Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 45 - To See Again

~~~***~~~

The halls of Hogwarts were deserted as Harry made his way up to the Headmaster's office. He'd been down this corridor many times before, after curfew, in the dark, alone, with only the stoic suits of armour and sleeping patrons of the portraits for company. Tonight, however, many of the portraits hung empty. The few who remained in their frames were frightened, huddled behind whatever scenery they could, some consoling the charred victims of portraits from Hogsmeade. The muffled sobs and hushed condolences accompanied Harry as he walked, filling the air with fear and sorrow. So much so, in fact, that even the armour seemed to shiver in anticipation of what was to come. He was halfway down the long corridor when he noticed that they had noticed. A few had recognized him and they, in turn, were telling others.

"It's him." "He's back." "Who?" "The Potter boy."

There was a rustling among the portraits as fear began battling with confidence, and sorrow was challenged by hope.

"The Professor's have retreated."

"They haven't retreated; they're taking up positions about the castle!"

"Ohhh, our doom is at hand."

"You heard what Dumbledore said. The end is near and it's not ours; it's Voldemort's!"

Then there was a loud, commanding voice that called from the left, "Harry!"

He turned to find Sir Cadogan in a nearby portrait of fruit. He was dressed in sterling armour, a lance, with a skewered pear at its tip, in his right hand. "My boy, are you here to defend the castle? My informants tell me that the enemy has breached the gate. Glory is at hand! Where's your armour boy?"

"Erm... Sir Cadogan... er... I've been sent by the Headmaster to deliver a top secret message. I have to leave for a bit, but..." Harry moved closer to the portrait and lowered his voice. "I need your help."

"Anything... anything at all!"

"We can't have people huddled in the corners of their pictures, hiding. All eyes must be open wide and all information must be passed to the Headmaster. This is not a time for fear, sir; it's a time to show the true colours of Hogwarts!"

"Well, said!" cried Sir Cadogan. "I'll muster our troops immediately!" And at once he started racing from one portrait to the other, gathering the residents and telling all to remain vigilant in this their hour of need.

Harry smiled as he continued to the Headmaster's office, sensing the panic being pushed back and wondering if, out of the corner of his eye, he didn't see the suits of armour stand that much more erect, holding out their chests and gripping their weapons that much more tightly.

He arrived at the circular staircase in surprisingly good spirits and was about to say the password when the whispering began again. "Your love, Harry." It was like a fly buzzing in his ear and he tried to swat it away. "Tonight, she dies."

"Stop it!" he cried to the empty air. "Leave me alone!" He muttered the password, flea-collar, and began the ride upward even as his spirit began to sink. He was about to step off when a ghost rose up out of the floor. Hoping it was Peeves, he pulled his wand, but instead saw it was Sir Nicholas wearing an expression of fatherly concern.

"Hello, Harry," he said solemnly. "Terrible night, eh?"

Harry nodded, tried to muster a smile and said, "It's good to see you, again."

"Ever the brave one, aren't you, Harry?" said Sir Nicholas proudly. "Gryffindor through and through."

Together they stepped to the Headmaster's door. "I've never really been brave," said Sir Nicholas pensively. "I was a blubbering cry-baby when they chopped my head off."

"Nearly, chopped your head off," corrected Harry.

"Yes. Nearly," answered Sir Nicholas, rolling his eyes. "I didn't stop crying until the twentieth chop and I probably would have continued if my windpipe had remained connected." He sighed. "I never understood why Headmaster Fortescue allowed me to be resident ghost of Gryffindor. For hundreds of years I've haunted these halls, wondering why Gryffindor. Tonight I finally understand. It's because of you, Harry."

"Me?" asked Harry. "Why me?"

"I've spoken with Helena. The path to the other side is at hand and you will be our guide. Some are confused... others are frightful, doubting your true intentions with their souls."

"Intentions? What--"

"But I know you," interrupted Sir Nicholas. "I've known you for seven years, but more importantly I was there when you first crossed over." He placed his hand upon Harry's shoulder. "I watched, tonight, as you brought back Hermione." Harry could feel the weight and the pressure of Nicholas' fingers gently squeezing. "It'll be up to me to lead the others who wouldn't otherwise take the journey. For the first time I see my true destiny."

Harry was about to say something when the whispering began again. "Hurry, Harry. Hurry."

"Hmmph," grumbled Sir Nicholas as he narrowed his eyes.

"Did you hear that?" asked Harry eagerly. Sir Nicholas scowled.

"Shoo!" he said waiving his hand in the air as if he were coaxing a dog off the front porch. "Go on! Get out of here!" He waved a few more times and then seemingly satisfied wiped his hands on the front of his clothes. "Ghastly things."

"What... what are they? What did you see?"

"Reapers, Harry." Sir Nicholas clucked his tongue. "They should know better, talking to the living."

"Reapers?"

"Harvesters of souls, Harry, and the ghosts wandering the forest are proof enough that they don't do a very good job!" He raised his voice at the end, as if hoping there might be a reaper or two within earshot. "That one..." Nicholas pointed somewhere behind Harry's left ear. "That one was supposed to collect you after your run in with Greg Goyle's broom, only he was flirting with a ghost in Hogsmeade, as if he could ever..." Sir Nicholas crossed his arms and Harry sensed a bit of jealousy. "They're supposed to watch silently until the moment arrives, but are all too often distracted. If you fail enough times, you get assigned to cat patrol.

"You're the first botched job that I can recall that's come back still alive. Tonight makes two. There was a reaper waiting for Hermione. If they botch a job and let one slip through their fingers, they tend to hang around... try again. Usually, they follow the spirits of the dead who haven't chosen to be ghosts. If a soul doesn't outright turn down an offer to cross over, they always have another opportunity, so reapers try to convince them to get their soul count up. Young spirits are usually the easiest to persuade. You see, if no one tells you you're dead when you die, sometimes you just keep on going and, when a reaper comes later, you just don't believe them. Professor Bins' reaper was assigned to cat patrol in London a century ago."

"What are young spirits?" asked Harry.

"Young spirits, newly dead. They often have difficulty revealing themselves." Sir Nicholas looked down and to the side of Harry as if gazing at another student. "Like your friend here. If he's been following you about, that might explain things. I always liked you, Patrick, but you really must leave Harry alone. The reapers are annoying and he has things to--"

"Patrick!" exclaimed Harry. "Patrick's here?" A subtle tug on Harry's arm from an invisible force answered his question. "Are you okay?" Harry asked, holding out his hand to the empty air.

"Of course he's not okay," chided Sir Nicholas. "He's dead and, I might add, he's made a terrible choice to ignore the reapers." Nicholas turned to the invisible Patrick. "You need to listen to their offer, boy! If you had any sense at all, you would-- No need to get angry!"

The floor began to tremble and, for a moment, Patrick appeared at Harry's side. He was a shadow of his former self, constructed of nothing more than a faint cloud of white mist. The expression on his face, however, was one of pure exacerbation. He grabbed Harry by the front of his jacket.

"Ron!" he yelled, but it came out in a whisper. "You need Ron. Hurry!"

All at once, Patrick faded and the pressure on the front of Harry's jacket released. Harry called his name, but there was no answer.

"A bit too much for him, I'm afraid," said Sir Nicholas. "He'll need to gather his energy before he can do that again. If you're smart, Patrick, you'll muster with the rest of the ghosts when the time comes and leave Harry here alone."

Harry wasn't listening. His mind was swirling. Before Patrick had died, one of the last things he said to Ron was that he could defeat Voldemort. But how? Where to start? He didn't have a clue where Ron might be. And what of Jamie and Cho? Gabriella, at least, was safe in the caverns below. But then Harry's stomach began to twist into a knot, recalling the reapers words. Perhaps she wasn't so safe after all.

"Terntalag," he muttered to himself. "I've got to get to Terntalag." He turned and opened the door to the Headmaster's office only half acknowledging Sir Nicholas with a distracted wave of the hand and saying, "Thank you, Patrick," to the ether. No sooner had he closed the door than his arm began to burn. He put his left hand over the sensation, knowing what it was, but unwilling to look.

"That took you awhile."

Sirius was standing at a table with the same magical instrument Dumbledore had used to track his friends and foes. Stars of multi-coloured lights swam about in a great sphere.

"I got distracted," answered Harry, quickly moving toward the window. There was a broom leaning there and the window was open. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"There's a lot to be done." Sirius shrugged and then pointed at Harry's arm. "Are you injured?" he asked.

"It's nothing," said Harry, but the sensation was getting worse. He tried to rub it, hoping it would stop, but the burning only intensified.

"They're calling you, aren't they?" Sirius said knowingly. "Your friends... the dragons."

"Friends? They nearly killed Neville," spat Harry. "They can rot for all I care."

"And yet they call."

"It doesn't make sense. Singehorn can't really think I would join them in the fight against the castle."

"He already challenged you to join them," said Sirius, still examining the sphere. "You should answer it. Let him know your answer."

"He knows my answer. Besides, it may be a trap to keep me held in the other plane."

"I doubt it. Time has no meaning there, Harry. They can't hold you forever."

Harry recalled Singehorn's sudden surprise when he was attacked while still in the other plane, saying that the sands of time don't stay perfectly still. He pulled his sleeve back and looked at his right forearm. The dragon was writhing wildly on his arm and the Viswa Vajra was pulsating. If Harry understood correctly, the dragons were in battle against evil and needed his help. Well, what they believed was evil anyway.

"I won't help you destroy the Wizarding world," he muttered to his wrist as if Singehorn was somehow listening on the other side. The dragon on his arm seemed to look up at him and smile in response. Harry yanked his sleeve down and reached for the broom.

"Are Blaise and Neville, okay?" he asked.

"They're both walking about, watching the wireless with the others. Neville gave Blaise some herb that has him back on his feet again. Still, there's something in Neville's eyes that's not quite right. Maybe when this is over, we'll have time to treat the walking injured."

Looking out the window toward the forest, Harry nodded. Satisfied that he had fulfilled Draco's request to ensure Blaise's safety, Harry looked back at his godfather to ask one last question, a question he already knew the answer to.

"Sirius, Gabriella is supposed to be in the caverns below the castle too. Is she?"

"No Harry. She's somewhere in the Forbidden Forest."

"Do you know where?"

"No. The gathering of so many ghosts makes it difficult to see, but for now at least she's fine."

"Damn it! I told her..." Harry sighed with resignation. "What about--"

"From what I can see, all the others are fine, and they're all in the forest, which is where they're supposed to be. Still, their centres are not quite right. Something tells me that they're not exactly where they're supposed to be."

"I understand," Harry said with a nod.

"This too. There's a darkness moving in from the north. It might be Voldemort; it might be something else. Whatever you had hoped the dragons would protect is no longer secure."

"Terntalag?"

"I'd start there, Harry, but it might be the falls. There are wizards heading to both, but Terntalag is the most vulnerable. First, see if Firenze needs help, then try the falls. In about two hours we should know how the night will end."

"What do you mean? What happens in two hours?"

"Just be at the falls by then, Harry. I'll see you there."

"How--"

"Play it smart, Harry. I'll see you there."

Harry was about to press the question, when his arm bit at him again, sending a sharp pain all the way up to his shoulder. His mind turned to the dragons of the northern mountains and then to Terntalag. The urge to fly there was overwhelming. When he looked up, Sirius was gone. Harry climbed onto the broom, took one last look at the office he'd come to love, and flew out the window.

He slipped past the south tower and noticed witches and wizards taking up positions at all the open windows and along the ramparts. Out behind the Quidditch pitch, four giants sat with trees in their hands. Hagrid was talking to one, his arms swung out wide to emphasize whatever point he was making. As Harry swooped around Gryffindor, he looked south. There, marching up from the front gate, was an enormous host. Half a dozen giants led the way with a swarm of Dementors swirling about them. There were a number of Death Eaters dressed in black, marching behind the giants and in the air, yet further back, vampires hovered. Flashes of light filled the night sky as the protections about the castle came to life. One giant was blasted off his feet. Landing backward, he crushed a number of wizards on the ground. Harry pumped his fist, admiring his godfather's handiwork.

Knowing in his heart that there were none near, Harry still scanned the sky for dragons. Finding only the moon and the comet Ebyrth plummeting toward Mars, he had a strong desire to stay and fight. He wanted deeply to protect Hogwarts his home, but again his arm burned and, almost reflexively, he tilted the nose of the broom, arcing in the sky and heading towards Terntalag. He had a duty to help the Centaurs if he could and his arm was urging him forward. He was refusing to answer the call of the dragon, but knew he was being pulled uncontrollably toward them.

It was exhilarating to be flying again. Harry skimmed close to the forest canopy and could sense the strengthening of the forest's energy as he drew closer to the source of its power - the falls. It was a healing sensation, strengthening him from within and vanquishing whatever depletion he suffered from healing Hermione. As he flew he cast his patronus randomly about the forest, calling for his friends and hoping they might respond. It wasn't long before he saw, in the distance, the glint of scales in the moonlight and the flashing of flames above the treetops. Terntalag was on fire; he was too late. Without thinking, Harry tucked and accelerated. In a matter of seconds he found himself in the midst of a dozen dragons; most were Chinese Fireballs. None were faces he recognized, but with the ring he could hear their laughter.

"What are you doing!" he cried out. "Stop!"

"Ahh, look," growled a greenish Fireball, "The Hungarian lapdog!" The dragon was battle weary, Harry could sense that. Fresh gashes dripped blood from its long neck. They were not the marks made by Wizarding spells.

"Arrows?" he thought to himself.

The dragon stopped its dive on the village below and turned in a large arc toward Harry. Its fellow dragons moved higher into the air as if they were taking seats for a Quidditch match. Harry looked down, searching with his mind for life within the fire, but the flames were too bright.

"Primate," hissed the dragon as smoke billowed from his nose. He was about to strike. "I'll show Singehorn what I think of his Votary."

Harry wasn't sure that it would work, but something inside told him that it might. For an instant, he thought it too cruel, but hearing the name Singehorn infused Harry with a greater aggression and with the dragon ready to erupt the moment of compassion passed. Harry held out his hand bearing the ring of Pravus in something of a fist, the black stone facing the dragon, and cried, "Stop!" centring his mind on that of the beast before him.

The great head of the beast seemed to stop in mid-air as it cried out in pain unable to resist. With a loud crack, its body swung forward below its neck, sending it into a great cartwheel through the sky until it began to plummet to the earth. When the dragon struck the ground it erupted in a great fireball, razing the nearby trees.

"That went better than I had hoped," muttered Harry to himself. Suddenly the dragons that had been watching shook the stun of defeat from their minds and attacked in unison. Flame rained down upon him, but it was not concentrated and had no effect. Swinging his broom out from under the onslaught, he again used the ring. He picked the two closest dragons and commanded, "Protect!"

It was as if he was using the Imperious Curse, only now he meant it and he didn't care what others thought. Harry smiled, feeling the pain and turmoil of the beasts as they unwillingly turned on their own. They threw themselves into the paths of the others, breathing fire and slashing with their claws. Two of their friends were gutted in mid-air, completely unprepared for the attack. The others realized what was happening and killed the two under Harry's control, but not before one lost a hand to his ally.

"He has the ring," growled the dragon as he cauterized his bloody stump with his breath. "Swirl!" he called. "Quickly! Dragon's breath!"

Harry thought they might retreat, but instead they started spinning about the sky, faster and faster. It was a giant tornado of flame, hovering above the treetops. He couldn't see where they were in the giant fireball and, if they all exploded forth at once, he'd have no chance of simultaneously focusing on their thoughts. For a second, his courage faltered. He was alone, his village in ruins, and a flight of dragons was about to destroy him. It was suicide. But then, the burning in his arm began to radiate strength to his shoulder. It was not pain he now felt, but a warmth that spread across his chest and then throughout his body. "Singehorn would not back down," thought Harry. He pulled his wand and began to fly toward the fireball.

The air filled with the faint aroma of cigar smoke. A vampire appeared on Harry's right side, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. Harry could hear his thoughts.

"Perhaps this is what Soseh meant when she said I should be by your side."

"Dakhil?" asked Harry, wondering where he'd come from and whose side, exactly he was on. "What do you want?"

"The question, Primate, is what do you want?"

Harry didn't have time to argue. "What are they doing?" he called, the two flying straight toward the fire-red tornado. As they grew near, the wind became stronger.

"It is a dragonstorm, Harry. They used it on the Centaur village below earlier tonight. Invented in the east by our friends here, it is an incendiary nightmare, but it cannot harm you - I think. Fly toward the tip of the funnel. That will be the point from which the fire erupts. When they break formation, they'll move outward from the fireball, not down. We'll be underneath. Aim for their bellies; we'll only get one shot."

"Oh sure," muttered Harry to himself. "Fly into the heart of an incendiary nightmare and, maybe, I'll survive." Twisting his hand tightly about his broom, Harry nodded and moved his broom toward the centre of the funnel. Dakhil, flying with extremely powerful wings and holding his own in the ever increasing wind, was at his side. "Not so bad for such an old man," thought Harry.

They were about fifty yards away from the bottom of the funnel, which was now glowing white, when a dark cloud passed in front of Ebyrth - more dragons. There were four, five, maybe more. "Dakhil!" Harry pointed.

"Damn it!" cursed Dakhil in anger and without a hint of fear.

Harry was impressed at the old man's bravery. Their situation had been tenuous at best, but with more dragons coming to fight, it was hopeless. There was no way Harry could control enough with his mind before the others took him down, no matter the tricks Dakhil had up his sleeve. Still, the vampire seemed to smile, not focussing on the new attackers, but on their original prey.

"Prepare yourself, boy," he yelled over the roar of the dragons, which explained the deafening wind. "You've never been through this sort of fire. Pray you never will again." Dakhil held out his wand and tapped Harry's broom, bathing it in a blue glow - a protection charm.

In that instant, all hell exploded and the entire sky lit up in a blinding white flash. Harry was forced to shield his eyes, but he knew that when he opened them it would take too long to recover his sight, so he reached out his mind, searching for the dragons through the power of their flame. Even then, there was too much energy to see through. He would have to wait, but that presented yet another problem. The heat was growing more intense with each passing moment. At first he sensed a burning sensation, nothing more than placing one's hand over a flame. But that quickly increased to pain as if he was stepping barefoot on hot coals, before he had learned how to allow the heat to pass around him.

This was different. The heat came from everywhere. There was so much energy that he could not detect Dakhil who he knew was at his side. The pain grew more intense, which was acceptable as long as he remained focused on protecting his body from physical harm. He could hear the perspiration sizzle off his forehead and the first sense of doubt crept into his mind. What if it was a trap? What if Dakhil had been baiting him all along? He was feeling the need to cast a shield charm, which was the absolute wrong thing to do. A shield charm would be worthless; his wand would be vaporized. Unfortunately, the thought of such a charm broke his concentration. He could smell smoke - something was burning and it wasn't his broom.

"Use the stone."

It wasn't a voice; it was a thought. No. It was a voice, the voice of the kindest dragon Harry had met - Tanwen. There were few on earth, man or beast, that Harry had greater respect for.

"Use the stone," she repeated and at once Harry knew what she meant. Instead of letting the energy flow around him, he needed to let it flow into him, into the vivificus stone laying along side his liver. If he was wrong, however, his insides would be vaporized. He swallowed hard. It was time to stop doubting. He exhaled and let the fire pass into him. The Heart of Asha was thirsty for energy and it pulled the fire of the dragonstorm into it greedily, remaining cool to the touch. The pain Harry had felt was quenched, the heat vanished and at once his mind could see the targets in front of him and Dakhil, still flying at his side.

Without hesitation, he let fly three stunners and each struck true to the underbellies of the dragons he aimed for. The first spell was so amplified that it shot straight through the unsuspecting dragon and erupted out its back. He fell out of the sky like a rock while the other two were sent into unconscious spins toward the ground. Likewise, Dakhil cast two spells that dropped his dragons from the sky. There was a roar of approval from Tanwen, who was closing in. The new dragons, sensed Harry, were Hungarians and, instead of attacking him and Dakhil, they attacked their remaining dragon foes.

Harry opened his eyes and adjusted to the dim light. The moon shimmered off of Tanwen, who was not in the battle directly, but flying down to the ground as the Chinese Fireballs fell, dispatching them before they could regain flight. He could tell she was hurt by the way she flew.

"Your injured," he called to her with his mind.

"I'm fine," she growled. "Finish your job before... too late."

There was a great roar high in the sky above them. For a moment, the moon vanished casting the earth below into darkness, yet before that Harry knew who it was - Singehorn. When the great dragon arrived there was only one Chinese Fireball still fighting. When it heard the roar, it arced in the sky and began to fly south. Singehorn, with only one good wing and a bad arm, chased the Fireball down and bit through his neck with a loud crunch. He shook the dead creature wildly and then flung downward, roaring viciously once more.

Singehorn then turned toward Harry and flapped his one good wing.

"To the ground," called Dakhil with a sharp sense of urgency in his voice. "Make him follow us to land." Harry obliged, not sure if Dakhil was warning him that an attack was imminent or not.

The two landed, followed by the Hungarians, just outside the burning ruins of Terntalag. Harry was anxious to search for survivors, but the six wounded dragons towering over him suggested that he remain where he was for now, focusing all his attention on their needs. They all waited as Singehorn circled, wondering if he would land, if he could land at all. But, at last, he descended, destroying a Quidditch pitch of trees in the process and shaking the ground. Tanwen went to his side and put her wing around him. It looked as if she was guiding him over and Harry didn't understand why until they came closer. She was speaking to him in a way that Harry could not hear. Singehorn nodded at her words as he lumbered forward, dragging his right wing and bearing little weight on his right leg. He was severely injured.

As the two approached, Harry looked more closely at the others. Each one of them had been slashed and scorched in some way. Some had boils, or blisters that suggested the work of wandfire. Even Dakhil was missing a portion of his left ear and had a faint red line that came down across his neck - a gash that had already begun to heal.

He whispered in Harry's ear, "Choose your next words wisely, Primate... if you are afforded any to choose." Then, Dakhil stepped away, leaving Harry to stand alone in the middle of the ring of dragons.

Tanwen spoke first. "Three days ago, Singehorn was taken captive by Ti-Lung, leader of the Dragon Lair of the East - Anagas. A friend of all dragons, he was taken against his will, chained and bound."

Harry recalled his last meeting with Singehorn in the other plane. There, Singehorn held a large chain which he pulled behind him. Harry had thought it was a whip. Realizing the mistake, Harry looked at Singehorn.

"I was a fool. Why didn't you tell me?" cried Harry. "Summon me? I would have--"

Singehorn smiled. "Yes. I believe you would have," he said with a raspy voice that was far weaker than Harry was accustomed to. "You would have tried and you might have succeeded, but that was not your fate. Your services were needed more urgently elsewhere with your own kind. Still, I called Dakhil and, when you told me the Hungarians were gathering, I held hope that they were coming to my rescue and they were. As you see, it was a hard fought battle, but--"

"Let me help you," said Harry moving to Singehorn's aid, but the dragon raised and lowered his leg, creating a small earthquake that nearly knocked Harry off his feet.

"LISTEN!" the dragon cried. "While I was in the east, the plan to destroy the Wizarding world was created."

"Then it's true," whispered Harry. "There was a --"

"We argued," continued Singehorn, ignoring Harry's ramblings, "about how to take advantage of this war of yours and turn it in our favour. I tried to persuade Ti-Lung and the others of a less violent way, but centuries of mistrust and mistreatment are not easily swept away. A great number of dragons came to see the situation as did Ti-Lung. But others agreed with me - the Romanian Longhorns and the Ukrainian Ironbellies. I believe that Soseh may have had a hand in uniting the dragons of the mountains. Unfortunately, our count was too few and the plan of Ti-Lung was chosen."

"But--"

"Duty bound, I swore allegiance. Though I knew another way, a better way to end the dominion of wizards over dragons, I followed the will of my kind."

"The will of some of our kind," interjected a spectacularly green Hungarian that stood taller than the rest and was covered in more blood. Harry had never met him before, but, even injured, the dragon was formidable.

"True enough, Drahmir," agreed Singehorn. "True enough. I ignored the great strength and kindness of the Votary. I was so blinded by my hatred of all the ills done to dragons at the hands of wizards, that I was easily swayed. We all were. It was not until coming to Britain and speaking with Callum, a Hebridean Black, that my eyes were opened. Years ago, I had met Dumbledore; the stories of his ways are legend, but it was the Hebridean that convinced me of their truth. And then, flying over these lands, I saw them with my own eyes. That he would reach out to the Centaur and other living creatures of the forest. That he would show such kindness on Hagrid who is known well by the dragons... Callum then pointed to your works, Harry, inspired, he said, by the hand of Dumbledore." Harry nodded in agreement. "No, I could not murder on this ground. The way to winning this war is to win the hearts of wizards, not to destroy them; to expand the Votary, not deny it. We will win by turning more minds, not by severing more lives.

"When I protested, declaring that, with the addition of the Hebridean Lair, the number in favour of my position was greater, Ti-Lung took me captive so that it would appear I remained his ally. There was no honour on that day and that arrogant action has cost many lives. Still, I have returned and with your help we shall turn the tide in our favour. But it has come at a cost; the northern border has been breached. The darkness flows through unabated. The dragons are in disarray and it will take some time before I can restore order."

"Restore order!" growled Tanwen. "My lord, you can barely fly. You need to be healed. And then, you must rest."

"There is no time for rest, Tanwen," the old dragon grumbled. "I must pay for letting the darkness cloud my vision." Then he turned once more to Harry. "Forgive me, Primate. I was blind, but now I see."

There was a glint of white that appeared briefly at Harry's side, but quickly vanished.

"Patrick?" asked Harry to the air. "Patrick, was that you?"

The air was silent and the others looked at him as if, perhaps, he'd lost his mind. Harry tried to think what it might have been that caused Patrick, if it was him, to try to regain shape. Was it a warning? A signal? Harry searched and scoured his mind, trying to replay Singehorn's last words over in his mind and then from somewhere, deep in the woods behind them, he heard once again the chant that the ghosts had been saying since first he heard it in Greece. And that's when the words hung in the air

...We wait the day the dragon comes,

one blind who regains sight...

Harry's heart skipped. The ghosts had it all wrong. It wasn't Harry that represented the blind dragon, the one who would see them safely to the other side. It was Singehorn.