A Song of Fools and Magic, Chapter 4. (Patreon)

Stygai, Shadow Lands, 278AC

Hermione awoke, body heavy upon the bed and still only clad in her unmentionables. The dangers that had been the bane of their stay, together with her wounds, must have lulled her into a deep slumber. As the witch breathed in the by now familiar hot air and her vision adjusted to the low light conditions endemic to this part of the world, she instantly realised that Harry was not beside her. Instead feeling that vague sense of direction from their bond pointing and pulling her towards him, accompanied by that was the feeling of success for a task well performed.

“What is he up to now?” she wondered aloud, blinking once before getting up from bed. Briefly inspecting her wound, and finding it fully healed over, she kept from pondering her survival overmuch. For there were too many avenues to explore, like if she was simply a vampire immune to sunlight and the Thirst now. Doubts she had harboured in the secret recesses of her mind for some time, for the bouts of intense jealousy and irrational anger were still there.

She dearly hoped it was not the case, for that way lay complete stasis. If a Vampire lived for long enough they'd become incapable of learning new things, instead completely stuck in mind as well as body. A state of being Hermione as a scholar found deeply reprehensible. At least with Harry in the same boat that seemed unlikely to be true. Not to mention his supposed meeting with an entity claiming to be Death itself. 'Still, I can't deny we've been different for a while now. Not needing to purge ourselves in the usual ways like common magicals, nor growing sick either.' Harry since his death and resurrection and herself since her alchemical rebirth.

Though, both had avoided thinking about it. Something they were repeating now at this moment, due to finding civilisation being far more important than worrying about things like that.

Noticing Delphini nearby Hermione decided to distract herself with the main reason as for why they did what they did. Their every labour leading up to escaping Britain and their world was largely done in the name of finding peace. For them too, but largely for Delphini. They had had too many enemies – nearly all vampire covens afraid of losing their power, magical governments afraid of them or thirsting after the Deathly Hallows to name a few – and not enough allies. “Sweet dreams, Delphi.” she said, stroking the girls cheeks tenderly before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “We'll wake you soon.”

Putting Delphini under the effect of the Draught of Living Death had been hotly debated between the pair. Though, in the end it had been seen as more merciful to do so, and right now Hermione was glad to have won that argument. For if they would've went through the Veil of Death and something went wrong, then Delphini wouldn't have felt or noticed a thing. Now the only thing left was to find a living civilisation, without monsters inhabiting it.

One look outside the window answered her own previous question. For there Harry was, working on the dragon's corpse to render it down into usable ingredients. As an Alchemist it would've been a serious waste and oversight to let things of such potency simply rot away. The blood alone was worth more than its weight in gold back home, not to mention the more esoteric uses for the organs. Something Harry always lamented to have missed out on after killing the Horntail during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Words still could hardly convey the stunning majesty of the creature that lied before her. Even in death the ancient dragon was breathtaking: a mountain of pearlescent scale and muscle limned with scintillating magical energy that danced like oil on water. No matter the creature’s deeds in life, its death carried a weight all its own.

Right now Harry was draining the precious blood of the beast from its tail into some wooden barrels from nearby, using the dragon's current position to great effect by letting gravity do the work for him. While that happened, the wizard was skinning the massive thing with the Sword of Gryffindor of its valuable hide by hand. The more gory lessons from Potions and Care for Creatures being rather useful right now. Despite loving all dangerous creatures a bit too much, Hagrid did have incredible practical knowledge and also had never been above getting his hands dirty.

Hermione could still make out the heat that still bled from the ruined corpse in the form of hazy air around it, as if the red dragon still lived. Thankfully, it was not so, and she felt safe enough to let Harry do his work.

Nearby were the animated corpses of the slaves from below. Sadly, those that hadn't been so traumatised or broken as to have chosen suicide as a twisted form of loyalty to their former mistress were few – and those that had wanted to live died with the Lich, probably a fail-safe to make it unlikely they thought of rebellion. It were the only undead around now, the others having died with the Lich. While the abominations had torn themselves apart once nobody was there to control them.

Instead of joining him in the endeavour, the witch went about her own task. Though, first she dressed in a simple robe and took a few rations out of storage for a quick breakfast. Then she made to catalogue and look for information about this world, gained by absorbing the memories contained in that Lich's soul. As well as looking for more in the books contained in this tower. As such she ascended to the highest part of the tower, containing the library.

Immediately the familiar aromatic musk of ancient volumes permeated the dust-filled air as her footsteps echoed down the corridors lined with rows of towering shelves. A dusty silence filled the space between them, each brimming with stacks of scroll tubes, slender volumes, and voluminous leather-bound books. Some were bound by If there was method in the mad jumble of knowledge, she didn’t see it.

With a gesture and a thought Hermione used a simple cantrip to collect tomes and scrolls, briefly perusing it before putting it back or adding it to the pile. Each book or scroll floating behind her like the tail of a comet. Once she deemed the amount and subject matters sufficient, Hermione set to work at a nearby desk. Two nearby candles made of obsidian – three feet tall and slender as a sword, ridged and twisted, glittering black – ignited on their own as she approached, sharply illuminating the surroundings.

“Thankfully we gained some proficiency in a local language through that wretched soul.” Hermione mused as she carefully opened one book and began to read the words written in said language. Classical Valyrian it was called, having been used at the height of the Valyrian Empire.

Not that being unable to speak or read the language written in glyphs would've been an obstacle for long to them, but it was convenient to expedite the process. However, it was not the only language present either way. Some records were written on bamboo slips in what looked to be Chinese, others were Hieroglyphs on papyrus. A few old stone tablets even had runic script chiselled into them.

Though, most interesting was that the most ancient texts she found were penned in Acheronian, known as Language of the Necromancers back home, which was called Asshai'i here. Even more fascinating was that they shared a nearly identical script as Classical Valyrian. The alphabet's letters – called Iokharic – looked like bloody claw marks of demons or dragons. Not quite surprising, considering the apparent obsession the Valyrians had with dragons.

Most important was that sharing a language to such a degree implied prolonged contact at some point. With the Valyrians and back home. The former was most likely due to the people of Valyria having come from this place, or received knowledge in some way. After all, simple shepherds like the Valyrians were said to have been surely had no access to knowledge or skills such as this. The latter most likely accomplished through the Veil of Death, something confirmed through said texts. Fortunately Hermione could read it, due to having learned together with Harry. Unfortunately those did not mention how the connection was even established in the first place, or even the reason for it.

Something that was more perplexing was how English, or rather the Old Tongue had ended up here. A rather obvious explanation was then that Acheronian came from here, while English came from back home. Presumably during the time the Veil of Death had been more often used by either side. Though, those were questions for later.

What she read was supplemented by the general knowledge obtained from the Lich alongside Classical Valyrian.

The world they were now on was called Vys. So far four continents were discovered, two of which – Sothoryos and Ulthos – were largely unexplored. She didn't find much information as to why, but some kind of disaster far in the past was implied for both. As well as many speculations about the so called Elder Races; beings rumoured to have come before humanity. The other two continents were named Essos and Westeros, and contained the bulk of human civilisations on them. With Essos supposedly being the cradle of human civilisation. While Westeros was a backwater barely worth a mention, populated by the rejects of Essos, according to the Essosi.

Hermione didn't know how outdated the information was or if it had been accurate in the first place. After all the majority of texts glorified the Valyrian Empire, for obvious reasons, but Hermione knew that was definitely not the case for anyone outside of it. At least it was something to learn about in their new environment.

More important was the knowledge about magic itself, its rules and how it functioned. Magic itself was called Aethyr here. While the practise of it was usually referred to as the Art, the Work or Weaving in particular, with which the tapestry of the world could be altered.

Unfortunately Charms, the school of spells adding to or changing the nature of a thing, was impossible to cast here. The same went for the practise of Apparition. In terms of possible magical transportation Hermione thought that Portals linking two locations were possible. Even if they could only be open temporarily at certain predetermined celestial events, like a full moon. Potions weren't mentioned all that much, but should work just the same. Transfiguration was in a similar boat, only really able to change the shape of an object instead of transforming it into a completely different state altogether.

Also, as they painfully learned before; there were verbal and somatic components to a spell. It seemed more a requirement than an option unlike back home; verbal more so than somatic. Though it very much still existed on a spectrum, just leaning more towards the other side than before. Once more dependant on the caster's proficiency with the spell. Some spells also strictly required material components with no way around those without heavy repercussions. Curiously, a witch or wizard could even augment ones that didn't need material to make them more powerful. Like using sulphur to enhance a fire spell, for example. Only very few spells spoke of reusable foci, like a religious symbol.

“Hmm, annoying but not insurmountable.” Hermione mused as she pored over the tome, making diligent notations on a parchment.

However, not all of it was strange and foreign. For there were more similarities to their home than not; like the Rule of Impermanence. It proclaimed that almost every spell or magical item was limited in duration. If nothing else was done, all sorcerous creations would cease to function sooner or later. The latest point in time being the moment the sorcerer who created the spell or item was killed. The same was true back home as well. Some permanence was able to be achieved through runes, creation of powerful enchanted items or certain alchemical processes, but even those faded away given enough time.

There was also the Rule of Success. According to it sorcery thrived on success, not on failure. Of course that was a laymen's summation. In truth it was more a belief in your own success that fuelled spell-casting to a degree. Simply put, the successful casting of a spell made the repeat of it much easier and slightly stronger in turn. A positive feedback loop, in essence.

The third was the Rule of the Soul. It simply stated that certain magic had a corruptive influence on the user. Also something Harry and her had much experience with, with her former Vampirism and Voldemort's own appearance having been a reflection of his rotten and corrupted soul. Most prominent in the texts were the darker spells or rituals that demanded ritualistic killings of prepared sentient sacrifices, apparently varying in type and manner according to which entity a person was trying to entice or appease.

One rather vile book – titled The Secrets of Blood and Immortality, by Aenarr of the Golden Peacock – was dark, wrinkled patches of rough skin had been sewn together around plates of some hard material to cover this tome. Bones from two human hands had been fastened to the binding as if cradling the book. Hermione was not so ignorant as to not look for countermeasures or wards put up to protect the knowledge within. Though, it was easy enough to dispel after perusing the Forbidden Section of Hogwarts as often as she had. Still, the scraping of old dusty pages was followed by ethereal whispers, swirling dark magic and distant screams that soon enough faded.

Inside, profane diagrams and hideous illustrations accompanied spells penned in some fiendish script. Everything was composed in venomous ink and literally reeking of evil, sharp and acrid. It discussed the uses of torture and sacrifice in magic and spell-casting. How to transfer the life-force from one body to another and other such disgusting practises. It even talked about the preference for a tortured virgin sacrifice of one god, while another preferred innocent children.

“Gods, really?” she muttered with a frown, not really believing in any form of divinity herself. Then again, it could simply be poorly understood entities or demons that claimed to be gods due their incomprehensible power. Similar to how a primitive person would see incredibly advanced technology as a form of magic. 'Just like how any strong enough entity can claim to be Death.' she thought warily, reminded of Harry's private encounter. Either way, the Valyrian religion subscribed mainly to four so called gods. They were worshipped in the beginning of their empire, then slowly fading away as they expanded and became more decadent.

There was the goddess Syrax alongside her twin sister, Meraxes. Both being the chief goddesses of the Valyrians.

Meraxes, the Eternal Mother, was the Goddess of Blood and Dragons, Fertility and Sacrifice. While her twin Vhagar, the Insatiable, held dominion over Death and Magic, Hunger and Corruption. The goddesses were depicted as beautiful, identical but polar opposites, silver-haired and black-skinned for Syrax and black-haired and white-skinned for Meraxes. One the mirror for the other by representing the light and the dark respectively. Yet they were so close they saw themselves as one being, known as the Two-Faced-Goddess.

Then came Balerion; the King of Secrets, Frenzied Flame and Old Serpent. He was the husband to Syrax and Meraxes, as well as the god of Shadow and Fire, Dreams and Prophecy.

Lastly was Syrax, Thief of Virtue. Born from the blood of the Two-Faced-Goddess' hymen breaking. He was the God of Destruction and War, Trickery and Domination. Other gods or demons were added later on as the Valyrian Freehold conquered more territory and peoples, like the Many-Faced God, the Black Goat and others. Sometimes only being an already present entity slightly differently packaged, usurping a Valyrian god for the masses like R'hllor seemed to have done for Balerion. Be it done intentionally, by people forgetting the beginning or even twisting the truth to suit their agenda.

“No wonder they were such a charming people,” Hermione snorted derisively, wrinkling her nose as the smell became rather unbearable. “with revering vile beings such as these.” still, she had never given up on finishing a book and wouldn't start now.

More interesting were other titbits of knowledge. Such as the fact that despite being obsessed with dragons, the Valyrians actually had put more importance on Blood Magic than Pyromancy. Quite understandably so, considering that most of the important things their disgusting civilisation rested on came from the practise, including dragons. Especially so as their empire slipped further and further into degeneracy as the years went by and the want for slaves became a need.

The most glaring example of frivolous use of Blood Magic was the widespread practise of sibling incest of the dragonlords in the later centuries of the Freehold's existence, which hadn't been present at all before, according to the texts. Hermione had thought that was done to keep the power and influence in the forty main Dragonlord families, similar to how the Sacred Twenty-Eight did it back home. While that was part of the reason, apparently it was largely done as a statement of their own divinity, to spite the gods themselves and flout the rules they imposed on lesser men.

“Hopefully that foolishness had contributed to their downfall, by having weakened them more and more over the centuries.” the witch spat out, needing to get the disgusting taste invoked by the written words out of her mouth. After all, the Purebloods didn't produce that many powerful wizards or witches in the last few centuries. Dumbledore, Voldemort and Harry were all Half-Bloods, judging by the Pureblood point of view anyway. While the incestuous Gaunt family degenerated into Squibs, only able to keep Parseltongue.

Another equally disgusting practise was described as a way to stifle their household slaves' rebellions in their infancy and protect themselves. Done by creating a magical link to control them, usually by taking their blood but other things like hairs, nail clippings or even an oft used and beloved object of the person could be used. This was then worked into a fetish of some kind, similar to a voodoo doll in nature. With that, a knowledgable sorcerer was able to do a variety of things, ranging from cursing the victim across vast distances to simply seeing through their eyes. While the most vile twisted their victims into slavishly devoted creatures, similar to what a Thrall was to a Vampire.

Hermione's hand immediately and reflexively went to the perfect pearl sitting at her collarbone, tightly clasping the priceless trinket holding their sanguine vow and feeling the gentle warmth it exuded. Her heart was beating fast in worry before calming down again. “No one but us knows what it holds.” she reassured herself, taking a deep breath to dispel her worries. It had represented the same potential for personal catastrophe back home, after all.

Still, the reminder that anyone depraved like the Valyrians could gain control over them was a sobering one, and not something she wanted to linger on.

“Well, good riddance to bad rubbish. Thankfully they were wiped off the map in cleansing flames.” Hermione huffed, giving the disgusting book a glare before closing it with a loud thump. “Even if I still don't have any idea what or who to thank for the Doom.” Mayhap they really had been cursed by their own wicked deeds? Maybe they had made one too many bargains they couldn't fulfil and were punished by their infernal patrons? Or maybe the land itself had simply finally buckled under their greed and corruption by digging too deep.

In the end it didn't really matter, as long as the Valyrian Freehold was scoured off the face of the earth. Satisfied with that, she read on.

“On the Stocking of the Spark of Life.” Hermione murmured, narrowed black eyes dancing over the page as a cold weight settling in her stomach. It described a sorcerous practise that could slow or reverse the ageing process. The working required periodic application, of course, a renewal performed at intervals depending on the sacrifice's age and vitality. With diminishing returns the longer it went on, obviously. Despite the empty boast of the book. “In this, you can be assured of youth eternal.” a few pages further things didn't get better, but at least more interesting for their own situation. “With slight modifications to the ritual one may instead invoke the Dragon's Vigour. An exalted state of being, where any wound can be survived as long as a drop of Aethyr runs through one's veins. Where no sickness or disease can blight you, nor is there any need for the purging of the body in the usual ways. While only a temporary and pale imitation of the Kindled, it is useful all the same.”

'There is that title or state of being again. Kindled.' Hermione noted immediately, memories not her own telling her it was a title and denoting to it a reverence reserved for the blessed few. Now devouring the words voraciously that she had a trail. Obviously the spell was mostly done before battle, to increase the odds of survival. Someone under its effects could still die, but only once there was no more magic to substitute for life. A decapitating strike was lethal also, no matter what.

“Well, that explains how we survived that. Not why we're apparently Kindled now, or what that even is.” she pondered with a sigh.

Instead of perusing more of the nightmare inducing tomes, Hermione turned to a more appealing and mundane topic; construction.

Fortunately, this tome wasn't protected by magic designed to drive the reader to madness or death. Instead it instructed on the process on how to build a substance called – rather unimaginatively – Flowstone, called that for its liquid nature before hardening. It was a type of magical cement, made with obsidian, basalt and other ingredients which were made liquid by magical flame and shaped and hardened by sorcery. It apparently had been the building material of the Valyrian Freehold, nigh-indestructible black stone that had formed every wall and road and column and monument in the city, the substance that had survived millennia of weather and war without cracking or crumbling. Right until the volcanic upheaval known as the Doom.

Other pages described the making of glass candles of obsidian, or frozen fire as the Valyrians called it. Per description they were a tool for divination, enabling communication half a world apart, allowing entry in another's dreams and to send visions or memories.

Hermione shot a look at the two bright ones burning nearby, seeing the value in them immediately.

“Thankfully that's more useful, and not as bloody.” Hermione muttered in relief, turning the pages carefully through magic as to not break or harm the delicate and crumbling parchment. The second discovery came a volume later, in a text roughly titled, "On the Making of Dragonsteel."

For this feat someone needed iron ore and rare materials the Freehold did not easily part with, even for themselves. Namely the black bones and blood from a dragon of sufficient age and pure obsidian. As such the materials were only harvested once a dragon had died of old age or in battle – the latter more difficult due to other dragons being the most likely cause of death then, and they were usually not leaving any crumbs. Due to those restrictions on materials Dragonsteel must've been rather rare, even at the height of their power, Hermione deduced.

The text described that the iron, obsidian and dragonbone – rich in iron and carbon and therefore excellent as a flux – had to be melted in specific quantities to get the best results in terms of bonding. Describing the precise ratios in measurements that were thankfully easy to understand. The steel was then heated to a specific temperature that the text described in terms of colour rather than degrees, and was quenched not in water or oil, but in pure dragon's blood. The result was a metal that held an edge indefinitely, that was lighter than ordinary steel by nearly half, and that could cut through materials that should have been impervious to any blade.

“At least we have something to use the blood on now.” the witch deduced drily. Otherwise the rare ingredients would most likely go to waste.

Once she deemed her research enough, for now at least, – for there could never be enough research to her – Hermione went outside to check on Harry's progress. As well as telling him about her discoveries and how they could use the dragon's blood, instead of letting it go to waste. 'Using it to clean ovens, remove spots or heal verruca seems like such a waste.' she thought with a derisive snort directed at the silly things people back home used powerful ingredients for.

Of course she should've known that Harry, as a rather experienced alchemist, had his own ideas in how to use the dragon's blood. A method she arrived just in time to witness being completed outside of the tower. The wound in the sky was still illuminating the world below as the crimson comet raced across the heavens. Though, the blood moon was gone by now, replaced by a normal one.

An rudimentary alchemical laboratory was set up, sitting on tables that hadn't seen use beyond decoration in centuries. Vats and vials bubbled in a steady simmer over gouts of bluebell-flame. Her husband worked delicately, clinking glass bottles together and with tools, softly flipping through pages of notes. He turned up the fire under one of the glass contraptions, the hiss of gas immediately growing with the flame. It belched plumes of effervescent smoke into the air as Harry, with his shock of unruly black hair and an infectious smile whistled cheerfully as he worked.

“Am I interrupting something?” Hermione asked with a small smile playing on her lips, slightly revealing her fanged pearlescent teeth.

Harry completed what he was doing before looking over his shoulder, the scarred half turned her way. While it wasn't particular pretty, it was a reminder of his devotion to her. Nor was she such a hypocrite as to make a big deal out of it, when her own state of being had been much worse before. Though, the bleeding light from the comet made his slitted crimson eye glow ominously. “Not at all!” he shook his head with a lopsided grin and proclaimed joyfully. “I've just finished preparing everything!”

Raising a delicate eyebrow, Hermione inquired. “Finished what exactly?” her black eyes flittered over the ingredients scattered across the workbench, and the alchemical processes used here. Her mind was working swiftly as she mentally cross-referenced everything that used these things.

“The preparations for something that'll protect you.” he explained, trying to sound innocent. Though, upon seeing her scanning his workbench and seeing the kind of herbs and ingredients – exceedingly rare and nearly extinct ones – he had used, Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Still he refused to give ground, despite knowing he'd probably lose this one.

'Baldur's Blessing, Skin of Siegfried, Achilles' Aegis.' the witch deduced, naming all the different variants granting a similar protection for what he had in mind. There were slight differences, but all shared the fact that despite offering supreme safety from physical blows they had to leave a vulnerability. Nor did it help against magical attacks, which was the reason it was practically never used by wizards or witches. The second being the absolutely insane cost and rarity of the materials, – some practically extinct – a requirement he only barely managed to fulfil due to having been bequeathed the repository of materials from Nicholas Flamel.

She promptly crossed her arms for emphasis as she come to a conclusion. Though, she gave him a bit more rope to hang himself. Hermione scoffed lightly, curly hair dancing as she shook her head. “Just me?”

“I didn't have enough ingredients for two batches.” he explained, trying to sound contrite, but not quite managing to conceal his satisfaction at knowing her safe.

“Really? What about you then?” she questioned, still peeved that he once more disregarded his own safety during the fight. “Do you think I enjoyed feeling you die through our bond?” the words were raw and vulnerable, with Hermione choking up at the mere memory of him walking to his death. She was convinced the only reason she hadn't gone insane from it was due to being unconscious at the time, unable to feel the blow coming or land. The empty feeling she awoke with where his presence used to be had been enough, though thankfully it had rushed back like water filling an empty vase. “Or to see you get injured for my sake?”

“No.” he answered sullenly but honestly, mismatched eyes briefly flickering away in shame before focussing on her once more. “Not anymore than I do when you're hurt.” now behaving more like the little boy in the cupboard under the stairs, afraid to lose the most important thing to him. “I just... I can't lose you.” Harry finally admitted, his throat dry.

Hermione answered with as much emotion as him as she approached him. “Neither can I lose you.” one hand was caressing his face, knuckles running soothingly along the river of scars and causing him to close his eyes in contentment. “Though, it seems a bit redundant after what I found out.” at his look she elaborated, explaining what little she found out about Kindled and the Dragon's Vigour.

“I see, that explains our bodily condition.” he had always wondered how the changes of his body came about, not needing to purge his body in the usual ways. Hermione's current condition – identical to Harry's own after his resurrection – could've been attributed to her former status as a Vampire, the Philosopher's Stone or his blood used in her restoration. Though, now Harry assumed a combination of the factors was responsible. “Still, it would still increase your odds of survival.” he insisted.

“How about a compromise then?” she proposed with a sigh, causing him to perk up. Seeing that he was listening, she explained. “I'll agree to receive that protection, but you also agree to undergo a ritual I have in mind to increase your odds of survival in turn.”

“Oh, what's that?” intrigue and interest was clear to hear in his voice, his eyes looking at her with love and never leaving her of their own volition. Behind them she could see him thinking about the various possibilities open to them in that regard.

“The Heart of Fire.” she answered, now pointing and looking up at the blazing comet above. “The heavens are in the correct alignment for it, – as you're surely aware – and we also have the most important ingredient required. The heart of a dragon, slain in fair combat.” Normally such was done during the height of summer, but a comet was an even better substitute. It also was better if he underwent that particular ritual. While, she knew that fire no longer was the bane of her existence, she'd rather not take any risks.

The boons it'd bestow were also rather incredible. An unmatched proficiency in Pyromancy, surely equalling his necromantic one in that he didn't strictly need somatic nor verbal components after. An immunity to fire in general, if properly enhanced by being prepared with the correct ingredients. As well as granting a huge increase in bodily stamina and endurance.

Harry was stunned, but could see where she was coming from. Besides, while the eyes were seen as the windows to the soul, in witchcraft – and necromantic circles in particular – the heart was usually considered to be the seat of the soul; or the centre of the self. To take another’s heart and eat it, was to consume the individual and become one with it. To break and shatter one’s heart, was to attack the soul. Suffice to say, there was unbelievable power in a dragon’s soul; and by proxy, its heart.

A part of him was wary of doing so, his mismatched eyes and scars testament enough to the changes wrought upon his soul throughout the years. However, he had arguably the most experience in such matters, after the life he lived. As evidenced by the fact that he had fought for his soul on numerous occasions – be it against Dementor, demon or wizard – and always came out on top. Not to mention that practising magic itself always brought changes upon the soul, good or bad. At least for those with the will or ability to delve deeper than the surface, which was the minority of people.

So, he agreed to it. “Of course, anything for you.” It was only fair after all.

Their task set, both went about achieving it but starting with the Heart of Fire, due to being the quicker of the two to finish. Not needing much preparation or anything of the sort, the ritual being much more... primal in nature, so to speak. After all, the hardest part had already been done; killing the dragon.

For that Harry carved the massive dragon's chest open, standing on a ladder to reach it and using his enchanted silver sword upon which the colours of the rainbow rippled, like oil on water. Flesh was parted and stored for later consumption, while bones were cut for better access. Heat was still emanating from the flayed corpse, but thankfully the steaming blood was already secured into the barrels. With further help from the undead the ribcage soon parted.

Something that looked like a large molten rock pulsed with inner fire. The object’s cracked surface hissed as the cooler air from outside seeped into it. It glowed a deep, blood red and emitted a foul stench. It smelled of pumice, sulphur, metal – and of burning meat. Despite the appearance, this was not a stone, but a heart.

After carefully cutting the arteries and veins – which were near as thick as tree trunks – Hermione extracted the massive heart via telekinetic levitation, once Harry was safely on the ground. Of course, eating an organ near as big as a small cottage was an impossible task. Without magic, that is. As such the pair poured a Shrinking Solution from their stores over it, causing the draconic heart to only become twice as big as a human one. Following that it was briefly submerged in an alchemical solution whose most important ingredients were a phoenix feather, powdered dragon horn, lavender and fire seeds.

“You sure you don't want to eat it instead?” Harry asked only half-jokingly, looking at the heart in his hand in slight disgust. Despite its roughness he felt all the bumps made by the branching blood vessels under his fingers along the dense, firm and highly muscular lump of flesh.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her enticing lips. “You're better suited for it.” was all she said, a leftover of vampiric vindictiveness in her tone that said he should've thought about that before agreeing to it.

He sent her a look of regret and gave the organ a glance of disgust with his lip curled. Followed by a resigned sigh before he squared his shoulders, glad that he didn't eat much in the last few days. “Here goes nothing.” Still, it took multiple aborted attempts before he gathered enough courage to bite into the raw thing. His teeth barely making a dent in the rubbery thing, having to use every bit of leverage he could, ripping and tearing as he went.

Swallowing was even worse, Harry decided. For on his tongue was a horrid taste; a mixture of ash, salt and iron. His throat was bobbing as he tried to swallow it, while preventing the contents of his stomach to heave upwards. It took a while but soon he had somewhat of a rhythm going, all the while trying to ignore the disgusting texture on his tongue. He didn't count how long it took, for any second more was too much.

Finally he forced the last bit of it down, mouth stained crimson with bits of muscle and remnants of huge veins besides.

Upon the second the last bite was swallowed Harry's breath caught as he let loose a gasp, one that echoed in the empty place inside his heart – the seat of his own soul – where he once had felt his mother's steadfast and protective presence. Expecting nothing, instead he felt a warmth, a light shining into the abyss. He felt a tug at the centre of his chest, like a rope tightening around his heart – so fierce he feared it might burst. Accompanying that sensation was a blaze of fire that suddenly engulfed him. His wife and the surroundings disappeared behind the whip-like tongues of flame consuming him. But he felt no pain. The flames changed from natural orange, red, and yellow to a prismatic array exactly like the flames of the dragon the heart originally belonged to. Then they turn a blinding white and the world he knew faded away.

The faces of those he loved and those who were still with him wavered before his mind's eye. His mother and father, Sirius and Remus were followed by Dumbledore, Ron, little Ginny, more Weasleys and even Snape blurring together. He could almost feel their hands on his shoulders: One was firm and strong – but generous. Another, soft and delicate, squeezed tightly, conveying how proud she was. A smaller one, belonging to a little girl felt forgiving. On and on it went as strength and reassurance cascaded over him like sparkling, clear water. Culminating in the beaming faces of Hermione and Delphini, both lingering longest of all. Harry overflowed with gratitude and renewed purpose, feeling a sense of duty, immense and heart-breaking: to protect them.

As the flames thinned and vanished Harry stumbled hands on his knees, the world phasing back into existence and his face wet with tears. Hermione was upon him immediately.

“Is everything alright, Pulse of my Heart?!” she cried out while fussing over him, the old endearment slipping out. Her voice tight in concern at having felt an echo of everything he had during the process.

The wizard took shuddering breaths, which slowly steadied after a while. “Yes. Just didn't expect that kind of reaction.” Harry told her, wiping the leftover tears away. He had been prepared for extreme pain, after all he went through, not whatever this had been. Once he straightened Harry tried to see if it worked.

At once a flame sprung to life in his outstretched palm, crystalline in its radiance and pearlescent in its hues. The outline was a silvery-white, but inside was a mad swirl of colour as soft blues, pinks, violet, red, green and more were all bleeding and braiding and blending into one another. So much so that an observer didn't know where one colour began and another ended. The shine of it was almost blinding, scintillating in its intensity. The heat, fuelled by primal fire but soothing in its warmth.

Satisfied with that, the pair went about Hermione's own augmentation. For that they needed to use a river, which thankfully was nearby. She would bathe in it with her skin covered in a special salve. Which was mostly made up of expensive and near extinct herbs like Niffler's Fancy, Pritcher's Porritch, Thaumatagoria, as well as restorative salamander and dragon blood, draconic hide, ashwinder eggs and a Forgetfulness Potion, creating an alchemical treatment that would basically make her skin “forget” to receive wounds. Though, to work there had to remain a weakness; be it a vulnerability to a certain material or a weak spot on the body.

Though, Hermione decided to wait a bit for after they were finished with collecting everything of value here, pondering what kind of weakness she should keep.

With the help of his new potential in pyromancy and the undead – who mined the obsidian and iron – half of the dragon's blood was converted into about 50 Ingots of Dragonsteel, now stored in their trunk. Apart from the dragon's blood and heart they also took its horns, fat, claws, leftover bones, hide, flesh and even the shrunken brain, the organs stored in its blood and kept cold in specialised casks so they stayed fresh. Of course they also added all of the books, scrolls and more to their own library. Brightroar and Tommen's ashes, the two Glass Candles and five Dragon Eggs were also among the spoils. As well as even a bit of meteoric iron and gems the size of watermelons, harvested from the Firewyrm's stomach and the even bigger ones from the nearby volcanic cavern. The latter stored in the empty eighth compartment of their trunk.

After about two days in total they were finished and ready to leave, deciding to do so by boat via the Ash river after imbuing Hermione with that ancient protection.

To make things very clear, magic simply is a different system. I simply decided to make it so that most spells of HP can't be used, to give everyone roughly the same things to work with. Some styles of sorcery work better than others currently, for one reason or another. Those being Necromancy, as seen last chapter and Divination, of course. Pyromancy works, Curses also work to some extent, as does Frost and Nature Magic.

Disciplines of Magic include Pyromancy, Necromancy, Blood Magic, Frost Magic, Weather Witching (Aeromancy), Sea Witchery, Counter-spells (mostly wards), Curses, Divination, Hypnotism, Prestidigitation (Telekinesis), Nature Magic, Hedge Magic (minor spells), Cosmic Sorcery (Astrology), Summoning (Demons or Elementals) and Shadow Magic. Alchemy and Runes also work fairly well, having numerous applications.

As said in this chapter, Charms (spells that give objects additional properties) and Transfiguration (changing one thing of a certain mass into another of the same mass.) won't work at all. Some “charms” of HP could still work in certain styles of magic. Like Accio and Depulso fitting in the Prestidigitation style etc.

Magical objects will be much rarer, besides the ones they already have on their person, obviously. Only Glass Candles and Valyrian Steel being relatively “common”.

Also, the Dragon's Vigour is called Witches' Vigour in the Conan TTRPG, but works functionally the same. It also fits well, because resurrection seems much more common in the World of Ice and Fire than in HP. What with Lady Stoneheart, Beric Dondarrion, possibly Jon and even Melisandre to an extent, who no longer requires food or much rest. Only real difference being that Harry and Hermione are not undead by any means, and they're still fully alive and their hearts still beat.