Quest Three - Redcliffe Under Attack
A/N: There's a reference to Harlon Ellison's I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream somewhere in this chapter. Can you find it? It's in the first paragraph, I win.
Quest Three
Redcliffe Under Attack
The darkness was broken only by a few distant torches, but when Harry opened his eyes he wished he couldn’t see at all. The weight of the earth above his head bore down heavily on his consciousness, giving him the uncomfortable sensation that the tunnel was about to collapse. Far worse than that were the creatures around him-animalistic hulks with diseased flesh and bulging eyes and mouths full of too many needle-sharp teeth. Their appearance was so offensive that humanity was more obscene for the vague resemblance. The hoard surrounded him on every side, pushing him at a brutal pace with no way to break out.
Far worse than the sight, however, was the sound. Loud, unbearably loud, screeching in his ears like metal scraping against metal. A man’s bloody scream. An ox’s bellow. The pounding of drums. Singing children. Buzzing flies. Whispered promises. High, cold laughter. Human voices chanting in a language he didn’t understand.
It all combined into force that drove the mass of twisted flesh. It was both the switch at their backs and the carrot that urged them forward. Harry felt oddly detached, his mind in a pleasant fog as his body raced to war and his blood burned. He felt like he had when the malificar had taken control over his mind, only this was far more oppressive, impossible to escape.
He didn’t want to escape…
A sudden pain stabbed through his head like a hot poker. It hurt so bad he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel the hoard pressing around him anymore, though he must have stopped running-they had to be trampling him beneath their heavy booted feet, crushing him into the dirt, and the song was fading away, and he was alone, and please please make it come back-
Harry shot up from where he lay on the shop floor. His head pounded, his ears rang, and his heart ached. He turned over until he was on hands and knees and vomited the remains of his supper.
After a few seconds of remembering how to breathe, Harry muttered, “Well, that was…” Unable to come up with anything particularly clever in his condition, he sighed and settled for, “…just awful.”
He rolled over onto his back, thankfully retaining enough grace to avoid the puddle of sick. To his surprise, the after-effects of his strange nightmare were already fading fast, with the exception of his racing heartbeat and a strong sense that something very wrong had just occurred.
Harry had never experienced a nightmare that bad before. Had he? He thought he could remember dreams of a strange song and flashes of fire and blood and darkness that left him deeply unsettled, but his dreams had never been so vivid before.
He stared up at the gloom that obscured the shop’s ceiling. His uncle had been predictably furious upon discovering the mess in the back room and ordered Harry to clean it even if he had to stay up all night. But he had fallen asleep while scrubbing blood off the floor, having already piled up broken furniture (one pile was reparable, one pile would be fuel for the fireplace). The back room was almost completely dark save the starlight shining through the lone window-the candle left to burn had died out sometime during Harry’s unexpected nap.
Harry tried to calm himself, but he found that his pulse wouldn’t slow and his body was a furnace despite the cold night air. His head didn’t feel like it was breaking apart anymore, but there was a burning sensation radiating from his forehead in time with his heartbeat. His body was on edge and wouldn’t calm no matter how many deep breaths he took.
Finding the will to stand, Harry staggered the first few steps out of the back room but soon regained the sort of strength and agility that he shouldn’t have after sleeping awkwardly on the floor. His body was ready for a fight, one that he couldn’t help but suspect he was going to find.
In light of this, Harry paused before he left the smithy to grab a pair of daggers that had been left out. They were better than the ones he carried. Vernon would be angry, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment.
With his new weapons in hand and the old ones safely in his pack, Harry stepped out into the darkened streets. Everyone seemed to be either in bed or in the tavern. Harry could hear the raucous laughter of the drunken bar patrons from his current position.
Harry turned away from the tavern, following some sense he didn’t understand. He found himself in front of the Chantry when he felt a presence beneath his feet.
They had been underground in his dream.
Darkspawn.
The earth began to rumble.
“Everybody wake up!” Harry shouted as loud as he could. One of the sisters mopping the floor in the Chantry emerged to see what the commotion was about, and she was joined by the Revered Mother. “The village is under attack! Darkspawn are attacking!”
The Revered Mother’s lips pursed angrily and she started to storm down the stairs of the Chantry as if she wanted to scold Harry for trying to incite a panic. But suddenly there was a growling noise, almost like an inhuman chuckle; then the ground burst up as the infernal figures from Harry’s nightmare made themselves a reality.
Harry’s first impression of real battle was a disjointed, chaotic mess. He watched long enough to see the screaming priestesses return to the safety of the Chantry before he dove into the fray, racing about in a bloody dance-stab one, dodge another, cut exposed flesh, run from the attempt at retaliation, repeat. Time seemed to slow as Harry stood alone against the Darkspawn. Then at last, other villagers began to join the fray and Harry no longer had to hold back the hoard by himself.
Harry’s ears rang with Darkspawn bellows and squeals, the screams of terrified women and children barring their doors or racing desperately to the safety of the Chantry, and the clangs of clashing steel. If he had the time to really comprehend what he was seeing and hearing, Harry might have frozen in sheer terror. As it was, all he could think was run-stab-duck-slash-kick-evade-turn-stab and so forth in a running inner monologue of commands that his body executed flawlessly while his mind was busy looking for the next target.
He lobbed a miasmic flask into a small group of Darkspawn and was pleased to see that the blast left them stunned. Less than a second later, a huge sword cut through them like a scythe through wheat.
“What’s going on?” Dudley asked, eyes wide and face bloodied as he drew back his weapon for another swing. Harry guessed that he’d been in the tavern with his friends when the call went out.
“Just keep fighting,” Harry barked. A familial instinct he didn’t know he possessed drove him to add protect Dudley to the list running through his mind. He followed his cousin, covering his flank while Dudley mowed a path through the Darkspawn. They began escorting panicked citizens to the Chantry, which was a fortress compared to most of the buildings in Redcliffe.
Dudley turned from decapitating one of the hurlocks to look up at the cliffs looming over the village. “Maker, that’s not more of them, is it?”
Harry followed his eyeline and saw several armored figures charging down the road. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell if they were friend or foe, but… “They’re not Darkspawn.”
“How can you tell?” Dudley asked.
“I don’t know.”
It turned out that Harry was right, though he still had no idea why. The armored figures began to attack the Darkspawn, to the joy of the villagers still standing. They were soldiers, men and women trained to fight, and with their help the village actually had a chance.
Dudley caught Harry’s eye and gave him a shaky but relieved smile.
Shockwaves suddenly reverberated through Harry’s feet. His first thought was that more Darkspawn were about to burst out of the ground, but what he saw was almost worse.
Towering over everything else on the battlefield was a monster. It was impossibly tall, with hands so large that it could easily lift a man using only one, massive horns curling wickedly from the top of its head, and a sunken monkey-like face with drool dripping from a protruding maw of fangs.
It looked towards them with dull white eyes, lowered its head, and began to charge.
Harry threw himself out of the way, rolling into a ditch well out of the ogre’s path. The pounding of the beast’s footsteps came to a stop some distance away. Perhaps something else had snared its attention.
Harry lifted his head and stared in horror at the sight before him. “No!”
The ogre had grabbed Dudley about the waist with one massive hand and lifted him off the ground. When Dudley tried to use his sword, the ogre shook him wildly until he lost his grip and the weapon dropped out of reach.
Before Harry could get up, the ogre slammed Dudley into the dirt with a sickening CRUNCH.
He’ll be alright, Harry thought frantically as he raced towards the ogre. Broken ribs, maybe more. He’ll be insufferable for weeks, making me fetch him snacks and fluff his pillow, insisting he somehow saved the whole country during this battle, parading about like he’s the Hero of Ferelden-
The ogre threw Dudley aside like a broken toy, sending him flying through the air and crashing through the second-storey wall of a nearby house.
Harry let out a hoarse scream and leapt onto the ogre’s back, digging his blades as deep into its bumpy grayish-purple flesh as they’d go. The ogre howled in pain and flailed around, but was too muscle-bound to reach him. Harry pulled out one of his daggers, lifted his arm, and plunged it home again to another bellow from the ogre. Harry repeated the gesture with the other dagger, heaving himself up and up like a mountain-climber until he was situated between its shoulders.
The ogre began thrashing desperately, knowing now what was about to happen. But Harry would not be stopped. He raised his dagger and sunk the blade into the base of the ogre’s skull.
The ogre dropped to the ground like a crumbling statue as Harry tumbled away, rolling until he was back on his feet and running towards the house.
“Dudley!” Harry shouted, pushing his way past the door that had been left hanging open. The floor above had caved in under the weight of Dudley’s armor and the force of the ogre’s throw. Now his cousin lay motionless in a pile of wood and rubble, blood pooling on the floor and trickling from his mouth and nose.
One swollen blue eye cracked open as Harry knelt beside him. “Potter?”
“How badly are you hurt?” Harry demanded.
“Can’ feel much… s’like when your leg goes prickly when you set on it wrong,” Dudley muttered sleepily. His eyes shut again and he almost seemed to nod off until Harry slapped the side of his face.
“Come on, get up,” Harry said angrily, though he wasn’t sure who or what he was angry about. “Your mum’s not here and there’s no girls to impress, so stop faking.”
“Are mum and dad alright?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said dismissively. He had other things he was worried about, like the fact that Dudley still wasn’t moving. Why didn’t the lazy sod get up already? “I guess we’ll see. The battle’s almost done, even after you got yourself taken out. Suppose that proves I’m the better fighter after all.”
“Suppose it does,” Dudley said.
Harry stared at his cousin, uncertain if he really heard what he thought he heard.
“That’s why mum and dad… did some of the things they did… I think,” Dudley said. He was struggling to stay awake now, breathing sluggishly as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. “They knew you’d run off and try to be a hero… like your mum.”
“What?” Harry leaned closer. All his aunt and uncle had ever told him about his parents was that they were irresponsible good-for-nothings who left him without a coin to his name. “What about my mother?”
“Dunno… I heard mum talking to dad about it once, that’s all…” Dudley said. He let out a few weak, humorless chuckles. “Funny, innit? That you’re here… and they’re not…”
Harry looked away. “Not funny at all, really.”
Dudley’s eyes closed. “Thanks…”
“For what?” Harry asked.
He didn’t get an answer.
Harry wasn’t sure how long he sat alone in that destroyed house next to the cooling body, though he did know that the battle was long over. It had ended before Dudley passed, and now the villagers were just trying to find family and friends lost during the fight. Yet Harry didn’t move or call out to the searchers. He couldn’t face it yet.
But the world refused to wait and eventually they were found. Harry was pushed away by his sobbing aunt and ashen-faced uncle as they went to Dudley’s side. Watching them, he knew then that he could no longer stay in Redcliffe.
Harry turned to leave, but Vernon caught his arm. “Where were you?” his uncle bellowed. “Why did you let this happen?”
He knew that Vernon was just hurt and grieving, and that blaming Harry was what he always did when something bad happened. But Harry wasn’t in the mood to be understanding. He shoved his uncle away, knocking him against the wall with a snarled, “Don’t touch me, Dursley.”
Harry stormed out of the house. Most of the villagers were wandering around in a shocked stupor, searching for bodies and asking themselves why the Darkspawn attacked-why they had lived while others died-why their homes had been destroyed. It was a pitiable sight, and Harry had never been more eager to leave.
He reluctantly joined the search for bodies, and when the task was done he accepted the barmaid’s invitation of free drinks for all of the surviving fighters.
There were only a few hours until dawn. Harry almost went to the Chantry to sleep just so he could avoid the Dursley house, but too many had lost their homes and it wouldn’t be right to take what he didn’t need.
As it was, neither Vernon or Petunia spoke a word to him that night or the next morning when they dressed in black and made their way to the docks for the memorial service. The soldiers whose timely arrival had saved the village were there, too, having stayed the night so they could pay their respects.
The bodies were placed in rowboats and pushed out into the lake. Harry followed Dudley’s with his eyes, tracking its motion as it floated away until it seemed like little more than a blurry speck. When the archers shot their flaming arrows, Harry had to look away as he felt a sudden pang of nausea. When he looked again, he could no longer tell which boat he had been watching.
Afterward, Harry returned to the house so he could pack his few meager belongings. Petunia was in the kitchen, still in her funeral best as she absently scrubbed a countertop that was already clean.
“I’m leaving,” Harry said. “If you want to tell me the truth about my parents, you’d better do it now.”
Petunia remained silent. Harry turned away and began to walk towards the door.
“She was a mage,” Petunia said. Her voice was dull and quiet. “Our parents did everything they could so that she wouldn’t be taken away. We always had to move, we always had to protect her, we were always poor, and still our parents thought she was the best daughter they could ever have. Perfect little Lily. Talented, special Lily. It didn’t matter to them that we were uprooting our lives for her. When she ran off to be with that retched apostate father hired to teach her, it was the best thing she ever did for our family. But then she got herself killed and we were left with you.”
Harry glowered at the floor. “Suppose you won’t have to worry about me anymore. I won’t bother you again.”
When Petunia turned away and tried to hide her tears, Harry was under no illusion that they were for him. For Dudley, maybe a little bit for his mother, but not for him. They never were.
I should have been the one who died.
Harry left the house and never looked back.
“There he is!” a booming voice called from across the village square, sounding strangely cheerful in the grey light of morning. The man was massive and rugged, with lots of shaggy black hair and a thick beard that covered most of his face. His heavy armor consisted of both metal and animal pelts, completing the barbaric look He had a huge maul on his back, which Harry imagined could crush someone’s skull like an overripe melon. This beast of a man was one of the soldiers who saved the village, and he was currently waving Harry over with an enthusiastic grin on his broad face. “C’mere, lad, you got ter tell everyone about how yeh took down that ogre!”
Harry cautiously approached the man and two of his fellow soldiers, almost unable to believe that they wanted to talk to him.
Another man (average sized this time) shook Harry’s hand. He had a calm, reassuring expression and prematurely graying brown hair, but his eyes were an eerie pale yellow and his face was crossed with scars. His armor was emblazoned with an oddly sinister-looking symbol of a tree, and there was a griffon on his shield. “Slaying an ogre on your own is no small feat. What’s your name?”
“Potter.”
A young woman with short mousy-brown hair and a pale, heart-shaped face smiled at him, her large dark eyes twinkling with mirth. She was wearing a set of short purple robes over heavily-patched trousers and carried a mage’s staff decorated with colorful ribbons and strings. “What cheer with you, Potter? We should form a club. I’m Tonks, and you’d better not call me by my first name if anyone ever tells you what it is. Did your mother name you something stupid, too?”
“I dunno, it’s just that no one ever calls me by my first name even if I tell them,” Harry said with a shrug. “I just don’t bother anymore.”
“Well, this is Hagrid-who also prefers to be called by his surname,” the yellow-eyed man said, nodding towards his large shaggy friend. “I am Remus Wolf. Either name is fine.”
“Remus Wolf?” Harry echoed. “Isn’t that a little redundant? It’d be like if my name was Man-Raised-By-Potters Potter.”
Remus chuckled. “Yes, well, mine is rather accurate.”
“He’s a werewolf,” Tonks explained.
Harry stared at Remus. “What? You’re having me on. Aren’t werewolves typically a bit… fluffier? … And bitier?”
“Aw, Remus is very fluffy,” Tonks said, reaching out to playfully ruffle the older man’s hair. More quietly, she added, “And he bites just fine, trust me.”
Remus coughed and did his best to pretend that his cheeks weren’t coloring. “I used to be a werewolf. My clan and I were lucky enough to have our curses removed. But that’s enough about me for now. What of you? Are you coming with us?”
“What do you mean?” Harry looked around and realized a few of the villagers were carrying packs and weapons, clearly preparing to leave with the soldiers.
“We’ve been gathering anyone who can fight to join the army gathering to stop the Darkspawn,” Tonks said. “It’s damned lucky we got here when we did-I heard you were the one who sounded the alarm? It seems you’re just the sort of man we need.”
“But I’m not a soldier.”
“Do yeh wan’ to be?” Hagrid asked. “After this is done, yeh can probably sign on fer good.”
“And the Grey Wardens would be quite interested in gaining a recruit with your skills,” Remus said. “That is if you’re interested. It’s not an easy life, but it is a rewarding one.”
“And you won’t find better company anywhere,” Tonks said as she gave Remus a fond smile, which he returned.
“A werewolf and a Grey Warden?” Harry asked. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Besides my fondness for reading and a distracting love of fine chocolates, that’s everything,” Remus said with a small smile. “I joined in honor of the Warden responsible for removing my curse, and I have never regretted doing so.”
“Are you a Warden, too?” Harry asked Hagrid.
“Oh, no, I’m jus’ a big man who’s good at smashin’ things,” Hagrid said. “After all them Darkspawn crawl back ter the holes they crawled out of, I’ll be goin’ back to my hut in the Wilds.”
The idea that Harry could become a Grey Warden was as appealing as it was unbelievable, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to sign on to that kind of life-long commitment after only just gaining his freedom. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“So does that mean you’re coming with us?” Tonks asked. “I think we’re about to leave soon.”
“I guess I don’t have much else planned,” Harry said with a nod, prompting Tonks to grin.
“Happy to have yeh with us, Potter!” Hagrid boomed. The large man clapped a heavy hand on Harry’s back, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Tonks was right; before long, the militia was underway. They marched together on the road that lead out of Redcliffe, and with one last glance down at the small village that had been his home for twenty years, Harry climbed up the hill towards the rising sun.
-QUEST COMPLETE-
CODEX ENTRIES ADDED: Hagrid, Remus Wolf, Tonks
Quest Three
Redcliffe Under Attack
The darkness was broken only by a few distant torches, but when Harry opened his eyes he wished he couldn’t see at all. The weight of the earth above his head bore down heavily on his consciousness, giving him the uncomfortable sensation that the tunnel was about to collapse. Far worse than that were the creatures around him-animalistic hulks with diseased flesh and bulging eyes and mouths full of too many needle-sharp teeth. Their appearance was so offensive that humanity was more obscene for the vague resemblance. The hoard surrounded him on every side, pushing him at a brutal pace with no way to break out.
Far worse than the sight, however, was the sound. Loud, unbearably loud, screeching in his ears like metal scraping against metal. A man’s bloody scream. An ox’s bellow. The pounding of drums. Singing children. Buzzing flies. Whispered promises. High, cold laughter. Human voices chanting in a language he didn’t understand.
It all combined into force that drove the mass of twisted flesh. It was both the switch at their backs and the carrot that urged them forward. Harry felt oddly detached, his mind in a pleasant fog as his body raced to war and his blood burned. He felt like he had when the malificar had taken control over his mind, only this was far more oppressive, impossible to escape.
He didn’t want to escape…
A sudden pain stabbed through his head like a hot poker. It hurt so bad he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel the hoard pressing around him anymore, though he must have stopped running-they had to be trampling him beneath their heavy booted feet, crushing him into the dirt, and the song was fading away, and he was alone, and please please make it come back-
Harry shot up from where he lay on the shop floor. His head pounded, his ears rang, and his heart ached. He turned over until he was on hands and knees and vomited the remains of his supper.
After a few seconds of remembering how to breathe, Harry muttered, “Well, that was…” Unable to come up with anything particularly clever in his condition, he sighed and settled for, “…just awful.”
He rolled over onto his back, thankfully retaining enough grace to avoid the puddle of sick. To his surprise, the after-effects of his strange nightmare were already fading fast, with the exception of his racing heartbeat and a strong sense that something very wrong had just occurred.
Harry had never experienced a nightmare that bad before. Had he? He thought he could remember dreams of a strange song and flashes of fire and blood and darkness that left him deeply unsettled, but his dreams had never been so vivid before.
He stared up at the gloom that obscured the shop’s ceiling. His uncle had been predictably furious upon discovering the mess in the back room and ordered Harry to clean it even if he had to stay up all night. But he had fallen asleep while scrubbing blood off the floor, having already piled up broken furniture (one pile was reparable, one pile would be fuel for the fireplace). The back room was almost completely dark save the starlight shining through the lone window-the candle left to burn had died out sometime during Harry’s unexpected nap.
Harry tried to calm himself, but he found that his pulse wouldn’t slow and his body was a furnace despite the cold night air. His head didn’t feel like it was breaking apart anymore, but there was a burning sensation radiating from his forehead in time with his heartbeat. His body was on edge and wouldn’t calm no matter how many deep breaths he took.
Finding the will to stand, Harry staggered the first few steps out of the back room but soon regained the sort of strength and agility that he shouldn’t have after sleeping awkwardly on the floor. His body was ready for a fight, one that he couldn’t help but suspect he was going to find.
In light of this, Harry paused before he left the smithy to grab a pair of daggers that had been left out. They were better than the ones he carried. Vernon would be angry, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment.
With his new weapons in hand and the old ones safely in his pack, Harry stepped out into the darkened streets. Everyone seemed to be either in bed or in the tavern. Harry could hear the raucous laughter of the drunken bar patrons from his current position.
Harry turned away from the tavern, following some sense he didn’t understand. He found himself in front of the Chantry when he felt a presence beneath his feet.
They had been underground in his dream.
Darkspawn.
The earth began to rumble.
“Everybody wake up!” Harry shouted as loud as he could. One of the sisters mopping the floor in the Chantry emerged to see what the commotion was about, and she was joined by the Revered Mother. “The village is under attack! Darkspawn are attacking!”
The Revered Mother’s lips pursed angrily and she started to storm down the stairs of the Chantry as if she wanted to scold Harry for trying to incite a panic. But suddenly there was a growling noise, almost like an inhuman chuckle; then the ground burst up as the infernal figures from Harry’s nightmare made themselves a reality.
Harry’s first impression of real battle was a disjointed, chaotic mess. He watched long enough to see the screaming priestesses return to the safety of the Chantry before he dove into the fray, racing about in a bloody dance-stab one, dodge another, cut exposed flesh, run from the attempt at retaliation, repeat. Time seemed to slow as Harry stood alone against the Darkspawn. Then at last, other villagers began to join the fray and Harry no longer had to hold back the hoard by himself.
Harry’s ears rang with Darkspawn bellows and squeals, the screams of terrified women and children barring their doors or racing desperately to the safety of the Chantry, and the clangs of clashing steel. If he had the time to really comprehend what he was seeing and hearing, Harry might have frozen in sheer terror. As it was, all he could think was run-stab-duck-slash-kick-evade-turn-stab and so forth in a running inner monologue of commands that his body executed flawlessly while his mind was busy looking for the next target.
He lobbed a miasmic flask into a small group of Darkspawn and was pleased to see that the blast left them stunned. Less than a second later, a huge sword cut through them like a scythe through wheat.
“What’s going on?” Dudley asked, eyes wide and face bloodied as he drew back his weapon for another swing. Harry guessed that he’d been in the tavern with his friends when the call went out.
“Just keep fighting,” Harry barked. A familial instinct he didn’t know he possessed drove him to add protect Dudley to the list running through his mind. He followed his cousin, covering his flank while Dudley mowed a path through the Darkspawn. They began escorting panicked citizens to the Chantry, which was a fortress compared to most of the buildings in Redcliffe.
Dudley turned from decapitating one of the hurlocks to look up at the cliffs looming over the village. “Maker, that’s not more of them, is it?”
Harry followed his eyeline and saw several armored figures charging down the road. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell if they were friend or foe, but… “They’re not Darkspawn.”
“How can you tell?” Dudley asked.
“I don’t know.”
It turned out that Harry was right, though he still had no idea why. The armored figures began to attack the Darkspawn, to the joy of the villagers still standing. They were soldiers, men and women trained to fight, and with their help the village actually had a chance.
Dudley caught Harry’s eye and gave him a shaky but relieved smile.
Shockwaves suddenly reverberated through Harry’s feet. His first thought was that more Darkspawn were about to burst out of the ground, but what he saw was almost worse.
Towering over everything else on the battlefield was a monster. It was impossibly tall, with hands so large that it could easily lift a man using only one, massive horns curling wickedly from the top of its head, and a sunken monkey-like face with drool dripping from a protruding maw of fangs.
It looked towards them with dull white eyes, lowered its head, and began to charge.
Harry threw himself out of the way, rolling into a ditch well out of the ogre’s path. The pounding of the beast’s footsteps came to a stop some distance away. Perhaps something else had snared its attention.
Harry lifted his head and stared in horror at the sight before him. “No!”
The ogre had grabbed Dudley about the waist with one massive hand and lifted him off the ground. When Dudley tried to use his sword, the ogre shook him wildly until he lost his grip and the weapon dropped out of reach.
Before Harry could get up, the ogre slammed Dudley into the dirt with a sickening CRUNCH.
He’ll be alright, Harry thought frantically as he raced towards the ogre. Broken ribs, maybe more. He’ll be insufferable for weeks, making me fetch him snacks and fluff his pillow, insisting he somehow saved the whole country during this battle, parading about like he’s the Hero of Ferelden-
The ogre threw Dudley aside like a broken toy, sending him flying through the air and crashing through the second-storey wall of a nearby house.
Harry let out a hoarse scream and leapt onto the ogre’s back, digging his blades as deep into its bumpy grayish-purple flesh as they’d go. The ogre howled in pain and flailed around, but was too muscle-bound to reach him. Harry pulled out one of his daggers, lifted his arm, and plunged it home again to another bellow from the ogre. Harry repeated the gesture with the other dagger, heaving himself up and up like a mountain-climber until he was situated between its shoulders.
The ogre began thrashing desperately, knowing now what was about to happen. But Harry would not be stopped. He raised his dagger and sunk the blade into the base of the ogre’s skull.
The ogre dropped to the ground like a crumbling statue as Harry tumbled away, rolling until he was back on his feet and running towards the house.
“Dudley!” Harry shouted, pushing his way past the door that had been left hanging open. The floor above had caved in under the weight of Dudley’s armor and the force of the ogre’s throw. Now his cousin lay motionless in a pile of wood and rubble, blood pooling on the floor and trickling from his mouth and nose.
One swollen blue eye cracked open as Harry knelt beside him. “Potter?”
“How badly are you hurt?” Harry demanded.
“Can’ feel much… s’like when your leg goes prickly when you set on it wrong,” Dudley muttered sleepily. His eyes shut again and he almost seemed to nod off until Harry slapped the side of his face.
“Come on, get up,” Harry said angrily, though he wasn’t sure who or what he was angry about. “Your mum’s not here and there’s no girls to impress, so stop faking.”
“Are mum and dad alright?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said dismissively. He had other things he was worried about, like the fact that Dudley still wasn’t moving. Why didn’t the lazy sod get up already? “I guess we’ll see. The battle’s almost done, even after you got yourself taken out. Suppose that proves I’m the better fighter after all.”
“Suppose it does,” Dudley said.
Harry stared at his cousin, uncertain if he really heard what he thought he heard.
“That’s why mum and dad… did some of the things they did… I think,” Dudley said. He was struggling to stay awake now, breathing sluggishly as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. “They knew you’d run off and try to be a hero… like your mum.”
“What?” Harry leaned closer. All his aunt and uncle had ever told him about his parents was that they were irresponsible good-for-nothings who left him without a coin to his name. “What about my mother?”
“Dunno… I heard mum talking to dad about it once, that’s all…” Dudley said. He let out a few weak, humorless chuckles. “Funny, innit? That you’re here… and they’re not…”
Harry looked away. “Not funny at all, really.”
Dudley’s eyes closed. “Thanks…”
“For what?” Harry asked.
He didn’t get an answer.
Harry wasn’t sure how long he sat alone in that destroyed house next to the cooling body, though he did know that the battle was long over. It had ended before Dudley passed, and now the villagers were just trying to find family and friends lost during the fight. Yet Harry didn’t move or call out to the searchers. He couldn’t face it yet.
But the world refused to wait and eventually they were found. Harry was pushed away by his sobbing aunt and ashen-faced uncle as they went to Dudley’s side. Watching them, he knew then that he could no longer stay in Redcliffe.
Harry turned to leave, but Vernon caught his arm. “Where were you?” his uncle bellowed. “Why did you let this happen?”
He knew that Vernon was just hurt and grieving, and that blaming Harry was what he always did when something bad happened. But Harry wasn’t in the mood to be understanding. He shoved his uncle away, knocking him against the wall with a snarled, “Don’t touch me, Dursley.”
Harry stormed out of the house. Most of the villagers were wandering around in a shocked stupor, searching for bodies and asking themselves why the Darkspawn attacked-why they had lived while others died-why their homes had been destroyed. It was a pitiable sight, and Harry had never been more eager to leave.
He reluctantly joined the search for bodies, and when the task was done he accepted the barmaid’s invitation of free drinks for all of the surviving fighters.
There were only a few hours until dawn. Harry almost went to the Chantry to sleep just so he could avoid the Dursley house, but too many had lost their homes and it wouldn’t be right to take what he didn’t need.
As it was, neither Vernon or Petunia spoke a word to him that night or the next morning when they dressed in black and made their way to the docks for the memorial service. The soldiers whose timely arrival had saved the village were there, too, having stayed the night so they could pay their respects.
The bodies were placed in rowboats and pushed out into the lake. Harry followed Dudley’s with his eyes, tracking its motion as it floated away until it seemed like little more than a blurry speck. When the archers shot their flaming arrows, Harry had to look away as he felt a sudden pang of nausea. When he looked again, he could no longer tell which boat he had been watching.
Afterward, Harry returned to the house so he could pack his few meager belongings. Petunia was in the kitchen, still in her funeral best as she absently scrubbed a countertop that was already clean.
“I’m leaving,” Harry said. “If you want to tell me the truth about my parents, you’d better do it now.”
Petunia remained silent. Harry turned away and began to walk towards the door.
“She was a mage,” Petunia said. Her voice was dull and quiet. “Our parents did everything they could so that she wouldn’t be taken away. We always had to move, we always had to protect her, we were always poor, and still our parents thought she was the best daughter they could ever have. Perfect little Lily. Talented, special Lily. It didn’t matter to them that we were uprooting our lives for her. When she ran off to be with that retched apostate father hired to teach her, it was the best thing she ever did for our family. But then she got herself killed and we were left with you.”
Harry glowered at the floor. “Suppose you won’t have to worry about me anymore. I won’t bother you again.”
When Petunia turned away and tried to hide her tears, Harry was under no illusion that they were for him. For Dudley, maybe a little bit for his mother, but not for him. They never were.
I should have been the one who died.
Harry left the house and never looked back.
“There he is!” a booming voice called from across the village square, sounding strangely cheerful in the grey light of morning. The man was massive and rugged, with lots of shaggy black hair and a thick beard that covered most of his face. His heavy armor consisted of both metal and animal pelts, completing the barbaric look He had a huge maul on his back, which Harry imagined could crush someone’s skull like an overripe melon. This beast of a man was one of the soldiers who saved the village, and he was currently waving Harry over with an enthusiastic grin on his broad face. “C’mere, lad, you got ter tell everyone about how yeh took down that ogre!”
Harry cautiously approached the man and two of his fellow soldiers, almost unable to believe that they wanted to talk to him.
Another man (average sized this time) shook Harry’s hand. He had a calm, reassuring expression and prematurely graying brown hair, but his eyes were an eerie pale yellow and his face was crossed with scars. His armor was emblazoned with an oddly sinister-looking symbol of a tree, and there was a griffon on his shield. “Slaying an ogre on your own is no small feat. What’s your name?”
“Potter.”
A young woman with short mousy-brown hair and a pale, heart-shaped face smiled at him, her large dark eyes twinkling with mirth. She was wearing a set of short purple robes over heavily-patched trousers and carried a mage’s staff decorated with colorful ribbons and strings. “What cheer with you, Potter? We should form a club. I’m Tonks, and you’d better not call me by my first name if anyone ever tells you what it is. Did your mother name you something stupid, too?”
“I dunno, it’s just that no one ever calls me by my first name even if I tell them,” Harry said with a shrug. “I just don’t bother anymore.”
“Well, this is Hagrid-who also prefers to be called by his surname,” the yellow-eyed man said, nodding towards his large shaggy friend. “I am Remus Wolf. Either name is fine.”
“Remus Wolf?” Harry echoed. “Isn’t that a little redundant? It’d be like if my name was Man-Raised-By-Potters Potter.”
Remus chuckled. “Yes, well, mine is rather accurate.”
“He’s a werewolf,” Tonks explained.
Harry stared at Remus. “What? You’re having me on. Aren’t werewolves typically a bit… fluffier? … And bitier?”
“Aw, Remus is very fluffy,” Tonks said, reaching out to playfully ruffle the older man’s hair. More quietly, she added, “And he bites just fine, trust me.”
Remus coughed and did his best to pretend that his cheeks weren’t coloring. “I used to be a werewolf. My clan and I were lucky enough to have our curses removed. But that’s enough about me for now. What of you? Are you coming with us?”
“What do you mean?” Harry looked around and realized a few of the villagers were carrying packs and weapons, clearly preparing to leave with the soldiers.
“We’ve been gathering anyone who can fight to join the army gathering to stop the Darkspawn,” Tonks said. “It’s damned lucky we got here when we did-I heard you were the one who sounded the alarm? It seems you’re just the sort of man we need.”
“But I’m not a soldier.”
“Do yeh wan’ to be?” Hagrid asked. “After this is done, yeh can probably sign on fer good.”
“And the Grey Wardens would be quite interested in gaining a recruit with your skills,” Remus said. “That is if you’re interested. It’s not an easy life, but it is a rewarding one.”
“And you won’t find better company anywhere,” Tonks said as she gave Remus a fond smile, which he returned.
“A werewolf and a Grey Warden?” Harry asked. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Besides my fondness for reading and a distracting love of fine chocolates, that’s everything,” Remus said with a small smile. “I joined in honor of the Warden responsible for removing my curse, and I have never regretted doing so.”
“Are you a Warden, too?” Harry asked Hagrid.
“Oh, no, I’m jus’ a big man who’s good at smashin’ things,” Hagrid said. “After all them Darkspawn crawl back ter the holes they crawled out of, I’ll be goin’ back to my hut in the Wilds.”
The idea that Harry could become a Grey Warden was as appealing as it was unbelievable, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to sign on to that kind of life-long commitment after only just gaining his freedom. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“So does that mean you’re coming with us?” Tonks asked. “I think we’re about to leave soon.”
“I guess I don’t have much else planned,” Harry said with a nod, prompting Tonks to grin.
“Happy to have yeh with us, Potter!” Hagrid boomed. The large man clapped a heavy hand on Harry’s back, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Tonks was right; before long, the militia was underway. They marched together on the road that lead out of Redcliffe, and with one last glance down at the small village that had been his home for twenty years, Harry climbed up the hill towards the rising sun.
-QUEST COMPLETE-
CODEX ENTRIES ADDED: Hagrid, Remus Wolf, Tonks