I do not own any part of the Harry Potter or Eragon universes.

This is my first story I've started to write for fun.

Finally, English is my second language, so any feedback is welcome.

He should have known better to believe that whatever words they uttered would wash his worries away. He really should have listened to him.

It was a desperate time. Because of his recklessness his partner was killed. His dragon was dead.

He clenched his sword tightly, seething with rage at the thought of those filthy creatures. He swore to make them pay with their lives.

But for now… The man inhaled the air through his nose and calmed his mind as he was shown by the stranger. He stood calmly and unmoving in front of the many faces of the Order.

All the faces showed the same emotion. Disappointment.

No one dared to say it, but that one of their own would fail a simple task like he was tasked with, was an embarrassment to the riders.

He snorted inwardly. None of them had shown the capacity for magic like he did! Only the elves and a few human Rider were superior to him.

But not for long.

He could still remember that his first encounter with magic was amazing! As a young man, he imagined the endless possibilities with wide eyes. But he quickly learned the dangerous rules for using a powerful, but primitive ally like magic.

Rules, that could determine the fate of the caster, whether they live or die.

A wave of sorrow and sadness overcame the young man, as his thoughts turned to his beloved partner.

As those fools continued to argue over a pointless topic, memories and emotions flooded his being. A topic, that would decide the destiny of Alagaёsia for the coming decades.

None of the people in the room knew about the suffering that would afflict the land they had vowed to defend. He had tried to argue with them, but everything fell on silent ears.

Everything seemed meaningless and useless.


After a few minutes they voiced their decision, which was fully backed by the council of the dragon riders.


He was aware of the decision that had been made, as it was evident from the expressions on the faces of each member of the council. His spies had informed him about their decision. It was set in stone before his fingers opened the doors.

The man's irritation grew with every ticking second. A fire had ignited, seemingly coinciding with the time when his parents had relinquished him. A fire, which kept on growing, when he noticed the laziness of the riders and the many problems Alagaёsia seemed to have.

He would not let his rage get the upper hand.

Not yet.

It would not bode well for him if his plans were discovered early.

But the time to unleash his fire, his rage, was near. His time to save Alagaёsia!

He smirked inwardly.

The decision made by the Council would hinder his plans, but it was only a temporary setback. Similar to the Council, he too had made his decision when he arrived, and the soles of his feet touched the Halls of Glory of Dorú Areaba.

As one of them rose from their seat, he recognized the distinctively graceful features of a young elf.

"The council has decided to acknowledge your situation but must decline your request for another dragon egg, Rider Galbatorix."

Galbatorix sighed inwardly. Apparently, he was right about everything.

He took a deep breath, turned around and flung open the closed doors.

"Rider Galbatorix! Do you not have anything more to say?" Called the leader of the Dragon Riders, an elf with the name Vrael.

Galbatorix stopped moving and turned to gaze amusedly into the faces of the most powerful men and women in the world.


A few of them were either disturbed or utterly confused by his silence. Surely, he would show sorrow and sadness or even anger that they had denied him a new dragon. But here he was… giving them an amused smile… He didn't look like a Rider who had lost his dragon to Urgals a few weeks ago.

"I have nothing to say to you imbeciles, Master Vrael," he mocked them. Maybe he was not as calm as he thought. "But I can promise you one thing. You made a fool of me today, but this won't be the last time you hear from me!"

He saw some of them rose to their feet and others gasp. Most members of the council were elves, few who have had the pleasure of appreciating a human's temperament.

Vrael regarded him with sadness. "Let him mourn in peace. He requires time."

With loud steps Galbatorix walked one last time through the shining halls of Dorú Areaba. Ignoring the angry screams behind him, he moved towards a man who was leaning loosely against one of the many pillars that supported the entrance to the hall.

The man had midnight black hair and yellow eyes that sparkled as they took in the young Rider.

"And?" The man asked him. Galbatorix shook his head and drove his fist into the pillar, next to the stranger's face.

Pieces of the wall fell to the floor.

"Better?" He asked with amusement.

Galbatorix let out a sight, "You were right," he said. "The Order has become weak. Weak and depraved."

"And what do you intend to do now? Will you accept my offer?" The man asked with a great deal of curiosity in his voice.

Galbatorix nodded. "Alagaёsia is just like the order of the Dragon Riders. Rotten and depraved. We must first sweep out the weeds to ensure the fruit can grow."

The man gave a cruel smile. "Then we have a lot to do."

With a last look at the closed doors, Galbatorix turned away. His gaze directed to the front. The future of Alagaёsia. His new future.

"That we have, my friend."

First, he listened to the chirping of the birds. It didn't take long for the disturbing noise to make him open his eyes. Emerald eyes stared against the underside of a thatched roof.

He blinked.

A thatched roof?

His body was covered by a rough woolen blanket. He cautiously touched his arms and legs and promptly noticed that his upper body and arms had been wrapped in bandages.

He lifted his head from the pillow and saw that he was in a small, one-room hut. A few dried herbs hung on the walls and gave the air a pleasant aroma.

The last remains of a fire were flickering in a chimney when he noticed movement in front of it. A woman in her middle age was seated on a rocking chair.

He tried to sit up despite the pain in his chest. His movement must have been noticed by the woman, because she quickly stood up and moved to the bed and carefully helped him to sit up.

"It's good that you're finally awake," the woman said in a warm voice.

"How are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare!" She scolded him and drew the chair closer to his bed.

"I am fine, I think. My body feels like I've been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs," said the young man. Turning his gaze from his bandages to the woman and seeing her puzzled look.

"Uhm, they are half horse, half eagle creatures," he explained, but even that explanation didn't seem to be an answer, confusion clearly shown on the woman's face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but you seem to be doing fine. You might have hit your head though." She gave him a sharp look. "I'm Gertrude, the village healer of Carvahall," she introduced herself.

"I'm Harry."

Nobody said anything for a moment and Harry took the moment to slowly look around.

"Do you remember what happened?"

At Harry's questioning look, she added, "We found you unconscious, just outside the village three days ago. Brom found you there by accident and brought you here."

There was a long pause, during which Gertrude gazed out of the window.

"You had a high fever, which only started to subside yesterday. Your injuries are healing well, too" she explained to him.

"Thank you...How long have I been lying here?" Harry asked her urgently.

"Three days. Weren't you listening to me?" She looked at him with concern. His eyes widened.

Three days! Three days have passed after the Battle of Hogwarts. He desperately needed to find out what had happened!

Harry watched as Gertrude hung a cauldron over the fire and began to chop vegetables for a soup.

It didn't take long before his stomach started growling loudly. After all, he hadn't eaten anything in four days.

"What happened? I know you're not from Carvahall as I've never seen you here before. Horst had tasked me to ask you that. Not that I wouldn't think of it myself," Gertrude muttered the last part under her breath in anger.

He silently but longingly took the bowl filled with soup.

Harry sighed in relief as he ate his first spoonful of soup. The house elves from Hogwarts couldn't have made the soup any better and it would satisfy his hunger for now.

"I don't know," Harry answered after he finished eating. He was sure that Gertrude didn't believe him, but it was not a complete lie either. After all Harry really didn't know where he was and how he got there.

The last thing he remembered was a white light and a voice. The voice was male and musical in a way, but Harry only vaguely remembered it and the words slipped from his fingers.

"Hmm. Let us hope you were not attacked by Urgals. These monsters are the last thing we need right now," Gertrude said with worry in her voice.

Harry blinked. Urgals?

Gertrude shook her head. "Stay down, your wounds have not healed yet. I'll speak with Horst and tell him that you're awake. I will be quick."

Harry could only nod, so quickly Gertrude had disappeared through the door.

He rubbed a hand over his scar and sighed in relief as the pain around his head slowly eased. The soup had helped, but he still felt very weak.

Harry looked around for any items of his own and felt relieved as he noticed the moke-skin pouch Hagrid had given him for his seventeenth birthday, still hanging around his neck.

He reached into the pouch and was happy when he immediately felt the familiar wood of his wand. The warmth shot through his body and filled his arms and legs.

Harry took advantage of the moment of solitude and cast a diagnostic spell on himself and sighed with relief when he got the spell's result.

The spell confirmed exactly what Gertrude had told him earlier. Most injuries would heal in a few days, while the spot on his chest, where the killing curse struck him, was pitch black and would take longer to heal.

Although he doubted that any healer could help him with that. For as far as he knows, no one has survived the Killing Curse twice.

Harry was about to stand up when he heard Gertrude's voice and then the voices of two other men.

No sooner had he hidden his wand in his sleeve, Gertrude quickly came into the hut with two men in tow.

One was a brawny man with a leather apron, which had seen better days. The other was an elderly but still well-built man with a braided white beard.

"The man next to me is Horst, the village smith of Carvahall," explained Gertrude with a smile. "While this old man is Brom, our storyteller. He was the one who found you."

Then Gertrud addressed the two men. "His name is Harry. He seems to have no real recollection of what happened to him."

"Really?" Brom asked in disbelief.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "All I remember is a voice," Harry admitted with a frown. It was the truth, but he could not remember the words.

They didn't seem to recognize him, which was fine for him. Harry would take any advantage to get some information.

"A voice?" Horst asked. "Do you remember what that person said?"

Harry shook his head. He did not recognize it from anywhere.

"That's not going to help us then," Horst sighed. He exchanged a few glances with the other two in the room, who must have known each other very well, as he turned to Harry with a determined look.

"Do you have any other family? A home where you come from?" Horst asked.

Harry hated that kind of question.

With the Dursleys he had never felt at home. The place was connected to feelings Harry had never shared with anyone. Hogwarts was his first real home. Over time, the feeling of being welcomed there had diminished until it was just a flicker, and he no longer wished to return to Hogwarts - not even for a moment.

Meanwhile, Brom looked closely at the young man. He was very thin and looked as if he had barely eaten for weeks, if not months. Brom carefully sent out his mind to him but could barely sense the boy. It was like hitting an invisible wall.

So, the boy was at least trained to some degree, but something felt different about him. He could almost feel it.

Was it because of his eyes? The boy was so young, but his eyes made him look old.

What must he have experienced in his young life that made his eyes look so tired?

The boy wasn't a threat at the moment, as he had also checked him for weapons while he was unconscious and to his surprise, he didn't find anything on him.

Why was there a boy just outside the spine without any weapons or food?

"My family is dead," Harry replied in a flat tone.

"Oh, you poor thing," Gertrude whispered.

"Is there a possibility that Harry can stay?" Horst asked the others with an attempt to change the subject.

Gertrude shook her head, but Brom appeared to have an idea.

"What about the hut outside the village? No one has lived there for years and the quiet will do him good to recover," Brom suggested.

He knew exactly what it's like when someone just needed some time and rest to recover. Even if the proposal carried a different goal with it.

"Hm, that's true. However, there is still a lot that needs to be done to bring the hut back into shape," Horst commented on it.

He turned towards Harry.

"What do you think, Harry? Do you want to stay in Carvahall? We villagers stick together and could support you until you are at least able to stand on your own two feet."

Harry swallowed. He has seldom met such generous people. He wasn't exactly sure where he was, but he finally deserved some rest, did he not?

Wherever he was now, the battle for Hogwarts was over and others could finally take care of the reconstruction.

Harry nodded thankfully. "That is most generous of you."

Horst gave him a wide grin and slapped his shoulder hard.

"Ouch," Harry closed his eyes when he felt the pain erupt in his shoulder. Gertrude smacked Horst on the back of his head out of the corner of his eyes.

"He's only recently woken up and his whole upper body was black and blue! You saw it yourself! Do that again and Elain will hear about this." Gertrude scolded Horst and went over to the table to continue chopping the vegetables.

Horst looked embarrassed and Brom laughed out loud while Harry rubbed his shoulder carefully.

A lot was going to change for him, but for now, Harry was finally free from the shadows of his past and could only wonder what the future would bring him.

It took exactly seven days for his body to recover from the worst injuries he had sustained during the battle of Hogwarts.

Harry had found the time he spent with Gertrude comfortable and restful. She cared for him a lot, gave him plenty to eat so that Harry went to bed with a full stomach every night.

In that regard she was very much like Madam Pomfrey.

Gertrude hardly ever took her eyes off Harry, which amused him greatly. The risk was too great to take books out of his trunk. It would be difficult to explain how he got hold of the books when he was found with nothing but his own clothes.

However, Gertrude again proved to be an excellent hostess and asked Brom for some books for Harry to read while he was still recovering.

Harry found Brom to be very similar to Moody. Both were very observant but also very moody.

There was hardly a moment that Brom wasn't upset about something.

Be it Sloan, the King, or the Soldiers.

So, Harry read the books in the hope of learning something new about his situation. When he learned about the truth about his situation, it had not been easy at all.

From the books and snippets of conversation, he overheard Gertrude having with other villagers, Harry quickly realized he was in a different land entirely.

And this land was called Alagaёsia.

He was in Carvahall, a village that was close to the spine.

If Harry had any doubts that he was somewhere else, they could be answered by the stars taking up very different positions, as he was used to at Hogwarts.

He'd been studying astronomy at Hogwarts for years. Even if it wasn't generally his favorite subject, he had been able to memorize quite a few constellations over the years.

And he couldn't recognize a single one as he looked out of the window on his first night at Carvahall.

So, he had to put up with the fact that wherever he was, Alagaёsia was nowhere on earth.

In the end it didn't matter to Harry. After all, he had no one to mourn for. All his loved ones were dead. He just had to process the thought that he probably would never see Hogwarts again.

Harry really enjoyed his time with Gertrude. She was a sincere and wise woman who was open to many topics. They kept discussing different topics for hours and she was eager to learn something new.

Still, Harry found plenty of time for himself to reflect on his situation.

He was in a time that bore great resemblances with the Middle Ages, at least as far as his observations showed.

Harry has had worse circumstances when he was living with the Dursleys and due to the wizarding world, he never got used to all the muggle gadgets in general.

Which was why he would not miss them anyway.

In addition, there was the advantage that no one knew his name.

Nobody would recognize his name and suddenly shake his hands to thank him for something he couldn't even remember. He would not be labeled a hero or the next Dark Lord, depending on the whims of the wizarding world.

He could finally live his life according to his own ideas.

There was no prophecy. No Voldemort.

Harry Potter was no more, and it was time for just Harry to start living.

Harry looked down the hillside.

He looked around and saw wide meadows and a small, narrow stream where the summer sunbeams were reflected in the water. A few meters away from the river stood a small, nondescript hut. Which would be his home for the time to come.

But even from a distance, Harry could tell it was far from in good condition. You could probably see that on his face too, because Brom grunted in amusement.

"Don't worry. Many people have already started their life with worse and something has become of them too," Brom said and started to walk swiftly to the hut.

"Maybe," Harry eyed the hut wearily. " But it's still not going to be easy."

Brom merely shook his head. "Life is never easy. But that is what makes it worth living."

Harry let out a breath in desperation.

But Brom silenced him with a look and Harry had to settle for his new home.

They walked for a few minutes until they were finally in front of the hut.

"It looked better from the distance," Brom confessed as he surveyed the cabin and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"I'm lucky that the hut is still standing," he observed with a frown.

Harry shook his head. The hut had definitely seen better days.

The door was only half hanging on its hinges and the two windows weren't there at all.

Harry opened the door, causing it to break off completely.

"That'll be one of the first things you should attempt to fix," Brom advised, a bit shocked at the state of the hut.

According to Brom it hadn't been that long since someone had lived in the hut. He had been a lonely fellow who was seldom seen around the village.

Harry just nodded absently and took in every detail in front of him.

The inside of his new quarters was a small room with an old table, which nevertheless still looked solid.

There was a bed against the wall with a small wooden chair that was completely covered in dust.

Brom looked around and saw two panels of wood that, he judged by the size, served as shutters for the windows.

"They're both in pretty good shape, fortunately," Brom remarked with a smile. "You'll just have to ask Horst for new blocks."

"I guess that won't be the only thing I'm going to ask of him," Harry replied with a smirk.

As the two continued to look at the outside of the hut, Harry noticed that there were a few holes in the walls and a large one in the roof that needed patching before the next rain came.

He didn't want to be woken up by the rain at night.

"The holes have to be your priority, or the wind will blow through every corner," Brom called from the other side of the hut, apparently recognizing the same problem. "You're lucky that winter is still months away."

Meanwhile, Harry was more concerned with whether it was worth using his magic to build a new hut and confounding the villagers with a little magic that he had fixed everything on his own.

Harry was still thinking about it when Brom called him over.

He walked around the cabin and saw that Brom had made himself comfortable in the cabin's shade.

"Aren't you going to sit down? One should savor every single moment in life to relax one's mind," Brom said to him.

"A break is fine with me. My muscles are still hurting," Harry grunted, when he took a seat next to Brom, and they both enjoyed the gentle summer breeze cooling them in the shade.

"You know, I was going to wait until tomorrow to do that," Brom began, and Harry felt something sharp against his throat and his body tensed at the menacing tone of Brom's voice.

"But I have waited long enough," Brom spat at him. "Do you serve the black king?"