The first sign that something had changed came three days after they left Old Valyria.
Harry woke before dawn—or what passed for dawn in the perpetual twilight of the Smoking Sea—with the disorienting sensation that he was in two places at once. He was lying on his bedroll in their makeshift camp on one of the larger islands that dotted the poisoned waters. But he was also perched on a rocky outcropping fifty feet away, keeping watch with reptilian eyes that could see heat signatures in the darkness.
He sat up with a gasp, and immediately felt Fury's concern ripple through their bond.
*Partner-awake-confused-what-wrong?*
"I can see through your eyes," Harry whispered, staring at his hands in the dim light. Hands that felt stronger somehow. More solid. "Fury, I can see what you're seeing."
*Of course. Bond-complete. Share-all. Is-normal?*
"I don't think anything about this is normal."
But as he tested the connection, flexing it like a mental muscle, he realized Fury was right. This was their normal now. He could close his eyes and see through hers. Could feel the wind in her scales. Could sense the world the way a dragon sensed it—heat and movement and the subtle currents of magic that humans usually couldn't detect.
It was extraordinary. Terrifying. Absolutely intoxicating.
"Harry?" Daenerys was sitting up now, silver hair mussed from sleep. "Are you—oh." Her eyes went distant in that way that meant she was looking through Silverwing's perspective. "You're experiencing it too."
"The full bond?" Harry asked.
"More than that." She held up her hand, and even in the dim light, Harry could see it was different. Her skin had taken on a faint shimmer, like light reflecting off scales. Not obvious—you'd have to look closely to notice—but definitely there. "We're changing, Harry. Physically. The ritual didn't just bond us to the dragons. It's making us more like them."
Around the camp, others were waking and discovering the same thing. Daphne sat bolt upright, her hand going to her throat where her pulse was visible—beating faster than a human heart should, but slower than it had been. Fleur examined her fingernails, which had become just slightly sharper, more claw-like. Tracey discovered she could see in near-total darkness now, her pupils reflecting light like a cat's—or a dragon's.
Susan and Gabrielle were already up, having taken the last watch, and they'd noticed the changes hours ago but hadn't wanted to wake anyone.
"It's not just physical," Susan said quietly as the camp gathered for breakfast. "I can feel Goldhorn's strength. Like it's my strength. I lifted a rock this morning that should have taken two people, and it was easy."
"I tested my reflexes," Gabrielle added, her young face serious. "Threw a knife at a tree. Before I could think about it, I'd caught it. Out of the air. With my bare hand. Didn't even cut myself."
"The dragons are changing too," Charlie reported. He'd been up most of the night monitoring their bonded beasts, his professional concern warring with scientific fascination. "They're more intelligent. Not human-level intelligence, but close. They understand complex concepts now. Strategy. Tactics. Azur actually corrected my calculations about flight patterns yesterday. A dragon. Corrected. My. Math."
"That's impossible," Hermione said automatically, then stopped. "Except we're all living proof that it's not impossible. The bond goes both ways. We get their physical advantages, they get our cognitive abilities. We're becoming something in between. Something new."
"Dragon riders," Luna said, her dreamy voice carrying across the camp. "True ones. Not people who ride dragons, but people who *are* dragons. Partially. It's quite beautiful, really."
"It's bloody terrifying is what it is," Ron said, though he was grinning. "Hermione's scary enough with just human intelligence. Now she's got dragon strength too? We're all doomed."
"I don't have a dragon, Ronald," Hermione pointed out.
"Yet," Sirius said. "There are those eggs we found. The warm ones."
The eggs had been discovered on their third day of exploring the ruins—a clutch of seven, hidden in a vault beneath what had once been a dragon lord's palace. Most were stone, petrified by the Doom's magic. But seven were still warm, still viable, still waiting to hatch.
They'd brought them with them, storing them carefully with the other dragons. And now, in light of the transformation, those eggs took on new significance.
"We should discuss this systematically," Amelia said, bringing order to the conversation the way she always did. "What we've gained, what we've lost, and what it means for our mission."
They spent the morning documenting everything. Hermione, naturally, took detailed notes while everyone tested their new abilities.
The changes were dramatic but not overwhelming. The riders had gained:
- Enhanced strength (approximately twice human normal)
- Increased speed and reflexes (fast enough to catch thrown objects, dodge attacks they couldn't before)
- Improved durability (skin more resistant to cuts and impacts)
- Enhanced senses (better vision, hearing, sense of smell)
- Heat resistance (they could now tolerate temperatures that would have been painful before)
- The ability to share their dragon's senses and vice versa
- An instinctive understanding of dragon-thought and emotion
The dragons had gained:
- Significantly increased intelligence (problem-solving, understanding complex instructions)
- Better impulse control (less likely to act on pure instinct)
- The ability to understand human speech (though not speak it themselves)
- Enhanced magical sensitivity (they could sense spells being cast, identify magical objects)
- A deeper connection to their riders (they could feel human emotions, understand human needs)
"It's symbiosis," Bill said, examining the data with professional interest. "Perfect magical symbiosis. You give them intelligence and control. They give you strength and senses. Both species become more than they were separately."
"The question is," Sirius said, "how far does it go? Will we keep changing? Will we eventually become more dragon than human?"
"I don't think so," Luna said with certainty. "The ritual was about balance. Partnership. We'll stabilize somewhere in the middle. Part human, part dragon, fully both."
"That's a contradiction," Hermione objected.
"Only if you think in absolutes. Magic rarely does."
Neville had been quiet through most of the discussion, but now he spoke up. "We need to train. Properly. These new abilities—they're incredible, but they're also dangerous if we don't know how to use them. Harry, you nearly crushed a teacup this morning when you tried to pick it up."
"It was a very aggressive teacup," Harry said defensively.
"It was ceramic, mate."
"Aggressive ceramic."
"Neville's right," Amelia said. "We have new capabilities, but we need to integrate them properly. Which means practice. Lots of practice."
"I'm already training with the weapons we salvaged," Sirius said. He'd claimed one of the Valyrian steel longswords, and had been practicing with it every spare moment. "Might as well add physical conditioning to the mix."
"I can help with that," Amelia added. "Auror combat training includes hand-to-hand and weapons work. It's not the same as traditional martial arts, but it's effective."
"I was taught fencing," Daphne offered. "And some of the old pureblood dueling forms. They're designed for wand combat primarily, but the footwork translates."
"I can contribute French dueling styles," Fleur said. "And Gabrielle has been training since she was young."
"The Malfoys insisted I learn proper deportment and combat," Daphne continued, her voice dry. "Because apparently, being able to kill someone elegantly is an essential social skill."
"To be fair," Tracey said, "it has come in handy."
"That's not the point."
They organized training rotations. Mornings would be dedicated to physical conditioning and weapons work. Afternoons to magical practice—because while their plan was to hide their wizarding abilities in Westeros, they still needed to maintain their skills. Evenings would be for planning, studying the salvaged texts, and figuring out their next moves.
Hagrid had claimed the massive Valyrian steel axe they'd found—a weapon that would have been absurdly heavy for a normal human but was perfect for someone of his size and strength. He practiced with it now, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone so large.
"Learned a bit o' axe work from me dad," Hagrid explained when Daenerys asked. "Giants use 'em, see. Not as fancy as swords, but effective."
Harry had taken to his training with the intensity he usually reserved for Quidditch. His Seeker reflexes translated well to swordwork—the same ability to track fast-moving objects, to react before conscious thought, to move with precision under pressure.
And with his enhanced speed and strength from the dragon bond, he was becoming genuinely dangerous.
"You're compensating for something," Ron observed, watching Harry work through a series of strikes against a practice dummy they'd conjured.
"I'm compensating for not being able to use magic openly once we reach Westeros," Harry replied, not breaking his rhythm. "If someone sees us casting spells, we'll either be worshipped as gods or burned as demons. Neither option appeals to me."
"You could be a god," Sirius suggested. "I'd make a great god. God of pranks and poor decisions."
"You'd be a terrible god," Amelia said.
"The best terrible god."
"That's not a compliment."
"I'm choosing to take it as one."
The training helped with more than just combat skills. It gave them structure. Purpose. A way to channel the nervous energy that came from being stranded in a magical wasteland with no clear timeline for escape.
And it let them discover the full extent of their new abilities.
Daenerys found she could channel her dragon-strength into her swordwork, making cuts that should have been impossible. Daphne's enhanced reflexes made her nearly untouchable in sparring. Fleur's grace became even more pronounced, her movements flowing like water. Susan discovered she had inherited some of Goldhorn's aggressive territorial instincts, making her a surprisingly fierce fighter.
Tracey and Gabrielle, the youngest of the riders, took to the training with enthusiasm that bordered on obsessive. They sparred together constantly, pushing each other to improve, their styles complementing perfectly—Tracey's cautious defense against Gabrielle's aggressive offense.
"They're going to hurt themselves," Hermione predicted, watching them go at it with practice blades.
"Probably," Neville agreed. "But they'll learn."
"That's a very optimistic take on reckless behavior."
"I learned it from Harry."
"Fair point."
The non-riders weren't idle either. Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the others trained with their own weapons—salvaged Valyrian steel that was less flashy than the dragon riders' equipment but no less deadly. They might not have dragon-enhanced abilities, but they had magic and experience and the kind of stubborn determination that had gotten them through a war.
And then Hermione and Luna made a discovery that changed everything.
"The Valyrian steel weapons can channel magic," Hermione announced one evening, her voice vibrating with barely suppressed excitement. "Not just conduct it—actively *channel* it. Like wands, but better. More focused. More powerful."
She demonstrated, holding up one of the daggers they'd salvaged. She spoke a spell—just a simple Lumos—and the blade lit up like a torch. Not just glowing. *Blazing*. The light was white-gold, pure and clean, bright enough to illuminate their entire camp.
"How?" Bill asked, immediately moving closer to examine the blade.
"The forging process," Luna explained, her dreamy voice carrying unexpected authority. "The Valyrians didn't just make weapons. They made magical focuses. The steel itself is imbued with so much ambient magic that it can store and redirect spell-work. It's brilliant. Elegant. Exactly what you'd expect from a civilization that had mastered both metallurgy and sorcery."
"So we can use these instead of wands?" Ginny asked.
"Not instead of," Hermione corrected. "In addition to. Wands are still better for precise, complex spell-work. But for combat magic? For raw power? The Valyrian steel is superior."
This discovery added another dimension to their training. Now they practiced not just with blade and spell separately, but combining them. Casting through steel, using the weapons as focuses, learning to channel magic in ways that their Hogwarts education had never covered.
Harry was a natural at it. Years of Quidditch had taught him to track multiple moving objects while performing complex physical maneuvers. Now he just substituted spell-casting for catching the Snitch, and the result was something that looked more like dancing than fighting.
"You're showing off," Daenerys observed, watching him work through a combination of slashes and spell-work that would have been impossible without his dragon-enhanced reflexes.
"I'm practicing," Harry corrected, grinning. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Absolutely. Practicing is showing off with purpose."
The days blurred together in a rhythm of training, studying, and slowly working their way west across the Smoking Sea. The islands here were larger and more frequent—remnants of the Valyrian empire that had extended far beyond the capital city. Some were completely lifeless, poisoned beyond recovery. But others showed signs of adaptation, hardy plants that had learned to survive in the toxic environment.
Neville studied these obsessively, his Herbology expertise finally getting proper use.
"Life finds a way," he said one afternoon, examining a flowering vine that grew despite the contaminated soil. "Even here. Even in the worst conditions. Something survives."
"Is that supposed to be inspirational?" Ron asked.
"I thought it was rather nice," Luna said.
"You would."
On the seventh day after leaving Old Valyria, they found the eggs.
Not just any eggs. Warm eggs. *Active* eggs. A clutch of seven, hidden in a vault beneath what had once been a dragon lord's palace on one of the larger islands.
Most of the eggs in the vault were dead—turned to stone by the Doom, their contents fossilized over four centuries. But seven—exactly seven, as if fate had a sense of humor—were still viable. Still warm. Still waiting to hatch.
"How is this possible?" Hermione breathed, scanning the eggs with every diagnostic spell she knew. "Four hundred years. Nothing should survive that long."
"Stasis spells," Bill said, examining the vault's walls. "Look at the rune-work. It's masterful. They created a perfect time bubble. Inside this vault, only seconds have passed since the Doom. For these eggs, it's still four hundred years ago."
"Can we move them?" Charlie asked, already reaching for the nearest egg.
"Carefully," Bill warned. "If we disrupt the stasis too quickly, the eggs might not adjust to the temporal shift. They need to be acclimated gradually."
They spent hours carefully extracting the eggs, wrapping them in spelled blankets, monitoring their temperature and magical signature. By the time they finished, the sun—or what passed for sun in the Smoking Sea—was setting, painting the poisoned sky in shades of crimson and gold.
"Seven eggs," Sirius said, looking at their haul. "Seven current dragon riders. That's not a coincidence."
"It's fate," Luna said simply. "Or destiny. Or just the universe having a laugh. But these eggs are meant for the others. For those who don't have dragons yet."
"Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the twins," Harry said. "But that's only five people. We have seven eggs."
"Hagrid," Daenerys said immediately. "One should be for Hagrid. He's always loved magical creatures, and he's been helping Charlie with the dragons since the beginning."
"And the seventh?" Amelia asked.
They looked at each other. The answer was obvious, though no one wanted to say it.
"For whoever needs it most," Harry finally said. "When the time comes. We don't force bonds. We let them happen naturally."
They brought the eggs back to camp and introduced them to the dragons. The seven bonded beasts were immediately fascinated, circling the eggs, rumbling low in their throats in a sound that might have been welcome or might have been a protective instinct.
*Eggs-small-kin-protect-keep-warm*
Through Silverwing's bond, Daenerys could feel the Ironbelly's maternal instincts kicking in. The eggs weren't hers, but they were *dragon*, and that was enough.
"They'll help incubate them," Charlie said, watching the dragons arrange themselves around the eggs. "Their body heat will speed the hatching process. We might see results within weeks instead of months."
"Assuming they hatch at all," Hermione cautioned. "Just because they're viable doesn't mean they'll successfully emerge. Dragon egg mortality rates are notoriously high."
"They'll hatch," Luna said with certainty. "I can hear them. They're singing. Very quietly, but they're there."
No one questioned this. Luna's ability to sense things others couldn't had proven accurate too many times to dismiss.
That night, as they made camp on yet another island, the conversation turned to their next steps.
"We're getting close to the edge of the Smoking Sea," Bill reported, consulting his maps and compass. "Another week, maybe two, and we should reach clearer waters."
"Which means we need to figure out our approach," Amelia said. "We can't just fly seven dragons into the nearest port city and expect a warm welcome."
"Why not?" Fred asked.
"Because they'll either worship us or try to kill us," George explained.
"Both seem like valid reactions," Fred agreed.
"We need information first," Hermione said, already organizing her thoughts. "About the political situation. About where Daenerys's family stands. About what year it even is—we have no idea how much time has passed. The Doom was four hundred years ago, but that doesn't tell us when we are relative to Daenerys's original timeline."
"My brother might still be alive," Daenerys said quietly. "Viserys. He'd be... gods, I don't even know how old. It depends on how much time passed while I was in your world."
"We need reconnaissance," Sirius said decisively. "A small team. Subtle. Find a port city, gather information, come back with a plan."
"I volunteer," Fred said immediately.
"Me too," George added.
"Obviously," they said together.
"You two are many things," Amelia said dryly, "but 'subtle' isn't one of them."
"We can be subtle!"
"When properly motivated!"
"Name one time you've been subtle."
The twins exchanged glances. "We'll get back to you on that."
"That's what I thought."
"I should go," Sirius said. "I can be subtle when needed."
"That's debatable," Amelia said, but she was smiling. "But you're right. You're good at reading situations. At adapting. And you're charismatic enough to get information out of people without seeming threatening."
"Plus he's pretty," Tonks added. "People trust pretty."
"I'm not just pretty," Sirius objected. "I'm *devastatingly* handsome."
"And modest too," Bill said.
"Modesty is overrated."
They debated team composition for an hour. It needed to be small enough to be non-threatening but large enough to handle trouble. Experienced enough to gather useful intelligence but not so obviously dangerous that they'd attract unwanted attention.
Finally, they settled on: Sirius, Fred, and George. Three people who could pass as merchants or traders, who were good at talking their way out of trouble, and who had enough experience to recognize threats.
"We'll need a cover story," Hermione said. "And appropriate clothing. And local currency—do we even have local currency?"
"We have gold," Neville pointed out. "Lots of gold. From the vaults we accessed before leaving Britain."
"Gold is universal," Sirius agreed. "But we'll need to be careful about spending too much. Don't want to seem like wealthy targets."
"What about the dragons?" Charlie asked. "We can't take them into a populated area."
"They stay with us," Harry said. "Hidden on whatever island or shore we use as a staging point. We're not separating from them now. Not after everything."
*Agree-stay-together-protect-pack* Fury's thought rippled through the bond, and Harry could feel similar sentiments from the other dragons.
"Right," Amelia said, bringing them back to logistics. "So the plan is: we reach the edge of the Smoking Sea, find a suitable location to establish a temporary base, send the reconnaissance team to the nearest port city—"
"Pentos," Daenerys said. "It should be Pentos. It's the closest Free City to the Smoking Sea, and it's where I lived before... before I jumped. If Viserys is alive, someone there might know about him."
"Pentos it is," Sirius confirmed. "We go in, gather information, come back. Simple."
"Nothing is ever simple," Ron said.
"That's why I said it would be simple," Sirius replied. "To tempt fate."
"You're terrible at this."
"I'm excellent at this."
The training continued over the next week as they made their way west. And with each day, the changes from the dragon bond became more pronounced.
Harry discovered he could fall from significant heights without injury—his dragon-enhanced durability absorbed impacts that should have broken bones. Daenerys found she could hold her breath for minutes at a time, Silverwing's lung capacity bleeding through their connection. Daphne's reaction times became so fast she could catch arrows out of the air.
The non-riders watched with a mixture of awe and envy.
"It's not fair," Ron complained one evening, watching Harry spar with Neville. "You get to be part dragon, and I'm stuck being regular human Ron."
"You're not regular," Harry said, blocking a strike and countering with one of his own. "You're Ron Weasley. You helped defeat Voldemort. You broke into Gringotts. You jumped through the Veil of Death to another dimension. That's not regular."
"Still not part dragon though."
"Give it time," Luna said. "The eggs are warming. Someone will bond with them."
"How do you know?"
"The eggs told me."
"Eggs can't talk, Luna."
"Not to you they can't."
On the tenth day, they spotted a ship.
It was Bill who saw it first, using the enhanced vision he'd developed through years of curse-breaking in dangerous environments. He was standing watch when he called out, pointing to the western horizon.
"Sail! Single mast, medium size. Coming from the west, heading into the Smoking Sea."
Everyone scrambled for the vantage point. Through Harry's enhanced vision—borrowed partially from Fury's draconic sight—he could make out details that should have been impossible at this distance.
The ship was distinctive. Black sail. Dark hull. Moving with purpose despite the poisoned waters. And on its deck, figures moved with the precision of an experienced crew.
"Who the hell sails *into* the Smoking Sea?" Charlie asked. "Everyone knows it's death. The stories are universal."
"Someone very brave or very stupid," Daenerys said.
"Or both," Sirius added. "Often the same thing."
"Could be explorers," Neville suggested. "Treasure hunters. People who think they can loot the ruins and get out alive."
"Like the stone men," Hermione said quietly. "Remember? Tommen Lannister. He came seeking treasure too."
"And died for it," Harry finished. "Four hundred years of living death because he thought he could beat the Doom."
They watched the ship draw closer. It was heading for one of the larger islands, perhaps a mile from their current position. Close enough to see. Close enough to potentially interact with.
"What do we do?" Susan asked.
Amelia was already thinking tactically. "We observe. Don't engage unless they spot us first. Let's see what they're after."
"And if they spot the dragons?" Tracey asked.
"Then we have a conversation," Harry said. "But on our terms. We have the advantage of position, numbers, and seven bloody dragons. If they're hostile, we can handle it."
They broke into observation teams. Bill and Charlie, with their professional experience, took point on monitoring the ship's activities. Harry and Daenerys, with their enhanced vision through dragon bonds, served as long-range spotters. The others prepared defensive positions—just in case things went sideways.
The ship anchored off the island's coast. They could see the crew now, perhaps two dozen men. Rough-looking. Scarred. The kind of people who either made their living on the edge of civilization or had been pushed there by circumstances.
"Pirates," Sirius said with the confidence of someone who had hung around enough unsavory characters to recognize his own kind. "Or privateers. Definitely criminals of some sort."
"Takes one to know one," Tonks said fondly.
"I'm a reformed criminal."
"You're a criminal who married well."
"Same thing."
One figure stood out from the rest. Tall. Wearing what looked like armor made from various pieces of salvage. And even from this distance, there was something *wrong* about him. Some quality that made Harry's dragon-enhanced instincts scream warnings.
"That's their captain," Daenerys said, studying the figure through Silverwing's eyes. "And he's... gods, what is he carrying?"
Through the enhanced vision, Harry could see it now. The captain was holding something. A horn. Large. Curved. Covered in runes that seemed to writhe in the toxic light.
"That's magic," Hermione said, her voice tight. "Powerful magic. Dark magic. I can feel it from here."
"He's come for artifacts," Bill concluded. "Valyrian artifacts. Probably heard rumors about treasures in the ruins and decided to risk the Smoking Sea."
"Is he insane?" Ginny asked.
"Probably," Fred said.
"Definitely," George agreed.
They watched as the captain's crew began unloading equipment. Diving gear. Nets. Crates. Everything you'd need for a salvage operation.
"They're going to explore the underwater ruins," Charlie said. "The submerged parts of Old Valyria. That's... actually clever. Most people would focus on the surface structures. But there's probably an entire city down there, preserved under the poisoned water."
"And they think they can survive it?" Susan asked skeptically.
"They must have some protection," Hermione said. "Spells or equipment or—"
She stopped. Through their observation, they could see the captain doing something. He'd removed his helmet, revealing a face that was somehow worse than the armor. Scarred. Mutilated. One eye replaced with something that glowed with unnatural light.
And when he smiled, showing teeth filed to points, Harry felt Fury's instant recognition through their bond.
*Danger-threat-wrong-thing-predator-kill*
"The dragons sense it," Harry said quietly. "Whatever he is, they recognize him as a threat."
"Should we intervene?" Neville asked.
"Not yet," Amelia decided. "Let's see what he does. If he's just here for salvage and leaves, fine. If he becomes a problem—"
"We have seven dragons," Daphne finished. "I think we can handle one ship of pirates."
"Famous last words," Ron muttered.
They maintained their watch as the sun set and the captain's crew set up camp on the island. Fires were lit. Tents erected. The crew settled in for the night, apparently planning to start their salvage operation in the morning.
"We should take shifts watching them," Amelia said. "Standard rotation. If they make any aggressive moves toward our position—"
"We wake everyone and prepare for combat," Harry finished. "Got it."
"I'll take the first watch," Bill volunteered. "I want to study their setup. Figure out what kind of equipment they're using."
"I'll join you," Charlie said. "Professional curiosity."
The rest of the camp settled in for an uneasy night. The dragons were restless, sensing the intrusion into their territory—because they'd claimed the Smoking Sea as theirs now, Harry realized. This was their hunting ground. Their domain. And these newcomers were trespassers.
Harry lay on his bedroll between Daenerys and Daphne, staring up at the poisoned sky. Through Fury's eyes, he could see the pirate camp, could watch the figures moving around their fires.
"What do you think they're after?" Daenerys whispered.
"Wealth," Harry replied. "Power. Same things everyone's always after."
"Think they'll find it?"
"In the Smoking Sea? They'll find death. Whether they find anything else first..." He shrugged. "That's up to fate."
"Fate," Daenerys repeated. "Do you believe in that? Destiny? The idea that some things are meant to happen?"
"After everything we've been through?" Harry said. "Yeah. I think I do. But I also think we make our own fate. We choose. Every moment, we choose. And those choices shape what comes next."
"That's very philosophical of you."
"I have my moments."
She was quiet for a minute. Then: "If we'd met in my original world—if I'd never jumped into that harbor—do you think we still would have found each other?"
"Honestly?" Harry considered it. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. But I'm glad we don't have to find out. I'm glad you jumped. I'm glad Hagrid pulled you out of the water. I'm glad you came to Hogwarts and sat in our compartment on the train and became part of our lives."
"Even with everything that followed? The war? The danger?"
"*Especially* with everything that followed," Harry said firmly. "You helped us win that war, Dany. You and Silverwing. You saved lives. Including mine. Multiple times. So yeah. I'm glad."
"Me too," she whispered.
They drifted into uneasy sleep, the bond with their dragons keeping them partially aware even in rest. And when Bill's urgent mental shout came through three hours later, they were up and armed in seconds.
*Everyone up! The pirates are doing something! And it's not good!*
Harry sprinted to the observation point, Daenerys right behind him. The others were emerging from their tents, wands and weapons ready, moving with the practiced efficiency of people who'd survived too many midnight ambushes to be slow.
"What's happening?" Harry asked, scanning the pirate camp through Fury's enhanced vision.
"The captain," Bill said, pointing. "Look at what he's doing."
In the pirate camp, the scarred captain stood at the water's edge. And he was *singing*.
Not in any language Harry recognized. The words—if they were words—seemed to bypass his ears and drill directly into his skull. Ancient. Wrong. The kind of sounds that shouldn't come from a human throat.
And the water was responding.
The poisoned sea began to churn. Waves that had no natural cause rolled toward the shore. And in the water, things were moving. Swimming up from the depths. Pale shapes that had once been human but weren't anymore.
"Stone men," Daenerys breathed. "He's calling the stone men."
But these weren't like the stone men in Old Valyria. These were different. Worse. The greyscale had taken them completely, leaving them as animate statues with no remaining humanity. They moved with jerky, unnatural movements, climbing from the water onto the shore.
And they were carrying things.
Treasures. Artifacts. Pieces of Valyrian craftsmanship that had been lost beneath the waves for four centuries. The stone men brought them to the captain like offerings, laying them at his feet before returning to the water for more.
"He's using them," Hermione said, horror in her voice. "He's using the cursed victims as slaves. Forcing them to salvage for him."
"That's—" Charlie stopped. "That's actually brilliant. In a horrifying, morally bankrupt way. The stone men can survive underwater indefinitely. They don't need air. They can access areas that would kill anyone else."
"Can we stop him?" Ginny asked.
"Should we?" Sirius countered. "I mean, he's a bastard, but he's not actually hurting anyone alive. The stone men are already dead, more or less."
"They're not dead," Daenerys said quietly. "They're trapped. Suffering. I gave mercy to hundreds of them in Old Valyria. I won't let this bastard use others as his slaves."
"Even if it means revealing ourselves?" Amelia asked. "Once we intervene, there's no going back. He'll know we're here. He'll see the dragons."
"Then let him see," Harry said. "Let him know what happens when you abuse the helpless."
"Are we doing this?" Ron asked. "Are we really about to attack a ship full of pirates because they're being mean to plague zombies?"
"Stone men," Hermione corrected automatically.
"Whatever! Are we?"
"Yes," Harry said firmly. "We are."
"Right then." Ron drew his wand. "Who's up for some pirate hunting?"
Aboard the *Silence*, Euron Greyjoy smiled as his thralls brought him treasures from the deep. The dragonhorn was working perfectly—the fools on the Iron Islands hadn't known what they had. But he'd known. He'd *always* known. And now the riches of Old Valyria would be his.
He'd bind a dragon to his will. He'd conquer Westeros. He'd become king—no, more than king. A god. That was his destiny.
He didn't notice the shadows passing overhead.
Didn't see the seven shapes circling above the poisoned clouds.
Didn't realize he was being watched by people who were very, very angry about what he was doing.
And Euron Greyjoy, who thought himself the cleverest man alive, who believed himself destined for godhood, was about to learn a hard lesson about hubris.
Because the people watching him had fought Voldemort and won.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!