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Mar 26, 2017

HP #3D - Temeraire Crossover

Rating: T Summary: Harry finds himself stranded in an alternate universe in which the Napoleonic Wars are fought with dragons. Yeah. He thought it was weird too. Category: M/M Pairing: John Granby/Harry Potter Warnings: none

THIS IS PART IV

Note: this is the end! I’m not sure if there will be another installment. I’ve edited this fic for what seems like years, and still there’s segments that need work. My dyslexia is especially noticeable in some rough areas here and there, and my writing skillz (what writing skillz?!) three years ago are not what they are now. But hey, if someone enjoyed this then I call it a win. Thanks for reading!

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Part IV

“No, Remy, sorry,” Harry was saying. “I’m afraid old Boney’s dead here. We trounced him.”

Remy looked at his company, whom, despite the strangeness of the situation, seemed quite at ease with him. Or well…after a few hours of going to pieces, before the shock of meeting a well-spoken and sort of but not really non-violent dragon had worn off that is. Remy had used that time to coddle his captain for a bit, poking at him and snuffling his hair to make sure that Harry was quite well. And of course, to interrogate him.

“Who should we fight then?” Remy asked, put out but also satisfied that Napoleon had met a sticky end. “Perhaps those machines in the sky? They’re dreadfully loud. Can I eat them?”

“I see where Potter gets his violent habits from,” Draco said, very grouchy that he had been dragged out of bed for this meeting. Beside him, Bill looked overwhelmed but much calmer than when he had first run to Harry with the news. Teddy was helping Charlie wash Fred, who was purring quite loudly at the sensation.

“It might be the other way around,” Bill said. “If Harry’s older.”

“We have the Ministry to fight, and that will do,” Harry told Remy. “And those are planes. You shouldn’t like the taste of them, I don’t think. You’ll never believe how the Ministry has bollocksed things up–”

Bill shushed him for some strange reason, so he went on in a quieter voice, “but we’ll need to hatch more like Fred, if we’re to beat them.”

“And then we can have our own Aerial Corps!” Remy said excitedly. “Yes, I quite like that idea.”

“I don’t,” Bill muttered just as Draco said, “Are you mad? These are Ministry sanctioned Dragon Preserves, Potter. If you think they won’t notice eggs missing, or you training an army of bloody dragons, then you’re more stupid than I thought. And mad. And suicidal–”

“Actually,” Charlie suddenly spoke up, trying his best to dislodge Fred’s tail from around his neck. “The Ministry doesn’t often come here. You won’t find many Romanian sympathizers, either. Though they won’t go to war for us, I think.”

“What about the dragon keepers in Wales?” Harry queried, ignoring Bill’s increasingly panicked expression.

Charlie frowned. “What mates I had there are gone,” he said. “There was a strike when they brought the dragons to Azkaban. We had just got them out of Gringott’s, see, for their poor living conditions. They heard Azkaban was even worse, that the first hundred they took starved to death. My mates had a bit of a riot, were locked up, and never seen again. The Ministry reckoned they had better keep their dragons alive, so none have starved, but I don’t think they’re treated well at all. In any case, the Welsh Preserve went silent. No one wants to speak out. But some of my friends were well-liked, Harry, we may find a fair few allies there.”

Harry nodded. “Well, that’s settled then,” he said. “We’ll have to talk to the Romanians, see if they’ll let us have a few eggs since they don’t seem to be doing much with them, and then we’ll test the waters back home.”

“And what? Train dragons to fight? We’re outnumbered, still, you know,” Teddy pointed out.

Fred lifted his head and blinked at them. “I can breathe fire,” he said, as if Teddy were slow. “And most dragons can’t be hurt with magic. A hundred dragons against a hundred men, and I’m afraid you are the ones that are dreadfully outnumbered.”

“That’s right,” Remy agreed. “And I have fought twenty-two gun frigates, Grand Chevaliers, and Napoleon’s army, and have taken many of them as prizes. If you still think I’m no match for a bunch of crusty old wizards, pray tell me now, so I will know who to eat for my next meal.”

“Now, Remy,” Harry said, patting Remy consolingly. His amusement was hard to hide, however. “You aren’t allowed to eat my godson.”

“Oh,” Remy exclaimed, perking up. “So you are Teddy! A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I shan’t eat you. For Harry. You know, my capitaine was terribly upset to have left you behind, when he went to fight Napoleon. He was very sad–”

“Yes, Remy, thank you,” Harry cut him off, his face red. Teddy was laughing though. “I think we should get started. First and foremost, it is Fred that should have our undivided attention. He will be the deciding factor of whether or not this can be done. He will need to be taught about rigging, of course, and the maneuvers–”

“Oh, I already know about most of it,” Fred told them, nuzzling Charlie. “I should like a crew to protect my captain.”

“I beg your pardon,” Remy said, somewhat sheepishly. “But I’ve told him quite a bit about our home. I hope you don’t mind.”

“On the contrary, this makes things much easier,” Harry said. “Though I am a bit skeptical as to how Fred turned out so very different from the others.”

“Remy talked to me,” Fred blurted, as Charlie took on the expression of the shamed.

“Harry, we never thought to speak with the eggs,” he said. “We mostly kept them in the saunas, or in fire pits while the mothers fussed over them. And I definitely didn’t think to talk English to them, I rarely do it enough as it is, besides to Barnaby, the cook. He’s English. But they haven’t learned Romanian, either.”

“Of course they have,” Fred interjected. “They can talk to you, but they don’t want to.”

“I think he’s quite right,” Remy nodded. “I have learned some of their dragontongue, and they are not unintelligent. It is their first language, absolutely, but I would not be surprised if Romanian were their second. They are also horribly lazy. You feed them too much, and they cannot hunt or fly very much. And you are kind to them, do not think I am critical, but they see you as silly, but also their captors. It is easy not to want to talk to humans here. I suspect their language is all they have to keep them apart from humans. Or cattle, as it were.”

Charlie looked away from Remy, deflating visibly. “I would not have spoken to you if I was not assured of your character,” Fred reminded him. “And the mistake can be remedied, my Charlie, if we speak with them now.”

“They would want to be set free,” Draco pointed out. “Can you imagine it? Fire and death, everywhere.” He laughed without humour. “Some rethinking about this sorry plan might be in order.”

Remy swiveled his head around to stare at Draco, effectively making him nervous. “We had the same problem back home,” Remy announced. “Most dragons were happy to fight for England, because they had captain and crew as their companions. Spoiled by them, more like.”

He ignored Harry’s snort that very blatantly said Remy was a hypocrite, and went on to say, “But in some countries, like China, dragons roamed the streets, had their own capital, and worked for their food. If the lot here were not intelligent, this would be an impossible endeavor. But they are, you see, and though vengeful of their captivity, if we point out the blame is not on their caregivers here, they will see the fault of your government and want to fight for manumission.”

“Perhaps we should focus on one rebellion at a time,” Bill said in response, where the others were silent.

“Why?” Harry retorted. “Why? I made the mistake of not speaking out overly much about the conditions back home, and though it is an objection that some would find selfish at a time of war, it cannot be ignored. Especially here, Bill, where no one is happy with their lot. Not even Hermione and Ron. They are not happy. I know it.”

“Why shouldn’t we show our strength?” Remy continued. “If you want us for allies, I’m afraid your assumptions of our self-control and intelligence will have to be put out to pasture. And there is no equality shown better than between comrades at arms, fighting together for the same right of living.”

Harry wrapped his arm around Remy and stood to face any more arguments come their way. Yet none was brought forthwith. Charlie, in fact, decided for the rest of them by saying, “Well, that’s torn it. I suppose we have some negotiating to do.”

“You suppose right,” Harry grinned.

:::::::

Getting the eggs from the Romanians was dreadfully easy. The notoriety of Fred’s intelligence was spread quickly, and their plans (vaguely and subtlety intimated) were approved if only because Charlie confessed the Romanians thought it some grand experiment. And they did not much like the Ministry for Magic, anyway, which helped in some small way. They chose from twenty eggs to take five, and Harry cast the strongest, most long lasting heating charm upon them before they were safely ensconced separately from the others.

Charlie had, during this time, also exchanged words with his old friends at the Welsh Preserve. The unspecified, mysterious overtures of attempted alliance were well met, so much in fact that the Preserve was very keen on meeting with their group as soon as possible. This cast suspicion in Draco’s mind, and if Harry were to admit an accord with him, in Harry’s as well. But Charlie was very sure that his friend, a Mr. Martin, was an enthusiast for the resistance, however quietly and carefully. Charlie claimed that he had never known a more anarchical man.

With their eggs safely acquired (and Remy on the job of teaching them, post hatching), and the upcoming meeting with the men at the English Preserve, all that remained was speaking with the dragons. They chose to talk with the Romanian habitants, by way of trial and error before they would do the same in Wales. Remy lead them out to the squabbling groups, their suspicious eyes alighting upon the would-be diplomats the moment they entered the field.

“Hello,” Remy said in stuttering dragontongue, which, much to his offense, inspired a tittering of laughter.

“…can’t speak, the blackie…” said one.

“Who does he have with him?”

“More wizards, he might be working with them…chain us up again…awful two-legged murderers…”

“Please,” Remy said, switching to very unpolished Romanian. “They won’t murder anyone.”

The dragons did not respond to this, though Remy knew they understood. “We’ve come to negotiate your release.”

This made them sit up, some hissing, but all betraying their understanding of the tongue. “If you’ll talk to Charlie, the red caregiver, here,” he said, extending his nose to the man. “He’ll tell you what’s afoot. He wants to free you all, because he along with the other caregivers, think it is right. He is not free, either, you see. The government has chained all of us.”

The dragons did not speak, or move at this proclamation. “Perhaps they are too wary of humans,” Remy said to Harry sadly. “We may be too late.”

“If what you say is true,” one of the dragons interrupted in perfect Romanian. “We shall listen to this human’s speech. But if you are lying, I shall gut you and fry your innards with my fire.”

Remy fidgeted. “I’m not lying,” he said, not wanting to provoke them now that he had them talking. “Just listen, if you please. Charlie is very kind.”

“What is that dragonet about?” another asked, inspiring chatter of agreement and curiosity from his fellows.

“I have chosen Charlie as my captain,” Fred answered, showing well the efforts of his tutelage from Charlie in Romanian. “We will fight the government together, and never be parted.”

A red and gold dragon of medium size hissed at Fred. “You should be ashamed,” she said. “We are dragons. They are humans. They have killed and captured us for hundreds of years. A companion,” she spat. “Chains more like. Murderers!”

Remy made to protest, afraid all would fall into chaos, but Fred, the dear, merely sat up and said imperiously, “You are stupid and lazy. You would complain and complain about your lot, but won’t do anything at all about it. A captain will help you. The humans that feed us are not like the others. They regard us with respect, with affection, and you would call them murderers when they have treated you so well. They too, have suffered, for fighting for you. Charlie’s friends were killed, in your defense, revolting against the government. Yet you disregard them and spit upon us, when we will fight for the rights of humans and dragons everywhere! It is you who should be ashamed!”

Charlie looked to Harry and whined, “What has your Remy done to him? He’s a politician!” Remy, however, looked ridiculously proud of Fred, as Harry shrugged in response. He would have Remy tell him what Fred had said later.

The dragons were silent after this admonishment, and Fred seemed to have lost his patience. “Fine then,” he said, turning his back on them. “You will stay here and complain all your days, doing nothing. It is the only thing you seem to be good at. Come, Charlie, they are hopeless.”

“Now, wait a moment, youngling,” an older, white dragon spoke up. “You are very presumptuous, calling us hopeless. What would you have us do, mind, when groups of wizards shoot at us and kill us for our blood? We know that it is safe here, and that our caregivers are kind. We are not stupid. But out there, youngling, where you have not been, is a terrible place ruled by men who would murder us.”

“Has it not occurred to you that you should fight?” Fred responded dryly. “We are dragons. We breathe fire and rule the very skies. And with our allies, with captains, we can learn to fight better than humans. To fight with our cleverness and our strength, both. They will guard our backs, battle with us and die with us, and when we are free we will have them always. As comrades, as partners and as friends.”

“Idealistic rot,” another dragon huffed, though he gazed a bit closer at Draco, as if to see where this perfect companionship came from. Draco backed away accordingly.

“And you need not have a captain, if you are willing to forgo the happiness of it. But the humans will help. They want to be free as much as you.”

“Will there be no more chamois?” one spoke up, though he was nudged silent by the elder just as quickly. Remy caught this and thought, rather helplessly, of the character of all dragons from one world to the next.

“You might have cows,” Fred speculated, and this caused murmuring to start among them. The hushed conversation did not last long, for it was smothered fast due to their worry that Fred would leave again, and the promises lost.

“I think this acceptable,” the older dragon said. “We shall go with you to fight.”

“You will need to allow the humans to touch you, to protect you,” Fred pointed out, not showing any assumed joy at the success of his negotiating.

“I should like a captain,” one of them said, a young, bright green. “I saw your Charlie bathing you yesterday, do they all do it?”

“They shall,” Remy put in. “And my Harry has got me jewels to wear, back home. He is very attentive. Invaluable, really.”

More murmuring, until finally, the eldest said, “When are we leaving?”

And thus, without any words from Charlie, Fred managed to negotiate the transportation of twenty dragons to the Welsh Preserve.

“I can’t imagine how Fred did it,” Charlie said to Harry, the night before their departure. “Where did he even think of it? He’ll speak for me from here on out, Harry, since he does it so bloody well. This is mental.”

Harry could only laugh, pound him on the back companionably, and say, “Welcome to the Aerial Corps.”

:::::::::

Travelling with so many beasts threatened to be an ordeal, and Harry very briefly worried for it until he was quite soundly reassured. Charlie’s Portkey, a massive cage much like the one used to transport the four dragons for the Triwizard Tournament, was as efficient as it was a trial. They needed a fair few of them, and their enlisted dragons were quite put out to be locked in them. When Harry and his fellows travelled likewise, however, and after Fred made a show of not caring about the accommodations at all, they went forward silently enough.

He wondered at the ability of wizards to transport the dragons so easily with a mite of wistful envy. Harry and Remy remembered, in some disgruntlement, the long days of flight from Loch Laggan to Gibraltar. Though they knew, if they should travel likewise here, there would be a hullabaloo of some measure, considering how witless even a flying car was in the presence of so many Muggles. Their arrival, and it was rough due to the space of the cage, was met by a smiling man who looked only a year or so older than Charlie.

With him, there was an elderly wizard in quite resplendent robes, though he seemed too old to be awaiting them in the often chilly Welsh grasslands. A team of Keepers immediately set to letting loose the frazzled dragons, offering cows (of all the luck) to them despite the short journey and the group having eaten an hour previous. As they took to the meal with ridiculous satisfaction, the man grasped Charlie’s hand and shook it with immense pleasure.

“Charlie,” he greeted. “You’re a sight for bloody sore eyes, mate.”

“Alright, Sam?” Charlie grinned. “Everyone, this is Samuel Martin. Sam…this is everybody.”

His short glance, obviously wary, at the old man was caught by Mr. Martin after a moment of consideration. In contrast, the elderly Wizard seemed fixated on the ground, his eyes half-lidded in lethargy as he smacked his lips together as if preventing a hacking cough.

“S'alright, Charlie,” Mr. Martin said, softly but not in a whisper. “Poor old Bondon is going on a hundred and ninety. Can’t hear a thing, and wouldn’t be bothered to hear it if he could. Sir. Sir!” Martin waved a hand at the old man. “Transfers, sir!” He shouted.

“Very well, very well,” Bondon said gruffly, once startled enough to pay attention. “Carry on, Maurice.”

“Daft,” Martin condemned the wizard, shaking his head with a grin. “He’s our boss, and the best one a man could want, I’ll say. It was Trenchant you had to worry about. He’s our resident Enforcer. While Bondon can’t be bollocksed to watch us careful-like, Trenchant has the eyes of a bloody hawk. He got Hadley a couple months ago.”

“What for?” Charlie asked as they marched across the grass toward the enclosure. Remy and Fred were with them, though Martin seemed not to have noticed yet in his enthusiasm.

“Smuggling,” Martin said with a grimace, and Harry nearly gaped in horror. That a Keeper, likely selling the remains of the older dragons once dead, could be capable of such an atrocity was astounding to him. But all was clear when Martin went on to explain, “His mother was that tabloid writer, Paula Hadley. Was safe writing wot robes were in fashion and which Portree seeker had holes in their pants, but when she imagined an article on the disappearance of her cousin would slip by, they made to put her in nick. Poor Hadley went and tried a desperate run to Sydney, but they caught them before they left port at Liverpool. Bad business.”

“Should we be talking about this here?” Bill suddenly put in, having jogged to catch up with Charlie and Martin, who were in the lead.

“It’s not a problem,” Martin said, smiling at Bill. “You did come here for what I think you came here for, right?”

“That would depend upon how many Enforcers are waiting for us in your quarters,” Draco snapped. The cap upon his head (and Harry wore one much like it) did little to hide him now that he had spoken. That haughty tone could only be pureblood, and if they were hoping for subtlety it was a foolish idea from the get go. Harry rolled his eyes and huffed, taking off his cap with resignation.

Martin frowned at them, as if not understanding how they could be suspicious at all, before his face cleared of confusion. “Oh,” he chuckled. “Alright, then, lads, stand down. Trenchant is out of our hair. We’ve tied him up and put him in the dung pits. Here. See?”

A detour slightly left of the housing revealed a giant heap of dragon waste, where a man in the soiled robes of an Enforcer sat, gagged and magically tied at his hands and feet. The group stared down at him, and then at Martin, who looked very pleased with himself. “You’re bloody mad,” Draco said. “How long has he been there?”

“Oh, only a few days,” Martin responded. “After I got word of you, Charlie, we decided to finally be rid of him. He put up a fight, but we were only too happy to boot him to the head. Literally too. Hawkins knocked him flat. But-” he abruptly stopped, and in a very alarming difference to his friendly, incessantly chatty character of before, he went silent; going so far as to back away from Charlie entirely.

“You did mean for us to fight, Charlie? We’ve been waiting and waiting for something to happen. And you’ve come with your brother, who you said was perdu. And Harry Potter too. Was I…was I wrong, Charlie?”

His hand was very obviously on his wand. “No,” Charlie was quick to reassure him. “You weren’t wrong. Are all of you wanting to fight? How did you know Harry was a sympathizer? What have you been waiting for?”

Martin’s amiable demeanor returned, and he laughed and put up a hand. “Easy, mate, I’ll answer you. Yeah, all of us are wanting to fight. We’ve lost friends and family, you know. And Dragon Keepers are born militants, you know that. We figured Potter was a sympathizer, on account of him being wanted by the Enforcers and all. Quite a bounty on his head. And we’ve been waiting, Charlie, for the army I hope you’ve got hidden somewhere.”

“You’re looking at it,” Harry said, moving forward and making himself known to Martin, who gaped. “Well, for now. We’re actively recruiting for men willing to work with…a special sort of weapon.”

Martin licked his lips. “Such as?”

“Dragons,” Draco was the one to answer, and did so with a frustrated sigh. “Ferocious, fire-breathing, surprisingly whiny dragons.”

“We mean to fly them, in armed formations,” Harry put in.

“They’re very intelligent, Martin, if we can get them to trust us enough to talk, and the lot we brought from Romania want to fight for their own freedom,” Charlie said.

“But we need to negotiate with the ones here, and hatch more that can be taught Harry and Remy’s strategy,” Bill provided.

“And I am Remy,” the dragon said, craning his neck forward and imposing upon Martin’s personal space. The silly man, himself, seemed to have just noticed the dragon. His jaw dropped with absolute awe. “And yes, before you ask as everyone else has; of course I can talk.”

“And complain, which is what most of them do,” Draco muttered.

“That’s twice now that you’ve called them grousers, Malfoy,” Harry said. “I wonder at it, given how often I hear of the travesties done to your person.”

“Oh, piss off, Potter.”

Martin threw his head back and laughed.

::::::::

Eryri was a land of high mountains, yellow-grass veldts and most importantly - cows. There was more than enough room at the Preserve for twenty more dragons, and Harry was happy to find the quarters just as spacious. If on holiday, Harry would have preferred Eryri to any place, if only for the vast green mountains that were so suitable for Remy. While cold and misty, the dragons seemed to keep themselves warm enough. And it was nowhere near as biting a dry chill as Romania, nor as expressly hot as it could manage in those Easterly mountains.

Most of the inhabitants, from conservationist Muggle scientists (mostly in Snowdon) and the Dragon Keepers themselves, spoke a dialect of Welsh that Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of. While most locals, out of the Preserve and otherwise, would find immense fault with his ignorance of their tongue, the Keepers were sympathetic. In fact, the main reason Charlie had gone to Romania instead of Wales, had to do with his inability to learn the language. He was not surprised, due to his rare encounters with Welshmen, that mastership of their language was a necessity if a Keeper should want to work there.

So it was that the dragons of Eryri spoke Welsh as their second tongue. They found most of the dragons on the plains there to be sulky and lethargic, but certainly not as intolerant of humans. It had to do, largely, with the temperament of Welsh Greens, whom populated the majority of the Preserve. Their lot from Romania had two Hungarian Horntails, a whopping eight Romanian Longhorns, three very persnickety Swedish Short-Snouts, two Greens of their own, and five Norwegian Ridgebacks. The only variation in Eryri was a small pack of Hebridean Blacks and a community (full of nosy elders, of course) of Chinese Fireballs.

Remy was of interest to the Common Welsh Greens, for he was of an unknown breed and willing to talk to the Keepers. It was not very hard to persuade them to communicate, and it was likely they had done so before, for when Jordon, one of the Greens, spoke for the first time, his Keeper Brown shouted out, “I knew he could talk! I knew it!” Though it was quite obvious none of his fellows had believed him. The hardest shells to crack were the Chinese Fireballs, whom, so set in their ways, would not deviate from dragontongue. Remy translated their skeptical and stubborn communication to the best of his ability, but told Harry in private that they would not be of much help.

The reason for their reluctance was startling but positive. Hadley, the aforementioned man likely executed tragically, was their Keeper and an expert in Chinese Fireballs. When he had gone, the group of them had withdrawn completely, never going to the enclosure, not breeding, but living off of cows and sleep in a husk of their former selves. Here was the possessiveness of humans by dragons that Harry was afraid was not a feature of this world. The Fireballs would take to no other Keeper, and according to Remy, were still pining for poor Hadley months after his disappearance.

And it was seen in most of the Greens, as well. A rather enthusiastic dragon named Emily had a friend in a Keeper named Frank Sutch, and was more than happy to bridge the language gap between them when it was finally accepted by their community. Some of the dragons, mostly the older ones, were wary of speaking and convinced that any attachment to humans was out of the question. “Seems to me they’re being killed,” one said, a burly-chested Green who was blind in one eye. “And now you say the caregivers go to war. Well, good for them, they have a right to fight, but most of them will die, and I won’t be sad about it. I hate being sad.”

“But you are already sad,” Remy argued. “You do like the caregivers, no, don’t deny it. You would be pleased to be friends with them.”

“If I were young like you, perhaps,” the dragon had retorted. “But I am not. And I see how you depend upon your young Harry. If a human of mine were to die I reckon I’d go with him.”

There was no changing the minds of the eldest, and Harry consoled Remy by saying that they would still benefit from the fight, with or without their participation. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind, after all, that they would win. Yet, seeing this explosive knew relationship between dragon and keeper, the Romanian group decided to pick out their own captains. And the choosing began without any provocation on their part, for the Romanians, quite chuffed at knowing the basics of the Aerial Corps due to Fred, suddenly became the biggest supporters of their plan among them.

“Well, I’m for Brown, of course,” the Green, Jordon said, nudging his new captain and the man that had been sure Jordon could speak. “Just as Emily is for Sutch. We all have our secret favourites, you see.”

And they did have favourites. Though the Romanians were hard-pressed to choose from Keepers they didn’t know. But they didn’t care for a transfer of those they were familiar with, either. “Finicky things,” Remy scoffed to Harry. “And we did offer the transfer, which would be dreadfully risky. They cannot say we are not accommodating.”

Harry reckoned they mostly cared about cows, and if there remained a steady supply, there would be no revolt. “I suppose they just want cows, anyway,” Remy sighed, mirroring his thoughts.

But though the Romanians were the last to pick captains, pick them they did. Of the twenty men, most were not Keepers at all, but groundsmen. A squib named Poker (and if it was his real name, no one would say with surety) had been paired with Kreet, a grouchy Romanian Longhorn, and Melbourne, an often drunk and belligerent Scotsman was paired with Maltak, the most volatile of Hungarian Horntails.

“We should find all of the disreputable men in England who aren’t frightened of dragons, and send them to the Romanians. If it’s what they truly want, as I suspect,” Remy had said.

The vast majority of the dragons chose wisely, though it was hard not to. Harry was pleasantly aware of just how different Dragon Keepers were to most men. The acquisition of a companion in these majestic beasts was forever a brilliant gift, and one they were immensely grateful for. And even though the joyous circumstances had come about under the shadow of war, none of them were low in spirits. Mr. Martin, captain now to a ridiculously amiable Green named Desmond, proved to be the center of the celebration. As the illegitimate leader of them, his happiness and pride set the mood for every rank.

Harry did like Martin, and a few others including Frank Sutch and a forever laughing man named Ackerson, who reminded Harry very much of Chenery. There was Gordon, Mercer and Hallywell, Fobbs, McKinney and Reynolds; all men so easy to get on with Harry could not help but think of home. And Granby.

Remy chose to mention him (and with it, the possibility of returning home) one night a month into their stay in Eryri. “Do you miss him, so?” Remy asked, watching Harry carefully for distress. “I miss Temeraire and Laurence, and Iskierka, she was very nice-”

Harry snorted at Remy’s flattery. Iskierka nice…hah, “And Maximus, I miss him, the lout. But Jane and Excidium mostly, you know. Our wonderful formation. Faversham too, though he was always so dull,” his dragon continued. “But I did not have a love there, when you did.”

Harry was silent for a time, wrapped snuggly in Remy’s arms. “I miss Bee more than I can say,” Harry whispered. “Martin smiles like him, but the eyes are all wrong. Bill is his height, but Bee might be taller. That scruff, McKinney, makes me want to admonish him with soap and razor, before I realize he is not a close enough friend of mine. There is a scar on Charlie’s arm, similar of shape to Bee’s. I see him everywhere, my dear, and I am mad with longing.”

Remy nuzzled him to comfort, but said nothing. Which was just as well, for Harry was struck with a thought that would not stay in the safety of his mind. “Am I betraying him?” he asked Remy. “Staying here, fighting another war? Would an outsider think I have forgot him?”

“What does it matter what they think?” Remy huffed. “And we’re needed here, my Harry. We are.”

“But we’re needed back home, too,” Harry couldn’t help but argue.

Remy gazed down at him with acute eyes. “I do not think the suffering of one is more important than the suffering of another,” Remy said so wisely and philosophically that Harry was suddenly absurdly proud of him. “We will help here, and then find a way home. How do you expect us to fiddle with strange magics when a war is on?”

This did well enough to soothe Harry, though he kept a thought in confidence from Remy. It was a feeling that could hardly be expressed, and with it the question of his abandonment of Granby remained. For Harry thought that he knew how to get home, and unlike Remy, remembered the particulars of his arrival here. As all things eventually lead to, the answer to his return to Granby alarmingly though unsurprisingly enough, began with death.

:::::::::

The next few weeks after the choosing of the captains were hectic and frustrating for Remy and Harry. More so for Remy, who was not a born leader. Or at least, a patient one. Unlike at the covert back home, Remy did not get on with every dragon, and he was gravely aware that he was no Celeritas. Thus arguments frequently broke out, and his confidence in the maneuvers they taught was wavering. Harry tried to tell him that he was doing brilliantly, despite some of the dragons that could not follow directions, though his comforts were often undone by Maltak, who took a special pleasure in slagging his brethren.

Harry got so tired of trying to make the Horntail see sense, that first, tedious week, that he came to the beasts on that Thursday and went completely undone. Remy had been arguing with Maltak about flying with his formation, and was looking more and more flustered as the minutes passed.

“I want everyone in a line!” Harry shouted, so loudly and forcefully that the dragons started. “You there! You lot! This isn’t a hen house. Stop the tittle tattle. In a line!”

His bellowing startled them into moving, their basic understanding of English just enough to follow orders. Though reluctantly. “A straight line, damn you!”

Maltak began to hiss something to the others, likely mutinous, and Harry turned his wrath upon him, “Maltak, I will have order or you shall go back to Romania and lose every chance of the gold and glory you seem to want so badly! And don’t you dare try and attack me, you bloody brute! Get in line!”

With much grumbling, the Horntail edged in among his fellows, who stared at Harry with wide eyes. “You have been recruited by this army to fight for your freedom,” Harry said to them. “Where Remy and I are from, the dragons are respected for courage and for strength. Just as you once were. But it seems to me you are a loss to your species. Your intelligence is on the verge of extinction. You shame me, you shame our Aerial Corps, and most of all, you shame yourselves.”

They fidgeted and looked away from him, though a few had not the decency to be ashamed. Harry picked them out with his eyes and kept them in memory. “If we cannot learn these basic strategies, we will lose, and our enemies will have you killed, do you understand? They will kill you. Did you think that Remy was merely ordering you about, showing away, and not trying with all his heart to save you? You are fools. You disgrace your brethren. That is why this will not work. I will tell your captains that we are better off without. We shall go to war without you. I’ve had enough.”

“No, no-”

“You can’t take my captain away!”

“We were supposed to get jewels and be free, Remy said-”

“No, we want to fight!”

The clamour of their shouting attracted some of the men from the enclosure, but Harry ignored them in favor of shouting, “Why should you deserve captains or jewels or battling!” They went silent again. “You cannot even fly in formations, which will keep safe your captains and assure our victory! We have overestimated you! Almost a week of training. A week wasted. Bah! Nothing done but squabbling and disrespect. You don’t deserve freedom, if you cannot learn to fight for it!”

More disagreements and a few offended hisses. “Harry,” Remy whispered to him, casting a cautious look at the furious Maltak. “Harry, perhaps you shouldn’t say any more.”

“I’ll have my say!” Harry yelled. “All of our hard work has been for naught! They are not smart enough for this kind of thing, though I have seen beasts topple three nation armies! I’m sending them back, with dishonour, sir!”

“Please don’t-”

“He’s scaring me!”

“We’re not stupid! We’re not dishonoured!”

“I don’t want to leave!”

“No,” Maltak said, coming forward out of the distressed line. “We can learn the formations. We can.”

Harry glared at him. “Prove it,” he demanded.

There was a very long silence, and Remy tentatively ordered, “Eight and come about, Maltak’s formation.”

Maltak waited for his formation to come forward, and then lifted off into the air. They did a slightly wobbly figure eight, though they were synchronized, and dipped lower to the sky from a good height, opening their jaws but not shooting fire. It was a common and basic maneuver known to any fire breather back home, and one that Iskierka had used often. When they landed, Maltak gazed at Harry smugly.

“Well done,” Harry said. “Your starboard turn was shakier than a lyre string. You turned your head forward too slowly, your fire would have caught Henry. The landing was lackluster, dragging your belly would have killed your crew if they were aloft with you. It needs work. A week of basic formation training and this is all that is shown for it. You have proved nothing.”

“No, Harry, they have,” Remy said. “They have proved they can learn. If they put their minds to it, most definitely we can be ready in a year.”

“We don’t have a year!” Harry told Remy, rather harshly. “And what of their consideration for their captains? What of the training do they take seriously? None of it, I say!”

“Then we shall master them in three months!” Remy snapped back, quite angry at his captain. “You are not giving them any credit at all. Maltak lead his formation quite brilliantly, and he has proven he can improve!”

“I see,” Harry said with narrowed eyes, looping his hands into his trousers. “I see. You vouch for them then?”

Remy glared back. “I do vouch for them,” he said decidedly.

“Fine,” Harry snapped. “You have three months.”

“And if your men are not ready then?” Remy challenged him boldly.

Harry, who had been in the process of leaving, turned back with a raised eyebrow. “They have two. Shall we see who is the fastest?”

His dragon very nearly snarled at him. “Stakes?”

“An extra ration of cows for every dragon in training,” Harry negotiated. “And of course, bragging rights. And if you fail, which you very well could,” here he leveled Maltak with a smug smile. “You will give over a ration of cows to the men. They’ve not had beef stew since the Romanians came.”

There was a flurry of noise at this, all of them particularly pained at the thought of less cows. Remy straightened his back and looked down at Harry. “We shall see who is the fastest,” he said. “You shall see.”

Maltak came up and whacked Remy with his tail companionably. “I look forward to the extra cows,” he hissed. “Shall we practice now, Remy?”

“I think we shall,” Remy concluded, turning his back on Harry, who headed to the enclosure.

Later that night, after Remy was done ignoring him, the dragon sought him out with all the blustery indignation he could manage. “That was a nice trick!” Remy said angrily. “You might have told me! Now the others are convinced you’re a tyrant.”

“And they’re convinced you’re their superior, who will fight for them,” Harry pointed out. “How did training go?”

Remy sniffed and said, “Well. Extremely well.”

“And was Maltak arguing with every order you gave?”

Remy blinked, before looking at his captain closely. “Not at all. His formation was perfect. He even got the others in line when their flying was not the best. Harry-”

Harry waited for him to speak, but Remy had to think for a moment of what to say. “Harry…” he choked. “That was positively sly of you.”

“Why thank you, my dear. And I do apologies for being short with you,” he said, stroking the side of Remy’s neck. “But I’m afraid it had to be done.”

“Yes, yes it did,” Remy agreed, his eyes bright as he nuzzled his captain. “I think I had forgot how smart you are.”

“Rather you forgot your own brilliance,” Harry countered. “You can teach them, you know, and you can lead them into battle. You deserve their loyalty, and their obedience. Remy, I don’t want to ever see you doubt yourself again.”

Remy curled him close without responding. Harry sat on his arm and relaxed, tired from his own day of training crews and captains. “Thank you, mon capitaine,” Remy whispered to him eventually.

“No need,” Harry returned. “You’ve done wonderfully all by yourself.”

::::::::::

“Port, to port! Blast it, what is that? Quicker, quicker!” Harry was shouting. “Mr. Martin, these pilfered grenades would do wonders if your men could actually use them!”

Their ammunition, magical grenades stolen and bought from some rather shady gentlemen (the friend of friend, indeed) was a right side better than the grenades and muskets of the eighteen hundreds. If in the hands of his own crew back home, Harry could without a doubt depend upon the advantage. But the Keepers that served as a makeshift, small crew for the dragons, were unused to weaponry. Wands were good for only destructive, close range spells, and the grenades were a dependency Harry was wary of promoting. But little else could be done about it, and once the weapons were mastered, it was all about timing.

They were still too slow. Yet, their afternoon training aloft and on dragon back may yield better results. It was no surprise that the Keepers felt more comfortable on a twenty tonne dragon rather than on the ground.

Their performance was not that shoddy, in any case. Harry had to admit that four months hard work had paid off. Any of these men, if it were possible, would be learned enough for the Aerial Corps back home, though they were not as polished. Not as polished at all, Harry thought, as a topman, Wilkes, tripped over the netting.

So far, their training had remained largely under wraps. The holes in their crew had been filled by able-bodied refugees, provided by a suddenly hopeful Neville. There was underground talk of the beginnings of a true fight, and it lifted the spirits of the men. Neville had told of an unprecedented, slightly cautious joy in the camp, for whispered word of their efforts had reached the limestone city. Harry worried it would come to the ear of an unfriendly, but resolved that the benefit of hope was more important. He also resolved to speed up their training, so that when the Enforcers came to inspect the rumour, they would be ready.

It helped that training men to fight on dragons was a mad idea, serving to lend a mythical quality to talk. If Harry told Neville to insert that they might just be gathering Leviathan beasts and training them to fish with the help of wild-eyed troll nomads, then it was only for the better. The less likely, in Harry’s case, had always been the likely.

After four months, the bet had borne a winner. Remy, rising above his initial insecurity, had whipped the dragons into shape. Harry was the first to tell his men that they had lost the bet they had no knowledge of, and the lack of beef stew made up for the tight formations. Together, they could right well serve as a proper Aerial Corps. But it had taken long enough, with much hard work to get there. And their time to prepare was coming to an end.

The next step in their plan was perhaps the most dangerous. Getting around the fortifications of the Ministry and leading enough of them out of the safety of London would be a challenge. Harry resolved that they would divide their initial attack, and draw the Enforcers out with smart rumours and subtly made challenges. Yet for this they would need spies. A team of rabble rousers directly tied to the Ministry. Provokers who would lead their enemies into a perfectly sprung trap.

And Harry knew where to find them.

::::::::::::

When Ron woke up he was next to his wife. Every morning she was beside him, and generally, they both rose at exactly the same time. There were two differences about today. Ron was not in his bed at home, and Hermione did not wake when he did. He found that he lay on mushy, mucky ground. It was cold and dark, and the only way Ron knew Hermione was there was by the sound of her very familiar breathing. And there were others with them. Other inhales and exhales less familiar.

He scrambled to his feet, bringing up piles of moss in his clenching fingers. He had been laying on his stomach, so the front of his pajamas were covered in dew and dirt. Ron grimaced, before kneeling down to shake at Hermione’s shoulder. She murmured a bit, but did not wake. What little light the forest provided (and he was in a forest, Ron saw) illuminated two others beside him. One was his father, thankfully and unfortunately. Ron did not know who had captured them, but his father was deceptively resourceful. They may just get out of this unscathed.

Ron had to look closely at the other man, who he recognized suddenly as Kingsley. His eyes widened. A number of theories ran through Ron’s head, all them more fantastical than the next. He remained calm, he was proud to say. Ron had never been one to handle pressure or fear well, that was Harry’s forte, but he found himself far from panicking, as he would have thought. Perhaps it had to do with his suspicion that the resistance was at fault for his kidnapping.

And he hadn’t been tied up. None of them were. And- he checked his pocket-yes, his wand was still with him. Ron breathed a bit easier. Whoever had stunned them and dragged them out of their beds did not want to hurt them. Maybe they wanted to talk? Ron thought, scratching his head. But why Hermione and Kingsley? They won’t listen. They never do.

Kingsley groaned. Ron went over to him and turned him over as gently as possible, given Kingsley’s bulk. The man immediately reached for his wand when he was aware enough, and pointed it right between Ron’s eyes. “Whoa, Kings, it’s Ron. It’s Ron,” he pled, backing up with his hands raised.

The man mumbled a bit, thankfully recognising a friend, and got up from the ground. Ron saw Hermione shake herself awake, and his father sit up. “Where are we?” Arthur croaked, as drowsy as all of his son’s were in the morning.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, moving to Hermione and helping her up. “Some kind of forest, I reckon.”

Kingsley turned around and around, looking through the darkness. “We’ve got our wands. Hermione, check for yours,” Ron told her.

“Yes, it’s here.”

“Strange,” his father said, before rising to his feet. “Do you know where we are, Kings?”

“The Forbidden Forest,” Kingsley informed them, his hand tight on his wand.

“What’s that?” Hermione suddenly asked. Ron looked around, but saw that she wasn’t staring at anything, but listening. He focused on his own lackluster hearing but noticed nothing. “I hear it,” Kingsley said.

It took a minute for the sound to come closer. It was a strange noise, like gigantic wings on the wind, and for a moment none of them knew quite what to do. Kingsley bolted into action a moment later, shuffling them closer, back to back in the middle of the small clearing. The sound grew louder, and the tops of the tall trees whistled and shook with the wind. Ron breathed heavily, frightened and confused, until he heard a voice that made his heart near stop.

“You can’t do this to me!” the voice howled over the torrent. “I am Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic! I’ll have you broken for this. Let me down!”

And Percy was let down. He fell through the canopy and into the clearing, briefly spilling light onto the forest floor. Before he could land with a sickening splat, his momentum slowed and he thumped to the ground. Arthur and Ron went to him quickly, while Kingsley raised his wand to the sky. But the canopy had closed over just as fast as it had opened for Percy.

“The audacity! I can’t believe him! Where is my wand?” And as if someone had heard his complaining (hard not to, with Percy’s caterwauling), his wand fell to the ground beside his feet.

“Who’s kidnapped us?” Hermione demanded at the same time as Kingsley asked pensively, “Why give us our wands back?”

“I don’t think they want us hurt,” Ron put in, though skeptical

Percy scoffed, looking down at his soiled robes. “Of course he doesn’t!” he said. “I told you he was mad!”

A crash interrupted Percy’s tangent. The wing beats were back, and they bent the trees before them like twigs. Two fell over, one in their path, and they scrambled away from it. “Sorry!” the unmistakable voice of Harry Potter shouted to them. “Oh, whoops. Remy, careful there.”

Another tree fell. “Harry!” Hermione shouted. “Harry, this is ridiculous!”

Ron wanted to laugh. Of course Harry was behind this. His wand fell to his side, and a knowing smirk stretched his face. “You could have just come over, mate-” Ron started, but then he was gaping. The last tree brought down by Harry’s clumsiness had brought with it sunlight. And before him was a dragon, wedged in between the fort of trees like a great, conspicuous shadow.

“Oh my g-” Hermione gasped, and Ron understood. Harry was atop the beast, of all things, looking perfectly comfortable. He slid off its neck and unhooked himself from what looked like a harness.

“Not our best landing,” Harry said sheepishly, patting the dragon on the neck. “Well, now, let’s-”

“You are out of line, Potter!” Percy interrupted, moving forward to poke Harry in the chest. “If you think kidnapping Ministry employees is lawful, then the Enforcers will have a bloody surprise for you! I don’t know what barbaric world you went to, but here kidnapping is always unacceptable-”

Harry was looking at Percy as if he’d grown two heads. “Alright mate, alright,” he cut him off. “Calm down, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“That a threat, Potter?” Kingsley asked, raising his wand.

That special expression of absolute confusion went to Kingsley now. “God, no,” he said to Kingsley. “And there’s not much you could do to me, I’m afraid. Nor your ham-handed Enforcers.”

“Still think you’re Merlin himself, don’t you, Potter?” Percy said, smiling smugly. “We’ll see. We shall see.”

Harry patted Percy on the back. “Steady on, Perce,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have brought you here, you always were a bit strange,” he went on, looking at Percy closely as if a telling disease or mental deficiency was obvious on his face.

Ron coughed to cover his laugh. “Now, listen up, you lot,” Harry said. “I’ve called you here-”

“I think you kidnapped us, Harry,” Arthur pointed out sheepishly.

Harry looked at him askance, before glancing around himself. “So I did,” he amended. “Now, listen. I’m not too happy with the Ministry. You’re all a bunch of pigheaded lack-wits, and whether you’ll care or not, you’ve killed thousands of innocent people in the last nineteen years. This won’t do, chaps. This won’t do at all.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s only understandable that you would mistake our efforts, Harry,” she began, but Harry was bold enough to speak over her.

“And since you’ve mucked it all up quite brilliantly, I have no choice but to kill the Minister, usurp this totalitarian rule, and fight fire with fire, as they say. In other words, I’m going to destroy your happy little fascist government, and I would like your…cooperation.”

They gaped at him, though Ron felt something like bubbling laughter threaten to take hold. “You’re mad,” Percy breathed. “Absolutely mental.”

“So they tell me,” Harry said, before he frowned. “I hear that a lot, actually. It’s not very nice.”

“You know we won’t cooperate,” Kingsley said. “You and the beast are hoping to kill us?”

“Remy? No, what?” Harry waved a hand at him. “I won’t kill you. Maim you, perhaps. Obliviate you to the point of invalidity. Maybe tie you up and throw you somewhere for safe-keeping. But you were my friends at one point in time, so no, I don’t plan on killing you.”

“Then try it. We won’t cooperate. And I won’t let you incapacitate me without a fight,” Kingsley told him.

“Well said, Kingsley,” Percy approved pompously.

“Oh, this is just silly. Harry, if you’ll only listen, we’ll clear this misunderstanding up, you’ll see-”

Harry sighed, and Hermione went silent. It took a moment for Ron to realise that he had silenced them all. The flash of his wand was too fast for Ron to even see. He tried to speak, saw that the others did as well, but no sound came from his mouth.

“I shall tell you my problem,” Harry said to them. “This is where we either realise our dreadful mistakes, or I take you out of this fight for your own safety. The choice is up to you, and it is the only choice you have. Now you will listen.”

Kingsley must have tried to cast silently, because his wand was suddenly in Harry’s hand. “This won’t do,” Harry told him, glaring now. “I gave your wands back to keep the peace, not so you could attempt to stop me. I’ll warn you. You won’t be able to stop me. Not now, and not when I destroy your beloved Ministry.” He threw Kingsley’s wand back at him.

“I was carried away to another world nineteen years ago without my consent. But I found family and friends there, and an entirely new sort of strength. I would not have given up that journey for anything, until I came back here and found my original home vastly changed. And not for the better. I wonder at my dying that day, in this very forest, and why I chose to sacrifice myself for people like you. I’m ashamed of you. Dreadfully, horribly ashamed.

"You’re murderers. And even if you have not killed in cold blood, you are an accessory to murder. You are guilty of genocide. You are the ignorant politician we fought so hard to usurp. You are ugly, disgusting people who have let the world go to the dogs for pride and ambition. My efforts to help your mortal souls, as it were, might just be madness to others. What redemption do you deserve, I wonder? It is perhaps, an even worse crime that you were good people once. That you fought for the freedom you now restrict from others yet covet for yourselves. What can be said for you now, I wonder?”

Ron didn’t know about anyone else, but his stomach was curling into itself, like a worm drying out in the sun. He had known all of this before, in his own mind, yet to hear it spoken aloud was more painful than he had imagined. He did not have the courage to look at Harry, who stood stiffly in front of them.

“But I shall try to speak for you anyway. I have hopes for some of you. I know that you are unhappy. Guilty about the crimes you have committed. I also know, Percy, that you despise and misunderstand me. That you think that I am little more than an arrogant, self-righteous nuisance, come from nowhere to wreak havoc on your perfect life. I know that you, Hermione, judge me now. Looking for logic in my betrayal. Assured of your own righteousness and little else. You are wrong. Desperately, sadly and stupidly wrong.

"I would have never imagined the brilliant Hermione Granger wrong in anything, much less in the case of murderer. I would pity you, perhaps, if I had not seen first hand what your ignorance has done. And somewhere in that big brain of yours, where there was once cleverness but is now filled with hot air, you know that I am right. You should also know, that though I can destroy you faster than the thought of it, and the fear of it, can settle in, I am not God, and my judgment is not what you should ultimately be worried about. If you’ll pardon me for showing away, I’ll tell you that I have seen the afterlife, and judgment is there, and waits for you with cruel anticipation. In other words, you’re- how do they say it in America, Remy?”

“Screwed?”

“Yes. You’re screwed.”

Percy’s arm whipped to point in the dragon’s direction. “It talks!” he shouted, either breaking the silencing charm or Harry had lifted it without them noticing.

Harry stunned him. “I shouldn’t have brought him here,” he said, thoughtfully looking at Percy. “I’ll Obliviate him and send him back, never fear.”

“Harry, please, if you’d just listen-”

“Hermione,” Harry looked to her. “You’re a bloody idiot.”

“Now, Harry, you know she’s not-” Ron started.

“She certainly never used to be,” he said to Ron, fixing his bright green eyes on his best friend. “But she is now. And worse, she’s a murderer. She’s dangerous in her ignorance, you know. If she cannot cooperate, she will be tried and unmercifully disposed of, for all the cruelty she’s caused. Do you understand? She is more hated than even the Minister. My clever Hermione. Little more than a political rat, destined for the gallows by her own making.” He shook his head, looking so sad that the anger Ron felt was vastly diminished.

Hermione was looking at Harry. “You can’t possibly think you’ll tear down the Ministry, Harry,” she said.

“You know as well as I do that I can do it,” he said to her. “You know what I’m capable of. Negotiating will not work. You may skip the pleading altogether. Your choice is clear, Hermione. And even if you do cooperate, I do not know that it will be enough in the end. You are despised, do you understand? Hated by good people. And I must confess that I don’t blame them, though I am more sad than anything. Sad for you. For my Hermione, and my Ron, who I missed more than anything in that other world.”

He stared at them each, softly but coldly.

“Cooperate or hang. The choice is yours,” he said, and then waited.

And waited; in almost perfect silence.

Ron looked at him and raised his hand. It was a silly thing to do, he realised, and he blushed but kept it up. “Put your hand down, the war’s over,” Harry joked.

Ron licked his lips, meeting Hermione’s wide eyes. “I’ll help you,” he croaked, and then stronger, “I’ll help, Harry.”

“And I will as well,” Arthur said, stepping forward.

Hermione suddenly burst into tears. “I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “Ron, Ron, how could you-?”

She fell to the floor, stunned, and Ron’s body jolted toward her. But he stopped himself.

“I’ll erase her memory,” Harry told him, comfortingly. “You’ll have to keep her safe, when the time comes.”

Ron nodded. “Well, Kingsley,” Harry addressed the man next. “Is this the parting of the ways, I wonder?”

Kingsley stood before them and Ron was glad to see a thoughtful look on his face. “What you’re proposing is another war, Harry.”

“I am, yes. Though I hope it won’t be a long campaign.”

“I wanted peace,” Kingsley said. “I wanted to be done with fighting. You want us to join you, join the resistance, and I am not stupid enough not to understand why…but I hate you for asking me. I won’t let you erase my memory.”

They both knew Kingsley would rather die than be Obliviated, for his own self-control and that singular awareness of oneself was of the utmost importance to him. They were a lot alike. Here, though, Harry most definitely had the upper hand, but he would not kill Kingsley, to be sure.

“I joined Robards for a reason,” Kingsley went on. “At the time, his agenda made sense, Harry. Do you know that not all of the Order agreed?”

“Killed, were they?”

Kingsley nodded. “Vanished. Killed. Gone.”

“Do I have your cooperation, Kingsley?”

The man raised his wand and looked at it. He kept his eyes down as he said, “Yes. Yes, you do.”

A breeze picked up, heavy with magic, and settled over them. A part of Ron sizzled disturbingly, as if he was put out after being set afire. “Sorry,” Harry said with a grin. “The binding won’t hurt you if you don’t betray us.”

Ron had no time to marvel at Harry’s power, for Harry was stepping forward to speak. And he noticed how changed Harry was, really noticed it, for the first time.

“Now,” his once best friend and now stranger began, the smile for them devilish and energetic. “Here’s the plan–”

::::::::::

“Potter!”

Harry was in the middle of slagging poor Montrose, a Keeper-made-Lieutenant by an overly sympathetic Sutch, and so did not hear Malfoy’s call.

“You couldn’t use a musket or throw a grenade farther than your grandmum, so we got you a wand, but you can’t even cast a stunner, Montrose, and what practice we’ve scheduled for you –and our schedule is abominably tight, mate– you’ve skived.”

“Potter! We’ve got a problem!”

“Really, Montrose, what on earth do you think you’re doing? Or not doing? I don’t know, explain yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” said Montrose. “But it’s the noise that does it. Rattles me something terrible. I won’t be a Lieutenant, sir, if you think I shouldn’t. Pendry would be better. I’ll only ruin things,” Montrose told him sadly.

“Well, a gun-shy officer won’t do, that’s the God honest truth,” Harry agreed, his hands on his waist. “But I don’t worry so much about Sutch’s crew, they can take care of themselves. The fact of the matter is, Montrose, that I won’t send a man into battle who will turn away. It’s as good as a death sentence. What do you want to do?”

“Potter, for Merlin’s sake-”

Montrose looked behind Harry with a wary eye. “I think Malfoy wants to speak with you,” he acknowledged.

“Yes, Potter-”

“What do you want to do?” Harry repeated rather forcefully over Malfoy.

“Ground crew would suit me, sir, and Pendry for Lieutenant,” Montrose said immediately.

“Done,” Harry obliged. “Now, what the devil is it, Malfoy? I’m mutt n’ jeff after your howling.”

Malfoy glared at him with the utmost hatred and said, “Mercer’s been caught as Trenchant.”

Their resident Enforcer, happily locked away in the enclosure and an unwilling participant in their deception thanks to Polyjuice Potion, was supposed to visit the Ministry on a monthly basis to report the goings on of Snowdon. Mercer had taken his place on those vital occasions, and so far, in their six month steady training and preparations, the disguise had held. It was thanks in part to Ron, Arthur, and Kingsley, that what (if any) rumours of their actions had made their way to the Ministry were snuffed out as soon as they gained life. Discovery remained unlikely, thanks to these efforts. But their secrecy may as well be for naught if Mercer was found out.

“Has he talked?” Harry asked him intently.

Malfoy sneered. “Should we assume he has?”

Harry nodded. “Ron told you this?” He asked, and said at Malfoy’s assent, “Good, then he’s already trying to draw them out. Between him and Kingsley, things might just go to plan.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Right, Potter,” he rolled his eyes. “We’re not ready.”

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Harry countered. He suddenly smiled and turned to the unashamedly listening Montrose to say, “Good thing we’ve got you sorted before going to war. Though it seems the war is coming to us.”

::::::::

“Weasley’s got them outside Hogwarts, and Kings managed to insinuate our position here. We’ve contacted Neville, he’s bringing volunteers. A hundred maybe.”

“A proper scrum, no doubt about it. Ha, ha, ha. Roland would have me broken for this rabble. Ha, ha, ha. Beat to quarters then, Charlie!”

Charlie was looking at Harry askance, and turned to Bill to ask, “What did he say?”

“We’re fighting, Charlie, dear,” Harry said exuberantly, lifting himself atop Remy with much more precision than his makeshift crew. “We know the plan, we’re a tight enough formation. Beat to quarters.”

Still no comprehension lit Charlie’s face, and he shrugged after a moment of contemplating Harry. “Alright, mates,” Charlie said to the waiting Keepers. “Let’s do this.”

Harry frowned at Remy and whispered, “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

It was an impressive sight; a flurry of action, of men running to the waiting dragons in full-rig, for while they waited for word of Ron and Kingsley Harry had them make ready. They were no where near perfection, and never in their wildest dreams could they work as smoothly and as adeptly as the Aerial Corps back home, but their manning of the rigs was a thing of pride, considering. Staggered shouting of ‘all lies well’ rang across through the field, and Remy’s last signal to go brought them to the sky.

Their heavyweights would hide in the shadow of Snowdonia, a marked half of the force, and the rest, lead by Remy, would make way to the grounds of Hogwarts, a scene of battle familiar to them all. The option of Harry’s former school as a battle ground was one he could not pass up. It had turned summer holiday a week ago, and thanks to prayer, the school was largely uninhabited. The unexpected early beginning of the war was not something Harry was peeved about. They were ready enough, and though he was sure most of the Keepers would find their hearts heavy with the coming violence, Harry knew this to be the correct course of action.

They flew for barely an hour, fast and high. Behind them the Enforcers took to Eryri ten minutes before they came upon the force at Hogwarts, and both battles fought with every man available. Somewhere else, where fire and destruction had not yet made the news, the calm Ministry shuddered with a foreboding they did not understand. And in the underground of the many ill-used refugees, beaten rebels and hidden sympathizers– hope sprang eternal.

::::::::::::

MacArthur was a man that made things very hard for Captain Laurence. The rebellion couldn’t have come at a more terrible time, in Granby’s opinion. They had their orders, none of which mentioned their involvement, and the misfortune of being caught in the hullabaloo had spread distemper among them. The eggs were their foremost priority, though Mr. Tharkay’s search for the smuggling business (conveniently running through the whole of Australia) was a second matter of high importance.

Granby was aware of Laurence’s ambivalence. He was imbued with the situation here, due to his own morals and loyalty to the crown. Bligh was about as awful as MacArthur, and both were of the opinion that Laurence and Granby, along with their crews and the hopeful Captains, were a sort of reinforcement for each cause. But the Admiralty sent orders after the first package, addressing the rebellion as a minor disturbance they should not concern themselves with. Yet, they had no real idea of the extent MacArthur’s hold. By the time they reached the Chinese port, the aggravating circumstances could only come to a climax thanks to the absolute pomposity of Nesbit Willoughby.

Granby was aware that when the crown butted heads with poor Laurence’s sense of right and wrong, there was trouble. And they suitably embroiled themselves in the fighting, going against direct orders to have the port destroyed. When all of the rather blustery hubbub was said and done, Laurence worried day and night (with no help from that ridiculous Rankin) of the consequences of his near-treason.

It was a huge relief that the Allegiance would come for them with new papers, and bring Hammond to their doorstep. They were to make the journey to Brazil, as soon as possible, to form alliances with the forces attacked there by the Tswana. No word was mentioned of MacArthur, or of Laurence’s defense of the port. Though, in confidence, Jane Roland sent a rather critical letter to Laurence, speculating on his want to go the way of Potter. This was immediately apologised for, in writing, but it had hurt Laurence quite badly.

As a friend to them all, the absence of Harry and Remy still pained them, but it was well-known that Laurence and Granby had held Harry in higher regard than all else. Roland herself was silent enough about the affair to assure them of her own sorrow, though her concern for Laurence had loosened her tongue, in this case. The loss of a good captain and friend only exasperated the aggravation in regards to the situation in Australia, and when they left they were glad to see the back of it. Granby received his orders before Laurence, so that his cruise in India was cut short and they would meet before boarding the Allegiance. Time was of the essence, and so their passage to Brazil began with little panoply.

The loss of Captain Riley put Laurence into a state of quiet servitude to his own distress. Granby could see it, despite Laurence’s very able restraint, and he worried for his former captain as only a friend could. But the subsequent marooning was handled with noted impressiveness, as only Laurence could so brilliantly remain level-headed during such circumstances, and the loss of Granby’s arm made him forget his concern for a while. It did nothing to help Laurence’s guilt no doubt, but Granby did well not to blame anyone or harp too long on his handicap.

Poor Iskierka likely meant well with her fixing the Sapa Inca’s sights upon him. She knew of his preference, but the selfish desire to see Granby wedded to an empress was too much for her. He had had to speak sharp with her, unfortunately, and the memory of his confession to Laurence was still a source of embarrassment. He thought of it now, of Iskierka’s guilt for pressing him and her terrible sorrow at his poor stump of an arm, and of his words with Laurence. Camped in Paraty, after a long night of consultation, Granby lay beside Little and found he could not sleep for all the chaotic thoughts running through his head.

He felt for Catherine, who had been informed of Riley at their camp that night. But he had not missed Laurence’s flush at Little’s attentions to him. It would be said, however, that Laurence (dear, Laurence) was not intolerably put out by Granby’s confession. He thought of that conversation now:

“I am very sorry,” Laurence had said, apologising for Granby’s preference in the only way a good man of the times could. Granby had shrugged, but for all his loss he was sorry as well.

“So you see, I cannot marry her, if she’ll have me,” he said in regards to the Sapa Inca. Some jolting of his heart bade him then, to admit, “I would be a terrible man in mourning should I consent, though my betrayal of him with Little is enough to shame me.”

Laurence’s eyes widened. “B-but of course,” he stuttered. “My God, John, if I had known…I’m so sorry,” he said.

This was the first anyone, having known of Granby’s attachment, had been so sincere in their sympathies. Roland could hardly look at him, those years ago, for her own pain. He felt the sorrow take hold, and was humiliated to find his eyes wet. “I,” he paused, casually covering his face. “I have taken up with Little, and I know it is a terrible misuse of Harry’s memory, but worse for Little. Much worse. I do not…I cannot love anyone else. Never again.”

“Does Little,” Laurence awkwardly cleared his throat. “Does Little assume your affections?”

“It is hard to tell, of course, Little is very…quiet.” Granby suddenly laughed bitterly. “Harry was never so. Harry spoke his mind. The difference is startling, Laurence, so very huge, between them. Little’s comforts are appreciated, I assure you. He is a good man. But Harry can have no superior. Imagine it, only realising quite how enchanted you are with someone once they’re gone. A part of me is broken without him. He was so very…so very wonderful.”

Laurence fidgeted a bit, but managed to say, “You need not assure me of that, I beg you. Harry, though I would have never thought him of the taste, would do any man a world of good. As my friend, I could find no other as understanding nor so wholly genuine as he. I miss him so, John, though I cannot rightly empathise with your loss.”

This was as far as Laurence would flatter, for his regard was in action instead of word. Granby appreciated it, just the same. “Temeraire and Iskierka are bitter with me,” he revealed, though he was sure Laurence had not noticed. “Their loyalty to Harry and Remy prompts disgust in how easy I have turned to Little. I am ashamed of myself, they need not feel that I am indifferent. But this is making you uncomfortable, Laurence, I am sorry.”

“I am glad you told me,” Laurence had said. “Pray, do not think you should remain silent on my account, especially if you are hurting.”

These good words from a good friend had carried Granby on until now. Yet, while in Little’s presence the guilt arose once more. And Little was awake to hear his thoughts, however unspoken.

“Do not think I expect anything more,” Little whispered to him.

Granby started but turned to him as Little gathered his words.

“I must confess to you that I dearly loved Harry,” he went on. “He was so very kind. And he was for you, John. Simply for you, as you were for him.”

“I have treated you badly,” Granby said, filled with pain at Little’s words.

Little smiled in the dark. “I wanted to be a friend to you, and to Harry,” he said. “Though I never expected to share your bed. It is a nice thing, sharing your bed, John, but I am quite attached to Chenery.”

“Chenery!” Granby gaped, but by God was he relieved. He felt a sort of laughter try to take hold of him. “Has he any idea of your affections?”

“None whatsoever,” Little sighed. “I have tried, heavens how I’ve tried, to give small hints of my heart. He is bullheaded and oblivious, as only my Chenery can be.”

“My Harry was just the same.”

“How did you persuade him?” he asked, rolling onto his back and staring up at the stars. “I am at wit’s end, John, I tell you.”

Granby let his laughter come up. “I confessed, and I was lucky enough to have my love returned.”

“But that was Harry, wasn’t it? He was not nearly so unaware of others as he seemed. And he had a great capacity for love.”

“And so does Chenery, my dear,” Granby told him, feeling better than he had in so very long a time. “Come, if we cannot sleep we shall plot. You will win Chenery with my help, you’ll see.”

They spoke into the night of the matter, and when sleep finally took them a turn of a glass to dawn, they fell into dreams with the knowledge that their affair was over. And something in Granby’s heart, holding out for the impossible, let out an excited tremble at the resilience of love.

::::::::::

Two months. Two deadly months of scrum. Harry collapsed on Remy’s forearm and gave a prelude to a snore. “Do not sleep just yet,” Remy said, yawning widely. “Bill’s coming.”

Harry lifted himself up with tired dignity, and met Bill’s weary eyes. “The Butcher’s bill, then,” he murmured, before calling to him, “How goes it?”

“Better than Tuesday,” Bill said, sitting down. “Six wounded. None dead.”

“We’re doing well, you know,” Harry told him, shifting to sit cross-legged. “It might be close to that time.”

“The final stroke with half the men we had before?” Bill contemplated sarcastically. “If you think so.”

“Bill,” Harry said, with slight admonishment. “We’ve got better. The Ministry has got worse. What more could you want?”

“An end to it,” he answered, covering his face with his hands.

“This is a short war, William,” Harry reminded him. “A very short, very important war. And before you insert that you thought the Second War was shorter, I’ll remind you that there was hardly any dilly-dallying in this campaign. We began strong, and I find it very likely we will end strong.”

“You sound like Robards,” Bill laughed, in a better mood than before, thankfully. He sobered quickly, however. “Don’t you think this is a bit more…brutal…than we had thought it would be?”

Harry thought on this for a moment. To Bill, it was likely a very high-priced endeavor. The loss was nowhere near extravagant, but still quite expensive. He could find no pain in himself for the loss of Percy, though he was sad, infinitely sad for the Weasleys. Hermione and Ron had ducked out of the war early, thanks to Ron’s cooperation, and Arthur had done the same for the rest of his family. No other Weasley besides Charlie and Bill were involved.

There were friends gone, poor Mercer tortured to death, Brown and McKinney dead in battle, and the Welsh Green named Henry fallen to death along with his captain and crew from a grenade from the ground. There was an immense loss in the refugees and volunteers that had come out of hiding to take their stand. Many had paid the price. And even though this would be a short war, it would not be an unbloodied one.

“All war is brutal,” Harry finally said. “But yes, Bill, it is…it is always hard. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t know what you’ve got to be sorry about,” Bill said, rising to his feet. “We wouldn’t have fought if not for you. And we wouldn’t be winning neither. And we are winning. You’re right.”

Harry grinned. “Let’s have another week of wearing them down. Get the last of the Enforcers. Make Robards a little more desperate.”

“Then the Ministry?”

“Then we take her for a prize,” Harry grinned and winked.

Remy yawned again and said, somewhat mockingly, “I like prizes.”

::::::::::

“Well, this is fortunate,” Harry said into the curve of Robards ear. Around them, the invasion of the rebels took the closest Enforcers, would-be warriors in office, and straggling civilians as prisoner. Their team of dragons waited above, prepared to capture anything running. The Muggle world just outside the lift was sadly unaware of Harry’s most impressive, most subtle victory to date.

“You think this is the end, Potter?” Robards said over the blood his mouth. He had been punched, very discriminately, by an excited refugee. “The Ministry will not be brought to heel by a bunch of useless inbreds!”

Harry laughed at him, and sat him very kindly in the chair for his guests. He gestured to Teddy, who, with much flourish, sat in the Minister’s seat. “If you don’t surrender we’ll kill you,” his godson said happily. “Sorry.”

Robards looked to them both and sneered. “You cannot take me and expect those loyal to me to stand down. They won’t.”

“We’ve captured or killed most of your loyal subjects,” Teddy said with a roll of his eyes. “Get it together, Robards, you’ve lost.”

Harry coughed out a laugh. With his wand trained on the man, he said, “Listen, it won’t be that bad. We’re not tyrants. We’re just putting a stop to your rule. You’re really not all that good at this job, sorry to say.”

Robards merely snarled at him.

“We shouldn’t kill him,” Bill said, coming into the office. “All accounted for. No one’s left.”

“Do you hear that, Robards?” Harry asked, turning his gaze back to the man. “There’s nothing left of your Enforcers. It is truly over.”

“I will not surrender!” Robards bellowed. “This is my Ministry!”

“Throw him in Azkaban,” Charlie yelled from the door. “We’ll try him after the election.”

“Election? Election?” Robards howled.

Harry stared at him askance. “Why of course an election,” he said, shrugging. “This is a democracy, sir. Sort of. I’m afraid you’re a bit confused as to who is the villain is here.”

They escorted Robards out of the Ministry, though it wasn’t quiet. “This is MY Ministry! I am the Minister for Magic! The Wizarding World belongs to ME!” He rambled.

“Alright, mate, alright,” Harry said, leading him out amidst the wide-eyed stares of the prisoners. “It’s your ministry. The world belongs to you. Let’s calm down a bit. There’s a good lad.”

It was now clear to all (despite the assertions of a distressed, slightly unhinged Robards) that the war was over. A year and a half, or close to, of fighting, and their efforts had proved a success. Behind him, the cheers of the refugees, of their men, of quickly adaptable politicians and secret advocates carried them out of the beaten Ministry.

Yet the noise in his ears could not compete with the noise in Harry’s heart. For he was that much closer to going home.

:::::::::::

The election came about just after the other open positions in the Ministry were filled. The interview process for reasonable Ministry personnel, done by an overworked Mr. Weasley, took the better part of two months. With hurrying. In the meantime, most of the still living Creatures banned by the regime came back to take advantage of the new order of things. Harry hadn’t quite realized just how many had been driven away by Robards policy, until they returned.

The upheaval had spread to India, where Sushanta was leading his own rebellion. Dragon Keeping was swiftly becoming an Aerial Corps, adopted by countries Harry was surprised to find were very relieved that Robards had been overthrown. They called Harry a genius commander, a man of legend for his quick work to take over the Ministry; a dangerous adversary and a profitable ally etc, etc.. Harry was less than impressed with these titles, but didn’t much care otherwise.

Slowly, but surely, the British Wizarding World managed to persevere. It was lucky there was less damage, this time, than in the aftermath of the Second War. And it was a much happier time, according to Bill. They felt settled, whereas the warriors of the last struggle had been wary of the new policies. Harry was not a fool, and so did not think there would be no wars after this. Yet it felt like the dawn of a new age for the tired resistance, and Harry would not lower their spirits with his pessimism.

To Harry surprise, Kingsley ran for Minister alongside a perpetually innocent looking Brewster (the same man Harry had met with a head full of wonky morals). Kingsley, being a turncoat to Robards, was regarded as a hero, and his win of the position of Minister was pretty uncontested. His apparent desire for fair rule had not stopped Harry from warning him that if Robards shadow still lived on in Kingsley’s policies, then Harry would be the one to put Kingsley down. This warning was taken seriously.

Ron and Hermione did not come back to England. Last Harry had heard, they were settled in Sri Lanka, of all places, ignoring the overthrown Wizarding Britain with single-minded (and hopefully peaceful) determination. Percy’s death had made Mrs. Weasley old and weak, and Harry was full of remorse for it. But Bill, Charlie and Mr. Weasley had come to regard their own involvement in the matter as the only blame; and they handled all responsibility despite Harry’s protestations.

Of the changes, Harry was most glad of the Ministry approved Aerial Corps. Harry’s Right, a humorously named law that was put into effect shortly after Kingsley’s promotion of Minister, was to do with the dragons and their new status. It consisted of a number of humane rights for dragons, and made the Corps an approved section of the military. Which was needed, considering Robards’ Law Enforcement was quite destroyed.

There came a time, nigh on two years since Harry had arrived, that the reconstruction settled. All seemed to be well, after the ballyhoo of new laws and shifting politics, after a scrum with a group of seven Wizards loyal to Robards had been taken care of. The last event to provide closure was Robards trial, and those of his compatriots. None of which had been put to death, even though they deserved it. Kingsley brought with him a new tolerance, easily adopted by the self-loving public. The outcry of appeasement was minimal. They were a tired world much weary of bloodshed, and it showed.

And like a cat that had spent a long time catching mice, Britain finally curled up and slept in peace. Harry watched it happen with a satisfied Remy at his side. Thus, Harry judged the time right to finally commune with death, one night in the winter of 2017. He lay beside Remy and struggled to clear his mind, snorting at the memory of Snape and forcing out silly thoughts that stayed to spite him.

-you only call- death said, while he was on the edge of sleep, making Harry’s previous efforts null.

“Well,” Harry huffed aloud. “You know what I want to ask.”

-you go where death goes, master- death answered.

“So it’s possible?” he questioned, not daring to hope. Not daring at all.

-possible-

::::::::::

Harry waited, deliberately, for Remy to be occupied with his breakfast. It was a cool morning, punctuated by a north easterly breeze coming up from the mountain range, and the pleasant echo of chattering dragons in the background. The Eryri meadows had developed a sheet of the purest snow overnight; the tips of their surrounding peaks dipped in white ink; beautiful against the clear blue sky. Harry took in the air with more attention than usual. His cheerful mood spread to Remy, to Charlie and Fred and was contagious to any he spoke with that day.

“Remy,” he said, watching a particularly bloody leg of cow slide down the dragon’s gullet. “I think we shall go home soon.”

Remy sputtered, spitting out a bloody mess toward Harry.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Harry whined, flapping his arms to get the meat off.

“That’s what you get for surprising me, you fiend,” Remy huffed, picking a piece of his food from his teeth. “Are you mocking me, Harry?”

Harry was honestly shocked at this. “Beloved, why would you think that?” He cried.

Remy looked suitably excited now, shuffling closer to him and nosing his soiled clothes. “I am sorry,” he said. “Only, I want to go home so very badly, mon capitaine. I was afraid you joked.”

“Never, darling, not ever,” Harry assured him, running his hands down Remy’s snout. “I want to go home just as badly.”

“I had hoped you would,” Remy said tentatively. “But, I thought about it, and I wondered if you wouldn’t like to stay now. We won the war here, and at home there is still fighting. And the men here were so happy to see it done. I wondered if you couldn’t be happy here too.”

Harry gazed at him fondly, though with a pinch of concern. “Is this why you’ve said nothing of home, these months?”

Remy nodded. “You could like it here, Harry. If we stayed. And I could learn to like it too. Pray, worry not that I would object. Fred is good company, though he is young. And Charlie likes you just as much as Granby.”

He gave an astonished laugh. “Charlie?” Harry repeated with much surprise. “Charlie Weasley? What on earth are you talking about?”

“He likes you like Bee likes you,” Remy said, slightly irritated. “You are very silly when it comes to other’s affections, you know. Charlie is always watching you.”

“My heart belongs to another, even if Charlie did fancy me, my dear,” Harry reminded him.

Remy snuffled his hair and said, “But you could be happy here, if you wanted.”

“Never,” Harry said immediately, holding Remy’s head still for a proper hug. “This isn’t my home any longer, Remy, and you would not be happy. Do you think any part of me would ever be content if you were heartsick? But besides that, and I see you are ready to object– I miss my Bee, and the war, which has been ours from the start. And we will see it finished there, my love, because it is a part of us and we cannot abandon it.”

“But you have been at war all your life,” Remy countered. “Aren’t you weary of it?”

“Are you?”

“Well, no, because our friends are fighting, and because our home is threatened.”

“Yet you can stay here, and rest,” Harry pointed out. “Do you want to stay and try to be happy? No one would fault you for it.”

Remy looked at him closely. “No, capitaine,” he finally responded. “I would not.”

“Me neither. And I am not tired of the war. Tired of death and bloodshed, of course, but of battle, of fighting for our home? Never, my dear, never. So you see, we are alike in mind. Whatever is there to prat about?”

Exuberant and cheerful, Remy gathered him close and snuffled into his shoulder as Harry stroked his lovely scales. “Oh, I’m so happy,” Remy confessed, rather quietly. “Home,” he said wistfully.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, with his heart and spirits lifted. “Home.”

::::::::::::

The few people he told of his departure were sad to see him go, though Malfoy smiled a bit too much when wishing him a safe journey. Since he did not say much of anything about how they would get home, it was likely Bill thought him mad, but Harry was used to this opinion and took no offense. Charlie came to him on the eave of their leave-taking, in private but for Remy and Fred.

Harry raised a hand to greet him, and was entirely taken aback when Charlie quickly grabbed him and soundly kissed him on the mouth.

“Sorry,” Charlie said when he pulled away. “I’ve never wanted kiss anyone more than you. Thank you, Harry, for everything. You’re ridiculous, you know? Magnificent and overwhelmingly wonderful and just mental.”

He opened his mouth- his thoroughly kissed mouth- to make some awkward, dreadful apology, but Charlie stepped back from him and said, “No, I know you’ve got some bloke in that other world, and I’m mad jealous of him. But he must be something else to deserve you. Anyway, Harry, I wanted to say goodbye properly, and tell you that we’ve got eggs for you.”

“Eggs!” Remy exclaimed, recovered from his snickering fit with a very amused Fred. “You cannot mean it!”

“Twenty-six of them,” Charlie said with a grin. “Six Welsh Greens, Fireballs and Longhorns, a Ukrainian Ironbelly and two Horntails (good luck with them) and five lovely Short Snouts. If our Keepers are correct, I mean. We’ve so many eggs lately we’re getting a bit lazy. Did you know that post battle stimulates the libido?” He waggled his eyebrows at this, making Harry burst into laughter.

“I’m afraid we’re not for la dolce vita, where we go,” Harry chuckled. “But these eggs, Charlie…prodigious kind of you. Capital, indeed. More than you think.” He was so overjoyed, in fact, that kissed Charlie passionately on the cheek.

“So you say,” Charlie said, blushing. “Wherever you’re off to, I wouldn’t mind going myself. What charming vernacular; you’re a regular gent,” he teased, making fun of Harry’s adopted way of speaking.

“Berk,” Harry laughed. “If you wanted to go with us, you could,” he offered, quite seriously.

Charlie grinned. “And leave my new post? Haven’t you heard? I’m Admiral of this lot. I’m in clovers. You’re mad.”

“Passed over for money!” Harry exclaimed, acting offended. He smiled wildly a moment later. “But really Charlie, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Remy nuzzled both Charlie and Fred with enthusiasm. “You might have won the war for us, you know,” Remy told them.

“Well then, you’ll think of me wherever you go now, and maybe give us another kiss if you ever come back.”

Harry kissed him on the other cheek, and hugged him close. “I owe you nothing,” he joked.

The next morning, they stood before Bill, Charlie, Malfoy, Teddy, and Neville. Their going away party was just as Harry wanted it; small and without fanfare. He would have wanted Ron to be there, and even Hermione, but the letter he had handed to Bill would have to do. They said their goodbyes, short but with much affection.

“Well, we’re off,” Harry said, waving an errant hand.

“Bon voyage,” Neville told him with a smile.

“Good luck, mate,” Bill grinned.

“Lose an eye for me,” Teddy winked.

“Bye, Harry,” Charlie said with affection.

Malfoy grunted.

They went aloft, the eggs and other essential materials in the rig below Remy’s belly. They flew over the highest peak, looking down at Eryri with a fond farewell. Behind them, the group of people who knew Harry, who in time and once his disappearance was known would become almost as much of the legend as he was, sat back on their heels and smiled at his back.

“Er,” Neville said, breaking the silence. “Does Harry know how to travel to other dimensions?”

“He must,” Bill answered, scratching his head. “I guess?”

“We’ll know soon enough, anyway,” said Malfoy, and when they asked for an explanation he retorted, “If it stays quiet, you can bet he’s gone, Weasley. If there’s fire over Scotland he’s failed. Potter causes havoc wherever he bloody goes, for Merlin’s sake.”

And this, they supposed rightly, was Malfoy’s way of saying goodbye to a friend. They watched Remy until he was a speck on the horizon, before going back into the enclosure.

:::::::::::::

-does master wish-

Harry sat back on Remy’s neck and faced the specter with narrowed eyes. They flew steadily, almost tranquilly, over the vast expanse of ocean before them. The Highlands lay at their backs, the swarming clouds- a cold front on the Atlantic- on the horizon, separated in sight by the frothy grey sea.

Master does wish, Harry thought, a bit sarcastically.

There was a jolt, a westerly gale, and they were suddenly in a waterspout and turning, turning. Then they stood neither here nor there, facing death who, if not for his lack of a face entirely, Harry could swear was smirking at them. Remy’s groan of displeasure at being thrown about so made Harry glare and say aloud, “You could have gone easier on us. We’ve precious cargo, you know.”

Death’s head swiveled to the side; inquiring. -master wishes to go back- it said.

“Yes, I do,” Harry answered, giving up on his glower. “To home, understand, no place other, alright?”

-I can take you to death-

Remy’s eyes widened. “We don’t want to die,” he said, turning to Harry. “Tell him that.”

Harry opened his mouth to relay but death cut him off saying, -I can take you where death is-

“Helpful fellow, isn’t he?” Harry sighed to Remy. “Just so long as we’re alive, the eggs are alright, and we’re home, mate…er…death. Alright?”

“Does he have trouble talking?” Remy asked in a hush. “Is he…Harry, is he like Volly?”

Harry covered his laugh with a hand, before sobering rather quickly at the flickering shadows, which he assumed were signs of irritation in the specter. “No offense, meant, mate,” Harry said to him. “I’m sure you can talk fine.”

Death sighed, and it was such a human sound of impatience that Harry felt his laughter bubble up again. Tired of them, Death said -master wishes- and they were off in the waterspout again.

They emerged over the ocean, though in a warmer clime than before. Harry coughed, having got a mouth full of sea foam, and Remy lifted up into the sky to get away from the spray of water.

“That was exceedingly unpleasant, mon capitaine,” Remy told him. “But are we here? Are we home?”

It was hard to tell. Before them lay water, an immense amount, and the dying sun of the afternoon. The breeze was warm- too warm for the Atlantic.

“I don’t have our charts,” Harry murmured to himself. “But it is ghastly warm. I wonder, I wonder….”

“Harry, Harry, look!” Remy shouted very suddenly, rising higher above the ocean. Harry stared at where Remy gestured, frowning until his face cleared with shock. Flotsam was pock-marking the sea, barrels and scorched wood as well as netting and what looked like hammocks. They flew over the wreckage and saw, to their sorrow, men drowned and held fast in rigamortis to the floating debris.

“Lower, Remy, we shall check for survivors,” Harry said quickly, his stomach plummeting as they dipped. He jostled the nearest man, who came loose from the flotsam and sunk into the sea. The next did the same, and onward, and there were no moans or cries for help across the floating precession.

“Well, he said he would take us to death, didn’t he?” Harry muttered to himself, unhappy to see so many sailors dead. They rounded the bobbing dead a few more times, listening for any signs of life. “They are all dead, dearest, I’m sorry to say,” Harry told Remy, after a good hour of searching.

“Oh, I wish I knew where we were. Do you think the ship has sunk?”

He started. “It might not have, just yet. I count two hundred men in the sea, perhaps. It would have to be a considerable frigate for all of them. It may still be foundering. We shall follow the debris, Remy, and see what there is to find.”

They flew until the sun began its quick descent into the ocean. What little light was left provided the scene of the foundering ship at dusk. Harry saw that its colours, drooping slowly into the froth turned up by the steady sinking, were sadly English. It looked as though an explosion had sunk her, for there was little seen of the quarterdeck. A gaping hole had gutted her poor underbelly. Bales shimmied out of the wreckage, resilient where men were not, and the flotsam continued to pop upward as the ship disappeared, quickly now, until only the stem breached the water. It was an uncommon stem on a vessel, rounded into a vast deck that was very familiar to Harry’s eye. Her large bottom swayed in place, vertical with the dying sun, and a sinister bubbling took the ship down, down, into the abyss of the ocean.

And then over Remy’s wing beats, and the hollow loudness of the sea eating up the huge ship, Harry heard sputtering. Sputtering! A man, likely having caught his hand on a shooting bale, had emerged from the ocean vomiting water. But he was close to the suction of the sinking, and there, there another man was swimming towards him on his back, reaching for his surviving companion; though they would be sucked in soon if Harry did nothing.

“Remy-!” But Remy had already seen. Diving as if they were a massive gannet, Remy scooped up the lone survivors like mackerel. The sputtering continued as Harry hoisted them up, using every bit of strength he could manage to swing them toward the netting.

“Damn your eyes, hook on!” Harry shouted as Remy cleared the sinking deck. The rough looking sailor had grasped the netting tightly, but the officer looked ready to fall. Harry unbuckled his harness and swung down Remy’s side to support the man, who had too much sea water in him to find the strength to pull himself up. He and the sailor, together, managed to lift him into the rig, though Harry felt as though he weighed a hundred stone to a tonne.

He climbed up again and sat at Remy’s neck, patting his worried companion to say that all was well. They circled the ship again, by unspoken agreement, but no other man found his way to the surface. “Basson, sir, coxswain,” the rough sailor introduced himself. “Thankee sir, for saving us.”

“Not at all,” Harry said, distractedly taking another solemn glance over the sea. “Do you know our coordinates, by chance?”

Basson nodded enthusiastically, likely shaking out what little teeth he had left. “45°s 130°w about like when she blew. Hands got inna the stores n’ start afire. Damn 'em to hell. Parding, sir. Capin manage out, though he’d wanted go down wit her, bless him.”

“45°s 130°w,” Harry repeated, disregarding the rest of the coxswain’s blubbering for the moment. “The forties! What for?” he murmured to himself.

“On ways sou'west, sir,” Basson said. “Allegiance Sydney ta Sou'merica, sir.”

“Allegiance!” Harry cried, as Remy swung his head about to look into his netting.

“Harry! It was the Allegiance!” he exclaimed. “That was a dragon deck I saw, gone under!”

And Harry was absolutely shocked to find that the officer now so sick and half-drowned, was none other than Captain Riley.

::::::::::::

“Closenuff to tha coast, methinks,” Basson was saying, mopping away the sweat on Captain’s Riley’s brow. “But we mightent go east for him,” he said, gesturing to Riley. “Don’t know that ther surgeons like, in sou'merica.”

“No, you’re right, Mr. Basson,” Harry agreed. “We’ll have to find New Zealand. There is a compass in my chest, there. Pray, bring it to me.”

“Wess by sou'west, sir, you’ll find her,” Basson said, handing him the compass. “Beg parding, sir, but youse a capin?”

Harry started at this question, busy with navigating. “Three points south, my dear, ” he said to Remy, before turning to glance at Basson. “I am, Mr. Basson, or I was. Captain Potter of the Aerial Crops, your servant.”

“Why! Potter!” Basson cried, surprisingly though not for the reasons Harry assumed. “The one whose went inter Paris and destroyed the covert? That wot Potter, sir?”

“Am I so renowned?” Harry frowned. “Did we destroy it, Remy?”

“Oh yes,” Remy answered. “Lien was badly injured too.”

“Tell me what you know,” Harry implored. “I’ve been away for a while.”

“Whys they say you were dead, sir,” Basson revealed, looking at him strangely. “But youse a hera-like, they gave you a medal n’ everyfing.”

His jaw dropped. A medal? For treason? Though, perhaps the politicsof the Admiralty had called for it. He had known men, in his time here, to be dastardly but awarded for it, if another death besides one by law had taken him. Harry was not fool enough to assume a pardon, but if the public thought him a hero, perhaps he would get out of a hanging? It was likely the Gazette had not revealed the circumstances with which Harry had found himself destroying the covert in Paris. In any case, he and Remy had settled on privateering if there was the law against them, and he would not let himself be hanged anyway.

“Well,” Harry muttered. “Well.” He shook himself out of it and said, “There are vials in my chest, Mr. Basson, place them out presently, if you please. I am coming to you.”

He spent the night sifting through the medical supplies he had brought, checking his compass and adjusting Remy’s path. They were flying the distance of a continent across solid ocean, though Harry knew that Remy’s endurance would hold. In the morning, they had only gone off course by two points, and with Basson finally asleep Harry thought it prudent to speak with Remy as they went.

“It is prodigious luck that we’re heroes, Harry,” Remy was saying. “We can see our friends now! I wonder if they were on the Allegiance?”

“They escaped, most likely, beloved,” Harry reassured him. “But a heading of South America is very queer. What could they possibly be doing there? I suppose we’ll find out, in any case. But we’ll get Captain Riley sorted first.”

“Is he very ill?”

“Half-drowned, Rem,” Harry told him, looking across the ocean, without a hope of seeing land soon. “Are you thirsty? We’ve still a bale of water from the rain last night. No? Ah. Don’t worry. He’s not very ill. I gave him a pepper-up, though it was a shoddy dose. Just enough to give him some blush. But he’s taken with fever, and his arm is cut a bit. There’s no sign of gangrene yet, I’m happy to say. I put a poultice on.”

“I did look forward to privateering,” Remy sighed, after a while of silence. “I would like to have as many prizes as Iskierka, though she is greedy for them and must have heaps of gold since we left.”

Harry smiled and patted his neck in comfort. “If we’re back on the post list, my dear, we shall have our prizes soon enough. We’re bringing six and twenty fire-breathers to them. Do you think that is enough to buy a pardon?”

Remy laughed into the wind and Harry joined him, if only because the day’s events had finally caught up with him. They were home. In the clutch of a seemingly never-ending Pacific and a gale away from being hopelessly lost; but home at last.

::::::::::::

“Oh, I’d murder for a cow,” Remy whined, but snatched up the dried chicken quickly. Their stores of dried meat held up in the humidity of the south Pacific, and their bale of water, sparingly used already, had been replenished by a morning rain shower. Their luck had continued, these last five days flying, though Remy was tiring now.

“Land ho!” Basson cried, an hour into the morning. There, straight across Remy’s head, was New Zealand. Harry looked to Captain Riley, who had not woken but for a few delirious mutterings, yet seemed not as close to death as Harry had feared. His fever had peaked the day before, and he was taking in water and food, though only after much persuasion.

“Well done, sir!” said Basson, climbing up the rigging to face him. A life at sea gave him no fear of heights, but five days aloft had made him a proper Corps officer. He monkeyed upward and pointed to the coast, saying, “I woulda thought meself taken by the sea, sir, she be kind enough. But I thankee kindly for saving me. Thankee, sir.”

Harry grinned at him. “Nonsense, Basson. No thanks are necessary.” He was affectionate toward his companion, despite his constant chatter, and so clapped him on the back. “Will you stay with Captain Riley when we reach port?”

“Aye, sir,” Basson nodded. “There won’t be a lady for 'em at home,” he said sadly. “Didn’t make post, sir. He mighten beg you ta take 'im as a guest onna dragon deck, if ye’d be kind.”

Harry blinked. “He’ll face a court martial in England, eh?” he said, reminding himself. “Blast this business. And blast your drunkard sailors.”

“Aye, sir,” Basson agreed.

They landed without problem, and Harry set to work immediately. There was no hospital but a sick-bay at the port, with one solitary surgeon in commission. They hauled Riley out and set him on a bed, lifting him toward the bay. Harry ordered a cow brought to Remy, guineas passing hands, and set about getting himself some dinner. He would have it sent to him, for the parcels of eggs (though disguised as worthless cargo) were too precious to leave unattended.

There was nowhere for Remy to comfortably stay, though the warm beach would do well enough. Remy finished his cow and lay on his side, and Harry moved to unload the rig. “Pray, do not move them,” Remy entreated quietly. “I shall sleep on my side.”

Harry was not bold enough to ask if Remy might accidentally turn over and crush them, and said, instead, “As you wish, dearest, I worry for them as well. The heating charms have held, though I’ll have to recast them tonight.”

“They are warm enough beside me, anyway,” Remy said sleepily. “I am happy to be on land again, though I do so love flying.”

Harry laughed. “Not for five days, I don’t think. You did wonderfully. But sleep now, my dear. Basson watches over Captain Riley, and will bring me news when he is recovered.”

The money Harry had brought with them would perhaps carry them across the Pacific, though he traded a few dried fruits and meats with the skeptical settlers for a little more. New Zealand was a beautiful place, though not many inhabited it at the time but tradesman and the Māori. There was much luck in a surgeon being at port, and Harry was grateful for it. For three days they lounged on sand and stone, keeping close to each other as Basson went to-and-fro the town and sick-bay.

On the third day, after a lackluster tea with some of his own stores of preserved biscuit, Basson came to them aflutter with happiness.

“Capin’s much better, sir,” he said, panting after his run across the sand. “Surgeon says he’ll be up by the 'morrow, good as new. Says youse gone and saved his life, whatever ye did!”

“Basson, it was you who stayed with him below,” Harry said, quite joyfully. “Captain Riley owes his thanks to his coxswain, not me!”

Captain Riley arrived the next afternoon, walking slowly but not taking up Basson’s offered arm. He was smiling, though it was strained, as he came toward them at a soft pace, though not as weakly as Harry would have thought.

“Captain Potter,” Riley said, moving forth to grasp his hand. “It is wonderful to see you. We thought you were dead! Though where you’ve been hiding, I can’t imagine. Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

“Basson kept you alive,” Harry laughed, looking at him fondly. “But we’ve a lot to speak about, I think. Please, sit down, Captain. I apologize for my dress.” He had bathed a day ago and changed clothing, though it was in a sad, wrinkled state. Riley looked clean and much healthier, and his clothing had been washed and pressed. The epaulette on one side, marking him as commander, gleamed merrily in the sun.

“Now,” Harry said when Riley was settled. “Are you well? The water didn’t damage your head, did it? Not your lungs? Basson, he is very pale. The doctor did say he was alright, yes?”

Riley smiled at him. “I’m quite well, Captain Potter, I assure you,” he said just as his coxswain sulkily exclaimed, “I dinnit steal 'em away, sir, doc what says he’s fine wif food an ress!”

“Good! I’m glad to hear it,” Harry told them, very honestly happy Riley was well. Remy snuffled Riley then, who was not at all shy of the dragon and proclaimed, “Why, it is good to see you, Captain Riley! Though I’m sorry about the Allegiance.”

“Yes, damned sorry. To the devil with your men, sir. Straight from gaol, were they?” said Harry.

He immediately regretted encouraging the subject of Riley’s lost ship, however, for the man looked enormously down.

“Lubbers they was, sir,” his coxswain answered for him with his usual enthusiasm. “Ifin they was alive we’d hang 'em righ from the mizzen, sir, righ from. Ifin she’d not sunk too, sir.”

“Well,” Harry coughed, sorry for bringing it up. “Just as long as you’re well, Captain Riley. That’s what matters.” He realized shortly that this was equally insensitive. Harry was sure a Naval Captain would rather anything but his vessel foundered, and likely the weight of its loss was far greater than other things; even Riley’s life.

Luckily, the Captain saved him from further embarrassment. “Were you following our journey, Captain Potter?” he asked gently. “Laurence hadn’t mentioned a rendezvous….”

“Ah, well, yes. You see-” Harry tried to find a way to put his situation into words that didn’t arose concern for his sanity. But every ship had a lunatic, and Riley was likely used to some form of crazy or another.

“You might say that I…spent quite a long time asleep…without memory, if you like,” he settled for saying. “And might I ask for the date, the happenings of the war, and what orders the Allegiance were bound by? Please, and thank you.”

:::::::::

“I can fly it!” Remy said over their overlapping consultation. “It was five days to New Zealand, and a day or two away from the coast! I flew that. I can make it.”

Harry turned to him, not even trying to hide his concerned expression. “Cuzco is far north, my dear, and another week worth of flying.”

“Might you chart a few stops along the way?” Remy persisted. “There are islands on that map, see? We’ll stop there and rest, and then fly to the coast, and stop again.”

Skeptically, Harry looked at the charts they had laid out on the sand. The only ship in port, the Dutch Whaler Madelinus, had refused to carry them to the Incan Empire. It was a large vessel, for a Whaler, yet from Captain Riley’s stuttering translation of their panicked dialect, Remy was too, too big and she would sink under the weight. Money had done little to persuade them. It was also well-known in port that Riley’s ship had foundered, and so he was now a Jonah to them and forbidden from coming aboard.

The only other ship, cruising north of their location, was the HMS Resolute. She was a sixteen gun sloop nowhere big enough to transport Remy, and the intelligence off her had her shadowing a French frigate in southern waters. Riley had absolutely refused imposing upon their orders.

“These islands are not mapped to exactness,” Harry countered. “What if we should not find it off chart, and you should tire and drown yourself? No-”

“Then we’ll find another island,” Remy argued, shuffling in the sand to display his irritation. “We won’t delay long, and you’ve charts now, and Captain Riley says he’s a good hand at maths. He can read Mercator, he says. Can you do it?”

“Don’t be a scrub, I figured out the variations and got us here, didn’t I?” he said, offended.

Remy could not be convinced though, and eventually, their disagreement reached a standstill. Though Harry was close to giving in, of course.

“I leave it at your discretion, Captain Potter,” Riley said, looking irresolute. His coxswain was asleep right on the sand, and a peculiar looking crustacean was tumbling over his coat.

“Well,” Harry deliberated, fixing his eyes to the charts to avoid Remy’s glare. “I suppose we don’t have any other choice,” he said, and over Remy’s triumphant bragging he asserted, “But we’ll have to gather plenty of food and water. We can’t trust on another squall. And if I may make use of Captain Riley’s mathematics, we should chart our journey to the moment. To the moment, Remy! I’ll not have us stranded aloft. Oh, you zealous lout. To blazes with you.”

“We shall be fine, Harry, just see,” Remy told him, though it was in no way comforting. Harry could only hope that fortune favoured the bold.

They settled on leaving the next morning, after a hearty tea of salted crab, goose that was probably stuffed leg of lamb, and goats cheese with wine and mango. Harry’s funds were much depleted by then, as he had spent the previous day buying food to carry them over and other necessities, including medical supplies. He didn’t let himself be persuaded of the importance of beer on their journey, despite Basson’s persuasive argument. Harry gathered three bales of fresh water the next morning, loading them in Remy’s rigging to try its weight (“It’s not heavy at all, Harry, really. Stop fussing so!”) and after a solemn breakfast of citrus fruit and crumpet they were off.

It went to show, for Remy must have all the fortune in the world on his side, that his island was just where the map had left it, and their journey (which not as perilous, weather-wise, as Harry had thought) was as smooth as they could wish. And so, after six days and one morning of travelling, they arrived on the coast of the Incan Empire.

:::::::::::::

Their luck could not stay. It was after the exceedingly bold success of flying so far that the fortune allowed to the small party suddenly ran out. A series of ill things happened then: they came upon a village ravaged by plague, no witnesses in sight to perhaps assure them of a glimpse of Temeraire, and shortly thereafter ran afoul of sickness. There was a moment when Harry was sure Basson had caught plague, but Riley was quick to point out the jaundice and the miniscule twitches of Basson’s legs.

“Scurvy, damn him,” Riley had said once they were sure. Harry, aware of the cure, had reassured Riley that they would not leave his coxswain to die, and privately, thought he could not with his secret supply of modern medicine. “Damn you, Basson, we cannot delay,” he cursed the terribly ill man.

But Riley was a soft touch, and had real regard for the man, and so he returned the favour and nursed Basson back to health. Harry spent those long days observing the wildlife of the Inca, which consisted of incurious llama and very quiet puma, as well as flying Remy over fields in search of wild citrus. Sweet oranges were found not a mile from their camp, and by the end of a week aground, Basson’s fever had ceased along with his twitching limbs. Yet it took another three days (with one spent aloft) to increase his strength to that of a newborn.

And then, of course, the eggs decided to mutiny. Four of the six and twenty were set on hatching, and they landed in a hurry with Remy’s one-sided argument ringing in their ears. The eggs shook and titled, wanting out, and Remy was shouting, “No, no, not now! We haven’t any captains for you!”

Basson had dragged himself away from the vibrating eggs, his wide eyes betraying his desire to keep his current job.

“Should we prepare something, Harry?” Riley was saying, panicked and upset.

“We haven’t anything for you at all, no food, no captains, no prizes! You cannot come out now!” This stopped three of them from their clamouring. “You must wait,” Remy said, gentler now. “That’s better. Be still. Good chaps.”

Yet the fourth was not to be persuaded. The cracking of the egg was as loud as the shot of a pistol, in Harry’s ears, and of course a young Hungarian Horntail poked his head out and shook away the slime and shell stuck to his scales.

“Stubborn, disagreeable brutes,” Harry muttered. “Well, come out then, if you’re sure,” he said, louder.

The Horntail hissed in displeasure as Remy helped him out of the egg, showing exactly how trying he intended to be.

“You are very silly,” Remy said, barely keeping himself from hissing back. “There are no captains to care for you.”

“I’m going to find my captain!” the Horntail told Remy, agitated to the extreme. “Get off me,” he said of Remy’s coddling. “No, I don’t want llama. I’m going to find my captain.”

“Oh, you-”

“Now, let’s calm ourselves. Here-” Harry started, but was shocked silent as the dragonet suddenly went aloft. It shot north, swift as a bird, and they stood watching it flee, frozen and flabbergasted.

“Did that just happen?” Harry exclaimed, running forward to do what, he had no clue.

“Good god!” Riley said as Basson started laughing. “Harry, should we-?”

“Let’s go, let’s go,” he hurried them. Remy was springing about in place to get them to go faster. They flew after the dragonet, who was fast, too fast, and Remy shouted back at the other eggs, “If any of you others decide to hatch I’ll drop you! Oh, what a little scrub!”

“That scrub is at least going in the right direction,” Harry said. “But if he chooses a frog, I’ll go ahead and hang myself.”

::::::::::::

The dragonet went right past Cuzco, to their disappointment. They had followed at a steady enough pace, though far behind, and were resigned to play this game until the Horntail landed, when they were abruptly attacked. A patrol of dragons, too many for Remy to conceivably defeat, weighed upon them in an attempt to bring them aground.

“Riley, Riley,” Harry said in a hush as one of the dragons conversed with Remy in simple French. “Hide the eggs. Hide them, damn it.”

“Harry, they say we have to land,” Remy told him, sounding aggravated and rebellious.

Harry patted him. “We must, Remy,” he said. “We cannot risk it.”

They could not risk damaging the eggs, and so they landed in Cuzco with their aggressive escort surrounding them. And to Harry’s absolute shock, and Basson’s exclaimed, “Ole Bone, Ole Bone!” Napoleon came out to greet them, along with a furious De Guignes.

::::::::::::

Napoleon was a cordial man, and very interested in Harry. “One wonders how a man can retain his bravery in my presence,” he was blathering. “But De Guignes has told me that you are the bravest soul from here to hell!”

De Guignes didn’t look as if he had complimented Harry at all, with that glare. They sat at the Sapa Inca’s table, Harry at Napoleon’s right, and an aghast Riley to the left of De Guignes and the Sapa. Harry rolled his eyes at De Guignes and said, “We’re fugitives, sir. If you think England has condoned our journey here-”

“No, no,” Napoleon said with a laugh. “Why, you would have come with Captain Laurence and his Celestial, if you were. Come now, do try the mullet, it is exceptional. And tell me about your journey!”

Harry vaguely answered him with tall-tales, worried about Remy and the eggs and unwilling to familiarize himself with the man. It was hard not to like Napoleon, though, so this was indeed a lesson in restraint. He had left Basson with Remy, making him vow that upon his life he would guard the eggs and his dragon, disregarding Remy’s insistence that he could protect himself. He tried his best to steer the conversation to Temeraire and Laurence, wanting information of them, but Napoleon was difficult to manipulate.

Finally, it seemed that they were allowed to address the elephant in the room.

“Do you mean to catch your friends?” Napoleon asked. “They left four days ago, without much courtesy, I tell you. Not a word of farewell!”

Escaped, more like, Harry corrected privately. “No,” he denied. “As I’ve said, we’ve been privateering, Remy and I, with an appetite for pirates.”

“Oh, yes, fiends as they are,” Napoleon said, wiping his mouth and draining his wine. “Why not stay here, Harry-?”

And God, Napoleon said his name as if they were regular bosom buddies.

“The Inca are charming people, very hospitable, or pray, come to France. We treat courage well there.”

Harry did not like this slight to England, did not like Napoleon’s faux familiarity, was tired of their bad luck and irritated with De Guignes, who would not stop glaring. “The last time I was in France we all suffered for it, I recall,” he said boldly.

There. Now De Guignes was gaping. But Napoleon did not get offended, for anything, it seemed. “Brave indeed, brave indeed!” the man laughed, pouring Harry another glass of wine. “Why must you be English, eh? I can see the advantage of your loyalty! Come to France, Harry, be my courage when it should fail!”

Harry raised his glass. “To England,” he provoked, and over Napoleon’s laughter De Guignes shot to his feet shouting, “I will duel you, sir! Vive L'Empereur!”

Napoleon gave De Guignes a frosty glare and said something in French which made De Guignes flush. “He will not insult you at your table, my emperor,” yelled De Guignes after his sputtering apologies. “I will have satisfaction, sir!” He challenged Harry.

“I am sorry, very sorry for him,” Napoleon began, but Harry interrupted him. He shot to his feet, threw his wine glass at De Guignes’ head, grabbed Riley by the sleeve, and ran.

It took a moment for the Incan guards to follow, and a moment more for an absolutely shocked De Guignes to stumble after them.

“Go get Remy aloft!” Harry shouted at Riley. “At once, Riley, quick as you please, and meet me outside of the walls. If the patrol comes after you, by God fly. Tell Remy to fly faster than he ever has!”

“But-”

“Damn you, Riley, go!” Harry bellowed, turning about to face the oncoming guards. Riley went, running as fast as he could to Remy, and Harry backtracked and flew down a golden corridor. The men before him made him laugh with their spears and he took out the Elder Wand to swipe them clear off their feet. De Guignes was at the crossroads ahead, looking awed but still irate. He cried France’s name and struck out with his sword, but Harry shoved him aside with a burst of magic and stunned him. He would worry about the honour of a fair fight later.

Harry circled the enclosure, moving through groups of guards with an invigorated grin, and came to the clearing once more to see no Remy in sight. He glanced at the walls, debating how far he should run to hop over, but was stalled by the patrol going aloft. Harry’s worry cut short his pumping adrenaline, and he thought quickly of what to do to keep them from Remy. “No pressure,” he whispered. “No lift.”

The Elder Wand, so attached to his will and so much a part of him; obeyed. The flight of the patrol stuttered, and they were aground once more. Harry grinned, making ready to leave, but there were footsteps, unhurried on the stone path. He thought at first that more guards had come, and swung around with a savage sneer.

Napoleon smiled at him. “I would not have ordered them to kill you,” he said. “You are too valuable to die.”

This was so absurd, given his own circumstances that Napoleon did not know, and of course, the pretentiousness of it- that Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Lien came toward them, then, walking from her clearing and looking at Harry closely.

“Who are you to control the wind?” she asked, frowning at the stillness of the air.

Harry ignored her. “You cannot stop me from leaving,” Harry said to Napoleon. “Not with your men, your guns, or your sword.”

“I am beginning to understand that, yes,” Napoleon observed. “I would ask you what you are, but I doubt it matters. I must query, however, if England knows that she has this advantage.”

Harry smirked at him. “I’m rather ordinary, mate, what would she need to know?”

Napoleon smiled. “Ordinary,” he mused. “How strange a word for you to use. But I see I will not be able to sway you. Alas, think me a friend despite it. If you should need anything, think me a friend.”

Lien looked as though she would dispute this, but Harry raised his eyebrows at her and she settled for glowering with dislike.

“Thanks,” Harry said to him, simply. He did not try to hide his amusement. “I feel I must warn you though– as a friend– that if any more of my people are hurt by your hand, I’ll have your head.”

“How dare you-” Lien began, but Napoleon raised a hand to stop her.

“You know how easily I could take it, I trust,” Harry finished with a wink at the furious Lien.

“I do yes,” Napoleon answered. “I think I do, sir. And as your friend, I feel I must remind you of man’s normal reaction to the unknown. And their fondness for capturing the rare and exotic.”

Harry watched him carefully. “Then pray, let me show you why captivity does not concern me,” he said, before Apparating out of the clearing.

Remy waited for him a mile or so away, worried to death by the time Harry showed an hour later. He assured Remy that he was fine, checked on the eggs, and took off. The setting sun over Cuzco was not as lovely, with no escaped Horntail in sight.

:::::::::::::

“It will be another few days flying to Rio De Janeiro, Remy, perhaps-” he stopped himself and cast a hesitant glance at the eggs.

Riley seemed to read his mind. “There will be ships at Rio, maybe even a mail carrier,” he said, tapping Harry’s arm. “If I may, Harry, I can write to the Admiralty.”

“Is there a chance they may let the eggs stay in Sydney?” Remy asked, tearing into a llama without savoring the taste. He wasn’t complaining about the long, coarse fur, though Harry knew he wanted to.

“A new covert like Sydney, surrounded by rebellion with men in and out of gaol, is no place for treasures of such value,” Riley countered. “Laurence was skeptical of its efficiency as well.”

Harry shook his head. “They won’t let us linger south. It will be straight to Loch Laggan, at our earliest inconvenience. And then they’ll likely put my neck in a noose,” he snorted.

“Oh, but they can’t!” Remy argued. “You said yourself, Harry, that all these eggs may buy you pardon.”

“I’m afraid I was merely jesting, dearest,” Harry said, rubbing his neck.

Riley cleared his throat, adjusting his posture on a log in the small clearing they had stopped in. “I beg your pardon,” he said, frowning. “But why on earth would they hang you? I had wondered, with your talk of being a fugitive, and of privateering…”

“I’d forgot they’d mummed their dubber,” Harry sighed. He looked at Riley closely.

This was a man he had not known very well when they had come upon him half-drowned. Harry remembered that he was an opinionated man, an efficient captain, and once a close friend of Laurence. He judged Laurence’s taste in friends trustworthy, based on his own respect of the dear man, and said, “For treason, Riley.”

He told his story with a few adjustments, of course. Riley and Basson (who had stopped chewing dried meat and a spotted orange at the word 'treason’) listened intensely. When it was done, Remy shouted in their stunned faces.

“My Harry did the right thing!” he said. “And we stopped Laurence from going instead, which was very good. Very much the right thing to do!”

“Laurence?” Riley choked. “Treason? But what-”

“Ifin ya think it twas righ’, an England didn’ suffer for it, then youse still a hero, sir,” Basson said decidedly.

Harry nodded to him. “Thank you, Basson.”

“Wait,” Riley stopped them. “You brought the cure to France, saved the lives of their dragons including Lien, then killed half the covert and injured the dragon you cured?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “That sounds about right,” he said.

“But that’s madness!” cried Riley. “Completely mad! I don’t say what you did was wrong…well, it was treason, one cannot dispute that, but why on earth did you do it if you meant to destroy the covert all along?”

“We didn’t mean to at first,” Remy said a bit weakly. “Only, we got there and realised we couldn’t go home after disobeying the government, and that De Guignes meant to have us imprisoned-”

“They weren’t hospitable at all, very rude,” Harry interjected, not even meaning to be funny.

“Or they would try to make us fight for them, but who wants to fight for France? And well, we figured we would be killed sooner or later, and we decided we would go out fighting. Right, Harry?”

“Right.”

Basson raised his eyebrows at Riley. “Mad he be, sir, but a hero juss the same.”

Riley gaped at them, but seemed to come to terms with this revelation. Harry thought that maybe he would ignore what was said in favour of keeping the stability of his own mind. He was well aware just how mental he sounded, ever since this dimension travelling business. Malfoy had claimed that happiness made him crazy, and Harry actually saw some truth in that.

In any case, their priorities were rendezvousing with Captain Laurence and ensuring the security of the eggs. Riley had gleaned important information from a distracted De Guignes and the shrewd Sapa Inca. The English party were for Rio De Janeiro, to meet the Tswana, who were attacking the Portuguese in their endless campaign to reacquire their family members. Harry had rolled his eyes at this, wondering if he’d ever be shot of enthusiastic radicals. But their friends would need help, and a ship would likely be in a port big enough to carry Remy, and they could send word to the Admiralty, who may or may not want to hang him-

“Oh, buggering hell!” Harry exclaimed, making Riley blush. “We forgot about the Horntail.”

His outburst was met by Remy’s disgruntled huff. “We can’t be running about willy-nilly all over South America to find him,” Remy said. “I hadn’t forgotten him. I say what’s done is done.”

Riley immediately protested, “We can’t just lose dragon eggs, their English capital…the value-”

“I beg your pardon, but they’re not England’s,” Remy corrected him. “They are ours. And not capital at all. Besides, I did the same thing when I hatched. I escaped from Napoleon.”

Harry blinked. “I had not thought of the parallels,” he said, casting a keen eye on Remy-the-escape-artist. “How curious.”

“I didn’t tell him to do it,” Remy denied, knowing that suspicious look his captain favoured. “Only he must have sensed his captain and we weren’t likely to take him to where his captain was. We’d have given him over to Riley or Basson for harnessing. Captain Riley needs his ship, and I mean no offense, Basson, but you’re for the sea and it would be a shame to displace you. The whole ruckus would have made dragonet extremely discomfited, as well.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry agreed, looking out at the sky on the off chance the dragonet was near. He sighed. “Well, five and twenty eggs for a pardon, then.”

“Juss so long as the others don 'atch too,” Basson pointed out philosophically. “Can’t say as we need any more bad luck.”

Riley, overruled and overwhelmed by all that had happened, gave his coxswain a sardonic look and knocked his fist on the log.

::::::::::::::

The next day, after negotiations with Lethabo were tentatively secured, Laurence stood with the other Captains observing the building of the houses for the Tswana. Hammond was as negative as usual, saying what they were all aware of; that if the Portuguese went back on their word to free the slaves, the Tswana would not remain peaceful. Paper contract, for dragons, meant very little, according to Hammond.

Talk of taking the French frigates at Rio had took up most of the morning, and a rough foundation of a plan was put forth. Yet, a commotion broke their tired meeting, and Laurence and his party recognised that it was coming from the clearing where their dragons and crew camped. They came upon Temeraire using low, careful tones with someone they could not see, and Iskierka near frothing at the mouth in indignation.

“You are a scrub! A common thief of a scrub!” Iskierka was howling. “And you are ugly!”

“Pray, do not tell him that, Iskierka!” Temeraire said, losing his patience. “Only, there are other captains for you. You cannot have one of my crew.”

Laurence moved forward to hail them, but was shocked silent at the scene. A dragonet, half the size of Temeraire, was curled around Emily Roland and hissing at Iskierka. He was covered from crown to tale with spikes, where it ended in a deadly sharp club Laurence never wanted to see the end of in a fight. Emily did not seem distressed, but was smiling widely and patting the dragonets brown and grey scales.

“This is my captain!” the young dragon said. “She is not part of your manky crew. And I’ll burn the red one if she comes any closer!”

“I’d like to see you try!” Iskierka screeched at him, absolutely irate. Granby came forth with the intention to calm her, but had to jump quickly to the side as a blast of hot fire shot toward them. “Oh, you!” Iskierka cried, shooting her own volley. “Leave Granby alone!”

Laurence went forward and said loudly, “That’s enough! Iskierka! Do you want Roland hurt? Stop that, this instant.”

“But Laurence, he called me horrible names! I only asked what he was doing and he said it was none of my business!” Iskierka cried in aggravation.

“Well, it wasn’t your business,” Temeraire put in. “Roland is one of my crew.”

The dragonet coiled tighter about Roland. “She’s my captain,” he hissed. “You have your own!”

“If you please, sir,” Emily said, slightly muffled by the dragon’s hold. “He is very hungry, and he will need to be harnessed.”

“Are you sure, Roland?” asked Laurence, looking at the dragonet cautiously. “However did this come about? Where is he from?”

“An egg,” the dragonet answered, with much dry sarcasm. This was immensely amusing to the captains, and Laurence could hear Berkley choking with laughter behind his back. “I had to find my captain! I am hungry, and I don’t want llama. Give me a cow.”

“Oh, you are a scrub,” Iskierka hissed.

Laurence chose to intervene, for it looked as though the dragonet would shoot fire again, and said, “Pray, do you know what breed you are?”

“I don’t have a name yet. May I have a cow? Emily will feed me, and name me. Emily, have you a name for me? Can I have one? But none of you are getting me a cow-”

“I will get you a cow, Spartacus,” Roland said, climbing out of the dragon’s hold. “Is Spartacus alright?”

“Apropos given the circumstances,” Granby muttered to Laurence, meaning to lighten the mood.

Roland went to fetch the newly dubbed Spartacus his cow, which turned into four cows in a matter of thirty minutes. Laurence decided to ignore the slaughter the dragon was making of it, and said, “Captain Roland,” he waited while her glowing smile widened. “Perhaps you can ask Spartacus where he flew away from, and beg him to answer seriously this time. And also…also may you explain the service to him if he is to have a captain?”

“I know all about it,” Spartacus told them, interrupting Emily’s relay. “We’re to fight the frogs and defend England from invasion. The other dragon told me all about it.”

“You’re English?” Granby asked, quite bewildered. “But…are you from Loch Laggan?”

“I have been flying for a week to find Emily. I hatched in some stupid clearing, where there were only llamas to eat. I don’t want llamas ever, Emily. And of course I’m English!” he said, as if all dragons were English and they were the fools for asking.

Laurence blinked. “You were hatched in South America? Pray, tell me if an officer was with you. Another English captain?”

“They were all English. Three men and a dragon. But I left them because I had to find Emily,” Spartacus revealed. “And they wanted to feed me llama!”

“There, there,” Emily said, patting him. “No llama for you.”

Spartacus nuzzled her. “I have a better captain than all of you,” he claimed. “Look how lovely she is? And we will have more prizes than the red one, you’ll see.”

The captains, now quite sure that the dragonet meant no harm to them, reconvened to talk over this new intelligence. Granby moved Iskierka away, but Temeraire chose to remain and sulk over the loss of Roland.

“You don’t suppose Jane is fragrant? She’ll need an heiress for Excidium,” Berkley said, and Laurence blushed with mortification. “No? Well, good on Emily. Good for her. Harry would be proud-”

“By God, Harry’s Remy did the same thing, didn’t he?” said Warren. “Suppose it’s common with some dragons?”

Laurence shook his head. “I do not think it is. In any case, we have a fire breather among our company now. An English one. But to be sure, I am more worried about who is following us.”

Someone was following them, that much was absolutely sure. It was comforting that it was obviously and English officer, but strange (very, strange) that the officer should be in South America with a dragon egg and only two men for a crew. “It might be a carrier,” Granby spoke up, having gone silent at the mention of Harry.

“It wouldn’t be the first time the Admiralty had orders for us that we don’t know about,” Chenery agreed. “But it is odd. Extremely odd. Why was the egg not bound for Sydney? Do they mean to take it back to England?”

There was little they could do about it, in any case. Gradually, the realisation of another fire breather in the corps lifted their spirits enough that the queer circumstances of its arrival could be ignored for the time being.

Spartacus was a trying thing, endlessly irritated with everyone but Emily, and yet his bad temper did not make the other captains like him less. He was constantly on about fighting 'the frogs’ and bringing glory to England, and how lovely Emily was that even Temeraire had to admit to Laurence, “He will be a good addition to our formation, though I wish he was a bit less prickly.”

Laurence coughed down a ridiculous laugh at Temeraire’s unintentional witticism and agreed wholeheartedly. Besides the new arrival, the captains were preoccupied with the taking of the French frigates, and put the subject of Spartacus aside for later. They meant to take the vessels while the dragons slept– a risky endeavor but almost foolproof. It would likely incite indignation among the ranks of dragons, but Laurence was willing to deal with it, just as he was willing to pull rank with Captain Galloway in order to acquire more men for the mission.

And it did indeed have them disgruntled. Iskierka woke them to her howls of their captains taking the ships without them, and they were aloft. The four French frigates were under steady attack, a wash of men as black as ants in the dark of the night were fighting pell-mell on the decks. Temeraire roared, dropping down upon the ship where Laurence was battling and began to pick off the French sailors as they hung about the ratlines.

Temeraire went aloft again, when he was sure Dulcia would watch over Laurence, and called for Iskierka. They may have enough men, enough dragons to take them for a prize, but it would be close, and they needed- but Temeraire could not speculate anymore, for he was jostled in the air as a cannon ball whizzed past his wing. He knew the men were running toward the guns, to stop them firing upon the dragons, but he was not sure if they would be quick enough, and Maximus was beside him, catching one with a hiss of pain.

A loud tearing sound broke over the ruckus of the battle. The ship was raked, Temeraire saw, the offending guns fallen into the sea with their men attached. And there went another, with that awful wrench, and Maximus was going down with Berkley to take one ship. Another. The ceaseless pounding of the guns stopped; a rousing cheer from their men rising into the air from the captured frigates. And Temeraire made for Laurence on the Polonaise but stopped in the air with surprise.

“Remy?” he said, before shouting, “Remy!”

It was Remy, with no crew and nearly invisible in the night but for the blue and green moonlit streaks on his wings. Temeraire thought he should have known. Raking ships was Remy’s signature maneuver; always effective and always reckless as it was. Remy came alongside Temeraire and circled him, “Oh, it is so good to see you!” Remy said. “I missed you, Temeraire! I missed you so much!”

“But they said you were dead-!” Temeraire could not help but sputter, just as Iskierka came up to see what kept him. She gasped. “Remy! You’re alive!”

“I certainly hope we are,” came a voice from Remy’s neck, “And it seems you’ve found our missing dragonet.”

“Harry! Oh, Harry, I can’t believe it!” Temeraire laughed, catching sight of Remy’s captain there. And he was so overjoyed! Temeraire hadn’t felt happiness like this in so long, it seemed.

Iskierka gave a strangled noise and suddenly left, but Temeraire did not think much of her rude leave-taking and said, “Wherever have you been?”

“It’s a long, rather fantastic story,” Remy answered. “Only, we have to go check on the eggs. We’ve left them at your camp. But tell me how many prizes Iskierka has got? We’ve decided to match it and then some.”

“Not so many,” Temeraire grinned, and then started. “Eggs?” he asked, but Remy was already wheeling away with a whoop of farewell.

::::::::::::

Granby wasn’t aware of their flight, short as it was. Iskierka’s quick speech to him was near incomprehensible as well, but Granby understood. By God, Granby understood. And they were landing at camp once Temeraire had told them where they had gone, after unreasonable panic had taken Granby’s breath away when he did not see them. They came aground ungracefully, with Granby dragging his feet on the grass while Iskierka still moved. And there was Harry. There he was.

He had the man in his arms. He had Harry with him, breathing against his shoulder, his heart beating in Granby’s ribs. Harry was whispering that he was alive, that he was sorry for being away, that he loved Bee. Bee, Bee, Bee. He pulled away from the man and stared down into those green eyes.

“Hi, Bee,” Harry said to him. Harry spoke. “Your poor arm.”

But none of that mattered. Nothing mattered but that Harry was alive. And in front of a giggling Emily and a man he did not know, Granby kissed him deeply.

“Never woulda thought ita the captain, bein of the taste,” Basson said, raising his eyebrows at the two men.

“Hush up, Basson,” Remy said brightly, his gaze soft. “They’re madly in love.”

::::::::::::

“Well now, what have you to say for yourself?”

Granby would have liked to say the same to Harry, but he was simply too happy to be accusatory. Harry had promised, once they’d stopped grasping each other for dear life, that he would tell Bee everything. Bee. Granby’s face was aglow with joy at hearing that teasing nickname once more.

Berkley, Laurence, Harcourt and Warren landed just as the dragonet (who Harry was addressing) answered, “I didn’t want to stay with you. I had to find my captain!”

“To the devil with you,” Harry cursed him childishly. “But congratulations, Captain Roland, good luck dealing with that brute.”

Spartacus hissed at him.

“Harry?” Berkley said, coming toward them. “Harry, you old lunatic!”

He grabbed up Harry in a hug, both of them laughing and pounding each other’s backs. Laurence went forward to shake his hand, his face alight with joyful surprise, and Harry hugged him too. Catherine was crying.

“Now, don’t cry,” Harry said to her, holding her for a moment. “Your Riley is somewhere around here. Why, there he is.”

Riley, having gone to bathe once they had landed, was standing before them without a shirt on when Catherine yelled, “Tom! Tom!” and sprung into his arms. His pleasantly surprised face made Granby laugh.

“Mad old Harry,” Berkley said, shaking his head. “Where in the damned hell have you been?”

:::::::::::

“There’s things you should know about the company you keep,” Riley said to the captains around the fire, Harry and Granby beside him and sitting very close together. “He toasted England at Napoleon’s table, threw his wine glass at De Guignes’ head and ran out of the room. I’ve never been more shocked in my life,” he said over the uproarious laughter. “He’s insane.”

Harry huffed. “De Guignes deserved it. And Boney was going on and on about some philosophical rot, like I was his best mate, and De Guignes had this look on his face like he would kill me. I can’t be blamed for losing my temper.”

“There was no wrath,” Riley countered promptly. “He was quite unaffected. I think he just did it because he was bored.”

“If I had to hear one more word about the exceptional brilliance of France and about that disgusting plate of mullet the Inca gave us, there would have been wrath, Riley.”

“He’s completely mad,” Riley told them. “So there you are. I thought you ought to know.”

Berkley, the loudest of all in their crying amusement, slapped his thigh and said, “We’ve known it! And we missed the nutter, missed him something awful.”

“Consider all the battles we’ve missed, unsuccessfully privateering,” Harry sighed. “We’re to be pitied, Remy and I. Pitied.”

Laurence grinned at Harry from across the fire. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “But I don’t pity you at all. The Admiralty will knight you for those dragon eggs.”

“Sir Harry!” Berkley toasted him with his grog, his fellows following suit. Their laughter carried on into the night.

::::::::::::

“China!” Harry said, whistling in appreciation of a new adventure. He was wrapped up in Granby’s good arm, sailing on the Potentate now headed for Asia. The morning of their departure, the Cassius had taken Chenery, Warren and Little to England with the dragon eggs, the only solution available now that their plans had changed course. “I think it’s marvelous,” Harry went on. “It’ll get me out of a court martial, in any case.”

“Or reimbursement from the crown for bringing them so valuable a present,” Granby countered, kissing his head. “You could have gone with them,” he said, quieter.

“I’ve just spent two years in my original dimension picking up the pieces of their shenanigans, training an Aerial Corps and saving the bloody world,” Harry said. “If I want to be with my Bee, God grant me it and send dissenters straight to hell.”

The reference to Harry’s extraordinary journey made Granby smile into the darkness of their cabin, for he had been gifted with Harry’s absolute trust by knowing. The others, none so close to Harry, had got a measly explanation of escape and wallowing about in the Pacific. But his pride that he now knew the truth was soon edged with remorse.

“I took up with Little, when I thought you were dead. It meant nothing, I beg you to believe me,” Granby pled, his voice a desperate whisper. “It meant nothing.”

Harry was silent for a minute. “Charlie kissed me,” he confessed. “It meant nothing.”

Granby looked down at him. “A kiss, well, who could blame him? But Little is for Chenery, anyway, and Little wanted– he wanted to comfort me. I’d been…poorly, Harry, after they said you were dead. I was, well, in a bad way.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, his tone tinged with sorrow. He laid his head back on Granby’s chest and said, “I will thank Little, when I next see him. I am returned to find you whole and happy. Due to him, no doubt.”

Granby’s relief made him laugh and raise his stump of an arm. “Not quite,” he said.

“Oh, Bee, you could have no limbs whatsoever and I would still love you,” Harry told him. “I cannot help it. I’m mad for you.”

They both chuckled quietly. “And I for you, Harry,” Granby said, running his hands through the soft mess of Harry’s hair.

Dawn found them curled in a peaceful, dreamless slumber. The sea broke apart in their wake, arrowing toward a new place of intrigue and adventure. Yet still they slept until morning-come, secure in the closeness of friends and lovers. Aboard the dragon deck, Remy and Iskierka dreamed of prizes, and Temeraire and Laurence of their returned companions. And theirs was a quiet peace, for however long it lasted.

—

Finis.

#Hp fic #crossover #temeraire fic #hp3d

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