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shockcity · 8 years ago

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HP #3A - Temeraire Crossover

Rating: T Summary: Harry finds himself stranded in an alternate universe in which the Napoleonic Wars are fought with dragons. Yeah. He thought it was weird too. Category: M/M Pairing: John Granby/Harry Potter Warnings: none

THIS IS PART I

Note: this is long (SO LONG) and full of tropes and silliness. I wrote this on and off for years, and finished just after Crucible of Gold was published, so this has been sitting around while I hemmed and hawed about whether or not it was worth posting, until I finally just decided to put it in the junk drawer with everything else. It doesn’t incorporate Blood of Tyrants and League of Dragons, mostly because I’m lazy but also because I haven’t read the last book yet *is sheepish*, so this is in four parts and is considered finished, for now. Also, this isn’t beta’d *cringe* so…uh…enjoy? Yikes.

—

Part I

“There you are,” called a voice, and a dragon landed in front of him with a heavy thump. Its claws tore at the earth, kicking up dirt and grass into Harry’s face. “I have been looking everywhere for you!”

Harry slowly wiped away the dirt with his sleeve, staring.

“Oh, sorry!” said the dragon. “Didn’t mean to get you!”

There was nothing else to do but shrug. The sudden arrival of a talking dragon was the least alarming thing to happen to him lately, on account of him not knowing where he was, exactly, and really any sign of magic (even the dangerous kind) was welcome. He’d woken in a forest, cold and confused, and after sitting around and waiting for someone to find him, had decided to trudge onward and seek some answers for himself. And so he’d trudged, for about a day and a half…with no sign of any people, anywhere.

There were no towns or villages, no cars or roads. Not even a light on the horizon. Signs of life were limited to a few startled rabbits and a mangy fox, who had eyed him amusedly before trotting off. He had thought, at first, he might be in the Forbidden Forest, but surely there would have been a centaur by now, or, Merlin forbid, an acromantula?

Harry had just decided that he was hopelessly lost (and maybe dreaming, or hallucinating, whatever) when the irritated dragon had arrived. He’d thought the situation couldn’t possibly get any stranger, but then, well– such was his life.

Besides the fact that it was talking to him (Norberta had never spoken English, as far as he’d known, and the Hungarian Horntail hadn’t been talkative but then she’d been trying to incinerate him at the time and was obviously busy) ridiculously enough, the dragon had an accent and sounded rather unused to speaking English. If Harry didn’t know any better he would say it were French. Could dragons be French? Bollocks.

“Well,” it huffed. “You haven’t a harness and you’re all bloody. Have you been hurt? I’ll be happy to kill what’s hurt you, capitaine. Capitaine?”

Captain of what? What? Harry scratched the side of his head, gaping with tremendous rudeness. “Sorry,” he finally managed to say. “I have no idea what you mean. Do you know where we are?”

“Oh. Britain.” The dragon nodded decisively. “We are in England. Almost Scotland, I should think, if we keep on north. I’ve come from France to you, so that you may be my capitaine.”

Harry licked his lips. “Yes, but–” He paused, until at last he admitted, “I’m really confused. I’m not where I– well. I’m…really confused.”

The was dragon was comfortingly unconcerned. “Alright,” it said. “You tell me what you remember, capitaine, and we’ll sort out this mess.”

So Harry did. He began with the battle, the end of the Dark Lord, and his long sleep, which lead him to this forest and his wandering about, looking for other people. The dragon listened with earnest eagerness, and when Harry stopped speaking, he took a moment to observe the creature in kind. It was small, barely the size of a large dog, with deep blue and iridescent green markings across its sleek, black body. He thought for a moment of the dragon’s voice, and was careful to correct his use of pronoun; it was he, a young he, if he were to guess.

“I think you may have to tell me all of it,” the dragon demanded, coiling his tail around to sit. “You have come from a battle! I want to hear everything.”

He blamed his still present confusion and perhaps shock for the ungainly, babbled recital of his past deeds. As the story progressed, at parts when Harry was hurt or even confessed to being very frightened, the dragon growled and trembled, touchingly angry on his behalf. Finally, when Harry was sat and quite burned out for talking, the dragon said, “Oh, I’ve the finest capitaine in all the world, I am sure!”

Harry had no comparison with which to disagree, though he thought he was maybe the most confused captain in all the world, rather than the finest. And what was this captain business anyway?

The dragon saw his expression and sighed, “I suppose I had better tell you what’s happening. You are in the year of seventeen ninety-eight, and we are at war. I have come from the Armee de l'Air, where Commander Napoleon would have me fighting the country where my true capitaine is! I have hatched two days past, and I am a baby, of course, but I shan’t be for long if you are worried. I’m not hungry, either, there was a bunch of cows south from here that I ate, though the man in the fields was saying some not-very-nice things to me when I left with them!”

“Sorry, you said– Napoleon?”

“Oh yes. Very presumptuous. He spoke to me, before I left, you know. Said I was to be no use but for breeding. So I escaped and came here to you. And you shall harness me and we shall battle, because you are so very good at it, already, and Commander Napoleon was so very rude to say I am worth naught!”

He ran a hand across his face, a desperate, slightly crazed motion that made the dragon nuzzle him worriedly. “I suppose you are in a different world, if there is such a thing,” the dragon surmised. “I am sorry if you left behind those you love, but you have me now, and I have you!”

It was a thing to say, to a boy who had never had much to start with. No family. Close friends, perhaps, but certainly not the sort of companionship this dragon was proposing. And he was a lovely, darling creature– and Harry was already very fond of him.

He had never thought himself predisposed to affection or even the assumption of it between him and others, but this dragon would have him without even really knowing him, and Harry wanted to return the favour. He had also shown remarkable loyalty already, coming all the way from France and flying around all of England, just to find him.

“But how did you know I was here? How could you possibly know where to look?” he asked.

The dragon nuzzled him again. “Just knew,” he said, and if Harry were a normal young man this explanation would never have been enough. But he was used to the unexplainable. Used to magic. “They took me from capitaine to capitaine, to harness me, but I was decided already! You were here, and I had to find you. So, I just knew.”

Then…dragon companionship was normal here? Harry suddenly remembered the dragon mentioning an army. Armee, something… de l'Air? “You mean to say there’s an army composed of…of dragons?”

“Oh, yes.” He proceeded then to explain the Armee de l'Air, or His Majesty’s Aerial Corps in Britain. It was a fantastical idea, even for a wizard. And speaking of, the dragon was very keen on seeing some magic for himself, and nudged Harry into floating some branches away from their makeshift clearing. Reminded of his magic, he gazed down at the Elder Wand that was still upon his person, aghast at having it when he meant to be rid of it in Dumbledore’s tomb. Yet the dragon’s pleasure was contagious, and he put it out of his mind for now.

“Very good! Oh, splendid,” he cheered, drawing Harry closer to him; which oddly did not frighten or unsettle Harry in the least. “You will be my capitaine, and a great one, I am sure.”

Harry leaned his head against the long neck and sighed. This was so strange. He wondered if it were not a dream. “What now? This is mental,” he muttered, and then yawned. He was finally warm and terribly exhausted.

“We shall go to one of your coverts. I asked a little dragon about it, on my way here, though he was rather confused, I think. And we should go in the morning, perhaps, for it is getting dark now and you are tired. May I…may I have your name?”

Harry made a face at his own horrible manners. “Sorry,” he cringed, drawing away to stare up at the dragon. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry, my Harry. Yes, that will do nicely,” the dragon said. “The man in your story…Remus. I like his name. He was a hero, was he not? Like you.”

“He was,” Harry agreed, though sadly.

“I will be Remus, then. In honor of him. Though you may call me Remy, for that is French and no matter how rude Napoleon was, I am a French dragon.”

Remus. Remy. Harry thought it was fitting. He would not think too deeply about Remus though. The nickname rather helped in that regard. Remus was lost, and Tonks, and their son he had left behind, by no choice of his own but abandoned all the same. Sensing his melancholic turn, Remy coiled around him and bade him to sleep.

As strange as it was, to be in so new a place without any warning, Harry was oddly comforted. And Remy, having flown so far for his capitaine, was proud of his intuition and forwardness to find him. His Harry needed him, and Remy needed and admired him too. He was the best capitaine of the lot, for what others had saved the world? There was none that could compare, and Remy was satisfied.

::::

“I escaped from France!” Remy was telling the tiny dragon by the name of Volatilus. “I didn’t like Napoleon, or any of the capitaines they wanted me to have, so I came to England to find my Harry. That’s him there, Volly. That’s Harry.”

Volly turned his head to gaze at him, although there wasn’t much understanding in his perpetually cheerful eyes. “Rem’s Ree!” he cried happily.

“That’s right,” James said, patting his dragon affectionately. “But this is extraordinary! A Papillon Noir up and leaving for England! I’d laugh if I weren’t worried one of ours would mutiny so.”

James and Volly were escorting them to Loch Laggan, a bit of fortune fallen into Remy and Harry’s hands, according to James, who was often set in the opposite direction and unable to divert. He and his little dragon served as a courier, of all things. Harry would be surprised had the last few days not been comprised of the ridiculous and bizarre. Royal Mail by dragon seemed a small thing, really.

Lucky though it was, James’ heading to Loch Laggan was a double-edge sword. They now had a very nice escort to the closest covert, but James was very interested in not only Remy’s story, but Harry’s.

This brought him to the startling revelation that he was in another world entirely, forced into service by a dragon on the lam (James had said the French would seek out the missing dragon, and be positively furious when they learned Remy had defected to the enemy) and with no proof of his existence to the main and might, he would need a cover story that wasn’t crazy enough to get him thrown in Nick. And who was to say they would let Remy keep him? Though he’d like to see them try to separate them, it would be amusing up until their execution, to be sure.

He sighed. James cast him a narrow look but pressed, “This is entirely extraordinary. Where are you from again, Potter?”

“London,” Harry hesitated. “Around abouts.”

Could he perhaps pass for a homeless man? His clothing, both strange to James’ eyes and manky enough, would lend a bit of truth to his tale. Perhaps if he didn’t say much about a home? A traveler, maybe a vagrant with no ties to any land at all? But his accent wasn’t uneducated. He had adopted, unfortunately, the slightly elevated speech of middle class London, rather than the guttural informal vernacular of a street boy. And caravaners, for as little as Harry knew about them, had an distinct voice of their own.

And then it hit him. There were times when Dudley attended Smelting’s, when Stonewall news came to Little Whinging, when a boy sick of exams and prefects and A-levels with no care for sixth form and a future, had run away from a proper school to live on his own terms. It wasn’t often that parents would put out a boy for it, but Harry was sure it was acceptable in seventeen ninety-eight. A runaway he would likely be, to these Aerial Corps…or a spy, which wouldn’t end well. So, he would have to be on the lam with his dear Remy.

He would be careful not to mention the name of his school or a headmaster. It wouldn’t do at all for officials to correspond with the unlucky headmaster he named out of idiocy and be caught in a lie.

And when on earth did he decide to up and involve himself in another war? He cast a look at Remy, who was telling Volly all about the battles he would soon fight.

“I’m supposed to be in school, sir,” Harry confessed, picking at his cottage pie woefully. They had stopped to eat and wash (mostly for Harry’s benefit) before the thirty kilometer flight ahead of them. Harry hadn’t wanted to leave Remy alone, so James accompanied him outside where they sat in chairs provided by the tea room, thankful, perhaps, that the dragons were not to wait unattended in the streets. “Please don’t send me back.”

James blinked. “If your family is missing you–”

“They aren’t,” Harry said quickly. “My parents are dead. It’s my Aunt and Uncle. They…well…please don’t send me back.”

“If you’re in school at your age, Potter, they’re likely to make a fuss when they find out what’s happened,” James pointed out, and Harry nearly cursed himself aloud for a fool.

Surely only the very well-to-do boys in England went to private apprenticing schools. Most, probably, joined the regiment, or earned their living through honest toil and a specified trade. Harry, at seventeen (though he would try to pass for younger, if he could) wouldn’t have been still studying unless his family were peerages or particularly in clovers as scholars. He could pass for a lawyer’s kid, maybe, or churched affluence, but many of those people were acquainted with particular circles. There would be hell to pay if a presumptive heir or scholar’s boy were lost to vagabondage. Yet there was nothing for it, he had made his bed.

“Please,” Harry tried again. “They never cared for me besides to send me to school, because my parents would have wanted it. I don’t want to go back. Remy says we’re to fight the French, because I’m his captain now…is it true?”

And this would work in his favour soon enough. Harry might request liberty (he wasn’t quite sure how the military gave a day off, but neither was he ignorant of things; Primary and Hermione, respectively, made sure his knowledge was not all magic) and go to “make peace” with his fantasy relations, which would perhaps satisfy the officials, when in actuality he could use this excuse to check for magical landmarks. He would have to see if the wizarding world existed, for there was no way he would rest without knowing. And probably, (after concluding that there were no people in the forest and he was not anywhere near Hogwarts) that would have been next thing he had done, but then Remy had come and, well….

Harry would not go home without his dragon, if it were even possible to go home at all. He had a strange feeling that he would not find the Leaky Cauldron here, nor the Alley, the Ministry, or any magic places at all. There was something in the current here…the air didn’t quite buzz like it did at home. Harry suspected that missing thrum was magic.

“Alright,” James was saying. “I won’t say anything about going back. England needs fighters enough that I won’t complain. Admiralty might, if they know your family and they’re in arms about a missing boy.”

Harry shook his head. “My Aunt and Uncle have an heir. I was only a burden on them. I doubt anyone knows them much at all. Or would admit to it.”

James was still suspicious, Harry could see it clearly, and so could a very keen Remy, of course. “Harry’s been through an awful time of it, Captain James,” Remy said, cutting off Volly’s nonsensical rambling. “He’s not a spy, if that’s what you’re thinking. Who would want to fight for the French? Their Commander was very rude. Did I tell you what he said to me, Volly?” and was off again, seemingly unworried that adorable little Volly could hardly keep up.

James laughed. “Well, he’s told me!” He slapped Harry on the back and handed his leftovers to Volly. Harry did the same with his own pie. “We will have to sort it out, in any case. Shall we go?”

Happy his story was settled (and unhappy he was just as good a liar as Aunt Petunia always said) Harry went atop Remy and tied his makeshift strap tighter. It was no harness, but he was safe enough, he supposed. Remy was just big enough (after another two days of trudging and eating stolen cows) to hold him. He wasn’t stupid enough to think the matter closed, however. There was the Admiralty, as James had called them, to convince…and if he were found out a charlatan, he had a hope that England was as desperate for fighters as they seemed. Perhaps upon his confession of dimension travel, they would still let a madman fight in their war? He could only hope.

:::::

It turned out that the sole authority Harry had to answer to was Celeritas, a keen old dragon and respected veteran of the Corps. Harry wasn’t at all surprised at a dragon training-master, given Remy’s quick command over his well-being and their future plans. He was a bossy creature, and Harry surrendered to him easily.

Celeritas listened to their tale, mostly told by an overly excitable Remy, who, being wonderfully wily, went along with Harry’s lie without a hitch. Their hushed conversation about the subject, before Celeritas had asked for them, went a bit like this:

“But why can’t you tell them the truth?”

Harry stroked Remy’s green speckled nose and said, “They’ll lock me up in a loony bin if I do. Normal people don’t just travel to other dimensions, you know.”

“I shan’t let anyone lock you up,” Remy growled. That sudden, protective violence Harry was getting used to sparked in his bright blue eyes. “I’ll bite them first. But I suppose you are right. You are a little strange.”

This teasing remark actually made Harry laugh, which shocked him for a moment. When was the last time he had laughed?

“Well, I suppose you’ve got your hands full with him, Captain Potter,” Celeritas was muttering, his eyes on Remy, who had gone over to another dragon in the crowded clearing. Harry heard Napoleon’s name and stifled a laugh. He reminded himself never to insult Remy in any way (as if it were possible, he thought affectionately) for his dragon knew very well how to hold a grudge.

“Am I a captain so soon?” Harry asked. “Don’t I have to–” he wanted to say earn it, but stopped himself. “–move up from a lower position?”

Celeritas stared at him, and Harry was surprised to see an odd sort of smile in his eyes. “The others will likely think so. You’ll have to deal with a fair amount of jealousy, sure. But Remy’s tale will put it out quick enough. His awareness of you is strange, pardon me for saying, Potter.”

Harry had assumed it was, even for military hired dragons. However, after a short time he could respond with nothing else but, “I am glad he found me.”

Celeritas snorted. “He seems glad enough for the both of you.”

“–and that is my capitaine over there. He’s the best capitaine in the whole world, and we’ll win lots of battles and take many prizes because those other capitaines and Napoleon are rather stupid and we are very, very smart.”

“Skinny, isn’t he,” the other dragon said, chewing on the leg of something that was not much flesh but all bone. “You’ll have to fatten him up if you want to fight. And you’ll have to learn the formations.”

“We know them!”

The other dragon frowned. “But how can you? How long since you’ve hatched, anyway?”

Remy hesitated. “Four days bygone,” and at the dragon’s scoff he said, “But I was born quite clever. I’m sure I’m smarter than you.”

Harry, who had been moving toward them, began to move quicker. “That’s not very nice, Remy,” he chastised, rushing up. “I’m sorry for him.”

The other dragon was amused rather than offended, however. Remy nudged him as if to reproach Harry instead as the dragon said, “He is very young. No harm in him, I think. I am Excidium, you’ll be in my formation soon enough.”

“Harry,” he introduced himself. “Good to meet you.”

“He is my capitaine, Excidium, no matter how big you are,” Remy announced possessively.

Embarrassed, Harry stroked the side of Remy’s neck and muttered, “I’m sure Excidium has his own captain, dear one.”

“So long as he knows.”

::::

Loch Laggan covert was big and busy. The courtyard where most of the dragons slept was large, perhaps unnecessarily given how the dragons piled on top each other. The quarters for the captains were homey and spacious, especially for a boy who went from cupboard to dorm-room to tent. Harry was glad of the hospitality, mostly for the baths he immediately indulged in and the hand-me-down, if not comfortable uniform. He was certainly able to blend in better after he was cleaned and redressed.

It seemed only an hour was good enough for the news to spread. The man who had shown him around, a Lieutenant Faversham, was cordial but stiff. Harry could not tell if it was simply his character or if he was one of those jealous men that Celeritas had warned about. In any case, his priority after bathing was to eat, and he figured the mess hall could not be avoided for long. When he entered, there was a small suspension of chatter, something he was tired of but used to in his short life.

Faversham abandoned his duty then, and Harry didn’t much mind for all the conversation he was good for. Not much of a talker himself, Harry sat at a lonely table and floundered a bit until the cook came out and gave him a hearty meal of milky soup and a warm heel of bread. His disregard was an offense to the other officers, all except for a young man who sat at Harry’s table without introduction.

“So the Papillon Noir is yours? Is it true he left France to find you?”

Harry wiped his mouth, feeling suddenly mischievous. “Remy is a brat, and he just showed up and wouldn’t leave. Have you seen him yet? He’s the prettiest one.”

This casual affection in his voice seemed to endear him to the young officer. “Lieutenant Granby, your servant,” he introduced, and Harry shook his hand. “There’s a fair few officers who have approached Remy already, so don’t blame him for telling them tales.”

Harry put down his spoon. “Approached him?” he asked.

“Well–” Granby flushed.

“I see,” he realised. “They thought Remy might take a different captain.”

Granby was sorry to have said anything, judging by his expression. “You’ve got to understand…aviators wait for a long time until they get their own. Some never do, really. Mates of mine have cut straps having never been a captain. Civilians not in the Corps don’t normally go near a hatchling at all. Or any dragon, to be sure. You may find it new and exciting–”

“But it’s insulting to a trained Lieutenant, yeah.” Harry sighed. “I would want the best for Remy. If that meant a captain who knows more, and could do better, then I would try to convince him. But he’s–”

“He’s greedy and out for blood, is what the others are saying,” Granby laughed. “I can’t argue with someone with so much conviction. And he’s quick to gloat about his ‘capitaine’, so I came to meet you.”

“I am sorry for taking the chance from another British officer, but not the French,” Harry gambled. He presumed the rivalry between countries, and his own participation in it (however new) would assure Granby of his character.

It worked. “Well, what’s to do about it, I say,” the man shrugged. “And it’s the funniest thing we’ve ever heard, a turncoat hatchling.”

“And why aren’t you upset with me?” Harry asked curiously. Granby was outright friendly, so far as he could tell.

Granby grinned. “I haven’t been waiting as long as the others,” he said, gesturing behind him to an older crowd of officers who were muttering darkly. “Just made third Lieutenant. I’m still a scrub, really.”

“Oh.”

“They will be sulking until you prove you’re up to it, make no mistake. It will be hard to convince them that you’re little but a ham-handed civilian.”

He understood, and was grateful for the warning. He was an outsider to Granby and the others, however apologetic the young man seemed about it. Yet Harry couldn’t help but smile, for this world of theirs, of fantastic beasts and abnormal being normal, didn’t hold a candle to the magic he’d seen and performed. Despite their knowledge and training, this dragon fighting wasn’t anything compared to where Harry was from and what Harry could do.

Perhaps Remy’s bragging wasn’t so much of an exaggeration after all.

He could not help but laugh and say, “I’m afraid I’m not a normal civilian.” And at Granby’s questioning expression he merely confessed, “I have the feeling I might adapt quicker than you think.”

:::::

Formation training under Celeritas, who was a taskmaster but an exceedingly capable one, was hard work for Harry and Remy. Despite Remy’s boasts of innate knowledge of formations, the little dragon was often complaining of how difficult the flying was. Until, of course, it was mastered, and then the grousing was of how boring flying about in the same circles and turns were day after day. Harry himself was weary of flag signals and maths, breeds and proper Aerial Corps modus operandi.

He was told that Remy was a Papillon Noir, a breed which he had recently learned about. The name was French for black butterfly, and fitting, given Remy’s dark hide streaked with blue and green. Remy was a middleweight, among the categories ranging from light to heavy, at either end being the Winchesters and Regal Coppers. The Longwing who Remy had harassed on their first day here, was a breed that would only take women as captains, which did not alarm Harry in the least, despite Granby’s expectant looks.

James and Volly made two returns while Harry trained. Volly, a Winchester, was a bit slow but no less efficient at his job. Remy was quite taken with him, to be sure. Excidium’s captain, Jane Roland, had introduced herself a day after his arrival. She was a lovely, slightly plump woman of twenty and some, often holding the hand of a very young child named Emily; her daughter. Auctoritus, a Bright Copper whose Captain was named Danvers, was quick to laugh and not often at Loch Laggan, but when grounded took to Remy for their similar characters. Danvers was middle-aged but unprejudiced toward young captains, and showed no disdain for Harry’s previous status as a civilian.

Crescendium, or as Jane called him “Cressy”, was a lively thing that had hatched a year prior. His formation training had just ended, and he felt smug enough to tease Remy about how he had quite a long way to go before he was up to snuff. The rivalry between the two middleweights was friendly and amusing, to most of the captains at least. Cressy’s captain Gregson was a man without laughter, though he was cordial enough.

Once training was done, Harry would join Excidium’s formation, as Celeritas had confided. Yet training was brutal, and often Harry could not even dream at night for how tired he was each day. This was fortunate, given his inability to sleep soundly since he was fourteen. Most often he slept next to Remy in the clearing, surrounded by dragons and all the better for it. He was oddly prone to seek them out for advice, rather than the captains in his upcoming formation, though none of them begrudged him it and were all suitably friendly. Jane and Danvers, especially, as well as Granby.

They had made fast friends, against all odds. Granby was a few years his senior. Harry also outranked him, and was a living reminder of Granby’s lack of dragon. Yet he was quick to find humour rather than exasperation in Harry’s many moods, and often times easily drew Harry into the sort of friendly chatter he had only ever known with Ron.

Another unexpected friendship came with his meeting a very young girl by the name of Catherine, who spent most days schooling for her eventual promotion to captain. This nepotism was very much the way of life in the Corps, but Harry was glad of Catherine’s shy but empathetic way of forgiving him for cheating others out of a dragon.

In the meantime, Remy grew. And grew. And grew. As a middleweight, he wasn’t as big as the other dragons, like Laetificat; a Regal Copper who Granby was currently assigned to. Despite Remy’s small size in comparison, nothing could quite beat the dragon’s prodigious ego. Remy was well known, very quickly, for being argumentative and arrogant, despite his age. This amused the older dragons and captains greatly, most unfortunately.

Harry tried his best to temper Remy, but the dragon was sure Harry was simply grossly modest. He didn’t balk at orders, thankfully, and often looked at Celeritas and the other captains with respect and youthful awe. It was only the other untried dragons at his mercy, really.

This attitude was also fortuitous at sieving out the best officers to assign to Remy’s crew, when the time came. Some rather stuffy men were wary of being included, and did their best to profess in the dining hall their intentions to join so and so’s crew soon enough, waylaying Harry’s regard for them. Though being put on Remy’s crew would be a promotion, certainly, Remy wasn’t at all as serious as the others. He was a riot, according to talk, endlessly jesting with dragons and captains alike, and with so forward a personality some were disapproving of his cavalier personality. It was a small consolation that Harry was withdrawn and disturbingly serious for his age, when Remy was so very precocious.

Eventually a crew was put together, those included being in good temper and affectionate with Remy. The protectiveness his dragon was known for was not only for his captain, but also for his crew. Remy treated them all like dear friends, and so Harry did as well, and he was probably terribly informal with them but didn’t much care.

Among them was Lieutenant Faversham, who Harry learned was always quiet but for the times when discipline was needed. He was a vastly capable first Lieutenant, to make up for Harry’s rather tolerant nature, and Harry was happy to have him.

Then came a welcome surprise. Laetificat lost a third Lieutenant in Granby, who came to Harry one morning and said, “Well that’s torn it, I’d be happy to be on your crew, if you’ll have me.”

Harry would have him, and he said as much when he was done gaping. “But Bee,” he said, using Remy’s nickname for him. “You were happy on Laet’s crew!”

“Celeritas is worried your training will have to be cut short,” he explained. “And he wants two proficient officers on board. Faversham is good, but you’re scared of him–”

“I am not!” said Harry indignantly, though he knew Granby was teasing.

“–and I know you’re considering Scarborough for second, but he’s a bit…silly, I say with your pardon. Celeritas wants you in good hands.”

Harry grinned. “And you’re good hands, are you Lieutenant?”

Granby puffed himself up. “I should say so, sir.”

“Well, then.” Harry bowed to him with good humour. “I dub thee my second. Silly-Willy Scarborough can be third. Bless him.”

So on all accounts, everyone was satisfied. Though Laet was annoyed at the loss of one of his crew, and it didn’t help when Remy informed him, with an air of smugness, that if Granby wanted a different dragon, he was welcome to choose the best. They had a mild spat about it, though it was rather half-hearted since they both knew it was Celeritas who had made the change and nothing else. As for the nearly full crew, they were quite happy to initiate Granby into the fold, though their rowdy celebration was cut short by a strict but sympathetic Faversham.

As the months passed, Harry learned more and more, and Remy complained more and more but was learning too. The days were short and the work hard, but time went on peaceably until the month of July came to an end. With it, Harry’s eighteenth birthday passed uncelebrated, as Harry was wont to do since things had gone to hell in his own world. On that very day, he was lucky enough to receive liberty for his crew, and requested one for himself upon learning that Volly and James were among the officers with an upcoming furlough. Harry tentatively asked if James were going round about London, and with a nod of understanding the captain agreed. Harry put in for the day with Celeritas, who was surprised to be asked given Harry’s clear record of attendance from the moment he’d come to Loch Laggan. He allowed the trip, however, and Harry had a little battle with Remy to be able to go, before the dragon finally conceded to Volly’s taking him.

It was time to inspect England for magic, and with it, decide his future definitively.

:::::

James left him to his business two blocks from Whitehall, just a bit south of what he supposed would be a modern Charing Cross. The buildings were new to be so old, in his strange eye. They lacked the age of his London, but the architecture was antique in the same turn. Harry walked in what he thought was the right direction, for the streets were unnamed, largely, and there was no Victoria or Trafalgar to guide him. Much less an Underground or even a bus to take him there.

The streets were coarse with stone and loud when struck by hoof beats. Carriages were the only form of travel here, besides walking, and most of the pedestrians stared back at him; gawking. So far, Harry had not seen much historical garb besides the white trousers, stockings and buckled shoes of the Corps. Now, here, there were long skirts and high collars, bowler hats in the fashion of Fudge and was that…was that a powdered wig? Harry himself was a source of entertainment as well, it seemed. His bottle green coat with gold bars that betrayed him as a captain were quite shocking. James himself had garnered a few scandalized looks before he had left with Volly.

He did his best to ignore them and finally came upon a sort of familiar street. Charing Cross was mostly shop fronts at this time, and largely unmarked. A trained eye went from each shop to where The Leaky Cauldron should have sat, and there he found nothing. This was less of a surprise than he thought it would be.

Another walk back toward Whitehall and one more length to what should be Downing provided all the necessary answers he had asked for. Obviously there would be no phone booth, stark red and modern in these times, but neither was there an indication of some wizardly-type entrance. There was no loo where he, Ron and Hermione had entered the Ministry in disguise, no wonky signs queer in their clues to an underground government; no nothing… no Ministry of Magic.

He sat upon a stoop leading to the side of some consulate, and sighed. If ever he had speculated where his magic came from, he was now sure. The lack of it, in the air and in physical proof, betrayed that magic itself was exclusive to him alone. He was sure the dragons had to be a form of magic, but perhaps they were a consolation to a world without wizards and witches? There was no doubt he could use his own wand, so this lack of practitioners meant he was the only human with that capability.

But then he thought. What if the government had yet to be established? There might be wizards and witches in hiding, completely separated from the Muggle world. After all, this dimension was strange enough, what was to say they did exist, but absolutely and completely in hiding? He was sure he had walked half of Scotland in those first few days here, and there had been no Hogwarts. But the school might never have come to pass, if something had made the Wizarding world withdraw permanently. Perhaps the witch hunt had been worse than usual? But then the lack of magic in the very earth told otherwise.

And Wizards would never let dragons be known to Muggles, that much was certain. So, maybe not a very secret, very silent magical community, then. There was likely, however, to be many sole practitioners. They would probably be more frauds than anything, but perhaps the world was scattered, unorganized and based on this assumption– somewhat less than what it was in his world. But Harry didn’t have the time to go about England seeking every person even slightly interested in wizardry, nor the patience to deal with Trelawney-like men and women convinced of their own trickery.

Annoyed, and more sad than he would have suspected, he continued to think upon it until it was close to his rendezvous time with James. And he had made two decisions since:

One, and it was an obvious one, was that Harry would not give up looking for the slightest proof of other magics while in this world. Not for any real hope of getting back (what had he left? Mourning and Ginny and Teddy, perhaps. His best friends. Yet all could take care of themselves bar his godson, who Harry often thought of, worrying if he was safe and happy) but for an end to the mystery of his being here. His second decision was an obvious one, and would drive him forward on a new path.

Harry would train as hard as he could so that Remy would not be in danger of any of his amateurish mistakes. And he would fight, because he was lucky enough to be sent to a dimension where a good purpose had basically dropped into his lap. He would take care of Remy, as best as he could, and though never having been too patriotic, he would fight for England against Napoleon and make sure they won. He laughed. It seemed so very silly to be here, in this world and this time, but now his options were narrowed down and his decisions decided. There was no use in sulking about, and so he wouldn’t.

Perhaps later he would think about what was left behind.

It was a good thing, then, that he was early, because James and Volly were as well, and looking harried upon their arrival.

“Oh good,” James said in regard to him being there. “We have to go. The Navy’s caught up with the French; They’re mucking about in Egypt and mean to take the river. Excidium’s formation has been called.”

Harry gaped. “But we haven’t finished training yet!”

James gave him a short, desperate grin. “You’ll have to do. We’ll get that bloodthirsty beast of yours and you’ll be off. I wouldn’t worry. Celeritas cleared it with the Admiralty, so he must think you’re up to it. Just be cautious with Remy, he’s still very young.”

Harry was worried, and very excited, though he wouldn’t show it and look like a proper scrub in front of the other aviators. This would be his first aerial battle, and hopefully not his only one. His decision to stay and fight was now being put to the test– It was time to see if his heart still had that certain mettle that had earned him a place in Gryffindor.

:::::

Excidium’s formation came upon the battle at Akoubir Bay just as the fighting started properly. Remy, positioned at Auctoritus’ flank, moved easily with the group despite Harry’s own worries of him possibly wandering. The sound of cannon fire was loud, smoke hovering in the air and debris splashing into the water. The line of French ships had halted in a long, curved line, and around the fleet came the British Navy from the north.

Their formation moved toward the dragons hovering in the no man’s land. Harry bade Faversham to signal 'make ready’ in response to the beginnings of Excidium’s offensive maneuver. His heart pounded, and though the motions of this battle were different, the fluid, water-like fog of action was a very familiar feeling. Remy beat his wings at a quicker pace in his excitement.

He could hear the clamouring and the shouts of the men beneath Remy’s belly, even over the howling wind of their speed. 'Engage the enemy closer’, the ensign signaled, and they made the pass at a Chanson-de-Guerre as a round of musket fire burst outward. The Chanson screeched and lilted away from the onslaught, making to scratch at Remy’s wing, which missed the dragons head by a hair’s breadth.

The gap in their formation filled in as the aviators reshaped. They were allowed one more pass until a shadow fell upon them, and a Grand Chevalier dropped into the formation heavily and broke it.

Harry cursed as Remy dipped and looped around instinctively, Auctoritus following suit and the others of their formation fleeing in various states of distress. Only Excidium remained unmoved in his flight, alone in their broken team. He engaged the Grand Chevalier instead, and the sharp stench of acid permeated as he spat and hit the dragon’s flank. It ate away at the straps, sinking into the tough hide as the beast screamed in pain.

They had drifted off course, and the fighting and the engaged dragons of their formation were far from them. A rush of wind hit the side of Harry’s face as beside them came another Papillon Noir, coloured similarly as Remy but with striped patterns. To Harry’s shock, the dragon spoke to Remy in French, but they did not fire.

And Harry realized that they thought Remy was with the Armee de l'Air. Not an entirely foolish assumption, but foolish all the same. The Papillon Noir repeated her call to Remy, who was silent in shock along with the rest of the crew. Still they did not fire, but Harry did.

The volley of bullets took out most of the crew, stinging the side of the Papillon Noir’s wing and tearing through it brutally. Her wail of agony was nothing compared to Harry’s triumph at seeing his men shoot straight and true, motivated by their lucky ruse. The Papillon was hurt badly, and unable to fly. She dropped down onto the nearest French frigate instead of fleeing, and Harry’s men cheered but soon fell silent at Faversham’s shout. Harry gave the signal to change position, and they flew around and north, where a new set of dragons were fighting.

They circled without engaging, and soon another dragon, a Pecheur-Couronne (so brilliantly blue that Harry stared), came about to fly with them. They fired again, and again, and the attack was less successful but drove the dragon to retreat after a flash of Remy’s talons to its chest. They were able to use this strategy once more, though the last engagement was unbalanced between them and the Grand Chevalier. Injured but still fighting, the Chevalier turned about to crush Remy with its weight, but the spit of musket fire interrupted the likely fatal assault. Laetificat’s formation had come.

They tore away from the crossfire quickly, and behind them there were signals from the French captains, warning the others that Remy was not theirs. He was disappointed the French had caught on so quickly, but forgot about it when he caught sight of a British ship in peril. Their staysail was tangled with an enemy frigate called the Tonnant. The frigate was coming under heavy fire, and would not hold out unless Harry did something. He thought quickly.

“Mr. Faversham, inventory of grenades?” he shouted.

“Nine, sir.”

Harry frowned. “Remy, we need to help. Fly low and fast–”

“Shall I use my claws?” Remy asked with enthusiasm. Harry smiled grimly.

“Yes,” he said. “Mr. Faversham, aim the grenades for the hull. Remy will clear the way.”

Faversham did not argue, though he likely would have were there time. Remy would be flying directly into the path of the cannonade, and it was admittedly a very risky maneuver. Yet Harry would not let Remy or his crew be massacred (the discovery of his magic be damned) and the men on British ship slaughtered and the ship sunk; sending two hundred men or more into the deep. They swooped so low and so fast, a mist of foam gathered in their wake, and then Remy’s claws were sinking into the side of the Tonnant and ripping away the hull with a horrible screech. The grenades were tossed in quickly, and just as they flew clear and circled around the British ship (without cannon fire, thank god, for the French sailors could hardly believe their daring and stood in shock) the crackle of explosions shook the ship, and it arched upward upon the water.

There was a great shudder and a sound like the creak of old bones, and the ship dropped and started to sink. Their frigate was untangled in the movement, jib boom free but damaged, and finally able to return fire, the Tonnant took rather unnecessary cannon fire as it sunk.

“Brilliant, Remy! Brilliant,” Harry said over the cheering, patting the dragon’s neck.

And then they were meeting another Pecheur-Couronne head on. Remy yelled as claws seared his forearm, and Harry jolted at the sound. The Pecheur-Couronne aligned with them then, and Faversham shouted, “'Ware boarders!”

Harry looked back at the struggle, but did not move back from the dragon on Harry’s hurried order. Instead, Harry patted Remy and said, “Shake them off, Remy, and then fly straight. I’m going to do something stupid.”

Remy understood. “Be careful. I don’t want you hurt, but I do so like prizes! Tell Granby to keep count.”

“'Ware boarders!” came again from Faversham, who showed upon his usually emotionless face that he could not quite believe Harry’s refusal to come away. There were eight French boarders atop Remy, and Harry bade him a rough turn.

Remy had the audacity to laugh as he turned sideways and completely upside down. Harry felt weightless for a moment, and the rush made him laugh as well. The straps had, of course, held their crew in the loop, if not dizzied them, and where there were eight men now there were only two. Harry kept Remy steady and unbuckled himself. He stood.

“Sir!” Faversham yelled, but his strangled shout did not stop Harry from bending his knees and flinging himself off of Remy’s neck.

He hit the side of the Pecheur-Couronne with a gasp, before hauling himself up swiftly and fluidly enough that even he was surprised at how well it was done. He shot the lieutenant in front of him and put his pistol to the completely astounded captain’s head.

“I think you’d better land,” Harry said, as Remy crowed in victory.

They came about on a British ship, depositing the captain into irons, and left with the wind bursting through Harry’s hair. Strapped in once more, Faversham, showing a lack of composure he had never seen, said, “Madness! Sir, what–?”

“I was in a position to capture, lieutenant,” Harry smiled.

“We do not board when boarded!” Faversham gasped. “And we most certainly don’t risk a captain!”

“I don’t see why not,” Harry remarked. “Everything was under control.”

“That’s one, sir!” Granby bellowed. The men were laughing (laughing!) behind him. Faversham face was red. It seemed that the lieutenant had only just now realised that Remy’s captain and crew were barking mad.

The battle quickly turned in their favour. The British fleet had a wiser Admiral than the French. Remy engaged twice more and took one more; a Chanson-de-Guerre to the men’s loud cheers and Remy’s pride. Harry’s daring and unprecedented boarding came in handy once again (causing Faversham apoplexy, but no matter).

And then the French l'Orient, which had been in the thick of it– exploded. It burst apart with a tremendous boom and a flash of light. In the wake of the explosion, and amidst the cheers of the British sailors, the closest ship to the l'Orient struck its colours. Another one soon followed.

Two frigates escaped the melee of the French defeat. Harry and Remy flew back into Excidium’s formation, finally, but one of the Chequered Nettles of their team, Basilius, was badly clawed and moved slowly. They acclimated to that weary pace and surrounded the wounded from further attack, but the retreat had sounded, and most of the dragons had fled into the horizon. The French Navy had lost.

Remy turned to his captain and said, “I knew I chose right with you, mon capitaine. That was–”

::::::

“–possibly the most dim-witted, harebrained, ridiculous thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing!” Jane Roland was yelling.

Newly promoted Admiral Lenton, stationed at Dover where they had stopped on the way back from Akoubir, seemed to have permanently misplaced his eyebrows at the top of his hairline. Jane continued her ranting, yelling at Harry and Faversham respectively, while they stood stiff and browbeaten in the Admiral’s office.

“–and the danger presented to your dragon, who is the first priority for a captain, is absolutely unacceptable! Damn near negligent, sir!”

“I would never risk Remy!” Harry burst out, unable to help himself. “Never! I’d bloody well die first!”

“And what good would that do, but to have Remy suffer your death enough to want to die himself?”

Harry backed down. They didn’t understand. Harry would never risk Remy, that much was true, and he had his own arsenal to prove it. The Elder Wand in his pocket shuddered at Harry having thought of it. They didn’t understand and he could not make them, and by all accounts Harry deserved this dressing down. But he would not have them think he was dangerous to Remy.

“My reckless actions I take full responsibility for,” Harry said, speaking out of turn and outraging them further. “But I would never want Remy hurt. You can count on it. I’d die first. I’d shoot myself. I risked my own body more, today, and for that I apologize, but only myself was in any danger. And you insult Remy by accusing him, in his own enthusiasm, of stupidity. He is ridiculously clever, and understands risks for the benefit of the whole. He will not change his character, and though I may find it hard, I will try to change mine. And I beg you not to blame Lieutenant Faversham for my recklessness. He tried to stop me.”

Jane and said nothing for a time, seething silently. Admiral Lenton, who had not spoken since Jane had started to tear into him, said, “Well. Well,” and turned to Faversham, “Lieutenant, do you wish to be reassigned?”

Harry started. He knew Faversham hadn’t agreed with the maneuver, but hadn’t realized the man might want to be away from the rash captain and his dragon. Faversham was red, and had been since the Nile.

“Sir,” he began, “I-his…” he cleared his throat. “Captain Potter’s strategy goes against everything in my gut.”

Harry looked down at his feet.

“But I cannot deny it was a masterful tactic that was both foolish and amazing to behold. I would be a right scrub to not want a part of that, even if only to council the captain against his– penchant for bravura in future,” Faversham concluded.

“Oh, I’ll listen, Mr. Faversham, I will,” Harry promised. He liked Faversham’s solid dauntlessness, and perhaps should have listened about the boarders, if this lecture were the consequence. But it would be hard to change Harry’s knee-jerk recklessness. Faversham would have a job on his hands, yet Harry could not imagine a better officer for it; he was the sensible one in their company, the unshakable man at his back. Battle always made Harry respectful of his fellow fighters. Always.

“I hope you will, lad,” and there was a strong note of chastisement in Faversham’s tone, but he looked at his captain with a certain fondness Harry likened to Moody’s dry disapproval, when Harry put his wand in his back pocket.

“Well,” Lenton nodded. “That’s settled. Lieutenant Faversham, or Councilor Faversham, as it were, will stay on your crew. Though I have no doubt you mean the best for your dragon, Captain Potter, I don’t want to hear of anymore dangerous maneuvers.”

Harry bowed slightly in accord.

“But a frigate down and three captures,” Lenton continued, sighing. “You’ll keep on with that ingenuity, I think, but without the carelessness, eh?”

He was startled at the compliment for a moment, and then bowed again, belatedly. Faversham heard the dismissal and turned to leave, Harry following at a slower pace. To his surprise, Jane caught up with him as he walked toward the courtyard and to Remy.

“Poppycock,” she said. “But according to everyone else you were famous.”

Harry halted and bit his lip. “Jane,” he started, “I hope you’re not too angry–”

“I’m furious,” she told him, but her eyes smiled. “I’ve never seen that sort of gall, that sort of absolute stupidity before. Not in the Corps, who have intelligent and cautious men and women in service.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I’ve also never seen a braver man, nor a more ingenious one. Much less in our youngest captain. I’d have you clapped in irons for it, if you were not worth ten aviators alone.”

And with this parting statement, she left, leaving Harry baffled and flushed with both shame and pleasure. He gathered himself and looked about, glad that he was alone in the corridor. If her words got back to Remy, his head would grow so big he’d probably float away.

::::::

Remy’s jewels glittered in the sun. The large lavalliere around his neck was set with a giant ruby, surrounded by tiny crystals. It blazed silver and red in direct light, blinding everyone as it shined. Of course it clashed terribly with the smattering of blue and green on black that was Remy’s hide. Harry hadn’t thought about that when he’d bought it, and he wouldn’t dare tell Remy that it clashed and was maybe a bit…garish.

All he had noticed was how it sparkled, and he was enamored enough with his dragon that in order to properly spoil him rotten, certain sacrifices must be made. Like taste. And expense. This lavalliere was certainly not the only one Remy owned. And of all of them, the ruby pendant was perhaps the least tacky.

“–and Cressy was very jealous this morning, because I showed him my chest, you know, with all my jewels–”

The chest full of garnets and sparkling things were what Harry had spent all his hard-earned money on; enchanted by some terrible curse as he bought countless trinkets for the silly creature.

“–and I said to him, 'it’s no fault of mine that Gregson hasn’t got you a chest of sparkles, you have more than Excidium in any case’–”

Harry sighed and tilted his head to look at Faversham, who as actually listening raptly, the sod.

“–and he told me that Jane doesn’t have to get Excidium anything because he’s more sensible and doesn’t want to show away like I do, but I don’t show away when I’m just so very much more impressive–”

“You tell them, Remy, mate!” their midwingman, Mr. Tracey, yelled from Remy’s underbelly.

“–thank you, Tracey. And so I said…oh! There they are. Laetificat is hurt. Shall we battle, Harry?”

Harry came to attention. The British ship was surrounded by two French frigates and three dragons, their reinforcement of five welcome to Laetificat’s lone struggle. “Yes, love, I think we should.”

“I’ll finish my story later,” Remy said, quickening his pace. “Because I simply have to tell you what Dulcia said then!”

Harry sighed.

:::::

They were in Dover when word reached them about a dragon egg captured on the sea. Harry’s furlough, the first one in three years, was scheduled for after his immediate return to Loch Laggan; their temporary station for the last few months while relieved from patrol on the channel. Harry and Remy were quite happily looking forward to the time off, if only so Harry could get some much needed sleep after three days of frustrating skirmishes.

Unfortunately, Harry had to drop his crew off in Scotland before going back south. With their latest capture of another French frigate, just two days prior, Harry had managed to save up enough that he could be off to London again almost immediately, with a little left over for a new trinket for Remy. Sometimes Harry thought he’d eaten some if Romilda Vane’s cauldron cakes, since he could not really help himself and continued to buy Remy sparkling things. He’d need another treasure chest soon, and that was just sick.

Their reputation for balking at the rules and their ingenuity in battle was famous now, and a source fond frustration for the seniority. Lenton and Celeritas had given up on the both of them, and oftentimes their lectures trailed off with resigned sighs and tired mumbling. Harry was always apologetic, but also not really.

He and Remy were known for their captures, and Remy had a reputation for showing away amongst the other dragons. Harry, however, was something of a joke among aviators.

Granby had a million anecdotes by now, and they were often retold over cards. Playing Old Harry was something of a common idiom at Dover and Loch Laggan. Which by definition meant that someone was doing something very risky, and very stupid. Sometimes it just meant being particular wily, too. Jane simply said it meant he had “a lot of guff” and seesawed between shouting at him about maneuvers and worrying over him after each successful bout. 'Playing Old Harry’, she said, was 'the equivalent of dying young’.

Harry liked Jane. She tried her very best to talk sense into him, and to take care of him, when he let her. Emily too, was very like her mother. Harry would test her on her sums (which she was dreadful at, poor thing) when he saw her, and give her sweets and bobbles after he’d been shopping in London. He had a weakness for children and Remy, of this there was no doubt. Her mother was away often enough, like Harry, who was sad for her, though she was not very melancholic at the lack of a constant parent. She was something of Excidium and Remy’s pet, anyway, and between them received loads of affection.

Through the years, he and Granby remained close. The period of peace in eighteen hundred and one was tentative but welcome, and allowed time for Harry and Remy to finish their training properly with Granby’s help. They had dined together every night to learn and sometimes modify maneuvers, and from then on were seldom away from each other’s company.

Harry disregarded Jane’s warning that 'familiarity bred contempt’ and knew that though he should not, in truth, be best mates with his underling, he didn’t put much stock in strict leadership most days. Faversham took care of that anyway, the old tyrant.

Harry and Granby were good fun and beloved by their crew, yet Harry’s confidence and ability meant his men were quick to obey when Harry gave an order. He was a good captain, and a good comrade, scandalous informality aside.

Remy was another thing entirely. Still young, but old enough to have ceased his silliness by now, Remy defied expectation, ignored all the words of wisdom from the older dragons, and remained charmingly unchanged. The crew adored him, and though Excidium often spoke sharp about Remy’s showing away, the other dragons were usually affectionately exasperated and not truly cross.

Remy toed the line, often. He was an incurable gossip and an irredeemable rogue. He was also a vicious and valuable fighter and as bold as brass; capable of anything he set his mind to. Like convincing Harry to buy things for him.

“He was wearing gold! Gold! With his yellow colouring?” Remy said to Harry, in regards to Cressy’s new trinket. “Gold looks awful. I don’t know what he means by it. I despise gold. Do you think I’d look good in gold?”

Harry surmised what he would be buying that day in London, against the screaming denial of his funds.

“Cows, Remy, cows,” Harry drew his attention, hauling the animals closer. The farmer he had bought them from had already fled into his house and bolted the door. “I’ll be back soon, dearest, don’t get into trouble.”

Remy nuzzled him before saying loftily, “I recall and shall recite some common phrase you have used oft: pot and kettle.”

Harry laughed and made his way toward the city, a mile or so walk that he didn’t at all mind. He went to a jewelry shop there, when in London, for Remy’s trinkets. Often times he went another way, just to look into other shops. It wasn’t often he got leave, and he liked to spend it well. He went a new route today, and came upon a curiosity.

In the back of his mind, he often kept an eye out for places like this in his unending and unhurried search for magic. It was not a settlement, but a caravan, outside in the street just west of the farm Remy was stopped in. The gaudy colours of the caravan and the tinkling bells on the back of its carriage were not what drew his gaze, though they were splendid. He was not gaping at the horses, who were large and mottled as they whinnied and tossed their hairy heads at the ladies gawking in the streets; their manes tied in braids with beads and bells and ribbons. The caravan was very impressive, but the sign on the back of it was what really caught his attention:

“MADAME BIDDY - PSYCHIC” Apenny a Reading

He moved toward the door and knocked without hesitating. It slid open, and with two thumps he walked up the steps and journeyed in, ignoring the whispering bystanders outside. The woman before him was obscured by smoke and tapestries. They were as colorful as the outside of the caravan, and jangled as he moved them aside.

Who he assumed was Madame Biddy sat at a rounded table with her hand splayed across a deck of cards. A smoking pipe, smelling strongly of earth and cannabis, titled in her long-fingered grasp. She was a sunken-eyed, dark woman, older than Jane but not by much. The dress she wore was not one a society lady would approve of, for her bust was bulging obscenely enough to make Harry blush. Her long, coiled hair was done up much like the horses, braided with bobbles that tinkled as she gestured to the chair in front of her.

“A reading for you?” she said, her accent thick and landless. “A penny,” she held out her hand.

Harry gave her the toll. With a flourish, she put down her pipe and grabbed up the cards, her many rings clinking together as she shuffled them. “I tell you your future, but none of it is certain.”

His mouth twitched.

“It changes like the sea, and man cannot tame the sea,” she told him as she held the deck out to him. He touched it without her asking, and her gaze narrowed. The cards went down onto the table. With a muttered word, the first one flipped over. “A happy jester,” she read, whispering loudly. “Unlimited possibilities, my dear.”

Her rings clicked together again. “The lovers. An affair,” she intoned. “And a tower for disruption. Unlucky,” she huffed.

Another card flipped over. “A world like no other. The world for you,” Madame Biddy muttered, pinching her lips and gazing at him. “Eternal life.”

She went quicker, seemingly enraptured with his reading. “Death, but not death–” her words stopped. “Death as a friend?”

The last card she uncovered made her sigh. “Man upon the rope. A needless sacrifice. Perhaps one. Perhaps many.”

Harry smiled and stood. “Thank you,” he said. He was done here. He had sensed no magic from her. The tapestries rustled, her bells rang behind his back.

“You have death with you.”

He stopped and nodded, frowning.

Madame Biddy gazed at him, her eyes dark and curious. “You are different.”

“Yes,” he said, seeing no reason to lie.

“Very different. Not from here.”

He watched her back, now. There was still no magic, no buzz around her, no heady senses besides the overwhelming scent of cloves and smoke. He wondered, for the first time, if she was something like Trelawney, who didn’t so much practice magic but stew in it. “Have you ever been a prophet?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “Once. A long time ago.”

Harry smiled. “Have you got a prophecy for me?”

She looked away. Her silence lasted a long time, but Harry was patient. “It is not enough,” she said, finally, “what powers I possess–”

Harry nodded in understanding, and the Madame eyed him carefully. “I have never met a God,” she said.

He could not help but laugh. “I doubt you ever will,” he snorted.

“The reading will be true,” she told him. “That much is certain. Though nothing is certain.”

Harry grinned bitterly. “Yes. Good day.”

“Good day.”

The warm sunlight did not lift his sagging spirits, although being out of the miasma of smoke and vapors helped to halt his growing headache. He moved away from the street, feeling sad, though he didn’t regret going for a reading. The woman was unlikely to be a fraud, and most likely using a magic he did not understand. Muggles had a magic of their own, and this world had it’s own laws of nature. Just because Harry could not see it, did not mean it didn’t exist.

There might be magic here, but it was probably true that there was no one quite like him. He might be the only wizard in the world. Harry laughed suddenly. What a perfect place for an unbeatable wand, he thought, where no other wands exist.

::::::

“I would like to meet the dragon who escaped from France like me,” Remy was saying, after much excited gushing and nuzzling when Harry returned and presented him with a gold brooch. “They say his captain is a Navy man! Like that Nelson fellow we met!”

Harry winced as he adjusted Remy’s harness. He couldn’t imagine Admiral Nelson standing for anyone addressing him as 'that Nelson fellow’. Their one meeting with the man had been brief and awkward.

After the Battle of the Nile, Nelson had expressed an interest in meeting the captain that took so many prizes and saved a British ship, and with much pomp and circumstance, publicly shook Harry’s hand but barely spoke to Remy. Harry knew he was a mastermind, a legend in Naval warfare, but he was too puffed up for Harry’s taste. And he didn’t much gush over Remy, when everyone else did and should, so something must be wrong with him.

This news about the Navy captain turned aviator was interesting though. “Are they assigned yet?”

“Volly says they’re to train with Lily’s formation,” Remy said. “We haven’t seen Catherine or Lily yet, by the way.”

“We’re leaving in a moment,” Harry consoled him.

“Oh, good. Bee says it’s a right shame,” Remy continued. “Dayes, you remember him, he’s been waiting and waiting for an egg, and Bee said that the French dragon refused him, and would not be separated from his Navy captain. Quite right, I said, because they tried to do the same to you and I, as you must recall, and that wasn’t on.”

Harry frowned.

“But Bee says Navy captains are stiff-necked and don’t take to dragon company, and think only that we consort with the hoi polloi, as aviators, and he won’t belong at all, so he’d best give up the young one and go back to his ship.”

“Remy,” he interrupted, feeling a horrified rage bubble up inside him. Granby had said what? “That’s not fair at all, Remy!”

“Oh? Why?” he asked.

“Because we don’t know him! Granby has no right to judge…I can’t believe…he was never like this with me.”

Remy sighed. “He queued for an egg two years go,” he reminded his captain. “It went to stupid Rankin. And there hasn’t been one since.”

Harry was aware of Granby’s disappointment over Levitas, a dragon Harry had not seen for quite a while, and according to Remy, Rankin was horrid to his dragon on top of it. It was a sorry situation, as distressing as it was not surprising, given Jeremy Rankin’s awful personality.

Harry hated him, and he hated Harry just as much, ever since the incident in the dining room when he’d been showing away about getting an egg and Harry had tripped him. Accidentally, of course. As the son of some Earl or what have you, Rankin had shoved poor Granby out of the running for the promotion, and had been insufferable about it as well. Which called for revenge.

Even though his bitterness remained strong and had probably grown some, and Granby had every right to be disappointed, Harry could not approve of Bee’s words. “That has nothing to do with the new captain,” Harry said sternly. “He could not have expected Dayes to succeed, when no one succeeded with you. Besides that, this Navy man none of us knows, and we’ve no right to think badly of him. I expected better of Bee.”

Remy looked suitably chastened. “Are you cross with him?”

“We shall have words, I imagine,” Harry grunted, tightening the straps on his packages. “And you, dear one, will do your best to introduce the new dragon to your friends, won’t you?”

“Of course I will!” Remy said. “He won’t be an outcast at all, Harry! And neither will his captain. I shall inform everyone the moment I return!”

Harry had no doubt he would, and the other dragons would likely heed him, if not to get Remy to stop badgering them about it. He was unsettled and angry as they left, and bade Remy not to worry that he was cross with him. No, it was Granby who had to be put to rights, though Harry had no blasted idea of how to go about it. He hoped Jane hadn’t been right about their friendship. He hoped there would not be contempt between he and Granby at all.

He was never one to be overly optimistic.

:::::

Remy landed and called out to Crescendium, first and foremost, “Look at my gold! It is much better than yours.”

“Remy, really,” Harry muttered as the good-natured squabble began. They were interrupted, however, when a sinuous black dragon landed in the clearing. His blue eyes took in the new arrival with curiosity and a certain wariness, and his tongue flickered out to taste the air.

The dragon was a gorgeous species Harry had never seen before. He glanced at it with an appreciative eye as he unloaded Remy’s belly netting of its sweets and a bracelet for Emily, and other articles he had been ordered to acquire by his crew and a few other captains. Remy jolted at the arrival of the dragon and then was off, leaving Harry’s work unfinished. He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes.

“Bonjour!” Remy said to the dragon. “I am Remy and you are black like me!” He glanced quickly at Crescendium. “Do you see, Cressy? Only the best dragons have our colours!” He turned back to his new companion as Cressy grumbled mutinously, and then cocked his head in surprise. “But you are not French at all!”

“I’m an Imperial, that’s Chinese,” the dragon answered, looking taken aback at Remy’s enthusiasm but with a hint of surprised pleasure. Harry thought, sadly, that because of his captain’s ostracism the dragon probably hadn’t made many friends of his own. “Are you French?”

“I’m a Papillon Noir, and I escaped Napoleon so that I could be with my capitaine, who is English. Harry! Harry! Come meet my new friend!”

Harry did not refuse him. As if he could. “What is your name?” Remy was asking the dragon as he approached.

“Temeraire, and my captain is Laurence. He won me in battle,” the dragon introduced.

“What a lovely name! My capitaine has been in many battles. He’s a hero. And your capitaine is too! My, we must be the best in all the Corps, I’d say,” he concluded loudly for Cressy’s benefit. “This is Harry.”

Harry bowed with a smile. “A pleasure to meet you. Temeraire, was it?”

“Yes,” Temeraire said. “The pleasure is mine.”

“I like your pendant!” Remy interrupted. “That’s a pearl, isn’t? I haven’t any pearls yet.”

Harry gazed at him and sighed. “Perhaps another frigate, dearest, and we’ll get you a pearl.”

Remy perked up and said to Temeraire in a conspiratorial hush, “My capitaine is really very easily won over, and I never want for anything. But I do adore my Harry, however soft he is.”

“I can hear you, Remy,” Harry pointed out. “How are you settling in, Temeraire?”

“Quite well, sir, thank you,” the dragon said, smiling at Remy with a solid, quick fondness. “You are welcome join us down at the lake for swimming later, after we eat.”

Remy was entirely baffled. “Swimming!” he gasped. Temeraire hunched a bit, as if wary of acting outlandish to his new friend. “What a capital idea! Why haven’t you taken me swimming, Harry?”

Harry scratched at his head. “Uh…sorry? I’ve never seen a dragon swim.”

“Which just means we should do it, of course. Really, Harry, you’re so adventuresome, normally!”

“I wasn’t refusing–”

But then Remy was off and hadn’t heard him at all, telling Temeraire about their various exploits. He excused himself just as Temeraire was telling of his capture in battle by his captain, and passed Cressy and Maximus coming toward them with interest; peeved at being left out.

The problem of Temeraire’s acceptance into the covert settled, Harry made his way to his rooms to wash up before lunch. He changed into his fatigues and unpacked his purchases, before resolving to bathe after the lake outing. Or perhaps he would swim as well.

Harry came into the corridor before the dining hall in time to catch a disturbing exchange indeed. Granby saluted a stiff-backed man with spiteful mockery, saying, “Sir,” as if it were the last thing he would call the man even in formal company.

To the man’s credit, he replied merely, “Mr. Granby,” and continued on his way toward a table. He did not sit alone, but did not speak with any other.

Harry frowned as he lingered by the door, assuming that the slighted man was the new captain. He was tall and slim, laced with wiry muscle obvious even in his too formal attire. His full head of blond hair rested gracefully (Harry observed with envy) atop a smooth forehead which framed a handsome face. He certainly held himself with decorum, though Harry could sense no maliciousness in his posture. Having met Temeraire first helped, for bar Captain Rankin, a dragon often told much about their captain’s character, and vice versa.

He sighed and came away from the shadows, waylaid very suddenly at his entrance by Emily, who sat with the other children and had been looking out for him.

“Harry! Harry!” she called to him exuberantly, hugging him around the middle. Emily did not ask for her booty, but simply held out a hand.

He laughed. “You brat,” he teased. “What makes you think I have anything at all for you?”

“What’s behind your back then?”

“My hand.”

“And what’s in your hand?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

She sighed with unending patience, as if he were a little child, and said, “Harry, really–”

He handed her a bag of sweets and the little bracelet, laughing again at her enthusiastic perusal of his gifts. Emily pronounced herself satisfied and with one last hug, marched herself off to show off her treats. Harry had not forgot the others and followed her to put a bag of sweeties on the table, to which they scrambled through immediately, chewing with piping thank yous. Emily looked put out by his lack of favouritism, but indulged in the other sweets as well.

“Hello, Father Christmas, what do you have for me?” Berkley said, coming up to him. His parchment and pens, as requested, as well as money left over exchanged hands. Harry gave Faversham his new buckles, amidst much teasing from the others and handed out the various items for the officers present.

“Did you buy another trinket for your vainglorious beast?” Cressy’s captain, Gregson yelled from across the room.

Harry shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, mate.”

“Damn!” Gregson cursed, turning back to Captain Warren. “I’ll be bankrupt in a fortnight with Cressy’s complaining.”

Granby was standing at their usual table. Harry smiled at him, tightly, and with a terrible turning of his stomach, made his way to Captain Laurence instead. “May I join you?” he said without preamble.

The captain was surprised, but not unwelcoming. “But of course. Captain William Laurence, on Temeraire, at your service.” He held out a hand.

Harry gave it a firm shake. “Captain Harry Potter, at yours, on Remy. You’ll not have met Remy yet, but I’ve just had the pleasure of speaking with Temeraire. I should warn you, Remy has found a fellow conspirator, and now they shall never behave.”

Laurence smiled. “What would they be planning, I wonder?”

“Most likely how to make us hand them the world on a silver platter. My spoiled beast will have your Temeraire expecting all manner of luxuries soon enough. How do you find Loch Laggan?”

“I find it very well,” Laurence said politely and quickly as Harry’s meal arrived. Harry knew this to be a falsehood, but admired his manners anyway. “Temeraire has been comfortable, but I am glad to hear he’s made friends with yours.”

Harry grinned. “More like Remy’s made friends with him. Didn’t give Temeraire much choice in the matter. You’re training with Lily’s formation?”

“We are.”

“Celeritas have you run jolly ragged? My first few months were ghastly, and Remy complained day and night of endless formation flying.”

Laurence was surprised by this knowledge, for some reason. “Oh yes, Temeraire is just the same. He is very clever, far more intelligent than I, I’d say. He has an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and so I am often reading to him. I was never one to appreciate books but now I suppose I will become scholar for his benefit.”

“You read to him?” Harry said, smiling. “I tried once with Remy, but he doesn’t sit still for long and he’s well…you’ll see.”

“Are you normally stationed at Loch Laggan? I know many captain‘s more often in the air than on land.”

“Dover. But we’ve been mostly patrolling these last few months, and besides a skirmish or two and a ship in peril, there’s not been much action. No great battles, to be sure, like the Nile.”

“My word!” Laurence said. “Were you in the Corps then?”

He nodded with a smile. “Three months into our training and we receive word that we’ve been called to battle as is. I was scared out of my wits, not being fully trained.”

“He lies,” Berkley suddenly said, popping over to lean on Harry’s chair. “Lad went and flew his dragon as close to the sea and near enough to eat a cannonade as he could get. Had Remy claw open the hull and sink it. The bravest and stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. I was on Auctoritus then, as Lieutenant. Absolute madness.”

“You are the captain with the French defector!” Laurence said in realisation. “I saw that happen as well! I was first Lieutenant on the Goliath.”

Harry gaped and Berkley began to laugh. “Is that what they call Remy? The French Defector?”

“I beg your pardon,” Laurence apologised, for no reason Harry could surmise as it was only a case of good-natured ribbing. “It was news six or seven years bygone, and that was indeed what he was called.”

“Remy will love that. Now we have a name for both of you,” Berkley chortled.

“Mad Old Harry on the Runaway Frog,” one of the men shouted.

Laurence looked nonplussed but amused at the slagging Harry was getting and said, “Whatever do they mean?”

Harry made a face at the noise and waved them away. “Scrubs, the lot of them,” which started a new round of teasing. “Temeraire invited us to the lake after lunch, if you don’t mind us joining you. Remy’s cross with me that I’d never thought to take him swimming before, though I shall never know how I was supposed to think of it.”

“Of course,” Laurence said gladly. “We would be happy to have you.” He sobered for a moment. “I beg your pardon, may I ask your age? You were at the Nile, I know, and that was not long ago, but please excuse me… you look very young.”

Harry was amused by Laurence’s tentative informality, ever so polite and cautious despite his friendly nature. Harry liked him.

“Four and twenty,” he answered with a smile. “Remy found me and made me a Captain at seventeen.”

Laurence bowed his head slightly. “I imagine it was quite a shock,” he said immediately, so not to seem like he was insinuating anything.

Harry leaned forward to continue their conversation in a hush. “Captain Laurence, it was more shock to find me so hated for my luck. The Corps is a different sort of place, I find, but once properly acclimated there can be no service better. While it was hard dealing with the unfriendliness, I found Remy a solid comfort, and the companionship of my second Lieutenant, Mr. Granby.”

“Oh,” Laurence said seemingly before he could stop himself. He curbed his tongue quickly over what he might have said next, however.

“Yes, I know,” Harry went on, looking sorry. “I have never known him to be disagreeable, though I am too informal with him, I suppose. I would apologise for him, though despite how it looks, he is not an ill-behaved child.”

Laurence was uncomfortable, Harry could tell. “I would not wish you to assume responsibility for others, sir,” was all he responded with, but his tone was grateful.

“I won’t,” Harry assured him. “It’s far too late for me to amend my status as his superior officer and not always his friend. And I am no sir, everyone just calls me Harry.”

This overture, Harry observed, seemed to take Laurence aback greatly. He, like Harry, did not assume affection quickly. But Harry really did think this man was spot on. “I beg you call me Laurence, as I am addressed by my comrades.”

Friends, then, Harry corrected internally. He did not know that Laurence had had a very similar thought.

::::::

“I don’t know what you mean by it!” Granby was shouting at him.

Harry’s jaw tightened. “And I gave you my answer. It is our duty to accept new captains and make them welcome! You could have brought yourself to our table if you’d liked, nothing was bloody stopping you–”

“Besides Captain Laurence or sir, as he likes!”

“He is your superior, Granby, whether in the Navy or in the Corps, and worthy of respect for his experience and at the least his manners! Which you seem to not possess at all!”

Granby went bright red. “So you like stuffiness, do you? Toffee-nosed captains who steal promotions from other more deserving men?”

“You certainly don’t seem deserving at the moment! And no one has stolen anything! And I would appreciate you not telling Remy your ignorant opinions about people you don’t even know!”

They had started the conversation civilly, if not with some hovering tension. Granby had come to him on his way from bidding Remy goodnight with more hurt than anger in his expression. Harry had wanted him to confide, and had listened while coming up with a strategy on how to point out Granby’s wrongdoing. Granby had started with the disappointment of Dayes and his own bitterness, until he’d sharply diverted his tone all of a sudden, and asked Harry angrily what he had meant by slighting Granby’s company. Harry had professed his need to make Captain Laurence welcome. Granby had scoffed. Harry made him out to be the rudest scrub he’d ever met, and the fight had dissolved into the mess it was now.

“Then I take my leave of you, if I am so far beneath your regard,” Granby spat.

“Oh, belt up, Bee!” Harry yelled. “You were rotten to him and you know it!”

“I would have thought my closest companion would remain true in an strop between gentlemen– your loyalty quickly changed from me to Captain Laurence, I say!”

Harry nearly screamed in frustration, wanting to punch Granby right in the face and be done with it. But he didn’t want to hurt Granby– he just wanted him to listen. “I cannot condone your behavior,” he said, absolutely seething. “You have disrespected a superior officer–”

“This again? Shall I call you sir and salute you…shall I bloody curtsy since you think you’re His Majesty himself?”

“You are insubordinate–”

“And you have never cared for rules or authority, Harry, never! You cannot tell me otherwise when you do what you like, even if it’s damn risky for Remy and your own bloody crew! If you’re too selfish to change then I’d rather be shot of you so I won’t have to risk my neck protecting some careless dodger!”

Granby stopped himself abruptly and paled.

Harry nodded, feeling his insides churn. “Fine. Be shot of me. I’ll inform Celeritas in the morning.”

He left quickly, and Granby stood there for a long while, ghostly white and cursing. He didn’t mean any of that, damn him–

“Well that’s torn it,” the ground crewman said with a laugh, coming back from the courtyard. “You handled that well, lad.”

Granby called him something not very nice at all and fled.

:::::

Harry did not sleep that night, restless as he was due to both fury and melancholy. He hated being at odds with anyone, most times, and the last person he had fought so heartbreakingly with was Ron, his best friend left behind in his journey to this new world. But this quarrel was both different than and similar to his and Ron’s infamous disagreements.

During both the trouble in his fourth year and while camping in search of Horcruxes, Ron’s jealousy had been the source of the problem. It seemed Granby was of a mind that Harry’s defense of Laurence was disloyal, as well as an abandonment of their friendship. His jealousy was queer in that where Harry could understand Ron’s fear of being overshadowed by Harry’s fame, this was simply a matter between two seemingly ordinary men over the acquaintance of another. If Harry had befriended anyone outside of Hermione and Ron, he wondered if Ron would act the same as Granby.

Yet he could not see Ron taking it to heart. His jealousy had not extended to Neville, who Harry was often in confidence with, or Fred and George, his mischievous brothers. Not when Harry had been with Cho or Ginny, not even when Harry went off alone to avoid Ron and Hermione’s bickering. No, his jealousy was of the envious kind, for Harry’s fame and fortune. Or, in the case of Granby, it could not be jealousy at all, now that he thought about it.

There was a truth to his crime of disloyalty. He had not spoken to Granby before slighting his table at lunch. Harry belatedly realised he should have. But there was no telling how Granby would have reacted to the chastising. He had seemed absolutely furious at Harry’s talk of superior officers and respect, and really, Harry truly was a hypocrite, due to his own informal relationships and balking of orders. He should have gone to Granby and asked why he held Captain Laurence in so little regard, and then soothed Granby’s irritation after he was assured of Laurence’s character.

The remonstrating voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Hermione, who he imagined would simply say, “Boys. Honestly.”

His temper had got away with him again. But in his defense, Harry had grown to expect tolerance and companionship in this world, for he had found it in the Corps and had wanted…well, he wanted to show off the friendliness, the welcome the Corps was capable of. To contradict the hostility that he had had to endure when he had first arrived. He wanted to be Laurence’s Granby, and be the leader in acceptance, to hurry along the inevitable really. Like Granby had done for him.

Harry was soft for the Corps now. They were his comrades…his fellows. They were the only people he knew in this lonely world and the Corps was now something like a home. He knew others who had accepted outsiders with little hesitation; Mrs. Weasley, her children, Mr. Weasley, Hermione, Neville…Granby, and he promised to himself that when the time came to reciprocate with others that he would be the one to welcome them. Harry wanted to be that person.

Yet his stupid self-righteousness and distemper had messed everything up again. Harry sometimes hated his awful habit of jumping headfirst into situations he had not thought through. While at times it turned out well, in contrast (mostly when his brashness collided with sentiment) he was also known to royally bollocks things up. Like now.

But Granby owed him an apology as well. Harry was fuming over his words, which were, excusably, said in the heat of quarreling. Yet it still merited an apology, and Harry would not give his own unless Granby recognised that the blame was mutual. He fussed and fretted over the matter all night, until he gave in and went to Remy, who was sleeping beside Temeraire.

Remy woke as he climbed in between his shoulder and forearm, nuzzling him with concern. “Harry? What ever is the matter?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” Harry said, more sharply than intended. “Go back to sleep, dearest.”

The dragon obeyed and Harry did as well, finally warm and calm enough to sleep.

:::::

In the morning things did not look better. Granby was with the ground crew when Harry left for his rooms, looking tired but unwilling to approach him. Harry ignored him in return and went to bathe. During breakfast, he sat with Captain Laurence, who, despite Harry’s grumpiness, was very politely concerned though he did not press when Harry refused to talk about it. Harry did manage to cheer up a bit after agreeing to another journey to the lake that afternoon.

When they went out to the courtyard together, Remy and Temeraire were speaking in low tones to each other, heads bent in secrecy.

“Oh, they’re thick as thieves already,” Harry groaned. “Now we’ll have mutiny and chaos. Just see.”

Laurence laughed. “Temeraire possesses a curiosity for the laws of property. He is often professing his outrage that stealing cows from unsuspecting farmers is prohibited. I am torn between amusement and concern that he will be locked away for treason. ”

“Remy is just the same. He thinks cows should be free and orders are silly, and though he doesn’t disobey, usually, I see the rebellion that lies in wait. What are we to do with them, I wonder?”

They had made it to the two dragons by then, and so his words were heard. “You’ll have to love us despite it, I suspect,” Remy told him promptly. “Now what’s this about you and Granby fighting?”

Harry went red with mortification. “A minor disagreement, Remy,” he answered lowly, avoiding Laurence’s questioning gaze. “Should we watch Temeraire’s flying today? I’ve heard he’s quite good.”

If dragons could blush, he supposed Temeraire would be bright red with how bashfully he dipped his head and said with pleasure, “I’ve heard that you and Remy are the best.”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Remy told him. “If we’re both so good perhaps we can have a formation to ourselves.”

Temeraire looked absolutely ecstatic over this proposal, much to Harry’s horror. They had little regard for orders already, and he imagined changing the fundamentals of Celeritas’ formation training would have them sent to Coventry so fast their heads would spin. Thankfully, Laurence helpfully intervened.

“The training is well enough for us, my dear,” he said to Temeraire. “We would not want to be an imposition to Celeritas or Lily’s formation.”

“If we’re better than the rest it really isn’t our fault, Captain Laurence,” Remy argued. “Though I suppose you are right. We will simply propose it slowly, so Celeritas can get used to the idea.”

Temeraire thought this was a perfect plan and Harry winced. “Remy, perhaps when we’re not so…busy with Napoleon,” he offered, glancing at Laurence apologetically.

“You’ve two more days of liberty,” Remy reminded. “We can create some maneuvers before then, and show them to Celeritas, who will be very impressed. You’ll see.”

Harry gave in with a helpless shrug to an amused Laurence. They made their way to the training grounds with Temeraire and Remy conspiring ahead of them, most alarmingly, in Harry’s opinion.

“I beg your pardon,” Laurence addressed him, apologising first, as he was wont to do. “I do hope your quarrel with Lieutenant Granby was not due to me. I would not wish to cause dissension among your men.”

Harry looked at him. “Our quarrel is necessary, I’m afraid,” Harry said at length. “Granby has been spoiled with a crew and a captain that usually forgive him anything. I will admit that I did not handle it as well as I should have, though nor did Granby. I beg you not to worry, Laurence, that you have caused any problems I did not make myself.”

Laurence still seemed concerned, and Harry thanked him again but they did not say any more on the matter, for Temeraire was about to fly. He truly was magnificent in the air, smoother and more effortless than Remy’s controlled fits and starts. Unfortunately, Remy had Celeritas’ ear as Temeraire did his formation flying, and suspiciously, when Temeraire landed he bid Harry and Remy to go up with them. Laurence was smiling from the harness, amused at Harry’s grumbling. They flew the formation tactics together, Remy finally finding Temeraire’s pace and moving like liquid with him. They were close together, closer than most formations flew, and even Harry had to marvel at their grace.

When they landed, Celeritas said as much. “If there were more time, I’d suggest a single formation with you two,” he told them thoughtfully, and Remy nudged Temeraire happily. “Though Captain Potter will have to control himself.”

Harry flushed. “He likes to cut straps and traipse about on a flying dragon,” Celeritas answered Temeraire’s request for an explanation. “Boards as well, against all order and reason. Never seems to fall off, I’ll credit to him. Unless it’s intentional.”

“I’d always catch Harry,” Remy proclaimed. “As if he would need my intervention. He’s a flier just like me. He’s supposed to be in the air–”

“Please, dearest, no boasting today,” Harry cut him off quickly. He knew Remy would never give away his past, but the dragon was always so enthusiastic, and often got away from himself. Most of his chatter was considered irrelevant, but Harry was sure even tales of broomstick flying and air sports would be taken seriously enough that there would be some uncomfortable questions.

They left after Temeraire mastered a few more maneuvers and all chatted amiably on the way to the dining hall. Harry belatedly realised he hadn’t talked to Celeritas about Granby, and sighed, knowing very well that for all his pride– he simply wouldn’t.

:::::

It turned out that Harry didn’t have to, for on his last day of furlough Granby did it for him. They had not talked, and avoided each other quite effectively. Celeritas called for him and informed him of the change, introducing a Lieutenant Eastaway to be his second. Eastaway was an open and friendly young man, but still very young. Harry liked him, but wondered how well he would work with the formidable Faversham, and whether he would stand up for himself like Granby had, to earn Faversham’s respect.

And it looked as though Granby was well shot of him.

Harry tried not to be angry or show any of his hurt feelings to Eastaway. He shook the man’s hand and introduced him to the rest of the crew, who were welcoming but bewildered. He suspected they all knew of he and Granby’s row, yet had not expected Granby being replaced. Once the introductions were over, Harry excused himself. His bellman, Morrow, stopped him briefly to ask, in a whisper, “Are you alright, sir?”

The concerned faces of his crew were welcome, but a bit too much for Harry at the moment. He merely nodded, his head down, and left.

::::::

They departed for patrol the next morning. With his furlough over, Harry and Remy were put to work and seldom grounded. He saw his fellows briefly, and kept to Laurence’s company or Chenerey’s, who was aware and saddened by his and Granby’s silence. He did his best to cheer Harry when he saw him, and so in between his patrolling Harry was not too melancholy.

Temeraire and Remy continued their plotting, to Harry’s mortification. The talked about maneuvers hadn’t quite happened yet, to Harry’s relief, as they were run ragged enough without more training.

In June, Harry came off a long patrol that had taken him from Dover to Falmouth on account of a fair number of attacks and distress calls. He heard about Victoriatus being injured, having been in Aberdeen where the news had come in very quickly. Temeraire had done brilliantly in getting Clark’s dragon home, and of the crew temporarily serving Temeraire, Granby had been one of them as first Lieutenant. Harry did not know what to think of this.

“I would not want us to be at odds, Harry,” Laurence was saying, unusually familiar with him in his consideration. “He is an excellent Lieutenant, as you said.”

Harry nodded. “By all means, Laurence, please place him,” he finally said. “It was his decision to leave us, and I won’t have him suffer for it. He’s a good man. You can trust him.”

Laurence bowed solemnly. “Lieutenant Granby did indeed work efficiently,” he agreed. “But his abandonment of you was hasty, and entirely disrespectful.”

Harry was shocked at Laurence, who normally spoke kindly of everyone or was silent in the face of those he disapproved of. He shook his head.

“We are both to blame, and it shall be resolved sooner or later.” He had no real hope it would be, though, but did not want to worry Laurence. “In the meanwhile there are more important things. Lieutenant Eastaway is just as capable on Remy, and you need a good man at your back.”

Laurence told him about his troubles with Rankin as well, who was neglecting Levitas quite terribly. Harry commiserated with him, disapproving of the unspoken rule that other aviators should not interfere with a captain and his dragon. They spoke of Temeraire’s plans for maneuvers, many of which included Remy, and bemoaned their fate as the overseers of such mutinous creatures. They did not speak of Granby again.

As the time flew, for patrolling was both boring at times and eventful at others, Harry came to Loch Laggan one afternoon to find Temeraire gone. Celeritas informed them that orders had come, and Temeraire and Laurence were reassigned to Dover with Lily’s lot. Harry and Remy were moved to Middlesbrough as well, away from Excidium’s formation for nighttime patrol. Remy enjoyed the chance for any prizes, but was sad to be away from his companions.

Their departure was quick and their months tiresome, for it was a long while until they saw their friends again.

:::::

The call to Cadiz was for all of Excidium’s outfit. Harry had not seen Jane in a while, and when they met at Falmouth to rendezvous, Harry was very happy to see her.

“Emily’s ensign for Temeraire, did you know?” she said as the crew put their equipment up in preparation for a long journey. “And Granby too.”

Harry liked Jane but did not want to speak of the fight anymore. She sensed this, and seemed to agree, because she let it be. “Laurence told me enough,” Jane said at his lack of response.

“How are Laurence and Temeraire? Remy misses his best mate.”

“Quite well,” she answered. “Captain Laurence is a good man.”

One of Jane’s ground crewman suddenly said, “Is he, Cap'n?” with unconcealed innuendo.

Harry burst out laughing as Jane thanked her crewman for providing them with so far unlearned information. “Oh, Jane, really?” Harry laughed. “You’ll ruin him!”

She scowled. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a gentleman, Jane.”

“And an aviator,” she reminded.

“But a gentleman first and foremost. You want just an aviator, something to warm your bed, but he’ll go on fancying you and only you until death do you part.”

Jane gave Harry a narrow look. “I happen to like that he’s a gentleman,” she said.

Harry patted her on the back. “Just be careful with him,” he told her. “Oh, poor Laurence,” and dissolved into laughter again.

She seemed to find this funny as well. “I can promise nothing,” she admitted. “But I like him more than any other I’ve had relations with.”

“Poor, poor Laurence,” he repeated, then was set off again with giggles. She tussled the back of his head in response.

:::::

By October it seemed that Remy and Harry battled awake and asleep, if they got any rest at all. Their skirmishes with the Spanish were long and at times brutal. Hayes, Remy’s surgeon, spent most nights when they finally set down after hours of flying and fighting, digging musket balls out of poor Remy’s hide, who fussed terribly. They had been lucky so far, only one of Remy’s topmen, Wansley, had been injured with a clean break at the knee when Remy had shook off a few boarders and his strap had caught. He was sent back to England in fever, but Harry was assured he would live.

Excidium’s formation remained strong as ever, if quite tired. Mortiferus was made to rest for a week after a slash to his breast had torn him open to the bone, but besides endless complaining of being grounded, he seemed well enough. Jane and Harry both wrote to Laurence while gone, and Remy put in his own news for Temeraire. He was homesick, and Harry agreed with him silently, not having the heart to whine to as well, as Remy did better when at least one of them stayed strong. Jane helped to distract them with her easy companionship, and Harry’s crew was as resilient as always. But it was a hard few months all the same, and if Harry never saw Cadiz again it would be too soon.

And then the French attempted to set sail for Naples with thirty-three French and Spanish frigates and ten dragons. Nelson, in pursuit, called for the fleet to make ready for battle, and Excidium’s formation at Cadiz was included. Pushed back south, to Cape Trafalgar, the fleet sprawled across the coast in an uneven line as Nelson made for them.

In those early hours of preparation, and upon arriving at the coordinates, Harry was aware of the immensity of this day. He marveled at being a part of it, and his sharp grin and Remy’s joyous enthusiasm raised the morale of his crew quite contagiously.

He saw the stratagem high in the clouds as their formation came to battle. Instead of fighting at close parallels, as most Naval warfare had maintained, the British fleet was severed into two lines, and Harry was able to see them cut through the blockade, splitting the fleet into three. Excidium signaled Remy, Auctoritus, engage enemy flag ship and Harry smiled in anticipation. Seeing the Naval mastery of Nelson was much better than meeting the puffed up man in person, he thought as they made for the ship responsible for flag signals.

Remy howled happily as they came down, his claws outstretched to wreak havoc on the mainsail. Auctoritus engaged a Petit Chevalier to keep him away from Remy as he swiped his tail, knocking men clean into the water and toppling the mast. He was too quick to shoot at, though their safety would not last long. The French were likely warned of Remy and Harry’s outlandish tactics, and would adapt.

A man on the prow jumped over Remy’s tail, but was unlucky enough to trip and fall upon a another, who, having finally made ready a shot, accidentally turned his musket upon another man and shot his hat off.

“Sorry!” Harry shouted down at them, feeling ridiculously giddy. The crew laughed.

Their harassment of the flag ship continued until Auctoritus crowed in victory as the Petit Chevalier fled, bleeding from the chest. Nelson’s line had suffered direct fire for his strategy, but now the French and Spanish fleet was broken. They engaged the three clusters of separated ships as the enemy flag ship suddenly caught fire. Harry looked at Remy briefly, to see if somehow they had caused this, but saw to his amusement a Flecha-del-Fuego, who had intended to hit Remy but missed. The colours struck on the French ship, and the British 'Defiance’ aligned and boarded them amidst cheers as Remy swiped at the fire breather.

“I don’t care that you can breathe fire!” Remy yelled at the Flecha-del-Fuego. “You are small and silly. You missed me!”

His taunting had the dragon after them, and Harry ordered Remy toward the British lines. They lured the dragon into the crossfire and a well-aimed cannon grazed its belly and toppled most of its crew into the sea. The Flecha-del-Fuego roared in pain, and very suddenly let loose a barrage of flame. It caught the Victory’s foremast on fire, burning fast, until the whole lot fell to the deck amidst the startled yells of the sailors.

“Whoops,” Harry muttered over the wind. Unfortunately, the Flecha-del-Fuego retreated when Laetificat came at him with claws outstretched, its crew unwilling to give England a fire breather. There didn’t seem to be too much damage to the Victory, to Harry’s relief. He didn’t have time to worry, though, as a Parnassian came at them almost too quickly for Remy to dodge.

“Mr. Brindle, what was that?” Harry bellowed to his lookout.

“Dead, sir,” Scarborough informed him.

Harry winced and ordered Remy to engage. Remy tore at the Parnassian with a viciousness Harry knew to be anger at the loss one of his crew. The Parnassian managed a strike to Remy’s shoulder, where the bleeding gouge had him howling in pain.

“Remy! Remy!” Harry shouted.

“I’m alright!”

“Not deep, sir,” Faversham said.

“Have at them, then!” Harry ordered with narrow-eyed fury.

Remy laughed and drew close to the Parnassian. His boarding crew lunged over and onto the beast under Harry’s close eye, and Harry tapped Remy’s shoulder to let him know his next move. And like the Admiralty had forbade him, and like how the French had probably been warned about but didn’t quite believe it, Harry unstrapped and jumped right onto the dragon’s captain. His pistol was at the man’s head in one quick moment, as his own boarders pushed the Lieutenant over the side to clear is back.

“Non bien,” Harry said in perfectly awful French. The Frenchman cursed as his dragon balked at the threat. “Oui. Bollocks,” he commiserated cheerfully.

He gave the captain over to the boarding crew, who would direct them to England. All of the sudden, he heard Remy cry out as a shadow fell upon them. The Chanson-de-Guerre had shocked Remy into dipping away from the Parnassian, and Remy was almost three kilometers below him now.

The Chanson did not engage, but hovered close to them in defiance, looking to separate Remy and Harry. “Lower, lower, fly,” his boarding crew beseeched the Parnassian, shoving the pistol hard enough into the French captain’s head that he cried out. The dragon obeyed, but before he could make it back to Remy, the Chanson intercepted them with a roar, using his large body as a blockade. Remy flitted closer and the Chanson swiped at him again.

Harry supposed this stalemate would not last. That they would try and board Remy and force Harry to surrender to their captured Captain. The Chanson began to fly lower, doing exactly as Harry had expected. But Harry would not let this happen, and there was a clear shot down to Remy if he was daring enough.

“Signal Remy to remain. Tell him not to move,” Harry ordered one of his crew.

“But sir, he must flee–”

Remy would not flee with his Captain aboard another dragon. Perhaps this was what Jane, Granby and the Admiralty had meant by recklessness. Yet the maneuver had worked time and time again, and the French had prepared for him, so Harry would only have to think again, and outsmart them a second time. He grinned into the wind as his ensign signaled affirmative from Remy’s back.

“Take them to England,” Harry ordered.

“Sir–”

Harry jumped. The free fall froze him through with cold wind and his own adrenaline. He had never done this before, but angled his body like an arrow toward Remy instinctively. The distance was not much, and he cut through the path of the Chanson without too much speed, spying the shocked faces aboard. He laughed into the fall, reaching out a hand to slow himself down with a spark of power. Remy was directly below him, a few meters, closer, then–

He caught the dangling strap of his own harness tie and swung up and around, using the wind, a little magic which burst from him happily and his own momentum to arch around Remy’s neck and back to his harness. Harry sat with a thump and exhaled as Remy laughed in appreciation. Strapped in again, Harry smiled at the rush and looked to his crew, who gaped back at him.

He had enough time to see, with the utmost satisfaction, that the captured Parnassian was well on its way to England, before the Chanson suddenly came about beside them. His crew snapped out of their stupor, thankfully having loaded their guns, but the Chanson was not close enough to board, and the men did not fire.

The French captain stared at Harry. “Monsieur,” he said, tapping his cap with a nod of admiration. His shocked face would make Harry laugh later, as well as the memory of seeing it mirrored in his dragon and their crew. Harry grinned back at him.

The Chanson departed, possibly unwilling to tangle with that sort of madness or conceding to their brilliance (perhaps both?) and Harry looked around to take stock of the battle. Twenty French and Spanish ships ran white in surrender; out of the thirty-three there were two still under fire and one sunk. Nelson’s strategy had held.

And then it was suddenly over. The Battle of Trafalgar, a decided British victory. Harry and Remy got back into formation. Jane grinned at him as the cheers rose well above the ocean and the canon fire, above the heavy wing beats of the dragons and into the sky where they flew.

:::::

“Yes, I heard about Nelson,” Jane was saying. “For all his strutting I suspect he’ll be happy to wear his medals where he will never lose them.”

Harry winced but said nothing. They had not made it to Dover in time for the battle, much to Remy’s disappointment, though ever since they’d heard of the turn of the tide with Temeraire’s surprising roar, Remy was telling everyone all manner of made up tales about the Imperial. As a friend to Temeraire, Harry suspected his dragon was basking in the glow of his companion’s victory with very little shame. If any. Probably none.

The lot of them, Maximus, Lily, Temeraire and Remy, along with their other accomplices were enjoying a concert Laurence hired for them in the courtyard. He had never heard of dragons enjoying Beethoven, but supposed it wasn’t too strange, when he really thought about it.

Luckily, Jane had not seen Remy’s taunting of the Flecha-del-Fuego, so the blame for the Victory’s catching fire was not on Harry’s shoulders. He made a face anyway, at hearing of Nelson, who had been injured in the event; the medals upon his Admiral’s coat now permanently melted into his skin. Laurence caught the look and raised an eyebrow curiously, but Harry widened his eyes and smiled innocently, much to Laurence’s amusement. Remy would laugh at the news, and with all his bragging, sooner or later everyone would know that Harry had almost incinerated a revered Naval commander. Fantastic.

“Sir,” Faversham suddenly said, coming over to the captain’s group and handing Harry a glass of wine.

The celebration due to the combined victories of Trafalgar and Dover was a mixed society of revelers. Harry and seen Laurence speak with a haughty woman and a gentlemen by the wine tables earlier, and though he could not begrudge anyone the chance of a celebration, he wished it was only the Corps here, and that Jane would not feel so uncomfortable in her mandatory frock.

The Lieutenants and some of the topmen joined them in the hall, but most of his ground crew and the others took to a livelier party in the barracks. Harry wished he could have joined them instead. He had espied Granby in company with a few other Lieutenants across the room, and they glanced at each other in some sort of strange, shy exchange, unwilling to commit to a glare. Jane had already caught them at it and scoffed, but said nothing so far.

Harry gazed up at Faversham and took the glass, skeptically looking at the dark red wine. “Why thank you, Faversham. Is it poisoned?” He made a show of looking into it suspiciously.

Laurence coughed to hide his laugh but Berkley and Jane had no such composure and guffawed at poor Faversham. “Sir, only, I’d like to say something,” Faversham continued, as unruffled as always.

Harry swallowed. “Oh.” He looked about for an escape. “By all means.”

“I would like to simply say that you are mad,” Faversham told him, going on even though the captains were gaping. “Mad and brilliant and if you should do it again I will cut straps and retire and go to my grave still entirely befuddled as to how you pulled it off. Sir.”

Harry was glad that was all he was going to say. “Well,” he said, hesitating. “I wouldn’t blame you. And it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Harry, what on earth does he mean?” Jane asked, adjusting her skirts and leaning forward. “What have you done now?”

Faversham left and suddenly it was Granby in his line of sight. “Is it true?” Granby demanded of him. “Did you jump from a dragon?”

“What?”

“They’re saying they split you and Remy up when you boarded and you jumped an impossible distance to him?”

“What?!”

Harry put his glass down. “I think I’ve had enough lectures for the night. Pray, excuse me.”

“Now, what does he–”

“Harry–” Granby started, but Harry pushed past him and out of the hall. He could hear Jane interrogating Granby in that horrified, disappointed tone of hers. She would reveal later what she thought of him, no doubt.

:::::

“Madness,” she said, after Granby reluctantly told her what Harry’s crew was saying. “Only he would…good God.”

Laurence had left to see to Temeraire, and Berkley and Catherine had fled at the first sign of Jane’s temper. Granby looked as if he would have liked to follow suit. “I didn’t want to–” he began, but Jane waved him off.

“I know you didn’t mean to get him in any trouble, and I suppose he has learned his lesson about boarding, in any case. Or he’ll come up with some equally mad scheme to shock me worse. That lad,” she shook her head. “The both of you give me griping pains.”

“Sir–”

“Don’t sir me,” Jane said. “This strop you’re in with Harry is ridiculous. I suppose you know by now that Laurence and I have relations, due to the mouthiness of the crew.”

Granby looked away. “I do know, yes,” he replied softly.

“Well, your overtures leave something to be desired. To be jealous so quick was foolish, I’d say. And Laurence is a gentleman, as Harry has told me. He would not have thought of it.”

“Neither would Harry, I should say,” Granby said sulkily. “He was promised to a girl once.”

Jane scoffed, downing the rest of her wine. “There has been no such romance since, and though I do not think he has considered it yet, with time I do believe he will come to his senses. He holds you far too close for a man who prefers women. And he did not ever notice Catherine’s attentions, when she was hopeful.”

Granby lifted a shoulder. “She did not make them sincerely plain.”

“And neither have you,” she told him curtly. “Go to him and make peace. You must repair your friendship if there is to be anything else.”

He bit his lip as Jane stood, wrestling to her feet with her dress twisted about the ankles. “Are my affections so well-known?” He asked nervously. He did not worry that Harry would know, apparently as the officers did, for the man was anything but observant.

Jane frowned at him. “Of course they are, Granby, you are absurdly transparent to us all. Though not to your Captain, I imagine, he is worse than Harry at times, when noticing the romantic entanglements of others.”

Granby could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. He was on good terms with Laurence now, and admired the man. Harry had been right about him. “We do not think ill of you,” Jane continued. “Pray, do not think we are mocking you. This quarrel has gone on too long for jesting. Only, if you think it prudent to fall in love with a captain who springs from dragon to dragon mid-air like a frog upon a lily pad, with neither concern nor fear for his own neck, then I say good luck to you and I wash my hands of you both.��

She left him then and Granby waited only a moment to commit to his resolve before leaving as well. It was time to talk to Harry.

:::::

“Come in,” Harry said, putting aside his coats. He hadn’t had the time to unpack just yet, and was doing so now. He would not admit he was hiding. From Jane or Granby.

Expecting Laurence, who would likely want to hear about the battle first hand, Harry was quite shocked to find Granby entering with an anxious expression upon his face.

“I would apologise to you,” Granby said before Harry could get over his surprise. “Harry–” he paused and swallowed audibly. “Harry, I am sorry. I was wrong to say those things to you and wrong about Laurence–”

“Bee,” Harry interrupted. “Bee, I was disloyal to you, and–”

Granby flushed at the nickname, his lips twitching as he stopped himself from smiling ecstatically. “No, I was out of line and you should have knocked me about because I deserved it–”

Harry grinned. “You would not want to brawl with me, I think.”

Granby grinned back. “No,” he conceded. “No, I would have been soundly trounced. I happen to care about my own skin enough to avoid madmen like you.”

“Suppose you’ll want to know about that, then,” Harry said. “Sit down, will you? Have some wine. I boarded a Parnassian after the Victory caught fire–”

“Why do you have that look about you? I know that look. What did you do now?”

“Honestly, Bee, we didn’t mean to melt Nelson’s medals to him, it was an accident!”

And Granby laughed.

End Part I

Go to Part II

#Hp fic #crossover #temeraire fic #hp3a

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