Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Cycle nor the Harry Potter series. The two series are owned, respectively, by Christopher Paolini and Joanne Rowling. I have just taken the liberty of playing with their works.

Slowly, And Then All At Once

Beta'ed by Byakko no Akuba

Chapter One: Arrival

~ BWaC ~

It hadn't been but for a moment since Helena had regained consciousness, and already she knew she had awoken to a terrible day. Why? Because her body felt like utter shit. And not the 'I might have had a few glasses of firewhisky too many'-feeling, but "my body has been doused with dragon fire and soaked in basilisk venom'-feeling.

Opening her eyes, Helena stared into a darkening sky. It wasn't quite evening yet, but dusk was fast approaching. Helena blinked once, twice.

"What the hell..." the witch croaked out. She was surprised by the state her voice was in: it was cracked and raspy as if she hadn't spoken in a great deal of time. Just what kind of situation had she managed to get herself into this time?

Sitting up, Helena let out a hiss as only a Parselmouth could; the soreness that had smouldered under her skin had erupted into pain. The intensity was so great, that it was only after a few moments that she realised three things: One, that she was stark naked; Two, that she was covered in purple and yellowing bruising; And three, that she was in the middle of nowhere, and had no memory of how she had gotten there.

"Well, this certainly ranks in the top ten of peculiar things which have happened to me…" she muttered. And that was saying something. Honestly, in her seventeen years of life, she had been involved in weirder shite than most. Given, it was mostly due to the involvement of Tom and his merry band of loonies, but she knew she was solely responsible for her fair share as well. That was, perhaps, also the reason why she was not any more freaked out about the situation than she was.

With a groan, she palmed her head in her hands. This was all so confusing.

Helena had no idea where she was, and she had no memory of how she had come to be there – let alone how she had come to be covered in days-old bruises. And it was with a sinking feeling that she realised, that the last thing she remembered was drinking firewhisky in the Three Broomsticks with Hermione. She didn't even remember leaving the pub.

Opening her eyes, she pushed through the pain and stood up. Looking around the area, she only confirmed what she had already established: she did not know where she was. She did spot several items scattering the ground around her, her beaded bag being among those things, much to her relief.

It was with a frown that she picked the bag up. Putting her hand down the bag, she quickly summoned a list which would give her a rough estimate of what was in the bag. That was necessary with a bag which could contain almost anything of any quantity. While the list wasn't precise – for example it only recorded that a certain number of books were packed, but not the titles of said books –, it showed her that the bag contained what she would pack if she were leaving home for a significant period of time. While she couldn't be sure, it looked as if she had not only packed the Potter and Black libraries in the bag, but also a considerable amount of galleons, gems, heirlooms, potion ingredients for hundreds of potions, and enough food to sustain her for a month or two.

The new information only added to her growing confusion. Whatever had happened to her, she had apparently known it would happen. That was evident to her since she wouldn't have packed her bag if she hadn't planned to leave home – and no one could pack (or unpack) her bag but her due to the charms cast upon it.

She dismissed the confusion for now, turning to the other items on the floor. The first thing that caught her eyes, mostly due to the moonlight reflecting off of it, was a sword. It was beautiful. It was clearly a one-handed sword, though, admittedly, Helena had limited knowledge when it came to swords. It was long and slim, probably made more to slip in between ribs rather than to slice through them, and was made of what looked like silver, with rubies gleaming down the hilt.

A flowing script down the length of the blade caught her interest. Helena froze, and then looked closer with a heavy frown on her face. Her eyes widened when she read what it said. Godric Gryffindor.

But... that was impossible. Ignoring the fact that it looked nothing like Gryffindor's sword (for Merlin's sake, Gryffindor's sword was a big honking one-and-a-half handed sword, which she had barely been able to lift in her Second Year), the sword should be secure in its glass case in the Headmaster's – or rather Headmistress' – office at Hogwarts. Yet, here it laid, pure silver and rubies gleaming and all. And how in the world had it changed appearance so completely? Yes, the sword was magical in nature, at least partially, and yes, Helena had a connection to it both through her blood but also her use of it, but it should only appear to her in her greatest time of need.

Helena was ashamed to admit that it took her a few moments to figure out why the sword must've appeared to her. But as she was rather disoriented and in pain, she would forgive herself for the offence.

The next thing to draw her attention was a rather strange set of armour. It wasn't the kind of armour which stood on every corridor in Hogwarts castle. It was rather... light. Apart from a piece on each shoulder and a few pieces down the left arm, the armour was not made of plates at all. In fact, it was made mostly of leather, with a few pieces of chainmail thrown in here and there. That was when Helena spotted Gryffindor's crest etched into the leather on the right shoulder, just below the shoulder-plate. It only served to confuse her even more than she already was.

Being a proud member of Gryffindor House, she was, of course, in awe of it. However, that didn't mean that she was going to adorn the armour right then and there. It didn't matter whether she was seen by wizards or Muggles – both would give her queer looks if she came waltzing down the street wearing the armour. So, she packed it into the bag. It was odd to see armour pieces several times larger than the bag, be swallowed by it. Such was the wonder of magic.

The last item on the floor was a most peculiar thing of the lot. It was a reasonably sized oval stone of a dark ruby colour. Lines of a lighter shades of red ran crisscross across the surface, with no starting or ending point. What was even more interesting to notice, was that the stone all but hummed with magic. She wasn't in danger of any wild magic shooting out, but... Helena had never seen anything like it. Curiously, she was about to cast a diagnostic spell on the stone – only to find out she didn't have her wand on her.

The panic didn't set in right away. Logic won, reminding her that she was still stark naked – thus, she had nowhere to store her wand, not in a pocket, nor in a wand holster. However, as the young witch looked around for the wand on the forest floor and didn't find it, logic was fighting a losing battle. Frantically, she looked once again and looked through the list her bag had provided to see if it listed a wand. It didn't. After a full minute of searching around the clearing for the third time, ignoring the pain she was in, Helena had to accept that her wand wasn't there. Suddenly, she felt far more naked than she could ever feel without clothes on.

Having been through all she had, Helena knew that panic served no-one but her enemies – though, hopefully, there was none of them here. Drawing in another deep breath, she calmed her mind the best she could. Picking up the stone, the witch weighed her option for a moment, before putting it into her bag as well. She didn't know why she brought it with her, but something was nagging her in the back of her mind, telling her that it was important. With all items scattered in the clearing packed away, Helena brought her mind back to the problem she was having. First things first: she needed to find out where she was. Looking around the forest, she was just as clueless as to her location, as she was moments before.

"Well, that was a big help, wasn't it?" she muttered moodily to herself, a part of her realising that she was more affected by the loss of her wand than she consciously let on.

Shaking her head, she delved into the bag again, retrieving some clothes, and quickly donned them. Now dressed in robes not unlike the ones she had worn at Hogwarts, she secured her beaded bag and nodded to herself.

With that, she turned on the spot, focusing on her house in Hogsmeade. The tell-tale sign of apparation showed itself, as she felt like she was being pressed into a tight rubber tube – only for her to hit some kind of barrier, causing her to bounce back to the clearing she had just left. To any observer, it would appear as if she disappeared for a fraction of a second, only to reappear with a loud crack, and then fly back about a dozen metres before landing harshly on the forest floor.

Helena gasped loudly as her body erupting in pain again and looked wide-eyed up into the sky. What by Merlin's Old Saggy Bollocks was that!? She had never heard or read of something like that happening to anyone. Anti-Apparation wards would simply prevent someone from disapparating... It was as if she couldn't 'connect' to her destination, and was thus rejected back to her starting point.

Taking a few minutes to calm her body, Helena slowly stood up. Unlike before, now her body was twitching like mad. Whatever had prevented her from apparating clearly had done more damage to her body. Sighing deeply, she knew she would have to get back home the old-fashioned way. Looking to the forest floor, she picked up a branch. For what she was planning, her wand would've been best. But as that was out of the question, she would have to use some mundane wood. Besides, it was a simple spell, and Helena had wandlessly cast more complicated spells. It shouldn't be a problem.

Laying the branch flat on her palm, she spoke the incantation.

"Point Me, Hogsmeade."

It vibrated slightly but didn't move. Helena frowned.

"Point Me, London."

Again, the stick vibrated, but didn't spin around as it was supposed to do. Helena's frown deepened.

"Point Me, Paris. Point Me, Rome. Point Me, Copenhagen. Point Me, Moscow. Point Me, New York. Point Me, Brasília. Point Me, Tokyo. Point Me, Cairo. Point Me, Johannesburg."

Each time the piece of wood twitched, but it didn't give her any idea of where she was. That was when she started to get a bit scared. The spell was invented originally by Hermione and then expanded by Helena herself. Hermione had intended for the spell only to point North, but Helena had needed more than that. After long talks with Hermione, they had figured out how to 'imprint' locations into the spell, so that the focusing object would point to them. Of course, there was a distance limit to the spell, but for the pointing North as it was sensing the Earth's magnetic field. With that said, unless she was in Antarctica (which the greenery around her proved she wasn't), the medium, the branch in this case, should have reacted to any of the anchor location she had just listed. But all it did was to damn vibrate.

Feeling panic grow inside of her again, Helena quickly squashed it down with a vengeance. Perhaps the spell was simply broken (was such a thing even possible?).

"Point Me, North," the witch spoke. Dutifully, the piece of wood spun around before pointing towards north. The spell wasn't broken. But where the hell was she then?

As the minutes ticked by, Helena got more and more discouraged as the spell kept refusing to work. At last, she threw the stick on the ground in disgust, sat down, and buried her head in her arms. She wasn't crying, she was thinking.

She was in a strange place, covered in strange bruises, with strange magic preventing her from apparating. She had her bag with her, which had enough items in it for her to survive for months, perhaps even years if she rationed her supplies. She apparently had known she was going to wherever she was because she had packed the bag; she just couldn't remember that she knew, or how she knew.

Lowering her arms, Helena blew her fringe out of her eye.

There was just one thing to do: pick a direction and start to run. It was far from optimal, but that was all she had left. Seeing as the air was already a bit chilly, the best option would be to run south, as there were usually more people where it was warmer rather than colder.

The witch nodded to herself with that decision made. She just hoped she would bump into some kind of village or city sooner rather than later. That location, however, could be hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away. And if she were unlucky, she would run right past such a site without noticing it. Hopefully, Helena would be lucky, and it would only be a fraction of that distance she had to travel. But, then again, when had she ever been lucky? If she were a lucky person, then she most likely wouldn't have ended up in the arse end of nowhere with no knowledge of how she came to be there.

With a groan, Helena used her animagus abilities to change into a dire wolf and began running south. It was far from optimal, but at least as a dire wolf she could move faster through the forest, and it was far less likely that she would be approached by other potentially dangerous animals. And with the thick fur, Helena didn't have to lie freezing at night. Yes, as she said, it was far from optimal, but still better than trekking through the forest as a human.

It wasn't long before her instincts took over the navigation, leaving her to ponder about her memory loss.

The very last thing she remembered was Hermione making a quip about Ron in bed, to which Helena had turned beat red at, telling the Muggleborn that she did not need to know that. Since the War had ended a few months earlier, Ron and Hermione had been all over each other. It was a bit sickening, if Helena was honest, but in a right way. She was sure that if Fred had survived, he and she would be just the same. They had never progressed far beyond the flirting stage and the chaste kiss here and there, mostly because Helena was too busy worrying about the world being on fire. She regretted that now. Because of that, Helena gave her best friends some time to figure things out (though she for all that was holy did not want to know what 'things' may entail). And they had used a lot of time together, alone, and when the Muggleborn had realised that she had been neglecting Helena a bit, she had suggested that they share a drink at the Three Broomsticks.

In all honesty, however, Helena hadn't minded much being left alone. She had focused on rebuilding Hogwarts – the Castle was the only place where she could escape from the reporters who wanted to interview The-Woman-Who-Conquered. Her plans after the Castle had been repaired had been to go away for a little while; to just be alone, in peace, to think things through, and to mourn those she had lost. Of course, she would come back, very likely in less than a year, but by then she would have more energy to handle things than she had at the moment – by Godric's Courage, the War had only just ended.

Feeling herself getting agitated at the direction her thoughts were taking, Helena shook the thoughts from her head. Letting the animal in her take over, the animagus let herself be filled with the instincts: the smell of the forest, the waft of the wind through her fur, the repeating bumps made by her running, and the soil under her paws. Unless something drastic should happen like if she were attacked, she would remain as the Wolf.

The days quickly started blending together in her memory. Most of the time, day and night, was spent as a wolf, where her human brain was put on the backburner. The only time she was a human was when she ate because Helena refused to hunt and kill as the Wolf when she had perfectly edible food in her bag. It wasn't that she wouldn't hunt as the Wolf if she had no other choice, but she did at the moment. While she wouldn't be irked by it in the moment, as the Wolf would have taken over, the memories would remain with her.

On her journey south, Helena had gotten into the habit of sitting with the ruby-coloured magic stone as she ate her food by the campfire. Helena didn't know what it was about the stone that made her so... enthralled with it. While some alarm bells had rung in the back of her mind when she had made the comparison to Riddle's Diary and how it had affected Ginny, her fears had been soothed as she felt the absolute primal magic from the stone; something that was entirely beyond good and evil. The stone wasn't dangerous per se.

It took her three weeks of running, give or take a few days, before she found something resembling civilisation. Helena didn't even want to think about how far she had travelled, but she counted herself fortunate. While it was true that in the year she was on the run with Hermione and Ron they went far and wide, they didn't actually travel; they apparated to new areas, and tried to research where the next Horcrux could be. This time, however, Helena had gone the whole distance without any magical aid other than changing to and from a wolf.

The place she had found was a city. And it was... not what Helena had expected. Standing on a cliff as a human a few miles from the city, it was an optimal place to observe it. Right away Helena noticed oddities about the city. While she wasn't all too caught up in what was happening in Muggle society – because the city was most certainly Muggle –, and especially not Muggle society much farther away than the Continent, she knew that what was happening in the city was just not normal.

The coastal city and its inhabitants looked to be stuck in the Middle Ages. The citizens' clothing was roughly sewn fabrics and was many times tattered, and there were guards. Honest to gods guards with swords and shields, patrolling the streets and standing guard at key points. The smell was also different from any she was used to, telling of a city which didn't have a proper sanitary system: human excrement and rotten food (fish, for the most part) wafted with the wind in-land – something her stronger-than-average nose, due to her animagus form, didn't appreciate.

The city itself was also unlike any Helena had seen. It was impressive, Helena would admit: The whole city was encircled by an enormous white wall, which had to be at least thirty metres tall, and a fourth as thick. There were two gates, as far as Helena could see; one facing the extensive harbour full of medieval ships, and one facing the south side where a road turned east, up through the mountains. From what Helena could see of the interior of the city, its buildings grew progressively taller the closer to the centre you got. In the smack middle of the fortress city was built a citadel. Compared to Hogwarts it was pitiful, but perhaps that was an unfair comparison. That said, if you took the whole city into account, it would probably be harder to invade – if it wasn't because Hogwarts was full of wizards and witches. Not that she actually thought of invading the city, of course. All she needed was to ask some questions without drawing attention to herself, and perhaps buy a map.

Having learnt what she could from observing, Helena changed into a wolf again and ran the last stretch to the city. She felt elation as she realised that she would be able to sleep in a bed that night. Even if the city was odd, it was sure to have an inn where she could rent a room. Though she didn't possess the local currency, she did have Galleons, which were made of pure gold, and more than just a few gems. If the city was stuck in the Middle Ages, why shouldn't they accept something like that as payment?

Transforming back to human and stepping out onto the road, Helena started walking the last few hundred metres to the city gates. If she had had her wand, she would've transfigured her robes into something more akin to what the citizens of the city were wearing. But she didn't have her wand, and Transfiguration was one of the things she wouldn't even attempt to do wandlessly. Transfiguration was easily the most challenging and dangerous branch of magic. So instead of transfiguring her robes, she instead cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm. While sharp minds would still notice her, most would simply not pay her any attention. It wasn't that she became invisible, as people would still avoid bumping into. It was more that she automatically became someone unimportant in the minds of those around her. Perfect when you didn't want to draw attention to yourself.

At that moment she wished she had her invisibility cloak with her. It hadn't been about a fortnight after the Battle of Hogwarts that Helena had given the Cloak to Andromeda for safe keeping, and eventually to give to Teddy on Christmas Morning of his First Year at Hogwarts. Helena had been confident at the time that she would be around to give it to him herself, but after all that had happened to her, she would rather be safe than sorry. She had been right, obviously.

Helena had given the Cloak as she had become somewhat of a master with the Disillusionment Charm, and thus not needing the Cloak. Of course, she had never thought she would be without her wand more than she thought she would ever suddenly wake up one morning and miss her leg.

A mistake on her part.

Casting a light ConfundusCharm on the gate guards, just to be sure, Helena entered the city without a problem. It was quickly proven that the white of the wall was a show of intimidation. Most of the buildings around her were built with grey stones – though, indeed, the buildings closer to the citadel were just as white as the wall. It was clear that the higher elevated one lived from the ground in this city, the higher one's social status was. That said, even with her being on the lowest level possible, the surroundings were still pleasant and the smell more than bearable. Helena theorised that it was because they were just by the gate, and it was the first impression that visiting people got of the city – at least after the impressive sight of the white wall.

Walking around the city, Helena got a closer look at these people. It was clear that none of them had ever seen or heard of anything of the modern world.

It was well known, even in the Wizarding World, that while some countries were more developed than others, no one country was entirely devoid of technology. When Hermione had taught her more of the Muggle World, she had shown pictures of the 'third world'. In the cities, you would always find signs of the 'first world', whether it be a store, a newspaper, or even a mobile phone. There was none of that here. Another pointer towards this not being a third world country was the ethnicity and the language. All of the people here were white as you could be, and looked more to be from Northern Europe than from Africa or Asia. That said, it was quite clear that Helena would stick out just by her features, which were far more angled than the locals. And the language they spoke was English. Given, it wasn't British English, but it was still English. Though the terminology escaped Helena in some of the conversations she heard, it was undeniably English.

If anything, what she had discovered only added to her worry. But before she was going to do anything else, she needed to find an inn and rent a room. After that, she could try to find a marketplace and a pub – that had to be where she was most likely to overhear most conversations of importance.

It took some time to find an inn. Well, that was putting it incorrectly: it took some time to find an inn that didn't give Helena the wrong vibes. In her search for a place to stay, Helena had apparently bewildered herself into what had to the absolute poorest section of the city and had progressively moved up the social ladder as the time went on. It was in the middle of the afternoon when Helena finally found an inn she found comfortable. It wasn't quite the richest, but definitely above the standard.

Helena opened the door to the Singing Seagull and stepped inside. The insides smelled of smoke and ale, but that wasn't exactly unpleasant. If you changed the ale smell out with butterbeer, it kind of reminded her of the Three Broomsticks. The thought made the young witch smile until she recalled that the Three Broomsticks was where her memories ended from before her deposit in the middle of nowhere. Dismissing the negative thoughts – it wouldn't do her good to become moody now – Helena walked up to the innkeeper. Helena didn't doubt, that if it weren't for the Notice-Me-Not Charm, she would draw a fair number of odd looks from the patrons. After all, if this city truly acted as cities had in the Middle Ages, then a young woman like her walking in alone would be almost unheard of. Hopefully, it wouldn't give her too many problems.

"Excuse me," Helena spoke up as she reached the counter. The innkeeper blinked and looked at her as if he had only just noticed her, which he would with the charm active.

The innkeeper was a man of perhaps forty years. He was as ginger as the Weasleys, which was rare around those parts as far as Helena had seen in the city. He had light blue eyes and a thick red beard, and the moment he saw Helena, he frowned. He looked her up and down, taking in her unique clothing.

"Yes?" he asked, not unkindly.

"I would like to rent a room... for a week, let's say," Helena told him. She didn't know how long she had to stay, but she'd rather have a few days left over than need a few more. She could always rent the room again if she were staying longer, but it was her hope that she would've found a way home before that.

"Are you alone here, little lady?" he asked, a small frown creasing his brow.

"Yes," Helena answered stiffly. "Is it a problem?" She looked him daringly in the eyes. Ron, Fred, and George had always gotten very nervous when she had shot them those looks. And, evidentially, so did the innkeeper.

"N-no, of course not," the innkeeper quickly shook his head. "It's just-." Helena stuck her hand into her bag, summoned a sapphire, and put it on the table. That shut the innkeeper up. The sapphire was about the size of her little-finger's nail, and while it wasn't the highest possible quality, it wasn't just a rough stone. Another option would've been to give him a Galleon, but if he tried to smelt it before she was gone, it would raise a lot of questions she didn't want to answer.

The innkeeper's eyes snapped to the blue stone right away. He couldn't keep his eyes off of it.

"I can take this elsewhere," Helena told the innkeeper evenly. "I just need a room for a week. Whatever else this is worth, you can keep it." No matter how expensive the inn must be, that sapphire should be more than enough.

The offer made the innkeeper's eyes snap from the gemstone to her face. He looked incredulously at her, before nodding. He snatched the stone up quickly and stored it in his pocket; he was not going to give her a chance to reconsider, Helena noted with mirth. Suddenly he was looking at her in a new light. Of course he did, Helena thought with a sigh, the mirth quickly gone. If she could throw gemstones like that away like they were nothing, she clearly wasn't just a commoner's daughter.

"Of course," the innkeeper nodded at her with a pleasant smile. "I'll show you to your room, right this way."

"Thank you," Helena inclined her head.

The innkeeper grabbed a key off of the wall behind the counter and showed her up a row of stairs and down a nicely decorated hallway. They stopped at the end, where the innkeeper opened the door to a moderately sized room. It was sparsely furnished, of course, but had a bed, a desk, and windows with a view out over the city. Helena blinked: this had to be one of the more expensive rooms. But then again, she did pay with a sapphire.

"I hope the room is to your liking," the innkeeper told her. Helena knew he was trying to chat her up, so as to make her more inclined to drop one or two more of those gemstones. Helena had to fight herself to prevent her from rolling her eyes dramatically.

"Very much so," Helena nodded.

"I'm glad, Miss..."

"Potter," Helena answered for him.

The innkeeper startled slightly, looking even more curiously at her. It clearly wasn't a common name around here – or perhaps it just wasn't a common name for a woman.

"Miss Potter," the innkeeper nodded. "My name is Sigurd Johansson. If there is anything at all you need, or you have any questions about the city, don't hesitate to ask."

"Actually, do you know where a tailor is located within the city?" Helena asked of Sigurd. Hopefully she wouldn't be staying in the city long, but on the other hand, she might. She had no idea. In either case, it would be best to have clothing that fits in with the general populace. While the Notice-Me-Not Charm worked, for the most part, it didn't stop the stronger minds from noticing her, and it didn't stop people she initiated contact with from noticing her. "And a bookstore?"

"Well, we have a plenty good tailor right down the street here," the Sigurd told her with a large smile, eager to please. "Dempster's Drapes, it's named. Good quality, good prices, and they don't take too long to finish orders; as for a bookstore... I'm not too sure. As you very well know, it just isn't common folks who buy books," he laughed. Helena mentally winced. She had only enhanced that unfortunate image of her being noble – which she was, in a way, being Lady Potter, but he didn't need to know that. "That said, there are a few people in town who own more or less extensive libraries. A person who comes to mind is Jeod Longshanks. He is a merchant, you see, though he has started to run into a streak of bad luck. For the right price, I'd wager you'd be able to take a look at his books. I could make contact with him if you'd like?"

"Yes, please do," Helena smiled. "Thank you."

With the subtle, but unmistaken dismissal, Sigurd inclined his head – a little too deeply for Helena's liking – and exited the room. Helena sagged together. Hopefully Sigurd wouldn't be a tattletale and spread a rumour about her wealth. While she didn't doubt she could defend herself, even without her wand, it would really be a bother.

~ BWaC ~

As Helena walked back through Teirm – because that was the name of the city she was staying in – from Jeod's house a fortnight later, she was starting to accept that she wasn't going to get home in the foreseeable future. The merchant had a very impressive collection of books; not quite the size of either the Potter or Black libraries, but still a lot more than just the ordinary citizen, even at home, would normally own. Helena had poured over the history-books and map collections she could find, trying to figure out just where she was, and then how to get home; now she could conclude that that wasn't going to happen just then and there.

The history-books were severely lacking in content, and everything she had read had to be taken with a grain of salt. From what she had read, and from what she had overheard at the local pub, this was due to the Empire, which was controlled by the evil Dragon Rider, Galbatorix. He was a tyrant if Helena had ever heard of one. He had banned all books that could undermine his totalitarian authority. It was most likely also because of him that there weren't any more detailed maps in Jeod's collection – population control and restricted movement was all part of the common tyrant's M.O., after all. When Helena had first seen a map of the land that she was in – Alagaësia – she had thought that perhaps she was lost on some secluded island far out in the ocean. Then she had inquired more about the size of the land from Jeod and had learned that Alagaësia was at least as large as the North American continent. There was just no way such a large piece of land could stay hidden.

That had left Helena with three options: either she was in the past, or she was in the future, or she wasn't on Earth. She couldn't see this being the far past. She had learned more than a little geography in the summers spent at the libraries instead of the Dursleys, and there was no continent which even remotely resembled Alagaësia. Perhaps if you went back more than four or five hundred years, but if she did that, then the Muggles shouldn't be as advanced as they were. Neither did she believe she was in the far future: even if some apocalyptic event had pushed the Muggles down from the crumbling pedestal they had been building under themselves for years, there was no way that all evidence of technology would just vanish. Then there was the fact that magic was well known in this land, and while these 'magicians' were feared, they were also respected. Now, Helena knew for a fact that the Wizarding World wouldn't come out of hiding, even if a catastrophe hit the Muggle World. If anything, the Magical Community would try to conceal itself even more behind enchantments. The Dark Ages was still in the memories of all witches and wizards. It didn't matter that most of them actually got away – the persecution and witch-hunt, which Helena's people had been under, simply because they had different gifts than the Muggles, was grotesque. So, it wasn't the far future either. That only left Helena with not being on Earth. The only thing wrong with that theory was that the night sky was exactly like the one on Earth; the same moon, the same sun, and the same constellations. According to them, she should be around the latitude of southern France. But, again, there was no way a continent as large as Alagaësia could exist on Earth without being noticed, especially not on the northern hemisphere.

No matter what, whether she was on Earth or not, it didn't leave her with an easy way home. Helena was considering going to the elves, which lived in the woods in the northern part of Alagaësia. No, they weren't like house elves, but more like the elves of Muggle fantasy literature. From what Helena had read, they were the most magical attuned people in the land. Generally, Helena would've gone to a human first, but with the Black King, Galbatorix, controlling most of them, and the rest of them in hiding, that didn't leave her many options.

For now, though, Helena would stay in Teirm. She had come to an arrangement with the innkeeper – who despite his extensive arse kissing was very pleasant and helpful –, and would be staying in the room at the Singing Seagull. And with the clothes that she had made at Dempster's Drapes, she no longer stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn't that she couldn't keep up the Notice-Me-Not Charm, but when she was staying in the city for an unplanned period of time, it was just better to be seen by people. It wasn't that she was socialising or anything, but at least now people knew of her. It was a double-edged sword for sure, but Helena thought the benefits outweighed the consequences, especially since she wasn't doing anything illegal (at least she didn't think she was).

Stopping by a small bakery on the way, Helena bought a small loaf of bread to eat for dinner and walked the rest of the way to the inn. She knew it wasn't exactly healthy, but she wasn't in the mood for anything else. The last two weeks had been used frantically trying to find anything that could point her in the direction of home, and while the revelation that she wasn't going to get there in the foreseeable future hadn't come out of nowhere, it was still a harsh hit. The other nights she had ordered something at one of the local pubs, The Green Chestnut, where she would sit until late at night, listening to the conversations around her, but she was not in the mood tonight. There she did use the Notice-Me-Not Charm. She did not need to be approached by lecherous men, who thought they could take advantage of a 'poor, defenceless girl'. Again, she could defend herself, but it wouldn't do good to draw that kind of attention to herself.

Nodding politely to Sigurd, she didn't stop to chat with him as she had done most other days. Instead, she went straight to the staircase, and straight to her room. Quite moodily she covered the windows in drapes, lit a small candle, and then sat down on the floor by her bed with her photo album. Almost without thought, the red stone was brought out with the album and sat in her lap as she started going through the photographs.

The album was essentially her whole life, bar the time between Tom killing her parents and her enrolling at Hogwarts. There were pictures of her as a baby, living with her parents and the Marauders and even one with Minerva, and photos of all her years at Hogwarts. The latest photograph had been taken only weeks before her meeting with Hermione at the Three Broomsticks. It was of the survivors of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army. Too many were missing in that picture, Helena thought. It was a difficult photograph to look at, but Helena forced herself to do it. She wouldn't want to forget those who had died so that the rest of them could live. It didn't matter if it hurt – they deserved that much.

Helena didn't know how long she had sat there, watching the moving pictures, when a high-pitched whine broke the silence of the room.

Startling at the sound, Helena looked around trying to figure out where it had come from. No, she didn't have wards up around the room – and she hadn't had since discovering that 'magicians' were more or less normal around these parts: she didn't want to draw attention to herself, and she didn't know if her wards would do that. But with that said, she wasn't exactly easy to sneak up on, not after the War. She hadn't quite reached Alastor's level of paranoia (thank Merlin for that), but she was definitely more paranoid than she had been before the War. Thus, it would surprise her if anyone had been able to sneak into her room, without her noticing. As it was, though, she couldn't see anyone in her room. It was with a heavy frown that she looked down into her photo album again.

Another twenty minutes passed, and Helena, slowly but surely, calmed down. That calm, however, was again shattered as a similar whine broke the silence. This time Helena jumped up to her feet, the red stone in her hands while her album fell to the floor. She was twitching to take out her wand, but that was not possible for obvious reasons. The witch was just about to go around the room when yet another whine sounded. With eyes as wide as saucers, Helena looked down at the stone in her hands.

One could almost hear the pin-needle drop to the floor in her mind, as Helena realised what she was holding. Like a Muggle movie, Helena saw in her mind's eye as she, Hermione, and Ron visited Hagrid, who was hatching a dragon egg. There were similarities, for sure, but also drastic differences. For one, Norberta's egg hadn't radiated magic in the manner that this egg did. And while, yes, Helena had only been eleven at the time, and not as in touch with her magical core as she was now, there was no way she would've missed the feeling of being in the presence of a magical object like the red egg. Then there was also the question of how it had hatched: Hagrid had explicitly told that a dragon egg needed to be heated, almost to extreme temperatures, to synthesise the conditions of the egg's mother breathing fire upon it. Helena had done no such thing and had only held it as she ate.

Helena was broken from her slightly panicked musing, as the egg began to shake violently. Quickly dropping the egg onto her bed, Helena took several steps backwards. Dragons were dangerous, Helena could attest to that. Twice a dragon had tried to kill her, and while she survived both encounters, she hadn't come out of them unscathed. The first dragon, a Hungarian Horntail which she had fought during the Tri-Wizard Tournament in her Fourth Year had burned her back badly. The second dragon, an Ukrainian Ironbelly, the one that had guarded the deepest vaults of Gringotts, she had gotten impaled on one of its spikes as they fled London upon its back. As she said, she had survived both times, but she wasn't exactly looking to have another encounter with one of the reptilians.

But... that had been on Earth. While she had only got to read a fraction of the books in Jeod's library, she had stumbled upon the term 'Dragon Rider' more than a few times. Most times it was to refer to the evil king ruling the land, but a few times it had referred to an Order. Honestly, she hadn't given it much thought, as she had been focusing on finding a way home. Now, however, she really wished she had.

The egg began shaking more and more violently, and large cracks began to spread across the surface. It could've been five minutes or fifty, Helena didn't really know. She was in a state of shock. But as one of the cracks hit another, a small snout suddenly appeared from the depths of the egg. It disappeared quickly, only to reappear again, pushing out another part of the shell. Slowly but steadily the dragon hatchling got out of the egg, covered in a membrane and all slimy. As it finally got out of the egg, it stumbled slightly out onto Helena's duvet. Not giving any indication that it had seen Helena, it started cleaning itself of the membrane.

Helena just stood there, frozen, observing the hatchling. Occasionally it emitted a sound that was kind of a mix between a growl and a whine, which made the witch smile. It was beautiful, Helena had to admit. It couldn't be much larger than the length of her underarm. It was a deep red colour, not much unlike the shade of the rubies which represented Gryffindor's house points in the hourglasses at Hogwarts. From its head and down along its spine, all the way to the tip of its tail, small spikes protruded – that was, but from a small hollow where the neck and the shoulders met. It had a full set of razor-sharp teeth, as far as Helena could see, the incisors being curved and stuck out just over the lower lip. The teeth and the fangs were the purest white and were reminding Helena of the marble that made up Gringotts entrance hall and facade. And it had a pair of startling blue eyes, which was split down the middle by black, vertical pupils.

Helena frowned when she saw the legs. There were four of them. That was just yet another clue that she wasn't on Earth. All the dragons that she knew of only had one pair of legs, the hind legs, and a pair of wings – kind of like a bat. They were also called wyverns, but since dragons with four legs and a pair of wings had died out on Earth several millennia ago, the words 'wyvern' and 'dragon' had become interchangeable. And, yet, here in front of her sat a dragon, which wasn't a wyvern, cleaning itself. At least that explained some of why it hadn't needed the constant heat to develop inside the egg.

Helena's small smile dropped when the pair of blue eyes shifted to meet hers. Both dragon and witch stood frozen for nigh a minute, before the dragon, almost excitedly, began walking over towards Helena. Well, 'walking' was perhaps giving the hatchling too much credit, because it kept tripping over folds in the duvet. However, that wasn't on Helena's mind: the dragon hatchling was on top of a bed and was hastily approaching the side. Helena didn't know much of dragon hatchlings, but she knew tumbling off of a bed couldn't be good, especially if it landed wrong. So, it was almost with panic that Helena all but bolted across the room, trying to stop the dragon from going further.

The very moment her left hand touched the dragon, it felt like ice-water and lightning rushed through her. Dropping to the floor, Helena gasped violently. It was as if her magical core was going out of control, lashing out through her body. Again and again, it was like dragon-fire rushing through her veins. It was all Helena could think about, all she could hear. Merlin, it hurt. It was like being under the Cruciatus Curse, but different. Even if it hurt, there wasn't any maleficent intent behind it.

Eventually the pain ebbed away, leaving a gasping and wheezing witch on the floor. It was only then that she felt the pressure on her chest, and when she looked up, she looked straight into the blue eyes of the dragon. A fraction of a second later, a tendril of thoughts pressed against her consciousness, full of question, confusion, and concern. While Helena would've usually shut her Occlumency barriers up without hesitation, the way that this consciousness had pressed against hers was unlike any way she had felt before. Legilimency was a sharp and crude instrument, which broke through all defences, took what it wanted, and left a devastated mind behind. This was why it wasn't used to simply contact people for the kick of it. It was a miracle that Dumbledore had developed his Legilimency skills so much that he could read the surface-thoughts of people he had eye contact with, without them even noticing – but that didn't mean, that if you investigated the mind, that you couldn't see that someone had used Legilimency on that mind. Therefore was it apparent that it wasn't Legilimency which was being used on her: the touch was much softer, and it almost tingled; it kind of felt like a feather sliding across the surface of her mind.

If that didn't shock the witch, getting a mental picture of herself writhing in pain on the floor of her room from the dragon's point of view did. It was with startled eyes that she tried pushing at the boundaries of her mind, only to find there to be nothing preventing her from spilling out. It was an unnerving feeling. It was only a moment later that she found the mind of the dragon, and concluded that it was the dragon who had felt concern for her.

Slowly, Helena sat up. The dragon moved slightly back to allow her to do it but didn't move off of her. Sitting in her lap, it looked up at her with those big, blue, adoring eyes.

Full of wonder, Helena extended her hand to pet it. Crooning, the dragon put its head up against her hand. It was quickly becoming apparent, that while this was a dragon, it was nothing like a wyvern. Even Noberta had snapped after Hagrid's hands a few times after it hatched. Helena didn't doubt that the dragon could be dangerous, and if it wanted to, it could hurt her already now. But there was something instinctual that told her that she didn't have to fear this dragon. Merlin, even her magic crooned with the dragon. It revelled being in close proximity to the dragon and enveloped the reptile in a warm cocoon. All the while this happened; the contact between their minds wasn't broken, not once.

It was as she petted the dragon that a part of her palm reflected the light of the lit candle. Retrieving her hand from the dragon, ignoring the whining that erupted from the reptile, Helena looked with a frown at her hand. In the middle of her left palm was a silver, diffused spiral oval marking. Tilting her hand back and forward, it was clear that it was what had reflected the fire. Touching it, she had expected to feel something like steel, or perhaps scar-tissue. But instead, it felt like ordinary skin – though, now with reflective properties.

Her musing was interrupted by growling. No, it wasn't the dragon, per se – it was its stomach. The red hatchling was looking surprised about, clearly not having heard such a sound before. It was with a light laughter that Helena picked up the hatchling – which made it croon once again – and put it back up on the bed. Ignoring the whines that once again erupted from it, Helena grabbed her bag and withdrew a medium sized sack. As she opened the sack, another long growl was emitted from the dragon's stomach. Again, the dragon jumped in surprise but stilled as the smell of fresh (Thank Morgana for Conservative Charms), raw meat made its way to its nostrils. Not wanting to test out how long the hatchling would wait, Helena quickly threw it three large slices of beef. The dragon pounced at the meat the moment it had hit the bed, leaving no doubt that if it wanted to, it could do great harm.

Helena walked to the desk and sat down in the chair, once again just observing the red dragon hatchling. She really shouldn't think that a dragon tearing into meat was cute, especially with her experience, but she did. She didn't doubt that this whole situation had just become that much more complicated, but somehow Helena didn't mind. There was something special about that dragon, nothing less would make her magic act up as it did.

A burp from the dragon, as it finished the first piece of beef, brought a smile to Helena's face.

No, she didn't mind at all.

~ BWaC ~

Author's Notes: Some of you may recognise this story. I did have it up on another account under the same name. I hit a pretty rough patch (that's putting it mildly), and I deleted many things, including what essentially was my account. I rejoined a little while ago but was too... ashamed, I guess, to admit to who I was. But I am better now, so when I found the files to this story, I decided it was time to put it up again.

I know Najex has written his own version of this story, and after chatting with him and having read through his story, I'm fine with him keeping it up. I'm quite flattered, to be honest. While the stories begin quite similarly, Najex has a different path in mind. This will especially become apparent once we hit Book Two and Du Weldenvarden.

Synthesis