Chapter Text
I do not own Harry Potter or any of the related characters. The Harry Potter series was created by JK Rowling and owned by Warner Bros. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Harry Potter story belong to Warner Bros.
Beta'd by Red Renera, any and all errors in grammar, spelling and plot are mine.
Chapter One: Illyria: A New World, In Leather Pants
A/N I’ve had to revisit already published chapters to tidy up and shorten monster chapters. They are all 5k to 7k in length but it means there are more than previous. If you don’t want to re-read, the next chapter is fourteen. FR.
Hogwarts
2nd of September
Bedtime for Harry Potter had changed over the years.
Initially, it was the lack of a bedroom. Then he had someone else’s bedroom, which was a definite improvement. Then he was sharing with four other boys, which was less so.
He was currently in his bed in the fourth-year Gryffindor dormitory and had just passed his third hour counting the dots on the ceiling and listening to his roommates snore away in blissful ignorance of the racket they made. Harry tugged at the hem of his pyjamas to stop the collar from strangling him and to cover his belly. He thought again about removing the slightly too-small garment, it was too cold and he was cosy to take it off. He needed new ones.
Harry pulled his bed curtains back, reclaimed his wand from the bedside table, and aimed at Ron Weasley’s bed.
“Silencio.”
Yes, that was an improvement. He turned his attention to Dean Thomas’s bed and repeated the process. Peace at last. The heavy silence woke Neville Longbottom.
“Huh? Wazzat?”
Harry kept quiet and listened to the snuffling sounds as Neville settled again. He heaved a sigh and tucked his wand under his pillow. An idle thought flitted through his head.
I wonder if I hold my breath long enough, I’ll pass out. That’s like sleep, right?
He rolled onto his side and squirmed until he achieved some measure of comfort. His eyelids drooped as sleep claimed him at last.
——Scene Break——
Illyria
Sudden light and colour made him open his eyes wide. He leapt a foot into the air and landed on his behind. Warm sand cushioned his fall. His hands and booted feet scrabbled in the sand until he stood again and squinted against the sunlight to look around.
Shock. That was what he felt. Pure shock and terror.
I was in bed, Harry thought desperately. I’m sure I’d been in my pyjamas in bed, and now I’m wearing leather trousers.
He stood on a sandy beach marking the gentle bank of a sluggish river. Charred grass and the remnants of branches and ash were all that remained of a small fire.
Wait.
Leather trousers?
Harry looked down and inspected the sturdy brown leather boots that came up to his calves. The rough stitching had a handmade quality. The leather trousers were a lighter hue than the boots, quite tight on his legs and not something he would ever have chosen to wear, but they felt snug yet unrestricted.
He clapped his hands to the usual places a witch or wizard kept their wand, but no luck; he was wandless.
A baggy white shirt covered his torso and arms, a string looped through half a dozen holes across his chest but hung loose, so Harry tugged on the ends to close the gap. A distracted hand ran through his hair in exasperation and stopped. Both hands felt the long locks, and a handful was pulled into view. He gripped tightly for a second.
No wand. Longer hair. Leather pants.
He released his death grip on his hair and scrubbed his face. His fingers automatically moved to correct his skewed glasses but froze.
No glasses.
His eyes flicked around the clearing, confirming that he could indeed see perfectly well. He looked down again. Was he taller too?
“What the hell’s going on?”
Birdsong made him realise that the forest had been as silent as a grave. Harry turned in a slow circle and took in his surroundings. Trees packed both banks of the river and hid it in both directions as it wound its merry way past. On the far side, a gap showed a narrow game trail, and to Harry’s eye it looked dark and foreboding.
A strip of white water lay further downstream, and a light breeze flicked the bush branches and rippled the grass. The game trail lined up with a similar gap in the trees on his side too, like nature’s service station.
He was alone.
He looked again, then noticed a set of log stools positioned around a firepit. He was sure they hadn’t been there before. Harry frowned and turned back to study the camp. Near the logs, a canvas bag hung from a stick driven into the ground, the strap wedged in a fork made from two offshoots. A straight length of wood leaned against the stick, too straight for the natural curves around it. It resolved to be shoulder height when Harry took it in hand. He sighed.
What to do? Where to start?
A roar shook the landscape, and Harry spun, staff raised in a defensive posture. His eyes darted skyward, movements jerky and wild.
“That is a dragon.”
The voice came from behind, deep and sonorous. Harry jumped again but managed to stay upright.
“I wouldn’t recommend going that way. Death and misfortune lie yonder. Not yet. Not until you’re both ready.”
An old man sat on one of the firepit logs, poking a stick into a merrily crackling fire. His cloak folded neatly on the log beside him, a sword at his hip, a quiver of arrows peeking over his shoulder.
“W–where did you come from? I was alone here.”
Harry stumbled a few steps back, the staff still clutched in wary hands but now pointed at the stranger.
“I’m a gatekeeper of sorts,” the man said, “a greeter of lost souls.”
He scratched at his chin with the unburnt end of his stick, winced as he pulled some beard hairs out, and gave the stick an offended look before rubbing his chin.
“Erm, dragon?”
Harry glanced towards where the terrific sound had come from.
“He’s far away. Besides, the magic won’t allow him near here. Too many interesting people pass this way for that to happen.”
The old man smiled gently up at Harry and gestured to the log stool opposite him. Harry swallowed, glanced around the clearing once more, and, with another uncertain step, moved to the seat indicated and dropped onto it gracelessly.
“So, what do you go by, traveller?”
“Erm… Harry. Where am I?”
“Well met, Harry. I’m Edward, and you’re at the edge of the map. Five miles from here lies the town of Durendale, as good a starting point as any. Your partner already left; she was tired of waiting for you.”
“My partner? Waiting?”
“Oh yes, waiting, or rather, you’ve been expected to come for years. A prophecy, if you will. She turned up on time, then sat here with me for three hours. She wasn’t best pleased when she left. I asked her to stay, but she was impatient to get on. Once I’ve given you a few pointers, you’d best catch her up. She has a few choice things to say about you.”
Edward chuckled and returned his attention to the fire.
“Who?”
“I don’t remember her name; I never do. Pretty thing though, long blonde hair, ice-blue eyes. A balm for my tired peepers.”
Edward smiled at Harry and stretched.
“Hang on, where am I? Is this still Earth? What prophecy? Why me? I’m just a student, fourteen.”
“All good questions,” Edward said, “but I can’t answer them. You’re in the kingdom of Illyria, and you both have tasks to complete. That’s all I know. Before you go, though, there are a few things I’ve got to make sure you know.”
Edward stood and moved around to Harry’s side of the fire. He plopped himself down on the same log and picked up the bag that had been hanging there since Harry’s arrival.
“Now, your bag.”
“Mine?”
“Yes, and this will go quicker if you don’t keep interrupting. Your bag’s larger than it looks, weighs less too. There’s an axe strapped to the bottom; keep the leather wrap on or you’ll cut your arse.”
Harry nodded mutely.
“Good. Strapped to the top is your camp roll, wool and cloth blankets wrapped in waxed canvas. Keep it dry, or your nights will be even more miserable than they’re going to be.”
Edward reached inside and pulled out a tin tied with twine.
“Here’s your fire starter kit. Flint, striker, wooden shavings, and some wool. You’ll have to refill or buy a new one every so often.”
He set the kit to one side, then produced a small wooden bowl and spoon, a corked ceramic water bottle, and a wrapped parcel, which he held in both hands.
“Twice-baked bread, a staple for travellers like you. Tastes like shite but lasts for months. I’d recommend only eating it when all other options are gone and you’re very hungry. And that’s it. I’ll show you how to start a fire, we’ll discuss magic, and then you can go.”
Edward got up and almost ran towards the forest edge before Harry had time to blink. Harry sat there, mouth open and mind blank, trying to process the sudden flood of information.
What?
Edward turned and stood stock-still, the only movement was his hair in the breeze. He raised an arm and motioned for Harry to approach.
“Come on! It’ll be dark soon, and you’ll have to catch up with your friend.”
Harry followed as Edward crouched, sifting through the leaf litter.
“Twigs this size.” He held up a handful. “Smaller if you can find them. The more you gather now, the easier it’ll be to light a fire later.”
Harry nodded and squatted to search nearby. “You mentioned magic.”
Harry picked up several sticks, not really sure what qualified, and turned slightly to see Edward watching him.
“Yes. I understand you’re a practitioner?”
Harry decided ten sticks would do and sat on a moss-covered rock. “I’m a wizard, yes, but I can’t find my wand.”
Edward frowned and looked back at the camp. “What do you mean?”
Harry held his hands apart to show the length. “My wand, about this long. Holly wood, carved handle. I don’t have it. I can’t do magic without it.”
“It’s over there.”
Edward pointed in the vague direction of the fire. Harry looked that way and shrugged.
“The stick?”
“It’s a staff. No one uses anything shorter; makes the magic unstable, unpredictable.”
“Oh. So how does that work? Are the spells the same?”
Edward leaned on his staff, looking tired. His pile of sticks lifted on their own and floated over to Harry’s, forming a neat pyramid a metre away.
Edward shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, I push magic and intent through mine. It’s all in the imagination. Your friend used random words that had the same effect. She didn’t like my way.”
“Who is she? Did she know me?”
“We only knew someone was coming. No details, no idea when. That’s enough. We’ll make it here. I’ll do one, then you make your own.”
Edward knelt, brushed the ground clear, and rebuilt the pyramid of sticks into a teepee. He went through the motions of making a fire, flint and striker, tinder, spark, and furious blowing until he went red in the face. He made it look ridiculously easy.
Harry looked down at his own kit and shrugged. It took him fifteen minutes even to get a flicker, by which time he had invented new curse words and earned a couple of splinters and a minor burn.
“Great. Now you’ve lit it, put it out.”
Edward’s cheer sounded excessive.
Harry glared at him for a second before getting to his feet. “What? How?”
It had taken serious effort just to light the thing. He experimentally kicked dirt at it; the flame guttered but didn’t die.
Edward smirked. “Aren’t you a wizard?”
Harry huffed and went to fetch his staff. “So you just will it and push your magic?”
Edward leaned on his staff again, nodding genially. “Yes, but do it your way for now; you can figure the other way out later.”
“Aguamenti.”
Harry intoned and pointed the bottom of his staff at the fire. A gout of water streamed from the top, soaking the trees and brush behind him.
Edward burst into raucous laughter, startling a dozen birds into flight. Harry spun the staff, extinguished both fires, and seriously considered extinguishing the giggling old codger too.
Edward managed to control himself down to a chuckle. “The little miss did the same thing, and she wasn’t happy about it. I think you know everything you need to get started. Off with you, then.”
Harry repacked his bag and checked for missing items. The shoulder straps dug into his skin but not badly. Staff in hand, he shook Edward’s offered hand.
Edward pointed down a wooded game trail. “Right, the town’s that way. Follow the river, and if you hurry, you might catch her by nightfall. In fact, you’d better run.”
Harry turned to face the path, sighed, and flicked a glance back, but Edward had disappeared completely. No sound, no fire, even the mess Harry had made while learning to light the fire was gone. He pulled a face, turned back to the trail, and sighed again.
——Scene Break——
Harry ran toward the red flashes, his pack bouncing hard on his back. He had to hold his staff in one hand at his hip to stop it tangling with his legs and tripping him. As he rounded a corner in the trail, he skidded to a halt.
A red light flew toward him, and he flattened himself to the forest floor. The spell zipped up the trail and struck a tree at the far end. Harry looked over his shoulder at the charred trunk, gulped at the still-shaking branches, and felt his mouth go very dry.
He climbed to his feet and brushed away the muck and dead leaves stuck to his cheek. Ahead lay chaos. He checked which end of his staff was the top.
Three massive wolves surrounded a tree at the edge of a clearing. Two still forms, thick fur coats smoking slightly, littered the glade. A figure perched precariously on a branch three metres up.
Harry gauged the distance and took aim.
“Wingardium Leviosa.”
A surprised yelp came from the rightmost wolf as it suddenly became weightless. With a flick of his wrists, Harry sent the wolf careening into the one in the middle. He kept the motion going and released his hold as all three animals collided with the trunks on the far side.
A stunned silence filled the clearing. The wolves twitched but made no sound. The figure on the branch squinted into the gloom to see who had arrived. A grumpy voice floated down.
“Bloody hell, why didn’t I think of that?”
The wolves stirred and slowly regained their feet.
“Diffindo, Diffindo, Diffindo,” the girl cast rapidly.
Harry’s mind flashed back to what Edward had said about using intent. He thought of a fireball and shoved his magic down through his right arm.
The three cutting curses slashed through the air and struck the wolves. Two collapsed, deep gashes in their hides. The third regained its feet and glared at Harry, a guttural growl turning into a snarl just before his fireball slammed into its side. The wolf’s fur burst into flame, and the furious snarl became a frantic yelp.
“Diffindo.”
Harry cast as soon as he saw what his fireball had done, how much pain the creature was in. The cutting curse hit the wolf’s skull, and he followed with a gout of water. The flames guttered and vanished, leaving only a charred and smoking corpse.
“Aguamenti.”
Silence fell, heavy after all the noise and light. It felt deep and sorrowful. Harry would never celebrate any death. He rested the staff on its butt and looked down at his left hand. It trembled slightly as the adrenaline still coursed through him.
“C–can you help me down? I don’t think I can manage it at the moment, oh Merlin, the smell!”
The same voice drifted down to him. Harry lifted his staff, deciding not to experiment this time.
“Wingardium Leviosa.”
He gently brought her down to the battle-strewn earth and let his gaze travel across the damage they had caused. A small sound made him look up just in time for a female body to crash into him. Her arms clamped around his torso, and sobs shook her. Without thinking, his left hand came up to steady and comfort her.
The minute it took her to calm down gave him precious time to put a name to the face. Blonde. Pretty. Slytherin. About his age. Oh god, what was her name? Her hair hung to mid-back in a thick French braid. Her leather trousers matched the corset that kept her baggy shirt in better order than his. She was older and more developed. Maybe a recent graduate? He frowned at the thought that he was bigger too. None of this made sense.
The girl’s sobs slowed to hiccups, then deep breaths. She pulled back and smoothed a palm across her cheeks.
“Oh god, thank you, thank you, thank you. I was so scared!”
Then she got a good look at him. Her eyes widened and fury overtook her. She clenched a fist and thumped him on the shoulder.
“Harry Potter! Where the bloody hell have you been? I’ve been terrified for hours!”
“Ow. I think I preferred you in the tree. I was chasing after you and could hear the wolves howling. When did they start after you?”
He rubbed his shoulder and turned slightly away to protect it. Oh yes, he recognised that temper now. Daphne Greengrass.
“Yeah, a few hours, I think. I had no clue where I was. I’d been on the path, but they were herding me. I got here and could go no further. They were cunning.”
“Well, it was them or us, Greengrass. I wonder if they have cubs around here.”
“Didn’t see any. Let’s go. That burnt wolf stinks.”
Daphne’s freckled skin flushed faintly pink as she turned towards the tree to recover her fallen staff.
“You’re older. Bigger.”
“You are too. I wonder what’s going on. Why didn’t you wait for me at the clearing?”
“I did. For three hours. Got bored and decided you could catch me up. Maybe I wish I hadn’t. We should go.”
“Yeah, fair. Point me, Durendale.”
Harry held his arm at shoulder height, staff extended. He pivoted until the pull stopped and he faced back the way they had come.
“Huh, that way. Point me, wolf cub.”
He was only being speculative and was surprised when a similar tug turned him around again.
“Would you look at that. It might be my Gryffindor side, but I don’t think I can leave an innocent to fend for itself.”
Daphne sighed. She trotted forward until she reached his side, and they fell into step.
“I’ll let you have this one, Potter. You did just save my life.”
The sounds of the forest gradually returned as they followed the point-me spell. Harry repeated it several times, adjusting their direction. They picked their way between trees and soon came to a cave.
“A lair? It feels very lair-like.”
“Point me, wolf cub. Oh look, a deep dark creature-infested cave. Was this your idea, Potter?”
Daphne held her staff at shoulder height, and they watched as it tracked across and stopped at the entrance.
“I thought it was mutual, Greengrass. Let me try something.”
Harry looked up at the tip of his staff and thought about heat signatures. He sent a pulse of magic down his arm, and, to his satisfaction, a small red dot glowed from the cave entrance.
“Did you see that?”
“No, what did you do?”
“I thought about body heat and heat signatures and sent the intent through my staff like a normal spell. I can see a small red glow just there.”
He pointed to the left of the tunnel.
“Okay, let me try.”
Daphne’s eyes narrowed, then she gasped.
“Yes, there. We should practise that.”
Harry walked towards the cave, stopped, and smirked over his shoulder.
“You coming?”
Daphne huffed.
“If I don’t, you’ll probably get lost.”
“Charging forward, Greengrass? I’ll make a half-decent Gryff out of you yet.”
Harry’s smirk grew as she swung her staff towards him, the tip glowing red.
“You take that back right now.”
Harry chuckled at the half-hearted threat.
“Hey, look, it’s red. Gryffindor red.”
He hurried ahead of her into the tunnel and willed a glowing ball to appear at the end of his staff to light the walls. Bones littered the uneven stone floor. He could just make out soft snuffling and the occasional mewling sound. As he reached the back of the cave, he found a cub so young its eyes were still closed. He remembered from a documentary that wolf pups were blind and deaf for two weeks and needed milk until they could eat meat.
Harry told Daphne what he knew and handed her his staff while he crouched beside the cub. It was starting to cry and twitch its nose. He slid a hand under its belly and lifted it. The snuffling stopped, and it sniffed his hand.
“Ah, cute, Potter. You’re a mother.”
“Uncle Daphne?”
Once they left the cave, they inspected their newest companion. Harry looked up and caught a soft expression on Daphne’s face, but it vanished when she noticed him watching.
“She’ll be hungry soon. Maybe we can transfigure some water into wolf’s milk?”
“She?”
Wordlessly, Harry rolled the cub over to show Daphne the undercarriage and plumbing.
“Oh. Yeah, I’m getting pretty hungry too. There was a stream back that way, might have fish in it.”
“You have a fishing rod in your bag?”
Daphne stopped mid-stride and stared at him incredulously.
“Bloody Gryffindor, are you a wizard or not?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. Accio, good idea. Seems a bit like cheating.”
Harry blushed and busied himself with tucking the cub inside his shirt. The snuffling stopped as his body warmth lulled it to sleep. They backtracked a few hundred metres and found a glade with a creek flowing through the centre.
“Tempus. Just after seven. Camp here for the night?”
A glowing series of numbers floated above Daphne’s staff, bright in the oncoming gloom.
“May as well. We’re not going to find a better spot. Do you know any wards, or should we try Edward’s way?”
“I don’t know any, so we probably should. Try and tie them into both of us? I’ll go get dinner first.”
“Okay, I’ll set the camp up.”
He stood still for a few seconds, mind blank, thinking what he needed.
Right. Fire pit, logs, firewood, fire.
Harry shucked the pack straps off his shoulders and lowered it to the ground. He aimed his staff and thought sweep as he swung it across a section of forest floor like a broom. Moss, dead foliage, and twigs flowed aside, leaving nothing but bare earth.
“Defodio.”
At his whisper, a small section of earth scooped itself out and piled around the edge of his firepit. It took ten repetitions as Harry battled the impatient urge to do it all at once. He had learned that jobs like this could not be rushed.
“Accio twigs.”
He pointed his staff at the previously piled detritus, and dozens of twigs and small branches flew toward him. With a thought, he directed them to form a pile in the pit. Next, he looked around the clearing for firewood and spotted some likely candidates.
“Accio log.”
A large branch soared toward him, and he felt the strain of the additional weight on his mind and magic, so he dropped it to his left and looked for another. He was panting slightly now and repeated the move, bringing another branch to rest on the opposite side. Then he focused on the smaller branches scattered about the clearing and pushed more power into the spell.
“Accio logs.”
Twenty branches leapt into the air and curved down to a spot he had mentally marked Lumber Yard. They piled up somewhat neatly. Harry was breathing hard now and dropped onto his chosen sitting log, adjusting for comfort. When he looked up, Daphne was staring, mouth agape. She looked cute when she was confused.
“How long do you think we’ll be staying here? That’s enough wood for the entire winter.”
Harry sniffed, ignored her comment, and continued his task.
“Accio dry moss.”
Nothing happened. He reached down and touched the moss behind him; it was damp. He looked up at Daphne.
“You know a drying spell?”
Daphne shrugged.
“Yes, but just cast your fireball into the pit and be done with it.”
Harry pressed his lips together and sent a whisper of power down into his staff. The twigs caught and were consumed by fire. He levitated a log into the groove he had made.
Daphne sat on the other side. Her leather trousers creaked as she leaned forward and pushed two long sticks into the earth, each holding a fish above the flames.
“Too close? I’ve not done this before.”
Harry tilted his head, thinking.
“Keep an eye on them, I guess. Browning but not burnt? I’ve cooked fish before, but not like this.”
“Sort your little friend out, and I’ll think about wards.”
Daphne turned her attention to her staff. Harry looked down at the wolf cub, which was nuzzling his belly in its sleep. He adjusted his grip on both the cub and his staff, then laid the cub on his lap. He pulled his flask from his pack and thought about a baby’s milk bottle with a rubber teat. He pushed power through the staff and willed a nearby lump of wood into the form he pictured.
“Just like magic.”
He summoned the bottle to his hand, unscrewed the lid, and poured a few mouthfuls of water from his canteen. He swilled it around and glanced at Daphne, who had just turned the fish and raised an eyebrow.
“Cow’s milk or wolf’s milk? I’m not sure I can imagine what wolf’s milk tastes like.”
“You don’t have to. I think the way magic works here, you decide you want wolf’s milk, and the magic does the rest.”
“Is it that simple?”
She shrugged, and he went back to contemplating the water. He thought firmly, wolf’s milk, and pushed power down the staff. The water changed colour, and Harry sniffed the white liquid, then tasted it. It was milky but cold. He pushed power down his staff again and felt the glass warm. Harry screwed the lid back on and retrieved the baby wolf. It squeaked and mewled, mouth making grasping sucking sounds. Harry gently pushed the teat between its lips, and the wolf did the rest. It took several minutes, as the little thing kept falling back asleep.
As it suckled, Harry heard sniggers from across the fire.
“That is possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Daphne’s nose wrinkled, her eyes alight in the firelight. Harry blushed but refused to be baited.
“Is that fish ready yet?”
“Pretty much, I think.”
Daphne gingerly tore a morsel off and tasted it. Her eyes grew wide, and she hummed a satisfied noise.
“Oh yes, and it’s delicious.”
By now the wolf cub had finished and slumped into the deep relaxed sleep of the innocent. Harry adjusted her until she was lying lengthwise in his lap. Her tongue lolled, and little paws twitched. Daphne pulled both sticks out and stepped around the fire to sit beside him. She handed over a stick, and the pair spent a few quiet minutes picking pieces of fish off the bones, exchanging pleased glances and contented hums. They shared the remainder of Harry’s water to wash the fish down and sat quietly watching the flames dance. The cub snorted and flopped over.
“Did you finish the wards?”
“Yes. I tried to tie you in. Can you feel them?”
“No, I— faintly, yes. That’s good work. What will it feel like if they’re breached?”
Harry scratched his cheek and propped a hand behind him so he could lean back.
“An alarm in the head, I think. Not sure how loud though.”
“Good enough for me. I’m wiped. I’m going to turn in. We can decide what the hell we’re doing here and how we’ll get home tomorrow.”
Harry yawned so wide his jaw cracked.
“Yeah, good idea.”
Daphne levitated a log onto the fire, and Harry improvised a warm bundle for the cub. They prepared their camp rolls on opposite sides of the fire and bedded down for the night.
Harry woke with a start. He lay confused for a few seconds; the fire had died down, and he suddenly felt something warm next to him, an arm across his chest.
“Wah?”
“Hush, Potter. It’s bloody freezing, and I can’t sleep.”
He felt Daphne pull her bedroll on top of them. He almost drifted off, then had a thought. He slowly reached out from under the blankets and grasped his staff. He willed power into it, and a log floated from the Lumber Yard onto the embers of the dying fire with a dull thud and a flurry of sparks.
Harry withdrew his hand into the warmth and drifted off with the scent of lavender under his nose.
T.B.C.