Title: Halfheart: the Rewrite

Author: Chris Atola

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Dragonheart, or the quotes I borrowed from the Lost in Space film.

Warning(s): AU for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The fic diverges as Harry, Ron and Hermione are on the train going to Hogwarts.

Summary: A rewrite of my old, horrendously fangirly fic, Halfheart. Ron, Hermione and Harry end up in 10th century England partway through Dragonheart, and find themselves up to their necks in trouble.

Notes: This plobunny bit me and refused to let go, so I think I'm stuck writing it for the foreseeable future. We'll have to see how badly it monopolises my free time with regards to Irrumpo Ritus.

Anybody who can tell me for sure what, exactly, they called London in the 10th century wins a prize. Was it Londinium, or London?

Chapter 1

There was a flash, and they found themselves standing knee-deep in frigid water, in front of a respectably-sized waterfall surrounded by pale grey rocks of various sizes. Harry noted there was a forest on the right-hand side, and a relatively steep cliff face on the left.

"What happened?" Ron asked, "Where's the train?"

"I dunno, but look – our trunks are over there by that big rock," Harry pointed out with his left hand, since Hedwig was perched on his right arm. He made his noisy, squelching way over to the trunks and started checking for anything missing. Hedwig climbed her way onto his shoulder and settle down with a soft hoot.

Hermione looked around and noticed the angle of the sun. "This doesn't look like the middle of the afternoon..." She pulled her wand out and cast the Point Me spell before comparing the sun's location to where her wand indicated south to be. "What? That can't be right. It was about three o'clock on the train, but now it's more like midday."

"Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore," Harry commented, turning to look at her.

"Kansas?" Ron asked, "What are you on about? I thought we were in England!"

"Nevermind," Harry told him, "It's a Muggle thing."

"Speaking of which," Hermione interjected, "I thought the Dursleys didn't let you watch the telly. When and where did you see The Wizard of Oz?"

"It was at my batty old babysitter's, before I got my letter," Harry admitted.

Nothing more was said on the topic. Ron and Hermione made their way over to Harry and inspected their own trunks. Hedwig soon flew off to hunt.

After a few minutes Harry realised something. "Er... I don't think we're in the twentieth century anymore: the air's way too clean. Do you know some sort of translation spell, Hermione? In case people here don't speak English?"

"I think there's something in one of my books..." she trailed off as she dug through her trunk and came up with a thick, heavy-looking tome. After a moment she pulled out her wand and cast "Interpretorio," on herself. She straightened to cast it on Ron, but just as she cast it he shifted a bit too far to one side, and the spell hit the rock behind them.

To their utter shock, the rock moved and turned into a large coppery bronze-scaled, horned head, which in turn was attached to a very impressive, scaled body. Harry leapt back and brought out his wand, not wanting to take any chances after the Hungarian Horntail incident. The dragon – for that was what it was – lifted his head and, in an oddly Scottish-sounding accent, asked her, "Now what was that all about, little witch?"

Hermione started, and stammered out, "A...a translation spell. We're a bit lost and thought the people here might not speak our language. I meant to cast it on my friends..."

"Hermione?" Harry piped up from his ready stance a couple of metres away, "What's he saying? It sounds a bit like German. Could you maybe cast the spell again so we can follow along too?"

"Oh! Old English? Oh dear!" Hermione paused, shook herself, and cast the spell on Ron and Harry in rapid succession.

"Where the hell are we?" Ron asked.

"...No, Ron, I think the question is when the hell are we. This definitelyisn't 1995!" Harry told him, watching the dragon intently. He thought this dragon was about the same size as the Horntail he had faced nearly a year ago.

Hermione directed an impressive glare at both of them for their language and turned to the dragon. "I don't suppose you could tell us the date, sir?"

"Sometime in late August, 996 by the human calendar," the dragon answered, looking a bit surprised. "What did you mean by 1995?" he asked, turning to Harry.

"That's where... when... we're from," Harry explained with a bit of a grimace. English grammar was certainly not designed with time travel in mind. "We were on our way to school, but something went wrong and... well... here we are."

"School? So education is available to everyone in the future?" the dragon asked, "Not just wealthy noble children?"

"Yes, but we go to a special school for witches and wizards," Hermione explained. "It's somewhere in... um... Caledonia I think you'd call it. We were somewhere between there and Londinium when, as Harry said, something went wrong."

"I'm Harry Potter by the way, and these are my friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley," Harry told the dragon.

"I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to pronounce my name," the dragon told them wryly.

"Well, we'll come up with something," Harry said, "If you don't mind, I mean."

The dragon nodded absently, clearly thinking hard about something.

Ron shifted a bit and said, "Maybe we should start thinking about what we're going to eat. Those sweets off the trolley were quite a while ago."

Harry and Hermione shared a look, and after a moment Harry admitted, "I don't know anything about hunting. I know all about dragging food home from the supermarket – Aunt Petunia made me do it often enough – but nothing about skinning or cleaning animals." Hermione nodded in agreement.

Ron grinned. "S'okay, I've had to butcher a few chickens and things for Mum. I just need a knife."

Hermione quickly transfigured a fist-sized stone into a hunting knife and handed it to Ron, who nodded and marched off into the forest. He returned half an hour later with a couple of rabbits, their throats already cut.

While Ron hunted and then cleaned the rabbits, Harry collected firewood and Hermione inspected the water. "Is there a village upstream, sir?" she asked the dragon.

"No, the water comes from a series of springs about a mile away," the dragon informed her. Hermione nodded, relieved about the likely lack of water pollution, and thanked him before setting about transfiguring some sticks into three wooden drinking cups.

Harry, upon his return to the waterfall, set about building a fire and, as the dragon once again lay down nearby to bask and watch with carefully-hidden interest, started it with a simple "Incendio!"

While the fire burned cheerily Ron and Harry worked together to set up a spit to roast the rabbits on, washing their hands in the icy water before returning to warm up by the fire. "We need soap," Hermione noted. "I almost wish I were girly enough to use my own, instead of the school soap – then we'd already have some."

Unnoticed by the three Gryffindors, the dragon blinked in realisation and made his way to the waterfall. He reached in and pulled out a collection of satchels, which he then deposited in front of a very startled Hermione.

"There might be some in one of those bags. I've had several dragonslayers leave things behind..." he trailed off, not wanting to elaborate, and settle down in his earlier position a few metres away from the cooking fire.

Hermione gingerly searched the bags, but Harry watched the dragon, his brain working hard. What happened to the dragonslayers? He wondered. Did he eat them? Can we trust him? Would the spells we know even work on him? Maybe: the translation spell did...

After searching three of the bags Hermione withdrew her hand with a soft triumphant noise, a wide, relieved smile and a bar of crude soap. She got up to check on their meal and, noting they were almost done, told the boys, "I don't know about you, but I'm going to get cleaned up before I eat." She combined it with a pointed look which had both boys following her to the water's edge. They took turns using the soap, and finally returned to the fireside with cold and wet but clean hands.

Ron used the transfigured knife to divide the rabbits up equally before tucking in. The meat was slightly blackened in places but, as Harry put it, "It beats rabbit food at the Dursleys!"

"Do we even want to know how you caught the rabbits, Ron?" Harry asked.
"I stunned them and then wrung their necks, like I do the chickens back home," Ron answered matter-of-factly. "I didn't exactly have a bow to shoot them with."

Harry and Hermione nodded wordlessly and finished their food in silence.

After eating they drank their fill of water using the wooden cups before returning to the fire once again to plan their next course of action.

"Should we try and get to Hogwarts? Has it been built yet, Hermione? If it has, the Founders might know how to get us back to the future," Harry suggested.

"Hogwarts was founded about six years ago, local time," Hermione answered, "But I think we should wait a bit, find out what's going on around here. I have a feeling there's a reason we came here instead of wherever the train was," she added, seeing the boys' disbelieving looks.

There was a brief three-way staring match before Harry sighed and asked the dragon, "Do you have any ideas, sir?"

The dragon was about to answer, but was interrupted by hoof-beats approaching and the sound of someone prattling eagerly. "Oh dear," the dragon sighed, "Another dragonslayer. You might want to hide."

The three Gryffindors scrambled to put out and cover the fire with rocks, and drag their trunks into the forest and out of sight. Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak and the three of them huddled under it in silence. The dragon made his way into the waterfall after making sure the Gryffindors were out of sight.

The dragonslayer, a perhaps thirty-year-old man on a brown horse, rode over to the waterfall while another man, dressed in simple brown robes, yelled for his attention. Fortunately the translation spell allowed Harry, Ron and Hermione to understand what was said. The other man shouted something about the 'Ballad of Bowen' and asked how the dragonslayer, presumably Bowen, wanted it written.

Bowen turned his horse and answered, "Far away!"

The other man, while running to catch up, missed the point and said, "Oh, don't concern yourself with my safety!" before continuing with something about verse and meter. "Shall I spice it up with a poetical flourish, or just the cold, hard facts?"

Bowen told the man to be quiet lest they be the only cold, hard things in the area.

The other man carried on prattling for a while before Bowen called him by name and shushed him.

Bowen rode closer to the waterfall and seemed to be thinking about going in under it. Just as he seemed about to dismount, the dragon threw something at him, calling, "That's all that's left of the last dragonslayer who tangled with me!"

As the dragon continued, Brother Gilbert, the brown-robed man, picked something up out of the water. "If I were you, I'd quit while I was ahead!" Just as the dragon said 'head', Gilbert turned the something around and screamed in horror, throwing it away. Ron snickered softly, unheard.

Bowen threw his spear into the waterfall and looked triumphant for all of a second before realising the dragon had caught it: there were several crunching noises and the spear slowly disappeared into the waterfall while the dragon taunted him.

"Catch!" And the dragon threw a length of spear-shard at Bowen, who blocked it just in time with his shield. "You know, I've got quite a collection of victims in here."

Bowen shouted defiantly, "I won't be added to it!" and dismounted. He slapped his horse's rump and made for the waterfall, his shield at the ready.

"I've given you my final warning," the dragon told him.

Gilbert prattled on for a little while before crying in despair, "That was good. What did I say?" while Bowen strode into the waterfall. There was a fiery explosion, a scream from Gilbert, and a few moments of silence.

Eventually the Gryffindors could hear Bowen and the dragon's voices on the other side of the waterfall, but not the words which were muffled too much by the roar of the water.

After about a minute the dragon came flying out of the water, closely followed by Bowen who quickly mounted his horse and took off in hot pursuit. Gilbert shouted at Bowen and told him, unnecessarily, which direction the dragon had gone in.

Harry threw the cloak off, bundled it up and stuffed it into his trunk before shrinking it and stuffing the shrunken trunk into his pocket. "Come on! We should follow them, make sure the dragon's okay!" He pulled out his Firebolt, mounted it, and dragged Hermione, who barely had time to shrink and grab her own trunk, to sit behind him. Ron followed suit and mounted his new broomstick, and they all took to the air.

"Good heavens!" Gilbert yelped and crossed himself at the incredible sight. Ron grinned as he passed the man, waving cheerily before concentrating on following Harry and Hermione.

Harry followed the dragon in the air, easily keeping pace. After Bowen succeeded in roping the dragon and got dragged along, it became easier for Ron to keep up as well. All three were highly amused by the dragon's quips to the dragonslayer who was dragged along the ground yelling and screaming.

After several impacts with trees, Bowen must have succeeded in getting the other end of the rope caught on something, because it pulled tight and, with a yelp, the dragon came crashing down in a meadow.

Harry circled the clearing a few times before landing, by which time Bowen had made it to the dragon and was facing its tail. As he dismounted, Bowen managed to duck behind a log, in which the dragon's tail spade was soon firmly embedded.

"A little overconfident, aren't we?" Bowen asked the dragon, who was busily trying to dislodge his tail as he replied,

"Hardly. But if you win, you'll be out of work."

"I will not stop until I've rid the world of every last one of you," Bowen told the dragon.

"I am the last one!" the dragon roared, and blew a series of fireballs at Bowen, who tried to run for it. As the dust and debris began to settle, Harry could just see Bowen silhouetted against a grey backdrop of dust. Bowen accused the dragon of trying to save himself with tricks, and brushed himself off.

The dragon glared and asked him, "Haven't you noticed the pickings are rather slim these days?"

Bowen smirked and said, "I got me one just the other day."

The dragon looked upset. "So it was you who killed the Scarred One. She and I were the last." Hermione looked horrified and fell to her knees in silent sympathy. Ron and Harry shared an unhappy glance. "Must've been a proud kill, warrior," he continued sarcastically. "How much did her tattered carcass put in your purse?"

"That's none of your business," Bowen growled.

"Couldn't have been very much," the dragon snorted. "And you'll kill me for sport? And when there are no more dragons left to slay, how will you make a living, knight?"

"Shut up!" Bowen snapped.

The dragon snapped the rope tight, catching Bowen in the groin and sending him flying. Ron and Harry winced in involuntary sympathy.

Bowen groaned as the dragon began dislocating his jaw. He lunged for his sword, which had fallen a couple of metres to his right, just as the dragon made to grab him in his mouth. As the dragon's jaws closed, Bowen stabbed his sword into the roof of the dragon's mouth. Hermione gasped and backed away a bit.

"If your teeth come down, my sword goes up, right into your brain!" Bowen yelled.

When it became clear that this would take a while, Ron and Harry set about building a fire and Hermione filled the wooden cups with water using aguamenti. She pulled out her school cloak and spread it on the ground near the fire, and soon all three were sitting on the cloak, drinking their water and talking quietly, discussing what to do next. "I think we've got our answer," Harry commented, gesturing at Bowen and the dragon. "There's obviously something important going on."

"Since when could dragons talk, anyway?" Ron wondered. "Charlie never told me about anything like this!"

"But he said he was the last," Hermione pointed out, indicating the dragon. "Maybe there weren't any written records, or maybe they just didn't make it into the magical world? Maybe everyone just forgot."

"Yeah, maybe," Ron acknowledged.

"At least he's more pleasant than the Horntail," Harry commented.

It was approaching midnight when Harry roused from his position between Ron and Hermione, who slept on peacefully as he extracted himself from under his and Ron's cloaks. He stood, tucked the other two in, and began to approach Bowen and the dragon. He could hear Brother Gilbert, who had caught up with them at some point, talking to himself just on the other side of a small hill.

Harry saw Bowen reach out and grab something, pulling it out from between the dragon's teeth. "Oh, good Lord. Sir Eglamore," Bowen sighed. Harry thought it might be a hand, perhaps with some sort of signet ring.

The dragon sighted in relief. "Thank you very much. It's been stuck down there for months. Can you get your buttocks off my tongue?"

Bowen was unimpressed. "Why should you be comfortable? My armour is rusting in your drool, and your breath is absolutely foul."

"Well, what do you expect with old knights rotting between my molars?" the dragon asked sarcastically. Harry grimaced wordlessly at the mental picture. "Oh, God, my mouth's so dry..."

"Here, sir," Harry piped up, startling the dragon slightly. "If you lower your head a bit I can help with that." The dragon complied, and Harry cast aguamenti in the dragon's mouth.

The dragon sighed in relief, thanked Harry and addressed Bowen. "It seems we're in a bit of a stalemate, wouldn't you say?" Harry quietly tried his hand at casting the translation charm on Bowen.

"I can go three days without sleep," Bowen pointed out.

The dragon countered that with, "I can go three weeks."

Bowen growled, and said, "I'll stab you before I nod off!"

"And I'll chomp you. Marvellous, we'll kill each other," the dragon commented.

"What do you suggest?" Bowen asked.

"A truce. Get out of my mouth, and let's talk face-to-face."

Bowen sighed and asked, "How do I know I can trust you?"

"I give you my word," the dragon assured him. Harry took a few cautious steps back.

"The word of a dragon. It's worthless," Bowen sneered.

The dragon growled, called Bowen a stubborn lout, and spat him and his sword out before holding him down with his right foreleg.

"I should've known!" Bowen moaned. "Go on, kill me!"

The dragon took a moment to answer, moving his jaw back into place before saying, "I don't want to kill you! I never did!" His Scottish accent was deeper than Harry had heard it yet. "And I don't want you to kill me! How do we gain? If you win, you lose a trade. If I win, I wait around for the next sword swinger thirsting to carve a reputation out of my hide. And I'm tired of lurking in holes and skulking in darkness." He paused, taking a deep breath, and continued, "I'm gonna let you up now, and if you insist, we can pursue this fracas to its final stupidity. Or," here he raised the index finger of his left foreleg, "You can listen to my alternative."

Bowen groaned as he got up and tried to lift his sword. Seeing he was too weak and tired to lift it into a horizontal position let alone vertically, he asked, "What's the alternative?"

While the dragon explained his plan, Harry quietly got out the penknife Sirius gave him for Christmas and used it to free the dragon's leg from the rope, paying only minimal attention to the conversation nearby. He then returned the knife to his trunk and made his way back to Ron and Hermione. Within minutes he was once again settled down between them under the nice, warm cloaks, fast asleep.

If you spot any mistakes or typos, please let me know!