Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

Chapter 12: Unveiling the North

Harry stood at the edge of a cliff, his black cloak billowing in the icy wind as he gazed across the vast expanse of Skagos. The island's jagged peaks, dense forests, and rocky shores stretched out before him, isolated and untamed. In the distance, he could just make out the small wooden fortress that marked the domain of House Crowl. The savagery of the Skagosi, their primitive weapons, and harsh way of life reminded him of an era long gone in his own world, yet here, it seemed to have persisted for thousands of years. The longer Harry remained on this island, the more restless he became.

It had been weeks since they had first arrived in this strange world. His elves had settled into the rhythm of life on Skagos, hidden away in the forest under the protection of Harry's powerful wards. They were content to stay close, ensuring the camp was secure and comfortable, but Harry could no longer remain still. The island, as wild and ancient as it was, held little for him beyond its isolation. His curiosity was gnawing at him. There was an entire world beyond these shores, and he needed to learn more.

"Master Harry is leaving?" Kreacher asked one evening, his wide eyes full of concern as he watched Harry pack his enchanted suitcase.

"I need to understand more about this world," Harry replied, his voice calm but firm. "There's only so much we can learn here, and we've already been found once. I can't risk staying in one place too long. I'll return in a few weeks, maybe longer. You'll be safe here."

Kreacher didn't seem entirely convinced, but he nodded obediently. The elves were fiercely loyal, and though they would have followed him without question, Harry knew that they were better off remaining hidden on the island. It was the best way to keep them safe.

With his preparations complete, Harry stepped out into the clearing one final time. His staff, rested comfortably in his hand. It had become his constant companion, more than just a tool—it was an extension of his power, capable of shifting form at his will. Right now, it appeared as a simple walking stick of black wood, its surface smooth and unadorned.

He gave a nod to his elves, who watched him from the shadows of the trees, and then transformed. In a burst of magic, his form shifted into that of a black phoenix, wings of shadow and flame spreading wide as he took to the sky.

The North was as vast and cold as the island of Skagos had been, but as Harry flew across its snow-covered wilderness, he noticed the stark differences. The land here was not as isolated. There were villages, small towns, and castles scattered throughout the region, each one nestled in valleys or perched on hills, surrounded by towering forests or frozen lakes. The people, too, were different. Though many were just as hardened by the cold, their lives seemed less savage than those of the Skagosi.

Flying as a phoenix gave Harry unparalleled freedom. He could move unnoticed through the sky, far beyond the reach of any of the northern men's crude arrows or suspicious eyes. From time to time, he would land near isolated farms or small hamlets, and from the safety of the shadows, he would observe. Harry rarely made direct contact with the people he encountered, preferring to slip into their minds without their knowledge, extracting information about this world without ever speaking a word.

What he learned only deepened his fascination—and his frustration.

The North, and indeed much of the rest of this world, was locked in a state that seemed to mirror the middle ages of his own Earth. Castles, knights, lords, and peasants ruled the land, but unlike his own world, where the magical and non-magical worlds had grown alongside each other, magic here was almost nonexistent. The people spoke of magic as if it were a myth, long dead and buried. They worshipped strange gods and clung to old stories of heroes and legends that had faded into obscurity over thousands of years.