* * * * *

Ragnok watched his wife rise gracefully from the floor, magic flowing through the mithril ritual robe he’d made decades before for her. His decision to migrate to Arda had rippled through his clan and he was grateful for the eager agreement of his own. Guilt and fury stirred in his gut, however, for those he would be leaving behind.

Lenore shook her head. “Not a single clan leader amongst them will follow us to Arda and take a knee for Thorin Oakenshield. They have no trust to offer as most of them never even set eyes on Hadrian. They can’t take his faith for their own as we have.”

Ragnok exhaled slowly. “So, we leave them all behind? Their leaders might not be willing to swear loyalty to an…alien king but what about the common dverger?”

“We couldn’t contain the secret of it—no magic we have would protect it,” Lenore said. “We cannot allow the wizards to know that we have the ability to follow Hadrian to Arda. Even the leaders of other nations would do a great deal to get their hands on the de facto King of Avalon, Ragnok. Hadrian was not and never will be safe on this world. If his parents had lived, if he’d had a family built on blood and familial magic…then the circumstances would’ve been vastly different.

“On many worlds, that is exactly what happened. He grew up here in the embrace of a rich family magic surrounded by those he could trust, and Avalon was reborn in his crowning. A magical renaissance swept over those worlds creating a beautiful society for those lucky enough to know of magic. Other ancient magical societies were revived, and a unique web of protection was created that served magic and all magical species.”

“But that’s not possible on this world.”

“No,” she said and grimaced as they left her ritual room, moved their quarters and into the bedroom. She shed the robe and walked into the bathroom. “Moreover, Zirnitra has declared he will monitor the migration personally and absolutely no one will be allowed to go to Arda if they’re of dubious moral fiber. The magic there will be fragile and open to influence. It must be protected as it integrates with us.”

Ragnok stared. “You spoke to the Black Dragon in ritual?” He paused. “Just now? You didn’t think I should know that was happening as it happened?”

Lenore quirked an eyebrow as she entered the shower stall and activated the water rune. “Had he wished to speak with you, husband, he would’ve let you know.”

Ragnok huffed. “Lenore.”

She started washing her hair instead of responding which was par for her course. If there was a more stubborn dverger alive than his wife, he’d rather not ever meet them.

“What will happen to the other clans?”

“Within the month, the other clan leaders are going to gather and vote to replace you without challenge. It will eventually be declared illegal by the International Judiciary, but the damage done to the position of chieftain will be insurmountable. Not a single one of them thinks they can defeat you in single combat and they also know that anyone that could defeat you wouldn’t challenge you begin with.

“They’ve discussed asking Bane Fireheart’s oldest nephew to stand as proxy in his place in challenge, but a bit of investigation has already confirmed that absolutely none of Brol Wildheart’s sons would willing challenge you, least of all the oldest. Cain Fury is far too loyal to you and to his own father. Brol’s loyalty to you is the reason he wasn’t made the clan leader in Paris, as you already know.”

“Yes, well, their father hated my guts because of you,” Ragnok said wryly and glanced over his wife as she started to wash her hair. “He never got over your very public rejection of his interest. He only married when he did because his own father required it and barely managed to father two children with his wife.”

Lenore made a face. “Herold Ironfist didn’t have a single hope of garnering my interest and I rejected him before I met you. The fact that he drank himself to death and pretended it was fading because of that rejection was never your fault. At least his younger son recognized that even if Bane does not.”

“I can’t fault Bane for his loyalty to his own father,” Ragnok said roughly. “But I regret what will happen after we’re gone.”

“Civil war is likely amongst the clans,” Lenore admitted and Ragnok grimaced. “But not guaranteed because the leaders might be willing to fight it out if you’re out of the way, but their people will balk at killing our own kind in what amounts to a power game. Most of those bastards think they’re in great positions of influence and have failed to recognize that in the current system they’re basically glorified administrators. They have no idea what it takes to manage the enclave system that protects the Horde.”

“It’s galling that I can’t….” Ragnok swallowed hard and leaned on the bathroom counter. “Oakenshield is offering us the kind of freedom we’ll never know on this world, Lenore. It feels deeply selfish to leave the rest of the Horde behind in the wake of knowing that. Moreover, considering the circumstances on Arda the more able-bodied dverger I can bring to the situation the safer we’ll all be.”

“The other leaders blame you for the ugly political situation developing between the Horde and the wizards,” Lenore said and used her wand to dry then braid her hair. She twisted the braid into a bun and focused on him. “Those bastards would kill us all—every single one of us no matter our age—to get their hands on the magic of Avalon. It is the key to a deeply magical circumstance they can see but cannot achieve on their own.”

“And the moment someone outside of our clan knows about my connection to Arda, I’ll be risking Hadrian and Avalon itself.”

“Yes,” Lenore said. “And the lives of the entire Horde because the wizards would attack en masse. There are honorable people amongst them, don’t get me wrong, but not a single one of them could stand against the selfish mob that is gathering in Britain and in other parts of the world. Had we to do it all over again, I would’ve closed the portal to Arda when Hadrian was a baby and left the wizards to fix their own problem.”

He nodded, because he agreed. “They didn’t deserve his time or the sacrifices he made when he was here. Lily Potter made the best decision she could’ve made for her son, and I’m ashamed to have not honored it the way I should’ve.”

“So, we’ll migrate—just our clan and leave the rest to the circumstances of their own making. The other clan leaders are only in positions of power in those clans because it’s allowed. I don’t know what it would take for Bane Fireheart to be replaced, Ragnok, and he’s the center of the discontent regarding your position as chieftain.”

“I’ve had over 200 applications for migration in the last two weeks,” Ragnok said roughly. “Do I reject them out of hand?”

“I’ll look at each application and make those decisions for you,” she said and he nodded. “I think the magic I’m already building will tell me who can be trusted and who can’t. Many of them are being influenced by that magic and are seeking to join us because…they no longer belong to this world. Arda is calling to them even if they don’t understand it.”

“And your mother?”

“I don’t think she’s robust enough to do well in the migration,” Lenore admitted. “But she wants to try so she will. I’ve already told her that she’ll not be participating in the ritual itself and she cursed me out. Though, she’s relieved to have migrated here after my brother’s death so she has no close relations in Rome to miss. Even if she still can’t stand you.”

Ragnok shrugged as she hooked her fingers into the front of his belt and pulled him close. “Fortunately, I’ve never let that bother me.” He cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. “But let me know how I can ease the burden of travel for her.”

“We just won’t tell her,” Lenore said in amusement but then she stilled in his arms, gaze going distant in a way he’d rarely seen outside of ritual circumstances.

“Wife?” Ragnok questioned gently.

She blinked and tears welled in her eyes. “Danger is gathering around us even as we stand here.”

“I’ll activate the war wards,” Ragnok murmured and she nodded. “How long do you think?”

“I don’t know—maybe just a few days. It’s very uncertain. We should increase the rate of preparations.”

“I’ll have to run four shifts for packing and resource gathering,” Ragnok said. “We can’t risk exhausting those doing the preservation magic by overworking them.”

“Yes, I’ll…go through the applications while you start that work,” Lenore said. “That feels very important.”

“How?”

“Maybe one of the dverger migrating is important to our success in either the migration or on Arda,” she said. “The whole situation feels very flimsy right now magically in way that is deeply uncomfortable.”

He started to move away from her, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him close. “What?”

“I knew the moment I set eyes on you that you were going to be my husband,” she said quietly. “I would’ve accepted no one but you—even if it meant spending my life alone. I know you’re worried that some part of me resents the situation we’re in now and what it might cost me when it comes to my mother, but you needn’t. I saw your destiny spread out before you the day we met and I’m honored to be part of it.”

He stared for a moment and cleared his throat. “Remind me later to throw you on the nearest surface and thank you properly for that.”

She grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I will.”

He gave her bare arse a little pat then went off to ruin people’s schedules for their own good.

The End

* * * *

“It’ll be fine,” Bilbo said.

Thorin looked up from his pile of belongings. The baroness had confiscated most of their clothes for the weekly cleaning, and his had been returned first because of the impending trip. “I’m not worried.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “You’ve folded all of your clothes four times.”

Thorin laughed and sat back on the bed they’d been sharing for several weeks. “There was a time when it would’ve taken me hours to fold all of my clothes…though I certainly wouldn’t have been asked to undertake such a task. It’s just another way that Smaug destroyed us. There were many in the mountain who didn’t have the skills to mine or work in the human villages. There were hundreds of jobs in the mountain that didn’t translate into a living outside of it.”

“Domestic work.”

“Yes, and we couldn’t risk our people in such situations, though honestly, there weren’t many humans who could’ve hired a staff to take care of their home. The public kitchens were open at all hours and always had a full staff. Miners worked in three shifts, and many craftsmen shared forges, so they worked in shifts.” Thorin paused when Bilbo nodded. “I don’t have enough people left to operate a mountain the size of Erebor, much less defend her.”

“You will with Ragnok’s people.”

“Yes,” Thorin agreed and took a deep breath. “I worry about the blending of the two groups into a strong clan. I trust your son, Bilbo, don’t doubt that, but all I really have is his word that I can have faith and trust in Ragnok.”

Bilbo nodded. “I trust that Harry wouldn’t bring a threat to your door on purpose. I also know that he would use his magic to defend you if Ragnok’s people prove to be untrustworthy. I think, though, that the fact you’re giving them a home in a world they don’t have to hide from anyone in a moment when they’re on the brink of destruction will work in your favor now and in the future. Harry blames himself for their predicament.”

“I know.” Thorin focused on his clothes. The trip to Erebor had been easy compared to what he’d expected, so nothing was in disrepair. Of course, everything had been a bit worn the first time he’d surrendered everything to cleaning, and it had come back to him looking new.

He was fond of the basilisk trousers, so he put those aside to wear and chose his best tunic. “I feel like I’m in a dream.” He flushed and glanced briefly at his lover, who didn’t look surprised at all.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time Harry got hurt?” Bilbo asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Was it a severe injury?”

“No, but he preferred to run instead of walking whenever it was possible. He fell and skinned both of his knees terribly on the road in front of Bag End. It was the first time he called me Ada—though he was screaming it. By the time I got him, half of my neighbors had come running as well. He kept begging me to fix it. Of course, I couldn’t fix it the way his mother had, but he didn’t understand. We did our best to calm him down and treat the wounds. I was really upset, of course, being a new parent.

“Later, he told me he was sorry. He was barely two years old, and he was apologizing to me for upsetting me.” Bilbo sighed. “He’s such a blessing, you know. I’ll never get the chance to meet his parents, but I feel like he’s a perfect combination of the two of them. Brave, strong, and with an amazing ability to sacrifice everything for the good of others.”

Thorin saw that. “His losses are immense, but he has you, and Fíli was right. You are an amazing father, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo blushed. “Shut up.” He huffed when Thorin laughed.

He tucked the Arkenstone into his pouch. The pact that had settled over the company made it difficult to even acknowledge mentally that it was a replica. It was a good indication that speaking of it would be impossible just as he’d been promised. “I should bathe and redo my braids.”

“Did you find the beads you were looking for?”

Thorin nodded. “They were still in the box on the table in my rooms. The box fell apart as soon as I opened it, but the beads were fine. Cleaning the mountain will be the work of months, even with magic.”

* * * *

Harry dropped down into Hermione’s library and wandered through the stacks until he found her sitting at a table with books spread out around her. He watched for a moment, charmed by her intensity. It was heartening that she’d relaxed so much that she didn’t notice him immediately. The war had made her hypervigilant. He wondered if she was still having nightmares. They hadn’t discussed it, and he’d tried pretty hard not to intrude on what little privacy she had.

Finally, he walked to the table and sat down in front of her. “Find something interesting?”

“Perhaps, I realized, when I was monitoring the shelving charm that I’d managed, in my genuinely insane shopping trip, to create the largest magical library to exist.” She paused. “At least in materials written by humans. Lenore mentioned that they were also creating a knowledge archive to bring with them. Plus, I’m looking forward to cleaning up Erebor’s library.”

“Ori mentioned that it was dusty but mostly undamaged,” Harry said.

“Yes, there’s…charm work in there,” Hermione said and closed the book in front of her. “Mostly rune-based, but absolutely fascinating. I’m going to dig in and figure out who messed with their magic, Harry. Saruman the White might have more to pay for than the curse.”

“Certainly,” Harry said. “I’m pretty sure he’s already aiding Sauron, and if that’s true, then he’s literally trying to drag a monster back into the living.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve made the portkey.”

“Did you want me to go with you?”

“No, well.” He paused. “Yes, actually, but that’s not a good use of your time. I’m trying hard not to be unreasonable, and also I want you here to make sure no one does anything genuinely crazy while I’m gone.”

She laughed. “It’ll be fine. No one can get within a kilometer of this tent right now without our permission. You’ve got stupidly strict wards up right now.”

“Yeah, well, my ada is in this tent,” Harry muttered. “Also, is this dimensional space within a dimensional space a good idea?”

“Not if either had been created by wizards,” Hermione said wryly. “I bought both from the bank. Dverger dimensional spaces are very robust, which is why I also use their spellcraft for nearly all of my dimensional work and why I pursued a mastery with Lenore. I wanted a genuine foundation of spell craft.”

“I don’t think I ever really had goals for my magical life after I…met my fate,” Harry admitted, and she frowned at him. “I just wanted to come home and wallow in the comfort of the Shire.” He paused. “And ignore my cousin Lobelia’s judgment.”

Hermione huffed. “There’s always one. I had a cousin who practically gloried in trying to ruin my day every chance she got. Part of me wishes that I’d cursed her before I left.”

“Is that not a waste of magic?”

“I think you underestimate the value of spite,” Hermione said, and propped her chin on her hand, then stared at him. “But maybe that’s okay. You have enough going on without taking on spite as a hobby.”

“Probably,” Harry agreed and took a deep breath. “I think…. Did I ever talk to you about how Hobbits reproduce?”

“Heartseeds,” Hermione said. “That they plant in the ground. I’m not gonna lie, I thought for weeks that you were messing with me.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t doubt it. The thing is that I think Ada has one.”

“Oh.” Her eyes went wide. “He’s not said.”

“No, it’s a private matter, especially if he doesn’t intend to plant a nursery,” Harry said quietly. “And I’m wondering if I’m part of the reason that he’s hesitating.”

“I think…he’s probably going through a whole process,” Hermione said. “He’s passed the age when most would plant, right?”

“Right.”

She nodded. “And the circumstances aren’t ideal as well. When is the planting season?”

“He’d plant in the summer, and the emergence would come the following spring. Though it might have be longer since the child would be half dwarf.” He took a deep breath. “I should let it alone, right?”

“For now,” she agreed. “He’s entitled to privacy certainly, and you only know because of your own magic.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You’ve told me this because you want me to keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry said and slouched down in the chair when she sighed. “He taught me to worry, you know.”

“I suppose there are worse things,” she said and shifted her books around before picking another title. “Are you worried about traveling with Thorin alone?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” she asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Well.” He shrugged. “I’m kind of stuck with him, right?”

She laughed, and Harry groaned. “Would you have any sort of problem with him at all if he weren’t sleeping with your father?”

“Probably not,” Harry muttered. “I’m gonna curse that dwarf bald if he hurts my ada’s feelings.”

“Probably should keep that threat to yourself,” Hermione said with a grin, and Harry groaned in the most exaggerated fashion he could muster.

* * * *

The portkey deposited them in an isolated spot of forest roughly a hundred feet from the well-traveled road that would lead them into the settlement. Hadrian said nothing as he stored the portkey in his bracelet. Thorin found himself at a loss for words—the trip hadn’t been, in his mind, much longer than the first one they’d taken using the magical device.

“I’d never want you to think for a moment that I take your abilities for granted,” Thorin said roughly. “Your father told us, early on, that many hobbits treat you like a source of entertainment.”

“It’s the least offensive thing they do,” Harry admitted. “And neither of us feels as if you’ve misused us. It’s honestly refreshing to be around people who don’t expect everything from me. The people from my original world were selfish and destructive. They saw me as a means to an end, and most of them didn’t even bother to pretend otherwise. I couldn’t trust most of them with my back, and that was never going to change. Hermione and…another witch I knew quite well were probably the only ones who ever bothered to learn anything real about me.”

“The other witch was special to you?”

Harry took a deep breath. “We were lovers if that’s what you’re asking, but she disappeared six months before the war ended. I found out that her father forced her to leave Britain for her own protection. I wasn’t…well. I could’ve loved her certainly, but she never really gave me a chance to. She told me once that she wouldn’t compete with what I felt for Hermione.” Harry cleared his throat. “Her name was Luna—she was sweet and prone to flights of whimsy that left me breathless. I sent her a letter a week or so after the war, but she never responded, so I don’t know if she’s okay or not. I asked Ragnok to check on her before he comes. I don’t know if he’ll have a chance to.”

“Perhaps a clean break was better for her,” Thorin said.

Harry hummed under his breath. “Why are we standing in the woods discussing my love life?”

Thorin laughed. “I suppose I’m stalling. None of this feels real to me, you know. I fear I’m going to wake up sleeping against a tree halfway between here and Erebor.”

“You have better dreams than I do, then.”

“War damages you,” Thorin acknowledged. “Even a battle where you are nothing but righteous can weigh on your mind for the rest of your life. I dreamt about Khazad-dûm for a decade.” He straightened his coat. “Let’s go then.” He turned to Harry. “You’re wearing all of your armor, correct?”

“Yes. Do you expect a fight?”

“No, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’ve not had a letter from my sister since we passed Bree, and none of the ravens I sent her were returned.”

Harry considered that and drew his staff. The emerald atop the magical focus glinted in the light falling through the trees from the morning sun. “After you.”

Thorin inclined his head and led the way. Halfway to the front gates, he wondered if he should’ve brought one of his nephews to placate his sister. She’d be much easier to deal with if she had proof that both of her sons were well. The moment the guards on the gates saw him, they started scrambling to open them for him. There were shouts from inside, and he figured that his sister would learn of his arrival far before he reached the main hall.

As it turned out, he’d no more than crossed the courtyard before his sister barreled out of the mountain proper in his direction. He caught her in a fierce hold. “Dís.”

“Thorin.” Her hands fisted in his hair, and she held on as she knocked her head against his. “Where are my boys? I’ll kill you if they’ve been hurt.”

“I swear they’re uninjured and currently in Erebor rebuilding the front gates to secure the mountain.” He put her down on the ground and tucked a thick braid behind her ear so he could see her face in full. “Smaug is dead.”

She gaped at him. “Thorin…how…what…you’ve not had enough time to get there and back, much less…what?”

“I had a little magical help,” Thorin said. “Sister, meet Hadrian Potter—he’s a magus and the son of the hobbit burglar we hired for the quest.”

Dís squinted at Thorin before she focused on Harry. “You’re…not a hobbit.”

“No, Your Highness, I’m not. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Harry offered her a short bow, and she flushed with a pleased smile.

“He’s thirty-two,” Thorin said under his breath.

She huffed and hip checked him. “I wasn’t….”

Thorin laughed. “You’ll get used to him. We have a lot to talk about, and I have announcements for the clan. We need a full assembly in the hall.”

* * * *

“You expect us to believe this nonsense?” Thuol demanded.

Thorin raised an eyebrow at the old dwarf. He was one of two members of his father’s old council who tried to throw his weight around the mountain as if he had power.

“Are you calling my brother a liar?” Dís questioned, a knife glinted in her hand, and she carefully cleaned one of her nails. “Why would he bother with such a thing?”

“To cover up yet another failure by the line of Durin to lead to his clan,” Thuol said evenly.

Dís laughed. “To what end? If he’s lied about anything he’s said, then it will be obvious in a matter of days when the wizard fails to produce the magic they’ve both said they can accomplish.”

Thuol glared at her. “I’m certainly not going to walk through some magical door. This whole conversation is ridiculous.”

Harry, who was lounging next to Thorin at the large table, flicked a box out of his bracelet. It expanded to full size as soon as he put it on the table, and he opened the box as the rest of the occupants of the hall stared in shock. Thorin barely refrained from grinning when the wizard proceeded to eat a sandwich. He passed one Thorin’s way and offered Dís one.

He watched his sister unwrap the food carefully and take a hesitant bite. She made a soft sound of surprise and took a healthy bite.

“What is this?”

“Chicken salad,” Harry said. He pulled out a teapot, filled it with water from his wand, and heated it with a spell. “Tea?” Dís nodded, so the wizard removed three cups from the box and set up tea for all three of them.

He pulled out another box. “The king told me that food would be filling but not particularly good for the time of the year due to slow trade, so I brought you all some supplies to last you while we handle the migration.” Two more boxes appeared. “Fresh meat, vegetables, flour, cornmeal, and my favorite oat for porridge. There is enough here to feed everyone in the mountain very well for a month, though I expect we’ll be ready to activate the gateway within two days.” He turned to Thuol. “And you can stay here for all that I care.”

Thorin looked around the hall. “Hoten—if you’d retrieve the food we’ve brought?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the dwarf in question said immediately. “How do I….”

“The boxes will stay that size until you’re ready to open them. Just put it on the floor and step back. It’ll resize to a large crate, which you can open as you’d open any other. Each crate has been spelled to store five times more than normal, and all the food will stay fresh as long as the lid is closed,” Harry explained.

Hoten nodded. “Interesting rune work, Master Wizard. I’d like to hear more about it later, if I could.” He retrieved all three crates. “I’ll have the afternoon meal ready within the hour for the community hall.”

“You’re just going to trust….” Thuol trailed off as Hoten turned to glare at him.

“I trust the king, and if you don’t, then you should certainly stay here.”

“He’s not the king,” Thuol exclaimed hotly. “Thráin is king!”

“My father has been missing for decades,” Thorin said evenly. “If you’d rather follow him than me, then I welcome you to take your leave of this mountain and never bring yourself near Erebor because on Durin’s Day I will be crowned King Under the Mountain, whether you like it or not.”

Thuol drew his sword. Before Thorin could stand, Harry apparated out of his seat and appeared in front of the dwarf—sword drawn. He tucked the tip of the long elven sword under the Thuol’s chin in the silence that followed his magical movement across the room.

“You draw your weapon when you mean harm,” Hadrian said evenly. “Tell me, do you mean someone in this room harm?”

Thuol stumbled back, and his sword fell from his hand. “How did you do that?”

“I’m really fucking magical,” Harry said evenly.

Dís snorted and picked up her tea. “I can see why you decided to keep him, brother.”

Thorin sighed. “Dís.”

Harry hooked the toe of his boot under Thuol’s sword, flipped it upward, and caught it. “You can pick this up from the guards after you’ve calmed down.” He tossed it toward one of the guards, and the dwarf caught it easily with a nod. He apparated back to his seat and picked up another sandwich. “As for me, Princess, your brother is shagging my Ada. It’s one of the more emotionally wounding circumstances of my life. You should see them—they’re like tweens with a first crush.”

Dís burst out laughing.

“This is ridiculous!” Thuol shouted. “He’s not offered a bit of proof that he’s even been to Erebor.”

Thorin glanced briefly at Hadrian, who’d gone back to eating. He reached into his mokeskin pouch and pulled out the Arkenstone. It was galling that it was required, but he knew that Thuol was voicing concerns most feared to speak. He put the stone down on the table in front of him, and every single dwarf in the room stopped moving. Dís took a ragged breath from her place beside him.

“Your proof,” Thorin said evenly. “Questions?”

Thuol’s eyes were wide as he stared at the stone. “How did you…how could you…the maia can’t do the kind of magic you’ve spoken of! Who is this demon?”

“That is a terrible thing to say about someone who could grind your body down to dust with a single spell,” Thorin responded. “My company was introduced to Hadrian by Tharkûn before we reached Mirkwood. Hadrian helped us reach Erebor using magic, and he helped us infiltrate the mountain to kill the dragon. In fact, he and his future wife used their combined magic to hold Smaug down so we could kill him. We didn’t suffer a single loss of life in that skirmish thanks to the sacrifices they both made to see it accomplished. I’ve already told you this once, and your lack of gratitude shames us all.”

Thuol’s gaze fell to the Arkenstone. “It’s difficult to believe.”

“You’re welcome to stay here. I’d not force anyone to come with me through the gateway.” Thorin stood and picked up the stone. He dropped into his pouch and turned to Harry, who was glaring at Thuol. “Lad?”

“I’m just trying to figure out which spell I could use to grind him down to dust.”

“Certainly that spell you used to cleave that one-ton slab of granite in half so we could shape the ward stones,” Thorin said and ignored the shocked sounds of the dwarrow around them. “Let’s find a place to set up the portal so you can refine your plan for it. Your father expects the other end to activate in the morning.”

* * * *

“He’s asleep?”

Thorin nodded. “As much as he’ll allow himself. He spent the better part of a year in war and, as a result, sleeps little. He also sleeps light.” He focused on his sister as he sat down in front of the small fireplace in the quarters he’d shared with her and his nephews for over a hundred years. “You’ve done your son no favors, Dís.”

She frowned and averted her gaze. “I suppose you mean Kíli? I couldn’t let him go on such a dangerous quest without knowing the truth. He deserved to know.”

“He deserved to know decades ago,” Thorin said evenly. “You told him on the day he left here—he had not even an hour to speak with his father. I trust Kael so much that I left him in charge of the mountain security in Dwalin’s absence. How could you think that I would have a problem….”

“There’s no body!” Dís shouted and took a deep breath as she glanced toward Fíli’s room, where they’d tucked away the wizard for sleep. “Thorin—Thráin could return. You’re king in spirit. I know why you refused a coronation repeatedly over the years because you hoped to have him returned to us. I hoped that as well, but I also…I came to hate him for not allowing me to have my One. I was a coward for giving in and marrying Víli when I never wanted him. I was relieved by his death and ashamed at the same time, but not so ashamed that I didn’t celebrate my freedom in the arms of the only dwarf I’ve ever loved.”

“I hope Kael knew long before….”

“He held Kíli when he was just days old, and we spoke several times about leaving, but there was nowhere we could go where he would be accepted due to his elf blood. Maybe we could’ve survived in one of the human towns, but Kael said that he preferred to watch you raise Kíli than to see him torn away from his heritage and birthright.”

“When we are settled in Erebor, Kael may claim his son,” Thorin said roughly. “And if you wish it, you can marry. I’ll not let anyone interfere. He is your One, and I hope that when our father met Mahal, he was soundly berated for his folly.”

“Thorin.”

He focused on his sister and found tears streaming down her face. “What?”

“You mean that? Truly?”

“I’d hope you know well enough to know I’d never be so cruel to jest about such a thing,” Thorin said gravely.

She wiped her face and smoothed down her beard with a deep breath. “Tell me about the dwarrow from Hadrian’s world?”

“They still have magic—full magic in some cases. They’ll bring the magical crafts back to our people, Dís. Hadrian believes that Kíli could undertake a mastery in Runic Magic.” He smiled when her eyes went comically wide. “And he promised to find a mentor for him among those immigrating here. They’re a true boon to our clan, and I can only hope that those of us who are left understand that.”

“You’re the king,” Dís said. “You’ve claimed these dwarrow from the other world as Longbeards. Let a single dwarf say otherwise—they’ll meet with my sword.” She paused. “And my dagger.” She frowned. “And whatever else I can pick up before I can get to them.”

Thorin burst out laughing. “I’ve missed you terribly, Sister.”

“I’m glad because I have a confession that will make the situation with Kíli seem very reasonable.” Dís clasped her hands together. “I signed a marriage contract for Fíli.”

Thorin’s mouth dropped open. “You what?” His stomach lurched in horror. “Dís, he has plans to court someone…how could you be so high-handed to take that from him! He deserves love even if he doesn’t have a One!”

She held up both hands in peace. “I had no choice, Thorin. She came to me two months after you left on the quest and swore on her life that she was carrying his child. If he denies her or the child, she’s prepared to take her own life, Thorin. That’s how certain she is.”

“Who is it?”

“Duma, daughter of Luma, of the Iron Hills.”

Thorin slumped in relief. “That little git.” He rubbed his face. “He knows better than to….”

“She didn’t think she could carry at all, Thorin,” Dís said wearily. “She was just…worried that he would go on the quest and die. I don’t know how he feels about her, but she loves him completely and without any kind of condition. She just wanted to have him with her at least once before he went off and got himself killed.”

“Fortunately for everyone involved, he confessed to me in Rivendell that he planned to court Duma upon the completion of the quest,” Thorin said roughly. “She’s six months heavy with child then.”

“Yes, just,” Dís took a deep breath. “She’s staying with a friend tonight, but she’s been living with me since I signed the contract on his behalf. You’ll need to go explain things to him before he sees her, Thorin. He needs to understand the consequences if he, for a moment, questions the parentage of her child. The pregnancy has made her delicate—she was quite ill for weeks early on and could barely leave the bed.”

“Go get her,” Thorin ordered and stood. “She belongs here with us—not sleeping on someone’s sofa like she has no home of her own.” He walked to Fíli’s room and wasn’t all that surprised to find Hadrian sitting on the side of the bed. The door to their chambers shut with a thud, indicating that Dís had done as instructed. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” Harry said and took a deep breath. “How do you think he’s going to take this?”

“I don’t know. He spent some of last week looking through the royal jewels to find an appropriate courting gift for his queen. To find out that his mother has circumvented all of that…he’s a romantic lad.”

Harry nodded. “Did you want me to confirm paternity?”

“Can you do that without her knowing?” Thorin asked. “It’s not a matter of trust but one of…I’d just prefer to be able to tell Fíli without a single doubt that she’s carrying his child so he can be fully prepared.”

“Because even if the child isn’t his—she’s his wife,” Harry said and stood. “Your marriage contracts aren’t…there is no divorce among your kind, correct?”

Thorin took a deep breath. “There are very strict circumstances that will allow for a marriage involving no children to be dissolved, but it’s considered quite shameful for both parties to reach that point. I can’t fault Dís for her actions because we could’ve died on the quest.”

“Gandalf fully expected all three of you to fall,” Harry said, and raised an eyebrow when Thorin paled. “It wasn’t what he wanted, but he does have a limited ability to see the consequences of various actions. Reclaiming Erebor is imperative to the security of the east. He’ll be after us to clean out the Grey Mountains next, and that is all to do with whatever he sees coming for Arda.”

The door opened behind Thorin, and Harry inclined his head when the dwarf held up a hand toward him. It wasn’t the kind of conversation they’d want to have in front of a young, pregnant dwarrowdam. Pregnancies among their kind were fraught with enough dangers without increasing her stress.

Thorin turned to face the two dwarrowdams. Duma was pale, and her eyes were wet with tears. “Relax, lass, I promise you that I’m not angry with you.”

Duma’s hands curled over her stomach. “It’s not his fault either—I have—I never expected to carry. My courses have never been timely, and my mother suffered the same way. She was lucky to get pregnant with me, and the healers didn’t expect her to survive to give birth.”

Dís led her to a chair. “Sit. It’ll be fine. If he’s angry with anyone, it’s me. I’m the one who insisted on a contract.”

“You were just ensuring legal issue for the line,” Duma whispered. “I understood.” She touched her marriage braid and the lovely beads there. “I just hope he….”

“He told me during our travels that he wanted to court you, lass,” Thorin said roughly. “In fact, he scoured most of the royal jewels in the treasure looking for a courting gift to start the process. His only worry was that you might have already given him up for dead and accepted a gesture from someone else in the months that he’s been gone.”

“I would never…not even if there was no babe,” she confessed, and her cheeks stained with a blush.

“Hadrian was trained as a healer on his world—he’s so gifted in the healing arts with magic that he earned a Mastery in the field,” Thorin said. “Dís said you’ve been sick. With your permission, he’ll use magic to make sure you and your child are well enough to travel through the gateway.”

“I trust you, Your Majesty,” she whispered and bit down on her lip as Harry picked up a chair near the table and brought it forward so he could sit near her. “Hello.”

“We haven’t met formally,” Harry said. “My name is Hadrian James Potter, but most of my friends call me Harry unless I’m doing something they find vexing or baffling. I was born on a world called Earth, and I’m a variant of human called a magus. The males of our species are called wizards, and the females are called witches. My first mastery is in Defensive Magic, and my second is in Healing Arts.

“I earned my second mastery with distinction, which means, on my world, that four different masters of the discipline declared me superior in that craft. My parents were named James and Lily, but I was adopted at the age of one by a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins. My mother used her magic to send me here to Arda for my own protection. I was raised in the Shire, which isn’t far from here.”

Duma nodded. “I’ve been there a few times as part of the trade caravans. I’ve heard the name Bilbo Baggins. He’s…important in the village of Hobbiton? I was told that he set the prices for trade for all of their food goods the year I was there.”

“His family is wealthy and well-educated. Amongst hobbits, it is the duty of those like my Ada to make sure that no one takes advantage of his people. It was a duty my father did for many years, but since he’s currently in Erebor, that job has passed to another who will be trained by the Dúnedain to handle trade matters.” Harry drew his wand. “This is a wand. It is a magical focus, much like a staff. I have a staff as well, but it’s not ideal for the kind of magic I’m about to do. This wand is made of holly wood, and in the core it has a phoenix feather.”

“What’s a phoenix?” Duma asked curiously.

“An immortal bird from my world.” He swished the wand, and magic formed above it and took shape. A golden bird appeared in the air surrounded by fire. “They’re creatures of pure magic, really—beacons for the light, though like anything else they can be corrupted.” He slashed his wand through the image, and the magic disappeared. “I’m going to perform a spell on you that will tell me your basic health first—then we’ll work through a series of spells to determine the health of your child.”

She bit down on her lip. “Can you use magic to confirm that Fíli is the father?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Is that a concern for you?”

“No, not at all. He’s the only dwarf I’ve ever known.” She blushed and averted her gaze. “But there are those in the clan who question it—never to my face, but things have been said. Not everyone was satisfied with the contract Amad presented to the clan.”

“You should’ve said something,” Dís admonished gently.

Duma grinned. “I think our numbers are quite small already, Amad. You shouldn’t go around killing the ones we have.”

Thorin laughed.

Harry pulled out a familiar red ledger. “This is the book I use to keep track of all of my current patients—which is the company, my witch, and my father.”

“What’s your witch’s name? Is she here, too?” Duma asked and bit down on her lip. “My apologies, I’m curious beyond any measure of it.”

“In that I think you and your husband are very well matched,” Harry admitted and grinned when she laughed. “Her name is Hermione, and she followed me from Earth. She’s currently in Erebor, bossing everyone around in the king’s absence.”

“And she’s magical like you?”

“She’s very magical,” Harry said as he opened the book to a new section. A quill appeared in his hand.

“Did you want me to take notes for you, lad?” Thorin asked. “I’ve watched Hermione do it often enough.”

“Yes, thank you.” He held out both items, and Thorin took them before retreating to the table. “Fill out all the information you have regarding her family line, and the rest can be filled in later.” He waited while Thorin wrote and cast the first spell when he finished.

The diagnostic was familiar enough, though Thorin still didn’t understand any of it. It looked like a jumbled mess of runes to him—familiar but not quite right.

“She’ll need the nutrient potion. We’ll set up a daily dose for her once she’s in Erebor. Vitamin D is very low.” Harry ended the charm and focused entirely on Duma. “Have you been experiencing extreme amounts of fatigue? Is it difficult to get up some mornings?”

“Yes, but I’m pregnant, and that’s normal, right?”

“No, lass, it’s not normal,” Harry said. “It’s a sign that your diet isn’t meeting your physical needs and your baby is leeching whatever nutrients you do take in. Is there any bone or muscle pain?”

“Quite a lot,” Duma admitted. “Is my baby being hurt by this? What do I have to eat?”

“Let’s check on the babe,” Harry said and performed another spell. “Do you desire to know the sex?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You can see that with magic?”

“Yes.”

“Please, I’d really love to know,” she admitted in a rush.

“A boy,” Harry said. “Very healthy—he’s soaking up everything you have in the way of nutrients. We’ll need to supplement you daily since he’s such a greedy little thing.”

Duma smiled. “A boy. I thought so—he’s really active like his father.” She patted her belly. “Can you confirm that now?”

“I’m going to perform a spell that I can do in front of people that will confirm the situation. It’s one I can use to confirm family relations in a very obvious way.” A soft blue light flowed out of his wand and enveloped her stomach. Two beams immediately shot out, one connecting her to Thorin and another to Dís. “The dark green line connected to the king declares that your child is his nephew, or in this case, great-nephew. The pink line connected to Dís proves that your child is her grandson. If Fíli were here, a red line would be touching him, indicating his paternity.” He directed the spell toward Thorin then, and the dwarf just raised an eyebrow at him as beams of light shot out of him in various directions.

“The orange lines are cousins,” Harry said with some amusement. “When the spell is directed at an adult, it is far more expansive in its connections. The gold line between the king and Dís indicates their sibling relationship.”

“And this little purple line touching you?” Thorin questioned as his fingers trailed through the magic that was connected to Hadrian.

“It appears that you’re in love with my Ada,” Harry said bluntly, and Thorin felt his face heat in a blush. “And it is returned to such a degree that your small magic has claimed me as a son. It’s purple because I’m adopted. If I performed this spell on Ada—he’d have a few hundred orange lines and a purple one to me.”

“Is she healthy enough to traverse the gateway?” Thorin questioned roughly in the hope that he could change the topic of conversation.

“It’ll be no different than walking through that doorway over there. It’s a very stable method of transportation from one location to another, but it’s complicated magic that can be difficult to maintain on a long-term basis. More so for the fact that it’s a security risk since the current gateway in Erebor is in the middle courtyard inside the gates of Erebor. I could set a more permanent connection outside of the mountain if you desired.”

“No, this mountain has little to nothing left to offer,” Thorin said roughly. “In another year, I’d have been searching for another abandoned mountain to take over that hadn’t been infiltrated by orcs.” He paused. “But perhaps if we could secret one away near Bree, we could use it for trade?”

“I’ll have a look around to see if I can’t find a location I can secure magically as much as possible,” Harry said. “I can handle long-distance trade until the situation is settled enough that we can focus on rebuilding.”

He performed several more spells, rattled off details that Thorin had expected to receive first, and eventually, the wizard had retrieved the book and made several long notes regarding the pregnancy and future treatments. Then he’d stored the book and focused on Duma.

“We should discuss the birth. Have you been visiting a midwife?”

“Yes, but….” Duma took a deep breath. “I don’t like her. She has a daughter my age that she hoped that Fíli would match with. Gwin isn’t unkind to me to my face, but she’s made several comments when she didn’t know I was around about me trapping the prince into marrying me.” She rolled her eyes. “Like Fíli was some virtuous young dwarf saving himself for marriage.”

Thorin snorted. His oldest nephew was actually quite known for his inability to keep himself to himself.

“We have four months to make the decision, and there are several healers coming from Earth that specialize in childbirth.”

“Would you….” Her hands curled into her dress. “The king trusts you.”

“I would certainly be with you during the birth if that’s what you want, but I hope by the time we reach that point that you’ll trust my judgment regarding a midwife,” Harry said. “I’ve assisted in the births of over a hundred dwarrow children on Earth but never on my own. You’re very stressed and upset.”

“What if Fíli….” She bit down on her lip and shook her head. “I’m just borrowing disappointment.”

“Certainly,” Dís said and patted her shoulder. “Fíli will be thrilled once he calms down. A child is a gift.”

* * * * *

He’d made the gateway large enough to bring a wagon through to facilitate the move. They’d emptied out the training yard to construct it. Harry had placed the intent charms first and watched as a handful of dwarrow were pushed away from the yard. Once those were in place, he felt more comfortable turning his back on the entrance so he could set the gateway. Thorin and Dís were coming and going from the place as they worked with the populace, and in a show of trust, they’d left a single bench in the courtyard, which Duma was sitting on. She had a lapful of baby belly and a knitting project. Dark blue yarn was the main source of material for her project. Durin blue, Harry thought, when he’d seen it.

He fed her every time he ate since he didn’t have the potions needed to treat her, and with her permission, he’d tethered a monitoring charm to her so his magic could monitor her health. Putting the runes down for the gateway was easy enough since he’d done the real work in Erebor. He decided not to use any sort of magic that might be left in the Blue Mountains, which had simplified the process for his current task.

Harry set the final rune and drew his staff to cast the spell. He set the end of his staff on the large granite stone he’d set and pushed with his magic. The gateway sprang up between one stone and another like a magical rainbow.

“For the love of Mahal,” Duma exclaimed, and the two guards that were near the entryway turned to stare at them. “Is that….”

Harry offered her a grin and sent his Patronus through the gateway. Almost instantly, Hermione was stepping through. She had her wand drawn.

“How was the trip?”

“Very smooth,” Hermione reported and stored her wand. He noted that she was wearing her armor and had her sword strapped to her back. “The mountain gave a little shake when the connection was made. I’m not sure if it would’ve been felt in Lake-town or not.”

“The wards on the mountain will keep the humans back regardless,” Harry said and stored his staff just as Thorin entered the courtyard with Dís. “As you can see, Your Majesty, the gateway is stable and ready for travel.” He turned to Dís. “Your Highness, allow me to introduce Hermione Jane Dagworth-Granger, the Baroness of Raven. She’s agreed to marry me, eventually.”

Dís stepped forward, offering both hands. “Well met, Hermione. I’ve been told how you were instrumental in the recovery of Erebor. I’m personally glad that those idiots had a stabilizing female influence on the trip.”

Hermione laughed and accepted Dís’ hands in greeting. “Well met, Your Highness. I’m here to help you all pack.” She turned to Harry. “I’ll need you to harvest some wood to make temporary crates.”

Thorin cleared his throat. “If you’d both stay here with Dís and Duma until I’ve returned with Fíli, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Harry said and motioned Hermione toward the bench where Duma was still sitting. “Allow me to introduce you to Fíli’s wife. He doesn’t know, yet.”

Duma offered a cheerful wave.

Hermione shared a wide-eyed glance with him before marching off to meet Duma. “Oh, you’re really pregnant.” She sat down on the bench. “Harry, have you….”

“Of course.” Harry pulled the book and offered it to her. “I’ve set all the potions I think she’ll need, but she’s not in terrible health for the situation.”

“I just step through?” Thorin questioned, and Harry walked back over to the dwarf king.

“Yes, but try to keep some of them on that side of the gateway for security’s sake,” Harry said, and Thorin nodded.

“Dwalin, Balin, and Dori, Nori, and Ori will stay as they have no immediate family in the settlement,” Thorin said.

Harry watched Thorin step through the gateway, then turned just as a red-headed dwarrowdam entered the courtyard.

“Emali,” Dís said under her breath. “Wife of Glóin.”

“I recognize her from her portrait, actually,” Harry admitted.

“My husband is coming through that?” Emali demanded as soon as she reached him.

“Shortly, I would assume, considering how vehemently he argued that he should come with me instead of the king.”

Emali huffed. “The guards would’ve never let you build such a thing in this mountain without the king’s permission.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at the gateway. She didn’t have to wait long; Glóin trotted through in short order.

Harry laughed and joined Duma on the bench. The dwarrowdam was frowning at an empty potion vial. “What?”

“That tasted terrible,” Duma exclaimed.

“Sorry, but you need it for the baby,” Harry said. “We’ll tailor a potion to your needs specifically, but there is no way around it if you want to stay on your feet for the next four months and deliver a healthy child.”

“Okay.” Duma made another face but handed the vial back to Hermione. “I’m grateful for your help, even if it is disgusting.”

“There are worse potions,” Harry confided. “Just don’t ever break a bone. The potion for fixing that is nothing short of warm goat shite.”

Hermione laughed. “Harry Potter.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged.

“You know I can’t,” Hermione exclaimed in exasperation. “The only thing worse than Skel-Gro is probably polyjuice.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Harry said and would’ve complained some more about Skel-Gro, but Fíli had just stumbled through the gateway, pale as a ghost. “Right, let’s give them some sort of privacy.” He offered Hermione his hand, and she took it with a small smile toward Duma.

He took Hermione across the courtyard to the other side of the gateway to keep an eye on everything and to also keep track of how many of the company were on the Erebor side of the gateway.

Fíli was, when Harry looked that way, on his knees holding both of Duma’s hands speaking in an urgent way that spoke to the only kind of apology a man could make in such circumstances.

“They’re adorable,” Hermione said with a small smile. “I should go back to the tent and start working on her potions. So go get my trees. Try not to get them all from the same place. There’s no need to destroy anything’s habitat.”

“Bossy,” Harry murmured and pressed a quick kiss against her temple.

* * * *

In the end, they made five hundred crates each for the migration that were expanded on the inside to be as large as they needed. Dís was instrumental in distributing the crates after they were made. Hermione had gone back through the gateway with Duma and Fíli after she’d finished the crate project. Harry spent most of his time in the courtyard, monitoring the gateway and ensuring that the magic stayed stable. He was proud of the construction, and his biggest concern eventually came from keeping dwarflings from darting back and forth through the gateways as if it were a game.

The king stayed with him more often than not, taking note of the adults who were dissuaded from going anywhere near the gateway. It didn’t surprise either of them that Thuol could barely enter the courtyard at all. The elderly dwarf was openly hostile regarding the migration and how the rest of the clan had embraced the magical transportation. There were three others—two males and a dwarrowdam who appeared only hostile with Dís rather than Thorin himself.

Thorin called a meeting with Dís and the four people who couldn’t get past the intent charms. Balin had returned from Erebor to witness the meeting as the King’s Advisor—an official position that had left Thuol foaming at the mouth in fury.

They all sat, and Thorin cleared his throat when Thuol started to speak first.

“You’re all here because you won’t be migrating to Erebor with the rest of us,” Thorin said plainly. “All of you have been refused entry by the magic of the gateway. It’s been spelled specifically to prevent those who are not loyal to the royal family from entering. You should know that this same magic is also on the mountain itself.”

“What bloody right do you have to do such a thing?” Thuol demanded, but he was glaring pointedly at Harry.

“I did as the king instructed,” Harry said mildly. “I’ve secured the gateway, and I’ve secured the mountain to protect the clan and the ruling family from sedition. If you can’t be loyal to Thorin Oakenshield, then you have no business trying to live in his mountain.” He tapped an herbal out of his case, and the cigarette lit in his hand with a flash of fire.

“I know exactly why Thuol is unprepared to follow me,” Thorin said, and he focused on the dwarrowdam. “Why is the gateway turning you away?”

The female averted her gaze, but not before she glared pointedly at Dís. Harry noted with some amusement that the princess didn’t seem to give a fuck. She was relaxed back in her chair with a cup of tea.

“Yaf,” Thorin said sharply, and the dwarrowdam focused on him. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

Yaf’s nostrils flared with fury, and her lips whitened under pressure before she leaned forward slightly. “Your sister has interfered four times with my daughter’s attempts to court Prince Kíli. She insults me and my line with her unseemly behavior. She uses her social station to mistreat any single female who goes near her youngest son.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “My nephew, Kíli, prefers males exclusively. This has been announced, Yaf. He has no interest in a dwarrowdam for any single reason whatsoever. I made it clear to him when he was just fifty that I would not expect him to seek out a female for marriage. As it stands, his brother has already provided an heir for the line of Durin. If Dís has interfered, it was merely to save her son from an awkward and embarrassing situation where he would be forced to reject your daughter or any other that might come along who has no respect for his preference.”

“He should be made to do his duty to the line!” Yaf snapped.

“I thought rape was a crime on par with murder amongst the dwarrow,” Harry said idly as he smoked.

Yaf jerked back as if he’d slapped her. “What are you saying?”

“What is a forced marriage but rape sanctioned by both family and society?” Harry asked. “Your daughter’s wants appear to be so important to you that you’re willing to subjugate another in a marriage he has no desire for. What other decisions would you like to make on behalf of a Prince of Erebor?”

The dwarrowdam paled. “My daughter and I will join the annual trade caravan headed to the Iron Hills. If we leave tomorrow, we’ll meet with them before they leave Harlond.”

Thorin watched her rush from the room before he focused on the two that remained. Rhon and Lhon were brothers. Their father had perished in Erebor the day that Smaug had come to the mountain. They were much older than Thorin, merchants by trade, and prone to drinking. They’d managed to avoid the Battle of Azanulbizar and were considered cowards for it.

“Do you distrust the magic of the gateway, or does your disdain for my grandfather continue to taint your opinions of the line of Durin?” Thorin asked.

“Thror brought that bloody dragon to the mountain with his greed and madness,” Rhon said. “Now you’d have us return to it and watch you fall to the curse of your line. You’re all corrupt, mad, and our clan would be better served in the hands of others. Durin himself is cursed to live over and over again. If you had an ounce of honor in you, you’d step down and take your cursed family away from the rest of us.”

“I was going to suggest that you undertake the trip to Erebor in the hopes that the trip itself would change your opinion,” Thorin said carefully. “But I won’t. Neither of you is welcome in Erebor—not as long as the line of Durin has the throne. You can stay here and rot for all I care.”

“And me?” Thuol demanded.

“You’ll be given enough gold for a pony and supplies,” Thorin said. “You can travel wherever you’d like, but if you come to Erebor, you’ll be turned away by the same magic that is refusing to allow you to migrate with us unless you’re prepared to accept that Thráin is no longer the king. Perhaps you don’t know if you can accept the future direction of the clan. I’m sure you’d be welcomed in the Iron Hills if that is the case.”

* * * *

Harry summoned the carcass of the large boar, wrapped it in a stasis spell, and dropped it into the trunk that was opened on his left. The forest around the Blue Mountains was rich with game, so he’d been hunting every day since their arrival. The guards were currently scouring the mountain to make sure no one had been left behind. In the end, everyone who could enter the gateway had agreed to go, and the rest had departed.

He closed the trunk, shrank it, and picked it up. Harry apparated back to the courtyard and stepped through the gateway. The main hall was bustling with activity, and Hermione was on the opposite side of the arena size room from the gateway. He resized the trunk and placed it in the area Bombur had set up for food preparation. He was offered a few cheerful waves. The staff that Bombur had assembled for feeding everyone was working well and was quite used to Harry arriving with a trunk of some sort of food.

Harry made his way across the central floor area and came to a stop next to Hermione, who was supervising the sewing of canvas tents. She’d produced a pattern in short order, and everyone who could handle a needle had been conscripted into the project. He knew so far she’d managed to produce over a hundred tents. He’d been tasked with adding the enchantment spells to the tents to create temporary households for everyone. Though several large tents had been created already to house those without extended families into a series of nicely equipped barracks. He’d made sure to include full bathing and toilet facilities in each tent to avoid any health issues that could arise with a large group if there are problems with general hygiene.

“Hey.”

Harry glanced around them. “How are things going?”

“Very well,” Hermione said. “Due to the small size and their talent in putting the design together, we’ll be averaging about a hundred tents a day. Of course, my ability to enchant can’t keep pace with their production. Are you finished in the Blue Mountains?”

“Yes, we’re doing a final check, but Balin has taken a head count and is certain everyone, but the four teams of guards we have searching, is accounted for. I’ll go close the gateway shortly, and after lunch, I’ll be able to start enchanting with you. Do I need to redo any of the comfort spells in this room in the meantime?”

“No, everything seems to be working very well. I had to reset the smoke-eating charms early this morning, but that’s not a surprise considering how many fires we have going to keep the room temperature up.” Hermione accepted a stack of tents she was offered by Ori and took them over to her own work table. “Thank you, Ori. Make sure everyone gets a lunch break, please.”

Harry followed and dropped down in the chair beside her. They had to put fortification spells on the tents before they did anything else, so he split the stack with her and did his part until Kíli trotted up the table and told him they were ready for him to close the gateway.

“Did you want me to go with you?” Hermione questioned.

“I’ve already made my portkey to return here. I have to make a quick stop in the Shire to pick up the grain I’ve ordered on behalf of the mountain. Plus, I need to deliver the trade agreement to the Thain.”

“Do you think they’ll try to keep you for long?”

“No, love, he knows I’m very busy helping to prepare the mountain for it to be lived in. Plus, I want to fortify the front gates and do a little recon to make sure no one has noticed our activity.”

Her mouth quirked. “You do realize, of course, that there isn’t a force on this world that could push through your wards, right?”

“I’m not sure of that,” Harry said. “And our wards are designed to….” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what kind of magic remains in orcs. I don’t know the structure of their minds. I can’t be certain that intent charms will keep them back entirely. This magic was designed by humans to work on other humans and, of course, the dverger as well. The orcs are corrupted elves. House elves on Earth might have descended from some form of high elf, though clearly not a version of elves we have here. Remember those lessons?”

“Yes,” Hermione bit down on her lip. “Harry, house elves were able to ignore wards of all sorts like they weren’t even there.”

“Right.”

“Oh, that’s frustrating as fuck,” Hermione said. “Let’s go kill all those things right now. What if they can get through your wards on the Shire?”

“Those wards are designed to hide the Shire from anyone with ill intent. I couldn’t very well hide this mountain. The Shire already had a few natural defenses that I used to settle the ward, and there is fey magic there that I tapped into as well. Though I will be notified if anything manages to find the Shire and push through the protection and I’ll go there and make whatever it is really regret its stupid actions for the very short time I let it live.”

Hermione laughed. “Don’t dally.”

* * * *

Dís and Thorin were near the gateway when he stepped back through to the Blue Mountains. In the week since the migration had started, Dís had traveled to Erebor just once to get Duma settled before she’d come back. She’d supervised the packing and moving of the entire clan without much rest at all. The siblings were seated on the single bench that was still in the small courtyard.

“Is something wrong?”

Thorin shook his head.

“It’s overwhelming,” Dís admitted. “I’ve spent so many years here that it’s difficult to really believe that we can return home.”

The guard team that Dwalin was leading stood just a few feet away from Thorin and Dís. Harry shared a look with him and walked across the courtyard. He stopped at the closed doors of the mountain. There was a large lock clamped on the doors.

“Problem, lad?” Dwalin asked.

“I was going to perform a spell to check to make sure everyone is out,” Harry admitted.

“We’ve sent a raven with the key to Lord Vasig of the Firebeard clan, as they have the nearest settlement in the Blue Mountains to this hall.”

Harry nodded and glanced back into the courtyard. Thorin was tugging his sister through the gateway. He watched them leave and gave Dwalin a nod as he directed the remaining guards through the gateway. Harry waited until the runes deactivated to ensure that the travel was complete, then he drew his staff. He ended the gateway spell and summoned the anchor stones.

He glanced around once more, letting his magic spread out a little, but found nothing out of place. He apparated to be Bag End as was his habit when he entered the Shire. After checking over the smial, he apparated to the Great Smials. Fortunately, from his point of view, the Thain wasn’t at home, so he left the trade offer with his assistant, picked up his grain, and activated the portkey that would take him back to Erebor.

Harry landed in the tent, which was empty, so he took the grain to Bombur. He was given a bowl of stew for his trouble, which he gladly took in trade, before heading off to sit with Hermione, who was back at her work table.

“Did you eat?”

“Two bowls,” Hermione said, and rubbed the back of her neck. “Get everything accomplished?”

“I really hope so. I’m exhausted.”

“Then you should head to bed early,” Hermione said and glanced up from her work. “You don’t look well, at all, actually.”

“The magic in their former halls is dying,” Harry said roughly. “It’s probably been in a death spiral of sorts for several hundred years. It was difficult to sleep there as a result.”

“Ragnok needs you fully rested when you activate the portkey platform,” Hermione said, and sighed when he responded by shoving food into his mouth. “Harry.”

“I’ll sleep, I promise. I’ve just missed you as well. I’m kind of out of the loop on this end of things, so tell me what you’ve been up to while I was west.”

“I added everyone’s family to the company tent, which meant some of us lost individual rooms. Bombur has six kids. Did you know that?”

“I think he mentioned it on the road,” Harry admitted. “Who doubled up?”

“The king and your Ada were first. I was going to make Kíli and Fíli share until Duma’s arrival. Gimli and Kíli are sharing instead. Bombur’s children are in one room, and I activated the barracks spell on the beds in there. They’re thrilled with the bunk beds.” She pursed her lips. “I gave Dís my room, and I moved in with you.”

He raised an eyebrow because they’d yet to share a bed as lovers. The set of her shoulders was tense, so he just nodded and left it at that. The last thing he wanted was to pressure her for intimacy before she was ready, and he hoped that was clear to her. There were too many people around pretending they weren’t listening to have a full discussion.

“The tent originally was designed to sleep twenty.”

“Yeah, with two rooms set up like barracks,” Hermione reminded. “I didn’t want to give up the work room or the dueling room, so there was some rearrangement. I think everything’s settled. The expansion charm is taxed on that tent, so we can’t add any more space to it. I can build another, but I hope we can make do until we can get enough of the rooms clear in the mountain to have proper quarters.”

Harry finished his stew as he considered that. “I’m sure the king has a plan for that.”

“He does, yes, but we suspect we’ll spend upwards of six months in this room in tents because safety has come first, and we don’t know how much damage the dragon did to the structures deep in the mountain. Beyond cleaning, there is repair and inspections. Plus, the arrival of the dverger from Earth will cause a fair bit of adjustment and stress.”

Harry found the whole idea exhausting, but he’d made a commitment to see Ragnok’s people settled on Arda, so he pushed all of that aside. He was tired and still hungry. He glanced toward the kitchen area but judged it too far to walk. He set aside his bowl with a pout and slouched in the chair to watch Hermione work. She was the efficient sort, so she’d set herself up a little routine that he found amusing to watch.

“I’d know that pout at a league.”

Harry turned and found his ada standing beside him. “Hey, how are things going?”

Bilbo offered him a bowl of stew. “Very well, I should think. The guards report there’s been no movement from Mirkwood or Lake-town to indicate that anyone in the region has realized we’re here and the dragon is not. You look hungry.”

“I’m starving,” Harry admitted and took the bowl. “Thanks, Ada.”

Bilbo took the empty bowl and patted his son on the shoulder before sharing a look with Hermione that looked like pure conspiracy to Harry. He waited until his father had meandered back toward the kitchen before focusing on his witch.

“What are you two up to?”

She raised one fine brown eyebrow at him, and Harry tried to frown at her, but it was hard because deep down he was still so amazed that she’d given up her entire world for him. He couldn’t say that others hadn’t sacrificed just as much in the past for him. James and Lily Potter had died so that he could live and be safe. His ada had sacrificed as well—giving up a young, blossoming love in favor of adopting a child that no one in the Shire understood and most feared.

But Hermione had given up her whole world for him and a life on Arda that she really wasn’t prepared for.

“Tomorrow is your day off,” Hermione declared. “We’ve all decided.”

“I have a fuckton of work to do.”

“That’s not a real word,” Hermione said crossly. “Not in any single language you know.” Harry laughed. “And you need the break, both mentally and magically. So, unless something immensely terrible happens, you’re going to sit around and smoke those ghastly herbals of yours.”

“You’re working very hard yourself.”

“Yes, but I’m also getting eight hours of solid, restful sleep, and you haven’t had that since we both passed out from exhaustion after the dragon thing.” She waved a hand. “So, you’re sleeping, eating, smoking, and that’s it, Harry Potter, for the next twenty-four hours at least.”

Harry found the idea kind of amazing, so he just nodded and went back to his stew, which was fantastic. “Is Ada eating well? You’ve kept a watch?”

“Yes, but I didn’t need to. Bombur takes your Ada’s dietary needs very seriously. Honestly, we should probably start lessons on small magic and how to maintain a healthy relationship with your magical core. They all could use it, and it would probably benefit them when it comes to their craft and general emotional welfare.”

She paused and frowned. “One of the stone masons who was working on the front gates came to me yesterday because Bofur noticed he was stumbling around on his feet. He was magically exhausted, Harry. He had no idea, of course, that he was even capable of such a thing since they know nothing about their small magic. I gave him a pepper-up potion and ordered him to rest for no less than a day before resuming work.

“I spoke with Bifur, who is in charge of the project, and outlined what kind of humane schedule he could maintain for his craftsmen to keep their small magic healthy. He immediately put it into practice.”

Harry nodded. “I wonder how many dwarrow over the years have burned their magic out without ever knowing they had it because of the lack of knowledge and the way magic barely moves on this world.”

“There’s honestly no telling,” Hermione murmured and frowned. “So, we have to teach them. Ori is going to start a research project to try to figure out when their knowledge of magic began to disappear.”

“Have you discussed your theory about outside interference?”

“Yes, of course. Ori is a great researcher and, like every dverger I’ve ever met, he works best with as much information as possible.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Dwarrow.”

“It’s a learning curve, right?”

She nodded. “More so for me, I would suppose, but I wouldn’t want to insult anyone. Though I don’t think any would be insulted unduly, as the word dverger actually means dwarf or dwarves.”

“You’ll rest as well,” Harry prodded.

“Yeah,” she said with a quick smile. “Of course.”

He retreated to the tent after watching her for another few minutes and slouched down on the sofa near the fireplace. Emali, Glóin’s wife, appeared in front of him and put her hands on her hips. Harry stared for a moment, oddly intimidated, and that was practically foreign to him.

“Did you eat?”

“Two bowls of stew,” he reported and yawned.

“Glóin explained to me that when you’re tired, you can damage your magic,” she said pointedly.

“It’s possible, but I’m not specifically magically exhausted. The migration magic was static after it was cast.”

“I noticed how it worked,” she said and continued to stare. “But you had to deal with a bit of stress as well, correct? Traveling with the king and keeping us all safe while we traveled through that gateway.”

He started to speak, and she sat right down. Harry realized at that point that he was genuinely cornered. He considered signaling Hermione through her dimensional store. Surely she’d come to rescue him.

“The responsibility for the lives of others should never be…casual,” he finally said. “I mostly worried about the children. They’re little chaotic movements in the magical fabric of this world, and more magical than any of the adults. They’ve not been…worn thin by the circumstances.”

“I see.”

He thought she did, and that was sad. “You were told that I’m a healer.”

“Yes.”

Harry nodded. “Is there anything you’d want to discuss with me in private?”

She stared for a moment and shook her head. “Do you know the others that are coming well?”

“Chieftain Ragnok’s people sheltered me and prepared me for war,” Harry said because he figured there was no need to deflect the topic. Drarrowdams like Emali were key to the clan’s full integration. “They’re honest in their crafts—magic or not. I believe that the Longbeards will find true kinship with them if we are patient and thoughtful with the integration. It won’t be easy, but the rewards are obvious.”

“They’ll outnumber us.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “They’re going to take a knee for Thorin Oakenshield as dverger and rise as Longbeards. That is the nature of magical oaths, and they’ve all agreed to do it.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “Truly.”

“Truly,” he assured. “Ask yourself—what would you do and give freely for freedom for yourself and those that you love, because every single one of them did ask that question. They answered it with agreement to come here.” He waved a hand. “Even with orcs and Sauron potentially looming in the distance.”

She nodded. “Thank you for speaking with me, Master Potter.” She paused and frowned. “Go rest before I tell on you.”

“I’m surrounded by genuinely bossy people,” Harry muttered, but went to his room and slouched down on the bed after he pulled off his boots.

Hermione had tucked a trunk near the back of the room next to his own, and that was the only indication that she’d be sharing the space with him. It felt like trust and a good step in the right direction for their relationship. But also, he figured he had some work to do on that front since they were both just meandering toward the future on a series of assumptions they’d yet to fully discuss.

After a few long moments, he got up to undress and put on some pajamas. Well, he put on the bottoms, crawled under the covers, and went to sleep between one breath and the next.

* * * *

Thorin took a deep breath and put his bag down on the bench at the end of the bed. They’d basically been sharing a room for weeks, so the move that had taken place while he was in the Blue Mountains wasn’t unwelcome. He shed his coat and tucked it away in the closet, as Bilbo always gave him little looks if he left his stuff lying around. He didn’t mind it much, as he knew he should be more careful with such things.

“Took a team effort, but Harry’s down to sleep,” Bilbo said as he pulled the door shut behind him. “Apparently, Emali is intimidating. Something to keep in mind for the future.”

“Good. He looked exhausted,” Thorin murmured. “He doesn’t really know how to stop.”

“No, he’s always been full tilt,” Bilbo said and took a deep breath. “I should’ve asked you about sharing a room.”

“It’s more than fine,” Thorin said and wondered if he should mention the magical connection that Hadrian found with the family spell. Then pushed it aside because he wasn’t even sure what to do with it and didn’t know if he could handle a heavy conversation.

“Something wrong? Did you and Harry get along?”

“He was very supportive,” Thorin said. “Helpful, as always.” He sat down on the bench, took off his boots, and exhaled slowly.

“Is something wrong?” Bilbo questioned as he scooted up onto the bench beside him.

“I’m relieved,” Thorin murmured. “We’re home, but it’s…like a dream.”

“A very good dream,” Bilbo said. “After years of nightmares.”

“There were good times.” He cleared his throat. “But yes, things were hard, and often I was made to make choices that I didn’t want to make. We made sacrifices that felt reasonable at the time but are appalling in retrospect.”

“In the Shire, there was a hard winter,” Bilbo said. “Eventually, it would be called the Fell Winter. Winter came so early that year, and our crops were sparse or outright destroyed. We had food stores, but not enough. Rationing was difficult, and my parents fed me first, then themselves. Sometimes, they went whole days without eating at all. Eventually, orcs and wargs crossed over the frozen rivers. I was just twenty-four, quite young by Hobbit standards.”

“Extremely young by our standards,” Thorin said roughly. “The age of majority for dwarrow is seventy.”

“Thirty-three in the Shire,” Bilbo said. “The Fell Winter killed my parents—even if it took years. It killed many in the Shire slowly and surely for years afterward. I was young but not so young that I don’t have very vivid memories of it.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to do with myself after they died, one after another, like I didn’t matter…. I mean, I know that’s not what it was. But that’s how I felt at the time.”

“Wounded and alone,” Thorin said quietly and offered Bilbo his hand. “I understand. Grief isn’t rational, and it lingers on you forever. I kept waiting for it to change—the loss of Erebor, my parents, and my brother.”

“And your identity,” Bilbo said, and Thorin took a deep breath. “When do you suppose you stopped seeing yourself as the Crown Prince of Erebor?”

It hurt to think about, but he wanted to be honest with them both about it. “Realistically, Smaug took that from me the very day he invaded Erebor, but I believe the last of that ideology was stripped away from me somewhere between here and the Blue Mountains. We buried so many, left so many here in this mountain to rot where they fell. The bones...gods, the bones.” He shuddered, and Bilbo took a deep breath. “But not enough bones, and I know it. I hate to think about what happened to their bodies.”

“We’ll….” Bilbo exhaled slowly. “I have no idea what to say to that. Harry might be able to use magic to link remains…the bones to family lines. Then we can place them in the memorial cairns deep in the mountain.”

Thorin considered that and nodded slowly. “Is it better to know or not?”

“Better to know,” Bilbo said firmly. “Even if it takes months to sort all of the remains left behind, even if there are only bone fragments left. Everyone who died in this mountain deserves a proper rest.”

“Proper rest,” Thorin said, then pulled Bilbo close. He took a deep breath against the Hobbit’s hair. “You have more heart than anyone I’ve ever known, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It is the best thing I’ve ever known,” Thorin confessed and closed his eyes as he let the grief his people settle differently on his shoulders. “I thought to die for my people.”

“And now?”

“I will live for them.”

The End

* * * * *

“I could interfere,” Armand offered and Harry shook his head. “I might be retired but there are people all over this planet that will take a knee, if I have a need.”

Harry laughed a little. Armand Deering had recruited him to the Magical Protectorate straight out of the three-year mastery course he’d been taking at the International Academy of Magic. He’d had a lot of offers from all over the world, but none had appealed more than the mission that Protectorate offered. He couldn’t see how it ever could.

“It isn’t like anyone in Britain can make me do anything, Armand,” Harry said quietly. “One day Albus Dumbledore is going to realize his biggest mistake in life was allowing me to live to adulthood.”

“You think him so irredeemable that he would’ve murdered you as a child if he’d known he’d never control you?” Armand questioned.

“Yes.”

The older man exhaled slowly, pulled out his herbal case and tapped a cigarillo against the surface of the table between them before he lit it. Harry took one when it was offered despite the fact that he had his own and preferred the blend he purchased from the dverger versus the one that Armand got from a human apothecary.

“And those sons of bitches in Britain let him around their children,” Armand muttered. “I’ll always be grateful for the fact that Patrice insisted my boys be educated here in France.”

“Where are Walker and Quintin?”

“Carrying Patrice’s stuff,” Armand said and shrugged. “She wanted to go shopping in New York, so I told them go with her and make sure she gets everything she wants.” He frowned and took a long drag off the herbal. “I need to ask them to increase the calming potion in my blend.”

“Patrice decided you were at your max, right?” Harry questioned and grinned when Armand sent him a baleful look.

“My lovely wife has no idea how hard it is not to go on a murder spree,” Armand muttered. “I’m actually due at least one.”

“Maybe two,” Harry said. “Considering.” He waved a hand and slouched his chair to stare at Armand’s garden. “Is the pond bigger?”

“Patrice thinks she wants ducks. She thinks that once or twice a decade then changes her mind because she doesn’t actually like any sort of avian in her space unless they’re on her plate.”

“When do the ducks arrive?”

Armand sighed. “Tomorrow.” He smoked for a few moments then shook his head. “I’ll have my boys on standby to render you any assistance you might need—keep your communication mirror handy.”

“Lucas is going to be there representing the World Court of Magic,” Harry said. “I tried to say no because…well. Dumbledore will look for a weakness. He always has. So, Banner is going to sneak him in undercover, which I guess is better than the alternative.”

“I hope you aren’t going to sit there and tell me that you think you can handle this shite in Britain alone.”

“I think it’s best, for everyone around me, if I never give Dumbledore any room to maneuver,” Harry said mildly. “At the end of the day, everything he wants to happen depends on me doing what he wants. And frankly, I decided the day learned how my parents died that I would never, ever give Dumbledore what he wants.”

“You blame him for their murders.”

“I blame him for practically every fucked-up thing that has happened in Britain for the last forty years,” he paused. “Or more. He’s a festering wound in that country, Armand. In the end, the damage he’s done and allowed to be done will linger far longer than anything than Tom Riddle ever managed.”

Armand nodded. “What’s the source?”

“Of the corruption?” Harry questioned.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know,” Armand warned. “It’ll just piss me off.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” Harry pointed out in amusement. “Not even when you really wish I had. Riddle’s wraith is the beginning of it and the fact that Dumbledore has let that creature fuck about the country for over twenty years is a crime in itself.”

“Because he’s known all this time and did nothing,” Armand said and frowned. “You’re going to make me go over there and kill that old bastard.”

“It wouldn’t be enough and getting rid of the wraith won’t entirely fix the problem. Riddle maimed his own soul with horcrux magic and invited the worst sort of taint into his magic. When he was disembodied trying to murder me, it was allowed to spread.”

“He created a horcrux and you’re just now telling me?” Armand demanded, eyes dark with fury. “Where is it? How long have you fucking known? I know you hate those bastards, Harry, but that is no goddamned excuse for allowing such a thing to exist.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment then sighed. “I hate Dumbledore, sure, but everyone else in Britain was just…collateral damage. As for the horcruxes, because he made more than one, they were destroyed on November 3, 1981. I imagine any that still existed on this Earth from ancient practices, were also destroyed.”

“Why?”

“Because such magic could’ve never survived on a planet with an embodied Thanatos,” Harry said simply. “I know many people blame Sirius Black for the Death Eaters going insane in Britain—but Riddle did that during what could only be called a temper tantrum when he realized all of his horcruxes had been destroyed at the same time.”

Harry watched Armand absorb that information and smoked because while the blend wasn’t necessarily the one he preferred, the herbal wasn’t bad at all. He blew out a little smoke dragon, and it danced in the air above the table.

“Interesting,” Armand finally said. “Did Dumbledore know about the horcruxes?”

“Unsure,” Harry admitted. “Don’t care either. Eventually, he’s going to cross a line with me and it’ll get him killed.” The herbal extinguished and disappeared in a flutter of minute ashes. “He’s come close several times, but my patron has rules about such things.”

“Patron,” Armand muttered.

“Do you know why Banner hasn’t asked me?” Harry questioned. “I figured he would once he became director of the Protectorate.”

“Thaddeus likes to theorize and talk about people behind their backs,” Armand said and Harry laughed. “I’m sure he’s been gathering theories since the day you joined us, and he’ll probably never ask you directly because he rightly assumes he can’t do a damn thing about it and it’s honestly none of his business regardless.”

“You asked.”

Armand shrugged. “I decided it was my business.”

Harry laughed.

“How is your otherworldly father?”

“He’d rather I not go back to Britain,” Harry said. “But he understands that Dumbledore isn’t going to leave me alone as long as that stupid prophecy is active.”

“Do you know what it says?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said and sighed. “Do you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“It was envisioned by the same person as the first, a witch named Sybill Trelawney. She’s actually extremely gifted with foresight but it’s being largely subdued by her very fragile mental health. I think, but can’t really prove, that she saw entirely too much as a child due to lack of care regarding the gift. Perhaps the family didn’t realize, or they simply didn’t care if visions drove her to the brink of insanity.

“The prophecy is: Death sees his enemies—chained only by the most ancient of laws. A hand has been chosen and the Hallows have been reunited. The spectre walks the Earth, and the dark lord knows not what war he has courted.”

Armand sighed. “I still can’t fucking believe I retired while the goddamned Master of Death was my employ. I should’ve asked before I left the job. It’s my own fault.”

Harry laughed. “You were more than ready.”

“Yes,” Armand said. “More than. The job weighs heavy.” He paused. “You’ll keep an eye on Thaddeus, won’t you? He’ll stay in the job until you’re ready to take his place. We decided, between us, the day you were hired that you were next in line for director after him.”

“I will,” Harry said and looked out over the garden. “You still get notification when my emergency portkey or beacon activates, right?”

“Yes,” Armand admitted. “Thaddeus insisted in case you needed more help than he could provide.”

“If my beacon activates while I’m in Britain—don’t come,” Harry said quietly. “And if my portkey activates, take your lady from Europe immediately. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near that fallout.”

“I’ve been considered a trip to Japan,” Armand said. “Patrice adores our property there.” He paused. “I’m not taking the ducks.”

Harry grinned. “You will, if Patrice wants.”

Armand glared at him briefly then sighed. “I’ll keep whatever contraption they’re delivered in.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

Harry shrugged. “She could’ve imported Canadian geese.” He laughed when Armand crossed himself. “You’re not Catholic.”

“Whatever, fuck you,” Armand muttered.

The End

The Master of Death Series

* * * * *

“Your Majesty, Master Thaddeus Banner to see you.”

Ragnok put down his quill with a nod. “Send him in, Fyre.”

The dam glanced around the briefly as if she was verifying the security situation for herself, nodded, and left. Banner appeared in the doorway, shed a cloak as he walked, then promptly slouched down in the human-sized visitor chair in front of Ragnok with a little huff of what sounded like wounded fury.

“I told you taking that promotion would ruin your life,” Ragnok said dryly, and Thaddeus grinned briefly.

“Yes, well, Armand was ready to retire, and who can deny him such after so long? He ran the Protectorate for over a hundred years.” He tossed the cloak in the chair next to him and rubbed his face with both hands. “The ICW talked Potter into returning to Britain.”

“I heard,” Ragnok said. “It won’t work out like Dumbledore wants. I’ve got a few people monitoring the situation, and they all say the same thing. That old bastard seems to think that Harry Potter is responsible for the whole situation and therefore should sacrifice everything up to and including his own life to save Britain from itself.”

“Potter thinks he’s going alone,” Thaddeus muttered, and Ragnok sighed. “But I can’t allow that. You know that.”

“I do,” Ragnok said. “I heard your newest American operative finally got himself half-sacrificed. That’s all of them, right?”

Thaddeus laughed a little, then sobered. “Shut up.”

“I mean, seriously? What is it with those people?”

“They think they’re invincible,” Thaddeus muttered. “And unfortunately for the rest of us, they often get away with the foolish shite they do. Regardless, yes, Lucas Pierce nearly got sacrificed in Bulgaria, of all places, and Harry broke the ICW’s wards. Ito is still sending me ugly notes about it since the repair is ongoing.”

Ragnok nodded. “Potter will lodge with us. I’ll set aside a flat in the guest complex. It’ll give him a haven from the corruption, which has grown by leaps and bounds since he left the country. Fortunately, our dimensional space hasn’t had any intrusions as of yet. We’re prepared to retreat from the country at the first glance of a problem. I won’t have that shite impacting our children, Thaddeus.”

“Do you agree that he was, by his mere presence, keeping the corruption subdued?” Thaddeus questioned.

“No, it’s not him,” Ragnok said quietly, and Thaddeus leaned forward. “It’s the shroud.”

“Shroud?”

“It’s been with the boy since Sirius Black sacrificed himself in Azkaban,” Ragnok said. “There are many theories amongst the researchers in the Horde regarding the origin, purpose, and nature of the shroud. The only thing they agree on is that the shroud exists, it protects Harry Potter’s magic and soul.”

“Popular theories?” Thaddeus questioned.

“That it’s the Black Dragon himself,” Ragnok said. “But I’ve seen Master Potter several times over the years, and whatever shields that man is not Zirnitra.” He cleared his throat. “It could be Fate.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No, and that’s despite knowing there is a prophecy about Potter. There were two, but one apparently burst into flame the near exact moment that Sirius Black sacrificed himself. The second one appeared in the Department of Mysteries a few hours after that, and no one witnessed it. It appeared already labeled—Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.”

“The ministry has tried to get him to view it several times, and the last time he was extremely rude,” Thaddeus admitted. “So rude, in fact, that they filed a complaint with my office.”

Ragnok grinned. “How did they respond?”

“I told that arsehole Cornelius Fudge that I proofread the letter Potter sent,” Thaddeus admitted, and Ragnok laughed. “And provided the French translation. He’s already written his next response and has prepared translations in French, German, Italian, and Japanese since Hiro Ito was in the office at the time. It’s a pity it probably won’t get sent since it would certainly be the documented cause of an international brouhaha.”

Ragnok nodded. “The report you sent to the ICW might very well cause one. Potter didn’t pull his punches.”

“He rarely does,” Thaddeus said. “Can’t say I blame him, considering. At the end of the day, if Dumbledore had wanted a more biddable Harry Potter, he’d have made sure the man had a proper family and home growing up. It’s clear he had neither. He doesn’t speak to or of the Muggle relatives who housed him as a child. In fact, he’d be hard-pressed to share any sort of memory with you about them—good or bad.

“The one time Pepper asked about his family, Potter hesitated for a full thirty seconds before telling her that his Muggle family let him live with them when he had nowhere else to go.”

“Let,” Ragnok said. “Like he was a guest.”

“Oh, he was certainly a very unwanted guest,” Thaddeus said.

Ragnok briefly considered figuring out where the humans lived so he could casually curse them with something that would ruin their lives, but keep them alive to suffer it. “Children are precious, Thaddeus.”

“Yes.”

“It’s clear that the last person to consider Harry Potter precious died on a dirty floor in Azkaban,” Ragnok muttered.

“Well, he was certainly the last person allowed to get close enough to develop that kind of emotional attachment,” Thaddeus said. “He’s relaxed over the years, since leaving Britain behind, but he still clearly prefers his own company, doesn’t date seriously, and treats sex like a physical necessity.”

“A physical necessity,” Ragnok repeated. “Do you think…I’ve heard some in the ministry consider him to be a sociopath.”

“No, he’s not a sociopath,” Thaddeus said. “I had Piper check.” He shrugged when Ragnok grimaced. “I had to know. He just doesn’t trust anyone intimately, and I have to wonder if he ever will. If you can’t trust like that, then romantic love is impossible—sex or not.”

“Granted,” Ragnok said and took a deep breath. “If you ever get a chance, I expect you to set Albus Dumbledore on fire.” He paused. “For the greater good.” He frowned. “Wait, are you sending one of your foolish American employees to Britain with Potter?”

Thaddeus grinned and shrugged. “Britain gets what it deserves.”

Ragnok sighed and activated a rune on his desk. Shortly, Rhys Sharprock appeared in the doorway between their offices. “Banner is sending us an American along with Potter.”

Sharprock made a face. “Is that wise? I heard your newest American hire already got himself half-sacrificed.”

“It’s a rite of passage at this point,” Thaddeus said, and Ragnok sighed.

Sharprock stared for a moment. “I’ll set up portkey access for the infirmary and warn Omis.” He walked away shaking his head.

“All jokes aside, yes, I’m sending Lucas Pierce to Britain with Potter because I can’t let him come back to this hellscape without someone I trust to watch his back. Potter isn’t going to like it, but he’ll follow orders. Pierce won’t be here as Potter’s official partner, but as an observer from the World Court of Magic. I’ve already set up the assignment with Louis Bertrand.”

“Dumbledore won’t appreciate that level of scrutiny.”

“I really don’t care. My responsibility in this situation is clear, and it’s my duty to protect my people as much as it is to protect magic. Sometimes, more, because I can’t defend our Lady if my vanguard is dead on the ground around me.”

Ragnok nodded. “I’ll set up space for Master Pierce as well—a separate space to further the illusion that they aren’t work partners. No need to give Dumbledore a pressure point, and he’s fond of such things—finding someone’s weak point and prodding it until it hurts.”

“It’d be grand if that old bastard would just go ahead and die already.”

Ragnok laughed and leaned forward to give his own opinion, but the magic of the room shifted then the door leading to his wife’s private salon opened.

“Oh, he’ll get his eventually,” Lenore said.

Thaddeus immediately stood. “High Priestess, as always, I’m honored to be in your company.”

Lenore raised an eyebrow and inclined her head. “Did you know those bastards in Bulgaria were trying to resurrect the spirit of some ancient dark lord?”

Thaddeus groaned. “Oh, come on. Why?”

“Fuck if I know,” she said and shrugged. “They’re all dead, so I didn’t bother to investigate fully, but the arithmancy is clear enough. Harry won’t have a problem figuring that out for you if you’re inclined to know their whole dumbarse plan. Though I think his response to this particular half-sacrifice might make others reconsider doing such a thing to your people again.”

“I finally asked them how he killed them,” Thaddeus said. “He said they just dropped dead around him when he apparated straight into their ritual circle.”

“Backlash perhaps,” she said. “Or his shroud took deep offense to the active necromancy.” She leaned on the frame of the doorway and waited.

“What’s your theory about the shroud?” Thaddeus questioned, as Ragnok had known he would.

Lenore stared for a moment, then pursed her lips. “Ask yourself, Thaddeus, what you would’ve given your life in exchange for in Sirius Black’s place.”

“In his exact place?” Thaddeus questioned. “The Protectorate found out from a young witch he was dating at the time that Sirius Black was a magical animagus—a grim, specifically. That’s not information we’ve shared broadly due to the implications. Magical animagus are very rare.”

“His exact place,” she said.

“I would’ve surrendered myself eternally to the God of Death in exchange for my son’s safety,” Thaddeus said plainly and took a deep breath. “Could it really just be that?”

“If such a request were granted, it would hardly be a small thing,” she pointed out. “If any magical god accepted such a tribute in full, then Harry Potter is the safest magical person on this planet, and becoming his enemy will only serve to hasten your death.”

Thaddeus frowned and looked away from them both.

“What are you thinking?”

“Just wondering how many other people have come upon this theory and if Dumbledore thinks it. If he does, what does he believe it will do for him?”

“There is another theory,” Ragnok said, and the human focused on him.

“I’m almost afraid to know it,” Thaddeus muttered, but then waved a hand.

“If he didn’t request a guardian for his son, perhaps Sirius Black bestowed on his son an ancient and heavy magical duty that would protect him body, magic, and soul,” Lenore said when Ragnok hesitated. “We don’t know exactly when because it wasn’t noticed until the reality of it was fully settled into the magic of our world, but sometime before 1985, someone on this planet reunited the Deathly Hallows.”

Banner paled and sat back down. “That insane son of a bitch.” He shuddered. “He made his baby the Master of Death?”

“It’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” Ragnok questioned.

“So, what you’re saying is that there is a genuine shroud around Potter—Death’s Cloak.”

“If the theory holds,” Lenore said.

The End

The Master of Death Series

* * * * *

Hermione closed the door to her flat, then slouched down on the bench next to the door to pull off her boots. Before she could get the first unbuckled, her fiancé appeared and took a knee to help with the task.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Neville said. “You look exhausted. What’s going on?”

“Harry Potter.”

Neville looked up as he pulled the boot off and raised an eyebrow. “Was there some kind of incident? Did he get hurt?”

“No, well. I’m sure there has been some stuff, but you know they can’t or won’t report half of what the Protectorate gets up to,” Hermione said and slouched out of her coat. “Dumbledore has finally found someone who has enough power to persuade Harry to come back to Britain.”

“Wow,” Neville muttered. He took off her other boot, tucked them into a drawer under the bench, then stood. He offered her a hand and pulled her close when she stood. “That’s…. I really wish people would leave him alone like he’s clearly always wanted.”

“Most people don’t get it and won’t,” Hermione said. “His peers certainly do—maybe everyone else will never understand how it was to go to school with a brilliant and powerful wizard who had no time for anyone.” She scrunched up her nose. “That sounded unfair. I’m not complaining.”

“I know you aren’t,” Neville said and kissed the top of her head. “Come on, I picked up some food on the way home.”

“How is Augusta?”

“Considering a fifth greenhouse,” Neville said as he led her into the kitchen, where he’d already set out Chinese takeaway.

They could both cook, but neither particularly enjoyed it. She sat down and immediately reached for the beef and broccoli.

“A report was handed down from the Magical Protectorate that Harry wrote,” Hermione said. “They’ve been considering horrifying and drastic measures regarding the magical corruption in Britain.”

“I’m sure,” Neville said. “It’s their job to protect magic first and foremost, Hermione. What’s the current solution?”

“Magical blockade,” she said and frowned. “Purely regarding the flow of magic—not people, unless the person has become a vector for the corruption. So far, we’ve found precious few of those, and it’s happened less since people were discouraged from practicing ritual magic. Opening up our magic in that fashion is very dangerous in Britain right now. It might remain so. I understand why the Protectorate would consider it. But they’ve also….” She huffed and focused on her food.

“Mass execution?”

“Adults only—age range to be determined,” Hermione said grimly. “Clearly they’d seek to cut out the corruption while preserving as much life as possible, but it’s a fucking nightmare, Nev.”

“Yeah,” Neville said. “But their mandate demands a lot from them. If the tainted magic starts to spread outside of Britain, it would endanger the lives of millions. The Death Eaters ruined a lot of things—not just their own lives.”

“You agree with the idea of it?” she asked.

“No, of course not, but I understand how the Protectorate could get there both intellectually and magically. They are oathbound to protect magic, Hermione. Neither of us will ever understand how profound a duty that genuinely is. I’m personally glad for it. I don’t know how I could handle that kind of burden. I also don’t have another solution, to be honest. We certainly can’t allow the corruption to spread.”

“The report called it an enduring stain,” Hermione said. “I’ve never read a more damning and utterly honest document distributed by a governing institution before. I heard Croaker called it weaponized spite, and he’s not wrong about that part either.” She stabbed a piece of beef with her fork. “Do you ever wish we’d found some way to be his friend? To push past the wall that he created around his whole world?”

“Probably no more or less than his housemates,” Neville said. “But in the end, that was how he chose to defend himself, and I can’t fault it. This country did nothing but abuse and misuse the house of Potter, Hermione. They didn’t manage the Riddle issue with any kind of skill or finality, and they put his only living parent in a position that he felt no choice but to sacrifice his life in a ritual circle that still glows to this day.”

The holding cell that Sirius Black had died in had been locked for twenty years, but automatic reports to the ministry regularly confirmed that the ritual circle that he’d drawn was active. It was a magical mystery the likes of which had baffled most researchers all over the world since it was found. Neville’s hand settled on her arm.

“We could leave the country while we still can,” Neville said quietly. “There is a family property in Italy. Gran can pass the physical to travel easily enough. The wards on the estate have protected her, and neither of us has had any problems so far.”

“That doesn’t seem…right,” she admitted. “Magically. I know that probably doesn’t make sense. But I don’t think any of us can run from this, love. Whatever is here, it’s sliding around inside of us just as much as it is the fabric of magic. I’m not saying the corruption would follow us, but it lingers in us in a way, regardless. We’re not free, and we won’t be until Riddle is handled permanently.”

“I can’t disagree,” Neville admitted roughly. “I just wish they’d leave Harry Potter out of it. Hasn’t he lost enough?”

“Dumbledore seems to think practically everyone should sacrifice as much as possible.” She paused. “Well, everyone but him. I noticed he was wearing an alchemy-based ward today. I’m sure he has some explanation about protecting us by staying strong or whatever, but if he can do that for himself, why hasn’t he focused that ingenuity on solving the problem?”

Neville made a face, sighed, then patted his thigh. “How about you come over here?”

She laughed but left her chair in favor of his lap and pulled her plate across the table. He took a deep breath against her hair as they settled and exhaled slowly.

“It’ll be fine.”

“I’m prepared to ritually disown this entire fucking country, Hermione,” Neville said. “I’m not going to let Riddle or Dumbledore ruin us.” He paused. “Would that even work?”

“No clue, but it’s certainly worth doing for the hell of it,” she muttered and stole a piece of chicken from his plate. “And you probably aren’t the first to consider it an option.”

“Hannah Abbott says we’re co-dependent,” Neville said as he stabbed a piece of her broccoli.

“Whatever, she didn’t group up in a house of bastards pretending to be lions,” Hermione said. “Not that any other house at Hogwarts was better. Looking back on it, the whole school was oppressive as fuck.”

“Some people blame Harry for that, you know,” Neville said. “No matter how unfair that is.”

“Unfair and stupid since the school was depressing to be in before he was sorted, and it continued to be after he left. No one wants to admit the truth of it—it’s Dumbledore. I can’t even say he’s genuinely dark, but he’s corrupt, nonetheless."

"Being around him is just disgusting sometimes.”

“Nearly all the time for me,” Hermione admitted. “It’s like he’s being….” She huffed. “Punished. He’s being punished, and it’s spilling out all around him.”

“Punished for the murders of the Potters?”

“And Sirius Black’s death,” Hermione suggested, and Neville nodded. “It makes sense, right? Everyone knows that the headmaster promised the Potters protection and set their wards. He set the Fidelius, so he knew that Sirius Black wasn’t the Secret Keeper. He told no one until after Peter Pettigrew went crazy and tried to murder the whole Weasley family.”

“Those two youngest kids should’ve been at Hogwarts with us,” Neville said. “I’ve often wondered if they would’ve been our friends or if they would’ve turned out like Percy.”

“Ugh, don’t bring up that prick,” Hermione muttered. “He’s been a genuine son of a bitch since he was promoted in the minister’s office. I don’t know why Madam Bones tolerates that kiss-arse.”

“It’s a favor for Arthur Weasley,” Neville said. “He never really recovered the losses, and everyone else at the ministry in his generation basically coddled him until he passed. I can’t really blame them, even if I could set Percy on fire. I mean, I won’t because I wouldn’t want to hurt the Weasley family more, which is what Percy banks on.”

“I think…we should just be resolved to support whatever Harry Potter says in all of this,” Hermione said finally, and Neville nodded. “Dumbledore doesn’t care about anyone or anything as long as his vision of the future happens. That means the rest of us have to have Harry’s back, whether he wants it or not.”

Neville sighed. “Gryffindor to the core.”

“Don’t act like you’re any different,” she said and nudged him with her elbow. “We’ll be fine.”

“Of course.”

“But ritually disowning the shite out of everyone but Augusta is absolutely on the table,” she said, and he laughed, then kissed her neck.

“Of course, love.”

The End

The Master of Death Series

* * * * *

“I think we’ve finally trauma-bonded. You’re probably stuck with me now.”

Harry huffed and dragged Lucas Pierce to his feet. “This is what I get for letting Director Banner assign me an American partner.”

Maybe leaving Britain had done more than just relieve the stupid amount of stress and manipulation he’d been dealing with. Adulthood had been a fucking miracle, honestly, and he’d never been more relieved in his life than finish Hogwarts and leave his own country behind.

Lucas laughed, licked blood from his lips. “Thanks, by the way. Those guys were the worst.”

The guys in question had come precariously close to killing his partner, and Harry had some pretty concrete rules about ritual murder. Well, any murder, but most specifically ritual murder. They stumbled out of the nearly destroyed stone ritual circle.

“I’m offended as fuck by everything that happened here tonight,” Harry muttered. “That ritual altar is probably a thousand-year-old, and these pricks were treating it like something they bought from Ikea.”

“The magical furniture section in Ikea is great,” Lucas protested. “Though their ritual craft supplies are kind of lackluster.”

“You’ve got to stop getting lured into that store by the meatballs,” Harry lectured, more amused than he wanted to admit. “Also? Also, these losers clearly fucked up the incantation.”

“His Latin pronunciation was ass,” Lucas agreed. “There is no telling what he would’ve accomplished if you hadn’t interfered. Because I’m pretty sure he said descentio instead of daemonium.”

Harry laughed. “Maybe he was trying to send himself to hell.”

“Maybe,” Lucas agreed, then promptly passed out.

Harry hefted his partner closer as they crossed over the boundary and activated his emergency portkey. They landed in the infirmary, and immediately, a pair of healers came running. Harry put Lucas down on a cot where he was directed and took a step back.

“What happened?” Piper Banner questioned, dark eyebrow raising in accusation.

“I don’t know much,” Harry admitted. “He was in Bulgaria, and I was in Rome getting a lecture about how I shouldn’t admit how much I hate my own country of origin. His emergency beacon went off, telling me he was in mortal danger, so I immediately apparated out of the ICW proceeding and hit a ritual circle in Bulgaria so hard that most of it disintegrated by the time I materialized. Lucas was on the altar, but fortunately, my arrival disrupted what looked like a sacrifice. He thinks they were trying to summon a demon.”

She huffed. “Go tell my husband that he must stop hiring Americans! They’re always getting themselves half-sacrificed!”

“Director Banner doesn’t listen to me,” Harry pointed out. “Practically no one listens to me.”

“I listen,” a voice said from behind him, and they both turned to find Thaddeus Banner standing in the doorway of the infirmary. “I just do what I want. You’ll be thrilled to know that you broke the anti-apparition ward on the ICW building. Hiro Ito is furiously impressed.”

Harry waved both hands. “You’re the one who gave me a silly American partner!”

His boss sent him a dark look and walked away, so Harry followed after a glance in Lucas’ direction. In truth, Lucas Pierce was the first partner he’d had since joining the Magical Protectorate that didn’t make his soul itch. Of course, picking out a work partner based on whether or not they make your soul uncomfortable was probably not the kind of metric one should advertise.

“But I’d prefer to keep the American I’ve got rather than get a different American that could be worse,” Harry said as he followed Banner down the hall. “Also, did the ICW want me to come back to Rome and fix their wards?”

“No, they contacted Gringotts. The Horde thanks you for the money,” Thaddeus said dryly, and Harry laughed.

“Is Ito really mad, though? Because I didn’t mean to break their stuff.”

“No, they were told that your partner’s emergency beacon activated, and the people in that room know very well that my operatives don’t activate their beacon for anything less than a direct threat to their life. The Bulgarian Minister of Magic, however, has demanded an apology for your unauthorized apparition into his country.”

“He’s not actually allowed to be mad about that,” Harry muttered. “I’ve got immunity and shite.”

Thaddeus offered him a grin. “I did remind him that operatives of the Magical Protectorate have diplomatic immunity and that you didn’t owe him an apology for doing your legal magical duty. He could still be cursing me out. I just walked away from the floo in the main office and let him keep talking.”

Harry made a face. “I left six bodies, by the way. They died when I disrupted the ritual, or shortly after.” He shrugged. “Though Lucas said the one leading it had terrible diction and probably fucked up the incantation anyways.”

“He was supposed to be interviewing a wizard who’d witnessed a dark ritual in the forest near his house,” Thaddeus said.

“Stands to reason they were hoping to get their hands on me for the ritual, and the whole report was a setup,” Harry pointed out, and Banner sighed. “There are those, in necromancy circles, who think sacrificing me would please Death immensely since that whole survived-the-killing-curse thing.”

Thaddeus raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever been tempted to let someone try?”

“No,” Harry said and grimaced when his boss raised an eyebrow. “Well, once. But I realized that I’d probably just get an epic amount of judgmental silence from practically everyone for a whole decade, so I decided to just arrest everyone involved.”

“Going back to Britain will be stressful for you.”

“More stressful for them,” Harry said. “Plenty of people were thrilled to see me go since I never once allowed them to bank on the unreasonable fame I was saddled with as an infant. Practically everyone I met had expectations that I never had any intention of meeting.” He stood and checked his watch. “I’m going to get my after-mission physical and take a nap in the bunks.”

Thaddeus nodded and waved him away as he sat down on his desk.

Harry went back to the infirmary, hovered uselessly near Lucas’ cot for a while until one of the healers prodded him toward an examination cubicle. “He’s okay, Nattie?”

“War Mage Pierce will make a full recovery,” Nattie Chambers said. “Any issues to report?”

“Just a little tired, but I did chain apparate 1900 kilometers across international borders in the space of about ten seconds,” Harry confessed and shrugged when she glared at him. “I’m basically fine.”

“You’re basically an idiot,” she retorted tartly.

“You’re so mean,” he said in amusement, but stayed on the examination table while she did a diagnostic spell and wrote a scathing report about his reckless behavior.

“And don’t smile at me, I’m not falling for it.”

“You never do,” Harry muttered and slouched back on the table when she just glared at him and went off to get his file, which was really a ledger book. Each operative had their own, so at least he wasn’t standing out in that respect.

He shifted around a bit so he could pull his journal out of his bracelet and brace it on one leg. He pulled a pen from a pocket on the journal and made a series of notes about the meeting he’d been attending in Rome and the situation in Bulgaria. Lucas would certainly be writing most of that report, and Harry fully intended on telling him so.

“You need rest,” Nattie announced. “Grab a cot so I can keep an eye on you since you apparated straight into a ritual circle like a dumb ass with zero information.”

“Americans are so rude,” Harry muttered, and she laughed.

He left the examination room, dropped down on a cot close to Lucas, since he should keep an eye on his American. He supposed everyone in the Protectorate had one, no matter how appalling it was, and he might as well make sure Lucas stayed in one piece until the man’s husband showed up to get him.

“Piper, did you contact Otto?”

“Yes, of course, I did,” she said dryly. “Master Bauer is getting a portkey and will return soon. Which I’m sure the entire country of Australia will thank me for. He was apparently collecting venomous creatures for study.”

Harry nodded because he figured Australia was a decent place to do that efficiently.

“You cool?”

He turned toward Lucas and found his partner staring at him. “Yeah, except my creepy American partner is staring at me.”

“Well, you’re not a bad place to look.” Lucas rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Piper told me that you’ve agreed to go to Britain.”

“Yeah, but it’s not an official mission for the Protectorate.”

“That’s going to be a clusterfuck of the first order.” He paused. “Want me to come with?”

“No, there’s no need to give anyone a point of leverage against me right off the bat, but be prepared to come rescue that whole country from me if they do something stupid,” Harry muttered, and Lucas laughed. “When they do something stupid.”

“Wow, Potter,” Lucas said with a sigh. “You’re the smartest idiot I’ve ever met.”

Otto Bauer entered at that point, shot them both a look of pure exasperation, and Harry activated his privacy curtain to avoid the judgment. Because he might have to put up with his American partner, but that didn’t mean he had to get a German-shaped lecture on top of it in the form of Lucas’ husband.

“Don’t look at me like that, Otto, I’m not the one who almost got ritually sacrificed!”

“This time!” Otto retorted even as the curtain slotted into place, muting the entire area around Harry’s cot.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment and took a deep breath. If he were at home, he’d be wrapped up in his invisibility cloak, but he’d made a point to never sleep that way when he was in the Protectorate’s headquarters. Magic moved around him, and a warm hand touched his cheek, then his forehead briefly.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, and the magic grew heavy for a moment, then drifted away.

The blanket at the end of the cot flipped up and dropped over him with a little swish of magic. Harry laughed a little, took a moment to remove his boots, and tucked them under the edge of the cot. When he’d been a child, after he’d found out about the sacrifice of Sirius Black, he’d thought the magical influence around him was his godfather. But experience had taught him better as the Hallows had educated him in ways that no one else would ever truly understand.

“Go to sleep, lad. You’ll need it if we’re really going to back to fucking Britain,” Thanatos said for only him to hear.

Harry rolled over on his side and drifted off to sleep content in the embrace of his patron’s magic.

The End

The Master of Death Series

* * * *

Draco Malfoy shed his overcoat, hung it with care in the small closet just left of the door, and went to his desk. His office, buried deeply in the Ministry of Magic, was a sanctuary of sorts, as no one enjoyed meandering around the Department of Mysteries. The identity-protecting magic on his uniform made it easier to move in and around the ministry with no fear of conversations he’d rather not ever have again.

He’d grown up in the long shadows of the blood war and his father’s unspeakable crimes. Though his mother had shielded him as much as she could, his father was internationally known to be two things: a Death Eater and a prolific serial killer. It had taken the ministry three years to catch Lucius Malfoy, after the dark mark had driven him insane, and his victims had numbered in the hundreds. There was no atonement to be had, and while his father was so insane he couldn’t stand trial for his crimes—it stood that he’d taken the dark mark willing and was therefore to blame for his own circumstances.

It had taken Draco a decade to convince his mother to divorce Lucius, and another year for the court process to complete, but they’d both been free of responsibility for him by the time he’d graduated from Hogwarts.

Still.

The shame of it lingered on his family line, and there was nothing he could do about it. Unfortunate or not, he wasn’t alone in his circumstances, as the children of Death Eaters all over the world have been made to face the crimes of their parents repeatedly. Mostly, their fathers, as there were precious few marked female Death Eaters.

“He’s agreed to come back.”

Draco looked up and found Pansy Parkinson standing in the doorway of his office. “What?”

“Potter,” she said quietly. “We’ve received word through the Protectorate that Harry Potter is coming to Britain.”

Draco considered that. He’d not seen or spoken to Harry Potter since Hogwarts. They’d never been friends or even enemies, as the boy had literally no time for anyone at the school. Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, much to the horror of some and to the amusement of others. He’d taken the sorting in stride, tucked himself into the house of snakes with no fanfare, then he’d ignored absolutely everyone but the professors and he’d only talked to them in class.

Moreover, it was allowed. People had just seemed to move around Potter, content to make way for him in a way that was confounding and enviable.

Draco had the dubious honor of being the singular witness to Harry Potter telling Albus Dumbledore that he had no time for liars or fools. Draco still didn’t know which Dumbledore was in Potter’s mind, and he had tried to ask. Potter had just looked at him with mild curiosity, then walked away shaking his head as if he were disappointed that Draco hadn’t already known the answer.

Even at eleven, Potter had been appallingly intimidating, and the only thing at Hogwarts he’d truly tolerated was a silly snowy owl who treated him like her child. The creature had been the most warded and protected post owl Draco had ever seen. Even ones from the bank weren’t so heavily protected.

“You’re thinking about Hedwig.”

Draco huffed. “So were you. We all do. That bloody owl has a war ward, Pansy, and it was like she knew it from the start. She feared nothing and no one.”

She laughed. “She was always nice to me.”

Draco had to bribe that pampered creature with mice to even get the smallest bit of attention, and then only when Potter wasn’t available. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Why is he coming back?”

“Dumbledore convinced the World Court of Magic that Potter is needed here to resolve the whole Voldemort mystery.”

It wasn’t a mystery. Voldemort was a wraith, driven from his body by a badly cast Killing Curse when he’d tried to kill an infant. Some believed that fact alone was the reason all of the marked Death Eaters went around twist, but Draco knew better.

Sirius Black had sacrificed himself in a magical ritual in a temporary holding cell in Azkaban, and the results had been astounding, revealing his genuine relationship with Harry Potter—a godfather in blood and magic. Whoever or whatever the man had petitioned during that ritual had used that sacrifice to drive the Death Eaters insane. He was sure other things had happened, but that was the meat of it as far as anyone really knew.

He had, with his life and magic, protected the child of his heart by destroying Voldemort’s forces.

That had revealed an immense amount of corruption in the ministry that was still resonating in the building nearly twenty-five years after the fact. Peter Pettigrew, the person who’d actually committed the crimes that Sirius Black had been arrested for, had been killed by Arthur Weasley when the arsehole had attacked his family. Unfortunately, he’d arrived home too late to save his wife and two youngest children.

Barty Crouch, Sr hadn’t survived long enough to be punished for putting an innocent man in Azkaban, as his own son had murdered him. Which was for the best, as the public had also blamed him for what Pettigrew had done to the Weasley family.

“I don’t know what Dumbledore expects to accomplish. He’s never had a successful conversation with Potter.”

“True,” she agreed and leaned on his doorframe. “He’s trying to be mysterious, of course, but he got pissed off when Croaker refused him access to the Halls of Prophecy.”

“There is a prophecy in the hall with Potter’s name on it,” Draco said reluctantly. “And Voldemort. But he’s never bothered to come see it despite being notified twice. The last time, he apparently sent a very pithy response that essentially meant fuck off. He included translations in French and Italian just to make sure there was no confusion.”

She grinned. “Merlin, he couldn’t get any hotter if he tried.”

Draco huffed because Potter’s looks were a problem and had been a problem since sometime around their sixth year when he’d gone from a broody boy to broody arsehole with a face he barely bothered to shave. There had been outright seduction campaigns that had stretched straight into their seventh year, which Potter had tolerated not at all. Most had come to assume he was asexual, but as it turned out, he just hated everyone in the UK, because he’d been known to date casually and often after he’d left the country.

“I wonder how much you have to hate someone that even grudge fucking them is off the table?” Pansy questioned, pondering aloud what he’d been thinking.

Draco sort of figured that Pansy would be his soulmate if such things still existed. It was too bad they were both utterly gay. He slouched down in his chair and sighed.

She laughed, took a sip of her tea, and shook her head at him. “Michael Corner is still dragging his arse around upstairs like his life is over.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“I told you that pity fucking him was a bad idea,” she said wryly and left as he groaned.

It had been a really bad idea, but Draco had been bored enough to do something stupid, and that had apparently included Michael Corner. He’d never had a one-hour stand backfire so badly in his life. If the arsehole wasn’t an auror, he’d be tempted to memory charm the whole night from the git’s mind.

“You should read this.”

Draco stood up at the sound of Croaker’s voice, and his boss dropped a thin bound report on his desk. It had the Magical Protectorate seal on the cover. He put one hand on the report and raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“It’s Potter’s opinion regarding the corruption of the very fabric of magic on Earth,” Croaker said roughly. “Twenty-five pages of condemnation and weaponized spite that explains explicitly why a half-blood named Tom Marvolo Riddle became Voldemort and basically ruined our whole fucking country because he could. Worse? The magical rot Riddle created is spreading, and the Protectorate has actively considered wiping out the entire adult magical population in Britain to stop it more than once. I’ve heard, but can’t confirm, that they’re going to propose a blockade on the country to contain the taint.”

Draco picked up the report as his boss left and opened it.

The Enduring Stain by Hadrian Potter, Master of Ritual and Runic Magic

He took a deep breath, not particularly surprised by the dual masteries, as everyone knew that Potter was intelligent. Interesting choices, surely, but not specifically obscure for a wizard who worked for the Magical Protectorate.

“Okay, Potter,” Draco murmured and sat down. “This won’t be the first time you’ve taught me something I’d rather not know.”

The End

The Master of Death Series

Summary: Sirius Black made a decision in Azkaban, and if anyone could ask him, he’d tell them he regrets nothing and fuck them for asking.

* * * *

Sirius Black sank down to his knees as the cell door slammed shut. No interview. He knew there would be no trial. Barty Crouch had made that clear when he’d been arrested. Sirius had been painted with a dark brush created by his own family. His godson was alone in the world—James and Lily Potter were gone, murdered by Voldemort.

Maybe he could escape, but no one ever had. Azkaban was a fortress on an unplottable island, guarded by disgusting creatures that had no place in the world. Dementors. He wondered if they offended Death as much as they offended him.

Sirius tried to shift into his animagus form, and his magic shuddered inside of him. The dampening spells were robust, and he didn’t know if the cell he was in was permanent or not. The words of the prophecy strummed inside of him, making his heart hurt with the galling magical truth of them.

Harry needed someone to protect him.

With a shaking hand, he started to draw runes on the stone floor of his cell. He was relieved that the spells guarding the cell didn’t recognize runic magic. They probably assumed no one in the prison was capable of such magic. The runes glowed gently with magic and his pure intent, and in his heart, an ancient power started to stir. He’d known since he’d met his animagus spirit that he had a unique potential—a connection with Death that defied genuine comprehension. Sirius had never hidden from it, but he hadn’t fully embraced it either.

Now, he had a choice to make. He could wallow in the filth of Azkaban, or he could join James and Lily in sacrifice. Sirius had felt them both die, one after another, in the defense of Harry, and as he finished the rune circle he’d created, the decision was made.

“Let me be seen as faithful,” he murmured. “Let me be known as strong.”

The runes started to glow brightly even as the hall outside of his cell darkened. The inky blackness could only be one thing, but his ritual circle kept him safe from the creatures.

“Accept my life and magic in the defense of my child, Hadrian James Potter,” he said. “Thanatos, god of death, I beg for your grace in my final moments. May Hekate accept this choice—made with a loyal and righteous heart.”

Magic heaved around him.

“You’d give your life for the boy?” a female voice questioned.

“Yes.”

“Your magic?” she prodded.

“Yes, take it all,” Sirius said hoarsely. “Take everything I am.”

“You’d have Death walk amongst the living?” A male voice questioned, tinged with amusement. “If your enemies had understood your true power, Sirius Orion Black, they would’ve killed you before giving you room to make such a choice.”

“Fuck them,” Sirius muttered.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “Fuck them. May they get exactly what they deserve.”

“Such words, sister, from the mouth of Fate could be the destroyer of entire worlds,” the male said. “Eh, c’est la vie as the French would say. Lovely people, next time around Sirius, you should be French.”

“Oi!” Sirius huffed. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Fate laughed, and her musical laughter drifted over his skin like a summer breeze. “The food is better.”

Sirius couldn’t argue that, so he took a deep breath and wondered, very briefly, when his ritual sacrifice had gone completely off the rails.

“The child is alive,” the male said. “But, I would not say that he is safe. He’s left alone in a world without a single person dedicated to his welfare.”

“We can’t get you out of this prison—we have no power to interfere on the physical plane as we currently are. Every single moment your child is unprotected is a profound risk,” Fate said.

“I know,” Sirius said. “Even if I got free, they’d never let me keep him. I’m powerless, and most everyone thinks I’m a Death Eater.” A swirl of magic appeared in front of him, then a reaper took form. Sirius wasn’t afraid of Death; he never had been. He knew his own nature very well. “The first time I saw my animagus spirit, I was relieved to finally understand myself.”

The reaper nodded.

“This life is done,” Fate said quietly. “Thanatos, you have a choice to make. Genuine personification will be short—perhaps no more than ten years. No human’s magic or life force could sustain a god for longer.”

“I need more time than that,” Thanatos said roughly. “He’ll get attached to me—it is the nature of my own existence. It could damage him further if I’m gone from his life too quickly.”

“Then you must be less, and use the magic you’re being given carefully,” she paused. “Unless you want to go the other route.”

“It would be interesting,” Thanatos said. “Been a while since I’ve had a genuine hand on this plane.”

Sirius stayed where he was, grief pressing down on him in a way that wasn’t lessening in any single way. Even the decision to give himself over to the will of Magic herself hadn’t really helped.

The reaper knelt then in the circle with Sirius, and a skeletal hand cupped his face. He was beyond fearing an essential part of him, so he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I shall take your place in this world, Sirius Black, and I will show your son’s enemies no mercy,” Thanatos said quietly. “Your love for him is now mine.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said quietly. “Give them hell.”

“Oh lad,” Thanatos said. “By the time he’s an adult, anyone getting in your son’s way will wish fondly for the sanctuary of hell.”

* * * *

In a shack in Little Hangleton, a ridiculous gold box rocked violently underneath rotting floorboards, and with a soft pop of magic, a small stone popped away from the place, leaving fiery death magic in its wake.

In a castle in Scotland, the Elder Wand vibrated briefly in the restraining magic of Albus Dumbledore’s wand holster so violently that the wizard pulled it free with alarm. It glowed brightly in his hand, then caught fire. He dropped it with a shout of shock. Dumbledore stumbled back as a wispy hand made of bones picked up the wand, and it fell to ashes.

The elderly wizard rushed into his bedroom, threw open a trunk just in time to watch the Cloak of Invisibility disappear. He sank to his knees in shock, dread settling on his bones.

In a cupboard in a terribly normal house on Privet Drive, a swirl of magic curled around the toddler that had been locked away by his aunt. Under a thin blanket, the boy relaxed and started to sleep soundly. Magic burned briefly in the scar on his forehead, and when it was gone—the skin was left perfect.

A cloak shimmered into the air and draped over the child, hiding him away from the world that meant him harm.

A stone swirled around in the air, finally free from a curse it had long held, and settled into a small hand, and Harry Potter closed his chubby little fingers around it with a soft sigh even as he slept.

“And this belongs to you as well,” a voice said gently as a tiny wand holster appeared on the child’s wrist, then faded away from view. “It’ll grow with you, guide you, and protect you. I’ve made it anew, so your magic will remain pure, and no one will recognize it for what it is unless you wish it. But don’t worry, it’s not forgotten its true purpose.

“Sleep well, child, for you are the master of death magic on this world, and you have nothing to fear.”

The End

The Master of Death Series

* * * *

It took them two months to shape and carve the rune stones. As it turned out, shaping stones for a magical purpose was quite different than what one would do for building. The first few stones they’d made had fallen apart under the weight of the magical runes once Hadrian had empowered them. That had sent Hermione into research mode, and she’d pulled out her library so Ori and Balin could help. Translation spells on the books had come in especially handy during that phase of the project. Thorin had ventured into the library trunk just once—it was four times the size of any library he’d ever been inside and rather overwhelmingly magical.

In the end, they’d all learned to find and follow the shape that each stone wished to be. This made for nearly unbreakable ward stones, which Hadrian had been immensely pleased with. The rune carving had fallen to just six in the end—himself, Kíli, Bilbo, Ori, Balin, and Hadrian. Thorin had been genuinely surprised by how easy the rune craft came to him and very proud of how powerful Kíli had proven to be in the art.

They’d had numerous conversations with Ragnok using the magical mirror regarding both Smaug and the dverger’s circumstances. Ragnok had been both leery and intrigued by Thorin’s offer of sanctuary. No decision had been made as of yet, but Thorin hoped that the chieftain would make a decision before it was made for him by the other dverger clans on Earth.

He appreciated the fact that Ragnok wasn’t rushing a choice for his whole clan and that he was invested in their welfare in a way that was familiar to him. Thorin could relate to the concerns and the care the other dwarf demonstrated.

They watched Lake-town from afar, and Hadrian had flown over Mirkwood a few times, though the elves hadn’t stirred either. Thorin was surprised, daily, that they hadn’t been discovered and wondered just how diminished Thranduil was in the wake of the corruption of his forest that he’d missed the amount of magic that Hadrian and Hermione had thrown around regularly since their arrival. He’d thought the elf king much more sensitive to magic than what was evident to them.

Hadrian’s owls had come to him near the end of August, and the female had been carrying a letter from Gandalf, who had decided to travel to Isengard to have a very long discussion with the White Wizard. It was a worrisome development, but they’d all agreed that Gandalf could take care of himself. Hadrian had decided that if Gandalf didn’t make an appearance by Durin’s Day, he would go to Isengard to retrieve the maia himself.

Thorin let his gaze move away from Lake-town so that he could focus on Hadrian, who was flying a lazy circle around the mountain on his broom. They’d set the final ward stone, and the wizard was checking the construction to ensure that they’d contained the dragon. The ward had been designed to allow the company entry specifically, but to contain the dragon indefinitely should they all perish in the attempt to kill him.

Hadrian landed near him after a few minutes and stored his broom. “We’re ready.”

Thorin nodded. “The ward has lessened the pull of the gold.”

“It’s not the gold that calls you,” Harry said grimly. “It’s the curse. We’ll need to invest ourselves in finding out what object Saruman used to bring the curse to Erebor, and it’s time we have a frank discussion about what to do with you once we enter the mountain.”

Thorin nodded. He didn’t look forward to it, but it could no longer be ignored. With the ward settled, they no longer had an excuse for not entering the mountain. Hadrian had already set an entry point on one of the battlements. They were no longer bound to the ground, which meant entering the mountain would be the work of nothing. Hermione had carved a path straight up the mountain to the broken battlement, though she’d blocked it off to prevent him or someone else of the Line of Durin from entering the mountain alone. Thorin wasn’t the only one being lured into the mountain by the gold.

He followed the wizard into the tent and relaxed slightly as he was enveloped in the safety the magical space provided. The months they’d spent living in the tent had been some of the most peaceful he’d known since the fall of Erebor. He slept through the night most nights—well, at least he slept through the night when Bilbo Baggins wasn’t sneaking into his blankets. Not that he was complaining, at all. He’d go without sleep anytime Bilbo wanted, and it had been weeks since Hadrian had outright brooded over their relationship.

“What’s for dinner?” Thorin asked as he peeked into the pot Bilbo had in front of him. The hobbit was up on a very sturdy step ladder in front of a pot bigger than him. “You’re not going to try to lift this pot of boiling water, right?”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said and used his finger to push him back a bit. “We’re using this water to cook the pasta.”

“What’s pasta?”

Dishes from Earth had featured here and there in their diet, but Thorin thought the three of them were being sneaky about introducing new types of food to prevent protests.

“It’s a wheat-based dough that you can dry and store for long periods of time,” Bilbo explained. “This particular pasta has been cut into long strings. We’re having spaghetti for dinner. The pasta will be covered in a meat-and-tomato sauce. Hermione thinks we’ll like it a lot, so you’ll have to pretend to like it, even if you don’t.”

Thorin laughed. “I’ve liked everything they’ve introduced so far—even the chicken salad, which was not at all what I thought it was going to be.”

“I loved the tuna version of myself. Harry said he would travel to Harlindon in the summer to see about buying fish. He hopes to find tuna or something similar in the human markets there. He has an apparition point in the Grey Havens, so travel to that area will be very easy for him.”

Thorin nodded. “He mentioned that he might be able to create a system of gateways to allow our traders to travel to various settlements around Arda. Dwalin is concerned about security, of course, but we’ll have plenty of time to work that out after…well…after the decision is made about Smaug.”

Bilbo turned to him. “What if we can’t kill the dragon? What if the best choice is to confine him in Erebor?”

“Then we’ll kick the orcs out of the Grey Mountains sooner rather than later,” Hadrian said as he joined them. “Is this ready to be poured out?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said and left the ladder. “Be careful, lad. That’s a lot of boiling water.”

Thorin agreed with that assessment, so he pulled his hobbit out of the way as Hadrian used his magic to levitate the pot from the stove and move it over the sink. The water was poured into a large bowl that was littered with dozens of holes. It drained out, leaving a mass of long pale strings behind. It didn’t look appetizing at all. Perhaps they’d finally stumbled upon a dish from Earth that he would have to suffer to eat.

Twenty minutes later, he was faced with a plate of spaghetti and a lesson from the little baroness on how to twirl pasta onto his fork. Bombur took the first bite—he always did with new food, and the dwarf made a pleased sound that made the rest of the company immediately start eating. Thorin had to admit, on his fourth mouthful, that it was very good. Relieved and resolved to ignore the state of undressed pasta, he tucked in.

Red wine was being served with the meal, so Thorin picked up his glass and snagged a piece of crusty bread as everyone settled into investing themselves in the meal.

“The ward is settled,” Harry said. “It’s investing in the magic of the mountain and should be essentially permanent within the next twenty-four hours. In the future, we can make changes to the ward scheme using the wardstone, which is currently nestled as close to the top of the mountain as I could secure it. I’ll be able to move it later, if we can kill Smaug, so it’s deep inside the mountain.” He focused on Hermione. “Tell them your plan for containing the curse.”

Hermione broke a piece of bread open and buttered it. “I’ve enchanted a medallion for each of you to wear—until we’ve dismantled the curse, we can’t be for certain that only the line of Durin is susceptible to it. We’ll work under the assumption that Harry and I are the only ones safe from the curse since it was clearly designed to impact those of dwarven heritage.”

“Which means even Bilbo could be at risk because of his dwarf ancestor,” Ori said.

“It’s best to act as if he were at risk,” Dwalin said in agreement. “He’s already been lured by gold once, and we can’t say for certain that Sauron’s magic in the ring was the only reason he picked it up. He’s very fond of his things and his home. And grew irate several times when we were in Bag End because we touched his things.”

Bilbo scowled at him. “You lot were throwing my mother’s dishes around, and moreover, I had nothing prepared for that particularly little party since Gandalf didn’t tell me I would have guests.”

Thorin reached out and put his hand on Bilbo’s arm. “Wait…are you saying that we weren’t invited? The wizard said you were expecting us and you had all of that…oh. That food was for you alone, wasn’t it?”

Bilbo blushed. “The front pantry holds the food I expect to eat during any week, yes.” He took a deep breath. “But I am fond of my things, Dwalin’s right about that, and all the Tooks have a few hoarding tendencies, though that lends itself to books and the like. But my ancestor was a Firebeard.” That caused several snorts. “What?”

“It’s just not a surprise,” Fíli said. “Firebeards are quite known for being….” He trailed off and grinned. “Pretty.”

Bilbo huffed and threw a piece of bread at him. Fíli caught it and promptly ate it. “But yes, I suppose you weren’t invited. Still, I’ve had uninvited guests in the past that weren’t nearly as entertaining as the thirteen of you turned out to be.” He focused on Hermione. “What’s the medallion do?”

“Nothing unless the curse tries to interact with your magic,” Hermione began. “It will actively use your own magic to push the curse away. This won’t be physically taxing, of course, but it will prevent you from using your magic at all while it’s invested in fighting the curse. I hope that Harry can find the source and contain it quickly after we take care of Smaug, but if we can’t, then you might find yourselves quite limited… craft-wise.”

“It’s a small price to pay to keep one’s sanity,” Thorin said gravely. “I’d wear the medallion for the rest of my life to keep my mind safe from the fate my father and grandfather suffered.”

“Great, because the other option would be to sedate you one by one and toss you in my mokeskin pouch,” Hadrian said with a grin and laughed at the looks of horror he got in return. He shrugged. “Simple plans are best.”

Thorin frowned at Bilbo. “I think he gets that from you, too.”

Bilbo seemed to consider that, but then nodded. “The more complicated you make a task, the more likely you are to fail at it.”

* * * *

Harry set the mirror up and activated it. A few moments passed before Ragnok appeared. Based on his calculations, it was mid-morning on Earth, so it wasn’t a surprise to see the dverger dressed for the workday.

“Good morning, sir.”

“You’re wearing your armor,” Ragnok said. “It’s time then?”

“We’re going to try to gather some information on the situation inside the mountain, yes.” Harry let his hand curl into a fist against his thigh since his mentor couldn’t see it. “I’ve put every single charm I could think of on my ada, but he refuses to stay behind.”

“He’s an adult,” Ragnok pointed out.

“He’s 3’6 and weighs fifty-four pounds,” Harry said and glanced briefly toward his bedroom door. The very light privacy charm wouldn’t keep anyone out, but it would let him know if someone was about to enter the room. “I can’t….”

“He’s an adult,” Ragnok repeated. “And we’ve had this discussion before, Hadrian. You can not enjoy free will and take it from others as you see fit. Speaking of, I’ve completed the survey of all the adults in my clan. Not a single one is opposed to migrating to Arda. In fact, many of them are excited to be part of a world where we aren’t forced to hide ourselves or our magic. Have you considered the ramifications for Oakenshield’s people?”

“His clan was decimated by the dragon,” Harry allowed. “The Longbeards number less than a thousand. Your clan represents an opportunity to rebuild his numbers without bowing down to the will of the dwarrow clans on his world that turned their backs on him when he needed them most. Additionally, you’d bring magic back to his people that has been lost since the first age. He’s honorable even in his severely cursed state and works every moment he’s awake to ignore the call of the gold he’s been cursed to covet above everything and everyone.” He frowned. “I mean, he’s shagging my ada, which I’m not really on board with, but I know that I don’t have any sort of right to an opinion about that.”

Ragnok laughed. “Hermione said you were being quite unreasonable about the whole thing. I probably did you no service at all to introduce you to a witch practically raised as a dverger. Her sensibilities are far more like ours than they ever were magical people. Dumbledore was horrified when she accepted Lenore as her mentor and tried repeatedly to interfere, as he didn’t want the brightest witch of the age tainted by us further. I can’t say he was thrilled at all that she took her first mastery with Filius Flitwick, and he’s half-wizard.”

“I really should’ve kicked the shite out of that old git before I left.” Harry took a deep breath. “We’ve about three weeks left until Durin’s Day, so no one expects to see us at all until then. I can hope we can subdue and kill Smaug before that.”

“Once he’s dead, put the carcass in a stasis so I can access it for our use.”

“You’re coming then?” Harry asked.

“I expect I only have another month left before there is an official challenge,” Ragnok admitted. “We’re already packing. I’ll treat with Oakenshield after a decision is made regarding the dragon—dead or not. If you can’t kill him by yourself, then you can certainly keep him hostage long enough for us to come along and help you solve that problem. Just don’t let him kill you before I get there, lad, it would really piss me off.”

It was overwhelming.

Harry just nodded. “I’ll let the others know.”

Shortly thereafter, the conversation ended for several long moments. Harry sat where he was, let himself be relieved.

A knock on the door shook him loose from his thoughts, and he turned just as the door opened.

“Ready, lad?” Dwalin asked.

“Yes.” Harry stored the mirror and stood.

“You’ve had another talk with Ragnok then?”

“Yes, and I need to speak with the king.” Harry slipped past the dwarf and walked into the main room of the tent. “Has everyone put the medallions on?”

“Yes, and Hermione finished the fireproof charms on our cloaks,” Bilbo said. “How did it go with Ragnok? Any final tips on the whole dragon thing?”

“He’d really prefer that none of us get killed before he gets here,” Harry said, and focused on Oakenshield, who looked briefly overwhelmed. “Also, if we can’t take Smaug out with the current plan, then Ragnok has requested that we contain him until he gets here so we can use our combined magical power to finish the job. He has more than enough high magical art users in his clan to help me subdue Smaug with brute force magic.”

“They’re coming then.”

“Every adult voted yes to the migration,” Harry said. “They’ll all swear fealty to your crown on their magic upon your coronation and accept integration into the Longbeard clan. Ragnok will, of course, have terms regarding the use of their magic and the recognition of various guilds and masteries within their clan. They’re packing as we speak.”

“How many?”

“In total—a little over fourteen thousand dverger,” Harry admitted, and Oakenshield sat down.

“How many are underage?” Ori asked curiously.

“There are easily over a thousand dverger children under the age of thirty in Britain,” Hermione said. “Plus, several hundred under the age of seventy-five. We don’t have exact numbers as they guard such information zealously.” She paused. “How will the other dwarf clans here react to them?”

“I don’t honestly care how they’ll react,” Thorin admitted. “I’ve not even considered it because what they want stopped mattering to me when the lords of those clans turned their backs on me. They didn’t fight for Erebor—not in any single way, so they don’t get a say in what I do with her.” He took a deep breath. “Most of them haven’t even lifted a finger to help me feed my people in times when we were suffering the most. Frankly, none of those mountains would’ve been stressed to send us supplies, yet our plight was ignored outright after my father disappeared.”

“We’ll send out an announcement inviting them to kiss all of our arses,” Hermione decided and grinned at the looks that earned her. Over the past few weeks, she’d started to glory in shocking the dwarrow. “Maybe I’ll include an animated drawing of Smaug in a death flail.”

“I’d prefer my people here in the mountain before we tell anyone to kiss our arses,” Thorin said. “But once that’s accomplished, you may feel free to send letters to anyone you’d like.”

* * * *

The climb up the mountain to the broken battlement was the work of just thirty minutes, but Harry kept his mind focused on the task and didn’t allow himself to worry about what was going to happen once they got inside. He’d equipped everyone magically the best he could, and as long as Smaug didn’t actually get ahold of them physically, no one was really in all that much danger. He’d tested the anti-flame charms thoroughly, and nothing short of a volcano was going to set anyone on fire. Though, in all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure how hot the fire of an Arda dragon could get.

Everyone was armed; he’d even convinced his father to carry his crossbow, though Harry could tell he was being humored on that front. His ada had no illusions about his ability to kill Smaug. They were counting on Kíli to make a shot if it were possible and had created several magically reinforced arrows just for that purpose. In the months since Kíli had taken the jaw rune, the dwarf’s beard had appeared to almost sprout overnight, which made Harry think that the young prince had been trimming it damn nearly daily to keep it looking as sparse as possible, no matter the social consequences.

He dropped down onto the stone floor of the battlement, and one by one the others came over the ledge to join him. Hermione and his Ada came last. He really wished they’d stay outside the mountain, and it must have shown on his face because he was glared at fiercely by them both.

“You know, Ada, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“She’s right, and you’re wrong,” Bilbo declared and checked his crossbow.

They’d added runes to the small weapon—it now fired conjured iron bolts, and the night before, during target practice, his father had managed to fire over a hundred such bolts in under two minutes. He’d hit every single target, which had impressed the dwarrow even as it had actually, obviously, horrified his ada’s hobbit sensibilities. They had a larger version of the bow under construction for Kíli, but it wasn’t anywhere near ready for a conflict since the dwarf certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable using it in battle without a great deal of practice.

“I’m ready,” Bilbo declared. “Let’s get going.”

Oakenshield hesitated.

“Right now, Thorin. I signed up to do a job, and I’m going to do it,” Bilbo declared and glared at him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Thorin muttered and turned. “We’re on the west battlement—if the staircases are intact, then we can make our way down from here to the treasury, which is surely where that foul bastard has made his nest. It’s a twenty-minute walk.” He turned to Harry. “You’re sure he won’t be able to smell us?”

“Hermione can’t smell any of us, so it makes me think that the odor-masking spell is working as best as it can. Due to her animagus form, she has a profoundly good sense of smell.”

“What’s an animagus form?” Ori questioned as they followed Thorin down into the mountain from the battlement.

“Magical people can turn into animals if they put in the work to connect with their spirit animal,” Hermione explained in a low tone despite the security they’d activated to remain essentially silent to anyone outside of their party. “I sought my animagus spirit during the training we undertook with the dverger.”

“You can turn into an animal, and we’re just now learning about that?” Dwalin asked roughly. “What kind of animal?”

“A lioness,” Hermione admitted, and flushed when she got several shocked looks in return. “A cave lion, to be exact, but the natural species is extinct on my world. They’re not extinct here, however, so I was worried about showing you since every book I’ve read that I received from Arwen listed them as one of the more deadlier predators on Arda.”

“With good reason,” Dwalin said roughly. “They’re normally twice the size of a bloody warg. Later, you’re going to show us.” He glanced toward Harry. “Do you have one, lad?”

“Yes, actually, but nothing so pleasing as Hermione’s, at least when it comes to defense. I can turn into a snake.”

“Good for spying,” Nori said. “How big, color?”

“Very small and black,” Harry admitted. “And I did do a lot of spying in my form during the war on my world. I’m also venomous in my form, so I took out quite a few enemies who never saw me coming at all.”

“Good,” Nori said. “Very good, in fact. Is the species common on Arda?”

“I’ve never seen it here. On Earth, my form is called a Death Adder. I could fit in Ada’s pocket without an expansion charm.” Harry grinned when his father laughed. “Animagus are rare amongst our people because of the amount of work involved in achieving the transformation. It can take several years of study to accomplishment, but we had a lot of time in the time-chamber to gain that knowledge.”

The conversation drifted away as they moved deeper into the mountain, and nothing was said as Oakenshield led them onto a balcony just above the treasury. A guard station, surely, as it provided an excellent view of the entire room. The only part of Smaug that was visible was the tail, which he was slowly swishing through the gold coins. Not asleep, Harry thought, and obviously aware that he was no longer alone in the mountain.

They all stood there, watching the tail swish, until, in an avalanche of gold, Smaug reared up out of the hoard and twisted his long body as if to stretch.

“Tell me, thief, why can’t I smell you?” Smaug demanded. “Why can’t I hear you breathe?” He lifted his head, and his gaze drifted over them, though Harry was confident the dragon couldn’t actually see them. “Yet, I feel your magic. It is delicious. So different from the nasty little creatures I drove from my mountain all those years ago.”

Hermione’s hand clenched in his, and Oakenshield took a deep, outraged breath at Smaug’s claim.

Bilbo nudged Harry, and he reluctantly took the silencing charm off his father. “I’m not a thief at all, actually.”

“What are you then?” Smaug demanded. “Not a nasty little dwarf—you’re something very special and interesting.”

“Oh, I’m nothing special at all,” Bilbo declared. “There are thousands of people just like me running around my homeland. In fact, I’d go on record and say I’m quite average for my species.”

“Impossible, I’d know if such magical creatures existed.”

Smaug shifted on the gold, displaying his chest plate, which was covered in jewels and smelted gold. The dragon had made himself armor. There were three empty patches on his chest, but the one high up on his breast seemed the best target. Harry shared a look with Kíli, and the young dwarf gave a jerky nod. Harry focused on a guard alcove directly across from them and silently apparated to it. His gaze met Hermione’s, and he drew his staff.

Smaug’s head jerked, and his gaze seemed to center on Harry. He turned and looked at the first alcove again. “There are two of you? Two such magical creatures? Amazing. Tell me all about you, now!”

“Why should I?” Bilbo questioned.

“Tell me!” Smaug screamed and whipped his tail around to hit the small balcony.

Harry lurched forward and threw out a repairing spell, but it was too late; the structure collapsed, and the entire company spilled out into the treasure. He watched them scramble across the gold and did the only thing he could. He hit Smaug with the strongest stunner he had. The dragon stumbled and shook his head briefly before clawing at the gold. At least he couldn’t see them, Harry realized. Another spell shot toward the dragon as Hermione gained her feet. Her copper stave was glowing with power.

Unfortunately, it was a power that Smaug could see. The dragon lurched forward, struggling under her spell, and Harry fired again. It left him pinned to the gold, and there was no way they could reach his vulnerable spot from that angle. The dragon struggled and thrashed against the two spells, and a heaviness settled in Harry’s chest as he continued to throw magic into the spell. Hermione fell to her knees, but her stream of magic never changed.

Then an iron bolt slammed into Smaug’s right eye. The dragon screamed in agony, and for a moment, he was still. Harry used the shock of the injury to flip the dragon over. Smaug blew a stream of fire straight upward at him. It washed over him in a horrific wave of heat, and his ada shouted his name. He didn’t have enough air left to respond. The fire disappeared in a flash, and Harry slumped against the railing of the balcony in shock as he stared down at Smaug as he was forced to end his spell.

There was another bolt in his head and an arrow in his chest. He looked across the treasure and found Kíli standing on a pile of gold, bow primed with another arrow.

“Is it dead?” Hermione demanded as she gained her feet.

Oakenshield scrambled over the gold, elven sword drawn, and pushed it deep into the dragon’s chest next to Kíli’s arrow just as Smaug gave a ragged breath. The body slumped onto the coin, and Harry looked toward Hermione. She took a deep breath and stowed her stave with a practiced flick. Then, she fainted.

Harry hooked a leg over the railing and dropped down on the gold even as the rest of the company started wading through the treasure to her side. They made room for him as soon as he reached them, and he dropped down to his knees beside her.

He checked her pulse and relaxed a little. “Magical exhaustion, but I don’t have the magic left to check her and get us back to the tent.” He drew a potion out of his bracelet. “We’re both going to be useless for the next day or so.” He pulled out his mirror and passed it to his father. “Just in case Ragnok calls and asks for an update.” He took a pepper-up potion and stored the vial. “I’m going to apparate us to the tent, and I’ll probably pass out shortly after that.”

Bilbo nodded and sat back on his heels as his son picked up his future daughter-in-law and they both popped away. He looked at the dragon’s carcass and scowled. “I can’t believe you arseholes expected me to steal anything from that.”

Thorin burst out laughing, so Bilbo shoved him. The dwarf king fell back on the gold and continued to laugh, which set the rest of the company off.

“Let’s go back to the tent to keep watch over them while they sleep,” Dwalin said after everyone had laughed themselves out. “It doesn’t feel right to leave them vulnerable after what they’ve just done. The path into the mountain is only available to us, and no one knows, yet, that Smaug is dead.”

“Agreed,” Thorin said. “It’s best not to get complacent regarding the curse. The medallions seem to be working very well, but there’s no need to test the magic while we’re…I’d hate to fall deeper into the curse and cause Hadrian more work in the end regarding breaking it.”

* * * *

Bilbo started when the mirror activated. Fortunately, Ragnok didn’t appear too upset to see his face instead of Harry’s. “Hello.”

Ragnok took a deep breath. “Bilbo Baggins. Has Hadrian been injured?”

“No, but he’s magically exhausted. They managed to hold Smaug down while we killed him, but it took—well, I put his eyes out with my crossbow, Kíli got an arrow into his chest, then Thorin finally shoved his sword in as well. Hermione fainted afterward, but Harry didn’t think she was injured either.”

“She’d have been quite depleted to faint,” Ragnok murmured. “While she’s not as powerful as Hadrian, she’s easily one of the strongest witches alive from this world. I’ve seen her cast on a near continuous basis for several hours at a time and not weaken to such a point.”

“The dragon is enormous, and he was able to physically fight their stunning spells,” Bilbo explained and nodded when Ragnok raised an eyebrow. “But he’s dead. We’re all back in the tent since we didn’t want to leave Harry and Hermione alone while they slept—they’re both deeply unconscious. Smaug…felt their magic. He was responding to it and could sense their locations in the room despite the security spells they’d used to hide all of us. It isn’t in stasis yet, but I think it’ll be fine for a bit. I’ve noticed that it’s not degraded at all since yesterday.”

“His magic may preserve him for weeks,” Ragnok said. “Dragons and other magical creatures on Earth are often protected even in death if their bodies are deeply invested with magic. How is your king? Has the curse managed to circumvent the charms that Hermione created?”

“Not so far—none of them are acting off. We went back this morning to make sure the dragon was actually dead and that none of us had any trouble leaving the treasury. Thorin told me once that his grandfather often had to be dragged away from the gold to eat.”

Ragnok nodded. “Very well, are you near Hadrian and Hermione?”

“They’re asleep in his room, but I can enter. Why?”

“Check their skin—they should be very warm to the touch, almost as if they’re running a fever.”

“If they’re not?”

“Then they’ve damaged their magic, and they will need assistance in recovery. I can pass potions through the mirror to you.”

Bilbo stood up and quickly went to the back of the smial to enter his son’s room. They were curled up together, still dressed in their armor, on top of the blankets. He touched Harry first, and his son stirred briefly under his hand, but Bilbo hushed him gently as if he were still a child, and Harry settled back down. “He’s very warm.” He touched Hermione’s cheek carefully, then her forehead. “She’s certainly running a fever.”

“Good,” Ragnok declared. “She’ll probably wake up first. They’ll both be very hungry when they wake up, so be prepared to feed them—lots of bread, meat, and potatoes. Magical people thrive on starches and protein. He’ll wake up shortly after he reaches the fever stage. Their magic is rebuilding itself, which is the reason for the heat in their bodies. The hotter they are, the closer they are to replenishing their core naturally.”

Bilbo relaxed. “I’m glad you activated the mirror. I wished last night that I could, but I know why Harry has it spelled to his magical signature.”

“He’s always been very invested in security,” Ragnok said as Bilbo left the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen.

“How does the packing go?”

“Very well, we’re currently in the midst of putting our livestock in stasis for the trip.”

“Livestock?” Bilbo questioned.

“I certainly can’t expect Oakenshield to feed my clan on such short notice,” Ragnok said wryly. “Our high magical art users eat very much like a hobbit.”

Bilbo laughed. “Ah, I see. How will you bring them?”

“We have large enclosures that we call quarterages that have the same spells as the tent you’re currently in. We’ll make them sleep for the trip just in case, but they’ll live in the crates. Each one is five square leagues in size, so they have room to roam, graze, and the like. We’re bringing cows, chickens, pigs, and sheep.”

“Ah, too bad you can’t bring tuna. Harry’s recently realized that we don’t have tuna here, though he’s hoping to find something similar when he goes west to trade in the spring.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ragnok said with a grin. “We’ve also trunks that act as gardens—we had no choice when the human world started to intrude on the magical one. The magical people refused to share land with us. We retreated fully underground and developed methods for growing our own food in our caves. The advantage is that not only can we grow food year-round, we can also grow food that would never grow in our actual environment. I have a coffee plantation that is the envy of the entire Horde.”

“If it’s the coffee that Hadrian has supplied us—I do hope you plan to bring it,” Thorin said as he sat down at the table. “I could live on it.”

“His preferred bean is, in fact, from my plantation,” Ragnok said. “How do you fare, Your Majesty?”

“Old, tired, and stunned,” Thorin said as the mirror was passed to him. He propped it up in the manner he’d often seen Hadrian do. “And you? What’s the first move your opponents will make to unseat you as chieftain? Is a physical invasion probable?”

“No, I’ll be challenged in single combat. Currently, seven clan leaders are preparing to petition me, so I’d be forced to face them one after another until I was either victorious over them all or dead on the floor. If I have a physical incursion, it will be from that blasted wizard, Dumbledore, who thinks that he can attack me because I’m at odds with the other clans. But what he doesn’t quite understand is that they’ll turn on him en masse should he do such a thing.”

Thorin nodded. “You’re not going to accept the challenge, right?”

“My pride would say yes, but I’ve bigger concerns than the politics of this situation. My wife, my child, and my grandchildren must come first. I promised Lenora, foolishly, that I would never die before her. I won’t keep that promise by accepting challenges from seven dverger half my age. I’d be lucky to survive the first two.”

“You have tents like this one to house your families? The mountain is a mess—in more than one way. The bones of my people are scattered across the floors of many of the rooms. He destroyed everything he could and befouled the place in just the fashion you’d assume wherever he could.”

“It’s more tomb than home at this point,” Ragnok murmured. “We can clean it fairly easily with magic. Hadrian can clear a place for us once he’s back on his feet. He’ll know how much room we’ll need to make a base camp of sorts.

“The central hall has standing room for thirty thousand, though it hasn’t housed that many in this age,” Thorin said. “But it’s not far from the front gates, which are in severe disrepair. We’ll need to fix that quickly to protect the mountain from outside attack. Considering how much gold we’re sitting on—being invaded for it is a concern.” He paused. “Speaking of—you’ll have to melt down all of your coin and restrike it to adhere to our own money system here.”

“We started that process shortly after the vote. We’ve decided to wait until we’re there to cast the coin, so we can ensure we have the standard down correctly. We have various samples of different currencies from across Arda that Hadrian brought us. I have the clan conclave preparing the migration gateway. As Hadrian refused to anchor it on your end unless I proved it wouldn’t kill me, my son took the project on and has come upon a method of empowerment that will wipe out the magical reserves we’ve built that currently ward our home.”

“And that’s not dangerous for any of you?”

“Magic is dangerous, but I trust my son, and he’s confident of his methodology. He’s a mastery in ritual magic, which is the most difficult magical discipline that we can undertake.”

“What is your master craft?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo left them to the conversation in favor of preparing a meal for his children.

He paused briefly at that but then nodded. Hermione would be his daughter-in-law soon enough. He hoped she’d agree to call him ada.

“I hold dual masteries in defense and blood magic. I met my wife while I studied blood magic in another country. I stole her, basically, from another clan. They were not at all happy. In fact, my first challenge as chieftain came from her former clan, as they were still immensely insulted to have lost a dam of her magical talent. She has masteries in blood magic and transfiguration. Harry told me that you watched Hermione craft a bridge with transfiguration.”

“It was startling,” Thorin admitted. “The magic users of our world are nothing like them or your people, for that matter.”

“Our people,” Ragnok corrected. “You look enough like my brother that it was startling to the point of painful the first time I saw you.”

“Hadrian told me you lost him during the war. You have my sympathies for your losses. I lost my own brother in battle. It’s a pain like no other.”

“Yes, and two of his sons,” Ragnok said. “But I did my best to avenge them. It was my brother’s death that destroyed the treaty we had with the government that prevented us from taking up arms against the wizarding kind. Garrick was acting as an envoy to Hadrian’s encampment. He was taken and tortured for information—when he refused to give it, the Death Eaters killed him and left his body in front of my bank.”

“Harry told us about that. He still carries a great deal of guilt regarding Garrick’s capture,” Bilbo said as he brought a bowl of potatoes to the table to peel.

“Your son makes it his business to assume as much guilt as possible,” Ragnok said roughly. “It’s easily his biggest fault.”

“How will the migration spell work?”

“Hadrian told me that you’ve used a portkey.”

“Yes, I have to admit that I enjoyed it,” Thorin said and grinned when the dverger laughed.

“The migration platform will work much like a portkey, except we’ll create a pathway between this world and yours. While we could do it without an anchor, having Harry create a landing zone for us will ease the power and spell burden. We’ll transport roughly 100 individuals at a time, so it won’t happen quickly. We’ll need at least a full day to accomplish it. I’ll come in the last group, and we’ll leave nothing behind that would allow others to follow us.”

* * * *

Harry shifted slightly as Hermione moved to sit up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Hermione murmured and moved back down into his arms with a huff. “I’m so fucking tired I could sleep for a year, but I’m also starving.”

“I could eat the better part of that dragon,” Harry admitted and grinned when she laughed. “We need to get up and start work. We’ll need to clear out a space big enough for Oakenshield’s people, break the blood curse, put the dragon in stasis, build the transportation gateway, and I have to anchor a ritual circle for Razel.”

“Big list—what’s the priority?”

“Well, our first must-do will be storing the dragon carcass,” Harry said. “The rest will be for Oakenshield to decide, I guess. I think he’ll want his people from the Blue Mountains here before Durin’s Day, so that will be his focus. Ragnok’s situation is fluid and could change rapidly, so my priority will be building the connection to Razel.”

“What if those from the Blue Mountains protest the migration of the dverger?”

“Then you and I will leave—we’ll find some unclaimed land, and I’ll build the ritual circle there. Then Ragnok can treat with Oakenshield as any other dwarf lord on Arda. We’d have no issues clearing out the Grey Mountains for Ragnok’s people, but the King Under the Mountain knows very well he needs the dverger’s numbers to increase the power and standing of his own clan. He’s not going to part with them easily. The other dwarf lords have broken faith with him, and he won’t forget it. I think he’s forgiven it, but they’ll never enjoy the relationship they want with Erebor—not in any single way.”

“I smell bacon.”

“For the love of Merlin, I think Ada is making bacon cheeseburgers.”

“Oh.” She pulled free and rolled right out of the bed. “Giving him that cookbook from Earth was the best decision ever!” She trotted right out of his room without another word.

Harry laughed and scooted off the bed as well. By the time he reached the kitchen, Hermione was at the table assembling her cheeseburger with the kind of concentration she normally reserved for really complicated potions. The dwarrow were watching in amused silence. She had a whole plate of fried potatoes on her left. Harry would’ve complained if his Ada didn’t have more in the deep fryer they’d set up. He dropped down in the chair beside her and was promptly given his own plate.

“I love you,” Harry said, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was talking to his father or the unassembled sandwich on his plate. He made quick work of piling it together and wasn’t at all daunted by the fact that the finished product was taller than his mouth was big. “I wish I had ketchup.”

“How do you two feel?” Oakenshield asked.

Hermione waved a hand as she chewed. Then she flicked a bottle of ketchup out of her bracelet and offered it.

“Merlin, woman, we must talk about the contents of your bracelet,” he exclaimed and snagged the bottle. He swirled a generous portion on his bun and put it all back together. “Do you have any malt vinegar?”

She produced it and promptly doused her fried potatoes in it. “What sort of Englishwoman do you take me for? What else would go on chips?” She took another bite of her hamburger and chewed it with a near pornographic groan. “I’m going to need two more of these!”

Bilbo laughed. “Yes, I thought you might. Ragnok told us that you’d be starving when you woke up.”

“I feel fine,” Harry said after he’d eaten half of his hamburger. “Tired, but it’s more magical-tired than physical-tired. How long did we sleep?”

“A little over a full day,” Balin said. “We’ve started repairing the front gates from inside the mountain. No one, yet, knows that we’ve taken care of the dragon. Lake-town seems to be bustling along as normal, and there’s been no movement from Mirkwood that we could ascertain. Ragnok has started to prepare for the migration in earnest.” He paused and shared a glance with Thorin. “We think it would be best, politically, if the settlement in the Blue Mountains was brought here first.”

“I don’t disagree,” Harry admitted. “Are those who would protest the dverger coming to Erebor?”

“There are a few of the old guard that protest everything I do,” Thorin said roughly. “They were on my father’s council and assume to be my council as well, though I’ve never sat a formal one. When I do, they’ll be in for a very rude awakening.”

“Why?” Hermione questioned.

“Because the King’s Council is seated at this very table,” Thorin said evenly. “I won’t have a single one of those bastards who ignored my call for this quest to advise me on anything in the future.”

“That’ll go over terribly,” Dwalin muttered. “I look forward to every minute of it.”

Balin nodded. “It certainly has the potential to be entertaining. It would be best if Ragnok were to be included in any council you form. His people will probably expect it considering their numbers and circumstances.”

“They’ll be my people the moment they set foot in Erebor,” Thorin said. “All of the adults have sworn this already and will make vows on their magic upon my coronation, Balin. Still, I don’t disagree, and I’m certain we’ll need Ragnok’s council when it comes to integrating the more magical members of his clan into our own. Plus, I’d not want his wife or son to suffer a severe loss of status if it can be avoided.” He turned to Harry. “You said before you can ensure no one enters the mountain who is disloyal to the line of Durin.”

“Yes.”

“Could you put such magic on the temporary gateway in the Blue Mountains so that only those loyal to me will be able to use it to migrate?”

“Yes, and I was going to suggest it. I know you’re a bit uncomfortable with asking your clan to swear their fealty on their magic.”

“If they proved disloyal and were cast from my mountain, they could and probably would lose their ability to craft,” Thorin murmured. “They wouldn’t even be able to make their way in the human towns after such a loss.”

“Granted, but what do you owe a traitor?” Harry asked evenly. “Moreover, if they can’t swear a simple loyalty oath to the crown, then how can you be expected to trust them with what you hold dear?”

“It’s simple in the end,” Dori interjected. “They swear fealty, or they leave—because Harry’s right. We owe a traitor nothing.”

Thorin focused on Harry. “You’re a king in your own right. We’ve not discussed it because it clearly makes you uncomfortable.”

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head even as Hermione nodded. “No, I’m not. My mother brought a legacy back to the magical people of Britain, but they…betrayed her in the most base way and allowed her to be murdered by a dark wizard. I’ll never forgive them for it. I was in a position to inherit the legacy of the last magical king of the country where I was born, but I knew the moment I was told that I’d never accept it.

“Fortunately, I had a distant relation who claimed the legacy in my stead as regent. He loves his country, he respects the legacy of our people, and he has a vision for their future. I loathe seventy-five percent of the magical people I met, and I saw nothing changing that any time soon. If he serves faithfully, then his son will be allowed to claim the legacy in full and be the king they need.”

“Ragnok didn’t seem to be thrilled with your decision,” Thorin pointed out.

“No, not at all. He saw great potential in having me rule magical Britain because he knew I have no tolerance for the bigotry his kind has dealt with for hundreds of generations. The difference between Dumbledore and Ragnok, who both had their reasons to support my claim of regency, is that Ragnok ultimately accepted the decision was mine, not his.

“Dumbledore, given an opportunity, would’ve forced the position on me in the hopes that he would be able to manipulate me into doing his bidding. Though he failed to realize that if I’d claimed the crown, my first order of business would’ve been to try and convict him of treason. He’d have had a real hard time getting his agenda accomplished from a hole in the ground.”

He finished his first cheeseburger and was promptly presented with another. Hermione had silently plowed through a plate of potatoes and two burgers while he’d been talking.

“I don’t even know where she’s putting it,” Kíli exclaimed.

That earned him an obscene hand gesture from Hermione, which thankfully only the two of them understood, though from the laughter it earned her, the dwarrow had a pretty good idea of what it probably meant.

* * * *

They moved into the mountain with little fanfare save for the part where they had to coax the ponies back into the tent. The animals weren’t all that interested in being stabled again after so long in the large corral with fresh grass. Though winter was settling in, grazing would be largely curtailed. Hermione had used a harvesting spell to make several bales of hay for each pony that would feed them until Harry could make a few trips to trade for goods.

Harry had secured Smaug’s remains in a stasis in a large room just down from the treasury. Then he’d focused on shifting the wardstone for the mountain down into a small room under the throne that would be easy to guard and defend in the future. He’d laid heavy intent charms throughout the wards so that no enemy of the Line of Durin could enter the mountain proper. Though creating a pocket for diplomatic visitors that would accommodate a variety of motivations near the front of the mountain kingdom had been a bit involved. Eventually, he’d just copied what he remembered from the Horde’s wards regarding public areas of their banks to create meeting rooms and temporary sleeping quarters for any future guests.

All of that accomplished, he’d tapped into the large ley line under the mountain to create the destination gateway. The temporary connection in the Blue Mountains would be powered by Erebor since he already knew that the magic in the Blue Mountains was slowly dying, most especially in the halls where Thorin’s people had been allowed to settle by the other clans. It was no wonder, really, that the mountain was barely producing enough for them to live on.

Right now, the dwarrow were arguing over who would be going with him to the Blue Mountains to activate the other end of the gateway. He allowed the vehement discussion because, in the end, he knew there was only one choice, and he was waiting for that choice to make itself known.

“Enough!” Bilbo pointed a spoon at Glóin, who’d stood and drawn his axe. “This entire argument is ridiculous. The only one of you who can convince everyone to step through a magical gateway is Thorin. One or more of you might be able to coax a few people through, but not everyone.”

Glóin frowned but his axe away with a huff. “Right.” He focused on Thorin, who was still reading. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I wasn’t participating in that ridiculous discussion,” Thorin said dryly. “It should be obvious that the task would fall to me, though I’m not thrilled to leave the mountain having just recovered her. While most would certainly believe you if you told them that you’ve used a magical device to travel back from Erebor and that we’ve killed the dragon, it’s going to take an immense leap of faith to get a single dwarrow to step through that gateway. They’ve followed me through much worse, with very little to show for it in the end.

“In the end, it comes down to Dís.” He laughed when they all groaned. “And not a single one of you could convince her to step through a magical portal. She probably won’t even believe me, but she’ll do it as she’d never question my judgment in public.” He turned to Harry. “But before we undertake that trip—we must deal with the curse.”

“If it were me, I’d have brought the curse to the mountain contained in an object,” Hermione said as she stopped going over Harry’s plans for the ritual circle.

“Agreed, the curse is complicated and would have taken weeks to entrench in the mountain and in the line of Durin. He would’ve wanted to plant it and walk away, which means he brought it wholesale into the mountain. I’d have made it very sturdy. Something hidden?”

“Or something so profoundly attractive that once found, no one would willingly part with it,” Hermione said, and Harry took a deep breath.

He turned to Oakenshield, who had paled. “Tell me about the Arkenstone.”

Thorin cleared his throat. “My grandfather, Thror, found it deep in the mountain. He declared it the Heart of the Mountain and a divine symbol of his right to rule. He shaped it himself and allowed no one to touch it during the entire process. In fact, it is said that no one was allowed to gaze upon the stone until it was polished for presentation. He presented it to the court and mounted it on his throne.” He paused and frowned. “My father often told the story as one might speak of a myth, though his account never varied in any single way.”

“Like he’d been taught to say it,” Balin agreed. “As if it were something he were required to…ah.”

“Not a single detail different between the first telling and the hundredth,” Dwalin agreed. “Our father never mentioned the stone at all unless he was directly asked about it, and he would only say it was the heart of the mountain.”

“Saruman might have magically influenced Thror to the point that he repeated the story so often to his own son that the details became concrete,” Hermione surmised. “A modified form of brainwashing which would’ve been highly effective when combined with the curse itself. It’s probably been spelled to be attractive to anyone who sees it. If it were me, I’d make it appear priceless to ensure that my targets never want to part with it,” Hermione said.

“We had to drag my grandfather out of this mountain the day that Smaug came because he went back for the Arkenstone,” Thorin said shortly. “If we have to destroy it, many of the other dwarf clans will consider it a sign that I should not be allowed to rule.”

“We might be able to cleanse it,” Harry said. “If we can’t—we can certainly make a replica of it that would pass anyone’s inspection. Well, anyone but Saruman himself. Though he’d have to make it all the way into the mountain to see it, and we’ll work to make sure he’s not allowed within a hundred miles of this mountain as long as he decides to linger here on Arda.” He paused. “Or until I kill him.”

“There is no or,” Hermione said tartly. “That dark git isn’t going to sit in his tower and plot against you the rest of our lives, Harry. If we wanted to endure that kind of bullshite, we could’ve stayed on Earth and just hobbitnapped your ada from the Shire.”

Harry grinned at her.

“Stop smiling at me, it makes me stupid,” she said crossly and went back to reading the ritual plan with a blush. “Go summon that stupid stone and see if it’s cursed.”

“As my lady wishes,” Harry said dryly and stood. “Come along, then, let’s go hunt for a cursed rock.”

“Not all of us,” Dori suggested. “Just those of us far enough removed from the line of Durin not to be impacted directly by the curse.”

Harry could tell that Thorin wanted to argue, but the king finally nodded.

“It’s for the best.”

“Also, if we’re forced to destroy it—you’ll be able to say honestly that you had nothing to do with the destruction of the Heart of the Mountain,” Ori said quietly. “I think that’s an important distinction.”

* * * *

“Well, it’s pretty,” Harry said as they all stared at the Arkenstone hovering in the air in front of him. He’d encased it in magic as soon as it had obeyed the summoning spell, so he wouldn’t have to touch it.

“Very,” Nori said. “I can see why any dwarrow who saw it would want to have it. Even without the curse, it’s probably the most beguiling gemstone I’ve ever seen.”

“It has the colors of an opal and the structure of a gem,” Bifur said. “How could Thror have thought for a moment that it was a natural stone?”

“The magic of the curse made him, I’m sure,” Harry said. “Does anyone feel unduly impacted by its presence?”

“I don’t,” Nori said. “And I’m easily the most inclined to steal amongst us. It’s pretty, but it’s not tempting due to how impossible it would be to sell.”

Harry laughed. “Right.”

“Is it cursed?” Ori asked.

“Without the curse, this would just be a fat piece of diamond,” Harry admitted. “All of that color you see is the curse. It’s profoundly powerful—more powerful than Saruman could’ve mustered in a single event. He must have spent decades building this.”

“So, he’s been corrupt for far longer than you ever thought,” Bombur said. “Well, if you end the curse, then it will just be a fat diamond? No one is going to believe it is the Arkenstone after that.”

“I can’t clean this. It’ll have to be destroyed. We’re going to have to recreate it.” Harry looked around the treasury. “We need a diamond of some size or several that we can combine. See how many loose stones you can find. We’ll try to match the weight and size first, then the color.”

“Do we tell anyone it’s not the real Arkenstone?” Ori asked curiously.

Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to lie to Oakenshield as he figured it might damage his relationship with the dwarf, and it was obvious his ada was emotionally invested. It was an annoying situation because he figured his father wasn’t far from picking out a place to dig a blasted cradle, and Harry wasn’t all that sure he wanted siblings, which made him feel like an arsehole.

“Keeping it a secret from the other dwarf lords is necessary,” Dori said finally. “In fact, it might lead to war if they discover that the Arkenstone has been destroyed. Their lines have sworn their loyalty on it.”

Harry exhaled in frustration. “Fantastic. Okay, let’s duplicate it first.”

An hour later, they’d uncovered a chest of uncut diamonds and found one far larger than the Arkenstone. Bofur proved to be the most skilled at shaping gemstones, so he directed Harry in cutting the diamond. Ori made detailed drawings of the original Arkenstone, and they used those to shape every single inch of the surface. Infusing it with color was easier as Harry simply duplicated the pattern of the curse with a ball of unfocused magic and pushed it into the diamond. The finished product, which took seven hours to create, was just as stunning and enthralling as the original.

They left the treasury in favor of the large community hall they were clearing out to house all those immigrating to the mountain in the short term. Harry put the cursed stone on the floor, cast a large shield around himself, and aimed his staff at it. It shattered under the strongest blasting curse he had in his repertoire. He cleansed all the residue of the curse away, vanished the diamond dust, and took a deep breath.

“Good job, lad,” Dori said. “Some would certainly disagree, but you’ve just saved the line of Durin from themselves. That curse would’ve seen to the end of them, I’m sure.”

“Agreed,” Bombur said. “We’ll tell the others, but make a pact not to share this with anyone. Can you make it magical? That way we can’t even reveal it under…less than sober circumstances?”

Harry laughed. “I can, yes, but it would be best if Hermione were to seal it since you’d all be protecting the secret of my actions. She’s very good at that sort of thing.”

* * * *

Thorin flinched just a little when Hadrian carefully put the Arkenstone down in front of him. He picked it up because he trusted Bilbo’s son wouldn’t have brought it to him if it were genuinely cursed. He’d held it just once—the day he was officially announced to be the crown prince and Thrain’s successor. That had been just three months before Smaug came.

“It’s not cursed then?” Dwalin asked with a frown.

“The original Arkenstone was nothing more than a large diamond used to anchor a very powerful curse,” Harry said. “We found an uncut diamond of a similar size. I used magic to make a replica of the stone, then destroyed the cursed one.”

“This is the replica?” Thorin asked in confusion. “Are you certain you didn’t destroy the wrong one?”

“I’m very sure,” Harry said. “Bombur has suggested we make a magical pact between us to never reveal that it’s a replica. With the right wording, it would prevent one of us from inadvertently revealing the truth. Dori believes that it could lead to war if the other dwarf lords learned it was destroyed.”

“He’s not wrong,” Balin said. “But I can’t believe…your craft work is stunning, Hadrian. I’m amazed you don’t have a mastery in any sort of jewel craft.”

“Bofur directed my magic throughout the whole process,” Harry said. “Without his guidance, I’d have probably gone through several stones before I got it right. He kept me from shattering it multiple times.” He turned to Hermione. “We’ll need you to seal the pact since it will hide my actions.”

She stood and drew her copper stave. Several of the dwarrow gaped at her. “What?”

“Where did you get that?” Fíli asked in shock. “It’s….”

“A fire stave,” Hermione explained. “I’m an elemental magus—which is why transfiguration comes naturally to me. I can control the elements—water, Earth, wind, and fire but I am at my most powerful with fire. High Priestess Lenore, my mentor, fired this in her personal forge the day she declared my mastery in transfiguration complete. I used it when we were in the treasury fighting the dragon.”

“Honestly, lass, you looked like just a big ball of magic to us until you fainted,” Thorin admitted roughly. “I was worried that your magic might have broken free from your body. It was like being in the same room with the sun.”

“Agreed,” Bilbo said. “It was difficult to see. I had to get as far from you as I could just to fire my crossbow.”

Hermione blushed. “Sometimes when I’m really focused, my magical aura glows like that. Sorry.”

Kíli laughed. “Well, it worked out regardless.”

She smiled and held out her stave in both hands, displaying the copper stave and the rubies that had been entwined with the metal. “A stave isn’t much different from a staff. Sometimes we need a robust magical focus to perform high magical arts. This allows me to expand my magic for various tasks without overtaxing myself. Neither one of us could have held Smaug down using just wands.”

“No, we’d have all been dragon food,” Harry said by way of agreement. “Let’s agree on the wording of the pact and get that settled before dinner. Tomorrow, the king and I will be ready to travel to the Blue Mountains.”

Return to the Series Page

Just two snippets this year. I've progressing and things are evening out. I hope to be super productive for RT this year but I'm probably not going to have anything ready for Quantum Bang (sadface).

How to Love (Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz)
Canon Divergence

Down to Us (Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz)
Sentinel Crossover

KM