanked, only to be released and snapped back into place like a rubber band.  For a long moment I couldn’t breathe, clutching and clawing between my breasts as if I could reach inside of myself to stop the pain.  My vision greyed around the edges, and my heart pulsed in my ears like a deafening drum…but I didn’t lose consciousness, though I wished I had.  Anything was better than this awful feeling inside my chest, as if my magic had grown spikes and were digging trenches into my lungs.

Warmth dripped onto the back of my hand and I glanced down to see blood.  Raising my fingers to my lips as I tasted copper, I realized my nose was bleeding.  I wiped at it, smearing the red on my white sleeves as I was finally able to breathe more than tiny little gasps.  The pain receded to a tolerable level, but it didn’t fully disappear.

I had fucked up, I knew that.  And recovery would be slow – according to Madam Pomphrey’s lectures on magical exhaustion – but if Canute lived, it would have been worth it.  Severus wouldn’t be happy when he found out, but the once-man never really was anyways.

My gaze returned to the battlefield as I tried to catch my breath.  The frontline had truly broken now, the Thenns no longer fighting together as one unit, but instead fighting and fleeing as each saw fit.  Styr was not far off, swinging his heavy axe and cleaving the dead in half for others to pick off.  A few warriors stayed with him, a small group that I recognized from the village that were usually seen around Styr, but it seemed to all be for not.  Even after taking out two of the white creatures, the amount of dead left still far outnumbered the living.  If we didn’t gain the upper hand soon, all of us would die here.

The sound of a battle cry drew my attention and I turned to see the Magnar struggling with the last of the strange white creatures.  I knew that the dead seemed to be tied to those cold beings, and that if the Magnar could kill it, then the last of the dead should fall apart with it.

He had a good chance of winning too, the Magnar that is.  And the most terrifying thought crossed my mind as I watched the man I despised push the creature back with a powerful swing that echoed loudly across the clearing, despite all the other sounds of battle trying to drown it out.  I didn’t want him to win.

If the Magnar won and the dead returned to being…well, dead, then it would only reinforce his belief about staying in the valley.  He would claim his victory as an act of the gods, use it to enforce his beliefs and tie the Thenns to their village.  And the dead would continue to come until finally there would be no Thenns left.

The words of the Seer still haunted me, chasing me into my dreams and echoing in my mind during the most mundane tasks.  “They will come and come and come until all are as They. He knows, girl.  This Magnar knows, and this Magnar will never leave the valley.” She had laughed as she said the words that plagued me even now in the middle of a battlefield.  “Turn and walk away, leave the snow to cover our bones until They come to raise us once more. Or, kill the Magnar of the Thenns and save us all.”

I had tried to forget her words, hoping, and praying that they were like Trelawney’s, which were almost always nonsense and to be taken with a heavy amount a skepticism.  But still the words stuck, and even now they played in my mind as I watched the Magnar slowly start to gain footing against the pale creature that had bound the dead to it.

It was in that moment that I knew.  I knew exactly what would happen if the Magnar won, knew that if he were allowed this victory it would doom the Thenns, the people and culture I was slowly learning to love.  And suddenly I knew what I had to do.

I don’t know if I had intended for it to kill him, but I also couldn’t say for certainty that I hadn’t intended for it either.

What I did know was that one moment I was watching the Magnar about to make the final killing swing against the pale being, and the next my wand was pointed at him and I cast a tripping jinx at his back.  I was doubled over on the ground in pain, cursing myself for that final stupid fucking spell as the Magnar lost his footing at the last moment, his axe swinging wide in what otherwise would have concluded with the creature’s decapitation.

Instead of the death blow that should have ended the last of this battle, the Magnar slipped backwards and fell into the hard-packed snow.  The thing didn’t hesitate, taking advantage of the situation to drive its sword deep into the Magnar’s chest, and I was in too much pain to stop it.

The man gurgled something; his words lost in the wind as he tried to grab the blade with both hands to pull it out.  The creature sneered down at him and drove the strange weapon in further, glowing blue eyes flicking up to catch mine, smirking at me as it pulled the ice sword slowly out, stepping around the dying man as if it had already forgotten about its opponent.

It stood there, long white hair blowing in the wind, head slightly tilted, and smiling at me.  Behind him, the Magnar breathed his last choking wet gasp, eyes on mine as he reached out to me, and died.  I don’t think I had ever felt so sick.

The creature was approaching, warriors to either side parting, too afraid to engage while still trying to kill the swarming dead.  Others started to run in any direction that they could.  And I was just kneeling in the snow, hand reaching down to grasp the sword I had dropped, wand limp in the other, as the thing advanced on me.

“Harielle!” Someone was shouting my name, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the creature.

It knew, it knew what I had done.  Oh, Merlin…what had I done?

“Harielle!” The voice shouted louder, right next to me, and suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder, pulling me to my feet as the rest of the survivors started to retreat in a chaotic mess.  It wasn’t coordinated like before, now it was everyone-for-themselves.  The fastest would live to see tomorrow, the slowest would serve as a distraction.  “Harielle! We need to go!” Alfhild was shouting at me, shaking my shoulder as I stood there numb and watched the formation of survivors fully and completely break apart.

She was right, we needed to go.  Severus was still flying back, trying to fight the strong winds and whiteout conditions, trying to get back to me.  The dragons were all aloft, circling in confusion while they tried to continue to protect the group of warriors too injured to move on their own.  Loki continued to strafe the field with fire even though he was too exhausted to do more than kill perhaps one or two of the enemy before he was forced to ascend or be speared.

Solar’s sudden shriek in pain drew my attention and I felt fear clawing at my throat as I watched him fall from the sky.  His wing was pulled tight to his chest as an arrow was lodged in the meat of his shoulder.  He crash landed near the trees, Guinevere diving after in a move not dissimilar to the Wronski Feint.  She landed on top of him, exacerbating his injury in order to burn the dead that were closing in.

“We must retreat, Harielle!”

Solar tried to get up, but even from here I could tell he wouldn’t be able to even use his wing to walk, let alone fly.  He was too big to carry, the largest of the whelps in size – Roan was largest in the sense of being rotund – and there were no more horses.  To retreat would mean to leave him behind.  And I just couldn’t.

I wanted to go to him, try and protect him, or help him in some way…but the thing was between me and the injured dragon.

The creature stopped perhaps only a few meters away, raising his arms to the side as he smirked at me, and the dead we had lost – the warriors that they had killed – all started to twitch.  The Magnar stood slowly from behind the white creature, and when he turned his head to look at me, his eyes glowed blue.  Alfhild gasped in horror as her father twitched and spasmed like the others, before he too was standing.

As I watched that thing raise the dead – the men and women who had died fighting against everything this creature stood for – what I felt in that moment wasn’t fear, or guilt, or even anger.  The only thing I could feel when I looked at that pale monster was disgust.

It broke the natural order of things, the balance of nature, raised those that were meant to stay dead and bound them to itself, forcing them to do its bidding.  Having actually met Death, stood in that place-of-transition, and conversed with a being older than anything I could imagine, my only thought was ‘how dare it’.

How dare it break the balance.  How dare it mock me with its wrongness.  How dare it force me to kill a man in order to save a village!  How dare it pull the poor dead back from the veil and bind them!  How dare it!

I shrugged Alfhild’s grip from my shoulder, dropping the wand to place both hands once more on the hilt of the sword, and I charged the creature on tired and weak legs.  It really wasn’t the best of plans…or much of a plan at all, really.  But it was what I had in the moment where I had nothing left.

Alfhild called after me, shouting something – perhaps my name – but I wasn’t listening.  The thing smiled at me, a mocking tilt of its hard bloodless lips, and brought its own sword up to meet mine.

The blades met in the small space between us, ringing so loudly that it felt as if my ears were about to burst.  The thing smirked, using its larger frame to bear down on mine and I was forced to push myself away before my legs gave out.  Alfhild was still shouting something behind me, the dead swarming closer, and the dragons were barely keeping themselves airborne on exhausted wings, but I didn’t see or hear any of that.  My eyes, still grey along the edges, only saw the creatures glowing blue ones, saw its terrible smirk; my ears only heard the ringing of our blades as they met again and again.

I saw movement out of my peripheral but couldn’t let myself be distracted as I parried a difficult thrust, trying to press close enough to get a killing blow.  But the thing seemed determined to use its superior reach to keep me at arm’s length.  I lost ground with each push it made, my legs shook with each step, and my arms trembled with each block.

I was losing…I was going to lose!

Desperate, I feinted to the left and tried to get my blade in low on the right, but it seemed to know exactly what I had planned.  Not only did it meet my thrust, but it continued its swing and I felt a hard blow slice along my side.  Despite the magical properties of the sea serpent hide, I still felt the sting of the blade and the ice-cold sensation that followed.  Heat cascaded down my waist, flowing over my hip and down my leg and I realized, as if it were an afterthought, that it was my blood that I was feeling.

Fuck me, I really was going to die here, fighting a creature I had no name for, for people who feared me, in a land I didn’t even know or want to be in!

Its face never lost that awful smile, but now I could see something else in its alien expression.  It looked like triumph.  Lips tilted in that awful self-serving smile, smug blue eyes peering down at me as if I was a particular interesting little rodent who had done something curious, and I had never before felt such hate for anything else in my entire life.  Not even Voldemort.

It held its icy blade high, my weak and exhausted arms fought to bring my sword up to block, but I was too slow, the pain in my side too much.  It brought its weapon down and I knew in that instant that this was it, my life was over.  I wondered if I would return to the place-of-transition and get to speak to the facade that was my mother once more, or would I just move on to…wherever it was people moved on too.  My ears were ringing with a high pitch whistle and my vision swam with something white as I waited for it to kill me.

Except the killing blow never came.

The white thing in my vision was attached to the monster’s face, shrieking and clawing at the pale hard skin as the creature tried to pull it off, and then I realized that that was Severus.  Severus had dived straight into it.  Severus had saved me.

The creature grabbed the little dragon with one hand, pulling the struggling reptile from its face, and the shriek of anger turned to pain as it squeezed.  Severus’ head reared back, mouth opening to breathe fire, and the thing dropped its blade to get a hand around Severus’ neck and it started to twist.

Distantly, somewhere deep down, I could feel Severus’ anger, fear, and agony…it gave me just enough strength to fight through my own pain.  My weak hands wrapped around the grip of the sword of Gryffindor, my legs planted for balance, I thrust the tip up and through the gap beneath the creatures chest armor, up and up until it was buried so far into its torso it must have reached its heart.

The thing looked at me, smug and triumphant features now stunned as the weakly struggling dragon slipped through its slack fingers, and it burst into a thousand shards of ice.

I collapsed into the blood covered snow; my sword dropped next to me as my fingers were too numb to keep ahold of it.  Wrapping one hand around my bleeding side, I scrabbled in the snow with the other until I was able to pull Severus’ limp body to me.

His breath was wheezing and labored, but he was breathing.  I would have burst into tears of relief if I hadn’t been so tired.  Instead, I pulled his feebly struggling form into my chest, cradling him close and pressing trembling kisses into his twitching hide.

A hand on my shoulder pulled me from my reverie and I glanced up through loose strands of hair that had come undone from their braids to see Alfhild kneeling next to me.  She was crying, and I couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy, relief, or sorrow…at the moment I couldn’t care.  All that mattered was that we had survived.

I unwrapped the hand around my side, feeling the slick warm blood coating my fingers, and I pulled the young woman into a tight hug.  Severus let out several small noises of complaint, but not any that caused me concern for his health, so I ignored him.  In the distance I could make out Romulus and Loki landing near Guinevere, the red dragon poking at Solar’s wound with his nose.  Solar responded by snapping sharp teeth at the smaller dragon, causing Guinevere to fall over backwards to get away.

“We did it,” she was whispering into my neck, face tucked close as she repeated the words over and over again.  Around us, the rest of the survivors were killing the last few of the dead that didn’t fall when I killed their creator – and that was a thought for another day.

It wasn’t until that moment that I realize that Alfhild must have rallied the last of the warriors.  She had covered my back while I fought the creature, protected me long enough so I could kill the pale thing that commanded them.

“Thank you,” I gasped the words into her hair, raising my bloody hand to rest it on her shoulder, pushing her away so I could meet her eyes with mine.  “Thank you.”

“No,” she shook her head, blood covering nearly one entire side of her face from the cut on her brow.  “Thank you!”

And just like that, the feeling of victory that had slowly been seeping into my tired and exhausted soul was doused like ice, leaving behind only the feeling of guilt.

“Hari,” Severus rumbled, his voice tight and high as he struggled to speak through the pain.  I could feel his worry and I fought to get a hold of my own emotions, but it was too late.  He had already caught onto the coiling and thick sensation of shame and followed it down into the hole of self-disgust and hate.

“Hari, what did you do?”

Chapter Text

“Have you heard anything?” Hermione asked as they shuffled into the great hall after the other students.  Ginny was pressed in close behind them, Luna’s hand clasped tightly in hers.

“Nothing you already haven’t,” Ron replied with a sigh.  “Stop asking ‘Mione,” he hissed as she opened her mouth once more.  “Nobody knows anything.”

The summons had come first thing Saturday morning, announced during breakfast as the students that remained were eating.  It had sat heavily on all of their minds for the rest of the day as dinner ticked slowly and slowly closer.

“Do you think it’s about Hari?” She asked, wringing her hands together as they found their way to the Gryffindor table.  Ginny was pulling Luna down to sit with them even though she belonged in a different house.  House boundaries had been something close to non-existent since that day of the first task.

Many of the students went home after the attack, a little less than half stayed.  Most of the students that stayed were either out of a sense of loyalty, or because their families were unable to make other accommodations during the first few months into the school year.  All of the Weasley’s stayed due to a combination of both.

“I don’t know!” Ron near shouted as he sat down, pulling a cup of pumpkin juice towards himself to give his hands something to do.  Hermione’s mind had been all over the place since breakfast, bouncing back and forth between perfectly reasonable possibilities to absolutely insane ones.  Ron was just as worried, but more than that, he was done listening to Hermione work herself into circles.

His eyes tracked over to the Slytherin table as the rest of the students filed in.  It was completely empty.  Not all of the snakes had gone home…but the few that hadn’t were all younger years that were forced to stay.  Days after the attack, Hufflepuff house had adopted the abandoned snakes into their fold and their table.  For the first time in hundreds of years, not a single student from another house had anything negative to say about it.

The boundaries between houses crumbled apart like wet sand as the students rallied behind each other.  All of the rivalry and animosity between houses melted away as they gathered in the great hall, infirmary, library, and kitchens.  Everything else seemed to just stop as if Hogwarts was in a time vacuum, on a precipice where the students were still waiting for the aftermath of the attack.

Aurors lined the walls, walked the grounds, and wandered the halls.  Their wands were always just a snap of the wrist away, their eyes hard as they scanned the mourning students going about their business, and suspicious of everyone.  It turned the once great school into a silent mausoleum of fear and sorrow.

“I think if it was about Hari, they would have just announced it during breakfast,” Ginny commented idly as the last of the students found their seats.  The entire student population were spread out between the two occupied tables of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.  Even then, there weren’t enough children to fill all the seats.

The large gaps where people used to be kept catching his eyes and Ron found his leg twitching in that uncomfortable way his nerves got before a hard exam.  Everything about this just felt wrong…Hogwarts felt wrong.

“But what if?” Hermione argued and Ron shook his head as he took another drink of his pumpkin juice just to give himself something to do.

“Seriously, ‘Mione,” Ron mumbled in exasperation.  “Let it go, look, there’s Dumbledore now.”

The professors entered from the side door, taking their seats as the headmaster continued on to the podium.  Nobody looked at the single vacant chair next to McGonagall, Snape’s absence an odd mixture of relief, guilt, and fear.  The collected students had already been pretty quiet, as every other meal had been, but once Dumbledore stood in front of them, the silence that fell over them was so quiet, Ron could hear those closest to him breathing.

“Thank you for your patience,” the headmaster began, voice low and tranquil but still those the furthest back in the great hall could hear every word.  “I know these last two weeks have been difficult for all of us.  The Ministry has been working diligently to find those responsible and has provided Hogwarts with security until this situation can be resolved.”

Ron caught Hermione’s eyes across the table, and he found himself reaching for her hands as she was trying to dig her nails into the wood.  She gave him a poor attempt at a smile that looked more of a grimace but squeezed his hands back and returned her attention to the headmaster.

“There will be a memorial service on Wednesday for those we have lost to this terrible tragedy.  All of your families are invited to attend and if you wish to say something during the service, please speak with your head of house by Monday evening.  If you are in Slytherin House, please see Deputy Headmistress McGonagall as she will be acting as your head of house for the time being,” Dumbledore paused as the students began to whisper quietly amongst each other, and he waited until they calmed once more.  Ron found his leg bouncing again and his palms were sweating where Hermione’s were still gripping them.

“Proceeding the memorial, the rest of the week will be left for each of you to grieve how ever you see fit.  Classes will resume the following Monday,” he turned from the podium and made his way around the large table to take his seat for dinner.  The food started to appear on the two occupied tables, and everyone turned to their meals, whispering softly to each other.

“Did he just say classes?” Hermione hissed, her nails digging so deep into Ron’s palms that he winced and had to pull his hands away.  “It’s barely been two weeks!  What about Hari!  What about Professor Snape!”

“Quiet Hermione,” Ginny shushed as the other students started to look at them.  “I didn’t think you would be one to argue about classes.”

“People are dead, Ginny!  And our friend, our best friend is missing!  How can you think about anything else?” Hermione stood suddenly, shaking off the hands of the younger Weasley who was trying to get her to stay in her seat.  “Headmaster!  What about Hari?!  Have you heard anything about Harielle Potter and Professor Snape?!”

Dumbledore looked up from his meal before he stood once more.  “Miss Grainger, I understand your want to find your friend, but the Ministry has assured us that they are handling the situation.”

“How?” She rebutted, and Ron slid further down into his seat as all eyes turned to them.  Next to Hermione, Ginny went suddenly very still and pale.  He tried to catch her eye, but her gaze was fixed on the teachers table.  Ron tried to find what she was looking at, but only saw the empty seat of the potion’s professor, Trelawney distractedly making tea, McGonagall’s severe frown, and Moody sipping hurriedly at his flask.  Whatever it was that caught her attention, Ron couldn’t see.

“How are they handling it?” She was near shouting now.  “Have you heard anything new?  What’s going on?”

Ron could see the aurors along the walls shifting as Hermione all but screamed her questions.  Two broke away and started to approach the Gryffindor table when Dumbledore waived them back.

“Rest assured, Miss Grainger, when something is found, you and young Mister Weasley there will be the first to know.”

“But Headmaster –”

“That is quite enough, Miss Grainger,” McGonagall’s voice cut her off and Ginny’s urgent pulling hands finally forced Hermione back into her seat.  “Everyone, resume your meal.  As the headmaster has stated, when we know, you will know.”

Hermione was gripping her fork as if she were going to stab someone with it, while everyone else around them continued to eat.  Ron found himself unable to do more than push his own food around, appetite gone.

“Why aren’t they telling us anything?” Hermione whispered, her eyes red and wet as she fought not to cry.  “Why?”

“Quiet,” Ginny hissed, the grip on her own cutlery just as tight.  “Eat your food and keep quiet.”

“Gin?” Ron asked hesitantly, as he caught the slight shakiness in her voice.  “What’s wrong?”

“Not here,” she whispered urgently.  “Just eat quickly, and then meet me in the clock tower at midnight.”

Chapter Text

“Move your feet,” Severus rebuked softly from his perch on the small god totem.  He was leaning far forward and if I didn’t know his balance was impeccable, I would have worried he would have fallen right off.  “Keeping still makes you an easy target.”

I huffed at him in annoyance but did as he asked.  The stick I held was of length with the sword of Gryffindor, but the weight of it was all wrong.  I wanted to practice with the real weapon, but Severus was quick to criticize my form, muscles, height, balance, and gave me every reason under the sun why it was ill advised for me to learn by using a sharp blade.  I think he was more worried about me damaging a priceless artifact than maiming myself, but I didn’t press the issue. 

It probably was less dangerous for me to learn with something I couldn’t accidentally kill myself with.

So, I was stuck with a slightly curved stick that chafed my palms as he guided me through one series of movements to another.  “Pivot.  On your back foot, idiot!” He barked out and I was barely able to hold back the snide comment that wanted to burst forth.  At least he wasn’t treating me any differently.

It had been nearly half a moon’s turn since the ‘Battle of Weeping Lake’ as the others were calling it.  Since then, nearly every moment I spent out in public in the village reminded me of being eleven years old and walking into Diagon Alley for the first time.  I remembered the Leaky Cauldron, the crowd of people that had pressed close when Hagrid announced my presence, hands grabbing at mine to shake, and awed expressions on everyone’s faces.

The Thenns were nothing like the witches and wizards of the magical realm, they didn’t care if you were born from a pure house or how rich your father was.  Everything you owned, the respect granted to you, the rights, and privileges you had, were all earned.  And it appeared that killing three of these ‘White Walkers’ by oneself, and killing another with assistance, earned you quite a lot.  While I had earned these looks of awe, it didn’t mean I liked them any more.

I really could do with a lot less staring as well.

The request to have my own cabin built was also very flattering.  A pity I couldn’t take them up on the offer.  There really was no point in having them build me something that we were just going to abandon once the valley was evacuated.  Now if only they could get on with choosing a new Magnar so everyone could start preparing to leave.

“How long does it even take to choose a new Magnar?” I asked through protesting lungs as I turned and began the next set of movements carefully, ignoring the painful pull at my side.

Severus flicked his tail dismissively as I glanced at him.  “It’s their gods that decide, it could take years for all we know.”

“Merlin,” I groaned at the thought as I brought my fake sword down and pressed the tip into the hard-packed snow to use it to lean my tired weight on.  “We don’t have time for them to wait around.”

“Why don’t you go and tell them just that,” Severus replied testily, his tone biting as he hunkered down on the horrific statue to lounge on the head of what looked like some sort of cat god eating an infant.  These people really did have some of the strangest beliefs.  “I’m certain that interfering with an incredibly important ritual will in no way impact you negatively.  Come, I will accompany you.  Watching you blunder your way through another cultural mishap has become my favorite form of entertainment as of late.”

I threw the stick at him, the long piece of wood swinging wide and over his prone form to tangle in the thorny bush behind him.  “Bring up the pheasant incident one more time,” I hissed, swiping the sweat from my forehead, and grimacing at the charcoal that now stained the back of my hand.  I had forgotten about that.

Having done the impossible and slaying the unkillable had somehow granted me the title of Njorn Vetravins and Kondrepi Dauthans.  My Old Tongue was still far from perfect, but I was certain it translated into something along the lines of Witch of Winter and Bringer of Death, or maybe Blight of Death…Death’s Champion?  I knew it was something along those lines, but it was hard to tell when I still was learning the language, and even more difficult when none of my teachers spoke even a single word in English.

Earning titles such as the ones bestowed upon me were a great honor – according to Loboda at least – and it would have won me quite an impressive design of ritualistic scarring if I had been born Thenn.  As I was still technically an outsider, instead I was rewarded with a party that lasted three days and three nights – to represent the three White Walkers that were slain during battle – with copious amounts of alcohol, food, and dancing.  I was also granted the designs of the scars, without the permanence of having them carved into my face with a fiery hot blade.

Loboda had pressed me to my knees before the Seer as she reached into the soot and ash.  With her blackened fingernails she decorated my face and the Thenns cheered.  I really had been honored that they still bestowed upon me the ritualistic markings, and even further humbled when Loboda explained what each one meant.

A small crescent moon on its back – perhaps the size of a button – lay in the center of my brow, representing magic.  A tear shaped dot hung suspended just above the moon – between the two points of the crescent – for sacrifice.

The moon was cradled beneath by a delicately curved two-pronged torch.  The center line was thick where it connected to the top, dragging halfway down my nose in a sharp tapering point, meant for one who has conquered winter.  Loboda later explained that the torch was usually for people who had done something remarkable during winter that had somehow saved or benefited the clan in a way that was greatly looked upon.  And though it wasn’t technically winter, an exception was made as we were battling death and those that bring winter and the storm.  Evidently, that was close enough.

Very few faces held the torch, even fewer still the crescent moon.

So far, I had only seen perhaps four or five people who bore the moon, one of which was Elder Ake who was the Keeper of Magic.  But none had actually been able to wield magic the way that I was able too.  Supposedly, the others that bore the mark were something called a warg, though what a warg was had not been explained to me.  I kept meaning to ask, but with the excitement of everything else, I only remembered about it when I was alone.

I made a mental note to ask Loboda the next I saw him.  But I also had already accepted the fact that I would most likely forget once more.

A single thin line started on the edge of my right cheek bone beneath the temple and ended directly centered under my right eye for strength.  Another shorter line started slightly below the first and inset further on my cheek.  It was of the same thinness where the top line began and thickened the closer it got to my eye.  Just before it reached the end of the top line, it folded back upon itself, sweeping in a curve beneath itself and tapering off into a sharp point before it was even a quarter of the length.  It looked similar to the sharp hook on the fishing knives I had seen the Thenn use and it represented bravery against insurmountable odds.

Three dots were decorated just above each brow, aligned slightly more towards the inside than they were centered.  Another three lay under my left eye near the outer edge – no larger than the head of a pin – totaling nine for each dragon that fought against the dead.  I learned later that Gemini had killed a small handful before the blizzard forced his abrupt and violent landing. 

Ophelia’s part in defeating the dead, on the other hand, could be heavily debated.  She did kill one of the cold ones – as the dragons called them – when the village had been attacked, but she didn’t go out of her way to do it.  The small fact that this once person was directly in front of Loboda’s cabin may have attributed to its demise as Ophelia had now claimed it as her nest, but that didn’t change the fact that she set it on fire the moment it got near the front door.

It also didn’t escape anyone’s notice that she then stayed in the cabin and refused to come out to assist with the other dead soldiers that were attacking.  Luckily, the fire that Severus and I had created didn’t burn out and the Thenns were able to make use of it to light their arrows and spears.  It took little effort after that to end the rest of the paltry force.

The White Walkers must have been more interested in the Thenn warriors than in the rest of the villagers, as the bulk of their forces were by the Weeping Lake.  Only a few of their soldiers were sent to kill the citizens who thought themselves safe behind their walls, and all were handled by those left behind to secure the village.

There had been deaths, but thankfully not many.  Most of the bodies had been cleared away by the time we had made it back, but those that weren’t still haunted me, following me into my dreams as their insides stained the snow and their blank eyes stared up at me.  Once Hera, Roan, and Gemini had made it back to the village, most of the dead had returned to their state of actually being dead.  Those that weren’t, were swiftly taken care of by the two conscious dragons.

Later that night in the privacy of the cabin – after I had made a small request – Loboda added another four going straight up from the tear shaped dot for the dragons that were lost.  Neve, Freya, Selene, and the other Gemini twin still sat heavy in my heart.  If I closed my eyes tightly enough, I could almost feel Neve pressing against my side for cuddles, cooing softly in their way for neck scritches.  I could almost see Freya’s disapproving continence as she broke apart another fight.  I could almost hear the twins warbling in mischief as they successfully stole food from the unwary.  If I closed my eyes tightly enough, I could almost convince myself that Selene was still alive, out there somewhere, just lost and trying to find her way home.

I tried not to think to heavily upon it.  Those thoughts brought no more happiness, their memories too painful to look upon.  Maybe one day I could think back upon them and remember all the good and joy had brought me, but for now, when I brought them to mind, all I could remember was the way the one twin had been happily trailing behind one moment and then gone the next.

I remembered the way Freya had crashed into the water, red liquid pouring from her as I tried to pull her away from danger, and the way her hide felt as my hands slipped upon the icy cold water and hot blood.  I remembered the way that Neve had flown directly at the serpent when it breached, distracting it away from the prone dragons on the ground, and not being fast enough to save himself.  I remembered the way I had done nothing but sat, day after day, on that ice shelf looking for Selene but knowing she was never coming back.

They were gone, and but for a few scales and teeth they had shed, there was nothing left but their memory.  So Loboda placed four tiny dots above the tear of sorrow so they would never be forgotten.

The final line was as thick as my pinky and touched the bottom of my lower lip, dragging straight down to end after it curved beneath my chin.  This represented successful leadership during battle.  Many Thenns had a version of this, even Loboda himself from his younger years.  Sometimes it branched into two or three lines similar to a triangle, but what there meaning was exactly had not been explained fully.  And in the aftermath of the battle – and what I had done – I didn’t think nor want to ask.

I didn’t believe I deserved this line, the one of leadership, but when I tried to explain it to Loboda or Alfhild, they only chided me for my modesty.  There was no way to explain how I felt this deep swell of guilt that threatened to submerge me in an ocean of self-hate every time Loboda placed that mark because it was I who had caused the death of their last leader.  To speak it would only doom myself, and more importantly the whelps.

It was for them I kept my silence, afraid that the village would cast us out, or try to kill me for what I had done.  And I knew that if it came to that, the whelps would fight for me, as I have for them.  They would fight and many would die.  We could probably win, if I had my magic and the dragons their strength, but we would have to kill all the Thenns to do it, and that was not something I was ever willing to do.

So, I kept quiet and hid my guilt every morning as Loboda placed that last line upon my face.

The patterns were not fully symmetrical, which was an oddity that I had noticed that the Thenns didn’t usually have.  When I had asked about it, Alfhild I told me it was because I was an outsider.  Their marks – their scars – were for their gods, not for mortal men.  And when they died, those marks would determine which god’s domain they would spend the rest of their eternity in, which hall they would feast in, which remembered battle they would fight in, which table they would sit at, and the warriors that would sit with them.  The gods also apparently loved things in symmetry.

I was an outsider, and though I fought with the Thenns, lived with them, feasted with them, and trained with them…I wasn’t a Thenn.  When I died, it would not be their god’s domain I would inhabit, I wouldn’t feast in their halls, nor take place in any remembered battle.  My patterns weren’t symmetrical as a reminder that what awaited me in my death, was not for their gods to decide.  I didn’t know how I felt about that – not really believing in their gods in the first place – so I tried not to think on it at all, and let the Thenns decorate my face with my non-symmetrical pattern.  It was pretty, either way.

Unfortunately, I was still recovering from overtaxing my magic and expressly forbidden to use even a simple heating charm until fully recuperated, I was now required to wake early so Loboda could take the small sharpened stick the size of a needle and use it to decorate my face.  As I had earned the markings, I was now obligated to wear them.  Which meant that I had to sit on the floor near the firepit morning after morning before we ‘broke our fast’ – as Loboda called it – and endure nearly an hour of face decorating and hair braiding.

It felt like that one single time Lavender convinced me to let her dress me up ‘all pretty’ for our annual Halloween Ball back in our third year.  A mistake that I swore to never let happen again.  Lavender was terrifying when given the opportunity to give someone a makeover.  I had had nightmares for weeks after.

Once my magic recovered and I could use it to braid my hair and decorate my face, all the frustrations in the morning ritual would cease.  Perhaps Severus would know a spell for something a little more permanent than ash and charcoal though…I was getting extremely frustrated with how often I had to repair it.  I really couldn’t wait until my core was healed.

“You will have to return to the cabin before they allow you into the hall,” Severus remarked snippily, and I groaned once more before flopping backwards into the hard-packed snow.  “Our gracious host would be scandalized to see your face so bare.  Just think upon his expression once he sees you, once he realizes that others have seen you so…naked,” he mocked condescendingly, his tone taking one I was very familiar with and brought me back to those many lessons in his classroom.

“It’s hardly considered being naked, Sev,” I sighed, raising my hand to throw him a rude gesture that none but us understood before flopping my arms to the sides and rolling my shoulders to release the tension.

“No, I suppose not,” he conceded, ignoring my poor attempt at an insult.  Honestly, my hands were so tired I would not have been surprised if I had failed to even do that accurately.  “As walking around the village actually naked would be less frowned upon.”  I snorted at his words but didn’t argue against them.

He was right, after all.  Thenns did not care much about nudity, with their group bathing and tightly packed living arrangements, but to have someone walk around with a bare face after their Seer had granted them the highest honor of marks was unheard of…especially since I was the first outsider in several decades to be granted as such.  To walk around bare faced was tantamount to me running around the village and yelling ‘fuck you!’ to their gods.  “Perhaps you could use the opportunity to take a nap?” He continued after a moment; his tone almost hesitant if I didn’t know any better.

“I don’t want to take a nap!” I bit out harshly as I used the snow to wash the blackened soot from my hand.

The sigh that he made sounded too big for his tiny body, and I heard his wings snapping in the air before he landed roughly on my stomach.  I still grunted at the impact – though it was hardly painful – and curled my fingers around his still tender chest to shift him off of my healing side.  It was slower to heal – with my magic responding sluggishly at best – but it was still healing faster than Alfhild’s arm.  The constant hollow feeling in my chest as my magic recuperated however, hurt much more.

Severus had told me repeatedly how lucky I was to still have magic.  The thought that I could have damaged my core so severely that I would never be able to cast a spell again had left me in a dazed sort of fugue state for days.  It was only after he had reassured me that since my wound was healing too quickly for a muggle, did I finally snap out of it.  I couldn’t bare the thought of ever being apart from my magic.  It was the only thing that saved me when I was younger, the only thing that I had that was able to pull me from my mundane and horrific life at the Dursley’s.  I didn’t know what I would have done without it.

Moving my fingers carefully around Severus’ still healing ribs, I started to scratch my nails down his soft hide.  He purred every time I did that but would always deny he ever made such an uncouth sound.  I wondered how he didn’t notice with just how loud he was purring.  Honestly, his tiny little body was rumbling with the noise.

“Rest will do you some good,” he replied with a gentle hum as he shifted his wings and flexed his neck to guide my fingers into the best spots.  “Then maybe your footwork would not be so atrocious.”

Grinding the back of my head into the snow, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  “I’m not tired,” I expelled the words with a large huff.  It was a lie and we both knew it.  I hadn’t slept well since the night of the battle.  Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the Magnar looking at me in horror as he bled out on the snow, the White Walker smiling at me, mocking me for what I had done.

I didn’t sleep much anymore.

Severus grunted but didn’t argue further.  He had admonished me after what I had told him I had done, but he had also agreed with my impulsive action.  The only way to save the Thenns was to eliminate their leader, and the only way to do that and get away with it, was to make it look like an accident.  Severus had curled around my neck as he whispered, ‘how very Slytherin of you’ and I fought not to weep at the words.

He didn’t mean for them to hurt, but they cut deep all the same.

After that one discussion, he never brought it up again, but I couldn’t help but catch those tiny little side-eyed looks he would give me every now and then.  I didn’t know if he was judging me and my actions or reevaluating my character.  Truthfully, I didn’t want to know, so I never asked.

“It might be in your best interest to still try,” he admonished.  I felt my heart ache and heat in my eyes as I fought not to cry in frustration.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sleep, but I simply couldn’t.  Before I could come up with a suitable reply, a large scaled nose was suddenly hovering over my face and I went cross eyed trying to make it out.

“Fake hunt game toss!” Solar bellowed loudly and my nose scrunched at his awful breath.  I really needed to figure out a better way to brush their teeth than with a breath freshening spell.  Only Guinevere actually seemed to enjoy the minty aftertaste.  “Fake hunt game toss!” He insisted and I groaned in annoyance.

“No,” I replied, pushing his nose from mine before curling my arm around his neck and pulling until he complied and laid down next to me, his cheek against my temple.  He was still healing from the arrow wound and had been absolutely miserable in his grounding.

Honestly, Solar was worse than a child, screeching up a storm every time his siblings left to hunt and crooning mournfully until they returned.  He had taken to tearing apart anything he could sink his teeth into in retaliation.  The furniture and furs at the cabin had suffered heavy losses.  Loboda had threatened to skin Solar if I didn’t get a hold of his behavior, and had decided to use my recovery time trying to teach dragons how to play quidditch…well, a heavily adapted form of quidditch, that is.

It became apparent after the first lesson just how out of my depth I was.  It only took a few minutes to give up trying to call it quidditch whatsoever.  Instead, we settled for something easier and in that the name fake-hunt-game-toss was born.  Not my finest moment, if I was being honest.  After that, one problem after another seemed to be cropping up everywhere I turned.

With Ophelia permanently grounded and Solar temporarily – I didn’t want to leave any dragon out – so I was forced to find a way to incorporate a non-flying aspect to the game.  With Aslaug and Canute’s help, we were able to stitch together thick bits of leather stuffed heavily with rocks for weight and dried plant bits for cushion.  And then I assigned positions.

There were three whelps in the flying positions for each team, one to retrieve the ball and score, and two to protect.  The fourth and final position was that of the goalkeeper, which was also the only position that didn’t allow for flying.  Five arches had been meticulously weaved together from young tree branches for the goals.  They were staked into the ground close together on either side of the ‘pitch’ – it really was just an open field in the upper valley but it worked well enough – and the goalkeeper was responsible with keeping the ball away from the arches.

The whelps didn’t really understand the whole point system, but they understood that every time the ball entered one of their weaved arches, they were losing.  And I found out the hard way that dragons, well…dragons were sore losers.

I regretted introducing the game to the bored dragons simply for the fights it caused alone.  But it did keep them entertained and away from the village.  It also tired them out enough to keep them from causing mischief.  Then there was the added bonus of finding a fun way to include the two grounded dragons with the others.

For a long while now, I had felt Ophelia’s slowly climbing frustration with her disability and was happy that she found the game to be a good outlet for her aggression and a way to bond with her siblings.  She was also completely ruthless as a goalkeeper and had tried to savage Roan’s wing when he flew too close in attempt to score.

There was another problem of trying to make the dragons understand the difference between play fighting and a real threat.  It became apparent quite quickly that Loki took it as a personal challenge anytime the ball was taken from him, and although Romulus, Hera, and Guinevere all had the same tail spike, only Loki was prone to use his to his advantage in ways that I thought were entirely too excessive for a fun recreational game.  There was also the small dilemma of trying to get him to remember which dragons were on his side and which weren’t.

The bronze either didn’t understand the concept of teams or he couldn’t be bothered to care.  Whenever he claimed the ball in his possession, it was anyone’s guess on which side of the pitch he would take it.  I was thinking about using brightly colored paints to distinguish the two separate teams, but it was a project for another day…a day in which I had the use of my magic once more in order to actually make the brightly colored paints.

Now if only I could find a way to keep Loki from cheating.

“Fake hunt game toss,” Solar crooned dejectedly next to my ear, puffing out a hot breath that gave me goosebumps.

“No, Solar,” I replied with a sigh.  “Ball is broke, I need to fix.”

That was the other major issue with the game.  The ball was too easily torn apart when the dragons fought over it.  Another matter that I couldn’t fix without magic.  Solar made a little mournful sound before he settled himself fully into the snow.  He curled his good wing around me, and I lifted my head to rest it on the elbow joint as his tail flicked up and flopped heavily onto my legs.

Severus snorted in annoyance as I shifted to get comfortable, but he didn’t protest Solar’s need for a good cuddle.  The white dragon had been getting better at recognizing his little bouts of possessive fury that would come over him and he really did try hard to not let it force him into action.  Severus wasn’t perfect at it, and Guinevere’s nose was still healing from the harsh bite he had given her when she had tried to climb on top of me the other day during bathing time, but he was getting better.

We laid in the snow for several long moments, one hand under Solar’s neck and curling up to scratch along his horns, the other gently tickling down Severus’ side as I finally found the peace that I had been missing since that moment where I had decided that the cost of the Magnar’s life was fair trade for the lives of the other Thenns.  I had almost been lolled into the nap that I had been arguing against just minutes earlier when the air was disturbed by more wings and snow was kicked up into my face as Hera and Romulus landed nearly on top of us.

Coughing at the snow that I had accidentally inhaled, I brushed the rest from my face and torso with annoyance as I sat up and glared at the two brown dragons.  Romulus had the decency to duck his head in apology, but Hera only blinked at me before she started to nudge at Solar until the larger grey dragon got up and snapped lazily in her direction.

I was contemplating lying back down when Romulus’ hard nose pressed into my shoulder as he tried to wiggle it under my arm.  Curious at his actions, I lifted my arm, only to have him shove his head into my ribs and try to manhandle me into standing.  “Stop, Romulus, stop,” I laughed as he instead pushed me over onto my side and I winced as my still healing wound impacted with the ground.  Severus grumbled angrily as he had to fly to safety or risk being crushed under me.  “What are you doing?”

Romulus’ nose was now trying to borrow between myself and the snow, lifting at me in a poor attempt to get me to stand.  “Bath!” Hera shrieked loudly, nearly deafening me as her call echoed in the valley.  “Bath!  Bath day, yes?  Bath day!”

She chirped the word for yes over and over, less like a question and more like a demand as I finally pushed Romulus’ aggressive nose aside and stood to avoid him aggravating my wound further.  “No, tomorrow,” I replied, brushing the loose snow from my pants.  “Not today, next sun.”

“Bath!” She wailed flicking her tail agitatedly as Solar and Romulus both took up the cry.  In the distance, I could hear the other dragons replying.  Some of the calls came from the direction of the village and I worried briefly about what mischief they could be causing without me there to supervise.  “Bath!” She demanded again with the other two males chorusing her shrieking.

“Alright!” I shouted to be heard over their wailing.  “Alright,” softer this time once they had settled down.  “Bath.”

They roared in triumph, Hera taking to the sky and flying straight to the village while I collected our things and started to follow on foot.  Romulus toddled along next to Solar and I smiled with how gentle the brown dragon was with the unruly grey.  He really was the sweetest out of them all, huddling close so Solar could use him as support when his aching shoulder tired.  He reminded me of Freya, and I shook my head to rid myself of the memory.  I had finally felt peace for the first time in weeks, and I wasn’t going to let melancholy get the better of me.

Severus’ light weight settled on my shoulder just as I reached the tree line and hunkered down close, tail around my bicep, left wing behind my neck and curling into my collar, right gripping the loose black fabric at my shoulder.  It was his normal position that allowed him the best balance if I had to suddenly change course or speed and it startled me briefly when I realized just how instinctual the action was now.  He would land on my shoulder, I’d tilt my head and steady my arm as he settled, and then continued on without a thought.

It was odd, never in a million years did I think I would be this comfortable with the Head of Slytherin House.

“You know you do not have to cater to their every whim?” He asked, voice pitched high in that way of his when he was particularly annoyed with something.  “In fact, it might behoove you to deny them every once and a while.  I have heard it is a great way to build character.”

“Heard from who?” I asked, ignoring his automatic correction of whom, and continued on as if he wasn’t still trying to correct my atrocious grammar.  Really, it was lost cause and he should have given up long ago.  “Did you read that in Witch Weekly, or one of those parenting guides on raising dragon babies?”

“Your sarcasm is something to be pitied, truly,” he replied with a snort, shaking his body as if to rid himself of our conversation.  “Very well, have it your way then.  Spoil them until they are too big to discipline, but do not come crying to me when they start terrorizing people and eating their way across the country side because you don’t have the capacity to tell them no.”

“I’m not their mother, Sev,” I sighed, trying to hide the little smile pulling at the corners of my lips.  The once man really did have a penchant for drama.  How had I never realized that before?  Really, our first meeting was truly theatrical.  “The best I can do is hope to guide them in the right direction and be here for them when they need me to be.  Like an older sister who's gone off to college to get learnt and pretends to be worldly educated while knowing what the fuck she’s doing.”

Severus let out a chuffing noise that was almost bordering a laugh, but he didn’t try and refute my argument.

Once we returned to the village, I flipped up my hood to hide my bare face and hurried quickly to Loboda’s cabin.  Exchanging the sword practicing supplies with the bathing ones, I jogged to the long hall, trying to reach it before the huddled dragons caused too much of a distraction.  This was, of course, a complete failure as all eight of them were perched in front of the open doors, blocking foot traffic from entering or leaving entirely.

With a few words of apology, I ushered them inside and down the tunnel to the bathing chamber.  It was occupied, but not for long.  Before I had even fully stripped, the few people that had been in the process of bathing had all but shoved each other out of the way to get dressed and leave.  I gave them a quick glance of apology but didn’t comment on their behavior.  To be honest, I sort of understood it.  The whelps were unruly at the best of times, and they loved to create utter chaos during bath time.

It took me until nightfall to get them all scrubbed, dried, and fed.  Afterwards, I sat on the floor of the cabin, back against the wall nearest to the fire pit as the slumbering dragons covered nearly every centimeter of floor space.  The discarded towels were in a damp pile to my side, Severus sound asleep in my lap, and I found myself nodding off.

They had begged for a story as I dried their scales thoroughly.  I didn’t think that they could get sick from the cold like a person could, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  Guinevere wanted the story of the death snake, because of course she did.  It was her favorite.  Romulus requested the one with the game puzzles.  Roan asked for any story that had adventure, whilst Hera and Gemini wanted the escape from death bringers.  Loki and Ophelia had no opinion whatsoever.  Solar wanted the one about their mother.

“Brood mother!” He had insisted, and after a long moment, the other dragons took up his call and I settled in to tell the story about their brave mother protecting her nest of eggs, the evil humans who chained her, and the golden egg I was tasked with retrieving.  I never told the story the same twice, my feelings shifting with each retelling, but it always ended the same.  Their mother died protecting her unhatched eggs and sacrificing her life and her body to see them safe.

After that one story, they begged another, and then another until the cabin was filled with their soft breathing and occasional snores.  Loboda found us like that a while later.  I awoke to the cold winds whipping through the cabin as he slammed the door tightly shut behind him.  Another storm must have rolled in during my sleep.

He blinked at the sight, standing awkwardly by the entryway with one hand holding a bowl as he tried to figure out how best to proceed.  Now that I thought about it, this was probably the first time I had all nine dragons in his home all at once.

“Do you want me to move them?” I asked softly, switching to the Old Tongue.  My mouth started the words off lazily, improving by the time I got to the end of the question.  I hadn’t used it all day since before breakfast, and the more delicate pronunciation of my mother tongue always threw me when I switched to the more guttural language the Thenns spoke.

“No,” he replied, keeping his tone low so as not to wake them.  “This is for you,” he gestured to the bowl and started to make his way towards me by shifting carefully around the perimeter of the cabin.  Once he was close enough, he pressed the bowl into my hands and took a seat near me, copying my pose as he leaned his back against the wall.  “You missed dinner.”

“Sorry,” I replied, shoveling a spoonful of rich stew into my mouth.  I hadn’t realized I was hungry until that very moment.  The meat inside tasted different, tougher, and I wondered if it was from some sort of animal I hadn’t eaten before.  “I was very busy.”

“I heard,” Loboda snorted in amusement, nodding his head towards the heap of still wet towels on my other side.

I winced as I realized the water damage I was probably causing to his floors.  “I’ll clean that up.”

Loboda just shook his head in amusement before he stood and stepped over me to gather the towels.  “No, I’ll do it.  You eat, then rest.  We have an early day tomorrow.”

“Huh?” I asked, spoon between my lips as I chewed quickly.  I was scooping the food into my mouth faster than I could swallow it, and it was starting to drip down my chin.  Thank Merlin Severus was still asleep.  He would have given me hell if he had seen my atrocious manners.

“The Magnar has been chosen,” he replied as he made his way carefully over and around the slumbering dragons.  “Tomorrow, at dawn, the Seer will declare the Gods will, and the new Magnar will ascend.”

“Oh,” I replied as he gave me one more glance and left to take care of the towels.  I put the half full bowl down and stared into the flames, suddenly no longer hungry.  Loboda returned a while later, frowned down at both me and the stew, but didn’t say anything.  Instead, he climbed into his bedding and fell promptly to sleep.  I copied him, picking my way through the dragons and shoving Roan from his position on my bed.  Placing Severus on my pillow, I pulled the blankets up over my ear and closed my eyes.

It took me much longer to fall asleep, and it felt like I had just reached full unconsciousness when Loboda woke me roughly by shaking my shoulder.  I sat up slowly, feeling the tired pull of my overworked muscles from all the sword training, the skin tight around my still healing side, and forced myself from the warm blankets.  Most of the dragons were already gone, early to rise to the hunt.  Loboda must have let them out.

With minimal fussing, I allowed him to sit me down by the low burning fire pit, braid my hair and decorate my face, and then I scooped the still slumbering Severus into my arms and followed him outside.  The sun hadn’t yet risen and was probably still more than an hour away from doing so.  Grumbling in annoyed exhaustion, I trailed after Loboda in the predawn darkness, blinking at the brightness of the torches as we wound our way passed the many buildings.

The walk was short, as Loboda was an esteemed elder and had the honor of occupying a cabin near the center of the village.  I honestly could have done with a walk that was a little longer though, seeing as I still wasn’t fully cognizant by the time Loboda guided me to a table and had me sit.  Severus growled at me as I placed him on the wooden surface but ceased his mumblings when a servant came out soon after with leftovers from the previous night.

I was nearly finished with my stew before I realized that I sat alone.  Twisting to look around, I found Loboda seated with several others at the high table beneath the Magnar’s raised dais.  Pressing my hand into the warm wood, I was halfway to standing when the older man frowned at me and shook his head.  Blinking in confusion, I retook my seat.

It appeared that this was going to be a formal event…well, as formal as primitive people could get.  But either way, as an elder, Loboda’s seating appeared to be assigned.  Huffing in annoyance, I grabbed my bowl to finish my stew when I discovered it empty and suspiciously clean like it had been washed…or licked.

“Seriously?” I groaned, turning to the little white dragon still perched on the ancient and scarred wood.  He was licking his muzzle in a decidedly guilty way.  “I could have ordered you your own.”  Severus did not deign to reply, and I set the bowl back onto the table with a disgusted look and wiped my suspiciously wet fingers onto my trousers.  “Are you even supposed to be eating vegetables?”

He didn’t reply to that either.

“Harielle!” A high cheerful voice cried out and I turned back towards the entryway doors to see Aslaug running down the inner aisle, dragging Alfhild behind her.  Truly, those two girls were a blessing.  They were some of the only people that hadn’t treated me any different after the battle.  Most looked at me like I was the second coming of Merlin…others as if they were trying to think around the logistics of how to lure me into a pyre.  “You got here early!”

“Yes,” I replied with a little laugh as the girl all but flung herself into the seat next to me, yanking a hardly resisting Alfhild down next to her.  Her arm pressed into mine when she was getting settled, and then she left it there after.  I smiled at her softly, both charmed and amused at her actions.  “Loboda forced me to wake.”

“That is good,” Alfhild sounded tired, her tone barely invested in the conversation as she flagged down another servant.  “Elder Loboda is wise.  Soon, there will be no room at all.”

“Truly?” I blinked, glancing around at all the open tables.  Ours was the only one occupied – aside from the high table for the elders – and all eighteen tables were large enough to seat at least forty.  I had never seen the hall completely full, even though I knew that there were perhaps a few thousand Thenn, maybe even close to ten thousand.  Most ate within the confines of their home, and those that didn’t, ate when they were hungry.  Thenns weren’t very particular on scheduling.

“Aye,” Aslaug replied just as a bowl was set before her and another in front of her sister.  Severus creeped closer, bobbing his head and swaying his tail in a suspicious manner that usually meant he was up to no good.  I reached out and swept him up to my chest before he could make an attempt on Aslaug’s breakfast.  She was sweet and kind enough to let him get away with it too.

Severus hissed and spluttered as I flipped him onto his back and trailed my fingers down his chest and stomach, tickling him in the way I knew he hated.  His thumb claws dug harshly into the meat of my palm as he righted himself, snapping his teeth at me before he settled onto my shoulder.  Aslaug’s watery blue eyes were big as they flicked between me and the little dragon.  My brows scrunched as I took in the way she bit her lip and twitched her fingers.  Alfhild was tapping her two-pronged fork on Aslaug’s other side, watching us from the corner of her eye.

“Oh,” I muttered in realization.  “It’s alright,” I told them, placing my hand over Aslaug’s fidgeting one.  “He’s just in a mood.  Too early for him as well.”  Severus hissed a denial in my ear, but I ignored him.  “How many people will be attending?”  I asked to distract the sisters from whatever had caused them unease.  Alfhild must have seen the damage that Severus could do during the battle – despite his small size – and told her sister.  If I didn’t know Severus, I would have been worried too.  But I did know him, and instead I found the girls fears to be misplaced if a little sad to see.

“At least one from every family,” Alfhild replied, nodding her head in my direction before turning back to her food.  Her posture loosened, shoulders rolling as she took another bite.  Aslaug took the silent cue from her sister and she too went back to her stew.  “The hall can seat many of them, but many more will be forced to stand.  If our father had lived, he would be here, and we would not,” the words brought pain to my chest, but Alfhild kept talking as if it were just another fact in her life.  “As I am now head of our family, it is my duty to attend.  Aslaug is nearly of age, so she is here to learn.”

Her eyes were looking straight ahead at a torch and her face stony.  The corner of her eye twitched when she mentioned being the head of her family.  After a second, she shook her braided head and went back to the stew.

“Ah,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.  “How long ago was the last Magnar chosen?”

“Last winter,” Alfhild fluttered her hand as if dismissing the concept of time.

“Right,” I drawled the word, confused.  I could have sworn that Loboda had said that the last Magnar had ruled for ten years and a half.  I didn’t know if he meant ten and a half years, or ten years and half that again to make fifteen.  Not wanting to seem ignorant, I hadn’t questioned him, but I was now regretting that decision.  “And how long ago was that?”

It had to be close to summer now, by my best guess.  Surely it couldn’t have been a year already though…could it?  Though, the days were growing colder now that I thought about it.

“Oh, I forget you are so young,” Alfhild looked at me in surprise, blinking her eyes hurriedly even as they traced over the markings on my skin.  “You wouldn’t have been alive last winter.”  Wait…what?  “That would have been,” she paused and looked up as she moved her lips without speaking.  “Ten and six years, if I remember correctly.”

“Ten and six…” I spoke slowly, as if somehow that would force the words to make more sense.  She couldn’t possibly mean sixteen years ago, could she?

“Yes,” Alfhild nodded slowly, before using her finger to show me the count, believing that my understanding of her language was causing the confusion.  She really did mean sixteen years.  What the fuck?

“Alfhild?” I asked cautiously, suddenly very worried about her answer.  “What season are we in?”

“Oh, we are in the first year of autumn,” Aslaug replied for her as her sister returned to eating.  “Summer lasted for ten years; can you believe that?  Ten!  Father said that a long summer could only mean we could be in for an even longer winter.  I guess he will never know now,” her tone dropped as she recalled the recent death of her father.

“Ten?” I choked on the word, unable to process what I was hearing nor registering Aslaug’s grief.  It was perhaps unkind of me, but I couldn’t pull my mind away from the thought of a ten-year summer.  Just imagining being stuck at the Dursley’s for ten years grounded my thoughts to a halt.

Before I could ask any further questions, our stilted conversation came to an end as the hall started to fill rapidly.  The low buzz of chatter filled the tables and soon the long hall was so packed that I was forced from my seat and instead chose to copy the two sisters in sitting on the table itself while some smaller children took our space.

Thenns weren’t big on propriety and proper decorum either.

Severus’ disgusted grumblings brought a small smile to my lips as I glanced around for familiar faces.  He was muttering quietly into my ear, but he wasn’t speaking loud enough for me to hear him over the idle chatter.  He was probably thinking upon the bombshell that had just been dropped upon us.  A ten-year summer…they couldn’t mean that literally, could they?

The laughter of children drew my attention and I shifted my legs to give them more room.  I knew almost all of the kids, as the dragons were a popular commodity to them.  If I weren’t actively doing something – and sometimes when it was very obvious that I was, in fact, in the middle of doing something – the children would crowd around to bombard me with questions.  If a dragon happened to actually be in the village, then I could get no work done at all.  I was exceedingly popular with the little ones…less so with their parents.

I recognized Elsi, a tiny girl with bright blue eyes and long flowing brown curls.  She was usually the ringleader in all the games and the first to get the courage to approach me to ask if the dragons would eat them.  She was also the first to ask if she could ride one.  The look of utter heartbreak and betrayal when I told her that she could not, almost tore my heart in two.  That girl had a devastating frown.

Haddi, her only slightly younger brother, was a lot less bold but would still follow her everywhere.  A Hufflepuff to her Gryffindor.

Orri was the oldest in the group and had the most interesting genetic hiccup.  One eye was blue while the other was green.  The others told him that meant he was magic, but he found it to be rather troublesome and only caused him annoyance when brought up in conversation.

The boy was too serious for his age, but he had lost both his parents during the last hunt they had gone on.  He was living with another couple that had lost their only child to a cough, but the boy seemed too subdued from the emotional upheaval.  Elsi had taken it upon herself to socialize Orri and keep him participating with the group.  Once, I had even seen him smile.

Then there were the triplets.  Addý, Gía, and Níní were absolute hellions.  Perhaps only four or five, the three girls were like tiny little monsters of destruction.  I pitied their poor mother.

I didn’t see any of the other children I knew but didn’t think much upon it.  It was likely that one parent had decided to stay home with theirs…or they were misbehaving.  There was also the possibility that there was still some sort of class system that the Thenns had that I still wasn’t aware of.  It did seem like some children were allowed more privileges than others, but I hadn’t been able to quite put my finger on exactly what it was.

Glancing around, I straightened my posture and did all I could to see over the crowd without actually standing upon the table.  There had to be over a thousand people packed into the long hall, maybe even closer to two.  Many were seated on the tabletops, others on the benches, and twice that again were standing packed close together.

“Sev, do you see Canute?”  Severus snorted a hot puff of breath in my ear that caused my skin to prickle, but once again he ignored me.  “Never mind,” I grumbled, catching the sight of Canute’s mother, but not the boy himself.  He probably hadn’t been invited either.

I could see the goat woman near one of the standing torches by Canute’s mother.  She was conversing with the same man that patrolled the inner wall where Loboda’s cabin was positioned.  On the other side of the hall, I could just make out the man who attended the horse stables, a boy stood next to him, and I believed he took care of the hunting dogs, but I wasn’t certain.  Along the tables I spotted various villagers I knew in passing, but none I was really close with.  I didn’t get much further in my search of familiar faces before there was a loud banging sound from the back of the hall and everyone became silent.

It was quieter than when Dumbledore had called the names of the Triwizard Champions.

Two elders came to the front of the dais, standing on either side of the empty wooden throne as the old and gnarled Seer exited her tunnel and made her way up the wooden steps.  She was too far away to smell that horrible stench that clung to her, but even still I felt my nose twitch.

In one hand she held that same ritual blade she used to take my blood…the same blade she used to carve into Alfhild’s face.  In the other was a twisted staff, as gnarled, weathered, and old as she.  It was white with red fabric wrapped around where her hand gripped it.  On the very top was a skull.  It looked human, but smaller.  At first, I thought it was the skull of a child, but soon realized that that couldn’t be right.  The cheeks were too high, the eye sockets too big, the teeth too sharp.

The Seer banged the butt of the stick against the wooden platform seven times, and then she turned to the gathered crowd, grinning with her blackened teeth.  “The Gods have been beseeched,” she began, her voice carrying throughout the entire hall despite the fact that she spoke no louder than a whisper.  “And the Gods have answered.  They have chosen the new Magnar of the Thenns!”

There was a loud but short cheer that rumbled through the hall like thunder.  The Seer banged her staff twice and silence dropped over the crowded hall like a vail.  “Styr, step forward!”

I flinched back as if slapped as the man who had caused me so much difficulty ascended the steps with a cruel twist of a smile.  Surely, he couldn’t be the new Magnar?  There was no possible way!  He was couth, uncaring, lewd, and callous…he was an asshole.  Well, so was the last Magnar now that I think about it.  But their gods couldn’t have chosen him.

“The Gods have chosen you to lead the Thenns!” The Seer proclaimed, stamping her staff on the wooden dais with every few words she spoke.  I was wrong, so very wrong.  How could this man, this cruel and awful man, be the next Magnar?  “Do you accept this honor?”

Those around me waited with bated breath for his answer.  “I do,” he replied, and I felt my insides twist at the words.  Severus’ thumb claws were digging into my braided hair, tugging painfully on the strands, but I hardly noticed.

“Will you lead the Thenns to victory in every battle, protect the valley and its people, and kill any enemies that may challenge you?”

“I do.”

“Will you listen to the will of the Gods, swear to fight to uphold their beliefs, and kill those that defy them?”  Her voice rattled and croaked, near breaking with each word as my heart thudded in my chest.

“I do.”

“Will you do your duty as Magnar of the Thenns in this life until your death?”

“I do.”

“Then prostrate yourself before the Gods,” the Seer nodded to the two elders on either side of her as she thrust the knife into the closest torch.  Styr knelt on the wooden steps, holding his arms aloft to either side.  The elders seized his arms, gripping tight as the ritual blade turned red hot and the Seer approached him.

Styr did not scream, or grunt, or make any sort of noise of distress as the Seer carved into his face.  I could smell his flesh burning from two tables away and nearly gagged myself.  My eyes were pinched closed at the sight, nauseous at the very thought of what they were doing, and I nearly bolted from the table to escape the hall.  Only Aslaug’s hand slipping into my surprisingly clammy one stopped me.

“It’s almost over,” she whispered in my ear and I nodded quickly to show that I heard her.  “It’s almost over,” she repeated, and I have never felt more grateful to her than right then as she moved close enough to me as to be nearly hugging.  Her hair was in my face, and all I smelled was that spicy shampoo that the Thenns used, the scent of burning flesh already fading to memory.

“You came before the Gods as a warrior, now arise as a Magnar,” the Seers voice rang out loudly over the quiet and suddenly everyone was cheering so loud that my ears ached with it.

Aslaug nudged me to join and I opened my eyes cautiously, taking in the packed hall and its celebrating people.  The Seer was grinning her black grin, bloody blade in hand.  And there stood the new Magnar with fresh wounds on his face that seemed not to pain him at all.

Styr’s cold blue eyes met mine over the cheering crowd, and his lips twisted into a smile so vicious, I felt a chill crawl down my spine.

Chapter Text

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Loboda said softly, his arm brushing mine as we followed the train of people through the valley.  The snowshoes he had affixed to my boots took some getting used to.  After nearly a week of wearing them, I had become almost used to the odd way I needed to lift my legs and feet in order not to trip.  I held no hope for my ability to run in them though.

“Just a lot on my mind,” I replied, hand flexing on the rope attached to Chudley’s halter.  I really would rather be riding, but that would have been unfair to the small horse.  Chudley was already pulling a sled loaded with all the things I had collected on my journey from the cave, and all of Loboda’s essentials as well.  Casting a quick featherlight did help, but I already had quite a talking too from Alfhild regarding the saddle.

Early in our trip, I had saddled Chudley before attaching the sled – and then reattaching it as apparently I did it wrong the first time – and had planned to ride the beast for the duration of our journey.  Even after explaining that the featherlight charm would keep from taxing the horse, Alfhild’s frown did not fade.  It deepened when I went on about how the charm worked, and then she spent a long while explaining to me about how removing all the weight of the sled could cause problems such as tipping if the horse moved too quickly.

She went on, giving one reason and then another on why I shouldn’t be using my magic on such things – including the fact that I was still recovering – and ending with how it looked to the other villagers who didn’t know what I had done…so here I was, walking.  At least I wasn’t the only one.

The Thenns did not have very many horses, or at least it didn’t seem that way when you compared it to the amount of people.  In reality, they had upwards of perhaps six hundred mounts and aside for the few given to the scouts for use, every single one of them was pulling a sled of some sort.  I had even seen a few teams of sleds, multiple horses tied together to pull heavier equipment…no doubt one of those was the massive tent that Styr had the servants build for him every night.

“Does this have anything to do with the new Magnar?” Loboda asked.  The trees creaked in the light breeze, casting small flurries of loose snow from their limbs to shower over us with every gust.  It wasn’t cold enough for my hood – inlaid as it was with heating and protection charms – but I still had it up, just to stop the snow from melting in my hair.  Maybe that was why so many of the Thenns chose to shave their heads bald…

“A little,” I answered him as honestly as I could without revealing too much.  The truth was that the thought of Styr as the new Magnar was only a blip at the back of my mind.  Styr wasn’t the Magnar that was keeping me awake at night.

Loboda shook the top of his great fur cloak, shaking the loose snow from it as our snowshoes crunched into the new powder.  The cloak his son had gifted me was wrapped tight around the young girl who trailed us.  It had been doubled up, folded along the top, and tied in place…and yet it still trailed in the snow after the girl.  One of her pale hands was on the leather attaching the sled to Chudley’s side, her face turned down as she took careful steps in the loose snow.  Loboda liked her addition to our party even less than I did, but he thankfully said nothing.

Our snowshoes packed down the powder, creaking with every step.  Loboda had assured me that once we left the trees that the teams of sleds would take the lead, pressing down the snow for the rest of us to walk on, and then we could remove the cumbersome attachments to our boots.  He also informed me it would take at least another moon before that would happen.

The valley was much larger than I had thought, but what was genuinely surprising was just how quickly a group of around ten thousand people with animals and sleds could move.  Once the sun hit the treetops, everyone would stop and move to set up their own camp site.  Songs would fill the night air with the smell of cooked meat, drink would flow between one camp and the next, and small fires would shine between the trees.  Before the sky began to even hint at day, the camp would be packed up and the train of Thenns ready to move.

They were an efficient lot; I gave them that.

“Do you want to speak of it?” He asked as groups began to break off for the night and I led Chudley off the main path as Loboda found a small break in the trees and we started to set up our own camp.  The young girl, Ida, looped Chudley’s rope around a low hanging branch and started to check his hooves for small stones.  I left her to it, relieved that though she wasn’t exactly wanted, she was still finding tasks for herself.  It left my chest feeling tight every time she looked at me with eyes pleading for instructions.

I hated telling her what to do, like I was her master…but after a few days, she started to pick up a sort of routine.  First, she would see to Chudley as Loboda and I unloaded the essentials and set up camp.  Then she would assist in other small ways, collecting snow for water or wood for fire.  Once we got settled, she would help with food and after she would clean up.  I stopped trying to help after the first few times.  She was a bit like a house elf in that sort of way.  Trying to assist only seemed to cause her distress, so I would let her take my bowl and only frowned when she couldn’t see.

Loboda grunted a noise at me, and I pulled my eyes away from Ida.  He was still waiting for an answer, and I felt heat along my neck and cheeks when I realized I had forgotten his question.  “Do you want to speak of it?” He asked again.

“No,” I replied quickly, gathering dead branches and rocks to make a fire pit.  Ida had started to collect dried leaves for kindling, and I took them with a small appreciative nod as I set the wood into a pyramid for better airflow just as Loboda had shown me, tucking the dried bits underneath.  “Not really,” I amended after a moment when he continued to stare at me.  “Maybe later.”

The words were an obvious lie, but Loboda only nodded and began to unhitch the sled from the portly horse as I got the fire started.  I was only able to do small spells now, nothing too taxing on my still recovering core.  But even with the ability to cast a simple fire charm, I refused.  Part of me did it the muggle way because I was still hesitant to cast magic with so many eyes watching, the other part found it deeply satisfying to build a fire from my bare hands.  And I was getting quite good at it if I do say so myself.

Breathing gently on the tiny flames, I straightened with a smile as the dried leaves caught fully.  The rocks were placed carefully around the wood, and two large branches were forced deep into the ground on either side with another sturdy branch resting between them above the flames.  Loboda had just hooked the pot full of snow onto it when our little campsite was suddenly invaded.

Alfhild and Aslaug came trudging to our fire, the older girl looking wet and miserable.  Behind them came seven horses with Ragna leading them.  She was an older woman with deep scarring not caused by the Thenns ritual and missing two fingers on her left hand.  She was also Alfhild and Aslaug’s mother.  Before we had left the village, I had seen her perhaps only a few times, as she was always busy with the horses.  It was from Ragna’s own mare that Chudley was born from, and the woman had forgotten more about horses than I could ever hope to learn.

Most Thenns did not own their own horse, though many had preferences.  The majority of the horses were ‘owned’ by the Magnar and taken care of by the hethús.  It was a well-known fact that the best hethús in the village was Ragna.  She had come from a long line of horse breeders and had been stolen from the Nightrunner Clan during a raiding.

Although she was taken to be Ólafur’s wife, she had not seemed unhappy with the man, nor in the children that they had had together.  The culture of the Thenns – and as I was learning, the culture of all Free Folk – was something I didn’t think I would ever get fully used too.

Ragna was so knowledgeable about horses, that the previous Magnar – the one from before my time with the Thenns – had gifted her a dozen horses of her own with the promise that she would stay with their clan and not attempt to escape.  Chudley was perhaps her greatest failure.  She had been trying to breed a great warhorse, as her father had been known to do.  A horse that would be fearless in battle and loyal to their rider.  A horse that would be eager to please and quick to respond.

Instead, she ended up breeding the laziest horse with the heart of a lion.  She had had a hard time training him, and an even harder time trying to get him to respond to any command.  In the end, she decided it would make an appropriate gift for the strange outsider that had saved her husband’s life.  I wasn’t certain if she was actually showing gratitude by giving me a horse to own, as most Thenns never had that honor, or if she was just trying to get rid of a nuisance.  Either way, it didn’t matter, as Chudley was perhaps the best thing to ever be gifted to me.  Aside from Hedwig when I was eleven.

The thought of the snowy white owl still left an ache in my chest, and I missed her something fierce.  But it did no good to dwell on such memories, not when there wasn’t anything I could do for it.  Instead, I forced the melancholy thoughts away by strength of will and the many lessons of occlumency and chose to be here in the moment instead.

Aside from the one gift, I got the impression that Ragna didn’t like me very much.  But she tolerated me and my dragons, so I didn’t press the issue.  The woman didn’t have to like me, she just had to try not to kill me.  A trait I was really beginning to appreciate in others…the whole not trying to kill me thing.

“What happened to you?” I asked Alfhild cautiously as she sat herself close to the fire, wet furs making her look like a waterlogged yeti.  Her brows were furrowed, eyes hard as ice, and lips pressed into a thin line.  She looked ready to take her father’s massive axe that was strapped to her back and cut someone into two with it.

Aslaug smiled slyly as she handed me one of the rabbits hanging from a rope.  I was still learning how to properly set a snare and promised myself to ask Aslaug about it later.  She was clearly better at it than Loboda.  I had only ever seen him catch two rabbits at most in the same day.  Aslaug had four.  I automatically started to skin it as Ragna finished tying the horses loosely to a few trees, giving them enough rope to graze but not enough to wander, and took another of the rabbits before she joined us.

Ida reached for the last dead rabbit cautiously, not looking up from the ground as she took her small blade and began to ready it for cooking.  I tried not to frown at her and had to suppress my anger as she shifted carefully so as not to reopen the wounds on her back.  Without magic, I couldn’t do much for her discomfort, but every night, I would have the brown-haired girl of maybe eight lay on one of my furs and treat her wounds with a salve that Aslaug had smuggled to me.

Severus had been curious about the thick paste, sniffing and flicking his tongue at it as I scooped it up into my fingers.  I had had to promise to ask Aslaug about what was in it to get him to stop poking at me long enough to treat Ida’s wounds.  After Aslaug had broken down the ingredients and how it was made, Severus had scoffed in derision, telling me that he could have done a much better job of it with his cauldron, saying something about stirring directions and flame temperature that I didn’t bother to repeat to the girl.

Instead, I thanked Aslaug for her assistance, and had Loboda show me which plants to gather so Severus could talk me into remaking the poultice into something better.  It was a hassle, but Ida had sighed in relief the next night when I had used the new concoction on her back.  It really wasn’t her fault, what had happened.  She hadn’t known that she was complicit in my attempted murder…but all the same she had been punished quite severely for it.

“One of the yearlings was startled by a warg’s wolf and took off,” Alfhild said with a disgusted grunt, her pale hands shaking slightly as she pried her wet gloves off and started to dry them over the flames.  “Got himself stuck in the river, I had to go in after him.”

Aslaug turned her face and let her unbound hair shield the smile pulling at her lips.  I bit my cheek to keep myself from joining her.  Wargs were still a topic of confusion to me, as my understanding of the Old Tongue didn’t seem to have the proper words for a full description.  The most I was able to glean from Loboda’s explanation, was that it was people possessing some form of passive magic that connected them to an animal…like a witch’s familiar, but not.

Alfhild was struggling with her outer furs, fingers fighting with the rapidly freezing material as she pulled and yanked at it to get it loose enough to slip off.  “Do you want me to help?” I asked, waving my fingers at her and ignoring Ragna’s quiet scoff and not so subtle glare.

“No,” Alfhild replied, shaking her head lightly.  “I will be dry soon enough; the water didn’t penetrate my furs and you are still recovering.”

I smiled at her gratefully, trying not to notice the way Ragna’s lips pinched together and her blue eyes bore into the marks painted upon my face.  I wasn’t certain if she hated my magic, me, or the thought that an outsider was gifted with marks that she had been denied despite the fact that she had been married to a Thenn and bore him two strong Thenn daughters.  Perhaps it was all three.

The pot was boiling by the time we finished with the rabbits and got started on the root vegetables that had been foraged during our journey.  Not long after that, the whelps started to land around us, startling the dozing horses – except for Chudley – and kicking up snow around our nice little campsite.

Ragna sent me another glare as she had to start over with the tent she and her girls shared, and I couldn’t stop myself from glaring back.  “Ignore her,” Aslaug said softly as she spooned the stew into bowls and handed them out.  “She is still grieving and doesn’t know who to be angry with.”

It was understandable, but still annoying to deal with.  Instead of processing her grief, she was trying to lay the blame on someone else.  Aslaug had told me about how their mother had slapped Alfhild hard when she learned of Ólafur’s death, and then struck her again when Alfhild hadn’t done anything to stop her.  Aslaug had to pull a distraught Ragna off of her own daughter as Alfhild refused to fight back.

Once some of the anguish and rage had burned out, Ragna apologized to Alfhild and shifted her blame on to others instead.  I was just in the long line of people that Ragna had casted her anger upon and tried my hardest not to take it personally.  Severus’ tail tightened around my neck and I flipped my hood off to let the cold air wake him.

The small dragon was grumbling something along the lines of my parentage as Canute and his family entered our clearing.  As an Elder of the clan, Loboda was near the front of the train, and I with him as his ward.  Ragna and her daughters somewhere not far behind, but Canute and his family were several miles back near the end of the caravan.  They were always the last into our camp, but they also didn’t have to wake quite as early as the rest of us.  Instead, our part of the camp would be packed up and I would be joining Loboda near the front of the long line of people as Canute got his brothers fed and their parents started to break down their tent.

Canute sent me a small smile as his two younger brothers, Tarr and Vani, ran straight for the fire, chatting excitedly as Ida got clean bowls and began to dish out servings for the family.  Canute’s face was still healing from his new markings, hair shaven and bare head newly carved.  The lines wrapped around the back of his head, across his cheeks, and down his chin.  They looked painful, but he hardly seemed to notice, far too proud to be so young when marked.

Everyone who had been bare faced but still fought in the Battle of the Weeping Lake had received their marks, no matter how young.  I had seen a boy younger than a first year proudly displaying his deeply cut face to the other children and learned later it was because he had killed one of the dead that had attacked the village.  The thought made my stomach twist in a decidedly unpleasant way.

Canute dropped down next to me, sitting so close I could feel the heat of him along my side, and I sent him a smile as Ida placed a bowl in his hands and took the one from mine.  He sent a rakish smile back, the corner of his lips tilting up as he let his eyes flit over my form.  I couldn’t tell if he was checking for injuries, or just checking me out in general.  Either way, I turned to hide my suddenly heated face and forced myself not to shift as Severus came fully awake.

The two had gotten over that disastrous incident in the upper valley that had nearly took Canute’s life, but they still didn’t get along.  Instead, whenever they were in close proximity, boy – man now, really – and dragon pretended the other didn’t exist.

“How far south do you think we will get before the deep snow sets in?” I asked, recalling a conversation I had overheard from another Elder describing snow drifts forty feet deep.  The thought made my stomach drop and hands become clammy.

Canute waved away my concern with one hand while he brought the bowl up to his mouth with the other and started to slurp the thick stew.  “We should be fine,” he said after wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.  “Autumn should last a few more years yet.  Summer was ten, after all.  It’s the autumn storms we need to be worried about, especially if Mance tries to cross the wall by way of the sea.”

There was that name again, Mance.  I had heard him mentioned since the first day when we were leaving the village.  Loboda had even commented about meeting up with him somewhere called the Milkwater or Skirling Pass.

He was a king of some sort, not born but chosen by his people.  He had been collecting other clans together, for longer than I had been alive, trying to get them south of a wall.  The way Canute and the others described this wall sounded almost like the way Hagrid had described Hogwarts to me for the first time.  To me, a girl of eleven, who had never seen a castle, nor been outside of Surrey aside from a few instances, could only imagine towers so tall they touched the clouds, a great hall that would seat thousands, floating candles in every window, and doorways that led to magical lands.

Hogwarts was but a fantasy, a magical castle that surely wasn’t real.  And then I saw it.  Perched at the tip of a little boat, sailing across black waters so dark I could see my reflection, and in the distance, a castle so mighty and grand that all I could think was that this couldn’t be where I was meant to go.  Surely, they got the wrong girl.  This amazing and magical place couldn’t be meant for me.

Canute described the wall as it had been told to him.  Hundreds of feet high, touching the clouds so you couldn’t even see the top.  So thick you could carve for generations but never dig a hole to the other side.  Stretching on forever in either direction, from coast to coast.  During the summer, the wall would weep, and the sun would shine off of it, looking like a thousand tiny tears.

He feared the wall and what it represented, but he was in awe of it too.  All of the Thenns were.  They spoke with a hushed reverence when describing it.  Some of the Thenns even claimed to having had climbed it, raiding the greener lands and weaker people on the other side, but I wasn’t certain if I believed them.  If the wall were as high as they all claimed, then surely it couldn’t be scaled…could it?

“How long do you think this Autumn will last?” I asked, bringing my hand to up to tickle along Severus’ chest, switching to the base of his horns when he bumped my fingers with his head.

Canute shrugged as he finished off the last of his stew.  “Maybe four or five more years, but that is a question for the Seer.”  I didn’t want to ask the Seer, and something of that must have shown on my face as Canute gave me another one of his side smiles with a tilt of his shoulder.  Nobody liked talking to the Seer, and nobody ever liked what they were told either.  At least in that, I wasn’t alone.

“Years,” I said so quietly I really only breathed the word.  How could season last years?  Not even Severus knew, or wanted to speculate.  We already knew that this wasn’t our world, but I hadn’t realized what that had truly meant until recently.  It never occurred to me that basic concepts such as seasons would be altered drastically.  Years…

Canute stood, handed his bowl off to Ida as if having a girl the same age as his brothers serving him was just a simple fact of life, and reached down to pat my shoulder.  His hand paused there as I felt Severus shift, no doubt glaring at the young man, and Canute chose instead to just shake his head, nod to me once, and then trudged off to help his mother set up their tent.

The two boys were now wrestling with each other near the horses and Ragna chased them off when they got too close.  They both eyed the dragons that were lounging around on the snow, mischievous little smiles on their lips as they started to approach one, and I stood immediately when I realized it was Loki.  The bronze would probably not kill them, but he would have definitely maimed the two children if they were going to do what I think they were.

Loki was bigger than both of them, certainly big enough for them to attempt to ride, and I knew that that could only end in disaster.

Severus pulled himself off my shoulder as I approached the two unruly kids and told them firmly to leave the dragons alone.  They slinked off properly chastised to their parents as the tent was finally finished, and I turned to see Severus perch himself on the stick over the firepit that was holding the stew pot, no doubt enjoying the heat.  He was yawning widely, rows of tiny little sharp teeth on display as he shook himself fully awake.

He had taken to dozing off during the day, using my hood to shield his eyes from the bright sun glaring off the white snow.  The pocket of heat he created against the back of my neck was almost too warm, but I refused to complain.  After all, his day sleeping allowed him to keep watch at night, and it was desperately needed.

Twice since the Thenns had finally abandoned their village, someone had attempted to take my life.  Both times during the darkest part of night when everyone was tired from the journey and all but comatose around their campfires and in their tents.  I tried to wait until most everyone else was asleep or too deep into their cups before I set up my tent with a small flick of the wand.  The whelps would crowd inside soon after, climbing over each other to get comfortable and I would send myself another mental memo to ask Severus about increasing the space inside once again as it was really getting too small…when my magic had fully recovered that was.

The first attack came right after I had nodded off on my cot, pressed between the seal furred wall and Gemini’s heat along my back.  The sound of someone gasping woke not only me but the other dragons.  The man that stood at the entrance had been stunned by what I assumed was either the size of the inside of the tent compared to the outside, or by all of the dragons loitering upon rugs and fur that were placed over wood flooring.

He had tried to make a lunge at me but was thwarted when he tripped over Solar’s form.  The grey dragon snapped at him, the others rising and hissing, heads low and flight fins raised.  The man wisely chose to retreat.

He stumbled outside, dagger in his hand as I had stood from my cot and the dragons rushed outside after him.  The attempted murderer never made it further than the edge of our camp as Ophelia had let out a shriek loud enough to wake the others and latched her teeth around the man’s leg.  Her maw enclosed completely around his calf and she shook her head nearly hard enough to tear the limb off.  Loboda had just thrown on a cloak and was reaching for his weapon when the would-be killer was ingulfed in flames so hot they burned right through him, cutting his screams off before they could truly get started.

Seconds later, nothing remained but ash, charred bones, and the small blade that had fallen from his hand when Ophelia had bitten him.  Loki landed from where he had been hovering above, the gust from his wings casting the ash into the night air and roared triumphantly.

Though the commotion had drawn a lot of attention, no one contested Loboda’s claim about the man deserving his sudden and violent end.  As it turned out, in Thenn culture, it wasn’t uncommon for disputes to arise between clan members, and for those disputes to end in death.  The proper course of action, should that happen, was to declare yourself to the nearest villager and have an Elder summoned.  Then that Elder would deem your killing of another person justified – in which case nothing happened – and everyone went back to their lives, or not justified.  If the death of another wasn’t deserving, the perpetrator would share their fate…slowly.

For an unjust murder, the accused would be tied to a post and the family and friends of the deceased would take their turns cutting them.  Few survived long enough to have faced the entire line of the aggrieved.  If they did then their gods would see them forgiven and the Magnar would end their suffering with one clean slice so they could feast with their gods in the halls of the afterlife.  It was called dauthan met thús nithskurthi…death by a thousand cuts.  I had only seen it performed once, and the woman’s muffled screaming had followed me all the way back to Loboda’s cabin and into my dreams.

I wouldn’t exactly call what the Thenns had as a court of justice, but it was more than what I had expected.  They may have been primitive, but they weren’t wholly uncivilized.

The second attempt on my life was much more subtle.  That particular day of travel had been truly hellish as a storm had hit out of nowhere just a little after high noon.  Canute called it one of the Autumn storms that were common during the season.  The only thing I could think was that I had never seen a storm rage so angrily before.  It was like a living thing, pulsing and furious as it tried to pull trees from their roots and drown those who hadn’t found shelter.

The wind was hard enough to sway even the oldest of trees and the rain poured from the sky in a deluge, drenching through the thickest of furs within minutes.  The train had come to a quick and sudden halt as people rushed to get tents pitched before the storm became worse.  Individual campsites were a thing for better weather, as everyone set up their tents as close to each other as they could get.  Several fires were built, but only a few were able to catch.

I had huddled around a large bonfire started by my dragons with nearly forty other miserable people.  It was quiet aside from the rain drumming at the massive leather roof propped over the fire as wind chilled everyone to the bone, no walls to stop its bite.  Dinner was a hurried affair as servants and children rushed between fires to get everyone fed.  Normally, every camp would cook their own, but with the storm, it became a communal meal once more.

It took a long time to feed that many people, and by the time a young girl – perhaps half my age – handed me a plate with meat, vegetables, bread, and berries smothered in some sort of sauce, it was far into the night.  I ate so quickly that I hardly even tasted it.  It was only once I was cleaning my plate with a piece of bread when I felt my tongue and lips go numb.

I had panicked as soon I had difficulty breathing, and it was only Severus quick thinking that saved my life as the people around us began to shout.  Loboda had gripped my arm as Severus guided me on how to purge my stomach the muggle way, as I was quite incapable of learning a new spell when I couldn’t breathe.  A finger down the throat worked just as well to expel the worst of it, and then a few quick spells took care of the rest.

After Loboda had seated me carefully on the ground to catch my breath, he had picked up my discarded plate and ran a finger across the juice that still remained and then stuck it into his mouth.  Not even a second had passed before he was spitting it back out and claiming I had been fed nightberries.

Someone had taken advantage of my ignorance of these lands and had me served an extremely poisonous berry that looked so similar to blackberries that I hadn’t even noticed the difference.

The servant girl that had given me my food was seized almost brutally and questioned much more harshly than I was comfortable with.  She hadn’t known what she was giving me, only that she had been asked to serve that particular plate to the Witch of Winter.  The three men and four women involved in my second attempted murder, were swiftly and violently dealt with.  

Their screams as they burned did not follow me into my dreams, but Severus’ smug expression and rumbling purr of satisfaction did.  It would have been a faster death if it had been dragon fire, but the new Magnar had insisted on pyres being built, tying each person to their pole himself, before turning to me with the torch.  Loboda had nudged my back, telling me it was my right as the victim, but I had only shaken my head and tried to count my breaths as Styr grinned at me.  His eyes had latched onto mine, blue unwavering as he leant down and lit the first pyre on fire.  By the time he had gotten to the last, my stomach was threatening to rebel in a completely different manner.

Ida had been gifted to me as punishment after her previous mistress had had her flogged for such an act.  I had protested to both the flogging and the gifting, but in the end, I was forced to settle for both.  The girl had been stolen from one of the frozen shore clans when she was very little and had no protection that being born a Thenn would have granted her.  I had no say in how her mistress treated her.  And refusing to accept her as a gift would only end in her death.

So now, I found myself owning someone.  I had immediately tried freeing her, but like a house elf, she had absolutely wailed at the thought, thinking I was trying to give her away to another.  Ragna was the one who had to sit me down and explain Ida’s position, despite her discomfort and obvious dislike of me.  She and Ida were not born Thenn, and instead having been captured – they called it stolen – she couldn’t be free unless one of the men took her as a wife, as Ragna was.

Ida was only maybe eight years old, too young to bride, but some men would only see a free slave for the taking.  They would not treat her as kindly as I, and though I was loathed to do so, I found no other way but to accept her as mine.  But, I vowed to myself, the moment I was able to do so safely, Ida would be freed to live her life as she chose.  When it was safe to do so…

The clan Ida came from would not take her back as she now belonged to the Thenns.  She wasn’t a clan member anymore; she was hardly even a person.  Freeing her now would only endanger her more as it left her open for someone much more insidious to claim her.  Ida truly had nowhere else to go, so Severus and I reluctantly agreed to look after for her.

I owned her – a technicality on the Thenns side – but I didn’t treat her as if she were owned.  Instead, I tried to treat her like Hermione treated me, like I treated Ginny.  I treated her like a little sister.

Ida was slowly starting to come out of her shell, but she was an incredibly quiet and submissive child.  The scars on her back informed me as to why that was, and my fury at seeing them was enough to even set Severus off when I couldn’t get a hold of it.  His shriek of anger only echoed my utter wrath at her scarred body, but her fear halted me from taking action.  I couldn’t go after her previous mistress.  It just wasn’t a done thing.  And at the moment, Ida didn’t fear her previous mistress…she feared me.

She really was a sweet thing, if softly spoken, and after she got used to the dragons coming and going from my tent – another thing she had to get familiar with – she came to genuinely enjoy them as well.  Gemini and Ophelia were her favorites, though she wouldn’t tell me why.  She hardly spoke at all, and only if spoken directly too.  It only took a little while to figure it out on my own though, with the way she would look at Gemini’s milky eye and scarred neck, Ophelia’s torn and crippled wing.  The way she would sometimes touch one of her more deeply set scars when she thought no one was looking.

She thought that they were broken, like her.  I was still trying to get her to realize that she wasn’t broken, and neither were Ophelia and Gemini.  It was slow going.  I had an easier time explaining the concept of protecting the caravan to Loki than I did trying to tell Ida that there was nothing wrong with her.  Loki was still stuck on the caravan part.  He understood protecting the other whelps, he even understood protecting Chudley and our things.

I had thought that there would be a hang up in trying to get him to protect me and Severus, now that he had entered his rebellious stage…but he had taken a great deal of pleasure out of defending me from the first would-be assassin, so that wasn’t the problem.  No, the problem was trying to get him to extend that protection to other people.

All attempts on my life ended after the second one, but the reason behind it stayed.  Severus had shaken his head in bewilderment as Loboda explained that everyone thought that my power was transferable.  They actually believed that if they killed me, the perpetrators would not only take my magic, but also the ‘control’ I had over the dragons.

It was utter nonsense, but the only way to make them stop was to make those that would attempt to kill me far too scared to ever try again.  Loki turning one to ash and the others being burned at the stake went towards that, and for now, it seemed to be working.  Severus had also had me make a ring.  My magic was to be used sparingly and only when needed, but he had affirmed that this was definitely something that was needed.

We had passed several of the white trees with the faces in them during our journey.  The Thenns called them godtrees, and said that the faces that were carved into them were put there by the children – I don’t think they mean the word in the way that I knew it – so that their gods could look out and observe the world of the living.  Several ceremonies were held in front of these trees, as we made our way ever southward.  One looked to be a wedding, though I used the term loosely as it was like no wedding I had ever heard of before.  But the man and woman did say vow like things and kiss each other, and there had been a feast afterwards, so I was calling it a wedding.

I had stopped next to one of these trees as people came and went, leaving offerings between the roots as they passed.  The face looked back at me, and within I could swear there was someone else, looking right at me as well, but Loboda interrupted before I could decide on what I was going to do about it.

Was I seriously thinking about using legilimens on a tree?

“You shouldn’t linger,” Loboda said, resting his much larger hand on my shoulder.  “These are not your gods, yours might not approve.”

Thenns took their gods very seriously, but they recognized that not everyone had the same gods.  They knew I came from somewhere else, somewhere extremely far away, but they never really asked me about it.  What they did know, was that their gods weren’t my gods.  Loboda never pressured me to convert, it wasn’t the way of the Free Folk.  No, you were born to your own gods, and those that pulled from them to another’s was something to be despised.  If I had converted, I think Loboda would have actually thrown me out.

The thought tugged a smile at my lips, but I never bothered to explain my lack of belief in any gods.

“I doubt my gods would care much,” I replied, glancing up at him.  His blue eyes met mine, and I felt relief as he met them steadily.  When I first moved in with him, Loboda had had difficulty maintaining eye contact with me.  No doubt caused by my odd eye colors.  Now, it hardly seemed to faze him much.

“Not even this…Merlin of yours?” He asked, sounding the word out awkwardly.

“No,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head.  “Merlin wouldn’t mind.  He knows I will always stay faithful.”  I could have explained to Loboda that Merlin wasn’t a god, but some things were sometimes easier left unsaid.  Trying to make a man without magic understand that the once greatest wizard in all of the world was only human was not a discussion I felt like I could tackle with my limited language skills.  No, it was easier to let him believe Merlin was a god…and who knew, maybe he was.

It was believable at least, with the story of his power and ability.  What was if he not a god?  He was venerated as one by my culture, at least.  Like Jesus Christ.  Both weren’t gods, but only just.  According to our lore, they might have well had been.

Loboda only grunted in acknowledgement and let me continue to stare at the tree.  “Don’t take too long,” he said, turning to resume his spot in the long train as people came and went, leaving small tokens and offerings to the white tree.

Severus had woken as I was about to leave the tree, using the opportunity to launch himself from my shoulder and into the branches above.  I darted my eyes around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was going about their own tasks with tired movements.  It was nearing the end of the day and soon I knew, the whole caravan would come to a halt and campfires would start to light the forest.

Moments later, Severus’ weight returned to my shoulder, and I flipped my hood up around him before walking quickly to catch up with Loboda, Chudley, and Ida.  I still didn’t trust myself to run in the snowshoes.  Against my neck, I felt something hard and sharp poke at me.  It was only once we were settled in our tent for the night did I pull open the hood and find the stick that Severus had left inside.

It was rather large and very straight.  I had hoped he was going to get one that had already separated from the tree, but I could see by the broken end that was bleeding that same red sap that he had snapped it off instead.  Sighing in both relief and annoyance, I let Severus’ voice wash over me as he instructed me through the necessary spells.

It took nearly a fortnight to complete the full process, as I was still using my magic sparingly.  In the end though, I was quite satisfied with the result.  Sliding the ring over my left ring finger, I waved my wand over it to resize and smiled brightly as it settled fully into place.  It was white with red lacings that ran along its surface in a nonsymmetrical loop.  Smooth and lacquered shiny with spells, it looked more like metal than it did wood.

A few days later we tested its effectiveness.  Loboda had been teaching me how to forage for food, set traps for small animals, and use a bow to take down heavier game.  He had also been showing me the plants that could be used in healing and others that could be used to kill.  A nightberry bush was just off to the side of our camp that night, Ragna making certain that the horses were secured far enough away that they couldn’t accidentally get loose and eat any.

When I approached the bush, berries thick and ripe hanging heavy beneath the leaves, the ring became hot, the red lacings pulsing until it consumed the entire ring.  Only once I was back by the fire did the ring turn back to white.  The smug smile pulled at my lips for the rest of the night, and I only shook my head when the others asked about it.  Severus didn’t want me to speak of what I had done, urging me to caution.

“Sometimes,” he said, whispering the words in my ear as I rolled the warm cup of tea between my palms.  “Sometimes, it is best to choose the Slytherin route.  You trust them, the foolish Gryffindor that you are.  Fine, then trust them.  But do you trust who they would speak too?  Do you trust that they wouldn’t mention it in passing during a conversation?  Do you trust that those words won’t reach the ones that want you dead?”

He was right…I hated that he was right.  But damn him, I couldn’t risk it.  So instead, I only smiled and shook my head when the others asked.  I waved aside any questions about my new accessory, passing it off as a keepsake and ignoring Loboda’s frown when he asked where I had gotten the ring.  It looked like metal enough that he couldn’t prove it came from one of the godtrees, but he suspected.  Loboda never outright asked, so I never alluded to it.  That was our relationship in a nutshell.  Loboda suspecting many things but never asking.  Me knowing he knew, but never confirming.

My thumb twirled the ring around and around in a comforting gesture, and I took solace in the fact that I would never be caught off guard like that ever again.

The rest of the wood was tucked deep within the extra serpent hides, hidden from sight until my magic had recovered fully and I had enough privacy for what I meant to do with it.  The broken holly wand and phoenix feather lay next to it.

We were nearly out of the valley when our massive caravan was added too…by giants of all things.  I stared so hard I thought my eyes were going to fall from their sockets.  They were much bigger than Hagrid, and some rode on the backs of mammoths.

The giants of this world looked nothing like the giants of my world.  They were smaller for one.  The tallest perhaps three times my size.  Their faces were flat and wrinkled, noses large compared to their eyes.  At first, I thought they were all men as they all had facial hair, but then I saw one of these ‘men giants’ nursing a baby that was almost as large as me.  It was then that I realized that even the women were bearded.

They were also heavily furred, and not in the way that the Thenns were.  The giants wore their own clothing, but beneath that, I had seen that they were covered in fur as well…like a yeti or sasquatch.

They didn’t like my staring, turning to me with twisted faces and snorting hot air as they glared at me.  I soon learned to watch them from the corner of my eye instead.  They also spoke, though I was ashamed of myself when I was surprised by this.  Of course they spoke, they were obviously smart enough to make clothing and tools. 

They held weapons, not just clubs, but bows and spears as well.  At night, the giants pitched their own tents for their children.  The sleds their mammoths dragged were absolutely massive, made out of what looked like bone, and shaped very differently than the ones the Thenns used.

I hadn’t had the chance to talk to one yet, but from the conversations I had overheard, they spoke the Old Tongue, if not a little slowly.  They also didn’t eat meat and treated their mammoths like they were sacred.  I tried to approach one…once.  Only Loboda’s quick apologies and explanations stopped the near fourteen-foot-tall male from pummeling me into the snow with his club.

They also did not like my dragons.  And I mean, at all.  It took a lot of convincing to get my dragons to avoid them, especially after Gemini realized that he could probably ride a mammoth and had made an attempt to do just that.  He had been successful for all of a few seconds before he was forced to flee as another giant tried to yank him off.  Gemini had flown back, wailing a shrill sound, and huddling against my side as the giants followed him to our camp.

That also ended with Loboda talking our way out of the giants tearing the poor dragon to pieces, while I tried to keep Loki and Romulus from roasting said giants.  Gemini had been morose for days, lounging on Chudley’s back even though he really was getting much too big for it, and looking forlornly at the shaggy beasts that trailed alongside us.

Loki’s hatred of the mammoths and the giants were the only thing keeping the other dragons in line.  He had already wrestled Solar and Hera into compliance when they tried to get near them.  I had sent him small glares as I patched the two dragons up after their tussle with the foul tempered bronze, but I also snuck Loki extra bits of the best cooked meat when no one was looking.  I may not have liked how viciously he enforced his order over the others, but I would have liked it far less if any of the dragons were killed because they had become too curious.

One of the giants, younger than most but still an adult, would sometimes watch me.  His hair dark brown, long, and combed back.  When the dragons would fly low, he would stare at them too.  I thought he was more curious than anything, so I had made several attempts to approach him, but he either darted off before I got too close, or something would interrupt me and by the time I looked back he would be gone.

Loboda kept encouraging me to keep my distance, Severus’ rather demeaning agreement whispered in my ear.  I ignored both of them, and one day, I was finally successful in my endeavor.

New snow had been falling for days, slowing the caravan down to a painfully creeping shuffle as horses and people alike became stuck in the fresh powder that was several feet deep.  The giants had taken to using their mammoths to clear a path, heavy sleds packing the snow down further.  The younger ones were left behind and I snuck off with a wink to Ida and a finger to my lips to keep her silence when Loboda got into a discussion with Elder Einar regarding how they were going to break apart groups and integrate them into Mance’s camp once we caught up with them.

The curious giant was walking alone between ancient trees that were so wide not even he could wrap his arms around them.  He saw me approach, and hesitated, his large legs halting in the loose snow as he blinked slowly at me.  I approached cautiously, stopping well away from the distance of his spear…which wouldn’t work if he decided to throw it.

“Hello,” I said, calling out to him and giving a little wave with my hand.  Severus’ hot breath tickled my ear as he huffed in his sleep and I prayed he would stay that way.  The last thing I needed was his derisive commentary in the background.  “I’m Harielle, who are you?”

The giant blinked at me, a slow exaggerated movement as he looked around the trees.  I couldn’t tell if he was looking for people to help him, or to make certain we were alone, but he didn’t seem to be running away, which was a first.

“Hello,” I said again, shuffling a little closer.  “Harielle,” I patted my chest and smiled when he tilted his head, long brown hair cascading over one of his fur covered shoulders.  “Harielle,” I repeated, tapping my chest again.

“Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun,” he replied with a deep booming voice.

“Huh?” I wondered if my understanding of the Old Tongue wasn’t advanced enough for holding a conversation with a giant, or perhaps this was a different dialect?

“Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun,” he repeated, pounding a fist to his chest with a thump so heavy that I winced at the noise it made.

“Oh,” I said, realizing that he was saying his name.  “Hello, Wun Weg...Wun...” I trailed off, trying to remember what he had said.

“Wun Wun,” he said with a grunt, tilting a chin up at me and I smiled brightly.

“Hello, Wun Wun.” That was much easier to remember.  “You can call me Hari.”

“Hare-ee,” he said, sounding my name out.  “Hare-ee.”

“So, Wun Wun,” I said with a smile, turning my body so I could wave a hand towards where Roan and Hera had landed nearby.  “Want to meet a dragon?”

Wun Wun had been much more curious about my dragons than he was me, but I didn’t let it hurt my feelings.  Everyone was curious about dragons.  Wun Wun and I had talked slowly to each other, giants being of few words and myself uncertain about how to hold a conversation with a non-human that wasn’t Severus.  I even got him to give Roan a small pat on the head, Wun Wun’s face twisting in a smile that was actually pretty scary to look at, but I found myself smiling along with him anyway.

Loboda found us like that, walking together as I told Wun Wun all about giants from my land – I made certain to use the word land instead of world, the last thing I wanted was for it to get out that I wasn’t even of this world – and the frown he sent me was so severe I turned to look behind me to make certain it was me he was that upset with.  “Harielle,” he said with a grunt and I tried to keep a straight face as Wun Wun echoed him with his ‘Hare-ee’ a moment later.  “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been here,” I replied, trying not to get cheeky as his frown deepened.  “Is something the matter?”

Loboda’s brown eyes flicked from me to the giant that was watching both of us curiously.  “The Magnar would speak with you,” he said after a moment, the words coming out slow and with little inflection.

I felt my stomach sink into my feet and my fingers started to turn the white and red ring over and over again.  It did not bring me any comfort.

Chapter Text

There was a tiny songbird in my chest where my heart should have been.  Its wings were fluttering mightily as it tried to escape, batting at my ribcage in fear as I turned to give Wun Wun what I hoped was an apologetic smile.  Muttering a soft goodbye along with a promise to see him again later, I followed Loboda into the trees and back to the main body of people.

“Did he say what he wanted?” I asked carefully as Loboda led us towards where Ida was standing off to the side, Chudley’s rope gripped in her small hands.  The sled sat next to her, Chudley saddled up for the first time since we left the village.

What could Styr possibly want from me?  Nothing good, I couldn’t help thinking.  Nothing good ever came from a Magnar wanting my presence, least of all Styr.  The thought sent my skin prickling, a chill racing down my spine as the tiny songbird swooped deep to settle somewhere uncomfortably around my lower stomach.

Loboda only shook his head, taking the rope from Ida to pull the halter off and replace it with the bridle.  I fluttered nervously nearby, much like a bird myself, anxious and uncertain.  Ida glanced at me, her brown eyes cast low and her brow furrowed as she bit her lip.  I tried to send her a reassuring smile but must have failed spectacularly as her face went pale and her hands started to shake.

Whatever the Magnar wanted from me couldn’t have been good for her either as her fate was tied to mine.  And she was perhaps worried for more than that…maybe even worried for a friend.  The girl was still getting used to her new position as part of my group.  I didn’t treat her like she was my servant, as Loboda sometimes still did despite my long and angry speech the last time he commanded her to do something.

I wanted to be her friend, and I wanted her to look at me as one as well.

She even sometimes smiled at me, though most of her smiles were still reserved for the dragons.  But that was alright, any progress was still progress…even if she still flinched when I moved too fast and held her tongue despite genuinely wanting to know her opinion.

“Stay near Loboda,” I said softly as Ida shuffled to my side after a tilt of my head.  “If I’m not back before we stop for camp, you are to stay with him.  And don’t let him boss you around, you can tell him no.  If he gives you any problems, you have my permission to remind him how cross that will make me if he mistreats you.  And, you can threaten to feed him to my dragons if he won’t listen.”

That earned me a small twitch at the corner of her lips, her eyes crinkling as she tried to hide her amusement.  The dragons wouldn’t really eat the older man, and they both knew that.  But if Ida was able to work up enough courage to threaten him with it, then he would know to behave himself.  The whelps happened to like Ida a great deal more than they liked him.

Except Loki…that little shit didn’t like anybody.

I raised my hand slowly – telegraphing my movement so Ida couldn’t misconstrue it in anyway – and set it gently on top of her head to ruffle her short hair.  It was growing longer, now down to the bottom of her ears, and I saw more than one Thenn frown at me for refusing to cut her hair.  Those who were stolen from other clans weren’t allowed the privilege of long hair.

I only glared back.  If Ida wanted it shorter, I had told her to tell me and I would cut it.  As she hadn’t said anything, she either was testing me to see what I would do, or she really did want to grow it out.  Either way, fuck them.  Ida wasn’t theirs anymore.  They could force my hand to take her, but they couldn’t make me treat her like a slave.

She glanced up at me with her big doe brown eyes and I tucked a loose strand behind her ear.  Her face was placid, near blank from any emotions, but her eyes were pinched at the corners and her lips were fighting not to frown as she looked at me.  “Tell me you understand,” I said, needing her to say the words if only for my own comfort.

“I understand,” she replied, and a gust of air left me in a sigh so loud even Loboda turned to look.  I only shook my head at him and then nodded once when he gestured to Chudley’s side.  It was time.

With anxious hands, I pulled myself into the saddle, testing that it was secured fully before I rested my weight into it and took the reins from Loboda’s grip.  Ida shuffled in close, her hands fluttering up to my ankle to make certain it was situated correctly in the stirrup before she rushed to check the other side.  The gesture was unneeded, I knew how to sit a horse and she knew that, but I let Ida fuss anyway.  If it gave her comfort, who was I to argue?

“Be careful,” Loboda said as I met his gaze over Chudley’s red ear.  He was walking along side Chudley as he led me to part of the trail that had already been packed firmly down by mammoths and sleds.  Ida’s hand was still wrapped around my ankle as she took hurried steps to keep up.  “Guard your tongue, and for the love of the gods, listen to that dragon of yours.”

“Severus?” I asked, turning to look down at him.

“Aye,” Loboda said with a rueful nod.  “I may not be able to understand him like you, but I know he is the more levelheaded of the two of you.”

I didn’t have more than a moment to sneer at the thought before Loboda slapped Chudley’s rear.  If the little red had been any other horse, he would have taken off in the direction his head was pointed…but Chudley wasn’t any other horse.  Instead, Chudley snorted loudly, and started to walk slowly in the direction that Loboda had positioned him.  It gave me plenty of time to turn and glare at the older man before he shook his head at me and went back to Ida’s side, picking up the featherlight sled and dragging it after them.  Ida watched me go, her hand still raised as if to grab at me, before Loboda called for her and she turned away.

Grounding my teeth in annoyance, I pressed my heels into Chudley’s side to shift him to a reluctant trot and thought briefly of getting myself a bra…or magicking one.  It shouldn’t be too hard to transfigure something workable from the scraps of hide that I still had in abundance.  As long as I wasn’t working with sea serpent or dragon leather.  I didn’t exactly need a bra that could stop an arrow or a spell since I was almost completely covered in the stuff anyways.  I only needed something to keep the girls from bouncing as I urged Chudley into the much smoother tölt.

Snorting in amusement, I thought briefly of asking Severus for his opinion.  Oh, it would be a sight to see, the dragon blushing and spluttering.  But…Severus also had this way of turning the embarrassment around on myself.  Him and his bloody Slytherin words, twisting and spinning conversations until somehow it ended up with him smug and me entirely mortified.

No, it would be better to solve this particular problem on my own.

A hot gush of air hit the back of my ear as Severus snored softly and I considered letting him stay asleep through this meeting.  But I, unfortunately, knew better.  Whatever Styr wanted with me, I would need Severus awake and his words in my ear if I was going to survive it.

“Sev,” I shifted my shoulder near his head to get him to wake, raising a hand to pull the hood back when that didn’t work.  “Severus, wake up, I have need of you.”

“What!” Severus said with a snap, hissing the word with a hot breath as he dug his thumb claws into the loose hide at my neck, pulling himself to be seated upon my shoulder instead of laying across it.  “What could you have possibly done now?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said with an annoyed grumble.  Not everything was my fault.

“Oh, then that wouldn’t be the musky scent of giant all over you, then, would it?”

“How?” I asked but stopped myself from going further.  There were other things to be focused on.  Shaking my head, I winced when the thumbs on his left wing hooked into the tiny hoops decorating my braids and pulled at my scalp.  “No, well yes.  I met a giant, his name is Wun Wun and he’s my friend.  But that isn’t why I woke you,” I continued as Severus started to splutter what was no doubt some sort of insult.  “The Magnar has summoned me.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, shaking my head again and only barely wincing as Severus’ thumbs pulled at the hoops.  At least this time he went with the movement and not stubbornly against it.  “Loboda didn’t know either.  Only that he has need of my presence.”

Severus snorted in my ears, his tail flicking against my neck in agitation.  “Guard your tongue,” he said, ignoring my hissed I know as he continued.  “Speak carefully.  Pull your hood up, I’ll pretend to be asleep.  Don’t let him see me.”

I did as he said, flicking my large hood back up and feeling him resettle himself at the base of it.  I knew he would be well hidden, the hide of the serpent nearly the same white as the dragon’s.  The shadows of the hood would hide everything else but his glowing eyes, but even so, I doubted it would work.  Styr knew I never went anywhere without the little white dragon – my guard dog, as he called it – and he also knew that I could not only understand Severus, but that he could understand me.

It was a poorly kept secret, my ability to speak to the dragons, especially after that incident with Loki and the goat.  But most Thenns hadn’t actually seen me speak to them, and just assumed it was one of those stories that got more exaggerated with each telling.  But Styr had seen me talking to them, Severus more oft then not.  And more importantly, Styr had seen Severus speak back.

I would see how far our ruse took us, but I still held no hope for it working.  Plans had a way of falling apart when it came to my Potter luck.

It took only a few minutes to reach the near front of the caravan.  The Magnar was riding alongside several others, behind only the mammoths and giants that were attempting to clear the way through the trees.  Our path behind them was wandering at best as the giants tried to find ways through the tightly packed forest, and lately these days I found that the caravan was shifting more east and west than it was south.  Loboda’s prediction of it taking another moon to leave the valley was looking more optimistic and unlikely as each day passed.  At this rate, we would be lucky to be clear of the trees by the end of autumn.

Chudley slowed to an ambling walk as he set his pace to the group in front of us.  I recognized a few of the men that rode with the new Magnar, but most were unknown to me.  Some were his friends, the ones that I had seen hanging around Styr in the village.  I even identified one of the men from when Styr had cornered me in the bath.  I also recognized Elder Ake, the Keeper of Magic.

Every time Elder Ake would cast his eyes upon me, I could feel my skin prickling.  The ancient looking man set me on edge in a very not good sort of way.  I hadn’t liked the situation when Loboda had told me that the Magnar demanded my presence, and now I liked it far less.  My nails were biting into the skin of my palms, and Chudley snorted in irritation as I gripped the reins hard enough to cause discomfort.

Whispering an apology to the portly horse, I patted his neck as he shuffled forward to walk with the group and less behind it, forcing my hands to relax.  Styr turned to me with a smile, that same smile he had given to me when we were both naked and he had pulled me against his side…that same smile he had thrown after we had killed that White Walker while he spoke of me thanking him personally.

I wanted to punch his teeth in.

“Witch!” The Magnar said with a bright shout, crowing the word as he gestured for me to come closer.  Grimacing, I dug my knees in and fought back the satisfied smirk as Chudley used his heavier bulk and couldn’t-care-less attitude to force his way between the other riders until we were right next to the new Magnar.

Chudley was smaller than Styr’s horse – he was smaller than all of their horses – and I tried not to let it get to me as Elder Ake came up to my other side.  I felt dwarfed between them, boxed in, and trapped.  I took comfort in the fact that Severus was still with me, and that Chudley, while fat and lazy, wasn’t afraid to bite and kick should I need him too.

“Magnar,” I said in greeting, forcing the word out between clenched teeth and trying to sound like I wasn’t disgusted to be in his proximity.  “Elder Loboda said you wished to speak to me?”

“Come now, witch,” Styr said with a leering grin, leaning over the side of his horse to peer down at me.  “No need to be so formal.  Not when we could know each other on a much more personal level.”

Be a Slytherin, be a Slytherin.  I repeated the words over and over in my head, using the breathing technique and occlumency that Severus had taught me in order to not react.  Styr didn’t know that my magic was still recovering.  Everyone but those closest to me assumed that I had fully recuperated as I was casting magic once more.  Small magics, yes, but people had still seen me casting and that was what was important.

He wanted me to react, wanted me to do something, but what he wanted and why he wanted it I didn’t know.  It was better to be calm and levelheaded, try and use whatever I could to suss out what it was he wanted from me, and then use it against him.  Severus hadn’t been teaching me only magic, after all.

“How may I be of assistance, Magnar?” I asked, tearing my eyes from his to gaze out into the trees before us.  I hoped to come across as uncaring, and not as scared as I was right now.

I could see Styr frown from the corner of my eye, but he straightened in his saddle and I was able to breathe easier as he finally shifted out of my personal space.  The horses trudged along through the snow in silence for several long moments, and I would have found it almost peaceful if not for the company.  I really had missed riding.

“Tell me of your magics, witch,” Styr said, breaking me from the almost relaxation I had fallen into.  I felt claws digging into the loose hide covering my neck, pinching at the skin.

Careful, those claws said.  Careful.

“What do you wish to know?”

“They say you can create…” he trailed off flicking his fingers dismissively.  “Walls our eyes can’t see, to stop the enemy.”

“Yes,” I said.  Nodding my head but not elaborating any further.  There was no use denying it, almost everyone at the battle had seen me do so on more than one instance.  Why he was asking was beyond me though.  Styr’s curiosity could only mean nothing good.

His blue eyes glanced back at me, no doubt waiting for more of an explanation.  He would be waiting a long time.  “And they say that you were quite a sight on the battlefield, creating fire, destroying the corpses, exploding them into tiny pieces, and such.”

“Yes.”

I saw his lip twitch at the word, but I couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or annoyance.

“What else can your magics do?” He asked after a long moment, finally settling on the question he had been meandering towards.

“Many things,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.  The pain helped ground me as the much larger man turned his blue eyes back to me.  The glare he sent my way caused that little songbird in my chest to try and take flight again.  My heartbeat was roaring in my ears and I could feel Severus’ displeasure at the words.  Right…I was trying to be a Slytherin today, not a Gryffindor.  Sometimes, it was hard to remember.

I got the impression Styr had expected me to just start speaking of it, breaking down the fundamentals of magic that took years to learn, simply because he had asked.  I also got the impression that he was rarely denied.

I wondered what his mother had been like.  If she had been the one who had never told Styr no his entire life, or if she had been simply unable to control her bullheaded son.  Or maybe, Styr didn’t have a mother at all.  Maybe he was an orphan boy who found he could get others to obey simply because he was bigger than all the rest.  Or…perhaps he wasn’t born at all.  Perhaps he was just dropped off by a stork one day, a curse of the gods placed upon this earth with a single purpose of making my life miserable.

I liked that last option best.

“What do you want to know, Magnar?” I finally asked, barely restraining from spitting the title.  Chudley’s ears tilted back at my tone and his tail flicked to the side, smacking Styr’s horse on the rump as he was still close enough to box me in.  “Be specific,” I said when it looked like my words were going to start a fight.  “If I were to tell you all I know about magic and what it can and cannot do, I am afraid we will be here well until winter has settled in the valley and death claims us all.  And then my bones can tell your bones the rest of it.  There are simply not enough hours in the day, and not nearly enough days in the year to sit here and explain magic to you.”

Elder Ake was suddenly sitting up much straighter in his saddle, and he looked down at me intrigued.  For a Keeper of Magic, the man knew only a little on the subject.  Most of what he did know, pertained to the Seer and wargs.  The rest were all stories to him.  To have someone who could cast magic – real magic – must have been a dream come true.

He looked like he wanted to take me into a tent and record every little bit of what I said.  He also looked like he wanted to cut me open and see if there was something inside me that he was missing…see if he could take it and use it for himself.

I really didn’t like Elder Ake.

“Is it really so complicated for you?” The Elder said, both curious and also trying to sound derisive.  As if the concept of my magic was something of a children’s’ fable.

“He doesn’t want the Magnar to know he knows nothing,” Severus said with a whisper in my ear and I fought not to shiver at the heat of his breath.  “He wants to know everything there is about magic, but he also wants the Magnar to think he already does.  Careful,” he cautioned.  “I don’t like the way he smells.”

I made an inquisitive noise at the base of my throat, quiet so as not to be overheard.  Moments later my nose was flooded with scents, my ears with sound, and my eyes with colors.

I could smell the crisp air and the earthy pine of the forest.  I could see far between the trees to the mammoths and giants ahead, their musk was nearly overwhelming and brought tears to my eyes.  I could smell Chudley’s horsey scent, the leather of the bridle between my fingers, and the smell of thousands of unwashed bodies.  I could hear the people far behind us marching along in a massive train, the barking of dogs, and the wings of birds as they took flight.

I could smell deer in the distance, and I could hear the howl of wolves closing in.  I felt the fabric of the black robe pressing against my scales, the serpent hide pliable beneath my thumbs.  Long dark hair fell over my back legs, tickling my tail but not enough to move.  I could smell the girl I was perched on, the clean scent of her refreshing compared to those that surrounded us.  The scent of horses, dragons, and other people clung to her, but barely.  That awful musk of giant already fading away.

My eyes shifted to the treetops and the sky above, something sliding from beneath my lids, and everything was suddenly washed in grey.  The giants radiated colors in earthy tones, shared with their mammoths.  Bright yellow trails of lights weaved from bush to bush, my nostrils flaring to take in the scent of rabbit.  In the sky there were more trails.  Bright colors and lights flowing and twining in one direction and then another.  The whelps, I thought to myself, as I followed the newest and brightest parts of the trailing colors to the west where I had smelled the deer.  They must be hunting.

I could smell Styr’s curiosity, annoyance, and something more subtle, hidden beneath layers of stale fur and the scent of old food.  It was heady, heavy like a physical thing, pressing down between us.  Arousal…I was smelling his arousal!

The thought disgusted me, but I had already known of Styr’s odd attraction.  At least his was buried beneath his annoyance.

Elder Ake smelled old, sick, and frail.  He too carried that same heavy disgusting smell of arousal, but his was much thicker.  His eyes met mine through the hood and suddenly I knew exactly what he wanted.

The older man wanted the girl who sat tense beneath me, wanted to pick her apart, strip her bare.  Elder Ake wanted to steal her, cut her hair, wipe her face clean from the marks, chain her to his hearth, and breed her.  He wanted children that could do as she could, children that would be Thenns…children that would be his.

I reared back, hissing lowly in fury and disgust at the elderly man.  Fire burned in my chest and I wanted nothing more than to release my wrath down upon the pitiful man and turn him into ash.  How dare he!  She wasn’t his, she would never be his!  She was mine!

I blinked, and suddenly I was a girl again, the dragon fading from me as the burning inferno in my chest dissipated and I was left reeling.  What the fuck was that?  What the fuck was that?!

Claws dug into my neck, pricking at my skin as Severus panted harshly into my ear.  He was as bewildered as I, and I could feel his chaotic emotions surging against me as we both tried to compose ourselves.  Thank Merlin my hood was still up, as the two men beside me hadn’t seemed to notice the odd mind meld Severus and I had just shared.

Seriously, what the fuck?

“Witch,” Styr said, his voice booming to my now oversensitive ears and I could feel Severus’ hide twitching as if he had overexerted himself playing our bastardized version of quidditch.  “Elder Ake asked you a question.  You will answer.”

What was the question?  I had forgotten in the flood of whatever that was, my mind still struggling to separate fully from Severus’.  I could still feel him, closer than I ever had before.  The dragon’s nose bumped my ear and Severus repeated the question the disgusting elder had asked, his tone soft and stern, a promise sent down our now wide-open link to discuss this later.

“Forgive me, Magnar, Elder,” I said carefully, flicking my eyes to each as I said their title.  “I was trying to think on how best to answer as neither of you grew up surrounded by magic as I had.”

Styr only quirked one of his pale eyebrows at me.  I wondered if he had been blonde before he started shaving his head.  What would a young blonde Styr look like?  Probably still like an asshole, just a much smaller one.

Elder Ake though…he looked furious at my words.  Oh, he tried to hide it, face seemingly placid and eyes interested, but my mind was still connected.  I saw as a dragon saw, with all the heightened senses.  I could see his lips twitching down, his eyes pinching at the corners, nostrils flaring.  I could smell his displeasure over the heady scent of his arousal, and I fought not to cringe away as our eyes met.

His were burning darkly with hate and want.  Elder Ake wanted me; a man old enough to be my father’s father.  But he didn’t want me as a wife, he wanted me as a whore, as a bed slave.  He wanted me for what I could do.  Ake wanted to put his children in me to breed him powerful Thenns who could do magic as I could.

It didn’t matter to him that I was still considered a child by my own people at least – Thenns were under the impression that if you were old enough to have your period, than you were a girl no longer and old enough to take to bed – which was disgusting no matter which way you looked at it.  This was one part of the Thenn culture that I absolutely detested.

“To answer you simply, then yes,” I continued as the old man to my right seethed.  “Magic is very complicated, there are rules, too many to go over,” I said quickly as I could see both Ake and Styr perk up interest.  There was absolutely no way I was giving them any knowledge that could be used against me.  “What do you want to know, specifically.”

Elder Ake looked both intrigued and very put out.  His larger bay gelding shifted sideways, forcing Chudley to step close enough to the Magnar that my knee was pressed into his horse’s side as Ake settled in closer.  Chudley snorted in annoyance, snapping his teeth at both the gelding and Styr’s darker brown stallion, but neither horse gave room and I was now much more boxed in than before.

Severus’ low rumble vibrating down my upper back was the only thing that kept me from sending a stinging hex at both men.

“Can you raise the dead?” Styr asked before Ake could get a word in edge wise.  The elder glanced up at the Magnar, sending him a quick chilling glare that sent shivers down my spine, but Styr hardly seemed to notice.

“No,” I said carefully, trying not to be too quick to answer.  Technically magic could raise the dead, not that I knew how too, but admitting such would only fuel whatever curiosity was burning within the two men.  I was afraid that they would use that to somehow put the blame of the White Walkers down upon me, though I wasn’t certain as to how exactly.

“Can you bring someone back to life?” Styr continued.  He was leaning slightly over me again, my head level with his elbow as both Chudley and I were a great deal smaller than the Magnar and his horse.  “They say you brought that bare-faced boy, the one you befriended, back to life after one of the Others killed him.”

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head.  “I can heal a great many wounds.  The boy was not dead, just heavily injured.”  I was careful not to say his name.  The last thing I needed was Styr poking into Canute’s life too.  He had just been elevated to the status of full adult, and to do so would only bring harm down upon him from his own leader.  I doubt Styr could even recognize Canute now that his face was marked.

“What sort of wounds can you heal?” Ake asked quickly, cutting in before the Magnar could ask another.  “Only physical wounds?  Or does it extend to poisons?  How does healing work?”

I flicked my eyes back at the elderly man but didn’t look at him for too long.  Too much of Severus was still tied to me and every time my eyes met his I could feel the phantom sensation of heat crawling up my throat and the urge to dig my teeth into his neck and tear.  It left my mouth watering and stomach rolling in a conflicting way that I couldn’t tell was hunger or nausea.

“I can heal many wounds of many kinds.  Including poisons and other such harmful toxins a person might ingest,” the words were parroted to the two men, repeated carefully as Severus fed them to me.  His calm demeanor easing some of my anxiety.

The sun was beginning to set in the distance and soon our train would come to a halt and camps would be set up.  I wanted to return to my own before I was forced to attend the Magnar in his.  Riding alongside his horse was one thing, being alone with him and Ake in his tent was another.

“And your dragons?” Styr’s head tilted slightly as he trailed his eyes down the black robe before settling upon my shoulders.  He was no doubt looking for Severus, already knowing that there was no possibility that I had left the little white dragon behind.  “You control them through magic?”

“What is the point of this questioning?” I asked cautiously as ice filled my veins.  I did not like where this odd interrogation was beginning to turn.  Severus’ fluttering heartbeat was pounding against the soft exposed skin between my hair and the serpent hide covering my neck as he pressed his body in close.

Styr seemed amused at my question, the low sound of his chuckle filling the air and setting my teeth on edge.  “We will be with the other clans soon,” he said with an upward tilt of his lips.  “They are not like us Thenns.  Weaker, smaller, easier to kill.”

Okay…what the hell was going on?  I could feel my brow scrunch as I tried to piece together what he was telling me.  And why the hell did he seem so damned amused?

“We are many in number and skill,” Elder Ake continued after Styr had trailed off, but my eyes remained on the Magnar.  I was done looking at Ake for the day.  “That will grant us a place of honor at Mance’s side.  We bring him a great many warriors to help fight this war.  He will need them for the crows once we reach the wall.”

Why the hell would a man need warriors to fight birds?  None of this was making any sense.

“As we are such a large clan though, we will use up many of the available resources.  So, we are required to bring something else to aid our King Beyond the Wall.  A gift, if you will,” Ake said the title like it was something that both amused and infuriated him.

“Gift?” Severus hissed lowly in my ear and I glanced up to where the pheromone trails in the sky had been.  I couldn’t see them anymore, but still my eyes tracked the remembered path to where the dragons had flown.  He couldn’t mean…they couldn’t possibly mean the dragons?

“What do you mean by gift?” I said the question through gritted teeth.  That little songbird was flailing in my chest, crashing into one side and then the other in a panic.

“It must be a gift worthy of such a clan,” Ake continued as if he hadn’t heard my question.  “It will not only show our strength, but also impress upon the other clans that we are to be feared for presenting the King with such an offering.”

“What do you mean by gift?!”

“Your dragons, are they difficult to control?” Ake asked with a dismissive flick of his hand.  “Can others command them?”

“You will not gift my dragons to anyone!”  I said, declaring the words loud enough that even the group far behind us could hear.  Chudley’s ears were pinned back, either from my tone, how tightly I was holding the reins, or how close the other horses were pressed to him, I didn’t know.  But any second now, he was going to bite one of them and I was going to rain fire down upon the Magnar and Elder if they thought for one second that I would just let them give my dragons away.

Styr threw his head back and laughed.  His whole body shook with the motion, as his horse side stepped away and then close again.  “Oh, little witch…” he wiped his smiling mouth with the back of his hand.  “We are not gifting your dragons to Mance!  They are much too valuable for the likes of that once kneeler.”

I blinked up at him in confusion as the rush of fury left me feeling bereft and adrift in uncertain waters.  What the ever-loving fuck was going on?  If he wasn’t trying to give my dragons to this king…then what was he giving him?

“No, those dragons will be needed by the Thenns in this war.  And once they are bigger, no one, not man, not other, not crow will be able to stand against them.  They will be much needed,” Ake said with a sharp nod.  There was an odd glint in his clouded eyes as he stared off into the distance.  I wondered if he were trying to imagine my dragons grown or picturing the damage that they could cause.

“Then what, exactly, are you giving him?”

I regretted giving voice to the question as soon as I asked it.  Styr tilted his head and peered down at me with both of his pale blue eyes.  One side of his mouth was tilted up in a smirk as his eyes crinkled in what could only be amusement at my expense.  “As Elder Ake has said.  We will have need of your dragons,” he said slowly as if talking to a child.  His tone was deep, thrumming in the air between us to cause shivers of trepidation up and down my spine.  “The Thenns will keep your dragons.  They will be useful.”

“Keep…” I trailed off uncertain.  Not even I could tell if I was asking what he meant with that one word or just repeating what he said out of bewilderment.

“Yes,” Elder Ake nodded.  “But you, on the other hand, will be of great use to the king.”

“What?” I couldn’t help but ask, looking back and forth between the two men in utter bafflement.  “What do you mean ‘of use’?”

“Oh, little witch,” Styr said with a chuckle, reaching over to pat my hooded head like one would a puppy that had done something vaguely amusing.  “We are gifting you to the king.”

Gifting…gifting me…to the king?  Was this what being poleaxed felt like?

“You can’t just give a person to someone else!” I said with a shout, yanking my head away from Styr’s heavy hand.  I barely even noticed that the hood fell with it, exposing the little dragon that I had been trying to hide.  Styr only glanced at the puffed-up dragon who was growling lowly in my ear before his eyes alighted on mine once more.

“And what of that girl,” Ake asked, and I turned my glare to him so quickly that I felt my neck spasm at the movement.  “The one that tried to poison you.  She was gifted to you, as I recall.”

“That was entirely different,” I said with a hiss, sounding much like my counterpart who was whipping his head back and forth to keep both men in his sights.  “Ida was stolen from another clan.  She lives to serve now,” I didn’t really believe what I was saying about the poor girl, but a point had to be made.  “I was never taken, never stolen from anywhere!  I came to the Thenns on my own volition.  My hair has not been cut; my face is not bare.  I serve no one!  I am a free woman; I cannot be gifted to anyone!”

I had heard that term brandied about amongst the other camps.  Free woman, free man, free folk.  I couldn’t just be given away…could I?

“You belong to the Thenns,” the Magnar said, his amusement sliding from him as if it was never there.  Now he just looked annoyed.  “You serve me!”

“I serve no one, I belong to no one!”

Styr reached forward so quickly I had no time to do anything else but flinch as he grabbed my face.  His hand dwarfed me, my chin cradled in the space between his thumb and index finger as he tilted my face up to meet his.  His fingers bit harshly into my jaw and neck and Severus shrieked at him in outrage.  The only thing that stopped him from biting the hand that gripped me so tightly was the calm I was trying to press into him through our very open link.

I doubted I could get away with killing two Magnars.

“These say otherwise, witch,” Styr said as he brought his other hand up to trail them along the marks on my face.  When he pulled away, his fingers were clean.  The black marks were etched into my skin with magic now, like a tattoo.  Permanent unless I willed them away.  No longer did I have to sit by the fire early in the morning while Loboda carefully traced them into my skin.

I wish I hadn’t done that.  If he had been able to wipe away the facial markings the Seer had gifted me, then it would have proved that I really wasn’t of the Thenns.  It would prove that I wasn’t his to do with as he pleased.  Instead, he brought his thumb up from my throat, pressed it into where I knew the hook tattoo lay under my eye, and dragged it along my skin.  His face turned smug as I knew that the black tattoo had not smeared at all.

“These are only temporary,” I said with a sneer, lacing the words with as much hatred and anger as I could muster.  I was able to only restrain myself from spitting on him through sheer Gryffindor stubborn will.  “I belong to no one!”

“You belong to me,” he said with another smirk, tightening his hand briefly as his eyes flicked to the small angry dragon still hissing threats on my shoulder.  “You will teach your dragons to follow our commands.  And you will do as I say,” he was leaning closer now, his breath brushing my ear opposite of where Severus sat.  “Or I will tell everyone exactly why the gods needed to choose a new Magnar, and who was responsible for it.”

My face was suddenly very cold as Styr leaned away from me, his hand releasing my face and throat as he returned to slouching on his much larger horse.  How could he know?  How could he possibly know?  Had he seen?  He was close when I had tripped the first Magnar.  Had he seen?!

That little songbird in my chest fell from its perch and died somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach.

Chapter Text

By the time they had made it back to the others, Loboda already had their camp set up – aside from Harielle’s tent – and a fire blazing in the pit.  Dinner had yet to be started, but the young slave girl moved to do so the moment that they stepped into the clearing.

Hari was shaking as she stomped over to the fire, both with fear and fury.  None tried to approach her, and Severus eyed the Canute boy as he shuffled near the edge of their field, looking at the young witch in anxious trepidation.  Alfhild brought the portly red gelding over to the group of horses her mother was seeing to and started to strip him of his tack.  Harielle didn’t seem to notice at all, and Ida shifted hesitantly between getting dinner cooked and wanting to take care of Chudley.

The little girl loved the horse almost as much as she loved the dragons.  It was part of her nightly routine to brush Chudley down and check his hooves before she helped prepare dinner, but with Hari and Chudley being gone, her tasks had been done out of order.  Ida was a creature of habit, Severus was learning, and she loved her routines.  This visit with the Magnar hadn’t thrown only Harielle out of her comfort zone.

Loboda was sitting in front of his tent, whittling away on a thin sturdy branch that would no doubt be a spear when he was finished.  His gaze was not on his hands though, it was on Harielle.  Canute was speaking softly with Aslaug, both sending strange glances to the witch as well.  Said girl was gazing into the fire in a detached sort of way, and Severus doubted that she even noticed how nearly the entire camp was watching her.

In truth, Severus didn’t mind the boy much anymore.  Canute’s infatuation with his student still set his teeth on edge, but it was more of a puppy sort of love than anything else.  Severus had seen childish romances just like this many times in his years teaching.  They were quick to spark and even quicker to burn out.  Severus doubted that it would get much further than the hand holding stage…of that he would make certain.

The girl, on the other hand, could be something different.  The affection that Hari held for Aslaug was different than what she held for Canute, but just as deep.  Though, something was holding the young witch back from both possibilities.  Severus got the impression from their connection that it had something to do with what the Seer had told her.  Which was possibly a load of rubbish.

Severus had tried discussing the difference between true prophecy and possible future predictions without going into too much detail with how he knew, but Hari was stubbornly Gryffindor when it came to things like these.  She was convinced that any true love of hers would die by her hand.  Severus wished he could tell her it was nonsense…but then again, he would always remember that fateful interview in Hogsmeade and the deaths that had followed.

He had sworn to protect Hari; sworn to Albus, sworn to himself, and sworn to Lily’s grave that he would keep her daughter safe.  Unfortunately for him, the annoyingly stupid girl kept getting herself into situations that he didn’t know how to pull her out of.  This Magnar was just one more brick of bad fortune on the pathway that paved Harielle Potter’s journey.  The girl had the absolute worst sort of luck imaginable.

Severus made a mental note to speak to Albus about possible blood curses that could cause such abysmal luck when they got back…if they got back.  Honestly, there had to be some explanation.  It wasn’t possible for one person to have so many awful things happen to them on pure chance.  He wondered if maybe she had been a truly terrible person in her past life to have such ill-fated karma.

“Severus,” she said quietly, nearly hissing the word in a whisper.  “Severus, what am I going to do?”

Around them the dragons were beginning to land.  It was early in the day still for them to be already settling around camp, but they must have somehow felt the girl’s distress.  Or Severus had somehow called out to them in that weird dragon way.  He was still learning all the things dragons could do, being empathetically connected wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities.

Heaving a great sigh that was honestly less effective in such a tiny body, Severus shook his head to get himself to focus.  Hari needed him to walk her through this turbulent and dangerous trap the Magnar had cornered her in.  Thank Merlin she had him on her side.  Severus was a born and bred Slytherin and had been navigating deadly political waters since he was fifteen.

The Court of Serpents was a much more difficult minefield to traverse than some up jumped barbarian with his allusions of grandeur.

“Build your tent,” he said softly, exceedingly mindful of his tone while Hari trembled beneath him.  “Then call the dragons in.  Don’t forget, you’re not powerless…you are a witch.” Severus told her firmly, pressing reassurance down their still very open connection.  While he was curious about it – more than curious really – this was something that was going to have to wait. 

He very much doubted that they would get much sleep that night.  They had a lot of plans to make and she had a lot of learning to do before they would get any rest.

Chapter Text

My feet were freezing in my boots and the cold caused tiny little shivers up and down my spine.  I told myself that it was surely the weather that was the cause…not that it should have been possible between my dragon leather boots and sea serpent hide clothes.  But the only other cause could have been apprehension – I refused to call it fear – and I was unwilling to believe that my Gryffindor courage would fail me now.

So, it was the cold that made me tremble as I stood outside the Magnar’s tent with what was probably the second worst decision I had ever made in my entire life – the first being in the dragon arena with a book bag and a simple plan to do nothing.  It really wasn’t that cold either, but again…I dashed the thought from my mind as I tried to still my pounding heart.

Severus’ weight was a small comfort on my shoulders as I waited impatiently for the guards to return.  Curling my fingers into fists, I shoved them hastily into my robe pockets before someone saw.  Around me, the camp went about its usual hustle and bustle as purple began to bloom across the darkening sky.

I could feel eyes on me.  Servants and Thenns alike watched me standing there, in front of the two massive bear hides that made up the doorway to the pavilion size tent, shifting from one foot to the other foot and back as I waited for Styr’s guard to return and either grant me permission to enter or force me to leave.  I could feel Severus’ tension from his perch on my shoulder.  His small body was tight with apprehension and beneath the surface of my own uneasy emotions I could feel his roiling anger clashing with the small bit of smug victory he still had over our argument.

I had not wanted him to be here…well, that wasn’t entirely true.  I wanted Severus with me not only for protection but also his ability to out-think nearly everyone I had ever known.  But I knew that to get what I needed from Styr, Severus couldn’t be here.  That argument fell through fairly quickly as Severus had shut it down with the simple explanation that there was no way he would ever let me enter Styr’s tent alone, and that I could either accept his presence on my shoulder as usual, or he would make me regret ever being born.

There wasn’t much that could truly frighten me anymore, especially after I had fought the dead, but the look in Severus’ glowing purple-green eyes and the utter conviction that hummed threateningly through our connection left my heart pounding and fingers trembling for my wand.  Styr, with all of his power and influence, may frighten me…but Severus absolutely terrified me.  There was no arguing against him, so I didn’t.  Even though I knew that I was right, and he was just being stubborn.

My heart was thudding in my chest as I fought the urge to bring my hand up and stroke along Severus’ soft hide in a self-comforting gesture.  I had to appear certain and unafraid for my plan to work.  I needed others to see me standing before the Magnar’s tent, unwavering and undaunted.

It was harder than I thought. 

Severus was opposed to this part of the plan – because of course he was – but we had already tried nearly every other means.  As great as I was with battle magic, my healing abilities were still subpar, and we didn’t have the time for me to learn how to do the necessary spells without getting caught.  As it stood, we were less than a half moon’s turn away from this Mance person, and I needed what was in Styr’s tent to finish what Severus and I had started.

One more ingredient and that was it…just one more.

I fought not to flinch as the heavy bear hide over the doorway was shifted aside and the burly guard gestured for me to enter.  Taking a deep fortifying breath, I stepped through into the tent, blinking my eyes as they adjusted to the low light.

Antlers from massive animals hung on upper support beams, smaller bones decorating the main pole in the center.  A table made from a pale wood stood off to the side, several empty cups and a tray of half-eaten food covering the surface.  There were several chairs covered in lighter furs, a larger one decorated with more skulls, and a massive bed with the largest antlers I have ever seen framing the center headboard.  It had to be from some sort of moose, but they stretched further apart then even Styr was tall, and I couldn’t imagine a moose that large.

A woman was lounging on the bed…no, two women were resting partly underneath the furs.  And I could see from the limbs that weren’t covered that they were very, very naked.  I could feel my cheeks flush as one shifted and even less of her was now covered.

“Like what you see?” Styr asked, grinning ludely as he picked up a half full mug and draining it before he sat himself in the largest chair at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t be gross,” I said with a hiss as I approached, refusing to let myself be cowed by him.  I all but threw myself into the chair across from him, ignoring the discarded robe that was thrown across the armrest – it probably belonged to one of the women – not even allowing him time to invite me, or refuse to offer me a seat.  Severus shifted to perch himself on the back of the chair for better access if he had to suddenly take flight, a low angry rumble vibrating from deep in his chest.  With Styr, one couldn’t be too careful.

“You can join them, you know.  If you want?” He tilted his head with another grin, and I sneered at him, looking away from his smug punchable face as I took in the others in the tent.  Aside from the two women who were no doubt sleeping off their carnal activities, there were four guards lining the walls, and another standing in front of my only exit.  I tried not to let the numbers against me make me feel anxious, reminding myself over and over that I was a witch.  I may have had to leave my sword back in my own tent, but they couldn’t make me leave my wand.

“That will never happen,” I said with a sneer, trying to do my best to imitate Professor Snape.  I had taken to separating the two, even if they were the same man.  I just had a hard time sometimes remembering that the meanest professor at Hogwarts was also the same person who had guided and cared for me through our displacement.  It was just easier to think of them as separate entities.  Severus was clever and shrewd, but he was also kind and caring.  Professor Snape was cruel, decisive, ruthless, and cunning…and I was getting almost perfect at imitating his blank expression of distaste with a single raised brow and curl of my lip.

“Then why are you here, little witch?” Styr asked, leaning back and gazing at me speculatively.  He still looked entirely too smug and punchable, but now he at least was giving the impression of listening.

“To negotiate,” I replied.  ‘To lay my trap’, I thought to myself as Severus’ emotions buzzed along my skin.  He felt vindictive, but cautious.  I took a breath and tried to let his emotions smother my fear and discomfort.  “I’m here to offer you a chance.”

“A chance?” The Magnar laughed, glancing at those who lined his tent walls.  “And what exactly is this chance you are offering?  Is it something fun?” Possessive fury coiled in my gut – I sent Severus a flash of annoyance until he got it under control, and I could concentrate on the man before me instead of the dragon behind me – and it took thinking of nothing but the cold wastes where our journey began to keep myself calm and placid.

I had conflicting emotions about the barren tundra we had traversed, but mostly I had found it cold, empty, and oddly peaceful.  A suggestion from Severus when I was finding it hard to remain calm, an occlumency lesson in clearing my mind.  It worked on stilling my emotions better than it did his, but picturing the desolate white landscape, imagining the cold wind on my face, the sound of snow crunching beneath my boots, and his warm presence around my neck did wonders to calm both of us.

“No, a chance to settle things between us before I am forced to seek aid,” I said softly, trying not to be too obvious about glancing around and gauging the reactions of those standing guard.  It worked both for and against me, having them here.  On one hand, I wanted them to hear what was said, spread the word of my attempt to make peace and the threat if the Magnar refused.  On the other, it made it more difficult to get what I truly came for with so many eyes on me.

Styr hummed quietly as he gazed at me, his eyes pinched in amusement.  If the man wasn’t so deplorable, I might have found him almost attractive.  He had fairly pleasant features, despite the scarring – I was actually beginning to see the beauty in those ritual scars the longer I spent with the Thenns – his body was fit and muscular, and his eyes were a captivating blue.  It was his personality that made him so appalling.  As it were, I only felt a deep seeded disgust roiling in my lower stomach every time I laid eyes on him.  “And who, exactly, little witch, would you be seeking aid from?”

It was the one question I needed him to ask, and I got the feeling like he knew that.  The Magnar was indulging me at this point, but I didn’t mind if it got me what I wanted.  And what I wanted was him to understand exactly who – or more exactly what – he was dealing with.

“My gods, of course,” I said speaking quietly as I ignored the snort of disbelief or disgust from one of the guards.  I couldn’t really tell which.  “Your gods gave you the title of Magnar, Styr,” I rolled his name as I flicked my fingers and summoned an empty cup from the table across the room.  The guards jumped as it flew into my hands.  “Mine gave me magic.”

I drank the fresh water I had summoned into the cup discretely with my hidden wand, maintaining eye contact with the man across from me.  I could hear the soft rustle of fur as the guards shifted, Severus quiet breaths and near silent angry rumble that he still hadn’t stopped, the low voices outside as the rest of the Thenns went about their daily tasks unaware of the power struggle taking place within the tent.

“And unlike your gods, mine actually listen,” I continued, refusing to look away first.  Styr looked more intrigued than he did uncomfortable, so I had to up my ante.  “My kind, witches,” I elaborated to force my point, using the word in my mother tongue to emphasize it.  “My gods favor us.  So much that we can even beseech them, from time to time.  If we are favored enough, if we say the right words and offer the right sacrifice, if our conviction is enough, and my gods are in a giving mood…well,” I shrugged in a nonchalant manner.  “Let’s just say we usually get what we ask for.  And I can assure you, Styr, I am very, very favored.”

The corner of his lip twitched upwards and he leaned forward suddenly, elbows resting on his knees as the mug dangled forgotten in one of his hands, his eyes alight with intrigue.  His larger form seemed to eat the space between us, and it took all the occlumency training Severus had given me to keep myself calm and unmoving as he was suddenly close enough to touch.

“And what would you ask of them?” He asked, a strange gleam in his eyes as he smiled at me.  His teeth were strangely white and straight, I was just noticing, but I didn’t let it distract me for long.

“I would ask them to aid me,” I replied.  “I would tell them of my troubles,” a twitch of my own lips mirrored his as we both knew my troubles were him.  “I would tell them of my fears, and I would beseech them to intercede on my behalf.”

“And will they?” Styr asked, tilting his head as he studied me.

“Yes,” I replied with as much surety and bullshitery as I could manage.  Severus once told me that the ability to make someone believe a lie, was to convince yourself you are speaking the truth.  So, that was what I did.  I wrapped my mind around the lie, and I believed with all my heart and soul, that if I managed to gather all the ingredients, then I could convince my gods to put a stop to Styr’s control over me.  And as my ‘gods’ were magic…it didn’t take that much to believe at all.  After all, I had absolutely nothing but pure belief and faith in magic.

“Hmm,” Styr huffed, leaning back once more in his chair.  He set his mug on the floor next to him before bringing his hands up to lace them across his stomach, spreading his legs wide as he lounged comfortably.  His blue eyes were fixed to mine as he studied me, gaze raking up and down my form as he took in the new style of my hair – braids more elaborate and decorated with many hoops, chains, and colored string – the ease in which I held myself, and the changes of my outfit.

Severus had impressed upon me the importance of appearance more than once.  How one presents themselves could be far more important than any bloodline or skill.  After all, he had made it quite far and high in the ranks of both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore even as a halfblood – and that whole revelation was quite a surprise, even if Severus decided to gloss over it briefly.  So, I had started to make an actual effort in the mornings, using my magic to braid my hair in more elaborate styles until I finally found one that I actually liked, strapping the sword of Gryffindor on my hip instead of leaving it to be packed and summoned later if needed, standing tall and not allowing myself to cower before the much taller Thenns.  I had even taken pains to add to my outfit.

I had crafted a chest guard made from the leftover dragon hide and decorated it with the many scales shed by the whelps that worked better than any bra or armor.  It fit tightly over the serpent hide, the chest guard stiff from the many hardened layers of both dragon leather and spellwork, giving my breasts the support they needed – especially when riding – but also the protection I would no doubt need if I kept making enemies.  And knowing my luck, I would be making a lot more enemies than I would friends.

An arrow wouldn’t be able to puncture the serpent hide, but it would still hurt.  The chest guard offered more protection, and I hoped it would be effective against the White Walkers as well.  Their ice sword had sliced through the serpent hide like it was cotton and I had been lucky they had only swiped across my side and not plunged their blade in my chest like I had theirs.

It also had the advantage of at least giving me the mediocre bit of modesty.  It covered my chest, fitting tight and molded to my breasts and ribcage.  It ended where my sternum did, leaving the white serpent hide over my stomach and lower back exposed, allowing me to retain my flexibility.  Bits of bone carved from the horns of the sea serpent made a line from my neck down my back like a spine, giving me extra protection while not hindering my movement.

It did have the added disadvantage of fixing my atrocious posture as it pulled my shoulders back.  Severus was over the moon about that as he had remarked on my posture on more than one occasion.  I just found it uncomfortable until I got used to it.

“And what would your gods do, exactly?” Styr asked with a light voice.  My eyes narrowed as his amusement was plain to see.  He was mocking me, but I bit my tongue to keep my Gryffindor response silent.  I had to be a Slytherin to win this battle.  My inner lion needed to stay caged while my snake came out and played.

“They would curse you, of course,” I replied easily, letting myself ease back to mirror his comfortable pose.  I didn’t lounge quite as much as he did, but I allowed my back to rest against the chair, my arms to lay relaxed to the sides as I let my own drink dangle between careless fingers, and my legs crossed to let him know I was still not open to his advances.  “Something horrible, but not life threatening, I am sure.”

He chuckled at that and I fought to keep the scowl off my face.  “Well, I’m almost excited to see what they will cook up.”

“You shouldn’t be,” I cautioned, letting a glare slip through as the other guards started to snicker softly along with him.  A slight cooling spell made the temperature in the tent drop by ten degrees and I saw one of the men grip his spear tighter.  Good, I needed them to take my warning seriously if this was going to work.  “I’ll warn you this once, Styr,” I didn’t call him Magnar, I refused to offer him the respect of that title.  “Leave me and mine be, or you will rue the day you ever mocked my gods.  Because, despite what you think, gods are never ones to be mocked, no matter whose gods they are.”

He wasn’t smiling now.  I didn’t know whether to feel vindicated by him finally taking my threat seriously, or uncomfortable by the way he was now looking at me.  It wasn’t a glare, but it wasn’t a leer either.  I didn’t know quite what to make of it.

Styr stared at me for a long time, so long that I had to consciously fight my body’s reaction to fidget before he finally snorted.  “Perhaps, perhaps not.  We shall see,” he said unhelpfully.  I didn’t know what to make of his words, but he didn’t give me long to ponder them.  “If I were you, I would be trying to get those dragons of yours under control, like I ordered you to.”

If my glare could have killed, Styr would have been dead five times over.

“You’re almost out of time, little witch.  And I don’t want to disappoint our new king,” Styr nearly whispered the words, as if they were something intimate to be shared between us.  I fought not to hex him right then and there as Severus’ low rumbling growl was now loud enough to be heard by the others.

He nodded his head to one of the guards and I knew my time was up.  If I wanted to be successful in my mission, I had to act, and it had to be now.  The guard was approaching me as I tilted the mug in my hand and let the water cascade onto the fur covered ground.  Moving quickly, I stood, mug in one hand and the discarded robe in the other.  I took a moment and made a show of it as I walked around the seated Magnar to set the robe on the bed next to one of the slumbering women.

Styr was watching me curiously, an odd tilt to his lips.  With a discreet flick of my wand, the mug flew back to the table, and just like I expected, all eyes followed the movement.  Fishing the empty vial out of my robe pocket, I shifted the bear hide aside, my eyes immediately alighting on one of many wet stains on the bed.  A quick spell and the vial was full and tucked away into my pocket as I turned and made my way back towards the exit and the one guard who still stood in front of it.

“You really should clean this place,” I said with a sneer as I passed the Magnar, personifying Snape once more with each syllable spoken and movement made.  Severus launched himself from the back of the chair and alighted on my shoulder once more.  “It’s disgusting in here.”

Styr’s amused snort followed me out of the tent as the guard slid to the side and I could finally breathe.  The sun was nearly set, and torches were being lit as I made my way back to camp.

“Did you get it?” He asked as I wove through the different camps, letting the normal hustle and bustle calm my racing heart.  “Hari, did you get it?”

“Yes,” I replied quietly, feeling my hands shake as my fingers skated over the vial.  A moment later I pulled them away in disgust.  “I got it.”

“Good,” he said with a low mumble, the angry growling he had been doing since we entered the tent finally gone.  “I never want to do that again.”

“You and me both,” I shivered in disgust now with just the thought of what was contained in the vial.  “I’m going to need to bathe for hours to get my skin to stop crawling.”

“Don’t say that in front of the whelps,” Severus chuckled softly in my ear.  “You’ll never get a chance if your too busy scrubbing them.”

“Ugh,” I grumbled in annoyance as I finally stepped into our camp.  Loboda was tending to the fire while Ida tended to Chudley.  Aslaug glanced up from where she was repairing her fur boot, smiling at me so brightly that for a moment, I forgot about all of my worries and let myself smile brightly back.

“Don’t get distracted,” Severus hissed in my ear as my heart fluttered lightly in my chest.  “We aren’t finished yet.”

He was right, because of course he was.  It didn’t make it any easier though.  I may now have all the ingredients needed, but I still needed to do something with them.  The next few days were really going to suck.  But tonight…tonight I just let myself get carried away with my little crush as I plopped myself down next to the girl who could be something and let her chatter wash away the disgust that my visit to the Magnar had left.

I hushed Severus whenever he grumbled in my ear about our plan.  Afterall, the plan could wait one single night.  It wasn’t like a day would make a difference when we had already spent so much time just preparing for it. I had been chomping at the bit, so to speak, about getting this plan moving, as unlike with most of my plans, this one had started off slow.  Slower than I liked, to be honest, and the anticipation between implementing it and actual results left me in a near state of buzzing anxiety.

Aslaug and I shared space as we breathed together, giggling between sips of something sweet but also definitely alcohol, and Canute finally left his family to come join us.  He sat at my other side, still weary of Severus’ presence, who after a while decided to find himself a perch away from all the ‘teenagers’ and their ‘rampaging hormones’.  I was pressed between them for hours, enjoying the night as it slowly creeped by and one after the other, we all went to bed.

I didn’t sleep much that night, despite the alcohol, and that next morning we got started.  I was a complete mess of nerves as the days passed, Aslaug’s calming chatter doing little to comfort me after I had finally put our plan into action, but I hid it well…or at least I thought I did.  It wasn’t enough to fool anyone who actually knew me, but for the majority of the Thenns nothing about me had changed at all.

A blood curse was such an easy solution, both Severus and I almost looked completely passed it as I sat at my new table in our tent, blank paper strewn about the surface as I listed possible spells and Severus made a very poor attempt at sketching alternative plans.  Ink and parchment were not a dragon’s friend.  It took hours to get the stains out of his hide.

The idea came to me as a joke when Severus mentioned in passing my atrocious luck and how unlikely it was for someone to be this unlucky.  When he asked if a curse had been placed upon my family, I had laughingly said ‘if only it were that easy’.  Except…it was that easy.

A discarded cloth with blood on it easily stolen when the Magnar was sparring – he had wiped his cut with it before taking up his axe and smiling dangerously at the one who had gotten a lucky shot in – various plants both magical and not which wasn’t as easy, but Severus was teaching me the amazing art of substitution, and one vial of…an unmentionable substance.  Honestly, I still didn’t feel clean even days after my pretend negotiations with Styr while I stole a vial of that.

Maybe I could get Severus to teach me that spell that makes people permanently forget things.

Collecting the said unmentionable substance will stay…unmentioned.  I have never taken that many baths in one day.  The dragons certainly enjoyed it, though they were less than enthusiastic about the cold river water.  No amount of heating charms could ever fix the sheer freezing sensation of ice water.  Next time, I was going to make my own little heated pool…or perhaps I could paint heating runes on?  Maybe something like the ones on my face.  Would that even work?  A thought for another time.

After everything had been gathered, I was ready for the final step, the ritual itself.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this?” Severus asked as I kneeled before the fire.  The others around camp were going about their nightly duties, except Ida who was sitting in the snow beside me.  I had enlisted her help in setting out my supplies and now she was staring between me and the fire as she awaited my next set of instructions.

“Well, it’s too late to back out now,” I said in reply as I double checked the notes to make certain I had everything I needed.

“No, it isn’t,” Severus rumbled, his voice a growl in his chest as he tugged at a loop in my hair to get my attention.  He shuffled down my arm once I turned to him, settling on the crook of my elbow so we could meet eye to eye.  “Hari, it’s not too late to turn back.  Think this through before you commit.  This is dark magic, maybe a slightly lighter side than most dark magic, but it is still dark.”

I nodded my head slowly, both to let him know I was listening and to remind myself I had already committed to this path.  As far as I was concerned, it was too late to go back.  We were a mere two weeks away from meeting up with the rest of the Freefolk, I didn’t have time to come up with another plan.

The dark magic did take me by surprise when Severus first explained it to me, and the consequences for delving into such kinds of magic.  He had told me all about the rush I would feel, the feeling of euphoria that would envelope me when I was casting, and the addictive feeling that would follow after the curse was laid.  Thankfully, Severus knew what to expect as he himself had delved into the darker arts when he was not much older than me.  And wasn’t that a doozy of a conversation.

Severus hadn’t wanted to talk about it.  Even if I couldn’t tell from the emotions flooding over mine like a tsunami, his posture was a definite giveaway.  Fins pressed close as his tail twitched in erratic little flicks, his eyes had darted to everything but me as he spoke of his shady past, the feeling of isolation that had overtaken him until he discovered how dark magic seemed to fill the hole that his best friend had left behind…a best friend who had happened to be my mother!

I wanted to ask him more about being friends with my mom, but even with my awful social skills I could tell that now really wasn’t the time.  But Severus knew that I would be bringing this conversation back up when the opportunity presented itself.  The feeling of resigned acceptance was my only reply when I had decided to drop the topic for the moment.

Even with all the words of warning and knowing what to expect, somehow, I was still caught by surprise.

It started with the chanting; soft words spoken in Latin as I started the spellwork.  A bloodcurse wasn’t necessarily difficult, but it was time consuming.  I also didn’t need to do it in front of the campfire, but I needed to be seen ‘speaking’ to my gods.  If the fire was good enough for the Seer, it was more than good enough for me.

Ida was an excited little helper, eyes wide as she handed me each item I requested.  Most of it was for show, as the majority of the mixing and prep work had been done inside the privacy of my tent, but the last bit, the actual curse laying, was done while I also ‘beseeched my gods’.  I performed my little ritual – I should have started a career in acting, honestly, it was an award worthy performance – trying not to laugh as Ida flinched back from the fire as it changed colors and trying hard to ignore the curious people who were loitering around the edges of our camp.

The rush that flooded me left me breathless as I opened the final vial for the actual spell and threw it into the flames.  I felt almost weightless, like gravity had dropped out from under me and I was floating in ecstasy as my body was flooded with warmth and joy and something that almost felt like home.  I wanted to chase the feeling, tears welling up in my eyes as the feeling of being lost and homesick was gone for the very first time since I had been displaced. 

The magic called to me, whispering seductively to me.  It wanted me to dive a little deeper, go a little further.  I was only doing a mild bloodcurse, something small that would inconvenience but cause no serious harm.  But I was having a hard time remembering why I had decided to go this route.  It would be so much easier if something were to happen to the Magnar, make it so he couldn’t ever threaten me again…it would be so much better if he were to just disappear.

I almost fell into it, almost did the exact thing Severus had warned me against, but I was able to pull myself away from the addicting feeling by non-other than Ida.  She hadn’t done anything much, to be able to pull me away from the temptation of diving just a little deeper, but it was enough.  She had looked up at me as I stared into the flames, listening to the dark whispers of the magic, and had said my name softly in a curious tone.

It was that, just that and no more.  She had said my name so innocently that it cut through the whispers and I was able to pull away from the spell.  Severus gave me a curious look, full of understanding and sympathy, as I blinked in confusion, glancing from the fire to take in my surroundings.  More villagers had shown up while I had been lost in the curse laying, standing at the edge of the camp, and watching the now blue flames.  After a moment, the flames returned to their normal color and I felt the euphoria of the dark magic leave me.

Shame filled me as the seductive feeling of the magic finally slid away, but Severus didn’t let me linger on it for long. I rushed to clean up after the spellwork, dropping unused plants and empty vials into my bag – Hermione’s bag – and standing quickly to retreat to my tent.  I ignored Canute’s worried call of my name and dodged Loboda’s concerned glance as I let the seal hide drop into place over the doorway and let myself collapse into my cot.  Severus curled himself into a tight ball in the space between my chin and collarbone, rumbling that quiet purr he still pretended he didn’t do but doing it anyways because he knew how much it comforted me.

Tears came into my eyes as I clutched at the gaping hole that had clawed itself into my chest when that feeling of home was taken away.  Severus’ quiet rumblings of ‘I knows’ and ‘you’ll be fine’ slowly drowning out my sobs.

I fell into a restless sleep that night, torn between beautiful kaleidoscopes of Hogwarts during the years I had known her halls, and the furious screams of my friends as they learned what I had done, the type of magic I had allowed myself to fall into.

Hermione was on the couch before the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, book in hand, and she refused to look at me.  Ron, standing before me, telling me his mother wanted the sweaters back that she had knitted.  Ginny would see me down the hallway, grab Neville and turn to leave.  Luna was next to them, shaking her head sadly as she too left with them.  Malfoy’s laughter ringing down empty corridors, saying I should have accepted his handshake back on the train.

I had run, to get away from him and his laughter, to hide from my friends that thought they had to hide from me.  The hallways twisted and turned and no matter where I ran, I always ended right back where I started, in Gryffindor tower with Hermione reading a book and Ron asking for his mother’s sweaters.

Professor Snape found me there, on my knees and crying as Ron stood over me for the hundredth time.  Covering my ears, I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.  My friends were enough, I didn’t need to hear what he wanted to tell me as well.  I flinched from him as he knelt down, but he grabbed my chin and forced me to look.  His eyes met mine, so dark that they seemed to swallow the pupil, and his grip on my chin was anything but tender…and yet, the pain seemed to ground me.

“Enough, child,” he said, grabbing my arm and forcing me to stand as he stood in front of Ron, who had started to ask for the sweaters again.  “You’ve been tortured enough by others; there’s no need to torture yourself as well.”

I blinked at him, confused as he finally got me to my feet and towered over me.  I couldn’t remember the last time we had been this close without any animosity between us.  The last time we stood this close, the tournament aside where he had been trying to keep me alive, was in detention.  He had towered over me then too.  I was taller now, but only just.  My head still didn’t reach his collarbone, but at least now I could meet his eyes without getting a massive crick in my neck.

Professor Snape released my chin as I met his eyes willingly, and his thumb swiped just below my left eye.  “They’re green…” he commented idly as I blinked at him in confusion.  “You have your mother’s eyes…had.”

I sucked in a breath as I finally understood.  This wasn’t Professor Snape, this was, “Severus?” I asked cautiously as he lowered his hands and took a step back.  Behind him, the Gryffindor common room began to fade, Ron’s repeated request fading with it.

“Who else did you think I was?” Severus asked as he glanced around, taking in how the red walls started to melt into blue and between one breath and the next we were back in our little cave dug into the ice floor.  I didn’t realize until this moment how much I missed our small burrow.  Steam licked up lazily from the pool as the water sun rotated just above it, casting dazzling light upon the walls in fractured prisms.

“Thought you were Snape – Professor Snape,” I corrected with a shrug as I watched water languidly drip up from the pool into the water sun, Severus’ fire still caught within the bubble of water.  I didn’t realize how that sounded until I saw his arched eyebrow.  His expression said quite clearly that he thought I had said something stupid.

“I hope you do realize that I am Professor Snape,” he began with that annoying curl of his lip that I had yet to master.  “The magic must have affected you worse than I thought.”

“No,” I shook my head, heat flooding my cheeks in embarrassment.  I had never had to explain to him before that I had thought of him as two different people.  “No, I know your Snape…but you’re also…not.”

“Not?” He asked curiously, and I could tell he really was trying not to sound derisive in that moment.  “How am I Snape and not Snape?”

I shrugged like that would somehow answer the question, but he only continued to stare at me in that way that wasn’t a glare…but sort of was at the same time.  “It’s just…you’re Severus!”  He raised a single eyebrow at my outburst, and I felt my cheeks heat further.  “That’s not…I mean –”

“I believe I understand what you mean,” he said softly, interrupting my ramblings.  Thank Merlin for that.  “To you, Severus is a small dragon who is helpful, and Snape is your dreaded teacher that terrifies you.”

There was no inflection on the words, no emotion, and yet I could feel the conflicting swell of something that bubbled under the surface…his surface.  I flinched at the surge of something that wasn’t exactly hurt – but felt awfully close to it – crashed over me like a wave.  “You don’t,” I whispered, stepping closer and back into the space that he had put between us.  I reached up to grab the sleeve of his robe, the one that I recognized as mine now.  The last time I had seen the sleeves, I had been burning them as useless scraps.

His robes were intact, the clothes he wore the ones he had died in.  I could see the inside pockets that I had pilfered, the chain from the watch in his front vest, the letter from McGonagall peeking out next to it.  I had buried his body in these clothes…except in this moment they were undamaged, blood-free, and he was unhurt.  Guilt started to crash over me, and I had to breathe through the crushing weight of it.  Now was not the time and now certainly wasn’t about me.

“You don’t scare me,” I said, trying to sound more confident than what I felt as I gripped his sleeve to keep him from retreating from me again.  “You might piss me off,” I said with a wry grin.  “But you don’t scare me.  You never did.  It’s just…it’s hard to-to…” I trailed off, uncertain how to voice my thoughts into words.  Severus remained silent, letting me gather my thoughts as he stood next to me, allowing my tight grip on his sleeve even though I could feel how uncomfortable he was.

“It’s easier to think of you as two people,” I said with my gaze fixed on the pool at our feet.  I couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t say what I needed to if I had to look at him.  “And it’s easier to think of me as two people, too.  There’s the me before the tournament, and there’s the you before the tournament.  We were different then, not just in general, but to each other.”

Severus hummed in that way of his where he wasn’t really agreeing with me, but he was at least thinking about it.  “You are less of a brat,” he said, my head snapping up as his voice turned light, his lips doing that thing where he was almost smiling.

“And you are less of a bully…oh, no wait…no you’re not,” I smiled at him, darting away as he scowled.  My laughter rang around our little cave and he snorted in what I knew was amusement though he tried to hide it.  Darting to the little shelf that had served as my bed, I all but threw the bookbag at him.  “It’s your turn to read me something!” I said with a shout as I crawled on top of the dragonhide scraps, tore of my boots, and reached for the robe that wasn’t there.  Frowning, I glanced around but couldn’t find it.

“What makes you think I will be reading you anything?” Severus asked, his voice tinged in annoyance as he held the bookbag in one hand while rummaging through it with the other.  “You are hardly a little child to be pandered too.”

“Because it’s your turn!  I’m the one always reading to you and the whelps, it would be nice if one of you would read to me for once…where is my robe?” I asked but realized a moment later that the robes I was looking for were the ones that Severus was wearing.  Before I could do anything more than frown, black fabric collided with my face and I spluttered as I pulled it off only to realize that he had thrown the robes at me.  Severus pulled out a book as he sat at the foot of the ice shelf, refusing to meet my eyes as he rolled up his sleeves, the fading but still dark tattoo on his forearm visible, but I didn’t try to look at it.

I already knew what it was, and I knew how uncomfortable it made him to expose it.  Just the fact that he was comfortable enough with me to not be bothered by me seeing it made something warm slither around my chest, leaving behind a soft but giddy feeling in its wake.

He flipped the cover open and began to thumb through the pages, ignoring both me and the odd feeling he no doubt had felt as well.  I could feel a low twinge of embarrassment coming from him but only smiled softly as I pulled the robes up and didn’t bring it to attention.  Before all this, before the ice cave and the dragons and the tournament, I would have done everything to draw attention to his embarrassment…but the me before and the me now were decidedly different people.

Settling into the shelf, I laid down, pulling the robes up like a blanket, shuffling my cold nose into the fabric that I knew smelled like him even now, even after they had become mine, and let my eyes wander to the little hole that contained the unhatched eggs.  I rubbed my sock feet together before pressing them under his thigh, ignoring his grunt of annoyance as I tried to chase away the dreamt sensation of cold.

“Chapter twenty-seven.  Bloodvein is an uncommon ingredient when it comes to potion making due to its explosive tendency when combined with heat, but if handled correctly, it can greatly increase the potency of several healing potions.  One of the –”

I dozed as his voice washed over me, smiling softly as he read from my potion’s textbook.  Of course, that would be the one he chose to read.  My mind was held in that state for the rest of the night, not dreaming really…but drifting in the safe place he had made for me away from the achingly familiar halls of Hogwarts, the only home I had ever known, and the accusing words of my friends.

When I woke the next morning, I felt surprisingly rested despite how sluggish my magic felt after such heavy spellwork the night before.  I also had an odd urge to brew a potion…but I knew that was left over from Severus’ own desire.  I wondered if he could recite the book because he had read it so often as to memorize it, or if it was because I had.

He still slumbered on my pillow, and I stroked his warm hide carefully so as not to wake him, before I had to get up to use the loo.  My actions were for not as I was forced to shove Gemini and Hera aside to simply stand up, and their squawking not only woke Severus but the other dragons as well.  Even though my tent was soundproof, I knew that soon the whole camp would awaken, as Loki darted out past the seal hide door with a loud screech.

Despite the commotion and angry grumbling coming from both inside and outside my tent, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Chapter Text

After all the planning, preparation, the spell work, the deception, and the sneaking around, getting Styr to actually drink the concoction that would make the curse permanent was…well, anticlimactic.  Slipping the concoction into Styr’s fermented goat’s milk was so easy it was almost too easy, and I waited for the other shoe to drop.  It never did.  I just sort of tipped it in his drink while disguising myself as a servant girl – seriously, I will never give Lavender a hard time about glamours ever again – and then I was done.

That was it.  There were no sparks, no sudden reaction, no nothing.  He drank his altered milk and then absolutely nothing happened.  Severus had told me it would take time; it was just that I hadn’t quite realized how much time he meant.  And I was apparently – to nobody’s surprise but my own – terrible at waiting.  Like, absolutely rubbish at it.

I paced our campsites every night chewing on a thumbnail.  I started to question myself, question my decision.  Did I do the right thing?  I had let the spell get away from me, had let the dark seductiveness of the curse pull me in just a little deeper.  I had taken it further than planned, cursed more than just him…but did I do the right thing?  What if it wasn’t enough?  Maybe I should have dived deeper, laid it thicker.  What if I had just done something more…permanent?

During the day, I tried to watch the Magnar as inconspicuously as possible, but not nearly enough according to Loboda.  Six days after I poisoned the Magnar, Loboda finally approached me.  We had just finished dinner, Ida was cleaning the last of the bowls with melted snow, and I was slowly unbraiding my hair for bed.  I could have done it with magic, but there was something calming about the repetitive motion, the simple bedtime routine.  I was on the last braid when the much larger man lowered himself down onto my log, clasped his hands together, and looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Alright,” he said, voice soft but still loud enough to carry to the others.  Aslaug and Canute sat across from us, the younger girl sending me a sympathetic smile as she looked away into the woods while trying to appear as if she wasn’t eavesdropping.  Canute had no such compunction and chose instead to stare directly at us.  “What did you do?”

“What?” I asked bewildered, and a little too loudly.  “What makes you think I did anything?”

Loboda only raised an unimpressed eyebrow in response.  I spluttered for a few more seconds, ignoring Severus’ soft chuckles in my ear, before I finally gave up on the ruse altogether.  Honestly, I had wanted to be caught.  That was the whole point, phase two of my four stage plan, I just had to make it seem like I didn’t want to be.

“What did you do?” Loboda asked again, repeating the words slowly as if I was a particularly mischievous child.

“I didn’t do anything, really,” I said, waving my hand at him to stop him from interrupting.  Alfhild and her mom wandered over from the horses to join our conversation.  Canute’s parents were still putting the two youngest to bed, but I could see his father casting us curious glances from the entryway of their tent.  “I mean, I really didn’t do anything.  But…” I said, trailing off as I bent my head.  Through my loose hair I glanced around surreptitiously.

The trees had been getting thinner as we moved more south, and camps had started to pack in closer as the weather turned colder.  Our campsite was flush against two others, their fires bright enough to cast shadows from our tents.  A few dozen or so men and women were meandering between our three camps.

Thenns didn’t really have a sense of personal space.  Everything was communal, shared between people and families.  Campsites were no different.  Most nights, we would have even the guards join us at our fire to warm up and eat before moving on.

“But I did…sort of…kind of did do something,” I said in admission.  I was careful, both with my words and my tone.  I spoke loud enough to be heard by the others, but still quiet enough to make it seem like I was trying to have a private conversation.  “A few days ago…”

“Ah,” Loboda said with a solemn nod.  “When you knelt before the fire to pray to your gods.”

I had made certain that I had been seen, not only by my camp, but by as many other passerby’s as possible.  Kneeling in the snow, I had discreetly cast a few spells to throw sparks from the fire and to briefly change its color from orange into pink, purple, and blue.  It had looked very similar to Severus’ flames, but just different enough that no one would think to question it.  The similarities between the two types of flames was a calculated risk.  I had hoped – well, Severus had told me he hoped – that it would appear to be a design of the gods.

“Yes, of a sort,” I said in answer to his words.  It hadn’t been phrased as a question, but I treated it as one all the same.  Thenns were very particular about gods.  “I wasn’t so much praying to them, as I was beseeching them.”

“Beseeching?  For like wisdom or something?” Aslaug asked, her voice raising higher as she tilted her head quizzically.  It was as if asking your gods for a favor was unheard of.  Though, thinking back upon it, whenever I saw Loboda pray to his own gods, he wasn’t really asking for anything, more of requesting guidance.

“No,” I said carefully, trying to be discreet as I darted my eyes around to gauge the mood of those listening.  Ragna appeared to be the only one showing any sort of distasteful expression, but that wasn’t anything new.  I was pretty certain that was just her resting face.  “I-I mean I beseeched them for aid.  You know, ‘I pray to you Merlin, intercede on my behalf,’ and such.” I mumbled, translating part of what I had said in my mother tongue as I had played theater with our campfire.  In all honesty, the majority of the spell work was done completely in the safety and privacy of our tent, and only the final act, the actual last layer of the curse was done at the campfire.  Not that they needed to know that.

“You did what?” Loboda hissed, looking affronted.  “Why would you do that?  Calling your gods out like that,” he shook his head furiously.  “Do you know what kind of misfortune could befall you for daring to do such a thing?”

“You forget,” I said quickly, trying to assure him as I rested my hand on his thick forearm.  “My gods aren’t yours.  Mine do not mind when we beseech them, as long as it is only done on occasion and in true need.  And I truly need their intervention if I am to keep my family together and safe from the Magnar and Elder Ake.”

Loboda was still shaking his head, but at least he was no longer admonishing me.

“What…uh, what do you think they are going to do?” Aslaug asked cautiously.  She was wringing her hands together as she said the words, stumbling over them as her gaze darted around the campfire.  Her eyes refused to meet mine.

“I don’t know,” I answered carefully.  Yes, I did, but they couldn’t know that.  “Nothing too dangerous…my gods don’t work that way.  A minor curse, probably.  Something inconvenient or annoying.  Enough to get my point across and get what I want, but not enough to kill.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, her fingers twisting so tightly together I feared she was going to break or dislocate one.  And still, she wouldn’t look at me.  She didn’t speak again for the rest of the night and my chest ached uncomfortably as she went to the tent she shared with her mother and sister without even bidding me goodnight.

Loboda gave me a heated glare as I stared after Aslaug’s retreating back before he pulled me into a quick but tight hug.  “I fear you have gotten in way over your head.”

I laughed softly as he released me.  His hands were gripping my elbows, and I twisted my arms to grip his in return.  “Don’t worry so much.  Getting in over my head is my specialty.”

He huffed in annoyance, yanking me close enough to kiss my forehead before he all but shoved me towards my tent.  “Get some rest and stay out of trouble.  At least until morning.”

Shaking my head in amusement, I did as he said.  And I stayed out of trouble all night long.

The next morning, Styr’s horse bucked him off just as he was passing a river and he plunged below the ice.  The entire caravan of thousands had to halt for the day as his guards pulled him from the icy water and camp was set up early to allow him time to dry off.  I wasn’t there to see it, but I wished desperately that I had, his face must have been truly a moment to remember.  Pity I missed it.

I also missed it when he threw a fit because there was no more of his favorite fermented goats-milk available.  According to Canute’s mother, one of the sleds that had carried his personal stash had upended when the horses straps had snapped.  His personal reserves were entirely gone.

Shoddy leatherwork, some mumbled.  Ill omens, whispered others.

The next day a light storm rolled in, not enough to put a stop to our never-ending trek, but certainly enough to slow us down.  By the time we stopped for camp, I heard that several of the servants had been flogged.  According to rumor, they hadn’t packed the Magnar’s tent correctly and when they went to set it up for the night, the massive pavilion leaked.

The days passed as such, each misfortune something minor but inconvenient – always mostly to the Magnar – occurred.  Spoiled food delivered to his tent.  His favorite decorative antlers broken when one of the sled horses dragging his supplies got spooked and took off into the forest.  Hours later, the horse and sled were retrieved, but much of it was missing or broken.  Misplacing his axe when he went to spar with his men, only to find it later after the one he used in replacement broke, causing him to trip and fall into the muddy snow.  His was saddle not fit tight enough so when he went to mount, he fell flat on his back.

I missed every single one of them but relished in the gossip all the same.  Rumor of what I had done spread like fiendfyre around the camps.  Whispers of my gods granting me favor and cursing their Magnar with ill fortune.  Hushed talk of what it meant for the Thenns if their leader had caught the displeasure of foreign gods.

We were only a few days from where this King Mance’s camp was rumored to be, according to the scouts, when two men, mounted on horseback, thundered into our camp.

“Witch!” One called and I froze in place, dried jerky still partway in my mouth as if I suddenly forgot how to chew.  Loboda stood, axe in hand, and Canute stood beside him.  Behind me, I could hear Alfhild drawing her own weapon as Canute’s brothers were ushered into their tent.  “The Magnar demands your presence at once!”

It looked like I was finally done waiting.

“And what does the Magnar want with my charge at this time of night?” Loboda said as he spit on the ground, lowering his axe but not releasing it.  I shook my head at the others, gesturing for them to stand down.

“That is between the Magnar and the witch…Elder,” the man added quickly as he finally tore his eyes away from me long enough for him to realize just who he was talking to.

“Very well,” Loboda nodded.  “Girl,” he called to Ida who had ducked behind Chudley’s fat and uncaring form.  The blasted horse was still grazing, completely oblivious to the tension that had fallen over our little campsite.  It was thick enough to cut with a knife for Merlin sake!  I thought animals had a better sense for these sorts of things.  “Ready two horses.  And then prepare for bed, I expect we will be absent much of this night and will have no need of you when we return.”

I frowned at Loboda as Ida immediately rushed to do as he bid, but I kept my tongue.  I knew he was trying to make a point, but I did so hate it when he treated the young girl like a slave.

“Elder,” the other male whose horse was shifting in discomfort from the hostile atmosphere spoke out hesitantly.  “The Magnar only asked for the witch.”

Loboda nodded slowly as if he wasn’t really listening to their words while he set his axe reluctantly aside.  My hand lingered on the sheathed blade at my side, and though I longed to keep it, I started unbuckling the belt when Loboda tilted his head towards me.  I knew that I would never be allowed in the presence of the Magnar while armed, but it still left me feeling uncomfortable as I darted into my tent to place the blade upon my bed.

When I returned back outside, I could see Aslaug moving to assist Ida out of the corner of my eye, but my attention was drawn to the guards.  They still had not sheathed their weapons.  “Elder!” The closest guard said with a sharp bite to his tone.  “The Magnar only asked for the witch.  You are to stay here!”

“And the witch is in my charge,” Loboda replied with his arms crossed, his biceps bulging with the movement.  He had removed his furs for the night and had been wiping himself down with a warm cloth when the guards had stormed into our camp.  The sleeveless shirt he wore did wonders for his build, but I wondered how he was so unbothered by the cold, even as I could see that his arms and neck were still damp.  “I answer for her, so declared by the last Magnar.  Or have you forgotten.  If she has done wrong, I am responsible for it.  Unless you want to go against the will of the gods.”

They flinched at the words, both of their eyes darting back to me.  I wondered briefly if they feared their gods…or mine.  Ida led the saddled Chudley to me and Aslaug an unnamed young mare over to Loboda.  Once she had handed the horse over to the man, Ida darted into his tent and returned with his furs.  Loboda wasted no time in shrugging into the furs, pulling them into place so quickly that the guards could barely get out a grunt of annoyance before Loboda was swinging himself into the saddle.

“Elder!” Canute called out, trotting up to us with a borrowed horse from Ragna.  The older woman was frowning severely at his back but didn’t speak up as Ida moved to quickly saddle the additional horse as well.  “We wish to accompany you.”  The ‘we’ was apparently Alfhild, who led the last horse towards us, unstrapping her father’s axe from the saddle and handing it over to Aslaug who stood to the side wide eyed and pale.

 My heart swelled with their conviction, even as something that felt a little like fear slipped in beneath it.  I really didn’t want to get anyone else involved, but now I knew it was too late.  Even if they were forced to stay behind and didn’t come with me to see the Magnar, Styr would still hear of what had happened.  There was nothing I could do to diffuse the situation, so I held my tongue, even as I gave them both a glance of appreciation.

“Absolutely unacceptable,” one of the guards said, spitting on the ground next to the fire.  “We will take the witch, and only the witch!”

Loboda gave the two men a withering glare as I mounted up, Chudley puffing a grunt of annoyance as I settled into the saddle, Alfhild and Canute following right behind.  I was a little slower to situate myself in the saddle properly, Ida running from one side of the horse to the other to make certain I was secure.  But it was understandable as I was still reeling from the sudden support I had when I had been planning to take the Magnar on by myself with only Severus as backup.  It seemed that I had to change our plans, and quickly.

Ignoring the two disagreeable men, Loboda gave them a curt nod before he took the lead.  The guards didn’t cease their protests, muttering ‘the Magnar this’ and the ‘the Magnar that’ but none of us were listening anymore.  After a few minutes, even they fell quiet.

The ride to the Magnar’s side of camp was short, shorter than I wished as Severus started to hiss words of action, reaction, and counteraction into my ear.  It honestly reminded much of our games of mental chess that I couldn’t help but be slightly amused by it.  Severus’ mental exercises were exhausting, but they did serve their purpose.  Even now, as the Magnar’s tent loomed over us as at our approach – a dark gaping canvas clawing up into the night sky with various antlers and animal bones – something of a plan started to form.

It looked more intimidating now, in the light of the torches, than it did when I was here last during that day to negotiate.  My heart was pounding in my chest as Chudley came to a stop and I dismounted under the stares of the nearby Thenns.  A passing man dragging some sort of sled stopped long enough to spit on the ground when he caught my eye, before moving on with his business.

Severus’ low hum of words did little to ease the sudden fear that flooded me as I was guided into the tent, the glares of the other villagers making my shoulder blades itch.  Did I really do the right thing?  I didn’t have time to ponder further as Loboda and I came to a halt just inside the entrance, Alfhild and Canute flanking us.

The tent looked much the same since I had last saw it, but I could see where my curse had started to affect it.  There were less furs covering the ground, the solid brown color of the canvas above broken with patchworked leather that had been used to mend it, the great antlers over the bed were gone.  A woman sat reclining on the bed, a different one from the last time I was here, her belly slightly swollen as she glanced nervously around at my companions.

Styr sat upon the same throne-like chair, lounging back as he pressed a damp cloth to his bleeding brow with one hand, and drank heavily out of the mug in the other.  His blue eyes met mine as he lowered his mug, bruise on his cheek prominent, dark circles under his eyes, and his leg propped oddly to the side.  He stood slowly as the guards trickled in, now nine where before there had been five, shifting his weight onto only one leg and curling his lip with each movement.  Elder Ake entered last and I could hear him and Loboda speaking softly behind me.

Honestly, I had never seen the Magnar look so worn and tired before.  My brow furrowed and Severus’ searing anger rushed through me so hotly it burned out the small bit of pity that had started to form.  I didn’t want to feel sympathy for him, didn’t want to feel the guilt as each step he took clearly caused him pain…but Styr was just a muggle.  He had no way of knowing what it meant to be cursed by a witch, no defenses to protect him, no government to stop me.

He truly had stood no chance at all.

“Little witch,” Styr greeted, the words familiar but for once the tone wasn’t.  That smug drawl he always put on each syllable was gone.  Instead, there was a hard edge to the consonants as he threw the damp rag to the floor and my eyes were drawn to the small chunks of ice that spilled out onto the furs.

“Styr,” I greeted back, keeping my face placid as my own guilt fought with Severus’ righteous anger.  I honestly didn’t know what to feel as I saw for the first time what my curse had wrought.

There was perhaps a second, maybe two, of complete calm as we stood there staring at each other before Styr was suddenly right in front of me, his long aggressive strides eating the distance between us in the time it took me to blink.  I didn’t feel the pressure of his hand around my neck at first, but I felt the pull as he yanked me forward and off my feet.

Severus loud shriek made my ears ring, but perhaps that was the lack of air as I dangled from his grip, my own hands clawing at his wrist as Loboda started shouting.  I could just make out the guards forcing the older man to his knees at spearpoint through my quickly darkening periphery vision, and I could hear Alfhild as she cried out in pain.  I couldn’t see Canute at all.

Severus was seconds away from turning this man into ash, and my friends was moments away from being run through as my lungs spasmed from the lack of air.

I was terrified, not for myself, but what would happen if I didn’t get control of the situation, and it was this fear that allowed me to move.  Fuck being a Slytherin, now was the moment where I needed to be a Gryffindor.  My nails had scratched deep into Styr’s arm, but did nothing to ease his grip, so I eased mine.  Hand dropping, my wand snapped into my palm and I pointed it at his gut.  I didn’t even have to say the words, far too familiar with the spell to even need too.  With a single flick and a mental expelliarmus, Styr and I were blasted forcefully apart.

My back collided with the guard behind me as Styr was sent flying over the chairs and into the table.  I felt hands grabbing at me, more shouting and blood spraying as Severus bit deep into one of those hands, giving me just enough time to get the next spell off.  Stumbling from the sudden lack of support as the guard I had fallen on was blasted outside of the tent, I forced myself to stand even as my lungs seized and I coughed heavily, trying to just get some air.

Another blasting hex freed Loboda who took the opportunity to procure himself a spear which he threw at the man standing over Alfhild.  The spear went through the fatty muscle tissue on the man’s upper thigh and before he could do more than cry out, Canute collided with him from behind.  There were several long seconds as chaos reigned, everyone scrambling for weapons and more guards were called.

Rushing forward, I pulled Alfhild to her feet, barely dodging out of the way as she threw her fist into the face of a guard who I had missed.  She swiped his legs out from under him, taking his spear as he fell and tossed it to Canute as she tore the spear in the guard’s leg free and used the butt of it to knock him out cold. 

We stood in a tight circle with our backs to each other, somehow now near the center of the tent, though I didn’t remember moving there, as the four guards left standing surrounded us with their spears.  Several more guards rushed in and soon we were outnumbered two-to-one.  Elder Ake was assisting Styr back to his feet, but his eyes were on me, wide and feverish as he took in the damage.

One guard made a desperate lunge, but a quick binding spell subdued him even as Severus launched himself at another that had drawn his arm back to throw his spear.  The spear was quickly dropped in favor of trying to pry the angry little dragon from his face as he screamed in pain.  Canute dodged a sloppy spear thrust, using his to sweep low and slice the blade across the back of the woman’s leg as she fell off balance.  She went down hard, hitting her head on the table, and didn’t get back up.  Behind me, I heard Loboda grunt, but I couldn’t tell if it was in exertion or in pain, and I couldn’t afford to look.

Outside, I could hear a shriek that rendered the tent near silent for a moment before everyone was moving once more.  Another guard, a woman perhaps of age with Ragna, tried to grab me and I blinded her with a quick spell just as another, closer shriek could be heard.  The whelps were coming, and this could not be good.  I had to get a handle on the situation before they got here, or it could end with death.  Whose death was still undetermined, but it certainly would not be mine.

“Enough!” Styr bellowed, silencing the shouting guards, and halting the others that had started to rush into the tent.  The woman had crouched herself behind the bed, trembling and gripping the furs as she stared at us wide eyed.  I hoped she hadn’t caught a stray spell.  Severus allowed himself to be shoved away from the man who he had absolutely shredded with his tiny talons and fluttered back to my shoulder.  His claws tracked blood on my clothes, but I didn’t care.  I was beyond furious.

How dare he, how dare this insignificant magicless man lay his hands on me.  “How dare you!” I hissed, wand still in hand as I pointed it right at him.  If I had had the sword in my possession, I would have run him through, Magnar or not.  “What gives you the right to think you can touch me?!”

“Enough!” He shouted again, and I knew our voices had to be carrying far outside the tent.  The ambient noises of camp had ceased, I could hear nothing outside of what was happening in the tent.  I wondered how many were listening, how many had abandoned their duties to eavesdrop on the Magnar’s failed attempt to kill me.

“You’re right,” I sneered the words, standing from my crouched position and glaring down my nose at him like I had seen Snape do a hundred times.  “This is enough.  Explain yourself, Magnar, before I finish what you started!”

He scowled at me; his blue eyes boring into mine as he finally stood to his full height.  Using the table for support, Styr roughly shook off Ake’s weak and trembling grip, turning his glare to the Elder before returning it to me.  His lip curled before he finally pushed himself from the table, waved the guards back to their posts, and limped over to retake his seat in his throne like chair.  After a moment, as the other men shuffled back into place – some dragging out the man that no longer had a face along with the others wounded – I released the few I had body bound and set my hand on Loboda’s arm to get him to stand down as well.

Loboda lowered the spear, but he didn’t release it…I was grateful for that as well.  Canute and Alfhild remained with their backs to us, gazes fixed on the exit incase anymore came through.  I could practically taste the fear and anger that was thick in the air like a heady smoke.  Hands trembling – in rage and possibly a little fear – I took a deep breath to steady myself and set my gaze upon Styr, refusing to blink or look away as he made himself as comfortable as a man in pain could.

This time, I waited for Styr to gesture to the chair across from him before I took my seat.  Elder Ake took another next to mine, but Loboda didn’t take the one that remained.  Like Alfhild and Canute, he remained standing, choosing to stand at my shoulder like a guard – or angry bulldog – as the other two took up posts at the tent exit facing the guards that remained.

Just like before, Severus perched himself on the back of my chair, gaze fixed on the large man in front of us.  The small dragon’s anger was a palpable thing, and everyone in the room could feel it, not just me.

I raised my fingers to stroke along his neck and chest, but it did little to ease his anger.  At least it helped ease mine though, and I could finally look at Styr without wanting to cast an unforgivable on him.  The silence stretched between us as the guards fidgeted with each passing second.  If I wanted to get this over with, I would have to at least get it started, but before I could do so, a loud commotion outside had all of us turning to the entrance of the tent.

Someone was shouting, a guard was hesitantly approaching the exit, Alfhild and Canute gripped their spears tighter, and I was just about to stand when the embodiment of fury burst into the tent, the size of a small horse and covered in bronze scales.  Loki shrieked so loudly it was nearly deafening in the small space, his gleaming teeth on display as he bared his fangs and snarled.

Behind him, Romulus and Solar galloped into the tent with their awkward gate, fins erect and tails thrashing as their lips peeled back and they flanked their smaller brother.  Their heads swayed, swinging from guards to my companions, to Elder Ake who had gone pale and looked more frail then I had ever seen him, to the still seated Magnar.  They didn’t know who the threat was, and I knew that that meant Loki would treat them all as a threat and I couldn’t let that happen.

“Loki!” I called out, moving a few steps so the chair wasn’t blocking me if I had to move quickly to shield everyone.  We had never tested my barrier against dragon fire being used with a purpose against me before, and now I desperately wished I had.  Loki was quick, and I feared that my regular barrier wouldn’t hold against his wrath, but the stronger one took too long to cast.  The bronze dragon hadn’t even twitched at his name and I wondered if he was so furious as to not have even realized I had called him.

“Brothers!” I tried again, switching to my mother tongue as flames started to lick at Romulus’ maw.  Four heads snapped to look at me, Severus included as I held my hands out, palms up, to display nonaggression.  “Peace, brothers.  There is no fight here.”

“Peace!” Solar hissed the word, but I couldn’t tell if he was angry, or just sounding it out.  “Humans hurt little sister!” Ah, it was anger then.

“Misunderstanding, brother,” I replied, trying to be calm even as I waved at Alfhild and Canute to stand down.  They lowered their spears reluctantly, but lower them they did, and some of the tension seemed to leave the dragons as the guards around us followed suit.  They didn’t lower them fully, still at the ready for an attack, but at least now not all the weapons were pointed at the angry scaled beasts.

Romulus tilted his head in that quizzical way of his when he didn’t understand something and I rushed to clarify, taking advantage in the lull of hostility to calm them.  “It was a mistake; they did not mean to attack me.”  A lie, and they knew it.  They could no doubt smell it on me, and a curl of Loki’s lip indicated that he was quickly losing patience with the situation.  “They did not understand,” I rectified, shifting to catch the bronze dragon’s wondering attention.  “I will correct, I will,” I emphasized myself as I tried to glare the dragons into submission.  Romulus and Solar shook like a dog, fins unruffling as they stood down…Loki did not.  “Leave, I will correct.”

Loki hissed at the words as I pointed to the exit.  “Stay!” He argued, eyeing the armed guards and the seated Magnar behind me who was watching curiously.  Elder Ake was nearly vibrating with energy beside me, but I couldn’t tell if it was in excitement or fear.

“You will leave,” Severus snapped at the younger dragon.  “We will correct, you will leave!”

Loki’s fins fluttered briefly, and for a moment it looked like he would listen, but then the moment passed, and I could only sigh in frustration.  We all knew this day was coming, when Loki no longer deferred to Severus or myself.  I just had hoped that that day was not today.  Severus growled, low and deep in his belly, but for all of his anger that I could feel, he only sounded like a puffed-up kitten compared to the deeper bass rumble that poured from Loki’s mouth like a monster that lived in children’s nightmares.

The situation was slipping from my fingers and I had to put a stop to it before it turned into something that we couldn’t come back from.

“Enough!” I barked the words, much like Styr had only a few minutes before.  “Brothers, leave!” I pointed to the exit and Romulus and Solar both ducked out quickly.  “Loki stay,” I continued when his growl started to crest higher when his brothers were no longer flanking him.  “Loki stay and guard, Severus stay and guard.  I will correct.” I emphasized myself again, tapping my chest as I glowered at the bronze dragon. 

The two dragons turned to each other, growling lowly before finally the rumbling died off and their fins started to relax once more.  Loki was a curious creature.  He hated to be told what to do, but he hated being without purpose more.  I hoped that giving him a purpose would override his need to burn anyone or anything that dared to tell him what to do.  Luckily, it seemed to have worked…this time.

With a nod of my head, I retook my seat, breathing a sigh of relief as the guards seemed to finally stand down.  Severus hissed several unflattering things that I pretended not to hear as the tension in the tent seemed to return to a full simmer instead of a raging boil that it was seconds ago.  I expected Loki to plant himself at the exit, like he did in our own tent, between the two guards near Alfhild and Canute, so I was understandably surprised when I felt the bronze dragon brush up against my leg as he planted himself next to me, glaring his gold eyes straight at the Magnar and Elder Ake as if trying to figure out how best to cook them.

His head was higher than mine when I was seated, and I felt dwarfed between him and Loboda, but I also felt protected.  For the first time since I entered the Magnar’s tent, I could finally breathe.

“You asked me here to talk,” I said softly, switching back to the Old Tongue while keeping my voice low and calm even though I wanted nothing more than to curse and rage at Styr.  My throat hurt and the earlier shouting had only made it worse.  I would need the bruise balm I had made for Ida to keep the swelling down.  “So…talk.”

Styr flicked his gaze to the dragon perched behind one of my shoulders, to Loboda who stood behind the other, to Loki who sat like a bronze statue, to Elder Ake who still hadn’t looked away from me, to my two guards who held their weapons at the ready, and to his guards which now numbered only four once more.  When it finally returned to me, he appeared calmer, almost like he had come to some sort of decision or found something he had been looking for.

“Before I get started on you, witch,” he began, speaking through gritted teeth as his blue eyes flickered behind me once more.  “Elder Loboda, you and those young hunters with you stand accused of defying your Magnar.  There will be –”

“No,” I interrupted quickly, still keeping my tone low as I crossed my legs and leaned back.  I was trying to appear nonchalant, but the fingers wrapped around the handle of my wand were white with how hard I gripped it.  Loki was a searing heat along my right side, and I took comfort from his presence even if it made me nervous to have the most volatile of dragons in a situation such as this.

“No?” Styr blinked, his nose twitching as his eyes returned to me once more.  I had to give him his due, that was for certain.  The man had balls, to appear to be almost unbothered by the two dragons that were both staring at him like he was to be their next meal.

I could hear Loboda shifting behind me, the soft creak of wood as his grip tightened.  My heart swelled for this man, who was willing to stand against his own Magnar to protect me.  The least I could do was try and keep him and my friends from getting killed in the process.

“No,” I repeated, flicking my elaborate but messy braids to the side as Severus leaned forward, one taloned wing settling on my shoulder as his hot breath hit my ear.  He whispered to me, trying to ease my lion away and replace it with a snake once more, but I was done being a snake.  I was done with the deceptions and roundabout way of speaking.  I was done with the acting and vailed threats.  I was just done.  The only way to get my point across was to be blunt and unmoving.

“Magnar Keld assigned Loboda to me as my keeper, my guide, and my protector,” my words came gently despite the natural grating and harshness of their language.  I was far too tired, and my throat hurt far too much to even make an attempt at the low throat guttural stops.  English really was a much gentler language, almost musical in comparison.  Loki’s eyes flicked between myself and the man before me and I briefly wondered how much of the Old Tongue he understood, but I couldn’t dwell on that now.  Right now, I had to make certain that we were safe, for tonight and all other nights.

“I will not have him punished for doing as he was bid.  Besides, Loboda is one of mine now, as are the two hunters,” I finished, my harsh glare driving my point home.  I couldn’t believe that Styr didn’t know who they were, but if it was at all possible, I was going to keep it that way.  It was harder to punish them if he didn’t know their names.

“Now, Styr,” I drawled his name out, not giving him the chance to refute what I had just declared.  If Loboda, Canute, or Alfhild had any objections, they didn’t voice them and for that I was grateful.  “Get to your point.  I have things I need to be doing.  Why am I here?”

“Silence, witch!” One of the guards hissed, flinching at Loki’s low rumble, only to be immediately waved back by Styr himself.  My eyes hadn’t left his, and I didn’t even bother to turn and look at the one who had spoken.  He was hardly a threat now that I knew to expect an attack.  That was if he could get through my friends, Severus, and Loki first.

“What did you do?” Styr finally asked, his words so similar to Loboda’s own when he had asked me that very same thing many days ago.  When I did nothing more than raise my brow, he continued.  “Ever since your visit, I have…there’s been, I’ve been –”

“Unlucky?” I asked with a quirk of my lips.  “Having a terrible string of unfortunate events?” I supplied again, watching as his pale face went more and more red with each word.

“It was you!” He said with a snarl, leaning forward suddenly only to wince and shift his weight.  “What did you do?!”

“I did exactly as I said I would,” I replied, keeping my voice in a low hiss as Elder Ake’s eyes alit next to me.  The older man was shifting in his chair as if he was an excited toddler.  “I warned you, Styr.  I told you exactly what I would do if you refused to come to a truce.”

“Beseeched your gods, you mean,” Styr practically spit the words he sneered so hard.  Even now, I could tell that he truly didn’t believe that he had been cursed, that I had cursed him, that foreign gods would even deign to do so to a Magnar of all things.  “Whatever it was you have done, whatever curse you have placed, you will lift it.”

“I can’t,” I replied, though the ‘I won’t’ went unsaid but definitely not unheard.  I felt a hot bolt of vindictive glee rush into my chest, but I couldn’t tell if it was mine or Severus’.  “Like I said, I am very favored by my gods,” I ignored Styr’s derisive scoff at the words and continued despite his expression of disbelief.  “The only ones who can lift the curse is my gods, and the only way they will do that is if I ask them too...and Styr,” I leaned in closer even as he glared at me with his cold blue eyes.  “I will never ask them too.”

The rage that crossed his face was terrifying, and it took every inch of my Gryffindor courage not to shrink from it.

“You dare –”

“No!  You dared!” I interrupted him again, gripping my knees tightly to keep from standing and pacing.  I needed to seem in control, pacing erratically was not in control.  “I tried to come to a truce, I tried to warn you what would happen if you didn’t, and you mocked me.  I told you exactly what would happen, Styr.  This is because of your own actions, not because of mine!”

Styr looked moments away from lunging at me from his chair and trying to strangle me again, but before I could decide on what spell to use to defend myself, Elder Ake interrupted.  “What, exactly, did your gods curse our Magnar with?”

Our eyes finally left each other to glance over at the old man.  Loki sat between us, but the man had simply moved his chair to be closer to the Magnar and so he could see me instead.  If the dragon intimidated him, he didn’t let it show.  Instead, he looked entirely intrigued by the idea of gods actually interfering in something as trivial as a grudge of all things.

I leaned back, my shoulders pulling awkwardly with the new chest brace until I corrected my slouching posture.  Severus’ tiny puffs of breath against my ear a comfort as the silence drew on.  Outside, I could the other dragons, no doubt camping outside the tent and thoroughly displeased.  The low rumbling voices of the Thenns drifted in through the open doorway and I used it to ground myself, thinking of the cold and harsh tundra, the ice cave that I had briefly called home, the ice shelf camp before we had lost Neve, Freya, Selene, and Gemini’s other half.  It helped, but only just.

“My gods are not kind,” I started, my eyes sliding behind the Magnar to the woman who was perhaps of age with Percy.  She had finally removed herself from her hiding place behind the edge of the bed and retook her seat.  Her hands were trembling still, as she gripped the bear fur and clutched it to herself.  I felt pity for her then and wondered why she was even here.  “But they are powerful, and they are not without mercy.”

I summoned two mugs from where they had spilled onto the floor, and conjured water into them before handing one to Styr.  He took it reluctantly, looking at it as if it held some sort of great secret …or was poisoned.  Smirking softly, I took a sip from mine, drinking slowly so he could see that it wasn’t poisoned.  After a moment he took a sip as well, his brows scrunching and nose twitching before he took another, longer drink.

Once he was finished, I continued.  “Understand, Styr, you threatened my family.  Nothing is more sacred to a witch then her family,” I still used my word for it, not quite certain how it would translate if I tried to use theirs.  “So, I beseeched them to punish you, you and yours, in a nonlethal but definitely noticeable way.”

The silence that descended upon the tent was nearly palpable.  Loki began to look bored at the proceedings and shifted so he could lay down, his head twisting to lay next to my feet but still keep an eye on Styr and Elder Ake.  My fingers twitched, and I had to fight the urge to coo and pet him.  It wouldn’t have been appreciated, by present company and Loki himself.  Instead, I took another drink.

“You Styr, Magnar of the Thenns, have been cursed with a lifetime of inconvenience.  Bad fortune, you could say.  Everything you work towards, everything you want, will be taken from you by one small way or another,” I spoke softly as my green-purple eyes bore into his blue ones.  I tried not to let the guilt eat at me as I continued, Severus’ underlying anger helping with that.  “A lifetime of ill-fortune and bad luck, for you and your children.”

The woman on the bed flinched, and I fought not to flinch with her.  Her hand smoothed down the bear fur blanket and rested on her swollen stomach.  I fought not to throw up at the realization that she was pregnant, most likely with Styr’s child.  I wondered just how many women out there now carried his spawn…how many mothers did I just condemn to watch their children go through life and achieve nothing.

“My children?” Styr asked, the word stilted and almost hissed as I brought my attention back to him.

“It isn’t lethal,” I said quickly, taking another sip of water for my suddenly parched throat.  Guilt always did make me thirsty.  “You don’t have to worry about that, you and your children are not in any real danger of dying, not from the curse.”

“My children?!” He spoke again, near shouting the word now.  His hands were bunched upon his thighs so tightly I could see the white of his knuckles.  They shook, just slightly…but they shook.

“Yes,” I said softly, trying to let Severus’ anger and vindictive glee burn out the guilt and pity I felt for this man that I…didn’t hate, but certainly disliked.  It didn’t work.  “You and nine generations after you.  For the nine dragons you threatened to take from me!” I tried to sound stern, tried to sound angry and justified and…and I didn’t.  I sounded like none of those things.  I almost sounded sorry.  “I warned you,” I said instead, turning my gaze down to the crown of Loki’s horns.  Tears were threatening to build, and I hated myself in that moment.  “I told you what would happen, warned you of what would happen!”

The words rang out in the silence of the tent, the guards flinching and gripping their spears tighter, Loboda shifted his weight, the young woman on the bed crying softly as she cradled her stomach.  I was so angry…at Styr and Ake for forcing me into this position, at the woman for letting herself fall pregnant and involving her child, at Severus for not coming up with a better solution, at myself for letting it come to this.  If I had just been stronger, if I had just been more stern and certain, I could have prevented this.  I could have prevented all of this.  But here I was…and here we were.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper, and I meant it.  It was as I thought earlier, Styr and his people had absolutely no defense against me.  And there was nothing, not a single thing, holding me back from taking everything from them.  I could have killed him so easily.  I could have stripped him of all of his accomplishments, humiliated him before his people, executed him and his followers, and no one, no one, would have been able to stop me.  We were never on even playing fields…we weren’t even playing the same game.  And it seemed as though Styr was finally beginning to see that.

I brought my eyes up to his and forced myself not to flinch at the hurt and anger that ravaged his.  “Styr…I am sorry.  But I warned you.”

“Remove it,” he whispered, sounding both stern and desperate.

“I can’t,” I replied, trying to sound anything but pathetic as my eyes started to water.  It wasn’t fair, what I had done to him.  I should have stopped at just him, should have only cursed him…but I let my magic get carried away.  I let myself be drawn into that seductive darkness and tempted to do more.  I didn’t know how to fix what I had done.

“Please,” he begged, his eyes sliding to the woman who was sobbing quietly behind him.  “Please remove it!”

“I can’t,” my voice cracked over the word, clutching the near empty mug so tight my fingers ached.  I didn’t know how to undo what I had done…wasn’t even entirely certain I wanted too.  And that thought made me feel awful, but it was too late to take back what I had done.  The thought did little to comfort me, nearly nothing at all.

“I am a witch,” I spoke softly, slowly, conjuring more water for my very parched throat.  “I am a Thenn, the marks prove so,” I gestured to my face, smiling softly as I felt Loboda’s hand fall onto my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  “But above all else, Styr, I am a free woman.  I will not be bartered, traded, or sold.  I will not be demeaned, talked down to, or treated like a child.  I will not be caged or confined.  I am, and have always been, free to come and go as I please.  You will leave me and mine out of this…whatever it is you have in your head, your plans, ambitions, what have you.  Or I will beseech my gods again.  And the next time, I know they will not be so forgiving.”

“Forgiving?” Styr spit the word as if it had somehow offended him.  “You call this forgiving?!”

“Yes,” I said, again speaking softly, not letting my voice raise as he glared at me.  “You and your children, and their children, and so on, are cursed with minor inconveniences.  Trust me when I tell you this, Styr…it could have been so much worse.” With that, I stood, draining the last of the water in my mug and then walking over to set it at the table.  Loki stood as well, but he remained in place, glancing between me and the exit.  I knew he wanted to be the last to leave.

I almost felt what could be called affection and gratitude trying to overcome the crushing guilt that was weighing on me.  He had come so far, and despite his earlier interruptions, he had been not only well behaved, but quite useful in keeping violence at bay for the rest of the meeting.  He deserved the best organs for dinner tonight, and I would ensure he received them.

I moved around the two seated men, stopping briefly to run my hand up Loki’s neck, curling my fingers under the base of a horn, and smiling softly when he not only allowed it, but also purred in contentment.  It was rare indeed when he allowed such affections, and it made my heart swell.

“For what it is worth, Styr,” I said, stopping at the exit as Alfhild and Canute left before me.  Loboda had plastered himself to my side, and I could finally hear Loki starting to move towards us.  “I truly am sorry.”

Styr didn’t reply as I finally left the tent.  Our horses were where we had left them, and the dragons had perched themselves in the nearby trees.  We mounted up quietly, nobody saying a word as we made our way back to camp, the whelps following behind.  Severus’ light weight on my shoulder was comforting, but not enough to eat away the guilt that was left after the meeting.

I tried to tell myself that Styr deserved it.  Tried to tell myself that this was the only way to keep my family safe.  Tried to tell myself that there had been no other choice.  But the guilt would not leave me, even as I crawled into bed and let the warm heat of Severus ease my mind and heart and let the weight of Ophelia on my legs remind me that it had been necessary.

The guilt was almost enough to hide that tiny bit of vindictive glee that had stuck through that whole encounter, and as I finally started to nod off into sleep, I realized that the feeling had always been coming not from Severus, but from me.