Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Harry Potter Lord Voldemort
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: 12/26/2003
Updated: 08/25/2004
Words: 314,830
Chapters: 31
Hits: 230,812

Harry Potter and the Sword of the Hero

joe6991

Story Summary:
A thousand-year-old oath stands to be fulfilled. The war between Good and Evil has been raging on for a millennium. It has a chance to end, but has the hero of the side of good lost the will to live…``Harry Potter returns to the Dursleys care for the summer, but he finds the loss of Sirius hard to bear. He blames himself for his death. Voldemort doesn’t let him rest though, and soon Harry is flung back into his world. The war escalates, and more people die or join Voldemort. The fear of the Dark Lord reaches beyond the wizarding world and into the Muggle one. Both worlds will collide, as Harry will have to make the ultimate choice between what is right and what is easy. For in this war, some things are more important than life or death…

Chapter 18

Chapter Summary:
Harry has found his parents' graves, and sleep takes him into his nightmares. Can things get any worse? Will Harry Potter finally give up the fight? Or will he tell his friends of the prophecy, tell the world of the prophecy? A stranger comes from the outside world, to begin it all.
Posted:
04/05/2004
Hits:
6,167
Author's Note:
Thanks to all my reviewers, all fifty of them. Let's hope it can be kept up for this chapter. I've introduced another original character again, please tell me what you think of him.


HARRY POTTER AND THE SWORD OF THE HERO

Chapter 18 - To the End

While there's life, there's hope!

--Ancient Roman Saying

Ginny shook her head, although Harry was facing the grave, he didn't see her. "I can't. You need someone with you...."

"Fine," he growled, but rose as he did so. He wasn't agreeing with her though. "Apyraceus!" Harry Apparated away, leaving a very shocked Ginny Weasley alone in the middle of the cemetery. Her eyes full of tears as she beheld the two graves before her.

"Oh... Harry...." she cried.

Harry didn't Apparate very far, not very far at all. He reappeared instantly two and a half miles away at the gates of Hogwarts castle. The grief still fresh in his mind, he collapsed to the icy ground, the rest of the world cold around him. It felt as if he was wrapped in an endless blanket of snow, a Dementor's cloak, an unhappy ending.

There are no happy endings....

Kneeling in the snow, burning tears flowing freely and his breath coming in short desperate gasps, Harry remembered telling Dumbledore that just before Christmas. No happy endings... He could see it; see it in its starkest clarity. No matter how hard he fought this war, people are going to die, and he was helpless to stop it. Too weak he thought. Not strong enough to face him.... And while he waited, lives were lost.

It took Harry his all to get back to his feet and slowly walk up the path to the castle. He briefly remembered doing the same thing yesterday, though his condition had been worse then. Tears silently fell the whole way. Mum... Dad... His parents graves, lost in a sea of others, hundreds upon thousands of others, and he had found them purely by chance. If it could be called chance?

Harry cried for it all. Alone in the snow strewn landscape around him and the world seemed bitter, unforgiving... cruel. But despite all that Harry felt a sense of closure. He'd seen his parent's final resting place. It was true he'd found grief there, but there was also the finality that came with that. And Ginny he thought she was only trying to help....

Harry entered the castle and walked absently through its ancient halls. For the most part it was deserted, but once or twice a student or professor who had remained at the castle passed him. The students of the younger years rushed by him, casting awe struck glances over their shoulders and whispering furiously to each other. The professors were more caring towards him. Flitwick stopped him along the east corridor on the second floor and asked if he'd like to come to his office for tea. Harry declined, saying he was too tired. And in truth he was.

His thoughts took him all the way to Gryffindor tower. He was the only one there, thankfully, and he slowly limped up to the dormitory. Harry collapsed onto his bed with a heavy sigh. It had only been a few hours since he had awoken in the hospital, and it all took its toll. With his thoughts of grief and death clouding his mind, Harry rolled over and drew the curtains around his bed, and with a final tear falling to his pillow, sleep took him.

It crackled, radiated with pure power. Harry saw the images of a thousand worlds flicker by in quick succession. The circle tore through the very fabric of the air around it, sucking that into its gaping, ever-growing hole as well.

Harry watched it with an almost eerie calm. And why shouldn't he? This same nightmare had haunted him for months now; he was too used to it. The slaughtered men lay around the edge of a stone dais, only this time Harry recognised a few of them. They were Death Eater's. And across the stone, standing tall against the darkness was the Dark Lord Voldemort. He heard the insane laughter and then...

The nightmare shifted, and Harry found himself looking upon another stone dais. A dais he knew very well. He watched helplessly, for what must have been the millionth time, as Sirius fell with an almost smooth like grace through the veil. He saw clearly the small shock on his godfather's wasted face before it was lost beyond to death. And standing triumphant against the veil was Bellatrix Lestrange....

Another shift and this time Harry was looking into Cedric's cold dead eyes. He barely had time to feel anything before a third shift sent him back to the horror of the street, and looking down now into Ethan's lifeless eyes.

It was then that Harry felt so alone in the world that all the nightmares ceased, and there was nothing but a cold blackness in his mind. He saw himself, floating above his own body which was holding his mother's grave for dear life. It made for a pitiful sight he thought as he watched himself cry against a piece of cool marble.

And then in the background he saw a lone figure standing on the edge of the darkness. It was Ginny. She was wiping away a tear as she watched him from a distance. Harry felt unexplainably saddened by this, and he longed to reach out and grab her, tell her everything was all right, that he'd be fine... like he always was.

But a final shift showed him alone at the gravestones of his parents, again Harry was holding on to his mother's marble tombstone for all he was worth. And then something different happened. The grave shimmered and Harry fell forward and into the arms of his mother. He was stunned. The gravestone had disappeared, leaving a very real image of his mother in its place. Harry struggled to comprehend it all, to make some sense of it, but in the end he just gave in and cried. His mother smiled knowingly, her own emerald green eyes glistening with tears, and wrapped her arms around him whilst he cried into her shoulder. Harry had never felt so happy in his entire life.

"He's been asleep for hours."

"I love you, mum..." cried Harry.

"Wake up, Harry!"

"I love you too, Harry," came the only words Harry had ever really wanted to hear. "But you have to wake up, dear. It's not yet time to rest...."

Harry pulled away and looked sadly into his mother's eyes. "I know... but I'm so tired."

Lily Potter smiled sadly, grief and pain now in her eyes, mixed with love. "You have to stay strong, Harry. I am sorry for this," she said, her hand briefly tracing his scar, "but you must trust Albus now. He will help you prepare..."

"Something's wrong. He should wake up," said a very anxious voice.

Harry blinked away the tears, and stared finally into his mother's eyes. "It's time I let it all out," he said, seemingly talking to himself, but his mother nodded. "I love you, Mum."

"I love you, Harry," she said a final time.

Harry blinked away the sleep in his eyes and opened them fully against the waking world. The first thing he saw was a familiar face, but that wasn't what he cared about now. Mum he thought, was it just a dream? No.... I never have happy dreams, this was something else.

"Harry? Are you okay?" asked Hermione from the edge of his bed.

Harry sighed, rubbed his eyes, and sat up in bed really quickly. He looked around and saw Hermione, Ron, and Ginny standing to the front and left of his bed. He yawned and pushed his hand through his hair, scuffing it up. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Nine in the morning," said Hermione. "You've been asleep right through yesterday afternoon and last night."

Harry nodded, not really surprised. He had been tired. Mum he thought again, lost once more in his own thoughts.

"Is everything okay, Harry?" asked Ginny nervously. She had told Ron and Hermione about where she had found Harry in the graveyard, they had been equally worried.

Harry looked up, seeming to notice them for the first time. He stared deep into Ginny's eyes for what felt like hours, in reality it was only half a minute. She asked again. "Are you okay?" The concern in her voice really touched Harry.

It's time he thought. Better they find out from me... "No...." he sighed, surprising them all.

"You always say 'yes' when we ask you that question, Mate," said Ron, grasping Hermione's hand.

"I do?" frowned Harry. "It doesn't matter. Look... there's something I haven't told anyone... that really should be told." A mixture of feelings assaulted Harry as it finally came to this. Apprehension, fear, excitement, and also release and acceptance. The prophecy revealed.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione nervously.

Harry looked at her for a moment and then turned to look out of the window. The early morning beams of sunlight were streaming in and lighting the room, casting it in warmth. "I -er- I'm no sure where to start..." he stuttered.

"How about at the beginning?" whispered Ginny warmly.

Harry smiled slightly. "Okay..."

It was a lot easier to say than he had expected, but it still hurt to do. Harry watched his friend's faces change from surprise, to horror, acceptance, and then fear.

"And either must die at the hand of the other...." he said again, and Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and stifled a cry. Ron looked absolutely lost, and Ginny was grasping the bed frame so hard her knuckles were turning white. "Dumbledore heard it straight from Trelawney nearly seventeen years ago now. It was the prophecy lost at the Ministry, the prophecy I was born into and will probably die of...."

"Don't say that, Harry," whispered Hermione, her eyes full of tears. "No one can force you to fight... you don't have to.... you can't.... he'll kill you... it's not fair...."

Harry sighed. "I know it's not fair, but I accept it." Hermione fell onto Ron's bed and Ron sat down next to her, with an arm across her shoulders for support. Ginny, meanwhile, sat on the edge of Harry's bed. "You sure this is you, Harry?' asked Ron with a desperate plea in his voice. "You sure it means you....?"

"It does," he said, tapping his scar, but thinking of Neville as he did. "Marked as his equal, born as the seventh month dies. It's me, Ron, It always has been. Why do you think we've been drawn together so often?"

Harry glanced at Ginny as he said this and he caught her unawares. She had the most profound sadness in her eyes, which were also glistening with tears. She had drawn her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, as if she was shielding herself from the world and its truths. Harry thanked her silently with his eyes for her concern. Ginny smiled warmly when she got the message.

"NO!" shouted Hermione angrily. "You can't be expected to fight him! You just can't. You're only sixteen for Christ sake!" Harry blinked in surprise; it wasn't like Hermione to swear. She continued. "You don't have to live up to this, Harry," she ended finally, with a shake in her voice. "You... don't."

Harry shook his head sadly. "We all know I do. If not for the fact that it is prophesized I have to do it, then for the fact that I'm the only one who can."

Ron, although he agreed with Hermione, nodded at what Harry said. "Really we always knew it would come down to this, didn't we..." he said sadly, looking at the floor with a sad acceptance. "It was always going to be you, mate. Deep down we all knew this, but nobody wanted to say it..."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Ron," he whispered and then turned to Hermione, whose face was a storm of emotion. "Hermione," he began, she looked at him desperately with a heavy fear in her eyes, "Hermione, I need you to understand. This is my life. All of it, all of the paths walked through the danger, through the war, has been leading up to this one fight. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, you said it yourself months ago. It has always been me, and will be to the end. Whatever happens then....?"

Hermione looked from Ron, to Ginny, and then finally to Harry. "Don't do it, Harry..." she whispered as a last desperate plea. "Don't accept it...."

Harry was slightly annoyed now, but he could see what Hermione was feeling. She cared, and that was something. "If truth be told I accepted it the moment I heard it. It was just the kill or be killed part that scared me. I have wanted to tell you, all of you," he added glancing at Ginny, "for months now, but it was safer for you not to know then...."

Ginny frowned. "And why is it safer to know now?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "Voldemort," a small twitch from both Ron and Ginny distracted Harry. "Voldemort knows the prophecy now, as you do. He used a curse to get it out of me back at your house, Hermione." Harry's face inadvertently twisted with the memory of that pain, but he corrected it quickly. "That means things are going to step up in the war now. Voldemort knows that I'll always stand in his way."

Ron looked helpless but determined; he tightened his grip around Hermione. "What can we do against him?"

Harry nodded at Ron. "Hogwart's is the safest place in the country. We have to make sure he and his spies stay out of it."

"How are we going to do that?" asked Ginny.

Harry looked at her and then jumped up out of his bed, holding his sore arm close to him as he did. "With the DA," he decided, but in truth he had been thinking about this for months.

"What?" asked Hermione.

Harry turned to look at them, and leaned against the bedside table as he did. "There are Death Eater sympathisers in the school, and most likely Death Eater's in training. I think we all know who I'm talking about."

"Malfoy," said Ron bitterly. No one argued with him.

"Amongst others," nodded Harry, rubbing his sore arm slightly, he'd slept on it wrong and it was throbbing. "That's why the DA needs to take a more active role around the school. I've been thinking about this for a while and when everyone gets back from the holiday I'll arrange a meeting."

Ron, Ginny, and Hermione fell silent. Harry found it uncomfortable and he slipped back into his dream. God it had seemed so real... he thought, but shook his head to clear it. It was then that he remembered something, something important. "I'm also leaving Hogwart's-"

"WHAT!" screamed Hermione and Ginny loudly, both of them leaping to their feet.

"Let me finish," he whispered, and they sat back down. "I'm leaving my Hogwart's lessons. Dumbledore and I have decided that since it has to be me to kill him, there's no point sitting around doing nothing. Hogwarts can't teach me what I need to know, but the people Dumbledore is bringing into the school can."

Ron stood up, letting go of Hermione as he went. "They're coming to teach you how to fight to kill," he said emotionlessly.

Harry cringed, and looked away as Hermione and Ginny both realised this. "Yeah.... I'm going to learn so I can end this war. Its... it's the only way."

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all stood now. Harry glanced at all of them and saw a steadfast determination in their eyes. He wasn't sure how the would react to all he'd told them, but inside he was glad he finally had... no matter how they accepted it.

It was Ginny that came over to him first, and enveloped him in a tight, love filled hug. Harry didn't know what to make of it? He felt happy, confused, and... warm. "We'll be there for you, Harry," she said, letting go of him. She looked him in the eyes and Harry saw the tears begin to stream down her face. Without realising what he was doing he raised his right hand and brushed away a single tear from her cheek. Ginny blushed slightly but before either could see anything; Hermione had enveloped him in another hug.

"We will, Harry. We'll stay with you until the end...." She was crying openly too.

Ron came next, and while Hermione was still hugging him, placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "To the end, Harry. I'll be there to the end." A tear now fell down Ron's face.

Harry was overcome with emotion, but for the first time in days it didn't come with pain. It was the true, pure, clean emotion of love. "Thank you..." he whispered. "Thank you...."

*****

The rest of the holiday break passed in a relative normality. Harry fell into a pattern of waking up at seven, showering and heading down to breakfast by eight, and then spending the rest of the day with his friends and the others in the castle. It felt unbelievably good to have the prophecy out in the open, and what's more to have it accepted by his friends. He actually felt happy at some moments, like it was in the old days, before the war.

Dumbledore had informed him at dinner yesterday evening that he had begun sending letters to the people around the globe that could help him. One had already replied and was on his way over from Ireland in three days, which was the Saturday before the new school term started. Dumbledore had told him it was a rather strange man named Dermas Trask, a close friend of Mundungus Fletcher, but he was excellent with close combat skills.

Harry had also given Dumbledore the go ahead to print the prophecy in the Prophet, with a full explanation of its meaning. If everything went to plan, Voldemort would not gain as many followers as he could without it going public. Harry felt it was a small price to pay in order to lessen Voldemort's army, which he had been told was in the region of three hundred and fifty.

The week passed quickly for Harry, who spent as much spare time as he had, mostly in the evenings, devising plans for the Defence Association. Ron and Hermione helped of course, but they didn't attack it as fiercely as Harry. He envisioned a network of people throughout the castle, who students could turn to for help, and also discover if anything was wrong.

Harry couldn't be sure, but he had a strong suspicion that the person or persons that had abducted Padma those months ago had inside help. If he were to blame anyone it would be Malfoy. So when the new term started he'd begin fortifying Hogwarts against Voldemort and his Death Eater's.

Harry woke up later than usual on Saturday morning, the last weekend of the holidays, having stayed up late into the night finalising his plans for the DA, he was barely out of bed before he got the fright of his life. Ron was already up and out of bed, probably at breakfast, and Harry was alone in the dorm. It was then, when he'd just stepped out of bed, that a fireball exploded in the room by the door, it burst into flame with a loud pop, and out of it flew Fawkes the phoenix.

Harry jumped and fell back in surprise as the bird flew gracefully across the room to meet him. The red and golden phoenix landed gently on his leg and Harry relaxed slightly. "You scared me," he said, stroking the bird just below its neck, as the ball of fire across the room died.

Fawkes uttered a single warm note and Harry forgave him instantly, the music was calming. It was then that Harry noticed a long object wrapped in brown paper tied to Fawkes' leg. "For me?" he asked. The phoenix nodded and presented its leg.

Harry, with a frown of confusion, undid the tie around the bird's leg and removed the object. As soon as he felt it Harry realised what it was. He had missed it last week and had also, with the discovery of his parent's graves and telling his friends of the prophecy, completely forgotten about it. Sure enough when he undid the brown wrapping, Harry held Rafe's dagger in his hand. He smiled slightly and then remembered the promise made when he took this dagger from Ethan. I'll try he thought.

Harry looked down to the wrapping in his hand and on the inside of the brown paper was written a small note in Dumbledore's curvy script.

Harry,

This was taken from you last week while you were in hospital. I believe it only right you have it back.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry silently thanked Dumbledore and nodded his thanks to Fawkes, who, his job now done, flew back across the room and disappeared in another fireball. Harry never ceased to be amazed by the phoenix.

With a final look at the blade, Harry lifted the lid of his trunk and set the dagger on the top of his robes. ""I'll find a sheath for you later,' he said quietly, and turned on his heel.

After showering, shaving and putting on clean pair of clothes, his customary black jeans and shirt, Harry went down to the common room to find it deserted. He was the only one in Gryffindor tower. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him it had just gone eight thirty. Everybody should still be in the Great Hall he thought, and began walking down to the hall at a quick pace. Outside the common room the early morning beams of sunlight were streaming in gracefully through the high windows, casting the corridors in light and warmth.

Harry walked quietly through the halls, which were empty just like the common room. As it happened whenever he was alone, Harry fell into his thoughts. His mother had lain heavily on his mind all week. That dream was just too real... he thought. Was it possible I really talked to my mother...? His thoughts continued like this until he reached the second floor landing.

Harry had just stepped off the moving staircase when there was a sudden sharp tingling sensation on the back of his neck. He stopped for a moment and raised a hand across his neck, and rubbed it lightly. The tingling ceased but Harry barely noticed, because it was at that moment that a lone figure emerged from the shadows to his left.

There was no time to react, no time to run, no time for anything. The masked figure leapt from the shadows with his arm raised. He wasn't carrying a wand, though; he had a long wooden stick, fashioned in the shape of a sword. It was about a metre in length and painted black. Harry ducked, just at the last moment and the stick wielding man's blow flew over his head.

Harry fell backwards in surprise at the speed in which he and his attacker had moved. The man, who was dressed in long flowing white robes with a white hood and mask, raised the 'sword' again to strike Harry. There was more time to react now, and Harry, from the floor, flicked his right wrist and sent his wand flying into his hand from the hidden holster.

"Not good enough," shouted the man, in an accent Harry didn't have time to place.

Harry jumped to his feet just as another blow knocked the ground where he had been only mere seconds ago. A thousand thoughts were shooting through his head. One was that this man was no Death Eater, but he did intend to hurt him if he could. Another was the more prominent thought; who the hell was he? They were in a wide corridor just near the stairs, plenty of room to move and fight. Harry had jumped up with his back against the wall, and was now raising his wand as quickly as possible.

It was no good. The man whirled around, faster than a bolt of lightning, and threw his stick up, causing it to flip majestically; he caught it in his left hand deftly and in an instant cracked it against Harry's wrist.

"Argh!" cried Harry, dropping his wand and clenching his bruised wrist. This moment of pain was all the masked man needed to inflict more. He was incredibly fast. Without a moment's hesitation the man brought his stick across Harry's neck and thrust it across with ease and grace. He then, while Harry was just realising the loss of his wand, swung it around like a whip and hit Harry in the side as hard as he could.

This blow knocked Harry to the floor, but on the way down he got the message. If that had been a real blade, I'd be dead.... Harry hit the floor hard. The impact knocked the wind out of him and he began gasping for breath desperately. The masked man didn't move, he surveyed Harry from behind the white of his mask for a few moments, before raising his 'sword' above his head.

Harry saw it coming, saw the glint in the man's eyes through the slit in the mask. With a cry he brought the sword crashing down with the full force of his strength. It took Harry a moment to realise that he might not get back up from this blow. The stick cut through the air and, while coughing heavily, Harry raised his left arm in defence.

His arm had fully healed over the week, thanks to Madam Pomfrey's potions. It still felt a little numb from time to time, but that was to be expected considering the bone had been thrust out of his flesh. The man continued his cry as the black wooden stick tore through the air above him. At the last moment an idea came to Harry, and with his arm raised he closed his eyes.

There was a soft slicing sound and Harry opened his eyes just in time to see the man's stick fall away in two separate pieces. One of them fell to the floor harmlessly, clunking loudly against the stone; the other remained in the man's hand, who Harry heard was now laughing behind his mask. And grasped strongly in Harry's left hand, was his sword, the sword of Gryffindor. He'd called for it just at the last moment, and the infinitely sharp blade had cut through the man's wooden stick with ease.

Harry was still gasping for breath and trying to make sense of the situation as the masked man removed his mask. He was still laughing as he dropped it to the floor and revealed his face for the first time. The man had short, curly, brown hair. It was very messy and obviously not cared for, though this probably didn't bother him. He had piercing, sharp, blue eyes that at the moment were full of laughter. His face was covered with thick stubble, almost a beard, he hadn't shaved in awhile, and Harry could just make out a long, deep scar on his right cheek through the stubble. As he laughed Harry saw that he was missing several teeth, and that the ones he did have were slightly yellow. The man was laughing so hard that tears began to form in his eyes and he leaned against the wall to steady himself.

Harry was highly annoyed and confused. As he struggled to catch his breath the man extended a rough hand to him down on the floor, but Harry raised his blade in defence. The man laughed again.

"Oh! Put that away, Potter" he laughed, reaching for Harry's empty right hand. With a slight heave the man lifted Harry to his feet. Harry recognised the accent now; this man was Irish. And with that, suddenly all the pieces fell into place. Harry put away the sword of Gryffindor with a thought, and rubbed his wrist, it hurt.

"I suppose you're wondering who the hell I am? Aye, Potter?" the man said with a slight chuckle.

Harry nodded. "Are you Dermas Trask?" he asked.

The man nodded now. "Very good, Potter. You may not have any skill with a blade, but at least my blows knocked some sense into yer'," he joked, laughing again.

Harry began to calm down now; he was breathing normally and coming down off the adrenalin of the fight. This was the man Dumbledore had asked to help him learn some combat skills. Harry didn't know why, especially since he'd just been hurt by this man, but he took a strong liking to him from the start.

"You're lucky I didn't get a spell off," Harry said, raising his hand and summoning his wand back to the holster from down the hall.

Dermas looked him up and down for a moment. "Aye, you're probably right there, son. I've heard about yer 'special' magic. Lucky for me I nearly broke your wrist." He began laughing again, and despite the pain in his wrist, Harry laughed too.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," said Harry, extending his hand.

Trask looked at it but then a smile spread across his face and instead of taking his hand, he wrapped his arms around Harry and enveloped him in a bone crushing hug. "Nice to meet you too, Potter."

Dermas then let go quickly and this caused Harry to stumble where he was standing, he was laughing the whole time. "You're strange," said Harry shaking his head with a slight laugh.

"Strange?" Dermas said, feigning offence. "I'm not strange, mate. I'm Irish!"

Harry laughed at this one. It was obvious that Dermas was indeed a friend of Mundungus Fletcher. They were both fun to be around, slightly crazy, and smelt faintly of cigarettes and beer. "Mr. Trask-" began Harry, but stopped as Dermas exploded with laughter again.

"Call me Dermas or Trask, Potter," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"Er... okay, Dermas. What was all that back there?"

"Hmm? Oh, that. That was just for me. To see how much work I've put myself in for. Looks like I'm gonna be here awhile," He began laughing again. "Nah I'm just kidding, Potter. Two, three months with me and you won't even know yourself."

Dermas slapped Harry on the back and then truly shook his hand this time. "It's an honour, Harry..." That was the first time he'd called him Harry. "It's an honour to help you with what you have to do." This was the most serious Harry had seen him in the ten minutes they'd known each other, and that included the fight.

Harry nodded just as seriously and shook Trask's hand back. "Thank you," he said, although he was a little confused. What did he mean? Could he know about the prophecy? Then Harry realised. The Prophet must have printed the article on the prophecy. The whole world would know. It must have been in the morning edition of the paper he thought. "Thanks, Dermas," he said again, though absently this time, he was lost in his thoughts, looking at the floor. It wasn't until Harry actually looked up that he realised Trask had left. He looked quickly up and down the hall, no sign of him. Didn't even see him go.... thought Harry. Wonder if he'll teach me how to do that?

Having decided that the events of the past quarter of an hour were highly strange, Harry continued on down to the Great Hall. His wrist, and his left side hurt slightly as he walked down the entrance hall steps, but it wasn't overly painful. It would bruise, but that was about it.

Harry pushed open the old creaking wooden door and entered the Great Hall. As it had been for the holidays, there was only one circular table in the centre of the room. As Harry walked he saw that, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Professor's McGonagall and Flitwick, and three Ravenclaw fifth years were seated at it.

"Morning," he said to the table in general, holding his side as he sat down next to Ginny.

There were a few scattered replies to his greeting and Harry frowned in confusion. He glanced across the table to see the Ravenclaw girls turn away quickly, they had been watching him. He turned to McGonagall and found her looking at him with a profound sadness, mingled with respect. It surprised Harry; she was usually very guarded with her emotions.

Since he'd sat down conversation had ceased, and there were now only hushed whispers coming from the Ravenclaw girls. "Em... what's going on?" he whispered so only Ginny would hear.

She turned to look at him and for a moment he saw the fear in her eyes, but almost instantly she smiled warmly. "It's the Prophet," she whispered back. "They've printed it...."

Harry nodded, he had expected as much. It certainly explained the behaviour of the table. Ron and Hermione were smiling encouragingly at him, and he thanked them silently. He had just pulled a plate of toast towards himself when Ginny handed him a copy of the Prophet. With a slight tense, nervous feeling in his stomach, Harry unfolded the paper, and took in the headline.

HARRY POTTER'S PROPHECY REVEALED
by Ian Lighterman

With recent developments in the Dark War, many people believe that all may be lost, and we are just awaiting the inevitable. The tragic loss of so many lives in Diagon Alley, the loss of Cornelius Fudge, a spate of Ministry disappearances, a terrible attack on Muggles in Abingdon, all the beginnings of what promises to be an unbearably time in our lives, and all brought back to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The fear and terror of our world, the Dark Lord with a seemingly immortality. The horror of war, and our enemy. A man no one has ever stood up against and defeated, save one. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, rid the world of You-Know-Who fifteen and a half years ago. We rejoiced, we were free, we rose our glasses to Harry Potter. Everyone knows the story, but only a few have ever known the truth.

You-Know-Who was never truly defeated, he returned to make his war, to finish what he started, to sink our world back into his darkness. We are sinking now, faster than we were sixteen years ago, with no end in sight all hope may be lost.... maybe? No matter how dark it becomes, there is always a light to guide the world to freedom. This Daily Prophet reporter can now, in total honesty, report that hope remains. That a light does indeed shine through, and that light is none other than the Boy Who Lived:

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...'

A prophecy, brought on by fate, brought to us to give hope for a better world. Harry Potter is the one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. Marked as his equal, the famous lightning bolt scar that nearly killed both Potter and You-Know-Who that Halloween night so many years ago. He has once again been called upon to fulfil his destiny, the prophecy, and the prayers of all the free wizarding folk in the world go with him.

This enormous task may seem impossible to a boy of only sixteen years, but Harry Potter has proved his worth time and time again. Winner of the Triwizard Tournament two years ago, a lone voice in the denial of You-Know-Who's resurrection, and a boy who has lost so much in his short life. It has been discovered that Potter may have been the one to single handily capture twenty Death Eater's in the Abingdon street disaster on Boxing Day. Potter has mastered several difficult spells that many wizards find tricky. Spells such as the Patronus Charm. He is a powerful wizard for his age.

Whether or not Harry Potter has the will to defeat You-Know-Who, or whether or not you believe in this prophecy, one fact is certain. The world already owes Harry Potter for thirteen years of peace; can we truly call on him again? In the end that decision rests with Potter himself.

No matter what path you choose, the world thanks you Harry Potter for your undying courage in the face of evil. We will stand by and help you in any way necessary, to see this war end.

Page 2 The First Dark War
Page 4 Harry Potter, a Brief History
Page 5
The Second Dark War

Harry put the paper down, unsure of what to think. The world now knew the prophecy, now knew his fate. No matter what path you choose... Harry inwardly cringed at that part. He only had one path. He couldn't live until Voldemort was dead, and the war couldn't end until he fought Voldemort, one way or the other. Harry felt trapped... a prisoner of his own life. There was no choice, he had to face Voldemort, whether it scared him or killed him he had to do it.

Harry looked down at the paper again and remembered why he had allowed it to go public. To stop him... he thought, closing his eyes as a single tear fell from one onto his cheek. There were several loud screeches from up above that knocked Harry out of his thoughts. He looked up to see about half a dozen owls circling the ceiling. Slowly, and quickly the birds fell one by one and landed in front of Harry.

The last one had barely landed before another three flew into the hall, followed again by six more. Shit he thought. I should have expected this... Harry stood up at the table and began pulling the letters from the bird's legs. If he removed the letters, then the birds themselves should leave. He pulled away five envelopes, and in turn five owls flew out of the hall, but they were replaced just as quickly with even more birds.

"Help me," he shouted to the table in general. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny immediately stood up as well and began removing the letters. It was a full ten minutes, and it had taken the help of everybody at the table, but in the end the owls were gone, and Harry was left with a pile of mail covering the circular table.

Ron was laughing at it all and Hermione was patting his back as, in his laughter, he had choked on a piece of toast. Ginny was smiling at him.

"I think, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall from across the table, fighting another owl that had arrived for its letter, "that these may be for you."

"Extraordinary," beamed Professor Flitwick. "Never seen anything like it...."

"Nor have I,' said a very amused voice from behind Harry.

Harry turned, as did his friends, and standing a few feet away were Albus Dumbledore, and Dermas Trask. "I think it may have had our desired effect, Harry," said Dumbledore, as Trask burst into laughter. Harry just nodded, and suppressed a smile. "Oh! Where are my manners? Harry, allow me to introduce-"

"Dermas Trask," cut in Harry. "Yeah, we've already met this morning."

"Jesus, Potter I leave you alone for ten minutes and half the bloody owls in the country attack you," laughed Dermas.

Harry, and everyone else at the table, bar McGonagall, couldn't help but smile as Trask laughed. Harry felt that that man did more laughing than actually talking. "I'm going to have to get this out of the way," said Harry after a few more jokes at his expense. "I know what I'm doing all day now," he ended gesturing to the ever-growing pile of unopened mail on the table.

"Oh no you don't," said Trask quickly. "I wanna get my claws into yer before the other lot get here on Monday. Which means you get the privilege of my company all-day-long," smiled Dermas, a hand on his hip and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore smiled. "Everyone I owled has agreed to come to Hogwart's and teach you, Harry," he said happily. "And from the looks of things, Dermas wishes to start right away."

"Damn right I do," Dermas laughed. "If I'm going to teach him anything then I've got to start now." Harry opened his mouth to protest. He had planned to spend today with his friends, and probably opening some of the mail, but Trask raised his hand and stopped him. "Smile, Potter. You're about to learn swordsmanship the Dermas Trask way." There was something in the way Trask said that that made Harry very nervous.

****

Harry had said goodbye to his friends, and they had generously offered to take all his mail back to the common room for him, he had quickly agreed and was now following Dermas Trask down the snow covered Hogwarts grounds towards the edge of the Lake. It was cold out, and Harry was cursing himself for not wearing a cloak this morning. Dermas was still wearing his white robes, which, now Harry looked, shimmered in a silvery wave as he moved.

His friends had wished him good luck; they did understand that this was something he had to do. Learn to fight he thought. I'll try my best. Dumbledore had also told him at the entrance to the castle before he and Trask had walked out, that on Monday there would be another six people arriving at the castle to teach him the skills he'd need. Harry didn't remember their names but he did remember what he would be learning. As they walked he recited the list in his head: Offensive magic, Physical Combat, Charms & Healing, there was a man coming to teach Harry all that was known on the subject of wandless and pure magic. I'll also be learning Defensive magic, and... Magical tuning? Whatever that is?

Harry wasn't sure what the last one was, magical tuning, but he'd probably find out on Monday. He fell out of his thoughts and found that he'd followed Trask all the way down to the edge of the frozen lake. He looked out across the expanse and saw the other edge, two miles away, and the trees over there covered with a new, untouched layer of snow. He turned to Trask, who was stretching his arm.

"Bugger, its cold," shouted Dermas, shaking his head and kicking the snow around his feet. "Right then," he said turning to Harry, and putting on a fake accent that sort of resembled a teacher. "Good day, Mr. Potter. Welcome to Trask Blades All Purpose Learning Course for Dummies. Now I have to go over our course outline before we can start, so bear with me... Course Aim number one, a student will learn how to use a sword and short blades. That's it. Any questions? No? Good. Then let's begin."

Harry laughed as Trask cracked his knuckles and the muscles in his neck. He then turned back to Harry. "In all seriousness, Harry..."

There it was thought Harry. He'd only known Dermas an hour, but already he could tell when he wasn't joking, he'd used his first name.

"In all seriousness, Harry, this isn't going to be easy," Trask cracked a smile. "You're going to be put through your paces. I'm going to push you harder and harder until you are competent with that sword of yours. Understood? You may not make it, in fact I know you won't make it, I just think its better you know that now."

Harry nodded, not sure if Dermas was joking or not. "I understand," was all Harry said.

"Excellent," said Trask happily. "Then you can start with a ten mile jog around the lake, off you go. I'll be up at the castle in a warm bath reading my Muggle adult magazine when you're done."

"WHAT!" coughed Harry, as Trask exploded in laughter yet again.

"OH! You should have seen the look of horror upon your face. Don't worry, I was only kidding, it won't be me that makes you run around the lake. Wait 'til Monday when you meet Old Scrappy, he'll really make you run the lake."

Harry sighed with exasperation, you could never tell if this man was being serious or not. Also he didn't like the sound of 'Old Scrappy' whoever that was?

"Okay, Harry," began Trask, pulling a wand out of his robes pocket. "Let's get down to business." He waved his wand and uttered a small summoning charm. He followed Dermas' eyes to the forest and saw two thick sticks of wood come flying out from between the trees. They shot through the air and Trask caught them deftly, one in each hand. He'd put his wand away just a moment ago.

"Right, these will do," he whispered to himself, looking his pieces of wood up and down. He then sat down on the ground, putting the stick in his left hand on the ground next to him, and drew a long knife out of a sheath in his boot. He began to whittle away the wood with the knife. "Harry," he said, quickly cutting the wood here and there, his hands an expert with the knife. "I want you to go get a shit load of firewood and start a fire down by the lake there," He pointed to an empty clearing by the lake's edge.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry, again not sure what was going on in Dermas' head.

"Damn straight I'm sure. You're going to feel the cold after a few hours out here. We'll need that fire." Harry could tell that this time he was being serious.

Harry walked about one hundred metres up the lake and came to the edge of the Forbidden forest. He stared into its dark eaves, listening to the rustling of the leaves caused by some unseen creature. He began to pick up the loose chunks of wood, and snapped branches that lay about only a metre into the forest. Once he'd picked up as much as he could carry, he walked back up the lake's edge and dumped the wood in a big pile near the edge of the frozen expanse. He was panting slightly from the lifting and the carrying, but he went back again and collected some more wood.

After about seven trips, Harry felt he had collected enough wood to last for most of the day. Just to be safe, he had summoned and levitated half a dead tree back from the forest. It was enough dead wood too last them. After digging a small hole in the ground, he had dug through the snow and reached the soil beneath; Harry placed a few logs, some branches and a load of dead leaves in the hole.

He wiped the sweat of his brow. This was tiring he thought. A quick glance over at Trask showed him that the man was still whittling the sticks. What is he doing? wondered Harry. God knows? he answered himself. Harry turned back to his hole full of wood and pointed his palm towards it.

"Incendio," he said calmly, and the flames shot out of his hand and took to the dry, dead wood immediately. Soon quite a flame had developed, and the snow near the fire had turned to slush. Harry sat down on the log he'd levitated over and rested. He watched the small pieces of ash get whisked up and away by the smoke of the fire, and felt his shoes warm near the flame.

After about five minutes he saw Trask rise and put his knife back in his boot sheath. He then picked up the two pieces of wood, and began walking towards him. "Nice job with the fire," he said, standing the other side of the flames with one hand on his hip, and the other holding the two whittled pieces of wood.

"What are the sticks for?" asked Harry. He was answered by another mischievous smile from Trask.

"Well, you see... GET READY!" Trask moved as fast as lightning, throwing one of the wooden sticks across the crackling flames. Harry only caught it on reflex.

Harry looked down at the stick in his hand and saw that it was shaped in the rough likeness of a sword. Now it makes sense thought Harry, but didn't think about it for long. He rose as Trask circled the fire. They faced each other for a moment, and then Trask charged, swinging his stick.

On instinct, Harry raised his stick in defence, but Dermas swung his stick and knocked Harry on the knuckles. He cried out but held on strongly to his stick. Another quick move and Trask knocked Harry across his ribs. Harry cried out again and stumbled back.

Not really thinking about what he was doing, Harry lunged forward, swinging his stick, but Dermas easily parried the blow. Again Harry came at him, aiming for his head but at the last moment twisted his arm and tried to hit his side. Dermas was laughing as he blocked the move with ease. "Nice try, Potter," he barked.

It carried on like this for a few moments, the sound of wood striking wood resounded around the clearing and over the fire. As they fought, Harry tried his best but couldn't block Trask if Trask wanted to hit him, which he did regularly. Suddenly, and with an unbelievable speed, Dermas' hands blurred and Harry felt the side of his head explode with pain. He collapsed to the ground.

Harry felt very dizzy, but the splash of cold water on his face roused him to alertness. He sat up shivering to see Trask standing over him, with a handful of the melted slush from around the fire. Harry blinked and felt the dried blood on the side of his head. "Ow... you didn't need to hit me that hard," grumbled Harry angrily.

"Oh...? Oh I'm sorry, Princess. I thought that maybe a real enemy wouldn't soften his blows, and therefore I won't either. I told you it won't be easy, Harry. It's going to take time and a shit load of patience on my part. Now get back up, we try again." Trask threw him his stick and Harry rose to his feet. He was a little unsteady on them for a moment but it passed.

"Okay," he said.

They traded blows once more, but again Harry could only keep Trask at bay for one move. After a rather painful blow to his arm, Harry cringed and retreated around the fire, churning up the snow as he went.

"Good," commented Trask, as Harry inadvertently parried his blow. "Not so good," he said soon after as his stick connected with Harry's lower back.

"Is this how you treat all your students?" asked Harry angrily as his knuckles took another beating, and he fell back against the snow.

"Only the ones I like," said Trask. "And you're actually my first student in five years...."

"Really?" asked Harry, jumping away from Trask's stick.

"Yep. Came out of retirement as a favour to Dumbledore," he said, once more swinging his stick across the fire.

"Retirement? You can't be more that forty?" said Harry confused.

"I'm sixty seven, and I'll thank you to keep that under your hat."

Harry laughed, but was amazed at how young Dermas looked. Sixty seven he thought. He doesn't even have grey hair....

"Enough talk. Come on, you're not getting hurt fast enough," laughed Trask, swinging his stick under Harry's leg and sending him down to the floor. Harry landed hard on his back.

The minutes of pain progressed into hours, and Harry felt saw to his very bones. He didn't think Trask could be that deadly with a stick, he feared having to face him one day with a blade.

"That's it... no keep your arms in, and raise them a bit higher."

Slowly but surely Dermas taught him a few basic fighting stances, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't hold Trask off for more than a few blows, and he ended up back on the snow covered ground.

"That's good, but do it again a lot slower."

As the morning passed into the afternoon, several more owls had descended upon Harry, and he now just threw there mail into a pile by the log. He had discovered one thing over the course of the day, that despite all the jokes and his laid back attitude, Dermas Trask was an excellent, probably unmatched, master with a sword. Harry was thankful he had someone so good to teach him this skill, though his thanks lessened as the bruises worsened across his body.

When the Sun began to sink into the west behind the castle, Trask finally called it a day. Harry collapsed against the wooden log and put his cold feet up against the fire. It was getting dark now and Harry could only see the castle because of the lights that dotted its windows. The fire seemed very warm and welcoming.

He hurt all over; Trask had not been gentle with his stick. He was now sitting down next to him, smoking from a pipe he'd produced from his robes and looking up at the stars. Harry was slightly annoyed at his laid back attitude right now; he hadn't hurt Dermas once and had only successfully parried his blows four consecutive times. He felt very useless with a sword.... and stick.

"I'll tell you, Harry," said Trask, taking a heavy breath from his pipe, "ain't nothing better than going for a ten mile jog around the lake after you finish getting the shit kicked out of you for nine hours." Trask gave him a lopsided look.

Harry laughed, despite the bruises all over his body, and warmed his hands near the flames. "What do you say we get up to the castle for dinner?" asked Harry, his stomach gave a particularly loud growl to enforce his point.

Trask looked up to the castle. "Aye, all right, Harry."

Harry smiled and slowly, painfully, got to his feet. He collected the small pile of mail he'd received during the day, while Trask put out the fire. "I'll leave the sticks here," he said, placing them against the dead wooden log. "Remember, mines the one with all the dents in it," he laughed and punched Harry playfully on the arm.

With what little strength he had left, Harry smiled. He had only known Dermas Trask a single day, and in that day he had been beaten senseless by him time and time again, but despite that Harry couldn't help but feel, he had made a good friend.

*****


Author notes: Well that chapter was fun to write, but also hard in parts. Poor brusied Harry, will he ever catch a break? NO! hahahaha.....

Well we'll see what happens in future chapters, here is a list of thanks to my loyal reviewers:

Thank you,

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Thanks to everyone there and if I missed you I apologise. Please everyone review, here's a bribe: There are details of the next chapter at the reviewboard for this one.

Keep reading,

joe6991