The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301

Part III - Chapter Thirty-Two

The winter term continued to be cold and icy drafts found their way into the Castle through every nook and cranny. Only in Defense class were we ever thoroughly warm. Dad had actually increased the intensity of the classes and we had finally begun to engage in actual practice combat.

Dad made sure to keep me and Matilda separated from Narcissus Malfoy. He watched Malfoy quite closely, so I knew that he had taken my accusations seriously. I felt uncomfortably that he watched me closely, too. I wasn't sure if he thought I would attack Malfoy unprovoked or if he was simply keeping a fatherly eye on me.

My friendship with Matilda was also strained. I had gone to see her the day after Malfoy killed her kitten- the day after James kissed her- and I found myself quite incapable of saying the one thing that would have brought her back to me. I could not say, I love you.

Miserably, I felt it was possible that I did. Equally miserably, I suspected that I did not - not really. What could I say that would equal the intensity that James brought to everything that really mattered to him? And ought I, his brother, to stand in his way, in this of all things?

Her blue eyes seemed to see through me when I asked her if she was all right. Her tall, slim body was full of some tense expectation. Perhaps she thought I would berate her for kissing James. Perhaps she thought I ought to berate her. If I had, she could have been sure of my feelings. Instead, I offered to bury the kitten.

"We could put him under the beech tree, you know."

Her face stilled and her eyes grew cool. I could feel it, her withdrawal. After, I knew myself for worse than a fool. We had often sat beneath that very tree, talking over our homework and our prefect duties. I had kissed her there more than once. She must have felt that burying the kitten there was as good as burying our love, if love it had been.

"All right," she had answered, as calmly and finally as though she had reached the end of a story and was ready to close the book on it.

I might have been more unhappy if it hadn't been for Dad. He called me into the Headmaster's office one evening not long after my fight with James. At first I thought he was going to finally punish me for drawing my wand on my younger brother. I deserved it I supposed. I was surprised when his purpose was quite different.

He made the fire in the great old fireplace leap high, countering the faint drafts of cool air that slid through crevices in the beautiful, but ancient tower. The golden light illumined the fine planes of his face and I could see that the shadows under his eyes had deepened lately.

I glanced surreptitiously at the cabinet which had held the Pensieve. It was locked and no misty light reflected off the glass or glowed above the basin.

I thought guiltily that it had been my fault and James' that he had put all those nightmarish memories back in his head. I could guess he must be sleeping poorly and felt shamed to have contributed to his troubles.

My thoughts were diverted when he began piling up book upon book and scroll upon scroll.

"I have a job for you," Dad said. His tone was quite prosaic, but his green gaze on me was sharp, summing and hopeful at once.

"Extra homework?" I asked. The punishment, I supposed.

"I said a job," Dad answered, "not homework. For the Order." He paused as if he were gauging me, judging me, assessing my courage and character by my response.

I straightened up and said, "Tell me."

He smiled then. It wasn't particularly a happy smile, but it was full of love and also relief. I wasn't sure why he was relieved. I guessed then that he was glad to know I was brave enough to take up such a responsibility. It was enough for me, though, to feel as if that was his reason. It was enough to believe he trusted me to take on such a responsibility.

"These," he said, indicating the books and scrolls, "are all about King Arthur or Merlin. Every one of them tells a slightly different story about how Arthur got his sword and everyone of them tells a different story about where the sword went when he died."

I stared at the pile of books and scrolls and looked at him again. The thing that Hayden had sought, the thing that Dad had suffered for - this was what he wanted. I was amazed.

"We have to find it," Dad said, "before Hayden does. He will corrupt it, if it exists, and use it against the Muggles and everyone else to commit the land to the dark."

His eyes grew vague, as though he were seeing something approaching from far off, something quite frightening. He looked again at me and added, "I want you to find it. I want you to go through every one of these and tell me where you think it is and how to get at it. I think I know, but I'm not sure."

"Why me?" I blurted out. "I mean, I don't mind, I want to help. But why me?"
"Because you're here and because you can. I would have asked your Aunt Hermione," he said, "but she's so busy at the Ministry it's not fair to ask her to do more. And you are the brightest student this school has seen since she was here. I know you can do it and I know you'll keep it completely secret."

"Even from James and Lily?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered without pause. "From everyone."

"I'll do it," I said, feeling as though I had given a grave and solemn promise, almost an Unbreakable Vow. "There's only one problem." I hurried to keep even the faintest shadow of disappointment from clouding the clear green gaze. "Malfoy. I share a dormitory with him. I can't bring these things in there or he might find them. He could tell his grandfather."

Dad nodded. He looked wearier than ever as he ran his hand through his hair making his untidy mane messier than ever. "I wonder sometimes if I did wrong, Sirius. Perhaps I ought to have tried to make Dumbledore change your House after the Sorting."

"The Sorting Hat is never wrong," I said uncomfortably.

"It's just a Hat," Dad said softly. "A person's fate shouldn't depend on the choice of a Hat. A person's idea of himself shouldn't depend on the choice of a Hat. Even a magic hat like the Sorting Hat. Keep in mind, Sirius, that you always have choices, even when you think you don't."

I know I looked at him in astonishment. This was something quite similar to what Professor Dumbledore had said. Dad, however, smiled again and set the books on the corner of the desk. "The password to the office is Wronski Feint. You can come by when you have time between classes or at night. The door will open to you."

He laid a hand on my shoulder when I went, and I thought I must be the luckiest fellow in the world, to have such a father.

**
I went to Dad's office most days after dinner and before I had prefect patrol at night. I had already read a few of the books about Arthur and Merlin, but I had never read them with the idea in mind that I was looking for the actual place where Arthur's sword could be found. Some of the stories seemed like dry histories. In those, the sword was barely mentioned.

Arthur fought so many battles, and in every one he triumphed. Every one except the last, that is. I was certain that the last battle had to be part of the key, for if I could locate the story that told the truest version of where Arthur had taken his death wound, then I had a chance of figuring out where he had been taken for burial.

The last battle Arthur had fought was by the River Cam. All the sources agreed on that. The problem was, there are at least three rivers that are still named Cam and there may have been others that have changed in the more than fifteen hundred years since the battle was fought. Some sources placed the battle near the modern Cadbury where a tree topped hill might cover the place where Arthur's castle had been.

Other sources placed the battle far north of there, in a place the Romans had called Camboglenna. All the sources, however, agreed that Arthur had taken a mortal wound in that battle but that he had been taken from the battlefield still alive.

I could not help being drawn aside from time to time by the mysteries surrounding Arthur's death. In some stories, he was taken from the field of battle by three queens, his sisters Morgan and Morgause and by a third, who was his wife or perhaps his mother. The queens then transported him by barge to the Isle of Avalon where Arthur's treasure castle lay. I had read the Muggle stories which accounted Morgan and Morgause as evil witches.

The Muggles, of course, would have accounted any witch as evil, and none of the Muggle stories ever told that Arthur himself had to have been a wizard in order to wield a magic sword. The wizard stories were just as fuzzy and contradictory.

All I knew for certain was that Arthur had fought with his sword at the Battle of Camlann, that he had been severely, perhaps mortally wounded, and that his kingdom and most of Britain had fallen to the control of the Saxons after that final battle.

I noticed that Dad had not given up the search either. On some nights, we both sat reading through the scrolls and books. I liked those the best, for when I found a reference that I thought was a good clue and showed it to him, his face would light with interest and approval.

I drank in the heady wine of his companionship, and though I did not stop to analyze it then, I realized later that he had an extraordinary gift, perhaps a magical gift, for filling up the empty holes in other people's hearts.

On many nights, I had possession of the office to myself. Well, not entirely to myself. Fawkes the phoenix kept me company on those nights Dad was gone, his soft crooning providing a musical concerto of support as I plowed through the tales of Arthur's friend Bedwyr throwing the sword into a magical lake and Arthur's betrayal by his nephew Medraut in the final fateful battle. The story of Medraut interested me.

He was variously named as Arthur's nephew and as his son. I wondered whether Medraut had found it hard to grow up in the shadow of Arthur's brilliance. I wondered whether it was true that that final betrayal, if it had ever occurred, had been motivated by greed for the throne or desire for Arthur's beautiful wife, Gwenhyvar.

In some stories, just a few, Medraut did not betray Arthur at all, but died fighting valiantly beside him. The romantic in me liked the idea that Medraut had betrayed Arthur for love. The realist, who imagined Medraut as myself and Arthur as Dad, was certain that no son or nephew of Arthur's would ever betray him. What I could not believe, did not wish to believe, was that Arthur, the hero, the greatest and noblest king of Britain, the only wizard king of Britain, had died simply because he was outfought by invading Muggles.
There had to be something more. Most of all, I did not want to believe that Hayden's ancestors, if they were truly his ancestors, had defeated my favorite hero.

I spent so much time thinking of Arthur that he seemed to accompany me everywhere I went. In Potions class, I felt as though I made the Draught of Living Death just for the purpose of keeping Arthur in a deep sleep until a healer could reach him to heal his wounds. I jumped when Professor Snape barked at me.

"Lower your flame, Potter. You should know the fumes from this potion can affect you nearly as strongly as drinking the potion!"

I blinked at him and stepped away from my cauldron trying to collect my thoughts. I started to snap back at him, I'm not affected, but the furious expression on his face warned me from doing so. For just a moment, I felt caught between the life-like apparition of Arthur, called up by my too vivid imagination on the one side, and the looming dark shadow of the Professor, rebuking me on the other.

Containing myself, which was difficult as Malfoy chose that moment to whisper that I was a blood traitor bastard, I waved my wand and lowered the flame. The potion looked off somehow and naturally Professor Snape noticed.

"You'll have to re-brew that," he ordered.

I groaned quietly but shut up when Matilda said coolly, "I wouldn't complain, Sirius. Any of the rest of us would have received no points and a detention. Lucky for you Snape always favors Slytherins, and you especially." I glared at her, which drew a gleam of satisfaction from her sapphire cat's eyes.

I could not tell if that was because she thought I cared enough about her still to be angry or if she was relieved that I was treating her normally again rather than avoiding her altogether.

I could not help thinking, in my obsession with King Arthur, that beautiful Matilda would make a good Gwenhyvar. I avoided fencing with Matilda in Defense class, but I had the eeriest feeling when Dad chose to actively practice with the rest of us one day. It was a sunny day in February and one could almost be fooled by the glorious clear sky into thinking that Spring had arrived.

A soft murmur swept through the class when Dad drew out his sword. After the first class in which he had brought his sword, he had most often used one of the school's practice swords for instruction. So when the bright sun struck radiantly off the sword, shedding beams of crimson and gold and glowing silver-white, I felt awed all over again. And thoroughly intimidated when Dad picked me to practice against.

"Why me?" I couldn't help asking. Lionel, I could see, was dying to volunteer, and even Malfoy looked as though he would have liked the chance.

"You're the best in the class," Dad said matter-of-factly, "and I need a real practice."

Flustered, I flushed and nearly dropped my own sword, but under his patient gaze, I collected myself and put aside everything except the practice when his sword crossed mine. He began by testing my defenses, routine passes that were the same we began with in every class.

Within a pass or two, I could tell the difference between Dad and all the others. It wasn't just the perfection of form that was different. It was the complete concentration and the ease with which he moved. Before long, he picked up speed and I had to sweat to match him, move for move. Thrust and parry, thrust and parry-- the contest settled into a rhythm and I allowed the rhythm to compel me on. There was music to it and when the tempo increased yet again, I followed, flowing with it as though I were playing, dueling with another musician.

At some point, everyone else in the class had ceased their practice and had moved to the edges of the room to watch our fight. That we had an audience felt right. The fight was a symphony, cooperation and duel at once, and I gloried in it and in the sense that we created a work of art.

The moment when he disarmed me caught me entirely by surprise. I had not seen it coming at all. One instant, we danced in harmony, in another, my instrument was gone and his sword stopped in the air just inches from my heart. His eyes were the emerald eyes of the hunting lion, certain of his prey. Shaken, I thought, this was what You Know Who had seen just before the final kill. There was neither hatred, nor glory, nor pleasure, nor fear; only the cool, clear focus of fate incarnate.

For the space of a second, I was actively afraid then, afraid of my own father. Was that, I wondered later, why Medraut had killed Arthur? Did he strike out, not so much at his enemy, but at destiny itself?

Dad smiled then, brilliantly, and the pure affection and approval in his eyes washed away all other thoughts. "Well done," he said. "Very well done. In another few months, you'll be disarming me." I thought it highly unlikely that I would ever do that, but it made me feel good just the same.

Fathers, I supposed, always believed their sons were better than they actually were and always praised them more than they deserved.

*****
Harry lifted his eyes from the ancient scroll before him and from the difficult syllables of medieval English to smile gratefully at Sirius' dark head bent in absorption over a scroll far harder to read than the one through which Harry had been picking his way with some difficulty. It had been a stroke of brilliance, he thought, to ask Sirius for assistance. Sirius actually enjoyed it: not just the hunt for clues, but reading the actual books and scrolls for its own sake.

Since January, they had searched through more than a hundred books and scrolls and there were as many more again to go through. The one before him was a wizard manuscript, one he was sure had never been seen in any Muggle library.

The writer told the story of Merlin's making of the sword. It was made of the finest goblin wrought steel, decorated on the hilt with dragons and precious gems. If any but Arthur touched it, it burned in the miscreant's hand. When Arthur raised it, burning light came from it, blinding light, and no man could stand against him when he fought with it.

A thought tickled the back of his mind, one that had shimmered beneath his consciousness and came to full view as he looked again at his son's bent head. The children, all of them, had progressed well in learning to fight. But none of them had a weapon worthy of their talents. None of them would fare well if Death Eaters or dark wizards attacked them with the kind of blades Voldemort's followers had wielded at the Battle of Hogwarts.

As though he had thought to do it all along, Harry rose and told Sirius, "Come with me."

Sirius gave him a startled glance and a yawn took him. His blue-grey eyes focused and sharpened with curiosity but he stood to follow without question. When Harry drew aside the tapestry on the wall that showed Godric Gryffindor kneeling before the King, and tapped on the hidden door beyond, Sirius' mouth opened in a silent oh, and Harry could almost feel the faint shiver of the boy's excitement. It was the same he had felt when he had first stumbled on the hidden door, only in Harry's case, he had entered the door unbidden and had been caught by Dumbledore.

Harry lit one of the torches left for the purpose on the stone wall and led the way down the stairs. When Sirius asked, "What is this? Where does it go?" Harry replied only, "You'll see."

The stairs wound down and then up again and soon he felt a small draft of air that told him he was close to his destination. The passageway forked and he hesitated before choosing first the one which led away from his ultimate goal. The passageway ended with a blank rock wall, but in the large chamber before it lay the body of a man, perfectly preserved. A faint net of light glowed about the man for any who had eyes to see.

"Gryffindor," Harry said reverently.

"He looks like he's just sleeping," Sirius breathed out softly.

Harry reached out and put his hand through the net of light as he had once before. Only this time, he took nothing away, only laid his own on the dead man's cold clasped hands in fellowship. "Here, he sleeps eternally," Harry answered. "I don't know if you actually sleep where his soul has gone."

"I don't understand," Sirius said. He reached out to put his hand on the dead man's as Harry had done, but Harry withdrew his own and stayed Sirius. He moved away from his ancestor and re-traced his steps back to the fork and to the place he had meant to go. Harry lifted the torch and set it in another bracket.

The torchlight flamed high and in the firelight, a thousand lights gleamed back, reflecting off of gold and silver, rubies and emeralds, sapphires and diamonds, a veritable mountain of treasure. Atop the treasure, the firelight reflected off another object.

Gleaming black with bronze undertones, humped a good twenty feet high, the mound that was Norbert the dragon shifted and topaz eyes with onyx pupils opened targeting the puny men below. "Good evening, Norbert," Harry said. "I thought you might like a bit of a chat."

Dad's face was perfectly calm as he looked up at the rearing dragon and hissed. Terror clawed at me. I prepared to yank Dad away from the danger but Dad glanced at me with something that might have been puzzlement.

"Didn't you understand me?" he asked.

I couldn't speak. The dragon lowered its head and a long, forked tongue flicked out. I stepped back involuntarily, thinking that we would both be swept up and swallowed before we could draw wands. The dragon's topaz eyes fixed on me as he hissed and spat. Dad hissed back and said my name.

It came out with many more S's than are really there - Sssiriusss was what it sounded like. The dragon, Norbert, hissed again, and I could have sworn the hiss sounded almost like my name.

"You talk to dragons!" I blurted out.

"They're flying serpents," Dad replied. "They speak almost the same language as snakes. Similar enough that I can understand them." He said this absently, as his attention remained on the dragon above. "Dragons are smart," he continued, bowing very slightly to the huge, black one curled atop the treasure, "and Norbert is especially smart."

He hissed again and Norbert hissed back. It sounded as though they were actually having a chat. I almost laughed aloud. Had it sounded, I am sure it would have been the laughter of hysteria and not of amusement.

The urge to laugh disappeared when faint wisps of smoke drifted from Norbert's nostrils. I was sure we were about to flamed and turned into Norbert's dinner. No one would know what had happened. No one would ever find us, and our bones, unshielded by magic, would lie among the treasure there forever.

Almost nonchalantly, Dad stepped forward and plucked out several gems from the treasure mound. I gawped at him as he bowed again, deeper and more elegantly, and hissed at the dragon. I could have sworn that the last sound was perfectly cheerful, if not actually affectionate. Dad took the torch in hand and turned his back on Norbert without a qualm. I followed him back to the headmaster's office in a dither.

"You speak Parseltongue!" I blurted out. "No wonder the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin. Are you sure you're not related to Slytherin, too?"

Dad gave me a most enigmatic look, one that turned penetrating: the kind of look he used to fix on me when he discerned the truth of my small mischief's as a child.

"Others besides Slytherins speak Parseltongue," he commented. "Few speak it, though; not even most Slytherins."

"How did you know Norbert wouldn't flame you?"

"I didn't for sure," Dad replied. A faint grin snaked its way across his face. "With dragons, you never know. They're just as likely to eat you as to chat with you. But Norbert likes having someone to talk to, so I was pretty sure he wouldn't eat me. Especially as I promised to come back and tell him a few good stories to keep him entertained. He likes a good story, Norbert does."

"Mum would yell if she knew about this."

"Yeah, she would," Dad answered. He looked just as young, if not younger, than I did then, and his smile was the smile of a child who likes to touch the candle flame just to see if he can get away with it. His smile deepened to one of considerable satisfaction as he spilled the gems he had taken, stolen, from Norbert's treasure mound. They would fetch a fortune, I thought.

I wondered if that was where our money really came from. As if answering my thought directly, Dad said, "Gryffindor started it, collecting the treasure for times of need. I promised Norbert I'd find him something to replace these. Something more valuable and more rare to guard. "

A wild surmise swept through me. "The Sword?"

"Perhaps," Dad said. The green eyes tilted at me in the glow of the fire. Green as the emeralds that lay upon the desk among the other stones there.

"And those?" I asked nodding to the gems. "What are they for?"

Dad hesitated. "Swords," he said. "Swords and cups, wands and … well, never mind. Weapons," he added, "for the fight against the dark. Getting flamed by a dragon is a small risk to take in fighting what we fight." He said the last quite seriously, all mischief faded, and shadows traced the planes of his face, a face that looked eternally youthful and as eternally composed as the dead man's had been. Only shadows haunted the eyes now, darkening the clear green with remembered nightmares.

*****
Harry mounted the interior stair that led from the headmaster's office into the headmaster's private chambers. He had resisted occupying the chambers for as many months as he had resisted occupying the office below. Dumbledore had made it clear on his most recent visit that he would never return to the headmaster's office or the headmaster's chambers to take up his old position.

The old wizard seemed content to reside in a small, corner of the infirmary, made private by the placement of tall screens and to sit most days in a chair by the window with a warm woolen blanket on his lap.

Harry had sighed in depression when he noted that Dumbledore's face seemed more sunken than ever. The only vital bit of him were his light blue eyes, whose gaze remained clear and sharp and knowing.

"The Headmaster's Office," Dumbledore said, "has passed to you. What I have given, I would not take back now, not even if I were strong enough for the task."

"I never sought this," Harry objected. "I only took the responsibility because you were ill and asked me to. My wife and home are not here. I'm not you, sir. I can't do this and still work for Bentley and the Queen and teach and keep the Order going all at once. There just aren't enough hours in the day."

"Yet," Dumbledore replied, "you have made the time where you needed to, and you do not do any of this alone. " He smiled at Harry and added, "I recall a time when you were anxious to be given responsibilities in keeping with your age."

"Yeah," Harry acknowledged, "and I wasn't ready for them either. I made mistakes, the worst kind of mistakes, mistakes that cost Sirius his life. I've never forgotten that."

"And I told you those were my errors," Dumbledore said. He had considered Harry closely and had asked, "There is more disturbing you than you have said."

Harry had turned away then to look at the children making their way to class with Hagrid and at the tall shapes of the Forest, where snow had finally melted from the trees leaving them standing, their branches reaching to the heavens as though seeking the embrace of the sun that would bring new leaves and life to them once again.

"Hayden and the Death Eaters have been strangely quiet," Harry said broodingly. "Since they raided that chemical factory, they've done nothing. I keep thinking they have something big planned, but we haven't heard a word from any source, not Muggle nor wizard. I feel like I'm missing something," he continued, turning to meet Dumbledore's serene gaze. "You wouldn't miss it, if you were running the Order."

Dumbledore lifted a hand and then dropped it back to his lap again. The long fingers were bone thin and veins stood out on the backs of his hand. A faint tremble was stilled as the old wizard clasped his hands upon his lap. "You ought to have let me go on," Dumbledore said quietly. "As I am now, I would surely fail. I know," he added, "that you have relied on me to be there always. I know that you always thought I would clean up the mess if you should fail. But you did not fail. You will not fail now, Harry. You were not given the gift of life when you should have died only to fail when it mattered."

"You assume more than I do," Harry answered. "If I succeeded at defeating Voldemort, it was because of my mother's sacrifice and your teaching, leading the way. And after, now, who knows really? The Prophecy never said anything more than that I might defeat Voldemort. Nothing more. All this," he said, "everything since, is even more a mystery than ever."



Harry tossed his jacket on the back of a red leather chair with clawed feet and wished Dumbledore were the one dealing with Bentley's questions instead of him. Bentley had wanted to know in detail what the wizards were doing to find Hayden and Malfoy, but Harry had had no answer for him. Bentley had wanted to know where Harry thought they might be, what they were doing and - though this question had been made more hesitantly than the others - why Harry couldn't simply see where they were as he had that time in training so many years before.

Harry had not answered that. He didn't know why he had Seen then and not in that way since. And he had no intention of explaining to Bentley what it might take for him to be able to see them in a similar fashion now. He had given his speculations: that they were building up their forces once more; that they were seeking the weapons they wanted, both Muggle, like the bomb they had attempted to steal, and wizard, like the Sword they attempted to find; and that they would attack again only when they had what they sought.

Harry sank down onto the great canopied bed. He could not deny that it was convenient to have sleeping chambers attached to the office where he now spent so much time. But he did not relish the thought of sorting through the robes in the ebony wardrobe, all of which belonged to Dumbledore.

He could not feel that the books in the low cases on the walls were his. He could not make himself believe that he could ever fill Dumbledore's shoes, whether as Headmaster of Hogwarts or as head of the Order of the Phoenix. He did not want to, not really.

He closed his eyes and sorted through his memories, seeking the recollections that would help him with the next task he had set himself. Some memories came crisp and clear - too clear, painfully clear. The ones he sought were wrapped up with the most painful, and he could not help shying away from them as he could not help shying from the responsibilities that weighed him down.

He opened his eyes again and stared out the leaded windows at the great starry sky. A flick of his wand opened a window and let in cold air. Breathing deep, seeking the emptiness that came with Occlumency, he rose once more and tried to view his intentions logically. What he planned could be considered the ultimate act of selfishness. He would pour out his magic to make what he desired, but was it truly for the cause? Or was it, as he knew in that place where there was no hiding from himself, that what he meant to do was a palliative for his own fears.

The diamond strewn canopy of night enclosed the world as it always had. As it always would. It was what the light fell on below that would change, and for the worse, if he did not choose right. Setting aside all hopes of sleep, he descended back down the stairs and removed the Pensieve from the glass case once more. Drawing memories from his head, he let them fall, misty, cloudy strands of thought, each capturing a moment in his life. He gave the memories a stir and saw, not his own face, but that of an old, old man, much older by far than Dumbledore would ever be.

The old man heated the fires with the ease of long expertise, heating them to the point that the steel in the cradle ran in white-hot rivulets. The steel ran at the control of his wand into the waiting molds that would shape the final products.

A whip of his wand cooled the air and the steel solidified. But too soon. This was what Harry had needed to recall. The steel had been cooled too soon and the old man had done it on purpose, to thwart the one who held him prisoner in his very own workroom. To thwart the one with the red slit-pupil eyes, who used his own wand to lash the old man with a pain that was hotter than fires that melted steel.

Seeing it in the basin of the Pensieve had one great advantage. The pain in the memory was not Harry's, and he did not need to feel it in his very bones, as he had so many nights the year he had turned sixteen. There were other memories too, of the old man, Flamel, making a ruby colored stone on many occasions and on each except one, he had deliberately ruined those labors as well. On each of those occasions, he had borne the punishment for his defiance.

Harry turned away from those recollections, and away from the stooped old man who had learned the dangers of seeking an unnaturally extended life all too late. He wondered whether he had failed to understand that lesson properly himself.

He put away the Pensieve and examined each of the stones he had taken from Norbert's hoard. They were beautiful things, already shaped for the purpose and in them he could feel the faint energy that told him magic resided within their shimmering depths. Putting aside all his reservations, he scooped them up and stowed them in his pockets along with the other things he would need and left the office to descend into the depths of the Castle.

The Castle was silent as he padded his way down to the dungeons to a room that had seen no use in years. The huge stone fireplace was stacked with wood and coal he had made ready. A wave of his wand lit the fire and he stoked it, hotter and hotter, and higher and higher, until the flames danced golden in the stone cavern. At another gesture, the blocks of steel soared into the waiting cradle and began to melt. Carefully he tended the fire, waiting for just the right moment to pour the molten metal, breathing and counting until just the right moment to cool it, and for each of his three creations, laying in and binding their magic cores just at the right moment. Into each, he poured out his own energies, enchanting the final object, adorning each with care and love.



Dawn was breaking when Harry climbed his way back up to his office and up the stairs to the canopied bed. He stood a sword at each of the four corners of the bed, and slept as he had not in years, without any nightmares at all. As the sun rose, golden light stole through his veiled lids, and the dreaming part of himself soared out.

The golden light suffused the ancient forest and broke into prisms upon touching the crystal tears of the woman as she kissed the sleeping man upon his cheek. He was not as old as one would think, though he had done many great deeds, and was known as the Prince of Enchanters. Stepping back away from the pallet on which the sleeping enchanter lay, the woman raised her staff, and a great boulder sealed up the cave and the sleeping man with it.

"He won't wake now," she said and it seemed she was speaking directly to Harry. "He won't wake until he's needed, not even in the King's direst hour. The world will turn, and he will sleep, the world will turn, and the King will wait, they will sleep and wait, until they're called."

The dream changed, and he was flying on the back of a red dragon over an empty land. Below him, a bridge, whose railings were made of swords, floated across a deep blue channel. In the small coracle, the fisherman brought in his catch and the light that shone from it was brighter than the stars or the moon or even the sun and his eyes were bluer than the sky on a perfect summer's day.

Harry woke feeling more rested than he had in a long time. With satisfaction, he lifted each sword in turn, thinking that three he had made were not bad, not bad at all.


* * *

Easter holidays were fast approaching as they fell early that year and along with them my eighteenth birthday. Dad continued to be preoccupied, but he also had the air on occasion of one who has left behind some weighty burden. He also continued to press us hard in Defense class. On the last class before the holidays, he strode around for the first half of class giving corrections and even praise. It was not until the second half that he drew his sword in anticipation of practicing himself. Immediately, several other students volunteered to practice with him. They had, I supposed, gotten used to him and only occasionally remembered to be scared of him and his reputation. Lionel, who fairly worshipped Dad, was delighted to be chosen. He did a passable job for a few minutes before Dad disarmed him.

"I don't see how you move that fast," Lionel complained.

Dad simply lifted his eyebrows and said, "Practice. And it helps if you think of the point of the blade as a Snitch. No one can move a sword as fast as a Snitch can fly."

"Not many people can even see a Snitch," Malfoy commented. But he looked rather pleased all the same as he was a seeker. When Dad turned to me as if to choose me to practice against, Malfoy made a noise, a sort of a sneer without words. It was clear he thought that Dad favored me because I was his son and naturally Dad noticed.

He turned to Malfoy instead and wordlessly saluted him. If he hadn't felt the need to prove his fairness or perhaps to punish Malfoy, a lot of things might have turned out differently. In any case, Malfoy got his chance to cross swords with Dad, much to his humiliation.

The fact was that Malfoy, while he was not particularly cowardly owing to his enormous ego - he really was well-named - was not the greatest athlete in the world. He can play Quidditch all right, but he is no where near as good as James or even I.

It took less time for Dad to disarm Malfoy than it had for him to disarm Lionel, and Malfoy ended up on his ass as Dad's last thrust had sufficient force as to make Malfoy lose his balance.

Dad wasn't sweating a bit. He shrugged and said more kindly than necessary, "You are improving, Mr. Malfoy."

I guessed he was bending over backwards to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt since James and I had put him in the hospital. He turned to me again and thus missed the glare of sheer hatred Malfoy shot at him. There was nothing Malfoy hated more than being bested in any fashion whatsoever, and he particularly hated being bested by someone he must consider unworthy, a half-blood, the one who had defeated his grandfather, and his grandfather's master, He Who Must Not Be Named.

Seeing that look, I almost suggested that Dad give someone else a chance, but I discarded that thought immediately. I wasn't about to let Narcissus Malfoy intimidate me or control my actions. And I really did want to learn. The bout went better than any of our previous ones and I was able to fall into that rhythm and to feel the music in what we were doing. I had learned somehow to know when Dad would change the rhythm and to anticipate when he would make his move.

Twice I managed to avoid being disarmed. Dad, however, learned quickly. I always forgot how clever he could be because I always remembered most of all his kind heart and his bravery. The third time, he did disarm me, both by changing the rhythm and by changing the direction in which I expected him to go. My sword flew away from me and I stumbled, but did not fall.

"That was very fine," Dad commented as he caught me to keep me from falling. He looked quite happy again and said, "I think some of you will be ready for the next step after the holidays."

"The next step?" I asked.

For answer, he pointed the sword toward the windows and away from everyone and suddenly, crimson-gold flames shone from the sword. I had nearly forgotten, as everyone else had, that ultimately, it was using the magic in a sword we were going to learn.

After dinner that evening, I decided to skip going to the Headmaster's office and take a good bath in the Prefect's bathroom. Between sword practice in Defense class and a particularly vicious tussle with a Venomous Tentacula in the Greenhouse, I was tired and quite dirty. The palatial marble bathroom was empty when I went in and I gratefully stripped off my dirty clothes and tossed them in the laundry for the house-elves to pick up. I carefully laid my wand beside my clean nightclothes and robe and sank into the hot water with pleasure.

I soaped my self until all of the dirt from the Greenhouse had floated away and then floated in the warm water's embrace, allowing all the accumulated tensions and the muscle soreness that always accompanied a particularly strenuous Defense class to dissipate. I didn't even bother to open my eyes when the bathroom door opened. Only another prefect or one of the Quidditch captains could get in.

A red-hot stinging sensation striking my chest out of nowhere had me floundering in the water. Another and another struck me and I swallowed soapy water in my effort to duck the barrage of attacks. I got my head out of water long enough to see that Narcissus Malfoy had got in somehow even though he was not a prefect. They continued to strike me with more and more hexes, stinging hexes so strong they left great red welts, worse than usual as I had no clothes on to minimize the damage.

I tried to make my way back to the edge of the great bath, which was the size of a swimming pool and almost as deep, but another curse hit me, a different one, which bored a hole clean through my left arm and left a blossoming trail of blood staining the water. A roar came from the doorway and the crimson light of another spell flew by but did not strike me. Instead it struck Malfoy and sent him flying into the wall.

I managed to get to the side of the bath but I could not pull myself out. Perhaps it was shock due to the combination of so many stinging hexes and the other curse, whichever it was. Through the watery haze, I saw that James had come in and he was attacking Malfoy and the two other Slytherins with enormous fury. Paul Parkinson landed in an unconscious heap next to Malfoy. The third, a fifth year named Willis who, being a prefect, had clearly let Malfoy in, backed away from James in terror and made a dash for the door. I was surprised when James let him go.

I tried once more to get out of the bath, and this time, James was there to pull me out. That wasn't so great either as all of a sudden I could feel the pain of dozens of welts and see the drip of blood on the tiles. I shook with cold or shock and tried to get a word out.

James wrapped the towel around my bleeding arm and threw my robe on my shoulders. "Let's get you to the hospital wing," he said, "and then I'll come back and kill them."

"No hospital," I managed to get out. "Just help me back to my dormitory."

"Are you mad?" he demanded. "They'll just come after you again and really kill you this time. We have to get Dad. He'll get rid of them like he should have when Malfoy killed Matilda's cat."

"No," I said. "He can't. It's just our word again against their's. It'll look like he's playing favorites, getting rid of them because his sons want it."

"But look at you," James said. "He can't ignore that. He won't and you know it."

"No, he won't," I said shakily. "That's why you have to promise not to tell him. Promise me, James. Your word."

James made a noise, a growling sound and picked up my wand. He tucked it in his pocket and led me through the door and through the hallways, but not toward the Slytherin dormitory.

"Where?" I managed to ask. My teeth were chattering and I knew I would soon be past caring where.

"Where you should have been all along," he answered grimly.

Vaguely, I heard him giving a password and it was only the sudden cessation of a number of voices at once that made me realize where we were - the Gryffindor common room. Excited babble broke out and I tried to tell James that he was crazy, I couldn't go there.

He ignored all comment and said curtly to someone else, "Get Lily," and then he half carried me up a winding staircase to an empty dormitory room.

"This'll do," he said. "This one's completely empty. Just tell me the password to the Slytherin room and I'll go get your belongings."

"I can't," I protested. "You can't."

"They'll kill you if you go back and make it look like an accident. It's Malfoy's favorite pastime. You stay here or I go tell Dad everything."

A low cry cut off my answer. I tried to sit up again and gentle hands pushed me back and I could smell the faint drift of flowers in spring.

"Hey!" I protested, when those same hands pulled my robe off. "You can't let her -" I said to James.

"Be quiet," Lily said softly. I had never heard her speak in exactly those tones before. They reminded me strangely of the way Dad had spoken in that warehouse when we were captives.

"You can't see me like this," I said more loudly. "Not without -"

"Don't be foolish, Sirius," she said calmly. "I'm your sister. I've seen you naked before."

"When I was five, maybe," I objected.

She ignored my protests and proceeded to smooth a Soothing Salve on the welts all over me. I could smell the murtlap essence and other things besides, numbweed, and willow.

"You should be in hospital," she said when I flinched involuntarily.

"No," as all I could get out.

"He doesn't want Dad to know," James cut in.

"That's plain idiocy," Lily said. "He's the headmaster now. He has to know."

"He's our father," I said. "You must know how he'll react."

"He'll expel them as they should have been long ago," she answered.

I tried to say, that's enough, as her hands drifted down to the welts on my stomach and thighs, but the Soothing Salve did help and I was too distracted by other things. Her long black hair slid across my shoulders as she leaned forward and I had to close my eyes to keep from watching her hands touching me. They were precisely the same hands as James', the same as Dad's, but smaller and more delicately made.

"He'll kill them," I said. I concentrated on keeping my voice steady.

"He'll have to move fast to get there before me," Lily said. Her voice was still calm, but there it was again, the tone of a judge, pronouncing sentence and planning the execution all at once.

"You wouldn't," I said, "but he really would."

"Come on, Sirius," James objected. "He'll expel them; he might even have them arrested. But kill them?"

I gritted my teeth and stayed Lily's hands. "He has before. He's capable of it. You don't really get what he is, do you?"

"That was You Know Who," James said. "He was defending himself. He had to, or he would have died. And Hogwarts would have fallen."

"He could do it again," I insisted. I knew it. I had seen his eyes when he fought and how easy it would be for him to take the extra step, just the slightly deeper lunge that would thrust a sword through the heart. "And it would break him if he did."

"What do you mean?" James said sharply.

I took a deep breath to still the shivers that kept seizing my muscles. "You saw what he went through in that Pensieve. He has nightmares still, so bad that he needed to literally remove those memories from his head so he could sleep. He might have killed You Know Who, but it hurt him to do it. He would do it again," I repeated, "In a fury of love and to protect me, to protect us both. But it would break him after."

"All right," James said grudgingly. "I won't tell him. But only if you give me the password so I can get your things out of your dormitory. Only if you stay here for the rest of the year, where Malfoy can't get at you when you're sleeping and vulnerable. Because he will try again."

"I can take care of myself," I said, "better than you think. I haven't survived six and half years in the same room as Narcissus Malfoy without making him more scared of me than I am of him."

"The password," James ordered.

Lily unwrapped the towel from my arm and hissed in fury. Warm blood seeped from the hole in my arm and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. "I think I know what that one was," she said. "You would have died if it had hit you where some of those stinging hexes did."

She murmured something softly and the hole in my arm closed up, but the closing was nearly as painful as the original injury had been. I gasped out the password and curled up tighter pressing my face into the pillow. A soft cover was drawn over me and I felt the light touch of a kiss on my cheek, gentle as the ones Mum used to give when she tucked us into bed at night. I kept my face turned down and pretended to sleep, hoping that my thoughts and desires were well hidden, and trying, not quite successfully to hide them even from myself.

As they left, I heard Lily say quietly, "Do you think he's right? About Dad, I mean?"

"I dunno," James answered. "He tends to imagine that Dad is just like him."

"Well, he is like Dad," Lily commented.

"Sensitive," James said. "Yeah, but he's got even more of a romantic imagination than Dad."

"And what's wrong with imagination?" Lily asked.

"Too much imagination begets nightmares and monsters," James replied.

***
James had his wand out as he whispered the password that would let him in the Slytherin dormitory. His heart raced faster as he stepped through into alien territory. It's just a Hogwarts dormitory, he reminded himself. But he could not help the feeling that he trespassed where he did not belong.

Resolutely, he marched into the common room, noting the similarities and differences with the Gryffindor common room. There were comfortable leather couches and velvet easy chairs, all in shades of green. A patterned carpet of deep hunter green with golden leaves cushioned the stone floor beneath his feet and tall bronze tripods held glowing alabaster bowls filled with fat, white candles, whose flames shed a soft light on all.

It was really all right, he thought with surprise, except there were no windows. He turned to find the stairs that would lead off to the students' rooms, and, just as in the Gryffindor dormitory, there was one for the boys and one for the girls.

A tall Slytherin boy whom he did not know challenged him, but he ignored the challenge as he strode toward the boys stairs. Another voice stopped him, and this one he turned to answer.

"James Potter," his cousin Victoria said, "what are you doing here?"

"Getting Sirius' things," he said calmly. It was an effort though. He didn't know how she managed it, but she sounded just like Mum or Nana Molly at their most severe.

A few heads turned to look at him, marking him for an interloper. He tightened his grip on his wand and although he said no spell, a few sparks shot out, testimony of his still boiling fury. If anyone tried to stop him, he would not hesitate to use it. And if Malfoy should wake and return, he would be glad of another go at him.

Something of his anger communicated itself to his cousin. She followed him as he took the stairs at a near run, down, not up, and said to his back, "You're going to get into such trouble. You'll be doing detention for the rest of the year."

He continued to ignore her as he poked his head into the dormitory that was labeled Seventh Years. As with the common room, the dormitory was almost identical with the Gryffindor dormitory. Five four poster beds lined the walls, each hung with dark green velvet curtains. He picked out the one that belonged to Sirius easily: it was quite tidy, everything in its place, but his flute had been left lying out on the green velvet comforter.

Another voice stopped him as he reached out a hand toward the bed: "Playing tricks on your brother, Potter?" asked Professor Snape.

"No," he replied. His anger came near to bursting as he stared at the Potions professor. He really did not like Snape at all and was certain the feeling was mutual.

"No, sir," Snape said, "or no, Professor. You may be Harry Potter's son, but you will address me with respect."

"Yes, sir," he answered. He turned back to the bed and put out his hand only to jump back as it touched an almost invisible net of energy. He lit his wand to bring more light to the rather gloomy room, and saw that a fine faint glow surrounded the entire bed and an area a few feet out from it. A shield spell, he thought in amazement, set to guard Sirius' bed. His anger mounted as he realized what lengths his brother had to resort to in order to protect himself from his fellow roommates.

Thinking, he waved his wand in the counter-spell, but without speaking it aloud. No need to reveal it to the others now watching if they didn't know it already. Snape watched frowningly as James yanked Sirius' trunk out from under the bed and placed the flute inside.

"I want to know what you are doing," Snape said. His tone was such that the other students jumped.

"Packing my brother's things," James answered, "obviously."

"Where is he? And what mischief are you up to now?" James turned to stare up at Snape. The Professor's black eyes were cold chips of rock aimed at his own. He felt his face grow more stony than before. "That's no business of any Slytherin anymore," James growled, not caring that he was being unforgivably rude to a Professor, and one whom his father tolerated, for no reason James could see.

"You are just as arrogant as your father and grandfather before you," Snape commented. "But I think your father will have to have something to say about this."

"No!" James said. "He's not to know!"

Snape's scanty eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. "He is the Headmaster. He will have to know."

"Sirius doesn't want him to," James replied. He bit his lip as he forced himself to say stiffly, "I apologize if I was rude. Sir. But please don't stop me and please don't tell my Dad."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What has Sirius done then, that he needs to run away?"

"It's Malfoy who did it," James blurted out angrily. He would have taken the words back, but he could not as Snape grabbed his arm in a stronger grip than James would have expected.

"And what exactly is Narcissus supposed to have done this time?" Snape asked silkily.

"Not supposed to. Did," James retorted. He jerked out of Snape's grip and added, "He and Parkinson and Willis attacked Sirius while he was in the bath, just to do it. He ought to be in hospital but Sirius won't have it and he won't let anyone tell Dad. He made me promise and I did. But I made him tell me the password here so I can get his things out. He's not staying in a dormitory with Malfoy one night more."

"And where are they?" Snape asked.

James shrugged. "I don't know. Willis ran for it when I came in and I stunned Malfoy and Parkinson. They might still be in the Prefects Bathroom."

"You stunned them? What did Sirius do?"

"What could he do?" James spat. "They attacked him in the bath, when he was naked and hadn't got his wand on him."

He lifted up the trunk and waved his wand to check whether Sirius had left any books tucked under his pillow. Sure enough, he had. A leather journal Lily had bought him for Christmas was there. A voice said, "Accio!" and the journal soared in the air.

As it touched Malfoy's hand, James cried out, "Expelliarmus," and the journal flew back towards him. James caught in his left hand easily and pointed his wand at Malfoy. He would have attacked then, but Snape's roared, "Cease!"

James did not take his eyes off of Malfoy. He kept his wand pointed and hung onto control with the greatest difficulty. A part of him wanted to murder Malfoy on the spot, to make him feel pain. The other part remembered his promise and Sirius' warning.

"What do you suppose is in his diary?" Malfoy asked spitefully. "Stuff about how angry he is with you over you stealing his girlfriend?"

"He isn't angry with me," James said, hoping that was true. He took delight in the fact that Malfoy's pale face was bruised along the side and wished he'd done more damage to the evil git. "He's my brother," James continued coldly. "Remember that. You attack him, I attack you back."

"Your bastard brother," Malfoy replied. There was a cold gleam in the pale eyes that worried James. An odd light of knowing and malice.

"Names break no bones," James said coldly. He swept the diary into his pocket and stalked out of the room with Sirius' trunk.

Snape followed him all the way to the Gryffindor dormitory and right into the common room. Snape followed him up the stairs and into the room where Sirius slept. James stowed Sirius' things beside the bed and sat down on the edge. Sirius didn't move; nor would he until Lily woke him as she had put a sleeping charm on him to make him rest.

Not knowing why, and feeling quite awful, James opened the diary. With relief, he saw that there were no entries about him and Matilda. Only notes about King Arthur and Merlin and Arthur's sword. Just one of Sirius' scholarly projects then. Sighing with relief, he tucked the journal under the pillow.

Snape drew back the covers before James could stop him. A faint breath of surprise came from the Potions professor as he saw the numerous marks on Sirius' body.

"The Headmaster should know," Snape said.

"Normally, yes," James said levelly. "But the Headmaster is our father and Sirius doesn't want him to."

"Why not?" Snape asked.

Uncomfortably, James said, "He thinks Dad will lose his temper."

Snape's brows rose again and then drew down as he thought. "It is possible. Even probable. He would expel Narcissus."

"He'll kill Malfoy," James said flatly. "He killed You Know Who to defend himself. He would be far angrier in defense of his son. That's what Sirius thinks."

Snape shook his head. "I don't think so. Killing the Dark Lord was one thing. He had no choice there, by the end. But he has no liking for killing. He's never done so again and even when he did defeat the Dark Lord, it was not in the way anyone expected."

James started to ask more and more details as Snape spoke as though he had seen it, and knew the whole of it, but Snape covered Sirius back up quite gently and said, "I will not tell him, unless some other incident forces me."

James looked at him in surprise. Snape was a puzzle, there was no question of that. He had seemed almost human then, as if Sirius was one of his and not a Potter, a Gryffindor like Dad.



The next morning, James wondered whether Snape hadn't told Dad after all, as Dad stopped him as he was leaving the Great Hall after breakfast. "Tell Sirius and Lily that I want all of you in the Headmaster's Office at eleven this morning."

"We'll miss the train," James said in surprise.

"We aren't taking the train," Dad said. James started to ask why but the expression on Dad's face forbade questions. It was rare to see him that way, but James knew when he was that one did what he asked and said nothing.

At eleven, James and Sirius and Lily presented themselves at the door to the Headmaster's Office. As he lifted his hand to knock, Sirius said "Wronski Feint." For a moment James thought he must be feverish despite Lily's efforts at healing him, but the door swung open and James could not help suffering a flick of annoyance and astonishment at the fact that Sirius knew the password to the office.

Dad was seated at the Headmaster's desk, a beautiful old wooden piece with carved legs. He was riffling through a pile of scrolls and books, setting some back in the glass cabinet behind him and others into his trunk. James peered into the trunk curiously. There were a few pairs of jeans and some sweaters lumped on top of a long straight object laid at an angle inside the trunk. At first he thought it must be Dad's broomstick, but then he realized that the shape was wrong. It had to be Dad's sword. It was, he supposed, something Dad wouldn't leave lying about and he thought nothing more of it.

Sirius sat down on one of the chairs in front of the desk without asking. James could not help noticing that he was still really pale and his eyes looked more grey than blue, a sign that he was in some bleak mood that would take several days to lift. Mum was sure to notice, he thought, and then the whole thing would likely come out. But at least Dad had not seen the worst of it.

Lily kept her eyes on Sirius and said nothing. Her jet black hair and the pale oval of her face were reflected in the huge crystal ball that sat on the desk. It was the largest one James had ever seen and it sat on a golden tripod held up by three rearing griffins. Its depths were full of mist and he could not help wondering if Dad had been using it that morning. That would be curious as Dad had a marked distaste for Divination in all its forms.

Dad looked up from his packing and his green eyes caught James.' They were as inscrutable as a cat's, yet utterly knowing. He had the odd feeling that Dad knew what he had been thinking even without looking at him. The thought worried at him, that he had never really understood his Dad as well as he thought he had, that there were aspects of his personality and talents well-hidden.

James prided himself on his realism and his ability to assess what other people thought and would do. He felt he should have known his Dad better, as he felt he knew his Mum through and through, and Sirius and Lily as well. He had always admired Uncle Ron for his bravery, for being an auror, and wished Dad were just a little more the heroic type. He had found out that the reality behind his wish was far greater than he would have imagined, and it disconcerted him no end. If he had misjudged his own Dad so far, how much had he misjudged everyone else.

Dad smiled and became his familiar self as he closed up his trunk and held out a small jar full of Floo powder. "Courtesy of the Headmaster," he said, "we'll arrive home hours before everyone else."

"That'll make Mum happy," James commented.

"That was the idea," Dad responded. He flicked his wand and the fire in the great stone hearth flared up. Another flick sent their trunks into the flames and at a gesture, James tossed the Floo powder in and stepped into the flames. Dad was still facing him, so he could not see the expression of relief on Sirius' face.

***
I felt both relieved and ashamed at my relief when I found out we would not have to take the train back to London. I really had not been looking forward to another confrontation with Malfoy, especially as I was afraid Dad might feel it necessary to take the train back for security.

When I saw Mum throw herself at Dad as he came out of the fireplace last, I put aside the thought that he might have known about last night's ambush after all. His face lit up as he kissed her lightly on the mouth and then they both pulled apart, blushing just a bit at our interested stares. James poked me and I followed him up the stairs as quickly as I could. He had grabbed my trunk as well as his, but I don't think Mum and Dad noticed.

Lily followed and pretty soon we three were gathered in my room whispering quietly.

"I thought sure he must know," James said. He stopped to listen and I was reminded of Dad. The way he moved, his utter intensity, even the way his coppery hair would not lie flat, they were all from Dad.

"He would have done something if he had," Lily replied.

I spent much of the rest of the holiday studying for the exams which would determine whether I gained admittance to university or not. I was not particularly surprised that much of what I knew from Hogwarts could be fairly easily transferred to the Muggle subjects like mathematics and physics. I had quite a few holes to make up in History, though not as much as I might have owing to my predilection for reading anything I can, especially during summers when I could take advantage of the Muggle library in town and our own substantial library. I was pretty sure that no one else read much of what had been left by the previous Muggle owners, but as they had been scholars and historians, there was quite a lot available. I sat the exams at the local Muggle school with Ian and Geoffrey and thought that if NEWTs were no harder than the Muggle exams, I should do all right with those as well.

On my birthday, which falls on the 25 of March, and which coincided with Easter this year, Dad surprised me with a most unexpected gift. Mum gave me a dragon-skin jacket in a soft blue-grey, which she said matched my eyes perfectly. It had obviously been made from a Swedish Short-snout, and was really quite the nicest thing I'd ever owned aside from my flute and guitar. I felt quite cool as it was exactly the same kind of jacket Dad had, only of course his was black, not blue. Lily gave me a summer-weight sweater of fine cotton, which she had knitted herself. I thought she must have conspired with Mum as it was also blue and had a silver dragon on the front. James had to have been in on it as well as he gave me matching Dragonhide gloves and boots. He said with only a touch of envy, "Wish I had an outfit like that." I supposed from the look on Mum's face that he'd be getting what he wanted for his own birthday in August, if not before then. But Dad's gift put any thoughts of that out of the way.

He handed me a long thin object well-wrapped in plain brown paper. He had one for Lily and James each as well and when they looked at him with eager delight and question, he said, "I'd have waited till August, but I want you getting in some practice immediately." His face was grave, but he watched us expectantly so we all opened our packages immediately. James tore his open as he always did. Lily and I followed suit though we both usually were more careful not to tear the wrappings. I gawped when I saw what was inside: A soft grey leather case decorated in silver and inside, a sword fit for a king.

I stared at Dad in astonishment and back again at the sword. It was perfectly honed and shone silver in the bright sun. The hilt was decorated with a pair of dragons worked in silver and gold and inlaid with emeralds and sapphires. The only thing lacking, I thought, were the words that would have been engraved on Arthur's real sword.

"I thought you'd like the design," Dad said. He smiled, a smile full of a secret guilty pleasure, that said he'd read my wishes and dreams without my even knowing.

James' sword was beautiful as well. His had a lion on it like Dad's, only paired with a silver unicorn, and diamonds and rubies shaped in a six-pointed star.

Lily's was decorated with a golden unicorn paired with a silver dragon and inlaid with rubies and sapphires in the same six-pointed star.

"Where did you get these?" I asked. For a fleeting moment I actually imagined that Dad had found the sword he was seeking and had given it to me as means of hiding it from his enemies.

"He made them," Mum said. "He was the best one in our Alchemy class you know."

We all gawped again. "Alchemy?" I asked. "Hogwarts hasn't got Alchemy in its curriculum."

Dad shrugged. "Dumbledore taught us," he said matter-of-factly. "He wanted to pass on his knowledge to someone in case, you know, he died in the Death Eater wars."

"Is that something we could learn, too?"

Dad frowned slightly and said, "Perhaps, someday. For right now, you need to learn to use those swords as quickly as possible."

"We've already had class all year," James put in.

"You haven't begun to learn to use the magic in them," Dad answered. He held out his hand for mine and I surrendered it reluctantly. With a single breath, my sword lit up with a greenish-golden glow. He extinguished it just as quickly and then did the same with James' and Lily's. James' lit up with a red glow, like Dad's and Lily's with a golden glow.

"Why are their colors different?" I asked curiously.

"They reflect the magical core inside of them. Dragon heartstring in yours, phoenix feather in James', and unicorn hair in Lily's," Dad replied. "But the light will alter as a wand's does depending on which spell you might be using."

So we spent the remainder of the holiday practicing each evening with Dad. Mum watched us with troubled eyes and I heard Dad saying to her when he thought we weren't listening that we had to be able to defend ourselves, just in case.

* * * * *

Apparition had numerous advantages, Harry thought, despite the rather unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a too narrow tube. Instantaneous transit saved a huge amount of time, a crucial benefit for someone as needful of additional time as he was. It also saved the need of having a physical vehicle to park somewhere, whether it be a car, a motorcycle or a broom.

He had taken advantage of the holiday from Hogwarts to pursue his search for Arthur's sword. He had concluded that there was so much dispute over where the sword might have gone, both in the Muggle and the wizard sources, that he might as well simply search each of the possible places methodically, one by one. The present location was Rosslyn Chapel, which advertised itself as a Templar and Masonic site and was believed by some to be the resting place of the Grail. While Harry had no particular interest in the Grail, which he supposed was a Muggle romance legend added to the Arthurian stories, if the Chapel did hold any treasure related to Arthur, then the Sword might be there as well.

The Chapel was indeed a thing of beauty and it was decorated with many arcane symbols, some of them known to him through his study of Alchemy. The stone arched roof was beautifully decorated in squares with five pointed stars, ball flowers, tablet flowers, roses, a dove with an olive branch. There were also one pillar, called the apprentice pillar, on which numerous fleur-de-lis were carved. The royal lilies of France put him in mind of his own Mum for some reason; but though the place had that feel of almost magic that was to be found in churches, synagogues, mosques and all places of worship, there was not a trace of the kind of magic that would come from an object such as Arthur's sword.

After Rosslyn, Harry had gone to Tintagel Castle where Arthur had supposedly been born. The remaining Castle ruins rose out of a small hook of land that could only be reached at low tide as the rock causeway that connected it to the mainland was slowly eroding away. It was an eerie and beautiful place, but it was apparent that no one had lived there in centuries. He took the tour to the Castle and wandered through the emptiness, largely ignoring the guide's comments and searching for the feel of magic. There was none.

It had been a small chance that he would find anything there as Tintagel was nowhere near any of the locations where the final Battle of Camlann might have been fought. He was not sorry he had come though. He felt as he stood in the windswept ruins and looked out into an impossibly blue sky and at the heaving waves below that he was one small bit of history that would someday be no more than an echo in the sun; but that didn't matter. There was no trace of Arthur there, yet people came to look at that one lonesome place simply because he might have been there and to imagine the great deeds he had done.

Doggedly, Harry went to every lake large enough to be worth its name and near enough to any river that might have been near Camlann and attempted to summon the sword. He peered into shallow depths that sparkled blue in the sun and deeper ones that fell away into dark. These stops he made with even less hope of finding anything than his visits to Rosslyn and Tintagel as he was reasonably certain there had never been a Lady of the Lake and that no lone arm had risen from any body of water to hand Arthur his sword.

He was sitting in the library at home tracing other locations in Wales and Scotland and in the North when Snape's head popped into the fireplace. He barely avoided jumping as he had not been expecting Snape to call him. Sirius, who had been lounging on the big crimson couch with a pile of ancient parchments, did jump.

"There's to be an attack," Snape announced. "Death Eaters at Glastonbury," he added.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"Goyle," Snape answered.

"Are you sure he's reliable?" Harry asked. Try as he might, he could not imagine Goyle helping anyone. He really did not believe the stupid bully he had known had reformed so far as to be giving them information they could really use.

"The information is reliable," Snape replied coldly. "Shall I meet you there?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "You'll be a target and I need you at Hogwarts. I'll let you know if I need you."

Snape withdrew again without a word, but he looked unusually irritated, which was saying something as Snape always looked irritated.

"I'll go," Sirius volunteered.

"No, you won't," Harry replied grimly. "There'll be Death Eaters there."

"Maybe," Sirius said. "But you were fighting Death Eaters when you were younger than I am now. And besides, I can help. I have an idea where they'll go."

Harry strode from the room and took the stairs three at a time. Sirius was only a pace behind him. "It's not an accident they chose Glastonbury," he said. "They'll be making a diversion by attacking people so they can look for the Sword," he added. "It has to be that."

"And where will they be looking?" Harry asked as he slung on his jacket and strapped on his sword underneath.

"In the old Abbey graveyard and crypt," Sirius answered. "There's some fairly old stories that Arthur's bones were found there."

"Yeah, and probably false like the round table they have hanging up inside," Harry said shortly.

"You haven't been there yet," Sirius pointed out, "and it is mentioned in a lot of the stories."

Harry stared at Sirius and thought, he's too young. Sirius faced him determinedly. His eyes were gleaming with interest and something else as he added, "I deserve a chance to help. I want to help. I can do it."

"I'll be in terrible trouble," Harry answered.

"Mum won't be as mad as you think," Sirius said. "She'll be more angry you didn't bring her along."

"I'm not talking about your mum," Harry muttered, though he knew Ginny would fairly skin him for taking one of the children along.

He ran back down and Sirius followed again only two steps behind. He was dragging his own jacket and his own sword. "You'd let James, I bet, wouldn't you, if he was here," Sirius added.

Harry barely heard him as he was on the phone in the front hall speaking to Johnny.

"I'll meet you there," Carter said. "I wonder if that isn't some kind of diversion," he added, echoing Sirius. "I wonder if this isn't one of Hayden's plans and not Malfoy's."

Sirius had got on his jacket and had his sword well hidden beneath it. Harry realized with a small start that Sirius was taller than he was. Afterwards, he thought he had relented and let Sirius go because in that moment, with his grey-blue eyes alight with some inner fire, Harry felt as though his godfather stood there before him, alive again, and looking joyfully for trouble.



They met Johnny in an alley behind a car park for Abbey tourists. Johnny frowned and asked, "What's Sirius doing here?" at the same time that Harry asked, "Where are the others?"

"The local police are on stand-by," Johnny answered first and in answer to Harry's unspoken complaint, he added with a shrug, "Bentley isn't so sure how reliable your source is." His tone was carefully neutral, barely refraining from saying he agreed.

"I don't know how reliable he is myself," Harry admitted. "But I don't think we can ignore it either. They've been quiet for too long."

"And it is Glastonbury," Sirius put in.

Harry gave him a quelling glance, but Johnny raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement of the point before repeating, "Why is he here?"

Sirius bristled and opened his mouth, but Harry cut in. "He knows as much about where the sword would be if it is here as I do. And he can defend himself against Death Eaters better than most of our officers."

Harry ended the discussion by striding out of the park and making for the ruins of the medieval abbey. Before he could get near, however, he found himself in a crowd of people, some dressed in odd costumes that would have looked out of date even in the wizard world, and among booths of merchants hawking all sorts of New Age merchandise.

A thin woman in none too clean white robes pressed a wreath of flowers on him and said, "The Great Mother will bless you." She rattled a can covered in poorly painted flowers and said, "Help stop the destruction of the Mother's forests and flowers."

Harry pulled away and continued pushing through the crowds. One booth sold fake crystals and divining rods. Another displayed what looked like homemade cotton garments, which were advertised as organic, all natural, and guaranteed to help keep one in tune with Nature. A third displayed oils and lotions guaranteed to cleanse the body and the spirit.

Harry had to actually push away the owner, who attempted to press on him a leaflet that said, "MEAT EATERS ARE ALL SINNERS. THE PATH TO HIGHER KNOWLEDGE CAN ONLY BE FOUND BY ABJURING THE ASSIMILATION OF MURDERED CREATURES."

From a stage, a group of musicians played music with a wandering sort of melody badly enough that Sirius actually clapped his hands over his ears, and from another, a man shouted a lecture on the evils of organized capitalistic government."

There was no hint of violence, however, and no sign of anyone who might have been a terrorist. Harry thought, though, that it wouldn't be very hard for a terrorist to blend in with this crowd. All he'd need would be an odd costume and the right look of distraction. The thought made him look twice when he saw a booth with a sign over it that proclaimed the occupant as the Great Witch Morgana Albana. A smaller sign offered love potions, tarot readings, and miracle health cures.

"She's not really?" Sirius asked dubiously.

Harry could not resist stopping. The Great Witch Morgana Albana was a tiny little woman with blond hair so pale it could almost be white. Her clothes were also all white, but they were at least quite clean. Small hands rested on a crystal ball, but the crystal was quite clear. No foggy mists floated in its center. A different ring decorated each of the woman's fingers: amber, amethyst, rose quartz, tiger's eye, peridot, and lapis. Strings of matching beads hung around her skinny neck and earrings dangled low. "I know what you search for," she said in a shockingly deep voice. "Lay your hand in mine and I will tell you where to find it."

"What is it you think I'm looking for?" Harry asked. He couldn't decide whether to be irritated, amused or horrified.

"The one true Path," she announced. "The Way that is hidden. Seekers who are true of heart shall find that which is hidden."

"And where is it?" Harry asked.

With a dramatic gesture the woman pointed in the direction of the sky, and toward the lonely tower atop the hill known as Glastonbury Tor. "Give me your hand," she said again.

Johnny was glaring impatiently at him and Sirius was looking at the woman as if she had some contagious disease. Harry shook his head and started to step away. The light sparkled through the crystal, creating prisms of color. Tall building collapsed in molten heaps and waves of brilliant smoke and light radiated out. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head again. He dropped a pound note on the woman's table and muttered, "thanks," as he pushed back away through the crowds toward the Abbey.

"Why'd you want to bother with a fraud like that?" Sirius asked.

"I thought she might be an agent of the Death Eaters' or Hayden's in disguise," Harry responded shortly.

"It wouldn't be much of a disguise if she were," Sirius pointed out.

"That's the point. It would be like hiding in plain sight," Harry answered. "It's probably why someone chose today for whatever it is they mean to do." He pushed through the crowds until they reached the ruined Abbey. Its walls of weathered golden stone were pierced by the empty holes where windows might have been and the building was empty of all magic.

"What?" he asked Johnny testily as Carter was looking at him quite questioningly.

"Did you, erm, see anything back there?" Johnny asked.

"What would he see?" Sirius asked. "It was just a silly Muggle lady pretending to be a witch. Living a dream. I can't believe you even gave her money," he added.

"It's quite sad," Harry said, deliberately ignoring Johnny's question. "It's very sad when a person lives her entire life based on an illusion."

"You didn't answer my question," Johnny persisted. "Did you see something? In her crystal?"

Sirius gawked at his godfather but Harry kept moving. There was a crowd around the other side of the Abbey where the graveyard was supposed to be.

"Why would Dad have seen anything in that Muggle lady's crystal?" Sirius asked. "It wasn't even real."

"You had that look for a second," Johnny said to Harry accusingly. "Like you did that time in training. Seeing something that wasn't there."

"Honestly," Sirius protested. "You're not saying Dad's a fraud like that poor woman, seeing things in crystals." He snorted a bit, and Harry could hardly blame him. After all, Sirius' only experience with Divination was batty old Trelawney, who could see nothing at all, except on rare occasions when some other thing seized her, and who recalled nothing of her real foretellings. And only Harry and Dumbledore and few others knew that Trelawney had ever seen anything for real.

"Don't be silly," Harry said firmly, hoping to put a stop to the conversation. "And pay attention! We're supposed to be here to stop any Death Eater attacks."

The milling people in the graveyard were looking at a large trench dug in the ground. For an instant Harry thought that perhaps they were actually having a burial. Then he realized that they were looking at an archeological dig as there were signs telling people to keep back.

"What do you suppose they're digging up?" he asked.

"King Arthur," answered one of the men in the crowd.

"They can't be," Sirius interjected. "Even if Arthur ever was buried here, his body was moved and lost a long time ago."

"Well, that body looks a bit too fresh to be King Arthur," said a fat old lady in a tweed jacket. She reminded Harry of Aunt Marge and her voice had the same kind of automatic offense in it, as though everyone and everything in the world was somehow inferior and wanting.

"Maybe he's just taking a kip, you know," the man offered. "He's got to be the scientist. They're all a bit odd, aren't they? Digging up musty old graveyards and looking for old bones."

Harry pushed through and saw that there was indeed a man in the trench some eight feet down and he did look awfully still. "Stand back," he said to the crowd as he jumped down into the soft dirt and knelt beside the prone body.

"Who're you?" the fat old lady boomed loudly.

"Police," Johnny said smoothly. The crowd backed away and quite a few of them drifted off, clearly wanting nothing to do with the authorities if no one demanded otherwise.

"Well?" Johnny asked.

"He is dead," Harry said. "At least an hour, maybe longer. He's already quite cool."

"Heart attack?" Johnny hazarded.

"What do you think?" Harry responded softly. Quickly he checked the man's clothes looking for any identification or anything significant, but there was nothing there at all. He peered curiously at the tunnel down into the earth and followed the faint marks where someone had tried unsuccessfully to brush away traces of footsteps.

The tunnel led quite far down, under the Abbey, but there didn't seem to be anything to show that something had been taken. In a few places, dullish brown stones poked up from the earth, knobby in some places and rather long and thin in others. Harry realized that they were actually old bones, though without an archeologist or doctor, there was no way of knowing how old the bones were. He backed out and said, "There's nothing there. Someone's been down there though and tried to brush away his footsteps. It seems possible the man was murdered."

Johnny pulled out his mobile phone and called in their back-up.

"Malfoy?" he asked, "or Hayden?"

"I dunno," Harry answered. "Maybe. But then again, who knows. And who knows if they even found anything. Maybe they killed him for nothing."

"Seems like the only way anyone will find - it," Johnny said, breaking off rather than saying what they really were looking for, "is if they went back in time and saw where it was hidden in the first place. If it ever existed. If King Arthur ever existed. It all could be pure myth."

"I've thought that myself," Harry muttered.

"Of course, Arthur existed," Sirius said impatiently.

"I know that," Harry replied.

They slipped away once the local police arrived to deal with the dead archaeologist. Harry watched them photographing the body and thought that the man would achieve a measure of fame in death that he never had in life. He hoped that the man's death was had not been at the hands of the Death Eaters, but it seemed probable that they might have been there. He tried to push aside the thought that the man might not have died if they had arrived earlier.

He knew it was unreasonable as the man had likely died before Snape had contacted him in the fire. But he could not help feeling that he was failing somehow. If he had been more thorough, if he had caught the Death Eaters and Hayden sooner, the man would not have died. He fixed the man's ordinary features, his greying hair, his wire-rimmed spectacles, his slightly dirty khakis, in his mind as one more reason not to fail again.

Harry led the others away from the Abbey and up the fifty foot climb to the top of the Tor. Alone on the hilltop, the tower rose, a single stone finger pointing into the sky. The tower, too, was empty, and like the Abbey, it had been built long after Arthur had lived and died.

"Do you suppose he was here?" Sirius asked. He looked broodingly out at the scene below. His pale eyes were narrowed against the bright sunlight and Harry could not tell what he thought about the death they had stumbled on.

"The archaeologist?" Harry asked.

"No, Arthur," Johnny cut in. "He may have been. At least, Hayden appears to think he was."

"They didn't mark his body," Harry said. "They usually do."

He looked around again and tried to sense even the smallest trace of magic; yet, for all the Tor's mythical associations, he could not sense any. He tried to imagine what the place would have looked like in Arthur's time, but failed dismally. If the sword had been there and the Death Eaters had taken it, they would never know now until Hayden used against them. And that would be too late.

He resolved that he would just have to take a greater risk to ensure that he would defeat them.

"I think we're done here," he said. "Johnny, would you see that Sirius gets back home? I've a stop I want to make and then I'll meet you there."

"I don't think so," Johnny replied. He watched Harry closely, blue eyes intent and knowing.

Sirius looked gratefully at his godfather and said, "We'll go with you. It's better if you have back-up anyway. Just in case."

"I don't need back-up," Harry said calmly.

"Then there's no need to send us off," Johnny answered. he paused and said, "But I'd guess you do and that's why you don't want us. You want to go off alone and play the hero, Harry, like you're back in training and you've forgotten all the lesson we had about teamwork and safety nets. If you want to go anywhere, we're sticking to you and you won't get out of it."

Harry wanted so badly to prevent them joining him that nearly drew his wand and stunned them both. That wouldn't do, though, as it would leave them vulnerable if the Death Eaters returned. On the other hand, he thought, it might just be better if he did have company.

"You'll have to give me your word you'll obey my orders, then," Harry said reluctantly. "You'll do nothing unless I tell you to and you won't interfere in anything that happens without my word. Is that clear?"

He saw that Johnny immediately had reservations, he was used to being Harry's equal, even his senior by virtue of his age. Sirius, however, said immediately, "I will."

Harry waited for Johnny until he shook his head and said grudgingly, "All right, but if you're hurt or out of the action somehow, I will do what I have to."

"No reservations," Harry said. "You'll understand when we get there."

Johnny nodded and started to ask where, but Harry simply wrapped one arm around Sirius' shoulders and the other around Johnny's. He was just barely able to set his watch to the time he wanted and he held on, making sure that he felt both of them beside him as the Tower dissolved and it seemed as though the longest day ever stretched by into infinity. After a moment, or perhaps forever, the Tor solidified under his feet again, but the Tower was entirely gone.

Below, at the foot of the Tor where the Abbey had been, the hill was surrounded entirely by water, so that the hill stuck out, even more lonely than in his own time, a small hill rising from a lake, to form an island. Far across the lake, no monastery existed. Only a small encampment of crude huts with thatched roofs.

He released the others and strode quickly toward the small boat that rested on the shore just out of the water. "Come on," he said. "We'll have to get directions from them."

"Where are we?" Johnny asked dangerously.

Harry raised an eyebrow, feeling just a tiny bit of pleasure at his friend's discomfort. The he was properly penitent as he answered grimly, "The question is when."

Johnny opened his mouth but said nothing.

"We've gone back?" Sirius asked.

Harry nodded.

"All the way back?" Sirius asked. "To Arthur's time?"

Harry nodded again, not trusting himself to speak and stepped into the boat. Johnny stepped wordlessly in after, apparently incapable of speaking. Sirius followed, his face a study in awe.

With a wave, Harry sailed the boat across the lake by magic. Possibly the first time anyone actually had in that place. Unless there really was an entrance into the Underworld through that hill. He had to admit though, as he stepped out of the boat onto the other side to meet the stares of several men, that they looked quite fierce and warlike, but nothing at all like wizards. But then, who knew what wizards looked like in the sixth century?



The first sensible thought Johnny had was that the men that faced them were terribly small. He could almost have been deceived into thinking they were children barely into secondary school if it hadn't been for their weathered countenances and crude weapons. They were dressed in a combination of deer skin and some kind of fur and he wondered whether they were so primitive that they lacked even the simplest skill of weaving wool.

The land spread out before them, marshy and wild and Johnny felt as though he were in a dream from which he could not wake. There ought to be roads and cars and people. There ought to be a ruined abbey and the sounds of modern life. Instead, there was only the soft sigh of the wind and the faint cry of a bird. All else was silence.

The men stared at them and instead of addressing the newcomers, they spoke among themselves in whispers. Harry, being Harry, thought nothing of approaching them, and did not seem to realize how extraordinary their appearance on the lonely hill must have been.

"Can you tell me where to find the King?" Harry asked.

One of the men, the oldest and smallest, spat and said, "The King do be under the hill. He do come out to hunt with his hunters. Do you be one of the hunters?"

"Arthur," Harry said, trying again. "I'm trying to find King Arthur."

"They say he's dead," one of the others answered. His brown eyes were like a squirrel's, curious, yet he was poised to run or to fight if pushed to it.

"They do say Arthur be a giant," another said. "They do say he sailed off to conquer the King of Rome."

"He do be dead," the first one said. "Else that son of Lot wouldna have ta'en to marrying his wife."

"Arthur do not be dead," the old man said. "He killed the King of Rome. But he shouldna have gone across the sea. He should hae stayed to keep the wolves fra coming back. Tis high time he returned and killed them as havena been seen since Badon Hill."

"And the son of Lot, Medraut?" Harry asked. "Where is he?"

The old man pointed north.

"How far?" Harry asked.

"Many days," the old man said. "We do not go that way. The land there do be filled with Saecsens and giants now. And Medraut thinks to train them to his lead."

The small men stared at them in silence again and Johnny thought they had as much chance of actually finding Arthur in this time as they had in their own. It seemed as if Arthur was already a mystery, the stuff of legends, and even his own people had no idea what he was, or who, or where.

Harry said thank you and took a few steps in the direction the small man had indicated - due north as far as Johnny could see.

"Wait a minute," he said, stopping Harry. "Where exactly do you think you're going?"

"To find them," Harry answered. He frowned as though the question was nonsensical, as though they should have understood perfectly what to do.

"Why don't we just apparate then?" Sirius asked rather diffidently.

"Because we don't know exactly where," Harry answered, "and even if we did, we'll probably splinch ourselves as we don't know what the place looks like in this time."

"It could take weeks to get there, days at least," Sirius protested.

"Then that's how long we'll take," Harry said calmly. He started walking again as though he knew quite well where he was going.

"We can't be gone for weeks," Johnny said with irritation. "This is madness, Harry. Take us back."

Harry simply kept walking, but he turned to look at Johnny, his eyebrows lifted. "It doesn't matter how long we're here," Harry said, "as we'll return at the same time we left." He did stop then and added, "You do understand that we cannot do anything here that matters. We are observers and nothing more. If we do something now, what will be, what must be, may change."

"Then we shouldn't be here at all," Johnny replied. Harry shifted minutely and Johnny continued, "How do you know that we'll return at the same moment? Have you done this before? Is it allowed?"

"I have," Harry said coolly. But his green eyes were shadowed and Johnny thought the calm of his voice was just a shade defensive as he admitted, "I've never gone this far back though. Only a few months at the most."

"So that's how you've been doing it!" Sirius cut off and Johnny understood, too. Harry had been in all the places he had been, at Hogwarts, at MI-5, and wherever else he had needed to be by going back in time and being in another place at the same time.

"This is different," Sirius continued. "How do you know we can even return? It's not like you've gone back and can actually live through the extra years a second time."

Harry pulled his sleeve back and pointed to his watch. "Dumbledore gave it to me," he answered. "It's a time turner. You set the time on the watch to the time you want and it takes you there."

Resolutely, Harry continued walking. Johnny shook his head and followed wondering whether he ought to knock Harry out and take the watch so they could all get back where they belonged. He had enough imagination to begin to picture all the disasters that might happen, not least of which was that the watch would not work as Harry said it would, or that some accident would injure or kill one or all of them before they could return, before they had even been born. What would happen then?

"Well, we know one thing," Sirius said quietly. There was a gleam in his godson's eyes, which appeared more blue then grey just at that moment. "We know that Arthur didn't end up in Glastonbury, don't we?"

"You are as bad as Harry," Johnny said grumpily. "I don't know which of the two of you is worse. Harry for not having the normal fear that god puts into the rest of us or you for living letting your curiosity and imagination get the better of your common sense."

The two of them stared at him, their expressions so nearly identical in offense that Johnny could almost believe that Sirius truly was Harry's own son.

They continued to walk for hours, long enough that even Sirius, slowed and ceased looking at the world around them with wondering eyes. The sun was dipping down and they had yet to see another human being. They had yet to stumble on a real road or even a track, and the flat open ground on which they walked had changed to forest.

"We'll have to stop for the night," Harry said at last. He pushed through the underbrush to a small clearing and sat down against a tree.

"What about food?" Johnny asked. "What about water? What about beds and blankets and fire? It's bloody cold out here. And what about wild animals? This isn't like our time where there's hardly a wild animal left."

Harry drew his wand and conjured crystal goblets. Another wave and the goblets filled with water, and floated in the air towards each of them. Johnny shook his head as he drank the water thirstily thinking how incongruous the crystal goblets were in that place.

Sirius dug into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. "From my birthday," he said, sharing round the bar.

"It's not exactly steak and pudding," Johnny groused. He was still feeling quite put upon and he glared at Harry. "You weren't planning this all along, were you?"

"I'd have brought better supplies if I had," Harry said dryly. He waved his wand again and a pile of leaves transformed into soft sleeping bags. A further waved made a fine net of light around them. The temperature seemed to warm considerably and Johnny was struck once more that he knew so little of magic, though he was himself born of a mother who was one half a creature of magic.

"It could be worse," he said at last. "It's not half as bad as some of our training exercises were. It's not anywhere so bad as trying to stop the theft of a dirty great bomb."

He was surprised to see that Harry's face had changed again. He could have sword that the expression was one he had never seen - fear. Or was it simply weariness of the kind that went soul deep?



They walked nearly the entire day again, through deep forest of the kind that didn't exist in England anymore, and then through rocky fields that had not yet been planted with the spring's crop. They were able to buy a meal at a tiny inn with a few of the silver coins Harry had in his pocket, though the innkeeper actually bit the coins to test the weight of the metal. The small inn was as primitive as could be, its floor was made of dirt and it had no windows at all. The only drinks available were a sour, thin beverage that was supposed to be wine and a thick, brownish liquid that had to be mead.

"No tea and no coffee," Johnny complained quietly. "You'd better get us back to civilization soon, Harry, else I'll have to knock you out and steal your fancy watch."

"You know what we're here for," Harry responded, "and we're not leaving until we find it."

He paid for a loaf of bread and some cheese, neither of which looked or tasted anything like any bread or cheese Johnny had ever tasted. He wished for a bath and a change of clothes and tried to decide whether it would be worse to sleep in the open again or hope that any bed in the tiny inn wasn't riddled with bugs.

Harry had asked the innkeeper where Arthur might be, and once again, the stories about Arthur were confused. All they could tell was that Medraut was gathering men up north and that Arthur was either dead, or back and marching to fight him.

"The fight will be over before we get near them at this rate," Johnny said gloomily. He could not help feeling that something would go wrong and that they should not be where they were at all.

Harry grimaced as he tossed down the last of his wine and said, "Yeah. I'm afraid so. We'll have to find a way to get there more quickly."

"I don't see how," Sirius put in.

Harry led them out of the inn and into a small copse of trees in the back. "There's one place that won't have changed," he said. "The Forbidden Forest."

Sirius's face paled slightly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Dad. I mean, it's one thing to go there with Hagrid and all, but here, now, before Hogwarts has even been built?"

Harry shrugged and said, "It's far enough north that we can go south and arrive where the battle will be in not much more than a day if we apparate there."

"I don't apparate," Johnny said stiffly. It was rather embarrassing having to admit that he couldn't do something in front of his godson.

"You'll just have to go side-along with me," Harry replied. He nodded at Sirius and said, "Go to that clearing where Hagrid takes his classes first when he goes in the Forest. And," he added, turning to Johnny, "you hold tightly onto my arm."

Shrugging and thinking that he was probably going to die before his time, Johnny took a hold of Harry's arm and before he could think, he felt as though he were being squeezed into a tiny tube and forced through all at once. With a faint pop, they arrived in another forest, this one darker and wilder than the one they had been in.

The clearing was a fair sized circle and it was permeated with the feel of magic. Sirius arrived right behind them with a loud crack. He looked rather unhappy as he gave the trees all around them an anxious look.

"Hadn't we better go?" Sirius asked nervously.

Harry, however, had taken out his wand and with a small red light, he cut a shallow slice in his palm.

"What are you doing?" Johnny asked. Oddly, he could smell the blood and the magic in the circle combined with the scent of blood made him feel peculiar, wild, almost excited.

Harry gave him a thoughtful glance and said, "Getting us transportation."

He looked at the darkness behind Johnny and for a moment Johnny was utterly confused. Then he saw a tall, black horse, only it was like no horse he'd ever seen before. The thing was almost skeletal and had wings like a great bat and its eyes were white. It trotted over to Harry and sniffed at the blood on Harry's hand. Several others arrived and all of them pushed their noses into Harry's hand, bumping each other aside in their attempts to lick the blood off of him.

"Thestrals," Harry said. "Dead clever and useful, they are."

Sirius was looking at Harry frowning. "I don't see anything."

"That's because you've never really seen death before," Harry said gently. He took Sirius and helped him up on one of the horses - thestrals. Sirius looked quite spooked, but he held onto the thestrals mane and set his face so that his fear was well hidden.

Harry mounted one and said, "Well, go on, choose one," and Johnny did, thinking this was sheer madness.

Harry patted the one he was on and said, "Take us to Camlann."

The thestrals just stood there a moment, but just as Johnny was about to dismount, the thestrals rose with a huge sweep of their wings and rose into the sky.

LINKS:

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