Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction / Chronicles Of Narnia Fan Fiction ❯ The King and His Hero ❯ I: And So It Begins ( Chapter 1 )

I: And So it Begins

 

Peter Pevensie couldn't help but pace back and forth, his head throbbing unpleasantly. The attack upon the Telmarine castle failed miserably and the Narnians were losing their hope. As High King, it was Peter's duty to get back the beautiful land of Narnia and assure his people that everything would be alright. Only, Peter wasn't so sure anymore. He'd been so happy to be back in Narnia, but the land that used to be his home was different since he'd left. He despaired over this fact and, though he wanted to restore Narnia's glory and give the Narnians back their freedom, Peter felt that it wouldn't be enough for just him and his siblings to help. They needed more assistance and Peter had an idea how to get it. He stopped pacing and looked up into the solemn faces of his siblings, Prince Caspian, and some Narnians. This group of people made up his counsel.

 

“I have an idea,” Peter said softly. “By now, I'm sure you've discovered that we cannot win this battle by ourselves.”

 

“Got that right,” Edmund piped up with a small frown.

 

“What do you suggest?” Caspian asked with a cocked eyebrow.

 

“You still have Susan's horn, right?” Peter asked Caspian, whose eyes dawned with understanding.

 

“Yes, but you don't know what could happen. How can you be sure that whoever you call will be willing to help us?”

 

“Because,” Lucy spoke up, “Father Christmas said so.”

 

“I don't quite understand,” Caspian admitted.

 

“When Father Christmas gave me the horn, he said that help will find me wherever I was,” Susan explained.

 

Nikabrik scoffed. “He blew the horn once and you lot came. Why, that sure did us some good,” he snarled.

 

Peter scowled fiercely. “And who would you prefer, hm? Perhaps the barbaric White Witch shall come and cause even more madness and mayhem throughout Narnia!”

 

“At least she can actually rid us of Telmarine filth,” Nikabrik retorted. “Unlike some Majesties who, it appears, haven't the slightest idea what to do!”

 

Edmund jumped up angrily. “How dare you?” he spat. “Apparently Narnia has forgotten all that we did to protect her!”

 

“You left!” Nikabrik bellowed. “You abandoned Narnia and now you lot expect to come along a—”

 

“Enough!” Caspian shouted. “We are not here to place blame!”

 

Peter, who had been quietly fuming, stood up. “Have you all got that off your chests?” Silence answered him. “Good. Now, instead of accusing people left and right, we're supposed to be coming up with a solution. And, since we can't reach a consensus, let's have a vote. All in favor of blowing the horn again, raise your hand.”

 

Reepicheep raised his tiny arm. “If Sire feels this course of action is best, we shall take it,” he said loyally.

 

Glenstorm the Centaur raised his hand as well. “I have seen this in the stars,” he murmured. “This course of action will help us greatly.”

 

Trufflehunter scratched his head, took a moment to think, and then raised his hand. “I second what Reepicheep has stated.”

 

Nikabrik stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest and didn't say anything, glaring at the ground. Even he could tell that he was going to lose this.

 

“Perhaps additional help will be good,” Trumpkin declared as he raised his head.

 

“It is settled, then,” Caspian said softly as he and the Pevensie children raised their hands. He took out the magic horn from within his robes, admiring its beauty and shine, though it was one thousand three hundred years old, and handed it to Susan. “It's yours; you should blow it.”

 

Susan shook her head, took the horn, and gave it to Peter. “It was your idea,” she said. “You blow it.”

 

Peter nodded his head and gently took the horn. He pressed it to his lips and prayed silently. `Please,' he thought desperately, `please have someone truly magical come aid us.'

 

Without another thought, Peter closed his eyes and blew the horn, the mystical sound resounding throughout Narnia and the countries surrounding it.

 

***

 

“Poppy, we have another one!” Harry Potter yelled as he burst through the doors of the Hospital Wing. His ankle was aching something vicious, but he supported both his weight and the weight of the bleeding girl in his arms. Poppy, Hogwarts' mediwitch, immediately rushed over towards him. Her wand was already out as she cast several diagnostic scans and healing spells.

 

“What happened?” she demanded.

 

“She was hit by a cutting curse,” Harry explained, wincing slightly as he placed the girl in the hospital bed and brushed past his injured side.

 

His expression did not go unnoticed. “Come here,” Poppy demanded. “Let me heal you.”

 

Harry knew better than to argue and sighed in relief when the slash was healed. “Seventeen dead,” he said softly. “We're still sorting through the rubble, though.”

 

“You need to rest,” Poppy replied.

 

“I can't do that,” Harry protested. “Half the castle is gone, over two dozen people are dead, and Voldemort is still out there along with Merlin knows how many Death Eaters. There is no time to rest. Tonight's battle could have easily been the final one and then what? I need to up my training and there's nothing you can say that will convince me otherwise.”

 

Poppy sighed and before she could say anything, the doors burst open and more people came rushing through them. Harry's heart nearly stopped when he saw a gang of red hair and he immediately stood up, limping towards the family.

 

“It's Percy,” Ron Weasley croaked, staring into Harry's horrified green eyes. “He…he jumped in front of Fred.”

 

Fred and George stared at the lifeless body of their brother, silently comforting each other. George squeezed his twin's hand tightly, knowing that he could have easily been the one laying in the hospital bed. Though he felt horrible for thinking it, a part of him was glad it was someone other than Fred.

 

Harry glanced at all of the Weasleys and, deciding they needed a private moment, made to take his leave. Ron grabbed him by the arm and looked at him, his blue, red-rimmed eyes questioning.

 

“I will defeat him, Ron,” Harry swore quietly. “I will make sure that he doesn't take another one of your family members again.”

 

Ron stared at him for the longest time before pulling him into a stiff hug. “I know you will, Harry,” Ron said. “We all know you will.”

 

Harry felt tugs at his heartstrings. “Go,” he whispered. “Your family needs you, Ron.”

 

Ron glanced at his dad, the silent tears streaming down his face, his dead brother, cold and lifeless on the bed, his mom, sobbing into Percy's chest, the twins, holding onto each other, and Bill and Charlie, rubbing Ginny's back as they mourned. He looked back at Harry and nodded, tears overflowing. Harry watched as Hermione moved over to hug Ron and let him cry into her shoulder. Their eyes made contact before he gave her a small, sad smile and left the infirmary.

 

Harry trembled slightly as he made his way towards Myrtle's bathroom. Though he hadn't killed Percy, he was somewhat responsible for the Weasley's death. Swallowing slightly, he pushed that thought from his mind. Right now, he needed to concentrate on training to defeat Voldemort as quickly as possible. He needed to research and figure ou—

 

Harry stopped walking and his eyes turned wary. His ears twitched slightly and he frowned slightly. “What is that?” he wondered aloud before following the mystical sound. The beautiful music led him to his destination, Myrtle's bathroom. One of the sinks was overflowing with water and Harry felt compelled to look in it. He could see a handsome boy with sandy hair, eyes closed as he held onto a magnificent horn and blew into it.

 

And then Harry felt like he was looking into a Pensieve once again as he fell into the water and, consequently, on top of the boy with the horn.