Unfamiliar faces, yet familiar horrors.

A flash of green. A burning pain in his hands followed by an unearthly howl. The throbbing headache that threatened to burst open his head and spew its contents to the four corners, leaving him behind as an empty shell whose sole purpose in remaining was to suffer. Sirius' surprised expression as he gasped and fell. Voldemort's haunting laughter. A dark, pulsating pit in the cold ground, deep beneath the light above.

A man's scared face soaked in blood as he took his last breath, lips whispering desperate final words.

"I'm... sorry..."

Harry woke with a start, eyes jumping left and right from one corner of the rustic room to another until he finally understood where he was. Kicking off the covers, he swung his feet down to the floor and immediately winced at the penetrating chill. Even so, he was soaked with sweat.

"I must have forgotten to cast the Patronus charm last night..." he mumbled. At least, he hoped that's what it was rather than his usual nightmares. Or perhaps unusual, as this was much too early in the year for them, he thought with a dark chuckle.

"I want a bath..." Harry muttered as he stood up, immediately wincing at the stiffness of his limbs and the soreness of his muscles. "A good, long soak."

It wasn't as if he needed one as he had finally given in last night and scourgified himself. The sweat and dirt clinging onto him and his clothes had torn off as if by a stiff brush, leaving him feeling slightly raw of skin. And yet, it hadn't managed to wash off the stink of blood that Harry was certain still clung to him. His hands felt unclean, though he had plunged them several times into the snowdrifts outside.

Looking down in the dim light peeking through the rafters above, his hands didn't look any different from the day before, or the day before that. Thin fingers, attached to knobby joints, and covered in calloused skin. Pristine, yet somehow still unclean. Like there was an invisible film of grease—as if he had been scrubbing pots and pans all night again—stuck to his hands, that wouldn't come off.

Shaking his head and letting his arms fall down, he decided to get dressed and see to the others. The movement had the added benefit of warming him up and getting the blood flowing, helping him past the worst of his morning soreness and stiffness.

He might not have been able to buy back Luna's dress the day before, but he had managed to prepare enough food and places to sleep for the second batch of amnesiac sleepers. Well, only after moping around and asking uselessly if anyone by the docks knew where the ship had gone for an hour. It was the sight of one of the orcs from the day before yesterday, working as a dockhand and hauling heavy wares, that had allowed him to break out of his stupor.

Luckily, neither Luna nor Erandur had cottoned on to his initial mistake, though the latter had been very impressed yet again with Harry's magic.

Harry left his room at the inn and eyed the empty main hall.

No one else was awake quite yet, which given how dim it still was, wasn't altogether surprising. Giving voice to his earlier suspicions, Harry drew his wand and said: "Expecto Patronum."

Prongs pounced about the hall, sniffing the air curiously before turning halfway to look back at Harry with one eye. With a slow blink, the stag seemed to exhale and come undone, as if saying there was nothing for him to do here.

Frowning, Harry pocketed his wand and tried not to think about it too hard. Instead, he went in search of breakfast, knowing that there would be some bread and cheese behind the counter. Grabbing some, he left the coins on the counter and then looked around for water. But there was none, as pails hadn't been brought in yet for the day. Grimacing and sighing, Harry reached for one of the bottles of mead instead, exchanging it for what he thought was a fair sum of coins.

Sitting down by the firepit that dominated the middle of the hall, Harry opened the bottle after some experimentation and then took a tentative sip—and blinked with surprise at how sweet it was. The was a strange aftertaste that he thought surely was the alcohol, but the honey and spices covered it up so well that he didn't mind at all. It was different from the richness of butterbeer or the crispness of pumpkin juice, but he quite liked it.

Inhaling the bread and cheese with half of the bottle, Harry exhaled with satisfaction before deciding to set aside the rest of the bottle. He didn't know how potent the mead was, but he didn't want to get sloshed first thing in the morning.

"What now...?" he asked aloud, his immediate needs met and no habits to fall back on to occupy his mind.

The worst-case scenarios had been averted now; they had money and would not starve, and they could use magic publicly, meaning that they weren't in any immediate danger anymore. But they still needed to get back to Hogwarts, with no clear way back. And he still felt awful about Luna's dress. Could he justify going after it and trying to get it back? It wasn't as if he had any leads for getting them to Hogwarts, either...

Probably not.

Then what could they do?

Thinking back to the past few days a few things did pop into mind. Visiting Frodi with Luna again, selling the ingredients she had found, and maybe asking more about alchemy, helping Erandur with the people from Nightcaller temple... If it was just a matter of keeping busy, there certainly was no shortage of optional matters to handle.

Sighing and taking another deep swig from the mead bottle, Harry decided to leave it to Luna. Maybe she would have some ideas where he didn't.

Harry frowned.

It was noon soon and Luna had yet to rise. Most of the customers staying the night had long since vacated and Harry had polished off the bottle of mead he had grabbed earlier while thinking about nothing and trying not to fret.

But still, neither hide nor hair of Luna.

Shaking his head and standing up, he marched resolutely to her room's door and only once his hand came to hover over the doorknob did he hesitate. Swallowing slightly, he leaned back a little and instead knocked on the door twice.

"Luna, are you awake?"

No answer.

Turning his head and closing his eyes, he tried to hear if anything was amiss beyond the door. Hearing nothing he gathered his courage and opened the door. "Luna, are you in here?"

Looking within, he spotted the neatly folded pile of clothes beside the bed first. Then his eyes wandered back up to the bed over which his gaze had completely slipped. Peering intently, he could only just see the huddle formed beneath the blanket there, with a head of pale hair peeking just out. Curious, Harry called out again. "Luna?"

But she did not react. Anxious now, Harry strode in through the door—closing it behind him—and beside the bed, kneeling down so that he could move the blanket just enough to see her face.

Her face was pale—but not abnormally so, not for Luna anyhow, he thought—and relaxed. She was breathing lightly, the wisps of breath making a strand of hair hanging past her forehead dance in front of her face. A nervous knot unclenched in Harry's gut as he exhaled.

Reaching for her shoulder, he spoke quietly.

"Luna, wake up. It's noon already."

Where her name had failed the touch did not; slowly her eyes fluttered open and with half-lidded eyes she noticed him all-but hovering over her.

"Oh, hello Harry."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped back from the bed.

Sitting up, rather stiffly as Harry couldn't help but note, Luna yawned and stretched in bed. Her hair was a tangled mess and her eyes drooped still as if she still wasn't quite ready to rise for the day.

"When did you go asleep? It's almost noon already, Luna."

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes and tilted her head before another yawn claimed her. "Oh, I see. Mmm... tired."

Harry waited for her to say something more, but she appeared content to remain seated where she was, blinking at a spot on the wall. He frowned then, realizing that perhaps she was more exhausted than she had looked; the past few days had been rather hectic and tiresome after all.

Perhaps...

Perhaps everything could wait for one day?

"Would you like some breakfast? Or, well..." he paused, sheepish and considering the lateness of the morning, "Rater, brunch?" he corrected. It had been a common enough affair at the Dursleys, come weekend when neither Dudley nor his uncle absolutely had to get up before noon.

Luna blinked and turned to look at him, quizzical. "I've never had brunch before."

Harry blinked at that, then a half-devious thought came to him.

"How about brunch in bed, then?"

She shook her head again, eyes sparkling and awake at the mere thought.

"Well then, let me see what I can do about that," he said with a chuckle, turning around.

The Windpeak Inn didn't exactly have specific menus for different mealtimes, not like most places back home, so Harry had to make do with the usual foodstuffs available: bread, cheese, salted fish, eggs, and some jam that Thoring had made himself from snowberries and swore by. Coming up with what to make simply came down to simplicity; breakfast toast. Harry roasted the bread lightly and then melted the cheese on top of it, while with a borrowed skillet and some lard he fried the eggs over the firepit on some hot stones.

On half of the toasted bread with cheese he put the fried eggs and on the other, he spread plenty of jam. The fish could be eaten whole, he was told, so he put two on each egg, allowing their saltiness to mingle with the eggs, dripping with savouriness and blending together quite well.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry found Luna still sitting in bed where he had left her, but considerably more awake. Her tangled mess of a hair had somehow been straightened out and he suspected magic but didn't ask, as instead, he presented her with the brunch.

"It's not quite a Full English, but there's plenty. Dig in," he said with a grin.

If there was something he felt confident in cooking, it was breakfast. And for once it wasn't for the Dursleys. That, combined with the slight queerness necessary in cooking over a live fire which required some creative problem solving, was probably what had left him in such high spirits now. Who knew cooking could be such fun?

Luna's eyes widened at the sight, and she smiled as she obeyed. A minute later half the egg and fish toasts were already gone and the jam-lathered slices of bread were well in their wake in vanishing as well. Sensing a pause in her gorging, Harry offered the mug of warm watered-down mead for her to wash it all down with, which she accepted just as eagerly

It had become quite apparent that Luna had something of a sweet-tooth.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, concern returning.

She looked up at him with wide eyes and bulging cheek, momentarily all-too reminiscent of a squirrel for Harry to maintain his seriousness, forcing him to cough to hide a laugh. Luna chewed and swallowed meanwhile, before looking up at him again with a bright expression.

"Very pampered. Thank you, Harry."

He flushed at the unexpected answer, before shaking his head. "No, well, I meant..." Stammering for a second before taking another calming breath, he tried again. "How does your body feel? Are you tired? Hurt?"

"A little," she admitted and looked down to her toes, wriggling them beneath the warmth of the blanket.

He looked down, ashamed of himself for not having noticed how he had been pushing her after all. He had taken her help for granted and she was younger than him, too. If he was tired then, of course, she would be, too. He had even apparated back to Dawnstar yesterday while she had had to make the long trek back with Erandur and the others, compounding his error.

"Sorry..." he mumbled awkwardly.

When she didn't answer, he looked up and froze. She was smiling at him, but she had a moustache of the dark-red jam on her upper lip, having stolen a large bite out of the jam and melted cheese toast while he had been deep in thought.

Once again he had to hide his laughter, turning away from her. Once he had gotten himself back under control, he noted that the moustache was gone and Luna looked quite pleased with herself as she finished off the jam ones.

"Thank you for the brunch in bed. It was very delicious."

He nodded but then glanced at the remaining two untouched egg and fish sandwiches. He had made quite a bit and Luna looked fit for bursting already. Hearing his own stomach make a sound, Harry looked up to Luna and she nodded, understanding the sudden question. Mirroring her earlier gusto, he realized only after it was all gone that he had grown hungry again since breakfast.

Harry was certain he heard her giggle, but by the time he looked up, her face was carefully placid and clear of any obvious mirth. Mock-scowling he cleared his throat as he returned the plates to Thoring.

Luna was not far behind, getting clothed and making her bed in under a minute as she followed after him. Noting his empty hands, she peered expectantly at him presently, bringing to mind his earlier thoughts on what they should do right now.

But well, that had been before he had realized just how drawn Luna was.

"How about we just relax today? There shouldn't be anything pressing to worry about, right?" Harry asked, curious to see her reaction.

She adopted a thoughtful look for a moment before nodding. "Alright, Harry."

He grinned.

"Alright, is there anywhere you'd like to go? Or anything you'd like to do?"

"I should like very much to visit Frida. I'm sure she must be beside herself with worry by now."

Thinking back to the herbs Luna had gathered and mouth-watering at the thought of the alchemist's cooking, Harry nodded.

"Maybe we could talk to Erandur later and see how everything is progressing, as well."

She nodded at his suggestion brightly and a few minutes later they were off.

After hearing of their exploits and the saving of those who had been sleeping in Nightcaller temple, the old alchemist looked very troubled.

"What you have done might not be very good for Dawnstar..."

Harry's mind blanked out. He leaned forward, brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Frida's downcast expression said little, her eyes far away. "So many people, sleeping for so long, so near to Dawnstar... Even before my time. Guess I'm not that old, after all." She laughed a little before meeting his eyes. "I slept better last night than I have in decades. It must have been always there, just beneath the surface, unbeknownst to all of us until now." The old woman seemed to shrink at the thought, shivering as if suddenly reminded of some great horror for a moment, before it all vanished and her eyes returned to them. "Thank you, Harry, thank you, Luna. I will have to thank that dark elf priest next we see at Windpeak Inn as well."

Brows still furrowed, Harry shook his head.

"Then what did you mean by it not being good...?"

Frida sighed deeply, shaking her head.

"There isn't enough work to go around. The iron mine and docks keep the town afloat, but only just. Who knows how long the food-stores will last now, with so many more mouths to feed and spring still so far off..."

Harry rocked back, sitting back against his chair as he thought about that.

"But, they have gold, so..."

Frida nodded. "And so gold the merchant ships will ask. But they do not need gold, while we do need food."

The captain who had bought Luna's dress came to mind, the memory of successfully haggling somewhat soured now by recent revelations. Times might be turning tough for all the people of Dawnstar now, not just Erandur and those awakened at Nightcaller temple.

"And that fort... Jarl Skald will want it now, too. Before someone else takes it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Before it was only a ruined fort. A single room with an altar to Mara is no great threat... But an underground fort large enough to host so many..." Frida shook her head, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. "If any bandits manage to hear of it and decide to make it theirs."

"Bandits?" The thought hadn't even occurred to Harry, the concept worlds away from his own frame of reference even though the word itself was not entirely alien. "Are there a lot of bandits around here?"

Frida nodded sadly.

"The roads are always dangerous in Skyrim. It is why merchants brave the sea of ghosts despite its treacherous waters. There are more old forts and caves than I could count, with just as many desperate men seeking shelter."

Harry nodded, already thinking about how he could seal the temple before anyone could find it.

"Erandur will know what to do," Luna interjected then.

"If that is so, then Skald will want to speak with him."

Nodding, Harry decided to talk to Erandur when they next saw each other about these problems. If he could help and avoid a catastrophe, then he would obviously have to help any way that he could.

After that, Luna sold the herbs she had collected and he bought some potions—a pair of healing and stamina recovering phials, one each for him and Luna to carry—and Luna discussed the various plants that she had gathered, learning their names and properties quickly enough. Perhaps herbology was also an interest of hers in the same way her strange creatures were? Once accounts were balanced, they only made a handful of septims, proving how profitable alchemy was.

Something Harry made a note of to consider if ever there came another pressing need for coin, a possibility he thought all too likely,

"Indeed, the jarl has not been very pleased with the addition of my new flock to Dawnstar and I fear the future does not hold any easy answers or paths before us," Erandur intoned gravely, but then he offered a small, hopeful, smile. "But with Mara's guidance, I am certain we shall prevail."

Harry nodded. "Is there anything w—I can do to help?"

"You have done much already, young Harry," Erandur reassured him. "And it is our place to learn to stand once more. You cannot stay here forever, after all. But..." He raised a hand to his jaw. "There is the matter of the Jarl's fears. There is not all too much that can be done about some of his worries, but one matter would be solved easily enough. The many weapons we left behind in the temple, both those of the orcish warband and those of the acolytes..."

Harry nodded.

"It need not be all of them, as with the miasma still in place few others could find them. But handing over a dozen blades to the guard would go a long way in proving our good intentions

With apparition and the summoning charm, it would be quick work to pick clean the temple. Finding a dozen or so weapons to bring back would just take a few minutes.

"I'll get it done by today." Turning to look at Luna, he said: "I think it will be easier to apparate alone if I have to carry all those axes and swords back."

She nodded serenely, before turning to Erandur. "Has Bobrikoff bought a ship?"

The elf blinked at the apparent non-sequitur before coughing a laugh. "Indeed, many of the orcs we brought back the day before yesterday have grown antsy already. Perhaps their simple culture and habits made recovering from amnesia a simpler matter than for the others, but they are already finding work on their own. Some have taken to hunting, others to fishing or dock work. Bobrikoff and a few others managed to dive and haul up a recently sunken fishing boat and are now claiming it as salvage."

Harry had to blink at that, not having noticed at all besides having seen some of the distinctive, green-skinned amnesiacs working at the docks, unloading and loading ships. But it was promising that some of them were already getting back onto their feet.

"That's good to hear, I guess. See you back at the inn, Luna?" Harry asked, drawing his wand out.

"Alright, Harry. Have a safe trip and watch out for the saber cats."

He laughed, suddenly realizing how that would have sounded to any of their friends back in Hogwarts. For once though, he could agree to her sentiment without thinking too hard about it. "I will. See you soon."

With a twirl and pop, he vanished.

Appearing just outside the ruined fort.

Looking around, Harry let out a sigh of relief; no big cats lying in wait to jump him.

Even with the temple emptied and the staff gone, there was still a foreboding aura that hit him as he opened the ancient wooden door and entered, a chill wind that tickled his nose with the musty scent and stale odour of the deep halls within. He hesitated at the door before shaking his head and pressing onward.

Bubble-head charm, light charm, summoning charm.

Gathering a sizeable pile of old weapons was accomplished—as expected—in just a matter of minutes. But still, Harry did not leave. Peering through the grate down into the now pitch black pit, he felt an indescribable pull. Settling his shoulders, he pressed on down.

Somehow the whole place had transformed with the absence of Luna and Erandur, every dark corner jumping out at him and every whisper of the wind turning into something much more by the power of his jumpy imagination. Halfway down he gave up and threw the invisibility cloak over his shoulders, entrusting himself into its embrace.

And then he was down there again, at the very bottom, staring at the stiff body that had been left behind. And there, against the wall lay the charred remains of the man Erandur had slain. He was suddenly reminded of the nightmare he had had, but couldn't place why it bothered him so. He had seen death before and had caused the deaths of others before.

The dread and worry of seeing Luna get hit. The thrill and satisfaction of seeing his opponent slump.

He was overcome with a sense of being out of place. Not just because of being in a strange land far beyond any he had ever heard of but also because of his actions. And a niggling sense of remorse, yet one entirely improper.

The blood had already dried and hardened, turning black on black in the darkness, with only the slightest hint of roasted flesh remaining in the air. Inhaling slowly, first through his nose and then gagging a little, and then through his mouth, Harry decided that he should bring these two up and bury them somewhere. If he knew one, he might have even said a prayer for them, now. He didn't know what was proper in Skyrim for the dead or what either of these two would have wished, but Harry realized that it wasn't about that. It was about him.

"Defodio."

The spell gouged through the snow and earth, creating a rectangular hole fit for one person deep enough that should he have stepped in, his head would have vanished from sight before his feet hit the bottom. Levitating one of the bodies in and then covering up the hole, he repeated it for the other cultist.

Again, that sense of being out of place assailed him and again he did not know what to do about it. Any sense of relief he might have expected to come out of burying the dead wasn't to come, leaving him standing alone beside the ruined old fort with his conflicted thoughts.

Finally, after a long while of indecision, he shook off his melancholy and decided to return to Dawnstar with the weapons he had gathered.

Carrying a literal armful of swords and axes hadn't been easy or pleasant, even as he had bundled them together with some transfigured twine, so handing them over to Erandur was a definite relief.

Harry half-wondered at their weight; the Sword of Gryffindor had been much more manageable, and he had been much younger back then!

Leaving behind the priest, he headed back to the inn in search of Luna and lunch. Or rather, given the lateness of their morning, perhaps an early dinner? "What would that even make it, linner?" he scoffed at the thought as he briskly walked back. The day was half over, but most of the townsfolk were still busy at work. The mines were churning and smoking, the docks were bustling and bellowing.

Luna he found easily enough, though Thoring told him that she had already turned in for the day, having appeared quite tired by the time she had returned to the inn. Worried once more, he knocked at her room's door.

"Harry?" Luna softly called out in return and he answered, entering the room.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mm... Tired."

He frowned. She had slept the whole night and still felt too tired to keep awake? Marching into the room, he walked right up to her and peered down into the bed.

"Luna, does it hurt anywhere?"

She shook her head, before pausing. Then, tilting it to the side a little, she raised and lowered her right arm. Correcting her earlier assessment as she gestured at the arm with her other, she said: "A little."

If he wasn't remembering entirely wrong, wasn't that where that lightning spell had hit her? Like a lightning rod, the shock had struck at her most extended body part.

"Sorry, but could you show it to me?"

Luna began to roll up the right sleeve and immediately he could see a root-like fractal pattern of red on her skin, almost like a lightning bolt carved within her skin. Not like his crude and deep mark, but a delicate and intricate pattern, barely visible against her pale skin.

He had no idea what it meant, but coupled with Luna's recent exhaustion, he doubted it was anything good.

"Luna, have you tried using the potion we bought?"

"Do you think it will help?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. But it can't hurt. Maybe." He frowned. "Or maybe we hold off on that for a little while and ask Frida first. Maybe she will know."

She moved to get out of bed but he put a stop to that quickly.

"Just lie down. I'll be right back."

Walking briskly out of the inn, he jogged the whole way to the Mortar and Pestle, finding it still open for business and mostly empty, excepting Frida sitting by the fire and reading some book or another.

"Oh my, welcome back. Was there something else that you wished to buy?" Frida greeted him as he entered.

"Your potion, can Luna drink it? I mean—no, rather, is it okay if, she has this lightning-shaped, not-quite-a-scar," Harry said and realized presently that he was rambling now. Closing his mouth and inhaling slowly, seeing the elderly alchemist's bemused expression, he tried again. "Luna was hit by some kind of lightning spell last night and now she's very tired. She slept the whole night and she's still tired. And on her arm, where she was hit, there is a red mark, like a thin welt, shaped like a root or a lightning bolt."

"Oh my, is she alright?" Frida asked worriedly.

"I don't know. Can, could drinking one of the potions help her?"

She shook her head. "No, no. Those potions are best used against bleeding wounds and broken bones, I'm afraid. I have something for burns and for frostbite, but shocks are very rare. I did not even know there was such magic..." Her wrinkled face scrunched in thought. "Have you asked Erandur yet? I think the wily old priest would be the most knowledgeable in all of Dawnstar, when it comes to magic, besides, he is the most talented healer in the hold."

"Erandur? Oh, right. Of course. I'll go look. Thank you anyhow."

With that, he left the Mortar and Pestle with all due haste. Scanning the town for any sight of the usual gathering of amnesiacs as he ran about, he found them quickly enough.

"Hello there, friend. What is the matter?" the elf immediately asked upon seeing Harry's state.

"It's Luna..." Harry said and explained again, as he had to Frida.

"Ah, yes. I should have thought of it myself. I wield the destructive magics of flame myself, but I am familiar with how pernicious and dangerous shock may be. You say that she is exhausted and there is a mark where she was struck?"

"That's right," he said and nodded.

"Is her skin burnt or has she weakness of that specific limb? Any involuntary or unexpected twitching?" the priest inquired seriously.

Harry hesitated. "No, I don't think so. Well, I didn't think to ask, but she hasn't complained about it."

Erandur nodded twice, raising a hand to rub his dark chin as his crimson eyes flew far off with his thoughts. Then he shook his head and returned his gaze to Harry. "There is no use discussing it, I will see to her myself."

After requesting his amnesiac flock to stay out of trouble, they both returned to the inn.

Luna was back in her room, having closed her eyes once more and for all her stillness Harry had the most unpleasant expectation that she might have perished while he was away. But as they both entered the small one-guest-bedroom, her silvery eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, hello Harry. Hello Erandur," she greeted them as she sat up.

"Hey, Luna," Harry said in turn. "I asked Frida and she said it probably wouldn't help, but Erandur is a healer, so maybe he can tell what's happened..."

"Oh, alright." She nodded and smiled at the elf.

"I will ask you some questions, my child. Answer them as honestly as you can... How do you feel...?"

It was a half-hour of questions and moving about in various positions while occasionally the priest would prod and poke at Luna's arm. Finally, he incanted something under his breath and a golden glow encapsulated his hands as he held them over the spot where the pink branching, lightning-like mark was on her arm.

Harry's breath was caught in his throat at the sense of sheer magic, so different from what he had gotten used to in his many years as a visitor of the Hogwart's hospital wing.

"Whew..." Erandur exhaled and ceased, pulling back as the magical glow vanished. "I don't know if this will be enough, as I simply have not had the chance to face magical shock very often. But it should help."

"Thank you," Harry breathed out, nodding again. "Really."

"It's tingling," Luna observed before she too nodded. "Thank you."

"It was nothing, my child. You two have helped me so much more already." The priest smiled as he stood up. "If you wish to know more or consult a better healer... There are a few options in Skyrim. I know of three persons more talented than I, though I have only passing familiarity with any of them. Two of them could probably help."

"Oh?" Harry blinked.

"Yes... To the south of Dawnstar lies Whiterun at the center of Skyrim and there, to Temple of Kynareth tends Danica Pure-Spring. She is a Master of Restoration, famed for her skill in the healing arts." Erandur said. "Alternatively, to the east along the coast, you will find Winterhold where the College of Winterhold lies. I know that they teach all five of the major schools of magic there, of which Restoration is taught by Colette Marence. She is not as skilled as Danica Pure-Spring, but she is my superior yet. I am certain that either of them would know more..."

Harry nodded slowly. "Winterhold to the east and Whiterun to the south... Alright. Thank you, Erandur."

"I apologize that I could not be of more help, but I must go now. Before they get into any trouble."

"Say hello to the orcs for me," Luna said, managing to lighten the mood and elicit a smile from the priest.

"I will. Recover now, girl."

Harry watched the priest go, already deep in thought. Whiterun—with its legendary healer, another priest of the local gods and someone Erandur had obvious and immense respect for—seemed like the obvious choice to him, now. The only problem was that travelling there would be dangerous, as Frida had all but declared the roads to be full of bandits, and Luna's condition could easily worsen if they travelled strenuously.

"What do you think, Luna?"

"The College of Winterhold," she said immediately, without hesitation.

"Huh?"

"It is by far the superior option," she declared with conviction. "The College teaches all the major magics, therefore it should be more familiar with lightning, no?" He couldn't argue with the logic, now that it was pointed out to him. "And they can help us get back to Hogwarts as well, moreso than a priestess can, I'm sure." That, too, was something he couldn't refute. "It should also be very exciting to see another school of magic."

Harry laughed at that, realizing his haste was outmatched by her calm analysis.

"Besides which. We can get there by boat, which should be the easier and safer way to travel," he said, before nodding. "I don't think you should have to walk all the way to Whiterun, after all."

Luna looked at him oddly then, tilting her head sideways. "Silly Harry. You would simply make the trip on your own and then apparate me there, should we wish to visit Whiterun without my walking."

He blinked, jaw hanging.

It seemed so very obvious when she pointed it out.

"Huh... I guess it was really true."

"What was?" she asked, curious.

"That wit beyond measure..."

She smiled, pleased. completing the quote with: "Is man's greatest treasure."

He laughed, relaxing finally for the first time in days. Thus, he uttered the dark thought that had just come to his mind without censure.

"I'm glad I killed him."

And as soon as he said it, he regretted it, as if the words had had a life of their own. Like they sought out to be spoken in response to his turbid thoughts. That word—kill—tasting somehow bitter and acrid and unpleasant on his tongue. It was just a one-off thought, something he normally would have only considered for a moment and then dismissed. But abnormal circumstances beget abnormal thoughts.

Luna blinked, before she shook her head sadly.

"That's not true."

He felt his heckles rise and puffed up. Now that she had contradicted him, it somehow felt as if he had to defend himself and already his old temper was beginning to rear itself up in preparation for a row. "It is; he hurt you. And I'm glad I stopped him."

That was true enough, even if he was now arguing beside the point. It was easier when he thought about it like that and didn't use that word.

"No." And she had noticed it, he realized. "I should think Harry Potter feels very bad about killing someone," Luna refuted him, still all-too serene. A hot protest—really a continuation of his earlier thoughts, rather than a response—was on his tongue, when she knocked the breath out of him with his next words. "Because you didn't mean to kill him."

His breath hitched as she named his improper remorse.

Not that of having killed a man, but of having killed a man by accident. By not having known what the spell he had cast would do. Of regretting having taken a life by chance rather than choice. And wasn't that the worst thing? To not even feel guilty about having taken a life, but rather of the way it had been taken?

Hot shame washed away his previous rationalization and anger; that he had supposed himself glad to have killed someone, because they had hurt a friend of his. He almost wished that Hermione had been there, telling him off for using that spell, for having used the book at all even when she had warned him so much about it. But at the same time, he dreaded what she would think of him now, too.

Conflicted and sullen, they remained like so for a long while. Harry unable to speak, Luna willing to wait, perhaps looking for the right words.

Somehow the room was beginning to feel crowded. Stifling. Like it was pressing in on him from all sides. The words to excuse himself were on his lips when he was startled. Looking down, he saw what he felt; Luna's hand gently resting on his and giving it a soft squeeze.

Finally, he couldn't help himself...

"I brought them up to the surface and buried them... When I went to get the swords. But I couldn't... I couldn't think of anything to say or do more, so I just left them there."

Luna nodded, but said nothing more, only squeezing his hand once more.

Neither said anything, but somehow perhaps that was enough.

A bit of a non-progression of a chapter, but I wanted to expand on the effects of the last chapter's events a little, both ways. Also recently read a bunch of book (some again, with more context from the other books I've since read) on violence and killing and how different people react to that.

And somehow this is still an easier and less stressful write than MotM. I really should get back to that chapter and just get it done already :S