A Song of Fools and Magic, Chapter 2. (Patreon)

Stygai, Shadow Lands, 278 AC.

“What do you think?” Harry inquired with a sigh, looking at his love after the ghost was finished. Right now carefully cradling a still slumbering Delphini to his chest. The Draught of Living Death thankfully continued being in effect to keep the girl from witnessing their cruel and ruined surroundings, keeping her in suspended animation until the counter-agent was administered.

The tale beggared belief, what with how much horror was contained within. Describing a civilisation built on slavery to such a degree that not only the foundation was made of it, but the mortar and buildings as well. All done with such a callous disregard for human life that it seemed almost demonic in nature. A thought that found easy purchase as talk of blood sacrifices to fuel spells or appease demons were mentioned. The latter point was up for debate, but the Witch and Wizard wouldn't put it past the Valyrians to make deals with malevolent beings to further their own agenda of misery. All of their misdeeds finally culminated in a conflagration so massive everything for 500 miles exploded, scouring their rotten civilisation clean by fire and brimstone. All of it caused by fourteen volcanoes erupting all at once and triggered by unknown means.

Of course, an eruption of such magnitude also had had severe repercussions for the world at large, outside of the political implications of a destroyed empire. The aftermath was aptly named the Century of Blood, and began with many uprisings that killed all but one of the Valyrian overlords and their dragons that had been outside of Valyria proper at the time. However, with the Lands of the Long Summer now a smoking ruin it was only fitting that a winter that lasted a decade followed. That specific winter was heralded by a night that lasted a full year, with the smoke and ash blocking the sun's rays.

It was an event called the Year of Black Snow in Westeros, due to the snow mixing with the ash that had been blasted into the atmosphere.

“Well, aside from the fact that I'm glad the Valyrians' so called civilisation” Harry seldom heard Hermione spit words with such a sneer of venom. “was destroyed, I think we should get away from here as fast as possible.” her black eyes rested on Delphini as she said it, making the reason for her choice clear. While the ghost of Tommen may be biased in that Westeros sounded better than Essos. Though Hermione agreed with it due to Essos apparently being full of and ruled by slavery. “For obvious reasons.”

“I do agree in principle.” Harry nodded along. “And yet I don't think we should leave immediately.” Harry said reluctantly, adding the weight of his voice against Hermione's. Just because he fled his old world, didn't mean he wanted to repeat the same thing here. It was just that back home it seemed to always escalate, and he didn't want to wait for it to get even worse as more and more turned on him.

A frown marred her beautiful features at that. Hermione was understandably aghast. “Why?” the woman questioned with a sharp frown of displeasure, followed by the night-eyed witch saying. “We're exhausted and in no shape to fight. And we have Delphini to think about!”

“Indeed, and you know I'd never willingly expose her to danger.” the lone wizard agreed fully, uncomfortable with exposing Delphini to any risk. Though that was before pointing out. “However, we're in unknown and largely inhospitable territory. As such we have no idea where to go or what to do. As well as the problem with Apparition here.” he pointed all around them, them sitting on a higher vantage point that allowed them to see their surroundings better.

One look around saw the apparent apocalypse greet them with open arms, embracing them like a lost lover. Immediately they had become uncomfortably aware of the ash and dust choking the sky, casting their surroundings in a state of near complete darkness, the sun all blocked out. Yet dim light flooded across the landscape, cloaking everything in an anaemic light. With every inhalation the two felt their noses and throats sting from the ash in the air.

“All manner of creatures stalk the shadows of this place. Be it Chimeras or other aberrations.” Seeing that he had her reluctant attention, Harry added. “The enemy is an experienced Diviner as said by Tommen.” he negligently pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the lazily floating ghost. “While I have spells that ward against scrying, I don't know if they'll work due to our magic seemingly being different, changed. We also have no wands anymore.” His – the Elder Wand – had been taken as tribute for their travel, and the old holly wand had been destroyed in the war. While her wand was apparently rendered inert by this world's magic. It was no guarantee that they could multiply food, conjure water or create other necessities of life to survive here. “It's better to take care of the problem now instead of later; when we're potentially even more exhausted and worn down.”

While both of them no longer needed to eat and drink, sleep was still very much a requirement to purge their minds and thoughts.

Definitely not pleased, but nonetheless seeing the point of his argument, Hermione said. “That much is true. And if it's really a so called undying sorceress we're dealing with then having a powerful Necromancer on our side is a big boon.” back home the closest to some undying wizard had been Voldemort and Harry had emerged victorious in that battle too.

“At least fire spells work still, even being much stronger than usual.” Harry added, holding out a hand above which hovered a boulder-sized flame. He had intended it to be a small one. Then again fire was especially potent against the undead, after all. He frowned in displeasure at the reminder from before. “Though, Fiendfyre proved much more stubborn than usual. Maybe due to its increased strength.” controlling the sentient fire was by no means an easy feat either way, but it had been considerably harder than usual. “Even if its sentience also seemed stronger somehow.”

Harry looked to the sky, where the red comet continued to open up a wound in the sky. “Either it's inherent in this world's magic or due to the current celestial phenomenon going on.” due to his extensive study of Divination Harry also had a deep understanding of how certain cosmological events could influence certain spells or rituals. “Of which the latter is hopefully correct. The first possibility is...” he didn't finish the sentence, not liking the implications.

“...concerning.” came Hermione's voice, followed by a sigh. A mournful look directed at the ruined wand still held in her hands, rubbing longingly along its now inert and curled up length. “But it is possible and the state of affairs is indeed different here. Otherwise we could simply use multiple Apparition jumps to escape this place and put some distance between us and it.” that particular magical form of travel being unavailable was a big blow, but they couldn't use it right now to cover large distances anyhow. Not knowing any places intimately enough to do so. “We'll have to try and see if Portkeys still function the same or not, once we've visited some more places.” she personally doubted that very much, it being based on the principles of Apparition.

Harry nodded with an unhappy frown. “Yeah, too bad we didn't think to bring any brooms with us.” an oversight they now regretted. Then again there was no guarantee they'd even work the same or at all.

That's when the ghost spoke up, despite not having much idea what they were talking about. “If you want to escape this place, confronting my erstwhile mistress is your best bet.” he told them honestly, his ghostly voice distorted and echoing.

“Why is that?” Hermione questioned with eyes narrowed in suspicion, suspecting he might still be in her thrall and lure them into a trap. Or simply not satisfied without his mistress' death.

Tommen continued on, not even addressing Hermione instead of Harry. His focus only ever briefly straying from the Master of Death, and only ever changing briefly to where Harry's attention went. “She is indeed an experienced diviner.” he confirmed for the group. “However, for some reason she did not perceive His Majesty. Only mentioning one woman and a child. So the element of surprise is on your side.”

“That's something at least.” Harry mused, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. One look at the contemplative Hermione had him add. “As for the why she didn't see me isn't important right now.” wanting her to stay focused and on point.

“If you say so.” she replied clearly sceptical of the ghost and his reliability in telling the truth.

As if nothing had happened Tommen went on “She also has an ally of sorts, the Sorcerer Lord of Carcosa who styles himself the 69th Yellow Emperor.” the ghost gave an echoing snort at that, knowing the man to be as twisted as his mistress. “He delivers fresh meat of men and beast for her to twist together in bloody fashion to create her miscreations, as she fondly calls them.”

“Judging by our surroundings, I assume he's not getting those from nearby?” Harry looked around as if to showcase the place, sarcasm thick in his tone.

A small smile tugged at ghostly lips. “Indeed,” he inclined his head. “every new moon a caravan of his arrives from Carcosa north of here, a... slightly less cursed city. Though travel is still perilous due to demons and cursed dragons stalking the roads.” few living today knew if that was true or not, but the fact that the most depraved Shadow-Binders refused to travel here should be indication enough. “Aside from their trade of new meat, procured from buying slaves or ambushing the few desperate caravans braving the Shadow Lands, they also trade in information. Due to its deserved reputation Stygai serves as the ideal hiding spot, for no one alive dares venture here.”

Though Tommen had an inkling as to why that Valyrian Witch relocated from Valyria to here. Namely that someone had found her hideout in Valyria, triggering her paranoia. Tommen vaguely remembered a massive black dragon with a miniscule rider on top, who was then fought by the dragon of his mistress. Then again, it wasn't as if the scenery or danger changed all that much. Only some of her ramblings let him suspect it was also done in search of lost knowledge. For what, he had no idea.

Both newcomers had grown silent and still before a grim countenance and burning resolve overcame it. Harry, his eyes shimmering with magic, commanded the spectre. “Tell us what you can about that Sorceress.” he wanted as much information as possible, also planning to employ Divination to discover weaknesses in their enemy or her fortress.

“Well, the most important thing to keep in mind would be Albion.” at Harry raising an eyebrow, he elaborated. “Her dragon, Your Majesty.” Tommen helpfully supplied in warning.

Harry let loose colourful curses, remembering how his own fight with one of the beasts went. Namely barely completing the task at hand, killing the dragon and just so surviving. “Of course she'd have a dragon.” the Wizard muttered with a growl.

“Is the beast at least cumbersome with how old it has to be?” Hermione's sharp mind inquired. By what was known about dragons the reptiles kept growing as they aged. It might slow down gradually, but they never truly stopped until they died.

“It is indeed an old gnawbone. A mouth large enough to swallow an Aurochs whole, lined with teeth twice as long as I am tall and claws the size of small towers. However, as you said, that dragon is old and weary. I do know that she acquired it after the Doom, having been there myself. However, it is a fearsome foe nonetheless.”

Hermione nodded, a few plans already forming in her mind. One was to try and speak with it through Parseltongue, which allowed for communication with all reptiles, not just snakes. It didn't matter if they were turtles, lizards or in this case dragons. Other options included dismantling the beast through various alchemical means.

Not many people knew this, but Dragons were the pinnacle of Alchemy and Vicissitude, or Flesh-craft as it was better known – something both of them were heavily versed in – the beasts having been created for war in the ancient times of Old Atlantis. Only sharing that spot with a handful of others, like Pegasi and Nundus. Those few were Chimeras so perfect they were able to reproduce naturally, something many others of their kind lacked. So much so that their artificial nature had faded from the public consciousness entirely, which saw them as a naturally occurring magical species back home.

Due to their perpetual growth dragons also needed an increasing amount of food to sustain themselves. One of the reasons why they were killed in Dragon Enclaves, aside from harvesting them for rare potion ingredients. Feeding them became more and more difficult the bigger they got, up until they died of voluntary starvation or battle. Though that depended on the beast's temperament. Some dragons tried to kill every other dragon near them for food, of course. It stood therefore to reason that the Archon also got supplies for her dragon from those monthly visits.

Then reality reasserted itself, throwing any plans into disarray. 'That is, if things are the same here.' she thought worriedly, having once more worked on too many assumptions. A bad habit she had thankfully curbed considerably. 'Then again, there had been a connection between our worlds. So some overlap should be expected.'

The two interrogated the ghost some more, ranging from topics like the capabilities and limits of magic to his knowledge as well as weak points and tactics most likely to work. Leading to their rough but serviceable plan.

“So, Tommen resumes ownership of his... body.” she began, giving the dead thing a disgusted glance before continuing. “While Harry will conceal himself as an undead to surprise that vile sorceress. What are we doing about that dragon though?”

“It's a good thing we came prepared then.” Harry proclaimed, putting his right hand inside the mokeskin pouch around his neck.

With one hand in the pouch Harry pulled out a miniature trunk. Followed by pressing a thumb on the top where a rune was carved, he felt a sting as the trunk drew blood from him. An act that caused an expansion slow enough for him to quickly set it down before him. 'Thank Merlin, Hermione and I prepared so much for this journey. Even if it cost me a good chunk of my gold.' he thought in relief.

The trunk had multiple compartments; eight in all. Thankfully having overestimated how much space they needed. All of the compartments in use were still stuffed full to the brim.

The first was the smallest and separated in two, holding stacks of different parchment, ranging from simple parchment to rare spell-paper. The latter was embossed and finely-inked lines were set at right angles to form a pleasing border. Upon closer inspection arcane characters appeared in the corners of the top page, shimmering like cut crystal. Beside those was an assortment of quills, and stoppered inkwells with many different kinds of ink. The second part held the few magical artefacts and other special items left to them. There was a Pensieve, a Hand of Glory, two Omnioculars, the Marauder's Map, instruments necessary for astronomy like telescopes, various family photo albums and the silver pocket-watch Sirius had gifted him with. Even a magically shrunken and ostentatious wheelhouse of all things that had once belonged to House Black. In the corner sat a folded magical tent; a fine one – purple-dyed canvas lined in cloth of gold – drawn tightly over wooden posts and beams, fastened further with iron bands.

The second compartment – moderately enlarged to fit everything it held – contained a Herbalism kit, brewer supplies and alchemical glassware. The kit was a simple but huge varnished wooden box, closed with two clasps of steel and leather. It held many samples of seeds, herbs, fungi, grasses, flowers and other plants; both magical and mundane were stacked on top of each other. Even cuttings from various grape vines were added, including Merlot, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Sauvignon Blanc, many others and even some magical types from the Black vineyards. There also were mortar, pestle and a small sickle-shaped knife for collecting more ingredients. Beside the kit were the brewer supplies, which included scales, a small copper cauldron, vials, spoons, a syringe siphon and flint and steel. While the alchemical objects included all manner of flasks, tubes, beakers, funnels and more. All held securely in place with straps or wrapped in thick protective cloth.

In the expanded third compartment was an assortment of potions, salves, solutions and more. Be it Essence of Dittany, Murtlap Essence, Wiggenweld potions, Skele-Gro, various antidotes and bezoars, salves for burns or bruises. Even a few phials of Ice Potions, Strengthening Solution, ten vials of Veritaserum, Pepper-up potions, Draught of Living Death and Invigoration Draughts were present. As well as a huge bottle containing the remaining two litres of unicorn blood. Other truly rare magical ingredients were also present, including Phoenix ash, tears and a bag of a dozen flint, Unicorn hairs, Basilisk, bolts of Acromantula silk and vials of their venom followed by Salamander Blood and more.

After that came their food supply, which was fit to burst with all kinds of non-perishable or preserved rations. Most of the space was taken up by cask upon cask, containing exotic vintages and alcohol from the cellars of Grimmauld Place 12, the Potter and Black Mansions.

Then came the fifth and biggest compartment, and unlike the previous three it was even enchanted to be much bigger inside. So much so that a ladder led downwards into it, something Hermione had insisted on. It held all the books, scrolls and tomes they had amassed during their time at Hogwarts and after it. The wealth of knowledge ranged from their schoolbooks to old grimoires, coming from the Black and Potter Libraries, knowledge from the Lestrange family and Dumbledore's collection bequeathed to Hermione upon his death, and even some rare ones from Nicholas Flamel.

The sixth one held all of their considerable furniture, their entire wardrobe and other possessions from Grimmauld Place; including cutlery, portraits, expensive china and more. Even two boxes of jewellery – one each belonging to Hermione and him – was inside, containing pieces from the Blacks and Potters, as well as some breathtaking ones gifted to them by the Flamels. While the seventh contained all of the depleted, but still considerable fortune from the Potter, Black and gifted Flamel vaults; including Galleons, Sickles, Knuts, heaps of gems, a good amount of goblin-silver items and a few old trinkets. Both, the sixth and seventh, were also enchanted to be much larger on the inside, the former only filled to half of its full capacity.

Lastly came the eighth compartment, which remained empty for now.

Invigoration and Ice Potions were needed in preparation for the battle ahead. Though Harry also took a potent Exstimulo Potion, to top up his magical reserves, while only giving an Ice Potion for the still sleeping Delphini. Next Harry put old and rusted metal armour – taken from a nearby corpse – over his Basilisk hide one, a helmet hiding his face completely to better sell the act of him being an undead.

“Two selfish requests, if I may, Your Majesty.” Tommen requested humbly, continuing upon Harry's reluctant nod. “What dregs of honour and duty I still possess compel me to beseech you to release my companions form their torment.” the ghost began, words echoed with sorrow. “No easy task, for our captor was cruel beyond measure.” the ghost slowly lost some of his lustre, gaps opening once more in his tattered soul. “They suffered a fate worse than I, worse than death.”

Tommen shuddered, a queer sight for a ghost. “Mayhap you could comprehend the pain they went through.” the apparition acknowledged, eyes flickering to the vicious scar framing the left side of his face. Apparently clearly perceiving the painful remnant of a scream echoing from there. “However, up until then I couldn't begin to imagine what it feels like when an individual has their soul ripped from their body. Now we're not dead and by no means are we alive. Instead, we're forced to walk this accursed land, servants of those who bind us to it.” after a slight pause to gather his composure once more he went on. “As I'm sure you're aware, without a soul, the body cannot be killed. What is dead may never die, as the Ironborn are so fond of reminding us. And so the remnants of my men are now indestructible fighting units. Thankfully, they are limited in how far they can travel from the stones they're bound to.”

The ghost bowed deeply. “As such my most humble request is this: I'm begging you, release them from this mortal coil and the agony my arrogant folly inflicted upon them. Let their souls finally know peace.”

'Horcruxes.' Harry thought with a scowl at the reminder of his deceased nemesis. Or at least it sounded very similar in form and function. “Of course, you can count on me!” the Wizard replied with a solemnity the situation warranted, unwilling to let such vile things exist.

Still bowing, the former Lord of Casterly Rock sighed in relief, a weight lifting from his shoulder. “Many thanks, Your Majesty!” he then pointed towards the blade still in possession of his corpse. “Should we succeed in our arduous task, could you perhaps return Brightroar and my corpse to my family? It is our ancestral blade and surely sorely missed. I'd also like nothing more than to rest amongst my forbearers, even if my corpse is such as it is.” it was his only chance to return, considering most would never look for his corpse, and even then in the wrong location.

Harry didn't need to think about that. “That too, I shall do.” he promised. “Once your duty is done, I will return your body and the sword. It's the least we could do for you aid.”

With that said he grabbed Tommen's spirit with both hands and said in warning. “This will hurt.”

“Pain is an old friend by now, and agony a companion.” Tommen replied with a broken smile, soon twisted into a stifled scream as he was forced back into his abominable undead body.

Thus his mission to escort them to his late mistress started.

Stygai, Shadow Lands, 278 AC.

With the guidance of the once more corporeal Tommen Lannister the group made their way towards the location of their new accidental enemy. No layer of this hell was without its unique horror. The fields of chocking dust and ash, a weirdly phosphorescent river – each area more oppressive and punishing than the last, seemingly connected at a primal level by an oppressive air of misery and purest, primal evil. The landscape of Stygai was bleak, featuring hills of ash that fell from the sky like snow, pits of smoking rock, and distant volcanoes belching smoke underneath a dark, starless void.

Stygai was a reeking, filth-ridden mire where the corruptive, toxic and pestilent was empowered while forces of health and vigour were weakened. A city where all things natural were defaced or destroyed; the place itself was like a wounded animal, constantly shuddering, moaning and oozing a foul, black ichor shimmering like oil, clinging hopelessly to life in a state of perpetual dying. A place of abandoned buildings made of greasy black stone and constant decay, pollution and rot permeating every aspect of the environment.

Outside of the twin orbs of blood hanging in the sky, one observing the other as it disembowelled the sky, there was only two other "natural" sources of light to be found in the dim, bloody radiance emitted by the current celestial phenomenon. One of those was a singular ribbon of sickly green light winding itself through the ruins. It was a phosphorescent river in which deformed and blind fish swam and were the second form of light in form of flickering green fires in form of will-o'-wisp were belched out along the river banks as drifting, blazing spheres. At the waters edge the remnants of stunted trees that were still dying as opposed to dead eventually collapsed, succumbed to rot or spontaneously burst into damp, smouldering flames upon contact with the floating flames.

As they passed beneath a towering stone archway marking the entrance to the city's centre, Harry felt a brief unnatural chill permeating the air, especially in this place. The familiar sickly sweet smell of rot and decay hung heavy in the air like a vile perfume, adrift on fell winds beneath that crimson radiance that suffused everything in this place now. In the streets, the group saw hunched figures shambling aimlessly across the ancient but still smooth black pavement, their hollow eyes devoid of intelligence or purpose.

Suddenly twin peals of thunder split the night and ashen rain doused the ancient city in a flaky deluge as volcanic lightning flashed like the sword of an angry god overhead from black clouds. In that moment of brief illumination, Harry thought to see a massive draconic figure curled atop the massive edge of the sheer mountain wall near a tower, its enormous tattered wings akin to ripped blankets for nearby toppled towers.

“One of those wasn't thunder, was it?” Hermione asked, black eyes focussed on the shape far ahead. By now clutching Delphini so closely to her chest she was nearly squishing the child.

“No.” Harry agreed swallowing heavily, looking through his pair of Omnioculars. “That... that was her dragon.”

Words could hardly convey the stunning majesty of the creature that she had seen. Even in ancient age the titanic dragon had been breathtaking: a mountain of scale and muscle limned with what had once been pale pink scales. However, the passing centuries had changed the dragon’s scales to a pearlescent cast of a cloudy sky at dawn. The beast seemed utterly content and comfortable in its shining scales. The dragon shrugged and settled its body like a cat – a cat that could crush a castle tower between its claws.

Tommen simply growled affirmatively, unable to truly verbally reply without proper vocal cords.

Then the group resumed their crossing of the oppressive and barren streets of cursed Stygai towards that black tower sitting on the mountain's side, looming large over the surrounding towers. The smaller ones were like dull supplicants to its majesty, cowering as if in prayer before its sable façade. While wondrous in its ugliness, the falling of black and hot ash became dangerous for them without magical measures of protection. Their group was largely protected from it by a small and gentle whirlwind summoned by Harry through some simple Aeromancy, keeping their surroundings clear. Even then the environment was more hospitable to the dead than to the living. The environmental conditions such that they forced the group to look for shelter a few times, and illustrated why their best option was to remove the threat entirely instead of betting on escape in foreign and hostile lands.

Walls slowly crumbled to the ground as shadows appeared with nothing to cast them. It seemed as if this devastation had only recently been wreaked upon this town, instead of millennia ago. There was no hint of living sentients within its confines. Only undead and monsters growling at each other, likely fighting over scraps of food.

All of them ignored their group, obeying an unheard command from their mistress to let the guests through. Though, the further they went towards their goal the more hideous the undead became.

Anyone sane or innocent enough would surely think no one sane person would make these puppets of muscle and magic, these inhuman-human things. Yet Harry knew how far people could fall in their fickle pursuit of power, even having gazed into the abyss himself. The Necromancer knew at a glance that an intelligence had built these monsters. Someone had arranged the flesh of many people in a pattern, like a quilt. There was ritual and familiarity in the precision of the stitching.

In time they reached a gatehouse of magical design, clearly not hewed from the stone it was surrounded by, but instead shaped and moulded like clay. It was outwardly a typical gatehouse but more reminiscent of a draconic beast, with all the details and features that entailed. From the huge maw lined with teeth serving as an entrance and scales engraved into it, to the many gargoyles decorating the structure's top.

The entrance was closed off, the dragon's mouth clasped shut with only smoke escaping the it's nostrils. Only for something infernal to suddenly bubble and pop, and the gates opened – creaking with some imbalance or silent wind. Under the gurgling and the dark groans of unseen mechanisms, a steady drone of grim energy hummed, rising and falling, as if the beast was breathing, as if the gates were truly the open mouth of a dragon. Only made more reminiscent by a blast of blistering heat assaulting them like a charging beast.

'Seems we're expected.' Harry thought warily. Not enthused about potentially fighting a horde of undead abominations, a colossal dragon followed by what looked like a more successful – depending on your point of view – female Voldemort. Hopefully removing the head of the snake killed the rest of the body.

As soon as they were inside the gate closed behind them once again, casting everything into pitch black darkness outside of a dim orange glow surrounding them. This cavern rippled through the earth like a vein beneath the skin, but the blood that had once flowed through it had been of the earth. Its wavy walls rose up to create a round roof that bucked up and down but stayed roughly the same height. The floor was flat, both out into the distance and to the sides, where the earth's blood had once lapped up the walls.

Blasted into the obsidian rock, the yawning cavern walls were as smooth as silk, the roiling magma having cooled into undulating waves centuries ago, holding back a tide of lava behind it. So permeated by heat was this place that the ground was uncomfortably hot, and the air temperature high enough to char meat and ripple the air with distortion. As such the air in the cave was stifling, as if they had stepped into an oven, and the walls were painted in a warm glow from the magma around them.

Their eyes adjusted to the dim orange heat, revealing gems of staggering size and clarity studding the walls and floor like stars in the night sky, each one twinkling softly. Crystals of such breathtaking size and weight were embedded in the walls that it seemed like a natural gallery. The smallest gem was easily the size of a barrel, while the largest specimens were the length of a watchman’s pike. The stones glittered in the warm glow of the cavern, their striking, myriad hues somewhat muted by the gloom.

Noticing Hermione's discomfort, – a leftover from her time as a vampire – Harry's first instinct was to cast magic to cool her down and cast bubble-head charms over them all. He barely stopped himself in time, lest their deception was discovered by such a foolish act. No matter how well intentioned. Not to mention that they did not even know if the spell still worked the same here; a state of affairs which was highly doubtful. Instead he trusted the Ice Potion to do its job, which it did amiably.

Deeper and deeper they were led into the cavernous bowels of the world. Until, suddenly, tainted darkness receded to give way to a few rays of crimson light from ahead.

Here steam rose from the brackish surface of a vast volcanic caldera. The reservoir's waters were permanently heated to boiling by either thermal vents or magma pools in the depths below. Black smoke billowed from the middle of the imposing lake where the waters bubbled most violently and wispy tendrils escaped the cavern's roof – finding an exit to the world beyond. Droplets of lava fell down from the walls like rain, creating a chalice of burning tears.

Suddenly a seismic tremor rocked the cyclopean cavern and torrents of white-hot steam spewed from the nearby bubbling caldera. Water bubbled, shifted and boiled, its gurgling rebounding off the walls and its movements under the surface creating a low hum and sporadic rumbling. Pieces of rock and debris were knocked loose by raging currents of smoke, droplets of lava intensified while heated air whooshed upward, barely audible. The volcano heaved and shook as if ready to erupt at any moment. Only to calm once more, at least as much as the molten fury of the earth could.

A stairway carved into the inner sides of the volcanic caldera presented a perilous-looking climb to the black tower sitting at the top. Apparently at some point long ago someone had had the time to carve stone into steps. However, whether through wear or careless craftsmanship, no two steps were the same width or height, making for a dangerous ascent.

Suddenly an awful scent assaulted their noses: the familiar coppery tang of fresh blood, the oddly salty scent of rusting iron, the foul stench of unwashed bodies and waste. However, cutting through it all was the unmistakable stink of fear. Harry hardly needed to look in the small alcoves carved into the stone to know what they contained: cages, manacled chains, spiked chairs, and tools that would be more at home in a foundry or a butcher’s shop. None of the occupants cried out in pain or for help, instead choosing to huddle in the shadows and hoping to be concealed and not noticed. Obviously having long since learned that tears or pleas served no purpose or having been broken so completely nothing mattered to them any longer outside of escaping pain.

The narrow stairs clung tightly to the cliff face, doubling back twice before reaching a somewhat wider landing. Upon ascending completely their vision was dominated by a massive tower in front of the chocked sky.

The tower stood out from all of the surroundings as both a marvel of architecture and an affront to the design of buildings overall. With upthrust arrogance, the twisted and unnatural tower appeared to slowly move and shift. Its inky and oily, non-reflective length was topped with pronged points that stabbed at the sky, and had many facets – as if whittled by hand from coal. Built upon an oddly-shaped base with five sides rather than four, the tower gently tapered upward to a bulging solar in a rounded shape. The feature resembled a crystal ball clutched by three enormous dragon claws.

The undead and abominable guards – most likely Lannister men-at-arm judging from their tattered tabards – did seem to stand straighter as Harry approached, as if surprised by a visit from a superior and wanting to present a good front. More queer was what followed. For they did not move to attack nor stepped aside, instead jerking wildly as if receiving conflicting orders or unable to decided what action to take. In the end they prevented them from entering by crossing their spears.

“Did you think I wouldn't discover your treason, little lion?” came a whispery voice from one of the corpses. Despite the soft tones, mercy and forgiveness were utterly absent in it. “While I don't know how you nearly usurped my servants. They and you belong to me!”

Harry felt an urge to hasten, not a mere blind panic, but an instinct of peril growing behind his back. A typical sensation for an experienced Diviner when extreme danger was imminent, by now intimately familiar to him from his many personal experiences in such matters.

“You will soon...” the raspy voice continued before being cut off by Harry, literally. Without preamble he cut both undead guards down, cleaving the first one's head from its shoulders and the second's body in twain from shoulder to waist. The silver sword carving through leather and undead flesh like a hot knife through butter.

Both corpses immediately began to turn to ash, yet they did not burn. Instead the process was like an infection, spreading from the wound like a venom and rapidly breaking them down to piles of ash. A rather new function of the enchanted blade, having come to be due to the different materials it was imbued with.

Unfortunately the metaphorical door slammed shut before them. A silky red barrier suddenly loomed before them, billowing like a curtain. The scent of fresh blood became overwhelming for the duo of living beings. A moment later it had filled their mouths and throats completely with its coppery tang. A wall of blood now barred their way, held in place by dark magic.

Though, other matters would occupy their minds soon enough, for a roar so guttural it shook the earth erupted from nearby. Carried on a warm and dry wind that swirled through the barren landscape, which stank of burning rocks and sulphur. Silence fell – and was broken by another roar. Vaguely the group could see a part of the mountain begin to move, unfolding wings. The thunderous beating of those same gigantic ones now heralding a draconic arrival by drowning out all other sounds.

Ahead, the dragon speared through the sky with ferocious majesty. Its mammoth wings stretched wide, casting an imposing shadow below to join the perpetual ones ringed with crimson already there. With every sinew-cracking beat, the creature drove itself nearer, the wind screaming across its massive scales. Their minds struggled to take in the sheer titanic scale of the dragon on the horizon, whose form was rapidly growing, as if it had leaped from the crumbling pages of history and the Age of Heroes. Clouds of ash swirled across the creature, forming nebulous banks of it, and the thunder rumbling from its throat could be heard clearly even at this distance.

The creature’s sheer size was difficult to be perceived fully – nearly godlike would be an appropriate descriptor. A crown of black horns adorned its head. The scaled and bulbous body impossibly held itself upright on colossal wings – promising ruin and devastation – which extended to frame the dragon’s terrifying magnificence, and a massive tail trailing behind it like a comet. It's pearlescent scales shone with a bloody light, as it reflected the gory radiance from above. It regarded them through golden eyes with barely disguised contempt. Smoke was curling from its nostrils, enough to put industrial chimneys to shame, and nacreous flames were spitting from between its spear-like black teeth. All of them indicators of what was to come.

“Take cover!” Harry shouted towards Tommen, who had been given Delphini in the span of a heartbeat. It was probably foolish to entrust their daughter to an undead stranger, but right now they had little choice in the matter – despite Delphini also being protected from being burned. Being an undead made fighting a dragon a fool's errand, for there was no method – be it potion or spell – to imbue carrion with resistance to flames. As such Tommen ran behind the tower in search for refuge.

Both of their minds rushed to take in the scene before them, shaking off the terror at the sight alone and find solutions to their current predicament. Knowing that time was short and the options limited, Harry instinctively cast the most powerful necromantic spell he knew for this terrifying scenario.

The Wizard put all of his considerable fury into the spell, imbuing it with his spite and desperation. At once a strange and otherworldly cold rose in his gut – a clawing nausea followed. Harry felt the familiar chill extend into his limbs, creeping down into his fingertips. Once done with the somatic component he extended his hand, pointing at the colossal creature and intoning the correct words. “Avada Kedavra!”

In a flash a crackling bolt of negative energy – lightning with a corpse-light, an eye-searing gash of emerald glow rimmed by an eerie dark smoke – left him together with the sensation and erupted forward, competing with the dragon's roar in intensity. Not a second later it impacted and arced all over the beast's body, eager to obey its function and trying to find purchase, but unable to penetrate its magic-resistant hide fully. Still, the massive creature noticeably drooped, loosing altitude rapidly.

Yet, regardless the dragon’s wrath hit them like a hammer blow, bathing them in its flames the colour of madness as it flew over their heads and crashed into the mountain behind them with a deafening sound.