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Chapter Text

Aetherius

Extraordinary circumstances required extraordinary people. That was what the Akatosh of this timeline had decided.

He knew that in other timelines people from Mundus had gotten along well enough as Heroes. But they were always different afterwards. Separate from everyone else. They could never go home again.

It was kinder, Akatosh thought, to not give them the illusion that things would go back to normal. That was why he had started reaching out to other worlds for Heroes.

His sister agreed with him, in some ways. She had also chosen a Hero from another world for her “Nerevarine”, but she had done that when no one in this world seemed up to the challenge. When the cave of the failed incarnates was almost filled to the brim. Not for the reasons Akatosh did.

Akatosh had always been fascinated by selfless people. Mortals lived such short lives, but there were still those who would give even that meager time so others could go on. He was so fascinated by it that even acts of selflessness in other universes attracted his attention. Which made it easy for him to find prospective heroes.

Because not everyone in other worlds appreciated sacrifice the way Akatosh did. Sometimes they could be downright ungrateful to those that were trying to save them. It was a win-win. Akatosh found a Hero, and they got an actual reward for saving the world.

Most of the time at least.

“Still don’t see why you’re going to all the trouble, Grandpa,” said Sheogorath, who was standing off to the side as Julianos prepared the ritual. Most of the daedra were back in their realms, either kept there by the covenant or readying defenses in case Alduin decided to go for one of their realms (not that any defenses would work against the personification of the end of the world, but one could hope). Sheogorath, the new Sheogorath, was a notable exception. “After all, you didn’t have any trouble using someone from this world last time, didya?”

There was a hint of anger beneath the joviality, and Akatosh sighed. When a mantling occurred, it was sometimes difficult for the mantler to retain their original personality and memories. But despite mantling a literal god of insanity, the one formerly known as the Hero of Kvatch seemed to have done it, at least in this timeline. There were many other timelines where they got lost in the role and left everything else behind.

And yet, they always remembered Martin, on some level. It was sweet, really.

And this Sheogorath remembered, alright. And they remembered their anger at Akatosh for how things had turned out. They were taken from their own world to help Martin, but in the end, Martin was lost anyway.

Akatosh felt Martin’s sadness through their connection. It was a connection that Akatosh normally only had with dragons or directly blessed dragonborn. But Martin was a special circumstance.

Sheogroath crossed their arms and grumbled under their breath as Kynareth and Mara entered the spell area. Well, their avatars did. Technically all their true forms were up in the sky as their planets and planes, but that was semantics really.

Kynareth had, of course, wanted to supervise the process. “You owe me for years of taking credit for the Voice,” she’d pointed out. Akatosh had simply shrugged. It wasn’t his fault people associated the Voice with emperors now. “It absolutely is! First Alessia, then Reman, then Hjalti…ugh!”

Well, it made sense any way you looked at it. Kynareth was the patron of travelers after all. And this boy had a lot of travelling to do.

Mara had volunteered to help in order to help comfort the young lad as he passed into their universe. “It will be quite a shock,” she’d noted.

She wouldn’t have time to do much comforting. Living mortals were not meant to stay in Aetherius for long. Their minds simply couldn’t handle it and would start to disintegrate.

Of course, they wanted his mind to start to come apart a little. Harsh as that sounded, it would be a very important step.

Hogwarts, June 1996

Dumbledore watched as Harry stomped around the office, yelling and breaking things. The teenager in from of him was obviously having a breakdown.

Not that he could quite blame him. Sirius was dead. And he had died saving Harry from the Death Eaters, a situation Harry wouldn’t have been in if Harry hadn’t thought Sirius was in danger and gone to the Ministry…

“Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man!” Dumbledore tried to reassure Harry. “This pain is part of being human.”

“Then I don’t want to be human!” Harry screamed, tears running down his face. “I don’t want this! I don’t want any of this!”

Yes, it was time. Loathe as he was to admit it, it was way past time. With Voldemort back at full strength, there was no other option but to tell Harry more information.

Of course, he couldn’t tell Harry everything. Not the endgame, not at all.

Heartless bastard! part of Dumbledore’s brain snapped. Dumbledore squashed that down quickly. It was horrible, but it was how things had turned out. Neither can live while the other survives. So, for one to die, the other had to die as well. It only made sense.

Harry grabbed a silver bauble off the shelf and threw it against the wall. Nothing that couldn’t be replaced, but the portraits on the wall were startled. “I’ve had enough!” sobbed Harry. “I’ve seen enough! I want out! I want it to end, I want it to end!” Harry flipped over one of the tables and rounded on Dumbledore. “I don’t care anymore!”

“Yes you do,” whispered Dumbledore. He knew Harry cared. He cared too much and yet just enough. Just enough to do what needed to be done. But this pain…

It’s necessary, he reassured himself. The pain is part of the process.

And that’s when he saw it. Forming on the wall behind Harry, near where one of the smashed baubles was, was a silver and gold portal, shimmering with unearthly light.

Dumbledore had never seen anything like it, in all his studies. He attempted to shoot to his feet, but the exhaustion of the battle had slowed his reflexes. By the time he made it around the desk, he could only watch in horror as two clawed hands reached out of the portal and grabbed Harry around the chest.

Harry’s anger and sadness quickly turned to fear as he reached out. “Professor!”

Dumbledore reached for the Boy Who Lived, but it was too late. He grabbed a piece of Harry’s jacket, but it tore off in his hands as Harry was pulled through the portal.

Then the portal shimmered, faded, and shrank in on itself. And just like that, both the portal and Harry were gone.

Dumbledore was left on the floor of the office, clutching the small scrap of fabric he had managed to save.

Aetherius

Kynareth pulled the boy through the portal. “Careful!” cautioned Mara.

“I’m trying my best,” huffed Kynareth as the boy struggled against her. It was useless struggling against the Warrior Widow and Goddess of Elements, however, and Kynareth wasn’t even straining. If anything, she was struggling not to crush the boy.

Said boy was screaming incoherently, tears running down his face. Perhaps it hadn’t been best to take him while he was in the middle of a mental breakdown…

Kynareth carried Harry over to the others as Julianos closed the portal. “No sense letting anyone else follow.”

Akatosh halfway wished that Julianos kept the portal open a bit longer, so he could have Words with the Headmaster. But that would cause even more chaos in that world then they already had. No, let Albus Dumbledore fix his own mess.

Mara stroked the boy’s cheek. “There, there. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“For now,” noted Kynareth.

Mara shushed her. “They’re not going to hurt you anymore,” she continued.

Harry was still struggling against Kynareth, and didn’t seem to hear Mara. “He’s a fighter, that one,” chuckled Sheogorath. “Careful Grandpa, he’ll bite your legs off!”

“He’s certainly spirited,” Kynareth confirmed. “I can see why he caught your interest, Old Wyrm.”

Akatosh walked up to the boy, whose outline had started to blur. Even with his soul coming apart, he still fought. Akatosh watched for a bit, then saw what he was looking for. “There!” He snatched a part out, a part that emanated hatred and a hunger for power.

Akatosh handed the part to Julianos, who scowled at it. “So this is what was causing so much trouble in that world?” He snorted. “Some ‘Dark Lord’. Defeated by a child no less than three times.”

And now there was a space in the boy’s soul to fill. It was another reason why Akatosh had chosen him, specifically. Akatosh felt around in his connections for a soul that had lost its body long ago, but had been protected by him for a moment such as this. It’s time, Vullokqah, he called.

The area next to Akatosh rippled, and a small ball of light appeared. Akatosh could feel the soul’s anticipation as it buzzed towards the boy. After a second of consideration, it slotted into the spot where the other part was.

Akatosh nodded. “It’s done.” The boy had stopped fighting now. The shock of having a soul torn out of one’s body and replaced would do that.

Julianos opened another portal. “Quickly, bring him here. We have a limited time before they notice something is wrong.”

They couldn’t make it look like obvious divine intervention. Not yet. So as far as the mages on the other side would be concerned, something had gone wrong with their experiment.

Which was true, in a sense, but only because it had been tampered with by meddling Aedra.

Harry didn’t know where he was. It was bright. So bright he could barely see. Someone or something was restraining him. Dimly, he was aware of the feeling of feathers against his skin where his clothes had been torn.

But he didn’t care about that now! Sirius was dead! And now something had grabbed him!

Was it Death Eaters? Harry couldn’t think of anyone else that it could be. How had they done this? How?

He fought as hard as he could, but whatever was holding him was sturdy as stone. He kicked, he bit, he thrashed around.

Then a headache. A pounding, horrible feeling like someone was drilling into his skull.

His body was coming apart.

He screamed until his throat was raw. He heard Voldemort in his head again, felt his body go out of control.

And then it stopped. Harry felt his body go limp.

He couldn’t move. He could barely think.

Harry heard talking, a harsh yet musical language that he couldn’t understand. He was set down in front of the portal (or was it another portal, a different portal?) and gently nudged forward.

He thought he heard a whispered “It will be all right. Good luck.” as he stumbled through.

And suddenly he was someplace different. It looked like Hogwarts, with the high ceiling and the stone walls, but the décor was all different.

Standing in front of him were several people. Most of them looked human, but one of them had pointed ears and an elongated face with dark greyish skin. They wore robes, but they were colorful and stitched with strange embroidery that was unfamiliar to Harry.

Harry looked around at these strange people in these strange robes in this strange place. And finally, the last several hours caught up with the teenager. His body and brain shut off to get some much-needed rest, and he fainted.

College of Winterhold, Midyear 4E 200

Phinis was the first to react, running forward and catching the being’s small frame before his head hit the floor. Tolfdir and Mirabelle were right behind him, and Tolfdir helped Phinis lower the being to the floor.

“What on Nirn?” yelped Drevis. “What is it? A Daedra?”

Tolfdir examined the strange being that had stumbled through their experimental portal. Then he realized that the being wasn’t as strange as he had initially assumed. “No. It’s…a boy.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell his race, but…”

Mirabelle leaned over the child, then turned to Drevis. “Get Colette in here! Bring Sleeps too!”

Drevis nodded and immediately ran off.

Arniel still seemed to be in shock. “How could this happen…the point was to try to look into the Aurbis, not summon a child!”

Mirabelle shook her head. “I don’t know, Arniel. But we need to figure out what happened.”

“Before we try again?”

Mirabelle gave Arniel a look that could have frozen over the Deadlands. “If we try again.”

Arniel crossed his arms and pouted.

Chapter Text

Sleeps-In-Blossom dabbed a cool cloth on the mysterious boy’s forehead as Mirabelle and Tolfdir looked on. “How is he?” asked Tolfdir nervously. It had been about a day since the portal incident happened, and the boy still hadn’t awoken.

Sleeps sighed. “Aside from a few minor injuries, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him except for a minor fever. But I can’t tell what’s causing it yet.”

“It might just be exhaustion,” Colette put in. She’d finished healing up the boy’s injuries and was currently helping supervise the boy’s condition. “Which would be no surprise, considering what happened.” She pushed the boy’s bangs aside to reveal a small red mark on his forehead. “There is the matter of this scar, though. It looks like it made by a spell, but Oblivion knows which one. At this point, it’s probably too old to tell.”

Mirabelle leaned over to take a closer look. The scar’s pattern looked somewhat familiar to her, but not in the sense that she knew what spell had caused it. It was because she’d seen something similar on Urag’s chalkboard during one of his lectures. 

Specifically, it had been a lecture about “casting the runes”, an ancient Nord form of divination. It was no longer taught at the College due to the vagueness of the predictions, but Urag had showed the class some runes as a sample in case they wanted to do more research. The particular one she was thinking of had a whole list of meanings: “sun”, “light”, “honor”, “victory”, “success”.

“Now you see why this system isn’t used much anymore,” Urag had said. “Too many meanings.”

Too many meanings, indeed, thought Mirabelle. Do any of them apply to this boy? Why would they? The shape was so simple, it could just be a coincidence they looked the same.

And yet…

Mirabelle turned to Tolfdir, who was leafing through pages of parchment. “Where did that portal connect to? Where did this boy come from?”
Tolfdir shook his head. “I don’t know. You know this isn’t really my area. I was only interested in the possible applications for other theories. Phines is studying if anything was wrong with the runes, but I thought we checked and double-checked it…”

A groan came from the bed and Tolfdir cut himself off as the boy stirred. Everyone looked to the bed as his eyes fluttered open. 

“Ah! The boy lives,” said Keeps.

The boy turned his head to see Keeps, then immediately let out a yelp, then a groan as he clutched his head. “Who…what?” he gasped out.

“It’s alright,” Mirabelle tried to console the boy. “You’re safe.”

“Are you alright?” asked Tolfdir.

The boy shivered a bit, then groaned. “I’m…okay…I think? Sore…”

Keeps handed the boy a bottle. “Here. This will help with the pain.”

The boy took the bottle with shaking hands. He sniffed the bottle and wrinkled his nose, still side-eying Keeps. Keeps chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Most potions don’t smell that good.”

The boy downed the bottle’s contents, gagging a bit as he did so. Afterwards, he sighed a bit and some tension seemed to go out of his body. “Th…thanks…” he said quietly. “Er…I’m sorry but…can I have my glasses back? I can’t really see…”

Colette handed him the glasses and the boy slid them on. He looked around the room. His eyes landed on Keeps again and he blinked in confusion. “What?” asked Keeps, amused. “Never seen an Argonian before?”

The boy looked away, blushing. “Er, no. Sorry.”

“Figures. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

The boy was silent, looking around him now that he apparently hurt less and could see again. “I…where am I?” 

“You’re in Winterhold,” said Mirabelle. “The College of Winterhold to be specific.”

The boy looked confused. “We’re in the north of Skyrim,” said Tolfdir, hoping to clarify.

The boy paled visibly, and his confusion seemed to deepen. “You’re in the Empire?” The boy shook his head, a look of panic crossing his face. “In Tamriel? On Nirn?”

“I…” the boy swallowed. “I don’t know what…where am I?” His whole body was shaking now with panic.

All the adult mages in the room looked at each other with looks of heavy concern. “This poor boy…What have we done?” murmured Tolfdir.

It took a while to calm the boy down. 

They finally managed to get most of the situation out of him, and were all quite shocked at what they heard.

“So let me see if I have this right?” asked Mirabelle. “You just got out of a battle, were teleported back to your school’s Archmage’s…Headmaster’s…office. You were upset after the battle and you started breaking things…”

The boy looked very embarrassed but nodded. “It was stupid…”

“What’s stupid is a teenager being in the middle of a battle in the first place!” snapped Colette. The boy flinched and Tolfdir shushed her.

“Anyways, during that time, a portal appeared, and something pulled you through. You ended up in a bright place, heard a strange language, and then you ended up here?”

The boy nodded. “That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

“Did you happen to see what pulled you through? Was it a person, or a magical construct?”

The boy shook his head. “N…no. I was panicking too much. Sorry.”

Sleeps looked to the others. “I know this isn’t my area, but is it possible that something the boy broke somehow interfered with the spell?”

The boy looked away, ashamed. It was clear he was thinking the same thing.

Tolfdir shook his head. “I’ll check with Phinis, but I don’t think so. Not unless our spell touched his plane of existence in the first place. Which it shouldn’t have, considering the description of that world.” Tolfdir looked at the boy. “Unless you spent your life in the realm of pure magic consorting with the gods and haven’t told us.”

The boy shook his head again, but he laughed this time. “If so, nobody told me either!”

That’s when a thought struck Tolfdir. “Goodness! We haven’t even asked your name!”

The boy swallowed. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Tolfdir nodded. “Harry” sounded Breton, maybe. That would fit with him starting magic schooling at such an early age…but could someone from another plane even be classified as one of the races of Men? Tolfdir shook his head to get himself back on track. “Alright, Harry. Well, my colleagues and I are going to try and figure out what happened and see if we can’t get you home, alright?” He glanced at Mirabelle. “Do we have any empty rooms where he could stay, in the meantime?”

Mirabelle thought a minute, then nodded. “I think we still have some vacant rooms in the Hall of Attainment.” She sighed. “I swear our incoming classes get smaller every year. I really need to talk to Archmage Aren about outreach programs…”

“Th…thank you very much!” said Harry. “I’m really sorry about all this…”

Tolfdir only shook his head. Why was the boy apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault?

Harry stared at the man in front of him as he held Harry’s wand between two fingers. Harry’s fingers twitched nervously, but he didn’t say anything as Sergius Turrianus, that was apparently his name, examined the wand closely.

“This is fascinating! So all mages where you’re from use these?” Harry nodded. “Even the mature mages…well, I’ve heard of wands being used before, though staves are much more common. But most wands and staves only store a single spell…one that can be used to cast a virtually infinite amount is unheard of!” Sergius gave Harry a hard look. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what this is made of?”

Harry thought back. “Um…let me see…holly and a phoenix feather core. But uh…that’s my wand. Other wands are made of other woods, and different cores…I think unicorn hair is one of them…?”

“Unicorns still exist in your plane then?” Harry nodded. “Fascinating…” 
Harry shifted side to side nervously. “Er…”

Sergius looked up. “Oh! Right, you’re wanting this back.” He handed the wand back to Harry, who put it in his pocket and tried to resist breathing a sigh of relief.

As Sergius left, Harry looked down at himself again. The wizards…well, mages here had given him a set of robes like their own to keep him warm, though his robes didn’t have the intricate embroidery the others had. Having come from a summer place, even if it was British summer, meant that his clothes were nowhere near suitable for the frozen land of Winterhold. As soon as he’d stepped outside, Harry could see where the place got his name, as the entire place as far as he could see was covered in ice and snow.

He’d been told he’d arrived in the month of “Midyear”, that just a month ago farmers had started planting their summer and fall crops. Privately, he had serious doubts that anything could grow in this weather, magic or not. But he didn’t say anything, because apparently magic in this world worked quite differently from back home. Not only could anyone learn it, in theory, but they didn’t even use wands! Sure Dumbledore had cast some spells without a wand before, but…well, he was Dumbledore.

Dumbledore…Harry could still see him in his mind’s eye, reaching out for him. And the last thing he’d done had been to yell at him. Yell at him for something that wasn’t even his fault, but Harry’s.

If Harry hadn’t listened to that vision…if he hadn’t gone to the Ministry…

If Harry had never been born…Sirius would still be alive…

Why…why did it have to be him? Why of all people? Why not anyone else?

Stop being selfish, part of his mind snapped at him. Would you wish this pain on anyone else?

No. No he wouldn’t. But still…why?

It had to have to do with that “prophecy” thing, right? What had it said?

He didn’t know. And now it seemed impossible he ever would.

“Want something?”

Harry jumped about a foot in the air. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed the muscled figure coming up behind him. Or had he come up in front of the figure? It looked like he’d wandered a bit, and was now in a different room then the one he was in before. It looked like the library, judging by the bookshelves.

Harry turned and craned his neck up to see the figure. His eyes widened. The person behind him had huge tusks jutting out of his mouth, and skin the color of a pale leaf. “Er…”

Harry gulped. This person was quite intimidating. “Sorry… think I’m lost. Is this the library?”

The figure took a hard look at him. “Hmph. The new students aren’t due to arrive for months…oh wait. You’re that kid, aren’t you? The one who tripped an fell through a portal to here.”

Harry crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “I didn’t trip. I was pulled though.”

The figure rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyways, yes, this is the library. Its proper name is the Arcanaeum. My name is Urag Gro-Shub, and this library might as well be my own little plane of Oblivion. Disturb my Arcanaeum, and I’ll have you torn apart by angry atronachs. Are we clear on that fact?”

Harry stared at Urag the Librarian. Madame Pince had always been strict, but she’d never threatened students with outright violence… “Yes sir.”

“Good. Now, can I help you find anything?”

“Er…” Harry hadn’t been really looking to read today. Or most days, really. But since he was here… “Do you have any books on…where I am?”

Urag snorted. “I don’t know. Could you be any less specific?” Harry’s face fell. Urag sighed. “Oh, don’t give me that look. We’ve got a huge collection here! You want history, geography, mad ramblings…we’ve got it.” He walked over and studied the shelves, finally pulling out two books, neither of which was very thick. “Here. These should help get you started.”

Harry took the books and looked at the titles. An Explorer’s Guide to Skyrim and Skyrim’s Rule. “Thank you, sir.”

Urag waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Just put them back when you’re done. I wasn’t kidding about the atronachs.”

Harry had no doubts about that.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, Harry tried to learn as much about the new world he found himself in as he could. From those two books, he was able to get enough information to ask questions of the faculty. Tolfdir and Mirabelle seemed most eager to answer his questions, while most of the other mages seemed busy all the time. “Professors here do research as well as teach,” Tolfdir had explained. “It makes for a very packed schedule, and not a lot of sleep sometimes.”

For his part, Tolfdir had been trying to work with Phinis to figure out what had gone wrong with the ritual. “I just don’t understand it!” sighed Phines. “None of these runes are even meant for summoning anything material! They’re modified versions of Oblivion Gate runes, attuned to Aetherius instead!”

“Oblivion Gates did summon daedra though,” Tolfdir pointed out.

“That’s not the point! The point is it should have opened to Aetherius, not some other strange plane. Only humans…mages as their own subrace…magic as a whole kept a secret…what kind of world is this boy from?”

Tolfdir could only shrug. Harry had been quite tight-lipped about his own world, speaking tersely and with little detail when asked about it. Tolfdir couldn’t tell if it was because he thought that the secrecy his own world had for magic applied to other worlds, or if he just didn’t want to talk about his past experiences. Tolfdir was starting to suspect the latter reason more and more.

When they’d led Harry to the room they were lending him, the boy didn’t seem to believe his eyes. “My own room…?” He’d run around, opening and closing the closets and cabinets, as if he couldn’t believe how much space there was.

“It’s still close quarters,” Mirabelle had warned him. “When the other students get here, you’ll see there’s less privacy than you thought.”

Harry didn’t seem to care, though. He actually seemed rather delighted. “Thank you for everything!”

Tolfdir didn’t see what the big deal was. It was their fault he was here after all. But he couldn’t get what Harry had said out of his head. That something had grabbed and pulled him through.

It couldn’t have been any of the mages. All of them had kept a specific safe distance outside the summoning circle, much more than an arm’s length. So what could have happened?

While they were trying to figure that out, Harry would remain here. It seemed the obvious descision: he’d already been trained in magic (albeit at a novice level) and there was nowhere else it seemed right to send him. Especially with word of rising tensions in Windhelm, just to the south.

“Do you think the rumors are true?” Drevis had asked. “About Ulfric seceding from the Empire?”

Tolfdir shook his head. “I really don’t know,” he had to admit. “Anyways, we’re not supposed to get mixed up in politics, remember?”

But Tolfdir couldn’t help but wonder himself. Jarl Korir would certainly side with Ulfric in any descision. Korir admired Ulfric, considering him a “true red-blooded Nord”. The fact that they both distrusted magic didn’t help matters.

Tolfdir always wondered how an anti-magic person like Korir became Jarl. He supposed the Great Collapse was responsible. It wasn’t the mages’ fault that the College was more solidly built then the rest of the city! But the Jarl wouldn’t hear of it.

It was a good thing he didn’t know about Harry yet, Tolfdir noted. He’d probably consider the boy a Daedra and have him thrown into the sea.

As Harry learned more, he and Mirabelle had been working on a convincing backstory for when the other students showed up. Even though Harry was a bit younger then their usual student age range, more questions would be asked if he didn’t join then if he did.

They’d settled on Breton for the race. Harry definitely wouldn’t pass for any kind of elf, and it fit with his name and magical talent. He’d been raised in the northern part of High Rock, and had been sent by his aunt and uncle when they couldn’t stand his magic any more.

“That bit is true, by the way,” Harry admitted. “My aunt and uncle really don’t like magic.”

“Was your mother not magical?” questioned Tolfdir. “Or did your aunt just not use…”

“My mom’s what they call a ‘Muggleborn’. A witch born to a non-magic family. My aunt always hated her for that.” He shrugged. “So I guess she hated me by extension. But after my parents died, they were my closest relatives so…”

Tofldir closed his eyes. “I see.” He could only imagine the face that Mirabelle must be making.

No, Tolfdir reflected as he studied the magical diagram again for any inconsistencies, this boy had not had a happy life.

During Frostfall, another new face came to the college. It was not a welcome one, however. It was a Thalmor liaison, one by the name of Ancano.

“I am here to be an advisor to the Archmage,” he’d explained in a very pompous way. “I’m sure you received the letter.”

Mirabelle suppressed a groan. “Ah, right, yes.” Secretly, she’d been hoping that he wouldn’t come if they didn’t reply. But this was the Thalmor. They did what they pleased.

Of course, Ancano kept poking and prodding around. “Advisor” was obviously code for “find anything useful here that the Thalmor could use to gain an advantage over them Empire”.

And of course, he took an interest in the younger-then-average “Breton” that didn’t seem to attend classes. “He came a bit early due to the travel time,” Tolfdir had told Ancano. It was obvious that Ancano didn’t believe him though.

And one day, Ancano was able to corner Harry in the Arcaneum. “And just what is a child doing here?” he questioned, pressing Harry against the wall. “You don’t sound Breton to me. And obviously you don’t have any elvish blood to speak of.”

“How would you know?” questioned Harry, glaring at the Thalmor.

“We Thalmor have a sense for these things.”

“Is that so? Well maybe you should’ve spent less time on that and more time spent developing how to mind your own business.”

Luckily, Faralda came by and was able to rescue Harry before Ancano could respond. “I didn’t know the boy had that amount of snark in him,” laughed Faralda later. “He always seemed so quiet.”

“It’s probably because Ancano isn’t to be trusted,” said Mirabelle. “While we’ve actually been trying to help him.”

For his part, Harry did his utmost to avoid the Thalmor who was an unholy combination of Malfoy and Snape. He started to wonder if he could help Drevis with his Invisibility spells…

The weeks and months passed quickly after a while. Harry kept training in Tamrielic magic instead of his “wanded” magic as the mages at Winterhold put it. He’d ended up showing an unexpected gift for Restoration and Alteration defensive spells. “Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of my better classes back home,” Harry said, blushing heavily after getting a rare compliment from Colette Maurice. “Hermione was much better at everything else…”

Harry’s sixteenth birthday came and went without much fanfare, though that was mostly because Harry wasn’t used to the new calendar and forgot the equivalent month. Then again, Tolfdir doubted that even if Harry had kept track, he would have told them. The boy tried to be as unobtrusive as possible after his questions about Tamriel, Skryim, and how magic worked were mostly answered. Sometimes Tolfdir even forgot he was there.

It was the middle of Morning Star, seven months after Harry’s arrival, that the news came. It was an urgent message from Sybille Stentor, the court mage of Solitude, sent to all the court mages as well as the College.

The hawk-shaped letter had flown onto Archmage Aren’s desk early that morning. An hour later, a meeting for all the members of the College was called.

Everyone gathered in the Hall of Elements, wondering what could have happened. Harry was on his tiptoes, trying to see over the adult mages. He had not yet met Archmage Aren in person, though Aren had been informed of what had happened.

Eventually, the Archmage came down the stairs and stood in the center of the room. He had an unusually grim look on his usually calm face. He turned to face to assembled mages. “I apologize for calling everyone here so suddenly. I know most of you have heard of the political drama that has been steadily growing in Skyrim for these past few years. For those of you not aware, Jarl Ulfric Stromcloak, who rules Windhelm directly south of us, has been talking about Skyrim possibly seceding from the Empire. Just today, it appears that things have finally come to a head.” He brought out a sheaf of parchment. “I have just received an urgent message from Sybille Stentor, the court mage of Solitude. I’ll go ahead and read it for you.” He put on a pair of spectacles and read the letter aloud.

To the Court Mages, the College of Winterhold, and Whoever Else it May Concern,

High King Torygg is dead.

The first line set a ripple of gasps and murmurs through the assembled mages. Aren cleared his throat and waited for everyone to quiet down.

Today, Ulfric Stormcloak paid a visit to the Blue Palace. We believed he was there to try and discuss the topic of secession, which he has been bringing up for some time now.

However, instead of a discussion, we received instead a declaration of war. Ulfric challenged High King Torygg to a duel to the death for the throne.

Most know Ulfric studied with the Greybeards, and it appears he remembered his training. He defeated Torygg in one blow with the Voice, Shouting him to pieces in front of the whole court. I will not further describe the gruesome scene.

After the murder, the guards charged Ulfric, who decided to run instead of standing his ground. He and his group of “Stormcloak soldiers” were able to escape the city despite the best efforts of our guard. An investigation is ongoing as to the mechanism of his escape.

I know many of you work under Jarls who are sympathetic to Ulfric’s cause, but I urge you to attempt to caution them. Ulfric is dangerous, and he has committed treason of the highest order by killing the High King.

Ulfric claims he wants the best for Skyrim and Nords. He does not. That farce of a duel proved that much.

With great sadness,

Sybille Stentor

Solitude Court Mage

The whole hall was silent. Archmage Aren took off the spectacles and put the letter away, sighing. “I know this may be horrible news for some of you, and great news for others. But I must emphasize that we are an apolitical institution. Short of an invasion of the College itself, we are not to get involved in this war. I only told you of this so you could learn of it as soon as possible, due to the possible ramifications to trade and travel. In addition, the students that enroll in two short months will have heard of this. It’s possible the war might make it impossible for some to come at all.” He stepped down. “I would urge you to remember our neutrality in all matters and mind what you say to the students. That is all. Thank you.”

The mages began to disperse, whispering among each other. Tolfdir sat down heavily on the edge of one of the stairs. “By the gods…” he muttered. “The High King…dead.”

Harry sat down next to him. “What’s the Voice?”

“It’s a very ancient form of magic, used by Nords of old,” explained Tolfdir. “Dragons used to rule Skyrim, you see, according to the old legends, and they could cast spells by speaking words in their language. Eventually, Nords learned to use the Voice as well and freed themselves from the dragons. Supposedly, the Dragonblood emperors of old had the ability to use it, like Talos.”

“Who became a god. Except then people said he didn’t, officially.”

Tolfdir nodded. “Correct. Nowadays, the only people that know how to use the Voice are the Greybeards, who live on top of High Hrothgar, the highest mountain in Skyrim. They’re a very secretive and isolated lot. Apparently, Ulfric went to study with them for a bit. Seems he picked up some tricks.”

“Some trick, blowing someone apart,” muttered Harry under his breath. Tolfdir could barely hear him. “Was he a good king?” Harry asked at regular volume. “Torygg, I mean?”

Tolfdir shrugged. “I’m not sure. He’s…he had only been on the throne a few years. Not much time to make a name for himself. And I never met him in person, either.” He shook his head. “One thing is for sure, this is going to make shockwaves…”

“So we’re going to fight?”

Tolfdir looked at Harry in shock. “You didn’t hear what the Archmage said? We’re neutral. And things have only just begun. We don’t know who’s who or where’s where. Even if we were going to act, it would be too early.”

“Oh,” said Harry.

Tolfdir frowned. “We’re a school. We’re not supposed to get involved in conflicts; we’re supposed to teach.” Which is something your school apparently wasn’t doing, Tolfdir thought. “But enough of that for now. Why don’t you go see Faralda and see if she can give you some quick Destruction training? I’m to give the first lecture when the school year starts, and I need to find where I left my notes.”

Chapter Text

Archmage Aren turned out to be right when the students started to arrive near the end of Sun’s Dawn. It was an incredibly small class, only twelve students or so. “This actually isn’t as bad as I was expecting,” Tolfdir noted. “We never get that many students because most of them go to the Cyrodiilic institutions: the Synod or the College of Whispers.”

“What’s the difference between the two of them?” Harry had asked.

“One doesn’t want necromancy to be legalized, the other does. But both of them are more focused on politics then actually studying and teaching magic. That’s why we don’t associate with them.”

Harry had nodded, though he noted privately that he agreed more with the Synod. No matter how amiable Phinis Gestor was, Harry had too much experience with necromancy (well, one particular necromancer) to ever be comfortable around it.

Tolfdir explained that the students would be split into smaller groups for the introductory lecture. Since the college was mostly independent study based, with students crafting their own schedules, multiple introductory lectures would be held, depending on when the students arrived. Seeing as Harry had been at Winterhold for almost a year at this point, he would be attending the first lecture with the first students to arrive.

So it was that on the tenth of First Seed (Harry still didn’t think it looked like planting season up here) Harry stood in the Hall of Elements with the first three students to arrive: a Nord, a Dunmer, and a catlike being that Tolfdir had explained was a “Khajiit”.

 Harry sort of stood to the side as the other three talked, explaining why and how they had come here. “I wanted to stay in Skyrim,” explained the Nord who had introduced himself as “Onmund”. “I guess I just wasn’t brave enough to go all the way to Cyrodiil for magic.”

The Khajiit waved him off. “You made the right descision. J’zargo looked at the Synod and the Whispers College as well, but this one was not impressed. Too much politicking and bootlicking, not enough magic learning.” J’zargo’s tail flicked. “Not exactly J’zargo’s favorite.”

The Dunmer groaned. “Politics is why I left for here to. I’m part of the Telvanni Great House, so we’re all supposed to be the best mages possible. Get ahead by any means possible. It’s so much pressure…”

“And what of you, small child who looks a bit too young to be here?”

Harry jumped as he realized J’zargo was addressing him. “Wh…I’m not a ‘child’! I’m sixteen!”

The other students looked at each other. “I don’t know about Skyrim, but for Dunmer, that’s a kid.”

Onmund shrugged. “It’s…almost an adult? I think?”

Harry crossed his arms. “I’m not a child…” He sighed. “And uh…to answer your question…well…” Harry thought about how to explain everything. Should he lie? Should he tell the whole truth?

Luckily, he didn’t have to decide because it was at that moment that Tolfdir chose to enter the hall and start his lecture.

Eventually, after much insistence from the students, Tolfdir finally stopped his lecture and let the students do something practical, much to Harry's relief. It was something he was good at, too: wards.

Harry was paired up with Onmund, who Harry found a bit intimidating despite his apparently shy nature. Onmund was at least a head taller than Harry and one and a half times as wide. Harry doubted that a fully charged up lightning bolt could knock him over

Onmund looked around the room and sighed wistfully a bit. "I was hoping I wouldn't be the only Nord here...guess that was too much to hope, heh."

Oh. Harry shrugged. "I mean, we're the first class of the year, right? Maybe there'll be more Nords as the year goes on?" From the look on Onmund's face, he didn't seem hopeful. "Wow, Tolfdir wasn't kidding that magic was unpopular here."

Onmund shook his head. "Yeah...my family didn't want me to come. They kept claiming it was a death sentence. That they'd..." He shook his head. "Well, never mind. It obviously wasn't true."

Harry nodded sadly. "My aunt and uncle didn't want me to come either," he admitted.

Onmund frowned and tilted his head. "They wanted you closer to home?"

Harry shook his head. "No, they don't like magic either. I had to attend a local school in secret for a while." He smiled, but the smile had a bitter edge. "They found out, but felt like I knew enough magic that they couldn't force me to stop going. So they claimed that while I was gone I was at the 'Institute for the Incurably Criminally Insane' or some rubbish like that. Anyways, I got sick of having to go home every summer, so I switched to here."

The lie came easily to Harry, easier than he expected. Of course, it's not really a lie, said a voice in his head. I didn't run away though, he replied. Not on purpose anyways.

Onmund looked down at the Breton in front of him. At least he was pretty sure he was a Breton. He didn't look very elven.

But he did look young, short, and very skinny.

Onmund had never heard of a Breton family that outright hated magic before. Then again, he hadn't met a lot of Bretons.

And if they reacted the same way to Harry's magic that Onmund's family had reacted to him...well, that certainly explained why the kid looked malnourished.

Even when Onmund had been kept from meals, the natural ability of Nord bodies to retain fat and muscle assured he didn't show it. Bretons likely had no such ability.

I'm not the only one, though Onmund happily as the two began practicing wards. I'm not the only one whose family didn't want them to come!

But then he immediately felt guilty for thinking that. He shouldn't, he wouldn't wish that kind of family turmoil on anyone...

A few days after the first lecture, Tolfdir announced a field trip to a local ruin. “Saarthal”, he called it, apparently the first city of Atmorans on Tamriel.

“Sacked by the Snow Elves in the infamous ‘Night of Tears’, not much is known about what happened to Saarthal,” Tolfdir lectured as they walked.

Harry, wrapped in furs and short as he was, lagged behind the group due to the deep snow. “Onmund, you may need to carry the child!” yelled J’zargo.

“I’m not a child!” groused Harry. “Just give me a minute, I’m coming!”

Onmund shook his head, walked back, and scooped Harry up, despite the boy’s protests. “Just go with it,” said Onmund, obviously trying not to laugh. “We’ll get out of the cold faster this way.”

After getting to the ruin proper, all the students were assigned to a specific project. As Harry’s luck would have it, he was assigned to work with Arniel Gane, the grumpy Dwemer expert.

Harry was unsure why Gane seemed to dislike him so much. He couldn’t remember having done anything, and he was quite sure Gane had never met his father. So there were two possibilities out the window. Whatever the case, Gane always acted rather surly towards Harry.

“Don’t get in my way, portal-child,” groused Gane as Harry walked up. “Just go find some artifacts so I can catalogue them. And don’t break anything, that’s the last thing we need!”

Harry scampered away quickly before Gane could yell at him again. He walked to the north of the excavation site, eventually seeing Brelyna looking around.

“Hello!”

Brelyna jumped. “Reclaimations, you’re quieter then a Morag Tong assassin in slippers!”

“Sorry,” said Harry. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just came over to see what you were doing.”

Brelyna shook her head. “Tolfdir has me looking for wards. But either they were never here, or they were removed long ago.” She sat down. “I just can’t get over the age and magnitude of this place. My ancestors and Onmund’s ancestors fought and killed each other here long ago.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, Tolfdir told me about Ysgramor and stuff before we came here. But they don’t know why the Snow Elves attacked, right?”

Brelyna sighed sadly. “Yeah. But whatever the reason, it wasn’t worth it. It had terrible consequences. Ysgramor went insane and decided to kill all of them.”

Harry stared at her. “…all of them?”

Brelyna nodded. “Nords and Elves have been rivals for a long time. This is when it started. With the genocide of the Falmer, the Snow Elves. Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions made it his mission to wipe all of them out. And they pretty much succeeded.”

Harry looked down. “Oh. I only heard that they were ‘driven out’.”

Brelyna huffed. “Yeah, the Nords love to say that. Ysgramor is a big culture hero. I think there’s even still a couple of Companions still active in Whiterun or somewhere, ‘carrying on his honor and legacy’ or whatever. I mean, I guess not all of the Falmer died, technically. Some escaped to Morrowind or High Rock. Some were driven underground and became these twisted creatures…but they’re all gone from Skyrim now. And most of them suffered and died.”

A whole culture, just gone. Gone because some of them made a descision and someone else decided the whole culture had to be held responsible for it. Harry couldn’t imagine it. Brelyna shook her head. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. It was thousands of years ago, and it shouldn’t affect how me and Onmund interact.” She sighed. “So, what’s your assignment?”

“I need to find artifacts for Arniel Gane.” Brelyna stuck out her tongue. “You don’t like him either.”

“He keeps cornering me to ask about Dwemer stuff. He seems under the impression that all Dunmer live in Dwemer ruins or something.”

“Well, where do you live?”

“Mushroom tower.”

“Come again?”

“It’s a Telvanni thing. The powerful mages compete to grow the biggest mushroom until it turns into a tower that can hold giant labs and house whole branches of the family. It is exactly the kind of compensating you think it is.”

Harry snorted. “So, seen any artifacts?”

Brelyna pointed behind Harry. “I mean, that looks pretty important.”

Harry turned around to see a small antechamber behind him with a carving on the wall. In the middle of the carving was hanging what looked like a necklace. “Oh! That’ll work!” He walked over and pulled it off the wall.

“Wait!” yelled Brelyna.

But it was too late. Harry turned around to see a wall of spears slide into place behind him. “…shit.”

By the time Brelyna got back with Tolfdir, both Onmund and J’zargo had gotten there first. Onmund was trying in vain to break or bend the spears to get Harry out, but despite being thousands of years old, they were in good condition and held fast.

“J’zargo stop laughing and help me!”

“You are caught! Caught like a naughty kitten!”

It took a bit of finagling, but eventually they figured out the amulet was the key to opening the chamber back up. Harry put on the amulet and shot a lightning bolt at the frieze. It gave way like tissue paper and the spears retracted.

And then they were all going down a tunnel. “Why is this so far underneath Saarthal?”

“Is it a hiding place?” asked Harry. “For people who couldn’t fight, in case the town was attacked?”

“I don’t think so,” said Onmund. “I think this might be another part of the crypt. A deeper part, maybe.”

The group came out into a small room with a table surrounded by coffins. “Well this isn’t ominous at all,” snarked Harry.

The air suddenly bent around the group, and an Altmer in tan robes appeared. “A spirit?” yelped Onmund.

The Altmer spoke. “Hold, mages, and listen well. Know that you have set in motion events that cannot be stopped. Judgement has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgement will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching.”

And then he was gone. “Okay…does anyone want to explain what the hell that was?”

Everyone else seemed too shocked to notice Harry’s odd phrase. “Those were the robes of the Psijic Order,” whispered Tolfdir. “What on Nirn are they doing down here? They should have no connection to these ruins!”

“Also, didn’t their island disappear about a century ago?” asked Brelyna. “Why come back now?”

“You know of them, my dear?”

Brelyna nodded. “Great Uncle Neloth was always insulting them, calling them high and mighty stuck up s’wits. But he didn’t like any other mage groups. Or any other mages. Or anyone else in general, come to think of it…anyways, I know they specialized in Mysticism, which used to be one of the main schools of magic, but got dissolved following the Oblivion Crisis as superfluous. Most of the spells were then shuffled into other schools, like Soul Trap going to Conjuration.”

Tolfdir nodded. “Very good.”

Harry felt a pang in his heart, remembering someone who could very well take Brelyna’s place right now. Hermione…you’d get along so well.

He shook off the bittersweet feeling as the coffins popped open, and several skeletal, shambling bodies stumbled out.

“Draugr!” yelled Onmund.

Tolfdir summoned several spells. “Be on your guard! They’re stronger than they look!”

Tolfdir was right about the draugr being strong. “How do they swing so hard?” asked Harry, healing a nasty cut on his arm. “They’re literally skin and bone!”

“It’s the necromancy,” sighed Onmund. “They’re enchanted to protect the tomb, and the things in it.”

“What things in a tomb need protecting?”

Soon enough, they found out.

Opening a large wooden door, the group was nearly blinded by a bright teal light. As their eyes adjusted, they could see a large orb in the center of the room, giving off the blinding teal light. “What is that?” whispered J’zargo, who for once seemed at a loss for words.

“I have no idea…” whispered Tolfdir. “It’s so far underneath Saarthal…is this what the Psijic was talking about?”

The group’s staring was interrupted by a cracking sound. Looking to the floor below the platform they were standing on, they could see a large draugr in an elaborate horned helmet standing up and giving them a death glare.

Faster then you could say “I told you there was danger”, it was running up the ramp to the platforms.

Tolfdir threw a fireball. Onmund and Harry threw lightning. But it only bounced off the draugr, which also seemed to be surrounded by teal light…

“It must be drawing energy from the orb!” Tolfdir realized. He ran down the other ramp leading to the orb. “Keep it busy! I’ll try to drain some of the energy!”

Given the draugr’s seemingly single-minded focus on them, the students didn’t have much choice. Brelyna made some hand gestures, and a tall horned being made of fire appeared in front of the draugr. “Fire atronach, I choose you!”

The draugr swiped at the fire atronach and the atronach faded, exploding as the remains fell to the ground. The draugr simply walked through the explosion.

Brelyna turned to the others. “Well, I’m out of ideas.”

“Have no fear!” said J’zargo proudly. “J’zargo has made some Flame Cloak scrolls! With a twist!”

“What kind of twist?” asked Onmund nervously.

“When did you have time to make those?” yelped Brelyna. “We’ve been here a week!”

“Do not ask questions you do not care for the answers to, Brelyna. Prepare to be amazed!”

“Now!” Tolfdir yelled from below. “Hit it now!”

 J’zargo pulled out one of the scrolls and activated it. “Witness J’zargo’s genius!”

BOOM! The draugr reeled back and fell down the stairs as J’zargo became wreathed in explosive flames. “J’zargo!” yelled Harry.

“Ah..owch…” J’zargo started patting out the flames on his robes. “This one is fine! They ah…were not supposed to explode.”

Onmund helped J’zargo put himself out using some ice while Harry used Healing Hands on him to help with the burns. Brelyna looked over the side. “Well, exploding or not, it worked. It’s not moving anymore.”

Once the flames were good and out, all four students walked down the ramp to study the draugr and the orb. Onmund bend over and picked up a piece of paper from near the corpse. “Be bound here, Jyrik, murdered and traitor. Condemned for you crimes against realm and lord. May your name and deeds be forgotten forever. And the charm which you bear be sealed by our ward.”

J’zargo, still wincing, also bent over the draugr and picked up what looked like a piece of a necklace. “Interesting…” J’zargo mused. “Though not as interesting as that orb.”

Tolfdir turned to the students. “I can confidently say I have no idea what this is! It’s simply magnificiant! The Archmage needs to know of it at once.” He turned to the students. “Brelyna, Harry, could you two run back and tell the Archmage about our discovery. I daren’t leave this unattended.”

Harry nodded, but side-eyed the orb as he and Brelyna left. He’d had enough experiences with strange magical artifacts for a lifetime, thank you very much.

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t know if it was just the stress of the day or exposure to the orb that did it, but the night after the field trip, he had a dream.

He was flying. That in itself was strange. What was even stranger was that he wasn’t levitating or riding on the back of a flying animal. He had wings, it felt like. Not on his back, but attached to his arms like a bat.

He looked around and nearly gasped. There were dragons everywhere, flying to and fro and fighting. They were different dragons then the ones back home. They only had two legs, with their arms extending into wings. On top of that, they looked much bigger, which Harry didn’t even think was possible.

They were all different colors, brown and white and blue and green. Harry tried to look and see what color he was, but he couldn’t. He realized he wasn’t even controlling the flapping of wings.

So he was just along for the ride then. That was more than a bit disconcerting.

Focusing again in front of him, or the dragon he was following, his heart sped up as he saw a huge dragon coming towards him. A brown one, with huge horns and fire dripping from its jaws. “Sahlojoor!” it roared. “Ru hond mal lir!”

Before the brown dragon could reach him (reach the dragon), it was knocked aside by another dragon that had been thrown away from a fight. The dragon that had Harry’s point of view turned and snorted as the brown dragon went tumbling away. “Naak thok, Mirmulnir,” it spat after it.

It kept flying, through the chaos of the fight. The roaring, the smoke. As it swept through, Harry realized that on the ground below, there were small dots moving around. Human dots. He didn’t know how he knew they were humans, but he was certain of it.

They were shooting arrows at the giant beings above, and swarming them whenever they landed to try and kill them. Sometimes a dragon would swoop down and grab a couple of little dots in their mouth, either straight up eating them or shaking their head side to side until the little dot flew off somewhere far away on the horizon.

But the dragon didn’t pay any attention to that. It kept flying, up towards a tall, craggy mountain that stuck out of the ground like a giant stalagmite (or was it stalagtite, Harry could never remember). Circling around the mountain was…well Harry couldn’t really describe it as a dragon.

Because while it had a general dragon shape, that was the only thing it had in common with the others swirling through the sky. It was huge, it was black, like a piece of the world had been cut out and replaced with the night sky.

And the dragon was heading right for that thing. What am I doing? Harry yelled. Then he remembered he wasn’t in control of the situation and changed tactics. What are you doing?

“Buying time,” said a voice. Was that the dragon? Did it know he was here?

The dragon flew around the dragon-shaped void. “Alduin!” It called out to the void. “Hin daan lov!”

The black void-dragon, Alduin, turned its head towards the dragon. It laughed, a horrible, grating sound that made Harry feel like cold ice had been poured down his back. “Wo ist dii daan? Hin, sahlagaar?”

The void’s head snapped out. The dragon dodged. Twice more the void bit at the dragon before it got a strike in. The dragon roared in pain. Harry would’ve yelled in pain if he could’ve. He felt skin and scales tear away as the dragon started to wheel towards the ground.

There was a flash of grey. The void yelled again. “Hin? Tahrodaas Paarthunax!”

There was more roaring as the dragon fell, everything going dark.

Then Harry realized he was back in his own body, still falling in darkness.

“You have been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” It was that voice again, the one that spoken directly to him before. Sort of rough, but like it was trying to be gentle. “We are the same, you and I. The weak ones. The ones bullied. But…I had someone. Dii zeymah, my brother, Paarthunax. He was always kind to me.”

Harry felt something canvas-like wrap around him. “But you never had anyone,” the voice continued. “Everyone who could have helped you abandoned you, no matter what you did, no matter how much you helped them. That changes now.” The voice’s tone brokered no room for argument. “Fear not. As my brother was for me, I shall be for you, Kendov Qolor.”

Harry awoke, cocooned in wool blankets on his bed. He blinked sleepily. That had been one of his weirdest dreams to date. And he’d had weird dreams. “Still better then the snake dream,” he yawned, unwrapping himself from the blankets with some difficulty.

It took two weeks to figure out how to move the orb to the college, and then another two weeks to get it moved. Harry looked askance at Tolfdir when they put it in the middle of the Hall of Elements. “It’s the only place in the college large enough to hold it,” Tolfdir had explained.

At least Dumbledore put magical artifacts behind a three headed dog and a bunch of traps, thought Harry. Of course, no power-hungry necromancers were coming to steal the Eye of Magnus, as the college had started to call it. Not that they knew of, anyway…

All the same, Harry didn’t much like the Eye being in the middle of the lecture hall. It made it hard to focus during classes, not only because it was bright and shiny in a distracting way, but also the feeling Harry got whenever he was near it. He could swear he felt something in the back of his brain. Not painful like Voldemort had been in the Ministry just under a year ago (had it really been almost a year?), but still disconcerting. Like someone was knocking on a door in his mind, asking to be let in. Was the Eye asking to be let in to Harry’s head? Harry didn’t like the thought of that at all.

“Where did the name come from, anyways?” asked Brelyna later, after one of the lectures.

Tolfdir shrugged. “Well, it looks like an eye and appears to be an extremely powerful source of magicka. Therefore, Eye of Magnus.”

Harry was still getting used to the fact that magic came from the sun in this world. And that the sun wasn’t really a sun so much as a portal to another dimension where the gods and spirits lived. It hurt his brain to think about, so he decided to ignore any implications of that for the time being. “Most people do the same,” Faralda had reassured him. “Unless you’re going into very detailed and theoretical research on the exact functions of magic and the nature of the divine, its just not worth thinking that hard about. It is what it is.”

Classes continued and students continued to arrive, even with the strange new artifact. The classes at Winterhold were structured much differently from the ones at Hogwarts, Harry noticed. None of the classes were, technically speaking, mandatory, though some classes had prerequisites. All that mattered was that you signed up for a certain number of classes, and once you took enough classes in a particular school of magic you could apply to take a test to go to the next rank.

Harry was making good progress in Restoration and Destruction. He especially excelled in shields and spells that damaged armor and weapons. He wasn’t too shabby at spells to turn away undead, either, which made him feel much better about his chances against draugr.

He wasn’t even doing too bad in Illusion, either, though he had problems concentrating for long periods. “Your Muffle spells keeps fading in and out because you’re trying to concentrate on what’s around you as well as the spell. You’ll need more practice at that.”

The concentration problem made him pretty bad at Conjuration as well, not even being able to summon a basic fire atronach for more then five seconds. Harry wasn’t too sore about this though, considering necromancy fell under the Conjuration school.

The other students were progressing as well. Onmund sometimes joined Harry for Restoration, and all the students went to Destruction classes at one point or another (especially J’zargo, despite his claims of being so advanced “that this one should not need class”).

And so it went on for a couple of months. It was Sun’s Height when the next big event happened.

That was when the vampires came.

Chapter Text

They were at the Frozen Hearth when it happened. Even though the Jarl wasn’t very friendly towards the College, most of the other residents of Winterhold didn’t seem to mind it. “Business is business,” said Dagur, the owner of the bar. “As long as you buy something.”

Snowberry ale and snowberry treats were the bar’s specialties, since snowberries were about the only crop that would reliably grow up this way. Harry didn’t mind though, he thought it was quite good.

So there they were, Harry, Onmund, and J’zargo (Brelyna had stayed back to help Tolfdir find his alembic…again) all sitting in the Hearth, relieved that Jarl Korir hadn’t showed up to start ranting about the college again. Nope, it was all cozy and quiet, and the sun had just set.

And then the screaming started.

All three mages nearly fell out of their seats. “What in Shor’s name was that?” yelled Onmund, getting up and running towards the door. Harry and J’zargo followed behind quickly. Onmund and J’zargo stopped short at the door, but Harry ran past them and out into the street.

In the street just outside the inn, there were four figures in dark armor and robes. One of them was kneeling on top of a guard, knee on his chest.

Even from the porch of the inn, Harry could see that the guard wasn’t moving, and the snow around him was stained red.

The figure on top of the guard looked up, directly at Harry, mouth dripping with blood. It stood up and began to move towards him.

Suddenly, Harry was eleven again.

He didn’t have magic. He didn’t have his wand.

He was defenseless. His arms froze.

His heart hammered in his chest.

He stumbled back, tripping over the steps. He could hear someone calling him in the distance as the vampire approached, but Harry was too frightened to listen. Everything around him seemed to go fuzzy except for the vampire, which sharply stood out as it grinned at him with a blood-ringed mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, in the area that wasn’t frozen in terror, Harry realize that Firenze wasn’t around to save him this time.

But someone else was.

“Allow me to assist,” said a voice in his head. It didn’t sound like Harry’s, not at all.

And suddenly it was like the dreams again. But instead of not having control of someone else’s body, it was his own body that Harry had lost control of.

The vampire saw Harry’s eyes shift from emerald green to a vivid teal. The boy looked down at his own hand and flexed it experimentally, then stood up. “Perhaps this will be a worthy challenge,” he said. But it didn’t really sound like his voice.

Harry speaking startled Onmund and J’zargo back into action. As Harry’s body strode towards the vampire, a fireball smacked said vampire in the chest. “Burn, undead fiend!” J’zargo yelled.

“Leave Harry alone!” yelled Onmund, pulling a dagger from his side and summoning lightning.

Harry felt his body turn around and he mouth form a smirk. The being in his head nodded to Onmund, who gave him a confused and concerned look.

The vampire who had approached Harry before, stood back up, hissing and smoking from the firebolt. It lunged at him with superhuman speed. Reflexively, Harry’s arm came up to block, and a burning, pinching sensation filled his forearm.

The sound that came out of Harry’s mouth wasn’t one he’d ever made. It wasn’t a scream. It was more like a roar. It was a sound that didn’t even sound human.

And Harry himself could only watch as his hands reached up to grasp the sides of the vampire’s head and twisted it abuptly.

There was a sharp cracking sound, and the vampire’s body went limp. It fell back in the snow, its head still at an unnatural angle. After a few seconds, it dissolved into ash.

The fight had gone on around Harry during this time. Guards had shown up to fight the vampires, while Faralda had left her post to throw fireballs like Onmund and J’zargo were doing. It took a while, but eventually, the other three vampires had also been reduced to individual ash piles.

J’zargo kicked at one. “Bloodsucking bastards,” he grumbled. He looked up and saw Harry. “You are alright? Uninjured?”

The presence in Harry’s head retreated. They’re gone now. You’re safe. Harry felt feeling come back into his legs in time for him to collapse to his knees.

Safe? Safe? He sure didn’t feel safe.

He was back. He was back in his head. Like the department of mysteries.

The fear that Harry felt during Mr. Weasley’s hospitalization came back in full force. “No…” he muttered. “No no no…”

He heard the crunching of snow as people approached. No, they couldn’t! Voldemort would come back and then-

Harry felt someone grab his arm. “He’s been bit-“

“No!” Harry yelled, jerking his arm away. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t work right. “Get away! Get away please!”

He couldn’t let Voldemort hurt them. Not again.

The image of Sirius falling through the Veil flashed through his mind.

Sirius was dead because Harry had let Voldemort manipulate him. He couldn’t let that happen again, he wouldn’t!

Voldemort? The voice was back. What are you talking about? I’m not-

“Shut up!” yelled Harry. “Shut up, shut up shut up!”

But I’m not-!

Suddenly, Harry felt something warm on his back. The feeling spread, making all his muscles relax. Harry felt himself fall into the snow.

He was picked up by large hands and thrown over someone’s shoulder. “…agrid?” Harry tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

He faded in and out of consciousness, only hearing snatches of conversation.

“…happened…he injured?”

“Got bit…freaked out…”

“Sleeps…and Colette…”

“…set him down here…”

“…he be okay? …scared…”

“Let him rest.”

When Harry came to, he was warm. There was pressure on him.

It took him a few minutes to realize he was lying in bed. His right arm was incredibly sore, and so was his head.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes.

“Hey, I think he’s coming to!” That was Onmund. Harry opened his eyes, wincing.

He could see three blurs sitting around the bed. One tanned, one blue-grey, and one grey and fuzzy. Harry groaned. “What happened?” he said with great difficulty.

“Well,” said J’zargo. “There was a vampire attack, and you got bit. And then you started running away, so Onmund cast a sleep spell on you so we could bring you back and get potions.”

The attack… Harry sat straight up in bed with a start. He let out a cry of pain as a renewed burning sensation attacked his arm.

Harry looked over at his arm to see gauze wrapped around it. “It’s okay now!” Onmund tried to reassure him. “Master Maurice used some warding spells and Master Sleeps gave you a bunch of Cure Disease potions so you’re fine! The bite’s not gonna do you any harm!”

The bite…Harry chuckled a bit, then began laughing hysterically. “The bite? The bite? You think this is about the bite?”

“It’s not?” asked Brelyna. Even without Harry’s glasses on, the concern on her face was obvious.

Harry looked down at his shaking hands, still laughing a little bit. “There’s…something I should tell you.”

He told them everything, then. About Hogwarts, about Voldemort, about the portal. And most importantly, the fact that he hadn’t been acting on his own during the fight with the vampires.

“So…that’s about the size of it,” Harry said after he finished. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the other students’ eyes. “I guess I didn’t say anything because…I didn’t want to be ‘The Boy that Fell Through a Portal’…I think I’d hate that more then ‘The Boy Who Lived’…I wanted to just be Harry for a while…if I could. Maybe that was too much to ask…”

There was silence for a long moment. “So…what you said about your aunt and uncle…” Onmund said carefully.

“What I said about them hating magic was true,” Harry quickly clarified. “And about them hating me because of it. I just…didn’t mention that it didn’t take place in High Rock. And that I didn’t actually run away…at least not on purpose.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” said Brelyna. “Are you saying this necromancer, this ‘Voldemort’, literally reached across worlds to get back into your head? I know you said he was powerful, but surely there’s a limit to that sort of mind magic…”

“Also, why would he have you fighting the vampires?” asked J’zargo. “This one would think they would be on the same side. Avoiding death and all.”

Harry took off his glasses and fiddled with them a bit, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he saw…sees them as rivals, or something? But then again, its not like he hasn’t worked with supernatural…folks before. I know he’s got a werewolf or two working with him but…” He closed his eyes. “I will say that it…didn’t hurt as much, this time. But I’m not sure that’s a good thing…”

Harry was still looking at his hands at this point. So he saw when two other hands reached to grasp his: one ruddy and calloused, the other blue-grey and slender. After a moment, a third hand joined them, with clawed nails and covered in grey fur.

“It’s going to be okay,” he heard Brelyna say. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah,” said Onmund. “That’s a promise.”

“J’zargo will find the facts first! Now that’s a promise!”

“This isn’t a competition, J’zargo!”

Harry finally looked up at their faces. There was fear there, yes. But not anger. Not hate, like he’d been expecting.

But why? Didn’t they deserve to be angry? Didn’t they deserve to hate him? He’d kept so much from them! So why…?

Harry’s vision blurred and he broke down sobbing.

Chapter Text

Harry remained on bedrest for the next three days by doctor’s orders (or rather, Restoration Master’s orders). “The potion should have done most of the work,” Colette had said. “But just in case there’s any disease left, we don’t want it spreading through your system and causing nasty side effects.”

“So, I could still turn into a vampire?” Harry asked in a worried voice.

“No, no, there shouldn’t be enough left for that. But it could still make you very sick if you aren’t careful.”

The others were still busy with classes, but they made time to come check up on him, still. They weren’t scared of him, but he could see the concern in their eyes whenever they approached. Onmund tugging at his braids, Brelyna’s strained smile, J’zargo’s twitching tail…

The concern was almost worse than the possible fear. He didn’t deserve it.

Brelyna flipped through the books in the library impatiently. Normally she would go slower, trying to read everything on the page and being careful to avoid damaging the book. But now wasn’t a time to be slower.

“Find anything?” asked Onmund, peeking out from behind the bookshelf. He and J’zargo had left most of the library research to Brelyna. Onmund had been asking questions of the faculty while J’zargo had been doing spell research (which had raised more then a few eyebrows).

Brelyna sighed heavily. “Everything I can find on Mind Magic goes back to the Sloads. No human necromancers. And there’s nothing about it being used between realms except by Daedric Princes!” Brelyna slammed the book shut and sighed again loudly, then winced as Urag shushed her. “Have you found anything?” she whispered to Onmund.

Onmund shook his head. “No. I’ve asked Master Neloran, mostly since I figured something like this would fall under the Illusion school. But he said Mind Magic like this is counted as a separate school because the method of casting is so different, and because Illusion isn’t really mind control, like what happened with Harry. Yeah, you can manipulate people’s emotions and perceptions, but you can’t control exactly what they’ll do or how they’ll react.”

The two apprentices were silent, contemplating. “Hey,” Onmund finally said. “I know this might be a dumb idea but…” Brelyna nodded for him to go on. “Is it possible Harry was…wrong? Not about the mind magic, but about who was doing it?”

Brelyna forward on her arm thoughtfully. “You think it might not be that necromancer?” Onmund nodded. “That would make sense. I know Harry said he was really powerful, but powerful enough to reach across planes of existence? That’s some god-level power, not something a mortal should be able to do. But that does leave a problem…”

“And that’s the problem of who was doing it?” A new voice interjected. Both apprentices jumped as Faralda rounded the bookshelf next to them. “You know, if you want to keep this stuff secret, you shouldn’t discuss it in public places.” Both Onmund and Brelyna blushed. “Come on.” She motioned them into a side room meant for holding scrolls. She closed the door and turned to the two apprentices with a grave expression. “Now, what’s this I hear about Harry and mind magic?”

Brelyna quickly explained what Harry had told them. “…I see,” said Faralda after a moment. “Well, I can’t say I blame Harry for being concerned. But I think Onmund is right. This isn’t the work of some mortal necromancer.”

“But then we have no idea who it might be,” whispered Brelyna.

“No, we don’t.” Faralda shook her head. “Now, you two need to be more careful where you discuss these things. Most of the faculty know about what brought Harry here, but most of the staff have no idea. Neither Ancano or the Jarl have any idea, either, and frankly it’s much better if we keep it that way.”

Both apprentices felt their stomachs twist as they thought about all the horrible ways those two people could react. “This stays inside the College, and nowhere else. Understood?” Both apprentices nodded. “Good. I wish I could help, but this isn’t my area at all. I’d suggest you keep doing what you’re doing, and maybe try talking to Harry again. Maybe-“

The door to the scroll room swung open. “Master Faralda,” gasped out the college guard that had opened it. He ignored the shush from Urag. “You’re needed at the front gate immediately!”

“What is it?” asked Faralda.

“It’s the Jarl!”

Harry shivered as he walked across the courtyard. Colette and Sleeps-In-Blossom had finally deemed him well enough to start attending classes again. Harry wasn’t normally concerned about catching up, but considering she had helped his recovery, it seemed rude to slack off in Colette’s class.

“You hand over that vampire, or so help me Talos-!” Harry suddenly heard a shout from near the college gates. It was a voice he recognized from the times the owner would come into the Frozen Hearth and rant: it was the Jarl.

Forgetting class for the moment, Harry hurried over the bridge to see what was going on. Sure enough, just outside the gate stood the Jarl, accompanied by an older man that Harry had been told was Kralder, as well as about ten guards. Harry’s eyes widened.

“Jarl Korir, please calm down!” Kralder was saying, looking apologetically at Faralda. “Not everyone who gets bitten is turned! The chances are only one in ten!”

Faralda stood in front of the posse, arms crossed and, from what Harry could see, very unamused. Two college guards flanked her with axes. “Kralder is right. Furthermore, we are under no obligation to simply hand over one of our students for interrogation!”

“I will not simply stand here while you guard a threat to this whole city! I’ll storm the College if I have to!”

Faralda summoned a fire in her hand. “You’d better be careful. None of us wish to harm Winterhold, but we will defend ourselves as necessary!”

Harry’s stomach squeezed. They were looking for him. They were harassing the College because they were looking for him.

He couldn’t let them hurt anyone. He couldn’t!

“Wait!” Harry yelled, running out in front of Faralda. “Don’t…don’t hurt them!”

“Harry!” yelped Faralda. “What in Oblivion are you doing!”

Harry took a deep breath. “Look. Here I am, not a vampire. So you can go home now, and not attack the College. Okay?”

Korir looked at Harry with a look that reminded him of Vernon. “Hmph. You think I’ll just believe you. Cute. You’re probably planning to rip out my throat right now, aren’t you, you stupid mage?”

While hearing parts of Korir’s rants hadn’t endeared him to the man, it was at this moment that Harry firmly decided he didn’t like the Jarl very much.  “Are you serious?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Oooh, look at me! I’m a scary, scary creature of the night!” He pulled his lip up to show his canines. “Look how very sharp my teeth are!” He dropped his lip and crossed his arms. “For god’s sake, do I look like a fucking vampire to you?”

Kralder shook his head and laughed a little. “Not to me.” He looked at the Jarl. “Come on, Jarl Korir. You’ve seen the boy. Let’s leave them be…”

“Right! Sure!” snapped Korir, drawing his axe. Harry heard a sharp gasp from behind him, and he couldn’t help but back up a bit. Korir pointed the head of the axe towards Harry threateningly.

Harry felt something move in the back of his mind again. No! he thought forcefully at it. No, go away! Please!

“You might be so gullible, Kralder,” continued Korir, “but I’m not going to trust a group of mages!”

“Would you shut up!” suddenly snapped Kralder, suddenly angry. “Put down your damn weapon! At least these mages fought those vampires! Where were you when we needed defending?”

Korir, startled, actually obeyed and lowed his axe. Everyone turned to look at the previously affable man, who suddenly seemed furious, fists balled at his sides. “Where have you been all this time, when Winterhold needed you to help rebuild? In the tavern, complaining about the College when we could be working with them to make Winterhold better?”

“Now watch your tongue, Kralder!” Korir snapped, though his voice shook a bit. “Don’t forget who’s the Jarl. And who has the allies.” He finished with a triumphant and cocky smirk.

“You think Ulfric cares about you? He doesn’t care about Winterhold! Nobody does, except because of the College!”

As the two men stared daggers at each other, Faralda put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve seen your proof, Jarl Korir. Harry is fine, and not undead. Now, if you would let us get back to our business.”

With that, she led Harry away.

Korir stomped back down the ramp to the College in a huff. “What were you thinking?” snapped Kralder. “Pointing an axe at a student? You know how defensive the College has been!”

Korir shook his head. “Tch. They wouldn’t hurt me. I am Jarl of Winterhold! If they hurt me, they would bring down the wrath of the hold and my allies on their heads!”

What hold, thought Kralder, what allies?  “In any case, it seems the boy wasn’t turned after all, which is good news.”

Korir shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

“Oh?” asked Kralder, internally sighing.

“Didn’t you see it? When I pointed my axe at him, he changed. His eyes flashed a different color. I saw it! That’s not natural!”

“It could have been a trick of the light,” argued Kralder. “Or some form of instinctual magic flaring up. You know, to defend himself since someone was pointing a weapon at him.”

Korir shook his head. “No,” he said definitively. “There’s more to it than that. There’s something not right about that boy. And I intend on finding out what it is!”

As soon as they were away from the front gate and safely in the courtyard, Faralda pulled Harry off to the side and gripped his shoulders. “What were you thinking?” she hissed. “Korir could have cut you down!”

“He was threatening to attack!” Harry argued. “I didn’t want him to hurt anyone!”

“Harry, we’re highly trained mages. Korir’s delusions of grandeur are just that: delusions. He couldn’t invade the college with the paltry number of soldiers he has.”

“But-“

“Harry, as long as you’re here, you’re our charge, and under our protection! That’s true of all our students!” Faralda’s gaze softened. “You never need to put yourself in harm’s way for a bully like Korir. Not for us alone. It’s our job to protect you. From physical and mental threats.”

Harry paled. “How…”

“I heard Brelyna and Onmund talking about it in the library. It’s going to be alright. We’ll figure this out.”

Harry looked down. “I wasn’t strong enough to resist the first time…how can I know-“

“We’ll work on it,” Faralda said. “And it’s not a matter of being strong. You’re strong enough as it is, alright? But not strong enough to be immune to weapons. Please, Harry…don’t do something foolish like that again.”

Harry looked down. “I’m kind of in the habit of making foolish decisions.”

“Harry…”

“Alright, alright. I promise.”

“Good. Now, don’t you have a Restoration lecture to get to?”

Harry paled. “Master Maurice is going to kill me!”

He sprinted away across the courtyard.

Faralda looked after him, shaking her head. “Silly boy…”

Chapter Text

“Remind me why we’re bothering with this orb again?” groaned Onmund as he hefted the pack onto his back.

“Because we need the extra credit for Alteration?” asked Brelyna.

“You need the extra credit for Alteration,” J’zargo snarked. “J’zargo does not.”

“Didn’t you miss turning in an essay because you froze yourself to the floor?” Harry questioned.

“…shut up.”

Brelyna snorted. “Anyways, don’t pretend you’re not at least a little curious. I mean, giant floating orb with runes in an unknown language? This could be the discovery of a lifetime!”

“Yeah, and we dug it out of a tomb we weren’t even supposed to be in,” said Onmund. “I don’t care what we found, we shouldn’t have been digging around in there. It’s not right. We should’ve at least gotten permission.”

“From who? The Jarl?” asked Harry.

“No need to be sarcastic about it.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry protested. “It was a genuine question! I mean, of course the Jarl wasn’t going to give us permission but…”

“You’re not supposed to disturb the dead like that! It’s disrespectful!”

“J’zargo doesn’t see what the fuss is. They are not using anything.”

“It’s the principle, J’zargo!”

Harry tuned out the argument as he concentrated on packing. It had been two weeks since the vampire incident. Harry’s birthday had come and gone while he was still recovering, so he didn't really tell anyone. By wizarding law back home, he would be an adult.

He had been in Skyrim for a little over a year at this point. It was bizarre, how quickly the time had passed. Despite their efforts, Tolfdir and the other Master mages were no closer to figuring out what had gone wrong. No closer to finding out how to get him home.

Harry, not for the first time, wondered if it was even their fault at all. Maybe something he had broken in Dumbledore’s office had been so powerful it created a rift between worlds. If that was the case, of course they had no way to return him home.

What was going on back home? Had the Ministry finally admitted Voldemort was back? Fudge and many others had seen him after all. And yet…would they even admit it? Would anyone listen to Hogwarts students?

Were Ron and Hermione okay? What about the rest of the DA? Had that gotten out unscathed?

Did Ron and Hermione miss him? Did they wonder where he was?

What had happened to Dumbledore? Was he in charge again? He had to be, right? Harry couldn’t imagine Umbridge had been in good condition after being accosted by centaurs.

It never occurred to Harry to wonder why the Wizarding World hadn’t reached out to Nirn.

The journey for knowledge on the orb took the group south (not that there was really any direction to go but south) to Whiterun Hold. As they walked south, Harry was finally able to shed the heavy winter cloak he’d been wearing since he got to Skyrim.

“This one has never been so happy to feel a summer breeze,” said J’zargo wistfully. “It is still cold compared to Elsweyr, but Khajit will take what he can get.”

“Do you miss it there?” asked Brelyna.

J’zargo shrugged. “It is…complicated. This one does miss the warm sands and the scenary but…well, things may take a turn for the worse there soon. This one and his father decided that perhaps it would be better to leave for the moment.”

“Because of the Thalmor?” asked Harry. He vaguely remembered hearing that Elsweyr was one of the places that had been taken over by the Thalmor.

J’zargo nodded sadly. “Indeed. They have not done anything too terrible yet, at least as far as J’zargo knows, but…well it’s only a matter of time.” J’zargo perked up. “Besides! If J’zargo is to be a master mage, he must travel and learn all that he can! Thalmor or no!”

The group walked onwards for a bit longer until… “Hey, does anyone else hear yelling?”

They all did, and when they crested the next hill they saw the cause. The very strange cause.

There was a jester, all in red, pushing futilely against a wagon that seemed to be tilted to the side. “Wagon wheel! Damndest wagon wheel!” he wailed. “Stuck! Stuck!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Onmund as they got closer.

“J’zargo thinks it sounds like he’s stuck,” J’zargo deadpanned. “But that is just a guess.”

“Are you alright?” asked Harry, walking over to the jester. He got close enough to see what was in the back of the cart: a strange, cylindrical object made of metal, large enough to hold a fully grown human.

The jester didn’t turn around at first. “Bother and befuddle! Mother, poor mother! Unmoving! At rest, but too still!”

“Mother?” asked Brelyna.

“Poor Cicero is stuck! Can’t you see? I was transporting my dear, sweet mother! Well, not her. Her corpse. She’s quite dead. I’m taking mother to her new home! A new crypt! But…argh! It broke! The damndest wheel broke!”

Onmund leaned over to look at the wheel. “Yeah, it’s broken alright. Shouldn’t be too hard to fix though.” He looked over. “Hey, Brelyna? Can you conjure a hammer or something?”

Brelyna shrugged. “Bound weapons aren’t my specialty, but I can try.” She looked back to Harry with concern. “I’m not sure I like this,” she quietly admitted. “I don’t think this man is very stable…”

Harry watched her go help Onmund. Honestly, he kind of agreed with Brelyna. There was just something off about the man. He seemed too cheerful and carefree, somehow, for someone who’d lost his mother.

Harry remembered the visit to Saint Mungo’s and seeing Neville’s parents. They’d seemed empty…almost dead inside. Was this jester the same way? Had his mother’s death been so horrible that he might as well have been tortured into insanity? Or had he been that way before?

And that was when Harry heard it. The whispering. He quickly looked around, but he didn’t see anything. No snakes, no people, nothing.

It took him a while to track down the source of the sound. When he did, his heart sank. It was coming from the coffin. Out of morbid curiosity, he approached it.

Dear Cicero, so concerned for me. He may not be the Listener but he’s damn appreciated…ah. It’s you. Harry blinked. So you’re the Time God’s newest plaything. How curious. So young. And yet…youth can be a powerful weapon…

No, this wasn’t the same voice that had taken him over during the vampire attack. This sounded older. More crackly, like worn parchment.

Brave and yet cunning…a rare combination. No wonder he chose you. You could be quite an asset to so many beings…

“What?” asked Harry.

Don’t acknowledge her! A different voice shouted. It wasn’t coming from the coffin. No, that was the voice from the attack, speaking now. Get away! Quickly!

Oh how cute, said the first voice. The little lizard is trying to protect her vessel.

I’m not little! Shut up! Leave him be!

There was a loud snapping and creaking sound and Harry was suddenly brought back to reality. “There we go!” said Onmund cheerfully. “You should be good at least until the next big town.”

“Oh thank you, thank you!” cheered the jester. “Happy, happy Cicero! And you have made mother happy too, more importantly! Here here!” He shoved something into Onmund’s hand. “For your troubles! Gold, shiny clinky gold! Thank you!”

With that, the jester leapt back into the driver’s seat and snapped the reigns. The horse and cart trundled off with the mysterious coffin inside.

“…shouldn’t we have asked him for a ride?” asked J’zargo.

Onmund’s face fell. “Oh. Shit.”

Brelyna sighed and looked over at Harry. “Are you alright?” she asked. “You look pale.”

Harry blinked. “Er…did you guys…” Then he shook his head. “No, never mind. I’m fine. Let’s go get those books.”

No need to make them worry any more then they already did, after all.

Chapter Text

Fellglow Keep, according to the map, was located northeast of the capital of Whiterun Hold, which was called Whiterun, fittingly enough. “I heard they’re trying to stay neutral in the war,” Onmund said. “Lots of goods come and go through there, so the Jarl is probably trying not to pick a side so the city doesn’t pay for it.”

Harry simply shook his head. News about the war, because it was apparently a Civil War now, had come slowly to Winterhold. The situation seemed to be as follows: the Western Holds were on the Empire’s side, and the Eastern Holds were on Ulfric’s side. Whiterun, right in the middle, hadn’t yet chosen a side. “He’ll have to eventually,” said Onmund mournfully. “Otherwise it’ll backfire.”

And that was how it had been for the past seven months or so. There had been rumors of attacks by the Stormcloaks, but they were all minor skirmishes that didn’t seem to be making much difference.

“I don’t like it,” said Onmund. “This feels like its building up to something big.”

They knew they were getting close to the keep when a fireball flew past the group, nearly singing Harry’s hair. He looked to where it came from to see a mage in black robes standing on top of a crumbling stone wall. “Hey!” he yelled. “What’s the big idea?”

J’zargo summoned some fire, Harry readied lightning, and Onmund and Brelyna summoned atronachs. “Get ready for a fight, guys!”

The four apprentices charged towards the keep. As they did, an enemy fire atronach appeared, as well as two other mages in ragged robes. Onmund and Harry, took on one mage, J’zargo took on another, and Brelyna ran to confront the one on top of the wall.

“Fire, frost, or lightning, you will suffer at my hands!” bragged the mage as he shot frost at Onmund and Harry.

“If you’re so smart, why are you using frost magic against a Nord?” snarked Onmund as he shot lightning at the mage. Harry did the same, alternately shooting lightning and touching Onmund to heal any minor wounds he’d suffered.

After a bit of back and forth dodging, Onmund and Harry’s lightning bolts both hit the mage square in the chest. The mage’s eyes widened and he collapsed.

Harry looked down at the dead mage, feeling ill. “Are you okay?” asked Onmund.

Harry started. “I…I’m fine! Really!” Onmund stared at him. “…I don’t like killing,” Harry said, finally. “Not if I have a choice. I know they weren’t giving us much of one but…”

Onmund simply nodded, patting Harry on the back and going to check on the others.

Eventually, the group made their way inside the keep itself. It was cold and damp, with water dripping from the walls. Everyone shivered as they made their way through, dispatching a mage who was trying to use spiders as attack animals as well as a few mages using elemental magic.

Then they entered one of the rooms and Harry was hit with the smell of blood. He stared at the place as Brelyna’s atronach took care of the one mage in the room.

It was a prison, no doubt about it. Several people were trapped in cages lining the walls, but on one side of the room was a table with a man laying on it. He was pale, and not moving.

Harry gulped. “T..this is…what are they doing?”

Onmund closed his eyes. “This is why nobody trusts mages up here. Because of…horrible people like these. These are the people they tell stories about. The ones who adopt innocent people and perform experiments on them.”

“Not this one,” said J’zargo, leaning over the body. “This one was a vampire.”

Harry shook his head, bile building in his throat. “I don’t care what he was.” He looked around at the cages again. “Nobody deserves this.” He walked to the middle of the room, where there were several levers, and pulled them.

All the cage doors around them swung open, and most of the inhabitants ran out of the cages and into the next room. Screaming ensued and Onmund ran in to help.

Only one inhabitant of the cages remained behind, a high elf dressed in mage’s robes. “Are you the one called Orthorn?” asked J’zargo.

“What were you doing in a cage?” asked Harry.

“The Caller, she put me in here! They threw me in here until they were ready to use me in one of their experiments! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“What did you expect from mages like these?” snarked J’zargo. “More to the point, where are the books?”

“Oh, right. The books…I…I thought you might have come for me.” Orthorn seemed to deflate as he said this. “Well, I don’t have them anymore. The Caller has them. She seemed most interested in one of the volumes…although not enough to keep me from being locked up.”

“You think Urag would send a rescue party for someone who stole his books?” asked Brelyna.

“Guys, a little help over here!” Onmund called from the next room.

“Coming!” Brelyna ran off to help him, leaving J’zargo and Harry to open the cage. It wasn’t hard, they just had to find the right lever.

Once the did, the door swung open and Orthorn stepped out. “You’d better get out of here,” said J’zargo. “No telling what they’ll do to you if they catch you out of the cell.”

“You don’t think you need my help?” asked Orthorn. “What, you’re going to handle the rest of this keep on your own? Just you three and this…” he vaguely gestured to Harry. “…thirteen year old?”

“I’m seventeen!” snapped Harry.

“Well happy birthday,” snarked Orthorn. “My point still stands.”

“Well, we’re not the ones who had to be rescued, were we?”

Orthorn blushed. “Th…that’s not the issue!”

“This one thinks we will do fine on our own,” J’zargo said dryly. “You’d better get out. Don’t want to be locked up again, hm?”

Orthorn put up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But don’t blame me if the Keeper incinerates you.”

“We’ll take our chances,” said Harry.

Orthorn rolled his eyes, and then he was off back toward the entrance. J’zargo turned to Harry, an amused glint in his eyes. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Harry groaned.

Harry felt a bit less bad about the murder after seeing more bodies that had been desecrated like the vampire. Not much better, but a little bit. Killing people was one thing, but experimenting on them? It was torture, nothing more.

The Caller herself had been difficult, summoning fire atronachs and constantly trading places with them whenever someone tried to get a hit on her.

Luckily, the group had some fire atronachs of their own, and once the Caller’s atronachs were taken down she could no longer teleport to escape. Harry could see her eyes widen as she realized this while Onmund and J’zargo approached her.

Even despite everything she had done and everything she had allowed to happen, Harry had to look away until the sounds of fighting stopped. He felt someone take his hand. “Think of it this way,” Brelyna said quietly. “Now they’ll never be able to hurt anyone else.”

Harry remembered the Death Eaters. They had been stunned, injured…but he’d never seen one killed. If someone had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, would she have tortured Neville’s parents? Would Sirius still have died? If someone had killed Lucius Malfoy, would Ginny still have been possessed in Second Year?

If any of the Death Eaters were killed, would Voldemort be as powerful?

“Hey, weren’t we looking for three books?” asked Onmund, jerking Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry looked up to see the other apprentices looking baffled. Onmund held one book in each hand. “These were both on pedestals, but the last pedestal is empty.”

“Could it have fallen off?” asked Brelyna. “Or maybe the Caller has it?”

J’zargo searched the Caller’s body and pulled out a note. “Bolnral has taken some of our possessions and fled south. You are to track him down and retrieve him. Do not kill him unless it is absolutely necessary. No need to waste a subject. The Caller.” J’zargo shrugged. “Looks like this note wasn’t delivered to the others. The ink is still fresh.”

Onmund groaned. “Shor’s Bones! Are you kidding me?”

“South of here is Cyrodiil, right?” asked Harry. “Does that mean we’ll have to cross the border to find the last book?”

“No way,” Onmund shook his head. “I’m not crossing the border for one book about something that shouldn’t have even been dug up!”

“If the note just got written, maybe we can still catch up!” said Brelyna. “The border isn’t that close, he would have to stop sometime.”

Onmund sighed. “There is one town near the border. It’s called Helgen, I think. Big trade town.”

“So we’ll go to Helgen then,” said Brelyna. “If we don’t find it there, we’ll just return with the two books we have. Or maybe we can find another copy. What was the missing book called?”

“This one thinks Urag said it was ‘The Last King of the Ayleids’. A pretty rare book. Still, no harm in looking, yes?”

Harry looked at Onmund and shrugged. “I’m up for a bit more walking.”

Onmund threw up his hands. “Fine! Fine, but if you want to cross the border you’re on your own!”

Chapter Text

They left Whiterun the next day, staying overnight at an inn called the Bannered Mare. On the way there, Harry had seen what looked to be a large, upside down boat converted into a building. “What’s that?” he asked the blacksmith lady by the front gate.

She nodded. “That building? It’s the Mead Hall of the Companions. You heard of them?”

“They were founded by Ysgramor, right?” And killed an entire culture? he mentally added.

The blacksmith nodded. “Right. Their numbers have been waning over the centuries, but they’re still tough and honorable as ever. You’ll probably see some of them walking around Skyrim, doing contracts.”

“Contracts?”

“Usually they help take care of dangerous animals or bandits. Very occasionally they do treasure hunting. Most of their work involves fighting though.”

“You must get a lot of work from them then.”

The blacksmith snorted. “Me? No. Eorlund Greymane smiths for the Companions. He’s the best blacksmith in Whiterun, the whole of Skyrim in fact.” She pointed up to a hill behind the Companions’ lodgings. “He works the Skyforge, said to be blessed by Kyne herself. But even without it, all his work is superior quality.”

That was when Brelyna called for Harry to hurry up while they still had daylight.

They walked south on the road for a bit, following the helpfully marked signs pointing the way. They had been walking for a few hours when they heard the sound of singing. “What’s that?” asked J’zargo, his tail twitching.

Harry strained to hear, and eventually he made out words, growing louder as the singers got closer.

We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone

For the Age of Oppression is just about done!

We’ll drive out the Empire from this land that we own!

With our blood and our steel we’ll take back our home!

Finally, Harry could see who was singing. There were a group of people marching down the road in blue chainmail. Leading the group on a horse was a tall, imposing man dressed in grey furs.

“Gods,” Onmund whispered. “It’s him…”

“Who?” asked Harry. He got his answer shortly after as the people continued singing.

All hail to Ulfric, you are the High King!

In your great honor we drink and we sing!

We’re the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives!

And when Sovengarde beckons, every one of us dies!

But this land is ours and we’ll see it wiped clean

Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams!

“Come on,” said Brelyna. “Let’s get off the road before we get trampled.”

The group hurried off the road and went behind a couple of rocks. The group didn’t seem overly hostile, but something about them made Harry uneasy. He looked at the man in furs. “So that’s Ulfric? He’s the one who killed the King?”

Onmund nodded. “How did you know who he was?” asked J’zargo.

Onmund swallowed. “I used to live in Windhelm, so I saw him. At ceremonies and such. I left just after…er, just after the duel happened.”

“Wasn’t much of a duel, from what I heard,” said Harry. “From the letter the Archmage received, it sounded like Ulfric killed him pretty easily.”

Onmund shrugged. “That’s the problem, really. Some people are saying Ulfric cheated by using the Voice, because he knew Torygg wouldn’t be able to defend against it. Back ho…back in Windhelm, people figure that the Voice is a Nord art, a duel is a Nord thing, so it works.”

Harry frowned as he thought. He still wasn’t sure what the voice was, but from what everyone had said it would be like using the Killing Curse in a duel, if the Killing Curse wasn’t illegal. One hit kill, no defense. Which was why it was Unforgivable. All the same, if the duel was that important, and you could use it… “I guess I see where they’re both coming from…still, it does seem like poor sportsmanship to-“

“Charge!” they heard someone yell. From the hills on the opposite side of the road, the apprentices saw several soldiers in brown and red suddenly appear.

The horse Ulfric was on reared up. “An ambush!” someone yelled.

The soldiers charged down the hills towards Ulfric’s group like a wave. Harry saw a small, lithe soldier jump out of the wave and tackle Ulfric off his horse. The horse panicked and ran, nearly trampling several people as it sped down the cobble road. Harry saw Ulfric pinned to the ground, a cloth stuffed in his mouth and his hands bound.

It was over after that. A few of the Stormcloaks were cut down, but most of them were just subdued and tied up, the soldiers in brown and red pointing swords at their backs, necks, and faces.

As the fighting died down, another man on a horse came riding down the hill. His hair was grey, and clipped short, and his armor was much fancier then anyone else, with gold-colored accents on it. He came to a stop in front of Ulfric, but he didn’t dismount. He just looked down at the man pinned to the ground in front of him. “Ulfric Stormcloak, I presume,” he said in a smug tone. “We finally meet.”

Ulfric glared up at him and tried to say something, but the cloth muffled his words. Harry, however, got the distinct feeling that whatever he said was not polite in the least.

The man on the horse, Harry guessed he was probably a general or officer of some kind, turned and nodded to a woman wearing a steel helmet. "Get them into the wagons and let’s get moving. We don’t have much time.”

The woman nodded. “Sir! Where to, sir?”

“Wherever’s closest. We need to get this done.”

“Helgen would be the closest town, sir! It’s about an hour south of here!” The woman seemed very overly eager.

“Very well. Let’s get going.”

The woman in the steel helmet let out a sharp whistle (Harry saw J’zargo clap his hands over his ears), and there was the sound of horse hooves clip clopping. Several wagons rounded the corner, pulled by horses. An auburn-haired man walked over to near the other side of the rock the appretices were behind. He pulled out a piece of parchment and started taking notes. One by one, the people in blue had their hands tied and were pushed into the wagons, the auburn-haired man scribbling things down as they were.

Harry frowned. “They’re not fighting back,” he noticed.

Onmund shook his head. “What can they do? They don’t have their weapons anymore, and running would be a coward’s move. The only thing they can do now is die with some dignity.”

Harry’s throat closed up. “Die?”

“That is what happens to traitors, is it not?” asked J’zargo, who had taken his hands off his ears. “The name of rebellion for them is death.”

Harry must’ve paled considerably because Onmund put his hand on his arm. “They knew going in that this might be a possibility,” he said. “This isn’t a surprise.”

“Who’s there?” someone called.

Harry looked over the rock and came face to face with the auburn-haired man. Green eyes met brown for a second before the auburn haired man drew his sword.

On instinct, Tamreilic magic had become instinctual now, Harry started to summon sparks. But Onmund saw what Harry was doing. He grabbed Harry’s hand and squeezed it shut, stifling the sparks. “Don’t,” he whispered as a warning.

Brelyna stepped out from behind the rock, her hands up. “Hello,” she said politely. “We were just watching. We’re not with anyone.”

The woman from before, with the steel helmet, came up and stood by the auburn-haired man. “Well, well, well,” she said, smirking. “Looks like a few of those traitors got away.”

Brelyna paled. “What? We’re not-“

“Well, come on!” the captain said, turning to the auburn-haired man. “Load these Stormcloaks up!”

The auburn-haired man seemed taken aback. “Captain-!” he started to protest.

“Come on, then!”

“We’re not Stormcloaks!” protested Onmund. “We’re from Winterhold!”

Harry readied another lighting spell in the hand Onmund wasn’t grasping. The captain looked at him. “So, you plan on resisting?” she said, drawing her sword.

“Harry!” Onmund admonished, grabbing Harry’s other hand. “Not helping!”

“What’s going on over here?” came the general’s voice. He’d ridden over, still on his horse. Harry briefly wondered if this man’s feet ever touched the ground.

“Sir!” said the captain. “These Stormcloaks are resisting arrest!”

“We’re not Stormcloaks!” Onmund protested, still holding Harry’s hands shut. “We were travelling and got off the road when the Stormcloak army started coming because we didn’t want to get trampl-Harry, knock it off!”

“Sir,” said the auburn-haired man. “If I may?” The general nodded to him. “The Stormcloaks don’t trust mages. All the mage distrust in Skyrim? It’s at the highest in Windhelm. And besides,” he said, nodding to Brelyna and J’zargo. “You know how Ulfric feels about non-Nords.”

“So you believe them?”

The auburn-haired man shrugged. “I have a hard time believing they’re part of the Stormcloak army.”

The captain huffed. “Well, I didn’t see the dark elf! And they didn’t say they were travelers!”

“Brelyna was the first person to reveal herself,” said J’zargo.

“And we might have told you if you hadn’t immediately tried to arrest us,” snarked Harry, who was still struggling against Onmund’s grip.

“Well…well what are mages doing so far from Winterhold anyways?” snapped the captain.

“We’re trying to recover some stolen books,” Brelyna said. “Last we heard, one was headed south and we decided to head to Helgen to see if we could find it.”

“Without crossing into Cyrodiil,” Onmund clarified. He looked back to Harry. “Okay, are we good?” Harry sighed and stopped struggling. He nodded. “Good.” Onmund released him.

Harry shook out his hands. “Merlin’s beard,” he grumbled. “Do you bench press a cow every morning or something?”

Onmund shrugged. “Farm life. It builds your strength.”

The general just sighed and turned to the captain. “Go and supervise the other wagons. Make sure none of them escape. Especially Ulfric.”

The captain looked like she was about to protest, but then she saluted and walked back towards the wagons, making “I’m watching you” gestures the whole way. Harry, now that his hands were free, returned them.

“Thank you for intervening, sir,” said Onmund. “I’m sorry for all this trouble.”

The general turned his horse away. “Captain Al-Sentinel has always been very…excitable. I assume you have this well in hand, Lieutenant?” The auburn-haired man nodded. “Good. Then let’s get going.” He rode off to ride at the head of the wagons.

“So that’s the ‘General Tullius’ I heard about,” said Onmund. “I gotta admit, I expected him to be a bit younger.”

The auburn-haired man gestured for the apprentices to follow him. “Come on. Just stay with us for a bit until we can confirm your identities, alright? Or until the executions are over, whichever comes first.”

“Why?” asked J’zargo. “What is the general so worried about?” He said this in a tone that made it clear he knew exactly what the general was worried about.

The auburn haired man shook his head, then turned to Harry, raising an eyebrow. “You…weren’t actually going to attack the captain, were you?”

Harry looked up at the auburn-haired man, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his right hand. “I don’t like being accused of things I didn’t do,” he said in a steely tone. “And I don’t like my friends being accused either.”

The auburn-haired man’s eyes widened, and he looked to the other apprentices. “Got a little ballista here, don’t you?”

Onmund just sighed. “He meant well.”

“You should have let him go,” said J’zargo. “J’zargo would have liked to see the result.”

“The result would have been Harry full of arrows!” snapped Onmund, uncharacteristically upset as they climbed into a wagon. “Gods, do you two have no common sense!”

As the wagons set off towards Helgen, Harry felt a strange sensation in the back of his mind, the same place he’d heard the voice come from before.

It felt almost like pride.

Helgen was a decently sized town. It wasn’t as big as Whiterun, but it was big enough to have its own walls and guard towards surrounding it. As the wagons paraded in, people came out to the porches and looked through their windows to watch. Harry saw an adult man in armor shoo a young boy back inside as the general broke away from the line.

Within moment, Harry saw why. Several elves in gold and black robes, like Ancano’s, sat on horses, and none of them looked happy. As their cart rolled by, Harry heard some of the conversation:

“We’re taking these prisoners into custody,” said the elf woman at the head of the line. She looked incredibly stern, and spoke with the same haughty tone that Ancano did.

“Ambassador Elenwyn,” the general said dryly. “I guessed you wouldn’t want to miss this execution. I think you know the man of the hour. Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm? He’s a traitor to the empire. If you want him alive, you’ll have to take him by force!”

Elenwyn glared at the general. “You’re making a terrible mistake.”

“I am putting an end to this rebellion, here and now.”

Onmund leaned out the back of the wagon, where the auburn-haired soldier was riding on a horse behind them. “What do the Thalmor want with Ulfric?” he asked.

Hadvar snorted. “They want to give him a chance to escape, most likely.” He looked at the apprentices’ blank faces. “The Civil War is draining resources from the Empire, you know?” he explained. “It’s weakening it. So its in the Thalmor’s best interests to make sure it goes on as long as possible.”

“…you’re saying Ulfric has been getting help from the Thalmor?” whispered Onmund. His face was incredibly pale. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Hadvar looked at him sadly. “I doubt Ulfric knows,” he said. “You know what he’s like about elves.”

“What is he like?” asked Harry.

Hadvar stared at him. “You haven’t been in Skyrim long, have you?”

“I have,” said Harry. “But I’ve been up at Winterhold since before the war started. It’s kind of isolated there.”

Hadvar nodded. “Well, you saw the Stormcloaks. Tell me, did you see one elf or beastfolk among their ranks?”

Harry hadn’t thought much about it, but he didn’t think he had. He shook his head. “Well, that tells you all you need to know.”

Before Harry could ask how that told him anything, the cart pulled to a stop. “Come on,” said Onmund. “Let’s go see if we can find that book and get out of here.”

The Stormcloaks were all taken off the carts and organized into lines. The auburn-haired soldier stood at the head of one of the lines and read names off a list. Beside him stood the captain, her arms folded.

“Ulfric Stormcloak!” he called. “Jarl of Windhelm!”

Ulfric went off to the center of town, when a man in an executioner’s hood stood with a giant axe. It was like the one they were going to use for Buckbeak’s execution. Harry felt sick just looking at it. “They’re not even giving them a trial?” he hissed to Brelyna.

Brelyna sighed. “I don’t like it much either. But you heard what that soldier said. The Thalmor want the war to keep going. If they stop and have a trial, it’ll give the Thalmor more chance to interrupt and let Ulfric escape.”

“Lokir of Rorikstead,” the auburn-haired man read out.

“Besides,” said J’zargo. “None of them seem to be protesting.”

“No!” yelled a man in rags, who Harry assumed must be Lokir. “I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” Saying that, he took off in a dead sprint.

“…except for that one,” J’zargo finished in a deadpan voice.

“Archers!” yelled the captain.

The twang of several bowstrings rang out, and suddenly the man in rags was on the ground, his back full of arrows. Harry looked away, bile rising in his throat. That man hadn’t even been a Stormcloak! And they just…

“Anyone else feel like running?” the captain asked the remaining Stormcloaks.

Apparently none of them did, because the remaining names on the list went by without incident. Soon, all of the Stormcloaks were surrounding the executioner’s block. Surrounding them were the soldiers, and then on the outside were the townspeople, including the apprentices.

Ulfric was pushed to the front, and the general stood in front of him. “Ulfric Stormcloak!” the general announced. “Some here in Helgen call you a hero! But a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!”

J’zargo sidled back up to the group. When had he left? “Good news! J’zargo found the missing book! It was on the runner.” He held up the book in question.

Onmund looked disgusted. “That man’s body isn’t even cold yet!” he hissed. “What is wrong with you?”

“What does it matter? He has no need of it, and Urag will be pleased.”

“Shush!” hissed Brelyna.

“You started this war,” the general continued, “and plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”

Ulfric tried to talk, but the gag was still on him so nothing intelligible came out.

There was a sound then. Harry couldn’t describe it, but he swore he’d heard something like it before.

“What was that?” asked the auburn-haired man.

There were a few seconds of silence as everyone looked around. “It’s nothing,” declared the general. “Carry on.”

“Yes, General Tullius, sir!” said the captain. The general was right, she was excitable. The captain turned to a woman in orange robes. “Give them their last rites.”

The woman stepped forward and raised her arms. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you! For you are the salt of Nirn-“

Then the sound came again. It was louder this time. No… It was that voice again. Harry got ready to push back against it, but it was only that one “no” and the presence retreated. There were a few more seconds of silence, then…

“For the love of Talos, let’s get this over with!” yelled one of the Stormcloaks, stepping forward.

The woman lowered her arms, looking rather miffed. “As you wish,” she said, stepping back.

The Stormcloak walked over to the block, looking at the executioner, who seemed to be in shock. “Come on!” he snapped. “I haven’t got all morning!”

The captain walked over and pushed the man down so his head was resting on the block. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials! Can you say the same?”

The executioner raised his axe. Harry looked away, shutting his eyes. He felt Onmund’s hand grasp his own.

“What in Oblivion is that?” someone yelled.

Harry looked up and his eyes widened. A giant black shape, like someone had cut a hole in the sky, was flying above. It can’t be… Harry thought.

It is, responded the voice. The shape landed on the tower, and Harry could see the draconic shape. It’s him. The Eldest.

The Eldest opened its maw and roared, shaking the towers. It then yelled three words: “YOL-GOL-LOK!”

The sky exploded with flaming rocks raining down. “Guards!” yelled the General. “Get the townspeople to safety!”

It has begun.

Chapter Text

“Get down!” someone yelled.

Harry felt a heavy weight on top push him to the ground, his face nearly against the cobblestone. In the next second, there was a loud explosion behind him. Harry felt the heat nearly scorch his back, like the feeling you get from standing near a campfire too long.

“Are you alright?” the voice asked again, and Harry realized it was Onmund’s. He must’ve been the one who pushed Harry to the ground.

“I’m fine!” yelled Harry as Onmund got off him. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know!” Onmund yelled back. They had to yell, because otherwise they wouldn’t have been heard over the explosions and screaming. “We need to get out of here!” He grabbed Harry’s hand. Brelyna grabbed Onmund hand, and Harry grabbed J’zargo’s hand so they all made a chain.

“Come on!” yelled Brelyna. “Let’s get inside!”

“What about the gates?” asked J’zargo.

“I saw them get locked!” yelled Brelyna. “They probably didn’t want the Stormcloaks escaping!”

Speaking of the Stormcloaks, Harry saw them running towards said gate. Including Ulfric. “Where are you going?” yelled Harry. “Don’t you have some super power or something?”

Ulfric briefly looked back at Harry and shook his head. “You’re a damned fool if you think anyone can fight that thing. We’re getting out of here. And you should do the same!”

Saying that, he turned and ran, disappearing into the smoke. “He’s right!” said Onmund. “There’s no way we can take on a dragon. Come on!”

The group ran, twisting and turning through skeletons of buildings. A feeling of nausea grew in Harry’s stomach. We should be helping! he thought. I should be helping!

Harry saw some people fighting back as he looked around. Almost all of them were dressed in brown armor. “Hey, Onmund!” J’zargo yelled. “I thought the Nords’ whole thing was fighting until you die!”

“It’s part of it!” yelled Onmund back. “Why?”

“Well then where did the Stormcloaks go?”

“What’s your point?”

Harry knew what J’zargo’s point was. At least the Legion was trying to fight back. But all Harry could see of the people in the blue chainmail was them running around.

And the auburn-haired man had been right. Harry didn’t see any elves or beastfolk. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure it was almost all Nords.

But that wasn’t weird, right? Skyrim was the home of the Nords, right? It made sense that would make up most of the army. So why was everyone remarking on it?

“Haming! You need to get over here now!” someone yelled. Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by the voice of the auburn-haired soldier from earlier. He looked up to see a sobbing boy running down the street towards the soldier. “Atta boy, you’re doing great. Come on!”

“Run, little cub!” someone yelled from behind the boy. Harry looked up the road to see a man in hide armor laying on the rocks. The void-dragon landed behind him and took a breath…

No! Harry released both Onmund’s and J’zargo’s hands and sprinted towards the man, ignoring the distant yells of “Harry!”

Harry grabbed the man’s arm, trying to heave him up. “Come on!” Harry yelled.

“Get out of here!” snapped the man. “I’m done for!”

What are you doing? snapped the voice from before. You’re going to die! Harry grit his teeth and blocked it out.

It was then he realized that the dragon hadn’t attacked yet. Harry heard what sounded like a rumble of thunder and looked up. The dragon was…was it laughing at them? “Vir dremsil. Vutharaak, hindnu. YOL TOOR!”

Harry was barely able to get a ward up before the fire hit them. Even then, it only softened the blow by making sure none of the actual heat hit them. The force of it still shattered the ward, throwing both humans end over end down the street.

“Torvar!” the auburn-haired soldier yelled.

“Harry!” yelled Brelyna.

That was the last thing Harry heard before he blacked out.

He was in a misty void. He was floating, he thought. “You idiot!” snapped a voice. A familiar voice, but Harry couldn’t place it. “What were you thinking, challenging the eldest like that? You are not nearly strong enough yet!”

Harry looked around himself, trying to find where the voice was coming from, but all he could see were large shadows at the edge of his vision. “You are very, very lucky I cannot communicate with you reliably yet. Otherwise, you would be getting an earful! A mindful? No matter…I’m sure your friends will do it for me…”

Harry blinked his way back into consciousness and realized he was lying on a bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed. As a matter of fact, it was quite hard.

“Hey, I think he’s coming to!”

Harry groaned. His entire body hurt. “Where…?” He could barely see, it was so dark.

Immediately after he spoke, Harry felt a crushing hug slam into him. “You utter idiot!” snapped Onmund. “We were worried sick!”

“Onmund! Ribs!” gasped Harry.

“And who’s fault is that?” snarked J’zargo. Onmund’s hug became softer, though. “You are quite lucky that specializing in Restoration gives you some damage resistance.”

Harry hugged Onmund back, then looked around as his eyes adjusted. They looked to be inside a tall tower, in a barracks or a medical ward specifically, because Harry could see several other beds in lines around the room. Outside, he could still hear distant explosions, so the attack was probably still happening. “Where are we?” he asked.

“We’re in Helgen Keep,” said a familiar voice. Harry turned to see that the auburn-haired soldier was standing in a corner of the room. “We ducked in here while you were out. Can you stand?”

“He just woke up, give him some time,” said Brelyna.

The soldier shook his head. “We don’t have time. This whole place is lost, and if we don’t get out of here then we’ll be lost with it!”

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as his head pounded. He summoned a quick healing spell and the pounding faded a bit. “I can walk,” he said. “What happened to the others? To the boy and…”

The soldier shook his head. “We broke off from Torval, Hamming, and Gugnir before coming in here. A large group would just make for a bigger target for that…thing. We’ll just have to hope they make it out.” He nodded at Harry. “That was a brave thing you did. Foolish, but brave.”

“Don’t encourage him, you…” Onmund huffed.

“ ‘You Imperial dog?’ “

“I wasn’t going to say that!”

“You were thinking it, though.”

“Moving past the politics, this soldier is right,” said J’zargo. “We should keep moving.”

As if to emphasize the point, the dragon outside roared loudly, shaking the keep around them as dust fell off the stone. “Do you know a way out of here?” asked Brelyna. “That isn’t back out the way we came, I mean?”

The soldier nodded. “I think there’s some caves underneath the keep that were used to store extra supplies and keep prisoners. We should be able to figure out a way out from there.”

He took out a key and unlocked a door to the next room. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced by the way. I’m Hadvar.”

“I’m Harry.”

“Onmund.”

“Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni.”

“This one is J’zargo.”

“Nice to meet you. Come on, let’s get going.”

They weren’t able to get going for long before they ran into a pair of Stormcloaks. Harry thought, optimistically, that they might work together. Hadvar must’ve thought the same thing because he stepped forward, not even drawing his sword. “Hold on, we only want to-“

“Death to the Empire!” one of the Stormcloaks yelled, and the both charged.

“What the hell?” Harry yelled. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Did these two forget about the dragon?” asked J’zargo, throwing fire at one of the Stormcloaks. “Feel the light of dawn!” he yelled.

Well that was a strange war cry. But Harry was quickly distracted by an axe being swung at his face that barely managed to dodge. “Magic-using dog!” spat the Stormcloak. “Go back to Summerset, elf-lover!”

“I’ve never even been there!” Harry protested. That didn’t seem to matter to the Stormcloak, what swung yet again. Harry leapt back and readied a lightning spell. But before he could do anything, the tip of a blade pierced the Stormcloak’s chest and he slumped over as the sword was withdrawn.

Behind him stood Hadvar, looking down at the body mournfully. “May you go on to Sovngarde…” he whispered.

“Are you alright?” asked Harry.

Hadvar blinked and looked up. “I should be asking you that,” he said, helping Harry up. “I just…I don’t like fighting fellow Nords.”

“Civil wars are awful,” said J’zargo nodding. “In other wars, at least you are not fighting your neighbors.” He looked to Hadvar. “But you would know that, would you not?”

Harry must’ve looked confused because Hadvar sighed. “My friend, Ralof…he ended up on the other side. We ran into him right before we came into the keep.”

“He was in the cart, right?” said Onmund. He sighed as well. “This is why I wanted to stay out of the war…”

“Because you’re from Windhelm, right?” said Brelyna. “Either way this war goes, Windhelm is going to take heavy losses.”

Hadvar shook his head. “We shouldn’t dwell on this.” He sheathed his sword. “Come on. Let’s keep moving.”

Harry had never known any Death Eaters, not as friends. They were all criminals or people he already disliked. Finding out that a friend was a Death Eater would be…

Harry patted Onmund’s shoulder. And they kept moving.

Chapter Text

The walk through Helgen was mostly silent after that, everyone keeping an ear out for explosions or calls for help. And being underground didn’t keep them safe, either. There were a few times where the ground shook and ceiling collapsed just in front of or behind them. Usually there was another route, but it was a grim reminder that the dragon was still out there. People were still dying. But they were in no position to do anything about it.

They passed through several storerooms on the way through, managing to pick up a few supplies as they hurried through. They also passed through a torture room, the very smell of which made Harry gag. “They use torture here?” he hissed to Brelyna.

“Most do,” Brelyna sighed. “It’s brutal, I know. But sometimes necessary.”

Harry could only stare at her in shock. Hadvar only shook his head. “I wish we didn’t need these either,” he said.

They didn’t stay there very long, luckily, quickly moving down a damp tunnel lined with cells. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw J’zargo occasionally dashing into some of the unlocked ones and coming out with stuff in his hands. He just shook his head.

Eventually, they came out into a large cave. It was quiet at first, but then there was rustling above them. Hadvar looked up and his eyes widened. “Get back!” he yelled.

He jumped back just as a giant spider landed in front of the group, followed by several others. Harry immediately thought back to second year and wished this world had cars so the Ford Angela could show up.

“J’zargo does not like this!” yelled J’zargo as he threw flames. They seemed to be working pretty well, so Brelyna summoned her fire atronach which made short work of the rest of the spiders. Harry made a mental note of that in case he ran into Aragog again.

Hadvar yelped and pointed his sword at the flame atronach. “What in Oblivion is that thing?”

“It’s a fire atronach,” Brelyna explained. “I summoned it. Don’t worry. It won’t attack you as long as you don’t attack it.” She waved her hand and dispelled the summon. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Hadvar blinked a few times. “I…er…right. Thanks…” The look on his face suggested that he was still incredibly uncomfortable with the idea. So this was what everyone had meant by the Nord distrust of magic?

Hadvar looked around at the smoking spider corpses and sighed. “What next, giant snakes?” he grumbled.

“Please don’t jinx it,” Harry pleaded. He didn’t need any more reminders of second year.

“Air!” gasped J’zargo as they exited the cave. “Sweet fresh air!”

“Wait!” snapped Hadvar, holding up a hand to signal them to stop. A second after he did, the group heard a loud roar as the shadow dragon swooped overhead. Everyone held their breath, but the dragon didn’t seem to take notice of them. It simply roared again and flew off towards the mountains.

They waited a few more seconds until the dragon was out of sight. “…is it gone?” Brelyna finally asked, nervously.

Hadvar lowered his hand. “It looks like it. But I don’t think we should stick around to see if he comes back.”

“J’zargo doesn’t think there is much reason to stick around at all,” said J’zargo, nodding to the top of the hill they had come out the side of. Instead of a town, there was only a thick plume of black smoke. Harry gagged.

“Are there any other towns around?” asked Onmund. “We need to let them know what’s happened!”

Hadvar nodded. “My hometown of Riverwood isn’t far from here. Come on, I’m sure my uncle will help us out.”

It was almost dark by the time they reached Riverwood. It was a small town with crumbling walls. Calm. Quiet. Apparently, nobody had heard the news yet.

Hadvar had lead them down the town’s main road, to a medium-sized house with a side porch where a man appeared to be cleaning up his smithy. Hadvar had introduced the man as his Uncle Alvor, and had lead them all inside.

Now they were all seated around the dining room table, which was a bit crowded with the six of them plus Hadvar’s aunt Sigrid and cousin Dorthe, eating a dinner of apple and cabbage soup.

“Now, what’s the story lad?” asked Alvor as Harry drunk his bowl. “Who are these four, and why do you all look like you lost an argument with a cave bear?”

Hadvar sighed. “Where do I begin? You know how I was assigned to General Tullius’ guard? And how we were trying to capture Ulfric?” Alvor nodded. “Well, we finally managed to do it. Briefly. We were lining them up for execution when we were attacked…by a dragon.”

Alvor started. “A dragon?” He laughed a bit. “You aren’t drunk, are you?”

“It’s true!” said Harry. “We saw it too. Nearly roasted me.”

“Yeah, because you had the bright idea to try to be a hero,” grumbled Onmund.

“The man had a kid, Onmund!”

“What were you doing in Helgen anyways?” asked Sigrid. “Are you not from Winterhold?”

“We are,” Brelyna explained. “We were trying to recover some stolen books, and we heard one might be headed over the border, so we were going to Helgen.”

“And we did find the book!” said J’zargo cheerfully.

“We actually wound up seeing the ambush,” said Harry. “We nearly got arrested, too.” He looked to Hadvar. “If he hadn’t spoken up for us, we might’ve been in that line too.”

Hadvar shook his head. “You weren’t on the list, and there was no proof you were with the Stormcloaks. You would have at least gotten a trial.”

“His captain figured that a bunch of mages hiding behind a rock during the ambush was suspicious,” explained Onmund. “Which in hindsight…”

Harry shook his head. “She had no proof we were doing anything wrong!”

“Oh, not this again,” sighed Hadvar. “Anyhow, there’s not much more to tell. The dragon flew over and wrecked the place. I’m not sure if anyone else got out.”

“J’zargo saw Ulfric running away,” said J’zargo. “This one thinks he probably got out.”

Harry looked down at his bowl. He didn’t like the Legion much, he didn’t think, but Hadvar seemed alright. And at least they had tried to fight while Ulfric and his group had just run…no wonder the College didn’t want to be involved in the war; this was complicated.

Hadvar sighed. “Great. Just great. Perfect thing to cap off the day.” He shook his head and looked to Alvor. “I was hoping you could give us some help. A place to rest before we set off.”

Alvor nodded. “Of course. I’m glad to help how I can.” He shook his head. “But…we need help too. You all will probably go to Whiterun to get back to your respective holds. If there’s really a dragon on the loose, Riverwood is defenseless. The Jarl needs to know.”

“So you want us to go talk to him?” asked Brelyna. “We can do that! Right guys?”

All the apprentices agreed. They would set out in the morning for Whiterun.

Whiterun was much quieter then before when they got back. The guards had even refused to let them through the gate at first. “City’s closed with the dragons about,” they had said. Apparently someone had seen the dragon, if not Helgen. Luckily, the guard was open to letting them in once they mentioned Riverwood.

The group of apprentices walked up the many, many stairs to get to the Jarl’s palace, called Dragonsreach. The name was darkly appropriate. They had left Hadvar at the shops so he could buy supplies for his return to Solitude. “Whiterun’s staunchly neutral in the war,” he explained. “Both sides have been sending offers, so I doubt they’ll take too kindly to someone in Legion armor marching up to the palace at a time like this.”

So it was just the four mages who pushed open the door to the Jarl’s throne room, only to be greeted by an intimidating looking Dark Elf in heavy armor with a sword. “What is the meaning of this?” she snapped. “The Jarl is not accepting visitors.”

“Not even with news from Helgen?” asked J’zargo slyly.

The elf’s eyes widened. “Helgen? What do you know about Helgen?”

“We were there when the dragon attacked,” said Brelyna. “We escaped to Riverwood and they sent us here to warn the Jarl.”

The elf considered for a second. “I see…that explains why the guards let you in.” She sheathed her sword. “Very well. The Jarl will want to speak to you personally.”

Saying that, she walked back towards the throne. After a bit of hesitation, the apprentices followed her.

The Jarl was a blonde man with beard (of course he had a beard, he was a Nord) wearing a circlet reclining on his throne. He looked down at the apprentices. “So you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes.”

“Indeed,” said J’zargo. “Young Harry got a particularly close look.” Onmund smacked him on the arm.

Harry blushed a bit as the Jarl looked at him. “It was big, and black, and…yeah, it was a dragon. It breathed fire and summoned flaming rocks from the sky.” He shrugged.

“The Legion was about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak,” explained Brelyna. “But then the dragon attacked and threw everything into chaos.”

The Jarl sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have known Ulfric would be mixed up in this somehow.” He looked up at a man standing to the side of him. “What say you now, Proventus? Should be continue to trust in our walls against a dragon, of all things?”

“My Jarl,” said the elf. “We should send soldiers to Riverwood at once. If that dragon is in the mountains, it’s in the most immediate danger.”

“But Jarl Siddgear will view that as a provocation!” Proventus protested. “He’ll think we’ve joined Ulfric’s side and attack us!”

The Jarl thumped the armrest of his throne. “Damn provocations! I will not sit idly by while a dragon lays waste to my hold and slaugthers my people!” He turned to the elf. “Irileth, send a detachment at once.”

Irileth saluted and walked out of the hall. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least Riverwood would be safe. Well, safer.

“You have my gratitude for bringing this news to me,” the Jarl said, pulling Harry’s attention back. “You all came to me of your own volition, and I won’t forget that.” He had a thoughtful look on his face. “I wonder…come, let us see my court mage, Farengar. He has been doing research on dragons and rumors of dragons.” The Jarl stood up a gestured for them to follow him to a side room.

“J’zargo feels like this is going to lead to another fetch quest.”

Brelyna smacked J’zargo’s arm.

Chapter Text

J’zargo did end up being right about the fetch quest. It turned out that Farengar the Court Mage had been doing research on dragons for some time. “You could call it a special interest of mine,” he’d said, “and now it’s finally going to come in handy!” He’d shuffled through many papers lying around the desk until he pulled out a map of Skyrim with several “X”s on it. “These are locations of several barrows dating back to before the first era. Back to the time when dragons ruled Skyrim, can you believe it?”

“Wait, dragons used to rule…here? In Skyrim?” Brelyna asked, confused.

“So the legends say,” said Onmund. “They ruled with their subordinates, the dragon priests, with iron fists until the humans rebelled and drove them away.”

“And they did that by learning to use the Voice, right?” asked Harry. Onmund looked at him, confused. “Tolfdir filled me in on what it was after the war started.”

Onmund and Farengar nodded. “Indeed,” said Farengar. “Dragons don’t use magic as we know it. They don’t summon fire, for example, by channeling energy from Aetherius, as mortal mages do. Instead, they speak a word meaning ‘fire’ and fire simply appears.”

J’zargo snorted. “Doesn’t sound simple to this one.”

“It’s not,” said Onmund. “That’s why it takes years to learn, and why the Greybeards are the only ones who know how.”

The jarl cleared his throat. “In any case, you discovered something useful near here, right Farengar?”

Farengar started. “Oh! Yes! It’s called Bleak Falls Barrow. It’s right outside Riverwood, a town just ot the south of here.”

“We know where that is,” said Harry. “We passed through on the way here.” So that’s what the giant arches on the mountain had been…

“Well, I’ve heard of an artifact called the ‘Dragonstone’ that should give us more information about dragons. And it should be in Bleak Falls Barrow.”

“That is a lot of ‘should’s,” observed J’zargo.

“It’s all I…all we have to go on. There’s nothing concrete. Your job would be to go to the Barrow, find the stone, and bring it back here. Simplicity itself.”

“Needless to say, you’ll be handsomely rewarded if you can do this,” said the Jarl. “Whatever information we can glean on dragons is of the utmost importance.”

“We do want to find out more about the dragons,” considered Onmund.

“J’zargo does like the idea of a reward…” It was Harry’s turn to smack J’zargo’s arm.

They had seen Hadvar off at the gate after their meeting, wishing him well in getting back to Solitude. “I’ll put in a good word for you all with the General,” he’d promised. “Now be careful.”

He didn’t say what to be careful of, but Onmund had helped fill in those gaps. “It’ll probably be like Saarthal,” he explained. “Lots of draugr standing between us and the stone.” He looked uncomfortable with the idea of going into a tomb like this.

“We need this information, though,” said Brelyna. “None of us want to see another Helgen, do we?”

Everyone had agreed that it would be best if they didn’t. After two days of rest and preparation, they were hiking back to Riverwood. They crossed through the town, waving to Dorthe and Alvor at the smithy as they did. “The guards arrived yesterday!” Alvor called. “Many thanks to you!”

It was true there were a few more guards, though not as many as Harry had expected. “My guess is they’re only supposed to hold down the fort until help arrives from Whiterun,” Onmund said.

They continued over a bridge and up a steep slope to where stone arches jutted out of the mountain. Harry didn’t get much time to admire the architecture before an arrow clipped his ear. He swore and put a hand to the side of his head, and it came away red. Quickly casting a healing spell to stop the bleeding, Harry saw Onmund and J’zargo charge towards where the arrows had come from: three people standing on the steps leading up to the barrow, two with bows and one with a sword. They looked like bandits.

“What are bandits doing here?” asked Harry once the fight was over. It had been four against three, and only one person on the bandits’ side had magic. It had been no contest.

“Possibly they are here for the same thing we are,” said J’zargo. “Or perhaps they are here for other treasures in the tomb.”

“Probably the latter,” sighed Onmund, stepping over the bodies. “Just a bunch of no good grave robbers…”

“Let’s go inside,” suggested Brelyna. “It’s freezing out here.”

A wind had started to pick up as they climbed the mountain, so no one protested as the group stepped inside.

They found more bandits as they hiked through the ruins, but most of them were already dead. One even disposed of himself right in front of the group by setting off a trap the filled him with poison darts.

J’zargo wrinkled his nose and nudged the bloated corpse with his foot. “Wow. Nord tomb-builders do not mess around.”

“For tombs like this, its for the safety of the population as well as the dead,” said Onmund. “There’s rumors of Dragon Priests being buried here.”

“The priests Farengar was talking about?”

Onmund nodded, studying the wall above the lever that had sprung the trap, which was blocked by a grate. “They were extremely cruel and powerful. People worried that they would find a way to come back from the dead, so they went to all the places they were buried and blocked the tombs off with doors and traps like these.” He gestured to the grate. “They figured it would keep people from getting in accidentally, too.”

Harry heard a grinding sound and he turned to see J’zargo and Brelyna turning a large triangular stone. On each side of the stone, an animal was carved. “It’s not that hard of a puzzle,” noted Brelyna. “The combination is right above the door. The only thing that makes it kind of difficult is that one of them feel off.” She nodded towards a piece of rubble on the floor, which now that Harry looked had a snake carved on it. A feeling of dread twisted in Harry’s gut upon seeing it. It’s like the Chamber from my second year…

Onmund shrugged as the grate opened. “Well, like I said, it’s as much to keep stuff in as it is to keep people out.” He bit his lip. “Gods, I hope this isn’t where one of the priests is buried…”

J’zargo clapped Onmund on the shoulder. “Do not worry, J’zargo is with you after all. All the priests shall tremble in fear at his new and improved Fire Cloak Scrolls!”

“Didn’t you blow yourself up with those scrolls last time?” asked Harry.

“J’zargo worked out the kinks, it should be fine!”

The group walked down the tunnel, but were almost immediately blocked by several large spiderwebs. “Oh no,” groaned Harry.

Brelyna shook her head and summoned her flame atronach again. “It’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before. Come on.”

Onmund sliced through the spiderwebs in front of them, revealing a chamber with a high ceiling. The flame atronach passed through the opening, looked to the ceiling of the chamber, and began firing at something. After a few bolts of fire, there was an inhuman scream, and a large spider fell from the ceiling. It hit the floor hard and curled in on itself, smoldering.

After a few seconds of it not moving, the apprentices moved into the room and Brelyna dispelled the atronach. “Roasted spider…lovely smell…” muttered Harry sarcastically.

“You did it!” called a new voice, startling all the apprentices. They turned to see a Dunmer hanging in the spiderwebs, just above the exit to the room. “Now get me down from here!”

Onmund was on guard immediately. “Who are you? Are you one of the bandits?”

The bandit struggled against the webs. “What? No! Maybe…what’s it to you?”

Harry looked at the bandit. “You’re a terrible liar. And I’ve known terrible liars. I am one.”

The bandit shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter! Just get me down!”

J’zargo crossed his arms. “Why? You are a bandit after all. All of your comrades tried to kill us, why would you not do the same?”

“Because you’re not going to be able to get to the treasure without me.”

Onmund frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Because I have the golden claw! The key to Bleak Falls Barrow!”

Harry blinked. “The what?”

Onmund stared up at the bandit. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Get me down and I can get you in!”

The apprentices turned to each other. “What do you guys think?” asked Brelyna. “What’s this claw he’s talking about?”

“They’re keys,” Onmund explained. “They were made back when these barrows were built. They’re in the shape of dragon claws, and each barrow only has one key that’s unique to it. They were used to lock chambers filled with treasure or dangerous items. So the story goes.”

“Do you think he really has it?” asked Harry.

Onmund tugged on his braids. “I don’t know for sure. But considering he seems to know the color of it, I’d lean towards ‘yes’. Otherwise he would have just said ‘the claw’. Not ‘the Golden Claw’.”

“J’zargo also thinks we should let him go.” Harry was surprised at the show of mercy from the Khajit. “He is no threat to us. We can dispose of him if he turns on us.” Ah, there it was.

“So, we’re all in agreement?” asked Harry.

Everyone nodded. J’zargo turned and threw a few firebolts, severing the strands that held the bandit above the ground. The bandit fell, landing hard on his feet. He stood up and dusted himself off. Then he laughed and gave the group a cocky smile. “You fools! Why should I share the treasure with anyone?” Then he took off into the tunnel behind him at a sprint.

“Hey!” yelled Harry in indignation, starting to run after the bandit.

Brelyna grabbed his shoulder. “Hold on.”

There were a few moments of silence. Then they was a loud metallic clang and a loud, pained scream.

And then silence again. Brelyna waited a few more seconds, then took her hand off of Harry’s shoulder. “Okay, I think we’re good.”

They found the bandit after fighting their way past several draugr with swords. The bandit, or rather his corpse, was stuck on several spikes that protruded from a grate.

“Huh, he actually made it past the draugr,” Brelyna noticed. “That’s pretty impressive, actually.”

 “A spike trap,” Onmund explained, pointing at hinges connecting the grate to the wall. “When you trigger it, the grate swings out at a high speed and pierces your body.”

Harry shivered and looked away. Despite his best efforts, a vision of the trap in operation appeared in his minds eye, complete with the spikes sinking into the body…“So how do we make it past this?”

Onmund looked down, then pointed. “There.” There was a rounded stone platform, raised slightly above the rest of the floor. “Just avoid stepping on that and you won’t trigger it.”

The apprentices went one at a time, carefully stepping around the platform trigger. First Onmund, then J’zargo, then Harry, then Brelyna. Harry could practically hear Hermoine in his head as he passed the bandit’s hole-filled body. What. An. Idiot.

Chapter Text

After passing the trap and taking the claw from the bandit’s body, the group continued onwards. Onmund turned the claw over and over in his hands, seemingly in awe. True to the bandit’s word, it was gold. It also had three animals printed on the palm of the claw: a bear, a moth, and an owl. “I never thought I’d actually see one of these, much less hold one…” murmured Onmund.

“What do the animals mean?” asked Harry. Harry didn’t have much of an eye for design, but it looked like the animals on the claw were carved in the same style as the ones on the puzzle.

Onmund startled a bit. Apparently, he’d been really focused on the claw. “W…well, each of the animals is supposed to be a totem for one of the gods. Early Nords worshipped the Divines under different names, you see. Let me see…the hawk is Kyne, or Kynareth. The snake is Arkay, the dragon is…Alduin, or Akatosh, depending on who you ask. The wolf is Mara, the moth is Dibella, the whale is Stendarr, and the bear is Tsun.”

“Tsun?” asked Harry. He wasn’t sure who that was, although he felt he’d heard the name before.

“He doesn’t really have an equivalent in the Divines. He guards the bridge to the Hall of Valor in Sovngarde. You have to beat him in combat to get in.”

Harry nodded. Nordic mythology would fit right in with Gryffindor, he thought, remembering his school house’s philosophy of bravery and not backing down. Hell, their founder had even left behind his sword! He felt a pang in his chest. It had been over a year since he’d been literally dragged to this strange new world. And he was still no closer to figuring out how to get home. Not that he wanted to abandon his new friends, of course, but he should at least let everyone know he was okay! And make sure they were okay too…

Once again, Harry wondered what had been happening back at Hogwarts. Were Ron and Hermione okay? He sincerely hoped the Ministry had gotten their act together, or that the Order of the Phoenix had managed to at least make up for the Ministry’s incompetence. Hermione was a Muggleborn, and Harry was pretty sure Ron’s family wasn’t exactly of high social standing. Not to mention both of them were guilty by association with Harry himself. If Voldemort’s forces got stronger, it would be awful for both of them…

Harry felt his stomach squeeze in guilt. He should be there! He should be helping them! What kind of friend was he, running around in dungeons while his friends were probably suffering. Daily Prophet headlines flashed in his mind’s eye: Wizarding Family Home Destroyed! All Seven Members Found Dead! Murder of Muggleborn Witch and Parents! Students Associated with “Dumbledore’s Army” Club Missing!

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by a warm feeling across his shoulders. He looked around, but everyone else was looking around the large room they had come into. It had carvings on the walls, which looked like people surrounded by the animals Onmund had talked about before.

What a strange feeling. It was like someone had draped an arm…or, no, a blanket across Harry’s shoulders. It had seemingly come out of nowhere…

“Over here!” yelled J’zargo, standing next to one of the wall carvings.

Onmund shushed him as the others came over. “Don’t shout in here!”

“Or what? Are you worried about this one waking the dead?” J’zargo winked. “J’zargo thinks it is a bit late for that.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to stomp and shout like you’re in a tavern on New Life!”

Harry sighed. Some things never changed…like two of his friends fighting constantly. He looked up at the carving, which showed a figure in a robe and mask surrounded by flying dragons. Dragons…

“Is this one of the Dragon Priests, Onmund?”

Harry had to tap Onmund on the shoulder to get his attention because he was still arguing with J’zargo. “What? Oh, yeah. That’s one of them.”

Brelyna shifted foot to foot. “That doesn’t mean there’s one down here though, right? I mean…we won’t have to fight one, right?”

Onmund gulped. “I…hope not. Maybe we won’t wake them.” He glared at J’zargo. “If someone manages to keep his mouth shut.”

J’zargo made an expression of “who, me?” as they approached the large slab at the end of the hall. In the middle of the slab were three holes and the illustration of the claw. Surrounding that were three rings with different animals on them. Brelyna stepped forward and touched her hand to one of the rings. As she moved her hand, the ring rotated, revealing another animal. “Oh! There’s more?”

Onmund nodded. “Yeah. I think we have to match the door to the animals on the claw.”

“What’s the point of a lock if the combination is on the key?” asked Harry.

“I think it’s just to make sure the draugr can’t open it by accident somehow.”

Luckily it didn’t take much effort to move the rings. They rotated smoothly, and once they were in the right combination, Onmund stuck the claw into the three holes and gave it a wiggle. There was a clicking sound, and the slab slowly descended into the ground. Beyond it was a large, dark cave. A faint glow came from the end.

Everyone in the group looked at each other nervously, then they stepped into the chamber.

The slab didn’t immediately close as soon as they stepped over the threshold, which was a relief. It was a small comfort though, considering how dark the chamber was. The light coming from the end of the chamber was coming from two small brasiers on top of a high platform. Seeing nothing else in the chamber, the group climbed the stairs leading to the platform.

As they climbed, Harry could swear he heard muffled chanting that was growing steadily louder the closer they got to the top. Harry opened his mouth to ask the others about it, but upon seeing their lack of reaction, decided to remain silent. Once again, there was something only he could hear.

This was really getting old.

“Are you okay?” asked Brelyna. “You have a funny look on your face.”

Oh. His annoyance must be showing. “Just wondering where that Dragonstone is,” he said. No need to freak them out, or worse, burden them with even more worry.

“Well, this looks like the end of the barrow,” said Onmund. “Most of the valuable stuff is hidden behind doors like the one we just came through. That’s why that bandit wanted to keep the claw so badly.”

J’zargo looked around. “Valuables, you say?”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

Harry could barely hear the others now. The chanting was incredibly loud as the group arrived at the top of the stairs. On top of that, there was another light now, and it wasn’t coming from the brasiers. It was coming from the wall behind them. It wasn’t the color of firelight either. It was an icy blue, outlining some of the carvings on the wall.

No, not carvings. Letters. F-U-S.

Wait. How could Harry read that? He’d never seen letters like that before in his life. Curious, he walked up and brushed his hand against it. The light faded, and so did the chanting. Thank Merlin.

“What’s over-“ Onmund walked over and looked at the letters. “Shor’s bones, it’s a Word Wall…”

“What’s a Word Wall?” asked Harry. “Besides a wall with words on it, I guess.”

“They’re…memorials, I think,” said Onmund. “Or gravestones for very important people, I’m not sure.”

“You can’t read it?”

“Nope. It’s written in Dragon language.”

“Why?”

“Everyone used that back then, cause dragons ruled. Same reason we speak Imperial I guess.”

Right, that made sense. But what didn’t make sense was why Harry could read it. FUS…force. Not just read it but understand it too. Was it because he was a Parselmouth? Dragons were reptiles too, right? Maybe their languages were related?

Briefly, Harry could’ve sworn he heard someone laughing, but he was quickly distracted by a popping sound from behind him. Both he and Onmund turned around to see Brelyna and J’zargo looking with dread at a stone box near the front of the platform. The top of it had just popped off, and from inside sat up a draugr. A really, really buff draugr with lots of armor.

Brelyna summoned her flame atronach, which floated towards the draugr. The draugr swung its axe, cleaving through the atronach and disintegrating it.

“J’zargo thinks you should work on summoning stronger daedra.”

“Not the time J’zargo!”           

Harry summoned lighting and crept closer to try and look for a weak spot in the draugr’s armor. Before he could find one, however, the draugr turned to face him and opened its lipless mouth. “FUS RO!”

A wave of pure force emanated from the draugr’s mouth, slamming into Harry. Harry was thrown backwards, the wind knocked out him. He clutched his stomach and gasped for air. Every time he tried to take a breath in, his chest exploded in pain. With difficulty, Harry managed to summon some healing magic and press his hand to his chest. Eventually the pain faded to a regular soreness and Harry could breathe again.

“FUS RO!” Harry looked up to see the draugr shouting at J’zargo and Onmund. Both of them flew back into the word wall and crumpled to the floor. The draugr began to approached Brelyna menacingly. It held up its axe in a threatening way and was speaking in a raspy voice, but Harry couldn’t make out what he was saying.

What Harry could make out was that his friends were in danger. “Hey! Corpse breath!” Harry ran towards the draugr and jumped on its back, wrapping his arms around its neck. The draugr snarled in surprise, dropping its axe and stumbling back. Harry felt his back hit something wooden. A shelf! He felt around for something useful. His fingers wrapped around a small bottle.

Harry grabbed the bottle and brought it down on the draugr’s head. Sweet-smelling oil of some kind covered both of them as the ceramic bottle shattered.

“Harry, move!” yelled Brelyna. Harry looked at the ball of fire in her hands and immediately understood. He let go of the draugr, tucking and rolling away across the stone platform as Brelyna threw the fire.

It hit the oily draugr and the undead warrior went up in flames, screaming. The smell was awful.

J’zargo and Onmund stumbled over as the fallen warrior was reduced to what looked like a giant piece of jerky. “Nice work guys,” gasped out Onmund, but despite holding his chest in obvious pain, he had a proud look on his face.

Harry ran over to give Onmund some healing while Brelyna and J’zargo searched the coffin. “Found it!” said J’zargo triumphantly as he hauled out a rock the size of Harry’s head. “This must be what the court wizard wanted!”

“What’s on it?” asked Harry, curious as to what they had come all this way for.

Brelyna looked over J’zargo shoulder and tilted her head. “It…looks like a map of Skyrim. There’s a bunch of crosses on the map. Looks like they mark certain spots but…I can’t tell what.”

“Other barrows, perhaps?” asked J’zargo.

Onmund grimaced as his ribs mended. “Let’s not think about that right now. We should get out of here before something else shows up.”

Even J’zargo agreed with that statement.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore shuffled around his office, adjusting various bits and bobs of the very complicated contraption that was set up.

The war was not going well. Not the war against Voldemort, although that wasn’t going well either, but the war against Muggles.

Muggle technology had advanced significantly since the Middle Ages, it turned out, and now they could make something called “video”, which as far as Dumbledore understood worked a bit like his Pensive, recording memories to view later.

Well, the Aurors had known about this technology, but had no idea how to work it. And so, they didn’t know how to erase the videos. Combined with the fact that Death Eaters didn’t care very much about the Stature of Secrecy, and it was only a matter of time before something was recorded.

The fact that nobody seemed to remember recording those videos made it all the more suspicious. With new technology known as the “internet”, Muggles were finally able to compare stories (and the holes in their memories) much faster than before, and there was no way for the Aurors to stop these messages and erase them before they were seen by ten or even thirty other people.

It started out with people thinking they were crackpots, but as more and more minds had to be erased due to the Death Eater presence, it became more and more noticeable to them that there was something very wrong. Eventually, about a year after Harry disappeared, a group of vigilantes got into the files of the Prime Minister and found records of the visits from the Minister of Magic.

Everything spiraled out of control from there. The Muggles were not happy that things like this had been kept from them for so long. Not to mention the fact that their memories had been constantly messed with.

Hogwarts had more or less been turned into a bunker against the outraged Muggles, who had been running around trying to uncover all the information that had been hidden for hundreds of years. It wasn’t just in England either. Everywhere in Europe and North America was in almost anarchy over these revelations. Muggleborn parents had been captured or gone into hiding due to being accused of “conspiracy” or “treason against humanity” or in some cases “birthing demonspawn”.

So now it was a three-way war in England, between outraged Muggles, the Death Eaters, and the rest of the Wizarding Community. To say things were a mess was an understatement.

“This wouldn’t have happened if Harry had been here,” Dumbledore fumed as he paced around the room. He’d been more erratic since Harry had disappeared, his eccentric but kindly mentor persona slipping more and more frequently.

“Are you sure, professor?” asked Hermione. “I mean, this was due to technology advancing, right? How could Harry have stopped that?”

“It’s not about the technology, I reckon,” said Ron, giving Hedwig a treat. He’d been taking care of her since Harry’s disappearance. “He figures that if Voldemort was defeated, then the Death Eaters wouldn’t be running around and getting caught on that vimeo stuff.”

“Video,” Hermione corrected.

The two had been brought into the Order fully after Harry’s disappearance. Molly Weasley had protested about her son being involved in such a dangerous organization, but Dumbledore persuaded her that Ron and Hermione wouldn’t stop until they found answers anyways. Thus, they had been recruited and Dumbledore told them everything he had meant to tell Harry: about the Horcruxes, the Prophecy, and Voldemort’s history.

He still kept the secret of the final Horcrux to himself though. They’d never help him find Harry if they knew bringing him back would likely kill him. There was a small chance he could recover after the Horcrux was destroyed. But they’d never take that chance. So they couldn’t know.

Arthur Weasley, meanwhile, was tightening the last bits of the device together. He’d been tapped for the team due to his firsthand knowledge of mechanics and enchanted objects, as the sentient Ford Angela roaming around the Forbidden Forest could attest to. There were two other people in the room as well: Severus Snape and Fillius Flitwick, tapped for their knowledge of the Dark Arts and Charms respectively. Mad-Eye Moody was also a consultant for the Team to Find Harry and Bring him Home (TEFHABH as Ron called it), but he could almost never show up in person any more due to the chaos the Auror office was having to deal with. However, he had been able to tell Dumbledore what kind of magic had whisked Harry away that fateful June night. “It stinks of old magic. Teleporting magic, more powerful then Floo or Apparation or Portkeys. Something like those old portals at Stonehenge that the Druids used.”

Unfortunately, those old portals hadn’t worked for millennia, and the knowledge of how to use them had been lost. But they could still be of use here. They’d managed to teleport some of the portal stones from Stonehenge and stored them in the third-floor corridor where the Philosopher’s Stone had once been kept. Let the historians complain, thought Dumbledore, we have more pressing issues.

With the help of Arthur, Flitwick, and Snape, they had connected the stones to a contraption that was powered by a mix of floo powder, dragon’s blood, and muggle gasoline, as well as several other rare ingredients. That was then connected to Flitwick’s wand, which he would cast a spell on. In theory, the spell would be transferred to the door. At least, that’s what they hoped.

Arthur stood up and peeked out the window. “The moon is starting to set. If we’re going to try, we need to do it now.” Full moons, as everyone knew, were the most magically sensitive times of the month. Hopefully the moon’s power would give the portal a jump start as well.

Dumbledore nodded to Flitwick. Flitwick sighed. “Alright, attempt ten.” He pulled the scrap of fabric from Harry’s jacket and held it in his off hand as he did the swish-and-flick motion he impressed upon his students. “Invenio videre Harry Potter!”

It was an advanced locator spell, not just pointing you where someone was but giving you a crystal-clear view of the surroundings.

The air inside the stones because to shimmer and everyone leaned forward. “Keep going, Flitwick!” called Dumbledore. “Something’s happening!”

“Invenio videre Harry Potter!” Flitwick called again. “Invenio videre Harry Potter!”

The air warped, and suddenly they saw him. It was brief, but he looked to be in a cave with a few other people. But before any of them could call out, the scene changed again. Before them stood a dragon and an old man with a beard made of feathers. “And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” asked the dragon.

Everyone was startled by the scene change, and even more startled to hear a dragon speak. “We’re looking for our friend!” Ron called. “His name’s Harry! We saw him! Where is he?”

Hedwig, meanwhile, had suddenly stood stiffly to attention. She took off from Ron’s shoulder with such force that he nearly fell over. She flew through the portal and disappeared. “Hedwig!” yelled Hermoine, “Come back! Oh, Harry’s gonna kill us.”

“Your friend has greater things to worry about,” said the dragon. “Much bigger things then a simple necromancer.”

The man with the feathered beard nodded. “If you spent half as much time on that necromancer as you spent getting that boy back only to try and sacrifice him…” He didn’t say anything else but just stared at Dumbledore with disapproval.

Dumbledore, to his credit, wasn’t flinching under his gaze at all. “You have no right to interfere with our world. And you have no idea what you’re even talking about!”

The feathered man chuckled. “I am the god of magical learning, Headmaster. I know what a phylactery is. It’s simple logic to figure out what you’re planning to do.”

The dragon turned away. “This will be your first and only warning. Do not attempt to cross into this world again. Julianos, if you would?”

The feathered man nodded and held up a hand. The image shimmered again, more and more violently. The contraption connected to the stones began warping and twisting, and then there was another explosion on the end Flitwick was still holding.

“Professor!” yelled Hermione. The diminutive Charms professor was thrown into the opposite wall. He slumped to the floor, groaning.

Then the image exploded into light with a sound like shattering glass.

Everyone was thrown to the floor by the force of the connection cutting off. One by one, they sat up, dizzy and bruised. “Is everyone all right?” asked Arthur. “Ron? Hermoine?”

“I’m fine,” groaned Ron.

“Here too,” said Hermoine. “Professors?”

Snape dusted himself off. “Well, that was pointless.” He looked at the mangled bits of machinery. “Months of work, wasted.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “On the contrary, Severus. We learned a great deal. We learned that Harry is in fact in another world. We know he was kidnapped for some purpose. And we know how to get there. That’s more than we knew before. Right, Fillius?”

Professor Flitwick said nothing. “Oh dear. Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, would you mind helping Professor Flitwick down to the hospital wing? We need to do damage control up here.”

Hermione nodded. “Come on, Ron,” she said, levitating Professor Flitwick’s body and walking out the door. Ron followed her. As the door shut behind them, Ron turned back to look at it, then turned to Hermoine. “...What did that guy mean by ‘sacrifice’?”

The owl landed on the aethereal ground gracefully, giving an annoyed hoot as she did. She looked up at the god of knowledge in an annoyed way. Julianos looked down at her. “Don’t look at me like that, Falvahdin. I warned you that you’d be stuck there for a while.”

Falvahdin, also known as Hedwig, just huffed and began preening herself. Her father had warned her, it was true, but she’d been too excited to meet the new hero. She hadn’t expected just how helpless she’d be when stuck in owl form, how little she would be able to help the boy besides helping him communicate with allies. Allies who couldn’t even help him due to the obstruction of others.

That summer where his stupid guardians had made him lock her in the owl cage had been the absolute worst. She’d had half a mind to tear their good furniture to shreds with her beak and claws, but she knew the poor boy would be punished for it if she did. That was the only thing that had stopped her.

When Falvahdin heard Harry had gone missing, she realized that her father and the others must finally have taken him. It was only then that she flew all the way back to Privet Drive and wrecked the place. After all, those awful people couldn’t hurt him now.

And yes, it was also revenge for that cage thing. What of it?

Falvahdin shook herself again and flew over to one of the viewing pools that showed Nirn down below. Just because Harry was out of that world didn’t mean she wouldn’t watch over him, after all.

Julianos turned back to Akatosh. “You know they’ll try again, right? Should I block any further attempts?”

Akatosh shook his head. “No. Let them come through if they try again. We already warned them." He snorted. "If they think they can take on the dangers of our world with their stunted, inbred magic, then so be it.”

Chapter Text

The group was surprised to see Farengar had company when they got back. A mysterious hooded figure was hunched over Farengar’s desk as he pointed at documents. “…see, this terminology is First Era or even older! Luckily for me, the Jarl has finally taken an interest, so I can finally spend most of my time on this research.”

“Time is running, Farengar,” said the hooded figure. They sounded like an older woman, but Harry couldn’t be sure since their clothing hid any distinguishing features. “This isn’t some theoretical question. Dragons are coming back.”

“I know, I know. I wonder if I’ll get the chance to see a real life dragon up close. It would be tremendously valuable…”

The hooded figure shook their head, then looked over to the group. “You have some visitors. I’ll take my leave now.” They stood up and began walking out the door.

As the figure was leaving, Harry grabbed her arm to stop her. “Hold on. Who are you?” he asked.

The figure looked down he him. He still couldn’t see their eyes, but he could see that there were a few age lines around their mouth. They jerked their arm out of Harry’s hand before he could see anything else, and they walked away silently.

Harry watched them go with a frown. “Are you alright, Harry?” Brelyna asked.

Harry shook his head. “Pardon me, I just don’t tend to trust mysterious hooded figures. Bad experiences, you know?”

“You needn’t worry,” said Farengar, waving them over and ignoring Harry’s sarcasm (or maybe he just didn’t notice). “That was the contact I told you about earlier. The one who told me where the stone was. I don’t know much about them, but they’re very knowledgeable about dragons.” He seemed to be rocking back and forth in anticipation. “Now, since you’re back, I assume the mission was successful?”

Onmund took the large rock out of his pack and placed it on the table with a heavy thud. “Excellent!” said Farengar. “I…hold on…” He fumbled around in his desk, looking for something, until he finally pulled out a letter and a leather pouch. “Your payment and permissions letters. Considering how much you helped me, they should be good for at least a semester of history.”

“Thank the Reclamations,” grumbled Brelyna. “One less semester of Gane nattering on about his Dwemer theories.”

Harry sympathized. The history classes at Winterhold were almost more boring than Binns’, thanks to Gane never changing topics. Then Harry processed what Farengar had said. “Wait, we can do that?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, they said so at orientation, remember?” Onmund reminded him.

“Oh, right!” Harry had totally forgotten about that. Back at Hogwarts, helping teachers and faculty was usually a punishment, not something to be rewarded. Even after over a year, he was still getting used to the new system.

“Thank you again for you help,” Farengar said. “Let me know if you find any more information, will you?”

As the apprentices left Dragonreach, they were watched by a figure in the shadows. The hooded figure scowled as she watched them go, especially the black-haired boy.

Insolent child! Did he not know some people remained anonymous for a reason? The world was dangerous nowadays!

The figure touched her hand to her hood, making sure it would still cover her face. It was likely no one inside Dragonsreach would recognize her. After all, they rarely visited Riverwood. But it was better to be safe, just in case.

That boy…why did he stop her? Was it really just curiosity? She studied the group as they walked away. Farengar had told her they were from Winterhold. There was a Thalmor agent up there, right? Could that boy also be…

He seemed young, but he could be under a disguise. The hooded figure’s mouth formed a line. Even if he was a spy, he had no reason to suspect she was a Blade, right? Aside from the dragon knowledge…gods. Even if he didn’t suspect that she was a Blade, the fact she knew about dragons would be enough to paint a target on her back.

What should she do?

The Blade sighed. Dammit, this was totally going to be a waste of time, but she would sleep even less soundly if she didn’t figure out who that boy was.

J’zargo’s ears twitched as the group climbed into the wagon to go back to Winterhold. “This one thinks we are being watched.”

The four mages looked back to see a hooded figure quickly duck behind the stables. Harry shivered. “Is that the same person who…?”

“Who cares?” asked Onmund. “They give me the creeps. Let’s just get out of here.”

It took two days until they were back on the road to Winterhold. Luckily, like the trip out to Whiterun, the good weather held for them. Without having a time crunch or having to focus on walking, Harry could see further then before.

“What’s that over there?” he asked, pointing to a large figure in the distance. It looked like a giant statue.

The carriage driver looked where Harry was pointing. “Oh that? That’s probably the Shrine of Azura. Built by Dark Elf refugees when they came here from Morrowind. Sight to see, so I’ve heard.”

Harry looked at Brelyna. “She’s the Daedric Prince of Twilight and Prophecy,” Brelyna explained. “She’s one of the ‘Three Good Daedra’ that most Dunmer worship.”

“Khajit worship her as well,” said J’zargo. “For us, she is also the Keeper of All Boundries, the one who created Khajit in the first place, and the one who will judge us after we die.” J’zargo looked out towards the statue and nodded. “I wonder if she is watching us as we travel.”

“Why would she?” questioned Onmund. “I doubt we’re that interesting to her.”

Onmund was very wrong about that. Azura, or Azurah, was in fact watching them as they passed. “So that is the young one my brother took an interest in,” she mused. “So young. How interesting.”

Azura looked down at Aranea, who was tending the shrine. Such a faithful priestess. She would have to adequately reward her when her service ended. “Aranea, my faithful.”

Aranea looked up at the statue. “Yes, my lady?”

“Do you recall the vision I gave you a year ago? About the boy who would arrive from another world?” Aranea nodded. “I would have you seek him out. Despite my far-reaching vision, what lead him to be chosen is still a mystery to me. This will require a mortal touch. You will find him in the Winterhold College.”

Aranea bowed deeply, almost prostrating herself. “It will be done, my Lady.” She frowned. “One of the ones who helped corrupt your Star still resides near there, I believe. Shall it…?”

“No, do not engage with him. That task is for someone else.”

Aranea nodded. “I understand, my Lady. I shall go investigate at once.”

Chapter Text

“So let me get this straight,” said Urag as the books were placed in front of him. “You had to chase one of the books to Helgen. And while you were there, it got attacked by a dragon?”

“That’s about the size of it,” sighed Harry.

“Do you have any books about dragons?” asked Onmund.

Urag nodded. “Upstairs, first shelf on the left next to the stuff about Ancient Nords. It’s not much though. Dragons haven’t been seen around here for centuries.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’ve been hearing,” said Harry. He and Onmund had gone to deliver the books while Brelyna and J’zargo went to turn in the credit paperwork. “The Legion soldier we escaped with said that Ulfric might’ve woke it up or something?”

Urag snorted. “Ulfric could barely find his own backside, much less wake a dragon. Nah, if you ask me…” He quickly looked around and then lowered his voice. “If you ask me, its more likely the Thalmor were trying to use it as a weapon and lost control of it. Or just let it loose to create chaos in Skyrim.”

“What’s this that got woken up?” asked Tolfdir, entering the room. “Oh! You’re back! Did the books contain anything about the Eye?”

Oh right. After the dragon, they’d almost totally forgotten what they went to Fellglow Keep for in the first place. “Hmm,” Urag gave a thoughtful hum as he looked over the books. “Ah, Night of Tears. I remember this one. Has some interesting implications that might be relevant.”

“Like what?” asked Onmund.

Urag shrugged. “Well, in short, it implies that the reason the Snow Elves attacked Saarthal in the first place was because the Nords had found…something. And the Snow Elves wanted to take it, or destroy it, or something.”

Tolfdir thought. “If that is indeed the case…could it be that the Eye is what they found?”

“Maybe. We still don’t know the exact reason for the attack. It’s as good a guess as any I suppose.”

Tolfdir nodded. “Indeed. We’re still doing excavations, so perhaps we’ll know more soon.” Harry didn’t miss the grimace on Onmund’s face. Clearly, he still wasn’t happy about them being near the tomb.

Tolfdir didn’t seem to notice or care. “Thank you both for this. And please pass along my thanks to Miss Maryon and Mister J’zargo as well. Why don’t you two come with me? We’ve been studying the Eye for a while now and have made some interesting observations.”

Harry and Onmund both followed Tolfdir back to the lecture hall, where the orb floated. It was glowing as brightly as ever.

Tolfdir looked up at the Eye. “I’ll be honest with you two, I’ve been having a hard time tearing myself away from the Eye. Its beauty is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Harry and Onmund side-eyed each other. “See those markings?” asked Tolfdir, pointing at what looked like runes carved into the surface of the eye, “We’re sure it’s some language, but nothing we’ve looked at so far matches. Not Ayleid, Dwemer, or Daedric. Not even Falmer. It’s incredibly curious…”

Harry looked up at the markings. There were tons of them, all glowing blue on different parts of the Eye. If Harry squinting, he almost felt he could make out what they said-

“Don’t look too close!” hissed a voice in warning.

Harry broke eye contact with the Eye and looked around. “Who said that?”

“Said what?” asked Tolfdir.

Oh. That stupid voice in his head was back. “Hey!”

Onmund looked like he was about to say something, but he was interrupted by a haughty voice. “You two!”

Everyone turned to see Ancano strutting through the doors to the lecture hall, looking as snooty as ever. He turned to Ancano. “I’m afraid I must interrupt. It is imperative that I speak with your students immediately.”

“Now just what is the meaning of this?” snapped Tolfdir, offended. “This is most inappropriate! We are involved in serious research here!”

You might be, thought Harry. But I didn’t think serious research involved just standing around and staring while someone lectured. He swore he heard someone chuckling at that.

“I’m afraid this is a matter that cannot wait,” said Ancano. He turned to Harry and Onmund. “You two, with me.” He walked off, clearly expecting them to follow.

Tolfdir huffed. “The audacity of that Thalmor!” He shook his head. “I suppose you two should go see what he wants. We’ll resume this later. When we won’t be interrupted.”

Onmund and Harry followed behind Ancano, who was strutting up a set of stairs that Harry remembered lead to the Archmage’s Office. Harry made eye contact with Onmund and raised his hand to show he’d readied a lightning spell. “Wait,” mouthed Onmund. “Wait to see if he attacks.”

That made sense. No call attacking a faculty member without reason. Even if he was a git.

“Hey!” Onmund called. “Mind telling us what this is all about?”

Ancano turned and scowled at them. “Allow me to clarify the situation, then. I’d like to know why there is someone from the Psijic Order at the College. And I’d like to know why he is asking for a group of students, specifically. So, you and I and your friends are going to have a little chat with him and see what he wants.”

“I thought the Psijic Order disappeared?” asked Harry, remembering what Brelyna had said.

“I’ll be asking the questions here!” snapped Ancano. He really did remind Harry of an elven Snape. “Their base my have disappeared, but their members are still active, make no mistake. They are a rogue organization that believe themselves to be above the law. They’ve clashed with the Aldmeri Dominion before, and I have no intention of letting that happen here.”

The small group walked up to the door to the Archmage’s office. Brelyna and J’zargo were already there, both looking as confused as Harry and Onmund were. Ancano strode past them without saying a word and opened the door. He looked back. “Well? Go on.”

The four students looked at each other, then nervously walked inside.

Inside the room stood two figures. One was Archmage Aren, who looked very tired and like he wished he was anywhere else. The other was a meek-looking Altmer in tan robes, like the kind the projection in Saarthal was wearing.

Harry looked back at Ancano. He stood in front of the door, arms folded. He was blocking the only exit, probably on purpose.

The monk in tan robes looked at the group. Then the atmosphere of the room shifted. The snow falling outside slowed, then stopped midair, like a paused television set.

The four students looked around. Aren and Ancano were still as statues. J’zargo walked over and clicked his fingers in front of the Archmage. No response.

Something in Harry’s gut twisted. He wasn’t sure if it was coming from him or…something else. But it felt wrong. This kind of magic felt Wrong. Unnatural. “What did you just do?” asked Harry, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He genuinely felt nauseous.

The monk put up his hands. “Do not be alarmed. I’ve simply given us the chance to speak privately. I can’t manage this for long, so we must be quick.” He stared at J’zargo, who was walking up to Ancano with a quill and ink he got from who knows where. “So please pay attention.”

“Khajit is listening,” said J’zargo as he began to draw on Ancano’s face. Harry saw Brelyna and Onmund facepalm.

“The situation at this college is of dire importance. We have tried to contact you in other ways, but all of them have failed. We believe it is due to the object you have unearthed. The ‘Eye of Magnus’ I believe the mages here are calling it. It has prevented us from reaching you with visions like the one you saw in Saarthal.”

Onmund gulped. “It’s dangerous, isn’t it? The Eye, I mean.”

The monk nodded. “Yes, and the longer it is here, the more dangerous the situation becomes.”

“What does this have to do with us?” asked J’zargo, coming up to stand with the other students. Apparently he had finished whatever he was doing to Ancano’s face. Harry decided not to look. He was close enough to losing composure as it was.

“You were the ones who set these events in motion at Saarthal. You must understand, The Psijic Order does not typically directly intervene. I am not even supposed to be here right now. But we had no other option. In any case, my order will not act directly. You must take it upon yourselves to do so.”

Harry frowned. “Why should we believe you?

The Psijic Monk just smiled softly. “Are you perhaps referring to Ancano’s distrust of our Order?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t care what Ancano thinks. None of us do. But we still don’t know anything about your order. You just show up here and say there’s some great danger? What great danger?”

“Unfortunately, the Eye is obscuring our divination that we would usually use, so we cannot say for sure. However, I can teel you this: the world is not ready for the Eye. If it remains here, it will be misused.” He looked around. “Ah, I cannot keep this up for much longer. I will offer you this: seek out the Augur of Dunlain. He’s somewhere in the college, and his vision may be more coherent then ours.”

Onmund sighed. “Augur of Dunlain. Got it. ...who is that, exactly?”

“He was once a student at the college. Now he is…something different. Something more. But now I must take my leave. We will continue to watch and guide you as best we can.” He smiled. “It is within all of you to succeed. Don’t forget that.”

Once he said that, the strange atmosphere vanished. “Well?” snapped Ancano, making everyone jump. “What’s this all about?”

Harry turned to see Ancano and had to start coughing to disguise his laughter. Ancano had ink scribbles all over his face, including an ink mustache and something written on his cheek that Harry was pretty sure was the Khajiti equivalent of “I’m with stupid”.

The monk had a confused expression on his face. “I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play coy! You asked to see some specific members of the College. Well, here they are!”

“There’s obviously been a misunderstanding. I should not be here.” The monk began briskly walking towards the door. “I should take my leave!”

Ancano grabbed the monk’s arm. “What trickery is this? You are not going anywhere until I have found out what you’re up to!”

The monk shrank back. “I apologize if I have offended you in any way…”

Ancano dragged the monk out of the room. The students all looked at each other, and they couldn’t hold back anymore. They all doubled over in giggling fits. Archmage Aren just rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

It took a few minutes for the giggles to get out of their systems. “Okay,” admitted Brelyna. “That was a pretty creative use of a time stopping spell.”

J’zargo chuckled. “One day, J’zargo will learn such a spell. Just you wait.”

“Gods help us if that happens,” groaned Onmund. “So, that’s the power of the Physic Order, huh?”

“Psijic,” Brelyna corrected.

Harry looked towards the door. “Shouldn’t we go help him? What if Ancano does something to him?”

Brelyna patted Harry’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine, I’m sure. Psijics know many spells that are out of reach for common mages.” She sighed. “So, what now? Start tracking down the Augur?”

The was a growling sound, and everyone looked toward Onmund, who was looking down at his stomach. He smiled sheepishly. “How about we go by the tavern first? I haven’t had lunch.”

Chapter Text

The Frozen Hearth was livelier then usual when the students arrived. Of course, being Winterhold, that wasn’t saying much.

There were exactly three new people there. One, Harry was relieved to see, was the monk from before. Another appeared to be a Dunmer priestess, while the third sat in a chair in the corner, slipping their mead with the hood up.

The four students took seats at the counter, ordering food and drinks. As Onmund scarfed down his horker stew, J’zargo kept glancing behind them. “Is it just this one, or does that hooded figure look familiar?”

Harry and Brelyna glanced behind as well, and realized J’zargo was right. “What in Oblivion?” whispered Brelyna. “Isn’t that the same person Farengar was talking to in Whiterun?”

It seemed like it, though the hood and cloak seemed generic enough that it could be anyone. “I can’t tell,” Harry admitted. “But they’re definitely suspicious.”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Onmund between sips of stew. “No one who sits in a tavern corner with a hood over their head is trustworthy. That’s just common sense.”

Harry snorted. “Can’t argue with that.”

Still… Two mysterious hooded figures in two cities. That didn’t seem good. “Excuse me?” Harry asked Dagur the bartender. “Do you know who that is in the corner?”

Dagur gave a brief glance at the figure, then shrugged. “Don’t know. They just arrived a few hours ago. Long as they pay and don’t cause trouble, it’s none of my business.”

That didn’t make Harry feel any better. If they had arrived only a few hours ago… Did they follow us all the way from Whiterun?

His thoughts were cut off by a loud scream from outside. “What is that thing?”

There was a roaring sound. Harry’s stomach dropped as everyone raced outside. He’d heard that sound before.

“No way…” whispered Onmund. “It can’t be.”

“It is,” said J’zargo grimly.

Everyone was outside now, having come out to see what the noise was about. They could see it perched on one of the mountains that surrounded the small town.

It was a dragon.

Not the one that attacked Helgen. It was smaller, and grey in color. It looked down at the people, then roared again, spitting flames as it did.

“Dragon!”

It was Helgen all over again. The dragon swooped down and grabbed and guard in its jaws, shaking its head around until it let go, leaving the poor guard to fly into the sky. People were running around, panicking. Even the Jarl didn’t seem sure what to do. He had his axe out, but he was obviously shaking.  

One of the flames from the dragon’s mouth hit the roof of the inn. Despite the snow on it, the roof went up in flames in a matter of seconds.  “What do we do?” yelled Brelyna. “There’s no way they can shelter in any of the buildings! They’ll go up in flames!”

Harry looked around. It was true. All the buildings, even the Jarl’s longhouse, were built out of wood and straw. There wasn’t any one of them that wouldn’t torch.

Except one. “We need to get them to the College!” Harry yelled. “Everyone! Over the bridge!”

“What madness is this!” snapped Jarl Korir. “What are you trying to pull, mage!”

“The College is the only stone building around!” Harry yelled back. “All the others will go up in flames if so much as a spark hits them!”

Korir turned to the civilians. They seemed to get the logic behind what Harry was saying and were running full speed towards the College bridge. The Jarl futilely tried to stop them. “Don’t listen to him! He’s trying to trick you! What have the mages ever caused us besides misery?”

Nobody listened to him. They knew a solid building when they saw one. Korir looked around. “Wet-Pommel! Thaena! Stop them! The mages are going to kill us!”

Neither the Stormcloak captain nor his housecarl responded. They were too busy directing the guards to shoot arrows at the dragon. Korir swore under his breath and drew his axe. Maybe if we defeat this dragon quickly enough, the mages won’t have time to do whatever they’re planning! And killing a dragon will bring great honor to Winterhold! Yes! That’s what we’ll do!

Meanwhile, the mages were getting the townspeople over the bridge. Faralda and Kralder kept watch as each of them ran through the gate carrying children or prized possessions. Kralder counted each person as they went. “There we go. Watch your step! That’s it!”

“Room for two more?” Faralda heard an unfamiliar voice say. She turned to look and saw a Dark Elf approaching with a squirming boy thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Let me go!” the boy yelled. “I’m not going to the College! The mages will kill us! I’m telling my father!”

“Just because your father is suicidally stupid doesn’t mean we’re going down with him!” snapped the Dark Elf.

Faralda realized who these two were. The Jarl’s son, Assur, and his shady steward, Malur Seloth. She looked over at Kralder, who gave her a nod. Faralda didn’t particularly trust Malur, but desperate times and all. Plus, he had a kid with him. She waved them in. “Do you need me to paralyze him for you?” asked Faralda, nodding towards the struggling boy. Seemed he’d been listening to his father too much.

“Nah, I’ve got him. Plus the others might panic if you do. We can’t have that.”

“Is that everyone?” asked Kralder.

Faralda scanned the town and nodded. “I think that’s all the civilians, yes.”

Kralder sighed. “Good. Can you mages fight this? How sturdy is the College?”

Faralda shook her head, summoning fire in her hand. “I don’t really want to test that, to be honest.”

Kralder nodded in understanding, drawing his own weapon. “Then let’s make sure it doesn’t get tested.”

The two stood at the entrance to the college bridge, hoping to all the gods the dragon wouldn’t come their way.

Back out in the main town area, the fight against the dragon continued. They were not having much luck. “Fire!” yelled Kai Wet-Pommel, the leader of the Stormcloaks in Winterhold. “Fire everything you have!”

“We are firing!” yelled one of the guards. “They’re just bouncing off of it!”

The dragon seemed to chuckle, not even seeming affected. “Joor. Mindol los mul nust los.”  It swept a wing dismissively, sending at least ten of the guards flying into buildings. It then inhaled, then blew out a stream of fire at the rest. They dove for cover, screaming in pain.

Harry could smell something like burning meat as he ran closer and he nearly gagged.  “Hey!” he yelled at the dragon. “Snake face!” It wasn’t a very accurate taunt, the dragon’s head looked more like a lizard than a snake, but it got the dragon’s attention. Harry fired off a bolt of lightning, hitting the dragon straight in the eye. The dragon’s head reared back as it roared in pain.

“Aim for the eyes!” Harry heard Onmund yell. He looked behind him to see Onmund, Brelyna, J’zargo, Tolfdir, and several others running towards the dragon.

Harry was so focused on all the people running towards him that he didn’t notice Korir until he was right behind him and smacked him upside the head. “Ow! What the hell!”

“You kidnap our people, and now you interfere in our fight? When will you mages learn that we don’t want you here?”

Harry stared at Korir, open mouthed. “…are you serious right now. Are you fucking serious right now? What part of ‘we’re all going to die if we don’t stop that thing don’t you get!’”

Korir’s eyes widened and he backed up a few steps, but Harry didn’t notice. He didn’t notice that his voice was starting to echo a bit either. And of course he couldn’t see his eyes going from emerald green to sapphire blue and back again. “All you do is complain and complain, but what can you even do? Kralder is right, you’re a useless Jarl! Now get out of our way!”

Korir shook his head, shaking. “You…you’re…what are you?”

Harry didn’t reply and just shoved the Nord away, running to join the fight. He’d dealt with too many obstructive authority figures to be frazzled at this point. Though he did hear a whisper of Good, show him how pathetic his really is he didn’t stop to question it.

Harry kept shouting at the dragon. “Hey you! Yeah you! You think you can just come and eat people? And get away with it?”

“This one agrees!” yelled J’zargo. “You are very rude! And very stupid!” He hurled a fireball that smacked against the dragon’s side.

“Yeah, pick on someone your own size!” Harry yelled, throwing another thunderbolt.

The dragon actually flinched at both of these attacks, and its head swiveled towards the two mages. “Alright, we’ve got its attention…now what?” asked Harry.

“J’zargo was…hoping you would know.”

Harry backed up a bit as the dragon loomed over them. Harry hadn’t really fought a dragon before. Yeah, there’d been the Triwizard Tournament, but that wasn’t really fighting the dragon so much as dodging around its attacks until he could grab the egg.

And that dragon had been an animal. Not something that could talk and use magic. Not like this one.

Luckily, this time he didn’t have to do it alone, either. Something Harry was reminded of when a fireball flew above his head. He looked back to see two flame atronachs being guided by Brelyna and Urag, Tolfdir running forward with Stoneskin activated, and Onmund throwing pieces of flaming debris and boulders at the dragon using Telekinesis. He saw Sergias Turranus and Colette Maruice trying to heal the injured, and Phinis Gestor…raising the ones that apparently couldn’t be healed. Harry decided to ignore that last part for the moment.

He saw the Dunmer priestess throwing frost and lightning at the dragon, and saw the hooded figure nimbly jumping around the dragon, hacking at it with a long curved sword. And the guards…well…they were trying. But their gear seemed to break on impact with the dragon. Harry wasn’t sure if that was because their gear was weak, the dragon was strong, or both.

Either way, they were wearing it down. He wasn’t alone. They were working together.

And they could beat this thing.

Inspired by the bravery of his friends and teachers, Harry rushed forward, only stopping briefly to pick up a sword from a fallen soldier. It wasn’t as long or heavy as the Sword of Gryffindor, but it was a sword, so it would do.

Aim for the eyes, aim for the eyes Harry repeated over and over to himself. The dragon snarled and ducked to snap at the people on the ground surrounding him.

“Now!” Harry yelled, jumping forward and plunging the sword into the dragon’s eye. The dragon screamed, actually screamed almost like a human. “Niid! Niid! Nii korasaal!” It thrashed its head around, trying to shake Harry off, but Harry kept a death grip on the hilt of the sword.

The dragon finally stopped thrashing and its head fell to the ground. Harry took his hands off the sword and stepped back. The dragon gasped. “Vir dray daar…?” It turned its head, with great effort, until its head was pointed directly at Harry. The eye without the sword in it widened. “Dovahkiin? Niid!”

Then the light went out of its eyes. There was deafening silence for a moment, then two. Finally, Onmund piped up. “Is…is it dead?” he asked nervously.

The hooded figure from the inn poked at the body with the toe of their boot. “Looks like it.” They looked up at everyone else, and Harry could see a small smile under her hood. “Well done, everyone.”

“So, what now?” asked Colette. “Should we…move the body?”

“How are we going to move something this big?” asked Urag.

The solution presented itself as soon as he said that. The dragon’s body began to spontaneously burn, scales and sinew peeling off and disappearing like golden leaves. “What’s going on?” yelled Onmund.

“Everyone get back!” shouted Phinis.

Despite the fire coming from the dragon’s body, it didn’t seem to be spreading, but nobody wanted to go near it and kept backing up. Wisps of ethereal energy also began to float out of the dragon’s body, coalescing into a long, thin ribbon. Once the ribbon grew thick enough, it shot out of the dragon’s body, catching Harry straight in the chest.

“Harry!” yelled Onmund.

He made to run for the younger boy, but Colette held him back. “Don’t touch him until we know what’s going on!” she snapped.

The energy swirled around Harry, lifting him off his feet and whipping his hair around. A few people would later say they thought they could hear some distant chanting.

Then the energy was gone, and Harry limply fell into the snow.

“What in Oblivion…” asked the hooded figure.

The Dunmer priestess smiled. “I see…so this is what Lady Azura was talking about…”

“There’s no way,” whispered Onmund. “Did he just…”

“He absorbed its soul?” whispered a guard.

“Just like in the old stories…” said another in awe.

A couple of the guards fell to their knees, though whether in reverence or shock it wasn’t clear.

The three apprentices ran over to their friend, staring down at him silently. Finally, J’zargo looked at Onmund. “Are the…scales normal?”

Onmund silently shook his head in shock.

Jarl Korir stumbled over, sporting a black eye and sevral cuts. His face was pale, and he was shaking like a leaf. “No…this is impossible…” He rounded on Onmund, who backed away quickly. “What sort of trickery is this? What have you done?” Both Brelyna and J’zargo stepped in front of Onmund and Korir.

“This is no trickery!” called out Tolfdir, walking over. “You know the legends as well as any of us, don’t you?” He gestured to the dragon’s skeleton. “No mortal magic could do this!”

Tolfdir looked down at Harry. There was nothing wrong with our runes or ritual, he realized. The reason it went wrong wasn’t anything under our control… “I don’t know how…or why…but the gods have given us a Dragonborn.”

Chapter Text

Harry opened his eyes. He was standing in what, at first, appeared to be a misty void. But as he oriented himself, he realized that it wasn’t really the case.

While the mist was thick, he could see from things beyond it. Harry took a step and heard a a clatter from below him. He looked down to see that the floor was covered in small rocks coated with grey dust. It reminded Harry of the coals in a fireplace after the fire had gone out.

Harry reached down and picked up one of the coals, then chucked it in front of him. He heard a metallic “ting!” as it bounced off something in front of him.

Harry walked forward, and his eyes widened. “Dumbledore?”

There he was. Or rather, as Harry looked closer, it was a giant gold statue of him, up on a dais. Harry bent down to look at the dais, and saw there was something written on it.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

Mentor, Savior, Most Powerful Wizard, The Only One He Ever Feared

Well, that seemed accurate enough. Harry stood up and looked around. Now that he was oriented again, he could see other statues through the mist. They didn’t seem to have any particular order to them. They were just scattered around. And none of them were as big as Dumbledore, most of them being human-sized. Harry read the engravings as he walked past.

Ron Weasley

Best Mate, Great Family, Hurts when we Fight, True Friend

Hermoine Granger

Smartest Witch Ever, Works Very Hard, Smacked Malfoy Across the Face, True Friend

Molly Weasley

Sweet Caring Mother, Took Me In, I Hope My Mom Was Like Her

Harry stopped short, a lump forming in his throat as he saw the next statue.

Sirius Black

Padfoot, Godfather, Friend of My Father, Snuffles, Great Fighter

Died in 1996 Because of Me

Harry turned away. He couldn’t look anymore.

“Finally!” said a familiar voice in a huffy tone. “I was getting quite bored in here by myself.”

Harry turned around to see where the voice had come from and nearly fell on his butt in surprise.

It was another dragon. Not the same one that had attacked Helgen, nor the one that had attacked Winterhold. It was smaller, but that wasn’t saying much since it was still at least the size of the Frozen Hearth. It also didn’t have any horns, but rather a snakelike head with sharp overlapping teeth that reminded Harry uncomfortably of the Basilisk. It was also a different color, a dark blue that reminded Harry of a starless night sky.

Harry backed up several steps with a help. “What the hell?” he yelled. “Where are we?”

The dragon made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “You are easily startled. Bormah was right about that. Well, he is right about a lot of things, so I should not be surprised.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. In, out, in, out. “Look. I haven’t had a very good day. I got accosted by a Thalmor, got nauseous from some time screwiness, I fought a freaking dragon…please just answer my question?”

“You’re in your mind,” said the dragon. “The place where everything that makes you is stored. Memories, beliefs…everything that shaped you is stored here.”

Harry stared at the dragon. “Oh…kay. And why am I here? Does this have something to do with that stuff I absorbed after that other dragon died?”

“Mirmulnir.”

“Huh?”

“His name was Mirmulnir.” The dragon looked off into the mist, where Harry could see a large shadow roaming around.  “Don’t worry. I don’t think he’ll bother you.”

“How did you know his name?” Harry asked curiously. His stomach suddenly dropped as a realization hit him. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

“He was my brother,” the dragon said solemnly.

“…fuck. I’m so sorry, I-“

“Do not apologize. You only acted in defense of others. I cannot fault you for do so. Mirmulnir was always…hotheaded. Eager to prove himself.” The dragon chuckled. “Though, I suppose all dragons are like that, to some extent.”

Harry frowned. “Wait, if he’s in here…and you’re in here…are you dead too?”

“Geh. Correct. Though I died some time ago, during the Dragon War.”

“You mean that thing Farengar and Onmund were talking about? Where the Nords rebelled against the dragons?”

The dragon crossed the tips of its wings, assuming a thoughtful posture. “You may want to take a seat. Praan. This will take a while.”

Onmund stepped out of the room and closed the door. “He’s still not awake?” Brelyna asked worriedly.

Onmund shook his head. “Nope. Still asleep.”

“Is that normal?” asked Brelyna, fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves. J’zargo stood next to her, his face neutral but worry still showing in his eyes. The other students had been turning to him for answers about what exactly had happened to Harry, since Dragonborn were part of Nord legends as much as Imperial ones.

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean Onmund had answers. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t hear if absorbing power from a dragon puts people in a coma. They never said it did in the old tales, but…I don’t know.”

J’zargo’s tail twitched in annoyance as they began to walk down the hallway. “Didn’t your Talos have anything like this happen to him?”

“He’s not our Talos, he’s everyone’s Talos,” Onmund grumbled. “And no, the dragons were mostly dead or in hiding by the time he came around. So no, he didn’t.”

“Maybe it did happen, but they left it out because they thought it was embarrassing or something,” Brelyna said thoughtfully. “Or they didn’t think it was relevant.”

Onmund rubbed his forehead. “Maybe. Ugh, I hate this guesswork.”

Emotions had been riding high since the battle with the dragon. On top of the apprentices’ worry for the youngest of their group, the townspeople had decided to remain within the college since most of the town was wrecked. While they didn’t necessarily trust the mages, they had collectively agreed that it was better than freezing to death.

The only ones who seemed to disagree with that assessment were the Jarl, his wife/housecarl, and a few surviving guards. Even though it had been two days, none of the healthy townspeople could go scout out how to rebuild without being accosted for the guards for “betraying Winterhold, the Jarl, and the Nord spirit.”

“They’re not wrong about betraying the Jarl,” Kralder had admitted sadly. “Everyone did disobey him, after all.”

Faralda had simply made a harumphing sound and crossed her arms. “And why shouldn’t they? What’s he done for Winterhold recently?” Neither Kralder nor anyone else could answer that.

Onmund was jerked out of his thoughts by someone bumping into him. “Hey!”

He looked behind him and his heart briefly stopped as he saw Ancano heading the other way. Ancano stopped at the door to Harry’s room and reached for the doorknob.

Nope! Not on my watch! Before he could reconsider, Onmund waved his hand and shot a blast of ice at Ancano’s feet, freezing them to the floor. Ancano yelped and turned to see who had shot at him, only to be met with more ice to the face.

As Onmund shot that blast, Brelyna tugged on his arm. “Onmund! What in the name of the Three? Come on!”

As Ancano rubbed his eyes to clear them, they took the chance to run. The three apprentices didn’t stop running until they were out of the Hall and in the center of the courtyard. All of them were panting from the sprint and the adrenaline.

“Did you really just do that?” giggled Brelyna once she got her breath back.

Onmund paled as his thoughts finally caught up with his actions. Oh fuck, he’d just assaulted a Thalmor. Oh gods, oh fuck.

J’zargo sniffled and mimed wiping a tear. “Kitten’s first backstab! Oh, they grow up so fast!”

“Shut up,” Onmund grumbled.

“So let me see if I’ve got this right,” Harry said. He’d been sitting inside his own mind for who-knows-how-long listening to the dragon explain why he and Harry were here, and his butt was starting to fall asleep (which probably shouldn’t even be possible within a mindscape). “You guys didn’t like how I was being treated back in my own universe. You all needed a hero-type person to fight this Alduin guy and thought I’d be treated better here than back home. So once the portal was up and running, you pulled me through?”

“Well, not myself personally. Bormah, Thuri Kaan, Thuri Mara, and Thuri Juun actually brought you here. I did not participate until I entered your mind.”

Harry looked down and away. He and the dragon had been going over everything that had happened to him so that he could understand why the gods and the dragon called him a “Vonun Hun”: an unseen hero. “No matter how much you did, they never saw you, never gave you thanks at all really.”

Harry felt ill. Having everything laid out like the dragon had explained, it all felt so much larger than it had before. Much worse. Much more of a burden.

Harry startled when he felt a raindrop hit his shoulder. Then another. Then another. “It rains in here?”

The dragon looked up at the sky. Well, if it could be called a sky. “This is your mind. It is affected by your emotions. I believe that this weather is one of those effects.”

Harry looked around, but he couldn’t find any kind of shelter from the rain. And certainly not one big enough for the dragon. “I’m sorry. You’ve probably had to stand in the rain a few times, haven’t you?”

The dragon shook its head. “Niid krosis. Do not apologize to me. This is your mind after all. You should be allowed to feel.”

Harry still felt ashamed, despite the dragon’s assurances. “I just…I mean I guess I always knew that it was bad. That I shouldn’t have to do all this stuff. Be depended on for all this. I knew I didn’t deserve everything they threw at me, I knew that! But…having it all talked about…knowing others were angry on my behalf…” Harry’s face was wet, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just from the rain that was starting to come down harder and harder. “I had such a sucky life! I was abused and used for fifteen years! All because some dipshit decided to kill my parents and couldn’t kill me! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do anything to deserve this! And I’ll…I’ll never be able to get those years back. I just wanted to be normal. But nobody would ever let that happen! Everyone I trusted betrayed me or died! And…and…”

The dragon wrapped its wing around Harry as he continued to sob.

Chapter Text

It took a while for Harry to stop crying and compose himself. “Thanks,” he muttered, quite embarrassed as he realized the dragon’s wing was still around his shoulders. “...um. There’s still one thing I don’t get.”

“Geh? What is it?” asked the dragon.

“Well, Alduin got temporarily defeated somehow back in ancient times and only just returned now. And that’s why I got made into a dragonborn, because a dragonborn is needed to defeat him, right?” The dragon nodded in confirmation. “Well, why didn’t Akatosh just make a dragonborn back then?”

The dragon looked away sadly. “He did. His name was Miraak.”

“Did he die?”

“Worse. Miraak became prideful, and did not join up with the main rebellion. He also felt that Bormah and the others were not listening to him so he sought...riskier help.”

“Riskier in what way?”

“You know of the Daedric Princes, yes? Miraak tried to make a bargain with one of them for power: Herma-Mora, the Prince of Forbidden Knowledge and Fate. But whatever knowledge Mora gave him was not enough. Miraak was defeated in battle, and Mora took him, body and soul, into his own realm. It has...always been one of Bormah’s biggest regrets. He is protective of the souls of his children.” The dragon made eye contact with Harry again. “I believe that is also why he sent me to help you.”

“And keep me from making the same mistakes Miraak did,” Harry nodded sadly. “To make sure I don’t sell my soul to some guy and regret it.” Harry wanted to say he’d never do that. But thinking on it, if someone offered him the chance for Voldemort to be defeated, for Sirius to be returned...he couldn’t honestly say he wouldn’t take it for sure.

“To make sure you know you’re not alone,” the dragon corrected. Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that. “You should be waking up soon,” the dragon continued. “Everyone is probably waiting for you.”

Harry frowned. “Okay. How do I do that?”

“Ah...hm.” The dragon seemed as confused as Harry was. “I suppose...try to concentrate on your body? Your physical one?”

That didn’t seem like much of an explanation, but Harry tried anyways. It actually seemed to work, and he could feel the faint sensation of laying down on a mattress. The misty area around him started to fade away. Then Harry realized something. “I never asked your name!”

The dragon had a smile in its eyes. “You may call me Vullokqah. Now wake.”

“DOVAHKIIN!”

Harry was startled awake by the shout. He rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Okay, I’m up...”

“Harry!” someone yelped. Harry immediately felt a crushing pressure around his chest. “We were worried! You’ve been out for days!”

“C...can’t breathe!” Harry gasped out.

“Oh, sorry!” The hugger pulled back, and Harry could see Brelyna sitting on a chair in front of him. “I’m just really happy you’re awake! The others will be too.”

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Harry chuckled. He rubbed his eyes again. “What happened? How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been out for five days,” said Tolfdir, coming in and shutting the door behind him. “That Shout...it couldn’t have been...”

Harry turned to the side table to get his glasses, only to do a double take. “What’s wrong?” asked Brelyna.

Harry frowned. “I can see you guys fine. But I don’t have my glasses on. So how...?”

“It must be a side effect of absorbing the dragon’s soul,” Tolfdir mused. 

“Another one?” questioned Brelyna.

“What do you mean ‘another one’?” asked Harry.

Brelyna winced. “Don’t freak out...” She handed Harry a piece of shiny metal for him to use as a mirror.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to brace himself for whatever he would see. He slowly looked down. But despite bracing himself, he still jumped at his reflection.

He had scales on his cheeks now, and his eyes were bright, almost glowing. Also, were those fangs in his mouth? He ran his tongue over his teeth. Yeah, they had definitely gotten sharper. “Uh, is this normal?”

“We don’t know,” Tolfdir admitted. “The last known dragonborn in history was Martin Septim, but there was no record of him having...scales.”

“He could have worn a glamor,” Brelyna hypothesized. 

“True,” Tolfdir noted. “But still...” He shook his head. “In any case, it is good to see that you are up. You gave everyone a good scare.”

Harry blushed. “I didn’t mean to,” he muttered, suddenly feeling defensive. “What was that yelling, anyways?”

Tolfdir looked up. “It could only have been one group...the Greybeards.”

“The monks?” asked Harry. “Why would they do that?”

“They were calling you, I expect,” explained Tolfdir. “Dovah-kiin is another word for Dragonborn...to think I would witness this in my lifetime. Marvelous!”

Brelyna crossed her arms. “We haven’t heard them before. Why now?”

“I believe, somehow, they sensed the coming of a new Dragonborn,” Tolfdir looked at Harry. “The last person to be called was Talos himself, many centuries ago.”

“What do they want with me?” Harry wondered.

“I suspect they wish to train you in the Voice,” said Tolfdir. “They are masters of the art, after all. They may also have answers for the sudden dragon attacks.”

“So, I should go?”

“Oh certainly! To be called is a great honor! Besides, who else could teach you? Certainly not any of us here. You should get going as soon as you are ready!” Tolfdir practically skipped out of the room as he said that.

Brelyna and Harry looked at each other. “I guess this really must be a big deal,” Harry said. “So what else happened.”

Brelyna explained everything that had transpired over the past few days. “Onmund attacked Ancano for my sake?” Harry felt quite flattered. “I’ll need to thank him when I next see him.”

“You should do that soon,” Brelyna told him. “He’s been hardly sleeping since the dragon fight. Same for most of us, actually.” She stifled a yawn. “Speaking of which, I need to get some shut eye. Do you feel well enough to walk?”

Harry actually felt fine. Great, even. he wasn’t even sore. He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. He was a bit wobbly, but he shot a thumbs up at Brelyna. She returned the gesture. “I’ll assume you can get dressed by yourself.”

It was at this point Harry realized he had been changed into his nightshirt. How embarrassing.

As Harry exited his room, he heard someone’s voice coming from around the corner. “It’s not that I think he can’t do it…whatever you all have planned…I just wonder if he hasn’t done too much…”

It was Onmund’s voice. Curious, Harry crept closer and peeked around the corner. Onmund was standing there, head bowed and clutching something in both hands. There was no one else there. “I mean he hasn’t told us everything, I know that. But I can tell he’s had a lot of pressure put on him. Lord Talos, if you can make this destiny any easier for him, please do.”

He was praying. Harry didn’t really know how he felt about the gods who ran this world, especially if they had some part in kidnapping him. But the fact that Onmund was asking a higher power to help Harry...

Harry didn’t think anyone had ever done that for him before. He couldn’t help but feel touched by the sentiment. “Onmund…”

Onmund’s head popped up. “Lord Talos?” He turned around. “Oh! Harry. You’re awake!”

Harry grinned before realizing his new teeth would probably make him look too scary and closed his mouth. “I am! Woke up just a few minutes ago.”

Onmund breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, good, that’s good.” he tugged on his braids, seeming a bit nervous. “Um...how do you feel? Stronger? Or...?”

Harry shook his head. “I mean, I feel mostly normal. I’m not sore at all from the fight though, so that’s good.”

Onmund nodded. “Right, yeah. It seems like absorbing the soul healed all your wounds from the fight. At least that’s what Master Maurice said.”

“Convenient.”

“Yes, that is a good word for this,” said a snooty voice from behind the two. 

Harry and Onmundn spun around to see Ancano standing directly behind him. “I put no stock in the folktales and legends of men,” Ancano sneered. “However, it is obvious that something occurred after the dragon was slain. Something to do with you .” He glared at Harry. “You claim to be a Breton but obviously have no elvish blood. You come here young but no one questions it. And strange things always happen around you.” Ancano clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his nose in the air (he really did remind Harry of Snape). “Rest assured, I will be contacting the ambassador about this.”

And with that threat, he walked away. 

Onmund’s eyes widened and he grabbed Harry's arm as if to make sure he didn't fall through the floor. “Harry, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this, but being known by the Thalmor Ambassador is…not good.” His voice was high pitched with worry.

“I wouldn't worry about that threat,” Faralda said, walking up behind him. 

“Are you sure?” asked Onmund.

Faralda laughed. “It'll take a while for a letter to make its way all the way to Solitude. And that's if the Thalmor messenger makes it through the Stormcloak holds alive.” She shrugged. “Plus, I doubt anyone actually likes Ancano, even other Thalmor.”

“How do you figure that?” Harry wondered.

“Because Winterhold is, if you'll pardon my Breton, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.” Harry and Onmund were both startled into laughter by Faralda’s vulgarity. “I mean, Ancano got sent up to the grim up north where there's really nothing besides a magical school. And he didn't get any backup either. No guards at all. That's why none of us staff take him seriously. My guess is he ticked off someone important and they sent him here in hopes he'd fall into the sea or freeze to death or something.”

Harry snorted, and he noticed Onmund was looking a bit more relaxed. “Besides,” Harry said. “Even if they do send someone else up here, they won’t find me. Not for a while, anyways.”

Onmund blinked in surprise. “Huh? Why not?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, right! Tolfidr probably told you to go...”

“To the Greybeards, yeah,” Harry finished for him. “He said I should leave as soon as I could prepare for the trip. Something about the dragon attack being an omen of greater things that only the Greybeards would know about.”

Onmund shook his head. “The Greybeards...Harry, do you know how insane this is? You’re a living legend right now! A real Dragonborn!”

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Harry sighed. So much for a chance at a normal life...

Chapter Text

27th of Last Seed, 4E201

Arngeir led the four Greybeard Masters back down from the Throat of the World. They, along with Paarthunax, had just called a Dragonborn for the first time in centuries. Arngeir had never thought he’d be part of a historic event like that.

“I wonder what the Dragonborn will be like?” Borri signed to him as they reentered the courtyard behind High Hrothgar. 

“It is useless to speculate, ” Arngeir signed back. “They could be practically anyone. ”

Of course, he was curious as well. He knew Borri and the others were probably doing the same thing he was: going back through well known historical Dragonborn and trying to find a pattern. Not that there was much of one. The only thing that all known historical Dragonborn had in common was that they were some kind of Mannish race. The old Tongues, at least the recorded ones, were all Atmorans, Nords, or at least had some of either race’s blood. Alessia was a Nede, Reman was Imperial, Talos was Atmoran, and Martin Septim was Imperial (supposedly, the mixed blood of the Imperial family probably meant he had Nord and Breton blood in him too). 

But among that group was one slavery abolitionist, two conquerors, and one priest who was so devoted he became the avatar of a god to save the world. 

Arngier was sure the apprentices had a better pool going, and Wuthgar was probably involved. He was always too lenient on them...well, he’d let it slide this time. For a few weeks, at least. 

Arngier was just indulging his curiosity and looking through the library when he heard the sound of flapping wings. He looked up curiously to see a white owl flying through one of the few windows in the monastery. The owl landed on one of the library tables and looked up at Arngeir.

Arngeir stared at the bird. “...hello?” he finally asked. He wasn’t sure what an owl was doing up here. The Throat of the World was also called Neinnfoglbjarg in the old tongue for a reason. The mountain was so barren there were no place for birds to roost, and when some did try to fly over the mountain they were either buffeted by the storm or eaten by Paarthunax (dragons couldn’t die from hunger, but it was nice for him to get some meat in his diet). How did this owl get up here?

Arngier stared at the owl. The owl stared back, then let out an impatient hoot. “Ah...do you want some food? The dining hall is just downstairs. I could take you there...”

As he was speaking, the owl took off and flew towards the dining hall. Well. That was definitely not a normal owl.

The bell rang for dinner, and Arngier followed the owl down. Owls were symbols of Julianos...Jhunal, he remembered. Was this a sign? Was the Dragonborn to be a mage?

He smiled slightly. Perhaps he would participate in the betting after all...