Chapter 29 Understanding Duty
It took another half hour to reach their destination, and by then the sky had brightened considerably. The adrenalin from the battle had at last worn off and Harry was left with nothing but the empty horror of what he had seen. As they moved higher up, they found themselves trudging through snow, and Harry shivered violently in the chill wind. A heating charm cast upon his clothes helped but he wished he had not dropped that fur cloak earlier.
They crested a hill and Harry saw at last the tall stone battlements of an enormous Keep rising out of the rocks ahead of them. In the dim light of morning, torches still burned from the walls, and Harry could see warriors walking the battlements, all armed with heavy crossbows. The castle was enormous, though of a much different design than Hogwarts. This one was starker in ornament, a fortress of war rather than the ornate palace Hogwarts was. It was made up of great walls and large blocky halls, and as Harry moved further up the hill he could see that the walls extended a great distance off to either side. A thousand people could live inside such a structure, and from the looks of the men upon the wall this was a working Keep rather than the school Hogwarts had been turned into.
A horn blared into the pale morning light as they approached, and Harry saw the great iron portcullis that guarded the entrance to the fortress being drawn upward. As he followed his guides inside, the trail of corpses moving ahead of him, he felt the tingle of wards washing over him. That at least was familiar - that at least was something he understood. Like Hogwarts this place was warded with magic. But why he had seen so little other evidence of its use among the men who had taken him, he still did not understand.
Cries of horror and grief greeted him as he directed the bodies into the center courtyard and set them down on the ground. Women swarmed over the bodies of the dead, wailing their grief over the loss of their loved ones and Harry stood there in numbed silence uncertain what to do. He could see small children clutching the bloodied hands of their fathers, and watched in silent horror as a girl only a few years younger than he was stroked the hair of one man's head only to realize that the head was no longer attached to the body.
"Come away, Harry," Alrik urged, and Harry allowed the man to lead him away from the grizzly scene and into the heart of the castle.
Moments later he found himself in an enormous Hall that reminded him vaguely of the Great Hall. There were no floating candles, and no animated sky. But there were long wooden tables and the walls were draped with heavy tapestries. One wall had three huge fireplaces, each lit with a roaring fire. Alrik led him over to one of them, and he sat down on one of the table benches only distantly aware of the activities around him.
Food and drink were brought to the table, men and women milling about. He could see several old women he thought might be healers tending to the wounded men they had brought in, using potions and unguents to seal up their wounds. Two women stopped before him, asked him if he were hurt and then cast several cleaning charms over him when he assured them he was not. Someone else thrust a goblet into his hand and he drank the contents down without checking it first - choking on the taste when he realized it was some sort of sweet ale. A moment later someone else replaced the ale with a goblet of clean water and he drank that gratefully, his stomach at last beginning to settle, his thoughts beginning to clear.
Alrik approached him then, a tall golden-haired man beside him. The stranger was dressed in dragonskin leathers. A cloak of dark blue velvet draped his shoulders. He wore his hair in two braids and had beads woven into his long beard. Though he was young looking yet, Harry guessed by the family resemblance that this man was Alrik's father.
"Harry, this is Lord Asgeir Brand, the Lord of Bifrost Hall," Alrik introduced.
Harry rose to his feet understanding enough to know that 'lord' was not in this case a self-appointed title. He took the hand Asgeir offered him, shaking it firmly. "Lord Brand," he greeted, feeling very much out of his element.
"Welcome to Bifrost Hall, Harry Potter," Asgeir greeted. "Alrik tells me that we are in your debt. That you drove off the Dementors with your Patronus."
Not knowing how else to respond, Harry just nodded his head.
"He also tells me that you have come here freely."
At that Harry shot a glare at Alrik but Asgeir dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I know you were taken against your will, Harry," he amended quickly. "But you chose to come here and hear us out when you recovered your wand. You must have known then that Alrik could not have stopped you from leaving."
"He said the Dementors were threatening children," Harry told him angrily.
"And so you came here to offer us your aid."
"I came here to find out what is happening? I came here for an explanation," Harry growled. "He kidnapped me to hold me hostage for the Ministry. Why? What does the Ministry have to do with this?"
Asgeir nodded in understanding. "It's a long story, but I will tell you everything. I suspect you have more questions than that however."
Harry found himself looking over at Bjorn and Gudrik - they were busy eating large slabs of venison that some of the women had brought in. Harry's stomach churned at the thought of eating anything just then.
"You are all wizards, are you not?" he asked tightly. Judging by the number of men he had seen on the walls, and the comings and goings he saw now in this hall, he guessed that this was an entire community. A city within the Keep walls with hundreds if not thousands of men, women and children.
"Yes," Asgeir confirmed.
"Only three men drew their wands out there," Harry said, trying to get his mind around the concept, trying to understand what it was he was seeing here.
"They were our three bests," Alrik informed him. "They were the only ones who could caste the Patronus charm."
Harry glanced around the hall. On the far side of the room he could see a man lighting several candles with a quick flick of his wand. And several women were floating in kegs of ale before the glowing tips of their wands. Near the door he could see several small children playing some version of Exploding Snaps. This was no a Muggle community. "You're not squibs. I can see that," he said simply, still not able to understand what had happened.
Alrik and Asgeir exchanged a silent look, then Asgeir clapped him on the shoulder. "Come with me, Harry. I'll take you some place were we can talk more freely."
He fell into step beside the two men, following them out of the hall and into a small room off to one side. There was a fire lit in the hearth and several heavy cushioned chairs set before it. A large wooden table shoved off to one side was covered with old books and maps, and a single window looked out into the large courtyard below.
As Asgeir called for one of the serving women to bring food and drink to the room, Harry moved to the window and stared out the cold glass to the people down below. He could see a group of men unloading a large wagon filled with barrels and crates near the gates to the courtyard, and not far from them were a dozen men armed with bows and arrows shooting at targets set along the far wall.
On the far side of the courtyard he could see a large stone monolith surrounded by a circle of small white stones. A giant sundial, he realized and watched as a group of children played amongst the shadow that the enormous monolith was casting upon the ground.
"Will you join us, Harry?" Asgeir asked. Harry turned. Asgeir and Alrik motioned to a chair in front of the fire. Someone had set more food and drink on the low table between the chairs. Harry sat down, reaching again for the goblet of water.
"Tell me about the Dementors," he asked.
Asgeir frowned, but nodded in agreement and in the light of the fire Harry could see a couple of thin streaks of silver in the man's hair. "What do you know of Azkaban prison?"
Harry shuddered. "I know it's guarded by Dementors," he said, guessing that this was the information pertinent to the conversation.
"It was not always guarded by Dementors," Asgeir told him. "Before the Dementors it was guarded by trolls. But trolls are remarkable stupid creatures and the prison was never very secure. About a hundred and fifty years ago someone came up with the idea of finding a darker creature to guard the prison. There were stories back then about a place called the Well of Despair and a terrible creature that lived at the bottom. Men from the Ministry of Magic came here to the Winter Lands looking for this Well of Despair. They found it deep in the heart of our woods. It was sealed with an enormous capstone. They used their magic to remove the capstone and waited for this creature to emerge. At midnight, on New Years Eve, two Dementors emerged from the Well. The Ministry wizards took those Dementors and set them to guard Azkaban.
"One year later on New Years Eve, two more Dementors emerged from the well and the Ministry took them as well. For fifty years they came here once a year and took the Dementors that came up from the Well of Despair. By the end of those fifty years they had one hundred ruthless guards for Azkaban Prison and they did not return again."
Harry pulled his jacket more firmly around his shoulders, thinking of the Dementors that still guarded Azkaban to this day, the creatures that were still hunting for his godfather. "What does that have to do with the Dementors that are here?"
"When the Ministry left the Winter Lands, they failed to replace the capstone over the Well of Despair. By then that area of our woods had been deemed cursed by our people and claimed by the Grendlings, and no one ever went there any more. We did not know that the Well was still open. On New Years Eve two more Dementors emerged from the Well, but this time there was no one there to take them away. Years went by and every year two more Dementors appeared. Eventually my people took notice and realized what had happened. But by then there were dozens of Dementors roaming free in our land. We petition the Ministry to return and seal the Well and take the Dementors away. But they did not answer our summons. It seemed that the Wizard who had orchestrated the deal with the Dementors, and the wizard who had unsealed the capstone in the first place had died. Our request went unnoticed.
"At that time the Wizard Grindelwald was threatening the world and the Ministry was at war trying to stop him. Our requests took a back seat to that battle. The years went by, Grindelwald was defeated, but still our pleas went unheard. Eventually He Who Must Not Be Named rose to power and the Winter Lands were all but forgotten. A hundred years have gone by and the Ministry still ignores us. My people have lived in these lands for three thousand years. We know how to fight the Grendlings and the Giants and the Black Wyrms that dwell in the mountains. But we have no defense against the Dementors. No way to stop them when they swallow up our villages and devour the souls of our children. And still the Ministry ignores us." There was anger in his voice, and a terrible rage in his eyes.
Harry sat in silence for a moment, trying to absorb what he had heard. One hundred years - that meant that there were at least two hundred Dementors roaming free in this land. A veritable army of darkness.
"I still don't understand," Harry informed him. "You must have a thousand wizards in this fortress alone. Dementors can be driven away with a Patronus."
"You have to be able to cast a Patronus, Harry," Alrik told him.
"All it takes is a powerful memory," Harry insisted. "I can teach you. I learned to cast one when I was thirteen."
The two men exchanged a silent look. "Harry, do you have any idea how many wizard and witches there are in the world?" Alrik asked, startling Harry with the non sequitur.
Harry frowned, wondering what on earth that could have to do with the Patronus charm. "No," he admitted. "Tens of thousands I would assume."
Both men smiled grimly, and Harry suspected he had gotten the number wrong. "Harry, five percent of the world's population is magical."
Harry's eyes widened at that and he tried to do the math in his head. He knew the population of the world was currently approaching six billion. "That would mean that there were nearly . . .three hundred million of us!" He had no idea the number was so great.
Alrik nodded. "The current population of Great Britain is nearly 60 million people. That means that in Great Britain alone there are nearly three million wizards and witches. Now of those three million approximate 20 percent of them are between the ages of 11 and 18. How many students currently go to Hogwarts?"
Harry frowned. "Nearly four hundred."
"Four hundred out of approximately 600,000 children," Alrik told him. "Where do you imagine those other children are schooled?"
Harry just stared at him in disbelief. He knew there were other schools - Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, but those schools were in France and Germany who would have their own large population to deal with. "Aren't there other schools?"
But Alrik shook his head. "Not for magic. All the others are schooled at home by their parents. They learn whatever spells they are capable of casting, and make due. Only the elite go to Hogwarts, the best of the best. The four hundred students that are currently at your school are not even one percent of those 600,000 children. Do you understand how much stronger you are than the rest of us? Even the worst student at your school has more power at his command than the average wizard or witch. The elite of our society barely even notices that the rest of us exist."
Asgeir motioned with his hand to the fortress around him. "This is one of twelve strong holds on the Winter Lands, each with a population of thousands. My son here is one of five wizards out of our all our people who was educated in one of the Wizarding Schools."
"I went to Beauxbatons," Alrik explained. "I'm fairly good at transfiguration." He drew his wand and waved it over one of the goblets, transforming it into a spoon. "But I can't cast a Patronus. I never could. Most wizards can't. Did you not wonder why the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters are so feared? They can kill a dozen men with a single curse. They use the Unforgivables the way the rest of us use cleaning charms. Only a tiny fraction of wizards are ever able to cast the Unforgivables. The rest of us can't even conceive of it."
Harry rose to his feet and began pacing the small room, trying to get his mind around what he was being told. Four hundred students out of a potential 600,000. It didn't seem possible. The very idea that someone as poorly skilled as Neville Longbottom far out shone nearly all the wizard and witches in the world - it couldn't be true.
"Have you never wondered why wizards have brooms when they are capable of apparating?" Alrik asked. "Or why we have clothiers when we could just transfigure a leaf or a twig into any item of clothing we want? Why are not all wizards rich if they could conjure gold out of thin air?"
Truthfully, Harry had never thought of those things. He could see now that perhaps he should have. The answer was simply that most wizards and witches could not do these things.
He found himself staring out the window again at the small group of children playing around the giant sundial. Asgeir rose and stood beside him and for a long moment they watched the children as they played with a tiny ball that darted around the air like a snitch. "They're not squibs," Asgeir told him. "All of them are capable of some sort of magic. But there will be no letters from Hogwarts when they turn eleven. Half of them will never even bother to purchase a wand."
"I thought the Ministry regulated wands. I thought you had to pass your Newts before you were allowed to use a wand as an adult," Harry told him. "If none of you go to school, how do you pass the Newts or the OWLs?"
"That rule is for the elite alone," Asgeir explained, "because of the potential damage you are capable of doing with your wands. You are educated in the practice of magic because you have to be. You are too powerful to be left unschooled. Even your accidental magic can wreak havoc on both our world and the Muggle world. But the same is not true for the rest of the Wizarding World."
"Then your people really do have no defense against the Dementors," Harry whispered, a sense of despair washing over him at the thoughts that were filling his head. "And no defense against Voldemort and his Death Eaters."
Both men flinched at his words, each making the ward against evil. And for the first time in his life Harry understood why they were so afraid of even the Dark Lord's name. Voldemort's powers far exceeded any Dark Lord before him. He was quite literally a god among men.
"Do you see now why the world is so in awe of you?" Asgeir asked. "Do you see now why we thought that by taking you we could turned the eyes of the world to our plight?"
Harry feared finally that he did understand. Voldemort was a god amongst men and yet somehow Harry had stood against him time and time again. If he was to believe what he was hearing, he and his classmates were the elite of their world, and while Harry knew he was not by far the best student, he knew his powers out stripped his other year mates.
It was one thing to imagine the few thousands of wizards and witches he had assumed populated Great Britain forming some sort of coalition to rise up against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters and defeat them. To know now that he was instead dealing with a population of millions, and that for the most part those millions were utterly helpless. If he understood the power discrepancy here, then Voldemort could quite literally take over the world and enslave all of mankind. And there were only a few men in this world, like Dumbledore, and most horrifyingly himself, who could even dream of trying to stop him.
He might have been brought here against his will, but he could see now that these people were just trying to survive against a darkness they were no match for. If he truly was one of the elite of their world, then he had a duty to at least try to help them.
"The Ministry is at war over me," he told Asgeir. "Some of the most powerful wizards and witches of our world are fighting for the position of Minister of Magic. I am a prize chess piece in their political game. Did it not occur to you that by kidnapping me all you may have succeeded in doing is bringing an army of powerful wizards down upon you? They may simply choose to take me back by force, instead of giving you the aid you asked for."
Both men paled at that. "We know that's a possibility," Asgeir admitted. "But we had to do something."
Harry could imagine that already there were at least three very powerful and very angry wizards who would be hunting them. He knew the damage Severus, Sirius and Remus could do if pushed. He looked at Alrik. "You married Diana Snape. Why not ask Severus for help?"
"Ask a Death Eater to aid us?" Alrik asked.
Harry bristled at the comment. "He's not. . ."
"I know," Alrik cut in. "But I only came to believe that recently."
"Then why not go to Dumbledore?" Harry asked, trying to understand why they didn't try some other option.
"How?" Alrik asked. "We told you that the Ministry has ignored our petitions for a hundred years. How are we supposed to get access to someone like the great Albus Dumbledore? Kings and Pharaohs the world over have trouble getting an audience with him. He is the most sought after wizard in world."
Harry sat down hard in his chair. He regularly wandered up to the Headmaster's office and chatted with him. He ate with him every night in the Great Hall. He'd played Exploding Snaps with him just two days ago at Christmas time. Could they all truly be that isolated from the rest of their people? Were they all so blind that they could not see what was going on around them? But he knew the answer to that even as he thought it. He hadn't even known a place like the Winter Lands even existed.
"What is it that needs to be done?" he asked, rubbing his temple as he tried to clear his head.
"What do you mean?" Asgeir asked.
"You need the Well of Despair sealed up, correct?" Harry pressed. "What does the Ministry have to do to seal it up?"
"The capstone must be replaced," Alrik told him. "It needs to be moved back over the hole and sealed down."
A stone needed to be moved. Harry shook his head. "You said there were thousands of you here in the Winter Lands. What if you all joined your magic and moved the stone together?"
"Have you ever done magic in tandem with another person?" Asgeir asked him curiously.
Harry shook his head. It was not something he could ever remember being taught.
"Combining the magic of two wizards is one of the hardest spells there is," Asgeir explained. "That is why the Dark Mark is so feared. It joins the magic of the Death Eaters to the Dark Lord. None of us here has the skill or strength to combine such magic together."
"Then what about a Muggle solution?" Harry asked. "Surely the stone can be moved with some sort of Muggle machinery? The have cranes that can lift thousands of pounds. How big is this stone?"
Asgeir pointed to the giant monolith outside. "It is at least twice the size of that, like the stones of Stonehenge. At least ten thousand pounds. And the crane would do us no good. It's a magical artifact - it has to be moved by magic and only magic can seal it in place."
Ten thousand pounds. He stared at the monolith outside. "And none of you can move something that size?" he asked.
"I once lifted two cases of ale," Alrik told him. "They probably weighed about eighty pounds total. Why do you think we were so startled when you transported those eight bodies here? We've never seen anything like that before."
And Alrik was the one who had been to Beauxbatons. He tried to remember the heaviest thing he'd ever seen a wizard levitate. Professor Flitwick regularly levitated the Great Hall's Christmas trees through the front door, but he had no idea how much a Christmas tree weighed. But it was just a stone, he reasoned. Why not cast a feather light charm on it first and then lift it? He'd lifted his trunk regularly with Wingardium Leviosa and couldn't ever remember feeling any sort of strain. He'd never even thought about how heavy it might be - it was just something you did. It was magic.
He got to his feet, and with a determined look on his face headed toward the door. "Harry?" Asgeir asked in concern. Both men rushed after him, but made no effort to stop him as he strode swiftly to through the Hall beyond. Men and women looked up as he passed, but no one tried to stop him.
The door to the courtyard stood open in the morning sunlight and he strode out into the yard, moving across the courtyard toward the sundial. The archers practicing on the range stopped their shooting to watch him and their liege lord as they passed. Several of the warriors who had accompanied Alrik earlier also followed curiously behind.
Harry stopped when he reached the sundial, and stood for a long moment just staring at it as the morning mist swirled about him. Twice this size, he thought. The stone in front of him probably weight between two and three tons. But those warriors today had to have weight nearly two hundred pounds each, never mind the fact that they were missing limbs and blood. He'd lifted eight of them.
Slowly he drew his wand from his jacket pocket and pointed it at the stone. The children playing near it hurried away, moving out of its shadow. Silence fell over the courtyard as everyone turned to watch.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry shouted, letting his magic reach out and surround the great stone.
For a single moment nothing happened, and then as they all watched, the stone uprooted itself from the earth and rose silently in the air. Harry stared at it, his wand holding it aloft. He could feel the weight of it now that he concentrated, could feel the power that was rushing through his veins and out through his wand. But it wasn't unbearable. Not at all.
Carefully he set it back down in its bed of earth, letting the ground reabsorbed its weight before he let the spell go. Slowly he lowered his wand arm and turned to face Lord Asgeir. The men and women of Bifrost Hall were staring at him in silent wonder, disbelief in all their eyes.
"I will move the capstone for you," he told Asgeir. "If you can take me to it."
Asgeir nodded his head in wonder. "It lies at the heart of Grendling territory and the Dementors will try to keep you from it."
At his words, Alrik drew his sword and held it before him, hilt pointing upward to the sky. "I pledge my sword and my life to keep the Grendlings from you." His words prompted all the other men in the courtyard to draw their own swords, or to hold aloft their bows, shouting out their support to stand in battle along side him. Men on the walls raised their own weapons to cheer, and though Harry knew all these men had just pledged themselves to die he suspected the glow of hope shining in their eyes was enough to drive all two hundred of the Dementors back.
Asgeir clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Come back inside, my friend. We have a battle to plan." He turned to the men and women around him and raised his voice. "Tonight we celebrate! And tomorrow. . ."
"Tomorrow will take care of itself!" they shouted back in turn.
Asgeir nodded. "Tomorrow will take care of itself."