Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Genres:
Action Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 09/12/2004
Updated: 06/11/2005
Words: 341,488
Chapters: 30
Hits: 175,276

Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

joe6991

Story Summary:
After the devastating events of Sword of the Hero, Harry is flung into a strange and unforgiving world as he struggles against fate and destiny to find a way back to the people he loves and to a war that is waiting for its leader. As the year progresses and the days grow progressively darker, will Harry rise and become the true hero the world desires, or will he fade and be defeated by the strongest evil to have ever lived....? A boy with the fate of two worlds on his shoulders must find the strength to stand by his morals, even if it means giving up the thing he wants the most.

Chapter 25

Chapter Summary:
Everything old is new again. A familiar demon makes his presence felt and Harry battles Evil itself in front of fifty thousand people. Each decision the Boy Who lived makes now carries the weight of existence... can he hold on just a little longer?
Posted:
05/14/2005
Hits:
4,399


Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Chapter 25 - Nothing but Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living.

~~Mary Jones

In a thirty horse procession Harry with Tarishma at his side was led along the road towards the amazing bulk of this army. A dozen swords were trained on him from behind, another eighteen blocking escape from every other compass point. Still smiling, Harry conjured half a dozen flashing lights to float around the head of Commander Evenson.

The crippled commander hacked at them with his sword, muttering angrily, but only succeeded in turning six into twelve. After a few minutes in which Harry saw Tarishma pale even further, he killed the lights and winked at Evenson.

The long lines of the army, thousands of men and women, stepped aside as Evenson rode his horse through, taking Harry as his prisoner. He was obviously heading to the King's side, wherever that was, and Harry would thank him for it later.

Before or after you beat him upside his head? Ethan asked. I guess he... underestimated you.

"They always do," Harry mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Lifting his head his mismatched eyes, one pale green one a dazzlingly deep emerald, followed the golden and black scar link off into the distance. It was lost entirely when Harry was moved through the crowd, the swords of the horsemen getting dangerously close.

It was funny, he thought, how at times the entire universe seemed to be against him and at others what he needed was dropped into his lap. Perhaps Evil wasn't as strong as Gryffindor had believed, or that Good still had a bit of fight left in her. Harry didn't know, it didn't help him now, and he wanted to go home.

Ah, home.

That thought was constantly on his mind, gnawing away at his defences, his resolve to do what had to be done. Ron... Hermione... Ginny... faces he had all but forgotten over the last few months. They had been forgotten. A hundred fights in a hundred different places had distracted him beyond thoughts of the three people in all of existence he could say he truly loved.

Frowning now, Harry looked down at his hand, to his finger where his ring from Ginny had rested for three months last Christmas. Christ, it was only one Christmas ago... The pale band of skin that had once been there had faded, or darkened as it were, erasing any mark of the ring.

He sighed, and eternity sighed with him.

"Harry," Tarishma whispered, her hand on her now sheathed sword hilt. "Tell me, truthfully, are you a Mage?"

Harry looked at her then slowly shook his head. "Not the type of Mage you think I am... was. I'm one of a kind."

"The penalty for impersonating a mage is death!" she exclaimed. "Unlawful use of the Power the same."

"Stronger men than these have tried to kill me...." Harry grumbled, and flashes of the last six years shone through his mind. They were incomplete though, some forgotten. Remembering memories these days was like trying to run up a steep hill with water cupped in your hands - not spilling a drop. All but impossible.

"Silence!" hissed Evenson just up ahead, scowling from atop of his white horse. He glared hate at Harry. "Silence or you will be silenced, boy."

Harry snorted, an unwanted memory springing into his mind at Evenson's tirade. "Yes, Snape," he said, saluting the man. "A hundred points, sir? Very well." He dissolved into a fit of laughter.

Tarishma gasped as Evenson's face whitened with rage. She prayed Harry would stop laughing. He did. "Sometimes I fear for your sanity, Harry Potter," she whispered into his ear a moment later, when they were moving again.

Harry gave her a wink and a lopsided smile. "S'alright," he said. "The voices in my head keep me sane."

The glare of the sun off some of this armour was blinding at points, even when most of it was covered with green cloaks. The white rose banner was raised high above Harry and twisted silver poles as he was led through the crowd of fifty thousand soldiers. He couldn't see where he was going, as most of the men and women were taller than him on horses, and thousands of supply wagons blocked the way as well. Evenson seemed to know where he was heading though.

Do you ever think about the loyalty you inspire in people, Potter? the disembodied voice of Ethan Rafe asked. The sacrifice?

Harry allowed himself a moment of thought before answering, and zoned out of reality and into his mind, picturing Ethan there - both of them sitting on a hilltop drinking lemonade. He was only vaguely aware of the world around him, enough that he continued to put one foot in front of the other.

Why do you ask? he finally replied, sipping his lemonade in his mind's eye.

Well... from my unique perspective, Harry, I've watched your memories and your interactions with these people. You were barely in Kinfriar a day before Tarishma and her men were willing to die for you!

I know... he sighed. Oh God, do I know.

It is utterly fascinating, Ethan exclaimed. You, one life, can change so many others just by blinking! I mean look where it got me. I was your friend and your enemy and now I'm your conscience....

Harry snorted laughter. That's not funny....

Ethan was thoughtfully silent for a moment, and then: What are you going to do about this Snape clone?

Harry shrugged. I'll just see what happens. Perhaps I can wow this king with some flashing lights.

Up ahead now, Harry could see a row of large tents, silver and tasselled with the rose flag swaying gently in the warm breeze. They were in the process of being taken down and dismantled, packed away for another day's march. Evenson was making a straight line for the largest of these tents, its flaps wide open and people garbed in armour bustling about it.

Fifty feet or so from its entrance, the crippled commander dismounted - showing no sign of his disability - and gestured for Harry to move ahead of him. Three other horsemen did the same, and Tarishma gripped his arm nervously, her face so pale Harry thought she may faint.

It still struck him at times how real these people were.... He had grown up on a world home to six billion humans, and for nearly seventeen years he had believed that was all. Now... now he knew the number was infinite, beyond measure... and every last one of them had a story to tell, a life to lead. They were real; they ate and slept, they loved and lost. He was just one among countless trillions.

And how many had died, how many real lives had been extinguished because just one made the hard choices? But then again, how many people got a chance to fix the past on such a scale? Again, just one among countless trillions.

Shaking his head, collecting his thoughts, Harry felt Evenson's blade resting on top of his leather vest and armour, the point dangerously close to his neck. "Wait here, boy," he grumbled, and entered the tent ahead of Harry. They were left with a guard of three men, all hard eyed and silent.

The ground still seemed to be shaking as Harry stood before the large cream tent, and he gazed with cold eyes at the mass of moving flesh and souls around him. Fifty thousand in all, give or take a few thousand, and he felt the vibrations of their footsteps on the hard earth.

Will you kill them all?

"No, they're too real...." he told Ethan.

Worlds that mirror our own, worlds in the past, worlds that are barren, worlds that are anything and everything. You can't save them all, Potter.

Nope... but I'll sure try.

"Come with me, boy," a voice grunted from behind Harry, and he flashed Evenson his most winning smile. It felt like a grimace, like it always did these days.

Looking at Tarishma and shrugging, Harry followed Evenson into the tent.

*~*~*~*

King Deschan packed away his maps and charts, his scrolls and parchments into a chest at the foot of his bed, ready to be loaded onto the wagons. He knew this was a servant's job, but there was something fundamentally satisfying with putting it away himself. He knew where everything was then, where it had gone and no one could be blamed if it were lost.

Servants and soldiers, one and the same, carried furniture and crates out of his tent for the wagons, and the High Mage stood with proud grace off to the side, squinting and holding her hand over her eyes at the tent entrance. Deschan turned and saw sunlight filtering in, but it was not that bright. What could--

"Evenson returns," the High Mage whispered fearfully, and that was enough. If Evenson was back... then he must have brought the man with the aura with him. That was why the silver haired mage was squinting at the tent flaps. It would be blinding to her.

Deschan could not see any of this though, but Evenson did step through the flap a moment later - his sword drawn and face set in a deep scowl. Deschan knew that scowl... someone hadn't been following the set rules and formalities for the noble born. Someone had insulted him, someone had broken the law he abided by and most likely would until his last breath.

"My King," Evenson said, stepping down onto one knee. "I have returned with the warriors of Kinfriar."

"Very well, Commander Evenson," the King nodded. "Any... Any other news?"

The High Mage had turned from the tent flap and now walked over to stand by his side. Her eyes were shielded by what appeared to be a haze of blue mist, floating just above the whites of her eyes. She stared at the Commander and the tent flap beyond without squinting now.

"Grave news, my lord," Evenson said, standing on both feet again, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword embedded a few inches into the earth on the tent ground. "I have captured a... boy, who claims to be a Mage." He glanced with a bow towards the thin and regal High Mage next to the king, and continued. "Whilst he does display use of the Power, he cannot be a true Mage... for one he is--"

"I should like you to retrieve this boy, Commander Evenson, and bring him before us," the High Mage said, sounding like it was the last thing she wanted. The King was inclined to agree. He had a war to fight, after all, and distractions like this could not be tolerated. Not when so much hung in the balance.

Commander Evenson retreated with a grunt, and Deschan and the High Mage barely had time to glance at one another before he returned, bringing with him not one man, but four - and a woman.

King Deschan heard the High Mage gasp, saw her falter and take a step back, but he held his ground. Three of the men were guarding a fourth, swords raised threateningly behind his back. The fourth man - no, boy - did not seem perturbed by this. In fact he was smiling. Deschan didn't know who the woman was, fair and young, but obviously frightened... perhaps not frightened, just nervous. Yes, that fit better.

The boy though, the man with the aura. Deschan could not see it, but he didn't have to. He could feel it. The tent pulsed with energy, with life, with power - all emanating from the shorter than average boy. He was at least a head shorter than Deschan himself, but he just felt a lot taller.

"This is the impostor, my lord," Evenson sighed, but he wasn't heard. All eyes were on the boy, who met each gaze with an unblinking stare. Even Deschan couldn't hold it for long, although his eyes were always drawn back to him.

A rough and scraggly stubble lined the cheeks of the boy, his face hard and scarred on more than once place. His eyes were green, one dazzlingly bright, and the other pale and slightly glazed. It didn't look real. Messy jet black hair sat on his head, shooting off at odd angles with the look of never having been groomed. His arms were not that muscular, but he did seem to have an air of physical strength. Deschan picked him as a fighter straight away - one who rarely lost a fight.

A lifetime of scars crisscrossed his visible flesh, mainly his arms and face - although the ones on his face were small, except for the one visible between his fringe. An odd shaped scar... it reminded Deschan of something... no, he could not remember. His eyes though, his eyes were perhaps the most terrifying feature about him. They were mismatched, odd, haunted and dark. They saw beyond the tent and off into events Deschan could scarcely begin to imagine.

His eyes have seen glimpses of the Truth, Deschan thought, but wasn't certain what he meant by it. No, was not sure at all. Perhaps he never would be.

"My... my lord?" Evenson said.

Deschan blinked and realised he had been silent for some time. What had he heard? Something about an impostor. The boy had mesmerised him, maybe because he knew of his aura... or... no, too many ifs and maybes.

"Leave us, Commander Evenson," the King said, finally finding his voice and inwardly surprised at how level and commanding he sounded. Not a flake of it rubbed off on the boy though, who still stared with a small smile and unblinking eyes.

Evenson forgot himself for a moment and scowled deeply. "My King, perhaps it would be better if I--"

"Take your men and go," the King snapped. It wouldn't do to see the boy have his authority undermined. He was apparently going to lead his army, when that was a job for the king... weakness could not be shown, not if the boy had power enough to kill them all.

Evenson persisted, even as the boy's smile deepened. "A personal bodyguard might be wise, my l--"

"Do not make me repeat myself a third time, Farr!" Deschan exclaimed. "Leave us!"

His tone left no room for argument and, after glaring hate at the boy, Commander Farr Evenson used his good arm to motion his men to sheathe their weapons and retreat. It was then that the boy spoke for the first time, and his voice was deep - the accent unfamiliar, as was his way of speaking.

*~*~*~*

"Yeah, take a walk, Farr," Harry said, smiling wryly at the retreating commander. "I'll see you later about some sword practice," he finished with a grin.

Turning back to the others in the tent after the scowling Evenson had left, Harry took a few steps forward towards the man wearing a gilded platinum crown, entwined with roses. He offered his hand to the man.

For a moment Deschan hesitated, but then firmly grasped the youth's hand. His fingers and palm were calloused, rough and warm. He could almost feel the awesome power bubbling beneath his skin. The boy smiled once again.

"Hello, sir," Harry said. "My name is Harry, Harry Potter."

"Potter...." the King managed. "A familiar name, young man. I am King Deschan, Ruler of the Seven Lands, Protector of the Cristhenium, and Warrior of the Tower. We are... we are well met on this day."

Harry let go of the King's hand and bowed slightly, in imitation of the bow Tarishma was now doing. She seemed to have regained some colour in her face now that they hadn't been ordered to the execution block, and graciously met with her king.

For the first time Harry noticed the slender silver haired woman standing to the left of the King, and when he met her gaze she turned away sharply, before forcing herself to look back into his eyes. He saw that some sort of magic was floating on top of her eyes, like a pale blue mist. This must be a Mage, a proper one, perhaps the High Mage.

"'ello, love," he smiled, cocking his head. "You can use the Power." It wasn't a question, but Harry wasn't sure if these people knew the word 'magic'. If he had ever heard any of them say it, the memory had slipped clean out of his head soon after.

"I am the High Mage of the Tower, Power Embodied and Grace Favoured," she said. Then felt foolish for reciting her titles. They meant nothing to this boy, absolutely nothing. He would have already forgotten them.

"Whoa... you guys are a mouthful," Harry decided, glancing between the King and the High Mage. "But I think I got it. King Deschan, Ruler of the Seven Lands, Protector of the Cristhenium, and Warrior of the Tower... and, High Mage of the Tower, Power Embodied and Grace Favoured. Ah, you see... my memory is not as bad as all that."

"You can... you are a user of the Power?" the High Mage asked. She moved and her dress shimmered as if coated in a thin layer of diamonds. Harry looked at it, and it did actually appear to be coated in diamonds. Well...

He nodded and smiled softly. "I... I use the Power, magic as I call it."

The High Mage straightened and addressed him with her chin held high. "What authority granted you this right?" she asked, her voice level.

"None," Harry replied promptly. "Everyone who can has a right to learn magic," he said strongly, bitterly despising Voldemort and his ideals at that moment. That was one memory he would never forget.

"Do you come before me as an enemy or an ally, Potter?" Deschan asked, placing a strong hand on the crystal sword that hung on his belt. An heirloom of his kingdom - been in the family for centuries, almost a millennium. It had ended war just by its presence.

"I come with something to sell," Harry smiled.

Deschan frowned, and the High Mage hissed under her breath. "And what do you wish to sell me, Harry Potter?" the King asked warily.

Harry continued to smile, baring his teeth. "Victory," was all he said.

Deschan schooled his face not to show any emotions, and gazed with his own unblinking stare into the mismatched eyes before him. "And what is the cost?" he asked.

Still the boy's gaze didn't falter. "Command of your army."

A ball of cold ice developed in the pit of the King's stomach, and he noticed his servants and other men falter as they pretended not to listen as they moved in and out of the tent. He should have expected it, the High Mage had warned him. He feigned ignorance.

"Forgive me," he managed, gritting his teeth. "For I do not understand."

Harry shrugged and raised his palms towards the roof in a gesture of indifference. "I have been fighting these demons harder and longer than you have," he said. "Their leader... I've battled personally. He is a demon in human form, and could destroy your army as easily as blink."

Deschan raised his eyebrows questioningly. "And what do you want my army for, if this demon leader can destroy them as effortlessly as you suggest?"

Harry's face became more serious, and he took a few steps left and then back right, pacing and mumbling. He realised what he was doing and stopped, smiling sheepishly at Tarishma and then the King. In that moment the innocence he had possessed less than eighteen months ago was visible, before it disappeared under the weight of experience.

"Even if Allarius - the demon leader - didn't exist, one hundred thousand demons still stand between you and victory. I doubt half a million men could destroy so many, and you have only fifty thousand."

Sunlight sparkled in through the open tent flaps, and Harry glanced through it carelessly and saw Evenson standing just beyond the flap, once again glaring menacingly. There were many types of people in the world, and it appeared a universal constant was that at least one was a pain in the--

"And what could you do to change the odds in our favour?" Deschan asked, mindful he was talking to a boy, not yet a man, who had shown a rough sort of respect and a surprising amount of insolence. "I have many Mages here who are proficient in the Power." He also remembered what the High Mage had Seen. He would give him command of the army, but not without knowing why. "You are just a boy, and know nothing of war."

Even as he said it Deschan didn't believe it. Looking at the many scars that he could see upon the boy was enough of a claim to that. There were also his eyes, his terrifying eyes. And the way he carried himself. It didn't appear he had any weapons - although there was a strange device strapped to his waist in place of a sword. It was silver with a black grip handle. Deschan recognised a weapon, but what sort he couldn't say.

Harry's terrifying eyes hardened into steel. "There are magics that can decimate these demons, and I can give them to your army. I can enchant a single arrow to destroy a demon. I can enchant thousands of them. Your swords I can enchant also, to cut through the demons as if they were paper. I... I can also battle Allarius; I will battle Allarius, and give your army a chance of victory."

"Your claims mean little--" the High Mage began.

"My claims," Harry overrode her, "will save your life, and thousands of others if you heed them."

Harry, Ethan warned. I feel...

Shut up, Harry said quickly.

"Proof would be needed, Potter," King Deschan said. "Proof and an oath of loyalty to my throne."

Harry frowned. "I swear oaths to myself and no other," he said. "My help will save your kingdom, and I offer it freely. I will command your army to victory, and I will do it by annihilating every last demon that broke free."

Potter... Ethan gasped. He's--

Harry felt a buzzing deep in his mind that was vaguely familiar, but he pushed it aside - needing to concentrate on the task at hand.

"Broke free?" the High Mage whispered. "What do you know of these beasts, boy?"

The buzzing increasing, Harry screamed. Stop it, Ethan! "I.... the demons... come from the darkness in between worlds. They are soldiers of true Evil, and know nothing but hate and murder...."

You fool, Ethan spat, and Harry thought there was a struggle of sorts going on in his head. He felt as if he'd just been punched in the stomach, and stumbled back, swatting at an invisible opponent. He's here. All--

Explosions.

Death.

Power.

Blood.

Screams.

Harry's mind became a scarred battlefield as Ethan fought inside of it. Harry felt splinters of pain digging into his mind, burning in his scar. His eyes watered and he fell to his knees before the king.

Run, Harry, RUN!

Ethan's screams faded away to nothing, and Harry screamed with him. To the High Mage, as she lessened her guard against his aura, it appeared as if the golden light surrounding the boy faded... and was replaced with something dark. His aura flickered and died, being replaced by Evil.

True Evil.... it was in the tent with them. She screamed and stumbled back over a wooden chair. Hysterically she warded herself and Deschan with the deepest magic she knew. But it wouldn't be enough; Grace save them all nothing was enough.

To Tarishma and Deschan, it appeared that Harry was in great pain. Writhing on his knees a band of sweat sprung to life on his forehead, and a drop of clear blood dripped down into his eyebrow and along the bridge of his nose from that odd scar.

My, my, my, Harry. This place has become a lot more crowded since I was last here, Allarius cackled. May I ask who the young man was who so valiantly tried to defend your mind?

What did you do to him? Harry roared, and then out loud. "WHAT DID YOU DO!?"

Shattered his consciousness to the far reaches of your mind. Snapped him like a twig, partner.

Harry screamed, both inside and out. GOD DAMN YOU, ALLARIUS!

Your god doesn't exist,
Allarius smiled. Only I exist now, only you and I.

Harry gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, bringing his temper into check. He couldn't see anything beyond an explosion of red and green and white and blue and black.... his eyes flickered through every colour imaginable.

Tarishma felt true fear as Harry stood up before her, drawing the strange silver metal object from the holster on his waist. He swung it around wildly, but she saw his eyes and knew they didn't see her. His skin crackled with that blue power and the ground shook now not with footsteps, but with the Power. Lightning blasted across his eyes and through his hair.

Above all, a deep howling rang out through the tent and wind threw her back into the tent wall. Tarishma saw Evenson run in with his own fire in his eyes, sword raised above his head and an oath on his lips. He brought it down towards Harry's neck.

"NO!" she screamed as the blade fell, and heard the King do the same. The High Mage was chanting her own magic, a deep cloud enveloping her form.

Evenson either didn't hear or chose not to hear. His blade fell, sharp and inline with Harry's exposed neck. The length of metal reflected the blue waves of power, and came down hard with no mercy. The crippled commander was smiling as it fell.

The blade hit home, striking Harry on the neck in a blow that would kill. The blade exploded in a flash of white light, and Evenson was thrown back out of the tent, a shattered sword hilt in his palm. For a moment the shards of the sword floated above Harry and then they fell to the ground.

Can't have you dying yet, Potter, Allarius whispered. I've got a score to settle, and I will on the Endless Plains.

You're the first creature I'm going to truly enjoy killing, Harry replied, swinging his eyes around fruitlessly in the darkness now, searching... always searching.

The High Mage sensed its presence.... knew the demon was in the tent with them. She knew it was attacking the boy, and she also knew her Power might be able to expel it. Might....

She whispered words of Power, and a purple fog spiralled around her form and rose to the point of the tent before shooting out in every direction and slowly falling like snow. It hadn't worked, but the spell did have unintended consequences. The High Mage screamed loud enough to shatter glass as the purple mist descended on Harry, and the King drew his sword with a curse.

She had revealed a nightmare walking under the world of waking.

Standing in front of Harry was a man with fire for eyes, burnt and parched skin that hung off his form. Snakes and vermin encircled his horrifying head... his body a knot of seething muscle and horrid disfigured flesh. Its eyes were glowing, a sword of pain in its hands. A long black blade that could destroy worlds... had destroyed worlds.

There was no other name than Evil, and the High Mage had revealed it. They would die now, oh they would all die. That was clear... nothing could stand against such evil, against Evil itself. No such force to resist existed... nothing, by the Grace nothing. Doomed, they would all burn for this. Just looking upon the creature meant an eternal suffering in the deepest depths of Hell.

Servants and soldiers screamed and fled, most wetting themselves and curling up on the ground where they were. The Demon, Allarius, was visible and he was terrible - beyond frightning. Why try? Nothing could stand against his power. Grace had forsaken them to this fate.

In the tent, the King shook with fear and Tarishma scrunched her hands before her eyes and wept. What was it? Evil... her mind whispered. The embodiment of all the wrong in Existence.

Harry couldn't see him, couldn't see anything beyond a slowly descending purple haze. But then his vision burst back into the tent, and Evil stood before him with a blade of darkness. He fired his pistol, his aim as true, and Allarius laughed. The spheres of energy dissipated into his form, making his flesh grow and increasing his power.

"You see me in my true form," the Demon hissed, and the words vibrated so strongly in Harry's mind he thought his head would explode. It very nearly did.

His eyes were burning coals, his face a mass of gaunt decomposing flesh that stank and hung to a visible skull of hate. His body was thin, yet rippled and emanated power on a level that Harry thought he may struggle to meet. The blade in its hand absorbed all light as its influence descended over the tent and stretched out into the moving army outside.

All of a sudden, fifty thousand people stopped walking and turned their heads in the direction of their death. They felt Allarius, and not a single one did not weep.

Harry thought he was beyond fear now, but those familiar gut wrenching feelings clawed at his insides as he took a step back, dropping his useless pistol to the floor. It was met with adrenalin.

"Die now... it makes no difference," the demon hissed. "The Ways are barred to you... Existence is barred to you. The time for hope is over."

No, a vague and shaking voice in his mind whispered. Ethan! It was so weak... so lost. You're his... opp... oppo... OPPOSITE!

Harry felt a tear fall down from his right eye and felt it mix with the blood from his scar. The sword of Evil was raised before him, a black blade that glittered crimson as it was moved. Allarius was smiling, his face twisting to beyond terrifying and just inconceivable.

And as Evenson did, he dropped the blade towards Harry's skull. The stakes had been changed when he became visible, and now it would end.

For one brief moment now, Existence in its entirety rested on the shoulders of a shattered soul within the mind of an insane hero.

YOUR SWORD! Ethan roared, defiance in his breath, and was not heard again for many years.

Harry dropped to his knees with a cry of fury, raising his right arm as if to block the blade that now had to travel a few inches further. Allarius' eyes were burning with the fires of a thousand suns. And then, Harry smiled, and a glittering shower of sparks fell from his palm as the blade of Light appeared in his hand, his bruised and bloodied fingers grasping the hilt strongly.

Power streamed up the blade and it burst into blue flame. Less than a second later, Light and Dark met and the tent was blown away high up and over the camp, tearing away from tis foundations. A wave of power burst from where the blades met, and anyone within a hundred feet was thrown back hard into the ground.

Deschan, the High Mage, and Tarishma took it the worst, but their armour saved them any broken limbs. Harry didn't notice, and wouldn't have had time to care if he did.

Allarius screamed and Harry joined him. With a cry of defiance similar to Ethan's, Harry rose to his feet and met Evil blow for blow. His mind screamed at him to surrender, and that must be some deception of Allarius', that this was too powerful even for him. He didn't listen - wouldn't listen.

The walking corpse before him snarled and hissed, spat and shrieked. The ground, the very ground, splintered at their feet as both hero and villain fought - neither willing to concede an inch to the other.

Equally matched, and in some part of his mind Harry knew that didn't make sense. He shouldn't be equal to the demon, to True Evil. He should be found less.... yet his power was the same and had the potential to be greater. WHY? Where did this force inside of him come from? How come it was he who could gamble universes?

"We gamble more than that, Harry!" Allarius exclaimed, reading his mind. "We - are - gods!"

"You're insane!" Harry spat. "We're insane! We are nothing but two madmen with enough power to destroy it all."

Allarius moved like lightning, and slashed Harry's arm open viciously, directly across the scar on his arm Wormtail had given him back when he was tied to the tombstone as Voldemort had been reborn. The pain from this wound, which was numb at first, soon made him want to hack the thing off himself.

He screamed in pain and Allarius joined him in pure joy. "Scream enough to wake the dead," Allarius, the demon, Evil said.

Harry's vision went hazy as he was blinded by hurt from the small cut. It wasn't natural. This had to end now or he was done for. His job wasn't finished. Existence would fail if he did, countless trillions would die and remain dead... no... there was nothing to say he couldn't die, nothing to help prevent it either. He was on his own, and his choices shaped everything that ever was and shall be.

Grasping Gryffindor's sword firmly around the hilt, biting back the pain in his arm, Harry pushed his all into the blade. Power, will, strength... the blade shone with the radiance of Twilight, and a fatal strike against Allarius' crimson blade shattered the terrible thing into nothing.

Allarius roared in fury, pain and disbelief. The shattered remains of his sword sizzled and killed the grass upon which they fell. He stepped back as Potter took a step forward, brandishing the blade he was born to wield.

Allarius was no fool. He knew he had no weapon in which to face the wrath of that blade, and the wrath of Potter. Worlds really did tremble in his wake. The thought made Allarius smile. He could do no less, not when facing the only worthy opponent left anywhere. The Creator may have disappeared, died even, but his legacy lived on in this boy. Corruption of the Design had spawned Allarius, but Light had thrown Potter in his path. It had been a brave choice, but ultimately a fool's one.

Was there even a difference between foolishness and bravery?

"Shucks, partner," Allarius grinned, and any mind would break at the sight of that grin. Harry's had long since broken though, and he met it with the same unblinking stare he had shown Deschan. "Looks like you win this round. Stay tuned for round two after the commercials, folks."

With a deep laugh that caused thousands surrounding the tent to cry out in fear, Allarius disappeared in a black slit of bent reality. Harry blinked as he disappeared, still holding the glowing sword before him - a barrier against the Dark. It was a long moment before he let it go, and the sun returned to this world. Fifty thousand soldiers now wept in relief.

Harry scowled and clicked his teeth thoughtfully. With a thought he made the sword disappear, but a shimmering outline hung in the air for a few seconds after its disappearance. His head was thrumming with a thousand different emotions and sensations. It suddenly felt very empty. Ethan was lost... not gone... but neither there. Surprisingly that hurt. The universe seemed to be out to get that boy as much as it was him.

Also, his arm had gone disturbingly cold. He couldn't feel his fingers and the blood had dried against his arm in a long cold river from the freshly opened scar. He looked down at it and saw that his skin had gone nervously pale. Not good....

It was then that Harry noticed everything else around him, and grimaced. He was no longer standing in a tent. There was no tent. A few poles that had been stabbed deep into the earth hung at odd angles, but the canopy was gone. Around him people were crawling to their feet - most crying, some cheering him - those who had seen the fight.

Wagons were upturned and the ground Harry stood upon was cracked and loose beneath his feet. Furniture - chairs, tables, chests and trunks - also lay strewn in a wide radius around the epicentre of the attack, where Harry stood, and he saw Tarishma struggling to get to her feet about ten metres away. She was visibly shaking.

Harry sighed and stepped over to her, holding his cold numb arm at his side. He offered her his warm arm. "Are you okay?" he asked. She had been weeping as well, her hair was dishevelled and there was a nasty cut beneath her left eye. Some object had hit her. Nodding shakily, Tarishma took his hand and managed to stand.

"I'm... I'm scared, Harry," she whispered. "What was that?"

Harry rubbed his cold arm but to no avail. Something was wrong... He shrugged and tried to smile at the young woman before him. He couldn't do it. "That was nobody," he said. "Just a headache."

The army was in chaos now though. Screams mingled with cheers mingled with tears broke the silence of that late morning. A veil of darkness had descended, so deep that it had blotted out the sun. The true horror of what they were riding onwards to fight was laid bare before them, and they had known real fear. Thousands had witnessed the true embodiment of fear, of hate, of pain, of death. They had seen Darkness itself.

But there had also been light.

Tarishma at his side, Harry turned in time to meet King Deschan, the High Mage, Evenson, and half a dozen other grim faced people. They stopped a good twenty feet in front of him, standing well-clear of the sunken circle of ground that Harry had duelled the monster in. Its footsteps could still be seen smouldering in the dirt, as could the pieces of its blade.

Evenson no longer glared, but gazed at Harry with a wary, grudging respect. Others with outright awe. None of them could have done what he did. Youth always was foolhardy, Farr Evenson thought, taking risks no man with maturity would. At times that saved the world, at others got people killed. How many had this one killed with his foolhardiness?

Harry once again tried to smile, but could only quirk the corners of his mouth. "That," he said, his voice carrying over the now eerily silent plain, "was what you're up against. Believe me when I say that Allarius could kill you all with a wave of his hand. You need me... and I need you... to get to him - it."

No one moved, no one scarcely even breathed. Tarishma stood at Harry's side, but everyone else stood before him with care and more than a little fear. Who was this boy who could challenge such a force and expect to live?

He was dead; he just didn't know it yet.

Slowly though... oh so slowly. It was always the same, the choice between what is right and what is easy. It never came down to those in power, those who made the decision to send kids into war. The everyday man always made the first move, fought the battle and died - not for his country or for what was right - but, ultimately, for his friend standing right next to him on those front lines.

A foot soldier, a man carrying a silver sword, moved out of the shaking lines to stand behind Harry, and he was followed by half a dozen others, and they twice as more.

How do you inspire such loyalty in these people? Ethan had asked.

God, he didn't know then and he didn't know now.

Demons he had inadvertently set loose had ravished this world, destroyed countless lives... they did not know that, but had seen him duel with death incarnate, and were willing to fight for him. Swear allegiance? Probably not. They were loyal to their king and country... but Harry was an unexpected variable. They all knew that they could not face that evil without him. Its very laugh had sent them screaming to the ground.

So, having only seen him once, hundreds fell in line behind Harry - willing to except him as a leader in this conflict. Harry didn't smile, didn't want to. He thought that the King would be furious, out of control with rage, but the greying man merely looked at Harry and nodded - as if he had expected this. Something in the gaze that passed between him and the High Mage told Harry they might have.

"Command of the battle is yours, Harry Potter," Deschan said, and Evenson spat on the ground before him. He glared once at Harry before trudging away to his men. "You will be my General of Demonic War, and therefore this army is under your leadership."

Harry nodded, his vision blurred and the words he heard slurred and slow. His arm was throbbing, pulsing with pain and evil. He could feel it, like a poison pumping through his bloodstream towards his heart.

I gotta get out while I'm young, he thought for some unfathomable reason. Swaying on the spot, he stumbled forward and to his left. He saw Tarishma, she smiled at him with tears in her eyes. He would remember that - that would be a memory that stuck... but there, it was gone.

Laughing but unaware he was doing so, Harry held his bleeding arm with his good hand and fell forward, the laughter dying in his throat.

"HARRY!"

He heard someone scream his name - a woman. Everything was so hazy... Ginny, he thought, is that you? Hermione? It felt as if someone had put long tendrils of ice inside of his arm. They were cold, he was cold. He was dying.

Its me, Harry, an echoing voice resounded in his mind. No longer female, but a vaguely familiar male voice. Who....?

Who? he asked, his eyes slowly closing. Dull shapes hung over his form - just dark blurs. Where was he going now? Would there ever be any rest....

Me.

Oh.

You're doing well, kid. There is still a long way to go, but if you stay strong it will pass in a heartbeat.

Sirius? That you? Harry asked. I thought you were dead.

The voice was silent for a moment that could have been a second or an hour. Keep your nose clean, Harry, it finally said.

And then Harry was alone again.

*~*~*~*

It seemed darkness was a universal colour for suffering. Light, for less suffering... and occasionally love. Harry sat before an ancient wizard's chessboard, glaring intently at the moving and screaming stone pieces. Swords drawn, the white pieces cried defiance at the black on the other side.

Harry pondered his next move. He took the Knight and moved it to intercept a black pawn. The pawn screamed and hissed before falling away into oblivion. His opponent was shrouded in a cloud of darkness - storm clouds - and all that he ever saw of whatever he was playing was a storm cloud hand.

His Knight fell to the Black Queen.

"A valiant effort, Potter," the dark cloud said. Perhaps it represented his enemies, Harry didn't know. "You have survived longer than expected. I offer you my congratulations."

Harry sacrificed a pawn, thinking three moves ahead. The Queen would be his. He did not speak. This was just another dream, after all. Wasn't it?

The storm cloud that wavered in and out of human form chuckled, and did not take the bait. Its Bishop moved to check Harry. "You should know by now that even staying three moves ahead isn't enough."

Harry nodded and, with a smile, used his remaining Knight to claim the Bishop. Screams of death engulfed the playing piece.

"Ultimately, Harry Potter, you will fail. Hope is not in your future, but neither is death...." The Storm moved his Queen to replace the Bishop and claimed Harry's final Knight.

Harry sighed. "Don't underestimate me," he told the Storm.

The world shook and melted slowly away like water draining down the sink. Harry didn't shake with it and sat calmly as another sprang to life around him. He was seated in a chair by a familiar fire, a cup of hot chocolate grasped in his hands. He was wearing a green woollen jumped with the letter H on the front. A gun was still strapped to his leather pants however. It seemed even in dreams he could not escape that.

The fire felt real, the chair comfy and the chocolate sweet. Over his shoulder he saw a twinkling Christmas tree with the refuse of the present opening strewn around its base. He was in the Burrow, he knew, but he was alone.

Haunted and mismatched eyes stared into the flickering eternal flames of the silent fire, and Harry forgot to blink.

"Is it a dream?" he asked himself, blinking furiously to wet his eyes. They began to water and the cup shook in his hands. "Am I awake?"

Soft footsteps echoed on the wooden panelled floor behind him, but Harry didn't turn to meet whoever it was. He was afraid to.

Soft footsteps gave way to soft hands stroking his shoulders, and a curtain of auburn hair fell in front of his eyes. He leaned his head backwards, and caught Ginny's eyes with his own.

"What have you been up to now, Harry?" she asked, kneading his shoulders hard. "You're all knots!"

"I've been out doing the hero thing," he told her. "I've been trying to protect you."

Ginny smiled, she looked bemused, and moved around the chair to fall down into his lap. Her weight was nothing but it did drive the pistol hard into his hip. Perhaps a symbolic reminder that he could not have both - choose Ginny or Humanity - and that he could not escape the weapon.

"Why?" she asked him now, her hair falling in waves around her perfect face. God, he could die now and be happy forever. "Do you love me?"

Harry blinked, and this time a real tear did fall. "I don't remember loving you," he whispered. "But I'd protect you even if it meant moving the earth and everything in it."

Ginny playfully slapped his chest. "How cliché, Harry Potter."

"Is this real?" he asked, desperation in his voice.

"What is real?" Ginny replied.

Harry shrugged as Ginny buried her head into the groove between his neck and shoulder. "The Ways of Twilight are real," he finally said.

"Then anything and everything you experience is real," Ginny replied. "Even this."

"Even this?"

Ginny looked up at him with her deep brown eyes and smiled. Their lips were only centimetres apart. Harry could feel her warm breath on his face. "Blink, Harry, and your reality can become whatever you want. You have power enough for anything, and in time you'll realise that."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked.

Ginny laughed - it felt and sounded so real as she squirmed on his lap. "A life form," she replied. "One that has never taken interest in the mortal universes before... before you. You're drawing all attention towards you, Harry Potter. Wars are being fought on many plains of existence for and against you. Terrible battles and awesome forces are lining up behind you. Darkness and Light are preparing for the End. And it all revolves around you."

Harry stood up and shook off this imitation of Ginny. She... it... fell to the floor and hissed indignation. "Leave me alone," he told her. "I'm not your pawn."

It was true, he wasn't.

*~*~*~*

When Harry opened his eyes he did so with a moan and deep, deep sigh. A thin ray of sunlight cut across his line of sight and his mouth felt very dry. His arm also felt heavy. He was on his back, that much he could tell, but he was buggered if he knew where.

The blankets he lay upon felt as if they were moving, as if he were in a carriage. He could hear garbled conversation and the clopping of horses hooves from outside of wherever he was. He tried to sit up, but found himself pushed back down by a pair of hands leaning over his head.

Tarishma smiled down uncertainly at him, easing him back onto the silk fabrics gently. "You are well, Harry Potter," she said.

Harry was chuckling. "You know," he said. "I hoped you were a dream for a moment then, and that I'd wake up to the familiar drapes of Gryffindor Tower."

Tarishma didn't understand a word, but placed a concerned hand on his forehead. "You must have hit your head harder than we thought, Harry," she stated. "You're making less sense than usual."

"What day is it?" he asked.

"The second evening after you succumbed to the poison in your arm. You have been asleep for two and a half days. If it were not for the High Mage you would have died."

Harry struggled to absorb the information, wrestled with it for a moment, and then nodded. "How... what....?"

Tarishma's concerned face darkened and she practically spat; "That monster slashed your arm open with his blade... it was poisoned, drenched in evil the High Mage said. She worked complex Power wards and defences, and I... I stitched your arm whole."

Harry lifted his head and looked down towards his arm. It was pale, and a long line of clean stitches had sown the broken flesh back together. "Couldn't... couldn't the High Mage heal it?" he asked, not wanting to offend. He didn't doubt Tarishma's skill with a needle, but magic was faster and didn't leave him impaired.

She understood though, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a small smile. "She tried, Harry, she tried to overcome that wound for four hours... it... the flesh refused to be healed. I thought nothing could scare me after seeing and feeling that demon, but the High Mage's anger as her Power failed was frightening enough."

Refused to be healed, Harry mused.

"There have also been no signs that the flesh is knitting itself whole, Harry," Tarishma whispered. "It is held together with my stitching, but it is not healing. There... I... we can do nothing about that."

Harry sighed. He felt it in his very bones, stretching through his tormented soul. Leaning back he put a tired hand on his forehead and sighed again. "Why me?" he wondered, not for the first time and not for the last. Louder, he spoke to Tarishma, "I doubt it will heal as long as Allarius - the demon - lives, Tarishma," he said.

Tarishma nodded and they both fell silent. For the first time since waking Harry became aware that he wasn't wearing anything beyond his leather pants. His chest was exposed, the basilisk armour lying a few feet away. His pale and scarred upper body was exposed for the world to see - that world being Tarishma - and he didn't think he had it in him to blush anymore, but he did.

"So..." Tarishma said, "how do you feel?"

Harry sat up, waving away her protests to remain lying down. He swung around on the blankets and leaned against the wagon wall - for he was in a wagon - and held his head in his hands as the world spun.

"I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself," he murmured. "And I hate that."

Tarishma was silent again, sitting there in her armour and long green cloak. Her bow was leaning against the wall next to his armour, and Harry wondered if anyone could have foreseen that this was where he would be at this point in his life.

He definitely never saw it coming.

Absent mindedly he ran his fingers gently over the stitching on his arm. Blood had crusted over and dried in the gash, but it wouldn't take much to tear it open again. He sighed once more and dropped his arms uselessly to his side, staring at the opposite wall with glazed eyes.

"You are a mess of scars and hard skin, Harry," Tarishma whispered, touching his shoulder.

Harry blinked and looked down to her hand on his shoulder. She traced the messy tangled flesh of one of the worst physical injuries he had ever suffered. The scar that had been left after Voldemort had driven his blade right through his chest, twisted and pulled. It still pained him on cold nights, and if he over exerted himself. He could feel a dull ache in it now, actually, that he was thinking about it.

"A demon named Voldemort gave me that one," he told her. "Couple of the others are his as well."

"Did you vanquish this demon?" she asked, removing her hands and placing them in her lap.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry laughed. "No, but not through lack of trying. A lot has changed since I lost saw him though... He murdered my parents, you know, and my godfather. Hundreds of others... I always attract the psychos."

Are you there, Ethan?

"You must rub these herbs into your wound," Tarishma began. "Every few hours."

Were you... were you ever there?

"The High Mage will make sure you do," she continued. "And that woman is not one to anger... any more than you already have, that is," she finished with a small smile.

What is real?

"We're just over two weeks to the Endless Plains, Harry. Two weeks is all you have in which to shape this army. More and more soldiers fall willing behind you every hour - they saw and heard what you did... you... you're a hero."

Harry wasn't listening; but gazing silently at the thin golden beam streaming out of his forehead. He spotted the black oily marks tarnishing the thing, and knew this was partly Voldemort's mind. It wasn't strong enough to affect him at this distance, but it had torn through all of existence trying.

Incredible.

"We'll be right come the day," he finally said, glancing sideways at Tarishma. "These soldiers saw what they face, and that alone is enough to ensure that each and every one of them will fight to the death to prevent that from ravishing their homes and families."

"And if we are defeated... what then?"

"You won't be," Harry declared. "I won't allow it...."

The wagon came to a tumbling halt and Harry looked around at the door expectantly, resting his head on the palm of his good arm. He heard high footsteps on the stairs that must lead up to the wagon door, and a moment later sunlight streamed in through the doorframe as it was flung open.

Standing regally, her eyes meeting Harry's with a unflinching gaze, the High Made stood in silk robes of sky blue, her silhouette impressive over the sun high in the sky and behind her. Before her eyes hung a blue mist, and Harry had to wonder about that. It was magic, of that he was sure, but what it did was a mystery.

Taking calm steps, the High Mage entered the small wagon and with a motion of her head told Tarishma to leave. Bowing meekly, Tarishma whispered her goodbye and exited the wagon, her cloak swishing out behind her. The High Mage, silver hair hanging to her waist, waved her hand and the door closed - sealing them in.

"We have stopped to make camp," she informed him, conjuring a chair of air with a wave of her hand. She sat, apparently on nothing, before Harry about six feet away near the door. Harry nodded and rubbed his stubbly cheeks. "How do you feel?"

Harry looked up at her, gazing at her eyes behind the thin blue haze. They were narrow and suspicious. "I've felt worse," he informed her. "But then again I've also felt better."

"There is... poison... in that wound, H-Harry," she whispered. "Poison that even sixteen mages working as one could not remove. I believe it may be slowly killing you."

She thought he may look worried, scared, concerned - anything - but the boy merely nodded in acceptance. What manner of man was he? His face remained calm, pale - but calm. He looked ill, if nothing else.

"What is that blue haze before your eyes?" Harry asked. "If you don't mind telling me."

The long silk robes pooled around the legs of her invisible chair, and the High Mage sniffed as if affronted, but still nodded. "It is a ward against... against your aura."

"My Auror?" Harry frowned. "What....?"

Tsking in disapproval, the proud silver haired woman said, "Your radiance, young man. Your life force. It burns so brightly that if I were to look upon it from so close I would go blind."

Harry was still frowning, and a moment past before he realised what - "Oh! My aura... You can see it?"

The High mage bowed her head into a formal nod. "Indeed, it is a gift of the Tower. A use of the Power few can ever master."

"Have you looked at mine?"

Harry actually saw the woman pale in a second. Her flushed rosy red cheeks drained of colour and she stumbled slightly, almost losing concentration on the conjured chair. Meanwhile, Harry had spotted his leather vest hanging on a peg behind a row of shelves and pots. He blinked and it flew into his hands.

Shaking it on, he raised his eyebrows expectantly towards the High Mage. She opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again and sighed, before finally forming words. "I saw your aura from a great distance - one hundred miles - and I saw war."

"War?" Harry said wryly. "Forgive me for not gasping in surprise...."

"There was also death, and Evil... dark shards of malice and pain. You have wounds that burn day and night, but you no longer feel. There is... or was... a presence inside of you, a trapped soul - but that presence has weakened."

"I thought that haze stopped you reading my aura," he said. "How can you know Ethan bit the bullet again if looking upon me will blind you?"

Pursing her lips and obviously trying to understand at least one word or concept in what Harry had just said, the woman placed her hands in her lap and peered at him intently from behind the haze. "With your aura, boy, I do not have enough strength in the Power to block completely. Now it is dull, and I see one or two colours and shades of images to interpret. Tell me, what is Darkslayer?"

Harry smiled, showing his teeth. "Darkslayer? Well... what do you know of fighting dark creatures?"

"Demons--"

"No," Harry waved her away. "Not demons. Vampires in this case - and in turn every other dark creature. Creatures that suck the life force from your body, steal your soul, drain your blood. Do you have them in your lands?"

"As memories and in ancient stories, Harry Potter," she whispered. "Such creatures, if they ever existed, haven't for centuries."

"Oh they're real," Harry chuckled darkly. "Darkslayer is what they call me because... because I didn't back down. I'm marked, you see, and I think you can see that mark."

"I see many marks of Dark and Light upon you. The scar upon your forehead is dazzling even with the ward before my eyes, but one is like a tarnish upon silver.... fairly new and tainted."

"That's probably the one," Harry lowered his tired, black ringed eyes to the floor. "Dark creatures, monsters out of stories are drawn to that... and I slay them. What else can you see?" he asked, intrigued. He thought he may have been done with prophecies and prophets for awhile, but it appeared hints of the future and present popped up everywhere.

Sometimes you just have to know where to look.

The High Mage licked her lips in thought, and stared intently up and down Harry's scarred form. "There is no hope in your future," she said without hesitating. "You are going to be fighting for a very long time and nothing can change that."

Again, the boy just nodded - as if he had heard it all before and accepted it a long time ago. "Anything else?" The High Mage barely heard his whisper.

"There are shades of colour and lines in your aura I have never seen before, Harry Potter," she answered. "I am interpreting as best I can with my acquired knowledge... but it is difficult. I see two lives in your future, two lifetimes. You will live once, and then agai-- what is so funny?"

Harry was laughing, rolling around on the floor and holding his stomach. Tears streamed down his face and he chuckled for a full minute before stopping. "Well," he said, "I think we're gonna be okay."

"Might I ask what that was?"

"The Ways of Twilight," Harry smiled, still chuckling under his breath. "You just told me I'm going to make it!"

"I do not understand."

Harry shook his head. "You don't have to. No one has to - I doubt anyone can... but it won't all be for nothing."

The High Mage did not hide her scowl and grabbed Harry's arm roughly to inspect the closely stitched wound, muttering under her breath words he couldn't hear. She sprinkled some herbs from a pot to her left into the stitching, cursing the poison in his veins.

"It will die when he does," Harry informed her. "When I kill Allarius, his poison will be useless."

Suppressing a shudder, the High Mage let go of his arm and met his odd eyes. "The demon..." she whispered. "We are two weeks from the Plains, boy, what if your body succumbs to the poison before then?"

"Whatever happens happens," Harry decided after giving it a few seconds thought. "At least this way things are a little more interesting. Same old story though - can the hero save the world before he dies from Evil's taint?" Harry finished with a bitter laugh. It was deep, insane... terrifying.

All of a sudden afraid and wary of he boy, the High Mage rose as quickly as she dared - keeping her eyes on Harry Potter. She curtsied - something she had never done to anyone but the King - and made for the door.

"The King requested an audience as soon as you were fit enough," she said upon reaching the door and pulling it open. "Be prompt boy, and remember your place."

Harry watched her go and sensed something of her feelings as she reached the second step down. "Thank you," he called after her and she paused. "Thank you for doing what you could with my arm."

A curt nod was his reply, but he had already forgotten the words of thanks, his mind turning to greater matters - universal matters - that made him feel very small in the grand scheme of things. Then again, the grand scheme of things was falling apart around him, and he seemed to be the only one fighting to prevent that, the only warrior for Light aware of it.

Storm clouds on the distant horizon... yes.

Two weeks until the Endless Plains.

You will live one lifetime, and then another.

The Ways of Twilight.

Chuckling once again, though unaware he was doing so, Harry fell back onto the blankets with a tired sigh. Perhaps just once now he could rest before seeing to everything that needed to be done. Hadn't he earned that? There were weapons to make, plans to forge and battles to fight now - he had to see the King - but it could wait because his eyes were so heavy.

So he closed them, and thankfully did not remember his dreams.

*~*~*~*


Author notes: Not quite reached the battle yet but we're on our way. Perhaps next chapter, perhaps the one after. Its a'coming, folks.

Okay... thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter and of course the fifty five chapters before that one. Please do so again because my ego is important (little hint to what the content of your reviews should be there!)

Thanks for reading,

joe