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Strangers meet on a stormy day

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Summary: (HP/Eragon) Set during the events of Harry Potter and the prisoner of Azkaban. What if someone else than Dumbledore saved Harry when he fell off his broom?

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Non-BtVS/AtS Stories > Crossover: Other(Past Donor)JamieTFR1311,857051,2327 Jun 087 Jun 08Yes
Simply a one shot idea that’s been bugging me for a while. Doubt anything will come of it.

I was bored and thought I’d just jot it down.

Eragon and the inheritance series are the copyrighted work of Christopher Paolini. Harry Potter is the creation of JK Rowling. I simply write for my own pleasure and the pleasure of my readers, and intend no material or financial gain.




The rain poured down, splattering heavily onto the umbrellas and clothing of the spectators. The storm seemed to be growing in strength, dark clouds spreading across the sky, while in the distance lightning flashed forebodingly. The cheering of the crowd was muffled by the noise of the wind and rain, while far above black shapes twisted and dived. Even those in the stands with binoculars were finding it increasingly hard to keep track of the game, and it proved even more difficult for the rest of the spectators.

Hermoine Granger huddled under her thick coat, trying to prevent the rain dripping down her neck, as she gazed upwards at the small yellow and red dots that were the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff quidditch teams. It was proving increasingly hard to tell who was winning. No points had been scored for at least 10 minutes, for most of the players on either side had to concentrate more on physically staying on their brooms than actually playing.

“Can you see Harry” shouted Ron in her ear, attempting to raise his voice over the noise of the crowd and weather.

“No, I think he’s higher up,” she shouted back. Ron nodded, shaking his head to try clear the drops of water that were dripping onto his face from his sodden hair. He shivered, and tried to pull his thick coat tighter around him. It was made of thick wool, and despite the waterproofing charms woven into the fabric was still becoming damp. All around them, fellow Gryffindors shivered miserably, while flags displaying the golden and red symbol of Gryffindor house hung bedraggled and dripping in the fierce downpour.

Hermione was beginning to shiver slightly herself, as the cold seeped through her many layers of clothing. Above them a trio of yellow shapes flashed past, heading for the Gryffindor Goal hoops. She saw the red shape of the Gryffindor keeper Oliver Wood rise upwards on his broom, but the Hufflepuff chasers, helped by the poor weather, managed to hurl the red Quaffle past his grasping hands. The red ball passed clearly through the left hand Gryffindor hoop.

A muted cry of triumph rose from the Hufflepuff stands, as in a loud voice, Lee Jordan proclaimed “Hufflepuff score, a nice use of a three pronged attack there against Gryffindor keeper Oliver Wood. Hufflepuff ahead by 20 points.” Even with the assistance of his magical megaphone, Lee’s voice was still hard to hear over the din of the weather.

As the first flash of lightning split the sky, Hermione glanced fearfully at the menacing clouds over head. Surely one of the captains would stop the game, she thought anxiously, the storm was getting worse by the minute! In relief she saw Professor McGonagall rise awkwardly from her seat amongst the largest crowd of Gryffindor fans, and begin to make her way towards the steps down to the pitch.

Just then there was a loud cry around the stadium, and glancing up she saw everyone’s eyes were on a pair of fast moving shapes, converging on spot above the Hufflepuff goalposts. The two seekers twisted at high speeds through the other team members, converging on what could only be the snitch. Suddenly, she saw the seeker in red, Harry; pull back on his broom and climb almost vertically upwards, swiftly followed by his Hufflepuff opponent. Harry, on his Nimbus 2000, was soon pulling further and further head, climbing higher and higher into the menacing clouds, until he was lost from sight. A few seconds later, the Hufflepuff seeker also disappeared, vanishing into the mass of dark clouds. Hermione shivered again, the adrenaline dying. She had been hoping for an end to the match, even if Hufflepuff had won, but now it looked like it might go on for a while yet.



If the weather was pretty awful for the spectators, then it was ten times as bad for the players above. As Harry climbed higher and higher into the clouds, eyes searching everywhere for the snitch, he was constantly buffeted by the biting wind and rain. He leveled off inside a patch of clear grey sky. All around him were banks of dark grey cloud, and the rain still beat heavily on his face and neck. There was no trace of the Hufflepuff seeker, although from time to time Harry caught brief glimpses of the pitch far below.

Pulling his broom sharply around, he sped off into the clouds, swooping around the dark masses, searching for the snitch. He thought he caught a glint of gold above him, and pulled up sharply, scanning the sky. When he saw yet another bright flash of gold, he did not hesitate, but pulled his broom sharply upwards once more and climbed still higher into the mist.

It was bitingly cold, he noticed, colder than he had felt previously during the game. His wet robes clung to his body, chill in the wind, which was nothing new, but the air seemed colder still. He felt a small finger of ice touch his heart, and in horror realized what was happening.

All around him now suddenly swooped dark cloaked shapes, dreadful shapeless forms, ghastly hands clawing at the air. Dementors. In desperation he dove sharply away from them, only to be forced to climb again when another dementor appeared from the clouds below, blocking his path.

They circled around him, like a pack of ghastly hounds, and even over the noise of the wind he could still hear, or imagined he could hear that horrifying racking breath.

One of them swooped suddenly, almost knocking him off his broom, forcing him to duck sideways in a violent uncontrolled spin. Wrestling with his bucking broom, he felt his vision begin to fade, and in horror and panic, heard the screaming start again. It was louder, and more terrifying than before, a woman’s scream he realized. Harry made one last desperate effort to pull away, to escape, but then a ghastly figure swooped over him, and a wave of dreadful coldness rolled over him, seeming to freeze his heart. His last view was off the dementor, and strangely, a glow of red light like flames in the fading background. Harry did not feel his hands let go of the broom handle, as he slipped off his broom and began to fall towards the ground far below.



Still huddled in the stands far below, Hermione and Ron gazed upwards, searching in vain for some sign of Harry. The dark clouds rolled overhead, twisting and changing in the wind. For a few moments Hermione thought she saw the flicker of flames through a gap in the clouds, but when she blinked, the gap was gone. She crouched down, taking shelter in the lee of the stands, using a useful little charm to dry her sodden scarf. As the sodden wool smoked and steamed, drying out swiftly, she heard a cry of alarm rise from the stands around her.

She was on her feet in an instant, and following Ron’s outstretched arm with her eyes, saw a small dark shape falling from the sky above. In horror her eyes caught the bright red of the robes. “Harry” she shouted in despair, as the small figure of her friend plummet towards the ground. All around her the other spectators were yelling as well, some pulling out their wands, though what they planned to do she had no idea.

With a despairing glance, she saw professor Dumbledore rise in his seat, urgently pushing aside a large maroon umbrella as he stared upwards. All this she saw in what seemed like a second. And then, something amazing happened.

A vast shape burst from the clouds above, tearing through the clouds at such pace that it left a visible hole in the dark mass of vapour. In utter astonishment and wonder, Hermione saw an enormous dragon hover momentarily in mid air, then dive after the helpless figure of her dearest friend, wings tucked in close against its body.

The vast beast, far larger than any breed she had ever heard of, swooped downwards at ever increasing speed, until it passed harry while he was still a good 150 metres above the ground. Then the dragon spread its wings, and with a thump of air that was audible to all, came to a sudden halt in mid air directly below the falling Harry.

Still trying to take everything in, Hermione still distinctly saw a figure seated? on the back of the dragon raise its hand, and she saw Harry’s fall begin to slow. In a few moments, the apparently unconscious body of her friend dropped into the outstretched arms of the dragon’s rider. It then hovered in mid air, the great wings beating loudly at the air.

The cry of horror that had died down when Harry was caught rose again suddenly, and looking up, Hermione saw with dread that a number of unmistakable black shapes were descending from the clouds above. Gasps and a few screams arose from the stands, and beside her she felt Ron stiffen, then shake slightly. She felt the sudden chill as the dementors drew nearer, beginning to circle the enormous dragon. In response, it arched its neck towards the nearest such creature, and before the dementor could react, a seething jet of red flame burst from the dragon’s maw. The flames completely enveloped the dementor, and there was a high piercing cry that made most of the spectators cringe and shiver. When the flames subsided, the dementor was gone.

With similar shrieks of anguish and fear, the rest of the dementors retreated hurriedly, climbing away from the dragon, even as it shot another jet of flame at the nearest. Then, almost as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone.

After a few moments more, the dragon dove towards the ground, coming to a smooth rest a few metres above the sodden grass of the quidditch pitch. It beat with its wings once more to gain its balance, then sank towards the ground, like a seabird alighting on the water. Vast clawed feet sank into the mud, as it came to rest on its limbs.

Eragon, dragon rider of the Varden, gazed around the strange field at the sea of faces staring at him. He shifted the weight of the boy he had rescued onto his left arm, so that if necessary he could use his right to access the magic. As a number of other figures in red and yellow dove down from above, riding what appeared to be broomsticks, and alighted on the wet grass all around he could help but agree with the sentiments being expressed by Saphira. Well, he said quietly to himself, this is certainly, different!

The End

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