This is a Inheritance/Harry Potter crossover at the start of the War with Galbatorix just after the Battle of Doru Araeba.

Chapter 1: The Seven Words

The forest was old. Older perhaps than most living things and as one went deeper it grew older still. There were trees there that had seen ages pass - the lives of a hundred mortal men, or they would have if men lived in that part of the forest. The forest however, had other residents – elves as immortal and unchanging as the forest itself, blessed with eternal life. One such elf had sung herself into a tree and become a part of it. The tree was unique if not for its history, size and majesty than for the fact that unlike other giant trees it did not stand alone- sucking the nourishment of any that dare grow around it. No, this tree was a guardian- both a protector and a parent, it nourished any seed that fell around it and gave it all it needed to grow and when the time came it moved the sapling to a place where it could grow unimpeded and independent. It was beneath this tree that a young rider sought solace. He sat with his shoulders hunched, and face gaunt- a picture of despair looking longingly at a flame in front of him that burnt without source. It was a flame of unnatural colour – blue and shape- a dragon in mid-flight, wings spread and jaws wide as if preparing to breathe out fire. It looked at once majestic and fearsome, beautiful and terrible- a testament to all the qualities of its race. But the flame suddenly winked out as if put out by a great wind as its caster lost control and lost himself to his grief.

Brom sat on one of the roots of the Menoa tree and despaired at his situation, that of his order and that of the world as a whole. Just a few months back everything had been fine, he had completed his training and was inducted into the Order of the riders. Oh! How happy he had been and how proud- that he had fulfilled his dream. Saphira had been ecstatic when Master Glaedr had acknowledged that he had taught her all he could. It seemed perfect as if the world was theirs to take. They had oh so many plans- places to visit- for the first years of the riders was one where they were encouraged to travel the world and learn all they could, to spend time amongst the people of each race and share their joys and sorrows, their achievements and defeats and to learn that which couldn't be taught. For only then could they truly understand what drove each of them as a people and only then could the riders truly understand and be the force of peace that they were meant to be. Such dreams they had but it wasn't meant to be, for what had begun was a nightmare beyond imagination.

The first victims of a war that none knew had begun were found- a flight of wild dragons…all killed in the most gruesome manner. As Brom had heard it, they seemed to have been dead for a few weeks. It had sent shockwaves through the order, the rage of the dragons was palpable and it bled off into their riders. Brom remembered counselling Saphira to calm- for once the voice of reason in their relationship, while trying and failing to hide his own horror. He remembered Saphira's anger and the need, the terrible need to find someone- anyone to blame for the crimes and let loose all that anger. And yet under it there was a current of foreboding. It was no small thing to be able to kill one dragon…let alone a whole flight, even one comprised mostly of younglings, the oldest just over a decade old. The Order went on alert and emissaries were sent to the one even the wild dragons recognized as leader…if only nominally. It was then that they learned that it wasn't an isolated incident…for months before that dragons had gone missing with regularity…one here, another there but nobody had paid much heed as wild dragons especially ones that were old were wilful and oft to disappear but most had not been seen for weeks or even months at the place of their nests. It was then that the Order truly understood that it was under attack by some unnamed foe.

Only weeks later the first rider and his dragon were killed, a human by the name of Brandt, many years Brom's senior. Brom vaguely recalled his face…a man with straight shoulder length brown hair and a face that seemed strict but he was one of the favourites of the younger riders as he was willing to give them time. Brom himself didn't spend much time with him, engrossed as he was in his studies but he had heard good things about him from his compatriots. He remembered the tears of his fellows and the many stories that had done the rounds that night of Brandt's kindness and generosity. After him the second was an elven rider even older whom Brom knew only by name, Malrin. She was around 200 years of age and a skilled warrior by all accounts and her death had caused shockwaves in the ranks. It was after this that the order was sent out that no rider was to go out alone no matter their age. He later learned that even in death Malrin had been able to send a message to her fellow riders, warning them that their foes were riders themselves and thus Galbatorix and Morzan were revealed to them. He remembered his own horror that his friend, the boy he looked up to was involved in this- had perhaps carried out the killings himself. He remembered the sleepless nights, the denials, the rage and perhaps most terrible of all the acceptance of the truth. In the meantime, despite Marlin's warning the deaths continued. Many older riders did not take the threat seriously and thus were killed in ambushes by Galbatorix and his other allies who were only to be revealed much later. In retrospect they were perhaps also helped by the information passed on to them by the Forsworn who until then were still part of the order and privy to its internal information.

The killing of these riders and the fact that neither Galbatorix nor Morzan had died in any of the battles was causing panic among the younger riders. Brom remembered the feeling of helplessness and rage he felt each time the death of another rider or riders was announced. It was then that Oromis-elda resolved to find out more truth than could be gleaned from rumours and had set out with Kialandi and Formora to search for any hints as to the whereabouts of Galbatorix and his wayward pupil. Brom himself had wanted to go on that mission in a quest to face Morzan but Oromis had deemed him to be too emotionally invested to be able to fight properly and had selected the older riders as companions. More's the pity since they turned out to be traitors themselves. Brom wished he had broken his word to Oromis and followed them, perhaps then Oromis would not have been injured but he had had too much respect for his mentor to disregard his orders. Oromis had returned injured and bearing terrible news and Brom had accompanied him to Ellesmera to seek healing even though his dearest wish had been to stay at Ilirea and fight, but Oromis had needed an escort in his weakened state and Brom had been the only one available.

He had been disheartened to know that he would not be able to help the riders in their victory against the attack that was to come, but he had never thought that they would lose. But Galbatorix had more riders at his side than the three who were known to them till then. Thirteen riders, now known as the Forsworn, some more than a century old followed him willingly while many more that had been presumed dead had been made name slaves and together they had overwhelmed the defences of Ilirea. Brom couldn't understand then how such a force could have defeated the two score riders that were present at Ilirea and the multitude of elves that fought to defend it. It was only later that he understood that they had the strength of the Eldunari that they had stolen from the wild dragons and those that they had forced the bonded dragons to part with after torturing their riders. Normally he wouldn't have been privy to such information but with the true extent of the threat facing them realized, the Elders had decided that the information needed to be known so that no rider would be disadvantaged in the fight to come.

Saphira's rage at the news of the enslavement of dragons was a palpable force. Even Glaedr-elda had shied away from her then. She had wanted to return right then to Ilirea to participate in a fight that was already lost but Glaedr elda and Oromis –elda had somehow talked to her and sense prevailed. Brom himself had been in no condition to stop her, as the righteous anger that had filled him- both saphira's and his own demanded that he fight. He still believed that had Oromis and Glaedr-elda not needed help and had they not been in the weakened state that they were in, Saphira and he would have disobeyed all orders and flown back to the fight.

However, they got their wish seeon enough. After they had escorted their masters safely to Ellesmera, they set out to Doru Araeba to fight with the riders. And fought they had, but Galbatorix's forces were too strong and the order had been whittled down in the past few months, and in Doru Araeba Galbatorix unleashed new allies, the Razac that all believed to be extinct and that he had been rearing in secret and had made a pact with; and five shades that he had somehow coerced to follow his will, and many power-hungry magicians whom the order had punished at one time or another.

It was there that they learned another fact as to how Ilirea had been lost to them- it was difficult to fight against the riders that they knew were name-slaves to Galbatorix, while the Forsworn held back, content to watch the forced infighting and picking them off one by one where they could. Still they had fought with all their strength and at the cost of the lives of many riders had managed to kill almost all the Razacs and four of the shades and many riders and elves and magicians who had been name slaves to Galbatorix. Vrael- elda fighting with Galbatorix was a sight to behold, they had fought with mind, magic, sword and dragons all at once. At one time Vrael-elda had even had Galbatorix on his knees at his mercy but he had hesitated and it had cost him. Galbatorix had looked to have given up putting his hands down in surrender but in that moment of hesitation from Vrael-elda he had struck wounding him greatly by both sword and magic and forcing him to flee. Galbatorix had given chase and with that the morale of the order had broken and the slaughter had begun.

Brom himself had been fighting Morzan and despite his best efforts he had been defeated and wounded badly along with Saphira. He remembered the despair he felt then, as he felt her pain and saw Morzan preparing for a killing blow. But something awe-inspiring and miraculous had happened then. He felt a welling of magic from Saphira- borne out of both anger and despair – and for a moment just a moment he felt the same from all the dragons- wild and bonded that were in the fight, perhaps all the dragons that remained in Alagaesia- he didn't know for it became too much and he shielded himself. The dragons both wild and bonded were enraged at seeing one of the nesting buildings broken and had cast a spell that had sent all the dragons of the Forsworn to the ground keening while the riders themselves seemed to be in great pain.

Saphira, despite her wounds had taken him in her claws and flown away as fast as she could despite his protests, saying the he was in no condition to fight. The other surviving riders who were able had tried to take advantage of the situation to attack the Forsworn but they seemed to be unable to get through their wards and the riders were still conscious enough to avoid sword blows. He remembered looking back and seeing Thuviel start to incant a spell as he had flown. He remembered a great flash of light when they were further away and mushroom like cloud. He remembered great heat and strong winds. When he awoke again they were still flying but Saphira refused to stop but before he could insist he lost consciousness again. From what he learned later, she had flown without food or water till she reached Ellesmera, probably saving his life but it seemed at the cost of hers. She had lost consciousness herself soon after arriving as a result of fatigue, her wounds and the after effect of Thuviel's spell.

It had been two days and the elven healers were still working on her but he could tell that there was little hope. News had come to them that Vroengard had been destroyed along with all of the forces on both sides. The Forsworn had survived though much to their dismay. But there was graver news still- Galbatorix had given chase to Vrael and after catching up to him at Edoc'sil, now called Ristvak'baen had managed to kill him. The few elves that had been scrying the place and talking to Vrael had told of the dishonourable means that Galbatorix had used to win the fight, but he had won. The only rider that could conceivably challenge him in battle was dead. Oromis-elda and he were the last riders with dragons of the order left and while Oromis was in no condition to fight he himself was without the partner of his mind and heart. The dragons were nearly extinct.

He didn't know what to do. How had it all fallen apart? He cursed Galbatorix and the forsworn with all his might even knowing that it would do him no good. What would he do if Saphira didn't survive? How would he go on? If she didn't make it… it was unthinkable and yet he could feel their bond grow weaker. She hadn't regained consciousness since she had come here. Her mind once so vibrant was dull; her voice that warmed his heart even during the darkest days was now quiet. The healers had kicked him out because he had raged at them to do something, anything….they had told him that he wasn't helping…as if they understood what it was like to watch someone so precious wither away day by day.

He looked around and heard the sounds of the elves marshalling their forces to go to war. Despite everything Galbatorix was at his weakest now. His legions had been destroyed, the Forsworn weakened by what was being called the Banishing of the names by the elves. Glaedr had been able to explain what happened as he too was included in the spell. The potency of a spell that stretched from Vroengard to Ellesmera boggled his mind. And yet it might all have been for nothing, for the forsworn still survived, even if their dragons were now little more than beasts. Perhaps it would have been better if they could think and truly understand what they had wrought- the extinction of their own race. For even if Saphira survived how could she alone build a race that once numbered in the thousands. Despair threatened to overwhelm him again as he thought of her and he muttered the seven words that had been passed on to him by his father and his father before him. They could always calm him down, though he knew not their meaning, no matter where he searched.

The words - they could help him father had passed them to him on his deathbed. These words were the heritage of the Illuminators of Kuasta and some said was the reason for their gift with fire - at least that was what the legend said. Brom, when he first came into the riders had looked for the meaning of the words, to find out that kernel of truth that each legend was based on and yet he had come up with nothing. The words were neither of the ancient language nor those of any other language known to the riders. In fact as far as he could tell they were not magic at all and yet that was the only clue he had of the Illuminators above natural ability with fire, even those who did not have even a drop of magical talent were able to control it to some extent.

Use them only when the need is dire and the cause just.

This was the warning that came with the words. There were stories of people who had tried to use them to enact petty vengeance and to fulfil selfish needs and the result had ranged from nothing at all happening, to the loss of their gift to sometimes even more horrific results. He didn't know how much of it was true and he hadn't confided in his masters or any other riders for fear of being laughed at. He knew what they would say- that it was mere superstition, that there was another logical explanation. But he knew it in his bones, in his blood, some instinct that told him that the words were true- no matter how much the teaching of the riders and the logical part of his mind disagreed. He was willing to take any chance now, pay any price if it could save Saphira. He couldn't do nothing and watch her die.

His mind made up, he decided that he had best get it over with. There was no point in dawdling, Saphira didn't have much time, and if he was to be disappointed it would be better to be done with it now than to hold on to false hope until later. Oromis had atleast imparted that much wisdom into him. He suppressed a grimace at the thought of his master and what he would think of his apprentice for falling into superstition or worse yet performing magic that he didn't understand. Better hold those thoughts for later. Now that he was resolved to do it, there should be no room for doubt. Looking for a more isolated place was pointless, he would have to go miles to truly avoid the attention of elves and that was time he simply couldn't afford. No one had ever, blamed him for being patient. Also, if he did end up harming himself it would be better to stay here where help would find him easily.

The spell, if it was that didn't require much. It required a single minded focus on whatever the problem was that had caused the person to perform it and the repetition of the words thrice and a willingness to pay whatever price was asked for the help that was given. He didn't know how he felt about that, it sounded too much like the prayers of the dwarves that he had heard about. At least they had names for the gods they prayed to, he didn't know the first thing about what he was doing.

What if it was a spell for summoning spirits- the doubtful part of his mind whispered? He was confident that he could control most spirits; sorcery was a part of his studies though he had a dislike for the art. But what if he did fail and ended up creating a shade, a dragon rider shade could be worse than even Galbatorix for the amount of damage it could cause. He was being foolish. He didn't know what the words were for. If they were for summoning spirits his father would have warned him about that particular consequence. Kuasta was isolated but even they had tales of shades and none intersected with the lore of the Illuminators.

Nevertheless it would be better to be careful. If he sent a missive to Oromis-elda it would take him some time to get here. Time enough for him to finish what the spell demanded. If it was for summoning a spirit Oromis-elda would be here long before the process was finished and the spirit took full control of the body and thus would be able to stop him. So resolved, he cast a spell to summon a bit of bark from a nearby tree not bothering to sing it out and cast another spell to transform it into parchment. It wasn't a taxing spell since parchment was after all made from bark by a process that was time consuming but not very energy intensive. He used another spell to write on the parchment by changing its colour in the places required. He had used it to do a lot of the work assigned to him in order to improve his writing, before Oromis-elda had caught on. Though he had been impressed at the dexterity required to cast such a spell he had been less so at the purpose to which it was put. He had had to spend a lot of time copying old scrolls by hand after that under the eyes of a watchful old elf as punishment- Scrolls that dealt with subjects that were not the least bit interesting but served to provide well-rounded education to the riders. He believed it was just so that they wouldn't have to do the copying themselves. Those were good times. He focused on the missive that he had written. It was sufficiently brief and conveyed all the required information.

Master Oromis,

I am perhaps going to do something foolish. There is lore among the illuminators of a spell, a group of words that are to be used only in great need. It is said that it is from the first use of this that our peculiar abilities with fire surfaced when we were but nomads looking for a means to earn a living and to protect ourselves. Some say it is a spell from the time of the Grey folk. I don't know the truth.

I have searched the libraries and Vroengard and of Tialdari halls and many other scrolls and tomes besides but have been unable to divine the meaning or to even find a reference to the language used in the spell. I have however, resolved to perform it. After all if the situation we are in, that I am in doesn't fit the word dire, I don't know what does. This letter is not to seek permission but to warn you should anything go wrong with the spell. I will be performing it under the branches of the Menoa tree hoping that she would be able to stop any ill long enough for help to reach me if the spell should be malicious. I hope that when you do reach here you will be berating me for my foolishness and not fighting something that I have unleashed. I cannot in good conscience, not try everything at my disposal while Saphira struggles between life and death. If luck is on our side we might find the help that we so desperately need.

Atra du everinya ono varda,

Brom

He folded it and charmed the parchment to fly true and straight to Oromis-elda wherever he may be and another spell to warn him when it came within a certain distance of him. He watched the parchment disappear into the horizon and when the spell warned him that it had sensed its targets he focused on what he had to do. He couldn't tarry now.

He focused on his need for Saphira to be healed first and foremost. He remembered the times he spent with her, those of happiness, those days of peace. He remembered her as she had been when she had just hatched; he remembered her first flight, her joy that had echoed his, her first hunt. He remembered their first flight together, the shared joy, he remembered seeing through her eyes and feeling her emotions. He remembered her pride and her joy, the unbridled freedom that being in the sky gave her, her love for him and the tenderness towards him that she scarcely displayed to others. He remembered her affection towards Morzan's dragon; he remembered her hurt at being rebuffed. Her tears, her drive to be better, he remembered each and everything about her- their shared lessons, their pride at their successes and resolve at the failures. He remembered his own first love and her joyful teasing at his shyness, her hidden jealousy and eventual acceptance. He remembered her comfort when it eventually ended, her words of wisdom when things seemed darkest. He remembered their shared horror at Morzan's betrayal and rage at the crimes they had committed. All of it flashed in his mind-her beauty, her majesty, her scales sparkling in the sun- she was the Queen of the sky and there was no one else to compare. He wanted her back and that was his focus. He nearly lost himslefin the flood of emotions and memories but mastered his mind and uttered the words.

Te oro, dominus mortis, et mortua Sanctorum (I conjure you, master of death and the deathly hallows).

He tried to focus again on Saphira but found he couldn't. It was as if his memories blurred when he tried that so he focused on something else that was important to him. He focused on the injury caused to Oromis- elda and Glaedr- elda and his regret at not being able to prevent it or help them. He remembered the first time he saw them- his awe and utter happiness at being assigned mentors so old and wise. He remembered their encouraging words when he lost at a spar to elven riders and he remembered their pride when he beat them at magic. He remembered their words that steadied him after the storm that was Morzan's betrayal. He remembered their affection for Saphira and him in the rare moments that it shone through their collected demeanour. He remembered his horror when they returned to Ilirea all weakened. He wanted them back as they were- a constant presence in a world that was ever changing, old oak unbowed in the storms of time.

Te oro, dominus mortis, et mortua Sanctorum.

As before his thoughts were unable to focus on either his masters or Saphira. It was as if he had lost all control over them. Memories and emotions were rushing through his brain in a rush now. He felt a distant pain in his knees and realised that he had fallen down. He also felt a pain in his palms as they touched the ground to support him and felt the stickiness under them. It was only when he opened his eyes to see his blood pooling under his palms that he realised that he had at some point closed them. And yet the memories continued unabated like a storm in his mind. He could feel a rush of magic around him but it didn't really register with him as it should have as he was lost in his thoughts as his eyes closed again and memories assaulted him. Memories of the war and his horror at the news of continuous deaths overwhelmed him, his rage at the lives lost- that of the dragons and their riders, of a whole clan of dwarves, of numerous elves and even more men. He remembered the Battle of Doru Araeba and his rage at seeing his friends cut down resurfaced. He remembered it as if he was there, the stench of blood and burnt flesh and the thick smoke, the sounds of swords clashing and dragons roaring, of stones crashing as buildings that stood for centuries tumbled. He remembered Vrael-elda and Umaroth-elda as they fought Galbatorix and his black dragon Shruikan. His jubilance at seeing Galbatorix brought low and his despair as he struck back and forced Vrael to flee.

He remembered bitterly his loss to Morzan and hauntingly the spectre of him standing over Saphira as his dragon subdued her. He remembered his awe at the magic that was cast and then nothing. He then remembered the last few days and what drove him to cast this spell. As his memories reached the present day they stopped and then started anew, as he thought of his father on his death bed as he passed him the words and the warning that came with it. Then came memories that weren't his- of a group of people standing on a dusty road as their caravan was looted and goods stolen and women taken hostage. He saw through the eyes of their leader as he recited the words as he had and caught a glimpse of a young man with old green eyes and black hair and an air of power before the memory dissolved. He saw as the people now fought with fire and regained their possessions and heedful of the warning to not misuse the power given settled down in a remote city performing tricks with the gift they had been given to earn their living. He saw as a few sought to use the power to conquer and lost use of the gift forever. The legends were true then, Saphira can be saved a distant part of his mind thought and that brought him back from where he had lost himself. He curbed his curiosity and regained control and recited the words a third time.

Te oro, dominus mortis, et mortua Sanctorum.

A/N: I know in canon that Brom did know the meaning of the words but here I thought it would fit better if he actually didn't know what they did.