Harry was not completely sure, how long he had been on the alien planet. Had he been forced to guess, he would have said less than a full, more than half a year. But that was the thing: For the first time in his entire life, no one was there to force him to do anything, and it was incredibly liberating. Sure, there were Ouroboros the snake and Rex the saurian that needed feeding, but they were his pets, so that was something he wanted to do. As for himself, when he was not out hunting, gathering or fishing to fill his new pantry (he had a pantry now) for when, if at all, winter came on this world and in the small valley where he had built his small house, he was silently sifting through the incredible amount of knowledge now crammed into his head.
Some of it was practical, like discerning the properties something would have when used in a potion, or how to train and domesticate animals, even though, for some reason, Rex had let him ride on his back ever since the day Harry had made his staff. Some of it was rather abstract, and not exactly something he could achieve while he was as isolated as he was; the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, something he had indeed witnessed, was among these things. And then, there were the disturbing things, the most dramatic one being actually seeing the ritual he now thought Voldemort would have used to gain his misshapen baby body.
However, there was one other thing he noticed about these memories: many of the people in them looked somewhat familiar. Not hugely, or in any way that would jump at him immediately, but he found that, the younger the memories were, the closer to his own life, the more familiar the faces looked. There were his ears, his nose, his chin, even his hair and eyes. Never all of them together, obviously, but it was there. It led him to the conclusion that he had witnessed his ancestors, as well as his possible descendants; not all of them, mind you, but a good deal. It made him a bit sad to think that he had not seen one iota of his parents. Then again, they had been either young, in love and newlywed, or hiding from a madman. Neither of these were things he wanted to see all that much.
It was during one of the many sessions of memory-learning, Harry was studying ancient Roman sheep husbandry techniques, so nothing too weird, that a small whimper broke through the usually calm air of his new home. Immediately, his reflexes sharp from years of quidditch, a year on the run and his hermit existence on this planet, he was on his feet, staff ready in both hands at his side.
When nothing further happened, he forced his heart to beat a bit slower and crept his way toward where he thought the sound had come from. On the ground, not fifty metres from his house and past a small hilltop, he found a female human, or what he guessed was a human, dressed in what could only be described as tribal attire. Her hairs were done in intricate, if rather messy, braids, and she was wielding a staff not unlike his own. Her breathing was shallow, and Harry could immediately make out, what had happened. From the leg slowly creeping upward, most likely originating from two small puncture wounds, her muscles were stiff as a board, and her face was distorted in a grimace of pain.
Feeling incredibly lucky in having actually learned from a healer just a few days earlier, Harry immediately put the young woman, she could not be much older than he was, under a stasis spell. As he arose, floating his new patient behind him, he could just make out the back end of a green snake, the skin intersected by rings of red and yellow.
"Bitten by one of mine," Ouroboros confirmed, having come to join him in his investigation. "Good as dead. Eat?"
Harry valiantly suppressed a shudder; sometimes it was good to remember that especially the snake still very much was a wild animal. "No eating humans!" he ordered authoritatively, eliciting an annoyed hiss.
"Fine; you feed me well," the serpent commented, before slithering away into the trees; probably to hunt, Harry mused. He took the time the trip back to his home gave him to assess the mystery woman. She was rather tall, around his height, had dark-brown hair and steel-grey eyes, and the kind of body one could usually only expect from rigorous, varied training. She was not overly muscular, but her limbs were defined and strong. That was a good start, he was sure. While he had yet to see anything survive Ouroboro's venom, a strong condition would aid her.
While he was loath to do so, it was still potion making, with or without Snape, Harry pulled his cauldron from under his workbench. Despite the greasy git's best efforts to the contrary, he had finally learned some of the 'subtle art', and while he was currently not out to stopper death, he certainly hoped he would be able to stop it. Just as he was about to call for the little rascal, Ouroboros made his way into his workspace, nosy one that he was.
"Ouroboros, I need your venom," Harry told the snake, who quickly complied, leaving Harry with a small spatter of the now incredibly precious substance in a little, transfigured cup. Harry pulled out the compendium he had made, containing what he knew about the local flora and its properties, while over the carefully regulated heat of the blue fire, the very substance coursing through his charge's veins, began the first steps toward the fabrication of an antidote.
By the time he finally finished, the wizard had been working for ten hours, with only small breaks for his ablutions and something to eat. Now, the only thing left to do was inject the acid-green concoction to counteract what was already in her blood. With a small bump of his staff, a small pebble was transfigured into an old-school human syringe, the silver metal and glass a striking contrast against the liquid inside. Given the nature of the cure, where exactly he injected the antivenin did not matter all that all that much, but Harry still did his best to actually hit the vein; it would aid in the distribution and shorten her suffering. With the complicated part behind him, all that was left was to wait.
OOOOOOOO
He awoke to the sound of an unknown female voice, speaking in a language he had never heard before. He was loath to do it, but now, there was little choice left, if he wanted to be able to communicate her. The odds of them speaking the same language were practically zero.
His staff in one hand and a mug out of hardened clay filled with water in the other, he returned to her bedside and let the frightened young woman drink up, before seeking the eye-contact he would need. Finally having an unimpeded view, he moved the staff he was using as a focus in her direction, barking out the incantation.
"Legilimens."
If there was one thing easily learned from a memory, it was the mind arts, simply because they were just that, mind-based; they lacked a physical dimension. Even so, suddenly finding himself inside an alien mind, shaped by a completely distinct culture, was a dizzying experience. Harry did his best to stay only where he had a reason to be, around the parts that would teach him what he needed, but it was a hard piece of work, and a few pieces came through; a small girl, chasing after another along a fortified palisade; a young man taken away against the young woman's will.
"Hello," he introduced himself in what she knew as Galactic Basic; definitely some big implications to that name. Still, even with her knowledge of the language in his head, finding the words in the unorganised mess that was someone else's comprehension was a task. It would pay to keep the conversation simple. "My name is Harry. I am not good with Basic, please speak slowly."
The woman on his plain, single bed nodded fearfully. "I am Arden Tla, of the Frenzied River Clan," she introduced herself timidly. "Where am I? What happened? I just remember the Kodashi viper…"
Harry simply nodded along with her; yes, Kodashi viper, that was the name of Ouroboros' species. "You'd been bitten," he informed his surprised patient. "The venom was already working its way through your body, but I managed to slow it down, until I had a cure ready. How does your leg feel?"
Shock would have been an apt description of the emotion her face now showed. "But no one survives being bitten," she declared, shaking her head in denial, looking at him as if he had taken a bad potion himself. "They're always dead before anyone can help."
"Ah, yes." Now he saw the problem. "I put you under… looking for a good word… a very strong sleeping spell, that slowed your body down, until could make the cure."
"You use magic?" The shock she had shown beforehand was nothing compared to what she had to be feeling now. "I though the males could not use the spells."
This brought a smile to Harry's face; he was learning about an alien culture. Who would have thought? "Well, where I'm from, things are a bit different, it seems," he commented diplomatically. "What were you doing out here, all alone?"
Arden fell silent for a while, and Harry thought he saw shame reflected on her face. When she started talking, it was so silent as to be almost impossible to hear. "I was banished for using a night spell," she admitted, guilt shining profoundly on her young face. Whatever that crime was, it seemed to be a serious one for these people. "But I don't want to join the Nightsisters, they're cruel, and evil."
"Hmm," Harry commented unhelpfully. "Could you explain more? As I said, I am not from here." Already, the words were coming to him more easily.
"She was taking my brother," she suddenly broke down, crying, mounting a challenge greater than many he had faced before. Crying people, especially women, were hard for him. "He's just eleven, I couldn't let her take him as a mate."
"Wait," Harry interjected, even though he hated doing so, given Arden's obvious distress. "Take as mate?"
"The adult women raid the other tribes to take the males as mates, of course," she answered, again looking at him like he had gulped down a batch of bad potions. "That's how it's always been. But the Dreaming River Clan was hit with sickness, and they need new slaves, so they've started taking younger ones."
A picture began forming in Harry's head of the society he had found here, one he admittedly did not like that much. Gender-based dominion had always seemed rather arbitrary and unjust to him, not unlike the reverence of the purity of wizarding blood.
"And you objected, why?" he asked cagily. He still had to decide, whether he would trust this person, after all. "After all, it is the way of your people, right?"
She looked down shame-facedly. "I had hoped he would make his own choice one day," she admitted. "I've been caring for him since mother died." A sudden jolt ran through the woman and she looked at Harry fearfully. "You can't stay here, she suddenly declared. "When the Dreaming River find you, and find out you can do magic, you'll be in great danger."
Harry groaned at the realisation that she was, indeed, correct in her assertion; a female-dominated society, where only the women could do magic, in need of a 'population-boost'. Yes, they would certainly be interested in him, and he did not know, how many would be sent to confront him, or what kind of magic they controlled. At the moment, he cared little for his own future, but none of his plans included what sounded like forced servitude, maybe even slavery.
"Thank you for the warning," he replied, solemnly looking at who he hoped might be an ally. "I will leave the planet as quickly as possible. Do you know, how I could do that?"
Arden seemed taken aback by that. "Only the Imperials have the means to do that, and they're very careful. They fear Gethzerion escaping," she explained, an unexpected gleam in her eyes.
"Well, they haven't dealt with my magic yet," Harry declared confidently, although he himself was not completely sure, how much of that confidence was real. One thing was sure however: Harry Potter would rather die than be made a slave.
"Imperials?" he remarked. "That couldn't possibly be the people with the flying, grey bricks and whining black things, could they?"
OOOOOOOO
Only a day later, Harry had packed up all his meagre possession and stowed them in either his small bag, although it really only was a satchel on a thin string of hide, or his backpack. He had Rex saddled with the saddle he had adapted from one fitting a standard Earth horse, and completely demolished his now former house. However, there was one thing still left to deal with.
Arden was standing in the exact spot where she had slept during her recovery, the bed now completely gone. She was looking at him, conflict visible in her eyes; the woman was fighting with herself, as much was clear.
"Can I come with you?" she almost pleaded with him, hopefully locking eyes. "I can't go back, I will die alone, and I never want to join the Nightsisters."
He was moved by her anguish, he really was. Still, there was one thing that would exclude her from any kind of companionship with him.
"You can travel with me. Under one condition," he allowed and let what he had said sink in a bit to make clear that this condition was indeed a deal-breaker. "I will not be your servant, nor will you be mine. If we can agree on that, there won't be a problem."
She nodded eagerly, an almost startling amount of joy on her face. It seemed like he was not the only one to dislike the way her society worked. His answer was a sharp nod, and she followed him to Rex. Watching as he climbed onto the large reptilian's back, her eyes grew to what had to be the size of saucers.
"The Kwi lets you ride?" she asked, astonishment plainly audible. "That is a great honour, Harry."
"Wouldn't know," Harry chuckled. "His name's Rex. Come on, let's go."
Following the direction Arden had given him, and with Ouroboros around his shoulders, Rex began carrying them westward to the Imperial garrison.
"You know this one's a female, right?"