Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Chapter 24 - The Fire of the Sun

That's what it takes to be a hero, a little gem
of innocence inside of you that makes you want
to believe that there still exists a right and wrong,
that decency will somehow triumph in the end.

~~Lise Hand

This town is most hospitable, Harry thought, lounging in a large stone tub full of steaming hot water. His limbs softened and weeks of dirt and sweat fell away as he relaxed with his head in the groove behind his neck. Twists in his joints he didn't even know he had snapped satisfyingly, and he sighed.

The clean soapy water was brown by the time he was done, and he climbed out with another sigh, wrapping the woollen towel around his waist and drying in the hot rays of sunlight that were blazing in through the clear glass windows across the room.

He had been greeted with all the honour he could have wanted entering this town about a half hour ago. Walking in on the road with a nine horse procession of town soldiers behind him had produced cheers from the hundreds of people lining the dirt streets in front of wooden homes and storefronts.

He had taken only one look at the town to realise he was in a world not nearly as developed as his own. There was no electricity, no water systems beyond a bucket and well, no cars... or anything. Despite being greeted by the hundreds of cheering people and by the bloke who was the Mayor of this town, he had seen the looks in the eyes of these people.

It spoke of horror.

The road on the way in had forked off to a cemetery that was in bloom, for use of a better word, with dozens of fresh flowers adorning the tombstones of recent graves. One dark sign that this land was being ravished by demons on almost a daily basis.

Well, he thought grimly, they'll have a bit of a surprise the next time they attack.

His frown became an amused smile as he recalled being named 'Lord Mage' by dozens of the town folk. It didn't sound right, to his ears, and he just hoped that soon he would be on the move again, towards the gap between universes... along the curse link.

That golden beam still stretched unseen by all but him from his forehead, cutting clean through the glass of the windows and bending over and around distant mountains as far as he could see, heading undoubtedly north. Towards country plains he knew housed thousands upon thousands of demons. And Allarius, of course, who was more than just a demon.

With any luck, Harry would arrive there with an army at his back. He never wanted to lead men into battle, to see his plans get people killed, but he was willing to do so now. The thousands of men marching towards this town under the banner of their king had no idea what they were dealing with. Harry would set them straight, and see to it that the army was his.

Unaware that he had been doing it, Harry unclenched his fists as he slowly dried in the sun. He hated that part of him now, the part of him that only thought of how to use others to achieve his own aims, however right and noble those aims were. He didn't want to be the hero all the time, didn't want to be the fighter... but there was no one else.

Anywhere.

At all... in the whole of Existence.

It did impart some sense of responsibility upon him.

Standing before a large glass mirror, Harry summoned his wand from across the room into his hand with a thought and whispered a quick word. A razor blade, extremely sharp, sprung from the tip, and - for the lack of any lather - Harry doused his face in cold water and shaved as best he could.

His old jeans and white polo shirt had been sent to be cleaned by the women who had left a range of other clothes for Harry to wear. He was grateful for that, as the jeans were filthy and the shirt worse. Strolling over to the clothes on the table still holding his towel, Harry searched through the pile of wool and leather garments with a sigh.

No jeans. This world didn't have jeans. The closest thing that came to it was a pair of black leather trousers, thick and heavy but that fit nicely. Harry thought he'd look ridiculous in them but they didn't look that bad. He picked up his two halves of chest armour and walked over to the tub to dip them in the water there.

He had been wearing it for a month or so, and it could do with a clean. He used magic as well to scrape the dirt and smell off, before drying it and lopping the thick chords around his sides. He tightened them magically, and the armour melded to his structure - fitting perfectly and lightly.

Of the clothes on the table, Harry picked a thin leather vest to put on over his armour and nothing more. His arms were left bare up to the shoulder, revealing more than one or two scars, but looking in the mirror Harry knew he had a certain air about him.

He looked dangerous, not to be messed with. When he was alone on a strange world within a strange universe with every dark creature a possible enemy just around the corner, he didn't want to look soft. When you got right down to it, survival was what was important.

Anyway, his arms were pale and he thought getting a bit of sun couldn't hurt. It would help to hide the scars at least.

Walking alongside the long stone table Harry picked up his shrunken trunk and placed it firmly in his leather pocket. He also strapped his pistol and wand back in their respective places before doing anything else....

Sighing heavily as a familiar bleakness settled over him, Harry fell back against a wooden chair and sat down with a thud, his eyes a storm of torment and regret. He couldn't help feeling like this these days, even though he did his best to hide it. Less than seven years ago he had been just one life living in a small house that could have been anywhere, attending a normal school and - despite the Dursleys - living a vaguely normal life.

He looked around himself now, from the leather and armour he wore to the gun at his hip and to the golden link of decay stretching out from his forehead. He couldn't help the long, cold, bitter laugh that escaped his mouth.

Times have changed, he thought wryly, and I've changed with them.

He looked down to the calluses and burns on the palms of his hands. Wounds and hardened skin from wielding a sword and his awesome power. The crisscross scar on his left palm seemed to stand out mockingly, and he clenched that fist almost to the point of pain. He'd fulfil those blood promises... he would....

This isn't getting you anywhere, Ethan whispered inside of his head. Harry longed for the days when he didn't even have one voice inside of his head. He had long since forgotten what that felt like.

"I think I'm entitled to a few minutes reflection a day," he whispered angrily, but with a wry smile.

You can't seriously hope to get this army to follow you, Harry, Ethan continued. Despite all you've done, you're still just a kid.

I'm Lord Mage here, Harry responded using the voice in his head. From what Derris said there won't be many who can use magic in this army - most have been killed by Allarius from what I can tell - and none who can use it as I can. They'll follow me.

Ethan snorted a rough sort of laugh. Your plans never work, Harry. Just setting yourself up for disappointment here.

"Do you know how I can defeat at least one hundred thousand demons, and Allarius, alone?"

Run and live to fight another day.

"Time won't allow it," Harry mumbled. I won't allow it.

Stubborn pride has got many good men killed, Potter. And you're far from a good man.

"Leave me alone," Harry snarled, waving his hand around as if to swat away an annoying fly buzzing around his head. Echoing laughter faded away in his head as the large wooden door across the room creaked open.

It was the woman Tarishma, Harry saw as she bowed low to him. "Lord Harry," she began, "are you well? The servants told me you were speaking with someone...."

Harry shrugged. "Talking to myself," he said, not exactly lying. "What can I do for you?"

Nodding, Tarishma said, "There is a demon in one of the pits on the outskirts to the north of the town. Despite out best efforts we have been unable to slay it. We hoped you would use your unique talents to destroy the beast."

"Stuck down a hole?" Harry asked and she nodded again. He clenched his fists. "Take me to it."

Harry followed the woman down and out of her stone and wooden house and onto the dirt road that ran through the town and on north as far as the Endless Plains. Outside dozens of people crowded and cheered as they made their way up the street. Harry found himself shaking hands, accepting kisses on the cheek from the village girls, and grave nods from the old soldiers in the crowd. It felt odd really, considering he hadn't done anything for these people yet. He hadn't earned their cheers, so why did they give them?

The crowds behind Tarishma and Harry thinned as it became obvious they were heading towards what had become known over the last three days as the 'Demon Pit'. No one, apparently, wanted to get near the thing. The old man Derris and half a dozen armed soldiers fell in line behind the pair of them though, and five minutes later they reached it.

The town was rather large, filled with hundreds of residents and refugees, and Tarishma told him as they walked that several large pits and barricades had been built to the north to hinder the demons when they came - and they always did almost every other night. The pits were at least fifty feet deep, dug twenty feet wide by one hundred village men in a day. Vertical walls, once something fell in it was not getting out.

Shacks and cottages fell away as the forest returned along the road and the village fell back behind a hill. Harry began to see signs of conflict and battle upon the earth as he walked, and didn't need to see the grim faces of the others to know that they had all fought here.

The earth was scorched, burnt almost to ash. Dark splotches upon the ground looked like blood, and in the distance Harry could see a pile of rotting inhuman corpses.

"How many times have the demons come?" Harry asked Tarishma.

She jumped, surprised and gazed up at him with an innocence he had never seen before. It was the look of hope from someone who had lost it, and just his presence had caused that. "The Demons have come eighteen times, always in larger numbers and always more ferocious." She paused and then looked at him with a critical eye. "You are the first mage I have ever seen so young, Harry, if you forgive me for saying so."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah... I feel a lot older than I am."

Tarishma frowned.

"We're here," Derris whispered.

Harry heard harsh grunting ahead, and saw three men standing over the large pit Tarishma had described ten minutes or so ago. The sun was high in the sky, but the light seemed to want to bend away from the pit... and Harry knew why. He wondered if the demons were loose on any other worlds. He wouldn't put it past Allarius to do that.

Free from their eternity old prison in the Boundary, the demons were pure hate and pain. He would kill this one gladly.

The stench was almost overwhelming and the demons screeches deafening as Harry and Tarishma approached the pit alone. The six men and Derris fell back, drawing swords and bows and creating a perimeter around the pit. The three men bowed to Tarishma and glanced at Harry curiously as he approached.

"This is Harry," Tarishma told the three men, who were holding longbows. "He is a mage."

One of the men, a tall bloke with a beard scoffed, and Tarishma growled, swinging her dark hair over her shoulder warningly. For Harry's part, he merely smiled and walked over to the edge of the pit. Dirt fell away beneath his feet as he stood on the precipice and looked down into the darkness of the hole.

Tarishma joined him as he pooled his hands together and created a ball of pure magic - of light, and let it float down on the wind to the base of the pit. Harry grimaced and Tarishma gasped as the demon was highlighted. A grotesque, four armed monster glared up into the light and fell silent when it saw Harry.

A dozen mismatched eyes were splattered all over the creatures face and hundreds of arrows protruded from the beast. Tarishma was right; they had been struggling to kill it. It would be suicide to go down into the pit, so the men had been shooting the thing for days and barely breaking its skin. There was evidence of fire and oils in the pit as well, but Harry knew these things walked fire, and were unlikely to burn in the blazes these people could manage.

"You look like you have seen these demons before, Harry," Tarishma noted, her dark eyes staring deeply into his.

"I've killed my fair share," he said, thinking back to Slytherin Fortress and that pocket of time a thousand years in the past. Allarius had sent dozens of the things through, and he had slaughtered them all. "This one should--"

"...Potter..." the thing gargled.

Harry's gaze hardened even further and he flexed his muscles, getting ready to call on his power to annihilate.

"It spoke!" Tarishma exclaimed, and took a step back. A moment later she looked embarrassed to have done so and returned to Harry's side. "Potter... does that mean anything to you, Harry?"

"It's my family name," he whispered, and Tarishma gasped again. "You have something to say to me, demon?" he bellowed into the hole.

The light flared and a harsh gurgling laughter surfaced from the dank depths of the pit. "...death... Potter.... only death for you...."

Harry's eyes blazed and his palms exploded in blue fire, rising up and circling his arms. Tarishma was so surprised she fell back onto the ground behind him. Harry didn't notice, he aimed his power down into the hole and... fired. There weren't even any screams, and when he finally let go the hole was two hundred feet deeper. Tendrils of coppery smoke rose from the dirt.

"That's the end of that," Harry sighed, turning around and dusting his hands. He looked down to Tarishma on the ground and muttered an apology, offering a hand to help her to her feet. "Don't suppose there's any chance of some food, is there?" he asked. "As long as it's not an applesicum...." A mad smile lit up his face, and Tarishma was infected by it, smiling herself.

"We can find you something, Harry," she said. "If you are to help us with the guard tonight we need you to keep up your strength."

Harry continued to smile. "I like this world," he told her. "It's quiet... you wouldn't believe how noisy some places can be."

She frowned and gave him a bemused smile. "You do speak strangely, Harry Potter," she began, "and I've never seen a mage with such power. Are you the High Mage in your country of Surrey?"

Harry chuckled. "All of that is a long, long, long, confusing story, Tarishma. I'd love to tell you it, but I don't even understand most of it, if you follow me there. No, I see you don't. Hmm... let's just get some late breakfast and then I'd like to have a look around town, if that is okay?"

"Oh, we welcome it, Harry," she exclaimed. "The soldiers and guard would be honoured to shake the hand of a mage - it is believed to bring good luck in battle."

*~*~*~*

Harry sat before a large group of children, ages ranging from about six to ten, and pooled light magic in his palms. He smiled and with a thought created two dozen glowing lights that hovered through the air and over to the young group. His hard eyes softened only slightly as he heard their laughter and saw their smiles, running and catching the harmless spheres of light.

On his knee was a plate of crusty bread and various meats. He put a chunk of pork between two slices and chewed on it thoughtfully, glancing in what seemed like a casual manner at all of the people around him and those passing. He still didn't know much about these people, and had long since learnt to expect a knife in the back - or whatever.

He was sitting on a stump outside of the guard house in the centre of town, looking across to a man working iron into a furnace. An array of swords and armour hung outside of his shop, glittering in the high noon sun. He finished his sandwich and washed it down with a wooden goblet of cool water.

He blinked, and two dozen new multicoloured lights erupted from his palms, swirling and dazzling in the air, shining like crystal and floating slowly to the earth like snow. The ten or so kids cried out joyfully and again tried to catch them.

"You're not like any other mage I've seen, Harry," Tarishma said on his left. "You are a lot more human than most."

Harry turned to look at her and shrugged. "Can't say I know that much about these other mages you keep going on about," he said. "Miserable bunch, are they?"

Tarishma frowned. "Were you not trained in the Mage's School, Harry?"

Hogwarts, Harry thought, that counts. "You could say that... although I learnt a lot more on my own."

"How long have you been upon the road?" she then asked. "How far have you come from your home of Surrey?"

Harry chuckled, and thought of the massive distance between universes - between worlds - and of the small steps he had taken that still amounted to a few hundred miles. He was further from home than he had ever been right now, but it would be changed. "A fair few miles," he said. "What can we expect if the demons attack this evening?"

Tarishma's face darkened, and the other men and soldiers around Harry shifted on their feet and reached for their sword hilts. "It is not a question of if, Harry, but of when. They are due this evening, perhaps a horde of two dozen... it is always more the longer we survive."

Harry nodded. Two dozen he could handle with ease, especially with Gryffindor's sword channelling his strength. He could level mountains with that blade... bore a hole through the centre of the earth. He could destroy this world anyway, with or without the sword. Using that though, it was stunningly simple. He was a madman with the power of God, and what's more he knew it.

Shaking his head, warding away his personal demons, Harry said, "No one will die tonight," he said. "I can destroy two dozen alone."

That said, he got up and walked away - leaving every one of these people in his wake. The look on his face was enough to dissuade any from following. He walked to the outskirts of the town again and sat upon a rotten moss covered log, staring without seeing at the sky.

His hands were shaking again, but that went unnoticed as well. Unaware of anything but a long list of names and faces in his head, Harry shuddered and folded his arms around himself. A cloud strewn sky and a whole lot of nature were the only witnesses to this display, to this remembrance. People he knew, people he didn't, people who were friends and enemies... he saw them all dead, and felt the blood on his hands as if it were really there.

He wiped them on his leather vest furiously, gritting his teeth. He could handle the pain... he could! It wasn't time to fail yet, not with a universe to save and time to put right. But his head did hurt, almost blindingly so. A constant headache that dug deep into his consciousness, inexplicable and yet expected. He had, after all, violated his own mind by taking a quick exit out with Ethan's help those few weeks ago. Some damage was to be expected, but was it getting worse?

Harry thought that might be so, and so did Ethan.

It can't be helped, the disembodied voice inside of his head said. Do what you can with the time you've got left. Defeat Allarius, head on to the Ways of Twilight. Whatever needs be.

"It can't... can't end like this. That doesn't seem fair...."

What have you ever known to be fair, Potter? If life were fair I would have died cleanly, you wouldn't have to worry about your mind caving in on itself, and Existence would be as healthy as a peach. But life isn't fair...."

"Are you really there?" Harry asked Ethan. "Or are you just another voice in my head, haunting my thoughts?"

I'm real, Harry. Don't forget that.

"I seem to be forgetting a lot lately," Harry said truthfully, and a little fearfully.

It was true, after all. He had been forgetting things and then remembering them later, forgetting new thoughts, remembering old useless ones and struggling to recall those after a while. It was troubling. He had spent the past fortnight walking on foot through an empty world and didn't once notice or think of the broom he had buried underneath books, cloaks, and fruit in his drink.

He had been in and out of his trunk at least twice a day, could even recall looking right at the broom, but it just... didn't click. Why not use the broom? That had come to him that morning, on his way into the town. Why not? He wondered for just a moment if he would remember these thoughts in an hour.

The shaking was getting worse and, despite the heat of the day, Harry's teeth were chattering.

He did not know what to do.

*~*~*~*

The sun faded in the west and night fell on the village of Kinfriar. A star shot night sky sparkled down upon the group of one hundred men and women guarding the north road and tree line into the town. A familiar practice now and one that always cost lives. The usual town guard was several times that number, but circumstance had robbed this village of its youth.

Wearing cloaks that hid them among the shadows beneath the eaves of trees and behind furniture barriers that they had been constantly rebuilding for weeks, three dozen bowmen held arrows ready in their weapons. Before them disguised in various places were sword and spearmen, ready to give their lives to protect their village and family. The knowledge that the army and the king would be here in a day or so was enough to make them hold this stand one last time.

After that, they would join the ranks of that army, and go wherever that took them. To the Endless Plains, and the evil that festered there perhaps. Death could come before that, could claim them this night, or they could yet live decades. No matter to any of them, really, death always came and denying that was madness.

There was another man standing upon the road with a torch of blue flame. Not hidden, right out in the open, Harry Potter stood alone. A blazing beacon for all that could see, a sign of hope for some, the bringer of death for others. Worlds, Universes, Time, and Eternity swirled around his head in an invisible glittering storm of awesome power. If it could be seen - his aura - it would appear that he shone with the radiance of a thousand heated stars.

But it couldn't be seen, and those who looked upon him only saw the pale blue reflection of the flame he had conjured to the end of his torch. They only saw a young man standing silently and unafraid before a blanket of darkness. They saw a kid who stood twiddling his thumbs in thought.

Cold, isn't it? Ethan said.

What did you imagine for your life, Ethan? Harry asked.

Harry heard a grunt and rough laughter echoing off the sides of his mind. This is exactly what I imagined, Potter. This, and a girlfriend.

Is that you or the other you speaking?

What does it matter? Ethan hissed. No one could have imagined this for their life. I'm just glad I don't have yours.

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "What do you do all day in there?" he asked out loud.

Harry felt Ethan shrug. I look out at this world from behind your eyes. See your thoughts and watch your memories. I've been working on my surprise as well.

"Surprise?"

I've been trying to make your eyes see me.

Do I want to know anymore? Harry swallowed.

Patience, Potter. I've almost cracked it... give me a few more days and we can have a conversation face to face.

Harry shrugged. Just don't mess up things inside my head more than I already have.

Harry blinked and remembered the world around him now. His pale torchlight cast a ring of blue light into the darkness for a few feet in every direction, but that was it. There were no stars now, the clouds having moved in fast, the sky completely overcast, and the darkness was all but absolute.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Tarishma stepping lightly towards him along the dirt road, her sword sheathed and bow drawn and nocked with an arrow. She moved up a few paces on his left - her face a mask of worry and concern, eyes flicking nervously to his torch and then to him. She wore a heavy set of chain-linked armour draped over her shoulders and covered with a cloth vest bearing a strange marking that looked like a cross on top of a diamond.

"Any minute now, Lord Potter," she said formally. "The scouts have returned... all but one... and report burning beyond the distant hills."

All but one, Harry thought - assuming the worst, so much for nobody dying tonight.

"Give me that arrow," he said, thinking fast.

Tarishma frowned but raised her bow, loosing the arrow and handing it to Harry. Trained well, she slung another from her quiver across her back and nocked it the same.

Harry ran his fingers down the long, smooth and strong wooden shaft of the arrow, placing the metal tip flat on his left palm, the feathers on the end tickling his shoulder. He closed his hand gently around the tip and a beam of white light emanated from his fist, seeping out through the gaps between his fingers and thumb. It vanished and he handed it back to Tarishma.

"What--" she began.

A faint white glow still surrounded the tip of the arrow and every other second a crackle of blue light jumped its length and was absorbed back into the metal. "Make sure that one hits its target," Harry said. "Boom..."

He smiled wryly and turned back to the long road, straining his eyes through the darkness. He heard Tarishma switch arrows again, and wondered briefly how he had just done what he did. It had felt right, once he had that arrow in his hands. Natural, perfectly normal, like he had an affinity with the weapon. It had felt the same with the pistol hanging from his waist, and the automatic rifles in his trunk. These were not happy thoughts.

Trust I seek.

Harry blinked. Did you say something? he asked Ethan.

No answer.

Are you really there?

"Look...." Tarishma breathed over his shoulder, her voice shaking slightly.

Harry looked and saw. Ahead on the road a long trail of fire was now visible, bending away out of sight around a distant hill. It had to be the demons. Every step they took ignited any material into flames. Even dry stone, or snow - which promptly melted, of course.

"How well can you shoot that thing?" Harry asked, not able to count the numbers on the road ahead yet. A quarter mile away maybe. He heard bows being drawn and swords being unsheathed behind him and around in the trees.

"I can crack a nut in half at two hundred yards," Tarishma said proudly, drawing back the string tautly.

Harry nodded, and reached over her shoulder to remove a handful of arrows from her quiver. The wind blew her hair into his face and he pulled away sharply, shaking his head. In his hand were half a dozen of the long wooden arrows. He pushed them down into the ground at Tarishma's feet. Then one at a time removed them, fused them with magic, and put it back.

Half a minute later and eight arrows were poised and ready to use before Tarishma, and she smiled uncertainly at him - fear in her eyes. On the wind now they could hear the gurgling of blood in rotten throats, catch the smell of decomposing flesh. Harry readied his magic as best he could, just on the edge of it exploding into his palms, and faced the coming enemy.

"When you think you can hit the first one," Harry whispered to Tarishma now on his left. "Loose the arrow as true as you can and grab another one. Those arrows are gonna pack one hell of a punch."

Despite the fear showing in her dark eyes, Harry didn't see her hands shake as she took aim with the bow, an arrow still taught in the notch. Embedding his torch into the ground, Harry quickly conjured a dozen coin sized balls of bright light, and sent them shooting out down the road at select intervals, lighting the whole thing up like a Christmas tree. The demons could suddenly be seen.

Gasps and cries of rage and fear rang out behind Harry and a dozen arrows flew passed him towards the dozens of vile creatures limping and screeching their way up the ancient road. They all fell short of their mark by at least fifty feet and Tarishma cursed.

"HOLD!" she cried, even as another four arrows shot by the two of them.

"Excitable, this lot," Harry smiled, feeling the intense rush of adrenalin that always accompanied a fight. He struggled to remember when he had last been afraid of that rush, and couldn't. End of his fourth year at Hogwarts, perhaps... maybe fifth year and the Ministry hearing... or at the Department of Mysteries.

Never mind!

Tarishma took careful aim, looking down her sight with fearful but expert eyes. Her hands didn't shake and she lined up a shot to the nearest creature, her arrow crackling slightly with power. Harry watched emotionlessly as she loosed the arrow, a sharp twang shattering the night air and a cone of power bursting from the tip as it rocketed through the air.

True to its mark, the first demon - a hideous creature with three dozen eyes splattered over its chest, five rotting limbs and a stringy tendril of dead flesh hanging from its face - exploded in a fountain of white light. The concussion wave from the impact knocked another six demons to the ground, made the others stumble and shriek in fury.

Tarishma cried out in surprise and joy and quickly fitted another arrow into her bowstring. Surprised with the success of the first arrow, Harry snatched the rest of normal arrows from her quiver and began enchanting them. With any luck the creatures would be destroyed before they got any closer.

Tarishma could fire arrows faster than Harry could enchant them though, and by the time she reached her tenth and final enchanted arrow, the demons lay in a sprawl of flesh and blood, burning in their own devil fire and screaming into the night. Harry clearly heard the word Potter gargled half a dozen times. They recognised his magic.

Whoa... I'd hate to be your enemy, Ethan laughed.

You were once, Harry reminded him, grinning insanely and altering arrows. He was careless at one point and nicked his index finger on one of the sharp tips. Nonetheless he heard the cheers of the other warriors behind him, and saw the success of their battle writhing in pain on the brightly lit road ahead.

I guess I'm not the only one forgetting things, Ethan whispered. I think I was more of the Ethan you knew as a friend then, than the Dark Lord's son.

"We won, Harry!" Tarishma exclaimed, screaming and crying in joy at the smouldering remains of demon hide upon the road. "We lost no more lives and destroyed thirty of the beasts." She threw her arms around Harry and for an insane moment Harry thought she was attacking him, and almost killed her with a burst of power. His mind caught up with him before that happened though.

Tarishma didn't notice, still crying and laughing at the same time. After a moment, she seemed to remember who Harry was - or rather who she thought he was - and stepped back from the Lord Mage with a bow of forgiveness, but still unable to help the smile that crossed her lips.

"It's been a long day," Harry decided, gazing without emotion at the burning corpses ahead of him, a few hundred feet away. The fire left by his arrows would consume them. That and their own.

"Harry," Tarishma said, still high in euphoria. "Your power is amazing - unmatched I would say. There has never been a mage as powerful as you are!"

"I get that a lot," Harry shrugged. "Do you think anymore of them could come tonight?" he asked.

Tarishma's smile faded, and she glanced back down the road. "It is always possible," she sighed. "And has happened more than once. Harry, we can't ask you--"

"I'll stay," he said. "And get some sleep tomorrow morning."

Tarishma thanked him silently with her eyes, and they both turned back to watch the road. It would be a long night, but if you had the power to do something than you also have the responsibility to do it. Harry knew that, had had it pounded into him.

He couldn't escape who he was.

*~*~*~*

Ninety-five miles from the village of Kinfriar an army was camped for the night beside the road on a large plain three quarters of a mile wide. Forty odd thousand men and women strong, the mass of tents and small cooking fires littered the plain and the road for thousands of feet in every direction.

The twang of bows cut through the night air, the clash of swordsmen training with their weapons - sharpening their skills - joined them. Smoke rose above the encampment and trailed away through the clear night sky. There was a band of cold cloud to the north though that threatened storms for the army. That was never good for morale. Rain rusted armour and dampened spirits alike.

A larger tent than the others had been raised in the centre of the camp, all others sprawled out in an uneven swath from this one. High domed and cream coloured, presenting a flag bearing a white rose twisted around a sword that fluttered softly in the cool night breeze, the King and his highest advisors spoke of their plans in this tent.

Five men and one woman were inside the tent. Several of them generals, one the High Mage - whose use of the Power was unmatched - the King, of course, and his servants. Seated almost equally on soft wooden chairs, a rose crown marking the King's, setting him higher than that of his fellows, the plan for the demon assault was being criticised again.

"The numbers aren't enough," War Minister Krell spat, "We're going to be slaughtered."

An aging man with a thick moustache and ample beard, the Minister of War had served in many campaigns and fought many battles. He had never seen the like of these demons though, and knew their faith was being tested. He wouldn't shirk that duty, even though it most likely meant death if even a fraction of the demon number was accurate.

"There are only a few outlying towns and villages remaining before the final march to the Endless Plains," another man said, nodding his agreement to Minister Krell. General Dataun Alson addressed himself only to the King, meeting his eyes defiantly - almost insultingly. He had long since mastered the correct level of meekness in these situations though. War and leadership were two parts politics and one part heroism.

"Scouts report that most of these towns have long since been ravished and razed to the ground by the demon hordes," Alson continued. "At the most... we can expect a few hundred swords and bows from those remaining, a good many of them from Kinfriar - if it still stands."

"When will we reach this Kinfriar?" the King - Martrim Deschan - spoke, and all others fell obediently silent, words dying on tongues.

Alson spoke to answer, "It is roughly one hundred miles from our present position, my lord. Three days march... two if we push the men to forty miles a day. They can achieve it over this flat terrain. The road forks towards this village, the main force will continue due north along the Eastway - which does bend but is, ultimately, a faster route. A company will need to be sent to secure the men and woman of this village."

Deschan nodded and ran a hand through his hair, brown but now more than just spotted with grey - streaked. The grey, and the lines on his face, had sprung up over the last month or so, as more and more tales of his kingdom in ruin reached his ears. He had passed through dozens of these border towns that had been utterly ruined. His army had buried thousands who would be avenged, and lost hundreds on their trek north. The demons were powerful - one hundred men had struggled to take down a dozen.

"One hundred more swords may not make much of a difference if it is the last we can expect," Farr Evenson - Commander of the Horse - said. A tall man with a crippled right arm, dark hair and eyes.

"They have experience fighting the demons though, more so than any other here can boast. One month of almost nightly battle will have hardened these people. They can teach the rest of the army what to expect."

That female voice belonged to the High Mage, seated in the second highest seat on the right of the King. His advisor, his right hand. The most powerful woman in the land, some said, and would even be so if the King took a Queen. She was over eighty years old, but the Power preserved her. Not a wrinkle lined her old face, and long silvery hair hung to her waist. Her eyes were sharper than any mans, and saw more as well.

"We will send a party to these people this evening," the King nodded. "Thirty men from your mounted Strikers, Commander Evenson. Ride hard and fast and reach this town before sunrise a day from now."

"Sire," Evenson inclined his head and rose from his seat. Observing formalities, he swore his loyalty to the king before leaving the table of men. A simple oath, offering his life for the good of the kingdom. It was to be expected in times of war. He left the tent, his armour rustling loudly and his sword swinging from its sheathe behind him.

"Determined," the High Mage whispered so only the King could hear.

"Fifteen thousand swordsman, twenty thousand bowmen, ten thousand pikemen and fifteen mages," the King said solemnly. "That is the number we have to face, reportedly, one hundred thousand of these almost immortal demon spawn... as well as their leader, whose name is unknown but men fear to learn. One in fifty scouts return from the Endless Plains, and each one reports more demons every journey. Dark days ahead...."

"The demons targeted the Tower of Mages specifically," the High Mage said, her voice amplifying sadness throughout the tent. "One hundred trained in the Power have since died... I fear we may be soon defeated, King Deschan. We simply do not have enough Mages."

"We will make our stand nonetheless," the King growled, glancing to the faces of his men and servants. Thoughtful, almost accepting faces met his own. They would die to free the future generations from this inexplicable menace. That is, if there were any future generations....

"I will attend to my duties," the War Minister managed after a moment, bowing and leaving the table after his oath was given. Alson did the same, following Krell, until only the King and the High Mage remained in the tent.

The servants were there as well, standing quietly to the side of his temporary throne waiting for his call. Deschan turned to his most trusted advisor and raised an eyebrow.

"What did you see?" he asked the High Mage.

"Determination," she said, smiling sadly. "Defeat and death hang around the War Minister... his aura is beaten. Krell will die soon, I believe - as will Alson."

The Kind nodded. A particular talent of the High Mage was that she could see people's auras, and was never wrong. A talent learnt spending a lifetime in the Tower of Mages, which was now nothing more than ash, she interpreted images that flickered around those with decisions to make that affected the world. No more than colours that required deep thought, she had told him once, and had spoken no more of it. The King had relied on this ability more than once during his reign, and it had saved and ended many lives.

"And Evenson?" he asked.

The High Mage's smile deepened, to something resembling happiness. "Determination, as I said. But there is also life and hope surrounding him in hues of gold. He will yet live, whether in a land ravished by demons or ruled by a triumphant King remains unseen. Evenson will survive this coming fight - that is certain."

The King nodded wearily. "Anything else, High Mage?" he asked, nursing an old injury in his side that had healed roughly when he was child. It pained him to take deep breaths.

For the first time that the King could remember he saw the High Mage hesitate. Actually pause before deciding to tell him something! He frowned and she muttered something under her breath before saying:

"I stood upon the ridge a few miles back, my lord," she whispered. "I could see far over the horizon and beyond towards the distant storm clouds in the north."

"What did you see?"

"An-amazing-aura-of-a-magnitude-never-before-known," she gasped fearfully. She spoke quickly, as if fearing to see it.

Fearfully! The King schooled his face carefully to hide his utter shock. The High Mage had never been so open, so lost, out of control of her emotions before. She had seen something that had shaken her and her beliefs to their very core.

Silvery hair wrapped nervously around her smooth fingers, the High Mage's eyes filled with tears. "A normal being has an aura that crawls across their skin, Sire," she said shakily. "That glows perhaps no brighter than a torch, even at the direst of times. Yours was the strongest I had ever seen, and that glow would not even light this tent."

The King shook his head. "And yet you saw an aura of a man who walked miles away?"

"...I did..." she whispered. "Grace help me I beheld it... and sat in awe of Existence."

"What did you see written in it?" the King asked, honestly curious and perhaps a little fearful himself. A man with such an aura would have the power to break worlds, he was sure.

"It was one hundred miles away, as best I could tell," the silver haired mage continued. "It burnt - and still burns - with the fire of the very Sun, of a thousand suns. It cut across the sky to the north, a burst of deep golden light so blinding that I could only gaze upon it for an instant.... in that instant I saw... I saw--"

"What?" Deschan breathed.

"I saw billions of lives extinguished across many worlds," the High Mage wept. "I felt them. I saw power... I saw the Power in its true form. Life was there, as was love in the smallest of amounts. Time and Destiny, Fate and Choice, Beginning and End... Opposites, my lord. Good and Evil were fighting an eternal struggle through the chords of this man's aura, which touched the very heavens."

"Will he be my enemy, this man, or an ally?" the King asked, his brow furrowed and darkened, new lines almost springing onto his supposedly young face visibly.

"He is above that," the High Mage shivered, speaking through clenched teeth. "He will be what he wants to be. He will do what he wants to do, and thousands will fall into oblivion in his wake. This I See."

"A dangerous man then," the King mused, trying to twist humour into the situation. Truth be told he feared this man already, but would never let that show. "Did you See anything else?"

The High Mage nodded. "On his shoulders rests our world, rests all worlds. He is also tainted by Evil - true Evil... so vile that I was shocked to know that he bore that weight and managed to live. He carries pains that would obliterate a lesser man, or remain on their minds for life... My King, he has forgotten many personal demons that would have destroyed anyone else....

"Yet, despite all of that, this man strives to do what is right - what he believes is right - and I believe nothing short of the hand of God himself could dissuade him from this course."

King Deschan shuddered - he could not help it. "Do you have anything else to add?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"Yes," the High Mage answered quietly. "King Deschan, it will be he who leads your army once we reach the Endless Plains. It will be he that battles the hidden leader of these demons... a creature I believe may be True Evil incarnate. It will be he, my Lord, and nothing can change that."

*~*~*~*

After spending two days in this small village, Harry began to get itchy feet. His golden scar link still stretched unerringly north, a glittering ribbon marking the destruction eating away existence at its very source.

The Ways of Twilight

He wanted to be on the move, to be back on the road - walking... no, flying. He had to remind himself of that almost hourly now, as thoughts and memories continued to slip through his wounded mind. The broom least of all these thoughts. He couldn't recall the night spent guarding the road with Tarishma, nothing beyond her destroying the demons with the modified arrows.

Sitting on a porch out the front of the guard house that stood at the north end of the village along the road, Harry twirled a thornless white rose through his fingers. A white rose that cried tears of light from its blossoming centre. He had called it into existence without realising, and for a time memories became easier to, well, remember.

He struggled to recall memories of his friends, of the good times that - supposedly - made all of the others worth it. A grim smile appeared on his face. Harry knew he was stretching that rule to its very limits.

Around him he saw with glazed eyes the town going about its daily life. There were people carrying chickens, walking cows, selling their products at little wooden stalls. It was a living, breathing window into the past. Swords and crossbows, not guns and bombs. Was that the future of this world? To make the same mistakes his own had, to fight the same futile wars where the victors dug the graves... it wasn't a happy thought, but it was one of the few that remained these days.

Footsteps on the wooden floor behind him alerted Harry to the presence of someone else. From the rustle of armour, and the heaviness of the footfalls - he put his money on Tarishma. He was right. Sitting down on the bench next to him, the young woman offered him a goblet of water which he took gratefully.

"This town owes you more than we could ever repay, Harry," she said once he'd finished with the water.

Harry laughed bitterly. These people owed him nothing, absolutely nothing. It was his own stupidity, his own arrogance, his own mistakes that allowed the demons to break free of their eternity old prison from the inside darkness of the Boundary. He was the reason these people were slowly dying out.

"You don't owe me anything," he croaked, clenching his fists and gazing, once again, into an uncertain future.

Tarishma didn't agree, he could see it on her face, but thankfully she didn't push the issue. "The King's army is within fifty miles now," she said. "Riding hard through the night to reach us soon. We must prepare those we can to join it."

Another battle, Harry mused, another godforsaken fight. It was a pity, really, that all these people were going to die so he could walk through a doorway. Harry didn't want them to die, didn't want to be here. He didn't want a lot of things, and despised all of the responsibility that had been dropped on his shoulders like a mountain... several mountains. He would stand though - with or without the mountains.

You still going to lead all these people to their deaths then? Ethan asked, laughing insanely.

We've all got to die, Harry replied. And if they die now, they would have died helping me to fix it. That's enough - it has to be. They'll live again when I reach the Ways.

You willing to bet your soul on that? Because it's damned if you're wrong.

Harry sighed, gazed with unseeing eyes at the town and at Tarishma, who was smiling at him warmly... she didn't know the monster he could be. I'm damned anyway, he told Ethan, but then again I can't summon up the strength to care.

"What's this king of yours like?" Harry asked absently.

Tarishma was biting her bottom lip, frowning. "Where are you from, Harry?" she asked.

Harry offered her a small smile. "Like I said, a place far from here." He got up and walked away, unaware that he walked in the direction of the golden link.

That following morning, just as dawn broke in the east and the first beams of sunlight stretched upon the battle strewn village of Kinfriar, a group of mounted men road into the village grim faced, bearing a banner with a white rose twisted around a silver sword. The banner of the King.

Harry, Tarishma, and a rough handful of other warriors in the village were just walking down the main cobblestone street, coming back from the limestone road that stretched north, upon which they raised their defence each night. Tired, forgetful, yet still completely aware of his surroundings, Harry noticed the banner above all else first.

White rose...

Tarishma gasped, as did the rest of the guard on the silent street. Stirred into action though, she stepped up towards the men on horses regally - a representative of her town, the Mayor's daughter no less. The men and women of the guard followed her, and Harry hung around at the back of the group, wary and curious. Could today be the day he continued north?

"We come in the name of His Majesty King Deschan," bellowed the first man, sitting up straight on his white horse. "We seek the village of Kinfriar," he finished, confident and strong.

"You have found it!" Tarishma exclaimed. "Be welcome, my lord."

The man, who, Harry saw, had a crippled right arm that must make riding difficult, dismounted and with a motion of his left hand, the thirty or so other men did the same. Standing in the faint fog and rising beams of sunlight on that early morning, the two groups spoke.

Dark hair on top of a pair of dark eyes, the crippled-arm man bowed his head shortly towards Tarishma. "I am Commander Evenson, Lord of the Horse and loyal servant of the King."

"Tarishma ne'gala, daughter of Hansi ne'gala, Mayor of Kinfriar," Tarishma curtsied, bobbing her own head as well. After a moment's hesitation, and another one of those lip biting moments that Harry knew meant that Tarishma was coming to a decision, she said, "We offer one hundred and eleven warriors for the king's army... and also one mage...."

The crippled man - Commander Evenson - raised his eyebrows and scanned the crowd behind Tarishma, obviously searching for the mage, of whom he should greet formally - should have greeted first, but that wasn't his fault. His eyes ran over the ragged, tired group of fighters, many wounded and all of a young age. There was even one boy who looked to be still in his teens. He saw no mage.

"Forgive me, Tarishma ne'gala," he said roughly. He had been riding for two days after all, and now this. Had these people gone mad? What would a mage be doing out here, on the borders of the world. For that matter why were none of the proper formalities being fully obeyed? Everson prided himself on his status, but this was disrespectful. "But I see no mage?"

"He is... he is not--" Tarishma began.

"Hiya," Harry said, stepping forward and offering his hand to the man. "I'm the mage, or so they tell me. Name's Harry."

Evenson paused, looked to the young disrespectful teen and then to Tarishma, his eyes darkening and forehead furrowing into a scowl. "Is this some kind of poor joke?" he asked angrily.

Harry chuckled. "I ask myself that everyday...." he whispered. Louder, he said, "Nope, no joke. I can use the Power, as you fine people refer to magic. Want a demonstration?"

Evenson did not recognise the accent of the young man before him, barely understood his speech at all. It was close to his own, but at times seemed to be worlds apart. Crude, he thought, and entirely not funny. This jest had gone on long enough.

"You will desist--"

Harry threw his hands together and sparks erupted from his palms. Several dozen rose high into the air and then began to spin around the company of men and women in a dazzling array of flashing rainbow colours.

Words fell dead on Evenson's lips, but his scowl remained. "Satisfied?" Harry asked. He knew he was.

"We ride in three hours to the crossroads," Evenson growled, addressing Tarishma but with almost a grudging respect Harry as well. "Have your warriors readied by then. Hard march to meet the army on the bypass to the Endless Plains. Understood?"

Tarishma nodded, bowed again, and waited for Evenson to turn before she did. The crippled hard man stomped back over to his horse and jumped into the sadly expertly, even without the use of one arm.

"That guy's a moron," Harry decided, and turned away himself just before Tarishma. She glanced at him warningly for a moment, then realised Commander Evenson was out of earshot and gave him a small smile. "You know..." he continued, "there's a good chance that every man and woman in this village is going to die if you follow him."

Tarishma glared at him, her face flushing with anger. "Are you suggesting we stay, Harry? Are you suggesting my people are too weak to fight for a cause we believe in? Are you suggesting, Lord Mage, that we don't belong in this fight? Us, my village, who have fought more demons than any other."

"No," Harry said simply. He thought of the children he had played with the other day, and the good people he had met in this village. "I just don't want to see you dead."

Tarishma softened a bit, but just a bit. "Perhaps, Harry Potter, it would be best if you looked out for your own well being."

To that, Harry could say nothing. What could he say? What could he tell her? He was always the survivor. He had done things, gambled lives, that brought him into mere inches of death.... but he was never taken. He was always the survivor. Prophecy had to be fulfilled, after all. If that still mattered....

He couldn't say anything. He always took the worst, most impossible risks and survived. What was this risk compared to all the others?

Perhaps the one that does kill you... Ethan sighed. Perhaps the one that dooms us all. Are you willing to continue taking these chances with your life, to fight everyone else's battles, if it means that you ultimately fail to reach the Ways of Twilight? Think about it, because I can think of no bigger gamble than the one you're taking now.

I'm not completely helpless, you know, Harry grumbled. I have one or two aces stashed away. Up sleeves, behind ears, under hats... you know. The always underestimate me.

Don't always count on that, Potter. Allarius... he... he scares me.

Harry nodded.

*~*~*~*

Later that day Harry stood at the front of the procession next to Tarishma, heading east towards the road, he had been told, that cut straight through to the Endless Plains a few hundred miles north. One hundred men and women from Kinfriar, some he knew some he didn't, walked behind him. The thirty mounted messengers as well as Commander Evenson trotted ahead, swords sheathed but trained eyes casting suspicious glances to every tree and rock along the road.

Not a single chance was being taken.

They had departed the village to a small, silent crowd. The Mayor crying and hugging Tarishma, not embarrassing her by asking her to stay though. It was a sad affair, more so because Harry did not believe that any of them would ever return.

He had been offered a horse, being a mage and all, but had declined. He didn't know if he could stay up on a horse, and didn't want to try. There were also several dozen old and creaky wagons trailing behind him in the long line of humans and horses. They carried supplies - food and weapons, bedding and medicines.

All in all Harry decided it felt good to be on the move again, even if it wasn't in the right direction. His golden link bent and stretched off to the left, disappearing through the trees and heading unerringly north. He was going east, to meet with an army he would probably decimate to achieve his aims.

Something in Harry had died, making it hard not to use these people as pawns in his game. He needed them if he was to have any chance at reaching the Ways of Twilight, needed them to throw at the unbreakable army of demons and give him a shot at Allarius. He needed a distraction, and this one just happened to be human.

The road fell away for another mile beneath his feet before he heard up ahead a deep, rumbling thunder. At first he glanced to the sky, but it was cloudless and the day was turning out quite hot as well. He was glad he only had the basilisk armour and the leather vest on. It left his arms free and cool. The leather pants on the other hand, were a bit hot but manageable.

Glancing ahead he saw the source of the thunder. A row of banners was visible, appearing clearer as their group of one hundred rounded a bend in the road and came to the crossroads. Ahead Harry could see down into a deep valley, one he himself had walked in and closed a gateway between worlds, which was now full of people. Soldiers, warriors, horses... and store wagons.

Harry had only once seen so many people gathered in one place, and that had been at the Quidditch Cup final the year he had been in the Triwizard Tournament. Twenty thousand, more or less, he decided at first glance, but even then more people were appearing over the ridge in the distance, where the south road bent down and disappeared.

It was an army on the move, taking the north road that lay about a quarter of a mile ahead of Harry, stretching to his west - guarded by a forest of silent trees. Mountains stretched that way as well, just visible with snow-capped peaks on the horizon. They would have to be crossed to reach the Endless Plains, he knew.

Before him though, the sea of soldiers swelled and enveloped the road. Banners and armour shining in the sun was almost blinding. He saw the rose wrapped around the sword in a thousand different places.

"White roses," he whispered. Tarishma, on his right, heard him.

"The White Rose of Resdor," she nodded. "A symbol of hope throughout the entire kingdom."

Harry wasn't listening. He wondered, perhaps, if this was just mere coincidence... but then, could he believe in that anymore? He knew that everything was connected, in huge and infinitely small ways. Was it possible he had somehow affected this world, the sword and the rose, or had it affected him? The possibilities were just that, and more impossible than not.

Confused, Harry turned and smiled uncertainly at Tarishma. He turned away with a frown though, always with a frown. Tens of thousands of soldiers marched across the road he stood on, and within all of that was a king whose trust he had to earn, whose army he needed to command.

Plans, strategies, ideas, had all been rolling around in Harry's head since he heard of this army. He didn't want to command it, but they would all be slaughtered if he didn't. Having more experience with these demons, knowing their leader, and having fought one or two battles in his time, Harry was qualified - he supposed he was anyway - to do it. He could sacrifice others... had sacrificed others.

Now that he saw the sheer size of this army, he did feel a spark of hope ignite in his heart. It could be done, if it was planned out carefully - if preparations were made.... If Allarius's hate and anger blinded him to all else save Harry. That would be the key. Harry knew that like himself, the demon could destroy this army with a wave of his hand.

But then again he was getting ahead of himself. Right now he was only one among tens of thousands. Then again, if Harry could do one thing it was draw attention to himself. It was only a matter of time.

"Do you see this, Harry!?" Tarishma exclaimed. "The largest army the world has ever known. We will crush the demons!"

Harry forced his face to submit another smile. He was not so optimistic. Glass was half-empty at the moment.

Moving closer to the surging sea of people, Harry found himself calculating numbers, forming plans and tactics as he did. At times he wasn't even aware that he was doing it, and that was perhaps the most terrifying thing. He knew he had become hard, much like steel, but to move pieces of the game so expertly was something new. Did Dumbledore feel this way as he made his decisions?

If he did, Harry felt sorry for the man.

The long lines of the army grew closer as Harry progressed down the road. He couldn't see the head or the tail of the massive force - just the middle bulk of battle-tested soldiers. He didn't notice the crippled Commander falling back to his left either, coming up alongside him.

"You I'll take to the King," he said. "You use the Power, but I doubt you're a Mage. The High Mage will know what to do with you." The man then drew his sword and pointed it at Harry's throat.

As one, the thirty other mounted men, warriors of this world - faces covered in stubble, armour glistening and eyes sharp, drew their own swords and encircled Harry. Tarishma fell into the trap as she was walking next to him.

She drew her own sword, anger and disbelief jumping onto her face. She had seen Harry fight, knew his power. She knew he fought for her people. She also knew that Harry could easily destroy ever single one of these men. She chanced a look at him, and saw his smile.

It was beyond terrifying. Insane... evil... sad... She saw, for a moment, that he was contemplating killing the swordsmen. Tarishma took a step back, uncertain now which side she was on.

Harry showed his teeth and a thousand and one possibilities ran through his mind. He had just been handed an audience with the King, with the commander of this entire army. It couldn't have gone better....

He clenched his fists, wiped his face clean of emotion, and nodded. "Lead on, Commander," he said, no feeling in his voice. "Perhaps after I've spoken to your king you and I can test our swords against one another. That... I would enjoy."

Evenson smiled a cold smile. "You, boy, do not seem to have a sword. I fear I would win such a challenge."

Harry resisted the temptation to call the sword of Gryffindor into existence. Resisted the urge to fight his way out. The less he had to fight the better. There were other ways, there had to be other ways.

Grinning once, he turned and winked at Tarishma. She paled, her sword arm shaking, and smiled uncertainly at him. "Ease up," he told her. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."

*~*~*~*