Hero Against Own Will

Chapter Three. He who fights the present.

The System. Centuries-old, existing on principles that hang no more today. A System that has not changed much since the day of its birth. The System must impose its truth upon us so that it can rule.

The System is wrong.

- Cyberpunk Manifesto.

Dean knocked on the door as politely as he could. A drowsy man's voice responded from beyond it.

"Who's there?"

"It's me, mate, Dean Thomas!" Dean replied to the door.

"You alone?"

"Not exactly... I've got two people with me and--"

"Then you can sod off, Thomas!" the voice replied. Harry had a moment's impression that this voice was somehow familiar to him, though he could not quite place the familiarity.

"Hey! One's my Hermione - you know her! And the other's a friend of mine..." Dean protested.

"Alrighty..." the voice replied as the door opened by a tiny crack.

"See?" Dean asked of the invisible guardian of the door.

"Okay, Dean, but this is for the last time, y'hear?" the voice replied.

"Alright, alright, Seamus, now let us!" Dean replied angrily.

Seamus? Now Harry remembered who the voice belonged to - Seamus Finnigan, another of his ex-Housemates from Hogwarts. This one was also kicked out not that long after Harry - when the law about education of half-bloods being forbidden was passed and all.

The door opened, revealing a slightly drunk Seamus Finnigan, who looked as if he just recovered from a drinking fit - stuff like that happened a lot lately, as Harry observed. He himself had also went through such an unfortunate event - when one drinks all that he can within the walls of his house, then refreshes the supplies and goes on with drinking and so on until either one runs out of money or is too drunk to get a fresh supply of stuff to drink... Harry's reason to start was the death of his mother from cancer and the reason to stop was his father - he just took all of Harry's cash until his son returned to a sane state.

"Potter?" Seamus asked, looking at Harry.

"Hi, Seamus. Er... Nice house you have..." Harry replied feebly.

"Aren't you supposed to be in jail or summat?" Seamus asked as Dean and Hermione forced their way inside.

"Yeah, yeah, that's why we came to you - we hope he can hide in here for a day or two..." Dean replied, looking around.

"Oh, right. Come in then, Harry," said Seamus. Harry entered the house, noticing that the inside of it proved his theory - the amount of various wastes around was quite fitting for someone in Seamus' state. One thing was out of order though - the smell. The house had the smell of freshness in it while Harry's own life experience told him that the smell that was supposed to be hanging in the air was to be that unique stench mixed from the smells of urine, alcohol and food gone bad because of improper storage state... This meant only one thing.

As Seamus closed the door, Dean turned to him.

"Can I use your phone, mate?" he asked.

"Sure. It's over there," Seamus replied, pointing.

"I hope this isn't giving you much trouble, Seamus," said Hermione softly, "We'll be out of here first thing in the morning. Or earlier even."

"Right," Seamus replied as he reached for something behind his back.

As Hermione turned away from Seamus, Harry, in a single swift move, put the blade of the falchion he got over at Hermione's hideout to Seamus' throat and kicked the gun out of his hand.

"Now talk, copper," Harry growled, "How long till your friends arrive?"

"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly nervous at the sight of malice that was lighting up Harry's face.

"Bringing a servant of law to unrightful justice, what else?" Harry sneered in reply, "He's a copper - he had a gun pointed at you!"

"Harry!" she yelled in reply, "You must be queerer than you look!"

"Oh, really? Then why does this copper worry so much?" Harry drawled maliciously, his blade pushing into Seamus' throat, making a small trickle of blood run from the point of contact.

"Ye're right," Seamus hissed, "And you're as smart as before, Potter! Though your brains weren't enough, you also had to have some principles!"

"Why, Seamus, why?" Harry asked, "Why did you do it? Why did you join them? Those who made you into a rightless being?"

"What's going on?" Dean asked, he had just returned from the next room, apparently having already called to wherever he was going to call.

"Because it was a simple choice - live a life of a slave or join them, the System, be a cop and be granted at least some rights!" Seamus cried in reply, "If half-bloods and muggleborns are treated like sheep then it is better to become one of the shepherds, not the sheep!" he added.

"And that means..." Harry's voice sounded malicious, as if he would put the blade through Seamus right now if he needed not the information Seamus could give him.

"...in five minutes you're going to be in custody, rebel scum!" he replied triumphantly, "And if I'm dead by then, then it's gonna be one more hero, right?" he added, taking a heroic pose.

"Wrong!" Hermione replied, drawing one of her guns and stepping up to the half-blood cop, "Harry, let me do this."

"Of course," said Harry calmly as he sheathed the sword and stepped back, wondering if this would be worse than his idea of punishment for such a betrayal of trust.

Hermione raised her gun so it was level with Seamus' face.

"And what now?" he asked merrily, his hand reaching out to check how much blood is going through the cut Harry's sword left on his neck.

"Do you have any children, Seamus?" she asked coldly, her gun brushing against his cheek. He frowned.

"No. So what?" he replied angrily.

"Do you know what nemesis means?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"What?"

"A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by a horrible cunt: me," she replied, lowering the gun and letting one shot off. Seamus yelled out in pain and collapsed onto the floor as Harry frowned at the sight, while Dean simply turned around when she fired.

"Ooh, that's got to hurt," Harry drawled in an unfriendly manner as he kneeled down, searching Seamus' pockets and picking his gun up from the floor, "Now I have two Berettas and more ammo!" he announced happily.

"Definitely worse," he added in his thoughts as he once more glanced at Seamus.

"S-s-screw you!" Seamus hissed through his own sobs as his hands clutched at what was left of the body part Hermione's shot virtually disintegrated.

"Send my condolences to your kids... If you will have any," Hermione hissed in reply as she stepped over his body, "after that..." she added merrily.

"Dean - find his car keys. We ought to move now," said Harry, "Hermione - check everywhere - we might need his money," he added, "If the sod has any," he corrected himself as he stepped outside ignoring the whimpering of Seamus mourning over the loss of his manly honour due to the loss of his manly body part...

*****

They drove off just in time to avoid the cops. Hermione found two hundred seventy four pounds total hidden all over the place, Harry got himself a second gun, identical to the first, and some ammo for them, while Dean was putting himself to order by concentrating on driving. All in all, this seemed like a nice escape. Successful too. At least for the time being.

*****

They stopped not that far from the London house where Harry was renting an apartment in when he was arrested. Hermione kept her guns out, just in case, while Dean kept the engine running.

Harry got out, walked to the sewer manhole, swore inwardly for seeing too much of sewers lately, and descended the stairs. Several minutes later, he resurfaced, a shapeless long package in his hands. He threw it onto the back seat of Seamus' VW and then did the same to himself.

"Let's go!" he said cheerfully as Dean took his foot off the brake pedal.

*****

They pulled up to yet another metal-only establishment.

"Here we go again," Harry thought bitterly as Dean stepped out of the car and so did Hermione.

He followed them inside - the tune playing was Blind Guardian's "Quest for Tanelorn" - and had once again winced at the sound. He either had to get used to this noise or find a way of blocking it from his ears, though he had pleasantly noticed that a song based on such a wonderful book depicts the quality of one's mind, and Moorcock wasn't all that famous nowadays, as it seemed.

He thought about the similarities in the appearance of Sir Christian's sword and the sword of Elric of Melnibone when Dean motioned Harry and Hermione to follow him into the back area behind the bar. They passed through a well-hidden door behind the bottle racks and descended the stairs it concealed.

*****

After many "We didn't believe you'd make it, but we're happy you did" greetings, several hugs and friendly kisses on the cheeks, Hermione finally found the strength to make others shut up for a moment.

"And here is the man I owe my gratitude to - Harry James Potter."

When she said that the crowd fell silent at once. Everyone stared at the Squib that stood in front of them, his gaze shyly lowered.

"Oh, Hermione -" he said suddenly, "- while I still remember - your sword."

He returned the falchion and its sheath to her, mostly because of the fact that he hoped he won't need it in the next few days, or maybe because he had the Black Sword on his hands again.

"Alright Harry, there's one more thing we need to sort out right now," she said, taking his arm, "There's a person I'd like you to meet."

The person turned out to be a man older than Harry by about ten years or so, with the looks of a warrior and the eyes of a man who stared in the eyes of death so often that he got bored of life.

"Max Bones," said Hermione, "Demon Hunter."

Harry raised his eyebrow and shook the hand Max offered him.

"I've heard of you," Max noted dryly, "Dug up good old Ravenwing, eh?"

"Ravenwing?" Harry asked, "I'm afraid I don't quite follow your thoughts."

"Christian's sword is called Ravenwing. We knew you dug it up, because when you got thrown into jail with such a 'crime' it became obvious that you did not turn some things in to the museum."

"And how'd you know Sir Christian was buried with his sword? And, by the way, what happened to Demonslayer?" Harry asked pointedly.

"We've got sources," Max replied mysteriously, "We're his Order after all, you know. As for Demonslayer - its resting place is unknown even to us."

"Well, now Harry has to go," said Hermione swiftly before this simple chat escalated into a fistfight, and, grabbing Harry by his arm, dragged the archaeologist away down the hallway.

*****

"And why'd you show him to me?" Harry asked of her once she led him into a separate room on the other side of the underground base and locked the door from the inside, "Or you were showing me to him?" he added in a quite accusing tone.

"Both," she replied simply, "Welcome to your room. Should you need anything - ask."

"And I am staying here?" he asked.

"Yes. Didn't you hear me?"

"I did. What should I be doing for you then?" he asked, realising that if they ask for no money, the payment will be in something else.

"We'll talk of that later - for now you need a place to hide from the law. This-" she waved her hands around slowly in a complete circle, "-is the best we can offer. For now."

"Alright. I will need a notebook - the bigger the better - so I can write down my notes. I need things to write with and somebody with a wand in his or her hands to do the spellcasting. I shall then calmly proceed to study the blade," Harry listed, setting a finger aside for each point of his request.

"Can't you cast anything yourself? You're not a complete Squib, and I know it," said Hermione accusingly.

"The day I use magic will be the day Hell freezes over and Satan himself sings "Jingle Bells". Now get me what I asked for," he replied coldly as he dropped the Black Sword onto the table.

"Very well, Harry," she replied as she opened the door and stepped outside, "But why do you need to study it?"

"Because it's a historical artefact and, whether you like it or not, I'm a historian!" he snapped back. She Hmpf-ed and left.

"New home?" he whispered to himself as he looked around.

*****

Diary of H.J. Potter, 21^st of January, 2006.

...They have put me into an interesting position - they seem not to be too eager to share their ideas on the uses they have for me, yet they want me to stay here, trust them and, most important, study the blade. Apparently, that Demon Hunter, Max, is here for the purpose of snatching the thing from my hands once I manage to identify the blade's real properties, for I do not trust Max's far-fetched concept of Sir Christian having a 'show-off' sword - this one, and the real heroic blade of Demonslayer. It seems, at least, that others agree.

One more thing - the Muggle-born they gave me as an assistant in the magical aspect of the process, Colin, happens to be one-eyed. Not that I've got a problem with it, but it seems that Hermione's sole goal is making me crawl to her begging for better help. Ha! I can do what I need even with this failure of a Wizard...

Scribbled out were the lines:

...Is it my imagination, or the blade feels the presence of others? I feel changes in it whenever someone's near... And I don't know how to even word them...

*****

Colin turned out to be more of an informant than assistant, as he wasn't that all good with magic, but he had the 'gift', and he could do spells Harry told him to do - and that was more than enough to accomplish what Harry had in mind.

They went over all the revealing, scanning, magic detection, unmasking and other like spells, but nothing seemed to give a decent result - all they got was a simple trace of magic inside the blade, and that was all. Colin seemed to be down at that point, but Harry calmed him by saying that he expected something like that.

They then went over several Muggle methods - x-rays, photos, light, UV light, IR scanning... Nothing still.

"Colin? Can you do the moonlight spell?" Harry asked. Colin shrugged in reply.

"I need to know the spell..." he replied absent-mindedly.

"It's Lumos Selenus," Harry replied.

Colin repeated the incantation and the cone of bluish light that erupted from the tip of his wand had covered the sword. Both men drew their breaths in as several bluish runes appeared on the blade. Then some more. Several moments later the blade was entirely covered with them.

"Hold it steadily!" Harry ordered as he copied to runes carefully onto the paper of his diary and took several photos in all the spectres, just in case, "Alright, now shut it down with the same spell as usual."

As Colin muttered "Nox" quietly, Harry rushed off to develop the film.

*****

Common film showed nothing still, while the UV film showed the blade as being entirely glowing with a hellish red glow - although it was as cold as always when Harry touched it - and the IR film had the runes on it, although appearing in a horrid white colour. Something here was definitely supernatural, though Harry was unsure if other magical means of writing - the Marauder's Map of his father, for instance - would appear the same on film or not.

Anyway, he kept the photos to himself, made two more copies of the drawings of the runes and ordered Colin strictly not to tell anyone about the result they achieved.

As for himself... Well, he went to Max straight away.

*****

"Alright, Mr. Demon Hunter..." he started, "Here's a top-of-the-hour question for you - do these runes look familiar?"

He handed one of the hand-copied rune sheets to the Hunter and stood back as Max studied them.

"Yes - these are the runes of Demon Hunters... But they do not make up comprehensible words..." was the reply, and judging by the man's face, he really regretted this.

"Well, at least it was worth a try," said Harry, "You can keep the paper if you want."

*****

He had deposited himself in the strategically placed broom closet not that far from Hermione's HQ room. He, of course, knew that this was quite queer even by his standards, but he had no other way. Apparently, his guess was correct as he heard Max knocking on Hermione's door quite soon - he knew it was Max, for he heard the voice of his.

"Miss Granger? It's me, Bones!" Harry heard him say.

"Come in then!" Hermione replied.

The walls were not thick, so Harry managed to hear snippets of words occasionally.

"...What? Runes?" asked Hermione's voice.

"Yes! And..." here Max's voice trailed off from Harry's hearing, only to resurface moments later, "...so I said they made no sense..."

"And they..."

"It's all part of the Legend of Demonslayer..."

Harry heard no more now, for he stormed out of the broom closet (collapsing onto the floor and taking several brooms along with him) and practically ripped the door open. The faces of Hermione and Max at that very moment were sure worth a lot of laughs, but Harry was not in the mood to have any.

"So, the conspiracy unmasked, eh?" he asked pointedly, "And when were you going to share this with me?"

"When you share with us as to how exactly you heard us," Max replied without showing the faintest trace of fear or whatnot.

"You should never underestimate the convenience of common broom closets, my friends!" Harry replied with a mischievous grin as he shut the door closed after himself and settled onto an unoccupied chair.

"And your point is?" Hermione asked after a bit of silent hateful-gaze-exchanging.

"And the one-eyed guy - is he some part of this evil ploy as well?" Harry asked, the anger in his voice reduced to an acceptable minimum, however large that minimum was.

"How come you blame Colin of this?"

"All right, show me who I have to blame instead. Maybe you?" he asked, sending an accusatory glance at Max.

"Oh, a tough guy, eh?" the Demon Hunter sneered in response, "Want to duel on that, mister?"

"No problem!" Harry replied as, ignoring all of Hermione's valiant attempts at stopping this, the two men stood up and made their way to Harry's room...

******

Max looked fearsome, bearing the sword of his Order in his hands, whilst Harry was standing on the other side of the room, seemingly unarmed.

"Attack already, will you?" the archaeologist growled angrily. Max shrugged and charged forth. As he was already about to put the sword through Harry's skull, the self-proclaimed Squib turned around in a whirl of the blue colour of his jeans and the steel of the two long-bladed daggers he never returned to Hermione. The daggers were crossed in the air as they stopped the flight of Ravenwing, the black blade glittering maliciously in the lamplight.

The two men stared into each other's eyes hatefully for a moment or two, ignoring the crowd that was now amassing at the doors of the room. As they pulled their blades back, they, even faster than the first time, sent their arms forth through the air, trying to reach each other's flesh, but the sword was once again stopped with one of the daggers as the other dagger was stopped by one of the Demon Hunter's metal bracers.

"Nice trick up your sleeve, eh?" Harry sneered as he reached out with his foot, driving the sole of his boot into his opponent's chest. Max emitted a subdued Oof! and fell onto his back.

As Harry threw himself forth, the goal of putting the daggers through Max's throat rather apparent to everyone present, the Demon Hunter raised both of his hands up, making an obscure gesture as blades sprang out of the bracers he stopped Harry's daggers with several moments earlier. Those blades repelled those of the daggers and the sword was put to Harry's throat, the archaeologist stopping himself just nanoseconds before he impaled himself on the blade that stopped so many demons in its past.

"Touché!" Max exclaimed cheerfully as he dropped the sword onto the table and hid the blades of his bracers back into their secret hiding places. Harry did the same to his daggers, and the two men exchanged respectful bows.

"Nice bladework there, Mr. Swordsperson!" Hermione said, and Harry did not find any traces of irony or sarcasm in these words, no matter how hard he tried.